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Chapter Text

“Well,” Stanley rested his fists on his hips. “Shit.”

His twin brother Stanford stood on the deck of their boat with him, around three metres away. He wore his usual outfit; tan slacks and a dark coloured turtle neck sweater (today it was navy blue). Overtop of his outfit was one of the bright orange life vests that he had insisted they wore whenever they were not in the cabin or below deck. Stanley had an urge to fix his glasses, which had been skewed in the mysterious storm that had battered their boat.

The product of said mysterious storm stood on deck with the two Pines men, looking just as confused as them (but not quite as exasperated as Stan). It had short, chocolate brown hair that sported an unfortunate cowlick and familiar glasses without their familiar fractured lens. Standing only a couple of inches shorter than Stan and Ford, it looked back and forth between them with a slack jaw that matched Ford’s.

On almost all physical levels it looked exactly like Stanford Pines, right down to its bewildered body language. The only thing different about it was an obvious age difference of several decades and the clothes it wore, which may as well have been the same since Ford’s wardrobe had barely evolved since they were children. In fact, Stanley was sure he recognized that exact olive dress shirt that the Other Stanford wore.

“You--! You--!” Other Stanford pointed at Stanford, then Stanley, and finally back to Ford. “You’re me!”

“A fatal misunderstanding,” Ford said, speaking like a dictionary-saurus as he always did when he was taken by surprise “You are masquerading as me!”

“Wow,” Stanley said, the ridiculousness of this entire situation overriding his shock. “Two whole geniuses, on my boat. I'm so honoured."

“Our boat, Stanley,” Ford corrected him.

"Stanley?!" Other Stanford broke the staring contest with his older version to yell about something else instead. "That's Stanley?? And you're - I'm on a boat with him?"

Ford's hackles seemed to stand up for an entirely different reason. "Yes. Is that so hard to believe?"

"Of course it is!" Younger Stanford screamed, his face turning red with anger. "He sabotaged me-- you! He destroyed you!"

"Oh please," Ford crossed his arms and rolled his eyes, apparently no longer worried that this thing was an imposter. Stanley raised his eyebrows at his twin in a silent 'Really?' "Stop acting like a toddler. You're embarrassing both of us."

"I'm embarrassing you--?!"

"Hey, Sixer…" Stanley began, flinching and putting his hands up as both versions of Ford swung around to look at him. "Mind telling me what's going on? This some shapeshifter or whatever?"

"Unfortunately it's worse," Ford, the one Stanley knew from their last three years of sailing, pinched the bridge of his nose. It was a give away that meant Ford felt a headache coming on. "This seems to be a manifestation of myself from a handful of decades ago. Perhaps my college years?"

"How d'you know that?"

"I started wearing the trench coat after I established myself in Gravity Falls. This thing is, as you can see, sans coat."

"I'm not a thing," the younger of the two Stanfords spat.

"But why is he here?" Stanley tried to redirect the conversation back.

"Most likely the storm that the boat just passed through," Ford ignored the hissing of his clone. "I picked up chrono-signatures on my equipment when it was approaching."

"So that's why you told me to stay inside."

"Yes."

"And why you decided to go out by yourself in the crazy time rain."

"Er, yes…"

Then it was Stanley's turn to pinch the bridge of his nose. "Goddammit, Ford…"

“Hey!” Younger Stanford butted in again. “Don’t talk to me-- him that way!”

“God, did I truly sound like that?” Ford sighed. “I didn’t think I could regret that phase more than I already did, but here I am.”

Stanley had a feeling that if he didn’t keep their conversation on track, his two twins would continue arguing for all of eternity. “So what are we gonna do about him?”

“Can we throw it overboard?” Ford asked.

“No!” Stan and Younger Stanford said at the same time with varying levels of emotion. Stan ignored the look of disgust that the younger man had. “We’re not throwing him overboard. He’s you! Wouldn’t that mess up your time or something?”

“Of course not. Obviously this is only a manifestation and not the real me from that point in time. I would have memories of this otherwise.”

“Not if you got your memories wiped,” Stanley argued. “Or if this is some alternate dimension Stanford.”

Younger Stanford gaped at his now older brother. “How do you know that kind of jargon? The Multiverse Theory is highly complicated and not well known--”

“What, like it’s hard?” Stan rolled his eyes. He took some pleasure in the shade of red the livid Ford’s face took.

