What if Ford had a scar between one of his extra fingers?
Quiet, muffled sobbing could be heard from the bottom bunk. Wrapped up in tight duvets, Stanford choked on his tears as he relived one of his worst memories from the comfort of his bed.
A shove. A knife. A cruel, menacing laugh. Taunts. Threats. These memories flashed in Ford's mind as he began to spiral. His breathing got heavier, his chest ever tighter. Pure panic filled his body as he went into fight-or-flight. This had been happening a lot, every time worse than the last.
"Make it stop, please just make it stop, please dont hurt me, I'm so sorry" he chanted in a hushed voice, gasping for breath as he whispered. Clumps of hair were pulled from his head as he teared at it, trying to silence the haunting nightmare he was facing.
Suddenly, he stopped. In a crazed state, he muttered gibberish under his shaking breath, shot straight up and reached for his pocket knife. He flicked it open, tears streaming down his eyes.
"THHST!" He exclaimed as he made a small, deep incision between his deformed finger and the rest of his hand. Blood began to trickle down his outstretched palm. But he didn't care. He had to be normal. He'd do anything it took to just be normal. Normal. Normal. Normal-
"Hey Sixer, Mom wants you-" his brother Stanley sighed, barging open the door to his shared room. "S-Stanford..?" His eyes shot open wide upon realising the situation. "WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING, POINDEXTER?!" He shrieked, rushing over to his bleeding brother, tears welling in his eyes.
Stanford looked up, surprised. He gazed up at his brother in shock.
"I-I want to be normal, I can't-"
"Hey, no. Stop talking. Take deep breaths," Stanley whispered, taking the knife from the twin's hand. He bent over and yanked the beat-up first aid kit from under the bunk bed. It was green, with the sticker peeling off in the corners. The cross was faded, and there were rolls of bandages sticking out of it.
Stan reached over to Ford's hand and sighed, closing his eyes. "Why didn't you tell me it was getting bad again, Brainiac?"
"I-I would've, b-but-"
"Shhh. Hey. You'll be okay. Let me fix you up." Stanley teared open a wipe and gently began dabbing at the gushing wound. "You gotta tell me these things, Ford...It won't get any better if you keep it all up in that massive head of yours. You're smarter than this."
"I-I know, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to worry you" Stanford choked. He began to sob, fat tears falling onto the blanket. Shaking, he tried to pull away from Stan's grasp, but gave up and sank into him.
Stanford wasn't really one for physical affection, but when it came to his brother he was as cuddly as a stuffed toy. Stan let Ford hug him as he reached out for a bandage. He would return the hug when he was safe; The wound was his first priority.
Stan was warm, and familiar. Ford liked familiar. It was safe, comforting.
Still not letting go of his hand, Stan began gently wrapping the gauze around the twin's palm tightly. It was just loose enough to not cut off any circulation.
"Hey loser...I'm sorry. I'm sorry I wasn't here to help. I'm sorry you were ever made to feel the way you do. If I could take it away from you, believe me. I would. I don't wanna start being all cheesy on ya, but just know you mean a lot to me and you're worth more than you think." Stanley sighed. Ford looked at his brother with sad eyes. He applied tape to his dressings and gave his brother's hand a gentle squeeze, pulling him into a comforting hug. Wiping the tears from Ford's face, Stan chuckled, giving him a sad smile."Now. What happened, Brainiac? Take your time."
"...Crampelter and his friends. It's getting worse, Stanley...They were going to hurt me. I'm a freak. I'm deformed. I'm worthless. They're right. They're always right. I need to be normal." Ford explained frantically. Stan squeezed his shoulder and shook his head.
"Right. Listen here, nerd. You're not a freak. You're too smart for your own good and I'm surprised you're at all bothered about whatever those idiots have to say. They're only picking on ya because they have nothing better to do. They're gonna be suck here in Jersey until they're old and weird. They'll never make anything good of themselves. You're different. You're going places, Poindexter. So what if you have another two fingers? Being different is a good thing. More fingers means more work was put into making ya. You're already normal. You're so normal you're boring, bud. But, if you ever feel like this again, if you ever EVER think about hurting yourself, just tell me. I'm always gonna be here for you, Stanford. No matter what."
"You...you promise?" Ford asked cautiously.
"I promise. Anyways, mom wants ya. Remember, you're worth so much. Don't let nobody tell you no different." Stan replied, standing up.
"Don't let anyone tell you any different. Grammar, Stanley." Ford laughed, leading the way downstairs.
"You are the bane of my existence."
"I love you too, Stan."
