Ford hurt. He hurt and he didn't want to hurt. It wasn't like the things he normally just blocked out, like how awful he felt when he got sick, or how awful he felt when Stan was gone a few days and he stopped eating, or after he'd been bullied by one of his many tormenters, or even how awful he felt after a run-in with his father after getting an especially bad grade. This was the kind of hurt he couldn't block out, because it wasn't physical. This was pain inside of Ford's head, and Ford spent all his time inside his head.

He'd gotten used to being lonely, so he was fine with that now. He'd started blocking Stanley out before, he-

He had started blocking Stanley out before. Why would he - how could he have - and it was so easy - No. Stop. He'll be fine. He'll be fine. He'll be fine. He's always been fine before, why wouldn't he be fine now? If he di-ssapears, it'll just prove he wasn't worth- no, stop, start again. It would just prove he had just been taking from him. Taking from Ford, because that was all he- no, stop, start again. Taking from Ford, though it really couldn't be called taking. It was more like trading. Ford helped Stan with school and Stan helped Ford with...life in general, really. Things that were outside of his head.

For years, Ford's mother had been begging their cousins to send the twins multiple cards. To give them a sense of individuality even though they shared a birthday. Why did this year have to be the one they finally did it? Ford held Stan's card in one hand. The thing was printed in Auntie May's elegant script, and decorated with little Liza's wobbly smiley faces. Cristie had obviously been using the card as an excuse to show off her cursive, which was fair, but not perfect. On the back Alexander had drawn Stan. It was a perfect profile, down to the way his eyebrows were raised in a way that was naturally skeptical-looking, the dimple on his left cheek, the way his nose crooked slightly to one side.

Ford had never resented someone for their artistic abilities before. His own card was much the same, but with Liza's drawings as hearts instead of faces. It struck him how different he and Stan looked from each other, in spite of being identical twins. His nose was mostly intact, for one, and perhaps it was simply an artistic liberty taken to differentiate between the two of them, but his eyelashes were thicker. While Stan grinned enthuiasticly, his lips twisted into a sly smirk. There were dark circles underneath Ford's eyes that were absent from Stan's picture.

There was a sharp intake of breath as Ford placed the cards side by side and realized that the cards faced each other. Alex was truly an amazing artist. The way they looked at each other suggested that the two brothees were formulating a plan. Or, more acurately, that Ford was fomulating a plan. Because that was what Ford did. He was the one who wote the music, carefully constructed a sympony to play exactly as he wished it to. Stan followed Ford without question. He never bothered to ask whether or not two piches really sounded all that great together because the assumption was that Ford was correct because Ford had always been correct before. Why would that change?

Then Ford took the cards and switched their places with one another.

Yes. He decided. This is the better way. We aren't looking at one another. We aren't talking to one another. We want to be alone. We want to be alone. We want this. We want this. We want this. It's fine. It's fine. Stanley will be fine. He will. He will. HE WILL. Shut up. Just because we don't see his advertisements on the television anymore doesn't mean he's dead. It doesn't. It doesn't. It doesn't.

Then Ford laughed. He laughed and laughed and laughed until he cried. Because Ford knew. Because Ford knew that in his desperate search to know everything, he'd forrgotten the thing that was most important, the thing that was always most important because it was Stanley Pines, and Stanley Pines was glorious.

Ford cried until he had no tears left to shed, and when he had no tears left, he screamed himself to sleep.

I always see so much post-science fair Stan angst, and I wanted to write some post-science fair Ford angst. Because that's a good late birthday present. I apoligize for torturing our baby, but it was fun. I'd love to do it again sometime. No, not really. As a side note, I've finally accepted that I'll never manage to write stories for all my AU ideas, so if you want some inspiration or an idea for a story, I've got a list of stuff you can PM me for more about at the top of my profile page. I hope you enjoyed this one-shot, and have a lovely day.

-LoyalTheorist