*Counts her Stanley Bucks* There's a scene in here that is all shootingstarrod's fault. LOL, though maybe not as X-rated as wanted.
Please enjoy and tell me what you think! :D
Three- Maya Enigma
He was there, he was at his desk. Young and full of foolish hope and curiosity. Stanley was talking about something. Going on and on. But he wasn't really hearing him, just listening to the excitement in his voice and letting it be pleasant background noise to his quickening thoughts. Fiddleford's mind was elsewhere, covered in blue flames of new thought. He almost had all of it. The equation that would make the whole damn machine work. Almost…
Darkness. The lab was gone. Stanley was gone. The equation was gone. He was gone.
Only fear and loneliness remained.
Then stars. Surrounding his point of view. Vast, sprawling nebulae he didn't recognize in a plethora of colors and forms encircled him. Shapes began to appear around him, silhouettes with outlines of fire and light, of stardust and nightmares, of dreams and delirium and much more.
So many eyes.
Then voices. So many voices. Whispering and whispering. Yet growing louder, and soon were ear splitting. Every time seeming to speak a different language. Until finally he could understand the noises they were making. And then he wished he didn't.
Hunter of knowledge,
Haunted by regret,
Hunted by things
He'd rather forget.
Hunter of the Lost,
Haunted by the Eye,
Realize the cost,
Before thy End is nigh.
They kept repeating and repeating. Over and over. They were surrounding him.
Then suddenly a shape on the horizon. He could see the barest of outlines. He could see the arms reaching for him.
A monstrous eye with black sclera and a white pupil looked upon him and then suddenly shrank, the horrible outline around it shrinking and erasing until it took that of a triangle, with the tip pointed downward. Dark blue filled in the shape around the eye as the chanting grew softer, but didn't dissipate. The figure was outlined with an aura of black and blue and bright white limbs popped out and rolled around before settling, dainty legs not connected to the body proper crossed and gave the impression that the figure was sitting. An iridescent fan appeared in the hand of the being and it made a show of fanning itself delicately before "noticing" the watching, captive soul. Then it began to laugh, it was a rich noble woman's laugh, filled with the order and chaos of eternity.
"Hello my adorable beast of burden. Please be a dear and tell my precious brother that I am returning, won't you?"
There was a pause and then the eye curved upward, as if in immense amusement. Probably at the fact that he had no body to speak of at the moment, or anyway to communicate or get away.
"Thank you! Such a good boy! Greetings Brother mine! It's been eons!"
His vision was swiveled around and suddenly Bill was before him. Confusion ran through him as the demon flicked his eye between him and the blue dream demon. He did not look happy.
The blue stranger laughed again.
"I hear you go by "Bill Cipher" now, correct?"
"Yes."
"Well, then you may call me Maya! Maya Enigma. Like it?" The female practically gushed, full of bubbly malice.
Bill simply floated nearer, his eye glaring.
"Really Bill. You didn't think I wouldn't try to have a finger in this little pie too? I may not have the strongest grip from this place but your interference has helped this one be more…pliable? He was like a point of light in the darkness."
Bill's eye narrowed.
"You aren't going to win, Maya. This plane-and that mortal-is mine."
"We'll see about that."
The two stared at one another silently for a moment, the only sound being the chanting that was still being said by the surrounding figures. Bill gave an annoyed growl.
"Ugh you and your entourage! Shut up!" With quick motion the small yellow demon summoned some blue flame and shot it around him. Chaos broke out, the circle broke and suddenly Fiddleford was falling. Falling through stars and space and he. Still. Could. Not. Scream.
Bill swooped down and grabbed him, he did a turn and Fiddleford caught a glimpse of the blue demon female watching as the two of them hurled away
Suddenly Bill's visage filled his line of vision, "Jumpin' Jahossafat that was close! Time is of the essence McGucket. Get your boyfriend and finish the machine!"
Bill then let go and Fiddleford was flung right into the heart of a bright yellow sun. He found his tongue and started screaming.
Fiddleford McGucket opened his eyes and clamped a hand over his mouth to help hold in any noise. Fortunately his vocal cords were so frozen in fear only the barest of squeaks escaped. Afterward he sat on his bed, trying to blink back tears as he took in deep breathes, still trying to make as little noise as possible.
