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“I want my identity back.”
It's a reasonable request, an ask that makes sense. And yet it completely floors Stan.
Of course Ford would want his name and his identity back, obviously. Stan was doing nothing more than holding a vacant spot, holding onto an identity that wasn't quite his.
A reasonable response would be to oblige, to say yes. Except a part of Stan wants to fight it, he wants to cling onto the one identity he had left.
He was used to going by different names, used to the muscle memory that is built up into responding to different names, he had to for survival. But those were just identities that held no meaning.
Stan doesn't want to give this one up just yet.
But he can't tell Ford that.
Because that would mean admitting that he has no identity, that he's just a nameless conman whose biggest con is masquerading as someone who actually matters, someone who actually exists.
It would mean not only admitting that to the person he looks up to the most, but admitting it to the world, and that would make it far too real for his liking.
He'd rather just keep his nameless nothingness to himself, because maybe that'll create someone new. Someone who matters.
All Stan wants is to be someone with a name.
“Okay, yeah, I can do that.”
How pathetic is he?
~ ☆ ~
It’s been a week since that conversation and it's all Stan can think about. He's been trying to keep up appearances and acting okay for the kids, and he hopes to Moses he's been doing it alright.
Because pretending is his entire personality, it's the one thing he has to be good at.
He's nursing a cup of coffee in the kitchen. The quiet is something he has a love-hate relationship with; it's either the single solitude he gets or a hellish nightmare he calls his mind.
He hears someone walk in, but doesn't pay much mind to it. He knows it's Ford. If he wants to talk to him, he’ll let him know. For now, he's just going to sip his coffee.
He then hears one of the kids walk in. Ford begins to say something, but Stan doesn't hear his name mentioned so he figures he's talking to one of the kids.
Stan is glad that they get along so well. Maybe a little jealous, too.
Suddenly, a hand is placed on his shoulder, tapping it once.
Immediately, Stan puts his coffee down and puts his fist up, ready to–
Fuck it's Ford.
“Jeez, ya scared the–” No cursing the kids are around “coffee outta me, Ford.” Really? Coffee?
“Ya ever try something called a name? I heard it's real useful to get someone's attention.”
Suddenly Ford is staring at him like he said the dumbest thing in existence. It's a look he's gotten used to over his lifetime, but why now?
You don't get someone's attention by grabbing their fucking shoulder, isn't that common sense?
“I did say your name.” Ford responds simply.
Stan, sarcasm still laced in his voice, responds. “Yeah, well maybe try again before death grippin my shoulder.”
It's also the shoulder that's branded.
Sue him, he's allowed to be jumpy.
Ford's eyebrows furrow and Stan knows that look, even from when they were kids. It's his ‘I'm trying to figure this out’ face.
What is there to figure out?
“I said Stanley 3 times.”
Oh.
Oh.
That's why he didn't respond.
Stan doesn't have the courage to tell him that Stanley is dead.
Right. He has to get used to responding to that now.
That's fine, it's like any other name he's used in the past, he’ll relearn to respond to it in no time.
Except it's not at all like his other names.
Stan swallows, everyone is staring at him like a caged animal, waiting to see what he’ll do next. Or at least, that's how it feels.
“Right– yeah– of course ya did–” He clears his throat again. “What did you want?”
“I just wanted to ask you to put on another pot.”
Of course.
Of course it was that fucking simple.
“Yeah, alright.”
Oh great. Now everything is more awkward than before.
Stanley is both a fraud and a coward.
~ ☆ ~
It's been 2 hours since the… oddity that was this morning happened, and Ford finds himself sitting on the couch with his niblings watching a show.
He had meant to be working on the portal by now, he honestly doesn't know how he got roped into it, but he did regardless. Ford does suppose that this is one of the better ways his schedule could be derailed. He does enjoy getting to know his niblings more.
His mind keeps fixating on this morning, however, and all that went down with Stanley.
Stanley nearly punched him.
Ford did something wrong.
He didn't mean to startle Stanley, he had already said his name 3 times prior, and simply wanted to get his attention. Though, in hindsight, there likely was a better way to do that other than touch his shoulder.
Ford doesn't blame Stanley for his reaction. Unwarranted? Maybe, but he knows he'd have done the same thing.
He's fucking this all up, somehow.
Mabel suddenly looks up at him with big eyes. “Can we invite Grunkle Stan to watch TV with us?”
And Ford wants to curse himself. He's not normally good at social cues, but he knows exactly what Mabel’s trying to ask.
‘Are you able to be in the same room without arguing in front of us?’
It deeply upsets Ford that they've had to witness their… spats. His relationship with Stanley shouldn't be on the list of worries that his niblings have, and he knows Stanley feels the same. It's something they both agree on whole heartedly.
