#and it was validating but also made me *deeply* uncomfortable because. y'know.

[lith-myathar]

.

[magpiemorality]

Seeking: Family, Foster Twins 5

Enter Picani, Therapist Extraordinaire!

Warnings: referenced child abuse throughout, panic attack, implied separation anxiety.

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***

Movie night went… well, actually. Roman was quiet, cuddling into Remus's side as they shared one of the couches, but they both laughed and muttered along to the kids movie they'd picked, and Patton had heard them chatting comfortably in the kitchen while they supervised the popcorn process.

The next morning he heard back from Emile about the voicemail he'd left. There was an appointment available during Emile's lunch, that he usually left in case of emergencies like this one. He had time to fit both twins individually if Remus wanted to come along too, and Patton could call in for an appointment of his own when the boys went to Remy's for their end of the week assessment.

Patton wasn't sure how to approach Remus. The boy was clearly starving for every drop of affection and kind parenting he gave him, thriving on the praise and thanks after a job well done. He'd damn near whimpered when Patton had thanked him again for swapping chores so the adult could talk to his twin, and had even tried to take on the hoovering, craving the validation.

He'd been kind but firm then, letting Remus know that this was a deal and it was meant to be kept to, because Patton was an equal member of the household and had his own share of the responsibilities. Remus didn't understand yet but he didn't have to do chores to earn affection, and it needed to be made clear from the start.

But how to broach the subject of the therapist? Children were unpredictable, he knew that. He'd seen the dissociation Roman had exhibited and he wasn't so sure Remus, even with all of his desperation to please, would be particularly positive either.

"Boys, you all done there?" He asked, poking his head into the laundry room to see them actually folding the clothes. "Oh wonderful! I've got some news for you both, if you're free?"

Remus waited for Roman as always, and when Roman nodded he did too, following Patton out to the kitchen table where Patton can push some small info booklets from Emile's practice over to them to browse through. "So I talked to Dr Picani, like I said I would to you, Roman. He has some time today at lunch. And we haven't had a chance to chat about it yet Remus, but he's offered you a spot too, if you're ready to join us today? It's just an informal meeting, so you can ask him questions and see if you'll get along with him. We'd need to go in about an hour, what do you boys think?"

There was a long silence as the twins both stared at their pamphlets. Patton waited with unending patience, before clearing his throat when the silence dragged on. "Would you prefer to have a chat about it together without me?" He suggested softly, and Roman's quick nod confirmed his suspicions.

They were a united front against the world. It didn't surprise him that this perceived threat warranted a discussion.

Patton left them to it and absolutely did not eavesdrop. He felt the temptation to, of course he did. He was human and he was trying to parent two hurt boys that were fresh out of an incredibly toxic home environment. Eavesdropping could provide valuable information that could help him understand and look after them better.

But it wasn't worth it to betray their trust like that. He made sure they could hear him move into the kitchen to set the kettle on, texting Emile with an update and catching up on some news on twitter before Remus appeared in the doorway to fetch him. The boy shifted from foot to foot, rubbing the back of his head, and mumbled that they'd talked it over, if he'd like to hear what they had to say.

"Of course," Patton replied, patting Remus's shoulder on the way into the room.

"We'll go," Roman said immediately, before Patton had even had a chance to sit down. "But we might not like it."

"Understandable."

"And we just want to ask questions. We don't want to answer anything today."

"There may be intake forms, but that's absolutely something for you to discuss with Dr Picani. I won't be involved in the process apart from as your lift either way."

"... You won't ask?" Roman checked, narrowing his eyes with what looked like a mix of suspicion and genuine confusion. "You won't get him to tell you?"

Patton had to fight not to gasp at the idea. "No!" He said firmly instead. "That would be not only disrespectful to both of you, but also breaching the confidentiality of therapy. If you boys stay and you want to we can discuss a group session for all three of us together. It can help to improve communication between family, but apart from that your sessions would be your own."

He wanted to ask so badly, if their parents had done that, but he had to leave that to Emile. Patton knew the value of trust and he knew the value of keeping things separate, and trying to pry into their lives now would never work. If they chose to say something, to come to him then it would be amazing and beautiful and precious, but to force it would be to tell them he was just there to fix them. Not to be the parent they truly required.

