Author's Note:

Stan seems to get away all the time, doesn't he?

Monday, November 19th, 2012 12:02 AM
Unknown

Stan knew the police would be on his trail, and he knew they'd have the BAU with them. By stealing that woman's car, he knew it was a risk, but it was one he was willing to take. He had to get out of there and he had to have Amy with him. She would not leave his side until death do them part.

Thinking of the young teen, he turned his head to glance at her briefly in the back seat. She was still unconscious, but he had been more careful this time and bound her wrists with duct tape (the car didn't have rope or cords or wire) as well as using more to cover her mouth in case she woke up and he was out of the car. He had stopped once to fill up the gas tank, and was relieved when the gas station had the duct tape and she had never even roused nor aroused suspicion.

Stan focused on the road in front of him again. He knew he was probably going to jeopardize everything, including his family's safety, but he had to do it. Amy could die. And then it would be his fault. And Stan couldn't bear that possibility. He'd been responsible for much too much death already and hadn't paid properly. Losing Amy the first time was a teaser. Prison would be Hell on Earth. Stan lived in Purgatory. But with Amy, he lived in Heaven.

Carefully, Stan turned the car's blinker on and turned a corner. He parked on the side of the road and pulled the key from the ignition. Then, very carefully, he pulled a prepaid cell phone from his pocket and dialed the number.

Inside the house across the street, he heard the phone begin to ring. By the third ring, a light went on in the upstairs bedroom, turning off again and being replaced by the living room light.

At the fifth ring, the phone picked up. "Hello? Carter residence."

"Rob? It's Stan."

There was an angered sigh. "You bastard of a brother. What do you want?"

"Your help. Come outside, but bring your medical kit. I'm in the car across the street."

The living room curtain opened slightly, and a thin man with greying brown hair, pale skin, and grey-green eyes appeared, holding a house phone to his ear, wearing blue pajamas. "The black one?"

"Yes. Please hurry, but get dressed first." Take your time. I have a lot to hide first.

There was another angered sigh, followed by more silence. The curtain closed and the figure behind it disappeared. "Stan, you're lucky I'm your older brother and our father forced me to look after you. I'll be out there in ten-fifteen minutes."

Stan smiled. "Thanks, Rob. I know." With that, he hung up and put the phone in his pocket again, turning to look at Amy again. He carefully lowered the seat and took out a pair of scissors he'd found in the car, using them to cut the duct tape from Amy's wrists. He carefully removed the duct tape on her mouth, lightly kissing her lips after doing so. He put the seat back up and put the duct tape in the plastic grocery bag on the passenger seat. As the front door opened, he moved the plastic bag to the glove compartment (which was surprisingly unlocked) and gestured for Rob to come around to the passenger seat.

As soon as Rob was inside the car, the 59-year-old man's eyes widened. "Good God Stan! What the hell happened to you?!"

"It's a long story," Stan said, closing his eyes as his brother began to clean the wound on his head.

"Does it have anything to do with the APB out for you?" Rob asked, carefully beginning to stitch the wound.

"You listen to the police scanner now?" Stan asked, eyes flashing open.

"Hold still! No, I happen to watch the news. Now, where's Amy?"

Stan sighed. "Back seat."

"I'm going to look at her once I finish stitching this up, then I'm going to ask you to come inside and into the basement so I can actually treat you two properly," Rob insisted.

"Go ahead."

With that, Rob finished stitching Stan's forehead, then turned around to look at the unconscious form of Amy laying on the back seat. He pursed his lips. "Let's get her inside. I'm going to need to take a better look at her in better lighting."

Stan nodded, and the two exited the car, Stan pushing his seat forward so he could get the young teen out of the two-door vehicle. The siblings then carried her into the house and down into the basement, where Rob laid her on a metal table he had Stan cover with a white sheet from the dryer. Rob then began to remove her coat, stopping after the first five buttons were undone.

There was a pause and silence as Stan struggled not to button nor finish unbuttoning the coat. Rob turned to Stan and said, "Is there any reason in particular she is not wearing a bra nor a shirt?"

Stan remained silent, still struggling to keep still.

Rob closed his eyes and shook his head. "You are such an idiot, Stan. A weak idiot."

Stan looked at the ground. "I know. But you have to admit she's beautiful."

Rob's eyes flew open. "Beautiful or not, you're an idiot, Stan. First you kill Lucile, then you kill Samantha, and now you're probably going to kill Amy. What the fuck is wrong with you? Can't you see the monster you're becoming?"

"I know! Do you not think I wake up every morning wondering why I bother doing so when everyone knows I'm a Goddamned monster that can hardly manage to do the right thing for his family, all because I'm too weak to dare go against my father's dying wishes?!"

"Exactly, Stan. His dying wishes. He's dead. Gone. He wouldn't be able to make sure you followed through with it!"

