Disclaimer: I do not own Gravity Falls or have anything to do with it besides kidnapping the characters and writing my own stories with them. All hail our glorious leader, the creator of Gravity Falls, the Glow Clou- I mean Alex Hirsch.

Thank you to all who have commented so far. If you would like to offer any constructive criticism or would just like to tell me your thoughts on this strange game of life in general please leave me a comment! I have been getting waves of inspiration for two new fics I've been wanting to write so I'm putting Of Starry Pine on hold for now. I promise I will finish it but I want to do it well and everything I'm writing for it right now feels sloppy and forced. One of the fics is a present to my beta reader and friend kinzichi and the other is a crossover of Gravity Falls with Hannibal (will include Billdip but Bill is not Hannibal ;-)) if anyone who is familiar with both shows or for any other reason would like to beta this fic please shoot me a comment! All right long speech over, thank you for giving your time to read this!

Today is THE TALE OF TWO STANS! I can't wait to have my HC destroyed :-D Congrats to all who made to for surviving the hiatus.

Enjoy.

Age 21

Around her neck was a narrow black velvet ribbon with the ends falling down her back.

When her wooer turned from her she rested her arms against the mantel-shelf and bowed her face in her hands. On the threshold he paused to look at her; then he stole back, lifted one of the ends of velvet ribbon, kissed it, and left the room without her hearing him or changing her attitude. And on this silent parting the curtain fell.

-Edith Wharton

The Age of Innocence

The shadowed objects on the side of the road zoomed past in a blur of shadow as the vehicle sped on into the night. Each outline became streaks of movement in a constant race of shadow chasing shadow, an endless infinite loop until it became unclear who was chasing who, the whole drama lit with the silvery and insubstantial light of the moon. As he gazed out on the tumbling chaos only he, in that moment of suspended time could see, Fiddleford found the dramatic scene appropriate because, after all, was he not doing the same? Was he not chasing the shadows that haunted him? He shifted slightly where he sat in the handyman's pick up truck, trying to find a more comfortable position as improbable as that seemed, squished as he was between the two Pines twins. The group that had miraculously stumbled their way out of the museum no worse for wear and offered to drive him home, or at least, the pile of garbage he had tried to make assemble something like a home. The girl, Mabel, with her braces and expressive eyes that always seemed impossibly wide, had been surprisingly quiet during the ride, respecting the gravity of what had been revealed in that cavern of lost thoughts and only lightly leaning against him alternating between watching his face and reading the page of Dipper's (no it had a different owner) journal he was currently studying. The boy had kindly let him examine the whole thing, obviously wanting to see if it caused him to remember anything more, but had also noticed the way Fiddleford's hands had shaken when holding the book, and though neither of them understood why that was, Dipper seemed to understand something Fiddleford had not, and had yet to ask for the journal back.

He ran one hand, ever so gently, down the aged page of the old journal, and discreetly inhaled the familiar (Was it familiar? Yes it was!) scent of aged paper with just a hint of pine needles and that something else smell that all books have which is too buried and distant to be named but that is unique to each. He wasn't quite sure how the journal made him feel, it was all such a tangled mess in his already messed up mind, and he couldn't remember what was causing the emotions in the first place, which would have been maddening if he wasn't already as mad as a hatter! It was like trying to unsolve a complicated math equation with only the solution and no formula, or trying to understand the plot of a muted movie in rewind; complicated, dizzying, and weighted with hopelessness.

However, despite all of this, Fiddleford couldn't help but feel a kind of warmth with the knowledge that he hadn't always been-well- a mess and honestly he was still blown away that the group he was with had worked so hard to help him. It had been so long since someone had looked at him and seen someone other than the silly town cook- at least- he thought it was, that he was a little uncertain how to receive the attention. He had once been brilliant and full of ideas and knowledge and hope! He had once worked with the man who had written the journal he held in his hands, so full of wonder and adventure, and felt perhaps he had once been the same. This was going to be hard and painful, trying to remember the horrible Thing he had so desperately wanted to forget but he would, he didn't know why but he felt he owed it to the Author. He had worked with him, supported him, and had the strong suspicion that they had been friends if the tenderness he felt towards the journal was anything to go by. Fiddleford was waking up and with the waking world came illumination. He would remember the man's name, and he would remember what he had once dared not to. He would remember why he felt like he owed the man, and why even the thought of his existence made his chest ache.

