"You're not-" There was a time, maybe, when nothing on Earth could head Stan off once he heard that word used on his brother, the other f-word, f-r-e-a-k. That grip getting tighter on the back of his jacket, though, right now that does it. Because you don't piss off the guy givin' you a place to sleep, not if you can help it - hell, not even if you can't help it - and there was a time, maybe, when Stan didn't know that little lesson so well.
But, shit, okay. Stan pulls his head back around and that weak, heavy feeling like he's about to sink right down into that tough ground underneath his shoes don't stop him from making himself look away from the tight grip on his back, and look at his brother instead.
Okay.
He's got that lesson now, sure, but maybe Stan never has been a very quick learner.
"You're not a freak," says Stanley, sounding hard and determined. "I don't care how much it pisses you off to hear me say it, I don't care if this is the last straw that makes you decide you're better off leavin' your deadbeat brother wanderin' around by himself in these woods for the rest of forever, there are only so many eggshells I can dance on for you, Ford. You don't get this one. You didn't get to call yourself a freak before and you don't now, you get me? Not as long as I'm around."
Stan lifts his chin, and doesn't realize his hands, the one wrapped around Ford's sleeve, too, are balled up in fists. It's kind of a bluff, that threat, stop it or kick me out for good, but a threat don't work unless you look like you're ready to deliver.
He's bluffed better. But hey, he's had bluffs like this work even when he does look like he's about to jump out of his skin with fear, so he stares hard at Ford, and he holds the look. He's not givin' in on this one.
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But, shit, okay. Stan pulls his head back around and that weak, heavy feeling like he's about to sink right down into that tough ground underneath his shoes don't stop him from making himself look away from the tight grip on his back, and look at his brother instead.
Okay.
He's got that lesson now, sure, but maybe Stan never has been a very quick learner.
"You're not a freak," says Stanley, sounding hard and determined. "I don't care how much it pisses you off to hear me say it, I don't care if this is the last straw that makes you decide you're better off leavin' your deadbeat brother wanderin' around by himself in these woods for the rest of forever, there are only so many eggshells I can dance on for you, Ford. You don't get this one. You didn't get to call yourself a freak before and you don't now, you get me? Not as long as I'm around."
Stan lifts his chin, and doesn't realize his hands, the one wrapped around Ford's sleeve, too, are balled up in fists. It's kind of a bluff, that threat, stop it or kick me out for good, but a threat don't work unless you look like you're ready to deliver.
He's bluffed better. But hey, he's had bluffs like this work even when he does look like he's about to jump out of his skin with fear, so he stares hard at Ford, and he holds the look. He's not givin' in on this one.
Probably.