In My Corner

Part 1 of the Boxing AU

Chapter 10

The three of the stumbled back to the house, tired and utterly spent. The events of the day were finally catching up to them. When they were inside, Fiddleford told the twins to go ahead.

"I need to call Gina and Tate right now, that's the best way I'll recover," Fiddleford said firmly.

Stan looked like he was about to protest, but Ford managed to stop him. Ford gently tugged his brother to the kitchen, allowing Fiddleford some privacy. Stan went to the freezer to get a bag of frozen peas for his head and Ford grabbed the first aid kit. They soon fell into an old routine; Stan grumbled that Ford was fussing while Ford paid no attention to Stan's whining and continued to patch him up.

"Is Fiddleford going to be okay?" Stan asked softly. When they were quiet, they could just barely hear Fiddleford's voice from the other room. Ford glanced towards the door.

"..After a few days, yes," Ford replied.

"Anything I can do to help?" Stan asked.

Ford gave his brother a small smile. Stanley had already beaten up the problem and still wanted to do more. "Fiddleford won't want any special treatment, but we'll just have to pay close attention to him," Ford answered.

Stan nodded, but otherwise continued to sit still for his brother. Ford was silent as he tended to Stan's various injuries. When he was finished, Ford began to run his hands through Stan's hair to check for any head wounds he may have missed. Stan leaned into his hand.

There were none, besides the cut his brother had received. Stan was still holding the bag of peas against that half of his face.

Still, there was a nagging suspicion Ford had…

"How's your head?" Ford asked casually.

Stan waved him off. "It's fine," he grunted.

"No brain damage? How many fingers am I holding up?" Ford stood in front of Stanley, and put his hand behind his back. He held his breath.

"Is that a trick question?" Stan scoffed. "It's six, Sixer. And none of that, the thumb isn't a finger nonsense."

Ford let out a shaky breath. Stan was staring straight at him with his uncovered eye and god, how had he not noticed before.

He had to ask. He had to know. He didn't want to know, but Ford had to know. By knowing, Ford could confirm whether or not he was right. Whether or not he hadn't noticed such a crucial thing about his brother the whole time they were together. Whether or not Stanley didn't trust Stanford with such a monumental piece of information.

"Stanley. How long have been blind in that eye?" Ford asked.

Stan clammed up.

Then his expression relaxed and he tried giving his twin a reassuring smile, "Stanford, what are talking about?"

Ford felt his insides twist and he almost stumbled back in shock. It wasn't denial, but from Stanley it was as close as he would get to a confession.

"Why didn't you tell me?" Ford demanded.

"It's, it's nothing-" Stan stammered, smile gone.

"It's not nothing!" Ford yelled. Stan looked at his brother, shocked. Ford felt himself deflate at the sight. This wasn't how he wanted to conversation to go. Hell, he didn't want to have this conversation, but they had to. He had to.

"It's not nothing, Stanley." Ford repeated. And when he said that, Stan looked.. a little lost. He had to turn and look away. How was he supposed to continue this conversation?

"Is everything, okay?" Fiddleford asked, voice faraway.

"Yeah! We were just leaving the kitchen, Fids!" Stan yelled back. As soon as Fiddleford made a noise of agreement, Stan stood up and grabbed Ford's hand, leading him away from the kitchen.

Ford let him. Yes, he was curious to see what Stan had planned next, but he was mostly tired. Tired from the river, tired from the Gremloblin, and tired of not being good enough for his family and friends. Apparently, even after reuniting with them, he could still be horribly out of touch.

How had he not noticed that his twin brother was blind in one eye? Not only that, Fiddleford had noticed something before him?

And now that the secret was out, Stan was running a hand along the wall to help himself navigate. Ford stared guiltily at his brother's back. This whole time Ford had thought his brother was just clumsy when he ran into things, but now he knew it was from the lack of depth perception...

They reached Ford's room and Stan shoved him towards the bed. "Sit," he said.

Understanding dawning, Ford climbed into the bed and sat with his back against the wall. He left the other half for Stanley, who was closing the door and shutting the curtains. The room was completely dark when Ford could feel Stanley's weight settle onto the bed next to him. He waited for this brother to speak.