Not that Patton didn't hope that would happen one day; he was an excellent and enthusiastic giver of hugs. And he missed his hugs sessions with Thomas a lot.

The twins shared a glance and Remus shrugged, leg bouncing under the table, fingers picking at his lip. "So we'll go in an hour and talk to this doctor, and then...?"

"Whatever you like. I'm thinking we could go out for the day tomorrow, so if you wanted to just go to the park or hang out around here this afternoon that's cool. What were you two thinking?"

"P-"

"I want to stay here," Roman spoke over his brother. Remus didn't even react apart from to stop talking and immediately close his mouth, looking at his brother. Patton breathed deeply.

"Okay. And you, Remus?" He asked softly, keeping the tone as even as possible so Roman didn't interpret it as a jab.

Remus shrugged. "Here is fine," he said, casting a small glance and a smile at his twin.

"Alrighty then. Maybe we can grab some lunch on the way back first then. Alright guys, I'm going to go and do some office time, be ready in an hour, if you can. Don't worry about bringing anything with you but yourselves now!"

Dr Emile Picani was, in Patton's humble opinion, one of the best child- and indeed adult- therapists in the state, if not the country. He smiled that same relaxed, slightly sheepish smile when he saw the three of them walk in, greeting Patton with a hug and asking the boys for their names without trying to force any contact. Patton could see him analysing quickly in his head as he gathered insignificant bits of information, like age and school year, putting them at ease and probably running through the list of observations Patton had sent ahead.

"Well I don't know about you guys, but I'm ready to go in! Who wants to go first?" He said, while Patton filled out their forms with the receptionist. "No takers? Okay, why don't we go by alphabetical order, so that's you then Remus. Is that okay?"

Remus nodded, but Patton caught the faint gulp out of the corner of his eyes and offered the boy a reassuring smile when wide eyes found his, before the pair headed into Emile's room. Roman sloped off to the waiting area chairs and pointedly ignored Patton when he sat nearby, playing something on his phone.

"Do you think he's okay?" He asked abruptly about five minutes in. "He's not good with questions, or like, direct stuff. Maybe you should check on him."

Patton glanced up. "I'm sure he's fine. Em- Dr Picani is a professional, and if Remus was uncomfortable he would end the meeting and bring him out."

"Yeah but what if he can't tell, you know? What if he thinks Remus is just being super quiet or something?"

"Roman, it's alright, can you try and take a few deep breaths for me?"

"Because he's super quiet around new people, you're like, a weird anomaly, and he gets panicked real easy and what if Dr Picani says the wrong thing-"

"Roman,"

"Cause it's easy to do that, I do that sometimes and I should know! I know what he's like but Dr Picani doesn't I-"

"Roman, I'm going to hold your hand okay?"

Roman looked at him with wide eyes. "Okay," he gasped, squeezing tight when Patton grasped his fingers.

Patton shuffled closer and waited for Roman to look at him again. "I'm going to put your hand on my chest so you can feel my breathing, alright? I'd like you to try and copy my breathing. There's no rush, just try and copy along. There you go."

They breathed and breathed together. The receptionist gave Patton a glanced but he shook his head, wary of trying to introduce anyone else in to help with Roman's panic attack. The boy stared almost without blinking at his face, until his chest didn't heave anymore but rose and fell in a more reasonable rhythm.

He whined very quietly under his breath, and Patton smiled at him. "That was awesome, well done. Thank you for letting me help, Roman." The teenager nodded at him quickly, and yanked his hand back when the door to Emile's room opened and the doctor led Remus out.

"Oh, Ro..." Remus whispered, hurrying to his twins side to hug him while the adults shared a long glance. "It's okay, it's not really scary at all! Dr P was really nice, and I felt okay, and I'll be waiting here the whole time, right?" He looked to Patton for a nod of confirmation, quickly supplied. "See?"

Roman was still shaky but he let Remus help him up and over to the door, glancing back just before Emile closed it on them.

Remus wasn't a whole lot better, being kept from his brother, but perhaps the knowledge of what was going on behind the door helped because he mostly sat and played with the kid's block toy that seemed to be in every waiting room ever, occasionally asking Patton questions like,

"How long will he be?"

"Probably a few more minutes, if it's much like yours."

