-Anything your sick mind desires- Part 2

And Stan didn't get why the kid had thought his sister wasn't lying over that one, either. Because for the kid, saying he didn't think somebody was lying and leaving it all at that? That was practically a seal of approval right there. ...Unless when the kid had said 'accurate', he'd only been talking about the transcript there, and not the 'not lying' stuff. ...Shit. Kid had talked about 'in' and 'on' the transcript, but not answered the 'on' question at all, and Stan hadn't caught the demon-kid on it. He hadn't thought of it then, but maybe the demon-kid hadn't actually seen what Miz was talking about because he couldn't right now, to check it and know whether or not it was 'accurate'. 'To the very-best of his ability' was one thing, but if the kid didn't actually have the 'ability' to do that currently -- and he might not right now, because Stan was still holding on to all that weirdness, and he wasn't so sure the kid was actually able to use 'his eye' or whatever like he usually did, when Stan was doing that...

(Much later the next morning, after several naps and more time and a chance to understand Miz's twisty demon thought processes, it finally occurred to Stan -- once he really thought about it again -- that… the dragon-lady had to have known that Ford hadn't actually known anything about what the anchor was when she'd first brought it up with Mabel that night. Miz had said 'If Ford tried doing that' after knowing about it, she'd go bonkers then. So… she had been messing with them, at least a little. She'd known Ford wouldn't do that to the niblings, once he knew what the anchor actually was and how Stan had gotten it; that had been an 'if' there, not a 'when'. That been some sort of test, with Mabel and Ford, like that stupid anime-showing thing had been a test and a show she'd tried to put on with Bill and him, too. ...And Stan was going to have a hell of a lot to say to her about this one, oh was he ever. He'd told her not to mess with them, either of the niblings or Ford. Especially Ford. --And what did she go out of her way to do next? Hell, no. She wasn't gonna get out of some serious penalty-consequences on this one, this time. Not this time. And it didn't take Stan very long to think of the perfect penalty for the dragon-lady demon for pulling this, either...)

Stan wanted to get up and stomp his way upstairs, all the way up to the attic, to wake the kid up and demand that the kid come downstairs and set the record straight on whatever those other dimensions and other-thems were that Miz had apparently Seen doing a bunch of bullshit stuff, that she'd been oh-so-happy to go off talking all about; Stan figured having the kid do that for him might actually help calm Ford down a hell of a lot faster than just letting him spin on the idea himself for all night. But had the kid seen them too? Did the kid know what Miz had been talking about? (He sure as hell hadn't said anything to Stan about it, if he had.) ...But it was late, there were too many things to think about, and Stan was too tired for all of this, and then some. He wasn't gonna get up and leave his brother alone to try and chase down the kid upstairs right now; he wasn't even sure if he was gonna be up for that tomorrow. And waking the kid up to talk at Ford wasn't gonna go well; the kid got cranky at that kind of shit, and Stan knew it. Which meant that was out; that just wasn't happening, because Stan wasn't about to risk the demon-kid making things any worse when Ford was this upset and hurt like he was all right now...

So Stan let Ford curl in close to him as he cried. He eventually shoved his arm in more, giving up on trying to stroke Ford's head, to instead wrap his arm around Ford's shoulder and pull him in close to get more of a hug going, instead. ...Damnit, he was too tired for this shit. Stan relaxed (with great effort) into the embrace, and resolved to get some sleep. Ford's tears were soaking into his shirt even as Stan's face remained dry, but at least he was crying less than he had been before. Ford wasn't actually doing that whole sobbing his heart out like everything was hurting and pain, anymore.

And eventually, Ford fell asleep in his arms, hand still held in Stan's. And shortly after that, Stan, too tired to even think straight anymore long-since, finally let himself fall asleep too.

---

Breakfast the next morning was somewhat subdued, likely because -- by some miracle of having enough self-preservation between the two of them, and at least one of them able to think far enough ahead that said demon had decided to scan everybody in the Shack first before coming downstairs with his demonic sister, to know that Stanley was both sleep-deprived and in a god-awful mood that morning -- the two demons had both decided to skip out on eating breakfast with the rest of them in the kitchen that day.

Ford was grateful for this chance to compose himself.

Stan, on the other hand, was still trying to get his bearings with his brother again, after last night.

Ford kept sending him looks all morning long, and Stan was ignoring him. Mostly. Kind of. Because Stan didn't want to talk about it any more than they already had. Not one bit. (Hell, if he'd known his brother was gonna react that way to it, he would have ripped that part outta the transcript himself. He hadn't known Ford would actually… y'know, give a damn about it. Not in a freaking out on him kinda way. The very first damn thing Ford had asked about that anchor before everything had gone over ten kinds of wrong had been if Stan knew if it'd burn him if they did the circle, and Ford had been pale as anything when he'd asked it. Which, y'know, Stan hadn't exactly been expecting. Ford had been okay with pulling the trigger on him before when they'd needed to do it; so he should've been fine with doin' it again this time too, right? Not like Stan wouldn't be okay with burning inside some fire again, if they had to get rid of the demon again and that was the only way that they could do it. He'd already burned away inside his own mind once; if this circle-thing would actually work, if shit came down to it, then...)

