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Limbs entangled with limbs in a messy incoherent battle. Strength and wit were useless in this situation, it was raw, animalistic, a fight between brothers crushed by the weight of each other's betrayal. Their hands wildly reaching for the journal, both hands littered by the scars too fresh and far too untaken care of.
Ford felt his shoulder strain uncomfortably, regrets of far too many nights sleeping over his desk weighing on him. No that wasn’t true, perhaps once upon a time that had been the reason. Now as his mind reached for the fuzzy memory, the phantom pain of the morning after Bill had taken his body was revived in a second. A dislocated shoulder as well as more missing fingernails and blood dripping down his eye were the results of his incompetence, one that was too clear and still too painful as he pulled against his brother’s strength, his fingers turning white from his tight grip. Sweat dripped down his face, a wave of exhaustion crashing down on him, but adrenaline was too strong.
Stan grunted, a similar strain on his right shoulder, but his wasn’t from nights slumped over work. The scars of an improperly healed gunshot wound reminded him of how much of disgrace he was. Too stupid to succeed and too stubborn to die. The dirt under the fingernails of the people he loved and those who hated him. Nothing more than a stain that needs to be washed off with the harshest and deadliest of chemicals, no trace of him left behind.
That was it, wasn’t it? That was all he was to Ford: a stain, dirt, useless, worthless, an anchor holding him down even when it was clear that he needed to be brought up, let the ship sail away from the oncoming storm. But Stanley clinged to the bottom of the ocean, unable to move. He was the cause of the shipwreck he had caused for both Stan and Ford’s life.
Stan and Ford. It had always been them, Stan always a part of Stanford but Ford never a part of Stanley. Even now, with something as simple as their name he was still riding off his cocktails. Tears pricked his eyes and he closed them tightly.
But with guilt came anger and Moses did the anger burn hotter than hell, burning everything it touched. Even his throat as he screamed.
“YOU LEFT ME BEHIND YOU JERK IT WAS SUPPO’S TO BE US FOREVER! YOU RUINED MY LIFE.”
Stan had tried so hard to believe that, it would be a weakness to believe otherwise and it was one that their father would surely be disappointed with. Well, in Stan’s case he supposed it didn’t matter what he did or said he would still be disappointed. But the illusion was sweeter than the truth and he wanted to indulge one last time. Maybe if he believed hard enough, then Ford could too. And maybe he could believe that somewhere hidden underneath Stan’s dirty scarred skin and poisoned interior that maybe there was still hope for him.
But Ford was the different side of the same coin, anger burning just as fast and just as hot consuming everything it touched.
He had ruined Stan’s life? How could he have ruined his life when Stan had been the one to cling onto him like a parasite. If Stan had accepted that Ford had wanted to live his own life and do something worthwhile with himself, if the knucklehead had accepted that Ford had wanted independence from their suffocating “brotherhood” then perhaps everything would have been better for them.
His brother wouldn’t have been kicked out of home, he would’ve gone to West Coast Tech– met a few time a year and continued their friendship– and in the end Ford could have become a widely known scientist with his PHDs and would be taken seriously and not a joke all because of which school they came from.
But no, instead he was wrestling with his brother and the weight of his words laced with complete nonsense– the weight of the world resting upon his sleep deprived shoulders that shook with frustration.
For once he wished that his brother would listen to him and stop being so selfish– so egotistical and idiotic!
“YOU RUINED YOUR OWN LIFE!” Ford slammed his foot against his brother's chest with all his strength, his vision turning white from the dizzying amount of force he used.
But as Stanley’s screams filled the room and the smoke and smell of burning flesh and blood soaked through the air, all anger vanished instead replaced with guilt and soul crushing worry. Yet his grip on the journal never wavered.
“STANLEY! Oh my gosh Stanley are you alright?” Ford in a moment kneeled next to his brother, who’s labored breathing was the only indicator that he was even awake. Ford's eyes widely scanned his surroundings for the first aid kit he had used earlier today, the daunting realization that the portal was almost fully operating leaving him breathless.
“Shit.” he muttered under his breath as he rushed towards the control panel, shoving the journal inside his pocket before turning everything off as fast as he could.
Stanley sat there, his shoulder spurting flashes of white numbing pain, silent tears cascading down his sunken cheeks as his breathing continued to come out ir ragged puffs. How foolish he had been, how pathetic he continued to be.
It had been his mistake to let his hope get up. First when he had gotten that postcard, later when Ford had talked about their childhood dreams, or maybe it had been just his who was to say anymore. And finally when he had indulged in the lie. Stanley knew that indulging made the pain go away, if only temporarily. But the aftermath was always messy, whether it be pounding headaches that induced throwing up whatever scraps of food he had managed to gather before his benders or the soreness that spread throughout his back after convincing himself that he was worthy of love, and that he wasn’t just selling himself for quick cash.
