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Chapter Text

Stanley stared back in disbelief as the front door slammed in his face. Up in the window he still called to his brother, begging them to see sense. “High-six?”

The curtain was pushed shut and he was left under the flickering lamp light with only a small duffle bag of his belongings and the keys to his El Diablo.

For a moment he felt tears well up in his eyes before he yelled back at the silent house. “Fine! I’ll show you!” Stan muttered the next part under his breath, “I’ll make millions,” on his way over to the car he’d fixed up over the last couple of years. Jumping in and peeling out, for a while Stan drove in circles, not knowing where to go or what to do next. He refused to cry, though.

Finally Stan drove over to the beach and parked. Jumping out, he made his way with his duffle over to the Stan O War. The boat him and Stanford’d been fixing up since they were kids.

Despite how angry his twin had been, Stanley hoped his brother would show up so they could talk more without Pa making it worse. Stan stayed there all night, laying out on the deck, hoping Stanford would feel—something, some twin telepathy—and find him.

Stanford didn’t show up.

That’s fine. Stan thought. He’s angry. I’ve never seen him this mad. He probably just needs some time, he thought.

Stan had some snacks in the car. People on the pier left stuff out all the time. That Saturday he hung around the Stan O War again and picked food off beachgoers.

But Stanford still never showed up.

That night Stan laid out on the deck of the boat again. He looked at the stars. Constellations his brother had tried teaching him stared back, cold and hazy from the bad city air.

On Sunday, Stanley decided he needed a plan.

He still hoped Stanford would come by, but if he didn’t…if he didn’t…

Stan didn’t know. All his life it’d always been Stan-and-Ford. Twins. Inseparable, by both desire and necessity. Ford had been teased and bullied mercilessly, and Stanley had always defended him. They’ve had each other’s backs for 17 years.

And now, after one stupid accident, one mistake, he was kicked out and forced away and told to make up the millions he’s cost the family.

Stanley’s breath hitched and it grew harder and harder to take in air.

What the hell, Stan thought, struggling to breathe. Tears and snot fell freely as Stanley focused on gathering air into his chest. It took him half an hour to calm down long enough to breathe normally. What do I do? Stan wondered. I ain’t got money or skills. I can’t just leave…

That night, Stan made a plan.

I’ll show them. They think I’m a worthless screw up? I'm gonna finish and graduate. I’ll make my millions soon enough…

Chapter Text

The next day, for the first time on his own, Stanford walked to school.

The weekend had been a minefield, and mentioning anything related to Stanley were the mines. Reactions varied depending on who stepped on the mine, though.

No matter who brought him up, Filbrick would always turn purple with rage and scream they weren’t discussing that ‘worthless bastard of a son’ any more.

Every look Ma gave Ford was filled with tears, and Ford found himself gritting his teeth and avoiding everyone.

At night, Ford found himself routinely saying “good night, Stanley,” and then immediately swearing at himself for the slip. It never even crossed his mind that he should finally get to sleep in the bottom bunk, though.

On Saturday, Pa had gone down to run the pawn shop he owned. Ma was on her psychic hotline as usual. But Ford heard the sobs through the apartment walls. It was driving him crazy. He had every right to be mad at Stanley! He sabotaged his future, his happiness! He ruined his chances for West Coast Tech for some ridiculous idea from when they were kids.

Even thinking of the Stan O War was getting him worked up. Tears of betrayal welled up in Ford’s eyes (not sadness, he told himself, I’m not sad he’s gone) and made it harder to breathe. It took him thirty minutes to be able to even out his breathing, for his chest to stop heaving and the sting to leave his eyes.

On Sunday Ford went to the library and didn’t come home until right before curfew. He couldn’t stand another second in that house.

So Monday morning, earlier than normal, Stanford walked to school completely alone.

He told himself not to think about it and just finish the year. Walking to homeroom, he sat in his usual desk up front and waited for the bell to ring. He pulled out a journal and reviewed his notes for a test in science later. So he didn’t notice when his brother walked in and took a seat in the back of the class.

He did notice when someone took Stan’s desk, though, right next to him.

Looking up he saw an underclassmen. Lenny Johnson, he thought it was.

“What are you doing?” Ford asked, surprised. Sure, there weren’t assigned seats, but everyone had established their preferred spots early on. Usually Johnson took a spot in the back with the other slackers.

Johnson looked up. He wasn’t much smaller than Ford, but he still seemed nervous to answer. “I got told to scram so I t-took the only other desk. He-he said he didn’t think you’d mind…” Lenny trailed off, shifting anxiously in his chair. He glanced back at his old spot then back at Ford.

Turning, Ford felt the blood rush to his face. There, in Johnson’s seat, was his brother.

Stanley looked up from the book he’d been holding and caught Ford’s eye. Stanley looked miserable but lifted his mouth and hand in a smiling wave.

Ford bit his lip to keep from yelling and turned back around. What’s he doing here?

“So…we good here?” Lenny asked.

Ford jumped. He’d already forgotten Lenny was the reason he’d turned in the first place.

“Yes, you are fine there.” That explains the nervousness, Ford thought bitterly. Stan can be a threat when he wants to be. Now he’s just screwing with other people’s lives instead.

Before he could go too far down that train of thought, the bell rang and class started.

Chapter Text

The day passed in an uneasy pattern. Ford and Stan had all of the same classes. As soon as the bell rang Ford would jump out of his seat and practically sprint to the next class. He’d take his front row seat and bury his nose in a book and try to ignore Stanley’s eyes on him as he walked in and threatened somebody behind him to switch seats.

