It didn't take long for Ford to notice that his brother kept looking at him. He had done this countless times, during the day, but whenever Ford looked back, Stan instantly looked back at whatever he was doing, and Ford turned his attention back to the map or book he was reading.
They were about to eat dinner, when Ford had enough. "Is something the matter, Stanley?"
"Nah," Stan mumbled, cutting his meat.
"You might just as well drop that act. I know you've been staring at me all day, and I would like to know why."
Stan looked up, and for the first time today, he met his brother's eyes - which he actually thought was quite impressive, considering that they were on a small boat. Stan knew that Ford meant business, so he decided to spill the beans. "It's really nothing," he chuckled. "It's just… last night I had a pretty weird dream."
Ford put down his flatware. Even though Stan had regained most of his memories, he was still recovering, and sometimes his lost memories would turn into dreams. "So? What was it about?"
"I don't really remember," Stan answered. "But I think it was about the dance, ya know. The one where I threw a drink over myself? I think that it was after the party, and I was looking for you or something… heh, it was probably just a stupid drew..." Stan got quiet when he looked at his brother again.
Fords curious eye's had visibly changed and he now looked like Stan had punched him, without any reason…
"Ford?" he asked carefully, but Ford didn't hear him.
He had somehow managed to suppress the reminiscence of the event from that dreadful night these last forty years, but now… It all came back to him way too fast, like a wave of memories… He clenched his fists on the table when he could almost feel the old scars on his back sting like they had done the weeks after… No…
Stan kept calling his brother's name until he realized that he couldn't get through to him that way. Instead, he reached out and grabbed his brother's clenched hand.
Ford pulled back his hand as if the touch had burned his skin. He breathed fast like he had been running a marathon. He met his brother's eyes again, and they were filled with confusion and worry.
"I... I need some air," Ford stated before practically ran out of the cabin, slamming the door behind him.
"Stanford!" Stan called, but his brother was already gone. What the hell? Stan didn't understand what had just happened, but he knew that it had something to do with his dream. It hadn't been a dream... Something had happened to Ford that night. Something horrible. But what?His eyes had been filled with fear, like someone wanted to eat him. Stan tried to remember, but it was all too blurry... All he remembered, was him calling out his brother's name. That would mean that they had been separated. But why? What had happened? Had… Had he screwed something up? That wouldn't be the first time... Stan looked towards the slammed door and got up from his seat.
o*o*o*
Ford grabbed onto the railing of the Stan o war II, feeling like he had to hold onto something, to prevent himself from being sucked back in time. Back to when he was 18 years old, young and naive... Back to the dark alley where... Ford breathed heavily. All of it was coming back to him at once, filling his head and body with, horror! How could a small remark from his brother, cause him this much distress?
Oh god... Stanley...
Ford gritted his teeth. What was the matter with him? His brother needed him. He was the one who was recovering, and yet Ford acted like a maniac, because of something that had happened more than 40 years ago! It was in the past! He had moved on. He was older and smarter now for God's sake! He had to pull himself together and act like an adult. He should go back inside, apologies to his twin-brother for his outrageous behavior, sit down and explain himself!
But his hands kept clinging to the railing, his nails pressing into the wood.
"Freak!"
"Wimp!"
"You get what you deserve!"
"Look he is crying!"
"What's the matter, wimpy? Are we too hard?!"
"Stanford?"
Ford made a startled sound, as he was ripped back into reality. Stan was standing beside him.
"What's going on with ya?" he asked. His voice was soft... So full of caring... Just like it had been that night... No. He couldn't let it take over!
Ford turned his head and looked out over the seawater, that was gleam as a reflection of the moonlight, away from his brother. He couldn't look at him. Not right now.
"Ford... what happened that night?" Stan asked.
Ford knew that he should tell him. Stan deserved to know what his dream meant, to know what he didn't remember. Ford wanted to help him. He had made himself a promise, that he would stop at nothing, to make sure that Stan remembered at least as much as he did himself, but... Ford looked back at his brother, who hadn't removed his eyes from him. They were almost as close now as they were, back when they were kids. They used to tell each other everything, no matter what...
"It doesn't matter now, Stanley," he said quietly.
