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He felt bad as he went to the porch, taking a seat and cutting the cigar in preparation. The old thing was almost stale from a summer stuffed in that dusty old trunk, and he realized with a quiet huff that he put the damn thing away for the kids’ sake. All his cigars, all his liquor and cheap beer, hadn’t there been that evening he and Soos did a sweep of the whole Shack, making sure the place was as kid friendly as possible?
The memory was there and Stan felt it, sampled it as it stitched itself back into place with the rest. It was a slow process in some ways, going about his day until some little pothole in his memory would require him to stop, to think, to try and understand what part of him was missing now and how important it was to get back.
The taste of smoke was familiar on his tongue. He exhaled, long and satisfied into the night, hoping the kids would forgive him if he broke his little self imposed rule on clean living while they were around. They wouldn’t be for much longer, only a few more days now. The next drag he took was bitter down his tongue.
“Stan?” The voice from the doorway made Stan turn, not startled but annoyed as the speaker came out into the porch’s dim light.
“You’re supposed to be resting, Pointdexter.” Stan pointed out, and Ford didn’t even have the good grace to look abashed as he took a seat on the edge of the porch nearby. Ford’s movements were slow and crooked and stiff despite the old man’s best attempts to seem natural, so subdued from his usual grandiose gesturing it was almost eerie. On the edge of Stan’s memory was an exasperated laughter at how very like Ford it was to be a stubborn, impossible patient. On the edge of his memory was an angry twist in his gut at what he saw under Ford’s sweater when they switched.
Stan brushed the memories back down as Ford settled and turned. “I can rest out here just as well as I can in there.”
“Oh yeah, besides the whole, y'know, getting outta bed and limping around like an idiot just to get here.”
“For a self designated nurse your bedside manner leaves a lot to be desired.” Ford shot back.
Stan couldn’t help a crooked grin. “I thought Ma was the one who ‘designated’ me years ago. Something about how you were a hardheaded numbskull who couldn’t stay put.” He shook the stray ash from his cigar as if he was punctuating the point. “I was even given headlock privileges.”
“I’m fairly certain the Hippocratic Oath would have a bone to pick with the two of you.” Ford’s tone was dry but warm. Stan wondered at how even after days of positive interactions and moments it still felt like something in his chest was fixing itself at the warmth.
“Hippocrates never had to deal with you when you had a fever.”
Ford let out a low laugh, almost a wheeze that threatened to devolve into a cough before he caught it in his throat. The beat of silence was on the verge of making Stan worry, making him threaten to drag his brother back in when Ford finally spoke again. “I didn’t tell you any of that, did I? Your memory is coming along.”
Ford’s tone was bordering on hopeful and Stan felt his lips quirk without his saying so. “Yeah, guess so.”
It was patching itself back together, bit by bit, day by day, probably at a rate some would find alarming but he wasn’t so sure. The way they all looked at him, the kids, Soos, Ford, the way they watched his progress like every little bit he recalled was something precious regained, like he was something precious to be regained, he just… he wanted it back. He wanted it for them.
Maybe even the parts that were hard. “Ma’s been pretty easy to remember, who could forget a lady like that?” Ford hummed in amused agreement. “Sherm, well… he was always a snore, but he had his moments. His kids are a good bunch too, I- I think.”
There’s enough of a pause that Ford looked over, concern on the edge of his eyes. Stan shook his head, mind feeling sluggish again, like it was full of mud as he muttered, “Don’t remember dad much though. Pretty weird, right?”
He didn’t look over to Ford then, part of him just doesn’t want to see whatever it was that statement would draw out of his brother. He just continued like he couldn’t stop, like momentum, and he wondered if he’d know why if he had his memories.
“Thing is- and don’t tell the kids, they don’t need it- thing is I dunno if I want to remember it all.” He barely touched his slowly receding cigar. What a waste, he thought. “I don’t even know if some part of me is stopping it or if it just will come in time. Maybe there are parts that don’t need to come back, y'know? Parts of me that aren’t all that great.”
“Don’t say that.” Ford’s voice was strained and it made a lump settle in Stan’s throat.
“We got a hell of a lot to talk about, don’t we?” He settled for, hearing Ford shift uncomfortably rather than seeing it. “All this sappy brotherly love, glad to have you back is great 'n all but I remember enough to know it ain’t that simple.”
He looked to Ford then, unsurprised to find his brother staring ahead with a solemn look, his thumb brushing under his sleeve and over his bandaged wrist silently. It wasn’t a gesture or tic Stan knew, and he wondered if it was new or he just didn’t remember.
“I might never remember it, all that damn junk we need to say.” The words felt oddly final as they came out of Stan’s mouth, as their echo had Ford’s shoulders tensing before he muttered his answer.
“That doesn’t matter.”
