Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Sailing with Stan was like riding with a whirlwind taking the wheel.

It was exciting and fun and a pure never ending adventure. Everything and nothing mattered all at once, every turn exhilarating and filled with that bright spark they’d first sailed away with.

The bright spark that he had almost forgotten still existed, the one that had fizzled to life all those years ago when they’d first caught sight of that little broken boat at the back of that long abandoned cave.

It was everything he’d hoped it would be.

It was loud and filled with laughter and the world just seemed that much bigger when they were both exploring it together.

The vast expanses just waiting for them to investigate them, breath-taking views teeming with life and wonder.

It wasn’t just writing on the page, not just research, this was life. Living in every sense of the word.

He’d been scared when Stan got him back from the abyss, scared of just how much time he had lost, of everything he had missed. All those years, every last second that had slipped through the hourglass making themselves known through the image he saw every time he looked in the mirror. It turned his stomach, just how much he’d aged, just how long it took his body to heal, each additional day he spent resting in bed another wasted day to add to the tally of all the time that creature had taken from him.

But at least he had had Stan and the twins to keep his thoughts occupied. It had been more than enough to get to know the kids in that time, all his focus on letting them in, letting them run rings around him with all their questions and their bright glittering personalities. It had given his time to repair the bond he had lost with his brother, to try and help him heal, while he did the same, through all the issues Ford knew he had dealt with all alone for the last thirty years.

It was not just him the creature had affected. He needed to stitch up the damage it had done to both of them. Needed to fan the flame and get his boisterous brother back from the abyss just as he had done for him.

And just like the lights that hung throughout the cabin, his brother’s smile seemed to gleam now they were out on open water. The light that had been crushed smaller and smaller over the years flickering to a soft warm glow that couldn’t help but shine bright as a beacon every time the thrill of the adventure took him, the thrill of finally having him back and doing everything they’d always promised they would, even after all these years.

They were more than making up for all that lost time now, racing ahead where no one else had dared to tread, leaving trails of dazzling light wherever they went. Mapping new constellations on the mirrored seas, island after island, anomaly after anomaly, dipping and diving wherever the whim or the wind took them.

It wasn’t always that way though.

The winds changed, the tides stopped them in their tracks. Storms bubbled and brewed on deck even when the seas were calm and the skies were blue.

Or thick looming grey clouds would hide the starlight, the bright silver moon, and the beacon on deck would dim, casting everything in a dull despair that was difficult to navigate through. Difficult to push through, to see through when there was no land in sight and the grey world seemed to stretch on and on in every direction. The grey gloom could seep in at any moment, quiet and unassuming, below deck, regardless of the wind brushing the brewing clouds away before they had a chance to take over.

After all they were still siblings. Still locked on a small ship together in the middle of the vast sea. Emotions were high. Always. Whether it was happy, booming mirth that skipped like stones across the water’s surface or thunderclaps of anger and worry that crackled out into an electrified sky. Giddy, chirping pride, warm and solid or ice, cold dread and fear that cut through all the words in their tracks and left silence in their wake.

There really was never a dull moment.

It was always a whirlwind. Most of the time it was amazing, a giddy, bubbling rush of exhilaration as the ship cut through every wave the world threw at them, as they took on every obstacle that tried to stop them in their tracks.

Other times, the obstacles were between them. The bridge between them was healed but sometimes it was hard to remember that, the bridge difficult to navigate as it wobbled and twisted beneath their feet, difficult to broach, difficult to try and cross the barrier and keep them both above water.

Healing took time. And their minds could be their own worst enemies.

There wasn’t any time for dull. Not when the world was just there for the taking.

And he loved it, he loved the rush, the thrill, loved that it was just him and his brother against the world again. Just like they’d always planned.

The adventure was everything he’d dreamed it would be.

Chasing all that time that had been lost to the waves.

No, there really was never a dull moment.

…But sometimes, he kind of wished there would be.

Chapter Text

For the most part, their sibling antics and arguments were just that - purely superficial and utterly playful in nature.

Neither of them meant any harm, Ford knew Stan was taking great glee in having him back to rile up in any way, shape or form and really, he couldn’t fault him for that.

After all, as much as part of him had to groan and roll his eyes at Stan’s mischief, he really did love being there with him too. And hearing Stan’s amazingly terrible puns was just part and parcel of the experience.

Not to mention as much as he would deny it to anyone listening, he gave as good as he got when he could.

It wasn’t one sided, the sibling banter and childish teasing that sent them both into almost affronted shock before the laughter set in. It was like they were children all over again, reliving the humour and antics they had once had then.

Two small kids left alone to their devices.

Of course they were going to get into trouble, egging one another on.

Of course they couldn’t help just trying to push the limits and tease relentlessly when nothing else was occupying their minds.

That was the way with siblings. Even ones that got on like a house on fire had their moments, their own inside jokes and silly remarks that no one else understood.

Unfortunately, in most instances, his nose was deep into his research giving his brother ample opportunity to come up with small quips and jabs that he really wasn’t expecting.

Even if in a lot of circumstances... he really should have seen them coming.

Stan had old favourites, after all. Ones that he just couldn’t seem to help himself from using especially when Ford left himself wide open.

“Are we almost there yet? You’ve been making me hike up this god damn mountain for hours now.”

Ford rolled his eyes for the two seconds he could afford to before his gaze darted back to the compass in one hand and the scribbled map in his journal in the other, trying to pinpoint the landmarks that he had noted down in miniscule writing wherever he could on the same page. “Stan, we haven’t even been walking for an hour yet, don’t exaggerate.”

“Exaggerate? You’re the one that’s gonna get us lost in the mountains looking for a place that doesn’t exist! So remind me again, who exactly is exaggerating?”

Ford huffed, turning to his brother with an irritated noise that was on the crest of being a snarl of a remark before he saw the soft smile on his face. He deflated with another roll of his eyes. “You know this place exists as well as I do, Stan.”

Stan shrugged, glancing around the landscape with a look of boredom. “Who knows, none of the people we asked at port had ever actually seen it. All word of mouth from their ‘great grandmas’ or ‘grandpas’ or whatever even older relative had managed to somehow tell the story.” He hunched his back over, glaring reproachfully at Ford with a pointing finger, eyes sparkling playfully behind the mock scowl. “Remember what I told you! You stay away from those woods at night, otherwise you might find the-” Stan paused, frowning thoughtfully before shrugging and continuing. “You might find the ghost town and never return! Just like your long lost Great Great Cousin Jimmy- or whatever his name was.”

Ford couldn’t help the bark of laughter that escaped him. “Really? You’ve forgotten the name of the town already?”

Stan’s grin only widened as he shrugged again, his entire demeanour playful and teasing. “What can I say? I didn’t see the point of remembering the name of a place that doesn’t exist. That’s for your storybook.”

“Oi! It’s a journal and you know it.” Ford scowled, clutching the item tight to his chest. “Besides, you’re one to talk.” He smirked, amusement bubbling up at his brother before with that final utterance, he turned back around, continuing his hike into the foliage.

“Wait? What? What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Hmm? Oh, nothing.” Ford looked over his shoulder with a grin. “Just you seemed pretty serious when you listened to those ‘old wives tales’ when someone’s Grandma was actually there to tell you about them herself. And I’m also pretty sure you wouldn’t act so flippantly if it was Soos’s Abuelita who was telling you those stories. You seemed to take her stories to heart when you took me to meet her before we left.”

He turned forward yet again, hearing a defeated little huff of a noise from his brother.

“Yeah well, her stories about the lighthouse always hit a bit close to home. Wouldn’t have much common sense if I ignored her other stories, now would I?”

Ford hummed in agreement, letting the matter slide, done with his teasing now that Stan had admitted defeat. His brother came up to walk beside him, nudging his shoulder as he looked down at the journal between them.

“So? How far to this Imber then?”

“Oh? So you do remember then?” Ford raised an eyebrow as Stan nudged him again with a roll of his eyes.

“Of course I do, you haven’t stopped going on about this place for the last week. It’d be hard not to.” Stan sniffed, looking away from him. “Didn’t want you thinking I didn’t listen to ya. Even if I don’t always understand it all, I do try and listen.”

Ford hummed appreciatively, nudging him back. “Oh yeah? So what was that all about then?”

“Bored.” Stan’s grin turned cheeky, teeth gleaming brightly in a way very reminiscent of times when he’d stopped Ford from studying in a similar manner when they were a lot younger.

“Really? You’re bored? We’re about to find a ghost town that nobody has seen in decades and you’re bored?” Ford almost stopped but his feet kept propelling him forward, even as his face scrunched up in obvious confusion. “How on Earth can you be-”

“You stopped rambling not long after we started the trek.”

Ford did stop them, thrown for a loop as Stan continued to walk forward without even noticing. “I- what?”

Stan shrugged, stretching as he looked around the area. “I mean, not that I always get what you’re talking about but you stopped answering most of my questions a while back. Too engrossed in that map of yours. Thought something like that might pull you back to the world of the living again.”

Ford seemed lost for words as he glanced at his hands. “I- but I need to keep track of where we’re going.”

Stan hummed, smirking slightly as he shook his head. “Sure you do. So, come on Poindexter, which way are we headed?”

“North?” Ford blinked a few times owlishly as Stan nodded and continued through the plant growth, following the gesture that had accompanied Ford’s words. He shook his head, jumping to catch up and make sure they didn’t miss their next landmark as Stan hummed under his breath to himself, his boredom obviously sated. He waited a few more moments, running over the conversation in his head. “I take it that was a hint to interact more?”

Stan snorted at his choice of phrase. “What am I, a science project? It got quiet and I got bored, that’s all.” He eyed up Ford’s journal with a small amount of amusement. “Feel free to go back to your storybook now. I just wanted to make sure you were actually capable of hearing me.”

Ford shook his head, closing his eyes for a second in endearing irritation. Sometimes he forgot that Stan’s interests lay elsewhere and the thrill of a ghost town that by assumption could be completely and utterly empty held little in the way of intriguing his brother like it did himself.

Stan liked the hustle and bustle, the liveliness of their adventures- the monsters, the creatures, the treasure. This probably sounded as stuffy to him as them sitting in a library all day.

No monster in sight, no cursed treasure or people to save.

Just a mystery to solve, one long past and not quite as present as Stan needed to hook him in.

Though Ford was sure that even in these cases, usually his own enthusiasm could rub off on him if he worded it right, if he explained the mystery in the right terms to get Stan thinking about it instead of shutting down to his ramblings without even attempting to follow his train of thought.

He frowned thoughtfully, skimming back over their interactions over the last few days at port.

…Perhaps he hadn’t done enough of that this time round.

Sure, Stan had accompanied him as they spoke to people around town, listened intently to their warnings and half-forgotten tales, but he hadn’t been through the nearby records to find the other written accounts, the ones that added more and more mysteries to the remarks and made him all the more curious to get to the bottom of it all.

He shook himself when he felt Stan’s eyes on him, his face now slightly concerned and nervous, as if he thought he’d done something wrong and Ford couldn’t have that. “Noted.”

“Noted? What that you’re carrying a storybook? Cause you never usually agree-”

“I’m pretty sure you’ve used my research in the past, thank you very much.” Ford straightened his back, the snarky comment slipping through without help though he was glad for Stan’s returning grin at the words.

“Yeah- for the Mystery Shack, I needed some good fairy tales for that.”

Ford gave him a scathing look over the top of his glasses. “You know that’s not what I meant, Mr Lighthouse Keeper.”

Stan bit his lip, obviously trying not to laugh at the successful rise he was getting in response. “Alright, alright… one of your stories turned out to be real.”

Ford took a deep breath, biting down on his tongue as he looked back down at the compass to check they were going the right direction before walking straight ahead again, head held high as he brushed past his brother.

The silence didn't last long however, the words at the back of his throat refusing to be quashed. “And for the record, yes I am perfectly capable of hearing and getting us there at the same time.”

“Noted.” Stan parroted back good humouredly before going back to following behind his brother.

There were a few beats of silence before he spoke again, amusement in his words as if he wondered if Ford had zoned out again.

“Well I guess there’s only one way to find out. Next time I get bored I’ll just get the harmonica out instead of striking up a conversation.”

“Oh god no.” Ford turned to him, a look of almost horror on his face at the evil grin residing on his brother’s. Stan was actually quite good at the musical instrument if he put his mind to it.

‘If’ being the crucial part of that statement.

“Oh, you can hear me still. Good to know.”

Ford bit down on his lip to stop himself from joining in the childish antics and sticking his tongue out triumphantly. He instead threw the compass to his brother, watching him flail with it for a few seconds in perplexity before explaining. “Here, I’ll have the map, you have the compass. Good way to keep you occupied?”

As much as Ford expected some kind of annoyed response at the sudden responsibility, his brother seemed taken aback by the notion, eyes going between the compass and Ford with little twitching movements.

“You really trust me with that?”

Ford’s eyebrows furrowed. “What?”

“I mean, I’m not actually trying to distract you from navigating or anything. Just-” Stan gestured widely albeit uselessly before looking down almost hopefully at the compass. “You know?”

“Yeah, I know.” The quiet didn’t suit Stan. “And yes I trust you to use a compass. So, how about I get out of my head and you stop being a distraction and we both work towards us getting there?”

Stan beamed, the most genuine smile of the day. “Sounds like a plan! Lead the way, Sixer, what are we looking for?”

“OK, so, we need to go North until we see…” Ford stood close to him, pulling the map out for both of them to see as he pinpointed the trail they needed to take and the next landmark they needed to keep an eye out for.

He knew the journey would be slower going this way, even with the extra pair of eyes.

But really, even he had to admit, it was a lot more fun from that point onwards.

“Is this it? Are we actually here?” Ford could feel the excitement coming off of him in waves, could hear the snort of pure amusement from his brother as his eyes no doubt lit up as they ran gleefully over the derelict old buildings covered in thick trailing vines that seemed to bend and crack them further into distorted versions of their former selves.

A sight no one had seen for so long and here they were, ready to document everything possible. To shed light on everything that had happened there.

When there was no response, just a warm good natured amusement beside him, his mouth ran away with him.

“Come on, Stanley! This is it! This is the Ghost Town we’ve been looking for! Aren’t you even the tiniest bit intrigued?”

“It’s not a Ghost Town.”

Ford blinked, taking a quick step back. His mind raced ahead, eyes now scanning for forms of life, expecting to see whatever Stan had seen. Nothing seemed to catch his eye though, no movement, no lights. He opened his mouth to say as much, his face scrunching up in confusion as he tried his best to gather whatever Stan had.

But before the words had even made it up his throat he felt a sudden sharp shove to his back.

He stumbled forward a few paces, past the threshold into the town, his demeanour changing instantly. Due to a few of their fast paced adventures already he caught himself quickly, spinning around as he slipped to find the culprit, eyes narrow and face serious, hand twitching to the weapon at his hip.

Until all he found was a pondering, thoughtful Stan, whose mouth kept twitching into the grin he was so desperately trying to hide. “Stan? What-?”

“Oh, guess I was wrong.”

“What?”

Stan’s pondering mask cracked even further, a rumble of chuckles escaping him along with the words. “Well, now it’s a Ghost Town.”

Ford continued to stare at him for a few moments, lost to his brother’s whims until it all hit him in one fell swoop, his body relaxing even as a deep disappointed groan escaped him. “Really? How long have you been waiting to use that particular joke? Since we started looking for this place or on the walk up here?”

Stan shrugged, eyes alight with mischief. “Who knows, I’ve always got a joke up my sleeve, you know that.”

“Well I hope you didn’t spend too long thinking up that one.” Ford did indulge in some childish behaviour this time, sticking his tongue out petulantly, though it only seemed to add to Stan’s glee.

“Aww, don’t be like that. Casper’s a classic joke!”

“If you say so.” Ford grumbled under his breath, tuning out the near constant giggles that were now erupting out of Stan. Instead he focused on his equipment, getting out the anomaly detectors and other small creations he’d fashioned just for the occasion.

They walked deeper into the town, finding a small well-trodden path through the buildings that had become overrun with brambles. The entire area had been lost to time and though he itched to enter the buildings, he thought it best to give the entire place a quick scan first, marking down a crude map to find their route back the way that had come again if need be as they went.

The small machine in his hand gave a sudden sharp beep, Ford stopping in his tracks as he waited for it to continue. A hushed excited whisper left him as he turned back to his brother who was giving him a small curious tilt of the head as he waited expectantly. “Stan.” He could almost feel himself buzzing at the thought as he brought the piece of equipment up for his brother to see, his voice still quiet and exuberant. “There’s a presence nearby!”

