The Restoration Of Eroded Soils- Chapter 8
The Final Match
6,942 words
Stanford grumbled to himself as he collected his dirty clothes from his room, throwing them into the laundry basket held under his right arm. He'd been left home alone for the first time since Stanley had arrived to help him. Said brother was currently at his job (which he'd yet to disclose what exactly he did) and Arthuria was over at Fiddleford's apartment fixing her stolen snow mobile (and how in the world had she managed to steal it, he doesn't know).
It hadn't quite bothered him so much at first, but his blasted hormones had him feeling lonely and abandoned. To top that off, he had also started getting paranoid and anxious at the thought of Bill. He worried how he could very easily attack his brother and his friend with them outside to magical barrier. How he could harm or kill them, or worse. Posses them.
And even if Bill left them alone, Ford himself was still open to being attacked by him. He could make a deal with someone and have them tear down the barrier when no one was looking and posses them. He could get in and attack him, try to force him to finish the portal. He could hurt him, hurt his brother's friend, hurt Stanley, hurttheba-
Anyways, Stanford needed to find something around the house to keep himself busy and his mind from spiraling. He'd read through an old book he'd checked out from the library forever ago (which he really needed to return), cooked (burnt) himself some lunch, and when he couldn't find anything better, decided to do laundry.
He always hated the chore. I mean, he wasn't a dirty guy. He liked his clothes clean and neat, as well as his chin and hair. But Ford found it boring and a waste of time. Why do laundry when you could write a thesis?
Well, he couldn't complain a whole lot though. It was keeping his mind off things.
Picking up his last dirty shirt, the six fingered scientist made his way downstairs to the utility room. However, as he passed by the entry way to the living room, he noticed Stan had left a pile of his clothes by the couch. Figures.
Stanford sighed. He thought he might as well throw in his brother's clothes with the load of his. Stan didn't have that many to start with, so he would probably be needing to wash them soon anyways.
He walked over and crouched down by the pile, picking them up. As Ford picked up his jacket, he noticed something crinkling in the pocket like a piece of paper. Curious, he stuck his hand into said pocket and produced what appeared to be a folded up flyer.
"What is this?" Ford asked himself as he began unfolding it.
It was an advertisement for a boxing tournament in a nearby town. And from the looks of it, it was illegal. Why would Stan have this?
His hands trembled as he tried to make heads or tails of what the piece of paper in his hands meant.
Maybe he was planning to go watch a match? His brother had liked boxing a lot in high school, both watching and participating. But he wouldn't engage in such bloodsports. Not now, at least. He wasn't living on the streets anymore and he had a job. He wouldn't have any reason to-
Stanford's internal rambling cut off when he thought back to a few days prior, the day his twin had returned concussed and covered in bruises.
Stan had brushed it off as being the result of a bad run in with some drunks. Arthuria had confirmed it, but what if she had been in on the lie?…They were old friends and Ford wouldn't put it pass them to lie to him. He was an outsider to them. Or at least, to their friendship.
So if the attack had been a lie, a cover up, then Stan’s injuries must have come from..!
Crushing the piece of paper in his hands, he exited the living room and ran into the kitchen as fast as he could to use the phone. It made sense. Especially after the fact of him being "attacked," that he'd cut his mullet off, quite messily he might add. Likely to prevent it from being grabbed.
He needed to get to the bottom of this. In order to do that, he needed to speak with Stan. But…
Ford found himself pausing up, hand held out towards the house phone. Where exactly was he going to call? Stan didn't have a phone and he had no idea where he would even be. The next match wouldn't be until 9 tonight.
And even if he somehow managed to reach him, how would he drive there? He no longer had a car thanks to Steve. The only other person who had a form of transportation was… Arthuria!
He grabbed the phone and tapped in the number of Fiddleford where the ginger women had said she would be to repair her snow mobile. He dreaded talking to his friend and feared he would hang up on him, but he at least had to try. Maybe he could speak fast enough to get him to put Arthuria on the phone.
He had to try.
Ring.
Ring.
Ri-
"Fiddleford Mcgucket speaking."
"Fiddleford!" Ford cried out, thankful he'd picked up. "Look, please don't hang up! I need to speak with Arthuria immediately, it's urgent."
