Stanley Pines (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
charlastan) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
entrancelogs2016-03-07 10:31 pm
charlastan) wrote in entrancelogs2016-03-07 10:31 pm
If you need me, I can always be found | CLOSED
Who: Stanley Pines [charlastan] and Stanford Pines [mviw]
Where: Stan's Room (Third Floor, room 17)
When: late on 3/7 - after the event ends, but before Ford's canon update.
Rating: PG
Summary: Ford shrinks back to normal size and regains his memories and he really, really needs someone right now.
The Story:
[It's been a long weekend, and it's shaping up to be a long week. Maybe even a long month or year or however long they wind up stuck in Wonderland.
Those stupid stars fell a week ago now, meaning that this event's already lasted a lot longer than all of the others Stan has been here for. He figures Ford will stop being a giant sooner or later - even if the other effects wind up being more permanent, it would probably be more inconvenient to Wonderland if it kept him that size forever. That still leaves the memories though (or lack there of), and Stan knows that's something Wonderland can do to people even without an event.
It hurts more than anything, but...he has to prepare for the fact that his brother might not be coming back mentally for a while.
He might not be coming back at all if they stay in Wonderland much longer.
Stan isn't one to wallow around. It stings, but he's a man of action, which is why he's up late at his poker table in his underwear with his nose in the photocopied version of Journal Three. He's got scrap paper out and he tried to sketch out the dimensions of a hypothetically enlarged version of the portal earlier (one big enough to bring Ford through if he stayed a giant). The math was all right but Stan's scribbled it out. It's not feasible. He wouldn't be able to build it in secret, and he doesn't have the tools to build it at all unless he wants to shell out a memory of his own for a crane. That, and if all Ford's warning's are right, it'd probably be at least three times as dangerous at that size. He talks to himself as he goes, because that's how he's worked ever since he got kicked out as a kid.]
Alright, so that's out. Just gonna have to hope he shrinks down again, and he's definitely gonna. So...
[Stan looks down at the journal. The one-third of a blueprint. Sure, he got the portal mostly working with just the first one, but that was different. At least then he'd had the portal. He didn't have to build the stupid thing from scratch with only one-third of a blueprint; he just had to get it working. He sighs, sinking to rest his elbows on the table and tangle his fingers in his hair.]
Who am I kiddin'? I'm not gonna be able to do this with just one of these dumb journals. I can't do this by myself!
[He sits like that for a beat, and then drags his hands down his face.]
Ugh. I've gotta. Not doin' it ain't an option. I've gotta figure it out.
[Looking at it more is going to drive him crazy though. He glances around the room for some kind of busywork to do or distraction. The shoddy umbrella Rick made him is propped up in a corner and the thought barely crosses Stan's mind when he hears a knock on the door. He startles, but he doesn't immediately jump up. Instead he waits, to see if whoever it was does it again. He watches the door, wondering out of instinct if he should have a bat in hand.]
charlastan] and Stanford Pines [mviw]Where: Stan's Room (Third Floor, room 17)
When: late on 3/7 - after the event ends, but before Ford's canon update.
Rating: PG
Summary: Ford shrinks back to normal size and regains his memories and he really, really needs someone right now.
The Story:
[It's been a long weekend, and it's shaping up to be a long week. Maybe even a long month or year or however long they wind up stuck in Wonderland.
Those stupid stars fell a week ago now, meaning that this event's already lasted a lot longer than all of the others Stan has been here for. He figures Ford will stop being a giant sooner or later - even if the other effects wind up being more permanent, it would probably be more inconvenient to Wonderland if it kept him that size forever. That still leaves the memories though (or lack there of), and Stan knows that's something Wonderland can do to people even without an event.
It hurts more than anything, but...he has to prepare for the fact that his brother might not be coming back mentally for a while.
He might not be coming back at all if they stay in Wonderland much longer.
