"But I had to do it for survival!"

I could see this being true

"Stan has no idea, but he did it. He saved the world. He saved me. You're our hero, Stanley."

———

There was a time when Stan loved acting. So far removed from the now he can hardly recall it, but there must have been a time, right? Acting was storytelling with your face, and Stan had always loved storytelling. When he and Ford were very small and in trouble for one reason or another, Stan had loved to keep them entertained, dramatically acting out the stories as Ford would read them from the book. He thinks he loved it then. Something he could be good at. It was nice.

In the beginning it was nice too. People had called him a prodigy. And the more roles he took the more people praised him a star, and the closer Pa got to maybe being impressed. They’d go see a movie, and Stan would be right there, on the screen, and it would feel magical. One would be shocked how fast the feeling fades, but in the beginning it was magical. It didn’t matter that the kids at school didn’t seem to know what to do with him. He had Ford, and that was all he ever needed. So what if the meaner kids mocked the roles he’d played behind his back while the nicer ones only ever talked to him because ‘Can I have a picture? My friend doesn’t believe I go to school with you.’ So what if as time went on his real life felt more and more like a show he had to perform for? At least Pa was happy. At least Pa cared now. Told the teachers something that made them force Ford’s bullies to back off because Stan would always jump into the fight, and Stan’s face wasn’t allowed to have bruises. Cared enough to make sure Stan stayed ‘healthy’ with all sorts of weird diets that left him feeling drained, but would surely be worth it in the long run. It was all for his future, after all. His career. So what if the roles he’d been playing ever since he hit the teens were uncomfortable? He was going to make it, that’s what everyone had always said.

So what if he didn’t love acting anymore? So what if it felt like a part of him was dying every time he stepped in front of a camera? So what if more and more of his private life was stripped away until he thought he might give anything to just do something, anything, that wouldn’t make the news. None of that mattered. What mattered was that he was making money. And that made Pa happy. And even if everyone in the world only ever saw Stan as the parts he played, at least one person knew the truth. Ford knew the truth. And distant as they’d gotten in recent years, with Ford burying himself in his schoolwork, and Stan always at some rehearsal or shoot. Ford would always know Stan, and even if no one else did, that was enough.

Stan can’t quite pinpoint when Ford’s pride in Stan had started to shift into disdain. It hadn’t happened all at once. A million top marks ignored in favor of the checks Stan brought home. The praise of his teachers brushed aside in favor of a small time award Stan had won. An academic competition no one had attended because Pa had heard about a last minute casting call. Stan hadn’t seen the tiny pieces for what they until suddenly, Stan offhandedly mentioning being tired after a long day of shooting was met with a derisive scoff. Him trying to open up about the pressure after a few bad reviews were dismissed with a ‘It’s only a few critics Stan. Everyone loves you.’ Delivered with such a sour tone it may as well have been a scathing insult. As Stan desperately trying to spend time with his brother was met with him turning away. After all. “Not all of us have our futures set, Stan. Some of us actually have to focus on school to make something of ourselves.”

Stan had always known Ford was going to make something of himself through academics. He was smart, and more than that, driven. He had amazingly clever ideas, and had always been able to do anything he set his mind to. Why Pa hadn’t seen that sooner was a mystery. Probably too busy making sure Stan didn’t somehow ruin his public image. But then…

It should’ve been such a relief to not have Pa breathing down his neck like that. In some ways it was, but suddenly it was all about how Ford was going places, and why wasn’t Stan more like his brother as if Pa hadn’t been the one to drag Stan away from studying so that Stan could find a role. And those roles became less and less good as Stan grew up. He wasn’t the cute kid who could be playfully obnoxious anymore. He could try and lean into the slightly older bad boy thing, but even that was becoming less and less marketable. And all the dreams of privacy shriveled as the world turned his back because what was he without them? Without being someone else? He hadn’t been himself in so long. His self wasn’t worth anything anymore, if it ever had been. It died beneath the weight of his bright future, which had been a lie all along. And no one had even noticed.

Stan tried so hard to be interesting again. No such thing as a bad press, right? Anything to catch their attention. Anything. A new look. Smoking. Drinking. More than drinking. Parties. Petty theft. Tattoos, Trouble with cops. Anything. If Pa noticed he hadn’t made any comment. If Ford noticed all it got was a disapproving glare. If the media noticed all it got was a disappointed head shake about how that cute little kid had fallen. He used to wish for privacy, but now he wanted to be seen, and all they did was turn their eyes away. All of them. So unwilling to see what they’d created. To see what they’d left behind when he wasn’t marketable anymore. He’d love to spit on them. To say good riddance, but more that, he wants them to love him again so Pa will be maybe almost impressed. He wants them never to have seen him at all so Ford and him could’ve stayed close. He wants them not to look right through him, if they must look at him. It’s too much. It’s too contradictory, and they’ve never cared before, why would they now?

