A/N: Requested by reviewer: AvengeTheCap
I do not normally take requests, but this one practically wrote itself before I could say no, so here we are.
And, yeah... brevity and I no longer get along, apparently. I'll have to work on that, Lol. That aside, though, I really enjoyed writing this, and I'm (sorry it took so long) hoping I did your idea/vision justice. :)

Who We Are, Who We Want To Be

People assumed a lot of things about the Pines twins.

They assumed because Stanley looked bigger, bulkier, he must be the older one.

They assumed because Stanford was smart, he must also be an overbearing know-it-all.

They assumed because Stanford was the nerd, Stanley must be the jock; that if Stanley was strong, Stanford must be weak.

And because Stanford was a genius, they assumed he must look down on his brother and think him a moron. Because if Stanford was brilliant, Stanley had to be dumber than a stack of bricks. They assumed nothing ever bothered Stanley, because he was too stupid to realize he should be upset.

That was so far off the mark it might have been hilarious if it wasn't so detrimental to the way the brothers were treated.

It wasn't something Stanford had immediately picked up on, of course; he may have been smart, but with that intelligence came the awkwardness of trying to hold a normal conversation with his peers. They wanted nothing more than to ignore him, because they assumed he was going to flaunt his intellect and treat them like illiterates. It made picking up on a lot of social assumptions and cliches that had been thrown onto him and Stanley rather difficult.

Granted, those assumptions were hard to miss on days like today, when people made no attempt to veil the true meaning behind their words. Ford tried not to wince as he set the book he'd been reading down on the bleachers to watch Stanley walk out of the locker room with their coach looking annoyed, speaking in that harsh tone that echoed throughout the, by now, empty gym.

"...I don't care if he looked like a baby or an adorable bunny rabbit! When someone steps in the ring opposite ya, ya take 'em out! I don't care how inexperienced they look, that's how they get ya! Do ya understand me?"

"Yes, Coach."

"Ya old man ain't gonna have it if ya lose. Got it?"

"Yes."

"Keep it up an' I just might 'ave Stanford 'ave a go."

"He doesn't wan-"

"Least he wouldn'ta looked like an idiot."

"... Yeah."

"A'ight, get outta here. Fix ya face."

Ford might have attempted replacing his frown with something lighter when his brother came over to grab his backpack, but seeing that their coach had been right in saying Stanley needed to do something about his injury, he couldn't bring himself to wipe away the displeased expression. He had paid attention to the fight, of course he had, but seeing how he'd been in one of the back rows he hadn't been able to make out the extent of the damage. Stan had played it off as nothing in the ring and since Ford hadn't been able to get a proper glimpse of his face, he'd figured that it must really have been nothing to worry about.

After all, the guy he'd fought had been small in terms of… well about everything. It had been a win for Stanley, as everyone had assumed it would be the moment they saw the kid, but just barely, and it hadn't been as easy as they'd expected either. That was probably why it had been so surprising when his brother had let his guard down in the first few seconds and allowed his opponent the opportunity to strike. Ford had been worried for half a second when that had happened, but when Stanley had recovered as if it had been no more than a subtle breeze that had hit him, he'd decided his brother was fine.

And while the split lip and black eye Ford now stared at certainly weren't the worst he'd seen him sport after a match, they still looked painful and in need of a good icing when they got home. At least Pa hadn't been there to watch, otherwise Stanley would've had to worry about dealing with more than just a short chewing-out from their coach.

His brother was probably thinking along the same lines, because when he spoke he asked Ford if he would back him up in saying the other guy was huge when their father inevitably asked how it had gone.

Whenever the man asked, Ford always had to swallow his waspish retort of, "if you wanted to know so badly you might actually come to a match once in awhile.", that would do more harm than good in the end if spoken aloud. It was just so upsetting, seeing Stanley win in the ring nearly every time he stepped into it, and knowing Pa would only ever be showing up to the big, "important" ones. The man had practically forced Stanley into the sport, and now he couldn't even be bothered to leave the shop long enough to support him.

Meanwhile, here Ford was, coming to every fight, whether it was practice or a real thing, big or small, because he cared about Stanley and was truly proud his brother had carved out a place in the school that was just his.

The pleased glint in Stanley's eye whenever he landed a proper, solid blow, and the grin that would spread his face when he won made it worth it every time. And Ford would never say at times he thought himself better than their father, but… he did think that.

The proof was in the puddin', as Ma would say, and there was an abundance of proof that supported the notion of his father not being as good a person as him when it came to Stanley. Perhaps that was conceited, but Ford didn't care. The fact of the matter was he came to his twin's events, he listened to him when he needed to talk, he helped Stanley with school, and Pa did none of those things. Ford cared about Stanley and showed it. Their father just didn't.

