Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The first thing it knows is darkness.

It is all there has ever been, and it’s pretty sure it’s going to go on forever.

Eventually, it becomes aware of a buzzing sound, and a slight sensation of movement, and warmth.

So, there is the Dark, the Sound, and the Warm Movement.

It is amazed to have so many things.

As time goes on, and the buzzing goes on into eternity, it realizes the buzzing has meaning, and that meaning is words.

It is not buzzing, it is a voice. Many voices, but also the same one, this it knows.

It doesn’t know how it knows it, just that it does.

The Voice tells it many things. Important things. That it is young, and small. That the world (the stuff beyond the Dark Warm) is big, and dangerous. That it is a changing creature, who will have many faces and names, and many enemies. That it cannot let its enemies find it. That it will need to hide, until it is big and strong.

That soon it will meet someone Important.

The Dark Warm is not endless, like it thought. There are Ends, all around it and closing it in. What once was comfortable is becoming smaller, and it wiggles uncomfortably as it tries to get Out.

The Voice shushes it. Its Important Person isn’t ready yet, so it needs to Wait.

The Waiting is Forever. It wiggles, trying to think about what its Important Person will be like. They are very Important, because they are going to teach it how to hide, and sneak, and everything it will need to be the most important thing.

They will teach it how to be Human.

Eventually, the Movement stops, and the Voice says that now it can come Out. It has never been Out, and it wiggles and twists, until the Ends bursts, and the Dark is gone, replaced by the World.

The World is very bright, but it adjusts and sees its very Important Person.

It takes no effort at all to learn its very first lesson, and very soon it looks just like them, wiggling happily with its two new arms and kicking with its new legs. Its Important Person makes a noise, so it does too.

It is a very good learner, it thinks.

“What is that,” the Voice says from above it, and pushes at one of its fingers. It makes another sound, but allows them to push it back into its hand, “Six fingers? If I’d known- well, it’s too late now. You, grub, don’t copy that. It’s hard enough trying to blend in without drawing unnecessary attention.”

It wiggles its now smaller new hands, changing them to fit the new number of fingers. The Voice nods at this, then at its Important Person.

“Well, I’ll be around. Try not to die.”

And then the Voice leaves, and it is just it and its Important Person.

Its Important Person makes a sound, and it copies. Then its Important Person wiggles. It wiggles too. But when it’s Important Person makes grabbing hands, it cannot copy it right. It cannot, because its hands are different.

It will be harder to learn when it doesn’t have the right number of fingers, but it will figure it out.

It must. Or it will die.

After some time, during which it learns all kinds of sounds and wiggles, a big human comes. They mumble about numbers and wrap it up in a warm blanket.  Once it is nice and wrapped, they pick up it and its Important Person and bring them to a room. There are two humans inside, one of them laying on a bed, and the other standing next to them.

“Twins?” The standing one says, then sighs, rubbing its face. The one on the bed reaches up to take it and its Important Person, holding them in its arms.

“Boys,” it says, making a face at them, “Lucky to have made it, the doctor said.”

“Lucky huh,” Standing responds, leaning forwards more, “That’s one word for it.”

“And their names?” the first human says, “We have the paperwork ready now, if you have something picked out.”

The standing one made an expresssion, then nodded.

“Stanford Filbrick Pines for the older one, Stanley… Danley Pines for the other.”

The first human nods, then scribbles something on something else and stretches its mouth up.

“I’ll update their records. Congratulations.”

Then it leaves, leaving it with its Important Person, and the two humans.

“Danley? Really Fil?” laying dow says, nudging Fil with its arm, “What kind of name is that?”

“The one he has. Not my fault we only picked out one name.”

Laying down sighs, then stretches its mouth up as it looks down at them.

“Hello Stanford and Stanley,” it says softly, “my baby boys. I’m your ma, and this is your pa! We’re very excited to meet you.”

Stanford(or Stanley? It isn’t sure which one is which) copies the sound of the other baby boy makes. It makes Ma face stretch more, so Stanley(or Stanford, still not sure) makes it again. Pa doesn’t stretch its mouth up. It stretches down, then reaches over and grabs the baby boy’s hand (Stanford or Stanley, whichever one isn’t it).

“What’s wrong with his hands,” Pa says, twisting the hand around and making the baby boy make a new sound. Stan(ley/ford) copies that one too, making Ma bounce them and make a nice whooshing sound. The baby boy quiets, so Stan(ford/ley) does too, and Ma makes a clicking noise.

“New to the world, and already in sync. Not looking forward to that.”

Pa grumbles, then marches out of the room. Stan(and really, if they could clear up which is which, it’d appreciate it) watches it go, then looks at the baby boy (the other Stanford/ley). The Voice had also been unhappy with his hands, so maybe he had the wrong number, and now Stan(unknown) had the right. A quick glance shows that Ma has less fingers, so this seems correct.

That wasn’t good. If it’s Important Person wasn’t built right, how was it supposed to learn? What if there were other things he didn’t have right, that other humans did, and all its enemies found it, or other humans discovered it? No wonder the Voice had been upset.

How long did it take to become big and strong? To be human? How would it know if it was doing it right?

Hopefully not too long. Hopefully its Important Person just has funny hands, and it can grow and disappear once it finishes learning all its human lessons.

Hopefully.

(What he doesn’t know is that Pa has already decided to cut off the extra weight, regardless of how ready either of them are)

It doesn’t take long after going to his new home to learn that he is Stanley, and his brother (what his Important Person’s title is) is Stanford. He is a boy, and he is very healthy. Stanford is a boy also, who is very healthy, except he does not have the correct number of fingers.

But the doctors say they all work, and there is nothing to be done, so maybe they are just the wrong number for everyone else, and right for Stanford. This makes sense, because Stanford is Very Important.

Stanley learns a lot from Stanford, just like the Voice promised. He learns how to move, how to make sounds, what to eat, and what sounds make eating happen. Stanford makes different faces when he makes different sounds, and that, combined with what Ma tells them, teaches him what different emotions look like.

So, Ma was happy to meet them, and Pa was not. The Voice was mad at Stanford, and not anything at all to him.

Most importantly, he learns what Stanford is feeling, and what things make him feel that way.

Stanford is happy when Ma reads, or there are lovely sounds, or when he sees Stanley. He is angry when Stanley has something he wants, or something breaks, or when Pa is loud. Tiredness happens after being awake for too long, and sadness if something happens he doesn't understand.

Scared happens when they go back to the hospital. Pa is not happy about his extra special finger.

When they are three years and two months old, they go to their final visit. Like always, the doctor says they have looked over everything, and there is nothing to be done. The finger will stay, and Pa will not waste any more money on a bunch of idiots who don’t know what they’re doing.

Stanley nods, because doctors are idiots. Stanford’s finger is extra special, so there was never anything to be done about it. He decides he is happy not to go back. The hospital makes Stanford scared and sad, and he does not like it when Stanford feels those things. They’re uncomfortable to copy, and he already knew there was nothing wrong.

But Stanford is not happy. He is so not happy that he is sad.

Stanley hears him crying, late at night under the covers. It’s not hard, since they share a room and also a bed. Pa says he’ll split them up when they’re older, but for now they’re small enough to share. Stanford has curled up in the dark, keeping Stanley awake.

With a sigh, he grabs a flashlight, then goes under as well. He doesn’t understand what the problem is, they’re done with the hospital, and Stanford’s finger is special. His brother should be happy, not crying under the covers in the middle of the night, when Stanley would much rather be sleeping.

“Hey,” he asks quietly, “Why are you crying.”

Stanford sniffs, then holds up his hand, wiggling his fingers.

“S’not right,” he mumbles back, peeking over his knees, “Pa said its wrong, and that it’s too bad I had ‘em.”

“Pa’s wrong. You got special hands, because you’re special, see!” Stanley says, then reaches up and grabs his brother’s hand, squeezing it. Stanley’s fingers fit perfectly in between each one, just like he made them to do. Unfortunately, this just makes his brother sob harder, pulling Stanley’s hand in close and counting the fingers.

Stanley lets him, shifting uncomfortably. He knew Stanford was Important and special, because the Voice told him, so why didn’t Stanford just… know? Even though he’d been worried, all of Stanford’s lessons have been correct.

People like it when Stanley uses word sounds, just like Stanford. When he is sad, Ma comes and helps him, just like Stanford. When he is angry, Pa yells at him, just like Stanford. No one even suspects Stanley might not be human, because he’s learned so much from his brother.

Slowly it dawns on him what happened. Stanford thinks the finger is wrong, because Stanley hasn’t copied it! It’s a lesson Stanley’s been ignoring! He slapped his face, ignoring his brother’s questioning look. Why had he listened to the Voice? The Voice told him to copy Stanford after all.

It had also told him not to change in front of humans, but he was correcting a mistake, so this should be fine. Plus, no one else was there but them, and Stanford was his Important Person.

Satisfied, he focused on his hand and gave himself an extra finger. It was harder than it had been when he was a baby, but he remembered the feeling enough that after a minute his extra finger squeezed the outside of Stanford’s hand.

There, problem solved.

He grins at his brother, expressing his happiness for solving the issue. Stanford stared back with wide eyes, quickly snatching his hand away. Then he quickly grabbed the hand again, turning it in the light of the flashlight and counting the fingers, over and over again.

“I fixed it,” Stanley said proudly, wiggling his fingers, “now we both have special fingers! So it can’t be bad.”

A small grin crept onto Stanford’s face, and he slowly interlaced their fingers again, switching his back and forth, so different fingers were on the outside. After a while the grin faded, and he scowled.

“No, go back,” he said, fixing the grip again, “it doesn’t feel right anymore.”

Now Stanley was the one frowning, even as he shifted his hands back and made Stanford smile.

That didn’t make sense. He was supposed to have fixed the problem, copy Stanford the correct way and making him happy. But Stanford was happy with his hands like this, cradled between each of his own as they laid back down on their pillows and turned off the flashlight.

Stanley listened to his brother’s breathing as he fell asleep, thinking. Perhaps he had it the wrong way. Maybe he was the one learning wrong, and that’s why Stanford kept getting upset. It made sense, in a way.

Sometimes the words Stanford used got looks of confusion or outrage, instead of praise like he wanted, and sometimes he was sad or mad over silly things, like foods feeling wrong or tasting funny. Maybe Stanley wasn’t supposed to learn by copying him exactly, but by seeing what he was doing, and doing the opposite. Or seeing what went wrong, and then doing it the right way.

Like when Stanford asked Ma for candy, then got sad when she said no, but Stanley asked Ma for a special treat for all his hard work, and got a kiss and a cookie. It also explained why Stanford got so happy with very boring things, like long words or books without pictures, and scared of silly things, like Stanley’s secret dead bug snack pile (although that scared Ma too, so he was a little unsure).

From now on, Stanley would learn how to use his word sounds by watching Stanford and seeing where he went wrong, and doing it better. Then he’d learn what made Stanford happy, and do the opposite. If he liked reading, then Stanley would… like drawing! It couldn’t be too hard, and soon enough he’d be the most convincing human anyone had ever seen.

Smiling, he threw an arm over his brother, making plans to fix everything.

(What he didn’t know was that this memory would fade, until his brother brushed it off as the stressful dream of a scared child, after one final visit that determined his future as an outcast)

Despite Sixer being the best bro and also Important, it didn’t take long to realize other human children didn’t like him.

Stanley couldn’t understand it. Sure, he had a different number of fingers, and he got his words mixed up, but that just made him cool and funny! No one knew as much as he did, or was as good at solving problems, or the best brother in the world.

They didn’t like Stanley either, but that was more understandable. They could probably sense he wasn’t human or something, since he seemed to struggle being one the older he got. No matter what he did or how he acted, Pa was never impressed, and all the teachers at school said he was a trouble maker and a bad influence.

It was fine though, as long as he had Sixer to help him, he didn’t need anyone else (And the grown-ups were fooled by his humanness, even if he was a bad one).

If only his brother felt the same way.

“I just wish I could fit in,” Sixer said, when they were eight years old, sitting on the beach, “Could be normal. Then maybe…”

“Maybe shmaybe,” Stanley shot back, plopping down next to him, “Those jerks would just find some other thing to smack talk about. And who wants to fit in with them, you got me!”

“I guess, it’s just…” Sixer sighed, then curled his fingers, “I just wish there were other people like me. People who didn’t fit in.”

“Like I said, you got me!” Stanley reached around and wrapped an arm around his brother’s shoulders, “I don’t fit in either, if it wasn’t for you, I’d be wanderin’ the beach all by my lonesome.”

“No you wouldn’t,” Sixer said, and Stanley frowned as his brother hid his face in his knees, “If it wasn’t for me, you’d have all kinds of friends. People would like you.”

“No, they wouldn’t”

“Yes, they would.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

Stanley sighed, then let go of his brother and flopped into the sand, staring at the sky. How could he explain that if it weren’t for Sixer, he’d be a nobody. That everything he was, he was because of his brother.

The Voice had been very clear, he wasn’t to do any shifting in front of anyone. He only ever did it late at night, under his blankets where no one could see him. He’d gotten pretty good at faces and colors, and making fingers. He was working on extra arms, but it was a process.

Staring at the clouds, he made a decision. Sixer already knew he could make new fingers, so he already knew he wasn’t normal. In fact, he’d probably think a shapeshifting twin brother would be the coolest thing ever. All he had to do was figure out a way to tell him that wouldn’t reveal himself to unseen eyes.

Eyes.

Sitting up, Stanley grabbed his brothers face and jerked it towards him, staring deeply into his twin’s brown eyes.

“Sixer, I’m going to tell you a secret, that you absolutely can’t tell anyone, ya got me?” Stanley whispered, leaning forwards until their foreheads were touching.

“Um. OK?”

“Look deep into my eyes.”

Sixer nodded, and Stanley winked. Then he changed his own eyes, turning them blue, then green, then back to brown. Sixer gasped, grabbing Stanley’s face and turning it in the light.

“How’d you do that!” Stanley winked, then turned them two different colors, then back to brown. Then he pulled his head away, grabbed Sixer’s, and whispered his secret.

“Woah.” Sixer breathed, looking appropriately amazed, “Secret-”

“Shh!” Stanley shoved his hands over Sixer’s mouth, then quickly looked around the beach. There wasn’t anyone else out, but you never knew who could be there and just invisible.

“Told ya, you can’t tell anyone. All kindsa bad guys would be after me, and they’d take me away.”

Sixer licked his hand, then pouted when he pulled away and shouted.

“But I have so many questions! You can’t drop that on me and not expect questions!”

True, it was kind of a big deal. Stanley nodded, then stood, peering around the beach. It was too open and exposed, so he grabbed his brother’s hand, and ran across the sand, looking for the perfect spot. The boardwalk had too many people, home had their parents, and the ocean could have mermaids.

No where was safe really.

Eventually he stopped at a spot further up the beach, near a rockier area. It wasn’t perfect, but it also wasn’t full of people, or out in the open, so it’d have to do. He pulled his brother down to sit next to him, then grabbed his head, quietly whispering everything he knew into his ear.

Everything about the Voice, and how he was pretending to be human to be safe. How he was learning how to blend in, so that he could disappear if the bad guys ever tried to get him. How Stanford was so special, they had decided that he was the best person to help Stanley learn.

“Woah,” Sixer said, nearly half an hour later and looking amazed, “I wonder… do you think the voice was you Ma? Or you Pa?”

“My what?” Stanley shot back, shocked that this was the first thing his brother asked, and not how he could change colors or what he really looked like (he didn’t actually know, just what to do to make sure he didn’t get sick)

“Well, if they told you everything, they must be you parent, since you’re…” Sixer trailed off, looking dejected, “not actually my twin. I guess.”

“Yes I am!” Stanley punched him in the arm, ignoring his shout of pain, “I’m your twin bro, no matter what, and Ma is my Ma and Pa is my Pa. The Voice is just, like. A guy. Who was around. They don’t matter, and I didn’t tell you to make you all sad, so stop!”

Sixer kicked a rock, then frowned at him, “Then why did you tell me, if you didn’t want to make me upset.”

Stanley rolled his now brown eyes. Really, his brother could be such a goof.

“So you know I’m like you, duh!” Stanley hooked an arm around his shoulders again, shaking his head, “I’m not some normal kid who’d be happier without you. I’m happy, because I have you! If it wasn’t for you, I wouldn’t be here! So don’t go talking like that ever again!”

Sixer nodded, still looking unsure. There was only one thing for it then.

“Wanna go see a dead jellyfish?”

“Where!”

They got up and ran back down the beach, Stanley leading the way as he dashed out ahead towards where he’d seen a giant blob earlier that day. Sixer oohed and aahed over it, and together they studied it. Sixer pulled out a notebook, while Stanley helpfully poked it with a stick.

By the evening his brother’s bad mood had been forgotten, and they winked playfully at each other over the dinner table. When it was time for bed, Stanley didn’t even make sure to see if Sixer was asleep before he started practicing under the blanket, secure in the knowledge that his bro would always have his back.

(What he didn’t know was that a few days later, Stanford would go to the library and read about how light reflecting through eyes can make them appear to be different colors. The vibrant colors of Stanley’s display had faded from his memory, and he will simply smile at his brother’s cleverness and attempts to make him feel better.)

The Stan’O’War was a game changer. Truly a sign that Stanley hadn’t been doing things wrong all these years, that all the struggles and bullying hadn’t been for nothing.

Stanley wasn’t supposed to try to and fit into human society, he was supposed to rescue Sixer from it.

Once they hit eighteen Stanley would take Sixer to all kinds of distant lands, hidden from human eyes. They’d explore the sunken mermaid cities, the forbidden mountain lairs, find treasures lost to time and break into secret wizard libraries. He’d show Sixer all the wonderful, strange things, hidden just out of human sight. All the places they could belong, together.

But first, they had to graduate high school, and Stanley needed to make sure he could protect his brother from all the various supernatural creatures out there. Simply changing his face and colors wouldn’t be enough, he needed to go bigger.

People and colors were easy after all, now that he was older, and he’d figured out how to change just parts of himself years ago. Now he wanted to focus on what he could do to make himself tougher, more dangerous. The boxing lessons had helped, showed him how to change his bones so they wouldn’t break as easy, and how to harden his skin to act like gloves when he was outside the ring.

Now he wanted to try something a bit more… creative. There was no telling what kinds of dangerous monsters lived in the uncharted waters, so he needed to be prepared. He’d already figured out some useful tricks, and now he was trying to learn how to breath underwater.

The cave they found their boat in was perfect. No one ever went there, it had water, and now that they were in middle school and Sixer was doing more after school nerd clubs, he had time to sneak out by himself and practice, without worrying about leaving Sixer behind. His brother would work on all the boring parts of being adventuring sailors, and Stan would work on this.

If he could just figure out how to get his lungs working.

“Blegh!” Stanley coughed, popping out of the water and dragging himself to the rocks. The book he’d brought had been sorta helpful in explaining how gills worked, the issue was he couldn’t figure out how to fix his human lungs. They kept filling with water and freaking out, making him drown even as he was breathing.

He coughed up the rest of the water, then flopped onto the ground, groaning.

“You need to cut off the waterflow from going into your throat,” the Voice said, making him jump.

He jerked his head up and scrambled away, eyes wild as he saw the Voice sitting down next to his backpack and pile of books, holding one in their hands and flipping through it. They looked like an old man, with short grey hair, tanned wrinkled skin, and wearing fishing gear. Indistinguishable from any of the sailors who worked on the docks or occasionally walked down the beach.

But they were the Voice, Stan knew it like he knew how to change faces.

“That’s why you’re struggling,” the Voice continued, “You’re breathing with both sets at the same time, instead of switching over from one to the other.”

“What’s it to ya?” Stanley asked, hunching in the water and glaring, “Why do you care if I’m breathing wrong. And why are you here.”

“My spawn is so rude to me,” the Voice said, smirking at Stanley’s glower, “here I am, helping you out of the kindness of my heart, and not even a hello.”

“Hello. What do you want.”

“I want you to survive and was worried about all the sneaking you’d been doing lately,” the Voice said, closing the book and setting it back down on top of Stanley’s backpack, “you’re lucky you blend in so well. Everyone thinks you’re going around town causing mischief. Imagine my surprise to see you partially shifting into animals. That’s an advanced technique, especially since you learned it all on your own.”

Despite his irritation about being interrupted, Stanley felt himself warm at the praise. No one ever said he was good at anything except Sixer, and hearing he was such a good human was the best kind of praise there was. The shapeshifting stuff was cool also, he supposed, but if they thought his terrible gills were something to brag about, Stanley was about to blow them out of the water.

“This is nothing, watch this!” Stanley stood up out of the water and curled his hands, giving them fish scales, webbing, and talons. Then he wiggled his shirt off and let red wings uncurl (the Jersey Devil had been a great example on how to properly connect them to his back), flicking off the water and stretching them.

He beamed at the Voice, glad to see their shocked expression as he shifted them away, then clicked his tongue and let flames spark out (he didn’t know how to breathe it yet without burning his mouth, but the Jersey Devil showed it was possible).

For his final performance he grew two extra arms, then flexed them, showing off his huge muscles.

“Amazing,” the Voice breathed, grinning slightly, “Extra limbs are incredibly rare, and you already have full movement.”

“Psh,” Stanley let his shifts drop until he was back to his human one, then slicked his hair back and puffed out his chest, “limbs are easy. Its just like making fingers, only bigger.”

“I suppose so,” the Voice agreed, then looked him up and down, “Try not to sneak out so much, you’re worrying your base, and I don’t want to come rescue you just because you’re too eager to practice.”

With that they stood up and brushed themselves off, then turned to make their way out of the cave.

“Wait!” Stanley shouted, scrambling after them. They paused, then turned as he ran over, giving him an expectant look. Once he got closer, he stopped, then shuffled in place.

“Have you been watching me this whole time? And What am I supposed to call you?” he asked. They were the one who gave him to Sixer, and he was pretty sure it was their job to keep him safe, if what they meant about rescuing was true (even if he didn’t need rescuing, since Sixer already knew he was a shapeshifter). He didn’t really think about the Voice, now that he was older and had Sixer, but….

But they’d never talked to each other before, and now he didn’t want them to go without knowing their name.

“Yes. Less so now that you’re older and know how to blend in better, but I always keep track of my spawn until they're old enough to fend for themselves.” They stopped, then seemed to think. After a moment they reached over and ruffled his hair, then grimaced and pulled away, shaking the water off.

“Call me Maurice.”

“You got it dad.” Stanley said, grinning at the scowl that crossed Maurice’s face.

“Don’t. I’m not your dad, or your mom. I gave that job to the Pines for a reason.”

“No worries,” Stanley nodded, crossing his arms and giving them an appraising eye, “I get it. You’re too embarrassed at how cool your son is. Well dad, not to worry, I won’t let my coolness outshine your… old manness. Once I’m older and famous, I’ll tell everyone I learned everything from you, so you can feel better about yourself.”

“This is why I hate children,” Maurice said, glaring at him, “Don’t try to seek me out, I’ll come to you. And don’t call me dad!”

They turned and stomped off, grumbling angrily as they made their way out of the cave. Stanley watched them go, then went back into the pool of water.

He had to figure out how to turn his lungs off after all.

(What he does know is that Maurice is always watching, even if he can’t see them. They rarely seek him out, and only ever in the cave. They tell him more about Covens, and Courts, and all the other groups out there that would love to snatch Stanley up if he isn’t careful. Then he’d never see Sixer again.

Stanley makes sure to be very, very careful.)

Stanley didn’t know what to do. A month ago, he’d had it all figured out. Even a week ago he’d been nervous but still knew where he was going in life.

Less than an hour ago everything he thought he knew had been tossed out and stomped to the ground.

Now he was parked by the docks, duffle bag still sitting next to him as he leaned on the steering wheel and cried his eyes out. In a few months they were supposed to have graduated, and he and Sixer would sail away, off to explore and discover the secrets of the unseen world, together.

Human society was terrible after all, better to be lost with the strange and unknowable, living every day with a new adventure on the horizon and his brother by his side. Now he had no brother, and those dreams felt like ash in his mouth. What was the point of sailing, if Ford wasn’t there to marvel at the wonders next to him.

Now he had to make millions, or he’d never see his family again.

Someone opened the passenger side door, and he glanced over to see Maurice, tossing the duffle into the backseat and climbing in to sit next to him. They looked like a teenage girl, with long dark hair and wearing bell bottoms and a green flowy shirt. They’d blend in with any girl at his high school, which was creepy because he knew they had to be much older than any human he knew.

Stanley sniffed, then wiped his eyes and tried to pretend he hadn’t been bawling less than a second ago. It didn’t work, judging from the awkward shoulder pat Maurice gave him and the muttered ‘I hate it when they cry’ he heard.

“What do you want.” He sniffed, glaring out at the ocean. Didn’t they know he wanted to be alone forever and ever and was also the worst? Couldn’t this wait until the morning, when he could pretend everything was fine and that he loved living on his own.

“Well,” Maurice said, hand still awkwardly placed on his shoulder, “you’re technically still under age, and my spawn. It’s my responsibility to make sure you have the best possible chances of survival. I just didn’t think I had to do it so soon.”

“What, you were gonna wait till I hit eighteen, then swoop down and do… whatever this is?” Stanley grumbled, shrugging off the hand and crossing his arms on the wheel, resting his head on top.

“Yes.”

That just made him want to cry harder. Would they have even set sail then, if Maurice came and pulled Stanley away for what he was assuming was some kind of shapeshifter puberty or survival camp. Was the whole universe so against him being with his brother? His twin? His most Important Person?

It was unfair and made him shove his face into his arms as his eyes started burning and something twisted painfully in his chest.

“There, there,” Maurice said, hand now awkwardly patting his head, “I’m sure your base will forgive you eventually. The two of you are an extremely close pair, just give him some time to cool off. Filbrick is another matter, but that’s on me.”

Stanley shot them a look, but all they did was smile like they were afraid he was going to bite them.

“Just spit it out already, what do you want.” he muttered, turning back to look at the sea, watching the black abyss stare back at him. When it was this dark the night sky bled into the waves, making it nearly impossible to find the horizon. The only light was from the street lamps, illuminating the beach and the closest waves.

It was almost like he was all alone in the world, looking out at it. Just him and his car, lost in a blackened sea with no hope of finding land.

Maurice was kind of ruining the mood, sitting next to him and making it so he wasn’t actually as alone and lost as he felt.

“Simple,” they said, pulling their hand away and making themselves comfortable, “you’re coming with me, and I’m going to teach you everything you need to know. What you can do as a shapeshifter, jobs you can work, which groups are worth working for, and which ones to stay clear of. Since you’re my spawn, you can use some of my contacts to get you started, until you make your own. You’ll have a lot of options and opportunities to choose from, since you’re so versatile.”

Stanley wanted to say no. To kick them out of his car, drive off, and forget everything existed. Wake up tomorrow and set off on his own to make the fortune his family wanted. Earn his spot back, and hopefully get Sixer to forgive him.

But he also didn’t know how to do that, and supernatural creatures would probably pay him in treasure. If he could use his skills to do a lot of jobs, then he could make those millions even faster, and go home to shove it all in pa’s face. Then he could pay for Ford to go to his fancy college, earn his forgiveness, and the two of them could finally set off together, just like they promised all those years ago.

“Fine,” he said, wiping his face and sitting up. Maurice slumped forwards, and Stanley heard them mutter ‘thank god’, then buckle themself in. Ignoring them, he started his car, and pulled out of the parking lot, driving back into town.

“We’ll go to my place,” Maurice said, “then tomorrow I’ll teach you everything I know.”

(What he learns is that shapeshifters are valuable, and his skills even more so. That there are lines he doesn’t feel comfortable crossing, and that Maurice won’t push him to either. That Maurice hates being called mom or dad, but that he enjoys how uncomfortable it makes them, so keeps doing it anyway. That it is more to shapeshifting than changing his shape, that he needs papers, and identities, and people who aren’t his friends, but aren’t his enemies either.

That he has the skills to become whoever he wants, whenever he wants, except for the person he wants to be most.

That Stanley Pines vanished the day he’s kicked out, and barely anyone noticed.)

(If he shifted his own hands, so that one slotted perfectly into the other, that was no one’s business but his own)

The moment Stanley’s savings started getting into the triple digits, he checked in on Ford. He couldn’t see him, not until he got back all the money he owed him, but maybe he could work on paying some of it back now, while his brother was going to college. Then he wouldn’t have to worry about his finances and just focus on doing all the studying he wanted.

It didn’t take long to track him down, six months after Stanley had been kicked out. The college didn’t look the best, in his opinion, but Ford had always been smarter than him, so maybe there was something there Stanley didn’t know about. Whatever it was, it wasn’t their security system, as it took him no time at all to break in, find his brother’s information, and start paying off whatever hadn’t already been covered by scholarships.

Which really wasn’t that much, to his disappointment. Looked like he needed to figure something else out. Like maybe just breaking into the bank and depositing money straight into Ford’s account. Except banks were way harder to break into, and he didn’t know which one was Fords, or if he even had a bank account actually.

Eventually he decided to just mail money directly to his brother as a secret admirer and hope for the best, then keep an eye on anything that Ford might be interested in in the future. If he couldn’t pay for his schooling, then maybe he could fund other stuff, like nerd research or better pest control. Or even buy him a house, once he hit two thousand in savings.

How much did a house cost anyway?

Much more than two thousand it turned out, and also Ford might want to live somewhere else besides his college town, so better to keep saving and mail Ford a few hundred whenever he could. And by mail he meant sticking it in an envelope, writing Ford’s name on it, then sneaking into his dorm and shoving it under his door.

In the meantime, he did more jobs with Maurice. Mostly sneaking into places and spying on people, then writing or recording everything people said and putting it in envelopes into lockers and then going to other lockers to find cash. Most of the time it was for normal humans too, not even anything interesting like vampires or fae. Very boring stuff actually.

But it paid well, and after a year Maurice let him do fun things, like stealing. There were so many things people wanted stolen (human or otherwise), and so many places that were built for that not to happen. Luckly Stanley was already pretty good at picking locks and acting like he was supposed to be places he wasn’t, so all he really needed was experience and a few new faces.

It also helped that he knew how to climb walls, fly (eventually and not really that quietly and he had to close his eyes to do it or even try), breathe underwater, and become anyone important who actually was supposed to be at the places he was breaking into. All he really had to learn was to check to see if they weren’t already in the building.

As the months turned to years, and Stanley did more jobs by himself and less with Maurice, he started making a few more permanent characters.

Andrew Alcatraz was for when he needed to be intimidating. Stenson Pinefield was for blending in and looking boring. Hal Forester for when he needed to appear just as untrustworthy as he actually was. Madam Mystery for when he needed to be more mature, and Mr. Mystery for when he needed to be bold.

Pan Stines had been a panic shift that turned into a very useful distraction, later on when he needed people to see him without actually seeing him.  

He changed his height, hair, gender, anything and everything, in order to sell the lie that all these people actually existed. Maurice found his love of high stakes heists dangerous, but they were also the type to sit six hours in a café to listen in on a two-minute conversation to avoid suspicion and consider it thrilling, so what did they know.

All the while half his funds went into his brother, making sure he never had to worry about money. When his school’s funding got cut, he gave them a generous donation (and wheezed at all the zeros, but it was for Ford, so he managed to power through). When one of his scholarships fell through, Stanley snuck in and paid off the difference, then went through his mail to shred the notification letter. When he moved out of the dorms with his new friend and the landlord tried to unexpectedly double the rent, Stanley broke into their house and had a very nice conversation about taking advantage of those in need.

When his brother moved into the middle of Deep Country, Stanley made sure to cover the expense of his move, then put in more funding for his research specifically. A part of him wanted to go visit, to burst into his life again, eager to show him everything there was to see in the center of magic itself.

But he hadn’t earned his forgiveness yet, and until he did, he couldn’t see him.

The next several years were focused on doing more and more jobs. Anything that paid big, even if it was only a few thousand dollars. Making new people was expensive, and funding his brother’s research took priority over everything else. He had to find ways to make up the difference, taking more under the table requests, breaking into places that were more and more dangerous. Or being muscle, supernatural or otherwise, terrifying others into doing things or giving others money.

Stanley didn’t care. All he cared about was hitting that goal and not letting himself get tied down to any one client.

Shapeshifters were rare after all. They only laid one egg at a time, and the survival rate wasn’t amazing. Most organizations would pay a lot to get one on their pay roll permanently, but that was also dangerous. Maurice had explained it when they were first teaching him the ins and outs of freelance shapeshifter work.

The more he tied himself to one group, the more their enemies became his. The more they could demand of him, the more they could force him to do things he didn’t want. They’d target people close to him, to try and control him if he started acting out of line. A common tactic was to kidnap their base, then hold them hostage and force cooperation.

Stanley couldn’t let that happen. Not to Ford.

But freelance was also dangerous, because while he didn’t have a huge amount of enemies, he also didn’t have that many allies if things went south for him. All he could rely on was himself, and the few other free lance shifters in his circle, if they were willing to stick their necks out for him.

It was better than putting Ford in danger though, and Stanley Pines didn’t need anyone besides himself to get by. (Maurice had been very helpful, but they also kicked him out after two years and told him never to contact them unless it was an emergency, so).

(What he learned was that there were few pieces of his soul he wasn’t willing to smother in order to see his family again. To survive, when break ins became blood baths and he had to drag himself through rough terrain to escape notice. That pissing off high-ranking members of criminal organizations wasn’t worth a few extra hundred and a laugh. That not a lot of enemies didn’t mean none, and that there were ways of holding down shapeshifter’s besides touching their base.

The best material to make teeth to chew through metal. The heat of the desert in a small, cramped space. The agony of dragging himself through the dry wasteland, and the embarrassment of calling Maurice to come pick him up.

The look on their face when they saw him, huddled by a payphone and soaked in green blood.

But he’d survived, and that was all that mattered)

Off the coast of California was a deep-sea vault, built by mermaids centuries ago to keep their most precious treasures safe. Then abandoned when the dolphin wars got too heated. There were a few interested parties that were willing to pay a generous sum to anyone able and willing to try and break in and pull those treasures out of the water. Some of them were even willing to pay to keep them in the water.

Stanley didn’t care, all he cared about was that the reward (not including whatever else he’d be able to smuggle out) would finally be enough for him to go home, and that he’d been doing gills since he was ten years old.

What he hadn’t done was use them in the middle of the ocean, so it took a few false starts (and stolen boating equipment) to figure out how to shift his body so it wouldn’t get crushed under the weight of the sea and how to make himself fat enough he wouldn’t freeze to death. Then going back to shore to eat enough to actually hold the shift long term and get down to where he needed to be.

The deep-sea vault was… really, really, dark, which he also didn’t think about, and had to spend too long trying to figure out how to make himself bioluminescent and fix his eyes and ears to see better. Then he smashed his head into walls as he made his way through the crumbling hallways and tried not to scream when anything touched him.

Eventually, through trial and error (and thank God this place had been abandoned. He’d have been caught so fast if he was trying to break in), he managed to get to the vault. It was a large pink shell door, set on the ground with a fancy lock. A fancy lock that hadn’t been replaced or maintained in a few centuries and was so outdated he actually managed to physically break it before he figured out how to pick it open.

