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The night sky above the Arctic Ocean is entirely cloudless tonight – an ebony blanket littered with little pearls of starlight and stretching on well beyond the prominently dark line of the far-away horizon.
Ford has gotten into the habit of lingering on the deck of the Stan O’ War II after he’s done with his research for the day and has decided to – albeit begrudgingly – hit the sack. Only, of course, at the insistence of his twin, but Ford has come to realise that there are numerous benefits to actually having a semi-regular sleep schedule.
And staring at the night sky – the one he’d travelled, for decades, all by his lonesome, or during rare times, with individuals whose faces he’d eventually come to forget – is just an added bonus to his newly acquired nightly routine.
Looking at the sky had terrified him not even that long ago. It’s nigh impossible to spend such a large chunk of your life terrified of those very stars and not carry at least a tiny remnant of fear within your heart, after all.
But now, he is able to see how calming looking at stars can be, especially when they’re shining so brightly above the sea, with only the company of those who reside underneath the waves and two old men with a buried dream finally brought out to flourish.
Ford sighs and closes his eyes. He’s gripping the railing with gloved fingers and his nose is red and hurts a little due to the stinging cold, but something about the iciness in the air is incredibly grounding, so he clings to that like a lifeline.
It’s easy to forget he’s tethered to the Earth now, sometimes.
But it’s getting better. Days and nights pass, and Ford remains on their little boat, remains grounded and alive. Remains by Stanley’s side.
Opening his eyes once again, he smiles as his breath materialises in the form of a little cloud in front of him.
Truly, during those times when he does forget he is no longer travelling from star to star, dimension to dimension, it is always Stanley who reminds him of that fact the best.
And not by loud declarations, or mountains of proof. Not even by the typically sarcastic or deadpan comments his twin is so prone to make.
No, Stanley has shown, time and time again, that he has a side to him that is more caring than he’d ever dare to admit. He’s always been this way, it isn’t his fault that Ford forgot one day.
But he remembers now. With every instance of Stan wordlessly gripping his arm or shoulder when his eyes get a faraway look. With every time Stan asks him if he’d like to video call the twins. With every moment of Stan gently saying You’re here, you’re safe, like it’s an irrevocable truth.
And it is. Ford has come to realise, in their months shared on the Stan O’ War, that nothing is truer than that.
Stan doesn’t need to show him proof that their reality is the truth. He doesn’t need to over-explain everything. And even though he could, he never rolls his eyes at Ford, or gets impatient when things turn difficult.
Ford shudders when a cold gust of wind blows through his hair.
Stan never judges Ford. He never has. If there is one regret that likes to crystallise itself more than some of the others, it’s that Ford made that mistake with Stan for far too long.
Never again, however, as he’s learned his lesson. Over and over. With each passing day, Ford learns that lesson anew, and while it comes with so many regrets, so much guilt and pain, it also comes with the reassurance that Stanley brought you back, and he’s forgiven you.
Something that Ford has come to learn – among many, many other things – about his twin, is that he has an uncanny talent of sneaking up on people. Or, more accurately put, at making it seem like he isn’t there at all.
Case and point would be the current situation. It’s a miracle Ford hasn’t noticed Stanley’s broad shoulders from the corner of his eye.
When he turns, he takes in the sight of his brother with a warm gaze.
He’s standing on the other end of the boat, resting his elbows on the railing and leaning forward slightly, his eyes entirely fixated on the horizon instead of the stars like Ford’s have been.
His signature red beanie looks almost burgundy in the darkness of the Arctic night and it’s hard to tell his expression from that far.
Ford wonders how long his brother has been standing there. If he’s been there all along, or if he quietly made his way around Ford and got lost in thought.
It must be the former, because Stan always stands beside him, even if they don’t end up talking. He is not one to seek solitude often, another thing Ford has come to learn about his brother in their shared months, but when he does, it’s not typically for good reasons.
Ford finds himself frowning a little at his own thoughts and turns a bit more towards Stan.
They have opened up about many things. Ford has told Stan about his fear of the skies, his worries of insignificance, his dreams and nightmares alike.
In turn, Stan has told Ford a fair share of things as well, although he tends to hold his anguish close to his heart, not for many to see.
Stan has always been more reserved than people may initially believe. Though, when they were children, he’d tell Ford his every thought, every worry, every glimpse of glee.
