Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Summertime in New Jersey was meant to be spent outside. There were the beaches, the boardwalks, the sun, the trees to climb, the ice cream to eat- sitting inside doing nothing was eating Stanford alive. Typically, he'd prefer to be inside rather than out, but today itself wasn't typical. It wasn't a normal day and he couldn't keep still. He wanted to be doing something, but he wasn't sure WHAT to do. 

Typically, when he was inside, he could just read. He had plenty of fantasy books to get through. The thing was, though, that he'd tried that already, but he couldn't focus on the words. They kept fading into the background as worry overcame him instead. He wasn't even sure what was happening in the book anymore, despite having to reread paragraphs multiple times. He was pretty sure there was a chameleon? That was about it.

He was supposed to be back by now. Ma had said he'd be back before Ford knew it. So where was he?

Ford heard the grandfather clock in the house strike noon, and with a flurry of motion, he slammed the book closed beside him on the floor and sprang to his feet- out the door, through the hall, and over to the table their Ma always sat at when giving people fortunes. She was currently on the phone with someone, twirling the cord between her fingers. 

As soon as she saw Ford enter the room, her posture changed. She went from relaxed and casual to tense. She looked away quickly, grabbing at the cord while her foot bounced. Her tone remained exactly the same, and she tried to remain in the same casual, laid-back pose Ford had found her in, but one more glance at him had her stiffening.

Ford stopped, waiting for her to finish. He knew better than to interrupt her, despite the rolling anxiety doing flips in his chest. He crossed his arms, tapping his fingers at the sleeves on his jacket as he studied the floor. 

Wood. Dark oak, maybe? No, that'd be too fancy. Maybe he could ask Ma? Well not right now but at some point later? Maybe? He heard somewhere once that you could tell how long a tree lived based on the rings it had, so would he be able to figure out how old their flooring was? Maybe he could figure out the exact birthday of the trees themselves, wouldn't THAT be something? 

"Yes, I predict your date will be much better now," Ma said into the receiver. "Good day to you." She reached over and set the phone down with a little click! before turning to Ford. "Stanford, did you need something, hon?"

"Yeah." Ford grabbed at his sleeves. "You said Stanley would be back soon," he exclaimed. "It's noon, Ma, and he's still not here! Where is he?"

Ma took in a deep breath, looking away. "I… I'm sorry, Stanford. Stanleys not here. He's…" She trailed off. 

"What? He's what?" The anxiety was only climbing. She knew something, didn't she? Why wasn't she telling him?

Last night, she'd told Ford that Stanley was going off with a friend to make Ford a surprise, and that he'd be back early this morning. When Ford had woken up and Stanley wasn't there, he'd initially assumed his brother was playing hide and seek to scare him or something. But then Ford couldn't find him. He'd searched the whole house, and nothing. Ma said he just needed extra time. How much time did he need?

Ma sighed. "I needed to try and find some way to tell you. He's… Stanley's not coming home."

Ford blinked up at her. "WHAT?!" Did he run off with that new best friend he has, apparently?? Did he get stuck in a sewer somewhere? Fall out of a tree? Did someone come and take him away? Did he get kidnapped by a time traveler?!

"I know, I know, I shoulda told you before," Ma continued. She looked… sad. She wouldn't look at Ford, instead opting to examine a picture on the wall. Well, a picture frame. It was empty now. "He's not coming home and I didn't know how to tell ya." She paused, then took a deep breath. "Stanford, your brother-"

"Ran away." Heavy footsteps entered the room. Ford turned to look as his father stepped through the doorway. He was still wearing those glasses of his, dressed up nice for the shop. His stern expression hadn't changed at all- he could have been telling them it was storming outside, the neighbors came to visit, or that they got a new puppy and that face never changed. "He left last night."

"No…" Ford shook his head. "No, that's not true! If he was gonna run away, he would have told me about it." He balled his hands into fists, swinging them up and down anxiously. "We'd have gone together!"

Pa didn't react aside from tilting his head down a bit more to look at his son. "Well maybe he got tired of always sticking up for you." 

Ford shrunk back in on himself, subconsciously tucking his fingers away under his arms in a self-hug. 

" Filbrick! " Ma shot him a glare. 

Without a word, the man turned and walked back out of the room, footsteps retreating down the hall. Ma moved to stand, but a sharp ringing gave her pause. The phone's shrill cry was loud, but Ma ignored it. She pushed herself up and stormed after her husband instead. Ford watched as his mom passed, watching her with wide eyes.

"Filbrick Pines, you do not get to talk about our little boy like that!"

"He's not our kid anymore, Caryn." 

"That's not true."

"Not our problem anymore, either." 

"Filbrick!"

That was it. Ford spun around and bolted back to their room. Not his. It would always be their room. Unless…? 

No. No, it didn't make sense. Stanley wouldn't just run away without saying anything! That didn't sound like him at all! 

Ford slammed the door, stomping over to the bed and throwing himself on the bottom bunk- Stan's bunk. It was neat- the pillow was fluffed and where it was supposed to go, the blankets were made, and most of the toys had been cleaned off of it. Stan almost never cleaned his bed, and he certainly wouldn't have fluffed the pillow. Ford grabbed at it, burying his face in the fabric. He looped his arms around it so it covered his face, then grabbed at his hair instead.

"Not true," he grumbled to himself, muffled by the pillow. "He wouldn't just disappear like that. He wouldn't!"

He groaned. This wasn't helping. He had to think this through.

Pushing himself up, he moved his hands under his glasses to run them down his face. "Okay. Okay, logic. Stanley got a bad grade in school, and Pa yelled at him for it. Grounded him. He was sent outside to wash the windows all weekend, and I wasn't allowed to help him."

He began to pace, making his way around the room as he rambled aloud to himself. He'd found that speaking like this helped him get his thoughts in order, especially if he was overthinking something. Stan always told him to talk through it, and it seemed to help. Made the thoughts more real- and if they were real, they could be studied. Made it easier to see which were more likely. 

Now, he walked circles around the cluttered room, eyes scanning their shared collection warily. "Pa didn't say why- he never does, why would he now- and then…" he stopped. "Maybe he's mad at Pa? So he ran off to make him feel bad?" That had some logic to it, but Stan had been mad at their father before and he'd never done anything like this. It didn't really seem like something he'd do. 

"Or," Ford began, circling again, "he was washing the windows and that friend Ma mentioned came by and distracted him, and he got in trouble, so when he was given more work, he decided running away was easier." That was more like Stan. He was usually quick to drop responsibilities or take shortcuts, and without Ford there to stop him, he probably got carried away.

"Or maybe, " Ford continued, holding up a finger, "someone saw him in the window and thought he was for sale, and when they went to buy him he ran away! Then Pa saw him running and he thought Stan just ran away." He snapped his fingers, as if he were really onto something here. "Then, he got taken by a griffin!" 

Yeah. Logical. 

Ford sighed, pausing his pacing to push the butts of his palms into his eyes. This wasn't helping. "It doesn't matter," he reasoned. "Stan's gone. He's gone and that's that. It doesn't matter how it happened, right?" He stopped, eyebrows raising. He looked up, eyeing the singular backpack hanging on the wall. Stan's was missing. 

Ford dashed over to the spot, grabbing his own backpack and unzipping it. It was full of school supplies and books, including the sequel to the book he was reading now (in case he finished early), a different book (in case he couldn't focus on this one), that book's sequel (what if that one was more interesting or easy to read? Can't be too careful), and a notebook. 

Quickly, he dumped everything out as cleanly as he could on the bed. He made sure the books landed upright with no damage to the pages, but that was about as far as caution went. He rifled through it, looking for a note or anything out of place. Paper, paper, homework, pencils, pen, pencil-stabbed erasers- nothing out of the ordinary. 

Fine, then. If Stan didn't leave him a note, he'd write one of his own.

He ripped out a piece of notebook paper and grabbed one of his pens- a sharpie. Old reliable, honestly. He'd used that pen more than Stan chewed on his pencils, and considering that half the trashcan in the corner was full of broken writing utensils, that was saying a lot.

"He wouldn't wanna do this alone," Ford reasoned to himself as he wrote. "So he must be waiting for me somewhere. And I'm gonna find him."

Mind made up, Ford rushed around the room. He grabbed his notebook and all his pencils and pens again, stuffing them in his bag. Sadly, he bid goodbye to his books. He could always find them again in a different library, anyway. Instead, his backpack was to be filled with only the essentials.

He opened their clothes drawer to find more things missing- Stan's favorite shirt, a pair of shorts, some socks, and underwear were all gone. Ford grabbed his own favorites, giving himself an extra change of clothes in case he needed it. 

From there, he sat down. What would he need out there? He had clothes, he had shoes, he had notebooks, uhh…

Tools! 

He knew his father had tools in the house somewhere, and he also knew that the guy never actually used them. Unless Stanley broke something, there was never any need, and, well, that wasn't happening any time soon, it seemed. So he wouldn't even notice. Yeah. 

Ford quietly opened the door. He could still hear his parents down the hall, and quickly shut out whatever they were on about. He didn't wanna hear it.  Besides, he had a mission. He gently lowered a foot forward, and when a bomb didn't go off, he took another step, then another, then another. Slowly, he crept down the hall towards the stairs.

Before he got there, though, he passed the bathroom. He paused, looking in the open door. Of course. Toothbrush. 

He pushed the door open all the way before shutting it again. He grabbed his toothbrush (noticing again that Stanley's was missing, which was… weird. Did Stan take it with him?), toothpaste, and a hairbrush. Before turning back around, though, a thought occurred to him. They were gonna be outside, and they were gonna get hurt a lot. Ma always kept the band-aids nearby, and when Ford opened the cabinet under the sink, sure enough, there was a box right there.

He tucked it into his backpack and began picking his way closer and down the stairs once again. 

Now on the bottom floor, Ford worried less about making noise. For all his father knew, he was just a customer wandering the display cases. He quickly made his way over to the office, where he knew the toolbox was. Sure enough, tucked onto a shelf, was the last thing he needed before they left. 

Reaching in, Ford quickly grabbed out a hammer, a screwdriver, and a flashlight. Hammers were good for hitting stuff, screwdrivers could be used like a pick, and flashlights were always good to have. The other tools didn't seem as important. What could they use a tape measure for? Not much, he thought.

Was that everything? Ford closed the door to his father's office behind him as he mulled the question over. He tried to picture himself and Stanley, roughing it out on the open road with nothing but their backpacks and each other. He was pretty sure Stan knew how to light a fire (he'd been near them enough for some of them to be his doing, right?), so from there they'd just needed… uhh…

Oh, right. Ford smacked himself in the forehead. Food. 

Quietly, he crept back upstairs. His parents were still going at it, though it sounded like Ma was becoming more and more sad. Pa just sounded the same. Inwardly, Ford's anxiety surged. Sounded like they were almost done.

Quickly, as quietly as he could, Ford scampered over to the dining room table. On it was a little bowl of apples- green ones, specifically. Ford quickly grabbed a couple and then tied them up in a tablecloth. Then, finally, he ran to their room, grabbed the mast from a homemade boat model they'd been building on and off, and tied the little bag to the top. 

One last thing to do, then. He clutched the note close as he left the room, tip-toeing to the table one last time. He left it next to the apples, then scampered down the stairs and out the door.

If Stanley was gonna run away from home, then so was Ford. All he had to do now was find him.

     Dear Ma and Pa, 

     I know you said Stanley ran away, but I can't let him do that by himself. I'm gonna go find him, so we can run away together! We're probably gonna go sailing, so if you need us, check the ocean first. Lots to discover out there!

     I had to leave my books here. Tell Mrs Dunn I'm sorry in case I can't return them myself. I'm also gonna try to keep going to school, so don't worry about that! I'll get Stanley to go with me, too. 

     Love you!
           - Stanford

Chapter Text

Seagulls screeched nearby, and voices could be heard muttering to each other from every direction. It was a beautiful day to get out and enjoy some sunlight, but Ford had other priorities. 

Taking in a breath of fresh air, Ford paused. He'd only just made it outside the pawn shop, stopping to take in the bright midday sun and the clear blue sky. 

First up, he had to find Stan. Then, they were gonna run off together. After that? They'd go live on the Stan'O'War, probably. It couldn't float yet, but they could fix that easy-peasy.

The issue was trying to find Stan, though. Ford's first thought was the Stan'O'War, which was down by the beach, but there was a chance that Stan was waiting somewhere closer, and if Ford left now, he'd miss him. Then, he'd double back, and Stan would go to the boat, and they'd just keep passing each other while never actually finding each other, and that sounded like a mess waiting to happen. Best to be methodical about it.

He knelt down, unzipping his backpack to pull out his notebook and a pen; his sharpie- old reliable once again. Unfortunately, he knew first-hand that it would bleed through the pages, so he set it aside for now. Instead, he pulled out a smaller ballpoint pen. 

Quickly zipping his bag back up and slinging it over his shoulder, he sprinted off a little down the road. If his parents found his note too fast, they'd be able to catch him before he made any progress on finding Stan, and if that happened, he probably wouldn't be allowed out for the rest of the summer- a summer which just started. There was so much sun ahead of them, he couldn't get cooped up too fast this time. 

Once he was a couple buildings away, he ducked into a small alley and opened his notebook again. He started writing down as many places as he could think of, before going back and starring the ones he thought were most likely.

List of places Stanley could be:
- Somewhere around Pines Pawns *!
- Hot Belgian Waffles
- The Stan'O'War *!
- The park
- The boardwalk
- That one ice cream store I can never remember the name of *!

Ford read it over again, trying to think of more. There was also a chance he was in places Ford liked to go, like the library, but he'd check those later. 

Now, where to start? Ford was willing to bet his allowance that Stanley was on the Stan'O'War, but in case he wasn't, Ford didn't want to keep running around in circles. So, starting at the closest place and going from there made the most sense. 

Back to Pines Pawns it was. Hopefully they hadn't found the note yet. 

Ford stood in front of his previous residence of not even a half an hour ago, tapping his pen against his chin. 

Nope. Still looked the same as it ever did. 

The building was shorter than the other ones around it, which was bound to draw eyes, so his father had basically taken advantage of it. He'd put up all kinds of eye-catching paraphernalia around the place, like pointing hands and bright colors, to advertise the shop. The dirtied window showcased watches, a chandelier, a trophy, and stuff of a similar caliber. Up above was a giant chess piece as suggested by Ma, since it was weird- making it stand out. No one had giant pawns on top of their roofs.

The sidewalk was covered in tiny flecks of sand and dirt and trash, the streetlight was just off-center enough to drive Stanford nuts, and the silver bin they kept in the alley looked full. Same as it ever was. 

After taking a moment to just drink it in, Ford darted off to the left-side alley. There wasn't much down there, just brick walls and trash. And no Stanley. 

Same with the right side. Ford crossed his arms, scrutinizing the alley as best as he could. Candy wrappers crunched under his shoe as he tapped his foot. See, he wasn't an expert by any means, so trying to figure out what was a clue and what wasn't was hard. Like, he didn't know what to look for. Did that mean there were no clues, or they were just going over Ford's head? 

A small gust of wind blew by, rustling the half-crumpled cardboard sticking out of the trashcan. It didn't blow out, but it was enough to make Ford realize that this was probably a dead end. 

He crossed off Pines Pawns. 

The bell rang as Ford stepped into the restaurant. The next-door business, Hot Belgian Waffles, was always a favorite of Stanley's when they could afford to eat there. Their pancakes were fluffy as a cloud, butter smooth and melt-y, and their syrup was sweet. Of course, the best meal was the waffles, which were just cooked enough to be crunchy on the outside and soft and fluffy on the inside. Add some strawberries on top with some butter and syrup and you were golden. 