"What the hell, is that suppose to mean?" Stan's voice had changed from soft to anger. After forty years where they hadn't spoken more than a few words, they had finally started to rebuild their relationship, and now, Ford told him that something that made him seem so... so scared, didn't matter?! "Of course it matters! If it didn't matter, you wouldn't be ripping apart the side of the boat!"
Ford hadn't noticed that his hands were still holding onto the railing. He finally managed to let go, leaving deep marks where his nails had been pressing. "Stanley, please... Some things are best to leave forgotten." Throughout the years he had somehow managed to suppress it… Like it had never happened. But it had… And it would be best if Stan didn't remember. He wished that he could forget about it himself, but apparently he couldn't...
"No! Tell me! I wanna know what happened!"
"Goddammit, Stanley I don't want to talk about it!" Ford shouted back. He walked past his brother, with fast paces and back inside, before he managed to say anything.
Stan's first intuition was to run after him, but he found himself stopping in the movement. He could see the look in Ford's eyes, before him… Whatever had happened, it could still hurt Ford to think about it… Stan didn't want his brother to be hurting… He wanted to help him, to take the pain away, but how was he supposed to do that, if he was too stupid to even remember it?!
-40 years ago-
Ford sighed, leaning over the table. Everyone was partying around him, having the time of their life with their dates, dancing to the music, and he was sitting here, soaked in punch.
He had finally managed to gather the courage to talk to a girl. He had tried to flirt like Stanley had told him to… He had no clue why she had thrown her punch at him. It must have been something he had said, but he didn't see how any of it could be construed as an insult. But Anna Brooks could, apparently.
Ford looked around to see if he could find Stanley. He soon spotted his brother, on the dance floor, with some blond girl. It seemed like they had fun, and even though Ford really wanted to go home, he didn't want to ruin anything for his brother…
Ford took another sip of his drink, as looked at his schoolmates. He really wished that he could be out there, having the fun they were having.
Suddenly someone sat down on the bench beside him. Ford turned around to see Anna Brooks, smiling at him. "Hi, can I sit here?" she asked loudly to be heard over the music.
"Erh… sure," Ford said, thinking that it was a weird question since she was already sitting down. Not to mention; why did she even want to sit beside him?
"Listen," he called. She leaned closer to hear him. "I'm really sorry about what I said before. I didn't mean to insult you."
"I'm the one who's sorry!" she called back. "I shouldn't have thrown my punch over you! I was thinking if you would give me another chance?!"
"What do you mean?"
"I'm asking if you want to dance!"
"Sure!"
They left the bench and joined the others on the dance floor. Anna put her hands around his neck so they were dancing very close. Ford held his hands on her waist. It felt weird, to do so, but at the same time, it also felt good, as they danced around in pace with the music, among the others. It was fun and Anna seemed to enjoy herself too.
At some point, Ford established eye contact with Stanley, who sent him a thumbs up. Ford smiled back, feeling very proud. He was able to dance with a girl, just like his brother!
"Let's get out of here!" Anna said in his ear.
"Where do you want to go?" Ford asked.
Anna chuckled. "I'll show you," she said with a wink. She took his hand in hers, like there was nothing wrong with it, and led him towards the door.
Ford looked back, but he wasn't able to spot his brother anywhere.
They practically ran down the street, still holding hands. They had gotten pretty far away from the school before they started to walk normally again.
"Come here," Anna said and pulled him into a dark alley. "This is a little more private."
Ford was about to ask what was private about an alley when she kissed him.
At first, Ford was stunned, but then he managed to kiss her back. He was kissing a girl, just like any other normal boy. Ford could feel the delight filling his body. He had finally found a girl, who didn't care that he was different. Someone who didn't mind that had six fingers.
She pushed him up against the stonewall, still kissing him passionately, letting her hands run down his waist, and Ford found himself really enjoying it. So this was why everybody was so eager about sex. It was much more than just reproduction. It was about getting really close to someone else, whom you liked and wanted to be with. And right now, Ford wanted to accomplish this wonderful experience with Anna.
"Well, well, well." The couple was interrupted by a voice, and both of them looked up at the five boys who were walking towards them. "If it isn't the six-fingered freak, having his time with my girl," Crampelter said.
His girl?! Ford looked down towards Anna, who sent him a wicked smile as she pulled away from him. Crampelter wrapped his arm around her shoulders. "Nice work, babe."
