elishevart

[elishevart]

I said I would

[elishevart]

Babies

[elishevart]

Weird Little Critter - Chapter 6: Transitions, Part 3

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 AO3

Here's the final part of what was meant to be one chapter but turned into three! I would normally space it out a bit more from the previous one, but I'll be going on vacation soon, and I wanted to get this posted before then. Here's this year's final chapter of "Weird Little Critter" from @elishevart and me. Enjoy.

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                 Banjo reclined on the dock at Lake Gravity Falls, looking up at the clouds slowly lumbering across the bright blue sky.  His feet, freed of their shoes, dangled over the edge, dipping into the water, as did Stan’s.

                 “So, you bait a hook like this,” Stan said, drawing his attention.  Banjo looked over at him.  Stan was holding out a hook and a wriggling gray worm.

                 I know that kind of worm ain’t gray.  It’s pink.  Darn colorblindness.  Banjo tilted his head, a small smile playing around his lips as he watched Stan’s demonstration.  At least Stan’s charm ain’t affected by his color palette.  When Stan first came to stay with them, Angie had clashed with him constantly.  But there was something about him.  Stan just kept worming his way into Angie’s good graces with his cheesy sense of humor and random moments of kindness and warmth.  The budding emotions Angie had felt towards Stan weren’t changed now that she was Banjo.  If anything, they seemed to be stronger.  I ain’t sure what that could mean ‘bout me.  Banjo looked across the lake.  The dark blue water rippled lazily.  But I also ain’t sure if I want to open that door or leave it alone.

                 “Think you can do it yourself?” Stan asked.  Banjo rolled his eyes.  He sat up, grabbed the other fishing rod, and quickly baited the hook flawlessly, then cast it out into the lake.  Stan’s jaw dropped.

                 “I told ya I don’t like fishin’, not that I can’t do it,” Banjo drawled.  Stan grinned.  A faint blush spread across his cheeks.  Banjo felt his own face warm slightly in response.

                 “I thought you would be a bit squeamish about baiting the hook,” Stan said.  Banjo laughed.

                 “Stanley, I grew up on a farm.  I slaughtered my first chicken at five years old.”

                 “Oh.  Right.”  Stan laughed and rubbed the back of his neck.  “I forgot you grew up on a farm.  I just thought- you were a girl and-”  Stan cut himself off.

                 Smart move, feller.  You were headin’ fer dangerous territory there.

                 “I shoulda figured you wouldn’t mind the worms and stuff.”  Stan cast his own line.  “Why don’t you like fishing?”

                 “I don’t got the patience fer it,” Banjo sighed.  “I’ve always been what my folks called ‘spirited’.  Which is code fer never sittin’ still.”

                 “I know exactly what that’s like,” Stan said.  He coughed.  “So, uh, hate to break it to you, but I’ve got an ulterior motive for asking you to go fishing with me.”

                 “Oh?”

                 “Yeah.  Uh.”  Stan sighed.  “I need to ask you some stuff about when Ford is normally in his lizard form.”

                 “Salamander.”

                 “Same difference.  Anyways, what do you guys do?”

                 “Hmm?”

                 “During full moons.  When Ford’s not human.  What do you guys do?”

                 “Well, I ain’t been ‘round fer many moons yet,” Banjo said hesitantly.  “But we mostly do research on him, either in his study or the livin’ room.”  Stan swatted away a fly that was buzzing around his head.

                 “And by research you mean…?”

                 “I write down observations ‘bout him.  Things to help figure out more ‘bout his condition, y’know.”

                 “So no fun,” Stan said flatly.  Banjo frowned at him.

                 “It might not be yer idea of fun, but remember, we’re scientists.  We find this sort of thing quite fun.  And it’s to better understand his condition, so’s it’s two birds with one stone.”

                 “Okay, hear me out.”  Stan seemed to be choosing his words carefully.  “I get the two of you nerding out being nerds and actually liking doing research.  But…would it still be fun if you were the one being researched?”

                 “I…”  Banjo swallowed.  The question was simple, yet ominous.  “I don’t rightly know.”  Stan nodded.

                 “I’m gonna tell you what I know,” he said.  “After we got home last night, when Ford was all gray, I gave him some food.  I expected him to just go to his tank or something.  But he stayed with me, curled up on my lap while I watched TV.”

                 “I walked by later to grab some water.  I didn’t see him on yer lap.”

                 “Yeah, ‘cause he scurried away when you went through the room,” Stan said.  Banjo’s blood ran cold.  He could feel the color draining from his face.

                 “He- he was scared of me?”  Banjo set aside the fishing rod.  He put his head in his hands.  “I- I-”  The idea was foreign to him.

                 My whole life, I ain’t never scared a single soul.  ‘Cept that one time I sleepwalked into Fidds’ bedroom.  How could I have scared Stanford?  Tears began to prick the corners of Banjo’s eyes.  I didn’t mean to!  He’s my friend!  A warm hand rested on his shoulder.  Banjo looked up.

                 “I don’t think you scared him,” Stan said softly.  “I think…”  Stan sighed.  “When we were kids, our parents took Ford to a million doctors because of his hands.  He got better about it when we got older, since he stopped being poked and prodded as much, but I don’t think he ever really got over his fear of doctors.  I wouldn’t be surprised if he still tries to put off appointments for as long as he can.”

                 “You think that my studyin’ him is bringin’ up bad memories?” Banjo asked.  Stan nodded.  “But- but he was the one what wanted me to study him!  He wanted to learn more ‘bout his condition!”

                 “He probably didn’t think it through,” Stan said.  “Everyone does stuff without thinking sometimes.”

                 “Fair enough,” Banjo mumbled.  Stan squeezed his shoulder.

                 “All I’m saying is that it might be a good idea for you guys to take a break from the research stuff.  I know you couldn’t see him gray, but it was- it wasn’t great.  I don’t wanna see him like that again.”

                 “Agreed.”

                 “And who knows, maybe he’ll stop being so down on his salamander self once he gets to experience it without being a test subject,” Stan said cheerfully.  Banjo managed a small smile.

                 “That would be nice.”  Banjo elbowed Stan.  “Hey, you called him the right kind of critter!”

                 “I listen, I just don’t care,” Stan said with a shrug.  Banjo laughed.  The bobber of Banjo’s fishing rod wiggled briefly, then began to move.  “Looks like you’ve got a bite!”  Without warning, Banjo’s fishing rod, resting on the deck beside him, shot off.  Banjo attempted to grab the rod rocketing away from him.  His eyes widened as he felt himself begin to topple forward.

                 Shoot!  My center of gravity ain’t what it usually is!  It was too late.  Banjo hit the cold water of the lake.  A split second later, he heard a faint splash.  A large arm wrapped around his torso, pulling him to the surface.

                 “You okay?” Stan asked.  Banjo stared at him.  Stan’s long, dark hair was soaked, sticking to his face and neck.

                 “Why’d ya jump in after me?” Banjo asked numbly.  Stan blinked.

                 “You didn’t grow up near the ocean like me.  I didn’t know if you knew how to swim.”

                 “Wh-”  Banjo covered his mouth, trying to muffle the laughter bubbling up from his chest.  “S-Stanley, I grew up swimmin’ in lakes just like this one!”

                 “Oh.”  Stan winced.  “Right.  I guess I didn’t think.”

                 “It’s okay.  I didn’t either.  I should’ve known better ‘n to try to grab somethin’ what was already off the dock.”

                 “I’ve never seen a fishing rod move like that.  Maybe it’s best that you didn’t catch it.  Who knows what was on the end of the line?”

                 “In Gravity Falls?  Just ‘bout anything you can imagine,” Banjo said.  He reached out for the dock and gripped it.  A few wooden splinters dug into his hands as he pulled himself up.  Beside him, Stan was doing the same thing.  They sat on the dock for a few moments before bursting into laughter.  “I can’t believe ya went in after me instead of just waitin’ fer me to surface!” Banjo chuckled.

                 “Sue me for not wanting you to drown,” Stan said, punching Banjo’s shoulder playfully.

                 “I’m a grown adult!”

                 “I don’t know your life!  How was I supposed to know they teach you how to swim in whatever podunk town you come from?” Stan retorted.  He ran his fingers through his hair, brushing it to one side of his head.  Their laughter slowly died down.  “Guess we better go back to the house and dry off.”

                 “Yeah.”  Banjo slipped on his blessedly dry shoes.  “Bein’ in wet jeans is awful miserable.”

                 “Wanna come back to the lake to fish after we change?” Stan asked, putting on his own shoes and socks.  Banjo cocked his head.

                 “I don’t know ‘bout fishin’.  But we could come back and go fer a hike or somethin’.  Did ya know there’s a secret cave behind the waterfall?”

                 “Really?”  Stan’s eyes widened with interest.  He leaned in, ever so slightly.  Banjo’s breath caught in his throat.

                 No, no, don’t think ‘bout his wet T-shirt stickin’ to his chest, don’t think ‘bout his hair draped over one shoulder, don’t think ‘bout the sun shinin’ off the water droplets on his skin.  Banjo swallowed.  Welp.  Given I just explicitly thought out all of that, I ain’t doin’ a great job not thinkin’ ‘bout it.

                 “I’m not usually into hikes,” Stan said, not noticing Banjo’s reaction to his close proximity.  “But a secret cave?  That actually sounds interesting.”

                 “Oh, g-good,” Banjo stammered.  He could feel his face burning.  Stan stood up.  He held out a hand.  Banjo took it.  Stan pulled him to his feet.

                 “Let’s head to the car.  I’m already getting sick of being soaked.”  The two headed down the dock, water dripping from their drenched clothes.  “How much you wanna bet Ford’s still in his room when we get back?”

                 “Ugh.  I ain’t takin’ that bet.  From his tone earlier, I get the feelin’ he’s only goin’ to leave fer food.”  Banjo sighed.  “Which stinks, since I want to talk to him ‘bout what we talked ‘bout.”

                 “Maybe you should set up camp on the couch,” Stan suggested.  They got to the car.  Banjo frowned down at the ground while he waited for Stan to fish out his keys.

                 “I might just do that.  All I can do is hope he gets hungry enough to go to the kitchen ‘fore I fall asleep.”

—--

                 Ford’s vision was somehow better in the dark than in the light, he was discovering.  As he made his way to the kitchen on all fours, he was able to see furniture that he had struggled with the night before, when he was watching television with Stan while all the lights were on.

                 When he got to the living room, Ford slowed down to make his footsteps extra quiet, as, for some reason, Banjo was on the couch.  Luckily, he was facing away, sleeping deeply.  Ford got to the kitchen and quickly but silently rummaged through the fridge.  His stomach rumbled hungrily, the result of his skipped dinner.  But Ford hadn’t wanted to come across Stan or Banjo.

                 Thankfully, there were some leftover mealworm patties from a few days ago that could be eaten cold.  Ford grabbed the container in his mouth and closed the refrigerator door with his back legs.  He exited the kitchen.