“You can barely do your multiplications table!” he squawked. “You-- you must have memorized those terms just to screw with me!”

Normal Ford spoke up, voice harsh. “Stanley is smarter than you think. Not that you would know, being the fool that you are.”

A familiar spike of concern and protectiveness stabbed Stanley as he saw the pained expression that came over the younger Stanford. It was the same feeling he got when they were young and some asshole made a comment about Ford’s hands, the same feeling that pushed Stan to leap into a fight to defend his beloved twin. Apparently it didn’t matter what age Ford was nor whether or not he was being picked on by himself, Stanley still had the urge to protect him. He sighed wearily.

“That’s enough,” Stan went to stand between the two Stanfords. “Quit pickin’ on the kid, will ya? He’s you for god's sake. Besides, he must be shaken up enough already - bein’ yanked through whatever the fuck that time storm did. Give him a break. Let’s all jus’ calm down and--”

Watching Stanley come to his rescue seemed to wake something up in the younger Stanford. He lunged forwards while Stan wasn’t looking and shoved him. Hard. “I don’t need you to defend me!”

Stanley could honestly say that he wasn’t expecting the shove. If he had seen it coming or if it came from anywhere but his side he would have most likely been able to recover, especially since college Stanford was much less bulky than him. Instead he stumbled sideways and tripped over his own ankle. He braced himself to hit the unforgiving deck.

But the impact never came. Stanley blinked as he was held up by his twin, the one who hadn’t been yelling at him. Stanford helped him get back onto his two feet and Stan opened his mouth to say something - but shuddered when he saw the dark look on Ford’s face. It was the same one he got whenever Stanley was hurt during their adventures at sea. He honestly hoped that Ford didn’t kill his younger self.

Instead Ford closed the gap between him and his other self in two long strides. His hand shot out to grab the younger Stanford by the wrist, hard enough that Stan heard a yelp, and held it high enough to make the shorter Ford stand on his toes. Instinctually the younger Ford tried to grab for the hand holding him up and struggled in futility. All movement stopped as the older Stanford grabbed his jaw.

“There are very few reasons why I’m not snapping your neck this very second,” Stanford growled. “I suggest that you don’t shorten the list.”

He didn’t give the other version of himself an opportunity to reply. Stanford threw his college-age self across the deck with minimal effort and care. As the younger Stanford let out a grunt of pain, the Ford that Stan knew better came back to pat him down and look him over. “Are you hurt?” he asked, as if he hadn’t just done That.

“... Nah,” Stanley decided to let it go. There was a lot to unpack here and he wasn’t ready to start. “I’m good. Thanks, Sixer.”

For the first time since this entire debacle had begun, Ford gave his brother a smile. It gave him butterflies in his stomach as it always had, and he couldn’t help but give a small grin back. He could see the lingering concern in Ford’s eyes and squeezed his hand in reassurance. Ford squeezed back. It gave Stanley the urge to kiss the corner of his mouth, but he held himself back. The presence of another Ford, especially one that seemed to hate him, kinda ruined the mood.

Stanley approached the other Ford and held out his hand for him to take. Younger Stanford looked at it in disgust and picked himself up off of the deck. He could feel the intensity of that glare burning through his skull as the younger Ford searched him with his eyes. Coincidentally, Stan could also feel the glare from his own Ford aimed at the doppleganger.

“C’mon, let’s go inside,” Stanley said. “Before another one of those fucked up time storms shows up.”

He didn’t wait for Ford to follow him and started towards the cabin anyways. Behind him he could hear a muttered ‘I’d rather be caught in one than share air with you.’ and then immediately a SMACK! as the older Stanford slapped the back of his head in retribution.

Stanley had a feeling that this was only the beginning of a very long day.

His feeling was wrong.

It wasn't a long day, it was a long week.

After the first day of both the Stanford's answering whenever Stanley called, he made the decision that they needed nicknames. Finding the right ones was difficult since they were technically the same person and had the same nicknames throughout their lives. After an hour of bickering, they managed to come up with a compromise. The Stanford that Stan was more used to would just be called 'Ford' while his younger version would go by their shared full name.

It was one of the only things that the two Stanfords ever agreed on.

What to eat, when to eat it, who got what bed and when they slept; all topics that suddenly needed an argument. Normally Stan and Ford would leave the washroom door unlocked if they were using it, since there was only one. If one was pissing when the other needed to shower, they would just share. Even when they were younger they had the same habit and it took their mother walking in on them one too many times for them to stop. Stanford (Stan had to get used to that meaning the younger Ford) was doing an excellent job in channeling Caryn Pines, borderline screaming whenever he walked in on Stanley.