"S-Stanferd? I-uh-hold on a moment." the other end went silent for a painstakingly short while before another voice spoke.
"Hey." Arthuria answered.
"Arthuria, do-do you happen to know where Stan is?"
There was a silence at the end of the line before she answered carefully. “Is he not at his job..?”
Stanford sighed. She was obviously covering for him. He didn’t blame her. He would have probably done the same under the similar circumstances. But right now he didn’t want that answer. He wanted the truth.
“I found the flyer.”
"…I told him he needed to tell you." Arthuria sighed, likely shaking her head.
"He should have, yes, but I'm not concerned with that right now. I must talk to him immediately."
"Stan's at the gym practicing right now. He should be back soon." she said, giving Ford a bit of reassurance.
It did the trick, as some of the tension building in his shoulders eased up, causing them to drop a few inches. He took a few shuddering breath to calm down, but his worries didn’t disappear. He still had some things to discuss with his twin as soon as he was back from his “job”.
He nodded m, even if Arthuria couldn’t see anything. “Thank you… for telling me…”
“Yeah…and Stanford? Be careful with what you say to him. He… he meant well.” She added before hanging up.
The pregnant scientist sat in silence for a while after placing the phone back on the reciever. Arthuria said he meant well in what he was doing. But what purpose could Stan have for dealing in underground fights? For the money? Why couldn’t he just get a job like he lied about having?
He took a moment to breathe, calming his racing mind. Ford had to discuss this with Stan when he returned from the gym. He couldn't let it devolve into an argument and destroy the progress they've made in reconciling.
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"~Doo da doo, drivin' back to my brother's house, lyin' 'bout where I've been.~" Stan sang to himself as he drove down the winding gravel road.
Tonight was the final fight, the fight that could set his brother up for months. It had taken a lot to get to this point, putting his body through the ringer. Literally. But it was all gonna be worth it in the end. As long as it would help Ford.
Because that’s the only thing he was good at, wasn’t it? Anything for his brother and his brother alone. The rest didn’t matter. Even if he lost a limb or got hurt, it wasn't important. He wasn't important.
His brother was.
He pulled over, turned the engine off, and got out of the car. Stan gave himself a moment to take a deep breath and get his lie sorted out before he headed inside. He had just spent the day at his job and was returning to Ford's house, he did not spend the day at the gym prepping for the final match tonight.
Getting out of his car, he made his way up to the steps and to the front door, pulling it open. After shutting it back behind him, he heard footsteps coming from the direction of the kitchen. Probably Ford.
Sure enough, his brother was the cause of the noise, pacing back and forth by the counter, looking deep in thought. It wasn't an uncommon sight to Stan, but the worried expression he wore was.
Ford looked up at him, seeming to finally notice he'd appeared.
The elder twin stared at Stan for a long time. His eyes darting every where but his face to avoid eye contact, but landing on each and every bruise that was still visible on him. The many expression that crossed Stanford’s face weren’t hard to guess.
Stan could plainly see that his brother was worried, angry, and sad all at the same time. He sighed and braced himself.
“Hey, what’s the word Sixer?” He tried casually.
Ford didn't say anything, just took a deep breath and stuck a hand into the breast pocket of his trenchcoat and pulled out a familiar crumpled up flyer. Stan gulped.
"Stanley." Ford said sternly, yet softly. "Could you please explain this to me."
This wasn’t gonna end well, he thought.
"Well, it's a boxing flyer…" Stan offered, trying to play dumb.
Ford rolled his eyes and sighed exasperatedly. “I can see that. What I want to know is why was this flyer in your jacket pocket?”
Stan tried a different approach. “Why were you snooping into my stuff?”
“Don’t change the subject!” Ford said loudly before mumbling. “I just wanted to do the laundry.”
This was his last card to pull. "Look, I just thought it'd be fun to go watch. A way to blow off some steam and-"
"No, Stanley. Stop lying." Ford was beginning to lose his patience. "I know you have been participating in it."
"I have no-"
"The night of the third match, right after it had ended you came back here covered in bruises and sporting a concussion!"
Damn it.
He was backed against the wall. He stared at his brother and a shiver ran down his spine.
