Chapter Text
“Seriously, Sixer — how did you manage to chew on your pen so much that it broke and the ink cartridge burst in your mouth?!”
With his arms crossed over his chest, Stanley Pines leaned against the wall next to the sinks in the boys’ school restroom, watching with a mix of amusement and disbelief as his twin brother Stanford stood at one of the basins, trying to wash a large blue ink stain off his face that spread from the corner of his left mouth and had also trailed down over his chin.
“I was lost in thought, okay?” Ford defended himself as he splashed water on his face and rubbed at his chin and mouth with his six-fingered hand. But the stubborn stain refused to disappear, and the fact that (as usual) the school restroom was out of soap made it even more difficult, so all Ford could use was water. He’d been standing at the sink since the start of the passing break between class, battling the ink on his face, while Stan looked on, clearly finding the whole situation highly entertaining. Stan shot him a mocking, amused look through the mirror.
“Why are you even chewing on your pen in the first place?” he asked. “Only babies do that! They chew on everything. Should I get you a pacifier to gnaw and suck on so you’ll leave your pens alone in the future?”
“Like I said, I was deep in thought and actually using my brain. Might do you some good too,” Ford snapped back irritably, snorting in frustration when he realized the stain had faded a little but was still very much visible.
“So I end up looking like that?” Stan shot back, laughing. “No thanks! Your whole mouth is smeared with ink. You look like a vampire — a book vampire!”
“A book vampire?” Ford repeated, confused, raising an eyebrow and giving his brother a skeptical sidelong glance. “A vampire that sucks the ink of books?”
Stan nodded with a grin. “Yeah! You’re like some knowledge-hungry vampire sneaking through the library at night, biting helpless books to suck out all their knowledge!” he said jokingly, putting on a spooky ghost voice.
This time, Ford laughed too. His brother might be teasing him about his mishap, but at least he did it in a way that was oddly affectionate and made Ford laugh along with him. There were plenty of others who would have mocked him far more cruelly. Crampelter and his two friends Brad and Harvey, for example.
As long as Ford could remember, he’d been teased and called a freak for having six fingers. He had always been the outsider — ignored by girls and excluded by the other boys. But to Crampelter and his friends, he had become the perfect target, their favorite victim.
For years, they had harassed him almost every single day, constantly coming up with new ways to mock and humiliate him. They stuck notes to his back that read “Freak”, “Loser”, or “Kick me”, pelted him with paper balls, shoved his schoolbag into the trash, stole his glasses and put or threw them somewhere he couldn’t reach, shot him off with balls on the playground, stole or tore up his homework and notebooks or deliberately poured water on them, vandalized his locker, took his lunch, locked him in the school restroom, and insulted or mocked him whenever they crossed his path. Which, unfortunately, happened almost every day. Because Crampelter and his friends went to the same school as Stan and Ford.
Crampelter was almost three years older and didn’t share any classes with the twins, but that never stopped him from tormenting Stan and especially Ford at every opportunity outside of lessons. By now, being bullied by Crampelter had become part of Ford’s daily routine, and he had never really fought back — had never truly been able to. He was younger and weaker and had no friends to stand up for him, while Crampelter always had his two cronies Brad and Harvey at his side, nearly as stupid and mean as their “leader” and willing to do whatever he told them.
Stan was the only one who always stood up for Ford and tried to protect him. But that often meant Stan got harassed and bullied by Crampelter and his friends as well. Stan seemed able to shrug it off better than Ford, though, and had the strength not only to defend himself, but his brother too. Stan had always been the stronger one, the more confident one. Ford, on the other hand, preferred to duck his head and keep his mouth shut so as not to make things worse.
That, however, also seemed to doom him to being shoved around and humiliated by Crampelter and his friends almost every day at school until Crampelter finally graduated from high school — something that would still take nearly half a year.
But maybe things had changed now. Because two days ago, Ford had finally dared to stand up for himself and fight back against Crampelter’s stupid insults and cruelty by going to the principal together with Stan and telling him everything. The reason he had finally taken that step was a particularly vile stunt Crampelter had pulled — one that had clearly crossed the line.
