Stan took a deep breath and rubbed his arms as he looked around the glade. He didn't really want to be out here, but he had a job to do. He had been nervous about what Ford had done, and he hadn't wanted to go anywhere near him, but he hadn't wanted to leave Shermie in harm's way either. So while Shermie had sat with Ford and waited for him to wake up, Stan had stood outside the door.
He'd heard everything. He could hear Ford's guilt and distress, but what really caught his interest was when his brothers started talking about possession and demons.
Maybe he was too forgiving. Maybe he was too desperate to have his twin back in his life. But he believed his brother. Immediately, he stopped seeing his brother as a threat, and he started trying to think of how he could protect Ford from the danger he was in.
His twin was so caught up in his own head that taking care of himself was at the bottom of his priority list. Just like old times. When they were kids, Stan would always protect his brother from bullies. Now he just had to do the same thing again. So what if the bully was a demon? He was still a jerk that needed to go down, and if Ford wasn't going to stand up for himself, then Stan would have to do it for him.
He had gone through Ford's random notes, leaving his journal alone. After some quick skimming Stan was able to find a number of stray papers that had some theories about how to deal with Bill. The most promising of these theories seemed to be one that involved unicorn hair.
Apparently Ford had tried to get the hair a number of times, and he always failed. There were some specific instructions on how to find the unicorn's glen itself. That was the easy part. Based on how many scratched out ideas there were about getting the hair itself, that was what was hard.
Ford had tried reasoning with the unicorn, proving himself to it, and begging for its hair. He'd tried bribing a more kind-hearted creature into getting the hair for him, and he'd even tried stealing some, but nothing worked. According to Ford, the only way he could get the unicorn hair was if he was deemed 'pure of heart'.
What a bunch of baloney.
Stan hadn't even met the unicorn, but he could smell this con a mile away. He wasn't even going to try to play along with it. No, he needed a different strategy, and he already had one in mind.
While Stan had never met a unicorn before, he'd met a lot of self-righteous people who liked to stick their noses up at people who they thought were beneath them. It was almost impossible to get them to change their minds about you. In Stan's experience, there were two ways to get what you wanted from them. One, put on an act and pretend that you were just as snobbish as they were. Stan had never been very good at that bit, and he didn't know how well it would work with unicorns.
Two, take advantage of their feelings of superiority. A lot of holier-than-thou people liked to take pity on people they thought were lower than them. It was surface level pity that always made Stan feel like he was looked at as nothing better than a poor puppy. He was never given a lot, usually it was just a few bucks and a patronizing message if he was lucky, but it wasn't hard to get a stuck-up snob to feel like they had done their good deed for the day.
He just had to play up how tired and hurt he was. This was one of his least favorite things to do, but after ten years of doing whatever it took to survive, he had figured out how to swallow his pride. Being looked down on and underestimated sucked, but at least it meant he was alive.
Stan followed Ford's instructions and soon found a weird magical door thing opening before him. It was definitely one of the weirder things he had seen in his life, but not so much that it was blowing his mind. He was too relieved, tired, and terrified. He didn't have room for earth-shattering shock.
Stan pocketed Ford's notes. He took a deep breath and blinked rapidly, thinking of Ford, and daring to let those tears show up in his eyes. Unicorns liked purity. Stan was far from pure, but he could be sincere and vulnerable, and that was at least a step in the right direction. He adjusted his clothes and hair, bringing out how ill-fitting and filthy they were so he could try to garner sympathy. He stepped into the unicorn's realm, really leaning into the hesitant limp that his sore feet always tried to pull out of him.
He immediately felt like his air was knocked out of him when he stepped into the magical realm. It looked the same as the surrounding forest, maybe a little more perfect and enchanting looking. What made it stand out though was that it looked and felt like a pleasant spring day, which was a stark contrast to the storm outside. The sudden warmth was almost dizzying.
Stan looked around anxiously. The air of this place felt similar to a church. Where he wasn't allowed to be too loud, or dirty, and no matter how hard he tried, he wouldn't ever be worthy to be in this place.
There wasn't a unicorn in sight, and as Stan stepped further in he just felt more and more wrong. This was the home of a mystical, pure, being. It was calm, and peaceful, and he didn't deserve any of that. He was just Stan. Flawed, imperfect, pathetic Stan.
