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“And— get this– he had 5 warrants out for his arrest! 5! I really met my match back then, he was a real crazy son'ofa bitch.”
Stan laughs as he takes a sip of his beer while recollecting random stories from his time when he was– er– homeless adventuring around the world.
Of course, he has to cherry pick the stories– between what he should say and shouldn't say– the stories that are either too depressing, too concerning- or that Stan straight just doesn't want to talk about.
If he could describe his experience in those 10 years, it'd be a shitshow dumpster fire. A dumpster fire that's on ice. A real slippery thing that he had no way to predict to hold onto.
Yet, that managed to be the calm before the storm as that was before Ford well– yeah.
Overall his life was fucking depressing. From the start to the present. Of course, his family made a big difference in that– but if Stan had learned anything at all from this mess he calls his life it's to find humor.
Find the funny stories, the silly ones that make you laugh. Or hell, even if it's not funny to others, laugh anyway.
Or make the stories funny. Find the humor yourself.
Stan got real good at that, maybe a little too good. It allowed himself to build a mask, because– if he's laughing, then everyone else is too, right? It's really hard to give someone concerned glances if they're laughing their ass off from a story.
If it's turned into humor, it can't be used as a weapon.
No one is there to remind him of a time where he was hurting if he doesn't let himself feel that hurt.
No bad memories, no weapons.
It's all jokes and fun.
Anyways–
Ford raises his eyebrows as if concerned, but still chuckles too.
Hah. He got the fucker to chuckle. That's been happening more lately, and Stan lives for it. He cherishes those memories closely, even if he'd rather be caught dead than admit to that outloud.
“That's certainly… an interesting story.” Ford chuckles once again and smiles at Stan.
Ford has absolutely zero social awareness on how to respond to things which only makes it funnier.
To be perfectly fair, Stan doesn't think there should be a correct response to the story that he had just told– he'd probably be more concerned if Ford said something normal.
Anyone else would've run away from him or told him he was mental.
Not Ford.
Because he has stories that match his crazy, if not crazier– interdimensional travel for so many years will do that to a person, he supposes.
“I'm sure you got some… interesting stories yourself, yeah?” Stan glances over at Ford, who looks away for a second.
Briefly Stan wonders if this was the wrong choice. Ford doesn't always enjoy talking about his travels– but there are some that he doesn't mind talking about. Stan has seen him clam up and go ghostly pale when asked. Yet he's also seen him randomly drop stories as if it's no big deal.
Which, shit if that doesn't give him whiplash– he loves his brother and all, but Moses does he pick the randomest most arbitrary times possible.
Once again, that's something he'll never tell Ford– not because it's a bad thing, simply because he doesn't want Ford to stop doing it.
Personally, he does enjoy it, even if it may give him a heart attack one day.
Huh. Is this what he does to Ford, too?
Luckily, Ford glances back at Stan. He still has that lingering guilt of bringing it up.
“I'm sure you don't want to hear most of my stories.” Ford says it with a small self deprecating laugh. The one that Stan normally does.
Everything goes quiet. The only thing Stan can clearly hear is the ocean, which, too, seems to quiet down to fit their awkward silence.
“What’dya mean by that Pointdexter? I'm sure you got some real interesting stories. Unless ya don't want to talk about them? Moses, did I mess this up already–?”
Oddly enough it's as if they switched roles, Stan being the worried one and Ford being the ‘mysterious’ one. Normally, Stan doesn't ramble like that. He’ll only really do it if he's worried about the kids or Ford.
Ford shakes his head. “No, no– Lee, it's not that– I do have a lot of stories that I genuinely don't mind sharing. I just– don't think you'd find them interesting.” He gives a gentle pat on Stan's shoulder.
If it were anyone else he'd punch them in the face.
Stan cocks his head at what he hears his twin say, though. “Watcha mean I won't find them interesting? Of course I'll find it interesting. I can be as curious as the kids.”
Ford perks up at that and it makes Stan happy. The look on his face is something he wants to remember forever.
“There is… a universe for about everything. Every major choice we made, or even the small ones– I saw what it'd be like if we took the other option. There were some– truly terrible places, but there were also some really great ones, too.”
Ford continues to talk about the different universes but Stan has well and truly fucked off. And he feels guilty for that… though his brain can't help but trail off at those words.
For some reason, the fact that there's a universe for every choice didn't occur to him. It should've, it really should've– and yet it didn't cross his mind until Ford began talking about it.
Every choice.
Every single branch off has its own world.
That means there's a universe where Stan didn't break Ford's project, or one where Stan never pushed Ford through the portal–
Also one where their father had kicked him out far sooner like he had threatened to.
Worlds without Stan. Worlds where Stan didn't colosally fuck everything up.
That does sound peaceful, doesn't it?