"Yes, but a promise is a promise and I do not break my promises, especially those made in the name of God."

"For crying out loud, Stan, God would never want anyone to kill. Why else would he have a Commandment against it?!"

Stan froze. "I said the same thing to Father when he told me to do it. 'Thou shalt not kill.' And do you know what his response was?"

Rob glared at Stan. "No, but I'm sure you'll tell me."

Stan closed his eyes. "He shouted to me, 'Yes, but thou shalt honor thy father.'"

There was a period of silence. Rob finally sighed, defeated. He pressed his palms against the table Amy laid on and hung his head. "So that's why you did it all?"

Stan nodded slowly, eyes closed to prevent his brother from seeing the tears of weakness he was about to shed. "He left me no choice. Father said I'd be doing exactly what God would have wanted me to, being the wrong child and the only one capable of doing so. So...so I agreed."

"What did you say, exactly?"

Stan sighed. "'Behold, I am the servant of the Lord; let it be to according to your word.' And then he nodded and died."

Rob sighed. "Right. The majority of Luke 1:38."

Stan nodded.

Rob suddenly looked at his brother in confusion. "You actually memorized the Bible?"

"He forced me. I probably would have done it on my own anyways, but yes," Stan said.

"What the revelation," Rob said.

Stan chuckled. "Amy's had it memorized since the age of five. I started at the age of eight and didn't get it all down until eleven."

"Where was I for all of this?!" Rob exclaimed as he continued examining Amy.

"Oh, you know, your room, friends' houses, church, school, the store, the cinema, social places. You couldn't be bothered to be home where Father might hurt you and your younger brother for being both male," Stan said, sitting next to Amy's head on the table, brushing her hair from her face. That beautiful face...

"Interesting," Rob muttered, cleaning several wounds on Amy's chest and torso before wrapping them in white bandages.

"You were never really there after that, since you grew up faster and quickly married Mellissa. I figured it had to do with my being...who I am, so I felt worse about myself. Had I never met Lucile, I'm sure I would have pulled the trigger," Stan said, resting his hand on Amy's pale cheek, feeling her breath on his skin.

Rob stopped what he was doing and turned to stare at Stan. "You almost commit suicide?"

Stan closed his eyes. "When your father shouts at you that he wished you were never born or born the opposite gender and beats you for it every day and uses your religion against you, claiming the all-loving Heavenly Father finds it unbelievable that you were born and that He wants you to either die or do the right thing for the family, and then your brother, the one person that never wanted to hurt you and seemed to be the only one that loved you, leaves you to spend time with other people, it makes you feel pretty worthless."

Rob frowned. "Stan, I never knew that it hurt you. I was too busy trying to get away from Father. Maybe I should have taken you with me."

Stan shrugged. "I'd still feel worthless, and I never would have met Lucile. Had it not been for Lucile's love, I don't think I would be here right now, meaning Amy would still be happy. Amy would still have everyone that cared about her, and she never would have discovered she liked the idea of becoming a FBI agent like she should. But that would be a good idea, because then she could do what made her and others happy. Rob...I feel terrible that I did this to her. When I did it to Samantha and I, it was simply bitter and a feeling close to 'If I don't do this, how will Father react?' Afterward, I was amidst Samantha's love for me, and she in mine. But when she...I...stabbed..." Stan closed his eyes and struggled to returned to being a composed man. "When Samantha died, I felt lost. So I went and found Amy again. I settled with befriending her and her family at first, but then she grew up and matured..." Stan swallowed and stopped himself.

Rob understood. "I get it. You couldn't restrain yourself anymore, kind of like here."

Stan turned around and looked down at Amy. Rob had removed her pants to find no underwear and extreme irritation, swelling, and semen, causing Stan to turn bright red. "I...think I need a shower."

Rob nodded. "Good idea. I'm going to finish up here and get her new clothes. You should probably use the guest bedroom shower, though, in case Peter or Mellissa find you and ask why you're back so early."

Stan nodded and took some of his clothes from the clean clothes hamper before heading upstairs and showering. He carefully washed the blood from his skin and hair despite the amount of pain he was in doing so. Once he had washed himself, he stood under the hot water and let the heat relax his tense, sore muscles. After fifteen minutes, he shut off the water and dried himself off, not letting himself think for the moment. He carefully slipped on the black jeans and black military-style button-down shirt, making sure to remove his belt from his bloody pants on the floor and use it for the jeans he was wearing. He carefully took the bloody clothes he had been wearing and wrapped them in his towel before leaving the bathroom. He quickly and silently snuck through the house (despite his slight limp, he was fast and quiet), opening the back door and putting his bloody bundle in the fire pit. Stan covered the bundle with the ashes already inside and wood from the shed before setting it all on fire. He watched it burn, making sure the clothes and towel were destroyed before pouring sand over the fire to snuff it and heading back inside and into the basement.

