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Like usual, Stan is awake after his brother. While Ford’s alarm is their alarm clock, Stan’s alarm is Ford bustling about the kitchen. It’s intentional, Stan knows– all that time in the multiverse taught how to move completely silently. And for the first hour of being awake, he does exactly that. When he decides it’s time for Stan to be awake, he purposefully makes his movements louder. Nothing crazy, because Stan isn’t the heaviest sleeper in the world. Ford gently clanking the dishes and making the microwave beep is enough to wake Stan.
This morning seems no different. He hears the microwave beep and begins to rise. On habit, he checks the alarm clock. He nearly screams.
It’s nine in the morning.
Ford never lets either of them sleep this late unless something is wrong. For a moment, Stan panics. He’s the one who got to sleep in– did he have some sort of memory lapse? Did he get hurt? Or maybe Ford just needed a break from your clinginess.
He’s already thinking too much.
Jeez.
“Hey, Ford?” he calls, hurrying into the kitchen.
Ford is making coffee, back to his brother. As if it’s totally fucking normal.
“Ford.”
Ford jumps slightly and turns, mug in hand. “Oh! Good morning.”
Ah. That’s it. Stan doesn’t even have to ask; he knows exactly what’s up. He’s been around his brother long enough to know the signs. Ford is pale, he’s shivering and sweating, and his voice is all hoarse. And the tip of his nose is pink, and he has deep, dark circles under his eyes. More so than usual.
He’s sick.
It happens to the guy a lot, as much as he refuses to admit it. All that time dimension hopping, all the shit Bill did to him that he still won’t get into, it fucked up with his immune system something fierce. Ford tried to explain it once– something about how his body used to know how to fight off Earth diseases, but forgot after so many new diseases became more imminent threats while he was out in the multiverse. His body is having a hard time adjusting to being back. Stan can still remember his brother’s first Earth cold in almost thirty years. What an ordeal that was.
“Shit, bud, you don’t look good.” Stan doesn’t bother beating around the bush. “You sick?”
“I feel fine, actually.”
“Ford, don’t do this again,” Stan groans, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “You always–”
“Stanley. I told you I feel fine. Are my words not enough for you to trust anymore?”
Ford fixes him with a look, equal parts hurt and accusatory.
Obviously Stan trusts his brother. But he also knows his brother, and he can tell his brother is sick. But he doesn’t want to seem to admit it to himself, which makes this so, so much harder– because he does trust Ford.
“Fine. Jeez. Was just worried cuz you let me sleep in. Sorry.”
Ford relaxes, immediately looking guilty. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to– I’m just tired this morning. Is all.”
“Did you not sleep well?” Wouldn’t be the first time.
“Not particularly,” Ford mutters. “But that is precisely what coffee is for.”
Stan would argue that’s what sleep is for, actually, but Ford seems particularly testy this morning, so Stan decides to let it go for now. He has been trying to slowly buy more decaf, though. He’s not sure if it helps.
Ford stumbles over the table and sits down, sliding a full mug of coffee to Stan. Loaded with cream and sugar, the exact way Stan likes. Ford takes his black, but he always makes Stan’s the way he likes. It still fills Stan with a feeling of fondness, seeing his brother pay attention to the little things, showing he cares in his own Ford way.
Ford opens his mouth to speak, but before he can, he erupts in a fit of coughing. So much, in fact, that his pale face turns pink with the effort. He buries his face in his arm until he can breathe again.
Stan raises his eyebrows. “Not sick?”
“Just had something in my throat.” He takes a sip of his coffee, sniffling.
“Ford–”
“Stan.” Ford isn’t using his stern voice anymore. No, he’s doing something much, much more sinister. He’s acting hurt. “Don’t you trust me?”
Oh, fuck me.
“Of course I trust you,” Stan answers earnestly. “Of course I do. But I also know you hate admitting that you’re sick to yourself. I also know that you’re really bad at pickin’ up on what your body is tryin’ to tell you.” Ford opens his mouth to protest, but Stan continues. “I just wanna take care of you. Don’t make this difficult again, please. You got nothin’ to prove anymore.”
Ford sniffles again, and Stan can swear the guy’s eyes are welling up. Usually he doesn’t cry this easy. Hell, he barely cries at all. Must really be sick.
Ford clears his throat and stands. He immediately wavers and leans heavily against the wall, trying (and failing) to pretend nothing is wrong. He tries to take a step forward, but his dizziness is evident. Stan can’t help his concern.
“Ford, stop, you look like you’re gonna pass out. Just lemme help you.”
“Lee, I’m fine,” Ford murmurs, and damnit, his voice sounds so small.
“You’re not–”
“Yes, I am.”
Ford attempts to storm off.
He only makes it two steps before his legs begin to give out. His arm shoots out to support himself, but there’s nothing to grab on to. Stan rockets out of his seat and scoops him up before he can slam his head on the ground. Ford slumps into Stan’s shoulder with a little whine, still standing only because his brother is taking on every bit of his weight.