This was too familiar. This situation, all of this. The crumpled piece of paper in Ford’s hand, the look of anger and disappointment in his eyes and the way he was confronting him about something he had kept hidden from him.
No! No, no, no, no! This was not gonna be a repeat of last time!
He tried to convince himself, but he couldn’t help feeling ashamed. Had he let his brother down? Again?
His breathing was becoming shallow. “I told you, I got jumped in an alley…” he said quietly.
"No, you didn't Stanley! Your clothes would have been bloody and tattered had that been the case!" the elder exclaimed, gesturing towards the other.
"That's easy to explain-"
"I talked to Arthuria!"
Everything went quiet. A look of hurt crossed Stan's face at hearing of Arthuria’s betrayal. She wasn't supposed to say anything to Ford. She promised she'd keep it to herself.
"She told you?"
"She didn't have to. I found out on my own."
Stan started to play idly with his fingers, trying to come up with a good explanation, but nothing crossed his mind. He was cornered. He sighed in defeat and stared at his feet, he didn’t have the strength to look at his twin.
“You are the smarter twin.” He whispered.
"Honestly Stan, what were you thinking? Underground boxing? Don't you realize just how dangerous that is, let alone illegal?" Ford asked, beginning his pacing again.
"No, but I imagine yer gonna tell me." Stan muttered sarcastically.
“Don’t try to be a smartass!” Stanford had lost his calm and was yelling.
Stan winced at the tone. His brother sounded dangerously like their father. Stanford didn’t seemed to realize this though and kept going.
“Stanley! You could have died in there! You can still die fighting in this barbaric fight!” Ford tugged at his hair and started to pace again. “Do you have any idea of the risks you are taking?! Bill could sneak into the fight and attack or hurt you to get to me? Do you realize that?!”
"It's alright, geez. None of that has happened." Stan placated, hoping to de-escalate the conversation.
"It's not alright! It could still happen! Honestly, how stupid could you be?"
Everything went silent, only the slight wind from outside could be heard.
That hurt. Hearing Ford of all people calling him stupid, when he was the only one who had ever said he wasn't. It really hurt. And it must have showed by the way the elder had tensed and his eyes had blown wide.
Stanford clasped a hand over his mouth, regretting what he had said. But it couldn’t be undone. Before he could even attempt say anything, Stan had set his jaw, masking his expression in one of anger to hide the pain as he cut him off.
“I thought I could make this work.” He said coldly. “It’s the only thing that I could apply to. You wouldn’t believe how nobody wants to hire a high school drop out.” He let that sink in.
He heard his brother moan quietly behind him in misery, but ignored it. Part of him hated hurting Ford, but maybe the nerd needed to know that words had consequences. He heard some shuffling and raised a hand to stop him.
“I thought we could make this work… but guess I was too stupid to realized that either.” He sighed in defeat and walked toward the room’s exit. “Don’t worry. I’ll make sure the money gets ta ya… then you won’t hear from me… ever again.”
"S-Stanley, wait!" Ford cried out.
But he wasn't listening. Stan was already out the door and down the steps, taking off in a sprint to his car as soon as his feet hit the slushy ground. By the time he'd gotten to his car, Ford was on the porch about to rush down the steps after him.
"Stanley please! Stanley!"
Cranking his car up, he threw it in reverse and once turned around, floored it down the backwoods road, not looking back. If he had, he would have seen the absolutely distraught look on Ford's face.
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“I’m telling you. Give me five hours and I’ll have the part you need.” Arthuria sighed for the tenth time in a row.
“I don’t doubt it, I’m jus' not a hundred percent sure on the methods you’ll employ to obtain said part.” Fiddleford said while he played nervously with his fingers.
“Does it matter really? It’s not like anyone would be using them.” She shrugged her shoulders.
They were walking down the sidewalk toward the more crowded part of the town to acquire the pieces they needed in order to repair her snowmobile.
Arthuria was trying to convince the southern man she could get the part needed without him having to buy one for her. Though, Fiddleford wasn't exactly comfortable with the insinuating idea that she would probably end up stealing it.
"Regardless of if'n it's bein' used, it's still not a good ider ta steal." Fiddleford said, pulling and holding the door open to an auto part store for the ginger.
Arthuria walked by him with mischievous smirk. "It's not stealing if nobody misses it."
