Archive of Our Own

This day was turning out to be a nightmare—scratch that, this whole week. It certainly wasn’t the first time Stan had been arrested. It wasn’t even the first time he’d been in jail. But this time was… different. Stan didn’t really know what was happening. Everything had been going the way he expected, when he’d suddenly had one his weird, fuzzy-brain episodes. Very unfortunate timing, but he never could stop them once they started.

That’s when things took a turn into unexpected territory. Suddenly people were looking at him weird, and officers came and separated him from others, putting him in a more private holding cell. Suddenly he was dragged back to the interrogation room, but this time he was forced to talk to a variety of people. The police he understood, the detectives made sense. But the doctors? The “social workers” or whoever they really were? Why were they there? Why were they asking him such odd questions? What was going on?

He was given a lawyer, of course, but then he was also assigned a social worker. He had no idea why or what role they played. All Stan knew was that after all those people and questions, and more people and more questions, suddenly everyone started treating at him differently. Weirdly. Sympathetically? He didn’t know.

What he did know was that he was supposed to go to court for a criminal trial. And he did—kind of. Somehow it snowballed into a hearing about his mental capability and health, and suddenly Stan was being acquitted of his crimes (yay) on the basis of not being mentally capable enough to be held accountable for them (not yay). He didn’t understand how it had happened, or how things had so quickly spiralled out of his control.

They wouldn’t take him seriously. They wouldn’t let him do much talking for himself. His lawyer and social worker pled his case for him while Stan was hushed and ignored like he was some kid who wasn't old enough to speak for himself. It made him angry. It made him confused. It made his head spin and feel a little foggy because there was so much happening that he hadn’t expected and didn’t know how to handle.

But when the judge ruled Stan mentally incapable and to be placed under adult guardianship, he lost it. A conservatorship? Really? He was blinded by the indignation of it all, lunging across the courtroom towards the judge with a scream of fury. How dare they call him mentally incapable. How dare they strip him of his legal rights as an adult and give them to someone else, as if he were really still a child. And all because he sometimes got a little weird in the head?!

It wasn’t right! Stan had been having these issues for over a year now, and he’d been handling himself just fine. Not great, sure, but fine. He could take care of himself! He didn’t need a guardian. He didn’t need all these people looking at him and treating him like he wasn’t an adult. This was almost worse than prison. Stan would have rather pled guilty and served his time than go through whatever this was.

So he lunged, and was promptly tackled to the floor by multiple guards and removed from the court for the rest of the proceedings. He had no idea what happened after; what all was discussed and what other decisions were made about him without him even being there. The social worker stepped in to speak on his behalf, which made his blood boil. He didn’t know these people. How dare they make decisions for him.

But there was nothing he could do, deposited back in a holding cell until the “trial” (that he was no longer even present for!) was over. At the end of it, two days later, Stan was dragged back out in front of the court one last time. Supposedly he had to be there for the final wrap up, where he would be handed off to his new guardian.

As soon as Stan was escorted back into the courtroom, he wished he was still in his cell. Wished he was in prison, even. Wished he was anywhere but here, staring down the guardian he would be stuck with until those quack doctors deemed him mentally capable again.

Arms crossed and foot tapping, Stanford Pines stared back at him. He did not look impressed.

Something dropped in Stan’s gut like a heavy lead ball. It was embarrassment he felt, a deep sense of humiliation to be seen like this by his estranged twin. The last words Stan had said to his family had been that he didn’t need them. That he’d make millions on his own, make them regret ever turning him out.

What a picture he must make now. A homeless grifter who’d been arrested for petty crime but deemed too kooky in the head to be tried as an adult. What a way to reunite with his brother, at one of his lowest points. Ford should never see him like this. Stan had wanted to wait until he’d made those millions. Until he’d had the riches to slide his way back into his family’s good graces, to make up for what he did.

Not… not like this. Please, not like this.

But once again there was nothing he could do. Stan was forced to sit and wait as the trial was wrapped up with whatever final statements people wanted to give. Forced to sit and watch Ford glare at him from across the room, his gaze piercing and judgemental. And at the end of it, Stan was forced forward (physically, because he didn’t want to go) into Ford’s care, his new guardian snatching Stan by the wrist and practically dragging him out of the courthouse.

Ford said absolutely nothing to him as they crossed the parking lot. He walked with long, purposeful strides, grip tightening like iron whenever Stan tried to jerk out of it. He led Stan to a yellow car, all but shoved him into the passenger’s seat, and stomped around to the driver’s side. Ford situated himself behind the wheel, and Stan winced as the car door was roughly slammed shut.