Stan isn't one to wallow around. It stings, but he's a man of action, which is why he's up late at his poker table in his underwear with his nose in the photocopied version of Journal Three. He's got scrap paper out and he tried to sketch out the dimensions of a hypothetically enlarged version of the portal earlier (one big enough to bring Ford through if he stayed a giant). The math was all right but Stan's scribbled it out. It's not feasible. He wouldn't be able to build it in secret, and he doesn't have the tools to build it at all unless he wants to shell out a memory of his own for a crane. That, and if all Ford's warning's are right, it'd probably be at least three times as dangerous at that size. He talks to himself as he goes, because that's how he's worked ever since he got kicked out as a kid.]
Alright, so that's out. Just gonna have to hope he shrinks down again, and he's definitely gonna. So...
[Stan looks down at the journal. The one-third of a blueprint. Sure, he got the portal mostly working with just the first one, but that was different. At least then he'd had the portal. He didn't have to build the stupid thing from scratch with only one-third of a blueprint; he just had to get it working. He sighs, sinking to rest his elbows on the table and tangle his fingers in his hair.]
Who am I kiddin'? I'm not gonna be able to do this with just one of these dumb journals. I can't do this by myself!
[He sits like that for a beat, and then drags his hands down his face.]
Ugh. I've gotta. Not doin' it ain't an option. I've gotta figure it out.
[Looking at it more is going to drive him crazy though. He glances around the room for some kind of busywork to do or distraction. The shoddy umbrella Rick made him is propped up in a corner and the thought barely crosses Stan's mind when he hears a knock on the door. He startles, but he doesn't immediately jump up. Instead he waits, to see if whoever it was does it again. He watches the door, wondering out of instinct if he should have a bat in hand.]
1/2
He stares at his open window. Lee has gone, presumably to do whatever it is owls do at night in Wonderland. Do they hunt? Ford feeds him, so he's not sure--
--Stop avoiding it.
--He's not sure if it really matters what Lee is doing out there--
You can't ignore this forever.
He can try.
His memories were taken from him. Being a giant was nothing of real consequence, and he'd be inclined to write about the experience if not for the crushing realization that everything--everything--had been taken from him. Ford's entire mind was wiped out, a mostly-blank slate of blissful ignorance. Before, he was able to dismiss the possibility of a real mental invasion because of the plate in his head. Now, he's shocked into reality.
Ford's shoulders feel tight. Actually, no. Everything feels wound up and tense.
You are such a fool.
He feels trapped, and he runs his fingers through his hair, then pulls at it with his hands balled into fists. Like maybe he could pull himself out of his skin and never, ever feel so weak, so stupid, so vulnerable, ever again.
You're lucky he's not here. You know what he'd do.]
Only if I let him.
[It's a soft immediate response spoken to the darkness and whatever's behind that covered mirror, if anything.
He'd still try. What about this "Queen"? Whoever she is, she has power.
Ford seizes the communication device and throws it across the room in a fit of defensive anger.
You got them all killed because you had to go exploring that forest like a bonehead. Like an idiot. How are you going to fix this? Think. Think. How will you get them home?
How will he get them home if there's no home anymore? How will he if there's nothing in his head? What will happen to them?
He rolls up to his feet from his couch and paces across his room.
He runs the mathematics through his head. The raw materials they'll need. He runs the numbers again. Sits at his desk. Scribbles out equation after equation and crosses each one out, crumpling up the paper when every corner has been used. When he reaches for a third sheet, he realizes that something terrible and unlikely has happened, and his hand begins to shake.
He can't focus. The fear has seeped through him thoroughly--or maybe bubbled up from the depths where he thought he'd left it. Or both.
It doesn't matter. He has to do something, anything. He is caught between being proactive and overthinking everything. In his fear, he's pacing like a caged beast.
THINK. What do you have?
What does he have if not for his work?
What do you have if not for your family? Ford scatters his papers and they flutter to the ground like large, ungainly leaves. He paces again and his mind fixates on his brother, his nephew and niece, even Soos. The rough outline of Stan is most vivid though; an image of Stanley looking up at him in the wee hours of the morning outside, the two of them lit up by fallen stars. Had Ford even been normal sized at that point in time, Stan still would have looked... small.
What else would you look like when your own twin forgets you? You can rewrite the journals. You can't rewrite them.
