Work Text:
Halloween, or All Hallow’s Eve, has always been one of Ford's favorite holidays.
A time when people from all around the globe embrace and celebrate the strange and unusual, which was something he enjoyed doing every day.
People dressing up and having fun being weird…
Being weird. Being freaks, his mind hisses at him.
It must be okay to do it once a year but perhaps the remaining 364 days is just too much.
Ford stands at the window in their bedroom and examines his hands as he still occasionally does. The late evening sun is setting but it's still casting sufficient light to clearly see all twelve of his digits. He looks expressionless at them for some time.
There was also something to be said for the anonymity of dressing up and not having people recognize him, or more so not recognize his abnormalities. Half of the time his hands were covered with some kind of glove, other times when they were exposed people would think his extra digits were fake and laugh.
A group of young children donned in their costumes run by on the street below screaming, clearly enjoying the night's festivities. Ford sighs and melts onto the window sill and watches them disappear down the block.
Just a few years ago he and Stan would put on their costumes, their mother would take an annual photo, she’d kiss them and say something about how big her babies were getting, and then they’d be free. Off going door to door collecting their candy well into the night… but that was years ago. Has it really been four years? He’s used to time slipping away from him on occasion, usually whilst deep into an equation or theory, but, wow four years...
And of course they are too old for trick or treating now, he respectfully knows that, but it doesn’t help the feelings of bittersweetness wash over him thinking about Halloweens past with Stanley.
Stanley and him out late, eating candy, giddy with excitement, basking in the night and it’s festivities. They'd even sometimes come across trouble -mostly Stan- but Ford following along nonetheless and it just being the two of them. Together... Spending time with each other like we used to before.. . Before Stan had been devoting most of his time to Carla McCorkle.
He feels a pull at his heart. She had broken up with Stan nearly a month ago but during that time Ford was in misery. He was so happy to see Stan get so excited and be so in love but it also killed him.
The sad part is he actually liked Carla, she was nice to him and Stan, nice for Stan, but he still couldn't help these feelings of jealousy that always seemed to creep in and consume him.
He recounts too many late nights staying up, laying in his bed, figuratively, and he swears sometimes literally, feeling crushed by the heady desire that it was him Stan's affections were directed toward. He pulls himself to stop thinking about it, his feelings, his longing, it will never be reciprocated. It can’t. This is his brother, his twin ...
But this has been on repeat in his mind for so long, longer than he’d really like to admit to himself. It was hard enough at first but teenage hormones have him dealing with a whole new level of uncomfortableness and it has taken so much of him and his energy, and he doesn’t want to give it any more thought right now. He forces himself to stop, something he’s surprisingly gotten decent at. He sighs and shuffles his feet.
Instead he sets his thoughts to something happier, the very person his affections are strung toward. Stanley. He immediately feels lighter. He thinks about how Stan must be getting done with boxing lessons soon and just like calling the devil himself he sees him appear from behind a building, kitty corner to the Pawn shop, gym bag in tow and he perks up.
The Stanmobile sits parked in front of the shop, ready for a driver to take her off, but Stan has been walking to and from lessons for the last couple of months and it shows. Ford vaguely recalls an evening where he heard Stan and Carla on the bottom bunk talking and him saying something about building up his calf muscles before he slid down off his bunk and left the room. The vague memory is only due to their distance that had been created by Ford himself, since he couldn’t bear to be around him and Carla together for too long.
Stan crosses the street towards their home and Ford sees his face clearer, it reads something close to deep in thought, a slight rarity, but knowing Stanley it could be as serious as what to eat or what movie he suggests on watching tonight.
He also notes the sweat beading off his forehead and his shirt is damp. He looks worn. He looks cute. Another small flutter of his heart and a light blush washes Ford's cheeks. Stop it.
Ford shifts his weight and feels a mildly cool breeze hit him. It smells like decaying leaves, salt water, and oddly enough sugar. It brings his thoughts back to this holiday's night, and past nights.
They would carry their heaving bags and head home, making sure to scout ahead where their father and mother were at and if it was a good time to be around before quietly making their trek through the house to their room all the while silently grinning like two Cheshire cats.
Kicking away soiled clothing and toys that lay on the floor’s middle and often shuffling a stray tower of textbooks to make room and giddily spilling their spoils into two heaps in the center of the room.
