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Stan really thought that his life was going to get better, that one day he would finally have the happy ending he’s been fighting for. What an idiot he’s been. Instead he can’t stay sober long enough to get a job and his paranoia of Rico and everyone else he owes money to make it hard for him to stay in one place.
He jumps at shadows and the few times he’s tried to go sober he could feel hands crawling over him. After Tijuana, Stan couldn’t bear the memories and phantom feelings. Anything was better than the sounds that haunt his mind, the feelings he has burned into his mind.
No matter how hard he tried, Stan was never good enough. He brought nothing to the world but trouble, everyone knew this whole time except him. Ford was lucky to leave him behind when he did, his life is probably amazing even after Stan ruined it.
But there was still something Stan could do to better the world. Something that people have been trying to do for years now, kill himself.
This was it, the moment he finally ended everything. With a bottle of unmarked pills and the gun he stole from Rico the last time he escaped, Stan’s worthless life would finally end. In a dirty beat down motel in the middle of nowhere.
He’s fought for so long to be what everyone wanted, to make millions so he could go home, but he just couldn’t do it. Stan knew deep down he had nothing because he has always been nothing. Always the spare parts with nothing worth saving.
Yet before he could finish what he needed to do, Stan wanted to be selfish one last time. He wanted to let someone know to come get his stuff or maybe just listen to someone talk, even if it was just yelling at him. On his final day Stan didn’t want to be completely alone.
So he drug himself out of the disgusting bed and ambled his way to the nearest payphone from his motel. It was a beaten down blue awning that just barely covered the phone itself, luckily it wasn’t raining. Though it wouldn’t matter if it was since this was his last day alive anyway.
Standing in front of the disgusting payphone, Stan paused before putting the coins in. He wanted to call his Ma, let her know how much he loved her and that he was sorry but she would try to stop him for sure. The last thing Stan wanted for his Ma was stress and the memories to be tainted like that.
But he still wanted to call someone, anyone just so that people knew even the worthless still loved. Shermie was out too since there was a chance that his kid would pick up, didn’t want to leave that kid with lasting trauma like that either. The last option was somehow Ford, the man whose life Stan ruined.
At least this might make Ford happy, to know that the man who ruined his life is gone. Like cosmic retribution or karma or something, it doesn’t matter to Stan anyway. Hopefully it would mean something to his twin though, make him smile or something.
Stan had made sure not to take anything or even drink once he decided to call someone, wanting to make sure his voice was as clear as he could get it. This was his goodbye to the world he cared about, and couldn't risk messing it up. Although he’s sure he would mess something up, he wouldn’t be Stan Pines if he wasn’t a fuck up.
Dread pooled in his stomach as he slotted the coins into the machine and listened to the abrasive noise of the phone ringing. If Ford does pick up Stan worried he would just hang up like always, then he would have to call again and try to tell Ford everything the second time.
Every passing moment made his stomach tie into worse knots, Stan just wanted to be done with this so he could make the world a better place by leaving it. It’s the least he could do for all the bad he’s done.
As the beep of the answering machine rang in his ear Stan felt a sense of relief wash over him. Now he would never know if his twin hated him or not, now he could say all the things he was too scared to before. How everything bad was always Stan’s fault and nothing was ever Ford’s, it wasn’t his brother's fault he was born with the faulty twin. If Ford was born alone then he would have never faced any problems, they all stemmed from Stan.
“Hey Ford, long time no talk. Uh, just wanted to call and say I love you. That I’m sorry for everything and that I ruined your life. I’m sorry that you were born with a worthless twin and do really wish you had someone smarter to help you when we were younger.”
Stan started at the grim built up in the corners of the phone booth, he felt a lot like it. Something so disgusting and worthless and forgotten by everyone important.
“I know you don’t forgive me, hell I wouldn’t be surprised if you didn’t even love me, but I do care a lot about you. I hope you found someone who helped you with all your grand ideas and knew what you were talking about in as much detail as you.
No matter what, I have always cared about you. I know it’s worthless words from a worthless man but I just needed that all of my chest before tomorrow. Don’t worry about getting another call from me, I know you don’t want to talk to me and I’ve made amends with that.”
