Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Stan, what’s this?”

“Hmm?” Stan dropped the shopping bags he was carrying in the doorway to Ford’s house or ‘shack’ as he liked to call it (Ford didn’t approve of its new nickname which meant it had stuck even quicker) before jogging back to Ford as he took the last remaining bags from the boot of his car. He hadn’t even thought about the implications of what his brother might have found, his mind in a much more unguarded state than it had been before he reconciled with his brother.

Which was why it came as such a surprise, his face slack-jawed as he followed Ford’s curiously pointing finger that dredged up his past far quicker than he could ever have imagined was possible.

“Stan? Are you OK? You look pale.”

Stan shut his mouth with a snap, his eyes catching Ford’s owlishly concerned gaze. “I’m fine.” His voice came out gruff, his eyebrows furrowing as he glared at his brother whose face shifted from concerned to perplexed with Stan’s abrupt change in attitude. He knew he should feel guilty but he wasn’t about to drag Ford into any of that, into his old life on the streets. He’d made sure none of that would catch up to him but that didn’t mean he was going to curse his good fortunes by digging it all back up. Tear open old wounds for Ford to judge him on.

Besides, even if he was truly and utterly safe from this moment onwards, he still wasn’t ready for him to know, not yet.

He didn’t know, deep down, if he would ever truly be.

“You shouldn’t go looking through my stuff, Poindexter.” He grabbed the last bag inside, slamming the boot of his car as he inwardly cursed every deity under the sun for not having thought, or prepared for, any of this when he stupidly let Ford convince him to help out with the shopping earlier.

“Stan, I’m sorry-” Ford winced and took a step back, hands up in an apologetic gesture as Stan ignored him and grabbed the bags at his feet. “I didn’t mean to look! I was just moving bags around, you should have warned me before we left if there were things in your car you didn’t want me to see!”

Stan faltered in his steps. He knew Ford was right, he couldn’t argue that point and he knew it wasn’t his brother’s fault. He’d slipped up. He was meant to be making sure Ford thought everything was hunky-dory but he kept messing up lately. It made him defensive, his words bitter and dishonest. “Y-yeah well, everything I own is in that car. I would have thought that an air of privacy was common decency even among twins.” He glanced over his shoulder, remorseful shame bubbling up at the guilt that swept across his brother’s face. With a sigh, he turned back to him, one hand trailing through his mullet as he tried to think up how to rectify this without Ford asking more questions or staying guilty. “I didn’t mean that. Look, I’m sorry, Sixer, it’s not- I forgot, it’s my own fault. Just-just don’t ask about it, OK?”

“But Stan, I don’t get what I’ve done that’s upset you!” Ford growled, obviously frustrated, and Stan realised in a sudden moment of clarity that his purposefully bubbly personality had not fooled his brother in the slightest since they’d reunited. He thought he’d been doing particularly well pulling the wool over his twin’s eyes and subtly veering the subject away when any questions about what had happened to him in the years they’d been apart came up.

“You’ve installed what looks like an unlocking system on the inside of your car boot! I thought it was pretty cool until you started…acting weird.”

Sometimes his brother was just too observant for his own good.

He could only curse the shock of the moment for impeding his typically brilliant silver tongue and making him growlingly defensive instead.

Ford’s face was full of distressed concern again, Stan’s stomach roiling at the thought that he’d made his twin this worried when his intentions had been the complete opposite. “Stan? Why? Why do you have that?”

“I-I, uhh-”

Ford gulped as he waited for his brother to speak, he could see the inner conflict from here. The turmoil of keeping everything to himself, locked away safe and sound and without anyone’s judgement except his own or spilling it all for the world to see, to let someone in and finally maybe get some peace from it all.

But it wasn’t the world, wasn’t anyone, it was Ford that he could let in to help him. He knew that there was a lot that had happened between them in the past, a lot of betrayal on both sides and maybe that was what stopped Stan even now but he was trying so hard. They were both trying and they’d mended a lot of burnt bridges along the way.

“I-I, uhh-”

And all Ford wanted was to know what exactly was wrong with his brother so that he could help. He just wanted to help. Help his brother who had defended him enough times since they’d reunited. He needed to be able to support him in return.

“I just thought it was a good i-idea-”

But guilt wormed its way in with the stubborn concern. He gulped as his brother’s chest started to rise and fall faster as his breathing became irregular, his eyes darting every which way as if devising an escape from the conversation.

He wanted to know but he didn’t need to know that much, his heart thudded at him in reproach. “Stan-”

“Is everything alright you two?”

The bubble of tension seemed to pop in a sudden burst. Stan took a shuddering breath in, looking over Ford’s shoulder, his face full of relief at the interruption. Ford didn’t need to turn around to know who it was, he could recognise that southern twang anywhere. He did turn round though, his expression light to face his friend and colleague Fiddleford, knowing that his brother needed their eye contact broken as much as he hated to leave this hanging over them. “Yeah, everything is fine. Right, Stan?”

“Y-yeah, I’ll just take the shopping in before you nerds trip over it.”

The respite was evident in Stan’s voice, the small smile on Ford’s face dropping at the evidently quick departure of his brother into the house. He closed his eyes for a brief moment. He was missing something big, he knew that much, but he couldn’t put his finger on exactly what was wrong in the big picture. Stan on a normal day was the boy he’d always known. Sure he was older, tougher and sometimes the remarks he came out left them a bit speechless but there was still that sparkle of mischief about him, in his eyes and in his smile, that happy-go-lucky streak that somehow kept him afloat like it always had. ‘Personality’ as their Ma used to always say.

Whereas other days Ford could physically feel the years they had lost stuck fast between them, like a piece of lead weighing down in his stomach.

Or if he was being more truthful with himself it wasn’t the days that were normally the problem, it was the nights.

“Did you push a bit too far, Ford?”

Ford snapped out of his thoughts, glancing up at his friend’s all-knowing expression. He gave a short curt nod, his thoughts still elsewhere even as his eyes followed his friend’s shaking head and soft understanding sigh. He had been present on more than one occasion when a fight had almost broken out between the twins.

“I found something in his car, didn’t realise it would...”

“I see. Not to worry, I’ll go check up on him.” A hand squeezed his shoulder as he still stared off into the middle distance. “We need to give him time, that’s all. Come inside when you’ve calmed down.”

Ford nodded again, watching Fiddleford’s back as he ascended the stairs and vanished from sight. A small ball of frustration bubbled up in his throat but he crushed it down as swiftly as it had risen. If it wasn’t for Fiddleford he’d be even more clueless and in the dark than he was right now so he really should thank him. But he also knew the man knew more than he was letting on! He was one step further, one step closer than him to whatever it was that tormented his brother.

And he wouldn’t admit that he was a tad jealous of the fact.

He shook his head, flopping down onto the bottom step with a groan. He ran a hand threw his hair, muttering quietly to himself. “Absolutely preposterous. If Stan has someone to confide in, that’s all that matters.” He gave a sigh leaning back against the steps, wishing that was actually the case but he knew deep down that Fiddleford’s knowledge of the situation was due only to being in the right place at the right time. Stan avoiding him like the plague afterwards was what had alerted Ford to there being a problem in the first place. Confronting Fiddleford about it had seemed like the most logical solution in the circumstances.

“It’s not really my place to say anything…”

It had shocked him to find out how oblivious he had been in the few short months that Stan had started to live with him.

“I forgot my wallet a few nights ago, came back up here far too late but kind of hoped you’d still be up tinkering away. But instead I found him sitting on the porch, white as a sheet.”

It was only after this conversation that his mind became more alert at night. At first it was only the chain on the front door that would wake him up as Stan unlocked it and made his way outside. Ford almost felt guilty for making sure to lock up every night when before he’d forgotten on a regular enough basis to be told off by the other two. Then as he started to realise how often these journeys outside in the middle of the night took place other things started to wake him.

The creaky floorboard on the 4^th stair they all seemed incapable of missing even when they were trying to be careful.

“He tried to laugh it off, said he wasn’t used to living in a house still. That he was used to sleeping under the stars.”

The click of Stan’s bedroom door in the room adjacent to his own. The first time it had happened he had wondered what had woken him, not realising just how light on his feet Stan could be until he hit the creaking stair a few seconds later. He hadn’t even heard him slip passed his door.

“It was glaringly obvious he’d had a nightmare but he didn’t want to talk about it.”

“He said more though? Do you know what it was about?”

“Only what I surmised. And as I said, it’s really not my place.”

It was only after a lot of midnight wake up calls that Ford started to wake up before Stan had even left his room and he was starting to understand the saying that ignorance was bliss far more gutturally than he ever thought possible. It wasn’t very often that this woke him, only on the rougher nights.

When Stan couldn't keep a thick cry of fear from ripping out his mouth as he awoke. When he heard the stark start of a scream smothered quickly with a hand before it could get too loud. Sometimes it was the tossing and turning and a strange sporadic knocking sound that he still couldn’t place that let him know Stan was still in the throes of a nightmare. But just as he’d make up his mind to go wake him up he’d always find himself too late, Stan already slipping down the stairs before he’d had a chance.

Ford wished that Fiddleford had at least told him his theory on all this. As much as their observation skills were on a par, his were more suited for tracking and recording creatures through the forest, Fiddleford had always been better with people and understanding social cues.

Instead Ford was left clutching at straws; wanting to help his brother but simultaneously not knowing how when he wouldn’t bring it up himself. It was so hard as well in the light of day when Stan would come downstairs as if nothing had happened, his light hearted atmosphere and annoyingly amusing puns, brightening up the house with his mere presence to pay any heed to the worries of the night. Sure he could be cocky and quick-tempered but it was always in their defence and oddly endearing, though it had taken Fiddleford a while to get used to him. Since Stan had come back into his life, his little house had actually felt lived in and inviting, instead of just another stepping stone for his research.

He wasn’t ready to spoil that.

He rubbed a hand over his face as he sat there, just thinking back on the fear in Stan’s eyes when he delved too far sending his heart racing at the thought of pushing him away again after years apart. But it felt so selfish to ignore it in favour of the status quo they had going on.

His eyes hardened as he thought back to an incident a week ago. When his brother, clearly exhausted after what Ford knew had been 10 continuous nights of nightmares, had conked out on the sofa while watching a movie. Ford had left him there with a blanket to get on with more work, glad he was getting some rest, only to come back up from the basement for something and stand in shock as he thrashed about in a panic, his hand knocking limply against the back of the sofa whenever he came into contact with it.

The small whimper of fear that escaped him had sent Ford charging forward to wake him up. It had sparked a protective instinct in him, an absolute certainty that Stan was just not allowed to make that noise because it terrified him to hear his big brash burly brother sound like they were five years old again and scared of the boogieman under the bed.

His brain had disengaged as the protective instinct took over, hushed soothing words slipping passed his lips as his twin sat bolt upright, his chest heaving, eyes flickering around the room for the nightmares lingering danger before they locked on to Ford with a body-shaking gasp.

That had been the only moment Stan had not locked up entirely on him or gotten defensive when he tried to get some answers but it had almost been worse. To see his brother try and make himself smaller, try to stop the shakes coursing through him like spasms with little result.

“I’m not ready, Ford. I can’t.”

Ford hadn’t had the heart to push him, had instead gotten him some water, sat with him under the blanket and watched a movie with him, hand running through his brother’s hair soothingly even though Stan had made some grumbling remark about not being a kid. He hadn’t moved away though and Ford had felt a surge of warm pride when Stan fell asleep against his shoulder into a peaceful slumber.

On that bittersweet memory, Ford stood up from his place on the porch, drastic decision-making on hold as he realised that he should just check up on Stan for now and worry about the details later. The longer he sat out here, the more anxious Stan was probably getting.

And he wasn’t going to add to whatever loomed over Stan if he could help it.

He slipped into the house quietly, instantly relaxing at the booming laughter echoing from the kitchen and the giggling nattering that accompanied it. Fiddleford was obviously doing a fine job of keeping Stan entertained. He went to re-join them, heart lighter at his twin’s merriment before something caught his eye, his feet coming to a sudden halt as a pattern emerged in front of him that he hadn’t connected together before.

He glanced from his innocuous seeming phone to the doorway where the other two resided and back again, his mind slowly chugging away. Remembering a night that seemed so far away now, one that had filled him with an impending sense of dread that until now had seemed irrational and paranoid in contrast to the life they had been living for the last few months.

The night his brother had first made contact with him again.

Chapter Text

Ford’s eyes snapped open wide, instantly turning to his side to try and groggily grab at his glasses in the darkness. He cursed when they skittered further away from him as he misjudged the distance. It took a few more disorientated moments to finally grasp them, swinging his feet off the side of his bed with another string of profanities as his sleep-warmed feet hit the ice cold floorboards. He squinted in the gloom, a sulking tilt to his mouth at being woken up in the middle of the night by an incessant ringing from downstairs.

If it wasn’t for the fact that only a handful of people had his phone number he might have chanced ignoring it.

As it was, the small nervous trickle of dread filtered through his sleep-induced haze. Half asleep night terrors awakening with whispers of twisted logic and disturbing flashing images as to why on earth someone he knew might be calling this late at night.

The phone stopped suddenly, the echo of a ring fizzling out slowly in his ears until a dark silence loomed in its place.

Ford let out a breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding, his mind still sending warning signals that in the morning he’d find out some dreadful news and if he’d just picked up the phone he could have done something. But they began to slip away as drowsiness overtook him again, his ears content now that the noise had stopped, his eyelids drooping slowly even as he sat swaying.

The phone crackled back to life again, it’s ringing all the more insistent to his eardrums.

He stumbled upwards, the sound jolting him awake and out of bed in a mess of limbs.

“This better be bloody important.” He made his way down to the offending item slowly, stomping down the stairs, careful not to trip in the half light as his eyes adjusted. His eyes narrowed at the clock he ventured passed, noting the time down to shout it at the person who dared to call him at this late hour.

