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Stan expected his brother to show up soon after having a flashback. He probably should've also expected being pushed into the Mystery Shack's office soon as he saw him.
“Stanley, are you alright?” Ford said, looking him over. There was nothing to see, obviously.
He sighed. I fall over one time and will never hear the end of it. While it was nice that his twin cared (he would never admit how nice it was) he didn't want to feel like an invalid.
Sure, memory lapses and flashbacks weren't good - they definitely weren't fun - but he's fine. Which he says as much.
“Everything's fine Poindexter. I remembered some stuff but it ain't nothing bad.” If he was being honest, it was pretty good all things considered.
He looked like he was going to lecture him for his grammar but pressed on. “You saw someone from your past and then had a flashback. Who were they and what did you remember?”
Ford was definitely getting tired about Stan being dismissive about his memory. But Stan couldn't help not wanting to be vulnerable about a time in his life he'd never want to think about again.
There wasn't much to say anyway, he just saw her face and was able to remember bits and pieces of their shared past. Looking at Ford, he knew he had to say something.
He had to consider what to say and what to edit out, but at least he didn't mind thinking about her again.
Stan was hiding out in a diner that was open 24-7, at a loss for what to do next.
He didn't bother taking out his beat up old notebook he stole years ago to doodle or plan out his next steps. He just grabbed a napkin and his pen that he also stole way back, but kept looking at the blank napkin. He had nothing.
Stan was at rock bottom. He was quite literally in Rock Bottom County in New Mexico. He was injured, recently had his kidney taken from him, and made a painful getaway to the next state over.
And he knows Rico has people in this state too so he has to figure something else out now.
Don't have your breakdown now Stan, just wait until you get in the car again. He had to figure out how to get more money for a longer stay at a motel, so he can actually recover. Stop thinking of what they could take next, just stop!
He was at least distracted when a waitress came by to his little booth hidden in the back. She was around his age, maybe a little younger and had a polite smile. Her long black hair was braided back and her makeup was dark yet subtle.
If he looked and felt better he definitely would've tried flirting with her.
“Hello,” she said, speaking with a heavy accent. “What can I get for you?” She gave a friendlier smile at the end of her practiced question, like the friendliness could help compensate for her struggles speaking in English.
I've been there. Having to rely on charm to navigate speaking a different language can suck. So he'll try to meet her in the middle. He'd long since decided on the cheapest thing anyway.
“Gracias Marisela,” he said, peeking at her nametag, hoping he didn't sound terrible. “Solamente quiero la sopa del día y agua.”
He wondered if he should have thrown in a 'por favor' at the end, or if it still makes sense without it. Please never done anything for him, but luckily it didn't seem to matter that he didn't.
Marisela beamed at him as if just that somehow made her whole night. She told him in Spanish that she would bring back his food soon.
Just before he thought she would leave, she gave him a sincere smile, definitely not a customer service smile at all. “Thank you,” she said warmly before going back. There was a part of him that thought it was cute. Or maybe cute wasn't the word he should use, endearing.
He somehow stumbled into maybe flirting with the waitress. (Well not really, but she seemed to like him.) It's an improvement from five minutes ago. He wasn't in danger of spiraling anymore at least. But he still wasn't any closer to figuring out a way to make cash…
She came back fast, which he sort of expected; it was just water and soup that also comes with bread. He was wide-eyed when she put another plate down, with fries and a burger.
He scrambled trying to remember how to say he didn't order that in Spanish, when she spoke up again. “The cook made mistake. Do you want? Is on house.”
“¿De verdad es gratis?” Stan was stunned, he never imagined he'd ever ask anyone if something was really free. She looked proud of herself that he understood her and nodded.
He was trying hard not to be emotional now, for a completely different reason from before. There's only been a handful of times this past almost decade someone helped him out just 'cause. “Thanks,” he said quietly, not as gruff as his usual state of being.
“Disfruta, buen provecho,” she smiled at him kindly, before going to the other booths.
Stan was trying really hard not to inhale all his food, he didn't want to get sick like the last time he did that. As he slowly ate, he was starting to get embarrassed he didn't have enough to tip her. Normally he would wave that thought away - he lives in his car, he’s got nothing.