The shell opened up to a vertical chamber, full of small drawers and with a few shelves holding treasure chests. Stanley started from the top, then moved around the room downwards, grabbing anything that looked valuable and sticking into the bag he’d brought with him, keeping an eye out for the things his clients had asked for specifically.

The mermaids had wanted some royal artifacts and were willing to let him take anything else he wanted. A Siren had asked him to retrieve a family heirloom that had been lost, some fancy shell necklace that held the voice of some talented singer. Rico, his most frequent employer and leader of one of the largest Packs in the south, wanted a whole list of enchanted items (half of which were on the mermaids list).

He'd be tempted to give the wolf everything, if he could get away with swindling mermaids. Unfortunately, they could taste lies, lived in the ocean (the place he planned to live eventually), and were also meeting him a few miles away, so there was no way he could sneak them by. Rico would just have to live with his half-list, and Stan would just tell him the mermaids got there first.

Stanley packed up his bag with as much as he could carry, then swam back through the dark halls (cursing and bashing his head all the while) and back up to his boat. Then he unloaded and went back down for more. The mermaid artifacts were mostly small pieces of jewelry, but there were a few larger weapons, a shield, some kind of fancy scale blanket, and some other odds and ends that made no sense to him. He sorted it together in its own separate pile as he stumbled upon each item, then put the sirens necklace and Rico’s things on their own as well. It was on his fifth trip, halfway through Rico’s list and mostly through the mermaids, that he discovered why no one had wanted to come down before.

The sea serpent had not been pleased to see him when it came back from its hunt. He hadn’t been pleased to see it either, since he’d get paid less with less goods. Thankfully it hadn’t ever had to chase a shapeshifter through its home, because otherwise Stanley would have been taken out immediately. He’d only just figured out a rhythm for swimming in his deep-sea shift and had never had to fight underwater before.

The resulting chase through the dark water, half blind and learning how to use echolocation while also trying to lose a thirty-foot water snake had been terrifying, and not one he ever wanted to repeat.

But it was worth it, after he swam it in a knot and put all his energy into getting as far away as possible before going back up to his boat. The deliveries he made (even if Rico’s had been very uncomfortable) were finally enough to put him over that one million mark.

Stanley Pines was going home.

It had taken ten years, doing some of the worst jobs and selling the skills he’d learned for his brother to the highest bidder, but it was worth it. He’d drive up to the pawn shop, burst through the door, and shove all the money in Pa’s face. Then he’d scoop up his Ma and twirl her in his arms, kiss his baby brother, and call Ford, this time finally saying something. Ford would finally forgive him, and they’d go on the adventure of a life time, laughing and telling stories about all the years they’d missed.

Stanley’s excitement lasted all the way to his safe house, where he cleaned up, stood in the mirror to look at his own face-

And stopped.

Stanley Pines had disappeared at seventeen, and hadn’t worn his own face since. He couldn’t bear to, couldn’t look at the near perfect replica of his brother without being reminded of how he screwed up.

After ten years, the seventeen-year-old face stared back.

He didn’t know what he was supposed to look like.

Didn’t know what Ford was supposed to look like. In all the years, he’d taken great pains to avoid his brother, even as he kept tabs on him. The temptation to run (either to or away) would have been too great, and he was too afraid of what would happen if Ford tried to talk to him.

But it meant he didn’t know how he grew. When did the final baby fat fade away, how strong was his jaw line. Any extra inches in height? Frame? Had his hair gotten thinner? His face less pock marked? Stanley had always added little differences to his shift, more muscles, larger shoulders, and he hadn’t realized Ford’s chin was growing differently until it had been too late to try and copy it, but the changes had been small, and in the end, they were still visibly near identical twins.

Now his brother was twenty-eight years old, and he had no idea how he’d changed.

He couldn’t go home like this. Sure, he could try to visit Ford as someone else, then come back later with how he thought Stanley would look at that age, but it wouldn’t be the same. Wouldn’t be the same as seeing his brother grow and change, and slowly shift his form to match. Wouldn’t be the same as seeing his brother for first time, face to face as brothers.

And Ford knew he was a shapeshifter. What if he recognized him, then got angry he’d shown up as someone else. What if he got angry he showed up as his seventeen self, then threw him out before he could explain he had all the money.

What if, what if, what if.

He tried to fix his shift, hands clutching the sink as he stared into the mirror, eyes desperately scanning his ever changing face. None of it looked right. His hair was too long, or he felt too tall. Too much like Pa, then not enough. Too skinny, too broad, too hairy, not hairy enough. The curls didn’t sit right, nothing sat right.

Several hours later, gripping the sink and trying to choke down the dust in the room, Stanley Pines, seventeen years old and not a day older, realized the truth.

He’d disappeared a long time ago, and now he could never go home.

(He always knew this. The moment the curtains closed, he’d known. But he had hoped, and he had wished, and he had tried. Because if he didn’t, then he would have nothing at all.

He was alone.)

A few months later Stanley was laying down on the couch with a box of discount valentines’ day chocolate, eating his feelings away, when the phone rang. He startled at the sound, then sighed.

What was the point of answering it. What was the point of anything.

He ignored the sound, stuffing more chocolate in his mouth and staring at the ceiling. Eventually it stopped, and he went back to trying to shift himself into a pile of goo.

Goo had it easy. It just lay there, not caring about anything. Truly the lifestyle of kings.

His gooification was interrupted when the phone rang again, and he sighed. Probably should answer it, just to tell them to go away and let him goo in peace.

Dragging himself off the couch, he stuffed the rest of the chocolate in his mouth, then shuffled over to the phone. It rang a few more times, and he picked it up, sighing.

“What.” He said, leaning forward against the wall. He hoped it was someone asking for a job, so he could tell them he had died or something. That’d be fun, telling all his clients he’d died, then crawling under a log and becoming moss. He’d just have to send all his money to Ford first, since moss didn’t need to buy things or have families.

“Wow,” Maurice said, “try to be a bit more enthusiastic.”

“No.”  Stanley shot back, staring at his feet. He’d never tried to become a plant, but it couldn’t be that different from animals or fish really.

“Ahh. My spawn, always so rude to me,” Maurice chuckled, but Stanley just sighed, then leaned further against the wall and slid down it, until he was sitting on the ground, slumped against the cabinet holding the phone.

“I’m going to ignore whatever slump you’re in,” they said, after he didn’t respond, “and just get straight to the point. I have a job for you.”

“No.” Stanley said, then reached up and put the phone back in the cradle. Since he was already on the floor, he focused on his hand and tried to make it mossy. It had just turned a sort of green color, when the phone rang again.

With a sigh, he reached up and grabbed it.

“I’m going to let that one slide,” Maurice said, “because you’re clearly going through something. I need you to-”

Stan hung the phone up again, then groaned when it rang immediately.

“If you hang up again,” Maurice said, voice cold, “I will track you down and make you regret crawling out of your egg. Now listen, it involves a kid.”

“I thought you didn’t do child trafficking.” Neither did he, because that was a bit much, even for him. He preferred animal trafficking, because there was nothing funnier than giving some rich guy a fancy snake, then reading about how it got out and ate them or something.

“Quiet you, it’s a mentorship position.”

That got his attention. Mentorship meant that this was a lone shapeshifter kid, who’d lost or been abandoned by their spawner. It didn’t happen often, or at least it wasn’t discovered often, so to hear Maurice had found one was troubling. It could mean any number of things had happened.

“Why don’t you do it,” he said, frowning at his green hand. Maurice had been a good one for him, in that they left him alone unless something was happening in the area, or he was being too suspicious. Plus, they loved not working and having safe houses and spying on people like a creep.

“Because his parents know he’s a shapeshifter and want a more hands on mentor. The only reason I know about this is because their kid pointed me out, and the mom tackled me to the ground.”

That got a chuckle out of him. Maurice hated touching people, so it must have been terrifying for them. It also explained why they didn’t want to do it. Not only did they hate children, they hated talking to people.

Really, it was amazing Stanley came from them, considering how different they were. The power of a base he supposed.

“Why me,” he said, when his chuckles faded, “Don’t you know more experienced mentors? I’ve never done it.”

“A few reasons,” they replied, “The most recent one being hopefully it’ll get you out of whatever mood this is, but also because you actually like kids and attention. No one in my circle tends to do hands on mentoring.”

That made sense, because most of them were Maurice’s other spawn or Maurices’s spawners spawn. Technically Stanley’s siblings and aunts and uncles, but really more like distant cousins or work associates. He’d come from a long line of hands-off mentoring that resulted in the most loose knit, barely talking to each other community he’d ever seen. He only talked to Maurice so often because he liked to mess with them (and not because he was lonely).

Stanley sighed. Then he sighed again. Then he looked around his cheap safe house and sighed again.

“I guess don’t have anything better to do.” he said, letting his hand turn back into skin, “Where am I going.”

“Deep Country, and I’ll need you to show up as your base. It’s important. If you don’t, I’ll steal your car and sell it to one of your ex-wives.”

That really got his attention. He wrote the address on his arm by changing the colors, then got to his feet. Deep Country was lawless and wild, with more dangers in every corner than stars in the sky. Going as his base was even stranger. There was no way they knew about his family dilemma, and there was no telling what the reason might be. Could be strange Deep Country magic or something.

A base was private, to share with his base and his family only, or to display as he saw fit. Maurice had never asked to see his again after picking him up, so them asking was a big deal.

With another sigh, and a sad look at the couch and chocolate wrappers, he started packing his things and loading his car.

Ford lived in Oregan. Maybe he lived near Gravity Falls. Being closer might help him figure out what he wanted to do. If he wanted to approach him, or just.. watch over him. Like a creep.

Maybe he had more in common with Maurice than he thought. Chilling.

(Later, he’d attack Maurice with their worst nightmare. Father and Mothers’ day cards and telling him how much he appreciated them while putting his hand on their shoulder and trying to look them straight in the eye.

They deserved it, after what they did to him.)

The drive to Gravity Falls was made longer by the fact he had to stop a few times to ask for directions, then tell the gas station clerks that yes, his parents knew where he was, and no, he didn’t need to be in school. Thankfully no one asked to check his license, because he had not updated the one for this face, so it still had his real information that said he was twenty-eight and also expired.

The roads were a nightmare trying to navigate, still slightly iced over or barely plowed. It got worse as he got closer to town, and he had to stop to ask for directions, then drive up the worst back road he’d ever seen to get to someplace in the middle of the woods that probably hadn’t seen a plow all winter.

His car, faithful and steady as she was, crapped out right before the turn to the house, forcing him to climb out and walk the rest of the way. His mood, already down from his life, driving in winter, and having to now walk, was made worse when he saw the house.

Various windows were boarded up, and the yard was full of Keep Out signs and barbed wire. Two cars, one of them Maurice’s, were parked out front, already buried in the falling snow and the only reason he marched to the door, keeping a careful eye for bear traps or anything else that might be lurking unseen.

The place looked worse once he was closer. It looked like someone had broken down the door at some point, then hastily reattached it. Dark stains were around the frame, and he grimaced when he realized one of them was vaguely in the shape of a handprint. There was also glass everywhere, probably from the shattered window of the door, which had been boarded shut as well.

If Maurice called him up here to get killed or something, he’d come back as a ghost and haunt them.

Taking a deep breath, he stomped up onto the porch, then reached out and knocked on the door. He flinched as he heard something crash inside, then the sounds of running feet and shouting. Before he could second guess himself and turn around, the door flung open, spilling light from inside and perfectly illuminating the face of the man in front of him.

He looked terrible, pale and shaky, with wide eyes and bags underneath them. He was wearing slacks and a sweater vest, with a tan trench coat on top, splattered in ink and what looked suspiciously like blood. One hand was holding the door open, and the other was being held back by another man, because it was holding a crossbow.

Stanford Pines, his brother, looking like he hadn’t slept in a week.

“Who is it! Did you…” Ford trailed off as their eyes met, and he seemed to take in who was standing on the porch.

Stanley, wearing his seventeen year old shift and a red winter coat and warm beanie, stared back. The man wrenched the crossbow out of his brother’s hands and said something, but he missed what it was.

That’s because he turned and ran down the porch, ignoring the shouts from the house and trying to get back to his car as fast as possible. There was no way he was doing this. Not right now, and maybe not ever. He was right, facing his brother with his baby face was terrible and wrong, especially now that he knew what a fully grown Stanford was supposed to look like.

He didn’t make it far before someone tackled him to the ground, throwing him down into the snow and pinning his arms back. Stanley struggled, then brought his head up, trying to breathe and shake off the feeling of his shift freezing solid from the snow.

“Who are you!” Ford yelled, shoving his face down and therefore muffling anything Stanley would have said, “How do you know that face!”

“Stanford! Get off of him!” someone, probably the man from earlier, yelled, and Stanley wheezed as he felt extra weight press him into the snow. His kicking legs and attempts to get free were useless under the freezing temperatures. He hadn’t thought to give himself insulation, didn’t think he’d be shoved into the cold ground and crushed under the weight of his brother and some other guy.

“Ah, you’re here,” Maurice said, from somewhere nearby. The struggle on top of him stilled, and a moment later the hand holding his head down disappeared. He shot up, taking deep breathes and blinking at the blinding light, then glared at Maurice, standing to the side and looking very pleased with themself. They looked like a lumberjack, large with thick arms and curly red hair, wearing a heavy jacket and warm hat. It explained their deeper voice

“You knew.” He snarled, seething.

“Of course I did, why else would I call you.”

“What are you talking about,” Ford snapped, digging his knee into Stanley’s spine and making him squirm, “Who is this?”

Ouch. Hurtful. Did he really think Stanley would let others see this form that easily?

“Please Stanford,” Maurice said, walking closer and waving a hand, “I should think you’d recognize your own brother. Although, I’m not sure why he looks so young. I told you to come as your base.”

“This is my base!” Stanley shot back, trying to scootch out of Ford’s iron hold, “I didn’t- haven’t- it’s been a while, I, uh. Hadn’t-”

He looked away at the expression Maurice shot him, mumbling and trying to huddle further into his jacket.

“What, what’s happening. How is this Stanley!” Ford demanded, and Stanley could see him looking back and forth wildly, “Stanley’s my twin, he’s not- he shouldn’t be- this can’t be him!”

“It is if he missed seeing you grow up,” Maurice said softly, crouching down and awkwardly patting Stanley’s head, “if he didn’t know how you grew and changed, and wasn’t the type to try and guess it on his own.”

Ford went silent, but Stanley didn’t wait to see what would happen next. Now that he was less panicked, he focused, giving himself a lizard tail he slithered out and used to whack his brother in the face. Ford let go, then shouted when Stanley smacked him again, forcing him to roll off. Before he could get up, Maurice’s hand became steel, forcing him down to the ground, even as he tried to scramble away to freedom.

“None of that now,” they said, other hand pressing down on his back, “I told you, I needed a mentor, and you’re the most likely to do well hands on. The fact that it was your brother just made it more interesting.”

“I’ll kill you!” is what Stanley would have said, if his face wasn’t being shoved in the ground. Instead he let out a wordless shout, then wriggled uselessly on the ground, tail wiggling wildly before it got too cold to maintain. He couldn’t make more limbs, because they’d rip his clothes and make him even colder. Same with making himself bigger and making himself smaller wouldn’t help.

“That can’t be Stanley,” Ford said, cutting through Stanley’s thoughts, “My brother’s not a shapeshifter.”

Stanley froze. That didn’t make sense, he’d told Ford years ago he was a shapeshifter, his brother knew. They’d talked about it several times over the years, how Stanley’s cool shapeshifter abilities would come in handy to save the day when they were adventuring.

He reached up and waved his hand around when he heard Maurice try to say something, then pat their hand and gave them a thumbs up.

“You’re not going to try and run?” they asked. He wiggled his thumb, then did it more intensely when they didn’t let go. After a moment of intense thumb wiggling, they let go, and he popped up, gasping for breath and trying to rub warmth back into his face.

“Talking about this later,” he said pointing at Maurice, then rolled over to point at Ford, who was sitting in the snow next to him, “and what are you talking about, of course I’m a shapeshifter! I told you!”

“What?” Maurice and the guy (and who was that guy?) both yelled, looking from him to Ford.

“When did that happen!” They yelled, hands spasming before poking him in the shoulder, “You never said he knew!”

“Because I don’t know!” Ford cut in and getting to his feet, looking angry, “What are you talking about!”

“I told you!” Stanley said, getting up as well and dusting the half-melted snow off, then stepping back when he realized how close together everyone was, “When we were kids! I even showed you, remember!”

Stanley pointed to his eyes, then shifted the colors, turning them from brown to blue to green, then two different colors. Ford held up a hand, face red, before he paled. The hand moved to cover his mouth, and his gaze seemed to through Stanley into the surrounding woods.

“Yes I- I do remember that. But-but- We talked about it?”

Everyone stared at Ford, and the guy smacked himself in the face.

“Of course we talked about it,” Stanley yelled, throwing his hands in the air, “I told you when I figured out how to breath fire, remember! And how to breath underwater and grow scales!”

“You told him!” Maurice yelled, even as Ford paled further and the guy stared rubbing his temples, “Why did you tell him! You weren’t supposed to tell anyone!”

“Well, he already kind of knew anyway!” Stanley yelled back, “I used to try and give myself extra fingers when we were kids to help him feel better, but he always got upset!”

“Oh my God,” Ford whispered, then pulled his hand away to look at it, “I thought that was a dream.”

“And what about the rest, what was that.” the guy asked, looking haggard as his hands came down,  “Did you think you dreamed up full conversations about your brother being a shapeshifter?”

“No, I ah.” Ford coughed, then put his hands behind his back, standing tall and not looking at anyone, “I thought we were playing a game. Just pretend. Although, it does explain why you kept talking about it, even when we were teenagers.”

“I told you my biggest secret,” Stanley said slowly, stomach feeling some kind of way, “and you thought it was pretend?”

“Really, that’s a good thing,” Maurice said, looking relieved.

“Yes.” is what Ford said, just as Stanley let out some kind of wordless shout, turned to march closer to the woods, and shot forth his (extremely hard to figure out and therefore cool) flame breath. It lasted less than a second and didn’t go farther than a few feet, because he was cold and hungry and sometimes it came back in his face if he did it longer. Then he marched back over and shoved his finger in his brother’s face.

His brother was taller and older looking, so he felt like he was losing the intimidation factor here.

“Does that look pretend!” he yelled, suddenly furious, “We spent months figuring it out, years even! And you thought it was pretend!”

“It was a very interesting thought experiment.” Ford responded, not making eye contact still twiddling his thumbs. Stanley made another wordless shout, then waved his hands around.

He didn’t know how to feel about this. For so long, ever since that moment as kids, he had just accepted that his brother knew he wasn’t human and accepted him as his twin anyway. Now he was learning he thought it was some kind of joke, and that all his worry about seeing Ford again as a kid came with a whole new set of problems.

If Ford thought it was pretend, if he thought it was a game, then maybe he wouldn’t actually accept Stanley as he truly was. It made his stomach twist, and his chest tightened at the thought of his brother not thinking of him the same way.

“How about we move this inside,” said the guy, shivering, “and maybe talk about why you’re here.”

Right. There was a kid. And they wanted someone around to help teach it stuff.

Together, they shuffled through the snow back up to the porch, and for the first time he realized Ford had not been wearing shoes. He sighed, then shivered as the warm air of the cabin hit his face.

The inside looked better than the outside, but only because it looked like someone had recently done an intense cleaning session. There was a strong smell of bleach, and everything looked too clean, like someone had been moving furniture out of the way to get at cracks no one had seen since the place had been built.

Book shelves and strange equipment lined the walls, filled with strange jars and magical artifacts. The walls had several papers hung up, as well as pinned moths, fairies, and a few tapestries. Ford let them into what Stanley assumed was some attempt at a living room, if the living room was also a library and a lab.

The guy waved them over to the couch, while he and Ford stood awkwardly in front of it. Maurice stood as well, but Stanley had just been shoved to the ground after hiking through the snow and driving two days straight to get here. He flung himself down, then kicked up his legs when no one else joined him.

Ford scowled at him, hands flexing, then took a deep breath and put his hands behind his back.

“Our son-”

“Our?” Stan cut in, mouth hanging open as he looked between the guy and Ford. He hadn’t- but then again, Ford had been terrible with girls, so maybe-? “Uh, congratulations? Does Ma know, or-”

Ford stared at him in annoyance, while the guy turned beet red and started waving his arms around.

“Not like that! We’re just- we were lab partners, so-”

“Is that what they’re calling it these days?”

“Enough,” Ford cut in, and the guy covered his face, “Our son, Shifty-”

“Shifty!?” Stan cut in again, sitting up and staring at his brother. It was just one thing after another here.

“I know,” Maurice said, shaking their head, “It’s terrible.”

“You called me grub dad; you have no room to complain.” Stanley pointed out, smirking as Maurice scowled. The smirk faded when he caught sight of Ford’s face, twisted into some kind of hurt expression.

Right.

“I called you grub because you were one,” Maurice said, ignoring the tension, “And it wasn’t a name. I let your parents do that. I don’t go around naming human babies… Breathy.”

The guy made a kind of wheezing sound, and Ford frowned angrily at all of them.

“If I could continue without interruption.” He said flatly, then glared as they quieted, “Thank you. As I was saying, our son Shifty,”

He paused, then nodded when no one said anything.

“He’s a shapeshifter, I found him on one of our digs, several months ago. There were several… incidents, that have since been resolved. Since then, we’ve been raising him the best we’ve can, but were unaware that there was a greater community until he saw Maurice here at the night market and pointed him out.”

“Because you thought we were playing pretend.” Stanley muttered, ignoring the glare sent his way.

“Correct. Maurice told me he needed a mentor, someone to look after him and tell him everything he needs to know. When I told him I’d like to ask some questions and how involved the process was, he told me never to touch him again and that there was no way he’d stay here to do it. And that he had someone better in mind, because I’m assuming you knew exactly who I was, didn’t you!”

The end of Ford’s sentence got louder as he pointed in Maurices’ face angrily. They backed up, frowning, then took a step back when Ford didn’t move.

“Of course I knew who you were,” they said, turning to nod at Stanley, “I left my spawn with you to take care of and watched you both grow up.”

“Like a creep.” Stanley interjected, ignoring the annoyed looks sent his way. The guy twisted his hands nervously as Ford huffed, then looked up towards the ceiling. Shifty was probably sleeping upstairs, if he understood the look properly.

“It wasn’t creepy,” Maurice said, “It was hands-off. It’s how our… clan is the best word for it, I suppose, but it’s how I was mentored, and how I’ve done it with all my spawn. They learn better when you don’t interfere.”

“Well, I’d like someone more involved,” Ford snapped, “Who isn’t- someone else.”

Stanley looked away, messing with a loose string on the couch. Someone who wasn’t Stanley, because why would Ford want him anywhere near his son. Stanley’s nephew, who was more accepted as family after a few months than Stanley was after their entire childhood apparently.

“Stanley is your best choice,” Maurice said, walking over to the couch to poke him in the head, “Of all the shifter’s I know, he’s the most versatile, the most social, the least likely to betray you and steal your son, you already have a prior connection, and I’m fairly sure he’s becoming depressed, so this-.”

“What!” Stanley yelled, waving their hand away and sitting up more, “I’m not- that’s- I’m fine!”

Ignoring the fact that he’d been trying to turn into a goo pile and shut off his feelings for the last few months. And the fact he had no close friends and all his spawn mates or whatever never wanted to talk or hang out and he was pretty sure Rico was hunting him down to kill him after not getting the rest of those mermaid artifacts. And that he didn’t know what he was supposed to look like, so he was stuck looking like a teenager forever.

“You hung up on me. Twice. You never do that,” Maurice said, frowning back at him, “You’re the most social of all my spawn. So social you tried to organize a ‘family get together,’ then pretended it didn’t hurt your feelings when none of the other spawn wanted to come.”

“Don’t listen to them,” he snapped at his brother and the guy, “That’s not a real thing- it was a misunderstanding, and I wasn’t upset. I was- it was fine. And I hang up on you all the time!”

“No, you don’t, I have to hang up on you because you talk too long,” Maruice said, looking at him sadly, like wanting a constant conversation partner was depressing, “You call me at least twice a year, and I’ve noticed you get more reckless if I don’t call you on your birthday. None of my other spawn are like this, it’s just you.”

Stanley let out a strangled sound, got one look at the strange expression on his brother’s face, and decided he was done with everyone forever.

He quickly pulled up his hood, then shifted himself slightly younger so it covered his face completely. Then he pulled in his arms, safe inside his hoodie protection. As a final touch, he got rid of his ears, so that he couldn’t hear anymore slander against his person.

That last for all of a second, before he popped up, back to normal, slamming his fist on the couch arm and shoving the other in Maurice’s face.

“I’m Fine! And I don’t need to hear this from you, or anyone!” He got to his feet and stomped out of the room. He made it a few hallways away before he realized it was not the way to the front door, and a few more turns to realize he was lost.

How did that even happen. The house didn’t look that big, sitting all creepy in the middle of a snowy clearing. He stomped around some more, before he finally came back into the living room, interrupting some kind of conversation. Ford and the guy were sitting on the couch, looking upset, while Maurice stood over them, hands on their hips. They turned as he marched in, a pitying expression on their face.

“How do you get out of this house.” He demanded angrily, “I can’t find the front door.”

They all looked at each other, then at Ford. The guy coughed, then elbowed his brother. After a whispered conversation he stood and approached Stanley. Instead of leading him outside, like he’d asked, he stood in front of him, hands behind his back and eyes somewhere else.

“Stanley,” he said, “I understand we didn’t part on the best of terms, and it was a… shock. To hear. Certain things. But. I-”

His brother coughed, then straightened up, looking serious.

“I’ll admit, I was surprised to see you. And there are certain revelations that I’ll need to process later. For now, I only ask that you stick around town and help look after Shifty, just until we have a better grasp on his growth and how to properly raise him.”

So, help him raise his kid, then get lost the moment they figured out what they were doing. The corner’s of his eyes started burning as he glared back into his brother’s serious face, and he felt jumpy with how irritated he was with the whole situation. Iritated, and something else.

Some other feeling, sinking his heart to his stomach, making it beat slower and making him want to curl up in a corner and become moss.

Despite that, he couldn’t help but respond with a gruff “sure, whatever,” then turn and march back into the hallway, trying to get as far away from all the mixed feelings as he could. His brother wanted him, just to help raise his son, then leave. Didn’t want to reconnect, or see him, and didn’t even know he wasn’t human.

Stanley marched until he found the kitchen, then laid down on the floor, once again trying to become moss. He could hear voices from the living room, but he ignored it, focusing on the green feeling of moss and how great it’d be do have been born without having to worry about anything.

Eventually he got up, then sat on a chair and looked out the window. A snow storm had rolled in, blanketing everything in white and trapping him here until he could get his car looked at.

Maybe he’d stick around after Ford told him to leave, go hands-off with his nephew, make sure he was raised right. They could be family, even if Ford didn’t want him.

(He was terrified to learn if that was true. If his most Important Person decided that despite the seventeen years growing and learning together, he was a stranger, he didn’t know what he’d do.)

(He was afraid he might have to find out)

Chapter Text

Stanley stared out the window for a while, watching flakes stick to the glass as it night fully settled outside. Hopefully they had something to eat around here, because his last meal had been a gas station hot dog and a bag of stolen chips an hour ago. Although, knowing Ford, whatever they had here might be inedible.

His dinner musing was interrupted by someone coughing at the doorway, and he turned to see the guy, shuffling awkwardly and rubbing the back of his neck.

“What.” Stanley asked gruffly, sizing him up. While the guy may or may not be in some kind of romantic relationship with his brother, it didn’t mean Stanley had to try to like him. He was feeling too many feelings to try and be nice or likable.

The guy coughed again, then walked over and hovered nervously, twisting his hands and tapping his foot.

“We, uh. Stanford and I, that is.” The guy coughed, then shuffled around some more, “There’s not a lot of room in the house, but we knew you- well, not you, but someone- was coming, so we were preparing a guest bedroom, just. It’s not ready yet, we didn’t expect you to show up so quickly. So, there’s two couches, if you and your… dad? Want to decide between them.”

Stanley raised an eyebrow, watching as the guy seemed to sweat more and his fingers started twitching violently. They stared at each other for a moment longer, before the silence became too much for the guy.

“Fiddleford McGucket.” The guy shot out a hand, and Stanley stared at it, before looking up.

“Bless you.”

The guy scowled, dropping his hand and standing up straighter, “That’s my name, Fiddleford.”

“Sorry to hear that.”

Fiddleford scowled harder, then huffed and made his way to the fridge, pulling out a wrapped plate and almost slamming it down in front of Stanley. A glance at the ceiling stopped him, and instead he set it down and crossed his arms.

“Maurice said you’d probably need something after all that driving, and lord knows we’ve been feeding Shifty long enough to get an idea about your appetite. So. Whenever you’re finished, there’s a bathroom down the hall and Maurice can show you the couches. We can introduce you to Shifty tomorrow morning.”

With that he turned and strode out of the room, grumbling the whole way as his hands twitched at his sides. Stanley watched him go, then looked at the plate. It smelled. Well. It smelled like something edible, but he made sure to lean back as he took the foil off and eyed the noodles underneath. A small nibble proved it tasted edible too, so Stanley scarfed it down as quickly as he could.

Not Ford’s cooking then, unless his brother had improved spectacularly over the last few years. He’d seen the tossed meals in his trash to know how his beginning attempts went.

When he was done, he left the plate where it was, then started riffling through the fridge and cupboards to see what he was working with. Like the rest of the house, it looked like someone had done a deep cleaning, the inside of the shelves clear of dust, the fridge sparkling new, and there were gaps in the cupboards hinting that someone had gone through and thrown out a lot, and no one had bothered to reorganize or buy more.

There was enough to last three shapeshifters a day, and two shapeshifters a couple of days if Maurice vanished in the night like they were prone to doing. Stanley would have to go grocery shopping as soon as his car was up and running if they wanted to make this work.

He’d also need to get his duffle bag, as he hadn’t thought of grabbing it before trudging through the snow. Meaning tonight he’d be sleeping in the clothes he was wearing.

With a groan he made his way out of the kitchen, then down the hall, opening and closing doors (the ones that were unlocked anyway) until he found the bathroom. Once more he was greeted with a sparkling clean room, toilet and sink polished near new and everything looking neat and tidy. He made sure the door was firmly locked before turning and making his way to the sink and looking into the mirror.

Stanford Pines stared back at him, frowning as he took off the beanie and examined his face.

Ford had definitely grown a few inches over the last decade, and his jaw was much more defined than last he saw, missing all of the chubbiness of youth. His curls were more unruly, and his ears seemed to stick out more from the side of his head then they did as teenagers.

It was time to get to work.

The fingers were easy, fading as he prodded the bags under his eyes and smoothed out his chin. The curls stayed the same, except for becoming tidier as he brushed them back and made himself clean shaven. Once he was satisfied, he looked in the mirror and examined himself.

Despite looking like how he imagined a grown Stanley Pines would, it still didn’t feel like him. It felt like he was Stanford Pines well rested and with a smudged chin.

With a scowl he ruffled his hair, then made it curlier. Then more unshaven. Then gave himself a mustache. Then took away the mustache and gave himself a healed broken nose. Then he fixed the nose and made all the colors a mad jumble before glaring back at his seventeen-year-old self.

It just wasn’t the same. He knew it wouldn’t be, but it still hurt to prove himself right. Too many missed years, and now he’d never know what he’d look like as a grown-up human. Well he would, it just didn’t feel right.

With a sigh, he looked away from the mirror and got ready for bed, using whoever’s toothbrush was down here and stealing their toothpaste. There was a good chance it was Ford’s, but he didn’t care enough to really worry.

Maurice was the only one left in the living room when he made his way out, standing in the middle of the room and smiling smugly. Stanley glared, slinking over and flopping face first into the couch.

“How was seeing your base again,” they said, walking over to loom over him and pull off his boots, “was it nice? I know you missed him.”

“Fuck off,” Stanley said into the couch cushions, turning to glare when he felt them drape a blanket over him, “you had no right to set me up like this.”

“Of course I did,” They said, straitening the blanket out until he was tucked snuggly into the couch, “It was obvious you weren’t going to reach out, and I know you learned that stubbornness from him. In any case, the kid will give you both something to start talking about, this time with full permission to discuss shifter politics.”

“I need permission to do that?”

“Of course you do,” they crouched down near his head and gave him a stern look, “our kind survive on secrecy. Unless someone reveals themselves accidentally, you need permission from your spawner and at least three others from your circle to loop someone in about your true nature. Or five if your spawner has passed. At least, that’s how it works in our line, I don’t concern myself with other circles traditions.”

Stanley frowned as they stood up and grabbed a pillow to shove under his head, then grabbed another blanket from a pile next to the couch to drape over him. This one was tucked in just as firmly as the first, and he blinked as he started to feel a wave of drowsiness hit him.

 “How did I not know that? And what are you doing.”

“Because you never expressed enough interest in anyone to mention it.” Maurice grabbed another blanket and tucked that one in as well, then a final, thick fuzzy one to top off the blanket mountain, “and I’m insulating you. Your internal temperature is far too cold after that tussle outside, and I know from experience that this is the best way to induce sleep in younger spawn. I’m also certain you’re exhausted from travel, which makes this especially effective.”

“Bastard.” Stanley muttered, trying to blink the tiredness away and glaring at them, “This isn’t over. Just you wait, I’m gonna… do something. Hug you maybe, see how you like it.”

“I’m sure you’ll try,” they said, reaching down and scrunching his hair, “and I’ll make sure not to mention your slip up to everyone else. You were a child, and he thought you were joking, so it should be fine to let this slide as a warning.”

The scrunching didn’t feel any kind of pleasant, but Stanley leaned into it anyway, letting out a sigh as he closed his eyes. Maurice said something else, then pat his head and walked away, turning off the light as they went.

Sleep didn’t take him right away, despite the tiredness sinking into his core and the aching of his skin. His thoughts were too busy, turning over every conversation he’d had with Ford throughout their childhood, about being a shapeshifter and sailing off towards adventure. How much of it had been true, and how much had Ford thought was pretend.

Had his brother ever really considered sailing off with him? Was the Stan’O’War just another game? What about wanting to go off into the sunset with Stanley? What else had Ford thought was nothing more than childish joking and playing? What about them? Did Ford ever really care about Stanley? Enough that he still thought they were brothers, even after learning Stanley wasn’t human?

Or was he just another creature to his brother now, something that had snuck into his cradle and latched onto him. How much could you really care about someone if you thought their entire existence was a joke.

These thoughts kept him awake, swirling around until finally the heat of the blankets and lying still for too long proved too much for his tired mind, and he fell into a restless sleep.

(Upstairs, Stanford Pines stares at the ceiling, burdened with the knowledge that his brother’s fantasies had been all too real, and that a life of magic and adventure really had been one sail boat away. That he turned away from the one person out who could ever truly know him, over one incident that spiraled his life out of control. That what he thought was childish escapism had been a real and feasible plan, spun up by his own brother.

That the one thing he’d been looking for his entire life, something otherworldly and strange, had been right at his side since the moment he was born. That it thought he was the most important person in the world. That it thought of him as its own brother, more family than even its own kind.