Which was why he nodded in response to his brother's request.

"What do you mean "pretend", Stanley? The guy was at least half a foot taller than you."

"Haha, that's what I was sayin'!"

Ford could see some of the tension in Stanley's shoulders bleed away and smiled softly as they made their way to their lockers where he'd left his backpack. He was always pleased when he was able to cheer his brother up, even a little, especially after someone had made him feel bad.

Lately Stanley got irritated when he tried to jump into a conversation in order to defend him, so Ford had resorted back to their usual form of comfort that did more to avoid the problem than anything else. This time Ford wished he had jumped in, because the smile his brother wore didn't quite reach his eyes, and the reasons behind it were easy enough to deduce; even if Stan denied that Coach's words had stung, he knew better.

He wished he'd just jumped in and told the man to back off, because everyone had their off days, even his brother. It wasn't Stanley's fault, anyway. Not really. That opponent kid had definitely used his youthful and slight appearance to his advantage, and it wasn't like Stanley enjoyed hurting people.

He just liked feeling powerful, and brave. That was all. Ford could understand that.

"Coach doesn't know what he's talkin' about, you know."

The heavy sigh Stan released had Ford wincing even before he heard his brother's reply. That sigh always meant nothing good would be coming out of his mouth.

"He knows exactly what he's sayin', I screwed up today," Stan said with a shrug, "It happens."

"But-"

"Can we just drop it?"

"I…" Stan glanced back at him, an almost pleading look in his eyes that had Ford snapping his mouth shut, nodding tersely.

There was no point trying to tell his brother something when he clearly didn't want to hear it, and he knew how quickly his encouragement could turn to gentle berating if he was allowed to go on. It was just so frustrating when Stan refused to listen when he tried to make him feel better. Sometimes it felt like he didn't want to feel better.

Ford supposed he could understand that; he liked to feel sorry for himself too- more often than his brother, at any rate. That didn't make it any less upsetting though.

When they stopped in front of their lockers Ford knelt and got to work with the combination. He sensed more than heard the approach as he pulled his pack out of the container.

When Crampelter spoke, he sighed so heavily he feared it might have echoed throughout the entire hall.

"Sup, Four-Eyes. Sweaty."

"Oh my God, don't you have anythin' better ta do?" Stan's eyeroll could be heard in his exasperated tone and Ford stifled a snort.

The bully's harrassments were biweekly by now and the brothers had become more or less fed up with him. It had started to show, too. Crampelter didn't seem to appreciate their defiance either, if the beating he'd arranged last week had been any indication. Apparently that still wasn't going to stop Stanley from being difficult.

Ford stood swiftly, scowling at the junior in silent support of his brother. Crampelter only scoffed and turned his attention back to Stan.

"Heard ya almost lost to a wimpy half-pint."

"Yeah, but I didn't," Stan said.

"Ya really sucked out there."

"Mm."

"Coach is pissed."

"I know."

Crampelter frowned when Stan shrugged, confusion taking hold of his features, and Ford couldn't exactly laugh at him because he himself couldn't believe how nonchalant his brother was being.

"W-Well, he's probably gonna call your parents and let em know how ya messed up."

Ford bit his tongue to keep from snapping at the older teen. What kind of cheap shot was that supposed to be?

"What's your point?" Stan sounded more tired than anything by then and Ford narrowed his eyes at Crampelter, daring him to elaborate.

The only thing the other knew about their family life was what he heard his own father gossip about with his officer buddies, but if he was hinting at what Ford assumed he was hinting at, he wanted to hear him say it to their faces.

He couldn't imagine why the bully would go at anything from that angle today, especially so suddenly and when they'd done nothing to provoke him… but he could be unpredictable.

And oh, Ford dared him.

Go ahead. Say it. Give Stan a reason to knock your teeth out.

"Nothin'. Just bet yer pop ain't gonna be happy."

"Probably not, but he never is, so..." Stan shrugged once more and lazily hooked his thumbs into his pockets. "You done?"

Crampelter seemed at a loss for words and Ford tried not to let his own shock show. He always had a comeback… though, Stan was also usually riled up more, which gave him something to work with.

Actually, come to think of it, why wasn't he more upset? Usually talk like this got him red in the face and ready for a fight. Was something wrong or had he actually decided to heed his advice and not give Crampelter a reaction?

Whatever the reason, Stan's apathetic responses had the effect Ford had hypothesized they would, and the older teen scoffed and walked away, muttering under his breath words that were better left ignored.

"Yeesh, what was his problem? Am I right?"

Ford started when Stan barked a harsh laugh, but quickly recovered with a light chuckle of his own. "Yep. He has issues."