Ford leans over his desk, propped up by his chair. He feels like he might be sick. The thought of having his mind invaded and erased, then put back like a living toy... And he just sat there like a child, not understanding the look in his own twin's eyes when he couldn't remember anything... There was honesty in that pain. It wasn't a lie. It was cold and harsh. There wasn't a flash of gold and a single eye with a smile--no, there was just Stanley, Stanley Pines looking up at a shell that looked like his brother like he'd lost him.
... Because he had. There was nothing fake about that. It was real, it was... he...
He didn't bring you back for a scheme, did he? He didn't do it to prove something. He did it for YOU. What if Stan forgot Ford? What if they reversed it? What if-- What if he couldn't speak to Stanley again because--
A chill hollows out Ford's middle and settles there instead. He has to do something, he has to-- He has to talk to Stan. He has to do something.
Does Stanley even know he's back to normal? Did you even think to tell him?
Ford hurries from his room, still fully dressed but extremely disheveled.]
2/2
As soon as he'd shrunk back to normal size and regained his memories, Ford's first thought was solitude. Not his family. Not his... friends... ? No one but himself.
All he can think of is getting to Stan's room and finding him and making sure he's alright, and telling him he remembers, he didn't mean to forget, please remember him too--
It's all excuses an adult tells himself when he's visiting his twin at some odd hour of the night because he's cold, alone, and scared. They aren't excuses a kid would make, maybe, and they may not even be voiced, but as he knocks on Stan's door he doesn't think about how similar this is to leaning over the edge of his bunk to see if his brother was awake on a school night after a bad dream. Ford's mind is fixed on one goal. The rest is fluff; not irrelevant, but not efficient. He has to be strong, he has to--]
... Stanley? It's-- It's Ford.
You there, Knucklehead?
[He doesn't even know what he intends to do now that he's here.]
Re: 2/2
Normally when someone visits Stan when he's in the middle of something (and it doesn't happen often - usually it's the kids or Soos) he shoves all his work into a safe in the wall, hidden by a sailboat portrait. This time though he doesn't think first; he barely even breathes. He just pushes himself upright and flies for the door, leaving his work behind him.
There are still doubts. Maybe someone taught him that insult in the last couple days or maybe he just took a wild guess, or maybe any number of things, but Stan flings open the door anyway. He's never let doubts stop him before and he's not about to now.
He stares and...wow, Ford's a mess. But it's Ford and there's no mistaking it.
Stan's mostly shocked - just a minute ago he was planning as though Ford would never remember him again. There's also relief there, and equal amounts of worry. Ford looks like a wreck and Stan knows exactly why.]
...You remember?
[It's not really a question, but it slips out anyway. As if somehow, if Stan doesn't say it out loud, it won't really be true.]
no subject
He just asks if Ford remembers.
Well. He does. So he nods.]
Everything.
[Another silence falls. Ford fidgets, then steps forward and hauls Stan into a very tight, impulsive hug.
Maybe Mabel's rubbing off on him...
He doesn't let go.]
no subject
This is the part where Stan would expect things to turn sour. Ford had been too nice and gentle without his memories. With them back he has all the bad blood between them, all the mistakes Stan's made, and (most recently) the fact that Stan punched him in the face a few days ago. The last thing Stan's expecting right now is a hug.
But that's what happens. He gets a hug.
Stan's chest feels tight, and not from Ford's grip. He doesn't understand why this is what's happening, but he doesn't resist it either. Only a beat passes before Stan throws his arms around Ford too, hugging him just as tight. He doesn't let go either - he'll ride out this hug as long as Ford wants it to last.
It takes him a moment to come up with what to say, but in the end it's the simplest sentiment that wins out.]
Heh. ...Welcome back.
[Welcome back, as though he left and returned, and Stan missed him so much while he was gone. He always does.]
no subject
And that's just what it is. It's the first with his twin in over forty years. It is definitely a hug that's happening and it's not involving any schemes, the stealing of his wallet, or a knife in the back.
That's because Stan wouldn't put one there, you idiot.
Ford pulls away at last. The withdrawal is reluctant. He feels less unsteady... and actually... much more calm, and less afraid.
If only he could figure out what to say.]