After the last class two days ago, Crampelter, Brad, and Harvey had ambushed Ford while he was waiting alone for Stan, since Stan still had to have a “serious talk” with a teacher. At the right moment, they had grabbed Ford and dragged him into the boys’ restroom. Ford had expected them to lock him in there again, like they had done before. But this time, they had something else in mind, something far worse: they had held him down and forcibly shoved his head into one of the filthy toilets — one that had already been used and hadn’t even been flushed.
Twice they’d dunked him in and yanked him back out again amid mocking laughter and jeers, before finally locking him inside the stall. After nearly ten minutes, Ford had eventually been found by his brother, shaken and humiliated, sitting on the floor next to the toilet, his face still wet and stinking. That was going too far.
Stan had been beside himself with rage and had wanted to go after Crampelter right away to punch him personally. Ford had only just managed to stop him. He didn’t want even more trouble, and above all, he didn’t want Stan to get into trouble because of him. But Stan had then insisted that Ford finally had to act, that he had to properly defend himself and do something so those jerks would be punished. And so, in the end, Ford had decided to go to the principal. And it had worked.
Ford had told the principal everything — not just about the toilet dunking, but also about all the other cruelty he had endured — and the principal had believed him, immediately calling in Crampelter and his friends to confront and punish them: with a two-day suspension and cleaning duty. Cleaning duty for the school restrooms and the schoolyard. On top of that, they had been forced to apologize to Ford, and the principal had warned them that if anything like this ever happened again, much harsher consequences would follow.
For Stan and Ford, it had been a complete victory. Crampelter and his friends had finally been properly punished and would definitely leave them alone for two days thanks to the suspension. As a result, yesterday’s school day had already been free of bullying, and even today there had been no nasty, mocking remarks or insults — such as about the ink stain on Ford’s face. The whole class had laughed when the pen had burst in Ford’s mouth and sprayed ink all over his face and into his mouth, which had been incredibly embarrassing and unpleasant, but Crampelter and his friends, who would have mocked and taunted him mercilessly the moment they’d seen the stain during the break, were still suspended and couldn’t throw any stupid comments at him. At least not for this day.
Ford found himself smiling now as he stood at the sink, still rubbing at the ink stain on his face with wet hands and thinking about their punishment. Stan noticed the smile and looked at him curiously.
“Why are you grinning like that all of a sudden?” he asked. “Did the ink stain finally surrender?”
Ford shook his head with a faint chuckle. “No, unfortunately not. But I was just thinking again about Crampelter, Brad, and Harvey sitting in the principal’s office,” he replied. “They definitely would’ve mocked me if they’d seen me with the ink stain. Instead, they’re getting ready for cleaning duty now.”
A wide grin spread across Stan’s face. “Oh yeah! I can still see Crampelter’s face when he heard he’d be scrubbing toilets, picking up trash, and scraping gum off desks for a week! That was priceless!” he agreed enthusiastically.
“Yeah! Let’s see how he likes sticking his head into a toilet!” Ford said with malicious satisfaction, and together he and Stan burst out laughing. Then, however, Ford cast a quick glance at his wristwatch, and his laughter died away.
“Oh, break is almost over… we need to get to our next class,” he noted worriedly, then looked back at his reflection. “But this stupid ink stain just won’t wash off!” he growled in frustration.
“What class do we have again?” Stan asked.
“Math with Miss Reece,” Ford replied without taking his eyes off the mirror or pausing in his attempts to get rid of the stain.
Stan groaned loudly. “Nooo, not Miss Reece! She hates me!”
“Gee, I wonder why,” Ford muttered dryly, though Stan seemed to ignore the irony completely.
“Because she’s a cranky old hag who can’t take a joke!” he complained.
“Or because you never pay attention, constantly fool around in class, and make it very clear that you hate her just as much,” Ford countered reproachfully. Stan snorted.
“Every student hates her. Because she hates every student. Except you. She loves you. All the teachers love you,” he grumbled.
At that moment, the shrill bell rang, making them both look up in alarm.
“Crap! Class is starting! But I don’t want to walk into the classroom with this stupid stain on my face! Everyone will laugh again!” Ford exclaimed, shooting the ink blot an angry glare through the mirror.