“Well, I had assumed,” Ford grumbled, finally breaking the silence, “that you eventually grew up and settled down somewhere, but that’s clearly not the case. Look at you; you can’t even handle being an adult.”

Stan bristled in offence and shame. “I am an adult.”

“Yeah? Then why did I just have to drive all the way down here to be handed custody of you?”

Stan sunk lower in his seat, arms crossed. “It’s limited and temporary,” he reminded Ford. “They said just until I… until I improve.”

“If you improve,” Ford muttered, pulling out of the parking lot and heading for the open road. “And so what? Are you going to argue that you’re a grown man who can take care of himself? After multiple doctors have declared you incapable enough for the court to put you under adult guardianship? Don’t make me laugh.”

“They don’t know what they’re talking about,” Stan snapped, unable to look at Ford with how humiliated he felt about the whole ordeal. “I’ve been handling myself just fine!”

Ford actually did laugh then, and Stan’s cheeks flushed with shame.

“Seriously?” Ford sounded incredulous and amused. “As your new guardian, I have access to all your medical files and personal information. You think I didn’t look at what kind of life you were living before this? Drifting around in your car homeless, scamming people for money, running with gangs and getting into all kinds of criminal activity. You think I don’t know about the drugs? The alcohol abuse? You’re a walking disaster, Stanley. You haven’t been able to handle yourself since the moment you were kicked out of Pa’s house.”

“I’d like to see you try and make something from nothing!” Stan hissed. “You have no idea what it’s like, so you don’t get to judge! How was I supposed to find a place to live with no money? And how was I supposed to legally make money without a job? And how was I supposed to get a job with no highschool degree and no home address or phone number to provide as contact information? Pa threw me out with a duffle-bag full of clothes and nothing else! The only I.D I even had on me was my driver’s license! What was I supposed to do, Stanford?!”

He was yelling by the end, and he could feel that horrid fuzziness creeping into his head, but he was frustrated. So utterly frustrated with Ford’s snobbish attitude. How dare he think he was better than Stan. How dare he look down on and judge Stan when he didn’t have all the facts. He didn’t know what it was like. He’d never lived in Stan’s shoes. He had no right to be so haughty.

Ford only thinned his lips, unimpressed by Stan’s outburst. “And six years later you’re still in the same situation. No change. No growth. Any money you did make you chose to spend on drugs or gambling instead of trying to invest and save to better your situation. So I suppose this was inevitable. I should have known you depended on me to take care of you.”

Stan’s jaw dropped. “Excuse me?! If I remember, I was the one always taking care of you!”

Ford shot him a sideways sneer. “Getting into fights with bullies wasn’t ‘taking care’ of me. You could argue you defended me as children, but that isn’t caretaking. You were not the one providing food and a bed and necessities for me. Not as I’ll be doing for you now.”

“That’s not—!” Stan balled his fists up, hands shaking with frustration as he fought to try and find the words to explain himself. That fuzzy feeling was taking over, creating a blanket of static over Stan’s brain that made it hard to think properly. A part of him was still aware of himself, but it was easily drowned out with how overwhelmed he felt. “That’s not fair!”

Ford eyed him over, taking in his screwed up expression and heavy breathing. “Are you about to have one of those fits the doctors talked about and prove my point right now?”

Stan just yelled wordlessly, punching the dashboard of the car, angry and hazy and feeling his mind slipping uncontrollably. He hated that he couldn’t stop these episodes no matter how hard he tried. He hated listening to doctors diagnose him with all these mental illnesses. He hated that as soon as the court had judged him mentally incapable, everyone had started treating him like he wasn’t a grown man. And he hated how sometimes… Sometimes his brain refused to be one.

Ford pulled off to the side of the road and put the car in park, crossing his arms. “If you’re going to throw a tantrum then do it outside the car. I don’t need you destroying things in your recklessness.”

That was fine with Stan, he wanted to get out. This whole situation was unfair and Ford was being very mean to him. He fumbled with his seatbelt, the strap suddenly tight and constricting, but his hands couldn’t unlock the buckle properly, his body feeling clumsy and too big for him. Stan shouted wordlessly, thrashing in the hold of the seatbelt, frustrated tears coming to his eyes.

“Hey, hey!” Dexterous, six-fingered hands were suddenly there, unbuckling Stan’s belt and freeing him. “My goodness, Stanley, it’s just a seatbelt. There’s no need to cry about it.”

It wasn’t about the belt! It was about everything that had just happened. About the whole court ordeal, and being held in a cell for days, and made to talk to dozens of strangers, and—! And everything! The officers had been stern, and the court had been judgemental, and the doctors had been fake-sympathetic, and now Ford was being mean. And all of it was putting Stan into that stupid headspace where he couldn’t think right and felt small.