"You could say that again."

The sudden change in his demeanor made Ford relax, his smile smoothing out into something more genuine when Stan threw an arm around his shoulders and ruffled his hair. So he had just been taking his advice on ignoring Crampelter, then. Good.

A yelp escaped him when Stan exclaimed suddenly and turned to drag him towards the nearest exit. Ford opened his mouth to ask what the hurry was about, but stopped himself when he remembered it was Friday; he should have known Stanley would want to move as quickly as humanly possible. Honestly, his memory was better than that.

Ever since they'd found the broken-up craft they'd dubbed the Stan'O'War at age 12 the two had made a commitment to always work on it every Friday after school, whether they had homework or not. The only times they could temporarily pause that commitment were when their parents said they couldn't go out, or when they were both so tired they agreed they'd do it Saturday. Both pause options were rarely ever needed after they'd hit 14, and now, two years later, Ford was pretty sure they'd only missed a week's worth of boat work in total. Which was sort of impressive when he thought about it.

But then, it was his and Stanley's favorite thing to do, their special pet project, so of course they would keep to the schedule.

Though, apparently they were stopping by their house first, since his brother was heading in the opposite direction of the beach. Ford didn't question the choice, as it was pretty self-explanatory; Stan was usually hungry after a match, and he'd want to grab some ice for his eye as well.

Okay, actually, he wanted to get some ice for Stan's bruises. His twin didn't actually care whether his injuries were seen to or not. That was something that always worried Ford, but he never said anything if for no other reason that to avoid annoying him. Stan got awfully touchy whenever he was shown proper care nowadays. It was never something he'd enjoyed, sure, but he didn't used to make such a fuss over it like he did lately. Ford didn't know why exactly that was, but it saddened him all the same.

When they got home Stanford sighed at the throng of people they had to push past in the shop to get upstairs. Weekends during the fall and winter months were usually busy, but honestly, it was a little ridiculous that they had to struggle to get into their own house some days. At least the crowd meant their Pa was busy and wouldn't notice them getting back.

They should be able to sneak in and out without being noticed.

Ma was on the phone upstairs and Ford flashed her a quick smile when she waved at him and Stanley as they made their way to the small kitchen. As suspected, snacks were the first order of business in his brother's mind. Stanley made a beeline for the cupboard that had been dubbed "theirs" and rummaged around a moment before producing his last bag of toffee peanuts and a sack of jelly beans. After that it was straight to the fridge to retrieve some water and Pitt Cola.

Ford opened up his backpack when Stanley came over with the goods and allowed him to deposit them beside his notebooks. The routine was a familiar one and the brothers worked like a well-oiled machine, with Ford double checking that they had everything needed for the pen and paper aspect of the boat and Stan grabbing the few tools they had to bring home every week from under the sink.

Normally the time doing everything was passed with casual conversation about the day, some playful jabs thrown into the mix because why not, but today, it was different. Stanley was… awfully -uncharacteristically- quiet.

Ford wanted to ask what that was about, but feared he already knew the answer, and that he wouldn't be able to fix it, so he stayed silent. It was better to say nothing then to say something wrong, right? He thought so.

When they finished with that, Ford grabbed a packet of ice from the freezer that Ma always kept on hand for instances such as these, and handed it to his brother. Stanley fought it for maybe a second before relenting and placing it over his eye- probably to get him off his back. Ford would take it either way.

They were on their way back downstairs when Ma's voice stopped them.

"So, Stanley, how'd that match go?"

Stanley barely missed a beat before answering, his tone bright and falsely cheerful in a way that made Ford cringe.

"Good! I won."

"I figured ya would, Peanut. Good job."

"Thanks, Ma," Stan said, the smile on his face a little softer then, more genuine. "Sixer an' I are headed out now, 'kay?"

"A'kay, be back before ten, ya hear?"

"Gotcha!" Stan gave a mock salute despite the fact that their mother couldn't see it, before quickly heading out once more.

While there were fewer customers downstairs than when they'd first arrived, there were still enough to keep their pop from noticing them and the two were able to get back outside without any further holdups, something for which Ford was immensely thankful.

Besides, he'd ask Stanley about the match, and unlike Ma, he'd want details. Ford never looked forward to seeing his brother so down after those conversations. It was better to avoid those situations altogether.

They walked to the beach in a silence that was both peaceful and tense at the same time, and Stanford wished he could ignore the latter feeling, but with every step it became worse. Still, he didn't say anything to Stanley about it because he knew his brother was only trying to forget all the crappy things that had happened earlier in the day- if the way he kept shaking his head and shrugging his shoulders was any indicator, he was having some mental conversations with himself again.

