Chapter Text
The first time he began vanishing, Stanley was seven years old. It started with his hands and feet then slowly moved up his arms and legs. His parents were arguing again. They screamed at each other, terrifying Stan and his twin, Stanford.
Please, stop, Stan begged the universe.
They hid under the blankets on Stan’s bunk until they heard the front door slam, signaling that Pa had left.
By morning they were back to normal. Ma made pancakes. She kissed the twin's on their cheeks and apologized. Sometimes people just argued she said. But Ma and Pa argued a lot. When their older brother, Shermie, came into the kitchen, she repeated the kiss and apology.
Pa didn't come in for breakfast.
It kept happening. Each time their parents fought, Stan and Ford began to disappear. Neither knew if Shermie was affected. If he was, he didn’t say anything and he never came in to check on them. This left the twins alone without any real answers, except that their parents' fights triggered it.
“Maybe it's a curse,” Ford whispered one night.
“Like in Sleeping Beauty?” Stan asked. Ford nodded. “Well, I'm not going near needles. I'm not stupid.”
“I’m pretty sure it doesn’t have to do with needles,” Ford replied, eyes darting to the door as if Pa might burst in. He didn’t, but shouted another set of choice words at Ma before storming out again.
The next day Pa announced the twins would start boxing lessons in two weeks, right after their eighth birthday. The fights stopped and the twins didn’t vanish.
For a while, everything was fine.
But as Stan grew, there were nights his feet or hands would fade away. His parents didn't fight as often, but Pa was strict and his expectations were high. It seemed nothing Stan did was good enough. He was always in trouble.
At least Ford’s not disappearing as often, he thought.
They still didn’t know why they vanished. Ford scoured the library for information, combing the biology and folk tale sections. By fourteen Ford had stopped disappearing, but Stan hadn't and their parents still fought. Stan was confused. Why was it just him now? Ford had thought it had to do with age, but they were the same age. They didn't know. Ford spent every hour he could at the library for two months trying to find an answer. He neglected his schoolwork. Pa was furious and Ford started vanishing again. It'd been Stan's fault. He wouldn't let it happen again.
Once Ford was back to normal, Stan took to hiding his own vanishing. If he noticed it happening, he'd yawn and say he was going to bed early. It was a lie, but it kept Ford safe. Some nights he'd sneak out alone to the beach and lay on the Stan O' War's deck, staring up at the stars. He wondered what would happen if he ever vanished completely. Would he need to eat or sleep? Could he still touch things? Would anyone care?
Six weeks and three days after being kicked out, he found out the answer.
The first thing Stan learned about being invisible was it caused problems, especially if he was driving. He inadvertently caused a five car pile up because no one saw him in the driver’s seat.
Second, if you tried to fill your gas tank, people screamed ‘ghost’ and ran away or, in one memorable occasion, shot at you. The only upside was Stan didn't pay for gas anymore.
Third, his body still functioned, even if he couldn't see it. There was no way he could get a job, so he stuck to his habit of shoplifting food. At least he had a shadow. It helped him judge where his hands were in relationship to what he was stealing.
Fourth, anything he now wore faded away when he wore them and reappeared when he took them off. Holding small things in his hands did the same. If he shoved larger items under his shirt or into his coat they disappeared too. He was like a walking black hole.
Lastly, people couldn't hear him if he spoke normally. Shouting got a reaction, but it sounded like a whisper to them. He gave up trying to communicate and just shoved people who got into his personal space.
After a month like this, Stan met someone else like him. Gyms offered safe spaces to clean up and he was tired of smelling bad. That's when he found him, a nearly invisible boy. They stared at each other, each wrapped in a towel wearing equally surprised looks.
“Holy cow! What are you? A ghost?” Stan yelped.
The boy groaned, rolling his eyes. “No. I’m a Shade. Like you. I guess you haven’t run into anyone like you before?”
“No,” Stan said, crossing his arms. “I thought I was invisible.”
“You are,” the boy replied with a shrug.
“But you can see me, right?”
The boy nodded. “Mostly. I mean, you're basically a ghost to me, but yeah.” He tipped his head to a bottle of shampoo. “Feel free to use that. Someone left it a couple days ago. No sense wasting it.”
“Ah, thanks...”
“Martin.”
“Stanley.” He offered his hand and Martin shook it.
“Look, I know this is weird. People can’t see us, but we can see each other. Spooked me at first too. We haven’t figured out why that is. It just is.”
