Three chapters in one day...huh. TW: This got dark really fast. Um...lots of angst. Virtually all angst. It gets better, but it's mostly just pain. Have fun!

When Ford was younger he would always imagine waking up one day and finding his extra fingers gone, as if it was all a bad dream. Those days were long past- but the sentiment was the same.

He wanted to wake up.

...

The first thing Stan became aware of, was the smell.

It was...awful. Something was burning his nose and even in the groggy daze he was in, the scent registered as bad. A bad place. If he had the energy or the will, he would try and move. Try and find out why it smelled so bad. At the moment, however, he was content to stay in the half-sleep daze he was in, neither asleep nor awake.

Unfortunately, it seemed his mind had decided he was done with sleeping. Hazy memories, bits, and pieces were starting to return to him. A groan started in his chest and barely escaped his throat. For a moment he had thought something else had made the sound, but no. He felt it vibrate within his chest.

That's when he felt it.

It coursed through his bones, his flesh, his skin. It was like a fire had been lit and he was placed right along with the tinder, searing, burning him alive.

It hurt.

Stan's mind was suddenly wide-awake. His old pal adrenaline kicking in fast enough to make his head spin. His eyes shot open. Everything was moving slowly, but he couldn't see. Why couldn't he see?

Glasses. Right.

Two blobs were moving around him, going in and out of focus, and he tensed up in reflex.

Bad idea. The burning worsened, going from an agonizing ache to flat out fire. He bit his tongue to hold back a scream as he forced himself to relax, to lay back down.

Lay down? Was he on a bed?

He didn't know. He couldn't focus. Adrenaline was supposed to abdicate the pain, at least momentarily, but his abrupt awakening seemed to only make it more tangible. Sharper. He tried to single in on something, anything.

Noise. There was a faint noise beyond the buzzing in his ears. He strained to listen, eyes closing.

"No...Ley...c'mon wake up...ley!...don't you dare...he's in pain!...well, do something!"

The same second those words fell into Stan's ears, a strange pulsing echoed from his arm. He was relieved to find it wasn't painful. It was rather...soothing. He was not happy to find that rather than go back to sleep, it only removed the pain.

Well, count your blessings when they come, Stan supposed. As the pained dulled, Stan figured it was safe to open his eyes again.

Never mind, there was nothing positive about anything going on.

The room was painted white. That was it. It was white, bright, and a torture in and of itself to look at. Suddenly the smell made sense.

Disinfectant. It made him want to scream. A hospital?! He was in a freakin' hospital?!

They should've let me die in peace.

"Stanley?"

The name made Stan turn his head towards the sound so suddenly he could feel the muscles in his neck yell at him.

He stopped breathing.

Tears sprung to his eyes and Stan wanted to scream. Not an angry scream. Not one borne of frustration.

A desperate scream of help. It bubbled up, only to die in his throat.

If he was really back there- no one would help him. The thought surged him out of his shock and he took a deep breath, only for it to dissolve into sobs. The tears boiled over his eyelids and streamed down his face in wave after wave.

"Please, please, I can't be back here, I can't be-" Stan mumbled, his throat was closed off, for the most part, emotion choking his words away.

This was the return of a nightmare. It had been years since he'd been institutionalized. Yet the memories that haunted him were still fresh in his mind. He whimpered when something heavy fell on his arms, keeping him from moving.

"Stanley! Stanley, please, I don't know where you think you are, but I promise that you're safe! Ley, please!"

Stan shook his head. That's what Ford had said last time. The last time they'd put him away.

"Ley! Open your eyes! Look at me!"

Stan froze for a moment. His voice. Ford's voice was...different. It lacked the prepubescent squeak of a teenager. Still, Stan was cautious. He eyes were already dry when he cracked one open.

Ford's face was right beside his, large eyes staring at him through thick lenses. The first thing he noticed was that Ford looked...better. He was more mature, older.

Nothing like the phantom that had haunted him in that good-forsaken place. He relaxed slightly.

Wait. If this wasn't a figment of his imagination, then...Was Ford...here? Wait. No, that didn't make sense.

"Stanley? Do you believe me now?"

Stan opened both eyes and stared straight into his brother's gaze. Yes, he did believe it. He just couldn't believe it. His face must have portrayed his confusion because Ford's own expression changed from firm and commanding to sad and filled with pain.

"Ley...it's really you." Ford swallowed. Stan sucked in a breath of relief as his arms were released, Ford sitting back on a chair facing the bed. Stan's head turned to follow his movements. He nodded slowly.

"Ford?" Stan croaked. He wasn't sure what or why he was asking, but Ford nodded anyway.