Rob had been busy. Amy's forehead had a white bandage on the spot where Stan had struck her in the car (oh, how he regretted hurting her!), and her wrist had been wrapped in an Ace bandage. There were several lines of stitches on her right forearm and one line on her shoulder, as well as white gauze wrapping her entire torso. When Stan walked down the stairs, Rob was slipping a long black skirt of Mellissa's that was much too small for his wife on Amy, a red blouse folded next to her head. Stan limped over and helped his brother dress the beautiful young teen, unbuttoning the blouse completely before slipping it on her like a coat before buttoning each button starting at the one at the bottom and ending with the one at the top. He was tempted to leave it open at the top, exposing her breasts, but he figured he had hurt her enough and therefore buttoned it all the way.

Rob held up two pairs of Mellissa's shoes. "These are too small, and these aren't her style."

Stan took the ones that were too small - a pair of rhinestone ballet flats - and slipped them on Amy's small feet. Surprisingly, they were a perfect fit. "Since when was Mellissa a two?"

Rob chuckled. "Since she discovered she loved those flats. But then she complained how much they hurt her feet, so they've been down here, waiting for a Goodwill run."

Stan chuckled. "She really has meshed into American society."

Rob nodded. "So has Peter. I've re-meshed myself into it. You've stayed meshed into it. If our accents didn't give us away, people could probably think we were Americans."

Stan chuckled, then said, covering his accent. "And now I am one."

Rob stepped back. "Okay, now that's cool and creepy at the same time."

Stan chuckled again before leaning over to pick Amy up. Rob's left hand grasped his right shoulder, stopping him.

"Not so fast. I still have to finish assessing your wounds," Rob insisted, dragging over a chair. "Sit."

Stan sat slowly, extending his right leg out flat and wincing in pain.

Rob carefully rolled up the right leg of Stan's jeans and looked at the limb from the feet up to the knee, where his eyes met and locked on a single, enormous scar surrounding the knee. "What the hell, Stan? What the hell happened here? Was this from childhood?"

Stan shook his head. "Last year. January 4th, 2011."

Rob sighed. "You should have told me. Do you have any idea how much damage you could have caused yourself by not getting this looked at?"

"But I did get it looked at! The clinic didn't ask for ID or anything, so I got treated, paid with cash, and left. It's not my fault they didn't do a good job," Stan argued.

"Exactly: you went to a clinic. You should have gone to a hospital. Now you have irreparable knee damage, and for what?" Rob argued back.

Stan sighed. "Forget it. Just look at the more recent wounds. The ones that can be treated."

Rob glared up at his brother, but continued examining him. He taped his left ring and middle fingers togehter due to their being jammed, cleaned and wrapped a few minor cuts on his arms and legs, then stood.

"That's it," Rob said. "I take it you'll be leaving now? After all, the FBI will soon be showing up at the door."

Stan nodded. "As soon as I can. I just need to get a few things before I go."

Rob nodded, yawning. "Oh, and Amy there has a concussion. Be careful with her, will you?"

Stan smiled. "Of course I'll be careful. I'm not about to hurt her again. I've learned from that mistake."

Rob nodded, then yawned again. "Now, I'm going to bed and acting as if you never showed up here."

"Sounds good." Stan remained seated.

The eldest walked slowly to the basement stairs then turned and stared at the youngest. "Stan, you can be a complete asshole sometimes, you know that?"

Stan hung his head and mumbled sadly, "I know."

Rob sighed. "But I love you anyways. After all, you are my baby brother."

Stan looked up and forced a smile. "Even in our fifties?"

Rob chuckled. "Even in death."

Stan looked at the floor at Rob's feet. "I love you too, Rob."

Rob rolled his eyes. "Whatever, now leave before the FbI shows up and I get in trouble for helping you."

Stan nodded. "I will, don't worry."

With that, the eldest Carter brother yawned and walked up the basement stairs and up to his bedroom, where the youngest knew he would be falling asleep.

Stan stood carefully and walked over to Amy, whom he gently picked up and placed over his shoulder. He walked upstairs to the kitchen's alcohol "store" (he had quite the collection of rich and expensive alcohol brands and types), where he grabbed his favorite Remy Martin VSOP cognac and poured the contents into his flask. He put the bottle back and removed the half-empty bottle of Costa Lazaridi Oinotria Land, one of Stan's favorite Greek wines. As soon as he had that in his hands, he knew he was ready to leave. He carried Amy over to the front door, opened it, turned off the living room and kitchen light, then left the house, closing and locking the door behind him. Stan carried Amy across the street and into the back seat of the black car he'd stolen at gunpoint, wrapping more duct tape around her wrists and ankles as well as her mouth before pushing the seat back and getting in himself. As he put the key back in the ignition and drove off, he thought about getting a different car, preferably another black vehicle like the one he had stolen.

And he knew this time, he'd acquire it legally.