Ford felt a chill run down his spine, as he realized what was really going on here... It had been a trap and now Crampelter had him right where he wanted him, surrounded by the five boys!
There was no way he would be able to fight them. His only chance was to run. He spotted the largest gap between the boys and took the chance. Using all of his strength, he ran towards the gap, pushing the boys, but they grabbed an arm each and threw him back. Ford felt the pain spread through his body and the back of his head, making everything blurry.
"Where are you going? The fun is about to start!" Crampelter laughed.
"Please… don't do this," Ford said.
"Haha! Already begging for mercy, man you're such a wimp!" Theodore called. "This is gonna be easy."
"Almost too, easy," Crampelter said. He pulled out a knife from his pocket.
The sight of the blade pushed Ford over the edge and let the panic take over. "HELP ME! SOMEBODY HELP!"
Adam grabbed his sleeve, ripping it off, without problems, and used it to gag Ford, while someone else ripped off the other sleeve, grabbing his hands and tied them behind his back.
A hand grabbed his shoulder, turning him around to face Crampelter. "Come on, why are you even screaming?" he asked, stepping up close to him. Ford wanted to back away, but the wall prevented him from going anywhere. "Do you really think someone would help out a weak little freak like you?"
"The only one who cares about you, is your brother," Jake said. "And he's not here right now."
"Why does he even care about you?" Theodore asked. "What can you possibly give him, in return?"
"Oh, I think I know, what it is," Adam said. Everyone around him laughed.
"Are you a little brother-fucker, huh?" Crampelter spat.
Ford shook his head. Stan was his twin-brother! That was disgusting.
"Really? So you're telling me that not even your own brother, wants to touch you?" Crampelter laughed. He took his knife between his teeth and grabbed Ford by the collar, ripping the fabric apart and pulled it down behind Ford's back, leaving his entire torso exposed.
"No wonder. Look at you. You're nothing but a wimp, aren't ya?" He took the knife and pressed the cold side of the blade against Ford's throat.
Ford had never been this terrified. His heart was beating hard in his chest and he was breathing fast through the nose, feeling like the sleeve in his mouth was strangling him.
Crampelter led the blade glide over Ford's skin, from his throat down his left shoulder, and stopped over the chest, right where Ford's heart was. Crampelter turned the blade, making the sharp part balance on the skin. "Do you realize, how easy it would be for me, to kill you, huh, freak?" He pressed lightly on the knife, but it was enough to break the skin. "Very easy," Crampelter said, but then removed the knife, so the blood started to run from the cut. "But that wouldn't be fun at all."
Ford met Crampelters eyes and saw nothing but hatred and disgust. Crampelter had bullied him, ever since they were kids. Ford knew that Crampelter hated him, because of his intelligence, and chose to use Ford's weakness against him, as a punishment. Ford had managed live with this, and ignore Crampelters hurting words, which often had led to Crampelter using his fists instead. But this… this was more than just bullying. This could cost him his life!
Crampelter seemed capable of anything at this point, and whatever he was going to, that would be "fun", Ford doubted that it would be enough to satisfy his hatred.
"Let the fun begin!" Crampelter called out.
Ford saw a movement from the corner of his eye. Something hit him on the side of his head, with such a power, that he lost his balance and fell to the ground. The pain spread in his cheek almost as fast as in his knees when they hit the ground. One of his lenses was shattered, and Ford felt for a brief moment lucky that he had landed on his knees, making him face the ground.
However, the feeling of luck disappeared into thin air, when a hand grabbed his hair, lifting his head.
"Eww, his hair is all sticky!"
Ford barely managed to perceive the knee, before it hit him. The hand that was still holding onto his hair, prevented his head to bend backward, as the knee hit his face countless times!
Blood was running from his nose, and tears from his eyes, when it finally stopped. Ford coughed through the sleeve, and breathed deeply, making blood spill down on the ground. For a brief moment, he actually believed that it was over. That they would just toss him on the ground and leave. But instead, the hand pulled him back to his feet.