And,

"Is Dr Picani really like that, or is it just, y'know, to make you feel better?"

"Might be a bit of both kiddo. He's a real softie, but he is a professional and he is there to make you feel comfortable, right?"

"Right, right."

And lastly,

"Patton?"

"Mm?"

"Do you go to therapy too?"

Patton closed his book and sat forwards to answer Remus's innocuous question properly, feeling the weight of the attention Remus was pretending wasn't trained directly on his answer. "I do, Remus. I try to see Dr Picani when I can, and when I had Thomas we used to go to him together as well. I sometimes go extra, if I need the support once in a while. In fact, while you guys have your meeting with Remy this Friday I think I'll give Dr P a visit, so I can talk to him about what's going on in my life too."

"Oh."

"Oh?"

Remus blanched. "No I mean, I just thought you were... like, not like us."

Oh dear. Patton raked his fingers through his hair. "What do you mean by that one, kiddo?"

But Remus wouldn't answer, just shrugging and turning back to discovering and rediscovering the path of the orange block from one end of the wire to the other.

Roman wasn't exactly smiling when he came out, but nor did he have the same edge of panic to him as when he'd entered. He kept glancing at Emile with the same slightly puzzled expression Remus was, while Emile happily ignored the attention and evenly explained the next steps, bidding them all a good afternoon.

"So, who wants to grab food on the way home?" Patton asked, breaking the awkward silence that followed Emile's departure.

The boys lit up, and although they were subdued on the way back they seemed mostly to be lost in thought. Patton would take it as a win for now, and hope that when he asked later they both gave him positive answers to going back again.

If they stayed, of course.

He really hoped they stayed. He was already so attached...

--

Next

[dubsdeedubs]

A Thousand Natural Shocks [Epilogue]

[AO3]

[A/N: lmao sorry i know drag me]

One said, Tell us…what is it like?

  “What is what like?”

  One said, Being insane. Being human.

September 20, 2012

from the Journal of Stanford F. Pines

It has been some time since my last entry. I suppose that is to be expected, given all that has occurred in the past several weeks.

I am writing from Northern California, with the sound of my brother's loud snores rumbling faintly through the wall that separates our rooms. We are well on our way to Piedmont, but with our age and the single valid driver's license between the two of us (one that matches neither of our features exactly) it seemed prudent to rest before continuing onto the last leg of our journey.

...Preferably to do so without ear plugs, hence my rare moment of privacy.

Lately, I have had no real opportunity to seek out new creatures to fill my notebooks with. Nor, if I must tell the truth, has there been much desire.

Instead, I have taken the time simply to think. Making up in some way for the many years for which contemplation was a privilege I did not hold.

I have been considering the anomalies in the world that Weirdmageddon might have woken from their long sleep. I have been pondering on the nature of family, and whether I will find it in the familiar strangers I shall meet for the first time tomorrow.

Mostly, however, I find myself thinking over what I now remember seeing in that strange space between consciousness and the lack thereof.

The green glint of eyes. The unspoken promise of safety. There is no doubt in my mind that they knew me. And, even in my indisposed state, I had known them.

'Stanley,' I said then. And they had answered.

That should surprise me far more than it does.

I tell myself that I must think about this logically. Instead, I feel myself considering the impossible.

I realize better than most just how finicky the concept of time can be in the context of the multiverse. Jheselbraum had once spent hours trying to explain how impossible it was to define a beginning or an end when speaking of creatures that transcended linear realities, that for them once something had occurred, there is a version of them for which it had always occurred.

However the entity has been changed by their deal with Stanley, the effects have extended as much into the past as they have into the future. They have become entirely independent from the single, fragile timeline of our individual dimension.

That is a powerful position to hold. But it is also a deeply lonely way to exist.

Stanley had once told me to trust in his ability to figure things out, to make things work. I do. But I am also deeply aware of how important family is to my brother, how important it is to him that he can protect those he considers his - the kids, Soos, Shermy. Me.

The entity has no family.

Yet I am hopeful, perhaps illogically so. As I think back to my time wandering the multiverse, I cannot help but remember the times I should not have survived. And there were many, more so than I can recall coherently. A blaster jammed at the nick of time, back-up guards that were called but never came... occurrences that had always seemed too contrived to be pure coincidence, especially in conjunction with one another. What if they were?