(Stan wasn't stupid, though. He knew that the circle-thing wouldn't actually work, even if they did manage to find a way to pull it off without the demon-kid stopping them first, at some point or another. Kid hadn't been worried about the circle before when they'd all been together in that Fearamid-thing of his, and the kid still wasn't worried about it now. Before, while the deal with Ford was still on, maybe the kid might've been fooling himself at least a little bit on whether or not 'his friend Ford' would actually follow through on it or not, but now? Ford's deal was off, and the kid knew damn well where Stan's line was on all of this shit, now -- he knew damn well that Stan was willing and going to try to take him out again the second he messed with his family again, the very second that he did it. And that meant, for all the reasons Stan had gone through with his brother before, that...)

Stan blew out a grumbling breath and scratched at his cheek. ...Hell. If Ford had just tracked down those lousy cultists that first week like he'd told him to, like he'd said he was gonna…

...No. Stan didn't want to get into that with his brother right now again, either. Dredging up all this stupid shit that nobody would do anything about; how was that supposed to help any one of them even a little bit right now, huh? --The thing was, it didn't.

Stan glanced back at the niblings, over his shoulder. ...Yeah, they'd picked up on the stress coming from Ford this morning, but Ford had washed up pretty well before breakfast. The bags under his bleary eyes and the bleariness itself both looked like they were from lack of sleep, not crying. It looked like the kids thought that that, and the overall stress, were just from the whole half-a-fight Ford and Bill had had with each other again yesterday. At least, Stan figured that was what they thought it was, since they both just munched down on some cereal quickly, gave Ford some hugs, and left it at that, headinng out into the Shack's gift shop to give 'em some space for the day after tossing Stan a twin pair of 'take care of him' looks.

For his part, Ford kept avoiding Stan's gaze while he was lookin', and sending him some real down looks when he thought Stan wasn't. They hadn't talked yet this morning, after that talk, and then that 'talk', that they'd had last night with each other. (Not really; not beyond Stan asking him if he wanted eggs or Stancakes for breakfast that day, and Ford telling him 'eggs'.) And Stan was a'okay with that. He was all for just ignoring the whole thing with the crying, pretending that it didn't happen. (--Because if doin' that kept Ford from feelin' like he had to do a 180 on him, tryin' to 'get back his own' later, now that he wasn't feeling so low on him anymore… well, that would be fine with Stan. He didn't exactly feel like getting into another fight with his brother again that morning. He just wanted to finish cooking their eggs, get something into his and his brother's stomachs… and then maybe go back to bed again for awhile. ...Hey, he was an old man now, all retired and everything. He was allowed to just sleep if he wanted to!)

Stan flipped some eggs on the pan, listening to the way it sizzled and twitched. And then he blinked as he had to stifle a shiver, and tell himself... No, it wasn't the same. The sound was all different, again and still. That panel had been more of a hiss than anything else...

...and Stan grimaced, because he hadn't thought about that shit in years. He hadn't thought he'd ever think of it again, after he'd stopped having dreams about--

Stan shook it off, poker face firmly on, and continued making their breakfast. But when he glanced over at the counter as he reached for the salt and pepper, he saw a small folded piece of paper tucked between the shakers on the counter there. Stan casually caught it up between his fingers as he grabbed the salt shaker, and after salting the eggs (not pepper, Ford didn't like pepper on his; that could wait) and returning the shaker to where he'd picked it up from, he pocketed the note and went back to focusing on his cooking. No reason to cause trouble before either of them were ready for it; he'd save it for later, once he was done cooking and eating and gotten some food into both him and his brother.

After finishing up the eggs and serving it out onto two dishes that he set out on the table for them both, Stan sat down in his chair with a groan and picked up his fork.

And Stan took his time eating. He waited until his brother was finished eating before he let himself finish up (which he knew Ford had noticed, given the side-eye looks he was getting, annd how Ford kept slowing down, and slowing down again, almost like he was testing him, until he let out a sigh and stopped trying to only eat one bite every minute and a half on him). Then, and only then, did Stan put down his newspaper, take his last forkful of food off of his plate, and then set down his fork to shove a hand in his pocket, to extract, unfold, and then grumpily opened up the note that he'd grabbed up before in order to read it.

And that note read: [Miz wants me to write to you that we are going out to the lake this morning. Miz ate all the fish yesterday. We will bring back enough fish to replace the ones that she ate. We will be back before it's time for dinner today. We plan to eat lunch today when it is time for lunch.]

...yeah, probably a good call, getting out of the Shack for a few hours. Stan wasn't in the mood to deal with either of them right now; now Stan was sure that the kid had picked up on that all the way from upstairs today -- the kid was getting better at that, figuring that one out. Stan had mixed feelings about that one, though. The kid avoiding him on-purpose when he was in a shitty mood was okay for now today maybe, sure, but… Stan remembered what had happened with Miz, every time she'd not come to him for something, over in that other dimension, and again and still here. If the demon-kid started avoiding him for one reason or another… Hell. Even letting it slide that the kid had avoided him today instead of talking to him in-person this time was already setting a dangerous precedent. As much as Stan really did not want to talk to the kid this morning, after what had happened with his brother here last night, that kinda 'avoidance' shit would lead pretty quickly to the kid not talking to him about stuff at all, and then not too long after that--

"Is… something wrong?" Ford asked him quietly, almost under his breath, and that was when Stan realized he was frowning.

