Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It was a hot day during one of those famous New Jersey summers. Stanley and Stanford Pines were hanging out, as they were want to do during any day, but especially days like this. Stan threw stones across the water and watched as they sunk down in the middle, and Ford told him exactly how to throw them so they’d skip further. Neither wanted to go home, not quite yet, even if the promise of air conditioning was almost too much to pass up when it was hot like this. Earlier, some bullies had come by and done a bit of damage to the Stan-O-War before Stanley had scared them off.

“Don’t get down about it, Sixer, we’ll fix it up in no time, and then it's Kings of New Jersey take on the world,” Stanley insisted. Normally, Ford would have some comment about how the two of them were barely thirteen and there was no way Ma and Pa would let them go at this age, but maybe he was feeling too burned by the bullies, and too sentimental that Stanley had warded them off. Unlike most of the time, Ford wasn’t in the mood to be pedantic or obtuse. So instead, he said something uncharacteristically sweet.

“You know something, you’re my best friend, Stanley.” Ford said, and it was by all means true. Sure, they were brothers and twins, but that wasn’t something that they’d chosen. Being best friends though, that was a choice, albeit one made out of duress since no one else would talk to them. But a choice nonetheless, and it was one they kept choosing even when they had their differences and little tiffs. It wasn’t something they often acknowledged, but now that they had, Stanley gave him a lopsided smile and responded.

“I’m your only friend, you nerd,” he teased back, and both of them laughed at that because it was true too. They were both each other’s only friend, and yet that really didn’t take the importance out of what they’d said or acknowledged. Far be it from any of them to be sappy for long though, so after finishing up laughing, Stanley threw one more stone across the water, and Ford stopped writing in his diary long enough to stand and brush the glass shards from his pants before the two started on their trek back home.

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“What do you two even talk about?” Dana Barrett asked Ford one day during study hall. It was the only class the twins shared with each other, for reasons that were obvious to anyone who knew them. Ford was interested in taking the most advanced classes as quickly as possible. Stanley was not. And despite that, when the two got together in study hall, they’d trade messages and talk out loud endlessly until the teacher told them to be quiet or get sent to the office. That usually worked for about five seconds before they were at it again.

Stanford figured it was a fair question, because if you were an outsider looking in, their friendship maybe didn’t make the most sense. Stanley spent his after school hours in boxing matches and reading horribly pulpy and scientifically inaccurate comics. Stanford spent his after school hours studying PhD level subjects and working on experiments that made his mother pray under her breath that he wouldn’t destroy the house. In any other scenario, the two of them would have run in very different circles, and yet they were inseparable.

Maybe it was because they still had no other friends, a product of high school being cruel. Ford was an annoying, self-obsessed nerd with six fingers, and Stanley was an off-putting and abrasive loudmouth with cystic acne that never seemed to get any better. They weren’t total outcasts, people could and would talk to them, but they were certainly near the bottom of the totem pole. But that wouldn’t have been fair, the idea that they were just friends because they had no one else. They were friends because, despite the looks of it all, they shared a lot in common.

They both loved perusing the record shop near their home after school every day, scrounging up enough money to buy the latest Creedence or Miles Davis record. They both loved working on the Stan-O-War every free second that they got, turning it from an unfortunate heap of scrap wood to something like a seaworthy vessel. They both loved going for joyrides in their dad’s definitely borrowed and not stolen Corvette with the top down, and getting into all sorts of trouble together. But that would have been too much of a mouthful, so Ford didn’t say that.

“We talk about loads of stuff. You just have to be a twin to get it,” Ford offered, and that seemed to satisfy Dana, who went back to actually studying. Stanford would have done that, but Stanley hit him in the head with a piece of balled up paper, which he could have just handed him because they were sitting right next to each other. When Ford unfolded it, it was a crudely drawn doodle of himself and who he assumed to be Dana kissing. The caption was in Stan’s crappy handwriting, and said, “Now I must figure out the greatest scientific mystery of all: how to kiss a girl.”

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“What are we looking for today?” Stan asked as Ford directed him to steer their beloved vessel to land on a tiny island. Even from far away, Stan could tell that the island was weird, which made sense because it was just how Ford liked these things. While the side of the island they were docking on looked normal, Stan could see the hints of one quadrant of the island that was covered in strong winds, and another that, if not on fire, looked to be at least smoldering. Ford was writing furiously in his journal as he responded.

“We’re looking for elementals!” Ford said excitedly. “These creatures of legend have been theorized about since at least the sixteenth century, but some think maybe longer. This island is home to three of the four elementals, I hope to catalog and examine them for my research. If successful, we may have a claim to have found one of the home bases of such a key component of metaphysical life!” Ford ranted excitedly. Stanley rolled his eyes and shook his head, but a small smile made its way to his face regardless.

“So more nerdy fantasy crap; got it,” Stan snarked, but there was no bite to it. There never was with their teasing anymore. They docked and Ford immediately started examining the properties of the water, raving about how they were characteristic of undines and how that meant they were probably close. Stan, for his money, didn’t really absorb much of it. He remembered when they first set out, he hadn’t even been planning to join Ford on his dorky anomaly documenting. He assumed he’d be staying with the boat.

But, on that first day they docked Ford had asked if he was coming with, in a way that betrayed he had an answer he was hoping for, and so of course Stan tagged along. He justified it by saying he was there for muscle, and Ford let him, even though if they came across something that couldn’t be stopped by Ford’s gun, there wasn’t much that Stan could do. His secret was that he enjoyed it more than he ever let on, and Ford loved having him around, even if he’d never say it aloud. Stanley heard faint singing, and Ford took off running towards it.

“Haven’t you learned anything?” Stanley asked as he caught up to him. “Running towards creepy singing in a creepy forest while looking for creepy stuff is always a trap.” he insisted, and Ford laughed like he had something up his sleeve. As they got closer to the source of the singing, Stanford stopped on his heels suddenly, as the two stood in front of an overgrowth of plants. He gave Stanley a signal to be quiet, and he nodded at it, before Ford pulled back the leaves to reveal an absolutely gorgeous woman bathing in a small hot spring.

“That, is an undine.” Ford said smugly as Stanley failed to look away. He elbowed him in the side with a laugh, before adding something. “I knew you’d find something in my nerdy crap to enjoy someday.” He teased, and with that he started writing and drawing what the two of them were looking at. It all probably would have been fine if not for the fact that they’d been spotted, though not by the undine. It looked like a normal salamander, probably would have been completely innocuous if not for the fact that a trail of fire followed where it walked.

“Look out,” Stan called as his brother, still absorbed in his writing, was completely oblivious to the creature leaping at his face to burn him. Stan pushed him out of the way and got a nasty burn on his chest for his trouble, before Ford scooped it up in a glass jar for future study. Stan kept his hand clutching his chest where he’d been burned, and despite his insistence that he was fine, and they could keep going, he relented when Ford insisted they return to the boat, at least so he could put some burn cream on it.

“Have you been given a tetanus shot in the last five years?” Ford asked after he helped Stanley bandage the wound, which looked to be about a second degree burn. It’d probably scar, but ultimately he’d be okay. Stanley looked at him quizzically and shook his head, to which Ford sighed and pulled something from their medical kit. “Well, I’ll have to give you one. Burns are prone to infection, you know.” he offered, and with that Stan was immediately up and out of his chair, speed walking away.

“I’m fine, and I don’t need your help,” Stan called back heatedly, ignoring Ford’s attempts to coax him back. It probably shouldn’t have amused him as much as it did that it was usually Ford’s line, but it did. Stanford sighed and put the needle back in his bag, knowing he’d have to get Stanley inoculated sooner or later. It dawned on him that he hadn’t thanked Stanley for pushing him out of the way. It would be too awkward to say it now, he decided, so he didn’t say anything and instead went about examining their new salamander friend.

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“You thought of a name for that thing yet?” Stan asked as he stood in the doorway of Ford’s little on-boat workshop. It certainly wasn’t anywhere near as futuristic and impressive as his lab back at the shack, and adding it to the Stan-O-War 2 had been at least a month or two of extra work. But, Ford insisted, and he’d already let Stanley build a little T.V. room for himself, so they compromised. At the moment, Ford was testing the fire properties of the salamander he’d retrieved from the island about a week ago.

“It's an experimental test subject, Stanley, not a pet.” Ford insisted, and when Stan raised an eyebrow at him, he sighed and relented. “I named him Mr. Ignis… it means fire in Latin.” he admitted, and the snort that Stan let out made him roll his eyes, though he wasn’t really annoyed. He knew it was silly, but they were allowed to be silly now. After everything they’d gone through, they both deserved this much at least. “Anyway, what brings you here? Checking up on me?” Ford asked, and Stan nodded.

“You need to eat, I made dinner.” he said seriously and though in the past Stanford would have huffed and complained he wasn’t hungry until Stanley cajoled him into eating something that wasn’t coffee grounds and jelly beans, they’d moved past that point now. Ford came without issue, and thoroughly enjoyed the meal of fresh greens they’d bought at their last port, and fish caught right there from the sea. “Slow down Sixer, if you keep eating like that you’re going to puke, and I’m not cleaning it up.” Stan complained.

“Sorry.” Ford said, even though he wasn’t really sorry, and he barely slowed down. “You learned from a great cook, though. Remember, you’d always sit in the kitchen with Ma when she was making dinner, and help her out?” Ford offered, and his wistful smile quickly dropped when he sensed no recognition in Stanley’s eyes. It didn’t happen as much anymore, most of Stan’s memories were fully intact now, but… there were still gaps. “Oh. I guess you don’t remember.” was all that Ford could muster.

“Yeah well…” Stan started before trailing off. “I can tell how much you like my cooking, considering you’ve put on a few pounds,” Stanley teased and Ford groaned in annoyance because of course Stan had noticed, even though he really hoped it wasn’t that visible. When he’d been traveling between dimensions, he’d had to stay fit and trim for his own survival, combined with that fact that good food was hard to come by. Now, though, he’d let a life of leisurely retirement put him off of his game.

“Ugh, what’s wrong with me?” Ford complained aloud. “I used to have a six-pack, you know?” he said, and Stan guffawed at that. “What, you don’t believe me?” he asked incredulously. Stan had always been the more athletic of the two growing up, but when they separated, Stan had to get smart and Ford had to get strong. He wondered if Stan remembered when he’d traded him a week's worth of homework answers for Stan dressing up as him and passing his gym final so he could read in the library instead.

“No, I believe you, It's just,” Stan started while wiping a tear from his eye. “We’re in our sixties, Sixer. You don’t need a six-pack. You look healthy, for once in your life.” he said, before adding something. “Besides, now that you’ve packed on a few, we finally look like twins again,” he offered and Ford chuckled at that because he supposed they did look more alike now, more alike than they had in years. “And, since you’ve got a decent sense of fashion now, I’ve got an extra set of clothes to borrow from,” he added.

“Yeah, yeah. If I catch you going through my closet, retribution will be swift and merciless,” he said with a smile because the bitterness that used to exist between them really didn’t anymore. Ford washed the dishes because Stan had cooked, and he wondered if Stan remembered all the tiny things that Ford did, or if the memory gun had taken them away. It weighed heavy on him, that his brother had lost so many pieces of himself, and in many ways it was Ford’s fault. It kept him awake more nights than he’d care to admit.

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“Jeez, Sixer, didn’t you hear me calling you?” Stan asked impatiently as he tapped his foot. It was dinner time, and yet when Stanley had gone looking around the boat for Ford in his usual places, he wasn’t there. He was here though, laying on the top deck with his hands neatly folded across his body staring up at the sky with a look on his face usually reserved for when Stan shook him away from nightmares because he was starting to scream in his sleep. “What are you doing up here anyway,” Stan asked as he sat down beside him.

“Processing the crushing weight of all the actions I’ve taken and experiences I’ve lived through.” Ford said, and Stan scoffed, leaving the top deck for a moment to go retrieve their dinners, as he could tell this was probably going to be an all night thing. Stanford got like this sometimes, all weird and useless. Usually it meant he hadn’t slept in a few days, which sounded accurate to Stan, and usually it meant he was going to be all self-pitying and annoying until he slept. He returned to the top deck with food that Ford ignored.

“So, nothing new for you then huh Sixer,” Stan offered and Ford gave him no response. “I’m giving you gold here and not even a chuckle. I don’t know why I waste my good bits on you,” Stan said jokingly before adding something seriously. “You need to eat, Ford,” he said, gesturing his fork towards Ford’s plate. He continued being ignored as Ford stared at the sky and thought about Stan, about his missing memories, about how they’d missed so much time they could never get back, about how Stan was such a better brother than him, it was comical.

“Do you even remember me?” Ford asked, and when Stanley looked at him quizzically, he expanded. “I mean, of course you remember that I’m your brother, but… Stanley, I’m an awful person. Definitely an awful brother. There’s no way in the world you should still be making sure I eat, and I’m fine, when I’ve never been half as good to you. Do you remember how angry I was with you for years? How I treated you when we reunited? Do you remember that the tattoo on your shoulder isn’t a tattoo, it's a burn from when I pushed you into some machinery?” he questioned.

“You should get some sleep, Ford. You’re being all sad again,” Stanley said instead of acknowledging the questions. It's not because he can’t, it's because he doesn’t want to. He doesn’t want to because acknowledging Ford’s inquiries would mean giving weight to them. It would mean admitting, even to himself, that for all of his efforts there are still gaps in his memory which he might never recover, and even though he wouldn’t change what he’d done there was still bitterness about it with nowhere to go.

“Do you remember when I came out to you, Stanley?” Ford asked, and it was so completely out of left field that Stan gave him a bewildered look. Though, he actually didn’t remember what Ford was talking about, and that made his chest hurt. “I said ‘Stanley, I’m gay.’ and you said ‘I know you big nerd.’ and then I said ‘No, I’m being serious, I’m a homosexual.’ and you said ‘Oh.’ and then you told me that you were my brother, and nothing was going to change that, and you’d just start teasing me about not having a boyfriend rather than a girlfriend.” Stanford offered.

“Considering your track record when it comes to dating, I kind of wish you’d kept not having a boyfriend,” he said, teasing him about Bill, which usually managed to snap Ford out of whatever he was thinking about. Not this time, unfortunately, as Stanford began to quietly cry instead, and Stan turned his attention towards him, unequipped and unable to find the right words to say. “Are you alright?” he asked, having settled on that as a diplomatic option. Ford laughed and wiped his tears, sitting up on the deck.

“Are you?” he asked, and when there was no reply, he silently got up and walked away. In any other circumstance, Stanley would have chastised him for leaving the dishes to be cleaned by him after he’d done the cooking, but he didn’t this time. Probably because Ford’s words were still echoing in his head. Was he alright? Was he alright with helping Ford and making sure he was okay and comforting him, while almost never getting the same in return? Was he okay with always forgiving and forgetting, in this case literally? He didn’t know, so he shoved it down.

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“We can’t wait to see you kids, I’ve collected tons of rare and interesting specimen!” Ford explained over the video call with Dipper and Mabel. They tried to call every week or couple of weeks, just to see what they were up to and how they were doing. At the moment their call was winding down, but Ford was showing them Mr. Ignis, who’d been moved to a bigger tank, and his fire based abilities. Dipper gushed about how cool it was, while Mable squealed about the cuteness of the creature.

“And, if you guys want some souvenirs that won’t give you second degree burns, I’ve collected some of those,” Stan said when he took the camera, gently ribbing Ford and showing off the practical mountain of stuffed animals he’d collected for Mabel, along with a vintage typewriter and several old-timey fountain pens for Dipper, which he knew he’d love because it was the type of nerdy thing his brother would’ve killed for when they were kids. After getting excited about that, Stan figured it was about time for goodbyes when Mabel pipped up.

“You two have been getting along, haven’t you? Actually talking about your feelings and stuff,” she said, narrowing her eyes suspiciously at the two of them, which was a fair point. Sure, they’d been getting along fine when the twins last saw them, but it was slow-going rebuilding something which had been broken for so long. And considering they both had a communication strategy that could be boiled down to yell and punch first, ask questions never, her concern was more than warranted.

“Mabel, sweetie, we’re men in our sixties. We don’t talk about our feelings,” Stanley offered in a moment of fairly unprecedented candidness. “We shove our feelings down and hope that an aneurysm gets us before an emotionally honest moment does,” he said and Mabel shook her head sadly at him, reiterating her point before her and Dipper said their goodbyes. The rest of the evening was quiet, the two enjoying a few beers on top deck and playing the game they did, where Ford would trade a multiverse story for one of Stan’s road stories, so they could catch up.

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“Mabel is right, about us talking about everything.” Ford said suddenly, as if it had just dawned on him that it was something they could do. It took a moment for Stan to even understand what he was referencing, but when he did, all he offered in response was a scoff and another swing of his beer. It was only his second one, but he probably wasn’t going to have another. Neither himself nor Stanford had any desire to mix drunkenness with sea-sickness. “I’m serious, Stanley, talking about our feelings is important.” he offered.

“What, do you want to paint our nails and braid each other’s hair too?” Stan asked, and it was a poor attempt at deflection that both of them saw through immediately. Still, he wasn’t having this talk if he wasn’t dragged kicking and screaming because admitting out loud that he was angry and upset and hurt would make those feelings real. And if those feelings were real, they’d probably end up separated again, and then what was all of this for. So, he nursed his beer some more and stared at the stars.