                 As he walked past Banjo, the sleeping man stirred slightly.

                 “Mm…” Banjo said longingly.  Ford froze.  “Oh, yes,” Banjo moaned, still fast asleep.  “Yes, Stanley!  Yes…”  Ford’s face began to burn.

                 Shit.  Shit!  I really don’t need to hear my friend salivating over my twin brother!

                 Ford scurried to his study as fast as his stumpy legs would let him and half-closed the door behind him. Exhausted from the sprint, he dropped the tupperware on the floor to catch his breath. He held his head in his hands and tried to process what had happened. 

                 Okay, think, Stanford… 

                 He didn’t have to think much at all.  It was maddeningly clear, looking back.  His twin and Angie had been bickering from the start. Somewhere along the way, that bickering had turned into playful teasing, possibly even flirting.  And even now that Angie was temporarily Banjo, the sparks and chemistry between the two were still present.

                 Not to mention, it sounds like Stan has been preventing Banjo from having a mental breakdown over this whole situation, by keeping him distracted and happy.

                 The big axolotl sat on his hind legs to lean against the glass of his tank.  He  idly picked a patty to munch on. It wasn’t rocket science what was happening between his brother and friend, but it still made him wonder where he stood.  True, they were both adults, responsible for their own decisions.  And he would be glad to see them finding happiness with each other.  Though, frankly, it didn’t seem to be his business.

                 But something nagged at the back of his mind.  A worry about what would happen if it all went south.  If the worst came to fruition, and Banjo/Angie and Stan became antagonistic towards each other, would he have to choose one?  Could he?

                 A few bites later and Ford had finished all the patties in the box.  He yawned widely.  He squinted toward the clock on his wall, but couldn’t make out what time it was. Late enough that even he, a notorious night owl, could feel tired. He stretched his front legs and arched his back, making his tail curl over him. Likely, he resembled a cat at that moment. He shook his head thinking how Banjo would have probably found it adorable. Or would he?

                 Tiredness was creeping into his limbs and mind.  Ford abandoned those thoughts in favor of focusing on climbing the ramp they had put in his study for him to reach his tank. He dived lazily in the water and slowly drifted toward the bottom. 

                 Stanford immediately felt better in the water, almost wanting to swim a little, but his tank was sadly too small for him to move around much. Granted, the tank was a great update from the tub, but he couldn’t help but remember the brief giant tank he had been stuck in. It had been perfect.  It even had fish and small water currents…

                 Ford closed his eyes, thinking of that giant tank.  He soon drifted off to sleep.

——

                 Stanford had just pulled on his robe, his hair still damp with water from his tank and eyelids heavy from sleep when he heard someone clear their throat. He jumped and spun around to see a blurry figure in the doorway with caramel-colored hair. 

                  “Banjo?” he asked as he fumbled for his glasses. Once on his nose the figure came into focus to reveal his friend. “Wha-what are you doing here?”

                  “I needed to talk to ya. About everything,” the southerner said, still standing in the doorway. “I noticed how ya avoided me and figured I’d corner ya here ‘fore you could run.”

                 The knot in Ford’s stomach came back, along with the shame he had felt for the past few days. It was true. He had been so embarrassed that he had simply opted to ignore his friend, vainly hoping it would go away. He should have thought better since it hadn’t really worked with his twin. Would he have ignored Banjo, or, starting tomorrow, Angie for five years? He shook his head with a sigh and invited his friend to step into the room. Banjo did so, closing the door behind him.

                  “Yes, I have been distant for the past few days,” Ford started slowly. He hung his head low, bracing himself against his tank and avoiding eye contact. He couldn’t help but blink a couple of times as his vision became blurry again. He scowled, frustrated by the tears obscuring his vision despite his glasses. He kept staring at his hands to stay focused. “I- I apologize. I misread your feelings over your situation and thought you were just having the… time of your life. It was an illogical conclusion to come to, given my own emotions when I myself undergo a change each month.” His voice choked up, a shuddering breath caught in his throat.  “I should have thought before reacting. I truly, deeply apologize.”

                 He closed his eyes and waited. 

                 After a few minutes a long sigh came from the other side of the room. 

                  “It’s true that yer lil blow-up was uncalled fer,” Banjo said softly.  “Don’t worry, though, I accept yer apology.”  Ford’s shoulders slumped in relief.  Part of him had worried Banjo would hold a grudge.  “But…” Banjo paused.  “It’s come to my attention that there might be a dif’rent reason you lashed out.” 

                 Ford swallowed the lump of emotion stuck in his throat. 

                  “I have no idea what you could be talking about,” he whispered.

                  “I might have been startled and, quite frankly, scared by yer outburst, but I was listenin’.  When ya blew up at me, ya rattled off a long list of grievances,” Banjo said, his voice quiet and level.  “It’s quite clear that ya ain’t lost any of the frustration over yer sit’ation.” Ford’s head shot up.  He finally met Banjo’s eyes. 

                  “I was just-” he started. Banjo held up a hand. Ford fell silent.

                  “Stanford, yer brother explained to me that, due to yer polydactyly, you had an awful lot of exams ‘n tests ‘n whatnot done on you when you were just a lil one.  He told me those negative emotions ‘n memory ‘re prob’ly why ya don’t go to the doctor near as often as you should. Well, that ‘n yer good old-fashioned stubbornness ‘n procrastination.”  Ford felt himself blush at the incredibly accurate assessment.  He remained silent, staring at his hands, his twelve fingers intertwined with each other. “I think we went about your curse all wrong.”

                 “What do you mean?”

                 Banjo sighed. “Ever since I got here, we’ve been doin’ research on ya.  Every time ya turn, every night of the full moon, I’m examinin’ ya like yer my study subject.”  Ford glanced up long enough to see Banjo’s worried expression, then quickly downcast his eyes again.  “We turned yer time as an axolotl into a- a chore. Every time you turn, I’m right there takin’ notes, writin’ things down, pokin’ ‘n proddin’ ‘n photographin’ ya and…”  Banjo sighed again. “What I’m gettin’ at is that yer hate fer yer amphibious side might partly be rooted in that.”

                  “But I agreed to it!” Ford protested. “From the start, I have wanted, no, needed to know what is happening to me!  I want answers!”

                 “I know,” Banjo said gently.  His voice was almost maddeningly calm. “Don’t get me wrong, I want ‘em too.  But we went about this the wrong way.  We need to slow down.” Banjo took a pause. “Stan told me how the night we went to the Crawlspace you turned gray, acted all odd.” Ford’s cheeks burned with embarrassment. “But once we got home, you loosened up, actually seemin’ happy with Stan.”

                 As he idly played with his annoyingly blue streaked hair, a few memories came back to Ford from that night. They were all a bit blurry, but had a feeling of being warm and happy.  A feeling he struggled to recall experiencing often in his amphibious form.  He looked at Banjo.

                  “I admit that some aspects of this curse are infuriating to me. All right,” he said.  Banjo smiled hesitantly.  “What do you suggest?”  Banjo’s smile strengthened.

                  “We take a pause from observin’ and analyzin’ ya. Give ya a break. I’ve got plenty of data to keep me occupied anyway.  Of course, I might still write down some observations here and there, but I won’t be askin’ or pokin’ ya anymore,” Banjo elaborated.  Ford nodded. 

                  “That sounds reasonable.” He walked to his desk and opened a drawer.  After taking a steadying breath, he pulled out a few pieces of paper to hand to Banjo. “You might need these. You’ll have more use of them than I do, anyways.”  Banjo carefully took the papers from him.  He looked down at them in awe.

                  “Is that…?”

                 “Yes, the test results from the vet. I trust you’ll use them well.”

                 Cradling the documents in his hands, the southerner nodded. “I will! Promise!”

                 Ford nodded in return and smiled.  It was the first one he’d shared with his friend for far too long. An easy silence settled between the two until Stanford broke it.

                 “If we are taking a break from studying, what should we do?” he asked.  Banjo laughed.  It still sounded eerily like Fiddleford.

                  “Whatever ya want, silly.”

                  “In that case…”  Ford decided to broach the topic that had been bothering him the night before. “I don’t feel comfortable going back to the lake anytime soon, but I was wondering if we could do something about my tank.”

                 Tilting his head, Banjo looked at the tank behind Ford. “What’s wrong with yer tank?”

                 “Nothing.”

                  “But?” Banjo prompted.

                  “It’s adequate to sleep in but too small for me to actually swim.  I quite enjoyed the freedom of the tank in the Northwest mansion,” Ford confessed.  Banjo nodded slowly.  “You’re the expert when it comes to animal enclosures, with your history working for a zoo.  What do you think we could do?”  Banjo beamed.

                  “I reckon there’s quite a few things we could do to make ya more comfortable!  Once I’m back to m’ proper self, I’ll make some calls.  I’ve already got somethin’ in mind.”

                  “Excellent.”  Ford paused.  Something Banjo had said earlier was bothering him.  “You said that Stan told you I turned gray,” he said after a moment.  “You didn’t notice?”

                 “Yeah, uh, turns out Banjo is colorblind,” Banjo said with a shrug.  Ford’s jaw dropped.  Banjo smiled.  “So, what do ya want fer breakfast?”

—--

                 “Hello there stranger,” gushed yet another of the bachelorettes of Gravity Falls.

                 “Oh, uh, howdy, miss,” Banjo said awkwardly.  He politely tipped his cowboy hat, which Stan had convinced him to wear, as it was his last night as Banjo.  The woman giggled.

                 “Can I buy you a drink?” she asked eagerly.

                 “Um.  I think I’m set.”  Banjo held up his glass of whiskey.  The woman pouted.  “Thank you fer offerin’, though.”  The woman walked away, visibly disappointed.  Banjo began to head back to the booth Stan and Ford were sitting at, only to be intercepted by yet another woman.

                 “Dammit, can’t he drop the whole ‘proper southern gentleman’ thing long enough to sit down?” Stan grumbled.  Ford chuckled.  “This is our last night as three guys!  And he’s spending half of it getting flirted with.”  After a relaxing day at home, Stan had finally convinced Banjo and Ford to go out to a bar.  However, the women of Gravity Falls were enthralled by Banjo’s “exotic” way of speaking, good looks even in the bar’s dim lighting, and southern manners.  As such, their advances kept interrupting the boys’ night out.

                 “Can you blame them?” Ford asked.  Stan’s face softened as he watched Banjo frantically trying to politely turn down the woman talking to him.

                 “No.  I can’t.”

                 “You, uh…”  Ford stirred his non-alcoholic drink.  He had offered to be the designated driver, as he hadn’t tried any alcohol since becoming afflicted with his curse and wasn’t sure if he’d have a strange reaction to it.  “You seem to be rather…fond of him.”

