Stan coughed, a wet, hacking rattle that went on for too long until he turned up the oxygen in the tank he took everywhere. Not that he actually went anywhere. Too stiff, too sore, too fat, too old. These days he couldn't escape groaning just reaching for the remote, let alone actually leaving the rundown motel room.

He proved this by letting one out when he reached for the device to turn off the television. He barely knew why he put it on these days, nothing kept his attention. The news kept running the same stupid stories about awful people, the only differences were the names and the places. He'd seen every film on the Black and White Period Piece Old Lady Boring Movie Channel and all the best contestants of Baby Fights had grown up. Sure, some of them had babies of their own now who had taken up the family business, but sports was nowhere near as fun as it was before the government forced the companies to care for their players' safety.

Valuing human life over entertainment. What was the world coming to?

He turned the TV off and settled back in his chair, glaring at the stack of medication on a nearby table. He should be taking more of it but it was so damn expensive, he was spreading each bottle out as much as he could. The doctors said that wasn't a good idea but they weren't the ones paying for it, so what did they know?

Besides, he was tired and couldn't be bothered leaving the comfy chair. He was tired a lot these days. Even more than usual for him, and he could sleep for most of the day. He hit the lever on the side of his chair, feeling his back creak even as he put it in a more comfortable position. He'd worry about that tomorrow. It was almost seven and he needed his sleep.

He closed his eyes, the pointlessness of surviving and the aches and pains of living fading away as the world faded to a comforting black…

He jerked awake as the doorbell rang, persistent and loud and annoying beyond words.

"Go away!

There was a slight pause before the ringing continued, even more persistent than before.

Stan let out a groan that was only half frustration, his knees clicking loudly in protests as they were put to work again. He shuffled over to the door, raised his walking stick and threw the door open. "For the love of-"

He stopped as he saw a distorted reflection of himself; wearing a nice suit compared to his sloppy boxers, slippers and worn shirt, thin and relatively fit where he was round and saggy, standing straight while he was hunched. He looked fifteen years younger instead of fifteen minutes older.

Ford swallowed loudly in the silence, somehow looking even more shocked than Stan felt. "Hello, Stanley. I came to-"

The rest of whatever he was about to say was stopped by a fist hitting him so hard it cracked his nose and knocked him on his back.

Stan stood panting over his brother, his lip curling at the sight of his twin on the ground. "I don't care. Whatever you want, I don't care. I'm done. We're done. Leave and never come back."

He closed the door, only then allowing himself to slump to the floor as he clutched his chest. He dragged himself over to his medicine, popping a few too-expensive pills in his mouth.

Idiot. Shouldn't have done that. Know you're not supposed to exert or excite yourself, doctors said. He reached for his tank and took a few deep breaths. Eh, it was worth it. Look on his face! Serves him right. Probably huffing and puffing at the door right now. Always did hate being interrupted.

He paused but heard nothing. Not even when his breathing had returned to it's relatively quiet standard. Puzzled and curious, he made his way back to the door and put his eye to the peephole, wondering if he'd hit him harder than he'd thought.

Stanford Pines lay on his back, staring at the door in silence. Stan frowned at his brother's expression. It wasn't angry. He wasn't sure what it was - sad, pained, disappointed maybe - but definitely not angry. The two men stared for several long minutes, one at the closed door, the other at the man staring at the door, until Stanford finally got to his feet. He put a hand on the door, Stan taking a step back in surprise. "I'm sorry," he heard him whisper through the poor quality wood and thin walls, then the shuffling of feet as he slowly walked away.

Stan returned to the peephole to watch his retreating figure, the heavy steps, hunched back and hands deep in his pocket making his brother look much older than he had when he'd first opened the door. No. He didn't look old, he looked...broken.

Before he knew what he was doing, the door was open again, just enough for his head to peer out. "Sorry for what?"

Ford jumped in surprise, turning back to his brother and Stan felt his temper rise a little to see that there was actually some relief in his eyes for a moment. "Stanley! I, uh, can I come in? I wanted to-"

"Sorry for what?" Stan repeated again, louder.

"For everything!" his brother blurted out, taking a step forward with outstretched hands, coming to a sudden halt when Stan leaned back, the door closing slightly. "For how I treated you, for what I did when we were young, for what I said and never did, for - for everything!"

Stan peered at his brother, noticing the way he swayed a little as he spoke and how his words slurred. "Have you been drinking?"

"No! Well, yes. But only a little! See, I've only had-" he stopped and pulled a bottle out of his pocket, considering the alcohol content and how much was left. "Wow. I should not be using interdimensional travel in this condition."

"What?"