“A ghostly presence?”

Ford nodded happily, exasperated by Stan’s slow uptake. “Yes, if you like. A ghostly presence nearby.”

“There’s always a ghostly presence nearby, Casper.” Stan spoke at a normal volume though it sounded loud and reverberating through Ford’s hissing words. “You made sure to set your equipment accordingly, right? Don’t wanna skew the findings with your own ghostliness, now do you?”

“God damn it, Stanley!”

“What? I’m just saying-”

“Will you take this seriously?!”

“Now, why would I do that? You’re taking it seriously enough for the both of us.”

As much as he really wanted to be annoyed at the constant barrage of jokes, he couldn’t seem to stop his mouth twitching upwards at Stan’s booming heady laughter behind him, slap bang in the middle of the echoing stone cold atmosphere of the abandoned place they’d found themselves in.

Stood in the middle of a possibly haunted town and Stan was giggling like they were at a terrible tourist attraction.

Trust Stan to take it all lightly, it had kept them going for this long.

And really, he’d rather this outright refusal to be serious than the cautious nervous shell that his brother had been when he’d asked him to go sailing in the first place.

It was good to have him back, in all his childish glory.

Even if that meant dealing with his frankly terrible jokes.

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."

Chapter Text

"What the hell were you thinking, Sixer?!"

There were times when the jokes broke away, clattered down into the dark grey waves below. When the storms brewed and the dams burst.

When the banter and jovial tones morphed into something sharp and desperate, filled with worry and fear and a myriad of other painful emotions.

Times when anger took the stage.

Of course they would have disagreements, that was to be expected. Full scale arguments ricocheting across the deck in thunder claps of biting words when things went particularly wrong. Knowing they were inevitable, didn't make them any easier to deal with, however. Fortunately, they didn't happen often, and usually the worst arguments were fuelled more by nerve wracking fear for the other than anything else. But they couldn’t go for the rest of their lives always on the same side of a debate, it just wasn't possible, try as they might to compromise where possible. They were too unique, too different, too busy being stubborn and set in their own thought processes. They saw the world through different eyes, as they should, and whilst sometimes this led to frankly astronomical feats of brilliance that they would later regale the kids with, there were other moments when they clashed as fiercely as any storm the sea tried to dash them against the rocks with.

Actually, their arguments were somehow worse than anything the sea could throw at them.

…In fact their first proper fight was the worst for Ford.

Not because it was their first, mind, not because of that nervous stomach lurching worry that things were turning south. No, that quickly became lost amidst the cacophony of other panicked voices that would soon be recognised, their ringing words crashing over and swallowing whole any wayward thoughts of their wobbly bridge of a relationship being broken once more.

No, he would take whatever the sea had to throw at them rather than ever have that happen again.

It had all started with an average adventurous morning.

At least in his eyes.

In hindsight, he had been too reckless, too ready to jump full pelt into the unknown. His enthusiasm and curiosity had gotten the better of his common sense, throwing caution to the winds and unrepentantly watching it dance across the foam.

He could see some of that now, taking a step back and watching from the sideline like his brother must have done. But even with this knowledge, he didn’t know if he would do anything differently the next time, if and when another moment presented itself. Sure, with the knowledge of where it had gotten him, if he was given the chance to go back in time to that morning, he would be more cautious, more skeptical. But if it happened again in the future? He knew the answer to that already. He just wouldn't be able to resist the siren call.

He had seen a chance to investigate and he had taken it. The whispering curiosity, his own spinning sparkling thoughts and the thirst for knowledge as always taking over his senses with little room for logic or suspicion.

Or- he had tried to take it. Stan had grown suspicious almost immediately when he found Ford with the creature on deck, having been given no warning to their uninvited guest. His gut instinct on the matter had made the decision for both of them. He had voiced his concerns as soon as the shock of seeing it had worn off but Ford had brushed the words aside with a quick flippant gesture. Stan's concerns had almost irritated him, the flare of concern and shame that the creature would be offended dampened only by the comprehension that Stan was just trying to protect them.

Not everything was untrustworthy in the sea, no matter how much Stan believed the opposite. Everything they found he gave a wary, shifty once over before he approached, fists tightening in his pockets around his knuckledusters just in case they'd be needed even against the most docile looking creatures they came across. He’d much rather doubt, be cautiously mistrustful and skeptical, and apologise later for his actions, than walk naively into a trap on the very slim chance that this time it wasn’t one.

But Ford just couldn’t do it. He couldn’t view the world that way. He had to take risks, had to take the chances.

He couldn’t miss his shot.

If he hadn’t taken his chance, they wouldn’t even be on this trip in the first place.

Stan didn’t feel the same way about the world. That was for sure.

Unfortunately for Ford, Stan was also very good at reading both people and creatures. And if he was completely honest with himself, he did know, deep down, that Stan's gut feeling was usually something to be listened to, and if the creature really was docile, he would relax within a few moments and leave Ford to it or come over to join in on the research if the creature piqued his interest enough as well.

...This was not one of those times.

He had abruptly dragged Ford away from the enthralling creature, getting only a disconcerted and frustrated sound for his efforts. The sound died fairly rapidly, caught somewhere before Ford could actually get any reproachful words out. The creature's seemingly well-tempered nature had shifted almost imperceptibly and Stan had heeded the warning, locking on to the subtle body language that something was not as it should be. And not a moment too soon, a sharp glittering rain of needled darts falling where they had both been standing only seconds before, peppering the wood with enough force to stand upright.

Ford didn't even have chance to take a breath before Stan had left his side again, landing a solid punch on the creature, raring and ready to follow up the motion with his own rain of blows in return to its attack. It took that moment before the second blow hit, to finally break away from the boat and slipped back into the sea from whence it came. Stan watched it go, lip curling viciously, snarling all the while, as if daring it to come back for another round in the ring with him.

Suffice to say, it did not return.

And when he was sure that it had received the message, he turned that anger on Ford.

Ford froze, still half sprawled across the deck where Stan had dropped him, as granite cold eyes locked onto him, pinning him to the floor with their intensity. He felt like a deer in headlights as Stan turned to him, face filled with a ferocity he'd never expected to see directed at himself.

"Well? Were you even thinking?" Stan scoffed at his own words as Ford continued to stare up at him, mouth open, his tongue made useless from shock. "No, of course you weren't! For a genius you aren't half-" His words strangled themselves as he gestured around wildly. "Why can't you just listen, Sixer? It was so obvious that that thing couldn't be trusted but no, you know exactly what you're doing at all times, don't you? Don't need anyone's help ever, now do you?"

For some reason the words snapped him back to reality, stung more than they should have as he finally straightened and stood up, dusting himself off as he did so as nonchalantly as he could muster. "Now, come on, Stan, be reasonable."

"Reasonable? Reasonable? Kind of hard when you put your life on the line for no good reason." Stan huffed, arms crossing as he tapped his foot in agitation, short sharp bursts of pent up rage and adrenaline filled fear cracking through the deck with every footfall.

"I didn't put my life on the line, you're exaggerating." Ford rolled his eyes, sighing in exasperation as he walked over to examine one of the barbs the creature had left behind. He had barely even leaned down to pull one out of the wood when he was harshly tugged back by the collar of his coat.

"Didn't- what do think those things are, Sixer? Friendliness spikes? The way whatever it was says 'hello'?" Stan's frustration was bleeding through the words, but it was the fear gleaming in his eyes that really turned Ford's stomach and caused the stream of cold, cloying shame to slide down his spine. "Come on, bro." His words came out like a concerned parents', desperate to prove his point. "You can't just take everything at face value and blindly hope that it's safe."

The shame burned away at his words, irritated offence rising up to obliterate it as he yanked himself from his grasp. "Really? And what should I do exactly? Just stay on the boat and never do any research at all?"

Stan growled, hands flexing as he tried to figure out what to do with all the emotion threatening to bubble over, especially now Ford wasn't within shaking distance. "No, you know that's not what I meant! I- Just- you need to be more careful, Sixer!"

"What? Be like you, you mean? Never giving anything the benefit of doubt before you're suspicious of it?" Before Stan could respond, his face obviously in agreement, he shook his head vehemently. "I can't do that, Stan! I don't want to do that. There are so many wonders out there and you want me to treat them all with mistrust. Can you even imagine how many chances I'd miss doing that? All the valuable research that would be lost by taking a step back?" Ford head continued to shake as he took a step back, though slower now, his gaze appraising Stan sadly, disappointment marring the words he knew in hindsight he should never have let slip out. "What happened to you, Stan? You were always up for a challenge, but now you-"

The words died almost as soon as they left his mouth, shrivelling up and falling flat in the air in front of him as he realised just what he had been saying. Stan's eyes narrowed, the fear in them sharpening back to incredulous anger and Ford couldn't help the gulp, nor the shiver that went down his spine as the tension in the air darkened tenfold. "N-now, Stan-"

"What happened to me?" Stan's voice was as cold and sharp as the North wind. Each word, hard and heavy as stones, dropped to the floor one by one to crack loudly and ricochet across the otherwise silent deck. He might as well have thrown one from the flinch that Ford gave, the rumble of thunderous rage making him instantly regret his mouth running away with him. "What happened to me? How about we talk about what happened to you?" He pointed at him, freezing him once again in place. "How about we talk about you and how that god damn thing lured you out into the water? Or how about how I lost you for thirty long years because of it, how about that?"

"Stan-"

"No? You don't want to talk about that? You don't want to talk about how that creature twisted it's way into your head and out you went in that boat of yours-" Stan's hands danced, flippant and dramatic, to the side as they mocked Ford's oblivious motions in the past. "-without a care in the world? You don't wanna talk about where that got you?"

"Hey now, that's not fair." Ford's resolve hardened, stubborn and steadfast, his own irritation brewing at the fact that he didn't really have anything to throw back at him, his mind blanking out in the face of Stan's questions. But even so in his heart he knew that there was a fundamental flaw to Stan's words, one that smothered his own quaking doubts.

"Not fair? Not fair?" Stan looked up at the sky for strength, his arms wide and open in disbelief. "I can't believe you. Not fair?" His head flopped back down to fix Ford with a bitter reproachful expression. "You know what's actually not fair? Losing you for thirty years. Me bringing it up when you're obliviously making the exact same mistakes again? I think that's damn well fair!"

"I am not making the same mistakes again!" Ford snapped back. He took vindictive pleasure in reaching down again for some of the spines, snatching them up before spinning on his heel and going towards the cabin, done with this entire exchange. "And I'll prove it! These spines were a self defence tactic in response to your actions."

"...Are you really that blind, Sixer?"

The words were quieter, more lost and vulnerable but the fire was still burning for Ford and he knew if he turned around, then that would be the end of it. He refused to turn around and give in. "No, I'm not. You're the one in the wrong here. My research is valuable! We don't get anywhere by keeping our distance and not interacting with the specimens." His hand tightened around the spines, feeling them crunch slightly at the action. "You're the one making the mistake here, Stan, not me. You can't expect me to be cautious of everything we come across."

"I can't expect you to be careful?"

Ford snorted. "This? Coming from you? Of all people?"

"God damn it, Sixer! I can't lose you again!"

The words burst out from behind a dam, laced with insidious concern and unadulterated fear that bit deep into Ford's resolve, his own sparking fire doused quickly by the wave of emotion rolling over his back.

He knew Stan's anger, his fretting and his hesitance all came from the heart, all with good intentions.

But really- what was the point in this trip if they were just going to sit quietly by the sidelines all the time?

They might as well have stayed at the lighthouse, if that was the case. Couldn't Stan see that?

Honestly, he thought they'd gotten over this hurdle before they'd even left.

"Stan, I'm going to go back to my studies now. Once you've calmed down, we can discuss this." The words came out in a disappointed sigh.

"Calmed down? No, we're talking about this now!"

"If you can't be reasonable, then there's frankly nothing to talk about."

Silence met the cold hollow remark for a few seconds, the atmosphere brewing thicker and darker with every held breath.

And then a snarl tore through it all.

"Fine, you wanna play that game? I can play that game."

Ford wasn't sure if he was relieved or nervous as he heard Stan's footsteps stomp further away, the man otherwise completely silent. Part of him was glad for the peace and quiet after the outbursts, but it was so unlike Stan to be that quiet, to give in, that it unnerved him, his gut churning that he had made a terrible mistake.

The barbed spines crunched in his hand as he worried them, dragging back his wayward thoughts. He glanced down at them with a nod, steeling himself as he ignored Stan and continued into the cabin.

He just had to prove Stan wrong and then he'd be able to argue his case.

"Why did you have to be right?"

Ford leaned back in his chair with a long suffering sigh. After running a number of tests he had determined that the barbed edge of each individual spine was covered in a viscous liquid that upon further investigation were very much venomous. This on it's own didn't give him the final conclusion but now armed with the knowledge and the other evidence he had managed to gather at the time, he was starting to suspect that even in this he didn't have a leg to stand on.

He groaned again, flopping forward to hold his head in his hands, his mind racing as he tried to piece it all together into a narrative he understood. The creature had been startled by Stan's movements, that had caused the self defence reaction. The venom on the spines was to stop them following-

But he knew that wasn't the case, deep down. He couldn't actually tell now as he cast his mind back who had moved first- the creature or Stanley. And not only that but the mannerisms, the camouflaged sea toned scales and the way it had slowly shuffled him closer and closer to the edge of the boat as if it had done the motion countless times before with curious sailors, all now pointed towards an intelligent predator instead of terrified prey.

There had been no hesitance in it's movements, no alert, nervous shifting whilst aboard the boat, nor had there been any wide eyed panic to accompany it's 'self defence' tactic.

In fact, it hadn't seemed phased by anything that had happened, not until Stan had thrown a punch at it and caught it off guard.

Only then had it deemed either of them a threat and left them alone.

Admit it, you were wrong.

Ford whined again, frustratedly into his hands. How was he meant to prove Stan wrong if he kept being so right?

He couldn't always be right about these things! He had to be able to prove to his brother that there was actually some good to come out of the sea.

He had to make him see that the world wasn't as dark as he envisioned it.

He had to prove to him- no, to himself that the world was filled with things other than the monsters. He needed Stan to be wrong, he needed to know there was something out there, breathtakingly kind and beautiful to strive to find. He needed to know that the water held glimmering specks of light that would keep him afloat, dazzling fascinating creatures that held no malice to keep him from drowning in the darkness and taking everything with him.

He needed to know that being idealistic wasn't naive.

He needed to know that the creature in the bay, and its ice cold, silent prison, had been left far behind and the rest of the world lay ahead of them, filled with wonder and excitement. Every hit from a new creature tricking him, luring him in, was another chink in the armour that said you're wrong, the world is filled with monsters. Every time it happened, he found himself losing a little bit of the spark that kept him from hesitating, losing a little bit more of the adventurous gleam that had him rushing forwards wherever the wind and waves would take him.

Left him wondering whether any of this had been a good idea.

Left him wondering whether Stan had had a point all that time ago, high up in the lighthouse, about staying safe. That maybe there was something for them both on land that would be less harsh, less perilous than this trip upon the waves.

And every time his heart ached at the thought. And what was to say the land wasn't any less treacherous?

No, this was on him. It didn't matter where they went, this would always happen. He just couldn't resist temptation, the thrill, the excitement, the thirst for knowledge.

Reckless. Useless. What will you do if Stan gets hurt because of your foolhardy nature?
You always thought it'd be the other way round. That Stan would forever get you into trouble.
But Stan grew up. When are you going to finally follow suit?

Ford shivered at the voice, the snarling, barbed, shameful tongues slashing through any arguments he tried to dredge up against the onslaught. In their wake they left behind images. Stan falling into the waves, Stan pushing him out of the way to receive the blow from a creature-

Stan riddled with barbed spines, dropping to his knees in front of him.

He should have left you in the water where you belonged. At least he'd be safe.

Ford froze at the callous whisper, so familiar and yet so alien to his thoughts. That voice had filtered through his nightmares, slipped into the crevices of his thoughts to startle him awake or to whisper from the darkness of the cabin when the world was still and silent, leaving him feeling cold and clammy, his stomach roiling nauseating as he stumbled up from his bed.

But never had the voice been so clear, the words sharp and whole and far more real than in the dead of night.

He listened intently, holding his breath and waiting patiently for that glass sharp chuckle. His eyes flickered wildly for any sign of toxic yellow glittering from the dark spaces of the room, his heart beat quickened as his eyes locked to the edge of the bed, the dark space below a gaping maw where anything could be hidden but his body refused to check, locked in place as he held on white-knuckled to the edge of his chair. He still continued to look though, still continued to listen and wait for a sign- anything that would prove that it wasn't all in his head, that his own mind wasn't playing tricks on him.

