Hello! If you would like to spice up the story a bit, I am including songs that fit the story. You should listen to them if you like! The playlist is at the link:
/playlist/1xRNBca32HU73mNW1ODGQC?si=3551N-goRTi-Jo0xOb2HnQ with (open).(spotify).com at the first part. :) (remove the parentheses though haha)
Song for this chapter:
Hey Brother by Avicii
Without further ado, let's dive right into the story! :)
**Also, thank you so so so so so much to emyy250 for helping me post the rest of the story on here! You rock! :D**
"Ma, why am I so differently colored from Ford? I thought we're supposed ta look alike!" a young Stanley Pines questioned, confusion written on his face. He had finally cornered his ma at her little window nook while she was waiting for her next call: her clients had been keeping her busy today, much to Stan's chagrin. She seemed to contemplate his request before giving in, her skin a sunflower yellow as she threaded her phone's cable through her hands.
"Ya know what, my little free spirit? I think I can finally explain this to ya. Go get your brother, and I'll explain this to you both," Caryn Pines requested, amused. Stanley scrambled off, yelling for his brother, while his ma leaned back into her seat, planning out her little curriculum.
A few minutes later, the young pair had made their way into the living room with her, and they were fighting over the comfy chair. Stanley, being the brawn of the two, won the little battle, leaving Ford on the armrest, who huffed in annoyance.
"Alright, boys, knock it off. Stanley, scooch over for your brother."
Stan shifted over, a grin on his face, while Ford slipped onto the overstuffed cushion in appreciation.
"Now, boys, follow my instructions," Ma stated, leaving no room for denial.
"Look at one another: What do ya notice?" Ma let the twins examine one another for a moment or two. Stan put on a funny face while scrutinizing his brother, pink with amusement, while Ford took the situation more seriously and actually looked at his brother, both close up and from far away. Opposite of his brother, he was a smart blue with observation. Finally, when the boys were done, Ma looked up from her red-lacquered nails.
"Ford, you go first. How are ya different from your brother?"
Ford took a few seconds before he explained, obviously trying to sound eloquent.
"Well.. I have a cleft chin, which is one difference, in addition to me having six fingers on each hand… but I'm guessing you're talking about how we're so differently colored from one another. I have blues and grays all over me, while Stan has pinks and reds," Ford observed, always eager to show his intelligence.
"Good, Ford. Now Stan, why do you think this is the case?" Ma enquired, knowing Stan was the more emotionally intelligent of the two.
"Hmm…." Stan formed an exaggerated thinking face, much to the amusement of his mother and twin. "Pa's always goin' on about how I'm such a 'hotheaded knucklehead.' Does that have somethin' to do with it? Ford's always actin' like a neeerd, so maybe he's blue because of that?"
After Ma stopped chuckling, she grinned, proud. "Close, my free spirit. Each and every boy and girl is born with a certain.. palette of colors, if you will. These colors interpret your emotions and can also represent your personality. So, as your brother noticed, you are, by default, influenced by warmer colors. This represents your passionate and hot-headed nature, Stanley. You, Ford, are more on the blue side of the spectrum, which displays your cool intelligence and cautious nature."
"Interesting. Ma, why are our colors so different from one another, if we're twins?" Ford asked; after all, he had seen other twins with very similar colorings that made distinguishing between them difficult, while the Stans always had a stark contrast.
"That's because of your personalities being so different. Embrace how unique you both are, because it's rare for twins to be able to express themselves. The spirits told me so!" Ma advised, defending her claim when the young brothers sent her a questioning glance.
"One last question, Ma," Stan started. "I see your colors change more than I see Pa's change- why is it like that? Can someone be more than one color family at once? What happens if your colors can't change?"
Ma contemplated his questions, and gave a cheeky grin. She looked down at her smooth hands and seemed to be assembling her thoughts before she spoke.
"Good question...s! I can answer the first two, but not the third. Depending on the person, colors may change often, rarely, drastically, or slightly. I've noticed young kids like yourselves change more than us elders. I can imagine expressing multiple drastically different colors at once has happened in the past, but I've never come across it myself. And I'm sorry, but I believe everyone's colors change, no matter what- it's just as natural as breathing or blinking. Now go play, you two! I have some more colors to interpret!" Ma dismissed the twins, who glanced at each other in a silent challenge before racing out the door and into the sunny, urban outdoors.
Recently, Stan noticed his brother wasn't quite as brightly colored as usual. Not that it mattered, but the once bright blue had started transitioning into a gloomier version of the same color. Stan decided enough was enough when his brother was the color of blue pen ink. Even though his brother had been avoiding any major conversations with him, Stan managed to flag him down on the way home from their school day. Stan dashed along the sidewalk, wind whipping his face, and he stopped when he reached his brother, who was clearly afraid of being unceremoniously barrelled over and onto the sidewalk.
"Hey, Sixer, what's been happenin'? I've noticed you've not really been yourself: You've been gettin' darker and darker, and I'm worryin' about ya!"