Ford took a couple steps inside, trying not to get too swept up by the smells. This was probably a bad time to realize he hadn't eaten anything before leaving the house. The aroma was positively divine. 

While he loitered by the front door, most of the patrons continued eating and chatting. However, he did see a few glance his way, who were quick to squint at him disapprovingly. He looked down at the floor. More wooden flooring. Cozy.

A waitress spotted him. She was a taller woman, with dark curls circling her round face. She took care of the couple she was serving, jotting something down, before walking up to Ford. She smiled widely, just enough to look friendly but not enough to look genuine.

"Well now, if it isn't one of the Pines Pawns boys!" she greeted, voice syrupy sweet. "Just you today, sugar?"

"Oh, um, I'm not gonna order," Ford told her somewhat sheepishly, pretending he didn't see her smile falter. "I'm looking for my brother." 

"The other one? Can't say I've seen him today." She placed her hands on her hips. "Say, what's with the outfit? You playing handyman or somethin'?"

"Oh," Ford looked down at himself, realizing how out-of-place he looked now with his belt, backpack, and bindle. "No, I'm… treasure hunting." He shrugged, making eye contact and smiling and remaining calm and not sweating. "You never know what you'll need for that." 

The waitress looked like the impossible cross between disappointed and overjoyed to hear that. "I see. Well, if he comes around, I'll put in a good word for you."

Ford visibly relaxed. "Thank you, ma'am."

"Don't mention it. Though, per company policy, I am going to hafta ask you to stop loitering in the doorway." 

"Right. Goodbye, miss!"

"Good luck!" She waved him out as he reached up to the door handle and pulled. It was heavier than the Pines Pawns door- must be made of better materials. Either that or the gold handle really was gold. 

As Ford stepped back out, he crossed Hot Belgian Waffles off the list.

If his intuition was right, his next stop should be his last. 

Ford lifted up the tarp, stepping inside the rickety old boat with a smile. "Stanley! I…" he trailed off, face falling as he took in the empty expanse. "...found you." 

Nothing. The box of nails they forgot to bring home were still there, their footprints were untouched aside from the inarguable influence of gravity, and nothing looked more broken than it had yesterday. 

Ford pushed the tarp back all the way, slowly stepping inside through the broken side of the ship. Each noise he made didn't echo so much as it was immediately thrown back at him, amplifying it. It made the silence even thicker. 

"Stanley…?" Ford called out tentatively. "You in here?"

The crashing of the waves nearby served as his only answer.

Stepping back out, his eyes took a second to adjust to the light. Maybe he fell asleep on the deck? The stairs weren't usable inside yet, making it hard to get up there, but the boys had noticed that some of the planks on the side stuck out at just the right angles to form a makeshift ladder. Ford set his bindle down, taking each step carefully as he scaled the side of the craft. 

Up on top now, he had a much better view of the beach. No one was here, which wasn't surprising for this time of year, but it was still eerie. Ford found himself tensing his shoulders as he glanced around. 

Okay, logic. If Stanley wasn't at the boat, then he could feasibly be anywhere. Or, maybe he had been staying at the boat, got bored, and wandered off? That sounded like a Stanley thing to do. Or maybe he went to play in the ocean and got dragged out by the undercurrent again? Or maybe the Jersey Devil found him? 

The more he stood there and thought about where his brother might be, the more Ford found himself getting lost in worry. He gripped the straps of his backpack tighter, scanning again, slower this time, to see if he could see any trace of his brother along the shore. 

Waves lapped at the sand lazily, seagulls screeched. Cars drove by not too far away. The long, thin grasses further up the beach rustled against each other in the wind. But no loud whooping or sounds of destruction. 

"Okay, okay, this is okay," Stanford said to himself. "He's probably around here somewhere. He probably… went to go get ice cream. Yeah." That was reassuring! And delicious. 

His body didn't stop shaking. 

He groaned, throwing his head back. "When I find Stanley, I'm throwing him into the ocean myself," he grumbled.

Taking a deep breath, Ford walked over to the side of the boat where he'd left his bindle and jumped back down. He landed softly in the sand, having done this a couple of times now. It did send a shock up his joints, but it was nothing he couldn't handle. 

"Okay, Stanford, just think." He slung the little stick-bag over his shoulder again and began to pace around the boat. "If he wanted to meet you here, he would NOT be here." He threw his free hand out for emphasis. "He's too restless for that. So the best choice would be to stay and wait for him. But…" he trailed off, glancing down the beach. "...if he's not here, then you're wasting more time." 

He hummed, trying to calm the storm brewing in his mind. "Maybe…" 

Ford gasped, then smacked himself in the head. Duh!

There was one other place on the beach Stanley might be. Stanford quickly took off, heading north.

Let it be known that Stanford Pines did not give up easily. Heck, he still had a bunch of other places to be searching! But his earlier hypothesis of the two of them walking circles around each other was starting to become more clear. Which meant, one of them had to stand still and wait for the other to catch up. And since Stanley could not, for the life of him, stand still, it looked like Ford was going to be the one to do that.

He sat forlornly on his seat, gazing off into the waves. It was going on five hours since he started searching, and while adults would tell him that that wasn't very long at all, to Ford, it felt like he'd been going all day. Paired with the worry building in his guts that was slowly rising towards his chest, he was feeling exhausted. 

He'd already checked the park, and the boardwalk (he'd walked up and down it three times), and he'd made sure to find that ice cream place and ask about Stanley there. Nothing. Nothing, nothing, nothing. No one had seen him, no one had heard him, no one had anything to tell! 

There were too many variables and not enough information. He could spend the entire day running around in circles and that would solve nothing. He just had to trust that Stanley had come looking for Ford now, too, and they were doing circles. They were both just being silly and overreacting. It was fine. He was fine. They'd see each other by nightfall, since Stanley would go back to the Stan'O'War to camp out for the night, right? Yeah, yeah that was it. 

But right now, Ford couldn't find it in him to move. Everything was becoming too much. 

His feet dug into the sand under him, and he lightly pushed himself back and forth in a slow swaying motion. His swing made low creaking sounds as he did. 

Stanley's swing was silent. 

Sunset was still about two hours away this time of year, so he had time to just… breathe. Calm down, refocus. Stanley was on his way.

"Oh, and now what do we see here?" 

Ford tensed at the sound of footsteps behind him. He didn't turn to face them yet; he didn't know what to expect. Last time he'd heard those voices, it didn't end well, but it also had been a while, so…? 

"Galloping gumshoes, I do believe that's one of the Pines twins! All on his lonesome, apparently." The second voice dripped with fake surprise. 

"About time, wouldn't you say, Dickie?"

There were suddenly hands grabbing at the ropes of Ford's swing. Jumping, he turned to look, and found himself sandwiched between the Sibling Brothers. The boys' golden, slicked-back hair shone brightly in the late evening sunlight, and their eyes gleamed with a fire just barely concealed under fake bravado.

The one on his left, who was wearing a blue sweater vest and a white, long-sleeved shirt, nodded. "That I would, Ascot!"

The one on Stanford's right, Ascot, looked nearly identical to his twin in everything but clothing. He was wearing a red sweater with a yellow ascot poking out from beneath the collar of a white shirt. He smirked. "Say now, where is that brother of yours, freak? Not still grounded after the whole golden sticky-fingers incident, is he?" He turned up his brows in mock concern.

Ford shook his head. "N-no, he's- Stanley and I, we were just, uh…" he dug around for something to say. He did not have the time nor the patience for these two right now. He needed to march back to the Stan'O'War as quickly as possible and wait for his twin there. Hopefully he wouldn't be much longer, and if they did pass each other, they'd see it this time since it was getting late and there's no way Stanley wouldn't also be thinking that Ford was either at the swingset or the boat, right? "Just leave me alone!"

As Stanford moved to stand up, Ascot grabbed his jacket sleeve and yanked him back, not hard enough to hurt, but hard enough to knock him back into the seat. 

"Oh no you don't, Pines," he glowered. "We still have some unfinished business." 

Dickie leaned into Stanford's view, arms crossed. "Yeah. You owe us for the Jersey Devil debacle." 

Stanford frowned. "I don't owe you two anything! You tried to get my brother in trouble, and you keep calling me a freak!" He stood up sharply, trying to run again, only to hit the sand as Dickie tripped him. It got under his glasses and in his clothes, but he hardly noticed. He spun around, eyes flicking back and forth between the two boys. 

"Outstanding work, Dickie." 

"Many thanks, Ascot." 

The two of them started towards Stanford. He scrambled backwards, but couldn't seem to get his feet under him. 

"You know," Ascot began, "I'm starting to think your brother isn't here, Stanford." 

"What, did you finally get tired of him?"

"No…" Stanford looked away, still scooching backwards along the sand. Hopefully they were far enough away from where the broken glass was, he didn't want to get his hands cut up. They only had so many bandaids. "No, he just… he… went to go get ice cream?"

"Ho ho ho!" Dickie placed a hand on his guts in mock laughter. "So he really is gone!"

"No, he isn't!" Stanford stopped, purposefully focusing on his feet as he shakily stood back up. "I'm going to find him!" 

"Find him?" Ascot raised a brow. "And he has been missing for…?"

Crap. "Nothing! I mean, never! I know where he is!" Stanford pointed at them both accusingly. "And you better get outta here before he gets back! You don't wanna mess with him, trust me!"

The two gave each other a long look before bursting out laughing. If Ford had to describe it in a word, it'd be "snooty." 

"And just what makes you think you can solve any mysteries?" Dickie put his hands on his hips. "If it weren't for you two following us, you would have NEVER discovered the Jersey Devil in the first place!"

"And," Ascot added, stepping closer, attempting to loom over a boy his same height, "you were working as a team. You're alone now, aren't you, freak?"

"Stop calling me that!" Stanford burst out. He jammed his hands into his pockets, hating the feeling of his face heating up. "He's my brother, of course I'll find him! We always find each other!"

Dickie tapped his chin with a finger, rolling his eyes in thought. "You know, Ascot, I've been struck with an idea," he mused, dragging out his words.

"Do tell," Ascot waved a hand at his brother in a grandiose fashion. 

"That troublemaker means a lot to six fingers, doesn't he? Perhaps, if we find him first, he'll thank us instead. We could get our reign as Glass Shard Beach's best mystery solvers back!"

"Hey, Stanley would never-" 

"I like the sound of that, Dickie!" Ascot turned to smirk at Ford again. "If we found him first, then we would be considered great detectives, cracking a case that not even the so-called Kings of New Jersey could solve on their own!"

"We could restore our reputation" Dickie seemed genuinely excited now. "And get payback at the same time!" 

"Righto!"  

"Shut up!" Stanford threw his hands up in the air before stomping towards them. "My brother and I can take care of ourselves! You stay out of this!"

"Hah!" Ascot scoffed. "What's the matter, Pines? Afraid you'll lose?"

Ford straightened indignantly. "That's my twin you're talking about! You go stick your noses somewhere else, this is none of your business!"

"Sounds like the game is on," Dickie grinned. He turned on his heel, walking back towards the nearby boardwalk. "Tah tah, Pines, we'll see you on the other side of the proverbial finish line!"

Ascot followed right behind him. "May the best detective win!" He whipped his head around and blew out a raspberry at Ford, leaving the both of them giggling their snooty giggles as they walked their snooty walks back towards civilization.

Ford huffed, hands clenched. He had sand in his hair and in his jacket and shoes and pants and speckled on his glasses and he didn't care. This wasn't some random competition, this was his brother.

Despite himself, Ford crossed his arms. "Oh you'll see," he growled. He marched back over to the swings, grabbing his bindle, and began storming off. He had a boat to catch. "You'll see."

Chapter Text

Stanford awoke slowly to the sounds of gulls screeching, cars z ooming, wind blowing, and kids laughing. Light was hitting his eyes, uncomfortably bright behind his closed eyelids, and he was quickly becoming aware of the sand that was coating his face. 

He groaned, eyes opening without his consent. Sunlight blinded him, and he rolled over to avoid it. It wasn't his soft bed from home, though- this was far more rough, lumpy, and shifted beneath him as he moved. Sand, his mind supplied. He lowered his arms to push himself up, feeling it shift beneath his fingers. It was the rough kind of sand, too, not the soft stuff people said in the movies. At least this area wasn't littered in glass. 

He sat up, taking stock. He was in the Stan O' War, laying in the middle of the floor of the broken boat. His backpack, bindle, and toolbelt leaned against the wall, right next to the box of nails. 

Stanley wasn't there. 

Stanford frowned. Shouldn't his brother have found his way here by now? They both knew where it was by heart, he should have been here!

And just like that, he was fully awake. 

Ford sat up, scrubbing sand out of his hair and cringing as he felt it hitting the lenses of his glasses- he should have taken them off first, whoops. He'd fallen asleep wearing them, as he'd tried to stay awake for as long as he could to wait for his brother. His efforts were in vain, it seemed. 

Anxiety started doing weird things to his chest. He'd felt anxious before- the churning that circled his guts when he was scared, the shakiness, all of it. The tightening of his chest was a much rarer one. Not his first time experiencing it, but enough that the feeling was still mostly foreign to him. A n xiety that made his breathing come out weird, like something was squeezing him from the inside. 

He stood up, dusting off as much sand as he could. If Stanley hadn't come in the night, then something was wrong. Very, very wrong. 

Stanford quickly ran outside, giving the whole boat a once-over. "Stanley?!" he called out. Maybe he fell asleep on deck? Or against the wall? Or nearby? "Stanley, where are you?" 

No response. 

Outside, he could see a couple of kids running down to the beach, mostly teenagers. It wasn't warm enough to warrant actually swimming just yet, but they weren't doing that anyway. Ford squinted, trying to spot his brother in the small crowd, but didn't see very many kids his age. The rest were accompanied either by a teen or a disgruntled adult. 

Ta k ing a deep breath, Stanford placed his hands on either side of his mouth. "STAAAAANLEYYYYYY!" 

A few people looked toward him, but then went back to whatever it was teenagers did at the beach. 

Nothing. 

The anxiety twisted in his chest, starting to settle in his guts now, too. Not good. Not good at all. 

He ran back inside, tearing open his backpack. Old Reliable tumbled out again, but he ignored it. Ballpoint pen and notebook paper. He needed to think. He flipped open to the first blank page he could find and started frantically taking notes. 

• Stanley ran away
• Missing since yesterday morning
• Not in any spot he usually would be
• No signs as to where he could have gone

Ford moved to rub the back end of his pen through his hair, thinking. Stanley would either be at the Stan O' War or waiting for Stanford nearby, but since he wasn't doing that, then something else must have happened to him. And whatever it was, Ford had to find him. But, with no leads, how was he supposed to do that? 

• Went back to the Jersey Devil? 
• Found by Wood Dwarves? 
• Taken by The Big Red Eyes? 
• Eaten by Mantis Men? 

Between each entry, Ford's anxiety rose. He knew about cryptids, of course, but actually finding them was difficult. He'd only found the Jersey Devil before, and that had been with Stanley's help (and technically the Sibling Brothers, if that even counted. They'd borrowed their clothes in the name of scientific pursuit, that barely counted for anything!). 

Okay. Logic. Methodical. Where could Stanley be? 

It probably wasn't the Devil because t h ey'd both already met that one, and it wasn't exactly happy to see them. Unless he'd gone back for treasure or something? But they'd get plenty of that once they got out on the water. 

Wood Dwarves were pranksters, and according to some, could turn invisible! It did seem like he'd just kinda vanished, so maybe they had something to do with it. But they usually lived in the forest- Stanley would have been heading for the beach, right? 