“Well, guess that means we’re both going to be late for math,” Stan said casually, clearly not bothered, and shrugged.
Ford stared at him in confusion. “What? Why both of us?” he asked. “You don’t have ink on your face. You can leave now and still make it on time!”
Stan looked genuinely surprised. “What? No, I’m staying with you!” he said firmly. “You’re not taking the heat alone! Besides, you’ve covered for me plenty of times when I was late — which happens way more often.”
“Exactly why you should go now so you don’t end up late again and get another comment in the register,” Ford replied seriously. “I can handle this, you can’t. You already have a ton of comments. And especially with Miss Reece, you really shouldn’t be late again. If I really am her favorite, she might cut me some slack, but she definitely won’t let you off the hook. So go, Stanley. I’ll be right behind you.”
“But–” Stan began to protest, but Ford cut him off.
“No buts. Go. I don’t want you getting into trouble because of me. And you can apologize for me to Miss Reece; hopefully it won’t take much longer… If I really can’t get this stupid stain off, I’ll be there in three minutes at the latest. But you need to hurry now if you want to get there before she does. Go. I’ve got this.”
Stan sighed and gave in. As usual, Ford had the better arguments. “Fine. Then I’ll see if I can save you from getting a comment in the register from that old shrew…” he said, pushing himself off the wall he’d been leaning against. “But hurry up anyway. With her, I can’t promise anything.”
“Just use your ‘legendary charm’ to soften her up and wrap her around your finger. You always say it works so well on the ladies,” Ford replied with a teasing smile and unmistakable sarcasm. Stan burst out laughing.
“Hell no — not with that lady!” he exclaimed. Then he grabbed his schoolbag, slung it over his shoulder, and opened the door to the boys’ restroom. “Just hurry, okay?” he said with a grin before stepping into the hallway and disappearing.
For a moment, Ford watched his brother go, lost in thought. Stan always wanted to stand by him and protect him — whether from nasty jerks like Crampelter or from a strict teacher like Miss Reece. Ford knew he could always rely on him. Sure, his brother often got himself into trouble by fooling around, and sometimes dragged Ford into it as well, but together, they always found a solution. Whatever happened, they dealt with it as a team.
A warm smile crossed Ford’s face at the thought. Then he shook himself out of it and focused fully on the stain again.
No time to get lost in thoughts. He needed to hurry if he wanted to get to class quickly. Being Miss Reece’s favorite didn’t mean she handed out special privileges or went easy on him when he messed up. When it came to discipline, that woman showed no mercy.
Stubbornly and without pause, Ford kept rubbing at the ink with water… and actually managed to get rid of the stain at last before the three minutes were up. Relieved, he checked his watch and exhaled. Thirty seconds to sprint through the halls and rush up the stairs to the second floor. Now hurry!
Ford took one last quick look at himself in the mirror, ran a hand through his unruly brown hair, and adjusted his glasses. Then he hastily dried his hands on his green sweater vest, slung his bag over his shoulder, and pushed open the door to the boys’ restroom. He hurried out into the deserted hallway, ran along it, and was just about to turn left around the corner toward the stairs when he suddenly collided with someone.
Startled, Ford stumbled backward, blinked in confusion, and was already about to murmur a quick “Sorry” when he realized with horror who he had just run into.
“Crampelter!” he cried out in shock and froze. Standing in front of him were indeed Crampelter and his two friends, Brad and Harvey.
Crampelter was a tall, broad-shouldered guy with blond hair and towered over Ford by nearly a full head, his arms crossed over his chest. Brad and Harvey stood beside him. Brad was fairly tall as well, but thin and gangly, making him look like a beanpole next to Crampelter. He had dark brown hair, a narrow face, freckles on his cheeks, and prominent front teeth. Harvey, on the other hand, was short and stocky, with reddish-brown hair and a round, pudgy face — the complete opposite of Brad. What they all had in common, however, were the dark, ominous looks they aimed at Ford.
“Well, well, what do we have here? What a funny coincidence!” Crampelter said, a pugnacious glint in his eyes. “Surprised to see us, you little piece of shit? Did you think you were rid of us after that stunt? Did you think if you snitched on us, we wouldn’t be mad anymore and would just leave you alone?! Is that what you thought?!”
