HERE YOU GO, FLESHSACKS:

Ford had been sleeping peacefully when he was woken up by a loud crash. The sound rang in his skull as his body filled with fear. He watched Stanley, eyes much too bright and hectic, save him one glance before running out of the room.

"Stanley! What's going on? Where are you going?"

Either Stan couldn't hear him, or wasn't listening, because he didn't answer, just kept on running. Ford followed him, a little breathless all the way to F's room, only to watch Stan change course and barge into the living room, where Fidds was enjoying a late-night coffee for some reason.

Stan slumped over and Ford became aware of his uneven, harsh breathing. As if he was struggling to get the air into his lungs. He's having a panic attack! Ford thought. His mind ran through everything he knew about panic attacks, which wasn't much since neither of them really suffered from them, as he knelt by his brother.

It felt wrong, seeing such a large, gruff, tough man become so overcome with fear.

It was even worse seeing Stan as that man. Ford shuddered to think of what could have caused such a violent reaction from his battle-weary brother.

"Stan? Stan, can you hear me?" Ford reached out to touch his shoulder but pulled back when Stan winced, eyes wide, and growled. Not his usual grunting growl that he probably wasn't even aware sounded like a growl, a full-on, animalistic snarl that made Ford's hair stand on end. Ford took an uneven breath, trying to calm the fear coursing through him. His breath evened out and Ford tried to be calm and collected, his face grim and serious as he addressed Stan again.

"Stanley. It's going to be alright. (He hoped), I promise. You need to breathe. Stanley? Can you hear me?" Ford's composure slipped for a moment, "C'mon Ley, nod if you can hear me." Ford begged, feeling useless as his brother continued to choke, mouth wide as he attempted to pull more air into his lungs. Ford's face fell in relief when Stan nodded weakly. Oh thank goodness, I have no idea what I'm doing.

Ford remembered something about putting the 'victims' hand on someone else's chest to demonstrate an even breathing pattern, to help them relax. Ford spoke softly, trying to hide his own panic.

"Ley? I need you to breathe, alright? I need you to listen to my voice." Ford swallowed his fear, afraid that Stan would lash out if he tried to touch him again, "Can I take your hand?"

His fear wasn't unfounded, Stan growled, but it was different, a little more frightened and desperate than before. Stan gripped his own hand tightly, Ford's lips popped open in shock when he realized Stan thought he was going to dismember is hand. {What could have-he's been through so much-}

"No!" Stan flinched back and Ford fought to lower his voice, "Sorry, no. I'm not going to take your hand off," Ford felt sick just thinking about it, that his brother needed to be reassured about that. "But I need you to calm down, your going to have a heart-attack at this rate." At least, Ford thought so. He was a theoretical physicist who dealt with anomalies, not an MD. "I need you to take a deep breath with me, alright?" Ford breathed in deep, making it as loud as he could so Stan could harmonize with it. "One" Ford took another breath, "Two" He released it. "Three." He breathed in again and watched Stan struggle to do the same. "C'mon Stan," Ford whispered, "you can do it."

Ford was hesitant but slowly slid his hand over Stan's with a relieved, tense smile when Stan didn't react. He placed it on his chest, continuing to breathe in deeply.

Stan slowly but surely calmed down and Ford watched as his eyes slid shut and his body shut down, sliding down the wall he was leaning against. He caught Stan, kinda and held his head in his lap, stroking Stan's hair soothingly.

Now that it was all over, the fear and adrenaline left him, leaving Ford absolutely exhausted. Ford let his close and fell asleep again, emotionally drained.

...

Fiddleford jumped in surprise but kept his distance when Stan ran into the room. Ford seemed to have everything in control. He decided late night coffee was a bad idea and left them on the floor, under no delusion that he could move them even if he tried. Those two were like bricks, especially Stan. Fidds, despite being confused, smiled. Being absolutely bamboozled by their antics was so worth it to see them look so happy, even in sleep. He returned to the living room with a blanket and threw it over them before heading to his own bed. He could get some answers in the morning.

I wrote this listening to gravity fall song, like 'Stan Pines-Promiseland.'

It was fun.

Sorry if this sucked. I shall write proper fluff later. I tried to make it better...