Conservatorship AU snippet
Fordâs confliction :) pspspsps @babyblankyerror
Stanford watched from the porch as his brother ran around the yard, happily playing on the new equipment Stanford had constructed for him. It had come about as sometimes when Stanley mentally regressed to a child, he would beg to go to the local playground. He didnât understand that it wasnât socially appropriate for a grown man to do so, or that he was too big for the slides there.
Stanley had always looked so downtrodden when Stanford told him no. It made Stanfordâs heart twinge having to look into those hopeful eyes and crush that hope each time. But he couldnât bring his physically adult brother to the playground and disturb the real children thereânot to mention the parents and what people would think of them.
After a dozen times of this happening, Stanford had had enough. Wanting to bring a smile to Stanleyâs face, he began to plan out and construct adult-sized playground equipment for his brother in his own yard. His property was certainly large enough for it, and then Stanley could play as much as he pleased.
The project had just been finished this morning, and a smile tugged at Stanfordâs lips as he sipped his coffee, seeing how excited Stanley was with his new playground. It was a little funny honestly, how Stanleyâs childishness had slowly started becoming endearing to him. Stanford remembered when heâd first picked Stanley up at the courthouse, and how disturbing heâd found his brother, watching him act like a child.
But now, after having spoken with doctors and psychiatrists and therapists⊠Stanford couldnât help but wonder if maybe things were better like this. He may not know all the details of what Stanley had been through, but he knew the kind of trauma his brother had been subjected to. How the things that had been done to Stanley had been so horrific his brain had regressed back to a younger mental state as coping mechanism.
Stanley didnât remember what had happened to him. Stanford had been told that this wasnât abnormal; that sometimes the mind would repress traumatic memories to protect itself. Stanleyâs therapist was currently working on trying to coax those memories back in a safe environment, in order to help him process them properly and recover.
But Stanford couldnât help but wonder if maybe Stanley shouldnât. If perhaps letting Stanley stay the way he was, regression episodes and all, would be kinder. Stanley was happy like this. Wouldnât it be cruel to force him to remember the trauma he had been through? To wipe away the innocence he had now?
Stanford sighed, conflicted. âStanley,â he called, âkeep both hands on the swing, please!â
âOkay!â Stanley yelled back, holding properly onto the chains of the swing, correcting himself from dangling precariously.
Stanley beamed at him brightly, and fondness softened Stanfordâs eyes. Could he really ruin that smile? He wanted to help his brother, he wanted to do the best by Stanley that he could as Stanleyâs guardian. But what if the best he could do was to allow Stanley to remain as he was? What if trying to bring back his memories and stop the age regression made things worse for him?
Stanford wanted Stanley to get better, he did. He wanted his brother back the way he should be, as a grown man both physically and mentally. But⊠but was that unfair to Stanley? Was it more merciful to just let him be as he is now? He didnât want to withdraw Stanley from therapy, but was it right to make Stanley relive his traumas again?
And if it was best for Stanley to remain like this, always fluctuating between adult and child, was Stanford prepared to take care of him for the rest of their lives? Heâd accepted to be Stanleyâs conservator as a temporary position until Stanley was well enough to make his own decisions again. But what if that never happened?
Stanford knew that he would, in a way, lose his twin. He would cease to truly be Stanleyâs brother and become something more like a parent to him. He would be responsible for Stanley for as long as they lived, looking after an adult who didnât always know he was an adult. That was no small thing. He would be Stanleyâs dedicated caretaker, always having to factor Stanley into every decision he made.
Stanford stared down into the dredges of cold coffee left in his mug. He didnât know what to do. He didnât want to see that childlike, joyful expression on Stanleyâs face fade away forever. But it also wasnât about what he wanted; it was about what was best for Stanley.
âSixer! Look at me!â Stanley called happily.
Stanford looked up and squawked in alarm. At some point unbeknownst to him, Stanley had climbed fairly high up in a tree and was gleefully waving at him from a not-so-sturdy looking branch.
âStanley! Get down from there, youâre going to get hurt!â Stanford rushed off the porch to help Stanley.
Because in the end, helping his brother was all that mattered. Whether that meant Stanley got better or not.
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