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Ford was in his study, twisting and turning as he tried to adjust to sleeping on the couch down there again. After years on the run from an interdimensional demon, he hadn't had many chances to sleep on a couch or bed, or the other dimensions versions of them anyways. It felt strange, almost wrong to sleep there after all this time, after everything had changed so much.
That wasn't the only reason for his lack of sleep, however. His brain was in conflict with itself. After thirty years, Stan brought him back. His twin had tried to save him, one side of his mind thought. Tried to save him from Stan’s own mistake, the other side argued. He had been so close to beating Bill, before the portal had opened next to him. He had no choice but to get in quickly, before the demon had the chance to seize the opportunity and go in it himself. It was the anger of being forced to abandon his well thought out plan that had made him punch Stan. The look on his twin's face after, however, made him a little guilty.
And their conversation they had, what? An hour ago? Less than that? There was no way to tell the passage of time in his study. All he knew is that it was late, very late in the night. He remembered Stan's expression at being told he would have to leave. Of course he could not stay in Ford's house, not after all he had done. But the emotions he saw, flickering so fast before vanishing behind a blank, annoyed mask… anger, sadness, and fear, perhaps?
He was thrown from his thoughts as he heard the elevator ding above him. Footsteps thundering down the stairs.
Ford leaped to his feet, hands reaching for his gun on his belt, before realizing he could faintly hear Dipper's voice, getting louder by the second.
“Ford!” The boy sounded panicked, out of breath as he stumbled down the last step. “Help! Stan- he-hes not responding to us! M-Mabel found h-him on the ground in the k-kitchen. S-somethings wrong!”
Dammit! What has that idiot done now?
With an internal sigh, Ford raced up the stairs with Dipper, impatiently tapping his foot as he waited for the elevator to take them upstairs. He grimaced as the doors opened to reveal the monstrosity that Stan had made of one of his rooms. The Mystery Shack, that's what Mabel had called it earlier.
Dipper leaped out of the elevator as soon as possible, Ford following on his heels. He was annoyed, whatever Stan was doing was probably just another stunt to get pity. After all, he was a conman. He doubted anything was actually wrong.
He was less certain as he stood in the kitchen doorway, watching a clearly terrified and worried Mabel call out to Stan, one arm raised as though she wanted to comfort him but didnt know how.
Stan himself was sitting on the ground, curled up with his back to the wall. His hands gripped his hair harshly, tears running down his face. His chest rose and fell in shallow, quick breaths.
Mabel looked up at the sound of Ford and Dippers arrival, relief plain on her face. “P-please—I don't know what to do! He—he won't—” Dipper crouched next to her, giving them a hug.
“Leave.” Ford said sternly as he walked over to his own twin. “You two just go get rest, he’ll be fine. Ill help him.” He sighed. After a brief hesitation, the younger twins nodded and walked away, glancing back worriedly.
He crouched next to Stan, seeing his younger twin speaking something, too quietly for him to hear. Even at that distance, he couldn't make out the words. “Stanley? What's wrong?”
His twin's voice rose slightly, words rushed and broken. “I'm sorry— please dont– can't– not again. Won't make it—” Stans eyes were wide and unblinking, staring blankly at the ground.
Ford frowned. “Stan–” He placed a hand on his shoulder.
And Stan flinched. He flinched . Ford couldn't think of a single time Stan had flinched as a kid. Anytime he was scared even. And now, here he is. Sitting on the floor and flinching at his own twin. Ford was well and truly worried. His twin was clearly in a state of panic, he knew that there was no way he could have faked this.
Stan raised his head, eyes frantically racing around the room before zeroing in on Ford. His pupils are dilated, unfocused, as though he could see Ford there but didn’t recognize him. He was still continuing his whimpered and broken pleas, but for what his twin could not tell.
What should I do? I don't– he was never like this as a kid! Think! What did he do when I would get panic attacks when we were teenagers? Music? No, can't do that, I don't know if there even is a radio here. What else… Oh!
“Stan, do you remember when we needed paint for the Stan O’ War, and you…” As Ford softly started talking about an old memory from when they were young, he made sure his eyes were on his twin. Slowly, Stan's grip on his hair began to loosen, his body loosing its tension. By the end, his eyes had lost their panic, instead just staring at Ford with a sad, tired numbness in them. “...Stan?”
The younger brother looked down, seemingly ashamed. “I– I’m sorry… I didn't mean— didn't want—” His body trembled faintly.
Ford slowly grabbed both of Stan’s hands, pulling them from his hair. “Stan?” He softly said.
Stan looked up at him, silent tears running down his face. When had his twin learned to cry so silently? What caused him to learn to? “I-I’m sorry. I didn’t— can’t—“
Ford gently rubbed his thumbs in circles on the back of his hands, hoping it was a soothing gesture. It must have worked because Stan visibly slumped, tears falling to the floor. “Ford— I can’t d-do it again. I-I won’t make it, I got n-nothing…”
“Do what?”
Stan's eyes dropped to the floor. “I have no way ta make money. If—if I have ta leave here, I’ll h-have nothing. I don’t have StanCo, no drugs, can’t guard for shit nowadays, don’t even have a body ta sell!”
Ford's eyes widened, mind locked onto one word. “B-body…?”
