Chapter Text
One Week Later...
Stan stared down at his fresh cup of coffee, watching the steam rise off the dark brown surface. The warmth radiating from the mug combatted the chilly draft that crept in from outside. He took a sip and turned to look out the kitchen window. It was still snowy and frosty, but it seemed the warmth was returning little by little. Sure, it was still cold as balls, but it was certainly a bit better than it had been when Stan had arrived what felt like a lifetime ago.
The coffee flowed through his body, spreading its warmth through his chest as he let out a long sigh. He turned to Fidds, who was leaning on the wall with his phone pressed up against the landline. Stan wasn’t sure how the conversation was going, but based on the smile on Fidd’s face, he could only assume it was good.
As Stan took another sip, he heard heavy footsteps and turned just in time to see Ford stumbling sleepily into the kitchen. Stan chuckled at the sight of his brother’s messy bedhead, crooked glasses, and rumpled pajamas. If there was one thing Ford was not, it was a morning person. Not that Stan was either, he reminded himself as he took another long sip of coffee.
“Mornin’, bro.” Stan smiled.
“Morning, Stan, Morning, Fidds.” Stanford yawned. He started for the coffee machine only to stop and smile when he saw Stan had already poured him a mug. He said a thank you, something he’d done more times in the past week than ever in his life, Stan noted, and took his seat.
“How’d you sleep?” Stan asked.
“Not bad.” Ford replied, immediately perking up after taking a swig. “I think I got a whole six hours last night.”
“Wow? Six? Must be a record.” Stan chuckled.
Ford rolled his eyes and brushed his hand through his hair a little. He moved a strand, letting the kitchen light glint off of his shiny, aluminum earrings.
All three of them wore them now. Apparently, aluminum was actually really good at keeping demons out of your head. Ford had originally suggested having plates installed in their heads, but Stan had wisely opted for something more stylish and less… lobotomy-ish.
“Uh huh. Sounds good.” Fiddleford chucked to whoever was on the other end of the phone. “Alright, well I’ll call you again later tonight, buddy. Then you can tell me all about your math test. I love you too, Tater Tot, goodbye.”
Fidds hung up and let out a happy sigh, before sitting down at the table. “I take it that things went well?” Stanley asked.
“Yeah. Pretty great. Emma May and I had a long talk. I told her how sorry I was that I’d hurt her and we both decided that, even though this was the end of our marriage, it didn’t mean we had to start resenting each other. I’ll be going down to Palo Alto for a few days next week, and we’ll try to work out a nice settlement. Oh, and she’d let me have partial custody of Tate! She said I could bring him up here from time to time!”
“Oh, that’s wonderful, Fidds! I’m so happy for you. And it’ll be nice having Tate here sometimes. Although, we might want to keep him out of the forest. The gnomes have been bitey lately.”
The two of them laughed together as they recalled a time last year they’d gone gnome hunting to disastrous results. Stan watched them both, noticing they way their hands naturally found their way together on the table, or all the causal physical affection they shared as they were lost in the story.
Stan smiled. It didn’t take a genius to realize that the two of them had a relationship that went beyond simple friendship. He’d seen the blushing, the stolen glances, the fact that Fiddleford’s computer password was literally ‘Stanford’. Not to mention he was pretty sure the two of them hadn’t slept in separate beds since the possession incident.
Good for them, Stan thought. They were a pair of nerdy little geeks who were practically made for one another, and he was happy for them. He wouldn’t say anything just yet though. He knew first hand that grappling with that fact that you were… less than heterosexual could be daunting, and he wanted to let them get comfortable with that on their own terms.
He just wondered if Fidds knew about the kissing robot yet. If not, it would be just awful if someone were to spill that secret…
The three of them spent the next hour just talking, exchanging stories, sipping coffee, and being sickeningly domestic. Once Stan had totally drained his mug, he stared down at his reflection at the bottom. He noticed how much happier he looked. So much less tired than he had been in Reno, and Vegas, and Colombia, and all the other places he’d been.
Life really did have a way of throwing him curveballs. All those years he’d spent traveling the country. Chasing riches. Chasing fame. Chasing the love of a father that deep down he knew he’d never really get. All that time he’d spent chasing happiness, and he’d wind up finding it in the last place he expected. A sleepy little town full of cryptids, ghosts, and mysteries. In a cabin built on top of a collapsed rip in reality. In a dinky little kitchen with his brother and (possible) brother-in-law. Somehow, this was the happiest he’d felt in a long time.
Without saying a word, he got up, walked to the other side of the table, and wrapped Ford up in a big hug. Stanford looked at him like he was crazy, but made no move to pull away.
“What’s this for?” He asked.
“No reason. Just felt like it.” Stan simply replied, resting his chin on Ford’s shoulder.
“Heh. Well maybe I feel like one too.” Ford hugged him back, pulling him impossible closer. Fiddleford somehow wormed his own way into the hug, but neither of them minded.
Stan sighed again and looked out the window. The snow was starting to fall again. Who cared? Sure it was cold out there, but in here, it was as warm as could be.