The end approaches...
Babbit - Jack DeSena (Sokka From Avatar The Last Airbender)
Bippa - Ashley Johnson (Tulip from Infinity Train)
I own nothing but the troupe sans Stan.
Stan settled the old silk top hat over his mullet just as the tent flap to backstage flipped open. He turned, and his greeting to Cordelia died on his tongue.
Instead of her tiny form pushing through to the darkened corner of the big top, Benjamin stood backlit by the strings of carnival lights illuminating the paths outside. Stan straightened, the corner of his mouth pulling up in a crooked smile. "Come to wish me luck?"
Benjamin laughed. "Hardly. You don't need it anymore." He stopped a few steps away from Stan, looking him up and down. If not for the smile quirking at one side of his moustache, Stan may have felt like an imposter. He remembered the first time he saw Benjamin in his performance clothes clear as day, and now against all odds, he was the one wearing the coat and hat. Sure, the hat had about fifteen years of history in hands before his, and the long red coat needed to be taken out at the shoulders and waist when it had passed to Stan, but ultimately they were the same clothes. Was this what it had been like on the other side of that encounter?
Benjamin closed the distance between them and reached up to straighten Stan's lapel. When had Stan stopped needing to tilt his head up to meet his boss' gaze? "You embrace this role like a born showman," Benjamin said softly, the corners of his eyes crinkling.
Stan broke eye contact, fiddling with one of his cuffs. "Yeah, fanmail can be shipped to my trailer, Ben." Benjamin laughed again and stepped away, professionalism falling across his shoulders like a cape.
Oh, speaking of... "So what's with the duds?" Benjamin carried himself with such pride that a suit was kind of just implied. A waistcoat at the very least. But here stood the fanciest man in the world, wearing nothing but worn knit in shades of black and navy.
Benjamin glanced down at himself, as if just noticing the change of wardrobe. "Ah, yes, that was what I came to tell you about. When you're off tonight, meet Majorie and I by the back entrance. In your work clothes."
Stan stilled. "You're coming along for this job?" Usually if Benjamin had work outside of the circus, the job would fall to Stan. Sometimes with Teddy, sometimes with Bippa, but always Stan, because Stan never minded doing dangerous things alone. Anything he could do to prove himself to his family. Benjamin left jobs to the younger crew, and that had been perfectly fine with Stan. Not once in ten years had Stan seen Benjamin volunteer for a job.
"This one is too big not to participate in, I need my best hands for it."
The glow in Stan's chest was near impossible to ignore. Still, the fact of Benjamin's involvement left a shiver of uneasiness in the shadow of that glow. "Think it'll go okay, just the three of us?" No offense to either of his bosses, but Benjamin and Majorie were getting up in years.
Benjamin playfully cuffed his ear. "I don't have one foot in the grave yet, Stanley Pines."
"Right, right," Stan laughed, straightening his top hat. "Respectin' my elders and all that." He was worrying for nothing, Benjamin was capable of things Stan had never imagined before joining the circus. Whatever the job happened to be, they could pull it off.
The backstage lights flashed, signalling the five minute mark. Benjamin nodded at the ceiling like the flicker had been part of the conversation. "Excellent. I expect you out back at ten o'clock sharp."
"Roger that," Stan said to his boss's retreating back, turning to the ring curtain.
"And Stan?"
Stan glanced over his shoulder. Benjamin stood just outside the tent flap, a warm smile pulling up the corners of his moustache.
"I'm very proud of you."
He vanished down the path, and Stan couldn't even watch him go through the wetness of his eyes. He wasn't crying, it was just... dust. And he'd take that to his grave.
After his shows that night, Stan jogged to his trailer. He quickly changed into his unofficial uniform, tight black pants and a dark long-sleeve, despite the warmth of the evening. He tied his mullet back, tucking it under a black beanie, and pulled on his gloves before heading out again.
