So I was thinking, what if Stan really needed the eye patch, (because of a scar.)? What if someone who knew both twins tortured Stan by cutting off one of his fingers? I imagine the taunt would be like 'Maybe your brother could give you one of his, even things out.' or something like that. What if Stan could play the guitar? Also, no Bill Cipher, Fidds is there researching the paranormal with Ford.

So this was born. Welcome to my own version of Mystery Trio! Actually, almost everything I write has or will have Mystery Trio. Sorry, but not really. Enjoy!

Fiddleford was driving to the store. They had just run out of coffee (again) and Stanford was sketching out a new creature they had discovered (the Leprecorn was truly useless.) before he could forget the details, so that left Fiddleford to go shopping. Fidds didn't really mind, although it was a bit tedious, but he enjoyed socializing, unlike Ford who, as far as Fiddleford could tell, had no other friends than Fidds himself.

When Fidds drove up to the only grocery store in town, Dusk 2 Dawn, his gaze fell on a man that was sitting outside the store on a camping chair.

For a moment, Fidds thought maybe he was another one of Ford's paranormal creatures, but no dice. He was just very scary looking.

Parking the car, Fidds managed to get a proper look at the man from his car. He reminded Fiddleford of a pirate. He had an eyepatch over his right eye and looked like he didn't know what a shower was. His face looked rather scruffed up. The only part that didn't fit the pirate theory was the large acoustic guitar.

Climbing out of the car, Fidds joined the small group that was listening to the man play. The song was fast and upbeat, something Fidds could play on his banjo no problem. The song finished and the man's hands slowed to a stop.

Ever since meeting Ford, Fidds found hands to be rather interesting. They were one of the most complicated limbs in the entire body. So, whenever he was out and about, Fidds looked at people's hands. Just as he did now. Fidds barely glanced at them, but then did a double take. Something seemed off...

Fidds didn't need to count them to know he was right. The man had nine fingers. The pinkie on his left hand looked to be forcibly removed. Now, what's the story behind that? In fact, what's the story behind all of this man? Maybe a homeless veteran? Happens often enough.

Fiddleford watched as the crowd dispersed and the man bent down, reaching towards something. Is that a fez? The man picked it up, looked inside, and sighed. Fidds realized it was being used as a collecting tin. Most probably homeless then, poor man.

He felt a sadness fill him at the sight. The man was talented and had obviously been through a lot. The closer he looked, the more details he saw. The long, unbrushed hair, the scars all over his exposed skin, and the way he held himself like the world were pressing down on his shoulders.

Fiddleford was both terrified and sad all at the same time. In a rare rush of courage, Fiddleford walked up to the man. The man noticed and smiled. It was so wide Fidds thought it was a miracle his face hadn't split in two. The man's voice was deep and growl like when he spoke.

" Enjoy the show? What instrument do you play? Don't looked surprised, I can see the callouses on ya fingers."

Guess he wasn't the only one who looked at hands. Fiddleford smiled and cleared his throat. " I-uh. I play the banjo. I'm Fiddleford by the way. Fiddleford McGucket."

The man raised his only visible eyebrow. " The name's Stan."

Fidds smiled and started to twitch nervously. Stan seemed to be aware that Fidds was nervous because he started getting ready to leave, placing the camping chair over his shoulder.

" Well, see ya."

Fidds shouted out, his voice ringing clearly in the now empty parking lot. " No! I mean, uh. " Fidds hesitated when Stan listened and stopped, waiting for him to say something.
" Well, I was wonderin' if ya wanted to, uh, come to lunch? I was gonna go shopping for coffee, 'cause we're out an then grab somethin' ta eat? I just wanted ta see if ya wanted to come is all." Fidds thought maybe the man would smile and refuse or smile and accept. Anything with smiling really, the man seemed incapable of anything short of a grin. Until of course, when his grin fell and he looked confused.

" What?"

Fidds jumped a little at the blunt, confused tone of Stan's voice. What was so confusing about it?

" Um. Yeah. I- you don't have to come. I can go grab my boss and we can all go together? I mean, if you want." Fidds brow furrowed in concern as Stan's face got even more flustered and confused than before.

" Nah, I understand that, but why? You barely know me. I could be a murder or, or something." Stan stepped back, as if he was more concerned that Fiddleford was the murder. Fiddleford's heart broke all over again. Had no one ever offered this man a meal before?

Stan noticed the concern in Fidds eyes and immediately backtracked, " Look, thanks for the offer Pal, but you don't wanna hang around a guy like me. Just do yourself a favor and go home."

Fiddleford watched as Stan turned and left, heading towards a busted up El diablo. I wonder what all that hullabaloo was about. At least he has a car to stay in. Fidds thought as he turned to walk into the store, unaware that Stan was watching him with a small smile.

"Some people are too good for this world. They don't need me messing it up for 'em."