Stanford knew the shiner his twin sported would be a sore and embarrassing subject should it be brought up -much like his grades were for him when he didn't get 100%- so he knew to keep away from that line of conversation. Instead, he began thinking up things they could talk about when they got to the boat; things that would make his brother laugh and put the match and the homework looming over his head out of mind for the night.

It wouldn't be too difficult considering Stanley already didn't want to dwell on his own thoughts, he just had to make sure the transition back into talking was casual. Then again, even if it seemed forced, his brother would appreciate the effort and roll with it. That was just one of the great things about Stanley.

"So, Stanley, what do you wanna work on today?"

"Hmm?"

Ford repeated the question and sighed inwardly in relief when Stanley hummed in thought.

"I dunno… We finally got most a' the hull finished up last week, so… mast?"

"Heh, I was actually thinkin' along the same lines."

"Cool."

"Right," Ford said as they stopped in front of the craft in question. She was starting to look fantastic, if he did say so. In fact, he bet it would only be another year or two until she was ready to be out on the water. He knew Stanley was looking forward to that day as much as he was.

It wouldn't be too long after that that they would be able to leave that town behind and go on the adventures they'd only ever dreamed about before. The older they got, the harder it became to work out the logistics of how they'd do it, but thus far Ford had been able to. Sure, it would cost some extra cash they didn't have at the moment, but Stanley was working on getting a job at the garage, and Ford was sure he'd be able to pick up some jobs around town for the library and school. They were always good for some extra cash, and they loved him.

It would take some time, but thankfully, that was something they had on their side.

"Oi, Poindexter, quit zonin' out!"

Stanford blinked when Stanley dragged him out of his daydreaming. His brother was already on the boat and he laughed a little at how deep into thought he'd fallen that he hadn't even noticed the teen move.

"Sorry."

Ford climbed up the ladder they kept leaned against the Stan'O'War for ease of access and went to stand by him.

"So, what's the first order a' business?"

Ford didn't bother giving that too much thought before jumping into the plan he'd worked up earlier in the day. He knew Stanley was feeling down, but experience had taught him that if anything would pull him from his stupor, it would be working on their baby. Stanley just needed a distraction for a little while, and Ford was all too happy to provide him that for the rest of the night.

Ma calling them down for breakfast was what finally roused Stanford from his comfortable sleep. He combed his fingers through his hair briefly -a habit developed after the insane, gravity-defying bedhead had warranted teasing from Stanley- before rolling off the top bunk with a groan. He proceeded to flop gracelessly onto his brother, effectively waking him too.

"Aw wha'th'hell?!"

Stanley shoved weakly at him until Ford relented and got off, dragging the blankets off as he went before the younger teen could pull them over his head.

"C'mon, Stanley, Ma called us down."

"Uuuuugh, fine." His brother sat up and took his sweet time stretching, eliciting an eyeroll from the other. When he finally got out of bed, a few minutes had passed and Ford had gone to the bathroom to change his clothes, brush his teeth and properly fix his hair.

He met Stanley at the stairs and frowned when he noticed the tight grip his brother had on the banister.

"Stanley?"

"Ma and Pa are talkin'. We should probably wait until they're done."

Ford tilted his head in confusion then. His twin was rarely concerned with interrupting people when they were in the middle of a conversation on a normal day, so what was different now?

He went to ask his twin that but got his answer when he heard their father's voice raise enough that his words could be heard clearly.

"He ain't tryin' hard enough and you know it."

"He's doin' 'is best, Filbrick!"

Oh. So it was going to be one of those mornings. But… what had brought it on? Stanley hadn't done anything bad, their report cards hadn't come in yet, so what…? No matter how much Ford wracked his brain, he couldn't find a reason Pa would be upset with his brother.

What he did know, though, was that the words were hurting Stanley, and that he would not stand for.

"Hey," Ford grabbed his twin's hand, pulling him out of wherever his mind had wandered, "They'll live. C'mon, I'm hungry."

Stanley resisted for half a second before following him down. Ford wasn't sure if that was supposed to be encouraging. As soon as their parents heard them they quieted, and the two took their respective spots at the table. Ford knew it was a foolish to hope they'd get through the meal without conversation, but he still found himself flinching when their father finally opened his mouth.

"Coach Rogers called last night."

"... He did?"

"Said ya almost lost. Again."

"Wha- no I didn't! I got hit but I didn't almost l-"

"I don't wanna hear it," Pa snapped and Ford winced, the secondhand discomfort acute as Stanley hunched his shoulders as if he was trying to curl into himself.

"You been slackin' again, Stanley, and it's unacceptable."

"But-"

"I'm tired a' your excuses too, so shut it!"

"'Kay."

