#softersynths

A story inspired by this post by @softersynths I hope you enjoy it!

(also on ao3!)

Limp legs swung in the air. Suspended by a rope that groaned with each swing. Clothes tattered to a thread. Bone visible despite the present belly. Eyelid shut yet the reflection of his face still haunted Stanford as he stood in the doorway. He had reached for his brother to help him deal with Bill. It had been years, but grasping for the last straw he had left, the older twin had hoped this would succeed. That the man he once trusted unconditionally would redeem himself for faults of the past. Holding on the cold door handle, Stanford’s hand twitched.

Stan Pines was dead.

Stanford couldn’t deny this fact. He had observed it himself. He only wished he knew the source. Had it been Bill? Had that accursed demon possessed him when Stanley had arrived and pushed him to the end of his life? His hand twitched. The cold metal against his fingers made him shudder. Rubbing his eyes from under his glasses, Stanford tried to will himself to be awake for longer. When he pulled his hand back and readjusted his glasses, he didn’t understand what he saw. 

The room that felt cold and dark was empty. 

No swinging legs. No groaning rope. Just a mess that was meant to be cleaned months ago before something distracted the researcher. His fingers twitched. He knew his brother was dead. He saw his body. But where? Pacing through the house, Stanford paused when he saw a red car from long ago parked outside his house in the snow. 

Trudging out, Stanford appraised the empty vehicle. The windows were freezing over. Almost enough to hide the seats and floor that were covered in food wrappers, old clothes and blankets. The doors were locked, keys nowhere to be found. From his position by the driver’s side, Stanford could see that the trunk was not closed properly. A memory of the trunk door resting more flatly flashed in his mind. Contradicting what he saw between the falling snow.

Reaching for the handle, Stanford fumbled against the cold metal. With five shivering fingers, he pulled the latch. The trunk opened easily. Revealing a cold corpse in a rood jacket. Skin blue, and eyes frosted closed, hands tied behind his back, ankles tied together.a cloth around his neck. A broken piece of the trunk lining stuck out between the blue lips. Holding up the trunk, Ford’s fingers twitched.

Stan Pines was dead.

He wasn’t sure when he walked back into his house. He only realised his surroundings when he stood in front of his landline phone. The dust covered receiver beeping into his ear in one hand. In the other, held in four fingers, was a hastily written note of an address in town. The phone call was asking him to identify a body in town. 

Pulling on a coat, Stanford forced his hands into his pockets. Loathed to stay in the echoing corridors of his home. Stanford let his mind fade away into the snow until he found himself standing outside a chain link fence. Slumped face-down in the snow was a man in a red jacket. Surrounded by a pool of dark red snow, Stanford recognised the brown curls that his mother would compliment him on. A gun had tangled into the fence before him. Numbness unrelated to the cold weather flashed through him. His fingers twitched.

Looking at the note, Stanford read the address once more and bit his lip. The white snowy ground before him was ignored as he made his way towards the coroner’s office. Colder Than the snow, Stanford numbly let the coroner walk him towards the table where he saw his twin laying. Eyes closed. Tag on toe. Clothes replaced with scrubs. With three fingers he reached for the side of the table. At once the face of his brother swirled into the face of a stranger he never met. The coroner’s voice sounded angry as they physically dragged him away from the cold metal table. Ford’s fingers twitched.

Back at home, Stanford opened the door to his study. Laying, slumped against the wall, leaving a bloody trail was the same man in a red jacket with matching features to the suffering researcher. His face scared from something piercing his eye. Hardly familiar with the twisted look of agony as the last moments were torn out of his head with a lead bullet. Holding on to the door Stanford’s two fingers twitched.

Stan Pines was dead.

Stanford knew that. He had watched it happen first hand. The man he trusted more than anyone in the world had fallen. Wasted from famine. But he was shot. Frozen to death. But he was murdered. Stanford knew his brother was dead. 

“Did you forget how it happened?”

A voice mocked.

Looking down with horror. Stanford pines was met with the sight of his brother. Crossbow bolt sticking out of his chest. Skin dead white. Smirk just as smug.

Stanley Pines was dead.