He just wanted to be left alone. Left to deal with this on his own until he could push away the fuzzy-brain episode that was invading his mind.

Stan pushed himself out of the car, tumbling to the ground and rolling around, pounding his fists against the earth to let out all the pent-up, too-big emotions in his body. Upset tears spilled over, and that just made him more upset. He wasn’t even sad! He hated that sometimes his stupid body cried just because it was feeling too much. He hated that he could never stop it once he got going, only ride it out.

A door shut on the other side, and Ford came around the hood of the car, leaning his hip against it as he watched Stan. “Wow. Very mature of you. I wonder why the court decided you were mentally incapable. Obviously, this is normal adult behaviour. Not embarrassing to watch at all.”

“Go away!” Stan screamed into the grass, not wanting to look at Ford.

The part of him that remained self-aware was fully embarrassed over his own actions and his inability to stop them. He cried at the unfairness of it all. He knew he was supposed to be able to control himself, like a proper adult—but it was just too hard right now. He was so overwhelmed and upset and frustrated and betrayed and belittled. And he needed those icky feelings to come out. They refused to stay bottled up inside him any longer.

Ford said nothing else as Stan cried and yelled and thrashed about on the ground for all the injustices he’d been through. He only watched in judgemental silence until Stan’s tantrum petered out. Once Stan was still, chest heaving as he tried to collect himself, Ford finally approached.

“You’re such a mess.”

Stan only whined in response as hands pulled him to sit upright and lean against the car. Ford then ducked through Stan’s still-open door and dug around in the car, muttering to himself. Stan didn’t pay it much mind, though. As such, he was completely taken aback when a napkin began wiping at his face, cleaning away tears and snot. It was too rough, and Stan squirmed away unhappily.

“Hold still,” Ford said sternly.

Stan continued squirming, even when his brother’s other hand grabbed him by the chin to hold him in place. “No! ‘T’s mean.”

Ford’s brows rose in disbelief. “I’m being mean?”

Stan rubbed his cheek that stung from the scratchy napkin. “Hurts,” he grumbled.

Ford heaved a sigh and leaned back into the car for a moment. He retrieved a metal water bottle, which he wet a fresh napkin with. This time when he wiped at Stan’s face it was done more gently, the cool dampness of the napkin soothing Stan’s irritated skin.

Stan sniffled but let his brother clean his face, the fog in his brain seeing nothing wrong with doing so. He was tired now anyway, after getting all that energy out.

Ford offered him the water bottle after. “Sip.”

Stan sipped like instructed, the water refreshing his throat that was dry and sore from screaming.

Ford straightened up with a groan. “Alright, now that that’s over with. Let’s get back on the road; we have a long drive ahead of us.”

Stan wanted to protest. He didn’t want to go anywhere with Ford while Ford was being a big meany. But he also didn’t want to stay here and get left behind. He was worried Ford might actually do that, and the thought of being alone in a place he didn’t know was scary right now. Usually it didn’t bother him when he felt normal, but when he felt small the prospect was frightening.

So Stan got up and crawled back into the car. He didn’t even protest when his brother reached across and buckled him back into his seatbelt.

Ford gave him a tired look. “Let’s not have anymore incidents, okay?”

Stan flung himself around the side of the diner, gasping for air as he zeroed in on a dark, shady spot and collapsed there. His body curled up into a tight ball and he clasped his hands around his head, palms over his ears and fingers covering his eyes. He felt so jittery it was like there were ants crawling under his skin, and he began rocking in place to alleviate the excess energy.

He wasn’t alone for long of course, as the next minute he faintly heard the bell over the diner’s door jingle, and the stomping of footsteps as his brother came around the corner.

“Really?” Ford sounded exasperated, a frown on his face. “You had to embarrass the both of us by acting like that in there?”

Stan hadn’t meant to. He’d really wanted to just eat and be normal. He couldn’t help that it had all gotten out of hand for him.

“The… the lights were too bright,” he tried to explain miserably, knowing it wasn’t a good explanation but having a hard time getting more words out.

“The lights were too bright?” Ford echoed flatly. “That’s it?”

Well, no. The lights had felt like they were searing Stan’s eyes, hurting his very brain. And then since the lights already bothered him, the loud screeching of a baby from a table across the room had felt like a cheese grater on his ears. Stan knew it wasn’t the baby’s fault, but it made him twitchy and his head hurt. And then there were too many people and suddenly his clothes felt too restricting and he was just far too aware of everything and—

Stan made a miserable sound and rocked harder, trying to get the ants out.

Ford threw his hands up. “All this over lights?”