His glasses were destroyed beyond repair, making everything around him blurry, and he didn't see it coming, before something, probably Crampelter's fist, suddenly hit him in the stomach, knocking out all of the air in his lungs. The only thing preventing him from collapsing was the hand, still holding onto his hair. Another pair of hands grabbed onto his naked shoulders, pulling him forward. The others moved out of the way, as Ford was bent over the dumpster in the corner. The hand finally let go of his hair, only to grab around his neck and press him down against the cold lit.
Oh no. What now? He found out soon enough when he felt the knife being placed between shoulder blades and dragged down his spine! The sleeve in his mouth smothered Ford's painful scream, but the tears ran down his cheeks as Crampelter let the knife draw small and larger cuts on his back. Some would be long lines, others felt like they were patterns, drawn on a piece of paper, and blood was running from them.
Every single time the knife touched his skin, a new pain spread on his back. None of the cuts felt very deep, at least not deep enough to kill him. But if they didn't get treated, they would undoubtedly become affected…
The blade was removed from his back, and pressed against his sixth finger. "You know; I could cut these off right here and now," Crampelter said. He put more pressure on the shank, and the metal started to go through the flesh. Ford almost wished that he would do it. It would hurt and would cause him to lose a large amount of blood… but he would finally be somewhat normal. Then he would no longer be recognized as "the six-fingered freak".
Ford closed his eyes, taking a deep breath, preparing himself… But then he felt the knife being removed, and his finger was still there.
"But no," Crampelter said. "That would be too much of a mercy." Instead, he placed the knife right under Ford's ribs, on the left side. Ford's breathing became fast again… If the knife was pressed too hard… But Crampelter only broke the skin, and dragged a long, bloody line all the way down, to the hem of Ford's pants, but it didn't stop there. Crampelter pressed the blade, through the fabric and dragged it all the way down the leg. Ford kept wrenching, even though it was useless. The hand holding his neck was too strong.
Crampelter stood up and repeated the painful process on Ford's other side, so both of the pant legs were cut open. The only thing that prevented them from falling down, was Ford's crotch pressed up against the side of the dumpster.
Ford awaited the next painful cut, but it didn't come. Instead, he felt one of them doing something to his shoes. Were they untying them?
"Take them off," Crampelter ordered. Ford tried to turn his head, but it was impossible. "Take them off, now!"
Ford slowly lifted his left foot, and managed to kick off the shoe, rather clumsily, with the help from the other, making his sock come halfway off as well, before he did the same with the other shoe.
"Good." It almost sounded like Crampelter was... smiling? "You're such a wimp," Crampelter continued. "Are those small movements supposed to be struggling?"
"Even I could do better," Anna laughed. "You're weaker than a girl, you wimp! Oh, I can't believe that you seriously thought that I wanted anything to do with a freak like you!"
"You hear that, freak? You're as weak as a girl!" Crampelter spat. "In fact; you deserve to be treated like one!"
The next thing Ford knew, was someone grabbing the hem of his pants, ripping them, as well as his underwear off!
No! No! Not that!
Ford tried to say no, he tried to beg for mercy, but none of his words made it past the sleeve. He could hear the sound of a belt, being opened… No, no!
Crampelters dressed body was pressed down against Ford's naked, bloody back. "Just pretend that I'm your brother," he whispered in Ford's ear.
And then; a horrible pain, worse than anything else he had ever experienced, took form, in his lower half and quickly spread to every single little inch of his body!
Crampelter was much too large for Ford's anus, but that didn't prevent him from forcing himself all the way inside him!
Fords cried out at the top of his lungs, cried for him to stop, cried for someone to help him! But every single word was morphed into incomprehensible sounds that no one would be able to hear.
The whole container was rocking in pace with Crampelters movements and Ford could hear him breathing heavily.
He felt like he was about to chop into two pieces, and he wished that he would. Then at least it would be over…
Crampelter suddenly pulled out, ripping Fords skin with him. "Who's next?" he laughed.
Ford could no longer tell the voices apart. He heard someone say: "My turn!" before a new member was forced inside him.
Ford wanted to struggle… But he couldn't. His body had given up the fight it knew, that it couldn't win. One by one his senses began to blank out: hearing, smell, taste, seeing… the only one left was feeling. He could feel the mixed pool of blood and tears beside his face, he could feel the painful rocking…
Darkness was surrounding him, he was falling into it deeper and deeper, feeling like he was drowning, and he wished that someone would come… that someone would get him away from here… But no one came. But of course: who would help a six-fingered freak like him anyway? Crampelter was right… nobody cared...