                 “He’s nice,” Stan said with a shrug.  Ford nodded.  “And he appreciates my sense of humor.  Not a lot of people do.”  Stan frowned.  His eyes flicked over to Ford.  “Wait.  You were saying that like…”

                 “I recall well how you acted when you first developed a crush on Carla McCorkle,” Ford remarked.  “I’ve been seeing the same behaviors popping up from you as of late.”  Stan’s face reddened.  The crappy song being played by the horrible cover band in the corner ended.  A new one started.  Ford waited patiently for Stan to say something.

                 I’ve got plenty of time before Banjo gets back.  He’s too polite to turn down any of these women quickly.  Ford stirred his drink and watched Stan’s face turn redder and redder.  Sweet Moses, is he ever going to crack?  After what felt like ages, Stan finally sighed.

                 “Fine,” he muttered.  His gaze dropped to the table.  “I- I’ve got a thing for Angie.  But I’m not- I- it started when he was Angie, so I’m not- I’m not into men or- or-”

                 “Stanley, you know full well my own, ah, romantic inclinations,” Ford said quietly.  “Do you really think I would judge you for being interested in both Angie and Banjo?”  Stan traced out a few letters in the condensation on the table from their drink glasses.

                 “I- I guess not.”

                 “Are you going to make a move?” Ford asked.  Stan looked up at him, aghast.

                 “Are you a fucking idiot?” he hissed.  “I’ve done a lotta stupid shit, that might be the stupidest thing I could ever do!”

                 “Why?” Ford pressed.  “Since when have you worried about shooting your shot?”

                 “Wh- because- he- she-” Stan stammered.  He paused and took a breath.  “We live together.  If he turns me down, that’ll fuck up the mood in the house.”  Stan turned his head to watch Banjo, who was now desperately attempting to escape the clutches of three women.  “I’ve been homeless before, Ford.  I’m not gonna risk losing a roof over my head just to hit on someone outta my league.”

                 “You think he’s out of your league?”

                 “He told me he’s got a doctorate,” Stan scoffed.  “I didn’t even graduate high school!”

                 “There’s more to compatibility than how much education one has,” Ford said gently.  Stan grunted wordlessly.  Ford looked down at the ice cubes melting in his drink.  “Don’t tell Banjo, but I overheard him last night and- I think you should take a chance.  Your feelings are more mutual than you think.”

                 “Are you sure?” Stan asked.  Ford met Stan’s eyes and nodded.  “If this all goes to shit, it’s your fault, okay?”  Ford quirked a half-smile.

                 “Understood.”

                 “Whew!”  Banjo slid into the booth, sitting right next to Stan.  His caramel-colored hair was getting sweaty in the warm bar and sticking to his face.  “I fin’ly got away from those ladies.”  He shook his head.  “I ain’t got the foggiest idea why they’re tryin’ so hard to get romantic with me.”

                 “Really?” Stan and Ford asked together.  Banjo blinked.

                 “Yes?  Should- should I know?”

                 “You’re nice and cute, man,” Stan said dismissively.  Banjo’s cheeks turned pink.  “And people in town only know Angie.  They don’t know Banjo.  So you’re exciting and new.”

                 “Ah.”  Banjo coughed politely.  “I- I see.”

                 “You were gone for so long I finished my drink,” Stan complained.  Banjo looked down at his own glass.

                 “I finished mine, too,” he said sadly.

                 “What were you drinking?” Ford asked.

                 “Whiskey, neat,” Banjo replied.  Ford nodded and got up.

                 “I’ll get the two of you some new drinks.  Stan, perhaps you could talk to Banjo like we discussed.”

                 “Sixer!” Stan hissed at Ford.  Banjo looked back and forth between the twins.

                 “The two of ya discussed somethin’?”

                 “Yes.”  Ford stared intensely at Stan, who shifted uncomfortably under his gaze.  “And I fully expect him to take what I said to heart.”  Ford strode away from the table.  As he waited at the bar, he glanced back at Stan and Banjo.  Stan had leaned over to whisper something into Banjo’s ear.  It was difficult to tell in the bar’s horrible lighting and cigarette smoke-filled air, but Ford could have sworn he saw Banjo blush fiercely.

—--

                 The rays of the morning sun filtered through the window of Stan’s bedroom.  As the light fell upon his face, Stan opened his eyes.  His eyes widened.  He wasn’t alone in bed.  The events of the night before came rushing back to him.

                 Oh.  Oh, shit.  The person lying next to him rolled over.  Instead of handsome Banjo, it was Angie’s adorable face.  She’s back to normal.  Huh.  Stan reached out a hand to stroke her cheek.  Angie smiled at the gesture.  Are we still gonna-  Before Stan could finish  his thought, Angie opened her eyes.  Her smile broadened.

                 “Good mornin’,” she said softly.  Stan grinned at her.

                 “Morning.”

                 “I missed how ya looked with full color vision.”

                 “Yeah?”

                 “Yeah.”  Angie sat up, stretching.  The blanket covering her fell away, exposing her bare chest.  Stan inhaled sharply.

                 Damn, she’s gorgeous.  Stan sat up as well.  Angie looked at him, clearly expecting him to say something.  Stan cleared his throat.

                 “I’m the luckiest guy in the world,” he said.  Angie cocked her head.  Her caramel-colored locks bounced from the movement, falling into her face.  Stan tucked her hair behind her ear.  “I went to bed with a handsome guy and woke up with a beautiful girl.”  Angie beamed at him.

                 Yes!  It landed!

                 “Yer quite the charmer, Stanley Pines.”

                 “Not everyone thinks so.”

                 “Good thing I do,” Angie purred.  Stan’s smile broadened.  He leaned in, planting a kiss on her lips.  It was different from kissing Banjo, but somehow the same.  They pulled apart.

                 “So, uh, do you think we’re- uh, we’re gonna keep this thing going?” Stan asked.  Angie frowned thoughtfully.  “Ya know, doing…stuff together?”  Angie snickered.

                 “Not the most romantic way to ask me to try datin’ ya,” she said.  “That is, if that’s what yer sayin’.”  Stan nodded.  “Well, sure.  I was Banjo last night, but I was still me.  Just in a body built a bit dif’rent.  I don’t see why we can’t try out bein’ together.”

                 “Sounds good to me, sweet cheeks,” Stan said.  Angie giggled.  Stan leaned in to kiss her again.  The bedroom door slammed open.  Angie yelped, grabbing the blanket and covering herself with it.  Stan whipped his head around.  His twin stood in the doorway.

                 “Stanley, we have to-” Ford started.  He paused, taking in the scene before him.  “Ah.  I am glad to see you back to yourself, Angie.”

                 “It- uh, it’s good to be m’self again,” Angie squeaked.  Her face was beet red.  Stan was reminded of the embarrassment she’d displayed on the morning she woke up as Banjo.

                 “Come on, Sixer, learn how to knock,” Stan said, rolling his eyes.

                 “In my defense, I wasn’t expecting this.”  A small smile appeared on Ford’s face.  “Though perhaps I should have.”  Stan felt his own cheeks burn.

                 “What’s that supposed to mean?” he demanded.

                 “The two of you are not very subtle.”

                 “Well I think you-” Stan started.

                 “Uh, boys, if ya don’t mind, I’d like to go get dressed,” Angie interrupted.  Longing shone on her face.  “I’m awful excited to wear my old clothes again.”

                 “Here, you can make yourself decent with this.”  Ford tossed one of Stan’s shirts, which had been on the floor, to Angie.  Angie caught it.  Her nose wrinkled in disgust.

                 “It smells.”

                 “That’s just the musk of a man, hot stuff,” Stan said.  He wagged his eyebrows at her.

                 “Hmm.  I think I disagree.”  Angie sighed.  “But beggars can’t be choosers.”  She slipped the shirt on, climbed out of the bed, and scurried away.  Stan watched her leave, wishing that his shirt wasn’t so long on her it covered her cute little tuchus.

                 “Would I be correct in assuming that the two of you will continue to be…together?” Ford asked once Angie was gone.  Stan shrugged.

                 “Seems to be the plan.  At least for now.”

                 “I see.”  Ford’s eyes narrowed.  “Don’t blow it,” he said, his voice serious.  Stan grinned.

                 “I wasn’t planning on it.”

                 “Genuinely, I don’t want things to sour between the two of you.  It would make living together…difficult.”

                 “Stanford.”  Stan lowered his voice, hoping to convey that he was being just as serious.  “I’m not gonna screw this up.”  Ford nodded.

                 “Good.” He paused for a moment before adding, “I don’t want to choose between you and Angie.”

                  “Sixer, we aren’t married.  And you aren’t our kid.”

                  “Still, my friendships with you and Angie are precious to me.”

                  “Yeah, yeah, yeah.”  Stan rolled his eyes.  “Get outta here so I can get dressed.”

—--

                 “C’mon, babe, you can’t be distracting me like this,” Stan complained.  “Breakfast is serious business!”

                 “Mm-hmm,” Angie purred.  She wrapped her arms around Stan’s torso from behind and leaned her head against his back.  “And how many times did ya bother me when I was doin’ the serious business of makin’ breakfast?”

                 “That was different, I was just telling you the right way to cook.”

                 “Ya didn’t mind my cookin’ yesterday mornin’.”  Angie stood on her tiptoes to kiss Stan on the cheek.  Stan grinned.  He set down his spatula and turned, pulling Angie into a deep kiss.  Ford stifled a groan.

                 I don’t know whether the constant bickering was worse or better than this constant flirting.  Now that Angie and Stan got along swimmingly, Ford had assumed that breakfast would be smoother.  He had been wrong.  If anything, Stan and Angie’s relationship made the first meal of the day more chaotic, as the two were all over each other to the point of forgetting whatever was cooking on the stove.

                 “You’re going to burn the bacon again,” Ford said loudly.  He finished his last bite of bug sausage, a new recipe that Angie and Stan had worked together on.  Stan pulled away from Angie.

                 “Huh?  Oh, shit!”  Stan spun around, quickly adjusting the heat of the stove.  “Ang, I told you not to distract me!”

                 “It’s fine,” Angie said.  “Nothin’ wound up burnin’.”  She fluttered her eyes at Stan coquettishly.  Stan grinned, his cheeks pink.

                 “You’re crazy hot when you’re sabotaging breakfast.”

                 “And yer quite the attractive feller when yer makin’ breakfast.”  Angie ran her fingers through Stan’s hair.  “And when yer not makin’ breakfast.”  Ford put his head in his hands.

                 I’m going to get a migraine.  Or, given how cloyingly sweet they’re being, a cavity.  The phone rang.  Ford sighed in relief.

                 “I’ll get it,” he said quickly.  Stan and Angie ignored him as he got up from the table and went into the living room.  He picked up the phone.  “This is Stanford Pines.”

                 “Stanford Pines!” a very familiar voice drawled.  A smile began to spread across Ford’s face.  “I was expectin’ my sister to pick up.  She and I have been discussin’ plans fer a project what has to do with some sort of critter.”

