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Chapter Text

Loud banging sound yanked Stanford from his sleep.

“Hey, Pines! There's call for you! Sounds urgent” the voice of their RA was muffled through the door.

Stanford abruptly sat on the bed, still half in the pleasant dream full of sand and laughter, and slowly blinked.

“Huh?”

“Whaaaa?” sleeply asked Fiddleford, who was awaken too.

The banging repeated itself.

“Pines! I don't care if you're dead there! Rise up and tell that idiot he better learn to read the clock!”

“B’ there in a min…” Stanford yawned and put on his slippers.

“Loud b’stard”, Fiddleford mumbled and hid his head under the blanket

“Agree”, Stanford slowly nodded and yawned once again. He left the room and took a hallway to corner near RA’s room where the telephone was situated.

The receiver was left on the windowstill, waiting to be picked up.

“State y’ b’s’ness and let me g’ back t’ sleep”, he yawned right into the receiver.

“Ford!…. Oh… You were sleeping… Shoot, I'm sorry, I'll… I'll call later”, the somewhat familiar voice on the other side of the wire heavily sighed.

“Uhummm”, Stanford leaned against the wall and closed his eyes. His sluggish mind still couldn't pull the correct name from the memory, but the mere fact that the voice, now really quiet and soft, was in his ears, made Ford nearly fall back into an interrupted dream. “Is’t important? ”

The voice on the other side chuckled, but Ford didn't like it - there was something wrong there, something missing in the tone.

“No, no, I guess, it's not… Sorry, shouldn't have called…”

“You ‘lready called”, Ford yawned again. There was some part of him that wanted to continue the call, to listen to that voice, to feel that… whatever that was, maybe he would analyse it in the morning. “Whaaa” yawn “did y’ want?”

“Oh, oh… That… Right, that… Can I come to you? I need a place to…”

“‘kay”, Ford nodded, forgetting that this is a phone line.

“...I don't need much, I can sleep on the floor, I can do some chores in return…”

“‘kay”, another yawn.

“...just, please, Ford, I really don't know what to… Wait, are you agreeing? Really? ”

“I guess?” Ford shook his head a bit to pull himself from a brink of dream and couldn't help but smile at the voice, which somehow was beginning to sound just right, as that voice should sound. Huh, whatever Ford just said, it was worth it to reassure him…

“Oh, okay! I actually am really close, so I'll probably be in…” there was yawn on the other side too now.

“Hm, you sh’ld sleep too”, Ford chuckled.

“I don't need… Huh, maybe I do… Okay, then I'll rest and then I'll drive!” The voice shouted in some excitement, making Ford wincing and grumbling. “Oh, shoot, sorry for that… Hey, Ford… Thank you. I wasn't sure… but thank you! I'll make it up to you, any way you'll want! I promise!”

“‘kay”.

“... I'll see you soon?”

Ford yawned instead of answering.

“Heh, just go already to sleep, Genius”, the voice chuckled, its warmth was nearly enough to send Ford back to sleep. “Good night, Ford”.

“G’ n’ght, St’nley”, Ford closed his eyes. And in the next moment was roused by RA, who looked him over with contempt:

“Go back to your room, if you've finished. Don't just sleep there!”

Stanford blinked and noticed the pulsating sound of an ended call in his ear. He put down the receiver and slowly made his way to his room.

He immediately fell down on a bed, and that action woke up his neighbour for anew.

“Wh’t? Ford? Wh’re did you…?” Fiddleford rubbed his eyes and turned to his side.

“Th’ call”, Stanford mumbled, burying his head in the pillow.

“Who…?”

“St’nley”.

“Huh”, it seemed for a while Fiddleford went back to sleep. But after some minutes, when Stanford was starting to doze off, his friend asked again: “Wh’t did h’ want?”

“To st’y here for s’me time”, huh, he had to say thanks to his subconsciousness or whatever, because until that very moment Stanford’s active memory didn't hold much helpful data about the call’s contents.

“‘key”.

“I agreed…”

“Good…”

The following silence was filled with the beginning of double snoring when suddenly…

“YOU DID WHAT?” / “I DID WHAT?”

Stanford pushed himself up and stared with panic at his friend whose eyes were now completely devoid of sleep. “Oh crap! I agreed that Stanley could live with us! And he'll be coming here!”

“What? Why? We are not some hotel, Stanford! We're in a dorm! We actually have rules here!”

“I know that! And I don't even want him here!”

“You should have just answered and asked to talk about it later! How did you fail at that simple task?!”

“I don't know! He was talking, and I wasn't really thinking…”

“Oh great, are there even any ways for you to fumble that call even bigger?” Fiddleford fell back with a heavy sigh and pulled his blanket over him. “Okay… Okay. We'll fix this when he arrives. There's no point discussing it now. I'm off to sleep now… If I'll be able to…”

“Yeah”, Stanford laid back too and stared at the ceiling.

His twin was coming. His twin somehow made Stanford agree to his ridiculous request. Huh, maybe their mother was right and Stanley did have some psychic abilities?

There was just no other way for Stanford to give his agreement to a man who ruined his perfect academic life, who called in the middle of the night, who called just to ask for a favour!

Okay, Stanley would come and Stanford would explain to him politely but firmly, that the call didn't mean anything and Stanley should leave… Or, but maybe Stanley would take that chance and would finally apologise?...

…

Yeah, keep dreaming, Stanford. His twin wasn't capable of feeling remorse or any decent emotions, until it was to his benefit.

With this thought Stanford finally closed his eyes and tried to go back to sleep, ignoring the memory of Stanley’s soft goodbye.

Chapter Text

“Are you gonna be okay dealing with that?” Fiddleford checked with his friend for another time. 

Stanford shrugged: “Yes, I got it”.

“I can postpone my experiment and go with you?”

“No, really, I got it! Please go!” Stanford all but pushed his neighbour out of their room and closed the door. He sighed: his friend was sometimes too perceptive. Well, that was initially the exact reason they actually managed to become friends, aside from common interest in pursuing knowledge and a nice game of DD&MD: Fiddleford quickly learned how to read Stanford and so sometimes understood him better then Stanford himself.

In this case Fiddleford was actually correct too: Stanford would really like his company during the (long awaited? feared? hopeful? dreaded?) inevitable meeting with his twin. But Stanley was completely Stanford’s business and it was his own mistake that his twin would even come here. So it was up to Stanford alone to fix it and have a first serious talk with his brother in a really long time.

He didn't need Fiddleford for that - he already came up with a structure for their conversation.

Step one. Greetings. Stanford was not a neanderthal (like Stanley… Metaphorically - none of them was an actual Neanderthal, that would be……… irrelevant at the moment, actually), so yes - greet his twin to highlight Stanford’s ability to follow social rules (not like Stanley).

Step two. Describe the problem. Briefly mention the dorm's rules, especially the “not bringing guests or pets” one.

Step three. Site the factors that have led to the confusion. That step was some sort of a struggle for Stanford as he was still stuck on the “I was asleep and you manipulated me” and that hypothesis sounded very stupid when said out loud without clearly remembering Stanley’s exact words. So maybe he should use only the first part and wait for his twin to mention something incriminating? Oh well, he would just improvise here.

Step four. Propose a solution. Easy, actually. Stanford prepared a list with the nearest hotels and their addresses. So Stanley would have to just pick one of them. And just stay there.

Step Five, Optional. Make Stanley confess his wrongdoings toward Stanford. While it was not exactly a necessary step, he still added it in case there would be an opening. Stanford could finally get the satisfaction of cornering his twin and say to him everything that he wanted: about his ignoring, his lack of manners, his not checking on Stanford, his betrayal at science fair… 

Hm, okay, that step was definitely not thought out at all - Stanford just began fuming every time he started to think of how he would throw it all in Stanley's face and how the latter would try to come up with another convincing lie…

Hmpf, no matter. This step was only needed for Stanford’s personal wellbeing. He would just skip it if necessary, as long as Stanley would decide to be a decent person for a change and agree to go with Stanford's plan of conversation.

So yes, Stanford was as ready as he could.

Maybe he managed to make a mistake during the nightly call, but he was going to fix it in a few hours.

***

Stanford almost jumped at the loud sound of car horn and quickly left his new revision of Weirdness Study Presentation to look out the window.

Oh, great. There he was.

Granted, from their window on the third floor and given the angle and the fence, Stanford managed to see only a very familiar red car, that was just the same as when he last saw her. And well, that actually made his mood sour as he desperately chased away any memory of that day - he couldn't rile himself already, or he would just shout at Stanley and Stanley would respond and cause a scene and everyone would know that Stanford was not only a freak, but a freak with family problems…

Stanford quickly put on a coat and ran out of their room, skipping two or three steps on the staircase. He got outside and rapidly approached the car, noticing her owner who was already waiting near the driver's door and hesitantly waved at Stanford as soon as their eyes met.

Stanford’s steps slowed down as he took his time to close the distance between them and looked at his twin for the first time in… was it four years already?

The first thing Stanford actually noticed was not the wrinkled clothes or dark circles under his twin’s eyes. No, it was the absence: there was something missing in the whole of Stanley, some sort of restless energy that was always a part of his whole being. Stanley was always noticeable, he was loud and active and everywhere. He would be squirming even if he had to sit still. Even in his sleep he would snore and toss and turn.

The man before Stanford was still and practically motionless. There was just none of that energy - not in his pose, not in his hesitant smile, not in his clearly tired eyes and not even in his little handwave. Past Stanley never was capable of patiently waiting, always chewing some gum or checking some scratches on his precious car or even just bouncing on his feet. He never just slouched at the car side and just… waited.

Stanford's mind was so disturbed by this observation, by not recognising the man before him, that he for a minute forgot his plan and immediately failed his Step One, as Stanley took a metaphorical lead in the conversation.

“Hey, Ford! Huh, uhhm, looking good and nerdy there!”

“Stanley”, Stanford finally managed to say something back and mentally steeled himself. Yes, Stanley clearly changed, but everybody did, that was just basic entropy. They both were not the same children dreaming of adventures and even not the same teenagers from the last time they've seen each other. So what, Stanley finally learned to stay still. Probably had to do to become a businessman or something. Stanford could accept it - he too had to change some parts of himself to be more accepted by his peers here. So what if he was already missing that loud restless child? There was no one to miss - that child was right before him. Stanford should just stop with this sentimentality - his twin would just use it to manipulate him further if he knew.

“...have no idea just how much you're helping me out! I had really no other ideas what to do and…”

Right, back to conversation. Stanford had to take back the initiative there and steer it towards his plan.

“Well, Stanley, I need you to listen to me”, at this point he noticed the stares from some passersby and motioned at his twin to follow him. “Let's just go somewhere quiet first”.

Stanley just shrugged and fell in steps slightly behind his brother. After some dozen steps made in complete silence Stanford wondered whether Stanley consciously matched his steps or that was some twin instinct still left somewhere.

At least they reached the intended destination, and Stanford led his brother into a passageway between a library and some café.

“Hm, that's a nice place, don't tell me you live here”, Stanley chuckled as he leaned on the wall.

“Oh no, just a secluded spot for us to talk. That way nobody will see us here”, Stanford turned to his twin and decided to follow with Step Two, absentmindedly noticing Stanley's expression changing. “See, about your request…”

“You don't want anyone to see me here?” Stanley interrupted him.

“Yes, sorry, but being spotted with you here would make things too complicated for me”, Stanford really didn't want to explain to anyone his twin situation. He had enough being “finger freak”, he had no desire to become “finger twin freak” or worse. “Anyway, Stanley, focus! As I was saying…”

“But how can I stay here without being noticed…” Stanley’s eyes narrowed in thought.

In another place some other time Stanford would laugh at this expression. Now however he just wanted to sort out their misunderstanding as soon as possible. “Yes, that is what…”

“...Unless you aren't planning to actually let me stay”, Stanley’s eyes widened as he interrupted his twin once again. By the end of the sentence he was looking at Stanford with surprising intensity, clearly searching for something.

Stanford sighed. Typical Stanley, ruining everything, this time the whole Step Two. Okay, he possibly could still salvage that Step.

“Yes, Stanley. If you would just stop interrupting me, I'll explain. I live in the dormitory and that actually comes with the set of rules, breaking them could even lead to expulsion. In particular we are not allowed to invite some strangers, especially to live here…”

“But I'm not some stranger, Stanford!” his twin shouted, and Stanford was glad he thought of hiding them both from prying eyes. He just knew Stanley would cause a scene.

“But in this case you are”, Stanford signed and looked away from Stanley’s gaze that was becoming something that he wasn't comfortable to see. He had to focus. He was right and just had to prove it. “There are no exceptions to the rules, and I'm not going to break them for you”.

Stanford actually had to pay attention to catch the next words.

“But… Why then… Why did you say I could come? Did you just forget or something?”

Ah, Step Three. Good, the conversation was flowing according to his plan! So he had just to ignore the unease and follow through.

“See, that's what I'm actually curious about. I remember waking up, I remember answering, I remember agreeing. But I just can't recall your words. So, what did you say that made me agree?” 

Stanley was still leaning on the wall, but there was tension in all his posture. He opened his mouth several times, clearly trying to find an answer but failing every time. In the end he just shook his head and then lowered it with a deep sigh.

“Okay, I should've known. Too good for a truth, right?”

Come to think of it - yes, why did Stanley even think it to be a genuine agreement? Stanford was clearly half asleep, deep in the night! They had no contact for four years because of Stanley, and yet he decided that some one-sided conversation was enough to come and stay here? That was just ridiculous!

Meanwhile Stanley was seemingly just having a conversation with himself: “Huuuh, should've really think of other plan… or some backup options at least…”

Oh, that was just the perfect time for Step Four.

“Here, take it”, Stanford took out the prepared in advance list of available hotels and held it out. “I included some in the other towns not far from here, but they are cheaper. So if you depart right now, you'll actually…”

Stanley took the offered note and without even glancing at the list itself crumpled it up and threw it on the ground. Stanford followed the ball of paper with his eyes and then glared at his twin: “Seriously? I try to help you and you just… Argh! You're never changing, Stanley! Do you still expect anything to go exactly the way you want it?”

Stanley’s eyes darkened and he clenched both of his fists. Huh, here it was - Stanley was definitely angry. Oh well, Stanford was a grown up, he could stand up and actually could defend himself in case of a fight. At least he could certainly defend himself in the verbal fight, and maybe that optional Step could be actually achieved…

But Stanley didn't start any fight, not verbal, not literal. He just… deflated and turned around.

And that was just wrong! Stanley's anger never went away on his own, it was explosive and violent, always resulting in some damage, to their belongings or to their opponents. 

And Stanford just couldn't help himself - he wanted to shake Stanley, draw him out of that strange shell, dull and frightening. He wanted that stranger to be loud and restless and shouting and be in any way like the Stanley he knew. He didn't want that quiet figure to be his Stanley’s mental image until their next meeting. The problem was - that was not part of a plan, and he didn't take time to think even a bit of his next step, he just followed his sense of wrongness and…

“So, you're just leaving now? Don't you have anything to say to me at least?” 

Stanley actually paused and turned around. And Stanford felt his insides to instantly freeze: Stanley’s expression was completely blank. There was nothing from previous anger or hesitation or confusion. Even his eyes lost all of a shine and were just a shallow copy of the bright brown ones, once filled with wonder and warmth and fire. And while Stanford frantically tried to catch any thought beside “wrong-wrong-wrong”, any possible way of fixing it, Stanley just chuckled, but even this quick sound was empty of any emotion: “Didn’t know you to be this cruel, Stanford. But that's good. That's actually useful, no matter what everyone says. Message accepted, I won't ever…”

“I take it back! You can stay!” 

Stanford's eyes widened, as he became aware of what exactly he just said. But then he continued, not even trying to stop himself:

“One night, right? That would be enough?”

“...Is this a joke to you or what? Or even worse, a pity?” to Stanford's joy there was the beginning of something in his twin’s gaze. Something dangerous and ready to blow - but that definitely was better than the emptiness from before.

“No, no, why would I pity you… I… I just thought of something. You just need a place to sleep, right?” Stanford desperately watched as that small ember in other's eyes flickered in hesitation but stayed burning. Stanley slowly nodded, and Stanford nodded in response. “Right, we just have to make sure no one sees you…”

***

Fiddleford was deep in concentration when the door was all but thrown open and his menace of a neighbour barged in.

The young mechanic screamed from being startled and managed to fry the whole motherboard before him. By the time he undid what damage he could and decided to just start over next time, Stanford was already slumped on a chair and tightly grasping his hair.

“Huh, guess the talk went badly?” Fiddleford put away the soldering iron and stretched himself. His friend just nodded in a way of answering. “So, how bad are we talking? You fought? You blew something up? Oh crap, do we need to find money for the damage?”

Stanford shook his head.

“Hmmm, then I'm out of ideas. Please enlighten me, so I can offer some advice. Did he get angry at you and decided to never see you again?”

“No, he’s… He's on my bed, sleeping”.

“Huh”, Fiddleford blinked a few times, feeling himself otherwise speechless. His mind however went rapidly through a number of scenarios: recreations of that talk (like that imaginary brute with Stanford’s face just forcing his way or straight up just breaking in through the window), possible consequences (RA or the dean finding out and then expulsion) and advisable courses of action (find out whether someone saw them and then wake that brute up and explain the situation himself - surely Stanford just didn't explain it well or that brother just threatened him again… Hmm, actually it would be better to know how exactly that happened and what arguments of that Stanley managed to persuade his twin to let him in). “So, how did it…?”

“I told him all, about the rules, about how I wasn't thinking yesterday night and I gave him a list. And he didn't even really fight it, he just… Accepted it…”

“Then how…?” Fiddleford has to scratch all his imaginary recreations - none of them actually corresponded so far to Stanford’s retelling. But it clearly wasn't the end of the story, as the outcome just wasn't obvious from that line of events.

“...I just couldn't, Fiddleford. He… he looked at me and I… I just couldn't let him go away.”

Huh, maybe Stanford was right when mumbling earlier about possible manipulation. As Fiddleford knew, that brother of his was a real clever guy who was lying as he breathed and twisted the truth so freely, that it became no more than a fairytale. 

Because just a few hours ago Stanford was adamant at not letting his twin anyway near his educational life and not wanting to reconnect without first seeing a deep remorse from the sibling. Huh, maybe they did reconnect? But then Stanford shouldn't be slumping there with a look of… Guilt? Loss? Hesitation?

“So, okay, he's in our room. Do I need to…?” he didn't manage to even finish his offer, as Stanford interrupted raising his head and glaring with some unidentified emotion:

“No! I… I promised him he could sleep for one night and I'll keep my word!” Stanford sighed and rubbed his face. “I mean… He clearly needs it. I left him for a minute while preparing some coffee. And he was already deep in sleep when I returned”. He thought a bit and sighed again: “I know I just possibly got us in trouble. I'm prepared to accept all the blame”.

Aand THAT was quite interesting. Fiddleford squinted at his friend. That was a principle of science: one would pose a hypothesis and then find out if the collected data supported it. Some people forgot that it also meant that in case of failing to support that hypothesis one should not ignore parts of data, but recheck the initial hypothesis.

And right now his initial hypothesis, based on his friend's words, of “Stanford’s brother always ruining everything and breaking the most important project and then leaving and having the life of his dreams” clearly contradicted the present situation. There could be a number of reasons, of Stanford simplifying their relationship, of Stanford incorrectly recounting this last interaction… Anyways the initial hypothesis would need to be revised as soon as Fiddleford could collect some new data. 

But first he needed to do possible damage control.

“So, did anyone see you?...”

***

“Huh, I actually thought that your brother is bigger”, Fiddleford whispered as he bent over a sleeping form of the said man.

“What do you mean? He's still bigger, in shoulders, in waist. And in height we were always similar”, Stanford whispered back.

“You always described him swinging fists, so I imagined him twice as big as you”.

Stanford stifled a laugh. “What? No, he never needed a big frame to start a fight. You should've seen him at ten years old, he was a millimeter shorter than me and he still went at boys actually twice as large as us combined”.

Fiddleford quietly giggled and continued to examine the sleeping man. He started to understand what made Stanford to radically change his stance: his twin was looking exhausted even while sleeping. Dark circles around eyes, pale skin, frowning expression that didn't relax in the sleep. The hair, slightly longer than Stanford's, while shining with grease was flatly framing the face together with a begging of stubble. Stanley seemed to take off his coat and his shoes as he entered the room and now was covered with a blanket that he at some point started to clutch tight in his hands.

“Hey, Fiddleford…”

The man mentioned turned around to find his friend sitting by his desk, twisting his fingers in nervousness. Fiddleford tilted his head to show he was listening, and Stanford continued:

“Do you think I'm cruel?”

Fiddleford frowned, not sure where that thought came from, but then noticed his friend throwing a quick glance at the sleeping man and made some mental note. That would be food for later thoughts, his friend was waiting for an answer.

“Well, you are a complex man, Stanford”, he tried to convey his thought as gently as he was capable, “You want to do things as best as you think you can. But sometimes you don't notice some details and you just don't take other people’s motives into account”. He paused and chuckled: “And that is when you're acting around your friends. I mean, your enemies have it all even worse”.

Stanford winced and turned to look out the window. “I… thank you for your honest answer”, he whispered.

Fiddleford shrugged and made a few steps towards the door.

“I'm gonna make some lunch. Does your brother have some allergies I need to know of?”

That actually startled Stanford from his thoughts: “What? Why?”

“We should feed him, Stanford. He'll probably be hungry when he's awake”.

“Oh, right, that”, Stanford nervously laughed and scratched his head in embarrassment. “No, he's not allergic as far as I know”.

Fiddleford nodded and left the room. He tried to quell his suspicions as he really shouldn't be making assumptions before clarifying some details, but the thought of Stanford's brother lacking more than a sleep just couldn't leave his mind.

***

One minute Stanley was chasing some sort of golden turkey who mocked him in Spanish. And the next he was blinking his eyes at the unfamiliar ceiling. 

He instantly sat up and looked around. The room was dark with only a desk lamp still lit. Stan tensed up at first, noticing a person laying on the desk, but he was snoring, and Stan relaxed, as he recognised that person.

Right, he called Ford, drived at his Fancy College and then… Stan groaned as he remembered their talk. It was a true rollercoaster while it was happening and now it was just a mess of a recollection. Stanford clearly was against the whole idea and it seemed Stan just misinterpreted their nightly talk. And maybe if Stan actually had more than a few hours of sleep before that and didn't spend five whole hours driving without break, he wouldn't be grasping at the verbal straws of Ford’s sleepy mumble and would think twice…

But he was just so hopeful that Sixer wasn't mad anymore and was missing him too, that he just jumped at the occasion and drove there.

And he really shouldn't have. Sixer made it really clear: something about rules and expulsion. And also Sixer was still mad at him, disappointed and embarrassed to be seen together. That hurted a lot, but Stan really should've expected it all. 

And then… He somehow guilt tripped Ford into letting him stay anyway out of pity. Damn, he really should've just picked up the last remains of crushed hopes and torn dignity and just left. No matter where - far from Ford and his displeased gaze. And he was just about to do it, but the promise of sleeping somewhere that actually had walls was too tempting to pass. And so he followed Ford, hiding himself behind the corners at his command, and was left in his room waiting for Ford to come back and then…

And then he didn't remember anything. And judging from the state of darkness, he just slept for at least six hours, maybe more - depending on the actual time.

Huh, that actually explained why he was feeling almost well rested and his mind was capable of logical thinking.

So, he was at Ford’s room.

Stanley’s vision finally adapted to the darkness and he continued to look around. It was actually not a big room, enough space for two beds on different sides of the room, two desks, two wardrobes with some space in the middle. There were shelves and posters and some pinned papers on every wall. The window glass was seemingly covered in some writings too.

Nerds, Stan huffed in a mix of amusement and mockery.

He looked at the other side of the room, where on the other bed was another sleeping figure. Right, Ford mentioned something about living with a neighbour. Well, at least that neighbour could remember to fall asleep in his bed, while Sixer…

Stan paused, stricken by realization: Ford couldn't go to bed as Stan just went and occupied it! And Ford could just wake him up and ask to move to the floor as he initially was ready to… But Ford just let him sleep there.

Oh god, he just continued to inconvenience Sixer!

Stan quietly rose, trying not to wake anyone, and made way to his sleeping twin. It took some effort, as Sixer was no longer that thin stick he remembered, but in a few minutes Stanley managed to drag his twin to the newly freed bed without waking him up. After covering him with a blanket, Stan took himself a seat at Sixer’s desk and looked at its contents.

Some papers covered in Ford’s handwriting, textbooks, photos of some… Was that a giant hairy monkey? Stan actually wanted to look closer but remembered what happened the last time he decided to poke around Ford’s belongings and stopped himself. He shook his head and turned the desk light off. He wouldn't need it, he wasn't studying or anything else. And the light could actually wake the other two.

He sat for some time in the darkness, not really thinking about anything and just watching the shadows moving on the walls.

He wasn't sure how much time passed, but after a while he just couldn't ignore his bladder. Yes, Sixer said something about not leaving the room for anything, but he surely would agree that this was an emergency.

So Stan crept to the door and listened. There weren't any warning sounds, so he opened it and glanced around the hallway. There was nobody there, and Stanley stepped out. After poking around for some time he finally found the communal bathroom and hid there.

He actually took his time at a sink too, warming his hands in the water and giving himself a quick rinse. Well, that chased away any remaining sleep from his body.

Stan looked himself over in the mirror. Yeeesh, definitely pity. He actually spent some time tidying himself before coming to meet Ford, but now he could see that it wasn't enough. 

He exited the bathroom and decided not to return yet. He checked the hallway, noticing the passage to the stairs and the room marked with a plate of Resident Assistant. He noticed a corner with a phone situated on the windowsill. And then he went all the way to the small kitchen, with appliances held together by the tape and some wobbling tables.

Stanley looked around more closely and couldn't help but accept it: Sixer's dorm was shit.

The wallpaper was torn at some places, the furniture was probably older than he was. And now some cockroach was glaring at Stan from under the fridge seemingly daring him to come closer.

Stanley sighed. He always was thinking of college dorms in the way TV portrayed them: big rooms with TV and personal fridge. Halls with ping pong and darts and vending machines. Kitchens full of hot pizza and boxes of beer.

And he was sure that Sixer lived in one like that.

“Huh, seems he isn't living in the dream after all”, he whispered.

Stan glared at the cockroach thinking of finding something edible in the fridge, but in the end decided not to provoke the vermin and returned to the room.

Both of the nerds were still sleeping, and Stanley sat back on the chair. He glanced around the room for another time and noticed some shape left on the windowsill near Sixer's bed. He was bored and decided to check it out.

It turned out to be a plate with some sandwich in it and a piece of paper left under it. Stan turned the paper around to read it with a help of street light and squinted.

“Stanley, this is for you. I hope it will still be warm for you to eat. Stanford”.

Stanley carefully folded the note and hid it in his pants’ pocket. Then he took the plate and sat with it on the floor by the window.

The sandwich was cold and yet it was the best sandwich he ever ate.

***

Stanford slowly woke up to a faint sound of humming. He blinked and turned his head toward the sound. There was a blurred shape sitting on the floor and drumming his fingers on his knee.

Stanley, he recognised and quickly found his glasses near the pillow. Strange, he didn't remember taking them off or even going to bed. Come to think of it, he decided to just do some work while waiting for Stanley to wake up…

Stanford pushed himself up and looked at his twin. At least he looked better and more alive when compared to his state of yesterday.

Stanford cleared his throat, chasing away morning dryness and sudden nervousness.

“Good morning, Stanley! Hope you slept well too”. He glanced at the windowsill and noticed with satisfaction that the plate was gone.

“Yes, I actually think I did too”, Stanley nodded and looked at his twin. “You should've woken me up, you know. It's your bed after all”.

So Stanford's suspicions were correct, and he felt warmth inside. “Nonsense, you clearly needed it”. He glanced at the other bed and noticed it was empty. “And Fiddleford?”

Stanley chuckled: “That's really his name? I thought he was just making it up. He said something about making coffee and breakfast for everyone. I declined, so don't worry…”

“Why?” he wasn't sure what exactly he wanted to clarify: why his twin declined or why Stanford himself shouldn't worry.

Stanley meanwhile took it in his own way, sighing and turning to look at the floor between his feet: “I really should go, I mean I remember, we only had a deal for one night, so I don't want to make you feel I'm imposing myself or making you do something against your will…”

And these words gave Stanford a cold shower. It was clearly an echo of his own words from yesterday, and now they sounded cold and ruthless. Oh god, Stanley was right about cruelty, wasn't he? No matter what Stanford was thinking, he made the initial agreement, made Stanley come and then tried to turn him away, even blaming him for manipulating their conversation…

Stanford gulped and tightened his fists in preparation for his next words, making Stanley notice it and tense himself too.

“Stanley, I… I would like to say that while my reasons made sense when we were talking, I managed to overlook the fact that you asked for my help. I'm sorry. That fact should be the only thing to matter and I almost…”

“Don't fret”, Stanley waved his hand and looked away, at the floor again. “You were right, I'm putting you in danger just by being here and I just shouldn't have accepted it yesterday. So I'll just wait for when everybody will go to the lessons or something and I'll sneak out”. He paused. “Huh, possibly should've just done it during the night, but I really wanted to talk to you before that. You know, thanking you for the bed and all…”

Stanford darkly chuckled in his mind. Come to think of it, a day ago he was planning how to make his brother go away and now he was almost reluctant to let him go. 

But Stanley clearly had plans, some destination he was wanting to reach as soon as possible…

“So, what's the deal with that hairy monkey? You girlfriend?” Stanley meanwhile grinned as he changed the topic. 

“Huh? What? What monkey?” Stanford was so derailed from his thoughts with this question that he only managed to stare at his twin and blink in the confusion. Stanley actually laughed at his expression and waved in the direction of Stanford's desk. The latter tried to remember its contents and rapidly found the answer. “Oh, you mean the yeti! I actually haven't met any of them yet, but I’m preparing a presentation…”

“I leave you for ten minutes and you are already describing your paper?” Fiddleford quite gracefully managed to open the door with his feet and go through it with three plates of scrambled eggs in his hands. He put them all on his own desk and turned to go back in the hallway. “Start eating”.

“But I said…” Stanley began to object, but Fiddleford already left the room. Stanford meanwhile marched to the desk and took two of the plates with forks. He went to Stanley and then decided to go with this quick thought and sat on the floor beside his twin.

Stanley glanced at him but eventually said nothing and just accepted the proposed plate.

In a minute Fiddleford returned with three steaming mugs and just raised an eyebrow at two brothers. Stanford shrugged in response and made a grabbing motion with one hand. His friend just snorted and handed one of the mugs. Stanford grabbed it and made a sip, hissing when it burned his mouth. There was a double chuckle, but Stanford ignored it.

For some minutes they were silently eating, Stanford and his twin still seated by the window and Fiddleford choosing to sit on his own bed.

Stanley was first to finish with his eggs and Stanford actually caught him eyeing up Stanford's own plate, still half full.

“Hmm, I think I'm full”, he said louder than usual, making both his companions look at him. “Fiddleford, do you want seconds?”

His friend squinted at him with suspicion and Stanford tried as subtle as possible to nod at his twin. Fiddleford slightly widened his eyes and theatrically sighed: “Oh no, I calculated all the necessary calories for myself perfectly. If you don't want to finish it, ask your brother to help”.

Stanford sighed in fake indignation and turned to his twin who was squinting with suspicion. “Stanley, would you…”

“I'm not some charity case”, he grumbled but still took a second plate and started to eat with the same speed.

Stanford rolled his eyes and lightly nudged his brother with a shoulder. Stanley absentmindedly returned the gesture without stopping eating.

“So, Stanley, where are you going next?” Fiddleford asked as he and Stanley finished the meal.

“Uhhh”, Stanley paused, taking a big sip from his coffee mug, and then grinned with a wide smile. “There's that Keytown in a day's ride from here. I have an agreement with their factory for my new line of hairdryers, maybe you heard of them, the DryStans….”

Stanford nodded at his twin: “Oh, that sounds… Great, you really found a way to…”

“So, the factory at Keytown agreed to make your hairdryers”, Fiddleford interrupted them both, with a flat voice and a raised eyebrow.

“Yep, you got it”, Stanley nodded with some sort of relief.

“Your hairdryers that are composed from dubious plastics and glass bottles?”

“Wait, how’d you…” Stanley started to frown.

“The factory that works exclusively with textile and two years ago was considered a Best Producer of Baby Socks of the State?”

“Em… They decided to make a different line?”

“That also burned down last year?”

“They have already rebuilt themselves!”

“Stanford”, his friend sighed, “You remember me driving you last month to some remains for scrapping parts? Were they rebuilding and I just didn't notice?”

“Huh, so maybe I wrongly remember the town name, what of it?” Stanley was clearly agitated. “Does it matter where I'll go?”

Stanford suddenly felt himself detached, noticing all the puzzle pieces before him. He started to examine them one by one. Stanley lied about destination. His initial tale was of success and business ideas, why would he lie about that? Was the actual business shady or… was there any business at all?

Stanford tried to remember the state of the Stanleymobile as Fiddleford and he hid her yesterday with intent of avoiding unwanted attention. Yes, there were some boxes named DryStans, but they were creased and covered in dust. Actually, a lot of Stanley’s belongings there were that way. Some merchandise, old food packaging, yellowed papers with faded words… And the most obvious one in hindsight: the blanked full of holes and dirty spots, carelessly wrapped around a really flat pillow.

Initially Stanford chose to think of it as Stanley just being prepared for a trip of several days. But if there was no destination, then it was not a simple trip. It was a lifestyle.

And just like that it all clicked. Lack of sleep, hunger, the general messy appearance. The rejection of any hotel. Even the easy way of Stan just coming after their one-and-a-half-sided conversation started made sense - he actually said it, wasn't it? That he had no other ideas?

“Stanley”, Stanford tightly grasped his twin’s arm, making the latter stop his attempts to prove his story and turn to his brother. “Please answer me honestly. Do you really have a place to go?”

His brother's face became a true scene for his emotions. The initial shame of being caught on a lie made way for an indignation. Stanley opened his mouth, but couldn't just find words. He just tightened his fists and sharply turned to look at Fiddleford. But seeing a questioning expression he turned back to Stanford and looked at him with pleading in his own gaze: “Yes! Really! Please, believe me! I wouldn't lie on that!”

He would lie on that and he just did, Stanford understood, catching a returning shame in his brother's eyes. For all he thought that Stanley changed, some things stayed the same: Stanley’s pride and Stanley’s inability to admit his need for help.

Actually, that posed an even more troubling question. How bad Stanley must have felt if he even made that call yesterday?

Well, he hoped that there was one more thing that hadn't changed for Stanley. Because if it did, Stanford would just die from shame himself.

“I… I just hoped you could stay and help us for some time”, he quickly looked around the room, making notice of Fiddleford’s quick nod (Oh, good, he understood what he was about to do and was going to support it) and then stared back at his twin’s squinted eyes. “You see, I really need some help with polishing my presentation and Fiddleford is busy with his own graduation project. So I was really hoping you could stay at least for some more days?”

Stanley's tension was really obvious, and he clearly was torn up between refusing out of pride and accepting out of desperation.

So Stanford moved his hand to his twin's and intertwined their fingers as they did it all the time in their childhood. “Please?”

Stanley sighed and turned away, but didn't pull out his hand. And Stanford knew he'd won.

“Fine. A few days, only because you clearly need help or something. Not because I don't have anywhere better to be”.

Stanford chuckled and nodded.

“So what, you'll just hide me for all this time? Will I be living in a wardrobe?”

“That won't be necessary. We don't have any guests, and even if one would be coming, you can just hide for a bit…”

“But if I'm caught…”

At that Fiddleford interrupted him. “Oh, I was actually curious, if I would be able to convince everybody that I finally made progress with a cloning machine. So I’ll polish my experiment notes just in case”.

“Huh, I forgot that you had it… Anyway, Stanley, how about you'll go take a shower and we'll discuss the rest?”

His twin didn't put even a small fight at that and soon went sneaking toward the bathroom.

Stanford loudly sighed and turned to his friend.

“Thank you for your support. I mean we only have a few months left here, I'm hoping to convince him to stay for all this time and then take him with me to Gravity Falls.”

“No problems. I'm just glad you've managed to convince him all by yourself or it would become very ugly”.

“What do you mean?”

“I jammed his car so he wouldn't leave without talking to you first”.

Stanford couldn't help but laugh at his smirking friend. Oh how he was lucky he befriended him. 

Well, with two of them they would make it. Actually, now it should be “with three of them”.

It seemed Stanford didn't fumble that call after all.

Chapter Text

Stanford made a mistake.

It wasn't about Stanley… Well, actually, it kinda was.

And no, Stanford didn't regret his actions. On the contrary, he was still contemplating whether his half-sleep response to that night call was coming from intuition or that just by forgetting at that moment about his long-term grudge he had no other ways to react. But in any case he was just grateful for the sleepiness to give them a way to reconnect. Because he had to stop at one point imagining possible scenarios where Stanley didn't call or where Stanford just refused to invite him. They all resulted in Stanley freezing in his car or starving to death or getting into a fight with a wild raccoon over the dumpster and losing.

And now that grudge seemed so pointless. Past Stanford just had a luxury to be ignorant of the real state of his twin’s life and so could just continue to lay the blame on him.

But having learnt that Stanley was struggling for the whole four years without an actual home and was just too proud and at the same time ashamed to admit it… Stanford instantly lost any right to consider himself a victim of any kind.

And after giving it some thought Stanford could actually come up with a few advantages that Backupsmore gave him. The biggest of them was Fiddleford. In the pure theoretical case of finding a way of time-travel and redoing his past, Stanford was now sure of two points: he would prevent Stanley from sleeping on the streets and he would find Fiddleford and make him his friend again.

There was also a case of Backupsmore being so low with his general rating, that its Board didn't really give a damn about reputation. Some students could really get away with any kind of projects, unless it didn't result in lawsuits or a need to pay for damage to surrounding properties - they learned it the hard way, and Fiddleford was still banned from building anything higher than five feet.

So while Stanford still sometimes dreamed about going to West Coast Tech, would he actually be glad to be studying there? And would he even find the opportunity to study the Weirdness after his stay there? Or their Board would deem it too weird for their reputation?

There was however another point of Stanford’s grudge. And that was Stanley himself. Or his actions at least. Stanford still couldn't let go of the feelings of humiliation, of betrayal, of being ignored with his desires. And that was something that couldn't just be ignored.

And now Stanford finally had an opportunity to deal with them, to discuss with his twin why he was angry for all these years and to finally have an answer. They really should talk about it at some point, just not now, not when they clearly forgot how to live with each other…

And that was the actual problem.

When Stanford was making plans about convincing Stanley to live with them for some days and then prolonging it for a few months and then inviting his twin to go together to Gravity Falls (and researching the most effective sedative in case Stanley would refuse), he forgot one crucial detail.

He and Stanley would live again together. In the same room. For an unspecified duration.

And right now Stanley was grating on his nerves.

Stanford somberly examined his mistake: yes, there was no denying it. That extra comma twisted all his intended meaning.

“Stanley, would you stop what you are doing?” He asked in exasperation and turned to his twin who was currently laying on Stanford’s bed.

“I ain't doing nothing”, the latter replied and continued snapping his fingers in some sort of rhythm.

“You don't need an extra negative in that sentence…”

“I can have all the negative I want”.

Stanford took a deep breath and then immediately another. He was just sure Stanley just made another joke at his own self-expense, but Stanley was actually grinning so maybe it was better to let it go for now.

“Anyway, Stanley, can you just do something else?”

“Do you finally have something for me to do?”

And that was the root of the problem. Stanford didn't expect his twin to latch on the bargain part of Stanford's invitation: Stanley was really adamant that he had to do something useful for him to stay.

And there wasn't really anything for him to do: most of the chores like dishes would have included going outside the room (and Stanford vetoed them). Sweeping the floor took only half an hour. And Stanford's initial idea to use Stanley as the focus group for his presentation failed as Stanley just fell asleep after only half of an introduction.

Fiddleford, that traitor, declared that he had some scheme to rebuild and vanished, leaving behind none of some useful advice.

And the Jules Verne’s “Around the World in 80 days” just continued to lay on the bed where Stanford left it in hopes to entertain his twin with it for some hours - Stanley just flipped through it, claimed that all those words were making his brain hurt and continued to just laying and sometimes staring at Stanford. Actually, the latter wasn't even sure if Stanley was looking at him or through him, as his look didn't seem too focused.

Stanford sighed and just went back to rewriting a page. He was sure that Stanley would like that book as he really enjoyed the tales of adventures and treasures in their childhood that Stanford often read aloud. But it seemed Stanley outgrew them and had no interest in them anymore. Come to think of it - what were his interests now? Maybe he liked music, as he did in his early teens? Or comics like even earlier? Or did life on the streets drastically change his hobbies? Did he even have some?

Stanford paused and threw a quick glance to his twin. Would it be alright to ask or would Stanley just take it as a jab toward his lack of action? Would Stanley even give an answer or just again wave off like any question about his recent life?

Or maybe Stanford could subtly try everything he could think of and see what would sparkle Stanley’s interests.

Stanford imagined the pleased and surprised look on his brother's face and smiled to himself. And then winced when Stanley’s finger-snapping continued with a new rhythm.

Yes, he should figure out how to make his twin busy. And soon.

Or one day he would just give in to the dark desires of strangling his sibling.

***

Stanley was bored. No, that was not it. He was

b.

o.

r.

e.

d.

Derod backwards… No, wait, should be Derob? Bee o ar e dee.

El bored in Spanish. Le bored in French. Der Bored in German.

Bravo-Oscar-Romeo-Echo-Delta.

One dash three dots. Three dashes. Dot dash dot. Dot. One dash two dots.

Oh, he could possibly spell it one letter backwards: A-n-q-d-c. Two letters: Z-m-p-c-b. Three letters: X… no, Y-l-o-b-a… huh, that actually sounded like a word! Nice!

Stanley sighed and turned his head again to look at his twin.

Would it be too wild of a guess that Sixer decided to make him go nuts out of boredom? Something like “after all those years I finally came up with a nice mental torture as a payback”?..... Nah, while Sixer could sometimes wait until he came with a detailed revenge plan, he couldn't act so believable. And this morning was a lot for Stan - an embarrassment, a hopeful relief, some jealousy towards Ford and his neighbour’s communication. But it surely wasn't a deceit, or he would feel it otherwise.

That was how Sixer could always convince him - he always knew that Stan could never decline his twin’s sincere plea. That was how they were sneaking into a planetarium or going gathering weird rocks or spending a full night on the shore waiting to catch the rare migrating seagull (but were so drenched in the rain that day that both fell ill). Once it even worked the other way too - Stan could convince Ford to sneak into a cinema for a scary movie or skip to the next town without real purpose or “borrow” a spyglass from their father's shop to catch a glance at the big cruiser ship passing by…

Well, reminiscing about that now wasn’t really productive. And wondering about Sixer’s motive only made Stan grasping at faint hopes - and that was bad. Hope made Stan relaxed and vulnerable. Hope made him unprotected. Hope would make things only worse when Sixer would inevitably become fed up with his twin and when his pity or whatever would come to an end. 

Stan sighed and closed his eyes. And yet he yearned to let himself hope. He dared to hope at Ford’s nightly mumblings, and while initially the latter was adamant that it wasn't an invitation, he then changed his mind and even somewhat confirmed in the morning that he didn’t regret it… Yet. 

