Chapter Text
Upon finding there isn’t even any milk to go with the slightly stale cereal, Ford fixes up some toast for the both of them. Stan, who isn’t allowed to help, politely and gratefully accepts his slices as they sit across the table from one another.
“Alright, let’s start thinking of what we need.” Ford takes a breath and goes into academic mode, “This is rather sudden, and we’ll end up needing quite a lot, so it may be wisest to take a preliminary trip, just to gain enough sustainability that we can slow down for a proper, thorough assessment.”
Stan just blinks at him. It takes Ford a moment to notice, then to slow down,
“We’ll do a shorter trip today for basic necessities— groceries, toiletries, etc— and a longer trip later once we know what all you’ll want and need.”
That, Stan can understand. Mostly. He’s not sure he’s worth two shopping trips, but the premise comes across and he nods,
“Sounds good.”
“Let’s see, then.” Ford starts making a list on a piece of paper, “That’ll be a grocery store, a department store, and possibly a general store. We definitely need milk…”
Though he tries not to, Stan slowly tunes him out, unable to hear over his own spiraling thoughts. Three stores. Will the stores be the same as in his dimension? What will the people there think of him? What if he messes up? What are the ‘basic necessities’ by Ford’s standards? How much money is Ford about to spend on him, and how the hell is he supposed to pay any of it back?
He tunes back in when he realizes the room is much quieter. Ford has stopped talking and is now just staring at him curiously. Stan swallows.
“Sorry, uh, what was that last part?”
“You seem anxious.” Ford presents hesitantly instead of answering. “Since this will just be for the basics… would you prefer not to accompany me this time?”
Stan chews his lip. Between not being sure what he wants and trying to be right, he has no idea what to answer. So, of course, Ford goes into rambling,
“Because I’ll want to do a full trip with you at some point, let you pick out your preferred groceries, whatever clothes you want, and decor for your room, etcetera, but that seems like a lot for your first full day here, and if the kitchen was stocked a bit better and I had an extra toothbrush, I’d probably put the whole trip off anyways, so as not to overwhelm you. I’d be perfectly happy for you to accompany me, of course, I just. I don’t want to push you. So if you don’t want to go, you don’t have to.”
There’s a beat of silence. After some thinking, Stan looks down and away as he speaks up,
“You, uh… you like when I’m honest.”
“Yes, I do. I’ll never be upset at you for giving honest answers to my questions.”
Stan swallows hard,
“I think I’d rather stay back, if that’s okay.”
Not only does a trip to town sound like way too much right now— how does this Ford want him to act in public?— but he’d like to relax a bit and explore the house without worrying about getting in trouble. He’s been very stressed lately.
Much to Stan’s surprise, when he looks up to discern how Ford feels about that little bout of honesty, the man is beaming.
“Of course! Certainly, if that’s what you’d like.”
Huh. Seems like he got the right answer, then.
“Y-yea, I think so.”
“Great!” Ford exclaims, then catches himself, “Not ‘great’ as in I’d rather go without you— I don’t mean to seem excited about the prospect of being apart, I’m not really— it’s just…”
There’s a strange twinkle in Ford’s eye. Pride, some instinctive recognition in Stan claims, but that can’t be true.
“This feels like the first time I’ve actually gotten your opinion on something. That you’ve shared what you want to do. That’s exciting. I’m… glad I’ve helped you feel comfortable enough.”
Oh. Gears start turning in Stan’s head, but they don’t make it all the way. He’s processing.
“Well, I’ll head out now, since I have the time, and I’ll probably be an hour or so. —Does that sound alright?”
Honestly, Stan’s not sure he understands the question; it’s not like Ford needs his permission.
“Yea, sure.”
“Wonderful. Oh, and what’s your pants size?”
Stan blinks at him. Ford just stares back, perfectly patient. After a pause long enough to have earned him serious consequences back in his old dimension, he answers the question.
“Great.” Ford heads for the door, “Feel free to poke around the house; it’s your house now too, after all. I’ll be back soon!”
And just like that, the door closes behind him and Stanley is alone in the familiar-unfamiliar cabin.
Ford starts his journey calm and collected, mind racing with all the progress Stan’s already made and all the progress yet to come. And all the groceries to get. He’ll have to get plenty of snack food in addition to the healthier options, some things Stan can just pick up and consume without effort, and hopefully that’ll get him eating more. He should also get plenty of protein to bulk Stan back up a bit. Did this Stan use a different brand of toothpaste in his dimension? Whatever, the man won’t mind a toothpaste change, not with how passive he’s been. How nervous. Groceries last, clothes first, at least get him a few pairs of clothes so he doesn’t have just one, style can be accounted for later. Ford makes it to a store, list in shaky hand.