                 “A…project?”

                 “It’s all very hush-hush, apparently.  I was gettin’ the impression she wanted it to be a surprise fer you.”

                 “A surprise?” Ford murmured.  His eyes widened.  He thought back to the conversation he’d had with Banjo the week before.

                  “I reckon there’s quite a few things we could do to make ya more comfortable!  Once I’m back to m’ proper self, I’ll make some calls.  I’ve already got somethin’ in mind.”

                  “Is Angie busy?” prompted the man on the other end of the phone.  Ford glanced in the direction of the kitchen.  He could hear Stan and Angie continuing with their incessant flirtation.

                  “Yes, she is.”

                  “Well, it is yer house.  I might as well discuss when I’ll be comin’ up to see y’all.”

                  “That sounds like a splendid idea.”  Ford leaned against the wall, playing idly with the phone cord.

                  “Splendid!” laughed the other man.  “Oh, how I’ve missed ya.”  Ford smiled again.

                  “I… I’ve missed you as well, Fiddleford.”

[elishevart]

Unexpected Meeting

"Hello to you too, Pa." Rosie said, her words were as bitter as her expression.

"Rosie I-"

"Cannit." She interrupted.

Stan, Dipper and Soos remained silent, the tension of the room too tense for any of them to make a move.

"Auntie Rosie is that-" Mabel looked between the disheveled man that stumbled through the broken portal and her usually gentle aunt.

"Not now sweetie, I've somethin' important to deal with right now." Rosie said, she gave Mabel as best of a calm smile as she could before turning back to Stanford, her expression falling the instant her eyes left Mabel.

"Please, darling, I know I was wrong I'm so-"

"Don't you try to apologise Mister." She spat. cutting down her father's words with her stare. "30 years. 30 long long years yer brother an' I toiled at this blasted machine trying to get you back. I told 'im it weren't worth it. I told 'im you got what you deserved. but he didn't listen. I couldn't watch Uncle Stan throw his life away workin' on this accursed portal. He didn' deserve that. but he was stubborn. Too bullheaded to listen to reason. Just like you."

"Rosie-"

"You hold your tongue. you don' get to call me that anymore. not after you ruined my life!" Rosie stamped her foot. her voice rang through the portal chamber.

Stanford held his tongue.

"Ya notice anyone missin' here Stanford? Anyone you promised to support through sickness and health? You didn't did you? Just like ya did back then too. I had ta watch pa lose his mind and become worse and worse till he couldn't recognise me no more. Do ya know what that's like? Goin' to visit a man who held me when i was afraid, only for him to chase me out of his shoe box shanty 'cause he don' recognise me?" Rosie cried. he glasses began to fog from her tears, her cheeks burned red as she spoke.

"I- i didn't know." Stanford said in a small voice. his shoulder hunched as He tried to meet his daughter's gaze, but she refused to grant him that luxury.

"Ya didn't know 'cause ya didn't wanna know! We were working swell. ya both had amazin' jobs but ya threw it all away and for what? so that some demon could promise you the moon and stars? Was Pa not enough? Was I not enough?" She choked out between tears.

She fell to her knees. tears flowing freely as a damn built over 40 years finally broke. after so long she had finally reunited with her father. she had wanted to be happy, she had wanted to rebuild what she lost. But seeing the face of the man who had thrown everything away dashed those dreams in an instant.

Stanford stood silently, his gaze cast down in shame. He reached his hand out to Rosie, but he could hardly recognise her. He watched as Stan walked up beside her and laid a hand on her shoulder to comfort her. She instantly pulled him down into a hug, crying into his shoulder. The sight of his daughter crying Stan's arms cut ford deep. it should have been him that was comforting her, not Stan. him and fiddleford. But he watched As the two children and the strange gopher walked to her side and embraced her in a family hug. Just like he and Fiddleford used to give her when she was awoke from a fearful dream.

Standing on the far side of the cold portal room. Stanford realized that despite escaping Bill's domain, he had yet to truly awake from his nightmare.

----

art by @stephreynaart

wrote this little piece after Steph showed off the above art in this post https://www.tumblr.com/stephreynaart/767722582172631040/au-for-my-au-aint-no-story-here-the-image-came and the words just started flowing. I hope you enjoy the angst as much as i did writing it!

[elishevart]

" Who's gonna believe you over me? "

Based off of this fic made by @detectivejigsawpines !!

[elishevart]

Winter Warners

I think I drew this a while back as request, I ran across the sketch again and played with it a little

[elishevart]

Thought I would share the big prints I did for this past con. I will announce any future conventions I do when they pop up, so keep an eye out

I’ll probably stay local for now, but eventually I want to get out of state

[elishevart]

Apps go live tonight!

Hey, hey everyone! Just a heads up: apps should be going up tonight at some point before 10 PM Eastern!

[elishevart]

Old men yaoi relationship goals

[elishevart]

Painful memories...

[elishevart]

One of my mini prints

[elishevart]

Something light and fluffy to offset the angst that comes with my 17 Again Au. In the end, they’re all still family

[elishevart]

They give each other Smoochy kiss. It’s very romance. 🥰 💘

The blue dragon, Ana, belongs to @dragon-tidbits

Hope you like!

[elishevart]

Thought I’d share the Gravity Falls print I’ll be selling at the con.

An Etsy is in the works, so keep your eyes open after the new year.

Also

Stickers and sticker packs

Along with other things

[elishevart]

Weird Little Critter - Chapter 5: Transitions, Part 2

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 AO3

Aaaaaaaaand here's part two! After a bit of a longer wait than initially anticipated whoops. Life got crazy. But the third part (again, not just by myself, but also @elishevart) should be up by the end of the year!

——————————————————————————————

              Banjo and Stan walked into the house while Ford waited outside for them to get ready for their short trip to the Crawlspace.

              "I'll get the cloaks Ford mentioned," Banjo said. Ford had told them he had some in a chest in his room, and they would be essential to hide their human features. Stan nodded and grabbed a quick snack from the kitchen. Banjo returned a few minutes later with two brown cloaks draped over his arm and a couple small bags in his hand.

              "I thought he said to get the green ones," Stan said, setting aside his now empty plate. Banjo's face twitched slightly.

              "Well, I figure this color will work better," he said. "Green lures fairies to ya, and we don't want much attention. Red repels 'em."

              "Those are brown," Stan pointed out. Banjo twitched again.

              "Yes, 'cause we don't want to keep fairies away either," he said firmly. "Stanford could very well have purchased that potion from one, after all."

              This seems like a touchy subject for him. Time to move on. Stan shrugged.

              "You know what you're talking about, so I'll do what you say." Banjo relaxed visibly. "Do you really think the cloaks will be enough?"

              "I grabbed some fake pointed ears, fairy dust, and my makeup bag," Banjo said. He set the items on the kitchen table.

              "You have makeup? I never see you wear any."

              "It ain't logical to wear in a field science, but I keep it around fer special occasions." Banjo glowered at his makeup bag. "But I'm not that good at applyin’ it, since I so rarely use it."

              "You're in luck. I started doing mine and Ford's Halloween monster makeup as soon as I could steal Mom's eyeliner," Stan said. He gestured to a chair. "Have a seat and let me work my magic on you."

              Ten minutes later, two “elves” exited the house.  Ford, who was looking morosely up at the full moon, gave them a silent nod.

              “Those disguises are suitable,” he said softly.  “Follow me to the Crawlspace.”

—--

              “Well, this is officially the weirdest place I’ve ever been to,” Stan said as the trio, with Ford in the lead, walked around the Crawlspace. “But not by much.” The place was filled with stands of all sorts selling either weird potions, parts of weirder animals, and even stranger plants.  Stan couldn’t help but be in awe.

              It’s like the stories from when I was a kid, about genies and caves full of jewels and gold.

              And if the stands were impressive, the sellers were on a whole other level. Monsters and other creatures from legends Stan had only ever heard of and some he never knew. He was pretty certain he spotted a giant toad in the back. At first he thought that was where Ford had gotten the potions, but his amphibious brother kept marching forward, although at a slow and unusual pace.  His unchanging low mood was beginning to concern Stan.

              Stan hadn’t had a chance to observe this side of his twin as much as Banjo had, but he had seen him as a salamander for a whole week.  And despite how frustrated Ford had been back then, he hadn’t looked nearly this… distraught. 

              Ford’s gills hung low on each side of his drooping head.  His tail trailed lifelessly behind him. He barely glanced at them to make sure they were still following him, as if he wouldn’t be surprised they weren’t. His whole form screamed “sad little puppy”, but even if Stan wanted to cheer him up, he wasn’t sure what to say. 

              Next to him, Banjo wasn’t doing much better. He was tense, constantly glancing left and right, as if he was expecting something to get the jump on them. Stan’s comment finally seemed to register to the twiggy man and he looked at Stan in confusion. 

              “Huh?” Banjo still looked uneasy, but the shadow of a smile crossed his face. “You mean an underground market filled with all sorts of magical creatures is somethin’ ya came by already?”

              “Well not exactly like this,” Stan hedged. He leaned in closer to Banjo. The sweet smell of Banjo’s perfume filled Stan’s nostrils, almost distracting him from what he was saying. “But you should see some back alley marketplaces.  The real shady ones look pretty close to this.” Stan looked down and ahead. Ford was a few paces in front of them, still leading them towards their ultimate destination. “So… you doing okay?”

              Banjo took a deep breath. “I think so… still shaken up.”

              "By everything?”

              It took a moment before the southerner answered. During the pause, Stan saw him looking at Ford’s back before speaking. “Yeah, everything.”

              Stan sighed. No matter what he said the tension between the trio, especially Ford and Banjo, was still as high as it was an hour ago. Stan just shoved his hands in his pockets, glancing around as they continued walking. He raised an eyebrow when he saw a weird gray stripe running along Ford’s back. 

              Huh, that wasn’t there before. Banjo was looking directly at Ford and didn’t seem phased, so he shrugged it off. If he isn’t worried, must not be something new. 

              A few minutes later, they stopped before a vendor with vials and potions of all sorts. Ford stopped, sniffed the air, and turned toward them. 

              “Here,” Stanford whispered. The sound came out more like a chirp than a proper word.  He then stepped to the side to sit on his hind legs, his tail circling him. A few more gray streaks popped into existence across his skin as he idly looked at the ground. 

              Banjo walked up to the counter and cleared his throat. 

              "Hello," Banjo said politely. The vendor, a man so short he needed to stand on top of a crate to look over his trestle table, looked at him with suspicion. Stan busied himself pretending to look at the produce being sold at the stall next door, staffed by tiny fluttering fairies. He looked down at a box of green and red berries, keeping an ear on Banjo's conversation, glancing at Ford every now and then to make sure he was still there.

              "What can I help you with?" the vendor asked, apparently deciding to treat Banjo like a regular customer.