For some reasons Ford didn’t hide that he wanted Stan to stay here for more than a few days. Stan would like nothing more: having a warm place, warm food, small talk that didn’t need him to be on his toes… The perfect place to lay low and just forget about the last hard weeks. 

But Sixer clearly didn’t think it through. He asked for Stan’s help as a reason for staying. And while Stan wasn’t stupid and could understand it as a pity-driven excuse, he actually welcomed it. Because there was only one real measure of worth in this world - usefulness. Money was useful. Food and shelter were too. Stupid twin who could offer nothing in return was not.

So Stan was ready to do whatever he could to prove his worth: any chore, any task… And Ford kept denying it. Well, Stan could agree: parading around the dorm for washing dishes or going outside for bringing any stuff could lead to the questions and complications. And there was not a lot to do in the room itself - Stan didn’t dare to touch any of the important-looking stuff of both nerds and had to clean whatever surface was devoid of it. And made both beds. And threw one stray cockroach in the window. And found some papers, socks and three of minifigures from that Nerd Game buried under beds. And then Sixer had a strange idea to ask Stanley for his input on whatever Big Science Paper he was currently doing that just made Stan’s body remember being awake for half a night. Really, did Sixer just forget that Stan stopped to understand any of those big words years ago?

Anyway, the list of stuff Stan could do was too short. So realistically there were only two ways it all would go. First one: after some days Ford would finally get over his pity, notice that Stanley was only eating and sleeping and taking up space and reconsider their deal.

Second one: Stan would figure out how to become useful and earn his stay.

Or trick both nerds into believing it.

***

Some opportunity for Stan came later in the evening when Ford’s neighbour came back all covered in dirt and garbage (something about mistakenly throwing out a working part and having to retrieve it). Sixer made a remark how he too had a lot of clothes needing a wash and then asked Stan if he would like to wash his own too.

“I can do it!” Stan immediately jumped to his feet. 

Ford just sighed while gathering his clothes in the bucket and taking some spare ones for Stan to change into. “We talked about it. The laundry is in the basement. You would be noticed”.

“I’ll just do it deep in the night! Everyone would just sleep! Or so deep in their books that nobody would notice me!”

Sixer just sighed and turned to him, opening his mouth to give one of the reasons they all knew already, so Stan just didn’t give him the time: “Please, Sixer! Let me do it! I’ll be careful! Or I’ll go mad from sitting here all the time!” For good measure he stared into his twin’s eyes and tried to make the most pleading expression he was capable of.

Ford silently glared back for some time and then closed his eyes in resignation. “Well, I suppose that if you wait until one o’clock…”

“Yes! Thank you!” Stan barely stopped himself from hugging Ford from relief and just punched the air in excitement. “So, are there any instructions or what…”

Stanford’s neighbor chuckled and turned to his desk to take a paper and pen, but Stan stopped him: “Nah, don’t bother - just tell me and I memorise it”. For some reason Stanford’s neighbor frowned and threw a glance to Ford who just nodded. It seemed Sixer still remembered that that was a better way for Stan’s memory to keep something.

***

Stan exhaled, closed his eyes and pressed his ear to the door. He let his instincts take over and search for any unusual noise: voices, steps, rustling of the clothes. After hearing nothing concerning for some minutes Stan turned around, nodded at Ford (who insisted to stay awake until Stan’s return and currently was reading some book of his) and slipped into the hallway carrying the basket.

It was dark, silent and freeing, and Stan had to stop himself from whistling some tune from excitement.

Soon he found himself in a basement looking over all the appliances and supplies. 

Stan put aside a pile of clean clothes from top and threw all the rest into one of the washers. Then he took off all of his own clothes and put them there too before starting to dress himself into Ford’s spare ones. 

The rest of the process was quite easy too - Fiddle… Fidds gave very detailed instructions of where the needed detergent could be found, how much of it would be needed and which buttons must be pushed and in what order.

In a few minutes the washer started to do its work, and Stan sat down on some bench. Another wait. How curious. A week ago all he knew was going forward and running when things became too dangerous. And he was… just waiting.

It was strange. And made him twitchy.

And he kept wondering - maybe it wouldn’t be Ford to be fed up in the end. Maybe it would be Stan, who was so used to running that didn’t know how to stop.

***

Stan was making the return track with the basket full of fresh and folded clothes when it happened.

“Hey, look at that, Pines finally decided to become a night animal!”

Stan gulped, quickly reminded himself that there was only one Pines who could have reasons to wander here, checked that his fingers were somewhat hidden by the basket’s edge and only then turned around.

It was some boy of his age, exiting from the bathroom and huffing with disdain. And yawning.

Stan squinted. He didn’t know what Sixer’s relationship with that one was, but he was sure that it was nothing friendly. Still, it wouldn’t be good to start arguing in the middle of night in a place where Stan was trying to keep a low profile. So he just shrugged and tried to deepen his voice a bit.

“Oh, I lost myself in all that studying. What time is it now?”

“The clock is just over your head, Genius”, the yawning student waved a hand as he passed by toward some of the rooms. “Seems you’re blind as a bat or something without glasses…”

Stan waited until that guy closed his door and quickly made way to Sixer’s room and hid there. He exhaled then and smirked in small victory - still got it, after all those years he still was capable of imitating his twin. Not that it was any useful…

Wait! Stan froze. It could be actually useful! If everyone thought he was Ford, he was no longer confined in their room. He could do stuff that required going to other places. If Sixer would give some notes about others he could even do tasks with interacting! Surely there were some chores that Ford had to do but didn’t like too much!

He just needed to ask Ford and… 

Stan turned around and felt some deja-vu: Ford was once again asleep over his desk. Over a book this time. With a lit desk light.

Stan chuckled with fond amusement - it seemed Sixer really tried to wait for him. And so after putting a basket on Fidds’ chair Stan repeated his actions from the previous night - took Ford under his arms and dragged him to the bed. Having arranged the blanket and taking off Ford’s glasses, Stan stopped and looked at them in deep thought.

Stanley once wore glasses too, they both actually got them at the same age. But Ford kept using them for reading and becoming more genius, and Stan kept getting them cracked, dirty and broken until they just fell apart and weren’t replaced by anything. 

But if Stan asked about his plan and got permission, he had to wear them again, to be able to pass as Ford. Stan sighed and decided to try some experiment.

He didn’t know what to expect when he put the glasses on, so he wasn’t prepared for the shadows to become sharper. Too sharp actually. To the point of the beginning of a headache. Was it how Sixer saw the world? Too sharp and detailed? Did he like seeing it so much that he ignored headaches? Or it was the matter of the eyes themselves - Sixer’s were made for glasses. Stan’s were not…

Okay, so that plan probably just would not work. Maybe once or twice, for how long Stan’s brain could hold off the ache. He decided to try and find out how long and also continue his small experiment. 

Stan slowly made his way out of the room and into the bathroom, where he could observe his reflection under a normal light.

Well, he totally looked like a nerd now. 

Stan raised his hands and tried to mess up his hair a bit, giving it volume. After some attempts he made from himself almost a perfect Sixer’s copy. If he could find some mascara to make a little shadow on his chin - the look would be complete.

Stan tried a few of Ford's typical expressions: frowning, Nerd In Natural Habitat. And then he couldn’t help himself:

“Stanley, I’m proud of you”, and Ford in a mirror smiled with sad eyes and then winced from sharp pain behind them.

***

Fiddleford slowly woke from his sleep and just laid down for a bit, catching and memorising the ideas and schemes from a rapidly vanishing dream - one could never know for sure whether his subconsciousness was just fooling around or actually managed to come up with something workable.

While doing so he catched sounds of snoring and actually had to take a minute before remembering why exactly they were doubled. 

Oh yes, Stanford’s twin brother. Stanley. Newest addition to their small abode and the current studying object. Fiddleford still wasn’t sure what to think about that guy - he was a walking contradiction. Ford claimed him to be loud and reckless and always wanting to be the center of attention. And Fiddleford saw a quiet man whose only reckless deed was arguing to go and do the laundry. Ford also claimed that his brother was making a fortune as a salesman and that was proved wrong yesterday. And the man himself didn’t give any information about his actions and movements for the last four years. Fiddleford and his friend only had what little clues they gathered from his car’s state and from what Stanford could remember from his mother’s calls. And that was not much and also was not truly verified yet. 

And that didn’t touch Stanford’s personal judgement that clearly changed in a few hours only. Because of remorse? Because he was reminded of some good memories? Because the initial judgement was flawed? Fiddleford didn’t know and his friend clearly wasn’t in a hurry to share.

And so Fiddleford was still in progress of his own evaluation of that guy and his relationship with his twin. At least, going from Stanford’s plans, he would have plenty of time for it.

Having finished with his musings, Fiddleford quietly got up and stretched himself for a bit. While doing so he noticed a lump with a mop of brown hair on Stanford’s bed and another one with the same mop on Stanford’s desk and paused. Well, the one on the bed could easily be either of the twins, but the one most likely to fall asleep at the desk was the one who would easily spend the night reading. And to his knowledge that was only one of the brothers.

And so Fiddleford tiptoed to Stanford at the desk and chuckled. “So, this time you let your brother take the bed? I think I still have a sleeping bag somewhere. It should be more comfortable than whatever book you prefer.” And he poked his friend in the shoulder.

Stanford actually screamed at that and jumped straight to his feet.

“I wasn’t doing anything!” he shouted and backed up to the wall.

Fiddleford gently raised his hands in the calming gesture, when there was another shout from the bed:

“What? Where?” and the owner of the voice abruptly sat on the bed.

Now Fiddleford had not only two same mops before him, but the same owlishly blinking expressions, because for once Stanford managed to take his glasses off before falling asleep. He couldn't help but chuckle.

“Relax, Stanley”, he waved at the twin on the bed. “Your brother just has a nasty habit of preferring books to ordinary pillows. Sorry for waking you up too”.

Stanley at the bed was still blinking, but then squinted first at Fiddleford, then at his twin and then suddenly grinned: “Oh yes, my too smart brother, that sounds just like him”.

Fiddleford nodded with relief that Stanley didn't have a bad mood because of sudden awakening and then turned to Stanford who was still pressed to the wall. “Everything alright, Stanford?”

“Yes, Ford, are you alright?” Stanley repeated the question with the same grin.

At that Stanford finally got rid of his startled expression and shrugged. “Yeah, yeah. Got a really nice dream full of numbers. Almost made it to second base with the Eight, she had reeeeal curves”.

Fiddleford frowned. Something was wrong. Was it just the way twins teased each other or…

“Oh come on! No one would date an Eight! Seven is way better! It's a prime number…” Stanley threw his hands in the air.

“Seven has a full bunch of sins on him”, Stanford raised up his hand to mess up his hair.

“Wait, why Seven is him and Eight is her?”

“Because I'm smart and I just said so?”

Fiddleford groaned and just went to “Stanley” at the bed and took him by the wrist with an attempt to check for fingers.

“You caught on us quick”, Stanford smiled, wiggling his six fingers.

“Yes, back in the days we could do it the whole day and only Mom would suspect anything”, Stanley meanwhile flatted his hair to his usual state and stretched himself.

“Yes, I miss it sometimes”, Stanford nodded while climbing out of the bed. “Anyway, Fiddleford, I'm curious. Why did you even make such a mistake?”

Fiddleford scratched his chin. “Well, I'm so used to you sleeping on the desk, so there was no reason for me to think otherwise. And as Stanley was in your clothes and his hair was really ruffled like yours…”

Fiddleford paused looking at both twins at the same time. Stanley just passed the glasses to his brother and the latter put them on. Now, when they both didn't pretend to be each other, the difference was obvious. But for some minutes back then…

“Stanford, would you mind helping me make us breakfast?”

“Yeah, okay”, Stanford nodded and moved to follow Fiddleford to the hallway.

“And I'll just be here”, Stanley shrugged and started to make the bed.

Fiddleford waited until both he and Stanford were in the kitchen and then checked around them for anyone else. Luckily, they were alone.

“Stanford, your brother can pass for you!”

“Yeah, I know”, Stanford smiled. “I almost regret that he didn't do Robot Ford this time, that was…”

“No, he can pass for you. Here. In dorms, on campus, wherever you both want”.

Fiddleford watched as the look of realisation blossomed on Stanford's face. 

“Oh… Oh!” but while Fiddleford expected his friend to latch on this idea with some enthusiasm, the latter’s expression became hesitant. “I… I'm not sure that's a wise idea”.

“Why not? Yesterday you complained how you wish to find something to keep him occupied, and lately you are just spending most of the time in our room! I can even monitor him at first so he wouldn't get some unwanted attention…”

“...So what, he would just wander pretending to be me?” Stanford turned away, filling up the kettle. “What would he even do? There’s nothing here that would be of interest to him!”

Fiddleford paused, making a quick review of their share of the products and noticing some cans missing - was it Jim again? Oh, he wasn't looking forward to another “please read the labels, it's not yours” talk - and took out some bread and cheese. 

“So what, you have better ideas or you just gonna keep him locked until we're leaving?” Fiddleford threw a quick glance at his friend, who froze and started to turn around…

“What, you nerds found another lab experiment?” there was another voice from the entrance, aggravating and mocking. Zak, the most infuriating of their neighbours made a way to Stanford and looked at the kettle. “Is it boiling already?”

“I only put it on”, Stanford gritted through his teeth. “It'll take 6 minutes 43…”

“Yeah, whatever, Freak”, Zak turned around and made some steps back to the hallway, while Stanford hid his hands behind him on the reflex. “So, what about that stray or whatever? You know it's forbidden to keep even hamsters here?”

“Yes, thank you for your input, Zak”, Fiddleford glared at him with disgust. “It’s not your business what we'll do with our new… lab mouse! But if you prefer, we'll put it in your room so it'll chew all of your collection!”

“Don't you dare!” Zak frowned with some alarm. “I’ll put every string I can to…”

“Yeah, so keep quiet and go away!”

Zak clearly wanted to have a last word, but after failing to come up with one just left.

Fiddleford waited for a bit and exhaled: “That was careless of me. Anyway, about our problem…”

“I'll think of another solution”, Stanford interrupted with some frustration in his voice. “It's too dangerous for S… for him to go out, even as me! And what would he even do there? Pretend to study? Blow up some lab? Break some…”

“Wait… Is it about your school project?” Fiddleford squinted. “I thought you resolved it already as you two act quite friendly?”

Stanford sat on the chair and grasped his hair with a loud sigh. “It's complicated. I… I’m still angry at him and at the same time I regret it. He clearly lost a lot more than me…”

“Did you talk to him?” Fiddleford paused at making grilled cheese and sat on the opposite chair. “I mean let's think critically. Are you opposing the idea because of some objective factors or because of inner feelings?”

Stanford was silent for some time and then sighed. “While there are some factors, I'm mostly afraid. That I'll believe in him again and he still would ruin everything again. I'm on the finish line, Fiddleford, I'm on the verge of getting my grant and achieving my dream! I can't lose it again!”

Fiddleford reached out and patted his friend’s shoulder. “I think you really should talk with your brother about it. You now have a perfect opportunity and plenty of time. But I understand your fears, I won't press the matter further… However we really need to find some way to let him go out sometime. He's not a pet to keep, it's not enough to just feed him and play with. You understand it, don't you?”

Stanford nodded just as a kettle started whistling.

Fiddleford patted his shoulder for another time and went back to making breakfast. Oh god, he was only joking about the Cloning Experiment, did he really have to come back to it? 

***

Stanford was thinking.

While making coffee, while bringing mugs into their room, while eating.

The mere idea of Stanley dressing up as him not as a child joke but a real imitation was making him horrified. There were so many ways it could go wrong: the Dean could want to talk and notice how “Stanford” couldn't answer a simple question about Conservation Laws. One of the classmates could ask about something from their past projects and “Stanford” couldn't respond. What if “Stanford” just goes somewhere where he's not needed? What if he ruins someone's experiment and everyone would think it's original Stanford’s fault?!..

Even if Stanley’s mistake would be accidental, it would still become Stanford’s problem. Again.

He had to work for four years to rectify the previous one. How much time would be lost this time?

Could Stanford accept that risk or was it better to ask Stanley to wait for another solution? Surely there were better ones! Like… Well, Stanley could sneak out during the night, right? And Stanford would find some ways to occupy him. That didn't sound too bad, right?…

He glanced at Stanley who was explaining something (and as Stanford started to listen, it was about how he repaired his El Diablo’s gearbox with only two forks) and couldn't help but notice how alive he seemed. He was gesturing and smiling while describing his process and laughing when Fiddleford groaned at some details. He was almost the same Stanley from his memories. And definitely not the one living here for the last few days.

…Of course. Stanford really managed to forget what made Stanley Stanley. It was always Stanford who was okay with sitting alone or with silent company, with a book or a puzzle or another object of his attention. All he really needed was a matter to keep his brain occupied. Stanley was always different, he needed action, he needed an audience, he needed space and everything that could be used as an outlet for his boundless energy.

And now Stanley hadn't any of these outlets. His energy that was already missing just couldn't go anywhere and so Stanley just didn't even need to store it.

Oh god, Fiddleford was right with his pet analogy. Even worse, because even as a pet owner Stanford was failing, treating a massive dog as a lazy cat.

Stanford signed and excused himself, making a swift way outside the dorm.

Right, he could do it easily. And Stanley was just… trapped until they found some ways. Stanford still couldn't think of another one, the good another one. He was thinking back of the hotel list but rejecting it for fear of Stanley just keeping money and continuing to live in the car.

Well, he was also thinking of making some ID for Stan or some disguise for him… But the Occam's Razor was merciless.

There was no easier way than proposed by Fiddleford. They wouldn't need a legend, they wouldn't need to bribe someone from outside. It was simple and elegant - let Stanley sometimes pose as him. He wouldn't be expected to do much: Stanford was already finished with all mandatory courses. So he was actually free to go until the Grant Application Period. 

Stanford looked around himself as he passed. Well, Stanley could easily go to the library and find a fiction section there. Actually, there was even one with comics, so double the benefit.

And there was a gym, Stanley would probably love it there.

Oh, and the storage boxes, where Fiddleford temporarily occupied another one for hiding the Stanleymobile. 

Huh, Stanley would definitely find something to do for himself. 

There was only one real obstruction: Stanford still feared to do it. But Fiddleford was right, they needed to find a solution quickly. 

No matter his motives, Stanford couldn't treat his twin like that. He had to find a way to deal with it.

***

“Stanley, we need to talk”.

Fiddleford stopped his retelling of the Eight Foot Tall Robot Bear Disaster and made an excuse of making the dishes.

Stanley nodded and moved a bit aside, so now both twins were seated on Stanford’s bed.

“So, you sound serious. Do you finally kick me out?” Stanley’s voice was joking, but his eyes were not.

“What? No!” Stanford tried to calm down as far as he could. It would be a difficult conversation, and he couldn't allow himself to fail it. “We need to talk about the science fair”.

“There's nothing to talk about”, Stanley immediately turned away from his brother and crossed his arms before him. “I broke it, you lost your ticket to that golden school, I lost home, you found yourself in this shithole. End of story”.

Stanford gulped. On the one hand, this crude summary was nearly enough to make his blood boil. On the other hand…

“I always thought it was your choice not to return”.

“You're joking?! I got thrown out, said not to return without money and you're making it MY choice?!” Stanley jumped to his feet and threw his hands up in indignation. “You know what?! If anything in my life was about MY choice, I wouldn't be…”

“I was wrong in that”, Stanford interrupted him and waved his hand in a ‘keep quiet’ gesture. “But I was hurt and I wasn't ready to face your side of the story”. He paused for a deep calming breath and looked at his twin's eyes pleadingly. “I need to know what happened and why”.

Stanley looked back, frowning and studying his brother’s expression. “Why do you want it now? You were okay with just blaming me then and then spending four years without giving a damn about me. Heck, on our first meeting you were still blaming me! So if it is about your pity at my state - save it, I don't need it. Being blamed is better than being your charity case…”

“I missed you”, Stanford started to lower his head in embarrassment but made himself stop and return his gaze on Stanley. He had to show his sincerity, because he felt it in his twin - the latter was strung and ready to run. And Stanford just knew it deep inside: if Stanley would run now, he wouldn't come back. “I missed my twin, my friend, and at the same time I was angry: you left me…”

“I didn't! Father…”

“I didn't feel it towards our Father! I felt it towards my brother who didn't even tell me what happened until it was too late! Who made me stand with humiliation before my broken project without understanding what happened! Who didn't give me any explanation and just shrugged my problems aside! I… I wanted it so much, Stanley, and you… you just didn't care”. In the end Standord still had to lower his head to escape the broken expression on his twin’s face. “I was so angry at you, and I still am. Please, tell me at least the explanation of why you did it”.

“...There is none, I'm sorry”, Stanley sighed and sat back down, looking at the floor too.

“Wha..?!” Stanford almost snapped, too fragile in his vulnerability, but his brother continued.

“I can't explain why it happened. I overheard your talk about Golden College and then your plans changed and I just wasn't in any of them.”

“Wait! I remember your asking! I remember proposing…”

“What, visiting you once or twice? And what about when I'm not visiting? What would be left for me?” Stanley paused and darkly chuckled. “I was nothing without you, Ford”.

“What?!” Stanford had to look at his twin at that, surely he was joking?

“Yeah, see, I even proved it after all. Four years on my own and I have nothing”.

“That's not true!” Stanford grabbed his twin's shoulders and shaked him. “These four years are an anomaly! Before that! You had friends and Carla and boxing and…”

Stanley actually laughed at that and patted Stanford's hand. “Oh, nice one! Thanks for lifting my spirits. So, anyway, back to more depressing events….”

“No, not backing! It was not a joke!” Stanford shook him another time.

“Jeez, calm down! You're just clearly remembering something wrong. All friends were Carla’s, so when she broke up with me, they were all gone. And I don't know why you keep making the boxing thing mine - we were both doing it.”

“But you were clearly better there!”

“So what, I should just automatically love anything where I'm better?... You know what? I see the logic here”, Stanley smirked. “From now on I'm loving running, driving, not looking nerdy…” he started counting on his fingers. “...knowing tie knots, riding a bike without hands… Oh! Probably can do it with a car too…”

Stanford couldn't help but start laughing. “Okay, I concede, you made your point…”

“He concede”, Stanley mockingly repeated and then heavily inhaled. “Are there any chances for us to stop at that and forget all this conversation?”

Stanford chased away any remaining chuckles and moved to take his twin’s hand in his own. “Please, Stanley. I need it. We need it. This time I'll promise that I'll listen to you”.

Stanley lowered his gaze at their connected hands and nodded. However he didn't continue talking right away and Stanford decided not to hurry him. Finally Stanley closed his eyes and tightened his hand under his twin’s one.

“Okay, so… We talked, and… And I just knew that that was it. You were going away because there was no way they wouldn't like you. And I just… I kept walking around and then I somehow just was there. And I saw your project and…” at that Stanley finally looked in his twin's eyes. “I need you to believe me, Ford. I hated your project, but I didn't want it to break. I was angry and I hit the table, that's all! But something from your machine fell off and I panicked. I tried to put it back, and it worked. It was still moving. I was sure that it was just nothing!”

“And yet it still broke”, Stanford sighed and turned away. Strange, he was hoping that hearing Stanley’s account would make it hurt less. Heck, his twin's story made it an accidental error rather than deliberate sabotage as Stanford always thought. He should've felt better, then why…?

“Yes, and I'm sorry”, Stanley moved his hand so it was his one holding Stanford’s one now. “I was scared that you would get angry at me for touching your things. And then I was just thinking how you'll move away when… You know, when you came and started accusing me, for a second I was really glad. Because you being angry with me - that was nothing new. I could deal with that - leave you alone for a day or two, then distract you and then bring you something to forgive me. And in that moment I was sure - it was the best outcome. We were still together and wouldn't be separated… Well, the rest you know. And that's funny, I still lost you, in a worse way possible. I mean, Mom told me about your new College, and I thought that that was definitely something worthy of you, because you always deserved the best. I didn't expect it to be… This,” he made another pause. “I know I ruined everything for you. And I'm sorry. For breaking it, for not telling about it, for being selfish, for holding you down…”

“Stop it”, Stanford tugged their connected hands. “You never held me down, you were the reason I wanted to go as far as I'm capable of! You supported me and made me believe in myself!” he started to feel his eyes getting wet. “That's why it hurt so much! You always told me I was destined for more! And then… it was like a cruel joke, like you were one of them, who mocked me for having dreams! You were always the one I could trust! And then….!” 

Suddenly he felt being pulled into a hug and was surrounded by a long forgotten feeling of shelter. 

“I'm sorry, Ford. I never wanted to hurt you”, his twin whispered while continuing to hold him. “I won't dare to ask for forgiveness, but please - believe me - I would never do something to hurt you! On purpose, at least…”

Stanford leaned on his twin fruitlessly trying to stop his tears. “I want to believe it… But… But… Stan! All this time I was angry and thinking how my future was ruined and I never even once thought yours was ruined too! I was angry at you and blaming you and you were somewhere sleeping in your car! At least I managed to get some benefits from this place. But you! What did you get? Please tell me you got something good in all these years! Please tell me it wasn't as bad as it seems!”

He felt Stanley taking a deep breath and chuckling.

“Yes, well, I actually got some business and for a year it was doing really well. And I was in Florida once, that was really awesome! I met a biker gang there…”

Stanford smiled through his tears. For all the changes some things remained the same: Stan’s hugs were the safest place on Earth and his stories were the most exciting tales of all time.

And he was still just Ford, who could hide himself in his brother's arms and be told that everything would be alright. And who would instantly believe it.

Still, he couldn't let himself relax yet. There was something else he needed to say.

He reluctantly moved away and wiped his eyes with a sleeve. 

“I'm sorry too, Stan. I was thinking only about my dreams and was sure that you always could make it. I mean that if you won't ask for forgiveness, I'll still give it to you. Can you forgive me in return? For… selfishness? Ignorance? Everything?”

Stanley smiled, softly and with wet eyes. “Oh Sixer, aren't you supposed to be the smart one? Of course I'll forgive you! I was never angry at you… Well, actually I was. Once… Twice… Erm… Forget I said it, I was pretty angry too at first… Never mind that! High six for mutual forgiveness!”

Stanford laughed and hurried to wipe his eyes again while raising his other hand in the air. Stan actually wooped and slapped the offered hand with a bit too much force.

Ford hissed and shook his hand in mocking displeasure, while his twin grinned with apologetic expression.

“So, what do…”

The rest of Stanley’s question was abandoned, as there was a sound of explosion from the hallway. Almost at the same time there was a loud “MCGUCKET!! PINES!!” from what seemed to be their RA’s voice.

Stanford glanced at Stanley in warning, and the latter in one swift motion dove under the bed.

Just in time, as in less than a minute there were heavy steps, and the door’s handle was moving. “Open up!!”

Stanford sighed and went to unlock the door. As soon as he did it, RA entered and looked around.

“Huh, okay, not you this time. Where's your friend?”

Stanford shrugged and made an innocent expression. RA sighed and exited the room, shaking his head in irritation.

“So, how many times did you do this, so you're the first suspects?” Stanley grinned, when the door was closed and locked back.

“Too many”, replied Fiddleford who just twisted himself into the room through the window. “I hope you're finished with your talking because I won't dare leave here for at least another two hours”.

Stanford laughed and nodded. “Yeah, we sorted it all out… Don't we?” he glanced at his twin for confirmation who showed a thumbs up. “So, Fiddleford, what was it this time?”

“Ah, I decided to wait in the kitchen and just started tweaking the fridge. And got a little bit too carried away with it. It began to freeze everything, and I tried to fix it and forgot about that taped wire…”

“Oh, ain't you a riot, Fiddlefridge?” Stanley patted the mentioned man on the back, who started spluttering. “So, you're grounded, I'm grounded and Sixer is the caveman himself. Wanna play some cards or something?”

“Maybe a round of DD&MD? We finally have more than a two players!” Stanford looked over his companions in excitement. While Fiddleford readily nodded with same excitement in the eyes, Stanley just groaned and imitated shooting himself in the head with two fingers. “Please, Stanley! We'll do every calculation for you!”

“No! It'll just end again with my character dying in a pointless duel!”

“For a last time - I didn't kill your Sir Quite-a-Lot! You surpassed the limits of the mean squared error, I've explained it to you! And haven't I given you another character to play after?”

“Yes, and then you got actually mad about how I played him”.

“Yes! I gave you the most powerful character and you just turned him into chaotic evil…. Argh! Will you play with us or not?!”

“That depends. Will you be mad again if I won't play as you expect me to play?”

Stanford groaned in frustration and went to retrieve the box. “Oh, I learned my lesson not to make important plot lines about your characters. I think I'm safe now”.

***

He got mad by the third minute when Fiddleford actually supported Stanley’s choice of a thief. From another dimension. In the Fantasy Setting! That was it! Fiddleford would never be able to solve his Rubic’s cube!

***

“No, that just won't work!”

Fiddleford actually was stunned and just stared at Stanley who crossed his arms before him and shrugged.

“But… But! Fiddleford already mistook us and we weren't even trying then!” Stanford too was surprised. “And you'll finally be free to…”

“Nope”, Stanley just sighed. “Look, I appreciate your intent and all, but I actually had this exact thought already. Actually, I even tried it - don't worry, I was alone - and let me spare you some effort: I just won't be able to do it for more than a minute”.

Fiddleford heavily sighed. That was somewhat unexpected. Even Stanford’s initial refusal was logical. But he managed to actually talk to his twin and deal with most of his issues. To the point of finally proposing by himself the idea of switching.

But Stanley's refusal… Well, maybe it was more logical to Stanford? 

“Okay, fine”, Stanford himself was deep in thought, looking over his brother periodically. “Tell me the exact issue, there may be ways for us to work around it. Is it your performance? Or… Oh god, did you get some noticeable scarring?!” at that Stanford immediately went checking his twin's face who tried to evade it.

“What? No! Get off me! All my scars are not on my face and that is not the issue!”

“What? Where? When? Who was it?! Did it heal right?!!” Stanford grabbed the other’s shirt and tried to raise it up, while Stanley tried to resist it. 

Fiddleford started to chuckle. It seemed their talk was of benefit to both of them. Stanford now lost most of the awkwardness around his twin, trying to engage him in any possible conversation and activity. And Stanley… Huh, now Fiddleford actually recognised the one from his friend's stories. If Stanley was not talking that meant he was eating or sleeping (or sneaking toward the bathroom). There were actually times when he had to be reminded to keep himself quiet, and Stanley would just smile somewhat guilty and start whispering with the same energy. 

And that was not mentioning him moving around. Stanley’s talkings were now done with him pacing all over the room. If he was sitting, one or both of his knees would bounce. 

And last night, when Fiddleford was woken up by a sound of someone hitting something, he spent some minutes observing Stanley who was fighting with his sleeping bag while still asleep.

Another startling change was how both twins just started to invade each other's space. Or more likely returned to their old habits. Stanford spent all of yesterday evening by reading not at the desk, but by leaning on Stanley’s shoulder who at that moment was deeply engaged in proving his completely wrong opinion of why Jazz was better than Country. And Stanley was always patting his twin during conversations, on shoulder when he was agreeing with Stanford or on the back when he was finding something hilarious.

And Stanley also started doing it with Fiddleford too. Well, the latter and Stanford weren't trying to keep distance, and so Fiddleford was used to poking each other or slapping or hugging in times of need. But Stanley was just… Everywhere. And usually Fiddleford would be opposed to someone new touching him without warning or reason, but Stanley's gestures were parts of his conversations. His patting gave as much support as Stanford’s verbal agreement. And Stanley’s punching Fiddleford's shoulder when they finally beat Stanford and his Doppler-Ganger (the Shapeshifter who's critical rate changed depending on the distance between him and players’ characters) somehow was louder than his actual victory cry.

So with all this new information Fiddleford was sure that Stanley would grasp their idea with both hands and possibly even jump out the window for testing it as soon as he could.

And yet he refused.

“So I'm actually curious too”, Fiddleford coughed in an attempt to stop the twins and a beginning of their scuffle. “What is the problem? I mean there are some differences in your figures, but the right clothes should hide it. And while Stan's hair is a bit longer, there's nothing a pair of scissors can't solve. I have some nice metal cutting ones somewhere...”

“You won't be cutting my hair!” Stanley shouted and finally managed to push his twin away. “Okay, it's about glasses!”

Stanford blinked. “What about them?”

“Don't be mad for wearing them without permission, but I actually tried them when you were asleep… And it was really painful for me. I think I could only endure it for some minutes and had to take them off or my head would blow off!”

Fiddleford and Stanford glanced between each other and just bursted with laughter. Stanley frowned at that: “What? What's so funny?”

“Of… Of course you couldn't wear them!” Fiddleford tried to give an answer while still laughing. “That fellow is… Blind as… As… Stanford, who are you blind as?”

“As a bat?” Stanley answered himself, with some hesitation.

“Yes! That too!” Stanford finally managed to almost stop giggling. “Stanley, no one should wear my glasses! Unless their eyesight is as bad as mine! So it's actually good that you couldn't wear them!”

“Huh”, Stanley frowned at some thought of his. “So how then did you think I could pass? No one would believe in Stanford without glasses! I myself don't even remember him without ones!”

“Well… That’s…” Stanford actually had to think about an answer and suddenly brightened. “Oh! I actually have spare ones! Before I got the new prescription! They no longer are useful to me and have almost the same design… I mean we can take out the lenses and replace them with ordinary glass…” he went to his desk and started rummaging in its drawers. After a minute he turned to his twin with the other glasses. “Try it! I want to see you in them! Haven't seen you in ones since forever!”

Fiddleford chuckled at his friend's enthusiasm. He himself was beginning to anticipate the end result and see how precise they could get with disguising the other twin.

Stanley gulped as he took the offered glasses. He hesitated and after some deep breaths put it on. As soon as he did it, Stanley stared at his hands. Then looked around the room and finally stopped his gaze first at Stanford, then at Fiddleford.

Well, the resemblance was almost perfect. And Fiddleford once teased his friend for getting the same frame in place of trying something new. Who would've guessed that choice to be significant in the future?

“Stanley?” Stanford however frowned at his twin's silence. “Anything wrong? If they hurt too, take them off immediately…”

“No”, and yet Stanley turned away from them, took off the glasses and started to wipe his eyes. “No. Funny thing - they are actually perfect”.

“Guess we have another bat here, the baby one”, Fiddleford chuckled. “That’s still pretty strong lenses there.”

Yet Stanford was still frowning. “Stanley, how recently has your eyesight worsened?”

His twin put the glasses back and turned back to his companions: “What do you mean? It was always like that…”

“Oh god…”

Fiddleford turned to his friend with surprise at his tone. Stanford was staring at his twin with a horrified expression. Stanley too was surprised and tilted his head in a near perfect match to usual Stanford's startled pose.

“Stanley…” Stanford approached his twin and put his hands on Stanley's both cheeks to prevent him from turning away. “This is serious! Why haven't you told anyone?!”

Stanley gulped and still tried to avert his eyes. “Father told me that if I have managed to break the first ones in less than a month, then I should just learn to live without them”, he paused and then actually smiled. “And I learned! I mean I had to memorize that chart to get a driving licence, but I had not a single accident! With other cars at least!”

“What?! You shouldn't be driving if that's your eyesight!” Fiddleford groaned and praised the gods he never was on the same road as that crazy twin. 

“Oh! That's easy! I see cars! And really that's all you need to see on the road! Everything else is just for decor!”

“Oh boy… Stanford, your brother is a menace”, Fiddleford glanced at Stanford who was staring at the wall with a murderous expression. “Stanford?”

“Fiddleford, I revoke my veto on project KFPA-1”, his friend now actually had a smile on his face, but it was the one he wore when going to argue about wrongful grades with fifty pages of proof.

“Huh? What project?” Stanley looked from one friend to another. “Is it something about me? Do I need to fear?”

“Oh, nothing important”, Fiddleford answered, feeling his lips stretching in the same kind of smile. “Some little side hobby of mine”.

Stanley shrugged and skipped to the window to gaze in astonishment outside of it. Fiddleford meanwhile nodded at his friend.

Well, it would be some challenge as he used some parts from “Kick Filbrick Pines Ass” Bot last month, but he would just need to find some new ones.

Chapter Text

“So, can I look already?”

Fiddleford was dying from curiosity but still patiently tried to solve his Rubic's cube. For some reason it was harder than usual.

“No, not yet”, one of the twins answered from behind him. Since Stanley started to get used to sounding like his brother and Stanford began to give him brief notes of expected behaviour, there were moments when even with his knowledge of all their preparations Fiddleford couldn't say for certain which of the twins was speaking to him.

And now they were working on perfecting the visual similarity and counting on Fiddleford to be their focus group.

“Huh, they don't move…”

“Of course they don't move, it's just cotton and wire! Here, bend it in that position and try not to use a fully open palm”.

“And if I'll need to do a handshake?”

“It’s ‘if I need’, you must use the present tense here. And no handshakes while you are me”.

“Spoilsport”.

Fiddleford groaned. “Are you done?”

“Actually…”

“...Yes, I think we are!”

Fiddleford turned around without standing up from a chair and blinked several times.

Well, he got exactly what he imagined, but actually seeing it was really astonishing.

There were two of them, with identical fluffed hair and almost the same glasses. The one on the left wore a yellow shirt and brown vest while the one on the right wore a grey shirt and maroon vest.

Yellow-shirt Stanford was fixing a collar of Grey-shirt Stanford, and the latter was testing his fingers hidden in a pair of gloves.

“Stanford?”

“Yes?”/”Yea?” The both of them turned at the same time and stared at Fiddleford with mirrored expressions of amusement.

He chuckled and gave another thorough look over both twins. When compared side by side there were definite clues. Grey-shirt Stanford was a little wider in both shoulders and waist, although a baggy vest didn't make it too oblivious. There was also a little shine in the hair, a sign of hairspray being used to keep it in place. O, and the gloves, even with the needed quantity of fingers, were actually a really obvious sign.

But that was to Fiddleford, who knew about this plot twist and actually gave some suggestions.

Any ordinary student, teacher or member of Backupsmore didn't stand a chance.

“So, how do I look? Nerdy enough for you to ditch the Original?” Grey Stanford leaned with his elbow on Yellow one and grinned.

“Could actually believe you were Stanford, until you opened your mouth”, Fiddleford chuckled and motioned to the door. “So, ready for a test run?”

“Yep!” Grey Stanford nodded and turned back to his brother. “So, anything else besides that book?”

“No, you shouldn't do much for the first time”, Yellow Stanford looked over his twin for one more time and sighed. “Please be careful, don't leave Fiddleford's side and…”

“... Don't do anything you wouldn't do, got it!” Grey Stanford patted the other one on the shoulder. “Hey, thank you again, I promise I won't mess up…”

“Oh, just go already! Or I'll change my mind”, Yellow one grumbled and made shooing gesture. “Can’t believe I can finally finish my paper in peace!”

***

“...and so that's the general layout”, Fiddleford finished their quick tour of the campus right before the library and led them both to a nearby bench. “There were once some signposts with all the directions, but someone decided to experiment on everyone and measure the rate of lateness if one would remove all the signs”.

“Huh, and how much did it grow… erm, increase?”

“13% for students, 67% for teachers. And the headmaster actually managed to get lost for a whole day in the gym's basement”.

“Sounds like fun”, ‘Stanford’ chuckled and then sighed while looking around him. “So, as we are alone, I need to ask you. Please don't sugarcoat the answer”.

“Yes, sure”, Fiddleford leaned on the seatback.

‘Stanford' opened his mouth several times, but never uttered a word. In the end he just sighed, shaked his head and stared at the sky. “Nevermind. So, what do you study here? I got you some kind of mechanic or something?”

“I actually prefer being called an engineer”, Fiddleford chuckled and decided not to inquire into the initially intended question. “But yes, that's my major. Though I took some neuroscience courses and once some veterinarian ones too - they are actually pretty flexible here as soon as you manage to pass the final tests.”

“And you just build those robots of yours? That's what you'll do after graduation?”

“Ah, no! I've recently learned the perspectives of microelectronics - it's basically the same thing but needs a magnifying glass to build”, Fiddleford glanced at his companion and to his delight noticed an interest in his eyes. Well, that was actually more encouraging than Stanford's condescending ‘I’m supporting all your doings but I'm hoping you'll think of something better for your abilities one day’. “There is just something satisfying in knowing that the amount of effort to make a working plate is even greater than to make a full scale robot! And with less materials too! Last week I could actually make my calculator work in hexadecimal! I'm trying now to make it work in hexavigesimal!”

“Sounds cool, even if I don't have any idea what that means”, ‘Stanford’ smiled and looked away. “Of course Sixer's friend would be some kind of genius too”.

“Oh, I'm not one”, Fiddleford chuckled. “You just don't see the huge amount of my failed tries. At least a dozen of them exploded in the process.”

That made ‘Stanford’ laugh. “Somehow I get the impression that explosions are not the worst kind of result for you. Come on, impress me!”

“No way!” Fiddleford laughed too. “The account of that one day was forever lost in history and, if I'm lucky, would never be remembered by any living soul!”

“As you say, Fiddlebang”.

“If you gonna make fun of my name, you should try harder”, Fiddleford rolled his eyes and got a grin in return.

“Is that a challenge?”

“You bet, Fakeford!”

‘Stanford’ guffawed in delight and closed his eyes, enjoying some rays of sun. “So, you still got some classes or you're like Sixer? Just doing your Last Big Project? I hadn't noticed a clear schedule for you”.

“Well, I'm actually finished with all my obligatory courses too, got all my grades already and more like applying for my apprenticeship. No better way to make a resume than to send them some of my finest works!”

“Did any of them explode when they reached their destinations?” ‘Stanford’ grinned and got an elbow in his side.

“Only two and I didn't actually want to work there anyways!”

They grinned at each other. And then ‘Stanford’ sighed:

“Do you think Ford will make it? This Last Big Project of his?”

Fiddleford actually laughed at that: “Oh, don't you worry in the slightest at that. His Applying for Grant presentation is mostly a technicality at this point. Those big wigs would already give it to him, but Stanford wants to start his path with a grand gesture - to present his intent and research plan. It's really important to him to be seen seriously. So unless something really drastic happens, he'll get it”.

“Oh, that's good”, ‘Stanford’ exhaled in relief. “So, would you say he's happy here?”

“Well…” Fiddleford thought about all those years, of all-nighters in the library, of multiple conflicts with their peers and professors, of crying from stress, of being shoved in the lockers, of name-calling and just plain ignoring. And then he thought of the joys of discovery, of perfect scores and finished projects. Of the first passably made coffee and last Sneaking Out For Parts Trip. Of their endless DD&MD games. 

He thought of their first meeting and making relativity discourse before getting each other's names. And then he thought about the last few days, of Stanford sitting by his brother with a small smile.

“I think he is. I would probably even bet my banjo on it”.

‘Stanford’ nodded with a smile, which then transformed into a grin.

“Oh, aren't you full of surprises! Do you play it?”

“What kind of man owns a banjo and doesn't play her?!”

“I dunno, the boring one?” ‘Stanford’ chuckled and started getting on his feet while cleaning his glasses. “Come one, Banjo Man, we have a library to rob!”

“That actually sounds a lot more exciting like that”, Fiddleford followed his companion. “What does it make me? The technical genius? The getaway driver?”

“Don’t flatter yourself, everyone should start as a man on the lookout.”

“Hey!”

