Chapter Text
Stanford would like to draw Stanley sometime. He tells him this when he is small and his stick figures are smaller, when art is more for fun than anything else, and he does a few times. A circle whose smile is missing a tooth, with the word punches! scrawled in all caps beside it. A figure pressed far too hard into the paper, smudged from a sixth finger, that lives its whole life on a fridge.
“I’d like to draw you sometime, ‘Ley,” Stanford says. “I don’t draw enough people.”
It’s true; he doesn’t. All Stanford can find room for in his notebook are tentacles and fairy wings, creatures from Lovecraft’s stories and those epic fantasies that are far past reality. Stanford is the most gifted artist many of his friends (Stanley) have ever seen. He is entirely self-taught. After all, art is not a real career, and he’s never had a decent class at school.
Stanley likes to draw too, but not in the same way Ford does. For Ley, it’s fun, for jokes and gags, but it’s important to Stanford. It’s like dreaming. It’s creation. Stanford sketches out blueprints for the designs he’ll never afford to build, and the plans for the tools he would need to make them come true. He designs cosmic and otherworldly horrors from the sky and sea and soils.
Stanley always points out the oceanic ones. “What do you think, Sixer? Will we see that when we sail the world?”
Stanford always laughs at that.
They take up several sports as children; baseball, soccer. Ford fails at all, and Stanley is terrible at learning the rules. In hindsight, though, he really was pretty good at all of them. Ford gave them up because he didn’t like them and the other kids picked on him; he isn’t sure why Stanley did.
Stanley takes to boxing. He and Ford are forced into it by their father, but Stanley takes to it. He masters the left hook, the swing, the stance. It's clear that this is what Filbrick wants for both of them. Filbrick showers Stanley in quips about boxing and tough guys, hits him on the shoulder, asks Ford when he’s going to take it as seriously as his brother does. He showers Stanley with gloves and brass knuckles when it's their birthday or a holiday, and Ford always gets that same gifts. He thinks that he'd rather draw Stanley, draw the gloves and the knuckles, but he never seems to have the pen or the paper. So Ford brings home trophies for spelling bees, chess tournaments, but it’s not enough. It’s never enough. He devours books in days and then in hours but it’s not the same as the gloves by the door. They go out to lunch after Stan’s boxing tournaments. Filbrick doesn’t even have the time to drive him to his, but his mother always does.
Stanley takes up fishing over the summer. He pushes their boat into the waters of the beach and sits with his only pole in his hand. He drags Ford along, but Ford isn't really one for fishing. He brings his books and watches his brother grapple with whatever is biting. Now that would be a picture. It’s not boxing, but it’s tough, it’s manly, so Filbrick doesn’t complain.
“Wish we had a lake,” Stanley tells Ford every day. “Lakes are where the good fish are.”
He means the easy fish.
Stanley caught a decent sized fish once, but he didn’t know how to gut it and no one at home wanted to eat it, so he always just lets them go.
“Gotta learn how to gut them,” he always tells Ford, carefully removing his hook. He winds up and throws the small fish back into the sea. “I just gotta learn how to gut them.”
He never learns how to gut them.
Stanley goes out fishing a lot. In the school year, Ford doesn't join him, and they are getting bigger and the boat seems to be shrinking.
High school begins. Stan starts dressing cooler; Ford does not. He lets Stan copy his work and gets chewed out by the only teacher smart enough to notice. Stanley joins the football team, boxes more, starts wrestling. He gets bigger and louder. He goes after girls who scoff at him and giggle behind his back, and constantly assures Ford that they’re both going to be the most chased after by their senior year. Ford isn’t really interested in the girls. He likes to talk to some of the ones in his art class, but other than that. He’d like to join the chess club, or the mathletes, but all the guys in them are so cool and suave, and Ford isn’t sure he’d fit in. All Ford really does is keep to himself and draw and do homework. He’s an excellent student, but bad at class participation.
After their freshman year, Ford gets a job at the movie theater. It hits Filbrick that his other son, the one who actually has a boxing trophy and some talent, is wasting his time off in the ocean with only a stick and some string for company. So after a round of yelling, Stan starts work at a nearby gas station. He suddenly hits it off with Carla McCorkle, talks her into a date, and takes her out for a movie.
“My brother works here,” he brags. Stanley spends a lot of time bragging about his brother.