Stan smoothed the frown off of his face and answered his brother with a grunt. "It's nothin'," he told his brother, as he crumpled up the paper in his fist.

"I…" Ford began then trailed, off looking away. He seemed almost subdued that morning.

Stan let out a sigh. "Kid left a note for me instead of talking to me straight to my face," he told his brother. "I coulda missed it." If he'd gone for pancakes instead of eggs, he wouldn't have needed the salt. "...Gonna have to bring it up with him and his sister when he's back for dinner," Stan grumbled out. "Don't think hiding it between the salt-shakers was his idea."

"Oh," Ford said quietly, still not looking up at him. Stan watched as Ford looked down at his clean plate and his dirty fork. "What did it say."

Stan didn't exactly didn't like how his brother still wasn't really looking at him. Not getting in a fight with him over the kid was one thing, but this was...

Stan pulled a bit of a face and scratched at his cheek. "Kid's out someplace or another with Miz for the day. They'll be back for dinner." Stan frowned as he thought over what the demon-kid had actually wrote. "Didn't say straight-out where he was taking her, or where they were gonna be. Not sure if he was bein' shifty about it on purpose 'cause he doesn't want to get followed, or if he's just tryin' not to end up lyin' to me about it later if Miz goes off and gets distracted on the way over there."

Ford's shoulders went tense for a few long moments, almost like he was about to build up to something for a second there, but then his shoulders slumped back down. "Ah." was all Ford ended up saying, as he continued staring down at his plate. And then finally got up from the table… to pick up his plate and head for the sink with it. Still not looking up or over at him.

Stan watched as Ford set his dishes in the sink, and he wasn't really sure if Ford was giving him the silent treatment here, or what. But Ford usually liked more 'information' on junk, and the kid was acting different here, so… Stan set his elbows on the table and talked a little more about it, out loud. (Hey, it beat talking about last night instead, right?)

"Don't think it was the kid's idea to leave a note instead of talking to me," Stan told his brother -- because, thinking about it a little more, the kid was usually a hell of a lot more straightforward than that. I ain't really in the mood to be puttin' up with any of that punk kid's crap today," Stan said, and tried not to change his expression as Ford turned around -- gaze down, still avoiding his eyes, and picked up his own plate and fork, before turning back towards the sink. "But that hasn't stopped the kid before now. And it's better to have the kid talking to me than not talking to me at all." Stan stopped there for a second, to see what Ford had to say about that.

Ford, for his part, remained silent. The only sounds in the Shack right now were the water in the sink going, as Ford acted like a mute guy washing dishes, and the low sounds of the Mystery Shack being open for business, with customers over in the other part of it there. (Hell, he wasn't exactly tryin' to get a rise out of his brother here, but Ford…)

"So, yeah. Probably Miz's idea there," Stan put out there next, trying not to feel all that uncomfortable about being the only one of the two of them talking, here. "Kid started the note with a 'Miz wanted me to' there. Figure that's a pretty big clue." Stan ate another bite of eggs, and thought about that one a bit more. And then he realized… "Hell. Kid doesn't tell me half the time when he goes out as it is." Stan frowned as he shoved the paper back in his pocket, and ran a hand over his face. "So having a note is better than him just up and vanishing on me without sayin' anything, I guess…"

"Is it?" Ford said quietly, as he finished up the dishes, and turned the water off at the sink, and Stan couldn't help but frown at how he couldn't even tell if that was more of a statement, or a comment. It sure as hell hadn't been a question, though.

"...Dunno," Stan ended up telling him. "Miz don't usually ask for help on stuff, but she's better at human stuff still. Like leavin' notes tellin' people like me where they're goin'," because that was the kinda thing she'd probably been told to do for the folks she was living with (her parents and family?), back when that dragon lady was still human. "Don't know why she'd tell that demon-kid to do it, instead of writing it herself, though." Wasn't like she couldn't have done that, instead. "Seems kinda sketchy." Stan paused, then added, "Is writin' notes a thing you'd expect outta Bill Cipher."

There was a bit of a pause, as Ford wiped his hands with a towel where he was standing at the sink.

"No," Ford said, still not looking at him, just down at the towel as he finished drying off his hands and set it back down on the countertop. "He'd have no real control over the information at that point, who saw it or had access to it later."

"Yeah," Stan agreed, leaning back in his chair. "Sounds about right for the kid, there. Don't think he'd even think of doing it himself, either." For someone to leave a note implied that they thought someone would worry if they didn't know where they went, like a parent. (He and Ford would tell their Ma whenever they left the house to play when they were younger, but not once they hit their teenaged years half the time, and Stan couldn't think of anybody else that he himself would have ever thought of leaving a note for, after that. Not that he'd ever left notes before leaving, for any of those times before that. Kid was a little like him like that, too. Because usually, if the kid was gonna tell him something, he'd straight up tell him that thinng. Y'know, verbally, like the kid usually did if he thought Stan wanted to know something and the kid didn't mind telling him -- read: if he didn't care that Stan knew.)