***

Once in their childhood Stan was asked by an irritated teacher whether “Lying” was his middle name.

Stan liked it then and proudly accepted it. He and Sixer joked about it for some days until their Mom overheard them and explained that Lying was the one trade you should never confess if you wanted it to succeed.

And Stan took it to his heart.

That was truly the one skill he was better than Ford (and that he was proud of).

At first it was just some little stories to put a smile on his twin’s face: like hearing their neighbour howling at the moon or seeing a ghost ship out in the sea. Just another story like those ones Sixer loved to read in his books.

But with time Stan realized that lies could become their protection. If Father thought that Stan’s bruises were from fighting off their bullies (rather than falling down a cliff), the following lecture was twice shorter. If Stan told him that Sixer was against them sneaking out, then it was only Stan getting a punishment.

Lying to Mom that he knew Father loved him made her smile in relief.

Lying to teachers that he understood everything made them drop their disappointment. 

Lying to Ford that Stan didn’t care about their break-up with Carla made his twin stop worrying and twitching.

And lying to himself that lies couldn’t hurt anyone made Stan lose everything.

And after that lying became just a means to survive. He lied about age and lack of actual diploma. He lied about his skills and knowledge. He lied about name and family.

He lied about feeling confident, he lied about being sure in his goods, he lied and lied and lied…

Pretending to be Ford was just another lie, just a more complex one. He needed to lie with his body, keeping Ford’s straight posture and his thoughtful expression. He needed to lie with his language, trying to keep with harder words. He needed to lie with his gaze, not letting escape any of his own stupidity and ignorance. He needed to lie with all his being, projecting an air of confidence and all-knowing superiority. 

And judging by the bored expression on the librarian’s face as they greeted him, Stan was succeeding.

“So, we need the second floor, 27th section”, Fidds quietly motioned in some direction. “You remember…?”

“Yes, 14th shelf, “10 years later”, by Dumas”, Stan shrugged. There was also a first half of the title, but Sixer actually managed to pronounce it flawlessly and Stan was still trying to repeat it the right way at least in his mind. “So, will you convoy me there too or can I do it by myself?”

Fidds winked: “You know, I actually have some textbooks I need for myself, so I’ll come back to you in five…”

“Fifteen”.

“Ten, and if you're gonna be arguing, it would be zero”, Fidds narrowed his eyes, “Are we in agreement?”

“Fine, ten”, Stan rolled his eyes, but nodded. “Promise to be a good boy and all…”

“And please try to be in character even with me, when we are outside”, Fidds already turned away to another part of the library.

“As you wish”, Stan mentally hit himself. Fidds was right - when doing con one should never relax until finally having escaped to a safe place. And while Fidds knew who he really was - one could never know who was watching, who was listening. 

And after returning to a “making hundreds calculations in his mind” expression, Stan went to the stairs. 

Finding the right shelf was actually easy - Ford’s instructions only lacked the number of steps needed. Stan chuckled at that: his twin definitely was a regular in that part of the library. Actually there was a good possibility that Ford was familiar in the same way with the entire library. Maybe with the entire campus - Sixer was thorough like that.

Stan ran his gloved hand on the spines of the books. Some of the names and titles were actually ringing a bell in his memories: “Treasure Island” was one of their favourites, and Stan othen asked his twin to read it before going to bed. “Jules Verne” was also some of Sixer’s favourites back then and even now, judging by his shelf in the room. And some titles were definitely the ones from the movies Stan (and Ford, or once even Carla) sneaked in.

So, Ford sent him after some novel. Well, that was actually no difference to Stan, whether it was a novel or some Big Science Work. He was just a delivery guy.

The needed book was quickly found - Ford explained that books were sorted there by the author, and D was right where it should be. 

“The Vi… Vico… Vicomte”, Stanley quietly tried to repeat the title. “Braga… Brage… oh, the author’s French, yeah, that makes sense.. Did they forget to translate parts of the title or what?”

Well, that would be Ford’s problem. Still, Stan flipped through the book out of curiosity and then just stopped at some page and stared at the letters.

The letters that were readable without putting a book right near his face. 

‘I say that, in such a case, I bless and forgive you. If, on the other hand, you are come to restore me to that position in the sunshine of fortune and glory to which I was destined by Heaven…’

Oh, now he got Sixer’s displeasure. The difference between being used to living without glasses and actually having them was more than a sharp world and clear faces. There was also the painless way of reading more than a few lines, without squinting and being distracted by the efforts.

Stan flipped through some more pages and then returned his gaze to the shelf. Surely, Ford wouldn’t mind if his twin took some for himself? It wouldn’t hurt to have something else to do instead of just laying around in their room.

He pulled one book that spoke of the forts made from blankets and the faint shine of the flashlight. And it was not Stan's voice that started reading it in his mind, but that of his twin, thin and faint and not yet fully grown. 

‘Squire Trelawney, Dr. Livesey, and the rest of these gentlemen having asked me to write down the whole particulars about Treasure Island…’

***

“That’s actually quite familiar”, Fidds’ chuckles pulled out Stan from the arrival of Black Dog. He rapidly closed the book and stood up from his spot on the floor. 

“Yea, well, staying in character, you know”, Stan awkwardly coughed and tried to hide the other book under Dumas’ one. Fiddleford clearly noticed it (as he raised one eyebrow while following Stan’s actions with his gaze) but chose not to comment on it. “So, Fidds… Fiddleford”, Stan corrected himself after Fidds’ second raised eyebrow, “Shall we go?”

“After you”, Fidds made an inviting gesture, still clearly amused.

They went to the librarian, Stan checking out his two books under Stanford’s card and then Fidds doing the same with his own card. Stan glanced at his companion’s books: “Copper VS Aluminium: Choose Wisely”, “Waving from a distance: transmitters, receivers and everything in between” and “The Millenium Problem. We probably won’t be alive at that point”. Huh, and here Fidds was claiming not to be some genius too - Stan had no idea what any of those books were about. He looked at his books with gloom, suddenly feeling himself back in the classroom, small and insignificant near shining and praised Sixer.

He swallowed and turned away, rapidly exiting the library and ignoring Fidds’ surprised call.

Stan actually managed to get almost halfway to the dorms when his companion catched up to him.

“Hey… Stan…” Fidds was panting from running. “What… What happened?”

“Don’t mind it, it was nothing”, and it really was. It was nothing new, nothing worth noticing, nothing worth surprising. 

Stan would learn anew. He learned not to be jealous of Ford's genius mind, he would do it again with Fidds’.

Yet Fidds was still looking, with worry in his eyes, and it was stabbing right in the chest. Stan deeply inhaled and smiled:

“I just… I just feel really hungry! I was thinking, maybe you’ll show me around the kitchen? I would like to prepare something for you in return?”

Yes, back to the initial plan: help in any way he could. There was no need for jealousy, as long as Stan remembered his limits and actual place.

Fidds was still frowning with that piercing gaze, but then he sighed and nodded.

“Well, that could be actually useful: this way I won’t be worried about Stanford’s eating habits when I’m not around”.

“What, he still forgets it sometimes?”

“Sometimes? I wish. That fellow could remember every visible star in order of their distance, but left alone he would starve!” despite the change in topic Fidds’ eyes were still studying Stan, and the latter hid behind his impression of Stanford:

“I don’t have time for mere human food, Fiddleford! My mind is the only thing I’ll be feeding tonight!”

His plan worked, as Fidds started to laugh.

“Okay, let’s drop the books and if the kitchen is free, I’ll give you an introductory course”.

“Heh, that actually sounds a lot more exciting like this”, Stan smirked and noticed Fidds smiling even brighter for some reason. 

***

“Oh, they finally replaced it”.

Stanley hurried to catch up to his companion and saw him frowning at the poster taped to the fridge door. There was Fidds’ photo on it, crossed out, with large red letters of “No Fixing it by yourself!”.

“Oh, look, a Honor Roll”, Stan chuckled and got an irritated look in return. “What? If you think that’s not enough, I can steal it, frame it and put it in our room!”

“Do it, and I’ll tell Stanford not to let you out again”, Fiddleford glared with a clear threat in his voice.

Stan gulped. “You won’t do it!”

“Are you so sure that you want to try?” Fiddleford stared for some time more then suddenly smiled, and the change was even more disturbing. “Oh, I was joking. Don’t fret. So, anyway, the kitchen. You probably guessed, but everyone on the floor is using it, so…”

Stan paid close attention to the existing rules for storing products and marking the ownership, for using dishwares, cookwares and utensils, for working with the stove and everything else. There was actually nothing too specific and could be summarised as “don’t touch if it’s labeled, clean after use, don’t try to prepare anything non-edible”. The most detailed rule was the one concerning mugs, as more than a half of them were under a strict ownership and using someone else’s one could become a reason for serious quarrels and even some “dorm wars”. So Stan took a special note of remembering Ford’s and Fidds’ ones, as he actually saw them a few times: the black one with green UFO and white one with blue atom. And he noticed the blue one with BMU’s chest that he himself used for all those days. Well, not the one he would choose for himself, but it was just a mug.

“So, Stan, what can you prepare?” Fidds meanwhile looked through the fridge and cupboards taking stock of their options. “Currently we have some pasta, two cans of beans, a bit of bread and… Actually, that’s all. So if you want to do something specific, someone would need to go to the store”.

Stan blinked. “Oh, I can do pasta… I think. Boil some water and pour it into the bowl with the needed amount, right?” Not right, judging by the pure horror in Fidds’ eyes. “Oh, and don’t forget to add some salt!”

“Oh boy”, Fiddleford mumbled and loudly exhaled. “Right. I don’t know why I expected… No matter. Stay here or go to your brother. I’ll go to the store and after that will walk you through the process.”

And Stan was left alone. Nice, he was now able to be a disappointment even when trying to be useful. They should’ve made a poster with his ugly mug and without two last words.

***

Stanford Pines perfectly knew that sometimes he could be engrossed in such a way, that nothing short of the real end of the world could draw him out. But knowing it and doing something about it were not the same thing.

And his friend with time just learned to go with this, getting him coffee or food until Stanford was done with his round of whatever catched his interest this time.

So Stanford just glanced at the plate of pasta and without looking at it closer just took a bite while still copying a needed quote from a textbook.

Probably he should have looked as he immediately started coughing. Usually Stanford didn't pay attention to what he was eating, so there were numerous times ended in arguments, of Fiddleford trying some new complicated dish and Stanford just not noticing anything in taste. 

So for it to finally be the food that made Stanford aware of its taste, it had to be phenomenal. Phenomenally awful!

“What is it?!” Stanford poked at the overcooked pieces with a fork. Well, at least there was some sort of sauce poured over, but it didn't hide the texture falling apart or the clearly overused amount of salt. Well, the sauce at least was somewhat nice, but the chunks of tomato there were uneven and that really unnerved him. “Fiddleford, were you distracted or something?”

“Stanford…” there was a clear warning in his friend's voice from behind him. However Stanford didn't pay enough attention to it.

“I mean it wasn't as bad even when you started to cook, so it's really surprising. Was the stove broken or…”

“Stanford!” oh, that was the Voice.

After all these years Stanford had a quite adequate understanding of his friend. He was brilliant and passionate, sometimes exactly as Stanford himself, sometimes in completely different ways. He was observant, patient and rather polite. And some of their peers often made a mistake of thinking it meant that Fiddleford could tolerate anything.

Fiddleford did tolerate nothing. He either liked (or loved) something and treated it correspondingly. Or he didn't really care about it and just played along out of some idea of decency. Well, sometimes Fiddleford could close his eyes and ignore something, but it usually was in relation to something from the first two points (usually to Stanford).

But if something besides that managed to cross over the line of Fiddleford’s patience, ignoring or readiness to play along… Let's just say, his friend was ruthless. 

And not only “making huge metal contraptions to seek and destroy some propriety” - that was reserved only for special cases. No, usually Fiddleford had to resort to his words or - rarely - to his fists, to make his attitude known. And in most of the cases it was enough.

But to be fair, Stanford witnessed it only from a side, and never towards himself.

Until this very moment.

Stanford froze and slowly turned around, meeting his friend's narrowed and burning gaze. Oh crap. It really was Pissed Off Fiddleford. But what did he say to bring out this reaction? Fiddleford had to be used to him not being appreciative enough of the food, it was nothing new and…

Fiddleford slowly nodded to the side, and Stanford obediently followed the line with his eyes. Oh… Oh crap, That Was Bad!

Up till now Stanford didn't really pay attention to a memory of his two companions declaring to be making some food together. But recalling it and seeing Stanley - still wearing his clothes and glasses and having his hairstyle - hunched over his own plate and staring dumbly at the floor made it all click.

“I… I mean…” Stanford hurried to find words to rectify his previous ones. “This is still rather good! The sauce was… I liked it actually! Was it your first…?”

“Huh, don't bother”, Stanley exhaled deeply and turned away. “I knew it was bad. Should've just thrown it out and never tried to save it.”

Stanford looked back at his friend for advice but just got a glare in response. Understandable: Stanford broke it, Stanford should be the one to fix it. He rapidly stood up and sat beside his twin.

“Stanley, I'm sorry! I didn't know it was…”

“It doesn't matter”, Stanley put away his plate and just messed up his hair. “Don't worry, I won't try again. Sorry for just wasting it…”

Stanford sighed and tried to come up with anything. It was his brother, who tried and failed, and instead of being supportive, Stanford just mercilessly criticised it. Even if he thought it was Fiddleford’s creation, he still shouldn't have done it. 

He had to fix it somehow, Stanley did try his best after all! Stanley always put his all into his doings!

“Stanley, please! It was only one mistake! Wasn't it your first try?” Stanford put his hand over Stanley’s, luckily not hidden by gloves anymore. “Everyone fails at their first try! Fidds actually managed to burn a pan once! And it was not even his first try!”

“Yes, that happened!” Fiddleford's voice, addressed to Stanley, lost his threatening edge and was more like Stanford's own, with some pleading. ”And Stanford at his first time making coffee vaporized all the liquid and it was some sort of bitter biscuit!”

Stanley humorlessly chuckled and stood up, taking his plate with him. “Appreciate your efforts, nerds, but I bet no one could make it worse than me. So yeah, I'll go and just throw it out…”

Stanford spoke on some long-forgotten instinct. “Bet I could make it worse!” 

“What?” Fiddleford choked behind him, but Stanford only tracked his twin's reaction, who froze and just blinked several times.

“If I win, you'll continue trying. If you win, I’ll eat the entire portion of your pasta!” Stanford held out his hand without giving Stanley even a second to think about the slight unfairness of the terms. To his luck, his twin was too surprised and continued to stare without any movement. So Stanford just took Stanley’s hand and shook it by himself. “A pleasure to make business with you! I'll be quick!”

Pausing only before Fiddleford's desk and taking one tool of his, he made a swift way to a kitchen.

It took Stanford several minutes to make truly a masterpiece, that he dumped in a bowl and took it back with him.

“Behold!” Stanford placed the bowl in his twin's hands. “Try it!”

Although he was trying to grin wildly, he was definitely nervous on the inside. Did he mess with it enough or maybe he went with it too far? Would Stanley even accept it as he did with any bet or would he think Stanford was mocking him again? Oh god, he should have thought more about…

“That's awful!” Stanley cried after a first bite, with a slight amazement in his tone. “It’s burnt and undercooked at the same time! What did you do?!”

Stanford wordlessly took out a blowtorch from behind his back and spinned it between his fingers.

“You could say I flambéfied it”, he grinned. “I even added some sugar to make a crust!”

Stanley actually choked while laughing, and Stanford had to throw the blowtorch to its rightful owner so he could whack his twin on the back to prevent suffocation.

“So, did I win?” Stanford quietly asked when his brother stopped coughing.

At that Stanley glanced at him with a thoughtful expression and then softly smiled: “Yes, no doubts at that”.

Stanford exhaled in relief and smiled: “Good, then I’ll look forward to your next try”. He patted his twin on a shoulder and got a grin in return. So he stood up and turned to his desk with the intention of finishing his own portion of overcooked dish, when he saw Fiddleford’s expression.

His friend was clutching his blowtorch to his chest, and on his face there was a fascinating mix of astonishment and disgust.

“What?” Stanford giggled at that. “Do you want to try it too?”

“From now on you’re forever banned from cooking”.

And Stanley started to guffaw once again.

***

The next morning Stanford tried to summon some encouragement at the sight of scrambled eggs with an unholy amount of pepper over it. He took a bite and felt some eggshells being chewed with it.

“So, how was it?” Stan was nearly vibrating while waiting for their reactions.

“Good, but go easy on the spices next time”, Fiddleford’s voice was a bit pained, yet he still tried to smile.

“But not on the salt”, Stanford finally tasted something besides pepper - a near total absence of those white crystals. “And yet you did a good job with it!”

Curious, but when Stanley beamed with pride, the actual taste improved and even the eggshells stopped to bother him.

Chapter Text

“Ford, I’m off!” Stanley waited until the fluffed head of his twin gave a distinct nod and made his way out of the room.

Well, the last few days weren't so bad: he was finally deemed as making a passable enough impression, so he was free to roam around campus. Unless he spent more than two hours or decided to go near classrooms, labs or administration. But as Stan had no clue what to do there, he himself was not really interested in those buildings. The threat of having to face disappointed Ford and/or Fidds had nothing to do with it.

But there was a small problem. Stan had no actual clue what to do on the parts that weren't forbidden. He visited the library once and still was not done with his one book.

The gym was something more to his liking, but actually doing stuff there would require to lose his gloves, and so Stan dared to actually blow off some steam there only late at night, where there were no other students. That led to the unforeseen consequence of being too hyped up to sleep for half of a night, and having to just sit in the kitchen… and actually reading for having nothing else to do! That was actually a nice place for almost enjoying reading, as there was no Sixer who started to look really funny at sight of Stan holding the book and who kept asking whether he enjoyed it and what other books he liked. So far he encountered only a tired RA for a few times who just looked at him, deeply sighed and went away.

There was another place that Stan liked to visit. It was the storage with his baby there, his El Diablo, his Stanleymobile, that was just resting there and waiting for her hour. For their hour to go somewhere for one more time.

The very first day there Stan thought that hour would come very soon, and yet didn't have any actual idea of his next destination.

And as the days started to flow, he actually could imagine some places as the next stop, some plans to get some needed money (first for Rico, then for Father), but now he just … hadn't felt the need. 

Ford actually wanted him here. Ford forgiven him and even created an opportunity for Stan to stay here.

Ford possibly didn't even understand what it meant for Stan, how he actually saved Stan by making him just… disappear for a bit as Stanley. No one knew where he was, no one would think to look for him here, and so he had to just wait it out. Ford had some plans of moving to some Gravity Falls in just a few months, as soon as he made his Big Presentation and got the money. And Ford didn't hide his intentions to bring Stan with him.

And Stan didn't mind. It was another destination with no connection to him, so no one would think to look for him there too. It would be perfect - Ford would do his studies, and Stan would just… do some stuff to help? 

That seemed like a dream come true. Stan just had to keep laying low and not to break anything this time.

***

There was one thing that really baffled Stan at campus. And that was people.

When Stanford made a great deal of Stan memorising the most notable people there and how to recognise them, Stan was sure that from now on he would have to move from one talk to another, trying not to let his real identity out.

And yet… No one really came to Stanford. And to Fakeford too. Besides some greetings and goodbyes his longest conversation was with a store keeper who was angry at Fakeford shaking every bag of jellybeans in an attempt to find the one with the most oddly-shaped ones by sound (he managed to find one with four!).

Oh, there was one other conversation, with some professor of his (the one for Advanced Calculus), that just smiled at Fakeford, said something about how they were all awaiting his “little project” and left.

It could actually make sense when he was with Fidds: two students clearly in conversation were not so easy to approach. But when he was alone - surely there were some people who would like to talk to Sixer? He was brilliant and fun and he was actually in place of the same kind of smartness! He should be basking in attention and fame!

And yet Ford preferred the solitude of his room or the book sanctuary. And everyone just stared at Fakeford without actually trying to get close.

Jeez, Sixer, if you wanted to be some hermit, you could've just stayed home. You didn't have to find some hermit college for it!

***

Stan plunged the spoon in the mix and tried to decide whether he needed some more floor or it was finally the right amount. The spoon dropped slightly slower this time, so Stan decided it to be enough…

“What's up, Freak? Your Farmer friend finally decided to stop feeding you?”

Stan’s brain shortcircuited.

“What did you just say?” 

Only having turned around and seeing a dark-haired guy of his age (Zak, his memorised notes supplied), Stan actually remembered that this time it was not addressed to his brother at his side, it was addressed to his brother who was currently him.

Zak clearly was startled, but tried to compose himself and just shrugged.

“Are you deaf or something now too? I said, Freak, what are you….”

Stan had to tread carefully. Ford mentioned that Zak should be just left alone, as he was the son of some teacher here. So he should just ignore him, go back to mixing and pray that Zak would go away as usual after bothering for some time.

Ford just didn't mention the insults.

No one could call Ford That and be getting with it. Stan actually prided himself back in their youth of letting exactly zero of F-words be spoken without some kind of retribution. And today would not be the day to start counting.

Well, sadly, fighting was actually out of the menu - there could be evidence left, and it would be actually Ford to blame. That meant that Stan had to just find another way to make someone regret his words.

“So, you’re just keep calling me that, and I just keep wondering”, Stan had to keep a tight control over his Fakeford expression and not to start bristling. “Did you forget my name and now are just too ashamed to admit it?”

Zak paused and then started to laugh. “Oh nice! The little Freak finally grew out some fangs! I think I'm impressed. So what, you gonna chew me with them or will you claw me with those monstrous fingers of yours…”

“Oh, there's something definitely monstrous in this room, but not me”.

“What did you say?” Zak’s eyes frowned with a threat, but Stanley refused to be intimidated by the likes of him.

“Oh, nothing much”, Stan shrugged. “Only that all your jealousy doesn't paint you as a real cool guy”.

“Are you out of my mind? What jealousy?”

“You tell me”, Stan smirked. “You are insulting me, not the otter way round. Is it my brain, my awesome looks… Or...” he made a theatrical pause before continuing, “are that my fingers that you are so eager to mention?”

“What?!” Zak shrieked. “Me? Jealous of your ugly fingers?! Who even would be jealous of them anyway?! What for?!”

Stan was jealous once.

“Oh, I don't know… Maybe you just can't stand the fact that I'm two fingers more than you? That I can grab more than you?..”

That he could make even cooler shadow figures, that he could measure time longer for one count (or even for two), that his patting was special, that his hand was larger and safer, that he could give middle finger and get away with it claiming it was not really a middle… 

“..That I'm extraordinary and you are just a plain boring guy, who can only insult for it?” Stan shrugged away his memories and smirked at Zak, who was definitely furious, but not saying anything back. “What, finally got that I'm right?”

“You always think you are right, Pines”, Zak gritted through his teeth and made his way to the cupboard. “You just don't know how to be wrong”.

Huh? What? That didn't make any sense!

Zak meanwhile grabbed one of the mugs (Stanley made a quick notice of the red color) and without adding anything else left the kitchen.

Stan shrugged and turned back to mixing soon-to-be pancakes. Well, judging by their talk, Zak was just another bully. Nothing he couldn’t deal with. Yet it wouldn't hurt to come up with some other plan in case Zak tried to do something worse. 

But first - dinner!

***

“Oh hell, not again!” Stan thought about leaving the plate with pancakes on the floor and just fleeing until it was too late.

Both his nerds looked up from setting up the playing field and stared at him with four bright eyes (eight if one would count all the glasses).

“Please, Stanley, we still have a few quests from last time!” and Ford even had the audacity to smile when the last time he spent half of the time bitching about authenticity and continuity and not using lasers against dragons.

“Yes, we need your skills!” Fidds nodded and patted the spot between him and Sixer. “And you clearly liked it last time!”

Stan grumpled his protest and locked the door behind him. He sat down on the offered spot and put the plate right in the middle of the playing field, ignoring twin cries of sorrow.

“It's the last time, you hear me?” he took the figurine that symbolized his rogue and put it on the field. “And eat before it gets cold!”

His nerds both had the audacity to laugh at his declaration, although they still took one pancake each and bit into it.

“Is it hair?” Ford frowned, taking one from his bitten piece.

“Erm, no?” 

Ford squinted with suspicion, but still ate the rest after pulling out some more hair. And then grabbed another pancake.

Stan looked at Fidds for his opinion and the latter just nodded while chewing his seconds.

At that Stan finally took one for himself and tried it too. Well, probably should leave it on the pan for some more next time. And maybe add something besides sugar? But it was passable, almost on par with Fidds' cooking. 

Stan smiled in relief. Look at that, trying really made it better!

“Okay, Sixer, what your nerdy mind got for us this time?”

Ford swallowed his current pancake and took out his notes, flipping through it for some time.

“Well, where we were…” he coughed a bit and looked over at his companions with a huge smile. “So, the Lord of the Trees, mighty Woodashious and his otherworldly friend, Andrew-Nimble-Fingers went back to the tavern, looking forward to the well-deserved rest after claiming victory over the Great Dragon of South-South-East! But - alas! Woodashious notices on his way… Fiddleford, check for perception, please!”

Fidds rolled some dice then checked their value and went to scribble on his notebook. After a minute or so Fidds was finished: “26.4 with the still activated effect of Dragon Blessing from the last round”.

Sixer nodded and checked out some point in his own notebook.

“Good. Woodashious notices a burned tree, but what's really peculiar about it - the smell! It's not a smell of burned wood, it's the smell of sulfur, ozone and…”

***

“Stanley, wake up! It's your turn to roll!” Stan felt being shaken and slowly blinked. Wow, he only closed his eyes for a second... Did he really fall asleep?

“Argh, what am I rolling for?” Stan rubbed his eyes and shook his head.

“Resistance to mental invasion, you’ll need d38 and…” Ford was already holding out the needed dice, while Fidds was twirling his pen in preparation for calculating the final result.

“What? What mental invasion? We were just checking that abandoned camp! Did I nap for a week or so?”

Fidds chuckled. “He actually just described it. We found an old diary, and the previous owner was hunted by abysmal fairies who made everyone relieve their worst nightmares. Woodashious just got stuck in the neverending field with singing dolphins…”

“How's that a worst nightmare?”

“They are singing Heavy Metal”.

Stan chuckled and took the offered dice. “Okay, hit me”, he rolled them and noticed to his delight that the resulting numbers were quite high. Although that didn't mean anything yet - the following calculations made it pointless to try to guess the results by the roll alone.

Fidds actually smirked when finished and showed the result to Ford, who matched his expression. Stan didn't like it.

“Well, I'm sorry to say it, Stanley”, Sixer tried to make his voice be more somber, but was critically failing at that. “Andrew’s already tired mind is no match for centuries-old magic. He is trying to resist, but despite every struggle he is still drowning in the darkest corner of his mind, not just in the worst nightmare, but in the Darkest, Hopeless, Lightless Nightmare!” Ford even wiggled his fingers a bit in dramatic nature. “Please describe what Andrew is seeing”.

Stan sighed with overexaggeration and closed his eyes. “The worst nightmare, huh? Easy. Andrew opened his eyes and saw nothing. Completely nothing. No family, no friends. No one, because he disappointed them. No one, because he failed them. Nothing, because he had no way to return home. Nothing, because everything he touches is doomed to disappear…” by the end he felt his throat stuffed, and he hunched over his knees, hugging them for comfort.

There was silence at first, but then there was a presence near him. Both of his nerds sat at both of his sides, pressing closely. There were six fingers slowly threading his hair and another hand, with five, just laying on his shoulder.

There was some coughing from Sixer’s side. “... Stan…”

“It's not mine, it's Andrew's…” Stan mumbled, embarrassed by his vulnerability. “I'm not having such dreams whatsoever!”

There was silence once again, but Stan just imagined both nerds throwing some looks one to another. Well, whatever. That was quite a nice position, being surrounded and just staying like this…

And then Ford coughed again and started with his DM-ing voice.

“...Andrew is submerged in the darkness, when suddenly he notices a light before him…”

“A light?” Stan snorted. “You said it was the Lightless…”

“Shh, don't interrupt”, the hand in his hair tightened a bit in a warning and went back to stroking. “...It is a mirrored silhouette of Andrew himself. Andrew watches as it approaches and offers his hand. And as he takes it he's reminded of his loved ones, left in his home dimension, of his twin brother…”

“Andrew doesn't have a twin brother!” 

“Well, too bad, you didn't know, but there was one! And that brother is missing Andrew and would do anything to see him again!”

“And don't forget the mighty Woodashious”, Fidds took initiative too, while Stan just giggled, “They totally are trusty companions now! And while he's a little bit occupied by singing dolphins, he mentally offers his support too!”

Stan chuckled and wiped his eyes before opening them. Both of his nerds were watching him with concern and undeniable warmth. 

And Sixer had to ruin this moment.

“Stan”, he coughed, “You are not a disappointment and nothing you touch is doomed. You shouldn't…”

“I said it doesn't concern me, I was in character!” Stan shook nerds’ hands from him and stretched. “So, okay, back in business. What can I roll to escape this Darkness of Dread? And preferably so I could also punch someone at last?”

There was another Silent Nerd to Nerd communication, and Sixer sighed:

“Roll for initiative, Fiddleford, you too”.

They both made throws and then Fidds calculated them. Ford glanced at the results and nodded with relief. 

“So, you both are resisting so hard against your nightmares that they are merged, and you are reunited in the darker field full of singing dolphins…”

“I roll to punch the closest to me!”

***

“Stan, are you sleeping?” there was a whisper from above.

Stan groaned and turned away in his sleeping bag. “Yes, leave me alone”.

“Stan… I'm sorry for asking about your…”

“How many times do I need to repeat? I was roleplaying! That thing you two like so much!” Stan rolled on his back and glared at his twin, who was laying on his bed and staring at him. It was a bit harder to judge his expression in the dark, but Stan could just imagine him frowning in concern.

“Right”, Sixer sighed. They both kept quiet for a bit, but then Ford continued: “Do you know the definition of ‘to disappoint’?”

“What? You're now taking jabs at my vocabulary?!” Stan sat up, feeling no longer the lure of sleep.

“Shh! You'll wake Fiddleford!...”

“Don't worry, I'm not sleeping…”

“...And I'm not trying to ridicule you!” Ford motioned for him to lay down. “To disappoint is to make someone unhappy by not being as good as expected or by not doing something that was expected”

“Right”, Stan laid down and closed his eyes. “That's what I'm always doing, making you unhappy, Ma, Father, everyone…”

“So would you disappoint me by not flying to the moon right this second?”

What?

“What? Why would I do it? And how?” Stan stared at his twin without understanding. “That's some stupid example!”

“And by not composing some song on a banjo?”

“He would disappoint me”, their neighbour whispered from under his pillow.

“No! Why would anyone expect me to play banjo? That's stupid…” Stan really was thinking his twin was halfway to sleep, there was just no sense…

“Exactly!” Ford sat down and turned to hunch over Stan’s position on the floor. “Why was anyone expecting something of you?”

Ouch, that hurt.

“Didn't sound so nice as how you possibly thought”, there was the mumbling from another bed. 

“Oh, right”, Stanford exhaled. “I mean, were there even fair expectations? I shouldn't have expected you to be alright with my decisions. Father shouldn't have expected us to be the same and he shouldn't have expected you to just start living on your own…”

“So what, I don't deserve any expectation?” Stan tried to hide the tightness of his throat. “I know I can't measure to your brain, but…”

“First and foremost, I expect you to still be my brother”, Ford’s hand found his way to Stan’s one and grabbed it. “I expect you to ask for help when you need it and to give help when I ask you. And with a slight exception in the past you're doing well at that!”

Stan chuckled and tightened his hand in response. Ford felt it and continued:

“I expect you to stay with me until we sort everything out and then to find a suitable way for you too. Also I would like you not to fall asleep while we're playing, but I think that's too much of an expectation!”

“Heh, that sounds fair”, Stan closed his eyes and intertwined their fingers like in childhood. “I even think I can actually do it. All of it”.

“Good”, Ford chuckled above him in relief. “I don't care about what everyone else thinks, but you're not a disappointment to me, Stan. Please believe it”.

“Noted”, Stan felt Sixer’s displeasure at his short reply and smiled. 

They both were silent, until Ford continued once again:

“I'm really sorry, it's just the last time when we played, you were really immersed and I was overjoyed you liked it. And today, when you nodded off, I wanted to shake you up a bit, to make you more invested…”

“Yeah, sorry about that. Guess all this finding clues in burned mushrooms and hundred types of dirt is not really my style. Especially when you’re only one step away of describing it by its botanical names. I mean I get that's normal for you two geniuses, but I'd like some more of the earlier stuff. Dragons, treasure, shipwrecks! And I'm still hoping you'll get to that political uprising in the making, I'm really curious about it!”

“Huh? What uprising?”

“In the market village! You said in the beginning, that the taxes were raised, and there was that old lady…”

“Baggalind?”

“Yes, her! When we talked to her, she mentioned preparing a big surprise for the mayor…”

“...for his birthday?”

“...and the guards were sluggish, while there was a shortage in sleeping pills! I know there was a thief who stole them for a bounty, but think about it - reeeaaaally think about it! Do we even know who placed that bounty?” Stan wiggled the finders of his free hand. “The only thing I'm still not certain is whether the old lady is related to the mayor or if it was her late husband…”

“Holy shit”, there was surprise in Fidds' voice, and Stan opened one eye to see him sitting upright and staring at him. Stan turned his head and noticed that Ford was deep in thoughts.

“What? That's clearly more interesting than your dumb mushrooms! We could even buy a scroll of Dead Man Talking and make the late husband testify!”

“Stan”, Ford tugged on their still intertwined hands to get his attention. “Do you want to try being the Master next time we play?”

***

“So, Fiddlenerd, that's your lab. It's nice!”

Fiddleford screamed from being startled and sent his current scheme flying into the wall.

He mournfully watched its parts scattering all around his work table, heavily exhaled and turned to the cause of it.

Stanley (in his ‘Stanford’ disguise) was pale in his face and tightly gripped the door handle.

“I… I…”

Fiddleford groaned and put away the screwdriver. “You and your brother clearly don't know the meaning of the ‘don’t disturb’ sign. Should I just paint the door red? Or maybe the wielded shut door would be a large enough hint?”

He expected Stanley to get with his own quip in return, but the latter was still lost, and his expression was actually more close to the panicking one. 

Ah, right, that incident. He could deal with that.

“In cases like that you should say ‘sorry’, then I would either say that it's no big worry or how you can help me to fix it.” There were actually another five ways of reacting in cases where the consequences were more tragic, but mentioning that would be counterproductive.

Stanley gulped and stared at him. “So, is that ‘no worry’ or ‘we can fix it’?”

“Ah-ah-ah”, Fiddleford smirked and sat on the edge of the table, crossing his arms before him. “You got the sequence wrong, start over”.

His companion actually had the audacity to roll his eyes before muttering something like ‘imsorry’.

“Did you say something?” Fiddleford made a show of checking his nails, although some of the effect probably was lost because of the darkish oil covering most of his hands. 

“I said I'm sorry!” Stanley nearly shouted and crossed his arms too. “Happy now?”

Jeez, and Fiddleford once wondered how they managed to spend four years not speaking. Small part of him already wanted to hit his new friend. Stanford of four years ago, freshly denied of his dream, probably didn't stand a chance.

Still, Fiddleford exhaled and looked at Stanley.

“Almost. If you'll agree to some rules. Never disturb me when there's any tool in my hand. Be triple careful in any kind of lab…” he thought a bit about how to formulate the next one. “And do not be afraid of me. Or of your brother”.

“Huh?” Stanley blinked in surprise. “What do you mean?”

Fiddleford checked the table next to him, deemed it safe from any important parts or tools and patted that space. Stanley hesitantly approached and sat there.

“Right now, you were afraid. Can you tell me why or should I guess?”

“I think you're smart enough to know it”, Stanley hunched and looked away. “And Ford definitely told you all about it…”

“One day I would like to hear your own account of it”, Fiddleford sighed. “But that's not for now. I'm guessing you were afraid of my reaction. Did you think that I'll start shouting and blaming you?”

“Why not? It was my fault…”

“And your first thought was not about the damage or my feelings. It was about preparing yourself for my reaction, wasn't it?”

Stanley clearly was going to object, even opening his mouth and taking a breath, but then just deflated.

“That sounds even worse somehow…”

Fiddleford patted his friend on his spine and frowned, seeing oily spots afterwards. “Do you really think of me as someone so cruel to start blaming you without listening?”

“Well…” Stanley humorlessly chuckled, “You did raise your voice at Ford that time… But no. I don't think so”.

“Then why were you afraid of something you don't think is true?” and Fiddleford knew exactly why. Knew because the answer was in the way Stanford still was adamant that his only worth were his grades and future accomplishments. It was in the way the older twin didn't want to visit his hometown after graduating. It was in the way Stanley continued to treat his stay here as a burden rather than a genuine help. It was in the way the younger twin didn't have a clear answer of what he wanted in any time perspective.

The answer was in the name of that one bot that was waiting for its finishing touch and the right opportunity. And if the latter wouldn't arise, Fiddleford would create it.

But that was somewhere in the future. And right now there was Stanley, who was staring at the floor with loss. Fiddleford was hoping that his friend knew the answer too. 

“You should have more trust in me”, he said instead. “Trust me to give you a chance to explain. Trust your brother to care for you and give it to you too”.

Stanley chuckled. “Yeah, funny story. He actually gave it to me then and I blew it. If I only told him…”

“And that's why that trust should be mutual. Can I trust you to treat my feelings properly? To know when you hurt me and to do something about it? Can Stanford trust you with that too from now on?”

“And you say you're not a genius”, Stanley sighed and stared at the ceiling. “I can't promise it. I can try it. I really will try it”.

Fiddleford smiled and patted his friend on a shoulder, this time remembering to wipe his hand on his pants before. “I think that's good enough. And don't forget to tell Stanford that too”.

“Oh, I'm sure he knows it already…”

Did he? Fiddleford had doubts. “I think he would be glad to hear it from you too”.

Stanley sighed and nodded. “Okay, you win. I'll tell him”.

“Good boy”, Fiddleford smiled with relief and waited for a possibly great reaction.

Pause. And…

“What did you call me?!” Stanley jumped to his feet and turned to stare at him with indignation. “Don't… You're not my mom to say it! I’m not!”

“What? Don't you deserve a little praise for behaving so well?” Fiddleford couldn't stop himself any more and started to cackle.

“Argh! I take everything nice I ever said about you! You're the worst guy ever!” the way enraged Stanley was pacing and throwing his hands in the air was definitely priceless.

“That's… Not something… a good boy… should say!” Fiddleford had trouble saying anything between bouts of laughter. 

“Stop laughing!” Stanley pointed his gloved finger at him. “And don't call me that! Or I'll tell Ford about it!”

That made Fiddleford recall the scene of some days ago when Stanford was patting his twin on the head. And that was all it took to make Fiddleford collapse on the floor from laughter.

Not a good boy, he said. What a joker.

***

“I already apologised, Stanley! Stop pouting!” Fiddleford still had to fight his amusement, this time at the way Stanley was sitting in a chair in some imitation of a ruffled owl.

“I'm not pouting! And for all this talk about respecting feelings, you are not really thinking of mine!”

“You're right, actually”, Fiddleford took some effort, but still managed to deal with his desire to smile. “So, did you have some purpose for visiting me or… How did you find where I am?”

“Kinda easy”, Stanley waved his hand at the nearest wall. “That's the one that's looking like there was a recent fire. And I actually checked all of them out of curiosity. Did you know that there’s some garden in the fifth?...”

“Was there any trouble? Did anyone offer to participate in their projects?” Fiddleford was slightly worried about that. 

“Nope, no one even noticed me, I think”, Stanley rolled his eyes. “And Stanford made me promise I won't enter any of them”.

Fiddleford stared at his friend with a raised eyebrow.

“What? I didn't enter any of them!”

“And this one?”

“This one doesn't count!”

“Right. Back to my question?”

“Which one?” Stanley grinned and shrugged. “Stop with your judging stares, I got it, okay? I wanted to talk to you. Without Sixer knowing”.

And that sounded serious.

“What about?” Fiddleford took another chair and dragged it to the one occupied by his friend.

“What's the deal between him and Zak?”

Curious.

“So, finally met him?”

“Something like that. Ford didn’t mention the name-calling”.

“Ah”, come to think of it: did he see Zak the last few days? Although Stanley for all his talk didn’t really seem like a guy capable of making someone disappear. “And what happened?”

“Nothing much. He insulted Sixer, I insulted him back, and so far nothing more”, his friend drummed his fingers on his knee. “I get the feeling that it’s not something recent. So why are you ignoring him? Is his dad or whatever really such a big deal?”

Fiddleford sighed.

“Yes, and they are at an impasse because of it. We can't really deal with Zak because his father is in the Board, and he can't really do anything to us because the Board needs our success for the reports.”

“So what are his reasons? Why is he hating Ford so much?”

“Some people don't need reasons”, Fiddleford gritted through his teeth. “Ford just had some classes with him at first, and Zak went jealous. I don't really remember him from our first year, but during the second and after he took every moment to try and get under Stanford’s skin. It wasn't at first even about his… peculiarity, but as soon as Zak got that targeting it specifically really dealt some damage to Stanford… Well, you know the rest.”

“So what, you're Ford’s friend! You should've do something!” Stanley really bristled at that point, but Fiddleford was irritated too at the implication.

“And I did! Why do you think I can't build now anything higher than me? Because that was his father’s decision, after I sent one or two Bots after Zak. Believe me, the only way he is only doing the verbal is because I hard punched him when he went and put posters of shame everywhere on the campus. They nearly expelled me for that, but luckily I already won some awards for my works.”

Oh, and he just remembered how after going back after some hours long shouting session with the Board, Stanford spent another two shouting how it wasn't worth it. Their first big dispute, after which they didn't talk for a month, trying to pass all required messages by glares only. Not their finest moment.

“It's not fair”, Stanley sighed. “Sixer wanted to go studying because he wanted to be in place he would be understood and welcomed”.

“Yeah”, Fiddleford sighed in agreement. In that sense Stanford and he were too similar. He too was hopeful for new friends with same motivations, but aside from Stanford he never managed to succeed. Well, at least he was sometimes approached for some help or advice, but he too got his share of insults…

“So, what can we do to Zak that won't get you two expelled?” Stanley looked at him with serious intent.

…Come to think of it, now he had another friend! Fiddleford chuckled and searched his brain for ideas.

“Well, I already discarded beating him up, building robots, messing with his mugs… Stanley?”

His friend was frowning, seemingly deep in thought. Then he looked up at Fiddleford.

“You are forbidden to build anything higher then 5 feet tall. Any restrictions about lesser size?”

“You have something on your mind?”

And Stanley smirked.

***

Stan sighed and looked around as they left Fidds' lab. It was way darker than he expected.

Well, they really got into revenge planning, didn't they? But if Fidds' would find a way to implement Stan’s idea, Zak would get what he deserved and they all would be in the clear.

“So, do you think Ford would be really mad that I overstayed outside?” Stanley looked at Fidds hoping for some reassurance.

“Depends”, Fidds shrugged. “If luck is on your side, he didn't even notice you were gone. But then he could be mad that he asked you something and you didn't reply”.

Stanley chuckled in a way of responding, and they continued their way in silence, trying to spot any bird for future reference.