A pickup idled quietly just outside the fence, ready to take off. Majorie leaned against the tailgate, cigarette holder dangling from her lips (less ready to take off). Benjamin perked as Stan drew near. "Ah, excellent. Put that thing out, Majorie, we don't have time to wait for you to die of lung failure." Majorie scowled, but crushed the cigarette under her heel. She was wearing sneakers. Had Stan ever seen her in less than three inch heels in his life?
Stan couldn't tear his eyes from the remains of the cigarette. Why did he feel such a kinship with it right now? "So, uh, the job?"
"Oh, yes, of course," Benjamin moved around the passenger side as Majorie slipped into the driver's seat. "We're setting out to restock."
Stan's shoulders relaxed. A restock job never took too much effort, though as far as he knew they were doing good on supplies so far.
He got an inkling of what they were 'restocking' when he pulled himself into the bed of the pickup and immediately tripped on a cage. Similar cages, near invisible in the darkness, were stacked as high as his waist and secured with lengths of black cord.
A hunting trip then. Usually those were Teddy's deal, but hey, with all the pent up anger boiling under Stan's ribs he figured he could probably wrestle a bear tonight and win.
The pickup jolted to a start, but they didn't head towards the road. Instead, Majorie took them leisurely into the dark of the forest, navigating a careful path through the thick foliage. Stan scowled as a branch nearly took his head off. Not careful enough, apparently.
They trundled along for too long before they stopped in a clearing. Benjamin and Majorie came around to help unload the cages.
"I didn't think we needed any more livestock."
Benjamin's eyes glinted in the dappled moonlight. "Trust me, Stan, we can never have enough of this type of livestock."
Looks like the night would be longer than he thought. "Are we near the den at least?"
"Another fifteen minutes or so walk. Stanley," his admonishment sharpened at Stan's barely-concealed eye roll, "we can't afford to alert them to our presence early. Literal millions rest on our actions tonight."
Oh, Stan remembered. Okay, he could tough it out for one night.
He and Benjamin filled their arms with rope, Majorie retrieved the tranquilizer gun kept under the pickup's front seat, and the three of them tromped as silently as they could in the direction Benjamin led. True to his word, fifteen minutes saw them to the edge of a clearing. Stan squinted. Was his eyesight really that bad, or... "Are those mushroom houses?"
Tiny groups of them sprouted along the grass in loose circles, and above them towered a massive, gnarled tree, it's sprawling canopy casting dark shadows in the moonlight. Around the base of the tree, dim orange light permeated the evening through round holes in the bark, illuminating wood far too smooth to be part of the tree. A door. Glinting off the brass of a handle. Cutting the corner out of a tiny sign as it creaked in the breeze.
"Am I going crazy?" Stan breathed, as if a single noise could shatter what must have been an illusion around them.
Benjamin gripped his shoulder, reassuringly real in his haze of disbelief. "Not yet, son, not yet."
The door in the tree trunk cracked open, and out stumbled something from a fever dream. Or the Menagerie. A tiny man with a pointed cap and a bushy gray beard, practically falling over itself as it lurched down the path in the kind of drunken stupor with which Stan was intimately familiar. A string of garbled sounds came out of its mouth, not quite singing, twisting reedily through the evening air until it collapsed next to a mushroom and began to snore.
Stan turned, openmouthed, to Benjamin. "You're kidding."
Benjamin's teeth caught the moonlight as he smiled. "This is the secret of Gravity Falls, Stan. The real reason we came to this backwater town. The things here defy all logic, and they're going to make us rich."
A thought solidified in the hazy cloud that was Stan's brain. "So… everything in the Menagerie is re~"
Majorie hissed for both of them to be quiet. Stan had been sure his jaw couldn't drop any farther, but when he saw what she nodded towards, he exceeded his own expectations. Through the trees, hide glittering an unnatural silver, stepped an animal which his eyes said was a unicorn, but his brain remained very much in denial.
Benjamin nudged him again. "That, Stan. That is our quarry. Be ready with the rope."
Before Stan could ask what he meant, Majorie lifted the tranquiliser gun to her shoulder and fired once, twice, the high pitched whistle of the dart slicing through air causing goosebumps to raise along his forearms.