He and Carla start going steady.
Stanley and Stanford keep fixing up that old boat they found.
Filbrick yells at Stan about his grades. It’s the only time he ever cites Ford, the one who likes art, the one with the dumb books and sci-fi and comics, the one with the wrong amount of fingers, as superior. “At least he’s actually trying! And what about you, Stanley?”
“I’m trying!”
“Are you? Are you really?!”
Filbrick yells that Stan can’t get away with copying his brother’s papers forever. Why can’t he just be as good at this as Ford is? If he gets any worse, he might have to drop boxing. Why can’t Stanley be as good as Ford at this one thing? Why can’t Stanley, the one he’s proud of, be good at this? When Ford, who can’t even hold his own, is great at it?
“Look at him! It’s like you’re not even related! He’s a genius!”
It doesn’t make Ford feel any better.
Their mother worries about them. He can tell.
Ford finally works up the nerve to join the clubs and teams he’s interested, otherwise, he still avoids eye contact and spends his time alone. Filbrick tells him just how useless his chess club is going to be after graduation. Sometimes Ford’s invited to team meetups outside of practice or events, but he never manages to stay long. Something about all the upperclassmen, with their fancier clothes and witty jokes puts him on edge. And, as much as he likes all of them, he can’t really connect with them. He always feels like some element is missing whenever they talk. He still hangs out with them, a lot, but it feels like he spends most of his time with his sketchbook at home. Stanley always invites him to the football parties too, but Ford is much more interested in the robotics meetings. Stanley trails after him to many of them, when he has the time.
“Look at this one,” he says, sniggering at some creation Ford’s friend probably spent weeks on. “He looks like something from the dump. Hey, he’s moving! Haha, Ford, you seeing this? When’re you guys gonna make a real robot? Think you can make one that punches?”
It's a little irritating- it's always a joke to him, but then again, he probably doesn't understand a single thing that's going on. They have their individual spaces and lives. Stanley has his team and his football games, Carla, cool hair. Ford has his chess club meetings, and his art projects, so they aren't exactly joined at the hip.
The trouble starts in their junior year.
Stanley adores football. He spends almost all of his time with his team practicing, at home practicing, talking about football, spewing statistics at Ford or Carla He drags Ford to the television to point out players, and screams at the teams. Ford will admit, football is a little appealing. The men who play it are all powerful and have a sharp mind, and he likes it when Stan pulls out his cards to show him, or shows him his favorite players.
Stanley is disliked by almost every single person for his annoying attitude and lack of a serious disposition, but his skill on the football field is his one claim to fame. He gets tackled, beat up, worse, but he always gets back up and keeps running. His ability as a sportsman has colleges giving him a serious eye, and more importantly, it’s made him hot stuff. The girls at school bat their eyes at him. The guys punch him in the shoulder and offer to pay for his lunch. He’s going to go places. Hell, he’s probably going to be a professional. Ford’s almost jealous; everyone adores Stanley and some of the best schools around are already putting out for him. Stanley takes football seriously. It is his number one priority. He skips class almost religiously, but is on time and ready for every practice.
Then a series of unfortunate events robs him of his shot at being anything. He has a mishap at practice and has to go off field for a while, and Stan spends those weeks away from sports irritated and grumpy. Ford tries to help him with his schoolwork, but he’s hard to deal with, and his grades start to slip. Stan rejoins the team, but his grades continue to dwindle, past his regular low, and to a whole new depth. His attitude doesn’t change, and he starts to fail his classes. Stan is asked to leave the football team. He makes one last desperate attempt at school, but he can barely scrape by, let alone do well enough to play football.
With no more practice, Stan has a well of time opened up, time he likes to spend with Ford. But Ford values his alone time and is also busy, and he's gotten a little tired of Stan complaining about school. He wishes Stan would tolerate the one thing he's good at, but all he does is complain. It’s clear that he blames their school for ruining his life, taking his football away, taking his future away, taking everyone’s love for him away. Ford thinks that maybe Stan should recognize he shares a little of that blame.