They would take their places, sitting down across from each other and start the process of making piles of candy to eat, to trade -and in Ford's case a pile to save for later- of which he would only get about half since Stanley would always ‘help him’ with it. It was their ritual. That was until they found the Stan O’ War, once they had found that they moved their candy enjoying to the ship. Stan had been the one to suggest it, and Ford happily agreed.
"FUCK!" Startled by what he recognizes as Stan's voice from behind him he wrenches himself from the window and whirls around.
He was so in his head he hadn't registered Stan opening the door to their room, stepping in and slamming it shut.
And then he notices the other thing he's also been tuning out.
Yelling. Their parents' voices fighting against each other so loudly Ford knows without confirmation the looks their neighbors still give them is pure pity.
"I can't do anythin right!" Stan barks. His face is red and angry. His brow furrowed and his lips twisted but with a few shaky breaths it gives way to pure sadness like it's second nature. Ford’s seen this transformation many times but it never dulls the ache it causes within him to witness.
Ford instinctually moves from the window and crosses the room, closing the gap between them and stops briefly, awkwardly really, before offering his arms out for a hug.
Stanley still hangs his head, his expression hard to read, but he shifts forward into Ford’s embrace. They both wrap their arms around each other and Stan lays his head on Ford’s shoulder. Neither of them speak, they just hold onto each other. The silence between them is more apparent as the shouting below crescendos and bounces heavily about the room.
It's been a long time since he's hugged Stanley actually. He feels a guilt creeping up his stomach. It’s not like he hasn’t wanted to because, Moses, has he wanted to. It just hadn't felt quite right for him when Stan and Carla were together, and the distance Ford feels he created to try and lessen his own pain didn’t help either... and then even after the break up it felt too awkward to comfort his brother, like there was a wall there. He wonders if maybe in turn Stan had also distanced himself too. He feels like such a fool.
Not sure whether he should say something or wait for Stan to he closes his eyes and melts into his brother's warmth. A heavy breath escapes his brother's lips and he also relaxes, he seems to be collecting himself.
"You hungry?" The way Stan phrases it is comical and Ford can't help but stop the laugh that forces it's way out from his chest.
“What seriously? Don’t you want to talk about what just happened?" Ford figuratively extends the emotional bridge to his brother. Stan exits the embrace and plasters a large grin on.
"Nah, just want to get somethin’ to eat, so ya hungry?" And as if an answer Ford's stomach makes a growl.
"Speak of the devil!" Stan’s laugh is husky and Ford blushes.
They both notice it’s gone quiet in the house now. As quickly as the yelling came on it is now non-existent.
Ford sets himself to making his brother happy. "I can make us some sandwiches if you want?"
"Nah, let's go out." Stan says baldly.
A slightly surprised and excited look paints Ford's face. "You want to go out to eat somewhere?"
This meant money and Ford having resigned his free time for more learning opportunities and chess club he hadn't gotten a job yet, meaning Stan would foot the bill.
"Well seeing as how I have some money left over after takin' care of the Stanmobile I figure why not!"
“Yeah that sounds nice." Ford hums. "Where to?”
Stan’s face takes a serious tone and then crinkles into deep thought. It shouldn’t be this funny but Ford smirks at his brother having to think this hard, he assumed he even had a place in mind when first asking.
“How about the Pier? Grab s’burgers and a shake?” Stan eagerly rips out after some thought.
“Yeah that sounds really nice actually.”
“Alright! Let’s grab our shit and get outta here!” Stan happily bounces around the room grabbing his letterman jacket and a comic book from his bed. He also grabs a new white shirt, aggressively peels his current one off and throws the clean? one on. Ford can’t help but stare the whole time. He remembers he too should be gathering his things and grabs his own brown jacket, a pen, and his writer's pad.
The boys head out of their room but Stanley stops and doubles back.
“What’s up Stanley?” Ford stops in the hallway looking back at him.
“Oh hey I almost forgot somethin’ one sec! I’ll be right back!” He sees him ducking through the partially closed doorway and hears some shuffling. There’s a couple small “tink” sounds and then Stan is back into the hallway, smiling devilishly, his gym bag in tow.
“You good?” Ford questions, eyebrow raised.
“Yeah all good! Now let’s go get some grub!” Stanley strides forward and slaps Ford hard on shoulder grinning ear to ear.
The boys walk down the stairs in unison, side by side, both scouting to see if there’s anyone around. They spot their mother in the doorway to the Pawn Shop. She looks tired. She spots them coming down and plasters a worn but genuine smile on.
“Hey my baby boys, you off somewhere?” Her voice is sweet and caring, a huge contrast to just moments before.
