Chapter Text
Stan hadn't meant to snoop, not in the slightest.
In fact if anything, it was Ford's fault he was there in the first place and therefore his own fault if he accidentally saw things that he wasn't supposed to.
Well... at least that's how he'd decided to justify his actions.
Ford had lost one of his books, or, as he put it, ‘merely misplaced’ it somewhere on deck. All Stan knew was that he was muttering loudly to himself as he stomped up and down the deck, searching all the while and getting completely in the way of Stan’s peaceful bout of fishing. He’d even gone as far as to wonder out loud if it had fallen overboard in their last battle with a kraken, quickly followed by the implication that Stan must have moved it somewhere without telling him and that was why he couldn't find it.
Stan begged to differ, however, rolling his eyes at the insinuation with a snort. Especially considering, as he pointed out none to subtly, that he wasn’t entirely sure when the last time that he’d seen the cabin’s table top was and that any number of items could be lost in the mountainous pile that was Ford's copious spread of maps, charts and notes.
Ford had scoffed at the mere thought, and ever up for a challenge Stan had decided to prove him wrong.
That and, anything was better than trying to fish through the racket that was his restless brother stubbornly denying that he could have done something as simple as lost something.
Though that now left him stood forlornly in front of what used to be their dining table, staring at the mess and wondering quite how to tackle it.
Their Ma would have called it organised chaos.
However, bearing in mind Stan reckoned he’d find the book and other assorted ‘lost’ items in amongst the cascade of paper, he thought his own assumption of pure chaos with minimal, if any organisation at all, was well founded.
With a long suffering sigh, and the notion that simply staring at the disorder wasn't going to solve anything, he set to work pushing the maps and notes into orderly neat piles and hoped that Ford wouldn’t be too upset at things being straightened up.
Ignoring the treacherous, nervous voice that kept repeating that 'Yes, his brother would be angry' at him suddenly became far easier when he realised that maybe, just maybe, this meant they could actually eat at the table again once he was finished.
Though for now, he’d settle for just being able to see the wooden top again.
He scooped all the paperwork forward, condensing the items he hadn't leafed through yet into one high pile, just for the pure satisfaction of seeing wood again below, before shaping up each sorted pile to be a bit more manageable than it had been before he’d started. He snorted as he found not one but two compasses in amongst it all, knowing full well that a few days ago Ford had grumbled about misplacing his and then proceeded to ask Stan for his for the afternoon before subsequently not returning it at the end of the day.
Both it seemed had made their way here, only to then be eaten by the paperwork monster that inhabited their table.
He pocketed his to be on the safe side, dropping the other off to the side where it would be seen from now on.
It might have been the first item he found hidden amongst the paperwork, but it wouldn’t be the last, nor was it the one he was looking for.
He was almost gleeful at the small assortment of tools and trinkets swallowed up by Ford’s ‘workstation’.
After all, it was always fun to prove Ford wrong about something light-hearted.
Like whether or not punching a kraken in it's eye would be enough to make it leave them alone.
He shook the satisfaction of that particular incident from his mind, continuing his search for the elusive book as he tidied. With a small hiss of pride he found it a few moments later, a call for his brother on the tip of his tongue as he picked it up. Though the words dissipated almost instantly as his eyes zoned back to the table distractedly.
Just under the book was a small leather bound black notebook he’d never seen before.
He tilted his head questioningly, putting the book down again on top of the pile of maps before picking up his new discovery. He turned it over a few times in his hands, trying to recall if he’d ever seen Ford writing in it but was still unable to place it. He shrugged to himself, opening it up to a random page, assuming that it was a new one Ford hadn’t had a chance to write in just yet before raising an eyebrow, curiously puzzled by the copious scribbled notes that adorned the pages.
“That’s funny… why isn’t this stuff in his actual journal?” He mused quietly to himself, glancing over his shoulder before back to the notebook again. “Maybe it’s his workings out before he’s sure...?” He hummed, intrigued as he flicked through a few pages, finding instead of numbers and confounding information, the drivel in Ford's journal that bored Stan to tears even on a good day, the book contained small smatterings of Ford’s thoughts or random inconsequential things that had happened to them whilst on their trip.
Small little details that Ford seemed to think back on fondly from his wording but had no place in his journal, from what Stan deduced. He chuckled, grinning brightly as he skipped to the later pages quickly just to be sure his suspicions were correct.
“Managed to get Stan to play D,D&MD! Amusingly I think Dipper’s more likely to believe ‘Stan punched a kraken’ than that and yet both are true!”
Stan choked on his own laughter, stifling it with his hand as his eyes continued to travel down the page.