              "My friend purchased a sex change potion from you the other day. I wanted some more information on it," Banjo said smoothly. Stan's eyebrows went up. Banjo's southern accent was completely gone.

              I didn't know he could drop it whenever he wanted. That's a good trick.

              "Oh, yeah, I remember him," the vendor said. He peered over his collection of vials and bottles to look at Ford. "Is he your pet?"

              "...Something like that," Banjo said after a moment's hesitation.

              "What sort of information do you want?"

              "Is there an antidote?" Banjo asked. The vendor laughed.

              "I'm not selling poisonous berries like the pixies next door!" he said. Stan quickly dropped the berry he had picked up. "My products don't need antidotes. That potion in particular is short-lasting, with effects that vary depending upon dosage. So, no, there's no 'antidote'. It'll just wear off in time."

              "Got it." Banjo smiled at the vendor. "Thank you. Slán." The vendor seemed taken aback for a moment before smiling.

              "Slán. And feel free to send your pet on errands to my stand any time you want," the vendor said cheerfully. Banjo nodded. He stepped away from the stand, joining Stan by the berries. Stan frowned at him.

              "What?" Banjo asked.

              "What did you just say to him?"

              "Oh, that was just goodbye in Irish," Banjo said with a shrug. "I clocked that he was a púca immediately. Did ya see his ears and tail?"

              "What?" Stan looked back at the vendor. Sure enough, the man had black tufted ears that blended in with his hair and a long black tail like a lion's. "How'd you know what he was?"

              "My Pa's family is from Ireland. Pa passed down the oral history to us, such as the tales of faeries, or the aos sí. The púca is one such bein’."

              "You know Irish."

              "A bit. Enough to impress people but not enough to communicate in it." Banjo looked down at the berries Stan had been pretending to be interested in. "The púca said these were poisonous."

              "Only the unripe ones!" said one of the shimmery fairies manning the stall. "The ripe ones are heavenly! A single one fills you up better than a three course meal!"

              "Really?" Stan asked. The fairy nodded. Stan looked at Banjo. "Wanna get some berries?"

              "Which ones are ripe?" Banjo asked.

              "The red ones," the fairy replied. Banjo stared at the berries, ripe and unripe mixed in the same container, with panic on his face. After a moment, he cleared his throat.

              "No, we should just head home. It's not wise to accept food from the Fair Folk anyways," he said. The fairy crossed her arms, scowling.

              "How rude!"

              "Come on," Banjo said.  He walked away, heading back in the direction they had come from.  Stan quickly caught up. Stanford, who had curled up on the ground, sprung to his paws and trotted up to them. 

              “Well, that was a bust,” Stan said. “Guess Ford was right. You’re stuck like that for at least two more days.” Stan glanced back to see if said twin was following them. 

              As Banjo talked with the vendor, Stan had watched his twin on the ground turn more and more gray. So much so that by the end, when they decided to just leave, Ford was completely gray, lacking almost all color. Now, the big salamander was slowly following them on all fours, his head, gills, and tail still low. 

              “Yeah well, better safe than sorry,” Banjo grumbled. “I mean, if yer goin’ to sell sex changin’ potions, surely you’d have a counter potion or an antidote or somethin’.”

              “Yeah, but the effects are temporary and change depending on the dose you take.” Stan’s parroting of what the vendor had said earned a surprised look from Banjo. “What? I listened, I wasn't just trying to pickpocket anyone or anything that walked by.” Banjo raised an eyebrow. 

              “Did ya…?”

              Stan shot him his best smile. “What do you think?” He opened his hand to reveal a few golden coins and gems.  All looked genuine to Stan’s admittedly amateur eye. “I’m surprised Sixer didn’t try to stop me.” Stan nodded at Ford behind them. He frowned. His twin had stopped for a few seconds to lick some water from a puddle. “You think he’s okay?”

              ”I’m sure he’ll be fine.” Banjo’s voice was tart, prompting an apologetic chirp from Stanford. 

              “Does he usually walk on all fours?” 

              “Why don’t you ask him?” Banjo snapped.

              ”Since I’ve known him most of my life, he doesn’t like when I ask him questions about himself,” Stan joked. He shot Banjo his most charming smile, but only earned an eye roll in return. “And…since I know him so well, here’s something you should know about him. He’ll keep his feelings inside until they boil over or- or overwhelm him. I don’t know if you noticed, but he can be a bit of a drama queen and wallow in his own sadness. I’m the last person who wants to do actual ‘communication’, but…you two have to talk about what happened.”

              Banjo huffed and crossed his arms over his chest in annoyance. The walk was silent until the house came into view. Banjo stopped just outside of the front door.  His arms fell to his sides, his hands clenched into fists.

              “I’ll think about it.”  With that, Banjo opened the door and disappeared inside. 

              Stan sighed. A soft chirp came from below him. He looked down to see his gray little twin next to him, tilting his head curiously.

              “You’re not gonna get out of this, Sixer.  It’s a two-way street.  You’re gonna have to do something about it, too.”

              The axolotl looked down sadly and sighed before rubbing his head against Stan’s legs. The movement caught the human twin off guard. He was preparing to bend and pat Ford’s head when a loud rumble erupted around them. Stan raised an eyebrow. 

              “When‘s the last time you ate, Sixer?” He asked. 

              Ford looked guilty down, his tail wrapping around his legs. 

              Stan just shook his head and opened the door. “Let’s see what we have left for you. I think I saw some hornworm in the fridge.”

              At the word “hornworm”, Stanford shot to his feet and sprinted inside as fast as his four legs would carry him. From him came a series of chirps and noises that could be an attempt to speak, but sounded like gibberish to Stanley. 

              What is wrong with him?

—--

              Ford yawned as he made his way to the kitchen.  The night before had been even more draining than typical for a full moon.  Pre-coffee, he had barely enough energy to throw on a robe and brush his teeth after waking up in his tank in his study, fully human.  Stan, getting ready in his room, joined him when he walked past the open door.

              “So, uh, last night was kinda wild, huh?” Stan said.  Ford rubbed his eyes blearily.

              “I don’t recall much of last night.”

              “Yeah, you seemed pretty off.”

              “Yes,” Ford mumbled. 

“What's the last thing you remember?” Stan probed. Ford sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose.

              “Why are you interrogating me this morning?”

              “Just humor me,” Stan said.  Ford raised an eyebrow and thought for a moment. He stopped in the hallway. 

              “I remember us getting to the Crawlspace and the vendor. Banjo talked to him and…” He side-eyed Stanley.  “...You pickpocketed a few passersby that got too close.”  Stan snorted.

              “I’m surprised you didn’t stop me.”

              Stanford just shrugged and idly ran his fingers through the blue streak in his hair. “I didn't see the point. I don’t remember much after that. I recall us walking in the woods and coming back. I know you and Banjo talked, but I didn’t listen. Or I chose not to listen.” He shoved his hands in the pockets of his robe. “You gave me some hornworms for dinner, then we rested on the couch for most of the evening. Did I miss anything?”

              Stan patted him on the shoulder, ushering him toward the kitchen with a big smile on his face. “Nah, just wanted to make sure.”  Ford frowned and removed his brother’s hand.

              “You’re not telling me everything. What happened?” Ford winced.  “What did I do?”  He didn’t like the knot forming in his stomach at the prospect of him missing some pieces.  Stan waved his concerns away.

              “You got enough on your mind as it is. Don’t worry, you did nothing wrong. I swear.”

              “I don’t have anything on my mind!” Ford protested.  Stan snickered.  Ford sighed and rephrased.  “Nothing weighs on me that would mean you have to hide anything, Stanley.”

              “Clearly.  So that means that you can handle a day with Banjo, no problem.”

              That horrible knot that had plagued Ford came back with a vengeance.  Ford hugged his sides.  He could feel bile rising in his throat.  It took all of his willpower to not vomit the few fluids he had in him. 

              His twin saw how distressed he had suddenly become and pulled him in for a hug. It didn’t take long for Ford to bury himself in his brother’s embrace. The gesture grounded and comforted him. They both stood in the middle of the hallway until Stan broke off the hug.

              “All right? Stan asked.  Ford nodded.  “Good. You do realize you’ve gotta pull yourself together and talk to him eventually, right?”

              ”I do,” Ford whispered.  He dragged his hand down his face. “I just- I feel that I’ve ruined things between us. I don't know if I can face him…”

              For more than one reason. Stan gave him a tap on the back of his head.

              “You dumb nerd. Don’t think too much! Just start apologizing. Then you guys can go from there.”

              “You’re certainly one to recommend an apology,” Ford muttered under his breath. Stan laughed.

              “Yeah, I tell people to do stuff I won’t do all the time.”  Ford rolled his eyes.  The two resumed their walk to the kitchen. Soon, they picked up on the sound of faint singing.

              “Country roads take me home, to the place I belong…”

              “Is that Banjo?” Stan asked.  Ford shrugged.

              “Either him or a stranger that has broken into the house to sing along to the country station.”  Stan snickered and elbowed him.  As they got closer to the kitchen, the singing grew louder. But the uncomfortable feeling in Ford’s stomach returned.  He stepped back. 

              “I’ll meet you two later. I just realized I forgot to go over some data,” Ford lied.  He quickly turned around and walked away, not giving Stan a chance to try to stop him.

              Stan just shook his head and entered the kitchen. Banjo, who in fact was singing along to the radio, stood at the stove cooking some eggs, a bug-filled container filled on the counter next to his pan. Stan grabbed it before any damage to the eggs could be done and shoved it in the cupboard.

              ”We won’t be needing those this morning. Ford needs to look over some data,” he said firmly.  Banjo pursed his lips.

              “Very well,” he muttered.

              “Yeah, I didn’t buy it, either,” Stan said. Banjo managed a small smile. “By the way, were you singing just now?”

              “Oh, uh, yes.”

              “It was nice.”  Stan leaned against the counter.  “How come I’ve never heard you sing before?”  To his surprise, Banjo blushed.

              “My, uh, my big sister, Violynn, she’s- she’s got the prettiest voice in the world.  She’s won awards!”  Banjo looked down at the pan and stirred the contents.  “But me?  Or, I s’ppose, Angie?  Not even close.”

              “You don’t sing as Angie ‘cause your sister’s better than you?” Stan asked.  Banjo rolled his eyes.

              “Well, I guess when ya say it like that, it does make me sound-” Banjo started.

              “No, I get it,” Stan interrupted.  “You’re not the only one who grew up with an older sibling better than you at something.”  Banjo smiled shyly at him.  “I bet you sound good as Angie, though.”  Banjo shook his head.  “Seriously, if you sound this good as Banjo, there’s no way you sound bad as Angie!”

              “You’d be wrong,” Banjo said firmly.  “I told ya.  I don’t sound good.”

              “I don’t believe you,” Stan said, just as firm.  Banjo rolled his eyes again.  “At the very least, you sound better than me.”