Same problem with the Big Red Eyes theory. He lived far away from the ocean. Unless he'd been on vacation? 

And the Mantis Man was usually seen around the river, which would be freshwater, not saltwater.

Ford slammed the notebook closed, feeling frustrated. It just didn't make any sense!

He hung his head, looking around the inside of the boat again. Well, clearly, Stanley wasn't by the ocean. He hadn't come here last night. Stanford would need to take his search elsewhere. 

…But what if Stanley was heading here, and got caught up with something? What if he was still on the way? 

Ford frowned, getting an idea. He grabbed Old Reliable and popped the cap. The Sharpie's thick tip was perfect for writing big, bold messages. 

Ford circled around outside again, and went to the side of the boat that was facing the road. Then, he began to draw. A hashtag, then a boat, then an X, an exclamation mark- each letter of their alphabet came into being on the boards, clear black against medium-brown wood.

Stanford stepped back, making sure each symbol was legible. He didn't like that he had to do that- they'd already written on the side of the boat, and this felt something like vandalism- but he had to make sure Stanley got the message. But there was no way he was going to just give the Sibling Brothers any hints. 

"Stay here, I will find you." 

With that settled, he plugged the cap on Old Reliable, snuck it back in his bag, and started gathering his stuff. 

He had to come up with a new plan- fast. 

Maybe he could retrace his steps? But that would mean going back to Pines Pawns, and if he got caught now…

Nope. Too risky. But maybe there were other clues around town? 

He needed to clear his head. There was one place he could always do that. 

He pulled an a pple out of his bindle and started walking.

Stanford made his way up the steps and into Glass Shard Beach's local library. It was run-down and not well taken care of, but it was quiet and safe. None of Ford's usual bullies frequented the library, and everyone was usually either too absorbed in their work or their reading to notice his hands. It was a good place to think. It was a good place to reorient and refocus. 

He waved to the librarian, who barely gave him a nod in return. He appeared to be nose-deep in a political book. Stanford found himself grimacing internally. So many things to write about, and you pick politics? And then other people R EAD that? Dull. He didn't think he'd ever get why. 

There was a specific table in the back that Stanford loved; right by the window, letting in some good natural light, while tucked out of the way from view. It was a good place to go if you wanted to be left alone. 

He went there now, grinning as he saw no one else there before him. There were a couple of children's books sitting on the end, as well as a stack of blank, white paper, but he paid them no mind as he sat down in his favorite seat; back to the library entrance, window to his right. Perfect. 

He pulled out his notebook again, scanning the details he'd written. Stanley hadn't been anywhere yesterday, and he hadn't been at the Stan O' War today. Ford doubted he'd be by the swingset, as the boat provided the best shelter, and he didn't see why he'd have a reason to go there. 

So, that left the entire rest of Glass Shard Beach, or… outside of it. 

Stanford frowned. Surely Stanley hadn't run away, run away, right? Wherever they went, they went together. It wouldn't make sense for him to leave town without his brother. 

Then again, his mind hissed, it also doesn't make sense he'd run away without telling you, first. The Stanley you knew would make plans WITH you, not without you.

Stanford waived those thoughts away with a shake of his head. Clearly, that didn't matter, because that IS what happened, strange as it was. 

He wasn't sure if any cryptid would seek his brother out and kidnap him, either. The only ones he knew of that would do that were Wood Elves, and they lived in. well. the woods. Not in the middle of a small town. 

He picked up his ballpoint pen. 

Things that could have happened to Stanley:
- Ran away from town
  - Why would he do that?
- Taken out of town (?)
  - By what?
- Eaten by a monster
  - Would have been evidence of that somewhere, though, right?
- Ran into the woods
  - Wildman Stanley? He's never told me he wanted that before
- Aliens??

Stanford glared at that last option before scribbling it out. No, no, that would be dumb. Extraterrestrial beings descending from the heavens just to kidnap a lonely boy who had just run away and therefore would leave very few people to look for him, meaning they could get away with the crime essentially scott-free? 

…Ford re-wrote the aliens point back in again. 

He sighed, leaning his head in his hands. This was stupid and not helping. He needed to be out there looking for evidence! But he had no idea where to look…

He tu r ned to look at the papers sitting next to him. Blank. 

It's not defeat, Stanford thought to himself. If people know he's missing, they'll be helping the search. This will be a good thing. 

He grabbed a paper and started sketching his brother, trying to capture him just right. 

He'd made about twenty missing posters, as well as his original sketch page of his brother. He wasn't sure where or even how to put them up, but he wouldn't know until he tried. The day was still young, kinda (it was noon), and he had plenty of places to search. 

He could try to put some up in different diners and restaurants, some down at the boardwalk, maybe one or two at school…

No, school was a bad idea. Crampelter was there. If Crampelter ever discovered that Stanley was missing…

Stanford shuddered, then stiffened, his walking speed slowing. Crampelter wasn't just at school, especially now that school was basically out for summer, with the addition of a couple extra curriculars (ug. sports). Crampelter could be anywhere, as well as his goons. 

Uh oh. 

Well, it's not like he could just not put the posters up. He'd made them, and he needed to find Stanley. Whatever Crampelter had in store for him was worth it if it meant he'd be able to find his brother. 

As he walked past the front desk, the librarian noticed him. He raised his bushy eyebrows in surprise. "Working on a project, Pines?" 

Stanford looked up at the man. "Kinda." He walked forward, handing him one of Stanley's missing posters. It featur e d his brother grinning at the "camera", little dots for eyes, messy hair, his striped shirt, and a backpack on his shoulders. (He'd also drawn a few posters with sticks in his hair or bugs on his arms, just in case that helped.) Down at the very bottom was another message written in their secret code, too- "Go to the ship" .

Mr. Walker looked down at the parchment with scrutiny, pulling his glasses down a bit more to read the words. 

"My brother went missing yesterday, and I don't know where he went," Stanford informed him, looking at the poster he'd handed him. "Do you want to keep that one? Maybe you could hang it up here in the library." 

The bushy man turned his brown eyes back to the boy. "I suppose I could keep an eye out," he said, weirdly strained. "Stanley ain't exactly one to swing by the library, though." 

"I… I know." Ford looked away. "I'm just worried about him." 

Mr. Walker's gaze softened. "Sure. I can hold onto this one for ya, and if I see him, I'll tell him yer lookin' for him." He stood up, grabbing some tape from behind the counter.

Stanford lit up. "Oh, Mr. Walker, thank you!" He put his hands on the table and couldn't help the bounce in his feet. "Tell him to go to the boat. He'll know what I mean." 

"Boat. Got it." Mr Walker finished taping it up, right next to a bunch of other fliers. "I'll tell him." 

"Thank you!" Ford grinned. "I'll see you around!" 

Mr. Walker waved at him. "Remember to be home before it gets too late," he called after the boy. Ford just smiled. Mr. Walker didn't need to know about that part. 

Feeling rejuvenated, Stanford pra c tically skipped out of the library. 19 posters and a sketch page. Finding where to hang up the rest would give him more excuses to turn his search outward, to more places Stanley was less likely to be. Which, paradoxically, meant he might be there. 

As he pushed open the large, oak door, sunlight made him squint. But beyond that, he could hear laughing. Mocking laughter, specifically. 

Ford gasped, shutting the door quickly. He had to hide the posters, fast.

He threw off his backpack, unzipped it, and began to rapidly stuff in papers. They were gonna be all folded and crumply later, but at least he'd have them. He just had to-

The door swung open with a BAN G ! against the opposing wall, and a large shadow fell over the entrance. Stanford hastily zipped up the bag and put it behind him right as none other than Crampelter himself waltzed into the library. 

"Weeeell, look what the cat dragged in!" the bully himself grinned. Crampelter crossed his arms as his two yesmen circled around behind him. "Howzit feel not having your little guard dog around, hmm?" 

"I-I…" Stanford looked up at him warily. Now the Sibling brothers were about the same age and build as the Pines twins, so confronting them was a bit easier than… this. Crampelter was a mountain, towering over Stanford and casting a long shadow. He grinned. The light from outside rimmed around him, casting the rest of him in shades of grey. The two behind him didn't look much friendlier (though the shorter one was all bark, no bite, Ford knew that). 

Crampelter put his hands on his cheeks, creating a look of mocking fear. "I-I-" he stuttered out, before laughing loudly. "You what, dork? Scared?" 

"Hey!" 

All four heads turned to Mr Walker, who was quickly pacing towards them. He stopped in front of Crampelter, leveling him a knowing look. "This is a place of learning and leisure," he hissed. "Keep it down or get out, Crampelter. You know the rules, same as anyone else." 

Crampelter let out a loud tch, rolling his eyes. "Whatever." He side-eyed Stanford, a mischievous grin crossing his lips. "Catch us outside, huh, nerd? We'll be waitin' for ya." 

And with that, he and his posse turned on their heels and stormed out. As Crampelter's form left the building, he turned back around and cupped his mouth with his hands. "READING'S FOR NERDS!" he shouted. His voice bounced annoyingly off the peeling walls. 

Before Mr Walker could react, the three of them had bolted, cackling, out the door.

The man sighed. "I worry about those three," he grumbled. "Shapin' up ta be no good, I tell ya." 

"Umm, Mr. Walker, sir?" Stanford hated how much he was… unnerved by the three bullies. Not afraid- Pa said being afraid was stupid. "Don't be a sissy," he'd say. But Stanford certainly didn't feel comfortable around them. 

The librarian turned to look at the boy questioningly. "Yes, Pines?"

"I…" He fidgeted with his hands, wringing them around each other. "I don't wanna go outside." 

Understanding made its way across his features. Mr. Walker knelt down, putting a hand on Ford's shoulder. "Those three pick on you a lot, eh?" 

Hesitantly, Ford nodded. "Stanle y usually helps me with them," he mumbled. 

Mr. Walker thought for a moment, then stood back up. "Here, I got an idea." He started to walk towards the back of the building, motioning with his hand for Ford to keep up. "Follow me." 

Stanford grabbed his backpack and trotted after the librarian. 

He wasn't too familiar with the man, but he had been nothing aside from friendly towards him. The first time they'd met, he'd made a comment about his hands, but that was forever ago now, and Mr. Walker didn't seem to mind them so much now. Just another reason Stanford saw the library as a sanctuary; a place to hide from bullies and to be able to get a clear head when things got tough. Peaceful. 

He'd always hoped that, if Mr. Walker could learn to ignore his extra finger, maybe others could, too. Some of his teachers got used to it, but even then, he still saw the lingering looks sometimes. His classmates, too, just seemed to become adjusted to it rather than disregarding his hands like he'd hoped. It didn't feel like acceptance, it was more akin to tolerance. And Ford's tried his best to keep that tolerance for as long as he could, he did. He thought he was doing an okay job, but then Crampelter would show up just to remind him that tolerance and acceptance weren't really the same thing. 

It was humiliating, to say the least. 

Mr. Walker made his way through the halls of the librar y , walking in a relatively straight line. He finally came to a stop near the back wall, by one of the windows. He unlatched it, heaving it up. The early summer breeze entered the building, tickling Ford's cheeks and ruffling his hair. 

"Here," the man said, "out this way. They won't expect you there." 

Stanford looked up at Mr. Walker with a small, genuine smile. "Thank you, sir," he said. 

Mr. Walker just nodded. "You're very welcome, Pines." 

Sneaking out around the library was harder than Ford initially thought. Just a quick glance around the corner showed the bullies hanging around the entrance, pointing and laughing at anyone going in or out of the library. 

Stanford frowned. What are they even DOING here? he wondered. Crampelter would rather get sick with the plague than willingly enter the library, and now that Stanford thought about it, it WAS odd that he'd decided to even come here at all. 

Did this have to do with Stanley somehow? 

That made Stanford pause. If Crampelter knew something about Stanley going missing, then it made sense that he'd come taunt Ford with that information. But there was no way to know until Stanford asked him, and he was not exactly in a hurry to do that. 

He had to sneak past. 

The library was surrounded by two other buildings on either side, but they were pretty far away. There was a yard in front of the building with lots of room to sit and read, including a tree with some o k ay-ish shade from the sun. If Stanford could just make it to one of the other buildings without getting caught, he could escape and start putting up posters. Clearly Crampelter knew already; no point in hiding it. 

The bullies were gathered more on the right side of the building than the left, so Ford took in a deep breath, headed to the left, watched them for a moment, and…

No. No running was a bad idea. That'd draw their eyes. He had to go slow. Yeah. Yeah, niiiice and easy. 

He let out the breath he'd taken awkwardly, and instead, hugged the wall. One foot in front of the other. He stayed close to the library, and no one saw him. Yet. 

He was right at the corner now. He could hear Crampelter push someone off their bike. Though he felt bad, it also created a pretty good distraction. He peered over. Sure enough, some kid was currently adjusting their glasses, sitting on the pavement, while the three bullies yukked it up. 

Now or never. Ford tentatively stepped out into the light, and when no one saw him immediately, he turned and began to speed walk away. He didn't know where he was going, just that he needed to get away from the library as fast as his feet could carry him. 

He'd only made it a couple of sidewalk slabs down the road before a yell shattered his small sense of victory. "THERE HE IS!" one of the yesmen announced, and S t anford could feel the finger pointed in his direction. It only took a quick glance over his shoulder to see all three of them sprinting after him now. 

Oh Moses.

Ford panicked, breaking into a sprint and z ipping off down the road. He turned left at the corner, trying to hide from view, but those boys were still behind him- and gaining. 

He had to hide. What's that thing they always do in movies? Duck into an alleyway? 

There was one coming up. They hadn't rounded the corner yet. Ford had a chance. 

He ducked left again, slipping into the slot between buildings, only to find nothing to hide behind. It was empty. 

Their shouts and jeers were getting louder. There was nowhere to go. 

Ford ducked down, facing away from the opening, and tried to make himself as small as possible. Maybe they'd just keep going, and leave him alone, and he could get out of this one by himself so he could keep looking for his brother-

"Found him!" 

Something grabbed his backpack and lifted him up. Stanford cried out in surprise, then started swinging his arms frantically. He kicked, he punched, he tried to wriggle out of their grasp. His efforts were met with more jeers. 

"Aw, look at him go!" 

"He's worked up quite the kick, eh?" 

"Like an angry kitten!" 

Ford flushed. "I am not a-" 

A fist to the back of the head silenced him. "Shut it," Crampelter snapped. 

Ford lifted a hand to rub the spot. "Ow!" 

"Eugh. Get your freaky hands away from me," Crampelter grumbled out. He let go of the backpack, sending Ford to the ground in a heap. His hands scraped against the pavement, and to his horror, he noticed more glass shards here than he'd originally thought. "We just wanna talk to you, nerd." 

Stanford re-adjusted his glasses, finally turning to look at his tormentor more head-on. "About what? About how I'm a freak?" he snapped. "Go ahead, I've heard it all before!" 

Crampelter tutted at him condescendingly. "No, dumbo, it's about your guard dog." He crossed his arms triumphantly. "Heard some talk down by the docks. Apparently some of the guys overheard you asking for him at the boardwalk." 

Stupid! Stanford berated himself. Of course that's how he found out. 

Crampelter's face was oddly neutral. "We just wanna know what happened." 

Stanford blinked. "You… what?" That seemed… weirdly co n siderate of them. Something was wrong. 

Shortie (he didn't know their names and didn't care) piped up. "Heard he ran off," he grinned. 

Lanky nodded. "Did he finally learn he don't got a future?" he sneered. 

Stanford glared at them each in turn. "What are you talking about?!" he exclaimed. "We have a future! We're gonna get out of here!" 