It always ended the same, a fiery explosion of emotions dimmed to the numbing pain and hollow feeling of disappointment.
His ears ringed lightly, his eyes hazy as he looked up through his bangs, watching his brother pull and click different levers and buttons, dimming the light of the portal, leaving just more darkness. The shadows outline the figure of the journal poking from his brother's coat. Yeah, can’t have him ruining that too could he. Stan chuckled, dehydration mixed with running on practically crumbs, and little to no sleep must have been catching up to him. Usually during situations like these ones– well more like situations where it was fight and survive or fight and succumb to death, although in a way this might have been the final nail on the coffin for him– he usually held his head up high, feeling pride in managing to survive and walk it off til the next time he had to fight for his life again. A never ending cycle.
But the self deprecating thoughts and the sadness that swallowed him during those late nights comforted by the bottom of bottles of alcohol and any substances he could get his hands on seemed to want to consume him. There was no alcohol nor drugs in his system, there had been none for the last few months, his money supply too low for either. Odd “jobs” became too risky and he was forced to lay low, any chance to accidentally leave some merchandise behind was non-existent.
He was clean of his substantial sin, yet all he wanted to do was drown in the murky water he had polluted. Moses, he felt pathetic.
Stanley jolted as he felt a hand on his shoulder.
“Come on, I have to patch you up before the burn gets infected.” Ford spoke softly, pity pooling in his eyes.
Stanley made no effort to move, still slumped over himself. His mind screamed at him to move, to stop being such a child and stop wasting so much time, space, air and just get it over wi-
Ford gently held Stan’s left arm, lifting him to his feet. Wrapping the arm around his shoulder he guided Stan towards an unoccupied chair where merely a few hours ago Ford sat on to treat his own wounds. Ford sighed shakily. It had been a mistake to place such responsibility on his brother, too uncaring and far too selfish on his part.
“I’ll be right back, I need to grab the first aid kit. Remove the jacket and shirt please.” Ford began walking away, but not before quickly taking a peek behind his shoulder. Stanley remained still and eerily silent.
The silent treatment, of course Stanley would turn to such childish behavior. Stanford wasn’t sure whether to chuckle at such an act or feel annoyed.
After a few minutes, Ford returned with the kit seeing Stanley in the exact same position that he left him in. Definitely feeling frustrated.
Pinching the bridge of his nose Ford slammed the kit into the table announcing his return, but Stan didn’t flinch or acknowledge him. “Stanley, I thought I told you to remove your jacket and shirt so I could treat you properly.” Silence. Groaning angrily, Ford reached for Stanleys sleeves, “I should have expected you to behave like a child, honestly I’m not sure how you’ve managed to-AGH!” Ford moved his hand back, shocked, needles piercing through his hands from the hit.
Ford felt the scream ready to be let out, but one look at his brother stopped him. His eyes looked hazy, too dark, too cold. Too dull and lifeless. Underneath all that, he could see the traces of pain and anger. Not the same one that had been the fuel to their outburst minutes ago, this one held a vulnerability that was sure to put their father to shame. It felt wrong.
Time had stopped as the twins looked at each other, studying each other like it was the first time seeing each other. Although, 10 years does carve out a new person. Where once they had completed each other, now the puzzle pieces were sanded down and worn by time no longer fitting together, belonging to two completely different worlds.
Ford stumbled over his words, but he spoke softly, “I- Let me treat your burn. If it gets infected, it- You could get sick, dangerously sick.” Ford slowly approached his brother, his hand slowly reaching for his shoulder once more.
Stan moved out of the way, his feet swaying as he stood up.
His voice was raspy and quiet, “This was a mistake.” He began walking towards the stairs, slow cautious steps.
“Stanely, look I’m sorry for hurting you-”
“No stanford,” he interrupted, “It was, dumb of me to think that things could be different. That I could be different.” he halted, peeking over his shoulder, eyes rimmed red with tears, “It was dumb of me to think you-” still loved me- “wouldn’t hate me anymore.”
Stanford gasped, “I don't hate you.”
“Dont lie to me,” Stan snapped, “For once in my goddamn life I don’t want to be told lies I don't want to indulge in these illusions and promises that i’m worth something when clearly I ain't!”
Ford took a wary step towards his brother, scared that the wrong word or movement could break this small connection they had going on, “I'm not lying Stanley. I care about you and your safety.”
Stan snickered, “No- you don't get to say that you care about me, not after everything, after you abandoned me!”
“Abandoned? I never abandoned you- YOU got kicked out for being so reckless and self centered-”
“Oh yeah? It was my fault I got kicked out, sure I can be man enough to admit that. N’ sure it was my fault that these last ten years i've had to fight every single day just to survive because I can’t seem to make a good decision or not fuck up everything I touched- Its my fault I ruined both our lifes. But you,” Stan finally faced his brother, pushing his finger onto his twin’s chest, “You don't get to deny that you abandon me.”