These days, it’s Ford who shares everything that is on his mind. Stan listens, he always does, but he rarely lets Ford in on some of those many, many thoughts that seem to continuously whirl around in his mind.
It seems that, after forty years apart, Ford has to earn that same trust again that had once been so easy between the two of them. He doesn’t mind, he simply bites down on the feeling of regret and carries on. It’s all there is left to do. After all, the past is the one thing he will never be able to change.
Ford has a lot of things he has to learn about his brother. Even more to make up for the almost half a century apart.
It’s not always easy, but Ford likes to stay optimistic. After all, they survived the end of the world together and came out at the end of it stronger than ever.
If Stan needs time, Ford will gladly provide just that. If he needs space, well, Ford will make due with what little they have on the Stan O’ War.
But Stan worries him, more days than he doesn’t. There is a newfound air of melancholy around his brother, though he sometimes hides it quite well. Ford has noticed that that happens especially often around the kids – his smiles are naturally bright and happy when he talks to them, but sometimes, it seems like there is an air of artificiality to it that rubs Ford the wrong way.
He has wondered for a while how to bring that up to Stan. He doesn’t want to cross any boundaries, but he’s also infinitely worried.
It’s no secret that Stan has lived a life that would tear down even the strongest of people. What’s worrisome is that despite all of the time they’ve now shared together, Stan has only opened up about those eleven years on the streets once.
Ford doesn’t want to pry. But the lack of knowledge of that time of Stan’s life – the lack of help or comfort Ford could willingly provide, finally, long overdue – does weigh heavily on his soul.
He keeps telling himself that Stan will come around, that he’ll seek out Ford in his own time.
But during moments like these, where there are mere metres between the two of them and yet it feels like they’re oceans apart, Ford wonders if he is doing the right thing. If waiting for Stan is the best thing to do, or if he should be the one reaching out.
Stan must have been here before Ford came out for his nightly breath of fresh air. He doesn’t remember seeing his brother in the cabin, after all.
But he’s either not aware that Ford’s here, or he’s deliberately going out of his way not to interact with him.
Ford tightens his hold on the railing, squinting at his brother in the dark.
The Stan he’s come to know is not at all like the brutish asshole he’d made him out to be in his own mind. Yet another thing he feels intense grief over.
In all those years, Ford had managed to conjure up a version of his brother in his head that simply doesn’t exist. That selfish, arrogant, deliberately cruel individual he’s made his brother out to be is a mere caricature of the selfless, kind and loving person Stan truly is.
Even if he doesn’t like to show it, Stan cares. He cares so much, about so many things and people, that it is sometimes overwhelming to witness.
Stan cares about ugly old man gold chains. He cares about overpriced souvenirs and ridiculous no refund policies. He cares about silly and cheesy TV shows. He cares about little details like how much sugar his niblings like in their teas, or what shapes they’d love their pancakes in. He cares about rather sophisticated books on philosophy that he swears he doesn’t own, and he cares about what kind of music he plays in his beloved car, because she’s got her own taste in music, alright?
More so, Stan cares about his family. He cares about Dipper and Mabel, cares about Soos and Wendy. He cares about his nephew and his family, cares about Shermie. He cares about Ma enough to visit her grave as often as he can. He even cares about Waddles and Gompers, although he fights tooth and nail to deny it.
And he cares about Ford. Enough to hold onto hope of reconciliation for a decade of Hell, enough to wake up every day with burning determination for another three.
Enough to risk the world to bring him back. Enough to sacrifice his own mind to save it in the inevitable aftermath.
Stan is a kinder man than people give him credit for. They see his boisterous and loud personality first. Click their tongue in distaste at his outlandish behaviour, his staged acts of vainness and indifference. They see him the way that Ford did for far too long.
Ford often wonders if those assumptions and judgements ever get to Stan. He never dares to ask. Perhaps he should.
Ford seeks out Stan’s counsel and comforting presence whenever things get difficult. At first, he’d tried to fight his demons off all by himself, but he soon realised how redundant that truly was, when there was no one who could calm him down the way that his twin was able to. So, whenever things get too much, or whenever something goes well, or sometimes for no particular reason at all, Ford goes to Stan.
Unfortunately, his brother does not do the same. And it pains Ford more than he lets on.
The one time that Stan opened up about his past on the streets was also the only time he ever deliberately sought out Ford’s presence to deal with his pain.