Then, that March, Carla suddenly drops Stan for a hippie, in all of one dance. Stan’s mood worsens. His girlfriend of the last few years just wants them to be friends. That's too hard for him, Stan keeps telling Ford. He now follows him around constantly, complaining. “I can’t do that,” he said. “Can you believe this? Women. Men. My life sucks, you know?” At least now there’s a new villain; this hippie takes up some of Stan’s hatred. Ford can't help but think that, with Stan’s sudden negative outlook, Carla can hardly be faulted for dumping him.
Filbrick yells at Stan almost daily, and it opens up a pit in Ford’s stomach. He wants to know when his son became a failure. Even Ford has a chance at getting out of town, but Stanley’s just going further and further downhill.
“Fat chance,” Stanley says to Ford on the beach. They’re back to working on that old boat; Stanley always drags him out of the house with him when their father goes into a rage. “If he thinks I’m sticking around after we graduate, he’s an even bigger idiot that I thought. We’re getting outta here, right?”
They are. This is something Ford knows for a fact. There is nothing to keep either of them in New Jersey, in their home. Not their younger brother, not their mother, though they might be the biggest contestants. Definitely not their father, and probably not Carla McCorkle. Whether it’s college or the open sea, they’re getting out.
Junior Prom: Ford has to get a date, or else he has to go with Stan or stay home with Stan. Stan tries to win Carla back and fails. There’s a girl in his art class Stan says he should ask, she’s a tiny freshman with large glasses and a stammer whenever she speaks to him, for Ford doesn’t think he has the nerve to ask anyone. His plan is to attend with the chess team group, until their club president turns the tables by landing a decent date, and to Ford’s dismay their plans fall apart. He gets asked out by a sophomore and says yes. At the dance, he looks around for the club president or some of the guys he knows, but none of them notice him. Stan trails after him like a puppy, but it’s not cute, it’s pathetic. Ford thanks God when he sees Carla and goes running off, even though he knows Stan is about to humiliate himself. His date sneers and throws her punch on him to go off in pursuit of someone she's actually interested in. Stan appears like magic splashes his punch on himself.
“Come on,” he says. “Carla and her boyfriend aren't even here, and your date’s a dud. Were you even into her? That's what I thought. Let's just go home. Aren't your nerdy game friends having a dungeon or something tonight? I can drop you off.”
Stan was rewarded a car for his time on the football field. He offers to drive Ford places a lot, and for once, Ford’s actually grateful. The car used to be a painful reminder that Stanley had a future outside of New Jersey and outside of their tiny home, but right now, it’s comforting beyond belief. Stanley drives Ford to a Dungeons, Dungeons, and More Dungeons game, but the parents aren't home and the kids are probably all in the basement, so no one answers the door. They go out to rent some videos instead. They don't end up getting any.
They walk the beach for awhile. It's a nice night out. Ford and Stan are both sticky from punch. Eventually, they start back toward their house, and find themselves at the swings they used to frequent.
“Why'd you take that dumb girl, anyway?” Stan asks, sitting down. He starts to swing, slightly.
Ford sits in the other swing, shrugging. “She asked.”
“Well, she was a total bitch. Weren’t you gonna go with those chess guys?”
“They all got dates.”
Stan shrugs. “Should've just gone to your nerd game, huh?”
“At least the night’s working out.”
Stan laughs at that, and swings a little higher. He seems to be in a good mood.
Ford suddenly feels compelled to open up, for half a second, and tells himself it's a bad idea before he starts to talk.
“Stan, you… like girls. Right? Like, you want to date them and stuff?”
“Uh, doy.”
“How can you tell?”
“Um, because they’re hot?”
Ford nods. “Can I tell you something?”
“Sure.” Stan kicks higher. “What sort of a question is that?”
“I didn't like her,” Ford says. “But honestly, she was perfectly fine. I just didn't like her. I just don't like girls. I've been thinking about that a lot lately.”
“Cause you're a nerd. You think way too much.” Stan sticks out his arm to hit Ford, and falls out of the swing. “Maybe if you didn’t, you could go boxing with me or something!”
“Yeah.” Ford bites his lip. “I think it's a different reason, actually. Promise you won't tell anyone?”
Stan sticks up his arm without moving. “Double pinkie promise.”
Ford hooks two of his fingers with Stanley, then pulls his hand back. “I… Well, actually, I think I might be gay.”
Stan looks up. “Like, you like guys?”
