Stan couldn't sleep. For two hours he shifted restlessly, growling in frustration when his eyes shot open again; for once the sway of the boat couldn't lull him into slumber..

That morning he'd briefly forgotten Ford's name for five minutes - a small incident when compared to larger, longer lasting holes in his memory. But it had still shaken both of them to the core. When he snapped out of it Ford was biting his lip, yet again hiding his hands behind his back, this time in an effort to hide their shaking. He'd reassured his brother as best he could, giving his hands a tight squeeze as he suggested they email the twins to see how they were getting on - but it wasn't enough. Now he was subconsciously jerking whenever he almost drifted off - he'd say he just wasn't tired to anybody asking, but really... He admitted begrudgingly to himself that he was scared to fall asleep. Scared that he'd wake up a few hours later with no recollection of who or where he was - it had happened once, and he didn't get back to sleep afterwards then, either. They'd sat on the bottom bunk and watched The Duchess Approves until 6am, until some of the tension had left Ford's shoulders - which were rigid when Stan placed his arm around them - and Stan had stopped trembling.

Ford. He could help - hell, he was probably just as on edge as him. Stan kicked the covers off with a final huff before throwing on his jacket and beloved beanie hat from the end of the bed and swinging his legs over the side. He ducked through the doorway and cleared the small kitchen space before swinging the stiff wooden door open and venturing out into the frigid night air. He looked around for Ford on the deck, before he heard a voice on the roof of the cabin - it sounded like Ford was muttering something about the constellations while stargazing on the roof of the cabin. At 2am. In winter. Damn nerd...

Stan approached the rickety ladder leading to the roof and began to climb. His foot slipped on a rung, but as he flailed backwards he was stopped by a six-fingered hand grabbing his arm and hauling him up. After dusting himself off, Stan looked up to find his twin watching him with a mix of concern and confusion.

"Stanley? What are you doing up?"

Stan raised an eyebrow. "I could ask ya the same thing, Poindexter. I couldn't sleep thanks to yer damn nerd ramblings." He replied gruffly, trying to divert Ford's attention from him. He merely sighed and gave him a look that clearly said it hadn't worked, but he wasn't going to push Stan right now.

"I was hit with a bout of my usual insomnia, thought I'd come and look at the stars for a while." Ford wouldn't quite meet his gaze, looking off to the side as if hoping he wouldn't have to talk about it - Stan felt a small twinge of guilt. His amnesiac episode was even causing his brother bother now...

Maybe it was what Mabel called their "Super-Psychic Twin Powers", but no more needed to be said. Ford motioned for Stan to scoot closer to him, and as he did the older twin wrapped a warm, protective arm around him. Stan felt he should lighten the mood - Sixer often went into a dark place in his thoughts when things like this happened, overthinking everything until he ended up a shivering mess. It was best he pulled his brother out of that before it got really bad. Stan pointed at the sky, furrowing his brow in mock confusion.

"Hey, Poindexter? Why aren't you up there?"

Ford tilted his head like a perplexed owl. The sight made Stanley grin even wider.

"What are you talking about, Stan?"

Stan gave him a smirk. "Well, you ARE a star, ain't ya? An all star!"

He continued to snicker as Ford gave him a light shove, trying not to chuckle himself, before they fell silent again for a while. When the silence began to feel slightly empty, Stan asked him to tell him about some of his nerd constellations - he took solace in the way his brother's eyes lit up as he explained the stories behind them, making vivid gestures with his free arm. As things began to look a little less frightening, Stan's eyelids began to droop - as Ford's voice lowered to a soft rumble, the last thing Stan felt before he fell asleep was a gentle hand running through his hair.