“Stanley, will you at least try to talk to me seriously without making a joke out of things?” Stanford asked incredulously, and Stan flipped him off, so that answered that question. “Well fine. If you don’t want to talk about your feelings, I will.” Ford said seriously and Stan pretended not to be amused by how he said it as through this was some epic quest in one of his lame board games. “I am… sorry. You are always sticking your neck out for me and always have been. You’ve been kind and supportive, and… you gave up thirty years of your life to save me. Most brothers wouldn’t do that.” he offered, and Stan snickered.

“Well, most brothers wouldn’t react to being saved after thirty years with a punch to the face. We operate in extremes, don’t we, Sixer?” Stan offered, and Stanford just stared at him like he was expecting him to be vulnerable too. Stan groaned in annoyance, but Ford just kept looking at him, and so he finally gave in. “You’re a real ass sometimes, you know that? You know, it’d be nice every once in a while if you were the one making sure I was okay, but… that’s not how we really work, is it?” Stan asked, and Ford looked upset with himself.

“You have been an abnormally good brother, and I’ve been an abnormally bad one.” Ford admitted, and then he laughed, even though nothing he said was funny. “I want to be a better brother, Stanley, I’m just not quite sure I’m a good person in general. It's hard to overcome that,” he offered, and Stan rolled his eyes at the comment because he knew Ford well enough to know he never gave up on being right even when it was the wrong thing to do. If he put his mind to it, he could be better at this, too.

“That’s an excuse and you know it. The truth is, being a good brother isn’t that hard. Look at me, I’m a lying criminal and a conman without a high school degree, and I figured it out. But you’ve got to put in the effort Sixer, you’ve got to be willing to be wrong sometimes. Or, you know, at least learn to express gratitude. I lost all my memories, and even I know that you’re terrible at thank you’s.” Stan said, polishing off his nearly empty beer. Ford seemed to think about this for a moment before taking a deep breath.

“You’re right. And thank you for being a great brother, and supporting me, and going along my adventures even when they don’t interest you, and for going on his journey with me, and for saving my life countless times, and for cooking and checking on me and-” Ford continued on like this for a long while, listing all the things he wanted to thank Stanley for, going back to childhood. Stan couldn’t pretend that he didn’t feel a little overcome with emotion at all the things Ford remembered, even the ones that he didn’t.

“Alright, calm down, Sixer, or you’re going to start thanking me for things I did in the womb,” he teased and Ford finally relented. A moment of comfortable silence settled over them, and for the first time in a while Ford took a sip of his beer, looking up at the stars which surrounded them. “It does suck that we’re not going to make it another forty years. Would’ve been nice to successfully have been close for longer than we weren’t.” Stan offered, and Ford looked at him quizzically as he sat up in his deck chair.

“Actually, though we were apart for forty years, we were best friends for eighteen. So, we’ve only got to make it another twenty-two years,” Ford offered, and there was something comforting in that fact, even though that too seemed like far too much time. Life had not been kind to them in many ways, it certainly hadn’t been fair. But here they were, looking more like twins than ever, on their boat looking at the sky, a loving family in their own right. Stanford Pines felt luckier than he ever had, which was why he was determined not to squander this.

“I could do that. I think I’ve got another twenty-two left in me,” Stan offered as he put the now empty glass bottle on the deck and sighed. Ford had mentioned to him once that he knew when he was going to die, and of what. Bill had offered and he’d accepted. Stanley decided he didn’t want to know when he was going to die. It’d probably just make him more reckless than he already was, and he’d never hear the end of it. But, since Ford would live more than twenty-two more years, he was determined to keep up with him.

“You know, you’re still my best friend, Stanley.” Ford said, hearkening back to that day when Stan had warded off the bullies after they’d done fixable damage to the original Stan-O-War. Ford had to remember to thank him for that day too, though he wouldn’t now. Right now, he just wanted to enjoy spending some time with his brother because he had twenty-two more years to thank him for everything he’d done, and all the things he was going to do. And to do some things worthy of thanks himself, if only to even the playing field.

“I’m still your only friend, you big nerd.” Stanley said, and they both shared a big laugh together then as the nighttime sea air washed over them. They were safe now, safe from Bill and from the resentment and anger which had driven them apart the first time. Ford was going to be a better brother and Stan was going to keep being the best brother, and they’d stick around with each other for another long while. It’d been four long decades since everything had gone wrong, but they’d managed to make it. And maybe that was a twin thing, or maybe it was just dumb luck. Neither of them cared in the end.

Chapter Text

It had been a little over a year since Stanford and Stanley Pines had set off on the Stan-O-War 2 in search of anomalies, adventure and freedom. It had been a year of getting used to being friends again, of having to learn how to talk about their feelings for the first time, and of trying to be more considerate than they had been in the past. Both wanted the other in their life, and that was a good motivator to try and improve themselves. It had been slow-going, but they were in a better place now, and that was progress worth celebrating.

Right now, the two brothers weren’t at sea, however. At the moment they were in a hotel room somewhere in upstate New York, unpacking on each of their respective beds, and Stan was doing his best to silently signal to Ford that his at this point nearly hour long rant about the efficacy of thought experiments to actual physical research was incredibly boring, and he should wrap it up. Unfortunately, Ford assumed as a baseline that everyone was as obsessed with the sound of his own voice as he was.

“I really can’t wait to be subjected to an entire weekend of versions of you talking my ear off about stuff like this,” Stan complained sarcastically, which finally seemed to alert Ford that he should maybe be a bit more considerate. He muttered an awkward apology, which he was still getting the hang of. The two were in upstate New York for a meeting of the Anomalous Scientific Society, or A.S.S as it was known by Stan, much to Ford’s unending annoyance. After the publication of a paper on his findings in the Arctic Circle, Ford had been invited to speak there.

“You know, you don’t have to come if you don’t want to,” Ford offered and while in any other scenario it would have been said sarcastic and annoyed with Stan’s whining, in this case Ford actually seemed sincere. That was a new one, usually when it became clear someone wasn’t as engaged with his pet project as he was, Ford got pissy. This was, of course, yet another effect of him trying to be better, even if he wasn’t always good at it. Stanley appreciated his attempt, even if it didn’t actually mean much.

“Then what am I supposed to do? Wander around this town like a wallet with legs, looking confused?” Stan asked, using his colorful way of referring to tourists. Stanley had a lot of colorful phrases that Ford had to get used to when they started spending time together, though it wasn’t like Ford didn’t. Every time he swore under his breath in some alien language, Stanley still stared at him like he’d grown an extra head. But, at the very least, that kept things interesting, learning the dynamics of how the other spoke.

“Actually, I have something for you,” Ford said, digging through his bag before handing Stan a pamphlet that he apparently had on him. “This casino is right across the street from the convention center. I already preloaded one of these fancy magnetic strip cards with credits for you, which the woman on the phone explained had replaced physical tokens. Isn’t the future amazing!” Ford said, waxing poetic on the evolution of technology before handing the card to Stan, who stared at it for a long moment.

“You… thought about me?” he asked, still slightly in shock from the development. After all, there were many words that Stan would use to describe his brother, but even at the best of times thoughtful wasn’t one of them. And yet, he’d figured Stan probably wouldn’t have any fun at the convention and found a nearby activity for him to enjoy, even making sure he had money to gamble with that wasn’t his own. It was so uncharacteristic that he almost wanted to give Stanford a hug, if not for his dignity.

“Well, I figured you’d probably get bored listening to us ramble on about things you don’t care about. No sense in dragging you along against your will, when it’d be more productive for both of us if I didn’t,” he offered, and with that Ford concluded laying out his clothing for the convention and took the first shower while Stan was still too dumbfounded to consider moving. The rest of the evening was uneventful as the two slept and got ready in the morning, preparing for both of their adventures.

“Try not to blow up the world with your nerd friends,” Stan offered as he dusted himself off and prepared to go enjoy an afternoon of gambling. Even though he had absolutely no interest in whatever it was the members of A.S.S discussed, he knew how dangerous a bunch of unsupervised nerds could be. Ford just laughed at him, which had no malice and only amusement in it, as he hogged the mirror to make sure he looked presentable. Before Stan could head out, however, Ford called out after him, offering some advice of his own.

“You just try not to get banned from yet another casino,” Ford insisted and Stan whistled as he walked away, an indication that he was not going to pay attention to his brother’s advice. He was inside the casino as soon as it opened, charge card in hand and ready to put it all on black. Of course, while gambling, Stan would never let himself actually risk making a bet he couldn’t win. He’d brought with him a device Ford had made for him after tons of begging that manipulated the roulette ball to wherever he wanted.

It’d been one of the first moments in their repaired relationship where Ford did something for Stan that had no benefit to him. When they were younger, Ford was never stingy with his genius, always wanting to share the spoils with Stan, just as he did for whatever scant talents he had. The creation of this device to cheat at gambling, however illegal and ridiculous it may have been, was a sign they were growing closer again. Ford had tried to explain what exactly the machine did, but all Stan knew was he needed to flip it on and hide it up his sleeve.

With that in mind, he quickly cleaned up at the roulette wheel, and made his way over to the card games which he was also good at mostly due to years of cheating, though it wasn’t like Stan saw it that way. Cheating at casino games was more like leveling the playing field, after all, considering the casinos were cheating right back. Why should the man have a monopoly on moving the odds in his favor? Maybe it was the result of years of feeling like he was treated unfairly, but Stan was in no hurry to put himself at a disadvantage.

“Sir, we’re going to have to ask you to leave,” one of the workers said as Stan was in the process of showing one of the other patrons, who just so happened to be a very attractive woman his age, exactly how to manipulate the static in the slot machines to give you the desired jackpot. Stan turned incredulously to the guy, being adept at talking his way out of many bad scenarios, including ones which involved him being booted from places. Confidence was the key, and he crossed his arms to stare the man down.

“Is this how you treat all your winners? Being good at the games isn’t illegal, bozo,” he insisted, and the worker seemed more beleaguered than angry as he let out a long-suffering sigh and rubbed his temples. Stanley flipped his card, now charged full of virtual tokens between his fingers, and thought about how much he missed having real tokens. There was nothing like buckets of plastic currency to make a man feel rich. The worker muttered under his breath about how he certainly didn’t get paid enough for this before finally addressing Stan’s refusal to leave.

“Listen sir, either you can leave peacefully or we can call security,” he insisted, and the woman who’d been previously clinging to Stan’s arm took the opportunity to leave without getting into more trouble, leaving Stan shaking his proverbial fist at her for being a trader. The man took Stan’s card from him, likely with the intention of cutting it up, and before he could protest any further the intimidating looking guards started eyeing him, so Stan decided to do the right thing and leave before he ended up getting hurt or worse.

Stan knew that realistically he really should stop committing such brazen crimes, but it was ingrained into him. For so long, it was all he’d known how to do, and all he’d been able to. When they’d first gotten on the open seas, Ford had asked him to stop doing it, and Stan found it more difficult than was probably reasonable. Spending years becoming tuned to finding ways of operating outside the law isn’t something that can be easily turned off. Instead of Stan halting his behavior, he’d simply dragged Ford into it instead, though at least he’d slowed down a bit.

Checking his watch while standing out on the street, he noted that he’d managed to spend several hours in the casino before being caught for cheating, which was a new record. Luckily for him, the worker had taken the bait and taken the fake cardboard card Stan had made instead of the real one, so all he needed was a new disguise so he could cash out his winnings. Stan didn’t actually need the money at all, he was doing more than fine, but over a decade of just barely surviving makes you appreciate every penny.

In the meantime, Ford’s conference was almost certainly winding down. Considering his plan of sneaking back into the casino and cashing out was going to require Ford to dress up as Stan and distract the guards, he decided he should go pay his brother a visit. Entering the convention hall, Stan was sure he’d never seen that many dorks in lab coats in his life. They were all talking, some with their noses in books and others carrying huge stacks of papers, all seeming jazzed about whatever they were up to.

He followed the most geeky looking among them as he tried to remember which room his brother was holding his speech in. Ford had always been good at talking to other nerds, they tended to look up to him like some sort of hero. Stan used to hate that nobody looked at him like that, but he’d grown to accept it. After all, the few times he’d done something worthwhile his family, the only people who mattered, had looked at him like that. He followed the sound of his brother’s voice to the appropriate room and hung off to the side.

“And that concludes the analysis of our findings. I will now open the floor to questions,” Ford said as he stood on the stage looking over at all of his colleagues. This was the sort of thing that he’d actively dreamed about when he was younger, and now he was doing it. A part of him wished that Stanley was here, though he wasn’t ever going to let him know that. It just reminded him of how they used to support each other in their endeavors growing up, though much had changed since then. “Yes, you in the back,” Ford said.

“I would just like to say, sir, that your research is nothing short of impeccable. I suppose my question is more wishful thinking than anything, but do you intend to continue your work after this groundbreaking discovery?” the young scientist asked, and he reminded Ford of himself at that age. Flipping through the slides which Mabel and Dipper had shown him how to create, he came to the slide which detailed his plans for future research. He’d of course already thought about where he’d want to head next after finishing up this journey.

“I’m glad you asked! I believe that following the theories of Charles Fort, the real life example of the “Super-Sargasso Sea” as he named it could be located in the Bermuda Triangle. Of course, before any concrete progress towards it could be made, I’d have to check with my co-author and fellow researcher to get him on board, but that would be the goal,” Ford explained. Stanley, who listened from the audience, perked up upon hearing of this co-author Ford referred to. He still hadn’t gotten around to reading his paper, even though he intended to.

The questions continued coming and on occasion references to this other researcher would come up, with Ford mentioning the help he’d been and how the paper wouldn’t have been completed without him. Hearing this, Stan began to feel worry bubble up inside of him. He knew that if his brother was cavorting with demons to get research help again, he was going to throw him overboard. Quietly, he slipped over to the side and grabbed a copy of the paper from the stack that was going around, and began looking for where the author names were listed.

“Stanley, I thought you’d still be gambling,” Ford said as he walked over to him, having seen him from the stage. “Did you get kicked out; because I’m not doing the thing where I distract the guards for you again,” he insisted, even though both him and Stan knew he was going to do it in the end. They were brothers, and they helped each other out even when they thought it was stupid. Regardless, Stan wasn’t focused on that, but instead on what he was reading. He looked up at Ford seriously, paper still in hand.

“Why’d you list me as a co-author on your paper?” Stan asked, and it was a fair question. He hadn’t written the paper, he hadn’t even read it. And while yeah he’d been there when Ford was doing all of his studying of strange plants and creatures, he wasn’t the one who actually analyzed or did anything important to them. Besides, Stan didn’t even think you were allowed to co-author a paper unless you had a college degree, and he didn’t even have a high school one. Ford rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly.

“Well, you helped me with my research quite a bit, and if not for you, I’d never have been able to capture half the specimens I did. Not to mention that I used some of your paraphrased quotes in the final paper. It seemed only fair that you receive credit,” Ford offered, and that was true. Stanley had helped him quite a bit, and certainly deserved the attention and adoration Ford was getting from the scientific community for the work they’d done together. Even if it wasn’t his thing, Stan was still a great researcher and should be treated like one.

“Jeez Sixer, don’t get all sappy on me,” Stan said even though he quickly gave his brother a hug upon saying it. It was strange to think that Ford actually cared about him, considering that he’d done his best over the years to make it clear that he absolutely despised Stanley. And yet, here he was including him on his paper, and insisting that he wouldn’t be doing any more research unless Stan went with him. “And for the record, of course I’ll investigate the Bermuda Triangle with you. Lord knows, you’re not a good enough sailor to do it on your own,” he teased.

“Says the man whose eyes have more cataracts than blood vessels,” Ford responded jokingly, and the two shared a moment like that where they got to enjoy the fact they’d managed to get better, even if it took longer than they probably would have liked. “So, since you’re officially my co-author and research partner, will you actually read the paper we collaborated on?” Ford asked, and even though Stan always intended to read the paper, he decided to have some fun with his brother. He pretended to think for a moment before asking a question.

“Depends, are you going to help me get back into the casino next door?” he asked and Ford groaned but didn’t say no, which was all the answer that Stanley needed. “And don’t think just because I came to visit you that I want to hear all about your dorky nerd stuff… but I guess I wouldn’t mind hearing a little bit,” he offered, and Ford lit up like a Christmas tree at the permission to ramble all that he wanted. Still, he managed to restrain himself long enough to offer an idea.

“That sounds amazing. How about after we go collect your winnings, we discuss it over dinner. I’ve been hearing all about these rice coated fish rolls called “sushi” and I’ve been dying to try it!” Ford said, and Stan stifled a laugh as he remembered just how out of touch his brother was with modern day, and how much he’d missed out on having been trapped in several alternate dimensions since 1982. Regardless, Stan slung a friendly arm around his brother’s shoulder and indulged his excitement over things which were commonplace nowadays.

“Sure thing Sixer. Once I cash out, it's on me.” Stan said, and with that the two set off towards the casino, and towards their future as something closer to friends and equals than they had been in a long time. They were quite different, there was no denying that, and neither of them would have wanted to. But they still worked together, were still willing to bend for one another, even if it took some time to get used to. And now, they’d have plenty of time to get better at it, and to explore the world with the sort of wonder they thought they’d lost as kids.

Chapter Text

“You… cured cancer?” Stan and Ford were sitting at the kitchen table in the Stan-O-War 2. Stanley wasn’t quite sure how their conversation had reached this point, as every brain cell he had was firing into overdrive trying to process what he’d just learned.

“Well, yes, that’s what I said, isn’t it?” Ford responded as he simply stared at him blankly. He wasn’t the best communicator, even he could admit that, but he felt he’d been pretty clear with his explanation. And yet, Stanley was looking at him like he’d just grown an extra head.