"Hah!" Crampelter's eyes glinted. "Did he tell ya that?" 

Something about the way Crampelter was looking at him was making Stanford uneasy, but he didn't have a good word to describe it. It was like he was dangling a carrot over his head- a carrot he knew Ford couldn't see. But Ford knew it was there. Something in him was getting riled up at that. His glare deepened.

"Yeah, he did. And Stanley wouldn't…" he trailed off for a second, looking away. "He wouldn't lie to me!" 

That got all three of them laughing again. 

"Good ol' sticky fingers?" 

"All he ever does is lie!" 

Ford's gaze burned holes in the bullies, but they didn't seem to notice or care. "Not to me!" Stanford shot back. 

That just made them laugh harder. 

Confusion and hurt was welling up within him. He moved to shove past Crampelter, but he was quick to swat Ford back into the alley again. 

"Gonna go home?" Crampelter cooed, tilting his head knowingly. "Gonna go cry to Mommy and Daddy about how your brother somehow got smarter than you??" 

Ford blinked. "What are you talking about?"

Lanky shrugged. "Sticky fingers ain't good for nuthin," he said casually. He leaned back against the opposing wall, lifting a leg to look cooler. "He knows he's just the stupid version of you. He must have finally figured out what he was and took off." 

Shortie snickered. "About time." 

Stanford wanted to glare at them, but something about their wording was throwing him off. "What do you mean? What is he?"

Crampelter's fists clenched. He tilted his chin up, looking down on Ford with a judging, condescending smile. "And here I thought you were the smart one, freak."

Ford stood up, moving to push past them. He had a brother to find, and clearly they didn't know anything, so this was just wasting his time. He had posters to put up and people to talk to and Siblings to avoid. 

"Oh no ya don't!" A hand grabbed his arm and yan k ed him back. Ford yelped, stumbling, but managed to stay upright. Crampelter sneered at him. "Where d'ya think you're going, dork?"

"Away from you!" Stanford leveled a glare up at him. He didn't have to just stand there and take this. 

Crampelter nodded to his two followers, who seemed to get it. Ford felt arms wrap around his, and no amount of wiggling around and throwing wild punches got them to let go. He felt them tugging at his backpack, pulling it off. 

Stanford tried to get it back on, but the arms holding him twisted his wrists, making him try to curl in on himself on instinct. The straps were freed, and Crampelter held the red book bag in his hands. 

Ford's eyes widened. "Hey! That's mine!" 

Crampelter ignored him. He unzipped it and proceeded to dump the contents out, scattering papers, pencils, pens, his notebook, and- Ford watched in horror- the missing posters. He watched the cartoony face of his brother drift out, flapping gently down to the ground in a smiling heap of hope. 

"Hah!" Crampelter barked out a laugh. "Were you gonna hang these up?" 

Ford continued to try to writhe out of the other two boy's grip. "What's it to you?" he snapped. 

Crampelter didn't say anything. Instead, he picked up a poster, holding it up. It was one of the ones Stanford had made that featured Stanley with sticks in his hair. It was one of the better ones, in his opinion. 

Crampelter snorted. "Didja start doodling on this thing? What is that?" 

He pointed to a line down at the bottom, the line reserved only for Stanley's eyes. To anyone else, it was just drawings. The Twins knew better.

Ford glared. "It's code. And I'm not telling you what it says!"

Shortie snorted. "Sticky understands codes?"

"You have too much faith in him," Lanky piped up. "He doesn't even know how to read." 

That one got Stanford genuinely offended on his brother's behalf. "He does, too! He just, he told me that the letters get all scrambled sometimes, so it's-" 

"So he can't read." Crampelter tutted, looking back at the pile. "Would be a shame if your guard dog realized just how much you relied on him," he mused to himself. "Not that he's good for much else." 

Stanford glared. "Like you're any better, jerk!" 

The bully's eyes snapped to him. He twitched, then his brows turned down into a glare. He looked back down at the pile of papers, then around the rest of the alleyway. 

Water glistened off a nearby puddle. 

Stanford froze. "No," he said softly, realizing where this was going. "No, Crampelter, you can't! I need those!" 

That just seemed to make up the bully's mind. He stormed over to the puddle and stomped both feet in it. When he lifted one back out, it was covered in mud. He turned his gaze back to the pile of posters, Stanley's silly grin looking back at Ford. 

The bully stomped closer. 

Ford picked up the struggle again. "NO, STOP!" 

All he could do was watch as Crampelter stomped down, smearing mud and dirty water all over the parchment. He made sure to cover every single one, crumpling and tearing the paper beneath his feet as he kicked and scraped and stomped. 

Once every paper had been covered, he kicked them all towards the puddle. They dropped in, water soaking through and smearing the ink. 

"STOP!" Stanford cried out. "STOP IT!" 

"There!" The bully grinned down at the pile, satisfied. "How're you gonna call him home now?"

Rage boiled within him. He clenched his fists, trying to remember the things Stanley told him about fighting. Wide stance, fast fists, lots of yelling, there were teeth involved whenever you punched a jaw…

He went slack, waiting for the moment to strike. He felt himself breathing fast, breathing angry, and he just wanted to stomp Crampelter's stupid smile into the stupid ground and find his stupid brother and go back HOME. 

He stopped listening. They were saying something. He didn't care what. 

As soon as Lanky's grip faltered, Stanford broke free with a swing. He tore his arm free of his grip, hitting Shortie in the head. Shortie let go, and Stanford darted forward. He grabbed his notebook, clothes, pens and pencils, and stuffed them in the bag as fast as he could. He reached for the posters, but most were ruined by now. His hands grasped a single one; the sketch page he'd made for practice. It was wet, and crumpled, but it lived. He tucked it in there with the notebook and zipped it shut. 

Crampelter watched him with a neutral face until the two made eye contact. Then, he grinned smugly. 

"Good luck finding him now, freak," he jeered. "Not that it'll do ya much good." 

That was it. Ford reached his hands out, shoving past Crampelter and darting back out into the streets. He could hear the bullies laughing behind him, but they didn't seem to be chasing him this time. 

Whatever. He didn't care. 

It didn't make any sense…

It doesn't make any sense!

Ford wasn't stupid. He'd heard the way people talk about his brother for a long time, like he was inferior to Stanford in some way (which was a weird parado x , considering everyone also thought that Stanford was a weirdo who could curse their family if they shook his hand or something). But he'd always made sure that Stan knew not to listen. He tried to humor his brother as much as he could, and listened to his wild ideas about superheroes and girls. He laughed at his brother's dumb jokes because they were funny and because Ford loved him. 

Crampelter was just being mean again. Yeah. That's it. 

Stanford ran and ran and ran until he found himself back at the street that led home. He slowed to a stop, looking down the familiar road. He could see the Pawn Shop. He knew his mom had found the note by now. He could picture her talking to Pa, asking him to call the police. He'd shake his head, insisting that Stanford would be home soon. And then he'd sit down and open his newspaper, waiting for him. Trusting him. 

But Stanford couldn't go home yet. He had to find Stanley. Wherever they went, they went together. Stanley was the one who came up with their little mantra, and he really, truly believed it. 

…Stanley wouldn't run away because of me, would he? 

Did Ford do something wrong? 

His heart lurched. He just wanted to talk to his ma about this. Surely she would know, right? She had those psychic powers! Stanley didn't think they were real, and even Ford was beginning to have his doubts, but it was better than nothing, right? 

If nothing else, she'd tell him that Stanley didn't just get tired of him. Or she'd be able to help him figure out what he did to make Stan think that way. 

Nope, Stanford scolded himself. That's the bullies tal k ing. Stanley wouldn't do that. It's us, together forever. He's always said that.

It just didn't make any sense.

He needed something to get his brain going again. He had his apples- one he had for breakfast this morning, but he still had two more! They were right here, in his-

Oh no. He'd lost the bindle. 

Stanford panicked for just a moment, before remembering he'd left it at the library. He hadn't been able to get it back because it was outside, right where Crampelter had been guarding the door. Shoot!

His stomach rumbled. Home was right there. He could just go there to eat. It was tempting, pulling him to go down the road and go back. 

He glared. Pointedly, he turned around and began his march back to the library. 

The sun was going down by the time he got back. And there it was, tossed onto the ground by the door by someone who didn't care, but otherwise untouched. 

He ate both remaining apples, and something in him was still hungry. 

He glared down at his notebook. He had two full days to look now, and nothing. Nothing, nothing, NOTHING! 

His stomach grumbled. 

If he was hungry, Stanley was also hungry. He HAD to find him. 

But sleep was tugging at his eyelids, and the Stan O' War was cozy. 

Maybe Stanley just got lost. Maybe a nice family was letting him stay the night. Maybe he was stargazing somewhere down the road. Maybe he was in the sky, looking down at Ford. C'mon, poindexter, he was saying, waving his hand in a "come here" motion, it's not that far!

Stanford curled in on himself, holding his notebook close, glaring down at the mess of leads and locations, and let himself drift off to a troubled sleep. 

Chapter Text

"Have you seen my brother? Looks like this, but less cartoony."

Ford held up the sketchpage from yesterday up to a gruff man who was headed towards the docks, trying to keep his hands steady. 

The man leaned in for a better look, then shook his head. "Don't ring a bell, sorry kid." He continued on his way, unbothered. 

Stanford turned away from the man, running up to a more well-dressed woman walking her tiny little dog instead. He held up his sketch page for her to see. "Have you seen my brother? His name's Stanley, and he-" 

"Goodness, what's wrong with your hands?" She blanched, leaning away. Ford flinched, holding the paper closer. "Get away from me, go on!" 

Ford scampered away, hating the feeling of shrinking in on himself again. "Sorry!" 

He wanted to hide, but he had more people to ask. It was Day 3 of his brother being missing, and the implications of that were something Stanford was trying his best not to think about. He had to find him, that was the important part. Just focus on finding him. 

He took in a breath, running up to a couple other boys his age he recognised from school. They usually left him alone, but he knew they'd whisper when they thought he wasn't looking. But that didn't matter. He called out to them, holding up his sketch page as he ran closer.

The three boys jumped, each turning to look at Stanford over their shoulders. 

"Hey! Have you guys seen Stanley?" Ford skidded to a halt, holding the paper as still as he could. He looked over each of the three of them. "He's been missing for a couple of days now. Do you know where to find him?" 

They each visibly relaxed. 

"Chalk-Eater's gone?" 

"Uh, yeah, nah, I haven't seen him." 

"Nope." 

Stanford looked down. Worth a shot. 

"Okay, thanks," he muttered, before turning around and running back to any adults who might listen. 

It'd been like this all morning. Ford woke up nice and early on the Stan O' War, grabbed his backpack, left the appleless bindle behind, and took to the streets, asking anyone he could if they knew something about where his brother went. So far, all he'd gotten were a chorus of "no"s , with the occasional "oh thank goodness," "I don't care," or "get away from me freak" thrown in there for flavor. 

It was nearing noon and Stanford had nothing.

His stomach rumbled. 

Across the street, he heard a bike bell. "Ahhh, and who might mine eyes spot across the way? Why, is it none other than Stanford Pines! Hello!" 

Groaning, Ford turned to look, and yep. The Sibling Brothers had stopped their conjoined double bike to gloat at him, snoots in the air and everything. 

"Have you found any clues yet?" Dickie called. 

Ascot chortled. "Or have we been doing all the work?"

"Hey!" Stanford puffed out at them. "I've been doing a LOT of research on this! I'm getting close!" 

"Oh, right," Ascot scoffed, "so close you're asking strangers for any scrap of information?" 

Ford's face heated up. In anger. Obviously. 

Dickie held up a proud hand to his chest. "Guess how much infallible information we happen to have acquired?"

"None." Stanford seethed. 

"Quite not!" Ascot held up a manilla folder, waving it side to side in a taunt. "We have quite a bit if intel, as you can see, and let me tell you, Pines," he ohohoho 'd into his palm, "it's not looking good for you." 

He didn't have time for this. He turned and stomped away, listening to their snooty laughter follow him the whole way. 

Show-offs.

He took a breath. Head back in the game, Stanford. He took a moment to calm down, then started looking for more people to ask. 

And so it went for another short eternity. 

He ran up to another adult- a shorter woman with her hair up in a bun- and held up the sketch page. "Hey! Have you seen my brother? Brown hair, freckles?" 

She looked at the drawings closely, then let her gaze drift to Stanford. "Red sneakers?" she asked. 

Ford gasped. "Yes! Yes, he does! Have you seen 'im?"

She looked thoughtful. "I might. Last night." 

Stanford lit up. "So he's still in town!" 

She nodded. "Down Laker boulevard. Saw the little scamp graffitiing the walls down there." 

At this, Ford paused. That… didn't seem right. Stanley runs away and then starts drawing? 

He had to find out himself. 

"Which way was that?" He folded the sketch and put it in his jacket pocket, making sure it'd be safe. 

The woman pointed westward. "Down near the newer grocery store," she said. "Couple blocks away from All'em Goods." 

Stanford nodded. "Laker boulevard near All'em Goods." He pulled his backpack off, dug out his notebook, and jotted that down at her approval. He looked up at her happily, the first genuine smile he'd worn in a while stretching ear to ear. "Thank you, thank you, ma'am!" 

She waved a hand towards him, shaking her head. "Forget about it. Good luck in your search, little one." 

"Thank you!" Stanford called as she walked away, remembering too late she had basically told him to not do that. "I'll find him now, I bet!" 

As he ran off, she waved at him. "I'm sure you will!" 

Turns out, trying to navigate in a newer part of town you didn't really visit all that often was difficult. Stanford knew how, of course, but that didn't stop him from having to ask several people for directions. Less people out here knew about his hands, too, so the "ew what is that" comments started to rack up a bit. Stanford was starting to feel more irritated about it than embarrassed at this point. Yes, I know I have a weird, grotesque extra digit, you don't need to point it out every time, he thought bitterly after the fifth comment. It's like they thought he didn't have eyes. 

Finally, though, he found the right lane. 

There were a couple brick buildings down this way, but that wasn't unusual for Glass Shard Beach. These ones looked much nicer and a lot more uniform than the area he came from, though; something about that white picket thing adults were so obsessed with. Internally, Ford found himself cringing at the idea. Even in housing, people were so quick to stamp out anything different or unique. The concept had always rubbed him the wrong way, but he didn't have the words to really express that feeling until recently. 

Seeing those repetitive buildings over and over and over, only differentiated by outdoor decorations on the walls, sent a shiver up his spine. He wanted to disappear. 

He shoved those feelings down, though. He had clues to look for. 

Each building was the same, with little alleys separating them from each other. Ford poked his head down each, looking for something out of the ordinary. 

The first one was full of trash, but no drawings. 

The second one was mostly empty, with sand, glass, and candy wrappers hugging the corners and lining the walls. 

The third one, though, gave Ford pause. On the left wall was, what appeared to be, a random assortment of drawings. But only one person knew differently. 

Written in their shared code was a message from his brother. 

"IM STILL HERE STA"

There was a messy paint stroke stemming off of the X that made up the letter A in "STA". Ford ran up to it, placing a hand on the brick. It was paint, dried up now. 

Clearly, the message was incomplete. 

Ford took out his notebook and started to jot down details- as many details as he could see in the alleyway. A light breeze ruffled his hair, sending wrappers against his shoes lightly. 

The alleyway was mostly empty, save for a single bucket of black paint. The paintbrush was there, too, though it resided further down a couple yards. Thrown? There weren't any footprints that he could see, nor any other markings with the paint. Several drips onto the concrete below the message, though. 