What if they had been helping, in whatever way they could?

...I would be the first to admit that these are fanciful thoughts, but I refuse to consider them impossible. After all, true family is not inherited - it is found. If nothing else, the entity has time.

And the multiverse is a very large place indeed.

  It’s in the darkness where your eyes can’t see. The universe becomes two halves, and you live in the half behind the eyes.

  An eldritch abomination walks into a multiversal bar, orders a Manhattan, and gets it.

"Huh," they said, or the nearest approximation of it. They prodded at the borough uneasily with a carefully corporeal tentacle.

The screams of approximately 1.7 million residents increased briefly in volume.

"...Y'know, I really don't know what I expected."

A bit more whiskey, perhaps?

A large amphibious creature perched casually on the bright red bar stool across from them, pink frills draping over the vaguely sticky countertop. It nursed a glass of murky liquid between two delicate paws, beady eyes unblinking as it looked directly at them.

"...I know ya, don't I?" They said after a long moment.

Yes. A long, transparent blink. No.

"Oookay." They fidgeted, as much as a mostly incorporeal mass of cosmic star-stuff could fidget. "So. You uh... come here often?"

I come when I am needed.

"...Right."

The frills twitched. And what brings you here?

"Um."

The Axolotl waited patiently.

"Got bored, I guess."

Boredom. The expression on its face never changed, but somehow the stretch of its smile became more noticeable. How entirely unlike us.

They went still at that, stiff with realization.

"You."

There was a silence that stretches for millennia and milliseconds, and for no time at all.

"...Why did you do this to me?"

I was under the impression you did this to yourself, said the Axolotl.

They made a face. "But ya came up with the rules for all of this, yeah? Things didn't have to turn out this way."

They never do.

The Axolotl hummed.

Are you angry?

"Hell, why wouldn't I be? I would sure love to still be out there eating planets and universes instead of..."

They trailed off, glanced around them as if to reiterate their current situation.

"Moping over shitty cocktails with a giant lizard that's drinkin' swamp water out of a wine glass."

The Axolotl blinked slowly, its smile unchanging.

No, it disagreed politely, you would not.

Their silence was answer enough.

"...What the hell am I, now?"

You will never be human, the Axolotl said. But you hold symptoms of humanity.

"Symptoms?" They repeated disbelievingly. "You make humanity sound like... like getting head lice, or something."

Is it not? It chirped.

"Er."

Humanity is imagination, is belief, is hope. It is not given or bestowed, it is caught. The Axolotl blinked. What is it then, if not a very contagious disease?

"...I would be lyin' if I said that metaphor doesn't make me incredibly uncomfortable," they said slowly. "But I get what you're saying. Kinda."

Your drink remains untouched.

They blinked, six eyes shuttering and opening at once, as if just then remembering the screaming mass of human civilization sitting right in front of them.

"Look, I know I'm from Jersey and all," the entity said defensively, "and sure, I hate shoobies as much as anyone out there. But I'm not actually gonna eat all of New York."

You are not from New Jersey, the Axolotl reminded gently. You exist without precedent. You are not 'from' anywhere.

There was a moment of silence.

"...I need a drink," they said blankly.

You have one.

"A drink without a million screaming people in it, alright?"

Would you like to have a sip of mine? The Axolotl offered generously.

The entity stared. "Buddy," they said slowly, "the day I willingly drink swamp water is gonna have to be a hell of a worse day than today."

No, it will not. For you, there are no days.

It blinked, long and slow. No weeks, no months, no lifetimes.

You have 'now', and you will have it forever.

They twitched at that, component parts squirming.

"...Great. So, uh, is this all there is?"

This?

"You know." Something like a grimace flashed momentarily across their form. "Floating around in the multiverse, messing around with planets and galaxies, playing all these giant - cosmic games that don't mean anything to anyone."

For us, yes.

The entity hesitated. "Then what - what do I do now?"

What would you want to do?

"Well, I wanna catch the latest episode of Ducktective, for one," they said, a tad bit wistfully. "Munch my way through a coupla bags of toffee peanuts. Work on a new exhibit for the Shack. ...Hell, maybe I'll even drag Ford up from his lab one of these days. Drive down to visit the kids. Just to see how they're doing."