              “I’ve heard ya sing in the shower.  That ain’t a high bar.”  Banjo turned off the stove.  “Let’s move on from this topic and eat, okay?”

              They both sat in silence to eat their breakfast until Stan broke it.

              ”Okay, so you’ve known my twin while he’s been a magical whatever for a while. Has he ever acted weird before? As a salamander?”

              “Well…”  Banjo frowned thoughtfully.  “He always acts a bit odd.  I think it’s ‘cause it’s so strange to be a completely dif’rent species from what ya normally are.”  Banjo looked down at his plate and picked at his food idly.

              “Okay.”  Stan chewed a bite of scrambled eggs and swallowed.  “I know you weren’t worried about him turning gray last night, but-”  Banjo's head shot up.  He stared at Stan in horror.

              "What?!"

              "Last night, while we were in the Crawlspace, Ford went from pink to gray," Stan said.  Banjo’s eyes widened to the size of dinner plates.

              "He turned gray?" he croaked.  Stan frowned.

              "You didn't notice?"

              "Clearly!"  Banjo chewed on his lip.  "Changin’ color, that don’t bode well.  Unless he’s suddenly part chameleon or cuttlefish or somethin’.  Which we can’t rule out."

              “You were looking right at him, how did you not see it?” Stan pressed.  Banjo’s gaze dropped to his plate. He pushed around a piece of egg idly.

              “Nothin’, I- I must’ve been distracted or- or maybe the lighting in the Crawlspace…" he mumbled.

              "Nuh-uh. If I noticed, there's no way you shouldn't have," Stan said firmly.

              “I- I was upset,” Banjo said.  “Yesterday was dif’cult, I was- I was as blue as- as my shirt.”  Banjo sighed softly.  “I still am.  I wish Stanford weren’t avoidin’ me.  I want to put this all to bed.”  Stan raised an eyebrow.  Banjo’s shirt, an inoffensive button-down, was purple.

              So either he’s not actually sad, which he clearly is, or he doesn’t know what color his shirt is.  But how could he not know?  Stan thought back to the outfit Banjo had worn yesterday, a combination of orange and green.  I don’t know him as well as I’d like, but that seemed weird for him.  In addition, when Stan was doing their makeup yesterday, he stopped asking Banjo to grab items, as he kept selecting colors that didn’t go with their disguises.  I thought he was just being annoying, but maybe it was something more?  There was also that thing with the cloaks and the berries…

              “Uh, Stan?” Banjo asked hesitantly, clearly wary at how long it had been since Stan spoke.  Stan set down his fork.

              “I’m gonna take a shot in the dark here.  If I’m wrong, don’t laugh at me.”

              “Okay?”

              “Are- are you colorblind?” Stan asked.  Banjo froze.  Stan’s jaw dropped.  “Shit, you are!”

              “I- yes,” Banjo said weakly.  His head drooped.  “It runs in my fam’ly.”

              “Whoa.  I didn’t realize.”

              “I thought I was doin’ a good job hidin’ it,” Banjo moaned.

              “You were!  I didn’t notice until after you turned into Banjo!”

              “I weren’t colorblind until I became Banjo.”

              “Huh?”

              “Angie can see color just fine,” Banjo said.  Stan furrowed his brow.

              "How the hell is that possible?"

              “The specific kind of colorblindness that runs in m’ fam’ily is deuteranopia, a form of red-green colorblindness,” Banjo explained.  “It’s a sex-linked trait.  The gene involved is on the X chromosome.

              “Females have two X chromosomes.  If they’ve got one faulty version of the gene and one reg’lar version of the gene, they don’t got colorblindness, ‘cause the right version overrides the wrong one.”  Stan nodded.  “But males have one X chromosome, so if they’ve got the faulty version of the gene on that one X chromosome, they’ve got colorblindness.  So’s ya see this form of colorblindness more in men ‘n in women.”

              “So, when you’re Angie, you’ve got a regular copy and a bad copy,” Stan said slowly.  Banjo nodded.

              “That’s called bein’ a carrier, and it’s the only conclusion fer my sudden development of colorblindness.”  Banjo rubbed his forehead.  “Just my luck that the X chromosome what turned into a Y was the one what didn’t have colorblindness on it.  Ugh.”

              "Okay, so you can't see red, and pink is a kind of red," Stan said, "but you can see gray, right?"

              "Yes."

              "Then how come you didn't see Ford changing from not-gray to gray?" Stan asked.

              "Wh- because he already looked gray! Pink looks gray to me right now!" Banjo said, throwing his hands up in frustration. "Even before we went to the Crawlspace, Stanford looked gray. I just figured he wasn't ‘cause some of my clothes what are pink looked gray yesterday."

              "Huh.”  Stan picked up his fork again and poked a bit at his breakfast, mulling over what Banjo had said.  He locked eyes with the annoyingly attractive southerner.  “Why didn’t you tell us?  Were you embarrassed?  You don’t need to be.”  Banjo sighed.

              “I was a bit embarrassed, sure.  But it’s more that I didn’t really want to deal with it.  It’s at the bottom of my list of concerns.  I mean, I thought I was doin’ a good job hidin’ it!”

              “The orange and green yesterday did seem a bit outta character,” Stan said.   Banjo groaned.

              “Dangit!  I knew the flannel was orange, but I thought the shirt was red!”

              “Oh, man,” Stan said, poorly stifling a laugh.  “No, the flannel was green.  The shirt was orange.”  Banjo stared at him.

              “It was?!”

              “Yeah.”

              Banjo slammed his head on the table.  He groaned loudly.

              “I ain’t teasin’ Lute ‘n Harper fer bein’ colorblind ever again!” he declared.  Stan snickered.  Banjo’s shoulders began to shake.

              Shit, was I not “sensitive” enough?  Banjo might be a guy right now, but he’s usually a chick.  To Stan’s relief, he soon realized that Banjo was laughing, not crying.  Banjo lifted his head, his eyes lit up with mirth.  He grinned at Stan, his cheeks pink.

              “Those ‘re my colorblind brothers,” Banjo explained.  He leaned back in his chair, still grinning.  “Though I s’ppose right now I’m a colorblind brother, too.”

              “Think you could go fishing while colorblind?” Stan asked.  Banjo frowned.

              “I don’t see why not.  Why?”

              “It’s pretty obvious to me that Ford’s gonna hide in his room all day.  I don’t see the point in staying here just to sulk in separate rooms or whatever.”

              “...Oh.”  Banjo looked down at his emptied plate.  He sighed.  “Yeah, I think yer prob’ly right ‘bout Stanford’s plans fer today.  But I was really hopin’ to talk to him…”

              “You can talk to him when we get back.”  Stan got up.  He grabbed both his plate and Banjo’s.  Banjo blinked.

              “Back?  Back from where?”

              “Fishing, genius.”  Stan flicked Banjo’s nose playfully.  Banjo snickered at the action.

              Man, I love having someone around who’s got the same sense of humor as me.

              “Unless you wanna mope around all day,” Stan added.  Banjo shook his head.

              “No, I don’t want to waste the gorgeous weather.”  He grimaced.  “Even if I don’t like fishin’.”

              “You just think you don’t like it ‘cause you’ve never fished with me,” Stan said firmly, eliciting a soft laugh from Banjo.  Banjo stood up.

              “Just to dot our I’s and cross our T’s, I’ll go make sure Stanford don’t want to come with us.”

              “I think it’s a waste of time, but suit yourself,” Stan muttered as he brought the plates over to the sink.  He had just finished washing them when Banjo returned, looking crestfallen.  “Well?”

              “It’s just the two of us fishin’,” Banjo mumbled.  Stan nudged him.

              “Chin up, man,” he said.  “Trust me, we’ll have way more fun just the two of us.”  Banjo pursed his lips, clearly not convinced.  “And if we don’t, we’ll stop at the grocery store to pick up those weird popsicles you like.”  That got a smile from Banjo.  Banjo led the way out of the house.  Stan grabbed his car keys from the bowl on their way, grinning.

              Bribery.  It always works!

[elishevart]

Weird Little Critter - Chapter 5: Transitions, Part 2

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 AO3

Aaaaaaaaand here's part two! After a bit of a longer wait than initially anticipated whoops. Life got crazy. But the third part (again, not just by myself, but also @elishevart) should be up by the end of the year!

——————————————————————————————

              Banjo and Stan walked into the house while Ford waited outside for them to get ready for their short trip to the Crawlspace.

              "I'll get the cloaks Ford mentioned," Banjo said. Ford had told them he had some in a chest in his room, and they would be essential to hide their human features. Stan nodded and grabbed a quick snack from the kitchen. Banjo returned a few minutes later with two brown cloaks draped over his arm and a couple small bags in his hand.

              "I thought he said to get the green ones," Stan said, setting aside his now empty plate. Banjo's face twitched slightly.

              "Well, I figure this color will work better," he said. "Green lures fairies to ya, and we don't want much attention. Red repels 'em."

              "Those are brown," Stan pointed out. Banjo twitched again.

              "Yes, 'cause we don't want to keep fairies away either," he said firmly. "Stanford could very well have purchased that potion from one, after all."

              This seems like a touchy subject for him. Time to move on. Stan shrugged.

              "You know what you're talking about, so I'll do what you say." Banjo relaxed visibly. "Do you really think the cloaks will be enough?"

              "I grabbed some fake pointed ears, fairy dust, and my makeup bag," Banjo said. He set the items on the kitchen table.

              "You have makeup? I never see you wear any."

              "It ain't logical to wear in a field science, but I keep it around fer special occasions." Banjo glowered at his makeup bag. "But I'm not that good at applyin’ it, since I so rarely use it."

              "You're in luck. I started doing mine and Ford's Halloween monster makeup as soon as I could steal Mom's eyeliner," Stan said. He gestured to a chair. "Have a seat and let me work my magic on you."

              Ten minutes later, two “elves” exited the house.  Ford, who was looking morosely up at the full moon, gave them a silent nod.

              “Those disguises are suitable,” he said softly.  “Follow me to the Crawlspace.”

—--

              “Well, this is officially the weirdest place I’ve ever been to,” Stan said as the trio, with Ford in the lead, walked around the Crawlspace. “But not by much.” The place was filled with stands of all sorts selling either weird potions, parts of weirder animals, and even stranger plants.  Stan couldn’t help but be in awe.

              It’s like the stories from when I was a kid, about genies and caves full of jewels and gold.

              And if the stands were impressive, the sellers were on a whole other level. Monsters and other creatures from legends Stan had only ever heard of and some he never knew. He was pretty certain he spotted a giant toad in the back. At first he thought that was where Ford had gotten the potions, but his amphibious brother kept marching forward, although at a slow and unusual pace.  His unchanging low mood was beginning to concern Stan.

              Stan hadn’t had a chance to observe this side of his twin as much as Banjo had, but he had seen him as a salamander for a whole week.  And despite how frustrated Ford had been back then, he hadn’t looked nearly this… distraught. 