Really though he was mostly hoping that it was his own treacherous thoughts. His own vitriolic emotions twisting his words into another creatures voice to make them ten times worse, instead of the world actually having shifted back into colder, devastating waters.

Silence met him as he continued to wait. Nothing moved, nothing glinted.

Nothing.

Yet the seed of doubt had now sprouted. The crawling, shuffling panic refused to be so easily quelled beneath logic and rationale. The breath he had been holding rushed out of him in a gasp of frost, his chest heaving beneath the sudden need for air, the sound loud and ragged to his ears even as he tried to clamp a hand over his mouth to muffle it.

After all, all he'd been all day was wrong. How could he trust his own thoughts, his own senses, when earlier he couldn't even tell the difference between predator or prey?

The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end as his mind swirled, anxious and unrelenting. There were still no signs of danger, yet the air around him became charged with his suspicions and doubts, fizzling and sparking with even the slightest movement. His skin crawled, small whispering trails carving goosebumps into his flesh as the gloom seemed to draw inwards, the corners of his vision blurring and darkening as his breathing quickened further. He shuddered, wrapping his arms around himself and hunching over as he tried to get his breathing back on track, the noise grating painfully to his ears and he half expected to see an icy mist stutter away from him with every exhale.

It was the damnable silence that got to him though, the echoing cavernous abyss. He choked on air as the solid wave of nothingness hit him, abruptly underwater again as he gurgled and spluttered. Water encased his ears, muffling his own clattering as he forced himself away from the desk, the water obstructing his throat, the thin tinny whistling of his own constricted airway, the only thing he could focus on as the memory took over his senses.

It was too quiet, too cold, and he couldn't trust his senses when they swayed between a dreamlike vision of a boat cabin and the steady unrelenting abyss that had been his reality for so long. Couldn't trust any of it, when his vision tunnelled, everything blurring at the edges, dark spots blinking in and out of existence as if he was staring at two water stained photos.

Move. Get out. Get to the deck. The light and the heat will help. Just. Move.

The sharp crack of the chair falling to the floor brought some marginal sense back to him, eyes pulled unwittingly towards it as he took a deep lungful of air, his throat free from water once more as the brackish abyss fizzled in his peripheral instead of engulfing him entirely. He took the needed push the sound granted him, fumbling towards the door in a rush of shaking steps and throwing it open in a quick burst of adrenaline.

The light engulfed him, blinded him and suddenly he could breathe freely again as the ice thawed from his veins and reality became sharp and tangible once more.

Ford blinked rapidly, eyes watering, but he couldn't allow himself to close them for any long period of time, the darkness behind his eyelids too much to bear. He knew this wasn't the end of it, knew the insidious thoughts were buzzing away behind the stinging light, just waiting to drag him back down below the surface if he gave them chance.

Unlike his vision, his ears were still clogged with phantom water that he couldn't seem to shake away, giving every sound a muffled, ringing quality. The sea was there, he could see it, smell it but the slapping waves were nothing more than a tinny mumble to him, so close and yet so far all at once and he knew it wasn't enough to focus on. He could feel himself slipping, feel the whispers beginning to seep back through to drown him once more and there was nothing he could do-

A much louder, more commanding sound broke through the glaze in a short sharp burst of energy. It tore the stuffing from his ears as the sound continued, a piercing painful melody to drag him back to Earth with.

Or as much of a melody as the angry sound could physically muster. But as awful as Ford would normally find it, he couldn't help but think, in that moment, that it was the most perfect thing he'd ever heard.

His breaths came more easily after a moment, the tight constricting band around his chest easing as the loud ruckus ripped through the fog in his head. It cut the swirling, spiralling strands of thought into ribbons that fell away to nothingness and left his mind blissfully blank as he stumbled across the deck. The giddy hysterical notion that his body was acting like he no longer had sea legs just managed to slip past the high pitch cacophony that had made itself at home in his head as he made his way over to his brother's back, the offending harmonica tight in his hands as he blasted his anger out across the waves. He could see it in his tense shoulders, in his straight back and gritted jaw- all that fear, all that frustration billowing out of him and although a flicker of shame rooted itself inside him at the sight, it fell short of the thrum of pure boneless relief that flowed across his skin and washed away the crawling sensation that had been there before.

He blinked, and in that instant found himself abruptly beside Stan, the short trek it had taken to get to him a mystery, in the heady daze he had found himself in. He hesitated for a second at the realisation, hands gripping the railing tightly. He didn't like how bewildered and lost he felt. His skin was not his own, tingling and fizzling like something sat below the surface, every movement felt sluggish and strange, as if the route between his brain and muscles had become a winding maze without him noticing. He was trapped, both inside and outside his own head, fighting for some semblance of normality, as his thoughts refused to co-operate and let him logically think, too caught up in the nauseating sensation of just how wrong everything felt..

The sharp short whistle of the instrument in his brother's hands caught him again before the the panic could really set, dragging his focus away from the disconcerting feeling of not being there entirely.

He continued to move his hands across the metal rail, letting it soothe him, letting himself tap out a soft beat in the hopes his heart would follow suit even as he continued to listen intently. He closed his eyes for a second, basking in the warmth of the sun, the last dregs of the cold mist evaporating before he finally turned to his brother. He opened his mouth to say anything, hesitating only then when he belatedly remembered that the last time they had spoken had been in the midst of a full blown argument.

Ford didn't know what to say.

" Hey Stan, turns out you were right?"  
"Hey Stan, I know I was wrong but I can justify it-"
"Hey Stan, so- I'm sorry?"

None of them sounded quite right.

But he knew he had to start somewhere as his brother continued to stare resolutely out towards the sea, the heat of his ire practically pulsing out of him, hotter than the sun.

Ford winced but stood up straight, steeling himself up for the moment.

At least Stan's anger was warm and real and ever so loud.

As much as he didn't want Stan to be angry with him or upset in any way, shape, or form, Ford couldn't deny that his pure, unadulterated presence did wonders for the damp nothingness that had started to leach into his skull.

"Hey, Stan?"

Stan purposefully ignored him, eyes still locked on the horizon as he played his harmonica, the sound viciously loud as it echoed out across the water.

Ford gulped at the stark coldness of his response against the burning heat of his body language. The crawling itch resumed, running down his spine once more.

Maybe he should have started with the 'I'm sorry' after all.

He just knew that the next words that would come after would be 'I'm sorry, really I am, but you need to understand-'.

And from experience with not only Stan but his old friend and assistant Fiddleford, he had learnt long ago that that was a terrible way to apologise and usually ended with, at the very least, another argument if not worse.

The itch spread further, tingling into his extremities, the feeling that something was watching them both, eyes burning ice cold into the back of his skull.

"Come on, Stan."

The words came out unbidden, tumbling out as the force of his unsettled nerves set things into motion.

He needed Stan to acknowledge him, even if it was just to shout at him again. Anything to confirm that the darkness wasn't looming over him again and tugging him back down into it's gaping maw.

Anything to stop him from drowning in the depths of the panic that was ebbing and flowing through him like the tides, crashing waves hitting him from every angle as the currents of his fears tried to drag him down with them. It crept up and up, the waters rising through his windpipe, slowly pushing onward until he was sure it would soon submerge him completely, suffocate him- and there was nothing he could do, not on his own, his mind struggling against the currents fruitlessly as they dashed him against the rocks. He was captured entirely in their sway as his heartbeat pulsed in his ears, his throat constricting painfully-

The music beside him came to a sudden, sharp halt.

Ford blinked, his breath whistling out of him in a warbling hiss as he turned to his brother. He watched him inhale deeply, twisting the harmonica in his hands a few times as he gazed at the light hitting the silver surface with rapt attention. He breathed in tandem with his twin's even breaths, smiling softly as the sudden shifts in noise brought him back to reality over and over again.

And now with the harmonica away from Stan's lips, perhaps he was ready to talk to him again.

"Thanks, Stan."

Ford frowned as Stan continued his scrutiny of the instrument without so much as glancing up at his words.

There was nothing between them now, no way he couldn't have heard him through the small breeze fluttering around them.

"I- are you waiting for me to say 'sorry' because I can do that if you want-"

Stan sighed deeply, cutting him off before raising the harmonica back to his lips and starting on another tune, one more melodic and less filled with irritation but another song all the same.

And the world fell around Ford's ears, crashing into the waves below and leaving him completely hollow and weightless.

Is he- Can he not hear me?

His breathing started to quicken again as Stan turned away from him, walking across the deck as if he'd never seen him beside him. The fuzzy darkness returned at the edges of his vision, the looming cold crawling across every expanse of skin as the wind cut through him. A voice in his mind told him none of it was real, it was just a breeze, a warm one at best, and yet he couldn't stop the shivers, shuddering as it danced across his flesh over and over again.

None of it mattered, Stan hadn't heard him, Stan hadn't seen him.

You're invisible. You're just a ghost.
You're all alone again.

Well... not entirely alone.

The voice re-emerged. Sickly sweet and soothing in the worst kind of way. It set his teeth on edge, every fibre of his being telling him to flee, not to trust it, not to let it in, not to let it trick him or calm him down again. It's peace was a lie, one that stripped him of his mind, his memories- everything that made him him.

It had made him forget Stan.

The thought send another flood of panic through him, his throat constricting further and refusing to co-operate as he sunk to his knees, his hands clawing as his neck, expecting to find some kind of resistance there that was stopping him from breathing, his eyes still locked to his brother's retreating back.

A ringing started to sound through his ears, muffling Stan's tune, the real world becoming a blurring mass behind his own heavy breathing and the constant tinny ring that quickly morphed into a dark twisted chuckle.

Stan couldn't see him, couldn't hear him and the creature was back and it was going to make him forget everything again, all that they had done together in the time that he had escaped. He didn't know what to do, he didn't know why it was happening this time and he couldn't seem to get his body to respond to his own thoughts, the panic too all-consuming for him to fight through. And every layer added a new fresh wave of hysteria, his legs refusing to hold his weight, his vision fading in and out, all pointing him towards the dizzying, terrifying conclusion that his body was already lost below the waves again and he hadn't even known it.

You're not really here. He's already got you and Stan doesn't even know.
He doesn't know you need help this time.
And soon enough you're going to forget he even exists, forget he would ever come looking for you if he could.

The fear rose to a crescendo and suddenly broke the dam, the water flooding out of him along with a panicked trail of choked words as air rushed in.

"Stan! Stan, please! I'm sorry- so- sorry. Please-"

Stan was already beside him after the first 'please' but the words kept rushing out even as his brother knelt before him.

"I can't do this alone- not again- Stan, please. I'll apologise forever if you can just hear me-"

"Hey, Sixer, I'm here. I'm right here."

"I think I'm there again, I don't want to forget- please don't let it make me forget-"

"Sixer!" A large hand engulfed his shoulder, cutting his panicked thoughts and words short. The solid presence let him breathe in again, gasping for air as his eyes found Stan looming above him, eyes wide with concern and swimming with guilt though he couldn't quite fathom why. "You're not there, Sixer, I promise. I've got you, you're safe, you're right here on the Stan'O'War II just like you're meant to be." His eyes steeled into something darker, his other hand coming to cover his other shoulder, the harmonica clattering carelessly to the floor as Ford's eyes followed the movement listlessly before zoning back into Stan's eye contact, dazed and boneless, exhausted with relief. "That thing's never getting hold of you again, do you hear me? I won't let anything hurt you, Sixer."

A small traitorous voice in his head reminded him that's all he was trying to do this morning.

But in that instant the voice fell on deaf ears as Ford's shaking hands went to latch around Stan's wrists, taking so much comfort in the feel of his pulse, in the knowledge that this was real and he wasn't floating into nothingness. It took a lot of effort for the movement, his entire body feeling worn out, as if the adrenaline had left him in one fell swoop to puddle on the deck listlessly. The words slipped out again, much quieter and in a warble of pure exhausted emotion as he stared at Stan with watery eyes. "You- you can hear me."

Stan blinked at him a few times, his mouth opening and closing repeatedly before a surging stream of vehement expletives left him. He glanced up towards the sky, as if gathering his thoughts, and then back to Ford, giving his shoulders a tight squeeze, eyes once again brimming with heated frustration and behind that, a deep set self-disgust.

"Jesus, I should have realised. I am so sorry- You said to- But I still shouldn't have- I was just so-" He closed his eyes again, taking a deep breath before he opened them once more, reproach welling within them but Ford didn't know who for. "You told me to leave you alone until I could be reasonable, Poindexter. I may have taken that a bit more literally than you actually meant, it seems."

Ford stared at him owlishly, the argument from that morning slowly trickling back into his skull in drips and drabs, his mind sluggish from the upheavals that had happened since. The morning felt like it could have been a week ago, not mere hours. Until suddenly it clicked.

"If you can't be reasonable, there's nothing to talk about."

And the first thing he said to Stan as soon as he gave him a moment to was-

"I- are you waiting for me to say 'sorry' because I can do that if you want-"

It was little wonder really that Stan had irritatedly turned away from him without a word. Natural even. Stan wasn't ready to be reasonable when he thought he was in the right and Ford had shown that he hadn't actually come to see him to apologise.

It made sense, it really did.

It just hadn't at the time, with paranoia creeping up on him and the dreadful twisted thought that maybe, just maybe, he wasn't even here to begin with. He could still feel the tremors running through him at the mere suggestion, could feel Stan periodically tightening his hold in pulses to ground him in reality, his face twisting with a myriad of emotions that made it clear he regretted his actions entirely.

Stan was mad at him, of course he was, but he never wanted to hurt him.

He hadn't meant to give him the silent treatment for any other reason than the fact that Ford had actually suggested the action from the beginning.

So if he hadn't thought that through himself, how could he have expected Stan to?

"Oh."

Stan winced at the sound, flinching ever so slightly back as he waited for a more visceral response, waited for Ford to snap at him or throw a punch for scaring him like that, but Ford didn't have it in him to be angry through the relief, nor could he really blame Stan's actions. Especially not when even whilst waiting for some kind of backlash his brother was still carefully maintaining contact, his hands now running up and down Ford's arms as if to keep him warm.

"Oh."

Stan turned back to him skeptically as he continued to just make small noises of understanding, his eyebrows furrowing together as he hesitantly spoke up again. "I mean- you did tell me not to talk to you."

Ford gave a wobbly half-hearted smile as he sagged in towards Stan, letting him engulf him in a hug. "I- it appears my calculations on the matter were rather incorrect."

"Yeah, I can see that." Stan ran a hand up and down his back, continuing the soothing pressure as Ford finally let his body relax entirely, his eyes shutting as another shuddering breath tore through him and left him wearier but far more reassured than before.

There was something nagging him though, a small snippet of a voice that told him he should make things better before he fell asleep.

"Hey, Stan?"

"Yeah?"

"You were right, that creature wasn't acting in self-defence."

"Self-de- you really thought it might be- damn it, Sixer." Stan sighed, a long deep suffering sound that made Ford wince.

"I just- I wanted to prove to you that some things aren't as bad as you think they are."

Stan sighed again, more of a disappointed understanding groan, but gripped him tighter at the same time. "I know. I know that you can't help it and you want to see the good in the world but it just- it terrifies me, Sixer, how easily you'd walk into danger."

"I know. I'm sorry."

"I know. I'm just scared one day I won't be able to help you."

Ford gave a dark hollow laugh that had Stan clutching him tighter. "I- I think I learnt that today."

"I wish you hadn't. I'm sorry." Stan propped his head on top of Ford's. "I- I've got to get used to you running headfirst into things. I'm not used to it being that way round. It was always me who did that, cause I could take it." He ignored the disapproving noise muffled into his coat. "But- what matters is the fact that, I'll always be here, you know? For moments like this morning when I had to drag you away from that- whatever it was-" He again ignored the muffled response that said Ford had decided to try and educate him on the matter. "No matter how angry I am at you, or how much you tell me not to get involved. I'm always going to be there, right beside you to pull you out of harms way, OK?"

Ford nodded against him, hands pushing him away so that he could lean beside him instead, resting his head on his shoulder as Stan shifted to give him a one armed hug, the pair of them staring out to sea. "Yeah." He gave another shuddering breath, relaxing into the hug. "Yeah, OK."