But she's been very sweet with him, and he doubts the cook actually made a mistake with this delicious burger. Maybe he'll come back again when he has more money, possibly flirt with her then…
Or maybe he'll pickpocket some of the assholes at the booth close by. Even from a farther one anyone could hear them openly mock their waitress, Marisela, who was just trying to do her damn job.
She didn't respond to their words, but from her tense posture when she was close to them, she must've understood.
His mind was made up. One nice tip coming right up, courtesy of me and the loudasses.
It wasn't even easier said than done, they must've come from a bar before coming here. He only had the opportunity to take from the loudest one, but it turned out to be a nice little payday. He could give her a good tip and he could even get a motel room for a couple of nights.
Marisela asked him if he would like more water once he 'returned from the bathroom'. Stan accepted and turned on the charm a bit before asking for the check. He was in a better mood after all.
He had some extra money, those guys never noticed it went missing. Marisela even left her number on a napkin - he was actually kinda thrilled!
Stan almost forgot the universe likes to kick him down as he's getting back up again.
He wasn't able to say bye again to Marisela as he carefully headed out through the back entrance, trying not to draw attention or accidentally mess with his injury. She must have been busy, he did hear a coworker call her to do something in the back.
Trying to walk through the dark alleyway, his car was parked farther from the diner's parking lot but at least it wasn't visible from the street. He didn't think he'd hear from Marisela so soon.
“¡Suéltame!”
“-Where the hell is my money?!”
“I don' know what you talk about!”
A man was grabbing her, pushing her against the wall next to the diner's dumpster, while it looked like Marisela was trying to defend herself. Was because Stan rushed him as soon as he heard and saw that. He was still injured but he wasn't going to let him hurt her, getting in-between the two. Stan didn't let his surprise stop him from defending her either.
He's the same asshole I stole from in the diner- Why does everything I do fuck things up?!
The fight was quick; he may have been an angry jerk but he was an angry jerk who's never fought before. That was plain to see, even with how injured Stan was prior to the fight. It might've been worse if his buddies were still around but it seemed like it was just him.
But it did get worse from just one lucky hit. His terrible luck never fails him- the other man swung where his now missing kidney would have been, and Stan wasn't able to block it properly.
The pain went from a constant throbbing that he can try his best to ignore to a blinding, debilitating pain. He threw a blind punch full force and heard him go down.
Stan wasn't sure he could keep fighting if he wanted to, but at least the other guy was down. Didn't sound like he'd get up either. 'Victorious', he leaned on the wall so he wouldn't fall, trying not to throw up. Please don't, he pleaded to himself, I just ate a meal for once.
“Por favor, espera aquí, wait,” she said, worried over him before rushing inside.
Moses, are the cops going to show up? He just can't right now. He's trying to will himself mentally to recover faster so he can get back to his car.
He didn't recover fast enough but at least no pigs showed up. Instead Marisela was back; she left behind her apron and nametag, but grabbed her stuff.
“Wha?” He really tried to actually use words. He tried not to think of someone more eloquent, who has his shit together. He wouldn't even be in this situation…
“Boss let me leave early. We are going." Her stubbornness was shining through her statement, as if Stan didn't get a say.
Maybe his question was stupidly written on his face: going where? “Estás herido y necesitas ayuda,” she said firmly. He'll try to convince her that he's the pinnacle of strength when he manages to breathe right.
“I'm fine,” he groaned, a perfect response to her concerns. He's used to dealing with everything on his own. “No hospitals,” he tried sounding equally firm.
He thought maybe she would start an argument or something. Instead she glanced down at his side, nervous and worried. For him. “Please.”
Damn. She was actually worried about me. When was the last time anyone felt that for me? Stan tried to focus on her through the pain. Under the light he saw the beginning of some bruises on her arms, already standing out on her dark complexion. From where that asshole was grabbing her.
She didn't even know it was his fault. Marisela is just a good person dealing with a Fuckup.
The pain was still there and as strong as ever; he'll push it down for her, make sure she gets home safe. “Mari, do you have a ride home?” Neither of them should stick around here, he didn't want her getting into (more) trouble.