The air split with shouts, and everything happened at once.
The tiny door to the tree burst open, flooding the clearing with golden lantern light, and creatures unlike anything Stan had ever seen poured into the darkness in waves of antlers and hooves and pointed hats, panic thick like molasses in the air. Benjamin launched himself into the chaos, net in hand, in hot pursuit of the creatures who tried to make a break for the tree line. Stan immediately lost sight of him under the cacophony of sensory stimulation that was now an all out exodus. Majorie reloaded and loosed round after round into the swarming mass of bodies, pausing only to shout, "what are you waiting for, boy, get the unicorn!"
His feet pounded the ground as he ran. When had he gotten up? The rope sat heavy in his hands, and he felt them twist it into a familiar slipknot without input from his brain, as much his nature as breathing. Creatures passed underfoot, too fast, too slow. He slipped on a discarded hat, but stayed upright. Was he upright? Was any of this real?
The unicorn stumbled away as he approached, eyes rolling wildly. Two feathered darts stuck out of its haunches, but they didn't seem to have much of an effect other than to make the beast clumsy. Stan tossed the rope, thought for a second he'd overshot, but the loop caught on its horn and tightened around the thick of its neck.
The unicorn jerked away, the rope slipping through Stan's palms, but he tightened his grip. The rope stung as it jerked to a stop, his hands burning through his gloves, and the unicorn screamed.
It pierced the mud in Stan's head. The forest crashed back into crystal clear reality as all of Stan's senses assaulted him at once. His blood chilled.
Once, a few years back, one of the horses at the circus had been attacked by a wandering puma. The big cat broke two of its legs before it had managed to drag the horse under the fence and back into the woods, its pray screaming the whole way. The sound that tore from the unicorn's mouth wasn't dissimilar to that.
Except there was a dual-tone scream underneath. And that voice was decidedly human.
Real.
Everything about this is real.
Everything in the Menagerie is REAL.
And Ford was right.
If he were Ford, he would have known. He would have sat down and had a good long think about why his brother, the smartest person in the world, had such a reaction to seeing the creatures in the Menagerie. How Ford would have thought about all the facts and seen every angle and would never have let Benjamin go so far as to capture and abuse things that spoke and sounded like people.
"This could make us millions."
Benjamin's voice wound through his head like a viper, all poison and promises. Millions. He could finally show his pa who the better son could be.
Then a different image sprang to mind. Ford, standing in front of a unicorn, petting its ridiculous rainbow hair and smiling like he had when they'd been kids. He knew which image he considered more important.
Sure, Ford would have known. But Stan had been told time and again that he wasn't Ford. He wasn't a thinker, he was a doer, and he did what he had to.
Stan let go of the rope.
The beast didn't stick around to thank him, vanishing into the trees as quickly as it came. Stan watched the flashes of silver grow dim, then disappear, feeling cleaner now than he had since he'd first seen Ford in Gravity Falls. Like he'd finally done something for himself, instead of for Benjamin, or Ford, or Pa.
"Stanley!"
He turned to see Benjamin, the clean sensation quashed by something thick and dark. Even across the clearing, by the dim moonlight, Stan could see Benjamin seething by the hike of his shoulders.
Benjamin never stormed, but when his catlike movements became as jerky as now he may as well have been in a fit of rage. He ate the distance between them with long strides, barely pausing to let his now-full net of gnomes drop to the ground by Majorie's feet. He stopped just shy of Stan, eye-level, but his writhing anger made him appear two or three feet taller.
Benjamin's words choked out through gritted teeth, "What. Did. You. Do."
Stan raised his chin, hoping beyond hope that Benjamin couldn't see it shaking. "I let it go."
"And why would you do a moronic thing like that?"
Stan fought not to cower. He'd made his choice and he'd stick to it. He wasn't a boy anymore. "B~" His throat closed up. Shit. "Because these aren't just animals, Benjamin. These things are just… they're just people with fur. Ford tried to tell me before, and he was right, what we do isn't~"
His vision exploded in white, and Stan didn't realize he was falling until he tasted dirt and blood on his tongue. The spiking pain in his cheek lessened to a dull throb, but compared to the renewed numbness of his brain it may as well have been a lightning strike. Benjamin loomed over him, shaking out a fist.