Stan was expecting the younger Stanford to butt heads with him. Veiled insults directed at his physical appearance, blatant insults directed at his character - nothing phased Stanley. Honestly, sometimes it was kinda like watching a kid throw a temper tantrum. Mabel had shown him some MeTube videos of people throwing tantrums in public after some lady had been rude to him during a tour. It was like that, but funnier to watch because it was Stanford.

What Stanley didn’t expect was how Ford treated his younger self somehow worse than Stanford treated Stan. Where Stanford would make a comment about Stanley’s cooking, Ford would tell him to catch his own dinner or starve. Where Stanford would yell in surprise and disgust when he walked in on a freshly showered Stan, Ford would actively avoid seeing or being seen in the washroom by Stanford like it would give him the bubonic plague.

Stanley had caught them exchange words a few times, and it mostly went the same way:

Stanford: Do you need any help with that?

Ford: …

Stanford: I’m sure it would be refreshing to get assistance from someone who isn’t an imbecile for once--

Ford: Are you completely unable to pick up social cues?

Stanford: Um, what do you--?

Ford: I am ignoring you. Normally when someone ignores another person, it means they do not want to talk to them.

Stanford: I didn’t-- I just wanted to help--

Ford: Don’t lie to me, I know you better. Take the hint and get out of my sight.

It was uncomfortable, to say the least.

“What are you doing out here?” Ford asked.

Stanley let out a groan as he sat down next to his twin, playing up his age as he usually did. Usually it got a small smile out of him but this time Ford seemed occupied with his thoughts. Seeing that he wasn’t going to get a reaction out of him, Stan settled for leaning against Ford arm-to-arm. After another moment, Ford relaxed and sighed, letting his head fall onto Stanley’s shoulder.

“Couldn’t sleep without you,” Stanley decided to be honest.

“Technically I’m down there.”

“Technically I don’t care about technicalities, soo…”

That got Ford to laugh quietly, and the sound immediately filled Stan’s chest with life. Even after so long, it had that effect on Stan. Maybe it was a ‘being in love’ thing; that person’s sadness being your sadness and their happiness being your happiness.

“Does him bein’ here really bother you that much?” Stanley asked. They both knew who he was talking about.

“It doesn’t bother you?”

“Nah.”

Originally Stanley had thought Ford’s habit of asking a question instead of giving an answer was just his way of being dodgy, but now he knew better. Ford did it when he was trying to figure out the answer himself, or when he was thinking about the best way to word it. Stan was pretty sure it was the latter this time.

“I hate the way he treats you,” Ford finally broke the silence.

“I know,” Stan said.

“It reminds me of who I was,” continued Ford. “How I used to think of you as just… someone jealous of my abilities and accomplishments, out to sabotage me.”

“Hey, with the way we parted, I don’t blame you,” Stan shrugged. “It was pretty shit.”

Ford chuckled again, “That’s a tame way of putting it.”

They both let the conversation peter off, content to share body heat on the chill ocean. Stanley moved his hand to his twin’s thigh and Ford met it with his own, both of them softly smiling as their fingers entwined.

“I miss this,” Ford murmured.

“What, affection? I’m givin’ it to ya right now.”

“You know what I mean.”

“Last I remembered, you were the one who said we should keep our relationship a secret from your brattier version.”

“Yes, well… I’m starting to see the flaw in my logic.”

Stan outright guffawed at the admission, causing Ford to smack his chest (though he didn’t remove his head from Stan’s shoulder). ‘Don’t laugh!’ he hissed even though he too was smiling.

“I told you it don’t matter!” Stanley said. “You said it was cause you don’t wanna mess up the timeline or whatever, but you yourself said that you don’t remember any of this happenin’. Obviously this means that it’s an alternate you or you get your memories wiped. Either way it doesn’t matter what we do around him!”

Ford opened his mouth to argue - and then closed it. He furrowed his eyebrows together in thought, remaining impassive when Stanley rubbed his thumb over the crease it made on his forehead. Once again, Stanley gave him a perspective that he had not thought of. It was just another thing that made him love his twin, and another thing that made shame wash over him for his previous mindset. Ford knew better now that there were multiple kinds of intelligence, and that Stanley had in spades what Ford lacked.