Ford felt himself shrink inward, his heart dropping into his shoes. “B-But…! You’re s-supposed to…! The principal said…!” he stammered in a frightened, confused voice as he backed away from the three of them, who were advancing on him slowly and menacingly.
“…said we were supposed to leave you alone and were suspended from class for two days?” Crampelter finished grimly, his hands clenching into fists. “Yeah, he did! And you know what else he did? He sentenced us to picking up trash, scraping gum, and cleaning toilets! That’s why we’re here right now! We’re supposed to get the cleaning supplies so we can spend the whole afternoon doing our cleaning duty under the janitor’s supervision! And not just today — tomorrow too! And the day after! The whole damn week! All because you, you little freak, couldn’t keep your mouth shut and ran crying to the principal!” he hissed, his voice trembling with rage.
Then Crampelter’s left hand suddenly shot forward, grabbing Ford hard by the collar and yanking him close until Ford was staring straight into Crampelter’s furiously blazing eyes.
“But you know what, freak? Screw the principal!” Crampelter shouted. “Do you think we’re scared of him — or of you?! Did you think you could intimidate us with that?! Well, I’ve got news for you: it didn’t work! And now there’s no principal around to watch us, and no brother here to protect you! So me and my boys are gonna do our cleaning duty and scrub that snitching little mouth of yours nice and clean, so you won’t ever rat us out again!”
Ford’s throat felt tight, but it wasn’t just because of Crampelter’s grip. He wanted to say something, to beg for mercy, to plead for forgiveness, to call for help, but no sound came out. All he could do was stare at Crampelter in terror, who suddenly let go of his collar, only to shove him violently a second later, sending Ford crashing backward to the floor and slamming his head hard against the wall.
It felt as though someone had struck the back of his head with a hammer; his skull rang and throbbed painfully, and the world blurred before his eyes. Groaning, Ford clutched his head with one hand and tried dizzily to push himself up and get to his feet — but Crampelter and his two friends were already standing over him again, looking down at him with mocking expressions.
Terrified, Ford scrambled backward across the floor to get away from them, but the wall was right behind him, and the three of them had him boxed in. There was no escape; all he could do was press himself in panic against the cold, unyielding wall. His heart pounded, his thoughts raced. He was trapped.
Brad and Harvey stood on either side of Ford with their arms crossed, blocking any escape to the right or left, and laughed cruelly.
“Hey, look! What’s this piece of trash lying around here?” Brad jeered.
“Better clean up this heap of filth,” Harvey sneered.
“Good idea!” Crampelter agreed, his face twisting into a sly grin as he loomed over Ford. “Wouldn’t want to neglect our cleaning duty!”
Then he drew back his right foot and kicked Ford hard in the stomach. Ford let out a strangled cry of pain as the force of the blow knocked the air from his lungs and rolled onto his side, coughing and gasping for breath. But Crampelter didn’t stop — he delivered another kick, this time to Ford’s ribs. A sharp, searing pain shot through Ford’s side, and he curled up, biting back a scream.
“Well, freak? What did your tattling get you, huh?!” Crampelter asked, looking down at Ford with contempt as he lay helpless at his feet. Ford didn’t answer, couldn’t answer, only whimpered softly as he clutched his aching side. But Crampelter didn’t wait for a reply.
“I’ll tell you: nothing!”
The next kick hit Stanford square in the face.
- - - - -
Miss Reece had just reached the classroom door when Stan came tearing around the corner of the hallway, panting as he ran toward her. He had had to cross two corridors and sprint up the stairs — taking two steps at a time — to get there, but he’d just barely made it. The thin teacher with her brown hair pulled back into a severe bun eyed him disapprovingly through the small, round glasses perched on her pointed nose as he squeezed past her and through the door without a word.
“Just in time, Stanley. Just in time,” she scolded him sharply, following him into the room and closing the door behind her.
Stan pulled a face as she walked past him toward the teacher’s desk. Then he dropped into one of the two remaining empty seats in the front row, let his schoolbag slide off his shoulders, and tried to catch his breath. This school definitely had too many floors and hallways. And Wednesdays were always the worst — those had the most room changes. Constant running around.