“Yeah we’re going to the pier if that’s alright with you?” Ford asks her nicely.
“Yeah.. yeah you boys go enjoy yourself okay? Just be back before it gets too late.”
Caryn touches their shoulders fondly and scoots them out into the shop towards the front door.
“.. and Stanley honey, don’t worry about your father. It’ll all be alright, okay baby?”
She runs a hand through his hair and smiles warmly at him. Stan smiles back at her but the corners of his lips also read he’s not that convinced.
And like the dysfunction their family so boldly wears they step out onto the street as nothing has happened.
~
The boys walk down the crowded pier together, burgers and a couple shakes in hand. A ghost and a skeleton go running by in front of Ford and he stops abruptly. It's very crowded, more than ever due to it being the night that it is. Stan glances back while sipping his shake and sees his brother halted. He waits for Ford to catch up to him, taking a couple large bites of his burger and chasing it with more shake. Ford saunters up looking uneasy.
"Sorry, I got delayed by the departed." Ford jokes.
"Hah, yeah I see that." They find a railing off to the side to rest against and finish their food, Stan doing so way before his brother. They stand people watching for a while before Ford feels Stan smack his arm. "You wonna head to the Stan O' War for a bit, like old times?" Old times. It sounds weird to hear him say it but the months they've both been preoccupied with things besides each other it isn't a stretch. Ford feels a warmth radiate from his chest and a flicker of hope ignites.
"Yes please."
~
With their bellies now full both boys walk side by side on the beach, nearing their next destination. Ford glances up from looking at his shoes and takes in the view. The sun has set but the sky is a beautiful purple and grey portrait and it casts a moody glow onto their boat in front of them.
"C'mon." Stan smiles back at him, Ford returns the gesture.
They both ascend up the ladder, his brother first, then himself, and Ford can't help himself but look up. Stan's jeans tight against his ass as he climbs causing him to flush and he starts to internally berate himself. Stop. Stop it. Why are you like this?
They both reach the top and swing over the side, cross the short deck, and head into the small rebuilt cabin.
Stan grabs a folded up blanket from atop a crudely built shelf and shakes it out before them on the wood floors below and promptly sits down with a hard thud. Ford joins him, although less harshly, sitting with his legs folded and feet tucked under him. They rest in place for a moment, both looking about the cabin.
"It's been a while since we've been here huh?" Ford begins, a nervous laugh following.
"Yeah it sure has. Yeesh." Stan rubs a hand on the back of his neck looking away apologetically.
Ford watches his actions and feels an ache deep inside. Moses, has he missed his brother. He missed his smile, his laugh, his voice, but more accurately he knows he misses all those things directed towards him. He realizes now he’s staring and before he can glance away Stan locks eyes and for a moment they just stay still like this. Stan isn’t looking away and Ford cannot help himself but continue to gaze into his eyes. His mind is screaming at him. Stop it. Too much. STOP! STOP IT! He shifts uncomfortably. He feels has to stop or he’ll say something stupid.
"So uh- it's been a nice night so-so far. Th-thanks for taking me out and getting food and for hanging out w-with me." Too late. He dies a little on the inside.
“Hey no problem Sixer, it’s my pleasure.” Stan’s voice is soft and his smile is so genuine and sweet, enough to make Ford melt inside instead. “So, I brought a couple things with me by the way.”
He eyes Stan reaching into his gym bag behind him and he pulls out what is clearly a couple of alcohol bottles.
"Stanley!" Ford gasps. "I figured we could have some real fun tonight." Stan's devilish grin from earlier returns and he wags his brows up and down and it shoots a hot jolt of want right down Ford's core. Ford knows he doesn't mean it how he wants to take it, but he can't help but feel the reaction as if it did. Stan extends a hand and offers Ford one of the bottles.
Ford takes the offered item and it feels warm in his hands, not because it’s not cool, but because of what it is, alcohol. He eyes it closely. The dark brown bottle with a red cap, a white and mostly red label and the word, ‘Rheingold’ written across it. Underneath it says, Super Dry Lager Beer, 12 Fl. oz. "W-where did you get this?"
"I got it from that Delvini guy from the gym.” Stan adds coolly. “What?” “I whooped his ass in our last match a while back and I guess I impressed him so he'd said he'd buy me a drink." Stan's displaying a toothy grin and his eyes are wide with excitement. "I bet him if I could do it again he'd have to buy me several, so uh yeah, several!" Stanley opens his gym bag more, revealing a trove of alcoholic beverages. Ford leans in on his hands and knees to inspect his brother's brown bottle prizes. There seems to be over 2 dozen by his quick estimate. This Delvini guy must like him . Ford feels a rush of jealousy wash over him.
