Ford and Stan eventually face their brother Shermie, who seems ready to simultaneously have a heart attack and/or noogie his brothers for the separation, disappearance, fake death, and general cover-up for the past forty years.

Well this got out of hand. Think of it either as an alternative to or a continuation of that other ask I got with this theme.

“So…let me see if I have this straight.” Shermie said. “…You’ve been gone for thirty years. Living in Michigan?”

“Well, and California, Florida, Mexico…all over the place, really.”

“…And the reason you never told anyone you were alive after that car crash is because you had amnesia. From a head injury, from the crash.” Shermie continued.

“Yep! Still have problems with my memory sometimes.”

“…Until this summer, when your memories started to come back, and you showed up in Oregon where Stanford was living.”

“That’s about the size of it.”

“I see.”

Shermie folded his arms, looking at the men in front of him. One of them, the twin who’d done most of the talking, was shooting him a confident grin. The other was fiddling with the edge of his sweater sleeve, waiting for whatever Shermie’s reaction would be.

“Well. That’s a fine load of garbage you just told me.”

Both the twins stiffened. They hadn’t been expecting that.

“I don’t know who you are.” Shermie pointed to the man across from him, who stared back wide-eyed as a startled deer. “But if you expect me to believe you’re the same Stanford Pines who almost body-checked me into an ultrasound machine to get another moment with the twins, you’ve got another thing coming.”

“And as for you–” he turned towards the other, “I know we haven’t exactly been close. Could probably count the number of times we’ve ever talked on my fingers without getting my toes involved…but you don’t exactly leave a subtle impression, Stanford. Or Stanley. Or whoever you are. Did you think I just wouldn’t notice you weren’t the same person?”

Stan sighed and leaned back, muttering at his twin. “…Told ya we should’ve done the voices.”

“You’re saying your name’s Stanley now, and I guess I can believe that part.” He looked pointedly down at Stan’s hands. “You were both gone before I was three, and dad got rid of most of the pictures. But mom had a few hidden away, and she used to tell stories about the two of you. I at least know that Stanford was the one with six fingers. I guess that explains why you were wearing mittens in the middle of summer when you came up for her funeral.”

Something changed in the other man’s face, and Shermie suddenly felt as though he had said something he shouldn’t have said. Or at least not so bluntly. Stan put a hand on the other man’s shoulder.

“So what is the truth?” Shermie asked.

The two of them glanced at one another. The man who must be the real Stanford…Ford, he’d said to call him…sighed.

“You honestly wouldn’t believe us if we told you.”

“Try me.” Shermie replied.

Ford paused, then pulled something the size and shape of a marble from his coat and handed it to him.

“What’s this?”

“It’s a power source. Mostly used for short-range weaponry, though in an emergency it can generate heat for survival. They’re popular in dimension 91-F, since they don’t require much manual dexterity to operate. Which is useful, since the population of 91-F all have sharks for hands.”

Shermie squinted at the tiny glass sphere. If he focused, he could see what looked like swirling galaxies inside.

“For the past thirty years, I’ve been exploring the multiverse.” Ford said seriously. “Adrift between dimensions, I’ve seen wonders and horrors the likes of which humanity has never–”

“…Shut up.” Shermie growled.

Ford blinked in response. “…Sorry?”

“I ask you to tell me the truth, and you give me some science-fiction nonsense about alternate dimensions and…and sharks for hands?” He held the marble tight in his fist, hands shaking with anger, ready to toss it back into his brother’s face. “Show me some fancy kid’s toy and expect me to–”

“Don’t throw that!” Ford screamed.

Shermie froze, stopped by the suddenness and volume of Ford’s voice. He looked and sounded genuinely terrified. Raising an eyebrow, Shermie lowered his fist and dropped the marble into Ford’s outstretched hands. Ford sighed with relief.

“Sheesh…” Stan lifted his glasses to rub his eyes. “You know what? He was in Tibet the last thirty years.”

“Stanley…” Ford said, sounding reproachful.

“About thirty years ago, he came to me and asked me to take over his life for a while. Said he had some top-secret science junk he was working on and couldn’t let anyone know about it cause he’d be crossing a bunch of borders illegally–”

“Stanley.”

“–And he didn’t want any of his nerdy academic rivals beating him to the punch. I wasn’t doing anything with my life but bumming around, so I said sure. But this train that he was on got hijacked—”

“Stanley, please.” Ford said, tucking the little glass sphere into his coat again. “He deserves the truth.”

“He doesn’t wanna listen to the truth.” Stan said, sounding irritated.

“We can’t just–”

“Cut it out!” Shermie stood, slamming his hands down on the table in front of them. The twins froze. “…I may not be a twin, but I’m still a brother to both of you. I’m still your family. Stop giving me nonsense and give me the truth.”

The two men—his brothers, strangers—sat in silence for a while. Looking at him and at each other. Ford was the first to speak up.

“The truth is…” he said. “…Thirty years ago…I made the mistake of trusting the wrong person. Someone who I thought was on the level, but who turned out to be a monster.”

“Metaphorically.” Stan cut in. “Not literally.”

“I gathered.” Shermie replied.

“I ended up in a bad place. Mentally. I was scared and at the end of my rope, so I called Stanley asking for help.”

“Yeah, and I pretty much made things worse.” Stan said, rubbing the back of his neck.

“…He wasn’t any better off than I was. We were both exhausted, desperate and bearing the collective weight of ten years of unsolved issues between us…so we fought instead of helping one another. And as a result of that fight, I was…” he trailed off.

“Lost. He got lost somewhere.” Stan said. “I mean, it’s more complicated than that. But that’s what it comes down to.”

“And for thirty years, I couldn’t get back.” Ford said.

“I’m not following…are you…were you in prison?” Shermie asked.

Stan snorted. Ford shook his head. “It would be more accurate to call it an exile. A man in prison cannot move freely. A man in exile can travel if he likes, but he can’t go home. Stanley stayed in my house and took my place, trying to find a way for me to get back.”

“I still don’t think I understand….”

“…I was on the run from someone.” Ford said. “The person I trusted…he was still after me.”

“Is he after you now?” Shermie asked.

“No.” Ford spoke with finality. “He’s gone now.”

“Gone?” Shermie frowned. The way he said that…

“Gone gone.” Ford said, looking at Stan with affection. “Thanks to Stanley.”

“What does that mean?”

“Yeesh, fill in the blanks, Sherm.” Stan shook his head. Shermie frowned…did his brother just admit to killing a man? “The point is, the danger’s over. Ford came back, and now we can all be a family again.”

“…And that’s the truth?” Shermie asked.

“With a few details omitted, obviously. Yes. That’s what happened.” Ford said.

Shermie stared at the two of them. All he could think of was when he was a teenager, and news of Stanley’s death reached home.

He hadn’t felt sadness at the time, so much as a painful absence of emotion. He’d been told his brother was dead, and that was supposed to mean something. But how could he miss someone who he’d never met? How could he mourn someone whose name had been forbidden conversation since he was a child? He had lost a brother that he’d never had. And now, it seemed, he was getting back Stanford—a brother that he’d never lost.

“All right, then. I guess that’s the best I’m going to get.” Shermie smiled a little. “This must be the first time we’ve all been in the same room since I was…what, ten months old?”

“I’m not sure how old any of us are now to be honest.” Stan said, scratching his head.

“That makes this a pretty big occasion.” Shermie continued. “I’ll get out the good tea.”