Fiddleford got back home without incident and after a couple weeks without seeing the man, Fiddleford eventually forgot about him. He never got to mention the incident to Ford, who was always distracted with one thing or another. So, when Fiddleford caught sight of the man outside the same store, he took a moment to remember why he recognized this man. Stan, his name is Stan. What is he doing back in town?

Fidds got out of his car and made to approach the wanderer. Stan was strumming the guitar lazily, no real audience around to captivate. He looked up from his strumming as Fiddleford approached.

The grin was as painful looking as ever and, despite looking physically impossible, Fidds was glad of it. Better to look like a cartoon than the rugged wild man he seemed when the smile was gone.

" Well, look at that. It's Fiddlesticks. Never thought I'd be meeting ya again." The man set his guitar aside, obviously expecting a conversation. Fidds laughed nervously, standing awkwardly to the side.

"Likewise, Stan, right?" Fiddleford was used to nicknames, so he wasn't too fazed when Stan opted to use one.

Stan nodded and snickered, looking completely relaxed. " You back for more coffee? Looks to me you should lay off it. Your more fidgety than a kid after their first horror flick."

Fidds laugh was slightly more calm, knowing he had no real reason to be anxious. " Sorry, I like socializin' an all, but you're kinda terrifying."

Fiddleford slapped a hand over his mouth, realizing what he had just said. He looked nervously over at Stan, who was laughing it off with the wave of hand. ( The right one, with all five fingers, Fidds noticed.)

" I get that a lot. I think it's my voice. I sound like an angry dragon! Can't sing to save my life." Stan chuckled again and glanced at Fidds, who slowly relaxed again.

Fidds smiled and started to gaze out into the parking lot, getting lost in thought. Maybe he'll join me for lunch this time. He seems so...fascinating, as Ford would put it. And Fiddleford couldn't deny the man looked unbearably skinny. Skinnier than the last time they'd met.

Fiddleford snapped out of his thoughts when a horrible noise reached his ears and he yelped at the sudden intrusion on his thoughts. The noise was worse than nails on a chalkboard. Fidds looked around for the cause when it stopped, until he heard a different noise. Stan's laughter.

" Told ya I couldn't sing. Are ya okay? Seemed to be gettin' a little lost there for a moment."

Fiddleford gaped at him, " Tha' wasn't you. Tha' was a sound from the seventh circle of Hades! A human can't make a noise tha' horrific." Fidds shuddered when Stan decided to demonstrate what an awful singer he was again. Fidds clamped his hands around his ears. " All right! I'm sorry! Just make it stop!"

Stan's grin, if possible, grew wider. " He-he, told ya." Stan leaned back into his chair, and they fell into a ( uncomfortable, in Fiddleford's case,) silence.

Fidds scratched the back of his head, unsure how Stan would respond to another invitation. " Oh, well. Stan. I do need ta get ta my shoppin', but your welcome to pop by the house if ya want. 618 gopher road. Ya can't miss it." Fidds left without another word, unsure if Stan would just flat out refuse again if he stayed.

Fiddleford was a natural caretaker. He hated to see people go hungry or get hurt and he would do anything in his power to help them. That's how Stan become a sort of project of his. Normally, Fiddleford would help someone with this or that and they would never see each other again, ( not because Fidds didn't want to, but because they had moved on to other places.) but every time Fidds went shopping, Stan was there, outside the shop, as if waiting for him. So Fiddleford would walk up and they would talk, and Fidds would leave after giving Stan another invitation to lunch or if he wanted something from the store, and Stan would refuse.

Fiddleford was starting to get a little fed up. Why couldn't this man just take a meal and leave his heart a little fuller? Fidds loved helping people, it was just who he was. What he wasn't aware of was that he was helping Stan just by talking to him.

Being Stan Pines was lonely work. Everyone he loved thought he was dead, including his twin brother, who he hadn't seen in over eight years. Fiddleford was the first person to talked to him consistently in the same amount of time. Stan had forgotten how great having a friend was. Someone he could chat with without worrying whether he would be murdered for saying the wrong thing or looking guilty.

That man is really a heaven send. I haven't had this much fun in...awhile.

As a general rule, Stan Pines did not have fun. Sure, he smiled a lot and laughed here and there, but he knew that it was just an act. A mask. Stanley Pines hadn't laughed a genuine chuckle for years. Until he met this weird nerd. In fact, he liked how much Fidds reminded him of Ford. Fidds wasn't as nerdy as his brother, but he was pretty dang close. Stan felt himself slipping into old memories of Ford rambling off in nerd speak while he teased Ford for being such a bookworm as Fiddlesticks went on and on about some robot he had made.

They were four weeks into this routine when Stan finally accepted one of Fiddlenerds invitations.

