I guess there's one good thing to come from this Coronavirus self-isolation. Stay safe, everyone! Enjoy the chapter!
I forgot to add headcanon voice actors in the last chapter, and I think it helps flesh out the characters a little more, so here they are:
Benjamin LaBronte - Maurice LaMarche (specifically, Tapper from Wreck-It Ralph)
Majorie Clark - Jane Fonda (Shuriki from Elena of Avalor)
Cordelia Delight - Eva Gabor (Duchess from The Aristocats)
I own nothing except the above characters. On with the show!
"I can't do this."
Stan had never once in his life uttered those words. He may have thought them, but never put sound to their shape. Those were Fo- those were coward words, and Stan was no coward. He faced everything head-on with a grin, that was his thing. There was nothing in the world he couldn't do when he was really determined.
Except possibly face a crowd a hundred strong. In the spotlight. Alone.
A soft pressure on his shoulder finally dragged his eyes away from the frankly massive crowd. The light filtering in through the crack in the backstage curtain gave Cordelia's skin an odd greenish tint and reflected off the sparkling dress she wore for performances. Her dubious raised eyebrow was in no way nurturing, but Stan's nerves settled in the face of her disbelief anyway. "Stanley, the only one more qualified for this role than you is Benjamin. Don't waste your breath with selfish untruths."
He raised his own eyebrow at her. "That's kinda my whole thing, 'Delia."
She smiled that sly smile of hers, patting his shoulder. "There, you see? Exist in that attitude for the show and all will go splendidly."
Stan rolled his eyes good-naturedly and turned back to the curtain before she could see the expression on his face. That was the kind of thing Ma used to say. Would she be proud of him if she saw him here, leading a successful show on his own? No use asking the same question of Pa, he'd been very clear of his parameters of success when he'd hurled Stan into the street. Being in a circus was in no way millionaire work, but it was miles better than being homeless. Or in a drug cartel. Would Pa have preferred those lines of work if it made more money? Was he wasting his life here?
"Absolutely not."
He glanced up. "Pardon?" Had he accidentally said something?
Cordelia fixed him with a calculating stare. "You're letting your doubts control you, Stanley. You are a man of action, stop getting lost inside your own thoughts. They tend to betray you."
"Easy for you to say, you've probably never felt," not scared, definitely not scared, "anxious about a performance in your life."
Cordelia laughed, one of the through-the-nose laughs she used outside of her trailer. "Ah, how wrong you are. I'm wracked with nerves whenever I enter the ring, but do you know what helps me through?"
Stan tried to keep his voice nonchalant, but if he could hear his tone creeping higher then Cordelia definitely could. "What?"
She set both hands on his shoulders, gently turning him away from the curtain and the crowd beyond until he could only see her. "I remember I have a more experienced partner to help if things go wrong. And sometimes, knowing that fact is all that's needed for things to go right."
Stan held her gaze for a long moment before the tension in his shoulders dropped. That's right, he wouldn't be alone out there, would he? Cordelia had done this countless times, she knew what she was doing. Everything would be fine. "What did we do to deserve you, 'Delia?"
She laughed again, this time from her stomach. The laugh she used when they sat in her trailer late into the evening, talking and telling stories. He liked that one better.
The lights dimmed in the ring, plunging backstage into near darkness. Despite Cordelia's reassurances, Stan's heart skipped a beat. "This is it."
Cordelia squeezed his shoulder. "Have fun, Stanley. You were born for this." Her hand dropped and her back straightened as she transformed into a professional before his eyes. Maybe she could teach him how to do that. Moses knew he could use it right about now.
The lights cut entirely and, drawing from Cordelia's presence, Stan took a breath and stepped through the curtain.
They were supposed to be silent as they made their way to first marks, but his footsteps crunched painfully loud in the midst of the audience's hushed anticipation. As expected, Cordelia made zero noise whatsoever. How did she make it look so easy? How was he supposed to see the mark in complete darkness? Who thought using clear tape was a good idea? He'd find out after the show and deck them. Unless it was Benjamin. Then maybe he'd just demand never to be put in this situation again.
Cordelia pulled up beside him and, yes, there was the mark! Maybe this wouldn't be so bad. Stan gripped the brim of his top hat, assuming first position, and waited for the lights. Was it supposed to take this long? Had something gone wrong in the catwalks?
But then white flooded his vision and the confetti canons exploded, littering a rainbow at his shoes, and the crowd gasped and time was flowing again.
There it was, the thrilled beat of his heart, overpowering his nerves. The anticipation was always the worst part, but now, on with the show!
