November 11th, 1989
Had anyone ever told Stan he'd willingly sit through piano lessons, he probably would've laughed in their face. And yet, here he was, sketching new attractions for the shack in the Determined's living room while his kid practiced the same eight measures of music over and over again in the "music parlor" down the hall.
"You ready to show your Dad?"
"I think so."
"I'll go get him then."
Even after seeing the guy regularly, there was still a part of Stan that started when the music teacher poked his head around the corner.
"We're ready for you Mr. Pines."
Stan slipped his notepad back into his pocket. "Alright then."
He followed Rony Determined down the short span of the hallway and into the small room where Nicola sat in front of a piano, practically vibrating with excitement.
The music teacher gestured at the sheet music sitting above the keys. "Whenever you're ready Nicola."
The boy took a moment to adjust his posture before proceeding to play the same eight measures Stan had been listening to for the past hour. Still, he couldn't find it in himself to be annoyed. Not when Nicola's fingers danced across the keys with the kind of confidence Ford had only seemed to have after winning a science fair.
The piece ended and Nicola turned to him with a smile. "That was from Swan Lake!"
Stan smiled back. "I have no idea what that is!"
"It's this story about a prince who finds this lake, where this sorcerer-"
The teacher cut him off by placing a hand on his shoulder. "Why don't you get your things? You can finish telling him about the ballet in the car."
Stan watched the kid pick up his few belongings. "So he's doing good?"
Rony scoffed. "Good? He's a natural! Really, the lack of practice is the only thing holding him back."
Stan turned the words over in his head. "How much is a piano?"
December 16th, 1989
Nicola was on a mission. The first night of Chanukkah was less than a week away, meaning that Dad had to have bought all his presents by now, and it was of utmost importance that he checked to see exactly what they were.
See, about two weeks ago the library had offered a keyboard as a prize to whoever was the first person to read fifty books, but Dad hadn't let him enter. There was no good reason he couldn't, unless Dad already bought him a keyboard!
So he'd waited. Waited until Dad returned from the Post Office with a suspiciously rectangular package. Waited until the blue wrapping paper in the storage closet disappeared. Waited until Dad asked him to "just watch TV for a little bit" like he always did when he was about to hide something. Waited every night until he heard the bathroom sink run to check one of Dad's many hiding spots.
But he'd finally narrowed it down. If Dad wasn't using the usual hiding spaces, he had to be keeping the presents in either his office, the attic, or the new spot Nicola had discovered.
The vending machine looked like any other vending machine. That is, if any other vending machine sank back into the wall a couple of inches. The only way that could be possible was if there was something beyond the wall of the gift shop. Something like a hidden closet for keeping presents!
So now here he stood, trying to figure out how to open the vending machine before Dad finished getting ready for bed. The sides didn't have any clues, and neither did the bottom, so it had to be something on the front. He squinted at the buttons. Some of them seemed shinier, like they'd been pressed a bit more often than the others. Hesitantly, he pressed them, standing on his tip-toes to reach the ones on top.
C-3-B-A-1. Nothing.
He tried starting with the top buttons first.
A-1-B-C-3.
Something clicked, and the vending machine swung outward, revealing a staircase that led to a door.
Nicola fought the urge to make some sort of exclamation. He was right! Dad tried to keep a whole other part of the house hidden, but he'd been smart enough to figure it out! Now to find his presents.
He pulled the vending machine almost shut behind him before cautiously creeping down the stairs.
The door at the bottom wasn't like the doors in the house. It was metal, with something that looked like half a clock overhead and a seam down the middle. No knobs or handles.
The next thing to draw his attention was a box to the left of the odd door. There were buttons on it, one of which was a down arrow. The others were all strange symbols he'd never seen before, though it was kind of hard to tell in the dim lighting.
"Maybe I should grab a flashlight," he muttered.
A sound from upstairs interrupted any further musings as the space in front of the door suddenly darkened. Nicola turned around.
The vending machine was swinging back into its place in the doorway.
Spurred on by a spike of adrenaline, Nicola ran for the stairs as the last sliver of light beyond the vending machine grew rapidly smaller. His foot met the first step, the second, the third. And then it all went black. But he had too much momentum to stop. He felt the edge of the fourth step brush his toes as he missed it. He felt the way his body tilted as it struggled to catch up with his error. He heard a sicking crack as he tried to catch himself.
Things seemed to fade into fuzziness for the next moment. Some part of Nicola registered that his face hit the steps, that he slid down the short distance he'd managed to climb, that he was back at the base of the door. But his mind couldn't be bothered to focus on anything but the pain and the dark.
I want my Dad.
