I wanted to redo my suicidal fics because I wrote them while feeling angsty and didn't really try...so. Here's me trying to write a better suicidal Ford fic. A new Stan one shall be coming (probably) in the future. Feral Ford au too, because why not? Definitely not canon compliant.

Ford looked out into the darkness. He was standing by the window, letting his senses envelop him. Everything seemed...wrong. The cool air shooting up from the rattling a.c, the lingering scent of pancakes that seemed to be a permanent part of the kitchen. The feeling of emotion, tense in the air, despite everyone being asleep. It all seemed so...alien. So out of place.

Ford had only been part of a few social orders while traveling the multiverse, and only one had ever been as complex, or even more so than the human one he was born to. For the most part, he found being around others an uncomfortable experience. He had never been a social bird, and almost thirty years of solitude did nothing to help that.

That one city he found himself in was probably more terrifying to him than the countless monsters he encountered, completely alone in foreign, empty lands.

Ford sighed and leaned against the window pane. He wasn't cut out for this. For other people. He was dangerous. Something to be avoided. He was a loner, a brilliant, yet secluded scientist who could smell the difference between each and every living creature, he could hear the faintest movements. Even something as soft as the sleeping children shifting in their beds from upstairs.

When he met the twins, he was almost immediately enraptured by them. Taken in and twirled around both of their little fingers.

The desire to protect his pack, his family, was overwhelming. The need to make sure they stayed safe was more pressing than keeping himself alive ever had been. Yet it was all so frustrating because he didn't know how. He couldn't protect them. He could barely trust himself to talk to them, much less keep them alive. Years of ticks and habits, things that were small, but built up over time, had kept him alive in the portal, but now...

They made him deadly.

His fingers would naturally hover over his equalizer, ready to pull the pistol out in a moments notice. He would find himself wanting to growl at things that weren't there, but rather just the creak of the old cabin as it settled.

Small things would terrify him, but Ford Pines didn't cower when scared. He had to admit he and his brother had one thing in common.

When they were scared, they fought.

They fought tooth and nail until there was nothing left to be scared of. Until they had won. And that's what really terrified him. The what ifs. What if he get's frightened by something as mundane as a cough, or out of tune laughter? What if he tenses up, ready to fight something that wasn't there? What if he couldn't stop himself from shooting, from lashing out because he didn't hesitate? Didn't think?

What if he hurt the kids? Stanley?

He couldn't let that happen.

Stop procrastinating, you need to get this over with. You need to protect them. Ford reprimanded himself. Pushing himself away from the window, Ford moved silently to the basement, ready to retrieve the rift, so he could dispose of the only other threat that was looming over his family. Over the world.

He had it all planned out. He would make sure the rift was sealed properly, just in case, then drop both it and himself into the bottomless pit.

It was the perfect plan, really. After a strenuous investigation, he found the pit to be not bottomless, but capable of making things...disappear. Not necessarily to another place, but altogether, just Poof! and it was gone. It had to be done during the hours of darkness, however, since anything dropped in during the daylight hours returned not an hour later. Ford did find it fascinating, but only in the sense of what would happen to him when he was gone. Would he become a ghost? Would he just cease to exist at all, as he hoped the rift would? Did the laws of physics he applied to the pit change when introduced with a living life form?

Guess he would find out.

The air outside was warm and unassuming as Ford stepped out into the open, gripping the rift tightly in his hands. He walked across the soft grass, breathing in the smells of nature that surrounded him. It grounded him, made it all seem a bit more real, comforting him.

Stanford Pines was not afraid to die.

Even so, he wanted to take one last look around. Enjoy what he had missed out on for so long.

He gazed at the stars, chuckling when he could still recall the names and backstory behind each and every constellation. Stanley would groan and call him a nerd for having something he learned so long ago instilled in him to this very day.

Stanley. What was Stanley going to think?

They were still fighting, neither willing to concede. Ford...just couldn't. He couldn't look Stanley in the eyes, tell him he was sorry for endangering the family, for hurting them, for hurting him.