They agreed early on they'd not argue in front of the kids, or let their strain affect them.
And Ford has failed that.
Another thing to add to the list, right?
Ford masters up a smile to respond to Mabel. “Of course we can.”
She lets out a small cheer that would normally make him happy, but instead it makes him incredibly sad.
He knows Stanley is in the other room, so he calls for him.
“Stanley!” He doesn't shout it, but he does make the volume in his voice an octave or two louder so he knows he's calling for him.
No response.
Mabel and Dipper both frown.
“Stanley?”
Once again, no response.
“GRUNKLE STAN!” Dipper's voice suddenly blows through the walls. So much for not yelling, he supposes.
Stanley walks into the room. “What do ya kids want?” He walks into the room as if all previous attempts were unheard, or rather, ignored.
Both Mabel and Dipper share a look, one that shows they registered that fact too.
It makes Ford upset.
“Do you want to watch the show with us?” Mabel asks.
“Yeah! Course I do, pumpkin.” Stanley smiles and sits down with them.
Why is Stanley ignoring him?
This all seemed to have started when Ford had asked for his identity back.
Maybe it's too much for him to ask.
Maybe he doesn't deserve one.
Stanley can be mad at him all he wants, but he doesn't want to involve the kids in it. He thought Stanley was clear about that too.
Apparently not.
Especially not after that look they gave.
Especially not after this morning.
He'll wait until after the show.
~ ☆ ~
The kids went off to play in the woods or something with Wendy. Stan isn't exactly the most thrilled about that idea, but he trusts Wendy to keep the kids safe.
Right after Stan sends them off, that's when Ford glares at him.
What the fuck did he do now?
“We need to talk.” Ford's voice is stern and angry.
Considering every other time he's been told that, there's only one way this is going.
Instead of immediately meeting Ford's anger with his own, he decides to try and keep a cool head.
Try.
“About what?”
Turns out that was the wrong thing to say, because Ford seems even more pissed.
He's fucking crushing it right now.
Of course he's fucking it all up.
“It's one thing to have your childish behaviors when it's just us two, but I thought we both agreed that Dipper and Mabel wouldn't witness any of it.”
Childish–
Dipper and Mabel—
What in the name of fuck is he talking about?
“Ford, what the fuck are you–”
He's cut off.
“I'm talking about you ignoring me.”
Ignoring him? Stan blinks. He almost wants to laugh.
Ford thinks Stan is ignoring him?
Sure, maybe he's been quiet, but Ford hasn't been talking to him either.
“What? Ford, I'm not ignorin ya. I thought you were giving me the silent treatment, honestly.”
Ford once again has his puzzle solving face on.
“Every time I've called your name you haven't responded to me.”
Okay, he had one small hiccup with that. That's all.
This is starting to piss Stan off.
“Maybe you should say it louder, because clearly I'm not hearing you.”
Ford stares at him, clearly getting more frustrated.
Isn't Stan just the best brother?
“I have been saying it louder, you're actively choosing to ignore me.”
Stan lets out a frustrated groan himself.
“I don't know what to tell ya, Stanford’s not that hard of a name to–”
He cuts his own self off right there.
Because that's when it hits him.
All those times? It was Stanley he hadn't responded to. Had Ford said Stanford? He would've responded.
Stan didn't think he could possibly hate himself more, yet here he is.
He stares at Ford, dumbstruck, as if he's supposed to provide an explanation to what happened. His mouth tries to move, trying to make any attempt at sound, and instead falls flat.
When that fails, Stan does the only other thing he's good at: he flees the situation. He goes past Ford and makes it up to his room.
~ ☆ ~
Ford doesn't know what he was expecting out of that conversation, but it wasn't that. That much he is sure of right now.
…Did Stanley forget his own name?
He had called himself Stanford–. Ford had been so wrapped up in his identity issues that he hadn't even considered Stanley's own identity issues.
He went by Stanford for 30 years.
It's not just his name, it was an identity they both had shared for a significant amount of time.
…How bad did Stanley's mindset have to be that he forgot his own name?
Did Ford contribute to that at all?
He's left dazed and overwhelmed with emotions. There's so much stirring inside him at the moment, he isn't sure what to do.
And that terrifies him.
A lot, actually.
Part of him wants to give Stanley space to sort out his own thoughts. However, he can't find it in himself to do that.
He has this overwhelming feeling that something is overtly wrong with Stanley. It's something that he's learned to accept without a science related explanation for it. Maybe it's an emotional connection, or twin telepathy, or whatever else may people call it.
Regardless, it's something he's learned to trust.
Something that has also haunted him for so many years.
Ford needs to go to Stanley.
~ ☆ ~
Stan can't believe himself right now.