It was harder to ignore Stan in gym, their lockers next to each other. Ford changed as quickly as he could and bolted to the doors leading to the gym to stand by the coach. Luckily that day was just running laps, so Ford walked and stared at the wall.

Whenever Stan passed him he slowed down and tried to talk, but Stanford would stop walking altogether to get him to move on.

By final bell, Ford was ready to run straight home. He’d successfully avoided Stanley all day while he got angrier and angrier over seeing him at all. Mind still caught up in that mess of madness, he didn’t even notice the group of boys in front of him til it was too late.

With a shove in the chest Ford was abruptly forced backwards, caught off guard.

Oh no… he groaned internally. Crampelter.

Tommy Crampelter stood in front of him, flanked by his thuggy friends. Ford adjusted his glasses.

“What do you want?” he asked, trying not to sound scared, but wincing as his voice cracked mid-sentence.

“Hey, freak, where’s your brother? Finally decide you’re too weird to hang around anymore?” Crampelter’s goons laughed, loud and dumb. Grinning broadly, he kept going. “Or what—that idiot finally wisened up and left your nerdy ass? Not worth defendin’ anymore?” Crampelter cracked his knuckles.

“Leave me alone.” Ford tried backing up but suddenly Crampelter’s frineds were behind him. He was surrounded.

“No more friends to help ya now, you freak,” Crampelter said as he stalked closer to him.

Ford felt fear speed up his heart. He tried to run but Crampelter’s friends grabbed his arms and held him back, dragging him to a nearby alley.

“Finally,” was all Crampelter said before he started whaling on Ford, who could only struggle and yell back in pain.

By the time Crampelter and his goons left, Ford had a black eye, a bloody nose, what were soon to be bruises on his torso, and pain in his shoulders from being pinned for so long. His glasses had been torn off his face and stomped on, now sporting a large crack across one eye, and a bent frame. They’d torn his backpack off of his shoulders and dumped it, scattering all of his things and smashing his papers and pens apart.

He stumbled home and into his room before anybody was home. He pulled the first aid kit out from under the bunk beds and struggled to work on fixing himself up. He was crying, aching, and angry. Angry at Crampelter. Angry at Stanley. Angry at Pa. Angry at everything.

That night he went to bed without dinner.

He couldn’t face either of them.

He could barely face himself.

That was the first night he didn’t slip and say goodnight to Stanley.

Chapter Text

All in all, not as bad of a day as Stan thought. Not ideal! But he could live with it for now.

Stanford had ignored him all day. That hurt. After that first glare in homeroom, though, Stan had let him be. He managed to threaten or weedle someone in every class to switch desks with him. Lee didn’t think Stanford would’ve reacted well if Stan’d acted like nothing was different when everything was.

Over the course of the day, Stanley had fallen into a new pattern.

He paid attention during class. He found an old notebook at the back of his locker as well as a pen. He took notes (despite feeling lost as hell in most of them). He gave Ford time to sprint to their next class but always stared at him as he walked in, hoping he’d turn and talk. (He never did. That twin telepathy really must’ve been BS).

When the final bell rung, Stan waited for Ford to run out the door before moving. Sighing as he stood up, he went back to his locker to run over his options. He opened his locker and stared. Him and Ford shared all of their books. Pa never saw a reason to spend twice as much for books when they’re in the same classes, and he knew Stan wasn’t going to use them anyway. But now Stan was out from cheating on Ford and no way to get at those books. He rooted around in the locker for spare change. What was he gonna do for food tonight? He’d taken a quick shower after gym, so even though he was wearing the same clothes, he at least didn’t smell as bad anymore.

He almost laughed. Ford and I used to hate taking showers after gym. We’d watch each other’s backs to make sure the other guys wouldn’t mess with us while we were in there. Stan hadn’t even seen Ford go near the showers today. Coach would go nuts if he realized the students weren’t following the rules and showering after class, but somehow Ford had avoided that today. My genius brother, Stan thought.

Stan found a few crumpled ones in the bottom, and some spare change. He counted the change and kept looking around. As long as it seemed like he had a reason to be in the hallway, none of the teachers would kick him out…probably.

If Stan was gonna pull this off, he’d need to get access to some books. He needed a better place to stay than the boat when things got colder. And he needed to figure out what he was doing for dinner. He groaned and put one hand to his stomach as it rumbled. He’d palmed food from other kids at lunch, but he knew that wouldn’t be enough to keep him satisfied for long.

Stan sighed and closed the locker. He had about two bucks in change, a few old pencils, and his notebook filled with doodles and half-hearted notes.

If Stan was gonna do this, he needed more. Sighing, he threw the change in his pocket and carried the rest down the hall. He’d never spent so long after school before. And never so long without his brother. He needed a way to get the books, or else he’d never get caught up enough to graduate (and stick it to them that he wasn’t a screw-up).

Coming around the corner of the school building, Stan heard heavy breathing and grunts, as if in pain. Protective instincts kicked in and he raced around the corner, fists raised, blood pumping.

Marcus Stillwater had Lenny Johnson pinned to the wall and was punching him. Johnson stifled his yells, biting his lips, but Stillwater kept at it, beating the tar out of him.