Ford glanced over and upon seeing Stanley's defeated expresion, bit his lip until he tasted copper. This wasn't fair. At all... But then, Pa's lectures rarely were. As unfortunate as it was, they'd just have to ride it out like they always did.

"You been failin' your classes. I ain't havin' you failin' this too when it's the only thing you got goin' for you, understood?"

Stanley nodded dully.

"I mean, this is just ridiculous, Stanley! You need to straighten up and do the work. You ain't gonna be livin' here forever, and the world don't accept failures."

Ford wasn't sure he managed to contain the scowl that wanted to settle on his face when that last word came from their father's mouth. He hated that word, especially when it was directed at Stanley. It hurt his twin every time and made Ford's blood boil.

He's not a failure! He wanted to scream, but kept silent; yelling would get them nowhere but in deeper trouble. That fact rankled him even more. How come nobody else could see what Ford saw? That Stanley was really smart in his own way- That he was great!

Not that he expected their father to ever see, of course. He never saw anything unless it was staring him in the face. Unless he saw Stanley winning, he assumed he was failing, and nothing else was ever good enough for him.

But why didn't Stanley stand up for himself? If anyone else were to be speaking to him like this, Ford knew they'd be on the floor sporting a bloody nose, and while he couldn't imagine his brother raising a hand against Pa, he also almost wished he would. At least then he'd be doing something other than responding to the grilling with a whispered, "I know."

And the words sounded so hollow, so distant and pained, and that was the last straw for Ford. Without knowing exactly what he was doing, he huffed to grab Pa's attention.

"He did win. I would know; I was there."

"And what's that supposed to mean?"

The cold anger suddenly radiating from the man made Ford step back involuntarily, clasping his hands behind his back as he looked at the floor. Funny… he hadn't meant to ``stand up. He also hadn't meant for his tone to sound so accusatory...

"Nothing. J-Just that- I mean, Stanley has been workin' really hard in boxing. Yesterday was an accident… I, uh, distracted him, that's why he got hit." Ford could feel his brother's eyes on him but he didn't dare look while he continued, "He's been doin' his best in school too. We did some studying last night and he's workin' really hard… That's all I was sayin'."

Their father scrutinized him for another second before humming under his breath and nodding tersely. "Don't ever speak to me like that again, you hear?"

"Yes, sir," Ford swallowed audibly and sat back down, forcing his breath to remain steady when he glanced over to see Stanley staring intently at his food, picking at it but not actually eating.

He wanted to do something to reassure him, but aside from nudging him with his foot, there was nothing he could do with Pa breathing down their necks. Besides, it didn't sound like the man was done talking yet, and the last thing Ford wanted to do was make it seem like he wasn't paying attention.

"An' if that's true, Stanley, then I expect you to be workin' hard for all your classes from now on."

"'Kay."

Stanley's voice was steady but Ford could tell he'd just barely managed to keep it that way. It seemed to appease Pa, though, who went back to eating and reading the paper as if nothing had happened- as if he hadn't just essentially told his son he was a huge disappointment and that he'd eventually be thrown into the adult world without his parents to back him up.

Stanford kept a tight lid on his anger towards the injustice of it all. He'd almost been hoping Stan would tell Pa to shove it where the sun don't shine. Almost. He wasn't dumb enough to think that doing so wouldn't have ramifications, which was why he was glad his brother hadn't, but… it never sat well with him when the teen just took the verbal beatings without so much as a scowl.

He'd gotten so used to them.

It wasn't the first time Ford had acknowledged that fact, but he still felt sick to his stomach at the thought all the same.

The teen pushed his plate away without a word in the same moment his brother got up, excusing himself and heading out of his line of sight. The sound of his footsteps heading downstairs had Ford hastily standing and thanking Ma for breakfast, giving her a peck on the cheek as he did (she wasn't the one he was upset with, after all) before going after Stanley.

They arrived at the beach without a hitch and Ford took his time catching up, giving his twin time to calm and gather whatever thoughts were bouncing around his head.

Stanley was leaning against the swing set they'd long ago claimed as their own, looking out at the crisp blue ocean with what Ford could imagine were eyes glazed over with misery as he played their father's cruel words over in his head. To anyone passing by it would have looked like he was simply enjoying the scenery, but after so many years of being there to comfort his brother, Ford knew differently.

The way his brother's shoulders drooped lower than normal, how he kept clenching and unclenching his fists slowly and shoving his hands into his pockets only to remove them a second later, it all screamed "NOT OKAY".

"Hey," he said softly, standing beside his twin.

He didn't reply. In fact, if Ford was seeing things correctly, he shifted away from him. The movement was subtle, but it had him frowning nonetheless. "What is it?"

Once again, his twin said nothing, not even making eye contact as Ford narrowed his eyes, his earlier irritation towards their father resurfacing and directing itself outward.