Stan nodded. “Do you know how you ended up like this?”
Martin's face crumbled. “Yeah,” he murmured. “Meet me in the back of locker bay three. We can talk there.”
Stan hurried through his shower, using the offered shampoo and a bar of pine scented soap. He tried shaving, which went better than expected; his nose was still on his face. He was getting better at doing it without a mirror.
Martin was waiting for him like he promised.
“You got a place?” he asked, walking over to Stan.
“I've got a car,” Stan replied.
“You got your driver's license?” Martin’s face brightened.
“Yeah. I got it before this.” Stan gestured to himself or where he should be.
Martin whistled. “Lucky. I became a Shade before I could.”
“Shade?”
“That's what we are. Once we're like this, it's hard to go back. If ever.”
“But we can go back?”
Martin sighed deeply. “Yes, but I won't. No one gives a damn about me. I'd been disappearing for years and no one noticed. Not even my oh-so-perfect sister.”
He thought of Ford and stared at where his hand should be. “So, it’s not arguing that causes this?”
“It's complicated. People got to love you,” Martin grumbled. “Felicity's better at explaining this. She's been a Shade for years now. How she hasn't become Nothing, I don't know.”
“There's more of us?” Stan asked.
“If you give me a ride in your car,” Martin said. “I'll take you to them.”
“Deal.” Sticking out his hand, Stan almost jumped when Martin shook it. It was disconcerting to see a faint hand bobbing up and down in the air, but feel Martin gripping him. “By the way, I kept this.” He handed Martin the shampoo bottle. “They can always get more.”
“True,” Martin chuckled and shoved it under his shirt. They walked out without anyone noticing.
Martin lived at a library. Stan parked in the farthest part of the lot and followed him in. The side door was unlocked since the janitors were still working. They slipped inside and headed to the back.
Felicity reminded Stan of Ford. She wore taped up glasses and sat surrounded by stacks of books and bags of studying material. She regarded Stan with a stiff nod and, after digging through a bag, came up with a journal and pen. She asked for his full name and where he was from, documenting it all for future use before answering his questions.
“We call ourselves Shades,” Felicity explained crisply. “Visibles don't care for us, whether they be family or friends. We come about it in different ways: ignored, told we're worthless, beaten, kicked out, et cetera. The only way a Shade becomes Visible is if other Visibles care and want the Shade in their life. If not, we stay Shades and eventually become Nothing.”
“Nothing?” Stan didn't like the sound of that.
“Nothing. Just...gone.”
“So, dead.”
Felicity nodded solemnly. “I'm eighteen. That's old for a Shade.”
“So, I've got a year, maybe two?” Stan swallowed the lump in his throat and tried to ignore the tears forming.
“You haven’t been a Shade long,” she said. “So there’s still hope. But the longer it goes, the less people remember you or care. It's not impossible. Just less likely. If you have hope or are stubborn, like me, you'll last longer. Give into despair and you’ll become Nothing.”
“So, survive by sheer spite?”
Felicity smiled sharply. “Exactly.”
“Having other Shades around doesn't hurt,” Martin said, cutting in. Felicity nodded. “Come on. Let's find a place for you to sleep.”
There were five other kids, most under twelve. They tried to smile, to welcome him to their home, but Stan could see they weren’t happy. Neither was he really.
He stayed at the library for months, learning from Felicity, giving Martin driving lessons, and playing with the younger kids. A few days before his eighteenth birthday he woke up to find he was growing visible.
Someone cared about him! After five months he was visible. Well, partially. He could see his face more clearly. It had to be Ford. His brother cared about him. Ma’s love hadn’t been enough, he’d known that for years. Ford was the one who’d cared. And now, Stan was forgiven and wanted. Felicity and Martin hustled him out of the library before the janitors started yelling 'ghost' and wished him luck. He gassed up his car and headed toward Glass Shard Beach.
He was two days away.
One day away and he was visible. His arms and legs were still gone, but as long as he wore long sleeves and gloves, no one noticed.
Stan was almost home. Sure he didn't have the millions Pa demanded, but it didn't matter. Today was his -and Ford’s- birthday and he was almost whole, so things were going to be okay. He’d be home by noon tomorrow.
Stan woke up the next morning, his back stiff from sleeping in the backseat. He pushed off the blanket with a groan and froze, his heart shattering.
His body was gone.
Ford had stopped caring.