Chapter Text
“Careful with that, dear. One of those could cut a finger clean off.”
Ford had always found that once an idea had been placed in his head, nothing could keep him from it.
All he’d been doing was yard work. Basic cleanup and things like that, and some of it happened to involve pruners. He’d used pruners before, of course, and every time his mother was sure to tell him to be careful. And he was. Careful.
Everything Ford did was done with precision and with forethought. Unlike a certain identical twin brother, he always thought before going through with anything.
Which was why when he found himself alone in his bedroom at night with a pair of pruners and a first aid kit, he’d considered it carefully and come to a decision using reason and logic.
Of course, there would be no hospital visit. He couldn’t imagine his father being involved, and he didn’t particularly want to make his mother cry. Stan would be out until the next morning, which was one of the reasons he’d chosen that night specifically. Everything would be done, disinfected and bandaged by the time anyone saw it and could have anything to say about his impromptu surgery.
He took a deep breath in. Then out. He opened and closed the pruners a few times. He checked to make sure he had everything set up to be able to take care of things while in intense pain. Finally, he carefully placed the blades at the base of his extra finger and-
“The fuck is going on in here?”
Ford turned around so fast that he dropped the pruners. He felt them graze his hand as they fell to the floor and he scrambled to his feet.
“Stanley?” Ford silently cursed how quiet and pathetic his voice sounded.
“Yeah, who else would be-” the gruff voice trailed off as he moved over to Ford, roughly grabbing his hand and inspecting the damage. The knowledge of how much more damage would have been inflicted had Stan been just a few seconds later hung heavily over the both of them.
“What the hell is wrong with you?”
Ford had to admit, he hadn’t been anticipating the sheer rage in his brother’s voice as he was violently shoved back down into his desk chair. His breath caught as he stared up at Stan- he’d never been afraid of his brother, even if he was bigger, stronger, but now there was something wild in Stan’s eyes and Ford couldn’t say with certainty what he would do.
“Staney, I didn’t- I don’t- please, I-”
Ford cut himself off as he watched realization dawn on Stan’s face- he’d scared Ford, and that wasn’t something he’d ever wanted to do. Stan slowly reached a hand up to his face, scrubbing it over his eyes and taking a deep, calming breath.
“Ford, it’s okay. Fuck, no, it’s actually not okay. But I’m not mad at you.”
Ford tried to breathe, finding it a bit more challenging than it normally was. Stan gave him a few seconds to find his footing before cracking open the first aid kit and taking his brother’s hand once again.
A rough “hold on” was the only warning Ford received before an alcohol pad was dragged over the abrasion. He sucked in a pained breath. Stan didn’t apologize as he began wrapping the raw injury in a clean bandage with expert skill. It wasn’t long before Stan was finished, cleaning up and pocketing the tool that did the deed, making a note to put it somewhere inaccessible to his twin.
“Alright, come on. Start talking.”