A/N - Hello, everyone! My name is Katapultman and if you decided to click onto this first page then that means you'll bear witness to my first ever fanfiction! Due to my love for the show, I've had this idea lingering around for years on end, but I never got to writing it, so when push came to shove, I decided I ought to finally try and write a fanfiction about GF. Anyway, enough hearing me yammer about, enjoy the first chapter of a possible series!

EDIT 23/5/2019: Current chapter progress - Chapter 7: 90% done. Expect release (AGAIN) by the end of the month (I know, I suck A LOT.) Will offer full explanation as to absence and will surprise with a gracious length ;).

Chapter I - The Arrival

It was a normal evening for Stanley Filbrick Pines - lounging in his usual armchair, watching the usual dull programs that aired on TV that night, and of course, wearing his usual evening attire – a white tank top, coupled with cyan shorts in symmetric white stripes topped off with a rather comfortable pair of slippers. Although barely paying even a slither of attention to the infomercials being broadcasted and looking more the style of a half-dead zombie, he ignored all of it because he was reminiscing about his days of normalcy, as he had been used to doing so for years on end now - about the times when he had a family that loved him despite everything he was, when he took the memories that he now cherishes, the ones that, dare he think, keep him going in life, for granted. But most of all, he thought about his brother, whom he had always known as his other half. Stanley thought about every moment in which Stanford had helped him cheat and lie his way through life and the sorrowful look he had always given him afterwards - a look he last saw on his expression before he was ripped from the world. Quickly snapping out of his hypnotic state, he cursed silently for letting himself daze off like that and briskly took off to the kitchen for refreshments. Sadly, that long relapse was also all-too-familiar to Stan, for he had had many of them - some in vivid detail in dreams and others just out of the blue, even while he had worked. But he was sure that this night, like many others, was one he had been used to welcoming with the same apathetic and hopeless look every time.

He had taken note of how heavily it was raining outside and proceeded to, with a clear glint of annoyance, remark its intensity. That was mainly due to the fact that that meant tomorrow he would have to take extra measures in order to attract business. He sighed his annoyance off and took a glass of water from the kitchen sink. Suddenly, as he was making his way back from the kitchen window, he heard a light knock on his house door. He slowly and silently walked to the door on his toes, though the latter not working as he had intended because of the weight gain he had suffered as a result of leading his relatively sedentary lifestyle. Nevertheless, when he was close enough to it, he carefully peered through the peephole and saw what appeared to be a small hooded figure. Although shown to be not too-trusting towards strangers, especially ones knocking on his door, he could not help but note the fact that the person was obviously a child.

With that in mind, he carefully pried open the door and revealed the said adolescent. What he took note of at first that wasn't directly related to its stark for a child physique was the condition of its clothes - their rugged and torn appearance made him even more suspicious of the child's already dubious first impression upon him. He was startled by the creepy and sudden way it lifted its head to look upon him and the entrance of his house. Although not a person to easily experience embarrassment or any form of shame, he did feel a little bad about having the kid's first sight upon opening the door be an underdressed, relatively aged man.

After looking upon Stanley for less than a second, it dashed back and fell clumsily to the ground. Stan had a feeling that odd reaction was based on the knee-jerk reactions that other people have had when they've had the misfortune of knocking on his doors at late hours. He saw it reflexively put up a hand before its face as if he was about to vehemently strike it, followed by the sound of a faint whimper coming from it. Distinguishing the pitch and the sound quickly, Stan deduced that the youth before him was a boy.

"Oh, um...uh, I'm really sorry for b-bothering you s-sir. I just wanted t-to ask for d-directions," he stuttered out.

"Er, directions to where?" inquired Stan as he darted his eyes between the figure in front of him and the dark, now entirely wet, unwelcoming forest.

"Um... a-a bus s-stop or t-town...? I'm sorry for taking your time and I promise I'll b-be out of your way, just..."

Stan pondered on what he should do for a moment. The thought of taking in a complete stranger sold it for him, but the odd similarities between the bits and pieces he was already starting to connect about this child's past and his own were hitting close to home, for his past - a past filled with misery, loneliness and dismay, was one he had hoped no one, not to mention a child, had the misfortune of even slightly sharing.

He sighed heavily.

"Look, kid, I get you're lost. And trust me, neither a bus stop nor a town's gonna help ya, so... why don't ya stay here for a night and we'll sort this thing out tomorrow, eh?" offered Stan.

He looked bedazzled after having that suspiciously kind offer reach his ears.

