"We'll meet again... Doo doo doo...Da da doo..." Stan hummed to himself as he flipped a few of his famous stancakes. The boat had been outfitted with a small griddle, so while his brother looked for signs the Stan O War II was still on course, Stan had decided to make some breakfast.

Stanford entered the room just as Stan had begun singing to himself, smiling at first, then staring, mouth agape in horror as he recognized the tune. "Stanley?" he asked tentatively, half-expecting another entity entirely.

Stan turned around, "Hey, Sixer!" When he saw the look on his brother's face, he frowned, "What'samatter?"

"That song...?"

Stan shrugged, turning back to the counter space with the griddle, "It's been stuck in my head for a while. Why?"

"No, it's nothing." Stanford turned away.

Before he could leave, Stan called out over his shoulder, "Hey, where are you going? I made stancakes!" He flipped a couple onto a plate beside the griddle, "C'mon, poindexter. They're better hot."

Stanford hesitantly returned to take a seat, gingerly taking the plate from his brother, "Thank you."

Stan smiled at his brother, teasing him, "You're gettin' better at that."

Stanford returned the smile, relaxing a bit now that the moment had passed. Perhaps it was just a coincidence.

Once he'd finished cooking the remainder of the batch, Stan joined him, adding a couple of stancakes to his brother's plate, "Hey, pass the syrup."

Stanford half-grinned and held it up, "Speaking of manners, why don't you work on saying please?"

Stan grimaced, "Eesh. You've been spending too much time with Mabel. I'd rather eat them plain."

Satisfied that his brother was now acting himself, Stanford set the syrup by Stan's plate, pausing for a moment afterwards to delicately pluck a hair out of one of his stancakes.

"So," Stan began, maintaining a neutral face as he spoke, "What's with that song?" He snickered, "Some Martian girl dump you while it was playing or something?"

Stanford should have expected Stan to ask. After all, his reaction had been...dramatic. He even considered lying, but in the end, he settled for honesty. "Not quite." He pushed a crumb around his syrup-covered plate, "It's just...the last time I heard it was when Bill sang it during the Weirdmageddon."

Stan's face fell and a sour frown formed. He stabbed at the unfortunate stancake left on his plate and spoke in a low voice, "I've never liked that song."

"Stanley..." Stanford wasn't quite sure what to say to break the sudden tension that arose at mentioning their former nemesis, "I-"

"That damn triangle ain't comin' back," Stan emphatically cut him off, "He's dead. Some stupid song doesn't change that."

Stanford straightened, "Of course. I was just...caught off guard. I didn't mean to..." His voice trailed off. Stan wouldn't even look at him now. "Stanley," he sighed, "You're right. You beat him. He's gone." He stared down at his hand, then looked up with a smile, "Hey...high six?"

Stan finally looked up at him.

"Don't leave me hanging."

Then, he grinned and extended a hand.

Everything really was fine after all.