Stan dropped his notebook. Lunging forward he grabbed Marcus by the shoulder. Flipping him around Stan socked him in the jaw. WHAM, again in the stomach, winding him. Stan threw punches and took a few back, but soon enough Marcus pushed him away with a bloody lip and a “what the hell, man?” and ran away. Stan felt the rush leave him and the pain set in. Aches down his arms and the start of a shiner on his right eye.

Turning, he saw Lenny propped against the wall, gripping his side and still breathing heavy. When they made eye contact, Lenny’s eyes widened and he started stuttering his thanks. Stan gave a sad grin and told him not to mention it. But Lenny struggled up into a standing position and took a tentative step forward.

“No, ser-seriously, thanks, Stanley. I’d’ve been dead meat without you today. You need anything, j-just tell me. I owe you.”

Stan just nodded, mind taking off, trying to figure out how to use this. One hand found its way to his stomach and before he realized what he was saying asked, “Can I come over for dinner?”

They both looked surprised at the request. Stan, frozen, regretting his words but not able to take them back.

Lenny coughed once and winced as the motion jostled his ribs. Then he nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, man. Sure. 6:30—my house is over on 15^th, alright? The green one.”

“Uh, thanks, Johnson,” Stan rubbed the back of his neck with one hand.

“No, Stanley, thank you. S-see you.” Lenny pushed off from the wall completely and took off, limping slightly.

Stan looked after him until he was a blurry dot in the distance. He picked up his notebook and rubbed at the ache in his shoulder from his fight with Stillwater. He’s had far worse, but never in a fight for some kid he barely knew. Who had owed him. And he used that debt for dinner.

Stan smiled. It’ll be easier to think on a full stomach tonight. He started walking again. Maybe he’d go by the library and see if he can’t figure out his English homework. They got books there, right? How hard could it be to do a written paper on his own?

Chapter Text

Stan brushed his fingers through his hair and checked his reflection in the bathroom mirror one more time before heading out. He wanted to look okay so the Johnsons' hopefully wouldn’t ask too many questions. The shiner Marcus gave him wasn’t helping. Stan sighed and left, exiting the dingy park’s bathroom and heading around the block to Lenny’s place. It was almost 6:30, and Stan’s stomach had been growling most of the day.

Checking his watch, he rang the doorbell. A couple of muffled shouts and shuffling footsteps gave way to Lenny opening the door and smiling widely.

“Hey man, right on—right on time. Come in.” Lenny said motioning Stan inside his house. Stan just nodded and walked in, looking around. There was a short hallway in front of him, which opened up into a living room on the right and a kitchen on the left. Looking further past the living room was another hallway that led to what Stan assumed were the bedrooms and bathroom.

Lenny led him to the kitchen where he could see Mrs. Johnson was fixing something over the stove, her back to Stan. Lenny started taking plates out of a cabinet and setting them on the small table. Stan wasn’t really sure if he was expected to help or not. He scratched the back of his neck and fidgeted, waiting.

Mrs. Johnson turned, holding a steaming pot with two hands. “Hello dear, would ya mind putting the hot pad down for me?” she stared at Stan.

Stan looked around and nabbed it off the counter, setting it on the table in the middle where she gestured. She smiled at him and said thanks. Stanley shrugged his shoulders and nodded.

Mrs. Johnson ordered Lenny and him around a bit more, straightening silverware and bringing out serving spoons, but finally Mrs. Johnson nodded, satisfied. Then Lenny formally introduced Stan to his mother, and they shook hands before she asked them to wash up for dinner.

Stan followed Lenny into the little hallway and crowded the doorway of a small bathroom.

“Hey m-man, don’t look so freaked, so freaked out. It’s not, I mean, it’s all cool,” Lenny said while washing his hands. Stan nodded and nervously scratched his ear.

“Yeah, sure, but why does your mom think I’m here? Is she gonna freak out if my bruises come up?” Lenny stepped aside, practically on top of the toilet, and let Stan wash his hands.

“No, man. It-it-it’s like I said. I told her a cool guy from my homeroom was coming ov-over. Just be nice and it’ll be fine.”

Stan dried of his hands and they both walked back to the kitchen. Stan noticed Lenny was still limping slightly.

Stan took his cues from Lenny, sitting when he did, folding hands and closing his eyes, keeping one cracked to know what to do next. Mrs. J blessed the meal and Stan looked up only a beat after Lenny did.

Mrs. Johnson opened the pot and served Stan a generous portion of—oh. Stan was floored. She’d made chicken pot pie with all the fixings, and it smelled heavenly. Then she brought out some gravy and Stan nodded eagerly. He filled his plate up and dug in. That first bite was amazing.

There wasn’t much conversation over dinner, just some typical questions about how the day was, how classes were going, what year Stan was. None of the uncomfortable questions he thought might come up, especially considering he looked like crap.

Stan ate seven helpings, clearing out the bowl and licking his fingertips when he was done. Mrs. Johnson raised her eyebrows but all she said was, “Ah, growing boys. Need a lot to keep going, huh?” To which Stan tried to smile and Lenny just shrugged.

When he was finished Stan leaned back and said, “That was, without a doubt, the best meal I’ve had all year.”

Mrs. Johnson smiled. “Well, thank you for the compliment, young man. Maybe next time Leonard has you over, I can try to top that.” Stan tried not to laugh at hearing Lenny’s full name, and just nodded his agreement with her.

Mrs. J clapped her hands. “Now, who’s ready for dessert?”

Stan sat up straight in his chair where he’d been slouching. More food? Jackpot! Best deal ever.