“That’s not something you can just drop into causal conversation, Ford! Seriously, that’s an insane thing to mention randomly! Have you just been hoarding the cure for yourself?” Stanley asked and even though he didn’t mean to, both of them silently cringed at the phrasing, remembering Stanley’s accusation of Stanford hoarding his college money all those years ago. Ford quickly recovered from the uncomfortable moment and responded.

“Of course not, is that really what you think of me, Stanley? As soon as I formulated a cure, I rushed to make a patent contract with the U.S. government under the stipulation that the medication remain free for all time. With the manufacturing might of the government, the cure should be widely available in a matter of months. Haven’t you been reading the news? It's all over the papers,” he explained, hoping to keep the conversation short. Unfortunately, he must have looked suspicious because Stan narrowed his eyes at him.

“You know I only read the sports and funny pages. And anyway, I guess you don’t technically need a reason to cure cancer, but what possessed you to do it now? I thought you were more into studying weird fantasy crap. This seems way too normal and practical for you,” And it was a fair assessment on his part. After all, if Ford had wanted to improve the world he had plenty of chances to do it, but that wasn’t really his scene. He wanted adventure, whether or not it yielded useful discoveries.

“Well, obviously I did it for you Stan,” Ford spoke without thinking, rolling his eyes slightly at the obviousness of it all before realizing he’d accidentally showed his hand without meaning to. He quickly averted his eyes and attempted to mutter about the weather to keep Stanley from picking up on his mistake.

“For me? I don’t have cancer, Ford.” Stanley said as there was no way he’d ever let Ford get away with dropping the subject. He noticed a small bead of sweat forming on his brother’s forehead as he continued awkwardly mumbling about the wind and twiddled all twelve of his fingers like he did when he was nervous.

“...” Ford decided that his best bet was to stay silent and hope Stan let it go. It was a horrible plan, of course because if there was one thing that could be said about Stanley it was that he was far too stubborn for his own good.

“Stanford, I don’t have cancer. Right?” Stan stared him down, asking that question slowly and seriously, and finally Ford broke and had to look him in the eyes. There was a graveness there he had hadn’t seen in his brother since he’d had to turn that memory gun on him.

“... Well, you don’t anymore.” Ford answered, hoping his response would come off as diplomatic rather than cowardly. He really didn’t want to be having this conversation, and if he had his way, he wouldn’t be. It would have been so simple for this to have passed by unnoticed, if only he didn’t have to open his big mouth.

“What!” Stan asked indignantly as his eyes grew to the size of saucers. There was no way in hell that his brother was telling him what he thought he was telling him. Maybe Stanley was finally losing it, and this was the first sign. Maybe this was all some sort of nightmare crafted by Bill for his own amusement. It seemed plausible enough.

“You see, this is exactly why I didn’t want to tell you, I knew you’d panic.” Ford answered, trying to project confidence in the face of his nerves. Whenever he was feeling awkward or threatened, he tended to default to telling Stanley that he knew best, which wasn’t a great coping mechanism, but it at least made him feel in control of the situation.

“Of course I’m panicking you asshat, you just revealed that I have cancer!” Stan said because while normally he could handle Ford’s condescension as a crisis management tool, today, at this moment, he wasn’t even slightly in the mood. The idea of having earth-shattering news be delivered by his brother in the same tone he told Stan that he needed to push the door rather than pull was too much even for him.

“Had cancer, Stanley. I cured it!” Ford explained because when condescension and false confidence failed, he retreated to old reliable, which was his natural pedantry. Stan looked at him unimpressed, which he knew he deserved. Looking back in hindsight, Ford could tell he should have handled the situation differently, but everything was obvious in hindsight.

“How long have you known about this? And what do you mean you cured it?” Stan asked him seriously as he considered the fact that while he loved his brother, he was a real pain sometimes. His tendency to get tunnel vision had led him down the path he went with Bill, and Stan had the feeling it was also going to be the source of his dodginess about this particular subject.

“Well, when we first began traveling on the Stan-O-War 2 I was, in my opinion justifiably, concerned about your health. You eat terribly, and every story you’ve recounted to me about our time apart contains some sort of horrible bodily harm. Crucially, I was concerned about the strange lumps on your nose,” Ford gestured to them, and Stan felt a bit self-conscious. Himself and Ford were twins, and it was pretty hard to tell them apart, minus superficial things like his nose lumps.

“What? I’ve had these for, like, a few months now. What about them?” Stan offered as he couldn’t exactly remember when they’d shown up. Definitely before the twins had joined him for the summer, but he didn’t remember precisely when they’d appeared before that. He hadn’t always had them, him and Ford used to share their lack of bumps, but clearly that had changed somehow. Why hadn’t he questioned it before?

“I was concerned they might be cancerous. However, due to your aversion to doctors, and to listening to me, I was forced to take drastic measures to confirm my theory.” Ford explained, though he was once again not looking Stanley in the eyes. He still felt that he’d done the right thing, but explaining what he’d done out loud just seemed a little too embarrassing for his tastes.

“What did you do?” Stan asked as his eyes narrowed. He stared his brother down until he finally caught his line of sight again, and Ford let out a sigh before explaining.

“While you were sleeping, I took a painless sample of your nasal tissue,” Ford said quietly, as if muttering out the words would somehow cause Stanley not to hear them. Unfortunately, despite his constant complaints of being partially deaf due to the loudness of his own voice, Stan heard his words loud and clear.

“You did what!” Stan exclaimed as he suddenly stood up from the table. He wished he was drinking something so he could have a proper spit take, but instead he’d have to settle for staring Ford down indignantly until he stood up himself.

“It was for your own good! I thought you may have had cancer, and after running my biopsy in the lab, the results spoke for themselves. You had paranasal sinus and nasal cavity cancer. It kills hundreds of thousands of people per year, and the five-year survival rate is only around fifty percent, a coin flip. With an average diagnosis age of fifty-five to sixty-five years old, twice the occurrence in men compared to women, and increased risk tied to alcohol, tobacco, HPV, and poor diet, you were a textbook case,” Ford said, crossing his arms.

“What, you’re saying just because I drink and smoke and eat like crap and never go to the doctor and have had HPV a few times over the years, I got cancer?” Stan asked sarcastically because masking his feelings in sarcasm was far easier than acknowledging the horrible things that had happened to him and his body were haunting more than just his dreams nowadays.

“In short, yes.” Ford responded calmly. Stanley stared down at the floor, seemingly lost in thought, and Ford wanted to bring him back. He reached out for Stan’s shoulder, wanting to comfort him, and almost thought better of it before doubling down. When Stanley did look back at him, he offered Ford the weakest smile he’d ever seen.

“Wow. That’s really heavy stuff, Sixer. But, hey, bad decisions catch up to all of us eventually, right? I had a few good years,” Stan said, melancholicly. He’d always thought about death, about his own mortality. He remembered promising his body that it could finally give out on him once he got the portal up and running. He supposed the offer was accepted.

“Will you stop that Stanley; you’re not going to die. As I said, I cured it. With the middling survival prospects and the low likelihood of you willingly seeking treatment, I decided I’d have to cure you myself. Using the bulbs of the sentient chaser flower, combined with the natural dyes of the moth root, along with the acid of the herbivorous AciToad, I created a cure. It actually works quite ingeniously-” Ford began, clearly excited about the state of his own work, before being suddenly cut off.

“How long is this explanation going to take?” Stan asked, annoyed, though there was no actual bite to the annoyance. Instead, there was only fondness there, especially considering Ford still had a comforting hand on his shoulder. Stanford shook his head, but it was impossible to conceal the smile lingering on his face.

“Would you just listen, please? Anyway, the chaser flower bulbs can be programmed using electric shocks like nanobots, and I trained them to hunt and destroy cells that were dyed blue. The moth root’s blue dye naturally sticks only to cancerous cells and not normal ones, and the acid dissolves bulbs without harming the human body. The blue dye colors the cancer cells, the chaser bulbs destroy them, and the acid dissolves them.” Stanford explained, a sparkle in his eyes that he only got when he was discussing his discoveries.

“So you drugged me with random shit you mixed up, using me as a lab rat in the hope it’d cure my cancer?” Stanley asked seriously, suddenly taking a step away from him and brushing off Ford’s comforting hand. As he processed it, the facts of exactly how messed up what his brother had done was, he suddenly felt far less inclined to let him get off so easy.

“Don’t be crass Stanley, I didn’t drug you! I simply mixed the powdered form of the medication into your food without your knowledge or consent- you know saying it out loud that does sound a lot like drugging you. But it was with good intentions! And I certainly didn’t use you as a lab rat! I went out and captured actual rats on the islands we visited, injected them with your cancerous cells, cured them and freed them! I only began using it on you when I was sure it was safe,” Ford explained, trying to justify himself.

“Gee, that makes me feel so much better. Seriously, Sixer, why the hell didn’t you tell me? You didn’t think it was fair for me to know I had a deadly disease that could have killed me?” Stanley asked, still keeping a distance between the two of them, as he felt weirdly violated by what had happened. Having such valuable information kept from him like he was a child, not even allowed to know about his own sickness.

“Like I said, I just knew you’d overreact-” Ford started to say, once again slipping back into his plan of being condescending and overly confident as if that was any sort of justification for what he’d done. Unfortunately for his plans, Stanley cut him off before he could dive in further.

“Bullshit, you tell me stuff that freaks me out all the time without even flinching. You being brutally honest is practically a game at this point. There’s no way that’s the real reason.” Stan said with his arms crossed, and he stepped closer to his brother, staring him down. He wanted to know the truth, he figured at this point he was owed that much at least.

“...” Ford said nothing as he weighed his options. He could double down and try to deflect more, or he could be vulnerable, something both him and Stanley were terrible at. His hands clenched into fists and his body felt like it was shaking as the decision made him tremble.

“Ford, come on man, talk to me.” Stan said as he softened suddenly, offering a comforting hand to Ford. Even if he was annoyed with his brother and felt like he had a lot of explaining to do, he was still his brother and that meant something.

“Do you want to know the real reason, Stanley?” Ford asked quietly, as he looked his brother in the eyes. He’d decided on vulnerability and while in hindsight that seemed the most obvious choice, everything was obvious in hindsight.

“Obviously,” Stanley said, and Ford took a deep breath before launching into his explanation.

“The truth is, I was… scared. We just reunited and became close again, and I was terrified of losing you. When I got back those results, saying you had cancer, I… I panicked. I knew I wasn’t thinking straight, but all I could focus on was trying to make it go away. I guess I was afraid that if I told you and I failed somehow, that would… make it real. The fact that there was a strong possibility I’d lose you would sink in.” he admitted, and it felt good to say. Having the fear he’d lose his brother at any moment had felt like a weight crushing his chest

“Stanford, you big sap. Listen, there’s no way you’re getting rid of me that easily, okay? I worked too damn hard to pull you out of that portal to just kick the bucket less than a year later. Don’t worry about me, alright,” Stanley said, using his own deflection technique of sweeping things under the rug. If feelings weren’t acknowledged then he didn’t have to feel them, and if he pretended he hadn’t experienced such a close brush with death without even knowing, then maybe it hadn’t happened.

“How can I not, Stanley? You’ve lived such a rough life, and as you said, it's bound to catch up to you eventually. I was able to figure out a solution this time, but what if next time… what if we’re separated again? You know what happens when we’re separated. I become an easily manipulated, paranoid mess. I need you around. You’re my best friend.” Ford admitted with a sort of lopsided smile, one him and Stanley both shared. He felt himself tearing up a bit and did his best to suppress it.

“Hold on, I’ve got something in my eye,” Stanley insisted as tears began to well up against his will. “Listen, Sixer, you don’t need to worry about me so much. I guess, if it makes you feel better, I could try and maybe take better care of myself. I guess. But, we came into this world fifteen minutes apart, and that’s how I plan on leaving it.” Stan offered, still using comedy even as he was actively saying things that were real and honest.

“You have no idea how much that means to me, Stanley. We’ve still got plenty more adventures to go on before we worry about that, though.” Stanford said, and it was true. He planned on adventuring with Stanley until one or both of them died, ideally fifteen minutes apart, just like they were born. Ford knew that wasn’t really how things like mortality worked, but he’d seen a far weirder thing than that, so he chose to believe.

“Seriously, though, if you ever find out there’s something wrong with me and keep it from me again, I’m throwing you overboard.” Stanley said, returning to his more gruff demeanor as he crossed his arms and pretended he’d actually do it. Both of them knew he wouldn’t anymore than Ford would zap him with his ray gun like he sometimes threatened to.

“I promise to be completely transparent about all of your health issues, as long as you commit to trying to fix them.” Stanford said, and though he’d had pretty awful luck with deals in his life, he decided this was one he was willing to make. For his twin brother, a trade-off in terms of secret keeping wasn’t really losing much anyway.

“Heh, I’ll take that action. Oh, and by the way, thanks for saving my life.” Stanley said casually, and it was almost mind-boggling to Ford how easily he said it. Stan had always been far better at stuff like that than him, though, so it wasn’t totally out of the ordinary.

“You’re absolutely welcome, Stanley,” Ford said once he overcame his shock at the ease with which Stan thanked him. Stan got a smug look on his face, which made Ford feel as though he should regard him with suspicion. Nothing good ever came out of Stan giving him that look, whether at sea or at the casino.

“You see how easy that was, by the way? To say thank you?” Stan asked smugly, and Ford threw his arms up in the air in mock exacerbation. Stan only laughed at how easy it was to get on his nerves as Ford grabbed his coffee cup and walked over to their sink with the intent of washing it out for future use.

“That’s enough for now, Stanley,” he muttered under his breath, though even in his voice he failed to conceal the joy that had overcome him, thinking about decades worth of adventures with his brother.

Chapter Text

Ford’s steps echoed eerily as he made his way down the stairs into that wet, dank basement. He hadn’t had much time lately, considering all the bonding he’d been doing with the kids and the adventures they’d been planning for once the summer was over. Once it’d housed a portal that nearly unleashed Hell on earth, but at the moment all that was down there was his computer and journals, just a nice spot for laboratory work if he had any desire to do it, at least in theory. In practice, there was one more thing in the basement, something that made his stomach turn.

“Welcome back down, Sixer! Time for our daily chat?” The words bounced unnaturally off of the walls. Ford hated to look, but he did anyway. Stanley, his twin, the person who’d saved his life and the person he'd hurt the most. He looked like his brother did, in his normal and slightly garish mystery suit. But the eyes were what gave it away. Bill never could get the eyes quite right, and they reflected yellow and narrow in the light of his lantern. The grin on his face was unnaturally wide in a way Stanley’s never was.

“We have nothing to talk about. Release my brother or God help me-” Ford started, though he didn’t actually have an end to that threat. Bill simply laughed that awful, annoying laugh, and there wasn’t anything Ford could do except think he was right to. There was no God in the world willing to help him after what he’d done. He was the reason things had ended up like this, with the world almost ending and with his twin brother tied up in his basement because he was the prison holding Bill Cipher captive.

“Or what Sixer? You and I both know you’re not gonna hurt him. Though, it's not like you haven’t done it before,” Bill added with a laugh, using the body of his brother like a puppet. He was right, that was the worst part. He and Stanley had fought, and argued, and Ford had hurt him. He’d said things he didn’t mean, done things he wanted to make up for. And they were getting better, getting closer once the summer came to an end. Ford finally thought he had a chance to rebuild what he’d broken, and he’d been wrong.

“What will it take to get you to let his body go?” Ford asked even though he knew the answer. A part of him was hoping things would have changed since yesterday, the last time he asked. He wanted there to be another option because him and Stanley had earned retirement, and had earned getting to be best friends again. They did everything to make things right, so why were they being punished like this? Why was his brother being punished when Ford was the one who’d messed things up?

“Hmm, let’s see… you let me possess your body, and we call it even. How about that?” Bill asked, and Ford scoffed, narrowing his eyes at him. “Didn’t think so. Well, how about I share some of Stan’s thoughts. I’m sure you’re curious about those, aren’t you, Sixer?” Bill asked, and Ford cringed because he didn’t want to hear this. Stan had sacrificed his memories to save all of them, and himself and the kids had done their best to restore them, had thought they’d succeeded. Little had they known Bill was lying in wait to take over as soon as those memories were back, and himself and Ford were alone.

“I’m not listening to this.” Ford said seriously, putting a bowl of food down at his feet and turning to walk away. He heard Bill laugh, that same mocking laugh he loved to do, and he shoved down the boiling pain in his chest. He couldn’t let Bill think he was hurting him, that his taunting was working, even though it was. He felt sick to his stomach, seeing his brother chained up down here and knowing he’d done it. Even if it wasn’t really Stanley, and was just Bill using Stanley’s body as a toy, it felt too real and too awful to think about.

“Not interested in my stories? That’s a shame, Sixer, a real shame. You know, all of a sudden I’m not feeling very hungry. In fact, I’m in the mood for some science. Let’s see how long your brother’s body can go without food before it becomes a corpse!” Bill said, forcing that same unnatural smile to spread across Stanley’s face. Ford knew he’d do it too, Bill didn’t need a body to be alive to use it as a puppet after all. This was the game he played, using Stanley’s life as a pawn in their back and forth chess match.

“Fine. What do you want to tell me?” Ford asked, though he was already certain he could guess the outcome of their conversation. He’d divulge some horrible and definitely fair thoughts Stanley had about him just to cut him deep. He’d say the words with his brother’s mouth, voice the silent resentment that had sprung up between them and remind Ford that try as he might, he’d never be able to repair the damage to their relationship. But Ford would grit his teeth and bear it, so Stanley would live another day, and he’d have another day to find a solution.