Or early hour.

Either way this was no time for a social call.

He took a second to viciously stare at the vibrating phone, almost hoping he could burn a hole through it before he finally accepted defeat. “I guess I’m up now.” He felt the plastic give slightly under his violent grip, his words devoid of any humour or politeness as he scorched another hole into the wall in front of him with his stare. “Hello?”

The line was silent for a moment, fuelling his temper further. Of all the nerve! He grit his teeth, his voice coming out in a heated hiss. “Hello?”

“Stanford?”

Ford paused, the red mist dissipating as he stood up straighter, his eyebrows dipping low in confusion. “Yes?” He didn’t recognise the voice in the slightest yet whoever it was, knew him. He knew he should still be furious at this unknown stranger but he couldn’t help the seeds of curiosity that had sprouted as he wracked his brains for a similar tone to the one he had just heard for a split second. He had never heard his name said as such an optimistic question before; that someone would be so hopeful to speak to him, of all people, fuelling his inquisitive nature. Uneasy mixed in languidly with the perplexing puzzle, something not quite right about the whole interaction that he couldn’t yet put his finger on, his mind still not processing everything. “Who is this?”

“Oh wow, it really is you.”

A small painful sounding chuckle had Ford wincing in sympathy, all thoughts of shouting dissuaded. How could this man sound so relieved through that? Now that whoever it was had spoken further, it was obvious to Ford why he couldn’t recognise them and what was making unease sit heavy in his stomach. He sounded ghastly, his laugh grating against the inside of his throat, a whistle of choked air that ended in a hacking chesty cough. His words were no better, thick and slurred, like his mouth wasn’t quite working the way he wanted it to, his nose blocked solid and tongue heavy. His every breath wheezed softly in Ford’s ear, sending pangs of concern through his heart at this stranger’s plight.

“Sorry, you just sound so different…Good, good phone voice you got there. Real profesh-professional like.”

“Can I help you?” The words left his mouth before he could stop them, ignoring the more pressing matter of who it was.

“No, not really. Stupid really, to call.”

Ford waited for more as the voice drifted away. He could almost picture the silhouetted person on the other end swaying slightly, eyes unfocused and heavy. If his voice was anything to go by, they were in need of medical attention.

“Just wanted to hear your voice again.”

Ford’s hand tightened around the phone, suspicion flooding through him again, doubt and fear springing up quickly in response. As much as he was alarmed by this person’s obvious distressing situation, it still didn’t account for the fact that whoever it was knew him whilst he was still completely in the dark. The night crowded in again, something watching him in the darkness as the hairs on the back of his neck slowly stood on end. He shivered at his darkening thoughts. “Who is this?” He flinched at his own words, loud and snapping to his own ears as his anxiety got the better of him.

“D-do you promise not to hang up on me?”

Ford nodded once before realising he couldn’t be seen. “I won’t hang up, not right away.”

“OK.” The person took a long shaky breath that ended in another sharp cough. “S-sorry. It’s me, Ford. It’s Stanley.”

“Stan?!” Ford almost dropped the phone, his hand loosening in shock as he fumbled for it quickly. His mind felt like it had short-circuited in that brief second. The last moments he had seen his brother flickered behind his eyelids, the betrayal, the anger, the hurt. He wanted to put the phone down, to turn away and pretend this had never happened but his body betrayed him as another louder rattling breath winged its way into his ear, along with a few metallic clicks and a long slow slide of fabric. His stomach lurched at the image bubbling to the surface; his brother, older but pale and feverish, slumping slowly down as his legs gave out in a freezing phone booth in the middle of nowhere.

All to call him in the middle of the night.

He could stand and listen, he’d give him that much.

“A-Are you still there? I wouldn’t blame ya if you’re not.”

“I’m still here.” Ford finally managed to grind out, almost feeling more than hearing the responding relief filled exhale. “What do you want, Stan? Are you OK?” The second question fell from his lips without his consent, his subconscious distress taking over his mouth.

“I’m fine, fine.” The voice went quiet. Sheepish and guilty. “Sorry for ringing you so late.”

Ford frowned, leaning back against the table for support as he scrutinised the middle distance. Was his brother drunk? Was that it? He sounded far too worse for wear for it being just that though, but the heartfelt apologies and the shaking lilt to his voice sounded similar to the few drunken nights he’d been forced out on by college acquaintances. “Stan, just tell me what-”

Ford straightened back up, spine rigid as his entire body froze over, his words dying in his throat. He was sure he’d heard what sounded like a broken muffled sob, as if Stan’s hand was tight over his face, trying to stem the flow of tears. “S-Stan? Stan, what’s going on?”

“Nothing, nothing’s going on.” His voice turned gruff again, trying to clear his throat with minimal success, his words wobbling. “It’s just so good to hear you again.”

Ford gulped, his mouth dry. He didn’t think he could rest now if he wanted to, all thoughts of putting the phone down, gone and forgotten as his heartrate picked up haphazardly. “Stan, please.”

“I just needed you to know I’m sorry, Si-Ford. I never meant to hurt you like that, you would have been far better off without a useless brother like me ruining everything all the time.”

“Stop that.” Ford bit out, his tongue choking his words. What was going on? Why wasn’t Stan just answering his questions? Why was he bringing that up? He raised an eyebrow, going for a light humour even though the slight tremor to his voice betrayed him. “Are you drunk, Stan? Or worse, high?”

A snort rewarded his efforts. “God, I wish.”

Ford grimaced as another rousing coughing fit stopped their conversation. His face twisted in disgusted worry at the splash of liquid hitting a solid surface. “Sta-”

“No, not drunk. Just needed you to know that I’m s’rry, that’s all. Thanks for not hanging up, I really needed to hear your nerdy voice-”

Ford tried to laugh, the sound hollow and distorted to his own ears as he tried to stop his estranged twin from walking on egg shells, his breath hitching at his own snide banter as if he’d slipped into old habits without meaning to. “What? Want me to lull you to sleep with my long scientific drivel?”

“Sounds perfect.”

He frowned at the wistful happy sigh. That was not the response he’d been expecting, he’d wanted more teasing. ‘No, Ford, don’t do that, you really will send me to sleep!’ Like when they were kids and Ford would try to help him with his homework only for Stan to act like he was punishing him. “Stan? Are you sick?”

“What? No, of course not, I told you I’m fine.”

Ford glared at nothing, his thoughts cursing Stan’s stubbornness. He wished he could see him, it was so much easier to get the truth out of him that way. “Stan, you sound terrible. You need to see a doctor or something.”

The cackle devoid of humour sent a cold wave over him, his hand gripping the table for support suddenly.

“Do you think I’m made of money? I don’t need no quack.”

“Stan.” Ford growled out, his protective instinct morphing into frustration. “Come on, if you’re ill you need to see someone.”

“I’m not sick!” Stan’s voice croaked contrarily to his indignant words before his voice went quieter, the tone pleading. “Please, let’s not fight.”

“We’re not fighting, I just- you’ve rung me but I don’t know why, Stan. It’s, you’re scaring me.” The words hung in the air in front of him, shame for voicing them eclipsed by the rising panic that something was so very very wrong.

“I didn’t mean to scare you.” Stan whispered, Ford having to strain to catch his words.

His blood turned to ice as Stan continued to mumble, away from the phone as if talking to himself more than to Ford.

“Just wanted to hear your voice one more time.”

Ford’s tongue felt heavy and unyielding, his heart beating painfully hard against his ribs. “Stan?”

“Oh, nothing. Sorry, you’re right. This was stupid, I shouldn’t have rung you. I had no reason and all I’ve done is woken you up and scared the hell out of you for nothing.” A self-depreciating tut echoed through. “I’ll let you go back to sleep.”

“…I love you, Sixer.”

“Don’t you dare put down that phone.” Ford was tense, his entire body coiled as if to spring even though there was no danger around him. “Don’t you dare, you can’t just ring and then-” His brain was screaming warning signs at him, telling him not to let Stan vanish off the face of the earth again in fear that this was it. That he’d never hear from his brother again either.

That thought had never scared him so much before.

He hadn’t realised how much he still cared under all the venomous and negative emotions that reared their ugly heads whenever his brother was mentioned.

His inner monologue hushed as he heard shouting, a distant warble of angry voices, some quieter than others. He strained to hear more, his brother’s breathing suddenly closer to the phone, fast and low.

“Shit, I thought I’d put enough distance between us.”

New anxiety induced images flickered through Ford’s skull, the worst case scenarios his mind could dredge up at short notice. It was unfortunate that he studied the paranormal for a living, thoughts of werewolves and other creatures of the night chasing his brother down dark and lonely streets set his nerves on edge and his body on high alert.

Why had he rung him?

Just to tell him he was sorry and he loved him?

That sounded like a goodbye.

Like he knew he’d never see him again.

“Stan? Are you in trouble? Do you need-” Ford glanced around, his eyes flitting around the room as if hoping for inspiration. How could he help? What could he do from here? “Where are you?”

“Huh? Uhh…I’m not…not exactly sure, actually.”

“How can you not know?” Ford’s hands were shaking. Was his fever that bad? His brother was sick and possibly injured and now there was someone or something after him! His thoughts screeched and clamoured at him to do something, anything. He felt the need to shake his brother, stop him being so vague and let him help. “Do you need somewhere to stay? You must know where I am if you ran-”

“I didn’t ring for that.”

Ford ran a hand through his hair, staying quiet at Stan’s deep tone, his brother ending the question before it had begun. There was an air of complete authority to it that made him snap his mouth shut and listen intently instead.

“I don’t- no, I didn’t ring for your help, Ford. What do you think I am? I ruin everything and then ring 5 years later asking for your help? I’m not that despicable, I swear. I’m not even asking for forgiveness, I know I don’t deserve it.”

“I’m not saying that, Stan. I want to help. Let me help.” Ford closed his eyes, pushing the genuine thought through his voice as earnestly as he could. He needed Stan to understand that he may still be upset at him but he was still his brother. Still family. He still cared about him even if the last few years said otherwise.

“I don’t want to get you involved, just wanted to tell you I loved you, tha’s all…”

Ford was speechless, his mouth opening and closing in a failed attempt to carry on the conversation.

The angry yells were getting louder by the second.

“I should go.”

“No.” Ford gasped out, his breaths agonising as he panted, his chest heaving with the pain of losing him. Was this what it felt like for Stan when he got kicked out? So close and yet so far all at the same time. An idea lodged itself firmly in his head, his eyes widening at its simplicity. “Call me again.”

 “Excuse me?”

“I don’t know what’s going on and it’s obvious that you’re not going to tell me or let me help, so you can make me a promise instead. Call me again.” Ford didn’t ask, he demanded. “You want to apologise for everything? Then stay in touch. Let’s…talk. Not just this, don’t leave it at this. That’s not fair, Knucklehead.”

“You…You really want that? This isn’t some pity thing? ‘Cause I’m not-I wasn’t expecting anything from this. I didn’t even really think you’d sit and listen.”

“I don’t know what I want, Stan, but it’s not this.” Ford tugged more forcefully at his hair, using the slight pain to steady him, ground him. “We can try though, right? Maybe it won’t work, maybe it will. I don’t know. But it’s the middle of the night and I’d like to talk when we’re both…” Sober? Out of harm’s way? Less sleep-deprived and completely frazzled? He sighed, rubbing at his eyes, completely drained. “When I’m not freaking out that you’re about to do something really, really stupid.”

“Oh Ford, that’s like my signature move.”

“Not funny. Talk to me again when you don’t sound like you’re at death’s door, OK?”

“I don’t sound that bad…”

“Yeah, yeah you do, actually.”

“Yeesh, alright, don’t sugar coat it.” Stan’s laugh was warmer though, a breath of fresh air to Ford, that maybe, just maybe he’d mended something between them.

It was small and fragile but it was there, whatever it was. And maybe, there was a slim chance that Stan would want to keep that small thread alive. Maybe he wouldn’t give up on him just yet.

“Stan?” Ford couldn’t help but whisper into the silent phone. There were no more shouts, no more hushed breaths down the line. Just a horrible deafening silence ringing in his ears.

Had they found him?

“I really have to go, Ford.”

“But you’ll do it? You’ll call again?”

“Yeah, yeah, I will. I don’t know when I’ll be able to again, but I’ll do my best.”

Ford felt his legs go weak, relief pooling at the genuine optimism ringing in Stan’s croak of a voice. “As long as you do. Don’t leave me hanging.”

“Never. Love ya, Nerd.”

“I-” Ford let the phone drop from his hand as he heard a clunk on the other end, the dialling tone signalling the end to their conversation before he’d had a chance to finish. He took a deep breath, ignoring that he hadn’t got to say what he wanted in the end, focusing on the fact that Stan hadn’t said goodbye.

Now it was all just a matter of waiting.

Chapter Text

It was two weeks until Stan finally phoned him again.

Two weeks of glancing at the phone whenever he passed it, of listening intently wherever he was in the house just in case he missed the call and never knew. Too fretful and vigilant to even think about leaving the house because what if he wasn’t around when he finally rang again? What if he thought he’d purposefully ignored him?

Ever since that late night phone call, Ford jumped to attention anytime the incessant ringing started, nerves alight and body tense as his mind conjured up all the reasons why it had taken so long for his brother to call again in the short time it took for him to reach the phone in a stumbling mess. He dropped whatever he was doing to answer it, no matter what the time or how important his work had been, his body moving before his mind had completely caught up on more than one occasion.

His heart would drop painfully into his stomach in disappointment the moment the other person spoke and made it crystal clear that it wasn’t his brother, a hopefully muttered ‘Stan?’ dying on his lips every time and leaving a bitter unresolved taste in his mouth, his hopes dashed across the floor. He worried his bottom lip bloody as he begrudgingly listened to the important phone calls, a thick stale politeness forced passed his lips as they took up precious moments of his time because Stan might be trying to call and they were engaging his only line of contact to him.

