It was getting closer.
Ford ran for his life. He was panting, desperately needing to catch his breath. But he didn't dare stop. Slowing down even a little could mean his death. Sweat dripped into his eyes obscuring his vision. Maybe that was why he didn't see the steep hill.
He tripped and rolled down the hill. He only had moments before the monster caught up to him. He blew it. He was a goner.
There was only one chance now: his laser gun. It was a big creature with heavily-armored skin. If he had any chance of wounding it, it would have to be set to its most powerful setting.
He fired the gun. The recoil was so forceful it nearly knocked Ford backward. But he kept the gun pointed straight ahead, closing his eyes as he did so. Usually not a good idea when aiming, but the monster was so gigantic that there was no way the wide blast was going to miss. If this didn't kill it, Ford had no desire to watch the monster maul him to death. So, he shut his eyes hoping this wasn't the end but bracing himself just in case.
Just like that, it was over. All was quiet. Ford cautiously opened his eyes not knowing yet if he was dead or alive.
Not only was he not dead, he was not off in some distant hostile dimension. He was in his bedroom on the Stan O' War II. He looked down at the gun in his hands. The smoke coming out of the barrel indicated that even though he had been dreaming, the part where he fired his gun had been real.
But he did not fire at a monster. Right in front of him was his brother's bed now reduced to a cinder.
"Stanley?" Ford couldn't bring his wavering voice above a whisper. He went over to the debris and started digging through it as though his brother could still be in one piece beneath ashen remnants of his bed.
"What have I done?" Ford grabbed the ashes and watched it spill through his fingers wondering if he was holding his brother's very remains right now. "What have I done?"
This couldn't be happening. Ford couldn't have…Stan couldn't be…
"Whoa, Ford, what happened?"
Ford felt like an electric shock went through him upon hearing his brother's voice. He looked at the doorway to see Stan looking completely freaked out but very much alive.
"Talk to me, Ford. Are you hurt?" Stan bent down next to his brother to inspect him for any injuries.
Ford stared wide-eyed at Stan. Shock, relief, and horror were swirling within Ford confusing him as to how to react to Stan's appearance.
Horror won out as Ford realized what he had nearly done. Stan could have been sleeping peacefully in his bed not even knowing what hit him when his own brother vaporized him.
"Stay away." Ford scooted back from Stan's touch.
"Ford, let me check on you."
"No! Stay away from me, Stanley! Stay away!" Ford bolted out of the cabin.
As he reached the deck, he threw his head over the railing to retch into the ocean. Usually, it was Stan throwing up to seasickness. It wasn't easy to turn Ford's stomach.
Long after he had any stomach contents to expel, Ford continued to dry heave as his tears made ripples in the water beneath him.
Somewhere in Ford's distress, he felt a comforting hand on his back. "I told you to stay away, Stanley."
"I know, but it's a pretty small boat, Sixer."
Ford put his face in his hands using the rail to support his arms.
"Stanford, look at me." Stan grabbed his brother's shoulder to turn him around and face him. "Tell me what happened."
"I…I was having a nightmare. I was being chased by a terrifying creature. In my dream, I fired my gun, but I must have grabbed my gun in my sleep. I fired it at your bed. I didn't know you were up, so I thought…I thought…"
"Easy, Ford. Take it easy."
"If you had been in bed…"
"I wasn't."
"I could have killed you."
"Ford, it was an accident."
"I would have killed my own brother…again."
"Again? Oh." Stan tried to tell his brother so many times that he's forgiven him, but Ford couldn't seem to forgive himself. "Ford, we talked about this. It was my idea. It was the only way to save the kids. You know that."
Ford did know that, but it didn't change the fact that he had been the one to pull the trigger. The decision, right or wrong, will haunt him for the rest of his life.
He desperately wanted to make it up to Stan for all the times he has wronged him. He wanted to believe it wasn't too late to be a good brother. But how could he ever call himself a good brother when Stan couldn't even be safe around him? "I'm a monster, Stanley."
"Hey, listen to me." Stan cupped Ford's face with his hands and lifted his head so he could look him in the eyes. His brother looked so broken that it nearly made Stan cry too. "You are not a monster. You're a good person. I know if you could have, you would have taken my place. I know you were willing to sacrifice yourself to save me and the kids."
Stan used his thumbs to wipe Ford's eyes. "Or is it the kids and me?"
Ford cocked his head like a confused puppy. Stan would never say it out loud, but he had to admit his brother looked cute when he did that. He gave a playful smile.
"Grammar, Stanley?" said Stan.
Despite himself, Ford couldn't help but laugh. Stan always made him laugh with inappropriate jokes in a serious situation. He hated Stan for it. He loved Stan for it.
He pulled Ford into a hug. He put up a pitiful resistance before returning Stan's embrace.
"Come on, Sixer. We should get back to bed." Stan put his hands on Ford's shoulders and led him back to their cabin. Stan was looking forward to getting some shuteye when he was reminded that his bed had been eradicated.
"Take my bed," said Ford.
"Ford-"
"I insist. Besides, maybe it's not a good idea for you to sleep in the same room with me. I'll sleep outside."
"No, you won't."
"I've done it plenty of times before."
"I don't care, Sixer. You're not in another dimension anymore. You're with me now, and I'm going to make sure you always have a roof over your head."
Ford smiled. "Fine, but only if you take the bed."
Stan may have convinced Ford to sleep inside, but he could tell from Ford's tone that he won't budge about giving up his bed. Unless…
"You know, I think we could both fit on the bed."
Ford couldn't believe his brother. He could have possibly shot him from across the room. Yet, Stan has no misgivings about sleeping right next to him? "I don't know, Stanley."
"It'll be fine, Ford. I trust you."
"You shouldn't. I don't deserve your trust."
"Well, I didn't deserve Mabel's trust either, but she did anyway. And I got you back."
Ford gave a small chuckle. "Alright, I'll be there in a moment."
Stan laid down in the bed while Ford put his gun in their safe. He will stop keeping it by his bedside.
Ford stood at the edge of the bed twiddling his fingers looking uncertain. "Hold on one more minute."
Stan watched in bewilderment as Ford picked up the lamp next to the bed put it on the far side of the room. "What are you doing?"
"I don't want to electrocute you in my sleep or anything."
"Are you serious? Ford, just lay down."
"Okay." Ford hesitantly climbed into the bed as though he were coming into a cold pool. He laid down under the blanket with his arms rigid on his side.
"I'm not sure me having a pillow is a good idea." Ford didn't want to take the chance that he'll use it to smother Stan. "But I suppose there's a chance I might take yours. Maybe I should tie my hands? But what if I get the ropes off and use it to strangle you? Maybe it's best if I don't sleep here."
Stan rolled his eyes. Just as Ford was about to get up, Stan wrapped his arm around him in a hug that pinned him to the mattress. "You're not going anywhere, Poindexter, so get comfortable."
Ford laid there for several minutes surprised that his brother had not moved his arm. It seemed clear that he planned on holding on to Ford the entire night.
Stan's steady breathing indicated he was now asleep. Ford still couldn't believe that Stan had no fear of sleeping so close to him.
If his brother trusted him, maybe he could trust himself.
He turned towards Stan and returned his hug. As he snuggled into his brother's chest, he had a feeling he won't have any more nightmares tonight.