“I know it’s stupid!” Stan yelled, smacking his fists against the sides of his head angrily. “I know! I know! I know!”

“Stanley!” Ford’s tone was a mix of alarm and chastisement. “Stop that!”

Six-fingered hands grabbed ahold of Stan’s wrists and tried to pull his arms down.

Ford’s grip felt like hot iron around him. It was too much. Stan didn’t want to be touched right now, but his brain was melting out his ears and he didn’t know how to say that. So instead he screamed his frustration out, kicking his legs.

Ford stumbled back to avoid the kicking, letting go in the process. “Stanley!” he snapped, looking shocked.

“No! It—! It—! It’s—!” Stan felt like a skipping record, trying to get words out. “Bright!”

He was in the shade, but the setting sun still blazed in the sky, and he could hear every car driving down the road past them, and feel every blade of grass beneath him, and the texture of his clothes on his skin, and—and—and—

Something heavy fell on him, draping over his head and shoulders. Stan flailed under the unexpected sea of fabric surrounding him. The sudden constriction made him panic for a moment, but he was able to get his hands under and make space around his face and…

It was darker under there. The fabric was thick and sturdy, and it smelled like Ford. A scent that was familiar and comforting, and Stan found that he no longer felt trapped, rather more like he was hiding under a private little tent. A place just for him. He shifted and adjusted what had to be Ford’s trench-coat further over his head, blocking out any sight of the outside.

Unfortunately, the coat didn’t block noise, but it did muffle things a bit, and Stan pulled his legs in and went back to rocking, trying to calm himself down. He knew he was being dramatic and ridiculous but he couldn’t—he couldn’t help it! It was just something he had to deal with sometimes, when things became too much. He just had to let it get out of his system until he was less overwhelmed.

He heard a heavy sigh from Ford. “Well, this was clearly a failure of a dining experience.”

Stan winced, gnawing on his thumbnail. Most of his nails were chewed down, the skin around them tender and sore from his biting, but it was a habit he just couldn’t stop.

“We still need to eat, though. It’s dinner time and we’re a few hours out from Gravity Falls. I’m going to go back in and order to-go. What do you want?”

Stan worked his jaw a few times, begging for words to come back to him. He didn’t know how much more patience Ford was going to have with him.

But Ford said nothing, even after a long minute of Stan’s silence, and eventually Stan was able to mumble out, “Grilled cheese?”

“Grilled cheese,” Ford repeated tonelessly. “Should’ve expected that one. Alright. You want fries with it?”

“…They got curly ones?” Stan asked quietly.

“I’ll have to ask. Will regular suffice if not?”

“Mm. Just no—no—”

“No skins,” Ford said, relieving Stan from having to try and finish his sentence. “I remember you were always picky about potato skins.”

Stan made a grumbly noise but didn’t respond. It wasn’t his fault potato skins had such bad texture.

“I’ll go unlock the car.” Ford’s words intermingled with the jingling of keys. “You can sit in there while we wait for food.”

That wasn’t a bad idea. As long as Stan got to keep the trench-coat.

“Stanley.”

A hand on his shoulder roused him. Stan blinked awake and sat up, feeling a slight ache in his neck from the position he’d been in. He’d fallen asleep not long after they’d gotten back on the road after eating their dinner.

Ford gave him a nudge. “Come on, we’re home.”

Home. Stan had complicated feelings about that word. He’d wanted a home for so long. He missed home, but he wasn’t sure he knew what home really meant to him anymore. What did he mean when he desired home? His childhood house? His family? Simply a place to live? He didn’t know.

He stretched as he got out of the car, one arm still holding Ford’s trench-coat to his chest. Curious eyes gazed up at Ford’s house, taking in the wooden structure standing tall in the dark. This place was to be his residence for the foreseeable future, but could it be a home? Could Stan let it be a home for him? The idea was both tempting and dangerous.

He’d wanted to reunite with Ford for a long time, but this definitely wasn’t how he had ever hoped it would go. He at least would have preferred for them to reunite as equals, not as a ward under his brother’s guardianship. Did Ford even want him around? It didn’t really seem like he did. But then again, he could have refused guardianship. He didn’t have to accept the position, the court would have assigned someone if Stan’s family rejected him.

Then again, maybe Ford had only accepted because he felt obligated to, considering they were twins. He sure seemed like he wasn’t happy about it. Stan probably shouldn’t let himself get too settled in Ford’s house, lest he start thinking of it as his own home. That would only make it hurt more when Ford inevitably got sick of him. When Stan was deemed better and capable and legally allowed to be an adult again.

“Stanley.”

Fingers snapped near Stan’s face, and he flinched back with a small gasp.