He knew he wasn’t putting on a great front, knew deep down he should pretend better that everything was fine, especially when significant colleagues from the university’s governing body rang to check up on his research proposals and how his work was progressing. An unfortunate but necessary evil with the grant money he had been awarded. He knew if he wasn’t careful they may grow suspicious, may already be by the elevated number of calls he’d been receiving. Maybe they’d even visit him soon and he knew he was in no fit state to entertain when he was on high alert about family matters that probably didn’t even count as an excuse to them. But he just couldn’t seem to bring himself to drum up the necessary enthusiasm he’d usually have when they rang, the fast eager speed at which he rambled off everything he had done since they’d last spoken even if they hadn’t actually progressed all that far. He could never think of anything to say when he spoke to them now, the calls a shocking contrast to the call he was fervently expecting. He didn’t need this right now, he needed Stan to call and let him know he was safe, and healthy, and that nothing bad had happened, and-

This endless waiting was killing him.

At least when it was a salesperson on the phone he could take out his frustration on them, venting at them because they weren’t who he was so sorely hoping for before slamming the phone down. He was pretty sure many wouldn’t be ringing back anytime soon.

He couldn’t say that he cared at all.

It had taken a few days for Fiddleford to poke and prod enough for him to open up, noticing from the first morning that Ford was more drained than usual. He chalked it up to another late night investigation, used to him working all hours of the night if the mood took him, when sleep was a distant thought and his work far too interesting. But when no new research presented itself upon entering the lab, no excited fast paced half babble that he almost couldn’t follow spilling from his friend’s mouth as he gestured enthusiastically at his journal entries he became suspicious that this wasn’t a typical day in their overworked lives. His alarm grew when Ford shrugged, a non-committal noise before looking at their work like he wasn’t entirely sure where they had left it the day before.

Ford threw himself into his work after that, when he realised he was acting strange and his thoughts kept taking him down paths he didn’t want to travel down. He needed a distraction and he welcomed the constant thrum of knowledge that his research granted him with open arms. He ignored the questions and the beady-eyed stare of his assistant when he suddenly left all the doors open to the rest of the house so that he could be sure that the phone could be heard even from the deepest parts of the lab. Ignored the concern when his friend started to notice the bags under his eyes deepening and thought to himself that it was completely reasonable for him to stay up late into the night because he’d missed the first call Stan had made and he couldn’t have that happen again.

It had been the last straw when he had zoned out, almost knocking over a jar full of fairy dust as he fell asleep over his journal.

Fiddleford had pinned him down with his disapproving gaze, his arms crossed tight and foot tapping as he made it clear Ford wasn’t moving until he had explained himself. So he had, and Fiddleford had been perplexed by it all, not having heard much about Ford’s twin before other than that they hadn’t kept in touch. He made his thoughts clear that he was sure Stan would ring within a few weeks and that he shouldn’t worry too much. After all, you didn’t just call an estranged family member out of the blue and expect to be allowed to ring them every day afterwards.

Ford knew he was just trying to reassure him, and for the rest of the day it worked. As soon as night fell again, however, another day passing without a word from his brother, the darkness pulled out all the worst case scenarios and spread them out before him like a vindictive slide show; all the possible reasons for his brother sounding so off on the phone, the angry shouts from the monsters he envisioned searching for him as he huddled cold and alone in a dirty phone cubicle.

It was in the second week that Fiddleford stopped coming up with good arguments as to why Stan hadn’t rung yet, his own apprehension starting to show through even if he didn’t know the man or how he behaved. He could only be optimistic for so long, with Ford fretting beside him. Could counter every scenario that Ford spun him except the most important one.

Why hasn’t he rung?

The first indication of his brother’s gravelly voice sent a wave of relief and exhaustion from his head to his toes even though it was the middle of the day, the sun brightly mocking him through the window. He’d been so ready to dismiss the caller, not even optimistic at this point that it would actually be the call he was waiting for, that his voice had lodged in his throat, a small high-pitched squeak coming out in favour of an answer to his brother’s jovial tone.

“You OK there, Sixer? I didn’t call at a bad time, did I?”

“No, no, not at all!” Ford gripped tightly at the table the phone sat on, pulling himself up and straightening his spine. He glanced over his shoulder, letting a small acknowledging smile grace his features for his assistant’s benefit, who beamed brightly back at him before disappearing back to work, leaving the pair to their private conversation. Stan still sounded strange, his voice slightly nasal and slow as if he was being careful with every word, but the familiar tone he remembered from years ago came through the grogginess this time. The chuckle more genuine, the light joking nonchalance a breath of fresh air against the cold despondent goodbye Ford had thought he’d heard ringing through their last conversation. “What took you so long?” The words slipped out before he could stop them, wincing at the hurt that he hadn’t meant to convey.

He felt Stan copy the motion, heard him kick at the bottom of the phone stand agitatedly. “S-Sorry, didn’t mean to leave it so long. I had to make sure…”

“Stan?” Ford frowned as Stan trailed off, not liking the hesitation. His shoulders tensed, wondering what exactly Stan didn’t want to tell him.

“Nothing, sorry. Guess I got a bit wimpy again and thought you hadn’t meant it when you told me to call back.”

“Stanley Pines, what part of ‘call me’ did you not understand?” Ford teased, going along with the sudden shift in tactic that his brother had taken instead of tearing his argument to pieces. “If I knew where you were I would have come and got you myself.”

“Well I’m glad you don’t know where I am then.”

Ford shuddered at the serious note that had entered Stan’s tone. He opened his mouth and closed it again, not entirely sure how to respond to that.

“But I guess it has been a while, hasn’t it? I lose track of days sometimes, sorry.”

“It’s fine, just got a bit concerned that’s all. You didn’t sound like you were in a good position last time.” Ford muttered, sensing the nervous questioning lilt to Stan’s voice in response to his silence. “Maybe we could make this a usual thing? Once a week maybe?”

“You can’t want to talk to me that much, you’d get sick of me!”

“I’ll be the judge of that.” Ford huffed, his fingers tapping as he tried to figure out the best way to go about things. He decided to change the subject, let the conversation flow to normal small talk, just soaking in his brother’s joking tales of the various places he’d been to. Knowing full well that he wasn’t being told the full story about each place but letting his brother spin his tales that were obviously designed to make him think he was fine. Told Stan about his research, found the passion for his work again as Stan showed a sincere interest in it all, even if he laughing got lost halfway through and told him that he’d have to explain it again to him next time.

Ford smiled as he heard the phone hit the hook, the line dead in his ear. Next time. That’s all he truly needed, even if Stan had evaded every other question about where he was or what had happened.

He finally slept that night.

Even after Stan’s reservations, Ford was surprised and pleased to find him ringing again within a week, obviously trying his best to make amends and stop him from worrying enough to come searching for him. It eased Ford’s doubts immensely. That along with Fiddleford’s comments that Stan wouldn’t have a chance to call if things were truly bad and that Ford himself had said he’d sounded better ringing in his head and relaxing the paranoia that lingered there whenever he had misgivings that Stan would ring again.

His dread grew exponentially when he didn’t hear from Stan the following week.

He was only a few days late but it was enough to set Ford on edge, to ask him what exactly had happened, his frustration growing at Stan’s vague replies and evasive noises. He got edgier the quieter Stan got, the more soft pauses he took as if something was distracting him wherever he was.

“When aren’t you working, Nerd?”

“What?” Ford frowned, wondering where on earth Stan was going with this, the question short-circuiting all the questions rattling around in his head. “That’s not-”

“Well last time we spoke you made it sound like you worked all the time, which can’t be right, so what days aren’t you working so I can ring you without getting in the way?”

“I work every day, you can ring whenever.” Ford’s frown deepened, his eyebrows furrowing, still utterly perplexed.

“...you make your assistant work every day of the week?”

“No, of course not.” Ford choked, a bubble of shocked laughter coming out at Stan’s incredulous tone. “He has the weekends off, I just continue where we left off for the weekend.”

“Yeesh, Ford, take a break once in a while!”

“But I like my research…” He fell back on his heels, his fingers twirling and fidgeting in the phone cord. He felt suddenly on show, being judged for his lack of hobbies and social events, a trend he remembered vividly and without fondness from his time at college.

“I know.” Stan’s voice was soft, endearment clear through it before he coughed. “And I’m glad you love what you do for a living, not many can say that. But you need a break sometimes, right? I can’t ring when you’re doing nerd stuff, you might get hurt.”

“Fine.” Ford rolled his eyes at him even though he knew he wouldn’t see it, contemplating the idea. It would be killing two birds with one stone; Fiddleford would be thrilled. He just had to figure out what to do with himself. “When would be best for you to ring?”

“Me? I guess the best time for me would be Saturday day time, Friday and Saturday nights are the best time to make money. Or one day in the week but it sounds like you and that…Fiddford? Do most of your work then?”

“Fiddleford.” He corrected without thinking, ignoring the man saying the name over and over in his ear to remember it. It was on the tip of his tongue to ask how Stan made money but he couldn’t help but assume he’d just be pushed away again. “So Saturday? I’ll make sure to take a break as long as you make sure to ring then.”

“Heh, looks like I can be of some use after all. Making sure you don’t burn yourself out, Poindexter.”

“Just make sure you ring, Knucklehead.”

To his intense irritation, once the phone call ended he realised that Stan had managed to steer him away entirely from his interrogation.

He couldn’t help but be a little impressed even if it was overlaid by a much thicker deep-rooted upset.

What was Stan hiding from him?

Ford finally put a seat next to his phone, the space getting a lot more use than it had ever before over the weeks and months the brothers been getting to know each other again, slowly repairing the bond between them in stops and starts. Stan hadn’t missed another phone call after that first one, always ringing at some point on a Saturday no matter what. The fact that he made the effort at all to comply with Ford’s wish easing what was left of his resignations about his twin. Not that there were many left to begin with, the first phone call tearing the wall of resentment down by older much more ingrained protective instincts. He’d accepted the apology without even consciously realising he had, the heartfelt sincerity behind it hitting close to home. His brother had been in danger and he wouldn’t wish him hurt even if he had betrayed his trust all those years ago.

Stan still sounded strained on some instances. Those phone calls ended a lot sooner than Ford would have liked, a nervous jolt of anxiety setting his foot tapping as he waited for the next call in a week’s time, a small worry slipping through him that Stan wouldn’t make it. But come rain or shine he would always ring the next weekend, brushing off Ford’s concerns like they were the hysterics of an overprotective older brother.

“Relax, Sixer. I just needed to keep moving last week. Busy, busy, sure you get that.”

It wasn’t much, and he knew that there was still something hidden behind all the assurances and quick mocking jabs but he couldn’t help but start to relax the more Stan chatted to him. The weeks continued, the conversations changed; small little details exchanged, interesting titbits of information.

A sense of normality enveloped him as he got used to the routine, listening to a small piece of the world that he’d never have seen otherwise. Sure, he was pretty sure Stan was sugar-coating things or perhaps even lying but he couldn’t help but get wrapped up in Stan’s adventures.

It was a welcome link back to a nostalgic bond that might never be the same but could be something better in its own way. They’d both grown, they were their own people. They could talk about things without it spiralling into an argument like he’d always expected would happen.

The only problem was the goodbye.

Every conversation ended the same. No matter how hard Ford tried to force the issue, no matter how much he questioned and interrogated why, Stan always declined his every attempt to help. It was frustrating, his teeth gritting agonizingly against Stan’s stubborn disposition but he refused to let up, refused to stop asking the exact same question he’d asked all along.

“Are you sure you don’t want to come and stay with me for a bit?”

 “I can’t, Ford. I’m still not sure it’s safe.”

“But-“

“Love ya, Sixer.”

It wasn’t until 10 months later that he made a breakthrough.

And it wasn’t even him that had brought it up.

Ford glanced up at the time when the phone rang, eyes flicking quickly back down to his journal, wandering along slowly as he continued to write. “He’s late today.” He muttered, rolling his eyes, a lot less apprehensive at the fact than he might have been months before. He finished his sentence, nodding in satisfaction at the scrawl before he picked up the phone.

He paused, raising an eyebrow at the bubbling laughter that echoed back through the receiver at him. He pulled his head away slightly, staring at the phone for a moment before putting it back, resting it between his shoulder and his ear, keeping his hands free to continue his work, tapping his pen distractedly against his journal. “You OK there, Knucklehead?”

“More than OK. We can talk for ages tonight!”

“Oh yeah?” Ford hummed thoughtfully, half listening as he started up the sketch for that page, drawing the nest they had found the day before along with shorthand notes, while it was all still fresh.

“You’re not working, are you, Nerd?”

“What? No.” Ford blurted out, flushing slightly at being caught out, snapping the book shut and sitting down. “Sorry, sorry, you were saying?”

“Yeesh, I thought you liked our chats.”

Ford rolled his eyes again, grinning at the obvious smirk hidden from view, the fake hurt in his twin’s voice. “You know I do. It was just a really interesting exploration, that’s all.” He raised an eyebrow as his brother giggled again. “Are you drunk?”

“What? No! Well, maybe a bit tipsy…But it’s a night to celebrate! And I’ve had the beers for ages, thought it was about time I cracked one open.”

The happiness was infectious, he felt himself falling back into the chair, eyes half lidded as he finally let his brain relax, notes forgotten on his knee. “Yeah? What’s the occasion?”

“Well, for starters, the place I’m crashing in tonight has a phone in the room and they said there wasn’t an extra charge to use it.”

“That’s not an occasion, Stan!” Ford laughed, shaking his head as his brother’s chuckles got louder.

“Hey, it’s the first time I haven’t rung you from a payphone. That’s a start, right?”

Ford felt like he’d been punched in the gut, all the air and mirth leaving him in one fell swoop. He added the small little detail to his extensive catalogue of things Stan had let slip as if they were insignificant gestures, unaware that Ford was dissecting each one. Where had his brother been staying before?