Why was Stanley acting upset with him? He'd been the one to get Pa off his back.

"What? What did I do this time?"

"What didn't ya do?"

The words dripped bitterness and Ford was taken aback by them even as he rose to his own defence. "You're not seriously making this about me."

"Technically you're the one who made it about yourself."

"I did not!"

"I'm sorry, what was that 'what did I do', then?"

Ford glowered at his brother and crossed his arms over his chest. It wasn't often that his brother got like this. He swallowed the urge to yell at Stanley when his pulse spiked as his frustration levels rose; they wouldn't get anywhere if he let the anger get to him. He acknowledged that he'd already made a mistake in conversation and steeled his expression as he asked his brother what was wrong.

"Ya had no right, Stanford!"

Ford startled at the sudden volume, his arms tightening their hold on his sides. He hated being shouted at, even when he understood, logically, that his twin was only yelling at him because there was nobody else to yell at. Still, it didn't stop the stinging and confusion that the words brought on.

"What are you talking about?"

Stanley glared hard, his jaw clenching as he elaborated for him. "I didn't need your help."

"Wait, seriously? You're mad at me for getting Pa off your back?"

His genuine bewilderment must have been evident because Stanley's glare shifted into a less enraged scowl and he muttered, "I can handle myself."

And that was a laughable statement if Ford had ever heard one! He didn't laugh though- couldn't find it in himself to do so. However, he did allow himself a small scoff before he spoke, looking past his brother so he wouldn't have to see how the words affected him.

"Right, that looked like you were handling it."

He knew it was a low blow before he'd spoken, and the way Stanley tensed out of the corner of his eye was all he needed to know he probably shouldn't have said it at all. Never let it be said that he thought everything through completely before he spoke.

Ford braced himself for the cuss-out he knew he deserved, then, and frowned when it never came. All he got was a growled order to shut up.

Oh. All… right…

"Seriously, what's wrong? You've been so… so passive these last few days."

The reaction was immediate, if the complete opposite of what he'd had been hoping for. He turned away once more to stare at the waves beating against the shore, his entire frame tense. Ford scratched the back of his neck then, at a loss for what to do next. All he could think to do was stay quiet and hope his brother would eventually come out of it and talk to him… or prod at him until he gave in.

One of the options would be slower and might not yield any result, the other had the potential to make his twin angrier, yet it promised some form of answer.

In the end it wasn't any sort of real contest.

"I'm sorry, Stanley. I'm not trying to make you mad, it's just… I'm not used to seeing you this way. You know what I mean? You're usually so… you, and recently you haven't been."

His brother's stance sagged a little and Ford felt relief flood his system. Good, he was saying something right, at least, even if it was coming out less than eloquently. He wasn't too keen on speaking from the heart without any sort of "nerdy stuff" (as Stanley liked to call it) backing him up, but at least his twin knew he was being sincere.

"You're worryin' me, Stanley, and I'm sure you're not meanin' to. I just… Aside from defendin' you, did I do something?"

"What- no," Stanley shook his head vehemently before leaning against the swingset, as if using solid weight of it beneath his hands to summon the courage to keep speaking. "I don't know what it is. Lately…"

"Lately?" Ford nudged gently. He could tell he wanted to keep going, but just like he wasn't great at speaking from the heart properly, his twin had trouble putting words to how he was feeling.

"Lately I just don't see the point in tryin' anymore." Stanley sighed when Ford frowned, his confusion evident, "I mean, I wanna do better, but what good is trying when nobody cares anyway?"

"I care!" Ford ignored the pang in his chest with the knowledge that Stanley thought he wouldn't and continued, "Of course I care, Stanley! Why wouldn't I? And- wait, why didn't you tell me when you started feeling like this?"

Stanley shrugged and scuffed the toe of his shoe on the sand. "Didn't want you to think 'm a loser."

The admission was so quiet the ocean sounds almost drowned them completely, but Ford caught them, as well as the unspoken "like Pa". He swallowed the lump that suddenly tried to form in his throat. He really thought he'd think so low of him? Why? Had he ever given his brother an indication that he could ever think that?

Oh, Moses, what if I did? When could that have been? Every conversation they'd ever have tried to spring to mind then and Ford nearly missed his brother's next words as he searched through his own memories.

"Also didn't wanna get your hopes up. Y'know, like Pa. Expectin' somethin' more from me even though I got nothin' to give."

"That's not true," Ford cursed the hoarse edge in his voice but powered through, "I don't know where you got that idea, Stanley, but it's not true. What made you think it was?"