It was a good week since his first day as himself, when he had spent a nice evening with the Pines family and had gone to see his son; after a talk that had lasted well into the early morning they had reconciled. With a promise to see a psychologist in one of the bigger surrounding cities soon Fiddleford had gotten an invitation to stay with his offspring, and that was where he was now.
He currently sat upon his son's pull-out couch in the living room of his small home. When he had first settled in Galen had talked on and on about how he would remake the room he used as a library into a bedroom for his father- despite Fiddleford's own protests. Not wanting to be a bother.
But every day the young man would move that bit more around and simply sit his father down if he tried to help. Fiddleford had nearly cried on his second day there, it was during dinner that his son, with a triumphant grin, presented to his father a wallet made of well-made black leather. He opened it and right there were a number of up to date credit cards, bank cards and identification- though the picture was of him in '82.
The younger McGucket had explained that he knew someone and had made sure to keep his father's information and credentials ready for him, and then he apologized for giving up on him several months ago.
Okay, he might have cried a little then.
The last few days had felt like nothing but a blessing. He belonged again. He could think again. He had Stan again. And if he did things right for once he might get Stanley back too. He had made some progress on the portal machine, but that one equation was still stumping him. And he could make no further progress until he had it completed.
But that dream! No. Not a dream. A visitation. From Bill. And his sister. Fiddleford shook his head in disbelief.
What in the ever loving fuck was he in the middle of?
His suspicions had been confirmed. He was nothing more than chess piece, an expendable pawn. In what, for all tense and purposes, was a family squabble.
He grabbed his notebook and opened to the page with the equation again, the blank space seemed to mock him. He flipped to a few pages over and with a trembling hand Fiddleford drew what he could remember of his dream, he wrote down the words chanted to him. It was only after he had written them did he realize he had not written them in English, but in symbol language.
He needed a drink.
8888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888
"Grunkle Fiddleford isn't here yet. Wonder what's keeping him."
Dipper looked over at his sister, she laid on the living floor with Waddles. The pig was currently taking a nap next to her as she concentrated on drinking some soda out of the can using three connected bendy straws. Dipper himself was slumped on the yellow chair, flipping channels and just trying to relax during the slow business day.
The last week had been rather eventful. In addition to his and Mabel's usual misadventures there was also his home life. He had tried several times to try and jog the memory of one Fiddleford H. McGucket, but to no avail. It seemed he had repressed the memories of his time with the Author of the Journals, or they had simply become out of reach.
And anytime it seemed like he would get anywhere his Grunkle Stan would appear and lead the smaller man away. Sometimes for a few minutes, sometimes for hours. And he could never find them again. As frustrating as it was, it was nice to see them together. Both twins agreed, their Grunkle was happier than they had ever seen him. His smiles were truer, he hung around the house in his underpants a little less often; they had caught him just staring at the former hobo when he wasn't looking several times.
He looked at Fiddleford the way their father looked at their mother when she wasn't paying attention. Dipper found himself wondering what happened between them, but didn't think he should ask. At least not for now.
Mabel felt the complete opposite, and constantly pestered both of the older men for details. Even with her best efforts though, only a few bits and pieces had been gathered. And had gotten him thinking about things that just made his cheeks flame, his insides squirm and his paranoia flare.
So he tried to let it be.
Either way, it was fun to call him "Grunkle" and watch him and Stan squirm.
"I dunno, is Stan still "inspecting" the gift shop and waiting for him?"
With a small grunt Mabel got up and took a look, after a moment she returned and said, "No. Now he's on the porch talking with Soos and smoking."
"Again?"
Stan had finished at least a quarter of a pack by now.
"Yup. I mean he is kinda late, Grunkle Fidds's usually here in the morning."
It was true, it was already early afternoon and still the old curator had not come by, everyday he had come by the Shack and last night he had promised to return once more in the early morning.
And yet he hadn't come. Wendy had already left for the day, even. And he had wanted to talk with her some more about Manly Dan and others of the town.
"Do you think something happened to him?"
The two youngsters looked at one another, identical thoughtful frowns on their faces. But then a commotion outside caught their attention. They peeked their heads through the curtain just in time to see Soos walk in, a deep frown on his face.
