"…And next time you'd better think twice before picking on my brother, you hear?"

The boys had already scampered off toward the tree line before Stanley Pines could holler another piece of his mind at them. Out of threats and feeling confident that they were gone for good, the young boy spun on his heel, worried eyes settling on his brother. "Hey, bro. Are you okay?"

Stanford sat in the dirt, head bowed toward him. One hand reached up to swipe away at his watery eyes while the other rested in his lap, his body trembling every few seconds with small sniffles. "I…I'm fine, Stan. They just roughed me up a little."

Stanley plopped down in front of his twin, folding his legs beneath him. "Are you sure? Lift your head for a second, Stanford. Let me see your face."

He did so without complaint. Stanley's eyes widened the moment he had a good look at his brother's visage, hand going to just barely skim over his eye. "Oh—oh crud, your eye doesn't look so good. It's all puffy and black."

"Eye…my glasses!" Stanford exclaimed. His demeanor took on a drastic change as he went to feeling around the ground. "Where are they? My glasses?"

"Stan…?"

"Oh no…" Stanford murmured. He could feel the frames, could feel tiny shards of glass as they brushed along his fingertips. Carefully, he picked them up, attempting to inspect them through his blurry vision. It was apparent that both lens had shattered completely, and one of the temple pieces had been bent backwards. "They're ruined! Those bullies must've stepped on them or something. Dad is gonna be so mad when he finds out…"

"Hey, chin up, bro. Maybe we can still make it work!" Stanley tried reasoning. Gears turned in his head as he took the glasses from his brother's hands and scrutinized them from all sides. "We just need a lot of glue. Yeah, and then..."

"Forget about it, Stanley," Stanford cut in after a while of Stan's babbling. He sounded tired, defeated. "They can't be fixed. Even if we did glue it, we'd need something really strong, like superglue. Which I know we don't have. And all the pieces aren't even here to put back together."

"Yeah, you're right." A frown tugged Stan's lips. He gazed down at the broken frames, fists clenching around them as hot anger boiled underneath his skin. "I'm sorry, Stanford. I should've never left you alone. I knew those stupid guys would come over an' pick on you, and I still left."

"No, Stan. It's not your fault. I should have put up a better front. I—I should have tried to fight back." Stanford shoved his face into his palms with a miserable sigh, but immediately regretted it. His eye protested against the pressure, and he whipped his head back up, letting loose a sharp hiss. "Ow! Stupid eye…"

Anger continued to steam in Stanley's veins, and it only grew as he watched his twin cringe in pain. "Oh boy, next time I see 'em they're gonna get it for giving you that black eye." He set the glasses down next to him and cracked his knuckles with a series of small pops. "They're gonna regret ever being mean to you in the first place…"

"Listen, Stan," Stanford interjected, his hands gingerly cupping his swollen eye, "I know you just want to defend me and all, but can you please not make a big deal out of this? I know how you are, and Ma and Dad are gonna punish you again if you try to pick a fight."

He sneered. "Yeah. Ma will. She'll yell at me about how 'she didn't raise me to fight with people on the streets' and send me to our room. But Dad will say something about how I should've given them more of a beating. Or he'll just shake his head at me."

"Please, Stan?"

Stanley mulled over his brother's words for a few moments and eventually sighed, crossing his arms. "Fine…I won't pull anything. But only because I feel bad for you right now." A smirk curled his lips. "Besides, someone has to be by your side to make sure you don't get your nerdy-self hurt."

"Hey!" A small smile came to Stanford's face, the first smile since the bullies had come to stir up trouble. He brought his arm up and shoved Stanley over into the grass, drawing a small chuckle from the boy. He stood up and wiped the dirt from his jeans.

"It's true!" Stanley retorted. He placed a hand on his brother's head, tousling his messy hair. "You wouldn't be half of who you are without me around, bro. Admit it!"

Stanford stuck his arms up in a weak form of self-defense, yelping through his laughs. "Okay, okay, I do!"

"And don't you forget it."

For the next few minutes, the boys were a heap of chuckles. But once their laughter died down, Stanford frowned again and turned to pick up his broken frames. "What are we gonna tell Ma and Dad about these?"

"Eh…we'll think about that when we get home. I always come up with something." Stanley shrugged and extended a palm to his twin. "C'mon. That black eye looks worse than Crampelter's haircut. We should throw some ice on it before it gets infected or something." He paused for a moment. "I think."

Stanford accepted the hand with a snicker, allowing his brother to pull him up as he stuffed the glasses into his jacket pocket. "That sounds about right. And Stan?

"Yeah?"

"Thanks. You know, for chasing those guys off and all."

"Hey, no problem, Poindexter." Stanley reached over and slung Stanford's arm around his neck. He flashed a tooth-filled grin at him, minus one front tooth. "We twins always stick together, through thick and thin."

The two began walking off toward the horizon together, arms draped around each other's shoulders. They looked more than unusual—their steps were wobbly, their heads, pressed oddly together. And somehow, they still walked in near-perfect unison.

"I'm gonna spit in Crampelter's face the next time I see him, though."

"Stanley."

…

Stanford couldn't sleep.

Summer nights in New Jersey were always choked with humidity. Even though the twins' window was sealed shut, the sticky air still managed to seep in through the cracks in the faulty frame. No breeze drifted in behind it—just a still, burning heat. The standing fan near the door tried to make up for the lack of circulation, but served in only pushing the hot air around further.

The boy heaved a sigh, rolling onto his stomach. Throwing his sheets off the bed sounded more than tempting, but he resisted the urge to do so. Instead, he wormed his hands under his chin and rested his head in them, staring ahead into the darkness.

