Stan would never tell Ford this, but he despises the day.

There's a reason why Stan feels more comfortable with the night.

Call it a remnant of his past when he was a full time criminal, but Stan knows that the darkness is his home.

He had spent many years running from the police, scamming people, playing with the parts of the portal… The list goes on and on.

Ford doesn't know why he likes the dark so much, the idea had boggled his mind. How could anyone like the dark? Or at least to the great extent Stan did? Ford would probably never understand, but Stan was just fine with that. He felt free in the cover of night, and when he remembers all the time he spent poring over his brother's journal and books,

(Bright blue light. A portal. A scream resounding in the night. Finally, a sense of triumph.)

Stan feels accomplished.

Maybe that's why he doesn't like the day so much.

During the day, he's an old, pasty man with too much blubber in his midsection. The ocean radiates with the light from the sun, the wind gently embraces his locks, but Stan can't—doesn't— take it. He feels inferior, like he doesn't belong in the present and that he doesn't deserve the laughing birds and the bobbing ship as it courses through the waves.

Did he really deserve this life?

And then, when he's careless and lets himself drift far too deep into the past, his memories fade and escape from him.

Little things, Stan found, could trigger his sudden episodes of forgetfulness. One minute he could be staring at the clouds. The next, he would be staring at Ford with new eyes.

Stan hates daylight with a fervent passion.

Sometimes Stan finds himself sitting quietly on the deck of their ship.

With the waves crashing against the boat and a clear sky carelessly littered with stars, the conman is finally at ease and content. He knows that there are some gaps in his memory, but the old man shrugs his concerns off. He has his family now. He has Dipper, Mabel, Soos, Wendy, and of course, Ford. There's a nagging feeling in his gut that his past life wasn't as cracked up as he thought it could have been. Nevertheless, Stan liked looking forward instead of back. Life was—will always be—simpler that way.

As for Ford, he agrees.

Stan, although reborn as a new man due to past events concerning a dream demon, isn't naïve. The conman sees in his brother's eyes sadness, and something dark lurking. After many years of scrutinizing people's emotions and actions, Stan knows that there's something wrong. He remembers snippets of when Dipper and Mabel were talking about the conception of the portal and the events that subsequently took place. Ford had remained quiet on the subject.

He didn't talk about it.

Stan, not wanting any confrontations, didn't push.

Still, Stan finds himself worrying when he sees his brother, late at night when the moon has completely disappeared, slouched on a desk and his head in his hands. He's a genius, but he shies away from sleep like a child cowering from the monsters gallivanting in the dark. It's disconcerting to see his hardened brother look so brooding and yet so vulnerable, but sometimes he remembers.

(There are flashes of older kids pushing them down, bruises from shoves, and laughter. Always the laughter.)

And just as soon as Stan remembers a tidbit of something, Ford is already pushing away from the desk, a new theory and adventure at hand.

(Stan doesn't miss the presence of fresh bags under his brother's eyes and emaciated figure.)

Still, Stan shrugs it off. He was never one for emotions, and he's not about to get all touchy feely with his brother. However, there's nothing stopping Stan from pushing a plate of freshly cooked food filled with his brother's favorite foods. The meal smells enticing, appears mouthwatering, and all neatly ordered so that Ford can dissect it if his scientist urges came over him.

("Is it my birthday already?"

"Can't a guy cook his brother some food? Ya better thank me when you're done.")

They share a laugh and it's only after Ford wipes his plate clean that Stan finally takes a bite of his food. It's savory and divine, but it's Ford's relaxed stance that has Stan laughing and sharing terrible jokes.

And then there's those nights.

Sometimes it rains.

Sometimes it's dark out, and the sea finally calms from its usual capricious self.

Sometimes.

Sometimes.

S ometimes.

But it's always when Stan finds himself deep in slumber that he hears cries in the night.

Call it paternal instinct that he seems to have inherited after taking care of the kids, but Stan knows that there's something wrong. In a flash, Stan's out of bed, a bat in his hands, and a left kick—because a left hook is for the villains in their adventures—knocking down his brother's door. The door, he finds, is easier to break through than he had anticipated. Once Stan finds himself in the room (meticulous and well organized), he finds his brother blearily rubbing his eyes and glaring at his brother.

"Stan, that was a perfectly good door. It's far too early to be breaking down doors." His twin's voice is measured and calculated, a tactic that he had used many times before to make sure that people don't catch on to what he was actually feeling.

For a moment, Stan feels a little insulted that his brother would think that he would fall for that old trick, but he's right. It is a little early for all this nonsense, but there's something wrong and murky hovering in the air.

Stan doesn't like it.

The feeling is familiar. The sensation of being second best, being a failure, permeates his chest and Stan gets ready to retort with his own wit. Despite his readiness, Stan falters for a second and he takes that extra time to look at his brother in greater detail.

What he sees disturbs him.

If there were dark bags before, there were surely large shadows that bore down his face. His eyes were wild with fear and his breathing came out in small quick gasps. Sweat rolled down his forehead. Stan had seen this before. He had seen it on himself. Fear.

Wild, untamed fear.

He finds himself relaxing from his intimidating posture before he slowly crosses the room and heavily sits on one of the chairs in the room. He seats himself down with a tired sigh as he scans his brother for anything else.

"I'm not that smart, but you can tell me anything. You know that, right?" Stan looks down at his hands, almost fearful of what his brother was going to say. Out of habit, he scratches the skin at the back of his neck and shifts a bit in his seat in anticipation. For a moment, there is silence, but then Ford speaks.

"Stan…get back to bed. You don't want to miss the kraken first thing in the morning!" Ford infuses a light air of false cheer and Stan feels himself deflate.

He looks up at his brother, fully taking him in. Ford's smiling, but the light's nearly extinguished and the heaviness that oppresses them both still hangs in the air like old, vengeful ghosts.

Stan can't take it anymore.

He needs to breathe.

Stan hollowly laughs before he shuffles out of the room and bids his brother a farewell.

As he leaves, he can't help but feel that he's failed.

The cries come and go. Stan's worry only grows exponentially and one night, he can't take it anymore. His brother had abandoned the refuge of sleep, the muffled shrieks grow louder and louder. Sometimes, Stan can feel himself slipping in that dark abyss of amnesia before he snaps himself out of it.

A part of him wants to blame Bill Cipher, but another part of him wants to forget.

So one night, he gets up from his bed, grabs an extra blanket from his closet, and goes into Ford's room. It's before the nightmares start creeping in and taking hold of his brother, before the screaming and the denial sets in. The old man takes a moment to scan his brother; he sees him shudder and writhe a moment before relaxing back into resigned silence. After a moment, Stan tucks in the blanket around his brother and starts holding his hand.

Inhale.

Exhale.

Inhale.

Ex—a sudden gasp and Ford shrieks.

He starts to curse and Stan slightly tightens his grip on his younger twin. Ford relaxes and he starts to breathe normally.

Stan stays there the entire night.

Unbeknownst to Ford, Stan continues to visit every night. Stan's eyes become weathered and worn, he sometimes dozes at his post, but it's worth it. Ford seems to smile freely now and his night terrors that plagued him at the start of their journey seem to fade with each passing day.

Stan, although wearied and tired, doesn't mind.

He would do anything for his brother.