Stan grinned and whipped his hat off, exposing himself to the spotlight, and the audience cheered and he basked. "Ladies and gentlemen, boy and girls, wel~"
Time stopped.
Welcome, he was supposed to say. Welcome to the greatest show on Earth. Benjamin drilled him mercilessly on the script until Stan could recite it in his sleep, but no words could force themselves past the lump in his throat. Because there, in the fourth row next to the aisle, another version of himself stared back at him, matching disbelief scrawled all over his face.
No.
No, there was no way.
It was a trick of the light. It had to be! Stan's eyes were going bonkers because of the spotlight. That man may have had dark curls and the right body type and risen halfway out of his seat at the sight of Stan's entrance, but so did thousands of other men in the country~
But Ford's mouth moved, and the silent 'Stanley' was in no way a trick of the light.
Stan's body moved on its own accord, one leg jerking forward in a shaky step. He... he had to reach him. He...
He was doing a show right now, under the scrutiny of a crowd who had begun to murmur.
Well, never let it be said that Stanley Pines didn't know how to improvise.
"Well, well, well," his voice started thin, but strengthened with every word. "It seems I have a doppelganger in the audience."
Cordelia tensed next to him, but Stan reached into his coat and flung a smoke bomb before she could interrupt. He stood in front of Ford before the smoke even cleared.
It was him. It was him. This close, any shadow of denial hid under a couch in the face of blinding truth. The face was Stan's own, plus the cleft in the chin, and twelve white fingers clutched the bench in a death grip. Deep brown eyes searched his own and Moses above, it was his brother.
The spotlight followed Stan, widening to illuminate Ford as well, and the other patrons twisted in their seats to track the show. Stan forced his face into the wide performance grin he adopted so flawlessly. Please let it not look as wooden as it felt. Ford shrank in the wake of their stares, fingers unlatching from the bench and curling into fists. Okay, maybe Stan felt a little guilty about drawing attention to his bro- to Ford, but hey, when a guy lets his dad kick his family member out of the house, maybe he deserved to feel a little uncomfortable.
Stan swung an arm around Ford, spinning him out of his seat and into the aisle, just in front of the ring. Probably a little rougher than he needed to, but right now Stan didn't really care. Wow, Ford had changed. His hair clouded around his head like a bramble, long around the ears. Ma would have said he needed a haircut, but then Stan wasn't one to talk. At least he washed his mullet every once in a while. Ford had never been athletic, but in their last year of high school his beanpole physique had started to soften. Now there was an astonishing amount of chest and shoulder under that sweater vest. Ugh, still a nerd, then. Maybe he hadn't changed too much.
Ford's gaze darted around like a trapped tiger, hands shifting to hide behind his back. Something flared in Stan's chest, hot and angry. He never let his ringmaster persona drop, but he allowed the smile to turn just vengeful enough for Ford to notice, even if the rest of the audience didn't. Ford noticed, all right, his own eyebrows drawing down.
Stan threw his arm around Ford again, smile easing out as he addressed the crowd. "Look at this, folks, the amazing Double Act! What's your name, son?"
Ford may have answered truthfully, but it was so quiet it hardly mattered. Not that Stan cared. "Stanford! Well, great to meet you, Stanford. We look so much alike, we could almost be twins!"
Ford glanced away. Insert knife, twist.
Stan wanted to keep twisting. Just dig and dig until Ford felt every ounce of pain he'd felt on his first night on the street, but now wasn't the time or place. He was busy, and Ford didn't come first in his life anymore. "I'll let you go back to enjoying the show instead of participating, Stanford. Give him a hand, folks!"
But as the audience clapped, Ford reached his spot in the fourth row and passed it. And continued, beelining for the exit.
The rage fuelling his actions died in wake of a torrent of desperation. No, no Ford had to come back and sit down. He had to stay for the rest of the show, so Stan could talk to him after. He couldn't just disappear into the night, vanishing behind a set of curtains like he'd done ten years ago. Anger or not, Stan couldn't handle seeing his brother turn his back again. He couldn't handle losing him again.
Cordelia appeared in front of him like a ghost, her performance smile a perfect match to his own, but her low tones rang concerned. "Stanley, what do you need?"
What Stan needed was to forget about Ford and his betrayal. To finally let a festering, ten-year-old wound heal. He thought it already had, but Ford's sudden appearance tore it open, raw and bleeding and leaking infection until it was the only thing Stan could think about. He needed to focus on the show, on the people who actually cared about him, and making them proud in a way he never could with his own family. Stan needed...