Stan also knew how the kid felt about leaving information just lying around, and how the kid felt about telling people his plans when he thought there might even be a chance of them going out and stopping him if they knew what they were. (Kid had ranted about this kinda junk to him at length before now, multiple times even.) He didn't think either he or Ford was that far off on that one, which meant... "Wonder how she talked him into it," Stan mused, leaning back in his chair.

Ford didn't respond.

Stan stifled a sigh, then looked away and scratched at his cheek. "Woulda figured the kid would be all over her for 'operational security', and all that, not the other way around." And that got him a frown and a--

"--What?"

--from his brother, finally. And to this, Stan let out another sigh and crossed his arms. "Don't think Miz would think far enough ahead to think that somebody might use knowin' where they were against 'em. Like watchin' 'em, or setting up an ambush or an attack; somethin' like that." Ford was looking up and over at him now. "It's how the kid thinks. Probably why he put it as a 'Miz told me to tell you that', and not a 'we're gonna be at' kinda thing."

When Ford continued staring at him evenly, not exactly contributing or really seeming to do anything other than that -- like he was tryin' not to express an opinion at him, almost -- Stan… well, he probably shouldn't feel a little better at his brother actually just looking at him, but he did. Because he was finally looking to be leaving at least some of that funk behind now that he'd been in all morning.

Stan shrugged at Ford. "Not like I can't decipher the kid's twistier Cipher-speak stuff, too," he noted at his brother. "I know writin' what he did the way he did it isn't actually 'promising' that he's gonna go off and do that thing any." Because all it said was that Miz wanted him to write that, not that that was what they were doing, or even planning on doing. "Only two things the kid really promised there was that they're gonna be bringing back more fish from someplace, 'cause Miz ate a bunch, and that they're gonna be back before dinner."

"And you aren't worried about wherever the two of them are going," Ford said next, just as statement-comment as he had about the 'is it' before.

"Not if the kid stays outta trouble, doesn't go bringin' any of that trouble back to us, and doesn't go talking to any other demons doing it," Stan reminded him with a shrug. Because Stan didn't really care what the kid got up to, so long as he kept following the agreement like that and didn't cross his line; not really. "Wonder how many plans he came up with this time, tryin' to make sure that nobody and their dog with a laser cannon could try to" (successfully) "ambush either of 'em out there wherever they are for the next couple a' hours." Because if there was one thing that they'd nailed down, it was where they weren't going to be for the next couple of hours, and for how long, along with when they were going to be back.

Ford made something of a noncommittal noise in the back of his throat, almost. Hell, Stan wasn't really sure if it was actually a noise, or if he'd just been clearing his throat, or somethin'.

"I'm betting at least twenty plans there. What d'you think?" Stan tried, trying to get his brother into it a little more. Whether those would be good and 'useful' plans was another thing entirely, Stan thought with a bit of an internal mental smirk. Because that was assuming that the kid even had a good idea of where they were going. Wasn't like Miz wouldn't maybe run the 'risk' of getting distracted by something on the way there, or bored once she was there and wanting to go someplace else. She'd sure done more than enough of that since she'd been there; their trips to town had been pretty 'interesting' in that respect, and while Stan had kept them on-target for the diner, the kid didn't seem all that willing to try and corral his sister into doing certain stuff and not others. ...Kinda a pushover, really. At least on some things...

"Somehow, I doubt Bill will be able to plan effectively for the man-eater wanting to stop and taste every flower," was Ford's mild-toned contribution to the subject, and Stan couldn't help but let out a chuckle.

"Yeah," Stan said, starting to feel a little more relaxed. "I was kinda thinkin' that, too." He watched his brother for awhile where he was standing, arms-crossed, head tilted slightly downwards, leaning back slightly against the kitchen table, facing the sink again more than him now.

Stan could've sworn Ford had his eyes closed, though.

"...Y'know," Stan said, putting it out there, because he kind of couldn't not at this point, "You usually ain't this quiet about anything, ever." Because Ford wasn't. He was used to his brother having… almost a presence these days. Just… energy, living under his skin. Even if Ford had been kinda almost relaxed on the boat when they'd been out on the sea together, sometimes, he'd still been really really there, kind of and always.

But Ford sure as hell wasn't relaxed right now, even if he wasn't exactly all tense where he was standin', either. And Ford wasn't exactly there there, either; if he'd been a lamp that was always on and shining, just not always in your direction and right in your eyes, what Ford was doin' right now was the obviously way-too-turned-down dim setting, low lit and almost but not really off. Stan didn't really know how else to put it; even when Ford had been tired the last few days, maybe only two or three steps from exhausted, he was still either blazing about as hard as he still could, or out like a light in his own bed. Ford usually didn't do a hell of a lot of in-betweens, here.

Ford looked away from him again, more a shifting of his eyes away from anything like his direction than anything.

"I'm tired, Stan," he said quietly.

"You were tired yesterday, too," Stan pointed out. "And the day before that. And--"

"I'm tired of fighting with you," was what Ford said next, just as quietly, and it left Stan at almost a loss for words. "I don't want to fight with you anymore, again."