Ford took a moment and tried to commit the scene to his notebook, sketching as many details as he could. The message, the little piles of sand, glass, and trash, the bucket, where the paintbrush was, and anything else he thought might be important. It only took him a couple of minutes, and then he was done. 

He put his notebook back in his backpack. 

He was about to turn to leave, but he found himself looking over his shoulder at the message. If Stanley came back to this spot, he would have no way of knowing Ford had been there, either. 

Stanford picked up the paintbrush, shoved down the feeling that he was DEFINITELY committing vandalism this time, and painted a response. 

"IM LOOKING FOR YOU. GO TO THE BOAT." 

The bucket was almost out, so he shut the lid, wiped the extra paint off on his pants, and took off back into the streets. 

Stanley was nearby. He could feel it. 

When the adults talked about how boring a job was, Ford had always imagined that it shouldn't be as dull as they made it sound. Surely there was SOME way to make things brighter! That's how he and Stanley did chores- they'd talk, make games out of it, place bets, stuff like that. Maybe the work got done a little slower (or maybe a little faster, but Pa didn't seem to think so), but it was more fun and more engaging that way. 

Stanford felt like he got it now. Running around, asking the same question of "have you seen my brother anywhere around here?" over and over and over again, with no one to talk to or joke around with, was agonizingly boring. The only thing adding any real level of excitement to the whole ordeal was the crushing dread of it all. Stanford's anxiety seemed to be on the climb, rising more and more with no real reprieve. 

That, and he was really starting to feel hungry now. It might have been making his anxiety worse, now that he thought about it. Maybe 3 apples hadn't been enough after all. 

He found himself gravitating towards that grocery store nearby. It was nearing dinnertime, and everyone was stopping by to get stuff to make food. Maybe he could sneak in and grab something when no one was looking? That's what Stanley would do. Heck, maybe he was doing just that! He'd go in there, find his brother, and they'd commit shoplifting together! 

He was about to step inside when a familiar face stepped out. Her face lit up with familiarity, and she paused in her walking. "Hey, if it isn't one of the Pines boys," the waitress smiled, her dark brown curls falling around her face as she looked down at him. 

"Hello, miss," Stanford greeted. "I thought you were still working at Hot Belgium Waffles?" 

She huffed a laugh. "I still am. I didn't go in today, hon." 

"Oh." 

Her smile turned into something more serious, but more genuine. She squatted down to his eye level. "Hey, I've got something I need to tell ya, since you're here. We got news 'bout that brother of yours." 

Stanford gasped. Nothing for two days and then two clues back to back?! "What is it? Didja find him?" 

She looked away. "Not just yet, but my coworker Eddie said he saw somethin'." 

"What?" Ford threw off his backpack and pulled out his notebook at record speed. "Like what?"

She winced. "Might be best to hear it from him, hon," she spoke softer than before. "I didn't see it happen." 

"Can we go together? Are you done shopping?" Stanford put his notebook back in and slipped his pack over his shoulders, before pointing at one of her bags. "I could carry one of those for you if you need me to." 

She let out a light laugh. "No thank you, sugar, I'm all good. I appreciate the offer, though." She ruffled his hair. "I do need to head back that way to get home, so I could accompany you for a while if you'd like." 

Stanford nodded. "Yeah, that sounds-!" he stopped, trailing off. "Actually, um, I dunno if I can go…" 

The waitress tilted her head. "Why? Your parents nearby or something? I thought they never came out here." 

"No, just…" Ford rubbed the back of his neck. "Stanley was nearby here earlier." 

She blinked. "Oh." She looked away, then back to the young child in front of her. "You can always come back tomorrow, right? Maybe this might help…?"

Stanford felt torn. He knew, logically, it made more sense to go with the waitress (he should ask her name, why hadn't he done that before?), because more information was almost always a good thing. But on the other hand, it felt like leaving his brother behind. He was here! He was close! 

Sighing, Stanford nodded. "Okay. I'll go with you." 

The waitress let out a breath Stanford didn't know she'd been holding. "Okay, that's good." She stood back up, bags in hand. "I've got a car nearby. It'll be faster than walking." 

Stanford followed her as she started walking again. "Thank you, miss." 

She shook her head fondly. "It's alright. You can call me Jean, if you'd like." 

Ford nodded. "Okay. And you can- um- my name is Stanford." 

"Well then, it's good ta meetcha, Stanford." 

"You, too." 

Her car wasn't super fancy, but it was good enough. Stanford wasn't allowed to ride in the front seat, but he didn't mind too much. He still got to look out the window and grin at how fast the world was moving around them. He didn't get to be in a car very often, so it was always super cool whenever it happened. Sometimes Stanley would stop chattering endlessly just to stare out the window, just as enraptured with the world as Ford was. 

It almost made his absence bearable, imagining Stanley next to him. 

Almost. 

They arrived at Hot Belgian Waffles. Jean stopped the car, but didn't turn it off, instead opting to letting it waste gas while Stanford got packed up. 

"Eddie should be working closing tonight," she told him as he got out. "Just ask for him, tell 'im Jean sent ya." 

"I will, thank you," Stanford replied earnestly. 

Right after he shut the door, Jean rolled down the passenger window with a knowing look. "And you get yourself home after this, hon," she called out. "It's gettin' late!" 

Stanford let out a nervous laugh. "Heh! Yeah…" 

Jean shot him one more scrutinizing look, then an encouraging smile, before she pulled away. She did a U-turn in the empty street, then turned down a different road than the one they'd been on before. 

Ford took in a breath. No more stalling. He had information to get. 

He turned and pushed open the door. 

He was instantly hit with a wave of heavenly aroma, the smell of fresh breakfast food making his head spin. Though the anxiety churning in his chest didn't really go away, it did simmer down a little bit. His stomach rumbled loud enough Ford swore patrons would hear it on the other side of the room. 

A waiter with light brown hair walked up to him. "Well hey there, little guy!" he greeted. "You here by yourself today?" 

"Yeah," Ford answered, pulling out his drawings of Stanley again. "Jean sent me. I need to talk to Eddie. She said he knows something about my brother's disappearance." 

The waiter blinked. "Oh, you're one of those Pines boys she was tellin' me about," he mused to himself. "Uh, yeah, wait right there, lemme see if I can get Eddie to leave the kitchen." He was about to walk away before he stopped mid-step. He turned back to Ford, gesturing to a nearby booth. "And uhh, feel free to have a seat if you want."

Stanford smiled up at him nervously. "Thank you, mister." 

"Oh! Sorry, caught up in all of it, I forgot the script. The name's Danniel." He turned back around, hurrying to the kitchen. "Holler if ya need me!" 

Ford pulled himself up into the booth, listening to the sounds of families talking, forks scraping, cups sitting, and little hints of laughter. It enveloped him like a cold blanket; it felt like it should be warm, as this place WAS very warm and colorful, but it just made the boy feel empty. 

Had his family ever come here to eat together? Stanford thought the answer was yes, but it was so long ago he could scarcely remember. Ma had ordered strawberry pancakes, complete with whipped cream. Stanley had wanted chocolate chip, but Pa said no. So he and Ford got normal pancakes- but as the waiter left, Ford had told them he needed to use the bathroom and got up. He followed the waiter and told him that they actually wanted chocolate chip, and Ford had a couple of cents on him. The waiter took the tip, and later brought out a stack of chocolate chip pancakes for no extra price. Stanley's face lit up like the stars, Ma looked proud, and Pa just looked shocked.

Strangely, Stanford couldn't remember what Pa had ordered. Had he just gotten waffles? It'd been so long ago, it was hard to remember. 

He missed those times. He and Stanley came here together sometimes when they had enough, but never with Ma or Pa anymore. He wondered why. 

Movement caught his eye. The door to the kitchen swung open, and out walked an employee Stanford had never seen before. He had black, frazzled hair, moustache, dark brown eyes, and carried himself timidly. He had a clean apron on and a cook's outfit (though Ford wasn't familiar with the term for it. He'd have to ask). He looked around before noticing the boy, then quickly skittered over to him, sliding into the booth across from Ford. 

"Hello, sir," Ford greeted awkwardly, slipping his hands beneath the table. "Are… you're Eddie, right?"

The man- Eddie- gave a curt nod. "Yeah, I am." He tapped a finger on the table. "Youuu, wanted to speak with me?"

Stanford nodded. "I'm looking for my twin brother, Stanley." He pulled out the sketch page again, sliding it towards the cook. "He ran away a couple of days ago, and I haven't been able to find him anywhere! I've only found a couple of clues so far." 

Eddie looked at the page, then nodded. "Yes, I- I saw him," he stuttered out. His inflection was nervous, and he seemed to repeat or get hung up on words, like he was second-guessing the sentences he was saying as he said them. "You two live… next door, right? Pines Pawns?"

Stanford nodded. "That's us." 

Instead of relaxing like Ford had imagined, Eddie instead tensed up even more somehow. "You're…" he cleared his throat. "I saw him. What happened, I mean." 

Ford had his notebook out before you could ask Eddie to explain. "Yeah?" 

Eddie nodded. "He wasn't… h-he didn't run away." 

Ford blinked. "Yeah he did," he pointed down at the notebook. "Ma and Pa said so, and I found writing from him saying he was still here." He flipped to the drawing he made of the alley, sliding it over for Eddie to see. "Right here. It's written in our code we made together." 

Eddie blinked, eyes widening. "He escaped?" he breathed, almost in awe. 

Escaped?  

"What…" Something akin to discomfort was settling in Stanford's stomach. He frowned, leaning away slightly. "What do you mean 'escaped'?"

"I…" Eddie looked around as if he were afraid a bad guy were listening to him. "I'm sorry, kid, I really am, but… yer Pa lied to ya." 

"What?!" Ford accidentally shouted. He slapped his hands over his mouth, watching as several heads turned in their direction. 

Eddie, too, shrunk back from the sound, seemingly trying to curl into himself until he disappeared. It wasn't working very well. 

Once heads turned away again, Stanford looked back at Eddie. "What?" he asked in a much lower tone. "What happened, then?" He gasped. "Did he get taken by wood elves?"

"Taken by-?" Eddie shook his head, eyes darting around again. "Nosir, he… how do I explain this?" The cook ran a hand through his hair. "I-I used to have pictures, but those Sibling Brothers got 'em from me. I woulda kept them if I knew you were lookin' for him, too, I swear." He held his hands out, and Ford could see them shaking. 

Annoyance started to build up in Stanford's chest. He let out a "tch," leaning back in his booth. The Sibling Brothers. Of course they'd get here first. "Okay, but what happened?" He threw his hands out sharply. The suspense was gonna kill him. 

Eddie flinched back. "He, uh, well, you see, he…" the man spoke with his hands while saying absolutely nothing. "You know how your Pa made that sign, and the little guy was holdin' it, and this couple came by and-" 

"Wait wait, hold on, sign?" Stanford leaned forward again, picking up his ballpoint pen. "Pa never said anything about a sign." 

Eddie nodded. "Yes, yes, there was a little- a-a cardboard sign he was holdin. I don't remember the exact words, but- it said to- like, '$3 to take home' or something like that." 

Stanford wrote that down. "Okay, what else?" 

Eddie blinked. "You don't- that's- I thought you'd be more upset about that." He breathed out quickly. 

Ford looked up at him again, tilting his head to the side. "Why would I? Pa has us advertise the shop all the time." He looked out the window, frowning. "It is weird he didn't say that, though. Pa said Stanley was cleaning the windows-" 

"No!" Eddie held his hands up in front of him in a 'stop' motion, then ran one through his hair, pressing down on his scalp harshly. "No no no you got the wrong idea, he- it- the sign-" 

Stanford let out a breath. "Well what else could it have been for? It's just a sign." 

Eddie shook his head. "Stan." 

Ford blinked. "...Yes?" 

Where was this going? Could the guy stop talking in circles and just say it already? 

"No no, you don't get it." Eddie took in a deep breath, trying to compose himself as quickly as possible. "The sign was for a 'Stan.'" He snapped. "Yeah, that's what it said! Something about an 'extra Stan'!"

Ford's annoyance built. "Hey!" He hit a hand on the table. "Don't call him that!" 

"I'm not!" Eddie held his hands up again. "S' what the sign said!" 

"Yeah, right." 

This was a waste of time. But, if Eddie had seen something, then Ford could try and piece together what it was. He needed more information. More information was always good. He took a breath, leaning back again. 

"I'm being serious," Eddie said. His expression didn't look like he was lying, but Ford was also famously bad at detecting that kind of stuff. "I walked by him on the way to work. Didn't pay him any attention at the time, but… when I was closing I saw it." He pointed behind Ford. He turned, and saw that, from this angle, you could see the entrance to Pines Pawns through the window. "I saw a couple drive up. Redheads, clearly out-of-towners." 

Ford turned back to Eddie, a mixture of confusion, anger, and annoyance tugging at his insides. "Okay…?" Something that was not fear settled in his stomach. He knew it wasn't fear, but it was something similar. Like a calm before the storm. 

Eddie just nodded. "The guy went inside, and after a couple'a minutes, he and Mr. Pines came back out with a duffle bag and a backpack." 

Ford's heart sank. He shook his head. "No, that didn't- Pa said he just ran away!" 

Eddie looked downcast. "I tol'ja. Yer Pa lied." 

"No!" Ford grabbed his notebook, sliding out of the booth and backing up. He felt eyes on him and didn't care. He pointed an accusing finger at the cook, who looked like he forgot his lines on stage. "You're lying! Pa wouldn't-" he took a breath, "Pa wouldn't do that!" 

"I'm not," Eddie squeaked out. "I took pictures! I did! Go ask those other brothers, they got 'em from me!" 

Ford's hands clenched. The Sibling Brothers. He felt a deep, deep anger boiling up towards them, towards Eddie, towards his brother, towards Jean and towards the whole world. He grabbed his backpack, his notebook, his pen, and marched towards the door. "Yeah, yeah, sure." he hissed. 

Pa was many things. He was gruff, and blunt, and frank, and hard to impress and seemed to take up a whole room while doing absolutely nothing. But he wasn't a-

he wouldn't lie about something like this. 

"Wait!" Eddie had stood up now. "Where are you going?"

"To find my brother!" Stanford shot back without looking at him. 

"Now hold on," Daniel came running out of the back. "What's going on here?"

"None of your business!" Stanford pushed open the big door and made his way away from the restaurant, stomach growling at him angrily, ignoring the commotion he'd just caused behind him.

He glanced at home. It was right there. It would take ten seconds to walk over there and go inside. He almost felt tempted, just to ask Pa himself if he lied, but he knew if he did that, then the mission would be over and he'd be grounded with no way of finding Stanley, who had run away like a crazy person right at the beginning of summer. 

He glared at it. He had to fight the urge to stay away MUCH harder this time. 

Stanford was about to force himself to turn around, when a gleam caught his eye. 

In the alleyway separating the two buildings- sandy and dirty and covered in candy wrappers- was a silver trash can. That wasn't out of the ordinary in and of itself- the weird part was what was in it. 

A badly-folded cardboard sign. It was facing at an angle that Ford could barely see what was written, but one thing was immediately clear. 

The number 3.

Stanford's eyes widened. There it was. His answers were right there, if he'd just walk forward and go see for himself. He could. It would take no time at all to just walk over there and look at the upside-down trash can. 

Instead, his breath quickened and he ran away. 

Night had fallen by now. He tore back down the street, past houses and businesses alike, down to the beach, through the glass minefield and right to the Stan O' War. He ripped back the tarp, cringing as it started to fall down due to his carelessness, but he shoved that feeling away. 

"Stanley?" He called into the darkness of the boat. "Stanley?!" 