That it called Maurice dad, even as it refused to look at Stanford.

What else had he brushed aside, too sure in his own knowledge and ideas? What else had he looked over, confident that he knew already knew the answer? What other deep truths had he laughed at as a joke?

When would his list of mistakes stop getting longer. When would his past regrets stop hounding him. When would he stop learning that he made all the wrong choices.

When would the face of a child, too young and too small to live on his own, stop haunting him. Seventeen seemed so grown up, but seeing it now, knowing what he knew and living as he had, he couldn’t see Stanley as anything other than the children they’d been. Might never see him as anything else ever again, if what Maurice said was true.

Surely, if he could defeat a demon, he could fix his own brother.)

The next morning Stanley woke up to the morning light, trickling in through a window somewhere else in the room. With a groan he rolled over, trying to smush his face back into the couch and go back to whatever dream had been interrupted by…. by…

He turned back over to squint at the empty room. What had woken him up?

The sound of a car starting answered that question as he rolled off the couch and scrambled over to the window to see Maurice disappear down the curve of the freshly shoveled driveway. When had it been cleared? Who cleared it?

Better yet, who’d brought his car up and put his duffle bag by the couch. The obvious answer was Maurice but knowing them they might have hired someone else to do it for them. An even better question was how Maurice had gotten so much done without waking him up, but he knew enough not to ask.

Since he was already up and awake, he shuffled over to his bag and grabbed a change of clothes, then made his way to the bathroom, where he found his car keys sitting next to his tooth brush. With a scowl he snatched them (and tried to fix his face and failing miserably), then quickly changed and shoved his travel worn set back into the duffle, throwing it next to the couch before moving onto his next step.

Breakfast.

The kitchen was easy to find now that he knew the way, but the lack of any real food, and the fact that this was his brother’s house and therefore not his stuff, made him hesitate. He rummaged through some cabinets and the fridge, eyeing the remaining eggs and cans of beans, before heading back to the living room to grab his shoes and try to figure out where the front door was.

He needed to buy groceries anyway, might as well do it before anyone else woke up.

Ten minutes later, having failed to escape his brother’s house, he went back to the living room, unlatched the window, and crawled out. The snow softened his landing, covering him in white powder as he reached up to close the window behind him and hurried to his car. He was too hungry to really insulate, and the faster he made it to town and back, the faster he could get started on a real breakfast for two ever-growing shapeshifters.

Whatever was wrong with the Stanley Mobile, Maurice either fixed or was the result of the universe hating him, because his car started fine. Carefully, because the last thing he needed was to crash immediately after seeing his brother, he made his way back down the road and into the small town nearby, eyes scanning for what passed as a grocery store around here.

Once he found a building that had shopping carts out front, he pulled into a parking spot, then drummed his fingers on the wheel as he debated what he wanted to look like. On one hand he’d be sticking around for a while, and Ford would probably be comfortable with him looking like himself. On the other there was always a chance he fixed his base shift, and then people might ask questions about what happened to the teenager that had been hanging around before.

In the end he decided to wear Stanford’s shift, adjusting his coat to fit better and throwing his beanie onto the passenger side seat. He could talk to Ford later about how he wanted to explain Stanley’s presence to the town, but for now he could just pretend Ford was having a rough morning and hope no one tried to talk to him.

No one paid him any attention as he pulled his hood up and hid his mouth in his coat, making his way into the store and grabbing a cart. He went aisle by aisle, loading it with as much as it could carry as he examined the prices and shoved even more into his jacket. Really, no one needed to pay twenty cents for a bag of jelly beans, and it wasn’t like people carried stacks of cash around on hand.

(he did, but no one needed to know that)

Instead, he used his Stanley discount and shoved a few bags into his sleeves, before turning and making his way to check out.

Up until now the few other shoppers had been content to ignore him, tiredly doing their own early shopping and pretending that no one else was in the store. That came to an end when Stanley was halfway through check out, when the bleary-eyed clerk blinked into an unexpected awareness and squinted at him.

“Hey, don’t I know you?” he asked, pausing his scanning as he examined Stanley’s half covered face.

“I don’t know, do you?” Stanley asked in Ford’s voice, snappy and irritated. He had no idea if this guy knew his brother, but hopefully the early morning shut down would be enough to end this conversation.

“Yeah, I’m pretty sure I do,” the clerk continued, sending a spike of anxiety down Stanley’s spine, “aren’t you the crazy science guy who lives in the woods? Mr.… Pike, right?”

The anxiety faded as Stanley scowled and gestured to the frozen line of groceries.

“That’s Dr. Pines, if you must know. Now are you going to do your job, or are we going to spend the rest of the day misremembering each other’s names Tim?”

The clerks name tag read Tom, and he scowled as the sparkle in his eyes faded and he went back to scanning Stanley’s groceries and grumbling about crazy hermits. Internally Stanley sighed in relief, even as he tapped his foot and huffed at the slow pace of the clerk.

His brother hadn’t become any more social later in life, which in this case worked in his favor. The fact that he’d been called crazy didn’t make him feel too comfortable though. There were so many reasons to call someone crazy, and no way to probe without giving himself away.

When the last of the groceries was  finally scanned, Stanley passed the exact amount needed, counting out each coin with agonizing slowness as the clerk and other patrons’ anger grew, before finally handing over the final dime and high tailing it out of there before anyone realized he’d grabbed a few extra bags to shove his pocket goods into.

Packing it into the trunk proved to be a challenge, as he’d forgotten to unload his things before heading out. Most of it was various outfits for his different forms, folded neatly into boxes marked for gender and size, along with a few accessories, but there were a few other more personal items hidden along the sides and in the back.

He had to shove things around in his backseat, pulling out several bags of trash and throwing it into the grocery store’s dumpster, before he managed to fit it all in without fear of bags ripping and spilling their contents across everything.

More people stopped and stared at him as he grumbled and packed his car up, whispering to each other and exchanging concerned glances. Not a great sign really, but Stanley could look into it later when he didn’t have a bunch of groceries and wasn’t starving to death.

He kicked the cart at a nearby lurker, then listened to them yelp as it smacked into their ankles while he climbed into the driver’s seat. The drive back to Ford’s house was slow, as he made sure to be mindful of the extra weight, slippery roads, and the look on his brother’s face if he managed to drive off the road less than a day after arriving.

It was much easier to pull up into the newly cleared driveway, even with the barbed wire and signs. It was also easy to stroll up to the front door, wearing his own face and carrying two armfuls of groceries, then stick his finger into the lock and shift it around until he heard a click. Opening was a bit of a struggle, that stopped when Ford himself appeared, looking panicked as he flung open the door and almost ran straight into Stanley.

“Hey! Watch it!” Stanley snapped, stumbling for a moment before he regained his balance and shoved past Ford, “Try using your eyes, why dontcha.”

“Stanley,” Ford’s voice sound relieved as he trailed behind, following Stanley through the maze of hallways to the kitchen. Fiddleford was already there, blearily blinking at what he assumed was the world’s most hazardous looking coffee maker, watching a mug slowly fill with black liquid.

“Where did you go? We couldn’t find you or Maurice this morning, and I…” Ford trailed off as Stanley dumped all the bags on the floor, then turned and made his way back to the front door (he made sure to pay attention to the turns this time).

“Went shopping,” Stanley said, listening as Ford stopped at the doorway while he made his way through the snow back to his car, “Maurice left already, drove off right when I was getting up.”

Stanley grabbed more bags, then paused at the doorway when Ford held out his hands, eyeing them. They stared at each other for a moment, before he handed over some of his load and turned back to get more. Ford grunted at the weight, but didn’t complain as he disappeared back inside.

Once everything was out of his car and in the kitchen, Stanley started putting it all away, moving all of the previous contents of a few of the cabinets into some others and putting all of his things there, then cramming the fridge full. Fiddleford had moved to sit at the table, looking somewhat more alive and confused.

“I thought we were done doomsday prepping,” he muttered over his mug, eyeing Stanley as he shoved more and more cans and nonperishables into his claimed cabinets, “Unless I missed the memo.”

“No, we’re done,” Ford said, nosing through Stanley’s purchases and frowning at some of it, “I’m not really sure what’s happening. I knew we needed groceries, but this seems excessive.”

“I’m making sure I don’t starve out here. You two barely have enough in here for one shapeshifter, two is out of the question.” Stanley frowned as he opened the bag holding the jellybeans, sliding them into his coat sleeves before either of them noticed. He’d shove them under Ford’s pillow or something later and hope he didn’t see it as the bribe it was.

“Really? Shifty’s been doing just fine.”

Stanley scoffed, then finished putting the rest of the food away and shoved all of the bags under the kitchen sink. There was no way they’d been successfully feeding a baby shapeshifter with the meager supplies here, not if Ford knew it was a shapeshifter. His brother probably had the poor kid changing shifts all the time, and that took a lot of energy. More energy than a few cans of beans and eggs could provide.

“Yeah, I wouldn’t be surprised if the kids eating small animals in the woods or something,” Stanley said, grabbing a few pans and some pancake mix, then turning on the stove to start on breakfast, “It’s what I did when I got older. Except we didn’t live in the woods, so I was limited to alley ways and whatever got trapped in the tide pools.”

Stanley turned to see the disgusted look on Fiddleford’s face and pinched one on Fords, quickly turning back to the stove and continuing with breakfast and ignoring how his insides squirmed.

“Is that so,” Ford muttered, and he heard some rustling and pen on paper, “It might explain some of his snappy behavior if he’s being underfed, as well as his more suspect disappearances. It’s possible his advanced hide and seek games are actually an excuse to get out of the house and hunt.”

“Probably,” Stanley said, ignoring whatever Fiddleford was muttering and grabbing a few plates, “I always told ma I was going out to shake down tourists, then sneaking about under the boardwalk to chow down on whatever I could find.”

“Lovely morning conversation happening right now,” Fiddleford said, as his chair screeched and he went over to the fridge to grab something, “just the way to start my day, hearing ‘bout how my son might be scampering around in the woods and eating critters. Speaking of, Stanford, how did you want to do this.”

“Hmm?”

“Shifty, did you want to introduce him, or…”

Stanley snuck a glance backwards to see Ford’s confused face, then looked back at the pan when Ford turned his way. He pushed down the anxiety of meeting his nephew, and tried to focus on the pancakes, even as he heard his brother make a soft ‘ah’ noise and cough a few times.

“Stanley,” Ford said, and Stanley listened as his brother stood and started tapping something behind him, “I’m going to go get Shifty, is there… Well, is there a protocol? Of some kind? For shapeshifter’s meeting each other that is. I’ll admit, I was fairly aggressive with Maurice, which I’m now regretting. He wasn’t very helpful in answering any of my questions.”

“Yeah, that sounds like Maurice, they’re uh… the opposite of social. I’m pretty sure I’m the only person they talk to, ever.” Stanley kept his eyes on the pan as he started pouring in batter, then sighed. If Ford wanted to do this properly, there was actually a mostly official way for shapeshifter’s to say hello.

It was just annoying.

“Fidds, take over, will you.” Stanley turned and shoved the bowl of pancake batter into the mans hands, then made his way to the table, sitting down next to where Ford was standing looking anxious. Fiddleford cursed and scrambled to keep hold of the bowl, and Stanley realized he had been working on getting bacon started.

That was a point in his favor for thinking ahead, then a point away for being too considerate. Stanley eyed him suspiciously, then turned to face Ford before his brother collapsed into an overthinking heap.

“Alright, so. Since we’re not in public we’ll cut through all the weird winking and nonchalant silent communication and get right down to actually talking to each other. I’ll talk…Shifty…. Through all the fancy not talking when he’s older. Just bring him down, and I’ll take it from there.”

Ford nodded, then marched out of the room, fingers twitching as he looked longingly at the pen he’d left behind. No doubt crushed by his inability to grill Stanley on silent shapeshifter talk.

That was fine by Stanley. He hated trying to get other shapeshifter’s attention. It could take hours of walking back and forth in a crowded mall, switching forms and picking up a newspaper to convey to them how he wanted information, taking a sip of coffee to say how he wanted to catch up, or running a hand over a display case in such a way that promised violence if the other shifter didn’t clear out ASAP. Maurice had grilled him for three months straight before introducing him to some of their circle, and he’d been forced to do all the talking. When the others had finally agreed to meet face to face, he’d find them sitting with Maurice, grading how well he did.

It was worse than school had ever been, both in terms of what he was doing and all the one-on-one attention focused on him. Then he’d had to learn how to improvise and combine different sayings to mean different things. Like learning a whole new language using nothing but body language and also not looking at the other person as much as possible while also not looking at anything but them.

One of the reasons he tried not to meet other shapeshifters in public if possible.

While Ford went and got the kid, Stanley got comfortable and tried to keep his skin in place. He could count on one five fingered hand the amount of times he’d met up with shapeshifters without Maurice, and only one had been with a shapeshifter outside of his circle. They’d been working two different jobs in the same area, and it had felt like being circled by a shark the whole time.

But this was a kid, and his nephew, and now his mentee. Which meant they were pretty much family in every way possible. Family meant circle greeting, a simple introduction and display of shifting to get a read on how dangerous the other was. Not that Stanley was going to threaten a kid, but he might as well explain what he was doing and why while he had the chance.

All thoughts of doing any of that fled when Ford came back a few minutes later, wearing a scarf that looked just like any other except for the deep feeling in Stanley’s core that it was alive.

“What am I looking at here,” Stanley said, staring at the scarf as his brother cupped his hands around it, “What even- no what? Why’s your kid a scarf. How’s your kid a scarf. Can I be a scarf?”

Stanley looked down at his own hand, trying to make it scarf like. It wrinkled up strangely, and he grimaced and shook off the feeling. Something to practice later then.

“Shifty,” Ford said, lifting one end of the scarf and pointing it at Stanley, “This is your Uncle Stanley, my brother.”

“I thought you said you’d never met a shapeshifter before.” The scarf said, causing Fords ears to redden as he coughed and looked away.

“Yes, well. There was a misunderstanding, and I didn’t-”

“He thought we were playing a game,” Stanley interrupted, before Ford could brush it under the rug, “Didn’t know I wasn’t joking until I showed up yesterday.”

Shifty giggled, then slid down Fords back and melted into a dog, tail wagging as he trotted up to Stanley and placed his head in his lap.

Well, now he had to figure out if he could be a dog too.

“Hi Uncle Stanley,” he said, big dog eyes looking up at him, “It’s nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you too squirt,” Stanley said, reaching down and rubbing his ears, “Nice shift you got here. Got anything with hands? Pancakes can get messy if you’re not using a fork.”

“Pancakes!” Shifty grabbed the chair next to Stanley and pulled it closer using his mouth, then climbed on top and turned into a fuzzy red puppet, grinning as Fiddleford set down a plate.

“Yup! Your Uncle Stanley went and got a lot of groceries,” Fiddleford said, placing down another stack in front of Stanley and going back to the stove, “Since he’s going to be staying here for a while, helping you learn everything you need to grow big and strong.”

“Wow, really Uncle Stanley?” Shifty said, voice full of awe as he turned and looked at Stanley, little legs kicking wildly as Ford took the spot next to him across from Stanley, “Are you going to mentor me, like Maurice said?”

“Sure am! Starting with eating a healthy breakfast!” Stanley used one hand to grab a fork and stab at his pancakes and used the other hand to snatch the syrup from Fiddleford’s hand when the man came back to set a plate in front of Ford. “First things first, big. Big breakfast, big lunch, big everything. Shifting takes a lot of work, the more you do it, the more you need to eat.”

The puppet looked serious as he nodded, then started shoving syrupy pancakes down his throat once Stanley coated his stack. He did the same to his own, then passed the syrup to Ford and dug in, watching Shifty in the corner of his eye.

He was going to strangle Maurice the next time he saw them. They had to have known about whatever was going on with Shifty and then bounced before explaining anything to Stanley. He’d been expecting a miniature Ford or maybe Fiddleford, seeing as there hadn’t been any mention of other kids in the house. Seeing Shifty turn into different puppets as he ate his pancakes, then turn into a bird to fly to the sink to wash up was something else.

Focusing on Shifty also made it easier to ignore the tension in the air coming from the other two nerds, quietly watching Stanley eat and while they both jiggled their legs and tapped the table.

Once breakfast was finished, with Fiddleford taking everyone’s plates, Ford coughed, then leaned forwards, hands clasped on the table in front of him. Shifty flew over to land on his shoulder, then turned into a ferret and curled up around his neck, staring at Stanley shyly.

“Now that breakfast is done, let’s get straight to it. Like I mentioned before, Maurice was less than helpful in answering my questions, and as Shifty’s parents, we’d like to be more involved in the whole mentoring process.”

He reached into his coat and pulled out a notebook, flipping it over to a blank page and picking up the pen off the table. Whatever awkwardness and anger from last night seemed to have disappeared as his brother looked straight at him and leaned forwards, focused.

“I’d like to be present for all of Shifty’s lessons, if possible. I’d also like to dedicate some time to answer some of our questions.”

“We were thinkin’ sometime at the end of the week,” Fiddleford added, sitting back down and tapping the table, “So we could write down questions as they come, then hit you with them all at once.”

Stanley frowned but nodded. He apparently had permission to loop them into everything, so he didn’t see a problem with that.

“We’d also like to run some tests, to compare-”

“Wait, stop.” Stanley held up a hand, gripping the table as he eyed both of them, “What kind of tests.”

Ford blinked as he looked up from where he was scribbling something down, then gripped his pen and shifted side to side in his chair.

“Ah, nothing to invasive. Just a DNA sample and some observations, to compare with Shifty’s. We’ve been monitoring his growth these last few months, as best we could, but neither of us know if he’s healthy for his age or how he should be maturing.”

That didn’t sound too bad, but knowing Ford his brother would find some way to make the experience terrifying.

“Alright….” Stanley nodded, eyes narrowing as Ford seemed to slump in relief, “but if you get too creepy with it, I’m calling it off.”

Fords slump of relief turned to offense, as he sat up and made an outraged expression. Fiddleford cut in before he could start ranting about how creepy he wasn’t, despite still wearing a coat with blood stains on it.

“That sounds mighty agreeable, don’t it Stanford?”

Ford turned to glare at his… partner, then humphed and stared back down at his notebook.

“Fine. I suppose that’s reasonable.” He muttered angrily for a second, scribbling something else down, then looked back up at Stanley.

“Now, how does this work. I don’t recall you wandering off with strangers when we were children for shapeshifter lessons or mentioning anyone, so I’m not sure what to expect.”

“That’s because Maurice was hands-off,” Stanley said, wishing he had his own notebook so he could pretend to be professional about what was going on, “That means they just stuck around to make sure I didn’t accidentally kill myself, and nothing else. I didn’t start shapeshifter boot camp until- not until I was an adult by human standards.”

They looked away from each other at that, Stanley staring intently at the wood of the table as Ford muttered something else. It was easier to talk to him than he was expecting, but he realized it was because they were talking about Shifty and shapeshifter stuff. Less like brothers and more like a parent teacher conference.

With a cough, Stanley picked at his sleeves and focused on his hands in front of him.

“This is hands-on, which is more involved. It means I’ll show Shifty what he can…” Stanley trailed off as he turned to look at Shifty, who was messing around in Fords hair by turning into different small rodents and shooting him playful looks.

“Well, I would be showing Shifty what he could do, except he’s kinda. Well. Extremely versatile already, so I guess I’m teaching him everything else? How to blend in better and who to avoid and whatever.”

Stanley frowned as Shifty turned into a bird and flew over to Fiddlefords hair.

“Hey kid, what all do you know already.”

“Huh?” Shifty looked up from Fiddlefords hair, then turned towards his parents. Ford gave him an encouraging smile, so he jumped onto the table and turned into a beaver. Wearing a graduation cap for some reason. He stood up straight and puffed out his chest, looking proud.

“I know my letters and numbers. I can do all the way up to sixth grade math, and dad says my engineering is top notch for someone my age. I’ve already started basic chemistry, and-”

“Stop.” Stanley rubbed his face as Shifty stuttered and tilted his head. Ignoring the looks the Fords’ shot him, he leaned forwards to be more level with Shifty’s tiny beaver face, then realized he didn’t have to whisper and pretended he meant to rest his head on his hands instead.

It’d been years since he’d talked about shapeshifter things with people who weren’t shapeshifters, and the more he talked to Shifty, the more he realized Maurice might have dropped the hardest mentoring position on the planet into his lap.

“I’m talking about what your spawner told you.” At Shifty’s blank look, he continued, “You know? The Voice? When you were in your egg? Told you a bunch of stuff before running off?”

“Umm.” Shifty turned to look back at his parents, then back at Stanley, “Nothing?”

“You remember stuff from before you were born?” Fiddleford asked, looking horrified, “Why?”

“Easy,” Stanley sat back in his chair and frowned at the kid, “So I didn’t get caught straight out of the egg. You think Shifty here could have pretended to be a baby without shifting right in front of everyone all the time? Gotta drive in the fear of discovery before grubs ever see the light of day, keeps them on their toes.”

“Wait,” now Ford was looking more interested in the conversation, more out of excitement then the horror of Stanley remembering hatching, “Does that mean you already knew English when you hatched?” At Stanley’s affirmative nod a grin exploded across his face, and he started scribbling frantically in his journal.

“Most shifters do, except for one kind.” Stanley pointed at Shifty, “wild ones. The dead beats of the shifter world. Just dump their eggs in a hole and make them someone else’s problem. Grow up learning how to be animals and hiding in the woods, scaring the life out of people. Shifty here probably got buried in that hole a few months back before you found him.”

“Is that… bad?” Fiddleford asked, looking nervous, “being wild?” Ford was scribbling away even faster, and Stanley swore he saw smoke coming up from the page.

“Nah, just means the poor kids clueless, and its my job to fill him in with the basics. A wild shifter’s still a shifter, just one that doesn’t wear clothes or pretend to be human.”

And freaked out poor campers in the woods. Stanley had met two in his ten years on the road. The first had been somewhere in Mexico, flying overhead and quickly disappearing while Stanley had been in the middle of a prison break. The other had been up near Canada, in the middle of summer when Stanley had been laying low in a river for a few days while the police looked for his ‘corpse’. It had looked like a fish of some kind, and they’d eyed each other for an hour or so while he’d waited for the boats overhead to disappear. It had been more annoying than anything, going back and forth and shifting its scale colors, then biting his hand when he’d tried to shoo it off.

Their conversation was interrupted by a knock on the door, prompting Shifty to lunge around Ford’s throat and shift into a scarf again. Fiddleford stood to go answer it, while Ford kept writing away, even as he tensed up and started shooting the doorway looks. After a second of debate, Stanley quietly stood and made his way to the front door, peeking around the corner to see who’d been brave enough to approach Ford’s murder house.

A large red headed teenager was standing at the porch, holding a clipboard and frowning at Fiddleford. They talked for a few minutes, before Fiddleford sighed and called for Ford.

Time to make himself scarce. Until he knew what Ford wanted to tell the town, he couldn’t let anyone see him. There was no telling what the teen wanted, so Stanley crept around to the living room, then shifted his form smaller and crawled behind the couch.

From here he could hear them all talking to each other, then the sounds of feet moving around the house. Something large was dragged through, and more footsteps went upstairs. Stanley tried to listen into the conversation but was distracted by the mess underneath the couch.

They’d missed under here on their big house wide clean up. A few loose papers were in reach, along with a small triangular statue. Stanley reached forwards and gathered it all up, reading through what looked like Ford’s notes on some mathematical nerd junk. It wasn’t until he got to the last one that he froze.

It was the top half of a post card, the other half no where to be found in the remaining couch clutter. On the right side was Fords name and address, and the left in large blocky letters the word PLEASE and the top part of what was probably COME. Or GOME, or maybe OOMF, but COME just made the most sense.

Right below Fords address his brother had written Stanly Pines.

Why was this under here? Why did it exist at all? He hadn’t been paying too much attention to Ford the last few months, too busy moping about his base form and the fact that he could never fit back into human society as himself.

But something must have happened, if Ford had almost reached out to him. And there was all the blood, keep out signs, Ford’s general appearance, the boarded up windows, and too clean house. He’d been ignoring it, too busy freaking out about Ford seeing him like this, then the fact that Ford thought he’d been messing around as kids, but all the blood had to have come from somewhere.

What had he missed, too busy eating his feelings away to even think about what Ford might be doing. What had driven his brother to answering the door with a crossbow, and barricading himself inside his house. What had threatened his brother, while he’d been lounging away on a couch pathetically sad about a little baby fat and acne.

He really was the worst brother. Too in his own head to keep a proper eye on the dangers of Ford living in Deep Country.

Stanley turned his attention to the statue, turning it in his hands. It was a little triangle, with crossed legs and a top hat, made of what looked like gold. Its arm bent in his mouth like gold, so Stanley pocketed it for future melting. If it was under here his brother probably wouldn’t notice it missing.

Then he could use it to fund his new project. Keeping an eye on Ford for the rest of his brothers soon to be unnatural life. He didn’t care if Ford didn’t accept Stanley into the family anymore, he wasn’t going to let his brother get snatched or threatened by anything under his watch. Ford could be as mad as he wanted about it, but Stanley had one job, and that was to keep him safe.

That’s why he’d spent the last three years breaking into wizard towers and going through all their books to figure out how they lived so long. Shapeshifters could live a few centuries as long as they stayed healthy and didn’t die an early death, and he planned to make sure Ford matched that.

Right after he made sure his nephew didn’t freak out the local humans.

(Ford watches his brother disappear around the corner, and it takes everything inside him not to pull him close. To chase after him and hide him away. Who knows what dangers lurk around the woods, around this town. The house might be warded and the portal shut down, but there’s nothing stopping the more mundane threats from slipping through.

But Stanley has survived ten years alone, facing the monsters of their childhood. What threats did a shapeshifter need to hide from? When were they considered old enough to fend for themselves?

He’d have to ask him, to make sure none of the bad guys he’d been hiding from ever found this place. There were more wards he could add, more defenses. As long as he was around, as long as he could keep Stanley close, then his brother would never fear being taken away again.

He’d already failed him once after all.)

The movement around the house lasted for about an hour, as they did whatever they were doing upstairs. The footsteps made their way to the front door, there was a small conversation, then the front door closing. Stanley listened to footsteps crunching through the snow, then the sound of a car starting and driving off.

There was some more muffled conversation, then-

“Stanley?” Ford called, sounding closer, “Stanley, where did you-”

Stanley popped out from behind the couch just as Ford wandered into the room, expression going from concern, to shock, to some twisted one that made Stanley’s inside squirm. It took him a second to realize Ford’s eyes were examining his own face, and that he was still wearing his smaller shift to fit back here.

“What,” he said, trying to act nonchalant as he crawled over the back and shifted back into his base form as he flopped over the side. Ford’s expression got more pinched, and he flexed his hands a few times before rubbing his face and answering.

“I was just- That was Boyish Dan, delivering the rest of the furniture for the guest room. I…. If you’d follow me.”

Stanley frowned as Ford pivoted and strode back out of the room, quickly rolling off the couch and hurrying to follow him upstairs.

“I realize we neglected to give you a tour, what with- with how yesterday went.” Stanley couldn’t see Fords expression, but his shoulders tensed as he gripped his arms in the way Stanley knew meant he was uncomfortable, “In any case, this room’s mine, and the one across is Fiddleford’s. Shifty doesn’t have one right now, he still sleeps with one of us.”

Ford gestured to each room as he went past, as well as where the upstairs bathroom and storage rooms were. The new guest room was in the attic, with a brand-new bed, dresser, desk, and night stand. It was almost a normal new room, except for the boarded-up window.

“Feel free to make yourself comfortable,” Ford said, gesturing to the room, “Maurice didn’t say how long mentoring usually lasted, but you’re free to stay here as long as needed. My labs are downstairs on the ground floor, which I’ve asked Fiddleford to mark and lock. Please don’t try and break in, I have some delicate work set up right now.”

“Got it, don’t mess with your fancy science things.” Stanley shot back, hunching his shoulders slightly as he stepped around Ford and examined the room. He’d have to go through Ford’s mail at some point and find out how his current finances were looking, then his receipts to figure out how much all this cost and pay it back in his next drop off.

Which he could do now that he was here actually.

“Yes, that sounds reasonable.” Ford said, either missing or ignoring the clipped tone in Stanley’s voice, “I’ll let you settle in, and we can continue where we left off in the kitchen. Shifty has morning lessons with Fiddleford he needs to start, and I have to get some work done. We’ll be in the study when you’re ready.”

Ford watched him poke at the sheets for a moment, then muttered something else and hurried away. Stanley left him to it, familiarizing himself with the space before going downstairs to get his duffel bag and start unloading his car.

Over the years he’d managed to figure out a system for all his stuff. Clothes could be discarded and nabbed as needed, and he only kept a few outfits for different sizes on hand at any given time. Anything personal he kept hidden in the false bottom of his trunk, along with all his papers and documents for his more common shifts and contacts. He’d need to get in touch with someone to make papers for Shifty sooner or later, as well as where to go to build a more permanent base of operations somewhere in the valley if he couldn’t bribe Ford into liking him again.

Speaking of bribes, he made sure to sneak a look into Fords bedroom. It, too, was recently scrubbed clean, full of bookshelves, a bed, desk, and scratched up dresser. Unlike the rest of the house, a mess was slowly growing around the desk and papers were thrown carelessly around the bed. Stanley made sure not to disturb anything as he made his way to the bed shoved the bags of jelly beans under the pillow. It might not be much, but it was a start. He’d just have to lie low and see if Ford noticed or cared to apologize. Or didn’t apologize.

On second thought this was a terrible idea. Stanley grabbed the jelly beans and hurried out of the room, going back to bringing his things up from his car. Now that he was thinking about it, Ford should be trying to bribe him into being nice, not the other way around. He wasn’t the one laughing and joking about Ford’s deepest secrets and playing it off as a joke.

He kept thinking about it as he moved his boxes up into the attic, then decided to leave Ford a single jelly bean. He had to rifle through the bag to find one funny looking enough, but he nodded as he placed it on his pillow.

There, now Ford would know… something. Hopefully it’d take a while for his brother to figure out what that something was and give Stanley enough time to figure out what it was too. Some kind of mad, desperate sadness pit in his chest that gave him too many moss feelings to think about.

Time to do something else then.

He shoved the rest of his stuff in the attic, then went downstairs and tried opening doors until he found the one everyone else was in. Like every room so far, it was meticulously clean, with a large couch under one window and a desk full of books along the far wall. Ford was sitting at it, watching as Fiddleford stood in front of a whiteboard full of numbers, and a puppet sat crisscross on the bare wooden floor.

Ford startled slightly when Stanley opened the door, then quickly looked away and faced the desk, grabbing a pen and book. Ignoring how that reaction made his heart twist, he strolled in and flopped onto the couch.

“Uncle Stanley!” Shifty cried as he walked past, scurrying to sit on the floor in front of him, “are we gonna talk more about shapeshifter stuff?” Fiddleford capped his marker and set it down by the board, then walked over and sat next to him on the couch, frowning slightly when he scooched away.

“You bet kid,” Stanley responded, trying to ignore the Fords’ combined stares and how it made his skin felt itchy. Mostly Fiddleford, as even if Ford thought it was a joke, Stanley was still used to talking about shifting in front of him.

“Couple of things to go over,” Stanley said, crossing his arms and looking down at the big eyes below him, “all your egg stuff your spawner didn’t care to stick around and tell you about, and figuring out your base.”

Ford made an aborted grunting noise that he recognized meant he had a question he was shoving down and gripped his arms harder. This was so much worse with an audience really, but it was their kid and he had told them it was fine.

“So. you’re a shapeshifter,” Stanley started, trying to think about everything Maurice had told him before he’d hatched, “You can shift your forms and look like all kinds of things, um. There are lots of, uh, bad guys out there, and its important you don’t let them find- can you stop staring at me!”

All three of them blinked and leaned back as Stanley shouted, hands curled at his sides.

“Look, I’ll be honest, this is egg stuff. For babies,” Stanley ran a hand through his hair and looked away, “Which, usually doesn’t involve the egg looking back at you or anyone else. So, if you could maybe look a little more disinterested or something, that’d really help.”

“No,” Ford stated bluntly, scooting closer in his chair as he held his book, “I wasn’t really paying attention the first time, so it’s important that I record everything you’re saying now.”

“And I really need to know this stuff,” Shifty said, “but I can do this!”

A moment later a large egg was at his feet. Stanley reached down and picked it up, then shoved it in the crook of his arm and looked up at the ceiling. Fiddleford was the only one who made an agreeable noise and looked away, making the hair on the back of his neck rise.

He didn’t know why the man was being so nice, and it rubbed him the wrong way.

“Alright, I guess,” Stanley muttered, trying again, “You’re very small, and young. The world outside the Dark is big, and dangerous. It’ll kill you if you give it the chance. You’re a shapeshifter, which means you can change faces and names, and have enemies. Things that want to hurt you. You can’t let them find you, so you’ll have to hide until you’re big and strong.”

“Soon, you’re going to- wait, no you don’t need that part.” Stanley frowned at the ceiling, then looked back down at the Fords’. Fiddleford was looking very intently at the far wall, but his head was angled towards Stanley to show he was listening. Ford was writing away at his book, then slowly came to a stop, looking up at him with a frown.

“Why won’t he need the last part?” his brother asked, scooching even closer.

There was no way he was going to repeat the Important Person speech in front of Ford. There was no telling how Ford would react a second time, now that he was older and had a better understanding of what it meant. He could be touched, or angry, or get his ego boosted realizing Stanley spent the first several years of his life thinking Ford was the center of the universe.

Too potentially embarrassing. Better keep it simple.

“He’s already hatched,” Stanley said, looking down at the egg, “and that parts more for even younger grubs who don’t know anything. So, let’s just move on.”

Ford made another expression Stanley couldn’t identify but made his chest hurt, before Fiddleford reminded everyone he was still here.

“Wait, what?” he said, leaning forwards and looking at Stanley, “that’s it? Ain’t there more to it than that?”

“Nope!” Stanley held Shifty up and set him back on the floor, “That’s the beauty of egg basics. It’s literally the basics. You just repeat it over and over until they hatch. Did you expect me to tell a baby who to watch out for in detail? A tiny little- WHAT IS THAT!”

Stanley screamed as he lurched back and stood on the back of the couch while Shifty turned into some kind of gross maggot with giant eyes. The kid jumped and looked around wildly, before shifting into a cat and jumping into Fiddleford’s lap.

“What! What’s what!” Shifty cried, looking around the room wildly.

“You!” Stanley sat back down and scootched further away from them until he was on the end of the couch, “What on earth was that gross maggot thing. It was disgusting. That something that lives around here? Because if so, awful.”

Instead of reasonable responses, like telling Stanley where and how to avoid whatever Shifty had just turned into, the Fords’ exchanged glances, then peered at him in a way that made him uncomfortable.

“What.”

“You really don’t know?” Ford asked, dragging his chair across the floor until he was finally right up against the couch.

“Know what. Seriously, you’re freaking me out.”

“That’s just Shifty’s base form,” Fiddleford said, picking up the cat as it turned back into a maggot, “Its what he was born lookin’ like.”