"Since when did you become best friends?" He tries his hardest to conceal his jealousy, unsure if he's successful.
"Hey hey Sixer! You're my best bud okay? Nothin's changing that… this guy has just been pretty nice, he's been trainin' me up a bit. Ya know, helpin' me get ready for my big fight."
Fight? What fight? Ford can feel the tangible distance between them. “So uh, what fight are you talking about?”
Stan’s expression shifts and he looks pissed. “Are you serious, Ford? The one I’ve been talkin about for like the last couple of months! Have you really not heard a word of what I’ve been sayin?” Stan’s words are getting louder as he speaks.
“Oh, okay, I guess I didn’t pay attention.” And as the words leave his mouth he knows it’s a mistake. Stan’s face twists into anger. “No no Stanley, it’s not like that-”
“What IS it then? What could it possibly be!?” Stan shouts and Ford goes silent, just staring at him. Stan huffs and looks around him. “Seriously I cannot take this anymore!” He slams a fist onto the floor, staying like that for a while, then breathes. As a mirroring of before while they were in their room Stan’s expression softens, he curls his lips, and casts his eyes to the floor. His brother’s moods have always been so hair trigger, and their lack of communication isn’t helping, but this seems something in and of itself and just then it hits Ford. The yelling from earlier... of course.
He desperately wants to be here for Stan in this moment so he swallows thickly and begins. “Tell me what was going on earlier today. What was all that about?”
Stan doesn’t speak or move, he just sits with his knees bent beneath him still looking at the ground. “Stanley? Whatever it is, I'm here for you. I won’t be going anywhere.”
And then it starts. A harsh choking cry escapes Stan’s mouth and he grabs his stomach. Ford stares not processing what’s happening for a moment before he rushes to his side. Stan doubles over and he wails, piercing the room. Ford places his hand on his brother's back and strokes up and down like their mother would when they were younger. Stan sobs into the floor, harder than Ford has ever seen him. It wasn’t often Stan would cry but this was like a dam had been built and then someone had knocked it down.
He wonders when the last time he even knew Stanley had cried and he realizes then it was when Carla had broken up with him. Ford had stayed late at school working on a project so he had gotten home just before dark and found Stan in his bottom bunk laying motionless. He figured he was asleep so he had went out into the living room and his mother pulled him aside, filling him in some of the details of a couple of hours previously. She had said that Stanley came home sobbing, running up the stairs and slamming doors behind him, which Ford knew their father had a thing about slamming doors, so that meant they had gotten into it. She didn’t repeat what exactly had been said but that they had some harsh words exchanged. Ford had gone back into their room after that and tried shaking Stan to see if he would wake up, but got nothing. He climbed the ladder to his bunk and laid on the mattress, staring up at the ceiling. Before passing out himself he had heard a few small sobs and sniffling from the bed below.
Ford feels like he should have talked to Stan about it more after that. He should have asked how he was doing. He should have been there for him. He should have been there…
Ford throws himself on top of Stan’s heaving mass and smothers him with a hug. They stay like this for a while, until Stan’s cries have dulled and he shifts for Ford to move off of him. He wipes away a few stray tears and breathes. Ford pats his back and offers a smile, Stan does so too. It’s probably a learned behavior from their upbringing, or it’s just in the Pine’s blood, but they recover quickly.
Stan’s the first to speak. “We’ll talk about it a bit more tomorrow okay? I just want to do somethin nice right now, with you… I’ve missed you.” Ford feels an arrow pierce his heart and he feels his eyes start to sting. “Okay Stanley, but please, tomorrow we’ll talk.” They both smile warmly at each other. “I missed you too.”
Tomorrow then, but not tonight. Ford thinks to himself. He has a hard time letting go of what heaviness is looming over his brother but he knows it’s only a matter of hours before he’ll provide an explanation and quell his inquisitive mind.
He rolls back and seats himself, getting comfortable on the floor next to Stan. He eyes the brown bottle next to him and grabs for it, he raises it and shakes it to show Stan he has it in hand and when he does he chuckles and grabs his own.