“…I just realised Stan’s going to deny it entirely if I ever bring it up to the kids. It’ll be like him being able to play the harmonica properly all over again!”
“I’ll have to make sure to keep hold of Stan’s character sheet as proof.”
Stan’s eyes sparkling mischievously as he glanced back at the table, the pile of D,D&MD paperwork suddenly far more interesting than it had been whilst he was tidying.
He’d have to hide it all later.
But for now… his eyes went back to the book in his hands. As pressing as that was for his denial later, the small journal was definitely far too intriguing to put down just yet.
He flicked through a few more pages, fluctuating between amusement and soft endearment at the small titbits of information that filled the pages. Anything and everything seemed to find their way into the book, all the stupid things they’d done together, the random often reckless challenges, the silly stubborn wagers.
Everything that made Stan’s heart thrum with the knowledge that Ford was enjoying himself on the voyage, the joyous comprehension that, to Ford, absolutely everything was important enough to be written down after thirty years stuck in the abyss.
Everything was worth noting.
It was all so incredibly Ford.
There was only one thing in the book that tripped him up, his eyebrows furrowing together in bewilderment. He just couldn’t, for the life of him, work out the small tally that was present next to every date, his finger tapping pointedly against the scribbles every time his eyes flicked to a new date. Ford was keeping track of something and from the pages that Stan had flicked to at random, he had no idea what it was he was missing.
Curiosity got the better of him then. Any thoughts on proving his brother wrong were firmly squashed beneath this new mystery, and with another cursory glance around, he finally started the journal from the beginning, hoping to figure out the elusive code.
It didn’t take long for him to find out as he came across a page that had the longest tally he’d seen so far.
That page actually had a note beside it.
And suddenly his happiness dampened slightly.
“Ten! Ten puns today! I don’t think I can deal with another.”
He wordlessly flicked through a few more, pausing at another page with a high counter at the top.
“Wow, Stan’s so bored today he’s actually started on the ‘Pines’ jokes. I haven’t heard this repertoire since we were 12.”
“Accidentally responded with a pun and now Stan’s smirking. How on Earth has he now fitted three puns into one sentence?!”
“… I can see him biting his tongue from a joke I just walked into. If he dares-”
The last line ended hastily, the words a scribbled mess.
He glanced at the date, remembering what had been a fond memory of his brother launching at him from across deck before he tackled him for his terrible joke. The pair of them had been laughing and boisterous, though Ford’s mirth seemed more begrudging than anything.
Now the memory didn’t seem that fond.
Was he really that annoying?
Did it annoy Ford that much that he felt the need to write it down? Or was it just these specific ones that irritated him to that extent?
Stan pouted, unhappy and slightly disappointed at the knowledge, almost wishing he'd never found the book in the first place.
He’d always just thought that Ford was teasing when he groaned and shoved him away. That he kept to the endearing ‘oh god why’ antics to his puns because that’s what the moment called for. He’d even been sure before reading this that there had been many a time when his brother had looked like he was struggling to hold himself back from laughing after a joke or two caught him off guard.
Now he was just worried that he couldn’t read his brother at all. And that maybe, just maybe, he should quit while he was ahead before Ford finally snapped and told him to give it a rest.
He didn’t want to actually annoy his brother.
Well, not properly, just the usual sibling level annoyance instead of actual frustration.
Stan sighed deeply, debating on closing the book and pretending he’d never seen it. It was probably the best thing to do, though he would now try and curb his jokes if it really did cause his brother strife.
Ever punishing himself though he continued, wincing as he came across another entry.
“I can’t believe it. I actually wrote down what Stan was saying instead of my research notes. How did I get so distracted by his puns? I would have thought I’d be able to tune them out by now.
He caught me by surprise, that must have been it.”
Stan closed the book then, looked up at the ceiling above him as he bit his lip.
He could at the very least curb the puns whilst his brother was knee deep in research to make sure that didn’t happen again, even if it had been highly amusing at the time to watch his brother squawk and protest at him.
Then again Ford getting lost in his research happened fairly often and if he was really honest with himself sometimes the only way to pull him out of it all was a pun on the wrong side of terrible. He couldn’t resist commenting to some of the particularly bad ones.
Stan frowned as he thought, remembering a few occasions when Ford really hadn’t been able to hold back the chuckles at his jokes. Sometimes he got the raised eyebrow of disbelief at his antics, but sometimes, albeit very rarely, he distinctly remembered a stifled snort as his words caught his brother unprepared whilst he was lost in one of his books.
Desperate now, he reopened the journal, determined to find at least one instance where his brother had said he liked his humour.
