USELESS

Chapter 2: Shanklin

"Stanley!" Stan's brother screamed. Terror laced over his face and strangled his deep vocals. The scientist hovered above his twin, struggling to find footing or purchase of any kind. "Stanley! Stanley, help me!"

"Oh no!" The grifter below the floating man panicked, swaying his head around the large sub basement searching for something; anything to help him save his brother before whatever was happening became worse. But he found nothing, and he was too horrified to see anything useful nearby. "What do I do?!"

"Stanley! Do something!" The man above cried out as he was being pulled further and further backwards into the blinding light behind him. Unable to think or do anything else, he threw the book he had clenched in his hands. Stan caught it, but was immediately at a loss again. He didn't know what else to do but stare up at his twin who continued to fight his way free from an invisible restraint. "Stanley! Stanley!"

Once the flailing man was fully swallowed up by the horrid vortex, an explosive flash of electrified white light blasted over Stan's sight, temporarily blinding him. The shockwave from the blast knocked him backwards. The force of his impact against the floor almost knocked him unconscious, but he would not allow himself to pass out before seeing if his brother was okay or not. But the moment he turned back to stare at the large machine, everything was quiet and still.

"Stanford…?" The grifter whispered, shocked and afraid the quiet would continue to haunt him. Instead, he was pained by the clattering sound of his twin's glasses falling to the cold ground in front of him. It was the only sign given to Stan that encouraged him back to his feet.

"Stanford, come back!" He cried, running to the mechanism and beating his fists over it, ignoring the ache in his hands as he wailed away at cold metal. "I didn't mean it!"

Eventually, the hum of the machinery in the opposite room died down. Stan didn't even notice the whirling of unfamiliar mechanisms until they stopped and it heightened his panic even further. He turned around to listen to the last of the devices die down, but then he noticed the large lever behind him then ran towards it. "I just got him back! I can't lose him again!"

With all of his strength, he pulled back on the lever, putting his whole weight against the rod then wrapping his leg over it for leverage. However, it was now locked and remained stonewalled no matter how much he fought against it. "Ugh! Come on!"

"STANFORD!" Stan spun around with his eyes closed, unable to do much else than just scream his brother's name into the portal, but when he opened them again he wasn't in the basement. He was in the kitchen, sitting at the table by the window and hopelessly reaching for the fridge. He must've fallen asleep while rereading Ford's journal, and had that nightmare about being helpless and feeling worthless again.

"God damn it." He groaned when he finally calmed down enough to wipe the sweat off his face. "What time is it?"

"Four in the morning." Fiddleford answered, and startled Stan into an upright position. He wasn't expecting to see the scrawny blonde up on his feet, and bringing him a mug of something hot. "I made coffee while you were out. Not sure how you take it though."

"Black is fine." Stan replied, his dark ringed eyes narrowing over the large white mug set in front of him. "Thanks, Fidds."

"Fiddleford." The scientist announced as he sat across from the ragged man. He didn't mean to speak indifferently, he wasn't particularly annoyed by the nickname Stan gave him, but he never really agreed to it either. If Stan wanted to call him by a shorter name, he could at least ask first since they were still technically strangers. However, when Fiddleford glanced back up from sipping his own coffee, he nearly coughed the black liquid back into his cup. If he looked away from Stan long enough, he would sometimes forget he wasn't Stanford. They had their differences in appearance, like Stan's longer hair and heavier physique, but their faces were so strikingly the same it was almost scary. Trying to avoid explaining his sudden slip in manners, Fiddleford quickly changed the subject. "A few memories came back to me while I was in the shower earlier. I think there might be some of my old notes and blueprints in the sub-basement."

"Hm…" The burly brunette muttered over his mug, not really noticing Fiddleford stumble in front of him. He was listening to him, but for some reason the coffee wasn't doing its job properly and Stan found it difficult to keep his focus. But he took a deep breath regardless, and did his best to appear present in the conversation. "Do you want me to look through the area for you? Just tell me where to search and I'll see what I can dig up."

"I think it'd be easier if… I went down there with you this time." Biting the inside of his cheek, Fiddleford did his best to ignore the odd glance Stan delivered.

