Little thingy I wrote last night because I felt like this needed to be created. this is stancest and they are killing me
But Stanley does. He does because he knows firsthand how divided androgynes must have felt; how they wandered the earth, trying to find their lost part, dying of hunger and sadness, not wanting to do anything separately. Sounds so familiar.
People are born whole. The legend of androgynes — once powerful beings, whom God cut into halves as a punishment — is just an ancient fairy tale. In modern society, nobody believes you have to find yourself some "other half" in order to be complete.
Maybe it was his punishment, too. For being the worse one of the duo, for always dragging his brother down and eventually screwing his future up. Stanley was the anchor of the ship Ford was trying to sail — sinking deeper each year. It was only natural he would want to cut Stan loose someday.
And he did. And Stanley hasn't been whole since then. The half of his heart, his better half, was gone.
He had been dragging through life like a cripple, inferior, lacking something that would make him human again. Life had worn him down, chewed him and spat him out a million times. Time had softened some hard edges in one place but created new ones in another. He was Frankenstein's monster, a broken vase, clumsily reassembled from shattered pieces of porcelain — put together, but all in the wrong order.
Stanley didn't recognize himself anymore. All he could see in the mirror was Him. Stan wondered how He had changed, how his life must be so much better now without him interfering. It was a torture, and he stopped looking in mirrors.
And when Ford reached out to him that day, he — God — he was so stupid for hoping it was to reconnect. Who would want to reunite with a parasite after it was finally gone? Stanley prayed that Ford would. That Ford would still love him and want him back and —
Stanley let these silly hopes run through his head and the next moment they were crushed, brutally murdered, and he was so angry and so desperate. They were inseparable growing up — what the fuck had changed? He remembered Ford promising they would always be together, just two of them, forever.
A liar, a goddamn liar, I'll —
Then Ford hit him and it burned and he fought back and soon it was over and he was all alone again.
He had been alone for a long time — for what felt like an eternity — trying to bring his lost part back. He needed it to survive. He needed Ford close to him.
But Stan was scared. Scared that when he'd finally see Ford again he'd find out that they didn't have anything in common anymore. That they were so altered by time and its horrors that they would no longer match. And when he met Ford again after thirty years, his fears started to make sense.
Stan had lost his younger shape, the one Ford had known. He was butchered and glued together, and so was Stanford. He could have been a total stranger to him now. But the most painful thing was that he wasn't. He was still his Ford — older and tougher, but his voice, his eyes... They never changed. And Stanley just couldn't look at him.
Some things just can't be fixed. But Stanley was still trying. That was all he was capable of — trying and failing and trying again.
And then one day, one terrible stormy evening, Stanley just couldn't let Ford be. Couldn't let him disappear into his basement as he always did when even a tiny possibility of dialogue appeared. He was too tired and too old to deal with this childish bullshit any longer.
It turned into another verbal skirmish, and Stanley finally got that words just wouldn't work for them. Maybe it was because Ford couldn't trust anything Stan said, and maybe he shouldn't, because Stan had said too many things that weren't true — too many awful and silly things.
Go fuck yourself, Stanford! I hate you!
So Stan took action instead. Ford's first thought was that he'd shifted so close to hit him, to start a fight yet again. But Stanley didn't. He did something unbelievable instead — something long forgotten. Something Ford still dreamed of, despite common sense, morality, everything. He kissed him.
And it worked. It all clicked together, like many years ago. Their bodies intertwined — two pieces of a ridiculously complicated jigsaw puzzle falling into place.
And with Ford's lips on his, Stanley finally felt whole.
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