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“Steady, steady...” Ford gently spreads the disinfectant over the wound on Stan’s arm. “Shhhh. That’s a good kid.”
“Oww,” groans Stan. “Feels like it’s burning into my—ow.” He grimaces in pain.
“Shh,” says Ford, as he wraps a roll of gauze across Stan’s arm. He cups his brother’s face with his hands. “Relax, Stanley. Let me take care of you.”
“Lay off,” says Stan. “I was the one who had to save your guts this time.”
“For now, let me take care of you,” Ford chides gently. He plants a kiss on Stan’s forehead, slow, tender. “You did a good job out there. But now I need you to relax.”
Stan sighs, and wraps his arms around Ford, resting his head against his brother’s shoulder. “Alright. You need to take care of yourself, too, though.”
“I know,” Ford replies, rubbing Stan’s back. He kisses Stan again. “Try and get some sleep, okay, kiddo?”
Stan is out like a light after that.