"Arth'ria, that's not how…" he just sighed and followed her inside.
"So." Arthuria said, clasping her hands together. "Where would the snowmobile parts be in this joint?"
"I'm not 'tirely sure. It's ma first time workin' on one, so I've never had ta look specially fer a part fer one. We'll jus' hafta ask." Fiddleford replied, walking up to the checkout counter.
She glanced around them before pointing to a sign on the ceiling with the words “mechanics” on it.
“Maybe there is a good start.”
The southern mechanic gave her an unimpressed look. "Well, duh. Though there're several isles for mechanical parts. You can go see iff'n you can find 'em while I ask. An' don' steal anythin'."
Arthuria gave an offended (and fake) gasp with a hand on her chest. "I would never."
She winked knowingly at him before walking towards one of the isles. Fiddleford just rolled his eyes and went over to the cashier.
The cashier was a young boy that seemed to wanna be anywhere, but here at the moment. He was glancing at the clock on the other side of the wall every few seconds, his fingers tapping the counter impatiently. It made Fiddleford chuckled as it reminded him of another men who had once been as impatient. He shook his head to clear the image of his old roommate.
Stanford had made clear what his priorities were and he wasn’t part of it. He had even enrolled his brother and friend into his madness. Fiddleford should probably say something about that to her. She seemed nice, despite her questionable morality.
He smiled at the cashier and pointed to the clock with a shrug.
“Can’t wait fer yer shift ta be over ta see yer friends, can ya, lad?” He joked to lighten the mood.
The cashier laughed. “Not exactly. I just wanna make it in time to see the fight tonight. It’s gonna be a blood bath.”
"The fight? Like, a live match on television?" Fiddleford asked.
"No, man. A live fight over in Boring!" the young boy clarified, voice suddenly excited.
"Oh, really." Fiddleford said, now interested.
"Totally! I didn't get to see the others because I was trapped here at work, but I gotta make it there tonight."
"Why's that?"
"Because it's the night of the final match. And from what I've heard, it's gonna be worth the money."
The engineer frowned. “If ya can bet money, am I ta assume that'n it isn’t a very legal fight?” He asked casually.
The boy laughed. “Definitely not! Legal fights aren't as entertaining. Not only because of the betting, but also these are real fights. Not just some bodybuilders paid to get up on the mat and throw fake punches."
At that moment, Arthuria walked up with a small part in her hands, placing it on the counter.
"Pretty sure this is it. What are you two talking about?" she asked curiously.
"The final match of a boxin' turn-a-ment, 'parently." Fiddleford replied.
Arthuria frowned. "It wouldn't happen to be local, would it?"
"Yep." the cashier nodded. "And the guys fighting tonight, The Jersey Devil and Big Tiny, are tough as hell. But it's a no brainer to place all bets on Big Tiny."
"Why's that?" the southern man questioned, not noticing how uneasy Arthuria was suddenly becoming.
"The dude is built like an effing brick wall. Looks like the type that eats nails with his cereal for breakfast. Not to mention all the people who've went up against him so far are hospitalized for serious injuries or in comas."
The cashier hadn’t had a chance to finished his sentence by the time the young woman had grabbed Fiddleford by the wrist and started dragging him outside. Stumbling upon his own feet, it took a couple of tries before he could match up with Arthuria’s pace.
“What’s with the hurry? We didn’t even get a chance ta buy the thing we needed.”
“I’ll come back later for it.” She said as she dragged him back to his apartment. “Right now I just need to get to Ford's house. Fast!”
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No no no nonononoNO!
This is what kept running through Stanford's head as his brother's car disappeared down the dirt road. He had made chase for all of five minutes before the cold air burning his lungs and knowing he'd never catch up forced him to slow down and stop. He was breathing heavily, still staring in the direction of town, dumbly hoping Stan would come back.
But of course he didn't.
"You ignoramus, this is all your fault!" he yelled, berating himself for his actions. "Why do you always have to turn everything into an argument with him?! Now he's gone to the match and you may never see him agai-"
His words got choked up on a sob. He closed his eyes tightly and dug his fingers into the fabric of his pants.