"What am I doing here?" Stan muttered. He knew why he was here. This was for Ford's sake. But was he really the best person to do this? Every other time he'd tried to help his twin, it seemed like he just made everything worse. What if he just made the unicorns banish all unicorns from their realm forever?
"I'm wondering the same thing." He heard a haughty voice. He stiffened and looked towards some bushes, where he saw the most ridiculous looking creature step out. It was obvious this was a unicorn, but its anatomy was ridiculous. It was so skinny and dainty looking, and the eyes were about twice as big as Stan thought they should be. Looking at this creature was giving him a headache.
"I…uh…" Stan had come here for a reason, but he'd let his exhaustion get the best of him and he was having a hard time focusing. "Hi."
The unicorn looked amused. Maybe his pathetic awkwardness could be to his favor. "What up?"
Stan stared at the pink unicorn in shock. The voice did not match the appearance at all. He looked like a little girl's toy, but talked like some punk on the street. It couldn't be more weird.
Stan snorted slightly to himself. "I have no idea what I was expecting, but it really wasn't this."
The unicorn walked closer to him. "I've heard that kinda thing before. Humans are always kinda stupid when it comes to unicorns."
Stan crossed his arms and nearly pouted. "Hey. I bet unicorns aren't exactly experts on people."
The unicorn narrowed his eyes at him, staring for a long moment before he smirked and nodded. "You know what? I'll give you that." The unicorn started pacing around Stan. He felt like one of Ford's experiments, like he was a curiosity to be studied.
"So, who are you and what are you doing here?" The unicorn asked. "You're not like the curious scientists and little girls that normally trespass in our home."
Stan couldn't bring himself to be embarrassed or ashamed. This was far from the first time that he'd forced himself into someone else's space because of something he needed.
"Look, I'll get right to it, I'm here for something." Stan said. The unicorn rolled his eyes and stepped away from him.
"Ah." The unicorn scoffed. "A hunter, then. Although-" He scrutinized Stan, looking for a bag or weapon, and failing to see anything. "You don't look like a hunter either."
"I'd consider myself more of an opportunist." Stan said without thinking, and then he remembered the strategy he'd had in mind coming in. He needed to tone down the sass and let himself be pathetic. He sighed and reached his hand back towards his hurt shoulder. "I just…I need help."
Stan worried that he'd come on too strong, but the unicorn looked amused again. "A human with a fan attitude, and humility. Now that's something I don't see every day." He strutted over to a rock near a waterfall and rested on it, making himself comfortable. The unicorn gestured to a nearby rock. "You know what? I'm bored. You're interesting. I'll give you a few minutes."
Stan kept himself from sarcastically pointing out how generous the unicorn was being. Yeah, to him it was really patronizing, but for the unicorn, he probably did think that he was being more than fair. He couldn't aggravate the unicorn. Not until he'd at least tried to get what he wanted from it.
"Thanks." Stan said quietly, as sincerely as he could manage. He limped towards the rock, only exaggerating it a little bit. Sometimes he could ignore the occasional stabbing pain in his feet, but he must have messed up somehow when he put his boots on before leaving, because the pain wouldn't leave him alone.
The unicorn watched him curiously. "You look like you just escaped from an army of gnomes."
Stan didn't really know what a gnome was, or how vicious they were, but he could piece together what the unicorn said. He sighed and dropped onto the rock. It was far from comfortable, but it felt better than being on his feet.
"I don't know about gnomes." Stan said. "Try demon. Or brother. Or demon possessing a brother." He tried to say it casually and playfully, but his voice cracked, showing just how hurt and scared he really was. The unicorn gave him a pitying look. It was humiliating, and it sucked, but it was also exactly what he had wanted.
"Aw, man." The unicorn shook his head. "Demons are nasty stuff. And let me tell you, brothers can be even worse."
Stan snorted, because the unicorn had a point. A demon was terrifying, but what really made this experience hurt was that it was Ford. His twin had burned him. His brother's hands were the ones that had tried to drown him. Stan could fight a demon, but he couldn't full-heartedly take on his brother.
"You have a brother?" Stan asked.
"Two of 'em." The unicorn said. "Star Spark, and C-Beth. I get along with Spark just fine, but C-Beth." The unicorn shook his head. "He's the biggest jerk I know. He's arrogant, and he can be stupidly cruel sometimes."