…..

Fiddleford Hadron McGuckett had liked to think himself a smart man who enjoyed the simple things, and having grown up in a small town normally surrounded by dense nature and simple folk it only made sense to believe that the stillness of a quiet life would make him feel most at home. He had liked to think that all he needed was the heavy blanket of a sunny Sunday afternoon with his ears filled with the whispering rustle of the women's' freshly washed and pressed Sunday best to feel peaceful. He had liked to think that the life he grew up in suited him and that he could appreciate all it offered him. However, if there was anything to be said about Fiddleford at all, it was that he liked to think lots of things, but that didn't mean any of them were true.

His childhood, when he thought about it, was a series of snapshots in his minds eye. In the photo album of his memory he would flip through the worn pages containing crinkled recollections of dusty roads, loud southern lilted voices with words as set as the thoughts they conveyed, shop windows gleaming in the sun, a sepia toned room furnished sparsely but neatly with a radio crackling in the corner, the bare white walls of the church, crows feet around men's eyes, broken nails, and the smell of stagnant pond water. He could see the faded frown of his hard-faced father, and the lines on the forehead of his full-cheeked mother like he could see their white-washed house on a hill with rooms that were suffocating in the summer heat. He could smell the old pages of books on everything and anything with all their treasured words, buried like pirates gold under the floorboards of his room, shaking the foundations of his home with tremors only he could feel, hidden from his father for Fiddleford to later pull out in the encompassing velvet of night and listen to the whispering voices that rattled his head with knowledge. He could feel the spines of an endless supply of books running beneath his fingers as he took slow, measured steps through the bookshelves of the town library, hushed and reverent as though he were walking on sacred ground and he remembered the gentle lulling voice that kept and cared for them. He had wanted to bury himself in that place, with nothing but time and pages and silence.

It was better than the screams the books caused at home.

...

The day he had met the Pines brothers had been, until the meeting, entirely unremarkable. Gravity Falls, Oregon had been quiet, the forest looming, and the lake occasionally disturbed with unexplained ripples as it always was, and was the sort of day that surely would have slipped right out of thirty year old Fiddleford's mind quite on its own, if not for the fact that his life was about to change.

Fiddleford's younger neighbor Susan had been watching his young son as she often kindly did while Fiddleford was at work. He had been taken on in the small town as local handyman and librarian on the side that invented in his spare time ( if he ever found a name for what he was he would let the rest of the town know). Sure it was below his degree, but there was something about the town that intrigued him, something that made his intentions She was a simple but head-strong woman who had just opened a new diner in town and was doing rather well but she kept her own hours and was a friendly soul, so when she had caught wind of Fiddleford having to take his son along with him all day from building to house, unable to find anyone to watch the boy she had almost immediately and firmly offered for Fiddleford to leave him with her at the diner to help her and would then take him home with her if it was a late night for his father. Fiddleford at been embarrassed at first, concluding that that she must have felt like he couldn't take care of his son but she had given him a stern but surprisingly matronly look and said only that she didn't mind and she was fond of the both of them. Neighbors watch out for each other, she had argued had pointed out that being dragged around would make the boy feel like a burden, and Fiddleford hadn't been able to argue further. She had been a blessing to have available after his wife had finally packed her bags and left their long failed relationship with hardly a word. He didn't blame her, although he had been angry at her on behalf of his son for just leaving the boy behind, but it would have been harder for her to live as a single mother in society than it would be for him to live as a single father, and with that though he felt the weight of age he lived in settle more heavily on his shoulders.

Fiddleford had just finished fixing up some of the car engines in the vehicles Howard Gleeful was selling when he was startled by the sound of tires screeching on the road and a cloud of smoke, dust, and gravel filling his vision and nose, causing him to cough and wheeze. He heard the sound of car doors slam and a gruff voice rise over the commotion.