Lenny grimaced. “Ye-yeah, mom, but please, not, I mean, don’t make it—“

Mrs. Johnson cut him off “Three Q-tie Pies coming right up!”

Lenny groaned and leaned over to Stan to say “Sorry about the bad pun, Stan.”

Stan felt confused. “I’m always up for a good pun, but where was it?”

Mrs. Johnson was gathering smaller plates and took something out of the fridge while Lenny answered. “3 Q-dash-t-i-e Pie, Stan. She calls-calls it that because she gets to ask any-ny questions during the dessert, one for each person. So three people eating, three questions to be asked. Oldest one asks. It’s a—it’s—it’s an old dessert tradition at my house, sorry.”

Stan laughed. “The only ‘dessert tradition’ at my house was trying to be the first to grab some before Pa cut us off and s—“ Stan looked down for a second, cutting off his own words, surprised at how easily he started the story without thinking about the accident and the rest. “Yeah. Not a lot of ‘dessert traditions’ at my place,” Stan finished, the laughter drained from his voice.

“Then I hope you don’t mind taking part in ours, Stanley.”

“Not at all, ma’am.”

Mrs. Johnson passed out a weird looking pie (or-oranges, Lenny explained, those cutie kinds—get it?) Mrs. Johnson looked at him critically before choosing her first question. Stan tried not to squirm.

“Why…”she paused, narrowing her eyes. Stan didn’t really want to lie to this lady, hoping if he was lucky he’d get a dinner invite back from her, forcing Lenny to have him over again. But if he got caught in a lie here, it may never happen. It’d only been four days after getting kicked out, but Stan could already feel himself changing. It scared him. Eating dinner tonight was the closest to normal he’d felt since…he just didn’t want to mess this up.

“Why…” she repeated, suddenly smiling, “shouldn’t kittens fly?”

“I—uh, what?” Stan was thrown off completely.

“Why shouldn’t kittens fly?” she repeated, still smiling. “Feel free to explain your answer with great detail.”

Stan gave a half-hearted answer at first. But with a bit of encouragement from Mrs. Johnson and direction from Lenny, Stan began spinning a long tale about exactly why kittens should never have the power of flight. And so the questions went. Mrs. Johnson asked two more ridiculous questions, and Stan created long-winded stories about the subjects of those questions, all while having a couple slices of this strange, orange pie.

Soon enough they cleared the dishes and Stan prepared to head out. He pulled Lenny aside in the living room while Mrs. J finished up in the kitchen.

“Hey,” Stan said, looking Lenny in the eye, “we’re square now, right?”

Lenny stood a little straighter where he was leaning against the wall. “Yeah-yeah, we’re square.”

Stan nodded, unsure of what to say next, but Lenny beat him to it. “You know, um, I-I-I might owe you again if Stillwater comes-comes back. Or, you know, Scumpelter or, uh, whoever.” Lenny stumbled over his words but his eyes were full of meaning. Stan caught on immediately. He understood the language of saving face and speaking in double meanings. He may be the dumb twin, but in most cases, he was pretty dam good at reading between the lines.

“Yeah, you might owe me again sometime in the future. I’ll be sure to keep my good eye,” Stan poined to his left eye and gave a small grin, “open for ya. Deal?”

“Deal.”

Stan nodded and called out a goodbye to Mrs. Johnson. Before he could walk out the door, she rushed out and handed him a plastic sack with some leftovers inside. “To take back home, a thank-you for letting us borrow you for the night. No refrigeration necessary. Tell your family hello from us!”

Stan gave a polite smile and agreed. Walking back to the beach Stan grinned. He checked out the food in the sack, realizing it would last him the next few days if he played his cards right.

He jumped the railing of the Stan O War and went below decks. It was cool enough to sleep outside, but not so cold he’d freeze. Another small miracle for Jersey in February. He settled onto the blankets he and Ford had put in there and looked at the stars from between cracks in the deck floor.

He had a decent meal for the small price of taking a few hits. He’d taken worse for free (for Ford) in the past, this was practically nothing (except he missed first aid provided by someone who cares, instead of his big fingers).

He has food through Thursday, at least, and a new idea for making money spinning in the back of his mind. He’s still completely lost on the school side of things, but he may have an idea to fix that, too.

Stan fell asleep with a smile on his face, the first true smile he’d made while he was alone since being thrown out. It was so wide it almost hurt. Stan fell asleep happy, and it was the first night he’d forgotten to say goodnight to Ford before he closed his eyes.

Chapter Text

Stan had an idea. Something about the arrangement he’d made with Lenny sparked it. Now he just had to sell it to his targets. He got up early the next morning to see if he couldn’t put it into motion. Walking from the beachfront to the high school, he kept an eye out for the perfect opportunity, the right student.

It was about twenty minutes until first bell. He swung by his locker to throw his stuff inside and made his way to the library. If he was lucky he’d find a few nerds around there. As he went inside he spied a few sophomores clumped at a back table. Bingo, he thought. They had textbooks scattered neatly and pencils out, but they were just talking. One guy gesturing had a big black shiner.

Stan took a deep breath before pulling a seat up to the table and jumping in, startling them all.

“How’s it hanging?” he said, elbows leaning on the table. They all exchanged quick glances before answering, nerves clear.

(The classes didn’t mix that much at Glass Shard Beach High. Sophomores talked to sophomores, everybody hated freshmen. Easy. Juniors may get a pass either way, but they mostly stuck to themselves. There of course were hierarchies even within the classes that made a difference, but in general, these rules were solid. So a senior talking to you out of the blue was a red alert to any underclassmen, big time.)

