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tinfoil-jones · 1 month ago

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Tate Pines AU One-Shot: Never Forget

Context: Total AU, Extra Info Post

One-Shots: Goodbye

Rating: Teen+/Mature

Summary: Stanley Pines has been alone for a little over seven years, but one day that changes.

Deep in a dark, dangerous, dirty, and some other d-word back alley, Stanley Pines struggled to get back onto his feet.

“I am…. never drinking tequila again.” Stan groaned, muttering painfully under his breath as he forced himself to stand up, hastily buttoning and zipping his jeans as best as he could with only one hand free “Ow, ow, ow-.”

He had to lean on the wall for support and his hands were shaking, but he finally managed to get himself covered up again after a few fumbles. At least no one saw him, or heard him- well, them.

Tiredly he looked to the bundle he held in his other arm - an undersized baby boy wrapped up in his maroon hoodie. The babe was quiet now; he’d come into the world with one loud cry to announce his presence, and then settled down into whimpers before immediately tiring himself out and falling asleep. Stan was relieved that his face and skin was pink and lively, and not blue or gray like he feared would happen.

“You just… couldn’t wait for me to get within walking distance of the hospital, could you?” Stan asked, more to himself than the baby; his heart was racing. He absent mindedly adjusted the hoodie around the baby to get a better look at him - he hadn’t had the chance earlier when he was too preoccupied with literally not dying in childbirth.

Impressively full head of hair for a newborn - still sticky and damp despite Stan's efforts in drying him off, but the wispy strands were the same dark brown as Stan’s own hair. Didn’t seem to have the trademark curls of the Pines family.

His eyes were closed now but Stan remembered they’d been a murky blue colour - he wouldn’t be surprised if they changed to brown as he got older, though.

Heart still pounding in his chest from his efforts and the novelty of this situation, Stan carefully pulled the baby's hand from under the hoodie, keeping the tiny palm propped up with his own much larger pointer finger so he could study it.

Five fingers.

He sighed in- not exactly relief, but at least that was one less problem the kid would have to deal with-.

The tiny hand suddenly gripped his finger, and Stan felt his pounding heart practically melt.

“L-Let’s get you to the hospital and get cleaned up, al- alright?” He said to the baby- his baby, softly but shakilly. He felt light headed. Not just from the blood loss, pain, and hours of unmedicated labor- but the realization that this was his baby. At twenty-five years old, Stan was a father.

He limped his way out of the back alley.

---

Stan’s family was always weird in the sense that his father held these deep-rooted beliefs in gender roles and what he expected a man to be. How he expected a man to act. And how failing to meet these expectations would be punished severely.

Filbrick Pines had absolutely no qualms with kicking his then seventeen-year-old son out of the family home and out into the world on his own with absolutely no support or assets besides his car.

But he apparently drew the line at transphobia.

As soon as he could talk Stan let everybody know he was a boy. And his family had no issues with this - they had three sons, and that was that. He was Stanford’s twin brother, Stanley Pines. It was so unproblematic and such a non-issue within the family that Stan himself didn’t remember what his birth name happened to be. Because it didn’t matter; he was Stanley, and Stanley was male.

Did Filbrick get Stan new glasses after he broke his childhood pair? No. But he did always manage to get him the pills and shots he needed to be his authentic self.

Stan supposed he appreciated that his father did the bare minimum of respecting his gender identity, but if he could have not kicked Stan out over a mistake, that would have been great.

But damn did he hate explaining his biological quirks to others. Medical personnel included. Especially medical personnel. They like to harp on how because they understand anatomy, physiology, and genetics, Stan must clearly be wrong about being a man. But he knew he wasn’t wrong, and those quakes just needed to shove their bigotry-disguised-as-education where the sun doesn't shine.

“He’s perfectly healthy, miss-”

“Mister.” Stan gruffed, interrupting the nurse, who paused briefly before continuing.

“-Pines. We thought he was premature because of his size but it looks like he’s full term, just small. All of the vitals are exactly where we need them to be.” She continued, and Stan nodded along, looking to the trolley next to his bed that held his now-swaddled, properly washed, infant son. “I’d highly encourage you to consider nursing him right away."

