#mini stanpiper

The weather was wrong.

The sky was bright and unclouded, but the air dry and devoid of the humidity it had earlier in the day. The wind whistled about like it should, but it was cold. Just minutes ago, it carried a breath of heat that offered little relief to the scorching July sun. Now, a chill hung from the air as though the summer had been stripped from the day.

Not only that, but the coarse sand below had hardened into solid earth. The crash of waves against the shore was silenced, and indeed no water remained. In place of the dune grass, there were trees standing straight up, branches raised as though they were joining each other in some ceremony of worship. The beach was gone.

Stanley Piper looked up.

He looked up, and up, and up. Somehow, the world around him seemed to swell and loom in a way it never had before. It gaped and groaned above him like some great monstrosity-- an open maw about to swallow him whole. Stanley had no idea where he was, or why is was so huge.

Stanley shuddered as he clambered to his feet from where he had fallen. His wings fluttered as he struggled for balance, stumbling momentarily. They stretched out and flapped once before folding back behind him, now standing as firmly as he could have managed, considering the circumstances. He spun around, trying to ignore the way the view curled and towered above him. Sprouts and grasses bent and waved above just his head like flags, pebbles that might have been boulders cluttered the ground, and bugs that gave his neighborhood dogs a run for their money scuttled about. His heart sunk as he took it all in. Everything was very wrong, but worse than that?

He was alone.

Something rustled a ways behind him and he startled. He couldn't keep sitting around waiting for-- for whatever was out here to find him! He had to get somewhere safer. Somewhere higher up. Besides, it would be easier to look around.

With a little shimmy, Stanley spread out his wings and jumped up, letting them flap and catch the air as he did so. With an awkward start, he was airborne, and he fluttered up towards a huge bush a relatively short ways in front of him. Stanley aimed for the middle, twigs scraping his feathers as he pushed himself into it. He landed on a branch, grabbing the shrubbery beside him before he could fall as he tucked his wings back away.

He peered out of his new post, fingers clenching the wood they circled around as his blood buzzed with anxiety. He flicked his eyes over the view below: dirt, rocks, grass, flowers, bugs, leaves, no one else. He let out a shuddering breath, tears beginning to prick at his eyes as his worry swelled. He didn't see what he was looking for. He didn't see his brother.

"STANFORD!" He called out with a cupped hand, panic overriding his fear of being seen from earlier. No one answered.

It hadn't been very long. Where could he have gone?

They had been at the beach-- the regular, normal sized beach that they had no business leaving anytime soon. It had been just another day. They had been playing near the boat, and Stanford had flown up to the mast when they noticed their flag had a rip in it. While he was inspecting it, though, the wind tore it loose and blew it across the beach. Stanley, being closer, had chased after it, flapping in the air while he tried to snatch it from the sky.

He'd managed it, eventually, and from the boat Stanford had given him a cheer. He'd rushed back toward his brother, waving their flag and grinning, even as a faint crackling sound had started up. It had gotten louder--mixing with surprised shouts from both boys--and he had slowed, and then stuttered to a halt as a blue light had filled his vision. It had felt like the world's worst static shock, and he couldn't remember exactly what had happened as the light had swallowed him, but when he opened his eyes, he was wherever here was.

He didn't know what the light was, but it had seemed to be everywhere. The boat hadn't been far, he had thought… He had hoped Stanford had somehow come with him. Maybe that was selfish, but this weird place was scary, and way too big for a little kid to be in by himself. He and Stanford were unstoppable, they would have conquered this giant place in no time together, but just Stanley?

He didn't stand a chance.

But no, that was a loser way of thinking! He couldn't give up, lay down and let himself get squished like a coward! Alone or not, he was gonna have to figure this place out so he could hurry up and get home. Maybe he'd find some giant's treasure and make like jack and the beanstalk. Who's to say he wasn't on some kingdom in the clouds right now? All he had to do was find the edge and fly off it! Yeah, he'd get through this no problem, solo style!

… And maybe Stanford was around here. Somewhere.