He guessed she got confused not by what he said but the change in topic, as she shook her head no. “I can take you home okay. Don't worry about me, sweetheart,” he said softly, or at least as soft as his gruff voice would allow.
Marisela got closer to him, as if she was going to help him walk. “Then I help you,” she said adamantly. He would have dismissed that. Maybe even straight up lied to her that he really is fine when she added, “Mi jefe está hablando con la policía, tenemos que irnos de aquí ahora.”
Yep, she's got the right idea, let's get away from here. He'll figure out what to say to her on the drive, or maybe she'll figure out on the way that he's not worth it.
Stan was walking slower than he'd like - he already did before the fight but now it was a lot worse. He was trying to force himself to move faster and she was hovering close to him. Guess I can't try hiding it from her. How bad do I look right now?
He was feeling lightheaded halfway through walking to his car. Marisela put his arm around her, having him lean on her.
Feeling weaker and weaker, Stan was trying to not put any of his weight on her. She wasn't petite but she was still smaller than him. He didn't want her to have to carry him and use too much force.
Stan told her as much, or at least he tried to tell her as much. He wasn't sure how much he managed to say, he was starting to feel pretty out of it.
Marisela just kept helping him anyway, dismissing what he tried to say. “It is okay,” she reassured, then gently patted him, her gesture trying to convey the sentiment.
Why does she keep being nice to me? Anyone else would have-
His car was so close but he passed out with that last thought in his mind.
.
..
…
Stan was on a couch and he startled awake realizing he had no memory of how he got there.
Nothing good had ever come from that happening. Especially after he noticed he wasn't wearing his shirt and jacket, a thin blanket covering him instead.
He sat up planning to make a break for it. Only to groan in pain, recalling his stolen kidney in mounting panic. What are they going to use him for, what are they planning on taking next, an eye, his spleen, a fucking lung. Or are they gonna take everything and leave him for-
“Are you okay? Don' be scared please,” Marisela rushed to him from another room, worried, holding a bundle of stuff.
Seeing her face helped him start to calm down, remembering everything. Did she seriously carry me to her house? No, she had to carry me to my car and then her house.
“Sorry,” he muttered ashamed, looking down. He's been a burden she literally had to carry since the moment they met. He's seeing now that he even had new bandages on. It explained why he's back to feeling pain he could try to tolerate better.
“Why you say that,” she asked him kindly, concerned. That's right he's met the rare elusive good person, at least it seems like it. It didn't seem like it could be a long con, by now he's learned through terrible first hand experience what the red flags were. She hasn't raised any yet.
Instead he's seeing her look tired as hell as she sat in her short stool placed next to him. Still in her waitressing dress, looking like she actually cared about him.
Marisela also had a pensive look on her face. One Stan's quickly picked up is one she makes when she's either trying to phrase her words as best she can in English, or deciding 'screw it' and saying it in Spanish.
“My friend,” she started slowly as she held his hand, “you were bleeding a lot. You have to rest. I helped best I can, and make medicine for you.”
“You made medicine?”
“Yes,” she nodded, “I know to make, um, traditional medicine.” She held out her hands, like she was miming a mortar and pestle.
He stared at her in shock, overwhelmed. He wasn't surprised she would know something like that, she looked like an intelligent woman to him (but too sweet, too trusting, she'd be better off knowing Ford ). She helped him get to his car to avoid the cops, physically carried him to her house, and she didn't just patch him up, she made the medicine too.
And he couldn't forget this all started with giving him a free meal, without any expectations.
It was beyond what a regular person would do. They'd do one thing, pat themselves on the back with their good deed, and go on to the rest of their life. If they even helped at all.
He was trying once again not to get emotional, but this was just too much.
Especially when he actually looked at the bundle she placed on his lap when she started holding his hand. He let her hand stay there when she placed it back, while his other reached for it.
A black band shirt with ripped sleeves and a star in the middle plus plaid pajama pants, a towel underneath, and a new unopened toothbrush and washcloth on top of the pile.
“Why,” he blurted out, choking up. Stan couldn't look at her, he was defiantly trying to stop tearing up, not wanting to show weakness even to a kindhearted woman.