"You're ready to go down there already?" Stan furled his eyebrows, confused by this sudden turn of commitment. "It's only been three days since you came back. You don't have to push yourself so hard. If you're not ready to take that next step, it's okay."

"Things will go a lot quicker if I start taking bigger steps to my recovery." The scientist admitted, but still shied away with his blue eyes peering out the window and only able to see the tree tops from where he sat. "Yet… I don't think I have the strength to be alone down there. Ever."

"Fidds… I-I mean, Fiddleford." Stan encouraged his ward to look back at him, and he tilted his head in empathy. "It really is alright. If you don't want to go back down there yet, it can wait. We can do just as much brainstorming up here with the journal and Ford's library."

"That's Ford's decoy library." Fiddleford smiled, appreciating Stan trying to respect his boundaries. "He hid most of his good books in the nook below his desk. Easier for him to reach them when his work days got away from him."

After one last sip from his mug, the thin engineer finished his coffee and stood to rinse it in a half full sink. "I think I can manage now. As long as we make a pact. Never let me down there alone… I don't think I can trust myself to feel safe down there ever again."

"Okay," Stan also finished his coffee, and wasn't far behind Fiddleford in rinsing his cup, "I was only asking, because your shoulders are shaking."

"Well yeah…" Fiddleford chuckled, thinking the taller man was just being silly for no reason. "It's a bit cold in here. Don't you feel the morning chill right now?"

"Hm, not really." Stan shrugged and returned to close the journal on the table. "The cold never really bothered me a lot. Plus, no offense, but I am a tad larger than you. This big tank tends to retain heat."

Emphasizing his claim, Stan smirked and lightly pounded his chest with his fist. The smaller man chuckled again into his hand, finding his friend's twin to be more charming than he was expecting. Ford didn't speak much about Stan (or his family in general), but when he did the topic was usually brief and undermined. One minute, a fond memory would come to the scientist, and he would mention his twin in passing. But soon he would sigh sadly and his bright brown eyes would soften before changing the subject quickly to avoid questions. From what Fiddleford remembered in their conversations, Stanley Pines was a gentle soul that always looked out for Ford when they were children, but drastically grew apart when he graduated high school. There was probably more to that description, but not all of it had come back to the mechanic yet. In that general sense, he knew it would be best to tread carefully if the topic ever came up with Stan.

"Speaking of the cold, I noticed that patch of duct tape over your jacket." Fiddleford turned towards the door out of the room, but hesitated in the doorway. "I hope you don't mind, but I patched it up for you last night. I usually keep old clothes or sheets in the laundry room to repurpose them later. It's hanging on the coat rack."

"Oh, you didn't have to do that." Stan scratched the back of his neck, but shrugged indifferent anyway. "Is it okay if I shower before we head down? I'm a little sweaty yet."

"Sure, I'd like to get changed into my work clothes anyway." Fiddleford smiled back. "I'll meet you by the vending machine in… Twenty minutes?"

"Make it thirty." The burly man sauntered to the doorway but paused to let Fiddleford walk out of the way. "Feeling a lot of tension in my back. I might need a minute to soak."

The blonde nodded and hummed in response, and when Stan finally walked past him, Fiddleford headed towards the stairwell. He walked up the splintering steps, making notes in the back of his mind to clean whatever mess he glanced at as he ascended to the first flight towards the bedroom, or the room Ford called a bedroom, but in reality it was just a formality. A room that just happened to have a bed in it that he barely used, but was occasionally visited for his grooming needs.

The journey to the back side of the house was longer than he recalled, and every room turned out to be in neglected shambles. Mostly cluttered with materials for experiments he either couldn't remember doing or if Ford organized after he left. Guilt crawled along the curve of his spine, and Fiddleford hunched over his crossed arms.

"What did you get yourself into, Stanford?" He questioned, passing a barrel with a rock clumsily placed over the top of it. Tilting his head, he could've sworn it had facial features, but that didn't bear investigating at the moment. Reaching Ford's room, Fiddleford braced himself for the possibility of it being just as untidy. Somehow, when opened the door to a decently clean room, it filled him with even more concern. Even if Ford rarely used the bedroom, it still occasionally looked lived in.