Stan frowned a little bit. "Don't mean you gotta walk around on eggshells with me," Stan noted, "Or whatever the heck it is that you're doin' to me here, right now." Stan shifted in his chair a little uncomfortably. "Don't really feel like talkin' when it feels like I'm mostly just talkin' to myself."

Ford sighed, rubbing at his eyes. "I… don't know how to act around you right now. What would set you off, what would set me off." And now he sounded exhausted. "I just… don't…" (Hell. And now he looked exhausted, too.) "I don't want to fight with you anymore," Ford repeated.

Stan felt more than a little uncertain at this. He didn't know why, exactly, but he wasn't liking this at all. It felt… really wrong to him, somehow.

"...What's all that different between yesterday and today?" Stan asked him slowly. Because it wasn't like they hadn't been going at it with each other on and off before now, annd been all okay about it. Mostly.

"Stan," Ford grimaced. "I… I hurt you."

It took Stan a moment, because when had Ford...? Then Stan blinked. "What, the…" he raised and lowered his right shoulder a bit, and saw Ford grimace a bit again. "So? We were both beatin' on each other pretty bad that day." He saw that Ford wasn't backing down on this for some reason, but he just wasn't getting it.

"Stan, I hurt you." Ford repeated.

Shit. Stan didn't want to say it and give Ford the reason to yell at him over it, but the way things were going right now…

"And I pushed you into a portal," Stan told him simply. "You lost thirty years of your life on the other side of that thing. That's--" Stan clenched his hands in his lap. "That's way worse than some stupid burn."

Ford twitched, because-- the thought had not even occurred to him, that Stan might think that… that…

...that what? "It's not…" Ford stopped, then opened and closed his mouth a few times, searching for the right words to say. The right words to made Stan understand. ...Could he even find the words to express what he wanted to say?

"You didn't deserve that," was what Ford finally settled on, and it felt like almost a stab underneath his heart when Stan said back to him next, "You didn't deserve that."

"Stan…" Ford hugged his arms around his own chest a little tighter, because that hurt.

"Look," Stan told him. "I don't want to talk about it, you don't want to talk about it. I don't want to fight over it any more than you do," apparently, not that Stan had exactly been expecting that one there really, at all, not in a million years and counting. Stan took a deep breath. "So let's just not talk about it. Okay? It happened, it's done. It's over with now. ...Right?"

Ford mentally cursed his own failure to communicate. He didn't know how to make Stan understand this, any more than he knew how to make him understand that Stan wasn't like Bill, either. It… it wasn't about what either of them had deserved at the hands of the other; it was the fact that Ford had hurt him at all to begin with, and…

...and Ford had a growing sick feeling in his stomach, as he looked down at his brother and realized that maybe Stan had thought that he had deserved it, what had happened to him, at least a little bit. ...just as Ford felt that perhaps he had deserved at least some of what had happened to him due to his sheer and utter blindness before, his utter foolishness in having ever trusted Bill Cipher, and-- It occurred to him to think so, because of what Stan had contested with him before, and more importantly what he hadn't. Last night, Stan hadn't contested whether or not he had deserved it, what had happened -- what Ford had done to him that day -- or whether Ford should have ever even done it to him or not. ...No, Stan had only contested the facts of the situation as it had happened. Not the feelings, nor the intent; not really. He'd hadn't been angry about the event itself; he'd only professed anger at the idea of Ford lying to him about it.

And Ford was slowly beginning to understand only now, just how terrible Stan's own thoughts of himself might have been, and might still be, both then and now. From the way Stan had believed their parents wouldn't have allowed him to return home after being kicked out, to not wanting to speak out when Stan had known -- absolutely known -- that there had been something utterly wrong with his science fair project to begin with; even when knowing how being blamed for that device having been broken in any respect -- and the consequences that had come after that -- would be anything but fair to him in any respect, Stan hadn't wanted to talk about it, hadn't objected, hadn't even tried to object to him or Pa or Ma about it -- about any of it, really. Stan still hadn't wanted to talk about it, even after everything had come to a head with those other, younger, and still somehow different versions of them in that other dimension, and...

...Ford was now remembering how Stan had almost constantly put himself down on the boat, what Stan could do and had done for them both without mention or complaint on the boat, time and time again, not even seeming to be expecting any thanks or recognition. And he'd kept on doing it, doggedly continuing to take care of all sorts of things that Ford had never even thought of as if it was expected of him, silently doing so up until Ford had noticed it and commented upon it himself from time to time, and then... at the time, Ford had thought Stan had been trying to downplay his own work, or that the way he'd been saying it had somehow been a failed and awkward attempt at being modest -- at least, that was what he'd thought of it before, but now... Perhaps Ford was misunderstanding him entirely and he desperately hoped so, that he was misunderstanding Stanley here somehow, but… was Stan truly rating his own pain and work and feelings as somehow less important than Ford's own? As so unimportant when compared to Ford's own experiences that they didn't even bear mention?? As if they were of no consequence whatsoever? It was almost as if Stan somehow thought that-- that--

--it was as if Stan thought that he didn't deserve--

--it was as if Stan thought that no one cared--

--but that wasn't right either. That simply couldn't be right, either, could it? Stan had to know that he cared about him, that Dipper and Mabel cared about him, too-- so why? Why did Stan seem to think so lowly of himself in this regard?