Nothing. He wasn't here. Again. 

Stanford's heart was hammering in his chest. He scrambled out, pulling the flashlight off his belt, flicking it on, and ran around the boat, both inside and out, looking for any signs of his brother. All he found was his own coded message, that well-intentioned graffiti that his brother might never even see. 

No, that was ridiculous. Stanley just ran away. He could be anywhere. (With anyone.) Of course he'd come back down to the boat, this was their dream! He wouldn't just leave it! (So he must have been taken away.) He'd be here soon! Stanford just had to keep looking! He'd always been a stubborn Hide and Seek player (when he was the one searching). He was just playing on hard mode. (Stanford should have heard him giggling on Day 1, and Stanley would have come out a couple minutes later.)

Ford sat down, leaning against the wood. Breathe in, breathe out. In, out. Yeah, like that. In, out. In, out. 

After a moment, his heart was calmer and his head wasn't spinning. He could think straight. 

He didn't know what happened to Stanley (yes he did). 

But he did know one thing. 

Stanford glared at the opposite wall, brows furrowing in determination. 

He needed to find the Sibling Brothers. 

Chapter Text

Stanford woke up in the Stan'O'War with the sun, rising just as slowly. He needed to have his head on straight today, but he'd tossed and turned most of the night. So, tough as it might be, he had to work on a couple hours of sleep. 

His stomach rumbled, but he was out of apples. He might have to swipe something on the boardwalk.

He had been hoping that Stanley had a game plan, and when they found each other, they'd be able to talk food and resources. But without Stanley, Ford had nothing to really go off of, and he was hungry, tired, and lonely. All he had was his wits and his mind. 

Once the sun was fully in the sky above the ocean, Ford took off. He had one goal for the day: find the Sibling Brothers and take their folder. He could still win this, he could still find Stanley first, he just needed a bit of a boost, that's all. 

That, and he woke up with a clear head. The cook from last night was obviously mistaken, as no one would want to buy Stanley. The very thought was silly, ridiculous, even! Who would buy another human like that? It was weird. Too weird. Too convenient an answer, too. Oh, your brother is missing because someone took him, obviously! Tch. Yeah right. As if Stanley wouldn't have put up one heck of a fight to get away, one Ford absolutely would have heard from upstairs. 

Suspicious. 

Not to mention, if Stanley did get taken away, he would have broken out by now! He's not stupid.

Nope. Too many holes. Had to be something else. 

And that folder held all the answers.

All Stanford had to do now was find it. And maybe grab a giant pretzel on the way. 

To kill time, he started asking around again. "Have you seen my brother?" No, everyone said. No Stanley, he must have run away. He must have disappeared into the mist! Must have realized his place, yadda yadda yadda. The more Ford asked, the more frustrated and angry he became. Either people just didn't care enough to notice Stanley was gone, or they were like good riddance, serves him right, he stole my bread. Who cares if he stole your precious sea shell that one time, Candice?! He's MISSING!

No one seemed to really share Stanford's sentiments about it, though. 

Eventually he stopped trying. 

He instead found himself wandering back to that alley near the supermarket, the one where Stanley had painted a message. He ran his fingers over it, cringing. 

"IM STILL HERE STA"

"IM LOOKING FOR YOU. GO TO THE BOAT."

He should have written more. But now the paint bucket was gone. Someone must have moved it, which means someone else had seen their messages. Hopefully they would leave it alone. 

He had no more clues to go off of and didn't know where to find more. He needed that manilla folder. But where to find the Sibling Brothers? 

His stomach rumbled again, this time painfully. Stanford groaned out a sigh through his teeth. 

The grocery store was nearby. Maybe he could swipe something from there? 

He stood outside the building, approaching it as casually as he could and trying very hard not to look suspicious. No, officer, I'm not here to steal your precious goods. I am a law-abiding citizen and I definitely have money. Money right here in my pockets, yep. And I'm going to use it to buy things very legally. 

Sweat trickled down his forehead and he tried very hard not to wipe it away too quickly. 

Ford beelined it to the fruits aisle, hoping to grab another apple, but once he caught sight of them, he realized how flawed that plan truly was. He hadn't brought his bindle for fear of someone taking it, and the apple was too big to fit in his pockets. He had to find something smaller, but just as healthy. 

He wandered over to the candy aisle next, wondering if chocolate counted as a brain food. Probably not, but it would definitely make him feel better.

No. It would melt. Moving on. 

Maybe nuts? Yeah, some peanuts and cashews sounded like they could work. 

They were still in the snack aisle. Stanford looked around, double-checking to make sure no one was looking, before quickly snapping his hand out like a snake to grab a bag of peanuts. Only he miscalculated a bit, and hit the bags without grabbing them. A loud, plastic-y sound crashed down the open hallway, and several bags fell to the floor. 

"Shoot!" Ford leaned down to pick them up, dropping the one he had already been holding on accident. His hands were shaking really bad now. How did Stanley do this so easily?! 

An adult was coming, a younger man with slicked back hair. He knew. He was gonna kick Ford out for stealing and then he'd never be allowed back in the store again-!

"Everything okay over here?" the employee asked. He bent down and started putting bags away, back where they belong on the shelf. 

He's gonna find out he's gonna find out my thoughts are too loud and I'm too sweaty and shaky and he's gonna put two and two together and realize what I was trying to do and OH NO I'VE BEEN QUIET FOR TOO LONG-

"UH," Ford yelled out, "Okay? What's okay? Why would anything be okay- WRONG. Anything be wrong? Yeah, I'm good, yeah." He slapped a grin on the end for effect, trying very hard to will the sweat to evaporate already before he formed a puddle.

The man just stared at him. 

Then he shrugged and went back to stocking. "Sure, kid," he grumbled. 

Stanford found himself standing as still as he could, trying to get his heart rate back in order, while the employee stocked everything, which didn't take too long. He picked the bags up two at a time and placed them back on the shelf that way. The whole thing was over in about ten seconds. 

And then he was walking away. And then he was gone. 

Stanford looked over his shoulder, then around himself, then up above in case someone was watching from on top of the shelves, and then under, and then around again, and finally, he was sure no one would see, and he slowly reached for a bag of peanuts…

…Felt his hands wrap around the bag, veeery quietly…

then YANKED it off as quickly as he could when the suspense was too much and shoved it in his jacket pocket. 

Mission success.

So then why was he sweating even worse now. 

He could get caught at any time. He felt like he was breaking a very sacred law. It wasn't like this when he got caught stealing with Stanley, why was he so nervous now?! He had to get outta here, fast.

Quickly (but not too quickly), Stanford made for the exit. He got a couple of weird looks as he speed walked past a couple customers, but he kept his hands shoved in his pockets and one hand on top of the peanuts bag. 

He'd made it to the front, and froze. That same employee from earlier was standing next to the door. If he saw Ford leave too quickly, he'd know he was stealing. He'd get caught, and thrown in jail, and then the Sibling Brothers would win and Stanley's whereabouts would stay a mystery forever and then he wouldn't be a TWIN anymore cuz if you're a twin then that means there's TWO of you, but there would only be ONE now, and-

No. He had to think of a plan. He wasn't done yet. 

There were a couple of lines forming at the front, and most people checking out were adults. If he could sneak out with an adult, then either they wouldn't question him, or they would take the fall for him. Perfect. 

As innocently as he could, he stood in line behind an older looking gentleman who looked like he was the same age as Grandpa. He had on loose clothes, had wiry, white hair, round glasses, and a large nose. He was hunched over a worn cane. The older man didn't comment on Ford's presence, so hopefully this would go over smoothly. 

His heart was hammering in his chest and getting faster in increments of ten the closer they got to checkout. 

Finally, it was their turn. The cashier turned to look at them both expectantly.

"Greetin's," the older man said, placing his bananas on the table. "Jus' a few a these, if you please." 

"Of course," the cashier smiled back a bit too enthusiastically, given the situation. "You and yer grandkid gonna share?" 

Ford could feel his heart signing a resignation in his chest and leaving him. Everything around them seemed to freeze.

"Gran'kid?" The man turned to look at Stanford, his eyes widening a bit in surprise. 

Ford gulped. Oh no oh no oh no oh no this was it wasn't it. 

To ease tension, Ford gave a tiny smile and an equally tiny wave to go with it. 

The older man's gaze searched over him, landing on his pocket- the one with the lump. Ford was about to fall over. 

Then, his expression seemed to soften. He turned back to the cashier, smiling widely. "Ah, y' meant my nephew! Yes, ma'am, we're havin' a day, jus' the two of us." 

Ford's heart returned to its post with the promise of a raise. He let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. 

"Oooh, sounds like fun," the cashier enunciated strangely. "Doin' anything fun?"

"Heheh! Can't tell, it's a secret jus' fer us!" He looked at Stanford as he said that, giving him a wink with the eye that wasn't in the cashier's line of sight. 

Ford took in a small breath, then nodded back. "Yeah, top secret," he announced. He shoved his hands back in his pockets, bouncing on his heels a bit like he'd seen the teenagers doing sometimes. "Boys day stuff." 

"Alright, well," cashier lady grinned through her teeth, "you two just don't get into any trouble, okay?" 

The two shared a knowing look. "Wouldn' dream of it," the old man smiled back. 

They walked out together, sticking to the sidewalk as they left. Ford finally let out a big breath, wiping the sweat from his brow as best as he could. "Thank you, sir," he grinned. 

The old man just waved a hand at him. "Don' worry too much about it, y'hear? That was nuthin." He looked down at Stanford with a mischievous glint in his eye. "Next time, jus' walk out the front, okay? Won't be none-the-wiser. They won' stop ya unless they KNOW yer up ta no good. If they don't got proof, they can't do nuthin." He held up a wrinkly finger. "The key is to act casual. If yer causal, you ain't got nothin' to hide." 

"Oh." Stanford blinked, storing that information away for later. He raised a hand to scratch at his neck awkwardly. "Guess I almost got caught then, huh?"

He nodded. "If I were anyone else, I'd'a got ya thrown to the curb faster'n you could swing a fist." 

"So why'd you help me?" 

The old man paused at that. He looked up at the sky, then back down to the kid he'd just helped break the law. "It just ain't right, throwin' a child out fer a snack," he eventually said, slow and thoughtful. "Jus' ain't right." 

Something about his tone suggested something deeper, but Ford didn't pry. He instead just looked up at the sky, too, wondering why old people did this sometimes. Yep. Sure are clouds up there. 

After a moment, he looked back down. "Say, what'd ya grab, anyway?" 

"Just some peanuts," Stanford replied, reaching into his pocket to pull them out. "Needed some brain food." 

The old man chuckled. "Not sure that counts, but as long as yer enjoyin' em, then wha'do I know, eh?" 

"Peanuts have a lot of healthy stuff in them," Stanford told him, looking back at the bag to open it, "like fibers, and-" 

He stopped. 

Then slapped himself in the face. He could hear the old man's chuckles turn into full-on laughs beside him. 

He'd grabbed toffee peanuts. Sugary, sweet, sticky toffee peanuts. No wonder they were in the snack aisle, good gravy. 

"Well, you like those, at least?" the man asked, still giggling to himself. Traitor. 

Stanford could feel his face heating up. "Yeah, guess so," he grumbled. "My brother likes them more than me, though." He paused, looking up at him. "Have you seen him? He looks like me, but with a missing tooth. Here," he grabbed up the sketch of him, handing them to the older man. "Does he look familiar?" 

The old man paused, eyes widening just a bit. He scrutinized the drawings, eyes flicking back and forth between them and Ford. But after a moment, he shook his head. "Not to me, no. Sorry, son." 

Stanford deflated. "Oh. That's… that's okay. Thanks anyway." 

An odd look crossed over the older gentleman's features. He knelt down, placing a hand on Ford's shoulder. "Hey," he spoke softly, "between you 'n me, if he's anythin' like ya, he'll turn up quick. Was a smart idea to preten' ta be my kid to leave with me unnoticed. If he's got any of yer brains, you'll find 'im." 

Stanford nodded, smiling a bit. "He does," Ford whispered back. "Except he's actually good at stealing." 

The old man practically beamed at him. "Then there ya go. Don't you worry none." 

Ford nodded, more enthusiastically this time. "Thank you, sir." He put the paper and the fake peanuts back in his jacket. "I've gotta go find him. Thanks for everything." 

The old man closed his eyes, nodding. "No problem, son." 

With that, Ford started running again. Before he got too far, though, he stopped. "Hey, wait!" He spun around. "I never asked for your…" 

He looked at where the man had been. Then at the cars, then down the nearby streets. 

"...name…" 

He was just gone. 

Ford stood there, blinking for a moment, before shaking his head and taking off. He had a brother to deliver snacks to. 

The sun was beginning to sink in the sky when he finally caught sight of them. 

There they were, across the street. Talking to a woman outside her home. They were writing in that folder; a folder that had many pieces of paper and even more photos inside of it. They were all smug and confident and ohohohoho! ing and prim and proper and Ford was going to stomp their dumb snooty smiles into the dirty ground!

Ford had heard their dumb laughter from a couple of blocks over from where he'd been walking around this part of town, looking for more messages. He'd followed it to the residential block, and now, his target was in sight. That manilla folder was so close.  

The wind rustled the bush he was hiding behind, blowing a few spare candy wrappers his way like mini tumbleweeds.

Slowly, he crept forward. Unlike earlier, when he was stressed at the store, his mind was clear. Now he wasn't breaking a law for himself; he was doing it for Stanley. The Sibling Brothers didn't deserve that folder. They didn't truly get what was on the line. Stealing a snack was one thing, but letting someone steal his brother was too far. 

But that old man's voice rang clear in his head. Act causal. He could do that. 

He got to the side of her house, slowly creeping closer. He could hear their stupid dumb voices asking her stupid dumb questions, like and where were you when you saw it? and did you see which way the vehicle was going? and did you know that we're the best detectives ever and the Pines twins can get lost in a mirror maze about it? Ohohohoho!

He'd show them. He just had to wait. Didn't want the woman to freak out or anything. 

Finally, finally, the Siblings were done gossiping. They waved the woman tah tah! and got back on their tandem bike. 

Ford pressed his back further into the wall, one hand grabbing his backpack in anxiety, and the other wrapped around a long, thin-ish stick. He only had one shot at this. 

Ascot rang their annoying little bell as they began to pedal away- right towards Ford. Taking a deep breath, he got up, and started to very casually walk closer to them.

Dickie saw him first. "Oh, look, brother!" he called out for the whole neighborhood to hear, "Stanford's been following us!" 

"What, who, me?" Ford feigned shock, stepping closer. "No. I'm just following the clues. They lead me here."

"And what clues would those be?" Ascot leaned against the handles, manilla folder held up in front of him like a taunt. Like a beacon. "Because last I checked, Dickie and I have been amassing all the clues right here!" 

"Huh, weird," Stanford raised an eyebrow, stepping ever closer. "If you've been taking evidence, then why's that code still up, huh?" 

"Code?" The two brothers exchanged glances, then erupted in laughter. 

"You mean the drawings you scribbled onto the walls of your beached craft?" Dickie grinned. "That doesn't count!" 

"You've naught a clue, Stanford," Ascot waved a hand at him dismissively. "Now why don't you head home and let the true mystery solvers take this one?" 

Stanford nodded, coming to a stop right next to them. "Oh yeah, good idea." 

Both brothers stiffened, eyebrows raised. "I beg your pardon?"

Stanford debated on explaining his inside joke, but decided not to. Bigger fish, as Stanley would say. Instead he just nodded. Quickly, he shot the stick forward, slamming it through the little metal poles of the bike tires, then in the same movement, leaned back up to grab the folder. 