... You're up pretty late. The kids'll get worried if you're not getting any sleep.
[I'll be worried, he means. It's a classic Pines dodge.]
I just... wanted to let you know that my memory is back. [At ass o'clock in the morning.] Because... That's important.
[
Stanford Filbrick Pines, are you stalling for time as an excuse to stand there and talk at your brother?He's standing there stalling for time, not wanting to admit to himself that he'd like to come in and sit with his brother.]
no subject
He has no idea what to expect from there. There's an awkward beat where neither of them say anything. Stan knows that dodge though, and he shrugs before throwing a dodge of his own, as casual about it as he can be.]
Eh. They'll be fine. It's not anythin' new.
[Meaning it shouldn't be anything new for the person who's actually worrying either - it's something that tends to go unnoticed when Stan's prone to napping during the day. And honestly, that works for him. It means no one questions what he gets up to at night. He watches Ford though, like he expects him to have some other reason to want to be here. It is ass o'clock in the morning, after all.
But...it is important. It's important to him and even more important to Ford. So, he nods a little.]
...Yeah? Good. It's 'bout time it came back.
[Another dodge, but one that doesn't work as well. He's obviously been sick with worry about it and pushing himself along, forcing himself to keep going. There's relief now, but he doesn't know what to say. He just doesn't want Ford to go just yet.]
You, uh-- [A pause, like he's not sure if Ford will even want to.] ...You wanna come in?
no subject
Sure. If I'm not too nerdy to join the wild party in there. [... It hits Ford like a sack of down (which can actually be rather heavy) that this is the way they used to talk. There's always the dodges to keep up their manly pride, and the banter and... invitations to do things.
How long has it been? Close to fifty years when Ford gave up on asking Stan to join chess club with him?
...That long, huh?]
no subject
Nah. I can prolly let it slide tonight.
[He nudges Ford a little, the way he always used to, and then steps aside to let him in. The room itself should be familiar - it isn't an exact copy, but it's clearly based on his living room back in the Shack. There's an old worn out armchair in front of an old TV, weird taxidermy things here and there, and even a sailboat painting on the wall. There's no bed immediately visible, but Stan's connected a bedroom off to the side, just out of sight. There's also a poker table near the front door (just like if someone were entering the Shack's living room from the gift shop) and the photocopy of the third journal is open on it in its sad red binder, along with a number of scrap papers. They all have notes and plans and equations on them, in Stan's handwriting.
They've been scribbled out, but his work is still visible underneath - there's a sketch of Ford when he was a giant and an estimation of his height and widest width, next to the basic shape of the portal. Ford's width gives him the diameter of the circle part, and there are some hastily scribbled equations from there to figure out how long the sides would need to be, and how tall this hypothetical enlarged portal would have to be in general. In other words, Stan actually sat there and tried to figure out exactly how big the portal would have to be to fit Ford through it, if he got stuck at that size.
The real shock is that all of the math is right, even though it's well beyond the level of math Stan ever reached in high school - especially considering how hard he struggled at the time.
Stan doesn't seem to be thinking about it at all though. Instead, he heads for the closet.]
You want a drink or anythin'?
[Given what a mess Ford looks like (and the fact that losing his memories like that is probably one of the worst things that could happen to Ford), Stan figures this visit might go better with just a little bit of liquor.]
no subject
Is that math?
He's distracted by the numbers and he picks up the papers. Though he's having trouble focusing on his own work tonight, his mind is still trying to latch onto anything familiar and methodical. Numbers and their practical applications are things he knows very well, and they're usually not laying around someone's room unless they use math for a living.]
... Huh? Oh, uh... Sure. I'll have that whiskey I had at the bar.
[Ford's still looking through the scribbles at the numbers. It's obvious what Stan was trying to do. Ford cracks a smile at the sheer stubbornness showing through the equations and measurements. Most of all, he's overcome with awe that his brother can actually do this kind of math. He knows Stan isn't stupid, it's just... he'd always struggled in school. Learning this level of math and going to the effort to run through all the variables takes work.]