“Yeah. Never mind. Let's not talk about this-”
Stan starts to get up. “Well, didn't see that coming. I mean, all your monster comics have pretty hot girls in them. I kind of thought you just wanted to screw a spider lady or something.”
“That's disgusting!”
Stan punches Ford in the shoulder. “Yeah, so being gay or whatever isn't a big deal. You gonna tell dad?”
“Ungh. I doubt it.”
“Don't sweat it. It's not any of his business anyway. How'd you figure it out? You like someone?”
Ford reached up to fix his collar. “I don’t know. Not anyone I have a chance with. Actually, Carla’s new boyfriend is pretty cute.”
“Alright, that's disgusting, but you know what this means, right?” Stan smacked his fist into his palm. “We gotta split them up.”
They never did split them up.
“Hey, you’re pretty good at that art stuff,” Stanley says later, with a Pitt can in his hand, leaning over to look at Ford’s sketchbook. “You should draw me sometime.”
Ford laughs. Normally the request bothers him, but from Stanley, who’s lost so much this year, who’s turned to him every time, it warms his heart a little bit. “I’d like that.”
“You can make me really buff,” Stanley nods, closing his eyes. “Yeah, with a cape. I can see it already! What’re drawing now?”
“I dunno, just some characters, I guess?”
Stan squints at them. “This one’s a guy?”
“... Yes?”
“He’s got a lot of eyelashes. Yeesh, you’re gay.”
“Wha- Guys have eyelashes too, Ley!”
Stan hits him over the head. “Sure we do, Ford, sure. Want a soda?”
“Yeah, okay.” Ford sets his pencil down. Stan returns from the kitchen and tosses him a soda, and opens up a fresh bag of Toffee Nuts. “So, have you been thinking about the science fair at all?”
“Uh,” Stan tosses some of them into his mouth. “No. Jeez, are you trying to torture me?”
“I’m serious! I talked to some of the robotics guys about it last week.”
“Right, the robotics guys.”
“I have this idea. I actually made some sketches earlier. Do you want to see?”
Stan snorts. “What am I, an idiot? Course I do. It’s probably gonna be the face of science genius in a few years or something, right?”
Ford grins and pulls out his plans. “Maybe. It’s a perpetual motion machine.”
Stan nods. “Okay.”
“I know it sounds pretty simple, but it’ll actually be highly complex!”
“Okay.”
“And it’s- are you listening?”
“I’m listening. Don’t get any of it, but listening. Will it punch stuff?”
“No, Stanley. It’ll stay in motion!”
“Like, fighty-motion?”
“No, motion-motion.”
“So, it’ll… move around?”
Ford nods, beaming. “It’ll spin!”
Stan snorts. “Okay, that’s it, the face of science.”
“Well, what do you have?”
Stanley sets down the bag of Toffee Nuts. “I’m thinking it’s sleek, but hefty, know what I mean? I’m gonna call him… Foot-Bot.”
“... Is it gonna… play football?”
“You got it!” Stanley picks the bag back up and tosses a toffee nut in the air, then catches it and swallows. “Hey, did you see that?”
“Maybe you should take this more seriously. It’s a big factor in our grade, and we’ll be applying to college soon-”
“Yeesh, quit talking about grades and college at me, it’s stressing me out. But, I mean, what’s the worst case scenario?” Stan elbowed Ford. “I have to sit around with you in a boat? Treasure hunting? How’ll I manage?”
Ford laughs, but he feels weird. He feels like they just had some sort of misunderstanding, but they didn’t. They just had a conversation. When he falls asleep, he has this strange, guilty feeling in the bit of his stomach. He rolls over and look at all of his medals and trophies, for chess, spelling, robots, math, art, next to Stanley’s for football, boxing, wrestling. He can’t tell what’s wrong, but everything inside of him feels messy and mixed up and he doesn’t like it. He can’t really tell what’s wrong.
He builds the perpetual motion machine. He stays up late to finish it. It’s his pride and joy. He wishes he could’ve had more time with it, but still. Stan claps him on the shoulder and spews praise. Ford helps him weed out scientific inaccuracies in his ridiculous Foot-Bot, so at least it’s somewhat reasonable, if ridiculous. The whole time, Ford’s stomach is turning over, and he still can’t figure out why he feels so sick. The world suddenly seems dark and foreboding for early June.
He wins the science fair. The trophy is tall and wonderful and Stan abandons his post to throw his arm around him and point to him.