Ford raised a brow. “You went unresponsive on me. Come on, let’s get you settled inside.”

He reached to take his trench-coat back, but Stan jerked it away.

“No!” he yelled, hugging the coat tightly to his chest.

Ford frowned, extending a hand expectantly. “Hand it over, Stanley. I’m going to hang it in the closet where it belongs.”

“No!” Stan repeated, backing away and shaking his head. He bundled the coat up closer to his face, where he could rub it against his cheek and take in the comforting smell.

“Why are you being stubborn about this? It’s just a coat.”

“I want it,” Stan whined. Stating his desire was easier than trying to explain how the coat had so quickly become a comfort item.

“Grown man, huh?” Ford threw his hands up in exasperation. “You know what? Fine. I’m not going to argue about a coat.” He moved around to the trunk of the car, digging out the box the court had given him of the few things Stan owned. “Let’s go.”

Stan followed his brother into the house.

Ford led him to a spare room, which he said was now going to be Stan’s until further notice. Stan gingerly sat on the edge of the bed, feeling antsy as he watched Ford set down the box of stuff and dig through it. He kept the coat clutched to his chest, squeezing the material in his fists rhythmically.

“Are you mad at me?”

He didn’t know why he even asked. Of course Ford was mad at him, he’d been snapping at Stan all day.

“No, I’m not—” Ford pinched the bridged of his nose. “Well, maybe a little. Your behaviour has been…” He sighed. “It’s not… Never mind. You didn’t do anything—nothing you can’t help in your current mental state anyway.”

Stan curled up tight, hugging his knees. “So you are mad.”

Ford sighed again and sat down next to him. “Not about anything new.”

Oh. Stan had an idea of what this might be about, and he’d wondered when it would come up. It was inevitable, given their parting as teens.

“Is this about the machine incident? I said it was a mistake!”

Ford pushed his glasses up to rub at his eyes tiredly. “Yes, I know. You’re very adamant about that, so I’m inclined to believe you at this point.”

He was? Stan felt a blossom of hope. No one had listened to him that night despite how many times he’d said it was a mistake. Perhaps the years of separation had cooled Ford off enough to be willing to forgive him for it?

But there did seem to be something still hanging between them, so Stan asked, “What’s the big deal then?”

“The problem is, Stanley, that regardless of if it was an accident, you didn’t take the whole thing seriously. Even if you hadn’t meant to, you still ruined my chances of attending one of the best tech universities in the country—with a full scholarship at that! Your accident had big consequences for me, but you tried to make light of the whole thing, as if you hadn’t just snatched a potential future from me. You lost me something incredibly important, and rather than apologizing properly, you had the gall to bring up treasure hunting. It wasn’t important to you, so you didn’t consider how important it might be to me.”

“I-I just…” Stan stuttered, at a loss. Without fully realizing, he brought the coat up again to rub against his cheek, trying to soothe himself. “I… I did understand how much it meant to you, Ford. I didn’t mean to make you think I was downplaying the situation by bringing up treasure hunting. I was just trying to lift your spirits because I could see how devastated you were. And I know I went about it in all the wrong ways but, all I had been trying to do was make you feel better.”

Ford’s lips thinned, but he looked more weary than irate. “It wasn’t an appropriate time for that. Especially with what you said. I can appreciate you trying to make me feel better, but you really thought bringing up treasure hunting was going to do it? Treasure hunting? At seventeen years old? Stanley, at that age I had assumed you’d matured enough to realize treasure hunting was a child’s dream, and not a feasible nor sustainable career.”

Stan felt himself flush lightly at that. He didn’t want to hear Ford tell him his dreams were childish. Especially since he still dreamed of treasure hunting. Did he know that it was unrealistic at this point? Yeah, of course. He was old enough to know such a thing wasn’t truly attainable. But did that mean it stopped being his dream? No. It was comforting. A comforting fantasy on his hard, long nights, to imagine himself in a better life, sailing freely with his brother and searching for treasure.

It hurt to hear Ford be dismissive of it. Sure, maybe it was childish, stupid even, but it made him happy.

Ford continued, “But I suppose… I don’t know. Maybe I should have expected you’d still thought our childhood dream was what we were actually going to do with our lives. You were always a little slow to mature. Still clinging to boyhood even while we were verging on our eighteenth birthday, not ready to think about real life and grow up.”

Stan clenched his fists around the trench-coat, angry and embarrassed at the same time. How dare Ford imply he was slow? That he was immature? It didn’t matter what the courts said—he was an adult! Sure, he had episodes where his mind went back to being a child for a bit, but he was grown! He knew what he was doing. Besides, those episodes only started up in the last year or so, he hadn’t always been like this. Certainly not back when he was a teenager.