Stanley looked at the maggot, then at where his own hands were clutching the couch cushions. Was he a bigger maggot under his human skin? Gross.

“Did you not-”

“Of course I knew!” Stan burst out into fake laughter, crossing his arms and looking away, “Why wouldn’t I- that’s a ridiculous question! Who doesn’t know what they look like under their… skin. I just, uh, never saw myself as a grub! Is all! Didn’t know they looked so grublike.”

Stanley hadn’t let himself go all not shifting his entire life. He wasn’t even sure if there was a word for turning into his original body. It was the stupidest thing for a shifter to do unless they were trying to pair up for eggs. Humans were squishy enough already, why make himself even more vulnerable with his squishier interior out for everyone to gawk at.

There was no way he could let these nerds know that. Not when he was supposed to be the expert around here.

Ford’s hard stare bore into him, making him sweat as he gripped his arms harder and tried not to breathe too much. It narrowed into a suspicious squint, and Stanley started sweating harder.

“If that’s so….” his brother said, flipping over to another blank page, “you wouldn’t mind showing off your base, would you?”

“This is my base,” Stanley gestured to his chubby cheeked teen body, “that grub isn’t a base it’s a… grub.”

“Your grub form then,” Ford said, not distracted at all by Stanley’s attempt to bait him with what a base was, “so we can compare what a full-grown shifter looks like to a baby.”

There was no way Stanley was going grub in front of his brother and his brothers’ maybe boyfriend. His gaze darted back and forth between Ford and Shifty, before he was struck with a brilliant idea.

“OK,” he said, leaning back and eyeing them both smugly, “but only if you get naked. It’s only fair.”

His heartbeat skyrocketed when Ford stood up and started taking off his coat, and he quickly turned and pointed at Fiddleford.

“Him too! Everyone needs to be naked to see it!”

“What!” Fiddleford screeched, holding Shifty close and covering where his ears would be on a normal baby, “Stanford, I am not getting naked!”

“What if Fiddleford left the room,” Ford offered, folding up his coat and setting it down on his chair, “Then it could just be us.”

“Nope!” Stanley crossed his arms in an X and glared at them both, “I’ve already seen you naked, so-”

“So, it’s only fair that I see you!” Ford grinned triumphantly, and Stanley paled as he realized he needed a new plan of attack.

“No one is getting naked!” Fiddleford shouted, glaring at both of them, “Stanford, leave your brother alone, its obvious he’s uncomfortable with… getting naked.”

“No, I’m not!” Stanley yelled back for some reason, “I get naked all the time! I just think if I you’re seeing me, I should be allowed to see you!”

“Uhuh,” Fiddleford didn’t look convinced, “I’m sure that’s your only reason. In any case, you’re telling me you’ve never seen any of- seen a baby shifter? Don’t you got your own grubs somewhere?”

“What? No!” Stanley laughed at the idea of himself with a grub, “if that were the case, I’d be too busy mentoring mine to be here. They’d be like. Five? You don’t stop being a mentor until your grubs an adult in human years.”

“Really?” Ford asked, even as he scowled and put his coat back on, “But, when we-” he coughed, then sat down in the chair and hunched over it awkwardly, “When we discussed it earlier you said Maurice didn’t come get you until..”

They both looked away awkwardly, before Stanley coughed, “Yeah, hands off method means you don’t really interact with your spawn, but, uh, its still mentoring. So I’m here until Shifty can take care of himself.”

Ford seemed to hunch even further, and they sat there in awkward silence while Fiddleford and Shifty looked on.

“Uncle Stanley,” Shifty said, shifting into a squirrel and jumping across to sit on Stanley’s knee, “What’s a base? Mom and dad said that this was, but you said it wasn’t.”

Stanley had to force himself not to cringe as the chubby grub that was now sitting on his leg. The mucus stuck to his pants uncomfortably and his squishy flesh molded itself around his knee. Four little floppy legs grabbed onto his leg, so he didn’t fall over, while two dark pink eyes stared deep into Stanley’s soul.

There was no way Stanley was ever getting naked. He did not want to see what a full-grown shapeshifter looked like if he could help it. He’d have to ask about the mom thing too, when he wasn’t trying to look like he actually knew everything in front of Ford.

“Yeah, no that’s not what a base is. You’re just naked, so if you could just,” Stanly poked Shifty’s forehead, and the kid twitched the little mandibles he had for a mouth and shifted into a cat, “Cool. A base is….”

Stanley paused as he tried to think of how to describe it. On one hand, Ford was his base, but he also couldn’t just shift into his brother and be his own base. His base was also Stanley Pines, who wasn’t Stanford but was him.

“Technically it’s the first thing you ever shift into,” Stanley started, then scrambled to catch the coffee cup that was now sitting on his knee. He stared at it, then handed it over to Ford when his brother reached out to take it, “But in this case that’s not going to work. It’s… its you? The human form that’s you anyway, not your grub. So, this is mine.”

Stanley gestured to his face, and a moment later Ford scrambled to shove the second Stanley off his lap, fully clothed and all.

“Like this?” Shifty said, using his voice and everything. The kid frowned, then looked down at himself, “I don’t feel like me though.”

“That’s because you’re me, and you won’t get a base until you can copy someone long enough to make the shift feel like yourself.” Stanley corrected, as Shifty shifted into a fox and jumped onto Fiddleford’s lap.

“The easiest thing to copy is another kid,” Stanley said, once Ford had gone back to writing in his book and Shifty was settled and back to paying attention, “Or a baby. How do you feel like raising a human baby with your shifter son?”

“Not particularly fond of that idea.” Ford muttered, even as Fiddleford said “Where would we even get a baby.”

“Easy, steal one.”

There were a few places he knew to look. And really, humans had so many babies all the time, it couldn’t be too hard to just make a new one if Stanley nabbed one from the hospital or something.

“Absolutely not!” Fiddleford shouted, sitting up and looking at him aghast, “We’re not stealing a baby!”

“Fine, older kid then.”

Little harder, but orphanages had all kinds of extra human kids. It couldn’t be too difficult to find one willing to be raised in the woods along with a shapeshifting kid.

“We’re not stealing children!”

Stanley scowled back at Fiddleford, “It’s the easiest way to get a kid! Kids are so easy to steal and create paperwork for!”

“How many kids have you stolen?!”

“What about Tate?” Ford said, interrupting the beginning of Fiddleford’s rant, “He’s fairly young, you could ask Emma-May to have him visit for a few months and see how they’d get along.”

“Who’s Tate?”

“None of your business,” Fiddleford snapped, then whirled to Ford, “and we’re not involving him. Emma-May made it quite clear. She doesn’t want me near him until I….”

Fiddleford trailed off, then sighed and rubbed his forehead.

“We’re not using Tate just so Shifty can copy a kid. There’s gotta be something else we could do.”

“Well,” Stanley drummed his fingers on the side of the couch and eyed both of the Fords, “I can do something short term for now, but if you want him to learn how to act human properly, he’ll need a proper human base.”

The nerds exchanged glances, then frowned at him.

“Let’s try your short-term solution,” Fiddleford said, running a hand through Shifty’s fur, “And Stanford and I will discuss long term child rearing later.”

A quick run upstairs for a change of clothes and shift later, Stanley burst back into the study, wearing his childhood base form and shooting the Fords a charming grin.

“Tada! Who needs actual human kids when you have one on demand!” His grin twitched at Fords pinched expression and he quickly looked away before it made him have feelings, “C’mere Shifty, shift into me now.”

A moment later there were two young Stanley Pines’s in the room, and he suddenly hated this idea. It was almost like seeing Ford as a kid again, wide-eyed and looking at him full of trust. Nothing like the blank way he was looking at them now.

But there wasn’t a better way to get him used to staying in one form long term, and this was a shift Stanley was already comfortable wearing. Until they figured out the base problem, it’d have to do.

“Welp, since I have no regrets, we’re gonna go do kid stuff!” Stanley yelled, grabbing Shifty’s hand and running out of the room, “I’m not running away! This is normal behavior!”

No one followed them, and he couldn’t decide if the ache in his chest was relief or regret.

(Ford watches the ghost of his brother leave the room, dragging his mirror behind. A part of him wants to follow, to watch the shadows of his childhood and do… something. Cry, laugh, tear his brother out of his son’s arms and hold him close.

How small they used to be. How innocent. When was the last time Stanley had looked at him with anything other than pain in his eyes. When was the last time Ford had seen that bright smile. Had it always looked so strained?

There is no way to know, so he looks down at the book in his hands, reading over all of what his brother shared with them. What he hadn’t shared with Shifty.

Long ago, when they were small, Stanley had whispered into his ear that Ford was the most Important Person in the world, and that a Voice in the Dark had told him so. That everything Stanley was, he was because of Ford. That Ford showed him all the best ways to be himself.

Gripping the book, he listens to his friend mutter about children, and wonders.

Is he still his brothers most Important Person?)

He spent the rest of the day trying to teach Shifty how to act like a human kid.

It was the hardest thing he’d ever had to do, and he’d once hand to crawl through the vents of a vampire’s mansion as a giant worm.

Part of the reason was the fact that he wasn’t, and had never been, a human kid. He’d spent his childhood copying Ford, then all the kids around him when he started school and got a better grasp of human behavior. It was very hard to remember the limits of human bodies when you weren’t one and neither was your playmate.

Probably the reason no one tried to hand raise shapeshifters. It was much easier to learn how to blend in with humans from actual humans, and not from other creatures pretending to be humans.

The other part was Ford, sitting in a chair or watching out the windows and scribbling away, looking like he was having an aneurysm whenever Stanley did so much as breathed deeply or held Shifty’s hand too tightly. Whenever Stanley started to get into the rhythm of pretending to be a kid, he’d spot Ford’s shadowed expression out of the corner of his eye and lose it.

By the end of the day, he was tired, stressed, grumpy, and ready to kidnap a human child for Shifty to play with.

Looking through Fiddleford’s room while the other man started working on dinner, he decided that if the Fords’ couldn’t find a better long term solution, that child would be Tate McGucket.

Chapter Text

The moment Shifty disappeared for bed, Stanley shifted back into his base form, changed into something more comfortable, and laid face first on the couch. He hadn’t had to run around so much since he was a kid, he’d forgotten how exhausting it was.

“You’ve… changed, I see.” Ford said, and Stanely turned to see him standing in the doorway, holding his book and tapping his fingers along the spine.

“What gave me away,” Stanley muttered, shoving his face back into the cushion, “the fact that I’m not knee height?”

Ford chuckled, then walked into the room and sat down on the couch by his feet, pushing them away. They sat there in silence for a while, before Ford cleared his throat.

“Today has been very successful. Shifty seemed to enjoy himself, and we’ve all learned a lot about… about your… that is, your culture.”

Stanley turned to look at him as he trailed off, fingers gripping his book tightly as he glared at the far wall. Ford caught him staring, and he quickly looked away.

The air felt heavier with just the two of them. It made his insides squirm uncomfortably to have Ford right here and still not know what to do or say.

“Stanley,” Ford said, breaking the silence, “I’m… How are you?”

Stanley heard a groan from the hallway and turned to see Fiddleford crouched with his head in his hands almost out of sight. Then he turned to see Ford holding his head in his hands. He sat up on the couch and gave them both a suspicious look.

“I’m fine.” he said eyeing Ford as he stood up and nodded. Then pivoted and walked out of the room, grabbing Fiddleford by the arm and dragging him away.

Weird.

Whatever. Stanley wasn’t going to try and read into every little interaction with his brother. Instead he was going to lay here and think about what Ford was going to say originally. ‘I’m’… What. Tired? Disgusted? Not your brother? Still angry? Unsure of how real their relationship was, and if Stanley could not call himself Pines until he figured it out?

The possibilities were endless.

(Ford groans as he pulls his friend upstairs into his bedroom. He’d thought long and hard all day about how to apologize to his brother, and he’d chickened out immediately.

“Not even two minutes,” Fiddleford says, watching him pace around his room, “That’s gotta be some kind of record.”

“Words just aren’t enough.” Ford mutters, hands behind his back as he thinks, “I need to offer something as a physical representation of my regrets. So that he knows I’m serious.”

“Or you could just say ‘I’m sorry for thinking you were playing a game with your existence, thanks for helping me with my son’. Just a start.”

Ford turns to look at his friend in disbelief. Just say he was sorry? For writing off years of what he now knew was his brother letting him in on the biggest secret of his life as a joke? For turning his back on their dream because he thought his brother was childish and therefore being unrealistic? Because Stanley kept talking about being a shapeshifter and knowing where to find lost treasures and hidden islands? He’d blamed Stanley as the key point in turning him towards Bill, destroying Fords project for a child’s fantasy, when in reality he’d been the one turning his back on Stanley and all their long-term potentially feasible goals.

If Stanley could remember all the way back to when he’d hatched, then that meant he remembered every one of their conversations. Ford couldn’t even remember when he’d started thinking of the Stan’O’War as more of a hobby than an escape. Something he’d never shared with Stanley, because he thought Stanley was joking about fighting sea monsters and stealing from wizards. Things Ford now knew actually existed, and Stanley probably knew existed, and thought Ford knew.

And now, a decade later, Ford found out it was real. That his brother was a shapeshifter. A real, actual, descendant from an alien species, shapeshifter. Not playing a game at all. A young shapeshifter, desperate to help Ford feel better as a child, feel like he belonged.

And Stanley had called Maurice dad. Called Shifty nephew. But wouldn’t look at Ford with anything other than their childhood face. Maurice said it was because Stanley didn’t know what Ford looked like, but it’d been a full day, and he was still seventeen.

It had to mean something. Words wouldn’t be enough to convey Fords feelings on the matter.

And on top of it all, his project. He was still angry about it, all these years later. Still angry about the lost opportunity, the chance to flourish around like minded individuals. If Stanley hadn’t destroyed it, Ford might have gone off to West Coast Tech, and then.. what? Would Stanley have disappeared, just like he had when pa had kicked him out? Would Ford have still lost his brother? Would they still be close? Would Stanley have felt betrayed by the one person he trusted to hold his secret, not realizing Ford didn’t think it was worth sharing as a childhood game?

Should Ford still be hoping for an apology?

What was the better future here? What choices could Ford have made that didn’t leave him twinless, right next to his own twin. Everything felt like it was spiraling out of his control, jumbling his heart into a chaotic mess that couldn’t decide if he should hug Stanley or shake him.

“I can see the smoke coming out of your ears.” Fiddleford says, resting his head in his hands, “Just say sorry.”

“No.” Ford snaps back, rubbing his chin, “I just have to keep watching, figure out what would work. He said he’d be here until Shifty could take care of himself and blend in as a human being. How long do you think that will take?”

“Well, and I’m just speculating based on his growth and what I know of human children,” Fiddleford muses, leaning back on the bed, “Anywhere from one month to eighteen years.”

At least one month then. Ford would have to act fast to see what he could give Stanley to really show him how sorry he was. Then everything would be fixed, and Stanley wouldn’t feel the need to disappear again.

Right after he double checked all the locks in the house and scanned the perimeter. Bill might have been driven out of their reality, but who knew what agents had been left behind.

The jelly bean on his pillow is given a curious look, before being quickly forgotten.)

It was child’s play swiping a book of animals off of Fords shelves and sneaking up to his room. Stanley double checked the lock as Ford puttered around downstairs, then sat down in the middle of the floor and flipped open to the section on dogs.

If Shifty could fully turn into talking animals, there was nothing stopping Stanley from doing it either.

He decided to try out something mostly person sized, flipping to a picture of a rottweiler. He chucked off his shirt and pants and threw them in a corner, before eyeing the picture again.

The fur was easy, he did it often enough in cold weather. The colors were too, along with the teeth and snout. It took a bit of wiggling, and looking around the room for a full sized mirror to prop against the wall, but he managed to get the ears mostly right, if slightly stiff for the breed.

Next came the hardest part, the shape. Shapeshifters didn’t have bones, not like humans did anyway. Underneath his skin was a flexible squishy inside, that stretched and stiffened to imitate joints as needed. That meant he wasn’t really moving his ribcage or shoulder blades, but it still felt weird to stand on four legs instead of two.

It was strange to do a full animal shift like this. Like he was wild. Looking at himself in the mirror, he could tell he wasn’t a real dog. Too stiff, fur laying strangely, the muscles in his legs not quite right, still wearing underwear, but still more animal than he’d seen any human shifter do before.

If he could perfect this, could figure out how Shifty made clothes? It would open up a world of possibilities.

He shifted into other dog breeds for another hour, before turning in for the night. The book was shoved under his socks in the dresser, and he wriggled his form around as he put on his pajamas and crawled into bed, stretching his arms and legs into different lengths and changing colors. Once he felt stretched out, he went back to his base form and listened to the sounds of Ford, puttering around downstairs.

He was still awake an hour after Ford went upstairs to bed, then the hour after, when he crept out and silently walked the halls of the house, checking all the locks and peeking through the boarded windows for any sing of people watching, shifting his eyes for better night vision.

Only then, when everything was secure and nothing seemed to have wandered close to his brother’s barbed wire fence, did he creep back upstairs and check in on the nerds sleeping, listening at their doors for their heavy breaths, then finally head upstairs to go to sleep.

He had a long day of teaching human school tomorrow after all, he needed all the rest he could get.

Stanley started the morning by screaming, a large dog slamming into his stomach and licking his face while he wheezed.

“Uncle Stanley!” Shifty yelled, tail wagging a mile a minute, “Uncle Stanley, wake up!”

“Hurgh.” Stanley replied, pushing Shifty off of him and sitting up, “Kid, what-”

And he was gone, running out of the room and dashing down the stairs. Stanley groaned again, then rolled over and found something to wear as his kid shift. He’d done some thinking last night while he was waiting for Ford to finally go to sleep, and he decided he’d give Ford and his boyfriend one week to figure out how they wanted to get Shifty a long-term base, before he started making moves to kidnap Fiddleford’s son.

That meant six more days of crash coarse human child lessons with Shifty. He’d spend today and tomorrow getting the kid used to holding one shift for a long period of time, the third and maybe fourth (depending on how quickly Shifty picked it up) on how to act like a human, then the fifth day testing it out in town. The last day he had a date with his brother and his notebook full of questions, and he’d ask them about what they’d decided to do about Shifty’s base.

Once Stanley was dressed and child-sized, he looked at himself in the mirror, examining his face. Seeing Shifty copy his childhood base form had left his heart an achy mess yesterday, so he made some slight changes. Hair a little lighter, nose a little longer, some added chubbiness . When he managed to get a look he liked he made his way downstairs, wandering into the kitchen and frowning at the two zombies at the table. Shifty was darting around their feet as a smaller dog, then saw Stanley and launched himself towards him.

“Uncle Stanley!” he cried, shifting to match, right down to the cloths (and Stanley needed to figure that out next, once he got his animals looking more natural and not like some kind of horror beast pretending to be animals (which he guessed he actually was on some level)). “Uncle Stanley, are we playing more games today!”

“Some,” Stanley said, making his way to the cupboards and frowning at how high they were. Tomorrow he’d have to shift into a kid after breakfast, but it was too late now (both because he was here already, and because there was no way he could look any kind of incompetent in front of the Fords (even Ford zombies)), “We’re gonna work on holding this shift for as long as possible. You’re too used to shifting constantly, which will freak most humans out.”

Stanley decided on cereal, grabbing a box and heading over to grab two bowls from the cupboard. Since they were planning on not shifting today, he wouldn’t need as much, and maybe the lack of excess energy would help Shifty not shift around either.

He poured them both bowls and milk, then gave Shifty a spoon when the kid started leaning forwards to eat it with his mouth.

“Humans don’t eat most foods like that,” he said, showing Shifty how to hold it and shovel cereal into his mouth, “something you’ll have to work on at meal times.”

“Got it,” Shifty said, laser focused on carefully dipping his spoon into the cereal and delivering his breakfast into his mouth. The zombies next to them slowly came to life as they drank more coffee, Ford muttering something before jerking to his feet and shambling over to a toaster with two many buttons and warning labels. By the time Shifty and him had finished breakfast they’d just started eating toast, so Stanley dumped their bowls in the sink and grabbed Shifty’s hand, running off to sit in the living room.

“Yesterday was more to see where you were at,” Stanley said, standing in front of Shifty as the kid sat on the couch and kicked his legs, “How long you could hold a shift without changing, how well you could control your strength, your response to excitement, that sort of thing.”

That was a lie of course, but Shifty didn’t need to know that. All Stanley had been doing was scrambling out of Fords weird pinched gaze and trying to think about how to teach a shifter how to act human from scratch. Not only had no one taught Stanley how to do it, Shifty didn’t even have a basic understanding of how dangerous being a shifter was. Plus this being hands on was an entirely new experience for Stanley. None of his circle did hands on, and he’d didn’t know any shifters outside his circle to ask how he was supposed to do this.

Which meant he just had to wing it and hope for the best.

“From what I could tell,” Stanley continued, eyeing Shifty and scanning the room for the TV remote, “you can hold a form for about ten minutes before you start getting twitchy, and you have a harder time when you get excited. So, before we play, we’re gonna work on making that time longer.”

Stanley found the remote sitting on a side table under a pile of papers and grabbed it. Then he sat next to Shifty on the couch and turned it on, flipping the channels until he found something that looked kid friendly.

“One hour is the goal for right now,” Stanley said, getting comfortable while Shifty mirrored him, “And after that we’ll work on maintaining your shift doing different activities.”

“What kinds of activities?” Shifty asked watching the characters on the screen with interest, “more games?”

“Pretty much,” Stanley responded, “Kids get excited and run around a lot, so you’ll need to work on keeping that shift while you do those things. No cheating and making yourself faster or arms longer or whatever else you did yesterday.”

Shifty grumbled, but it didn’t take long before he was absorbed in whatever program was running. Stanley watched it from the corner of his eye, some puppet show about friendship or whatever, but kept most of his focus on Shifty, scanning his shift for any subtle changes.

After fifteen minutes Shifty’s hair started turning fuzzier, matching a puppet on the screen. With a sigh Stanley lifted the remote and turned off the show, frowning at Shifty’s cry of outrage.

“Hey! I was watching that!” He said, turning to pout at Stanley.

“Yeah, now look at your hair.” Stanley shot back, lounging further and crossing his legs while he watched Shifty look up and feel his head, “you gotta focus if you want to stand a chance at blending in. Make maintaining one form second nature and shifting something you have to think about.”

Shifty grumbled some more, but quieted down when Stanley turned on the TV. They got another five minutes before Fiddleford wandered in, holding another mug and squinting at them.

“What are you doing.” He said, sipping at his drink.

“Teaching,” Stanley said, eyeing Shifty, “getting in some vital lessons here.”

“Hrrn.” Fiddleford turned towards the TV, then looked at Shifty, skin slowly turning green before Stanley pulled a rubber band from his pocket and launched it at him. Shifty jumped, then rubbed the spot and glared at Stanley, even as his skin went back to an acceptable human color.

“Is that child abuse?” Fiddleford muttered, “I feel like I should object to that kind of treatment towards my son.”

“Nah,” Stanley said, pulling another rubber band out and eyeing Shifty, “Shapeshifters heal faster than humans. So, he’ll be fine. From this anyway.”

“From this he says.” Fiddleford muttered again, then wandered off somewhere. Ford, who Stanley realized was scribbling away at the doorway, stepped aside to let him through, then wandered over to sit between him and Shifty.

His brother didn’t look up from his book as they continued to watch TV, just kept writing away and injecting commentary about the TV program whenever they got some science fact wrong. Over the next hour Stanley paid less attention to Shifty as Ford shifted his focus onto his son, poking him in the back of the head whenever his shift started to slip.

When the puppet program was done Stanley jumped down and stretched (in the acceptable human manner) then turned to face Shifty again.

“Alright, that’s enough of that.” he said, “Now it’s time to keep that shift, even when you’re excited. Ready?”

“Ready!” Shifty yelled, sitting up straight and cheeks puffed up.

“Good.” Stanley nodded, then jerked forwards and tapped the kids knee, “you’re it!”

And then he was gone, running out of the living room and towards the front door, where he’d left a set of winter gear from yesterday. He quickly threw his jacket and hat on, then shoved his feet into some boots before charging out into the freezing cold.

He’d mapped a safe place in the yard for Shifty to run around in yesterday, far enough from the barbed wire and lacking any traps as far as he could see. Ford hadn’t said anything either, which meant it was probably safe. Of course, knowing Ford, he might have forgotten.

Shifty’s footsteps followed him, and he launched himself sideways before he could get touched.

“Here’s the rules kid!” Stanley yelled, diving into the snow and quickly making a ball, “Every time you shift, you’ll owe me a dollar.”

“But I don’t have any money!” Shifty yelled, scrambling to dodge the ball Stanley launched at him.

“Not my problem!” Stanley shouted back, making another, “talk to your parents about getting a job or something, all I know is you already owe me three dollars!”

Shifty growled as he shook out the fur growing from the side of his head and turned his feet into a pair of snug boots.

Stanley ran around the yard, keeping just out of reach and launching snowballs at Shifty while shouting out the increasing amount of money the kid owed him. Fiddleford seemed the type of dad to give out allowances, so hopefully Stanley could start taking money from the kid sooner rather than later.

Although, seeing as a not insignificant portion of Ford’s earnings were from Stanley, it was almost like Stanley was paying himself. He’d have to get Fords next allowance done before he forgot, place it under his pillow or something so he couldn’t lose it.

They took a break at lunch, Shifty already a hundred and seven dollars in debt and Stanley freezing cold. Thankfully Fiddleford was much more alive, putting a platter full of sandwiches together for them and promising Shifty some financial advice while he did so.

“Although I hope your Uncle Stanley finds a better way to encourage you to keep your shape,” Fiddleford added, giving Stanley a stink eye in the process, “Seeing as he shouldn’t be charging little boys pocket money for being themselves.”

“What can I say,” Stanley said, grabbing three sandwiches and making himself comfortable, “Money’s a good motivator. Soon enough the kid will be keeping his shape while being chased by all kinds of creepo’s.”

Stanley took a bite from a sandwich, then thought about what he wanted Shifty to work on next. Maybe something to help him think like a human. Some game they could play inside where it was warm.

“Is that something that’s a concern?” Ford asked, wandering in and grabbing a sandwich, “Being chased?”

“Oh yeah,” Stanley leaned back and held up a hand, holding up a finger for every group he could think of that would love to have Shifty, ticking them off as he went, “Vampires, werewolves, fae, demons, wizards, witches, dragons, merfolk, shades, ghosts, anything that groups together or has any kind of power would love to get their hands on a young shapeshifter, even one like Shifty. Especially one like Shifty, actually.”

Stanley took another bite, then turned and pointed at the kid, “Most shifter’s aren’t as fluid as me and you. Poor suckers are stuck wearing human faces. So even if you suck at blending in, the fact that you can be literally anything gives you all kinds of advantages in our line of work.”

“And what kind of work is that.” Ford asked, stiffly moving to sit down across from Stanley and gripping his sandwich.

“Crime!” Stanley shoved the rest of his sandwich down his throat, then sat up, beaming, “There’s nobody better at crime then a shapeshifter! Stealing, thieving, conning, spying, assassination, impersonation? What’s better than a guy who can change their face for any of that!”

“Assassination!” Fiddleford screeched, looking at Stanley with wide eyes. Ford’s grip on his sandwich was turning hazardous, fillings starting to squish out the sides and drip onto the table.

“That’s what I said,” Stanley responded, grabbing another sandwich, “although I prefer stealing myself. Nothing better than a good heist, plus killing is kinda… bleh.” Stanley took a bite out of his second sandwich, squinting across the room, “Never really got into it. Maurice was more of a spying type, so I guess I inherited some of their squeamishness or something. Finding a dead body’s one thing, making it dead’s another.”

“Glad to hear it.” Fiddleford said, voice high pitched and wheezy. Stanley gave him a suspicious look, then shrugged. Humans were always more uptight about laws and not committing crimes and such.

“Anyway,” Stanley turned back to Shifty, “Once you get better at keeping your shift, I’ll teach you how to change on the run so no one notices. You don’t have to pick what kind of illegal activity you want to do until you’re older.”

“Or at all!” Fiddleford snapped marching over to sit in the last chair on Stanley’s other side, “You can be whatever you want Shifty, you don’t have to grow up to be a criminal like your uncle.”

“Oh for sure! Follow your dreams kid!” Stanley said, smiling. Then he turned towards Shifty and held up a hand in front of his face, whispering to him, “We’ll go over your options in more detail later.”

Shifty nodded at him, and Fiddleford groaned, leaning forwards and covering his face.

“Please don’t turn our son into a criminal,” Ford said, sandwich grip finally easing as he sighed. Stanley shot his brother another charming smile, but all Ford did was sigh again and take a bite of his sandwich, then start shoving it in his mouth when it started falling apart in his hands.

Eh. What they didn’t know wouldn’t hurt them. They finished up lunch, then Stanley dragged Shifty off to play non-shifting hide and seek with a five-dollar penalty every time he caught the kid trying to hide with shifting.

(“We’ll need to keep an eye on them,” Ford says, once he finished his sandwich, “before Shifty grows up wanting to be a master criminal and not a respectable scientist.”

“Or something else more respectable,” Fiddleford says back, picking up Shifty’s and Stanley’s abandoned plates and heading over to the sink. Ford scoffs, then frowns, listening to Stanley explain something to their son in the other room. His brother had changed his form slightly, so he was no longer walking around in miniature. Ford didn’t know what that meant, but he was happy with not having two mini Stanley’s walking around. It made it easier to watch them together.

“I’m heading down into the basement today,” Fiddleford says, interrupting Ford’s train of thought, “Gonna work on more calculations. I’ll look through the camera’s while I’m down there, make sure he hasn’t been teaching Shifty anything-”

Ford stands up, slamming his hands on the table as a brilliant idea sparks in his mind. He’d forgotten about the cameras, what with the shock of Shifty finding Maurice and then Stanley showing up and shattering his entire world view. They were something the two of them set up when Shifty was a baby, Fiddleford out of paranoia and Ford out of concern of Shifty turning into something inconspicuous and falling asleep somewhere. They were all over the house in every room, cleverly hidden so that Shifty wouldn’t feel too watched.

Neither really used them when it became obvious that Shifty was very much a child, but they were still around. Still recording. Still fully capable of being used so that Ford could figure out what Stanley might appreciate or how he might feel regarding Ford. If Ford knew in advance, then there was no way he could mess up his apology and find a suitable gift to convey his own feelings.

It was perfect.

“Do not-” Fiddleford started to say, but Ford was already striding out of the room, mind whirling with ideas. He couldn’t go down right now and leave his brother and son unsupervised, but maybe tonight, after everyone had gone to sleep. Then he could also go and review the footage of the surrounding area, make sure no suspicious people had been creeping about, threatening his family.)

Stanley spent the rest of the day playing various games with Shifty and charging the kid for every shifting slip up. By dinner he had a debt hitting somewhere in the five hundreds, and was begging the Fords for an allowance so he could start paying it back. Fiddleford gave him a disapproving look at that, but Ford was too busy trying to light his dinner on fire with his eyes to comment, which was good enough for Stanley.

Afterwards Ford disappeared into their secret room (that Stanley would be breaking into at some point, later when he’d been here longer than two days and wasn’t being hovered over constantly), and Stanley went around doing his new nightly routine of sticking a jelly bean on Fords pillow, trying out different animal shifts in his bedroom, then going around the house making sure everything was secure after everyone had gone to bed (except Ford, who might have fallen asleep in the room).

He took some time to start writing Fords next allowance letter, pulling out various newspapers and magazines and cutting out the letters to write out his message. He could probably hand Ford the money directly, but that would mean admitting it had been him the whole time, and at this point he was too used to gluing cut out letters onto paper.

Ford would be fine getting secret admirer money for a while. No need to know Stanley was ever involved at all, not after it had been ten years and now Stanley realized he’d never thought about how he’d admit this was ever him. Cutting out newspaper letters had sounded like a great idea when he first started, but sitting on the floor of his bedroom, door locked and staring at the drying glue, he realized he had no idea how to have that conversation.

Just ‘Hey Ford, know all those letters from your secret admirer? It was me the whole time! Why the newspaper letters? I didn’t want you to recognize my handwriting! Why so much money? Well I was trying to pay back all the money I lost you, but now I realize I never kept track of how much I’ve been sending you or been using to fund your research, because at first I was just giving you pocket money but now I’m shoving a few thousand dollars in an envelope and its barely affecting my savings.’

He'd just have to spend the rest of his life doing this. Stanley frowned at the amount he’d shoved in the envelope, then added a few more thousand and added a note to his letter about hoping Ford was taking care of himself properly. There was no telling how much work Ford had been doing while raising Shifty and going through whatever had made him so paranoid about people knocking on the door.

There. Done. Now Ford would never suspect it was Stanley, who already knew Ford was staying up late and jumping at noises and glaring through the windows every few hours.

Once the glue was dry, he shoved it in the envelope, sealed it, and hid it in his sock drawer. He’d go to the post office later when he was in town with Shifty to deliver it like he usually did, and Ford would be none the wiser.

Then he got ready for bed, stretching out his form while he grabbed some pajamas and snuggled under the covers. That was the great thing about having an attic room with a boarded up window in the middle of Deep Country, there wasn’t anyone around to see him shift.

(Ford frowned as he watches Stanley shove the letter in the dresser, then turned back to rewatch him put a jelly bean on his pillow on another screen. He hadn’t thought much of the jelly beans, had thought that maybe Shifty was sneaking snacks at night or he was sleep eating, but now he couldn’t stop thinking about it.

What did it mean. What emotion did the single jelly bean convey. Was that Stanley’s way of showing he cared? But why just one? Was it pettiness, showing Ford how he still remembered things about Ford, even as Ford wrote off things about Stanley? Anger? About Ford making their childhood a joke? A shaky olive branch? One olive at a time?

Did the flavor matter? Was Stanley trying to convey a secret message through jelly beans? Ford desperately reaches out to grab a blank piece of paper, then started recording which colors Stanley had left behind. He’d only gotten two so far, so hopefully if he remembered them incorrectly it wouldn’t affect the message too badly.

He shoves the paper into his journal, then turns to frown at what had gotten his attention the most going through the cameras. Stanley, looking at himself in the mirror, shifting into Ford and then himself. His brother looked frustrated with something, but Ford didn’t understand what, and why he was still seventeen even after knowing exactly what he should look like.

He was missing something, but he was determined to find out what. He wouldn’t give up trying to fix this.

If he could fix this.)

The next day went similar to the previous one. Stanley watched TV with Shifty, poking him or flinging rubber band at him whenever his shift started to slip. Shifty had already improved, managing a whole thirty minutes before starting to shift parts of his body to mimic whatever show was on. Hopefully Stanley would be able to get that hour in before the end of the week when he planned to take Shifty into town.

After that it was more tag and running around outside, lunch, then various play pretend games to get Shifty used to not shifting, even if it would be very cool to give himself a pirate costume.

Fiddleford came in and out often, eyeing the two of them before disappearing to do paperwork in the study (It looked like a mix of divorce papers and financial statements of some kind, and half the time Fiddleford spent hunched over a picture of his soon to be ex-wife and son). Ford spent all of his time pacing around the house, watching Stanley and Shifty like a hawk and scribbling away on various notebooks.

