Chapter Text
*one night, roughly a week after weirdmaggedon and a couple of days before the kids go home, Ford is downstairs in the living room rummaging through old family photos and home videos, anything that could help Stan with the little bit of recovery he has left. He’s remembered pretty much everything important, everything that happened between the brothers, their childhood, a lot of life in the shack, and most of his homeless years, but a few things are still much too fuzzy for Ford’s liking. But as he’s burning the midnight oil (something not too unusual for the eldest twin), he hears an odd sound, echoing through the hall, piercing the otherwise silent night. A sound so quiet it would have likely gone unheard had the house not been so eerily quiet. A sound Ford hasn’t heard quite like this in forty years, yet is so familiar. Hearing it again is an odd, surreal feeling.*
Ford: What the…?
*As if by instinct, he swiftly pushes himself to his feat and follows it to its source: An old, foreboding door, plastered in signs, that read things like “no minors”. Stan’s room. He hesitates, something about the hushed darkness blanketing the world making him apprehensive to disturb it. Finally, he sighs before opening the door slightly, allowing the dim moonlight from the hall to flood into the previously pitch black room. The figure who had been sitting on the bed doesn’t react as his shadow is cast onto the wall in front of him. Stan. He’s hunched in on himself, shuddering as soft sniffles and sobs escape him. Ford sighs. For a moment he just stands in the doorway, unsure of what to do. But he knows he can’t just do nothing. Not again. He takes a deep breath before awkwardly approaching. Stan still doesn’t look at him, but allows him to draw closer, too emotionally drained to care that Ford’s seeing him in such a state as he normally might. Under the circumstances, it just feels like a drop of water in the ocean at this point. Ford gingerly sits next to him, the bed creaking under his weight, and puts a gentle hand on his shoulder.*
Ford: Lee?…
*With this Stan looks up, ever so slightly, to reveal a red nose and eyes, and a subtly tear stained face. But he turns away before Ford can get a better look, sniffing. It’s still so odd to see the usually gruff, stoic man cry. But since weirdmaggedon, through this… difficult process, it’s become more common than Ford would wish. He supposes it’s to be expected. All of Stan’s worst memories are coming back to him over the span of mere days. It’s overwhelming. It makes sense his mask would falter… But this is the first time Ford’s seen him like this. Curled in on himself in the dark, not in a panic due to memory lapses, but in quiet despair. All alone, letting no one see him as broken as he truly is behind his hard exterior. Ford has a sinking feeling this is something Stan has done many times when nobody was watching, even before Ford’s return. Stan has never been one to show his emotions in public. From the outside looking in you wouldn’t even be able to tell just how much he’s been through. He’s a master conman after all, with a sizable ego too. He wouldn’t dare give anyone the satisfaction of seeing him shed a tear. But when he’s alone is a different story. Though he’d never admit it he’s undoubtedly the more emotional of the twins. There was a time when Stan came to Ford and Ford alone whenever things became too much(which is most likely a much more common occurrence nowadays after all the trauma he’s been through). But now he’s grown accustomed to comforting himself. It can’t be a healthy way to cope. Ford can’t help but feel if he had been there some of these wounds may have healed by now. But instead they’ve become infected, festering, raw, permanent scars on Stan’s psyche. Scars that give Ford a pang of guilt every time he sees them. Ford sighs. Now’s not the time to dwell on this. Stan needs him in the moment, not stuck in the past. Right now Stan seems more defeated than anything… resigned… melancholy…*
Ford: Stanley, what’s wrong?…
*Stan doesn’t respond. Any number of things could be ailing him, and Ford has no idea which. And Stan evidently isn’t in the mood for talking for once. Ford’s not sure what to do. Sure, they’re not fighting anymore. It’s a nice change. But it’s still… strained. Like they’re just pretending everything’s better between them now. Even so, they stay in silence like this for a while, as if just hoping if they keep pretending, maybe it’ll be true. Slowly Stan’s sniffing dies down a bit, and Ford feels it’s safe to speak*
Ford: Hey… it’s gonna be ok, alright? Whatever’s going on… I’m right here…
*With this, Stan sighs and wipes his eyes, pulling away. Ford sighs sadly. Stan sees this and takes a deep breath, as if working up the resolve to speak*
Stan: I’m sorry… it’s just… you’ve been so nice to me… you’ve worked so hard to help me remember who I am… but the more of my life I remember… the more I feel like it ain’t worth remembering…
Ford: Lee…
Stan: Don’t get me wrong, I appreciate it! It’s just… I don’t… deserve that… look, you were right, ok, about everything… I screwed up… so many things… I’ve ruined everything I touch… no matter how hard I tried… I hurt you… and I’m sorry for that, the machine, the portal, everything… it was an accident, but that doesn’t change that I did it… I was just… scared, I guess… and I know that’s not an excuse, there is no excuse for all I’ve done, I just… look, I wish more than anything things could to go back… I wish we could be ok again… be like this again… for real… but we can’t because of me… I know things will never be how they used to be, I know you’re probably just helping me out of pity or obligation, you probably still want nothing to do with me… yeah, I remembered… but for what? My life is a mess… I wanted to blame someone else, blame you, get angry… but there’s no denying the truth… it was never your fault… it was mine… Pa was right… I’m just a huge screwup… no matter what I do I can’t be better… no matter what I do I’m not worthy of anything more than hate… I’m stuck being useless… being the worst… so just… please… stop pretending you could still care about me after all of that… after I ruined your life too…
*Stan sighs and looks away. There’s a long silence. Then*
Ford: You’re real dense sometimes, you know that?