Stanley will be fine! Just like he was fine after Dad kicked him out, he would be FINE.

Ford was great at self-delusion.

He stopped. He was on the edge of the pit now. The darkness glaring gloomily back at him as he gazed into the void. He took a large, hollowing breath, relieving himself of any doubt, any apprehension in what he was going to do.

The plan. Stick to the plan.

He turned away, back facing the darkness that seemed to be calling out to him, reaching for him. He closed his eyes.

He fell.

Stanley couldn't sleep.

That wasn't too hard to believe, considering up until two weeks prior he had stayed up all hours of the night, working on bringing his brother back.

Now that he had, he wasn't sure what to do.

Ford was...different. Tougher, definitely. He had some weird habits that Stan couldn't help but notice, like how he preferred sleeping outside or got twitchy when people made sudden movements or noises. It was to be expected, Stan thought. He just needed to adapt to being home again.

Stan would know. Life on the streets kept him on edge, even after all this time.

It had to be after midnight. The stars were bright in the sky, and the air was warm and comforting as Stan stepped out onto the porch. He pulled out a piece of gum, chewing on it slowly. He started chewing gum after he found himself alone in his brother's home thirty years ago. It was that, or make his brother's home smell like cigarettes. He wasn't sure Ford would appreciate that, and Stan needed to save money anyway, he couldn't always afford to steal cigars or purchase them. Gum was much cheaper and easier to smuggle away.

He had just settled down on the couch that sat on the porch when he saw it.

A man. Walking across his yard.

Stan tensed. He walked closer to the man from behind as silently as he could manage, (Which was pretty silent, considering the thief gig he had going) holding a baseball bat he wasn't conscious of retrieving in his hand. He nearly dropped it when he got close enough to recognize the silhouette.

Stanford? Ford? What are ya doin' out here? Stan thought, he didn't want to interrupt, unsure what Ford would do if surprised, although he was a bit proud of himself that Ford hadn't seemed to notice him. Ford noticed everything.

I must have gotten really good at sneakin' around if he hasn't heard me. Either that, or he's stuck up in the big brain of his. Yeah, that's more likely.

Stan watched on from a distance as Ford made his way towards something, taking his sweet time too. What's he up to? Stan crept closer.

Ford was heading towards the bottomless pit, Stan realized. His brow furrowed. Why would Ford go over there?

Stan watched as his brother stood at the edge, holding something he couldn't make out. Was he disposing of something? Oo- was it incriminating? Stan chuckled under his breath, Ford was definitely not the good boy he used to be in school.

His mirth was suddenly stopped when he saw Ford turn towards him. He froze, worried he had been caught.

That's when Ford started to fall backward.

...

Stanley didn't have the air in his lungs to scream after he saw Ford fall. He couldn't seem to breathe at all. Fear and pure adrenaline pushed him forward, had him beside the pit in less time than his brain could comprehend. He latched onto Ford's wrist, leaning over the edge to reach him. Ford's eyes opened wide in shock and he tugged away in reflex. Stan had a hard time keep his hold.

"Dangit, will you stop struggling?!" Stan seethed, teeth clenched in effort as he began to pull Ford out of and away from the pit. After Ford's shock wore off, he did what he always did when Stan saved his life. He yelled.

"Stanley! What do you think you're doing?!" Ford growled.

Stan flinched. Ford felt guilty, Stan was only trying to save him but didn't address it.

"I'm saving your life, Poindexter. You don't seem aware, but nothing comes up from that pit after dark."

"I was perfectly aware! Dangit Stanley, you always ruin my plans." Ford fumed, aware he was being unfair. He had been ready to die a moment ago! Why couldn't Stan just leave well enough alone? Why couldn't he let Ford do this one thing? Do something good for once?

"Ruin your plans? Ford! You were trying to kill yourself, weren't you!?" Holy crap, Stan looked infuriated. Ford growled again, trying to reassert his dominance over the situation.