Stan holds him tightly. But he’s not gonna let Ford off so easily.
“Say you’re sick or I drop you.”
“Lee–”
“Ford. Say you’re sick.”
Ford sighs heavily, and it catches on a weak cough. He whines apologetically, then mutters, “fine. M’ sick. Christ.”
“Aw, now, was that so hard?”
Ford just sniffles and whines again, which makes Stan’s heart break a little bit, all of his superiority replaced with sympathy and concern. Ford hates being sick. Hates feeling weak. Stan can understand that. But Ford is someone who deserves to be taken care of, deserves to rest.
“Stanley?”
Stan hums in question.
“M’ sorry. Didn’t mean to… make you mad.”
Stan would’ve rather Ford just punched him in the face, in all honesty.
“S’ okay. I’m not mad. Just wanna help you.” Stan begins to rub his back, gently, as Ford buries his face in Stan’s shoulder. “Can you let me help you now?”
Ford doesn’t answer.
Stan leads him back into the bedroom, with Ford stumbling on almost every step. He barely gets him into the lower bunk–no way is he making Ford climb back up that ladder.
“Stay there. Gonna grab the thermometer.”
“I can– come with…”
Christ. And so, it begins. Despite Ford’s perpetual insistence that he’s fine, he’s always a bit more attached when he’s sick. He’s a bit more clingy in general, since Stan lost and regained his memories. Guilt, probably. But it’s especially bad when he’s sick, even though he acts as if he’s not barely able to walk.
“I’ll be right back.”
Stan hurries into the bathroom and grabs the thermometer and some basic fever reducers then all but sprints back into the bedroom. Ford relaxes the minute he sees him.
He offers the pills to Ford, who hesitates before taking and swallowing them, easing their journey with a sip from the water bottle Stan keeps on the nightstand. He coughs, squeezing his eyes shut and hiding his face in the pillow.
When the fit subsides, Stan places the thermometer under his tongue before he can protest– in words, that is. He still makes a pouty little noise. Stan rolls his eyes. Finally, the thing beeps, and Stan indicates for Ford to open his mouth.
Shit.
“103. Not good, Six.” He tchs. “Listen, I think–”
Ford’s glassy eyes narrow, and he shakes his head. “Don’t. I know what you’re going to–”
“I think we might need to getcha to a hospital,” Stan interrupts, gentle. “I know. I know you don’t want to, but–”
“Don’ need it,” Ford insists, sluggishly. “M’ fine.”
“Ford–”
“Please,” Ford says softly. The asshole. He knows what he’s doing, he knows Stan can’t say no when he makes the damn kicked puppy face. “Please, Lee, s’ barely a cold. Don’t make me.”
Stan stares at his twin’s wide, glassy, pleading eyes for a full ten seconds before he caves. New record.
He sighs heavily. “Fine. But if it goes up one more degree, I’m takin’ you to the hospital. Even if I gotta knock you out to do it.”
But part of him fears he could never truly make Ford do something. It would be an invasion, to demand anything of him when there’s always a chance that–
Well, that Ford could hate him again.
It’s stupid, really. But turns out stuff that happens to you when you’re younger can affect you for the rest of your life, and Stan’s certainly learned that the hard way. Bullshit, if you ask him– already lived it once. And Ford wouldn’t do that, he would never. All the evidence points against it.
But still. He can’t push. Can’t force.
Ford nods, worried at the prospect of his fever rising but for the moment content. He coughs harshly, and is barely able to conceal a pitiful little whine when he’s finally able to breathe again.
“I’m sorry you don’t feel good, Ford.” Stan cups his brother’s cheek, and Ford closes his eyes and leans into the touch. “Anythin’ else I can do?”
Ford reaches up weakly and grabs Stan’s hand, holding to it like a lifeline. “Stay.”
He says that like there was ever any other option. If it was up to Stan, he’d never leave his brother’s side.
He crawls into bed, swings an arm around Ford’s shoulders, and lets Ford curl up against him, his raspy, congested breathing audible in the now quiet room. He lets his head rest on Stan’s chest, knees curled up so that he’s practically in his brother’s lap, both arms wrapped around his twin like a koala bear. He sniffles loudly and Stan notices him wiping his nose against Stan’s own shirt, which he’d call the guy out on if he didn’t feel so much damn pity. Stan resolves to let it happen, and wash the shirt later. Anything to help his brother get some sleep.
But thirty minutes later, he’s still not sleeping. In fact, Stan can tell he’s fighting to stay awake. Now is not the time for his brother’s stubborn sleep hatred to rear it ugly head.
“Six, you can barely keep your eyes open. Go to sleep. I’m not goin’ anywhere.”
“Don’t need to,” Ford answers, quiet but immediate.