“Good. Great. Need anything?” the Shiner Kid replied, speaking for the group.

Stan wasn’t entirely sure if a ‘loser senior’ would still be intimidating to sophomores. He was glad he was, though. Ball was in his court, now.

“Yeah, just a few quick questions. Where’d ya get that shiner?” Stan asked, pointing at it.

Shiner Kid rubbed the area near his eye self-consciously, wincing. He looked to his friends for help, but they all looked down and away. No one liked admitting they got walloped in a fight. It seemed like every kid at their school had the same tough New Jersey father beating the same ideas of manliness into their skulls.

“Uh…Crampelter knocked me before lunch a couple days ago…” he mumbled.

Stan nodded sympathetically. “He’s a real piece of work.”

That got a couple nods and Shiner Kid said, “No disagreements here.”

This is my chance, Stan thought, readying himself to take the plunge.

“How’d you like to see him taken down a notch?” he asked, trying not to lean in too much.

“What do you mean,” Shiner Kid asked.

“I mean, I’ll fight him for you. Give him a taste of his own medicine.”

None of them looked like they could quite believe it. A second nerd spoke up to ask why.

“’Cause he deserves it. ‘Cause I’m good at punching things. ‘Cause I’m only asking for something small in return.”

“Oh yeah? What’s that?”

The moment of truth.

“A couple bucks. Or you do a piece of homework for me.”

“Seriously?”

“Uh-huh.”

Stan hoped those expressions were of consideration, not outright shutting his idea down.

Nerd 3 finally spoke up. “And if we say no?”

Stan shrugged, trying to look cool. “Then I ask the next kid with a bloody nose. I’m not asking a lot here. It’s a pretty fair trade.”

Shiner Kid nodded. He chewed his lip. Before anyone else could talk, though, the warning bell rang. They all stood up, gathering their books. Stan had one last thing to say, though.

“Tell your friends, offer’s on the table. I don’t punch for free, but I am pretty cheap. To get those shitbags off your backs.”

Shiner Kid broke a smile at that and the three got up and left Stan behind, talking quietly. Stan waited a few seconds before jogging to his locker and grabbing his notes for homeroom. He nodded at Lenny, noticing Ford’s seat was empty and feeling a pang of worry run through him. Is he okay? He’s never late – where – why… Stan tried focusing on Ms. Bell, but it was hard.

It was equally hard about ten minutes later when his brother rushed in, panting and red-faced, sporting a fresh bruise to match his own, and took his seat in the front. He couldn’t quite hear what Ms. Bell asked his brother, but the way Ford’s shoulders tensed and he hunched further into his chair, Stan could guess. Aw shit. They’re gonna bring this up all day, aren’t they? Why can’t they just leave him alone?

He shook his head and tried to pay attention to class, but it was harder than before. He saw kids throw things at his brother’s head, and though he tried glaring them down for it, it didn’t stop anyone from doing it again. His brother slunk further and further into his seat all class. When the bell finally rang, his brother raced out, a few papers dropping from his backpack in his haste.

Stan slowly got up and grabbed the papers, stuffing them in his pocket. No sense losing some good notes, if he won’t let me return them. He tripped a couple of the jerkwads who’d thrown stuff at his brother on his way out of class, and laughed as they lost all their books in the fall. Stepping over them he went on with his day.

He hoped those nerds would get the news around, but he knew he’d have to try and approach some other kids with his proposition. He walked around a few tables at lunch, sitting down and giving his offer a few more times. Every time the nerves ate at him but he pushed them aside. Luckily the guys he talked to looked just as nervous that a bigger, stronger looking senior was talking to them. That helped calm Stan down, a bit.

With no definite answers by the end of the day, and a few pages of confused notes and assignments in hand, he headed off to the library. He’d turned in empty sheets before, but that was back when he could copy off Ford later, when it mattered. Turning in empty work now meant more work later. Still, he didn’t really have a choice. He sighed and kept walking. Hopefully the nerds would need protection soon. Otherwise he’d have to actually figure out all this without any books or help.

He had about three hours until he could put his next plan into motion. Stan just needed to time it right. Luck needed to be on his side. Luck owes me right now, he thought, walking, trying to work out a kink in his shoulder Marcus had punched him yesterday. He needed any little extra life could give him right now. Especially if his last link to home failed him tonight.

Please, Ma, please say you didn’t want this too.

Chapter Text

Ford was late to school.

He was never late to school. Not even when Stan would try to drag him “on an adventure” down to the beach before class so they could skip together. But he was late Tuesday morning.

He’d exhausted himself the night before. He woke up achy and sore. The bruises on his face and torso were really throbbing, and various cuts and scrapes were being felt just as strong. He didn’t want to get caught and questioned by either parent, so he’d waited until Pa went down to open the shop and he heard Ma take her first customer before bolting to the kitchen. He nabbed some toast and strong tape from the drawer and quickly fixed his backpack the best he could.

With a glance at the wall clock he cursed, running fingers through his hair and wincing at a bump he felt there, probably from when they’d pushed him against the alley wall.

He cursed again and ran down the steps and made his way to school. He was hyper aware for any sign of Crampelter or any of the other school bullies, but the road was clear of other students, thankfully.

Ten minutes late, Ford came rushing to his classroom, trying to gather his breath as he walked to his seat in the front. He saw the Johnson kid give him a weird look before Mrs. Bell stopped in front of him and spoke.