There was quiet for a while after that, though a much more peaceful lull than the one before, the pair of them basking in the warm presence of an argument finally breaking like a storm and leaving them back on familiar ground. Or more of a semi-quiet, punctuated by soft hums, questioning and concerned, and steady movements as Stan kept checking up on Ford and on making sure he knew he was right there beside him. Not that it was strictly necessary, the constant pressure of his arm around him was doing wonders for that sentiment.

Ford wasn't complaining though, warmed by the comforting gestures.

And then Stan gave a soft chuckle, a vibration of strange amusement that rattled Ford where he sat.

Ford's eyebrows furrowed, though his mouth twitched upwards slightly at the change in atmosphere as he shuffled to look up at Stan curiously, nudging him when he didn't get the hint.

"Sorry, just-" Stan looked down at him, a mischievous grin on his face. "Guess you'll have to deal with all my complaining from now on, won't you?" He prodded Ford in the side, tickling him slightly and making him squirm. "No running away from an argument next time, we're gonna have to talk it through like adults."

"You?" Ford swiped at his hands half-heartedly, smiling himself as he raised an eyebrow. "An adult?"

"...Fair. But if you think I'm letting you out of my sight next time, you've got another thing coming."

Ford gave a relieved sound, one that sobered the moment slightly as the mischief vanished from Stan's gaze. "I'm fine with that. Absolutely fine with that." The words came out slightly more desperate than he had intended, Stan's quick nod a show of how seriously he was taking it, even if he was trying to joke around the subject.

"Don't you worry bro, there won't be no more silent treatment on this boat."

"Thanks, Stan."

Stan laughed, turning round to him fully, cheeky grin back in place. "Oh, I wouldn't thank me yet. We still haven't sat down and been reasonable about what happened earlier, so how about we start with that?"

Ford gave a deep groan, rolling his eyes, though a similar smile marred his features. This really was far preferable to the gloomy fog that had engulfed him on his own, the silent, cold, darkness that his mind had presented him with when an argument loomed so heavily Stan wasn't ready to speak to him.

He would take whatever Stan could throw at him rather than ever have that happen again.

Thankfully, if Stan had anything to say about it, it never would.

Chapter Text

Stan was a hoverer. He couldn’t help it.

Ever since he’d got Ford back, it had become a habit of his. Check on Ford, make sure he was still there, still safe, still home.

His hovering had only gotten worse since that first incident, the fight that had gone so wrong for both of them.

He didn't mean to do it, not really, it was just second nature at this point.

And Ford knew that, he knew Stan needed to make sure and was almost always happy to oblige. It didn’t really hurt him for Stan to hover around him from time to time, and so he let him. But still, sometimes it started to grate on him, an irritation he couldn’t quite pin down as his body tensed at the intense scrutiny, mind spinning quick defensive explanations to his actions, as he felt Stan’s presence directly behind him, eyes burning holes in the back of his head. 

This, thankfully, was not one of those times. A bright cheeky grin spread across Ford's face as he continued to pull up the net from the side of the boat. He was pointedly ignoring Stan’s restless motions behind him, and trying his best to ignore the twisting, fidgeting hands that kept following his movements, ready to drag him back if need be. It was hard to keep pretending though when his brother was flitting to and fro, catching his attention whenever he came into view. He tutted teasingly, his words just as playful and lacking any sharp edges. “Stan, either help me pull this up or take a step back, you're distracting me.”

“How about you-" Stan's word's stuttered to a halt, changing tack halfway through as he flinched forward again. "-Do you have to lean that far over, Sixer? Come on, let’s not take a dip today if we can help it, how’s about that?”

Ford hummed noncommittally, laughter bubbling up unwittingly at the strangled irritated noise Stan made in reply. Despite his early mocking, he didn’t, however, argue when the net tugged away from him, his centre of gravity shifting further forward with it and there was suddenly a set of hands grasping his shoulders tightly, tugging him upright once more.

“See? What did I say?”

“What? I didn’t actually go over.” Ford sniffed indignantly, paying no attention to reproachful mutterings right by his ear as he pulled the net up with a rather large heave now that Stan was keeping him steady from behind, . He blinked owlishly over the railing, eyes wide and bright as he took in the unusual contents of their net, just as extraordinary he had hoped.

“So? Did you manage to catch anything?”

Ford beamed proudly over his shoulder as Stan shuffled closer, opening the net up wider for him to see inside.

“Is that an octopus?”

“No! Yes!” Ford shook his head, still grinning brightly as he pointed. “Look! There! See that? It’s got one large eye. A cycloptopus? Yes, that sounds good. Cycloptopus.”

“Really? That’s what you’re going with?”

“Yep.” Ford popped the ‘p’ with relish, smiling down at the little creature as he pulled it properly on to the deck, the net falling around it as it surveyed its surroundings. “I wonder how different it is in other aspects to an average octopus. Think of all the research I could do…” He rambled on for a few more seconds, babbling away incessantly, hands restlessly gesturing in tandem to his words.  It took him awhile to realise that Stan wasn't listening to him, though it was the fact that Stan was chuckling away next to him, small stifled puffs of amused air that he obviously wasn't meant to hear, that really drew his attention. He frowned, turning to him, the Cycloptopus momentarily forgotten. “What? What’s so funny?”

“Oh nothing, I was just thinking, that’s all.” Stan wiped at his eye before trying to contain his mirth, leaning back against the railing as he gave Ford and his new friend a scrutinising eye, though the nonchalant look was hindered somewhat by the laughter threatening to bubble forth. “Looks like I’m not the only one pulling kin up from the bottom of the ocean.”

Ford blinked at him a few times, his mouth opening and closing as Stan’s façade crumbled entirely and he went back to roaring with laughter.

“Holy cow- your- your face!”

“What? I mean- that makes no sense!” Ford spluttered out, cogs whirring as he tried to process Stan’s joke.

“Sure, it does. You’re a hug monster, remember?” Stan’s grin was as cheeky and childish as could be, his eyes positively gleaming  with mischief. He looked behind Ford at the Cycloptopus and back to him, nodding to himself all the while as if his theory was coming together perfectly. “An octopus if Mabel’s sweater is anything to go by, right? So if you’re pulling them out of the water now it stands to reason that-”

“If it’s my kin, then it’s your kin as well, Stan!” Ford continued to splutter, arms crossing over his chest with a soft sulking huff at Stan’s antics.

He may have been slightly amused by it all if he was completely honest. But really, where would he be if he let Stan win right off the bat?

He had to play his part in the back and forth banter, after all.

And luckily they were both good at this game, it was never really one sided.

“Oh? Is that your way of asking if you can keep it?”

Ford’s mouth twisted thoughtfully, musing over his words. “If I say yes will you let me? Just for a little while?”

Stan barked, a sharp shock of laughter at the sudden shift in the conversation as Ford found the perfect opening to change the tides. “Wow, fell into that one, didn’t I?”

“Just a bit.” Ford put his thumb and forefinger together, grinning all the while even as Stan raised an eyebrow at him, unfazed by the turn of events.

"You really want to keep it?"

Ford nodded fervently, eyes lighting up again at the research opportunities. Before he could voice his enthusiasm, Stan's face split into a wide smirk, nodding behind him.

“Guess you better catch it then.”

“Better catch-” Ford spun round, watching the Cycloptopus slip across the boat deck in hurried scuttling movements. “Stanley! Why didn’t you say anything?!” He darted after it amidst another round of booming laughter as Stan watched nonchalantly from his post, just observing the chaos which was his brother giving chase to the latest anomaly. "Stanley!"

“What? You catch it, you keep it. I’m not getting involved. Damn, wish I had the camera now but it’s still charging below deck.”

“This isn’t funny, Stan!”

“Isn’t it? It really is from where I’m standing.”

The scuttling continued for a while, every step Stan took met with a quick glance of pure vengeance as if his brother knew exactly what he was thinking, promising retribution if he even dared to think about filming him. So, instead, he resigned himself to watch, gleefully cataloguing all the good moments to tell the kids about when they next video called them.

His favourite moment though, throughout the entire impromptu chase, the one that he really did wish he'd managed to get on camera, was the ecstatic yelp of triumph as Ford abruptly lifted up the Cycloptopus for him to see, his face a pure unfiltered image of giddy pride at his success.

Stan proudly smiled back at him, nodding in uncaring defeat.

“There you go then, Sixer. Now you get to keep it."

Chapter Text

“Will you just let me take a look?!”

The unfortunate thing about caring so much about a person, other than the utter fear of them putting themselves at risk, is that the arguments that flared up when the person you cared about had been in danger were ferocious.

“I already told you I’m fine!”

The other unfortunate thing about caring when there were only two of you in these scenarios, is that no matter how much you wanted to keep them safe, there was a very big probability that they only wanted the same for you.

And that led to situations where no matter what happened, there was definitely going to be one hell of a storm afterwards.

“You are not fine, you- you- knucklehead!” Ford snarled, trying his best to grasp hold of Stan’s arm and take a look at the wound that he was gingerly holding to his chest. But his brother wasn’t having any of it, shaking his head and pulling back with a scowl as Ford’s tirade continued. “Of all the reckless stupid ideas you’ve had, Stan- what were you thinking?”

“I wasn’t, alright?” Stan snapped back, his face sullen and his eyes looking everywhere other than Ford, finally resting to glare at the floor at his feet. “All I knew was that I had to get you out of the way of that- I don’t even know what it was.”

Ford frowned at the weird tone, the soft almost dark humour that seemed to be lacing Stan’s voice. It sent another wave of irritation through him, the concerned fear bubbling up and shifting into heated anger as Stan scoffed in front of him. As if his actions were obvious and Ford was the one acting strange. “Are you even taking this seriously, Stan? Are you?”

“Of course I am. I made sure you didn’t get hurt, didn’t I?” Stan gave a pained grimace of a smile, all teeth and no bright spark.

It only added fuel to the fiery ire.

It crackled through Ford’s chest, the agitated concern burning scorch marks up his throat to heave as smoke and ash from his lips.

…He didn’t notice Stan flinch back from the falling embers.

“That’s not the point, Stan!” The words exploded forth, his hands moving energetically and wide with every word, quick sharp flickering motions before he shakily ran a hand through his hair, trying hard not to shake the man in front of him. “You know that’s not what I meant! I could have- I would have-”

“Would have what? Gotten yourself out of the situation? I wasn’t about to take the risk.” Stan’s face became grim then, sombre in a way that made Ford start to deflate, fire smothered in a thick blanket of unease by the unexpectedly earnestness. “I’ve told you before, Sixer, I’m not losing you again.”

“That doesn’t mean throwing yourself into harms way.” Ford glared at him, voice tight and contained, his arms tightening around his own chest when his every step forward to try and look at Stan’s arm had his twin backing further away from him.

“Doesn’t it?”

“No!” Ford’s voice cracked halfway through the word, making Stan cringe at the sharp bark. “What could possibly make you think that?”

“I can take it.” Stan shrugged, waving his wounded arm towards him. He winced at the movement after only a second, realising his mistake a moment too late as he quickly held it tight to himself instead, the pain obvious even as he tried his best to pretend otherwise. “I mean, better me than yo-”

“Do. Not. Finish. That. Sentence.” Ford scrubbed a hand down his face, his eyes stern as they finally locked with Stan’s and for a second he thought he saw a flash of fear in them that he couldn’t quite fathom.

“Come on, Sixer. It’s not like it’s a big deal.”

“Not a big-?” The remnants of Ford’s fire turned to solid ice, sharp, cold, unyielding shards, each one chiming with his distraught disbelief. How could he say that? How could he even think that- He felt something inside him snap as he stood up to his full height, his back ramrod straight as he pointed at his brother. “You-! You don’t get to be angry at me for accidentally putting myself in bad situations when you actively run into them!”

“What was I supposed to do? Let it hurt you?”

“Ye-No! I don’t know! But just-” Ford growled, pacing as he gestured wildly to try and make sense of his thoughts. “Just try to care about what happens to you as well! I saw your face as you ran towards me, you weren’t even- your own safety didn’t even cross your mind, did it?” His footsteps faltered as he turned back to watch Stan’s reaction to his words. “That’s what scares me. You don’t even seem to care if you get hurt.”

Stan winced at the concerned expression, tugging his eyes away to look out over the water, his eyebrows furrowing in confusion. Ford saw his lips move, obviously responding but the words didn’t carry. “What was that?”

“Nothing.”

Ford sighed, his hand running through his hair, mussing through it, as he tried to formulate some kind of response to all of this. “In any case just sit down and let me take a look at that arm-”

“I told you I’m fine.”

“And if it was the other way round?” Ford felt the need to stamp his foot, to stomp over and make Stan look after himself but he knew that all he’d do was cause further injury and if he was being honest, he really didn’t understand why Stan was being quite so stubborn about this. All he knew was that his brother was hurt and he wasn’t letting him help and it ached somewhere deep down, down below all the tumultuous emotions that were rearing their ugly heads. So if he had to play dirty to get him to give in then he’d just have to deal with the guilt of that later, anything was better than… this distance. “If it was me that wasn’t letting you help or I’d gone running off into danger, what would you be doing, right now?”

“Well, that would be completely different.”

“Different? How would it be different?!” Ford couldn’t help but wonder when the tides had changed. Since when had it been him that was all bluster and movement, heated exclamations and wild gestures, whilst his brother stood motionless and quiet, withdrawn and cold.

Since when had his brother not faced everything face on, even him? Why wouldn’t he even look at him?

“Because it would be you. And like I’ve already said better me than-”

“No. No, we’re not going- I’m not having that.” Ford took a deep breath. His anger was getting the better of him. He couldn’t think straight, couldn’t get his words to line up into actual sentences to address the glaring issue in this conversation. Nothing he said was getting through to his brother, it was all bouncing off and he couldn’t think up the right words to say to get through the armour his brother was needlessly building up around himself. He didn’t understand. Why is he doing this? “I need a minute to cool off.” He let the breath out in a long hiss, trying to calm his rapid heartbeat, though considering it hadn’t really stopped thudding painfully since he’d seen his brother leap in front of him and take the brunt of an attack that hadn’t been meant for him, he wasn’t sure any attempts he made would be successful. “I’ll be back- don’t… don’t do anything reckless while I’m not looking, alright?”

He hadn’t meant to say anything, but the frustration was getting to him, the sarcastic remark dripping like poison and he regretted the words almost as soon as they fell from his lips and Stan’s face shifted, locking down right in front of him.

And then the look vanished, a deep set frown and stubborn gaze sparked back up across from him. “No, wait- you can’t leave, we’ve talked about that before. I’m not letting you walk away from this, we’ve got to talk things out remember?”

“Talk what out, Stan? You’re not even listening to me.” Ford sighed, shrugging in dismal defeat. “I just need a moment. That’s all.”

Silence followed in his wake as he walked away, Stan not even trying to argue as he left and for some reason that sent off more warning bells than anything else in Ford’s head. Something wasn’t right, he didn’t get it- nothing made sense.

Stan didn’t let things go, didn’t let things drop away and fester, especially not after that first fight. Yet here he was, just accepting it, somehow knowing not to push Ford further on this point and even though he was grateful for that, something about it set his teeth on edge.

Why was Stan doing this? Why wouldn’t he let him help?

He almost didn’t want to let Stan out of his sight, and inside that protective feeling something nagged at him desperately, deep in his core, like he had forgotten something important.

A heavy sigh echoed behind him, just as he was closing the door. He kept it slightly ajar, assuming Stan thought he was on his own, wondering if he’d say anymore.

His actions were rewarded when the wind blew across the deck and sad pained words slipped through the crack in the door.

“Idiot. Just can’t do anything right today, can you?”

Ford found himself pacing again once he was alone, eyes scanning for some kind of sign around the cabin, something to aid him when he went back out to discuss things with his brother.

Anything to make him understand what was going on.

He closed his eyes for a second, taking a deep breath as he willed his mind back, retracing through the day step by step. The argument was a given, sometimes people acted oddly and he knew as much as he hated it Stan would always rather it was him that got hurt instead of Ford. So, him acting up then and trying to hide how injured he was almost made sense, logically, but there was something about the day in general that heightened the feeling that Ford shouldn’t let him brush the whole affair aside like he obviously wanted to.

Something else was going on and he needed to get to the bottom of it.

So he continued watching the day in reverse. Before the creature had even been a sliver on the horizon something had been off, though he hadn’t really noticed it until late. Stan couldn’t seem to focus on the tasks at hand. He’d seemed more withdrawn, less observant. If it hadn’t been for the sudden attack from the side of the boat, Ford had been ready to try and drag him into a conversation in the hopes of getting him back with him in the real world.

Now he thought about it, he wasn’t even sure he’d heard any jokes from him that morning, not even an attempt at one.