It’s all he was good for these days it seems. Crying and yelling at his brother when all he ever tried to do was help him. He had apologized to him and Stan had accepted it, but it seemed as his own mind hadn’t caught up to what it meant. He had drove another friend-no, his brother away because of his arrogance. He broke everything he touched.
He cried on the wet dirt road that constituted his driveway for what felt like hours, the shadows around him stretching as the sun set on the horizon. He didn’t care how the cold was slowly seeping into his pants, making him shiver. Although it could also be from the sobbing he had a hard time to keep under control.
The sound of a motor vehicle had him freeze for a moment as he raised his head in the hopes to see the trademark red El Diablo driving back. But as the sound grew nearer, he could tell it wasn't the Stanleymobile. It sounded more like a truck, a familiar one. And it was traveling awfully fast and…he was still in the middle of the road.
Just as he went to get back on his feet, Fiddleford's truck practically slung around the curve of the road and he realized he wouldn't have enough time to get out of the way with his wobbly legs. Suddenly, his ears were filled with the sound of screeching tires while the truck jerked back and forth trying to stop. He screwed his eyes shut and coward down, shielding his head and stomach from the incoming hit…
Was he was still alive?
Hesitantly, he cracked an eye open, looking around. He was still in the middle of the road, surrounded by woods, and the truck was idling just a few inches from his face.
“Where did you learn to drive!” A high pitched southern voice screamed as the doors opened and closed.
“Nowhere.” A feminine voice answered. “Jeez, what are you doing in the middle of the road!”
Ford slowly stood on shaky legs, resting a hand on the truck's hood to keep himself steady. "I-I…was chasing after Stanley."
"Chasing?" Fiddleford questioned, confused.
"What happened?" Arthuria asked, frowning.
"I confronted Stan about competing in the tournament. He wouldn't admit it at first and I started getting frustrated."
There was a beat and the scientist rested a hand over his mouth as the words he had told his brother came flooding back to hunt him. Tears streamed down his face and more sobs escaped his lips. He closed his eyes and tried to get his breathing under control.
What a screw up he was…
Some shuffling and sighs were heard around him and a hand grabbed him under the elbow to moved him away from the truck. He raised his head to see his old friend gently guiding him toward an opened door to sit properly. Fiddleford was still avoiding his gaze, swiftly turned around once Ford was seated to walk up to Arthuria.
“What'n tarnation is goin' on here? Do ya care ta explain?”
"Remember that tournament the kid at the auto parts store was talking about?" Arthuria asked, waiting until the engineer nodded before continuing. "Well, Stan is in it."
Fiddleford's eyes widened. "Ford's brother is one a' the contestants? Seriously? Why on God's green Earth wou'dy do that fer?"
She turned toward Ford. “Reasons.”
Ford hadn’t moved from his spot and kept his head hid in his hands.
"Either way, let's take Ford back and then head to the tournament to try and….sheesh, prevent a massacre, I guess."
At her words, Stanford lifted his gaze and gave them both a questioning look. "Massacre?"
"Yeeeah. Apparently, your brother is going up against some guy named Big Tiny for the last match." Arthuria said, cringing a bit.
"That's…not a very intimidating stage name." Ford said, not knowing how to react.
"No, but the number of people he's hospitalized is."
Ford’s eyes opened wide as he realized that Stan had most then likely drive to his own death. His hands were shaking as he started to rise from his seat.
“We… we gotta go!” He exclaimed with a shaky voice, still rattled by his emotional outburst.
“Who’s we?” Asked Fiddleford. “You heard the young lady, you are going home.” There was a stern tone in his voice that left no room for argument.
The two men started to glare at one another.
“I am not leaving my brother to get killed in an illegal tournament. I am going after him.” Ford stated.
"What happens if you two get into another argument? Stan won't wanna talk if that happens." Arthuria said, with her hands on her hips.
"We won't." the ginger gave him an unbelieving look. "I won't start one!"
They kept the staring contest for a while. Ford blinking rapidly as the tears subsided and he managed to gain some sort of control over his emotions. He still sniffed a couple of times and wiped his nose with his sleeves, but he held Arthuria’s gaze.
She was the one that ended up backing away and raising her arms in the air.
“All right. Let’s get this dumbass to his brother.”
"Good." Ford said, going to climb into the backseat of the truck before realizing she'd called him a dumbass. "Heeey."