Stan had a bad run that week and was even hungrier than usual. He started thinking about how nice even a salad would taste at that point when Fidds offered and Stan answered without meaning too, giving Fidds an abrupt, but not unwelcome, 'Sure.'

Fiddleford was thrilled! Not only did Stan except his invitation to lunch, but he managed to drag Ford out of the house with him, telling him that he needed to 'get some human interaction or he was going to become a potted plant.' Ford was confused whenever Fidds said that, because how can lack of human interaction turn him into a plant, much less a potted one? But it must have made sense to Fidds, because he kept using it.

That afternoon, Fidds walked Stan down to the dinner and told him to stay put while he fetched his 'boss.' Stan still didn't know this guys name, because Fiddleford was a true believer in first introductions and wanted Ford to get some practice in along with making a good impression. Why a homeless man's opinion mattered, was completely incomprehensible to Stan, but he let it slide. Everyone had their quirks.

Stan had been sitting in the corner of the dinner, right hand tapping the table in a quick, rhythmic beat, when he saw Fiddleford walk in. Stan sighed in relief and turned his gaze to the man beside his friend.

Stan froze.

It was him.

A pressure built inside Stan's chest as they walked closer. It was obvious his twin didn't recognize him, but who would? He definitely didn't look like Stanley Pines his brother had known. Stan felt like he wanted to scream, or cry. He wasn't sure which.

Stan's grin was plastered on his face as his mind stayed utterly blank. What was he supposed to do? Run for it? No. Stanley Pines never ran. But he couldn't fight either. The two reflexes he had been using the last eight years to survive were utterly useless to him now as he watched the two nerds settle in the seats across from him.

" Stan?"

Fidds voice cut through the panic that had been quickly drowning him. Stan blinked a couple times before returning his attention to Fidds and Ford, who were both gazing at him in concern. Pulling his act together, Stan laughed.

" Sorry. Got stuck in my own head for a moment. Maybe you should've started to sing Fidds. Although, not sure it would have the same affect." Stan internally sighed in relief as his words had the desired affect. Fidds had turned to Ford to explain the inside joke between the two, giving more time for Stan to think. Unfortunately, it was a short story.

Ford studied Fiddlefords friend with interest. He had obviously been through a lot. He looked older than both him and Ford and his eyes spoke of a deep understanding of the world around him, despite the large grin plastered on his face.

When Fidds said his name, Ford did a double take.

Of course, Stan is a very common name. Don't get your hopes up, Ford. Stan died years ago, remember?

Ford had read the article in the newspaper. A teenage boy killed in fiery car accident. The body unidentifiable, but the car was traced back to Stanley who matched the profile of the body. Six feet tall, broad shoulders.

Stan was dead. And he had done nothing to prevent it.

Ford had spent weeks, completely inconsolable. He just couldn't believe Stan was dead, he would feel it. But then logic took over and everyone was consoling him and then there was almost no way to doubt it. It was a fact.

But it still didn't feel right, but Ford was never good with human emotions and he supposed it was just him in denial. His last words to his brother were ones of anger after all, no one would want to end something like that.

So Ford moved on. He tried not to think about it. What was in the past was in the past after all, and he couldn't change the facts.

Ford was broken out of his thoughts as Fidds regaled him with a story about this Stan's awful singing. Ford laughed at all the right moments, and after the story had ended, turned his attention back to the man in front of him. Ford raised an eyebrow at Stan and Stan looked confused.

" What?"

" Well, Stan. My name just happens to be Stanford Pines. I find our names amusing. Nice to meet you by the way. Fiddleford holds you in high regard." Ford smiled kindly. Fidds thought Ford was doing a good job. That is, until Stan stood and left without another word.

Fidds felt confusion and concern flood him, making him follow after his friend, " Stan, where ya goin'? Was it somethin' we said?" Fidds ran after Stan out the door and Ford followed him, just as concerned that he had somehow offended the man.

They walked outside and started to call for him, not seeing him anywhere, until Fidds recognized Stan's car. Fiddleford ran towards it and beckoned for Ford to follow.

Walking up to the window, they saw Stan curled up in the front seat, sitting criss-crossed. He was staring at a photograph. Fidds taped on the widow, while Ford stood to the side. Feeling a bit awkward at the situation. He really wasn't great with people.

Stan looked up to see Fidds taping on his window. He caught sight of his brother in his peripheral vision and started to bang his head against the steering wheel. Stan never cried, no matter how much he felt like it.

Fidds' eyes widened in alarm and he quickly flung the door open. Thanking the universe it was unlocked. Fidds quickly pushed Stan back into the seat, head far from the wheel as possible.

" What in tarnation was tha' Stan?"

Ford look over Fidds shoulder, " Um, are you alright? I didn't mean to upset you."

They watched as Stan started laughing hysterically, and neither of them were sure what to do. Fidds whispered to Ford behind his hand, a worried glint to his eye, " He doesn't normally act like this. I don't know what's going on!"