Something clicked. Ford was here. Here was a hospital. He had been in pain. A lot of pain.

Crap. Stan turned away, sniffing. He was dying, wasn't he? That was the only explanation. Why else would his brother turn up after twenty years? He didn't see the frightened look that crossed Ford's face as he turned away.

"Ley!? Ley, what's wrong?"

"You're here."

Ford's brow furrowed, "What?"

Stan's voice was dry and cracked, but he managed to speak anyway, eyes shut and head turned away, "You're here. Why are you here? I'm dying, aren't I? Either we're both dead and you're here to take me to Hell or you want to make sure I didn't forget you in my will, am I right?"

Not that Stan had much to give, but if Ford wanted it, he wasn't petty enough to say no. With his eyes closed, he didn't see the expression of pure disgust on Ford's face.

He did hear the gasp though.

"Stanley!" Stan opened his eyes again and glanced at Ford. "You can't be serious! I'm not here because you're dying!"

Stan snorted, "Oh really? Then why are you here?"

Ford's scowl contradicted his words, "Because you're my brother! Because I love you! Because I was wrong!"

Silence. Stan was really, really confused.

"Twenty years- Ford. TWENTY YEARS." Okay, confusion was thrown out the window, Stan was ticked. He had half a mind to stand up and show this guy what suffering really meant. "Who are you!?" Stan sat up and continued to do so even after Ford's anger vanished, replaced by concern. He fought the hands- was there someone else in here?- that tried to force him down. "My brother doesn't give a crap about me! I spent seventeen years protecting him, being his friend, being his brother and he threw it out! He let it all walk right out the door for a dumb mistake I didn't even cause!" Stan huffed and finally let the hands push him back unto the bed. His eyes were red and puffy with tears, and the need to start crying, to burst into childlike sobs was nearly unbearable.

"Stanford Pines doesn't care jack about me. He forgot me." Stan couldn't hold back anymore and the sobs burst forth again.

This can't be happening.

...

Ford wasn't just trembling. He was crying. Large sobs escaped him and he did nothing to hold them back. When Stan first woke up, Ford had been by his bedside, waiting. He had been given permission to stay overnight and he wasn't planning on leaving until Stan was awake.

Because he had been wrong. Ford wasn't one to deny a fact, and that's what it was. Ford thought Stan had been fine and he was very, very wrong.

Despite the strange logic of it all, Ford really did feel guilty. So much so that at first he wasn't sure he would ever feel anything other than guilty ever again. Then a thought came to him.

It had been two decades and people changed. Did he really know his brother anymore? The very thought made Ford feel physically sick.

As a child, they both only knew two things. One, that they were going to be adventurers, and two.

They would always have each other. Each one like either side of a scale, balancing one another out.

Ford never thought his twin would become a stranger, but the way he screamed, thrashed and begged was so out of the outline Ford had set in his mind regarding Stan's personality, he wasn't sure if the boy he'd known and the man he'd found were the same person.

Now they were both sobbing. Ford only cried harder when he looked up to see Clare, confused and crying herself- but unsure how to comfort. She eventually walked out.

Ford couldn't blame her. He didn't understand much himself anymore.

Eventually, both men cried themselves out. Stan fell asleep immediately, face hidden by the single sheet he had covering him.

Ford studied his face for a moment. It was so...worn down. Dark circles beneath his eyes and several scars across his nose and around the back of his head seemed to age him, making him seem way beyond his years. It was true neither of them was considered young anymore, but they certainly weren't old either. Ford's face wasn't in a scowl for once. Rather, he gave his sleeping brother a pleading look.

"Wake up in the morning, and if you can't forgive me, I promise you'll never see me again." Ford shrugged off his coat and placed it over Stan. Curling into his own chair, Ford fell asleep, dreaming dreams he hadn't thought to think about in over twenty years.

It was the best sleep he'd gotten in two decades.

...

Stan woke up again, this time to an entirely new smell.

Coffee.

His eyes shot open, searching greedily for the source of the aroma that filled the room.

"Want some? I asked her to get one for you."

Sitting in the same chair as the day before, Ford held out a paper cup towards him. Stan's eyes widened.

Crap. It hadn't been a nightmare.

"Ford?" Stan asked, incredulous. Ford gave him a sheepish smile, with a shrug.

"Hi."

Stan gaped, barely managing to stutter, "You-You're still here."

Ford's smile seemed a little sadder than before, but he nodded. "Yes. I'm still here."

He glared at Stan as if to say Try and make me leave.

It was a bit much. Stan observed the wall in front of him as he quietly took the cup and sipped on the hot, steaming contents. He sighed. Now that was something he could get used to.