How did he mess things up that badly?
He forgot his own name.
Stan had forgotten his own damn name, and he feels pathetic for it. Who forgets their own name?
Someone who doesn't have a name that belongs to them.
Stanley Pines is dead. He had a funeral and everything, he's long been dead.
But even then, Stanley Pines was a fucking coward. He was a conman and a drifter who eventually left his brother to fight for his life in other dimensions for 30 years.
Stanley Pines was the same coward who broke his brother's project.
Stanley Pines was the same extra Stan that his father always made him out to be, too much trouble to actually be of use.
Stanley Pines didn't belong. And now he's dead.
And Stan is just supposed to give up being Stanford.
Logically, he knows it's what he's supposed to do. He never was Stanford, nor will he ever be Stanford. But fuck it felt nice to feel like someone who mattered. It felt nice to cling onto a name that meant something.
He's being selfish. He knows he's being selfish.
Stan knows he could've easily began responding to Stanley again. But the selfish part of him wanted to hold onto Stanford for as long as he could. Because if he could trick himself into believing he was someone with a name that mattered, then maybe he would start to.
When did he start shaking? Why is he shaking? His body has started to betray him with shakes, movements he has no control over. He feels like a puppet, a puppet who has no say in what is happening.
Suddenly, the distance between himself and the walls begin to shrink, ensnaring the gaps with walls, trapping Stan in a box of his own making.
Maybe he shouldn't find a way out of it, maybe he doesn't deserve a way out of it.
Everything keeps spinning and moving, and swirling, this box feels suffocating and yet he can't find it in himself to want to leave it–
He can't breathe, he can't—
“Lee, can you try taking deep breaths with me?”
Ford's voice pierces through the box, and it feels as though the walls move just a little bit.
The walls around him are still tight, each breath is an act of defiance against the box that he's in. It's too much, it's too much, Stan can't–
He squeezes his eyes shut, hoping that the box isn't in his mind. If he can't see it, then it can't suffocate him, right?
“Lee, want to count my fingers?” Stan feels a steady warm hand go over top of his own. It feels comforting and familiar.
It almost makes him want to open his eyes.
“Come on, we can to it together.”
Stan decides to trust it.
“One…”
“Two…”
Stan notices that his leg moved. Is the box gone?
“Three…”
“Four…”
Maybe he should open his eyes.
“Five…”
He wants to see Ford.
“Six…”
Stan opens his eyes. There is no more box. Instead, all he sees is him sitting on the floor with Ford.
“I'm… I'm good now, thanks, Ford.” Okay, maybe he's not good but he's at least not suffocating at the moment.
Ford nods.
He should apologize.
“I'm sorr–”
“I'm sorry for the way I acted, Lee. I felt out of place and thought that through the process of ‘gaining my identity back’ I'd feel better. But I hadn't even considered how you felt. Stanford was a name you went by too, not just me.”
Stan blinks.
“Did I ever tell ya that Stanley Pines is legally dead?”
Now it's Ford's turn to look like a deer in headlights.
“What?”
Stan scratches the back of his neck.
“Yeah, I uh… hosted my own funeral, I guess? Not much of a turn out as one would expect– I just… Moses, I'm bad at this sorta thing, aren't I? I guess what I'm tryin to say is that Stanley is someone who died both legally and in other ways a long time ago. He was a conman and a thief, someone who had a lot of enemies. I knew I was never you, but I kinda liked it, yaknow? I liked being a name that mattered to someone.”
It almost sounds as if Ford is crying.
“Stanley is my hero.”
“...What?”
“You talk about a Stanley who was a conman, but what about the same one who stood up to my bullies? The same Stanley who would punch someone in the face or take a punch if it meant protecting me. The same Stanley who stayed up all night with me when I had a nightmare, or who would do silly fake science experiments even though I know you always hated those, all for my benefit. You may have gone by Stanford, but you never stopped being Stanley. Your name is a name that mattered to me, always. Regardless of all our arguments and fights, your name will always mean something to me.”
And now Stan. is the one crying.
Damn it.
“I don't want Stanley to be dead. I still need my hero.”
…That's a request Stanley knows he could never ignore, no matter how much has happened between them.
“Come’re you big sap.” Stanley opens his arms and Ford immediately welcomes the embrace, crying into his twin's arms.
They remain like that for who knows how long, and Stanley doesn't mind it at all.
He breaks the silence after a little.
“I promise I'll start respondin’ to Stanley now. Just… don't go around tellin’ tax collectors that, got it?”
Ford huffs a laugh and nods. “The government already hates us both. I don't see the issue with one more felony.”
Stanley joins in and laughs as well.
For the first time in a while, he doesn't hate thinking about Stanley.