"Holy Shit! Holy Shit! Crap- Goddamn it!"

"Stanford calm the hell down and try to smother it!"

"I can't see anything-gah we're gonna die!"

"Oh my god why are you such a drama queen!?"

They were going to get him killed as well if they didn't put out the fire that seemed to be emanating from the engine of their car, whoever they were and Fiddleford was just not in the mood for this right now. Luckily, he knew where a nearby fire extinguisher was (it was a car dealership obviously there would be one handy), and quickly used it to douse the fire.

When everything had calmed down and the dust had literally finally settled, Fiddleford was able to see the two figures now staring at him in varying degrees of awe and embarrassment. They were obviously twins, both looking almost identical to the other with minor differences. Where one was buff the other was simply well toned, where one had glasses the other did not, and the way they held themselves differed, with one trying to look menacing and the other settling to observe. They both seemed at a loss at what to say so Fiddleford broke the silence that had settled like the dust.

"Y'all need to learn how to deal with somethin' like that without putting yourselves and anyone else around (there he gave them both a pointed look) in danger. Carry a fire extinguisher if you have to but for heavens sake have some kind of plan." Honestly, this was the tone he used with his son and these were grown men.

The muscular one gave what could only be described as a guffaw and exclaimed (he was the one with the gruff voice then) "Ha! What about that? We finally found a situation you don't have a million step plan for poindexter!" The one with glasses shot a glare at his brother that told Fiddleford that this tease was a familiar one to the man and turned back to Fiddleford and adopting a slightly sheepish expression. "I'm sorry about that, we got lost about half an hour back and almost drove off a cliff, we're still a little shaken, usually something like this is no big deal, but we're lucky you were around."

His voice was deep and soft around the edges. It was the voice of someone who used the sound as a tool to interact with the world around them and no more. It was the voice of an observer, of someone accustomed to the quiet places in the world and the loud places of the mind, and Fiddleford immediately found in it a kindred spirit. He also noticed the way the buff one seemed to instantly take stock of his surrounding, looking for threats and sensing the atmosphere of the interaction and adjusting with minute but precise movement.

Okay so maybe they weren't idiots.

"Where y'all headed?" he asked with now genuine curiosity.

"Gravity Falls," glasses answered. "I know we can't be too far, the cliff we got…acquainted with overlooks it I think."

"Well you don't have to worry about much more driving. You're about ten minutes away from downtown."

Both men gave him the same startled look, making them look like exact reflections of each other.

"Really?" glasses seemed shocked.

"Yeah! Finally free from that death trap!" the buff one pumped a fist into the air. "Told you I knew how to navigate Lee!"

"Cliff -Ford okay? Cliff. And it's only a death trap when you drive."

"What are you lookin for all the way out here? There's not much unless you were lookin to live in the wilderness cause we got plenty of that." Fiddleford asked, interrupting bickering he was sure would have gone on for a while without outside intervention.

Oh man they were best friends as well as brothers weren't they?

They shot a look a one another, an intimate and silent conversation happening as they did so. Yup, they were inseparable.

"I'm… here to study the wildlife." It was plausible but Fiddleford wasn't buying it, and while he wasn't normally one to pry, Glasses' voice and a feeling he couldn't name made him press on.

"Nothin here you couldn't find in most of Oregon." He paused a moment, "Unless of course you're talking about our certain brand of wildlife. It's quite unique from what I've been able to gather."

Glasses' face lit up like the sun from behind his previously guarded expression and the buff ones mouth dropped.

"You know?! Oh my gosh-I wasn't sure if the locals would be aware or open with it to outsiders! What have you seen? I've heard there have been gnome sightings! Have you seen any? Are they real? Have you seen the gravity anomalies?" The questions spilled out of the man's mouth at a rapid speed, and his whole body was tense as though he was making a conscious effort to not start jumping up and down. "I've moved here to study all the occurrences I've heard about and hopefully a ton I haven't heard about. That no one has heard about! I'm trying to find a shack on what I think if the edge of town. Do you know how to get there? That's where I want to set up my lab. Any advice? Are there certain materials I shouldn't use or-?"

