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Stan is looking for his brother.
It’s officially the second time he’s saving his twin’s stupid, damsel-in-distress ass, and Ford probably won’t thank him for it this time, either. But Dipper and Mabel gave him those goddamn puppy dog eyes–McGucket gave him puppy eyes too, but those didn’t really have the same effect– so of course Stan went along with their little plan. They seemed worried for Ford.
(Stan is worried for him too, sure, but he’s fine. He’ll be fine. He has to be fine, he’s always fine. Ford Pines simply has to be fine.)
And now Stan’s just tumbled inside of a glowing, levitating, interdimensional penthouse (Fearamid, Dipper called it. Bit pretentious, if you ask Stan) and is scanning the room casually (desperately) for his twin brother.
“Ford? Stanford?!” He calls out, hands cupped around his mouth. “Where are you?”
He receives no response. He can hear the people around him exploring, the tumbling of bodies and tearful reunions. (What he would’ve given for a tearful reunion when Ford stepped out of the portal.) He keeps looking. When he calls out again, his voice is shriller, shakier than he’d ever admit.
“STANFORD?! FORD, PL–”
“Stanley…?”
Stan startles.
He slips away without anyone noticing, everyone too preoccupied with reunions and triangles and the general apocalypse. Stan follows the voice. He knows that voice, and he knows that it shouldn’t sound like that.
“Stanford?” He keeps walking until he sees it.
“Oh, Ford…”
He can’t breathe.
He finds his brother slumped in a corner. Ford’s wrists are restrained with glowing blue cuffs, but Stan suspects he wouldn’t be able to run even if they were out of the picture. Ford looks pale, thin, but what worries Stan the most is the blood. His side is coated in it, and there’s a puddle forming underneath him. One of his eyes is swollen shut, purple and blue swirled around it, leaking blood down his face and neck. Blood is in his hair too, staining the grey curls. And– jesus christ, his sideburns were burnt off. The ends of them are charred. Stan’s chest simultaneously burns and freezes over, and he struggles to speak. To breathe. He can’t– Ford is fine, he’s supposed to be fine, he’s not supposed to be hurt, he’s not supposed to be–
Stan feels an awful lump in his throat.
“Ford, Ford, hey, it’s me, can you hear me? It’s Stanley. It’s your brother, you– y-your twin. Are you with me?” Ford groans softly, but all he does is blink at Stan. “Stanford, c’mon, say something! Say something, ple–”
Ford coughs. It’s a weak, pitiful cough that seems to suck up any strength he had left. Stan reaches up instinctively, without thinking, and pulls at the handcuffs. They’re hot, it hurts to keep pulling at them and messing with them but he keeps going until he hears a click, and they open. Ford’s arms fall and slap against the ground, and he makes a miserable, pained noise.
His wrists are burnt to a crisp. Fuck.
“Jesus, Ford, what happened?” His voice is not shaking. It’s not.
Ford is still leaned up against the wall. He murmurs something under his breath.
“What was that? I-I didn’t hear you, can you–”
Ford coughs again. “Stanley…”
“Right here. What is it, what can I do–”
“Thanks…” Ford pitches forward unintentionally, his bruised, bloody face burying itself in Stan’s shoulder. His body slumps as he lets out a pitiful, low whine. Stan quickly gathers him up in his arms, holding him together, cradling him like a child against his chest.
Stan wanted a thank you from his brother so goddamn badly. He wanted it so bad, he would’ve done anything for it.
It wasn’t supposed to come like this.
Ford, please, take it back. Take it back. Please let me take it back. Please let me get you back.
Ford coughs again, and Stan sees blood begin to dot the corners of his mouth.
“Lee…” Ford mutters, “love you… always loved you…”
“Damnit, Ford, d-don’t say that! Don’t–” Stan brings one hand up to run through Ford’s hair. Dried, flaky bits of crimson fall to the ground. “I love you too. I love you too, Ford, I–”
“Bill-” Ford chokes out, “he can’t– I-I can’t– we have to–” He begins to tremble violently. Slowly, with monumental effort, he lifts a hand up and tugs at Stan’s shirt with a shaking fist. “He can’t, he can’t–”
“Shh, sh, sh, Ford, it’s okay.” It’s not. Nothing is okay. Ford isn’t okay, and nothing will ever be okay. “It’s alright. Save your strength.”
“Where– D-Dipper and– Mabel, where… where are–”
“They’re alright. They’re okay. Just like you’re gonna be. Want me to get them? I-I can call ‘em over, i-if you wanna–” Say goodbye? No, no, no, not goodbye, no– “–see ‘em–”
“N-No–” Ford coughs again. More blood. “They can’t– see me like–” another cough. “They–”
“Shhh, shh. Don’t push yourself, okay?”