“Good of you to join us, Mr. Pines. But I expect you to be on time. Colleges like West Coast Tech don’t accept tardiness.” She spoke with a small smile, as if to let Ford in on the joke, as if Ford had actually made it in.

He felt his face heat up and he clenched a fist below his desk as he answered in a low voice, trying not to show his embarrassment, “I, um, I didn’t make it in.”

Ms. Bell stopped smiling. “What?”

Ford glared at his desk, voice tight. “I didn’t get in.”

Ms. Bell considered his words and frowned. “Well, we expected more from you. Tardiness is still unacceptable, Mr. Pines. Don’t be late again or its detention.” And with that Ms. Bell went back to teaching, as if she hadn’t just set off the cannons in Ford’s head, angrily firing every thought.

His fist tightened and he felt his nails dig into his palms. That’ll leave a mark, he thought. His face still flushed, he took out his notebook, shoulders aching as he stretched the muscles a new way. It only made him angrier.

This is all Stan’s fault. If he hadn’t sabotaged me, I wouldn’t be embarrassed, or hurt, or failing expectations. He did this to me.

Ford ignored the feeling of eyes boring into the back of his head. He knew there were more than one set, today. He felt a few crumpled up papers thrown at him when the teacher wasn’t looking, but didn’t even bother reading them. The accompanying snickers when they hit their mark told him enough.

When the bell rang he stood up immediately, dropping a few papers as he did so and not even caring, peeling out of class and feeling one last crumpled up paper ball hit him on his way out. Homeroom had been just as boring and pointless as every other class. He already knew all the material. He couldn’t get into a good college anymore. Why even go?

Ford didn’t skip class, but he was tempted. He gave answers the teachers asked in a waspish tone and they eventually left him alone. His science teacher congratulated him personally before class started, seeing as how Ford had sprinted there directly after his last class to avoid anyone in the hallways. Ford told him, just as angry as he was that morning, that he hadn’t made it in.

His teacher yelled about wasted potential and missed opportunities and muttered angrily about not getting into the news anymore and Ford curled his hands into fists and took his spot on the front row. His classes passed in a blur of anger and for once he didn’t pay attention or take notes. He let the buzz take over in his head and every time he tensed up he felt his shoulders hurt more and he almost liked that he had something to be mad over.

He managed to run home right after bell in a knot of students leaving the building. He used to prefer leaving later so he could finish some thoughts he’d had during the day and then head out for his tutoring job right after school, walking with Stan. But he just clenched his fists around the taped up backpack and trudged home, sprinting once the crowd thinned out to be on the safe side.

He was so focused on his own problems, he didn’t hear the kids around him talking about a new way to get rid of their bullies, maybe. And how much of a buzz that also caused. He threw his things into his room and stared at a notebook until his mother came up to remind him he had to go tutor the neighbor’s kid. He didn’t say a word to either parent as he left. Despite the words roiling around in his brain, he didn’t have much to say.

Chapter Text

On Tuesday nights Pa goes out with some of his buddies from around town after work. Sometimes poker night, usually to the nearest bar.

On Tuesday and Thursday nights Ford meets with the kid down the block to tutor him in 7^th grade math and science. Mrs. K pays him $10 to tutor her son. Last year she gave him an extra few dollars when little Michael came home with an A in math for the first time.

On Tuesdays Ma works the phone lines, waiting for more clients to give ‘psychic readings’ to.

On Tuesdays Rebecca is off work and takes her Samuel back. With Shermie overseas, it’s easier on the young family to babysit for Reb than to hire out a babysitter she could barely afford.

On Tuesdays Stan used to catch up on comics or head to the gym for extra boxing practice.

On this Tuesday night Stan watches the house to make sure everybody left.

And then he calls the hotline. Ma answers with her typical Psychic spiel but Stan cuts her off.

“Ma…” his throat closes up and that’s all he can say.

“Stanley, baby? Oh, thank goodness! I’ve been worried sick over you. Where are you, baby? What can I do?”

Stanley feels relief flood through him. Ma still cares, thank god Ma didn’t want this. “I’m still here, Ma.” Stan listened to his mother weep on the other side of the line, asking questions too fast for Stan to respond to. Glancing at his watch, he put a stop to his mother’s flow of words. “Ma, please, I’m doing okay. But, I need a little help.”

“Of course, baby. But your father keeps such a tight eye on the money, I’m not sure I can snatch any without—“ Stan cut her off before she could finish.

“No, ma, I don’t need money. Are my clothes still there? Or some blankets? I just need a little more than what came in the bag, you know?” Stanley scratched the back of his neck, uncomfortable bringing up that night, even though he knew now that ma didn’t hate him for it.

“Stanley, can you make it over to the house? Filbrick should be gone for a while yet tonight, he had a good day at the store today. And your brother won’t be done tutoring for another half hour at least. I need to see you, baby. I need to make sure you’re okay.” Ma choked up a little at the end, her voice wavering. Stanley tried not to let her tone get to him. He breathed deeply a few times before saying he’d be there in a few minutes, and hung up.

-

He got to the Pawn Shop and looked around before entering, the soft jangle of the bell above him making him wince. He headed to the stairs and went up them quickly. When he got to the top he hesitated, unsure whether he was supposed to knock. But before he could decide, the door swung open and his ma enveloped him in a bone-crushing hug.