Still, he put up a token protest. He wouldn’t want Stanley’s head getting any bigger than it already was by admitting he was right (except that wasn’t entirely true. Ford would be happy if Stan got a bigger head and thought highly of himself. He deserved it).

“Fine,” he said. “You may have a point.”

“‘Course I do,” said Stanley, who chuckled as Ford smacked him again.

“But we go at my pace. I know myself best, after all. Even if it won’t affect our timeline, he still may react… poorly.”

Stanley just kissed his twin’s forehead. “Whatever you say, Sixer.”

Ford’s pace was faster than Stanley expected. In fact, he didn’t last even a day.

It was pissing rain outside, so the three of them were stuck inside the cabin. With less space for them to avoid each other, tensions boiled over faster than Stanley’s failed highschool chemistry test. He had failed that test on account of the room needing to be evacuated.

There were only three spaces for them to occupy, and with one of them being the bathroom and the other being below deck where Ford kept his experiments, that really meant there was only one room. Thankfully it was the largest, being the combined kitchen-dining-bedroom.

Ford was hunched over his desk instead of being below deck because he needed to go over the charts again, and Stanford lay on his stomach on the top bunk (which was originally Ford’s, but Stan offered his bottom bunk when the only other option was a sleeping bag on the floor. Stanford had made a comment about not wanting to sleep in a bed Stan had dirtied, and Ford grunted at him just to take his because Stan would never let him sleep on the floor. So now Stanford was top bunk, while Ford and Stan swapped between bottom and the floor).

Stanford watched his now older twin brother slave over the stove. Stan had made jokes about hair in the food, but Stanford wasn’t one hundred percent sure he was joking. He wouldn’t put it past the man to get his disgusting body hair everywhere. The Stanley he remembered had always been hairier than him, but this ancient version in front of him was practically a bear.

“Aw shit,” Stan cussed.

“What is it?” Ford asked without looking up from the maps.

Stanford rolled his eyes. He still didn’t understand why his future self put up with Stanley and his childish pipedream. Did he perhaps have a bigger plan? That would be the only thing that made sense.

“Just put in too much milk,” Stanley said. “So I guess I’m doubling the recipe. Hope you boys like leftovers.”

Ford opened his mouth to say ‘That works out fine. You need a break from cooking every day anyways.’ but his younger self beat him to the punch.

Stanford scoffed and rolled his eyes. “No surprises there.”

Clenching the pen in his hand, Ford made himself take a deep breath before he turned to look at his younger self. He knew that he shouldn’t give Stanford the attention he so craved, but Ford could not stop himself from jumping to his beloved twin’s aid. “What do you mean by that?” he grit through his teeth.

“It’s just that Stanley can barely do a chemistry lab without spilling. Of course he can’t manage to pour milk into a pan.”

Ford could not stop himself - no, he didn’t want to stop himself from standing up, pushing the chair back with a loud screech, and storming towards his younger self. He jabbed a finger at Stanford’s face, his eyes burning with righteous fury.

“That is enough! You will cease your childish and undeserved treatment of Stanley! The only reason I haven’t thrown you right off the bow of this boat is because it would make him sad, even though you do nothing but treat him like dirt,” Ford wiped the smug expression from his college self’s face, delighting in the new frightened one he took. “If you continue this disrespect, you’ll wish I tossed you into the sea. I will make your life a living hell.”

He had the feeling that he had finally gotten through his own thick skull. Stanford swallowed and looked hesitant to speak, his cheeks red with embarrassment and shame. Ford forced himself not to smile at his younger self’s discomfort. It would ruin the image he was trying to project.

In fact, Stanford may have even turned his attitude around at that point - except Stanley chose that moment to come from behind and hold Ford’s shoulder. Even now, when Stanford surely deserved the firm hand, Stan would protect him from the world. Ford didn’t think he deserved it. Even now, decades later, he still had the tiny voice in his head that told him he didn’t deserve the infinite chances Stanley had given him. The rude, selfish Stanford in front of them surely didn’t deserve his kindness.

“Sixer…” Stanley said to Ford, his eyes concerned for both versions of his twin.

Somehow hearing that old nickname snapped Stanford out of his regret, and his defiance returned with the fire of a thousand suns. He pushed himself into a kneeling position and pointed at Stanley. His face was still a strawberry red, but now from a mixture of anger and embarrassment.