"You think too highly of that scum you call a brother," Benjamin snarled. He reached down. Stan's arms came up in a weak attempt to block another blow, but Benjamin grabbed a fistful of his shirt and hauled him to his feet again. "If you would cheat the people who've been family to you out of something that could make their lives better in favour of a word from someone who's never cared about you in your life," he shoved Stan back, sending him stumbling again, "I suggest you reassess where your loyalties lay."
He stared a second longer, maybe contemplating whether to throw another punch or not, but after a tense moment Benjamin turned and snatched up his net, thundering back in the direction of the pickup. "Help Majorie clean up your mess, Stanley. We'll discuss this more once we get back to the circus."
Majorie turned her eyes to Stan, but they were so full of pity it made his stomach sour. He looked away and set to work picking up the mounds of tranquilized creatures strewn around the clearing, and when he looked up again she was gone.
Fine, he didn't need her. He didn't need anyone.
When he got back to the pickup, arms full of snoring gnomes, Majorie and Benjamin were already in the cab, and with the amount of hands flying it didn't look like the conversation was going well. Quietly, Stan hopped up into the truck bed and filled the empty cages with his quarries. The sense of kinship with the trapped creatures was disturbingly strong.
The trip back to the circus was faster, but three times as uncomfortable as the ride out. It seemed neither manager was particularly interested in stealth anymore, cutting through the trees with reckless abandon.
It's still slow enough, though. You could jump out, disappear into the forest. They wouldn't look for you.
But his rear remained resolutely planted, for some reason. Oh, who was he kidding. He wanted nothing more than to apologize to Benjamin, to make it right to the man he'd called his mentor for the past ten years. The strike had hurt, of course, but he couldn't say he hadn't deserved it. Maybe, just maybe, he could explain his reasoning back at Benjamin's trailer. Maybe he could make Benjamin see that he could be loyal to both his old family and his new.
And maybe Ford will be waiting at your trailer once you get back, ready with an apology and open arms. Get real, idiot.
Shut up, inner voice.
The pickup passed into the shadow of the big top an eternity and a heartbeat later, rumbling through the chain link fence and puttering to a stop behind Benjamin's trailer. Stan climbed out of the bed and moved to start untying the cages.
Benjamin slammed the passenger side door, breezing by in the direction of his trailer. "Get down from there, Stanley, after that display tonight I don't want you anywhere near my exhibits."
Stan flinched, but obeyed. He couldn't really blame Benjamin at this point. "Sorry, Benjamin." The word slipped from his mouth like soap. When had apologizing come so quickly and easily?
Benjamin didn't even acknowledge it. "Back to your trailer. We can discuss appropriate punishment for you once I've reworked my entire business model for the next year to accommodate for your short-sightedness."
"S~" the start of another apology fell off Stan's tongue, the rest crushed as Benjamin slammed his trailer door shut.
Stan stared at the aluminum siding. How had things gone so wrong so quickly? A few hours ago he was set to become the successor of the whole show, and now what? Would Benjamin send him back to work as a stagehand? Or manure shoveler?
Worse, would he even allow Stan to stay with the circus?
"You're not welcome in this household!"
A shiver wracked his spine as the ghost voice passed through his ears. While the words belonged to his pa, the voice was unmistakably Benjamin's.
He spun on his heel and started off down the silent circus paths in a desperate attempt to shake the squirming sensation in his chest. That couldn't happen again, right? What were the odds of a guy getting kicked out of two homes in his life?
Benjamin had said 'punishment' not 'banishment'. But could Stan bear to live, shunned, in a place where he'd once been the favourite? Would living in exile be at all better than being kicked out completely? Benjamin had put a lot of weight into the belief he would have a unicorn by tonight. Could Stan ever repay what he'd cost the circus tonight? Would he want to?