“I needed money, Stanford.” Stan snapped, his body tensing. “There was no other fucking way, not when your on the street just hoping ya won’t wake up dead every. Single. Day. At least then I’d get a warm bed ta sleep in, for a while anyways. But not now. I’ll be back on the streets, in my car just waitin’ to die. Because when one of Rico’s men finds me. I. Will. Die. I can’t survive bein’ locked in a trunk, bein’ chained ta a chair, beaten to the point I’m barely conscious… they already took my leg. An’ that was only for failin’ him! If he finds me, Rico will do exactly what he has tried for the past thirty years!” Stan slumped, his eyes back to dull numbness, his voice low and tired. He lost all the anger, just looking defeated. Rubbing his eyes dry, he let out a sigh. “Fuck, Sixer… the thought of seeing you is the only thin’ that kept me alive those ten years. Even the last thirty years….I had ta hold onto the hope of seein’ ya again. I finally got a family after forty years of bein’ alone, and now I have to leave ‘em all. Soos, dipper, Mabel, Wendy… hell even that damn pig! ‘N now at the end of summer I’ll go back to square one. But this time there’s nothin’ for me, Ford.”
Ford froze, staring in shock. “They— y-your missing a leg…?”
Stan absentmindedly started rubbing his left leg above the knee. He seemed hesitant to speak for a moment, eyes gazing at the ground as though lost in memory. “‘twas a few years ‘fore your postcard. Rico wanted me to take humans ‘cross the border. Most o’ them were just kids! I– I couldn't…” Stan shook his head, forcing himself to just continue. “I helped ‘em escape. Lied to Rico, ‘course. Claimed they escaped on their own. The other guards don't believe me. Must’ve told Rico or somethin’. Next I knew, I were trapped in an alleyway with Rico an’ some of his men. Said I needed a reminder for… for listening’ ta him. Then.. ya know…” Stan waved his hand, unwilling to even think about that moment more than necessary.
Ford could do nothing for a moment, mind whirling. A protective anger filled his mind, hands clenching on the folds of his pants.
Stan flinched away from Ford, before realizing this anger wasn’t directed at him. Panic seized him as he realized what Ford was thinking.
Ford was startled from his plans for finding out where this ‘Rico’ was and making sure he was dealt with, when Stan gripped his forearm tightly. He met his twin's panicked gaze, frowning.
“Wha—“
“Stanford Filbrick Pines, don’t ya dare try ta go after him. I don’t care what you learned on the other side o’ that portal, ya will not win against a fuckin’ drug lord. He has more men that’ll do whatever he says then ya can imagine. Dammit Ford! If ya go near ‘em you’ll be killed, you look too much like me. Actually, you’d be lucky to just die. Most likely your fate would be so much worse . I lived that life already, hell I’ve even had ta do it ta others!”
“But—“
“ No! You will not go after him. I already lost you twice— I don’t think I could go through it a third time Ford…”
Ford settled back down, taking a moment to rein in his anger. The way Stan looked at him, the pure terror in his eyes at the thought of him going near Rico, sent shivers up his spine. With a sigh, he placed his hand over Stanley’s hand, where it was gripped tightly around his arm.
“It’s okay, Lee. I won’t go after him.” For now anyways , he thought to himself. “But…what happened, after you lef—got kicked out?” Ford's voice was low and soft.
“I… too much, Ford. Too much…” Stan sighed, staring at the ground as his free hand gripped at his hair again. “I can hardly sleep at this point, anytime I try it feels like I’m suffocatin’ in the trunk of a car again, that I’m gon’ fall off the cliff, that Rico is standing over me ‘bout to—“ Stan cut himself off. “He carved words into my back, Ford. He fucking carved words into me. ” Stan's eyes were glazed over, lost in the memory. He could still feel the knife digging into his skin, each stroke deep and bound to scar, even if he had access to good medical supplies. Which he didn’t anyways.
When Stan started to shake, tears faintly rolling down his cheeks, Ford moved closer. He hesitantly wrapped his arms around his twin, hating seeing Stan, the one who was always the stronger, fearless brother, broke down to tears and panic attacks. Especially since this time, it was him who caused this.
When Stan just started to cry more, Ford tightened his grip, feeling his brother return the hug.
“Oh Lee, I’m so sorry. I-I shouldn’t have let Pa kick you out. I should have tried to contact you. Should’ve done something .” Ford pulled back, looking into Stan's eyes. “Please— I know I messed up, but please just stay here. With me. This might not make up for how bad of a brother I’ve been, but—“
Ford shut up upon seeing Stans glare, looking down in shame. Of course he would be mad, Ford had told him mere hours before that he would effectively be kicked out onto the street once again, this time by his very own twin .
“It wasn’t your fault.” Stan said harshly, surprising Ford. “You were just a kid, hell we weren't even eighteen yet. And even if ya had stood up for me, we both know Filbrick wouldn’t have listened.”
“B-but if I had just kept my voice down, just lied to Pa, maybe—“
“The bag was already packed , Sixer. He was gonna throw me out no matter what.”
“You were a kid too, Stanley. You didn’t deserve to live on the street. You didn’t deserve any of this.”
“Ford…”
“Please, Lee, stay."
“‘Course I’ll stay, ya idiot! But uh. Ford…” Stan glanced over Ford's shoulder, towards the stairs. His body had stiffened in Ford's grasp.
“What?” Ford followed his gaze, spotting a flicker of bright pink before whatever it was vanished.
“Oh Moses” Stan said, slightly pale. “How much do you think she heard?
Oh shit