*Stan pauses then looks at him in disbelief, not sure he heard that right*
Stan: What?…
Ford: I said you’re being an idiot.
*Stan looks disgusted and stands up in exasperation*
Stan: WHAT THE HECK IS WRONG WITH YOU?! I’m here swallowing my pride and telling you you were right, I’m GIVING this to you on a silver platter, what more do you want from me?! What do I have to do to MAKE UP FOR WHAT I DID?!!
*He pants heavily as his words are left to linger. He feels hot tears begin to stream down his face again but he just doesn’t care anymore. Ford stands up, his expression stone cold, and faces him. He looks like he’s about to tell him off. Stan straightens himself, ready to take it… then Ford hugs him.*
Ford: Nothing…
*Stan feels as if all the air had been knocked out of his lungs. He can’t speak. His legs feel weak. He’s sure if Ford weren’t squeezing him he’d have fallen flat on his face by now. He doesn’t understand… Ford’s… hugging him. The last time he hugged him, the first time in forty years, he wasn’t in his right mind to appreciate it. Appreciate how amazing it feels. He says nothing, as if completely entranced by the warmth of it. So much so he almost doesn’t notice Ford beginning to speak again. Almost*
Ford: Because I’m the one who needs to make things right… you’re right, it’s not that easy to fix what we’ve… what I’ve broken… but the least I can do is try… what you said… it’s not true, Lee… you spent your whole life atoning for a couple human mistakes… and they were just that… mistakes… both of which happened in the midst of a breakdown, both of which were completely accidental, and both you tried to fix…. and you were just trying to get by with the repercussions… after only ever doing everything for this family, for me… you’ve suffered for all of this a thousand times more than you ever should have… left to think you could possibly DESERVE that… and me… I spent my whole life making mistakes, and being too arrogant to admit it… letting other people suffer for them… letting you suffer for them, suffer forty years of trauma, that have been horrifying to even WITNESS return to you… while I played the martyr… I let your life fall apart over a science fair project… yeah, I was hurt, but… I should have believed you… you were just a kid… I had no reason not to trust you, but that idiotic “trust no one” mantra was already stuck in my head, I was so paranoid… I let them tell me you were dragging me down, suffocating me… but you only ever lifted me up… I mistook you helping make me the man I am today for you trying to ride on my coattails… you always sacrificed so I could reach my full potential, you always encouraged me to be myself, always gave me laughter, unconditional love, you stuck with me when nobody else would… we always had each other when we were otherwise all alone in a cruel world… you were proud of me… you were the one who was there for me my whole life, but when you needed me… when you were hurting… I was too blind to see it… all you did was give, while I took, and took, and took, until there was nothing left to benefit me… and I turned my back… I don’t claim to have had it easy, but… only one of us had it in our hearts to keep loving… and it sure as heck wasn’t me…
*he sighs*
Ford: Truth is you’ve made everyone’s lives better by being in them, not just mine… you made a family… you pulled a ragtag gang together and made them your family…Every single person in this town LOVES you… you took an orphaned boy and a misguided teenager under your wing… you took care of two children, who, mind you, absolutely ADORE you, over the summer, and kept them safer than I thought possible from the monstrosities of this town… you gave them the best summer of their lives!… I could never do what you do, kids, heck, people in general never cease to confound me. I mean I gave Mabel a crossbow once, I’m a TERRIBLE guardian, I don’t know how you’ve kept them alive, even without all the demons roaming around!… and you did all of this while spending THIRTY YEARS teaching yourself- with no help and not even a high school education, mind you- actual quantum physics, that took me almost twenty years of formal education and help from a demon to learn, creating a literal transdimensionsal gateway, AND running a successful business! You saved me, Stanley! Then you saved everyone, saved the world!… you defied all the odds, you proved Pa wrong… all because that big, stupid heart of yours never stopped loving… So you listen to me, Stanley… I don’t ever wanna hear you call yourself a screwup again…