"Psst. Soos! What's happening?" Mabel called softly.
Soos walked over to them, frown deepening.
"Mr. McGucket's here but…it looks like the dude's had a rough day." He said awkwardly, rubbing the back of his head.
Fearing the worst Dipper and Mabel quickly snuck their way to the window and peeked over. Soos following- if reluctantly- close behind.
Stan was staring at Fiddleford in disbelief, while the other continued to try and make his way forward.
He was drunk.
Stinking drunk.
Stan couldn't believe it. Yes, back in the day Fiddleford could throw them back like a champ, he had done so many a time with him and his brother. The man had even almost been the winner in a face off against the Manotaurs, but he also knew when to be sober.
Something was terribly wrong, and Stan didn't know whether to be angrier at himself or at Fiddleford for the fact that the man preferred to try and find solace at the bottom of a fucking jug of moonshine than in him.
And it was obvious he hadn't found it, despite his trouble. With a slight trip Fiddleford got up the porch steps and looked at Stan with large half crazed eyes full of fear. Tears had obviously fallen from them earlier and both of the small man's hands were shaking and looked terribly pale, they barely looked strong enough to hold the bottle he still had with him, a quarter full and obviously the only sustenance he'd had all day.
Slowly Stan approached and placed his hands on the other's shoulders.
"Fidds- aw Fidds. What did you do? What happened?"
The other looked at him through the bangs of his disheveled hair, shame in his eyes.
"I-I'm sorry St-stanferd. I-I just couldn't take it! I-kept a-seeing-and seeing. And-and I-"' His words dissolved into local colloquialisms and gibberish and more hot, desperate tears leaked from his eyes.
Stan stared at him, momentarily at a loss. Fiddleford saw this and felt more shame and some self-hatred. He should never have come here, especially since there were children. Nice children that he liked and wished to try to protect. He should have gone back to the dump and slept this moment of weakness off.
Maybe he really did need to seek some professional help?
He tried to leave, but the moment he tried to move Stan tightened his grip.
"Oh no you don't."
Suddenly the bottle was taken from Fiddleford's shaky hands, a moment later he was being lifted and hoisted over a shoulder. He now had a lovely view of Stan's back, ass and feet. And the moving ground.
"H-hey! Put me down! Dag-nabbit, I am not a sack of tatters to throw over yer shoulder!"
His cry was ignored as he was carried into the Mystery Shack.
"Kids, Fidds here isn't having a great day. He and I will be upstairs. Soos you can lock up and go home, it's a poor day fer customers anyway."
Stan's voice was gruff and resolute. No one argued.
With speed Stan made his way through the house and into his room, after making sure his door was closed he threw off his cane and beloved fez and walked into the miniscule bathroom he had to himself. Stan plopped his struggling burden into the shower. After taking glasses and notebook and setting them aside he turned on the water, full blast.
First cold.
Then hot.
Then cold.
And finally hot again.
"Ahhhh! Stanford that is enough! Will you shut that off?!"
Stan turned off the water and watched as a roused Fiddleford slumped his way out, sending a death glare his way as he leaned against the wall. He ran a hand through his soaking hair and shifted in his now uncomfortable and dripping clothes.
"Welcome back to the land of the living, nerd. Mind telling me what the fuck all of that was about?"
"No."
"No?" He raised a brow.
"No." Fiddleford straightened and tried to move his way past Stan, forgoing his glasses and his notes in favor of just leaving. But the other was having none of it. Stan barred his way.
With a good amount of alcohol still flooding his veins Fiddleford tried again to get past but this time Stan manhandled his against the closed door. Stan took a slim wrist in each of his large hands and propped them up against the door, effectively trapping the smaller man.
"L-let go Stanford." He said with annoyance, frustration and some left over shame.
"Not happening Fidds. Not now, and not ever again. Now, are you going to stop struggling and tell me what happened?"
"No." Fiddleford continued to struggle.
"Why not?"
"I don't have to explain myself!" He gave a large push and fell back against the door huffing, his meager energy sapped.
Stan watched this but didn't loosen his grip. "Bullshit. Now, again, what's got you so worked up you tried to drown yourself in hillbilly fire water? Huh? I thought you were done running?"