The eyebags were proof enough he had not fallen asleep in that secret room, but that wasn’t Stanley’s problem (yet).

On day three Stanley started off with watching TV with Shifty and working on his shift length, then brought him into the kitchen for a crash course on human kids and how they acted in public.

“For our first outing,” Stanley said, setting a stack of kids’ magazines in front of Shifty on the table, “just follow my lead and try not to say anything. Most people aren’t raised in the woods and grow up so fast in just a few months, but we’ll figure out your tragic back story after we find you a more permanent base. No use doing it now when this shift is just temporary.”

“Tragic back story?” Shifty asked grabbing a magazine and pulling it closer. Stanley had nabbed them a while ago for their letters, but this was a good use too, he supposed.

“That’s right,” Stanley said, sorting through the magazines to find ones with kids doing normal activities and pushing them Shifty’s way, “kids don’t just pop out of nowhere, not human ones at least, so we have to figure out where you came from and why you’re here. For now, just focus on these normal kid stories and read through them, then we’ll watch some more TV so you can get a feel for how humans talk to each other.”

Stanley used the time Shifty was reading and looking through pictures to write out what they were going to do in town in two days. It was fairly small, and still the middle of winter, which meant there weren’t a lot of areas for kids their apparent age to go wandering around to hang out in. Maybe just a quick trip to the corner store to dip Shifty’s toes in, then to the post office to drop off the letter.

Which meant they’d need temporary tragic back stories. Something to explain why they were here but not sticking around for long. And he’d have to ask Ford how he wanted Stanley to look when (or if, judging by his brother’s boarded-up shack and willingness to attack total strangers at the door) they went out together.

By the time day five rolled around Shifty could hold his shift for a little more than an hour, Fiddleford was going back and forth between hovering and locking himself in his room to mope, and Ford was passed out on the couch, finally losing to the siren song of sleep after staying up for several days straight doing whatever he was doing in the secret room at night and following them around during the day.

The perfect time to stretch Shifty’s legs really.

Stan bundled up, pocketing his letter and grabbing a few dollars, then wrote a note to let Ford and his boyfriend know he was taking Shifty out for a little while. Then he was out the door, stomping through the snow.

“Normally I’d drive us,” he said, turning to Shifty as they passed the Stanleymobile, “But then I’d have to explain a missing third person if anyone asks, and the walk will give us time to go over our tragic back story.”

“I thought you said I didn’t need one yet.” Shifty said, frowning even as he stomped on the snow.

“Not a permanent one,” Stanley told him, slinging an arm around his shoulder, “Just for while we look like this. That way if anyone asks, we have something ready. If anyone asks you anything and you don’t know how to respond, just burst into tears and I’ll come cover you.”

“OK.”

“Good kid, now!” Stanley got closer, leaning his head forwards so Shifty could hear him while he talked quietly, “While we’re in town, I’m Kingsley, and you’re Kingston. We’re twins, distant cousins of Dr. Pines who lives in the woods. Our ma is on some kind of trip, and she asked him to watch us while she’s in LA, doing grown up stuff. We’re heading into town on our own to show him how well we can take care of ourselves. Got it?”

“Got it Uncle- I mean Kingsley.”

“We’ll work on your acting more later,” Stanley reassured him, “this is just to show you how normal humans act, and how different it is to being at home. You’ll get a better feel for it as you grow.”

Stanley went over a few more details as they walked to town, how they lived in California, and Ford was the only nearby relative to watch them for an extended period of time. Their ma wasn’t close with him, and they’d never met him until recently. Whatever was happening in LA was super important, but they didn’t know what it was.

By the time they entered the small corner store Stanley was pretty confident they’d be in and out in under twenty minutes, with no one questioning the presence of two kids. The likelihood of people asking any questions was pretty slim, and the backstory was more to get Shifty used to the idea of being prepared.

“Wow,” Shifty said as they entered the store, “The music in here is pretty bad.”

“Excuse me?” Said the woman at the counter, and Stanley slapped himself in the face as he turned to see Shifty, eyeing the shelves with wonder even as he turned to look at the outraged woman.

“I said its not that good,” Shifty went on, “Kinda boring. How come there isn’t any beat? The-”

“Sorry about my brother!” Stanley shouted, slapping a hand over Shifty’s mouth before the woman got any redder, “He has weird music taste and makes it everyone’s problem. Now if you-”

“Aww!” the woman’s outrage melted into fondness as she took in their matching appearance, “Twins! Now aren’t the two of you just the sweetest little pair! No worries about your brother sweet pea, I know you little youngsters like something a little more peppy, here let me-”

She fiddled with something under the counter, and a moment later the dull corner store droning was replaced with some lady softly singing ‘old McDonalds’. Stanley felt his eye twitch, but he gripped Shifty’s hand when his nephew started nodding along.

“Thanks lady!” Stanley chirped, trying to pull Shifty away, “Now if-”

“Now where’d you two come from?” An older man said, coming around a corner and wearing an apron, “Shouldn’t you two be in school?”

The woman frowned, fondness turning into suspicion, as she eyed them. Stanley felt his eye twitch again, before he slung an arm around Shifty’s shoulder and held him closer, smushing their faces together in a move he knew was adorable.

“Me and my bro are visiting family!” he said, smiling as their faces softened again, “so we’re missing a little bit of class while we’re here. Our teacher gave us a lot to take with us, so we wouldn’t fall behind. So if-”

“Visiting family are you,” the old man said, moving to join the lady at the counter and leaning forwards, “who’re you visiting? If you don’t mind me askin’”

I mind so much, “Our cousin Dr. Pines,” Stanley responded cheerily, as he slowly moved towards the shelves, “he lives in the woods in a big fancy house. Our ma had an important trip, so he’s watching us for a while.”

“Oh!” the old lady clapper her hands, then turned towards the old man, “He must mean the mysterious science man that lives in the woods and has all those flashing lights! Is Dr. Pines his name then? He comes in from time to time, but he’s not one for conversation. I can see the resemblance!”

Stanley internally groaned. Of course, Ford would have the reputation of being a cool hermit in the woods, trapping Stanley into talking about him with this random couple. All he wanted was to show Shifty how to buy things and how humans acted in their natural environement, and now he was stuck.

“Yeah, he’s not super friendly,” Stanley started to say, before Shifty chimed in with, “Dr. Pines just doesn’t like talking to idiots!”

The couple’s faces turned red, and Stanley felt his cheeks hurting from the force of his smile.

“Ha! That’s- He’s just a grump is all!” Stanley said, now trying to shove Shifty out the door, “Sorry about my brother, he was born with no sense.”

“I wasn’t born I think.” Shifty said, frowning, “are humans born? I don’t think-”

“Haha! Classic Kingston, always- always joking around!” Stanley turned to fully push him out the door, ignoring whatever the couple was saying and grabbing Shifty’s hand, dragging him along as Stanley ran.

“What was that!” Stanley yelled, turning to face the kid once they’d gotten farther away, “What happened to follow my lead!”

“But that’s what mom always says!” Shifty yelled back, pouting. Stanley was about to yell about how he didn’t have to repeat everything Ford said to strangers, before the words registered and he burst out laughing.

Shifty had mentioned ‘mom’ a few times, much to Stanley’s confusion, but Ford had been too much of a laser focused zombie to really respond to anything they’d been talking about. But this explained everything and gave him the amazing mental image of Ford tackling Maurice to the ground.

“Give me a moment,” Stanley wheezed, bending over and trying to breathe, “I just. I needed that.”

“OK?”

“Whew!” Stanley stood up straight, then looked around. They were in the middle of the street, and he could see the post office a little further down. Stanely led the way, still holding Shifty’s hand while he fished the letter out of his pocket.

“I’m giving you a D- on your performance,” Stanley said as they walked, “The only reason you didn’t fail completely was because you at least remembered not to call Ford mom. You were way to honest with that couple, and didn’t pick up on my shut it ques. Hopefully we can get that sorted before you start school.”

Shifty pouted, kicking at some of the slush and frowning harder when Stanley told him not to talk while he got his letter sorted. This was important, because Stanley was not going to pay a postage fee or have anyone question why he was delivering a letter to the address of what was apparently the towns local hermit celebrity.

Instead he dragged Shifty in, grinned at the empty counter and lack of cameras, then peered over the side. There was a shuffling sound in the back, but he didn’t hear any footsteps approaching when he jumped the counter, shoved his letter in the incoming mail pile, then jumped back and dashed out of the post office.

“Is that how mail works?” Shifty asked, once they were further down the street.

“Yup! I’ll show you the specifics when you’re older, but that’s how humans everywhere do it.” Stanley said, pulling Shifty along. They’d been in town maybe twenty minutes now, but he was already ready to head back. Shifty wasn’t ready to try and talk to people yet, and Stan didn’t have any other errands to do today. They could try this again once he’d drilled it into the kid’s mind that no one else knew they weren’t human, and that it was dangerous to reveal too much information.

Just as they were walking off the main road to head back to Ford’s house, a dark beat up car burst out of the woods, bursting past them then screetching to a halt. Stanley watched with interest as Fiddleford slammed open the drivers side door while Ford struggled to slam open his own, both of them looking pale and furious.

“Hey nerds!” Stanley called, waving at them as Fiddleford stomped over, “whats the rush?”

“Where have you been!” Fiddleford snapped, marching over and snatching Shifty, lifting the boy into his arms, “I-We-You didn’t ask!”

“I left a note.” Stanley replied, rolling his eyes when Ford stumbled closer, still looking panicked and eyes darting between Shifty and Stanley, “And we were gone for less than an hour.”

“You mean the note that said ‘I’m taking the kid’ that you left on Stanfords forehead?” Fiddleford yelled, running a hand through Shifty’s human hair as the kid clung to him, looking worried, “No other details! Nothing about how long you’d be gone or where you were going?”

“Its dangerous out here Stanley,” Ford added, and for the first time Stanley noticed he wasn’t just watching them, he was scanning the forest while one of his arms was in his coat, gripping something. The other hand was twitching, clutching and unclutching his coat.

“Nothing I can’t handle,” Stanley snapped back, irritation starting to creep up, “I might look like a kid, but we’re the same age. All I was doing was showing Shifty around town a little, get him used to being other places.”

“Without our permission.”

Stanley scowled at them, hands clenched at his side. He was starting to realize why hands-off was the preferred method of mentoring. Couldn’t give one kid a field trip without his parents breathing down his neck. And really, Stanley and Ford had gone out without leaving a note all the time, and they’d been fine.

“Listen here,” Stanley growled, pointing at them, “You asked me to come, asked me to help him figure out how to survive. One little trip into town with me isn’t going to put him in danger. You know what is? Not knowing how the world right outside the house operates. You can’t coddle him, he needs to learn.”

“We understand that Stanley,” Ford said, twitching more, “But we had an agreement, we wanted to be as involved as possible. You taking Shifty into town without telling us goes against that.”

“He’s not gonna figure this stuff out if you keep hovering over him! And I left a note!”

“We should know when you’re leaving the house!”

“Why, so you can follow him around town? Get him used to being watched?” Stan snapped, then he huffed and threw his hands in the air, turning to stomp back through the woods to Fords house, “Whatever. I’m done.”

Really. He got that they wanted to be ‘involved’ or whatever, but he was a grown man looking after his nephew. And he left his car! That should have been enough to show them that he was coming back. But he wasn’t going to argue about their overprotectiveness. Instead he was going to go back to Fords house, lock himself in his room, then shove all the moss feelings down by trying to turn into a convincing goat.

“Wait! Stanley!” Stanley turned to see Ford, looking pale and sweaty as he shook and went from staring at Stanley, looking at the surrounding woods like something was going to jump them, then back towards Where Fiddleford was grumbling and taking Shifty back to the car.

“Wait.” He said again, fidgeting and gripping the probably crossbow hidden in his jacket harder, shoulder tensing from the movement, “We do appreciate your help, we just- you’ve only been here for a few days, and you never mentioned taking Shifty out. Please don’t leave.”

“Save it Ford,” Stanley growled, turning to stomp some more and ignoring how Ford’s worry made him worry and Ford reaching out made his heart do a strange sorta happy wiggle that made him feel like he was going to throw up, “I’m not sticking around in the cold to argue about it. You can yell at me later when I’m not freezing.”

“Ah.” There was a shuffle, then the sound of Ford’s retreating footsteps that made the moss feeling grow. A few minutes later the car started, and shortly after it crept up to keep pace with Stanley, driver side window rolling down.

“Did you want a ride back?” Ford called out from across Fiddleford, hunched down in his seat so he could barely be seen with Shifty tucked into his shirt as a ferret.

“No. I like marching through slushy half melted snow and freezing my toes off.” Stanley snipped back. Ford gave him a look, and Stanley growled, opening the car door before anyone could complain and climbing into the back before they could change their mind. Fiddleford yelled something about moving vehicles, but Stanley ignored him, slamming the door shut and sitting down with his arms crossed.

The car rolled to a stop, and both Fords turned to stare at him.

“What.”

“Seatbelt.”

Stanley growled again, then yanked the seatbelt on, glaring at the nerds. Fiddleford gave a sharp nod, then turned to face the road again, driving back through the woods towards Fords house. The silence was tense, but thankfully the trip was short enough that Stanley could throw himself out of the car before it came to a complete stop and march towards the front door, ignoring Fiddlefords yelling.

The door was locked, but that was an easy fix as he jammed his finger into the lock and twisted, then left the door open behind him. He threw his jacket and boots across the floor, then marched upstairs and locked himself in his room, annoyed.

It took him listening to their muttering voices downstairs to realize why the whole conversation pissed him off, even though they were probably right in being angry. Stanley had agreed to keep them in the loop, and he supposed most human parents would get worried if their kids disappeared without more information (maybe. His own parents hadn’t really cared what they got up to, as long as they were at the dinner table by the end of the day).

It was about trust. Stanley was Shifty’s uncle, Fords brother. They’d accepted he’d help out, and he’d agreed. But they didn’t trust him to be alone with Shifty for even a full hour, didn’t trust that Stanley wouldn’t run off with him somewhere.

Like he was a stranger. Like Ford hadn’t known him their whole childhood.

He grumbled into his mattress for a little longer, before rolling over and staring at his arm, thinking moss feelings. His arm turned green and fuzzy, and he focused on trying to get it flatter and more plantlike, resting it on his chest and watching it spread out. Then he tried to copy the texture of the blanket, getting a weird rough fleshy texture instead that made him grimace and shake his hand out.

He still had half the day left, might as well practice some animal forms while he waited for the nerds to calm down.

(“Are you mad at Uncle Stanley?” Shifty asks, burrowing into his lap as Ford sits on the couch, exhausted.

“Yes,” Fiddleford snaps, even as Ford says “No, just worried.”

“Worried about what?”

Ford hesitates, looking over at Fiddleford before turning up to look at the ceiling, where Stanley sits a few floors above, stewing away.

“I suppose I was worried you’d disappeared,” Ford says, running a hand down Shifty’s back, “And I wouldn’t be able to find you again.”

“Don’t be silly mom,” Shifty says, rubbing his head into Ford’s hand before shifting into a bird to sit on his shoulder, “Uncle Stanley was showing me how humans do things. He kept me very safe so no one could take me away, never left my side the whole time.”

“That’s good, that’s-” Ford sighs, then holds out a hand for Shifty to sit in as a small rodent, “Next time, make sure you let us know before you go. If you encounter something dangerous then we can’t help you if we don’t know where you are.”

“OK. I’m sorry mom and dad.”

“Not your fault,” Fiddleford sighs, sitting down next to Ford and leaning back onto the couch, “I suppose he don’t have the same sensibilities about child rearing, not being human and all. Makes sense for a species that abandons its young. Just frustrating for us.”

Ford frowns, still staring at the ceiling as Fiddleford turns on the TV and Shifty scuttles over to sit on his lap and give apology snuggles to Fiddleford. There was no way to explain to his son how he wasn’t worried about something else snatching Shifty out from under Stanley’s nose.

He was worried about Stanley, realizing that he didn’t need Ford and Fiddleford and taking Shifty to live with the rest of the shapeshifters somewhere. Shifty was very mature for his age after all, he hadn’t grown in the normal shapeshifting manner. It could very well be that he was old enough for ‘boot camp’, as Stanley put it. Would he tell them before he whisked their son away for higher shifter learning? Was Shifty allowed to come back?

Was Stanley? Maurice had mentioned in the recordings about needing permission to talk about shapeshifting culture, did they also need permission to go back home? Is that why Stanley never came back? Or did Stanley decide he didn’t need Ford anymore now that he had his real dad to take care of him. The two of them had seemed close, even if Stanley had been annoyed about being tricked into coming.

There was so much he didn’t know about his brother. Hopefully tomorrow, he’ll finally learn more.)

“So how are we doing this,” Stanley said, sitting on the couch in the study the next day in his base form. He’d stayed in his room until dinner yesterday, where they’d had a tense discussion about what they meant exactly about being involved, and how all future ‘field trips’ needed to be OK’d by them first.

Now it was finally the end of the week. Saturday. The perfect day to stay cooped up in a musty study while his brother bombarded him with questions and took his blood.

“Simple,” Ford said, as Fiddleford rolled in a little medical cart that made Stanley’s skin crawl, “We’ll start with a few samples, then go through our list of questions. You have full permission to veto any we ask, and we’ll take a break at lunch.”

“Now, hold out your arm.”

Stanley held his arm out, frowning as Ford grabbed a needle and a vial.

“Question, are either of you-OW!” Stanley yelped as Ford grabbed his arm and jabbed him with the needle, attaching the vial and frowning as it filled up with red human blood. Stanley squirmed as it filled and Ford pulled it out, then handed it to Fiddleford as he watched the wound close up.

“Fascinating.”

“Give a guy a warning!” Stanley snapped, pulling his arm away and rubbing it.

“Why’s it red?” Fiddleford asked, labeling the vial and setting it aside, “Shifty’s was green, does it change as you grow?”

“Oh no,” Stanley replied, watching Fiddleford grab some kind of weird camera, “I’m just making my outer layer thicker and adding blood. You’d need a way bigger needle to get-OW!”

Ford had grabbed a larger needle and jabbed it into Stanley’s arm, and he watched in fascination at the green liquid that filled the attached vial. Stanley hissed as it was pulled out, then grabbed his arm and frowned at his brother.

“Really? Again? Not even a word?”

“I was too excited to think about it,” Ford admitted, handing the vial off to Fiddleford and taking a petri dish, “Now if you don’t mind.”

Stanley grumbled, even as he leaned forwards so Ford could take a snip of some of his hair. He regrew it as Ford pulled away, then turned his arm reptilian so that Ford could pry off a scale. Fiddleford looked at him with his weird not camera, but there wasn’t a flash so Stanley let him be.

“Does it hurt, regrowing all your… bits?” Fiddleford asked, as Stanley shifted his arm into different things Ford could take pieces from.

“Eh. Sorta.” Stanley said, as Ford clipped a talon from his finger then moved away, letting his arm rest, “Like pulling a hair or something. Like I said, we heal fast-Hard pass on how fast!” Stanley yelled, when he saw Ford whip around holding his pen and grinning. His brother turned away with a pout, grabbing his book and sitting at the desk while Fiddleford wheeled away all the ‘samples’.

“Alright,” Stanley said, getting comfortable on the couch, “Hit me.”

“How does your species reproduce?”

Stanley choked on air, then looked over at Ford in shock, mouth gaping at the serious expression on his face.

“Really? That’s what you start with? That?”

“Well,” Ford frowned as he looked at his book, “I know you came from an egg, and that you were left with- you-hm. I’m just curious on the process.”

“Tell you what,” Stanley said, sitting up and crossing his arms, “The moment you’re comfortable sharing how you reproduce, then I’ll share how I do it.”

“When two humans of-”

“Nope! I mean when you-” Stanley pointed at Ford chest, trying to convey how weird a question this was to ask your own brother, “Are comfortable with sharing how you reproduce. Not humans. You. You specifically. Stanford Pines. Reproducing.”

Ford opened his mouth, made eye contact with Stanley, then turned beet red and looked back at his page.

“Ahem. Yes, I see how this might be an awkward subject. Lets move on.”

“Glad to hear it.”

Mostly because Stanley hadn’t actually had ‘the talk’ yet. He knew how humans did it, and theoretically he could do the shifter tango, but according to Maurice he had another twenty years before any other shapeshifter would want to. He’d only been living completely independently for eight years after all; he was still getting his footing by shifter standards. Maurice told him he’d come back in another ten years and go through all the ins and outs, and Stanley was dreading that day with every cell in his body.

It had been bad enough doing it with pa and Ford when they were thirteen, doing it with Maurice when he was forty sounded like a nightmare.

Most of Ford’s questions from that point were either sciencey ones Stanley didn’t know the answer to (like how he controlled his cells, what determined a shapeshifter’s shifting capability, any physical differences between wild and human shifters) sciencey one he did know the answers to (things that made him sick, foods he could or couldn’t eat, what it felt like to shift), cultural ones (shapeshifters secret language, how circles operated, what dangerous creatures hunted down shifters and why) or weird ones that Stan didn’t know or didn’t feel relevant to shapeshifters (could Stanley describe how foods tasted differently with different tongues, what was his favorite shift besides his base, his most interesting shift, what would happen if he was chewing something then shifted his mouth, did shifters have cravings, what would happen if he was holding something in his mouth, then made it so he didn’t have a mouth. Where would the object go?)

“Why do you want to know that?”

“I just-”

“Never mind. Just give me something to put in my mouth so we can figure this out.”

(The answer to that was still under his skin in a pocket that was no longer a mouth which was extremely uncomfortable and made him re-shift a mouth to spit out the rock Ford had given him.)

Overall the experience was… fine. Great even. The more Ford moved away from science and culture related questions and started asking about if Stan could play rock paper scissors with three hands or make eyes out of the back of his head to see, the more it felt like they were kids and talking about everything Stanley could do with his shapeshifter powers.

Except this time Ford knew it was real and not just humoring Stanley.

There was still a weird tension, buzzing right under the conversation. It made things awkward whenever the silences dragged on too long while Ford wrote, or when Ford opened his mouth to ask a question, hesitated, then quickly looked at another part of the page and tried again. Any time Stanley mentioned some of the jobs he’d done in the past Ford would get tense, and anytime Ford remembered something they’d discussed as kids it made Stanley’s inside squirm watching the spark of realization cross Ford’s face at how they weren’t hypothetical.

But it was more then they’d talked in ten years, and neither of them started yelling (except for the one time Stanley had tried to shift his vocal cords to sound like a musical instrument, made it too quiet, tried again, then screamed at the top of his lungs as it went from a whisper to blasting the room in less than a second).

The other thing making it awkward was Fiddleford, who came in and out semi-frequently with his own questions (which were mostly health related for Shifty), and seemed to be extra jittery today for some reason. He spent most of the day with Shifty, but whenever he did come in his anxious energy seemed to fill the room and make Stanley’s insides squirm, like something bad was about to happen.

At dinner Stanley waited for everyone to be mostly finished, before finally asking the one thing that had been on his mind all week.

“What’s your long-term plan for Shifty, base wise,” he said, leaning back and watching the kid try to eat spaghetti with a fork. He’d gotten better with his table manners over the last week, but he was still working on it.

Ford hummed, frowning, then turned to face Stanley, “are you sure we need one? You’ve been doing fine with Shifty so far.”

“Yeah, so far. Its not going to last.” Stanley leaned forwards, resting his head on his hands, “Right now he’s just learning how to hold his shift and act mostly human, but once he’s got that down he’ll start copying my habits, and I can only pretend to be a kid for so long. If you want him to mature at a healthier pace, you’ll need an actual kid for him to learn kid lessons from. Shifters who grow rapidly are… weird.”

Stanley grimaced, thinking about the one-time Maurice had taken him on a shifter bust when he was still living with them, one of the only things that would get multiple circles to work together. They hadn’t been involved with it, just watched from the opposite side of the street to keep an eye on any approaching threats. Maurice had made him watch all the poor young shifters they’d pulled out from some vampires attempt at making their own personal shifter assassins. All of them had looked like adults, but they’d acted like weird kids, none older than five years old and lacking human maturity and emotional depth, crying, asking why they had to leave, and moving their bodies strangely because none of them knew how to blend in. It was one of the reasons wild shifters stayed wild, even when they got older. Their brains hadn’t gone through the slow mimicking of human consciousness, and the older they got the harder it was to learn to think more like a person and less like an animal.

Stanley had never heard what happened to any of the kids, but Maurice said there were other circles out there that specialized in rehabilitating shifters who’d been rapidly matured, so they were probably fine.

“They don’t get all the weird moral complexity stuff humans get,” Stanley continued, turning to watch Shifty eat, “They grew to fast to really grasp the concept. Shifty’s doing OK because of the TV, but soon that won’t be enough, and he’ll start feeling more grown up because all he knows are grown-ups. Except he won’t really know what that means, he’ll just get angry when you don’t give him the same freedom you’d give an adult. Like a surly shapeshifting teenager.”

“I see.” Ford muttered, then turned to Fiddleford, raising an eyebrow. His boyfriend grimaced and shook his head, and Ford sighed.

“We’ve already ruled out having an infant around the house, and Fiddleford was very strongly against kidnapping orphans.”

“Everyone should be against that.”

“But we’ll let you know when we come up with a solution,” Ford continued, like Fiddleford hadnt said anything at all, “I’m unsure how the adoption process works, but that would seem our best bet.”

Well, Stanley knew how that process went, and it took forever. Plus Ford’s anti-social house would definitely fail whatever house inspection they did.

“Alright, keep me in the loop then.” Stanley waited a moment, then casually put his arms behind his head and said, “By the way, I’ll need to head out to run an errand tomorrow. Might be gone a couple days.”

Ford straightened up, looking worried for some reason, “What kind of errand? Is-does it need to be done right now? You just got here, and-”

“Relax!” Stanley shot him a weird look, then crossed his arms and rolled his eyes, “I’m just picking up some of my stuff to drag back. I was in kind of a rush getting here, and I didn’t know if I’d stick around mentoring at first. Since I am staying, I’ll need to grab a few things. Should take a day to get to where I’ve got it stored, another day to get it together and head back. Three days max.”

Ford didn’t seem reassured by his answer, instead tensing more and gripping his fork so hard it was cutting into his hand.

“How will we- what if-” Ford turned to look at Stanley with wide eyes, then turned to look at Fiddleford. With a sigh his boyfriend set down the fork he’d been using to twirl his spaghetti for the last five minutes and turned to face Stanley.

“How do we know you’ll come back and aren’t just runnin’ off because of what happened yesterday.”

Ah. Of course. Couldn’t have the one shifter willing to stick around dip on them after all.

“If it makes you feel better I’ll take your car,” Stanley replied, gesturing to Fiddleford, “It should all fit in there, and that way you know I’ll have to come back for mine.”

That did the trick, Ford slumping in relief. Fiddleford sighed again but got up to put his half eaten dinner away and clear out his car. Stanley cleaned up his own dinner, then went to do some laundry, idly grabbing some of Fiddlefords clothes as he put things in the wash and took things out of the dryer.

He hadn’t figured out how to make clothes yet after all, and Fiddleford had a very specific look.

When that was done he went upstairs to do his nightly ritual of putting a jelly bean on Fords bed, trying out different animals (he’d gotten the look down, now he just needed to go to a zoo to see how they moved and acted), and checked the locks.

The next morning he packed a light travel bag and switched keys with Fiddleford, both of them promising retribution if the other scratched their car. Shifty was sad to see him go, but cheered up when Stanley promised to bring back a present.

Ford was nowhere to be seen.

(Ford watches Stanley drive off from in between the cracks of a boarded-up window. It had been too painful to go and watch him leave from the front yard. The last time he had they’d been seventeen, and Ford had no idea it’d be the last time he’d see his brother for ten years. He turns away when Stanley disappears from sight, then goes back to working on the jelly bean code and his apology project.

The idea had struck him in the middle of the night, a flash of true genius.

If Stanley’s problem was what he thought it was, then hopefully this would fix it. If not… If not…

He’d just have to try again. As many times as Stanley would let him.)

Finding out Emma-May’s address was child’s play, even if it took eight hours to drive down to Pal Alto and park Fiddleford’s car somewhere no one who’d recognized it could see it. Then Stenson Pinefield took a stroll through the neighborhood and Hal Forester picked up a delivery for some information he’d requested on the drive down.

Emma-May Dixon (formally McGucket) was a now single mother of a quiet five-year-old little boy, who’d be starting kindergarten the following year. She worked in a lab somewhere down town studying genetics, was in the middle of a divorce, and had no relatives or close friends nearby to watch her son. Instead, he was enrolled in a daycare a few blocks away from her house, where he spent eight hours a day, five days a week, playing and socializing while his mom worked to support them.

Fiddleford McGucket was still listed as someone allowed to pick him up. She’d never put in the paperwork to remove him, since her husband hadn’t been back in town since Christmas and had gracefully allowed her full custody during the proceedings. According to what Hal’s ‘friends’ dug up, there were future discussions planned for visiting and holiday rights later when he’d ‘cleaned up’ his act.

Fiddleford didn’t look like he was on drugs, but with how tired and stressed he seemed all the time it made a certain amount of sense. The man must have been working hard to let his ex-wife see their son as soon as possible.

Still didn’t stop him from strolling up to the daycare the next day as Fiddleford wearing his stolen clothes and driving his lent car to pick up his ‘son’ for the day, reassuring the staff that Emma-May knew he was there, and that he was sorry about how any stress Tate might be causing them due to what was happening in their lives. The staff were very polite, chatting him up while he signed Tate out (and really, Fiddleford was just asking for his signature to be stolen if he just left all his documents on the desk all the time).

It took an agonizing twenty minutes to finally get Tate out of the building, holding his hand as he walked them to his car (which he’d equipped with a car seat, snacks, and games for Tate to enjoy on the ride home).

“Now,” he said, buckling Tate up and bopping him on the nose, “I’ve got a little surprise waiting for you.”

“Really dad?” Tate asked, as Stanley went around to climb into the driver’s seat.

“Sure do! We’re going on a little road trip to my place up in Oregan where I’ve been staying, just for a few days.” Stanley started the car and pulled out of the daycare, making his way through the suburbs towards the highway, “I thought, with how things have been going between your mom and I, why don’t we spend some time together, me and you.”

Tate hummed happily, and Stanley smiled back at him in the mirror.

“Now, why don’t you tell me all what you’ve been up to while I’ve been away.”

(“And you’re sure it was Fiddleford.”

“Yes ma’am. We weren’t able to stall him before you showed up, but it was definitely him. Mrs. Daisy at the front desk recognized him from when he used to pick Tate up last year.”

“Thank you for letting me know, I’ll handle it from here.”

“Do we need to call the police?”

“No need, I know exactly where that ************ is going.”

“How did you make that sound with your mouth?”

“No time to explain!”

(The sound of a door slamming so hard something cracks)

“…….”

“…….”

“They used to be such a nice family.”

“I heard her husband was caught cheating on her with another man.”

“Really? I never would have guessed.”)

Stanley managed to keep the rouse up for another two hours just by listening to Tate go on and on about day care and all his friends and everything Fiddleford had missed while he was busy doing his work. Then another hour by mentioning that Tate was going to be meeting his brother (who was adopted) and talking about all the fun activities they could do together. Then another hour by mentioning the lake, and the two of them got so excited about fishing that it was apparently a red flag for the kid.

Turned out Fiddleford did not care for fishing, having grown up on a farm and preferring hog racing and wrestling.

Then Tate started talking about things that had happened before Fiddleford had moved away to do work with his ‘friend’ (confirming Stanley’s suspicions about their boyfriend status. If enough people were referring to Ford like that around the kid for Tate to pick it up, it had to be some flavor of true). Stanley managed to idly hum his way through most of the conversation, making agreeing noises at all the right times, when suddenly-

“You’re not my dad.” Tate declared, after Stanley had agreed that Emma-May’s lasagna was very good, “I thought it was funny you wanted to go fishing so bad, but now I know for sure.”

“What are you talking ‘bout Tate?” Stanley asked, sweating, “who else would I be?”

“A clone.”

That threw Stanley for a loop. He wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting from a five-year-olds mouth, but it wasn’t that.

“Why a clone?”

“Moms been very upset with dad lately,” Tate said, eerily calm for a five-year-old being kidnapped, “so I figured it was only a matter of time before she tried making a perfect dad. Except everything always goes wrong for her, so you’re probably evil.”

Stanley turned to face Tate, ignoring the honks and screams from the other drivers around him, in bewilderment.

“Excuse me? What?”

“It’s OK,” Tate reassured him, reaching forwards with his leg to pat Stanley on the shoulder and shoving him a little so he turned to face the front and readjusted so he was on the correct side of the road, “I know you can’t help it. Are you kidnapping me to make a perfect clone family? Or to make mom angry?”

“None of those things?”

“Uhuh.”

“Seriously- well, actually. Hmm.” Stanley drummed his fingers on the wheel, then sighed, “I guess you’re right about the perfect family thing, but I’m not a clone, and I didn’t kidnap you to make your mom angry. I wasn’t lying earlier about meeting your brother-”

“Is that my clone self?”

“No!? Except. Ugh.” Stanley slumped, cursing children everywhere, “Technically in a way he could be your clone, in that he’s going to be.”

“So, he hasn’t been detubed yet.”

“Ye-No? He’s- sorry detubed?”

“Its what mom calls it when she takes clones out of their tubes.”

“Well, he’s not a clone, and he wasn’t detubed. He’s a shapeshifter, like me, and-”

“Those aren’t real.”

Stanley turned to face the kid again, glaring at him, “What so clones are real and evil, but a shapeshifter is too much?”

Something veered too close to them and Stanley turned, getting back to the correct side of the road and hitting the gas.

“Deny it all you want kid,” Stanley said, still using Fiddlefords tangy voice, “I’m a shapeshifter, and I’m kidnapping you so that my shapeshifter nephew has a human kid to play with. Your dad’s his dad, so that makes you brothers.”

“So, you say.”

“I do say, so meh.”

They drifted into silence, except for the blaring horns and occasional flashing lights behind them, before Tate spoke up again.

“Is there really a lake?”

Stanley grinned. Yeah, this was the best idea he’d ever had.

They got back to Fords house just as the sun was setting, Stanley parking Fiddlefords car right next to his own and honking the horn a few times to get everyone’s attention. He climbed out of the drivers seat and moved around to let Tate out, just as Ford ran out, wielding his crossbow and yelling at the top of his lungs, Fiddleford scrambling behind to grab him.

“What do you want! Have you- Oh Stanley you’re- why do you look like that?” Ford came to a stop at the base of the stairs, Fiddleford crashing into him and making them both stumble.

“Had to pick something up.” Stanley said, winking at Tate through the window as he opened the door and leaning in to unstrap him.

“Well change,” Fiddleford snapped, “I don’t like you stealing my features and using my voice to talk like that.”

“Relax! I’ll change once I head inside. In the meantime, where’s Shifty, I got something for him.”

“Right here Uncle Stanley!” Shifty chirped, trotting out the front door as a sheep. Stanley grinned, then pulled Tate from the car, showing him off.

“Tada! A nice new permanent base!”

The silence in the clearing was deafening.

“TATE!” Fiddleford screeched, hands coming up to grip his hair and eyes wide in shock.