"He sounds like Ford." Stan chuckled. The unicorn let out a neigh that sounded like a chortle, and he started to feel more at ease. "I'm Stan."
"Word." The unicorn nodded. "C-Beth calls me Firelightshimmerdawn. My friends call me Shimmy."
"Shimmy it is." Stan said. Maybe it was bold of him to assume he could call the unicorn by his nickname, but he didn't think he could even say his full name.
"How'd your brother get involved with a demon?" Shimmy asked.
Stan shook his head. "Honestly, I have no idea. He probably just thought he could handle more than he could, and he got in over his head, because that's always what he does. You should have seen him at school. I had to protect him from bullies all the time." Talking about Ford made him feel easy and happy, but it quickly made him feel lost and lonely, just like always.
"But I guess I just crowded him." Stan folded slightly in on himself. "All I wanted was for him to be in my life, and all he seemed to want was for me to be gone." He didn't want to talk about this to a stranger, but he'd gotten used to it. His sob story had garnered him a lot of pity points these past ten years, and once or twice it had gotten him a hot meal and a warm place to sleep for the night.
"This is the first time I've seen him in ten years." Stan said quietly. "When I didn't do what he said immediately, we kinda got into a fight, and I got burned. He bit his lip and tightened his grip on his shoulder. "That wasn't even the demon. That was all Ford. That was my brother. He burned me, and I can't even be mad at him, because he's my brother, and I'd rather him talk to me than push me out of his life."
"Hey, I feel you." Shimmy said. He swung his head, flinging his hair back. "I'll show you what my brother did to me if you show me yours."
Stan bit his lip and carefully shrugged off Shermie's jacket. He was still wearing his shabby shirt that he'd been burned right through. He knew that the brand could be seen right through it. He got closer to Shimmy and turned to show his back to him. Exposing his back to the fresh air made the burn sting. He flinched and hissed through his teeth when shimmy nudged his muzzle against the burn.
"That's some nasty stuff." Shimmy said. He ducked his head, exposing his neck to Stan. "Move my mane a bit."
Stan felt hope build up within him. Shimmy had to know that he was here for his hair. For him to let Stan come anywhere near it, it was clearly a sign of trust and a test. One that Stan knew he could pass. Patience was the key, and despite what his brothers thought about him, he could be patient when he really wanted to be.
Stan gently brushed some of Shimmy's mane back, exposing his neck more. He was careful to avoid pulling harshly on the hair. He soon found what he was looking for. There was a scar that wasn't too big, but it was clear looking at it that it had been very deep indeed. Stan recognized a stab wound when he saw it.
"We got in a fight." Shimmy said. He sounded more human, more real, now. "I don't even remember how it started, but I was mad, and C-Beth was furious, and the next thing I knew he was stabbing me was his horn."
Stan could see Shimmy's horn. How long it was, and how dull the tip was. He cringed at the thought of being stabbed by that thing, and by the looks of the size of the wound, which was fairly wide, the horn would have had to have gone in deep.
"That sucks." Stan said sympathetically.
"It wasn't as bad as it looks." Shimmy said. "Unicorn's heal better than humans."
"Yeah, but your brother did that to you." Stan said. He knew he'd been burned by Ford, but that didn't feel as personal as a horn stabbing. Shimmy's ears drooped slightly.
"Yeah." The unicorn looked uncomfortable. Stan could relate. He hated showing weakness. "It took weeks for me to stop flinching when C-Beth lowered his head near me, and years for him to stop switching between giving me the most pathetic apologetic looks, and telling me that it was my own fault."
That wasn't what Stan wanted to hear, because it was just what he was afraid of. Ford had been really apologetic about the burn, but Stan knew it couldn't last. He knew how proud Ford was. Sooner or later he would get frustrated and try to shift the blame, and Stan was the easy person to take the fall.
He'd just made up with Ford, but how long would it last? When would Ford send him on his way, kicking him out again? He couldn't lose his family again. He just couldn't.
He knew that he wouldn't lose Shermie. His older brother cared about him, but he had so many responsibilities. He shouldn't have to take care of his fully-grown brother. Not when he had a wife, and a kid, and a job, and another, more important brother who needed him.
