Nighttime settled hot and muggy over Glass Shard Beach. By day, summer was bad enough. Without the sun to zap the humidity out of the air, night got to be pretty miserable for any land-dweller without a decent AC unit.

The Pines family was fortunate enough to have a decent AC unit. The Pines family, however, was not fortunate enough to have more than one, and that unit resided in the living room. It spat gusts of sweet, cool air to the perpetually unimpressed Mr. Pines as he judged the local sports team on his TV set.

Any science nerd would be able to tell you that heat rises, and so it was that the twin progeny of Mr. and Mrs. Pines tossed and turned in their attic room, trying to find a position that wouldn't leave them sticky, drenched, and miserable by morning. Even with their single window flung wide open and the screen popped out, this was proving to be a difficult task.

One flopped on his side for the ninth time, glaring down from the top bunk. "Poindexter, can't you geek us a fixit for this stupid heat?"

"I can't 'fix' the whole climate of Glass Shard Beach, knucklehead. If you quit whining I have a 40% better chance of falling asleep."

"But it's hot, and there's not even a wind! Your hands are a whole finger bigger, use 'em and fan me to sleep."

"Lee, I swear, if you don't shut up-"

"C'mon, what else are giant hands good for than to fan brothers dying of heat?"

"I don't have giant hands! I just have extra fingers, and I'm dying just as much as you, so shut up already."

Grumbling, Stanley rolled back over, wriggling on the mattress to find a comfy spot.

"Lee, really."

"I can't help it if the mattress squeaks, okay? You picked the lumpy one so I got the squeaky one."

"Can't you just pick a spot?"

"Can you?"

A sigh was his only answer, and he finally settled into a promising position.

"Stanley, if you can't quit shifting, I'll superglue the electric blanket to your mattress and turn it on full blast!"

"I'm not moving anymore!"

"Well then what's the noise?"

Stanley frowned, craning his head to listen. "Aw man, it's Fiddleford."

"Again? It's the third time this week. What do you think's going on?"

"I dunno, poindexter, but if it takes stuffing a pillow down his throat to get a better night's sleep, I'll do it." Stanley rolled off the mattress and climbed down the ladder, dragging his sheet over to the window.

"Hey knucklehead, wait up!" Stanford catapulted after him. "Somebody's gotta make sure you hold back, yeah? Fiddleford's one of us."

"And right now he's getting on my last nerve!" Stanley pulled the sheet through the knothole in the windowsill, tying a knot tight and jerking it a couple times. "Wait a few seconds and come after."

"Yeah yeah, same drill, I got this."

"Look, I'm the oldest, I gotta watch out for you." Stanley winked, sliding down the sheet.

"By two minutes!" Stanford hissed after him, counting off a few seconds before following.

The McGucket household was on top of their belgian waffle business. It was right next door to the Pines home, which perched over their pawn shop. The waffle-house was a squat, ugly affair with a collapsing front porch and a paintjob that refused to stay stuck to the walls. A trellis leaned against the front of the building, providing easy access to the second floor. Fiddleford's room was at the corner and had two windows that would let in a fantastic cross-breeze in the event of any air flow. These windows, like every other pane of glass on the block, were flung wide, allowing easy entry for the twins.

Stanley thumped in over the sill as Stanford carefully lowered himself to the ground. Both boys trained their eyes on the bed, where their friend lay in a tangle of sheets, whimpering and screeching incoherently, sounding quite a bit like Stanley's mattress at three times the volume.

Stanford glanced to Stanley, who sighed and bit his lip. It was hard to hold onto irritation when their friend was being so pathetic. Stanley crossed the room, grabbing Fiddleford by the shoulders and shaking him. "Hey! Snap outta this! You're wakin' the whole street!"

Fiddleford's eyes flew open, and he latched onto Stanley's arms, his eyes darting around. "Beware the eyes! No, eye! Eye, sees all!"

Stanford snatched a glass of water off the bedside table and dumped it over his friend's head. Stunned, Fiddleford blinked, slowly coming to focus. "St-Stanley? Stanford? What…"

"Seriously, this what all the screeching's about?" Stanley demanded. "Third night, Fiddleford. Third. Night. What's'a'matter, you watch a scary movie or somethin'?"

"You know I don't do that!" Fiddleford pulled the blankets up to his chest.

Stanford stared at him. "Hey, it's like, 98 degrees right now, what's with the quilt?"

"Nothing! No reason!" Fiddleford swallowed, eyes darting to the window. "You sh-should go."

"Check it, full-on flannels too!" Stanley ripped off the blankets to reveal Fiddleford's full-length pajamas. "Are you some kind of sweatless mutant or somethin'? I'd be dead if I was in those now!"

"I'm fine, I just drink a lot of water. See you guys tomorrow, okay?" Fiddleford pleaded. "I just wanna go back to sleep."

The twins' eyes narrowed. They glanced at each other a moment. Stanford gave a small nod.

Fiddleford's eyes widened. "Wait, guys-"

Stanley pounced, hauling Fiddleford out of bed and bending his arms back into armlock.

"Guys, no, it's not like that, please!" He yelped, squirming in Stanley's grip. "I didn't, I don't do that anymore, not since Christmas, you gotta believe me!"

"Yeah, we will, once we get a look." Stanford rolled up Fiddleford's pajama legs, inspecting them carefully. "Didn't think about it, but you've been wearing sweaters to school this week."

"Yeah, I remember now," Stanley confirmed. "Gotten quiet again too. Is it those beef-armed jerks again? Talk!"

"No, please just let g-go!" Fiddleford squirmed harder as Stanford reached for his sleeves, rolling them back.

"Stanley…" Stanford lifted Fiddleford's bared arm. Dark marks lined his skin, tracing a strange pattern that disappeared under his pajama sleeve.

"I didn't do it this time!" Fiddleford pleaded, shaking. "You gotta believe me, don't tell my parents! I didn't do this, I don't know how it's happening!"

"Does it hurt?" Stanford demanded. At Fiddleford's nod, Stanley released him. "What's going on? And why didn't you tell us?"

Fiddleford pulled his sleeves down, keeping his eyes on the ground. "Was afraid you'd tell again. I don't wanna go back, guys…"

The twins fell silent, each finding something interesting in the room to stare at.

It was Stanley who finally broke the silence. "Okay. So you're not doin' this to yourself. I don't think you have the guts for burns. How's about you take the shirt off and we see what we're dealing with? And tell us what in Glass Shards is makin' you screech so loud at night."

…...

Note: This is not my primary fandom, so this fic might be slower in updating. But here's the start! Only a vague idea where it's headed, ready for an adventure?