#mer!stan

'Throwing up it is.' he thought numbly as nausea bubbled up in his gut. Stanley shot up and staggered into the bathroom, just barely managing to grip the seat of the toilet as his dinner came rushing back up his throat. Stomach acid and cheap liquor burned like fire as he heaved into the toilet, wincing and hacking.

The contents of the letter jostled around like a jar of shaken hornets, and forming a cohesive thought seem to be as difficult as keeping hold of sand. Once his stomach stopped rejecting everything, Stanley wiped ah his mouth and shakily pushed himself up. Turning, he reached for the shower taps and set them both to full strength. Shucking off his grimy clothes, Stanley all but threw himself into the water as his glamour slipped.

A long, powerful red tail bashed painfully against the filthy shower wall, his tailfin curling to accommodate the lack of space. His earfins lay flat against his head as Stanley slumped down, letting the lukewarm water spray onto him. His gills fluttered, relieved that he was finally allowing them to be out. Carding his claws through his greasy hair, Stanley let the shower water soothe his aching body as he tried to come to terms with what he'd just learned.

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Stanley hadn't expected to find himself standing outside his older brother's house in the early hours of the morning under these circumstances.

Well, to be honest, he hadn't ever pictured himself standing outside Sherman's house at all. The two of them had never been close, and Stanley had only ever seen him a few times throughout his life. Shermie had been in the war, and he'd come back different, more distant and reserved, but even before then he'd never been around much. He and Pa just... never seemed to get along. The last time Stanley had seen him was at at his wedding years ago.

'Well, at least it wasn't just me he didn't like.' Stanley thought, before taking a deep breath and turning the door handle.

Shermie's house was almost picturesque. It was a little townhouse, light yellow in color with white shutters and a matching white picket fence. A garden was growing well in the front yard, and Stanley could see a few little decorative animals sprinkled here and there. It was soft and cutesy; the exact kind of place where no one thought anything bad could ever happen.

Ironically, places like that often ended up being the backdrop of the most horrific crimes possible.

The interior of the house was pleasant enough to look at, but there was a strange air of wrongness that put Stanley on edge. There was something inherently chilling standing in a place that had once held life, and now lay empty.

Brushing off the feeling, Stanley made his way inside, kicking off his boots and setting off down the hall. He looked over the various pictures on the wall; all featuring Shermie and his wife, Sally. Stanley hardly knew her, but she'd seemed like a nice gal when he met her at her and Sherms' wedding, and his brother clearly adored her, what with how he'd looked at her that day like she hung all the stars in the sky.

Seeing their smiling faces laid out before him just made the knife of misery and grief twist deeper. They were a young, happy couple. His brother was a good man, and he'd gotten outta Glass Shard with someone who loved him.

Neither of them had deserved this.

Turning away, he noticed a flight of stairs. Figuring that was a good place to start searching for more photos, Stanley made his way upstairs, peering down the hallway that met him at the top. There were two rooms; a bathroom, decorated with all manor of sea creature paraphernalia, and a bedroom.

Stanley pushed open the bedroom door, stepping onto the room's plush, carpeted floor. The room was as charming as the rest of the house, painted a light cream colour and decorated with lavender purple curtains, a king sized bed with a comforter that matched the curtains, a wooden dresser, and a closet in the corner.

'Guess I'll check the dresser first.' Stanley thought to himself, walking over to it. It looked worn, likely purchased second hand, and sported three drawers. Pulling open the top one, he found a bunch of women's clothes and a few socks. Not wanting to mess with Sally's things, he shut the drawer and moved onto the next one.

This drawer looked like it belonged to Sherman. Stanley gently moved some of his brother's clothes around, but there was nothing else to find. Sighing, Stanley shut the drawer and crouched down to open the final one.

This drawer was far more bare than the other two. There were no clothes inside, only a few small, soft blankets and, perplexingly, baby toys.

Stanley stared at the contents of the dresser drawer, confused. He plucked one of the toys from the drawer, a blue teddy bear, and sniffed at it. He could pick up the mildly familiar scent of Sherman, the chemical-laden scent of vanilla perfume, and...

Stanley sniffed the toy again, not sure if he was really smelling what he thought he was, or if it was just his imagination.

The scent of milk hit his nose, sweet and rich.

Stanley froze, alarms bells suddenly screaming in his head. He stood up as fast as he could, ignoring the swooping rush of dizziness that washed over him, and began to scent the air, praying that his brother was just holding onto the toys for a friend or something.

Now that he was looking for it, however, the milk scent was everywhere. It permeated the air in the same way that Shermie and Sally's scents still did, fading but noticable. There had been a pup here.

Shermie didn't have a pup.

...did he?

Stanley ran a hand through his hair, pulling at it slightly. Sure, Shermie and Pa didn't get along at all, but surely, surely he would have let him know if he had a fucking kid, for Ma's sake at least. Right?

Right?

'You wouldn't.' a quiet, vicious little voice hissed, 'You wouldn't say a damn thing, because that would mean facing Pa again. Who's to say Shermie just didn't want to deal with him yet?'

