What I Should Have Done

I don't know why I always fall into the same trap with you every day.

I think it's because any other interaction we have is forced and awkward, full of fake smiles for the kids or cold politeness just for peace's sake. But fighting…it's the only real thing we have between us anymore. It's the only time I don't see that fake smile or awkward attempt to include me into your life.

Today, it begins by reaching for the milk jug at the same time, both of us seeing that there's just a tiny bit left, enough for one cup of coffee. Internally, I felt amused. You and I would get into so much trouble with Dad if we left so little milk left. But kids will be kids.

Apparently, you never stopped being a kid when you slapped my hand aside and grabbed the milk jug for yourself, giving me a smug look.

I don't know why that set me off. We had done this a thousand times before with milk, juice, cookies, and anything else we shared, and you always gave me that same look when you grabbed it first.

Oh right. It's because I'm exhausted, sleep-deprived, and just wanted a cup of coffee. So naturally, I lose my temper. Ironic that I compared you to Dad when I'M the one who inherited his temper. You didn't react much, and waited until I paused to take a breath before dumping the rest of the milk out into the drain. There was no smugness on your face, but for some reason, I just got angrier.

Ma used to tell us that Dad sometimes didn't know what he was saying when his temper was riled up…I suppose I do that as well sometimes. I wasn't even listening to half of what I was shouting…I just wanted to shout, just to outlet my anger instead of internalizing it.

I must have said something wrong, something worse than usual because I saw your face go white and your expression turn hateful a split second before I saw your arm draw back. My reflexes saved my face from getting burned and possibly scarred as you hurled your cup of coffee right at my head. I heard it shatter and felt a few splashes hit my back harmlessly before looking back up in time to see you stalk past me and out of the kitchen. Moments later, I heard the bedroom door slam shut.

There was a very loud silence as I stood there in the kitchen, hearing the coffee drip off the wall and the counter, feeling shaken from your reaction to whatever it was I said. I haven't seen that expression on your face since the time I branded you on that hot panel by accident, just a second before punching me in the face. For whatever I said to be on tier with branding you…damn it, WHAT was it I said?

On auto-pilot, I began cleaning up the broken cup, using a dishtowel to wipe the mess up, thinking back to the other times I've seen you lose your cool like this. It was mostly in childhood, actually, after you found your outlet in boxing. Dad wanted to toughen us up, but it was YOU that had the talent. I've yet to this day seen a finer left-hook than yours.

My hand clenched around the dishtowel tightly, that train of thought opening up so many more. I remember tagging along with Dad when he went to the gym to tell the coach we were quitting the lessons. The coach said that it was a damn shame, since you had real potential. I wish Dad had just let you continue without me…I should have grit my teeth and stuck it out for you long enough until Dad didn't care that I quit.

Your outlet became protecting me from anyone who upset me. You didn't care if they were our age or even a teacher, either your fists or your mouth did the talking. You got a reputation of being a troublemaker, and by high school, only Ma and I still thought you had potential for anything. Other than that ridiculous prospect of sailing around the world, you expressed your interest in sales. You were very persuasive…you still are. You certainly managed to make Dad's shop some extra money by BSing up the merchandise. And you could haggle down a buy like nobody else. I should have encouraged you to study sales or business, rather than indulge a fantasy I think we both knew was unrealistic.

You were smart…you ARE smart. Your grades didn't show it, but your comprehension did. You would bomb a test and then mindlessly talk about the correct answers later while working on the Stan-O-War. You had a great head for numbers and could take the exact amount of money to the store to get what was on Ma's grocery list, and you were never wrong. You could build things without schematics, and could improvise fixes to almost anything. I should have helped you more in school, in ways YOU could understand.

Being your twin for so long had everyone's opinion of us be almost identical, and I fall for individual flattery too easily. It was a shameful thing I did, wanting the positive impression our parents and the principal had of me be only for me, not speaking on your behalf when your worth was being belittled. I should have stood up for you, like you always stood up for me.

I overreact…I can admit that now. When my anger is stoked, I say things, do things I'd normally never do. I said nothing when Dad threw you out of the house. I said nothing when, for once, you turned to ME for support. I should have talked to Dad, or at least gave you a signal we should talk.

Once again, when I found myself in and over my head, I turned to you. Ten years couldn't erase the instinct to turn to you when I needed someone I could trust. You came quicker than I expected, took my paranoia in stride, put a hand on my shoulder, and told me it was okay. In that moment, what I needed from you could have waited. I should have let you rest, should have told you everything…at the very least, I should have thanked you for coming at such short notice.

I should never have had that fight with you. It only proved how badly damaged I was from Bill's trickery. I couldn't see how much I hurt you, until I saw it literally seared into your flesh. And even after that, you still reached for me when I was being pulled through the portal.

Thirty long years later, I come home, and the first thing that comes to mind is HOW. WHY? This THING I created was nothing but trouble, and you started it up again. My anger hazed my thoughts, and I ignored your smile and your open arms and instead punched you in the face. I wrangled you down, so sure of my own strength, until Mabel's voice cleared my anger.

The couple of weeks I've been here have made me look at everything clearer. This 'Mystery Shack' wasn't just your cover, it was something you loved. The business-savvy salesman I knew you could be flourished here. Wendy and Soos love you as their friend, and not just their employer, and they don't seem to care about the ruse you kept up. They still love and support you. Like I should have.

I see how strong you are. You can hold both twins up by one arm and punch eagles out of the sky (and pterodactyls, if Mabel's tale wasn't made-up), but I see you struggle to get up out of seats, I see your shortness of breath when you have to take stairs. I saw you run around and play with Mabel, but practically collapse and not move on the couch outside the moment she was out of your sight. We're the same age, we have the same strength, and yet you seem further down the years than I am, every day for you looking like the one week Fiddleford overworked himself on the portal and had to take a rest. I should have noticed the weariness your double-life left you with.

I should have done a lot of things.

I should have told you everything.

I should have thanked you for everything.

I should have apologized for everything.

I should have tried to bond with you before I bonded with Dipper.

I should have never given Dipper that mind-control tie.

I should have told you about Bill, about the danger we were in, about the rift…

…I should never have started that stupid fight over the milk when there was a new full gallon in the fridge, and I damn well knew it.

I finished cleaning the mess and discarding the cup pieces when I heard the bedroom door open. You walked past me, car keys in hand, and headed for the door. I said your name, and you didn't answer, slamming the door shut behind you as you headed to your car.

I should have walked out after you, Stanley, but instead I stood by the window and watched you drive off, thinking that I didn't want coffee that much anymore.