With that thought, and a couple of seconds to calm his breathing, Stanley took off again. It was much harder to navigate such a disproportionate landscape than back home, and he didn't know if he could find his way back to where he'd landed. Maybe it didn't matter. It made him nervous anyway, but he kept scanning the ground and nearest perches, calling out for his brother as he did. He spirits fell lower with every stretch of silence that met him.

The wind was fighting him a little, not enough to send him tumbling but enough that he was starting to tire after a shorter time than he'd like. He found a low hanging branch to rest on, panting and frustrated. This was so stupid, how was he supposed to get anywhere (get home) if things kept going like this? He wasn't even really sure what he was looking for-- besides Stanford, and he'd had zero luck there! All there'd been was plants, plants, and more giant plants. He put his head in his hands, groaning. The quiet of the forest seemed to mock him.

Actually, it was a little too quiet. Stanley slowly lifted his head, blinking tears out of his eyes and looking around. The wind was still there, but it wasn't carrying any of the noises it had been a few minutes ago. That was weird.

The hairs on the back of his neck prickled, feathers rising with them. Something was watching him.

With a shot of adrenaline, he shot into the air again to get away from whatever was there, but he'd barely left the branch when something flew past him, and then around him, covering him in some kind of net. He shrieked, twisting frantically, as he began to plummet towards the ground.

His heart leapt to his throat as he jolted to a stop, swinging back and forth in the tangled mesh. He began to squirm, legs and arms and wings all shuffled around and pressed together. He stopped when he was lifted and pulled forward by whatever had caught him, until he could see through a gap in the rope the large eye of some THING, with a watery green pupil the size of a couch and bubbly pink skin.

He froze in terror at the sight, his heart threatening to break out of his ribcage from how fast it was beating.

The thing began to make noises; stuttering, clipped sounds that rang out in intense volume, and a thin claw longer than Stanley was tall reached through the net to prod at him.

Stanley began to scream.

It was fairly good weather out. The suns overhead were not so bright that they were blinding, yet it was still pleasantly warm out. There wasn't enough wind to stir up the spores in the thick green lichens coating the ground in patches, so the air remained clear and fresh. Overall, a great environment to be out in.

Stanford Pines was going to the market.

Rather, he was going to a market, as this was a market dimension ---known for its dwarf planets housing some of the best sellers this side of The Screaming Vortex! He'd frequented this dimension often since stumbling upon it in the early years of his travels, as it housed wares that were both fascinatingly rare, and incredibly useful. One of such markets is where he got his first automatic translator!

All in all, this dimension held both fond memories and a sense of excitement for Ford--whether that be the excitement of a remarkable trinket or a survival essential depended on the visit.

Today, he was hoping to find a replacement for his newest translator. It was supposed to include 10,000 more languages in it's database than his old one, which was fairly enticing, but had proven to be quite a bit cheaper in quality. It was shorting out far too often for his comfort, and he was a bit worried the sparking might light his hair on fire one of these days. He was fond of the length it was currently at, and didn't really feel like having to grow it out again.

As though incensed by his inner thoughts, the translator gave a static-laden buzz as it tried to sort through all the ramblings going on around him. He smacked it hurriedly, and it settled.

Shaking his head, Ford turned back towards the stalls. He started to head toward a vendor whose wares looked promisingly electronic, when a small commotion caught his eye.

A market goer (who resembled a humanoid centipede,) was pulling up what he presumed to be their child, who was sprawled on the ground, wailing and pointing to a stand. They seemed to be in a fight over something the child wanted their parent to buy. With a huff-- and a particularly loud whine from the kid-- the parent pulled their child away into the crowd in embarrassment.

Ford looked towards whatever had caused the centipede child to throw such a fit over, and raised his eyebrows in surprise when he saw that it was a stand selling pets and animals, ranging from local to exotic.

He glanced at the electronics vendor, before walking over to the pet store. He just wanted to take a look, the animal vendors where fairly rare on this particular dwarf planet due to its regulations, and they often held truly fascinating creatures. He usually wouldn't be able to see some of the more exotic types in the wild, and even if he could recognize some of them, they were much easier to observe when they were contained. He had the time, today.

Besides, he would like to make sure the vendors weren't handling their wares with any cruelty. That, and the occasional capture of intelligent life, was an unfortunate factor in many interdimensional animal sales despite intergalactic laws.