After some minutes Stan felt an intent gaze on him and turned to track its source. It was some girl clutching a stack of papers in her hand. She looked nervously at them and immediately dropped her gaze when she noticed him looking back. Stan stopped and grinned. Hey, new interactions! Hopefully without insults this time!

He motioned to Fidds to wait and went to the girl, styling his expression into one of thoughtful curiosity.

“Can I help you?” Please let it be a crush, please let it be a crush - Sixer never would be able to escape his teasings! Or even Fidds, if he was the target.

The girl was actually startled and looked him over in unease.

“W-well… I wanted to give you and McGucket our survey lists, to fill it out, but you probably would find it too boring…”

Bah, should've known. Still, Stan considered himself some kind of gentleman (when convenient) and held out his hand.

“Fine, give it to me, we'll do it”.

The surprise in the girl's eyes was even more surprising, but she gave him two lists and nervously took a few steps back. “Just… I'm usually at the library, you can find me there when you've finished with them”.

Stan looked over and internally groaned. Oh, some school questions. What was the capital, what was the number, bla bla bla. Still, he nodded at the girl and went back to Fidds who was waiting for him with a raised eyebrow.

“What did Patricia want this time?”

“Dunno, it's for you and Sixer, deal with it”, Stan shoved the lists at Fidds' chest.

The latter took the papers and looked at them. And groaned too, externally. “Again with her surveys? Stan, please, next time just don't bother”.

Stan winced. Did he do something wrong? “Well, sorry, I promised…”

Fidds only sighed and shook his head. “Fine, it's nothing complicated anyway”.

They finally reached the dorm and without meeting anyone went to the room.

Sixer glanced at them from reading on his bed. “Huh, had a feeling you were together. Any problems?”

“Nope, just showed Stanley my lab”.

“Yes, it was really awesome!” Stan giggled from excitement. “I never saw this many unfinished projects! Or even finished ones…”

Ford chuckled: “You just didn't see his secret storage. That’s where he keeps his banned creations…”

“Stanford!” Fidds grasped in fake betrayal. “You just ruined the first impression! Now he knows what to expect…!”

Ford just laughed in response, and Stan joined him. Secret storage? Banned stuff? And Fidds even wanted to show it to him? That sounded…

“And what's that?” Ford noticed the papers in Fidds' hand.

“Ah, Patricia’s survey. She caught Stanley, and I forgot to warn him”.

“Argh, do we have now to fill them?” Stanford groaned and motioned at his desk. “Leave it there, I'll do it tomorrow. Do you want me to fill yours?”

“Nah, I looked it over. It's really basic stuff. Even Stanley could do it…”

All the good mood from before vanished. Even… 

“So easy? Then it shouldn't take more than ten minutes, good. Who would want to waste time on that?”

They both chuckled, while Fiddleford went to his wardrobe to change his clothes. And Ford went back to reading.

Even Stanley?

“Excuse me, I forgot something in the library”, Stan waited until Ford absentmindedly nodded, and took off.

He found Patricia not too far from her initial place and approached her.

“Excuse me, but can I have another list? I accidentally spilled coffee on one”.

She giggled, but quickly stopped herself and gave another one. Stan nodded in his thanks and took off in search of somewhere to look it over. He found some remote bench with a streetlight near it and sat there.

“Survey of General Knowledge of Backupsmore students, years 4-5”.

First question: the atomic number of Oxygen?

O like Zero?

Second: the capital of Portugal?

Ha! He knew that, Lisbon, he researched it when thinking about their Stan-o-War journey.

Third: the meaning of ‘sfz’ in musical notation?

Ern… Safe For Zebras? What the hell was musical notation?

Fourth: the place of birth of Napoleon I?

Any bakery. Or did they want to know where they invented that cake? Italy?

Fifth: the most common type of human blood?

That he knew too, A. Did once donate blood for some cash, heard all how it wasn't really valuable being the most common type.

Sixth: the value of gravitational acceleration on Earth?

Of what now?

Seventh: if A equals B and if B includes C, what is the relation between A and C?

How the hell was that General Knowledge?!

***

Stan returned to their room, ignoring worrying gazes from his neighbours. He timed it out so they would all be preparing to sleep, and he quickly made all the preparations himself, rolled out his sleeping bag and faked immediately falling asleep. He didn't want to talk. He didn't want to address their worries.

He didn't want to admit that from nearly hundred of questions he got only twenty-something. And half of them he wasn't even sure he got right.

“Even Stanley”, Fidds said. For all his genius Fidds was wrong. Everyone except Stanley.

It stung. It hurt. It was agonising.

He always knew how brilliant Ford was. He learned how brilliant Fidds was.

And now he found out exactly how dumb he was himself. How the hell did they manage to tolerate his presence? Ford always complained about their dumb classmates and nowadays both of the nerds liked to discuss the stupidity of local students.

Did they know that Stan was one of them? Did Ford know it back then?

Would they leave him again if they found out?

Stan tried to squint in the darkness. Ford was fluffing up his pillow. On the other side of the room Fidds was already snoring.

Even Stanley.

Were they even serious or was it just another inner joke for them? Some code word for really stupid stuff? 

Was Ford using it first and Fidds just accepted? Or was it Fidds who noticed and decided to mock him for it?

Even Stanley.

Was he really a measurement of stupidity?

Some part of him wanted to shake Ford and get the answer. But the larger part of his being feared of knowing the answer.

And yet Stan couldn't help to seek comfort. He tried to make it seem like he was still sleeping and put his hand on the edge of Ford’s bed.

There was a quiet chuckle from above, and then the larger hand covered his own.

“Good night, Stanley”, Ford whispered.

Stanley quietly exhaled in relief. Yes, Ford was still here, Ford still cared.

“Trust them”, Fidds said a few hours ago. “Trust them to care”.

Trusting was hard. But Stan wanted to try trusting. He wanted to keep trusting.

He wanted to trust them that they weren't mocking him. He wanted to trust them to still like him…

But maybe it was good? Ford and Fidds were often mocking each other for different stuff, Fidds started to mock him too. Stan and Ford were once like this too, so it was actually nothing new.

But it hurt.

He did try once, with learning, he really did. Until it became obvious he couldn't do it. Ford knew all about it and helped to make some passing grades to not leave him for the second year. 

Ford…

“Continue trying”, Ford asked him and he agreed.

Stan paused and stared at the dark ceiling. 

Did he really just…?

No, that was pointless. Why even try when one already knew the outcome? 

And yet…

Hope was a dangerous thing. Hope was making people ignore the obvious outcome and try to change it.

Hope was making Stan imagine possibilities that never existed. 

Because besides “them mocking him” and “Fidds being mistaken” there was one other option.

They were right.

They both were geniuses and they should be right. In everything, him included.

If he could trust them with caring about him, could he trust them to be right about him?

Even Stanley…

Hope was dangerous. Hope was making him want for more.

Hope was daring him to prove it.

*** 

The next morning he stared at the door before him, heavily exhaled and straightened himself up before entering.

The librarian nodded at his greetings, and Stanley confidently marched to the section with natural sciences.

It took some effort, but he found some textbooks for beginners: on physics, chemistry and biology. And took them to the most remote table on the second floor.

Stan took out the crumpled up list and straightened him out. Taking out a pen he borrowed from Sixer he found the space for putting one's name on.

“Even Stanley”.

And he read the first question once more. Right, atomic numbers. Atoms were part of physics, so it should be there, right?...

Chapter Text

“So, he left again?”

Stanford sighed at his friend’s question. The answer was evident, even if they both didn't like it.

At some point things were definitely starting to look almost perfect: they dealt with the “locked Stanley” problem, he and Stanley were definitely on the right track to become as close as before, and Stanley was even getting really friendly with Fiddleford. Stanley himself was looking as energetic as ever, and that was somewhat strange to experience when his twin was in the process of his “Stanford” imitation. And… Well, at first it was really a strange thing to see, like looking in the twisted mirror, like finding oneself in a weird dream, where everything was familiar, but something was off. Stanford was no stranger to his twin’s different manners, he knew him being relaxed and agitated, afraid and angry, subdued and happy. But for all differences Stanley always was Stanley, and even now in his imitation this stanleyness was present. And at the same time Stanley was very thorough in trying to discard his notable mannerisms in favour of showing Stanford’s ones. 

And Stanford really wanted to say that with time seeing Stanley touching his glasses in “Stanford’s” manner or hearing him responding to someone in the hallway or watching Stanley willingly wearing the “nerdy clothes” he always complained about - that all those little things began to become familiar… But Stanford never really managed to shake some little wrongness that lurked around Stanley. Because to him it was really obvious how hard Stanley was trying: to hold himself, to maintain voice. And Stanford was really appreciative of the times when Stanley returned to his usual role, not because there was no other “Stanford”, but because his twin finally allowed himself to relax…

Well, more or less Stanford learned to deal with his unease. After all it would not be for long, only for some more weeks, and then they would be leaving. Stanford was already looking into procedures of officially appointing an assistant for purposes of allowing them both to have access to grant money. Or maybe Stanley would find some job in Gravity Falls instead…

Oh, Stanford was really looking forward to their next chapter, mentally counting down the days. And… There was not much left to do. He was already done with his Presentation, he filled out the Request and gave it to the secretariat and he was even given the date to look forward, nearly three weeks from now: when the Headmaster would be back from his leave and with the rest of the Board would gather to hear Stanford’s Presentation. And Stanford would tell all about his intentions, about plans of research, would cement his future studies as part of scientific history… 

So yes, everything was going according to his plans. Everything even was structured in some kind of daily routine: of Stanley or Fiddleford being responsible for cooking, of Stanley tackling the most of the cleaning chores, of Stanley and Stanford choosing the one to go out… 

And yet some days ago Stanley started to avoid them both. Most days he would leave before either of his neighbours would awake and return somewhere in the afternoon, clearly tired and tight-lipped about his movements. And some days he stayed in the room, usually when Stanford managed to notify him of his own plans the day before, but in those cases Stanley was so deep in his thoughts (sometimes even when reading some novel) that it took some tries to even get his attention.

And for every question or attempt to figure out the reason Stanley just tiredly smiled and shook his head. And started to pay attention for some time… Until slipping in his thoughts back.

And yet… Stanley clearly wasn’t angry at them or resentful. That was obvious in a way Stanley didn’t change his usual ways of showing affection - he didn’t shy from touching, still unconsciously leaned into them when sitting together, still expressed his agreement by triple patting. 

It took Fiddleford some days of following Stanley to figure out his daily whereabouts. At first every time the latter somehow noticed the tail and just led him through a wild goose chase before vanishing between some buildings or in one of them. It was mostly by elimination that Fiddleford left the library as the only possible hiding place. 

But then… Fiddleford just refused to approach the issue further.

“Am I curious what he's doing there? Of course! But don't you think that if he doesn't want to tell us, then we shouldn't pry? We know where he is, he's not going somewhere he shouldn't be. So when he's ready, he'll tell us. Let him be for now”.

And that was it.

So Stanford was still worried, Fiddleford suddenly was guarding someone's privacy, and Stanley continued to return tired and silent, but always greeting them after arriving.

And then being gone again when Stanford opened his eyes in the morning.

***

Two o’clock. Stanford checked the clock again and sighed.

His twin still hasn't returned yet. And Fiddleford was still away, mentioning something about getting parts for two of his side projects, so he wouldn't be of any help.

And Stanford really wanted to make a trip to the library, as his current book was missing some of its pages, just as the plot started to unravel. So he wanted… no, he needed to exchange his exemplary for the full one and find out the fate of Andeana Monts.

Stanford sighed and checked the clock. Two and five.

Great. Not.

He paced around his room deep in thoughts. 

Stanley most definitely was there. The most reasonable way of acting was… Not going anywhere, waiting until his twin would return and only them going out himself. Nope, waiting - crossing that out.

The second most reasonable way: sneak in, find his book, quickly make a way back, minimising the risk of anyone realising that there are two Stanford's there…

It was definitely possible: the classes have already started, so there shouldn't be a lot of students around. And in the library itself people were so focused that Stanford could probably walk there in a Halloween costume and nobody would notice until he kept quiet…

Stanford snorted. Here he was, planning some sneaking out and making reasonings worthy of Stanley. His twin definitely was rubbing on him.

He wrote a vague enough note for Fiddleford in case he would return and not find anyone here and sighed.

At this point Stanford had to admit. The book was starting to look like an excuse.

He was already mentally mapping out his route between the shelves to stay hidden in his search for his twin. He wanted to see for himself what Stanley was doing there for such a long time.

Because so far Stanford couldn't understand him.

What were Stanley’s reasons to hide there from them? And hide that fact itself too? Stanford and his friend themselves could spend a whole day there without talking to anyone. So they would understand if Stanley found something there to enjoy for such a long time. 

Or… Did Stanley just want some space and time for himself? Was he tired of constantly being near Stanford? 

Oh god, maybe he was too insistent in his attempts to make amends with Stanley?

Could Stanford read his twin wrong? Maybe he was quiet for the last few days not because of tiredness but because he didn't want to talk to him? 

So if Stanley didn't want to talk, Stanford had to know. Yes, it was only for some days so far. But some years ago Stanford thought too that it would be only for a few days. And Stanley would return to beg for forgiveness.

He didn't want to wait again. He couldn't allow himself to wait when there was a possibility for him to know…

After all, he was just going for his book. Or poor Andeana would be left forever with a threat of being shot by his archenemy.

***

“Didn't notice you had left”, the librarian shrugged after noticing him and thus confirming Stanley was still there.

Stanford nodded and started slowly making his way around the numerous shelves, trying both to seek out his twin and hide himself at the same time.

Luckily, there were not many students there, and even less ones that actually noticed Stanford and showed it.

After some minutes it became obvious that Stanley wasn't anywhere on the first floor, not in the main hall, not in some studying rooms. So Stanford took the stairs to the second floor and repeated his sneaking behind shelves process, only taking a pause for grabbing the needed book for himself.

And in the back of the “Ancient history” sector he finally found his twin.

Stanley was occupying the sole table there, with a small stack of books by his hand. At the moment he was frantically flipping through one of them with slightly murderous expression.

Stanford had to stop himself from giggling at the sight and just leaned on the shelf silently observing his twin who finally found what he was looking for and then started to read it with even more intense expression.

And that expression was familiar in a sad nostalgic way. Back in their hometown Stanley wore this expression when learning to close his fist in the right way to not break it after a punch and automatically still doing it the wrong way. He wore it when El Diablo broke down for the first time and they both spent two hours poking through every part until Stanley decided to check the gas left. It was the expression that disappeared when his twin started to offer his help with homework. It was the expression Stanford never thought he would see again, and definitely not in the library while Stanley was dressed like him.

Whatever Stanley was reading, it was clearly not what he was looking for, as after some minutes he groaned, pushed that book away from him, still opened on that page, and took another one from the middle of the stack. 

The process of flipping through the pages repeated, and then Stanley started to read again, this time switching between both books at some points.

And with any passing minute Stanley was looking more and more miserable. He clearly wasn't enjoying what he was reading. And that led to another question, the most important: what he was reading and why?

Stanford checked around himself, trying to find any presence around him. So far no one, so he could approach and…

“Stanford!”

The owner of the name turned in the direction of the girlish voice and paused after realising two things.

First: between him and the girl (wasn't it Ann from Botanics? Or was her name Jeanne?) was another shelf so it wasn't possible for her to see him yet.

Second: it wasn't him she was addressing. It was the Stanford-look-alike that groaned and looked up from his books. His expression instantly morphed into a completely blank one, followed by a tone full of boredom.

“Patricia, I told you - I don't have time for this”.

And… Was that how Stanley was seeing him when being disturbed?

“I… I know, but please! I really need help!” 

Wait… She wasn't surprised or suspicious. She sounded… prepared for that reaction?

Well, Stanford never liked being distracted while studying, but he never sounded as harsh as this! He should make Stanley amend it in the future…

Stanley meanwhile sighed and turned back to his books. Yes! That was more like Stanford's behaviour! Going back to…

He paused, catching a glimpse of the girl - Patricia - really looking close to tears. Well, no matter. What she needed help with was probably some homework or something, it was not something Stanley could help with even if he wanted. So yes, Stanley, just keep quiet and…

“Only this once, got it? What do you need?”

What?! Stanford almost shouted it aloud, catching himself in the last possible moment. No, Stanley, it was a bad idea! No one searched Stanford for simply talking or some problems of basic knowledge! 

“Oh, thank you! I heard you making once a perfect essay on Gravitational redshift, so please! Please! I really don't get it and my grade is on the line…” and Patricia sat on the chair near Stanley, staring pleadingly at him. And Stanley was definitely startled by the actual question.

See, Stanley? You should've just kept quiet! Stanford clutched his hair. This was a disaster. Stanley just wouldn't answer and would make Stanford seen as a stupid individual forgetting a subject only after a year! Or even if Stanley would now chase her away - that would be even worse! He would be seen as totally heartless and even mocking one! Gosh, Stanley, why did…

“Huh, redshift, you say”, Stanley managed to make a thinking expression. Or he was actually thinking. After a moment he brightened, but then coughed in his fist and schooled his expression into a neutral one. “Let's try this. Imagine I don't know it. Try to explain it to me as you understand it”.

That… Stanford paused mid-spiralling. That was… actually something that could work. There were studies exploring how the process of explaining the matter was beneficial to actually understanding it. It was quite an elegant way for Stanley to be seen as helping while not being able to actually explain it! God, Stanley, that was brilliant!...

He calmed his racing heart and tried to listen to Patricia as she tried to come up with some sort of definition.

“Uhh… It's a process of electromagnetic radiation to lose its…”

So far so good, Stanford nodded. Make her remember the definition and everything would become clear…

“No, stop”, Stanley raised his hand in protest.

What? Why? Stanley, what were you thinking?!

Patricia also paused mid-word.

Stanley sighed. “Dumb it down. Pretend that I'm someone so stupid that didn't even finish school. Explain it to me so even I could understand it”.

…What? What did he just hear? No, not the words themselves, but the tone! Stanford frowned. 

That wasn't “Stanley pretending to be Stanford” tone. That also wasn't “Stanley joking” tone or “Stanley telling a joke so private that no one else could get it” tone. 

That was the “Stanley telling a fact” tone. Sun rose from the east, the sea was salty, Stan was a stupid one that didn't even finish school.

But that was wrong! Stan never was stupid! Stupid meant being slow of mind or lacking intelligence or reason. And Stanley was none of that!

His mind was fast (but his mouth sometimes faster) and working sometimes in the ways Stanford had trouble to catch up. And yes, maybe Stanley wasn't capable of doing three-dimensional calculations in his mind - but he didn't need to do it! Stanley didn't need to be as smart as him to be seen…

Oh…

Stanford hid himself further behind the shelf and slided down until he was sitting on the floor. He was still hearing Patricia trying to break down the explanation of the photons into simpler terms, but in his mind he was far away, some years ago.

He himself never had a problem with the fact that he understood things faster than the rest. When everyone was judging him by an external trait, having something to excel above others was a blessing. Especially when there was someone at his side, who saw both of his peculiarities as some kind of superpower. And yes, Stanley was always praising him for them, both for finger anomaly and for his mind. And Stanford never hid them both in his twin's presence. And with time learnt to use his mind in a beneficial way. He was praised for his brain more than shamed for his anomaly and that was perfect for Stanford. Meanwhile Stanley…

What was Stanley praised for? Definitely not for his grades - at some point they dropped so low that Stanford had to step in to prevent Stan’s second year and possible separation on the school grounds. For boxing? Well, Stanley was right, he was doing well there, but not enough to be sent for some competitions. For having a great imagination? Well, their Mom definitely enjoyed it, but not Father… 

Stanford somberly looked at his hands, the ones that Stanley always dubbed as “coolest thing on the earth ever!” and humorlessly chuckled. 

What was the last time back then when he himself praised his twin for something substantial? Not as a joke, not in return? Not for finally making his bed or putting his clothes together?

All while Stanford was basking in his newfound glory of being recognised. Of being expected to succeed academically. Was it really surprising that Stan would begin to measure himself in comparison to it? That his twin would start to consider himself stupid?

When did it even start? Was it when colleges started to notice Stanford but not Stanley? Or when their Father tore him down for destroying the opportunity of West Coast Tech for Stanford?

Or did it start earlier? Like when Stan lost any interest in studies? Or was it even a cause and not the consequence? 

When teachers compared their grades? When Stanford started to do his homework in one fifth of the amount of time needed for Stanley?

Or… was Stan doomed to believe in it when Stanford started to believe himself in his twin's words of his brain superiority?

Stanford felt his eyes wetten. Oh, the cruel irony. And he once thought Stanley was suffocating in his desires to spend the rest of their lives together chasing adventures and treasures. When he never noticed in his thirst for proving his excellence, for proving no one could compare to him, that he had one person who would be compared to him the most. And that person lost before any of them understood it.

And… Oh… Stanley could've fought it, he could have tried to find something for himself alone, hell, he could've become resentful and try to deprive Stanford of his success (oh, but he did think that way once, didn't he?)... And yet Stanley just accepted it and treated his twin's accomplishments as something to share between them two. That was what irked Stanford back then… and that was what crushed his heart in the present.

“I was nothing without you”.

And he thought Stanley was just exaggerating. No, his twin actually believed it and treated it as fact! And what did Stanford do for all this time to disprove it? Not to make some way for himself, but to check whether Stan had something too? Nothing! Stanford just had the same belief like Stanley: that his brother was capable and could achieve any of his dreams, any of his ventures! But that's where their differences were: Stan did all he could to make Ford believe in his vision and succeeded. And Ford always thought that Stan knew about his belief and forgot that any belief was worthless when no one was supporting it. Any faith was doomed when there was no one preaching it.

And now near the bright shining altar of Stanford's accomplishments was the other one, neglected and covered in dust, with one sole thin candle as an offering…

Stanford sighed and tightened his fists. Right. Now he knew the problem. He didn't yet know the exact plan of solving it, but he was serious in being done with the waiting. He would take the page from Stanley’s book (metaphorically… and hilarious given the current placement) and learn from it.

So he gave himself a silent promise and composed himself, tuning back to conversation near him.

“...and so those little parts have to slow down…?” huh, Stanley was talking? What…

“No! That's the problem! They can't slow down!” Patricia shouted in frustration and then continued whispering: “The speed can't be changed! It's the speed of light!”

“So they keep going the same as they were?” judging by additional sounds Stanley was writing some notes. Or maybe doodling absentmindedly as he often did during classes. 

“No, it conflicts with the entropy…!”

“Basic terms, remember?”

“Right, sorry. That means everything has to change and it cannot go back to its previous state”, Patricia paused. “So those particles have to change themselves too”.

Another scratching. “So, they have something to lose and it cannot be the speed. What can they lose instead?”

“Well, they have… Oh!” that was a pleasant ‘oh!’, dubbed by a mental one in Stanford’s mind. “Oh, I got it! Of course! Thank you! See you later!” And judging by Patricia’s hurried steps she immediately left.

“Wait! I still don't get it!..” Stanley mumbled with irritation. “Why there's red in there?”

“That's because by losing… well, let's say their inner energy, those little parts change their appearance to the observer”, Stanford glanced around them and quietly made way to his twin. And had to rapidly cover Stanley's mouth to shush his startled scream. “Oh, we're in the library! Keep quiet!”

“What are you doing here?!” Stanley immediately turned towards his twin. “We agreed…”

Stanford was tempted to remind the exact wording of their agreement but decided on another approach.

“I was worried”, he confessed. “Your behaviour was strange and I had to know its causes”.

Stanley chuckled. “So, Fidds’ couldn't persuade you in the end?”

“What? He talked to you?” Stanford frowned from sudden apprehension. Did Fiddleford know it and…

“Yeah, kept following me, so I had to tell him something to get him off my back”, his twin looked to his side with a pensive look. “Not that I lied, I really am plotting the way to give you two the best adventure ever…”

The puzzle clicked.

“You told him you were working on DD&MD plot so he wouldn't want to be spoiled and would leave you alone? And so he would prevent me to bother you about your deeds too?” Stanford was somewhat touched. By sheer genius of this plan and by the fact that Stanley still remembered their talk about the game. And was in progress of fulfilling it.

“Yep, pity it didn't work”, Stanley sighed and plopped on the table, and thus covering his notes and some of the books. Yet Stanford could still check the titles of the ones in the stack. “Introduction to the Mechanics”, “Native plants of North America”, “Roman Empire: from wolves to vandals”, “Hi, I'm Atom. Let's be friends!”... There was no actual connection between them all, none except for…

Stanford frowned and looked at his twin, who was trying to evade his gaze.

“Stanley, please be frank with me. What are you doing there?”

“I'm in the library, so should be obvious”, his twin mumbled.

“Stanley?”

After a minute of so of silence Stanley deeply sighed and closed his eyes.

“Okay, just… Promise not to laugh. I already know how stupid it all is…”

Stanford really started to hate that word. 

“I promise”, he said instead and smiled with encouragement. “I can see that it's something important to you”.

That actually made Stanley lose some of his tension. He exhaled and took some paper from under some book which he then showed to Stanford.

The latter took it and at first couldn't get it. It was a test or something, full of random questions from every branch of science. Judging from the numbers of the questions it was not the first and even not a second page. And it was half filled with Stanley's blocky handwriting, some of it crossed out or overwritten. The last filled answer was “Mercury” beside “Smallest planet in Solar System”.

“It's Pluto, actually”, Stanford mumbled absentmindedly. 

There was something familiar in all those questions, like Stanford recently did them himself, but forgot because of their insignificance…Right, Patricia’s test! With the most bland questions that anyone could give the answers for, even…

His eyes widened with realization.

Damn.

“Knew I got some of them wrong”, meanwhile Stanley sighed and flopped back on the table.

Stanford frowned and pushed his twin (who actually squeaked at this) aside, quickly finding the rest of the papers, especially the previous ones. And… Huh, while some of them were clearly wrong, there was no denying that Stanley tried hard to find the right answers.

That actually explained the vast amount of beginner’s textbooks. And glancing at the front page made him wince for another reason.

“Even Stanley”.

He looked at his twin once again, this time paying attention to Stanley's body language. His shoulders were raised, his fists were tightened, and he was biting his lip. He was preparing for defense.

Stanford's throat tightened, as he fully realised another important difference. Those questions were easy and insignificant for him. Stanley was struggling with them and at the same time treated them quite seriously.

And…

Was this really Stanley's current level? Having to flip through textbooks in order to say (he glanced at the next question) whether the highest point of Everest or the lowest point of Mariana Trench was farthest from the surface?

Stanford winced in sympathy. 

“Stanley…” he took a deep breath to not rush with his reaction. He didn't know what to say. Should he explain that this survey was meaningless? Should he ask whether Stanley really had to spend several days to find those answers? Should he ask why his twin was doing that?

“Yeah, I know”, Stanley sighed and once again looked away. “Too stupid to even know something dubbed “general knowledge”. Can… can you pretend you didn't see it?”

“You're not stupid”, Stanford answered faster than he thought it through. “Stupidity and the lack of factual knowledge are different things and shouldn't be confused”.

“You and your love of definitions”, Stanley snorted against his will. “But this time you're mistaken. It's stupidity and stupidity. Don't try to sugarcoat it…”

“I'm not sugarcoating you!” Stanford argued. “I just want you to…”

He paused. He wanted Stan to believe in himself. But he never was great with words. He was great with facts, calculations and experiments.

And after some thinking Stanford grinned. He took Stan's lists once again and went through them with a pen, circling some questions where there were already some answers.

“You got those wrong. Wanna bet to find the right answer until tomorrow?”

Stanley looked at him with suspicion and some sort of hurt.

“You don't need to rub it in my face, I know my limits…”

“You don't know them”, Stanford interrupted. “Nobody knows them before trying”.

“But I'm already trying!” Stan threw his hands in the air from frustration. “And it's not working!”

“It's working”, Stanford left his hand on Stan's shoulder. “You're doing great by trying. I'm just giving you the motivation to try harder. Because I have faith that you can do it”.

Stanley went still and lowered his gaze.

“Again you with your pity…”

“Well then, no more pity. Explain the redshift to me in this case, in your own words”, Stanford tightened his hand on his twin's shoulder.

“What?” That's actually got Stan to look at him.

“What you heard. Explanation, how you got it…” Stanford chuckled at his twin's confusion. “Humour me, please”.

Stanley shrugged. “Well, it's something about some particles that lose their inner energy when leaving some forcefield or something like that and because of that change their color to red?” he sighed. “So, how much did I get wrong?”

“Am I right to assume that half an hour ago you didn't even know about the term itself?”

“You bet”, Stanley chuckled. “I'm still trying to make sense of earthly physics!”

Stanford smirked. “So, if I tell you that by swapping some of your crude wording to the actual terminology you get yourself a pretty solid definition that would get you a score of 70%?”

Stanley blinked once. And then some more.

“You're joking, right?” he stated with disbelief. “There’s no way it's something about actually turning red!”

“That's why it's only 70%”, Stanford teased him. “They do not exactly change their color. They change their frequency and by it shift themselves into a red spector… And no, I won't dumb it down. Research it if you're curious”.

At that Stanley quietly laughed. 

“So, you really meant it?” He asked with rising hope in his voice.

“Yes, Stanley, I meant it that I'm sure you can do it”, Stanford smiled and nudged his twin with a shoulder. “I would offer you my help, but I get the feeling…”

“You get it right”, Stanley sighed in relief. “I… want to see if I can do it. And… While I always welcome your help… I need to do it by myself”. He paused a bit and hesitantly smiled. “Thank you, Sixer, for not making it sound stupid…”

“Urgh, I officially hate that word from now on. You're banned from ever using it!” Stanford groaned and yet smiled when Stanley started to laugh. “I mean it, Stanley. You're a lot of things. But stupid never was and never will be one of them”.

 Stanley looked away embarrassed and just opened his mouth to reply…

“What the hell?!”

They both turned to the startled student who dropped all his books and stared at them with huge eyes.

Stanley cursed under his breath and (while Stanford felt himself slipping in panic) turned to the student: “Hey, are you alright? How many hours did you sleep?”

“Uh… two?” The student squinted with suspicion.

“Oh, that's too bad”, Stanley winced in sympathy. “May I offer you to close your eyes to rest them for… let's say… ten seconds?”

The student looked over them both and still closed with eyes, while mumbling something to himself.

As soon as his eyes closed, Stanley quickly dove under the table and tugged at Stanford to step closer to shield him.

Stanford dumbly obeyed his twin and just in time for the student to open his eyes. Who stared at Stanford and rubbed his eyes.

“I could swear there were two of you…”

Stanford felt a pinch on his leg.

“Ah! Yes! That's the deprivation of sleep talking!” He coughed in his fist. “Studies claim that mild perceptual distortions can start already after 24 to 48 hours of continuous…”

“Yeah yeah whatever”, the student waved his hand and left.

Stanford waited for at least a minute and then started to chuckle.

“I can't believe that worked!”

“Oh, the people here are all lunatics”, Stanley grinned while leaving his temporary abode. “If only I wasn't posing here as you - I could actually con them all into a nice sum…”

“Don't you dare”, despite understanding the joking tone, Stanford still warned him against it. “So, I should go, until we have to trick someone else into sleeping more. Do you need my library card or can I get it back?”

Stanley smiled and took it from his pocket. “Nah, it's all yours. If I'll want something, I'll think of a way…”

He would, Stanford though with amused affection.

“And from now on, you don't need to hide it. You can even continue to study in our room if you want”.

Stanley groaned: “No way! Our room is a safe space from all this nonsense! Your books are already enough to threaten it!”

***

Stanley returned only an hour later, taking a history textbook from under his vest and opening it at the folded page.

Fiddleford had to double take them both on his return, one reading about Andeana, another - about Ptolemy.

“So Stanley… did you finally come up with…” he glanced at them in amusement and continued with an air of some shared secret, “With that… project of yours?”

Stanford had to take a minute to remember some of what Stanley mentioned before. And smirked.

“Oh, he's in the process. I'm really waiting to hear all about his final result”.

Stanley coughed in embarrassment and covered himself with his textbook. While Fiddleford squinted with suspicion.

“Wait… did you lie to me back then?!”

“I didn't! But I also didn't tell the whole truth!”

Stanford giggled at his arguing companions and turned back to his book. Andeana Monts was finally getting his revenge.

***

“So what, you need time to come up with your character or what?”

Stanford snorted in mock offence at his twin.

“Please, I got him and his backstory as soon as you mentioned yesterday that you wanted to start from where we were left in the previous story… Actually, are you sure you don't want to start a new one?”

His twin scratched his head and looked at the side. “Well, you built a nice world, and I have some ideas for some existing people there…”

“I am actually glad to keep mighty Woodashious”, Fiddleford already prepared his character list. “What will you do about Andrew?”

“Oh, I'm keeping him too”, Stanley grinned. “I have yet to tell his awesome backstory, so he'll be around for some time”.

“Can't wait for it”, Stanford finally found his own list at his desk and sat down on his spot on the floor. “So, I'm ready”.

“So can I…?” Stanley looked at his opponents and got two nods of confirmation. “Right, well…” he coughed and made a serious expression. “So, Woodashious…”

“Mighty Woodashious if you please!”

Stanley rolled his eyes but didn't drop his tone. “Right. Mighty Woodashious and Andrew-Nimble-Fingers reached the outskirts of what was looking to be a village. It was bright and lively, with all kinds of folks running around. There was a small problem with it…” at that point Stanley made a dramatic pause. “There was no village on their map there!”

Stanford grasped as expected of him and heard Fiddleford do it too. Stanley grinned with delight and continued.

“And yet the village seemed real enough, so the two of them decided to stay there for some rest. And just as they passed the entryway, they were approached by some figure…”

“Is it me?” Stanford interrupted with anticipation.

“No, that was some other annoying nerd, who’s gonna get killed behind the scenes if he will be interrupting me”, Stanley glared at his twin in warning. “Do you want my story or not?”

“Sorry, please continue”, Stanford was a bit disappointed, but Stanley was right. It was his story. Well, he just had to wait for some time and then introduce his lore-accurate and quite nuanced character.

“So, that figure was actually a guard. “Halt!” he said and blocked off the path. “This village is off-limits! Unless you are practicing attorneys or private investigators!”

Stanford wanted to argue about existence of such professions in his (their now?) world, but got shut up by his twin's preventive glare.

“So, then mighty Woodashious asks the guard: “Please, Good Sir! Surely there are some ways for mere strangers to rest their tired feet after a long journey?”

Stanford grinned at his friend who made a perfect roleplay as always.

“The guard shook his head. “No. By a decree of The Copper Guard no one shall enter until the Judge will pass his verdict, and it will be tomorrow at sunrise!”

Stanford snorted. “You know if there is the verdict then there are also the proceedings. Do you want to imply that they will be taken in the night?”

Stanley glared at his twin, clearly with intention to argue, and then thought better of it. He looked back at his stack of papers, shuffled around them a bit and started to write some notes in them.

Stanford smiled with satisfaction: he was always glad to prevent some logical inconsistency…

“Sixer, what's your character’s name?”

“Hexaniel, why?” Stanford was startled a bit by his question.

“Nothing, just decided to move some things around”, Stanley innocently smiled and cleared his throat. “Right, so the guard said all this. And Andrew then turned to his friend: “You know, we can pretend to be ones. It wouldn't even be a lie, you are good with investigating, and I'm good with… lots of stuff!”

Stanford and Fiddleford giggled at that, remembering all sorts of actions Stanley's Andrew did and tried to do previously. Well, and the direction Stanley was pointing them at was looking quite intriguing. So Stanford couldn't wait to discover where and in which role his character would enter their game…

“Mighty Woodashious takes a moment to ponder his response and decides to agree. “Yes, Good Sir, we are the investigators. So pray tell us what is in need of our services?”

Stanley smiled at Fiddleford, clearly relieved that he accepted the plot, and after straightening his spine continued:

“The guard looked them all over with clear disbelief, but then shrugged and stepped aside. “Well, you may enter. Please refer to the mayor for further details. Or if you first want to talk to the accused, you should go to the Tower…” Stanley took a dramatic pause and smirked at his twin. “That Hexaniel was really adamant at having someone to defend his sorry ass!”

“What?! Why am I being accused?! Of what crime?!”

Fiddleford, that traitor, started to laugh so hard he nearly cracked his head on the bed frame.

Chapter Text

“Fiddleford, we need to talk”.

The named one stopped flipping through his notes and looked to his friend, who spoke as soon as his twin left the room.

Stanford’s expression was serious, as he was sitting and writing frantically in his own notebook, the “special” one.

Ah, Fiddleford could already guess what this was about.

“Okay”, he said instead and sat right across from his friend. “Please share it”.

“I think Stanley's hiding something. It's too suspicious to be the whole story”.

“Of course he's hiding something”, Fiddleford rolled his eyes. “Did you expect he would start his campaign by stating the name of the real murderer?”

“No, I'm not about that! I'm almost sure that I got what happened already, I'll just sneak again from the prison and investigate the mayor’s basement - you both failed the magical intuition check, so I'll try it too…” Stanford paused with his ramblings and shook his head. “But no, I'm talking about the village as a whole. Not existing on the map, that strange song about fog that you decided to play along…”

Fiddleford grinned. Back then he grabbed his banjo without really thinking of a concrete melody, but between it and Stanley's scratching-on-the-board-with-nails tone deafness they had Stanford begging for mercy just in a minute. And then they played for ten more.

But he had to give credit to Stanley: even without hitting any note, he kept with a tempo, and the silly song of “Fog, Fog, Fog, we are all a Fog” in his lowered voice managed to give shivers. Still, he should work on the lyrics, as rhyming “silent as a rooster” and “vanishing as dew” didn't work at all.

“Want to have a repeat?” Fiddleford smirked and after taking his instrument played a small rift that he came up halfway in the song.

“Please no, I beg of you!” Stanford groaned. “But anyway! There are so many things that I first saw as Stanley’s inexperience or inattentiveness! You accidentally called the tavern owner by the shopkeeper's name, and Stanley didn't even blink. And when I decided to prank Stanley by calling him by yet another name, Stanley looked right in my eyes as he described the owner answering it!”

“Do you think the owner is linked to the murder?” Fiddleford frowned. He too noticed it of course, not giving a second thought to it, but hearing Stanford's musings he saw it now as strange too.

“No, definitely not”, Stanford tapped his pen on the notebook. “I've drawn the scheme of all villager's actions at that time. No, there's something bigger, something more…”

Fiddleford shrugged as he played another small melody. He still wasn't really convinced of this theory, but if Stanford was right and Stanley was indeed building something underneath their obvious plot… Well, he would be quite pleased to see it happening.

At that moment Stanley finally returned from his bathroom trip, wiping his hands on the jeans and yawning.

“So, nerds, ready to continue?”

Fiddleford played a Fog Fog Fog chorus melody as a way of agreeing before putting his banjo away. Stanley smiled while resuming his previous sitting place, just as Stanford groaned.

“Okay, then where were we? Mighty Woodashious and Andrew had their turn trying to convince the guard that they weren't trespassing. So, Sixer, back to you. Hexaniel is yet again in prison…”

“Hexaniel tries to sneak out again!”

Stanley smirked. “And how will you do it this time?”

Fiddleford snorted, as his friend actually took a tone of “this is a final exam and I'm not letting you all go until I've finished with giving all my answers in full”.

“As per my passive elven skill I've restored 3,65 points of mana since last turn, I now have enough of it to cast ‘Fire Hands’. So Hexaniel climbs on the bed and uses the spell on the grid of the window”.

Stanley chuckled with clear approval. “Why not? Sixer, roll for the skill, Fiddleford, the check for grid is on you”.

Fiddleford waited until Stanford rolled the dice and calculated the dispersion, and then went for the dice himself. Taking both results, he quickly inserted them into the basic covariance formula, which showed 0,02, and after comparing their values nodded at both twins: “Check passed”.

“Great!” Stanley closed his eyes for a second and scratched his cheek while thinking. “Okay, well… Yeah, got it. After successfully warming up the grid and bending it enough… that's what you were going for, right?”

“Exactly”.

“Right. So after that and climbing out Hexaniel finds himself in the back alley. The prison’s behind him…”

“Hexaniel turns right and then to the left, passing behind Magic Shop and sneaking until reaching the archives”, Stanford looked down at his hand drawn map that was currently substituting the field and moved his figurine correspondingly. “Any encounters so far?”

“Only the shopkeeper who glanced at Hexaniel and continued his shopkeeper routine”, Stanley yawned. “But Hexaniel heard heavy steps of the guard somewhere behind him. So he should be really careful this time around”.

“Are you tired?” Fiddleford turned to Stanley, who shrugged. “It's rather late. We can continue tomorrow”.

“What?” Stanford raised his head with wide eyes. “No, I'm still capable…” he paused and looked first at his friend, then at his twin who was rubbing his eye and yawning once again. “Oh… Right. Can… Can we finish my turn at least?”

“Yes, sure”, Stanley stretched a bit and then leaned back so he would be supported by Stanford's bed, closing his eyes once again. “So, your action?”

“So, while Hexaniel is near the archives, he uses a scroll of Midnight Shadow to hide his presence, that he stashed there before being captured the third time”, Stanford proceeded to roll the dice and write out the necessary checking equation. It was a success as he grinned and continued to move his figurine on the field. “I suppose it should now be possible for him to make it all the way to the mayor's house…”

Fiddleford chuckled as he watched Stanley’s expression gradually become more and more relaxed to the voice of his twin describing his turn. Until his head completely dropped down.

“...So Hexaniel looks through the doorway to assess the presence inside…”

“I’m afraid he will have to assess it tomorrow”, Fiddleford whispered, poking his friend in the shoulder to get his attention. 

Stanford paused, looked at his brother and sighed. “Yes, I suppose so”. There was a clear disappointment in his voice, yet the first thing he actually did after rising to his feet was dragging Stanley's body up on the bed. Grunting and obviously struggling.

“Do you need help?” Fiddleford paused while putting away the game into its box. Stanford shook his head and finally managed to place most of his twin's body in a horizontal position. And then repeated the process with his legs, although more swiftly this time.

“I definitely need to exercise more”, Stanford sat down panting.

“Told you”, Fiddleford quietly snickered. “So, you decided to try out the floor?”

Stanford nodded, still trying to catch his breath. “Yes, well, Stanley does it all the time. And I heard it's actually quite beneficial for the spine and general health!”

***

The loud banging made Fiddleford shriek, and only by some kind of miracle he managed not to cut all the way through the metal.

“Are you doing it on purpose?!” he took some calming breaths and turned to glare at the intruder.

“Dunno what you are talking about. I announced my presence just as you asked”, Stanley somehow managed to mix the expression of total innocence and knowing glint in his eyes. “Anyway, look what I gathered!”

And then that menace of a neighbour took the bag he had on him and just…

“Don't dump it here!” Fiddleford only had a second to grab the nearly completed plate and save it from the avalanche of feathers of all sizes and colors. “What the holy hell is all this?!”

“Didn't you say we need to make it look as natural as possible?” Stanley went to rummage in the featherly pile, starting to pick the most… actually, Fiddleford had no idea by which base Stanley did the sorting: definitely not by length or darkness.

“I meant…” …building it as close as possible reference, but after thinking a bit more, Fiddleford saw the actual merit in the new idea. “Never mind, I got your point”.

Stanley grinned in response and continued to make another pile with chosen feathers. Fiddleford just sighed and moved with his plate to another table and looked over it. Thankfully, he could still continue from where he was interrupted. 

“So, how's the progress?” 

