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Stan shot up, gasping through heavy lungs, eyes blurring as he clutched his chest. He desperately dragged in air, if he didn’t get it now, he’d drown. No, he wouldn’t drown, he was safe at home. Or was he? Sensations flickered between a bed, and wet concrete that made dark stains on his pants as he kneeled. Every breath could be his last, he’d certainly be put back into the water soon. NononoNO. He was… he was at home. The kids. Thekidsthekidsthekids. Attic. They were in the attic, the air was warm, not damp and cold. Stanford, down- downstairs? Wait. Basement, he was in the basement.
But they were right there, shadows of people that demanded more. More information as they dunked his head again and again. He couldn’t breathe. In. Out. I-. In. In. IN. A shuddering breath. Out. It wasn’t working, he was back underwater. His lungs burned and bubbles escaped him. A hand took his, and he stilled. The fingers laced through his. Six. There was six fingers. He breathed in again, sobbing with relief. He knew Ford would save him. He didn’t want to die. He wrapped his arms around his twins neck, feeling the water soak his feet as he stood. He began to dry, and for a moment, he wasn’t sure what was happening. A hand on his back kept him calm.
His vision came back slowly as he remembered. A month, he was there for a month. He wasn’t there anymore. They demanded information he did not have, and punished him when they got bored or didn’t hear what they liked. He stayed there until they finally decided to get rid of him. He’s not sure if they got bored, ran out of time, or realized he had nothing to give. Because one day, he was cut open, left with a week-old brand on his side, and his organs on the pavement. Someone found him, and it was another trip to the hospital where he barely survived. Eventually, his breathing calmed down, but his heartbeat did not. Knowing he wouldn’t get back to sleep, he pulled his brother into a tighter hug before releasing him.
Brushing tears out of his eyes, he couldn’t look into his brothers eyes as he muttered, “...sorry.”
He was brought into another crushing hug from his brother, who murmured, “You have nothing to be sorry for. Would you like to talk about it?”
He shook his head in a quick ‘no’. He felt his brother nod, and knowing he would not push it, he relaxed.
“...Hey, I was going to wait until tomorrow to show you, but since it technically is ‘tomorrow’, I think I’ll just show it to you now.” Drawing back from his brother, he looked at his twin quizzically.
Ford just smiled at him, and took his hand to lead him through the house. The house was too quiet, and the dripping of the tap set him on edge. Normally it was okay and he could deal with water, sometimes even love it, especially when he was fishing. … Just not right now. He allowed himself to be pulled out of the shack into the yard, where a huge shape was covered in a tarp. Ford gave him a grin before releasing his hand and ripping off the tarp. It fell off cleanly to reveal… a swingset. He gaped at it, before turning to his brother, eyes wide in shock.
Ford blushed before explaining, “I- um, I made it out of scraps from the portal.” At this point he coughed, and looked at the swing, “You know… because I didn’t want to… waste the metal or anything. Do you- do you like it?”
His answer was a bone-crushing hug, “Yes, you nerd.”
They sat on the swingset, admiring the stars until the sun rose. Neither of them spoke during the night, but swung gently in unison, lost in their thoughts. When the sun rose, tears began to stream down Stan’s face until he started silently sobbing. His brother sat beside him, knowing that his twin needed to let it out. When he calmed down some, Ford stood up and walked in front of him. Stan once again hugged his brother, who wrapped his arms around him.
After a moment, Stan broke off the hug, and grinned at Ford, “Thank you. I love the swing set. Now,” He said abruptly “What do you want for breakfast?”
“Pancakes.” Something told him that Ford knew there was more going on, but refused to rush.
And for that he was grateful. Maybe someday he’d tell his full story, but not yet. If he tells it, it’ll be at his own pace, and his decision. For now he’ll try to heal, for his family. Maybe someday he’d start healing for himself. Today, that day didn’t seem so far away.