Fiddleford shakily got to his feet, he was shivering. “You have a brother?”

“How did you get inside?” Ford said, his voice warbling, Grimm pressed against his leg with his hackles raised.

“Oh.” Fiddleford said, “It was unlocked.”

Ford looked around frantically before shouldering past Fiddleford and inspecting the door. He latched all eight locks and moved over the chain. He turned back to Fiddleford and pulled a flashlight out of his trench coat. Without warning, he grabbed him by the shirt and shined the light into each eye.

The man shouted and tried to push Ford away. Ford relaxed slightly. He let go of Fiddleford and stepped back.

“Why are you here?” Ford said as if nothing had happened. Grimm punctuated the statement with a snarl.

“I… I uh, well.” Fiddleford said, blinking rapidly before deciding to ignore what had just happened. “I picked up some mighty strange energy signatures comin’ from this cabin a’ yours an’ I assumed that you were-“

“I’m not.” Ford interrupted him, and he glanced toward the kitchen suspiciously.

Stan raised an eyebrow from his place in the doorway of the T-rex room. Not that Ford could see him.

“Ah well, I-“ Fiddleford said, wringing his hands “I’m glad to hear that.”

“Yes, I’m sure you are,” Ford said, still looking around as if something was going to jump out at him.

Fiddleford stared at the floor.

“If that’s everything you can leave,” Ford said, crossing his arms.

“Well…“ Fiddleford began, before glancing at the door.

Ford sighed. “Let’s talk in the kitchen.”

Stan gritted his teeth. Part of him was livid that Ford was inviting the invader closer to him. The other part recognized that Ford was trying to get closer to him, because he was clearly uncomfortable being alone around Fiddleford, and he didn’t know that Stan was standing in the doorway.

Stan walked over to the kitchen, sitting down in his chair.

“Brownie.” He said,

The spider had been crouched over the sealed cabinet. He jerked his head toward the table and she scrambled underneath it.

The two men entered the kitchen a moment later. Ford was carrying the dictionary, and he set it down on the table before sitting. Grimm trotted in after them and curled around Ford’s chair. Fiddleford took a step toward where Stan was sitting, and Grimm snarled. The man flinched and stood awkwardly next to the table.

Ford intertwined his fingers and put his hands on the table. He stopped looking around, instead he was staring passively at Fiddleford. Stan recognized the nervous habit and crossed his arms. He stared at Fiddleford and tried to imagine pulling up his Status. Wiz obliged.

NAME: Fiddleford Hadron McGucket, Father of the Unseen

LV: 21

EXP TO NEXT LV: 99/150

RACE: Human

CLASS: Antimemeticist

EQUIPPED: Memory Gun

REPUTATION: Hostile

CURRENT STATUS EFFECTS: Brain fog III

HP: 58/60

MP: 12/12

STR: 6

DEF 7

AGL: 4

SPD: 8

INT: 15 (-7)

WIZ: 1 (-12)

CHAR: 2

He has a gun. A memory gun. Whatever the heck that was. Stan tensed, and he could feel Brownie and Grim tense with him. The second thing he noticed was how Fiddleford had a higher base INT than Ford. That made him cross his arms and huff. Stan was confident that if Ford was in his twenties he’d have a higher INT than this guy. He rolled his shoulders.

Fiddleford was all and all, a Threat. Capital T. A guy with a gun and eleven points negative in Wisdom, which Stan was pretty sure was just a fancy way to say common sense and a bunch of words in his Status that Stan didn’t know. He glanced at the dictionary in front of him. Wondering if he could use it without alerting Fiddleford to his presence.

“Stanferd, I- I’ve been thinkin’ about this and…” Fiddleford began, shifting uneasily. “I’m glad that you’re not workin’ on th’ portal right now.” There was clear disbelief in his voice “But, whatever was causin’ those energy spikes is probably just as dangerous.”

Ford cracked his knuckles. “I have no idea what caused your readings. As you can probably see.” He gestured down to Grimm, then added unconvincingly. “I’ve been dog-sitting.”

Stan snorted.

Fiddleford gave him a skeptical look. “Somethin’ in me doubts that Stanferd. I’ve known you for a while now and you don’t jus’ stop. You keep goin’ and goin’ until somethin’ else catches your fancy.”

Ford shrugged unconvincingly. “Perhaps you don’t know me as well as you thought you did.”

Fiddleford reached into his jacket. Grimm snarled. Brownie prepared to pounce. Fiddleford threw a stack of crumpled graphs onto the table. Stan relaxed slightly. Ford raised an eyebrow, picked them up, and began to sort through the shaky handwriting. He squinted at the papers and looked over them with intensity. Fiddleford seemed calmer than before.

Ford analyzed each paper with withering intensity, before he set them back on the table, and glanced in Stan’s direction. He missed his eyes by a few inches but Stan appreciated the gesture.