"Stan." Ford said slowly, feeling like crying again for some reason -- perhaps in frustration -- but at least managing to not break down in front of his brother yet again this time. "You are... important." He winced even as he said it. It felt clunky and unbalanced, certainly inadequate to properly convey how he felt upon this very important matter. "I-- I shouldn't have… I shouldn't have hurt you like that, with that panel, back then." He barely managed to get it out without stuttering, at the hurt he felt in the center of his chest to say it -- to even have to say it, at all.

"I don't want to talk about it, okay," was what Stan said next, almost grumpily, looking away from him.

...And then Ford got it. He truly… understood. Finally.

"You don't forgive me for it, do you." Ford swallowed hard as he stared at his brother -- arms crossed, not looking at him -- and realized, with a remote and growing sense of horror… "You're never going to forgive me for it."

"Goddammit, Ford," his brother said harshly, looking up at him. "I said I don't--" But then, for some reason, Stan stopped talking as he looked up at him. (Stan stopped because he realized his brother was pale as a sheet, and looking at him wide-eyed and scared, even more scared than he had the night before on no sleep and all…)

"...Ford," Stan said slowly. He felt a little like he was on thin ice in not cold enough weather here now, and he wasn't sure which way the ice was gonna crack if he wasn't real careful here, either. "What are you thinkin' right now..." Because whatever it was, it sure as hell hadn't been what Stan had been thinkin' he thought, right here and now. (This was starting to feel like last night, all over again.) (Dammit, he knew his brother! He did-- this wasn't--)

"I…" Ford didn't know how to explain any more than he already had. What he was trying to say. It felt like there was suddenly an impossible gulf between them, and--

Ford blinked, and he tensed, as Stan slowly got up from his chair at the table. And shoved it in, almost thoughtlessly. And slowly walked over, to stand right in front of him.

"Stan, I…" Ford tried to get out next, but then he felt nothing but absolute shock, as Stan moved forward--

...and Ford felt Stan's arms encircle him in a hug.

Ford felt all the breath in his lungs leave him.

(Not because Stan was squeezing him that hard, but because…)

And then Ford started to shake. And his arms and hands were shaking as he began to raise them up behind Stan's back, he could feel it, just as he could feel his face screw up into a horrible teeth-clenched grimace against his control, as he started to feel tears fall all over again -- and Stan was going to hate him for this-- because he just couldn't be--

--Stan already hated him for this, and there was nothing he could do about that --

--Ford wrapped his arms around his twin brother and buried his face into the crook of his shoulder, standing up.

"Don't know what the hell to say to you without it bein' all wrong here, Ford," he heard Stan tell him quietly, as he held him. (And Ford didn't understand why Stan was letting him do this, why he hadn't practically sneered at him for crying again now, for crying like a little kid before, for--) "I don't like you feelin' down about any of this junk, though. Almost wish you were just angry at me like you should be, instead," he heard his brother say next, "Just gimmie a good punch or two and get it all over with," and all Ford could think of to do at those words was to clutch Stan tighter and shake his head back and forth at his shoulder while Stan inexplicably continued to let him do this without complaint.

"I don't want to punch you, Stan," Ford choked out, rather horrified at the thought. And at this point, his emotions were thoroughly a mess.

"Then what do ya want? More hugs?" Stan said, almost half-jokingly, except… Ford kinda hugged him tighter right away after he said it. "What, seriously?"

"Yes," Stan heard his brother say hoarsely, but kinda firmly, too, and that was...

"Oh," Ford heard his brother say, sounding a little… blown away by this, somehow. Like he hadn't been expecting… "Uh. Okay. I, uh..." There was a pause, as Stan… seemed to be processing this? And then…

"I can do that," Stan told him, and Ford felt Stan's arms encircle him a bit more… more… And Ford shivered because Stan was--

--Stan was encircling him something that was far more of a hug than he'd ever received yet from him, and at the idea of hugging Ford more... Stan had sounded almost hopeful about it.

It left Ford at an utter loss. Because the brother he remembered hadn't wanted any hugs or touching or closeness, not since they'd hit their teenage years and he'd suddenly started liking girls.

...Just as Ford had remembered letting go, instead of pushing his brother into that panel even harder?

And it hurt, that maybe he'd simply completely misunderstood his brother back then, for all of those years, so many years ago. That there had been yet another social or contextual clue that he just hadn't been seeing, that he'd been missing, and that Stan himself had, perhaps, been missing all the closeness and twinness and hugs for so very long as Ford had been, feeling just and exactly as cut off from his twin, abandoned, lost, and alone--

--feeling, and knowing in feeling it for absolute certain, that his twin no longer loved him anymore, didn't care, didn't care about him, and starting to wonder if he ever really had--

--it was startlingly and heat-wrenchingly obvious to Ford now that Stan had thought Ford no longer loved him, just as Ford had thought of Stan in return. But while Ford had begun to think that things could be mended between them at the end of Weirdmageddon, at Stan and his willingness to sacrifice himself to… to… and then after Mabel and her scrapbook gave him that second chance to make things right with his brother...