Ford nods lazily. His eyes begin to flutter closed.
“NO! N-No, no, no, Ford, stay awake, okay? Please, please, please, stay awake!!” The words pour out of Stan. A sob bubbles in his throat, crawls out of his mouth like a spider. He pulls his brother tighter. “Ford, please.”
Ford forces his eyes back open. His lips curve upward in a small, shaking smile. Stan can’t help but mirror it.
“It’s okay. You’re okay, Ford.”
“I’m sorry,” Ford murmurs suddenly.
“Don’t– you don’t need to be sorry about this–”
“Mhm,” he insists weakly. “About… I-I… shouldn’t have let him…”
“Him? You mean Bill?”
“Pa.”
Stan blinks. “You… what about Pa?”
“Shouldn’t have let him… k-kick you out…” Ford says, again tugging at Stan’s shirt. “Was mad… Lee, I-I was– so…” a sob suddenly breaks from his lips. “So stupid…”
“Hey, you’re not–” Stan’s head hurts. Everything hurts. Ford is hurt. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. About– everything, Stanford.”
Another sob. Ford’s hand drops back to his own lap. “H-Hurts…” He turns and buries his face weakly into Stan’s chest, shielding himself from the world.
“I know. I know. It’s okay. It’s–” Stan’s heart is pounding. “I’m gonna– I’m gonna get you help, okay? I promise. You’re not– you’re gonna be okay. You’re gonna be just fine, I promise.”
Ford sniffles. “Tha’s good,” he slurs. “Thanks…”
"Yeah. "Stan smiles at him through tears. His brother. His twin brother. “Don’t mention it.”
He gathers Ford in his arms and stands, holding him in a bridal carry. He made a promise that he won’t– he can’t break. Ford will be okay. He’ll be fine. He has to be. Stan will make sure of it. He won’t fail his brother.
“Lee?”
Stan sits up slightly, grunting. His voice is laced with sleep. “What is it, Six?”
“Thank you.”
Stan seems more awake, now. He stands, bones in his back popping, and crosses the small bedroom over to Ford’s bed, perching on the edge of it. The waves rock the boat slightly, and Ford tries to focus on it. Left, right, back, forth.
“You okay?” Stan asks, voice soft. “What are you talking about?”
Ford pulls his knees to his chest, one arm wrapped around them, and one hand fiddling with the blankets. “I– for… saving me.”
Stan sighs. “Ford, I– I mean, you’re welcome, but we’ve talked about this, I’d still choose to erase my memories and–”
“Not that.” Ford sniffles. “Well, yes, that, always that, but– I mean, when you found me. In the Fearamid. If it weren’t for you, I would’ve died.”
“Eh, the kids and McGucket helped–”
“And I’m extremely grateful for their efforts, you know I am, but you came and found me. Even though I’d done nothing to deserve your rescue, you–”
“Rephrase that, or I’m not listening to this.”
Ford sighs. He leans forward and reaches for Stan’s hand, holding it tightly in both of his own. “You came and found me, despite– despite the fact that we weren’t… on very good terms. You saved me. And then you saved me again, and you–” Ford feels a little choked up, all of a sudden. “You always save me. And I’m very thankful for you.” He sniffles, decidedly ignoring the way he feels a few tears leak down his cheeks. “Thank you.”
“Where– er, of course, a-and you’re welcome, but–” Stan scoots closer, eyes wide and concerned. “Where is this comin’ from?”
“I– don’t know,” Ford answers honestly. He offers a smile. “It was just… on my mind, I guess.”
Stan matches his smile, but it doesn’t do much to mask his concern. “You sure you’re okay?”
“Quite. I just–” Ford clears his throat. “I never want to pass up on an opportunity to thank you. Not ever again.”
Stan’s face softens. “Heh. Okay, you big softie.” He pulls him into a hug. “You care if I go back to sleep, then?”
Ford shakes his head. “No. Please do, in fact. Er– rest, that is.”
Stan gives his twin one last squeeze, then returns to his own bed, yawning loudly. Ford can’t help but roll his eyes affectionately.
He’s not sure why it was on his mind. Stan, finding him in the Fearamid. He was just… he was quite sure he was going to die. He would’ve, if not for Stan. He’d pushed Bill too far right before his brother had arrived. Bill was intelligent, yes, but blinded by his emotions. His anger at Ford had grown too great. He’d been left in those chains to rot, bleed out from his stomach, burn alive from the cuffs, starve– whatever got him first.
But Stan got him first. Stan found him. Stan will always find him.
“Goodnight, Stanley,” Ford says. “I love you.”
“Love you too, Six.” There’s emotion in Stan’s voice. He clears his throat. “Now shut up and go to sleep.”