"What?" Ford repeated, looking back at his brother and blinking too slowly.

Stan rolled his eyes. "Forget it. Why are you here? It's been over fifty years, why come see me now?"

Ford stared back at him, a little lost for words as he seemed to think about the answer. Stan was about to give up and snap at him to hurry up when he finally got a response. "I lost my best friend."

Ford swallowed, blinking back the tears as he swayed a little again, though Stan didn't think it was the alcohol this time. "He, uh, he died. It wasn't - it was only a few days ago. We're going to bury him tomorrow. He - I can't stop thinking about him. Us. What he did for me and what little I did for him in return. How selfish I was and what he gave up for me. And - I should have done more for him. I should have said that I-"

He looked up at Stanley, his eyes pleading in a way Stan had only seen in the most desperate of men. He scanned Stan's face as if searching for something, though Stan couldn't figure out what. But then the moment passed and Ford shook his head, sobering up a little in that moment as if realising Stan didn't have the answer.

"This was a mistake," he said, sounding apologetic even as he clenched his fist. "You're not...I shouldn't have come. You don't deserve to have me come to you with my problems. You deserve better Stanley. You always have." He closed his eyes and started to walk away, feeling the guilt gnaw at him for disrupting his brother's life in two universes.

"Wait!"

Ford looked back, startled to see Stan hesitate a moment before opening the door, scratching his chin awkwardly and looking away. "Do, uh, do you want to come inside?"

Stan stepped away from the door, cleaning up a little as the man he used to consider his brother followed him. Neither said anything as Stan swiped half-eaten takeaways, bottles, and other trash into a black bag and threw it in the corner, suddenly feeling very self-conscious of his home.

He'd seen Ford on television a few times, accepting a Nobel Peace Prize, acting as scientific adviser for a major crisis, interviews on TV, things like that. He knew how successful he'd been and how much of a hovel this must be compared to the giant mansion he was probably living in.

But Ford didn't react to any of it, merely taking it all in. The only thing he seemed to focus on was the stack of pills, his eyes lingering a little too long. But he didn't say anything, just sat down in the less comfortable chair as he waited.

"So," Stan said, sitting down in his favourite chair with a grunt followed by a satisfying sigh.

"So," Ford agreed.

There was a silence between them, neither sure how to proceed, each shifting uncomfortably in their seats. It was after a few minutes of this that Ford's eyes landed on something familiar. "Is that-?" He got up and walked to Stan's bedside table. "Mabel?" he asked in surprise, picking up the picture.

"Came to see you too, huh?" Stan guessed, looking over his shoulder since he'd gotten up too many times already.

"What?"

"For that stupid school project," Stan said, sounding a little confused. "Family tree and all that crap. Surprised she even found out about me. But I guess Shermy still had some good memories of me to tell her."

"Yes," Ford said, looking at the picture of the young woman smiling broadly as she wrapped her arms around a sulking Stan. His lips twinged. "Shermy was a good brother. Better than I was in the end."

"That's for sure," Stan grunted. He flinched as soon as he said it but Ford didn't. In fact, he only nodded sadly in agreement, and Stan was surprised to find he was starting to feel a little guilty.

"She must be very important to you to have her picture," Ford noted, putting it back where it was.

"She's...a decent kid," Stan grudgingly replied.

Ford smiled at her grinning face. "No. She's a wonderful woman. I'm very proud of her. Her and Mason."

"Who?"

Ford turned round in surprise. "Mason? Er, Dipper? He has a birthmark in the shape of a constellation on his forehead?"

Stan shrugged. "Don't know any Mason Dipper, and that birthmark thing ain't ringing any bells either."

Ford made a face and seemed a little sad for a moment. "That's...a shame. He's a very bright boy. Still, at least you've met Mabel." He considered the picture again, noting Stan's appearance and deciding it must have been taken recently. "Does she visit you often?"

"Every now and then," Stan grunted, sounding embarrassed. "She's busy and far away. But she calls me. 'Bout once a week. Just to chat, y'know?"

"Yes, that sounds like her," Ford said, returning to his seat. "She speaks very highly of you."

Stan scoffed. "Yeah, right! Kid's an awful judge of character if that's true! What could she possibly say about me?"

Ford looked him in the eye. "She's often told me and others how much you matter to her. How kind you've been, the laughs you've shared. How sometimes, in a world that doesn't seem to understand her, you can. And how proud she is to have a great uncle like you."

Stan blinked, taken aback by his brother's tone. He looked away again and cleared his throat. "Like I said: bad judge of character."