The question was met with silence and Stanford wanted nothing more than to see his brother's face then. Stanley could be his own worst enemy when he wanted to be, and if he'd really been feeling this way about himself for as long is it sounded, he was in a bad spot. Ford would be lying to himself if he didn't admit he felt awful for not noticing sooner.

Had Stanley been that good at hiding… or had he just not seen because he assumed he was fine?

Ford waited a couple more seconds for something, anything, that might tell him how his brother was doing. When he received nothing, he stepped forward so he was in front of Stanley; it was driving him insane, not knowing what was going through his head.

The sight of tears swimming in Stanley's eyes was not what he'd been expecting, and it was enough to make Ford feel like he'd been punched in the gut. He bit his lip as his twin stared back at him, looking as scared as he'd seen him in a long time, and Ford's hands shot out to grab his brother's shoulders, steadying him even though he didn't need it. He didn't know what else to do.

Just how long had this been bothering him?

"Lee?"

His soft inquiry had Stanley closing his eyes tight and shaking his head. Ford's heart clenched painfully in his chest. He hated this. This… he couldn't even fully comprehend what "this" was, but it was awful.

Oh, Lee. I'm sorry.

Without putting much thought into his actions, Ford brushed Stanley's not-yet-gelled hair out of his face, gentle even though he didn't need to be. When he spoke again, he kept his voice soft.

"What makes you think you have nothing to give?"

Stanley shook his head once more, a shaky sigh escaping him. "It's stupid."

"If it's upsettin' you, it's not stupid," Ford countered immediately. Stanley needed to understand that, believe that, even if he didn't believe anything else Ford ever said. If there was one thing he'd always cared about more than anything else in the world, it was his brother, and Ford couldn't see that ever changing.

Stanley's throat bobbed as he gulped. "Pa's right. I'm never goin' anywhere. And I don't want you to be disappointed cuz of me. I know 'm not smart."

"Of course you're smart!" Ford gaped and leaned back in his surprise, "Why would you say that?"

Apparently that had been the wrong thing to say, though, as Stanley wrapped his arms around his middle and looked back down at the ground. "Told you you'd think it's stupid."

"No, no, Stanley, I'm sorry," Stanford ran a hand through his hair, forcing himself to slow down. If he wanted his brother to keep talking, he knew he had to be fair and not continually interrupt him. It was just hard not to, when he was beating himself up. He wasn't used to hearing him talk like that.

"S'fine," Stanley sighed after a minute, "I know what you mean. But… I'm right. 'M not smart- at least not in the way you are," he quickly added when Ford opened his mouth to object again, "Not in the way that counts. An' I never will be, so what's the point in… in tryin'?"

As Stanley continued Ford noted with growing alarm that his voice sounded closer to breaking with every word he said, and that he had no idea what to do if he started crying. It was rare for his brother to shed tears -which was odd, considering how he wore his heart on his sleeve- and the fact that this was all coming out after a typical, if unnecessarily harsh, scolding from their father meant Stanley had probably been letting these thoughts fester for some time. It wasn't a comforting realization.

"Sure, I got boxin', and at least I can do that- or, at least I could - but people expect that. Why try any harder at anything else when everyone's only gonna care about what they want you to do?

I… I bet I would do good in school, but… why bother? Nobody believes I can do it, and if I do, they assume I cheat, because you're the smart one- a-and that's not a bad thing! You're a genius and you deserve to have people know it. But… I don't know. I guess, I'm not goin' anywhere in life, so it doesn't matter what I do.

I could try to change, but at this point… it'd be pr-pretty useless. Ya know? They'll never see me any different. I'm the spare, the idiot wh-who can't do anything right… and I… Sixer, at this point I don't even wanna have the option of being anything more than what they think I am."

Stanley choked on the last word and Ford felt his heart shatter several times over. He hadn't realized... hadn't even considered… How could he have missed so much? How had he not seen that Stan was so torn up inside? He… he was his twin, his best friend, and he hadn't noticed how much everyone's words had been affecting him…

He didn't even know what to say; how could he begin to apologize or make things better for his brother, but he found himself speaking anyway.

"You're not stupid, Lee. I wish you would stop sayin' you are."

The whimpering noise that came from the back of Stan's throat kept him going, filling the silence in hopes that he'd say something that would make his brother stop hurting so badly.

"Lee, you try harder than anyone I know- myself included. I don't care if nobody else believes that so long as you do. You need to remember that. I know you try, I know how great you are. And, Lee, you are smart. Really smart! Sure, maybe not in the same way I am, but who says that's a bad thing?"

"Uh, everyone?" Stan scoffed and Ford shook his head and gripped his twin's shoulders once more.