He’s not thrilled about leaving his brother alone already, sure, but the man asked for it. He shared a preference, and with how timid he’s been, that has to be encouraged. This is about Stanley’s comfort, not Ford’s. Still, Ford thought he’d be able to handle this better, but…
Stan gone Stan where Stan danger?? Stan alive?? You abandoned him again you abandoned him again you—
He has to sit down for a second to work on his breathing. Someone passes by him in the aisle, giving him an odd look but not bothering him.
Stanley is fine. Everything is fine. He’s alive, waiting for you at home. Just keep going.
Ford shops as quickly as he can.
Stanley, meanwhile, waits a solid ten minutes to make sure Ford isn’t coming back right away, then takes to snooping.
He opens every door. He stares down the stairs to the basement elevator, but he doesn’t dare descend them— going into the lab would be too much, especially since he has no idea what the lab even looks like, or even the inside of the elevator. He wanders Ford’s office, touching nothing but looking at everything. It seems less used than the rest of the house, like it’s mostly a storage room for textbooks and papers. The desk is dirty with old, mostly-empty coffee mugs. It doesn’t smell good in here.
He peers into but doesn’t enter Ford’s bedroom. There’s a desk in here too, though smaller than the one in the office room. Ford’s bed is unmade and, again, there are old coffee mugs littered around. The little trash can is overflowing with tissues. Sheesh, Ford really hasn’t been doing well, huh? One of Ford’s journals is sitting on the edge of the bed, and Stan would like to know which one, but he can’t bring himself to even lean into the room to see it better.
Once, he entered his old brother’s bedroom while alone in the house, and he was found out from supposedly moving a singular paper off kilter; he had to sleep outside that night.
Despite being alone in the house, Stan’s carefully silent when he closes the bedroom door, leaving everything precisely as it was. He’d love to get to know this new brother better, but more than that, he’d like to stay on the man’s good side.
The bathrooms are somewhat unremarkable, one being just down the hall from his new bedroom and the other being tucked away downstairs. The upstairs one appears to have some of Ford’s things in it— toothbrush, soap, bathrobe, etc— so Stan wonders if he’ll be relegated to the further one. His previous brother had an en-suite, but it seems this one doesn’t. Such a minute difference, but it makes Stan chuckle.
With his adventure completed, Stan returns to the living room, plopping down on the small sofa— his old Ford only had an armchair, which Stan was only allowed to sit in when Ford approved of his cleanliness— and turning on the TV. Of course, two minutes later he gets back up; he’s thirsty.
After a staring contest with the cabinets and some heavy debate on whether it would be worse to dirty a cup or drink from his hands like a heathen, Stan resolves to just wash the cup once he’s done. He finds one, turns on the cold water—
The faucet handle snaps off.
Stan’s jaw drops open, glaring at the sink like it just attacked him. He glances down at his dumb hands, once holding an empty cup and one holding a faucet handle.
Great. Day one, and you’ve already broken something.
The hands shake. All of him shakes. He tries to turn the water off as a starting point, but it won’t turn without the handle.
Ford’s going to kill you.
He fills his glass and has a drink of water.
Ford struggles to open the front door with his arms overloaded with bags. When he manages it, he drops the clothing by the doorway, kicks the door gently closed behind him, and makes his way to the kitchen. The TV’s on when he passes by, which makes him smile. Maybe Stanley’s been able to relax.
Just as Ford opens his mouth to call Stan’s name— needing to know where he is, needing to see him alive— he spots the man in the kitchen scrambling away from the sink, nearly tripping. It takes further examination to suspect he might be holding something behind his back, though it takes no such thought to tell how nervous Stan is.
“Hey! Back already? Good to see ya!” Stan blurts, already wincing at himself. Ford nods slowly,
“Yes, I’m back, and I’ve brought groceries. Like I said, just the basics for now.”
“Yup, sounds perfect. I can put em away, if you want.”
“You’re welcome to help me do that, if you’d like.” Ford sets the groceries down on the counter, starting with the cold items, still keeping his eyes on Stanley, whose back stays facing away with an arm behind it. “Are you alright?”
The responding nod is immediate and frantic. Then, a breath and a moment later, Stan seems to calm down, perfectly nonchalant. He’s still entirely tense though.
He’s lying. Why?
“You seem nervous.” Ford says carefully, “Did something happen? It’s okay if something happened, Stanley.”
“Nah. Nothin’.”
“You’re sure?” Ford stops putting away groceries for a moment to set all of his attention on the increasingly anxious Stanley. He’s tempted to let it go, but what if Stan’s hurt? What if it’s something bad or important, something Ford really needs to know about?
“You’re not in trouble, Stanley, I promise. I’m not going to do anything, I just want to know what’s going on.”
Stan swallows hard. His face shifts from tense nonchalance to complete resignation, and his eyes point at the floor,
“I, uh, br— …part of the sink came off.”
“Ah, was it the right side handle?” Ford’s eyes flit to the sink as Stan starts rambling fast,
“I dunno why! I didn’t even do anything except turn it on, it just popped right off lol nothin’— b-but I fixed it! I fixed it, see? Put it right back on, screwed it into place, I-I was just finishing up but I’m pretty sure it works fine now, it should, and if it doesn’t I’ll keep fixing it, I can keep trying!”
