Chapter Text
“Ford?”
Someone grabs his shoulder.
Ford wakes quickly, even at the hushed whisper of his name. He bolts upright, breathing hard, searching for whatever threat somehow knows his name. It can only mean one thing if someone knows his name, it means that Bill got to them somehow, and if that’s the case, he needs to run or he needs to fight, but he can’t–
“Ford, hey, it’s just me! It’s Stan!!”
Ford realizes his hand is reaching for the blaster that isn’t at his side. He really– jesus christ. Of course he doesn’t have his gun, he’s just on the Stan O’ War II. With his brother. His brother who has his arms raised placatingly in front of him.
“S-Stanley,” Ford breathes. It’s Stan. It’s only Stan.
“Shit, I’m… sorry, I-I didn’t mean to– y-you can go back to sleep, I didn’t mean…” Stan shakes his head, rubbing his temples.
“No, I’m–” Ford attempts to rub the sleep out of his eyes. His brain is foggy. “Is something wrong? Why did you– are you alright?”
Stan turns away, already beginning to climb back down the ladder. “S’ fine. I’m good.” His words are clipped. Shaky.
“Wait, just–” Ford scrambles and reaches out and takes his hand. “What’s going on?”
Stan pauses before answering, taking a shaky inhale. “Nothin’, Ford. I’m– fine.” His voice breaks, ever so slightly, on the last word. He squeezes Ford’s hand before finishing his descent down the ladder, and Ford hears the familiar groan of the lower bunk as Stan presumably sits on it. Ford hears another shaky breath from below him. He doesn’t hesitate before swinging his legs over the side of the bunk and hopping down. Stan is sitting slumped on the edge of the bed, head in his hands. He jumps when he realizes Ford followed him down.
“No, you’re clearly not.” Ford perches on the edge of the bunk and places a gentle hand on his twin’s back. “Stanley, what’s going on?”
Stan leans into the touch. “I just– you… I mean, I was–” he huffs and shakes his head. “Nevermind. S’ stupid.”
“I’m quite sure it’s not. Are you– are you okay? I’m– I'm worried, Lee.”
Stan sighs. “You– you said to… come to you. If I was… I mean, if I felt like I– might–” He rubs at his left arm awkwardly. In the same spot where– where he–
Ford feels his heart stutter. “O-Oh! Shit, I– did– did you–” his voice hitches and he instinctively grabs Stan’s arm, searching.
Stan is curled up in a ball on the bathroom floor, his arm covered in blood. He’s shaking, and he’s sobbing, and Ford let it happen, Ford let it happen, and Stan’s hurt, he hurt himself–
“No! No, I-I– I didn’t–” Stan is quick to correct, grabbing Ford’s hand from his arm and squeezing it. “I didn’t.”
Ford breaths a sigh of relief.
“Sorry, I shoulda’ led with that.”
“NO! N-No, don’t apologize, you have nothing to be sorry about! I’m– I’m glad you didn’t–” he squeezes Stan’s hand back. “I’m glad you came to me.”
Stan shrugs and gently pulls his hand away. “I just– I-I didn’t know… w-what to do.” He brings his knees up to his chest and wraps his arms around them. “Don’t know how to–” he shakes his head and lets his face fall into his knees. He takes a shaky breath.
“Would you… like to go out to the deck?” Ford ventures. “It’s a nice night.”
Stan sniffles from inside his cocoon. “…Sure.”
Ford helps Stan up to his feet. Stan grabs hold of his arm and leans against his shoulder, letting himself be led out to the deck.
Stan relaxes slightly when he gets a breath of the fresh air, his hold loosening on his brother just a bit. Ford brings him to the railing, and Stan props his arms up and stares out at the ocean, his head leaning on Ford’s shoulder. Ford wraps an arm around him, absently rubbing his back.
Stan has always preferred open spaces to more snug ones, ever since Ford can remember, at least. But ever since Ford came back, he’s noticed that it’s less of a preference now, and more of a necessity. Stan can’t be in small spaces. Ford can recall a time shortly after Stan got his memories back, Mabel locked Stan in a closet as a prank, and Stanley… he didn’t take it well. It took a long time to calm him down. Ford fights the urge to smack his own forehead. He should’ve taken Stan out to the deck so much sooner. He should’ve known it would make him feel more comfortable.
His first instinct is to ask why, to ask what happened. But Stan told him last time, there… isn’t always a reason. Ford’s not entirely sure that this is true. Every effect needs a cause. But… Stan might not always be in the right frame of mind to know what the cause is, Ford supposes. So he adjusts his question.
“Do you want to talk about it?” Ford asks quietly. Stan only shrugs. “Y-You don’t have to… I just– thought that maybe…?”
“No, I can.”
“You really– you don’t have to.”
“I–” Stan nestles further in Ford’s shoulder. “I don’t know… why… today was just– kinda shitty. N’ then I was kinda shitty… a-and then…” he sighs again. “I don’t know.”
God, even after that entire, long, painful conversation they had after Ford realized what Stan did, he still… he doesn’t know how to handle it. Not really. All he can do is just give soft reassurances that he’s quite sure are pointless.