“Hmm? I…I think you will feel better after bath?”
Stan didn't mean to confuse her. He also didn't mean to show any weakness but here they are. She's been doing her best to talk to him in his language, let alone everything else. He'll try to make things easier, it's the least he can do…
“Why are you helping me,” he murmured. He wasn't sure he could elaborate further.
She was quiet for a moment. Maybe if he actually turned towards her he'd see her pensive expression again, but he was trying to control his feelings and didn't want her to see them.
“Que hombre tan misterioso eres,” she said quietly. “¿Por qué no te voy a ayudar?”
Helping because why wouldn't she… he's not surprised she said that, she's been showing that she's a complete angel since the moment he laid eyes on her. He's just not sure why him. He didn't think she'd answer it.
“I help you because you are good to me,” she continued. At that he turned towards her finally, shocked. He's messed up her entire night; they're lucky he didn't somehow mess up her entire life.
Or worse considering that man earlier.
“Why you so surprised,” she smiled after asking before looking more serious. “Not many people respect me when they look at me. They-” She cut herself off, squeezing his hand. “You treat me like a person. I think you are good person.”
He was stunned at that, his face was feeling a little warm, and he didn't have a clever response at hand. Maybe it was remembering what the men in the diner were openly saying about her, or her basically saying that's normal that had him say: “I'm not a good person Marisela.”
He's never cared about having to scam anyone out of anything but she's just- He didn't think he could do that to her.
“There is a saying in English I think is the same in Spanish, ‘un buen juez del carácter,’” she said thoughtfully.
“You're a good judge of character?” She nodded glad he knew the translation.
If she really was I wouldn't be here, Stan thought dejected.
“Marisela, I'm not good to be around. I'm like bad luck, even when I don't want to be.” He's often wondered why he was born a human wrecking ball, just constantly wrecking shit…
She got quiet at that. “Yo he escuchado eso sobre mí también…” she muttered. If he wasn't paying so much attention to her he might not have heard it. Who would say that about her ?
Trying to change her somber expression he just rushed to change the subject, pushing his own feelings down. “Are you sure you want a guy around here? I'd understand if you don't after what happened…”
Whatever she was reminded of before she seemed to also push away, responding immediately. “¡Claro que sí!” She tried to emphasize her next point in English, “You protect me! You won’ hurt me and I know to protect myself.”
“Sweetheart, it's okay if you don't know how I won't judge you.”
“I know! I been in fights! …He surprised me,” she said with an embarrassed pout Stan definitely wasn't endeared by. “I had my knife with me.”
“You did? I didn't see it.”
She took out a tiny pocket knife. That explains why he didn't see it.
“Is that for opening letters or something?”
“I have to hide for work,” she defended her little knife. “The neighborhood is not safe.”
“Honey, that's not enough to defend yourself,” Stan said with a half smirk. He wasn't quite sure why he was teasing her. Were they both just purposely distracting each other now?
“Pues que quieres, ¡no puedo meter un machete debajo de mi saya!”
Stan had a whole belly laugh that she also giggled along with. Her sudden sassy comeback just took him by complete surprise; he stopped pretty quick when he started wincing, which she started apologizing for.
Maybe I should accept her help for now, he thought while his face felt warmer, flushed. She had a point that I had to rest, I might be getting a fever now. There was definitely no other reason for him to want to stick around.
…And he wasn't imagining anything after what she said either.
“Okay, I'll… Thanks for helping. When I get better, I'll give you some boxing lessons. I'll find you a better knife too. It probably won't be a machete,” he said with a smirk. He could still find her one, then she'll have two weapons.
At least like this I wouldn't be leeching off her.
Marisela beamed at that, happy that he wouldn't strain himself and try to leave. “Okay! Go bath, I wait and make more medicine for later,” she said looking at the very late hour, getting up from her tiny stool.
“Alright, alright, I'm getting up,” he conceded, wincing but slowly rising up from the couch. His wound still hurt but whatever medicine she made worked miracles compared to how he was before.