“You still there, Ford?”

“Hmm? Yeah, sorry. M-my work distracted me again, Sorry, I’ll put my book away now.” He licked his lips, his mouth suddenly dry as he tried to stretch a smile across his face again. He hadn’t heard his brother sound so happy since they’d reacquainted, he couldn’t ruin that, even if he was under the influence. If anything the thought that Stan felt safe enough to relax and unwind should be an odd reassurance in itself. The smile became a little more genuine at the grumbling he got in response.

“Alright, alright. I’ll bite. You gonna tell me about this super awesome adventure you and Fiddlenerd had or what?”

“Stan, his name is Fiddleford.”

Ford thought carefully about his wording as he told Stan about the day before, not wanting to bore him with too many details and sticking to the bits that he knew would interest him instead. But he found it came easy; the right thing to say to keep him hooked, a few jokes here and there to keep him chuckling merrily that settled Ford deep in his core. He would have been content for them both to sit in a companionable snickering quiet. Age old nostalgia slipped warm and comforting in his chest, of nights when they’d been sent to bed but were too hyped up to even try and sleep and ended up setting each other off into fits of giggles with the smallest of noises.

“Ford, can I ask you something?”

“Hmm?” Ford blinked, the warm daze leaving him in a slight buzz that almost made Stan’s hesitation unnoticeable. “What is it?”

“Is that offer of yours still open? Can I come visit you?”

Ford snapped to attention, the pieces of the puzzle he didn’t even know he’d been putting together clicking together in his mind in a rattle of information. He let the details slip through his head until Stan brought him back with a thump, his words quick and disappointed.

“It’s OK if it’s not. I wasn’t thinking of staying, just popping in.”

“No, no! Please, come!” Ford words tumbled out fast, realising from the uncertainty in Stan’s voice that the beer had been as much liquid courage as it had been celebration. Festivities that was all too clear to him now even if he didn’t know the specifics.

Stan finally felt safe enough to visit him.

“Sorry, I didn’t expect you to ask. Threw me for a loop there. Of course the offer is still there. I’ve only asked a hundred times.” His smile widened impossibly as he heard the giddiness in Stan’s reply, the complete and utter relief and hope that he couldn’t help but feel emanating back.

“Well, I guess I’ll see you soon then, Poindexter. Try not to get attacked by some weird nerd creature before I get there!”

Chapter Text

“Come on, you can do this.”

“Just. Get. Out. Of. The. Car. It’s not that hard.”

Stan cursed under his breath, a litany of obscenities spewing forth as he tried to force his hands away from the steering wheel. His hands refused him, locked, white-knuckled and tense against the hard plastic, listening instead to another more primal side of his mind instead of his conscious thought process. What if Ford didn’t want to see him? What if he did but when they finally met again, everything turned sour? What if he said or did something wrong and ruined everything? He couldn’t mess this up, not again.

The small voice in his head grew stronger and louder as he continued to sit there, conjuring up all the ways he could and would stumble and fall at this fateful hurdle.

Better just to stay in the car.

It was safe in the car.

…It was lonely in the car too.

Stan sighed, his head hitting the steering wheel with a soft thump as he tried to steel his nerves and steady the soft tremor running through him. “You want this, this is what you’ve always wanted.” A second chance, a chance to have family again like he’d so desperately longed for over the years. But it felt like the stakes was weighted against him, he might even acknowledge this as one of the biggest gambles he’d ever taken. The reward was more than he ever would have dreamed possible but the punishment for losing might just be the final straw that broke him.

His hands loosened, the shake slipping away as a wry smile twisted on to his face, the voice in the back of his head dying out suddenly as if it had realised its own mistake.

He always had been quite the gambler.

Stan straightened up, opening the door and sliding out of his seat in one fluid movement before his mind could lock him in place once again. He took a deep breath in, shuddering slightly at the cold, crisp morning but was relieved when it sweep away more of his misgivings, the looming fog lifting. He glanced down at himself, straightening up his shirt in a small fidget of self-consciousness. “God I look a state, when was the last time I-” He glared at nothing in particular, letting his hands drop away as he tried to force the voice to the back of his head again. He’d used what little money he could the night before at a motel purely so that he could wash up a bit and at least look like he’d had a full night’s sleep in a bed instead of crashing as usual in his car seat.

He tugged at the collar of his shirt, giving it a quick sniff with a small grimace. His clothes had been another matter. He still had some money, scrimping and saving what he could where he could but he didn’t know when he’d be needing it again, the price of petrol and other necessities running through his head as he counted it. So he’d vetoed the laundrette he’d seen in town on the way in. He was on his last vaguely clean set of clothes but he had at least tried washing them in the small sink in his room with the complimentary soap they’d left there. At the very least, it seemed to smell alright even if it didn’t feel particularly clean, but he was used to that, all things considered.

Would Ford be though if he noticed?

Stan opened his mouth to snap at the irritating doubt that seemed to be festering gleefully at the base of his skull but the words died as he took in Ford’s house. He gulped softly, giving it a slow once over. It was bigger than Ford had made out on the phone, tales of him and Fiddleford working away had filled Stan with the image of them doing their work at his kitchen table, the place littered with falling books and old scattered experiments. It had made him chuckle. He hadn’t expected when Ford said ‘lab’ he actually might have the room for a fully-fledged laboratory in his own home.

Look what he’s accomplished without you around.

The trembling returned, his eyes scrunching up against the onslaught of the voice, his nails making half-moon dents in his palms as he turned back to his car, staring at his reflection in the window as he took another deep breath.

“Everything is fine. You look fine. You are going to be fine. He wanted to see you-”

“You OK there, Knucklehead?”

Stan jumped a foot in the air, spinning on one foot and almost stumbling back into his car. His brother was stood on his porch, leaning against the railing, his smile wide and welcoming though his eyes held a soft concern at Stan’s obvious hesitation to knock on the door himself. Stan relaxed instantly, memories of the past conversations lulling him away from the voice telling him to get back in the car and leave. In any case, he was here now, and so far his brother wasn’t shouting at him or punching him and sending him away again.

He should really make the most of a good thing, in case it didn’t last.

It would always be worth the risk. A few more happy memories with his twin to recall fondly once he was back on the road again.

Every paranoid thought dulled in comparison to that one mantra, a smile stretching across his face in reply to Ford’s. “Yeah, thought I’d forgotten something for a second there.”

“Anything important?”

My courage. “No, nothing. Just, you know, stuff…” Stan trailed off, his lies falling flat as he gestured aimlessly around him. He could feel Ford’s eyes on him, saw his smile drop as his eyes grew more careful, the concern evident and making Stan’s stomach lurch. Was he analysing him? Was he trying to figure out why he’d rung all those months ago? Was he going to ask? He wasn’t ready to go through that. Please don’t, Sixer, you don’t want to know. He shook himself, walking forward, arms outstretched, a small hesitant smile tweaking his mouth upwards. “Well, Sixer? Do I get a hug or what after all this time?”

He stood for a moment like that, his smile faltering as Ford continued to watch him, arms crossed. The voice started up again, cursing him for bringing up how long they’d been apart and for reminding them both why it had happened-

And then Ford was slowly unfolded his arms and gesturing him forward, taking one step down the porch to greet him properly.

Stan didn’t need any more encouragement.

“Good to see you.”

“Yeah.” Stan sighed, the tension leeching out of him as he crushed his brother in a hug, content at the tight hold he got back around his shoulders. A small laugh made him pull back, raising an eyebrow. “What, nerd?”

“Your hair is so long.” Ford pulled back with a grin, ignoring the joking shove he got in response even when he had to grab the railing to keep upright. “What? I’m just saying. Never expected that.”

“Yeah well, you-” Stan appraised his brother up and down, flicking his hair back behind his head to hide it as he did so. He crossed his arms, huffing in mock annoyance as he gave up trying to carry on the banter. “You look good actually, can’t even tease you back, Poindexter.” He narrowed his eyes, pointing a finger at him. “You have been getting some sleep, right? And eating? No ‘I’ve got to finish off everything I’m thinking about first’ and then pass out like you used to do?”

“Of course not, Fiddleford would skin me alive.” Ford raised his hands up in a placating manner, still smiling away. “Besides, I didn’t say it looked bad, I just wasn’t expecting it. It suits you.”

Stan raised an eyebrow again, smirk forming on his lips. “Oh yeah? Well if it suits me, it’d suit you too.”

Ford blanched, earning a loud hoot of laughter from his brother. “Yeah, right…not happening.” He stepped sideways. “You want the grand tour?” He looked from Stan to his car and back again. “You have a bag I can take up?”

“That can wait. Come on Ford. I wanna finally see all this nerd stuff you’ve been telling me about.” Stan nudged Ford’s arm with his elbow, glad when his twin shrugged and led the way.

He glanced back at his car once before following, wondering how exactly he was going to get his dirty clothes out of the car without Ford noticing.

Ford couldn’t suppress the energetic spark that was thrumming through him. Stan was finally here. Sure he was a bit sheepish and not exactly the boisterous boy he remembered but he was obviously nervous at their reunion so he chalked it up to that. There was a nervous twang dancing along with his own anticipation after all that things might take a turn for the worse but he hoped that they’d both get passed this hiccup quickly. It was new for both of them, talking on the phone could only do so much for them to prepare after years of minimal contact.

But he was relieved to see him in the flesh, he’d had all sorts of dark thoughts on waiting for him to arrive, wondered how different he would look from what he remembered, whether he’d be gaunt or covered in scars or other unspeakable things that his mind could conjure up in the dead of night.

In the circumstances a mullet was almost painful in its sudden respite to all his gloomy imaginings, as was his bright smile and open arms, sending him into euphoric chuckles that he couldn’t quite find it in him to suppress. It had made the paranoia born from the more worrisome phone calls over the last months seem like a distance nightmare that had no basis in reality. Nothing to worry about, nothing to fear. Stan was safe and sound and right here in front of him.

Their conversations were light and full of good humour, neither of them quite wanting to broach subjects that might distort the mood. Ford showed him around the house, watching his eyes grow as big as saucers when he pointed out that he had multiple basements for his research. He felt himself preening slightly as Stan nudged him more in the side, a long low whistle escaping him as they finally sat down in the kitchen with a drink each.

“Look at you, Ford, you’ve done well. Always knew you would. I’m proud of you.”

It was peaceful, Ford found as he sunk further into his chair, warm drink snuggled firmly in his hands to keep out any remaining chill of the morning. It was still early and yet he’d be content to sit here for hours, all day even, with his brother, chatting about anything and everything that came to mind. And yet at the same time he was buzzing with energy, wanted to take him adventuring and go explore the nearby forest, show his brother exactly why he’d come here to do his work.

He took a sip of his drink, humming quietly as he put all his ideas on hold.

Stan wasn’t going anywhere soon, they’d have time to do everything.

Ford frowned into his drink, not having asked how long Stan was expecting to stay, scared it might scare him away quicker or make it seem like he didn’t want him there. “Hey, Sta-”

The clock striking the hour made him pause and glance up, flustered suddenly at how much time had passed without him noticing. “Oh god, is that the time? I asked Fidds to come in late today just in case but…” He looked over at his brother smiling brightly. “Sorry, I was meant to warn you that Fiddleford was coming over today, I thought you two might like to meet considering I’ve told you both about the other so much.” He blinked, his smile dimming as Stan seemed to shift in his seat. “Stan?”

“Hmm? Yeah, s-sure that’s fine. I just-”

Ford watched Stan wince as if not entirely sure how to put it in to words, watched a hand graze through his hair with a small distasteful grimace as the other tugged his shirt down further, straightening out the creases in what he had probably hoped was a subtle movement. Unfortunately, Ford was observant and he also could still figure out when his brother was uncomfortable even if it had been a lot more difficult on the phone without the visual cues. It all clicked into place that for some reason he was self-conscious but Ford wasn’t entirely sure why. He thought Stan had done well for himself considering the circumstances. He wasn’t entirely sure how well he would have fared with being kicked out of the house before they’d even finished high school. He pushed that thought aside, tried his best not to think about that particular moment when it was hopefully behind them now, they’d both made it in their own ways, life went on. And he knew that Fiddleford wasn’t the type to judge even if Stan had turned up worse for wear. But if Stan needed this then he wasn’t going to make him sit there squirming. “You can freshen up in the bathroom if you want? I need to go get ready myself.” He smiled encouragingly at the relief that Stan was trying hard to hide, his face sheepish at being caught out.

Ford stood up, taking both their cups and adding something further to his comment in the hopes that Stan wouldn’t think he was judging him himself. “I bet you’ve been driving all night to get here, knowing you. You can go sleep if you’d like instead and meet him tomorrow?”

“No, no, I’d like to meet Fiddlesticks.”

“…Fiddleford, it’s Fiddleford.”

His first joke fell flat.

His second one fell further.

Stan’s grin twitched, looking to Ford for help who chose to feign ignorance, hell bent on just watching proceedings as Fiddleford raised an eyebrow at him almost condescendingly.

He really shouldn’t have started with the jokes.

Or maybe he shouldn’t have ignored Ford rubbing a hand over his face almost as soon as he opened his mouth. He just couldn’t help himself. It’s how he made friends.

Or got punched in the mouth but hey, you win some, you lose some.

“So, you’re Fiddlenerd, are you?”

Maybe he shouldn’t have ignored the incredulous look he was given by the newcomer. He hadn’t expected him to be so tiny for some reason.

“Excuse me? I’m Fiddleford if that’s what you meant.”

“Yeah but, I call Ford nerd, therefore Fiddlenerd. Has a nice ring to it, right?”

“…How thoughtful.”

Stan’s next few jokes about Ford and their research hadn’t gone down well either, even though Ford was stifling his laughter behind the man in question, obviously used to Stan’s antics. He knew he didn’t mean anything by them, but this guy didn’t seem to get his humour at all and it was starting to wear him down.