...somehow, Stanley had not come to believe the same thing. He still thought Ford cared for him not at all. It had been clear to Ford during Weirdmageddon that Stan must still care about him at least somewhat, given the fact that Stan had come along on that rescue mission to get him, with the niblings and all the others, but Stan...

...It boggled Ford's mind, and hurt his heart, the thought that even after sailing together for almost a year, working together and watching each other's backs, cohabitating in a way they hadn't in decades, and all the rest of it, that Stan would still believe after all that that Ford didn't care about him still?

Ford didn't understand. He couldn't understand it. All he knew was that it was horribly wrong, and that it hurt, and he didn't know how to fix it.

So he stood there (and Stan stood there), and they both kept on hugging each other there instead.

And those two old men kept on standing there, leaning on each other and hugging each other in dire confusion, oh so very confused about anything and everything to do with their sibling. Something was wrong here with their other sibling, and had been wrong for a lot longer than either of them had realized; they were both beginning to realize this now. But neither of them wanted to talk about it, the things that had been hurting them -- and why would they even want to do that, again? It didn't make sense to either of them to do that to each other; not when all either of them wanted to do was to hold each other close in a way they hadn't thought they'd still be allowed to do with each other again anymore, not for a very long time.

So they didn't try to talk. They just thought of Mabel almost desperately, and tried to hug it all out with each other, instead.

...Because why rock the boat, when they were both getting what they'd wanted for a very long time? Why question it that much? Why do that, when the risk of doing that might mean hurting their twin sibling enough that they might lose them, all over again? Because neither of them wanted to risk that; neither of them wanted to risk now losing even so much as the resemblance of this long-lost closeness, again.

(And because neither of them wanted to risk that…)

---

The two old men ended up on the couch -- Stan's old recliner -- for the rest of the day, almost. Stan put something on the TV for an excuse for it, but it was just an excuse for the two of them; they were both just sitting there, leaning up against each other, dozing off both together and separately at times -- they were tired. (Emotionally exhausted really, the two of them.)

And while Mabel might have gotten a few pictures of the two of them when Melody came in with them to help her and Dipper make lunch, they didn't wake up then to that, and they didn't wake up when they left for the gift shop again, either.

---

The demons did return to the Shack before dinner. Stan had cooled down enough (a hell of a lot more mellow, and in a much better mood now, after all the hugging with his twin brother that had been going on again that day) that he didn't immediately smack Miz down for her 'anchor the niblings' things from the night before (that had led to his earlier fight with Ford and then Ford crying himself to sleep later that night). He also didn't immediately confront the demon-kid directly about letting Miz talk him into doing things that the demon-kid didn't normally do, and usually thought was a really bad idea to do on top of that. But Stan was still unhappy with the pair of them, and he let them know that when they showed up for dinner, with a, "You two are getting a couple a' learning-lessons for the shit you two have pulled lately. Gonna have a penalty for Miz too, for messin' with Ford by proxy -- don't act like you didn't know what you were doin' there, dragon-lady." Stan eyed her.

And Miz had nodded, grimacing. "Yeah…" She looked a little guilty, but not enough.

Bill looked between them, not quite slit-eyed but a great deal suspicious, and said, "I have some say in the penalty-lesson."

"Yeah," said Stan. "You do. We talked about that. You can veto until you don't." In plain english: if the demon-kid thought something was going to hurt her, he'd veto it, and Stan would come up with something else instead, as many times as it took until the kid agreed with him on one of them. "You got anything to say in your defense?" Stan asked of the dragon-lady next, in descending tones.

"There…" Miz worried her bottom lip for a bit. "There were things that… you're all too stubborn to talk about unless something happened to force the issue… and I know it wasn't… very nice…" She grimaced before glancing over at Ford briefly. "Well. I was frustrated." She admitted.

"I don't care if you're frustrated," Stan told her straight out. "People aren't your pawns or puppets." Demon-speak again for that one (and he had to ignore his brother's visible shudder), because apparently she was bein' all demon-thought-y on this one here for all that right now, damn it. "Don't mess with my brother. I ain't telling you again. You hearin' me?" (Yeah. That one got the demon-kid's attention. ...Miz, on the other hand...)

"I have so many things I wanted to say, but no idea how to go about it." Miz frowned at Stan. "And some of which I can't… really, even know how to say, and--"

"--Stop," Bill said to his sister, cutting her off. "You're digging. ...Below China," he added, after eyeing Stan once-over.

Miz sighed, rubbing her face. Then she raised a hand and pointed at Ford. "That Stanford loves you. And you…" she twitched, "...l-love him too," her words stuttering there for a moment. "So…"

"Uh," said Stan, feeling incredibly uncomfortable now. (He took a chance and glanced over at Ford. ...Yeah, he looked kinda shocked and a little uncomfortable at what the demon-lady was tellin' them, too.)

"So things should turn out alright." Miz managed out. She relaxed then. "I don't like him." She said, still pointing at Ford. "But he loves you. So… I guess he's not bad."

Stan blinked at the dragon-lady over this one. Because what?