“He knows exactly how selfish you are, you know that?” Bill asked, and there was something to the way he said the word selfish, like it hissed off of his tongue. Ford knew that Stanley thought he was selfish, he’d told him so to his face more than once. And Ford had deserved it. That was how he knew Bill had something truly devious on his mind, the way he started off basic. “He worked for thirty years to save your life, and not once did the thought cross his mind that you’d do the same for him. Even as he was saving you, he knew you’d never do anything that nice for him.” Bill said.

“That’s not true,” Ford objected, though the reality was he didn’t know if it was or wasn’t. He was a very different person now than he was thirty years ago, and a very different person now than he was when he’d first exited that portal. Now he’d do anything to save his brother, but back then he didn’t know if his pride would have allowed it. That was a horrible thought, of course, and the idea that Stanley had always believed that he would abandon him said more than enough about the type of person he’d been to his brother.

“You really believe that Sixer? You know you’d never do half the things for him that he did for you. And the things you did do for him were for yourself,” Bill said, attempting to strain against the chains wrapped tight around Stanley’s body. Ford would have chastised him for being stupid enough to think that would work, only for Bill to add something. “You’ve got your own brother chained up in a basement because you’re too much of a coward to put him out of his misery. You’re keeping him floating in purgatory for your own selfish desire to feel like a good person!” Bill taunted.

“Shut up! I’m going to find a way to get rid of you for good, without killing my brother,” Ford insisted and Bill just looked at him, those yellow, vertical slit eyes tearing through his soul as it was clear that Bill found the idea of him actually succeeding in that endeavor ridiculous. Ford needed a break, he needed a reprieve from this nightmare, but there wasn’t anything he could think to do in order to escape it. He could swear he faintly smelled the scent of cigarette smoke, and he looked over at Bill to see him smiling.

“Bet you could use a light right now, huh, Sixer?” he asked, and Ford shoved down that thought because he knew Bill was reading his mind and he hated it. “You remember when you had your first smoke? Stan stole a pack from the school lunch lady when she wasn’t looking, and you two took turns smoking in the bathroom while the other looked out in the hall for teachers. You still smoke that same brand because it's what you got started on. And you still almost ask him for a light before you do, because even after all these years he’s still just a tool to you.” Bill offered.

“That’s funny.” Ford said dryly and Bill seemed genuinely surprised by this turn as he wasn’t expecting his reaction to it. “I thought I was out of touch, but you really don’t understand people at all, do you?” he asked and Bill perked up, eager to hear whatever it was that Ford would say next. “The reason that I start to ask Stanley for a light, even when he’s not around, isn’t because he’s a tool to me. It's because I love him, and I got used to us doing everything together. It's because even at my worst, that was still what I wanted.” he said seriously.

“You can tell yourself that, Sixer, but even this idiot knows the truth. People like him, they’re expendable to people like you and me. That’s why he’s the pawn, and you’re the king. We move him back and forth around the board to get at each other, that’s all it is. He knows you’d never give up yourself to save him. You don’t sacrifice your best piece for your weakest. You don’t sacrifice a genius for a conman.” Bill added, and hearing those words come out of his brother’s mouth; knowing it was what Stan believed about himself, it made him ache.

“Life isn’t a chess game. People aren’t tools, and you’re completely confused about how love works, though I really shouldn’t be surprised. I’m not going to give myself up because my brother and I are going to survive this together. And then, we’re going to get on a boat and talk about how much we both hate you.” Ford insisted, and for once in this conversation he felt like he was getting somewhere. “I listened to your story. Now eat.” he said, and Bill seemed to take great pleasure in slathering the food all over his face, disgustingly.

“Wowzer, you’re an awful cook, Sixer!” Bill said with a laugh as he licked the remains of Ford’s attempt at cooking porridge from his face. “Maybe I should let Stan go, living with you might be torture enough!” he added, and Ford thought about if that was true. Maybe he was right, that after all he’d done, there was no way for him to redeem himself in the eyes of his brother. “Seriously, I’m perusing his memories, and he found better meals when he had to dumpster dive to survive,” Bill said and despite his better judgment, Ford responded.

“Did that actually happen?” he questioned, even though he was sure that it had. Since getting on good terms again, neither himself nor Stanley had divulged the details of their time apart, and that had been on purpose. Ford remembered when they’d reunited for the first time, before he’d gone through that portal, Stanley had tried to tell him what he’d been through and Ford dismissed him. Now, though, he didn’t want to risk pushing Stanley away by asking, so he’d been waiting for him to share when he was ready.

“Oh boy, if you think that’s bad, just wait till I tell you what he did in Tijuana to get flour! Or what the details of his arrest in Texas were before he petitioned the state to seal the case records in ‘05. Not to mention what he accepted as payment in lieu of money in Montreal. Your brother has spent his entire life being nothing but a worthless screw-up, and the worst part is he knows it. You and your dad never let him forget what his place was; you can’t really be mad at him for accepting it.” Bill offered smugly, clearly diving into Stan’s most painful memories.

“He’s not a screw-up, or worthless. I was the one who was wrong, and I will never make that mistake again.” Ford said, and Bill rolled his eyes at him, likely because he figured that he wouldn’t get the chance to correct his mistake. How funny, then, that Bill was running on borrowed time and he didn’t even know it. Ford did his best to keep him talking, and keep stalling long enough to finish his plan. “Stanley did bad things, but he made up for them. What’s your excuse for doubling down?” he questioned, and Bill narrowed his eyes.

“You don’t want to go there with me, Sixer. You and your entire family, you're delusional, that’s your problem. You think Stan will ever forgive you for how you treated him? You think you’ll ever really forgive him for the future he cost you? All of you are lying to yourselves and one day, you’re going to snap and wonder why. Me, at least I’m honest about what type of person I am. You both seem to think you’re far better than you are.” Bill said, and Ford almost felt pity for him because he could tell he really did believe that.

“You’ve puppeted around countless humans, and yet you still haven’t figured out the concept of genuine forgiveness? That’s part of love, and it's why we beat you. Why we’ll always beat you,” Ford offered and Bill strained against the chains again, clearly wanting to use Stanley’s hands to flip him off but unable to properly free them. “Also, I think I’ve figured out why you didn’t like the porridge,” Ford offered, and Bill perked up. “You seem to have forgotten that humans need to sleep, and to help you out with that, I laced it with sleeping pills.” Ford offered.

“You what?” Bill asked darkly as he tried to hock up what he’d eaten, much to no avail. “So, you’ve decided to put Stan down like a lame dog? That’s dark, even for you Sixer.” Bill said, in between failed attempts at retching out what he’d eaten. Ford felt a pit of guilt grow in his stomach at the words. Even though they weren’t true, he knew Stan’s soul was floating around here somewhere, probably listening, and he didn’t want him to think even for a second that it was the case. He’d never make the mistake of hurting his brother again, and he was going to prove it.

“No you idiot, when the human you're possessing falls asleep, you get booted out of possession mode and Stanley will be able to regain control of his body. Without a vessel, you’ll be erased like you should have been the first time. You’re done.” Ford said, and he suppressed a smug smile at his well crafted plan. Bill did love to talk and gloat, and of course if he just let him do what he wanted he wouldn’t even notice the basic and yet perfect plan that he’d crafted. Bill gave him a stormy look as he stewed.

“You think this is over Sixer? You might be able to boot me out this time, but I’ll be back. I’ll be in your nightmares, and in the kids’ nightmares, and one day I’ll put you back in your place.” he threatened, and Ford simply checked his watch, waiting for the pills to kick in. Bill continued his ranting, clearly enraged he wasn’t being given the time of day. “Is this really how you want our great rivalry to end, Sixer? I made you everything you are, we’re twin flames, and you’re going to give all that up for the guy who ruined your life?” Bill asked.

“My brother saved my life, repeatedly. Even when I was a huge jerk to him, he dedicated decades to being a better brother to me than I was to him. Stanley Pines is a hero, and anyone who says otherwise is, what was the word you used, delusional.” Ford insisted before adding something else. “He’s quite literally my twin flame. All you are is a cigarette. All smoke, little flame, and full of toxic poison.” he said and Bill clearly started to rebut him, only to yawn continuously through his words as his eyelids drooped closed.

“You’re a real sap, you know that poindexter,” Stan said though a yawn, and all it took was one look in the eyes for Ford to know it was him, his brother. He didn’t care if it was silly or cliché, he threw his arms around him in a hug that he hadn’t known he needed. He quickly unchained him, though by the time he did Stan was already fast asleep. Ford hoisted his arm over his shoulder and did his best to carry him out of the basement and up towards his room, where he let him sleep off what was surely an awful experience.

Once he closed the door behind him, Ford finally let out a breath, hoping he was free from Bill, though knowing only time would tell. In the meantime, he had his brother back and that was all he wanted to think about. He walked over to the top of the stairs which led to the lab, and flicked the light switch off, closing the vending machine in front of it and sealing it away for now. Stanley and Ford had been through so much for the chance to make things better, but they had that chance now. And so, Ford went to watch TV on the couch until his brother woke up, and the sun rose on a new day.

Chapter Text

Stanford was feeling restless as he stood on the bow of the Stan-O-War 2. He really had no reason to, this had been a relatively good day. They’d fought off a sea monster after sailing into rough waters, and Ford had gotten one of its tentacles for study. Stanley was currently fishing not a few feet away from him, and the sun was settling nicely over the clouds, giving the entire scene a serene atmosphere.

And yet Stanford Pines was thinking, something which was the source of all of his problems in life. Stan had done his best to catch him up on everything he’d missed regarding the world before they set sail, but with Stanley still recovering some of his memories, Ford hated asking him things. Especially things as heavy as what was currently weighing on his mind. But Stanford was going to ask whether he wanted to or not because he could never leave well enough alone.

“Stanley… can you tell me about our parents?” he asked, and Stan stopped fishing to look over at him. Sometimes Ford did this, asked him something about their past to quiz Stan and make sure his mind was sharp. When he did, Stan hated it, but he knew it was out of love, so he complied. But the way Ford had asked this time had betrayed that wasn’t what he was doing. He wanted to know about the state of their parents now. Stan sat his rod on the deck of the ship and walked over to his twin.

“Pa passed away. Mom is still alive, in one of those senior living places in California. Shermie put her up there,” Stan offered, and Ford’s mind raced. He hadn’t expected to ever come home, and so in his mind his entire family had died long ago. But now that he was here it hit him like a gut punch, and Stanley gave him a gentle pat on the back as Ford looked at him helplessly, like a child or a deer stuck in a trap.

“How… when…” the questions started but didn’t finish. Stan at the very least was sympathetic to his plight as he sighed and leaned against the ship’s railing, racking his brain to remember all the details.

“It must’ve been… ten, nine years ago now? Yeah, it was definitely nine, since I’d just turned fifty. He had one of those blood problems, blood clots in the lungs and heart or something like that. Ma called me, well she thought it was you but me, up for the funeral. He’s buried in Jersey, in the old cemetery in the lead paint district,” Stan explained and Ford gave him a short nod.

“Right. He would’ve been… about eighty then, wouldn’t he?” Ford asked, and Stan gave him a short nod of confirmation. Having done the math in his head, Stanford’s mind settled into math mode as he realized something else. “Wait, dad was twenty when he had Shermie, wasn’t he?” he asked and Stan gave him another nod. “And Ma is five years younger than him. So she would have been…” Ford trailed off, but Stanley got the picture.

“Holy shit, how did I never put that together before?” Stan asked, and there was a dry, bitter chuckle in his voice at that. Just another thing to add to the growing rap sheet Filbrick Pines had, he supposed. Silence settled over them for a moment before Ford spoke again.

“How’s Ma doing now, anyway?” he asked, and that was a sore spot Stan didn’t want to touch. He would, though, because the alternative was keeping his brother in the dark, and that wasn’t fair after everything they’d been through.

“She was really torn up after dad died. The funeral was the first time I’d seen her in person in years because, well, I can do a half decent impression of you and hide my hands for a few minutes, but any longer than that, and she would’ve realized something was up. But I saw her at the funeral, and she looked… so small, Ford. Just old, and weak and I just… it was hard to see her that way,” Stan admitted.

“I… I can’t even imagine,” Ford offered because his mother had always been larger than life, loud and exuberant and unabashed in her lies and stories. Imagining her withered and small after the loss of her husband and son was too much for him to bear thinking about.

“I managed to keep the conversation short, but I don’t think it would’ve matter. She just held onto me and Shermie and cried. Talked about how he never apologized to Stanley and how he was so stubborn, and how he had to go off and die on her,” Stan said and another moment of silence settled over them again as Stan remembered what that day had been like and Ford ached at the fact that he’d never know.

“How long has she been in that place in California?” Ford asked, and Stanley tried to think again, as it was Shermie who’d handled all the preparation and the move and everything. Stan had just financed the venture, because he couldn’t bear to have his mom figure out the lies he’d told.

“I think maybe four years at this point? She was starting to have problems, forget stuff, things like that. And she was all alone in Jersey at that point; no one was watching over her. Shermie found a real nice place in California and convinced her to sell the shop and come down there. It was a good thing too because she was diagnosed with dementia. It was the early stages, so they’ve been able to help her a bit, but… she does have bad days,” Stanley explained and Ford asked something he knew he shouldn’t.

“When was the last time you saw her?” he asked, and from the way Stan’s face wavered, he knew he’d hit a nerve. He was about to apologize and tell his brother he didn’t have to answer when Stan stared out at the open ocean and spoke.

“Over a year now. When she first moved into that place I tried to go once a month, just to make sure I saw her but, like I said, it's hard to fool her past the first few minutes. And of course, the staff there knew that Stanley Pines was her son who died, so they’d just look at her like she was crazy, and I’d have to shut her down to keep up the lie. It felt awful Stanford, having to treat the first person to call me by my actual name, who actually saw me, in years, like a crazy person. So I stopped showing as often,”

“She could really tell it was you after all this time?” Ford asked, and something in him swelled at that. The path their lives had taken, Stanley had become him so completely to everyone. But not to his mother, she always knew her boys apart, even like that.

“Sometimes. Sometimes I’d manage to cover up the missing finger, and I’d talk to her about science or whatever, and she’d be so out of it she’d accept what she’d been told for years. But sometimes she’d get emotional and beg me to tell her that I was Stanley…” Stan admitted, a deep sigh of relief over finally being able to get that off of his chest escaping him.

“Can we see her?” Ford asked, and Stan stared at him, mouth agape. “I mean, we’re not that far from California yet, and you’re still allowed there, aren’t you?” Ford asked, and Stan looked at him like he was talking crazy.

“You want to give our poor mother a heart attack, don’t you?” he asked sarcastically, but Ford gave him this earnest look as he justified his desire to visit their mom.

“Either she’s not lucid, and she just assumes we’ve both been alive this whole time, or she is lucid, and she realizes we’re both alive, which she already suspected anyway from your memory,” Ford explained and as Stan considered his words Stanford added something quietly. “I don’t want the next time I see Ma to be at her funeral, Stanley,” he offered, and that finally convinced his brother as he walked to the helm and muttered about changing course.

“Hello, we’re here to see our mother, Caryn Pines,” Ford offered when they reached the nursing home a few days later. They’d told the nurse over the phone that her sons were coming to visit, but didn’t specify which ones so as not to arouse suspicion. The poor nurse working at the front desk, who’d met Stanley before and heard his and Shermie’s instances for years that his twin was dead, stared in wide-eyed horror before pointing them towards her room.

“Hey, Ma,” Stan said as himself and Ford entered the room. Neither of them were sure what state to expect her in, but as she caught sight of them, the previously dead-eyed smile that had occupied her face disappeared as her eyes flashed with recognition and filled with tears. She hobbled to her feet then, or tried to before falling from her chair. Stan and Ford rushed to her side, getting her seated again, and she grabbed tight to them, holding her sons as errant tears silently escaped her.

“My boys, my beautiful boys,” she muttered under her breath and both knew from the stories she’d told them of their birth, stories she’d repeated to them ad nauseam every birthday, that those had been her first words when they’d been placed into her arms. “My little genius,” she said as she ruffled Ford’s hair, knowing it was him without hesitation, and it dawned on Stanford how long it’d been since that had happened. “And my little free spirit,” she said, ruffling Stan’s hair.

“I’m sure you have a lot of questions,” Stanford started after the hug had gone on for several minutes, but their mother just shook her head, wiping tears from her face.

“I don’t want to know anything. I just want you boys to stay here with me a while,” she said, and it was clear from the weariness in her words that so much of her recent life had felt like an uphill battle, and all that she wished for now was a moment of respite. So her sons pulled up chairs next to her and the three of them sat, relaxed and calm, next to her. She rambled for a bit about nothing before saying something. “I lied. I do want to know something,” she offered, and they looked at her quizzically. “How was your day,” she asked, and they both smiled.

“Me and poindexter were out on our boat, sailing the world. On the way here, I had to stop him from trying to capture a demon fish which was trying to wither us to dust and bones with its venom,” Stan offered with a laugh and a gentle shove to his brother’s shoulder.

“Don’t believe him Ma, I was the one who had to stop Stan from eating the aforementioned demon fish because he was curious if the evil added extra flavor,” he said, and they shared a chuckle at that, all three of them.

“I knew you were gonna say that,” she said, a common refrain when they were young thanks to her alleged physic abilities. “You boys always loved boats when you were little. Stanley, you were always drawing ‘em, sometimes on important pieces of paper. And Stanford you’d talk all dinner long about types of boats, even when we were trying to say grace,” she said with a soft smile, reminiscent of her earlier vacant one, but more alive somehow. “When did you two get so handsome,” she said, giving both their faces a gentle squeeze.

