"...so that's basically the long and the short of it. I just…don't know how to fix this. Because I wasn't-I didn't think that Stan wouldn't-and it's not like I want him gone, not really, I just-assumed he would-I don't know. Be all right. Because he always is. Or…at least he's supposed to be." Ford sighed, and untangled another wire. "And if I'm going to be back in my own dimension, in my own house, it doesn't seem fair to not even be able to use my own name anymore…but I don't want to leave him homeless either. I like to think I'm not that heartless."
"...Sounds like you've gotten yerself in a big puddle o' donkey spittle."
"You still have the most eloquent way of putting things."
Fiddleford snorted as he pulled his welding helmet back down and reignited the blowtorch.
He had already assembled the robot's head and torso by reshaping and welding together any metal parts that seemed right-this mostly consisted of car hoods, as best Ford could tell. Fiddleford had also partially attached a massive arm to the right side of the body, and was currently trying to decide whether to give his creation actual legs or just use the cannibalized treads from an old caterpillar tractor. As they worked on attaching the head, they debated the pros and cons of the two options, and eventually decided on the compromise of putting the treads on the bottoms of its feet, so it would be as if the robot was wearing roller skates.
And as he helped assemble the biomechanical brainwave generator, oblivious to the shadows of sunset steadily creeping around them, Ford told Fiddleford about his troubles with Stanley.
Fiddleford hummed thoughtfully as he pulled back to inspect the newly completed kneecap. "Mebbe what ya gotta ask yerself is, are ya willin' ta meet him halfway?"
"...Halfway?"
"E-yup. Figger out a middle ground that'll make the both o' ya happy."
"Yes, I know what meeting someone halfway means," Ford muttered, somewhat waspishly.
"Coulda fooled me." Even covered by the welding mask, Ford could tell that Fiddleford was smirking.
He just rolled his eyes at him and began untangling a handful of wires that had all snagged onto and wrapped around each other until they looked like a mass of writhing snakes.
When he'd managed to regather his thoughts and started connecting the wires to the circuit board inside the robot's skull, he went on, "I don't even know where to start, though. Because he believes that I don't actually care about him, and…"
And I didn't realize I do, or how much it would hurt for him to think I don't, until I heard him say it.
"...and I'm not sure how to prove him wrong."
"Wheel, a good start might be ta not treat him like somethin' the cat dragged in whenever you're in company."
Ford sighed, even as he flinched guiltily. "Yes, Boyish Dan's daughter suggested a similar strategy. But even that doesn't feel like…enough. Not after everything we've-ouch!" He pulled back with a curse when one of the wires sparked briefly; the last thing he needed right now was to get electrocuted.
"Careful with the morality circuits, they git a tad fritzified when it's this hot and make the robot start actin' up." Fiddleford finally removed the welding helmet and began rummaging around in a nearby pile of junk. "Now, where'd I put that coolant?"
"I suppose the best idea I can think of," Ford mused aloud, "is for me to prove I do care by…rescuing him from something."
The way he always rescued me. The way he spent thirty years working to rescue me (even though he shouldn't have).
"Heh. Come to think of it, it would be perfect if this robot unexpectedly came to life and attacked him or something."
Ford laughed to himself as he connected the final two wires-
-and the robot's eyes opened.
Inside the gargantuan brain, artificial synapses sparked with fresh new information that had been gathered via its audio receptors over the last hour or so.
While it didn't fully understand the reasons for its newly-established purpose, or how it could do so when it felt so incomplete, it had picked up enough to understand the most important fact:
"DIRECTIVE CONFIRMED: FIND AND ATTACK STAN PINES."
"Wait, what?"
With a loud rumble and whir of gears coming to life and jolts of electricity coursing through its artificial veins, the robot levered itself up onto its giant arms. Oblivious to the way the wires hanging out of the bottom of its torso began sparking in protest at their not being connected to anything, or the cries of alarm from the tiny pale figures even farther down, a tiny antenna in the top of its head lit up and began searching for signals in the surrounding area. The brainwave generator looked through them at rapid-fire pace for all available information on Stan Pines, and soon enough narrowed down his location.
With a glint in its massive eyes that could almost be viewed as determined, the robot began lumbering towards the chain link fence ahead of it.
A swipe from one clawed hand quickly reduced it to shreds of metal, and without even pausing it continued following the signal in the direction of the residence colloquially known as the Mystery Shack.
Ford, in the distance: "I WAS BEING SARCASTIC!"