But if that was true, if Stanley wasn't just finally going crazy from loneliness...

...then where was the pup?

Panic began to build in Stanley's chest. Sherman would have hidden his pup, just in case they had an unexpected visitor, but that meant that no one knew that they were even here. How long had they been alone? How long had they gone without food?

Stanley sniffed at the air once again, trying to track down where the scent was strongest. He prowled around the room and stopped by the closet door. He yanked it open and ripped all the clothes off their hangers, ducking his head inside. It was dark, but that wasn't a problem to Stanley, and after a few moments he spotted something out of place. There was a small dip in the wall, like there was a door or panel.

Stanley reached for it, and his fingers found a handle. He pulled, and the wall opened, revealing a hidden doorway. He waisted no time, stepping into the short hallway and poking his head into the room that waited at the end.

The room was a small nursery. It was painted a pleasant blue color, and the room was illuminated by the gentle glow of a night light. There was a modified baby pool on the ground, the bottom padded with soft foam. The water, likely once pristine, looked muddied with filth.

And in that pool were two tiny, mewling pups.

A pair of twins, shivering and shaking, barely able to open their eyes, curling around each other for comfort. They had curly brown hair, just a few shades lighter than Stanley's own, and were coated in the pale white spots that all young pups had. One had pink scales and purple-pink fins, while the other had blue scales and orangey-red fins.

Stanley's body moved before his mind did. He crossed the room in record time and scooped the pups up into his arms, shaking as he did so. They were so, so light and so tiny, barely weighing anything as he picked them up. The pups twitched at the sudden sensation, chirping and crying loudly when they realized that someone had finally come back to them. They looked pale and washed out, their scales faded and their little bodies far too thin. Stanley wasn't an expert on pups, but his instincts were screaming at him that this was bad.

'Shit.' Stanley blanched as he realized that he wasn't just "not an expert" on pups, he had no idea how to care for them, 'Shit shit shit SHIT.'

Okay, he couldn't afford to breakdown right now, not while he was holding two pups that were probably starving and definitely needed to be cleaned up.

"Fuck. Okay, food first, then a bath, then... God, I don't know." Stanley murmered to himself, quickly leaving the nursery and heading back out into the bedroom. The bright lighting and open layout of the room made Stanley's hackles raise, and he had to fight the urge to find somewhere dark and defensible to hide himself and the two squirming bodies in his arms away.

The pups needed to eat. He could suffer through his instincts going haywire for a bit. He had long since learned to take his fear and shove it wayyyy down deep within himself.

Oh so carefully, Stanley made his way back down stairs and made a beeline for the kitchen. Shifting the twins so that he was holding both pups in one arm, he set about rummaging through the cupboards in search of formula. That was something pups ate, right? He didn't think that they could chew fish or anything like that yet.

God he hoped Sally didn't breastfeed.

'Fucking score.' Stanley mentally cheered as he spotted a can of the coveted formula tucked in behind various cans. He snatched it up and peered at the instructions for a moment before setting to work.

He awkwardly washed his hands, tore up the kitchen looking for bottles, and put all of his focus into not fucking up making the actual bottles. Once they were ready, he warmed them up a bit under the tap, tested the milk temperature, and eased himself onto Sherman's couch as he gave the twins the formula.

The pups all but snatched the bottles from him, their screeching quieting down into hungry growls as they suckled. Now that he wasn't worried that they would drop dead in his arms from starvation, Stanley took a minute to gather himself and actually look at the pups.

They were definitely twins. If you ignored the color of their scales, they looked the same. Close as they were now, Stanley could tell that the blue scaled twin was a little boy, while the pink scaled one was a little girl. Both of them had pudgy pup fat, but there was far less than there should have been.

"Sweet Moses, you poor things." Stanley croaked, nuzzling the pups, "I'm so sorry. I'm probably the worst person you coulda ended up with. God, I hope I haven't screwed things up somehow."

As he pulled back, he noticed something on the boy's forehead. Stanley brushed his brown locs aside and sucked in a breath.

A perfect recreation of the Big Dipper was on the kid's forehead, a striking birthmark that set him apart from his twin.

An anomaly.

"Heh, I guess it isn't just twins that runs in the family." he laughed wetly, "Man, Sixer would love you, kid."

Holy shit, Ford. He needed to call Ford. His twin needed to be caught up on what had happened.

Stanley felt his stomach flip at the thought, and he blew out a long gust of air. He had tried calling his brother a few times over the years, but he'd always been too chicken shit to actually do it.

Now, though, he couldn't afford to hang up again. He was going to have to man up and actually talk to his brother.

"Fuck." he cursed, slamming his head back against the couch. "I really don't wanna do that."

A quiet sound made him raise his head again, and he saw that the pups had finished their bottles and were now gnawing on the rubber nipples. Stanley sighed and got to his feet, gently pulling the bottles away. He didn't want to talk to Ford, but he had to. His twin deserved to know what had happened, and these pups deserved a guardian that wasn't a total fuck up.