"I-I-"He stuttered, he could feel the tears return and he hated himself for it. His nerves were shot. His knees weak.
"I can't help if you don't tell me!" Stanford was barely a few inches away. His breath hot on his face and potent with the smell of nicotine.
"I-I can't tell you." Fiddleford nearly moaned and mostly whined.
"Why not?"
"I'll put you in danger."
"Bullshit again Einstein. I'm already in danger. You said so yourself, I could've blown everyone sky high a long time ago. Not to mention all of the stuff lurking not fifty feet from here."
Weakly, "It'll put you in more danger and I can't-can't-"
"Dammit, don't you get that we're a team?!" Stan got right in Fiddleford's face, forcing direct eye contact.
Still as intently but more gently he said "You and me. We-we need each other. I'm sorry I didn't see it sooner, but I'm making up for it. Fidds, I need you to tell me what made you get so worked up. Now."
Fiddlford stared at him, and then the tears slowly welled up from his eyes and he began to quietly sob. Stan immediately changed tactics and brought the other to his chest, he wrapped one arm around Fiddleford's waist and brought up his other hand to start running soothing circles up and down his back.
The smaller man buried his face into Stan's chest and found solace in his arms, just like how he had wanted to do for decades.
After a few minutes Fiddleford managed to get a hold of himself and stood there sniffling and rubbing his eyes. Stan kept him close, grip firm.
"You good?"
"Yes. Apologies."
"Yeah, yeah. Come on."
Stan led Fiddleford out of the bathroom and they stood in the middle of his bedroom. He handed the other the glasses he had taken from him. Fiddleford put them on and gave an embarrassed laugh.
"I'm a mess."
"So am I, what with that after shower cuddle."
Fiddleford looked over and saw that the smirking con man's clothes were now as wet as his own in the front. He then realized he was slowly making a puddle on the floor as well. He immediately stepped away, nearly tripped on the way and didn't appreciate the laughter he got.
"Stanford this isn't funny! We could get sick!"
"It's summer."
"And we're old. But that's beside the point. We should not be just standing about in these clothes while in your room."
Immediately he began to strip, completely missing Stan's face at his unintentional phrase. First he shrugged out of his drenched coat, then soaking sweater. Next came off his damp tie and wet shirt. And finally his wife-beater. When he reached for his belt a pair of hands beat him there; heat immediately began accumulating at his face.
Stan's bare chest rested against Fiddleford's damp back and his nose buried itself into the other's wet hair.
"I got it nerd." The words were growled into his ear and Fiddleford felt a tingle go down his spine and right to his groin. His pants were unbuckled and he let out a small yelp when Stan started to do something that was definitely not helping him to undress.
"St-stanford. Don't-do-oh right there." His voice hit a high note it hadn't reached in years.
Stan grinned, he still had it. Fiddleford moaned softly and wiggled about in response to Stan's pleasuring hands. Stan pressed their hips together to tell him exactly what all his squirming was doing for him. The smaller man immediately doubled his efforts while Stan gave a laugh. Soon enough they were back on the bed, stark naked and rolling around on it like a pair of newly-weds.
Or trying to, anyway. They weren't young anymore, bodies once toned and lanky were now pudgy and gangly with creaky bones. Hot mouths were now full with slipping dentures or missing some teeth. But their bodies remembered the old rhythm, and were all the more helped by Fiddleford still being damp from his unwanted shower.
Fiddleford keened when he felt Stan's hot length on his thigh and bucked his hips. Stan went about reclaiming old territory by sucking and biting on Fiddleford's tender neck as he grinded back in return.
The smaller man hung on to his partner for dear life and let himself give into the spontaneous bliss. A thousand promises and apologies were said into his ear by lips that knew just how to suck ear lobes and find sensitive patches of skin. In return his fingers danced along surprisingly rippled muscles and he let them find their old places, the kind that when handled the right way they awakened a hunger in Stan he was eager to sate.
Before Fiddleford knew it, lube was out and he was leaving deep scratches in Stan's back. He pressed his face into Stan's shoulder and let his brain take a smoke and coffee break.
When it returned he was lying on Stan's chest and wrapped in his arms. He shifted and Stan looked over at him, a shit eating grin on his face. Fiddleford felt his face redden and he groaned. He rubbed a hand through his hair and realized it was mostly dry, he was hungry too.
