Archive of Our Own ^beta

It had to be somewhere. The new journal had to be somewhere. That couldn't be the end of the instructions! It just couldn't. He needed to get him back. He needed to fix his mistakes for once in his sorry life. He needed him. He wasn't smart enough for this! He was a high-school drop out for Moses’ sake! He could barely pass maths and science. He always just used to copy off of Ford. 

Ford was the smart one! Not him! He was just the dumb screw up! He'd always known that. He'd known that since he got that F-. Even that punishment wouldn't get him to learn anything… He didn't know what was wrong with him then. He didn't know how to fix it. He needed to fix this.

He couldn't get the screams out of his head. His brother's final pleas. He wanted him to do something? Fine. He would do something. If only he could find this stupid book! He looked throughout the entire house, though he tried not to look too close otherwise he might hurl. He didn't care to look at the too dark red stains that clung to the carpet and the walls in various shapes and forms. (He didn't like how many of them were six-fingered handprints.)

As of now, Stanley Caryn Pines was looking through boxes in the attic. Leave it to his brother to not bother labelling anything. For all of Ford's smarts, he wasn't about to waste his mind on something as time consuming as labelling. It was going to take Stan forever to search through everything. His shoulder had been aching for the last hour. The last of the infection had left his new brand a few days ago so all the moving around had aggravated the relatively fresh wound. 

He was about ready to call it quits when he opened a box and his heart stopped. Quickly, he closed the flaps over and sat back on his heels. What the fuck? His breath hitched. What the fuck! Why did Ford have that?! He swallowed back nervous spit and opened the flaps up again, taking a peak. Yep. Still there.

Pa's fez. His fez and a red ribbon sat on top of some black fabric (probably his suit). God. When did Ford get that? Why did Ford get it? He hadn't seen this suit since Pa showed him the photograph. A man in his early twenties with his arm wrapped around a beautiful woman all in white. The fez sat tucked under his arm. He was smiling. Though he couldn't see the eyes beneath the sunglasses he wore, he just knew his eyes were smiling too. 

It was the first time Stan had ever seen his old man smile. His father wasn't an easily impressed man. He'd never heard his father laugh but sometimes he caught glimpses. It was always when nobody was looking but he was so sure that Stan saw his lips quirk up when he managed to knock somebody out in the ring for the first time. It had died as quickly as it came but it was there.

He took the fez out of the box and brushed his fingers over the velvet. It was a bit dusty but nothing a bit of cleaning up couldn't fix. Stanley swallowed as he set it down and grabbed the suit, unravelling it. Thud. Stan jumped at the sound of something hitting the bottom of the box. Huh. He didn't think anything else was in here. He put the suit aside and took a look inside the box. 

Inside sat a gold chain, glitter glue impossibly stuck to the metal in clear writing. No 1 Dad. Stan's breath hitched. He had kept it? All these years later… His Pa had kept something that had got him grounded. The trouble that he went through just to do something nice for his Pa. His chest tightened.

His father had told him many lessons growing up, most of which he internalised. Pines men don't cry. Pines men always fight back. Pines men never run away. Sometimes he taught it in harsher ways. Raised voices and raised hands. The only thing he ever agreed with his father on was his need for boxing. That was one thing that they had in common. Stanley would be forever grateful that he was taught how to fight. It helped him get out of tougher situations than a shouting match with his old man. It was what kept him alive the last ten years. 

When he was younger, he wanted to prove something to him. That he was more than Stanford's twin. That he was more than the youngest. That he could be more than Ford's shadow. His attempts often got him into more trouble. All he wanted to do was make him a father's day present… and all he did was make a mess. But- his fingers traced over the letters. The gold chain was so small in his hands now. He knew he didn't have the best childhood. He knew that what Filbrick did was bad. He knew that. But- maybe, just maybe he thought more of him than he ever knew. Stan knew that he'd never have the answers but maybe, maybe this was answer enough.

Maybe he did do something good after all.