"Oh Ford…" He sighed at the sight of a still, yet not freshly made bed untouched by time. "Have you slept at all since I've last seen you?"

Passing the bed frame, Fiddleford reached the dresser aligned against the opposite wall. It looked like some of the drawers had been rifled through, and he recalled Stan mentioning how he was desperate and searching through random places. It looked like he missed the bottom drawer where Fiddleford kept some of his things, or he just opened it once and realized there wasn't anything worth searching for inside. Not that there was anything of real value in it. It was just an emergency clothes drawer in case Fiddleford singed his outfits, or got soaked, beaten, or dragged through mud during any of their executions outside of the shack.

"Looks like all my lab coats and ties are still here." He commented and knelt in front of his drawer. Carefully he pulled out one article of clothing at a time. It turned out to be a slow process since his right arm was still wrapped tightly in bandages (which during a later examination, turned out to be a large bruise from a minor sprain). Despite the restraint on his grasp he still managed to assemble a full outfit, starting with a black tie, white dress shirt, black slacks, black socks (silk), and a pair of boxer briefs. His favorite pair as the occasion called for such comfort and he smiled at the red trim. A memory came back to him, and he remembered why they were his favorite pair. They were a silly gag gift given to him for his birthday. It had a message on the waist ban, telling him to 'hold on to your undergarments!' because their adventures into the unknown had only just begun. He was also given a hand made pick for his banjo (made of what, he can't recall) and a homemade sponge cake with blueberries. The mechanic only mentioned he loved sponge cake and blueberries in passing once, and was over the moon that day to see his best friend had remembered it.

Above his drawer one of Ford's sweater vests hung lazily outside its compartment. It was the tan one that the brunette scientist wore since college and one of his favorites. It was the vest he was wearing when he first met Fiddleford in their dorm room. His mind reeled through the memory of a crazy young Stanford Pines bursting through the door, claiming Fiddleford's theories were mathematically feasible before even introducing himself. It made him smile over his sadness.

After dressing in his standard work clothing the blonde man turned back to the dresser and lightly traced his fingers over the woven fabric. Such soft wool, and delightful patterns, his smile widened but his throat tightened on restraint. He would not cry, now was not the time.

"Hold on to this one." He whispered to himself while rubbing the heel of his hand over his eye. "This is a good memory… It will help. Hold onto it Fiddleford."

The last thing he did before leaving the room was grab one of Ford's kerchiefs. He found them in the bachelor's chest at the foot of the bed and picked a white one with a blue trim monogram S.P. "Close to my heart, my friend." He said softly, folding the cloth into square, then tucking it sideways into his chest pocket. "I will find you… I will make this right."

"Woof! I gotta fix that boiler." Stan announced as he blindly walked through the cluttered room with the dinosaur skull, for whatever reason still in a fish tank. He was dressed and even grabbed his newly repaired jacket on his way through, but was still shaking a towel over his damp hair. He was about to round the corner that would lead into the 'room' that led to the basement (he wasn't sure what Ford would've called it, since almost every room on the first floor looked like a 'mad scientist' bomb went off in it). He was sure he saw Fiddleoford through the occasional wrinkle of his towel fluttering over his eyes. Even though he was talking to himself at first, he continued as if he was originally speaking to the scrawny man. "I checked that boiler out before, I know it's big enough to hold over fifty-five gallons at a time. More than enough for two… People."

Stan stopped messing with his hair when he finally reached the room with the vending machine and he found Fiddleford standing in front of it in a lab coat. The tall blonde's expression was long and sad in the reflection of the glass and he was still shivering as if he never stopped since he was in the kitchen. Stan thought it was weird since it didn't feel that cold in the house to him. He wasn't even sure if he would bother putting his jacket on, but perhaps it was better to have it then not need it. He decided to ignore the temperature debate he was having with himself and returned to observing Fiddleford and his struggling. Occasionally the forgetful mechanic tried to lift his hand nervously to push the buttons on the vending machine, but would soon fall short on his courage and pull his slim fingers away. "Come on… You can do this… You remember."

"Fiddleford?" Stan just carelessly set the damp towel in his hand aside on a random rack of antlers, then he reached out cautiously to gently tap Fiddleford's shoulder. "Are you okay?"

