Chapter Text
The streets were damp with the prior rainfall, the wet gravel sticking to the bottom of Ford’s shoes as he walked alongside his brother. The air was thick with unspoken tension, neither willing to speak after what they had just done. Stan kicked at stray rocks when they appeared in front of him, unwilling to meet Ford’s gaze as he turned to him.
“That was really reckless, you know.” Ford said aloud, his brother’s brows furrowing.
“Yeah, well, I had to do something.” Stan stuffed his hands deep into his pockets, almost appearing as if he wanted to shrink in on himself.
“You got hurt.” Ford stated matter-of-factly.
“So what?” Stan scoffed, “He was gonna kill ya if I hadn’t stepped in.”
“So you risked him killing you instead?” Ford stopped in his tracks, frown evident on his face.
“Yeah? And I don’t get a thank you for that?”
“Of course you don’t get a thank you for putting yourself in danger like that! Why would I thank you for hurting yourself-“
“Because I wanted to help you! I did help you!” Stan’s voice raised as the anger started bubbling up inside of him. He didn’t know if it was more because he was truly angry, or if it was just the anxiety brewing in his gut.
“You helped me by being an idiot and not thinking clearly!” Ford spat back, lightly pushing at Stan’s shoulder for emphasis. Somehow, this light touch sent both of them at each other's throats, shoving and yelling, petty arguing that caused Ford to slip and fall onto his back.
“Oh shit! Sixer, are you okay?” Stan was on his knees in an instant, Ford groaning and holding the back of his head with a hiss. He rolled onto his side and that’s when he saw it. A bright yellow flier stained with dirt and the dampness of rain, reading out:
FREAK SHOW!!!!
ACCEPTING APPLICATIONS
GOT AN ABNORMALITY?
HAVE ANY GROTESQUE TALENTS?
STOP BY XXX XXXX BLVD NEAR THE CITY LIBRARY!
YOU, YES YOU! COULD BE THE NEXT BIG STAR!
Ford picked it up, sitting on his knees. Stan peered over his shoulder, reading the flier to himself. Ford looked down at his six fingers, then next to his head where Stan was positioned.
“Stan, I think.. I feel like this could be our ticket out of here!” He shot to his feet, pointing to the flier with vigor. “Look! They provide housing so long as you work with them! It's a traveling circus! With my abnormality we could get a free job there!”
“Well what about me? I ain’t got nothing special at all, nothing to show.” Stan said, unsure. “Besides, what about Ma? Are we just gonna leave her there with.. him?”
Ford didn't waste a second before patting Stan on the shoulder, shaking his head, “I’m sure they’ll find a place for you. And, Mom? She’ll be okay, you know she’s a tough woman.” Ford said, although he wasn’t so sure himself.
“She.. we can send money back to her.” Ford added, and Stan pursed his lips.
“Yeah I guess. Are you sure about this?”
“Positive, Stanley.” There wasn't any more arguing afterwards.
“I believe this is the place.”
“Ya think?” Stan snickered, the bright yellow and red tent nearly glowing with the amount of lights surrounding it. Ford rolled his eyes and ignored the comment, stepping into the tent cautiously. Inside, there were a group of people, each showing off their own unique talents. Jugglers, sword swallowers, some even had extreme tattooing done all over their body. Ford found his place in line, tugging Stan along with him.
The man choosing the people he wanted seemed bored, almost uninterested in most performances. It had Ford nervously twiddling his thumbs until it was his turn.
“What a puny kid like you doin’ here? What kinda talents you got?” The man chuckled, and Ford nervously cleared his throat.
“I, uh.. I have this.. it’s not as interesting as any of these performances but-“ the man stood up straight in his seat, leaning over to see the hands that Ford had placed in front of him.
“No! Kid! You’re what we’ve been looking for! All these talents, these.. show-offs, they don’t mean nothin’! People like you? The ones with these abnormalities? You guys are the REAL freaks! That’s what we need! You're the type of person that keeps our show goin’! This deformity is real?” He asked, turning Ford’s hands to inspect them. Ford moved each finger individually.