“This guy!” Stan grins. “This guy! He’s number one!”
Later that day, they’re called into the principal’s office.
“Not you,” the secretary says, looking up from her nail file at Stanley. “Him.”
Stan and Ford share a look, and all of Ford’s breakfast seems to rise up in his stomach. Stan grunts and sits down, gestures for him to go ahead.
Ford goes into the office.
This was the exact moment. This was the moment he left Stanley Pines waiting for him, while Ford moved on ahead.
He feels like vomiting. His brain is vibrating from side to side, in and out of his skull. His breath feels light. He opens the door.
His parents are there.
It feels kind of like his eyeballs are weightless and his legs have lead in them.
They both turn to look at him, his mother first, then his father, and Ford takes a seat.
“You have two sons,” the principal tells them. “One of them is incredibly gifted. The other one’s standing outside this room and is named Stanley.”
He sounds a lot like Filbrick when he shouts at Stan. Ford feels his lungs collapse and looks away. His head’s starting to feel hot. The principal tells his parents how great he is. Then, he hands Ford a brochure for West Coast Tech.
West Coast Tech.
It’s the greatest school there is.
And it’s on. The west. Coast.
Ford opens the pamphlet and his head clears.
He’s getting out of New Jersey. He might not even have to pay. He’ll barely have to apply.
He’s getting out of New Jersey.
He’s going to be on the West Coast. In California. At the best school there is, doing what he loves, getting paid to do it, being happy. On the west coast. Far away.
He takes in every word, every picture at once. He actually has a chance. He actually has a future.
He looks up from it at the principal, beaming.
“Your son may be a future millionaire, Mr. Pines.”
Ford feels like laughing out loud and crying and hallelujah.
“I’m impressed,” Filbrick says, and Ford’s already back to the words on the page. Holy crap, it’s such a good school. He could actually get into it. He could actually afford it. He could actually leave. He turns to his father, whose face seems softer, grinning.
“And what about our little free-spirit Stanley?” his mother asks.
In one instant, Ford becomes the gifted one. He’s his father’s pride. He’s his family legacy.
“That clown? At this rate, he’ll be lucky to graduate high school. Look, there’s a saltwater taffy store on the dock, and somebody’s gotta get paid to scrape the barnacles off of it. Stanford’s going places, but hey, look on the bright side. At least you’ll have one son in New Jersey forever.”
Stanford’s going places!
He stands up and Filbrick claps him on the shoulder. His mother has a nervous air, but he can’t tell why.
He fills Stanley in on the meeting at they walk down to the beach that afternoon. The pit in his stomach is opening back up, but now Ford’s dizziness is a little… great. It’s great. This is great, screw his weird bad feeling. Stanley doesn’t really seem to be listening, he’s watching his own feet hit the cement. They head out into the dunes and Ford gushes to him about West Coast Tech, reading from the brochure. But Stan isn’t paying attention. He doesn’t even make any jokes about how gay California or Ford is. He doesn’t even congratulate him. Ford’s starting to get pretty tired.
Then, out of nowhere, Stanley speaks.
“Joke’s on them if they think you wanna go to some stuffy college on the other side of the country.” Stan turns to look at him, starting to smile. “Once we get the Stan O’ War complete, it’s gonna be beaches, babes, and international treasure hunting for us.”
No, no, no. The Stan O’ War isn’t reliable. The Stan O’ War isn’t impressive. West Coast Tech is! Why can’t Stan get that through his head? This isn’t their dream of getting out. This is a real way out. Ford would love to sail around the ocean with his brother, but this is the real world. There are taxes. Bills. You have to vote and have a place of residence to put on official forms. And Ford has a chance to be something, now.
“Look, Stan, I can’t pass up a chance like this.” He can’t. It’s a future. It’s a golden, diamond-studded future, one he’s going to control and live in and enjoy. Stan can sail around. Stan can frequent the western coast and put Ford’s place down as his place of residence instead of their tiny room above a pawn shop. Stan can send him letters and visit him. Or if he wants to stay here, Ford can fly back and see him. “This school has cutting-edge programs, and multidimensional paradigm theory!”
“‘Be-boop. I am a nerd robot.’ That’s you. That’s what you sound like.”