Stan Pines, the greatest conman in the world, needed to stop lying to himself.
He matched Cordelia's intense stare with a pleading one of his own. "I need to find him."
She held his eyes for a second before nodding. "Go. I will take care of this."
She dropped another smoke bomb, and Stan tore out of the ring.
The evening air cooled the sweat on his neck and face as he raced through the carnival paths. If he could just... yes! There, Ford's (oddly cool?) coat flapping behind him as he power-walked away.
"Ford!"
Ford turned, met Stan's eyes, and broke into a sprint. No, he was going to get away! Stan urged his legs faster, slamming into a patron on the way. He didn't even take the time to apologize, there was only one important thing right now: reaching Ford.
Ford ducked into a gap between vendors, disappearing from sight, but Stan knew this circus like the back of his hand. He cut into an alley, vaulting a popcorn stand, panic rising every second Ford was out of his line of vision. The only thing he had as a guide were the flashes of brown in the adjacent alley.
Stan burst out of the gap, onto a wider path, and backpedalled frantically to avoid bowling over a small child. The mother stormed up to him, but Ford was almost to the exit and Stan didn't have time to deal with a customer. He left her with a rant on her tongue and indignity in her eyes.
Ford passed by the ticket booth and beyond, but with every powerful step Stan was closing ground. He could make it, he could reach his brother in the time it took him to unlock his car...
Ford bypassed the parking lot completely and vanished into the darkness of the forest.
Stan was no more than ten feet behind, but the instant he broke through the treeline all traces of Ford disappeared. The canopy blocked any light, the noise from the carnival games masking footfalls. Stan whipped a branch out of the way, jumped a shrub, ducked around a cluster of trees, but no no no Ford was gone he couldn't be gone!
He drew to a stop, breath sawing back and forth in his lungs, heart pounding not just from the sprint. In every direction, the forest yawned dark and silent save for the disturbingly muted sounds of the carnival. No birds, no animals, no Ford.
Stan dropped to his knees, pounding his fists into the ground. And if he cried, well, that was between him and the trees.
Thock.
Thock.
Thock.
Stan scowled darkly at the target and the three knives which refused to hit the correct spot. He could do so much better than this, c'mon... He retrieved the knives, retreated to the mark, and let them fly.
One. Thock.
Two. Thock.
Three. Thock.
Thock.
Wait, four?
Stan turned, and winced. Benjamin stood beside him, arm still outstretched from his perfect bulls-eye. What a drama queen.
Benjamin tucked his hands neatly into his pockets. "Georgia would have had a fit about your posture."
Stan glowered, storming over to retrieve the knives again. He flipped them easily in his hand as he spoke. "Sure, but Georgia ain't here," the blade caught the lights of the training tent as it spun, "because she went up to Canada," the wooden handle smacked securely into his palm, "so she could take care of her brother, because she's a good sibling and taking care of each other is what siblings are supposed to do."
He snatched the knife out of the air and let it fly without even glancing at the target. It missed entirely, embedding itself in the wood of the center support post.
Benjamin watched the handle wobble with the force of his throw for a second before his eyes flicked back. He held out a hand for the remaining knives and Stan stepped out of range as he took his position.
Benjamin stared down the length of the knife. He was sure taking his sweet time. "You never mentioned a brother."
Oh, it was this conversation. Honestly, Stan had hoped to burn off steam with the knives and retreat to his trailer before anyone could ask about the scene he made during the show. Of course Benjamin would never let that slide. "'M sure I mentioned Shermie at least three times."
Benjamin raised his arm and threw the knife. It shredded the target, angled only slightly above center. Ha, even the ringmaster couldn't get a bulls-eye all the time. "I mean an estranged twin brother."
"Look, I really don't want to talk about this right now." Especially not to Benjamin.
He blew a quick breath on the second blade, shining it on his coat. "Good, because your business is your business, and unless it impacts my circus, I don't need to know." Something Stan had been infinitely grateful for since day one. Tons of circus people came from less-than-ideal backgrounds, everybody got it. "However, your actions today impacted my circus."
Ah, right. "It won't happen again."
The second knife blurred by, sticking just to the left of the first. Man, two missed in a row? He must really be annoyed. "I'm sure it won't. Cordelia had to do the second show by herself tonight, and we need you off book so she can run the Menagerie."
"Yeah, I know," Stan scuffed the dirt with the toe of his shoe. "Just... got distracted tonight, that's all."