"Do you remember? When you made that promise to me, that you would make me into a great boxer?" His brother asked.

Ford stayed silent, unwilling to interrupt.

"I wanted that. I had been wanting a dream for myself for so long, something that wouldn't hold you back, and this one had fallen into my lap. And you were by my side the whole time reaching it. When you finally had your dream college… Well, I knew I had to let you go," Stan choked out the last part.

Ford's hands clenched. Here was something else that he had never realized. That the two of them had never talked about. That Ford hadn't wanted to think about.

"It wasn't too bad when you left," Stan continued. "I had Shermy and my fists to keep me busy. But, after awhile, I was falling apart without you."

"I was the same," Ford said, unable to stay silent any longer.

Stan scoffed.

"No really," Ford insisted. "I had my science, but science is a poor substitute for you, Stan."

Stan gave a watery laugh.

And the sound scared the living hell out of Stanford. It was one thing when Stan was twelve year-old snotty brat and crying, but now? The thought of his strong, older brother crying grabbed onto his heart and squeezed. Ford started groping around in the dark and managed to grab Stan's hand. He tried to make it reassuring, tried to convey everything that he wanted to say, everything that he couldn't say aloud, in that one action.

Stan squeezed back.

Ford smiled. He didn't know whether or not he could convey his feelings through a touch, but somehow Stan did. His brother's large, warm hands around his own, instantly made him feel better. It made him feel like this rift that was between them, the distance he hadn't even realized, that it could be fixed, easily. That-

A low growl ruined the moment.

Ford felt his face heat up and he was glad that Stan couldn't see him. He couldn't believe his stomach was interrupting the moment.

Stan chuckled, which made Ford feel vaguely better about the situation. Maybe he wasn't the best at verbalizing what needed to be said, but at least he could make his brother laugh.

"I should start on dinner," Stan suggested.

"Sounds acceptable," Ford agreed, glad that Stan was teasing him. "But let's continue this conversation afterwards?"

Stan squeezed his hand again in confirmation.

-000-

They had a nice dinner together, the three of them.

Fiddleford chewed Stan out for his reckless behavior. Then Fiddleford began to mother-hen him after finding out about his eye. In turn, the twins babied Fiddleford throughout dinner, which Fiddleford protested. It wasn't very relaxing, but it was normal.

After dinner, Fiddleford left the house saying that he needed a break and would be visiting Gina and Tate for awhile. The twins let him go without much protest.

Once Fiddleford had left, they stared at each other awkwardly.

"Is it cool if I take a shower first? You know, before we talk?" Stan asked.

Ford frowned. "I don't think that's the best idea, Stanley. You shouldn't get most of your wounds wet…"

"How long am I supposed to wait to take a shower then?" Stan said, a little frustrated.

"I'll help you wash up then," Ford said with a sigh.

Stan sighed too, but went with it. "Just like old times."

-000-

And it did feel like old times.

Here Stan was, injured and sitting in a bathtub, while Ford washed his hair. Although Ford got the 'bad' end of the deal, and often complained to Stanley about it, he quite enjoyed doing this for his brother. It was nice, having someone as strong as Stanley relying on him.

The warm water and Ford's careful hands, relaxed Stan. He started reminiscing about the 'good ol' days' and about the completed state of the Stan O' War. Once they were both cleaned, Ford had taken a quick shower while Stan had checked on his injuries, they were once again left with the looming prospect of continuing their conversation.

"Eh.. Let's talk in your room," Stan said.

Once there, Ford resumed his position on the bed and Stan made sure that there was no light leaking into the room before sitting next to his brother. Hesitantly, Ford grabbed Stan's hand. Stan held on.

"So.." the word came out as a whisper. Stan coughed deliberately and continued, "So, try not interrupt me okay? This.. isn't easy for me. Talking that is. You know me."

He paused.

"Uh, what do you want to know?" Stan asked.

Ford considered the question. Frankly, there was a lot that he wanted to know. They hadn't been together for almost eight years, that was a lot of time to cover, not including their younger years. But instead of verbalizing this, Ford said:

"Whatever you want to tell me."