It would be better if he wasn't here if he had never even been born. Then no one would ever be able to mock him, his father wouldn't be embarrassed about his imperfect son, and Stanley would never have to feel inferior.
Stanley… his twin brother... the only one who never had treated him like there was anything wrong with him… The only one who cared...
Stanley, help me!
o*o*o*
"Dub di du, going home…" Stan sang as he was walking down the street, pretty sloshed. Good thing that the school wasn't too far from where they lived because he was too drunk to drive.
That wouldn't normally be a problem, and he would have preferred to take the car, but Ford had convinced him that that wouldn't be a good idea. Or well, he hadn't really convinced him. Ford had babbled on about how many people died from drunk driving, and then he had threatened to stay home if Stan wouldn't listen to reason. Stan would have none of that. It had taken so much energy to convince Ford to go, in the first place. So Stan had ended up leaving the STANLEY MOBILE and they had walked to the prom.
Heh, good thing he had, otherwise Ford would never have run off with that girl. Stan was happy that his brother finally was gonna taste some of the sweets, and he couldn't wait until the morning where he would interrogate Ford for the details when he came home.
It was probably a good thing that their parents wouldn't come home until Sunday evening. Otherwise, their mother would freak out, talking about that Ford's was just a little boy and he shouldn't be doing such things before well… many years! At least that was how she had reacted with Stan, but it would probably be even worse with Ford.
Stan laughed at the thought of how flushed his brother's face would be if their mother found out. Or how flushed it would become tomorrow when Stan was gonna keep asking about what it had been like.
But when he stopped he could still hear laughing. He wasn't the only one who was having fun, and it sounded like it was a whole group. It was coming from around the corner. Stan followed the sound, wanting to know what was that funny.
He froze when he came around the corner. It was Crampelter and his stupid friends, who always loved to bully Ford whenever they could get away with it. And the Crampelter was holding an arm around a red-haired girl. It couldn't be... but it was. Anna Brooks! The same girl Ford had run off with. But if she was here with Crampelter, then where was…? Oh no!
Anna turned her head and gasped when she caught sight of him. The others turned their heads as well.
"Well, if it isn't the dumb one!" Crampelter said, with an even wider smile.
Stan clenched his fists. Most of all he wanted to beat that dumb smile of Crampelters face. "Where is he? What did ya do to him?"
"Who?" Crampelter asked.
"You know damn well who I'm talking about!" Stan shouted.
"Oh right, your wimpy twin-brother," Crampelter said and looked in the other direction. "Ha, he couldn't even put up a good struggle."
It wasn't before now, that Stan noticed the blood on Crampelters shirt! He wanted to take down the bastard with his bare hands right here and now. But instead, he ran past him. He had to find Ford. He had to make sure that he was alright!
His heart was beating hard in his chest, spreading the fear inside him as he ran down the street. "Stanford!" he called out. What had they done to him? The blood on Crampelters shirt, it had got to be Ford's! There was no doubt that they had outnumbered him. Some of them had probably been holding him while Crampelter had used his fists…
Stan could see his brother before him, scared, helpless, crying… He had seen it before other times where he hadn't been there to prevent Crampelter from hurting him! Stan pushed the image away and speeded up. He had to find him! He Had to…
Stan stopped when he came past an alley. From the corner of his eye, he had seen something move… Stan turned around. Somehow he knew...
His heart dropped to the bottom of his stomach when he walked into the alley. There in the corner, curled up against some trash bags… Blood was running down his naked back, to his tied hands, and down his legs from his… No! Not that!
"Stanford!" Stan exclaimed. He ran to the other end of the alley, falling to his knees behind his shaking brother.
Ford instantly moved closer to the bags, trying to get away, when he felt a hand touch him.
"Easy, Sixer, it's me," Stan said softly. "It's Stan."
Ford seemed to calm down, as he recognized the voice, but he was still shaking.
Stan grabbed onto the blue fabric, tied around his brother's wrists and managed to get it off, leaving him stripped of everything except his socks.
Ford didn't move. His hands just fell to his sides.