“Almost done with the outer shell”, Fiddleford waved at the shelf with a nearly complete birdbot on it. “Had some problems with scaling down the mechanism, but the next version should be the final one…”

“I hear a “but” somewhere”, Stanley stopped with his doings and leaned from a side to glance at the plate in Fiddleford's hands.

“Yes, and it keeps interrupting me”, the latter groaned and shoved Stanley aside when he tried to poke at the plate. “The controller”.

“The what now?” Stanley frowned.

“The control system”, Fiddleford set aside a plate and turned all the way towards his friend. “I usually use the remote one, to manually give the commands. But it's quite obvious that I'm the one in control as I need to have visual understanding and that usually means the presence…”

“Like an arcade”, Stanley nodded, and while everything inside Fiddleford was enraged at the comparison, it was quite an accurate description.

“Something like that”, he gritted through his teeth. “Anyway, as we want to remain in the shadows, that's not something that I intend to use here. I have another idea that I made especially to use in my other project…” he shook his head at Stanley’s expression of curiosity. “Not important. What I want to say is that I have an outline of guided navigation… That means the target has to have some kind of tracking device on him”.

“Sounds like something from the spy movies”, Stanley brightened from the joy of understanding.

“Please stop comparing my life works with something from the entertainment section!” Fiddleford glared with warning.

“Spy movies are not entertainment! They are the essence of art!” Stanley threw his hands in the air in indignation. “Not to mention they are cool as hell!”

Fiddleford had to stop himself from continuing the pointless argument and pinched his nose bridge to release some frustration.

“No matter. So that could work in this case too. We switch the birdbot on, she locates the target and then performs the programmed pattern on the arrival. As long as she's not caught, there is no clear link to us…”

“Another “but”?” Stanley tilted his head and frowned.

“No, it's the same butt and he keeps interrupting”, Fiddleford smirked and then sighed. “I have a working tracker, but…” he turned to one of the drawers and after some rummaging fished out a mentioned device. “So, as you clearly are more of an expert in all of spy things, care to determine the problem?”

Stanley clearly was torn between showing exactly who was a “but” here and wanting to examine the device, so Fiddleford passed it to his friend and waited.

Stanley turned the tracker in every possible way, poked it surprisingly carefully and even sniffed it, making Fiddleford giggle.

“No idea”, in the end Stanley sighed and passed it back. “But I'm disappointed. In the movies they are always small and unremarkable…”

Fiddleford chuckled, taking back the tracker which essentially was another plate the size of his palm and covered in wielded circuits and microchips.

“Congratulations, you got it!” he blew lightly on the tracker to clear some dust from it. “While it's definitely working, I have yet to come up with a way to shrink it some more or to disguise it so the target would keep it on him all the time…”

“Yeah, Zak possibly would throw it out as soon as he notices it, and that probably would be instant notice”, Stanley drummed with his fingers on the desk. “Unless…”

Fiddleford glanced at Stanley’s expression that was rather similar to his “imitating Stanford when he thinks”. “You came up with something?”

“Maybe”, Stanley continued with drumming, yet the rhythm was speeding up. “I'm not sure yet…”

“Want to discuss it?” Fiddleford was intrigued. What Stanley managed to come up with in just a few minutes that was missed during hours and even days of contemplation?

“Nah”, Stanley smirked and waved his finger. “If - if! - I'll be sure that it will work, you better not know it”.

“Why?” Fiddleford was thrown out of the balance. Weren't they friends to trust each other with each step of their plan?

“Ever heard of plausible deniability?”

That… didn't sound reassuring. At all.

***

When Stanley left the gym it was actually the same kind of dark when he entered it. That was not surprising given the hour in the middle of the night. 

So he just jumped a bit while he walked, chasing away the leftover adrenaline from working out. It seemed that in the nearest future he had another night full of reading and another day full of naps. Well, at least all his muscles were pleasantly stinging and curiously now he could actually name some of them if he tried.

Stan was still massaging his bare fingers, using the opportunity of being hidden by darkness to give them some freedom, when he heard it.

The unmistakable sound of engine failing to start and the curses of the supposed owner of the car.

Stanley paused trying to assess his location. He was close to the border of the campus, separated from the road by only a stone wall. The source of the sounds was definitely on the other side.

He should just continue walking. Sixer mentioned at least five times that it would be a real pain in the ass to be caught in the middle of the night somewhere outside the dorms. 

More importantly, it was the middle of the night, and Stan knew firsthand that nothing good was happening at this hour.

And it was not in Stan’s nature anymore to rush to help someone.

He should continue walking.

The cursing didn’t stop, yet became less angry and more desperate.

It was not in Stan's nature. It was not in this world’s nature. No one in this world did something that wouldn’t give some benefit, material or reputational. Believing otherwise made one become open to all sorts of cons and manipulations and plain thefts. Stan knew it perfectly as he managed to find out himself on both sides of that faulty belief.

He didn’t even want to stop. There was no one to judge him on that - he wasn’t seen and so wasn’t even expected to help…

No one would know if Stan just continued walking. After all, he was in that exact situation countless times. And nobody helped both when he asked and when he didn’t.

Nobody. Except Ford. Who didn’t think about benefit, who didn’t really think at that point. Who just heard his call for help and reached back.

And these streets were not the dark ones that could eat the fools if they were not careful enough. This was the nerds' safe space, where the most dangerous was the possibility of an explosion or getting in some fight with another nerd.

So Stan could ignore that person, sure… But it wouldn’t hurt to at least make sure that there wasn’t some life threatening situation? After all, Sixer wouldn’t be happy if there was something criminal here that Stan could prevent?

Having arrived at that logical conclusion, Stan stepped to the wall and after asserting its height managed to jump and grab the top of it, pulling himself up and glancing over it.

Stan easily spotted the Cutlass of some dark colour with its owner - some old lady (maybe not as old, as her hair was kinda darkish too) - opening its hood. Yet judging at her hesitant way of doing it, Stan was sure that she was opening it without really understanding either the problem or the way of solving it.

And he was actually right - she stared at the hood’s insides without really doing something and cursed again.

Stan squinted. There was no smoke or other signs of a near-combustion stage. And the previous sound was pointing at the dead battery. And there was no one else on the street, so really - that woman should just walk a bit: taking one way she would arrive at BMU’s main entrance, taking the opposite would take her to the gas station. Either way after no more than 10 minutes she would find a phone and call whoever she wanted: the services, her family, anything. Or just wait for some other car and perform a jump start.

Stan’s help wasn’t needed. He was under no obligations to do something he wasn’t asked.

And yet… He knew how to help. Having his own baby as the only trusty companion for years made him rather familiar with the ways of working of anything: the engine, the transmission, the starter - anything that was inside and could break. And it was something he was actually proud of!

So Stan was actually surprised that he wanted… maybe not to help, but to use his knowledge and prove it. To make himself useful.

“That’s those nerds’ damn influence”, Stan grumbled as he pulled himself all the left way up and jumped over the wall. “It’s definitely the Fakeford rubbing on me”.

He softly landed on his feet and once again looked all over the road. Still no one. And then Stan approached the Cutlass and its owner.

“The battery’s dead”, he didn’t see the point of pleasantries. The night roads were poethic only to the fools never being forced to treat it as a home. The safest way to survive them was to be as clear with one’s intent as possible.

Yet the lady was obviously startled as she managed to knock off the rod keeping the hood open. And the hood fell down with a loud clack. Stan winced and mentally apologised to the Cutlass.

“Who are you? What do you want?” the lady turned to him, squinting in the dark, and took some steps away from him.

Stan sighed and raised his hands to show he meant no harm. Was it too late to change his mind and run away? Well, at least judging by her features that he could notice, that lady wasn’t someone from Sixer’s “stay away” list. Actually, there was one somewhat similar description, but the Dean was blond, and this one wasn’t.

“Heard how she was reacting”, Stan nodded at the Cutlass. “The battery. It’s dead so it won’t start”.

The lady squinted some more at him and sighed. “You just had to give me a heart attack! But I’m in no mood to give you crap for it. Or for breaking the curfew…” Shit! She knew he was (supposed to be) a student! Did she know Stanford? Or made the guess because of the location? Well, no matter. Just had to keep in mind Fakeford's smartness and his movements! “...So how about that? You walk me back to the main gate and I’ll forget that I saw you here?”

That was actually a very good deal. Especially if by every second Stan was more and more convinced she knew Sixer… Too bad that Stan was already dead set on proving he could fix it.

“No need, we’ll start it anew”, he opened the hood once again and made a quick look to check that there wasn’t anything else. 

“Sometimes I forget that you passed mechanics too, alongside with McGucket”, the lady chuckled, with some sort of relief in her voice. “Actually, I’m now curious - how will you do it? I have cables somewhere, but don’t we need another car…?”

“Push start”, Stan carefully closed the hood and opened the driver’s door to check the inside. “And you’ll have to help me with it”.

“Huh?” the lady’s voice and expression became unsure, yet Stan just rolled his eyes while turning the key in the ignition.

“It’s easy. You just need to push the clutch, put her in second gear, and when the speed will be at least 5 miles per hour, release that pedal and immediately press anew. Oh, and of course release the breaks before everything! See? Nothing too complicated!”

The lady wasn’t convinced yet. “Maybe you’ll just do it by yourself?”

“So what, you’ll be pushing?” Stan snorted. “Come on, it’s just some pedals, you do them all the time while driving!”

The lady rubbed at her face and sighed: “Okay, not that I really have any other choice except calling an evacuator…”

“So dramatic”, Stan chuckled and went to the car’s rear. “I’ve done it at least eleven times. And the twelfth one is a lucky one!”

“Your enthusiasm at this hour is suspicious and yet actually contagious”, the lady softly laughed while resuming the sitting position behind the wheel. “I’m releasing the brakes!”

“Good! Remember: wait until at least five!” And Stan pushed. 

There was nothing hard in push start, at least where one had someone to help. One was pushing, the other starting. The real problem was doing it solo. And Stan knew how to do it too. The trick was to find some hill first…

He was pushing and listening for the Cutlass’s sounds as she slowly was moving from his input. So far so good, the momentum was building…

Stan chuckled to himself. At least after that he would crash dead in the bed (or on the sleeping bag, depending on what was left for him by Sixer). And speaking of Sixer - if that noodle-handed nerd tried this, he would collapse already… Maybe if two nerds were pushing together? Nah, Fidds probably had something on him that would just charge the battery directly. 

Well, to everyone his own way of solving…

“Stanford, the speed is nearly five!” the lady announced in warning.

“Good… Just a bit… More!” Stan grumbled while summoning all his strength and trying to push as hard as he could.

“Careful!” she shouted… And judging by the sound of the engaged clutch and then of the roaring engine she followed the instructions perfectly.

“Good!” Stan stopped to catch his breath. “Now the brakes… And let her work a bit as it is…”

And while he expected the resulting sound of the brakes engaged, it was disturbed by something. Stan frowned and without waiting until the lady exited the car, dove under it.

He had no light with him, and the darkness didn’t make it easier, but it actually didn’t matter. Stan always joked that he could fix his car with eyes closed. And in some sense it wasn’t even a joke - some things he could assess without even seeing them.

“Stanford? What are you…?”

Stan raised his hands and started feeling his way towards the supposed location of brake hoses… He was still unsure whether he actually heard something or if that was just an issue of different cars… But that was a question he never wanted to leave unanswered…

Oh, look at that - he was right!

Stan’s fingers managed to locate a small… metal?… piece lodged into a brake’s hose. At the present moment it wasn’t bulging, yet no one could predict when it would come free and let the liquid escape that system…

Stan drummed his fingers in thought and then reached into his pocket for some leftover gum. After chewing it for some minute he carefully wrapped the gum around the piece and the hose for additional safety. Well, that would give the lady some time to reach the services.

“...Everything good?” the lady asked when Stan crawled out.

“Something damaged the brakes”, Stan tried to clean himself from road dirt. “Would be best to have someone to look at them as soon as possible”.

“Oh, then maybe I shouldn’t be driving it until then?” the lady was immediately worried.

Stan shrugged: “Up to you”. He saw no problem driving the Cutlass in that state, but it wasn’t his baby to decide that. “Should I walk you to the main gate then?”

The lady sighed and nodded. “Yes, please”.

Stan checked the still working engine and decided it to be safe to turn off. Then passed the keys to the lady before nodding at the needed direction.

***

“So, the deal of forgetting I was there is still on?” Stan paused before reaching the gates. He wasn’t intending to be seen by the guard, instead going back and just jumping over the same way as before.

At that the lady laughed and had to cough into her fist to deal with it. “Yes, sure. You did help me after all…”

Stan sighed with relief and walked some steps backwards. “Good… Good! Then I’ll go… Good night!” And then he turned and rapidly walked away, trying to find the best spot to scale the wall.

Well, that went well. Sure, his help was pointless in the end, yet Stan somehow was pleased with himself.

He definitely should tell that story to Sixer! And find out who that lady was…

***

Contrary to Stan’s expectation both Ford and Fidds were looking more and more pale as he recounted the story during their breakfast.

“So, let me recap…” Ford pushed his plate away from him. “You deliberately decided to engage someone after the curfew and when you were recognized as me, you still proceeded?” 

“Relax, she was pleased by the outcome and promised to deny ever seeing me”, Stan tried to ignore his unease. “What, I should’ve ignored her? The nice lady, all alone at night?”

“Yes!” Ford shouted at the same time with Fidds’ “No!”

Both nerds glared at each other, then Ford sighed: “Stanley, while I can't deny you did possibly the right thing by deciding to help, it's not only your safety that could’ve suffered. You were acting under my name! Your actions are reflected on me! And we don't even know for sure who she was!”

Stan sighed in defeat. “Okay, got it. I'm really sorry I did it. I… I just… I dunno. She was desperate and I just wanted to help… And I didn't even really do it in the end and just…”

He was interrupted by Sixer's hand on his shoulder.

“No, you did right”, Ford sighed and tightened his hand. “I'm sorry too. I'm just worried. What if that was someone dangerous? What if you were recognised as only pretending to be me?”

Stan snorted. “What? In this sleepy town? The most dangerous one here is Fidds, and he was indeed sleeping!”

“Me? Why?” Fidds screamed in indignation.

“Yes, why? He's really harmless”, Ford laughed. “At least until no one pushes his buttons too hard!”

Stan chuckled and shook his head. 

“Anyway, I'm still sorry”, he patted Sixer's hand that was still on his shoulder. “I promise to think a bit more before acting next time”.

Ford nodded and smiled. “I just want you to be careful, that's all! And if whoever she was tries to do something…” he paused and hummed to himself. “Well, no use pondering. I'll figure something out if that arises…”

There was something steely in Ford’s voice that was quite hilarious. Like a hamster trying to act all intimidating with every inch of his body. 

And yet Stan couldn't help but feel warmth because of it. 

Maybe it was an echo of easier times, maybe it was the idea itself of Ford readying himself to do some “figuring out”... And who knew? Maybe Ford was really capable of nerding out his opponent?

Oh, maybe Ford too had some secret stash of nerdy weapons?

***

“Pines, the Dean was asking for you”.

Stanford mournfully glanced at his mug, just being filled with coffee, and decided to leave it as it was. If he was lucky, the Dean would just ask some details about the future grant and the coffee would be still a bit warm when he returned.

“Got it”, Stanford nodded at RA, expecting him to leave immediately, but he was still staring with a frown. “What?”

“Everything okay with you?”

Stanford paused and frowned himself. His relationship with RA never went beyond neutral and/or distrustful at times. Stanford mostly ignored that guy, and RA didn't mind it unless it concerned some glaring oversteps in the dorm's rules.

“Yes, all is perfect”, he shrugged and wanted to leave the kitchen. Yet the RA wasn't done.

“So you and McGucket aren't fighting or something?”

“What? No! Why?”

RA shrugged himself. “Dunno, guys noticed that he is once again in his Mood. Not to mention you are once again surrounded by the books and too tense sometimes. Sure, that your presentation is big news, but you should really take it easy, if you even take it out on your friend. I don't want something else to catch fire or worse…”

Stanford prided himself to have an advanced mind but he still didn't understand any of that. Sure, RA was speaking definitely English, but in their ensemble there was little sense. The Mood? What Mood? Fiddleford was definitely the same as usual, passing his spare time with some of his newest prototypes for future career. Or did they come with another synonym for “mad scientist”, that was definitely wrong for the record? And Stanford was always surrounded by books, that was nothing new. And of course he would be tense, he had a very important event coming!

Pure nonsense! 

“Everything as usual”, Stanford grumbled and exited the kitchen, without waiting for a reply from his opponent who just sighed and moved out of the way. 

And what did RA imply by “taking it out”? Stanford was perfectly fine in dealing with his frustrations when they came. He had never once…

…

Oh.

Stanford paused while making a quick note for Fiddleford and Stanley to make them know where he went.

He did once, with horrible consequences, didn’t he? 

And as any science stated, it meant that there should be instances without such, but more frequent ones.

Was it frequent enough to become his characteristics?

Stanford sighed. He became indifferent to the opinion of his classmates long ago, but that one bit hit too close to the ones he cherished. So it had now to be classified as something to ponder about, something to evaluate and deal with.

Something to be really careful with, especially around two people whose loss Stanford wouldn't be able to afford, no matter if for the first time or the second.

***

“I’ve been summoned?” Stanford paused at the secretary's desk. The girl there nodded and after a brief call waved at the door.

Stanford steeled himself. The Dean and he actually had a quite pleasant relationship, especially after he started to win all sorts of science championships and generally bringing BMU some renown. And yet, even counting the dubious status of the college and its staff, the Dean was a woman whom Stanford was always cautious around. There were rumours that she was the sole reason the BMU still got some fundings for scholarships and even more. To add more, the Dean was of the kind to hold grudges for eternity. Sometimes even a slight offense, a slight glance was enough for her to change her impression of the person for the worse.

So while Stanford as the brightest student among his peers had to interact with the Dean quite often, he never looked forward to those meetings.

Especially not when he had a very serious secret right now that went against rules, and Stanford didn't want to test his reputation without necessity.

“Ah, Stanford”, the Dean smiled and motioned for him to sit across from her desk.

“Greetings, Ms Hale”, Stanford followed her invitation and sat down. And only after doing so, he got a nice look at the woman and frowned. There was something about her that was different. But what? “To what I own pleasure…?”

“I think it's obvious, I wanted to talk about our night encounter of some days ago”, the Dean sighed and looked at the side. “I know, I said I would forget all about it, but the situation changed”.

Stanford frowned. What was she…?

And just like that he understood the difference in the Dean's look and remembered some detail from Stanley’s account. And felt a terror rising.

“You dyed your hair”, he mumbled, refusing yet to believe that this was the woman that Stanley met that day. Did she notice? Did she realise?! Oh god, were they screwed already? Or did she only have some suspicions and wanted to confirm them?!

Oh god, Stanford wasn't prepared for this conversation! He wasn't Stanley who could think of the needed excuse on a fly!

“Yes, thank you for noticing”, the Dean smiled and lightly patted her now brown curls. “So, about your attempt to repair my car…”

Oh god, that was terrible! Stanford gulped and tried to calm himself down. She wasn't accusing him yet. Maybe it would only result in some reprimand of breaking down the curfew?

“Y…yes?” Stanford gulped once more and tried to make a neutral face. “What about it?”

Quick, what Stanley mentioned about that? There was something about pushing her car to start the engine? And then something about brakes, right?

The Dean paused and tapped her pen on the table. After some moment of silence she sighed and looked at Stanford. “I talked with Tim, my repairman, about your actions. And while he wasn't really impressed by you choosing the very last recommended option to restart, he was really puzzled about you mentioning the brakes”.

“Were they actually fine?” Stanford pulled everything he had in his memory about that system, everything Fiddleford and Stanley mentioned. God, why did Stanley only mention the broken brakes in passing? 

“Oh no”, the Dean chuckled. “They definitely weren't. And judging by Tim’s explanation it was a question of several days when they would completely fail, possibly with me behind the wheel”.

“So… What's so puzzling?” Stanford managed to relax a bit. Okay, so Stanley was right. That was really pleasing to acknowledge or to hear someone else doing it. 

“Do you know how much time Tim, the certified mechanic with ten years of experience, needed to find that spot?”

“Erm…”

“A minute, because you marked that spot with gum…” WHAT??? “Yet after removing it Tim admitted that the location of the possible leak was quite obscured to find without thorough check-up. And you took… how much was it?”

Stanford had no idea, but keeping quiet would probably be too suspicious. Quick, what would Stanley say in his place?

“You tell me, I wasn't wearing a watch”.

To Stanford’s relief the Dean chuckled.

“Well, I don't know either. But it definitely was no more than five minutes. And yet it seemed to me that you already knew what to look for, didn't you?”

Note to self: start making Stanley do a detailed report of all his encounters! How the hell Stanford was supposed to answer it?

“I didn't do it, if that's your question”, he decided to counter a possible implication to continue his impression of understanding the subject.

“I wasn't blaming you”, the Dean sighed with a slight annoyance in her voice. “What I'm asking is how you managed to get that there was a problem there?”

I'm actually curious too, Stanford wanted to admit himself. Instead he deeply exhaled and tried to figure out some sort of plausible answer. It was night, and both Stanford and Stanley were in glasses. So, none of some obvious visual signs like… spilled liquid or tire traces? Judging by what he knew, Stanley wasn't even in the driver's seat, so that removed the possibility of checking some indicators. Was there some definite smell in the liquid? Maybe the car stopped with some delay?

What would be worse? Giving a fantastic answer, giving a boring answer that could be proved wrong after checking with a real mechanic or not giving one at all?

What would Stanley say?

Stanford exhaled and summoned his brother’s smirking image.

“I just knew”, he said and shrugged, hiding his nervousness as far as he could.

“Huh?” the Dean’s eyebrows rose. “Care to elaborate?”

No.

“I cannot tell what exactly alerted me…” because that moron decided that describing the car’s beauty was more important… “But that's the way intuition works. It's the brain interpreting the information without conscious effort”, Stanford nodded to himself, pleased to come up with that explanation. “But as soon as I got that idea, I had to check it… End of story”. Please let it be enough! Or he would try to plead for a break to try and find Stanley for a detailed report!

The Dean laughed at that too. “Oh, you and your brilliant brain! I guess you are right…” she paused and smiled. “Anyway, that was just me being curious. I mean if that would be McGucket, I wouldn't be surprised. I never knew that you’ve ever driven a car…”

By sheer miracle Stanford remembered that while he himself never did, by the Dean's current impression he definitely was. So he just nodded with agreement.

“So actually I wanted to thank you”, the Dean continued. “That night I expressed it for a small number of reasons, without yet knowing how serious the issue was. I'm not sure whether anyone else could notice that small defect in time, yet you did”, she smiled and placed her chin on her hand. “So, any troubles or problems that I could help you with in return?”

Stanford just blinked, overwhelmed with relief of actually managing to get through this conversation.

“Oh, don't worry. That's not a one time deal, you have time to think about it”, the Dean smirked and motioned at the door. “Though no expelling anyone, even if you will be begging!”

Stanford nodded, offering some goodbyes and leaving. He managed to actually calm down his racing heart only after arriving back at the dorms and hiding in their room, where both Stanley and Fiddleford were waiting, one pacing and the other twirling his Rubic's cube.

“Everything good?!” They both asked at the same time.

Stanford sat in his bed and rubbed his face. “Yes, yes, that went well…” he paused, trying to formulate a recap. “So, about that woman that Stanley helped some days ago… That was her. And she wanted to say her thanks… And she now owns me… you… us a favour”.

He heard double sounds of relieved exhales and glanced at his companions.

“So, what will you ask for?” Stanley grinned while sitting at Stanford’s side. “Oh, let me guess! Personal section in the library!”

“I think you, Stanley, are now the one with the more hours there”, Fiddleford chuckled. “No, it would be for bringing back the course for Multi-Advanced Logic Systems! Oh, that reminds me, you don't even know how Stanford managed to get it suspended!”

Stanford groaned and flopped back on the bed, until he was half laying there. He wasn't really surprised that they didn't yet get it.

It wasn't Stanford getting a favour.

It wasn't Stanford implied to save a life.

It wasn't Stanford doing something crazy enough to impress their Dean.

Yet it was Stanford who got all the praise. And now, when he wasn't shivering under that woman's gaze, Stanford felt rotten.

“Stanley, how did you know about the brakes?” he said instead, deciding to relay as best the received praise, this time to the one who really deserved it.

Stanley paused his chuckling and shrugged while stretching. “Oh, don't you know? You're the genius here!”

“I'm banning that word too”, Stanford hissed, tired of it being used as a comparison.

“Careful, you're gonna ban all the dictionary at that point!” Stanley continued to laugh.

“At what point we're gonna ban the banning itself?” Fiddleford too was still giggling, yet actually tried to stop after another Stanford’s glare. “You know, I would like to know the answer too. I know how I would check for it, sure… But how did you guess it?”

Stanley grinned with his infuriating smile, and Stanford just knew he wouldn't like the answer.

“Easy. I just knew!”

And now he was itching to declare that smirk as banned too.

***

“I'm rolling for persuasion!” Stanford did exactly that and managed to get seemingly average numbers from dice. Calculating the dispersion assured him in his estimations: he passed the check. So he grinned at his twin who waved at him to continue. “So, Hexaniel takes the stand for his last word…”

At this point Stanford couldn't help himself and actually got to his feet, using his chair to place one foot there and striking a pose full of heroic epicness! And ignoring a giggle from his audience - he wasn't doing it for them, he was doing it for Hexaniel’s defense and justice!

“Ladies and Gentlemen of this Copper Court! Lord Judge the Judgling! Please heed my word of the wrongfully accused! My sole crime was to try and find out the mystery of this fine place! And yet I never set foot in the Hall of Memory, where that sordid murder took place!...”

Stanford rolled his eyes with affection when he found himself being accompanied by soft sounds of banjo playing. To his credit, Fiddleford almost managed to make it sound more like a heroic ballad rather than his usual choice of songs, so Stanford actually was feeling even more in character.

“...So while I'm still gonna press some charges against my wrongful imprisonment, I'm ready to relay to all of you the whole picture of what happened there, at Night of the Triple Moon! Of the murder that never happened...”

And then Stanford couldn't help by glancing at his twin while describing everything he managed to pierce together, by actions of Hexaniel, Mighty Woodashious and Andrew combined. He tried to catch Stanley's reaction as he slowly pierced this puzzle together.

Yet Stanley just watched him with a pleased smile, not even showing a hint of his thoughts, so while Stanford was sure in his version, he still was unnerved: what if he didn't get it right? What then? Would Stanley gloat at his failure or maybe he would be disappointed in them not getting his plot? 

What if Stanford was overthinking it? What if Stanley will lose interest because of it?

Stanford really was happy that his twin still was participating in their games, giving them not only a really complex story, but some quite challenging encounters too. Before, where it was only two of them, Stanford and Fiddleford tried to take turns in leading the game, but while Stanford also liked to combine the story and the battles into a nice adventure, Fiddleford as DM was more into setting the dungeons and traps.

So having a chance to enjoy a real mystery that Stanford didn't set up himself or that Fiddleford hadn't based on a recently read book was a real delight, waters uncharted, the problem that he was on the verge of solving.

It was exciting. It was addicting. And Stanford suspected that if in that moment some deity asked for his soul in exchange for this feeling to last for eternity, he would agree without second thought.

It also meant that Stanford without any deities would do anything possible to keep Stanley playing. He wanted to see the resolution of Village Encounter, he wanted to see what Stanley was preparing for the next one! He wanted to be frustrated again with an unexpected obstacle and then overjoyed with finding an obscure way to overcome it.

He wasn't sure if Fiddleford had the same level of addiction for their newfound format of playing. At the very least, their friend was once again stuffing in his inventory all sorts of ingredients and crafting every potion possible. Stanford actually was fearful that it would discourage Stanley from leading the game, as Stanford at first had some problems at balancing Fiddleford’s love of inventing new kinds of supporting and damaging substances with keeping the rules somewhat coherent. Yet Stanley was seemingly prepared enough for it, from the first plays he participated, as he was only mildly surprised when Mighty Woodashious managed to brew the Potion of Junky Memory and then proceeded to mix it in the barrel of local wine, all to create an alibi for Hexaniel. The only active reaction of Stanley was to ask how hard the needed dice throw and the following equations should be, so Stanford had to consult the rules and make his friend go through the long way of repeating the checks. In the end Fiddleford passed most of them, and Stanley just made him add some side effects for the failed ones. So now all the witnesses who drank it were still giggling at inappropriate times.

And when Stanford and Fiddleford were sure that the non guilty verdict would be easy to obtain simply on account of a solid alibi, Stanley whipped out a priest with aversion to the wine with a more convincing account than a bunch of giggling and drunk witnesses…

Some days ago Stanford was sure that it would be impossible to turn the court procedures into a compelling gameplay. Needless to say, he was terribly mistaken.

Stanley tried hard and succeeded. The Judge and Jurors were some of the village people they encountered, and so every good and bad decision they had witnessed was recalled. Well, not Andrew's, as Stanley with a smug smile described Juror's number 5’s adoration to “the kind and good looking man who was so charming that definitely did nothing wrong”. And that Juror was actually pickpocketed five times by Andrew. But the Mighty Woodashious was already being accused of theft, seduction, trespassing, insults, chicken stealing and helping a well-known repeated offender. Hexaniel’s current record was already two pages long, and Stanford was ashamed to admit he was starting to be somewhat proud of his counterpart’s fame.

Anyway, Stanley made the defending process in some kind of battle too, making them go with checks to determine how exactly convincing they were. Fiddleford even came up with a magnifying coefficient for the compelling evidence and the scale of penalties depending on how much the opponent disliked the speaker.

So it was definitely and unexpectedly fun, going back and forth with witnesses, then with members of the Copper Guard, then with the Judge himself… So far the Jurors were completely baffled, after Fiddleford’s failed intimidation check on the tavern owner, so it was up to Stanford to rectify the situation and finally turn the tide!

“...And that discovery brought me to a sudden observation. Where is the body now? Not the records of its condition, not the witnesses accounts, not the blood on the scene, not even his ghost - where is the body that I supposedly stabbed 28 times to not leave him any chance?” Stanford nodded at Fiddleford who changed his tune to a bit more ominous one. “And I think you all know the answer to this. Harold Corpsley has been dead for seven centuries! You can't kill a man who's already dead!” he paused and threw the dice right from his standing position. “Rolling for the argument landing”.

However Stanley dove towards him and catched the dice in the air.

“No need”, he winked and sat back in his previous position, clearing his throat before continuing in the voice he assigned for the Judge. “How interesting, you smartypants kiddo”, at that Stanford groaned and went down, sitting too. “You’re the first man…”

“Elf!”

“...To actually go so far and dig out that truth”, oh, Stanley definitely was waiting to make that pun. Okay, he deserved it - Stanford permitted himself to even chuckle at it. “Well, it doesn't matter. By death sentence or by our hands you all are still gonna be one of us!”

Wait, what?

Stanley definitely took pleasure in looking at his shocked face, as his grin became even wider. He then glanced at Fiddleford who actually missed a note in his melody from the said words. And after that he continued, in his narrator voice.

“Having said that, Lord Judge the Judgling rose his gavel and slammed it at the desk. As the party glanced at the windows, they all noticed the colors of the sun ready to rise. But it wasn't crimson or orange like the previous sunrises they witnessed. It was green, as greenish as the color of the fog that started to gather around the Judge and Jurors, around the mayor and the crowd… And as much as the fog started to thicken, the bodies of the people began to thin…”

“I knew it!” Stanford jumped to his feet in excitement, getting both Stanley and Fiddleford warmly laugh at his joy. “Fog people!”

“...Their voices became fading, like an echo from a distance”, Stanley continued like there wasn't any interruptions. “The largest blob of fog that was previously the mayor started to shimmer in the first rays of sum. It turned towards the party and with a muffled screeching pointed at them… That's to say, roll for initiative!”

Stanford picked up the dice, threw them and passed them to Fiddleford, then started to plan possible strategies based on all the figurines’ placements on the field. Now it was not surprising why Stanley spent five minutes on setting every piece for Jurors and the crowd before starting the segment…

After dozens of throws and rechecking with French Fishing Formula (oh god, Stanley’s name did stuck!) they got the scale of initiative figured out, and Fiddleford moved to attack the Second Juror (coincidentally (or not), the one he stole chicken from) and passed the check with average success, dealing the stunning blow with his mace. Stanley retaliated by having three fog people attack all party members. The one on Hexaniel missed, the ones on Mighty Woodashious and Andrew dealt 1,35 and 4,03 points of damage respectively.

On his turn Hexaniel tried to cast a Hurrying spell on his party, but got 1 as a throw result that resulted in slowing them down instead.

That was unpleasant, to say the least, but nothing they couldn't deal with.

After several rounds, Mighty Woodashious’ Smoke Bomb, Andrew’s boosted agility and Hexaniel's Freezing Arrows Spell, most of the fog villagers were vanquished. The only one left was the Judge.

“As his last act born from desperation he casts Massive Gavel Strike on the area”, Stanley shook the dice in his fist and rolled them before glancing at the resulting 36 and then at Stanford. The latter understood and immediately started with Covariance Check against the party's Summarised Defense. 

Oh, that was close enough! One and half more points, and Stanford had to calculate the MSE against Resistance to the Death…. Wait, he forgot to make an adjustment for the slowing down…

And after an amended calculation Stanford froze. Between Stanley's high throw, the recent averagely low throws and Party’s lowered defense the resulting damage to all of them was higher than current health count. 

Stanford gulped and started with Mean Square Error’s equation, but even before finishing calculating it he knew: they failed it, at least both Hexaniel and Woodashious. Andrew had still some blessing that negated one critically failed throw aimed at him. 

That was… Bad. It didn't even matter that Stanford hadn't yet had a chance to flesh out Hexaniel’s story. And it didn't matter that only Stanley's character would be left alive. 

The problem was that going with this result would be scratching out their whole process in their first adventure led by Stanley. And Stanford didn't need any calculations to predict his twin’s reaction to abandoning the current story and having to start over with at least two new characters. Would he agree to continue that story? Would he even agree to play again knowing that his last throw killed two characters at once? 

Even if he would, he'd definitely cease his crazy manner of being daring and unpredictable with his challenges.

And… Surprisingly, Stanford wasn't feeling even a bit guilty when he scratched out the last few lines of numbers and circled the previous one. 

“That was close, but we passed”, he smiled and nodded at Fiddleford’s surprised expression. Yes, he knew that he was going against the rules, something that he was adamant of never doing even in small details.

But he didn't regret it when Stanley exhaled in relief and then the glint in his eyes shone even brighter, before he revealed that the Judge’s attack broke the floor and made them all fall down in the basement, right in the ghostly hands of Harold Corpsley.

Chapter Text

“So, how far did you make it?” 

Stan recognised being asked a question, but didn't quite get its meaning. He was too deep in the tale of the Siege of Carthage! While he already knew the fate of the poor city, he was too moved by the resistance of its citizens and actually hoped that the story would somehow end in a different way.

So what Sixer meant by his question?

“Are you about the Game Plot?” he guessed. “If so, Hexaniel, I'm telling you nothing”.

Sixer actually laughed at that and went to sit on the bed near Stan’s feet.

“No, the survey”, Ford looked bashful while asking it. “I'm really curious whether you succeeded already”.

Ah, Stan understood now and shrugged, faking confidence.

“A, that… More or less. I think”. He actually did finish the last question yesterday. But finishing it was the one issue. The complete other would be checking the accuracy of his answers. And… Stan was still doubting how to proceed. He really wanted to ask Ford to check it and give a verdict. But what if there were some wrong answers again? Stan actually wanted his list to be perfect to support Ford’s faith in him and in his capacities and not to let him down. 

The other option would be first to ask Fidds, then to correct every wrong answer and only after that show it to Sixer… But that sounded too much like cheating, and while Stan was never against it, this time it felt wrong. 

Stan wasn't doing it to get a perfect note, he was doing it to prove that he too could have some knowledge! Yet at the same time he yearned to be looked at by his genius twin with pride and recognition.

But then cheating with Fidds' help would definitely result not in recognition, but in disappointment, if Sixer would discover that Stan tried to embellish his results. And that would be even worse, given that Stanley only just managed to get back into Ford’s good graces…

So yeah, if the price was worsening their relationship, Stan wasn't doing it. Better to face the music and the possibility of being viewed now as stu… dumb one once again and also as the one who tried fruitlessly…

But did he really try without any result?

Stan chewed his lip. Well, those hours spent in the library or behind the books were not easy and more like frustrating… But the joy of finding the right answer was sometimes worth it and even made him move to the next answer without dropping it all. And while calculations and schemes and whatever the actual hell was this statistical nonsense were definitely destroying his brain without any compensation, there were some subjects that Stanley started to like. Mechanics were useful because now he knew the names for the details he was familiar with by shape and sound. Astronomy was awesome because there were the stars and the sky and constellations! Geography was suddenly interesting because it turned out to be more than boring maps and capitals list! History was great because it was just stories in its essence! They were sometimes truthful, sometimes dubious and sometimes the unholy mix of controversial accounts that painted a complicated, painful and real tale of human destinies, already set in stone…

Funny, once upon a time Stan asked Ford why he kept reading when he already knew all the information there. And Sixer gave him some nonsense about how the journey sometimes was more valuable than the destination… What even was the destination in reading? How was he journeying when he just sat and stared at the pages? Well, it made some kind of sense when Sixer was reading adventuring tales, but when talking about science books - that totally was some crap.

But now Stan probably was on his way to understanding Ford’s response from back then. He did enjoy some parts of the process. And who knew? Maybe knowing now all those random trivia would turn out to be useful sometimes?... Not the physics, he definitely hated them with all his being.

So maybe he could admit it wasn't pointless? Maybe at the very least Stan could say he did learn something for future use?

And Sixer already knew that filling out that survey was important to Stan and so far never used it as a joking matter.

Maybe Stan should stop being worried and just trust with this matter too?

“Wait a second”, he sighed and after getting up from his lying position went to the wardrobe. He fished out the one vest that now was considered as his and rummaged through the pockets, mostly for making a show of it. Taking out the papers, he got back to the bed, but this time took a sitting position too, before passing the folded lists to his twin. “But if I hear you laughing at me even once, I'm gonna punch you”.

To his surprise, Sixer's expression became fragile. “Stanley… I would never…”

Stan rolled his eyes. All this time, since they were back to reconnecting, they both, Sixer included, took every opportunity to poke fun at each other when it was possible and acceptable. But never at the moment of vulnerability - somehow they both still knew when it wasn't time for it. And so Stan understood what exactly Ford meant right now, without saying. And he felt reassured enough to let go of some of his worries.

“Whatever, nerd. Check it already, I need to know what grade I could possibly get with it!” and he nudged Sixer in the shoulder, who sighed and finally took a glance at the papers.

Stan expected his twin to get rapidly at this, like that time at the library, checking and marking the wrong answers.

Instead Sixer took his time, reading every part slowly and with as much attention as it was possible. Like it was not some test with basic questions, but obscure and complicated science theory.

After Sixer kept his silence for five or so minutes already, Stan couldn't help it and started pacing around the room. No matter how much he tried to calm himself down, he was really nervous. Curiously, he never felt this way during any of the tests before. Or before boxing matches. Possibly ever… Well, there were moments where he felt fearfully nervous, but that wasn't it. That was pleasantly nervous, surprisingly pleasantly, unexpectedly!

Sixer actually chuckled as he noticed his twin pacing, yet quickly went back to reading, already halfway through all the pages.

And Stan kept watching him, trying to read his expression. Was he pleased? Was he disappointed? Was he amused? Yet Ford’s furrowed brows and his mouth pressed in deep thoughts didn't leave much to observe. Typical nerd in his typical habitat.

“Oh come on!” Stan had enough of this waiting and stopped in the middle of the room. “Why is it taking so long?! It's not some rocket science!”

At that Sixer lifted his glance from the papers with a definitely unamused expression. 

“Of course it isn't. It's much more important!”

What?

Stan stared at him and blinked. Was there some joke that he missed?

Sixer sighed and fixed his glasses.

“You spent days and hours on solving it, digging through countless books in search of answers. It's only logical for me to treat it with the same dedication that you poured into”. And then Ford smiled and looked back down to the papers. “Also I'm just savouring the moment of your finally treating school matters as seriously as I am”.

Stan made a show of fake retching.

“Seriously?! What gives?! I just wanted to solve that stu… dumb test…”

“Banned”, Ford didn't even spare him a glance.

“Oh come on! That wasn't about me!”

“Still banned”, oh, that smug bastard was definitely grinning now.

“Stop banning everything you don't like!”

“Or what?”

“Or I'll be banning you from Stancakes!”

That made Ford look with some alarm.

“You won't dare!”

“Are you sure?” Stan crossed his arms before him and smirked.

Sixer watched him for several moments, gulped and then went back to grinning.

“Yes, I'm sure”, he leaned back with a look of a man who just solved a question of life, universe and everything… “You promised Fiddleford to make sure I'm eating well. You wouldn't want to disappoint him?” …and got 42 somehow.

“Oh, ‘eating well’ still leaves a lot to interpretation. Does porridge sound ‘well’ to you? Because to me it definitely is”, Stan smirked and, just as he expected, Ford grimaced. However he didn't lower his gaze.

“If it means you stop using those words…”

Stan hesitated.

“It's just words, Poindexter. Why do you care…”

“Words have power, Stanley”, Sixer sighed and rose to his feet, so he could walk to his twin and stare him right in the eyes. “Words are the means to describe the universe. And from how we are describing it, our understanding of it changes.” By the end of his speech Ford placed his hand on Stan's shoulder. “That’s why I want you to stop using the category of ‘stupid’ or ‘dumb’ or any of its synonyms. Can you try it? Please?”

Stan rolled his eyes. 

“Fine. But don't expect that just because I won't be saying them aloud, I also will stop using them in my mind…”

He meant that as a joke, yet Sixer sighed heavily and gripped his shoulder. “Yes, I know that”, he whispered, but then his gaze became too focused and piercing. “Doesn't mean I should stop trying”.

“Huh?” Stan shivered and blinked, just as Ford patted his shoulder and went back to reading the survey pages. 

That didn't make a lot of sense. But - hey, that was Sixer and Sixer's mind. They were always beyond his comprehension…

Stan shrugged and went back to pacing. 

…Well, once upon a time they weren't, were they? At least when Stan didn't hesitate to ask when he was confused, when he didn't yet start to be afraid of not getting his answer. When he didn't start to think that not understanding Ford was expected from them being a genius and a dumb…

Stan stumbled on an empty spot, making Ford glance up in worry.

But was it a fair expectation? What did Sixer say about that? Something about flying to the moon?

Was it fair to expect Ford’s mind to be unsolvable? Was it fair to just accept it without questioning when Stan was both nostalgic about their childhood easiness and somewhat jealous about Ford and Fidds easy mutual understanding?

Did Stan want to continue to accept it and keep their status quo as it was… Or did he want to try?

“What do you mean by that?” he asked without giving himself a way to change his mind.

Ford jumped right there, still sitting on the bed, and blinked in confusion.

“What are you talking about?”

Stan took a breath and tried better with the formulation. “Your last words. About how you should not stop trying. What did you mean?”

Sixer frowned, clearly going through his memories, then brightened when he got it. And quickly looked to his side, avoiding Stan’s gaze.