Apparently that was the right thing to say. Stan started off with a story that was familiar to Ford. Their parents went out together, leaving him to take care of Shermy. Ford had already started college, so it was just him and the baby. That wouldn't be the first time Stan had to babysit, nor would it be the last.

And Stan loved it. Reading to him, feeding him, holding him (even changing his diapers), somehow Stan took pleasure from the simple act of taking care of his younger brother.

During the first few years Ford was away, those stories were Stan's favorite things to tell him over the phone. Stan spent hours telling him stories about Shermy and what the baby had done that day and Ford loved them. However, the next part of the story was very unfamiliar.

Stan had finally gotten Shermy to fall asleep next to him. Stan lay there, watching him sleep. Still, peaceful, and with his back to the door, Stan looked to be asleep. Even when their parents had returned, he had continued the ruse, not wanting to disturb Shermy with any sudden movements.

Their Ma had cooed at the sight and had decided that 'she wanted a moment looking at two of her boys.' As a result, their parents had a whispered conversation, not knowing that Stanley was awake and hearing everything.

Specifically, they had a talk about their tight financial situation. While they were by no means destitute, they still worried about providing for their third child. And 'wasn't it great that Stanley wanted to buy something for Shermy?' his mother had said. 'He's doing his job as an older brother' his father had grunted.

They continued to whisper to each other, talking about each son. Stanley heard things he most definitely should not have heard, (things that he did not tell Ford in detail, Ford would have to ask him about it at a later date). However, instead of causing him to become jealous of Ford or Shermy, the conversation had strengthened his resolve towards boxing.

"I began taking more matches, because more wins meant more money," Stan explained. Ford squeezed his brother's hand in understanding. "Coach Weave started making me slow down once I got high enough ranked, but at that point I was making good money from my wins. And, I was always the underdog so when Ma bet on me, the family always made a profit."

Stan paused the story there. Ford patiently waited for his brother to say more, but he didn't continue. He wanted to hear more, but frankly he was grateful to get this much out of this brother. This was something Stan had bottled up for almost a decade. Not wanting to spook his brother, Ford carefully chose his next words and said, "I know it wasn't easy, but thank you for telling me."

Stan sighed. "Ford, don't thank me. The point of this story was that there are some things I should have told you before. I, I haven't been telling you everything."

"Stan…" Ford looked at where he thought his brother's face was. "Well, we're both at fault. We both haven't been telling each other everything for awhile."

"That doesn't make it right," Stan mumbled.

Ford swallowed. "You're right, it doesn't," Ford agreed.

They sat in silence, both in their own worlds.

After a moment, Stan continued his story.

Stan was quickly ranking up and had even won a few tournaments. And those tournaments had started to win him some pretty substantial amounts of money. He was glad. He was starting to make enough to lighten the load on his parents' shoulders.

However, his success brought him something unexpected. The ability to truly disappoint the people he cared about. Before, it had almost been expected that Stanley would amount to nothing special. But now? He realized that he shouldering a huge amount of expectations that all focused on him winning. And not just from their family, now there was Coach Weave, the gym, and his fans. Not to mention, he was the local hero to the town.

There was no way he could stop boxing, not that he wanted to. Stan would have happily continued boxing forever. But…

"Was it your eye?" Ford asked, unable to stop himself.

"You could say that," Stan said. "It wasn't a specific match, but there was this one tournament…"

It was a local tournament. One for boxers like him, rookies that were trying to make a name for themselves. Fast-paced with one match a month, the tournament would quickly weed out anyone who wasn't made of champion material.

Stan had been preparing for months for this tournament. Stanley wasn't the favorite to win, not by a long shot, but he was determined to win no matter what.

In the first match, he had won against the first seed. The fight had been tough, but Stan had come up on top. Unfortunately, he hadn't won unscathed. At the end of the match, one of his eyes was crying blood. It wasn't an injury his Dad or the Coach could handle, so they had brought him to the hospital.

'You should drop out of the tournament,' the doctor had said. 'Right now you're okay, but that's only because we drained the blood in the early stages of the injury. Any more and, well, as long as you rest and heal up, you should be fine,' the doctor concluded.