Ford took a step back, Stan following him. He swallowed the lump forming in his throat, “What are you even talking about?”
“You were ready to leave me behind and go to that fancy nerd school of yours halfway across the country, leave the Stan’o’War and everything we worked for just ‘cause you wanted to go and prove something to a buncha phonies!”
Ford shook his head, pushing his way past his brother, anger began to bubble in his stomach once more, “Stanley for the love of science, you can’t be serious, that thing was never going to sail anywhere! For once in your life be realistic!” Ford exclaimed his statement lifting his arms, but only seemed to outrage Stanley further.
“I WAS BEING REALISTIC!”
Ford chuckled joylessly, “No you weren't. West coast was realistic. My dreams and hopes for my future were realistic until YOU went and ruined everything for some stupid childhood fantasy of sailing out into the ocean for what? Treasure, babes?”
Stanley shook, his skin felt clammy and the chill of the basement pierced through his skin. His voice was raw and shaky, “It was never about sailing into the ocean, Stanford.”
“Oh yeah then what was it about? Enlighten me Stanley, enlighten me as to why you had to sabotage both our futures then, come on, DO IT!”
“BECAUSE I WANTED TO ESCAPE WITH YOU STANFORD!” Stanley screamed, gasping with every breath that seemed to only tighten his chest. His head hung low, “I wanted to escape so badly, from pa, from those stupid bullies, from all the teachers who neva’ had a single ounce of hope for me like they did you. I wanted to leave with you, cause you were my best friend, and the only person who ever treated me like I wasn't some sorta idiot or an unwanted mouth to feed or the good for nothin’ extra Stan.” Stan glanced up. Nice to know Ford never got rid of his dinosaur hands habit. He snickered quietly, leaning against the table.
“I really did want it to be us against the world.” he croaked quietly,“I felt unstoppable besides you, and you were the only one who didn't make me feel like I was some worthless useless piece of shit, like I was actually wanted. Guess that wasn't true, cause the moment you had the chance to leave without me you took it. Like I didn’t even matter.”
Ford slowly made his way towards his brother His shoulder touching Stan’s “Stanley I-”
Stanley exhaled softly, exhaustion weighing down on him, “You left me when I needed you, and the worst part? I was ready to let you go because in the end it made you happy, and even if it meant having to prove everyone else right, at least it was worth it if you finally got to be seen as more than a six fingered freak, even if you weren’t. The freak part, obviously.” his voice dropped to a whisper, almost like he was confessing to a terrible crime, when in reality, “I had left the gym it was still working and yet I still lost everything. Lil Ol Stan just has to mess up everyone's life huh?”
The room was filled with silence. The confession is heavy on both their minds.
Ford processed his brother's words. Had it really been an accident? Had Stanley really paid the price of a crime he did not commit, or was it just an attempt to gather pity and manipulate Ford into a false sense of guilt in order to be forgiven? But the timing of everything, the way he spoke and just everything about how Stanley held himself screamed that he wasn’t lying. That this was the truth. Emotions flooded Ford, oh Moses. How long had Stanley been feeling so unloved? How long had his brother held the weight and guilt of a mistake, condemned to a life of being an outcast to his own family?
10 years of being shunned. 10 years of silence-
Stan shifted uncomfortably, “Yeah that's what I thought”
Dreaded filled Ford, realizing Stan had mistook his silence, “I- I never wanted things to turn out this way.” Words rushed out of his mouth like a waterfall.
Stan hummed, choking back silent tears that threatened to spill at any moment. Wiping his eyes, he made a move to stand only to be held back by a six fingered hold.
“When you left, I thought it was temporary,” Ford started, “I thought that Pa would punish you for a day or three and then you’d be back and I would be beyond pissed but we would work it out. We always did. But you didn’t come back, and Pa kept saying all these things about you and I began to believe them. Because in the end, anger can be dealt with a lot easier than guilt and sorrow. Especially when I still had all these hopes pinned on me, not when I still had to move forwards before it was too late. Then I went back to Backupsmore and anger became like a second nature.”
Stan ripped his arm out of his brother's arm, leaning back once again with his arms crossed,“Yeah I get it you're angry. Pa hates me like everyone else.” he huffed.
Ford smacked his arm lightly, “Just let me continue,” he paused, “and could you please let me treat your wound.” Stan rolled his eyes, making his way towards the chair once more. Stanford smiled in success. “Can you remove your shirt and jacket or do you need help?”
