Hey. Hi. Please don't hate me for being so inactive...please.

Prompt: idk I'm just rambling. Guys I really haven't been feelin' it. Also, wrote this on my phone. Sorry.

Stan sat on the floor of the old boxing ring, watching as the blood from his nose dripped slowly unto the floor.

It had been a hard day. Crampelter had decided to pick on both of them Ford again. Although instead of just a few harsh words thrown at a distance, things had gotten physical, fast.

Ford helped, of course, he did. He was a nerd, not an invalid, but Stan tried his best to take the brunt of it. So, of course, he was a bloody mess afterward. Ford berated him for his recklessness. Stan listened, he just didn't care. It was only after Ford whispered a thank you to him as they went to bed that Stan said anything.

"Thank you, Stanley."

"Love ya, Sixer."

Stan thought as he watched the blood fall. Maybe if he had listened to Ford more, maybe if he'd been better, nothing would have gone wrong in the first place. Maybe, instead of sitting on the bottom of an illegal boxing ring after everyone was gone, he'd be laughing with his best friend, eating something disgustingly sweet and watching a nerdy movie. He'd be warm and unharmed, if not a little bruised. He'd be safe.

Would he? Was he really ever safe? His closest- his ONLY friend- hurt him in was he couldn't describe. His own family had carved out his heart and placed it on a chopping board.

Stan scowled at the small puddle of blood that pooled beneath his face. Why did he even bother!? No one cared for a lowlife high school drop out. He didn't even care about himself! Never had! Why would he keep going? Why did he stick around!?

Stan didn't know. All he knew was that he was going to keep going anyway and although it aggravated the crap outta him, he'd keep trying.

As long as he kept moving, he'd find the answer. Eventually.

... Thirty years later.

Stan smiled as he leaned back on the porch couch, watching the children play. He cracked open the tab of his soda and sighed at the satisfying noise.

"Why do you enjoy those carbonated beverages so much, Stanely?"

Stan glanced at a genuinely curious six fingered scientist. He shrugged.

"Want some? It's not just mine ya know."

The man raised his brow and took the undrunk can. He lifted it to his lips...and spat it right out.

"Gah! It burns!" The scientist placed it down quickly, rubbing at his nose. "Why does it making my nose burn!?"

Stan snickered. "Says the man who drank thirty-year-old cosmic sand."

The man scowled. "I already explained to you, I am not capable of getting drunk."

"Tell that to the song you sang that night."

The man scowled again, hiding his embarrassment. Stan snickered again and relaxed. His eyes followed the screaming children lazily.

They were silent for a moment before Stan's companion spoke up again.

"Thank you, Stanely. For- for everything."

Stan stiffened. Something dormant in his heart began beating again and he laughed.

"Love ya, Ford."

Stan didn't stop smiling the rest of the day. He had finally found his reason.

Finally, the universe gave me a dang answer! What horrible customer service. Even I was better than that.

Stan: ...

Ford: Oh. Oh- haha. I get it.

Stan: Why am I literally watching myself bleed out in the beginning?

Me: Um...because sometimes I get distracted? So you got distracted? Pain is just an abstract concept? Gah, Idk.

Stan: You have problems.

Me: Says the man who watched his nose bleed out. Yeesh, what a weirdo.

Stan: !?

XD okay obviously don't take anything I say seriously. But seriously XD, love ya, don't die, hope this was something you liked and wasn't a complete waste of your time...