"Jesus Lee, give the guy a chance to answer you." Buff interrupted with a fond smirk and an exasperated tone and turned to face Fiddleford. "He gets like this when he's excited. If you're not that into this", he made a vague hand gesture, "fairy tale junk better tell him now." At that Glasses crossed his arms and huffed, a slight blush staining his cheeks and showing off previously unseen freckles that a bit adorable and- focus Fiddleford. He could also hear the unspoken warning in Buffs tone that said "mock him and I'll mess you up" and felt both fondness at the protectiveness the man towards his brother and a small bit of panic due to how large the guys arms were and the awareness of how the man could snap him in half like a twig.

"Oh no, we're all aware of the oddness here. Kinda hard to miss if I'm honest, just last week Jake Barton's truck got grabbed by what looked like a giant tentacle from the woods. I've got a degree in engineering but I'm a bit of a scientist myself. I mostly do my research on the side." Fiddleford ducked his head slightly embarrassed. "It's mostly a hobby really, but I know where it is you're looing for and if you're serious about it all I'd be happy to help." He looked back up. "Not too many late hours though, I got a kid to get home to."

"Ugh more college nerds." Buff folded his arms and rolled his eyes, but there was approval in his voice. Glasses grinned wide and it was beautiful. "Excellent I can't wait!"

Then he caught himself and gave an embarrassed chuckle. "Oh man, I just roped you in and I didn't even ask you're name."

"Fiddleford. Fiddleford McGuckett."

"He's Stanford and I'm Stanley Pines."

The smile was wonderful and Fiddleford tried to keep himself from running his hands down his face . This was going to be an adventure whether he wanted one or not (and lets face it, he did).

…

It had been his safe place, the library, filled with silence and knowledge, where books could shake as hard as they could but the building never trembled, built as it was to withstand such things. It was a place where he was never mocked for being a sissy because he would rather read instead of roughing around with the other boys his age, where he didn't have to try to navigate the world without his glasses for fear of them being broken by his childhood tormentors (he learned after the fifth time), and it was that place that had held his favorite person. The photo of this memory was faded now but the impression of soft hazel eyes, light blond hair, a voice like the smoothness or a freshly printed page, and the knowledge that this man would always support him where he was discouraged remained.

Yes, the library had been his sanctuary, so the day it, and the librarian were wrenched from him in a blaze of fire and hate (that day he understood what the word 'homosexual' meant from blood and ash and the screaming mouth of the mob that had raided the building in the night) was the most devastating thing that had ever happened to him. It didn't help that after the event, he realized he had adored the man in his sanctuary of books for another reason besides being support in his oppressive life.

Fiddleford knew what a crush was after all.

That had been the day he truly invested in building his walls, they were the only refuge he could trust to remain.

…

That had been the beginning of a new chapter in Fiddleford's life filled with study, not too many late nights, and the two best friends he had ever gained and would ever have. It was a time of seeing who could grow the biggest beard in two weeks and beating Stanford staggeringly. It was a time of chasing gnomes through the forest, trying to reclaim the loaf of banana bread Susan had baked them. It was a time when Stanford's girlfriend Carla visited often from where she lived in Portland, and happily taught his son to play poker with Stanford. It was a time where Fiddleford felt, for the first time, like he had a family he belonged in.

Stanley had just graduated with his BA in library sciences and soon found a part time job at the library to keep up on payments for the shack in the woods he had bought (really it was all a crazy plan Fiddleford had thought as they had pulled up to the thing on the day of the twins arrival) and to keep the equipment they used up to date.

Stanford had been a door-to-door salesman before joining his brother for Oregon and had found employment, surprisingly enough with Howard at the car dealership.

"My son's on one of those 'cross-country soul-searching bullshit trips. If you want to work and sell enough cars, the job's yours".

Stan was frighteningly good at it.

Fiddleford himself kept mostly to his normal routine, but now with something extraordinary to look forward to every day. There was always something to research or discover. Something to build or dissect and it was a thrilling change from the previous monotony Fiddleford's life had become.