“Y-You!” he yelled. Then he switched to pointing at Ford. “Why do you defend him?! Is-Is he blackmailing you? Forcing you to-to sail around and… and play house!!”

Ford’s shoulders drew up and he was filled with a new sense of purpose. “He’s not forcing me to do anything. In fact, I’m the one who asked him to sail around the world with me. And as for why I defend him…”

He spun around on his heels and grabbed Stanley, one hand gripping his wrist and the other holding his cheek. With a fire in his eyes and burning in his heart, he closed the difference between them and mashed their lips together. Stanley’s eyebrows flew up in surprise and he tried to object, but as Ford gently caressed his face and ran his six fingers through Stan’s grey hair, he melted into it. Soon enough Stanley was returning the kiss with his usual amount of passion. He growled possessively, not realizing until that moment how much he had missed kissing his twin, and didn’t allow Ford to pull away the first time he tried to end the kiss.

Finally they both separated, their mouths red and wet from the borderline make-out session. Their eyes met and they both knew what the other felt without speaking a single word: I love you so much.

Ford turned back to his younger self with a smug grin. Stanford was somehow even more red than before, though it had seemed impossible. If they were in one of the cartoons that Mabel and Dipper watched, surely there would be steam shooting out of his ears.

“That’s why.”

Stanford choked instead of talking and scrambled to back away, his brain too fried to remember he was on the top bunk. When he fell onto the floor he let out an embarrassing squawk and the sound made Stanley laugh. He remembered it fondly as a noise Ford had made as a child when he was embarrassed.

“Does this mean we can go back to sharing a bed?” Stanley asked and laughed louder at his own comment.

Stanford could hear that warm, familiar laugh bounce off the inside of his skull for the next hour after he locked himself in the bathroom.

Chapter Text

When they were younger, it was hard for Stanford to hate Stanley. Even when Stan broke one of his things, or spilled a drink on one of his books, it was hard to take it personally from Stanley.

He loathed to admit it, but that hadn't changed with age.

Watching Stanley, decades older now, work on the boat with his hands… Stanford still found it hard to completely hate him. The science fair was still fresh in his mind, but that was committed by a Stan that looked almost nothing like this one.

The Stanley that Stanford knew was younger, more baby-faced, and big - but definitely not as big as this one. This Stanley had grown in both height and width. His arms were thick with muscle, yet padded with softness. His hands were covered in calluses and small scars from various knicks through the ages. Even under that gut, Stanford knew there was muscle in there. He had watched this Stanley lift heavy science equipment without breaking a sweat, watched how his arms bulged as he pulled at the ropes on the boat, how he -

That wasn't the point.

The point was that it was difficult to hate Stanley. Especially since he was so damned nice to Stanford. He had even provided a small journal for Stanford to record his thoughts in.

"I know you love your diaries, Si- uh, Stanford. M'sure it'll help with all this craziness goin' on."

Stanford had told Stanley that it wasn't a diary, but Stanley had just laughed at him. It was infuriating! How dare he act so… so nonchalantly?! This entire situation was insane, but still Stan acted like nothing was amiss after a week.

Not to mention the - the -

Just thinking about it made Stanford's brain go on the fritz. He - or his future self - and Stanley… being in a relationship! A romantic relationship! They hugged and- and kissed! On the mouth! It was immoral! It was disgusting!

And yet… his chest hurt when he caught Stan and Ford in the middle of their acts of intimacy. Not his stomach, which he expected to feel nauseated since it was so disgusting and wrong, but his chest and his throat. It felt like he had been punched and forced to swallow a balloon. His hands itched and his feet turned to lead.

What was wrong with him?

Entry #1 - Day 19

This will be the first entry in the journal that Stanley gave me. I will be limiting the subject of my writing, as I do not know if my brother will read this without my permission. I would not put it past him.

Ford (my future self) informed me that his equipment had picked up readings of abnormalities due north of our position, and that we would be traveling there. Of course I offered my help, but he did not want it. It is still a mystery why he prefers Stanley's help. If I were him (which I technically am), I would celebrate the opportunity to work with myself.

Stanley attempted to 'comfort' me after Ford had left, in some sorry attempt to lower my guard. I told him I needed no such thing as I was not upset in the first place. As always, he treated it with no amount of seriousness and shrugged. It was infuriating.