"I was trying to do the one worthwhile thing in my life, and you wouldn't even let me do that!" Ford stepped closer to the pit, hoping it was inconspicuous. Stanley wasn't fooled,

"OH NO YOU DON'T!" Stan used his entire body to fling Ford away from the pit, putting himself in front of it so Ford couldn't return to it. Why do my plans always get knocked off course? Ford wondered. His eyes glanced at the rift, which was sitting a couple feet from where Stan was standing. So, Stanley wouldn't let him die? Fine. He still needed to get rid of the rift. He tried a different tactic, giving Stan a placating look. He got up from the ground and gesture to the rift.

"Fine. You won't let me? That's fine. I can deal with that later, but right now, we need to dispose of the rift. See? Just kick it in. Please." Ford gave him a desperate glance and Stan eyed the snowglobe suspiciously.

"What is that thing?"

"An interdimensional rift you created after reactivating the portal. Essentially, if that rift gets loose, it will start the apocalypse. Or Weirdmaggedon, in my own terms. I came here tonight to dispose of it." Ford's voice was deep and authoritative, but Stan could hear the fear-laced between his words.

Keeping his eyes on Ford, who stayed very still, Stan slid over and nudge the globe into the pit. "There. Now get in the house."

Ford felt like a reprimanded child, a very stubborn one. "No, Stanley, you can't stop me."

His heart began to tear as Stan released the full force of his fear and pain on him with one choked word, "Why?"

Ford felt guilt, ever growing, gnaw at his chest, devouring him from the inside. The look of utter desperate despair did not look good on their face. On Stan's face. Ford sighed, he supposed it wasn't out of line for Stan to want to understand his motives.

"I was trying to protect you all. One in getting rid of the rift, and two, in removing myself." Ford answered, his face drawn in resignation. "I'm not made for socialization, Stanley. I've lived in solitude for more than three decades. The only contact I received for most of those were hostile, I'm surprised I haven't killed anyone." Ford turned away, looking steadfast at the ground at his feet.

"I know."

Ford did a double take, and looked up, "What?"

Stan shrugged, "I know what you're talking about. What did you think I did while I was gone those ten years? Hang out with chicks and eat cake? I spent most of those days trying not to die. Which was a tall order, considering the number of people I've ticked off. You're twitchy, I can see it. I was the same way." Stan rubbed at his neck, as if he were embarrassed, but showed no other signs of being so. "It won't ever go away, but you can adapt. Learn what's hostile here and what's not. You've been to a bunch of places huh? Haven't you ever had false alarms? Had to readapt to the different signs, ones that in one place, meant danger, and in another were nothing? Or peaceful or whatever?"

Stan's gaze was soft, understanding, and it made Ford squirm. "I promise you're not going to hurt anyone if you stay, but Ford...your gonna hurt me if you leave." Stan huffed a the ground. It sounded like laughter, but coarse and filled with pain. "I- I spent, thirty years trying to bring you back. How could you throw away half of my life like that? How could you rid me of my other half?" Stan's voice was quieter then, a whisper.

Ford felt like he was short-circuiting because it made sense. Stan was right. He had adapted in those dimensions, had learned how to survive in so many different places, all completely unique, but this place had one thing those didn't.

Innocent people. Not creatures or animals, not hungry beasts or sweet critters. These were homo sapiens, human beings with lives and thoughts and he was a danger to them all because sometimes it could take him months, years to adapt to a new dimension, and this was even worse because there was so much he missed out on in this ever-growing society of intellectuals.

"How can you be sure?" Ford whispered. "How can you be sure I won't hurt anyone?"

Stan thought about it. "I know I had a few close calls, but there is always something there, something in the back of your mind, that is aware of everything around you, aware whether the fear your feeling is from your imagination, old habits that kept you alive, or from an actual, real live threat. I had to learn that the hard way. No, you won't hurt anyone. Even if you tried, I wouldn't let you. I swear it."

Ford felt himself breaking down. What had he done? He almost- and it could have- and Stanley saved him. Stanley saved him and he almost ruined Stanley's life and he was just so, so SORRY that he couldn't take it anymore, he couldn't keep it inside to continue eating away at him.