He keeps reaching for the sink as if to demonstrate, but backing off before he touches it like he’s not sure he’s allowed.
“Stanley. Lee. Relax.” Ford soothes as best he can, reaching forward and grabbing Stan’s arms in a gentle hold. Stan freezes in his grasp, completely deferent, offering all of his attention even through sharp, unsteady breaths.
“That thing’s been coming off at least once a day for weeks. I’d been meaning to fix it properly, but I hadn’t gotten around to it yet. You didn’t—“
Didn’t break it, why can’t either of them say that word—
“You did nothing wrong; it was already broken.“
Stan blinks at him in open surprise,
“R…Really?”
“Yes, really. Nothing to worry about.”
Ford reaches over to see if it has, in fact, been properly fixed. The movement makes Stan jump but then the handle turns and the faucet comes on and everything’s nice and secure.
“Perfect, it’s much better now. In fact… thank you for fixing it.”
Stan lets out a strained exhale and a nervous chuckle,
“Uh, no problem.”
“Would you like to help me put the groceries away?”
“Sure.”
Stan grabs the nearest things and starts looking around for where they might go, getting it right and continuing. Ford smiles,
“And then you can try on your new clothes, to see if I got the right sizes.”
Stan pauses and blinks at him,
“New clothes?”
“Yes.” Ford offers as though it’s obvious, because… it is. “Just a few simple things. Of course I’ll let you pick out your own later, but I wanted you to have more than one pair, at least for now.”
There’s a long silence between them after that, Stan clearly visibly thinking as he puts things away.
“…how many pairs of clothes do I get?”
A strange question, but Ford tries not to question those. He just shrugs,
“How many do you want?”
Stan ponders. Then, (he can’t help it, he’s greedy—)
“Fou………five?”
Ford barely stifles a snort,
“We’ll get you more than five.”
Stan’s eyes open wider, shining like they’re written with stars,
“More than five?” He asks softly, like a murmur under his breath. Ford’s resolve hardens,
“As many as you want.”
Stan’s smile is giddy, and once the groceries are put away, he’s too excited to contain himself as he grabs at his new clothes and races to the nearest bathroom to try them on.
Ford can’t stop smiling either.
That night, the boys are brushing their teeth side by side— Ford tries not to get too righteously upset when Stan asked if he’s allowed to use the same bathroom as his brother, nor when he’s excited to have his own soap and shampoo— when Ford’s anxiety hits him again, just a little bit. It’s been a slightly stressful day, though a good one.
“Can we sleep in the same room again tonight?” Ford finds himself blurting, “Just one more night. I’d really like to be able to see you.”
“Sure, no problem, I don’t mind.” Stan’s physical reaction is casual, but his mind races with the warmth of being wanted. Ford smiles relief,
“Good. We can just sleep in your bed again— or, well, I won’t invite myself into your bed, your room is your own space— we could use mine tonight, if you’d like? Unless that would be worse, putting you in yet another unfamiliar environment… which would you prefer?”
“Uh… either one’s fine.” Stan answers easily, though Ford’s nervous rambling puts him a bit on edge.
“I don’t mind either,” Ford declare, shoring up, “so if you have any sort of preference, go ahead and choose.”
And now Stan feels like he shouldn’t. He doesn’t want to have to explain himself either way, and it’s clearly already been overthought. Plus, he really won’t mind either,
“Nope, up to you.”
Ford’s struck with an idea, only mildly devious.
“Alright, then we’ll flip a coin for it. I’ll just have to find a coin, I’m sure I have one somewhere…”
He starts opening drawers and checking the lack of pockets on his pajama pants, knowing he’ll find nothing. His futile search lasts a while, extending into the hallway and moving very, very, obnoxiously slowly.
This, Stan decides, is an opportunity. He can claim his choice is arbitrary. Now, which does he want?
There’s no question: he wants to go into Ford’s room. He wants to be allowed, to be invited into Ford’s room. He wants to see it all up close, wants to be a part of Ford’s beloved personal space. He wants to be wanted, and he is.
“We can just go with your room,” Stan shrugs casually, leaning against a doorframe, “save ya the trouble.”
Ford’s grin is wide and delighted, enough to share it contagiously to Stanley too,
“Okay, let’s do that!”
Another ten minutes or so and they’re climbing into Ford’s somewhat messy bed. Ford sighs,
“I ought to clean up in here, get back into my better habits.”
Stan decidedly has nothing to add. He stays silent.
“It was just difficult, with… well, it was hard to be motivated when…”
More quiet. Ford rolls over and presses his face into Stan’s shoulder, wrapping an arm around him. His voice breaks,
“I missed you.”
All personal doubts are pushed aside when Ford is in need; Stan returns the embrace in the darkness.
“I’m here.”