The next comments he found instead surprised him yet again.
He paused on a page where for once the date had no tally marks next to it, perplexed by the absence for a moment before he scanned the page further.
“No puns yet today. Mildly disconcerting.”
“…Stan’s still not talking much, I think I’ll leave the research here for today.”
Stan blinked at the hesitant concern he could almost feel bleeding through the scrawl. He cast his mind back trying to remember but- he almost always had a pun to say. Had he really gone an entire day without making some kind of joking comment?
That didn’t sound like him.
Which made it easy to see why it might have unnerved his brother, though the notion almost had him scoffing ironically.
He’d have thought he’d have liked the peace and quiet for a change from his comments so far.
He continued to flick again, keeping his eyes locked to the tally and nowhere else, part of him worried for more scathing remarks that would make him give up on the endeavour entirely. He needed confirmation, needed to know that Ford wasn't that irritated with him now that he'd been given some kind of reprieve in amongst it all.
Another page without a tally made him sigh with relief. He'd almost begun to worry that there had only been one day out of all their sailing days when he hadn't made some kind of joke.
Though even the presence of two days of no jokes was a struggle to believe existed.
Honestly, puns were just part of him at this point.
Stan shook his head, getting back to the task at hand as he finally allowed himself to scan the rest of the page. It was strange to him after all, and Ford had noticed quickly that first day so it would make sense for him to have something to say on this one too.
He smiled proudly, nodding quietly to himself as the page almost instantly spoke with the same trepidation and worry, a tone that he could almost hear as he read the words Ford had written next to a rather large question mark where the tally should have been.
"Stan just tried to joke? I think that was meant to be a joke? He's struggling that's for sure. I don't think even he can bring himself to laugh at that one."
"I just gave him a wide opening and he didn't even try for the obvious answer..."
"I just tried again and was met with the same result. This isn't like him. I think he's stuck in his head today but he's trying not to worry me..."
That day stuck out more than the first one, a small spark of a memory resurfacing as Stan continued to read the page. He'd tried hard, forcing his laughs, stretching a smile almost painfully wide across his face, all in the hopes that Ford wouldn't notice his mind was spiralling. At the same time though he remembered just how bad it had been. How he'd struggled to find the right words to get that concerned look off of his brother's face, how every time he tried to come up with something light-hearted to say it fell flat, hitting the deck and rolling off to crash into the waters below as he abruptly wished he'd just kept his mouth shut in the first place.
He'd tried, he really had. But some days it was just so difficult to- well, be himself.
Or be who everyone expected him to be.
Usually it was so easy, he loved the rough and tumble and the excitement.
But some day's it was just exhausting, and every single action was met with a snarling spiteful voice in his head telling him he was doing everything wrong. That being 'himself' was just going to land him in trouble. That voice made it hard to do anything those days, every action second guessed before he'd had a chance to do it, each word out of his mouth already swirling into conversations that had yet to happen as his mind worried his every motion would cause an argument, cause a problem or generally cause his brother grief.
He doesn't need you messing this up. Just let him get on.
Sometimes the thoughts started on their own. Too long alone with his thoughts, too much time to sit and think with nothing to really do with himself and the words came clattering and chiming from the deep pits and dark corners in his mind. Sometimes the nightmares got to him first. Clawing deep into his chest, his heart stuttering a fast beat as he woke up with a shuddering gasp and the feeling of being watched. Yellow eyes and sharp teeth glinted as he blinked himself awake, a small ringing laughter vanishing as he shook his head and tried to remind himself that they'd won, they'd beaten the creature.
Most times it was only checking Ford was still there that really calmed him down enough to even think about going back to sleep.
Those days the voices held a different edge, noises in the wind sounding like that familiar laugh, yellow reflections in the water getting his head snapping towards the ripples, eyes narrowed until he figured out what it was.
Really, he should have just woken up Ford in the first place, let him know what was plaguing him and got the comfort he needed there and then. It's what his brother now told him to do, since they'd finally spoken about both their nightmares and how to combat them between them. But whilst in theory it was easy, even with that knowledge, he knew he'd be hesitant to actually do it.
Let him sleep. It's all in your head anyway. Why make him deal with that?
It's not his fault you're like this.
But the voices weren't why that day stuck out, Stan shook his head of the approaching darkness, his hand trailing the page with a softer nostalgic smile.
That was the day Ford sat him down and told him to talk for the first time. They'd promised each other they'd be better at communicating before they'd even set off but talking about it and doing it were entirely different things.
He hadn't wanted to worry his twin over nothing.
It was just a bad day, that was all.