Oh well, he had hoped to get on his good side but he was only visiting. He could be Ford’s annoying overbearing brother if that’s all the man would ever think of him. He might be able to lie through his teeth but trying to be both someone completely acceptable for Fiddleford whilst also seeming like his usual self for Ford was an exhausting process he wasn’t even up to contemplating.   

After a few more awkward and stunted conversations on Stan’s part, he had had enough. He was trying his best to impress, to mess around and have some fun but none of his usual antics that would charm anyone else seemed to be working at all. “Hey, sorry, I just realised you two probably have work to do, right? How about I go grab my stuff and leave you two to it for a bit?”

“Huh? No, Stan, wait-”

Stan didn’t listen to the end of it, darting out to cram his clothes into an old torn up duffel bag in the boot of his car. He wrinkled his nose at some of them but Ford had shown him where the bathroom was earlier and told him to use whatever was in there so he was sure he wouldn’t notice if he washed some clothes at the same time as having a shower or in the sink one night. He still had the soap from the motel pocketed so he wouldn’t have to be a burden on that front either.

He turned back to the door once he had everything that he’d need for a couple of days, gripping the bag strap tightly as he threw it over his shoulder. He bit his lip, wondering if it would be enough time for Fiddleford to get everything off his chest and hoping his brother wouldn’t agree with his friend and throw him out there and then. He really had been trying to get Fiddleford to like him. He straightened his back and forced his feet forward, deciding he wanted whatever happened over and done with.

“OK, OK, I probably should have warned you about Stan’s humour. He’s only trying to have some fun, he doesn’t mean any harm.”

Stan paused at the door, his hand outstretched to the handle. Part of him wanted to take grim satisfaction in opening the door and making it plain that he could hear every word but another part of him was curious to hear what Fiddleford really thought of him.

He assumed it would be the same notion he’d heard a thousand times but he never did stop being optimistic that one time he’d be wrong.

“Ford, I didn’t expect your brother to be…”

“To be, what exactly?”

“So different from you? I mean you’re twins but you’re so…unique.”

Stan winced. That was putting it mildly, he could hear the forced politeness in his tone. Had he really made that bad a first impression?

“Of course, we’ve lived separate lives for years now and we always had varied interests. Is that a bad thing?”

Stan almost let himself back into the house there and then to stop them talking, his heart racing with panic. Ford’s laughter from earlier had died out, his voice cool and disconcerting to Stan’s ears. He sounds like Pa. Not only had he not made a good impression, he was very close to ruining their friendship just by visiting. He couldn’t have Ford defending him when Fiddleford had every right to be shocked by genius Ford’s twin brother being the biggest waste of space he’d ever met.

“What? No! No, he’s obviously really nervous. I mean you two haven’t seen each other in years, of course he’s nervous. I just didn’t expect him to get jittery round me.”

Stan dropped back again, eyeing up the door like it was somehow tricking him into hearing things. Was Fiddleford making excuses for him?

“Just wish he wasn’t trying so hard so I could meet the real him, you know?”

Maybe he was trying a bit too hard. He leant up against the wall for a moment, rubbing a hand over his face. He wasn’t used to making friends he thought he would be keeping for more than a few months, and he was used to at the very least keeping them at arms-length when it came to trust. He’d had a few too many people take advantage of him to really jump to attention when someone actually acknowledged him anymore.

“Stop trying to impress him, just…talk to him like you’d talk to Ford.” Stan blinked at his own words, laughing under his breath at how hypocritical they really were. He really did want to impress Ford but genuinely and honestly, not with tricks and lies like with the various punters he’d tried to sell knock off items too. He bit his lip, thinking things through. This Fiddleford hadn’t dismissed him on first impressions and had seen right through him. And Ford trusted him enough to ask him to be his assistant so that had to count for something. So that meant if Stan ever visited again they’d probably have to put up with each other a lot more. On that logic Stan dropped his shoulders, stopped puffing out his chest as he was want to do when he wanted to impress and toned down the fake charismatic smile. He gave himself a full body shake, imagining he was just going in to talk to Ford, letting the genuine feeling that that was finally possible light up his face in a casual smile as he opened the door again.

“So, Fiddlesticks, what was Ford like at college? Did he forget to eat because his books were too interesting and almost pass out again?”

Chapter Text

It took a lot of pushing on Ford’s part to get Stan to even contemplate staying for more than a few days. Ford wouldn’t have even tried so hard if he had had any inkling at all that Stan didn’t want to stay longer with him.

Besides, if he was completely honest with himself, the constant reassurance that he wanted him there was not all for Stan’s benefit. He’d completely forgotten just how much of a bright influence his brother could be. It was like a dark cloud had lifted, sweeping away the past and he wasn’t ready for him to vanish again, to disappear back into distant phone calls and vague non-descript tales of travelling. If his brother had made it clear that he wanted to leave; had had places to go and work to do he would have let him go without argument, he wasn’t going to stop him from living his life.

But the hesitation and sadness on his brother’s face when he’d said he’d probably over-stayed his welcome after only a few short nights had Ford forcefully shaking his head and telling him to stay as long as he wanted.

“…Just a week or two, then I’ll get out of your hair. I’m stopping you from getting on with your research.”

He didn’t like the fact that everything about Stan’s tentative behaviour screamed of his desire not to get in the way, to take a step back and watch when he was itching to dive right in; such a disturbing contrast to the barrelling whirlwind of energy that he used to know like the back of his hand. The boy that would run head first into dangerous situations just to see what happened next, who’d take a punch in the boxing ring because his opponent would usually be unguarded from his fast hook in response, who always pushed himself forward so that attention could be diverted away from his twin when he was clearly getting overwhelmed.

Not that this was his behaviour all the time, Ford’s anxiety at Stan’s new sense of not belonging often drifting away when within only a few days he’d watched Stan slip back into deep rooted reflexes, ones that he recalled fondly and reciprocated without conscious effort. The actions changed only by the passage of time and the new tricks he’d learnt along the way.

It was the little things, that was what Stan called them anyway, but to him and Fiddleford it was a god send.

It had all started the next morning when there’d been a knock on the door. Both men had groaned when they looked at the time, knowing full well that it was one of Northwest’s lackeys. He sent them around like clockwork every week to offer his support and extra grant money if in return they would tell him exactly what they were doing and let him get the prestige once they achieved whatever their goal was. Stan had taken one look at their disgruntled faces as Ford stood up to go politely tell the man yet again that no they were not interested and taken matters into his own hands, spinning around to go answer the door before Ford had even truly left his seat.

There had been a moment of panic shared between the researchers as they stood up in a flurry to follow and possibly stop him, knowing full well Northwest could make their lives hell if he really wanted to. The conversations were like walking across a tightrope and always left Ford drained of any need for social interactions as he calculated every word to make sure not to offend but also make it clear that he was declining his offers.

He wasn’t sure Stan had it in him.

He needn’t have worried though as Stan opened the door and stayed completely still and silent, letting his body mass do the talking for him. He looked like a bouncer from behind, arms crossed, his posture stiff and unyielding, his feet spread wide as if barring entrance to the newcomer. He could only imagine his face as the visitor stuttering out a nervous titter of why he was there and whether the scientists were available to talk, his face terrified at whatever look he was receiving as he glanced Stan up and down and took a small subtle step back.

“They’re busy doing important research. Sorry but I can’t disturb them, you should probably get your boss to send a letter instead. These kind of interruptions are really detrimental to their studies.”

Ford stifled a grin and kicked Fiddleford as he started to chuckle, not wanting Stan’s efforts to go to waste as the man stuttered out an apology and bolted from their door with his tail between his legs.

They got a letter through the post the next day with a full apology and a subtle demand hidden as a well worded request that they visited the Northwest manor when they were next able to. Until then they would be left to their research without any further disruptions. Ford was ecstatic, he simultaneously wanted to frame and burn the document. Stan took it away from him before he got a chance, folding it back into the envelope and up onto his mantelpiece behind the clock so it wouldn’t get lost.

“You should respond Poindexter, he says no interruptions but he’ll keep sending letters and getting angrier and angrier the longer you leave it. So just set up a date and, if you need to, ask to reschedule nearer the time and be very disappointed and apologetic about it. Simper to him and he might get the message after a few postponed meetings that he’s really not going to get anywhere and look for a new target.”

“Why? Surely I can just ignore the letter and he’ll get the message quicker?”

“Ford, ignoring things like this is never the answer, ignore a threat and it’ll just get worse. No, just pretend you’re agreeing and that you are grateful for his continued efforts to make your life easier. Oh, and of course you’d be very appreciative of his invitation.”

 A threat? Ford frowned, wondering if they were talking on cross-purposes, nothing about this letter said ‘threat’ to him but maybe Stan was reading through the lines in a way that he couldn’t. “What if I can’t get out of meeting with him? I don’t think I could stand a night at his manor being shown how rich and perfect his life is and how he’s never had to work a day in his life.”

Stan grinned, pointing his thumb at himself. “Well, if that happens you just call me back up here and I’ll come with you and Fiddlenerd and charm them all. I’m sure I could flatter them all night and keep the probing research questions at bay.” He batted his eyelashes, one arm spread wide, the other close to his chest as he bowed gracefully, making Ford clutch at his stomach in a fit of laughter. His grin widened into a smirk, his eyes alight with mischievous glee. “Course, I could also act so common he’ll never invite you back again instead, that’d be fun.”

“I thought we were trying not to make the guy angry?”

“You know on second thought, accept the invitation now, let’s go. I bet I could sneak something in my pocket while we’re there that would mean you’d never need a grant again...”

“Stan, you are not stealing from the richest man in this town!”

Fiddleford started to accept him as well the more he saw this side of him, the genuine protective and helpful nature that shone through when he wasn’t trying to hide behind a cocky and almost arrogant persona. The clincher had been when, much to Ford’s trepidation, Stan had asked for a tour of the town and Fiddleford had picked it up like a shot, eyes sparkling at pointing out all the best things about the little town. There was an ulterior motive too that he didn’t even try to hide, not even batting an eyelid as he commented on making sure Ford got some fresh air that didn’t consist of a perilous journey into the forest looking for, in Fiddleford’s opinion, vicious and dangerous creatures.

Ford still maintained that people were far harder to deal with, and made sure his opinion on the matter was known, much to his two companions rolled eyes and incredulous expressions.

They’d made the normal trek into town, Ford quietly humming along in agreement as Fiddleford pointed out everything of interest they came across. He wasn’t all that fussed about the mundane parts of town, that wasn’t why he’d moved there after all but it was nice to have everything close by and Stan seemed to be pointing out more pros than cons as he bounced back and forth with his colleague.

Not that he was entirely sure why Stan seemed to approve of some of the things in town but he just shrugged and assumed that Stan had been to many places on his travels and probably knew a bad place by now when he saw it.

Ford could still feel the niggling feeling of unease as they walked through the streets that he couldn’t quite shake, even with his brother’s loose arm around his shoulder and his kind words about the place he’d set up home in.

It had been when they’d stopped for lunch at the local diner that the whispering Ford had dreaded had finally started.

It set Ford completely on edge, his shoulders hunching up around his ears as he hid behind his menu from the stares he could feel hitting their table. There had been a sudden hush when they’d let themselves in that had not really vanished after they’d sat down like he had hoped it would, eyes trailing after them as they walked. He knew he only had himself to blame, hiding up in his house and letting the rumours brush around him like they were nothing, instead of just making the effort to come down into town and be sociable to dissuade the theories.

He winced as Fiddleford started to slump down further in his seat next to him, obviously uncomfortable with the prolonged scrutiny. He’d tried so hard for his benefit to pretend it wasn’t happening, Ford knew from the bright and fake tone his voice had taken when he’d looked through the menu, but everyone reached their limit at some point.

Except Stan that is.

Stan hadn’t even seemed to notice, didn’t bat an eyelid at the almost frosty, perturbing atmosphere as he gestured over to the waitress. A coy smile rested on his face as he gave her an exaggerated wink, making her flush slightly as she scurried over to take their drink orders.

Ford slipped another note into his mental catalogue when Fiddleford insisted he paid and Stan suddenly became uncomfortable. His hands fidgeted with the menu in front of him, dog-earing it subconsciously, and went to order something small, insisting he wasn’t actually that hungry even though Ford was sure he hadn’t seen him eat all that much in the last 3 days he’d been staying with him. His inner flurry to do something quickly was appeased when Fiddleford instead brought up them getting a sharing dish instead which seemed to discourage Stan’s rising distress without being completely obvious with his intentions. He shared a look with Fiddleford as Stan took a moment to glance around the diner with interest, and was relieved to find that his friend’s face mirrored his own concern, dissipating what was left of his internal turmoil that two people who meant a lot to him couldn’t seem to see eye to eye and possibly never would.

If Fiddleford was fretful it meant he was starting to see Stan as more than just an irritating inconvenience.

For a moment Ford worried that they hadn’t been as subtle as he had envisioned them being, Stan quickly excusing himself from the table. He soon rolled his eyes, however, catastrophe averted, as he watched him follow the waitress back to her station. He sparked up a conversation with her and a few of the regulars, back and elbows against the bar and legs crossed in a comfortable lean that allowed him to keep an eye on their table whilst also keeping up a casual and nonchalant conversation.

Ford felt his back stiffen, looking down and away hurriedly, the interrogation Stan was under obvious even though he couldn’t hear a word, the regulars bouncing question after question at him whilst also taking quick shrewd glances over to their table. His brother’s booming laugh and sly smile did nothing to ease Ford’s growing tension, his mind wandering through theory after theory of how exactly Stan was using that silver tongue of his and whether it was going to somehow throw them into deeper waters.