... Stan. You didn't tell me you could do this... [He's... impressed. He holds up the papers.] No portal would be strong enough to get me through at that size anyway, you Knucklehead, but I don't care about that. You did everything and it's-- it's all correct.
no subject
No, it doesn't register until he's heading back over and Ford's holding up the papers and looking...surprised, but in a good sort of way? After all this time, Stan doesn't know how to react, and he stares for a second. But then he rolls his eyes and tries to just blow it off, dry and sarcastic as always.]
Wow, must've been a real shock for you. Y'know, most people don't open up conversations with math, Poindexter.
[It's both a small dig at him and an explanation for why he hadn't been told of these new found math abilities. Stan shrugs, and then sets the glasses down, pouring them both out a drink while he talks.]
'Sides, it's not like it matters. I already know it's not gonna work; that's why I scrapped the thing. A bunch of math that wasn't even gonna work out ain't really somethin' to get all excited about.
[As far as Stan's concerned, it's not impressive unless it actually amounts to something, and none of his shoddy calculations have gotten him anywhere useful in Wonderland yet.]
"must've been a real shock for you" 8)
The one thing that's running through his mind consistently is that his brother can do advanced geometry and algebra, and that Ford has been underestimating him since things went south in high school.
He continues to stare at the papers, not noticing that his glass is ready and waiting.]
Stanley...
[Stan had been very self-deprecating in the gardens when Ford had amnesia and an... unexpected growth spurt. The thought hits Ford hard--he's always known his brother to be capable, just not exactly willing to apply himself. And here, right here is proof positive that Stan is in fact full of shit.
It's also proof that when Stan gave up believing in his intellect, so did Ford.
The gravity of these realizations pushes Ford over a previously unknown edge, and he slams the papers down onto the table.]
You damn knucklehead! Do you have any idea what math really is? Math is the pure expression of literally everything in the universe. It's all distilled, right there in numbers, for us to read and process and communicate with! Here you are, doing advanced geometry and algebra--with your own shorthand, even--and you think it's nothing?
You told me in the gardens how smart you aren't, but I have the proof here that that's a load of bullhonkey. Proof that I... [His rant runs out of a lot of its steam. He looks off to the side.]
... I underestimated you. It wouldn't kill you to stop acting like you're an idiot long enough to see that you're the best chess player I know. I haven't met anyone who was as engaging as you in over forty years. Could you just pull your head out of your backside long enough to stop putting yourself down?
I'm tired, Stanley, I can't even focus on my own equations, but you just... scribbled these like they were nothing. Not a lot of people can do that.
[Ford finally notices his drink and, perhaps a little shockingly, empties the glass when he should be sipping at it.]
I'M SURE IT WILL BE 8 )
What he's not expecting is for Ford to get so upset about it, and he watches with wide eyes as Ford goes on. And on. And on. And on until he runs out of steam, and Stan just lets it happen as if he's watching a train crash. It's a damn weird one though - to Stan, it seems like Ford must be mad about having actual good things to say.
When it's over, Ford downs his drink and for a full beat Stan still has no idea what the hell to do. To stall for another second so he can think of something to say, he refills Ford's drink. He doesn't comment on how fast he downed it.]
Look, that's just 'cause you're seeing 'em all done already. Truth is it always takes me forever, just like it always does with your damn codes. Y'know Dipper can just look at some of 'em, think about it for a sec, and know what they say?
[He sounds proud of Dipper. Even after thirty years, Stan never got used to the codes. He always had to write out the whole damn chart to figure everything out.
He rolls his eyes though, and gestures at Ford with his own drink in hand. He definitely doesn't know enough math to talk about math as the ultimate expression of everything, or whatever.]
Like always, you're thinkin' 'bout all this way too hard. You were starting to get all worked up back in the garden about being a embarrassment or somethin', so I tried to set the record straight. You are smarter than me, and you know it. I wasn't gonna lie to you about that just 'cause you wouldn't know any better.
[Stan shrugs, and takes another swig of his drink. It would have been dumb if it wasn't going to be permanent, and even if it was permanent that isn't the kind of thing he'd consider lying about anyway. Other things, maybe. Things like how well they get along, what they've been doing the last thirty years. How much Ford cares about him. Make some fake embarrassing childhood memories to make himself laugh.]