“I’m not slow!” he snapped defensively. “I… I—!” He didn’t know what to say. He knew it was dumb now, but he had suggested treasure hunting back then. “I’m grown now, I know it was stupid. I just… I didn’t want to be left behind. I thought we’d face the future together, whatever it looked like. But then suddenly all you talked about was going to university and I…”

“Caused an accident?” Ford filled in somewhat sarcastically when Stan trailed off.

Stan scowled. “It was one! I didn’t touch your machine. I was just angry and I hit the table it was on with my fist—”

“Like you punched the dashboard of my car earlier?” Ford cut him off. “So you threw a tantrum and broke my machine?”

“It wasn’t—they’re not tantrums! I’m a grown man, I don’t throw tantrums! And all I did was hit the table and the little panel on the side popped off. I put it back on and it was still working when I left! I didn’t touch your project beyond that.” Stan glared at his brother. “Believe it or not, I was mature enough at the time to realize how important it was to you and not mess with it directly. I didn’t take my anger out on it, just the table, and I even thought I had fixed it after.”

Ford snorted. “And then you didn’t warn me ahead of time about what you did so I could check it over before the judges came. You kept quiet about it rather than own up to your mistake. Honestly, it’s actually easier to forgive you if I just think of you as a kid who didn’t know what he was doing.”

That sat sourly in Stan’s stomach. They both knew Stan had known what he was doing, that it had just been an accident. He’d been nearly eighteen then, not a kid!

“Anyway.” Ford stood up and stretched. “What happened, happened. We can’t change it now, so I’ll try to forgive you.”

Despite his indignation, and despite the word “try”, Stan still felt a glimmer of hope at the idea that Ford might forgive him. His voice came out small when he spoke. “You will?”

Ford gave him an unreadable look, eyes darting down to his coat that Stan still clutched tightly. “I agreed to be your guardian, and the court made sure I knew the full obligations of what that would mean. Considering your state and my responsibilities, I think holding onto any resentment I may have would hinder me from being a good conservator. I’ll admit, it might be hard for me sometimes, but I will try.”

Oh. So Ford was only forgiving him because he felt obligated to. Because Stan was an obligation he’d accepted. The idea that he wasn’t actually wanted stung.

Stan’s shoulders slumped. “You didn’t have to agree to be my guardian, you know.”

“I didn’t.” Ford nodded. “But Ma couldn’t accept because Pa wouldn’t allow you back. Shermie didn’t accept because he said he had to put his wife and children first. If I didn’t take you in, they would have assigned you a guardian from the state. Some random stranger none of us know.”

Great. Now Stan felt even more like a burden.

“Do you want me to thank you for your benevolence?” he muttered, dipping his head to hide behind his hair. “Praise you for relieving everyone else of the burden?”

There was silence for a long moment, and Stan wished he knew what his brother was thinking.

Then Ford said, “I didn’t do it for them. I did it for you.”

Stan raised his head in disbelief, scanning Ford’s face for a sign of… something. He wasn’t sure what he was looking for. “What? What do you mean?”

“I did it for you,” Ford repeated simply. Then he turned on his heel and headed for the door, waving for Stan to follow him. “Come. I’ll show you the bathroom and you can get ready for bed.”

Well, whatever moment had started forming there dissipated. Any warm feelings immediately fizzled out by the annoyance of his brother being bossy.

“You don’t get to tell me what to do,” Stan grumbled, even as he got to his feet and shuffled after Ford.

“Actually, I do. We have a lot to do tomorrow and I can tell you’re tired, so you’re going to bed. In the morning we’ll put together a list of all the things you’re going to need, clothes and toiletries and the like, and go shopping. The court also wants you in therapy, so I’ll have to sign you up with the nearest clinic that offers those services.”

Ugh, more doctors. Stan had had enough of doctors. “I don’t want to go.”

“That’s too bad. You’re going.”

“You can’t make me!”

“Unfortunately for you, I very much can. Part of my guardianship is legal right to make decisions for you regarding your healthcare. You’re going.”

Stan crossed his arms and raised his chin. “Well, then good luck dragging me there, because I won’t go willingly.”

“Very mature of you. Trust me, you don’t want me to resort to dragging you there.”

“You couldn't,” Stan insisted. “I’m the stronger twin.”

“I will shrink you down to the size you’re acting and carry you there,” Ford said. It came across more cryptically than threatening, probably because such a thing was impossible.

Stan snorted a laugh. “What? You got some sort of minimizing moonbeam?” He wiggled his fingers teasingly. “Some shrink ray you invented? Size-changing magic crystals?”