The vendor-- a bumpy pink fellow-- was giving a lengthy spiel to an interested party about some bat-like creature the size of a small dog. He glanced at it with some interest before turning to the other wares.

There were quite a few crates and cages stacked up or hung from a rack. They all seemed fairly up to standard for transport, and so far none of the animals looked worse for the wear, so he felt alright taking a closer look.

Off to the side, at the end of the stall, there were a few bird cages. He leaned forwards to peer into them.

One was large and silver, and there was a preening bird that had two sets of wings, covered with feathers that glimmered iridescent in the light. In another, this one smaller and a dull metal, what looked like a miniature wyvern was playing with its food, tossing it into the air before snatching it in its mouth. There were a couple smaller cages next to it, and he looked through the topmost one's bars.

There was a small ball of feathers huddled in the center of it. It was shuddering, and he frowned. Was it frightened, or cold? He glanced to the pile of seeds that lay off to the side. They were almost as big as it was! Could it even eat them?! He looked closer at the little bird, and noticed that its feathers-- which resembled the shape and coloring of an Earth sandpiper-- were in disarray.

They were jagged, short and uneven, and were unnaturally blunt at the ends. It had been clipped.

Ford glared at the vendor with righteous indignation. Cutting a bird's feathers was recognized as animal abuse in ANY dimension that valued the health and safety of the creatures that inhabited it. He knew for a fact that the pet vendors were given parameters for animal care upon registration that included bird care. Even if they weren't, it would take a rather large idiot not to recognize the stress and pain they were causing an animal debilitating it like that. The poor thing was shaking like a leaf!

Ford gently took the cage off its hook, intending to report the vendor for his breach of animal welfare and take the bird to one of the market officials, maybe see about sending it to a rehabilitator.

However, the bird startled with the movement, unfurling itself and catching itself with its hands as it fell forwards at being jostled.

Its hands.

Ford stopped in shock. It wasn't a bird, it was a person with wings! That was even worse! He looked again at the little thing, now that he knew it wasn't an animal. It appeared to a child, a little boy. How terrible to lock up a kid in a cage! He was wearing a mini red T-shirt and shorts, and a little pair of dirty sneakers. He was covered in scratches and bruises both old and new, with band-aids on only half of them. He had curly brown hair, and freckles that covered a round nose. He had big brown eyes, and… a tearful… expression….

Ford stared.

He knew that face. He looked at that face almost every night, rubbing his thumb over a faded photograph that held two of them. He'd grown up with that face, both in the mirror and at his shoulder.

His eyes flicked down to the boy's hands. Five. It was, or it could have been, or it must be---

"… Stanley?" Ford whispered.

The boy-- Stanley-- jolted at his name. He stared at Ford in confusion, probably wondering if he had heard him right. His expression quickly turned fearful, and Ford opened his mouth to comfort or explain, when he felt a presence at his shoulder.

The vendor stood beside him, clicking his long nails together and grinning a frogish grin. Ford felt his blood boil as the thing began to speak.

"I see you've found little ****** exceedingly rare to find in ******** wild area. It is ******* we would **** asking price." His shitty translator helpfully provided. It didn't matter, though, because he didn't really care what it had to say.

"Shut it," he growled. "You think you can sell me a person? What, are you just above interdimensional law? I'm taking him home."

The sleazy slimebag spluttered, pink face turning purple. Ford moved to walk away, but it shouted and grabbed at the cage, claws slipping through the bars. Stanley screamed.

Enraged, Ford yanked the cage back towards him while using his free hand to grab at his gun. The vendor saw his movement, and scrambled backwards with a shriek. Stanley cried out as the cage was released, and he was thrown back with it. Ford paused, before shifting the cage in between his elbow and hip, and quickly reaching down to snatch the keys hanging off the vendor's belt. The rest of the customers took one look at the weapon he held, and erupted into chaos.

The vendor was lost amongst many thundering feet, and as Ford held the cage close to his body, he saw some patrolling market officials draw their weapons and head towards him. He cursed, and quickly unlocked the cage, gently grabbing his little brother and pulling him out. He winced as Stanley thrashed and screamed in his grip, clearly panicked. He winced again as Stanley bit him. He curled his fist as tightly as he dared around him, not willing to risk Stanley falling to ground below, and started to sprint away from the armed security.