"I should remember this…" Fiddleford bit a knuckle and stared at the keypad intensely. "Everything else is coming back so smoothly, but now it's the small things… Like this… Why am I struggling with this?"

"Would you feel insulted if I just pushed the code in myself?" Stan asked gently and Fiddleford just shook his head and stepped to the side. The look of defeat under his circular glasses tugged at the taller man's heartstrings as he pushed the buttons. "If you like, I can write this down for you and leave it in the notepad you've been carrying around."

"It's okay, it'll come to me eventually." The shorter of the two shook his head again, but smiled weakly. "It's a moot point anyway if I can't be down there alone either way. I'm just… Nitpicking at the things I can control and maybe over reacting to the things I can't."

"Don't try pushing everything to the surface at once." Stan smiled softly while taking a step back to let the vending machine slide open. "Recovery takes time and it is best to take things one day at a time."

"I thank you for your concern Stanley, but I'm sure I can… Um…" Finally lifting his head to meet Stan's gaze, Fiddleford needed to stop himself from laughing out loud. Covering his mouth with both of his hands, he snorted into his palms, but it wasn't enough to stop his need to chuckle.

"What?" Stan questioned, finding the mood swing unusual, but enduring.

"It's your…" Fiddleford's blue eyes teared a little from holding back the need to laugh louder, and after a little time passed he allowed his left hand to move up towards the grifter's head. "Just hold still a minute."

Surprised by the blonde's boldness, but not put off by the gesture, Stan stood still and allowed Fiddleford to fiddle with his hair. The shorter man giggled as his long fingers raked over wet strands of thick brown locks, smoothing it out as best he could. He eventually stopped when he felt satisfied with his work, making a mental note to bring Stan one of his hair brushes or a comb after the work they did today was finished. "So many cow licks."

"Heh…" Stan laughed a little, but also blushed. He really was surprising himself with how close he allowed another man to approach him so intimately. "Um… Do you want me to go down first?"

"Oh… Actually no." The mechanic turned back to the basement entrance, his gaze returning to a blatant expression. "I think… I need to lead. For now."

He marched into the cramped stairwell, showing a glint of confidence that Stan couldn't remember seeing before, and he felt a little impressed by it. Wherever that fire came from it stayed lit right up to the elevator and Fiddleford admitted he was starting to struggle already. Stan led the rest of the way past the lift, and once they made it to the third sub-basement, Fiddlford finally reached a higher state of angst. He swallowed it quickly, but Stan still empathetically put his hand on his shoulder.

"Doing okay?" He whispered.

"Yes." Fiddleford breathed out a little harshly. "I think I can go as far as the engine room today. Not yet ready for the portal."

"Should we have a safe word?" It was a joke, but the scientist took it quite literally.

"Not a bad idea, sounds logical enough." Fiddleford pinched the base of his chin, nodding into his thoughts. "Any suggestions?"

"Pfft!" Stan covered his mouth with his fist, snorting quietly while turning his head away. He could see very clearly why Ford liked Fiddleford so much, they were both on the same dork level. "I… I don't know…"

He did give it a little thought now that his humor was being taken so seriously. With little imagination to go on, he just blurted out the first odd word that came to mind. "Shanklin."

"Shanklin?" Fiddleford quirked his eyebrow, waiting for an explanation.

"Name of my childhood pet… He was a possum."

"Ha!" The blonde laughed and slapped his hand over his knee. "I love it! Shanklin it is!"

The atmosphere felt a lot lighter after that, and after a few more chuckles and a quip about possums, the duo went their separate ways to their own devices. Fiddleford found his friend's desk and popped out the side paneling. That was the false nook that Ford saved for him, and he used it to hide the notes and blueprints. It was a safe place for them whenever he needed to grab them quickly while he was still working in the basement. Stan made his way into the portal section of the separated room and went back to working on the lever that was stuck in place. He set his jacket on the floor behind him before opening the toolbox he left there earlier. Fiddleford glanced over the desk and through the safety observation window. He noticed Stan on his knees, toiling with the lever like he knew what he was doing. Or at least to an extent it appeared he did. The engineer decided not to worry about it, because he noticed the fuel gages all leaned on empty before he sat down to study his blueprints. So if Stan did manage to loosen the lever, he wouldn't be able to start anything. A couple hours passed, before he leaned over the desk to check on the burly Pines twin again. Stan had shifted on his opposite leg, and also appeared to be favoring his right arm. He must've slept on it wrong, Fiddleford thought and it seemed his theory was correct when Stan stood to circle his shoulder.