“Everyone does, actually.”
“Don’t wanna,” Ford clarifies, followed by another congested sniffle.
“How else are you gonna get better?”
Ford exhales shakily, and Stan suddenly senses an undercurrent of anxiety in his twin. He tips Ford’s chin up and sees a nervous expression. Shit. What could he even–
“Hey. What’s goin’ on?”
“Nothing is going on.”
“Clearly, you don’t wanna sleep, and you’re gettin’ all stressed about it, so I just–”
“Maybe I’m simply not tired,” Ford snaps, his hoarse voice taking on a sharp edge. “Not everything I do is because of– because I’m some–”
“Woah, hey, that’s not what I was–”
“I’m not as fragile as you seem to think me!” Ford snarls, pulling away. “I’m a grown man, if I want to sleep, I will, but you can’t make me–” he cuts himself off with a coughing fit. He shoves his face into his arm to muffle the sound, coughing so hard that for a moment Stan worries if he’ll throw up.
When it’s over, he buries his face in his hands, and Stan can see his shoulders trembling. He starts to apologize– his heart surges with fear at the idea of having pushed his brother too far this time– but before he can get a word out, Ford is already babbling:
“I’m sorry– I’m sor– d-didn’t mean–”
Stan immediately begins to rub his brother’s back, drawing slow, steady circles into the thin fabric of his tee shirt.
“It’s okay. I’m not mad.”
“Had– h-had a nightmare last night. They’re always–” he shoves down a little sob, “bad when I’m sick, I-I don’t wanna–”
“Shit, why didn’t you tell me you had a nightmare? You coulda woken me up.”
“Didn’t need to bother you,” Ford chokes out, words catching on another string of coughs. “M’ sorry, I-I don’t… I can’t sleep…”
Stan rubs his back until he’s done, then pulls him back into chest, letting him take his time calming down. His shaking fades after about ten minutes, and he’s back to laying heavily against Stan, fighting to keep his eyes open. Stan’s heart breaks a little bit.
He’s conflicted. Sleep will help, yes, but Ford is correct in that his nightmares are a lot worse and far more frequent when he’s sick. It feels wrong to force him to sleep if he’s this afraid. But he also looks exhausted.
Stan resolves to be silent. He simply won’t push him one way or the other. By the looks of it, Ford won’t be able to stay awake much longer, anyways.
“It’s alright,” he concedes. “Don’t gotta sleep. Just rest, though, okay? Even if you don’t sleep.”
“M’kay…” Ford relaxes against him completely, warmth and sickness radiating off of him. “Love you…”
“Yeah, yeah. Love you too.”
Ford is out in ten minutes.
Stan wakes up a few hours later. He glances at the alarm clock, confirming that it’s only afternoon, and rests a hand against his brother’s forehead.
He immediately panics. Ford is burning up.
“Shit. Shit, Ford, wake up.” He shakes Ford’s shoulder gently, but he can’t stop the way he’s begun to shake as well. “Ford. Wake up!”
Ford jumps awake, immediately doubling over in coughs. He buries his face in Stan’s shirt, shaking and hacking and sick sick sick, until he can take in a raspy, shallow inhale and looks around, panicked.
Shit, you scared him.
“Hey, hey, Stanford, it’s just me. It’s your brother, you’re okay!”
Ford coughs again and whines, pitifully confused, as if Stan isn’t even there.
“Ford. Look at me, please.”
Ford turns, dangerously close to complete panic.
“It’s me, Ford. It’s Stanley. You’re safe.”
“Lee.”
Ford can’t contain the coughing that escapes him, and he can barely raise his arm to muffle it. How did it get this bad, so fast?
Without even asking, Stan grabs the thermometer and places it under Ford’s tongue.
104.9.
And that’s with the fever reducers.
“Jesus Christ,” Stan breathes. “Come on. Hospital. Now.”
Ford shakes his head weakly and lays all of his weight on Stan, his limbs trapping Stan on the bed.
“N-No… m’ fine… wanna go back to sleep…”
Great. Wonderful, he’s completely delirious! Stan mentally slaps himself for not forcing Ford to go to the hospital earlier. Did he really not insist just because he was scared Ford would be mad at him? He’s a fucking coward. He’d rather Ford be mad at him than sick and in pain! Actually, it seems his actions have proved the opposite. Clearly, he cares more about being liked than he does for his brother’s life! It’s selfish, really.
He’s such an idiot, and now Ford is suffering for it. It’s like he doesn’t even care about his brother at all.
“I know,” Stan assures him, trying to squirm out from under his twin. “I know you’re tired, I know. ‘S cuz you’re sick. That’s why we gotta getcha to the hospital, they’ll help you feel better.”
Finally, Stan wiggles out and rolls off of the bed, back hitting the ground hard. He’ll be feeling that tomorrow, but for now he lets adrenaline fuel him and shoots to his feet. Get Ford safe. Get him healthy.