At least this was the last period. After this, he and Ford could finally head to the beach and keep working on the Stan O’ War. He’d been looking forward to that all day. But first, he still had to suffer through math…
Stan groaned and slumped lower in his chair. If only it were already over. He hated math almost as much as he hated Miss Reece. She had just set down her bag, sat at her desk, and taken out her book, her folder, and her dreaded red pen.
“So. Is everyone present?” she asked, letting her gaze sweep over the class — until her eyes landed on the empty seat next to Stan and narrowed to thin slits. “Where is Stanford?” she demanded, fixing Stan with a piercing look, as if he was personally responsible for Ford not sitting in his seat.
“He’ll be here in a second,” Stan replied. “He’s still in the restroom, trying to wash an ink stain off his face.”
There was a ripple of giggling and whispering from several corners of the room, which Miss Reece silenced immediately with a sharp glare. Then she focused on Stan again.
“Washing off a stain?” she repeated, wrinkling her nose disdainfully — the same way she always did when someone was late, hadn’t done their homework, or disrupted her lesson. “That is not a valid excuse for being late to class. Stanford had the entire time between class to take care of that.”
“It wasn’t enough time,” Stan shot back irritably, forcing himself not to add “you arrogant old hag” to the end of his sentence.
“So what? He is still expected to be here, stain or no stain,” the teacher said coldly. She opened the attendance book without hesitation and raised her red pen, ready to give Ford a comment. Stan ground his teeth in anger.
“Yeah, yeah. If you had an ink stain on your ugly ass face, you wouldn’t want to walk into class either,” he muttered darkly to himself, fortunately quiet enough that Miss Reece didn’t quite catch it. Still, her head snapped up and her eyes narrowed, as if she had sensed the insult after all. Teachers seemed to have a sixth sense for that sort of thing.
“What was that?” she hissed dangerously softly. The classroom fell deathly silent. Stan, however, held her threatening stare.
“Give him three more minutes,” he said firmly. “He should be here any second.”
Miss Reece studied him for another long moment, then snarled curtly, “Fine. Three minutes. Not a second longer!”
Stan exhaled in relief as she put the red pen away and instead picked up a piece of chalk to write something on the board and begin the lesson. He’d actually managed to buy Ford three minutes. Now Ford really had to use them and get here in time. There was no way Miss Reece would allow more than that. It was already a miracle she’d agreed at all. If Stan had been the one missing, she never would have done it. Ford was simply her favorite. Still, he needed to make it into the classroom within those three minutes if he wanted to avoid a comment in the register…
As Miss Reece started writing several integral calculus problems on the board, Stan didn’t listen. Instead, his gaze flicked back and forth between the door and the clock, silently counting the seconds. And they passed… without Ford appearing.
After one minute, he still wasn’t there.
After one minute and thirty seconds, still nothing.
And not after two minutes…
Or after two minutes and thirty seconds…
Or after two minutes and fifty seconds.
Stan shifted nervously in his chair, staring at the door as the final ten seconds ticked away, silently begging his brother to show up.
Come on, Ford…
But Ford didn’t come.
And the moment the three minutes were up, Miss Reece glanced at the clock as well and twisted her mouth when she saw that Ford was still not in his seat. Her gaze locked onto Stan.
“Stanford is still absent,” she stated disapprovingly.
“He has to be here any second! Give him a few more seconds!” Stan pleaded. But Miss Reece remained as hard as he’d feared.
“He has already had three minutes. That is more than enough,” she replied. She walked to her desk, took up the red pen, and wrote a comment into the attendance book.
Stan boiled inside as he watched her scribble Ford’s name down in sharp, jagged strokes, biting down hard to keep from unleashing a stream of insults at her.
Once she was done, she simply continued with the lesson. As far as she was concerned, the matter was closed.
But for Stan, it wasn’t. His thoughts were entirely with his missing brother.
Had Ford really lost track of time and was still struggling with the ink stain? That didn’t fit him at all. Ford would never forget the time when he was already late. He was usually punctual — if he was ever late, it was because of Stan, since Ford often waited for him or tried to back him up when he’d overslept or dawdled again.