“Erm… Actually, if you don't get it, I would prefer to stay it that way. That way the results of whether I would succeed or not would be more valid for interpretation…”

At first Stan felt… really dumb for having no idea how that was relevant to their conversation. Then ashamed to even bother to ask for clarification and still not getting a better understanding… Then irritation at Ford denying him clarification… Then…

“Are you seriously doing some sort of experiment on me?!”

“What? No!” Sixer immediately looked back, with the same indignation in his voice. “It's not an experiment!”

“It is still something though?” Stan crossed his arms. “I don't think I appreciate being your test subject in whatever you're doing…”

Sixer pinched his nose bridge and mumbled something too quietly for Stan to catch.

“What? Share with a class”, Stan didn't know at whom he was most angry right now. At Sixer and whatever he was doing or at himself for poking a proverbal sleeping bear.

“How did the conversation come to this point?” Ford groaned and hid his face in his hands. “At times you're so smart that it's frightening”.

Stan didn't know whether that was intended to be a compliment or not, yet Sixer didn't give him any time to ponder.

“I'm intending to make you stop thinking of yourself as stupid”, he declared in his ‘I’m going to be a scientist one day’ or ‘we’ll definitely restore Stan’o’War to her former glory’ or ‘I’ll be taking you to Gravity Falls with me’ tone. The tone of Ford making his intentions known, when he was still in the stage of planning the necessary steps yet already sure that he would make it. It was the tone that Stan always believed in… and that was why hearing it now was baffling.

Because as much as Stan’s very being wanted to immediately assure Ford that he would achieve it…

“You're joking?” Stan couldn't help but snort. “What? How? Wait, no! More importantly - why?”

Ford sighed and glared at him. “Like I said. Descriptions matter, Stanley. Your own - most of them all. As soon as you start describing yourself in the correct manner, you'll understand how much potential you hold inside…”

Stan laughed and poked himself in the chest, pinching the shirt he still wore after going to check Fidds' progress in his lab. “Did you forget that I only pretend to be you? Sure, I may have picked up some nice vocabulary and I may now know a new thing or two, but deep inside I'm still…”

“Do you really want to prove to me you're stupid?” Sixer interrupted him, and his flat, warning tone made Stan pause with his words and think carefully about next ones.

Yes, he wanted to say out of spite and to go further with his argument. But the truth was…

“No”, he deflated. He didn't want to. He didn't want Ford to think it, especially when he already made it clear he wasn't believing it. At least, Sixer said so. And didn't show any of his lying tells.

Sixer exhaled, and his relief in it was evident.

“Good boy”, he said in a flat tone.

Stan froze and saw in a slow motion how Ford’s face revealed a smirk.

“He told you about that?! That hog loving traitor!”

“Don't you dare to call him that in his face!”

“Oh I’ll call him everything he deserves right in his face!”

“Oh, pray tell what exactly I deserve? Preferably right in my face.”

“Fidds! When did you arrive?! How much did you hear?!”

Sixer, the other traitor, fell back on the bed still laughing.

***

“So, about my score…” Stan finally found the courage to ask his twin some hours later. He still wasn’t sure what to make of Sixer’s sudden declaration, still didn’t see much sense in doing so, but as Ford didn’t continue it further, Stan also decided to drop it for now. But the question of the survey was still bothering him.

“Well”, Ford motioned Stan to take Fidds’ chair and join him at the desk. “Before I tell my verdict, I would like to question you about some of your answers”.

“Great”, Stan groaned as he did as he was told… shown. “If I knew I would be doing the ‘working on mistakes’ part…”

“That is the most important part”, Sixer lightly slapped him in the shoulder. “Any respectful scholar should be wise enough to accept his mistakes and humble enough to accept he can be wrong in general…”

Stan snorted. “I don't know what amuses me more. The thought of me as a scholar or of you as humble?”

Sixer actually hunched in embarrassment. “I’m… I'm working on it. And I would like to think I have made some progress since you came here”. He sighed then chuckled. “But you're right. You as a scholar…”

“Right? Right?” Stan giggled. “Imagine me in those huge robes writing with goose feathers on some scroll…”

“Well, you definitely would be the one drawing all those rabbits and dragons in margins”, Ford’s voice became soft. “They are always fascinating to look at…”

Stan suddenly remembered his own doodles, all over the pages, two of three of them even done instead of proper answers… Well, it wasn't his fault that some questions were better answered when illustrated!

“Do you mean scroll rabbits?” he asked for clarification.

“Both, yours included”, Ford chuckled once again and picked the second page. “So, let's start with question number 13. What did you mean by ‘the largest animal is fungus’?”

Stan scratched his chin, remembering the question. “Well, you circled it when I wrote an elephant, so guess I overlooked something even bigger?”

Sixer chuckled. “No, this definitely isn't about overlooking... Why did you choose fungus?”

Stan drummed his fingers. “Found this bit about their roots, how they were considered the same organism because of that. And that the largest ones were like a thousand football fields! And I was like - if that wasn't the largest one, then who was?”

“Indeed”, Ford tapped his closed pen on the desk surface. “But I have to ask: did you check what organisms are classified as an animal?”

“What's there to check? The animal is an animal. If it moves and breathes, then it's an animal!”

Ford raised his eyebrow. “Right. And fungi are moving?”

Stan shivered, remembering one unfortunate night that he decided to “camp out” in the forest clearing and woke up right in the ring of mushrooms.

“They definitely are”, he whispered.

Ford had the audacity to laugh at his misery. “Right. I suppose your logic definitely has merit. But actually, fungi are considered to be in a separate branch, aside from animals or plants”.

Stan sighed. “Not fungi?”

“The blue whale," Ford nodded. “But if it matters, I like your version too”.

“The whale? It's a fish!”

“Firstly, fish is an animal too. Secondly, whales are mammals…”

Stan groaned and stared at the ceiling. And got poked in the side.

“Pay attention”, Ford, that bastard, smirked and picked the next page. “Now, about question number 26, that you illustrated so nicely…”

“Can we pretend I didn't do this test at all or at least didn't give it to you for checking?”

“Nope”, Ford shook his head with the same annoying expression of superiority. “So, about this… composition… What should it be again?”

Stan took a page and glanced over his quite accurate rendering of the founding of Rome. 

“That's a wolf”, he tapped his finger on the shape that now was looking to be more like a sheep. Then moved to the two blobs under it. “And these are those two Italian twins”.

“And the question you were answering was…?”

“Oh, this isn't about Mark Anthony, I just loved that myth. Twins and all, you know…”

Judging by Sixer's clearly unconscious tracing over the shapes with a still closed pen, he knew.

***

“I don't want to do this ever again”, Stan groaned and slouched over the desk as soon as Sixer declared he had no more questions.

“Really?” Ford definitely enjoyed poking in Stan's answers. Too bad that Stan couldn't even find it in himself to fault his twin for that: after all, he did ask himself to verify the answers. He should've known that Sixer never did anything halfheartedly, especially when it was something he was passionate about. And nerdy science was definitely something Ford was passionate about.

“Never again”, Stan made a show of crossing his heart, that possibly wasn't a show at all, as the gesture was hidden by his slouched body.

“Even if I say that counting all your logic applied, your results are definitely in the ‘wider than general’ range?”

“And without counting my logic?” Stan glared from his haunched position.

“Logic is a part of this survey too”, Ford patted him on the back. “So trust me on this - you did very well”.

Stan turned away, feeling suddenly embarrassed and strangely detached. 

Initially he started this test to see how many questions he could answer. Then it transformed into the challenge of finding the right answers even if he didn't know them.

And in all honesty, for all his inner mantra of “maybe I would be able to do it”, Stan didn't really count for his score to be higher than average.

But if he was to be trusting Ford on this - and he wanted to trust! - then… then what?

What did that higher than average score mean?

Nothing was really changed because of that, Ford was still smarter, and Stan was still the same, maybe just a bit more closer to him.

And to think that Ford didn’t want Stan to think of himself as stupid… How was it even possible? Sure, Stan now knew that whales were mammals and that a Hundred Years’ War wasn't a one single war that went for exactly a hundred of years. That didn't really count for anything.

Stan still was a loser that was just a shallow copy of his twin. Who lived in his twin's dorm room. Who had no plans of his own, only counting on Ford’s ones.

Nothing would change. That was a stu… pointless test that didn't show anything and didn't give anything in return. No monetary price for completion, no awards or recognition for a good score.

Stan just wasted a lot of his time. And a bit of Sixer's too. As always…

“So, what next?” Ford interrupted his thoughts.

“What do you mean?” Stan tried to postpone his darker thoughts for later at night, when he would be alone to really be able to focus on them.

Ford hesitated, fiddling with his fingers. “Well… You were spending quite a lot of time studying for this survey. What will you do now instead?”

“Nothing?” Stan shrugged. Well, he still had chores. And he probably still wanted to steal the Andeana Monts book from Sixer and read it by himself, as the cover of it was quite intriguing. But besides any of that? Did his and Fidds' secret project count?

But Ford wasn't pleased with this answer for some reason. He frowned and looked away, definitely pondering some thoughts of his. Did it really matter how Stan was spending their last days here? Was Sixer counting on having a room all by himself again?

And then Sixer's face was brightening all of the sudden. He shoved Stan aside to take all of the survey’s pages and started to look all over them once again, this time very rapidly, looking mostly on the margins if Stan decoded his gaze correctly.

“So, if you are mostly free”, Sixer started slowly, as he sometimes did during their DD&MD games, when he was eager to describe his turn yet still undecided how exactly to proceed. “Can I ask you for a favour?”

Well, that was definitely something interesting. Even if slightly suspicious.

Stan nodded in a way of showing his interest.

“See, I… Going through your answers made me remember that I owe some attendance credits to some professors”, oh, Sixer was definitely lying - his gaze was moving from one direction to another, his fingers were twitching and his Adam's apple was bobbling. “So, could you… em.. be so kind as to make an attendance in my stead? Nothing complicated, just to make it seem that I showed up in person?”

Oh, Sixer was definitely conning him. Didn't Fidds say that Ford was already done with all his credits? Or Ford hid some problems from his friend?

“I won't be sitting at some boring molecular lecture or what is it you're missing”, Stan grumbled and stood up. “Deal with it yourself…”

“No! Nothing like chemistry or physics!” Sixer was really nervous, as he didn't even notice how hard he started to clutch at the survey's papers. Was it really such a big matter to him? Well, Stan possibly could fake some interest even in those complicated atomic physics. Or at least find out whether he could sleep with his eyes open. Yet Ford wasn't done. “No, that's about history and geography… And I'm not sure yet about biology… So let's start with these two… What do you think, do you want to help me with this?”

Stan frowned at this wording. Why would it matter if he wanted it or not? But sure, sitting through those subjects would be definitely more interesting than anything else. God bless Ford to have problems in the matters that Stan was more or less interested in! Maybe listening about all that stuff would be even more fun than reading about it?

“Well, sure, why not?” he tried to hide his excitement, but then was surprised at Sixer’s expression.

It was the one he wore after getting a 38 on the throw and then passing a check in his favor.

It was Ford’s “gambled and won” expression.

Sixer definitely did con him into something. But into what? Was there a really awful prof or what? Or was it a history of boring science or something?

Yet Stan did agree already. And he would keep his word to Ford.

He would just prepare a very long list of complaints for the afterwards.

***

“You did not!”

“I definitely did!” and Stanford laughed at his friend's expression of pure shock.

“And he agreed?!” Fiddleford’s surprise was evident in the way the car swerved in the lane. The driver quickly returned his gaze on the road and corrected the course.

“Yep”, Stanford exhaled when the danger passed. “Speaking of agreeing… How did you manage to convince him yourself?”

“Well, not so much convincing, more like lots of pleading and promises to take him too next time…” Fiddleford sighed and switched the signals on to show the incoming left turn. “And having to listen to all the ways I'll be injured if I return her with even one more scratch… And that's definitely not fair! Did you see her state?!”

Stanford chuckled. Well, Stanley definitely did trust their common friend if in the end he agreed to them taking the Stanleymobile for their own purposes. Sure, it stung a bit that he never agreed to let Stanford drive… But to be fair, even while Stanford did finally have a license, he wouldn't trust himself with any car either. 

And probably, if there wasn't an emergency with Fiddleford’s own pickup and if he and Stanford weren't in a hurry to test some new upgrades on their project, the Stanleymobile would be continuing to rest in the storage box. 

But Stanley also mentioned how some fresh air would be good for her… And actually was intending to drive her and his companions himself.

So Stanford had to come up with some reasons why his twin should definitely stay home (only because they were plotting something behind his back - not because Stanford was looking forward to spending some time with his friend…). And in the end just piled some extra “necessary to attend” lectures on his twin.

And while Stanford prepared himself to be feeling guilty and plotting ways to make it up to Stanley, the latter didn't seem too upset at being left behind and instead just wished them a “nice and nerdy voyage”. Before taking a spare notebook (that Stanford gifted him to make an appearance of making notes during lecture) and asking whether he was supposed to be answering some questions (No, Stanford did some elaborate explaining to the corresponding professors of how he just needed some inspiration for some of his theories) and leaving in the direction of the classrooms.

Still, Stanford already was mentally counting his spare change on buying some treats on their way back. To express his gratitude! Not to bribe for forgiveness! Definitely not!

***

“So, any updates in our plan?”

Stanford sighed while passing a wrench to his friend.

To be fair, their “plan” was more like a half of the plan. The Bot would be ready for exploitation by the end of today. Yet the application of it…

“I don't know. I asked Mom whether they would be arriving, and she still has no idea. Said it depends on the profits of following weeks”.

Fiddleford hummed. “So back to plan ‘drive first to NJ before going West Coast’?”

Stanford went to the wall and sat there on the floor, on a somewhat bare surface.

He looked over the towering structure of a Bot: it was a solid figure of 12 feet tall, thin in legs and wider in torso area. There wasn't a definite head, only a number of sensors in the upper area and a wielded sequence of four letters and one number.

But for some reason Fiddleford decided to add some “character” in another zone. In the hands, which consisted of six fingers each.

When Stanford learned about Bot’s existence and first asked about this detail, Fiddleford mumbled something about ‘if that bastard was ashamed of this peculiarity, he then should be punched exactly by it’. Stanford tried hard to correct his friend's mistaken impression: their Father never was ashamed and on the contrary tried everything to raise Stanford in a way he would still be accepted by society despite his defect. 

Yet that discussion left both of them with unchanged opinions, so Stanford had to resort to blackmail and threaten his friend to cease their friendship in case the Bot would be finished.

And now they were both working on it. Because… 

Stanford once again felt the hair on his skin rise. 

Because it should've been their Father horrified about Stanley's bad vision. It should've been their Father noticing where Stanley’s learning interests were! It should've been that man making sure that his son was safe and sleeping indoors!

Not that Stanford was better, but at least he reached back when it counted, right? But what if he didn't? What if Stan didn't call? Would Stanley continue to sleep in his car until… Until what, exactly?! Until that damn mythical million?! That wasn't worth anything if it meant Stanley wasn't eating well or feeling safe?!

Stanford felt his palms sting and had to relax his hands so his fingers weren't hurting his skin anymore.

“I'm not sure whether I would like to use KFPA-1”, he whispered and instantly heard his friend stumbling and falling down from the ladder.

“Are you kidding me?!” Fiddleford shrieked from the ground. “What, you're back to thinking your Dad is…”

“No, I just think I want to punch him myself”, Stanford flexed his fists and punched an air before him with one. “I need to look him in the eyes while doing it and ask him, was he really believing in Stanley to be able to make it or if he simply didn't care?”

He heard Fiddleford exhale.

“Well, that's one way to deal with him not arriving here…” there was a pause. “Pity. I only needed to reconnect the trackers”.

Stanford looked up feeling some guilt.

“I'm sorry to backtrack on our project. But that is something that I need to do without your help. I'm really…”

“Don't continue”, Fiddleford patted his pants to clear some dust and made way to sit near Stanford. “You know, I'm even glad in some way”.

“Really? In which one?”

“You're standing up to him”, Fiddleford put his hand on Stanford's shoulder. “And that's actually curious. You were never going to do it for yourself. But as soon as Stanley…” he paused and chuckled. “You two really are the same”.

“Of course we are”, Stanford didn't really get it. Was it some kind of a joke? “We're twins!”

Fiddleford just laughed and shook his head.

Stanford chuckled too, without really understanding it all, and looked over at KFPA-1. 

“Did you feel it too then? That rage? So you started to build it?”

“Should be obvious”, Fiddleford mumbled. “That's what I'm doing with the ones who hurt me or my family. Or my best friend”, he smiled. “Or my best friend and his twin who is now also my friend”.

Stanford stilled.

“Am I still your best friend?” he didn't know why he was asking. He wasn't going to acknowledge the hesitation in his insides. That was pointless. “I mean, you and Stanley started to spend a lot of time…”

Fiddleford interrupted him with giggling.

“Wait… Are you jealous?” he turned all the way to Stanford with a large smile. “Oh god, you really are!”

“Don't laugh, I beg you!” Stanford looked at his hands. “And I'm not jealous. I'm glad you two found some common interest… But…”

Fiddleford nudged him with a shoulder.

“I won't insult both of you by choosing one. Buuut…” he smirked, “Your blueprints are a delight for sore eyes. And until we teach Stanley to use ruler and appropriate lettering instead of his chicken scratching…”

“You're just mocking me, are you?” Stanford laughed too, feeling lighter and relieved.

“You need it, Jersey Boy”, Fiddleford nudged again, harder, to a point of almost shoving, to which Stanford immediately shoved back.

“Watch it, Farm Boy”, he jokingly threatened, “Or I'll be stealing your favourite scissors and gifting them to Craft Club!”

“You wouldn't dare!” Fiddleford hissed, but didn't lose his pleased expression.

They looked at each other and started laughing once again.

“So, what will you do with KFPA-1 now?” Stanford said after a while.

“No idea yet”, Fiddleford sighed. “Maybe I'll keep him for sometime until I get my first paycheck and decide to ask for a raise? Do you think it would be a nice enough argument?”

“Oh, that's definitely a nice argument”, Stanford stared at the Bot that wore his number of fingers and smiled. “Hope you'll find a nice application for him”.

They both chuckled.

“So…” Fiddleford stretched his arms above him, “As your brother won't expect us for another two hours…”

“...Are you proposing what I think you'll be proposing?” Stanford squinted with delight.

“That depends”, his friend smirked. “Was raiding a junkyard what you were thinking?”

“Definitely!” Stanford jumped to his feet. “I found a cursed book there last time! Maybe this time I'll find its sequel?”

***

Fiddleford patiently waited for the gas indicator to show up the necessary amount. The least he could do as a self-respecting man is to reimburse the spent amount of fuel.

The elder twin was still in the station, choosing between different types of snacks and cross checking them by the ‘healthy ones’ and ‘Stanley would love them’ categories.

“Hey, nice car”, some guy in a black leather jacket approached Fiddleford and leaned on the Stanleymobile. “Is it yours?”

“No, my friend’s”, Fiddleford gritted his teeth and showed the rude man aside. He probably wouldn't mind if it was his Chevro, but Stanley entrusted him with his El Diablo, so Fiddleford felt really pissed off by this behaviour.

“The one who's shaking the chips?” the rude man nodded at the station’s window where Stanford was doing exactly that.

“Not your business”, Fiddleford saw that the gas indicator showed the needed amount and started to screw the lid back. 

“Hey, I was only being friendly”, the rude man whistled. “So, about your friend…”

Fiddleford ignored the man and went into the station to pay for the gas. Stanford soon joined him at the counter, with arms filled with all sorts of snacks.

When they left the station, the rude man was gone.

***

“Fidds! Fidds! Wake up!” the aggressive whispering coupled with no less aggressive poking in the feet quickly roused Fiddleford from his sleep.

He groaned and squinted at Stanley's smiling face. And then looked at the window where the faint traces of sunrise slowly crippled by the frame.

“What?!” he glared at his ‘one step from being demoted back to best friend’s twin’ friend with warning. “If this is about you still being mad about brain structure lecture, go bother your brother, I have no relation…”

“I planted a tracker on Zak!” Stanley was whispering with clear excitement. “That was a little tricky, and my initial plan failed… But then I had another idea, and when I sneaked in his room he was still sleeping…”

“I'm in no condition to listen”, Fiddleford turned to his other side, with his back to Stanley. “Tell me in another few hours, when I'll awake by myself…”

There was a whispered cursing, then as Fiddleford started to fall back asleep, Stanley muttered:

“Shouldn’t nerds be like night animals? Why are they always sleeping at night?!”

***

“Oh, come on, Stanley! No one appreciates being awoken in those hours! Please! I'm really sorry! So tell me already!”

“Nu-uh”, Stanley, that bastard, wagged his finger right before Fiddleford's face. “That was a one time deal, and you, pal, just blew it up!”

“You can't do this!” Fiddleford really wanted to pull his hair from frustration. “Aren't we partners?!”

“Oh… We are”, Stanley nodded, and Fiddleford sighed in relief. But it was too early: “So I propose a new deal…” he made a dramatic pause and smirked. “Figure it out yourself, genius!”

And Fiddleford screamed from frustration.

Chapter Text

“Fiddleford, we really should go, I need to switch with Stanley in five minutes or he'll be late for…”

“Then I still have five more minutes to finish my drink”, Fiddleford made a slow and small sip from a nearly empty cup. Oh, this chocolate concoction was actually something! Maybe it'll be better to make it themselves sometimes instead of coffee?

His friend sighed and crossed his arms, tapping his fingers by the arm in a sign of impatience. Well, in some way Stanford was right - they really should've already left the campus café and met Stanley to escape any possible witness accidents… If this was any other ordinary day.

But today wasn't it. It was a day dubbed as “Z-0” by both Fiddleford and Stanley. And not coincidentally that was a day when both Fiddleford and Stanford had to have an airtight alibi, preferably the same one. At least, during the breaks between classes, and the current one had still five minutes left.

Fiddleford sorrowfully looked into a cup with some beverage still left there. Oh, how he ached to be outside, to witness… anything, actually: whether their success or failure, to congratulate his partner-in-crime or to make some notes for the future.

But Stanley was right: if they wanted to evade suspicions (and they really wanted), Fiddleford shouldn't be in any vicinity, alone or with Stanford. He should stay in sight of other people, clearly doing something not-bot-related.

Drinking hot chocolate definitely counted as such.

Stanford was glaring at the clock on the opposite wall. Fiddleford glanced there too: three minutes left. Okay, still nothing. Either the BirdBot broke on her first flight, or Zak wasn't yet suspicious… Well, the second option was preferable…

There was a loud cursing outside, followed by sounds of uneven running. And then Zak all but fell down through the doors, slamming them in the beak of the screeching bird, no, the screeching BirdBot. Not that the difference was obvious, but Fiddleford instantly recognised their creation. More importantly, he understood that the Bot and their plan both worked.

Meanwhile Zak leaned his forehead on the doors, trying to catch a break. His overall state was quite disheveled, especially his hair. And his clothes wore tears all over it, especially on the back. Fiddleford squinted: no sight of blood, good - his programming was working as it should.

After getting another deep inhale, Zak turned around, taking the area around in sight, and froze instantly on noticing Fiddleford and his friend.

“You!” he raised a finger in accusation. “Of course it's one of you!”

“What do you mean?” Fiddleford calmly finished his drink and placed a cup on the table. “Or was it a simple observation of noticing us? In that case you're wrong, it's not one but both of…”

“Don't you dare mock me!” Zak approached their table and slammed his palms on it, making the cup and empty mug of Stanford wobble. “One of you did something! Never in my life was I attacked by stray birds! So I should've known it's because of you again! So what did you do?! Did you spray something on me?! Or did you catch some and trained them to attack?!”

Fiddleford tried hard to keep his smile hidden. Oh god, Stanley’s plan was brilliant! Due to the thorough featherwork Zak had no idea that the creature wasn't even a real bird!

Stanford meanwhile was definitely confused. Well, at first he tried to hunch on himself, as usual in Zak’s presence, but as the latter's attention focused on Fiddleford, he frowned in thought.

Well, Fiddleford knew beforehand that in this situation it would be up to him to make a verbal and actual getaway.

“Well, I'm sure feeling proud that you think I'm capable of it”, Fiddleford tried hard to appear as innocent as possible, “But you're wrong this time, whatever happened - it definitely wasn't because of me. Or us, isn't it so, Stanford?”

Stanford looked up rapidly at his friend who tried to express his own assurance in this situation.

After a few blinks Stanford's expression hardened, and he nodded.

“Definitely. After all, if I noticed correctly, it was a crow, and the latest studies showed them to be capable of facial recognition…” Stanford rightened his glasses. “So if one of them felt at some point threatened by you…”

Zak groaned and slammed his palms once again before making his way to an exit. “This isn't over! I'll find out what you did! And believe me… Argh! Damn you all!” immediately after going through the door, Zak was once again attacked by the BirdBot and went running in search of another hiding place.

After checking whether anyone else was still paying any attention to them, Fiddleford exhaled and felt his mouth stretched in a wide smile.

“Stanford! That was brilliant! Did you come up with that on the spot?!”

His friend actually looked outraged at that.

“What?! No! There are actual studies like that! Stanley told me about… it… yesterday…” Stanford squinted with suspicion. “He's helping you with this whatever it is, isn't he?”

“I hoped it would take a bit longer for you to get it”, Fiddleford chuckled.”So, what tipped you off?”

“Metal sound, when the door hit that bird?” Stanford smirked. “Never heard of the one that had a metal beak. So accept my compliments: that's one of your most peculiar ones. Would you mind showing it to me sometime?”

“Well, as you guessed, I had a little help too”, Fiddleford winked, pleased to immediately be treated with a nice ‘surprised Stanford’ expression.

“Stanley? You mean not only did he think of a cover story…”

“Yep”, Fiddleford stood up and nodded in the direction of the doors. The plan was completed, so they were finally free to leave the café. “I actually can say that all this plan was proposed by him. I only did some technical stuff… But he at one point actually started to look very closely at my workings”, he smiled remembering their process. “So I should be careful, or I will raise a rival for myself”.

Stanford actually laughed at that. “Somehow I'm both surprised and not. I should've expected something like this too. Did I ever tell you about his own science fair project?”

That sounded intriguing.

“No. Pray tell me…”

***

Somehow it took Stanford more than 24 hours to even think of the right question.

Somehow seeing Zak running after the BirdBot with his lunch in beak finally made Stanford wonder of his twin’s and their friend’s reasons for the project itself.

“Why did you even decide to target him again?! I thought we had agreed on leaving him alone!”

“Correction. It was an agreement between you and the Hogboy here. I didn't agree to nothing…”

“It should be…”

“Correct me again and I'll kick your butt”.

Stanford rubbed his face from irritation. Before him Stanley was smirking. And Fiddleford tried to whistle as innocently as possible.

“I'm going to ignore it”, Stanford glared at his brother. “Yet I definitely remember telling you to leave Zak alone.”

“Hmmmm”, Stanley hummed. “Oh yeah, there was something like that. But your advice was so stu…”

“Stanley.”

“Come on! I'm trying to insult you this time!” Stanley rolled his eyes. “Okay, your advice was so awesome that if your favourite Nick followed it, the world would be left without… wait…” he frowned, paused, then turned to Fiddleford and whispered: “What is that guy famous again for?”

“You dare to use Tesla against me without even knowing his greatest input?!” Stanford was on the verge of going physical on his twin and had to count to 38 to calm himself a bit. “It’s his Alternating Current system, without it the contemporary systems wouldn't be…” he noticed his twin’s smirking and realised he got caught in a trap. “Don't try to distract me! We were talking about Zak!”

“What's to talk about him?” Stanley scratched his ear and shrugged. “He’s getting some nice serving of humble pie. Nothing to be worried about…”

“Didn't I tell you about his father's influence? Or about how they already got us in trouble several times?!”

“Heard it”, Stanley looked at his twin with a completely serious expression, “and decided to ignore it.”

“But…!”

“I can deal with you asking me to stay hidden. I can deal with you asking me to think of your reputation here first. But I refuse to stand aside and do nothing when that guy feels free to insult you right in your face!”

Stanford actually didn't know what to say. Instead, he felt relaxed, relieved and even somewhat reassured. 

Right. That was pure Stanley, although the subtle part was new. Was it because he couldn't deal with it as himself and had to figure out other ways and even to bring Fiddleford to his aid?

Stanford still failed to come up with a suitable reply. Was he to express his gratitudes? But Zak really could've retaliated soon! Or should he make Stanley promise not to do it again? Ha, as if Stanley would be really stopped by that - not to say seeing Zak fighting with the BirdBot was hilarious…

And it seemed like that thought process was shown to an extent on his face, as Stanley’s expression started to drop and transform into a really insecure one.

“...You really don't approve of it?”

Stanford didn't even register Fiddleford’s own expression of disappointment and just grabbed and hugged Stanley with all his might.

“I don't know”, he admitted. “I fear his reaction…”

“Ha, I’ll deal with it in your stead, don't you worry…”

“...Yes, I know it”, Stanford chuckled on his twin’s shoulder. “And that's why I definitely appreciate it. Thank you for still protecting me, Stanley”.

He felt his brother shudder and relax into the hug.

“No problems. That's my role, isn't it?” Stanley whispered.

What?

“What do you mean?” Stanford had to lean away just to see his twin’s eyes for it. “That's not it!”

Stanley blinked in confusion.

“Huh? But that was always it?”

“I… I think I left my blow torch on somewhere that is not here”, Fiddleford loudly announced, halfway already through the door. Not that it was really noticed.

“Stanley! Please humour me. Why do you think about roles and such?” Stanford led them both to be seated on the bed.

“Well… I really don't know why you need an explanation. You have brains and I have punching, wasn't it like always?”

Stanford groaned. Forget about bots and stuff. He should've asked Fiddleford to find out whether it was possible to manipulate someone's brain or at least to read it as a book.

“Stanley, please. You protecting me for all our childhood was not a role. It's something the brothers and family just do!”

And then he read Stanley’s answer in his eyes: but nobody really did it for Stan himself. Ouch, that hurt even without saying.

That hurt even more because it was the truth.

“...Yes, in that sense I wasn't a really good one”, Stanford looked away and hung his head in shame.

“Bullshit!” Stanley immediately shouted and grabbed his twin's hand. “You were the best brother ever! You still are!”

Stanford chuckled. “You don't have a lot of base for comparison, do you?” he exhaled and turned back to look at his brother. “Stanley, I promise to you that I'll do better. If you think of protecting me as a role… Then I'll accept it for myself too.”

Stanley laughed. “You? With your noodle arms? That's a nice joke, Sixer! Still, I appreciate the sentiment…”

“You said it yourself, Stanley”, Stanford smirked. “I have brains. So on the one hand, that's my best weapon!”

Stanley tugged on their connected hands with a soft smile.

“Yes, I suppose so.”

“Won't you ask what on the other hand?”

At that Stanley raised his eyebrow in surprise. “Okay, bite me. What's there?”

Stanford grinned. “On the other hand, if your brain is starting to reveal itself as a really formidable one, that means that my punching too should hold some potential!”

He expected Stanley to laugh again, to treat it as a joke for one more time, but instead Stanley silently stared at their connected hands.

Did he miss something?

“Stanley?”

And then Stanley did indeed chuckle and shook his head.

“Yeah, Sixer, thanks for cheering me on!”

Well, not that Stanford expected some immediate results. He would just try and try and try.

***

One more knuckle. Sixer's punch not only held some potential. With the right training and attitude his punch could eventually deal more damage than Stan’s because of it.

What did it mean for the rest of Sixer’s analogy?

Did Sixer even understand what he had just implied?

Was Stan really hoping on the answer to be “yes”?

***

“Oh and I definitely should stop letting you and Stanley run free. What more did you do behind my back?”

“Oh Stanford, didn't you want us to get along?”

“Not by building murder bots together!”

“That's why we built an annoying bot instead, so don't be jealous…”

“I'm not jealous!”

***

“Huh, never saw it before. Did you even wear this one?”

Stanford looked up from sorting his textbooks and notes and every other content of his desk.

Stanley was holding a BMU varsity jacket. Ford’s own varsity jacket that he was issued yet refused to wear because of general tackiness.

“Oh, I thought you burned it like you promised”, Fiddleford chuckled from his own wardrobe.

Stanford missed the exact moment when Stanley's usual “quick floor sweeping” turned to blackmailing both of them into making a “big stuff reorganization” in preparation for their eventual departure. Yet here they all were, picking through the clothes and books and every belongings, sorting all of it into the ‘keep’ pile, ‘leave’ pile and ‘throw out’ pile.

“I definitely thought so too”, Stanford waved at the third pile. “To throw out.”

“Are you kidding me? That's a good one!” Stanley immediately tried it on himself. “Well, it definitely tickles even through the shirt, yet it is still a nice one!”

“Well, I have to say, you wear it better than Stanford”, Fiddleford giggled. “Maybe because you actually have more of the athletic aura?”

Stanford paused and looked at his twin more closely.

It really suited Stanley. One part of the reasons that Stanford himself refused to wear it was that he was given a size too large. Yet on his twin it was sitting perfectly.

Stanley was attempting to close all the buttons, and Stanford stilled.

It could be Stanley's in another timeline. If only Stanley wasn't thrown out, they could definitely find a way to go here together. And Stanley could actually study here, do sports and wear this jacket and… 

…

“Stanford?”

Stanford just hugged his twin even tighter, feeling the rough fabric of the jacket under his hands and cheek.

“I'm sorry”, he whispered, trying to chase away the wetness in his eyes. “I’m sorry for every time I thought of leaving you behind, for every time I made you feel insecure or inferior… I'm sorry, Stanley, I'm so, so sorry!’

He felt his twin’s hands reaching around him and returning the hug. And Stanley’s trembling chuckle as he was slowly stroking his back.

“No worries, Sixer, it's all in the past…”

“No, it's not, it's in the present and it's gonna influence your future and…” Stanford didn't understand how Stanley still wasn't getting it? “Because of me you don't have any diploma and what are you going to…”

“Well, I still have you, don't I?” there was a cough from the other side of the room. “Yeah, yeah, I have you too, Fidds… Anyway, I don't need something… damn all your bans!... something somethingy as a diploma! I'm gonna figure something out when we get to those Falls or what!”

“...Do you even want to go there or you're just following me?” only after the words left Stanford, he realised how much that thought was plaguing him lately. 

“What?” Stanley screeched right at his ear, making Stanford wince. “Of course I want to go there! There are all those strange things and… and… I definitely will find something there too!”

And that was his answer. Stanford deeply sighed. The worst was that they didn't have any better option. Stanford wasn't leaving Stanley again and the latter just didn't have any better opportunity than to start at Gravity Falls and try to find something there. 

“If I manage to make my own company, I'll offer both of you some nice jobs there”, Fiddleford decided to interrupt their silence.

“Yep! See? Plenty of options! I definitely will make a nice secretary or a bodyguard!”

“Oh no, I won't offer you any less than a junior assistant with an opportunity for a raise. So don't expect to be slacking there!”

Stanford chuckled himself at his twin’s startled expression. Didn't Stan know that Fiddleford noticed his potential too?

And maybe they were right. All of them, in their own ways. Yes, Stanley had to lose a lot of time because of horrible decisions on every side, but they were together from now on. It was not an end, it was a new beginning…

“We'll make it, I promise you”, he hugged Stanley for another time before stepping away.

His twin immediately turned away, all but dumping the contents of two next shelves into a basket, grabbing a stray book from the “keep” pile and rapidly marching with those to the door. “It's too dusty here! I'm going to do some laundry!”

Fiddleford chuckled before turning to Stanford. 

“Oh now I definitely believe him to be a younger one. So, big brother, back to sorting?”

“How is it even possible to use that difference against me?! It's supposed to work only on Stanley!”

***

Stanford had long ago timed out the average time needed for Stanley to do laundry. With 45 minutes needed for the washing cycle, another 22 for the drying cycle and from ten to twenty additional minutes for the route and intermediate steps. 

So for Stanley to return in an hour was definitely too early.

“Stanley? What's…”

Something definitely was wrong: Stanley’s face was too pale, and he was clutching something in his hands. But worst of all, he was trembling with all his body.

“Stanley!” Stanford all but threw his notebook that he was flipping through on the ground and ran to his twin. “What's happened?! Are you hurt somewhere?!”

“I… I… Sorry, I screwed up again…” and Stanley just fell down on his knees, hiding his face in his palms that were still holding some purple fabric.

Stanford threw a quick glance at Fiddleford who nodded with a most serious expression and went out running to check on the laundry room.

Meanwhile Stanford lowered himself on his knees by his twin’s side and carefully placed his hands on Stan’s shoulders.

“Everything is okay. Whatever happened, we'll deal with it”, he tried to speak as calmly as he could. He still didn't know what happened, but he was sure - nothing was worth his twin breaking down. “I'm here, Stanley”.

“I'm sorry, Ford”, Stanley changed his position to hug himself and to appear as small as possible. “You were wrong, I'm only capable of ruining everything and breaking and failing…”

Stanford reminded himself to keep staying calm and rational.

“No, Stanley, I'm afraid in this case it's you who are wrong”, he grabbed the closest Stan’s hand and clutched at it. “Please, just tell me what happened! I will help, I promise you!”

Still, it took some minutes for Stanley to calm himself down even a little to stop trembling. Eventually he held out his other hand with a purple fabric Stanford noticed earlier. And that he still wasn't recognising.

“I… I didn't notice it was there… And then everything became pink or… or purple… or just even some kind of muddy…”

“Ah, something red got in?” Stanford realised. That was definitely unpleasant, but nothing worth such panic. So why…

“Don’t you really get it?!” Stanley finally uncurled himself, glaring with a mix of rage and panic, all while tears were still running down his cheeks. “I broke it! Again! Whatever it was supposed to do, it's not doing it now! It's not doing anything! That time it cost you your golden college! So what will it cost you now?!”

Oh… 

Stanford chased away his memories of that one incident, however painful and shameful they still were. He owed it to Stanley to deal with everything right this time. Without reacting before getting all the facts. Without drawing the conclusion while neglecting his twin’s motives.

So he slowly took the strange thing and examined it. It was a long strip of fabric, not wholly purple, but probably once in stripes of red and blue. Possibly also in white ones. It mostly resembled a tie, yet Stanford only owed ones in black and…

His fingers found a metal part on the other side. It was actually a dial and…

Oh, so that was what it was! 

Stanford quickly checked the inside of the tie and nodded. Yes, one part of his government project from a year ago. The prototype at least. Well, no problems then, it was now just a memento of a job once well done.

“Worry not, Stanley, it's nothing important”, he took both of Stan's hands into his own two. “Look at me, it's just a prototype for a project that was already done and submitted. It's not going to impede me in any way!”

“Oh… good…” Yet Stanley still refused to meet his gaze. “Nice to know that I ruined some stupid and unimportant stuff this time…” Wait, what did he imply… “Well, that just means I should just stay away from any of your stuff and just away from anything…”

Crap, that was going horribly wrong! Why?! Why?!

I tried to put it back…

It was never about just breaking it, wasn't it?

Stanford sighed and tugged on their connected hands to draw attention.

“Will you help me to fix it?”

That definitely got Stan’s attention. He blinked some tears out of his eyes and finally looked in his twin's eyes.

“It's still salvageable?”

Stanford couldn't help but snort. “Of course it is! Who do you take me for? I made this tie once… twice… not counting the failed ones and the finished project… So I definitely can do a repair job! And you're going to help me and undo as much damage as possible!”

And that was definitely the right thing to say - Stanley’s eyes were still wet, but he slowly was losing the panic and confusion, instead making way for a small hopeful smile.

“Do you have something to restore the colour too?”

“Nah, I actually like it better this way”, Stanford chuckled and rose to his feet, not releasing Stan’s ones and dragging him up with him. “And this one is for the controlled person, so he or she won't definitely be able to say anything in protest…”

“Yeah, right… Wait, what?! What the fuck is this thing?!”

***

Stanford thoroughly examined the new plating. Yes, Fiddleford was right about chicken scratchings - in terms of carefulness that was the worst work Stanford ever saw. Yet all the needed connections were restored, and after turning the dial up, the small lights started to blink.

“Nice job”, he nodded and smiled at Stan's relieved exhale. “So, where is the second one? I think you'll do an even better job now on your next try…”

Stan's expression became blank.

“The second one?”

Right at that moment there was a loud explosion somewhere in the direction of the laundry room.

Stanford drummed his fingers. “So, I think I know now where…” he paused and then just could help but start laughing.

“What?! What's so funny?!” Stanley cried in alarm.

“Fiddleford went there…” Stanford managed between weezling. “And this time it wasn't his or mine fault!”

And poor Fiddleford would have to shoulder all of it himself, knowing that due to his incognito status Stanley couldn't be blamed!

Stanley was frowning with worry, and that made Stanford laugh even harder.

Thank you, Stan, for your unintended karma! That was for the “big brother” comment, F! 

***

“Stop worrying and just start it, goddamn! Or I'll just start the Game myself and you'll have to perform tomorrow without preparation!”

Stanford sighed and nodded. That was an awful cheering yet somehow it worked.

“Okay, I'm ready”, he exhaled and straightened his posture, standing before Stanley and Fiddleford who were sitting on the latter's bed. “Ladies and gentlemen…”

“We're in twentish century! Who the hell starts it this way?!”

“That's common decency and figure of speech”, Fiddleford hit his friend with an elbow to shut him down. “Good start, Stanford, please continue!”

“Thank you. Ladies and gentlemen, I'm honoured to be standing today before you and I'm going to present my plan for the Weirdness Studying Program…”

Stanley made a show of yawning. So Stanford decided to just keep his eyes on Fiddleford who just nodded with encouragement.

He went without hitch, not even once glancing at his notes. So every name, date and fact was recalled flawlessly. Not to mention his conclusion that he spent two full days on polishing back in the days.

“...And that's why going to Gravity Falls is essential to create a basic understanding of the anomaly scale before expanding it to the infinite assortment of the Weirdness throughout the entire planet and beyond!”

Fiddleford clapped and Stanford grinned with excitement.

“Good?! Good?!”

“Awesome! I'm sure they'll love it…”

“That was boring”, Stanley groaned from where he was laying on his back.

Stanford sighed with disappointment. He was really counting on Stanley’s support. Was it really something so uninteresting for Stanley…

“Well, thankfully it's not for you to…”

“...and when I said it's boring I meant it in the worst way possible”, Stanley finally sat down and glared at his twin. And… Ouch. Thank you, Stanley, for making him now doubt every word… “You have to start with a bang and finish it that way too!”

What?

“Stanley, that is not some entertainment, that is a science presentation!”

“What is your goal here, Ford?”

Stanford paused.

“To… get their interest in my work?”

“Then grab their attention!” Stanley jumped to his feet. “Sweep them off their noggin! Don't just state that Darwin law! Make a quiz, make them answer! That bit about your Yeti girlfriend? I blinked and missed it! Spin it, Sixer! Your audience should be eating your every word and not dreaming for you to finally shut your yap!”

Stanford flinched. Yet there was something truthful in all that…

Fiddleford slapped Stanley on the back of his head. “You're partially right, but you need some work on your wordings too. How did you manage to even sell anything with such lines?!”

“I'm irresistible?”

“Yeah, keep dreaming. Stanford, I think your speech as of now is really good. Of course, Stanley is right too and some attention-grabbing would be definitely of use.”

“Yeah, I definitely can come up with several jokes for you! How about ‘How much food does Nessy need? A Loch!’ Or... or… ‘Is this an anomal zone because by the concentrated brain mass here we're reaching the levels of a mental black hole?’... Nah, that was a bad one. Let me think some more…”

Stanford perked. “You really listened to my speech?”

