While Ford questioned whether adding a small cocktail umbrella was truly necessary for topping off the completed beaker of medicine, especially considering it would probably be better to administer it to Stanley via an injection, he supposed it did have a certain aesthetic appeal.
Mabel examined the finished product with wide eyes. "You sure this'll make Grunkle Stan all better?"
"It should at least start the healing process faster than this dimension's regular tactics," Ford assured her as he produced a syringe and began filling it up. He tapped the plunger to squeeze out any air, and made sure he'd measured out the right amount for Stan, before giving a satisfied nod and covering the needle with a tiny rubber cap. "It worked the last time I needed to use it."
"What happened?" Mabel bounced after him towards the stairs.
"Well, I was on a world whose inhabitants were sentient flowers, and accidentally offended the local gang of snapdragons…"
He continued telling the story until they were outside Stan's room; quietly Ford opened the door and peeped inside.
Stan had definitely improved since the last time he saw him; his face had regained some color, and he no longer appeared to be as drenched in sweat. All the same, Mabel gave a little gasp, and her distress pounded against Ford's psyche, reminding him that she hadn't seen Stan since he fell ill, at least not as much as Ford had. To her, Stan had to look positively ghastly.
"He's doing much better," Ford assured her as he stepped through the doorway. "He should be right as rain in no time at all, as long as we can persuade him to take it easy for a day or two." Right as rain? Do people say that anymore, or does that just show how behind the times I am?
Regardless, he sat down in his chair, pulling the syringe from his coat pocket as he tested Stan's temperature again; it had definitely gone down. All the same, he drew Stan's arm out from under the blankets and gave his shoulder a tiny shake.
"Stanley? Stanley, wake up."
"Grunkle Stan!" Mabel called softly, hopping onto the end of the bed and jiggling his knee. "Wakey wakey!"
They had to repeat the process for about a minute before Stan regained some level of consciousness; his eyes opened slowly, unfocused and confused.
"Stanley, I'm going to give you an injection. Is that all right?"
"Wha…?"
"It's just some medicine that should help you feel better more quickly." Ford held up the syringe as evidence.
Stan squinted at it with a slight flicker of alarm that seemed to help him become more aware, but then tilted his gaze back towards Ford. "...Medicine?"
"Yes. It's a concoction I've used on myself, so don't worry, it's safe." He wasn't sure exactly why Stan would need that particular reassurance, but it seemed to do the trick for soothing him.
"I got some bandaids we can use afterwards!" Mabel proclaimed. She produced a box of them from somewhere in the recesses of her sweater; Ford couldn't help noticing that they all seemed to be decorated with variations of brightly colored animals, or anthropomorphized hearts or suns or other normally inanimate objects, which fit the theme of her usual vibrant aesthetic choices.
Stan squinted at her, and then laughed dryly. "Thanks, sweetie."
Taking this for permission, Ford had him sit up, and after applying rubbing alcohol to Stan's arm he injected the medicine. Then Mabel quickly applied a bandage with a picture of a star wearing a stethoscope, and the caption, "You're a STELLAR patient!" and then helped tuck him back into the blankets before giving him a rather mushy-sounding kiss on the cheek.
Stan fell back to sleep almost at once, but this time Ford knew it was a side effect of the medicine and wasn't too worried.
After a moment Mabel said, "I think I'm gonna go find Dipper, and let him know I'm not mad about...the rift and stuff." She tugged on a lock of her hair for a moment, before saying, "...I'm sorry for bringing it upstairs. I really did think it was an exhibit or something."
Ford smiled and ruffled her hair. "Yes, well, you're not the first person in our family to make that kind of mistake. And you most likely won't be the last."
Mabel giggled and headed for the door.
Ford didn't remember falling asleep.
He'd gotten a book-Daddy Issues, which gave him mixed feelings finding it on Stan's shelf-and read through it for a while, occasionally checking on Stan or refreshing the washcloth...and then at some point during the night, much to his back's consternation, he once again fell asleep in a chair.
Worrying about how to deal with the rift and prevent Weirdmageddon, in addition to worrying about Stan's mental health, must have been taking more out of him than he realized.
Unbeknownst to either of them, before Soos went home for the night he checked on the two old men, and tucked a blanket gently around Ford's shoulders. And then he put a "get well and make up" card that he and Mabel had made on the table next to the bed.
Because they were subtle like that.
When he woke up, for a groggy moment Ford couldn't even remember where he was. Then his eyes landed on the empty bed in front of him.
"Stanley?!"
Ford jumped to his feet, looking around the room anxiously only to find no sign of his brother; what if he was delirious again, what if he'd forgotten where he was and somehow wandered outside, anything could happen to him in his current condition-!
He dashed for the door and into the corridor-and noticed that there was a light on in the bathroom, and the sound of water running.
"Stanley?!" He rushed forward and pounded on the door. A second later there was a thud from inside, followed by the sound of muffled swearing.
Ford yanked on the doorknob, only to find it locked. He had just stepped back and drawn his gun, ready to shoot it off-
-when Stan opened the door, wearing only a towel and a lot of soap bubbles.
"What?!" he demanded irritably. "Is the house on fire or something-what the heck are ya doin?!"
After a moment in which he processed that Stan was lucid and uninjured, and that he...might have overreacted a tiny bit, Ford quickly holstered his weapon. And, with a wave of relief, pulled Stan into a tight hug.
Stan immediately froze up, with a little surprised gasp-and then his arms tentatively rose and encircled Ford's ribs.
"...Good morning ta you, too."
"...Sorry." Ford tried to push down his embarrassment. "I saw you were gone, and-I was worried."
"Sorry, I realized I was all sweaty and gross when I woke up. On the bright side, at least my flesh doesn't feel like it's dripping off my bones anymore."
After a moment Ford pulled back and examined Stan; there was definitely a substantial improvement. His eyes were staring back at him clearly, without the feverish haze from the last few days (heh heh, inadvertent rhyme), and his skin tone was almost back to normal. "How are you feeling?"
Stan shrugged. "Gut's still actin' up a little, but think I'm over the worst of it."
"Can I get you anything-do you think you can keep some food down? You need to take in some kind of nourishment, you haven't eaten in a while."
"...Toast, maybe?"
"I will make toast." It wasn't Ford's most exciting quest ever, but he still put all the enthusiasm of one into the phrase. He gave Stan's shoulders a final squeeze. "I'll let you finish your shower while I go make it." And then he was off, mad scientist coat flapping dramatically behind him.
Stan watched him go with a slight mixture of surprise and confusion...but at the same time a memory flitted to the front of his mind of warm hands on his face, and Ford's voice, warm and soothing and empty of disdain or superiority.
I was wrong
You are not worthless
You were never worthless
I'm not sure how to fix all the damage I've done to our relationship, but...I would like to try
A small, cautious smile curled up the side of his face, before he remembered he was standing in the corridor in a towel and hurriedly stepped back into the bathroom.
Even he had his standards for how much he was willing to potentially traumatize the kids, after all.
In my experience, fevers make me all sweaty and gross when I come out of them.
...That was too much information, wasn't it.