Stan took a moment to really appreciate where he was and what had happened. With everything he remembered happening with Ford, he forgot to tend to himself. He was sure the pain from before was due to some pretty extensive injury. He was just glad for whatever they were doping him up with so he didn't have to feel it all.

Finishing the cup off, Stan moved to remove the covers- but Ford stopped him.

"Careful! You messed yourself up with all that moving yesterday. They were actually really ticked at me for that." Ford chuckled nervously, "not that I don't deserve it."

Stan gave him a strange look as if to say you don't think I don't know that? I've had worse. Ford backed off, appearing apologetic. But not before he slipped something off Stan's bed. His coat. Stan stared at it.

Ford placed the coat into his lap and stared determinedly at another wall, sipping his coffee as nonchalantly as he could. Stan blinked. Had Ford placed it on him? Even after they'd fought? Stan shook the thoughts from his mind. Right, he needed to inspect the damage.

He peeled away the covers and gasped. His legs were strapped into braces, presumably for broken- well, most likely fractured bones. Everything was littered with purple and blue bruises and he didn't even need to look to know his chest was covered in cuts. Blood was seeping through the bandages and even the thin excuse for a...whatever this hospital thingy was called.

That wasn't good, that definitely wasn't good. Stan hurriedly laid back down and tried not to think too hard about when they finally took him off the pain meds.

"She told me you have the heart of a racehorse," Ford spoke from the side, voice steady and pleasant. Stan pretended to ignore it.

"She thought you might be some sort of miracle man, the way you were injured, yet still fought the way you did." Stan glanced in Ford's direction just quick enough to see a small, but genuine smile flash across his lips.

"I'm proud of you. For fighting back." Ford said, eyes flickering toward him hopefully.

Stan stiffened.

The one thing in the world Stan had ever wanted was approval. Approval from his father, from his brother, from his family.

It was the one thing he never seemed to get.

He pushed the thought away. Ford was just...feeling guilty or, or obligated to say something like that.

"Stanley?"

Stan hummed, he wasn't sure if he was capable of speech at the moment.

"I'm sorry. I know it's not enough, and I don't want it to be enough. I was wrong- I was foolish and young with aspirations that were solely based on becoming famous and changing the world and proving people wrong that I neglected you and everyone else. I thought you would be okay." Stan grunted at that. Ford nodded,

"Yes, I know. You weren't and aren't, but I really thought you would be! You had 'personality' as ma called it and I just...made the assumption that you would be fine. I drilled it so far into my psyche that I didn't even consider the other possibilities." Ford turned away from the wall to look Stan in the eyes.

"I was wrong. Stanford Pines and all eight of his useless Ph.D.'s were wrong, and I'm sorry." Ford bit his lip as he struggled to keep calm, Stan watched on, face blank of any emotion.

"And-and if you never want to see me again-" Ford choked and took a swig of coffee before finishing.

"I wouldn't blame you. I won't bother you- I'll pay for the hospital bill, hand over all my cash and you'll never have to see me again." Ford seemed to drain as he finished his monologue, slumping in his chair and staring at the wall again.

Stan snapped.

"What sort of apology was that?!" He growled, Ford jumped in surprise and seem to curl in tighter on himself-" Is that my only option?! Take your money and watch you leave again?!" Stan gestured to his broken body. "And what am I going to do with this, huh? Drive around with my broken legs?" Stan's little charade was breaking and he could barely hold in his mirth. He smirked.

"I'd think I would rather you be punished. Surely taking care of me is punishment enough right? You'll have to push me around in a wheelchair and make me laugh and-" Ford stared, eyes getting wider and wider as Stan continued his spiel- "And basically..." Stan concluded, "Be stuck with me forever."

Stan's smirk exploded into a full-on grin and Ford jumped up from his chair, laughing and crying in relief. Stanley had forgiven him!

"Stanley! I- you-" Stan chuckled.

"You didn't really think I could hold a grudge, did ya Sixer? Last I remember that was your job..." Stan laughed at the horrified expression Ford gave him and reached out carefully with one of his arms.

"High six?"

Ford gave Stan's hand a blank stare before his smile returned ten-fold.

"High six."

Hehe, what the crap did I just write.

me: Idk

Me: I DON"T FREAKIN KNOW ANYMORE

ME: Why am I here?

ME: WHERE IS THE FLUFF THIS HAS VIRTUALLY NO FLUFF.

mE: I DON't kNOW Okay?!

{Guys I straight up binge wrote this idk if it makes ANY sense but I love you all hope you're okay and have a good night and stuff I'ma sleep now.}