“DAD!” Tate yelled, wiggling. Stanley set him down, and he shot through the slushy ground and crashed into Fiddleford’s legs, gripping them tightly.

“Tate?” Ford said, looking around in growing horror, “Stanley, tell me you didn’t-”

“I kidnapped him!” Stanley shouted, slamming the car door closed and grinning, “You guys were taking too long, so I decided to take matters into my own hands.”

“It’s been a week?!” Ford yelled, hands coming up, still holding the loaded crossbow, “How’s one week too long!?”

“Trust me, it was.”

“YOU KIDNAPPED MY SON!?” Fiddleford yelled, crouching down to grab onto Tate and hold him close, “MY SON?! WH-SON!? What about Emma-May!”

“Relax!” Stanley said, rolling his eyes as he stepped away from the car and started walking towards them, “She has-”

Which is right when another car came screeching around the corner, headlights lighting up the house in front of him. He had a second to turn around and see the car smash through a sign, before it slammed into him and sent him flying, feet briefly leaving the air before he hit something hard and slid to the ground, the world bursting into stars and pain.

He lay there on the cold slushy ground, ears ringing and outer layer aching, before his body settled enough he could force himself into a sitting position and take in the world around him. A woman (Emma-May, a part of him said as he took in her curly hair and lab coat) was half out of her car, pointing at Fiddleford and yelling. Fiddleford was yelling back, Tate clutched to his chest and hand covering his head. Between them was Ford, wearing a scarf he hadn’t before and hand’s up on either side, trying to mediate between them.

He was still holding the loaded crossbow.

With a groan Stanley shoved himself to his feet, grimacing at his right arm and the unnatural angle it was flopping at. Not good, the force of the impact had messed up his outer layer, and green blood was seeping into Fiddleford’s stolen shirt. Behind him was the wall of the house, looking perfectly intact after he was launched into it. No one seemed to realize he was over here, what with all the screaming happening.

He stumbled towards the group, other had reaching over to steady his right, then looked up.

“Hey, d’you-”

Stanley stumbled at the jolt that hit him, then looked down to see the crossbow bolt sticking out of his right shoulder, green and red blood starting to ooze around it.

“Whoah man.” He muttered, looking up and down his right arm, “That’s not great.”

“Stanley!” Ford shouted, and Stanley looked up to see Ford, face white and crossbow still pointed at him, “Oh my God, I’m so sorry! Are you alright?!”

“No,” Stanley muttered, stumbling over to the porch, “I’m all left. Hah.”

“Oh, nelly” Fiddleford whispered, as Stanley flopped down and groaned, “that’s unsettling”

“Fiddleford Hadron McGucket!” Emma-May yelled, and Stanley saw her stomping closer, “Don’t you- What in the high heavens am I looking at.”

“Hah” Stanley wheezed, reaching up to grab the crossbow as he rolled over to lay on the porch, “your middle names hard on.”

“No it-LORDY!” Several people yelled as Stanley reached up and yanked the crossbow bolt out, throwing it somewhere in the grass, then rolled over and dragged himself to his feet on the porch.

“Well,” Stanley wobbled a little, then nodded at everyone, “If you’ll excuse me.” Then he turned and ran into the door, before reaching up, opening it, and stumbling inside. He made it halfway down the hallway before someone came and grabbed his left arm, pulling him towards where the bathroom was.

“Getcher hands off me.” Stanley grumbled, turning to see Fords pale face, Fiddleford and Emma-May trailing behind. Whatever screaming match they had been in forgotten in the face of Stanley’s oozing arm, “Whatchu lookin’ at. Scram.”

Stanley tried to wave his working arm at them, then frowned when he remembered Ford was holding it. Together they managed to herd Stanley into the downstairs bathroom and shove him in the bathtub, so that the right arm was laying on the side of the tub at all its twisted angles.

“Stanley,” Ford whispered, tears in his eyes, “What do I- We- I’m so sorry.”

“Pshaw” Stanley muttered, shifting his left arm to give himself claws and cutting off the right sleeve, “this’s nothin’. Hey Shifty, pay attention.”

Shifty squeeked from where he was draped across Ford’s shoulders, turning into a mouse and climbing to stand on Fords shoulder. Stanley grunted as he kept cutting the sleeve off, before Ford reached forwards and started helping, peeling it until everyone could see where the crossbow bolt had hit him and where the arm was looking bent out of shape

“Fascinating,” Emma-May muttered, then grunted when Ford elbowed her in the stomach.

“Now,” Stanley said, holding up his left hand, “Fund fact, we don’t have bones, so this is not broken.” Stanley gestured to his arm, then grimaced as he picked it up and shook it, all the humans flinching and Fiddleford paling even further, “Just looks broken. Layer’s all messed up. Just gotta.”

Stanley dropped the arm, then wacked it a few times until it shuddered, arm going noodle like before a ripple went through it and he managed to get all the joints looking right.

“I’m going to be sick.” Fiddleford muttered and Emma-May moved so he had easier access to the toilet.

“There we go! All bone like.” Stanley wiggled his fingers, then wiped the areas where the blood had oozed out, “that’ll fade. Everything just got squished real fast, made me leak a little. Now this-”

Stanley gestured to where the crossbow bolt had hit him, and the gapping hole it had left behind. He could see some of his pale inside squish flesh bits under all the green and red, making him grimace as he remembered Shifty’s grub form. There was a reason Stanley didn’t know what he looked like when naked, and the terrifying feeling of being exposed was a big part of it.

“This is more of a problem. Just, big hole. Exposing all my squish bits. This’ll. Ugh.”

Stanley grimaced looking at it, then at everyone watching him. Anytime he’d had to do this due to bullet or stabs wounds, he’d made sure to be somewhere private where he didn’t have to look at all his exposed layers. It was unsettling, and having an audience was worse.

“Can you lea-”

“No.” all of them said, Ford in worry, Fiddleford in horror, and Emma-May in fascination. Stanley wasn’t sure what emotion Tate was conveying, but he was peeking from between his parents’ legs, and no one was making him stop.

“Urhg. Fine.” Stanley lifted his arm and forced himself to watch as all the outer layering thinned out around his shoulder, exposing his pale white mucusy bug body. They all watched as the skin started rippling around the hole, before slowly starting to close.

“Hrrn. Hate watchin’ that,” Stanley muttered, shuddering, “S’not great, seeing all your squishy bits all everywhere.”

“Are you going to be OK?” Ford whispered, reaching forwards to grab Stanley’s hand, “I’m so sorry.”

“S’fine.” Stanley replied, trying to sit up, “Car hit was worse. Made my insides scrambled. Think human concussion.”

“Interesting.” Emma-May said, before grabbing Fiddleford by the shoulder “WHAT, DID YOU THINK I WOULDN’T KNOW WHERE YOU’D GO!”

“IT WAS HIM!” Fiddleford yelled back, pointing at Stanley (who was still wearing Fiddleford’s face, now that he thought about it. Might be the reason the man was so horrified), “I SWEAR, I HAD NO IDEA WHAT HE’D DONE! HONEST!”

“Its true,” Ford said, helping Stanley sit up, “We were under the impression he was picking some of his own things up, not kidnapping Tate. If we’d known, well.” Ford grimaced, then sighed, “I’m not actually sure what we would have done. Shapeshifter’s can be fairly slippery after all.”

“Can’t hold me down,” Stanley agreed, using his clawed left hand to start tearing off Fiddleford’s ruined shirt.

“A shapeshifter!” Emma-May crouched down, then pulled a syringe out of her pocket, “Pardon me.”

That was all the warning he got before she jabbed it in his arm, filling up the little vial attached and then putting the whole thing in a container she pulled from another pocket.

“Hey!” Stanley swiped at her, almost falling over, “that’s mine!”

“You kidnapped my son, so you owe me more than a little blood.” Emma-May said coldly, standing up.

“C’mon, s’for. Good Cause.” Stanley blinked as the world went wobbly, and he looked down to see his shoulder, healing slowly and still oozing blood, “Hrrn. Blood loss. With squish. Not gr’t. But! Look at this little boy!”

Stanley gestured to Shifty, then waved Tate over and pointed at him. A moment later there were two Tates, both staring at everyone nervously.

“Aww.” Stanley cooed, reaching over to ruffle their hats and smearing his blood all over them, “Look at that! What a pair. Excuse me.”

Stanley tore off the rest of the shirt, then shifted into his base form now that he had the room. Fiddleford’s pants were a little long, but it was better than being human naked. He stood up, hand holding the wall to support his weight, then reached forwards and turned on the shower head, standing under the water to wash off all the blood and watching Ford sputter from the spray.

It stung his shoulder hole, but it felt nice against his mucus, and he sighed as he leaned on the wall and the voices next to him started to buzz. A moment later he turned the water off, then rippled his skin and hair to dry off.

“Wha-Stanley!” Ford shouted, and Stanley opened his eyes to find Ford standing next to him holding a towel, “How long have you been able to do that?”

“Forever.” Stanley muttered, stumbling forwards before Ford caught him and helped him out of the tub, “just kinda. Took all the water.”

He grabbed the towel to dry off his pants, then shoved through the bathroom crowd and headed towards the kitchen, opening the fridge and grabbing the first thing he saw. Then the second. And the third. He shoved it all in his mouth as fast as he could, crunching through chicken bones and not worrying about how raw anything was. When he’d half cleared it out, he slammed it shut, then turned to find everyone watching him again.

“S’a lot of energy,” he muttered, gesturing to his arm, “And driving.”

With that he stumbled out of the kitchen and up the stairs, making his way towards the attic where he flopped face first onto the bed, not caring about the green smear he was leaving on his sheets. He looked at the door until Ford came in a few seconds later, still looking worried and twisting his hands.

Then he closed his eyes, sighing as his brother came to hover over him.

(Ford stares at his brother’s too still form, shoulder still pale and bug like where the hole he- where he’d-

Where it was still closing, faster now that Stanley had stuffed his face with half the organic material in the fridge.

“Is he going to die?” Tate asks, making Ford jump as he turns to see the others standing in the doorway. Emma-May rushes past him to examine Stanley’s shoulder, poking at it with a finger and watching it squish and mold around it. A part of Ford wants to shoo her away, to give Stanley some space while he recovers.

The larger part of him steps forwards to squish Stanley’s shoulder, rubbing his fingers together and feeling the mucus dry out between them.

“No, he’s not going to die,” he says, sitting down on the bed next to his brother to watch the hole slowly knit itself shut, “he’s just resting.”

“That’s good,” Tate says, also coming over to poke Stanley’s shoulder, “he said we could go fishing this summer when the weather’s nice.”

“You are not going fishing with the man who kidnapped you.” Emma-May says, taking out a Q-Tip to swab Stanleys mucus and pocket the sample, “We are going home.”

“Right now?” Tate asks, looking up at her with (what Ford assumes is sad, its hard to tell under all the hair and blood covered hat) eyes, “Can’t we stay for a few days? Other dad said we were gonna hang out with my new brother.”

“Other dad?” Fiddleford mutters angrily, glaring at Stanley, just as Emma-May says “New brother?”

“Hi,” Shifty says, still looking like Tate and coming up to hold Ford’s hand, “I’m Shifty.”

“I’m sorry.” Emma-May says earnestly, much to Fords annoyance, “it’s a pleasure to meet you Shifty. Fiddleford, Stanford, with me. Boys, stay here and watch…”

“Stanley,” Ford provides helpfully, “my brother.”

“I can see the resemblance, and not in a good way.” Emma-May says, then turns back to the boys, “Watch Stanley, make sure he doesn’t wander off and kidnap anyone else while we’re gone.”

Shifty giggles while Tate nods seriously, and both boys clamber up to sit on the bed and poke Stanley’s shoulder. Ford watches them for a moment, before Emma-May grabs his arm and drags him out of the room.

“What is going on here,” she says, once they’re at the base of the attic stairs, “Why is your brother, a shapeshifter, which you will be explaining in detail, kidnapping our son to play with Shifty.”

“Because he’d impatient,” Ford says apologetically, “Shifty, our son, is-”

“I’m sorry, ‘our’?” Emma-May’s voice turns cold, and she glares harder at them both, “I thought you two didn’t have that kind of relationship.”

“We don’t,” Fiddleford quickly reassures her, “Its just- he was a baby, and he saw TV, and we were raising him together, so- it just sort of stuck? Stanford found him while were digging, and since I was always around, and Standford didn’t know nothing about kids, well.”

“I’m sure I would have been fine.” Ford says stiffly, glaring at his friend before turning to face Emma-May, “regardless, he’s a shapeshifter, and according to Stanley they need to mimic and grow alongside children to grow at a healthy pace and develop human socialization skill properly. Stanley’s been pretending to be a child for the last week, but he said we needed something more long-term. We were going to try going through the official channels to try and adopt, but as you know Stanley took matters into his own hands.”

“Yes, I do know. Your brother damn well gave me a heart attack, thinking my ex-husband had snapped. Again.”

“I’m so sorry Emma-May,” Fiddleford says, wringing his hands and hunching forwards, “I promise, we didn’t know he was running off to do that. I just gave him my car because Stanfords worried he’ll disappear forever if he leaves his sight for longer than thirty minutes.”

“No I don’t.”

“Yes, you do. You’ve barely gotten any of your work done because you’ve hoverin’ so much.”

“Quiet, both of you.” Emma-May snaps, tapping her foot and folding her arms behind her back, “Here’s whats going to happen. Its far too late to drive back tonight, so you’re going to put me and Tate up for the night. The same bedroom. Tomorrow I’m going to call my workplace, and my lawyer, and we’re going to go over how to get Shifty official paperwork, since I’m assuming he has none.”

“That would be a correct assumption.”

“As I thought. I will stay here for three days, and you can see how well Tate and Shifty get along, while I grill your brother on what possessed him to think this was a good idea, where he came from, how he works, and how willing he’d be to attempt a live dissection, as his advanced healing would do wonders for his chances of survival.”

“You’re not dissecting my brother.”

“Fine. But I want to see the rest of him.”

“He says everyone needs to get naked for that to happen.”

“That can be arranged.”

“I don’t want to see you-”

“SO HELP ME STANFORD I’M GOING TO SEE THAT SHAPESHIFTER’S FULL FORM IF I HAVE TO STRIP EVERYONE IN THIS HOUSE!”

Both Fords step back, hands up as Emma-May pants, then stands up straight and fixes her coat.

“Ahem. Now, about that room.”

Ford exchanges glances with Fiddleford, and his friend sighs, leading Emma-May over to his bedroom. Ford watches them for a moment, before retreating upstairs to check on Stanley and the boys.

Stanley is fast asleep, hole mostly gone and snoring away, while the boys use their fingers to press the skin of his shoulder into strange shapes. He shoos them off, telling Shifty to help find something for Tate to eat, before turning back to Stanley.

He gets closer, then wiggles the blankets around and over his too still body, hand coming up to press into the squishy flesh of his right shoulder. It feels similar to Shifty’s grub form, if somewhat firmer and mucus thicker. The color is also different, Stanley’s more of a beige and Shifty closer to an off-white. He watches the hole finally seal up, then Stanley shudder awake, yawn, ripple his shoulder into looking human, and roll over. In less than five seconds there’s no evidence of there ever having been a hole in the first place.

There is no way to tell what scars Stanley might have, if any, under his human skin, but this can’t be the first time Stanley’s been this hurt. Not with the calm way he reacted, then turned it into a learning experience for Shifty. He stares at his brother’s sleeping face, watching the chubs of his cheeks sink into the pillow, before leaving, turning the light off on his way out.)

Chapter Text

Stanley woke up with an awful taste in his mouth, and the niggling feeling he was forgetting something. With a groan he pushed himself up, grateful that the boarded-up window didn’t let any potential morning light in to blind him. He frowned at his bare human chest, then rolled out of bed and shuffled over to his boxes full of clothing, still piled up around the room. Riffling through them,  he found something better sized for his base and got dressed. The pants he had been wearing were too long, and he squinted at them as he tried to remember why he was wearing them in the first place.

Whatever, he’d figure it out after breakfast. There was a deep pit where his stomach was, and he needed to fill it as fast as possible.

Once he was dressed in a T-shirt, some jeans, his red jacket and a pair of slippers, he made his way downstairs and into the kitchen. He idly played with the little golden statue he’d shoved into it, thinking about how nice it’d be if someone (not him) had already made breakfast.

Empty. Hmm.

With a groan he wandered over to the fridge, frowning again at its bare shelves. All of the Ford’s leftovers were gone, which meant no quick and easy meal like he’d been hoping. He vaguely recalled shoving everything into his mouth yesterday, but for the life of him he-

“Good morning, Stanley!” A voice next to his ear called, and he screamed as he jumped away from it. Standing directly next to him was a woman, thick curly hair obscuring her eyes and wearing a long white lab coat over a green blouse and brown pants. She was smiling at him, holding a clip board and pen, and with a thundering heart he remembered exactly what had happened yesterday.

“Emma-May!” he said nervously, backing up as she prowled closer to him, “Uh, morning? How are-”

Stanley bolted, ducking under her arm and rushing out of the kitchen. Rapid squishing was the worst, scrambling his brains around so he didn’t even think about what Emma-May being here meant. He needed to hide quickly, then wait for her to go home with Tate before snatching some lucky orphan off the street.

He made it three steps past the kitchen before he was tackled to the ground, strong arms holding him down while Fiddleford yelled from above.

“Oh no you don’t!”

Stanley wasn’t about to let some hillbilly pin him down. He quickly shifted himself smaller, ditching his pants and scrambling out of the hold with just his T-shirt and jacket, then kept running down the hall.

“You’ll never catch me suck-oof!”

Stanley grunted as a pair of arms scooped him up of the ground, bringing him face to face with Ford. His brother had a strange expression on his face, some combination of relief and annoyance. With a quick wriggle Stanley got rid of his arms and shifted into a large cat, rotating and landing on his feet as he slid out of the shirt Ford was still holding.

He still hadn’t figured out how to talk like this, so he didn’t waste time trying. Instead, he stumbled  into an awkward run, not used to the motion of trying to move his legs so quickly. Something he’d also have to work on, as Ford used the shirt to scoop him up again while Stanley hissed and writhed in his arms after barely making it three feet.

“Stanley,” his brother said, walking back towards the kitchen and grimacing as Stanley shifted into different animals, “I understand- well, no. Actually, I don’t understand why you thought kidnapping Tate was a good idea. Regardless, you did it, and now Emma-May is quite upset with you, for good reason. So is Fiddleford.”

Stanley glowered at his brother as they entered the kitchen, Fiddleford holding his pants and boxers while Emma-May vibrated at the kitchen table, a stack of papers in front of her. The pants were handed over, and Ford raised his eyebrows as Stanley turned into a large snake and tried slithering over his shoulder.

Tried, because while he had gotten the look down, he hadn’t had time to really practice moving like most of the animals he was turning into. Instead of slithering he wiggled in place strangly, before Ford grabbed him by the back of the neck and pulled him back into his arms. His face had changed into some combination of disapproving and amazed as Stan continued to turn into animals and wiggle to freedom.

He refused to think about how that made him feel.

“Fascinating,” Emma-May said, scribbling away, “Is there any kind of limit you’ve found?”

“Just size really,” Ford said, easily moving Stanley back into his arms as he turned into a cat again and tried sliding under his elbow, “and I’ve noticed Stanley doesn’t shift anything inanimate either. Shifty can, but I’m not sure if that’s a level of skill, genetics, or age.”

“Something to look into then,” Emma-May muttered, scribbling more as Ford sat down in the chair next to her and Stanley shifted into a larger dog. Ford grunted, but kept him pinned down, just shifting his hold as Stanley tried to wiggle down to the floor.

This would have been so much easier if Stanley knew how to do anything other than what had been in Shifty’s animal book. Most of those were common pets, and half of them were too small for Stanley to shift into. For now. Once he really had the time to practice, he was sure he’d be scuttling around as a hamster in no time at all. Sneaking around was about to become child’s play.

“You done?” Fiddleford muttered, sitting in the chair across from Emma-May and looking anything but pleased as he glared at Stanley, “the boys are in the living room watching TV, and we’ve already spent all morning going through all of Stanford’s geological records. So, if you’d kindly help us move on, I’d really appreciate it.”

Morning? Stanley lifted his head and looked at the clock, then out the window. It was already past noon, which meant he’d missed breakfast and lunch. Probably why he was practically starving, especially after healing, then all the shifting he was doing trying to escape. He didn’t have enough energy to keep going, unless he wanted to risk destabilizing his outer layer.

With a huff he shifted back into a snake, then nosed his face back into his shirt. Ford seemed to get the idea, helping him in as he popped his head out and shifted into a child.

“Hand me my pants,” he said as he slid off of Fords lap, “unless you want to see the full moon.”

Fiddleford shoved them closer, and Stanley snatched them, shifting himself bigger as he slid on his boxers, then put his pants back on as he hoped closer to the fridge. They might be able to force him into conversation (for now), but he wasn’t going to do it on an empty stomach.

He opened the door as he finished pulling his pants on (once he figured out clothes, he was throwing away everything he owned), then scanned the shelves. There wasn’t much left, so he grabbed a bag of shredded cheese, some sandwich meat, a jug of orange juice, and some uncooked ground beef. Once he had them balanced in his arms, he walked back to kitchen doorway to put his slippers back on, then over to his food cabinet to grab a jar of applesauce and a loaf of bread.

He carried his spoils to the table, dumping them next to Emma-Mays papers before reaching over to snag his jacket from Fords nervous grip. Sandwiches sounded pretty good right now, but he was feeling lazy, and everyone had already seen him pig out last night.

With that he sat down, ripped open the bag of cheese, and grabbed a fistful, shoving it into his mouth like popcorn.

“Really?” Fiddleford asked, eyeing him in disgust, “you’re just gonna eat all that like… that?”

“S’food.” Stanley muttered, grabbing another fistful of cheese and pulling the orange juice closer, “m’hungry.”

“Yes, I imagine the amount of calories you need to function far exceeds that of a human,” Emma-may said, grinning as she watched him empty the cheese bag and move onto the sandwich meat (turkey. Nice), “I poured over what Stanford had on you after lunch, and I had a question.”

Stanley grunted, then winced as she slammed her hands on the table, stood up, and yelled at the top of her lungs “WHAT WERE YOU THINKING, KIDNAPPING MY SON! HE’S FIVE YEARS OLD! DO YOU KNOW THE AMOUNT OF STRESS THAT CAUSES!”

Stanley finished his sandwich meat with a grimace, then took a long slurp of his juice as Emma-May seethed next to him. He smacked his lips, leaned away, and simply responded, “Well, I was hoping you wouldn’t notice.”

The screaming that assaulted his ears from both sides made him frown, and he ripped open the ground beef and started shoveling it into his mouth. He still didn’t understand what the big deal was, and all the noise wasn’t helping. Tate was five after all, plenty old enough to look after himself. Stanley was looking after himself the moment he hatched, and Ford was toddling along after only three years. Five was basically the time for humans to start making their way towards independence.  

“Yesh,” Stanley said, putting a finger in his ear with a grimace, “I get it. You guys are mad for some reason. He’s fine isn’t he?”

“Yes,” Emma-May snapped, sitting back down and maybe glaring at him, “ But how was I supposed to know that! What made you think I wouldn’t notice my FIVE-YEAR-OLD SON getting kidnapped!?”

“Easy,” Stanley said, munching and relishing the taste of raw beef, “Humans, you’ve got so many kids. They’re practically everywhere, and easy to misplace. I figured I’d borrow Tate for the weekend, have him and Shifty charm Fidds here enough he wouldn’t mention it to you, then you’d, I don’t know, keep doing what you’re doing? I guess? I’d bring him back sometime next week and you’d be none the wiser. I mean, I know our parents would have loved to have us gone for a weekend, right Ford?”

Ford jumped at the sudden attention, then rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly as Emma-May and Fiddleford whipped around to glare at him.

“Ah, that is fairly accurate. Our parents were…. Far laxer, in their supervision, than you two are. I think we actually did spend a few weekends at- away from the house. The only comment pa made was congratulating us on being so quiet.”

Stanley felt his heart twist at the almost mention of the Stan’O’War. They had spent a lot of time there, and neither of their parents really cared as long as they came back for school. He’d figured Tate would be the same. Finishing the ground beef, he moved onto the applesauce, slurping it out of the jar and ignoring any looks shot his way.

“Every time I hear about your family,” Fiddleford muttered, turning to glare at Stanley, “It explains so much, yet so little.”

“Well, I did notice,” Emma-may said, still seething while Stanley started working through the sauce, “immediately in fact. And now that I’m here, and haven’t called the authorities on you, I think you owe me. I’ll take payment in the form of seeing what you look like under your human shell.”

Stanley choked on his applesauce, shooting forwards and pounding his chest. He put the jar down, then stared at her eager expression, quickly shoving down any fear and forcing himself to seem some other, not fear feeling. Contempt maybe.

“Too bad,” he said, crossing his arms smugly, thankful he’d already figured this out with the Fords, “If you want to see it, then-”

Emma-May was already stripping.

Stanley slammed one of his hands over his eyes and waved the other at her, panicked.

“Stop! Stop! I don’t want to see you naked!” He yelled, then turned to the other two humans to find them already shrugging their coats off, Ford with a terribly concealed eager expression and Fiddleford looking pained, “I don’t want to see anyone naked!”

“Well,” Ford said, folding his coat and draping it across the back of his chair, “you were the one who said that everyone needed to get naked in order to see your full form. If you didn’t want to see us, then why did you-”

“Because I thought none of you nerds would go through with it!” Stanley yelled, covering his eyes, “I lied OK! I’ve never seen what I look like! Its freaky and weird and makes all my insides scrambled just thinking about it!”

“Surely you have some idea,” Emma-May said, and he peeked through his fingers to see her still wearing her clothes, only her lab coat off while she leaned forwards, back to holding her clip board, “you had to expose yourself to heal last night after all. So-”

“I never look.” Stanley blurt out, covering his face with his hands, “It makes my skin crawl, all, exposed like. Ugh.” He shuddered, thinking about how his actual shoulder had been out there for the world to see.

“Then we can find out together!” Ford exclaimed, and Stanley looked up to see a large grin across his face, “We’ve already seen Shifty’s form, and from there we can make a few guesses.”

“I don’t want to.”

“Too bad,” Emma-May shot out, reaching behind her to put her coat back on, “I didn’t call the police, so you owe me.”

“Psh.” Stanley leaned back, hiding his relief at everyone no longer stripping in front of him, “What are the police gonna do to me? Fiddleford’s the one they saw taking Tate, and he had full legal permission.”

“Yes, but we’re in the middle of a divorce, and Fiddleford’s already on thin ice with the court after what happened last month,” Emma-May said, “So they’d take my side, and he’d face severe consequences for your actions.”

“Oh my lordy,” Fiddleford whispered, putting  his head in his hands, “I hadn’t even thought- Stanford, if your brother gets me thrown in jail….” He trailed off, a manic look in his eyes as he turned to look at Stanley.

Well, Stanley didn’t really care if Fiddleford got arrested. It was actually pretty funny when others got in trouble for things Stanley did when wearing their face. But Ford was looking at him in disapproval, and he didn’t think his brother would appreciate it if Stanley got his boyfriend thrown in jail just for a minor kidnapping.

Stanely sighed. Then he picked up the applesauce jar, shifted his tongue longer, and slurped the rest of it out, much to the mixed emotions of everyone else at the table. He pulled away, sighed again, groaned, then sighed a third time, giving everyone the pleading eyes of a teenager who didn’t want to go through with melting his skin off.

“You’re not getting out of this Stanley,” Emma-May said, clicking her pen, “you’re the genetic anomaly of the century, and I want to see every part of you.”

“That’s so creepy. You get that, right?”

“I don’t care.”

“Uuuuuuuuugh. Fine. BUT!” Stanley leaned forwards and gave everyone a hard look, “You can’t tell Maurice, or do anything with this. I’ll get in huge trouble if anyone finds out I let a bunch of scientists’ poke at me. That’s like, the opposite of what shapeshifters are supposed to be doing.”

“All of your tantalizing secrets are safe with me.” Emma-May said, grin splitting her face in half.

“Not comforting, the way you say it.”

“I promise Stanley,” Ford said, leaning forwards and looking far too eager, “We won’t put you or Shifty in danger from this. All we want to do is take a look. Nothing else.”

Right. Can’t put the kid in danger, or risk their own personal full grown shifters safety. They wouldn’t be able to find him if he really wanted to disappear after all.

“Alright.” Stanley nodded, eyeing all of them. Fiddleford was the only one who didn’t look excited about the idea of seeing Stanley in the nude, which almost made him feel bad about stealing his identity to kidnap his son.

Almost.

“But we’re not doing it in here,” Stanley continued, eyeing the open kitchen, “Way to exposed. Follow me.”

Stanley stood up, then made his way out of the kitchen (leaving his bread behind. Jerks), the gaggle of nerds following right on his heels. Tate and Shifty were standing right outside the doorway, and he raised eyebrow at them as he passed. Fiddleford muttered angrily, but no one else said anything as they followed Stanley to the bathroom.

“OK.” He said, chucking off his jacket and shirt, then kicking off his slippers and climbing into the tub. He turned to see them staring at him, and grimaced, “OK. And you wont arrest Fiddleford if I do this?”

“I won’t call the authorities on my ex-husband no.”

Stanley grimaced harder, then looked up and stared at the ceiling. He took a deep breath, shook his hands out, then crossed his arms. After a minute or two he reached out and shut the shower curtain, then continued to give the ceiling a hard stare.

How much did he not want Fiddleford arrested. He mulled it over, then took another deep breath, thinking about all his layers.

There were only two really, the thick one he could shift and mold however he wanted, as long as he had an idea of the shape and function, and the inner, squishy bit that made up his organs and shifted around to fit whatever mold he gave it. It could only bee seen if he relaxed his outer layer to nothing, exposing the softer, less durable but healed faster bug flesh underneath.

Before he saw Shifty’s grub form he’d never given it a second thought.

Oh god, did he have to get naked to spawn? That sounded so many kinds of disgusting. Thinking about seeing another full grown shifter expose themselves suddenly made him realize why humans had such a problem with nudists.

“Stanley?” Ford said, sounding worried.

“What.” Stanley grouched, shifting his weight uncomfortably.

“Nothing, just making sure you were still there.” A moment of silence, “Are you-”

Stanley grabbed the curtain and slammed it open, still in his base form and feeling jittery at all the attention.

“I can’t do it.” He said, eyes skipping around the room, “I- I mean- physically, probably could I just-” he shuddered, thinking about all his exposed bits and pieces, out there for the world to see. “It’s unnatural, being all out there. Naked.”

“If you want-” Emma-May said reaching to grab the bottom of her shirt.

“I do not.” Stanley responded harshly, looking away, “Look its like- you know- this is me,” he gestured to his chubby teenage body in all its half-naked glory, “You ask me ‘hey, what do you look like really?’ and I’d look like this. That other thing? The thing under all this? That’s a- well a bug. I guess. Its not supposed to be looked at.”

“I unders-” Ford started to say, before Emma-May elbowed him in the stomach and he doubled over, wheezing.

“But it can be,” she cut in, creeping forwards, “And I’d love to examine it. If you’re uncomfortable with full body exposure, I’ll be satisfied with partial. Just your arm to start.”

Stanley sucked air in through his teeth, rolling the thought of his bare-naked arm being out there, all naked and boneless. He turned to look at Fiddleford, contemplating how much he wanted his brother to like him vs how much he’d care if Fiddleford was arrested and Ford got angry, and sighed. The look Fiddleford gave him was enough to know the man knew what he was thinking and wouldn’t be happy with any answer than something affirmative.

“I can get naked too Uncle Stanley!” Shifty chirped, stepping forward and melting into his baby grub form. It made Stanley ache, seeing him so confident to expose himself while Stanley shuddered at showing off an arm.

“Fine,” he said, climbing out and moving to sit on the toilet, “Just because I can’t lose to a literal baby.” Shifty wiggled his little leg nubs happily, and Fiddleford reached down to pick him up and set him down on the counter next to Stanley.

Emma-May’s grin widened as she scootched closer, and Stanley held out his arm. Taking a deep breath, he forced himself to relax the outer layer of it all the way up to his elbow, refusing to look away as the human skin melted away.

His bug arm wasn’t as big as his human one, probably as thick as a baseball bat. There were two distinct layers, the outer one, which was mostly see through and tinted a slight sandy color, and the inner one, which was beige and not see through at all. There was no telling what was inside without cutting both open, and the thought made him shudder.

The other thing that made him shudder was his hand. While the rest of the arm thinned out, his fingers squished down and together, until there were only two long fingers and one long thumb left, each darkening into a deep maroon color at the tip. He flexed them, then tried not to gag at the weirdness of only having three instead of five.

The whole thing was covered in thin sheet of mucus, which Emma-May poked at and squished between her fingers. It took everything in him not to turn it back into his human arm, and he could see his outer layer quiver from the strain.

Disgusting.

“Ugh, yuck.” He gagged, holding his hand out while Emma-May and Ford started hovering over it, “Can you hurry this up? I think this is drying me out or something.”

“Its not,” Emma-May said, pulling out a magnifying glass from her pocket and crouching over his arm, “In fact it looks perfectly fine. And three fingers? Interesting.” She started mumbling to herself, putting the magnifying glass down to scribble some notes down.

Stanley watched her for a moment, before something touched his arm. It wiggled from the shock of contact, before he realized it was just Ford, squisihing it between his fingers and gently holding it.

“Do you mind if I…” Ford gestured at it and did a small wiggle movement, making Stanley cringe.

“Go wild,” he muttered, taking a few more deep breaths, “just don’t be surprised if it gets stiff.”

Ford shot him a huge grin, then gently bent his arm. Stanley relaxed it, and they all watched as it kept bending further and further backwards, then as Ford bent it further, making a small ‘u’.

Ford kept gently twisting it, then moved further down to squish and stretch Stanley’s fingers. It reminded him of when they were kids, and they’d poke and prod at whatever had washed up on the beach or found in the alleyways. A part of him couldn’t help feeling warm from seeing his brother so captivated with him, making him want to puff up and show off more.

The other part of him whispered that his brother must find him a very interesting specimen. Not a brother, just another bug under the microscope, too willing to add itself to his collection.

He didn’t want to listen to that part.

“Told you, didn’t I?” Stanley said, trying to push his darker thoughts down, “No bones. All I do is-”

With less than a thought Stanley stiffened his outer layer, and one of his fingers hardened into a joint. Ford twisted it back and forth, then pushed back on it gently, until it stopped. After a moment Stanley relaxed the layer, and it bent all the way to the back of his hand.

Claw.

What did bugs have actually? Nub thing? Did bugs have fingers actually?

They sat in the bathroom for another hour, Stanley feeling more relaxed as nothing continued to happen with his bare arm out for all the world to see. Emma-May continued to mutter and mumble away, occasionally poking at him or Shifty, comparing Stanley’s arm to his little grub nubs. Fords claims to science were entirely him bending Stanley’s arm into interesting shapes, then watching him snap back. The mucus covering him continued to not dry out, so he supposed it was actually fine.

After a while Tate felt bold enough to poke at the arm, then at Shifty’s nubs, pinching them a bit while he giggled and wiggled them in the air.