It took a while for Stan to stop and when he did, he looked Ford straight in the eyes. Ford stared back, unsure if this was some sort of test or something. He squirmed slightly as the staring contest went on for a full minute before Stan said anything.

" Ya really don't recognize me, do ya?"

Ford stared, this time with confusion. Was he supposed to know this man? What if it's...? No. Not possible.

Ford shook his head, concern visible. " I'm sorry, am I supposed to?"

Stan looked back at the photo in his hands and handed it to Ford. Ford liked facts. The photo was definitely a fact. Stan's grin was gone. Replaced by something so old and young and weak and strong and tired and excited that just looking at him would give anyone a complex.

Ford took the photo gingerly, seeing how old and careworn it was. His eyes locked on the caption, his mind better suited to words than pictures.

Stanley and Stanford Pines: Learning to box! So proud.

Ford's mind blanked. Then it was in overdrive. How did this man get this? This car does look familiar, like the one I got Stan for his birthday...but that's impossible. But Stan liked the impossible. And how else could he have this photo? And this man's name was Stan. He doesn't look like Stan. He doesn't even look like me. He looks more like a war veteran. But he was kicked out at 17. But this couldn't be Stan, because Stan is dead. Stan is Dead. Stan is Dead. Dead, gone, passed. Nonononononononononono! The facts!

You never felt right about his death. It never felt right. but this does.

Ford's voice was suddenly raspy with emotion.

" S-Stanley? But, but you died! I-I. You're dead."

Stanley- no. Not Stanley because Stanley was dead- flinched.

" Sorry Sixer, but it was necessary at the time. And I thought you were happy with me gone...guess I was wrong?"

Ford winced at he old nickname. Only Stan called him that. Only Stan knew. Things only Stan knew...

" What's your other nickname for me?" Ford quizzed him, slipping into his analytical persona. It was easier that way. No emotion...

" Pointdexter. Do you not believe me? I don't blame ya if you don't..."

" How did you acquire this photo?"

" Ma slipped it into the duffel bag before pa threw it at me."

" How do we celebrate our birthdays?"

" A half chocolate, half vanilla cake and working on the Stan 'o war. Well, not recently, but before everything happened anyway."

" Why did you fake your death?" Fidds was watching the scene play out, utterly confused, but didn't interrupt.

" After Pop kicked me out I got into some tough crowds. Let my mouth run away with me a little to often. Faked it to make them think I was dead so they wouldn't look for me."

Ford started to shake. Facts. These were facts. List the facts, make a conclusion.

Fact 1. Man claims to be his brother who acts, and knows much about his brother and goes by Stan.

Fact 2. Body was unidentified.

Wait. The body.

Ford shook harder. " T-the body? YOUR BODY?"

Stan winced again and shrugged. " Stole it from a morgue. It was a john doe. No one would miss it. I didn't kill anyone if that's what your thinking."

Fact: Man had all the right answers. Man still didn't look like Stan.

" Why do you look so...old?" Ford whispered, the pain starting to bleed through his voice.

Stan shrugged again, " Living on the streets ages ya I guess. Were both twenty-six Ford."

Ford couldn't take it anymore. The pure, raw pain and anger and regret all boiled up in one moment and Ford clocked Stan right in the jaw.

Fidds yelped, but didn't move. He wasn't sure if he had the right to interfere. This was really confusing.

Stan rubbed the spot, he didn't so much as flinch when he saw the hit coming, nor did he yelp when it hit. " I deserved that." Stan muttered, getting out of the car so Ford could have an easier time punching him if he so desired. Stan was a little to tired to deny him the satisfaction. Instead, Stan found himself being hugged tightly, Ford's chin resting on his shoulder.

" Yes, you did." Ford pushed him away again. He pointed an accusing finger at Stan, who leaned away. " Do you know how many years I've spent, regretting everything? I THOUGHT YOU WERE DEAD. " Ford pushed him again, and Stan stumbled backwards.

Ford felt the anger rush out of him as realization came to him. His brother was alive. Sure bits and pieces were gone and he looked way worse for wear but he was alive. Ford sobbed into his hand and ran at Stan again, embracing him in another body crushing hug.

" You're never leaving me again, understand?" Ford's voice quavered. He didn't think he could bare he thought of loosing his brother again.

Stan looked shocked, but returned the hug with a laugh, a pained, desperate sound.

" Never again."

Fidds raised his hand. " Uh, what in the HECK is goin' on here?"

This will continue. I hope you liked it!

Leave reviews if you want them to eat a ton of cake to make up for eight years of missed birthday's.

Stan: I am SO AWESOME in this au.

Ford: Dang. I am...surprised.

ME: I made this au months ago, but I am writing it out a 2 o'clock in the morning months after I made it up. MORE ADVENTURES TO COME!