"Okay…" Stan grunted before turning around to face his scientist through the window and signaled for his attention. "Just a heads up Fiddleford, I'm going to try jostling the lever. I think I detached whatever was locking it in place."

"Fine." Again, Fiddleford wasn't worried if there was no fuel, so he just returned to lazily flipping through the pages of his blueprints. "Just be careful and stand behind the yellow and black line when you do…"

His voice slowed when he flipped a random blueprint around and noticed the note he left behind. It explained how if the main lever was ever locked, it locked for a reason. The locking mechanism was a fail safe!

"Oh my God! Stan, wait!" The mechanic sprinted to his feet the moment Stan pulled the lever back. Shocked to see that familiar white light flash over his sight again, Stan froze when the portal blinked to life. Static crept out of the circular entrance like a scene from a horror movie, and for the unsuspecting grifter, it felt suffocating to witness. He was the one now locked in place. "Stan! Get back!"

The fear of another person getting hurt or lost in the developing vortex outweighed his fears of going anywhere near that god forsaken portal. Fiddleford was quick in his response and ran inside to grab Stan by his arm. As quickly as he ran in, he was out just as fast with the hefty brunette right behind him.

"Hit the dirt! Cover your head!" Fiddleford instructed and yanked Stan down with him, ignoring a pained grunt beside him as he dove for the base of the desk.

"It-It's working…!" Stan watched the light flash over the machinery in the current room he was in and slowly returning to his senses. The flickering over dark metal was delivering a warm feeling of hope up the hollow of his chest. The warmth spread as the light grew brighter and the crackling of electricity built up higher and higher until the hairs on his arms were standing on end. "Yes! Yes! That's it! Keep going!"

He tried to stand so he could stare out the shielded window, but Fiddleford had a death grip on his arm. Stan almost shouted his frustration at the smaller man, but the blonde beat him to it.

"Shanklin!" Fiddleford screamed over the growing rumble of shaking machinery. "Shanklin! Shanklin!"

"It's okay, Fidds!" Stan hurried back down and without second guessing his actions, he curled himself over Fiddleford's form. He didn't scream, but he raised his voice loud enough, and hopefully calm enough for his ward to hear him. "I've got you! It's going to be alright!"

That moment, everything stopped. In an instant, like the flipping of a light switch, everything was quiet, still, and dark where the two men took shelter. Fiddleford, though panicking merely seconds ago, was the first to finally ask what happened. Stan, however, flew into his own despair and finally stood to check his surroundings.

"No…" He groaned, on the verge of angry tears. "No… No! Come on!"

Building rage blinded him to his environment and he slammed his fist on the desks surface. "We had it! It was working! What the hell?!"

"Stan…" Fiddleford tried to stand, but his long thin legs were reduced to rubber. He fumbled twice before he managed to get his loafers beneath him. "I'm sorry… I didn't see it until it was too late."

He reached the desk beside Stan, who was doing everything in his power not to completely lose his composure. Fiddleford could feel immense heat emanating for Stan's body as he inched closer to point at his blueprints. "What you detached from the lever was a fail safe I installed. It's meant to lock in place when the fuel tanks read empty, but… Not all of the fuel completely burns out, and whatever isn't entirely depleted, it can potentially jump start the vortex temporarily. I put that lock in place to prevent the portal from unpredictably igniting as we repaired or modified it afterwards."

"Really?! You couldn't remember that?!"

"S-Sorry…!" Fiddleford fell back into the chair he had pushed aside earlier. Fearful of Stan's outburst, he pushed it back further until he hit one of his computing machines. He tucked his arms tight to his chest and shook violently when he couldn't control his leg from repeatedly jumping from the stress. "I-I-I-I really am s-s-sorry…!"

