High school with The Pines Twins (Stanley route): between chapter 5-6
This happens sometime after chapter 5. It will only be referenced in one paragraph in chapter 6 as something Stanley did tell you.
TRIGGER WARNING! TRIGGER WARNING!
Talk of past child abuse. physical and physiological abuse.
you can read it here or on AO3
https://archiveofourown.org/works/26827288
As you clean up after dinner, you notice that Stanley wasn’t downstairs anymore. You take a break from cleaning, and walk up the staircase, a heavy feeling in your chest. He was acting off during dinner, he must have been thinking about something...
once upstairs, you push the door of your bedroom open, and see him laying down silently zoning out at the wall.
“Stanley...?”
he flinches and looks up at you when you speak “oh fuck, I told you I was going to help clean up, didn’t I?”
“you did but..that’s not important right now...are you okay?” you ask gently, sitting down on the bed next to him.
“... is it obvious..?”
“a little... what’s eating you?”
“just...something happened today... kinda got my mind...wandering” he sits up next to you as he lets out a small groan “you uh... wanna hear a really shitty story?”
“Sure...if you want to tell me it” you answer quietly, wondering how shitty of story this is going to be.
He rolls to lay on his back, pulling you along with him, so that your face rested by his collar bone. “When I was like… uhm… I think it was seven? Maybe eight… but...anyway…. I accidentally got some paint on my dad’s suit jacket, Ford and I were doing some arts and crafts or something...I don’t remember too well… when I noticed the paint on his jacket… I panicked…. Ran to the bathroom, tried washing it off in the tub… but that only spread the paint more…” he pauses, gently reaching his free hand up and takes your hand, giving it a small squeeze “he caught me in the bathroom, the tub full of soapy water… and his jacket…then he..he uh…” you can see the internal struggle in Stanley’s expression.
“You don’t have to tell me if you aren’t ready…” you say softly, giving his hand a small squeeze.
“I just… I want to tell you everything… I don’t want there to be something I didn’t tell you that you find out later… and you hate me for it...or… I don’t know… I just… if i tell you everything in the beginning… and scare you off now… maybe…” his words trail off “maybe it’ll hurt less.. Then if it happens later…”
“You won’t scare me off, Stanley…” you say softly.
“God I hope not…” he pauses, and a few moments pass before he continues his story “when he found me like that he was mad… he grabbed the hair on the back of my head and shouted ‘what the hell do you think you’re doing?’” He glared up at the ceiling, his brows furrowing down, and adjusted his voice, sounding like someone unlike himself. It might have been perfect, but you still haven’t even heard his father speak yet “I think I might have pissed myself… I don’t know…but the next thing I knew… I couldn’t breath…my head was under the water.” he takes a heavy breath, and stares up at the ceiling “I remember when he pulled my head back out… I was crying… my mom rushed in, but he had already wrapped me in a towel, over my clothes and everything… he told her I just got some soap in my eyes and that's why I was crying...so she left...and well… then he grabbed my face…” he says, as he releases your hand to lift it up to his chin, holding a thumb on one side and his index and middle finger on the other, only for a second before reaching back for your hand “he said something along the lines of... I should suck it up and be a man… and that I should be grateful… we live in America, we have a house… we aren’t one of those families that have to hide from Nazis… said, that other kids my age weren’t so lucky… said that the Nazis would do these horrible things to them… then that I should feel lucky...I’m not across the sea out in Europe… that my punishment was mild in comparison… so… I dealt with it…silently... for years…I couldn’t even tell Ford…I wanted to..… but...if I deserved it...if it was practically nothing in comparison...why should I complain?.... I’m sure he remembers me crawling into bed with him… but I don’t know if he ever understood why...”
“Stanley…” was all that could come out. If you hadn't already hated and loathed every atom in Stanley’s father… you would now. The death sentence sounds suitable.
“I felt stupid after I figured out that Hitler fucker killed himself months before we were even born and like..the whole thing was over.... he just...made me think that was still happening...and I mean...it’s still fucked what happened to all those people and kids...”
How could he do that… did he really think that little of his own son? “I know it probably doesn’t help...but I’m so sorry…”
Finally Stanley looks over at you, his brown eyes scanning every inch of your face. Scanning for any sign insincerity. This was the first time he’s actually ever said it aloud. Maybe you can’t offer helpful words but you listened to him…
“y’know...I don’t think I’ve ever told anyone that…” he mumbles quietly. “I’m sorry that was...a lot…”
“well..thank you for trusting me enough to tell me...” you say softly, releasing his hand to wrap it around his torso. “I’m sorry you had to deal with that...”
He isn’t sure what else to say. Part of him wants to cry. He could. He knows you won’t treat him poorly for it...But all he felt about it was…