Caught off-guard, the folder slipped from Ascot's hands effortlessly. All Ford heard was a very offended-sounding "HEY!" as he bolted off into the evening. 

They had a bike, and so they were faster, but only if they could actually pedal forward! HAH! 

Ford booked it back out onto the sidewalk and took off in the direction of the beach. Once he could trick the two into thinking he was heading for the boat, then he could misdirect them and actually go somewhere else. Genius!

"PIIINES!" came the indignant shout behind him. 

Ford grinned, lightning shooting through his limbs as he practically bounded down the sidewalk. He spun around, sprinting backwards for just long enough to shout a "COME AND CATCH ME, DIMWITS!" before he spun back around unsteadily, never slowing his pace.

The tools on his toolbelt thumped against his legs as he ran, making a lot of noise, but Ford paid them no mind. If he really needed to get rid of them, he would. After all, he wanted the two of them to be able to track him, at least for now. 

It wasn't long before the tell-tale sound of bike tires hitting pavement started to catch up with him. Ford spared a glance over his shoulder, and saw the two of them rapidly beginning to catch up. His grin didn't falter, though. Instead, he tucked the folder under his armpit, shooting them 6-pronged deer horns and blowing a raspberry at them. Then he dove back into the bushes that lined the road. 

"Oh, you'll PAY FOR THAT!" one of them- Ascot?- shouted at his back. 

Ford just laughed. Next time he sees Stanley, he's gonna have to tell him how fun this is. Ford's never gonna stop him from thrill seeking again, this was AWESOME!

While Ford's life was rapidly taking a sharp turn into more delinquent territory, the other set of twins yelled out in anger. Leaves crunched and twigs snapped as their bike got caught in the hedges, and Dickie began shouting to back up, start again. 

Time successfully stalled! 

Thunder boomed from somewhere off in the distance, and clouds slowly started making their way across the sky. 

Ford kept running back towards the beach, making sure to stay off the sidewalk. He was slower, sure, but they couldn't follow him here. 

That was, until the hedges ended. Back in Glass Shard proper, it was fair game. Ford could hear the bike gaining ground, and he started taking turns through alleyways he knew didn't have dead ends, weaving his way closer and closer to the beach. If he could, he'd knock over trash cans, slowing down his rivals along the way. He kept hearing offended, snooty screams of rage behind him and had to resist the urge to taunt them again. 

That said, he was starting to slow down. He was about halfway through his neighborhood when he ducked into another open-ended alley, pausing just long enough to pick up a glass bottle (ewwww sticky, he really wanted to wash his hands now…), and continued running just as the Sibling Brother's shadow appeared behind him. 

He ducked out of the alley, running towards the beach once again. He heard tires screech behind him, the other twins grumbling to themselves in their strange accent (was it British? No, that wasn't it. What accent was it? Didn't matter; it was annoying, that's what). 

He took off across the street, looking up at the dark sky. Daylight had fallen fast, but that was fine. He was almost to a good spot. 

He ducked into another alley, a space between houses, and threw the bottle to the right, closer to the beach. It hit a trash can, not knocking it over, but definitely making a loud enough noise that the brothers had heard it. Then, Ford turned left, behind the house, and dove onto the other side just as the Sibling Brother's blond hair stuck into the space he'd just been, tearing towards the noise without a thought. 

"You're getting sloppier, Pines," Ascot taunted between pants for air. 

Dickie's breathing was much heavier, and Ford could hear it from two houses away. "Yeah, you better… you better run!" 

Then the tires screeched to a halt. 

"What, what is it, Ascot?" 

"He's gone!" 

"What?!"

"He's gone!" 

"Codswallop! He can't have ventured far! Where would he even have gone?" 

"The craft! The one he and Sticky Fingers were working on!" 

"Right then, ONWARD!" 

Metal squeaked and tires groaned, and then the two were gone. 

Ford panted for another moment or so, catching his breath and sinking down into the concrete below him. Despite feeling winded and sweaty, he was still smiling. He did it. 

He did it! 

He let out a breathy laugh, holding up the folder. Everything he wanted to know was in this manilla case. 

Wasting no more time, he reached for his toolbelt, clicked on his flashlight, and opened it.

The first thing he's confronted with are swirling letters in refined, well-taken notes. It was like if cursive could get cursive-ier, rendering it nearly impossible to read. And Ford understood the importance of good handwriting, having practiced cursive as much as he could himself, but this was ridiculous. 

Next to that, though, there were pictures. They were held inside with paperclips, each one either clipped the the manilla itself, or the obnoxiously-taken notes inside. He brought his flashlight closer, zeroing in on the photos. 

He felt his grin start to slip. His face tightened, then pinched, eyebrows furrowing. He squinted, cursing the dying light in the sky for making him see things. He felt his body tense from the cold on the ground, shoulders slowly rising up towards his cheeks. 

The first photo he could see was that of a brightly colored Boltscarriage bug, a rounder car that he could recall Pa scoffing at for being too "feminine-looking" (whatever that meant. Cars were for boys!). The notes it was clipped to claimed the car was a bright lilac color. How he'd never seen it before was baffling. It should have been visible from miles away, it was such a bright grey in the picture! Unfortunately, the license plate wasn't visible, so that was a no-go.

The second one made his heart skip. There was Stanley, in his red and white striped shirt and missing tooth, tugging against the grip of a man who seemed to be pulling him towards the car from the previous photo. Though the man's grip was tight, his face appeared relaxed. His hair was slicked back, medium-grey in the picture. He was wearing a suit of some kind. It was too blurry to make out any finer details, but Ford could tell he didn't mean anything kind by taking Stanley- not with the way his brother was digging his heels into the sidewalk. 

The third photo, though, was the worst. It was that same man, smiling happily and shaking hands with Pa. There was a woman standing next to him with similarly bright hair, though hers was wild and curly, and full of what looked like pearls, though it was hard to tell in the lighting of the black and white photo. Pa looked stoic as ever, not even looking at Stanley in the background, who was holding a blurry sign and looking up at him in fuzzy horror. 

No. He didn't. He wouldn't. 

Their Pa was hard on them sometimes, yeah. It was his way or the highway, and everyone understood that. And yeah, sometimes he disciplined them, but it's because he wanted them to be better. Pa always gave them good advice on how to be men, and told them when they were falling behind. He was always looking out for them! 

…Right? 

The image of that cardboard sign in the trashcan flitted through his mind. Tomorrow was garbage day. By the time he woke up again, the sign would be gone…

There had to be a misunderstanding. This wasn't true. Sometimes photos could be deceiving! Taken out of context and used to create wild stories, like what happened to that actress their Ma told them about, that Marilyn gal. Yeah. Yeah, this wasn't true. It couldn't be. 

Because if it was, Stanley would be home by now. He was good at being obnoxious on purpose, and he was good at escaping. Surely, he either had gotten out or annoyed them so badly they let him go, right? 

And then he got taken by wood elves vacationing to the beach. Yeah. 

His hands were shaking, the light from the flashlight casting wobbly shadows on the ground below him. Tightening his grip did nothing but make it shakier. 

The notes. They had to have something. If he could read them. 

Thunder boomed from right above him, startling the kid, but he only spared the sky a quick glance before he was looking down again.

He squinted, pushing his glasses up before ripping them off angrily to clean them. Specs of dirt and other debris clung to the lenses like flies to fruit, and it wasn't something you really noticed until you went to actually read something. His shirt's texture was too rough, and was bound to scratch them all up, but in that moment, it didn't matter. He shoved them back on and took another look. 

"...Mrs. Cunningway says she saw the… purple car… heading… out of town…?" he read aloud, uncertain. It helped make the words make sense, at least. Purple. Why was the car bright purple. "Heading… for…" 

"None of your business." 

Stanford's head snapped back up, eyes wide and heart skipping as he was caught red-handed. The Sibling Brothers stared down at him, glaring and angry. Their perfect hair was messed up, and they each were red in the face and panting from running. 

Thunder clashed again, painting them in black shadow and white lighting for a split second. 

"Well, Dickie," Ascot spat, "I do believe that's a forfeit." He snapped the folder away from Ford before he could react. 

"Hey!" Ford reached for it, but the twins just held it up out of his reach. He quickly moved to stand back up instead. "No it's not! You're just hogging all the clues! How is that even fair?!" 

"It's fair," Dickie sneered, placing his hands on his hips and looming closer, "because WE sleuthed them out first!"

"You are just trying to steal our credit!"

"AGAIN!"

Stanford shook his head. "It's not like that!" 

"Not anymore it isn't." Ascot lifted his nose into the air, looking unimpressed. "You're out of the competition. You clearly have nothing."

The twins both turned back towards their tandem bike, which was leaning against the brick wall not too far away. 

Stanford felt a drop of rain hit his nose, then his hair. 

He could feel his heart pick up. No, no no no no, they couldn't leave! He reached out a hand for them, feeling his body tense and eyes widen. "Wait!" 

Ascot continued to climb up, while Dickie paused, turning to glare at Ford. 

Stanford swallowed thickly. "This… this isn't about our rivalry anymore," he said quickly. "That's my brother in those pictures." 

Dickie's frown seemed to pinch more, though he didn't look more angry. He almost looked softer, somehow. Curiosity? Why were people so hard to read?! 

Ascot finally turned to look at him, the skin around his nose still wrinkled in something akin to disgust. "So?" 

"I need to know what happened to him," Ford pleaded. "I heard the cook at Belgium Waffles say he got taken away, and in those pictures, it looks like he…" he swallowed again. He felt sick.  

The rain started to drip more steadily now. It wasn't a rainstorm by any means, but the droplets were faster and more frequent. The air smelled heavily of rain. Soon, it would be a downpour. Ford barely noticed. 

Dickie turned more towards him now, scrutinizing him. He didn't say anything, but the light from Ford's flashlight was catching in his eyes differently. He looked less squinty. 

Ford took a careful step forward. "I need that folder." He clutched at his shirt, as if that would help him breathe better. "I need to know-"

"No." Ascot turned away from him. "Why should we help you?"

Ford's eyes flicked back and forth between the two of them. His hand shook, and his grip tightened on his shirt. He looked down. 

Just as Dickie swung his leg over the top of the bike, Ford felt another spike of panic. They couldn't just leave. Not yet. Not yet! He took another couple of steps closer, eyes wide. "Can you at least tell me one thing?" 

Ascot got ready to push down on the pedal, but a hand on his back from Dickie stopped him. They both turned back to look at Ford with varying levels of interest. 

"Did…" Stanford looked away, squeezing his eyes shut. "Did Stanley get taken away?" 

Silence. All Ford could hear was the light scraping of candy wrappers against the ground, his own terrified breathing, and the drip of water into a bucket off of someone's roof. 

Finally, Dickie took in a breath. "Yes," he stated, clipped and almost clinical. 

Then the two of them pedaled away. There was nothing more to say. 

The shower started to turn to full-on rain. His hair started to fall down into his eyes, and his jacket started clinging to his arms. He could feel his socks getting wet. 

Stanford found that he didn't really care at that moment. 

Something started to crumble away in Ford, some wall he didn't realize he'd built that had been cracking for some time completely fell away. As the debris fell, it got swept away in a rush of emotions, all of them moving too fast for Ford to properly name. It was a negative feeling, one that left him feeling sick and angry. He felt disgusted, he felt disgust ing, he wanted to scream, he wanted to hit something, he wanted to curl up into a ball and hide away forever. He wanted to stay out all night and search, look for the obnoxiously bright purple car and the man with the slicked-back hair and the white smile who had so casually shook hands with his Pa. He wanted to hit Pa. He wanted to cry. He wanted to go home.  

He just wanted his brother. 

Rage. That burning feeling built up inside of him, burning away at the sadness he'd felt there for a second as well. The embers ate up that pretty little picture he'd had in his head about his family; his ma, powerful and wise, his brother, strong and brave, himself, smart and determined, and his pa, tough and firm. 

Now his brother was gone, and as the flames ate away at him, that picture started to burn, too, eating away at his father's frame until just he, Stanley, and Ma remained, even if the black edges of the fire ate into his and his ma's bodies. 

How dare he. How dare he. Stanley was brave, and smart, and kind, and cool, and Pa just threw him out like that?! 

Ford's panting wasn't from exhaustion anymore. It wasn't from fear, it wasn't from exertion. It was anger. Pure, unfiltered anger.  

Stanley could be anywhere. He was taken away by that horrible man and there was no telling where they could be now. 

He flicked off the flashlight. Shoved it back into his toolbelt. He grit his teeth, clenched his hands and felt his nails bite into skin. 

There were only two people who could give him the answers he needed.

Taking the first step was the hardest; like trying to move through tar. But once that first step was made the rest flowed easily after. 

Who cares if he was going to be grounded for this? Stanley had gotten out through the window before. This would be no different. None, except Filbrick wouldn't expect Stanford to do it without Stanley's influence. 

He wanted names, and he wanted an address, and he wanted his brother back.

How he wound up in front of the pawn shop was lost on him. He didn't fully remember getting here, but that didn't matter, did it? He was here now. 

Before reaching for the doorknob, he needed to confirm it for himself. He needed to know.  

He turned to the trash can, now moved further into the sidewalk for garbage day. That cardboard sign was still there, just as half crumpled as it had been before. 

Ford felt like he was floating as he stomped over to it. The handwriting was definitely Pa's, from what he could see. 

He grabbed it and yanked it out, eyes widening and ears ringing. 

EXTRA STAN - $3 OR BETTER OFFER

"Three dollars…?" Ford's voice may have been a whisper, but it roared in his own ears like a factory machine. $3 was as much money as you needed to buy food for a family of four for a whole week. That was IT?!

Before he knew what he was doing, he'd ripped the sign down the middle, then again, then again, tearing it into smaller and smaller chunks. He threw it on the ground, stomping on the destroyed evidence, before kicking the little pile, watching leaflets of cardboard flutter out into the road. 

He was panting hard, but far from done. He turned back to the doorway, debating if he should go in. Now or never, right? But if he went in, there was a chance he was gonna get in trouble. There was a chance he wouldn't be brave enough to go back and look for Stanley again. 

There was a chance he'd fall apart once he was safe and sound. 

But he had to know. He needed to hear it from the man himself. 

His stomach rumbled. He was dirty and sweaty and tired. He just wanted to sleep. 

He wanted his brother back.

Making up his mind, he stomped over to the door and rang the doorbell. 

There was a pause, and then the sounds of high heels running closer. The door practically flew off its hinges as Ma opened it, her eyes wide and staring. Her hand came up to her mouth in shock. 

For a moment, just a moment, Stanford felt some of his anger dissipate. Ma had been worried about him. Somewhere, that felt nice. 

"STANFORD!" she cried out. Before he knew it, she'd wrapped her arms around him and was dragging him inside to be held, out of the rain. "Oh, my baby, I was so worried about you!" 

Ford raised his arms to hug her back, burying his face in her shoulder. "I missed you too, Ma."

A deep voice cleared his throat from behind Ma. Stanford stiffened, and he felt Ma do the same. She moved her hands to his shoulders, shifting to move out of the way just a bit, but she didn't let go yet. She just gave Ford room to glare down the man of the hour. 

His hands clenched. 

"You were gone for three days," Pa stated. 

"What did you do?" Stanford growled. 

Ma looked taken aback. "Stanford?" she questioned, though her sentence trailed off after that.

Pa just stood there, arms crossed, looking down at him disapprovingly. 

Ford shrugged his mom's hands off his shoulders, instead choosing to stomp closer. "What did you DO?!" he shouted. 

Ma looked like she'd been slapped. "Stanford, inside voices," she gently scolded him. 