The words I had to chew my way out a trunk once rang oddly and painfully familiar in his mind, although he didn’t know why. All the same, Ford ended up holding his twin while he cried and gasped for breath. Stan fell asleep with his head on his shoulder, and Ford didn’t move until Stan woke up in the early morning, and after realising where he was, pushed himself off and walked away.
They didn’t talk about that night again. Ford tried to bring it up, but Stan immediately shot him down. Ford swallowed the hurt and the worry and poured all of the uncomfortable burning at the back of his throat into his research.
Which brings him back to the present.
Ford stares at his brother, who is off to the side and not by his, staring out at the horizon with what looks to be a deeply contemplative gaze, and it worries Ford.
Stan gets lost in his head quite a lot. Ford sometimes wishes he could simply venture into his Mindscape and find all of the answers himself.
He knows, however, that Stan would feel hurt at that. He’d forgive him, simply because of his oversized and kind heart, and carry on, but it would be another offence added to the long list of wrongs Ford has committed in regards to his twin.
Ford knows he makes mistakes, and will continue to, but some are worse than others. They are healing, they are learning to be by each other’s side once more, and he’d be damned if he’d let his overthinking get into the way of their relationship again.
Stan deserves much, much better than that. Ford would give him the world if he could.
Although he makes it abundantly clear, he’s still unsure whether or not Stan actually knows that he can come to Ford about anything. That whatever he’s got on his mind, it’s something Ford would love to be privy to.
Perhaps too many things have gone unsaid between the two of them. Their history together has shown time and time again how poorly they communicate at times.
Ford is done with that part of their past. He wants to be a better brother, one Stan can come to for anything, the same way Stan is to him.
Ford wants to be at least a fraction of the brother that Stan is to him.
They’ve wasted forty years, but they’ve been given a second chance. Ford will do his part in proving that that chance will never go to waste.
Wordlessly, he lets go of the railing and carefully makes his way over to Stan. The ground is a little slippery because of the freezing temperature, but he’s careful enough not to fall on his face.
As he approaches, Stan does not once turn towards him, or acknowledge his presence in any way.
If Ford was worried before, he’s even more so now.
He comes to a stop beside his brother. After taking a second to just look at him, wait for any sort of reaction, he turns and mirrors his brother’s position.
They don’t say anything for a while.
Ford’s mind is loud. He thinks of anything and everything, all related to Stan. He wonders why his brother seems so closed off. Wonders why Stan is so reluctant to let him in. Wonders if there is anything he can do to improve their trust. Wonders if he should wait for Stan to speak, or make the first move. While they may have stopped walking on eggshells, – the first few weeks after Weirdmageddon were a blur of pain, previously lost memories resurfaced, and decades worth of a drift between two once kindred souls – it’s still sometimes hard to tell where they stand with each other. Especially during moments like these.
But they have time. They have each other now. They will get there eventually, Ford is sure of it. While they may never recover the same bond they shared as kids, they can very well create something far, far greater than that.
He is spared a decision when Stan quietly speaks into the night, “Do you really care about me?”
Of all the things to say, that is not something he has been expecting. At all.
Ford goes entirely still, turning his head towards Stan and staring at him with wide eyes.
His brother remains in the same position, as if he never spoke at all, and his eyes do not give away even an ounce of his emotion.
Stan takes a deep breath and Ford begins holding his.
“Or did I finally prove my worth to you?”
Ford feels a little like the breath has been punched out of his lungs.
His eyes widen impossibly as he stares at his brother more intently, straightening up and gripping the railing almost painfully tightly.
He doesn’t even know if he can speak. He tries anyway, “What?”
Stan stands unmoving, not looking at him, the clouds formed by his breath serve as the only movement he makes.
A lot of thoughts are rushing through Ford’s head. They range from shock to worry to pain, but what all of them have in common is simple fear.
He doesn’t understand what Stan means. And it’s scaring him.
His brother stares off at the horizon, and his voice does not betray his emotions, either. “It’s a simple question, Sixer.”
But it isn’t. And it has seemingly emerged from nowhere, too.
Stan is entirely unreadable at the moment, and he’s saying things that Ford doesn’t understand. The fearful worry already festering in his heart seems to expand infinitely.
“I– I don’t–” Momentarily at a loss for words, Ford tries his best to express himself, “Stan, what do you mean?”
Stan shrugs. A tiny movement, but at least it’s something. “I’m askin’ if you actually care about me.”