If Ford wanted Stan to leave, he would have to say goodbye to Shermie too, because between the two of them, Ford needed their big brother more. He had a demon haunting him. That was a bigger problem than Stan's loneliness and inability to find a consistent source of food. If Shermie had to choose between them, he should choose Ford.
That was the choice that Stan would want him to make, but the thought of it still made his heart hurt. He'd always been the second choice. The unnecessary child. The spare son who wasn't worth anything, and was only a burden and another mouth to feed. Shermie had always been the one person who had never showed a preference between them, but Stan had always known that it was just a matter of time.
"Are you going back to your brother?" Shimmy asked. "Even though he hurt you?"
"I have to." Stan said. "He needs me." Even if Stan couldn't find a way to protect Ford from his demon, he had to stick around as much as he was allowed to. He had to keep Ford safe from himself. That was his job, and the closest thing he'd found to having a purpose in this life.
"Hey, I feel you." Shimmy said. "You said you needed something. If it's not sanctuary from your brother, what do you want?"
"Some hair." Stan said. "Not a lot, I don't think, but Ford found a spell or something that he thinks can protect him from the demon."
Shimmy tilted his head at him. "Even if he's safe from the demon, what'll keep you safe from him?"
Stan grimaced. What was he supposed to say to that? He liked to think that he wouldn't just roll over and let Ford use him as a punching bag. Not that he thought he would. But if they got at each other again, Stan would pull his punches, and he knew that Ford wouldn't. The thought hurt, but Stan wouldn't have it any other.
Shimmy shook his head. "You know, I get it. Your brother's a pain, and he causes you pain, but he's your bro. He's family. And at the end of the day, you'll give up anything for him."
To Stan's astonishment, Shimmy flicked his tail back and swung his horn towards the hair at the end. A short, but thick, pile of short pink hair fell to the ground. Shimmy nodded at it.
"Go ahead." Shimmy said. "It sounds like you need it a little more than I do."
It couldn't be this easy, but the hair was right there, and Stan didn't want to give the unicorn the chance to change his mind. He nodded his appreciation and bent down, grabbing the hair.
"Thank you." Stan said. He wasn't used to speaking those words, but he didn't think being ungrateful towards an ethereal horse was the best idea.
"Just watch yourself." Shimmy said. "I mean, who's gonna watch your brother if you get stupid and let something dumb happen to you?"
"I know how to take care of myself." Stan said. He'd been doing it for ten years. Still, it was nice to have somebody who seemed to care, even if it was just on a surface level. "I'll be careful."
"Yo, Shimmy!" Another voice called out. "You'd better not be flirting with the satyr again. You know C-Beth hates it when you do that."
Shimmy looked towards the bushes. "If he wants to make a move on Jayje, then he should do it already!" He called out. Shimmy rolled his eyes and looked back at Stan. "You'd better go. Spark's cool with humans, but C-Beth hates you guys, and he'll freak if he found out I was hanging with one."
"Oh, we wouldn't want that." Stan stood up. He hurried out of the glen, clutching the hair tightly. He was so all over, but still he made himself run back into the cold winter, and then he hurried as quickly but carefully as he could through the snow.
He didn't let himself get relieved or excited about having accomplished his goal. He wasn't out of the woods left, and in Stan's experience, he shouldn't celebrate until he was home free. Then, and only then, would he even believe that he had gotten his goods.
He felt raw and cold, and he didn't think it was just because of the chilly weather. This was why he hated talking about himself. Not because he had to show others that he was vulnerable, but because he had to admit to himself how weak he was. It scared him just how pathetic he was. If he let himself stop to think about it for half a minute, he would remember how worthless, stupid, and sensitive he was.
That was why Stan kept moving. It was why he never settled down after ten years of living on the streets. Why he was constantly looking for people to talk to even though he was terrified of letting anyone close. People were a great distraction, and a good reason to put up a shield to hide how he was really feeling.
That was why Stan ran back to the cabin desperately, as though he was being chased even though nothing was out here. If he stopped moving, he wouldn't be able to start again. So he kept going. He would get this hair to Ford. He'd assist him with the spell. He'd take care of Ford and make sure Shermie got home to his family, where he belonged.
Sooner rather than later, Stan knew that he would run out of goals to run towards. At that point, he would just have to run away again. Running forward and running back. That was what he had to do, because he really didn't know how to face what was right in front of him, and he was too scared to even think about figuring it out.