Ford clutches the bottle and tries twisting the cap off in between his thumb and index finger. Nothing. He moves it to his palm and tries twisting this way, still nothing. He grabs his sleeve in his hand thinking the traction would do the trick when Stanley shoves a top opener in his face.
"Yeesh Poindexter, don't hurt yourself." Ford blushes and takes the small metal tool from his hands.
"Hahah, yeah… thanks." Stanley watches him as he takes it and easily opens the lid, a resounding pop echoes the small cabin when it does. He looks at the liquid through the tinted glass froth up and settle.
"Well?" Stanley smiles and ignores Ford's outstretched hand containing the opener, choosing instead to scoot to the small makeshift shelf he had built for the interior of their shared boat and slamming the tip of the bottle against the top corner of it, successfully ridding the bottle of its cap and sending it flying behind him.
Ford sits mouth agape. Stanley roars with laughter. "Let me guess, your friend taught you that too?" His annoyance dripping from his words.
"Hah, yeah. Pretty cool huh?"
"It's okay…" He lies, he thinks it's really cool, but he doesn't want to encourage him either but Stan just beams, most likely not believing. He's so cute. Handsome. Stop.
"Oh! Shit! Let me grab the other important thing I brought!" Stan rocks back to his gym bag, giddy as he's pulling bottle after bottle out so he can get to the bottom. Once he evicts enough out of the way he pulls a large sized brown paper bag out and throws it at Ford. He catches it and immediately inspects it. It's heavily crumpled, no doubt from being in his gym bag under all that weight. He opens it and inside is an assortment of candies. "Stanley!" Ford gushes. This is one of the best surprises he has gotten in a long while.
"Let's celebrate a bit of the old way and a little of the new way, huh Sixer?" Stan beams brightly.
Ford can't help returning the expression and falls a little further in love with his twin, which he wonders is even possible. He raises his bottle towards his brother, Stan recognizes it for what it is, and they clink their bottles together, grinning like fools. They each bring their drinks to their mouths and take a big swig. It's bitter . -very bitter- Ford stops, wrinkles his nose and coughs and looks towards Stanley, who is still gulping down from his bottle, his eyes closed, brow furrowed but otherwise unfazed.
Ford feels himself heat up. He feels like he shouldn't be allowed to stare but he can't help himself. Stanley's head is now thrown back, his throat completely exposed, his lips pressed hard against the bottle, a small stream of liquid cascading down the corner of mouth. Ford breathes shakily at the sight.
"How can you drink that?" He asks genuinely. Stanley bows his head and tears himself from his drink. There's a sheen over his wet lips and down his cheek and he huffs, "this isn't my first time. I've had a few before."
Ford feels like he shouldn't be surprised but he genuinely is. He really is kicking himself for putting so much distance between Stanley and him. The staggering amount of things he's been missing out on becoming more evident as they spend this one evening together. He decides he doesn't want to miss anymore. He's tired of feeling like this. He grabs a small box of jelly beans from the bag, dumps them into his mouth, chews a few times, then brings the bottle back to his lips and chugs.
"Whoa Sixer! Yeah!" Stan barks and throws a fist into the air. "Good idea!" He grabs out a chocolate bar and shucks the wrapper off. Taking half of it in his mouth he smacks his lips together and mirroring Ford he drinks.
They spend hours going through different kinds of treats, seeing which is best to mix and which are worst. Ford finds he likes sugar babies and mint to drink with, Stanley says he likes chocolate.
"’Course you like chocolate Stanley. But which do you LIKE to drink IT with?" Ford is very much intoxicated.
"Yeah. No. I like chocolate.. but I also like it with the alco-alchol." Stan's words come out less drunken sounding than Ford thinks they should be, but they are slower. Stan pulls a toothy grin, unwraps another candy and pops it in his mouth, eating it completely.
Ford takes another slow swing but is still eyeing his brother. Stanley licks his lips. This is something he notices his brother does often, especially now while drinking, and it’s making him go wild.
He watches as he raises another drink to his lips, brings it back down, and his tongue darts out, lapping up the wetness from his upper lip and then gracefully swirling and lowering onto the lower, taking care to cover his whole bottom lip before retreating back inside. Inside Stanley's mouth. Ford feels a surge of lust pulse through him and he shudders. He readies himself for his mind to chastise him as usual for these reactions but nothing happens. His thoughts don't sneer at him or tell to stop. He can't help but dumbly smile at this newly found freedom.
He finishes off what he thinks might be his seventh bottle and places it in front of him, joining the others. It had gotten easier to drink the more he did but he noted after the third it wasn’t so bad anymore.