“Oh, baby, look at you. Where are you staying? I’m so sorry, Stanley.” Stan patted her back and tried to keep a leash on the tears that threatened to come out.

“It’s okay, I’m okay, Ma. I’m staying down by the ocean. You know. The boat.” Ma leaned back and looked into his face, rubbing a hand over his black eye (Stan winced) and tutting at the bruises and cuts she saw. Her eyes welled up with fresh tears and Stan quickly looked for something to say.

“Uh, I know we don’t have a lot of time. I just – I wanted to talk to you. And get a few things, if I could?”

“Of course, of course, come on in Stanley,” Ma said, backing up and waiting for him to follow, hovering by the couch, wringing her hands. Stan took a deep breath and followed her, feeling strange as he passed the threshold. It had only been a few days, and nothing had really changed inside, but he already felt like an intruder in his own house. It hurt a lot more than he’d expected.

“What happened to your face, hon?” Ma asked, unable to contain her worry as they walked to his former bedroom.

Stan shrugged, putting on a little grin. “Eh, ya know me, getting in a fight for a nerd. Same old, same old.” He stopped in front of the door to their room. Despite the time crunch, he couldn’t help the panic weighing in his chest as he stood in front of the closed door. Flashes of Pa kicking him to the curb and slamming the door went through his mind.

He felt Ma put a hand around his shoulders and whispered an encouragement that Stan couldn’t hear, too caught up in his own head.

He didn’t have time for this. He just needed to get in and grab his stuff and leave before Pops or Ford came back. He couldn’t risk them seeing him back here, not so soon…

He opened the door and walked in slowly.

Nothing had changed.

His side of stuff was still a mess and Ford’s side was even messier. His bed was unmade the way he’d left it last, maybe it’d been sat on, but definitely not slept in. He glanced around and saw a few stacks of comics looked kicked around and some books that had been in a neat pile on the desk were scattered on the floor, but everything else was just…the same.

He knelt under his bed and grabbed an extra backpack and asked his Ma to grab him some blankets from the hall closet. As Ma walked away Stan started on some clothes. He threw in some spare jeans and extra underwear and more than the one ratty t-shirt he’d been wearing that night. He ignored looking at the window, where the curtains were still drawn, and focused on gathering up his things. He ignored the stack of comics and went for another pair of shoes. He grabbed his boxing gloves and a deck of cards and a few towels and every single pen, pencil, or notebook he saw. He stuffed everything into that backpack and as many pockets as he could.

He stood, looking around. Ma came back, holding out an old, busted suitcase they hadn’t used in years because the latch was busted but it still worked well enough, so Filbrick hadn’t wanted to throw it out.

“We can pack you some food, Fil won’t know the left-overs are even missing, Stan. And I’m going shopping tomorrow, anyway. Put anything you want in here,” she said, throwing her words over her shoulder as she set the case down on the kitchen table, popping it open and opening the cabinets, searching for food.

Stan looked around his room one last time and almost left before spotting something on the desk. He went up to it and saw one of the pictures of Ford and him taken last year. Well, it was the four of them, really. He’d just won a big match at the local gym and it was great! Pa had almost been impressed, a slight smile curling on his face as he’d told Stan that a real man knows how to throw a punch, and he’d almost shown one that day. Ma had clapped but been distracted by the gossip the Petersens were discussing about the owner of the local grocery store almost going out of business, among other news.

But dead center was him and his brother, Stan’s arm around Ford’s neck and them both grinning, Ford pointing at him like he was some sort of big deal. Like he wasn’t the screw up, for once.

Stan tucked the picture in his pocket, fighting back a strange feeling choking at his throat, feeling his black eye pulse for a moment as he went back down the hall to help his mother pack non-perishables into the suitcase.

“Hey, if you could put the recycling out a day early, I could grab cans and take them to the metal plant for some money. If—you know, if it’s not too much trouble. I don’t really wanna be a burden on y—“

“Stanley Pines, do not finish that sentence!” Ma turned from reaching back into a cabinet where they kept the extra peanut butter, tears again shining in her eyes, her mascara smudged beyond all repair. She came forward and grabbed him by the shoulders, making sure he was looking at her. “You are my baby, my little free-spirit. Nothing you do is making you a burden on me, you hear?”

Stan scratched the back of his neck with one hand but nodded, a small jerk of his head.

“Nuh-uh, big guy. What your father said was bullshit.” Ma swallowed and wiped under her eye as another tear escaped. Stan’s face burned at feeling like he was the one to cause his mom so much upset. “But we both know how your father is. He’s not happy, and he’s not gonna let you come back. Not so soon, anyway.”

Stan felt the words hit him like another blow. Filbrick hadn’t been gentle about his terms or his force when kicking him out, but to hear Ma confirm it still stung.

“I know, Ma. I’ll get by. Just, if you could do that for me?”

“Of course,” Ma said, bringing him in for a hug.

They didn’t really do the physical affection thing growing up. Sure, a pat on the head, a punch on the arm, occasionally Ma would sneak a kiss on the cheek, but hugging? Besides the side-hugs that turned into noogies and impromptu wrestling matches, there wasn’t a lot of affection flowing around the Pines’ home.

But the last few days hit Stan like a freight train as he imagined leaving here without hugging his Ma back. So he did. So hard he heard her spine pop in a couple of places, but she didn’t complain, and Ma held him back just as tight.

It was soon over, and again Stan felt a weird prickling at the back of his eyes that he ignored, but it was good.