"We're a mess."
"You say that like it's a bad thing Fidds." Stan said it with a joke in his tone but Fiddleford can't help a frown.
Fiddleford curled in on himself a bit and said "We really shouldn't have Stanford. I-I-"
He felt the grip on his waist tighten by that little bit.
"I meant what I said. I'm not letting go this time. You're stuck with me nerd, I'll left hook anything that tries to get between us. Even you, if just to knock some sense into ya."
Fiddleford looked at Stan's serious expression and let out a breath. Before he knew it words were tumbling out of his mouth, everything he had been bottling up. His (supported) suspicions of Bill pulling the strings on his mental situation. His frustrations about the equation and his fear of the machine.
His dream and how it related to things from thirty years ago. He told him of the blue demon Maya Enigma and Bill's response to her. Stan's surprise was palpable.
"A sister? What?" He didn't know demons could have sisters- or family in general really.
"I know right? It makes about as much sense to me as to you Stanford. Bill wants the machine completed, I don't know how or why but it is integral to his plan. I feel."
As they had spoken they had shifted- Stan's back stung from Fiddleford's love scratches- and he was now lying on his side next to his partner. Stan ran a hand through his thinning hair, his mind whirling with ideas.
Damn.
"We have no choice but to keep going Fidds. I-we're just gonna have to take a gamble because I'm not leaving Stanley in there. We're not leaving him in there. We'll just have to prepare ourselves the best we can."
And maybe he'd get a chance to deck a certain yellow triangle with his knuckle dusters.
Fiddleford bit his lip, unsure. He stared at Stan's determined expression and thought of the options. He thought of Stanley. And what he would have done had it been Stanford or even himself left on the other side.
"Alright Stanford. We'll continue. But I don't know how far we're going to go since I can't solve that damn sequence!" Here Fiddleford flopped on his back and stared at the ceiling, frustrated.
Stanford looked down at him, "Well, what were you doing when you figured it out the first time?"
Fiddleford thought, ignoring the slight rumble from his stomach. He'd have to eat soon or he' be sick, but the hunger gave his tired mind an edge. He didn't notice Stan hear his body's cry of distress.
"I was in the lab, caught by a thought process on how we could even make an active portal that allowed travel through different planes of reality. Stanley was going on and on about the latest creature we had encountered, those wraith like beings that looked as if they were a mix of horse and bat."
"Oh those, didn't they feed off moon light or something?"
"Off the light force of nocturnal wildlife. But yes. He was going on about how their ability to phase through objects and even different types of light might mean they were traveling through dimensions, or at least different "layers" of this reality."
Stan sat up now and crossed his legs, eagerly listening. Fiddleford continued to look up at the ceiling, seeing with his mind's eye instead of his actual ones.
"I wasn't truly listening, concentrating on getting an answer. I grew frustrated though and began to listen to him as a way to give my mind a break, Stanley began talking of how the air seemed to flutter and ripple whenever they disappeared, as if they were stones disturbing the surface of a still pond.
We had observed that they always took a brief running or leaping start before doing this and guessed they needed the added velocity to achieve shifting about. His words triggered a thought in my mind and I began thinking of group velocity in not just the normal three dimensions but in the additional ones of space and time. These thoughts made me think of-"
He stopped and sat up, amazement and realization flashing across his face. He turned to Stan who had a grin on his face, "Your notebook's in the bathroom. On the sink."
In a flash the smaller man was out of the bed and soon the sound of scribbling could be heard. With surprising energy Stan followed, pulling on a shirt and his boxers and picking up a spare pair for Fiddleford along the way. Just as he got to the bathroom the door opened and Fiddleford stepped out with a large grin on his face.
"Stan! I have it! I have it!" He waved the notebook around excitedly and Stan returned his grin.
"Knew you could do it nerd." He handed the smaller man his clothes and he immediately put them on.
When he finished he frowned and gave Stan a look, they both then realized how much bigger Stan's clothes were on the smaller man. The shirt looked like a small dress and the boxers were large enough to just slip off. Stan laughed despite the seriousness of the situation.
"Maybe we should get you some proper underpants first."