“Yeah it does.” Truth never sat all that well on Stan’s tongue. It tasted sharp and bitter. “You telling me you can live with that? Bad blood has a way of eating at you, you know that.”
For a few moments Stan wondered if that really would be it, that maybe Ford would say yes and leave, say no and leave, say nothing and leave, just shut the door on another ugly truth between them. Stan was too tired now, too exhausted after years of blame and guilt and denial in endless circles to hold it against him.
“You were so mad I wouldn’t thank you for what you did.” Ford said instead, and some small insecurity bubbled up in Stan’s throat at the words and the old feelings they seemed to jostle. “I couldn’t understand it, how could you possibly think I’d thank you for ignoring my warnings? For going against all my precautions, for the upheaval of countless hours, days, months of tireless planning and hiding, for making the- the greatest nightmare of my entire life come true?”
“I couldn’t understand the logic of it, of how you could possibly think thirty years of your life and the chance at destruction could be worth the gamble of finding me again. I still can’t understand why you thought my life was worth such a thing.”
Stan’s mouth felt dry as he opened it, unsure of what he even wanted to say under the low boiling hurt the conversation was stirring up. Ford shook his head, cut him off, continued. “I thought about it a lot, you know. I thought maybe you just wanted to play hero, but was thirty years really worth it? I thought maybe you couldn’t live with the guilt of accidentally pushing me in, that it was some sort of atonement to ease your mind. I thought it was sentimentality, just a pure, emotional response without reason and I couldn’t fathom it, but now-”
Ford’s words failed him for a moment, fingers tightening around his wrist until Stan reached over without thinking, without a damn thought in his head, and stopped him from aggravating the bandaging further with a soft hand over Ford’s. Ford finally glanced at him then, eyes swimming with things Stan wasn’t sure of, couldn’t remember. When Ford continued his voice was soft.
“When you- when I thought we might not get you back-” He let it hang there, quietly in smoke still rising between them. “I understood. I think I understand.”
“Sixer…” Stan murmured, and the name brought something strange across Ford’s face before it settled softly.
“I can’t thank you for the decision.” Ford’s tone was resolute and it made ice settle in Stan’s stomach. “I’m sorry Stanley, but I can’t. My life wasn’t worth what happened, the destruction, the trauma to the kids and the town, almost losing you, but I- I understand the decision now.
“And even if I can’t thank you for it I can thank you for… for the feeling behind it. For caring about me that much that maybe it did blind you, for the work you put into that care, for not giving up on me.” Ford’s glance was nervous, awkward, painfully familiar in Stan’s heart. It was a look he saw before, wasn’t it, when they were young and Ford just tripped, just stumbled over how he could possibly explain what some kind thing Stanley said meant to him. “Thank you, Stanley.”
Stan blinked rapidly, the lump in his throat swelling as he pulled his hand back from Ford’s wrist to cough. “Ah, uh geez, this smoke’s getting into my eyes. Damn night breeze.”
The awkward look on Ford’s face melted into tired amusement. “Your cigar went out a couple minutes ago.”
“What are you, the cops?” Stan grumbled, placing his indeed unlit cigar to the side before he leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “You’re an idiot if you think that wasn’t worth getting you back. I got to punch a demon in the eye, Stanford. It was awesome.” When Ford merely rolled his eyes Stan lowered his tone. “I mean it though. It was worth it.”
Ford glanced away from him at that but the words settled and Stanley felt… he didn’t know. He felt some small part of him close, shut down, finally rest.
“What happened is in the past.” Ford replied after a beat. “All those things we need to talk about, they’re not what’s really important. We didn’t understand each other back then. What’s important is we understand each other now. If we could do that I think we’ll be fine, whether you remember or not.”
Stan stared at him a moment before he couldn’t help a grin. “Since when did you get all emotionally balanced and wise?”
“With age comes wisdom- I hope you haven’t forgotten who’s the elder here.” Ford answered with a self important huff that made Stan groan before Ford’s lips quirked sheepishly. “I also may have asked Mabel for some advice. Soos came by and helped as well, he’s a remarkably wise young man.”
“Yeah well neither of them are gonna be thrilled if they hear you’re wandering outta bed to spread their worldly advice.” Stan stood, reaching down to grasp at Ford’s arm carefully, help him to his feet as his 'elder’ brother huffed yet again. “If you don’t complain I won’t even make ya bribe me to keep quiet.”
“That’s blackmail.” Ford muttered, the darkness he tried to insert in his tone flattened by Stan’s laugh.
“You bet it is, that’s another method Ma sanctioned.”
Ford sighed as they made their way to the door, then the hall, before he glanced to his twin. “If you aren’t heading to sleep yourself maybe we could go over more pictures. I haven’t seen many of Shermie’s kids myself.”
Stan smiled. “Sure thing, Sixer.”