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"WHO IS IT? HAVE YOU COME TO STEAL MY EYES?!"
Stan looks surprised, then his face falls. He waves.
"... Stanley? Is that you?" Ford grabs him and shines a light in his eyes.
Stan winces and tries to shove Ford off of him.
"Apologies, I just had to make sure you weren't... nevermind. Come in, come in."
Stan follows Ford into the shack, looking around judgementally as Ford paces.
"Did anyone follow you? Anyone at all?"
Bemused, Stan shakes his head.
"Good, good. I appreciate you coming so quickly. There's not much time. I've made huge mistakes, and I don't know who I can trust anymore." He turns the head of a skeleton to look away. Stan raises an eyebrow, perturbed.
Stan steps forward to place a hand on Ford's shoulder, and his jaw works as he wants to say something... but even now, the words stay caught in his throat. Instead he just squeezes in what he hopes is a reassuring manner.
Ford sighs. "Right, I... I should explain myself. Follow me. What I'm about to show you is... something you can't even imagine."
Stan nods and gestures for Ford to lead on.
They make their way downstairs. Ford is too caught up in his own head to notice how silent Stan is being.
When they get to the portal, Stan is actually speechless. Ford takes this as his sign to begin a monologue.
You and I both know how this next part goes, so I'll do you a favor and skip to the good part. The part where Ford tells him to sail away.
Stan's face falls, then turns angry. He wants to shout, to scream, but he still can't seem to get even a frustrated grunt past his lips. Instead, he just shoves the journal back at Ford.
"What the- Stanley! Be reasonable! All I'm asking for is one single favor! I haven't asked you for anything in over ten years, the least you can do for me is make sure the world doesn't come to ruin!"
Stan just shakes his head. In his fury, a single syllable forces its way out of him.
"You-!"
And just like that, his jaw clamps down again. His hand finds its way to cover his mouth. He can't do it. No matter how angry and hurt he is, he's still too terrified. Too broken.
Ford doesn't catch Stan's inner turmoil. "I what? Go on then! What's the first thing you have to say to me in over a decade? After everything you did, after you ruined my life, what could you possibly have left to say to me?"
Stan has so much to say. Too much. So much that he can't even make his voice work, just like he hasn't in over a year. It hurts too much.
Ford waits, and when Stan doesn't say anything, scoffs bitterly. "Right. Of course not. That's what I thought. More the fool I was for thinking I still had one person left in the world I could trust."
Stan stops at that. It hurts more than words can say.
Ford turns back, a new pleading look in his eye. "If you truly won't help me, I... Stanley, I don't have any idea what I'll do. We have our resentments, but this is bigger than that. Bigger than either of us. This could destroy reality as we know it. I don't expect you to understand it, but I at least want you to..."
Ford sighs again, rubbing his eyes furiously. He looks so tired. "Of course, I shouldn't have bothered. None of this means anything to you, does it? It never has. You only ever saw me as your ticket to success. That's why you still have nothing to say to me." His voice grows hardened, resentful. "You've always been a coward and a liar. I can't believe I was so desperate as to reach out to you. No matter how dire the circumstances, I should've known I could never trust-"
Stan's fist connects with Ford's jaw. He folds like a house of cards. He struggles upright, surprised at Stan's seething expression.
Stan breathes heavily. He's shaking. His jaw works, but he still can't make himself speak. Ford waits for him to say something, anything.
Stan opens his mouth to speak, and he almost manages- an odd, squeaky, hoarse noise comes out of his throat. But that's all. So he just turns around and walks away.
Ford watches him go, heart sinking into his stomach. He looks at the journal in his hands and wonders what he's going to do now.
"Wait-"
Stan stops dead. He didn't expect that. He turns back.
Ford doesn't know how to ask this, but he has to. "... If you're leaving, just- at least take this with you." He holds out the journal. "I can't keep it. I- I can't be trusted with it. It's not safe here, not with me, not with anyone else."
Stan actually considers it now. Ford seems so terrified and desperate. But is this really all Stan is good for?
Ford swallows his pride just a little more. "... Please?"
Stan is shocked. Neither of them ever say please. Pa always said that was for sissies- real men take what they want. And yet, here they are, and Ford is asking.
It hurts to know this is all Stan means to him, but he can't find it in himself to say no.
Stan takes the journal.
Ford heaves a sigh of relief so potent he nearly topples over. "Thank you."
Stan just nods. He doesn't know if he feels like leaving now, though. Ford seems fragile. It worries him.
Ford doesn't catch it. "... Well. I suppose that's it then. You're... free to go."
Stan just keeps staring at him. He looks awful. It's much harder to leave now that the anger has faded a bit.
"... What?"
Stan isn't sure what. He gestures with one hand at Ford.
Ford just blinks. Utterly bemused. "I... um..."
Stan rolls his eyes and repeats the gesture more emphatically.
"... I don't... what are you doing?"
Stan sighs and looks around. Luckily, he spies what he needs on a nearby desk. Ford watches, dumbstruck, as Stan retrieves a pen and notepad. Then when Stan is finished scribbling, the note is shoved in his face.
You gonna be okay?
"... I... Stanley, what's going on?"
Stan shakes the note.
"Yes, I read it, I just- why are you- I don't understand-" Ford's breath catches. His eyes go wide and he lowers his voice. "Are we being listened to?"