"NO!" He redirected his gaze to her for just a moment, before returning it to where it belonged. "HE'S the one who sent Stanley away!" He pointed at the man, glaring holes through his nose. "HE'S the one who SOLD HIM!" 

Just saying it out loud made him want to throw something. 

Pa barely moved, just shifted a little on his feet. "Watch your tone with me, young man," he deadpanned. 

"No, you watch YOUR tone with ME!" Ford stomped closer, earning a gasp from Ma. "You don't GET to do that to him and then just- just-!" He tugged at his hair, yelling in anger. "He's GONE now, and you don't even CARE!" 

"Stanford, please!" Ma placed a hand on his shoulder again, firmer this time. "Stand down!" 

Ford just shrugged her off again, jerking out of her grip. "Why SHOULD I?!" 

"You're not eating tonight." 

Ford froze. He turned back to look at Pa, eyes widening. "What?!" 

"Filbrick!" Ma squawked. 

If Pa ever moved, he would have shrugged. As it were, he just kept standing there. "If he's going to have an attitude like that, he needs to learn not to question my authority in this household." 

His stomach grumbled again- loudly. "No, Pa, wait!" 

Rage was melting into fear. He hadn't eaten very well in the past couple of days or so at all. He'd only had a couple of apples. Pa couldn't be serious, right? 

Pa continued to stand there, an obsidian wall to Ford's toy pickaxe. "You heard me." 

Ma stood up, clenching her fists. "Now that ain't fair and you know it," she growled at him. "The boy hasn't eaten in days, look at him!" 

"Then he can watch his tone next time." 

And with that, he turned and left the room. 

Stanford's stomach started to hurt, though whether it was from hunger, fear, or anxiety, he wasn't sure. He turned back to look at Ma, breathing picking up speed again. "Ma…?"

She looked down at him with worried eyes, opening her mouth. No words came out. She turned back to where Pa had disappeared, frowning, before crouching down in front of him. "I'll bring you somethin' later tonight," she said softly. "You head on upstairs and get into some warm, dry clothes, okay?" 

Ford gripped his backpack straps tightly, looking down at the floor as he started breathing faster and faster. It was like when he was about to cry when he was little, except he didn't feel the sting of tears. He was just breathing too fast, and he didn't know how to slow down. He started shaking, and his chest felt too small for the amount of air he needed. 

"Hey," Ma said, lifting up his chin carefully. He looked up at her, and she smiled shakily at him. "Try breathin' with me, okay?" She took in a low, slow breath, then let it back out. Then she did it again. 

Ford tried to follow her lead, taking in longer and longer breaths, but his chest wasn't getting any bigger. It just made him feel more lightheaded. 

"That's it," Ma encouraged, "keep goin'." 

She held a hand out, and Ford found himself grabbing it, gripping hard, as he tried to match her breathing. His chest slowly unwound, and he took in a longer breath every time. Slowly, the world stopped spinning, and the weight of his own body started to pull on him. 

He was soaked, and the rain was heavy. 

Ma caught him as he slumped forward, wrapping her arms around him even if he didn't reciprocate. He felt her fingers carding through his hair. "Shhhhh, shh shh shhhhh… it's okay, baby," she whispered in his ear. "You're safe now." 

Stanford just found himself staring blankly at the floor behind her. He was so tired. "Yeah, sure," he grumbled. "Safe." 

But Stanley isn't.

Ma sighed. "Here, let's get you upstairs." She pulled away, shifting her grip so she was helping to push Stanford forward and through the pawn shop. He didn't really register what she was doing, letting her drag him forward. 

Once they started climbing, Stanford found his footing again. He heaved a sigh, hand on the railing. "I really thought he'd just ran away," he murmured, voice barely audible. "I thought… I thought he'd left without me." 

Ma shifted, pausing. "...Stanley would never do that to you," she replied. 

Her words dropped on him like a stone. 

Before he knew it, Ma had him sitting on the bottom bunk while she fished out some dry clothes for him. He set them next to him, told him something about getting warm, and left. He heard the lock click behind her. 

He didn't want to move. 

All of that had been for nothing, then. Well, it made sense, he hadn't really gotten far on his own. He needed Stanley. Stanley would have been able to tell him that something wasn't adding up, or that it was obviously a kidnapping or something.  

Except it wasn't a kidnapping, was it? 

Not really. 

Kidnapping implied a lack of willingness; one of the parties involved didn't want it to happen, but it happened anyway. Kidnapping implied that what the perpetrator had done was wrong. 

That man was completing a business transaction. Pa was more than willing to allow it. 

And to Pa, Stanley's opinion didn't matter. 

Sitting on Stanley's bunk felt wrong, but Stanford didn't want to move. Climbing up the ladder to his own bed required energy he just didn't have. He'd been running on fumes, as much as he didn't want to admit it, and after his anger was gone, it was replaced with an empty tank. 

Well, no, the anger was still there. Stanford just couldn't reach it. He was too tired. 

After a while, there was a gentle knock on the door, and Ma poked her head in. The tasty smell of brisket followed her entrance, and the fog cleared just enough for Stanford's mouth to start watering. 

"Hey, hon," she greeted, fully stepping inside. "I brought ya dinner." 

She set it down on the desk by the window, on top of old papers Ford didn't care about anymore. Then, she placed a glass of ice water down next to it. 

Ford shrugged. "Thanks," he grumbled out. 

Ma gave him a long, lost look, before she walked back to the door. Stanford turned to stare out the window, listening to it click shut. Rain drops raced down the glass in disorganized patterns, creating little mini pools at the bottom before the water continued its way down the building. 

He jumped when Ma's footsteps came closer to him, and the bed creaked and she sat down. 

He turned to look at her. Her entire expression had fallen, taken on a mournful look he'd rarely ever seen from her before- one she usually covered up as quickly as she could once she noticed him. 

That sat there in silence for a long moment, listening to the rain. 

Finally, Ma sighed. "Stanford, I'm… I'm sorry." 

"You knew, didn't you?"

She turned her head sharply to look at him, surprised. 

Stanford kept his gaze downcast, expression tight. "When I asked you where Stanley was, Pa interrupted you." He lifted his head, betrayal etched into his face. "You told me he had a new friend." 

Ma didn't say anything for a minute, before nodding. "Yes, I knew," she said mournfully. 

"I don't understand. Why didn't you do anything?!" Ford threw his hands out. The fog retreated more, the rage starting to spark again. "You were there, right?!" 

"I wanted to let you down easy," Ma replied. Her hands grabbed at her dress aimlessly. 

Stanford blinked. "So you lied to me?!" 

Ma held up a hand toward him. "Stanford-"

"No, no stop." Ford leaned away. He shook his head, scooching back until his back hit the dresser beside their bunk bed. "I get that's your job, okay? I know you lie to people all the time, and that's- that's how you make money, but I'm not a job!" He hit one of his fists into the mattress. "I'm Stanley's brother! Did you want me to think he'd just run off to play with some other kid for the rest of my life?" 

"No, hon, that's not it-" 

"Were you ever gonna tell me?!" Ford hated the stinging in his eyes. He shook his head again, focusing on the anger instead, like Pa taught him. 

"Yes, Stanford, I was!" Ma reached forward and grabbed one of Ford's hands, holding it clasped between both of hers. "I never meant to lie, I swear I didn't." 

Ford squinted at her, frowning. "Then why did you?" 

Ma opened her mouth to answer, then closed it again. She sighed, looking away. "I dunno," she said, hunching in on herself. "I lie cuz I'm good at it. I didn' wanna tell you, so I… didn't, I guess." She shook her head. "It's hard to explain." 

Ford could see the stress lines on her face, seeing how it made her look older. He looked down at her hands, and found himself placing his other hand on top of hers. He sighed. 

"You could have just told me." 

"I tried. Your father, he…" She pulled her hands away, moving to bury her face in them instead. "Your father can be incredibly unreasonable sometimes." 

Stanford frowned. "Unreasonable? Unreasonable? Ma, he SOLD Stanley!" He threw his hands out again, wincing as one of them hit the wall. It didn't hurt at all, but it did make a noise Pa might have been able to hear. 

Ma seemed to freeze too, for a minute, before she sighed again. "I know." 

Ford blinked. "You know? Know what?"

Ma gave a single laugh that didn't sound right. "He sold my baby, Stanford, of course I know." She lifted her right hand up to wipe at the eye Ford couldn't see from this angle, and she turned away from him. "He did, and there was nothing I could do to stop him."

Ford shook his head. "You could have come and got me!" 

"And what could you have done?" She turned back to Ford with watery eyes, smiling sadly. "What, do you think we could have jus' told your father that we didn't want him to do that? Do you think that would have stopped him?" 

"I…" He hated this. He hated every second of this. Something about this whole thing STILL wasn't sitting right and he didn't know what. 

They sat there again, listening to the rain. The brisket was bound to be getting cold by now. Stanford didn't care. 

"We can't change the past," Ma said, looking up forlornly. Stanford glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. "Stanley's gone now. All we can do is just… move forward." 

Stanford glared at her. "No." 

"Honey, that couple weren't from around here," she met his fiery expression with her own mournful one. "They're out-of-towners, just visitin' for a while. They're prob'ly long gone." 

"You don't know that." Ford stared out the window, melting the glass under his gaze. 

Ma just sghed. Ford could feel the weight on the bed shift as she stood up. "Eat your dinner, hon," she told him softly. "We can talk more about this in the mornin'." 

"Sure." 

The door clicked shut. This time, he didn't hear it lock. 

Stanley HAD to still be in town. He'd already escaped once. Stanford COULDN'T forget that. If he could do it once, he could do it again. And if he knew Stanley, he'd be trying to get back here with every fiber of his being. 

He wasn't going to give up on his brother. Not now, not ever. 

But he couldn't stay here. 

Stanley needed his help, that much was clear. If he hadn't made it back yet, then something was keeping him away. 

Resolve began to strengthen within him, anger turning to determination. The fire grew higher, and that burnt picture of his perfect family fluttered softly in its wind. The smoke drifted up, lifting Ford to his feet. 

He walked over to the desk and wolfed his brisket down. 

He needed to come up with a plan. 

Let it be known that Stanford Pines did not give up easily.

The grandfather clock began to chime, marking the top of the hour. Midnight. 

Ford got up from his place at his desk, making sure his window was locked up tight. He had considered going that way, but he figured the breeze would lower the temperature enough to be noticable. That, or the sounds of wind and cars could wake them up faster. 

Nope. Front door it was. That was the quietest way out. 

Ford had re-packed his backpack, filling it with his own change of clothes, but also some for Stanley. He'd grabbed his notebook, packed his toolbelt in there to prevent it from making too much noise, and made sure to tuck the toffee peanuts in there, too. He was going to split them with Stanley once he found him. 

This time, though, he had foresight to know other things he would need. Batteries, rain gear, matches, and- of course- food. His 3 apples were good, but they did not cover nearly as much time as he thought they would before. 

As he snuck through the dining room, he snagged a couple more, but then continued onward towards the kitchen. 

There, he rummaged through the fridge, grabbing the leftover brisket. He tucked that into the duffle bag he'd snuck from the hall closet, right next to the apples. Then he grabbed deli meats, cheese, and bread. If Pa was going to sell Stanley for the money he'd used to buy this food, then it was Stanford's right to steal it back. He could just buy more, right? He clearly had money to spare now! 

A strange sort of justice burned in Ford as he grabbed more food. Yeah. Serves him right. 

Ma might be sad, but she'd understand. Stanford knew she would. 

After grabbing a bit of silverware, Ford zipped up the bag. He had enough food to last himself about a week and a half, and once he found Stanley, they could split it until they found a way to make more money to buy more food. 

They weren't going to come back here. Stanford had decided that, and he knew Stanley would agree. And if not, he'd tell his brother everything his pa had done.

Finally, it was time to go. 

Flipping the hood up on his jacket, Ford gripped both of his bags and started to creep down the stairs.

He was about halfway down when he heard footsteps upstairs. They were soft, trying to be quiet, and beelining right towards him. 

He quickened his pace, reaching the bottom stair and leaping off of it towards the door. 

"Stanford, wait!" 

Ford paused, turning back to look at his Ma. She was standing there, one hand at her side in a fist and the other clutched over her heart. She looked heartbroken, but was also just hovering there, not moving closer. 

Ford stood up taller. "I'm goin' to find Stanley, and we're gonna get out of here together," he told her flatly. "Don't try to stop me." 

"I'm not." 

They both stood there, a gap widening between them as they were held suspended in their respective doorways. 

Ford frowned. "Then… what're you doing?"

Ma gave him a watery smile. "Well, I know I can't stop you," she told him, keeping her voice low, "but I wouldn't feel right just lettin' you go. So…" she held up her other hand, showing him green. "I figured I'd help ya along a little bit." 

Ford took a single step closer, before hesitating. What if she was just trying to bring him back inside? 

Ma seemed to get it. She took it upon herself to walk closer, pressing the bill into Ford's hand. "Spend this wisely, okay?"

$5. A whole five dollars. Stanford's eyes widened. 

"Ma, you can't- what about Pa?"

"Oh, he won't notice," she waved a hand through the air dismissively. "That's from my own keep." 

Ma didn't make as much money as Pa did. She only made a couple of dollars per day, while Pa was able to make over twice that much over the course of the work week. Ford was holding at least a day's worth of allowance for her, and that was on a good day. 

He looked back up at her again, concern making its way traitorously back into his expression. "Are… are you sure?"

"Positive." She looked at him firmly, and a spark seemed to light behind her eyes again. "Their name's Honeygrimm. They said they was just visitin' for a couple weeks or so, but that they'd be goin' home soon. If yer gonna find Stanley, you gotta do it fast." 

Ford's eyes widened at that, trying to store that information away for later. He'd need to write that down before he forgot, but he could do that once he was outside. He frowned, giving his ma a determined nod.

She ran a hand through his curls, before giving his forehead a kiss. She rested her head on top of his, cupping his cheeks. "Now you be safe," she told him. Her voice shook, and she started breathing funny. "You watch out for each other, and make sure he don't get into too much trouble, okay?"

Stanford felt his own eyes starting to water. "Okay," he whispered back. "We will." 

"You better." She tugged him into a hug, to which Ford quickly returned. "And if you find him, tell him he can always come back to me, okay? If you ever feel homesick, you can come home. I'll make sure of it." Her grip tightened around him.

Ford nodded. "What about Pa?"

"He can try and stop me," she growled. "I'm not letting him take away my babies again." 

"Then come with me." Ford pulled back, trying to blink tears out of his eyes as he grasped his mother's hands. "I have room for more food in here, we can bring enough for everyone." 

Ma shook her head. "I can't, baby. I'm sorry." 

"Then… then is this goodbye?" Something ached in him at the thought, an ache he'd been too angry to think about before. 

"No." Ma blinked tears free, but kept her smile firm. "This is a 'see you later.' And I'll be waitin' for you two to get back, you hear me?"

Ford nodded, breath shaky. He didn't want to leave. He wanted to stay with his ma, back in that perfect little lie where they were happy. He wanted to pretend again. 

But he couldn't. Stanley was out there. 

Ma seemed to realize that. She broke it off, leaning away and standing up. "Now get out of here before your Pa realizes how cold the bed's gotten." 

Stanford nodded. He turned back to the door, pocketing the money, and grabbed the knob. It creaked open softly. 

As he stepped outside, he turned back to look at her. She just waved at him, wiping the tears off her face. 

He waved back, not trusting his voice, and vanished into the night.

One day, he'd go home, and when that happened, he'd have his brother by his side. 

Wherever they went, they went together. 

No matter what.