Stanley was a genius, there was no doubt about it. The man could plan and make connections that left even Fiddleford in the dust, though Stanford seemed used to just ignoring all the endless observations and revelations that popped out of his brothers head Often you would find Stanley and Fiddleford hunched together over a new specimen or blueprints for some new invention furiously scribbling notes and holding low murmured discussions that could last for hours on end.

It was Stanford that reminded the both of them to eat, sleep, and bathe. It was Stanford who would make them breakfast, and bring Stanley his glasses when he started squinting in an attempt to read without them. It was Stanford that would tease and mess with them when they were-going-to-become-glued-to-their-chairs-you've-been-looking-at-that-forever-nerds-let's-go-on-a-hike. Honestly, Stanford was the biggest mother hen Fiddleford had ever seen and if it was a day Fiddleford was feeling particularly feisty he would tease Stanford back about it.

"He's not wrong Ford, even our mother wasn't this bad." Stanley once snorted.

"She didn't know how bad you get when you're researching your nerd stuff dork."

It was fiery, strong-willed Carla who would take care of Stanford when Stanley couldn't or just didn't know there was a problem. When Stanford got worked up into a rage over something, or when he became restless during the long hours of research he could not substantially contribute to. It was during those times, Fiddleford knew Stanford would be in good hands. She was good for Sanford and he was good for her. It wasn't often Fiddleford got to see a couple he knew without a doubt should, and probably would live their lives together and achieve a harmony in their relationship that most could only dream about.

Sometimes, though, it would just be Stanford and Stanley. Ford and Lee. They had a connection that made Fiddleford, who in all his years as an only child had never before desired otherwise, wish that he had a sibling. They held long conversations by sharing a look. They were in tune with one another in a way that spoke of a lifetime together. The way that Stanford would refill Stanley's coffee mug during the late nights, how Stanley would always have a towel, hot water, and an ice pack ready when Stanford got back from boxing, how they could tell the mood of the other by the tilt of a head, and so many other things that amazed Fiddleford. It was fascinating to watch, but other times, he had to admit, the moments left him feeling a little lonely, because although these men had welcomed him into their life and home with gusto, he could never know them like they knew each other.

It was with this knowledge and understanding that he sat with Stanford out on the back porch of the shack the brothers now lived one day in the fall about two years after the twins' arrival (research had only just picked up as the first year had mostly been 99% trying to make sure the shack would stay standing).

"Sometimes I think I should just leave Ferds". Well that had been out of nowhere.

"For goodness sake Stanford why would you say a thing like that? Stanley and I would miss you like a limb if you were gone." Stanford huffed a sigh that seemed a cross between amused and angry.

"I bet you guys would barely notice, I mean, I can't help you with all you're nerd stuff. I'm mostly in the way really- that is- I should hit the open road and go on some real adventures." Ah, so that was what this was about. Stanley continued to speak in the rambling way he did when he was feeling agitated or aggressive, " I mean you both went to your stupid colleges and studied god knows what, and that works for this kind of stuff but I didn't do that and it just seems like this stuff isn't anything I can really contribute to and I feel like I'm just standing around without anything real to say or do and-"

"Stanford you are not in the way." Fiddleford interrupted before Stanford could work himself into a tizzy. "You, well, you take care of us and remember that gremoblin you gave a fine left hook to when it tried to bite Stanley's hand?"

"Heck yeah, ugly pile of moss!"

"Then don't feel like you need to leave." Fiddleford smiled the quiet and friendly smile of someone being honest. "You are helpful in ways we need. We need you, the way you think, is not like the way we think. You're smart Stanford don't you think our different paths in life make you think otherwise, we just honed our way of thinking. You see things differently than we do and that makes all the difference. I know Stanley would really feel your absence and so would I." He turned away again and looked into the tree line of the thick woods they could see only a few yards away. "If you're sick of us though, and this is something you feel like you need to do, then know I hope you stay safe. Come visit us too okay?"

Fiddleford wasn't looking so he missed Stanford's brilliant smile and the slight shine that came to his eyes, but he could still hear him and what he heard was;

"Can't get rid of me that easily nerd. Plus Carla would kill me if I started moving far and wide all willy-nilly after I just got here."