“Lee…” Ford whines, staring up at Stan like a goddamn kid, “Don’ go…”
“I’m not leavin’. Let’s get you outta bed, okay? Can you walk?”
Ford just sniffles and attempts to sit up a little bit.
“Ford, come on, you gotta work with me here. Let me help you up.”
Stan reaches forward to assist his brother, but Ford seems to interpret it as a hug, and wraps his arms around Stan’s waist. Okay. Yeah. He can work with this. Right?
He’s got to.
Stan pulls him up, and he immediately slumps into Stan’s chest, swaying where he stands. Damnit. He coughs into Stan’s t-shirt, and it’s nearly enough to knock him off his feet. He’s literally holding onto Stan for dear life.
Even though the hospital is only a quarter mile from port, there’s no way that Ford is making it that far.
“Shit. Okay. Sit back down.” Ford, of course, is barely processing anything, so Stan eases him back down, and he flops onto his side, sniffling congestedly. “I’m callin’ an ambulance.”
Now, where the fuck did he put his phone?
He tears through the bedroom until he finds it, for some reason, in his sock drawer, and quickly dials 113– Norway’s emergency health service line– and asks frantically for an ambulance.
“Lee…?” He hears Ford call, audibly distressed, from the other side of the room. “Lee?!”
Stan all but throws his phone aside once he’s made sure that help is on the way and runs back to the bed, kneeling down beside it and taking Ford’s hands gently in his own.
“The ambulance is on their way, Six, let’s get to the door at least, okay? Can you do that?”
Ford nods– Stan thinks, at least– and coughs again.
“Okay. Come on, buddy. You’re alright.”
He eases Ford up and slings one of his arms over his own shoulders, then wraps his arm around Ford’s waist, guiding each of his brother’s steps until they arrive at the door. He frees his hand for one second just to swing the door open, and Ford nearly crashes to the ground.
Immediately, he sits the two of them down on the bench of the dock, satisfied that he’s gotten Ford as close to the coming ambulance as he’s able.
Ford whines and lets his head fall onto Stan’s shoulder.
“S’ okay, Ford. They’re almost here.”
Ford coughs. “Mm… who’s coming?”
“The paramedics, remember?” Jeez, he must be more out of it than Stan thought. “They’ll be able to help you at the hospital.”
Ford immediately begins to squirm. “No, n-no hospital… don’t need to–”
“Ford, Ford, hey, I know. Relax, okay? You’re gonna make yourself pass out.”
“No–” he coughs, squirming and pulling away. “Don’– don’t make me– m’ fine–”
“Shh, Ford–”
“No!!”
Suddenly, before Stan can stop him, Ford is up on his feet, trying to get away. He’s stumbling but surprisingly fast, adrenaline taking over. Fuck, fuck, fuck– Stan hurries to follow, but his brother’s often otherwordly survival instincts are incredibly strong, even when he’s this sick. He begins to run down the dock; a delirious escape attempt.
“Ford, wait!!”
Ford doesn’t seem to listen, but Stan can already see what’s about to happen. He’s off balance. He can’t hold himself up.
And Stan just misses him as he stumbles into the water.
“FORD!!”
He dives in after him. It’s not even a second thought.
Icy water shocks his skin all the way down to the bone.
It’s the middle of the day and sunny, so it’s not as cold as it could be, but it’s still goddamn freezing. His body immediately seizes up, chest tight and throat feeling like it’s closing up. Get to Ford. If you can barely stay swimming, he’s probably– he could already be–
“Ford!! Ford, hold on!!”
The words are more for his own benefit. Ford has to be okay. He’ll be okay. He has to.
Luckily, Ford hasn’t gotten too far. But he’s struggling to stay afloat, and he’s nearly unconscious at the sudden shock, but at least giving a small bit of effort to keep his head above water. Stan wraps his arms around him and pulls him close to the dock as he hears the ambulance pull up.
“HERE! WE’RE IN HERE!” He yells, hoping to god it’s loud enough to be heard over the wind and waves. “WE’RE IN THE WATER!!”
Ford slumps, completely unconscious, in Stan’s arms.
Stan feels something in his brain snap.
“No, damnit! Ford, s-stay awake, c’mon, you gotta w-work with me here!!!” He shakes him a little. A lot. Slaps him in the face. “Ford, PLEASE!!” He’s sobbing, now. His tears mix with the saltwater. “FORD!!”
It’s so cold. He can’t think. He’s losing feeling in his arms. He tries to hold Ford up, but he’s heavy and soaking, and it’s so cold, and Ford is unconscious, and he’s pale and it almost looks like he’s–
“FORD!! DAMNIT, SOMEONE HELP!! SOMEONE–”
He can’t feel his arms. He can’t feel anything. He can’t–
He hears voices above him, and his head dips underwater. The world fades in and out. Everything is blurry and distant.
