Stanford strained to walk straight as he headed home in the pouring rain. He grunted every time his soaking wet clothes hugged the bruises and sores running up and down his arms, chest, legs, face and... everything else. If it wasn't for the lights on the street leading to his house, the rain drops running down the new fractures in his glasses would have left him blind. If he was a bit older - and wasn't (supposed to be) the responsible, hardworking golden child of the family - this might have been a typical Friday night.
When he finally came to his house, he timidly knocked on the door before a wave of dizziness staggered him, forcing him to reach for the door frame in order to balance himself.
He was greeted by his father, glasses predictably obscuring his stern, unamused expression.
"Hi dad." He greeted sheepishly.
"You're late." Filbrick growled, barely concealing his disappointment, before motioning for him to come inside in an authoritative manner.
He entered to the sight of his mother, who was sitting on the guest couch with the baby, when she stood up in both concern and relief.
"There you are! Let me look at you," She sighed as she walked towards him, reaching one arm out to caress his face while the other still carried his infant brother. "You're glasses are broken!"
"Where have you been? You look like shit," His father interjected.
"Filbrick!" His mother scolded.
"Well he does. Look at him! Your mother and I had to camp down here in the shop waiting on your ass. What've you been doing?"
"I was just *hiccup* studying at the library," Ford stammered. It was a weak lie, he knew. He was too tired to think of a better one.
"Well, you look like you've been in a fight. I hope you got in a few good hits, 'cause I didn't put you up to those boxing lessons for nothing."
Ford could hardly hold down a scoff.
"Go clean yourself up. Hand your clothes to your mother so she can dry them off."
Ford wordlessly complied as he began towards the stairwell, but another wave of dizziness swept over him, and he had to steady himself on the store counter before continuing.
Before he could get to the stairs, a firm hand landed on each of his shoulders and jerked him back around, which did no favors for his already disoriented state. He was once again facing his father's judgmental glare.
"Are you drunk?"
The moment Filbrick dropped the question, Ford became a deer in the headlights. He was really hoping he could get upstairs before anyone noticed.
"Answer me when I'm talking to you, boy."
"No," Ford mouthed almost inaudibly.
"No what? Speak up!"
"No, sir." Ford answered louder. "I got hit in the head."
"Breath on me."
"Huh?"
"Breath on me!"
Ford sulked as he let out a timid exhale. He whimpered when his father suddenly grabbed him by the jaw and lifted his chin up to his face.
"My nose is up here, boy!"
Ford breathed again. No use trying to hide it anymore.
Filbrick took in a strained sniff of his breath, before his face contorted in grave disappointment. "Whiskey," he growled, letting the word roll off his tongue like cobra venom.
For one fleeting instant, it looked like his father was going to lift his fist and strike him in his face. But that very moment he started, he stopped himself. It seemed for just the slightest instant, he had forgotten, then immediately remembered, that he wasn't talking to Stanley. Figures he would never lay a hand on his favorite (read: potential money-making) son.
"Look boy, I don't know where you got this, or who sold it to you. But if word got out that my underage son was buying alcohol on the side, do you have any idea what might happen to my business? Hell, what might that do to your potential scholarships."
"I-I'm sorry, dad." Ford began to apologize before he was forcefully shoved towards the stairwell. He caught himself on the wall before he could fall backwards.
"Your curfew is six o'clock from now on and not a minute later, until I decide I can trust you again. Now get up those stairs, clean yourself off, and sober up!"
Ford wordlessly turned away before making his way, but at the entrance to the stairwell, he stopped.
"Don't be a disappointment like your brother. You're better than that, Stanford."
Maybe it was the mention of Stanley that flipped the switch. Maybe it was spending the day getting beaten up and then subsequently yelled at by his father that broke the floodgates. Perhaps it was just his drunkenness that pushed him over the edge. Whatever the reason was, in that moment, something inside of him snapped.
"Why..."
He was still facing the stairs when he uttered that single word, but it was loud enough for both of his parents to hear.
"What?" Filbrick shot back angrily.
"Why did you do it?" Ford said louder.
"Boy, you need to sober up before you even think about speaking another word to me."
Filbrick didn't yet know where his son was going with his drunken ramblings... or at least he pretended not to know. His wife, on the other hand, could tell what was coming, and her heart pounded with anxious concern for her son.
"Why... did you make him leave?"
It was one of those rare moments when Filbrick couldn't find words to respond with, yet he was immediately understanding. He knew he was eventually going to have this conversation with his son... the one still welcome in his home.