…

The years Fiddleford went to college were the most terrifying and amazing years of his life he had experience to that point. He was away from his smothering small town and his smothering parents (he would never be welcomed back but he was beyond caring now, that place had never been home) , and although the campus and surround town weren't huge, he felt like he had all the room in the world. This was a place where learning was the point of the experience!

He had to re-train himself to not hide how much he knew to try to fit in. To ask as many questions as he could and then ask more, He would never forget the time one of his classmates asked him to join in their study circle and had responded cleverly with something like, "You study in groups?"

They gave him information at his fingertips and he grabbed all that he could eagerly and hungrily, and really discovered who he was under the masks he wore back home, now he was in this place that allowed him to take them off. He still didn't tell anyone about the way he loved though. That fear was still too deeply rooted inside of him, still to sharp, and there was no guarantee that most people (because there were some who would have been kind) would accept that of him.

Being able to explore everything else made it bearable for him to bury that part of himself low and deep and he busied himself with his work.

(But sometimes in the evenings or early morning, he would go to the school library, run his fingers across the spines of the shelved book, breath deeply, close his eyes, and remember.)

…..

One day saw Fiddleford playing his banjo in what had become the living room of the shack with his son by his side (they had so often asked in that early days that Fiddleford bring him that it was now simply the way of things to have the kid somewhere around the house) and Stanley on the couch, watching Stanford and Carla to an impromptu jig to the tune he strummed. The warmth he felt was still not one he was used to but now connected with the group of people around him. It was a feeling he had felt in relation to his son but could now feel all around him and had come to identify simply as 'family'.

That evening as he packed up his instrument and started to put a coat on his son the boy had protested, "But I don't wanna go yet I wanna dance with Uncle Stanford!" Fiddleford had sputtered a few times while Stanley, after a moment, broke into laughter, and Stanford blinked at the child.

"Well", he began after a moment and ruffled the hair on the kids head with a fond smirk on his face, "never been an uncle before and at the rate poindexter seems to be going don't think I'm ever gonna get there."

"Hey!"

Fiddleford's stomach dropped, because as Stanford had said this, his eyes had flicked to Fiddleford in that knowing way they sometimes did. He knew.

"How bout it Fids, one more dance won't hurt anyone?"

The rest of the night was a blur of one more song, and the drive home, and the sleepless night that followed. Stanford knew, and Fiddleford could only agonize over the dread that now he would be excluded from this family he had found, that Stanford hated him. Logically he knew that if this were true the evening, and possibly time long before this, would have gone very differently, but a lifetime of fear is hard to unlearn in one night.

However, the next day Stanford treated him with the same abrasive tenderness he always had, and not only did the knot of worry in his chest untangle, he felt lighter than he had in-in years. Stanford knew and that was okay.

He was accepted here.

There must come a day, however, when the rock of the group is shaken and needs a rock themselves, for life comes for us all and the people we surround ourselves with determine how we will navigate it when it does.

It was around midnight, when the phone rang. Fiddleford had been at the shack for one of his late nights (Susan would watch his son and put him to bed those days and she never stopped being a miracle) studying what appeared to be a magic amulet with Stanley and had answered to let Stanley finish taking notes in the second journal he was filling out (he had already finished a first one and it seemed to be trending).

"Hello this is the Pines residence this is Fiddleford speaking."

"Fiddleford, it's Stanford, get me Stanley." His voice sounded gruffer that normal but if he was too tipsy to walk home again…

"Stanford can it wait a minute? We're right in the middle of something-"

"Please." Stanford interrupted him for once. "Just-just tell him will-o-the-wisps okay?"

The event of Stanford saying 'please' made Fiddleford obey without another thought. This was serious.

That became even more apparent after he repeated the phrase to Stanley. The man's face when from deep concentration to determination and concern in less than a second and had grabbed the phone from Fiddleford's hand.

"What's going on Stanford, are you okay?" It was the first time outside of an argument that Fiddleford had heard Stanley use his brother's full name.