“Of course, I was born with this. I uh.. used to get teased for it a lot.”
“Well, today’s your lucky day! Cuz where you're goin’? The people’ll love ya!” Ford beamed.
“Really? Oh god, thank you! You have no idea how-“
“Yeah, yeah, save it for later! I know I’m a generous person. Head to the side over there while I finish up, will ya?”
“O-oh of course! But uh- what about my brother?”
“Brother?” The man looked behind him to see Stanley picking at his skin nervously. He thought for a moment before snapping his fingers to bring his assistant over. The assistant grabbed a large bag and pulled out a cage with a chicken inside, clucking away.
“Think ya can bite the head off a chicken?”
“What?!” Stan’s eyes grew wide, and Ford made a move to speak, only to be silenced by the man’s hand.
“Nobody’s been able to have the guts to do it yet. We need an openin’ act. If ya can do this, you’ll be able to go with your brother with us.” The assistant opened the cage to grab the chicken by the neck, watching as it fluttered and made a fuss. He handed it to Stan, who cradled the poor chicken in his hands with a gentleness that belied the act he was about to commit.
“Well?” The man said, his brow raised. Stan’s heart was racing, he could see the fear in the poor animal's eyes, the way it settled into his arms for comfort despite what Stan was about to do. He muttered a small apology under his breath before his teeth were on the head, clamping down hard until a sickening crunch was heard. The sound was grotesque, and as he pulled, he could feel the chickens wings fluttering, attempting to escape before silence. No movement as Stan finally pulled a final time and the head ripped off, tendons and muscle tearing as pierced veins spewed hot blood from the neck, iron on Stan’s tongue. His mouth was bloodied by the time he was done, and he spat the head out onto the ground, still cradling the still-warm body on the chicken in his hands.
The man watched in awe, laughing loud and deep. Ford stared from the side with a mix of horror and pity, his hands over his mouth at the sight.
“Wow, kid! Ya really do have the guts! You’re tougher than I thought! With a little less fear you could be a hit!” The man clapped Stan on the back and the assistant took the headless body of the chicken and shoved it back in the black bag, discarding it like it was nothing.
Stan could still taste the iron on his tongue.
His white shirt was stained with blood as he moved to the side, his hands becoming sticky from the liquid. His mind was reeling as he stood by his brother, his eyes boring into his shoes, speckles of red dotting on the tops.
“Stan you didn’t have to-“
“I did.” Stan cut in, “I did.”
They stayed silent after that.
“Ya kids got anything left to you guys’ names?” Ford shook his head.
“Just the clothes on our back, sir.” The man, later telling them to refer to him as The Ringmaster, hummed in thought.
“That’s alright. We’ll get you guys some clothes to use for the acts. You can buy the rest with what we give ya.” He walked over to a small trailer, patting the side.
“This one here is for you, Six fingers!” The Ringmaster pointed to the one behind it, “and that one's for the beast!” He laughed, patting Ford on the back. Stan gave a small unenthusiastic chuckle, still thinking of the life he had to live now. Was that all he was good for now? Just.. killing animals? In front of a whole crowd? It went against everything he knew, but he was doing this for Ford.
Ford thanked The Ringmaster before turning to his twin.
“Are you okay?” There was a faraway look in Stan’s eyes as he replied.
“Yeah.” He said, although he didn’t really believe it himself. Ford made a move to comfort him, do anything to help his little brother, but ultimately turned and entered his trailer. Once inside, he saw a small plain bed built into the wall with an area for his wardrobe or other things underneath and curtains for privacy. There was also a vanity built into the wall with several drawers for various items and a couch on the other wall. Small but cozy and practical.
It was already late, and he could feel a sudden jolt under his feet as they began to move. He braced against the wall, slowly moving to his bed, plain blankets and a pillow waiting for him. He sighed, undressing himself until he was left in his boxers as he slipped into under the covers. Sleep found him easily despite the thoughts stirring in his head and the anxiety gripping at him, the exhaustion outweighing them.