Chapter Text
Ford woke up blearily, a sense of caution overtaking him as he launched himself upwards to scan the room. He hit his head on the top of the bunk, wincing. He sat there perplexed for a second, wondering why he was on Stan’s bunk. All the memories came flooding back in a nanosecond, and he felt an all-too familiar sense of shame bubble in him. How was he supposed to excuse himself out of this one? Despite his actions of plain stupidity in the past, he was not an simple fool, and he knew Stan was way too perceptive for his own good. Ford had never been such in tune with other’s emotions as Stan was.
God, Stan was always better in so many ways and it took him so long to see that-
A knock on the door rang out, and Ford jerked his head to the entrance, knowing that there was only one other person (last time he checked) on this boat with him. The knob turned silently, and Stan peeked around the corner of the door, catching Ford’s eyes as he swung the door open. “We need to talk, Sixer,” Stan said, his tone of seriousness betraying his intentions.
Next thing he knew, he was sitting on the dark blue couch, an assortment of breakfast food sandwiched in between each other on the coffee table in front of him. Stan sat next to him on the couch, his hand hovering over Ford’s shoulder, a silent plea, asking Ford to allow him to comfort him the only way he knew how. “Ford-“ Stan started, but Ford cut him off, claiming that he was indeed “fine”, and there was “nothing to worry about.” “Ford, you’re not. I’ve seen your injuries. Why didn’t you say anything,” his voice rising out of stress and miffed anger.
Ford looked down at his wrists, trying desperately to remember how Stan could have seen his injuries.
“Ford,” Stan said firmly, placing his hand at the small of Ford’s back. “I’m just worried about you. Why can’t you just open up. I care about you Ford. All this,” Stan said, gesturing to Ford, “isn’t helping anyone.”
“I need you Ford. I can’t wait here, watching you tend to your shit in peace and pretend like it doesn’t bother you.” Stan rose, starting to pace the room.
“You’re not eating, you’re not sleeping, and you’re dying in front of me,” Stan yelled, a finality in his voice echoing throughout the room. “I’m not dying, Stanley,” Ford said quietly. “Well you sure as hell look like it,” Stan spat. “I’m not as stupid as you think!”
Ford stood at that. “You don’t think I understand that, Stanley! I was a moronic fool for all these decades, and I’ve wasted my life hating the wrong person. I should have died a long time ago, before that portal, before college, hell I should have never been born!”
The room was full of a tense silence once more.
Ford felt his eyes grow watery, and, involuntarily, his tears cascaded down his face. “This trip was for you,” he sobbed. “Why can’t I do anything right.”
“Ford,” Stan sat again, grabbing Ford and situated his head on Stan’s shoulder. “Don’t ever say that. My life wouldn’t have been complete without you. Yeah, so what you caused me some pain. I did too. We both made mistakes, but Ford, I sure as hell don’t hate you for them. We’re here, together, now, and I hate that you think that you have to make things up to me. I already forgave you. Forgive yourself.”
Ford sobbed louder, and he vaguely thought it was too good to be true. But when he looked up at Stan, he saw an enormous amount of love in his face, and he knew that Stan would have never held anything against him.
“Now Poindexter,” Stan said, smiling, “choose one of my Stan’s mystery breakfast foods,” gesturing to the spread in front of them.”
“You look skinnier than Pa’s toothpick,” Stan snorted, grabbing himself a Stancake. Ford smiled at the pleasant feeling that welled in him. He was going to be just fine.