As Stan swaggered back to the table and slid into his seat, however, Ford was pretty sure he felt the atmosphere shift around them. The whispering still got to him, in the same way people staring at his hands always had, but it was suddenly warmer, like there was a hushed awe and a thrum of excitement instead of the nervous and distrustful tension that had been settling dark and heavy on his shoulders. The eyes surreptitiously finding their table every few moments no longer showed outright suspicion and instead held a highly curious hint to them that Ford found mildly disconcerting, the sudden 180 doing nothing to burst the lingering pressure that had built up around him.

“Stan, what did you do?” Ford hissed, leaning across the table, his eyebrows furrowed and eyes sharp. It was one thing for there to be rumours about the new reclusive researcher in town but for his brother to be orchestrating more rumours for his own amusement was just too much for him.

“Relax, I was just intrigued to see what people thought you two were up to. I mean, yeesh, these guys have some wild imaginations, let me tell you.” Stan hummed, impressed by the horror stories that the local teenagers had come up with that the adults had ‘jokingly’ asked him about. He could spot a liar in a second though and found it highly amusing that these random strangers thought his brother was the latest mad scientist in their midst and were trying to play it off as kids stories and not their own. “I played it up a bit, laughed at some of the worse ones and shrugged at a few others. Didn’t say a word on what you actually did, don’t worry. Just made you sound mysterious and interesting – good mysterious that is, not horror mysterious.”

“Stan-”

“Listen, Sixer, I’m going to assume this is a normal occurrence considering your weird response to coming into town earlier. And I can assure you that word will now spread like wildfire. Sure, you’ll still get some of those whispers but it’ll of the ‘that’s the famous and interesting scientist that lives on the hill and does very important research that will save lives’ kind instead of ‘that’s the weird silent newcomer who lives on the hill that nobody knows anything about and may or may not do black magic in his spare time’. Which by the way was one of the least worrying rumours I just heard. What the hell have you been doing, Ford, to get that kind of reputation?”

“They think I do black magic?”

“How on Earth did you get all that done in one tiny conversation?”

“If you ever want to make an impression you charm the most likely person to gossip you can spot in a place with the highest traffic rate you can find. That way the next time you show up in the vicinity, you can be damn sure that a lot more people will know your name.”

It had been fascinating to watch Stan work in his own way, lapping it all up like he was something new to study, exploring precisely how Stan had lived on his own for all this time. It was easy to see that he could keep himself afloat by charming people around his little finger.

Ford was actually starting to consider his wandering salesman stories that he had been dubious about believing before.

And it was fun to see him beam proudly when he could help the pair out in the only way he seemed to think he could, the youthful energy Ford remembered bounding through him. The sparkle of gleeful trouble-making that their Ma used to call ‘personality’ whenever the teachers complained about him or compared him to his brother and she wanted to make sure to show she was proud of him even if no one else was.

But this behaviour never seemed to last when they were behind closed doors.  

It only seemed to be with Ford and his assistant that he suddenly became smaller, more sheepish and less impetuous. Equal parts pulling away and trying to impress all bottled up in a nervous energy that made him talk too fast and his feet tap sporadically. As much as Ford was proud that Stan respected them enough to hold back and not insert himself into their sometimes dangerous work especially when he didn’t know all the risks, he also hated that he was continuously walking on eggshells around them.

He refused to come down to the laboratory and see their work, too clumsy for his own good, he’d probably break something important by his own admission. Ford was willing to accept his reasoning, knowing full well they sometimes dealt with dangerous chemicals and substances and he’d hate for Stan to get hurt by coming down at the wrong moment. But it still struck a chord with him that his brother was too nervous to even look at his research in case he spoiled it when he made it abundantly clear that he was inviting him down there and that there was no need to fret. He wouldn’t even step into the elevator and have a look at his study even after he promised that it wouldn’t do any harm! He hadn’t even entertained the notion of coming with them to the bunker, Ford hadn’t even had a chance to finish his invitation before Stan was shaking his head and pulling back from him with a derogatory remark about contaminating their workspace.

Not only that but he didn’t seem to think he could make valid contributions to any of it! More than once Ford had sat with his journal at the table, ranting to his brother about whatever block was in their way in the hopes that something would click just by sound-boarding it, only for Stan to point out a detail he hadn’t even thought was significant and turn everything on its head, making him look at the problem from a completely different perspective. But whenever he tried to praise him for his help he always shrugged and brushed the compliment off.

“You would have gotten there without me.”

The most surprising thing had been watching him help Fiddleford. He had set up shop in Ford’s front garden, not wanting to get grease all over the house as he fiddled with his latest theorised mechanical project. It hadn’t taken long for Stan’s curiosity to get the better of him and Ford had gone with him in the hopes of answering any questions that his brother had, on the off chance Fiddleford rushed through the explanation as he was want to do. On more than one occasion Ford had found it hard to follow his friend’s train of thought, his knowledge of machinery far surpassing his own.

He had instead been completely stunned, his head following the conversation like it was an interesting tennis match as the pair talking at lightning speed without even realising it about mechanical engineering. Stan seemed to take everything in stride, nodding where needed and frowning when he was working anything out in his head before contributing further in motions that Ford had seen many a time when he himself rambled about his work. Though he was a lot more confident in his responses here than he had ever been with one of Ford’s paranormal hypothesis.

He couldn’t help but wonder if this was what people had meant at college when they said it was difficult to follow his and Fiddleford’s discussions for any period of time.

A small bubble of laughter escaped him when Fiddleford had finally looked up and for a moment seemed perplexed that it wasn’t Ford that was talking to him, obviously having thought the same thing as he had been moments before. Stan hadn’t noticed the puzzled expression however, too thrilled that he had found a common interest between them and darted off to his car to bring over some spare parts and tools that he thought might prove useful. He took a step back once Fiddleford started to rummage, an appreciative noise leaving him as he looked from the box to his machine and back again, but Ford could see Stan’s hands clenching and unclenching, obviously straining against touching Fiddleford’s work and physically helping even though he was giving the thing a once over like it was a work of art.

Much to Ford’s disappointment he took another few despondent steps back until he was standing next to him on the porch and leaving Fiddleford to work in peace.

“Where did you learn all that, Stan?”

Stan blinked back at him, eyes finally tearing away from the metal masterpiece, clearly confused at the evident curiosity in Ford’s voice. He shrugged one shoulder and let himself back into the house without much thought on the question.

“It’s just car junk, I had to maintain my baby, that’s all. Besides, it’s not like any of the parts I just gave him are actually going to be useful in whatever high tech gizmo he’s constructing.”

Ford had taken the plunge in the end, when Stan had started to get fidgety again as his stay stretched passed the two weeks he’d agreed to. His brother’s continuous self-deprecating tone finally got the better of him. He had to put his foot down. He’d spilled the observations he had made, hating the look of shame that crossed his twin’s face in retaliation but it had to be done.

He just couldn’t seem to get through to him that he wasn’t a burden.

“Stan, do you have a place to stay?”

“What? Of course I do. What kind of question is that?”

Ford had frowned when Stan hadn’t met his eye. “I don’t mean your car, Stan.” He’d flinched when Stan’s head had snapped back round to him, eyes narrowed and jaw tense.

“T-that’s not what I meant. I’ve only had to do that once or twice. I like to travel a lot, that’s all.”

“Stan, you’re a great liar but I know all your tells.” Ford sighed when Stan crossed his arms and looked away again, his body hunching over as if to protect himself from Ford’s judgement. “I’m not-I don’t want to fight, Stan. And I’m not judging you, I swear.” He cursed under his breath, completely out of his depth and knowing that everything he said was coming out so blatantly badly but he couldn’t quit now. “Stan, I’m trying to ask you to stay, for as long as you need.” His words came out quieter, more questioning as Stan’s face grew stonier, shaking his head back and forth before he’d had a chance to finish. “Just until you find your feet again?”

“I can’t- you’ve done enough already. I’m not going to be a freeloader. I’ll come visit every so often, and one of these days one of my sales pitches will actually work and you can come visit me for once.”

“You wouldn’t be a freeloader.” Ford’s mind raced as he tried to come up with arguments. “The room was going spare anyway, I never use it. It was just in case I ever had a guest over so I’d rather it got used. And it’s not like you ever make a mess, in fact you tidy up after me and Fiddleford so we don’t break our necks on books lying around so you’d be doing us a favour.”

Stan had sat for a few moments, debating it all in his head, every so often coming out with a con that Ford immediately dismissed.

He knew he had to come up with something more though to stop the encroaching stalemate that would probably end with Stan making him drop the subject entirely.

“Do you have any plans?”

“What?”

A victorious cheer went through Ford’s mind as he took back the conversation and Stan scrutinised him suspiciously for the diversion. Ford smiled reassuringly, trying not to let the smugness seep through. He had learnt from the best, taking a leaf out of Stan’s book to change the subject just enough to confuse him but also keep him sitting there. “When you go wherever you’re planning to go next, that is? What are you going to do first when you get there?”

“If I’m honest, I’ll probably go treasure hunting, one day I’ll find something super exciting.” Stan hummed thoughtfully, eyes misting over as he thought about it, completely distracted from where Ford might be going with this.

Ford knew he’d won the argument then, before he’d even finished it. He’d been hoping to be able to point out that Stan could do whatever he’d been planning to do from here. And that? That he could work with, age old dreams of the Stan O’War resurfacing from his little locked vault. He leaned in close to Stan, opening up his journal to the small map of the forest he’d been slowly hashing out. “You know, you could always help me with some exploring I’ve been planning for a while. There are some interesting spots in the mountains that I haven’t been able to visit on my own, and there’s a weird little island in the middle of the nearby lake that no one goes near for some reason that would be fascinating to visit.”

He chuckled as Stan’s face lit up at the sound of a boat trip, his eyes glued to the page that Ford held out to him like it was the best thing he’d seen in years. He finally looked back over at Ford, his eyes less confrontational and his voice gruffer with tightly contained happiness.

“Well, I can’t refuse that, can I?”

Chapter Text

It had taken awhile for Ford to come to the brilliant conclusion that his best option for everyone was to offer Stan a job.

He knew Stan would argue, knew that he’d think Ford was pitying him but in all honesty he’d found out over the last month of living together again that Stan was really really good at what he did and they would all benefit from his input even if he disregarded it himself.

Not that there wasn’t also concern mixed in with the practicality of the offer. He might have gotten Stan to stay with him but that was about all he’d been able to do. He still refused to use anything that would cost Ford any more money than he seemed to already think he was doing by crashing in his spare room. He went to the laundrette in town and left the clothes drying on his car even when Ford offered him the use of his washing machine, didn’t turn on lights unless it was absolutely necessary. He even went on shopping trips for Ford when he was too busy but bought his own food with his own money along with Ford’s list and still refused to eat with him or Fiddleford when he stayed too late, always saying he wasn’t hungry or that he had his own food ready to go but Ford never saw him eat it.

When he’d confronted him, the concern had reverted into full blown alarm, his eyes widening as his brother shook him off without a thought, dismissing the conversation before it could even begin.

“I’m getting a room for free, I’m not going to eat your food and run up your bills as well.”

Nothing he said seemed to change this attitude and a small niggling thought drew him back to an observation he’d made once during their phone calls, one of those insignificant things that had made his gut twist but at the time he hadn’t been able to comprehend why it was setting his warning bells ringing.

He remembered laughing loudly at the unmistakeable sound of his brother’s stomach growling, chiding him for not grabbing some food before he spoke to him and reminding him how hypocritical it was when he told him to go get rest and nutrition if he wasn’t doing it himself.

“Yeah, probably should have…didn’t really think, wanted to talk to you more.”

He had had the nagging suspicion that his brother was hiding something from him but it had seemed so out of context that he hadn’t really taken it in.

Now his stomach churned with the thought that Stan had wasted what money he had talking to him instead of using it for what he actually needed.

Fiddleford had gladly taken that particular issue out of his hands, frustrated grumbles consisting mainly of ‘malnutrition’ and ‘what is it with you Pines and not looking after yourselves?’ as he sat himself down at the stove and told Ford that on no accounts was he leaving until he’d made sure both of them had eaten a hearty meal that night.

Ford had decided not to go down that route with Stan, knowing he’d get defensive and instead turned the situation around to make it sound like Stan would be helping him if he ate with them. That Fiddleford thought he needed to eat more and always cooked too much but wouldn’t let him leave until he’d eaten everything, an image Stan had found highly entertaining.

Once he sat down, he suddenly became aware of exactly what Ford had meant when Fiddleford fixed him with a maternal glare every time he tried to put his fork down before setting about piling his plate up high again. Not that he could exactly refuse, appreciative hums at the good cooking dissipating his overshadowing doubts about sitting at the table with them as quickly as they surfaced and making the other two mentally congratulate themselves, smiling smugly around their own forkfuls as Stan ate every bite presented to him.

Once they’d gotten passed that hurdle, it seemed that Stan started to loosen up more around them, especially as they began their explorations together, the small trips starting the cogs turning in Ford’s mind.

He would never forget the bright awe and hushed wonder when he’d taken him out on that first trip. It was like he was sharing a big part of himself with his brother and there was nothing better than seeing his own passion reflected back at him from his sparkling eyes that validated everything he did more than any university colleague ever could. It had only been a small trip, taking him to the best places in the same way Fiddleford had shown him around town. He’d taken him to the ‘Enchanted forest’ which Stan had mocked the entire trip there until they arrived, his voice dying into stunned silence at the open glen they found themselves in, fairies flitting around his head and making him jump back in alarm.

Ford and Fiddleford had almost fallen over, wracked with silent cackles, tears streaming down their faces when a gnome scampered passed and his brother’s arms wind-milled frantically so that he didn’t fall over away from it, a high pitch squeak emanating out of him.

“Wait until he meets a Unicorn.”

Ford’s laughter had died into a petulant sulk as soon as Stan grabbed him and gleefully shook him like a small child and asked him if unicorns were really real. He’d then been forced to go near the repulsive things, no matter how many arguments he came up with because Stan adamantly refused to leave until he’d seen one.