Something is grabbing him, and he gulps in air. It’s so cold so cold cold cold cold–
“–stay calm–” ringing. “–get you out–” ringing.
He tries to focus, feels hands pulling on him and Ford, he feels the space around go from water to air, and he can barely breathe. Ford is being pulled out of his arms, and he completely panics. He screams something nonsensical, barely words, but it mostly comes out as a hysterical, watery growl. He reaches out for his brother, his twin his goddamn twin– they can’t take Ford away from him and they’re trying to take Ford away but he can’t stop it and he doesn’t know where Ford is is he safe please god let him be safe let be alive–
He can’t stay awake.
Everything goes black.
Stan wakes to light.
Heavy, white, angry light that immediately makes his head scream at him.
He’s having a bit of a hard time thinking.
He feels like shit. That much he knows. He just has to figure out why, put the pieces together. This is always the worst part. He’s not good with the whole remembering thing. He's not usually able to do it himself, usually Ford prompts him–
Ford.
Jagged flashes hit him instantly: Ford, sickness, water, cold cold cold cold–
“Ford!!”
He immediately coughs, throat rough and hoarse. God, how long has he been out? Where is Ford? How long have they been separated?
Water. They were in the water!!
Fuck. What if Ford never got out?
“FORD!!”
More coughing.
Suddenly, someone is grabbing his arm harshly.
He thrashes.
“Get the hell off of me!!” He growls, pulling away. But another hand is on his other arm, and he’s being held down, and he doesn’t know where Ford is, where is Ford where is Ford where is Ford oh god is he hurt please let him be okay–
“Mr. Pines!!” A calm, steady voice only serves to make him flinch. “Mr. Pines, you need to calm down.”
The voice sounds scolding. He slumps against the–
The bed. He’s in a bed.
Two people are holding down either of his arms.
“Mr. Pines,” says the woman, a final time. “Calm down. You’re alright.”
“M’ I… in a hospital?”
“That’s correct.”
“Where’s Ford?”
“This is Nurse Jamie, they’re going to take your vitals–”
“Where’s Ford?”
The doctor’s face softens, and her grip on Stan’s arm gets slightly gentler. “Your brother is fine, Mr. Pines. He’s in the next room. You’re both recovering from hypothermia.”
“No, he– he’s sick, he needs– he n-needs help, you should be in there with him, he– he needs–”
“He’s alright, Mr. Pines. He’s being taken care of. He has a rather serious case of pneumonia exacerbated by hypothermia, but he’s–”
“I wanna see him,” Stan slurs, attempting to pull at the doctor’s arm. She doesn’t get it, he needs to be with Ford. Who cares what happens to Stan, Ford is sick!! “Need to see him, m-make sure he’s okay– he needs–” Stan coughs again. Damnit, he can’t even get words out! “If he wakes up, a-and ‘m not there, he–”
“He’s still asleep, and it’s protocol–”
“No!!” Stan barks. “Need to see him, need to see him, please–” He continues babbling as he attempts to rip IV out. He needs to get to Ford. Nothing is going to stop him from getting to Ford. Nothing will stop him from keeping his brother safe.
Another nurse suddenly runs in and pulls the doctor aside, leaving poor Nurse Jamie to try and restrain Stan themself. That’s not going to work out well for them if Stan has anything to say about it.
But after a few moments of fighting, the doctor returns.
“Your brother will be brought in shortly.” Her tone is frustrated, if not a bit sympathetic. “It seems he had a similar reaction when he woke up just now.”
“Told ya,” Stan mutters.
A few minutes later, a barely cognizant Ford–clad in an oxygen mask and IV fluids– is rolled in by Nurse Jamie, and his bed is placed directly next to Stan’s. Nurse Jamie leaves right after, muttering something about not getting paid enough. Stan doesn’t really care that he just nearly attacked hospital staff, not when Ford is here and he’s sick and Stan can’t do anything about it, even though he’s right here, right next to him. It still doesn’t feel close enough, and Stan fights the urge to crawl into his twin’s bed. Ford seems to be doing the same thing.
“Lee,” he murmurs, face red with fever still. “Lee, I-I didn’t– you weren’t–” he coughs, and it sounds worse than before. “y-you weren’t there, I– c-couldn’t find you…”
“His fever broke last night,” the doctor says quietly, “but he’s still on a high dose of painkillers, corticosteroids, and a mild sedative. I don’t expect him to be fully aware until tomorrow morning.”
“How long–”
“You’ve only been here a day.” She nods, curt. “A nurse will come by and take both your vitals soon. If you need anything, press that button.” She motions to the small button beside Stan’s bed, then leaves the two alone.
Ford is already crawling toward Stan’s bed.