“I see,” Ford said passively.

“Do you?” Fiddleford replied. “Whatever it is, it's fluctuating wildly, and only getting stronger.”

Ford stood up and began to pace, he was chewing on his cheek. “I know what is causing them. It’s nothing to worry about.”

Fiddleford sighed and turned to face him, leaning on the table. “I figured’ you would. And it’s certainly somethin’ to worry about Stanferd.”

Stan glanced at the topmost graph. Shoot. It was one of the spikey ones with ups and downs based on dates. The five largest spikes seemed to match up with when he woke up, meeting Brownie, his contract with Bill, when he ate- melted his corpse and Grimm.

Shoot. This was his fault, wasn’t it?

“It isn’t,” Ford said, turning Stan’s attention back to the conversation. “I can vouch for him.”

Stan groaned.

“Him?” Fiddleford asked.

Ford seemed to realize his mistake. “It's none of your business.”

“Stanferd,” Fiddleford said, his hands shaking a little. “I have a son. I want the world to exist long enough for him to grow up. If ya keep messing with things ya don’t understand-“

“Everything is under control!” Ford snapped, spinning around. Grimm stood up.

“I’m sure it is!” Fiddleford said, throwing his arms up. “Havin’ magical energy leakin’ outta your house like there was a maginuclear meltdown. Seems like things are mighty controlled.”

“Don’t criticize a situation you know nothing about Fiddleford.” Ford practically growled. Stan didn’t miss how Ford was hovering around where his core was hidden.

“I wouldn’t be surprised if you’re hidin’ a category ten in here!” Fiddleford said,

Ford reacted as if he’d been slapped. “He isn’t- This isn’t a ghost.”

“I feel like a ghost.” Stan said, looking down at his hands, “Pr-e-t-t-y ghostly over here.”

Of course, they didn’t hear him.

“Oh, what is it then? Please enlighten’ me. I’d love to hear about your current terrible life choices.”

“I don’t need to tell you anything,” Ford said, crossing his arms and fixing Fiddleford with an angry glare. “Even if I did you probably would just forget it anyway.”

“I’m helpin’ people! Unlike you.” Fiddleford hissed. “All you’ve done is put everyone around you in danger.”

Ford seethed. Fiddleford reached into his jacket.

“You know what? This- This entire visit was a mistake!” There was a hysterical note to his voice.

Stan stood up. “Brownie. Grimm.”

“I- I shoulda just started with this! My fault for thinkin’ you’d listen to reason.”

“Fiddleford-“ Ford said, backing up, he bumped up against the counter.

Fiddleford pulled out the gun.

The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

It wasn’t what Stan was expecting. It was a bright goldish orange thing, generally recognizable as a gun shape, with a blue lightbulb in its front. A small dial with letters connected to a screen. On it was written The Last Three Months in bubbly green font.

Stan sighed in relief, it was some kind of a children’s toy, this guy was clearly unstable-

Ford had a terrified expression on his face. Fiddleford fired the gun. A bright blue laser shot forward. Ford lunged to the side, barely dodging the blast. He landed sprawled on the floor. Stan stared blankly for a split second as everything clicked into place.

Memory Gun. Sweet Moses that was a Memory gun.

“Gri-“ Stan began, the dog didn’t wait for him to finish before tackling Fiddleford.

The man yelped as he was once again pinned to the ground. His glasses flew off and the gun slipped from his hand. Grimm stood on his back.

“Brownie get the-“

The spider dashed forward wrapping her foremost legs and dragging it out of reach and under her body. She hissed at Fiddleford for good measure. He didn’t seem concerned about Grimm now, instead, he kept squinting at the gun, an almost desperate look on his face. “Please-“

Grimm cut him off with a low growl, putting a paw on his head to force it to the ground. Fiddleford went silent.

Stan felt rage build in his chest. This stranger had come into his domain. He had attacked his brother. He had tried to convince Ford that Stan was dangerous.

Ford was breathing heavily as he slowly stood up. “I- I’m glad you picked up the glass Stanley.” He said with a half-smile that failed to hide his shaken expression. Stan noticed that the cuts on his arms seemed to have opened back up, and fresh bloodstains appeared on the silk bandages. Stan was fully prepared to tell Grimm to kill his prey, but took a deep breath, the first one since Fiddleford had entered the house.

Fiddleford opened his mouth, but then thought better of it and clamped it shut.

Stan walked over to Brownie. She pulled away from the gun to let him get a better look. He was interested mostly in the dial. He pulled it into his inventory, which elicited a whimper from Fiddleford.

Brownie crawled onto the counter. Ford watched her. Stan placed the gun on the counter next to Brownie.

“T” Stan said aloud. Brownie looked at him for a moment, then at the dial. She moved the dial to ‘t’. A green ‘T’ appeared on the screen.