“Idiot. Just can’t do anything right today, can you?”

Ford frowned deeply, the words still circling over and over in his head. Ever since he’d heard them uttered he’d been trying to solve the puzzle. Stan had accidentally knocked over an experiment in the morning, was that what he was referring too? Sure, he’d been upset, that venom had been quite an ordeal to obtain and Stan knew as much but really, he’d been far more fretful that Stan had got some on him when the beaker smashed than actually angry at him. They could always get more, that really wasn’t an issue when it came between that and his brother’s well being. But Stan hadn’t seemed to think that, he’d been overly apologetic, stuttering promises that he hadn’t meant to do it before going utterly quiet once Ford assured him it was fine, his face downtrodden.

Now Ford thought on it, he realised that for whatever reason, Stan hadn’t believed him.

And because of that one mistake, Stan had made more and more. Fumbled notes and almost scattered them, stumbled over ropes and items on the deck as if he hadn’t even seen them. Small hissing curses that Ford had hardly listened to but now seemed more evident as something he should have been paying close attention to.

“Idiot. Useless. What are you doing?”

And still Ford knew there was something he’d forgotten, something important-

His eyes fell on the fairy lights that adorned the cabin.

And spat a colourful string of curses as he darted for the door, the dim twinkling lights dancing across his retinas.

That was what he’d forgotten.

That morning when he’d woken, the lights had seemed that little bit off colour, just a tad duller and just a bit more unnatural, like a smile that didn’t reach the eyes and hid a well of emotions behind it.

He’d wondered if Stan had had a nightmare, or whether it was just an off day but decided it might be best not to bring it up, that he’d only keep a watchful eye, or try and help however he could if Stan seemed to slip into a quieter day than usual.

And then the venom had been spilled and all those thoughts had been driven straight from his head to be replaced by a frantic mantra to make sure his brother wasphysically OK. The sigh of relief when he came to the conclusion that his twin was unharmed, even as he became withdrawn, his eyes glazing over and his teeth worrying his lip, was still enough to make him lose all track of what he had been doing, all his plans vanishing in the breeze to be replaced by a false and lethal calm.

His brother might have been physically OK, but emotionally? He’d already been on a slippery slope before that moment and it had all gone downhill, snowballing quickly and he hadn’t even noticed.

You’re the idiot! This kind of behaviour is what you should have been watching out for!

And now? Now as he bolted for the door, eyes darting quickly around the deck to find his brother’s silhouette, the fairy lights were flickering, wavering on and off, on and off, each time just that tiny bit dimmer than before.

He’d known them get bad before, he knew as strange as it sounded, how in tune they were with his brother, and usually he could keep track, check on them and then check on his brother and make sure that the sparks didn’t go out entirely. He’d bring his brother back to the present and make him laugh or at least smile, try and coax him into conversations until the world was righting itself again and the fairy lights were back, bright as they should be.

…He wasn’t sure he’d ever let the lights get that bad before.

He heaved a sigh of relief, footsteps clipped and loud as he caught sight of Stan and instantly found himself racing towards him, thoughts of the earlier argument far from his head when his brother needed him. Stan didn’t seem to notice though, his eyes locked far out to sea, his trusty radio beside him spitting out nothing but white noise though he wasn’t phased enough to do anything about it, leaning listlessly against the railing, his injured arm hanging limp at his side.

“Stan?”

No response.

Ford gulped, though not unlike before when Stan had intentionally ignored him, he could tell this time that wasn’t the case. The look almost reminded him of another time, a far far colder time when he’d watched his brother almost give up entirely and had had to drag him back from the precipice that he himself had caused.

He shouldn’t have left Stan alone today.

The white noise sounded sharper, a static crackle snapping through and Stan had just enough focus to flinch at it, eyes closing for a second slowly before reopening and scanning the water with a sharp intake of breath.

Ford didn’t know what was going through his head, but he knew that it shouldn’t go on any longer.

“Stan? Stan, come on, listen to me.” Ford bit his lip when nothing happened, when his pleas fell on deaf ears and for a moment he thought back to his panic attack, tried to remember what exactly it was that Stan had done to ground him and remind him he was actually there with him-

It hit him like a freight train and without thought he did the only thing that came to mind and dropped his hand on Stan’s shoulder.

Stan jumped high, spinning in one fluid movement, eyes wide and shocked before he came down from the sudden adrenaline rush and realised who it was. “Jesus, Sixer! Don’t sneak up on me like that, I could have-”

“I didn’t sneak up on you. I’ve been stood here calling you.”

“O-Oh.” Stan’s eyes didn’t lose their fearful glaze, the smile winding around it all, twisted and unnatural as he tried, unsuccessfully, to shake off whatever had been going through his head. “Sorry- must have… dozed off or something.”

Ford bit the inside of his mouth, desperately wanting to let the relief that Stan was responding to him take over but he knew he needed to nip this in the bud now, knew they needed to get this off their chests before Stan withdrew again and his thoughts spiralled to where Ford couldn’t reach them. “Stan, talk to me.”

Stan frowned, the smile vanishing to what Ford assumed was meant to be innocent confusion. “Talk to-? I am talking to you, Sixer, what do you think I’m doing?”

“You’re not though!” Ford gripped his shoulder tighter, only pulling away when a pained hiss left Stan’s lips. “You’re not- Not really! You won’t let me help you-”

“If this is about my arm-”

“It’s not just about your arm.” Ford’s words were quiet but managed to cut through Stan’s argument like butter. “You aren’t letting me in. You won’t talk to me about whatever is obviously eating away at you, you won’t let me physically look after you- why? Why won’t you let me in, Stan? We promised we’d talk things through- you- you promised you’d wake me if you had any more nightmares.”

Stan’s eyes locked down again then, his mouth a thin line as he pondered Ford’s words and he almost worried for a second that the split second assumption he’d made was all wrong when-

“I woke you then?”

Any trace of Stan’s fake smile had vanished, his eyes once again skirting over Ford’s face before dropping away entirely and staring out to sea, visibly deflating. He looked vulnerable, smaller, and Ford hated it. He found himself abruptly needing to be closer and latched himself to Stan’s side in a moment of solidarity, his protective instinct flaring too brightly to be ignored.

“I’m sorry- I didn’t mean to wake you. It wasn’t even that bad a nightmare, it just stayed with me a bit. And then I messed up this morning and-” Stan let out his breath in a wobbly hiss that almost sounded like he was on the verge of tears. “I’m sorry.”

“Shhhh.” Ford leant up against him, not knowing what else to do and felt Stan lean just as heavily back as if he was struggling to keep himself afloat and welcomed the support. Ford was happy to give as much as was needed, becoming an anchor for Stan’s tempestuous thoughts. “It’s OK. You didn’t wake me, I just- I guessed.”

Stan snorted, low and incredulous. “Smart guess.”

Ford gave a quick smile, though it fell flat in the moment. “That’s not what matters. What matters is that something’s been eating away at you and you didn’t wake me.”

Stan shrugged again. “As I said it wasn’t that bad a dream. Nothing out of the ordinary.”

“But?”

“But…”

Stan’s words fizzled to nothing and Ford felt himself go adrift with them, not knowing where to land to keep them both on course. There were no stars to navigate this conversation, no pinpoints to focus on to keep it moving. He knew he had to be ready but he didn’t know which way the winds were blowing, didn’t know how best to react and resolve the situation to keep them both afloat.

…He just had to hope he could sail against the tides and find dry land.

“It just… festered? I- I dunno, I know that it wasn’t that bad a dream and yet i just couldn’t- can’t seem to shake it.” Stan shuddered, the warmth against him appreciatively solid and pressing as Ford leaned even closer. “And I just kept proving the dream right. Over and over again. Mistake after mistake after-”

“Stan, you haven’t done anything wrong- not really.” Ford tilted his head against Stan’s shoulder, hearing a grateful shaky breath as Stan nudged him back. “Everyone makes mistakes-”

“I just seem to make a lot of them.”

Ford frowned at that, unable to see where Stan had gotten that idea from. “What on earth- you don’t make a lot of mistakes, Stan.”

“Have you seen me today? I’m on fire with how many things can go wrong. Walking disaster area.” Stan snorted, shaking his head and pulling away. “First with your experiment, then messing up every day tasks with the boat, then not being able to get you away from that- that thing in time.” His hand gripped the railing tightly, eyes sharp and disgusted as he spat out the words.

“But you- you did get me away.”

“No, you were right.” Stan deflated slightly, not able to look at Ford, staring at his rippling reflection in the water instead. “I just- if I was any good at my job I’d have got you out of there without getting myself hurt. I left it too late, if I’d just-”

“Stan, it’s not your job to keep me safe.” Ford pulled away to look at him properly, trying to catch his eye and failing miserably.

“Isn’t it-”

Ford growled when Stan’s eyes started to glaze over, trying to drag him back. “And you can’t think about ‘what if’s’ like that, it’ll drive you- it’ll never end, that kind of thinking. You know that, I know you do.”

Stan heaved a deep sigh, world weary and exhausted. “I know, I know- but I can’t help it right now.” His eyes flicked sideways, catching Ford’s for a moment. “Not when-”

“When?”

Stan huffed, irritation bleeding through. “I dunno, just not when I keep proving the thoughts right.”

The strangled disagreeing noise that left Ford’s throat made Stan flinch beside him. “You do not. You’ve made a few mistakes today- so what? I know I’ve made a few too! Remember when I brought the map out on deck to check something and the wind took it away from me?”

“Yeah but-”

“But nothing!” Ford nodded vehemently, before settling again against him, a small frown returning after the quick victorious smile at making Stan be quiet but attentive. “And I don’t think I was right, not if that’s what you took from it.”

“Hmm?”

“You seem to think that- oh, I don’t know? That I’m angry at you because you weren’t fast enough?” He felt Stan’s breathing hush at the words and pain blossomed thick and fast at the obvious accusation. “No! I was angry because you didn’t even seem to care about getting hurt. It was like it didn’t matter at all.”

“It didn’t-”

“It mattered to me! And it should matter to you!”

“That’s the thing, Sixer, I don’t get why it does.”

Ford’s breath came out in an ice cold fog, Stan’s head snapping around at the pained noise, eyes wide and panicked at what had just come forth from his mouth.

“That’s what scares me. You don’t even seem to care if you get hurt.”

This time he could read Stan’s lips, hindsight cutting through him painfully at just what he had missed.

“I don’t get why you do.”

“I-”

“Shi- ignore- ignore I said that. I didn’t mean to say that.” Stan groaned, rubbing his face with his hands, almost as if he’d forgotten or didn’t care about how much it hurt to do so, and letting them stay there in a fit of self-loathing. “God damn it, I didn’t mean to say that.” And yet the words seemed to blossom up unbidden, no matter how much he tried to squash them, continuing on as if they were bleeding out of him and he couldn’t stem the flow. “I mean- it’s the only thing I’m good at. Looking after you, rolling with the punches. I can take the hits, I’m fine with taking the hits. It’s what I’m meant to do-”

“It’s not!” Ford’s hands tightened around Stan’s wrists, trying to tug them away from his face. “It’s not what you’re meant to do. You’re- this isn’t a job, Stan! I didn’t ask you to come sailing with me as some kind of- bodyguard? Is that what you think this is?” He searched Stan’s face, trying to catch a glimpse through his fingers. “Cause it’s not, I can assure you it’s not. I asked you to sail with me because I wanted to sail with you- I wanted to go adventuring with my brother like we always said we would.”

Ford breathed a sigh of relief as Stan’s eyes poked through the holes his fingers made, the look grounded again and desperately hopeful.

“Yeah?”

“Of course, knucklehead.”

The next words made the soft smile on Ford’s face drop again though.

“It’s just… sometimes I wonder why you’d want to be out here with me at all.”

“Oh. Oh, Stan.”

Stan winced again, flinched as arms wrapped tight around him, dragging him in for a warm hug that he didn’t reciprocate straight away.

“Stan, how could you think that? How could you think I wouldn’t want to be here?”

“It’s not that I don’t - I’m just waiting for you to realise how bad an idea it was.”

Ford huffed, tightening his hold. “Well, that’s not happening. Not ever. No matter how many arguments or silly mishaps, the good days are so so much more amazing than anything else. You hear me?” He knew deep down that Stan couldn’t agree in that moment, couldn’t think past the bad, but maybe, just maybe, he could make this day a little bit better.

“You sure?”

“Definitely. Always. Never gonna change.” Ford gave a happy hum as Stan’s arms finally wrapped around him in return. “This is everything I hoped it would be.” Stan snorted against him and he couldn’t help laughing in return. “OK, maybe not right now, but the trip in general? Everything I hoped it would be and I wish we’d- no, I’m glad we have the chance to at all.” He tilted his head to Stan’s, closing his eyes and smiling brightly. “All because of you. Remember that. We’d never be here if it wasn’t for you.”

“…I’m sorry.”

“Hmm?”

“Just- I’m sorry, just being-” Stan tried to pull away, the crackle of the radio making him flinch again as he wiped his eyes. “Stupid- getting emotional over a nightmare for god’s sake-”

“There’s a reason I asked you to come tell me about them and that’s because they’re never just nightmares.” Ford tightened his hold again as Stan tried to pull away, a bold dismissal of the movements. “And you don’t need to be sorry for that.” He waited for Stan to respond at all, the silence beginning to unnerve him as the radio static hissed and fizzed. “Stan?” His movements had stopped and so Ford chanced moving away slightly, catching sight of Stan’s glazed expression and shaking him firmly with a soft curse. He hoped he hadn’t said the wrong thing to make him sink back into his wayward thoughts again. “Stan?”

Stan jumped, shaking his head as he zoned back in on Ford. “S-sorry. Thought I heard something.”

“Heard something?”

Stan continued to shake his head, a hollow laugh escaping him as his grip on Ford’s coat wavered. “Nothing, must be hearing things. Couldn’t get that blasted radio to find a channel and every so often I keep catching the odd word and nothing else.” His smile wobbled as Ford continued to stare at him, not buying the dismissal. “Thought… thought I heard you at one point. But it must have just been that nightmare rearing it’s head again…”

“Well that’s enough of that then.” Ford flicked the radio off swiftly, the white noise silenced with a sharp click. “There, much better.” He grinned brightly though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “See? I’m right here, not some whisper in the radio. Flesh and blood here.” He tapped Stan’s shoulder playfully. “Again, cause of you.”

Stan rolled his eyes, a huff of embarrassment escaping through the desperate relief he was trying to hide. “Shut it with that sappy stuff.”

“Nope. Never.” Ford’s smile grew more genuine as Stan kept hold of him, the solid presence obviously a safety net which he was happy to comply with. Behind his eyes, his mind span quickly, taking note of what Stan needed, taking note of what to look out for to make sure the bad days never got this bad again.

It didn’t matter if they argued, just like Stan would never give him the silent treatment again, he knew now that Stan needed to know he was really there with him when his mind played tricks and lashed out at him.

All they wanted to do was look after one another.

And he was so desperate to make sure that happened, and to make Stan realise just how much he was worth.

He’d do that. He had to.

“What do you say to no more work today?”

“No more work?”

“Yeah.” Ford smiled, tugging Stan with him as he moved. “The kids sent us some videos on the laptop, remember? What do you say to curling up for the rest of the day and watching some?”

“But what about-”

“Whatever it is, I’m sure it can wait until tomorrow.”

Ford smiled as Stan blinked a few times before following suit, a bright happy smile reflecting back at him. “You sure?”

“Positive. Besides, you’ve still got to let me take a look at your arm, that’s far more important than anything else is right now.” Ford tugged at his uninjured arm as Stan seemed ready to protest. “Nothing you can say will make me believe otherwise. You are my priority, end of, you understand?”

“…Thanks, Sixer.” The words were hushed, awed gratitude there that didn’t sit well with Ford.

“You don’t need to thank me.” Ford sniffed, looking over his shoulder with a small smile. “I’m just looking after my bro, like he always looks after me.”

If Stan’s bright watery-eyed smile made him feel warm and proud for having finally got through to him, he didn’t say anything, too glad that the moment was happening at all to break it in anyway.

He also didn’t mention, even as his smile grew brighter and the tension bled away from his shoulders, the distinct warm glow from the fairy lights as they entered the cabin.

All that matters was that they were shining again, maybe not yet completely back to normal, but getting there.

That was all he could ask for, he’d make sure they were glowing proudly soon enough.

And he’d make sure they never got to that dismal state ever again.

Chapter Text

“Ford!”

It was suddenly far, far too cold.