"Shove it and just get in." Arthuria said, pushing him the rest of the way.
The ginger went to get back in the driver's seat, only for Fiddleford block her way.
"Oh no. I'm drivin' this time."
She raised her hands in a surrendered pose. “Fine. But you better drive fast and we are keeping the windows down.” She said as she climbed in the passenger seat next to Fiddleford.
As soon as everyone was loaded up, the southern man turned the truck back around and floored it back to town and in the direction of Boring. The drive seemt to take forever to Ford before they came upon the abandoned school it was being held at. The place was packed, the parking lot full and several other vehicles parked on the sides of the road.
The seconds the truck was put in park, Arthuria’s door flew open and she dropped on all four to retched.
Ford paid little mind to the woman, anxious to get to his brother before the match could start. Jumping out of the truck, he quickly rushed to the entryway of the high school gym, throwing open the door and rushing inside.
It was hard to navigate through the crowd, everyone almost shoulder to shoulder in the packed space. The amount of people within the confines caused the scientist's social anxiety to flair, shoulders drawing up to cover his ears nervously and wrapping an arm unconsciously about his stomach.
Blast it, this wasn't the time for such foolish anxiety.
He jumped when a hand grabbed his arm, twisting his head around to see who it was. Thankfully, it was Fiddleford, with a still queezy looking Arthuria in tow.
“Don’t worry, we’ll found him.” The southerner reassured him.
It did little to appeased Ford’s ever rising anxiety, but he nodded nonetheless, happy to have someone to ground him. Even is said person still had a well deserved grudge against him.
Fiddleford nodded in returned, but frowned worriedly when he saw Stanford holding his stomach with one of his hands.
“Are you nervous? You gotta stomachache?” He asked.
The scientist shook his head. “It’s nothing. Let’s just find Stanley and get out of here.”
Fiddleford continues to frown, but did as his former friend wished, guiding him through the sea of people to a booth where everyone was placing bets.
"200 on Big Tiny!" one of the bidders called out, handing cash to one if the workers.
"50 on Jersey!" another hollered.
"100 on Big Tiny!"
A lot of people seemed to be bidding on the Big Tiny fellow. That just made Stanford even more anxious to get to his twin before it was too late.
"What's your bid?" a man at the table asked, speech slurred by the cigar in his mouth.
"Eh, we're not here ta bid, 'm afraid." Fiddleford replied.
"We need to speak with one of the contenders." Arthuria added.
"Sorry, but audience members aren't allowed back with the fighters while they're getting ready for the match." the guy said, trying to brush them off.
"Please, it's important. He's my brother. I really need to speak with him." Ford begged.
A hand rested on his shoulder and he turned his head to see Arthuria pointing with her chin toward a wall. He followed her gaze and saw a door unattended on the far side.
“Thank you for your time.” She said to the men behind the table and guided Ford away from him.
He dutifully followed her, Fiddleford hot behind them. He still shot worried glances over his shoulder, wondering if anyone would see them (or if he would see Bill's yellow eyes), but most of the crowd was entertained by the current fight and didn’t pay them any mind.
Nearing the door to the locker room, Arthuria and Ford peered in to make sure it was the right room. The moment they saw Stan sitting on one of the benches rifling through his bag, they knew it was. A slight bit of tension left the eldest twin at knowing he'd gotten here in time.
"Stanley!" Ford said thankfully, causing the other to jump a bit.
Stan turned his head in their direction as they entered the room and shut the door behind them. His gaze bounced back and forth between the three, eyes wide in surprise.
“Wha-what… why are ya here?” He sputtered.
"We came to talk to you." Ford said, stepping forward slightly. "I came to talk to you."
"Wha'd about?" Stan asked, giving him a weary look.
"About the fight."
Stan sighed irritably, standing up. "Ugh, here we go again. Wouldja just can it with that? I get it, already."
Ford played with his fingers, trying to work up the courage and found the right words. He was hurt by Stan’s words and needed to get everything off his chest.
“No… No I can’t 'can it'… Not when I could lose you.” He managed to found Stan’s gaze. “I can’t lose you again.”
"Lose me?" Stan questioned, both surprised and confused by his brother's words.
"Have you not seen the other opponent? He's a fucking tank." Arthuria stated, throwing her thumb over her shoulder in the direction of the door.
