AN: Based on this prompt by hereissomething from Tumblr- 'Fids whacking his thumb hard while metalworking and Stanford zipping over to tape it up, Fids stunned at Stan's caring side.'
Fiddleford had only been working with the Stan twins (as he liked to think of them) for a week but he'd already developed a good rapport with Stanley. It was just a shame he suspected the other twin, Stanford, was a sociopath. He couldn't believe how different the brothers were.
While Stanley enjoyed joking around with his brother and could be childish at times, he was very professional when it came to their work. Stanley was friendly, open and easy to get on with. Fiddleford was sure that anyone who met him would like him almost instantly.
Stanford, on the other hand, didn't seem to be able to take anything seriously. Everything was a joke to him and he was emotionally draining to be around for any length of time.
He also had little to no regard for danger. The second day after Fiddleford had started working with the twins, the three of them had run into some sort of monster in the woods. When it had started chasing them, and Fiddleford and Stanley had been running for their lives, Stanford hadn't. Instead, he'd run straight towards the monster while screaming, "Left hook!" and punched it in the face.
Stanley had needed to run back and grab his brother to make him follow them. Once they were safely away, Stanford had laughed as if the whole thing was immensely funny.
Fiddleford knew that Stanford could be charming when he chose to be. He had watched him talking to other people. He could charm the birds from the trees but it was all an act. The charade could be dropped so quickly it was almost frightening. One minute he would be smiling and laughing but when the person he'd been talking to was gone, his expression could completely change in under a second.
So, when Fiddleford gave a shout of pain after accidentally hitting his thumb with a hammer – while making adjustments to an invention that helped detect anomalies – he was surprised when Stanford ran over looking worried.
"You okay, Nerd?" Stanford asked, his normally joking voice serious for once.
"I just caught my thumb with the hammer," Fiddleford said, his eyes watering in pain.
"Let me see."
"I'm fine," Fiddleford said a little more defensively then he'd meant.
"I'm just trying to help," Stanford said unperturbed.
Slightly reluctantly, Fiddleford stopped cradling his hand and showed it to him. Stanford sucked in a shocked breath at the sight of the badly bruised digit which had started to swell.
"Can you move it?"
Fiddleford did so, wincing in pain, "It's not as bad as it looks," he told him, "I bruise really easily."
"Well the good news is that it probably isn't broken then," Stanford told him, "hang on just a sec."
With that, Stanford turned and ran from the lab. He came back a minute later carrying a bag of ice in one hand and some painkillers and a glass of water in the other.
"Here you go," he said, gently putting the ice on Fiddleford's bruised hand, "keep this on for a while until the swelling goes down and take these for the pain." He handed over the painkillers.
"Um. Thank you," Fiddleford said, still taken aback at the fact that Stanford was being so nice and helpful.
"No problem, Nerd" Stanford said, "sit down and take a rest. There's no point you working while you're in pain," Fiddleford did as he was told and Stanford smiled, "call me if you need anything."
Stanford turned and headed back to his part of the lab. Fiddleford thought he heard him muttering under his breath, something about stupid nerds scaring him and getting themselves hurt. He was almost sure he heard the phrase, "As if I don't have enough to worry about keeping an eye on my idiot brother."
When Stanley came back from getting supplies and after Stanford had headed off for the pub, Fiddleford told him what had happened. Stanley seemed unsurprised.
"That's Stanford all over," he said fondly, "he's an idiot at the best of times. However, he's also a giant softy who cares more than he should and worries about showing it in case it makes him look foolish."
"I always got the impression he didn't like me," Fiddleford admitted, "I mean, he's always calling me nerd."
"Oh, just tell him to stop if it bothers you," Stanley said, "he wouldn't do it if he thought you minded."
"Why would I want to be called nerd?" Fiddleford asked confused.
"It's his nickname for you. He thinks giving people nicknames is one of the ways you make friends," Stanley told him, "'Nerd' means clever and so to him it's a good thing. It would probably make his day if you ever gave him a nickname back.
"Stan didn't have the easiest time making friends when he was younger," Stanley went on, "social interaction's always been hard for him. Don't tell him I told you this, because he doesn't like people to know, but he's on the autistic spectrum."
"Oh…" Fiddleford said, suddenly seeing the odd way Stanford often behaved in a whole new light, "well, that explains a lot."
"He really does try, you know," Stanley said, "he spent a lot of time as a teen, people watching and trying to 'act normal.'" He made quotation marks in the air then said sadly, "He got bullied a lot when we were little. It screwed him up a bit. I did my best to help and protect him but I didn't do a good enough job. Since then it's always been important to him to feel like he fits in."
"Well thanks for telling me," Fiddleford said.
"No problem but, like I said, please don't tell him I said anything."
"Don't worry, I won't."
"Yo Nerd," Stanford said when Fiddleford arrive the next day, "how's the thumb?"
"Much better," Fiddleford said, "thanks for all the help with it yesterday, Moron."
Stanford froze and Fiddleford suddenly wondered if 'Moron' was the best choice for someone who'd been bullied as a child. However, he needn't have worried because Stanford's face broke into a huge grin, "Glad to hear it."
Stanford spent the rest of the day smiling, even when he wasn't talking to anyone.