It stung and it bit, seeping through his skin, a frost that made his bones ache, pumping ice painfully through every heart beat and back to locked muscles and numb fingers.

He wasn’t entirely sure what had happened. All it had taken was a blink of an eye, one unguarded moment for everything to fall apart at the seams.

One minute he could hear Stan’s panicked shout cutting through the roaring wind, a high pitch crack of fear, and the next he was engulfed in silence, or, more accurately, the overwhelming sound of rushing bubbling water.

One minute he had been helping tie down the sails and the next, something had hit him squarely in the stomach, quickly followed by another blow to the back of his knees and he abruptly found himself staring upwards at the storm cloud grey sky, wondering just when and how his field of vision had changed.

And then his back hit the water before any of it could truly register.

He gasped as he fell through the mirrored surface, finding himself encased by the storm above, lightning flashing all around him even as the thunder was hushed beneath the waves. The air in his lungs billowed out of him in a surge of thick, much needed bubbles, that if he’d known what was happening he wouldn’t have let escape. He choked as water rushed in, coming to his senses as he pulled himself up, back towards the surface, mind racing through a million thoughts a minute as he tried to fathom what had just transpired.

He picked up speed as his mind stopped short, abruptly locking onto the worry that whatever had hit him was still up there with Stan, driving him on faster.

How far down did I go?

Ford crushed the frantic, anxious voice, relief coursing through him as desperately needed as the air that he found himself raggedly wheezing down, breaking back through the surface and treading water as he tried to get his bearings. It was a struggle through the jumble of stark contrasting lights and intermittent clamouring sounds. Overwhelming and underwhelming in equal measures, the world lit up around him, the stripes of jagged light glaring reflectively at him, bouncing and refracting over and over, and then just as quickly fell back to utter darkness, the lines left on his retinas making it harder to discern his surroundings, the sky and the ocean blending into one gaping maw of ink. Thunder boomed, bouncing off the waves to him in a series of gunshots and cannon fire before the lashing rain and howling wind that served as the constant backdrop to the scene drowned it out once more. Somehow deafening and silent all at once.

It left him feeling small and vulnerable, cast out to fend against the immeasurable elements.

A tiny drop in the vast sea.

Nothing else for miles around, just dark, deep water…

Like the bubble in the abyss.

He gave a full body shudder, the cold seeping deeper into his bones as he tried to keep his head above water. It almost seemed a pointless endeavour, the rain catching hold of every part of him not underwater, still drenching him from head to toe. Trapping him in another waterlogged area that he couldn’t wade through, one where he could somehow miraculously still breathe through all the water.

His throat tightened at the thought, his muscles locking up tighter, tense and frozen to the core. It made him squint around all the more frantically for a familiar boat as his breathing hitched and his heart started to jackhammer in his chest.

It’s just a storm, it’s just a storm, it’s just a-
Then what knocked you overboard? Where’s the boat?
Where’s Stan?

A cold nothing to do with the freezing water clawed outwards from his very core, tearing out through his chest along every panic-stricken nerve, as he searched in a wild arc for any kind of sign that Stan was still there with him. He wanted nothing more than to curl inwards on himself, to clutch at his own arms as shivers wracked through him, to hold himself together so the storm couldn’t shatter him, an all consuming biting fear scratching up his throat as his mind flashed to images of glowing yellow eyes and glass sharp laughter.

Where’s Stan?

His thoughts swam to another time. When the moon was shrouded in clouds and a dazzling bright light had beamed out towards him and been snuffed out just as quickly, blinding him where he stood. A time when a boat and a man vanished, only to resurface far too many years later.

The man at least, that was.

They still had never found that old boat.

And now here he was, lost at sea in the middle of a storm and the Stan'O'War II was nowhere to be seen.

More importantly Stan was nowhere to be seen.

He couldn’t bear to think of it and yet he couldn’t stop the pushing, pressing flood of images. Of the creature from his nightmares swallowing up their ship, Stan and all, and dragging them away from him to the depths of the sea floor where he had no chance of reaching them.

There was no convenient lighthouse to open up a portal this time, no answer, no solution, no time- only the sharp, snagging lightning that cracked the world around him into fragments. The sea splintered to black shards, the sky crumbled towards him, and he felt himself fall, his mind deserting him, losing track of where and who he was-

“Ford!”

Ford flinched, blinking rapidly against the torrential rain. The world reformed and refocused around him in a sharp ragged gasp of air, reality slotting back into place in a jarring jolt. His name danced along the wind towards him and suddenly a softer, warmer, more substantial light flickered on and then another and another.

The deck of the Stan'O'War II became visible within the space of a few seconds, bursting into life, the lights rosy glow carving through the ice invading his lungs and helping him expel it across the ripples he was making in the water.

The lights cut out. You couldn’t see the boat because the lights went out and it’s taken this long for the back up generator to kick in, that’s all.
That’s all it was.

And wasn’t it nice for some logical reasoning to cut through the horde of jumbled fear that had clamoured to the forefront?

It may not be a lighthouse, but it was a beacon calling him in, dragging him back past the cloying, suffocating terror and giving him the chance he hadn’t even realised was slipping out of his reach as his arms grew heavy and tired from the strain.

“Sixer! Come on, bud, I need a sign- anything!”

“S-Stan…” Ford coughed, a wave hitting him just as he opened his mouth to speak, the words threadbare and whistling at best. He spluttered, heaving, before expending as much energy as he could afford into a shout, the words somehow tearing past his numb lips. “Stan! Here! I’m here!”

“Six-” A flickering torch light found him as the word was yanked away by another roaring rush of wind.

It didn’t matter though, Stan had seen him.

“Sixer! I’m- just hold still, I’ll be right there!”

Ford almost laughed at the absurdity of the sentence as Stan’s silhouette moved aboard the ship, ducking past the swinging boom as he made his way to the wheel. Where was he exactly going to go? He was hardly about to swim away the moment Stan stopped looking at him- Oh. He blinked sluggishly, realising, rather belatedly and slightly concernedly, just how long it had taken him to understand that his brother wasn’t demanding he stay there and instead telling him to keep treading water.

Telling him just to wait, to focus on keeping his head above water, because he was coming and he just needed some time-

Well, what else am I going to do?

Ford ignored the panicked voice, the one that was trying to demand he pay attention to the dwindling strength in his extremities, the voice that said Stan had every reason to worry about not getting to him in time. Instead he kept his thoughts on the small amusing anecdote, ridiculous and distracting, the slight indignation that Stan thought he would do anything but focus on surviving, subconsciously latching onto anything to keep him from physically and metaphorically going under.

Keep still. Honestly. What does he take me for? Besides, Stan shouldn’t be worrying about that, he should be worrying about whatever knocked me over-

The ground fell away from him once more, his stomach sinking to the sea floor. His breathing was suddenly harsh in his ears, loud and grating through the din, as his eyes zoned in on the boat, or as best they could with the constant river of rain running down his glasses and across his face. He scanned the entire deck, trying to focus through the now loud, fast pulse in his ears, trying his best not to panic at the thought of something hostile still on the ship with his brother. Tried not to let the image of a dark, aggressive figure slinking silently through the rain and gloom, out of sight and out of mind, creeping ever closer to his preoccupied and panicked twin. Another fork of lightning split the sky, leaving yellow flickers on his retinas and suddenly everywhere he looked, a shape formed on deck, sharp and jagged and oh so willing to tear his twin to shreds-

No, stop it! He must have seen it! He shouted out when you fell! He must have dealt with it before… before…

The wind died down in Ford’s mind, letting the logical voice slip through again and weave its way between the debris strewn by the overwrought storm, his nerves stretched close to breaking point. It felt like the world held it’s breath with him, the calm in the eye of the hurricane as his brain slowly turned over the information it had been receiving all along.

It came in quick bursts of information, like transmissions sent across the waves. Something large, heavy and solid had hit him square in the stomach, yet he hadn’t seen it coming, knocking him overboard. Stan had seen it happen and instantly rushed to help. He could see nothing untoward on deck. No signs of a struggle. No signs of anything other than the storm.

And Ford suddenly realised that there never had been anything untoward on deck.

The boom swung heavily again, creaking out to him in protest, the image of Stan reflexively ducking under it resurfacing to the forefront of his mind.

He’d been tying down the sails when it had happened, he remembered that much. He hadn’t been keeping an eye on his surroundings, he’d let his guard down and through the cacophony of still twisting voices in his head that spoke of creatures and figures getting the better of him, another voice rang out, as stark as a clear blue sky-

He hadn’t thought about where he was standing when the winds tore the rope from his hands.

A short, heated, shot of relief jolted through the cold still icing through his veins.

Stan was safe.

There was nothing out to get him onboard the boat.

It was just negligence that had dropped Ford into the water, nothing more.

He could have almost laughed if his lips weren’t numbing to the water still cascading over them- Stan was going to be so mad at him once he got him back on deck. He should have known what could- and more importantly would happen if the wind picked up. He had been tying back the sails for a reason, after all, and they had quickly ducked that blasted boom on more than one occasion before and laughed about the near miss. They’d grown used to the movements of the ship, learned where and when to step to keep themselves out of harm’s way-

And yet when he needed to remember that the most?

He’d managed to get himself knocked overboard in the middle of a goddamn storm. He’d managed to get punched in the stomach, from his own ship no less, that had sent him reeling, stumbling until the back of his legs had hit the ship’s railing and he’d tumbled straight over the edge.

…He didn’t even have an anomaly to blame for this particular lapse in judgement.

Really? That was the moment I stopped keeping watch? Stopped paying attention to the obvious signs around me?

Of course Stan was going to yell at him, once they’d gotten through the storm, that is.

He didn’t even care, Stan could grumble all he wanted, as long as he got him back on deck quickly. He could feel the momentum of his legs slowing with every cycle, each push harder than the last as if he was swimming through tar, could feel the water sapping the energy from his arms with every paddle, every movement a monumental effort to force himself into the next one. But he had absolute faith in his brother as the ship turned towards him, as it powered its way through the wind and waves to get to him.

Honestly, fancy getting ejected by your own ship. Stan’s gonna have a field day.

A bubble of hysterical laughter fell out of his mouth and into the water that time, unable to resist expelling the nervous energy that trembled out with it. The effort sobered him almost instantly, however, as his teeth continued to chatter on and on, flecks of water spraying with them, even once the mirth filled moment had passed, regardless of him wanting to continue the action or not.

A warning bell started, tinny and muted, right at the back of his skull, as it waded through the sluggish marshland that his mind had become from all the differing trains of thought that had become trapped and submerged there.

He really needed to get out of the water.

The cold had stopped seeping in. It had just settled comfortably in his bones now, crystallised and unforgiving as it stiffened and curled every joint inwards. The ebb and flow of the waves had become a part of his very being, pushing through him unimpeded, any heat pumping through his blood leeching out into the water, flowing with its every whim. Though his teeth were chattering, he couldn’t seem to register it anymore, his fingers and lips growing somehow number even as his clothes grew heavier with every passing moment.

He slipped for just a moment, barely a second, but it was enough, his head falling below the surface before he resurfaced with a splutter of salt and fear.

It was getting more and more difficult to stay put like Stan had told him to, his earlier scoffing and ridicule at treading water now a much more pressing, concerning reality as the boat grew closer. The artificial waves it created were cumbersome and exhausting to move through as his body turned to liquid and lead all at once, every action his mind came up with a struggle to physically carry out.

He gulped, salt burning his throat as he heaved in a deep breath, trying to prepare himself as the ripples came out to greet him.

Nothing else mattered other than getting out of the water.

Another wave hit him square in the face, submerging him in the dark sea once more, his body sluggishly shifting, relying on muscle memory alone as his mind struggled to keep up a string of tangible thought through the haze of fatigue.

Stan told you to hold on-

The thought was strangled, dashed to nothingness against the inside of his skull before it could be completed as something grabbed on to him, mind short circuiting and kick starting as adrenaline took centre stage.

A long thick tendril had latched around his ankle, an oozing sludge turned hard and solid as it came into contact with him. Once there, it dug in, burning with a heated friction, tearing into the exposed flesh as it twisted and snaked to knot tightly around it. His feet lashed out instinctively, kicking and thrashing desperately but to no avail as it whatever it was pulled him down, deeper into the darkness.

The inhale of air he had taken earlier left him in a froth of bubbles as more tendrils snagged around him. Higher and higher up his leg they went, dragging him still further even as he struggled, adrenaline pumping through every vein and fighting through the apathy he had started to slide into at the surface.

I was wrong- there was something down here all along-

The frantic horde of terror filled images clambered back up from the recesses of his mind, demanding his full attention, crushing what remained of the logical reasoning within him.

There was nothing logical about this. All the notions from before, the explanations that had made perfect sense were quickly vanishing under the thick oozing presence of fear, snuffed out by the irrefutable knowledge that the surface was getting further and further away from him with every passing second.

Stan was still looking for him.

And he had no idea if he’d be able to get to him in time.

He could see the boat above him, see that glimmering beacon of light sweeping the water where he’d just been, moments before, remorse and dismay slowly leeching through, sapping the frenzied adrenaline from his core.

If only I could have- if he’d been a few seconds earlier…

His vision started to blacken around the edges, eyes still cast upwards, arm reaching out as high as he could muster.

He couldn’t seem to focus on the light, couldn’t pinpoint exactly where the boat was above him. His vision had begun to double, flickers of other lights sparking and fizzling in sporadic bursts of white noise, distorting the view. He couldn’t drag himself towards it no matter how hard he fought, his arms and legs refusing to cooperate, his sodden clothes heavy and unyielding and soon enough the world closed in around him, his body locking into place as whispers danced across his fading consciousness.

Oh? Little key, you’ve returned…

Yellow lights flickered in his peripheral, his head snapping to the side as quickly as it could but the lights disappeared as soon as he tried to stare directly at them.

No. No, you’re not real. You’re stuck- stuck back there, you… you can’t be here…

The words felt hollow and insignificant even to himself, even as he willed his racing ever changing thoughts to slow down, just enough for him to actually think through them. Instead of listening to his pleas they shifted and contorted, a myriad of other creatures breaking through the surface and scattering, flooding his mind with all the other reasons he could be being dragged to the ocean floor. All the vicious little predators, the vindictive giant leviathans that were just waiting to sink their teeth into him-

Another tendril caught around his other foot, his body jerking under the new leech and his mind flicked again, zoning in on one nightmarish idea, this time painting the scene below him. A garden of eels stretched far and wide, each one a tight grasping vine to ensnare him, to pull him down into an eternal resting place with them. His research on the curious creatures surged up to fill the void, a sickening lurch to his system as the words he had written down before all of this resurfaced in black and white before his eyes.

What else lives in the gardens? Do they trap food for another creature?

Or does anything that swims past and gets trapped amongst them feed the garden as a whole?

The mindless, dispassionate curiosity from his earlier musings now seemed woefully limited and distasteful in his current predicament.

Now faced with the prospect of finding out first hand what happened in an eel garden, he was becoming more and more convinced he really did not want to know.

Another much thicker tendril grasped around his shoulders, locking his listless arms in towards his chest, and he noted with a worrisome jolt that somewhere along the line he’d closed his eyes, not wanting to see the scene, not wanting to confirm the image his mind was painting for him. He felt the new tendril cling on tightly, pull him upwards before he got caught amongst the others. He gave a sudden hiss, any remaining oxygen in his lungs streaming out past his lips, as the tendril around his arms grew tighter, the ones at his feet giving up the ghost as if their duty was now done, falling away from him with one last swift, sharp pull from whatever now held him.

This is it, you wanted to know what lived in the eel gardens. You’ve succeeded in finding out.

He really wished the mystery had stayed unresolved.

He really wished he’d get a chance to tell Stan that he was right and some mysteries really should be left well alone-

His head broke through the ocean’s surface like glass, the muffled silence shattering into a cacophony of sound as the storm raging above him came back full blast. He wasn’t sure how he was physically capable of feeling any colder and yet the howling wind across his face and scalp was making the frigid waters feel tepid, his ears and eyes smarting at the onslaught.

A voice cracked through it all like thunder, his head flinching against the sensory overload.

“Sixer?! Sixer, can you hear me? Say something.”

Ford choked, coughing up water as he took wheezing lungfuls of air, his head resting back against Stan’s shoulder as the fog cleared. With each breath, another gear in his head turned. The tendril around his arms sprouted a hand, fingers- gripping tightly to his coat. The creature he thought had grasped him, now familiar, solid and warm against his back, his brother’s voice close to his ear as he swum them back to the side of the ship.

It was Stan. It was just Stan.

“Come on, Sixer, say something- anything.”