It hurt so much to bite that out, Stan really did love his family. Too bad no one loved him back, to be fair it was his fault that they all hated him. It was always his fault that anyone who cared for him was doomed.
“Just as one last favor from one brother to another, please tell Ma I’m sorry. I don’t have enough quarters to call her and well… don’t worry about it I guess. One day I hope you can find it in your heart to at least remember the good times. And on the slim chance they put up a headstone, I know it's a selfish request, but it would be nice for you to visit.
Uh, I guess this is goodbye Ford. I love you and hope you get everything you’ve ever wanted. At least you can make the Pines proud.”
Stan put the phone back into the cradle, just standing there for a moment before letting his hand fall off the receiver. This was it, everything was laid out how it needed to be.
He had nothing left to do and no one else to call, he was finally free of everything. A feeling of freedom and happiness flared through him as Stan turned to leave, slowly walking back to the dirty motel room.
There would be no tomorrow for Stanley Pines, but hopefully with his final act the world could be a better place. Without the scourge of the earth sullying its beauty, maybe Stan could take all the negativity towards the Pines family to the grave with him.
It was a long walk back to the dirty motel, especially since Stan stopped by a beat down gas station and used the rest of his money to buy a gallon of Jack Daniel’s and a cheap set of smokes. What use is the rest of his money at this point? He knows he doesn’t deserve anything close to comfort while he takes the coward's way out but he’s always been so selfish. It was almost freeing to stop caring like this.
He had nothing left and no one to care about, Stan was finally free. With an almost happy walk, he made his way over to the Stanley Mobile to leave behind the crumpled note from his dirty pocket. Just something short and sweet to let whoever took his baby that it all goes to Ford and his Ma. They could decide if anything was worth keeping, if there was anything. All he really hopes is that his car is well taken care of at this point.
With a final smile at his most loyal companion, Stan pulled out the baggie of unmarked pain pills he keeps in his glove box before shuffling into his motel room. Hopefully if he misses and is forced to bleed out this will make it painless. He’s pretty sure that Ford told him that they were blood thinners too, that with the alcohol should make his death pretty quick.
With a sense of calm, Stan changed into his nicest pair of clothes. The shirt had holes and the pants were thread bare but it was better than the disgusting stained stuff he usually wore. He put his red jacket on top of everything just in case he spilt anything on himself as he drank tonight, might as well go out with some sort of dignity.
He began taking swigs of his Jack Daniels and just reveling in the stinging feeling, it was something that he could actually feel and not have guilt about. With a sigh, Stan stumbled into the bathroom. He wasn’t a monster, he knew the bathroom was easier to clean than the carpeted floor.
Stan lowered himself into the bathtub a little too fast and knocked his head into the wall behind him. He could feel it past the alcohol, looks like he hasn’t had enough. With a long swig of the bottle, Stan fumbled around in his pockets to light up a smoke. It tasted worse than the whiskey but he was only smoking for the small comfort it could provide.
The slight ache from the bathtub being too small a welcome pain. Looking at the bottle with hazy vision showed he had drunk more than half, hopefully he doesn’t throw up the painkillers. If he does, Stan will have to actually use the pistol, and in the end he has always been a coward. Deep down he knows there is a very real chance that he chickens out if he has to shoot himself.
Stan looked at the pills in his hand, eyes going in and out of focus from how much alcohol was in his system. All this time on the streets just for his life to end alone and by his own hand. He is almost happy that he never became an organ donor, now he can't disappoint another set of people. Everything about him was worth less than dirt, at least dirt is useful.
All he wanted to do was be someone worth loving, maybe when he’s put in the ground the bugs would love him. At least he could give back something instead of just being a blight on the world. Hopefully something would love what pieces get left behind of his worthless body.
Without another thought but a few final tears, Stan tilted his head back and chased the painkillers down with another swig of alcohol. Tomorrow this will all be gone and Stan couldn’t be happier about it. A small smile graced his lips as he watched the ceiling slowly dip in and out of focus, the world dimming around him. At last he could finally be at peace with himself while doing the only worthwhile thing in his life.