“Wait, wait, Ford, stop, you’re gonna–” Okay. Clearly, Stan has to get into Ford’s bed. Ford’s not going to stop until he’s holding onto Stan, but if he moves any more, he’s going to pull every tube out of himself. So, it’s on Stan to join them together. “Stop. I’ll come to you, ‘kay? Stay there for me.”
“Lee…” He sniffles loudly, voice sounding thick with congestion and confusion. “Lee… wha’ happened…? Didn’t know… didn’t know where y-you were…”
Stan continues to try and reassure him as he swings his legs over the side of the bed, holding onto his IV drip with one hand. He blinks away the slight dizziness once his feet are on the ground, but he can feel the fact that there isn’t long until he gets a bit too dizzy to stand, so he quickens his steps and crawls into Ford’s bed, letting his IV bag sit on the more empty side.
Ford begins to purr contentedly, not even waiting until Stan is fully in the bed to wrap both of his arms around his younger twin’s waist and nuzzling his face into Stan’s chest. He’s still warm. The doctor did say that his fever broke, right? Not that Stan is or has ever been inclined to trust some quack.
“Lee,” Ford whines. “Don’ go…”
“M’ not. I’m right here, Ford. Not goin’ anywhere.”
“Was so scared,” he slurs, “You weren’t there… thought– t-thought you… were hurt– I didn’t…”
Figures that Ford is the one who nearly died, and his only concern is whether Stan is injured.
“I know. But I’m okay, I’m not hurt. It’s alright, Ford.”
As much as it pains Stan to see his brother so disoriented and distressed, part of him– a horrible, cruel part of him– is a little bit glad that Ford is so unfiltered. Sometimes it feels like he won’t be honest unless medication forces him to do so. Ford would never admit that he was scared if the circumstances were different.
He just wishes Ford would ask for help when he needs it. No, no, not even that, Stan knows how hard asking and admitting can be, all he wants is that Ford would not lie about needing help! He just wishes Ford wouldn’t try and hide away when he needs help the most.
Because if you trust someone, really trust them, you’ll tell them if you need help. So what does it say about Stan if Ford doesn’t?
“God, Six,” he sighs, speaking without thinking. Not like Ford will remember. “Why– I just wanna help you, why won’t you let me?”
Ford sniffles, legs curling up over Stan’s lap. “Don’ need help…”
“Yeah, that’s the thing,” Stan argues nonsensically, “you do. N’ that’s okay, I just wish– I dunno. I’m sorry, Ford.”
“No… not your fault,” Ford says, voice sounding suddenly choked. “Not your fault, n-not… m-my fault. Bad brother. Should’a told you, just didn’t…” He coughs, his grip on the fistfuls of Stan’s hospital gown tightening. “Didn’t– wanna make you– t-took so much, r-ruined your life… can’t…”
“Hey, what are you talkin’ about?”
“Can’t be too much, don’ need to take care of me… can’t make you… don’ want you to leave.”
He suddenly bursts into tears. He lets out heaving sobs and buries his face deeper in Stan’s chest, and Stan feels painfully reminiscent of a younger version of his brother.
“Shit, Ford, n-no, don’t– I didn’t mean to–”
“M’ sorry,” he sobs, “M’ so suh–sorry, I’m sorry, Lee…”
Words fail him out of nowhere, and he dissolves into wailing as Stan’s reality is shattered.
Jesus Christ. Ford’s as messed up as Stan is. More, maybe. Stan thought his fear that Ford would suddenly change his mind about his sorry excuse for a twin was solitary, one-sided. But it kind of seems like Ford… feels the same way. He’s just a hell of a lot better at hiding it–unless, of course, he’s loopy from pain meds.
It hurts to see Ford like this. He’s so used to seeing Ford as strong, certain. Ford isn’t supposed to worry about anything, much less where he stands with Stan. It’s not worth worrying about– Stan would never, could never love him any less.
“Oh, Ford,” Stan murmurs, rubbing his back gently. “I’m not goin’ anywhere. Nothin’ to apologize for. I wanna help you.”
“W-What– what if–”
“What if nothin.’ You’re not gettin’ rid of me.” He kisses his twin’s burning forehead. “And I’ll tell you that again once you’ll actually remember it, too.”
“Don’t feel good…” Ford whines, nose twitching. “Lee, m’ tired…”
“I know, bud. Get some sleep. You’ll feel better soon.”
“Y-You’ll stay…?”
“I’ll stay. Promise. You trust me?”
But Ford isn’t awake to answer. His body is limp against Stan’s, sleep overcoming him all at once. Stan still rubs his back, even while he’s asleep. After a while, he starts to feel sleep pull at him, too. Hypothermia’ll do that to you, he supposes.
Ford is terrified. Just as much as Stan is.
Stan is already up, back in plainclothes, and back in bed beside him when Ford wakes the next morning. The damn quack was right, he slept like a baby with all those sedatives. Most peaceful sleep Stan’s seen his brother get in– well, maybe ever.