“I’m- here, I’m here.”

A small half laugh, a choking heave of hysterical relief, slipped from Ford’s lips at his own turn of phrase. He didn’t know why that was what had made it through, but it was all he could think to voice as some kind of response to Stan’s panicked, desperate tone.

I’m here, you got me, it’s going to be alright now.

“Easy, easy, I’ve got you.” Stan seemed to respond straight to his thoughts, somehow understanding the nuances behind the words that actually got said even if Ford himself was struggling passed the slurry his mind was throwing up. The boat loomed above them, an abruptly daunting tall vision to Ford, bone weary exhaustion still making his movements limp and weak. But Stan dragged them right up close to the side, hoisting Ford up without preamble, almost as if it was nothing before following, his own breathing quick and shallow as he landed with a thump and a painful groan that said otherwise.

Ford stared at the dark clouds above them, taking deep steadying breaths even as the rain poured in a constant river towards him.

He’d take torrential rain over a dip in the sea any day.

“Hey, Sixer?”

“Y-yeah?”

“I really don’t want to make rescuing you from the sea a habit, you know.”

Ford hacked out a laugh, more water than air as he tried to sit up, his throat a rasp of sandpaper. “Yeah, I’d like to not make it a habit either-”

His breath caught in his throat.

“Sixer?”

He couldn’t move.

“Stan, I can’t- my legs-”

His breathing came in sharp, static bursts, vision tunnelling once more. His body refused to cooperate as he twisted and thrashed, still caught up in whatever had had him in the water before Stan had dragged him out. His mind flashed to the motion, Stan slicing through something and releasing him, but it was still there, still holding him prisoner, slippery eels and thick black tendrils, that encased him solid as stone.

The creature from the abyss with its ever changing form, tentacles suctioning on and refusing to let go even when separated from its body.

He couldn’t move, he couldn’t tilt himself far enough to see and another part of his brain shunned the thought entirely, his breathing quickening as he simultaneously tried to look, to know and shy away from it all at once.

Stan locked onto his side within an instant, leaning over him in an attempt to focus him. “Hey, Sixer, it’s alright, it’s alright- Stop! Stop struggling.” His hand rested heavily on his shoulder, tugging him over to stare him straight in the eye, his hair dripping wet on to his face even as it shielded him from the worst of the rain. “Breathe, breathe- you need to stop struggling or I can’t cut it off.”

Ford’s breath caught again, hitching at the words, fingers finding purchase on his brother. A lifeline, another link of contact to stem to tide of panic threatening to break. “What is it?”

“What- Oh, it’s just debris- god, it must have felt like something down there grabbed ya, didn’t it?” Stan sympathetically grimaced before shaking his head, and giving him a reassuring smile, eyes darting to his legs as he patted his shoulder, making sure none of his movements unseated the tight, and obviously grounding, grasp Ford had on his shirt. “Breathe, Sixer- that thing’s not here. I promise you. It’s stuck back at home, remember? This is just seaweed and rope- a load of horrid gunk caught in the storm just like you.”

“Just-?”

“Just debris.” Stan gave another smile as Ford’s breath hissed out, the tension leaving his muscles with the sound. “It’s gonna be alright, I’ve got you, you’re safe.”

“Just… debris.” Ford felt himself go completely limp at the knowledge, head unwittingly flopping back, though Stan hastened to make sure he landed softly. Another wobbly laugh escaped him. Just debris. Just debris. It really had just been a domino effect of unlucky events, all from one careless moment where he hadn’t been paying attention. All because he’d lost his footing and then lost his head in the waves.

It took a moment, through all the distractions- the sudden tug before his restricted movement abruptly lessened, a heady whine of relief vibrating through his chest, the strange tingling sensation as blood began to pump through his legs again bringing with it another shiver of cold as he regained the feeling in his toes- for him to notice just how hard Stan was shaking too. It was hard to really pin down, the pocket knife cutting through thread after thread was as steady as his eyes were but he could see the glint of it flickering in and out whenever it was raised away, saw the twist and wobble of uncertainty to Stan’s lips whenever he thought Ford wasn’t looking.

His brother’s fearful shouting reverberated in his skull, the bitter tang of shame bubbling up at what his brother must have thought, must have gone through to get to him, what losing sight of him for even a moment must have done to his resolve.

He was so scared of losing him again, he’d said it before countless times when he’d been reckless in his research.

What did he have to say for himself this time?

“I’m sorry.”

Stan blinked, eyes distracted from the task, fumbling the knife in the process as he turned his confused gaze back to Ford. “Sorry, what?”

“I’m sorry.” Ford’s fist clenched tighter in Stan’s shirt before loosening again, wishing his other arm was free already to hug his still slightly shaking brother close, to wrap him up tight and convey just how sorry he was for scaring him. Or maybe it was him that was shaking, it was really getting hard to tell when the rain wouldn’t stop impeding his vision, casting a blotchy filter between him and his brother. “If I’d been more careful, I wouldn’t have ended up- I’m sorry for being careless.”

“You don’t have to be- what are you sorry for?” Stan’s eyebrows furrowed, perplexed, before his gaze grew soft again and he went back to the task at hand, tapping Ford’s reassuringly on the way. “Hey, I get it, this scared you. That’s the panic talking, or hysterics. Just keep taking deep breaths, I promise I’ll have you out of this mess in a jiffy, then you’ll feel embarrassed for being sappy.” He grinned, mischievously, though it didn’t quite reach it’s usually brightness, his eyes to filled with concern to really get behind the teasing.

“No.” Ford slapped his arm weakly, another happier though pained noise escaping him as pins and needles spread down his freed leg. “I’m sorry for scaring you. You’re just relieved right now- you’ll be mad when you realise how… stupid-” His words were beginning to slur but he needed Stan to know it was OK. He was mad at himself, and he’d have the bruises as punishment later, but he still needed Stan to know it was OK to be angry at him for being so careless.

Stan continued to stare at him, worried and fretting, hissing out soft sympathetic noises in return to his pained ones as he rubbed a hand up and down his arm. And then an abrupt hysterical chuckle left him, a bubble that grew and grew, the tension in his body popping as he roared it to the sky.

Ford had no idea what to make of it. After a few seconds, he wasn’t even sure if it was laughter or tears, or just an expulsion of energy that needed to be banished across the sea before the world could return to normal.

He held his breath when the moment passed, waiting for the fallout.

“Sixer, I’m not- yeah that scared the heck out of me, of course it did, but I’m not- I’m not mad at you.” He raised an eyebrow, slightly offended. “Did you really think I’d be? Accidents happen, Sixer, you didn’t run into the god damn boom on purpose.” He stripped away the last of the debris, dropping it carelessly to one side, before tangling Ford up in a hug of his own, his arms trapped against his chest. It happened all in one fluid movement, too quick for Ford to register it was happening. He curled into the hug, into the warmth, and the shaking grew more intense though still Ford couldn’t tell who was shaking more. “I mean- god, that scared me, and yeah, I’m more relieved than anything else right now that I found you in time. But I’m not mad, I can never be mad at you for that.”

“I’m sorry.” Ford pulled back just enough to free his arms, falling back into the hug as soon as he could to tighten his fists into the back of Stan’s coat, glad that both arms could hold him enough to return the hug even it wasn’t as strong and as tight as he wanted it to be on his part. A sigh of respite warmed him at the contact, the shaking finally beginning to die down.

He was safe, he was out of the water, back with family.

“You’re OK, Sixer, you’re OK. You’ve got nothing to apologise for.” Stan laughed again, another giddy, choked up rumble into Ford’s shoulder. “Sure- I mean, I’ll still say it. Don’t you ever do that to me again.” The hands around him tightened ever so slightly as Stan took a deep breath in, exhaling in a calming hiss for both of them. “And I mean, yeah, if we can make this- you know, not a habit that would be good. Real good. I thought you’d got your sea legs by this point.”

“I-”

“If you apologise one more time, I swear to god-”

“…I was going to say I didn’t mean to get hit by the boom.” Ford’s tone turned sullen, sulking at the accusation. “I’ve got my sea legs, thank you very much.”

“Just a bit hard to keep your footing with a heavy chunk of wood swinging at you?” Stan grinned as Ford huffed and nodded. “Exactly, see? Accidents happen. Dumb, silly, could have been avoided accidents, but accidents still all the same.” He rested his head again on Ford’s shoulder, voice turning gruff and laced with all the pent up emotions that still hadn’t managed to find an exit. “That being said- don’t you ever do that to me again, Sixer.”

Ford nodded again into him, burrowing into the warmth as Stan flung the debris as far out of the way as possible to avoid any further mishaps, taking refuge from the storm in the warm safe bubble they had created.

Stan wasn’t upset- well, he was upset, of course, but not at him. And that helped some of the tension pop, the logic of his thoughts stripping the scene bare and showing him exactly what had happened through the haze of fear that had engulfed him.

There was no creature threatening to drag him back into the abyss.

There was nothing mysterious or unknown, just a storm and an accident and the domino effect of mishaps that can arise from an errant situation.

But none of it mattered, the reminders nothing but ash and bitter salt at the back of his throat. He couldn’t escape the haze entirely. It was still too cold and just too much and he found his arms still clinging tight to Stan even after the tangled mess had finally been torn away from him entirely, the shivers making a rebound through him, leaving him shaking like a leaf and desperately fearful that the wind would whisk him back into the water if he wasn’t careful.

Monster or no monster, the fear of drowning was far closer to the surface than it had been in a long time. The edge of all those fuzzy memories flickered in the corners of his vision wherever his frantic gaze darted, the shifting devastating notions of a bored eldritch horror that needed some way to pass the time broiling beneath his skin, his breath hitching as his throat constricted.

All of it boiled down to survival against the elements, and that had been cutting it far too fine.

The ‘what if’s clamoured to be heard from the dark crevices of his skull, oozing thick images of 'what could have been’s and 'what should have been’s- and all the terrible things in between, when the world dimmed and fizzed at the edges and his lungs felt like they were on fire, a sharp glass fracture of a laugh bubbling out from the depths to remind him that he was just a toy for a creature far larger and far older than he had given it credit for-

Only for his logic to both douse the flickering flames and ignite them higher all in one charged moment.

Because there had been no creature, no larger plan in motion that had almost dragged him to the bottom of the sea this time.

Just an accident, a silly mindless accident that could have gone so terribly wrong.

…He’d almost rather there was something for him to blame.

If Stan hadn’t been there- If the boom had hit higher-
If only I had been more careful, we could have avoided all of this.

“I’m still sorry.”

Stan sighed, defeated, the muffled words seeping through his shoulder. “I know. I know, bud, and it’s OK. I’ve got you. You’re safe.”

Ford felt himself relax again under the ministrations, Stan’s voice lulling him as he continued the mantra, over and over, the voices in his head hushed beneath the sound. I know, but it’s OK. The storm raged above them, somehow a tinny white noise on the edge of his peripheral as he focused on Stan checking him over and chatting away all the while.

There was a soft rumble of a chuckle, more genuine, more amused and less hysterical than before as Stan’s medical once over was cut short, his movements impeded as Ford stayed locked in place, curled up in a ball that refused to budge from his tight hugging hold around his brother’s back.

The noise was a comfort, though it vanished quickly as Stan seemed to appraise him once more, Ford’s eyebrows furrowing as something seemed to connect behind Stan’s eyes, a sudden light of understanding sparking in them.

“How about we weather this storm inside? I think we’ve got everything up here tied down that we need to and you, my friend, need to get warm.”

Stan pulled them both up quickly, too swiftly for any thoughts to really manifest in agreement or disagreement as his brother shuffled him into the cabin, making sure to maintain contact even if Ford was already lamenting the loss of the tight hug.

It wasn’t until the door closed behind him, the sounds of the outside world suddenly cutting off with a snap that he even registered that, what with all the time Stan had been trying to keep the dam of fear from flooding out as he untangled him, they had had every opportunity to get out of the howling wind and rain and into the safe haven that was the cabin.

He shook his head, a halo of water scattering with it, as he tried to get his thoughts in line, tried to focus on the here and now instead of the still clawing lump in his throat. It was hard to navigate his thoughts, the storm still raging in his head even as the silence dragged on, his ears ringing as if he’d never made it past the threshold.

His body tingled, the hairs on his arms standing on end, disconnected and exhausted as the rain pattered loudly on the porthole in a spurt as if angry at him for escaping it. He could still feel, though it felt second hand, more like he was watching himself than being, as the water continued to rain from him, cascade to the floor along with everything that made him him, draining out of him in rivers of cast off emotion.

Everything clung to him, heavy, cold and suffocating and the absence of the rain only added to the feeling of sinking and sinking, down through the floor, back down into the waves that crashed into the ship, further and further- heavy but weightless, the loud ringing silence, the numb biting cold, the abyss coming up steadily to greet him-

Something soft, warm and solid hit him in the side of the head.

Ford flinched, a full body motion as he jerked back, the warmth falling down to the floor as his eyes followed it in sharp, jolting motions, unable to discern what had taken place.

“I told you to catch, Sixer!”

Stan’s voice cut through the ringing, a loud burst of energy just like himself, but it didn’t make him cringe this time. Less of a thunderclap and more a warm endearing breeze, loud but welcome as it breezed through and melted the ice forming in his synapses.

Pulled him back out of the wreckage that had been sinking into the depths just as strong and necessary as his earlier physical actions.

No matter what Stan said, he was already making that into a habit.

“Sixer? The towel’s not going to dry you all on it’s own.”

Ford frowned, blinking rapidly to make sense of the pile of warmth at his feet and Stan’s words.

Apparently too long in Stan’s eyes.

“I mean, unless I’m mistaken and you’ve somehow nerded up our towels when I wasn’t looking-”

With a start, Ford moved, the mental barrier snapping as he reached for the towel and grasped it tightly, mind foggy and off kilter even as he pressed the towel to his face and soaked in the warm dryness.

“There we go, the nerd’s back on earth.” Stan gave him a cheeky yet reassured grin, lopsided and nervous but there none the less, trying his best to be strong for the both of them. “Look, I’m gonna go hunt for that big box of blankets Mabel helped packed for us. When I’m back I expect to find you in dry clothes and wrapped up on your bunk, alright?” His expression turned serious, finger pointing sternly and Ford found himself unable to do anything but nod in the circumstances. Stan’s expression cleared, smiling happily at Ford’s acceptance. “Good. 'Cause I reckon that all this here storm needs is ignoring and waiting for it to pass. Plus I don’t know about you but I’d rather be safe, warm and dry.” He winked playfully at the strangled half laugh Ford gave in return, the towel still locked tight between his fingers as Stan turned away from him.

“What about you?”

“Hmm?” Stan turned back at the sudden question, Ford’s unwitting silence broken as if he couldn’t hold back any thought he had, his brain to mouth filter broken altogether. “What was that?”

“You’re soaked through too. You need to get dry.”

Stan blinked, looking down at himself in shock as if he hadn’t even noticed. “Oh. Yeah, right- well that can wait. I wasn’t in the water nearly as long as you were. I’ll get myself all cleaned up once you’re dry and bundled up in so many blankets you can hardly move.” He turned away again, calling over his shoulder as he went. “You better get out of all that wet stuff, Sixer, cause I am not dealing with you coming down with a cold on top of everything else.”

The next minutes slipped past without Ford even noticing. One second he was soaked through, the next he was dry, though still freezing, burrowing into a blanket that Stan had already laid out for him without thought. The next there was suddenly a nest of blankets around him, pillows hidden by the kids suddenly coming out of the woodwork and encasing the area around him, a soft warm sanctuary that he welcomed gratefully. He knew it was Stan moving around him but he couldn’t really focus between one blink and the next, exhaustion plucking at his eyes and the rain outside jolting him awake in fits of stirring nausea in equal measures.

Music filtered through from the kitchenette as if Stan knew exactly what was causing the bursts of sudden tension, even if Ford couldn’t really explain it himself. The storm became less of a feature, Stan chattering all the while from wherever he was in the cabin as the radio became background noise to cover up all but the fiercest of the storms raging.

Ford’s eyes slipped shut again, the tension bleeding out of him in a slow drizzle, sinking through the floor like one of the malicious spirits from the lighthouse. Nothing to lock it to him anymore, nor to drag him down with, it hissed and spit, draining away to the abyss, where it could no longer reach him, the fear numbing to weariness.

The wind clattered against the pane of glass above him, rattling out above the soft fluttering music, waking him back up with a start, his heard racing in tandem with his quickening breaths.

“Easy, easy, you’re alright. Sorry, stopped talking for a bit there.”

