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Stan was awake for less than thirty seconds before he was suddenly aware he was most definitely sick.
His head pounded even as he lay there entirely still, and the thought of what it would feel like while moving made him groan loudly. He shivered underneath his covers and sneezed, then groaned again- because fuck it, if he had to be sick he was most definitely going to be dramatic about it.
Above him, Stan heard Ford shift. He hadn’t realized when his twin had stopped his snoring, but Ford had become a light sleeper after the portal. It was little surprise that he had woken him up.
“Stan?”
“Ughhhhh…” There was no way he had the energy for talking right now. Fuck that, Ford could interpret his wordless complaint however he wanted.
There was a brief pause before Stan could hear fabric rustling from Ford’s bunk, then a thump from next to him. He knew without needing to open his eyes that Ford had jumped down from his bunk, since for some goddamn reason he refused to use the ladder. One day he is gonna break an ankle doing that, and Stan’s gonna do nothin' but stand there and laugh.
Stan felt Ford’s presence standing next to him, though his brother continued to not speak for several long seconds. Stan half wondered if he was imagining it and Ford had actually left the room entirely before he finally spoke up again.
“Groan once if you’re sick,” Ford finally said, amusement thick in his voice.
Scowling, Stan replied, “Fuck you.”
Ford laughed. “I’m taking that as a yes.”
“Fuck off.”
“I’m getting you water. If you’re not sitting up by the time I’m back, I’m going to dump it on you, Stanley.”
“No, you’re not. I’ll tell the twins on you, then you’ll have to deal with a lecture ‘bout cooperation or some shit.”
Despite how slurred the words were, it was evidently clear enough based on the sudden laugh Ford let out. “You’ve got me there. I don’t know if I could endure another Mabel-patented lecture.”
Stan nodded into his pillow, though quickly regretted it when the movement made his headache briefly flare into something sharp and brightly agonizing. He couldn’t help the quiet whine he let out, burrowing further into his blankets as if he could hide from the pain.
A tentative hand threaded through his hair, playing with it soothingly. The cool touch felt amazing to his heated skin. “Rest, Lee. I’ll be back in a moment.”
He didn’t reply, and a moment later the hand retreated and Ford left the room. Stan knew his brother could move entirely silently if he wanted to, and that the fact he could hear his movements now meant that he was purposefully making extra noise to let Stan know where he was. Stan couldn’t help but be grateful for that- he was disoriented enough without not knowing where the only other person on the entire ship was.
To be fair, he probably should’ve expected this.
The day before, they had been fighting some fuckin’ creature. Stan had no clue what it was, other than it was big, scaly, and ugly as hell. Ford knew what it was though, which meant he knew how to defeat it- all Stan had to do was follow the instructions he gave. Which, sure, stung his pride a bit. But Stan’d been getting better at ignoring his pride, ‘specially during life-or-death situations.
Rain had been pouring down around him, but the coat he’d been wearing was more than enough to keep the worst of it from soaking him. Then the monster lashed out and pushed him into the ocean. The coats weren’t as effective against that.
Ford had defeated the creature quickly after that, though it felt like years to Stan. The arctic was just as cold as you’d expect, though this wasn’t the first time one of the two of them had fallen into it.
He’d been in the ocean for less than two minutes before Ford had fished him out, eyes wild with fear. His twin had been overbearingly protective after the memory gun, and though he had calmed down some since then, he always went a little bit… feral, when Stan was in danger. It was no surprise that he’d taken down the monster so quickly, or that after he got Stan back onto the ship he’d been unable to speak for hours, even as he clung to him with a desperation that made Stan genuinely worried for Ford’s wellbeing.
The rest of the night Stan was more concerned with bringing his brother back to a state where he felt comfortable sleeping in his own bunk, that he’d nearly forgotten (HA!) about falling into the freezing ocean.
Footsteps approached from outside the room. Stan finally opened his eyes and breathed a sigh when he saw Ford hadn’t turned on the light. He dragged himself into a sitting position, his old ass bones aching even more than normal.
“Good, you’re up. Now you won’t have to get wet and I won’t have to get lectured.”
