April 12, 1988

The rest of their little shopping spree had gone without a hitch, though the both of them had felt so worn afterward they collapsed into Stan's bed the moment their purchases were somewhat put away. And while a part of Stan had enjoyed the warmth of the little clone curled against him, he knew Nicola would need his own room. So he had spent the vast majority of today converting the spare room with the fireplace into a decent living space. This included bookshelves against the walls, a spare bed pulled from the mess up in the attic, and a desk he'd hauled up from the basement while Nicola was watching TV. He'd even been certain to sprinkle the various science-related books and gizmos he'd picked up across the space to surprise the kid. Altogether, Stan felt he'd done a pretty good job.

So why was the boy bawling?

"Can't I sleep with you? Please, Dad?" Nicola sobbed as he clung to Stan's leg.

That was another thing that had thrown Stan off, how easily the clone became accustomed to calling him Dad. Sure, that had been his plan, but it felt strange hearing the familial term from what looked like his brother's mouth.

"You've got your own bed now, you don't need to sleep with me," Stan pointed out as he attempted to pry the kid off. "Besides, I snore. You'll like sleeping alone better."

The boy looked up at him with those big brown eyes that only looked bigger behind his glasses. "But I don't want to be alone."

Now isn't that a fun contrast. In all Stan's more recent memories of his twin, it seemed Ford wanted nothing more than to be alone. Wherever he is, he's probably alone now.

And there was Nicola, gazing up at him with a softer version of that helpless expression Ford had worn as the light consumed him. Stan hadn't been able to do anything then, but he could now.

"Tell you what," he said as he lowered himself to Nicola's level. "I'll stay with you until you fall asleep, okay?"

The kid relaxed, finally releasing his death grip on Stan's pants. "Okay."

April 19th, 1988

"Dad?" A meek voice called from the other side of Stan's bedroom door.

Stan resisted the urge to groan as he pulled himself away from the comfort of his bed for what seemed like the hundredth time.

"What is it Nicky?"

"I had the nightmare again."

Stan opened the door to reveal the trembling form of Nicola, clutching his pillow like a teddy bear.

Stan sighed as he combed his fingers through his mullet. "Would you like to spend the rest of the night with me, kiddo?"

Rather than reply, the clone simply bolted to the bed, clambering onto what was slowly becoming 'his' side. He then proceeded to tuck himself under the covers and turn towards Stan with an expectant look.

Stan lumbered over to the bed and joined the kid under the covers. "Wanna talk about it?"

Nicola shook his head, but his expression seemed hesitant. "It was bad."

Stan curled an arm around his small bedmate. "You've had the same nightmare every night for the past week, maybe talkin' about it will help."

Nicola looked down, seemingly fascinated by the ratty T-Shirt Stan slept in. "I can't move. There's glass walls and loud voices and I know you're there, but I can't move! The voices want to take me away and I can't do anything!"

He's just out of reach and I can't do anything, can't do anything but watch as he pleads.

"And I'm scared you'll leave, but I can't say anything and everything hurts!"

He's sitting on the swings, smiling as if the world isn't falling down around him.

The machine keeps spinning and it's like laughter, like the inevitability of being left behind.

"And I wonder if I'll ever see you again."

And the empty husk of Ford's madness sits there, judgmental in its silence, another thing broken.

Stan took a deep breath, pulling himself from the slideshow of memories and focusing on the tear-stained face of a little boy who just had a nightmare.

Not Ford, but a second chance.

Based on the description, it seemed that Nicola remembered Daughtler Labs after all.

Stan gently brushed his fingertips through the brunette's curls. "Is there anything you think about before going to sleep that might cause these?"

The boy pressed his face against Stan's shirt. "You'll be mad at me."

Stan shook his head as he titled the kid's face to meet his eyes. "The worst you could do is mildly upset me, and even then, getting rid of your nightmares is more important."

Nicola took a deep breath, then grabbed Stan's hand and began pulling him out of bed. "I'll show you."

Stan followed the boy back to his room, remaining hand in hand all the while. Once they passed the threshold, Nicola pointed to the desk and Stan's heart sank. Piled on top of the walnut slab were the various books and trinkets Stan had bought, the ones he was sure Nicola would like.

"This is what's giving you nightmares?" He asked, his voice sounding rougher than usual.

The small hand clenched tighter around his own. "It makes me think of the voices. They're the ones who want to take me away, right? The ones you were worried about when you said I should call you Dad."

Stan nodded, his head still spinning. Ford loved this kinda stuff when he was little. If Pa had been willing to buy it he'd be thrilled. "So you don't like this stuff?"

Nicola curled into himself. "Am I supposed to?"

"Stan, do you think I'm supposed to have less fingers?"

"Nah, that'd be boring."

Stan knelt down and pulled the kid into a hug. "No. You like whatever you want, okay? Don't let anyone tell you otherwise, not even me."

He could feel the brunette's chin dig into his shoulder. "Okay."

"I'll get this out of your room tomorrow."

June 26, 1988

Stan sat amongst a mess of papers, totaling the month's bills while a little boy in a fairly loose purple sweater struggled through a paperback beside him.