Ford walked over. “we’re not erasing his memories.” He said with finality.

Stan tossed a fork onto the counter. Ford knitted his brow. Stan directed Brownie until the dial read.

Talk Now

A twitching smile crossed Ford’s face, but it quickly faded. “I don’t think it’s the best time.”

Stan rubbed his face. He’d meant it as more of a ‘explain yourself right this instant.’ But, whatever. He started directing Brownie into the next word.

Invader

“That’s a bit of a strong word... Although…” Ford turned around to Fiddleford. “No, you are correct. If we let him go I bet he’ll just go back to his cult-“

“It’s a society!” Fiddleford snapped, and Grimm smacked him in the head with an oversized paw. Causing him to hiss in pain and go silent again.

“To his cult,” Ford continued, “I believe they have more memory guns as well. I don’t think that we would be able to fight off all of them. Even with The Grim and Spider’s help.”

Dispose

“Hm?” Ford said he looked at the message for a moment before comprehension dawned on his face “Stanley! Absolutely not. Don’t make jokes like that.”

Stan hadn’t been joking.

OK

“He wasn’t… deranged before.” Ford said, “There was an incident.”

Dangerous

Ford sighed. “I suppose so.”

Cuff 2 table

“Possibly, I don’t own handcuffs, maybe we could tie him up somehow…” Ford rubbed his chin thoughtfully

Stan hesitated. He glanced at the small red stains on Ford’s bandages, then out the window, then to Fiddleford. He placed his car keys on the counter next to the memory gun. He wasn’t sure he wanted Ford hiking through the snow, much less driving in it. Ford had drastically improved since Bill had left and he had eaten something, but Stan was still pretty sure he was running on fumes. Then again. Invader.

Trunk

“…Oh.” Ford said, “Oh. Yes. You had to have gotten here somehow.” He frowned slightly, “it’s a good thing Steve hibernates.”

Stan didn’t bother to ask who Steve was. He had Brownie skitter over to Fiddleford, and Grimm to walk up to Ford.

“…Stanley I’m not sure that’s wise,” Ford said as Fiddleford cautiously sat up.

Grimm wagged his tail and head-butted Ford’s leg. Ford sighed and snatched the keys off the counter. “Well then. Lead the way.”

Stan zworped the memory gun. “Grimm, past the clearing, out onto the side of the road. Sniff it out or somethin’”

He barked affirmatively. Stan glanced at the Brownie’s cabinet, the door was closed but he found that he could still sense it. He pulled his jacket into his inventory and placed it, neatly folded onto the counter next to Ford. His expression shifted to a melancholy one as he pulled it on over his trench coat. How cold was it? Stan wondered. Fiddleford had been shivering since he came in.

Grimm trotted out of the kitchen. Ford followed him. Stan turned his attention back to where Fiddleford sat on the floor, having a staring match with Brownie. When there was the sound of a door closing, and locks clicking into place, Fiddleford finally spoke.

“So. Is yer name Stanley?” Fiddleford said, gesturing to Brownie.

Brownie shook her head.

“It probably seems like ol’ Sixer’s gone bonkers huh.” Stan chuckled.

“You can understand me?” Fiddleford said,

Brownie nodded.

“I’ve never seen a spider quite like you before,” Fiddleford said.

Brownie hissed at the flattery.

“Good girl,” Stan said.

“Look, that thingmajig a’ mine don’t hurt nobody. It’s for his own good. An’ I mean it.” Fiddleford said,

He sounded sincere. Stan wasn’t sure if he was just a good liar, or if his brain had been melted enough that he actually believed that.

Brownie hissed again.

“Jus’ give it back. Please. I need it.” Fiddleford said, “Look I won’t never come around here gain. Please.”

There was something in his voice that gave Stan pause. He turned around and inspected Fiddleford’s face. He’d met a lot of druggies and alcoholics. Heck. He’d been both at one time or another.

It's harmless. I need it. It’s perfectly safe. Brain Fog.

Stan didn’t notice when Fiddleford’s reputation changed from Hostile to Pitied.

-------------------------

Ford shuffled out of the house. There wasn’t much of a temperature difference, but the wind blew strongly enough to make it feel colder. His breaths came out in puffs. The Grim didn’t seem affected by the snow, and instead ran ahead gleefully, plowing a path through the two-foot-high powder. Luckily, it hadn’t started to turn to slush. He gripped Stan’s keys with one hand, the metal was warm, presumably from whatever subspace storage dimension Stan had access to.

Fiddleford had parked near the house. His truck left a large rut in the snow leading up to the house. The Grim barked at him from several yards away, and Ford stepped off the porch, the stairs completely buried. He slipped into The Grim’s trail and began to walk after him. Within only ten or so yards of the house, exhaustion hit him, and he needed to stop to catch his breath. Frigid air stung his lungs and The Grim somehow appeared in front of him and poked a warm muzzle at his leg.