"I know you're still awake, Stanford."

"Huh?" His body tensed, then relaxed at the sound of his brother's voice. "Oh…yeah." He turned his head to the side, neck craning to stare down toward the bunk below him. "How did you know?"

"Uh, I can only hear you moving around up there like every two seconds." Stanford could hear the bedsheets beneath him shift back. "I can't sleep at all in this stupid heat. Same for you?"

"Sort of."

More movement followed. "You sound like something else is bothering you."

Stanford pushed himself up and sat, arms falling into his lap. His thumbs twiddled anxiously. "Actually, something kind of is…can we talk, Stan?"

"Not like I'm gonna sleep anyway. Wait a second." Stanford could hear the bed beneath him creak, then the soft patter of feet on the wood floor. Seconds later, his brother's head popped up over the side of the mattress. He pulled himself onto it with a small grunt, then shuffled to press his back against the wall as he fanned himself.

"Shoot."

Stanford swallowed. His hands went to grip his blanket as he considered his words. "Stanley, do you think we'll always have each other to rely on?"

"What?" He paused in cooling himself to give his brother a questioning stare. Confusion dripped into his voice. "What do you mean, Stanford?"

"I mean…do you think we'll always have each other's backs?"

Stanley scoffed, crossing his arms. "What kind of question is that? Of course we will. Why…why do you ask?"

Stanford allowed himself to fall back against his pillow. He stared at the ceiling, struggling to find the right thing to say. "I've just been thinking about it a lot lately. What if something totally bizarre and out of the ordinary happens to us when we're older, or even a week from now. Something bad. What'll happen after that?"

Stanley bit his lip, frowning at the foreign notion. "Well, what could happen to us?"

"Anything could. I—we could get split apart. I keep thinking about earlier. About those bullies. If you hadn't of shown up to chase them off, I'd probably have more than just this right now." He pointed to his black eye. The swelling had thankfully gone down, but the edges were still tinged a dark, scarring purple. "And it makes me think. If we ever get torn away from each other, how'd we be able to live all by ourselves?"

The other boy's eyes shifted to the bedspread. "There'd still be Ma and Dad. And the rest of our family."

"That's not what I'm talking about, Stanley. I'm talking about us," Stanford blurted. "You even said it yourself earlier. I wouldn't be half of who I am without you. And you wouldn't be half of who you are without me."

His next words were soft, so soft that if Stanley hadn't been sitting right in front of him, they wouldn't have been audible.

"How could we even go on living without each other?"

A tense silence fell over the two, nearly choking them in the stuffy room. The standing fan hummed lowly as it rotated. Outside, a lone car engine started up and a horn echoed in the distance. Stanford continued to direct his gaze to the ceiling, fingers twining around each other, not staring his twin in the eye.

"Stanford, look at me."

The seriousness in his voice was so raw that Stanford couldn't help but snap his gaze to him and sit up. "Stan?"

"I'm not gonna let you sit here in the dark thinking things like this, so listen up because I'm gonna say something really sappy. I don't always know what's going on in that head of yours." He paused. "Heck, most of the time I never know what's going on in your head. But I do know this: we're brothers." He brought his fist up and thumped it proudly against his chest. "We're twins. Nothing in the world is ever gonna split us up or break us apart."

"But how can you be so sure?" Stanford interjected. His eyes dug deep into his twin's face, searching for an answer. "How can you know?"

"Let me try to put it in a way you'll understand." Stanley looked around the room for a second. His eyes immediately latched onto the model UFO that hung by their heads, and he gestured to it with a flourish of his hand. School glue, string, and plastic. "A spaceship could come crashing down next to us right now and a bunch of aliens could take me away to outer space, but that still wouldn't change the fact that we're brothers."

"I…I guess that's true."

The boy gazed around again. His fingers snapped and he looked to him. "Or Big Foot could break in and destroy our house with his giant feet. And even though we'd be homeless, we'd still be together. Right?"

"Yeah…"

"So why worry about something bad happening to us if our brotherhood will never be changed?"

"Huh…" Hope flickered in Stanford's eyes, the tension in his body slowly releasing itself. "Stanley, do you really mean what you're saying?"

"Course I mean it!" The boy scooted forward to wrap an arm around his twin's shoulder. He pulled him close and stuck his palm out to the darkness, eyes shimmering. "And just think, Stanford. We still have the ol' Stan O' War waiting for us out there. And one day we're going to complete it and sail around the world together, just you and me. Once that happens, we'll be far away from everything that could ever hurt us."

Stanford followed his gaze the entire time, even when Stanley finished talking and pulled away. "Stan, I—I don't know what to say," he started.

"You don't have to say anything. Now, enough of the super mushy stuff. I think I wore myself out with all that deep talk." Stanley crawled back to the edge of the bed. He climbed down wordlessly, feet hitting the ground with a soft pap. Stanford listened the entire time as his brother slid into his own bunk and settled down below him.

"And next time something is bothering you, tell me instead of letting it build up inside your head, okay you worrywart?"

Stanford smiled, unseen. "Goodnight to you too, Stan."

The room grew silent, and Stanford continued to sit for a second longer before he finally lowered himself onto his own mattress. He closed his eyes with a yawn, finding comfort in his twin's oddly wise words. The room was still as muggy as ever. The hot air still pushed around without a purpose. But now it wasn't at the forefront of his mind. Instead, as he began drifting off to sleep, Stanford thought of his brother. Tranquility. Utter tranquility.

Things are fine. Everything's going to be fine.

A/N: It's been quite a while, hasn't it?