Winter Hymnal

Chapter 3: -..I Was Following The Pack All Huddled In Their Coats..

"I-I mean..ahem-! Cause, if I'm interrupting something, it's not to late for me to back away down the hall before I make things awkward.." Stanley unintelligibly sputtered, casting glances anywhere in the room except at his brother and their roommate. Although, he didn't really know why he was expecting them to be indecent. Ford could hardly keep awake. 

"Stanley.." His twin's speech was cut off by a short hack. 

"Stanley..you weren't..interrupting anything. Actually..Fiddleford and I.." Ford suddenly had to stop to catch his breath, but Fiddleford seemed to know what he was trying to say and completed his words.

"We..He..he admitted his feelings for me. You spooked me before I..before I.." He fumbled with his words, still shy about..Stanford..in that way at least, around the man's brother. Luckily, from The conversation they'd had earlier and the look on Fiddleford's face, Stanley had been able to discern what he was getting at.

"I gotcha, Fiddlenerd. I understand." Stanley flashed Fiddleford a brief smile.

"You get the water I'd asked for?" Mcgucket gestured to the bowl in Lee's hand.

"Oh!-Uh..Yeah- Here." He mumbled, passing the bowl and the hand towels he'd gathered to Fiddleford.

"Thanks Lee. By the way, I gotta ask, aren't you cold?"

It was then that Stanley realized that his flannel still hung open. 

"Huh. Y'know, that explains the draft. I'll get right on that." The younger pines brother quickly set to buttoning his shirt closed, immediately feeling the effects of his body heat being trapped by the dense fabric.

By the time he was done, he looked up to find Fiddleford already wringing out one of the towels and wiping down his brother's face and neck with the wet, cool cloth. Ford was already beginning to nod off under Fiddleford's ministrations. Stanley was relieved to see how much better his brother looked from simply having his face washed. He decided on quietly sneaking out of the room and back to the kitchen when Ford began speaking to Fiddleford again, leaving them to their privacy.

 His hope for his brother's recovery was growing. But there was still quite a ways to go.

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He'd sat alone in the kitchen for a while before he heard the bedroom door quietly shut. His flannel hung open again. It was far too hot in there to wear the damned thing closed. A bowl of stew sat in front of him on the table, but he was too tired to eat it. Lee yawned just as Fiddleford trudged into the kitchen, equally drained, grabbing a bowl and the ladle that stuck out of the stew pot, pouring himself a hearty bowl full. 

After grabbing a spoon, Fiddleford drowsily plopped into the empty chair at the table, sitting across from Stanley, and slowly began eating. After a few minutes of blearily watching Fidds, as well as feeling his stomach growl in protest, Lee also decided to pick up his spoon and dig in to the lukewarm stew. 

They sat there in relative silence, the scrape of their spoons and the crackle of the wood stove the only noise. When their bowls were empty, Fiddleford got up and cleared the table, taking the dishes to the sink to be washed. While he washed them, Stanley began talking.

"How's he doin'? You were in there a while after I left."

"Seems to be better. Maybe his cold wasn't as bad as I'd initially thought. I'm still gonna keep an eye on him though."

"S'good. I'm glad. He sleepin'?"

"Yeah. We talked for a while before, but he fell asleep pretty easy. Speaking of sleeping though, are we all still bunking together?"

Stan had completely forgotten about that. In his drowsy stupor, he'd half expected to have his bed all to himself, but they definitely needed to keep watch on Ford..

"Oh- Yeah, yeah. I..I don't trust leaving him all night. He might pop his stitches."

"Yes..Well..we should probably get to bed soon. We'll be no use to him if we're too tired to function."

"C'mon, nerd. You know neither of us are actually gonna sleep."

Fiddleford sighed. Stanley was probably right. They were both too worried to really get any shuteye.

"I know. But a man can hope, right?"

Stan scooted his chair out to stand up and pushed it back in, and was just about to head into the living room to get to his own room when Fiddleford called to him from the sink.

"Stanley?"

"..Yeah Fiddlenerd?"

"I told him. About my feelings, that is."

Stan turned back to face the kitchen.

"What'd he say?"

Fiddleford hesitated slightly with the response.

"You don't have to tell me if you don't want to."

"No-no..it's fine..he..he said he feels the same way. That he has for a while."

"That's great, Fidds. I'm happy for you."

"I just..this just makes me worry more, y'know. My havin' feelings for him..his for me..the caring..it makes me feel more scared of what'll happen to me if I lose him."

"I know."