Just Like Ma
I was absolutely inspired by @artsymeeshee's artwork of our favorite sea grunks. Please follow the link and stare at the amazing work they did.
Without further ado:
"I can't do it. I'm no good at this… science stuff and my dumb memory's not helping," Stanley grumbled as he lowered his gaze.
He didn't want to look at his brother or the ruined experiment that he should've just… kept his hands off of like he'd learned when they were fourteen.
He hated how his brain worked after he'd used the memory gun to get rid of everything. It was like the tide. Sometimes it was full—too full—of memories that he never wanted to lose and those that he wished would just stay gone—and other times it was low enough that it was a miracle that he remembered his own name let alone others. He was just glad that he never forgot his brothers and Ma. No matter how far back his memories disappeared, they'd always been there.
"Stan…"
He didn't look up no matter how gentle the voice was. When he messed up, his brother never looked more like their Pa. Stony and disappointed.
"Bubba, look at me."
He tried to remember the last time either of his brothers had called him "Bubba" or even the last time he'd been called that. It'd been decades. It was—
His thoughts were cut off when a pair of six finger hands lifted his chin so that he could look into Stanford's eyes—the same shade of whiskey as the ones he saw in the mirror—and found the expression so much softer and insistent than his memory told him that it would be. Though gray eyebrows were furrowed and there was a frown on his face, there was a tightness and brightness in his eyes that ruined any sternness that the other man was trying to convey.
"You're so much beter than you think you are."
"You're just trynna make me feel better," he argued automatically.
"I'm not. You recreated my life's work in thirty years no background, no instruction in any of the mathetical physics required. You taught yourself. Stanley, half of the instructions were in invisible ink and you still got so damn close with only a sixth of the instructions."
He felt his throat tightening and had to blink hard to keep from crying. During their childhood, Stanley had been his twin's biggest cheerleader and, it seemed, Stanford was paying it back tenfold since they'd reconciled.
"Bubba, I'm so. damn. proud of you."
Those words seemed to make something click.
He'd always seen their father in their features. The strong jaw and large nose and furrowed brow had made everyone comment on how their Pa could never deny they were his. Shermie had been the one that looked most like their Ma…
But in this moment, all he could see was their Ma. Stanford had her eyes and her stern lips. And that meant that he had as much of his Ma in his face, too.
As Stanford kissed his forehead—just like their Ma used to—he closed his eyes tightly and released a low, keening noise. Their Ma had died years ago, but she was still there. In his own barking laugh and in Stanford's tenderness and in Shermie's… well, Shermie was basically her little clone, so his entire face (especially when he shaved).
"Thanks, Bubba," Stanley said thickly as he returned the hug that he was brought into.
Stanford tightened his hold—as tightly as Ma used to—and said, "I'm always here for you."