“Sorry,” Stan mutters after a moment of silence. “It’s stupid.”
“NO! It’s not stupid, a-and you don’t have anything to apologize for,” Ford says quickly. “It’s okay. It's alright. You don’t have to talk about it.”
Stan turns to him. “You’re not– mad?”
Ford’s chest aches. “Stan, why on earth would I be mad?”
“I dunno… woke you up, got you all worried for no reason.” He turns away again. “Can’t even talk about the damn reason I woke you up–”
“I’m glad you woke me up,” Ford interrupts softly. “You’re doing wonderfully. You don’t have to talk about it. It’s okay if you can’t.” He tips Stan’s chin up to look him in the eyes. “Lee, I’m proud of you for coming to me.”
Stan’s eyes well up, and he swipes at them quickly.
“Oh, Stanley…” Ford opens his arms in invitation. Stan hesitates for a moment before burying his head in Ford’s chest. He trembles faintly, hands pulled up to his own chest, clinging to the fabric of Ford’s sweater. Ford wraps his arms around him securely.
“Ford,” he whispers, letting out a tiny sob. “I-I don’t–” his words broke on another sob.
“It’s alright,” Ford murmurs. “You’re okay. I’m right here.” Stan just cries harder, putting his ear against Ford’s chest. Listening for his heartbeat.
“I’m proud of you,” He repeats. “You’re alright. It’s going to be okay.”
Ford lets Stan cry for a while. He isn’t sure how long. After a bit, his cries fade to quiet sniffles and hitched breaths. He loosens his hold, just slightly, and tips his head up so his words don’t come out muffled.
“Thanks, Six.”
“Of course, Lee. Always.” He gives Stan another squeeze. “Feeling a little better?”
“A bit, yeah.” And Ford can tell by his twin’s voice that Stan means it.
“Do you feel ready to head to sleep? O-Or we can stay out here. Whatever you need.”
“No, we– we can go inside.”
“If you’re sure?”
“Yeah, I’m sure.” Stan sniffles. “S’ cold out here.”
Ford nods and takes his brother’s hand, leading him inside, back to the bedroom. He lets Stan crawl into bed and under the covers pulling them up to his chin. He hesitates. After all this time, one would think he’d feel comfortable asking Stan to…
But he doesn’t. Part of him still worries it’s an invasion.
Stan senses this, and he smiles, though it’s tired. He scoots over so he’s pressed up against the wall and opens his arms. “C’mere, you old sap.”
Ford swallows down the lump in his throat and crawls in beside him, feeling his eyes well up. Stan wraps his arms around him, and Ford lets his head rest on Stan’s chest, listening to the quiet rumble of his breathing. He has a hard time not letting his mind drift to the what ifs. What if Stan didn’t wake him? What if he hurt himself? What if he–
“Hey,” Stan said softly. “I can hear those gears clankin’ around in there.” He gently taps Ford’s forehead.
“I was just–” his breath hitches. “If you would’ve– o-or if–” his voice breaks on a tiny sob. “I’m just… very glad you woke me up.”
“I am too,” Stan murmurs, pulling him closer. “And, Ford, if I feel like that again, I’ll wake you up, okay? You don’t gotta worry about those what ifs.”
“Far easier said than done.”
“Yeah. I know. But I mean it, okay?”
“But you can’t guarantee it,” Ford insists, turning to look up at him. “A-And I can’t either!”
Stan is silent for a moment, his body tense. His hands shake.
“I-I’m sorry,” Ford says hurriedly. “I didn’t– nothing even happened, I-I don’t know why I’m–”
“I can’t guarantee it,” Stan says firmly. “But I can try. I-I’ve been trying. I don’t know if it’s enough–”
“It is!! I’m sorry, I just– I’m going to worry about you, I don’t think I couldn’t worry about you, but– I know you’re trying. I love that you’re trying, and I appreciate that you’re trying. Really. That’s all you have to do. A-And you’re doing wonderfully.”
Stan smiles, another tear leaking from his eyes. “…Thanks, Six.” He runs his hand through Ford’s hair. “You’re doin’ great too, buddy.”
“It’s not about me,” Ford murmurs. “But– thank you.” He doesn’t even have the strength to stifle the yawn that escapes him.
“Tired?” Stan lets out a yawn of his own.
“Er– no. No, I’m not tired–”
“Shut up,” Stan says lightly. “Yeah, you are.”
“I’m quite sure I’m–”
“Ford.”
“I’m not!!”
“Fine.” Stan offers a tiny smile. “Well, I’m tired. So can we go to sleep?” His smile fades for a minute, eyes pleading. “Could you– could you stay?”
Ford softens. Maybe he is just a little tired. “Of course, Lee. And– I… might as well… get some sleep, while I’m at it.”
“Yeah,” Stan murmurs sleepily. “Might as well.”
Ford pulls the blanket up further, soaking in the warmth. Stan settles in, letting his cheek hit Ford’s scalp.
It doesn’t take long until the waves have rocked them both to sleep.