Stan kept his eyes glued to his watch as he stood in the bathroom. Nicola tended to drift off at about 20 minutes, making it safe to proceed with his usual work on the portal. Normally, there were no issues with this, but whenever they neared any gift-giving occasion the kid liked to go hunting for his presents. Stan could respect that, having gone on similar expeditions around the pawnshop with Ford whenever their birthday got close. So he figured it was only fair to give the boy a little time for snooping, by spending an inordinately long time "brushing his teeth" every night.
The minute hand hit the half-hour mark, meaning Nicola should've run back to bed by now. And yet, there'd been no telltale pattering past the bathroom.
Stan sighed. Can't let him stay up too late. Looks like I'll have to "catch" him tonight.
He exited the bathroom, peeking into the kid's room just to double-check. As he suspected, the bed was empty, save for a poor attempt at a pillow dummy.
Alright, where'd he have left? Stan mentally ran through the long catalog of his hiding spots. Unless he's found the hatch under the rug or the panel in the living room, he'd be checking the attic or office tonight. The office was locked, so the attic was the most likely choice.
He wasn't in the attic. Not a single piece of clutter had been disturbed and the layer of dust coating the floor remained as thick as ever.
The office was still locked, but Stan checked anyway. Who knows? Maybe Nicola had picked up lockpicking in his spare time. But the room was equally undisturbed.
He started checking the other hiding places. In closets, under beds, above the fridge, outside. With every new stop, the places became more outlandish and Stan's pace became more frantic.
December 17th, 1989
"You'd better have a good reason for calling me at two in the morning Stan." Em's voice groused from the other end of the phone.
Stan was too panicked to bother feeling bad about waking her. "I can't find Nicola."
"I'll be right over."
True to her word, Em was pulling up in front of the Mystery Shack less than ten minutes later, a sleeping Tate bundled up in the back.
Stan held the door open. "Do you wanna bring him inside?"
"9-year-olds are heavy. Now, what happened with Nicola?"
"I was letting him have some time to sneak around looking for his presents, I've done it before. But he didn't come back to bed this time."
Em turned to look at the coat rack. "Well, his coat is still hanging up, so odds are he's not outside. Are you sure you've checked everywhere?"
Stan exhaled heavily. "I've checked the attic, the bedrooms, the kitchen, the living room, heck I even moved the bookshelf to look in Ford's room!"
Em narrowed her eyes. "What about the basement?"
"Nic doesn't know about the basement."
She scoffed. "He's a bright kid, you can't hide it from him forever."
He crossed his arms. "I've been doin' pretty good so far."
"Just humor me, check."
Stan marched to the gift shop, quickly punching in the code. The vending machine swung open, the light from the gift shop spilling down an empty staircase.
"See, nothing-" The light spread past the stairs, where Nicola lay crumpled like a rag doll. Stan ran down before his mind could even absorb the scene.
If there was one thing Stan could be grateful for from his time on the streets, it was his capability to determine which injuries really counted as bad. Based on what he could see, Nicola's arm was definitely broken and he may potentially have a concussion, but nothing life-threatening. Even so, he couldn't relax until he'd placed his fingers against the boy's neck and felt the steady beat of his pulse.
The sensation seemed to pull Nicola back to consciousness. "Dad?"
Stan gently felt over the kid's head for any other bumps. "I'm here Nicky."
"You found me."
"I had some help. Now, I'm gonna have to lift you up, and it's probably gonna hurt."
To Nicola's credit, other than a sharp inhale when Stan first lifted him, he never gave any indication of pain at all.
Em was waiting for them at the top of the stairs. "Keep holding him, I'll drive you two to the hospital."
Stan smiled weakly. "You're the best Em."
"You can give me a trophy later."
Apparently, most residents of Roadkill county were experiencing a simultaneous bout of good luck, because it seemed like Nicola was the only patient in the building. They got a room the second they left the car, and a seemingly endless parade of people in lab coats had waltzed in to thoroughly examine the poor kid. What felt like days later, the two were finally left alone.
Nicola tried his best to adjust his position on the hospital bed without using his newly cast arm. "Hey Dad?"
Stan turned away from the nutrition poster he'd been staring at to look at him. "Yeah, short stuff?"
"What was that place? Behind the machine?"
Stan's eyes flicked down to the cast. He already got hurt without looking for trouble, what will he do if I tell him?
"Something you're too young to worry about. Something dangerous." He placed his hand on the end of the cast, where six tiny little fingers poked out. "You need to promise me you won't go back down there until you're older."
Nicola shivered. "I don't want to go down there ever again. It was scary waiting for you. I thought you might just, not come."
Stan brushed his thumb across the boy's fingers. "I'll always come for you, kiddo. Promise."
To everyone who predicted Nicola finding the portal... you're kinda right. The elevator's all the farther he's gonna get on his own.
Next chapter: We welcome the last major character from Nicola's childhood, and the time skips start getting bigger.