Stan scoffed, before wincing at how it made his throat ache. “Nah, you wouldn’t have done it. Again- Mabel. That kid’s puppy eyes are scarily effective. ‘N if she ropes Dipper into it, it'll be all over for you. Those two could take over the world if they pouted hard enough”
“You’re not one to talk. We both know you only got away with half the things you did when we were kids cause Ma couldn’t say no to you when you looked at her like that.”
A cool glass of water was pressed into his hand. The mattress dipped with added weight to the edge as Ford sat down, holding a glass of water himself. He drank coffee in the morning, Stan knew. He smiled faintly as Ford sipped at the water, attempting to hide the look of distaste that crossed over his expression. Trying to get him to drink water was normally harder than defeating Bill Cypher himself. Maybe Stan should get sick more often if that’s what it takes to get his brother to take care of himself.
Stan sipped at the water himself, then started chugging. He hadn’t even realized how dry his throat had been until that moment.
The water was gone in under a minute, but Stan was still thirsty. Somehow. He could swear he’d never been this parched in his life, including the time he’d been stuck in the trunk of a car in the desert for nearly a full day.
He only had time to glare down at the glass for the sin of being empty for a moment before Ford was suddenly taking it from his hand and passing him his own, nearly completely full glass. Stan transferred his glare over to his brother, who smirked slightly at him. So much for conning Ford into taking care of himself.
By the time he’d finished that glass, the dryness in his throat had been nearly completely quenched. He drank much slower, gulps slowly turning to sips. When that one was finished Ford took it as well, before bending over and putting both glasses on the floor.
“How’re you feeling?” Ford asked as he straightened up. Stan was jealous at the lack of cracking coming from his bones. They were twins, how the hell did Stan feel older than him?
“Like shit.”
Ford rolled his eyes. “Yes, that much is obvious Stanley. I meant what are your symptoms?”
“Then say that next time, poindexter.” He paused, taking stock of himself. “Have a killer headache, sneezing and sniffling, keep going cold then hot, ‘n feel a bit dizzy.”
“Mmm.” Ford frowned to himself thoughtfully, then shrugged. “Well, it doesn’t seem like you have pneumonia. You likely just have a cold or the flu. It shouldn’t take longer than a week for you to feel better, at least.”
Stan groaned, flopping over onto his pillow. The sudden movement made his own body ache momentarily, but it was worth it. For the dramatics. And because he was actually very tired and sitting up took a lot more energy than he had been expecting. “This is bullshit. Stupid fuckin snake monster thing.”
“What?” Stan wiggled over just enough that he could see Ford’s face again in the dim light, scrunched in confusion before it lit up in realization. “Actually, your falling in the ocean has nothing to do with you being sick!”
“The fuck?”
“Yes, the idea that you can get the cold or flu from being cold or wet is a common myth! They are both viruses, which are infectious diseases. It is far more likely it was transmitted to you by someone we interacted with when we went to port the other day to get supplies!”
“That sounds like bullshit, sixer. It’s literally called the cold. You can get it from being too cold. That’s how it works.”
With how Stanley's eyes were slowly closing, stubbornly refusing to go wider than half open, he couldn’t see Ford’s eye roll. He could sure as shit feel it though. “That’s part of the reason for the myth, Stan.”
“Still stupid,” he slurred out.
Ford sighed and somehow made it sound fond. “Yes, it is a bit stupid. Go to sleep, Stanley.”
“M not even tired.” The way the words came out a mumbled mess, barely audible, probably didn’t help his case
“Mhm, I’m sure you’re not. You should go back to sleep anyway. It’ll make me worry less, alright?”
Well,” he yawned, forcing the rest of the words out around it, “if it’ll make you worry less... I guess I can…”
If Ford replied, Stanley didn’t hear it. He was out, exhaustion overtaking him completely, safe next to his brother.
(And if that night he has a night terror he doesn’t even remember, fueled by fever? Then his brother is with him then too, holding him as he cries. He will calm down within minutes, soothed by his twin’s presence, his subconscious reassured that he is safe. He is vulnerable and sick, but he is safe. Ford won’t let anything happen to him. He falls back into a peaceful sleep, and doesn’t dream again that night.)