Stan had been flabbergasted. Drop out of the tournament? After he had just won against the first seed? And while everyone was counting on him?

He couldn't.

So Stan stayed quiet about how serious the eye injury was. The trip to the doctor had taught him how to drain any blood that was in his eye and he had Ford's books to help him keep his secret. However, each match made his eye worse and worse.

Not that he needed his eyesight, not for the sort of boxing he did. Get close and get into a slugging match, that was his style. Stan told repeated this to himself everyday and with every match.

No one found out.

The only one who might have been suspicious was Shermy. Stanley didn't know how much his younger brother knew, but Shermy could probably figure out that his older brother was keeping some secrets about his life from him.

This had all changed with the last match. It was high profile and it was one of the main events. The win was supposed to bring Stan to bigger and better things.

He had won.

Unfortunately, he had also gotten the shit beaten out of him, and he was unconscious at the end of the match. A doctor had been called to check up on him and that's when his secret was discovered. The doctor had told him flat out that he was to stop boxing. That if this didn't get out to the media, that any doctor who found out would stop Stanley from boxing.

If that wasn't bad enough, Coach Weave had refused to continue being his coach. And if he found Stan trying to continue boxing, he was going to go to the paparazzi himself with the story.

There was no way he could continue boxing.

Stanley had run.

Instead of doing something smart, like going to see his brother who lived in the woods where no one would disturb him, Stan went Mexico. He knew some people and they suggested that he try his luck in the fighting gambling dens.

"I couldn't go back, but I didn't want to be useless either. I did the only thing I knew I could do, beat the shit out of people," he sighed. "That's when you found me, Ford."

Ford was speechless for a moment. Then he processed what Stan had just said.

"Stanley, you are not useless, you hear me? I can't believe you would do something so dangerous, just because-" Ford's voice broke.

"Ford, are you crying?" Stan asked, alarmed.

Ford tried to hold back a sniffle, but failed.

"Aww, no, I didn't, I didn't mean to make you cry," Stan said. "Can I turn on the lights?"

"There's a lamp on the nightstand," Ford replied.

Stan turned the lamp on, exposing Ford's blubbering face to the light. However, Ford noticed that Stan also had tear tracks on his cheeks.

"Have you been crying?" Ford asked. How had he not noticed that his brother was crying when he was telling his story? Just like everything else he hadn't noticed.

A tear began sliding down Stan's cheek and he sniffed. "Now you got me crying, Sixer," Stan said with a sad smile on his face.

Ford was struck with how his brother cried: beautifully. Silent, and unnoticed except for the tears running down his face. The thought of his brother crying silently to keep his pain a secret made Ford burst into another wave of tears.

"Ford, come on. Don't cry." Stan pulled his brother closer so he could wipe away his tears. "Why are you crying anyway?"

"I.. just can't believe I didn't know," Ford said between breaths. "I'm sorry I didn't know."

"It's fine, I'm fine, you big crybaby," Stan said.

"Crybaby? You're crying too," Ford argued.

That remark brought a fresh wave of apologies, reassurances, and good-natured insults. However, Ford and Stan continued to cry. Despite this, or maybe because of this, Ford somehow felt lighter. Or maybe that was just the endorphins from crying. Or Stanley's bad attempts of cheering him up. Either way, Ford was glad for the chance to finally be able to cry for his brother.

Eventually they managed to stop. The day's events catching up with them, making them fall asleep in each others' arms.

Author's Ramblings -

And there's the reveal! I hope it wasn't too obvious or underrated: Stan's blind in one eye! I had always planned for him to get out of the boxing game, but I needed a legitimate excuse for him to stop and something that wasn't visible.

It's interesting because I had always planned for this to be the injury, so that's why I wrote in the Gremloblin as the thing that makes Ford discover the injury. The Gremloblin is always used for Mystery Trio shenanigans, so I felt bad using it too, but it was a perfect fit for my story.

Anyways, I have strong feelings about this last chapter, so I hope you enjoyed it. Thanks again for the reviews!