Stan checked the clock. “Shit, Ford will be done any moment,” and then looked up guiltily at his Ma for swearing.

“Oh, we just didn’t have any time, Stan! Here, let me—“she was a whirlwind, throwing a few last items into the suitcase and closing it, tugging it down the hall for Stan.

Once to the front steps of the pawn shop, Stan kissed his mother on the cheek, surprising both of them. “Thanks, Ma. I know you couldn’t stop him, b-but,” he looked away for a moment, overwhelmed. “I really, really needed to know you weren’t on his side.” His voice cracked and Ma pretended not to notice.

“I’m on the side of my sons being happy and healthy. Call me when ya can, pumpkin, and I’ll do my best. Promise,” she patted his cheek lightly, avoiding the bruising, and watched as he turned to the dark street. The neon of Pines’ Pawns was dark, now, and the streetlamp flickered in and out. Stan hefted his backpack a little higher and took off for the beach.

Things weren’t necessarily looking up, but they were looking better. He felt the pressure behind his eyes grow again and he ignored the slight wetness on his face as he turned the corner. He blamed it on the wind blowing and not the voice he’d heard calling goodnight to Mrs. K down the block as he shouldered the last few things he was allowed to take from home and walked into the night.

Chapter Text

First: my outline, a conversation I'd had with a friend on tumblr. (Sovvung if you're out there,, thanks man). This was the vague initial plan at the top of my doc.

\ What if Stan had finished school after getting kicked out instead of splitting from town first thing? What if he had stuck around, living out of his car, and gone to class every single day? Took showers in the gym locker rooms (it was mandatory back then anyway, right?) Moved in class so that he sat in the back instead of next to his brother. But show up every day until graduation. Be forced to sit next to Stanford that day. Walk up when his name was called. Take that diploma and then walk out without a glance behind him. Just to prove he did it on his own. Throw it in Stanford’s face. Throw it in his dad’s face. Then walk out and leave town.

Ford would be forced to see his brother every day. Looking worse and worse because living out of your car is rough. Ford would have to fend for himself from the bullies. Suddenly they all know that the brothers have split for some reason, and that’s all Crampelter and his goons needed to start bringing it down on Ford for real again, now that Stan isn’t protecting the nerd anymore. When Crampelter tried going after Stan on his own, though, certain that the guy wouldn’t put up much fight without his brother cowering behind him, he got a black eye and a fat lip that had him hightailing it away. They only picked on Ford from then on out. (Ford didn’t know it but Stan would find Crampelter later when he was picking on younger kids and beat him up for them instead, because he couldn’t do it for Ford anymore).

Ma Pines snuck Stanley some of his things when Filbrick and Ford went out to look at other options for college. Filbrick had run through and thrown most of Stan’s things in a box to be sold at the store or thrown out, but Ma Pines managed to save some of it and hand it off to Stanley later. She even sent some of his boxing trophies to a rival pawn shop in town and pawned them for money so that he could have something to live on.

Filbrick didn’t say his name again once after he threw Stan out. That good for nothing piece of crap was outta their lives, and they weren’t gonna say a damn thing about it, end of discussion.

*preliminary headcanons. Will elaborate more, and then include the Backupsmore/Fiddleford aspect later.

(Stan spends nights in the library, hiding between shelves but during the day he actually reads the adventure stuff so they don’t notice him?

$2/5/10 and I’ll beat up X for ya. Saw what he did last week. Nasty stuff. I’ll show him one for ya if you want—for a price. $5 and I can borrow your book from class this week [Ford and he used to share, now he needs to find a way to get at the books on his own]

Ma Pines able to sneak more stuff this way)

Wrestling Season in hs: October or November through March
Early acceptance could be as soon as December, but typically the usual way of knowing happens around February or March.

OR

While Stan was sticking around, maybe it was too late to join the school team. You need to have been applied for college by November, typically. Did Stan apply anywhere? Hard to say (but probably no). However, if you take a visit to a school, you can get sped through the process there, depending on GPA and other factors.

Stan actually is smart. He has other smarts, yeah, but he does have more intelligence than he lets on. After he gets kicked out, does he want to go back to school? Hell no. But he does. He knows he’s got a better chance if he can get his diploma before skipping town. He spends a few nights out at the Stan O’ War, half hoping Stanford would show up. (He doesn’t).

Second, the one post high school scene I'd written, exactly one sentence long, that shows Ford's still angry and stubborn.

Ford didn’t talk to Stan throughout the entire ceremony. Luckily, he was able to leave his side momentarily to give the valedictorian speech.

Third, where it was going to go at some point:

AU Where Stan sticks around after getting kicked out of the house, gets an athletic scholarship to Backupsmore and still avoids Ford. Fiddleford finally realizes there’s a connection between the two of them after MONTHS of school has passed.

ok but like. au where Stan somehow managed to get himself an athletic scholarship to Backupsmore and ends up bumping into Fidds a lot and eventually he makes the connection between his roomie and "that squinty jock who always wears the same shirt"

Fidds finally understanding why they look so similar and he just storms into the room mad like: “Ford! You got some explaining to do about why this Stan Pines fella looks awfully familiar to you!”

And Ford is just like: “Well…shit.”

I wanted Fiddleford to be the connection point between the two of them, and eventually push for some sort of reconciliation on what happened. He's independently friends with Stan and Ford, but face blind beautiful man that Fiddleford is, doesn't see that they're literally identical until someone else mentions it in passing and he connects some dots.