"What do you mean you drove-?" His eyes widened and became hard for a moment. They were angry, in the cold sort of way that if much more frightening than a red face and a raised voice could ever be.

"I'm on my way, just don't do anything else." Stanley hung up the phone and glanced at Fiddleford. His eyes thawed enough that Fiddleford didn't feel as weary but he was still trying to navigate this side of Stanley he had never seen.

"Stanford okay? What was that phrase for?"

"He's not hurt, just in jail. I've got to go pay his bail." Fiddleford blinked. Sure Stanford was hot headed but he'd not done something that stupid as long as Fiddleford had known him, which was pushing four years and wasn't he visiting Carla this weekend? "And the phrase was something we came up with when we were kids. It's like a personal SOS for an emergency."

"What happened?"

"He-" Stanley sighed, "he crashed a guys car into a ditch. I've got to go drive to Portland to get him but I don't have a car since Ford took it to get there…"

"Take my truck. I know it's not the best but it should get you there. I'll go ahead and close up shop." Stanley gave him a tired smile at that.

"Thanks Fids I appreciate it" He turned to leave and Fiddleford called after him.

"Y'all stay safe now!"

He didn't see Stanford for a few days, and after the first few times of Stanley meeting his inquisitive gaze with and sad sigh and a shake of his head, Fiddleford dropped it. That didn't stop him the third day after the phone call, when he finally saw Stanford out on the back porch watching the evening sky, from grabbing a few beers and joining him.

"So what happened with Carla?" there was no way this conversation wouldn't begin awkwardly so he was going to cut to the chase.

"who said anything had to do with her?" came the short reply, after another swig of beer.

Fiddleford smiled sadly and looked into the distance and replied "I was in a failed marriage for several years Stanford. I know when it's about a woman." It had ended horribly and had been unfair to the both of them but he got his son out of it and he would NEVER regret anything that led to him.

They sat in silence for a bit longer before Stanford broke it.

"She left me."

"Huh?" The confusion in his tone must have sounded as earnest as he meant it to be because Stanford didn't get angry, only sighed.

"She left me for some…some…hippy. I guess she wasn't happy or I did something wrong or that freak hypnotized her somehow but-" he paused and took another swig. " She jumped straight into his arms, so I crashed his car into a ravine. That's why I was in jail."

Fiddleford processed this and said nothing, thinking to himself that Carla had thrown something rare away. She wouldn't find another relationship like the one she had so carelessly left and that was going to haunt her for the rest of her life.

"You're never going to have a thing with Lee you know." As soon as the words left Stanford's mouth Fiddleford felt his face shut down into the most guarded expression he had and Stanford must have seen it because he quickly added "Shit, I didn't mean it like that- damn I shouldn't talk when I'm drunk." He ran a hand down his face. "To be honest Fiddleford if my brother swung that way I'd love to have you for a brother in law, but he's oblivious and now he's dating Alma and I don't-" he took a breath. "I don't want you to feel this- what I'm feeling, because it's all you'll get from that."

Fiddleford melted and wrapped an arm around Stanford's broad shoulders as best he could. "There's lots of different ways to love someone and I knew nothing would ever- I mean you always hope but- well I know when it's just a dream. Don't you worry about me." He looked Stanford in the eyes, "Don't let this stop that big ol heart of yours from lovin you hear? That's what it was made for." Stanford dropped his gaze.

"I'm not okay yet. I don't know how okay I'll ever be after this I mean- I was gonna propose to her…" Fiddleford gripped a little tighter "but I'll try Fids."

"Hey Fids."

"Yeah?"

"We're gonna be okay right?"

"Course, we've all got each other."

And the two sat in the sweet summer twilight with the bitter thoughts of knowing they could never have the one they wanted most.

….

Time passed, research was made, Fiddleford's son continued to grow, wounds scarred over, and wedding bells rand for Stanley. Life went on, and it wasn't easy but it was fulfilling and Fiddleford wouldn't have traded it for anything in the world.

Then came the day not long after his honeymoon ended , that Stanley found the cave. The cave with the drawings of a triangle and a spell.

The chapter ended.

Enter Bill Cipher.