Stanford Pines was always different.

Even before his brilliance was noted, he was different. Being born with one extra finger on each of his hands made him a target his whole life. He faced people picking on him for his strange hands for a long time. When he was four years of age, he believed that everyone around him was just different. That he was the normal one and some people had five fingers on each hand and some had six. When he started public school, he learned otherwise.

The first day of school, he learned that other kids all had five fingers and he was the only one that had six fingers on each hand. Within that first day, kids laughed at him and started referring to him as "Sixer", a nickname he had throughout his entire life after it was started in elementary school.

Years later and Stanford still faced the abuse and ridicule from his classmates. While his family was completely content with him, if not proud because of the fact that his intelligence was very impressive, most of his classmates found him to be overall extremely weird.

He had had enough of it, though. Now that he was in middle school, he was old enough to decide what was right for him. He didn't want to deal with it anymore. He wasn't going to. No more being "Sixer." He decided that he was going to get rid of his sixth finger. That was the only clear answer that he could see that would make his life a little better. While he was sure that he would still have to face people making fun of him for his extremely high IQ, at least he would be able to get rid of this one thing that people made fun of him for.

Ford stood in the bathroom, his hand resting on the cool porcelain of the sink. He stared at the oddity that was his sixth finger for what seemed like hours. He was tired of dealing with being bullied. He was going to fix it all.

He held a knife with his right hand, pressing it to his left palm. If he cut it just right, he would have a relatively normal looking hand. He pushed the blade down before tugging it down a bit, causing a deep cut on his hand. It didn't hurt at first, but the longer it was exposed to the air, the more it began to sting. Despite that, Ford pressed the knife to the same spot again and ran the blade over the open wound.

Just as he did that, the bathroom door opened. Ford turned around, dropping the knife. His eyes were wide behind his glasses. He held his hand to his chest as to hide the deep wound from the person at the door.

"Ford?" The voice of his brother rang out. He looked at his brother and the bloody knife on the floor, the blood in the sink, and the blood beginning to stain his brother's t-shirt. "What happened?" He asked, stepping into the room.

"It's… It's nothing, Stanley." Ford said, looking away. He was trying to bite back the urge to cry and punch his brother all at the same time. Stan hadn't even done anything, but he felt really exposed at that point. He couldn't do anything to hide what he had done at that point.

"It's not nothing, Ford." Stan said, storming right up to his brother before grabbing the wrist of the hand that he assumed the blood was coming from. He pulled it down to see a deep wound on Ford's palm that ran in between his last finger and his ring finger. "This ain't nothing." Stan said, reiterating his point. "You gotta go to the hospital."

Ford shook his head and pulled his hand away, "No. You don't understand. I need to have five fingers." He said, sounding sure of himself.

"No, you don't. Those kids at school are just knuckleheads. They just don't understand how cool you are." Stan said, trying to comfort his brother.

"I'm not, Stanley. They are right. I'm strange, different." He said, glancing down at the hand that he had caused so much damage to. "If I could just have five fingers like you…" He said, quietly.

Stan frowned before looking at Ford's hand again, "You gotta go to the hospital." He repeated. He turned around, "I'm going to get mom." Stan said affirmatively as he left the room before Ford could stop him.

Within seconds, their mother was in the room. She panicked and insisted that they go to the hospital before even cleaning up the bathroom. "Stanford, how could you do this to yourself?"

"I just wanted to be like everyone else." Ford mumbled as his mother wrapped his left hand with a towel and guided him out to the car.

Stan, Ford, and their mother started to the emergency room. "I don't want them to know what happened." Ford said quietly. "I want them to think it was an accident. I'm not suicidal."

Despite the fact that their mother was concerned with the idea that Ford may actually be suicidal, she nodded. Her son was smart enough to know whether or not he needed to be watched. She would trust him.

Hours and eight stitches later, Ford was back home. He sat on his bunk of the bed, staring at the bandage on his repaired hand.

"Ford, you know you're the best, right? You're smart, smarter than probably the whole school combined. Who gives a crap what those guys have to say at the end of the day. You're going to be their boss someday." Stan said, standing on the edge of his mattress so he could look up at his brother. "Six fingers and all, you're the best brother I could ever ask for.

Ford gave Stan a weak smile before nodding, "Thank you, Stan." He said quietly. "I don't know why but I really do care what those guys think… It doesn't matter how smart I am; they just judge me based on my extra fingers…"

"Why needs 'em?" Stan asked, shrugging before grinning at his brother, "We got each other, forever." Stan grinned at his brother.

Ford nodded, "Twins forever." He said with a small smile. "High six?" He asked, offering his right hand.

Stan out his hand against his brother's, "High six." He said, smiling really big at his brother.

Even though he felt a little empty at the thought that he didn't succeed in his plan, at least Ford knew that he was always going to have Stan there to make him feel better when he began to feel lost.