Ford chuckled. It wasn't much of one but it was the first laugh he'd had in days. Though his lighter mood didn't last long. "My - friend? The one who passed. I suppose you could say he introduced me to her. I don't think I ever thanked him for that. Not really. And I should have. I should have thanked him for a lot of things. He did so much for me. It's funny. He also got me in so much trouble. But he would always help me get out of it, and then laugh and joke about it, act as if that made up for causing it in the first place."

"Heh. Sounds like me and him would get along well."

Ford smirked. "I think if you two were in the same room...you'd either hate or love each other. Not sure which. But! I do know he would have found it hilarious if I told him you'd punched me like that!"

He let out a laugh and it was so heartfelt that Stan couldn't help joining in towards the end. "Can't say it didn't feel good," Stan admitted as their laughter started to fade.

"Oh, I'll bet," Ford grinned. The grin faded suddenly. "Can't say I didn't deserve it either. My friend was more important to me than I ever realised. And I already thought he was important. But now he's gone. He - he was the one who reminded me how important family was. Something I should never have forgotten," he said in a whisper and he had to stop for a moment, Stan sitting silently as he waited for the words he'd wanted to hear for so long.

Ford cleared his throat and looked up from his shoes, wishing he'd said these words a long time ago. "I'm sorry, Stanley. For everything. I should never have -"

"Forget it," Stan said, waving his apology away. The apology he'd been waiting to hear for most of his life. The one he felt he deserved a hundred times over. The apology that had kept him awake for hundreds of nights as its absence burned at him like an untreated wound. "It doesn't matter," he said and was amazed to find he meant it.

"It does matter!" Ford protested. "All those years, Stanley! Decades we could have had together! We were inseparable and I let my stupid ego tear us apart! We could have done so much together but -"

"We're here now, aren't we?" Stan snapped. "And what, you think I haven't done stuff just because I didn't have you with me? News flash genius, I've done plenty of great things! Sure, I haven't gotten my names in magazines (well, none that I'm proud of) but I've lived a damn good life, thank you very much!"

Ford blinked, looking dumbfounded for a second. Then his expression changed to one of determination. "Tell me about them."

"What?" Stan grunted, rubbing his chest before reaching for more pills, too annoyed to question why he seemed to need more than usual.

"Tell me about the things you've done," Ford repeated. "All of them. Tell me about everything you've accomplished."

Stan hesitated, his boasting suddenly sounding exaggerated now that he thought of what his twin had accomplished, or seen in other universes. "Well, I mean...they're not very scientific. Or legal, even. Some ain't even decent. You don't really want to-"

"Yes, I do," Ford stated, edging his seat closer. "I want nothing more than to hear about your life, Stanley."

Stan looked back at his brother, eagerly waiting to hear of his exploits. He couldn't help but grin. "Well, alright then! But don't say I didn't warn you! Say, you got any more of that booze? I've got a couple of glasses and-"

Ford jumped up from his seat and marched to the kitchen, returning with two glasses in one hand and the bottle in his other.

"Probably shouldn't drink this," Stan said with a roguish grin. "Doesn't go well with my meds. Oh well! Can't live forever, can we?"

Ford froze, the bottle hovering over their glasses. He closed his eyes as he thought of the article he'd read from a universe exactly like this, only a little older. "No," he said, opening his eyes and pouring them both a drink. "No, we can't so we may as well make the most of what time we have together.

They sat together for hours, listening to one another, each man bringing the other the comfort he desperately needed. They drank and laughed and joked, as if they really were the other's brother. Most of all, they told stories. Stan told Ford of his unscrupulous life, the high risks he took that sometimes worked out but most often didn't. Of the narrow misses, daring escapes, brawls and scams. For hours, Stan spoke of the life he'd lived alone, finally glad he now had someone he could trust to share those tales with.

But as the sky outside darkened, Ford noticed a change slowly coming over Stanley, despite his enthusiasm in describing his life. He seemed to grow physically tired, his eyelids fluttering sometimes even during his stories. His breathing became slower and even the oxygen tank only helped a little. His voice became quieter and quieter until Ford had to move his chair right next to his to make out the words. Finally, he was struggling to even sit up properly and not even his enjoyment was enough fuel to keep him talking.

But his tired eyes scanned the room, still mostly alert. So Ford clasped his hand in his and took on the burden, telling Stanley Pines of the greatest man he had ever known in any of the universes he had been to. He told him about his bravery, his compassion, his charm and resilience. The trouble he caused and the people he saved. Most of all, he told him about his dedication to his family.

How he had become like a father to a young boy he'd taken in as an employee, until he was like a grandfather to that boy's daughters. How he had taken care of a young brother and sister every summer, became so important to them that they continued to visit even now that they had grown into the incredible man and woman they were today.