Stan carefully grabbed his shoulders, lifting him into sitting position. Ford's head was still bowed, as Stan untied the sleeve around his mouth.
Ford breathed deeply and a deep, hoarse sound made its way from his throat. It almost sounded like; "Stanley."
"I'm right here, Ford," Stan said as softly as possible. He took off his jacket and pulled it over his brother's naked shoulders. Even though it was a size too big for Ford, it wasn't enough to cover all of him, but it was all he had. "I'm right here."
Ford looked up into his brother's eyes. Stan had never seen his brother this vulnerable, and it felt like someone punching him in the guts! Carefully, he laid a hand on his brother's back, hoping that it wouldn't be hurting him too much. Ford made a small sob, before he practically collapsed into Stan's chest, grasping at his shirt.
Stan wrapped his arms around his crying brother pulling him as close as possible. It was the only thing he could think of at this point to make him feel just somewhat safe.
Stan didn't know how long they sat like that, and frankly, he didn't give a shit either. It didn't matter that his legs were hurting or that his cloth was getting all bloody… All that mattered, was Ford. They had hurt him the worst possible way and Stan was struggling not to run back to Crampelter and his idiots, to strangle every single one of them! They were not gonna get away with this, Stan was gonna make sure of that!
-Now-
Ford was awoken by a loud clunk. He sat up and turned on the light.
Stan was lying on the floor beside the bed, rubbing his back. "Stupid bunk bed!" he growled.
"Oh my gosh, Stanley, are you alright?" Ford exclaimed, putting on his glasses. He pushed his cover aside and knelt down on the floor beside his brother.
Ford's heart dropped, when Stan looked up at him, eyes filled with sorrow. Even though he had lost his glasses back then, he still recognized the look. "You remember." The soundless words weren't a question.
Stan nodded slowly. "Yeah. I remember alright." That was why he had fallen out of the bed.
Ford got up from the floor and sat on the bedside, hiding his face in his hands.
Stan managed to grope his way up and sat beside his brother, not sure what to do or say. This was clearly hurting Ford and he didn't want to make anything worse. "Why didn't you tell me?" Stan finally asked.
Ford shook his head, not looking up. "I didn't want you, to remember that night," he said so quietly that Stan barely heard him. "I didn't want to remember that night!" The night where his bullies had humiliated him the worst possible way, cut him, beat him… raped him.
Stan didn't say anything. He carefully laid a hand on his brothers back, but Ford flickered, making Stan pull back.
"This is ridiculous!" Ford shouted. "I don't understand why cannot get over this!"
"Well, I do," Stan said.
Ford looked up at his brother. "You do?"
"Yeah," Stan answered. He might not be the smarter twin, but he didn't have to be, to know what was going on with his brother. Not when he finally remembered. "You never let yourself deal with it, Sixer. You never gave yourself time to cry or whatever you needed to do."
"What are you talking about? I did… cry."
"Yeah, once. Right after it happened. But afterward, you never wanted to talk about it again. After about a week you acted like it had never happened."
"I…" Ford began, but to be honest, he had no idea what he wanted to say.
Ford remembered how he had wanted to get out of the hospital already the next day. He remembered his mother's concerned look when she saw his bruised face, and how Stan had stepped in, making up a story about how Ford had got into a fight with some guy who had endangered a girl from their school. Their father had been proud of him. He would never have given him a patch on the back, that had made Ford's whole body hurt, if he had known what really had happened. Ford remembered trying not to think about it, to force himself to forget…
"You're right, Stanley. I never dealt with it the way I should have," Ford admitted, running a hand through his hair. "But how is that suppose to help me now?"
"Well, as I see it, the only way, is to deal with it now," Stan answered.
Ford looked into his brother's eyes. Deal with it now? At first, Ford didn't understand what his twin brother meant by such statement. But then he realized what Stan wanted. "No… I.. I can't…"
"Ya hafta, if you wanna feel better," Stan said. "I guess you can see it like an infected wound. You have to get the infection out, Ford."
Ford hesitated. He really didn't want to talk about it, because he knew that it was going to hurt even more. He looked at the grey scar on his little finger and shut his eyes. A part of him knew, that Stan was right.
