Tw: Suicidal attempt and self-hatred. UMM. IT'S NOT FLUFFY. AT ALL. Edit: Not much really, just fixed some errors etc.

The bridge he stood on was one he'd traveled over many times. At one point he would look out at the water with excitement, a grin splitting over his cheeks, dreams, and hopes dancing in his eyes.

Now he stood over the rushing water, car sitting behind him, doors unlocked and the key in the ignition. A note lay on the steering wheel. He wanted the lucky buster who came for it first to take care of it, after all. If you could see his eyes you would see dark empty pits, once full of light and energy, now drained and broken. They stared at the water longingly. It wasn't much of a longing for the water as it was for what the water promised.

The bridge itself was very safe. Made of stone and fenced with metal, it would be incredibly difficult for someone to accidentally go over, even in a car.

Although, he didn't quite intend for this to be an accident, did he? He glanced down at the paper he held in his hand.

It was a picture. In it, there were two boys standing beside a shipwrecked boat. They were identical, each one grinning like loons at the camera. The only difference was that one was missing a tooth. He stared at it a moment longer before placing it in a pocket beside his heart.

He trembled as he hefted himself onto the ledge. His muscles tensed, his body naturally trying to keep him up, keep him from falling. He rolled his shoulders, letting himself relax. Taking a deep breath he leaned forward.

The air rushed past his ears, but even so, he could hear the screams of a car brake and the slamming of a door right before he hit the water.

...

The air was cold and smelled strangely of disinfectant. It reminded Stanley of a hospital. That would make sense. He'd always hated hospitals, it would make sense his life after death would be a punishment. He didn't really expect to go to heaven anyway. Although speaking of, he didn't really expect to wake up either. He blinked but closed his eyes again almost immediately. It was bright. Maybe he was in heaven. He kinda thought that the realm of Hades was more of a black and red color scheme if he was being honest. He couldn't comprehend why he was in heaven, but maybe he was about to be judged or something.

"..ly? Stanley? Are you awake? Can you hear me?"

Stan's eyes were still shut, it was still too bright, but he frowned. That voice was awfully familiar. A realization came over him and Stan shot right up, eyes wide and filled with fear. The owner of the voice flinched back. Stan met his eyes and gaped, a look of despair painted over his features.

"Sixer! You what are you doing here?!" Stan rasped. Now that he thought about it, his throat felt like it had that one time he'd nearly drowned learning to swim. His breath picked up speed in panic. "You're not supposed to be here! You can't be dead too!" Stan exclaimed. He couldn't be dead! He was the useful twin! The world needed him. Their family needed Ford.

Ford choked. He was sitting in a chair beside Stanley's bed. Now that Stan took a moment to look, Ford wasn't looking so good. His eyes were rimmed with red and his nose was bright enough to pass as Ruldophs. Stan's brow furrowed in concern.

"Wow, Poindexter, you look terrible." Stan scowled at him. "Just because I went and killed myself off doesn't give you a pass to stop taking care of yourself, ya know." He tried to cross his arms, but his hand wouldn't move. He glanced down and stared.

He was handcuffed to a bed. Huh. Well, that was unexpected. Ford made a weird noise between a whimper and a scoff and Stan returned his gaze to Ford. He winced.

Ford's eyes were welling with tears and his entire body, head to toe was trembling. Stan winced again as Ford finally said something, the words strangled from his throat.

"So it's true?" Ford asked. Stan just cocked his head in confusion and Ford held a hand to his mouth to hold back a sob. "Y-you meant to d-do this?" Ford really did sob, his entire body jerking forward with the force of it. Stan's eyes widened and he automatically leaned forward to comfort but was stopped once more by the cuffs.

"What do you mean it's true? Ford, I'm really confused..." Stan stated. He leaned back onto the bed slowly, his face screwed up in question. "Why are you crying? Ford, you're scaring me."

Ford choked again and pointed at the cuff. "Stanley, you're on suicide watch!" Tears fell freely down Ford's face. Stan blinked.

Oh. So maybe he wasn't dead. Stan sighed in defeat.

"Crap. It didn't work, did it?" Stan mumbled at his feet, eyes closed. "I can't even die right." Another noise from his left and Stan's turned to Ford with an apology written all over his face.

"Crap, I'm sorry Ford, I tried, I really did! I'm sorry, I never meant to come back." Stan had another realization and he swore again. "And now you guys have a hospital bill, I'm sorry, I didn't mean for this to happen-" Stan cut off when Ford's sobbing only got worse. Stan cocked a brow.