Stan's shoulders slump. He shakes his head and writes something else.
Pretty sure I wasn't followed.
"Then- then what? Why are you..." It's Ford's turn to gesture vaguely at his twin. "This?"
Ouch. Ford probably didn't mean it that way, but still.
Stan chews on the inside of his cheek. He doesn't want to reveal how broken he is now, but Ford just isn't getting it. He can't bring himself to look at Ford when he hands over the next note.
Can't talk.
Ford stares at the message. It doesn't compute. "... I don't..." He tries to meet Stan's eyes. His gaze is avoided. "Why not?"
Stan hesitates before writing again.
Just can't.
"No, clearly you can. Or at least to a degree." Ford's eyes flicker over Stan's body. "Your mouth and layrnx still seem functional... No one is listening to us... Are you cursed somehow?"
Stan almost laughs, except it's been even longer since he did that than it has since he's spoken.
Something like that.
Ford's brow furrows. "That isn't an answer. Why can't you speak?"
Stan underlines his earlier message. Just can't.
"No, you can," Ford insists. "You always could for as long as I can remember. It was harder to get you to shut up sometimes. Why have you decided to stop now? Is this a recent development?"
Stan really wants to walk away now. But he knows Ford will just follow him. Not that recent. Didn't decide. Just can't. He underlines the last word several times.
Ford looks even more frustrated when he reads that. "If if isn't voluntary, how is it that you're still capable of speech, in the mechanical sense? Is it... neurological somehow? What was it that F mentioned..." He rubs his eyes again, even rougher than before. Before Stan can write anything else, he snaps his fingers. "Expressive aphasia! It can be caused by a traumatic brain injury. You appear otherwise unaffected though. Have you experienced any extreme head trauma?"
Stan shakes his head incredulously. Well, he's been clobbered a few times, but he always ended up fine afterwards. No stupider than he was before.
"Are you sure? Because I can't think of anything else that would..." Ford slowly starts to piece something together. He looks cautiously at Stan. "Except..."
Stan shifts uncomfortably. He shrugs, as if to say, What?
Ford just stares at him, as if seeing him for the first time. He swallows. "It's just that... the only other cause I can think of is psychological trauma."
Stan snorts. He can't help it. He shrugs in a, well, what can you do? gesture.
Ford looks horrified, the drama queen. "... Really?"
Stan rolls his eyes, then gestures to himself. I mean, look at me. Then he gestures at Ford. You don't look too good yourself.
"I- no, I'm fine," Ford defends in a very-not-fine tone of voice. "And you- you're supposed to be... that doesn't make sense. None if this makes sense..." He rubs at his face almost violently, skewing his glasses. "Stupid brain, just work for a minute here..."
On instinct, Stan steps forward to take his hands and stop him. Ford flinches back. They stare at each other for a moment.
Stan raises an eyebrow. Fine, huh?
Ford sighs. "That... it's been some time since I've slept and I'm a little jumpy. Like I said, I've made... terrible mistakes." He shudders.
Stan looks at him with new understanding. He crosses his arms and gestures for Ford to continue.
He frowns darkly. "There is a being of unimaginable power that seeks to use me to bring about the end of the world."
Stan doesn't even blink. Just waits for him to keep talking.
He does. "He takes over my body when I sleep. I've been able to hold him off so far, but only barely. If he gets his hands on my journals, is able to activate the portal..." He puts his hands on Stan's shoulders. "Stanley, it would be the end of the world."
Stan raises an eyebrow. Another note: He?
"Bi-" and this time it's Ford who clams up. He shakes his head. "It- it's not safe to invoke his name. What's important is that he is an entity with infinite knowledge and access to my mind and body at any time." His eyes are wide, afraid. "I was a fool to ever trust him."
Stan softens. He understands that, at least. He writes: You got conned.
Ford considers that and nods gravely. "I suppose I did." Uncharacteristic shame colors him. "Hook, line, and sinker, as it were."
Stan studies him for a moment. Then, determined, he writes: He gonna hurt you?
Ford is stunned at that, a little vulnerable. "That- that's not important."
Stan shakes his head emphatically. Points at the note.
"Probably, yes, but again, that's not-"
Stan lifts a hand to stop him. Miraculously, he does. Stan thinks for a second, then writes: Not leaving.
Ford's face falls. "What? No, you can't stay here, I just told you-"
While Ford was speaking, Stan finished another note, and he shoves it in Ford's face.
You're my brother. And below it, pressed so hard into the paper it almost tears, Not leaving you.
Ford can only stare at the words. "But..."
Stan cuts him off with another wave of his hand. This time he writes for much longer. Ford waits.
You look half dead. Don't wanna lose you. Don't care if you don't wanna see me. You. Need. Help.
Ford can't think of anything to say to that. For once, all he can think is that maybe Stan is right.
So, eventually, tentatively, shakily, he nods. "Okay," he croaks. "Okay. What do we do?"
Stan offers a smile. Then he wrinkles his nose. Shower first. You stink.
Ford mirrors him. "Well, you don't exactly smell pleasant either."
Tooshay. Upstairs?
"Not how it's spelled," Ford mutters. Still, he considers the words for a moment. Looks back. Looks at the journal in Stan's hands, then behind him at the elevator.
"... Alright."