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Stanford was so furious! At the committee for not letting him explain. At himself for not checking his machine before the committee arrived. But mostly he was furious at Stanley who'd broken his machine in the first place!
So Ford stomped home and as soon as he caught sight of his brother, he started yelling. How could he not? His future was ruined, his big chance was ruined, and all Stanley could do was make excuses!
His yelling had alerted their father, and he stood in the doorway, listening to Ford's yelling and Stanley's excuses. And when he realized what Stanley had done, he didn't join in on the yelling, no. He marched up to Stanley, hauled him close by his shirt and punched him in the face. Just like that.
Stanford froze, his angry words freezing in his throat.
Just like that. A single punch, and Stanley staggered back against his wall, his nose already dripping blood.
Because their father had punched him. Just like that.
“You've screwed things up for this family for the last time!” Filbrick growled and raised his fist again; Stanley cowered against the wall, hands rising to protect his face.
Ford jerked, and his body moved before he'd even finished processing the situation. He leapt over the sofa and planted himself in front of Stanley, arms spread wide. “Dad, STOP!” He felt Stanley dart behind him, like when they'd been little, and he'd been scared of something. Stanley stepped close, not enough to touch but close enough for Ford to smell the metallic scent of blood.
Filbrick stepped forward, but Ford held his ground.
“Out of the way, Stanford. This leech has finally crossed the line,” Filbrick said, voice low and menacing. His damn sunglasses glinted blue from the TV, making him look like one of the creatures Ford wanted to study.
Ford didn't move.
“I said step away! This little freak is getting what's coming to him,” Filbrick growled, both hands clenched into firsts.
Freak.
And the anger unfroze, bubbling in Ford's chest. He'd worked so hard, and the school had seemed so amazing, and how could Stanley do that to him, how could dad just punch Stanley like that, and Stanley was bleeding and trembling and hiding behind him, and the anger spilled over.
“And I said BACK OFF!” Ford bellowed and pushed at his father's chest. Filbrick stumbled back, and Ford squared his shoulders, hands fisting at his sides.
“What's going on?” Ma came into the room, her accent thick from stress. The baby cried in her arms, and Filbrick let out a low curse.
“Nothing. Go back to the bedroom,” he muttered, hands still clenched into fists.
Ford held his ground, though he moved both arms back to herd Stanley more securely against his back.
Ma eyed them all, her lips pursing. She stepped forward, and lay a hand on his arm. “Filbrick,” she murmured, her voice soft but reproachful. “They're just boys.”
“He's had this coming for a long time, you know that,” Filbrick hissed back, and a chill travelled down Ford's back. A long time?
“Filbrick, he's not even eighteen yet,” Ma tried again and the baby let out another unhappy squeal.
Filbrick huffed and turned on his heel, storming out of the apartment. Ma followed after him, leaving the twins alone.
Ford waited until the apartment door slammed shut before moving. He turned around, facing Stanley. “You okay?”
Stanley nodded, his lips and chin stained from his blood.
“Let me check,” Ford murmured, pressing his fingers along both sides of his nose. Stanley stayed still, though he did whimper a bit.
Now that they were alone, Ford felt his previous anger returning once more. “I should punch you myself for what you've done,” he hissed, his fingers still gentle against Stanley's nose.
Stanley cringed, but stayed obediently still.
“I am so mad at you.” Ford's continued, hands still carefully gentle. “So fucking mad I can't even articulate it.”
Stanley's shoulder rose up with each word, shaking slightly. Ford knew full well that meant he was close to tears. Good.
“I am so mad at you. I am so incredibly furious with you.” He dropped his hands from Stanley's face, shaking too much to continue. “I don't know if I will ever forgive you for this!”
“I'm sorry,” Stanley choked out, his face now wet from both tears and the blood. “I'm so sorry. I was stupid and scared and angry, and- I'm sorry!”
Before Stanford could say where Stanley could stick his apology, the downstairs door slammed shut. They both flinched, and Stanford grabbed Stanley, tugging him closer. A tense moment passed, then Stanford pushed Stanley towards their room. “C'mon. We'll continue this in private. I am going to yell a lot.”
“Okay,” Stanley sniffled and winced as his nose pulsed with pain. “Wh- what about pop?”
They both looked at the door leading to the pawnshop. “I'll deal with him,” Stanford promised. He had no idea how he'd manage that, but he was certain he couldn't leave Stanley and their father alone ever again.
END