“Go on,” Ford said. “I’m fine.”

The Grim whimpered and instead began to walk just ahead of him, almost seeming to push as much snow out of the way as possible before continuing. Ford smiled dimly and pulled the hoodie of Stan’s jacket over his head. He braced himself for the scent of death, and body odor, but instead was only greeted by the faint smell of cigarettes, cheap cologne, and the faint musk of the Spider. He gritted his teeth. Stan had been buying the same cologne since they were twelve, apparently. He didn’t even think they still sold it.

He remembered throwing Stan’s bottle at the wall after the incident. Then sleeping on the couch for a week after because he kept turning to look for him whenever the air in the room would shift…

The slower pace was easier to keep up with.

It felt like hours passed before they reached the edge of the clearing, although the sun hadn’t moved. He was breathing heavily as a large snow-covered lump came into view. It sat directly at the edge of the clearing. They had past Fiddleford’s car ages ago. The Grim started to dig at the snow around it, and a flash of red was revealed. Ford furrowed his brow. It’d be impossible for him to dig it out in his current state. He could only hope that the trunk was accessible from the inside.

Ford forced his way forward, getting thoroughly soaked now without The Grim breaking the snow. He reached the car and pushed snow away from the sides. His teeth began to chatter and by the time he found the handle he realized that he was at risk of getting seriously ill if he didn’t warm up soon. He fumbled with the keys, his cramped and iced-over hands nearly dropping them twice before he was able to fit them in the lock. With some difficulty, he pulled open the door just wide enough for him to slip inside, then shut it.

The interior of the car was nearly pitch black, because of the snow thickly coating the windows. He was instantly assaulted by the smell of cheap booze, cigarettes, and cologne mixed with rancid food and sweat. Ford did his best to ignore it. At least there was no wind. He heard The Grim still working on digging out the car. He felt for the ignition, and once again struggled to insert the key. When he finally did, the car sputtered and died. Ford would’ve been more surprised if it did start on the first try. He hoped that it didn’t need a jump. He knew it would probably worry Stan, and maybe even Fiddleford if he was sane enough to realize it, but he needed to take a break. And, if possible find a way to drive back instead of walking.

Ford hadn’t realized how out of shape he was. He leaned back in the chair, it was threadbare but conformed to his body nicely, like there was an indent slightly larger than himself that he fit in perfectly. He was tired. Suddenly he wasn’t nearly as cold as before. His wet clothes were heavy, I’d be so easy just to sleep... He stiffened, leaned forward, and tried the ignition again. This time, it worked. The car groaned to life. He cranked the heater, reached toward the sunshade/mirror thing, and flipped it down.

The two automatic map lights flicked on, illuminating the car in a sickly pale glow, and Ford was suddenly transported eleven years into the past. This was the StanleyMobile. He still had the StanleyMobile. It was dirtier now, and worn, but it was the same car. The same car that Stan had spent months saving up for before they turned sixteen. A picture had been pinned to the sunshade and Ford cautiously unpinned it and held it closer to his face so he could see.

He nearly dropped it. It was a picture of Stan and him after boxing practice. A teenage Stan had him in a headlock, they were both grinning at the camera. He felt his vision blur. He remembered his ma taking this picture. He missed his brother.

Which was stupid. Because he and Stan were in the same house for the first time in a decade. Which was stupid because he had done his best to not think about Stanley until Bill revealed his true nature. Which was stupid because he had been the one to kill him in the first place.

Ford found himself hunched over the steering wheel. His hands gripped it tightly and his body shook from a mixture of shivers and tearless grief. Eventually light found its way into the car as The Grim dug through the snow. After the only half-working heater had improved the temperature in the car slightly, Ford tried the windshield wipers. They predictably didn’t move.

He opened the door and winced at the wind biting into his wet clothes. He stood up and, as quickly as he could pushed the snow off the hood of the car and windshield. He grabbed one of the wipers and thwapped it against the foggy glass. The ice encrusting it fell away, and he repeated the movement with the other wiper. Ford returned to the car and tried the windshield wipers again, this time they worked, although there was no fluid.

Ford sighed and peered out the blurry windshield. The path that Fiddleford’s car had made in the snow was barely visible. He opened the door.

“Uh. Grim?” Ford said

The dog didn’t respond and kept digging at the tires.

“Dog? Beast?” Ford said

“Grimm. Here boy.” Ford tried, using a more playful tone and holding the ‘m’ longer.

Instantly The Grim bounded toward him and jumped into the car. Scrambling over him like a whirlwind of black fur. Ford coughed. The beast sat down in the passenger seat somehow devoid of snow.

“Now why did that work?” Ford mused. “…Don’t tell me Stanley named you Grimm.”

His tail wagged.

Ford began to chuckle because of course Stan did.