...Honestly, I didn't even know if you were gonna remember any of it once it was over.
no subject
The last time that happened was...
A long time ago.
Ford settles in his chair, staring at the floor rather than making eye contact with Stan. The thought of Stan facing down a brother who may have been stricken with permanent amnesia... it sheds some new light on that talk in the wee hours. He suppresses a shiver and tries not to feel cold.]
Me being a genius doesn't make you dumb as a post. Anyway, I'm here now, and I remember everything. [Which means Stan doesn't have to worry anymore.]
no subject
A heavy silence hangs between them for a moment or two. While Ford's looking at the floor, Stan's looking in his glass. One more good swig is enough to empty it, and he does, but it doesn't clear the air.
They both know what almost happened, and though Stan usually tries to avoid dwelling...it's hard not to think about it. Ford's memory almost got wiped completely. There was a good chance Ford would have never been himself again.]
...Good. Sure took you long enough.
[There's no annoyance behind it though or any kind of irritation, just a tired, faded smirk. It's quietly flippant, a way to say he's glad without saying the words. Once those words are out, Stan refills his drink.]
no subject
What else can he do but drink? What are they supposed to talk about? If he talks, they'll probably fight. Ford doesn't want to fight tonight. He's lonely, tired, scared. The silence stretches out as they drink and Ford starts to wonder if it's actually all that bad. They're not fighting and he doesn't expect trumpets and fanfare from Stan.
The last time they just sat and enjoyed each other's company in relative silence was when they were kids.
At last, he mutters:]
...I don't want to forget you again.
no subject
However, that goes right out the window when Ford speaks again, because Stan can't help looking...well, surprised. Worse than that though, is that he can't keep his mouth shut.]
Really?
[It sneaks out before he can think better of it, without sarcasm or bitterness. So much baggage crammed tightly into one small word.
Then, he realizes how dumb that is. Of course Ford wouldn't want to forget. He didn't want to forget anything and that's what all of this had been about from the beginning. So, Stan mentally erases himself from the statement, because it makes more sense that way. It's not that he wants to remember him, it's that he wants to keep all of his memories.]
...Look, you're not gonna have to worry about that. We're gonna get out of here, and then your weird metal plate thing'll work again and this dumb world won't be able to wipe your memories anymore.
no subject
At first.
The alcohol is hitting him and warming him up pleasantly and the panic is gradually subsiding, leaving a trail of peaceful exhaustion. He has to rethink what Stan's saying, naturally, because he's having trouble focusing. That means he puts a little more thought into the social nuances than he normally would.
Ford lifts his eyes from his glass to his brother. Is... Is he actually surprised?]
Stan.
[Ford looks so tired. He adjusts his glasses, keeping his gaze steady.]
It isn't about just having my memories taken. It's about... [You.
But Ford can't say it. He can't say that knowing he forgot his own twin hurt him too. How silly would that actually sound?
And if Stan is honestly surprised that Ford even cares enough not to want to forget, if that is the kind of brother Stan thinks he has, then Ford highly doubts he would be able to change Stan's mind.
Perhaps Stan is actually right about that too.
Some brother you turned out to be.
Where Ford has always defended his own actions as completely justified, lately, he's had some doubts. Surviving means you can't afford the luxury of doubting yourself and your own judgment, so the anger and sadness get pushed back. It's Stan's problem if he thinks Ford would rather forget him.
It's not an argument worth having when they should save their energy for surviving and keeping the kids safe until they can build a working portal.
He loses his nerve, drops his gaze, and goes back to sipping his drink.]
... Yes. It's about going home.
no subject
When Ford concedes it's about going home...it sounds like it's more than that, but Stan still takes it at face value. Getting home is a legitimate thing to be frustrated about, and even if there's probably more, Stan doesn't look like he wants to argue about it.
Instead, he smiles and gives Ford a friendly clap on the shoulder, like he used to when they were kids. When they were actually friends.]
Hey, chin up, Sixer. I told you, one way or another we're bustin' out of this place. Between the two of us, Wonderland doesn't stand a chance at keepin' us here! This portal thing's gonna work, and we're gonna get out of here.