"I'll say." The third knife wobbled a little upon impact, just below the first two. Georgia might have had words about his posture, but Benjamin's aim would probably get her worked up too. "But as my successor, I need you focused on the show." He paused for a moment and studied Stan. "Whatever happened with your past family happened, but the circus is your present and your future family."
Benjamin set a hand on his shoulder. The look he gave was so... Stan's throat wasn't closing up, it wasn't.
"Whatever you need to do to ensure this gets resolved, I hope it gets done," and his eyes said he meant it. "If I can help at all, let me know, but you need to know where your priorities lay."
Stan nodded mutely, trying to swallow.
Benjamin's mouth pulled up in a comforting smile, and he turned to leave. He got halfway to the door before he turned to glance over his shoulder. "And Stan?"
Finally, he worked around the lump, but his voice came out even more gravelly than usual. "Yeah?"
"Find Cordelia when you're done here and apologize for leaving her out to dry tonight? Really apologize, none of that deflecting junk you usually do."
Oh, did he... did he do that? Maybe he did. He figured the 'apology' part was always just implied. "Yeah, I'll... I'll do that."
Stan watched the tent flaps flutter as Benjamin left. Then, he turned to the target.
From ten paces, it seemed the knives hit randomly, dancing around the center of the target like horses dancing around the ring. But upon closer inspection, the knives all angled perfectly to touch the edges of the blade to their partners, making a flawless triangle. Stan huffed a laugh. "That son of a bitch."
What a show-off.
This time of the evening, Stan could always smell Cordelia's trailer before he saw it. The burning scent of lavender and sage drifted through the quiet backstage, trails of incense smoke rising lazily to the stars. Wow, there were a lot of stars this far out into the woods. Stan paused to admire them for a moment, trying to see if he could spot any of the constellations Teddy had taught him when he was younger. Some of it seemed to stick in his slippery old brain, there was Orion and the Summer Triangle, and...
And Gemini...
Stan scowled. Whatever, constellations were stupid anyway. He climbed the steps to Cordelia's trailer, path lit by the gentle golden glow shining through her open windows. He lifted a hand to knock.
"Come in, Stanley."
Figures, he wasn't even surprised anymore. Stan pushed the door open into Cordelia's bazaar stall of coloured silks and potted plants, the smell and the light combining to give the effect of stepping into a different world entirely. Cordelia stood in front of her sink, filling an ancient kettle with water. She no longer wore her assistant dress, having changed into a thick, cable-knit sweater and shorts. She was barefoot.
Stan kicked off his own worn shoes, grateful that Cordelia didn't insist he remove his socks too. She believed being barefoot brought you closer to the Earth, but honestly there was only so much scent the incense could mask before it got gross.
Cordelia glanced over her shoulder, tossing him a smile. "Glad to see you found your way out of the woods."
Stan plopped down on one of the massive piles of tassled cushions. She didn't believe in chairs either. "Yeah, almost didn't make it. Had to fight off a pack of bloodthirsty wolves to get back here." He waggled his fingers at her.
She set the kettle on the element and floated into a cross-legged position across the low table from him. "Alas, even the greatest liar in the world cannot fool me with that one." Her smile turned impish. "If you were being attacked by wolves, I would have felt it." He didn't get it, but he laughed with her anyway.
Stan's smile died a little. She wasn't mad at him, which is what he expected even if it would have been out of character for her. Why did he expect her to be mad?
Ah, right. Old wounds.
"Look, 'Delia, I came to tell you that the reason I ran out~" wait, no, Benjamin said a real apology. Okay, that was easy right? "I mean, I'm really s-sorry for running out in the first place." Not sure he enjoyed the way his tongue tried to skip over the word there.
If Cordelia noticed, she didn't mention it. "Apology accepted. Though I assume that man you pulled into the ring was a relation of yours?"
Stan stared at his socks. When did they get so discoloured? "Yeah, my, uh, twin. Or, he used to be."
"From the way you two looked at each other, it seems to me you still are."
He couldn't quite stop the scoff. "Nah, not anymore. Not to him."
That was the end of it, he swore it was, but Cordelia laced her fingers together and rested her elbows on her knees, pinning him under her pupilless stare. Oh boy, looked like he wasn't getting out of this one so easily. "I don't really want to talk about it."
"No," she said, "but you need to."
So he did. Stan recounted the events that led from Ford being his best friend, past the whole science fair crap (and maybe he got a little heated at that), and up until his first day at the circus because everything past that she'd been around for. Cordelia listened intently to his story, hardly moving except to nod at the appropriate places, and when he finished she sat quietly for a moment more.