Stupid Benjamin and his stupid stubbornness, and stupid Ford.
And Stupid Stan.
"Stan!"
He resurfaced from his ocean of self pity soon enough to spot Babbit tearing towards him. The little acrobat's eyes were wild.
Stan scrubbed at his face with a hand. "Look, Babs, this isn't really the best time~"
"I know," Babbit interrupted, "but Bippa and I caught some guy trying to sneak in after hours and I swear he looks exactly like you. Right down to the..." Babbit paused, as if just now noticing something. He squinted at Stan's face. "Did you get into a fight?"
Stan turned the bruised side of his face away from the string lights. "Kinda. Exactly like me, you say?" Geez, that was just what he needed right now. Of course Ford would do something idiotic like try to be a one-man hero. For the 'smart twin', he really was a moron.
An image flickered to mind, barely a formed idea, then solidified in an instant. The cloud in Stan's head cleared.
"Yeah, pretty much. We thought he was you for a bit until we saw him fiddling with the Menagerie locks. You would have gotten through in two seconds."
Stan couldn't hide his smile at that, but his chest ached. Babbit wasn't going to make this next part easy. No one was. "Does Benjamin know?"
Babbit hid his blush under his blonde curls. "We... we wanted to let you know first, seeing as he's your brother and all. And we, y'know, we get the sibling issues."
Stan doubted that, at least to his and Ford's extent, but that would work in his favour for now. "Good. Let me tell Benjamin, and then we can figure out what to do with him." Stan leaned down a little, lowering his voice, "and keep an eye on him, would you? He's not really right in the head right now."
Babbit blew out a breath, like those words released some kind of tension. "I'll say. He keeps babbling on about how everything in the Menagerie is real and we're all terrible people."
The ache in his chest intensified. Stanford Pines, you are going to get yourself killed some day. Stan matched Babbit's sigh with his own. And me with you. "You keeping him in your trailer?"
"The storage trailer."
Ugh, not ideal, but he could make it work. Correction, he had to make it work. "Keep him isolated, would ya? Don't want anyone here to know I'm related to a cloud cuckoolander."
Babbit snorted, snapping off a mock salute. "Oui, mon capitaine!" He turned and dashed away.
Stan stood in the center of the crossroads for a moment. He didn't have to do this. He could still go back to Benjamin, tell him about Ford, try to earn his way back into his boss' good graces. Benjamin forgave eventually, it wouldn't be too hard, right? Two weeks at most, maybe less if he worked at redemption.
Benjamin had told him to get his loyalties straight. And Stan had.
He walked away from the light, back the way he came, the ache slowly fading to a strange, cool calm. Or maybe a numb. It was hard to tell beneath the mental checklist scrolling through his head. He turned down the shadowed path, opposite the direction from Benjamin's trailer, and climbed the steps to his own. Moving mechanically, he flicked on the lights and started to pack.
Even with all the things he'd accumulated over ten years, even with the choice of what he put into his own bag, Stan switched off the lights and left his 'home' with nothing more than the clothes on his back and a battered duffle bag over his shoulder.
Stan tossed the bag into the backseat of his car, closing the door quietly after. One thing off the mental checklist. The next task would be trickier. He bent under the front passenger seat, pulling out a black briefcase, and eased his lockpicks from their place in the padded foam. He tucked the picks and his car keys into the pockets of his jacket, then took the back way to Benjamin's trailer.
The lights inside leaked hazy illumination into the night. Stan pressed his back against the aluminum siding, straining to peek through the lowest window. Benjamin paced at the far end of the table, hands clasped behind his back, face dark. Majorie tutted at him from her usual perch on the counter, angled with her back to Stan.
He ducked under the window, rounding the back where the pickup sat. The eerie sounds of shuffling drifted through the darkness, the occasional rattle of a cage. The tranquilisers must have worn off already. Keeping one eye on the trailer, Stan crept behind the truck, rounded the back, and hopped into the bed.