*He squeezes Stan tighter. Stan doesn’t make a sound. For a moment Ford’s not even sure he’s breathing. But suddenly, he feels Stan’s arms encircle him, squeezing him so tight he feels at least a dozen things pop. But he doesn’t care. He feels Stan’s weight shift against him as his legs give out from under him, and lowers the both of them to their knees, holding the shaking younger twin tight. Stan sobs convulsively, Ford rubbing circles into his back. He holds him as close as possible, as if both their lives depended on it. He feels Stan’s sobs push out against his arms, his hands clawing, digging into whatever they can find to grasp, in a frenzy of decades of suppressed anguish breaking free. Ford shushes.*
Ford: Shh, shh, it’s ok, it’s ok now, I’ve got you, shhh… you’re gonna be ok now, I promise, shhh…
Stan: Stanford- don’t go, stay- stay- please-
Ford: I’m not going anywhere, it’s ok!… it’s ok, shh, breathe for me, ok?…
Stan: I’m so sorry-
Ford: No, Stanley, I’m sorry… I love you, Lee… I promise, you’ll never have to be alone again…
*Stan sobs bitterly. Ford feels him begin to breathe harder. NononONO this isn’t right this can’t be right why- it’s gotta be a trap he can’t do this again he can’t Ford will just get sick of him again he’ll just end up alone again, he’s too broken and when Ford realizes he can’t fix him, that he’s still just that needy, awful wreck, he’ll toss him to the side, it won’t last, it never does, why is he trying to give him hope?! Why why why wHY- His racing thoughts are suddenly interrupted by the feeling of gentle fingers running through his hair. Despite himself he relaxes a bit almost instantaneously. When they were young their mother would do this to comfort them, and it was eventually a habit they themselves picked up when she got too busy for them. It apparently still works the charm. For a second he considers sinking into it, letting it continue, forgetting his troubles for just a moment. But he can’t. He can’t this isn’t… isn’t… Ford once again gently lowers his hand and rubs soothing circles into Stan’s back. Moses, that feels nice. He lets out a low, content hum, sagging into his twin’s embrace, for the first time in forty years. It feels so, so good. He’s been running on fumes for so long. And he’s obviously so very exhausted. He lets his eyes close, his quiet breaths sounding almost labored. He needs so desperately to sleep, but is obviously trying not to, as if afraid Ford won’t tolerate it. That won’t do. Ford cradles him close, shushing gently, reassuring him all the terror, the pain, the trauma, it’s all past now. Everything will be ok, as long as he has anything to say about it. He sighs, feeling Stan relax, his shaking easing as he melts into Ford’s warmth. Ford smiles weakly, as Stan seems to begin slipping off, and whispers almost teasingly.*
Ford: Are you relaxed, Stanley?…
*Stan mumbles blissfully*
Stan: Mnhm… warm…
Ford: Well, why don’t you just let yourself go for a while… just close your eyes…
Stan: I… can you… stay with me…
Ford: Of course…
*Ford feels him go still, and sees him begin to nod, struggling to fight the sleep that tries to pull him under as he finds comfort in his twin. Ford sighs. He’s suffered far too much. So many scars… No more. Stan suddenly starts as Ford stands up and picks him up off the ground, as if he weighed nothing. Stan would surely lash out in embarrassment at this, barking that he “ain’t a kid anymore, Sixer”, if he weren’t already so drained. But to Ford’s pleasant surprise, instead of arguing, Stan’s heavy eyelids slowly droop once more as Ford gently lies him down in his bed. And Ford, honoring Stan’s wish, chastely curls up into bed next to him, putting an arm around his midsection like they did when they were children. And soon enough, Stan falls asleep, Ford swiftly following suit. And for the first time in decades upon decades, they sleep easy. Maybe, just maybe, some scars can heal…*