Ford moved forward, ignoring how Stanley tensed, ready to throw him back again. Ford, instead of moving past him, ran right into him, arms wrapping around him in a tight hug.

Stan almost stumbled backward with the force of it, gaping in shock at Ford, who was crying softly onto his old, white T-shirt. "Sixer?" Stanley asked, flabbergasted. He didn't return the hug immediately, confused as to whether Ford was actually hugging him, or was trying to kill him by suffocation in a really round 'about way.

Ford gasped into his shoulder, tears were freely falling from his face, "Ley, I'm so so sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry- I can't-I'm so sorry." Ford sobbed. It was quiet and harsh, but sobbing nonetheless. Stan wrapped his arms around Ford slowly, who flinched, but didn't otherwise move. Stan rocked them back and forth,

"I'm sorry too, Poindexter."

By the time morning came over the Mystery Shack, both Stan and Ford were sitting on the porch, curled against one another in deep slumber. Stan walked them away from the pit as soon as Ford was capable of moving, eager to get away from the thing that had almost taken his brother.

Ford was the first one to wake up. He opened one eye wearily. The sun shining on them from over the cliffs. It was beautiful, but Ford was still too tired to think, much less ponder the beauty of nature.

The first thing he noticed, (other than the pretty sunrise) was that there was something warm next to him. He looked over to see Stan sleeping peacefully. One of Stan's arms were draped around his shoulders. Ford had been curled into his brother's side. If he weren't so darn tired, he might be embarrassed for acting so child-like, but he couldn't make himself care just then.

As he woke up, the events of the last night caught up with him and he felt mortified. He had-but then-and now the rift was gone, but-

Ford stopped his broken thoughts from continuing, they were giving him a headache. That's when he became aware of noises from within the house. He was awake in less than a second, sitting rigidly in his seat until he realized it was just the kids.

The kids. Holy crap.

What were they going to tell them?

"The truth."

Ford jumped, turning to Stan who must have heard him. Wait, had he said that out loud?

"Yeah, you think out loud a lot."

Oh.

Ford let himself comprehend what Stan had said, "What? You want to tell them, what-what I-"

"Yep. Can't keep anything from those kids." Stan stretched, smiling when he heard his back pop. His face fell, "Plus, I don't really like lying ta them, ya know? I mean, lying about you was hard enough, and that was to keep them safe. Now, I need them to understand why I'm never leaving you alone again. Ever." Stan glared at him and Ford felt his face warm,

"What? Stanley you can't-"

"You heard me."

Ford slumped, "I suppose I deserve that." He muttered. Stan heard him and grunted,

"Yes, yes you do. Speaking of things people deserve...I think we deserve breakfast." Stan took a long sniff of the air and sighed, "The kids are cooking. I don't think we're gonna escape anything Mabel's created." He grinned mischievously. "Unless we run. I bet we could make it to the diner in time."

Ford huffed his appreciation for Stan's humor but stayed slumped over. He didn't look Stan in the eye, but rather stared at the ground as he spoke. "I'm not sure I can tell them."

Stan looked at him, then at the kids through the window. Stan nodded his head in recognition of Ford's dilemma. "I think I can fix that."

The mischevious smile returned and Ford felt a pang of fear as Stan stood up, stuck his head through the doorway and yelled, "KIDS! YOUR GRUNKLE FORD TRIED TO KILL HIMSELF! COME GIVE HIM HUGS!"

Ford gaped at him, "Stanley!"

Stan shrugged. "Better prepare yourself, Mabel looked pretty riled up."

"GRUNKLE FORD I WILL PERSONALLY KILL YOU IF YOU DIE!"

Stan looked a little frightened himself but smiled smugly at Ford. "Told ya."

Ford smiled in spite of himself. He had never been so happy to hear "I told you so."

You like it?

Stan: ...Yes.

Ford: It's so...much more detailed than your other one.

Me: Yep.

Hope you like it. The original is 'realizations' by: ME! MWHAHAHA!