Stanley paused mid-rambling. “Of course I did! How can I make sure you get your recognition if I wouldn't be able to offer a… how was it again? a constructive criticism?”

Stanford felt himself warming from the inside. Stanley did listen! And Stanley was trying to help him!

He chuckled and took his notes.

“Okay, you convinced me. Where should I make an attention-grabbing improvement?”

“Everywhere!... Ouch, stop slapping me, Hog Boy! Don't tempt me to make your druid a first victim of Albert!”

Stanford paused.

“Albert?”

Stanley froze on the spot. “Shit! You didn't hear anything! No Albert! There's no such character!”

“You have a new boss prepared?!” Stanford was instantly intrigued. “Will he be the battle one or the mystery one?! Or both?! …Ouch!”

“Ouch!!”

Fiddleford sighed after twin slapping.

“Focus, both of you! Stanford's speech first, Stanley’s Albert second!”

Stanford grumbled his agreement and passed his notes to a similarly grumbling Stanley.

“I'll slap Woodashious so hard you'll be rolling for that Mean Error for eternity…”

Stanford grinned at his twin with pride.

***

To Stanford's regret they didn't manage to get into the Game this evening, all three too invested in coming up with all sorts of jokes and puns, and then making Stanford go through his speech several times so he wouldn't sound too stiff with his new delivery.

And actually he remembered the mysterious Albert only while falling asleep.

Well, he still was intrigued. The name itself didn't hold any hints, and besides some mercenaries in their latest game who didn't know who hired them there was no clue of where their story was supposed to go.

But it was still Stanley’s story. And Stanford trusted him… And in his story too.

***

“Do I know you? You look very familiar…”

“Ah, yes! I'm Fordstan, from Accountings. And you're Bobby, right? From Greek History Class? That was a nice lecture two days ago, did you already do the essay?”

“Yeah… Right, I should go…”

Stan grinned under his moustache and straightened his sunglasses.

His “not any Ford” disguise was perfect!

He slouched back on his seat in the back of the auditorium and continued waiting. The room was slowly filling with all sorts of crowds: students, teachers, he even noticed some janitors hiding in the corner. And of course the Board itself… Oh, that lady, the Cutlass owner! Who was apparently the Dean and who also was there and talking with her colleagues.

Yeah, Sixer definitely underestimated his weight as a local genius - that was a huge crowd! Yet by sitting and listening here Stan knew already one not really pleasant detail. Most of the students were here not for support, but for show, for a chance to giggle at the strange theme and at their strange classmate.

And only the need to stay as low as possible was keeping Stan from making some preventive hits on the heads of the loudest guys.

Stan really hoped that their last additions would be enough to sway the crowd, to turn their indifferent mocking into gasps of surprises. Sure, Fidds never hesitated to remind both of them that the Board didn't care how well Ford would perform. But the thing was that Ford himself did care. Ford wanted to be taken seriously. Ford wanted to be seen as a new name in science, not as a laughing matter.

But anyway, Ford would do it! If needed, Stan would be cheering as loud as he can to overshadow everyone giggling!

Yet… Where the hell was Ford? And Fidds for that matter?

Stan glanced at the clock. They had only five minutes left to arrive.

Last minute preparations, they said. Something about getting some coffee as a tradition before going to the final test …

Did that tradition also include being late?!

Stan nervously glanced at the Board members who were starting to show signs of impatience.

Sixer, where the hell were you?

***

Stanford's head was still spinning when he was roughly thrown on the floor. He groaned and tried to roll over to relieve his bound hands from the weight of his upper body.

He only managed to make a stock of his overall injuries to be sure that nothing was broken (save for a crack on his glasses), when the door was opened for anew and Fiddleford joined him on the floor in the same manner.

“Fiddleford! Did they…”

“Yeah”, his friend groaned. “Kept asking about whether I knew who you really were and such…” he tried to sit up and winced. “Ouch, the last punch on my ribs was definitely extra…”

“Try to lean on the wall”, Stanford looked around them to find the closest surface. “It's four feet to your left”.

“I'll better lay down for now until I no longer want to retch”, his friend did exactly this and groaned for another time. “Do you think…”

“Judging by the fact that they kept asking me about the money I promised them? Yes, they definitely mistook me for Stanley”, Ford sighed. “Yet I don't remember him mentioning anything like this! I thought he was only low on money, not owning it too!”

“He didn't mention anything like this to me either… Stanford, I officially ask your permission to hit your brother as hard as I can when we'll get out!”

“I'm thinking of joining you”, Stanford grumbled. “So, any idea? And do you remember how they took us? I definitely got hit in the head as I have some time period missing!”

“Got us in that alley near the café. Struck you first, then me as a collateral…”

“Right! Maybe there were witnesses! Maybe someone saw it all and they are looking for us?!”

“Oh, there definitely was one witness, right…” Fiddleford rolled to his side and chuckled, but in a very dark tone.

“Oh good! He probably already…”

“They took him too”.

At that moment the door opened for a third time for their kidnappers to throw another person into their room.

Stanford froze as that third person lifted his head and glared at them with hatred.

“So what is this thing about you owning them millions, you Freak?!”

Chapter Text

<<<

Zak Chekhovski always knew his limits. He had nice grades in school, but not the best ones. He did sports, but not to the degree of winning some competitions. His parents loved him, but still placed all their hopes into his older siblings.

So he knew that his goal should be just getting a diploma and finding his path to a nice enough job with a decent paycheck.

He didn't have dreams about getting into some Big Name Colleges, he didn't even have the brains for it.

Backupsmore was perfect for him, with indifferent teachers, low admittance fee, his Dad as a Board member to assure his stay there as non-problematic as possible and a number of the same-minded peers that just hoped to get their bare minimum and leave.

Well, there were actually some of the students that did really try their best, using every available resource to get higher in the science food chain, to get attention from other colleges or just to gather as much knowledge this place could offer…

And there was also Stanford Pines.

That big-nosed pain-in-the-ass special bastard that with every breath tried to show how this place and everyone around him were beneath his ‘genius persona’.

Zak was unlucky enough to be living with him on the same floor in the dorms. But that actually was manageable, as Pines preferred to just stay in his room. And when he wasn't, he was definitely in the library, hoarding textbooks and other teaching materials.

The problem arose when Zak found himself in the same class as Pines, in the “Introduction to Calculus”. And… Actually, that guy spent only a week there before their professor had enough of being corrected and transferred Pines to the advanced class, to another professor even.

But that week… That was a true hell.

Pines didn't correct just their teacher. He actually had nerves to correct other students amidst their answers. Zak got his share of it too, along with ‘that is the knowledge that should be obtained in the middle school’ comment and the following laughter from the entire class.

Not that Zak really cared - he just wanted to pass this class and to get a needed grade to pass further… And before the third lesson Pines proudly announced that he asked their professor to review the material again because not everyone was getting it… And even had the nerves to be surprised by the following groaning.

Yes, after Pines got transferred, the classes returned to what they were supposed to be: a dull murmuring of their professor and lazy half-assing of their homework.

Needless to say, Zak wasn't really trying for their paths to cross. But that didn't stop him from hearing all sorts of rumours and complaints from other students. Even from the ones that did really try their best - and that was surprising, but only until Zak’s path didn't cross with Pines’ once again.

It was the chemistry class that Zak joined out of necessity to get some additional grades. And Pines was there too, with all his haughty and rude manners included.

So Zak just tried to sit as far in the back, to evade getting called out. And while he still got his share of ‘condescending corrections’, it wasn't as bad as when they got separated in groups for a practical project.

And Zak found himself in one with Pines, who didn't even have a grace to remember his name (screw their one week of calculus and current chemistry! They were neighbours for the second year already!). And they had another member, a girl, actually passionate about all these solutions and reagents. Well, not for long, as it turned out.

It was a small matter of once dropping the wrong amount of sodium something into the base compound.

Yet judging by Pines' reaction one could easily assume that they got something no less than a tickling chemical bomb or worse.

Jeanne ran in tears and Zak ran after, finding her somewhere behind buildings. He spent nearly an hour trying to assure the poor girl that it was no use trying to measure herself by that bastard’s standards. And at first she agreed and even attended the next few lessons… Before that bastard had the nerves to correct her answer before the whole class “so that she wouldn’t be blowing them all somewhere in the future”.

Well, that bastard definitely prevented it as Jeanne dropped the classes the next day, deciding to switch to the accounting ones.

And Zak decided to corner Pines to get him to back off.

Yeah, they got into a shouting match, with Zak screaming about Jeanne and his own experience and how Pines should just mind his business and leave everyone alone! 

And Pines countered about how they all were sullying ‘a mere concept of studying’ by treating it as lazily as they did.

Zak didn't even see red. He saw the bright shining colour of soon to be spilled blood. When his arguments were over, he needed something to get through that condescending armour on his opponent… And so he went for the insults.

He didn't manage to get creative, only getting to some versions of bastard and fuck-based ones (yet Pines' gaze started to lose his haughty shimmer), when Pines' neighbour, that skinny boy from a farm went running and straight up just punched Zak in the nose.

And while Zak was screaming from the pain, that farmer managed to take his bastardly friend away, hissing how Zak was the true bastard himself.

And only a week after the first robot punched his way through the wall of Zak’s room when he was still sleeping…

>>>

Zak’s slumber was disturbed by shouts. He carefully opened his eyes, trying not to alert anyone of his awoken status, and looked to their source.

Oh, the Farmer just got punched again while trying to knock down the huge guy. And the Freak got taken once again. The third time already in the… how long were they here? He would suppose no less than half a day, judging by his grumbling stomach.

Zak scoffed. Of course those two did something dangerous again, this time to the point of being kidnapped. And he had just the enormous luck to be tangled in this mess with them.

“So what, you smartasses, found a way to get us out?” he hissed when the door behind the Freak and the huge guy closed.

“Zip it, Zak”, the Farmer hissed back, while trying to somehow lift himself up from the ground with his hands still bound before him. “This is serious, we're in real trouble, so why don't you…”

“Sure, you don't deal with anything that isn't serious”, Zak groaned and looked around him some more. There was something on the ground just some inches from the door. “What's that?” he squinted in the darkness.

“They left us some water and bread…”

“How nice of them.”

“And we left some for you too, so it wouldn't hinder you to be more grateful…”

“How nice of you too then”, Zak hissed yet still went to retrieve the water with one third of a liquid still there. “So, back to my question. How you're going to resolve this mess?”

The Farmer groaned, yet it wasn't quite obvious, from pain or from frustration. “Yeah, well, we have some ideas. At least, we're almost sure that we know where we are”.

“Yeah? That's something”, Zak rolled his eyes. “And that helps us exactly how?”

“By knowing the building’s layout”, the Farmer glared at him. “That's with 89% probability the burned factory in Keytown, and if Stanford manages to verify it while he's led through the building, we will know the best way to escape without being seen”.

“Oh, good, and how we'll be escaping this locked room, pray tell?”

“That’s… we didn't discuss it yet”, the Farmer shrugged and immediately winced.

Zak felt some pity towards the guy. “How much did they rough you?”

“Not as bad as when I fell from the Bear Bot…”

Against his will Zak snorted. “Didn't that land you in the hospital with a broken hand?”

The Farmer smiled. “Yes, and with broken rib, ankle and pride”.

“Good times”, Zak whistled and sat down on the opposite side from the Farmer.

“You don't say…”

They both fell silent. Zak tried to look all over the room once again, but besides some signs of some fire in the past, the room was bare and without indications of what its purpose initially was. Giving up on visuals, Zak closed his eyes and tried to listen to any sounds.

And besides the Farmer's quiet wheezing and his own breaths, he only heard muffled shouts from somewhere below them. Not really reassuring.

Zak groaned and huddled on himself. He didn't want to admit it, but he was scared. And didn't have any idea what to do. And didn't see any way for anybody to come to their help.

He hated how his best way of surviving now was in those two bastards’ hands.

“By the way”, the Farmer's voice was hesitant. “I really can't believe that I'm asking it… But can you check whether there's a… random rectangle plate, the size of a palm, somewhere on you or in your pockets?”

Zak frowned. He definitely didn't feel anything like this on his person. But he needed some sort of distraction, so he went to check every inch of his clothes, starting from his jacket and ending with his pants. He even took off his best (and actually the last) pair of sneakers and checked under its insoles.

“Nah”, he shrugged. “Not that I have a habit of carrying something like this with me. So whatever you wanted to do with it, you'd better find something else to use”.

The Farmer however just exhaled. “No matter. I don't even know what I would do with it even if you had one…”

And when Zak tried to trick his mind into another slumber, the Farmer whispered: “Yeah, it's possibly for the better if he stays away anyway…”

***

Fiddleford felt like on the fifth mug of coffee. His mind was going on and on over every possibility. 

The most optimal escape route was already mapped, as well as five additional ones and at least a dozen based on his own visuals if it wasn't the Keytown Factory after all. 

He kept trying to recall what sort of materials were still left there on their last visit, yet besides some garbage in the basement the Keytown Factory was bare and useless.

Why couldn't the kidnappers take them another dozen miles to the north, to the Funscott Chemical Brothers factory that was in the process of bankruptcy and still had several storages full of reagents and more? Then they could be making a bomb or a paralyzing gas or… or… 

Fiddleford winced. Great, ribs. And to add further, getting them bruised didn't amount to anything, didn't help him to protect Stanford.

He sighed. Right, should've thought a bit more before trying to take them down by himself.

And yet they still needed to do exactly that if they wanted to make an escape. 

Stanley possibly would be already on his way out, he suddenly thought. Obviously, he had both a strength to overcome at least one of the guys and a cunning mind to slip out undetected.

But Stanley wasn't with them. And Fiddleford had only himself and Stanford to count on. Both with questionable strength, but with minds that theoretically should compensate for it… And also they had Zak as a semi-hostile dead weight.

Right. It was not the best setting, but they should be able to do it. Because… because Fiddleford didn't want to think of the opposite situation.

He should definitely hit Stanley as hard as possible. Why didn't he ever warn them about some folks that were after him? Or he didn't know it himself?

What should they do after escaping to prevent them from finding Stanley? 

How…?

His thoughts were interrupted with a sound of heavy steps heading their way. The Gas Station Guy! One of their kidnappers! 

Fiddleford exhaled and tried to calm himself down. As much as he wanted to try to land another hit, he was already paying a significant price and needed to avoid any further unnecessary injury.

Across from him, Zak huddled on himself, trying to appear as small as possible.

The door opened, and Stanford stumbled through it with heavy breathing. After a few steps, he collapsed first on his knees, then fully on his face.

The Gas Station Guy glanced inside, looked over the room and left, closing and locking the door behind him.

Fiddleford waited until the footsteps resumed and left in some opposite direction, before crawling to his fallen friend.

“Stanford?” he carefully placed a hand on his friend's shoulder, trying to ignore how his bound wrists were hurting. “How are…”

“We’re in the Keytown Factory!” Stanford turned his head to him, showing an excited smile, even if the skin around his right eye was already darkening from some punch, and his cheek was swollen. “You were right, I saw the remains of a knitting machine in the backroom!”

Fiddleford chuckled. “Easy, Scout. First, how badly they…”

“Oh, that?” Stanford tried to raise himself back to his knees. After several attempts and Fiddleford’s help he managed it. “Yeah… Let's say they didn't like my answers”.

“Anything new?” Fiddleford tried to check the rest of his friend's state. Well, aside from him protectively holding his fists against his chest, there was nothing obvious to his gaze. 

“Well”, Stanford quickly glanced in Zak's direction and back. “Still the same. Money’s whereabouts, St… my plans to get them…” he paused and frowned. “Actually, I think their boss is on his way here. They mentioned something about how he wanted to deal with me myself. So we definitely have to get out!”

“How? Will you two geniuses teleport us from here or what?! We're still bound, locked and there are at least three armed guys…”

“Four of them, at least one with a gun”, Stanford immediately corrected him, and Zak bristled:

“That's even better! Do you even have a solution or…?”

Stanford grinned and opened one of his fists, showing something that briefly glimmered in the darkness.

“Step one. Lose the ropes!” he turned all the way to Fiddleford and nodded. Fiddleford smiled and stretched out his hands, so Stanford could start working on his ropes with a shard of glass.

Beside them Zak groaned. “Really? I expected some tools or instruments…”

“Pardon me from not finding one laying around waiting for me to pick it up”, Stanford gritted through his teeth. “I have half of mind to just leave you here…”

“You wouldn't dare!”

“Sadly, yes, we won't leave you here”, Fiddleford sighed and started tugging on his bounds to help Stanford go faster on them. “We're all going out, together. No insults until then, got it?”

Stanford and Zak glared at each other and nodded.

Fiddleford sighed in relief. “Great. Then we just need a plan on how to escape the room, because the way out is ready and waiting. Any ideas?” 

Stanford hummed while still working on going through the first set of ropes. “They are using the padlock that is simply not accessible for us on our side…”

“...So the only time it's open is when that guy is checking on us…”

“...Or taking me for a talk…”

“...Maybe we could stage a fire so he'll run to check again?...”

“...Do you have anything to start it with?...”

“...Afraid not, but then again…”

“Just shout that one of you is dying”, Zak interrupted their back-and-forth. “If they left us water and food, they definitely want us to make it until their boss arrives”, he scoffed and looked away. “Not like you need my stupid opinion…”

Fiddleford stared first at his friend, then at their neighbour. 

“Yeah… I think that probably should work”, judging by Stanford’s tone, saying this brought him immense pain.

***

Fiddleford sighed and laid down on his back, holding the remains of the rope around his hands to give the impression of them still bound. 

“Like this?”

“That looks like you decided to rest, not like you fell down”, Zak groaned. “So if you want this to fail…”

“Could just say no”, Fiddleford grumbled and carefully rolled to his side, facing the door. “Better?”

“Let's hope so”, Stanford sighed. “Right, so everyone is ready and remembers their roles?”

“Yes, I definitely remember staying here and not interfering”, Zak shrugged from where he was sitting, him too making an illusion of a rope still intact.

“I'll be just here, laying and groaning”, Fiddleford did exactly so as a test (and as a way to relieve some of the painful tension inside his chest).

“Right, right…” Stanford made a few calming breaths. And then… He straightened himself, squared his shoulders and somehow appeared to be both a bit taller and wider. His expression became focused, and after taking another breath, he slammed with all his body at the door. “Hey! You! My friend just collapsed! He needs help!”

Fiddleford stilled where he was laying. There was no response.

So Stanford slammed once again and even punched the door several times for good measure. “Guys! Come on! Help him, and I'll tell you everything you want!” this time his voice was actually more resembling a panicking one. Or maybe he really started to feel that way.

This time there were some distant sounds of footsteps, so Fiddleford resumed his position, closed his eyes and tried (without any effort) to make a suffering expression on his face.

The footsteps were getting louder, then changed to the sound of a key being inserted and turned. And then as the rusty sound of the opening door made way to a gruff “What’s all the ruckus about?”, Fiddleford couldn't help but squint his eyes open, just in time for Stanford to slam his body once again, this time into the Gas Station Guy’s body. Who just staggered and after a surprised gasp managed to turn towards Standord and catch an incoming fist.

“Ah, little guy decided to be crafty”, he chuckled and tightened his hold over Stanford's fist, making the latter scream. “You're not yourself today, Pinington, usually it takes more for you too…” he frowned and then pulled Stanford's fist closer to his eyes. “Wait, why the fuck are there six…?”

He didn't manage to finish his sentence, as he started gasping because of the sudden appearance of two arms in a chokehold around his neck. The guy immediately released Stanford and started clawing at Zak’s arms that didn't let go and kept the steady pressure, until the guy went limp and Zak lowered him on the ground.

“Okay, so the door is open. What's next, smartasses?” he grumbled while shaking his arms.

Fiddleford just stared at their neighbour, feeling how Stanford was doing the same from where he fell.

“What?” Zak shrugged and crossed his arms. “I go to the gym three times a week.”

***

“Stop”, Fiddleford leaned on the wall, trying to catch his breath. Stanford immediately plastered himself to the wall and started to squint all around.

“Did you see something?” he whispered.

“No”, Fiddleford drew a shallow breath and closed his eyes. “Sorry, I just need…”

“Take however much time you need”, Stanford definitely tried to sound reassuring, but his voice was betraying him. Fiddleford had inkling that whatever inner strength was lending strength to Stanford, it was slowly dimming.

“Right, not like we're in a hurry to get out”, Zak scoffed behind them.

Fiddleford winced: their neighbour was right. They weren't too far away from their goal, only to descend by the old rusty staircase and cross the main working space to finally reach the fire exit.

And yet… He inhaled once again and pushed himself from the wall. Stanford immediately offered his shoulder as a support, which Fiddleford immediately accepted. 

Yet judging by Stanford's own wobbly step after it, he would soon be in need of support himself.

“I’m alright. Let's go”, Fiddleford whispered. And immediately staggered so Stanford had to catch him with both arms.

Zak immediately groaned, making Stanford look his way with disdain.

“Shut up already, if you don't want to help…”

“Sure thing, Freak. It's definitely me not wanting to help, how could I dare to think otherwise”, Zak rolled his eyes. “Are we going or…”

“No, no, please”, Stanford paused and turned around, without letting Fiddleford from his hands. “You definitely want to blame me… So let's hear it!”

“Stanford, please”, Fiddleford tried to pat his friend to gather his attention but was ignored.

“Oh, why would I even want to blame you…” Zak hummed with a mocking tone. “Except it's definitely your fault we got kidnapped! It's your fault that Farmer here is injured and it's your fault…”

“It's not my fault!” Stanford interrupted, with a desperation in his voice. “It's not even me they want and…” he abruptly stopped and winced.

“What do you mean?” Zak frowned. “It is definitely you they are after!”

“That’s not your business”, Stanford shook his previous vulnerable expression off and huffed. “It doesn't concern you in the slightest”.

“Excuse me?!” Zak shrieked. “If you didn't notice, it now concerns me very much! I deserve to know why I was taken too!”

“It was all a big coincidence”, Fiddleford had enough and tried to calm Zak down. “You decided to follow us back there, and we were taken by mistake. It's no one's fault, so as soon as we get out…”

“Oh, great. Farmer is once again to the rescue”, Zak groaned and stepped around them, blocking the passage. “Let me tell you one thing. Me being kidnapped and you being beaten up is not a coincidence, it's a result of the actions of this Freak right here, and no amount of ‘it’s a mistake’ won't change it! Stop covering him and admit…”

“Stanford doesn't need to admit anything!” Fiddleford's patience was thinning. “We told you, it's a mistake! And it's not the time to argue…”

“Exactly, we'll tell you everything you need to know later…” Stanford tried to shoulder them both past Zak, but the latter scoffed and didn't relent.

“Nice. Once again the Freak is right and the Farmer is listening to no one but him”, he rolled his eyes and crossed his arms. “I had enough of it! Either one of you tells me instantly what's going on or…”

“Or you guys are so stupid that you can't even sneak out from a half-empty building”, the mocking voice of some other man startled them all.

Zak gulped and looked over his shoulder to stare in the barrel of a gun.

Fiddleford froze and felt Stanford do exactly the same beside him.

Crapity fuckity shit!

***

Stanford’s body was screaming from all the cumulative pain acquired.

At this point he hunched as far ahead as he could, with his hands once again bound, this time behind the chair’s back.

Fuck, Zak was right, it was his and only his fault. If he only kept his mouth shut and ignored him…

He started choking and spit some blood on the floor before him.

The guy before him chuckled and mockingly patted him on the back: “Are you tired, Pinington? Don't worry, I'll give you five min rest. Or even longer, if the Boss will be late. So try to find your manners before it, okay?”

Stanford whined, not even sure if it was agreement or cursing. Yet the guy just laughed as if he got told the funniest joke ever and left.

“Stanf…” Fidds groaned from the side, where he was laying near the wall. “...this is bad, really…”

“I know…” Stanford just closed his eyes and tried to gather any useful thought, just any, even the most crazy one, but it was of no use.

His mind was a true dumpster site, with stray mentions of all his injuries (he didn't feel any bones yet broken. Was it so or was he in shock?), with futile scenarios how he should've behaved during the previous hour, with worries about that Boss and their possible fate in case they wouldn’t find some way out…

…That was what Stanley was running from, wasn't it? Every slap, every punch that Stanford received - that was all addressed to Stanley?

If he was caught, if he was here, that would be all for him?

God, why did Stanley even think that it would be a good idea to work with those people? Why?... They were definitely bad news! Did he know about their nature or was he tricked into working with them? That was surely the worst way to get any money! Not to mention that he now owed them definitely even more than he got initially...

Yet it was obvious that Stanley did it.

And it too was Stanford's fault, wasn't it? If he called himself sooner, if he admitted earlier that he cared about his brother…

If he just did something that fateful evening - Stanley wouldn't need to do it!

So in some sense… Stanford deserved it, that way… that way what? He couldn't give those guys what they wanted. And soon they would realise that they got the wrong guy and would start searching for Stanley once again and…

Stanford glanced both ways around him. Fiddleford was laying right where those guys threw him, quietly whimpering and huddling on himself.

On the other side, Zak was still laying unconscious, as he was struck hard when trying to wrestle for the gun.

Stanford gulped and hung his head in shame. He let them down. He should've thought only about escaping and saving themselves, he should've left their bickering to the afterwards.

What now? He didn't know.

He didn't know.

He didn't know!

He felt his eyes becoming wet. Did Stanley even notice they were gone? Of course he did, he couldn't not notice it! But… 

Stanford darkly chuckled. Did he just seriously imagine his twin managing to find where they were and saving them? From the same guys that Stanley himself was running without proper sleep and care?

That was a stupid and dangerous thing to think, and even more dangerous if Stanford would indeed start to wish for it.

As much as Stanley was capable and crafty, there was no way for him to overcome four (well, three as that guy still wasn't conscious) men and their boss that was to come… Well, maybe one by one… But there also were three hindrances that could be used as hostages… Stanford winced and sighed.

Okay, no. He definitely shouldn't hope for Stanley. Stanford didn't want him to be here, didn't want him to be in danger too. Stanford would just… Yes, the boss was coming, maybe he would be reasonable and agree to let them go as they were here by mistake? Maybe they could bargain somehow their way to freedom?

Stanford exhaled and tried to relax his aching body. He shouldn't allow panic to overcome him.

He would find the way out. He would save Fiddleford (...yes, and Zak, right?). Everything would be alright…?

Stanford sighed and repeated the last phrase in Stanley's voice.

Yes, now he almost believed in it.

***

“Are you kidding me?! That isn't Pinigton!”

Stanford felt some vague threads of hope shimmering. Right, so the Boss instantly realised his subordinates’ mistake. It was going…

“Where’s his dumb expression? This guy just screams of books and mothballs!” The Boss roughly grabbed Stanford’s hair making the latter tilt his head back with a wince. “Yeah, this is some weak copy of Pinington. Where's the real one?!”

The last question was screamed right in Stanford's face who flinched hard and tried to make himself a bit more comfortable. He would be bargaining, he needed every small detail he could turn into his favour!

“Ex-excuse me”, he tried to start as diplomatically as he was able. “But there was a terrible mistake. I'm not that Pinigton and we can't help you…” he took a deep breath and found the Boss’ eyes with his pleading gaze. “Please, you have to believe us, please, let us go!”

The Boss, the huge guy with a dark expression, stared at Stanford’s face with a frown, not letting go of his hair. 

Stanford gulped and tried again: “I… I'm a future scientist, I don't have any money right now, but…”

“You're his brother”, the Boss smirked and released Stanford’s hair, only to grab his chin and raise his face even higher. “You're that dumb bastard’s twin! To whom he owes money too!’

Stanford froze. Both from the recognition and the implications. Did Stanley talk about him to those guys? In which way?

“Yeah”, the Boss smirked. “He would get drunk and tell all about his smart pain-in-the-ass bro that he hated and tried to scam at one point! Did you know he was doing all he could to ruin your life? How jealous he has been of you since forever? How he dreamed to take some revenge on you? And look, he finally succeeded, even making you his scapegoat. He's truly a crafty son of a bitch, isn't he?”

The Boss didn't even punch him physically, yet Stanford still felt the pain in the chest.

It couldn't be! It couldn't be Stan’s revenge, could it? Stan couldn’t hate him? Stan couldn’t plot it all?

Wasn't Stan all apologetic when they talked about the science fair? Didn't Stan make it clear that he never wanted to ruin anything…?

“Oh, yeah, that dumbass can talk like he means it, doesn't he?” the Boss cooed with some sympathy in his voice and lowered his face closer to Stanford's. “But that's all he is - the cheap dirty liar and you know it. So just tell me where he is. And I let you all go.”

Stanford tried to turn away, but the steely fingers were grabbing his chin too tight.

No! That was a bunch of crap! Stanford had to believe, Stanford had to stay strong and not to be swayed! Stanley wasn't like that! This guy was just trying to get into his head to know Stan's whereabouts! 

But what if…

No! No! He wouldn't even dare to think of it! Stanley wasn't like that! For all of their last weeks Stanley showed nothing but remorse and affection and his desires to repair their bond! If Stanford would believe in anything, he chose to believe in that!

“No, you're wrong…” Stanford tried to make himself ready but still was shocked by the hard slap on all of his right face’s side that made his head instantly turn away.

“That’s okay”, the Boss smirked and mockingly patted the same place he had just hit. “I'll give you another try. So, how about you fucking think about what's better for you and your friends there? How about thinking whether that little scamming piece of shit truly deserves your loyalty?”

“He deserves it”, Stanford couldn't help himself. He knew that talking back instead of stalling some more or even pretending to play along was a bad idea, a dangerous one even. Yet he couldn’t do it any other way. If the only way was in betraying Stanley then he would close that proverbial door and bolt it shut. And keep going in the opposite direction. Sorry, Fiddleford, they would have to bear with it all and wait and find another way. “You may think of him as lying and scamming and every ugly thing you said, but I know the true Stanley, and he's much more than that…” he chuckled and closed his eyes in preparation for another hit. “He’s smart and capable and loyal too and he definitely deserves all the loyalty in return…”

Slap. This time it was the other side. Yet saying all this aloud made the following pain sting some less.

Stanford struggled to open his eyes. His current position made him glance at Fiddleford who was staring at him with a mixture of fear, anger and resolve. Stanford tried to make his mouth smile with some reassurance, but it wasn't really listening to him.

Yet Fiddleford sighed and just nodded.

Right, they still were together. They just needed a break, to let themselves think of another plan, maybe this time include Zak…

“So, you're saying that if I chop off your easily recognizable hand and send it to newspapers, Pinington would come running?”

Stanford froze and noticed Fiddleford instantly pale before him.

He rapidly turned to meet the Boss’ eyes.

“Wait? No! No! Please! That…” he tried to find any words capable of convincing his opponent. “He wouldn't arrive! Please, just listen…”

“Either you’re dumb too or you're trying to scan me now”, the Boss huffed and grabbed Stanford's hair once again. “What is the truth, huh? He's either loyal and will come or he’s a cheat and will leave you to rot. You can't say it's both at the same time…”

Stanford’s mind was slowly being paralyzed from the previous threat. That man wasn't joking! That man would really do it!

And Stanford… What should he do? What should he say?

Why couldn't he think?

“Boss!” one of the men from before barged into the room. “It's urgent…”

“I told you not to disturb me and my lovely gentlemen here”, the Boss rolled his eyes and turned to the newcomer. “What's so urgent…?”

“Pinington!” the man exclaimed. “He came and said he got the money!”

What?

“What?” the Boss released Stanford and laughed at his face. “Oh, you weren't kidding, he's definitely loyal. Stupidly loyal. And to think I almost accepted I lost him again… Why didn't I come sooner for you?”

“Leave Stanley alone”, Stanford needed to do something. It was all wrong! Stanley wasn't supposed to arrive, with or without any money! Stanley wasn't supposed to be here, Stanley wasn't supposed to be again in those men's hands! Didn’t Stanley realise that they wanted him and only him? Didn’t he realise that he was stepping into a real danger?

And yet… Amidst every of these thoughts there was one. That was slowly growing and expanding.

Stanley came. Stanley came… Stanley came!

“Shut up, you had your chance”, the Boss slapped him again, but this time definitely halfheartedly. “Stay here, all of you”, he chuckled, looking over Stanford still tied to a chair, Fiddleford who didn't even try to raise himself up and Zak who was slowly blinking to awareness. And left.

Leaving one man watching over them.

Stanford closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Stanley came.

Nothing else mattered. Stanley came. Stanley would think of something…

Stanford sniffled. 

Please, Stanley… Please…

***

Stanford's thoughts soon were interrupted by another two men entering. One of them grabbed Fiddleford from behind and roughly started to drag him to the exit.

“Wait…” the latter started to cough.

“Raise him fully!” Stanford screamed. “His ribs…!”

He was punched in the temple by the second man who stepped around the chair and started to work on the ropes.

Stanford felt hope rising. Whatever Stanley was doing, it was definitely working, right?

Yet he was just grabbed as roughly and shoved to the exit.

“Don't relax yet”, the man laughed. “It's for bargaining”.

What? What did it mean?

Stanford was stumbling all the way to the main working zone, a huge chamber that was once filled with textile and sewing machines and now was empty… With only a handful of people present.

Stanford's gaze instantly went to his twin, standing near the farthest wall with raised hands. He was disheveled, with dark circles under his eyes, wearing Ford’s jacket and his now usual glasses.

Stanley’s expression was… unnerving. Because it was really strange and incomprehensible.

At first glance it was pure panic, with trembling hands and hunched posture. Yet his mouth was frowning and the gaze was focused on Fiddleford’s figure, who was just dumped on the ground by the man dragging him before.

And then that gaze shifted and found Stanford… and the latter noticed Stanley's eyes to burn from a deeply hidden fire.

Stanford felt its heat, surrounding him with a promise of safety and protection. He tried to smile at Stanley, make him know that he was glad - no, beyond any describable emotion! - to see him arriving… 

Stanley definitely noticed it, sighed and closed his eyes briefly. After opening them, the previous fire was barely noticeable, yet Stanford still felt it and allowed himself to seek comfort in it.

“So, Pinington”, the Boss that was standing between Stanford and his twin made them all turn their attention to his person. “Back to our conversation. Here’s your guys. Now I want to see my money.”

“Rico, you said that they all are fine”, Stanley remarked. And his voice was funny too. It was all unsure and quiet, yet the tone… the tone. There was something in the tone, Stanford tried hard to concentrate on it, but the thought was evading him. 

“Well, they were once”, Rico shrugged. “Little bastards tried to run and had to pay the price. You know how that works”.

Stanley sighed and once again looked all over Stanford. The latter stared back and tried to convey with his gaze that he was alright, more or less.

“Right”, Stanley exhaled and lowered his hands to reach into the jacket. Stanford flinched how that motion made two of Rico’s guys point guns at his twin. “Relax, I'm only taking out the check!”

And then Stanley did indeed take out some folded paper.

Rico nodded at one of his men who approached Stanley, took the offered check and brought it to the Boss, who started to examine it.

“Huh, I'm impressed. You did find it”, Rico huffed. “Not that it matters, but what is ‘Research Grant’ about?”

At first Stanford didn't quite get the said words. Stanley indeed found the money, so it meant that they were free, right? 

But then the implication hit him.

Stanford stared at the ground, not sure what he was feeling. Did his grant even matter in context of their lives and healths being threatened? But… but Stanley just… took it?

Stanford felt his twin staring at him but couldn't find in himself to look back. Stanley was right, of course, that was more important, yet…

“I'm sorry, Stanford, but I had too”, Stanley said, and…

And Stanford heard it. Not the remorse (that was present too), but the “Stanley was hiding the actual mystery” tone. He instantly glanced back and noticed Stanley’s mouth quickly smiling in reassurance and fading back, into now definitely ‘pretending to be frightened’ expression.

“Yes, Rico, that’s this smart guy’s grant. Had to pass as him to get it, but here it is. It's even more than necessary, so how about you release all three of them, and we'll be on our way?”

Stanford’s mind was spinning. Stanley was up to something. Was it about the grant or how he got it? But did it matter? Stanley was trying to get them out! That was what was important! Stanford could always find another way to finance his studies…

He trusted Stanley, right? So if his twin judged it was better to take his grant for that purpose, then so be it…

Wait, what was he even thinking?! There wouldn’t even be any studies if Stanley didn’t come with his grant! Why did he even think that way?! 

Stanford sighed and, after finding Stanley’s gaze once again, nodded. ‘I trust you’, he articulated silently.

Stanley’s eyes widened for a second, and he looked away, coughing.

“Huh, but I have a counter offer”, Rico reminded them of his presence. “See, Pinington, the loans work on interest. So I think that my generosity is enough only for two of you.”

What?

Stanley before them flinched and stared at Rico with blank expression.

“What the fuck are you talking about?! I got the money, release them now!”

Rico just laughed.

“Oh, you're so naive, that is almost cute. But it's me here who has the advantage. And it's me here who decides the rules. So pick one of them and leave. That's my final offer…”

“Stanley! Take your brother and go!” 

Stanford looked to his side, staring at Fiddleford with surprise. The man tried to straighten himself as possible, despite breathing so hard it was terrifying. Yet his gaze was piercing Stanley who stood there and just stared.

“No!” Standord turned himself to his twin. “Fiddleford is injured! He needs help! Please take him! I'll manage! I’ll find a way…”

Rico darky smirked at him, and Stanford felt shivers going down his spine. Oh, there possibly wouldn't even be an opportunity… Yet it didn't matter! If only one of them was allowed to leave, then Fiddleford deserved it…

“Can I offer myself to consider?” was a quiet reply from Zak’s side. “Not that I actually believe anyone here gives a shit about me…”

Rico laughed. “Oh, how I like the youths being all noble and friendly! But that's also why I like Pinigton even more - he's not as naive to believe in anything except worthiness. Isn't that right, Steve? Or how your actual name was? Stanley?”

Stanley winced and stumbled back, hitting the wall with his back, hiding his face in his hand.

“Can… I ask you to make one thing clear?”

“Sure thing, Stan. But make it quick. I still have to bury two bodies.”

Stanford froze and looked at Fiddleford who stared back. 

“I'm sorry”, he whispered, feeling every hope leaving him. His friend sighed and tried to smile back, unsuccessfully too.

“I'll be cursing both of you from hell”, Zak hissed from another side. “And this Freak’s brother too! I'm too young to die!”

And then Stanley’s quiet words echoed through the whole room.

“Is there any way for me to persuade you to let them all go? Or is that your way of teaching me a lesson?”

Rico chuckled. “Oh, your brother was right. You're a real smart guy! You guessed it, I just want you to know that no matter who you’ll choose you’ll still be dooming the others. Simple, right?..”

Dooming…?

No! That wasn’t Stan who doomed anyone here… Stanford couldn’t see his twin’s eyes but he felt how the latter was impacted by that word. Right, if that was their last opportunity…!

“I won't blame you!” Stanford cried. “You did all you could! It was my fault, all of it!” he tried to shrug the hands holding him but without success. “Whatever happens, I won't blame you! If anything I…”

Rico slapped his face to shut him down.

“Touching. But I said it already. You had your chance. So it's up to your smarter brother to make the right decision. Right, Stanley? You will make the right choice like a good boy should?”

And Stanley… hunched on himself, leaning with his hands on his knees. His back started trembling.

Rico huffed. “Oh, don't tell me you broke down already. You used to be much stronger than this…”

“Sorry, but you just had to ruin the moment, right?” Stanley raised one hand with index finger standing out. He was weezling. “Those morons definitely made sure that I won't ever be able to take this one seriously…” he took a few breaths and shook his head. “Oh… okay, okay. Where was I?” he chuckled once again and then straightened his back. His expression lost any previous sign of nervousness, becoming a very determined one, and he shoved his hands into the pockets. “See, Rico, I am actually glad you confirmed it. This way I won't feel guilty that ‘the smart way’ failed”.

Stanford stilled on his spot, witnessing the previously noticed fire to return into Stanley’s gaze. His twin was still leaning on the wall, but his posture changed. It was the one Stanley took when readying himself before boxing matches or going at their bullies.

It was Stanley judging his possibilities before giving his all into a fight.

But… but… this time there were no chances! Stanford or anyone else couldn't help! Stanley would be on his own…!

“Stanley, no!” he shouted in alarm. “That's too dangerous! You can't…”

“Actually, I can”, Stanley grinned at his twin and winked, taking out his hands that were now covered in his ‘Fakeford’ gloves. And started to bend his wired fingers into a fully closed position. “Believe in me, Sixer.”

And before even realising it Stanford believed. In the promise in his twin's eyes, in the sureness of his voice. He had no idea how Stanley was going to win this one, but that didn't matter.

“I believe in you”, he whispered and nodded.

“That's too bad then, for all of you”, Rico chuckled and started to crack his own fingers, slowly approaching Stanley. “Little Stan never could beat me in the fight. So unless you were hiding in the boxing ring, you have no chances. And what's with the freaky finger? That's your secret way of beating me?”

Stanley chuckled and looked over his fists, then reached into one glove with his other hand and did something that Stanford didn't catch because of distance. “Well, recently I had just the thought. Wouldn't it be better for punching if someone had six fingers?” He took some steps towards Rico and finally assumed the proper fighting stance. “But then I thought some more. Why stop there? Do you know what would be even better for punching?”

“Amuse me”, Rico stopped just some feet from Stanley and held his own fists in preparation.

Stanley smirked and punched… the air before him.

Did he miss? Why? Stanford held his breath, but the rest of his thoughts, Rico’s mocking laughter and the whole of the scene was suddenly drowning in the loud sound of cracking bricks and some whirring and Rico’s startled scream and in the mist of gray dust quickly enveloping the space where Stanley and Rico were.

Stanford didn't dare to look away, trying to make anything out in the dusty air. “Stanley?!” he cried in alarm, together with Rico’s henchmen who started calling for their Boss too.

“I'm alright”, his twin’s voice sounded, followed by his coughs. “Damn, I should've thought that this would happen…”

And then one figure started breaching the dusty fog. That was Stanley, who was holding a fist before him and still coughing in his other hand. Immediately all of Rico’s men turned all their weapons on him.

“Oh, he found the nice argument…” Fiddleford whispered, and his voice was full of startled amazement.

And in another moment Stanford noticed it too.

From the fog behind Stanley appeared another figure, much more taller… 12 feet tall, to be exact, followed by metal screeching and whirring.

KFPA-1 stopped just as Stanley stopped too. And his giant six-fingered hand was raised and held Rico in a very tight grasp.

“So, someone was saying something about having all the advantages and thus making all the rules”, Stanley waved with his free hand before him and then pointed at the floor with his finger. “So new rule: everyone release my guys and then drop everything. Now!”

To Stanford's wonder KFPA-1 mimicked that motion, with the minimal delay. And soon the sounds of guns and bats dropping followed. And hands holding Stanford retreated.

“I wasn't even thinking that this type of direct motion controls could be used”, Fiddleford was whispering between gasps. “That's amazing! That will change everything….” and then he screeched. “WHAT THE HELL?! WHY DID YOU CHANGE HIS NAME?!”

“What?” Stanley smirked in their direction. “Yours was lame and unimaginative, so I thought of the one better”.

Stanford glanced higher and saw it.

Slightly above an uneven rectangular shape that was roughly cut out and then just as crudely wielded back, where previously Fiddleford put the identifying letters after searching for hours for their optimal side and positioning, now was a bright red painted word.