“I can’t.” Stan told her simply. Stan’s family could never afford to get him top surgery, but even if they could he doubted they would’ve; he was naturally heavy set so it was easy to assume that his weight was to blame for his full chest, so growing up no one assumed anything. He did eventually get top surgery himself but it was by a shady 'doctor' in Colombia. “I don’t… have any of that… stuff, left.” He explained, and when the nurse looked at him confused, he motioned towards his chest “Milk factory’s been chopped off.”

The nurse shuffled and hummed in thought, Stan knew she was uncomfortable and trying to hide it, he couldn’t bring himself to get mad at her right now, not when him and his baby needed medical attention.

“Alright… I’ll have one of the neonatal nurses bring you a bottle and some formula. And they’ll show you how to properly bottle feed.”

Stan nodded again, keeping his eyes on the sleeping infant.

“Now there’s the matter of his birth certificate. What is his name?”

“Hmm?” Stan looked back at her.

“A name? What’s the baby’s name? He can’t just remain ‘Baby Pines’.” She said, wheeling over a small table with the birth certificate set on top.

Well.

Shit.

Stanley literally never once thought of a name. He found out (or rather, confirmed after months of denial) about this pregnancy less than two months ago, he was so caught up in the fact he was having a baby that it slipped his mind that he was having a baby who would need a name.

He looked around the room quickly for inspiration - outside of the hospital window, he could make out a billboard. He couldn’t make out too many details, because he didn’t have glasses to fix his poor sight, but he could vaguely make out the outline of a man playing a saxophone, and big bold white letters spelling out 'The Buddy Tate Quartet'.

“Buddy- no. Tate, uhm-” Stan blurted out before he could properly collect his thoughts.

“Tatum?” The nurse questioned.

That didn’t sound bad, so he just nodded “Tatum.” He confirmed.

“Are you giving him a middle name?”

Stanley’s middle name was Romanov- a slightly different spelling of his mothers maiden name. Stanford’s middle name was Filbrick, their fathers name. He was fairly certain Shermie’s middle name was the same as their fathers-.

But would Stanley really give his own name as his sons middle? It would make him a bit too similar to his Pa…

“Stanford.” Stanley finally answered, feeling his chest clench up at the thought of his estranged twin. He missed him so much, but…

“Okay, so; Tatum Stanford Pines?” The nurse asked, holding the pen above the certificate, waiting for Stan’s confirmation before she wrote anything down.

Stan nodded “Tatum Stanford Pines.” He repeated.

---

Once the nurse was gone and all that was left was to wait for the neonatal nurses to show up and teach him to bottle feed, Stan carefully drew the curtain around his hospital bed for privacy and picked up the baby out of the trolley.

The activity woke the boy up but he wasn’t crying- he was just staring at Stan with blurry, milky blue eyes.

“Hey- Tate.” Stan greeted awkwardly, almost cautiously. He knew how to handle babies just fine, because back when he still lived at home his parents often had his nephew, Shermie’s son, over. But it was different now. This wasn’t just some baby. This was his baby. This was his son. It’d be a little hard for Stan to believe it if he hadn’t pushed him out himself. Tate was so quiet, were babies always this quiet? From what his Ma told him, Stanley certainly hadn’t been a quiet baby.

Carefully, Stan placed Tate’s head against his shoulder, leaning back in the hospital bed as he rubbed the infant's back. Tate made a tiny little noise, and Stan- was he crying?

Yup, Stan was definitely crying. He didn’t know why, he wasn’t the type of person to cry. He didn’t even cry for the four or so hours he was in the alleyway in horrible pain.

But now? Big, heavy, warm tears pooled in his eyes and fell down his cheeks, growing in more intensity as he hugged Tate in closer and lightly kissed the top of his head.

Stanley Pines was casted out of his family when he was seventeen years old, he was told by his father to not come back without riches, cutting Stan off from his parents, elder brother, and nephew. He didn’t have the courage to reach out to his own twin brother, someone who was once his best friend- not that Stanford made an effort to reach out either.

For the past seven-odd years, Stan has been alone. For all intents and purposes, he didn't have a family.

But now?

Maybe it was small. And the future was uncertain.

But now, with Tate, Stan had a family to call his own again.

“Looks like it’s just going to be you and me for a while, buddy.” Stan whispered to his son, who continued to drool on his shoulder in response, “As long as we’re together, I’ll never let anything hurt you; I’ll always protect you no matter what the world throws at us.”

Stan kissed Tate’s head again, allowing himself this moment to let the tears flow freely, and he added “I love you, and I always will; never forget that, okay?”

THE END... Go Home

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