They opened up the secret entrance, Stan bounding in before they could slow him down. Ford just hoped this didn’t crush Stan’s image of the creatures, he’d had quite a shock when he’d finally met one of them and he was still disappointed in his findings.

Stan’s grin vanished in an instance, his expression blanking out when a horn was suddenly far too close to his chest for comfort. His hands raised up placatingly even as his feet shifted into a more grounded stance, ready to quickly jab and run if needed.

Ford cursed, realising he probably should have warned him about that particular routine. He winced sympathetically when the creature reared up away from Stan’s advances soon after, his twin’s expression perplexed but oddly relieved at his personal bubble being back in place, rubbing at his chest as if the creature had actually struck him.

“Not pure of heart!”

Stan waited quietly until it was finished shouting and raging at him, its head back close to his with a look of utter disgust in its beady eyes. He raised an eyebrow, a small incredulous smirk on his face as he locked eyes with it, the creature pawing at the ground suspiciously at his reaction. He wasn’t sure what exactly he had been expecting of a Unicorn but in all fairness a snobby prima donna horse with a highly polished horn fit well enough for him not to be phased.

And it was always so rewarding to bring a snob down a peg or two.

“Well, duh. I never said I was.” Stan turned away from it before it had a chance to respond, looking at Ford with uncontained amusement. “I mean, what on earth does that even mean? There’s no such thing as a completely pure heart.” He turned back to it, patting it on the head and making it back away from him again with a rage filled squawk. “Hey, shh, it’s ok. Your little trick just needs some more work, you’ll get there eventually. You’ve got to be real gullible to fall for a line like that though so I’d recommend changing your sales pitch.”

“Why I never!”

Stan didn’t even look behind him as he walked back, passed the other two silently gawking men, waving a hand back behind him casually as he left them all to it.

Ford took vicious satisfaction in following suit and leaving the Unicorn’s glade with the creature spluttering out indignant reproaches that went ignored, not used to being bested by a mere human. Last time he had been there the frustrating being had made him run over every little thing that he had done wrong in his life that made him unworthy to even attempt talking to it.

He grabbed his journal to make a few notes as they walked back to the house and blinked when the book completely vanished from his grasp. His hands continued to try and grip the article that was no longer there even as his eyes found Stan making a scribbled note in the corner of the page, tongue sticking out with concentration as he tried not to trip over any rocks or roots, and write legibly at the same time. He made one last dot, skimming it over before he slipped it back into Ford’s hands as if he hadn’t done anything in the first place, his face the picture of innocence.

‘Act confident and indifferent to their dramatics, they hate it! Probably would get more information from them this way than trying to play along. Stan.’

“Couldn’t put it better myself.” Ford muttered, snapping the book shut with a nod before Stan grabbed him in a one-armed hug, other arm snaking around Fiddleford who squeaked at the unexpected contact.

“So? What’s next?”

It had taken him a while to pluck up the courage to ask his brother to work for him. He’d mulled it over for a week, running through the conversation a thousand times in his head, until he knew exactly how he wanted to approach the subject and how to work through any objections Stan might have.

And then his plans had been shattered in one fell swoop.

Everything came to a head one fateful afternoon and the ensuing conversation he had planned meticulously became more of an awkward apology than a genuine job offer.

Stan was furious with him.

And he had every right to be.

Ford winced as he peeked through the doorway yet again, noting his brother sitting bolt upright on the sofa, arms locked around his chest and eyes staring at a black TV screen as if he was going to burn a hole straight through it.

If he wasn’t fearful for his head being bitten off, he might have broached the subject good-humouredly, hoping to drag him out of the cloying atmosphere that was surrounding him.

Hey, at least you’re no longer scared to voice your opinion when you think I’m wrong anymore.

Yeah, he was pretty sure that sentiment would earn him a well-deserved punch to the mouth, if not worse.

He hadn’t meant for any of this to happen. Stan knew that he zoned out all the irritating background static when he was studying something intently, from both their old school days and from more recent studies. He didn’t mean to, it was just something he’d learnt to do to get the best out of any given situation.

He hadn’t just decided to ignore Stan intentionally. He just hadn’t recognised the warning in his tone and thought he was chatting to Fiddleford instead, whispering even, so as not to disturb him.

But it wasn’t him that he had been trying not to disturb.

It was the abject scream of terror that had alerted him to the sudden notion that everything had somehow gone drastically awry.

He hadn’t even had the chance to turn around, Stan’s large hand dragging him up by the collar and bodily throwing him behind him without much regard for how he landed. Which incidentally ended up being a crumpled heap on top of Fiddleford who had already been chucked there a few moments before. He went to object, sitting up quickly before Fiddleford dragged him back down with shaking arms and suddenly Ford took in the angry roar emanating from his brother with a shiver of dread snaking down his spine. They watched in frozen silence as Stan took on the rabid creature, a vicious tall beast with snarling fangs and sharp bright claws. Ford’s horror rose sharply as he noted that his brother was fighting it with his bare fists, his eyes locked and body loose as he dodged and weaved to keep it focussed on him and not the pair behind him. He tried to help, ran through every encyclopaedia entry stored in his memory bank to figure out the creature’s weakness but came up with nothing more than its name: Barghest. All in all he ended up just trying to warn Stan of an impending strike which only proved to distract him further from his own calculations.

Stan was not impressed with his ‘helpful’ interjections and made it very clear in his responding litany of obscenities that made Ford’s mouth shut with an audible snap. The swearing quickly turned into another growl, this one coloured with pain as well as fury as a dodge backwards too late ended with pinpricks of blood blooming steadily through his now ruined shirt. He dove forward before the other two could voice their panic, fighting with a new intensity and a feral look to his eyes.

They all breathed a sigh of relief as the creature finally whimpered and fled, admitting defeat and leaving a panting and exhausted Stan standing in its wake.

Until he had turned on Ford.

“What the fuck was that, Stanford?”

Ford didn’t know if he’d ever seen his brother that livid as he forcefully dragged him to his feet by his collar again and shoved him against a tree where he struggled fruitlessly. Stan snarled at him, reprimanding him for not taking care of himself or his assistant or just god damn listening to him. He ignored Fiddleford’s weak attempts to pull him off, keeping Ford in place as he turned to the other man and gave him a quick once over, asking him in quick fire questions if he was alright and apologising frantically for not dragging him away in time.

Nausea bubbling up Ford’s throat, his struggles ceasing as suddenly as they had started, his mind finally grasping the scream earlier hadn’t just been in fear but full of pain as well. His eyes slowly swivelled round, his ears ringing, muting out Stan and Fiddleford’s quick back and forth for a moment as he took in Fiddleford’s clawed and bloody arm that he was propping up close to his chest. It looked painful enough for him to hiss softly, sympathetically but to his relief the wounds didn’t seem too deep and could be easily taken care of once he had his first aid kit on hand.

His ears popped with a sudden intensity, the reassurances falling back to the recesses of his mind as Fiddleford pointed out that Stan had taken the brunt of the attack when he’d dragged him out of the way. He lurched back round again, eyes scanning his brother as much as was possible from the awkward angle he was being held at.

Stan refused point blank to let him take a look at his wounds, his fury burning up again when Ford reproachfully told him to put him down already and let him check him over. Apparently he wasn’t appreciating the situation he had put himself and Fiddleford in enough for Stan to be done with his admonishments, even as they came out in a spluttered garbled heap, too distraught and angry to think things through enough to voice it.

It burst out of him a moment later, the words as powerful as any blow he could have thrown at his brother, his voice cracking with the intensity.

“What the hell would you have done if I wasn’t here?!”

Ford couldn’t get his feet under himself quickly enough when Stan dropped him, his shaking hands unable to keep him there any longer. Ford cringed at the fire fading from his eyes, replaced by utter distress that Ford wasn’t understanding why he had frightened him so much. His mouth was a thin quivering line, his eyes almost glassy as he turned back the way they had come and stormed away from both of them back towards the house.

“Stan, wait!”

“He kind of has a point. I-If he hadn’t been here...”

Ford glanced back up at his friend, unable to speak as his heart raced at the possibilities, body almost rebelling as his mind’s eye flicked a much gorier scene up in front of him. He’d gotten complacent, thought he knew this part of the forest like the back of his hand and the situation that had thrown them into could have turned out far worse than it actually did.

“God, Fidds, I am so sorry.”

Fiddleford shrugged, squinting his eyes shut as the motion jogged his wound. “Neither of us were exactly paying attention to him, Ford. I assumed he was just jumpy being this far into the forest for the first time.”

They travelled back to the house in silence, both of them too shocked to really try and make light of it all.

When they got there, Stan was nowhere to be seen, the first aid kit left in full display for Fiddleford’s wounds to be attended to.

Hours later and Ford was stood fidgeting outside the living room doorway with the first aid kit in hand, lacking the confidence to breach the ice cold aura in the offending room. It was only when Stan shifted and gave a quiet groan, rubbing his hand along his side that Ford couldn’t see from this angle that he pushed through the tension and stumbled into the room.

“Fidds has gone home. He’s alright, all cleaned up, just a bit shaken. C-can I take care of your wounds now?”

Stan didn’t even turn to him, just gave a grunt and stayed where he was, still staring daggers at the screen.

Ford took that as the best answer he was going to get and squatted in front of him, ignoring the stab of hurt in his chest as Stan moved his gaze further upwards, his glare melting the wall above Ford’s head instead.

They were silent for a few moments as Ford got to work, cutting what was left of the front of Stan’s shirt to get a better look at the wounds. He hissing sympathetically at the now visible jagged injuries that stretched from his side around to his back from where he’d pushed Fiddleford out of the way as well as the shallower claw marks that trailed down his chest and abdomen. He mumbled soft comforting reassurances when Stan couldn’t hold back a little pained noise at the antiseptic Ford rubbed across his chest.

“So…I was thinking. We could definitely use someone watching our backs more.” Ford kept his eyes on Stan’s wounds, even as he felt his gaze start to bore into the top of skull. “You’d make a good bodyguard.”

Stan grunted in response.

“OK, still not up for talking, I get that. I’m-I’m sorry that this happened, I don’t know to say. I’ve thought of everything that I could say but I’m pretty sure anything I came up with would just make you angry again.”

“You got that right.”

Ford smiled softly as his brother finally broke his silent treatment, hoping that meant he was getting somewhere. “So, would you take my job offer?”

Stan sighed, pulling himself away as much as he could to scrutinise his brother, his eyes tired and disappointed enough that Ford actually wished he was still shouting at him. This was far worse. “Ford, I’d much rather you actually looked after yourself and Fidds, what are you going to do when I stop staying here? I’m gonna be scared stiff thinking about you two nerds travelling through the forest when you seem to be under the illusion that the most vicious thing you’ll come across is a god damn gnome.”

“And I’m going to be just as worried wondering what messes you’re getting yourself into on the road.” Ford snapped back before biting his tongue and taking a deep breath. That trail of conversation wasn’t going to get him anywhere. “Does that mean you won’t join us again on a ‘monster hunt’?” He used Stan’s wording, knowing that it might placate him at least a little bit.

“You think I’m leaving you two to it while I’m here? Not on your life, you’re not allowed in that forest without me from now on.”

Ford hummed, nodding in complete agreement that had his brother relaxing under his ministrations as he went to clean out the other wound. “Well, why not get paid for it at the same time then?”

“Look, things went sour today, I get that, it happens. But I really do like going out on these adventures with you. You don’t have to pay me to come with you both.”

God he really wished Stan would just punch him already.

“I pay Fiddleford.”

“That’s different.”

“No it’s not. This is a proper job offer.” Ford straightened up and held out his hand, the other ruffling the back of his head as he suddenly wondered if this was the best plan he’d ever thought of. “I call it ‘please make sure Fidds doesn’t get eaten or mauled while I’m too busy sketching something’.”

Stan glared up at him, his eyes frustrated and upset all in one as he spoke through gritted teeth. “I’d rather that was ‘please watch my back so I don’t get mauled while I’m too busy being blindly oblivious to anything around me.’”

“T-that too?” Ford cleared his throat, scratching at his chin as he left his hand still outstretched in front of him. “Well?”

“Ford…”

“Fine, how about this. You feel weird about me paying you so how about this instead? You are not allowed to feel guilty about crashing in my spare room anymore, or-or- get weird about eating my food or you know just living in this house. This place is as much mine as yours, just like it is Fiddleford’s.” He waited for Stan to accept or decline but Stan just continued to stare at his hand, face conflicted. He felt himself deflate, any confidence he had dashed as Stan didn’t make a move. “You wouldn’t have to leave then either…that’s if you want to stay.”

He couldn’t help beaming when Stan grasped his hand tightly back, yanking him forward into a quick hug.

“Fine, but for god sake listen to me next time, Ford.”

Stan felt himself relaxing into his new surroundings, finally comfortable enough to go to sleep without worrying that he was going to get kicked out or get into a heated argument with his brother. He’d finally unpacked more of his stuff, no longer keeping his car completely ready to vanish back into the dead of night without a word if he needed to, no longer feeling like a waste of space that his brother would finally get tired of him once he got passed the happy reunion and realised Stan wasn’t as brilliant as he kept trying to prove he was.

His self-worth was taking a well needed boost, protecting his brother, being given the job of protecting him made him feel complete in a way he hadn’t been in a long time, filling the hole that had been aching in his heart for so long.

His mind relaxed, his vigilance waning as all his preoccupied thoughts slipped away, leaving his mind clear enough to finally sleep without tossing and turning with all the little things that he had done terribly throughout each day. Finally could close his eyes and stop having weird mingling dreams of his father shifting into Ford, shifting into himself, shouting vicious words at him as they chased him through the forest. Dreams of being chased out of town by the townspeople and Fiddleford and his brother just watching without remorse.

Now those dreams were fading memories, crushed like annoying bugs as the sun flickered through the windows, by his brother’s greetings when he saw him in the morning, by Fiddleford’s southern twang as he laughed at his stupid remarks, when either of them asked for his help with something and didn’t condescend his answers.