"'The old fellow's fury was awful. He sprang to his feet, drew and opened a sah-ih-lor's,'"

"Sailor's."

"'Sailor's clasp-knife, and balanck-ing,'"

"Balancing."

Nicola frowned at the book. "It's not spelled that way."

"English is funny like that," Stan replied without looking up from the bills. To commit tax fraud or not to commit tax fraud? Oh, who am I kidding! "Just keep reading kiddo, you're doin' great."

"What if I can't make first grade? What if I'm not smart enough?"

Stan peered over the frames of his glasses at the kid. "What on earth makes you think you're not smart?"

The boy gestured to the book. "It's hard."

"Most things worth doin' are, doesn't mean you're not smart," Stan said, his eyes never leaving Nicola's.

The brunette sank into his chair with a pout. "I don't feel smart."

Stan scoffed. "Trust me Nic-knack, you're a genius in the making."

The kid eyed him suspiciously. "How do you know?"

Because you've got a perfect replica of Ford's brain, and I'm spending years trying to fix exactly what that brain's capable of. "Because I knew someone just like you once. Now, keep readin', I love this story."

With a sigh, Nicola lifted the worn copy of Treasure Island and continued.

"And balancing it open on the palm of his hand, threatened to pin the doctor to the wall…"

August 10th, 1988

Stan stood beside his fluffy-haired charge outside the door to a brightly decorated classroom, while Nicola fiddled with his hands in a nervous gesture Stan recognized from his own elementary school days.

He placed a hand on the boy's shoulder. "Hey," he said in a soft tone as he bent to better see Nicola's face. "You've got this. You're a smart cookie and a great kid. If they can't realize that," he tilted his chin to indicate the classroom. "Then that's their loss. Just try your best, alright?"

Nicola nodded. "And you won't be mad if I don't make it in?"

"You'll make it in, I'd bet every dollar I've got you will. But even if you didn't, no, I wouldn't be mad." Stan straightened and gave the boy a gentle push. "Now, you take that test, and you knock 'em dead."

August 20th, 1988

The phone was ringing. Why was the phone ringing? Dan said the sign for the newly rechristened "Mystery Shack" wasn't gonna be ready for another week, and there was no reason for anybody else to call.

But the phone was ringing and Stan had to be a responsible adult, so he answered the call.

"You've reached the Mystery Shack."

"Is this Stanford Pines?"

No! His brain screamed. He's gone and I don't know if I'll ever get him back!

"Yes," his mouth replied. "How can I help you?"

"Are you the guardian of Nicola Lee Pines?"

"I am. Is this about his test?"

"Exactly Mr. Pines."

"He made it in, right?"

"Oh, of course, Quentin Elementary is thrilled to have him as a student. The issue is with the requested grade level."

"What about it?"

"Your son is testing at a 3rd-grade level, 1st grade won't be challenging enough for him."

"Put him in 3rd grade then."

"You don't care that he'll skip multiple grade levels?"

"I don't want him to get bored with the material."

"Well then, Mrs. Durland looks forward to having him in her class."

August 29th, 1988

Nicola felt like his heart was trying to beat its way out of his chest.

So many kids and they're all so much bigger than me…

Back home, the idea of being in a big kid class had seemed like an adventure, a chance to find more stories to read, new people to talk to, new words to use. Now that he was here, it seemed a lot more, well more. There were too many people, and it felt like they were all staring at him as he made his way to the desk with his name written in pretty looping letters. On the way, he couldn't help but notice their hands.

Nobody matches.

The desk was much smaller than the one in his room and it smelled like the stuff Dad used to clean the gift shop floor after someone threw up, his feet still dangled off the ground even though his chair was shorter, and he couldn't even see the eyes of the kid next to him.

"How does he even see with his hair in his face?"

Wait, did I say that out loud?

The boy turned in his direction.

Oh, I definitely did.

The boy looked at him for a second before speaking. "I look through it."

Nicola took a moment to process the boy's words. "Isn't that harder than just keeping it out of the way?"

The boy shrugged. "I like it this way."

Nicola toyed with the edge of the paper labeling his desk. "Just kinda looks like you're hiding something."

The boy scoffed. "Like what?"

"I dunno, a third eye? A giant birthmark? No eyes at all?" Nicola guessed, tapping a finger with every example.

"With that kinda talk you must be the kid from the weird house in the woods."

"Yep," Nicola said with a nod. "My name's Nicola."

The boy's lips curled into a small smile. "Nice to meet you, I'm Tate."

Thank you for reading! The holiday season was a little rough for me, so it makes me happy to see there are people interested in my stories.

JBlaser: Do not fear, I have not forgotten your request, life just happened.

KrackenClaw: Thank you so much for the kind words in your review. I'm so glad you've been enjoying the story! As for your question about what inspired this concept, I was watching Boyz Crazy and found myself thinking "What if this technology was used to clone a character?" I didn't think about the idea again until I read a story on AO3 (I forget the title) about Stan switching places with his kid self. I liked the dynamic between a young Ford and older Stan, remembered my thought during Boyz Crazy, and this fic was born.