[It's passionate, and it's almost like there's an echo from the past hidden in those words and that gesture, even if Stan doesn't outright say it himself.
Wherever we go, we go together.]
1/3 oh boy
Ford hears him out, and then jerks away as soon as the words leave Stan's mouth. He looks like Stan's hand burned him.]
'We.'
[The warmth from the alcohol starts to burn.
No wait. He's just angry.]
2/3
I literally just told you I didn't want to ever forget you again and, correct me if I'm wrong--you attributed that to the amnesia itself?
Please tell me you don't actually think I wouldn't be upset if I forgot you. Please, tell me. [The "please"s are more of a threat, like if he doesn't hear what he wants to hear, punching will be involved.]
3/4 OOPS
A little too quickly. He wavers, but then steadies himself.]
I can't believe you right now! Giving me a motivational speech when you think I would rather forget you existed?! What the HELL is wrong with you?! [Ford is angry, but his voice cracks.]
Why-- Would you think I would ever want to forget--
4/4
There is still bad blood between us, and I still want my identity back when we go home, but how could you think I would be fine forgetting you? We may be estranged at home but that doesn't mean I don't want you to exist you jackass!!
[Ford isn't stable right now. He's walking a fine line between wanting to laugh and cry and punch Stan in the nose. His self-righteous attitude won't let him keep his mouth shut, but maybe for once that's a good thing, even if his voice isn't as steady as usual.]
I want you to exist, I don't want to forget you do, and not just because I don't want my memories tampered with! If I ever have amnesia again, I want you to tell me who I am and who you are, and I want you to tell me the truth! I want to know, Stanley, because as much as we both drive each other up the figurative wall, we're still family.
We are, aren't we?
1/2
Sure enough, Ford tells him and outlines it in great detail and...Stan mostly looks awkward. Not guilty, because that would suggest he really knows and understands he did something wrong here, but he just occasionally glances off to the side ad back at Ford, like he's not sure what to do with all of these emotions and accusations being thrown his way.
He opens his mouth when Ford begs him to answer him, but shuts it again when Ford stands up and keeps going. He wasn't going to give him a good answer anyway. He was just going to point out that if Ford did forget again he wouldn't be upset, because he wouldn't know better either way. They know that. They literally went through this a few days ago.
Nothing about this outburst makes any goddamn sense to him, but he doesn't get up when Ford does, watching him carefully. Part of Stan is already attributing the whole thing to the alcohol, because that's the easiest thing to do. It makes the most sense of this...really, really weird reaction.]
2/2
But...Stan remembers how his stomach sank a few days ago, when Ford the Giant looked down at him like he'd never seen him before in his life. It puts out the fire in Stan, just a little.]
Of course we are! And I did tell you the truth, remember? You lost your memories and I didn't stand there and lie to you about us - but I'm sure that must've been a real surprise!
[After all, Stan's only ever been good at lying and cheating. Why would anyone expect anything else out of him?]
It doesn't matter anyway, 'cause it's over and done with! We're gonna get outta here, and you won't have to deal with anything stealing your memories again. It's a non-issue, so calm down already, would ya?
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I told you, this wasn't just about something stealing my memories! It was also that I forgot you and I never, ever want to forget my twin brother! You damn knucklehead!
[Ford sighs and runs his hands through his hair. He's too drunk and panicked and tired. He slumps back into the chair, leans his elbows on the table and puts his head in his hands. He... he doesn't feel too great. He actually looks a little green.]
I'm tired, Stanley. I'm not going to argue about this anymore, and if you don't want to believe me, that's up to you.
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But his own words won't come. He just watches Ford for a moment, trying to gauge whether the guy's gonna puke or not. For the first time, Stan actually does tread the line between guilty and sympathetic. For once, he wasn't actually trying to make Ford feel like crap, but for maybe the first time in his life he can't seem to make himself lie about it, even though it would probably cheer Ford up.
(It's not the alcohol. He wants it to be the alcohol, but he knows Ford holds his liquor better than this.)
He rubs the back of his neck, awkwardly.]