Immediately, one of the things cried out. Stan's heart froze, hissing a 'shhhh' on reaction more than purpose. He listened, stock still, expecting Benjamin to come barrelling out of the trailer any second.
A minute passed. Two. Nothing. Stan let himself breathe.
He knelt in the truck bed and reached for the first cage, but the thing made another little sound. "Quiet down, will ya, you want to get us all caught?" A tiny whimper. "Look, I know I helped capture you guys, and I want to say I'm s... I'm sorry." He was apologizing a lot tonight, must have been a personal record. "My brother warned me you guys were real and I didn't believe him at first, but now... shit, now I don't know what I believe," One hand came up to scratch at the back of his neck, more out of awkwardness than necessity. "But I'm here now and I'm going to get you out of here because if I don't, Ford will never talk to me again and we're on rocky ground as it is and I kinda just threw my whole life away for him. So, please just... let me help you out?"
"Very touching," growled a voice from beyond Stan's right shoulder. "Hurry up and free us, you dolt."
Stan briefly toyed with the idea of just leaving (Ford wouldn't find out about these ones, right?), but instead slid his picks into his palm and started on the first cage.
It helped he was used to these particular locks, and every creature was free and bounding into the forest within five minutes. Stan wished he could follow them, but he had other work to do. He swung himself over the tailgate, took two steps, and ran smack into Cordelia.
A yelp of surprise escaped through his clenched teeth. He slapped a hand over his mouth before it could morph into something bigger, nervously eyeing the trailer again. Cordelia never blinked, pupilless gaze striking straight to his soul. They flicked from the truck, to Benjamin's trailer, back to Stan.
He dropped his eyes under the weight of her stare. "'Delia," he started in as close to a 'whisper' as he could get, "look, this may sound crazy, but I... someone told me everything in the Menagerie is real, and it's not fair to keep them in there and everything and I just... I have to..." he trailed off, words bottlenecking at the base of his throat and sticking there until all he could do was sigh. "I have to go."
Cordelia didn't say anything, the only movement her long hair in the night air. Stan squirmed. Caught by and at the mercy of the very person whose job he was threatening (well, threatening directly), he awaited judgement.
She slid one bare foot back in an ethereally elegant retreat, barely making a dent in the grass, and vanished around the far side of Benjamin's trailer.
He took a step after her, one hand drifting up like it could catch her ghostly afterimage, but he stopped himself. She'd been with the circus since the beginning, no telling what she would do now. He was on a time crunch, and his mental checklist still stretched too long for comfort.
He retraced his steps back to the junction where Babbit had caught him, then followed habit to the storage trailer pressed against the perimeter fence. The lights were on, but Stan counted two shadows moving around inside. Lady luck, don't fail him now.
He ducked inside to see Bippa and Babbit on either side of a folding metal chair. Bippa lounged against a stack of boxes and Babbit straightened as Stan entered. In the chair sat Ford, hands bound behind his back.
"Looks like the twins are all here," Babbit laughed. "Should we swap stories? Have a 'Most Annoying Sibling' competition."
Stan's mouth quirked up. "Ford would have you all beat there. As you probably noticed." Ford glared at him, but couldn't say much around the handkerchief tied around his mouth.
Bippa grinned. "You're right. He talks a lot and says very little."
"Was the gag really necessary though?"
"We considered it a valuable lesson on the merits of proper conversational etiquette."
"He wouldn't shut up."
"Yup, that's Ford." Stan eased himself through piles of junk and racks of old costumes. He pulled the handkerchief from Ford's head, wincing as it came away damp with spittle.
"This is kidnapping!" Ford spat immediately. "I demand you release me, this is- this is illegal!"
Stan's mouth soured. How was that for a 'thank you'? "Yeah? So call your lawyer. You gonna come quietly or do I have to put the gag back on?"
Ford's glare grew no less intense, but his jaw snapped shut. As he turned his face to the light, Stan noticed the ugly bruising around his brother's eye and the sour taste crawled down his throat and took up permanent residence in his stomach. His own cheek throbbed in sympathy. Well, never let it be said they weren't identical. Stan twisted to address the cords binding Ford's wrists. Not too tight as to break the skin, thank goodness, but...