"You saw me dance with her," he began. "I was so happy that a girl actually wanted to talk to me, and the fact that she wanted to dance with me was just… overwhelming. So overwhelming that I completely ignored my better judgment and went with her."
Stan didn't say anything. He just sat there listening to his brother's accounting.
"She took me to the alley. We… made out in there. And then Crampelter showed up and I realized what a fool I had been, to actually believe that Anna wanted anything to do with me."
Stan gritted his teeth. He hated when Ford talked about himself like that.
"I tried to escape, but it was pointless. They had me right where they wanted me. I remember being terrified. When Crampelter pulled out the knife I was no longer sure that I would get out of the alley alive…" Ford paused and closed his eyes. He had known that this would hurt, but it was almost too much. He felt a comforting hand on his shoulder and this time he didn't push his brother away. The touch gave him a small amount of courage, large enough to make him continue. "I tried to call for help, but they used my own close to gag and tie me… And then… he started to cut me. Every time I thought: he is going to cut too deep, he is going to kill me… When he had had enough of that he… cut off my pants." Tears were filling Ford's eyes. "I wanted to fight him, but I couldn't! They were five and I was… just me… I didn't stand a chance… all I could do was… lying there, as they took turns..." Ford's voice died out, with a cry, and he bent forwards covering his mouth.
He felt Stan's strong arms wrap around him, pulling him back up to lean against him. "It's all right, Ford. I've got you," Stan said whispered. "I've got you."
Ford didn't say anything. He just kept shaking in his brothers embrace as the horrible memories flashed before his eyes. He could almost feel the physical pain. The only thing assuring him that he wasn't actually back there, was his brother, holding him. It was horribly painful, but yet it somehow felt good… to finally get it out!
"You were right," Ford managed to say, with a shaking voice. He took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. "I wanted to pretend that it never happened. I even managed to force myself not to remember further than Anna, throwing her punch at me, and you throwing your drink over yourself so I wouldn't be the only one… I know that you only wanted to help me, the times you tried to make me talk about it, but all I did was telling you to leave me alone… I shouldn't have done that! I'm sorry, Stanley."
"No. You've got nothing to apologize for," Stan said firmly. "What happened wasn't your fault! You didn't deserve it."
Ford shook his head. "I don't know about that… I've done some pretty awful things in my past. To you… to everyone I care about…" Even though he had made his mistakes after… the incident, he still felt like there was some kind of connection.
"Hey, we've already talked about that," Stan said. "Stop beating yourself up about it. It's in the past, Poindexter."
"I know," Ford mumbled. "But sometimes the past hurts more than you would think."
Stan didn't answer. Instead, he gave his brother a squeeze.
Ford sighted. "At least they left me alone after that," he mumbled. "I assume that they got what they wanted."
"Well it could be that," Stan said slowly. "But it could also have something to with me, catching every single one of them when they were alone and beating the living shit out of them, almost killing them."
"YOU DID WHAT?!" Ford exclaimed, and pulled out of his brothers embrace, sitting up straight. "Do you realize what you risked? You could have gotten killed! Why would you do that?!"
"Because no one hurts my brother and gets away with it," Stan answered. He sounded so serious.
Ford should be furious at Stan for doing something like this. But he wasn't. Stanley could be a reckless knucklehead, but Ford knew, that everything he did, was because he cared. Cared about his family. Cared about him. Stan had proved plenty of times, that he would do anything for him, no matter the risk. Thanks to Stan, his last year at Glass Shard Beach had been tolerable…
Ford reached out, pulling Stan into a hug. "Thank you, Stanley. For everything!"
"No problem, Poindexter," Stan answered as he hugged back. "How are you feeling?"
"I think that I'll be alright for now," Ford mumbled. "Pretty exhausted though." "Yeah, no wonder," Stan said. "How about catching some more z's, huh?"
Ford nodded. "That sounds like a pretty good idea."
"Mind if I stay down here? I'm not afraid of heights again or anything but…"
"Of course."
The pair of twins lied down on the bed, and Stan pulled the covers over them before he wrapped an arm around his brother to make sure that he didn't feel alone.
It took time before Ford had somewhat recovered and he knew that if Stanley hadn't been there to hold him and assure him that he was safe when the darkness overwhelmed him, he wouldn't have been able to handle it. But as time past, he did.
Thanks to his brother.