Stan's mind is a load of TV static, however he can see the fondness on Ford's face as he's talking about the universes he enjoyed visiting. It's a smile that's so wide, Stan doesn't think he's seen it since they were kids.
Suddenly a thought enters Stan's mind.
Oh.
Oh.
What if Ford enjoyed those places more? He wouldn't blame him, they sound amazing–
Worlds without Stan.
Worlds where every choice has a different outcome.
Worlds without Stan–
“Lee?” In a moments notice, the look of joy is wiped from Ford's face and is instead replaced with concern as he looks at Stan.
Ah shit– had he been zoning out? Was he shaking? He can't exactly ask what gave away the fact that he's not okay, can he?
He hadn't meant to interrupt his brother's happiness.
Worlds without Stan–
Stan blinks. “I'm good,- I'm good Pointdexter, keep goin.” A fake smile is plastered on as quickly as he could possibly muster.
Ford only frowns more.
Fuck.
“What's wrong?” Moses, he hates when Ford does this. It's said so raw and genuine that he doesn't know how to lie to him right now–
Then it hits him. It's a brilliant idea.
Joking. That'll work– right? It has to.
Stan tries to force himself to laugh, to do something to show that he's not hurting and it fails rather miserably.
Instead it sounds like a wounded noise. Maybe it's what he actually sounds like, but it's new and it's terrifying and Stan doesn't like how vulnerable it is.
“Nothin– I'm glad you enjoyed those universes. I mean– universes without my fuck ups sound great.”
That was supposed to be a joke.
And instead it fails, falling flat on its face because it didn't come out like a joke and instead came out a cry for help.
Once again he tries to laugh but the wounded noise rears its head again and he's left trying to scramble in order to act okay. His mask of humor is distengreating right in front of him and he doesn't know what the fuck he's supposed to do.
Ford is deathly silent. Stan doesn't enjoy how silent he is– however there's something else too– realization? It seems as though Ford is coming to a realization about something.
And that terrifies Stan more than he's willing to admit.
“Lee…” Ford pauses, attempting to find the correct words and Stan lets him. He already fucked this up–
“In some worlds I was constantly fighting for my life– I was always running or hiding or fighting and it was a never ending cycle of fight or flight. In others… I didn't have to do that, and most of them were rather– nice. However, I realized much later that they weren't as nice as I'd think–. I'd always been amazed at how well those worlds seemed to be, how amazing it'd be to live there– but then I noticed something about them and they became worse than the fight or flight ones.”
Stan raises his eyebrows. “What'dya notice?” He hates how small he sounds though he couldn't care less in this moment.
“In all of them– we never reconciled. You were gone– and there were so many faults after I realized that. I always– even when I had been amazed I always felt off in them– I had assumed it was the off feeling because I didn't belong there– and maybe that was a part of it but I also felt wrong being in a universe where you weren't there.”
That sounds great.
Ford shakes his head, and shit, Stan realizes he had said that outloud.
“I killed myself in every single one of them.”
That smacks Stan in the face, hard.
“What?” He breathes out, not caring how scared he sounds.
“No one was there to help me or to stop my research from going too far– I may have fallen through the portal in this universe but it stopped me from falling even deeper into the hole I was already in. Stanley– in every one of those universes either one or both of us were dead.”
What the fuck does Stan do with that information? No, actually– what does he do with that–?
Stan had wanted Ford to talk about his stories, by fuck did he not think this would happen, not at all.
A world where one or both of them were dead… a world where nothing happened how it was supposed to…
Suddenly it sounds terrible to Stan.
“I'm gettin’ another drink. Want one?” Silently, Stan curses himself, he hopes that changing the subject works. At least for now. He knows they'll talk about it more later.
Ford, seemingly happy at the subject change, nods his head. Okay, this works, this he can deal with.
Stan gets up from his chair and moves to where the cooler is.
Earlier he remembered those times that Ford would give him whiplash by randomly bringing stories up. This was worse and Stan asked for it to be brought up. Isn't that ironic?
Maybe it's a good thing that Stan brought it up– that he had them talk about it. For as much as they both jumped on the opportunity to change the conversation, Ford seemed more relaxed than before, a weight lifted off his shoulders.
Maybe Stan feels a bit better, too.
Stan comes back and tosses Ford a bottle. Stan opens his own and they both sit there in silence. Instead, this time, it's comfortable silence. Not the awkward kind– well– awkward because they both are awlakard, but at least it's not the bad awkward.
This is nice. Yeah, it's nice. Maybe Stan needed this conversation more than he realized.
Though he knows a few concerned conversations are coming his way in the future. Hopefully it won't be too bad. For now, they can enjoy sipping their beer and hearing the waves crash over.
Suddenly, Ford breaks the silence.
“Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For saving me.”