The back of Ford’s throat begins to tighten and his stomach sinks.
There’s something terribly… resigned in Stan’s tone. He doesn’t like it one bit.
“What–” Ford all but chokes out, hoping his voice doesn’t fail him, “Of course I care about you, Stanley!”
Stan hums, but it doesn’t sound at all convinced. “Why?”
Why?
Ford blinks.
Because the sky is blue. Because the Earth rotates around the Sun. Because potassium and sodium will explode upon contact with water.
Because Ford cares about Stan.
It’s a simple law of nature. One that didn’t change, even when Ford pretended it did.
“What do you mean, why?” He inquires almost exasperatedly, “Because you’re my brother!”
Stan stays silent and Ford realises with an even starker sinking feeling that it doesn’t look like Stan is happy with his answer. He has no idea why.
“Stan?” Ford tries quietly, his eyes almost drilling holes into the side of his twin’s head.
Stan wrings his fingers together for a moment, before he sighs so heavily Ford worries the wonderful little world they’ve created for themselves is about to shatter.
His brother presses his lips together, then says, “It’s just…weird, I guess.”
Ford doesn’t like where this is going. At all. But he still tries to sound calm and collected when he replies, “What is?”
Stan subconsciously tilts his head a bit. “Just that…you care, all of a sudden.”
Ford wants to protest. Wants to reiterate the fact that he’s always cared, that that’s literally been the one constant in their time apart. No matter how he felt about Stan, or who he thought his brother to be, a part of him always. Cared.
He doesn’t get a chance to say any of this, not when Stan exhales and expresses with such resignation it tears his heart apart to hear, “Is it because of…what happened, in that pyramid thing?”
Ford doesn’t notice that his hands are shaking slightly. If he did, he’d chuck it up to the cold. “Stan, what–”
“It’s just weird,” his brother interrupts him, still not looking into his eyes, “You have no issue brushin’ me aside, cuttin’ me outta your life…but you want me to believe that you cared all along?”
A stone drops into the pit of Ford’s stomach.
This is…this isn’t good. Not at all.
What’s worse is that it seems like this is something that has been eating away at Stan for a while now. And not once has he said anything to Ford about it.
Not until now.
“Stanley.” Ford tries to sound steady, but even he can hear the prominent waver in his voice. “I care about you more than anything. I – you’re my twin! I know that I haven’t shown it, but I truly do. You have to believe me.” He hesitates, before adding quietly, “It might be hard to believe, but I’ve always cared about you, Stan. That didn’t change in our time apart. It will never change, in fact.”
Stan sucks in a breath and Ford fears he’s said something wrong, even if it is nothing but the truth.
“That so?”
Stan can at times be stubborn as a mule and he possesses the thickest possible skin. Even still, he tends to put in enough faith in his family to believe the words they say. At least, when it means the most.
That’s not the case now. Ford knows that Stan doesn’t believe a word he’s saying. It’s positively stabbing a sharp knife into his heart.
Before he can launch into a somewhat desperate attempt to make his brother believe him, Stan’s next words hit him like a blow to the stomach.
“It’s just interestin’ that you suddenly started to care about me, right after I stopped bein’ worthless.” Stan says, awfully detached, not an ounce of emotion in his tone. “Once I became a hero.”
Maybe Ford doesn’t know his brother at all. Maybe all the progress he thinks they’ve made has all been inside of his head.
He feels tears prick at him painfully, so he closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. He is gripping onto the railing for dear life, his shaking hands creating little rattling noises that get lost in the wind.
How long has…how long has Stan been feeling this way?
How long has he been thinking this?
Ford wants to tell him, in a million different ways, how ridiculous that statement is. How he couldn’t be more wrong about something.
But when he thinks about it, how it might have come off to Stan…he can’t help but feel himself shake harder at the fact that it makes sense.
Ford feels sick to his stomach. How has he never thought about how his sudden shift in attitude may have come off to Stan?
How has he never thought to tell Stan his actual reasons?
Stan – his brother, his twin, his other half – has been thinking that…that Ford–
So much has been broken between them. Ford has known this, of course he has, but in moments like these, it becomes unbearably clear.
He knows that Stan doesn’t trust him like he used to. It’s, however, an entirely different story to hear that Stan thinks him to be so…shallow.
He cannot blame his brother. At all. But that realisation still claws at him mercilessly.