Stanley’s hands twitched as they hovered over his jacket, anxiety flowing through his veins. Stanley didn’t like to say that he was a self conscious guy, but years of being on the street with poor diets and even worse treatments left his body scarred, stretched by muscles only to then be thinned out by drugs, abuse, lack of food, and disease leaving cellulite and old ragged scars that looked too infected. Too disgusting, just to be stretched with processed fats. So yeah, he wasn’t self conscious, but he definitely felt shame creeping up on him as he slowly removed his clothing picking up the small gasps of shock that left his brother's mouth.
Icy fingers grazed over scars on his back gently, making his skin prickle, a change from the hot shame, the embarrassment that he felt. Once upon a time they were nearly identical, now? Far too different, mere strangers who knew each other's secrets.
Ford removed his fingers, grabbing the first aid kit. His chest felt heavy with remorse, squeezing his lungs and depriving him of air. 10 years of sorrow painting on his brother's skin in heavy bloody strokes, a horror story etched into the skin of his brother permanently.
Why did everything have to be so difficult? Murder screamed at him to go hunt those who dared hurt his twin, to torture and make them regret every scar that was placed on his skin, anger burned away at his logic, his mind becoming sharper than it felt in days only for guilt to water it down, whispering in his ear to continue giving Stanley his excuse for being such a lousy brother and to perhaps salvage whatever little of their sibling bond remained. Exhaustion reminding him that his time was limited until he came back.
“I was angry.” Ford whispered, applying a thin layer of burn cream onto the freshly cleaned wounds. “I let myself get manipulated into thinking that I was better off without you. Bill made fueled those thoughts. But clearly, I wasn’t self-sufficient on my own.” Stan looked back in time as Ford raised his hand, fresh cuts and injuries on his knuckles. Stan raised an eyebrow, looking at Ford with worried eyes. “I was smitten, by Bill, the very being I’m trying to stop from wreaking havoc in our universe. I convinced myself that I could trust him, even when he spoke ill of you to prevent me from reaching out. He must have known that you would be able to look through his lies, you always did have a knack for looking right through people and their sickly sweet lies.”
Stan shook his head softly. Ford sighed, placing gauze on top of the wound satisfied with his work. “I'm not saying that how I behaved was acceptable just because outside forces were influencing my emotions, and you don’t have to forgive me for that. But I do want you to know that not once did I feel hatred towards you, resentment yes but never hatred” Fingers once again grazed his brother's back, not missing the way he tensed up at certain scars. Ford’s brows furrowed as he placed the palm of his hand over where his brother's heart was, feeling the small thumps, indicating that yes Stanley was alive and he was here, and while he may not be okay, hopefully in the near future that could change. Taking a deep breath, he spoke,” There were times where I would see your commercials or come across some old pictures and all of a sudden I would long for you. I missed you, and it hurt so much to know that I didn't know where you were or if you were okay or anything. So I went back to anger because at least that way, I wouldn't have to mourn you, or at least I could pretend not to.”
Stan opened his mouth, hesitating, “Where are you going with this?”
“We both made mistakes. And it’s clear our lives are falling apart without each other. What I'm saying is I’m so damn tired of pretending, of faking anger just to feel alright with the fact that you were gone. I don’t want to be mad anymore, I want my brother back, Stanley.”
Stanley turned in his seat, looking up at Ford glossy, yet hopeful eyes. “Do you mean it?” He asked shakily.
Ford nodded, “Yes. I won’t lie and I'll admit that I definitely didn't like the idea of being viewed as a part of a whole, but I do miss being part of a team.” Ford offered a small smile, taking in his brother’s appearance. The scars, the sunken cheeks paired with a round belly. Eyebags that looked darker than his, the matted long hair. “Stanley, I am still in need of your help and the fate of the world continues to be very real. But you require help as well and I want to offer an olive branch. Would you be opposed to the idea of staying in Gravity Falls for an uncertain amount of time and help me combat an interdimensional power that is a threat to everything we know? And in return you get a home, hot showers and meals- well first we would need to go grocery shopping. I don't quite recall when the last time I went into town was and I am also not sure if I have food that is not spoiled or growing micro-”
Ford was cut off with a bone crushing hug, or as bone crushing as a malnourished, clearly very tired and injured man could muster, but regardless, Ford felt a pressure be lifted from his chest as he returned the hug just as fiercely. He buried his head into his brother's injured shoulder, feeling more at ease than he had felt in ages.
Stan copied Ford, letting a few tears slip down onto his brother’s shoulder, “Tell me it's not a dream and that I'm not going to wake up in a tub full of ice.” he mumbled.
“Of course it's not a dream- wait a tub full of ice?” Ford pulled away from the hud, his eyes instantly falling on a long scar on his brother's abdomen.
“I would love to stay sixer.”
Ford felt himself stiffen at the nickname, but he instantly relaxed. This was the person who was allowed to call him that, the only one who should’ve been allowed to do so.
“Thank you Stanley.” Ford grinned.
Stan gleamed, his eyes still tired but now instead of being dull and lifeless, carried some hope. “I missed you.”