Ford blinked up dazedly, his brother stood above him with an encouraging expression as he held out a cup out towards him. He knew he was meant to focus on the cup but instead his mind wandered, wondering exactly when Stan had got changed, a towel draped around his shoulders and hair ruffled, now only slightly damp.

“Thought you could use this, I definitely did.”

It took a few seconds for Ford to sit up straight, hands shaky as he took the mug, though he quickly cradled the warmth against his chest with a grateful hum once he received it. Stan shuffled back to sit on his own bunk, Ford’s mind catching up to speed, concern for his twin the only thing grounding enough to truly sharpen his focus back to reality. He suddenly noticed the shake settling into his brother’s chest, the pallid tinge to his complexion, the mug he was also cradling between both hands, and a small noise of dismayed dissent left him. Stan froze at the noise, wondering what he’d done wrong, only for Ford to shuffle to the side, patting the blanket strewn bunk beside him.

If Stan was going to give him all the blankets they owned, after diving into the sea to rescue him again, he would at the very least share them.

Stan didn’t even hesitate, almost seeming annoyed at himself for not sitting down beside him in the first place. “Right. Sorry.”

He’d almost forgotten even after everything, just how much physical contact helped ground Ford, happy to help in anyway possible and not realising that in this instance it was actually Ford’s concern that had prompted the motions.

Ford frowned, opening his mouth to ask what he meant but all that left was a hum of gratitude as Stan sat close to him, bundling up as carefully as possible, the solid presence drowning out the last remnants of the wind howling around them. Stan was cold, and he wanted to scold him for not taking care of himself as well, but he had, at least, got him to sit in the blanket nest with him now and warm up so he took that as a win in the long run.

“You should sleep once you’ve finished that, you probably need it.”

Ford hummed in agreement, sipping at his drink and feeling like pure fire was slipping down his throat, pins and needles tingling in his extremities though he welcomed it through the dank numbness.

They both knew it might not be that easy for him to sleep though, not when every loud noise made him almost spill his drink, not when moments of pure silence let the thoughts seep back in through the cracks in his armour.

“Hey, did I ever tell you about some of the daft situations I got myself into after I left home?”

Ford tilted his head, tiredly leaning it against his knees as he hummed questioningly.

“Heh, well buckle down for some real stupidity then. You think that was a silly mistake? Wait until you hear some of the idiotic situations I’ve gotten myself into…”

It wasn’t long before Ford was proved wrong. Stan’s constant stories became an effective lullaby, a few mumbled questions in between changing the direction as Ford sat, eyes half-lidded and glazed, bemusedly listened to nonsensical tales he found hard to believe even knowing what kind of shenanigans they got themselves into on their trip.

The soft lilt, the gruff warm tone, did wonders for his nerves, his head finding Stan’s shoulder after only a short while, the cup mysteriously vanishing from between his fingers at some point as he curled deeper into the nest of blankets. He had a soft suspicion that he was helped in that endeavour, more and more blankets than he remembered them ever owning, piled on to him every time he managed the monumental task of opening his eyes.

He soon gave in to the lull though, rest rushing up to greet him like an old friend. The storm abated without him even knowing, the clouds breaking in the night. and through it all, his brother kept watch over him, just in case he had a nightmare or another panic attack, talking softly to himself all the while until he finally fell asleep himself, all the fear and worry collapsing in on itself and drawing him into rest as well.

Nothing mattered outside their warm, safe cocoon, not right at that moment.

Because the world was still exactly as it should be.

Accidents happened.

And they would weather all the storms together.

No matter what life threw at them.

Chapter Text

There was a distinct, and continuous, gruff rumble emanating from the other occupant of the boat. 

It was filled with dark brooding sulks, making sure his presence was known and felt at all times, and Ford could only really roll his eyes at the entire charade, hands tight around his book as he struggled to ignore his brother and keep reading.

It was, frankly, a useless endeavour though. The clanking of pots and pans radiated viciously through the cabin wall he was leaning against, jarring him away from the same sentence he'd been trying to read and process for the past few minutes.

He was surprised the entire cabin wasn't vibrating with all the excess energy Stan was putting into the washing up, or that he'd needed any hot water with the heat he was practically emitting in his angry fuming.

...He was also mildly surprised that he hadn't yet been hit with one of the pans even though his brother kept threatening to if he pulled another stunt like that again.

"I can hear every word, you know." Ford turned another page in his book, trying to look to the world as if he was completely unruffled when actually, his eyes were skimming the words at best.

"Good!"

He gave a long suffering sigh as Stan continued grumbling, irritation rising at the indignant snarl. The sharp metallic noises grated on his ears until he finally gave in, hitting his head back against the wall with a groan. "So, is this it for the rest of the day?"

"Is what it for the rest of the day?"

Ford glared into the middle distance, biting down on a sharp comment before it could bubble out.

He knew Stan was trying to get a rise out of him.

"Don't gimme that look. I don't need to come out there to know you're giving me that look. Like I'm the one being unreasonable or something- well, it's not happening. I'm not having it."

"So, it is going to be for the rest of the day then?" Ford hummed, trying not to smile with satisfaction as Stan gave another dark growl from inside.

"You could at least pretend to be a bit apologetic."

"For what?"

"For wha- oh, what's the point? I'm not ready to not be angry with you, so why am I even trying to reason with you? Why do I bother?"

Ford smirked, tapping his fingers against his book as Stan's tirade slipped back into quiet rhetorical questions. "I don't know, if you don't want to talk to me, why are you?"

The words slipped out before he had really thought them through, the world going hushed as he realised that, maybe, just maybe, no matter how angry Stan was at him, he wasn't going to go down the silent treatment route again. 

He cringed slightly as he heard nothing more than slight shifting in the other room. Even the clattering pots settled to small clinks as he continued his work, now awkward and tense and, most probably, disappointingly baffled by the question.

Well now, he couldn't have that. Even if it did mean adding fuel to the already blazing fire.

His grin widened, a flicker of sibling rivalry igniting in his chest as he hummed again. "Maybe it's because you know, deep down, that I'm right this time." He turned another page in his book, biting at the inside of his cheek to keep up the calm facade. "You're just being stubborn, as usual."

"You're right?! Stubborn?!"

The words were almost an explosion of noise. He couldn't quite be sure if the ringing in his ears was due to the cracking thunderous tone or whether Stan had also dropped a metallic pan to the floor in his shock.

Either way- That was more like it. 

Stan's footsteps stomped towards him, his eyes narrowing as Ford looked up from his spot at the door, a cheeky smirk on his face and a quirked eyebrow raised petulantly in the face of his brother's warpath. "How on Earth could you be right in this situation?"

"Hmm..." Ford momentarily pondered, a joking imitation of his usual contemplation, that was at least useful in pushing through his own frustration at the situation. "Maybe, because- oh, I don't know? I learnt from the best?"

"Learnt from the...? What?"

"You. I learnt from you."

Stan's momentary confusion vanished beneath a deep scowl, his arms crossing over his chest defensively. "I've told you before and I'll tell you again. It's my jo-"

"Nope. No, it's not."

A strangled angry noise clawed out of Stan's throat. "Fine. But!" He tugged Ford up by his collar, making sure they were eye level as he pointed at him sternly. "Even you can't tell me that what you did today made any god damn sense!"

"I- what?"

OK, he hadn't expected that.

Ford frowned, the joking nature that he'd hoped might bring Stan round dissipating as he tilted his head, mind blanking out at the statement. "I... what do you mean it didn't make sense?"

"You jumped in front of me to take a hit!" 

"Obviously?" He still wasn't getting why Stan looked so assured in his assessment of the situation.

Stan groaned, looking to the sky for strength. "For a smart guy, you aren't half a knucklehead sometimes." His gaze came back down, heavy and solid and locking Ford in place. "What is the point of you jumping in front of me after I already yanked you out of the way once?! I pull you out of danger and you jump right back in again!"

"Well... yes?" Ford shrugged, adjusting his glasses as his mouth twisted downwards. "I guess I did miscalculate, if that's what you mean... Thought I could pull you back as well and not get hit. But no matter."

"No matter? Sixer, I'm trying to look after you here." Stan's eyes turned beseeching, desperate. "Can you honestly tell me that it made sense to run back into the fray when I'd already gotten you out of it?"

"Of course it did."

"Yeah? How?"

"Well, if it's your job to look after me, because you're my brother or whatever-" Ford tugged Stan's hand away from his collar, smiling triumphantly as his brother stared at him with a deadpan expression. "-Then naturally it must also be my job to look after you too."

Stan's spluttered off half sentences as his hands dropped to his sides gave Ford an immense feeling of satisfaction.

Checkmate.

"That's your argument? That's your dumb, stupid argu- are you sure you're a genius? Cause I'm not sure you're a genius."

...Ouch.

"How? How am I meant to keep an eye on you and look after you if you keep running back into danger?" Stan growled when Ford went to respond. "No, I'm not finished! Think about it. I get you out of danger-" His hands gestured the scene before them, fingers dancing around. "-I give them the ol' right hook and we square off. It goes well or it goes bad, doesn't matter." He shrugged, continuing to overrule the upset interruptions. "But then- then my 'meant to be a smart guy' brother jumps back in to the fight. Now what's the betting I don't expect you to do that? What's the betting that I accidentally let my guard down in that moment, hmm? Now you're in the middle of a fight and I'm distracted. What happens then?" He lifted his hands dramatically, eyes wide and frustrated. "I'll tell you what! It doesn't end well is what happens!"

Ford opened his mouth to retort, hesitating only when he realised he didn't actually have an answer to that particular wording of the situation that he had just gotten them into. He frowned, his mouth opening and closing as he thought it through. "..Well, now you really are being unreasonable."

"I'm being-" Stan's arms still out dramatically fell with a sudden 'thwump', his eyes sharp and sparkling with irritation. "You know what? I'm done with this, argument over- I'm going fishing." He spun away from his brother, muttering vitriol under his breath, indistinct but the tone fairly obvious to his brother even so.

"Please." Ford didn't know why he kept talking, not really, other than the fact that's Stan's portrayal of the circumstances was entirely unfair and he felt the need to score a point back. "You couldn't catch a fish if someone threw one at you."

Stan froze for a second, before turning back to him in sharp twitching motions, his face slack with shock and offence as his hand went to clutch at his chest.

If Ford didn't know better he'd have said his words mortally wounded him. But considering what they were just arguing about and how silly this seemed in light of it all, Stan's actions only flummoxed him.

"What did you say?" Stan's voice came out steady, a growl rumbling through it even as his face remained indignant rather than angry.

"I said, you couldn't catch a fish if someone threw one at you." Ford crossed his arms, quirking an eyebrow challengingly.

"Couldn't catch a-" Stan's voice cracked halfway through, offence strangling the life out of the words as if repeating the sentence was just too much for him. He scowled darkly, sniffing as he looked away. "Yeah well, a fish wouldn't get caught if it kept it's mouth shut, now would it?"

It was Ford's turn to splutter, befuddlement colouring his face and choked out noises. He knew Stan was insulting him to some degree, but in the heat of the moment the words were not sinking in. "That doesn't even make sense!"

Stan's scowl vanished to a disconcerted frown. "What- of course it-" His frown fell back into a thunderous grimace as he spun away from him again. "Well, it made sense in my head! And it's your own fault that you don't understand!" He huffed, a loud rumble of a noise. "Can't catch a fish- Pah! I'll show you."

Ford stood for a second, perplexed still that Stan almost seemed angrier at the mocking insult after the argument than the actual argument. Not that he minded Stan's irritation dissipating but he had a sneaking suspicion that this was merely a distraction. He rolled his eyes, settling back down into his spot with his book as Stan stomped around the deck, his grumbles of 'Stupid brother', 'Wasted jokes' and 'How dare he' falling on rather deaf ears.

The words still soothed even if his brother was angry at him, a warm grateful feeling bubbling up through the frustration as his twin continued in his sulking. No matter how disappointed or exasperated Stan was, he never gave him the silent treatment now. Always made sure Ford knew that he was aware of his presence even if he couldn't speak directly to him without shouting. 

In this instance it meant grumbles, loud pointed sentences that were meant just for him even if his brother didn't address him directly. It meant turning on the radio loudly and belting out the songs that came on in the hopes Ford wouldn't be able to keep reading his book with all the noise. It meant, when that didn't work, shouting out fake song titles, most of them referencing his brother insultingly, and then blasting out sharp, high pitch, out of tune notes on his harmonica as he waited for a bite, both from any nearby fish and his brother.

It was hard to ignore the obvious hooks but Ford refused to give his brother the satisfaction, even if part of him was still appreciative of Stan's own concern bleeding through the dispute between them.

Ford winced, a twinge of pain sparking up as he settled back in his spot after a while. His chest tightened slightly as all the stretching motions, he'd put himself through, now made themselves known. He was sure he was bruising under his sweater but he would be damned before he told Stan that anything was wrong. Sure he'd taken the blow and pushed Stan out of the way, and maybe if he'd had more time he'd have come up with a better approach but really- he felt quite satisfied with himself for doing so.

Stan might be upset at him, panic lacing his words just after the fight as he ran to Ford's side, but he wouldn't apologise for looking after his brother.

He might have a point, Stan that is, and maybe they needed to talk things through at least a little bit. Really sit down and talk about it properly like adults and somehow find some kind of compromise.

Because it didn't matter how much Stan stormed and raged at his actions, he needed his brother to know he wasn't just going to sit on the side lines and let him take on all the dangers alone anymore.

They were a team.

He just needed Stan to realise that. And to realise he had other things to bring to the table than pure brute strength. 

Ford knew that, knew that Stan's insight into many of their exploits had furthered their investigations but for some reason his brother brushed those endeavours aside, stated trivially that Ford would have gotten there in the end without his help as if he hadn't done anything at all. 

Still concluded that his 'job' was, first and foremost, to keep Ford safe from harm. 

He didn't seem to comprehend that Ford didn't want to 'get there' without his help.

And nor did he seem to understand that Ford was just as adamant in protecting Stan as he was of of him.

Ford was so busy musing how to explain all of this to Stan, mouth twisted thoughtfully as he tried to muddle through his thoughts and come up with a cohesive argument, that he didn't notice that Stan's painful attempts at music had stopped. 

"Hey, Sixer."

Didn't notice that as he stared into the middle distance his brother was slowly walking towards him.

"Catch!"

Ford blinked, something wet and cold slapping him in the stomach. He gave a grunt of pained surprise, hands fumbling around the item thrown at him before it slipped away from him, leaving a smear of wet across his front and the distinct nose scrunching smell of fish that stopped all his thoughts in their tracks.

His eyes widened as they darted between the fish on deck beside him and his brother's victorious face, absolutely baffled by the turn of events.

"What on earth-"

"Hah! I think that proves it's you that can't catch a fish even if it's thrown at you!"

Ford blinked up at him, mouth agape and train of thought slowly sinking back in past the sharp intruding smell. It took a few seconds before he snorted, Stan's grin splitting further into hearty chuckles. "I guess that's fair. You obviously can catch a fish, it seems."

"A fish? Oh, ye of little faith." Stan huffed, head still thrown back with laughter. "Just because you can't catch one." He knelt down, scooping up the fish before throwing it into the bucket beside them. He held out his hand for Ford to take, his other hand tapping the bucket. "Come on, I've making lunch. I've caught enough for a feast if you ask me."

"Is that so?" Ford grimaced as Stan helped him up, rubbing at his stomach with a slightly reproachful look, though the smile refused to be pushed down as Stan continued to grin at him. "I guess I am quite hungry."

"Good, cause I've got a few more grumbles and they'd be wasted if you weren't in the room with me to hear them." Stan's grin grew slightly sharp as he slapped Ford on the back, ignoring the protesting squawk. "Come on Sixer, now that I've cleared my head a bit, I think it's time we talked like adults- I know, it's tough for us but I'm sure we can manage for a few minutes."

"Tough for us? I think even the niblings would agree with me on who's the bigger kid here."

Stan barked out another laugh, giving him another slap on the back before walking ahead of him. "Ouch, but fair. I've never said I was a responsible adult!"

Ford huffed out a laugh, shaking his head as he watched his brother go. His thoughts mulled over as he followed his brother back inside, a soft smile on his face as he saw Stan’s shoulders still heaving with chuckles, and tried not to follow suit, both of them somehow happy whilst still in the midst of an argument.

Sailing with Stan really was like riding with a whirlwind taking the wheel.

...Never a dull moment. Not even if he wanted one.

But if Ford was really honest with himself-

He wouldn’t have it any other way.