Stan noticed Ford's face become more strained. Dark purple dusted his cheeks, showing his embarrassment over being confronted. While Stan felt bad for his brother, he knew this confrontation was a long time coming. He shifted his feet in anticipation while he casually draped his arm around his brother's sloped shoulders.
"I-It's nothing, Lee. Nothin' to worry about!" the elder twin stuttered, a fake smile plastered to his face. Ford's blue turned a bit of a wine color due to his anxiety, which Stan detected immediately. He knew everything when it came to his twin, so he was sure he had accidentally made his twin start panicking. Stan decided to drop the topic before his brother freaked out more: He had gotten enough information to know what was up just from Ford's response.
"...Whatever you say, Sixer. If anything's botherin' you, you can tell me. I'll take care of it, bro-bro!" Stan promised, a reassuring smile on his face. He could tell someone was bothering his brother. Of course he wasn't going to drop the whole thing, but he had to tell Ford he would so that the building submission was squashed.
Ford's appearance brightened slightly at this, and his smile became a little more sincere.
He thinks he's in the clear. Now I can snoop around. I'll help you, Sixer!
Stan considered it a temporary victory, his new scheme. He squeezed his brother's shoulder before walking off whistling, enjoying the warm sun beating down on his pink face.
Just weeks later, Stan discovered what was wrong with his twin. He had been on high alert ever since his little confrontation: No one but him could torment his twin! Through close observation of Ford's little quirks and general dialogue, the cause quickly became clear. Ford was being put down by that someone for his nerd brain. Stan clenched his hands into a pair of fists, ever the fighter.
Not on my watch! I'll defend you, Poindexter.
The next day, Stan, flushed red with determination, waited silently outside where his brother left the library. They had mutually agreed that Stan would occupy himself elsewhere while Ford enjoyed the calm library: Stan was alright with this, as he thought books were stupid. From the shadows, the younger twin watched as a gang of bullies strolled up to his brother. There was a group of three sunburnt, tough-looking goons behind a chubbier, pastier leader sporting a tough-guy haircut. His face was in a mocking grin, directed toward his brother, whose books were shaking in his anxious grip.
I'll wipe that stupid grin off of his face if he even says-
"Hey guys, look who it is! A dweeb, on his daily routine of making out with his books! What a loser!" the group's leader jabbed, laughing haughtily. The rest of the gang followed suit, each dark with hostility. The group's leader was of similar colors, but with some pinky teasing, almost like a stuck-out tongue. Stan's main focus was Ford, as he had to judge his brother's reaction before doing anything too rash, no matter how tempting.
"W-why do you all insist on showing up here on the daily? Leave me alone!" Ford pleaded, turning a wine red from frustration. His brother glanced around for an escape, but the gang was blocking the entire sidewalk, and the road was relatively busy at this time of day, as evidenced by the smell of smog in the surrounding air.
"Aw, it's only because we like you! We care about you! After all, you are our favorite toy…" the leader cooed, contrary to what his hostile colors were giving away. At the snake-like declaration from the gang member, Stan decided to intervene by dashing onto the sidewalk and placing himself between the gang and his brother.
"HEY! Ya know, you should really leave my brother alone, my good chum. We don't want any problems, now, do we?" Stan commented, puffing out his chest in what he believed to be a threatening manner. He raised a purple-and-gold eyebrow that reflected his bravery and cunning manipulation as he took a fighting stance, feet balanced on the concrete.
"Oo, the freak has a twin!" The leader taunted, eyes narrowed. "But wait... this one's normal! Definitely not scary in the least, though, right, boys?"
At this, Ford looked down at his shoes, face turning more chartreuse from embarrassment. His brother hid his hands behind his back, too, which Stan took as a sign of discomfort.
"Psh, he's the freak? You're one to talk, you wet raisin! Did your mom whore around until you popped out, all wrinkled and puce?" Stan quipped, holding his nose like the gang was a bag of smelly garbage. The goons all glanced at one another, knowing what Stan's fate would likely be; they were, in fact, awaiting a spectacle of blood and tears in his near future.
"Kid, you're really gonna regret sayin' that. No one, and I mean no one, insults my ma. Boys, hold him down!" the leader barked, malice written all over his face in, well, puce. Stan felt the wind rush out of his lungs when the older kids shoved him down and onto the sidewalk. Though he was in pain and could barely breathe, his only concern was his brother.
"Ford, RUN! Get out of here! I've got this!" Stan yelled, skittering across the concrete and back into a stone wall. At this point, rocks were digging into his palms and his hands were textured from the roughness of the concrete, but he barely felt it as adrenaline began coursing through his veins. Ford, previously frozen in place, took off running across the street and in what appeared to be the direction of their home. Stan could only hope that his twin was looking for help, be it from a stranger or from their parents.
Inevitably, Stan was seized by the band of goons. The leader approached, and spat on Stan, much to the young twin's disgust. The spit trickled into Stan's shirt, and he shuddered, heavily uncomfortable with the feeling. Though he tried looking into the ruthless leader's face, the sun was in his eyes, blinding him.