"No. We're not doing this, Stan. You're not OK, and I can't help you if I don't know why. If you don't want to talk about it that's fine but- just tell me what I need to do to help, OK?"
Stan's smile grew again, remembering that he'd opened up, that once the dam had broken, the words had spilled out without any real effort and the voice had grown quieter, hissing and venomous even then at him burdening Ford with all of his troubles. But Ford's relieved and accepting expression had kept him going, had silenced the voice in it's tracks before he'd even finished speaking.
Ford had wanted to know. He had wanted to help him, to listen and figure out how to make everything better with him.
And that was what had mattered.
That was what made that day stick out in his mind when he read Ford's account.
They'd had big tough conversations since then, some centred around him and some around Ford, but that had been the first one since they'd set off on their own, away from the kids.
It was almost comical really, a small chuckle rumbling through his chest as he belatedly realised that the reason Ford had known something was wrong was because he couldn't tell a joke to save his life that day.
No, it was definitely comical actually, the day made infinitely better just from the knowledge that his brother was checking up on him as much as he did the same when he thought the other wasn't looking.
He wistfully hoped that the knowledge would keep the voices at bay a little while longer, or perhaps take the sting out of their words the next time they surfaced.
Either way, even if they do resurface, you've got Ford.
And really, that was all he could ask for.
His grin grew wider at the thought, hands flicking deeper into the journal thoughtlessly, eyes inexplicably drawn downwards again once he was done thinking giddily yet again that after all these years they were finally doing everything they'd said they would.
Stan raised an eyebrow, thoughts momentarily on pause as a new sentence caught his eye.
"OK. I can't lie. That one was a good one. And now an hour later I've thought up the perfect response! Typical!"
Stan snorted at the pun scribbled beneath, the exclamation marks and underlining showing just how irritated his twin was at not thinking of it at the time.
"Hmm... I'm going to lose this in amongst my other notes if I'm not careful. Might be handy later. I'll have to start making a list."
"Must get him back one of these days. I can't want to see the look on his face when I catch him off guard for once!"
He blinked, eyebrows raising higher at the challenging note.
And within two seconds of deliberation, he flipped to the back page of the book.
He gave a proud bark of laughter at his suspicions were confirmed, skimming the list of half scribbled out and circled puns, each one given a symbol or number beside it which Stan could only assume was a ranking.
Though with Ford it could mean just about anything really. If he was completely honest, however, he kind of hoped he was ranking them and debating which ones would get the best results.
It just made the list that much warmer and far more amazing in Stan's eyes.
"What's so funny in here?"
Stan jumped, twisting his head around to the cabin door where Ford was bemusedly smiling back at him. For a second he thought about keeping the book hidden from sight but instead which a mischievous smirk he brought his hands up into view, still keeping his back to his brother just in case he made a grab for it.
His reaction didn't disappoint. His smile dropped for a moment before he huffed out a laugh and shook his head, hand out for the book. "Alright, what part's got you so amused?"
"The list at the back."
That got a sharper reaction, an awkward pause as Ford froze and blinked a few times before pouting, a soft childish whine escaping him. "Damn it, all that hard work to figure out the perfect pun."
"The perfect pun? There's no such thing." Stan rolled his eyes, turning to Ford finally but keeping the journal close to his chest. "They're spur of the moment. That's the whole fun of them. You don't have to think, you just say whatever comes out best for the situation."
"Nonsense, there's a science behind everything- are you even listening to me?"
Before Ford could continue anymore Stan went back to the book, a small inclining of a notion in his head at the word 'science', already vibrating with giggles at the mere thought.
As usual, he knew his brother too well.
There, the page before the actual list was a series of equations and graphs with a number of titles he never thought he'd see in Ford's research. 'Comedic timing' and 'short jokes vs long?' were just so mind boggling to see amidst tables and charts and algebraic equations.
He couldn't contain his mirth, though considering that was the intention of the list, he hoped Ford didn't mind too much.
"...I'm never going to stop hearing about this, am I?"
Stan's grin widened, his entire face gleaming with almost palpable mischief, as he wiped a stray tear from his eye and was greeted with an amused yet defeated expression.
"What do you think, Sixer? They're puns, not science- Wait until I tell Mabel!"
It was Ford's turn to laugh then.
"Please. Her and Dipper have been very helpful with my research."
"...God, you're such a nerd." Stan shook his head, handing the book over to his brother with a clap to his back. "Either way, it's no fun reading them from the page. Come on, I need to hear some of your favourites now."
"Hmm, which favourites? The ones that made the kids groan or the ones I actually found most amusing?"
"Well, now I need to hear all of them."