Look...it's gettin' late. Why don't you crash here? It's been a long week and you look like shit. I'll even get you a bucket and everything.
[It's a really weak, sad attempt at a joke instead of an answer to anything Ford's said, but at least he's trying make things right. He heads back over to the closet, and thirty seconds later he's gently nudging Ford's shoulder with an empty bucket, a silent "here, take it".]
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It doesn't add up. Ford is finally starting to see that.
How could he make Stan believe something Ford isn't certain of himself?
Ford feels so disjointed, so disconnected with the person he is at home and the changes that are happening here in Wonderland. He feels the misstep of their timelines each time their different temporal perspectives show themselves. He feels... a lifetime of pride at odds with an unending undercurrent of shame, and all his fears crawling up his back like permanently attached phantoms.
Normally he would refuse that kind of offer, but not tonight. He takes the bucket in his arms and wraps them around it, like holding onto it will keep him steady.]
... sorry. I understand why you don't believe me. You have every right not to. [...]
I am really starting to hate this place.
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Things are awkward for a beat, and Stan's leaning against the chair he'd been sitting in a moment ago. He hasn't bothered to sit back down, since Ford still looks like he might be sick.]
...Heh. Only starting to?
[It's such a weak joke, but he grins a little anyway, trying to lighten things.]
You're kinda late on that - I've been hatin' this place since day one!
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He groans, coughs and laughs and stays curled around the bucket because this is humiliating. He feels vulnerable and embarrassed again.
Obviously, masking those things with more questions is Ford's primary method of coping here.]
... speaking of... since day one... [Ford coughs again, his breath is ragged.]
If you think I'd rather forget you, then why're you being so damn nice to me?
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'Cause you're my brother, you knucklehead. And you're miserable and you're dry heaving into a bucket. What, did you want me to be mean?
[An obvious rhetorical question. What does Ford think is supposed to be happening? Why would Stan be a jerk now, after everything that's happened in the last few days?]
1/2
Up comes the alcohol. He rests his face on the edge of the bucket.
This is so humiliating.]
You're the knucklehead, knucklehead.
2/2
[Ah hell. Why is this so difficult for them both?]
Can we agree that we don't always have to be jerks to each other, because we're brothers?
[... and, why not--his pride has already taken a lot of hits tonight:] ... Please?
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The offer surprises Stan though, both because Ford is actually offering it in the first place and...well. It's kind of depressing that things are so bad between them that they have to set the bar that low. At that point, it's not even a bar. It's laying a stick on the ground.
For a man who once scoffed at the word "please" and said it ever made him any money...it's surprisingly effective now. He probably shouldn't let himself get dragged back in so easily, but what else can he do?]
...Yeah. Yeah, alright. I'm gonna hold you to that though.
[He did say "we", after all.]
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Ford clears his throat and nods, sighing in relief. His shoulders relax and he feels like a small weight was lifted, though he isn't sure why. Maybe it's because they actually agreed on something?]
... Okay. And maybe I could stay here tonight. I don't think I'll be getting much sleep, so I'll mind my own business and read.
[He stops there, because if he says anything else it might screw things up. He's exhausted. They're both tired. Truces are allowed, right?]
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He's less worried about saying the wrong thing. He usually says the wrong thing, so there's no point in trying too hard. He's never been the perfectionist between them. Still, he's tired too. He doesn't want to fight.]
Yeah, sure. Make yourself at home. At least try and sleep at some point though, alright?
[It's not a judgmental remark. Ford wasn't feeling well, so sleep's probably the best thing for him, right? It comes from a good place.]
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Yes, I'll try, but I make no promises. I'll pull a blanket from the closet.
[He does, and it's a simple quilt that he wraps around himself before he plunks into a chair. Because that's going to be his bed. He's slept in weirder places.]
...
Uh. Thanks. [It's sincere, just uncomfortable.]
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The "thanks" catches him off guard, like everything else tonight has. Ford's awkward and Stan's just as awkward in return.]
Uh. ...No problem.
[With the words forced out of his mouth, he's able to move forward. Or in this case, towards his room.]
Just get some sleep. 'Night, Ford.
[And Stan shuts the light off when he leaves.]