"Kid.. do you know my name?"
"Ugly?"
One of the leader's cronies held him in more of a chokehold in reprimand of his jibe, though Stan decided that it was worth it.
At least the spit's on my shirt now. It was goin' places I didn't want it to.
"Pfft, no. You can call me.. Crampelter." Crampelter seemed to stop and think for a few precious seconds before socking Stan in the nose, making the latter see stars. Blood abruptly spurted from his nose and trickled down his face and into his mouth. Stan was just barely able to hold back a pained yell, much to the dissatisfaction of his assailants.
Stan's determined purple partially faded into a dark, terrified red, but the old color peaked through subtly. Grunting, Stan bit the hand of the person holding him, and the boy howled in pain, reflexively dropping the younger boy onto the pavement. Though it wasn't a far fall, pavement was decidedly not a pillow, and Stan flinched slightly as his wrist bent a bit backwards due to the angle of impact. Adrenaline quickly took care of that problem, though, and he wiped the blood coming from his nose to prevent it from running more into his mouth. Stan feigned defeat, and looked at Crampelter's shadow shift more toward him.
Bingo. Showtime.
Crampelter's gang looked on as Stan hopped up from his defeated position on the cracked concrete. He proceeded to clench his fists and take a step toward Crampelter, throwing a punch at the bully's face. Stan barely registered the pain of throwing knuckles without cushioning (aside from Crampelter's chubby cheeks) as he continued throwing hooks, jabs, and uppercuts in revenge for the group hurting his twin's feelings.
However, this was short lived, as Crampelter's years of experience caused Stan to quickly lose the upper hand. In the middle of one of Stan's sloppier punches, Crampelter caught his arm, flipped him back over onto the concrete, much to the protest of his already sore back. Stan's pupils shrunk as he trembled at the mercy of the bigger boy, frustrated tears forming in his narrowed eyes.
"You think you've won? Kid, you've made a grave mistake. Grave, indeed. Boys, go to town with me!"
Stan proceeded to be pinned down by Crampelter's sandalled foot and repeatedly pelted with kicks, slaps, and punches from all directions.
Kick! to the hip.
Punch! to the neck, causing Stan's throat to gurgle in resistance.
Slap! to the cheek, bashing his teeth together uncomfortably.
Any onlookers would hardly be able to see Stan's emotion related color, as he was thoroughly covered in his own blood from his nose and other related injuries. He had an annoying cut on his forehead that kept making blood run into his eyes, blinding him.
At least... I don't have to look... at their smug faces...
The final kick to his head, however, sent it cracking into the concrete, which made his remaining vision swim. He feebly brought his arms up to his head in attempt to protect it further, but only served to jostle his hip's bruise. Stan proceeded to (flatteringly) spit some remnants of blood onto the warm concrete, the smell and taste of iron lurking. Just as he was losing consciousness from his swimming head and what felt like a migraine, he heard Ford approaching and his pa yelling at the gang to lay off of him before his head flopped down onto the uncomfortable ground.
Of course, Stan survived this incident, though not without a few "gnarly souvenirs" as he liked to call them. He had escaped without any permanent damage, though he had a painful concussion and bad bruising making even the mere thought of movement hurt. Stan decided it was all worth it, however, because Ford looked so much better than before, now that someone had finally defended and appreciated him. His whole demeanor had changed, and he seemed to enjoy Stan's company, especially when they would go to enjoy the metal, sun-warmed swing set after school.
The two were at said swing set a few weeks later, and Ford mentioned the incident hesitantly, his colors a bluey purple, like a bruise.
"Ya know, Lee, I never properly thanked you for defending me. I really, really appreciate it," Ford expressed, somewhat unsure of himself. Stan rested a gentle hand on his brother's shoulder, understanding the intention behind the words, before hugging his precious brother in the sand.
"No prob, Poindexter," Stan assured. "The only one who's allowed to make fun of my nerdy brother is me!"
Laughing, Ford gently punched him in the shoulder, making sure to avoid any yellowing bruises. However, Ford looked like he was contemplating something important.
"Hey Stan, does this mean you like books, since you defended me and, in turn, the action of reading them?"
Stan gave him a look to make it appear like he was considering this proposal, and then punched his twin (hard, of course), tackling him into the sandy beach. They tussled on the ground for a minute before flopping onto their backs, staring up at the pink but darkening sky. A chilly ocean breeze graced their features, cooling them down in the warm spring heat.
"To answer your question: Heck no! Books are for nerds, and they always will be. You'll never catch me dead with one!" Stan declared.
The pair shared a devilish glance before giggling together, both a joyful yellow color in addition to their original palettes. Once they calmed down, they flipped over to face the water more, and they watched the sunset plunge into the water spectacularly, beautiful as can be.
"I love you, Stanley."
"Love you too, ya big sap."
Feel free to share your thoughts, and thanks for reading! This fic will upload frequently, as I've pre-written all the chapters. Thanks!