"Fuck!" Stan growled before pushing himself violently away from the desk. He wasn't angry at Fiddleford, but he was mad at himself for taking his frustration out on the timid man. Stan knew Fiddleford was still struggling, and he was trying his best to help, but that feeling of hope he managed to find proved too fleeting to hold onto. It slipped away through his dirty, calloused, and heavily cut hands, and he couldn't handle the loss. So, he ran back into the portal room and grabbed the largest and heaviest tool in his path (a monkey wrench, it turned out to be) and started swinging it against the triangular structure. He screamed every profanity in his vocabulary, and when he was tired of the ones in English, he switched to Spanish. Stan swung, punched, kicked, and barked for what felt like hours, but it was only minutes before his rage burned out and so did his strength.

"I'm sorry, Ford…" He finally sobbed, sliding down to his knees and dragged his bloodied hands down the surface of the harsh cold metal. "I can't do anything else… I don't know how to help you…"

As tears streamed down his face, Stan examined his blood covered hands, shaking violently from stress and pain. His pinky was askew on his left hand, and he had no doubt it was broken and also had no doubt that he deserved it. He deserved all of the pain he brought on himself and his shame hung on him like a well earned shroud. "Pa was right about me…" He sank further to the floor until his chest touched his thighs. "I am a useless good for nothing…"

Stan was finally starting to feel cold but he didn't care at that moment. He even wanted the cold to swallow him up. However, Fiddleford wasn't going to let that happen to him. Before he was even aware the scrawny man was in the room with him, Stan's coat was laced over his shoulders. The slim mechanic knelt down beside him, and he was still shaking and crying through his fears, but FIddleford collected enough courage to enter the portal room and tried comforting the devastated man on the ground.

"I can see you, Stan…" He whispered, his thick southern accent cracking from his apprehension. "Take it from someone who has also been called useless… You are not. You are trying so hard, and useless people don't try."

"F-Fiddleford…"

"Hush…" The blue-eyed blonde gently pulled Stan's head under his chin and cradled one arm over his back while the other raked through sweat coated hair. "Just stay still and be sad for a while. It's okay to be sad."

"Ah!" Stan flinched. He didn't mean to, because Fiddleford's kindness was helping him calm down faster than he predicted. But eventually the hand racking up his back grazed his right shoulder and it sent a surge of intense pain through his form. Fiddleford leaned back slightly, understanding something was wrong, which he had suspected earlier. Stan could feel the kind arms around him slowly maneuver around his jacket and shirt, but he didn't protest. Or he just didn't have the energy to try.

"Sweet sarsaparilla…" Fiddleford gasped, realizing from crudely tapped down bandages that Stan had hurt himself, but couldn't clean and bandage the wound properly on his own. "What happened here? Did you burn yourself?"

It wasn't strange for Fiddleford to check a person's temperature with his lips. That's how his mother did it, how his father did it, but it became clear this technique was very much foreign to his current patient. When he kissed Stan's brow, the brunette man turned beet red… Or that could have just been his current illness.

"You poor thing, no wonder you have such a high fever. You're fighting an infection." The scientist shifted, preparing himself to stand again, but Stan grabbed his arm and pulled him back down. "I have penicillin in my emergency pack. We need to go up stairs so I can treat you."

"Just… A minute…" Stan confessed his needs and shuffled closer so his ear could rest over his caretaker's breast pocket. He could hear the smaller man's heart beat beneath his chest. It was still pounding away anxiously, but it still felt comforting. "Can we just stay like this a minute… I feel safe like this… And I haven't been able to say that for a long time."

"Uh-I…" Fiddleford stammered while his usually pale cheeks dusted into a rosie pink. He wasn't expecting to feel flustered, but he also wasn't expecting to feel less anxious. However, now his racing heart had a new reason to skip a beat. He eventually sighed heavily over thick brown curls. Soft curls of hair that the mechanic didn't feel shy about twirling between his long fingers. "Alright, Stan. We can stay another minute, but don't fall asleep. I can't carry you."

"Hm…" Stan nodded with his eyes half lidded. "Thank you…. Fiddleford…"

"Call me Fidds, if you like." A smile escaped Fiddleford's lips as he continued to pet the side of his friend's head. They both stayed there comforting each other until Stan accidentally fell asleep.

To be continued…