The day Ford shows his machine to the scouts from West Coast Tech, Stan shot some shitty commercial. He doesn’t even remember what it was for. When he gets home Ford is cheering. He got in. He did it. He’s going places. Stan pretends to be happy for him. He’s gotten so good at that. Ford gives him a genuine smile, and Stan mirrors it. Ford used to be the only person who could see Stan. See the fake in his smiles. He can’t anymore. Stan can’t tell if it’s because he’s a better actor now, or if there’s nothing there to see. He doesn’t drop his persona for the rest of the night. He thinks, maybe, he’ll never drop it again.

He’s scared if he does there won’t be anything at all underneath.

———

Ok. The prev tags got me back at it again with my bs. So…

———

Ever since they were young, Ford had never been able to imagine a world where his brother wasn’t larger than life. In the literal way, sure, with his face magnified on the big screen, but also his personality. Stan filled every room he was in with noise and life.

Ford had never thought he’d see his brother so small. So still. Cheeks sunken, hooked up to tubes. Overdose, they told him. He’d been so surprised. Not one drug, but a whole cocktail of them. He was lucky they found him when they did. Now he’s been here for a few days, comatose.

Ford would like to scold his brother for his carelessness. His stupidity. If Stanley was awake that’s probably exactly what he would be doing. But he’s not. Ford wishes he could ask what the hell Stan had even been thinking, taking hard drugs like that, but he can’t. There was a time when he wouldn’t have had to. When he would just know what drove Stanley here. But now he can only guess. They hadn’t really talked in so long. Ford got busy with his research, and even when he had a second to reach for the phone and his fingers itched to dial Stanley’s number, he always found a reason not to. Stan was probably busy, after all. Big Hollywood actor that he was. And Stan’s mutual silence had only furthered that belief.

Although it wasn’t like the tension between them had started with distance. They had still lived under the same roof when a quiet resentment Ford refused to put a name to had started to develop. He’d thought Stan hadn’t noticed, but between them, Ford was never the actor. Stan had begun to distance himself at about the same time Pa had decided that Ford's intelligence might be worth something. Or was it before, and Ford hadn’t noticed? Whatever the details, something changed. Stan had stopped not smiling. That might sound like a good thing, but he was never not smiling. Never angry or sad or neutral. Even when he came home late and drunk and the shine in his eyes that Ford chalked up to inebriation looked almost like tears, he was still smiling.

And it looked real, that smile. Stan was a popular actor for a reason, he was talented. In spite of the fact that’s knew how skilled Stan was, Ford thought that smile was real. Because he was supposed to know when Stan was lying. It wasn’t until a few days after he went to college that he began doubting what had always been true about Stanley. He’d called home, hoping to talk to his twin, but Ma said he’d left. Unbeknownst to Ford, Pa had been on Stan’s ass about the declining quality of the roles he was offered. And without Ford there, Pa’s critiques had gotten more…forceful. Ma said the two of them had it out, screaming insults back and forth, and then Pa threw him out. And that was two days ago. According to Ma, based on what she’d heard of their argument this wasn’t a new thing. It was hard to say when exactly the roles Stan was getting stopped being enough to appease their father. It was hard to say because Stan hadn’t told him. Hadn’t mentioned anything about it to Ford. When had they stopped telling each other things?

Stan’s smile is seared into Ford’s head now. He can hardly remember the last time he saw that face pull any other expression off screen. On screen Stan was everything. He was angry, and happy, and surprised, and sad, and desolate, and hopeful, and all those things combined, but he only ever showed happy in their real life. Ford had taken too long to notice that.

He hadn’t known how to contact Stan after he was kicked out. He hadn’t even known if his twin was alive until Stan started climbing the ranks in Hollywood and appearing in films.

Hollywood. California. Only a few short hours from West Coast Tech. Stan was only a few hours away and he hadn’t even attempted to tell Ford he was ok. Ford had felt something like betrayal. As relieved he was that Stan was ok, and as distant of a pride he felt when Stan started getting higher and higher caliber roles, the dead air between them stung. And it continued to sting even when they eventually communicated again. Their mom forced them to call, and they had. Terse and awkward and overly formal though the conversation may have been. Sometimes he’d see Stan on the screen and want to talk about something more than the nothing between them, but he never would.

And now here was Stanley. Weak, and half dead. The doctor said he was likely to recover, so at least there was that. They said he would probably wake up fairly soon. Ford hopes Stan won’t have the energy to smile when he does. He hopes Stan won’t have the energy to be anything but honest, but he probably would. At this point, Stan probably lies about being fine even in his dreams. Ford sighs, standing up and grabbing his coat to head to the hotel across the street. Visiting hours are over. “I’ll be back in the morning, Stanley. Don’t go anywhere.” Ford waits as if he’s expecting to hear Stan snicker something about ‘where would I even go?’, but silence answers him. Ford pauses in the doorway for just a moment as he leaves the room. He always does.