“He doesn’t scare me.” Stan replied. “I’ve dealt with worse.” He turned back toward his bag and started to wrap some bandage around his wrists and hands.
“I don’t think you have!” she said. She walked over the bench to stare directly at him. “Dude, he’s not a man! He's a… walking mountain with a head glued on top. I saw him on the other side of the gymnasium. You can’t miss him, he’s the only one that towers over the rest of the crowd.”
Stan laughed mirthlessly. “The bigger they are, the harder they fall.” He stated.
“This is not some crusade! This is David versus Goliath and i’m sorry to tell you, but this fight doesn’t have a happy ending.”
A silence fell upon the group. The only sound that reached them were the shouts from the crowd slipping through the walls and door.
"I don't care."
The other three tensed, looking at Stan as if he'd grown a second head.
"W-what?" Ford asked with a shaky voice.
"I don't care. I don't care what happens to me." Stan said, looking at his brother, with his gloves in hand. "I don't care if I get hurt or if he puts me in a coma like all the other sad saps he fought. I don't care. As long as I win that money ta set ya up while yer goin' through all this, that's all that matters."
The 'you're all that matters' went unspoken, but Ford could still hear it as if it had been. Did Stan really think so little of himself? So much so that he believed his twin was the only one with worth?
"Stan…h-how can you not care?" Ford questioned in disbelief.
"Because I ain't worth shit!" Stan exclaimed, turning himself fully towards his brother. "All my life, I ain't had one cent of worth to my name! I had no smarts, I had no talents, I had no friends, I had nothin' goin' for me, let alone a future like you. And everyone knew it. The principal knew it, the teachers knew, the town, Dad knew it, and so did I!"
Stanley walked the short distance between them, coming to stand face to face with the elder of the two. He looked Ford directly in the eyes, expression stoic, a facade of his true pained emotion only his eyes couldn't hide.
"You did too. I just didn't realize it until you closed the curtains and turned your back on me."
Ford stood stock still, stunned by his brother's words. God, what happened to the boisterous and worry-less boy he knew as a kid? Had the world really treated him this poorly? Or had it all been put on then too. Was he really so blind that he'd never seen the pain in his brother's eyes until now?
The door swung open suddenly behind him, causing him to jump slightly. Though, he didn't turn around to look, still frozen in place holding Stan's gaze. It was probably the referee or spectator.
"Pines, you're up in two minutes…Hey, you three aren't supposed to be back here!" the guy said, sounding a bit agitated.
"It's alright." Stan said, breaking gaze to walk around Ford. "They were just leaving."
For all of three gut-wrenching seconds, Ford continued to stand motionless, eyes wide and heart racing with fear. Fear similar to that which had kept him all those years ago from running after his brother (as well as anger). And it was doing the same thing now.
But he couldn't let his fear take control. Not now, not when Stan was still right there, not when he could still stop this-
With newfound strength, he managed to break confines of his own fear holding him in place to spin around and dash the dew short feet to Stan before he could leave the room and hugged him tightly from behind.
The younger twin stiffened, halting his movement towards the door as he stared down at the six fingered hands clutching desperately at the front of his shirt in surprise.
“Not without you.” Ford stated, voice shaking. He tried clearing his throat and regaining his emotions before continuing. “Stanley… I-I am so sorry I never realized… I should…”
He cut his words short when an involuntary sob choked him up. Unable to contain himself, Ford pressed his face uncomfortably against the back of his brother's neck, sniffling loudly.
Their friends stayed quiet as they waited for Stanford to continue. None feeling like what they might say would be wanted.
“You are not worthless, Stanley! You are the most loyal person in this world I-I've ever met and…you're my best friend. You always were! I am deeply sorry it took me this long to see it!” He whined while Stan stood frozen in place, letting him get everything out. “I-I don’t think I can get through everything alone, I know I can't…I need you by my side…for the sake of…I want them to meet you.”
Stan inhaled sharply out of surprise. Meet them?
"Wha'ddya-"
"I want the baby to know their uncle." Ford clarified, voice slightly muffled from his face being smooshed against the other's back. "And not just from stories. I-I want them to meet you. To spend time with you, to get to know you and love you as I do."