Holding on to the bundle of things she gave him, not as overwhelmed as before but that feeling still remained deep down, still conflicting him. While I'm here I'll try to look out for her. It's only a matter of time until she changes her mind. I'll leave her alone after…
Until then at least she's offering her shower to him, which Stan revels in quickly, not wanting to use up all her hot water. It was nice to have clean hair, even if it did smell like strawberries.
She was at her kitchenette when he came out, looking over a large book with handdrawn illustrations of plants. He'd definitely struggle with it; he's a lot better at speaking Spanish than reading it, especially when it's handwritten in cursive.
Marisela turned to him, “Hello,” she smiled, “you feel better?”
It's not good that I've gotten fond of her so fast. The sweet way she asked him had him smiling back at her softly. “Yeah I'm feeling better Mari, thanks.” The pain still lingered but at least the shower helped him feel refreshed, less grimy.
She looked like someone just told her she won a puppy; it felt so strange to see someone happy just for him being okay.
Marisela talked a little of the medicine she was making, turning back to him sitting in her tiny kitchen whenever he responded or joked. When she did, he was sure she glanced towards his chest and arms before shyly turning back.
He thought she did that too when they were laughing together. It reminded him that she did leave him a napkin with her phone number, a confident smirk now on his face.
“Sorry I… I have a question,” Marisela looked at him, blushing, “I feel bad. I remember, I don' know your name.”
“Doll you don't have to feel bad 'bout that,” Stan reassured. He purposely didn't tell her back when he was charming her at the diner.
Stan wasn't sure what fake name to go with at the time and just ended up not giving one. Now though, looking at her earnest face, he didn't think he could use any of them.
His experiences taught him he couldn't trust anyone. But there was a stupid part of him, the part already getting attached, that wanted to have faith in her.
Unless she was about to invent some completely new red flags, she felt trustworthy. He'll just go with the middleground, a nickname he hasn't been called in a long time anyway. “You can call me Lee.”
“It is nice to meet you Lee,” she said, sounding truly glad she did.
There were a lot of bits and pieces in his mind that Stan had to put together, with a lot missing all around. He tried to find something to say to his brother that wouldn't worry him or sound sappy.
“Marisela and me, we- I remembered how we met, we helped each other a lot. Ended up dating, taught her some swears, some card tricks. I don't remember everything but she was a sweet gal.” Some of the old sentimentality accidentally slipped out near the end.
Soon as his old memories came to the forefront, so did his past feelings. Which he hadn't managed to push down yet.
Ford was less tense at his response. Just an old girlfriend.
One that possibly didn't fit the pattern of an explosive relationship with a bad ending considering how happy she was to see him in the giftshop.
“Are you positive that she's a ‘sweet gal’ Stanley? Can you be certain that she didn't end up hurting you?” Ford asked, still wary of her.
That's a fair question, Stan thought. Somehow he managed to meet a lot of people willing to backstab him both literally and figuratively.
When he happened to turn his head, he caught a glimpse of the camera feed capturing the gift shop. Marisela was still there looking around, waiting patiently like he asked her so they could continue catching up.
She aged so gracefully; when he saw her earlier he immediately recognized the kind young woman he knew so long ago.
Stan caught himself smiling involuntarily and knew he had to get it together. He hoped Ford didn't catch that.
“If I had to bet on it Sixer I would. From what I remember she was really good to me. We probably split ‘cause I messed up,” he said as nonchalantly as he could.
“You'd bet on a lot of things Lee,” his twin quipped before looking like his usual serious self. “I know you're going to go after a potential second chance with her, just be careful. Don't fully trust her until you remember more.”
Stan wasn't up to going into every detail of how much she helped him, he didn't want to go into why he needed the help. Not now.
“If you can't trust her, trust me. I can handle it." Stan almost walked out of the office before he told Ford, “Whatever you do, don't scare her off.”
Since last summer, he's seen Ford's going all in on his overprotectiveness. He could either try to stop that or go do what he wants - and he can't lose that second chance.
Stan should probably be tired of having to work for second chances; most of his life was spent fighting for it with his brother, his family. He almost gave up on it but in the end he got it. He can try to manage that miracle one more time.
Maybe if he remembered more, he could make up for whatever mistake he made with her.