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Ford Pines is still awake when he hears stirring from beneath him.
“Mmgh… don’… g’off me–” A quiet, scared noise interrupts the barely coherent sentences. “Please…”
A nightmare.
Ford doesn’t hesitate before swinging his legs over the side of the bunk and landing swiftly and quietly on the floor. He doesn’t risk coming too close to his brother’s bed, instead settling himself near the opposite side of Stan’s head and shaking the bedpost lightly.
“Stanley?” No response. Ford shakes harder. “Lee, it’s a dream, that’s all it is. You’re alright.”
“Sto-op… leave me alone…” The words begin to grow frantic, desperate. “Please, please, I-I can’t– can’t do it… can’t do it, please–”
Abandoning his caution, Ford moves closer and jostles the blankets. “Stanley, I promise you, it’s alright! You just need to wake up!”
“Please–” Stan’s breathing grows quick and shallow. “Please, p-ple– can’t breathe, I-I’m– you’ll get your money, you–”
Against his better judgement, Ford shakes his twin’s shoulder. “Stanley!!”
“PLEASE–!!”
Stan rockets awake. His body jerks away from Ford’s hand and he launches himself into the corner with wide, unaware eyes. He shakes all over and pulls his knees up to his chest, gasping for air.
“P-Please,” he mutters, barely audible, “please, I-I don’t– leave me alone, please.”
“Stanley, hey hey,” Ford says, his voice low and quiet. He keeps his movements slow and calm, like he’s trying not to spook a wounded animal. “It’s alright, you’re safe. It’s just me. Your brother. It’s Stanford.”
Stan only shakes his head, panic seeming to grow. “N-No, no, please, I-I can’t–” One hand comes to clutch at his chest and he gasps. “Please–”
He finally stops any attempt to speak and just tries to breathe, hand clutching tightly to his shirt, pulling at it desperately. He shakes his head, a few stray tears leaking from his eyes. He doesn’t seem to notice.
“Stanley, it’s alright,” Ford murmurs. Can Stan even hear him? “It’s okay. You’re safe, no one’s going to hurt you.”
Stan only gasps again. He shoves his face in his knees. A raw, pained noise escapes him, and Ford’s heart breaks at the sight. Stan isn’t supposed to be like this, curled up and terrified. Stanley is obnoxious laughter, late night fishing, salt and sea and safety.
“I promise, you’re safe,” Ford says, inching closer. “Can you look at me? Just for a moment?”
Stan doesn’t move. Oh god, what if he’s really too far gone, what if the nightmare triggered a full-blown lapse, and he doesn’t remember you at all this time, for good, what if–
Stan peaks his head up.
Ford nearly sobs in relief. He slowly, so goddamn slowly, raises a hand into the air, spreading apart his fingers.
“It’s just me,” he assures. “Look. Six fingers.”
Stan blinks.
“…F-Ford…?”
“Yes,” Ford breathes. He perches on the edge of the bed, keeping his hand extended. “It’s me.”
Slowly, almost frightened, Stan reaches forward and takes Ford’s hand. He presses their hands together, then interlocks their fingers, eyes wide and fixed on their joined hands. Ford doesn’t dare move. He lets Stan do whatever he needs to ground himself, to feel safe. To come back to what’s real.
“Ford…” Stan murmurs. “Just you.”
Ford nods in confirmation. “You’re safe.”
Stan suddenly pitches forward and buries his face in Ford’s shoulder, a quiet, broken sob escaping him. He wraps his arms around his brother, pulling at the fabric of his sweater as if he’s afraid Ford might just up and leave. Ford tenses in surprise before he gently envelops Stan in his arms, rubbing his back with slow movements. Stan only cries harder, clearly trying desperately to keep himself contained, and Ford can do nothing but hold him.
“It’s alright,” he murmurs, “you’re safe. It’s okay.”
