Summary: Not for the first time Stanley wondered if maybe... being banished from the family might have been easier.

Disclaimer: Not mine. Just playing in Alex's wonderful sandbox

Warnings: A not-so-happy family environment and a heaping helping of self-esteem issues. But we already knew that…

Stanley Pines couldn't recall the last night he'd gotten a full night's sleep. It must have been before... Before. He stared sleepily at the ceiling above his head, still not feeling familiar with it even after all these weeks. It greeted him each time his dreams woke him though, dark unfinished wooden beams so different from the familiar sight of bunk slats and the underside of his brother's mattress...

"Can you explain what this was doing next to my broken project?!"

"Ho-kay. I might have accidentally been.. horsing around-"

"This was no accident, Stan. You did this! You did this because you couldn't handle me going to college on my own!"

"Look, this was a mistake! Although if you think about it, maybe there's a silver lining. Huh? Treasure hunting?"

"Are you kidding me? Why would I want to do anything with the person who sabotaged my entire future?!"

"You did what you knucklehead!?"

"Stanley? What's goin' on in here?"

"Wait no, I can explain! It was a mistake!"

"You ignoramus! Your brother was gonna be our ticket out of this dump! All you ever do is lie and cheat, and ride on your brother's coattails. Well this time you cost our family potential millions!"

*Ggggggrrrrrrrrp*

Well if his dreams hadn't woken him, a growling stomach probably would have. He'd been getting enough food to keep him going, but... well, it wasn't the second helpings he'd been used to up until that day.

Stan was tired. Lonely and tired. The kind of tired that came from not seeing any future on the path that lay ahead of you. There were two more weeks until high school graduation, three weeks until his and Ford's 18th birthday. Well, two weeks until Ford's graduation and Ford's birthday... he, himself, would simply be done attending school forever and age in a quiet inevitable march of time.

Heh, inevitable... there's a fancy five dollar word coming from someone like him.

"And since yer too useless to ever earn the fortune you've cost us, you're gonna spend the rest of your worthless life making it up to this family boy. Now march!"

"Dad-"

"Stanford, go to your room. It's yours now. This idiot won't be joining you..."

"What?! Let go'a me! Stanford, tell him he's bein' crazy!"

Gray walls, cold stone and bare save for the storage boxes lining them, greeted him when his eyes snapped open again. He felt the last remnants of spring's night chill in his bones and he clutched the blanket he'd been provided around his shoulders and curled his legs closer to his torso, hugging them to his chest. It warmed his feet and, if he were being completely honest, it felt a bit soothing. The basement was a miserable place. Fitting, Stan had decided after the first week sleeping there.

Taking a moment to silently listen to the world around him, the younger twin could make out faint footfalls above him. His mother. No one else in the household was even relatively light on their feet. He needed to get up then. Maybe he could steal a few moments alone with her. His mother was the only person who still l-

Laying here wasn't useful to anyone.

Useful...

Stanley was elbow deep in a sink full of breakfast dishes, relishing listening to his mother softly describe the latest neighborhood housewife drama while she replaced items into the refrigerator. Before he wouldn't have really cared. He might have nodded along, but he wouldn't have really listened to his mother go on and on about people that he only vaguely knew of. But now… Now being part of a casual conversation was wonderful, even a mostly one-sided conversation. He shook his head as she described the possible torrid affair Mrs. Torez three doors down was having with Sunny, the neighborhood butcher.

A reply was on the tip of his tongue when footsteps brought every movement of his body to a screeching halt. Even his heart felt like it had paused in its beating. There was no mistaking the commanding presence as it stepped into the kitchen, suit and tie already impeccably straightened, and sunglasses firmly in place. In that frozen moment Stan couldn't help but note that he couldn't remember what his father's eyes looked like. Couldn't remember ever seeing them.

Sunglasses or not, he could feel the heat of the glare directed his way. He quickly averted his eyes and went back to scrubbing the grease out of the egg frying skillet he was holding, quickening his pace. His small moment of reprieve was over now. He needed to let those things go anyway. His job, his purpose, was to make things easier for his family. After everything he'd cost them it was the absolute least he could do.

"Fil-"

"NO Tamara! This is the last straw. It's one screw up too many."

"You can't just throw him out onto the street! He's just a boy!

"Man enough to ruin this family's shot at the big time. And he's not going on the street, so you can sheath your claws woman. Can't repay us if he skips town, can he? But like hell he's staying here."

"Then where-"

"If he wants to have a place in this home again he'll have to EARN IT! Until then he can live in the basement."

An slap to the back of his head brought him sharply out of his thoughts. Had he fallen asleep? Again his father's tinted glare burned into him. "Get confused there meathead? Dishes ain't that complicated. Or are you just slacking off?"

"No sir," Stan quickly rinsed the pan he'd apparently ceased washing long enough to garner the man's notice. "Sorry sir," he murmured. He doubled his efforts and soon the remaining cookware was spotless in the drying rack. Grabbing a towel from the bottom drawer he went about drying and storing the dishes as quietly as possible. His father turned his attention to his coffee, his breakfast, and (most importantly) his newspaper. Having the man's attention turned elsewhere unknotted a bit of the tension that seemed to have automatically formed in the younger twin's entire body.

Through all the twisting and turning that came with replacing the dishes Stan caught his mother, who also seemed to have stiffened up since his father joined them, giving him a look that was difficult to identify. It might be pity. Which is silly, because it's just dishes. It's just Pops. It's just... how things are now.

Placing the final spatula away the teen finally turned to the additional plate of food that sat on the counter that he'd been pointedly ignoring since his mother had finished plating breakfast for herself, his father, and his still absent brother. He'd made the mistake on that first morning of thinking he could sit at the table. He, and eventually his mother, knew better now. Eating at the table was for family. And he was nowhere near earning back his right to be considered family. He picked up the plate and walked out.

"There's mail to be taken to the box again today," his father's voice drifted after him.

"Yesir." More of Ford's college financial aid applications. While Ford was smart enough to deserve his pick of nearly any school he wanted, the possible full ride he'd cost his brother was not forthcoming from other top colleges. Ford had been spending a significant amount of effort filling out applications, attempting in the weeks since The Incident to find money to attend college at all.

Standing in the entryway, next to an end table with a stack of five letters all with Ford's name on the upper left corner, Stan picked at his breakfast. He'd really messed things up for his twin, and thinking of how badly he'd screwed him over left his appetite severely dampened and his breakfast tasting like ashes in his mouth.

Sometimes he wondered if things would ever be ok again. Stanford hadn't said a word to him or looked him in the eye since That Night, and, despite being able to focus on nothing else, he still had no clue how he could fix things. Maybe he'd destroyed things beyond the point of being fixed.

Setting the no-longer-appetizing plate of food down and picking up the mail, he sighed and headed toward the door. "He'd have been better off if I'd never been born. An only child with a bright future."

Closing the door behind him, Stan never noticed the human shadow frozen in the stairwell.