He ran through the market, twisting through the streets and narrowly avoiding stalls as shouting sounded out around him. The screaming from the pet stand customers, the yells of the security chasing him, the calls of the oblivious vendors still marketing their wares, and-- the quietest and yet above all-- the cries of his brother trapped beneath his fingers.

He needed to find an open enough space to safely open a portal, but the edge of the market wasn't for miles, so he needed---

There! There was a large enough gap between two stalls up ahead, and it was thankfully cleared of customers as the dismal looking vendor prodded his unpopular wares sadly.

Ford started up his portal device with his knuckle, and grinned as the familiar blue circle of light opened in front of him. He leapt through, leaving the market dimension in chaos behind him. He hoped that he'd be able to go back without trouble soon, he did still need a new translator.

He slowed to a stop, and looked around him in their new environment. It was fairly similar to an earth desert, and there didn't seem to be any immediate threats.

Ford gently opened his hand.

Stanley curled up in the center of his palm as he was given room to move. He was sobbing now, looking up at Ford without recognition. Ford could feel him shivering with fear. He thought he himself might burst into tears.

But that wouldn't do, and neither would Stanley being so terrified.

"Stanley," Ford started softly, "It's alright. It's okay, I won't hurt you."

Stanley froze once again at his name.

Ford slowly lifted his other hand, and spread out all six of his fingers. "It's me, Ford."

Stanley stared at his hand, jaw hanging open.

"… I'm sorry about all that, Stanley, I didn't mean to frighten or alarm you. I just had to get you out of there, and there wasn't time to explain anything before that vendor was about to try and take you, and then there were the guards, and I had to run, and I had to open a portal to get us out, and that was no easy feat with people every few inches from us, and---" Ford started to ramble as Stanley continued to gape at him.

"Ford?" his brother finally said, completely incredulous. His voice was small and high-pitched, though that might have partly been the shock. "You're not… You don't look anything like him!"

Ford could sympathize. He could hardly comprehend the boy resting on his palm to be his twin brother. He was so small, barely half the size of one of Ford's fingers, not to mention being just a child whereas his brother was-- had been a grown man. And then there were the wings, which Ford could only assume were part of the reason Stanley was as little as he was. Perhaps he was a bird in more ways than one.

"I know I don't, and it is quite difficult to comprehend. I am your brother, Stanley, nonetheless. I recognize you, after all."

Ford looked down at his brother's expression, and hoped his own seemed more grounding. Stanley sat up and started to wipe the tears off his face with his arm, seemingly turning the idea over in his head. Ford stayed quiet as he did so.

Stanley finally looked back up at him, looking more thoughtful. "Are we… outlaws now?"

"What?" Ford asked, surprised.

"You said something about running from the… cops or something. And that chase felt pretty intense. Are we on the run now? Hiding out?"

Ford laughed, Stanley looked a little hopeful at the idea. "No, they won't follow us. I don't think I did anything to warrant any genuine legal trouble, anyway. Actually, we could have gotten your captor into trouble if I hadn't caused such a disturbance… Hopefully he'll be arrested soon, anyway."

Stanley deflated, and Ford reassured him. "Don't worry, there will be plenty of opportunities for adventure along the road as we get you back home. Just look around right now! It all looks pretty exciting, right?"

Stanley took proper stock of their surroundings. "… It kinda just looks like a beach without water."

"Ah. I suppose it does. This is just a pit stop! We'll see some incredible sights, you can count on it."

Stanley hummed, still looking out at the sand with a distant expression.

Ford shifted his hand slightly, concern starting to bubble up at his brother's blank face. "Stanley? Are you alright?"

Stanley looked back up at him, face pinched.

"What's goin' on, Ford?" Stanley asked, some of the frantic pitch entering his voice again. "Why are we here? Why is everything huge? Why are you huge, and super old? Did I just get shrunk? How did you find me? Did someone cut your wings off?!"