After all, it’s not like Ford’s given him much of a different impression, has he now?
Words sometimes cut deeper than knives, Ford of all people should know this.
But that hasn’t stopped him before.
All the times he’s thought his brother useless or worthless. The times he’s dubbed him a screw-up, a leech, an idiot. All the times he’s given his brother nothing but heartache.
Stan had always protected him from his bullies. In the end, he turned into Stan’s.
Ford lets a silent tear fall from his eye. He doesn’t mind the cold sensation that brings upon his skin, doesn’t even really feel it.
He thinks that if he lets the railing go, he’s going to float away. He’s going to get lost among the stars again because there is nothing holding him firmly tied to the Earth.
Ford takes a deep breath. He has to fix this. No matter the cost. No matter how much time will pass.
Stan has every right to know.
Ford, even when he tries to be vulnerable, still often struggles to be fully that.
None of it matters now. Stan needs to know everything. And Ford is determined to let him know.
“I used to think you were selfish.”
Stan perks up at that, Ford can feel it, but he keeps his eyes closed and focuses entirely on his breathing.
“I thought you were selfish when you clung to me when we were adolescents. I thought you to be even more selfish when you broke my project and ruined my chances at going to West Coast Tech.”
He can hear Stan wince, but Ford cannot stop now. If he does, he may never find the courage to speak this freely from his heart again. They’ve talked about these things before, and they will continue to. But right now, he needs to be as honest as he can be. Otherwise, Stan will never believe him.
“I thought you were selfish when you refused to sail away with the journal.” He swallows, bracing himself. “And I thought you the most selfish when you brought me back to this dimension, despite all the warnings that I left behind.”
Stan remains silent, but Ford just knows that his brother is hurting. Ford will fix this. He just has to get all of this out now.
They’ve talked about these events before, even extensively so, but none of those times have felt quite so…crucial. Like, if he messes up, something will break between them that Ford will never be able to fix again.
Ford takes a deep breath. “I’ve thought you to be selfish for living in my house, for taking my name, and for trying to keep the kids away from me.”
He pauses, letting the words settle between them. Neither moves.
Ford shudders and opens his eyes, staring at the same horizon Stan seems so enthralled by.
He lets out a small, mirthless laugh, before he whispers brokenly, “I couldn’t have been more wrong.”
Stan shifts, but Ford doesn’t notice. He’s lost entirely in his own memories now.
“All this time, I thought you were selfish. I made you out to be this – this awful person, someone who’s entirely made up of an exaggeration of their every flaw.”
Another tear runs down his cheek. Ford never lets himself cry, the first time he did in years was when he clung to Stan like he could bring his brother back to them that fateful day. The day he thought he had lost his brother for good.
Perhaps he’s crying now because some part of this invokes the same sense of loss within him.
He takes another deep breath. “I spent years thinking that the version of you in my mind was real. That there was no distinction between you and him, because you are him, and he is you.”
Ford can see Stan lower his head from the corner of his eye, but he doesn’t even truly register it. He’s too caught up in awful memories. “And the worst part?” He laughs a little again, devoid of any actual joy. “I continued to think that. Even after we reunited.”
The temperature must be dropping. Ford doesn’t feel it. “I continued to think you were selfish, that you wanted to ruin my and everyone else’s life.”
This time, he does register Stan turning his head away entirely. As much as he wants to reach out to him, he will lose his nerve if he does so now. He cannot stomach to see the heartbreak in Stan’s eyes. Not now.
And here he thought Stan was the selfish one between the two of them.
“It’s actually…tragic…that it took me losing you for me to finally see sense.”
Empty eyes. Not a spark behind them. Not a ray of light. The world ended that day, after all.
Ford chuckles, but it morphs into a choked sob halfway through. “All this time, I thought you were selfish. I was too blind to see that it was me who carried that trait so prominently.”
Stan turns his head towards him sharply, but Ford continues before he can interject, “I was selfish when I just expected you to be fine with me leaving you behind. I was selfish when I didn’t give you a chance to properly explain yourself after we had cooled down following the argument about the broken project.” Ford swallows thickly. “I was selfish when I told myself you’re just fine in that decade we didn’t see each other. And I was selfish when I expected you to just come to my beck and call when I needed you again.”
Stan seems to want to say something, but Ford doesn’t give him a chance. “I was selfish to expect you to just uproot your life when I came back. And I was selfish to expect you to just leave me to die on the other side of the portal.”