"I… I'm not sure.." he muttered out. "I'd just give you trouble.."

"Frankly, kid, my whole establishment here reeks 'a trouble, so you're gonna be the least of my worries." jokingly replied Stan.

"W-well..." he trailed off.

With that uncertain response, Stan's impression that he was getting nowhere in easing the child's frantic fears was now, more or less, true. As a last attempt at convincing him, he knelt down and grabbed both of his frail shoulders, determined to convince him. But before he uttered his words, he stopped. He looked him, for the first time, straight in the face and on his level. Only now did he realize why the child was so apprehensive beforehand - what Stanley saw was a face with pure terror written all over it. But he knew better, for had that been the case, he would have already run away from him, so he was certain that something, whether it be his own will or some supernatural oddity, something was keeping him here.

Stan stared deeply into his eyes.

"Listen to me, kid. I don't care if you don't wanna stay here now, I ain't letting you roam the forest alone, especially at this weather, only to have God knows what happen to ya. I can tell by your face that life ain't been good on you, heck I can relate, but trust me, no one can get through it alone. I know I'm no one to ya, but I wanna help. And I mean it. But for that, I'm gonna need your trust, at least for now." he finished as he steadily rose up.

"Heh.." he began. "It's not like I have m-much of a choice, d-do I..?"

Stan saw his face slightly light up before seeping back into its now slightly less fearful catatonic state. With that, he gently nudged him into the doorway and slowly closed the door. He lead him to the barely lit living room and gestured for him to sit on the old and decayed armchair while he leant on the doorframe.

"So, uh, make yourself at home..." awkwardly said Stan.

"Y-yeah, thanks," he replied as he went to sit down.

Stan raised an eyebrow.

"You're lookin' pretty worn out. Wanna eat something?" offered Stan.

"Oh," he began as he piped up from the chair. "No, no. I'm... good!"

"I can tell you're lying from a mile away, kiddo," Stan smugly retorted. "So just... I dunno, grab a bite to eat out of the fridge."

Immediately after that, he noticed how perplexed he looked.

"Alright, alright," said Stan hastily as he tried to properly adapt to the situation at hand. "How 'bout I, uh, leave this with you if ya get hungry during the night?" he ushered whilst tenderly holding a granola bar in one hand and a Pitt Cola he snagged from a nearby counter in the other.

"If.. you insist..." he answered while grabbing the bar rather forcefully and heading into the hall.

"Room's up the stairway, to the right."

He nodded as he started to proceed up the creaky steps of stairs. Halfway through his climb, he heard Stan's muffled steps behind him and he turned to face him.

"Hey, uh, kid, one last thing. I wanted to know if we could properly meet. I'm Stan. Stanford Pines." he stated by using his brother's name as a pseudonym like he had done for thirty years now.

He hesitated before finally extending his small hand himself.

"I... I'm, um, Matthew. Nice to meet you." he stated as he faintly smiled.

"Alright, nice knowin' ya. I'll leave you now." Stan replied as he returned the slight smile.

With the empty can of Pitt Cola, Stanley retreated back to the kitchen to dispose of it. As he did so, he sat down on one of the chairs and slowly started contemplating on his decision earlier on with a more mature beverage this time at his side. Was it really sound to take in some random street child? What if he couldn't find out his origins and would have to decide what to do about him? What if something were to happen to him while he was under his watch? It felt unnerving, to say the least, to think about these possibilities. Yet he had to do something, but what?

Stanley felt something he hadn't felt in years - conflict. He knew the life of scamming and cheating gullible idiots daily had made him soft and complacent to an extent, but he didn't think it would have hindered his ability to distinguish from rational and clearly emotional driven decisions. Had he trusted his instincts and ignored him when he was knocking on his door, he was certain that the child would have been lost even more or worse by now. But what if he had brought more trouble than worth by betraying his instincts? Stanley realised that he was close to relaying his thoughts on the outside, so in order to not bring himself to a nervous breakdown, he decided he'd just have to wait and see what fate had brought in store for him.

Having only drunk half of his beer, he swiftly whisked it away and put it into his secret hiding spot, away from any prying hands. Slowly making his way out of the kitchen, he went on to indulge in yet another fruitless hour-long research session in the lab after which he would proceed to keep up his unstable, but efficient six hour sleep regime, for he had the feeling that tomorrow was going to be a long and certainly not boring day.

P.S. - Details about the OC are coming out in Chapter II, so stay tuned!