Hehe, I made another chapter. Are you sure you want it?

Stan's breath hitched as he pulled the white T-shirt over his head. Every limb, every muscle in his body was stiff, making every movement ache.

After their very emotional (Ugh) reunion, Ford told Stan to go ahead and get dressed in the clothes he had provided. Stan was much too happy to do so. The shirt and jeans he had been wearing before hadn't been cleaned properly in...

Well, he tried not to think about it.

As soon as the shirt fell into place, something felt wrong. As if it didn't belong there. He realized that although the shirt was clean, he certainly wasn't.

Stan shrugged to himself. Although Ford had already informed him that Stan was in no way allowed to leave Ford ever again {Ever ever again...But!...No buts.} Stan wasn't too eager to make himself at home just yet. It didn't help he hadn't met Ford's...'associate' yet, whoever that was.

He grimaced at the thought of meeting a new person. Don't get me wrong, Stanley was very much a people person.

Was.

Nowadays, people were bad news. Or just people more idiotic than him he could scam for a few dollars, in all honesty, Stan got nervous around people. People couldn't be trusted.

People were dangerous.

C'mon! It's only Ford's friend, how bad can it be? If he's anything like Ford, he'll be great! Just gotta, gotta keep an open mind. Stan thought to himself as he folded the old, ratty outfit and held it in his arms. Ford hadn't told him what to do with it. Whatever, I'll just hold it.

Stan preferred to keep what little he owned close by anyway.

He opened the bathroom door quickly. Might as well get this over with. He stepped out into the hallway and padded silently down the corridor.

...

Fiddleford, after getting dressed properly (No one looked very good after falling asleep in a suit) made his way to the living room, where he found Ford sitting alone.

The nervous smile fell from his features as he looked around. Ford noted his presence after a moment and grinned,

"Fiddleford! Apologies, I made him change. The clothes he was wearing were filthy." Ford bit his lip. "You have to promise not to scream when you seem him, okay? I know you don't like it when people go without..."

Fiddleford raised a skeptical brow, "And why on earth would I scream about that? I already know he was homeless Stanferd-"

Ford raised his hands placatingly, "I know, I know, but ah- he looked worse than I thought he would. He-" Ford cut himself off when he heard a knock.

Stan himself was standing in the hallway, hand on the wall where he knocked on it. "Uh, hey." His eyes flitted over to where Fiddleford was standing. "Whose the matchstick man?"

Fiddleford barely registered the nickname, one he wasn't sure to be offended by or not, he was too busy biting back a scream of horror.

He looked exactly like Ford, but if Ford had been tortured, killed, buried, then came back from the dead. He couldn't possibly tease Fiddleford for being skinny, not when he was nothing but bone and raw muscle. Fiddleford looked into the dark pits of his eyes and shuddered. They looked like they had seen too much, been through too much. The only reason Fiddleford had to suspect that he was alive was the faint moving of his chest and a smile that was quickly falling as Fiddleford didn't answer.

Ford spoke up for him as Fiddleford got over his horror. "Ahem, Stan, meet Fiddleford Mcgucket- my work associate and friend these last six years..." Ford gave him an encouraging smile and Fiddleford finally managed to open his mouth.

"Ya look awful! When was the last time ya had a meal?" Fiddleford, before Ford could stop him, walked right up to Stan and grabbed him by the wrist. Stanley was so surprised he didn't stop it when Fiddleford pulled him into another room. Ford groaned from behind them, he didn't want to overwhelm his brother as soon as he got there! Stan wasn't one for...charity.

The new room happened to be a kitchen and Fiddleford flipped on the light before sitting Stan down in a chair. Were his legs not so weak, he might have resisted. Ford sat beside him and leaned inward conspiratorily as Fiddleford muttered under his breath about 'those Pines men and their lack of self-care'.

"Sorry about Fiddleford, he's worse than our mother. Much worse. He makes me eat at least one meal a day..." Ford looked up at Fiddleford with a mutinous look and Stan rolled his eyes.

"Sorry about what? I've never been forced into a chair for a better reason!" Stan didn't want to mention that he had been forced to sit for many, many, less pleasant reasons before. "I mean, not what I expected, but I'm glad someone was taking care of you." Stan snickered. Ford huffed and crossed his arms as he leaned back in the chair.

"Ya have good sense Stanley, I guess I can't blame ya for being skinny," Fiddleford said. He seemed to have heard Stan, who laughed.

"Who else are ya gonna blame, Fiddlesticks? I was the one dumb enough to think there was an emergency up here and that if I didn't rush someone would, I dunno, blow up or something."

Ford interjected, "It was an emergency! You! Don't you agree, Fiddleford? Isn't his health a dire emergency?" Ford smirked at Stan's horrified expression.

"No no no, you do not get to-"

"I'd have ta say it is!" Fiddleford turned on the stove and started pulling vegetables out of the fridge, along with a flat of chicken. "And soup always good fer an emergency, ain't it?" Fiddleford pulled out a knife and a cutting board and began chopping. Stan winced, but no one noticed.

Despite this, Stan thought this was going surprisingly well if he was being honest. He had no idea what to expect when he rushed up here, but reestablishing {so quickly} a relationship with his brother, and being mother-henned by his brother's friend wasn't even on his list.

The two aforementioned men were beginning to banter, in a familiar way it seemed to Stan, and Stan sat back, letting his mind relax. He didn't notice when his eyes first shut, but soon his breathing evened out and he fell asleep.

He didn't wake up when the talking stopped, or when he was lifted out of the chair, or somehow ended up under several sheets in a clean bed, and pillow underneath his head. Stan Pines slept through it all, feeling, for the first time in ten years, that he was safe.

Yes, everything ached, he was still wanted in several states, he still hadn't become a millionaire, and now he had two nerds to protect, but all of that didn't matter. He was forgiven.

He was home.

Stan: ...

Ford: Well that was...

Me: MmHmm.

Stan: This feels like there are undertones of angst and possibilities of it continuing. Will it?

Me: Probably not. Maybe. I'm impulsive, remember? Eh, hoped ya'll don't think it sucked or anything. Don't die!

Ford: Please, don't die. Don't let her kill you-*I clap a hand over his mouth*

Me: hehe, don't listen to him he doesn't know what he's talking about...*evil smirk in the background*

Stan: *Pushes me away from Ford* What on earth are you doing!?

Me: SHHH! YOU WILL REVEAL MY EVIL PLANS! *realizes I screamed* Oops.

Lol, I'm kidding all, I don't have any evil plans. Don't expect more of this story, unless you are super awesome and review with awesome long reviews that beg for another chapter. Hey, hey. Not being serious. A regular review would be fine. ;) Sorry all, I'm being weird today, hope you enjoyed!