Stan and Ford stayed with their mother for the rest of the day. According to the nursing staff when they left this was one of her best days in a while, and even then there’d be parts of the day when she’d start crying about letting Stanley get kicked out, calling one or both of them Filbrick, asking about when Shermie was coming home from the war. But eventually that recognition returned to her eyes and she’d hold both of them tight like they’d disappear if she let them go.

They made sure to sneak her some good food, better than what they served at the home, even if it was pretty decent. Most importantly, they snuck her coffee, which she loved and hadn’t had in ages. She showed them the plants she’d been doing her best to keep alive, a task which gave her purpose. She showed off the playing cards she had, which she claimed were special edition tarot cards. According to the nurses, on her better days she’d claim to read the fortunes of the other residents. She was still their mother even after all this time.

“I’ve got to go to bed, and you boys have to get back to your boat,” their mother said through a yawn, as the staff had informed the two of them visiting hours were over soon, and they’d have to go. Still, all of them were none too eager to be separated again, after all this time. Caryn gave them a tight squeeze and a kiss on their cheeks as she gave them some advice. “Take good care of each other. That’s all I want,” she said, and they both promised her that they would. She was wheeled off to her bedroom and Stan and Ford left back to their floating home.

She hadn’t had a heart attack, so both felt it went better than expected. Neither could undervalue how it’d felt to be seen by their mother for the first time in years, how easily she knew who was who and how much she adored them. Both were glad she didn’t ask how this had happened, as they wouldn’t have had an answer for her. Instead, they got to enjoy the day as a family, her wonderful boys, like they’d been since the day they were born. And as her request echoed in their heads before setting off again, neither intended to let her down.

Chapter Text

It had been meant to be a very simple experiment. Now that they’d been out on the Stan-O-War 2 for nearly a year, Stanford was getting into inventing and experimenting again, especially considering the interdimensional technology he’d managed to bring home with him. In particular, he’d been working on reverse engineering a time chip in order to create a time dilation device, something with could individually age or deage a subject. He’d tested it on inanimate objects and animals with much success, and Stan had offered himself as a human subject.

Well, they’d gone to port so they could be near to a hospital, just in case things went very wrong. Ford had pointed the device at his brother and, after the signal, had turned it on. Well, his version of Stan had popped out of existence, and in his plan was a younger version of Stan. Unfortunately, this scuzzy, dirty version of twin was clearly not simply his brother deaged, but actually him from that time in his life. He looked to be in about his mid-twenties, and was highly guarded, looking around for enemies and ignoring Ford completely.

“Just my luck for not reading the fine print on the time chip. Of course, that means my time dilation device is simply a mislabeled time travel machine. At least that means it shouldn’t be too difficult to get the timeline back in order. Come along Stan,” Ford said, calling the attention of this younger version of his brother, grabbing his wrist. Stan pushed him away roughly, eyes narrowed and clearly ready to run at any moment.

“Who the fuck are you? Stay away from me, or I swear I’ll cut you!” he threatened, clearly feeling around his jacket for a weapon. Unfortunately, Stanford could see his brother’s jacket pocket clearly had a large hole in it, which meant his knife was probably lost. Still, he put his hands up in a fighting stance and spat on the ground, waiting for any move that would indicate an attack.

“Stanley, calm down, it's me, Stanford,” Ford offered diplomatically, hoping this version of his brother would be calmed down by the knowledge he was among family. When Stanley used to have memory lapses to this time in his life, being told he was with Ford tended to relax him. This young Stan’s shoulder’s did relax a bit, but his fists stayed raised.

“Listen buddy I don’t know who told you about my brother, but they must’ve forgot to tell you that we’re twins, and considering you’re old as shit, I’m not buying it,” he growled out, but there was a lot less bite to it now, probably because Stan realized he didn’t have a weapon and was still trying to decide if this old man’s age would overcome his overall terrible body condition in a fight.

“Stanley, look at my hands, six fingers, you see? And, if polydactyly isn’t enough, I can tell you that when we were children we went on a hunt for the Jersey Devil and successfully located it. It's me,” Ford offered, extending out his hand. This typically worked whenever Stan experienced a memory lapse as well, showing his hands. Finally, this young Stanley dropped his fists, and looked at the six fingers and then back at Ford’s face.

“... Stanford? Holy shit, the years have been even worse to you than they have to me. What happened, where am I?” he asked terrified as he looked around the unfamiliar port, small shops and vendors dotting the streets, and passers-by completely ignoring the tense situation between them. Ford gave this young Stan a gentle and sympathetic look as he offered an explanation.

“You are the unfortunate victim of product mislabeling. I was attempting to create a time dilation machine which would have been able to rapidly age or deage an object or person with the click of a button. Unfortunately, rather than changing the age of the object in the present, it simply swaps it out with a past version, which is fine for mice and lamps, but terrible for people,” Stanford explained, and this younger Stan just stared at him blankly.

“... drugs. That must be it, they laced my drugs with something else, and now I’m tripping balls,” he said after a beat, and his face made its way into his hands. He let out a groan, though it was clear even he didn’t quite believe that explanation. Ford put a gentle hand on his shoulder and they made eye contact.

“I assure you that’s not the case, Stanley. Come on, let’s go back to the boat and I’ll get new batteries for the device. There should be plenty in the cabin, and then I can return you to your proper place in the timeline. I’m sure your future self is just dying to give me an earful about this,” Stanford offered, as he wondered with a nervous pang thinking about his brother. He hoped being shot back into the past wasn’t having any ill effects on him. Once again, this younger Stanley wrenched his way from Ford’s grasp and side stepped him.

“Hold on, I’m not going anywhere with you. You might be my brother from the future or whatever, but you’re still a stranger, and I don’t trust you as far as I can throw you. Besides… Ford hates me; why would you ever want anything to do with me.” He added that last part quietly, looking at his feet, and it was clear he really did believe that. Ford felt a deep pang of guilt, wondering how he’d ever allowed his brother to feel this way.

“Oh, Stanley… you’re my best friend. Although, based on when you’ve been plucked from, I have my doubts that you’ll believe me. Allow me to say what the past version of me should’ve: you are my brother, and I will always love you. I care deeply about you, even if I have a less than developed way of showing it, and moreover… I could never, ever hate you.” Ford insisted, and even though so much of what he felt during their time apart was clouded and dark, he at least knew that much was true.

“You… you don’t hate me?” This young Stan asked, voice so small and weak, he barely sounded like his brother at all. Ford gave him a quick nod, not wanting his brother to doubt even for a second that he was deeply cherished, even if in his time it didn’t feel exactly accurate.

“No, and I never did, even at my most angry,” Ford said seriously and at that this Stanley seemed to let out a breath he was holding, like something in his chest had popped, and he was finally able to breathe again. He stared at Ford’s hands and closed his eyes tight before sighing, and giving him a softened look, though still rough around the edges with frustration.

“...okay. I’ll go with you to your boat or whatever. But if you try anything, I won’t hesitate to fight you,” he said, returning his hands to the striking position they’d been in before, just for a moment before letting them drop back down to his sides. Stanford shook his head internally, wondering what sort of situations this Stanley had been in to think that was a necessary statement. Still, he gestured for him, pointedly not touching him again.

“I wouldn’t worry about that, now come along.” he said, and this young Stan followed after him, constantly checking over his shoulder as the two made their way back to the marina. Proudly docked close to the port was the Stan-O-War 2. She was a beauty, and every time Ford saw her his heart swelled a little more with pride, thinking about how himself and Stan had worked to create their new home.

“So, this is your boat?” Young Stan asked, staring wide-eyed at the ship, clearly just barely containing the excitement he felt at seeing it. Even in this state, so clearly jaded and broken by what he’d been put through, Stanley couldn’t resist the physical representation of their dreams staring him in the face.

“Our boat, Stan. This is the Stan-O-War 2! We travel across the world searching for treasure and anomalies, finding them both in equal measure. We’ve made quite a few wonderful memories,” Stanford mused, a smile on his face as the two entered the cabin of the ship. This younger Stan immediately walked over to the wall of photos they’d taken during their travels, picking one off of the shelf.

“This… this is us?” he asked in a quiet voice. Ford walked over to see what he was looking at, noting it was a photo of the two old men clinking together two coconuts with straws in them, in front of a lush beach somewhere. Stanford felt a smile come to his face as he remembered when the two of them had taken that photo.

“Yes! That was when we were in Montego Bay, searching for the legendary Rolling Calf. I managed to get one of its iron chains for study, though I couldn’t have done it without your help. At your instance, we celebrated with cocktails on the beach. That was a lovely day,” he said as he put the picture back on the mantle. When he turned his attention back to Stanley, however, the younger version of his brother was giving him a dark look, fists clenched.

“... I’m dying, aren’t I?” he asked under his breath, and Stanford balked at the question as he tried to figure out why his brother would say something like that. And yet, Stanley stared him down expectantly, the youth in his face counterbalanced by the darkness in his eyes.

“What?” Stanford asked, still confused as to what he was even talking about. Stanley just looked at him accusingly, though the desperation behind his eyes was patently clear.

“I’m dying, freezing to death in some dark alley in the middle of winter because my car battery died, right? And this is the imaginary story my brain is cooking up to make me okay with dying, a story where everything is okay between me and you, and everything works out, well I’m not buying it! This is a fantasy, there’s no way I’d ever… there’s way anything this nice would ever happen to me. I wouldn’t deserve it,” The young-adult Stan muttered under his breath.

“Stanley… I am so sorry for what you’re living through right now. I’m sure it’s cold comfort, but your version of your brother isn’t doing well without you either. But I assure you, this isn’t some predeath vision, it's the future, your future. I won’t lie to you and say it's easy, or particularly fun to get to this point, but you get there. We get there, together.” Ford offered seriously, hesitating for a moment before putting a comforting hand on Stan’s shoulder. Stanley looked at him with tears in his eyes.

“...please don’t make me go back.” Stanley asked, voice shaking, and every fiber in Ford’s being wanted to promise him that he wouldn’t, wanted to tell him that he could stay here and would never have to go back to the rough life he’d left behind. But that wouldn’t be fair to his Stanley, the one his own age, and besides, who knew what kind of implications that would have for the timeline.

“I have to. Your future self is currently stuck in the past, and I need to bring him back.” Stanford explained, and Stanley wiped his face on the dirty sleeve of his jacket, clearly trying to pull himself together and maintain the hardened, streetwise image he’d learned to use in order to protect himself. However, the facade fell away fully with his next words.

“I know, I just… could you tell me you love me one more time?” Stan asked, and with Ford still having a hand on his shoulder, he could tell this younger version of his brother was shaking. He was clearly sad and terrified, and at the very least Ford could give him this.

“Of course. I love you, Stanley. And, in case I don’t say it soon enough, thank you for everything you’ve done, and everything you will do.” Stanford said, and the look Stan got on his face, pupils blown wide and shocked, as if he thought he’d never hear those words again. Stan wiped his face with his sleeve once again and gently extricated Ford’s hand from his shoulder.

“Jeez Sixer, you really know how to make a guy turn on the waterworks, huh,” he said, trying to wave the emotional moment off as if it had been nothing. Unfortunately for his plans, Ford had no intention of letting this vulnerable version of his brother return to his own time without at least a little more care than he’d already received.

“It's okay to cry. You’re safe here. Why don’t I make you dinner before I send you back? Oh, and you can take a shower. From what you’ve told me, that was a rare occurrence during this time in your life.” Stanford offered, and he thought darkly about the stories Stanley had told him about his life on the road. The younger version of Stan retreated to the bathroom and took a long shower, while Ford decided to do something with his ragged clothes and cook something for him.

“You washed my clothes?” Stanley asked as he returned from the shower, only to see his clothes freshly cleaned and folded on the couch. Under the thick layer of grime he’d been covered in, Stanford could now more clearly see his brother. He took note of the scars he had which had already appeared, and the ones which he hadn’t acquired yet. He stared far too long at his unblemished shoulder.

“Well, I wasn’t going to send you back in dirty clothes. I also mended the pocket of your jacket. I’m not much of a seamster, but it’ll do for now, I think,” Ford said, snapping out of his guilt induced haze and pointing to the work he’d done. Mabel had been doing her best to teach him her knitting skills, and had shown him some basic repair based sewing for when they were out at sea.

“Why are you being so nice to me?” Stanley asked, as he felt the place in his pocket where the hole used to be. It was clear it’d been ages since his last hot shower and hot meal, years since the last time someone had cared enough about him to mend his clothes. Stanley didn’t want to start crying again, so he got accusatory instead.

“It's like I said, Stanley, you’re my brother and my best friend. I want to care for you. Now eat. I’m not even half as good a cook as you are, but it's better than whatever you’ve been able to scrap together.” Ford said, as he gestured towards the table, where a pipping hot bowl of crab stew was sitting. It was Stanley’s recipe, his way of using up the crabs they’d caught while at sea, though his seasoning skills were better than Ford’s.

“Like hell you’re a bad cook; this is the best thing I’ve ever tasted,” Young Stanley said as he scarfed the food down so fast you’d think it was going to disappear if he stopped for even a second. Stanford didn’t try to correct his table manners, simply chuckling to himself about how out of character that would be for the modern version of Stan to say.

“I think your standards are simply lower at this point in your life. Future you would balk at that comment.” Ford said as he studied this young version of his brother, the way his eyes lit up at the offer of food. Once his bowl was empty, Stanford simply got up and dished him out more soup, which he scarfed down gratefully.

“He doesn’t know what he has,” Stan said seriously once he had finished his third bowl of stew and was seemingly full for the moment. Stanford resisted the urge to ruffle his hair, which wasn’t yet long enough to be considered a mullet, but was getting there. He took the bowl and placed it in the sink to be cleaned later, giving this younger version of his brother a serious look.

“I assure you he does. We both do. Also, I apologize I cannot send you back with any money or nicer clothes. Unfortunately, the device can only send one subject back at a time, and returning you to your time period is paramount.” Ford offered as he opened the cabinet drawer and replaced the batteries in the device, knowing it would ensure enough juice to return this Stan to his place in the timeline.

“Ford… can you tell me everything is going to be okay?” Stanley asked quietly, as he stared at his hands, and then looked at Ford’s holding the device. Once again, Ford’s desire to flip off the laws of the universe and try and prevent this version of Stan from returning to the past was only subsided by the desire to see his brother, the one who belonged at this point in time, returned home safely.

“Would you believe me if I did?” he asked, and Stanley gave him an unreadable and yet utterly piercing look, which made Ford sigh and relent. “Everything is going to be okay, Stanley. For us, and for you.” He promised and Stan took a deep breath, as he did seem to consider Ford’s words, before looking up at him with a lopsided smile.

“I believe you. You’ve always been a terrible liar,” he said with a chuckle, and that was true. Even when they’d been children, Ford couldn’t help but give himself away whenever probed about something, and that hadn’t changed in his old age. Stanford smiled back before giving this young version of his brother a serious look, hand placed on his shoulder.

“Please stay safe, Stanley,” he offered seriously, even though he wasn’t quite sure it was up to his brother at this point. He knew from what Stan had told him that most of the time staying out of trouble wasn’t exactly an option for him. And that didn’t even begin to cover the implications that could have for the timeline if things were changed. And yet, this younger Stan gave him yet another lopsided smile.

“I promise I will.” he said, and it was so convincing that Ford would have probably believed it if he’d been asking his brother for anything else. As it stood, he simply shook his head and looked at the device, and then back at his face.

“You’ve always been a great liar. Now come on,” he said as he gestured for Stan to stand up and prepare himself while he calibrated the device. This younger Stanley placed his hands in his now repaired pockets and took a deep breath. Stanford flipped on the machine and the younger Stan disappeared, replaced now by his age appropriate brother. As soon as Stan caught sight of him, he started doing a terrible impression.

“This device will just deage you Stan, it’s completely reversible Stan, you have nothing to worry about because I tested it extensively Stan,” Stan mocked him as he walked over to his brother and immediately put him in a headlock with the purpose of noogieing him. Ford allowed this to go on for a few minutes before extricating himself with ease and rolling his eyes, though the smile on his face betrayed him.

“Welcome back, Stanley,” Stanford said as he looked his brother over for injures, much to Stan’s chagrin. Luckily he looked the same as he had when he left, although significantly more annoyed with his brother, which was of course to be expected.

“I am never letting you test your nerdy science crap on me ever again, I hope you know that. Wait… is that crab stew I smell,” Stan said as his train of thought was lost. He looked at Stanford expectantly, knowing it was one of Stan’s favorite recipes and Ford had never dared trying to make it before.

“Yes, there’s some on the stove if you want it,” Ford explained as the two entered the kitchen, and sight met with smell to confirm the existence of the delicious soup. Stan licked his lips in anticipation before turning his attention back to his twin and crossing his arms as if he saw right through what Ford was trying to do. That did make sense, after all, a conman can smell a con.

“If this is your plan to butter me up so I’ll be your lab rat again… it’s working! I’ve always loved this stuff. I think I still have some rolls in the fridge, I’ll slap some butter on them and heat them up.” Stan said jovially as he opened the fridge, whistling a tune as he slapped the tub of butter and the pan of rolls on the counter. Ford watched with slight amusement as he did this.

“That sounds lovely. Now, if you don’t mind telling me everything about your experience and if you have any new memories. I’ll need to know if it was a closed or open loop,” Ford said, though he was pretty sure he knew the answer already, considering Stanley was fine, and the universe hadn’t collapsed due to the butterfly effect. His brother simply waved off his questions, just like Ford had known he was going to do.