Ford smiled, and it was a little wolfish. “I suppose you’ll find out, won’t you?”

Stan woke up full of energy and brimming with excitement. It was the weekend! There was no school, so if he and Ford got all their chores out of the way early, then they’d have the whole day to do whatever they wanted. They could ride around on their bikes, go to the beach, search for hidden treasure, whatever. As long as they were together they would always have fun.

Stan threw himself out of bed, stumbling over his too-big feet and wobbling. Weird. He felt weird, like he was too small for his body. But whatever, he could shake it off. He wasn’t going to let anything stop him from going on adventures today. He just had to make sure Ford was—

Where was Ford?

Stan looked around the room, perplexed. His confusion only increased when he realized he didn’t recognize where he was. It wasn’t his room, and it didn’t have his twin in it. Where was he?

“Ford?” he called, a little nervous to be without his twin in a new, unknown place. “Ford!”

There was no response, so Stan puffed out his chest and put on his brave face. He didn’t know where he was, and he didn’t know where his brother was, but he was Stanley Pines! He wasn’t going to cower away (even if it was scary) while Ford was missing. He was going to punch anything and everything that got between him and his brother.

At least that’s what he told himself as he slipped out of the room and inched his way down the hall, hugging close to the wall.

“Ford?” he called again, voice lowered to a whisper.

He didn’t like being alone. It was always easier to be brave when Ford was by his side. This place was too big and his body was too big, and Stan felt so very very small in comparison. There was a nagging in the back of his head that told him to be wary, but of what Stan wasn’t sure. None of this was right, and he couldn’t remember how he’d gotten here or what had happened the day before.

But if he found his brother then it would all be okay. As long as they were together.

Stan crept down a set of creaky wooden stairs and paused at the bottom. There was noise coming from the right, the sound of dishes clinking and water running. It perked him up. What if it was his ma?

…No, that didn’t make sense. Why would she be here? (Why was he here?) But who else could it be? Had somebody kidnapped him? (Where was Ford?) What was going on?

Stan went right and peeked around the corner into what turned out to be a kitchen. A man who was both familiar and someone Stan didn’t recognize was at the sink, drying his hands on a towel. Stan didn’t realize it, but he must have made some sort of noise, as the man glanced in his direction at that moment, surprise briefly crossing his face.

“Stanley. You’re up earlier than I expected,” the man Stan knew but didn’t know said.

The man’s posture was lax and comfortable. He didn’t seem too dangerous, so Stan braved moving further into sight.

“How do you know my name? Where’s my brother?” Stan demanded, voice only slightly wavering.

The man frowned. “Where’s your—? Stanley, it’s me.”

Stan pointed at him threateningly, squaring his shoulders and widening his stance to try and seem bigger than he was. “If you’ve hurt Ford I’ll… I’ll beat you up!”

The man looked affronted. “I am Ford.”

Stan paused, taking in the man’s appearance: brown hair, Pines’ nose, nerdy glasses, six fingers…

Something clicked in Stan’s head. Oh, that’s why the man looked so familiar! He was Ford. Obviously, he was Ford. How silly of Stan to forget his own brother. Of course he knew this man, he had no idea why he had been so confused earlier. This was Ford, and they were… somewhere.

Relieved to have found his twin, Stan bounded up to Ford happily and knocked their shoulders together. “Ford! Where are we? Why are we here? Are we on an adventure? Ma always says to be home in time for dinner!”

Ford looked at him oddly, brows furrowing. “We are home. This is my house. Don’t you remember?”

Why was Ford acting so weird?

Stan’s brows furrowed in a mirror of his twin’s. “I… No. What?”

“I brought you here last night. You’re living with me now.”

Oh! Ford was being funny!

Stan giggled and playfully punched Ford’s arm. “Don’t be silly, Sixer. We can’t own a house, we’re kids!”

(Weren’t they? Ford looked older than Stan’s brain was telling him his brother should be.)

Ford reached up and pushed a messy strand of Stan’s unbrushed hair out of his face so he could see him better. His eyes looked intently into Stan’s, like he was searching for something.

“Stanley,” he asked, “how old are you?”

Stan opened his mouth to answer, but blanked. How old was he? He wasn’t sure. He was small but his body was big and he didn’t fit into it properly. But it was big because he was big, right? Or was that wrong? He didn’t know. His head felt foggy.

“I’m… I’m eight?” he answered, but immediately knew that didn’t feel correct. “No, that’s not right. I’m four? No, I’m—I’m twenty-four?”

“That’s right, Stan,” Ford said calmly, putting both hands on Stan’s shoulders to steady him. “You’re twenty-four. We just turned twenty-four last month.”