“When will he grow fingers?” Tate asked, after watching Stanley slowly turn his bug hand into a human one and back, so that Emma-May could watch it happen, “and how come he has six limbs, but you only have four? Is he gonna lose some? And why’s he a different color? Only his eyes are pink, is he gonna get darker when he grows up?”

“Uhhhh…..” Stanley looked over at Ford and Emma-May, then over at Fiddleford. There was no way he could let them know he had no idea.

“You have no idea, do you.” Fiddleford said, voice flat, “How much do you actually know about your species?”

“Hey!” Stanley shouted, sitting up and glaring at him, “I know plenty about what my species!” Just not the answers to any of those questions. Most of what he knew was what not to do and what not to eat. No one had really gone over colors or shapeshifter bug growth with him.

Unless that was part of the sex talk he hadn’t had yet.

“Just not what you look like, what your growth looks like, why he has more limbs than you do, or why you two are different colors. I wouldn’t be surprised if you didn’t actually know how your species reprod- oh my god you don’t do you.”

Stanley could feel his human face flushing at all the accusations. He sputtered for a moment, trying to figure out what the possible answers to any of those questions could be. The arm went back to human looking, and he crossed it with his other one, pulling it out of Ford’s grip and looking away at the ceiling.

“I know how humans do it.” he muttered angrily, “It just- I’m- I’ve never spawned, OK! So maybe I haven’t seen what a grub looks like, or know why he’s got so many legs, or what colors shapeshifters usually are! I just told you it doesn’t feel natural! And maybe, technically, in a way, you could say I haven’t had the sex talk-” Stanley made sure to whisper that as quietly as possible, before moving on to say, “But its fine! I’m young! I’ve got time! Hey, wanna see something crazy that’s not a distraction!”

Stanley stuck out his arm, then grew a line of spines down the side, pitch black and pointy.

“Woah!” he said, looking surprised and pointing at them, “Look at that! This bad boy was squishier than a marshmallow, and now it’s as sharp as a knife! How’d that happen!”

“You haven’t had the sex talk?” Ford asked, looking shocked, “Are you… not an adult member of your species? We’re almost thirty!” The last part was almost a yell, and he paled as his hands flexed at his sides, looking lost now that they weren’t holding Stanley’s arm.

“I’m an adult!” Stanley yelled back, eyes looking away as he hunched his shoulders, “Just, you know. Only officially. And physically! Its- ugh- I don’t know, a culture thing?” Stanley hunched more at Emma-May’s grin and Fiddleford and Fords shocked faces, “Technically, in a way, you could say I’m considered a sort of very independent teenager. If you wanted to stretch the truth out.”

“So, when do shapeshifters get the talk,” Fiddleford said, leaning heavily on the sink and looking into the distance, “And why are we just learning now that Maurice hooked us up with a kid to raise our kid.”

“Again, not a kid. Very much an adult.” Stanely didn’t appreciate the looks of disbelief shot his way, but he pushed on regardless, “But in ten years, if you really want to know.” Stanley whispered that last part as well, but by the way Ford and Fiddleford paled further he could tell they heard him.

“Ten years?” Ford whispered, reaching forwards to grab Stanley’s arm again and squishing it, “But we had- when- Stanley!”

Stanley yelped as he was tugged forwards, and Ford’s hands slammed onto the sides of his face. He was briefly smushed, before Ford was right in his face, looking even more pale.

“How long do shapeshifters live!” his brother yelled, sounding panicked, “The statistical average! How long before- What kind of time frame are we looking at!”

“Gah! Get off!” Stanley snapped, slapping at his brother and flailing, “I don’t know! A while? Maurice said I’d probably last a century at the rate I’m going!”

Ford gripped his face harder, then sighed in relief and backed off, letting go and smoothing his (Still bloodstained! Did he never wash it?) coat. Stanely shot him a look of annoyance as he rubbed his face, then glared at Emma-May’s muttering and Fiddleford rubbing his forehead.

Thankfully that seemed to work, as whatever Ford was stressing about seemed soothed by his panicked answer. His brother didn’t need to know that Maurice saying he had a good century left was a shifters way of saying they thought he was driving himself into an early grave, and that they tended to live at least three times that amount. No need to tip Ford off about his long-term brother life span lengthening plans.

Ford and Stanley were born together after all, there was no way he was letting his brother ditch him due to something like ‘human life span’. If Ford hating Stanley couldn’t do it, nothing could.

“This does explain some of your behavior,” Emma-May mused, after the silence had dragged on too long, “If you’re still technically a juvenile. You’re critical thinking skills might not be fully developed.”

“Hey, I’m fully developed.” Stanley said, sitting up straight, “I just have amazing ideas that are unappreciated in their time.”

“Like kidnapping five-year-olds?”

“Exactly like those ones.”

“I need-” Fiddleford said, before he abruptly stood up, turned, and stalked out of the bathroom, hands twitching at his sides. Stanley watched him go, then looked at the remaining two nerds.

“So, we done here?”

(Ford watches his brother put his shirt back on with a frown, following him out and towards the living room as Shifty shifts into Tate and runs ahead of them.

A century.

That meant his brother probably was an adult of his species, if still young, and potentially explained why Stanley was more comfortable with a younger face, despite knowing what he was supposed to look like. Except he also said shapeshifters matured along with their human base, and Ford was very much a mature adult-

But no, Ford realized with horror, as he watched Stanley flop onto the couch with the kids, pinning them down and laughing at them while they struggled. Stanley hadn’t finished maturing, because the last time they’d seen each other was when they were seventeen. No wonder his brother had tried to hide so much of what he didn’t know, he was mentally stuck as a teenager and embarrassed about not knowing everything. Trying to look grown up.

They had so much and so little time. Now that Tate was here, and Emma-May had discovered his T-Rex skull and started obsessing over it, Shifty would hopefully grow at a more stable rate. That meant at least fourteen years of having Stanley around to make sure he didn’t get into any trouble.

Fourteen years was a long time.

Too long to keep looking at the teenage face of his twin brother. He’d fix it. He had to. Then he’d work on his health, pay attention to his diet, and exercise more. Do what he could to stay in shape as long as possible.

Humans only tended to live until seventy after all)

Just as Stanley had hoped, Tate and Shifty got along great. It probably had more to do with Shifty finally having someone with the energy to play with him, and Tate being excited his parents were talking to each other.

If talking to each other was what it could be called.

Mostly they avoided each other, Emma-May watching the boys (and Stanley) with a critical eye while Fiddleford holed himself in the study or behind the locked door. There were a few whispered conversations late at night, but Stanley hadn’t been able to pick up the details from the study door.

But whatever divorce drama they were going through wasn’t his problem. What was his problem was figuring out what they were going to do going forwards, as Emma-May actually cared about the health and safety of her son.

“So,” Emma-May said, on the third and final day of her ‘visit’, “I’ve watched the boys, gone through your research, and I’ve concluded that I’ll need to inspect the surrounding woods for more data, and that they are bonding. Tate’s been having a rough time of it what with,” She shot Fiddleford a cold look, before turning back to Ford, “You know.”

The four of them were sitting at the kitchen table, Fiddleford across from Emma-May and Stanley across from Ford. The boys were supposed to be watching TV while the adults talked, but he was pretty sure they were eavesdropping at the doorway. Again.

“But there are several issues we’ll need to discuss moving forwards,” She continued, leaning forwards and resting her chin on her hands, “First of all, how are you going to explain Shifty’s existence to the wider world. Human children don’t just pop out of nowhere, especially ones that are identical to your own.”

“Already got it covered,” Stanley said, crossing his arms and leaning back in his chair, “It’ll take a few weeks to get here, and I’ll need a name that’s not terrible for him, but once that’s settled, I figured he could be Tate’s long lost twin brother, kidnapped at birth.”

“While its good you have the paperwork sorted,” Emma-May said, nodding, “that won’t work, for several reasons. Mainly due to my work. The government will immediately clock him as a clone and try to seize him. We’ll need something else, but that can be workshopped as we go, and also,”

She leaned in, fingers templed, and gave Ford a hard look.

“I’m not letting Tate live here. Fiddleford has already agreed to give me full custody, on account of what’s happened, and I won’t let you go back on that just so your son can have a human child running around. I’m willing to allow holidays and weekends, but not until I’ve completed the necessary steps to conduct research here.”

“I’ve thought of a few solutions,” She continued, before either Ford could cut in, “One, I take Tate back home, and you find another child. Kidnap an orphan this time.”

Fiddleford did not look happy with that option, but he did give Stanley a contemplative look that made him want to grin awkwardly.

“Two, I take Tate, and you continue whatever child charade you were doing before Stanley here got the brilliant idea to kidnap a child.”

“Not gonna work,” Stanley said, tapping the table, “It’s not good for him to not have a human kid to base himself off of.”

“Understandable,” Emma-May said with a nod, before steepling her fingers and looking grim, “The final option is for me to take Tate and Shifty, until-”

“No.” Ford said curtly, tensing immediately and glaring, “He’s staying here.”

“I understand you care about him,” Emma-May said, sitting up straight, “but-”

“No.” Ford sat up straight too, giving her a cold stare and clenching his hands, “He’s my son, and he’s safest here. There’s no telling what supernatural threats might be lying in wait back in Pal Alto, and they’d know exactly what to look for. While it might be better for his development, his safety is my top priority.”

“I’m with Ford here,” Stanley added, crossing his arms, “He’s just barely figured out how to hold a shift long term, he’d never make it in a populated area.”

“Unfortunate,” She said, giving him a hungry look that made him uncomfortable, “But as the expert I’ll trust your opinion. Then-”

“How about,” Fiddleford said, arms crossed, and eyes locked onto Emma-May, “He stays here. Not forever!” he held up a hand as Emma-May stiffened, other one clenching his arm hard, “Just for however long it takes you to figure out what you need. A month, maybe two. I’ve-”

He swallowed, then waved a jittery hand at the hyper cleaned kitchen.

“I’ve been doing better. Kept myself on the straight and narrow. The house is clean, no way for curious hands gettin’ where they have no business bein’, and I’ve been- I’ve been tryin’. Just- Just for a month or so, then you can take him again, sooner if I- Stanford would let you know. You can trust him. And he’ll be here too, keepin’ an eye on everything.”

Fiddleford must have been on some hard drugs, judging by the scrutinizing look Emma-May gave him. Fiddleford looked back at her, eyes wide and pleading as his hands came down to grip the table. Whatever battle of wills was happening, it worked out in their favor, as Emma-May nodded slowly, even as she glared at her soon to be ex-husband.

“Only on several conditions.”

“Of course,” Fiddleford said, slumping forwards in relief, “anything you want darl-Emma-May.”

She tensed at the slip up, then glared harder, “Phone calls, every day. With Tate. I want detailed observations of Shifty’s growth, and a thorough inspection of the house and their room. Any and all trips outside the town need my approval, and the moment he’s in danger he comes straight back to me.”

Stanley looked back and forth between them, then over at Ford with a raised eyebrow. His brother wasn’t paying attention, too focused on Emma-May. Whatever she was worried about, it was probably fine. Stanley hadn’t seen any evidence of a hidden drug stash with all his snooping so far, and Fiddleford hadn’t shown a hint of being anything other than stressed.

They kept on going for an hour, Emma-May listing more and more demands about Tate’s care and what Fiddleford needed to do to be trusted with it. When they were done, Stanley got roped into helping Fiddleford clear out one of the hyper cleaned storage rooms, moving all of the boxes and containers into Ford’s lab (which was similarly hyper cleaned, with several empty shelves from where things used to be) while Ford called up the local carpenter and got furniture delivered.

Stanley made sure to keep his grin to himself, seeing as no one else seemed overly happy with the whole arrangement.

Emma-May stayed an extra day to survey the room, buy the boys(Tate) some clothes and things to occupy themselves with until Emma-May can send more of his stuff up, grill Fiddleford to make sure he remembered everything (while also leaving several lists around the house), then dragged Stanley into the kitchen for a private conversation.

“I’m not happy with what you did,” she said, hands gripping his tightly while he squirmed under the attention, “and don’t think I’ve forgotten about you because of what’s happening between Fiddleford and I. The moment everything’s settled, I will be getting another peek at what’s under your skin.”

“You’re so creepy.”

“I don’t care. You owe me for this, and I plan on getting a detailed diagram as payment. If I hear about you putting my son in danger again, your brother won’t be able to protect you from me, do you understand?”

“Uhuh, got it.” Stanley grumbled, leaning away from her intense stare. She gave him a searching look, before nodding sharply and letting go. Stanley rubbed his arm as she disappeared back out of the kitchen with a grimace.

Like he needed Ford to protect him. Stanley had been protecting himself for years just fine. Besides, now that Tate was here Stanley could finally relax and get down to something he’d been putting on the back burner the last week.

Figuring out what had gone down with his brother the last few months, and finally getting behind that door.

(“I’m putting Tate’s safety in your hands,” Emma-May says to Ford as she packs up her car, “If I hear Fiddleford’s gone on another rampage from anyone other than you, I’ll shred your already fragile reputation in the scientific community, do you understand?”

“Yes Emma-May,” Ford responds, twitching and scanning the tree line for threats.

“If I hear your brother’s put Tate in any kind of danger, supernatural or otherwise,” Ford jumped at the iron grip pulling him down so he was face to face with her cold eyes, “I will strap him down to a dissection table and find out how he works in a very personal manner. Do you understand?”

Ford felt fury coil in his chest at the thought of his brother strapped down to anything “You’re not-”

“I will. I don’t care that he’s your brother, Tates my son. I won’t let him get away with risking his life again without any kind of consequence. Do. You. Understand.”

Ford flexes his fingers, before nodding sharply. He didn’t trust himself to use his words as she nodded back, then continued packing. There wasn’t a lot, seeing as her trip had been very unplanned, and before too long she was pressing a kiss to Tates curly hair and driving away, disappearing behind the bend in the road.

She didn’t need to know the lengths Ford would take to make sure Stanley stayed safe. He’d messed up once already, left his brother to fend for himself, and he wouldn’t do it a second time.

It did mean he’d need to sneak into his brother’s room and sneak trackers into some of his things, but that could wait until after Tate was more settled.)

Now that Shifty had Tate to run around with, with Fiddleford watching the pair like a hawk, Stanley suddenly had much more free time. He spent the first few days making sure Shifty knew how to control himself, then slowly eased back as the kids got to it. Now that Shifty had a rough idea of what to work on, Stanley didn’t need to keep hovering over him except to peek in occasionally and make sure he was keeping Tate’s shape.

When he was confident Shifty and Tate were good to handle being alone for long periods of time, mostly because Fiddleford hadn’t let either out of his sight since Emma-May had left, he started combing through the house, looking for any evidence of what had caused the deep cleaning and Fords (and maybe Fiddleford’s) twitchiness.

Unfortunately, the thing about doing a deep clean was there was now little to be found. He’d gotten lucky with the couch, as everywhere else he looked didn’t have so much as a hint of what had happened. The only other place they’d missed in their sweep was a broom closet that didn’t looked to have been cleaned but was also only full of brooms and nothing of interest, and the other storage room in the attic, which was so full of dust it was obvious no one had been in there for some time.

Ford was still in the secret room most nights, so that just left the town.

Which was also a bust. The only gossip Panley Stines could get about the ‘crazy hermit in the woods’ was he’d gone on some kind of bender last month and made a nuisance of himself in town. Not typical Ford behavior but could have been some kind of mental breakdown and not a supernatural threat. Besides that, all they knew was he kept to himself, and that strange lights always came from his house.

(There was also a rumor about two kids claiming to be his cousins running around, that Stanely chose to ignore and hoped Ford would never hear about.)

Which just left the secret room. The room Ford was always in every night, doing his secret nerd things until he passed out. He’d have to wait until Ford stayed upstairs and slept in his own bed to get in, and in the meantime practice how to talk and run when shifted into an animal. He added an outside patrol to his nightly routine, only doing so after making sure Ford wasn’t coming up at night.

(Ford has no idea what Stanley was up to, now that Tate was here to play with Shifty. His own project was nearing completion, and his jelly bean code was still awaiting more bean data until he could continue. He watches his brother prowl around the house, looking under furniture and around rooms on the cameras, then frowns at what he held in his hands. He was awaiting a few more deliveries, then he’d give it to Stanley, they’d apologize (to each other) and everything would go back to normal.

No, better than normal. Ford was going to use his new understanding of his brother to be closer than ever, he wouldn’t brush aside Stanley’s claims as childish ever again. He’d put more thought and look into things he’d been told, and then-

Then they’d be brothers.

With a sigh, Ford put his project away in the drawer, turned off the monitors, and headed upstairs for bed. He had a jelly bean to collect after all)

“Stanley,” Ford said, making Stanley jump as he sat at the kitchen table, sorting through the magazines he’d left out for Shifty. Now that the weather was working on getting warmer, he was thinking of taking the boys out to the town, try and actually buy something at a store. Or have an actual human conversation that no one ran away from.

Maybe go fishing.

“Stanford,” Stanley said, eyeing his brother as he sat down across from him. They hadn’t been avoiding each other, exactly, but the nervous never-breaking-eye-contact energy his brother had been giving off was starting to weird him out.

Plus, every time they were alone and the silence started to drag on, the moss feelings would start to creep back up Stanley’s spine. They hadn’t gotten into any yelling matches since the first day, and so far all of their interactions had been some kind of positive, but the way Ford seemed to twitch and fidget around him made him feel… some kind of way.

They hadn’t talked about the shapeshifter thing, or their childhood, or what Ford brushing off Stanley’s confession meant for them. Ford seemed to still consider Stan his brother, acted like it too, but the unspoken tension was driving him crazy, along with his own guilt about sitting on all the money he owed Ford and not saying anything about it.

Then he’d feel angry about feeling guilty, as why should he owe Ford anything after learning about the whole ‘game’ thing. Then he’d feel sad about feeling angry about feeling guilty, then back to angry, then maybe anxious, until everything was a mad jumble that made him want to run into the woods and never have to think about anything ever again.

Or moss feelings, as he liked to call them.

“I was-” Ford coughed, then looked away and started tapping the table, “I was wondering. What else your supposed to be doing, now that Shifty has a base.”

Ah, just making sure Stanley wasn’t slacking. It made his stomach twist even as he shrugged and went back to sorting through the magazines (he’d need to tear out the non-kid ones later for their letters. Half of them were missing anyways from Stanley’s last one).

“Nothing much right now,” He said, “Shifty has to figure out how to hold his shape by himself, and me messing around with him and Tate would just mess up his imprinting. They need to be kids more than anything, and that means taking a step back and letting them run around. Once he’s more settled, we’ll work on how to act in public.”

“I see.” Ford said, then both of them jumped as Fiddleford burst in. He went straight to the coffee machine (that Stanley avoided. He avoided all of the kitchen appliances in fact, as the first time he’d tried to make toast from the toaster it made some kind of dial up noise and shredded his bread), then hit a bunch of buttons. As they watched he slammed the cupboards open and shut, until he found a large bowl. The bowl was shoved under the machine, slowly filled, then poured down Fiddlefords throat.

Then the man started the whole process again.

“Uh,” Stanley started, as Ford stood up and slowly walked closer, “You alright there Fiddlesticks?”

“Peachy,” Fiddleford muttered, rubbing his eyes as the bowl filled up, “Just got a call from my lawyer. Then from the daycare I ‘kidnapped’ Tate from,” At that he shot Stanley a frigid glare, before turning back to his coffee bowl, “Then from Emma-May, asking about Tate and the local schools. Then I called the school, called the junkyard for those parts I needed, got another call from my lawyer, and now!”

Fiddleford grabbed the bowl and drank the scalding hot coffee from it, before slamming it onto the counter. Ford, who had been inching closer and closer, gently grabbed it and pulled it away.

“Now I realize,” Fiddleford continued, “that if Shifty’s bein’ targeted by all kinds of supernatural critters, that means Tate will be too. I painted a target on my boy. You painted a target on my boy.”

Fiddleford turned and pointed at Stanley, then walked backwards out of the kitchen, twitching slightly and eyes wild. They watched him disappear, then exchanged looks.

“Should we be-”

“I’ll be right back.”

And then Ford was gone, his (still blood stained! Should Stanley mention something? No one else had, and he was afraid that maybe only he could see it at this point) coat billowing behind him, like some kind of cape.

“Alright then.” Stanley turned back to his magazines, then jumped at a loud bang from somewhere else in the house.

It was probably fine.

(It was not fine. Ford watches Fiddleford mutter as he watches the boy’s color on the floor of the living room. He had some kind of device he was fiddling with in his hands, and a familiar glint in his eyes that screamed trouble.

He needed to figure out how to de-stress Fiddleford, fast.

Stanley’s life might be in danger after all.)

That night, for the first time in ages, Ford did not disappear into his secret room.

(That night, Ford went through his collection of books, trying to find ways to help Fiddleford work through his anxiety and stress)

Instead, he disappeared into his bedroom, where he muttered and messed around with his nerd books, then sat at his desk.

(They’d already tried most of them, but at this point he was willing to try again. If he didn’t calm him down by tomorrow, he’d have to call Emma-May)

Taking the opportunity, Stanley snuck downstairs, shifted into Ford, and scanned his eye on the eye scanner.

(He jerked up at a creaking from downstairs, suddenly reminded of his brothers nightly prowling. Just as he was about to put it out his mind, he jumped to his feet.)

The door creaked slightly, but when nothing else happened Stanley slipped in, and closed it behind him.

(It was the perfect opportunity to sneak some trackers into Stanley’s things. He might not be able to track him the traditional way, but since Stanley still needed human clothes for his shifts, he’d at least have a head start if his brother disappeared.)

He went down the stairs, testing his weight on each one, before stopping in front of the elevator.

It (it) was (was) time (time) to (to) keep (keep) his (his) brother (brother)

Safe

(Ford creeps upstairs, ears straining for the slightest of noises. Stanley usually snuck around for at least an hour, sometimes two if he decided to go outside and walk the ground. That meant he didn’t have much time.

Working quickly, he grabbed the small trackers he’d developed for tracking anomalies and started hiding them in Stanley’s clothes. Ignoring the size and style, he stuck them into pockets, wiggled them into collars, and shoved them under shoelaces.

Then he saw the red jacket Stanley liked to wear as his base form and moved. The fluff of the hood was the perfect place to-

What was in his brother’s pocket that was so heavy?)

Why on Earth did Ford have an elevator in his basement? Never mind, the answer was obvious the moment he hit the bottom floor and looked at all the beeping computers and desks full of buttons.

Ford needed to get down to his nerd cave somehow.

Wandering around, Stanley glanced at the papers on the desk, then at the large giant upside down triangle through the window. It was huge, mechanical, and made his hair stand on end, like he was being watched.

Creepy.

It was also still under construction, large panels removed with wires spilling out and giant sections in pieces along the floor. A quick look through the papers at the desk showed a lot of numbers, and a few mentions about ‘recalibrating’, ‘cutting off,’ and ‘decreasing future risk’. Future risk of what, he couldn’t tell, but the mix of Ford’s and Fiddleford’s handwriting was enough to make him want to gag.

Nerd romance. The worst kind.

Since he didn’t want to wander in and potentially break his brother’s love machine he’d built with his boyfriend, Stanley turned to the rest of the room. Most of it was more buttons, besides the spiral staircase in a back corner, but what got his attention was the row of screens along the side wall.

They were black, but there was also a giant ‘ON’ button right next to them.

Easy.

(Ford stares in horror at the tiny golden statue, familiar and awful and all of his worst fears, brought to life.

Why would Stanley have this? Where did he get it? When did he get it?

It was Bill, clearly and unmistakably Bill. Bill, who was his worst mistake. Bill, who’d tortured him for weeks. Bill, who’s reach and influence went farther than Ford could ever be sure of.

He’d put in the barrier to keep them safe from the demon, but it didn’t stop physical threats from their world, only spiritual or magical ones.

Stanley wasn’t either of those things. He was the descendant of an alien species, so foreign to their planet that there was no telling what could or could not work against him.

The perfect pawn really.

After all, Stanley had told him that creatures of all kinds would love to have a shapeshifter. Bill was the worst of the worst, who’d love nothing more than to twist Ford’s own brother against him. Stanley who-

Who wasn’t here. Who’d been prowling around the house at odd hours, listening at doors and snooping. Who could take any shape, and had stronger senses than a human.

An eye scanner would be easy to bypass, as long as no one was downstairs to lock down the lab.

Ford was running down the stairs, calling for Fiddleford and clutching the statue in his furious grip. How foolish of him, to think that Stanley had actually cared. Or, he realized with horror, how foolish to think his enemies hadn’t gotten to Stanley first. There was a chance Stanley didn’t know of Bill’s treachery.

There was a chance he did.

Maybe this had been his plan all along. Get Tate to bring Emma-May, to drive Fiddleford into hysterics, and distract Ford from the real threat. Maybe his brother was confused, trusting a creature from another dimension after Ford had turned his back on him.

Maybe. There was only one way to know for sure, and he knew from the fury and shame and endless mixing of emotions brewing inside of him, that it wasn’t going to be easy.

For anyone.)

Stanley stared at all the screens, watching all the different parts of the house. There was one for every room, and some rooms had two. Different angles, different vantages, different ways to spy on whatever was going on upstairs without moving an inch.

Messing around with the controls, he figured out how to rewind the footage.

Backwards.

Forwards.

Backwards.

Forwards.

Backwards. Stanley, changing his shift in the bathroom.

Forwards. Stanley, testing out different animal shifts in his bedroom.

Backwards. Stanley, leaving a jelly bean on Fords pillow.

Forwards. Stanley, sitting in the bathroom, alone, watching his hand go from five fingers to three.

Backwards. Stanley, looking around the house, patrolling it. Trying to keep everyone safe.

Stanley. Stanley. Stanley.

Like a mouse in a cage. Always being watched.

Or a bug under a microscope.

There were even notes. Stanley looked down at the scattered papers, idly reading Ford’s looping handwriting. About him. About what he’d been doing. Theories. Questions. Jelly beans?

That one threw him for a loop, looking at a chart of different colored jelly beans and a list of letters and numbers. There was a little row of jelly beans in jars, with numbers on them.

He had no idea what that was about.

Stanley shifted through the pages (giving the jelly beans one a weird look before setting aside) reading all of Fords thoughts. Most were idle observations, a few hypotheticals about Stanley’s limits and what the rest of him looked like, but as he continued to read and read, he realized that the pages had begun to get blurry. He couldn’t make out the words, hands too shaky and ears ringing from the sting of it all.

He’d thought-

He’d hoped-

But Ford had been angry, hadn’t he. Then desperate. Desperate to keep him close. To keep him here.

Keep him contained.

By the time the elevator dinged, Stanley had stopped reading. Instead, he looked up at the monitors, watching them replay moments of his life.

Of his shifting.

Ford burst into the room, Fiddleford hot on his heels, and started yelling. Something about bills, but Stanley wasn’t really paying attention. He was too busy watching himself, trying to shift into the adult Stanley he didn’t realize he couldn’t be anymore.

“Did you know,” He said, as the Stanley of the past melted his face and sighed, “That the first thing shifters are taught in boot camp is how to find cameras?”

Ford stuttered, then came to a stop as Stanley looked at another screen, this one of him trying to jump on and off his bed as a dog.

“All kinds really,” Stanley continued, messing with the buttons and watching all the stupid Stanleys of the past, going about their day without a care in the world, “The ones they have in stores, and the ones cops set up to try and catch crooks. The most important ones, of course, are the secret ones. Ones hidden around rooms. Do you know why?”

“I-” Ford started to say, before Stanley turned his right arm into a giant, scaled claw, and swiped at all the cameras in front of him. It ripped through them like butter, leaving a five-finger trail of destruction. Glass scattered across the floor in a thunderous crash, as Stanley swiped a few more times, chest heaving and skin starting to prickle.

“Its because,” he said, seething, “the only thing worse for a shapeshifter than another shapeshifter, is getting caught on fucking camera.”

Stanley turned to face them, monitors sparking and casting the room into an eerie flickering light. Ford was red faced, while Fiddleford had started backing up behind him, hands twitching harder and clutching his chest.

“Humans,” Stanley said, lips curling into a snarl, “With all your fucking newfangled technology. Used to be we could sneak around in the shadows and be safe. Nowadays you can’t even walk down the street without somebody watching. Now we can’t!”

Stanley slammed his claw down on the panel next to him.

“EVEN!”

He ripped out a tangle of wires, ignoring the sparks tingling his skin.

“DO!”

He turned his other hand into a matching claw, slamming both down onto the consol and crushing it underneath them.

“THAT!”

Stanley took a deep breath, then jerked his hands out of the screens, letting them shift back into two flexing human ones. They ached from the destruction, tingled from the electricity. He could make his outer layer as tough as he wanted, but he couldn’t stop his innards from being a squishy mess.

“I didn’t even think about it,” He said, as the silence stretched on and the monitors continued to spark, “I figured, ‘This is Ford’s place! He’s my brother! I’ll be safe here!’ How stupid was I, huh.”

“Stanley-”

“SHUT IT STANFORD!” Stanley screamed, turning towards Ford, skin rippling in agitation. He took a deep breath, then glared, skin settled. Ford had backed up, hand held in front of Fiddleford while the man started hyperventilating, both staring wide eyed back at him.

“Day one!” Stanley yelled, gesturing to the ruined console behind him, “Since day one you’ve been watching me! Do you know- Can you- If anyone saw this, came down here, I’d be ruined! We’d be ruined! Fiddleford was right after all! Do you know what creatures who want to control shapeshifters target! DO YOU!”

Ford flinched, one hand gripping something and the other pushing Fiddleford further behind him.

“I-”

“THE BASE!” Stanley turned and punched the wrecked monitors, not even bothering to do more than strengthen his outer layer, “ITS ALWAYS THE BASE! YOU STUPID HUMANS ARE SO FUCKING FRAGILE! AND YOU HAD VIDEO EVIDENCE OF BEING ONE! AND- AND- and”

Stanley wheezed, eyes skipping across the scattered papers and jelly beans. They were littering the floor, a jumbled mess of colors and glass. The entire wall full of monitors had been smashed to pieces, nothing left but broken screens and sparking wires. He could hear Fiddlefords sharp gasps, hear Ford’s stumbling steps as he moved closer.

“And what,” Stanley whispered, looking down at his human hands, “what do you care. I’m just another science experiment. Just something to study under a microscope. Stanford Pines was born a single lonely little kid after all. I’m just the bug that snuck in after.”

“Stan-”

He didn’t want to hear it. Didn’t want to hear false apologies and promises. Didn’t want to hear how right he was. Didn’t want to remember how the first thing Ford had said, all those years ago when he’d whispered into his brother’s ear, was about how they weren’t really twins.

Ford had made that decision a long, long time ago. Stanley just hadn’t realized, too busy playing pretend.

With a burst of inhuman speed Stanley shot past them. He didn’t bother waiting for the elevator to start going, just ripped the doors off its hinges, shifted his arms into claws, and jumped, crashing through the ceiling and climbing the walls up towards the top. He could hear yelling behind him, but he ignored it.

He just-

He had wanted so badly to-

All he-

All It needed-

AWAY!

It burst out of the top of the elevator shaft, breathing deeply and form more unstable than it had ever been in its entire life. It took everything it had to climb up the stairs, twisting to crawl up on all fours halfway as its joints shifted, its skin rippled from scales to fur to fuzz then back, and its hands lost and grew fingers.

With a shove it flung open the basement door, skittering across the ground. The front door wasn’t too far away, just a-

Shifty.

It paused, shifting its feet underneath it as it looked up at the ceiling. Shifty was still so small, so vulnerable. He wouldn’t understand it if it tried to take him away, wouldn’t understand the danger they were in, staying here in this house.

But he’d lived here his whole life, and he’d been perfectly fine. Maurice hadn’t found a single issue.

Which meant it was just it that was in danger. Just it that Stanford didn’t care about anymore. Stanford had moved on and got better and had long ago decided that if it was a shapeshifter, then they weren’t brothers.

It heard a sound from the basement door, and turned, ears forming to listen. Voices, two of them, getting closer and closer.

Stanford.

Coming up.

It needed to go, to get out, to disappear forever.

It scuttled over to the front door and smashed through, not bothering to try and figure out door handles right now. All it wanted was to get as far away as possible.

The cold night air nipped at its skin, so it shifted it away. Claws became paws, scales became fur, and in an instant, what had once been an everchanging pile of limbs became a large, furred creature. Not a bear or dog or cat or anything that could be found on Earth, just a mess of six legs, a too long snout, two pointed ears, and a short stubby tail. It dashed across the front yard, darted around the signs jutting out of the ground, and disappeared into the woods.

Leaving the desperate voices far behind.

(“STANLEY!” Ford shouts, pausing only long enough to shove his feet into boots so he wouldn’t cut himself on the shattered remains of the front door, “STANLEY!”

“Let him run off!” Fiddleford snaps, clutching the basement door and eyes skipping across the destruction around them, “You saw what it-”

“HE!” Ford yells, whirling on him, “Was my brother! He’s upset and distressed and it’s the middle of the night!

“Exactly!” Fiddleford yells back, hunching further as a cold wind blew in through the empty doorway, “It’s the middle of the night! How are you going to find him out there! And even if you do, then what! You heard what he was yellin’ about! If he thinks you don’t care-”

“I CARE!” Ford yells, turning back to scan the woods desperately, “He’s my brother! I care! I- STANLEY! COME BACK!”

“Fine,” Fiddleford mutters, light glinting off his eyes as he backed up, disappearing into the basement below, “You want him so bad? I’ll drag him back no problem.”

Ford doesn’t hear him. He shouts into the night, grabs a flashlight, then follows the trail. He makes it ten feet into the woods before the prints shift into a different creature, then twenty minutes before he loses it entirely, from the ever-changing shape, to the dark, to the cold wind making him shiver. Spring is here, the snow is melting and fading away, but in the dead of night it is freezing, the ground is hard, and there is no sign of Stanley.

Ford keeps calling, until he forces himself to return home. The boys will be waiting, scared and confused, and he will put them to bed.

Then try again in the morning.)

It didn’t know how long it ran, shifting and falling apart and coming back together, before it got too tired. It did not want to run, or hide, or become anything other than what it was.

So, it curled up in the roots of a tree and became moss.

It flattened itself, then shifted its outer layer into a fuzzy greenness. It took a while to get the fuzziness feeling right, then to shift its flatness until it wasn’t strange animal shaped, but then it was done.

Moss.

Moss was nice. Moss did not have feelings, or brothers, or bases or enemies. All it did was lie here, not doing anything. The roots of the tree blocked the wind, and the coldness of the ground was mostly ignorable, as long as it didn’t think too hard.

Which it did not.

Moss did not have to think.

Moss just laid there, in the dark.

On the cold ground.

Waiting.

Then in the sun.

With the ground still very cold.

Waiting.

If it wasn’t so nice being a plant clump, it’d be incredibly boring.

What else did moss do besides lay there and not feel sorry for itself.

It started to grow along the tree, then up the tree. Then down the tree when the cold wind brushed against it and made it shiver.

Actually, where were its clothes?

It was wearing some before, but now it wasn’t.