Ford could feel his twin's breath shudder at hearing his words.
"…but they might not get that chance if you fight that man out there." Ford lifted his head a bit, looking over Stan's shoulder at the side of his face. "Please…don't go out there."
Stan was staring down, eyes glazed slightly with building tears. And he stayed that way for a long moment, before swallowing the lump of emotions in his throat and closing his eyes as his shoulders slumped. He brought a hand up, resting it momentary over one of Ford's.
The elder smiled, believing he'd finally gotten through to his twin…only for his smile to vanish the moment Stan grabbed his other hand and gently pried himself from the hug. Ford was taken aback, grappling to keep ahold of the other to no avail.
Without so much as a word, Stanley slipped through the locker room door and made his way up to the ring. Stanford swore he could feel his heart shatter on the floor. His apology had come too late and now his brother would rather be put into a coma than spend another moment near him.
Tears burned his eyes as he watched him go, knowing he had failed as a brother. He numbly felt Fiddleford's boney hand rest comfortingly on his shoulder, but he couldn't bring himself to care.
Arthuria stomped over to the door, glaring up to the ring where Stan was ducking under the ropes. Though instead of getting into his corner, he walked up to the referee and whispered something into his ear. The latter made an exasperated face at whatever he'd said.
"Hey, c'mere." Arthuria called over to Ford, waving for him to come look.
Confused, the pregnant scientist came up to stand beside her and watch his brother through tear-filled eyes. Stanley was stepping away from the ref, striding over to Big Tiny. He looked up at the hulking man for a moment before sticking out his hand and saying something.
Ford would be lying if he said he didn't flinch when Big Tiny reached his hand forward as well, shaking Stan's with a curt nod. When they released their grips, the grifter ducked back under the ropes and started walking back towards them as the referee spoke into a mic.
"Ladies and gentlemen, may I announce the tournament winner by default, Big Tiny!"
Cheers, boos, and jeers erupted throughout the crowd. Stan ignored them though, smiling at the three.
"What're we standing around here for? Let's go." Stan said, nodding towards the exit.
"You…you forfeited the match?" Ford asked, his hope growing again.
"Well, duh. That's what ya wan'ed, wasn't it?" Stan asked sarcastically, face coloring slightly, avoiding Ford's eyes. "'sides, can't have ya worryin' about me gettin' hurt. You got enough stress as it is."
Wiping his eyes, Stanford smiled and threw his arms around his twin's shoulders and squeezed him tightly. "Thank you."
"Yeah, yeah. No big deal." Stan grumbled nonchalantly, patting Ford's back in return. "Now come on. Need ta get outta here before any of these yahoos starts a riot."
Doing just that, the small group filed in line behind him and started making their way to the exit. Fiddleford cleared his throat and came up to walk next to Ford.
“Um… who’s baby are ya referrin' to?” He asked with a raised eyebrow. “Did yer older brother have 'nother kid?"
Ford blinked a couple of times before turning to his friend.
“Pardon?”
"I asked who's baby you were referrin' to." Fiddleford repeated.
Oh…that's right. Fiddleford didn't know.
Stanford twittled his fingers together, giving a nervous laugh. He looked around anxioysly to make sure no strangers within earshot.
"It's uh…i-it's mine."
The southern man looked at him crazy, obviously not expecting his answer.
The Pines twins quickly exited the gym, their respective friend close behind them. He still needed to make amends, proper ones, with Fiddleford, but the fact that they were talking was a big step.
They were already out in the parking lot, leaving the noisy gymnasium behind when-
“WELL, WELL, WELL!” a nasaly voice mused behind the group.
Stanford froze dead on his tracks, body refusing to move.
It couldn't be. Not here, not now!
Gulping, Ford slowly turned, the others following suit to see who had spoken. Under a single pole light in the parking lot just a few yards away stood a man.
His head was hung low, face just out of view. His clothes were tattered, dried blood appeared to be causing shirt sleeves to cling to his arms. He was missing a boot, the sock on his foot baring a hole.
But those weren't the most off putting features of this man. What was off putting, what scared Ford absolutely shitless was the inhuman grin that split his face as he looked up, and the glowing yellow eyes that haunted his dreams.
"ISN'T THIS INTERESTING."
