#ford does not agree...

@shadowofaghost5 hey I also did the other prompt. This one is more heavy on fighting words angst. Hope you like it, too! (Also I low-key changed a couple of the words on the prompt, hope that’s fine).

14. “What does it matter what I think? No, because no-one ever listens to what I think. Because I’m just an idiot, right?”

Stan walked in on Ford struggling out a problem. The current problem was taking up the entire kitchen in the form of scattered papers and a dozen miniature prototypes cluttering the counters and table. Ford was furiously scribbling and taping his thoughts together to the cupboards at this point, not even noticing Stan in his distraction.

Good thing the kids are out today, Stan thought.

“Hey, Poindexter, whatever you’re doing, this isn’t the way to go about it.”

Ford jumped and whirled at the noise, startled by Stan’s interruption. “Stanley, what are you doing here?”

Stan made a show of deliberately stepping over the stacks of books and papers to reach the bread box.

“It’s my kitchen. The question is, why are you here?”

Ford scowled and clicked his pen a few times. “The lab is temporarily unsuitable to work in. I can’t—Stanley, stop! You’re messing everything up!” Ford dashed forward and re-taped some fallen equations from the fridge door where Stan had opened it to get the lunch meat.

“Yeesh, Sixer, it’s fine, lighten up.” Stan finished making his sandwich and threw the meat back in the fridge, making sure to pop another paper loose from its place as he did so to rile Ford up.

“Stanley, get out.”

“No, come on, Ford. I bet I could help. Whatcha got going on?” Stan took a bite of the sandwich and leaned against the counter.

In truth, science-y stuff bored him to tears, but as he was making the sandwich he recognized several of the formulae and equations and diagrams spattered across the room.  His brother was messing with portal theory again, for some asinine reason.

“You couldn’t help me Stanley, you wouldn’t understand. Now get out before you mess anything else up,” Ford said in what he must have thought was an imperious, commanding tone.

Stan would’ve been fine if his brother just said no and ordered him out of the kitchen. He’s used to that kind of dismissal from Ford. But after all these years of slaving over the portal and math and science,  and his brother still thinks he’s an idiot who doesn’t know left from right? That got him puffing mad. He set his sandwich on the counter and stood, moving closer to where his brother was leaning over the table.

“No, Ford, I think I could help ya. Tell me.” He squared off, grabbing a piece of paper at random and scanning it. By some miracle, he spotted an error before Ford could snatch it back. “See, that two is wrong. It’s supposed to be a six. Changes the whole equation.” Stan points the offending number out to Ford, with maybe too smug of a tone at proving himself right.

Ford didn’t even look at it. He pushed Stan back, ripping the paper from him and crumpling it in his hands as he did so.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Stan. You can’t help because you don’t even know what you’re talking about! Go be useless somewhere else!”

“Hey, cut it out! I know what I’m talking about here, same as you do. It’s all portal junk, right? You haven’t learned your lesson and you’re still messing with that monster in the basement? Maybe knowing it’s supposed to be a six could help, Ford.” Stan yelled back, snatching the paper and smoothing it down on the table.

“I don’t care what you say, Stan! Why can’t you just leave?” Ford yelled back, shaking his head, lips curled back in distaste.

Stan didn’t even know how to take this. His brother was being an obstinate ass just out of habit at this point, apparently.

“Screw you, Ford. ‘What does it matter what I think,’ right? Because you never listen to what I think. Because I’m just an idiot, right? Well, fine. I’ll fuck off, leave you in here to go crazy in peace. Not like you ever asked for the help you needed before. You just live to send me away, huh? Screw you.”

Stan had started by shouting back at his brother. But by the end, his voice had cracked and he just sounded tired. He turned and walked away from his brother with a small shake of his head, fists tense by his side, sandwich forgotten.

When Stan left, Ford shook his shoulders out and got back to work. He avoided the crinkled page in the middle of the table for a long as he could, but eventually he ran into needing the equation again. He re-checked his math and discovered an error. The two Stan had pointed at did, indeed need to be a six.

Ford shook his head, muttering a son of a—under his breath. He looked up and out to the hallway for a moment to where he knew Stan was watching TV.

Everybody gets a lucky guess at some point. There’s no way Stanley actually knew that. He couldn’t, I am the smart twin, Stan is not.