Finally, she set her chin on her laced fingers. "This seems like a rare and fortuitous opportunity for you."
Stan snorted. Nothing in his life was ever fortuitous. Except possibly meeting Benjamin, but by then he figured the universe owed him a solid for all the junk it had put him through until that point.
"Despite your acclaimed feelings towards him, you were passionate enough to disrupt a show to see him again," Cordelia continued.
"Sure, but I messed up the show for nothing. He got away."
"Is that such an inconvenience?"
Stan raised an eyebrow at her. "Yeah, kinda? He could be anywhere by now."
She matched his eyebrow with one of her own. "Could he?"
The woods could lead anywhere, they spanned nearly the entire valley save the populated areas. When Ford lost him in the trees...
Oh.
His realization must have showed on his face, because Cordelia smiled. "What have you discovered, Stanley?"
"He's still around," Stan barely cared that his voice pitched embarrassedly high, she'd heard it once before today anyway. The full weight of the realization dwarfed any shame he might have carried. "If he ran into the woods, he must not have driven here. So he lives nearby." The last sentence turned up at the end like a question, like he needed confirmation that it was logical, which was such a Ford thing to need because Ford was the thinker, but right now Cordelia's answering nod was the most important thing in the world. Which begged the next question. "So what do I do?"
The kettle started to sing, and Cordelia rose. She pulled out a set of teacups from the cupboard, and Stan recognized the painted porcelain. She asked anyway. "Would you like a reading?"
Stan didn't believe in fortune telling, Ma being exhibit A, but at least with tea leaves he got something out of it. With the other fortune teller's weird cards there was a bunch of sitting around and doing nothing involved. At least if they were playing cards he could have a little fun with them. "Do you have any of that Russian green stuff left?"
She inspected a tin. "Enough for one more at least, yes." She prepared the tea, setting one steaming cup in front of him, the one with the gnarled tree spreading oaken branches across a white backdrop, and sipped from the cup depicting it's blooming pink match.
They'd done this enough for Stan to know the ritual, both drinking their tea in silence as their delicate scent mixed with the dying incense. It smelled good. It smelled like something solid in the writhing turmoil of Stan's life.
He was supposed to focus on a question he wanted answered as he drank, but too many flooded to his brain to fill the vacuum their conversation left behind. Where could he find Ford? Was he really still nearby, or had he parked his car farther out? Maybe he was halfway to Utah by now. Could Stan find him again after this, or had he spooked his brother too much? What would he say once they found each other... no, once Stan found him because there was no way Ford was going to go looking. Would Ford go looking? Did he even want to find Ford? Did he even want to talk to Ford after he found him?
Stan barely noticed his tongue burning as he threw back the rest of the tea like a whiskey shot, turning it in his hands to complete the rest of the ritual before setting it upside down onto its saucer. Cordelia took one more drink of her own before reaching over and sliding the teacup to her side of the table. She flipped it over, staring into the bottom. Her mouth tightened. "You weren't very specific, Stanley."
Oops. "Sorry." Hey, he didn't stutter that time. Maybe apologizing would get easier.
Yes, tea leaf reading was a bunch of hooey, but even Stan perked at the myriad of expressions crossing Cordelia's face. First, the raised eyebrows. The thoughtful curve of the mouth. And then she suppressed a smile and Stan couldn't take it anymore. "What? What is it?"
She jerked up, like she'd forgotten he was there, before schooling her face into her usual neutrality. Stan, the world's greatest conman, could still see the sparkling in her eyes. She held the cup to her face, inhaling deeply, as if she could drink the story the leaves told. "The actions of you and your brother in the coming days will drastically shape the world around you. Someone close to you will reveal hidden truths." Her eyes fluttered open, steelier than Stan had ever seen them. "In the end, follow your true loyalties, and your path will be a good one. Maybe not the smoothest, but good."
A beat.
"That doesn't tell me anything."
Cordelia laughed, stacking the cups with a quiet clink and setting them to the side. "It tells you what you need to know, and sometimes that is enough."
"You're a weird one, 'Delia."
She winked. "It's the company I keep."
And while the vague advice did make him feel a little better, he still needed, y'know, real advice. "Did the cup tell you anything else?"
She didn't so much as glance at it again. "It told me that this unique opportunity presented to you is firmly in your control. You choose whether to ignore it, or seize it." She steepled her fingers again. "What is it you want to do, Stanley?"
What was it he wanted to do? Dang, that's what he should have asked the cup. Although maybe that would have been a waste of a question, because Stan was a doer, not a thinker, and he already knew.
"I'm going to find my brother."