“Yeah, yeah, Sixer, you’ll get your answers as soon as you help me butter these rolls.” Stan insisted and Ford let out a deep sigh, shaking his head but walked over and accepted the knife Stan offered him, buttering the rolls with sweet cream. “Oh, and by the way,” Stan offered, and Ford looked up from his work to see his brother with a bright smile on his face, adding seasoning to the stew pot. “You’re an absolutely awful cook,” he said with a laugh, a laugh they shared heartily because they’d been through the ringer, and they’d more than earned it.

Chapter Text

Stan sat, legs squeezed up by his chest, inside the cramped phone booth. His chest hurt so much breathing in and out caused a shudder to go through his entire body, so he tried not to breathe too much. His shirt was sticky and wet, blood graphing his t-shirt to his chest as broken ribs and stab wounds collapsed into a mush of pain. Sweat stuck his hair to his forehead as he grasped blindly for the phone behind him, unable to turn or stand.

“Stanford! Stanford, is that you?” Stanley asked as he spoke into the receiver, knowing intrinsically it was his brother breathing on the other side of the line. He smiled then, because his brother was going to be there and he could rescue him. “Stanford, you’re going to come get me, right? You’re going to come take me to the hospital, and you’ll take me home, right?” Stanley asked, smile still on his face as tears raced down his cheeks.

“... Stanley?” Stanford’s voice came through tinny on the other side of the line, but it was his brother’s voice, and finally Stan let out a painful sigh of relief. Hearing his brother and knowing he was there was like an opiate, and everything hurt a little less now, the pain fading into the background.

“Yes! It's me. You’re gonna save me, right?” Stanley asked, smile on his face as he cried happy tears because this wasn’t going to be how his life ended. It didn’t have to end this way, even if Rico’s goons had gotten to him, even if he was in agony right now, he still had an out. There was a deafening silence before Ford spoke again.

“Stanley, why did you call me?” Ford asked, and the words cut through Stanley even more painfully than the knives his attackers had plunged into his stomach. “I live in Oregon, Stanley, you know that. I can’t save you. I don’t even know where you are,” Stanford said and all the pain radiating from Stan’s injuries returned, the crushing weight of the fact that he was dying became clear. He wheezed out his next words in a painful haze as reality crashed into him.

“And you hate me,” he said, and Ford didn’t say anything. He didn’t have to. The happy tears that flowed from Stan’s eyes became bitter, and his body shuddered again, vision blurred from blood loss. “Rico and his goons jumped me. They beat me real good, Stanford. And… and I called you, with the last of my strength. You answered but… I hung up.” Stanley said, as the memory came back to him. None of this was real.

“There’s nothing I can do for you Stanley. I’m not real after all,” Stanford said, tongue clicking over the phone like he always did. Stanley tried to crane his head and look around, but his body was too weak to try, so he held tight to the receiver of the phone like a life preserver, even though he knew no one was on the other end. If he was going to die here, in this cramped phone booth, lit only by a flickering dirty streetlamp, then he didn’t want to die alone.

“Well… if you’re not really here… and none of this matters… could you maybe stay on the phone with me?” Stanley asked because he was delirious from blood loss and Stanford wasn’t here, but maybe he could pretend for a while. Stanley Pines was going to die here, alone with no one to save him, and no one who loved him enough to care. He was sobbing now, the steady breathing of his brother over the phone, the only thing keeping him grounded. “Can you tell me about your day?”

“Yes, I can do that for you, Stanley. My day was good,” Stanford offered and even though he was still crying, Stanley smiled because he felt like his head was underwater, and he was dying here, gasping breaths painful and slow. But, he could imagine that somewhere out there his brother had a good day, and that was all that mattered.

“Stanley! Stanley, can you hear me?” Stanford’s voice cut through the haze, and Stanley felt hands on his shoulders, shaking him awake. It took a moment for Stan to orient himself, realizing that he wasn’t in that dirty pay phone, that he was in a comfortable bed, and that his brother was there with him. He did his best to pull himself together, despite the fact that his heart felt like it was going to burst from his chest.

“Jeez Sixer, pipe down will you?” Stanley said gruffly as he forced himself to sit up in bed and take stock. It’d just been a nightmare, and he was safe on the Stan-O-War with his brother, and he wasn’t going to die. As long as he was here, he had nothing to be sad about, so he just had to brush things off. Ford was looking at him all concerned, sitting on the edge of the bottom bunk, and it was making Stan feel exposed in a way he hated.

“Are you alright? You were crying in your sleep,” Stanford insisted, and Stanley forced himself to touch his face, where he felt fresh tear tracks, still wet. As Ford seemed to stare seriously at his face, Stan realized he was still crying, and he willed himself to stop. He was fine, so he didn’t need to feel sad or embarrassed or whatever. He just needed to go back to sleep and keep this to himself.

“ ‘m fine, okay. No big deal, just had something in my eye.” Stanley lied and Ford looked at him like he didn’t believe him for a second, which was the right call. He stayed firmly planted sitting on the edge of Stan’s bed, and it was clear he wasn’t leaving until he got the truth. “I had a nightmare, alright.” Stan said exasperatedly, though his exasperation was more towards himself than anyone. He was angry at how weak he was being, still effected by things that hadn’t happened, wounds that had been created years ago.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Ford asked, and there was so much earnest desire there that Stan almost wanted to agree and tell him. But what would Stanford think of him then, if he knew how pathetic his brother was. Stanley was supposed to be strong, and tough, a protector. He wasn’t supposed to wake up sobbing in the middle of the night because of bad dreams like he was a kid.

“I don’t even remember what it was about.” He lied through his teeth, even as his brother stared right through him. He gripped tight to the blanket he was laying under like it was a ground force, like if he put all of his energy into that, somehow everything would turn out alright. Ford looked like he wanted to say something more, and Stan silently pleaded him not to.

“... Alright, Stanley,” he said after a beat, and Stanford rose from where he was sitting on Stan’s bed. For a moment, relief coursed through Stan’s veins as it felt like he might just get off scot-free. And then, Ford didn’t start climbing up to his top bunk, instead starting to leave their room entirely. Stanley didn’t want to be weak, he didn’t want to be a child, but the worst thoughts flowed through him when he saw that. Stanford was going to leave, and he’d be alone, just like he’d been alone dying in that phone booth with no one to care.

“Wait! Uh, where are you going,” Stan called out far louder than he’d intended. He felt so stupid as soon as the words exited his mouth, but his fear had acted faster than his common sense. Ford turned around quickly, giving him that same concerned look as before, like Stan was a child who needed to be taken care of and coddled. For a moment, Stan wished he was in that phone booth, far away from his brother and safe in the knowledge no one would know how pathetic he was.

“I’m going to make us some tea so we can get back to sleep. It should only take a few minutes, and I’ll be right out in the kitchen. Do you want to come with me?” Stanford asked as he returned to standing by Stan’s bedside, like he was a doctor dealing with a particularly fragile patient. Stan had always hated the doctor, and he hated this. He wanted to tell his brother that he didn’t want tea, that he didn’t need a babysitter, that he was fine. But, that wasn’t what came out of his mouth, in a breathless, shaky voice.

“Nah, I’m good.” he said and Ford nodded, walking off to the kitchen in order to make their tea. Stan was alone with his thoughts then, and inadvertently curled his legs to his chest, just as they’d been in his dream. It was a safe position, one that kept him connected to where he was. He repeated in his mind that he was safe, that no one was going to hurt him, that he had nothing to be afraid of. Ford returned with two piping hot mugs, handing one to Stan, who blew the steam off the top before taking a sip.

“I hope you don’t mind if I sit down here with you. I’m just… not ready to go back to bed yet.” Ford offered as he sat next to Stan, and Stan didn’t say anything. It was quite like that for a moment, Stan and Ford both carefully drinking their tea, trying not to burn their tongues while sitting on the bottom bunk. Stanford stared wistfully out of the porthole in their room, the dark sea crashing up against their window, the moon bright in the sky. And Stanley decided he wanted his brother to know the truth.

“The nightmare I had, it was uh… I’d had it before,” Stan mentioned, and Ford looked over at him, eyes all wide and ready to take in whatever information Stan would offer him. Stanley looked at the hot swirling liquid in his cup, hard to identify the color of without the lights on, and took another drink before continuing. “I’m in a phone booth, right? And I’m real hurt, probably got beat pretty bad. And I call you, but… it's not you. It's just my imaginary version of you. And he reminds me that you live in Oregon, and I remind myself that you hate me. And then I die there, talking to fake you,” Stan said, letting out a breath once he finally got the words out.

“Stanley that’s… I’m so sorry,” Ford said as he clearly struggled to decide what to say. He looked from his mug of tea to Stan and back again, and it only made Stan feel worse. Here was his brother trying to figure out the best way to be gentle and kind to him, when it was his own stupid brain making him upset and not any real threat.

“What’re you apologizing for, Sixer? It's not like it happened in real life. It’s not like it’d be your fault if it did,” Stanley added that second part quietly because it was true. Whatever happened to him on the road, it was because he wasn’t smart enough, or tough enough. It was his own fault for expecting his brother to swoop in and save him after everything he’d done wrong. Ford frowned at that and put a gentle shoulder on his hand, a comforting warmth that relaxed Stan so much he hated it.

“It's not about fault, Stanley, it's about the fact that I ever allowed you to think I wouldn’t be there for you. It's about the fact that for a long time I wasn’t there for you,” Ford said seriously, and the regret of decades was clear in his face. Petty grudges and struggle had meant they hadn’t been there for each other when they needed it most. And even then, Stan had dropped everything for Ford without expecting the same in return.

“Don’t start blaming yourself for my stupid mistakes, Ford. I’m the one who was always getting tangled in stuff I shouldn’t have. I don’t want you moping around here thinking it's your job to save me or whatever. It was just a nightmare.” Stan insisted, trying to make his words sound strong instead of pitiful and weak. It was just a nightmare, and yet here he was drinking tea under a warm blanket and looking to his brother for support instead of pushing it down.

“Would it make you feel any better to know my concern is at least partially selfish?” Ford asked, and Stan quirked an eyebrow at him, confused as to where this was going. “The truth is, I feel terrible for having not been there for you. So, for my own peace of mind, I want to take care of you now, to make up for lost time,” Stanford offered and Stan could tell it was true to some degree, but far less than his brother made it out to be. Stan tried and failed to suppress a smile at his words.

“Wow, even when you’re being selfish, you’re being sappy,” he said, rolling his eyes and taking another gulp from the tea. It was chamomile, probably. That was what he always made for Ford whenever he had a nightmare, or even when he was just staying up too late and Stan had to cut him off from coffee to have any hope of him sleeping. Ford gave him a soft look, the kind only Ford and his mother ever gave him, and even then only when he was a kid.

“Stanley, listen, I know I wasn’t the best brother. I did and said things I didn’t mean, we both did. But I need you to know without a shadow of a doubt that as long as there is air in my lungs, I will never leave you to fend for yourself ever again. Wherever we go, we go together,” he offered and there was such a heart melting look of fondness on his brother’s face, Stan almost couldn’t believe it was for him. But Ford gave his shoulder a reassuring squeeze, and suddenly hot tears were falling down Stan’s face without his input.

“Come on, Sixer, I just got through crying and… you’re making me act like a little kid again,” Stan said, as he wiped the tears from his face with the sleeve of his cotton night shirt. How had he earned this, a boat and his brother, hot tea and soft clothes? Stan was supposed to die in some dingy alley or cramped phone booth alone and forgotten, but he hadn’t. This life couldn’t possibly belong to him, but it did, and that was enough to bring anyone to tears.

“It's okay to cry, Stanley, I’ve definitely had more than my fair share of tears shed. Besides, if you can make me feel better after a nightmare I think I deserve a shot too,” Ford said, as he gestured for Stanley’s now empty mug, and Stan gave it up. For a second he feared his brother might leave the room, but instead he just put both mugs on his dresser, to be dealt with in the morning, and stood in front of Stan’s bed, with his arms crossed and all twelve fingers drumming there.

“You’re so freaking annoying, you know that?” Stan said as he tried to feign annoyance. Sleep started to find Stan far quicker than he’d ever known it to, eyes starting to droop as he stretched and scratched his back, before rolling over to the other side of the bed. He knew was brother was still looking at him for a moment, and feeling that comforting gaze made him feel safer than he’d ever felt after a night terror.

“I try my best. Good night, Stanley,” Ford said as Stan heard the distinctive patter of Ford climbing to his bunk, the slight squeak of springs as he settled in above him. It was reassuring, to know that his Stanford was there, breathing and in proximity. He wasn’t somewhere far off in Oregon, he didn’t hate him. They were together now, and would be until the end of time. Even in his tired state, Stan managed to reply.

“Good night, Stanford,” Stan said through a yawn, and a pang of happiness hit him hard as he realized that this was their ritual every night now, just like when they were kids. Even after all this time, some things didn’t have to change, and they could still have this. There was a beat of silence, where both thought the other might have fallen asleep. And then, in a quiet voice, just barely above a whisper, Ford said something he’d deny if Stan tried to tease him about it in the morning.

“Oh and Stanley? I love you,” Ford said and after that both were out like a light, both secure in the knowledge that they’d have each other’s backs now and forever, and that they’d never again have to ask the other about the state of their day, because they’d be experiencing every new day together.

Chapter Text

It had all started out quite innocently, as most things tended to. Stanley and Stanford Pines had been out at sea on their beloved vessel, the Stan-O-War 2 for quite a while now, and things were going wonderfully. There has of course been problems, both were very different people from when they were young, but they cared for each other deeply. They had the sea, their adventures, and each other, which made the struggle worth it. It was a dream come true in almost every way possible. That was except for the cuisine.

Seeing as Ford was perfectly content to subsist completely on nutrient pills and plain water, it was up to Stan to keep the two of them fed. He didn’t particularly mind, in fact since before the arrival of the twins Stan had been trying to learn to cook, and he was halfway decent at it. He wasn’t going to be winning any awards, but his meals were flavorful and filling. At least he was decent enough that he barely had to cajole his brother into eating real food. No, the culinary issue that both Stan and Ford found themselves with was an issue of variety more than taste.

Before the two had set off they’d stocked up on plenty of rations including fresh fruit and vegetables, and non-perishables like pasta and other carbs. Unfortunately, due to a combination of kitchen failures, produce naturally going bad, and a few mishaps with supernatural creatures, their food supply had dwindled very quickly. Luckily, both were quite adept at fishing, so they had no issue catching themselves meals. But, being in the Arctic Ocean, their choice of food was quite limited.

Stan had figured out just about every way to prepare arctic flounder, arctic char, and arctic eel possible given the limits of their vessel. He had even gotten creative and learned how to cook barnacles, considering more traditional crustaceans weren’t exactly available. But even the best prepared meals get exhausting after a while, and Stan’s meals, while good, weren’t the best prepared. By month five, Stan was begging Ford to use his scientific know-how to get some nutritional diversity in their diets.

“Well, I suppose I have been wanting to look into viable farming techniques while at sea,” Ford had mused as he sat in his lab, working on something or other that Stan didn’t really understand. Stan stood leaning against the doorway to his brother’s lab and rolled his eyes as Ford got that look on his face like he was trying to figure out a serious problem. Leave it to his nerdy brother to try and make something as simple as getting food into a scientific mystery.

“Do whatever you’ve got to do poindexter, but if we don’t get some vitamins in us soon we’re going to get scurvy, which is the worst part of being a pirate,” Stan had joked, remembering the old pirate books they’d devoured as kids. Ford had chuckled in response, muttering about how he’d take care of it. His idea of taking care of it, Stan learned, came in the form of hydroponics. When Ford had proudly shown Stan his set-up in the lab, he’d rambled about biomass and nutrient density and a bunch of other stuff that went over Stan’s head.

“It's really a quite interesting technique, Stanley, and it should provide us with maximal food production without the use of soil. My aerosol misting system will deliver the optimal nutrient solution to each and every one of these crops. Plus, it’ll be a great test for my new desalination system.” Ford had said with a big goofy smile on his face like he was really proud, and Stan had smiled back because he was glad his brother was having fun. Besides, his set-up did look really cool and futuristic, not that he’d ever admit it.

“Just let me know when you’ve got something I can cook with,” Stan had said, and both of them thought it’d be smooth sailing from that. Of course, nothing ever worked out that well for the two Pines boys, and this was no different. As became clear to both of them very quickly, Stanford had a completely black thumb. Months in and Ford had failed to get even a single sprout. He was incapable of keeping any plants alive, much to his own mounting frustration, as he was doing everything right as far as he could tell.

“I don’t get it! This should be simple, they’re just crops and my schematics are perfect. Why won’t they just grow?” Ford asked, hands gripping his own hair in frustration. Ford did that a lot when they were kids, and just like back then, he was always at risk of tugging his scalp too hard. Stan gave him a look that meant he needed to stop doing that, or he’d hurt himself, and Ford silently complied. With a shake of the head, Stan had looked over the growing system Ford had set up, and made a suggestion.

“Look, poindexter, maybe this is just too basic for that science brain of yours. You focus on your nerd crap and leave the growing stuff to meatheads like me,” he’d said, and there was no room left for argument. So that became the arrangement, their agriculture set up being moved out of Ford’s lab and into Stan’s TV room. Much to both of their amazement, Stan did an incredible job taking care of their crops. He grew large and delicious potatoes, peppers, lettuce, and carrots by the bushel. He even sung to his plants while caring for them, though if asked, Stan would deny it.