"You could stand to work on your knots, Bippa," he tugged one section and the whole tangled mess fell to the ground. "Kinda worrisome when the rope walker can't tie knots worth a damn."
Her face fell. "How did you know it was me? It could have been Babbit's knots, heaven knows he stinks at it!"
Stan ignored Babbit's instant protest. "Sure, but Babs is left handed so his knots are backwards. This one wasn't." He stood, setting a heavy hand on Ford's shoulder. "You probably could have broken out of there easily. Didn't even think to, did you?"
Oh, if looks could kill.
Stan let Ford to his feet, but didn't remove his hand. "We're gonna walk nice and quiet to Benjamin's trailer, and he can decide what to do you with you. Sound good?"
"You're insane."
Bippa and Babbit mock jeered at the weak insult, leaning against each other dramatically. Stan resisted the urge to roll his eyes at all three of them. Moses give him strength, he could feel every lost second grating on him like nails on a blackboard and all he wanted to do was go. "Sure, good one, bro." He steered Ford to the door.
"You sure you won't need help with that one?" Bippa offered, tilting her head. "Seems like he might be a bit of a handful, even for the Tiger Wrangler."
Despite the looming time constraint, Stan looked at the twins, really looked. Their golden hair, lithe limbs, youthful faces flushed with mirth, matching dimples. Could he and Ford have turned out like them in another life? Youthful, innocent, together?
It didn't matter, because here they were, physically young but mentally ancient. Broken. Maybe unfixable. Stan couldn't resent the twins, they'd been through far too much for that, but looking at the way they leaned on, supported one another now... Something twisted in his chest.
It hurt to stay, but he'd miss them when he went. "I've got this, thanks. And hey," he levelled an accusatory finger at them both. "Work on your knots. Don't want you falling to your deaths next show."
They both saluted, and Stan closed the door behind him, trying to focus on the task at hand. Definitely not thinking about the fact that he'd never see his friends again. That was something for Future Stan to bother with.
Present Stan had other problems, with Ford seething under his touch. "So now what, I'm arrested for trespassing? Somehow made the villain by a group of immoral animal abusers who'd rather turn a profit than worry about the state of some of the most fascinating creatures in the world? Is that right? I never expected much from you, Stanley, but this really is the icing on the cake, how can you just be~"
That last comment hit a little too close to home, but it wasn't like it was news. No one ever expected anything from Stanley, he was the screwup brother, even in a place where Ford hadn't existed. Why should now be any different? You could turn around, you know, whispered the voice in the back of his mind. Turn him in, win back Benjamin's favour. It would be so easy.
They approached the junction, emerging from the darkness into the yellow pool of the string lights. It would be easy. Take the path to the left, deposit Ford in Benjamin's hands, apologize (again). He was getting better at that. He could... he could do it.
He steered Ford down the right path, leading to the carnival.
No, he couldn't. Not to Ford.
The entrance to the Menagerie rose out of the darkness like an open mouth, just waiting to swallow them whole. Ford's steps faltered as they pulled up under the yawning archways. "W-what are we doing here, Stanley?"
Stan let his hand fall from Ford's shoulder, pushing through the curtains. "We're rescuing all your pets."
He passed Cordelia's stool and table, hopping over the 'staff only' sign and into the Menagerie proper, Ford trailing at his heels. "We're... we're what now?"
Stan knelt at the first cage, picks making quick work of the lock. "You heard me. Get the back flap open, that'll be the safest route out of the circus." The creature inside bolted past Stan's leg as soon as the gate opened, too quick for Stan to see which one it was. Its muddled shape darted around Ford and vanished behind the curve of the tent. Stan moved on to the next cage.
Ford didn't even register the first creature's escape, staring at Stan with wide eyes. "You're helping me?"
Stan held a pick in his lips, speaking around it. "Well, I'm doing most of the work, so more like you're helping me." Nada from Ford. Honestly, sometimes his brother was an idiot. "You opening that back flap or not?" The second lock clicked open.