Albert.

“That truly was a final boss”, Stanford exhaled, feeling all his remaining strength leaving him.

And as he sank to his knees, feeling the first tears of exhaustion and relief rolling down, he heard his twin shouting in alarm and running towards him. And felt KF… Albert’s metal feet slamming down on the floor in a similar way.

***

“So, that was your brother…”

Stanford nodded at Zak's question. They both were supporting Fiddleford under his shoulders.

And all three of them were observing how Stanley tried to calculate his own motions to make Albert sit in the back of Fiddleford's own pickup.

“He seems cool”, Zak sighed. And then turned his head towards Stanford. “Hey… Um… Pi… Stanford…”

“Don't”, Standord sighed. “I know. That was on me. Everything was my fault…”

“It wasn't”, Fiddleford gasped. “It was a horrible chain of mistakes and coincidences, and no one…”

“...There you go again”, Zak sighed, tiredly. “Humour me, Farmer, do you agree with him because he's right or because he's your friend? Or because you hate me?”

Stanford felt his friend stiffen. And they all felt silent.

Before then Stanley managed to complete the wrangling of Albert, whooped and started to tweak the gloves, before pulling them off and making his way towards the rest of the company.

“So, uh…” he looked all over them, “I'm sorry you got all caught in my problems and sorry I didn't get sooner, I tried as hard as…”

“Thank you”, Stanford interrupted his twin and smiled. “Most importantly, you weren't late. And you actually came…”

“Of course I did”, Stanley puffed his cheeks and crossed his arms. “Who do you even take me for!”

“So, how did you find us?” Fiddleford tried to strengthen himself, but then hunched once again with a whimper. Stanford and Zak nodded at each other and started to lead Fiddleford towards the pickup’s trunk.

“The tracker”, Stanley whispered conspicuously.

And… what?

Fiddleford meanwhile huffed. “Yeah, sure. But we checked Zak’s belongings and it wasn't there, so how did you actually do it?”

Stanley grinned, ignoring Zak’s surprised ‘What?’, and helped to lift Fiddleford to the trunk. After which Stanley squatted and lifted Zak’s left feet (ignoring his indignant ‘What?!’), removing his sneaker and…

Tore the whole sole out from the bottom, making a metal rectangular fall down on the ground.

“Sorry about the rest of your shoes, by the way”, Stanley shrugged. “I had to make sure you’d continue wearing these ones…”

Zak turned away and screamed into the air.

“I think he's taking it rather well”, Stanley scratched his head.

“So, now I only need to know how you reprogrammed KFPA-1 to follow your gestures and I can die happy…” Fiddleford sighed while making himself comfortable against said bot’s legs.

“Then I won't say anything and you'll be living forever”, Stanley turned to the driver's door. “Who's shotgunning?”

Stanford glanced at his friend and then at his twin and winced. As much as he wanted reassurance from Stan in the form of proximity…

“Shotgun!” Zak shouted already from the corresponding door. “The least I deserve is to return in comfort!”

Stanford sighed and turned to his twin who chuckled and then threw his gloves at Stanford. “Keep them safe for me, okay?”

Stanford nodded, climbed to the trunk and found a best place for him, against Fiddleford and Albert's arm.

“You're good?” Stanley shouted from inside the pickup.

“We are”, Stanford nodded and smiled sadly at his laying friend who was starting to nod off.

To find something to get himself busy, Stanford looked at Stanley's gloves and paused.

And then frantically checked their insides after noticing some plating there. It was uneven and definitely not straight or symmetric and already falling off in some places.

And yet it was the most wonderful plating work Stanford ever saw.

He looked up at Albert and the crudely wielded panel on his front.

“The tie suits you, big guy”, Stanford smiled and leaned back, closing his eyes.

***

Also there was a crumbled check in the other glove.

And seeing there a “Grant for Researching The Gravitational Redshift in Greenland Fields” made one thing clear.

Stanley didn't ever intend to use his real grant as a bargaining chip.

(The clearly fake signature of their Dean there was another obvious sign.)

***

“So, Sixer, we're switching”.

“Why?” Stanford nervously glanced back at the pickup that was parked halfway in their road back.

Stanley led him some distance away to start whispering.

“Zak can't drive and Fidds in no condition. You're the only one…”

“What about you?”

Stanley chuckled with warmth in his tone.

“Ford, I need to make some calls while Rico hasn't run away. And I need to take care of Albert. And I don't think Fidds will appreciate Zak knowing about his secret warehouse…”

“Right”, Stanford sighed.

“Hey, you definitely can do it!” his twin grinned at him. “Everyone can do it! So it should stand that even you can do it!”

Stanford groaned. “If you used this word now as a payback…”

“Hmmm”, Stanley smirked and then patted his brother on the back. “How about ‘only’ you can do it?”

“Yeah… That's definitely better”, Stanford felt his eyes starting to get wet once again.

“Hey, hey! What's…?” Stanley, without finishing his question, already went to hug his twin. “Hey, Sixer, hey, listen to me. Everything is alright! You're safe! Fidds too, and so is that guy! Everything is alright…”

Stanford nodded, still hiding himself in Stan's arms. If only for a few minutes, he needed that safety, he needed that reassurance.

He needed to feel that everything had passed and nothing too bad happened and that it wasn’t some dream…

And Stan gave that reassurance to him, slowly stroking his back and humming some tune. After a while he sighed.

“Hey… Stanford, I'm really sorry… You got tangled in all that mess only because of me. I should've told you about Rico, but…” he sighed again, “I didn't want you to think of me even worse. I was sure they lost me and then we would just go to Oregon and it wouldn't be worth mentioning anymore…”

Stanford managed to get himself together and lean away, wiping his eyes and nodding.

“Yes, I won't lie - saying there was someone after you would be actually useful.”

Stanley sighed and looked away, crossing his hands before him. “Well, if I only thought about it more, if I didn't come here, you would be safe and…”

Stanford felt shivers.

“What are you talking about?!” he shouted and grabbed his twin by the shoulders. “I don't care if I would be safe or not! What would happen to you if you didn't come? What would happen to you if they caught you like they wanted?” Stanford felt himself tearing up again. “You came to our rescue because you knew. But if… If… If I didn't know…”

“I'm tough, Sixer, I would make it as always”, Stanley tried to chuckle but wasn't really successful, as Stanford just shook him to make him understand.

“That's the problem! You never had to make it! You shouldn't be in the situation to make it!” Stanford hunched and leaned his forehead on Stanley’s chest. “We're twins, the same age, and while my problems are about grades and classmates, yours are about survival. That's not fair…”

“Life definitely isn't fair, Sixer”, Stanley once again wrapped his hands around his twin. “Don't think about it. We made it, right?”

“I think it should be ‘you’, singular”, Stanford hummed after a while. “To say in your words: that was something that only you could've pulled off”.

“Oh… that was nothing”, Stanley looked away with embarrassment. “I just threw together some of Fidds' things and some of yours…”

“But the result, Stan!” Stanford shook his head and looked at his twin. “I just can’t understand how you managed to do it so perfectly and still think of it as nothing”.

Stanley made a thoughtful expression and smiled after a while. “Does that mean I can brag over it for the rest of my life?”

“Definitely!”

They both laughed. And then Stanley gasped.

“Damn! I totally forgot!”

Stanford chuckled. “Well, with all this excitement I'm not surprised. So, was it something important or…”

Stanley stared at him with a blank expression and then exhaled. “Right, you definitely had bigger things to worry about”, he shook his head. “Your presentation, Sixer”.

What prese… Oh!

“Oh fuck!” Stanford grabbed at his hair in panic. “I missed it! Stanley, how long have we been gone?! Are they mad at me? I need to get back and reschedule… Stanley? What are you doing?”

“Oh?” Stanley hunched on himself, twiddling his fingers before him. “Right, um… Before I say anything, I want you to remember that you were gone, I didn't know where you were and that I just saved your life.”

Stanford’s panic made way for static emptiness.

“Stanley, what did you do?”

His twin took a deep breath.

“I did your presentation”.

One second Stanford heard nothing but the white noise all around him. The second his fist was thrown out, aiming at his brother's face. Yet his fist was caught midway by Stanley’s own hand.

“Hey, what’s the big idea?” Stanley shrieked, yet his hand holding Stanford’s fist was shaking. “I know you wanted to do it and you're kinda on emotions…!”

“You knew how important it was for me! That was my chance to prove myself! It was my moment! I was fine with you skipping it, just going for the money! But posing as me to be the one…!”

“And I'm sorry I did it but I would do it again if needed!” Stanley shouted back. “You said you believed in me! So calm down and listen!”

Stanford closed his eyes and stepped back, immediately hugging himself.

That hurt. No matter that only some hours ago he was sure to be halfway towards his grave and wishing to trade almost anything for changing it… No matter that he at some moment did let go of the idea of even getting that grant…

Was it because the danger passed? Or was it because… Because… 

He felt lost now, wasn't he? Like he didn't matter anymore.

Not only because of Stanley taking his spotlight, but of him proving to be capable of great deeds on his own? Without his twin in the picture?

No, no! They should be long past that! This shouldn’t be hurting so much! He did matter to Stan! And Stan did just save his life, Stanford shouldn’t be an ungrateful bastard…

“You… You're right”, he sighed and turned away. He had no right to be angry, not when not only his life was saved, but Fiddleford’s too. He had to ignore it, he had to show gratitude, not those ugly emotions… “I'm sorry, you're right. It doesn't matter. So, how did it…”

“Oh, I don't actually know”, Stanley’s voice became distant, like he too was turned away. “They said something about how they have to prepare an official review, and then I didn't have time to check…”

“So you took my place, gave them your version and you don't even know how it went”, Stanford groaned, unable to keep himself from making a jab. Right, he just had to check with someone as soon as possible. Did he still have an image of a completely competent scientist or he would have to be content with just being given the grant? At least… “I hope you've at least tried to keep up with my text?”

“Great, so your belief in me only exists as long as some lives are threatened?” Stanley grumbled. “Look, I said it all as you prepared. Well, maybe I embellished some points here and there, but everybody was really entrailled,” he sighed, “Listen, I'm really really sorry. If it was possible…”

“Can we drop it, for now?” Stanford sighed. “Fiddleford needs medical aid and I need to know the consequences…” and to deal with his emotions. “Let's talk later, please?”

Stanley sighed behind him too. “Okay, let's talk when I get back”. And then he whispered, clearly not expecting to be heard: “Well, at least this time there will be any ‘later’”.

***

Despite Stanford’s running thoughts and general nervousness he somehow managed to get Fiddleford’s pickup to its usual parking space without any accidents.

Zak was already helping Fiddleford to get down, so Stanford hurried to lend them his shoulder once again.

“So, what? We finally fought?” Fiddleford chuckled. “That seems like the best reason for all of us to be so beaten…”

“Always wanted to be remembered as a guy that punched two nerds at the same time”, Zak groaned. “But alright. I definitely don't want any records of whatever that was in my files…”

“Works for me too”, Stanford nodded. “As long as it was only three of us…” he sighed. “And if anyone asks, I have given the presentation”.

Zak shrugged, Fiddleford nodded, although with a questioning frown that Stanford ignored, and they slowly went towards the infirmary.

Some rare students on their way stopped and looked at them, with raised eyebrows or surprise at their appearance. Some of them definitely wanted to come closer yet changed their minds when Stanford glared at them.

And in the end they finally helped to lay Fiddleford down on the infirmary’s bed while relaying some kind of tale of them going to the outskirts and deciding to finally settle it all and making each other to pass out and…

“Are there any words of truth in there?”

Stanford slowly turned around. In Rico’s vicinity he thought that that was the maximum amount of panic and fear he could ever reach.

He was wrong. This was his limit: staring at the furious eyes of their Dean and feeling himself like a small rodent before the lion’s fangs.

<<<

Samantha Hale was pleased with her current status. Well, the Backupsmore wasn't the Olympus of the colleges, but it still was a some sort of establishment. And as the Dean of the natural and applied sciences, she actually held the most of the power that one man (or woman) was capable of gathering in this fine place. Save for their headmaster who was of age when all his thoughts were of future retirement.

The problem was that most of the students here were of the same kind as their headmaster, thinking of graduating without giving any effort to the intermediate process.

And that was why Samantha made everything possible in her power to support the fewer ones that actually wanted and tried to study. And always made notice of the ones that could maintain Backupsmore’s status as a studying establishment, with averagely good students.

And a few years ago Samantha struck a golden vein with two of them at the same time.

Stanford Pines and Fiddleford McGucket.

They weren't just good. They were brilliant!

And if McGucket quickly made up his mind about his path into the engineering domain, Stanford Pines went all out in everything that was interesting to him. Samantha once decided to check whether Pines really was studying and not just paying some other students to do his work for him. 

But the results were telling. First, Stanford did all of his work definitely himself. And second, by his second year Stanford Pines was truly a social pariah in their campus. It was possible to pick one student at random, and he would be either outright hating Pines or being disgusted with him or intimidated by him or in best case scenario heard enough of the rumours to stay as far away as possible.

At first Samantha thought that it was all because of the small physical detail, but while everyone asked did indeed mention “the freaky nature”, the most of the complaints were about Stanford’s personality and social skills. 

Overall, it definitely didn't bother Pines himself too much. But it did bother his friend. And after some questionable incidents he became no less avoided then Stanford.

Samantha still remembered with trembling her argument with Chekhovski Senior and how hard she had to bargain to keep both McGucket and Pines still enrolled. And she wasn't proud that the winning argument was exchanging their parking places…

But after that incident it seemed that the worst had passed. Two of her little geniuses were studying, keeping themselves away from the rest of the student’s body. And the other students weren't inclined to change that status quo.

Yet something happened recently, making everything feel like a hurricane approaching.

Chekhovski Junior was lately on the edge. McGucket’s laboratory started to use more power as its occupant increased time spent there.

And Stanford Pines… The same Stanford Pines that refused to just receive his grant and instead for three hours tried to prove how “presenting a complete and well put together plan” should be a valid part of the grant-receiving process… That Stanford Pines decided to return to basics, first by reviewing every book for beginners their library could offer (she did check it with Nathaniel the librarian out of curiosity), and then by deciding to sit through some of the intro courses.

That was not yet mentioning her Cutlass’ incident. And while it was nothing unusual in Stanford managing to find and fix the problem, there was still something fishy there. In contrast between the easiness of nightly Stanford and his panicking expression during their next meeting. There was something else, something poking from her memories from that night that she still couldn't grasp.

And one thing that Samantha Hale never did was ignore her own hunch.

If her intuition was screaming that something was brewing and that Stanford Pines would be in the middle of it, she would be a fool not to listen to it.

***

“That Pines surely thinks too much of himself, if he's making us wait…”

Samantha rarely was ready to agree with Chekhovski Senior, but this time he was right.

Twenty minutes of delay was going over any limits of being acceptable.

“Right, I don't have time for that, I still haven't had my lunch”, the Headmaster groaned for another time, tapping his fingers. “I am usually all for indulging any of our students, but are we sure he didn't forget about this gathering?”

Sammantha frowned. As much as she was all for giving their brightest student any opportunity to shine even brighter (and with it to give some shine to the Backupsmore too), she couldn't continue to indulge him if the said student wasn't intending to show up.

“I concur”, she sighed and raised up from her chair. “Everyone, I'm sorry for announcing, but the current meeting is brought to an end due to Stanford Pines’ absence…”

She heard some giggles in the audience and sighed. Right, the new bunch of rumours was incoming…

“Wait!” there was a raised hand from the back of the auditorium. Samantha looked at the speaker, who was a guy, wearing dark sunglasses, dark gloves and a Backupsmore varsity jacket. He also had the most impressive mustache Samantha ever saw. The guy meanwhile rose to his feet and lowered his hand. “I have a question.”

“Well, you may ask”, Samantha shrugged.

“My question is to everyone in this room”, the guy walked to the passage between the seats and began to descend towards the front of the auditorium. “Did anyone notice how long I was sitting there?”

There were murmurs and shaking of heads. Samantha herself frowned and had to admit to herself that she never even noticed the guy’s presence. Well, she didn't even look at the back seats.

“No, young man, I think not”, the Headmaster chuckled, definitely being lured in by an unexpected question.

“So, not one of you can say with certainty how long I was there or even if I was there at all”, the strange guy chuckled, taking off his jacket, throwing it at some empty chair and revealing a dress shirt and a vest under it. “And while some of the people definitely noticed me, no one managed to recognise me”, he took out the ordinary glasses from his pocket and changed the sunglasses for them. At this point he almost reached the Board’s desk and then peeled off the mustache. “So if I managed to evade the notice, in a room full of people, who's to say what else is evading our notice in this world?”

And Stanford Pines bowed, first in the direction of the Board members, then in the direction of the rest of the spectators.

“I'm sorry for giving the impression of being late, but I decided to show with this little experiment how sometimes we're not noticing the anomaly that is just under our noses…”

Samantha couldn't help but laugh a little, from the certain success of that experiment and also from relief.

“Well, you definitely managed to show it, Mr Pines”, the Headmaster nodded. “So, can we start at least? I still have a lunch waiting…”

“Of course”, Stanford nodded and straightened his glasses. “And while we're on the topic of being overlooked, can anyone answer me what is the most obscure proposition that Darwin ever suggested in his works?...”

***

“As Linnaeus once said, ‘Let’s classificate all those little buggers’...”

***

“If the Black holes are the concentration of the mass, then this room is the concentration of the mind. And by that logic Gravity Falls are the concentration of the Weird…”

***

“That’s why going to Gravity Falls is essential to create a basic understanding of the anomaly scale, because only by building a proper measuring scale we can measure the Weirdness in every one of us!”

Samantha stared in astonishment as Stanford just outlined the whole audience with his hand and then bowed once again, showing he had finished with his part.

Glancing around, Samantha also noticed how the whole room was speechless, especially the ones who were giggling and laughing beforehand.

Chekhovski Senior was tapping his fingers, being deep in his thoughts. And the Headmaster definitely forgot all about his lunch, nodding enthusiastically after Stanford’s every word.

Samantha chuckled in her fist. Well, that was the excellent performance, the pure exemplar for every reference. It seemed Stanford really tried to show how serious he was with his future project.

“Well, thank you, Stanford”, she clapped her hands. “That was quite an interesting speech, and I think we all need some time to formulate our thoughts before putting them to our review. But maybe someone here has questions?”

She looked over the audience that still was mostly gaping and over her colleagues that mostly shrugged. Save for the Headmaster who was still nodding enthusiastically but didn't really say anything in addition.

Stanford before them sighed with relief. 

“I think that means my presentation was quite enough”, he laughed, but with some nervousness present. Well, it was no wonder, Stanford usually was high-strung when it was time for public speeches. So it was truly commendable that he managed to hold himself so well. “Can I go now?”

“Of course”, the Headmaster finally broke his trance. “We too need to go and get back to our affairs…” yeah, affairs, right. “So off you go…”

Stanford nodded and after grinning one last time, went to grab his jacket. He then bowed one last time and made some steps backwards, before turning around and rapidly walking away…

…Making Samantha’s mind suddenly recollect their nightly meeting. When Stanford left in exactly the same manner.

She chuckled. Sometimes Stanford still behaved just as he should, as a young man he still was. Without his usual stiffness and attempts to hide his anatomical peculiarity…

…

Yet today Stanford all but was pointing at his peculiarity. And used every opportunity to speak with his hands all around…

Come to think of it, that wasn't really characteristic of him, but then again, that night his behaviour was more like this one. Maybe that was a relaxed version of Stanford?

She tried to recall Pines' behaviour from that night some more, but suddenly frowned.

In the memory the hands were smaller. 

***

“Hello, Tim. That's me calling. Remember you groaning about having to wipe the handprints and polishing it all afterwards?”

“Yes? What about it?”

“Did you notice anything weird there? For example, having more fingers than usual?”

“Nah, nothing weird or something. Just a greasy normal handprint, with five spots as it should've been. Why?”

“Nothing. Just having a hunch that one of my students decided that he is way smarter than anyone…”

>>>

Samantha sighed while looking all over the scruffled trio of her students.

Oh, that screamed of a future headache.

Scratch Pines and Chekhovski having clear signs of fistfight on their faces and hiding their arms behind them.

The sight of McGucket being looked all over by Ms Moore, their resident nurse, who was becoming more and more alarmed with every passing second was truly worrying.

Samantha turned her focused gaze into the more healthy pair and watched them both hunching on themselves.

“My office, now”, she commanded and without waiting marched out. She didn't need to look back to know they both were following.

She actually managed to reach her office well before the pair and so picked up the phone and called James, the boys’ RA.

“McGucket is in infirmary. Pines and Chekhovski are with me. If the other one arrives...”

She waited for the confirmation and ended the call just as the pair silently entered and sat before her desk.

“So, please tell me once again about your recent whereabouts. Both of you”.

Stanford nervously gulped before her gaze and clenched his hands, making Samantha count once again his fingers. Six, just as it was supposed to.

“So, I think it was obvious where I was during my presentation, so when it was finished…”

Samantha pursed her lips to not tear into her most promising student with all her might. So far her initial hypothesis of Stanford asking his twin for managing the speech process wasn't disproved. How long was it happening right before her nose? Who else was in the know?

Was the presentation part of “not noticing obvious” a direct challenge from the bold twin duo?

“...and then I noticed them leaving the café and asked them to come with me…” Chekhovski was supporting Pines’ story. That was a clear sight of something missing. How was the Board member’s son involved here? With the one student he despised the most? Or was it some lie too? Then it all went on for years?

“...and then I regained consciousness and realised that we had to go back. I didn't yet know how long I was out…”

“Stop”, Samantha pinched her nose. “Just… stop.”

The boys both hunched on themselves, not without glaring first on each other. Oh, it seemed the mutual contempt was still present. Then what in the world was happening?

“Pines… Stanford. Zak”, she sighed. “At this point I don't really care why and whether all of you decided to settle your score once and for all. I don't even care when you started to collaborate behind the scenes. I only want to know whether the grant will be truly used in research or are all four of you planning some scheme that has a possibility to throw even more shade on Backupsmore.”

Judging how quickly Stanford paled, he fully understood the implication. Good. If he thought he was too smart to try and con her, now he should've understood any futility of it.

“What?” Zak just frowned, clearly doing some mental mathematics, yet in some seconds he too froze. “What?? No! I have no involvement with the Freak and McGucket and that other guy…!”

Bingo.

“So there is a fourth guy”, Samantha grinned. “And I suppose I will be right that his name is Stanley and he's a relative to someone present here.”

Stanford paled even more, and lowered his head. He didn't even need to say anything as a confirmation.

Too bad that there were lots of other things he was now supposed to say.

“So, you really got your twin brother to help you to acquire the grant. I made some enquiries into his profile. Banned in fifteen states just in four years. Numerous police records. Suspicions of having multiple aliases. I also have a tax agent who's really interested in his whereabouts. So I hope you can understand my own suspicions of his involvement in your acquisition of our grant.”

“What? His twin is some sort of criminal?” Zak exclaimed. “And to think I thought he was a really cool guy, when in reality he's just a no good lowlife…”

“You shut your mouth about Stanley! He saved your life too!” 

What?

Stanford meanwhile turned to Samantha, and while he was still pale, his expression became thundering. “Stanley’s records have nothing common with his true character. While his circumstances were unfortunate and he really had to use questionable means to stay afloat, that doesn't mean that he's a criminal! He's smart and quick-minded and very resourceful!”

“Oh, so you admit that he helped you to get the grant?”

“No! Unfortunately he had to become involved with my application, but I guarantee you that it was only because he wanted to be certain I would get it!”

“That's what I just…”

“No!” Stanford jumped to his feet and slammed his palms on her desk. “The only thing he did was give the presentation itself! He used my work, my words, my image only because I was incapable of doing it myself!” and then Stanford's eyes widened, as he whispered: “Because he knew exactly how important it was to me…”

Samantha rolled her eyes. Well, judging by Stanford’s reaction he still was serious about his work and wasn’t lying about that. That definitely was reassuring and she could start working with just that.

“You understand that if you're admitting to it, I cannot in all my good conscience approve your grant?”

Stanford sighed and lowered his head. “That's probably fair”, he sighed. 

“Unless…” she started with the next part of the plan but was interrupted.

“No, there's no fucking way it's fair!” there was a shouting from the door.

“Hello, Stanley. Glad to finally make a formal acquaintance”, Samantha grinned, noticing how Stanford jumped and turned around. “Thank you for bringing him, you may go”.

James nodded and left.

“Stanley! Why are you…”

“I asked James to be on lookout, so that's not important…” Samantha waived her hand.

“Yes, the most important thing is that this guy here deserves this grant!” Stanley rapidly went to stand besides his twin. “You definitely just don't know how hard he worked! He poured his soul in that project and he'll do wonders with that grant! Don't be some dumb idiot like the ones that brought Copernicus to the tribunal!”

Samantha politely coughed in her fist, hiding her amusement as Stanford, red from embarrassment, poked his twin in the shoulder.

“That was Galileo, not Copernicus…”

“Really?” Stanley shrugged. “No matter, my metaphor still stands! That guy is the next genius of the century and you're very lucky he came here for studies, because you have a once in a lifetime chance to become the College that gave a start to the Future Star of Weird Science! And if you don't want this fame, I'm sure every other college will be thriving to accept this honour!”

Oh, that guy was good. No wonder Stanford (who was still red as tomato, by the way, and looking at the farthest wall) asked him to deliver his presentation. And if Samantha was any less experienced, she would be really tempted to fall for his sweet words.

“Yes, that's all nice and promising”, she nodded and saw Stanley’s mouth starting to grin. Poor guy. Didn’t he know better not to relax yet? Especially when the other side still held all the cards? “But what you did was fraud. And that's only counting the matter of acquiring the grant. If I'm correct, you've been living here without notice for quite some time, so that's another rule broken. So what I really should do is expel Stanford as an example for everyone. Possibly, McGucket too, as he was definitely in the know and decided not to notify any of the staff…” 

Stanford before her hunched on himself and winced. Yet his twin…

“I blackmailed Stanford. Both of them”, Stanley interrupted, ignoring his brother's startled expression. “I called and said that if he wouldn't allow me to live here for some month, I would…” he paused, then chuckled to himself, “...You probably know that back in high school I broke his project, and that's why West Coast Tech rejected him? So I asked him if he wanted a repeat of that. And Stanford didn't have a choice…”

“...He’s lying! He didn't blackmail me!” Stanford cried. “Don't listen to him! I did it all by myself! Stanley, and Fiddleford too, they are not to blame! I fully knew that I was breaking all sorts of rules, but…”

Stanley slapped his twin by the back of the head. “Stanford, shut up and let me take the lead”, he hissed. “Don't you understand that it's no time to play a noble knight?”

“No!” Stanford turned to his twin. “That's you who doesn't understand! I don't want you to take a fall for me! You already got thrown out because of me!” What? “And essentially it's only because of that we were kidnapped!” 

“What?!” Samantha shrieked but neither of the twins were paying her any attention now, poking fingers at each other.

“Yes, but getting tangled with Rico was on me!”

“And would you even get tangled if you weren't living on the streets?!”

“Chekhovski, what the hell are they talking about?” Samantha felt the headache incoming. And possible police involvement.

“Ah, me, McGucket and Pines were kidnapped by some mafia and this guy saved us with some huge robot”.

Come again?

Samantha felt her intuition flare. 

“What robot?” 

“Some of McGucket’s one, I think, because he was crying about how this guy butchered his work with some of his addictions…”

The guy without a high school diploma made some additions to McGucket’s ‘finest creations’?

“Stanford, Chekhovski, leave us two alone”, she hummed. If she was correct, and she most absolutely was…

“No!” Stanford turned to her and slammed her desk once again, glaring with determination. It was actually quite a contrast with his usual unsure behaviour in her presence, a very amusing contrast. “You asked me once if I had any problems or requests! That's my request! Leave Stanley out of it!”

Oh, that was a bold statement. He really wanted to protect his twin so much?

“Actually, you said yourself it was addressed to me”, his twin shouldered Stanford aside, with the same look on his face. “Look, lady…” he got two indignant glares from two other boys, and Samantha herself had to hide her chuckle with a cough once again. That one was even bolder, wasn't he? Yet Stanley wasn't done yet: “...You do know that it was me, right? That night, with the car? I can prove it, every step of it! So this request is mine to decide! And I want you to let Stanford keep his grant! Pin everything on me, I don't care! Can’t you see how it's the only right thing to do?!”

Right, that was also the guy that saved her life back there. The guy who made the whole auditorium full of his twin's dislikers listen to him. The guy that despite his records was now fighting to get another possible record just to help his brother.

The guy that his own twin, the genius one, called smart and quick-minded. 

She needed some fresh blood to keep Backupsmore running… And maybe it was better for a new talent to take the place of his elder twin? And possibly, that way she would still keep a firm grasp on the latter?

“Right, Stanley, I have a proposal for you. If you really want your brother to keep his grant…”

“...Wait”, Stanford suddenly stilled and frowned. “You keep saying it, but if I lose the grant, wouldn't it be…”

Oh Stanford, poor boy, you got caught up on it too late.

Samantha turned to Chekhovski. “Zak? My full permission to get Stanford from my office by any means necessary…” and then she turned to Stanley who tried to intercept Zak. “You, stay here if you don't want any of the worse consequences.”

The matter of the grant was already decided. And as long as Stanford didn't fully realise it, he could be still manipulated into bringing the Backupsmore some more benefits. 

And if Stanford did manage to get loose from her hook, she now was on a verge of acquiring another bright twin.

As soon as Zak did really drag the elder Pines in the hallway and the door closed behind them, Samantha motioned into the vacant chairs.

“Please, Stanley, sit down. Any tea or coffee?”

“Pass”, Stanley sat on the one his twin was occupying earlier and crossed his arms. “So, what do you want? Can I just sign some confessions or what do you want and go to sleep somewhere? I had a really long day…”

Oh, Samantha definitely wasn't letting this one escape.

“Right, I have some papers here”, she chuckled and went through her drawers. “Now please, fill them as thoroughly as possible…”

“And if I'm doing it, Ford keeps his grant and Fidds isn't blamed either?” Stanley hunched and sighed, losing all of his previous bravado.

“Exactly. So try to take it seriously.”

And Samantha passed a small stack to her target. Who took it, threw the first glance and then jumped to his feet with indignation.

“That is just another of those knowledge tests! I'm not doing it!”

“Oh, but you will”, Samantha grinned. “Remember about consequences if you refuse”.

The poor guy never stood a chance.

***

Stanley Pines was feeling like just laying on the first available surface and getting a whole month of sleep.

He was drenched. Completely. Without any strength left.

And yet he still needed to find Ford. He needed…

Stumbling from the administration’s building, Stan instantly noticed his twin sitting on the nearest bench and twisting his fingers in worry. And to his relief the worst scratches on his face were covered by some ointment and some bandages were showing from underneath his clothes.

Upon noticing him, Sixer immediately rose to his feet and ran to him.

“What offer did she make?! Are you alright? Can we do something?”

“Relax, everything's fine”, Stan sighed and went to the bench, almost falling down on it. In a few seconds Ford joined him by his side. 

They fell silent, Stan trying to subtly lean on his twin's shoulder and feeling Ford to mirror the gesture.

“So, she's agreeing to let you keep the grant. And she won’t be pressing any charges”.

“I thought so”, Stanford sighed. “I just realised what Fiddleford meant all this time. This grant means as much for them as it means for me. Probably even more…”

“Huh”, Stan closed his eyes. So, was it all for nothing?

“You really were going to take all the blame?” Sixer whispered.

“And did you realise that thing about your grant before or after you refused to let me do it?”

They both chuckled and once again fell silent.

Stan was all but content to be staying in this moment. No more rush, no more worrying about Sixer's and Fidds' missing. No more hiding, no more running. Just him, and Sixer's presence by his side.

“How's Fidds?”

“Sleeping. Got some ribs cracked and lungs bruised, but he should be alright if he keeps with his treatment.”

“And Zak?”

“I punched him, and then… Don't know and don't want to know.”

“Fair enough. And you?”

“In one piece, thanks to you. That’s all that matters”.

Again silence, comforting one. Yet there was one thing Stan still needed to make his way through.

“We didn't finish our talk. You said later…”

“I did”, he felt Ford exhale. “I was… and still definitely am mad because that was supposed to be my moment of glory, my highest achievement here, and knowing that you just went and did it and succeeded… I think to simplify it all, I’m jealous.”

Stan couldn't help but snort. “You? Jealous? Sure, maybe it was me there, but it wasn't me they all were seeing. They were lured by your words and your facts. And they are anticipating your future work. I… I just helped them to see it.” He sighed and hunched, letting his head fall on Ford’s shoulder. “I just repeated your words and mimicked your passion. And I'm sorry, I'm really sorry I stole that moment from you.”

He felt Ford’s hand on his shoulder, keeping him in place. “I'm sorry too. You were right. If I’ve decided to believe you, I need to do it fully and completely.” He paused. “I was thinking here. What if you didn't do it? What if you just let it be cancelled or something? I definitely would bargain into still getting the grant, but then in the eyes of others I would be the guy who forgot about the most important event ever.”

“That's what I was saying”, Stan huffed.

“You definitely didn't say it.”

“That's what I was thinking then”.

“That works”, Ford chuckled. “I'm not going to lie, I still have to get rid of my anger and disappointment, but I definitely won't make you their target”.

“Much obliged”, Stan mockingly groaned and heard Ford quietly laugh.

“I also felt useless”, the latter then whispered. “And that’s quite ugly of me, trying first to support you in all your doings and then to get this feeling that you really can be capable, all on your own…”

“Pffft”, Stan snorted. “I think you somehow continue to never really listen to me. The presentation? That was all on you, I just repeated it. If you think about Albert - that’s Fidds’ work. So stop making me laugh. You? Useless? That’s the worst joke I ever heard! Or you know some other definition that twisted the meaning of this word?”

To his relief Ford chuckled and leaned into him some more. And they again fell silent.

“Well, that was surely the most exciting semester”, Sixer sighed once again after a bit. “I now wish for all the formalities to be over and just go to Gravity Falls together, leaving all this behind…”

Right. And now the time for the hardest part finally arrived.

Stan sighed and forced himself to leave his comfortable position, blinking his eyes open and preparing himself.

“Stanley?” Sixer’s voice was full of confusion.

“I won't go with you to Gravity Falls”.

He physically felt the silence pressing on them.

Sixer wasn't speaking, just hunching on himself and looking away. Oh! That guy probably thought…

“No, it's not because whatever obnoxious thoughts…”

“Obnoxious?” Ford snorted.

“Well, had to look up some words you didn't ban! No matter! It's not because I don't want to go with you! It's because I want to stay here!”

Sixer finally looked at him and tilted his head to the side in confusion. “What are you talking about?”

“That lady, your Dean, she asked me…”

“You don't need to do whatever she told you to do!”

“She only told me to pass some more tests! And then she asked me whether I’d like to study here. As a proper student”.

“And… What did you say?” Ford was suddenly looking very hesitant.

“Didn't you listen to me before? I just said that I want to stay here!” Stan sighed and looked to the ground. “I'm not sure if I'll be even half as successful as you here, and they probably will regret inviting me in a month…”

“Why would they regret?” the confusion in Sixer’s voice was evident. “If anything, the last months showed you definitely having all the chances to…”

“She said I am possibly a hidden genius, just like you!” Stanley shouted. “I don't know why she thinks that! And you keep saying all your nonsense, and even Fidds was preaching it too! I don't know how I conned all of you into believing…”

“I don't think you're such a good conman to do this”, his bastard of a twin smirked. “Our Dean is definitely too smart for falling to your tricks”.

“She said she was impressed by me upgrading Fidds' robot!”

“And it is very impressive”, Sixer was chuckling, the traitor.

Stanley groaned and ruffled his hair from exasperation. He was too tired to prove once and for all that he just copied everything once again, and copying was not impressive!

“You being speechless means I won”, Sixer hummed and looked up to the sky.

“It's not over”, Stanley grumbled.

“You won't ever win this argument”, Ford singsonged.

And deep inside Stan definitely was looking forward to his twin to refute every of his arguments. Maybe for Fidds joining him too.

Believing them was easy. And hoping to actually be worthy of their faith one day was now like a second nature…

“Hey, Pines, that was definitely some cool thing back then… Why are there two of you now?!”

Stan groaned and glanced at the startled student before them.

“I’m his evil clone who still feels murdering thoughts at random moments…”

Stanford loudly laughed at that and at the speed with which the student decided to walk away.

“Well, if you’re decided to stay here, we don’t need to invent excuses anymore…”

“I don’t know, I still have some prepared that I wish to try out. How about I’m you from a parallel timeline that got destroyed and I was thrown here and if I won’t find a way to save this timeline then we’re all doomed?”

Ford laughed even harder. And after a minute or so suddenly went pensive. “Do you think it's ironic?” 

“What? Parallel timelines?”

And Sixer just shook his head. “No. I just understood how you felt that time, when I single-handedly ruined our plans to sail away…”

Stanley sighed, feeling the old guilt surfacing. “Right, I know that you were looking forward to our stay in these Falls together…”

“Yes, I definitely am disappointed I'll be going alone”, despite his words Sixer was smiling. “But I'm even more excited for a chance to finally see you in graduation hat in some years!”

And Stan was immediately reassured by the sincerity of his twin's voice. 

“That is if I won't drop after a year or two…”

“I'll bring you back kicking and screaming! If needed, Fiddleford definitely will lend me a hand!”

“A robohand?”

“You don't want a robohand to manhandle you…”

“I think Rico liked it though? He definitely asked me with his eyes to manhandle him some more…”

***

“By the way, why Albert?”

“Huh”, Stan suddenly was really regretting his earlier bout of sentimentality. “That… Uhhh… I named him in honour of your Einstein guy!”

Ford laughed again, his eyes gleaming with excitement. “And why did you decide to do so? Who is Albert?”

Stan sighed and looked away, hiding his embarrassment.

“Well, you guessed right. That was supposed to be our last boss. He's from Andrew's home dimension and is trying to get him to join his side or something…”

And Sixer somehow finished it by himself, his voice becoming soft and pensive. “He's Andrew's twin brother, isn't he? The one I came up with?”

“Yeah, couldn't let that piece of backstory be wasted.”

And then…

“Wait! Why is he the boss and not some supporting character?”

“Because he's trying to take over the whole dimension…”

“What? Albert would never have done something like that!”

“Hah, can't wait for you to eat your words when we'll get to the part with his plan!... Wait, where are you going?!”

“We’ll take the Game and sneak to Fiddleford!”

“You said he's sleeping! And I want to be like that too!”

“Then you shouldn't have started teasing with your plot twists!”

***

Stanford paused with his pacing when Fiddleford jogged to him.

His recovery definitely was going as smoothly as possible, even if he still had to take some pause here and there.

“So, saw your parents in the audience. How is Stanley?”

“Said that after punching some bags he'll be ready”.

“And you?”

“Already punched the same bags”, Stanford grinned, feeling himself as a general before the final battle. Well, it was not the best comparison as there wouldn't be any battle or hard fighting process, but that was a moment for Stanford to finally achieve what he wanted.

“Right”, Fiddleford grinned too. “If you change your mind, Albert is in the vicinity, so just make me a sign…”

“No, we're doing it my way”, Stanford nodded. “Anyway, thank you, Fiddleford. I appreciate it…”

“Sure thing!” Fiddleford waved and skipped to the exit of the waiting zone, silently articulating ‘Albert’ before leaving. 

Standord laughed and once again straightened his clothes.

He waited for another three minutes before he was given a sign to go.

And as he approached the backscene, he caught the end of the Dean’s speech.

“...the best and brightest student the Backupsmore ever saw, Stanford Pines!”

Stanford punched his cheeks for the last time, straightened his back and rose to the scene.

After marching to the center of the scene, he shook hands with the Dean who passed him a huge imitation of the actual check that was already in his possession.

Then he was instantly blinded by the flash of several cameras and had to blink a few times.

And as he stepped to the microphone he looked over the gathered audience.

Fiddleford was sitting at the front row, holding his own camera and grinning. 

Zak was also present, sitting near the back and showing with all his air that he would rather be anywhere but here.

Mostly all of his peers and classmates were gathered too, some of them actually applauding and some of them still giggling. No matter, it was not about them.

It was about the center of the audience, where he could see their Mom with Shermie at her left and their Father at his right.

And while Mom and Shermie were also clapping with all their might, Father was just nodding without showing any emotion as usual.

Stanford exhaled and smiled.

“Greetings, everyone. I won't hide, it wasn't an easy grant to get!”

The audience laughed, treating it as a joke. Yet the Dean at his side knowingly chuckled too.

“And while I definitely poured all my soul into getting it, I wouldn't be standing here without enormous support from multiple people.”

He turned to the Dean and bowed. “My profound gratitude to the Dean, Ms Hale, and our Headmaster, who is absent right now.”

The Dean rolled her eyes and muttered something.

“My gratitude to all of the Backupsmore members and professors who helped me with my studies. My gratitude to my classmates… And probably apologies too…” it was once again met with laughter, but more sincere this time. “And there are several people whose support meant everything for me. First, my good friend Fiddleford McGucket, who you will be hearing all about very soon too!”

Fiddleford smiled at him with a pleased expression.

“Second, my Mom who is here today. Mom! See! Just as you predicted!” he waved and saw their Mom laugh.

“Third, my brother Shermie, who is also here and whose calls were very important even if I ignored most of them. Sorry, Sherm!” his brother shrugged.

“And most importantly, the one person who made it possible for me to stay here before you. Who believed in me so hard I had no choice but to believe in myself too…” Standord turned his gaze at his Father and saw him straightening. That would be a good one. “My twin brother, Stanley!” he paused, savoring every moment of shock on his Father's face. Beyond him Mom and Shermie too were surprised, but that didn't compare in the slightest to the gasping to their right.

That was right, Father. It wasn't your efforts that made Stanford stand proudly and glare down from this scene.

It was that young man that was now sauntering through the entire scene to join him before the microphone. Who refused to give up Ford’s jacket and filled it up perfectly. Who still wore Ford’s glasses yet managed to look definitely like himself. And who was grinning at him with a proud gaze.  

Stanford turned to his twin and grinned back.

“Some of you actually met him at some times while we were conducting our little experiment on human’s ability to notice the smallest details, and some of you will be rejoiced to know that from the next semester you'll have him instead of me as your new classmate!”

“Sup Backupsmore!” Stanley grinned and waved. “Say ‘yay’ to the newest addition to the Department of History and Mythology!”

…Wait a second…

Stanford was shocked. But not as shocked as the Dean: 

“Didn't you say that you're joining the Engineering? I prepared all the papers!”

Stanley blew raspberries in her direction. “No, I said that I'll consider it. And I did some thinking, I already do well with welding. Now ancient history - that's where the real treasure lies!” Stanley's eyes went sparkling. “And I mean real! Yesterday I was reading about that Andeana guy…”

Ah, that was what Stanley was mumbling about. Good to know…

Stanford chuckled at the Dean's startled expression and grinned. Yes, that was pure Stanley. Good luck, Ms Hale. Good luck, Backupsmore. You all don't fully understand yet what hurricane you've just invited on your grounds.

And then Stanford glanced at their family, at Mom and Shermie who were straight up tearing up. And at their Father that looked away, seemingly deep in thoughts.

And at Fiddleford who was taking some pictures while laughing to himself.

And at Stanley once again. Who was grinning and winking to someone in the crowd.

And was full of energy, as he always should be.