Their meals quickly got a lot more diverse and nutrient rich, Stan once again managing to wrangle his brother off of nutrient pills and back onto real food. So, that was how the entire situation had started and if Stan and Ford hadn’t docked in Canada on their way back from the Arctic Circle, that was how it would have stayed. But since they had docked in Canada, the two had decided to go shopping. The twins split up briefly, so Ford could go look at nerdy science crap while Stan bought more seeds. And while searching for seeds, what should he find but cannabis seeds, growing in a hydroponic system no less.

“Hey, is this weed?” Stan had asked the young, scruffy looking blonde guy who was working the counter of the store. Despite looking like the very definition of a hippy, Stan shoved down his first reaction of annoyance. The man seemed not at all surprised that someone as old as Stan was asking about weed, but maybe it was a Canadian thing. Then again, with his mullet, beanie, and fishhook earring, Stan supposed he might look like a hippy himself.

“Yeah, you are looking to grow?” the guy asked and after Stan had inquired about how difficult it was, he determined it wouldn’t be too hard to repurpose the system already equipped on the Stan-O-War 2. So with determination he purchased the seeds, along with the crop seeds he was already planning on stealing, and met back up with Ford. Once they returned to their boat Stan planted the seeds and mostly put the situation out of mind. He took care of them like he would any other plant until about two and a half months later, when the flowers finally showed up.

A quick search on the internet (well, not quick, it’d taken Stan like half an hour to work that damn smartphone and get his answer) later, and he was harvesting the buds and hanging them to dry for a few days. Of course, once he’d done that, Stan needed to check to make sure the buds were dry enough for curing, which meant he needed to borrow one of Ford’s science tools. All this time he hadn’t mentioned to Stanford what he was up to, and Ford rarely entered the growing section of Stan’s TV room, so it was unlikely he’d stumbled upon it on his own.

“You want to borrow my hygrometer? Why?” Ford had questioned and while Stan could have explained, he decided he wanted to keep this as a surprise for his nerdy brother. Instead of answering, Stan simply deflected the questioned, checked the moisture and returned the device. After another not-so-quick internet search on the curing process, Stan had dried cannabis ready for smoking, and that evening before dinner he came to his brother with the proposition.

“Hey Sixer, wanna get high?” Stan had asked, and Ford balked at him like he’d grown an extra head. Stan figured that it was the expected reaction, considering even after decades in other dimensions, his brother remained just as much of a huge dork as when they were young. Hell, Stan could still remember Ford’s nervous pacing when the two had tried to sneak a beer in high school, insisting that if caught, their lives would be over.

“Stanley, where did you even get this stuff? Do you even know about proper cannabis consumption? How much THC is in this?” he asked, looking like a guilty teenager afraid of being caught in the liquor cabinet. Stan chuckled at his attempt to play twenty questions about the free drugs he was being offered. So, he smirked at his brother and decided to try to tease him for being a dork.

“No need for the interrogation poindexter, I grew it myself. But hey, if your nerdy ass is scared or something--” Stan started, and the way his brother puffed up all offended was hilarious to watch. Ford looked like he had when they were in high school, and Stan teased him for being hopelessly in love with his geometry homework. He snatched the joint from his brother’s hand and began on his self-righteous rant.

“I’ll have you know that I’ve taken klaxian crystals, by far the most intense drug in the entire multiverse. I think I can handle a little marijuana. Now, hand me a lighter,” Ford had insisted and that was how the two brothers ended up in the situation they were in currently, laying on the top deck, staring at the stars and rambling endlessly about absolutely nothing. “Stanley, there are so many amazing stars throughout the multiverse. Stars that are so bright and pretty and are so many incredible colors,” Ford said wistfully.

“Hey, who- who named all of the constellations or whatever? Who came up with those names? Probably some nerd like you,” Stan said with a laugh, answering his own question. Ford looked over at him seriously, only to succumb to laughter as well, both of them completely incapable of taking anything seriously as the comfortable buzz of marijuana filled their skin.

“I think it was the Greeks… or the Romans… something like that. Some old guys from a long time ago,” Ford answered, and there was a brief lull in the conversation before he said something else. “Have the stars always been this beautiful? Stan, why isn’t everyone like this all the time? My brain is so much more comfortable right now. And I feel nice, and everything looks so pretty. This is the best way to be,” Ford insisted, and now it was Stan’s turn to stare at him and laugh for several minutes until they were wheezing.

“Let’s make new constellation names. Let’s call that one-” Stan started, pointing at a random cluster of stars, before Ford interrupted. Stan had gotten used to Ford having to interject with a correction, especially because he knew it was more of a reflex than a genuine insult.

“That one is Ursa Major,” he explained before being Stan interjected once again, returning to his earlier point.

“Let’s call Ursa Major, weird running horse, because it kinda looks like a weird running horse,” Stan insisted and there was a pause for a moment as Ford stared hard at it seemed to think before gasping.

“I can see that, actually, you’re right! Okay, then. That will now be weird running horse. And let’s call that one,” Ford started, pointing at the constellation Gemini. “Let’s call that Stan and Ford constellation, because it looks like you and me laying on the deck right now,” he offered, and Stan offered a noise of approval in response to the suggestion. They stayed like that a while longer, renaming constellations. Orion became kite with two strings, and Aquila became pterodactyl. However, both agreeing that the big dipper should stay the same. After that, they moved inside to sate their overwhelming hunger.

“God, I wish I had toffee peanuts right now. Or a big juicy burger, or some bacon, or-” Stan rambled on in between bites of the haddock that he was destroying at the moment, paired inexplicably with a large back of sour cream and onion chips. Despite his listing of other foods he wished he had, the fish did taste like the most wonderful thing he’d had in his life. Meanwhile, Ford mostly ignored his brother’s rambling, absolutely going to town on a giant sized bag of jelly beans, scarfing down handfuls at a time.

“Stanley, you know, these are the best jelly beans I’ve ever tasted. And I’ve been to many dimensions, so I can confidently say these are the best jelly beans ever, anywhere. God, these jelly beans are so good,” Ford insisted as he continued shoving them into his face. He offered Stan a handful, and while Stan typically had no interest in his brother’s junk food of choice, he was hungry enough to take up the offer. The influence of THC made them taste so delicious, Stan could hardly stand it. The two stayed up for a while longer, eating and watching old movies from their childhood in Stan’s movie room.

“This was a great idea. I’m having a great time, Ford. I’m glad we’re brothers, and we’re hanging out, and we’re doing drugs,” Stan rambled on and despite how he’d phrased it Stan was being more honest than he’d ever been. This was the dream he’d wanted since he was a kid, the dream he never thought he’d have. But here the two of them were, enjoying each other’s company and building new memories. Ford seemed to agree, laughing at nothing as he expressed the same sentiment.

“You’re so right, Stanley, this was a great idea. Food tastes so good, and movies are so funny, and we have a boat. Life is so good. I’m glad we’re best friends,” Ford muttered that last part, though it didn’t stop Stan from chuckling at Ford saying they were best friends. Though he laughed, both knew it was a reciprocated feeling. The two didn’t even bother returning to their bunk bed that night, instead falling asleep on the couch, content with their lives. In the morning they’d have stomach aches, a weed hangover, and several food wrappers to clean up.

But that night they were free, having laughed until their voices went hoarse and smiled so wide their faces hurt. They were best friends and brothers, having reached their dreams, even if decades later than they’d anticipated. And now they’d renamed the constellations and filled their stomachs, and remembered, even if only for a few moments, that there were amazing things in life. And that meant more to them than they’d ever realize.

Chapter Text

“Mr, Doctor Pines! I was just looking for you, dude,” Soos announced as he walked over to where Ford was packing his clothes on the floor of his old bedroom. In the few days since Dipper and Mabel had returned back home, things had gone quite fast. Stan and Ford were excited to get out on the open sea, and with the changes in ownership to the shack, it felt imperative for everything to be packed and ready to go. Especially for Ford, who considered himself more enamored with planning than most.

“Oh, hello Jesus. What did you need me for?” Ford asked as he directed his attention towards the other man. While Ford hadn’t had much interaction with the man, Stan had made it clear, even indirectly, how much it cared for him. As such, Ford did his best to try and have positive interactions with him, especially as his coldness towards his brother had made a terrible first impression.

“You can just call me Soos, it's cool. Everyone calls me that, even my grandma,” Soos explained, and Ford paused for a moment, trying to regather himself. After so long in the multiverse, he still had trouble with social cues in this dimension. Though it wasn’t as though he was particularly good at social cues before that. Either way, he cleared his throat and tried again.

“My apologies… Soos. I suppose I’m still a bit shaken up by my time in dimension 616, where using anything other than someone’s proper first name was punishable by death. Well, no time to reminisce now. What was it that you wanted to show me?” Ford offered, and Soos’ eyes sparkled a bit as he seemed intrigued by the idea of the alternate dimension he’d mentioned.

“Okay so, you know how I’m like, moving in here with my Abuelita or whatever? Well, I was going through all the old storage rooms Mr Pines always told me to stay away from because this is my house now or something, and I found this locked chest! And since it was pretty creepy and said, like, keep out and stuff, I thought maybe you’d know about it,” Soos explained casually, gesturing towards a black wooden chest he was holing. Ford recognized it immediately.

“That was an accurate assumption, Soos. This is my old-cursed chest, though I have no recollection of what’s inside now. Nor do I remember adding this padlock… well, it shouldn’t be anything I can’t crack quickly,” Ford offered, though he was curious about why the lock was added. He wondered if his brother had something to do with it, and just as that thought came to mind, what should occur but his brother barging into the room without warning. He leaned against the door frame as he questioned the two of them.

“What’re you two flapping your gums about? You’re supposed to be helping me pack, and you’re supposed to be picking up your new suit,” Stanley offered, pointing at Ford and Soos respectively. Ford held back an amused sigh as he recognized Stan referring to what Soos was picking up as a “new” suit. In reality, it was custom-made from the same material as the suit Stanley always wore, a way of handing it down without admitting how much he cared.

“My apologies Stanley. Soos was just showing me my old cursed chest he found, though I have no idea who locked it, or what the code could be. Say, you were always a far better locksmith than I was, would you like to take a crack at it.” Ford offered as he gestured to the chest, which he’d taken from Soos at some point. There was a flicker of recognition in Stan’s eyes, such that someone untrained would miss it. But, considering they shared a face, Ford knew what he was thinking immediately, and handed the chest to his brother.

“Actually… I think I remember the code for this,” Stan muttered quietly to himself, and Ford was glad. Ever since the memory gun, Stan had been recovering, slowly but surely. However, there were still some lapses and gaps, most of which referring to his time before, and early days during, living in the shack. It seemed as though seeing the chest may have triggered one of those memories, as Stan idly twisted the dial on the lock.

“Really? Well, what is it?” Ford asked interested, both himself and Soos leaning in to watch as Stan input the four-digit code. Stan gave them both an annoyed scowl and then took a brief moment to think about the answer. This was common, as Stan’s memories tended to come back in pieces, one leading into another. It seemed this was the case as, after a beat, a sad look crossed his brother’s face, like remembering a mistake you’ll never be able to take back.

“0811. It was the birthday of… an old friend,” Stan offered awkwardly. There was a lull in the conversation then, as Stan’s eyes got a little misty at whatever memory he was recalling. Ford filed it away in his head for later, hoping to inquire about it and keep Stan’s memory sharp. “Soos, why don’t you go see what your grandma wants? I think she’s calling you from the kitchen,” Stan offered, his voice suddenly normal and calm. Stanley really did have a gift for lies, Ford was always left impressed by it.

“What? I don’t hear anything, Mr. P- oooh. Yeah, okay, I’ll go do that, Mr. Pines! Oh, and Mr. Doctor Pines, don’t let me forget, but I like, definitely want to hear more of your sci-fi stories later,” Soos said before scampering off to leave the two brother alone. Ford did make a note to share more stories with Soos, in the hope they’d bond. After all, he was clearly a member of the family, and it’d been so long since Ford had a family to care for. He’d do his best to make sure that he didn’t take it for granted.

“So, what’s in the chest?” He questioned excitedly, as for the life of him he couldn’t remember what he’d placed in there before. Of course, this just led his brother to look away from him nervously, and suddenly Ford considered that what was in the chest didn’t belong to him at all. Maybe the chest had been empty and Stan had used it to store something else, something holding painful memories. Of course, Ford continued looking at him expectantly, and Stan muttered an answer under his breath.

“It's nothing really, it's stupid.” Stanley offered, only to be given a serious look from Ford. He could tell his brother was embarrassed, but he wasn’t going to let that stop him from finding out what he wanted to hide, even if it was tied to some fuzzy memories. “Okay, yesh, I’ll tell you but stop lookin’ at me like that. You remind me of Ma. It's just a weird, scrapbook, journal type-thing I was working on for a while alright?” Stan finally relented as he pulled out the aforementioned document and handed it over.

“Stanley, this is quite impressive! Newspaper clippings, written notes, why would you be embarrassed about this? And why was it locked away?” Ford said breathlessly as he flipped through the pages. It was clear this had taken quite a bit of time and effort, and more than that it was an obvious labor of love. Within his brother’s handwriting littered the empty spaces next to pictures of things deemed important, and of newspaper articles which had been circled by red pen as indication that they were important.

“I just… I made it for you. A real long time ago, like right after I started working to fix the portal. I thought, well, you’d probably want to know about all the movies and music and news you missed so… I started taking the headlines from newspapers and gluing them in here. And then I started writing my thoughts on the news since I figured, y’know, you’d want my opinions. It's just got real sappy,” Stan said and Ford read closer, seeing the way Stan hadn’t just written about the articles, but to Ford. About how he missed him, how he was doing, what he thought Ford’s reaction to certain things would be.

“Stanley, I think it's very sweet, not sappy at all! But that doesn’t answer the question of why it was locked away?” Ford asked, and he figured it was a fair question. After all, the cursed chest was for objects that were cursed and dangerous. A very sweet guide, made so Ford could stay caught up on the events he missed, hardly seemed appropriate for the thing. Stanley looked away sheepishly as he frowned and explained himself.

“Look, I just… eventually it had been years of me working on the damn thing and seeing all those headlines of things you missed, stuff you’d care about, I started to feel… hopeless. Like if you’d already missed so much, If I hadn’t gotten you back, there was no way I ever would. And I couldn’t afford to be hopeless, so I locked it up.” Stan admitted as he rubbed the back of his neck. It was clear from the way he said it that there was some type of wound there that hadn’t yet healed. It was clear Stanley had grown to hate himself for the length of time it took to get Ford home.

“Oh, Stanley,” Ford said gently as he put a hand on Stanley’s shoulder. Even after all the time he’d spent in the alternate dimensions he traveled through, the time Stan took to save him was never something he resented him for. For getting him trapped in a hellish nightmare and refusing to listen to his world saving request? Sure, Ford had been quite angry about that. But considering Ford had needed the help of a demon and several years to build the portal, Stan fixing it with only a third of the instructions seemed impossible. And yet his brother had done it.

“Don’t get all mushy on me, alright, Ford. It was just something I did forever ago that I stopped doing. But, you know, since you have it now, I guess you can keep it.” Stan said, waving his brother off, clearly intent on changing the subject, and Ford didn’t really blame him. After all, Stan had just relived some difficult memories and Ford wasn’t in the mood to push him. He clutched the book to his chest and smile, knowing how much Stanley had done for him, even outside rescuing him. Ford only hoped that on this trip to the Arctic he could repay the favor.

“I absolutely will, and I can’t wait to read all of your thoughts on…” Ford flipped to a random page in the journal, only to have his eyes go wide. “THEY FIGURED OUT HOW TO CLONE MAMMALS FROM ADULT CELLS?” Ford exclaimed as he read the headline. One part of him was amused that his brother cared enough to flip through scientific journals he likely found boring just to make sure Ford was kept up to date on these things. The other part of him was still focused on the cloning situation. After all, he’d managed to make a cloning copying machine, but he’d practically had to invent new scientific principles for it. Only to learn the traditional disciplines had found a way to do it as well.

“What? Oh yeah, they did it with a sheep. It's really hard, though, so people haven’t been doing it as much. I used to scam rich idiots saying I could clone their pets from old DNA, and then I’d give them some random street dog. You should’ve seen their faces! Man, I should bring that grift back,” Stan offered with a chuckle as Ford sighed and shook his head. The way Stan was looking at him, Ford was sure his twin was coming up with some idea on how to incorporate Ford into the forthcoming scam. He was also sure he’d end up roped in, no matter how much he tried to avoid it.

“... Well regardless, I find this gift quite sweet, thank you so much Stanley. I love you,” Ford offered softly as he enveloped his brother in a hug, and it really was true. Ford has almost forgotten what this was like, having someone who cared about him enough to try and help him, even when not asked. The last person he’d had like that, he’d pushed away. And before that he’d pushed Stan away too. But not again, he’d do a better job this time and make sure his brother knew how appreciated he was. Even if saying thank you still burned his throat a bit.

“Yeah, yeah, I love you too and stuff. Now, enough talking about our feelings, I’ve got fishing equipment to move to the boat, and you’re helping this time.” Stan said, returning to his grumbling persona, trying to conceal the tears that had pricked in the corners of his eyes upon hearing those words come out of Ford’s mouth. Ford may have been a genius, but you certainly didn’t need to be one to understand Stan’s reaction. Ford wished it hadn’t taken a heroic sacrifice to see the man Stanley truly was, but now that he did, he was determined not to take it for granted.