Whatever, moss didn’t need clothes. All moss needed was to sit here, soak up some sun, and not have feelings.

“Stanley, there you are.” A very out of breath voice said.

The moss did not move at the unexpected voice. It laid there very still and moss like, even as it felt the ground vibrate from something moving closer.

(That was the one downside of not being real moss. It could close its eyes, but it couldn’t turn its ears off all the way.)

“Stanley,” the human who the moss did not know said, moving closer, “Stanley, I know it’s you.”

No, the human didn’t. The human didn’t know what it was talking about at all.

“I’ve-” A cough, then more movement as the human maybe sat down on the nearby tree root. It couldn’t know for sure of course, as it did not have an eye to peek open and check. If it did, it would do that though.

“I saw that.”

No, the human didn’t.

A sigh.

“I- ahem. I know it’s you, because I watched you practice your… I think its supposed to be a plant of some kind?”

If it had a mouth, it would tell the human it was moss. As it didn’t, all it did was lay there, very moss like to anyone who knew anything about moss.

“Its very green, but you look more like a carpet than anything. Lichen, maybe? Some kind of mold?”

Moss, it thought very hard at the human, willing them to understand what it was trying to be here.

“Regardless, I saw you practicing, and even if I hadn’t, I know it’s you because I followed your shredded clothes and its still fairly cold out here. There’s nothing else growing.”

Oops. It hadn’t thought about that. It very sneakily peeked an eye (that it didn’t have, as it was moss) open and scanned the trees. Then it very sneakily closed it.

Yeah, it was the only green thing out here. Everything else was still snowy, muddy, or some combination of both. A huge contrast to the bright green moss it hadn’t realized it had made itself.

It was hard to tell in the dark.

Very sneakily, it slowly made itself less green.

“I’m right here Stanley. I’m- I can see you doing this.”

No, he couldn’t. It had been this shade of green the whole time. A more brownish one, that blended in better and didn’t look like someone had thrown up liquid limes all over the place.

Another sigh, then the sound of shifting (of a human person).

“Stanley, I’m so-” a cough, then more shuffling, then a sigh, “I’m sorry.”

How nice of the human to say, if only there was something not-moss out here to appreciate it.

“I shouldn’t have been spying on you,” the human continued, “I just thought- well. It seemed like a great idea, at the time. I’m- I’m very sorry, about- about a lot of things. I- I wanted to say sorry, for thinking you were joking, all those years ago, but-”

Another sigh. Humans did a lot of that. Luckly the moss no longer needed to breathe.

At least not as noticeably as the human did.

“I wasn’t sure how,” he continued, after a moment, “How do you even begin to apologize for that kind of mistake? It’s been years after all, and, well. I was still mad, about the science fair, but I realized you probably felt betrayed first. All those promises we’d made, all those adventures you had planned out, and I thought it was all pretend.”

Yeah, if it was something other than moss, then it would have felt maybe betrayed. And angry

But mostly very sad that its human person had decided to stay with humans without telling it.

Good thing it was moss and therefore felt nothing.

“So I was wanted to make it up to you,”  the human said, shifting around some more, “But I didn’t know how. I thought I had to figure it out by myself, so I used the cameras. They weren’t put there for you, they were for Shifty. When he was a baby, Fiddleford was worried he’d grow up to be a face stealing murder monster and put them everywhere. I allowed it, because I was worried Shifty would turn into something inanimate and fall asleep, and I wouldn’t be able to find him.”

Well, that sounded like a reasonable if messed up reason to put up cameras.

Murder monster though? Really?

“And then I didn’t tell you,” The human said awkwardly, “Because at first I was trying to figure out what I could- something you’d like. As an apology. Then it became awkward, and I just got so used to doing it, and-”

A sigh. Then a cough. Some more shuffling, and if this human didn’t get to the point it was going to do something very mosslike.

Like punch him.

“I’m sorry.”

Silence.

“Butalsowheredidyougetthisandwhyandwhatdidhepromiseyou?DoyouneedhelpI’llgetrideofhimIdiditbeforeI-”

The moss, that did not have eyes, peeked open a very mossy eyelid and squinted at the human man wheezing on the tree root. It had no idea what he’d been babbling about, but it recognized the tiny gold statue it had shoved into its pocket and been using to keep its hands occupied while snooping.

Gold always felt nice on the hands after all.

Not that it would know, being moss.

“Stanley, I need to know,” the human continued, scootching closer and poking it with his foot, “Its important, If you’ve made a deal, if your scared-”

“As if.” the moss scoffed, rolling its closed eyes. Like it would be scared of anything.

Then it sat very still when the human slumped in relief.

“Oh good, it is you,” He said, scootching even closer, “I was afraid I was talking to a sentient… mold growth.”

“I’m moss.” The moss grumbled, in a very mosslike manner.

“Ah. I see.”

……

……

“When was the last time you’ve seen moss, because your texture-”

The moss, in a very moss like move, grew a moss leg and kicked the human, then went back to being nice and flat when he yelped and started rubbing his leg.

“Sorry, sorry.” He said, “You’re… a very good moss. I’m…”

A sigh.

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” he said, holding the little statue when the moss sneaked another peek, “I was so angry for so long, and then confused, and then- but this!” He held up the statute and shoved it in the eye the moss didn’t have, frantic and pale, “Where did you get this! I need to know, its important! Where did you meet him, what happened what-”

“Get that out of my face,” the moss said, moving downwards and glaring, “I found it under your couch. Figured I’d melt it down and no one would notice.”

The human slumped in relief, then looked embarrassed.

“Ah, I see. That’s good. That’s very good. I was- but I did have so many, I didn’t have an exact number when we melted the rest.”

The moss gave the human a look as he started mumbling, then closed its eyes and tried to go back to being moss again.

It was very hard, now that the human was right next to it, ruining the atmosphere.

“But if you don’t know who he is,” the human muttered, “why were you snooping around the basement? And my house?”

Right. Because the human had been watching it do that before. So much for being sneaky.

“Wanted to figure out what your deal was,” It muttered back, “what was making you so jumpy and paranoid. Thought maybe there’d be something down there, but…”

It trailed off, then made itself as small as it could, a tiny little moss patch, curled under a tree. No one could watch it like this, no one could catch it being itself without it noticing.

It could just sit here, and be a pile of moss.

“Stanley..” the human said sadly, then sighed and moved to sit on the ground next to it, setting a hand down on its moss body and petting it, “I’m sorry. I didn’t even think about how’d you react, or feel about it. I just. Hmm. I was working on something, and watching you and trying to figure out what you were doing, it was- I- I was trying to figure you out like an anomaly, and not like my brother. Making observations and trying to catalogue your behavior instead of just asking, and that- that wasn’t- I’m sorry. I should have just asked.”

At least the human knew what it was doing, knew that brothers didn’t go around watching each other on cameras like a creep.

The warmth of the hand was very nice after sitting on the cold hard ground for the last several hours.

“I made something- for you!” the human continued, “Here, let me-”

The human shifted, taking away his warm hand, then paused.

“hmm. I guess I’ll just- here?”

Something sort of warm, hard, and flat was set on top of it. The moss wriggled, then squirmed out from under it and opened its eye to see what his-its- the human had tried to smush him with.

It was a book, thick with a brown cover. It didn’t have a title, and there were pieces of paper sticking out between the pages.

“Its not finished,” the human continued, as the moss reached forwards with a moss hand and poked it, “But-well. I am sorry, and this is what I wanted to give to you to show it.”

The moss flipped open to the first page, then stared at what was there. It was a single picture, with words underneath describing when and where it had taken place.

A picture of Ford. Solemn and wearing his graduation cap in front of their high school.

The next page was also Ford, packing their room, taken a month or so later. Then Ford, standing in front of Backupsmore, grim and unhappy. Ford with Fiddleford, grinning in front of a board, arms around each other’s shoulders, around when classes started. Ford, sitting in a library, at classes, in his dorm, shaking hands.

The whole book was nothing but Ford, set chronologically from high school to a few months ago. There were a few gaps here and there, missed months, and some of the pictures were missing or had half complete descriptions. Some of the pictures were taped instead of glued, with a few pages crammed full of pictures and some only having one.

“I- well, you know- I saw you trying to shift,” Ford said, fidgeting next to him, “in the bathroom, trying to be older. And Maurice, he said you didn’t look older because you hadn’t seen me grow. Then you said a shapeshifter’s base form is what they feel like, so I figured-”

Ford gestured to the book as he flipped through the pages, cheeks going pink at some of the more embarrassing photos. Fiddleford and him, dressed up as wizards, sleeping over piles of books.

On the run from the police after Fiddleford built some kind of kitchen bot that went haywire.

“Maybe,” Ford continued, as he stared at a picture of Ford, standing in front of his brand-new house and grinning, “I could help you fix it, so we could look like each other. Like twins. Brothers. If you saw me grow up like this, you could- oh. Oh please don’t cry, I’m sorry I-”

“M’not crying.” Stanley said, shifting into a child sized person shaped moss thing and clutching the book to his chest, “I’m- sick. Been sitting out here for hours. It’s freezing. And I’m naked.”

“Right, of course,” Ford said, reaching over and slinging an arm around his shoulder and bringing him into a side hug, “It is fairly cold out, and I think its supposed to rain today.”

“Hmm.” Stanley hummed, scootching closer and stealing Fords warmth.

They sat there for a moment in silence, Stanley trying to warm up while Ford fidgeted and twitched next to him.

“I do care” Ford blurted out, turning to look down at him and looking desperate, “I’ve always cared, and I missed you, and I freaked out because if everything you said was true then I left you to fend for yourself after you’d been telling me our whole lives how things were out to get you.”

“Didn’t leave me to do nothin’” Stanley said, grumbling, “I broke your thing, and Pa said I needed to make it up to you. And- and I have. I’m sorry I didn’t say nothin’, but I’ve been getting that money I-”

“I don’t care about the money!” Ford shouted, making him jump, “You were out there, alone, and- and- and seventeens too young! We were kids! What kind of parent does that to their child!”

“I wasn’t a kid,” Stanley snapped, moss body rippling as he curled up tighter into Fords side, “And Pa was just doin’ what he thought was best for me. Made me tough. Besides, Maurice scooped me up for boot camp pretty much immediately.”

“But I didn’t know that!”

Stanley yelped as he was suddenly scooped into Fords arms and shoved into his chest. He squirmed, then froze as Fords arms squeezed him tighter and he pressed his face into Stanley’s moss head.

“I didn’t know,” Ford whispered, “I had no idea where you were or what you were doing. I just assumed you were doing fine, because if you weren’t, you’d tell me, right? I was- I was waiting for you, and you never came back. So, you must have been fine. I wanted you to be fine.”

Stanley shoved his face into Fords shoulder, suddenly feeling embarrassed.

“I did.” He muttered, since they were being honest and all.

“What?”

“I came back,” Stanley continued, hiding his face, “I… you know. Kept tabs on you. In the traditional hands-off way.”

“Wait,” Ford pushed him back, or tried to, as Stanley latched his moss self onto his shoulders. They struggled for a moment, before Ford stopped and just started poking him, “You mean spying? Isn’t that what you said hands off is? Spying? You were spying on me? For how long?”

“Wasn’t spying,” Stanley muttered, shifting to stick onto Fords chest, to better absorb his warmth and no other reason, “Just. Kept an eye on your finances, you know. Made sure you could get your schooling done. That you weren’t getting into trouble.”

“Oh my god,” Ford whispered, hands gripping Stanley’s moss, “Then- but you didn’t see me grow up? How long- What were you even doing?”

“Didn’t want to see you, I knew I’d lose my nerve. All I did was make sure you had funding and all your fancy scholarships and stuff.”

“With- wha- how?”

“I’ve got a lot of money Ford. I told you; I’ve been working on it.”

“Then- but you- hey!”

Ford grabbed him, then tried to pry him off. The joke was on him, as Stanley had used the time he had to slither his way under Fords coat and loop around his arms. He wasn’t coming off unless he wanted to.

It didn’t mean it wasn’t painful as Ford gripped onto his moss fur and pulled.

“You can’t be mad about me spying on you if you were spying on me first!” Ford yelled, hands smacking Stanley, “How long! Scholarships?! That was years ago!”

“Its not the same!” Stanley yelled back, gripping harder and smushing the book between him and Ford so he wouldn’t drop it, “I wasn’t getting you on video or into any of your personal business! All I was doing was going through your mail and sneaking into the administration building!”

“MY MAIL!?”

“I COULDN’T LET YOU SEE- I mean, it was just to keep-”

“WHAT WERE YOU SHREDDING!”

“OK, so. SOME of your scholarships, maybe didn’t renew. But! It was fine. I took care of it.”

“TOOK CARE OF IT?! WHAT- HOW MUCH?!”

“Don’t worry about it! It was years ago, and- and- and whats that sound?”

“Don’t try to change the subject Stanley!”

“No, seriously, listen.”

Ford paused his unwarranted ranting, and they listened. After a minute or so there was the sound of something crashing in the distance, then some kind of twanging noise.

“What is that?” Stanley muttered, trying to see the best he could with his moss head over Fords shoulder. He didn’t get far before Ford was smushing him flat against his chest and launching himself to his feet.

“Oh no,” his brother said, looking around before starting to job, then run through the woods, “Oh no no no.”

“What?”

“Its Fiddleford. I completely forgot- We need to get out of here.”

“Fiddleford? What about-hey!”

Ford shoved Stanley flat against him, forcing him to hold on tightly to his chest or fall off, muttering something about Stanley’s weight under his breath. Then he broke into a sprint, jumping over tree roots and twisting around trees as quickly and carefully as he could.

“We need to get back to the house,” Ford said, hand going into his coat and pulling out his crossbow. It was unloaded, but Ford took the time to put a bolt in as they ran, “Hopefully Tate being there will get him to at least pause.”

“Pause what, what’s happening! Ford!”

“If you’ve been spying on me, then you’ll know Fiddleford is incredibly intelligent. A mechanical genius in fact.”

“Yeah, I saw what he did to the economics building.”

“Well,” Ford panted, stopping briefly to scan the woods around them, listening to the distant crashing and twanging, then bursting into motion again, “A few months ago he built a… device. Before, his inventions would mostly turn evil on accident, a wire would get crossed or something unexpected would happen, and we’d laugh and he’d get inventing again. His device.. well, it messed with his mind, and now-”

There was a large boom, something metallic screeching, then the sound of maniacal laughter rang throughout the woods around them. Ford grimaced, one hand coming up to press against Stanley as he kept running.

“Its only happened twice so far, first a small robot he released in Gravity Falls after the device was destroyed, and then the pterodactyl bot he sent after Emma-May that rampaged around Pal Alto before exploding.”

What.

What.

“What?” Stanley asked, bewildered, “How did I not hear about-” Right, the incident Emma-May kept mentioning. The one that happened before Stanley showed up to Fords house, when he was watching sad movies and dramas and trying to forget he was a person. The one that made Emma-May not trust him with their son.

“Never mind. So, you’re saying-”

“He’s snapped again, and I think his target this time is-”

“STANLEY PINES!” came the sound of Fiddleford’s voice, far too close and getting closer, “I KNOW YOU’RE OUT HERE!”

“Run faster.”

“Doing the best I can here. Just because you look small doesn’t mean you are.” Ford panted, then jumped as a nearby tree exploded. They froze, then screamed as something burst out of the woods behind them.

It wasn’t very big, only about half the size of Ford’s house, and cobbled together from what looked like the remains of the monitors downstairs, some of the pieces from the giant triangle thing, and what must have been parts from the junkyard.

It looked like a crab, one large circular main body, with two claws and several insect-like legs that skittered across the ground and over tree roots. Its panels were different colors, and the whole thing kept twitching and sparking as it got closer. Fiddleford was sitting in a cockpit on top, slamming his hands on buttons and pulling levers, somehow already sporting a full-grown beard that went just past his chin.

“You.” he said, eyes locking onto Ford, or on Stanley, wrapped around Ford, a mad glint in his eyes, “I knew I’d find you if I just followed Stanford. Now get over here so I can tear you to pieces!”

“No thanks!” Stanley yelled, letting go of Ford and dropping to the ground on all fours as a large dog. He shoved the book into Fords hands, grew two more hands to grab Ford, then started running as fast as he could.

The crab was much faster.

“Stupid legs!” Stanley yelled, as one of the claws slammed down in front of him and he jumped to the side, Ford screaming and wiggling in his arms, “How do animals run like this!”

“You need to-” Ford yelled, then screamed as Stanley flung him to the side and ran underneath the crab, darting around its skittering legs before bursting out the other side. Fiddleford was after him, so hopefully he’d leave Ford alone.

“STANLEY!” Fiddleford yelled, turning the crab and hitting more buttons, “You think I spent all that time twiddling my fingers!”

“What?” Stanley yelled, then screeched as a net shot out of the side of the crab and slammed into him.

“Months!” Fiddleford yelled, hitting more buttons and getting closer, as Stanley squirmed and worked on cutting the netting off, “I worried about what Shifty could do, how to defend myself!”

The netting was made out of metal links, meshed together tightly and very hard to snap when starving after being on the cold ground for hours and not eating. Stanley writhed in the net, then yelped as one of the claws grabbed it, lifting him into the air and towards Fiddleford.

“Listen!” Stanley yelled, trying to shift himself bigger or find the exit, “I don’t know what your problem is but-”

“My problem!” Fiddleford yelled, slamming more buttons that made the claw raise into the air and start spinning, “Is that you!” more buttons, and Stanley screamed as he was whirled around like a sling “Keep adding!” the woods became a blur around him, as he was spun faster and faster, “TO MINE!”

The claw came to an abrupt stop, and Stanley spun for a few more times before slowing down and slamming into it, dizzy and struggling to maintain his dog shift.

“First it’s your attitude, snapping and growling,” Fiddleford continued, hitting more buttons that made the other claw come over and grab the net, “Then it’s the danger, telling me all the ways Shifty’s gonna get snatched when I’m not looking,’ The claws pulled on either side of the net, squishing Stanley as he groaned and shifted himself flatter, “Then its YOU snatching him when I’m not lookin’!”

The claws started moving, making the net swing like a jump rope with Stanley stuck in the middle.

“I’m going to be sick!” Stanley yelled, as the world started blurring again and Fiddleford kept talking. Something about the divorce, kidnapping, stress, etc, etc. It was hard to keep track now that his insides were starting to scramble.

The spinning came to a stop, and Stanley groaned again, then he saw Ford, climbing the side of the crab and groaned harder. Why didn’t the nerd take the hint and run while he still could. Before he could yell at his brother to get out of here, Fiddleford slammed more buttons, and one of the claws let go. Stanley swung down, then screamed as it came back and grabbed him.

 The claw holding the net let go, while the one holding Stanley raised him into the air and started shaking him. The weight of the metal net and the pressure from the claws dragged at him, and he squirmed and felt his skin start to writhe.

Not a good sign.

The shaking came to an abrupt stop, and Stanley groaned some more before blinking down at Fiddleford. Ford was now in the cockpit, wrestling with him.

And hitting all the buttons as they went.

“Ford don’t-” Stanley started to yell, before the crab burst into motion.

It skuttled to the side and slammed into a tree, then started moving in circles, legs going in different directions.

And so were its claws.

Stanley screamed as he was swung around, first up and down, then sideways. He made a split-second decision when his head came far too close to a tree for his liking, and shifted himself smaller, so he was inside the crabs grip instead of wiggling mostly outside it.

The claw slammed shut around him, and he instantly regretted it.

Small bursts of light came in from where the claw was still grabbing the netting, meaning Stanley could make out the metallic interior, but it was a small comfort.

He’d never recovered from that trunk, and the tightness, combined with the motion of the claw still whirling around, made him wheeze and shake.

He could hear yelling, muffled now, and more crashes as the metal crab slammed into things. Stanley ignored it, focusing on the one thing he could always rely on.

His teeth.

He’d done it once before, so he already knew the exact density and material to make them to gnaw at the metal netting around him. It was much thinner that a car trunk, snapping and coming apart fairly quickly.

He scrambled through the small hole he’d made, shoving himself further into the claw, then screamed as everything shook, the claw slamming hard into something outside.

He needed to get out.

Shoving down the growing pit in his stomach from the constant shifting, he made himself bigger, digging his own claws into both sides of the claw and making sure he couldn’t get thrown around to much as he got to work.

Then he clicked his tongue, and shot fire out of his mouth. The flames hit the back of the claw, the area where the hinges were, and where it was connected to the crab. Fiddleford had put this thing together in one night, there was no way it was done well enough to withstand the heat and getting slammed around the forest around them.

Everything got hotter and hotter as the fire kept going, and Stanley felt the hunger in his belly grow with it. After a few minutes something snapped, the claw hit the ground again, then something else let out a high-pitched hissing sound, before there was a large crack and the world started tumbling.

Stanley yelled, slamming his mouth shut and holding on, before the rolling motion came to a stop.

He slammed his legs into the claw sides, then growled and pushed when it didn’t open as easily as he’d been hoping. Straining, scales rippling from the effort of pushing himself with such little energy, he eventually managed to push the claw open enough to create a large enough gap to squeeze out of.

As a snake.

He slithered out, relishing in the open if cold air, then turned to see what had happened with the rest of the crab.

The claw holding him had been flung out a ways, colliding with a tree a few dozen yards from where the crab was currently scrambling around the slushier ground and slipping. Its other claw was still slamming into things, along with the now clawless arm, and Ford and Fiddleford were still yelling at each other in the cockpit.

It was hard to make out, but Ford sounded mostly reassuring and angry, while Fiddleford sounded like he was about to burst into tears and also insane.

Stanley should probably do something about that.

Maybe.

Later, when he wasn’t so focused on climbing out of the claw, turning into a small dog, then flopping onto the ground because he didn’t have enough energy to keep going. Too many shifts, too much spinning, too cold.

He was hungry.

As he watched Ford slammed his fist into Fiddleford’s face, Fiddleford bit Fords arm, and the two of them became a mad scramble of limbs as the crab’s legs finally slipped and collapsed under its weight. Stanley groaned as the fighting continued, then dragged himself to his feet and got closer.

It was easier, now that it wasn’t moving, and all its legs were doing was twitching. The arms were still swinging, but the one with a claw still attached was mostly pinned between a tree and so covered in mud its movements were starting to slow.

Stanley ducked under the clawless arm, dug his claws into  the side paneling, and climbed up to where the nerds were duking it out. Fiddleford was surprisingly squirrely, slipping out of Fords holds and climbing around him while his brother kept swinging and grabbing at him. It was interesting to watch, but Stanley was hungry, cold, and tired. He wanted to clean out the pantry and take a nap.

“Are you two-”

Fiddleford screeched, and Stanley had a second to realize what was happening before the skinny man launched himself off of Ford’s back, tackled him, and threw both of them to the ground below.

“I’LL SKIN YA!” Fiddleford yelled, “SHOW YOU HOW-GET OFF’A ME!”

Stanley quickly shifted himself into a snake, making himself larger and larger until he could coil around Fiddleford and pin his arms down. Ford jumped down soon after, running over as Stanley flopped his head to the ground, exhausted. Ford crouched down next to him, lifting his head up and petting it.

They watched Fiddleford yell and squirm for a while, until the energy seemed to seep out of him and he flopped forwards, looking as tired as Stanley felt.

“Its just so much,” he whined, blinking back tears, “so much to worry about. With the divorce, and Shifty and Tate. Why’d you have to kidnap my boy? He’s so small, just a little feller. And now all kinds of wicked folk are gonna be after him.”

“He’ll be OK Fiddleford,” Ford said, waving at Stanley to let go. Stanley did, slithering up and onto Fords shoulders as he made himself smaller, “We’ll help keep him safe, and Stanley will keep an eye on them when they go to school.”

“That’s not comforting,” Fiddleford muttered, as Ford helped him to his feet. He blinked, then looked around at the destroyed forest. Several trees had been knocked down, others had long scrapes or chucks ripped out, and the ground was a churned-up mess of mud and roots.

“Dang nab it,” Fiddleford muttered, wringing his hands, “I’ve gone and done it again. I’m sorry Stanley, I don’t know what came over me.”

“S’whate’vr” Stanley muttered, trying to hook his head around Fords neck and absorb his warmth.

“Are you alright?” Ford asked, reaching up and lifting his head to look at him, “You’re looking very pale, and you’re lighter than you were before.”

“Hungry.” Stanley muttered, flopping his head down when Ford let go, “Tired.”

“I see.” Ford pat his head a few times, then looped an arm through Fiddlefords and started walking briskly through the forest, hopefully towards the house, “Lets get back home then. I’m sure the boys are worried-”

“The boys!” Fiddleford yelled, grabbing Ford’s arm and starting to run, “Oh sweet hog on a grill, I just left them! The doors busted down, anything could get to ‘em like this!”

Stanley grumbled as they started sprinting, jostling him as they went. He’d forgotten about the door, too busy being moss then running from a killer crab.

The boys were fine, both having used the time the adults were gone to booby trap the house from some kind of mega gnome invasion that had happened. Tate’s hat had a few bite marks, there were tiny little scrapes everywhere, and only some of the kitchen had been raided. Stanley raided the rest, body feeling weird and stiff as he shifted into a lizard and started ripping open can’s, dumping the contents into his mouth.

When he was full he latched onto Fords chest, turned himself back into a carpet of moss, and passed out.

(Ford grunts at the heavy weight of Stanley, stumbling out of the kitchen and collapsing onto the couch, wheezing.

“Stanley,” he says, patting his brother and trying to pull him off, “Stanley, you look smaller, but you’re still really heavy, especially right after eating.”

Stanley doesn’t respond, and after a moment he fells the ‘moss’ (and really, it looked more like Shifty’s puppet fuzz than any moss he’d seen) start to vibrate in a steady rhythm. It takes him a second before he realizes it’s his brother’s way of snoring without a mouth.

Stanley’s looped himself around Ford’s arms and partway down his back and tugging at him does nothing but pull on the parts behind him. Like the world’s tightest and heaviest vest, that was also alive.

Ford wheezes again, then lays back down with a groan. The aches and pains of the last day worrying about Stanley, then fist fighting Fiddleford in a robot are starting to creep up on him. He probably should have cleaned up while Stanley was demolishing the kitchen, but he’d been too afraid of letting him out of his sight. Now he was stuck here, pinned under the weight of a fully grown shapeshifter.

 Fiddleford wanders in shortly after, eyes looking clearer and hands less twitchy.

“I’m going to call Emma-May,” he says, “let her know… let her know. I know she wanted to hear it from you, but, well. I need to do it. Own up to it.”

“Good luck,” Ford wheezes, trying to turn so he doesn’t have his brother’s full weight on his chest and crushing him, “I’d come offer my support, but I don’t think I can move until Stanley wakes up.”

Fiddleford nods, looking tired before his face turns resolute and he marches out towards the phone. A moment later Shifty and Tate scamper in, looking much better now that they’d cleaned up and changed out of their torn-up clothes.

“How’s Uncle Stanley doing,” Shifty asks, coming up to stand next to the couch. Ford can only tell which one’s which because of the slight scrapes on Tates face. Shifty’s healed his away already, looking like nothing at all’s happened

“He’s very tired,” Ford says, patting the ‘moss’ carpet, “but we talked, and I think he’s feeling better. There was… a lot to say. More than I realized.”

Much more. How long had Stanley been keeping an eye on him? At least seven years, but something in Ford tells him it was much longer than that. Stanley said he only checked on his finances, but what did that even mean? How? When? How had he done it without seeing Ford once in the last ten years?

A mystery to grill him about later, he supposes. Maybe next week, give them both time to settle.

For now he lays there, boys petting his brother’s ‘moss’ shift while they listen to Fiddleford getting yelled at over the phone. Hopefully Emma-May would be somewhat understanding, as the situation had blown up rather suddenly.

Stanley grumbles a bit, and Ford looks down to see two pink eyes, peering out of the ‘moss’ carpet. They squint at where the kids are petting him, then close. The ‘moss’ carpet ruffles, then goes back to vibrating.

Ford wonders if those are Stanley’s real eyes. They look similar to Shifty’s if larger and darker. Setting a hand down on top of where they’d peered out, he gives what he thinks might be his brothers head a pat, then lets his hand rest on top of it, gently running his thumb around the ‘moss’.

He’s lucky Stanley had made himself so bright and easy to find in the woods. Lucky that his brother hadn’t thought to shift his eyes into some other color, so that Ford kept seeing them peer out at him. Lucky he hadn’t gotten in his car, and driven off forever.

So lucky, even after all the mistakes he’d made. He was going to be better. Make Stanley be better. Force them to talk more often, so that nothing like this happens again.

The next day, after cleaning up the house and going grocery shopping, Ford sits at the kitchen table, going through his mail. Stanley sits across from him, eyes locked on the book he’d made and very slowly shifting his face a little older. Stanley had said it would take a while, sitting with every little change until it felt ‘like him’, but that was alright.

They had a while after all.

Some of the letters are bills, which he sets aside to go over later, others are pictures he’d requested, both from the college or their parents, which he slides over to Stanley and tells him where to put each one in the book. The last one-

The last one.

It’s one of the stalker letters.

Ford scowls at it. He hadn’t gotten one in a while, not since shortly after working on the portal (which he’d promised Stanley he’d tell him about, along with Bill and why he shouldn’t trust any triangles in his dreams (Ford never knew how far Bill’s reach went, and Ford couldn’t look after his brother forever)) and he’d mostly forgotten about them.

There was no return address, no hint on who it was from, just a constant reminder that someone out there was obsessed with him, tracking his every movement for no reason he’d been able to find. Every attempt to locate the sender had ended in failure, every scry showing someone different, the letters made from cut out newspapers and articles, so there was no way to identify who’d written them.

Every few months he’d get one, with no pattern he’d been able to find. The first one had appeared a month or two after starting college, and over the years they’d followed him from the dorms, to his first apartment, to his house. Each one was filled with cash, initially only a few hundred dollars and now a few thousand, and a single letter telling him to do what he wanted with it. The cut-out letters haunt and mock him, and the only reason he doesn’t throw the money somewhere and forget about it is because he’s not going to waste free science funding

From a secret admirer.

This one’s the same, with an additional note that they hoped he was taking care of himself. The extra note is worrisome, as the letters had rarely deviated in contents (The last time it had happened, his moving expenses had mysteriously already been paid. No reason was listed, just a note that they hoped he had a safe trip).

What did they know, what had they seen.

Who on Earth-

Ford pauses, staring at one of the letters. It was a cut out S, glued down for the ‘Secret Admirer’ part of the letter. It looked vaguely familiar.

Looking up at Stanley and seeing him still engrossed with a picture of Ford, he reaches over and grabs one of the magazines from the pile his brother had left for Shifty. He flips through a few of them, before finding the one he was looking for.

An article on celebrities, something about ranking them based on ‘sexiness’ for whatever reason. He’d only known about it because he’d looked through all the magazines to make sure there was nothing inappropriate for Shifty and only remembered this one because the idea was so ludicrous.

What drew his attention was the title. ‘Top 20 Sexiest Men’ it said, with the S missing. Missing, because someone had cut it out.

Ford takes the page, then lines up the missing part of it with the S that was glued onto the stalker letter.

It’s a perfect match.

“Stanley,” he says, staring at it. His thoughts refuse to move on from the sight in front of him. What it means. What ‘checking on his finances’ meant. What ‘funding’ meant.

Ford had grown up with Stan’s blocky letters, the only way he wouldn’t recognize it would be if Stanley didn’t write at all.

“Stanley,” he says again, “How long were you ‘keeping an eye’ on me.”

“I dunno,” Stanley says, still looking at the book, “’round when you were in college. Why?”

Ford hums, then grabs the letter and leaves the kitchen. It’s a short trip to his bedroom, where he grabs the binder holding all of the letters he’s gotten over the years, along with the listed amount of each one. Stanely hasn’t moved from the kitchen table when he gets back, eyes still glued onto Fords younger face, looking only a little less chubby around the cheeks.

Ford slams the binder down, making his brother jump. Stanley looks up, annoyed, then pauses at whatever expression Ford is making. He doesn’t know, because all he can focus on is the tiny total he has written in the corner on the front page, everything Stanleys sent him over the years, added up.

There are a lot of zeros.

“Stanley,” Ford says, newest letter gripped tight in his hand as he methodically flips to the back, slides it into a clear sleeve, then flips back to the front to write down the how much was in the envelope, and the newest little number in the corner, “When were you going to tell me about this.”

Stanley looks at the binder, looks up at Ford. He opens his mouth, then closes it.

Then he looks away.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Ford is tackling him to the ground before Stanley has the chance to get away. This mystery has haunted him for ten years, and now all the pieces are clicking together.

A different person putting them together, because Stanley was shifted as different people.

Cut out letters so Ford wouldn’t recognize who they were from.

Always following him, because Stanley was going through his mail and academic records, always knew where Ford was going.

Money, because Stanley thought Ford cared more about that than his own twin brother.

The worst part of having a shapeshifting brother is that they are very hard to pin down. Stanley squirms and tries to break free, but until he figures out the clothing issue he can’t risk tearing through his outfits. Ford uses this to his advantage, pinning him down and yelling into Stanley’s ear about how much of a knucklehead he was, and how a monthly allowance as a grown man from his own brother wasn’t as important as having said brother.

Shapeshifters lived for at least a century. Humans lived for roughly seventy years. He was already almost thirty. That meant he had forty more to drill into his brother’s flexible skull how much he cared about him.

He wasn’t going to let them go to waste.)

Thirty years later

“Stanley,” Ford yelled from the bathroom one morning, as Stan lounged in the living room drinking a soda and watching TV, “Stanley, what am I looking at.”

Stan watched as his brother wandered out, gesturing to himself. His hair was brown and curly, his face smooth, if a little wrinkled around the eyes from stress and laughter. His posture was straight backed, and he looked as good now as he did at thirty.

Exactly the same as yesterday, and the day before that.

Stan squinted, trying to figure out what Ford was referring to. The kids hadn’t drawn anything on his face that he could see, and his clothes looked the same as ever.

“You’re gonna have to be more specific,” he said eventually, after finding nothing amiss.

“My face, Stanley,” Ford continued, walking closer and leaning in, “Tell me what you see.”

Stan squinted harder, eyes searching.

“Yeah, I got nothing,” he admitted, leaning back as Ford scowled, “you look the same as ever.”

“Exactly, Stanley,” Ford said, getting way too close for comfort, “Stanley, I’m almost sixty. Why do I look like this. I hadn’t realized anything was wrong until Mabel asked me what I used to dye my hair and make my skin so soft. What did you do.”

Stan looked at Ford, really looked into his human brother’s eyes.

Then he bolted.

“Stanley!” Ford shouted, tackling him to the ground less than a foot away, “What did you do!”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about!” Stan yelled back, shifting himself smaller to squeeze out of the hold. Ford was ready, slamming a hand down in front of him, then scooping him back and using his coat to wrap around Stan’s squirming form.

“Yes you do! I know it was you!”

“You don’t have any proof!”

“You running is proof enough!”

They rolled across the floor, knocking into a table and yelling at each other.

Humans only lived for roughly seventy years after all, and shapeshifters lived roughly three centuries. He had two and a half left, and he wasn’t going to let Ford drop dead and leave Stan behind. Not again.

Wherever they went, they went together after all.