              Ford’s gills hung low on each side of his drooping head.  His tail trailed lifelessly behind him. He barely glanced at them to make sure they were still following him, as if he wouldn’t be surprised they weren’t. His whole form screamed “sad little puppy”, but even if Stan wanted to cheer him up, he wasn’t sure what to say. 

              Next to him, Banjo wasn’t doing much better. He was tense, constantly glancing left and right, as if he was expecting something to get the jump on them. Stan’s comment finally seemed to register to the twiggy man and he looked at Stan in confusion. 

              “Huh?” Banjo still looked uneasy, but the shadow of a smile crossed his face. “You mean an underground market filled with all sorts of magical creatures is somethin’ ya came by already?”

              “Well not exactly like this,” Stan hedged. He leaned in closer to Banjo. The sweet smell of Banjo’s perfume filled Stan’s nostrils, almost distracting him from what he was saying. “But you should see some back alley marketplaces.  The real shady ones look pretty close to this.” Stan looked down and ahead. Ford was a few paces in front of them, still leading them towards their ultimate destination. “So… you doing okay?”

              Banjo took a deep breath. “I think so… still shaken up.”

              "By everything?”

              It took a moment before the southerner answered. During the pause, Stan saw him looking at Ford’s back before speaking. “Yeah, everything.”

              Stan sighed. No matter what he said the tension between the trio, especially Ford and Banjo, was still as high as it was an hour ago. Stan just shoved his hands in his pockets, glancing around as they continued walking. He raised an eyebrow when he saw a weird gray stripe running along Ford’s back. 

              Huh, that wasn’t there before. Banjo was looking directly at Ford and didn’t seem phased, so he shrugged it off. If he isn’t worried, must not be something new. 

              A few minutes later, they stopped before a vendor with vials and potions of all sorts. Ford stopped, sniffed the air, and turned toward them. 

              “Here,” Stanford whispered. The sound came out more like a chirp than a proper word.  He then stepped to the side to sit on his hind legs, his tail circling him. A few more gray streaks popped into existence across his skin as he idly looked at the ground. 

              Banjo walked up to the counter and cleared his throat. 

              "Hello," Banjo said politely. The vendor, a man so short he needed to stand on top of a crate to look over his trestle table, looked at him with suspicion. Stan busied himself pretending to look at the produce being sold at the stall next door, staffed by tiny fluttering fairies. He looked down at a box of green and red berries, keeping an ear on Banjo's conversation, glancing at Ford every now and then to make sure he was still there.

              "What can I help you with?" the vendor asked, apparently deciding to treat Banjo like a regular customer.

              "My friend purchased a sex change potion from you the other day. I wanted some more information on it," Banjo said smoothly. Stan's eyebrows went up. Banjo's southern accent was completely gone.

              I didn't know he could drop it whenever he wanted. That's a good trick.

              "Oh, yeah, I remember him," the vendor said. He peered over his collection of vials and bottles to look at Ford. "Is he your pet?"

              "...Something like that," Banjo said after a moment's hesitation.

              "What sort of information do you want?"

              "Is there an antidote?" Banjo asked. The vendor laughed.

              "I'm not selling poisonous berries like the pixies next door!" he said. Stan quickly dropped the berry he had picked up. "My products don't need antidotes. That potion in particular is short-lasting, with effects that vary depending upon dosage. So, no, there's no 'antidote'. It'll just wear off in time."

              "Got it." Banjo smiled at the vendor. "Thank you. Slán." The vendor seemed taken aback for a moment before smiling.

              "Slán. And feel free to send your pet on errands to my stand any time you want," the vendor said cheerfully. Banjo nodded. He stepped away from the stand, joining Stan by the berries. Stan frowned at him.

              "What?" Banjo asked.

              "What did you just say to him?"

              "Oh, that was just goodbye in Irish," Banjo said with a shrug. "I clocked that he was a púca immediately. Did ya see his ears and tail?"

              "What?" Stan looked back at the vendor. Sure enough, the man had black tufted ears that blended in with his hair and a long black tail like a lion's. "How'd you know what he was?"

              "My Pa's family is from Ireland. Pa passed down the oral history to us, such as the tales of faeries, or the aos sí. The púca is one such bein’."

              "You know Irish."

              "A bit. Enough to impress people but not enough to communicate in it." Banjo looked down at the berries Stan had been pretending to be interested in. "The púca said these were poisonous."

              "Only the unripe ones!" said one of the shimmery fairies manning the stall. "The ripe ones are heavenly! A single one fills you up better than a three course meal!"

              "Really?" Stan asked. The fairy nodded. Stan looked at Banjo. "Wanna get some berries?"

              "Which ones are ripe?" Banjo asked.

              "The red ones," the fairy replied. Banjo stared at the berries, ripe and unripe mixed in the same container, with panic on his face. After a moment, he cleared his throat.

              "No, we should just head home. It's not wise to accept food from the Fair Folk anyways," he said. The fairy crossed her arms, scowling.

              "How rude!"

              "Come on," Banjo said.  He walked away, heading back in the direction they had come from.  Stan quickly caught up. Stanford, who had curled up on the ground, sprung to his paws and trotted up to them. 

              “Well, that was a bust,” Stan said. “Guess Ford was right. You’re stuck like that for at least two more days.” Stan glanced back to see if said twin was following them. 

              As Banjo talked with the vendor, Stan had watched his twin on the ground turn more and more gray. So much so that by the end, when they decided to just leave, Ford was completely gray, lacking almost all color. Now, the big salamander was slowly following them on all fours, his head, gills, and tail still low. 

              “Yeah well, better safe than sorry,” Banjo grumbled. “I mean, if yer goin’ to sell sex changin’ potions, surely you’d have a counter potion or an antidote or somethin’.”

              “Yeah, but the effects are temporary and change depending on the dose you take.” Stan’s parroting of what the vendor had said earned a surprised look from Banjo. “What? I listened, I wasn't just trying to pickpocket anyone or anything that walked by.” Banjo raised an eyebrow. 

              “Did ya…?”

              Stan shot him his best smile. “What do you think?” He opened his hand to reveal a few golden coins and gems.  All looked genuine to Stan’s admittedly amateur eye. “I’m surprised Sixer didn’t try to stop me.” Stan nodded at Ford behind them. He frowned. His twin had stopped for a few seconds to lick some water from a puddle. “You think he’s okay?”

              ”I’m sure he’ll be fine.” Banjo’s voice was tart, prompting an apologetic chirp from Stanford. 

              “Does he usually walk on all fours?” 

              “Why don’t you ask him?” Banjo snapped.

              ”Since I’ve known him most of my life, he doesn’t like when I ask him questions about himself,” Stan joked. He shot Banjo his most charming smile, but only earned an eye roll in return. “And…since I know him so well, here’s something you should know about him. He’ll keep his feelings inside until they boil over or- or overwhelm him. I don’t know if you noticed, but he can be a bit of a drama queen and wallow in his own sadness. I’m the last person who wants to do actual ‘communication’, but…you two have to talk about what happened.”

              Banjo huffed and crossed his arms over his chest in annoyance. The walk was silent until the house came into view. Banjo stopped just outside of the front door.  His arms fell to his sides, his hands clenched into fists.

              “I’ll think about it.”  With that, Banjo opened the door and disappeared inside. 

              Stan sighed. A soft chirp came from below him. He looked down to see his gray little twin next to him, tilting his head curiously.

              “You’re not gonna get out of this, Sixer.  It’s a two-way street.  You’re gonna have to do something about it, too.”

              The axolotl looked down sadly and sighed before rubbing his head against Stan’s legs. The movement caught the human twin off guard. He was preparing to bend and pat Ford’s head when a loud rumble erupted around them. Stan raised an eyebrow. 

              “When‘s the last time you ate, Sixer?” He asked. 

              Ford looked guilty down, his tail wrapping around his legs. 

              Stan just shook his head and opened the door. “Let’s see what we have left for you. I think I saw some hornworm in the fridge.”

              At the word “hornworm”, Stanford shot to his feet and sprinted inside as fast as his four legs would carry him. From him came a series of chirps and noises that could be an attempt to speak, but sounded like gibberish to Stanley. 

              What is wrong with him?

—--

              Ford yawned as he made his way to the kitchen.  The night before had been even more draining than typical for a full moon.  Pre-coffee, he had barely enough energy to throw on a robe and brush his teeth after waking up in his tank in his study, fully human.  Stan, getting ready in his room, joined him when he walked past the open door.

              “So, uh, last night was kinda wild, huh?” Stan said.  Ford rubbed his eyes blearily.

              “I don’t recall much of last night.”

              “Yeah, you seemed pretty off.”

              “Yes,” Ford mumbled. 

“What's the last thing you remember?” Stan probed. Ford sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose.

              “Why are you interrogating me this morning?”

              “Just humor me,” Stan said.  Ford raised an eyebrow and thought for a moment. He stopped in the hallway. 

              “I remember us getting to the Crawlspace and the vendor. Banjo talked to him and…” He side-eyed Stanley.  “...You pickpocketed a few passersby that got too close.”  Stan snorted.

              “I’m surprised you didn’t stop me.”

              Stanford just shrugged and idly ran his fingers through the blue streak in his hair. “I didn't see the point. I don’t remember much after that. I recall us walking in the woods and coming back. I know you and Banjo talked, but I didn’t listen. Or I chose not to listen.” He shoved his hands in the pockets of his robe. “You gave me some hornworms for dinner, then we rested on the couch for most of the evening. Did I miss anything?”

              Stan patted him on the shoulder, ushering him toward the kitchen with a big smile on his face. “Nah, just wanted to make sure.”  Ford frowned and removed his brother’s hand.

              “You’re not telling me everything. What happened?” Ford winced.  “What did I do?”  He didn’t like the knot forming in his stomach at the prospect of him missing some pieces.  Stan waved his concerns away.

              “You got enough on your mind as it is. Don’t worry, you did nothing wrong. I swear.”

              “I don’t have anything on my mind!” Ford protested.  Stan snickered.  Ford sighed and rephrased.  “Nothing weighs on me that would mean you have to hide anything, Stanley.”

              “Clearly.  So that means that you can handle a day with Banjo, no problem.”

              That horrible knot that had plagued Ford came back with a vengeance.  Ford hugged his sides.  He could feel bile rising in his throat.  It took all of his willpower to not vomit the few fluids he had in him. 

              His twin saw how distressed he had suddenly become and pulled him in for a hug. It didn’t take long for Ford to bury himself in his brother’s embrace. The gesture grounded and comforted him. They both stood in the middle of the hallway until Stan broke off the hug.

              “All right? Stan asked.  Ford nodded.  “Good. You do realize you’ve gotta pull yourself together and talk to him eventually, right?”