At the words, Stan suddenly pulls back, staring up at Ford like he has no idea how he got here. He glances away and backs up against the wall and brings his knees to his chest, still shaking. Not completely aware.
“Stanley?” Ford hates to ask, he doesn’t want to overwhelm him further, but he needs to know if Stan is in the middle of a lapse. “Do you know where you are?”
Stan hesitates, then nods. “Yeah. Stan O’ War II. T-Twenty–thirteen.” His voice cracks on the last syllable, and he buries his head in his knees again. He lets out a tiny, choked noise. “Jesus.”
Ford fidgets on the edge of the bed, unsure of what to do. He always feels unsure in these situations. Though this one is far worse than usual. He’s just… he’s not used to seeing Stan broken like this. Stan hardly ever cries, even after brutal memory lapses. He never has been much of a crier. Ford remembers when they were children, it was always Stan putting Ford back together. Nightmares, bullies, bad grades– Ford fell apart easily, then. But not Stan, never Stan– at least not in front of Ford. It took a lifetime for Ford to realize how much his brother sacrificed for him then. How much he still does. It’s rare that he lets himself be vulnerable like this, cry like this, even after all this time they’ve spent together at sea.
Ford can’t mess this up.
“Do you… want to talk about it?”
Stan raises his head slightly. “I… I dunno. I mean…” He swallows thickly. “If you want me to.”
“N-No! No, I just– I-I’m here to listen. If you do want to. You don’t have to, I would– I would never make you, ever, I promise, I just wanted you to know that if there’s anything I can do to help–”
“I get it,” Stan says, fondness laced in his tone. His eyes go dark again and he squeezes them shut for a moment, scrubbing at his face. He finally sighs and faces Ford again. “Sure. Yeah, I can… talk about it. Sure.”
“Really?” Ford can’t help his surprise. “I mean, you never have to, you know, just–”
“I want to.”
Ford nods and scoots slightly closer, joining Stan with his back against the wall. He doesn’t say anything, just waits patiently for Stan to speak.
It takes a minute, but he finally does.
“You remember… er, you remember kinda right before I, uh… pushed you… into the… and that whole thing happened? Like, we were arguing?”
Ford nods.
“You remember I listed all those… things I did? Bein’ to prison and all?”
Ford quickly sifts through his memories. “Yes, I remember.”
Stan swallows. “Well, one of the things I mentioned. The, uh, the… you remember what I said about the… car?”
Ford pauses, trying to remember the specifics.
I’ve been to prison in three different countries! I once had to–
“You… you had to escape from the trunk of a car…” Ford breathes. “Oh god, Stanley, what was it you said, exactly? You– y-you had to kick your way out of… oh, god.”
“Chew.”
Ford freezes.
“What?”
Stan shrugs. “Had to chew my way out. Not kick. Er– guess I did both, actually. Chewed outta the ropes, then kicked the taillights out.”
Ford feels his throat close and grabs one of Stan’s hands, squeezing it tightly. “Stanley, I– I’m so sorry.”
“S’ fine, really.”
“NO!” Ford can’t help the way the word tears loudly from his throat. Stan flinches, pulling his hand away. Shit. “I– Sorry. I-I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have– I’m sorry.” He sighs. “Just– it’s not fine, Lee, it’s not.”
Stan only makes a quiet, sad noise. He’s still shaking.
“Can you tell me what happened? I-I mean, in the dream, was it–” He wrings his hands together. “Only if you want, though! You don’t have to!”
Stan sniffles. “Yeah, I– yeah. This deal with the guy I was workin’ for went sideways. Guy we’d set it up with screwed me over, shot me, then he took the money and kept the crack, too.”
Ford feels like he’s screaming, but no sound comes out. He can’t do anything but stare and listen and know that his brother lived through this.