But when he glanced over at Ford this time, he had to stop and stare because… Ford was blushing slightly, looking away from all of them -- himself, the kids, and the demons included. And he was scrubbing a hand through the hair at the side of his head, straight up looking kinda… embarrassed? At something the dragon lady had said? What the--

"Well… well, of course I love him," Ford told them all, in almost muted tones, with a huff of breath out at the end of it. It felt incredibly odd to say-so out loud, and he felt quite stupid in doing so, but… really, what was the man-eater trying to imply in saying such a thing to them all, Ford truly didn't know -- was she actually trying to imply that he felt otherwise? He felt almost angry at the thought -- because did she really feel that it was possible that he felt otherwise? Stan misunderstanding him because of… well, because of events and Ford's own inability to express himself properly was one thing, but... Ford certainly wasn't so contrary as to reject anything and everything she said every time the man-eater said something -- certainly not when it was actually true -- certainly not when it was so important that Stan realize the truth of it all himself at some point. Ford wasn't about to say otherwise in front of Stan, or to anyone else. And the way she'd paused there was truly beyond the pale, because-- "And I know Stan feels the same way about me, as well," Ford huffed out at the man-eater next.

A soft smile grew on Miz's face. "I'm glad you admitted it." Ford flicked his gaze over to her, frowning. And when he saw Miz absolutely beaming at him, Ford twitched just looking at it. Dipper and Mabel were glancing back and forth between the two of them. Because Miz and Ford weren't… fighting. And it didn't… seem like Miz was trying to bully Ford. But they didn't quite understand what was going on either.

"Well, of course Grunkle Stan and Grunkle Ford love each other, silly," Mabel told Miz firmly. "They don't need to say it all the time. Grunkle Stan has real trouble with saying that to people, you know!"

("I'm aware," Ford said quietly -- so quietly that Stan was pretty sure that Ford wasn't actually trying to say it to the dragon-lady herself. "You show it in other ways..." Ford said next, and Stan glanced away uncomfortably, because the way Ford was looking at him was…)

Miz nodded at Mabel, still smiling. "I know. Well, I wasn't sure at first, but I know now, figured it out for sure a while ago. I just wanted him to admit it aloud. Even if it doesn't need to be said, it's nice when it is."

And then Miz turned away from Ford, practically skipping over to the stove to begin making a quick meal for her brother, seeming much more at ease and happy with them now then she had been for weeks. Dipper and Mabel exchanged looks and then turned to stare at their grunkle Ford, Dipper had a frown as he tried to figure out why Miz was so much happier after hearing Great-Uncle Ford say those words.

Stan was just feeling downright confused at all this. He felt his shoulders come up slightly.

"...Don't know why we've gotta be talkin' about all sorts'a emotions and junk," Stan said, still feeling more than a little uneasy about all of this. (He couldn't exactly help how he felt the urge to flick his eyes around the room, scanning it for all the nearest exits -- old habits died hard, or whatever.) Kids didn't need him to say it out loud; he didn't know why it was such a thing about sayin' it out loud to each other, right now. Wasn't really all that normal to do that, was it? Goin' around, just sayin' 'I love you' like that. It made it seem more like a lie, than anything real, if you had to just come out and say it, out straight like that...

Stan felt Ford nudge his shoulder slightly… no, wasn't just a nudge; Ford was leaning up against him a little bit, lightly. And Stan felt himself blush a little bit himself and slowly start to relax...

"It's… it's fine. Isn't it?" Ford asked him quietly, as Miz took over the stove for a hot minute, and Stan struggled with what he should even say to that.

"...Yeah," Stan finally told him next. "It's fine."

But Stan was really starting to wonder, now, when he was finally gonna start to wake up...

---

(MizBill POV)

Getting a Penalty was totally worth it just for this! Really, a little pain now meant less pain later. And I felt a lot better now that I had confirmation. Truthfully, I'd been stressing about how Stan and Ford would feel once it came out that they weren't each other's twins. And, well...

They were still under the wrong impression (and it wasn't funny at all! Not one little bit!) but they did care about each other. That counted for something. And even if they weren't each other's original brothers, they had spent all this time together. That must count for something too! And it took a weight off my mind to know that they cared. Whether they would still do so after the truth came out was something entirely different! But, I held onto the hope that things would turn out alright. Because I didn't want this to be an unhappy ending.

Stan's twin was a horrible person, if what I've been able to See meant anything. For the life of me, I couldn't actually tell if 'Ford loved his brother. Part of me wasn't feeling very charitable towards the guy, I didn't think he loved Stan back. And that was awful. Whatever, he didn't know what he was missing out. (He was also dead, but that was an entirely separate matter.)

Really, the barrier around the Shack made things so much harder than they needed to be. I couldn't See inside it like I normally did whenever I opened my Eye. But, with what I had gleamed from that time I went Up to brother's Axolotl, and my slow study of the information I had found there (slowly and carefully examined every time I returned to my Mindscape), I could See inside the Shack now. There were so many things I wanted to mess with, now that I had more knowledge on how this world worked, but I'm gonna put that off for now.

Didn't want to risk overwhelming myself with the knowledge I contained. I could take my time. This world was simply fascinating.

---