He stood, grabbing Ford's thumb as he did so, clipped wings flapping behind him in distress. Ford quickly placed his other hand so Stanley would land on it if he fell. He hesitated, and instead of answering right away asked a question of his own.

"What's first thing you remember about all this starting, Stanley?"

Stanley frowned at him, wings stilling behind him. "… We were at the beach. I was chasing our boat's flag after it ripped, and when I was flying back there was this… weird crackling noise, and a really bright light. I woke up and I was somewhere else, and everything was huge."

Ford nodded. So, he had fallen through a rift.

Stanley took that as a sign to continue. "It was this forest place, and I started flying around, looking for you. But before I could get anywhere, that ugly pink frog got me in this net. I couldn't get out, and he carried me somewhere. There was another light, and we weren't in the forest anymore. He finally let me out, but he grabbed me when I tried to fly away. Then he… He grabbed my wings, and--" Stanley cut himself off, looking away and grabbing at his mutilated feathers sadly.

"… He squished me so I couldn't move and started chopping up my wings. He put me in a box when he was done, and-- and I couldn't fly. He came back with a cage and locked me up in it. Then he moved me around with a bunch of other cages until we were at that place and you showed up."

Stanley sniffed, picking at the blunt ends of his flight feathers. Ford wished he had shot that vendor in his ugly face. He felt the urge to stroke his finger over Stanley's wings to comfort him. However, it would probably do the opposite, so he kept his hands where they were.

"I'm sorry you went through that, Stanley," Ford said sorrowfully.

Stanley looked up at him. "So? Where were you? And what made you like this?"

Ford shook his head. "I'm afraid your Stanford is, hopefully, back at home. That light was a dimensional rift, a slight tear in the fabric of your reality. You aren't in your original universe anymore, Stanley. That's why everything is so strange to you. In my dimension, we aren't as small, and we don't have wings. It seems I was born in a different timespace than you as well. I've just grown up."

Stanley gaped at him. "What?! How do you just fall into another universe?!"

"Dimensional rifts can occur when someone opens an unstable portal. Someone must have been hopping dimensions near your beach while using faulty equipment. They're usually fairly small, and close on their own after a short amount of time-- depending on the strength of the portal-- but if you happened to pass over it right as it opened, it would suck you in." Ford explained. "The good news is that, unless he was right next to you, it is highly unlikely that your brother was caught up in it. If it wasn't large enough for you to see when you landed, it probably wasn't open long enough for Stanford to follow you into. I'll bet he's worried, though."

"I don't understand," Stanley mumbled. "You're Ford, and you're here, but my Stanford is… home? Is YOUR Stanley somewhere around here, too?"

Ford's heart clenched painfully. "My Stan is… not with me."

"… So I'm not really your brother. I just look like him," Stanley said slowly.

Ford smiled down at Stanley, lifting his cupped hands to that he was closer to his face. "You are my brother, even if you aren't MY brother. I still care about you, and I still know you-- though the details may be a little off."

Stanley didn't look convinced, but at least he didn't look as upset.

Ford hummed, thinking of what to say. "I know you love the beach. I know you hate homework and chores, and you care about your family, but don't really have any friends besides your brother. I know you think that spinach is the worst vegetable on earth, and that jello looks off-putting. I know you think dead things are cool, and you get in trouble for the strange things you bring home. I know your parents are Filbrick and Caryn Pines, and--"

"No, they're not."

Ford stopped at the interruption. "What?"

"Our last name is Piper, not Pines." Stanley corrected.

"Really?" Ford said quizzically. "Piper?"

As Stanley nodded, Ford looked at his wings and blinked in realization. "I see, like sandpiper. Oh! Stanpiper!" Ford laughed. "HA! That's a good one."

Stanley was looking at him like he'd grown a second head. Ford cut off his laugh with a cough, embarrassed that Stanley might have thought he was being mocked.

Stanley wrinkled his brow. "I don't get it. What's a sandpiper?"

"It's a type of bird that usually resides on beaches, running along the shore to catch food. It has a very similar wing type to yours, actually," Ford answered sheepishly.

"Oh," Stanley said, looking down.

Ford coughed again, feeling awkward.

"…Ford?"

"Yes, Stanley?"

"What's a bird?"