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"You look good, Stanley."
It's a random, completely out of the blue statement. The kids were messing around in the slowly cooling summer's day and Stan had been sitting on the couch, vaguely watching them to make sure they wouldn't wander off. Ford had come outside, stared at the children laughing and roughhousing in the dirt, then spoken without looking away from the pleasant scene. Stan was taken by surprise but the moment the shock wore off and the words sunk in, his body stiffened up.
"Dunno what you're talking about, Poindexter. Haven't showered today, not in clean clothes. Not in shape. I'm not exactly prince charming over here. You need your glasses adjusted or something?" He laughed but it was a tense, forced noise.
Ford glanced over at his twin, ever serious and yet, his eyes seemed softer. Aware.
"You know what I mean. Out of shape as you may be, your body — it's yours now, isn't it? You finally were able to go all the way?"
Stan's heart thudded in his chest, pounded in his ears and his throat. He hadn't talked about this in years, hadn't needed to. Nobody asked. Nobody could tell. Remembering all the hardship and trouble he went through brought back a panic he still couldn't handle.
"Stanley?" Suddenly Ford was sitting on the couch with him, a hand on his shoulder. Suddenly, he felt like a teenager again, when everything was different and his skin crawled constantly and his chest ached and his hands would curl into fists because he couldn't handle this —
"Stan — Lee, Lee, calm down, it's okay. It's okay," his brother's voice cut through the bitter anger like a hot knife and for the first time since he'd returned from the other side of the portal, Stan didn't feel any tension between them. Not as much at least. This was familiar. Ford's hand on his back, warm palm relaxing his muscles. His other hand on his knee, thumb rubbing soft circles on his skin. His voice low and soft, reminding him that he was okay. "Especially now. You look amazing, Stanley. You look — beautiful. Handsome. I'm a little surprised at how well it all turned out after everything. All the scrimping and saving mom did. All the secret appointments, all the plans and research. I'm sure that got easier once all this technology came out."
Stan nodded, just listening and feeling.
"When were you finally able to get it done?"
"Couple years ago," he whispered, voice trembling just a little. For a minute he expected it to be higher, to make him cringe and hate, hate, hate — "When the shack got real popular and I had a little more money than I knew what to do with. I did some research, found out how much it would be and — and I did. And I love it. It all-all works so well and now it's like I've been this way all my life."
"You have been. You always were. This was always you, Stanley."
Stan sniffled but refused to acknowledge his blurring eyesight. "What even brought this on, sixer?"
His brother shrugged, seemingly calm as ever, but he wouldn't look Stan in the eye. His nervousness was hardly subtle there. "I doubt anyone has said anything. I doubt anyone can tell. I just thought you should know I think you look good, despite what our current speaking terms are. It obviously worked as some sort of ice breaker. We're talking fairly easily."
"Yeah, I — I guess we are," he smiles now, relaxing into the couch.
They watch the kids in silence. Ford scooted a little close to his brother. Stan rested his head on his twin's shoulder.
"You're an uncle and a brother," Ford piped up, "Just like me and mom always said you were."
"I told Dad," Stan blurted out. No response. Ford waited for more. "I told Dad I got the operations done. I-I mean it doesn't really count cuz he was already 6 feet under but it-it made me feel better. Made me feel great. Shoulda seen me tryna not to shout bloody murder at his grave or do some sort of smug victory dance. I did what he never believed I could. I became a guy. I became his third son."
"You always were his third son. Second, technically, but — you know what I mean." Six fingers massaged gently at his scalp.
"Y'always said that."
"I've always meant it. Stanley," he shifted, looked right at his brother, "I know we're still working through the rough patches and we still have a lot to sort out. I know we're going to argue over a lot in the future, maybe even as soon as an hour from now. I know you're mad at me and I'm mad at you still — albeit more about tainting my name and stealing my life than what happened years ago — but you're my brother and I have always loved you as my brother."
"Ford — "
"You've always been Stanley to me."
Stan choked out a sob but no other noise escaped him after that. He forced Ford to sit back again, laying his head on his shoulder. Ford's fingers combed through Stan's pleasantly short hair and he smiled just a little when he felt wet droplets dripping onto him. He certainly didn't like seeing his brother cry but it was healthy to do.
Of course the kids noticed something was off almost right away, likely having been keeping an eye on them in case a fight broke out, and ran right over, shouting, "Grunkle Stan! Grunkle Stan, are you okay?"
And they either had no idea or their parents had explained to them long before they came up what Stan had gone through to get to this beautifully happy point in his life.
The body he'd always desired, always deserved. His brother finally returned to him. His family finally loving him, the way a family should.
Stan had gone through a lot to get here.
"Yeah, kiddos," he ruffled his niece and nephew's hair, then wiped his nose on the back of his hand, sniffling. "I'm finally okay."