Stan places a gloved hand over his, and Ford almost laughs. Leave it to Stan to be the one to provide comfort, when it should be the other way around.
“I’ve been nothing but selfish all of my life, Stan. Because I never once thought about how my actions would impact you, Ma or Pa, Shermie, Fiddleford…”
“Ford–”
Stan sounds choked up. Ford wishes he wasn’t the cause of his brother’s pain all the time.
“And you’ve been nothing but selfless. You still came when I called you, even though you had every right to hate me. You still spent thirty years trying to get me back. You still–” Ford’s voice breaks. “You still sacrificed yourself in the end to make up for my mistakes.”
The hand on his tightens. “Ford, that was not your fault–”
“I made you out to be this terrible, terrible person,” Ford whispers, not trusting himself to speak any louder, “And I only realised that all of that was bullshit when you were gone.”
Stan seems to be caught off guard by the use of the swear word. Ford continues, voice distant, reliving those moments as if they happened yesterday, “Your selflessness was commendable. You are a hero, Stanley, that is not up for debate.”
Ford bites his lip, finally turning his head to look at his brother. “But what made me snap out of it was the fact that you were gone. I had all this time to get to know you, all of these opportunities to learn about the person you’ve become…and I wasted them all. Just like I did after you were kicked out.”
Stan stares at him, seemingly at a loss for words. Ford pushes on, “In that moment…when I was confronted with my family dying or the world ending…I finally understood you.” He feels his heart bleed a little. “Because I would have made that deal with Bill. I would have told him the way out a million times over. Because giving up the world didn’t matter if I was granted another chance with my family.” He shivers. “With you.”
“How could I have ever judged you for bringing me back, when I finally understood exactly why you did it?”
Stan’s eyes are shining with unshed tears. Another wave of tears falls from Ford’s. “Those couple of minutes, when we switched clothes and you made the deal and I – I shot you–” Ford’s lip trembles, “Were more than enough to make those forty years apart seem…unbearable. And wasted.”
“I wasted almost half a century being mad at you, and it took you being gone for me to realise that none of those grudges ever mattered. It doesn’t matter that you broke my project, or that I ended up falling through the portal, or that the interdimensional rift formed upon my return.” Ford stares at Stan pleadingly. “Not when I – I lost you, in the end.”
“Sixer…” Stan’s voice is quiet and comforting and so loving, Ford feels like he’ll fall apart.
Empty, empty eyes. That is not your brother. That is no one at all.
“It’s easy to forget that…our lives aren’t a guarantee. I, of all people, should know that.” Decades spent running, spent hiding, spent surviving does wonders to put things into perspective. Just apparently not when it counts. “I lost you, and I could do nothing but think about just how much I cared about you.” Ford turns his hand over and intertwines their fingers. “And that I’ve cared about you all this time. And never realised, not until it was too late to do so.”
Ford manages to give Stan a watery smile. “You don’t need to prove your worth to me, Stan. Because you’ve always been worthwhile.” His lip quivers. “You were the only one to ever stick up for me, to stand by my side, even when I was pushing you away. You are worth more than anything, and I’m sorry that I was too blind to recognise that.”
He squeezes his hand tightly. “Of course, you’re a hero. But you’re my brother first.”
A stray tear forms in Stan’s eye. Ford doesn’t get to see it fall before he’s engulfed in his brother’s warm embrace.
“You’re an idiot, Sixer.” Stan mumbles into his shoulder and Ford wraps his arms around him, holding him tight.
“You – I – I’m sorry,” Stan continues, “I didn’t think – I didn’t want you to–”
“I needed to tell you that.” Ford states with an undertone of firmness and holds onto Stan tighter, “Don’t you dare apologise for giving me an initiative to finally do so.”
He more so feels than hears his brother chuckle. “Alright, alright.” He pauses, then grumbles, “Sap.”
Ford can only smile brightly into his brother’s shoulder.
There is still a lot of trust that needs to be rebuilt, a lot of gaps to be filled about each other’s lives.
But Ford’s chest feels lighter than it ever has. He holds Stan even tighter and feels his brother do the same, and all he can think about is that they’ll figure it out.
“I care about you, Stan. I really do.”
Stan hesitates, then sighs. “I know.”
Ford smiles into his shoulder.
After all, wherever they go, they go together.