He coughs weakly as he comes to. His face is clearer now– they removed the oxygen mask late last night once his breathing was stable. He blinks, hands clenching, and realizes that they’re tangled in the fabric of the thin sheet. He seems to know exactly where he is immediately– or at least, who he’s with.
“Lee…” he murmurs, voice still laden with sleep.
Then he shoots upright.
“Lee!!” He coughs and looks around, frantic. “H-Hospital, are you– are you hurt?! What happened?! What–”
“Ford, woah, woah, hey. Calm down.” Stan grabs his shoulders and scoots to sit up. “It’s okay. We’re alright.”
Ford reaches up and cradles Stan’s face, turning it from side to side, inspecting for injuries. “You’re not hurt?”
“I’m not hurt,” Stan assures him, gently taking hold of his hands and bringing them down to their laps. “I’m just fine.”
Ford slumps, averting his eyes in exhaustion. “Okay. Good.”
“How’re you feelin’?”
“Fine.” The answer is immediate and untruthful.
“Ford. You had a hundred and four degree fever that you’re still comin’ down from, and you fell into freezing cold water. You’re not fine.”
Ford frees one of his hands to rub at his face, still not willing to look Stan in the eyes. “Really, Lee. I’m fine.”
He still won’t do it. Even in the hospital, needles sticking out of his arms and hydration being pumped into him, he still won’t admit that he needs help.
Stan can’t help but feel like it’s his fault. He knows, he knows, it’s just Ford being afraid, afraid in the same way Stan is. But he’d hoped an ordeal like this would force Ford to see that sometimes, he’s just got to accept help. He came to the conclusion, yesterday, that he’d bring it up. Then they could talk about it, work through it, come to some sort of solution. But now he’s feeling at an utter loss for words.
It’s the same damn thing. He doesn’t want to push too far. What if Ford gets uncomfortable? What if he feels smothered?
What if it’s just one tiny push to make him realize that he doesn’t need me, and I’m just weighing him down?
But he has to push a little, right? I mean, maybe if he had earlier, they wouldn’t even have to be in the hospital. Maybe if he just explained. Addressed things. But– fuck, he just doesn’t want to risk Ford getting upset. But he wants to keep him safe. Those things shouldn’t be in opposition to each other.
Ford squirms in bed, slumping back against the pillows, and Stan suddenly wonders if he’s not physically smothering him, too. Maybe he should get out of the bed. Ford’s the one who needs it, after all. Stan’s done enough resting for a lifetime. He starts to shift. He’s really freaking himself out, here.
He hurries out of the bed.
“Lee?” Ford sits up immediately, concern evident. “Are you alright?”
“I’m fine, Six.”
“You’re clearly not.” Ford swings his legs over the side of the bed. “Let me–”
“No!!” Stan rushes to push Ford back into the sheets. “Damnit, you got, like, a million needles stuck in you right now, do not get outta that bed.”
Ford huffs. “Something is clearly upsetting you, I’m not just going to sit here–”
“Yes, you are!!” Stan bursts out, panting. “You’re gonna sit there, and you’re gonna let the doctors help you, and you’re gonna let me help you, because this whole ‘I’m fine’ shit is gettin’ real old, Stanford!!” He’s pacing around the tiny hospital room, now. “If you had just lemme help you, you wouldn’t– y-you wouldn’t have almost– Jesus, I thought you were gonna–”
He cuts himself off. He can’t say it.
He can’t look Ford in the eyes. You’re fucking it up. You’re gonna scare him off.
But he’s not done. Not quite yet. He might as well say his whole piece now. Even if Ford might hate him for it.
“You can’t keep doin’ this, you just can’t! You literally jumped into the ocean because I was tryin’ to help you! You gotta let me help you!” He can feel tears pricking at his eyes, streaming singularly down his cheeks, but he ignores it. “Just tell me what to do. Tell me what I can do to get you to trust me enough to let me help you. You don’t even gotta ask, just don’t– don’t nearly kill yourself just because you–”
He’s cut off by a sob.
A broken, heart-breaking sob.
Not one of his own. God, he wishes it was him. He wishes he could take on all of Ford’s pain, all of his fears. He would, in a heartbeat.
“Shit, F-Ford, I’m so– I didn’t mean– I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.”
He should be mad. Stan would prefer him being mad. This is so much worse. Stan can handle an angry Ford. But this?
He can’t take it.
He made Ford cry.
“Ford, I’m so sorry. Forget I said anything. Just– just forget I said anything, I didn’t– I’m so– damnit–”
“I’m sorry,” Ford sobs. He shoves his face in his hands. “I’m so– Stanley…” He shakes his head and doesn’t continue in words. But he lets out another gut-churning sob.
Stan plants himself in the chair beside the bed and gently reaches for both of Ford’s hands, squeezing them tightly. He doesn’t know what to say. He ruined everything. There’s nothing he can say, Ford is crying!