“I wouldn’t think of anything else,” Ford offered with a chuckle as he grabbed the suitcase he’d packed, along with the box that Stan had brought into the room. Outside they had the car waiting, a car that would take them to the marina that would be the first stop on their adventure of a lifetime. But for now they were just two brothers packing up for a future that would be coming later than they’d hoped for, and sooner than either of them could have ever predicted. And moreover, Ford had some reading to catch up on in the meantime.

Chapter Text

“I can’t believe I’m letting you set my face on fire,” Stan complained as he stood next to his brother in the ship’s small bathroom. He figured the memory gun must have made him soft, if he was actually allowing this to happen. Then again, he was always soft when it came to his family, at least somewhat. He remembered how all Mabel had to do was shoot him those puppy dog eyes and he’d bought her a cellphone on a whim, despite not understanding what it was or why someone would need it. Despite his feigned apprehension, Stanford coated his face in some kind of flammable goop and pointed a weird metallic looking device at him.

“Don’t be so crude Stanley, it's far more precise than that. Besides, don’t you see my perfect stubble gradient? That could be you, if only you’d let me help you,” Ford offered as he smiled brightly and gestured towards his facial hair. Stan wasn’t sure he agreed with Ford’s assessment of his stubble, though he did have to admit that it did look far cleaner than the scratchy mess Stanley had on his face. He remembered back in high school, when both had started growing facial hair, and Ford had fastidiously groomed his tiny patchy mustache.

“Yeah yeah you’re awesome, just light me up and get it over with.” Stan offered and Ford did as he was asked, pointing the device at Stan’s face. There was a brief flash, and just the slightest hint of burning hair, slight plumes of wispy smoke rising from Stan’s face. Ford handed him a towel which he took gratefully, patting his face down gingerly. Stan did have to admit, it was definitely less painful than he’d anticipated. Ford had said it “Wouldn’t hurt at all” but his brother’s threshold for what was pain warranting comment had been massively skewed.

“Well, what do you think? Pretty spiffy, right?” Ford offered as he directed Stan’s attention to the mirror in front of him. Just as Ford had promised, his facial hair was much neater, in a clean gradient. It dawned upon Stan that he couldn’t remember the last time he’d bothered to do anything with his face. A pang of nostalgia and something more sad swirled in his gut as he remembered shaving before going to see Ford that fateful day. Maybe that was why he’d stopped caring about grooming his facial hair so soon after everything happened.

“Okay, I’ll hand you this one poindexter, I do look pretty good, and it was faster than shaving,” Stanley offered as he gave himself a wink and a finger gun. Over the years Stan had learned it was far easier to fake confidence than it was to actually have it, especially for someone like him. Still, seeing himself cleaned up, his twin beaming with pride at his accomplishment by his side, it meant something to Stan. It reminded him, maybe if even for a second, that he’d made it. So, maybe he deserved to feel pride in his appearance now.

“See, I told you my way of doing things had merit,” Stanford offered, arms crossed across his chest, six fingers drumming on his forearms. Unlike Stan, Ford always projected like he really did believe his own hype, like he believed in his own greatness. Stan knew his brother well enough to know it was a front, but it was a damn good one, and it often had Stan annoyed by Ford's smugness. Still, he knew nothing bad was meant by it, and decided to retort like he always did.

“Don’t get too excited Sixer, my handsome mug is doing most of the heavy lifting,” Stan offered, before flicking Ford on the forehead. He regretted that decision quickly as there was a dull metal thunk, and Stan’s finger began blooming with pain. Ford watched, with mild amusement, as his brother tried and failed to conceal how much that had hurt. His seemingly confident facade was easily pierced by his poorly controlled breathing in the face of his injury. Ford let him act as he wanted, knowing getting on him would simply distract from his ultimate point.

“...well be that as it may, I’ve picked up quite a few tricks during our time apart. If we are going to successfully live together on this ship, it’d be best if we adopted each other’s habits so things run smoothly,” Ford said seriously, as he exited the bathroom with Stan in tow. The truth was, he was quite nervous about living with his brother again. While they’d got along very well as roommates when young, it’d been decades since Ford had a roommate, and even longer since they’d lived together. But, given he wanted their adventures at sea to live up to their childhood fantasies, they’d both have to learn to bend for one another.

“You know that means you’ll have to start doing some stuff my way, right?” Stan offered as he crossed the room and there was precedent for him needing to make that clear. Ford had a bad habit of thinking he knew better about everything, even when it’d been decades since he was last in this dimension. It wasn’t so much that he thought Stan was stupid, as it was that he wanted things to be perfect. Still, perfection was impossible and Stan was aiming for tolerable above all else.

“That is a sacrifice I am prepared to make,” Ford said with a sigh, as it was clear he’d much prefer to not make that sacrifice. That was how Stan knew his brother was serious about adopting each other’s quirks as their own. Honestly, Stan wasn’t convinced it would work, but he figured they had a good base. After all these years, the two were still twins first and foremost, and still did things similarly even by accident. This could simply be an extension of that, the two learning how to be a duo again.

“Great! I’ve got just the thing to get us started.” Stan offered with a sly smile, as he threw his arm around his brother. The two were still near where they’d set off, only having gotten out to sea recently. They were currently docked at Port Hardy in British Columbia, the last major port before the two would depart into the icy and rugged waters of coastal B.C. That was what Stan was really looking forward to, a real sailor’s journey. But, before they could, the two would need to stock up, and that was what he needed to teach his brother.

“Alright, for our restock I’ve divided our needs into six distinct categories, so it’ll be easiest if we split up and-” Ford said as he pulled his written list from his inner coat pocket. He’d been very precise in planning out what himself and Stanley would need for their expedition, spending weeks before they’d first set out calculating out prices and what they’d need to survive. He’d considered everything from the weight of supplies to the inflated prices they’d pay at port. Considering Stan had made quite a bit of money for himself as a businessman, and Ford’s best friend was a newly minted and very generous millionaire, money was really no object.

“Nice try, you’re not getting out of learning from me that easy. You’re stuck with me Sixer, so what’s the first thing on our list?” Stan asked as he leaned over to look at what Ford had written. Stanley remembered when they were young Ford had practiced his cursive writing day in and day out. Stan had very much not done the same, and had struggled to read his brother’s handwriting for years after. It had inspired them to create a secret code, using symbols instead of words. Luckily, after decades of pouring over his journals, Ford’s cursive was like second nature to Stan.

“We’ll need to get cold weather gear first thing. And I assume your way of doing things will involve copious amounts of theft?” Ford offered with a fond sigh. When they were younger Stanley was always inducing him to create distractions so he could shove things under his shirt or down his pants. Even after having his memory erased, during his agonizingly slow recovery stealing had still been automatic for Stan. Once, when Ford and the children had taken him to the Gravity Falls Lake to jog his memory, he’d taken Ford’s mostly empty wallet on reflex.

“Sixer, who do you take me for, some kind of common criminal? Well, you’d be right, but you already know how to steal so that’s not something you need to learn. Now say exactly what I tell you to,” Stan offered and it was a fair assessment considering the fact that Ford was a wanted criminal many times over across dimensions. Ford could argue that all of the crimes he committed were with the ultimate goal of defeating Bill, but the truth was he did enjoy cheating casinos out of their money and swiping rare jelly beans more than was strictly necessary.

“Alright, so with all the gear, that’ll come to $1962 CAD. Would you like to do cash or card,” the worker said after scanning all of their items. Stanley had practically dragged him inside of a supply store, piling his cart high with nearly everything from Ford’s list. There were multiple pairs of thermal underwear, as well as sleeping bags, oilskins, boots, and plenty of other gear that would be necessary to brave the cold. Notably, Stan did not put any of the smaller objects on the list in their cart, and Ford suspected he was shoving them in his coat. As they shopped Stanley had coached Ford on exactly what to say, while Stan hid out in the aisles.

“Of course ma’am, let me just count this out,” Ford said as he took out a large roll of loonies, counting them out painstakingly. Of course, Ford knew how many coins were in the roll, and also knew there were nowhere near enough of them to pay for this purchase, but Stan had insisted this would be crucial. Just as he’d been told, Ford also took his time staring very hard at each coin, as if his prescription was weak and out of date and he couldn’t make out fine details. The beleaguered looking service worker at the counter cleared her throat.

“Uh, sir, do you need help with that?” she asked, and this was where the second lesson Stan had been aiming to teach came in. He’d instructed Ford to look at her, really look at her, and read her. Stan pointed a few things out about her. She was relatively young but had a tan line on her ring finger indicating one was recently removed. Her hair was messy and her face was puffy indicating she’d been crying. And, most damning of all, a brief glance at her locked cell phone’s screen showed a picture of her as a young child, with two older people, a man and a woman.

“No, I can do it. I need to get rid of all these coins, I won’t have any use for them where I’m going.” Ford offered wistfully, looking off into the middle distance like he’d been told. The truth was, Ford was a terrible liar, and had been for most of his life. Unless the person he was lying to was himself, he tended to struggle with being convincing. As such his brother had advised him to avoid eye contact as much as possible, and make himself seem too overwhelmed with emotion to try. The cashier looked concerned at him.

“Where exactly are you going?” She asked, and Stanford hesitated for a second, baffled that he was going to do this. After Stan had analyzed the cashier, who he’d called their “mark” he’d told Ford exactly what all those clues meant. This was someone who’d failed at love, who’d recently lost someone, and idealized the sort of relationship she saw with her older relatives. That meant the story he’d fed Ford was one designed to prey upon all of the weakness and vulnerability that came from that backstory.

“To see my beloved Marylin again. Oh she was the apple of my eye, an absolute bombshell, you should have seen her. She loved the water, I used to call her my little water witch, you know? I miss her everyday, so I figured I’d take her ashes out to the sea she loved so much, and then I’d follow after her. There’s not much left in this world for an old man like me. Well, anyway, here’s the $19.62 you asked for. You know, that’s the year I met Marilyn,” Ford offered even as he internally cringed at the entire exchange.

“Uh, Sir, this isn’t enough…” the woman offered as she looked over the obviously incorrect amount she’d been given. Stan had insisted that this part of the plot wasn’t meant to work, and instead was meant to further hammer home the point that he was just a pathetic old man. Ford resented that description of himself, but he did have to admit it seemed to be working at least a little, as the cashier looked at him far softer than she had previously. Still, now he had to continue leaning into the angle despite his terrible acting skills.

“I can’t pay that much! I think my heart is going to give out- I guess it's because I bought multiples of everything it's just… I always forget my sweet water witch isn’t with me anymore. It just feels wrong not to buy things for her… but since I can’t afford it, I guess I’ll just have to let go and accept-” Stanford started, as he started to sadly put back half of his items. Honestly he was convinced this was the end of the plan, that Stan had failed and he’d get to say he was right. And then the cashier spoke up again.

“You know what sir? I’ll charge you half. Just… for Marilyn.” The woman offered as she cleared half of his balance from the screen. Ford was completely gobsmacked that it had worked, and frankly he was concerned for this woman’s job if this was all it took for her to behave so unprofessionally. Still, he was not one to look a gift horse in the mouth, even if it was one given under false pretenses. He retrieved his coins and shoved them back into his bag as he grabbed his charge card, which he’d always intended on paying with.

“Oh wow, you young people are still so good at heart, I knew there was goodness left in the world. Thank you so much, here’s what I owe you, $981 CAD.” he offered as he swiped the card. He gathered all of his items the best he could, while Stan pointedly did not help. If asked he’d likely say that he couldn’t draw attention to himself, for fear it would throw Ford’s story into doubt. Once the two were far enough away from the store Stanford turned to his brother and let out a sigh. “I can’t believe that actually worked.”

“The people love a story, Sixer. You sell them what they want to hear and they’ll be eating out of the palm of your hand. And, while you were doing that, I managed to snag the rest of our list in my coat. Now, let’s take this stuff back to the boat and finish shopping.” Stanley offered, and he knew it was true. That was what the Mystery Shack had been built on, the power of stories and what they did to people. Even this, the new life of adventure and exploration that Stanley and Stanford were building, was built off of the stories they told themselves as children.

“Well, it looks like we’ve got everything we need. We could set out tonight, but the conditions are poised to be ideal tomorrow, so I say we spend the night at port and set out in the morning.” Ford announced when himself and Stan returned to the boat. They took all of their many items, winter gear, food, boat fuel, maritime accouterment, and packed it all away in its proper place. Now the two were lounging in the saloon, trying idly to decide what they would do for the rest of the evening. Stan looked up from where he was slouching on the couch.

“It's all the same to me Sixer, but if we’re staying here let’s go eat at a restaurant for dinner,” Stanley offered and, as if to prove his point, his stomach began growling. They’d been so busy all day buying the massive amount of stuff necessary to start a life at sea, that they hadn’t managed to stop for a meal. Combine that with the fact that Stan had spent much of their shopping time oscillating between acting, stealing, and coaching Ford’s terrible acting, and he was absolutely famished.

“Stanley, we've already spent several thousand dollars today, do you really want to spend more?” Ford asked as he crossed his arms, even though he knew this was a losing battle. Honestly, he didn’t even know why he brought it up, it wasn’t as though either of them were struggling for money. Perhaps it was just a lasting result of the decades he’d spent in other dimensions, often having to decide between basic survival needs. Even though he was back home and safe, some of that thought process still lived within him.

“Hey now, I spent thirty years living like a miser so I could save up to fund the giant portal in your basement, and a decade before that living in the gutter. I think I’ve earned a nice meal. ‘Sides, it's not like we’ll be able to use that money once we get out to sea, unless the mermaids take debit cards.” Stanley said as he stood up from the couch, looking at his brother seriously. He’d also had to struggle to survive, knew what it was like having to make hard choices like that. But he didn’t have to anymore, neither of them did, and it was worth celebrating.

“I suppose you’re right. Come on, let’s walk the docks and see if we can find some dinner.” Ford offered, though he wasn’t convinced that this would be a particularly fruitful endeavor. While Port Hardy was the last major port before setting off into darker waters, it wasn’t particularly known for its local cuisine. Then again, given their history’s neither Stan nor Ford had it in them to be picky when it came to food. Stanley had once mentioned that he’d tried a rock sandwich “just in case it tasted delicious” and Ford actually enjoyed Mabel juice.

“Hey, there’s a hot dog shack. You remember the one that used to be on the boardwalk? With the old guy who worked there who said naughty kids were what hotdogs were made of after he caught me swearing?” Stanley asked as he pointed it out. The place looked local, a generic looking plastic hotdog smiling out front. The holding itself was small, more of a shack than a restaurant. The walls were coated with peeling orange paint and faded letters on the outside simply read “Hot Dogs!”. In essence it was a perfect reflection of their childhood.

“How could I forget! You told him ‘I don’t want your life story just give me the damn hotdog,’ and he banned you for two months.” Stanford offered as the two walked over to the register to order. He still remembered his brother’s shocked expression and the way he’d stare like a wayward puppy every time they passed the stand during the course of his ban. Eventually Ford had felt so bad about the situation he’d given his brother his glasses so he could get himself a hot, and Stan had declared him the best twin ever between bites of meat and bun.

“I’ll have one beef hot dog with sauerkraut chilli and cheese and crinkle fries but leave them in the fryer extra long so they get crispy edges, and then I’ll take one large coke with no ice and two cups-” the twins said in sync before turning to each other in shock. Even the pimple faced teen who was running the stand stared in awe seeing two identical old men speak in perfect harmony. That had been their order for all of high school, when the two finally got rebellious enough to mix meat and dairy to break kosher, but only when they were alone.

“I can’t believe that just happened. After all this time we have the same stupid hotdog order…and we’re splitting one coke like two broke teenagers!” Stan said, as the two sat on the edge of the dock, having retrieved their order and poured their drink into two separate cups. This was nostalgic, despite his grousing about the situation. Sitting on the dock, smelling the sea air and seeing the stars far more clearly than the smog of Glass Shard Beach would have ever allowed. Stan took a bite, the tang of the sauerkraut mixing with the richness of the cheese and the spice of the chili, all with the slight sweet of the bun to top it off. It was a perfect hotdog.

“It’s a good choice; a large is too much for one person! The fact that it's economical is just a nice bonus,” Ford offered before taking a bite out of his hotdog, being careful not to get toppings on his shirt and failings, like he always had when they were young. Stanley handed him the extra napkins he’d snagged a handful of before they walked away, and Ford accepted gratefully, cleaning off his shirt. “This is a really great hotdog. You know, when I was out in the multiverse, even when I’d find dimensions that were like our own, the food was never quite as good.”

“Maybe it wasn’t about the food. Maybe it was about the company,” Stan offered as he sipped down his coke and grabbed a handful of his fries. Neither himself nor Ford ever liked ketchup or mustard, always eating them in between bites of hotdog and preferring them crispy just like they ordered them. “Or maybe I’m just a sappy old man, who knows.” Stan offered, clearly trying to deflect from his moment of vulnerability. Ford looked at him fondly, the way they always used to as kids and gently punched his shoulder.

“Don’t sell yourself short, Stanley. If I’ve learned anything from today, it’s that we both have our ways of doing things, and we have a lot to learn from each other. But… perhaps the best habits are the ones we’ve always shared.” Stanford offered, before raising his coke in the air, and gesturing for his brother to do the same. They tapped them then, drinking to their good health, their happiness, and their future. There was a lot they did differently, a lot they needed to change to accommodate each other. But this was something deeper than habit.

Habits changed, they both knew that to be true. When they were younger they’d never been exactly the same, but it hardly mattered back then. Now they’d moved so far apart it was a challenge to find that common ground, even though they wanted to. But moments like this weren’t challenging, they were instinctual. It was an instinct that could make eating cheap hotdogs by the sea feel like being a king. And as long as they were together it was a feeling that would never change. And they’d never want it to.