Even when the grip slackened in his hold and the body slumped and the half-closed eyes stopped seeing, Ford continued until he had finished one last story.

"And that, Stanley, was how you brought me back. How you took me away from decades of traveling to bring me home, to my family, and give me the greatest life I could ever have wished for," Ford gasped, clutching at his hand as the tears blinded him. "Despite how stupid I'd been, how harshly I'd treated you. Because that. Was the kind of man you were."

He stood up, pulling a cover over his brother's body and wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. He gathered the clutter and plates and dirty clothes around the room, binning the waste and cleaning everything else. He didn't know why - perhaps so the person who'd find him wouldn't simply see a man living his last days in poor conditions. Finally, when the room was clean and tidy, he moved Mabel's picture, placing it beside him. He was sure Stan would've liked that.

The last thing he did in that universe - after he'd taken out the trash and contacted the authorities to let them know of his brother's passing and where they could find the envelope with enough money to pay for the funeral and the name of his great-niece - was to make one last phone call.

The number had been the same and he knew the correct passwords to get it directly through, so it didn't take long for a familiar voice to answer.

"Stanford Pines speaking."

He closed his eyes and drank the last of the bottle, stoking the rage and shame building up inside him.

"Hello? Hello? Is this one of my teams? Identify yourself so-"

"Your brother is dead."

"My - what? Who is this?"

"Listen to my voice, you know exactly who this is," Ford hissed. "Didn't you hear me? Your brother is dead. Our brother is dead."

"I...I see. When, uh, when did-?"

"What do you care?" Ford snarled. "When did you ever care enough about him?"

"Now just hold on a moment-!"

"No! You listen to me! You were nothing without Stanley! He was the one who believed in us from the start! He was the one who protected us, encouraged us, and you abandoned him!"

"You don't know what you're talking about!"

"I am you, you fool!" he screamed at himself. "I made the same mistake that you did! But at least I learned my lesson! I thought I was terrible for taking so long to reconcile - but now I see how lucky I am! I had years with my brother - you left yours to rot! You sicken me!"

"I - my research was important! I had to-"

"Stanley was important! He was our brother! He was twice the man you ever were! You think those stupid rewards mean anything? You wouldn't have half of them if Stanley hadn't believed in you!

"But you'll never realise how pathetic you really are," he continued, his voice lowering to a growl. "I'd pity you if I thought you were capable of seeing how little you have. But you won't because you're too caught up in your own glory to see how insignificant it is compared to what you've lost."

"...Are you finished?"

Ford gave a snort. "Yes. I'm finished. I have my own brother to bury. And a family to cherish. Just like Stan did his."

He dropped the receiver and walked away, hitting the return switch in his dimensional locator so a gateway opened up in front of him. He stepped through it onto the ramp of the portal of his own dimension. He raised the bottle to his lips again, momentarily forgetting it was empty as he staggered forward, trying to remember where he'd kept the other and if he could-

Dipper stood at the bottom of the ramp, his hands deep in his pockets.

Ford blinked in surprise. He looked at the clock on the wall, to see how many hours had passed in this universe. He gave up when he realised he hadn't checked when he'd left. Dipper was still wearing the same clothes as at the funeral parlour, so it must be the same night. He must have just come to check on him.

His stomach dropped as he realised what that meant. His great-nephew had travelled here to make sure he was alright. Instead, he'd found the portal being used for personal use, despite Ford creating strict rules against such things. And now he was stumbling out of that portal dishevelled, an empty bottle in hand and stinking of its contents, another broken regulation that he'd written himself. He looked away in shame as Dipper approached, wishing he could be as strong as the younger man was during this great hardship.

Dipper put a hand on his shoulder. "Come on, Grunkle Ford," he said with a sad smile, not a trace of judgment anywhere to be found. "Let's go home. Family needs to be together now more than ever."

Ford blinked back at him, dumbfounded. Then the bottle slipped from his hands and he threw his arms around his great nephew, shaking and sobbing and grateful beyond words for everything he had. For everything Stan had given him.

"I know," Dipper whispered, struggling under the weight of the larger man but still finding solace in the heavy embrace. "I know. I miss him too."

In another universe, Stanford Pines stared at the phone on his desk, almost unable to feel the words he had just heard. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a worn photograph. A faded picture of two boys on a beach, their arms around each other as they stood atop a run down boat, smiling broadly.

Stanford looked around his office, seeing the accolades he'd acquired, the respect he'd won, and the wealth he'd earned in his decades of committed pursuit to science. He looked back down at the photo, focusing on one face in particular.

And he put his head in his hands as he wept at what little he had and how much he'd lost.