"Um...Ford?" He asked confusedly. Ford was hyperventilating and trying to breathe, but ultimately failing. Everything from his trembling to his twisted facial features expressed 'pain.' Stan felt guilt rush through his chest. He'd meant to make sure Ford wasn't in pain anymore, not make it worse!

He shouldn't have survived.

Stan swallowed hard, his throat was closing off, his next words coming in whispers. "Ford? C'mon...I know I didn't do it right this time but I'm sure if I could get a knife or something..."

Ford stop breathing altogether and was standing up, right in Stan's face before Stan could blink. Ford snarled at him, two polydactyl hands on each of Stan's wrists.

"NO!" He screamed. His tears fell unto Stan's chest and Stan stared up at him, fear swimming in his previously empty eyes. Ford panted, growling at him.

"WhatEVER made you think I wanted you DEAD?!" Ford seethed. Stan shrunk farther into the bed. Ford saw him flinching away in fear and immediately let go. Ford's face twisted from anger back into sorrow and Ford fell to his knees, head resting beside Stan's arm. He sobbed again, the sound harsh and broken.

"Why did you try to leave me...?" Ford broke down and Stan stared uncomprehendingly.

This. This didn't make sense. No one wanted Stan around. Not even Ford. Maybe Ford didn't think Stan saw it, but it was obvious really.

Ford wanted Stan gone. For weeks now, Stan could sense it. He would try and give Ford space, thinking maybe it would make Ford feel better, but Stan didn't have anyone else. Neither did Ford, but Ford never did really care about social interaction. Anyway, it was hard to avoid hanging out with someone you lived with. They shared everything. Stan wasn't trying to encroach on Ford's space! He really wasn't. Stan was flexible, he took walks by himself and stopped asking for help so much too. It wasn't that he really needed help with his homework anyway, he just liked any excuse to talk to his brother.

Stan shook his head. This Ford and the one from the other day were contradicting one another and he really didn't get it.

A few days before, Ford had been about to present his project to a board of committee important something blah blah people to take Ford away to some college. Later, the project didn't work and evidence turned up that Crampelter, the evil twisted boy he was, had sabotaged it. Ford had been furious. Unfortunately, the evidence had only turned up after West Coast tech. had scratched Ford off their list.

Ford had sulked for days. Filbrick had returned to hating them both. Stan tried to keep up Ford's spirits, making up stories and telling Ford that he would get into some other college, that he was still the smartest bloke out there, but to no avail. Ford would snap at him, his disdain for Stan's company becoming more and more obvious until Stan just...couldn't take it anymore.

So he'd gone to the bridge. He hadn't been scared. It was a relief really. If no one wanted him, what was the point of staying? He didn't even want himself.

Yet, despite all of this, here Ford was, angry and upset and bawling because he'd tried to die. It just didn't add up. He wanted to ask why Ford was crying again but honestly, Stan wasn't sure if Ford was capable of talking, so instead, he carefully lifted his hand and combed it slowly through Ford's hair. Ford sobbed harder for a moment and leaned into the touch.

Stan let the rhythmic movements of his hand soothe the both of them until he eventually fell into a thoughtless trance, only punctured by Ford's sniffing and sobs, which slowly decreased as the hours ticked by.

Eventually, Stan glanced down at Ford. His arms were crossed beneath his head, his chest rising up and down in a steady beat. Stan sighed fondly. Ford had fallen asleep.

Stan was still confused, but as he continued to comb his finger's through Ford's hair Stan felt something settle inside of him. His eyes flickered to Ford's hand. He was clutching tightly onto something. It looked like a piece of paper. Stan stopped finger-combing Ford's hair long enough to pull the paper clenched in Ford's hand out and look at it.

It was a picture. Their picture. Stan saw both Ford and him, barely seven years old, both happy. Both grinning like nothing in the world mattered but that moment. Stan's chapped lips twitched upward.

Maybe...maybe not everyone hated him after all.

Stan: What the actual FRELL Carmen.

Me *sheepish*: Heh, yeah...

Uhhh, *hands you tissues and this delicious cheesecake I was eating while I wrote this* Hehe, it's my mom's birthday. For those who don't know, cheesecake is a much better birthday cake than just...cake. Anyway, I hope you aren't dead and I love you and please don't hurt yourself because I would cry harder than I cried while I wrote this.

Did that make sense? I don't know anymore, I hope you enjoyed, and please review! Please, tell me how many tears I've caused, I deserve to be ridden with guilt over causing you all suffering. (And If you review, I'm thinking about adding a fluffy chapter... ;)