Finally, movement. "Y-yes. Yes, of course." Ford moved three steps down the corridor before looking back over his shoulder. "Ah... Stan, I~"
"Back. Flap. Stanford." The third lock gave under his magic fingers. Maybe he should have them gold plated, they were certainly worth that much. Ford paused a moment longer before disappearing down the corridor, long coat flapping behind him. Finally, maybe now he could concentrate.
Stan fell into a rhythm: pick a lock, make sure the thing got out, move on to the next cage, repeat. He scowled at the sheen of sweat slicking his palms under his gloves with every passing minute. It's just a job, Stan, you're never this nervous on a job. Get it together. Still, his inner reassurances couldn't stop the stolen glances over his shoulder as every minute he expected Benjamin to sweep the Menagerie curtain aside and bring hell down on them both.
But the curtain remained blessedly still, and Stan eventually joined with Ford at the end of the corridor. Every cage was empty, except...
"Poor thing," Ford murmured to the lump of dirty red flannel curled at the back corner. It didn't react to his voice, shaking too hard to make a break for freedom.
Poor them if they stuck around much longer. Stan ducked into the cage, scooping the plaidypus into his arms. Even through his jacket, he could feel it trembling. Okay, yeah, he could see why Ford might think these things were cute. He unzipped his jacket and tucked the thing against his chest, rewrapping the thick fabric around its body. There we go, that was a little better. "Let's get out of here." He started back the way they'd come, towards the entrance.
Ford trailed along behind. "Shouldn't we go the other way?"
"Gotta get something first."
As they broke into the cool night again, Stan stiffened, tilting his head back and forth to try to pick up any suspicious sound. Ford caught the movement. "Something wrong?"
Not wrong, but...weird. It was too quiet, right? Shouldn't Benjamin be hot on their tails by now? "Nothing. Let's go." No need to worry Ford about it, anyway.
They crept through the shrouded paths of the circus, ducking behind trailers and tents as they crossed the campsite to Stan's own trailer. Last chance. If you need anything else, now's the time.
He didn't. He led Ford past without so much as a glance to his old home.
Behind it sat his baby, the red Diablo glinting gorgeously even in the faded moonlight. Ah, she was a beauty.
"You still have that old thing?"
Frickin' leave it to Ford. "You want to get picky about a getaway car, you're welcome to find your own," he hissed, sliding into the driver's seat. A wicked smugness settled in his mouth as, a beat later, Ford buckled himself into the passenger side. He handed his little furry friend to Ford. A key turn later, the Diablo roared to life.
Stan pulled out onto the service road casually as possible, a dozen prepared lies springing into his head about yes, I know it's past midnight, but my brother and I just decided to go for an evening drive. He needn't have bothered, the way to the gate was straight and empty. He opened it, drove through, and got out to shut it again.
He hesitated, casting his gaze back into the circus grounds. The carnival games seemed small and insignificant when they weren't blindingly lit and deafeningly loud. The looming big top, so intimidating three days prior, sat dark and quiet, the flags at the crown rustling in the evening breeze. Beyond that, the dull glow of the trailer park barely offset the main tent's spanning shadow. All was silent, inviting, a place where he'd learned and grown for ten years. His territory.
He let his head rest against the chain link fence, the metal cooling his damp brow. He'd known what he was getting into. He knew what needed to be done.
He just didn't expect it to hurt so much.
But Stan was a doer, not a thinker, and second thoughts had never really been his style. With a final push, the gates trapped his old home inside their curling embrace, and he found himself oddly... vulnerable.
He resolutely avoided Ford's questioning stare as he started the car up again. Maybe he'd take a hint and not try to start talking.
"Stanley," ah, his luck had to run out eventually. He supposed he should be thankful it held out this long. "Why did you suddenly change your mind?"
Stan barked a laugh that may have also been a choked sob in the right light. "You know me," his eyes flicked into the rearview, the circus fading into the forest behind them, and he forced his gaze down again, "'Mister Loyal'."