              ”I do,” Ford whispered.  He dragged his hand down his face. “I just- I feel that I’ve ruined things between us. I don't know if I can face him…”

              For more than one reason. Stan gave him a tap on the back of his head.

              “You dumb nerd. Don’t think too much! Just start apologizing. Then you guys can go from there.”

              “You’re certainly one to recommend an apology,” Ford muttered under his breath. Stan laughed.

              “Yeah, I tell people to do stuff I won’t do all the time.”  Ford rolled his eyes.  The two resumed their walk to the kitchen. Soon, they picked up on the sound of faint singing.

              “Country roads take me home, to the place I belong…”

              “Is that Banjo?” Stan asked.  Ford shrugged.

              “Either him or a stranger that has broken into the house to sing along to the country station.”  Stan snickered and elbowed him.  As they got closer to the kitchen, the singing grew louder. But the uncomfortable feeling in Ford’s stomach returned.  He stepped back. 

              “I’ll meet you two later. I just realized I forgot to go over some data,” Ford lied.  He quickly turned around and walked away, not giving Stan a chance to try to stop him.

              Stan just shook his head and entered the kitchen. Banjo, who in fact was singing along to the radio, stood at the stove cooking some eggs, a bug-filled container filled on the counter next to his pan. Stan grabbed it before any damage to the eggs could be done and shoved it in the cupboard.

              ”We won’t be needing those this morning. Ford needs to look over some data,” he said firmly.  Banjo pursed his lips.

              “Very well,” he muttered.

              “Yeah, I didn’t buy it, either,” Stan said. Banjo managed a small smile. “By the way, were you singing just now?”

              “Oh, uh, yes.”

              “It was nice.”  Stan leaned against the counter.  “How come I’ve never heard you sing before?”  To his surprise, Banjo blushed.

              “My, uh, my big sister, Violynn, she’s- she’s got the prettiest voice in the world.  She’s won awards!”  Banjo looked down at the pan and stirred the contents.  “But me?  Or, I s’ppose, Angie?  Not even close.”

              “You don’t sing as Angie ‘cause your sister’s better than you?” Stan asked.  Banjo rolled his eyes.

              “Well, I guess when ya say it like that, it does make me sound-” Banjo started.

              “No, I get it,” Stan interrupted.  “You’re not the only one who grew up with an older sibling better than you at something.”  Banjo smiled shyly at him.  “I bet you sound good as Angie, though.”  Banjo shook his head.  “Seriously, if you sound this good as Banjo, there’s no way you sound bad as Angie!”

              “You’d be wrong,” Banjo said firmly.  “I told ya.  I don’t sound good.”

              “I don’t believe you,” Stan said, just as firm.  Banjo rolled his eyes again.  “At the very least, you sound better than me.”

              “I’ve heard ya sing in the shower.  That ain’t a high bar.”  Banjo turned off the stove.  “Let’s move on from this topic and eat, okay?”

              They both sat in silence to eat their breakfast until Stan broke it.

              ”Okay, so you’ve known my twin while he’s been a magical whatever for a while. Has he ever acted weird before? As a salamander?”

              “Well…”  Banjo frowned thoughtfully.  “He always acts a bit odd.  I think it’s ‘cause it’s so strange to be a completely dif’rent species from what ya normally are.”  Banjo looked down at his plate and picked at his food idly.

              “Okay.”  Stan chewed a bite of scrambled eggs and swallowed.  “I know you weren’t worried about him turning gray last night, but-”  Banjo's head shot up.  He stared at Stan in horror.

              "What?!"

              "Last night, while we were in the Crawlspace, Ford went from pink to gray," Stan said.  Banjo’s eyes widened to the size of dinner plates.

              "He turned gray?" he croaked.  Stan frowned.

              "You didn't notice?"

              "Clearly!"  Banjo chewed on his lip.  "Changin’ color, that don’t bode well.  Unless he’s suddenly part chameleon or cuttlefish or somethin’.  Which we can’t rule out."

              “You were looking right at him, how did you not see it?” Stan pressed.  Banjo’s gaze dropped to his plate. He pushed around a piece of egg idly.

              “Nothin’, I- I must’ve been distracted or- or maybe the lighting in the Crawlspace…" he mumbled.

              "Nuh-uh. If I noticed, there's no way you shouldn't have," Stan said firmly.

              “I- I was upset,” Banjo said.  “Yesterday was dif’cult, I was- I was as blue as- as my shirt.”  Banjo sighed softly.  “I still am.  I wish Stanford weren’t avoidin’ me.  I want to put this all to bed.”  Stan raised an eyebrow.  Banjo’s shirt, an inoffensive button-down, was purple.

              So either he’s not actually sad, which he clearly is, or he doesn’t know what color his shirt is.  But how could he not know?  Stan thought back to the outfit Banjo had worn yesterday, a combination of orange and green.  I don’t know him as well as I’d like, but that seemed weird for him.  In addition, when Stan was doing their makeup yesterday, he stopped asking Banjo to grab items, as he kept selecting colors that didn’t go with their disguises.  I thought he was just being annoying, but maybe it was something more?  There was also that thing with the cloaks and the berries…

              “Uh, Stan?” Banjo asked hesitantly, clearly wary at how long it had been since Stan spoke.  Stan set down his fork.

              “I’m gonna take a shot in the dark here.  If I’m wrong, don’t laugh at me.”

              “Okay?”

              “Are- are you colorblind?” Stan asked.  Banjo froze.  Stan’s jaw dropped.  “Shit, you are!”

              “I- yes,” Banjo said weakly.  His head drooped.  “It runs in my fam’ly.”

              “Whoa.  I didn’t realize.”

              “I thought I was doin’ a good job hidin’ it,” Banjo moaned.

              “You were!  I didn’t notice until after you turned into Banjo!”

              “I weren’t colorblind until I became Banjo.”

              “Huh?”

              “Angie can see color just fine,” Banjo said.  Stan furrowed his brow.

              "How the hell is that possible?"

              “The specific kind of colorblindness that runs in m’ fam’ily is deuteranopia, a form of red-green colorblindness,” Banjo explained.  “It’s a sex-linked trait.  The gene involved is on the X chromosome.

              “Females have two X chromosomes.  If they’ve got one faulty version of the gene and one reg’lar version of the gene, they don’t got colorblindness, ‘cause the right version overrides the wrong one.”  Stan nodded.  “But males have one X chromosome, so if they’ve got the faulty version of the gene on that one X chromosome, they’ve got colorblindness.  So’s ya see this form of colorblindness more in men ‘n in women.”

              “So, when you’re Angie, you’ve got a regular copy and a bad copy,” Stan said slowly.  Banjo nodded.

              “That’s called bein’ a carrier, and it’s the only conclusion fer my sudden development of colorblindness.”  Banjo rubbed his forehead.  “Just my luck that the X chromosome what turned into a Y was the one what didn’t have colorblindness on it.  Ugh.”

              "Okay, so you can't see red, and pink is a kind of red," Stan said, "but you can see gray, right?"

              "Yes."

              "Then how come you didn't see Ford changing from not-gray to gray?" Stan asked.

              "Wh- because he already looked gray! Pink looks gray to me right now!" Banjo said, throwing his hands up in frustration. "Even before we went to the Crawlspace, Stanford looked gray. I just figured he wasn't ‘cause some of my clothes what are pink looked gray yesterday."

              "Huh.”  Stan picked up his fork again and poked a bit at his breakfast, mulling over what Banjo had said.  He locked eyes with the annoyingly attractive southerner.  “Why didn’t you tell us?  Were you embarrassed?  You don’t need to be.”  Banjo sighed.

              “I was a bit embarrassed, sure.  But it’s more that I didn’t really want to deal with it.  It’s at the bottom of my list of concerns.  I mean, I thought I was doin’ a good job hidin’ it!”

              “The orange and green yesterday did seem a bit outta character,” Stan said.   Banjo groaned.

              “Dangit!  I knew the flannel was orange, but I thought the shirt was red!”

              “Oh, man,” Stan said, poorly stifling a laugh.  “No, the flannel was green.  The shirt was orange.”  Banjo stared at him.

              “It was?!”

              “Yeah.”

              Banjo slammed his head on the table.  He groaned loudly.

              “I ain’t teasin’ Lute ‘n Harper fer bein’ colorblind ever again!” he declared.  Stan snickered.  Banjo’s shoulders began to shake.

              Shit, was I not “sensitive” enough?  Banjo might be a guy right now, but he’s usually a chick.  To Stan’s relief, he soon realized that Banjo was laughing, not crying.  Banjo lifted his head, his eyes lit up with mirth.  He grinned at Stan, his cheeks pink.

              “Those ‘re my colorblind brothers,” Banjo explained.  He leaned back in his chair, still grinning.  “Though I s’ppose right now I’m a colorblind brother, too.”

              “Think you could go fishing while colorblind?” Stan asked.  Banjo frowned.

              “I don’t see why not.  Why?”

              “It’s pretty obvious to me that Ford’s gonna hide in his room all day.  I don’t see the point in staying here just to sulk in separate rooms or whatever.”

              “...Oh.”  Banjo looked down at his emptied plate.  He sighed.  “Yeah, I think yer prob’ly right ‘bout Stanford’s plans fer today.  But I was really hopin’ to talk to him…”

              “You can talk to him when we get back.”  Stan got up.  He grabbed both his plate and Banjo’s.  Banjo blinked.

              “Back?  Back from where?”

              “Fishing, genius.”  Stan flicked Banjo’s nose playfully.  Banjo snickered at the action.

              Man, I love having someone around who’s got the same sense of humor as me.

              “Unless you wanna mope around all day,” Stan added.  Banjo shook his head.

              “No, I don’t want to waste the gorgeous weather.”  He grimaced.  “Even if I don’t like fishin’.”

              “You just think you don’t like it ‘cause you’ve never fished with me,” Stan said firmly, eliciting a soft laugh from Banjo.  Banjo stood up.

              “Just to dot our I’s and cross our T’s, I’ll go make sure Stanford don’t want to come with us.”

              “I think it’s a waste of time, but suit yourself,” Stan muttered as he brought the plates over to the sink.  He had just finished washing them when Banjo returned, looking crestfallen.  “Well?”

              “It’s just the two of us fishin’,” Banjo mumbled.  Stan nudged him.

              “Chin up, man,” he said.  “Trust me, we’ll have way more fun just the two of us.”  Banjo pursed his lips, clearly not convinced.  “And if we don’t, we’ll stop at the grocery store to pick up those weird popsicles you like.”  That got a smile from Banjo.  Banjo led the way out of the house.  Stan grabbed his car keys from the bowl on their way, grinning.

              Bribery.  It always works!

[elishevart]

If my absence has been noticed at all.

This is why

I will be at The Nostalgia Con in Houston at the George R. Brown Convention Center on December 6-8.

This is my first artist alley, so if you’re in the area, stop by and get things and also the stuff

Dat me

Tickets for the convention HERE