Ford suddenly turned back around, marched towards his father, and started releasing all the pent up grief he had built up since watching his twin brother drive away, never to be seen again, and dealing with the subsequent, crippling loneliness.
"He's out there by himself, on his own, no one to help him, and all you care about is that he 'disappointed' you. He was my brother. He was my best friend! He was your son!"
"He... was holding you back."
"You abandoned him!" Ford, in a hysterical fit of despair, grabbed onto his father's shirt and shouted at him with tears in his eyes. "He was your son! We were his family, the only family he had, and we abandoned him! Doesn't that mean anything to you!?"
Ford's mother could only stand to the side, closing into herself with grief for Stanford's sadness. The baby in her arms cried amidst the ruckus.
Filbrick briefly let the heaviness hang in the air, before he finally spoke. "It means something to me. But it doesn't matter." Filbrick answered, truthfully and bluntly. "I have to think about what's best for you."
"What?" Ford pulled back with a horrified gasp.
"You think I only care about my disappointment? I have to put you and your future above everything else. The fact is your stupid, selfish, worthless twin brother ruined the best chance you had at making a name for yourself. I knew you wouldn't have the guts to get rid of the wretched parasite suffocating you and leeching off of every bit of your hard work, so I did it for you."
"How can you say that about your own son!?" Stanford cried.
"It's the cold hearted truth, sad as it is." Filbrick then held his arms out in an ironic, self-victimizing manner. "'Why's it matter to me.' Does it matter to you? You watched me throw him out on the street that night. I didn't hear you speaking up for him. Not a peep."
"But I still care about him! That night I was so mad. All I could think of was just how mad I was at my brother that I didn't know what to say. But dad, I still care about him!"
"You best cut that out. 'Cause I can guarantee he doesn't care about you."
"Don't say that!"
"No boy, you need to understand. In this world you're going to come across people who will pretend to care about you. But they seek nothing more than to use what you have for their own benefit, and won't give not one damn the price you have to pay for it."
"But it's my brother we're talking about!"
"And that's exactly the kind of excuse that these people expect you to make for them. They depend on your forgiveness and they'll use it against you."
"STOP IT!"
"That's enough Filbrick!" His wife finally found her voice as she watched her son break down before her eyes. But Filbrick ignored both of their pleas.
"One day you're gonna be on your own, and I'm not gonna be around to protect you from these people. If your gonna spend your entire life trying to make other people happy, you're gonna get caught up in a lot of shit you shouldn't have to deal with. People will realize they don't have to lift a finger to fix their own problems when they can just get someone else to do their dirty work. They're gonna suck you dry, boy, until your old and stuck down in the slums with nothing to show for all the things you've done for every no-good piece of shit!"
"Filbrick!"
"Heed my word, boy, and heed it well. In this world, there's no one you can trust."
"Filbrick! That's enough!"
His mother stepped between them, finally ending her husband's bitter triad, but the damage had been done. This was the point of no return.
Filbrick laid out, clear as day, what kind of man he wanted Stanford to be. He wanted him to be a man that had no need - nor want - to care about his brother. A man that didn't need family or friends. A lone wolf.
Him, Stanford - the feeble, six-fingered freak - on his lonesome.
It was as if every ounce of innocence inside of him was breaking, turning into dust, and being swept away.
"Stanford, go upstairs and get yourself cleaned up. Please." His mother insisted. It felt like she was the only crutch he could use to stand with at this point.
She gently led her son back to the staircase, and with a body as heavy as iron, he finally disappeared up the stairs. She then addressed her husband, who was now staring out the window, wholly exasperated and disturbed by his cold-heartedness.
"Filbrick!"
"What?"
"I know you want nothing more than to see Stanford become a man. But right now it's too early. He's still just a boy, and he just lost his brother. He's too young for all of this."
"That doesn't matter. He'll learn, one day. He'll learn that I'm right."
"That's not the point. Your son is lost right now. He needs you to be father!" She gave a hopeless sigh, before she too disappeared up the stairs with their infant son still in her arms, leaving Filbrick alone in the shop.
"He'll learn that I'm right." He repeated to himself in a whisper and not a hint of remorse.
Author's Note: Alright, so I haven't written anything in a while. But Gravity Falls is something I only recently discovered, and now I've got so many ideas for what I can write for these characters. First up, I'm writing this multi-chaptered character study of the Stan twins and their relationship with their family, from their childhood to the end of the series. Let me know what you think, or share your ideas in review. Thanks.