His reprieve was short lived.

His nightmares returned in earnest as soon as they saw weakness and sunk their claws back into his mind.

Stan woke gasping and trembling, a wheeze of stifled air managing to make it passed the knuckle he’d forced into his mouth to stop from screaming. The darkness of the room did nothing to alleviate the nightmares lingering shadow, stumbling out of bed with a small whimper as he felt the blankets tangle and trap around him, his throat tightening at the suffocating feeling.

The movements were slow going, it felt like it took years to get where he’d been aiming, the flood of artificial light at least helping open up his airways, his eyes scanning the familiar room with quick sharp scrutiny as his heart hammered in his chest.

“You’re fine, you’re fine. You’re here. You’re not…You’re not there.”

He slowly slipped down his door until he was curled up on the floor, knees against his chest and hands tight in his hair as he repeated the words over and over, quick and breathless. Everything was fine now, his life was looking up! Why did all this have to bubble up to the surface again? He needed to get through this, he wanted to get through this. What if Ford saw him like this?

His breathing hitched again, his words coming to a sudden halt. Ford was finally thinking of him in a positive light again, thought he was worth keeping around. Fiddleford seemed to think he was brave and interesting. What would they think if they saw him this distressed over a nightmare? Jumping at shadows?

What if they knew he was scared to fall asleep?

You’re such a hindrance. Get over it already.

Stan took a shuddering deep breath, his hands tightening painfully in his hair in attempt to dim the voice before he dragged himself up and quietly slipped out of the room. He needed some air, needed to calm his nerves before Ford woke up. He’d get through this, he would, he’d have to and they’d never need to know. He’d squash it all down, push it back to the far recesses of his mind, keep going and one day, one day he’d pull through.

Today was not that day.

Until then he’d just have to do well at hiding it.

Chapter Text

“So…”

Ford felt his words lodge in his throat as he interrupted the light hearted conversation. He’d been trying to slip nonchalantly into the kitchen as if nothing had happened that morning, no accidental prod too far or probing questions that left them both on high alert. Yet now he was left scrambling, trying as hard as he could not to show that his stomach had dropped with an intense lurch into his shoes as the laughter from the other two, that he had been so busy focussing on to push him forward, to reassure him that everything was alright, died away into an awkward silence at his entrance.

You did that. You should have left them to it.

Ford felt his mouth go dry at the unwelcome thought. He’d fully expected Stan to still be jittery, to have been anxious at how long he was taking until he came in and settled the atmosphere between them as if nothing untoward had happened. He hadn’t meant to spend so much time staring at his own phone, remembering age old conversations that had curdled hot and rancid in his gut before he’d shakenly reminded himself that he needed to stop thinking about what he should do and just do something already because Stan was waiting for him to make the next move, probably getting himself more and more distressed when he didn’t show up-

Well, that’s what he’d expected.

But instead he had now seemingly barged into a moment of reprieve for the other man.

His brother had calmed down without him there to dissipate the air around them, had gone back to being jovial and bright even if it was slightly more subdued that usual. Fiddleford had been doing most of the talking, Ford had been able to hear his continuous stream of words as he’d approached, keeping everything going so that Stan could just hum in agreement and laugh along without any confrontation. A calming murmur of a presence that didn’t ask for anything in return other than a willing listener. A bright contrast to the storm that had been Ford’s concerned and inquisitive words, demanding answers even if it was with the best interests at heart and freezing Stan in place, putting him on the back foot without any intention.

And yet just by walking in, he’d destroyed the peaceful lull.

Maybe he had been gone for too long.

Maybe he should have followed straight away and brushed it all off, kept up the act like his brother would have wanted and had been trying to do since he’d first arrived, or at least since Ford had noticed the signs that something wasn’t quite right.

Ford leant against the door, trying to not let in perturb him as his brother continued to put the shopping away without a glance in his direction to let him see his expression or uttering a word, no mocking banter at his arrival or quick fire questions to push the conversation into familiar territories that he could deal with. His body language would have been enough though even without the dreaded silence Ford was being met with; one hand clasped tight around the cupboard door as if the action grounded him, his eyes firmly lodged on the worktop before him or scrutinising the item in his hand as if it held all the secrets to the world in its fine print. The clincher, were his back and shoulders, muscles tensely coiled and hunched up around his ears, a very obvious hint as to where he thought Ford’s next words were going and what he thought of that particular conversation. Already trying to physically protect himself.

Make himself smaller. Less of a target.

From the lack of conversation that drifted ever onwards, Ford realised with a sharp pang of shame deep in his chest, that there were only two reasons in his mind that Stan would be acting this way. Either Stan assumed Ford wouldn’t be so easily dissuaded from his interrogation by any kind of protest, even if he make it clearer than it already was that he wouldn’t or more importantly couldn’t go there. Or he was just far too tired to try and lie his way out of the situation. Far too tired to keep up the act that he was completely and utterly fine when it was crystal clear to all of them that deep down he really wasn’t.

Either way, it was also painfully obvious that this was not how he wanted them to find out whatever it was that ailed him so. Ford could almost feel the shame bubbling off of him from here.

Ford didn’t know which theory he hated more. The notion that Stan thought he would force it out of him and tear open the wounds just to satisfy his attempts to help, or that he had pushed so hard that Stan himself was somehow feeling guilty and shameful enough to just give in to his demands, just for being in pain, and felt that Ford had every right to be frustrated at him for how stubborn he was being.

He’d already filed away all the information he had on Stan, the contradictive aspects that had become apparent in their separation and yet he hadn’t really realised the effect trying to comfort his younger twin could have on the situation.

His youthful jovial boy from years ago was still there when he let himself be. Loud and proud, with a mean left hook to boot. His whole personality screaming that he was stronger than anything you could throw at him, every word and blow bouncing off of him like water off a duck’s back.

And then there was the wiser, older man, quiet and more subdued with anecdotes on life Ford couldn’t even register sometimes, far too world weary for someone their age. The man who knew his way around, what to say, what to do, to keep himself safe. Had been chipped away at slowly and learnt how to protect what was left. Didn’t want to be a burden. Didn’t want to be in the way. Wanted to prove he was still strong, could carry his own weight but not step on anyone else’s toes at the same time.

The two mixed painfully well in some aspects of his personality and dismally in others. The twins had gotten into more than one fight caused by Stan jumping over-enthusiastically into danger to protect the pair of scientists, no thought for his own well-being anywhere in sight as he laid into whatever creature had made the bad decision to attack them. Ready to fight anything that came their way, human or otherwise. Protect. Defend. All his actions ringing with a toxic ideology that Ford knew he needed to crush but had no idea how to.

They’re worth more than you.

And it left this awful predicament where Ford knew that if anything was wrong Stan would come running for his sake, would listen to every confession and make everything better but would not let Ford do the same for him. Because then the illusion would crack and Stan would have to admit that he had a weakness. Would have to admit that maybe he wasn’t as strong as he pretended to be.

Ford didn’t think it was weak to let someone help, but he knew Stan and he knew that living alone for years had probably instilled that in him, along with a general mistrust of the notion of letting someone in. A suspicion as to why anyone would care enough to try. He just hoped that once it was all out in the open he could make him realise that there was nothing to be ashamed of. Whatever it was and whatever had happened, they’d get through it together.

If Stan would let him.

Forcing him to show that weakness though, that was a very different can of worms that leaked the trust out of the conversation. Stan needed to come to him, he knew that, deep down. What he didn’t need, was all of the walls forcibly torn away from him.

This predicament we’ve found ourselves in must be a nightmare all by itself for him.

Ford’s leg started to twitch sporadically, crushing the small guilt trip his mind was laying for him.

It was just so difficult to watch, to only be able to guess what was going on inside Stan’s head.

 “S-so…”

Ford tried not to curse as his voice cracked, starting again where he’d left off. He ignored the pointed glare he knew Fiddleford was throwing at him, his eyes practically burning into the side of his face. He could see it in his mind’s eye without the actual article, the look that broached on maternal scolding to just let it go. He’d already made his decision and he wasn’t about to let Fiddleford distract him from it, his nerves already fraying at this point just from Stan’s body language as well as his own tumultuous thoughts running rampant.

“…Either of you two up for a research trip?”

Ford felt his lips coil up into a smug smile, the tension leaving his shoulders in a slow exhale. Stan had finally looked over his shoulder at him for a few seconds when the words had processed passed his assumptions. He’d ended up spinning back to the cupboard with a quiet curse two seconds later, fumbling a can he’d been trying to put away without looking, his efforts almost ending with the last of the shopping scattered on the floor and making Ford chuckle despite his best efforts to hide it.

“What-what was that, Poindexter?”

Ford huffed playfully, arms crossed and eyes rolling, not letting the gleeful thump of his heart at the nickname resurfacing show through. “Fine, have it your way. A ‘monster hunt’, Stan. A monster hunt. You up for one?” Using Stan’s wording always helped with these kind of things. Made things more playful, less serious, which was exactly what they needed right now, he could probably use the distraction as much as Stan could. The cogs in his mind wouldn’t stop spinning in ever spiralling circles. They wouldn’t let Stan’s reaction, at what he had thought was an innocent question, leave him and spun him full of nightmarish images of what it could all mean.

“Hmm, you know, I wouldn’t mind getting some fresh air, now that you mention it.”

Ford continued to keep his gaze firmly away from Fiddleford, still able to visualise the now knowing smile that he knew was winding round his words as he hummed thoughtfully in agreement. His eyes were still trained on Stan’s back, glad that he could hear Fiddleford turning the pages in whatever he was reading. Giving them a small semblance of privacy if they wanted it, as they both waited patiently for Stan to finish pottering around the kitchen, obviously taking a moment to wrap his head around what he probably thought was a sudden change of subject.

He might even be a little bit suspicious of Ford’s intentions.

“What do you say, Stan?” Ford grinned brightly as Stan turned back to him again, his eyes sceptical, biting at his lip as if he was toying with what to say in response. Ford carried on smiling reassuringly, hoping that he was conveying that he was content to let what had happened this morning fade away, at least for the moment. Stan being OK in the here and now was what he wanted to focus on and he knew the best remedy by heart now. An adventure out into the forest would blow away all the cobwebs and the dark clouds looming over them. It would also make Stan feel better in himself, out in his element where he could control the situation, could focus on something other than whatever was worming its way into his mind. It didn’t solve all their problems but it was a push in the right direction. Ford knew that sleep could still be difficult for him even on their most strenuous outings and they were still ignoring the larger issue at hand but it always was a rewarding feeling when he could make Stan puff up proudly with some small well-meant praises and gratitude.

He just hoped in time and with further repeating they would one day get through to Stan that he was important and wanted and maybe kick start the process into letting him in.

He stood up straight as Stan turned around properly, his eyes lighting up brightly as he realised that Ford meant it and it wasn’t some ploy to try and get him to open up.

“What do I say?” Stan nudged him playfully, before pumping a fist in the air. “I say, what are we waiting for? Let’s go already!”

Ford rolled his eyes as Fiddleford laughed at his antics, Stan darting away from them to get ready with a cheer of ‘Monster hunt! Monster hunt!’ echoing through the house behind him.

“You had me worried there for a second.”

Ford shrugged, a hand trailing sheepishly through his hair as his assistant wandered over to him, book tight under his arm. “Worried myself for a bit too.”

“Yeah well he’s worrying us both so I can’t blame you none.” Fiddleford patted his shoulder sympathetically before trailing passed, Ford following suit to pack a bag himself. “He’ll be ready one day, we just have to help where we can and be there for him when he needs us.”

“Yeah…” Ford hummed non-committally, throwing bits and pieces into his bag without even looking, his eyes skimming over his well-worn map in an attempt to find a spot that would distract and entertain them all.

“Oh, for the love of- give that here.”

“Thanks, Fidds.” Ford felt the bag get whipped away from him, guiltily smiling up as Fiddleford unpacked and re-packed it with the necessary essentials, his usual endearing grumbles about ‘the Pine’s boys’ interjecting Ford’s thoughts enough to make him chuckle.

“Don’t thank me yet! I don’t even know where we’re going, I might not be packing the right things for the job.” Fiddleford huffed, rolling his eyes as he dumped the bag next to the map, hands on his hips and eyes following Fords. “Well? You got a place in mind?”

Ford trailed a finger down the map, eyebrows scrunched in concentration as he walked familiar paths in his mind with annoyance. They’d recently completely explored and recorded an entire grid section of the forest and he was loath to go over old footsteps that would end up boring at least one of their party senseless. But jumping headfirst into a completely unchartered area, whilst definitely the exciting distraction they needed, also had its tedious cons. That kind of exploration typically ending up with them being far more cautious than they usually would be on a research trip, especially after that one time they’d almost ended up in a gremloblin den without noticing. Careful and vigilant was not the mood Ford was hoping to set with this particular trip. What we need is something new. Something different, but just a distraction. A proper little adventure-

His breathing caught as his finger stopped on a small circled area, so old that the pencil line had started to fade against the other more recent trail lines. The creases in his forehead slipped away as he picked up a pencil, re-drawing the line before tapping the inside of the circle a few times, a bright gleam to his face as he remember the once stumbled upon area that he had vowed to return to once he had the right supplies and manpower to investigate, the thrum of curiosity running through his veins at the sight. At the time the thought had not crossed his mind why it had drawn him in, but now in hindsight the place reminded him fondly of childhood escapades, of secret spots they’d claimed as their own where no-one else could find them.

A perfect little hide away that he could probably convince Stan might be filled with treasure.

A textbook distraction. With his mind sated with the knowledge he stood up straight to let Fiddleford peek at the map, eyebrows raised as he followed the trail Ford had marked out, completely unaware of where Ford was going to lead them but trusting his enthusiastic judgement none-the-less.

“Yeah, I think I’ve got a place in mind.”