"No. Forget everyone else. If they think you're stupid, then that's their problem, and they're the real idiots. And, c'mon, I'm dumb in a bunch of ways myself-"

Stanley took a turn shaking his head and Ford couldn't contain a harsh laugh before he pushed on. "Please, Stan, I can't talk to anyone outside our family without sounding like a pretentious jerk- not to mention I don't know how to talk to girls at all! Lee, I once had my wallet stolen by a kid who asked to see my library card!"

That pulled a little chuckle from his twin and Ford could've wept with joy.

"Exactly! I'm dumb in plenty of ways, if simply not knowing something is your definition of that word. So… you aren't stupid. And… anyone who thinks you are just because you aren't brilliant the same way I am, they're morons- Pa included. Screw expectations, Stanley! Out of everyone in town, you're the one who's always saying, what was it? 'Rules and expectations are for nerds and squares'? Those are things for people like me, Lee, not you, and that's what makes you so amazing!"

Stanley's head shot up in surprise and Ford thanked his stars that he was pulled back enough to avoid collision. His brother stared at him, eyes wide and damp and he took the momentary shock to keep going, rambling less as he realized what he wanted to say. What he needed to say. Stan needed to know just how special he was, and damn it all if he wasn't going to do his best to be the one to get him there.

"Yes, you're amazing! You think outside the box and you get things done in creative and sometimes downright brilliant ways because of it." A frown marred his twin's face at that and Ford huffed under his breath before a memory struck him upside the head.

"Hey, remember back in ninth grade, when we had to make that presentation on genetic functions, and I had been putting way too much thought into it, to the point where I was making myself anxious?"

His brother nodded slowly.

"I had been overthinking it, remember? You were the one who came up with the solution to it for me. I got an 'A' on that because of you. Just because you don't think in ways considered conventional doesn't mean you're dumb. And you know what? Pa's wrong if he thinks you're gonna end up a failure, cuz you're not. You're going to go so far in life. You, Stanley Pines, are one of a kind!"

Stanley sagged forward then, dropping his forehead into the crook of his neck. Ford was quick to wrap his arms tightly around his brother, smiling softly when he felt Stan give him a light squeeze.

"And you could never disappoint me," He added in little more than a whisper.

When his twin's shoulders shook as a damp spot formed on the collar of his shirt, Ford shushed him quietly, rubbing small circles into his back until he calmed down. He wiped at his own eyes with his free hand before Stan pulled back, eyes red-rimmed but otherwise looking… Ford almost dared say, better. Or maybe that was just wishful thinking. Either way, he didn't look nearly as miserable as he had minutes prior.

"Heh," Stanley chuckled, doing away with the silence as he gave Ford's shoulder a light punch. "I still have to get good grades now cuz a' you, you jerk."

A smile overtook his own expression and Ford rolled his eyes. "I can help you. Besides, if all else fails, you can just copy off my work… at least enough to keep Pa off your back."

"Alright, I guess I'm pacified," Stanley nodded, going to take a seat on his designated swing.

"'Pacified', huh? That's a new one for you," Ford nudged him lightly in the ribs as he took his place on the opposite seat. Stan only sent an unimpressed raised brow in response, which served to make Ford snigger.

They sat like that for some time, until the sun was high in the sky and they both knew they should've been doing homework or chores, or something equally as productive. Ford hadn't realized how long it had been since they'd both been that relaxed until that moment. Naturally, in the past he'd assumed that Stan was just as at peace as he, but now, after finding out all that he had, he could look back on those moments and see that his brother had always been… out of it.

Now, though, with nothing weighing down so heavily upon him, Stan seemed to genuinely be enjoying the quiet.

Or, perhaps not, if the way he shattered it meant anything.

"I still can't believe ya actually thought that kid wanted to see your library card."

"Wha- I didn't- I mean-he was ten and looked innocent enough, and we'd been talking about books, it was an honest mista- Stanley knock it off."

Ford huffed indignantly, his cheeks coloring as Stan's booming laughter echoed around them. Yeah… that had not been one of his finer moments, he supposed. And, honestly, thinking back on it, Ford really could see the humor behind his blunder; it was no wonder his twin found it so funny.

At least Stanley knew he wasn't lying when he said he could be a real moron. They both knew firsthand how true of a statement that was. The real amusing part of that memory, though, was how they'd gotten the wallet back by having Stan con the kid. To this day Ford wasn't even sure he understood how his brother had done it so smoothly, but it still managed to impress him whenever he thought about it. He'd even convinced the kid to give them ten bucks for the trouble.

And Stanley thought he wasn't smart.

A/N: Ta-da! (?) So yeah, this was so much fun to write and it gave me many feelings. I hope you liked it.

Oh! Quick question for you guys! I don't know if I will be doing this any time soon, but if I were to open writing commissions, would anyone be interested?