Part of the challenge of trying to figure out what to do to help Stanley, or even get him to trust him enough to let him help, was that, as much as he hated to admit it...Ford didn't know his twin as well as he used to.

It wasn't surprising, per se, considering how long they'd been apart, but admitting it to himself caused a small aching sensation in Ford's chest almost as bad as the one he could feel in Stan's whenever he was near him.

He decided that the solution, in addition to Soos's "feral kitten" idea, was to figure out a way to get to know him all over again. And since Stan was still reluctant to be in his presence except when absolutely necessary, he would have to do that via other sources.

Ford waited until Stan was dressed for the day and giving one of his tours (ugh), and then wandered into the part of the house separate from the gift shop and museum area, since he'd heard that you could learn a lot about someone from what their living conditions were like, and he hadn't given a very thorough examination last time beyond expressing disgust over how much things had changed.

This second time around, he felt that sensation of disconnection again, like he'd stumbled into the Midnight Region dimension or another parallel universe, with such a strange blend of the familiar and unfamiliar everywhere he looked. Some rooms looked more or less the same, just with one item missing or changed, like the room where the electron carpet used to be; others were completely different, with everything he remembered from the room having been replaced with unfinished exhibits or other items whose purpose he was unable to ascertain.

Eventually he went to probably the best place of all for learning about his brother: Stan's bedroom. Where the half-melted candles still dribbled on the floor, and on the bedposts, a few of them smushed at the side of the bed where Stan had evidently stepped on them when he woke up.

Ford winced; well, here was another good place to try to make amends.

He knelt down, ignoring how his joints creaked, and got started cleaning up the mess.

It took a few hours, since he had to go back down to the basement and mix up some chemicals to get rid of the stains left behind even after he finished cleaning up the wax (if this ever happened again, he made a mental note to put them in bowls or something), but when he finished, it looked like there had never been a magical ceremony here at all. Ford gave a pleased little nod, hands on his hips, as he glanced around the room.

It was definitely the place that felt the most 'Stanley' to him. Apparently he still didn't care about all those lessons their father had tried to drill into him about making his bed in the morning, or about dusting. On the other hand, he had at least learned by now how to keep the majority of the floor clean. There was still clutter here and there, but it was organized compared to the piles of comics and dirty clothes and clumsy drawings that used to cover their floor (the fact that more than half of it had often been Ford's wasn't the point here).

Ford picked up a discarded wad of paper lying on the floor and put it in the trash bag containing the candles, deciding that as long as he was here he might as well do a little extra tidying up.

The potion must have started wearing off, because he didn't feel Stan's presence until his brother opened the door.

Ford startled in second-hand alarm and confusion, before quickly straightening up and turning to face him.

"I-I was just-cleaning up my mess from earlier." He held up the filled trash bag as evidence, accompanied by a hopeful smile and trying not to feel too much like a puppy begging for a treat.

Stan's eyes glanced at the bag, then back up to Ford. And then, abruptly, his shoulders sagged and he let out a small sigh, as a wave of irritated gloom rose around him.

"The kids aren't here right now, Ford."

Ford felt the edges of his smile wavering.

"...Sorry?"

Stan looked at him flatly. "You don't haveta play nice, or whatever. They aren't gonna see. And even if they did, they're a lot smarter than you seem ta think they are. So just…don't bother."

He turned and walked away without giving Ford a chance to protest, or try to explain, or do anything except feel the sensation of his own heart tearing in half.

"Guys, c'mon!" Stubbornness protested, glaring at the two figures standing in front of him while standing protectively in front of Hope's door. "It's not like that-I told you, me and the kid talked to him last night, and-"

"Oh, please, and you believed anything he said?" Paranoia adjusted his shades and settled his tinfoil hat more comfortably on his head. "That's what Ford always does-he draws us in, makes us think he's gonna do somethin' nice for us for once, and then BLAM!" He pounded his fist into his other palm. "He's tryna send us off on a fool's errand, or take away our job, or ignore our one request that he not put the kids in danger!"

"Yeah," Betrayal muttered bitterly, adjusting his duffel bag. "This is probably the same old crap. Or maybe he just feels guilty and wants ta make our last weeks here comfortable ones or whatever."

"Uggghhh…" Stubbornness rubbed his forehead. "That could be true, but we could also at least give him a chance-"

"He had his chance."

The newest speaker was standing in the shadow of the stairway behind them, leaning against it; it wasn't clear if he'd always been there, or if he'd just recently materialized, but either way the others jumped in alarm.

Stubbornness growled, and his claws clenched into fists. "Don't you have somewhere else to be? Anywhere else?"

"I'm exactly where I belong," Despair said, in a tone more flat and lifeless than anyone else's in this mindscape. "I'm here to remind everyone that we have to see sense."

The door's golden light flashed in protest, before fading down again in exhaustion. Even Paranoia spared it a brief look of concern, but Despair continued speaking as if nothing had happened, drawing his and Betrayal's attention back to him and his empty eyes.

"Stanford doesn't care about us. And he probably never did."

...And I just made Stan's mind start fighting with itself.

Go figure.