Ford laughs, but Stan’s just- this is a big deal. This is important. Why can’t he be excited? But he’s right. It’s a lot of… stuff. It’s a lot of science. There’s other stuff in Ford’s life. He has art. He has reading materials. He’s kind of thought about comics and writing lately. And he has Stan. Wouldn’t it be ridiculous to go someplace they’d get pulled apart? They’ve been together for so long.
“Ah, well, if the college board isn’t impressed with my experiment tomorrow, then okay, I’ll do the treasure hunting thing.”
“And if they are?”
Ford grins and hits him in the shoulder. “Well, then I guess you better come visit me on the other side of the country!”
He hopes they’re impressed. He hopes Stan will come visit him.
He goes to head inside.
Stan stays outside.
He doesn’t come back inside.
Ford feels strangely anxious, concerned, guilty. He goes to bed right away. He needs to be well rested.
The next morning, nervous, shaky, he wakes up early, dresses as neat as he can, and looks at Stan, asleep. He touches his shoulder.
“I’m heading out.”
Stan mumbles something about good luck and rolls over. Ford grins.
He should never have said that.
He should never have said that to Stan.
That’s all he’s thinking as he storms back home, holding the empty bag of Toffee Nuts. He shouldn’t have said that to Stan. That was so incredibly stupid of him.
He should have checked the machine in the morning before West Coast Tech came, he should have fixed it up, he shouldn’t have been so confident, he shouldn’t have told Stan that-
He feels blurry and shivery and hot and cold and bad bad bad. His nerves have transformed into fury.
He’d stayed up late building that machine. He’d neglected his French homework. And he’d helped Stan with his stupid Foot-Bot and now he wasn’t West Coast Tech material anymore, and there went his future, there went the West Coast.
He storms home and heads straight into the living room where, surprise, Stan’s just playing with a paddleball and wasting the day on the couch watching television. Ford steps in front of the TV.
Stan sits up, grinning at him, ready for good news that isn’t going to come. “Hey, what’s the word, Sixer?”
Everything happens too fast for him to control it. Way too fast.
And then Ford is yelling and holding up the empty Toffee Nuts bag and Stan’s avoiding his gaze and how could he have been so stupid and there goes his promise and his life and his future and his school and his chance and all he’s good at is school and why couldn’t Stanley be happy for him and why can’t he handle being alone like Ford can, why can’t he handle Ford having a life, why is he telling him this isn’t so bad, why is he trying to bring up treasure hunting again-
“Are you kidding me? Why would I wanna do anything with the person who sabotaged my entire future?!”
And now Filbrick is here- and his mother’s coming in- and Shermy is crying- and Filbrick is shouting-
Ford sees real terror in Stan’s eyes.
Then their father’s gone from the room. Stan looks at Ford. Ford looks back at him.
He feels angry and upset and hurt and betrayed and sick.
Filbrick storms back out of their bedroom with a bag. Stan looks at him, then back at Ford, then they’re gone from the room. Ford stares at his mother, then rushes into their bedroom. His stomach flips over.
Their father has packed Stan a bag. Ford looks out the window. He’s pointing and shouting and Stan’s been flung onto the sidewalk. He’s saying something about money and Ford being their ticket out and all Stan does is ride on his coattails which is true that’s true and this was Ford’s future-
He looks up at Ford and shouts something that Ford can barely hear.
He looks down at the pamphlet.
He feels like crying.
He closes the curtains and turns away.
He’s shaking. His shoulders feel tense.
Maybe he should go downstairs. He should talk to Stan. This is ridiculous-
The door slams.
“Fine!” he hears Stan scream “I can make it on my own! I don’t need you, I don’t need anyone! I’ll make millions, and you’ll rue the day you turned your back on me!”
He wonders if he’s yelling at him or their father. The situation sets in. Stan’s been kicked out. Stan’s about to leave.
He drops the pamphlet and runs out of the room.
There’s the sound of tires skidding. His mother looks up at him as he sprints down the staircase and toward the door. He can’t read her expression. The trashcans outside fall over.
Ford reaches the door but he doesn’t open it.
Stan’s gone.
No West Coast Tech. No treasure hunting.
Ford has been liberated from any set path. He can do whatever he wants. The wings on his back make his shoulders heavy. He has everything and nothing to prove, now.Everything and nothing.
Everything and nothing.