“Guy I was workin’ for blamed me for it, which, I mean, sure. Guess that makes sense, I was the one who set it up and all. But that was sort of his last straw with me, I think. Wasn’t exactly a model employee.” He chuckles softly, but it catches on a choked little sob. He clears his throat. “They roughed me up a bit– payback, I guess– then shoved me in the trunk of my car and left it on the side of the road in New Mexico. Tied me up and shit, too. That’s about as far as the memory got until you woke me up. Thanks, by the way.”
Ford still can’t speak. He just stares. Stan was shot, beaten to a pulp, tied up, shoved in a trunk, and left to die. And Ford wouldn’t have even known. His own stupid pride kept them apart for so long, forced Stan to resort to– oh god–
Ford can’t help the small noise that escapes him, the tears that leak from his eyes. He slaps his hand over his mouth, hoping to restrain himself. It’s not about him. It’s about Stan.
“Aw, c’mon, Six, don’t cry.” Stan squirms under Ford’s surely pitiful gaze. “It all ended up okay! M’ here, aren’t I? I shouldn’t’a gotten so worked up just cuz of a dream. I’m fine, really. Sorry.”
“NO!” Ford lunges forward and grabs Stan’s shoulders. “Do not apologize!! Stanley, I– I’m sorry, I can’t believe– I’m so sorry that happened, that I– that–” He tries to swallow the lump in his throat. “Jesus, we were apart for so long, and I– I’m so sorry.”
“Not your fault,” Stan says immediately. “It was my fault I even got mixed up with them, I–”
“It was absolutely not your fault,” Ford insists, squeezing his twin’s shoulders tightly. “Please, don’t say that!”
Stan hesitates, then lets his head drop. “Sorry.”
“N-No, no, you don’t need to– just… I’m so sorry that happened to you.” Ford lets his hands drift back to himself, sniffling. “That sounds… awful.”
“It’s f–” Stan cuts himself off. “Er– yeah. Thanks, for, uh… listenin’ and all.”
“I’ll always listen,” Ford says solemnly. “You know you can talk to me. About anything.”
Stan waves a hand flippantly. “Eh, you don’t wanna hear all about my–”
“Yes, I do,” Ford interrupts. “And I spent so long not getting to. I want to now.”
Stan’s face crumples. He blinks rapidly and glances away. Slowly, carefully, Ford reaches out and pulls him back into a tight hug. Stan accepts it immediately, hiding his face in the crook of Ford’s neck and squeezing him tightly. Ford can feel his brother slump against him in relief, and doesn’t say a word about the quiet sniffles coming from both of them.
After a while of hugging and definitely not crying, Stan yawns, still muffled by the fabric of Ford’s sweater.
“Think you can go back to sleep?” Ford asks softly, pulling away enough to look Stan in the eyes.
“I… I dunno. Sorry.”
“That’s alright. You don’t have to.” Moses knows Ford’s seen enough sleepless nights. “What time is it?” He glances over at the clock. 4:30 in the morning. “Good a time as any to start the day.” He starts to get up, but a hand quickly grabs his.
“Er, wait–!!”
He turns immediately, one foot already on the floor. “Stanley? A-Are you–”
“I just–” Stan looks away. “Could we– could you just… stay?”
“Oh. I… yes. Yes, o-of course.” He scoots back in, resting this time against the pillows. Stan immediately joins him, letting his head fall onto Ford’s chest, and one arm rest lazily across his stomach. Ford wraps an arm around his twin’s shoulders, pulling him in securely. They stay like that for a long time.
He nearly finds himself falling asleep when Stan’s voice pulls him from near unconsciousness.
“Ford?”
“Mhm?” Ford blinks his eyes back open. When did he close them?
“Thanks… for, uh. Yeah. I– thanks.”
“Of course, Lee.”
“Love you.” Stan’s voice is so small, so tired, but so… content.
“I love you too.”
Ford swallows against the lump in his throat, feeling a large swell of fondness in his chest. Sometimes it doesn’t feel real, his life now. But it is. The world is safe, Ford is safe, his mind is his own, finally. But, most importantly, he has his brother back.
It’s all he could ever want.