“Yes,” Stan agreed, and that did sound right. “Yeah, I’m. I’m twenty-four.”

“And do you remember where you are?”

Stan looked down at his own hands. They were large and scarred, some fingers a little crooked from breaking and not healing correctly. They were grown hands, adult hands, because he was an adult. He looked back up at Ford, his brother, his twin, his… guardian?

The fog in his head started receding like clouds rolling away from the sun, his memories coming back with Ford’s prompting. Right. He was in Ford’s house, where he’d been brought to live with his brother because Ford had been appointed as his conservator. He’d just gotten there last night, after a messy and embarrassing drive back.

He’d been so upset with the court’s decision, so insistent that he was a capable adult. But all he’d done since Ford had picked him up had been act like a kid and have meltdowns. He’d wanted to prove himself so badly, wanted Ford to take him seriously, and now look what he’d done. Woken up with the mind of a child and unable to remember his adult life without outside help.

He’d fully believed himself to be a kid again for a moment there. The fog had taken over his brain before he’d even had a chance to realize it was seeping in. He’d had no control over it, and had probably just lost any credibility as a capable adult in Ford’s eyes. Because really, who acted like that? Normal people didn’t have brains that made them act like kids again out of the blue. Not like Stan’s stupid, defective one.

It wasn’t the first time it had happened, but it was certainly the first time another person had been able to kickstart his memories and bring him back to himself. Usually Stan just lost chunks of time to whatever that mental state was. Eventually it would go away on its own, and he’d come back to awareness disoriented and anxious.

He felt ashamed that Ford had seen him in that state. Almost more so than he had been over the tantrums yesterday. At least with those he’d still had enough presence of mind to remember himself. Hadn’t lost his adult mind to the fog entirely like just now.

“What’s wrong with me?” Stan whined out, grabbing at his hair and yanking.

He was so frustrated with himself. With these episodes. He never used to have them! He’d been fine for a long time on his own with no problems but then… then…

Something had happened.

He didn’t know. He couldn’t remember. Just that one day, his head started feeling foggy. His mind started slipping, his grasp of control and maturity failing him. And then he started falling into these fits. Sometimes he knew they were about to happen, due to him being scared or stressed or some other big emotion or event. But other times they just happened for seemingly no reason, like his brain just decided to take a break.

His adult mind would up and walk away and leave him feeling like a little kid who was usually overwhelmed and upset. He hated that it happened. It didn’t make sense that it happened. Stan already was never in a position of safety or security, and the dumb, fuzzy-brained version of him couldn’t handle that. Normal him could; normal him had learned to. But the younger mental state he slipped into was always frightened because he knew he wasn’t safe.

It was exhausting.

“A lot,” Ford said bluntly, because he’d always been blunt and not great at consoling people. “There’s a lot wrong with you. That’s why you’re with me now, because you need to be.”

Stan hunched in on himself. It was shameful to have to need someone else like that at his age. He wanted to be with his brother, but as a brother, not a ward who depended on Ford like a child did a parent. It was shameful to have his independence stripped away like that. Shameful that maybe a part of himself did need it, because Stan was lost and vulnerable when the fog overtook him.

Shameful because he was supposed to come back to his family a successful, grown man. But the court had dropped him into Ford’s care as a mentally screwed up, homeless wreck.

“I’m not supposed to be like this,” Stan tried helplessly to explain, pushing the palms of his hands hard into his eyes until he saw sparks. “Why can’t my brain work properly?!”

His shoulders trembled, and they only shook more when tentative arms wrapped around them. Stan couldn’t even remember the last time he’d been hugged, his body unused to gentle touch anymore. People weren’t kind to him, weren’t nice to him unless they wanted something from him.

“I’m here for you,” Ford said.

It sounded genuine. A little awkward, a little stiff, but genuine.

Stan let his head fall forward to rest on his brother’s shoulder. The hug was just as awkward as Ford’s words, as if Ford wasn’t used to giving them anymore, but it was comforting anyway. He reached around and clawed his fingers into the back of Ford’s sweater, returning the first hug he’d had with his twin in over six years.

“We’ll get you help, Stanley. This is why you’re going to be going to therapy. We’ll get you back on your feet.”

Stan wasn’t sure he’d ever been on his feet to begin with, but that didn’t really matter.

“And I’ll be here for you, okay? As your guardian, as your brother. We’ll—we’ll figure this out together.”

Stan had the feeling Ford was just as lost about all this as he was, but he appreciated the sentiment. It was always easier, after all, to be brave when Ford was by his side.

“Okay,” he croaked out in agreement. “Okay. Together.”

“Together.”