The lights start flashing the moment Ford steps outside. He’s gotten relatively used to it since he got here, but he still hates it. The flashes on every move he made, the exposure. He wondered how Stanley possibly dealt with it. Sure, his twin liked attention, but he also liked his privacy. His secrets. It was bizarre to Ford that a person could exist under such constant scrutiny.

The paparazzi are shouting questions about Stan’s condition. Ford does his best to tune them out, but a few loud voices slip above. They call him ‘Mr. Pines’. As tempting as it is to tell them to call him ‘Dr.’ he knows engaging is a trap.

“Mr. Pines! Mr. Pines! Is it true that Stan Pines had an overdose?”

“Mr Pines! Any comment on your brother's recent hospitalization?”

“Hey! Hey Mr.Pines! How might this affect the production of Doom Stars II: the Battlening?”

Ford stops.

He’d watched the first Doom Stars. Stanley played the main character, Captain Lazarus. He’d played the role well, in spite of a sloppy script that was disloyal to the source material. Watching Stan play that part on the big screen had made Ford a little sad that he wasn’t there to celebrate the fact that Stan had gotten that part. As much as he’d spent all two hours of that movie whining about the mistakes they’d made, he had to admit, Stanley brought something special to the film that he hadn’t expected. It was almost enough to redeem the film in Ford's eyes. It was definitely enough that it would have made him watch the sequel just to see how Stanley dealt with Captain Lazarus’ fall from grace as he had to make the difficult decision of whether it was worth sacrificing his team for a cause. Ford had been actually excited to see Stan back in the role. When the first one came out, he’d wanted badly to ask Stanley about his interpretation for the character. How much of Stan’s portrayal was built off their late night conversations from underneath the bedsheets? Was that why Stanley said in interviews it was one of his favorite roles? Ford had paced near the phone for a long time that day.

But none of that mattered anymore. Ford turns to face the reporter who asked the question, approaches slowly, and stops half a foot away.

“Excuse me?”

The reporter must not be good at sensing the tension in Ford’s tone. Just happy to be the one who finally got Stan Pines' elusive family to make some kind of statement. He shoves his recorder closer to Ford’s face.

“Fans have been eagerly awaiting the second Doom Stars after the success of the first. Given Stan Pine’s recent health issues, should they expect-“

Ford doesn’t let him finish. He punches the reporter hard, square in the face. The man falls back, his voice recorder shattering on the ground. Ford can’t make out the man’s expression over the blinding flash of a million cameras capturing this moment. Distantly, Ford knows something like this could end his scientific career. Distantly, he sees a charge of assault in his future. But none of that matters right now. He grabs the man by the shirt and hauls him back up. His nose is bleeding and his eyes are wide like a prey animal, but none of that matters. The other reporters have given them a bubble of space, cameras still flashing.

“What the hell is wrong with you?! My brother is in the hospital. He could be dying or dead, and all you care about is some stupid movie? If I put you in the hospital right now, how do you think you’d feel if all anyone cared about was how it affected them?”

The reporter's eyes get wider as he grabs at Ford's hands and tries to pry them off. “I- I’m sorry. I didn’t mean-“

“Yes. You did mean.” Ford growls, but he lets the man go, watching apathetically as he hits the ground hard and scrambles away.

He turns to face the rest of the reporters, circling around him, vying for the best shot. They all seem to wilt a little under his glare. He can see one spot of blood on the left lens of his glasses, making him wonder how bloody he’ll appear once these pictures hit the tabloids. And how little of the story these morons will bother to tell with it. Ford's lip curls as the cameras keep flashing. “All of you. All of you come here to ask you’re stupid questions as though you have a right to know. None of you even care! He’s not even a person to you, just a story to profit from.”

The only response he gets is disconnected muttering and more camera clicks. Ford huffs, anger draining just as fast as it came, leaving exhaustion in its wake. In the past he’s had to push through the crowd, eager for an update on Stan’s condition, but today they clear a wide path for him.

Tomorrow this won’t be good. He can expect that reporter to press charges. There’s no shortage of evidence, that’s for sure. A hundred photos will surely be plastered on the internet talking about Stan Pines unstable brother lost it on some innocent reporter.

All the same, he can’t bring himself to regret it. When they were younger people had seen Ford as a freak, and Stan had always been the one throwing punches at anyone who said such things. Even after he started to become a star at such a young age, he kept fighting. Even when Pa yelled that Stan should just let them beat up Ford, because Stan’s face was the moneymaker, Stan kept fighting. The sting on Ford’s knuckles is satisfying. It reminds him of what it felt like to be a part of his twin's life. Stan was always there for him when people didn’t see Ford as worth being treated like a person. Apparently all the fame in the world doesn’t exempt Stan from the same fate. But this time, Ford will be here.

He’ll knock some sense into his brother, and wipe that damned, too realistic smile off his face. It was high time someone actually checked on what was underneath it.

———

nursing old wounds. haven't drawn mullet stan in a while

“…high six?”