Ford glances up and stops, eyes going wide from the scene before him. Stan is downing another bottle, his head tilted back like before, but this time the brown tip is plunged down into his parted lips. He watches as Stan’s larynx heaves with his swallowing, his lips pressed tightly around the tip, more lines of uncaptured liquid streaming from the sides of his mouth. Ford lets out a hushed groan. He then sees Stan’s tongue coming out from the depths of his mouth and corking the flow of liquid, pulling the tip out, saliva trailing with it and Ford hears a whimper escape him.
Stan drunkenly looks at him. “Hey Sixer, what’s up?” He stares at Stan’s face and he can feel his cheeks are on fire. He must look absolutely flushed. He really doesn't care at the moment, his mind has stopped chastising him, and that’s when Ford realizes he likes how alcohol makes him feel. It’s liberating. Instead of his mind telling him to stop, the only thing he notices about himself is the increasingly rapid pace of his heartbeat and the all encompassing good feeling that is associated with what he assumes is being inebriated.
"Stanley " He scoots closer to his brother. "Your mouth…"
Ford stares into his eyes and then back down again to his mouth. Stanley's confused brow gives way to an unsure expression tipped with embarrassment. His face flushed from the alcohol but also clearly by what was just said.
"Wh-what? Do I h-have something on my face?" His movement’s sluggish but trying to do so coolly he rubs his palm over his mouth dragging it down slowly, his lips parting and rolling his lower lip with it. Ford lets out a heavy breath. Stanley just chuckles. "D-did I get it?"
Ford is inching closer now, his heart is a thundering storm inside his chest. He so badly wants to put his lips against his brother’s wet, delicious looking ones. He wants to take him by the hair and drag him into a deep kiss. He wants to be like that bottle earlier and be inside Stanley's mouth.
“Stan, the way you’re favoring your bottle.” Ford boldly lets it out. “I like it.”
Stanley blinks, more confused than before, but looks at the bottle then at Ford. He pushes it toward his older brother, as if to give it to him. “You want this?”
Ford inspects the bottle in his face, seeing spit coating the tip, and takes it. His spit. His mouth. Ford falls back down, seating himself, and brings the drink to his lips, gulps once, then brings it into his mouth like Stan had just been doing. The liquid pours into his oral cavity like a flood, gravity bringing it in until all empty space is filled. He corks the tip with his tongue and pulls it away, nearly choking but still managing to swallow it all down.
This time it’s Stan who is staring. Ford notices and laughs and his brother smiles and joins him too. They eye each other and giggle back and forth for some time before getting back to themselves.
Stan’s expression is soft but he levels Ford with a serious look, as much as an intoxicated person can anyway. “Ya know Sixer, this has been a GREAT night. Thank you for -is, I really needed it...” Ford smiles wide and feels like he’s in heaven, he’s been enjoying this night just as much and honestly he needed it too.
“Holy shit!” Stan yells and it makes Ford jump. “What!?”
“It’s light outside…” Stan points to the open window behind him, Ford turns and visually confirms there’s an orange sky outside, and he deflates. The night is over and this bubble will cease to exist. It feels like someone took a knife and is shoving it in his chest. His eyes well with tears and he can feel his breathing quickening.
He looks to Stan who is now rising up, stumbling a little, but then is gathering himself to get ready to leave and he can’t, not yet. Ford scrambles to stand himself, knees buckling, the mix of consumption and having sat for so long debilitating him. He looks down and a tear falls from his face onto the floor and he’s having a hard time breathing and then… Stan’s hand is before him, palm up and beckoning for his. Ford looks up and Stan is smiling.
“C’mon Sixer, we’re gonna head home, fall asleep, and tomorrow we’re gonna spend another day together. I’ll catch you up on everything too, okay?” Stan speaks affectionately, albeit slowly. Ford takes his hand and rises, meeting his brother's gaze, both blinking hazily. He wipes away another tear and feels more hopeful. “Okay”
They stumble out of the cabin and carefully climb down the ladder. They cling together for what stability is left between them and slowly start making their way home.
As they walk Ford thinks how this night will be in his memoires now too. It may not hold the same nostalgia as his younger years on this holiday but it was another good time spent with his brother, and he’ll take it. Who knows even, maybe when they’re older they'll look back together and talk about this night as their favorite. He smiles fondly.
Little did Ford know this would be the last Halloween he’d be spending with his twin for a long time.