No. Ford wouldn’t just forget the time. Stan couldn’t imagine that.
So what was going on?
Whatever the reason was, Stan couldn’t do anything about it now. Ford had had his chance and missed it — whatever the reason. Stan would probably find out any second. Surely Ford would burst through the door in a few moments, completely out of breath, which would only make it all the more infuriating that he’d been late by just a handful of seconds and Miss Reece hadn’t shown the slightest mercy again.
So Stan waited.
But Ford didn’t come after four minutes either…
Or after five…
Or six…
Or seven.
Stan grew more and more restless, his nerves tightening, genuine worry beginning to creep in. This couldn’t be right! Where was Ford?!
A bad feeling rose in Stan’s chest. Something was wrong. He could feel it. Something must have happened. Maybe Ford had tripped on the stairs and hurt himself because he’d been in such a hurry! Maybe he was even lying unconscious on the steps, unnoticed, with no one helping him!
A hundred horror scenarios played out in Stan’s mind at once, fear surging through him. He needed to know what was going on. He needed to look for Ford. He needed to help him. Something had happened to his brother — he was sure of it.
After ten minutes had passed without Ford finally showing up, Stan couldn’t stand it anymore.
“Something’s wrong!” he blurted out, agitated and suddenly, at a moment when everyone else was silent and only the sound of chalk scratching across the board could be heard. Miss Reece paused and turned toward him.
“Excuse me?” she asked sharply, glaring at him. “Raise your hand if you have something to say, and don’t just shout into the classroom, Stanley.”
Stan ignored her reprimand. “Ford should’ve been here ages ago!” he called out.
Miss Reece sighed irritably when he spoke about something completely unrelated to her lesson — something she clearly considered irrelevant. “But he isn’t,” she replied flatly.
“But he said he’d come right away!” Stan shot back heatedly; his teacher’s indifference only made him angrier.
“Perhaps he changed his mind,” Miss Reece said coolly.
Stan stared at her in outrage. “What?! Do you seriously think he’s skipping class?! He would never do that! You know him!” he protested.
“Perhaps someone had a bad influence on him,” she retorted, giving Stan a pointed look. Stan knew exactly who she meant. He jumped to his feet, glaring at her furiously.
“Ford doesn’t skip class! Ever! He’d rather pour ink all over himself than miss even a single lesson!” he shouted. “No — something’s wrong!”
With that, Stan simply left his seat and strode toward the door. A wave of shocked, uneasy murmuring swept through the classroom.
“Where do you think you’re going?!” Miss Reece demanded sharply.
“I’m going to look for him!” Stan replied firmly, without turning around or stopping.
“What?! Stop right there and sit back down this instant, Stanley!” she ordered indignantly.
“But–” Stan began and did stop after all, but Miss Reece cut him off harshly.
“No arguments! Sit down! Immediately! You will not leave my classroom!” she hissed threateningly. Her stern gaze practically drilled into him as he stood by the door for another second, his hands clenched into fists.
Then he shot her a devastating look and growled, “You know what? Screw you.”
With those words, he spun around, yanked the door open, and stepped out into the hallway, ignoring the stunned, speechless looks of the other students and Miss Reece, who gasped in outrage and then shouted angrily after him about “insolence!” and “serious consequences!”. Stan simply slammed the door behind him and hurried down the hallway toward the stairs.
And even though he was furious, he couldn’t stop a faint smile from creeping onto his face as he could still hear Miss Reece ranting and raging through the closed door.
That had felt really good.
Sure, he knew this little stunt would definitely have some unpleasant consequences later, but that stupid, ignorant old cow had it coming. And for Ford, he was more than willing to accept whatever punishment followed. He would find out what had happened to his brother. Because something had happened. He could feel it.
With quick, determined steps, Stan pressed on without hesitation, without looking back even once, fully resolved to find his brother. He wouldn’t abandon Ford. He’d get to the bottom of this and help him if he really was in trouble. And no one — not even Miss Reece — was going to stop him.
Don’t worry, Ford. I won’t let you down. Never. No matter what happens.
Link to the German version: https://www.fanfiktion.de/s/5aa54130000863de2696867d/1/Immer-fuer-dich-da