You Think It's Worth It? (Fiddlestan)

Chapter 9: Tension

Stanley's glassy eyes refocus as he's brought back to the present. There are a few lights blinking on the metal machine in front of him, the smell of mildew in the cold air, and the sounds of both men breathing.

He can feel something thick in his mind, like a fog that wouldn’t quite clear, and he struggles to remember why he’d come down here with Fiddleford in the first place. It had to be the hangover—lingering longer than it should, clouding his thoughts. He knows he drank more than he had in a long time, but this was something new. Was it because he was getting older?
He glances over at Fiddleford, who's studying the portal with a focused intensity, and feels a pang of embarrassment rise up, worried he might have left Fiddleford to his anxieties. But no matter how hard he tries, he can’t shake the feeling that he was forgetting something important, something just out of reach, pressing on the edges of his mind.

Stanley takes a breath, steadying himself, and walks over to where Fiddleford stands, the man's gaze distant, eyes a bit too wide, as if he were lost somewhere he couldn’t escape from. “Hey, Fids, you alright?” Stanley asks gently, trying to mask his worry with a casual tone, and reaches a hand to Fids's arm. Fiddleford flinches just slightly, then glances over with a forced, small smile. “Yeah, just… all the memories resurfacing, is all,” he says, voice thin. "Workin' on this portal before... well, it wasn’t all good times, y'know?” Stan nods, watching him closely, but he can’t shake the sense that something darker flickers behind Fiddleford’s eyes, a heaviness he hadn't seen before.
"You wanna talk about it?" Stan asks, his hand retreating from the other.

Fiddleford looks hurt at the lack of touch, his face falling as he speaks, "Er, well, I remember how we messed up, how Ford and I worked together to build the portal, and how it broke during one of our test runs...taking him away."

"You know I've been trying to fix this fucking thing. If you help, maybe we could bring him back together?" Stan asks, shifting from one foot to the other, feeling a strange tension from the other man, but chalking it up to the flooding of traumatic memories.

"Stanley, as much as I'd love to help you get yer brother back, we can't. It's too dangerous... the things I saw in there, I'm not sure putting the world at risk is worth it...especially if Ford is, dead." His voice trails off into a whisper at the last part and Stan stiffens for a moment. "Okay...yeah, you're probably right. I just miss him... We didn't get to make up after all these years." Is all his foggy brain can think to say, even though a part of him wants to scream and yell that Ford isn't dead - he'd be able to tell. He doesn't know how, but he knows in his gut it's true.

Fiddleford's expression softens to something close to pity, feeling the guilt boil inside him. "I know, but I'm sure you would have. He loved you."

The moment is interrupted by the loud ringing of the telephone upstairs and Stan turns away from Fiddleford, and jogs up the steps hurriedly.
There are only two people he could be expecting to call him at this place; Fiddleford, who was with him right now, and Ace.
He pants slightly from running up the stairs and answers the phone. "Hello."

"Ah, Stanley Pines," the smooth, carefree, but terrifying voice of Ace slides down the phone. "I'm glad you answered so quickly. Already making things easy for me. I'll get right down to it; a shipment will be delivered to you tonight at midnight. Make sure you've got a prepared location for the product, and you're home. If you're not, well, you know."

Stanley swallows, he does know. His injuries are still a very real reminder of their time together. "Yes sir."

"I like you Stan. Don't ruin that." Ace warns, then the line goes dead.

Stanley is listening to the constant buzz of the line's tone as Fiddleford closes the vending machine behind him and walks into the kitchen. Stanley hears the footsteps and hangs the phone back up.