The Axolotl said nothing.

"...You don't hafta to tell me. I get it, alright?" The entity said quietly. "I'm not stupid, I know I can't do any of that stuff. Not without bringing the whole damn universe down on our heads."

They hesitated. "Again."

You are not incorrect.

"Besides, Ford and the kids..."

There was a long, long pause.

"They've got a Stan already. I'm just - leftovers."

The Axolotl said nothing.

And then, slow and measured, it says, Not all of them.

The entity went still. Six eyes blinked as one.

There are many universes like the one you are familiar with. Certainly, they have their differences.

But where there is a portal, there is someone who went though it.

"Ford?" They said hopefully.

Someone.

"And then, they're here," they said, an odd note in their voice. "Here. Where I am."

Yes. At some point in time, at every point in time. Working through their own personal timelines.

The entity was quiet. "Are any of them, y'know -"

There is no version of Stanford Filbrick Pines wandering the the multiverse that is fully the brother you remember. There was only one, and he has returned home long ago.

"Right," they said, an odd tone in their voice. "Right, of course. We knew that."

The Axolotl inclined its head. Does that matter?

"No," the entity said immediately and stilled, surprised at themselves.

Then, with a second wind of confidence, "No, it doesn't. Because - then that just means every version of Ford out there in the multiverse is just as much my brother, yeah?"

The Axolotl paused. Then it smiled, and that was that.

And the multiverse is a very large place indeed,

It finished its drink in the stillness that followed.

"Hey. Hang on."

There's another long silence.

"...You know what I'm thinking about," says the entity softly. "What we're gonna try to do. You're not gonna tell me it's a crazy idea? That I'm gonna rip open the fabric of the universe, or something?"

The Axolotl blinked ponderously.

They hesitated. "Then, you got - advice for this, or something? Anything?"

Advice?

The Axolotl smiled, pale pink fronds waving gently around its face.

Yes. Perhaps. Just the one.

"Alright, good, because I'm -"

Choose life.

The entity reared up.

"What the hell is that supposed to -"

But the Axolotl was already gone, as if it had never been there at all.

A single glass of untouched swamp water sat on the varnished countertop.

They sighed.

"...Whelp, that's one extradimensional entity I'm never playing cards against."

  I have seen galaxies die. I have watched atoms dance.

  But until I had the dark behind the eyes, I didn't know the death from the dance. 

 Ford was fairly certain that when one looked into the abyss, it was not supposed to wave back.

He blinked blearily, trying to make sense of his swimming vision. The dull ringing in his ears did not help with that endeavor, and neither did his budding concussion. Still, he could not rid himself of the peculiar certainty that there had been something out there in the darkness of space, something friendly enough to say hello.

How many times did he hit his head? How many times did his alien captors hit his head? ...Were those different ways of phrasing the same question? Between the head injury and general exhaustion, he couldn't even begin to make sense of it.

Distantly, he could hear the click-clack sound of arthropod feet on the steel flooring and angry chittering he could only assume - with the context of a lifetime consuming ridiculous sci-fi media - translated to, "Re-capture the prisoner!"

He pulled himself away wearily from the window and the void beyond. He had made a good attempt, but there was nowhere else to run.

Ford swayed, and fell.

           - and then it started, as it always did, with a dream.

He had all but forgotten the possibility. Ford had not dreamed since he had fallen through the gap between worlds, that uncertain number of decades ago. Maybe Bill had taken the capability to do so from him as retribution, perhaps he had been cut off from the Dreamscape as sharply as he had been from his own home dimension.

There was no way to know for sure. All that was certain was that he did not dream, until he did.

Stanford Pines dreamed he was in a house, one that once upon a time was his. It was as familiar to him as it was strange. There was a sense of the worn and the lived-in here, one had never developed in his own years of living between these walls. He saw it in the sloppy pile of dog-eared magazines on the counter, in the photo frames scattered all around, filled with faces he can't quite make out.

There was something here with him, sitting legs crossed on the armchair.

Something wearing Stanley's face, young and unlined and exactly as Ford remembered.

It even had the mullet.

"It's been a long time, Sixer," it said conversationally, green eyes glinting, with a familiar conspiratorial grin that sent his heart into his throat.

Impossibly enough, he hoped.

"We heard you needed a hand?"