Entry #3 - Day 21

We have arrived at the island where the anomalous readings originated from. Over the past two days, I have offered to help 5 more times, two of which were interrupted. Every single one of them was shot down. He has also threatened to throw me overboard if I ask again.

Stanley 'comforted' me every single time, even after I snapped at him - proving that he is an oaf incapable of learning. Even a dog would learn not to provoke if it got them bit.

He is still the same as when we were younger.

Ford and Stan have told me that I am not to leave the boat today after they head out to investigate. They both cite that it is dangerous and that I am inexperienced in such things. I argued that having two geniuses would benefit the party greatly - to which my future self said something rude enough that I shall not share it on paper.

Really! Speaking to another version of himself like that! One would think he had issues with self-hatred. Of course that would be silly, since he is above such things.

I have decided that I will follow them. It will be better to expose myself to such adventures now, since I am applying for a grant to pursue this study in the fall. Plus they may need me after all. What could Stanley do that I cannot?

Entry #4 - Day 21

I am embarrassed.

Perhaps it was impulsive of me to follow my future self and Stanley onto an unknown island with mysterious properties and dangers.

Of course if they had informed me of what kind of danger I should expect from this island, I may have been more prepared.

Instead, I was assaulted by sentient flora, and Stanley was forced to rescue me. He mortifyingly carried me all the way back to the boat, bridal-style. My future self lectured me the entire time and would not allow me to get a single word in. If I tried, he would yell at me.

By far the worst part of this entire debacle was Stanley. Not because he carried me like a princess, but because he was silent for the entire trip. Normally he would interrupt my future self and tell him to go easy on me, but he just said nothing. His focus was entirely on the path back to the boat. He didn't even look at me.

Stanley disappeared once we got to the boat. My future self examined my injuries and said that I most likely had a sprained ankle. To be honest, I was barely paying attention to what he was saying while he put a splint on. My mind was distracted and continuously circled back to Stanley.

Did I upset him?

Entry #5 - Day 22

I saw something I was not supposed to see.

I woke up late in the night, or perhaps extremely early in the morning. The clock is not visible from the cots, so I cannot know for sure. It was late enough that my future self and Stanley thought I was still asleep. Normally I would be, especially after today's events. It was by chance that I woke up when they were speaking in hushed tones.

I could not hear everything they said, but I shall record here what I could decipher. 'Ford' will not refer to me, but to my future self, and Stan is obviously Stanley:

Ford: Are you feeling better?

Stan: You want me to be honest?

Ford: Of course.

Stan: No.

Approximately 90 seconds passed before I heard them speak again.

Ford: Is it because of him?

Stan: No. Yes. Kind of.

Ford: Be more specific, please.

Stan: No, it's not his fault. Yes, it's about him.

I assumed this 'him' they spoke of is myself.

Ford: Because he got hurt? Stanley, you know it's not your fault. We did everything he could, but not only is he an adult - he's also a Pines.

Stan: He's also you.

Ford: That too.

Stan: It ain't because he got hurt. Well, sort of. It's just… Seeing you at that age in danger - it reminds me so much of… y'know. That day.

Ford: I think I do.

I heard them move around, but I could not get a better look without giving away that I was awake. From what I could see in the corner of my eyes, I believe my future self hugged Stanley, or perhaps put an arm around him.

Stan: I'm sorry.

Ford: Stanley… We've been over this. It wasn't your fault.

Stan: I know, I know… That doesn't mean that the memory don't hurt. I- uh, still get nightmares of it… sometimes.

Ford: Oh, Stanley…

Stan: I fuckin' hate seeing you hurt, and I fuckin' hate being so helpless.

Ford: I'm sorry.

Stan: Quit it - you said yourself that it ain't our fault.

Ford: What can I do to help you?

Stan: Just… hold me. I need to feel you, need to know that you're here. Not over there.

They were quiet for the next half an hour before I fell asleep again. I can only assume that my future self did as Stanley asked. It is daytime now, and the first time they have left me alone since I became injured.

I do not know what Stanley nor my future self was referring to last night/this morning. What was this 'over there' that Stan mentioned? Or 'that day'? Both of them have been stingy with details about the future, so many of my questions remained unanswered.

All I know is that I do not like the feeling in my stomach when I remember the tone of Stanley's voice last night. He is so old, older than I by decades, but he sounded just like a child - small and frightened.

What was so bad that just the memory shook him?

Considering Stan's idiotic levels of fearlessness, part of me does not want to know.