All Stan can do is let him. Let him, and be there. But all of a sudden, holding his hands doesn’t feel like enough, so he crawls back into the bed and wraps his twin in his arms, his own eyes starting to tear up.
Ford lets himself be held, his own arms curling up against his chest, face buried into Stan’s chest, wetting his t-shirt with tears.
After a moment, he coughs, then tries again to speak.
“Lee– m’ sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so–”
“Hey, it’s alright. It’s okay. We’re alright.”
Ford shakes his head and forces himself to look Stan in the eyes. And, god, his eyes. They’re bloodshot, red-rimmed, and so, so, so goddamn wide. He looks like a kid, in a way.
“No. I–” Ford sniffles thickly. “Lee, I’m so s-sorry.” He hiccups down another sob. “I should’ve–” A pause in which he gathers his strength. His next words come out a whisper. “I should’ve let you help. I’m such an idiot. I’m so sorry.”
“Oh, Ford…”
“I-I didn’t realize that you were– s-seeing it that way, I’m not– I do trust you, more than anyone,” he says, earnestly. “I just– I just start thinking, a-and then I just feel like– I don’t want to– I don’t want to burden you. I don’t…” he sniffles, rubbing at his eyes. “I don’t want to be too much.”
Stan lets the words hang in the air for a moment.
He knew Ford felt like this. He told Stan about it last night. But– he never, ever thought Ford would admit it out loud.
That, in itself, reveals just how much Ford does trust his brother.
“I’m sorry,” Ford repeats. “I didn’t realize you thought I– Lee, I trust you, please believe me. I-I know it doesn’t seem like I do, I know, and you have no reason to believe me, but I trust you–”
“I know you do.”
Ford hiccups and blinks. “Lee, you don’t have to lie–”
“Not lyin.’ I know you trust me.”
“I was an idiot,” Ford sobs, burrowing back into Stan’s chest. “I shouldn’t– I’m just not used to–” He coughs weakly. “When Bill– y-you know, when I was– he had this way of helping, his own way, a-and I couldn’t–”
“Shit.”
“And in the multiverse, I didn’t have a-anyone to– I was all I had,” he continues, quiet. “I’m just… not used to it. From anyone.”
“I know.” Stan sighs heavily, guilt weighing on him. And why was he trapped out there for so long? Because you pushed him in. He shouldn’t trust you, after something like that! You’re the whole reason he–
“I’m so sorry, Ford. It’s my fault you–”
“Don’t say that,” Ford immediately interrupts. “Don’t blame yourself for that. Please.”
He sounds so desperate, so sad, that Stan has to let it go, for now. But he knows that it was his fault. Clearly, though, Ford doesn’t like the idea of that. But Stan has to do something, though.
Time for some honesty. God fucking damnit.
“Hey, Ford?”
“Mhm?” He peeks his head out again.
“Y’know I worry about the same thing? The whole thing about bein’ too much?”
Ford’s eyes widen dramatically. “You could never–”
“I’m just sayin’, I worry about it too. So I get it. But, Ford, I promise, you’re not– I like helpin’ you, and I like takin’ care of you. Christ, I spent so long not gettin’ to do that, and– god, I missed you so much.” His voice breaks, and he squeezes Ford a little tighter. “Just lemme help you. Please. Or, a-at least… can you try? Even just a little?”
Ford sniffles. “Yes.”
Stan feels cool, comforting relief flood his chest. Ford will try. That’s all he asks.
“Thank you,” he breathes. “Thank you, Six.”
“If,” Ford says, softly, “you try too.”
“Hey, now, this ain’t about me.”
“I like helping you too.”
Stan finds himself holding back tears. He nods, afraid trying to speak would cause him to completely lose it. Ford seems to understand, and he curls up against Stan, head resting gently on his chest.
Then comes another fit of coughing. He hides his face and rides it out, then whimpers quietly.
“I hate being sick.”
“I know, bud. You’re on the mend.”
“Doesn’t feel like it,” Ford grumbles. Stan has to laugh. He can’t help it– it reminds him of when Ford was a kid. He was always such a baby when he was sick, back then; he acted like he was dying if so much as sniffled.
But he’s allowed to be a baby. He’s earned it.
“You’ll feel better if you get some sleep.”
Ford tenses slightly. “You’re probably right.”
“You don’t have to. But I’ll be here. Nothin’s gonna happen.”
After a moment, and a congested inhale, Ford whispers, “I know. I trust you.”
Stan is silent, at that.
“Lee?”
“Yeah, Six?”
Ford yawns, looking milliseconds away from sleep. He rubs a lazy fist against his eyes, clearing out any remnants of tears, then presses his face into Stan’s chest, sighing exhaustedly. He sniffles. “Luh’ you…”
Stan squeezes him tightly, just for a moment.
Ford trusts him. It’s all he can ask.
“Love you too.”