Ford was lost in his thoughts and his work.

This wasn't an especially unusual state of being for him, by any stretch of the imagination. In fact, it was oddly comforting for Stan to see him doing something so "normal Ford." For the past three days, since the thingy happened that made him lose his memory, he'd been a tiny bit...clingy seemed like the best description. Constantly watching Stan, clearly afraid he was gonna have another memory lapse if his expression became the tiniest bit blank, fussing over him with little or no provocation.

It wasn't that he didn't enjoy it; honestly, after forty years more or less alone Stan was happy to receive any kind of positive attention, regardless of how pathetic that made him. But he didn't want Ford to wear himself out trying to make up for lost time together.

At the moment, his twin was down in his nerd cave, working on what looked like some kind of weird fancy compass thingy, when Stan brought down a plate of sandwiches for lunch and set them at his elbow.

The nerd jumped a little at the realization that he was no longer alone in the room, and blinked a few times before recognizing him. "Oh! Stanley."

"The one and only." Stan grinned, and gestured to the plate. "Lunchtime."

"Already?" Another nonplussed blink.

He was holding a screwdriver in his hand; Stan snatched it, and placed a sandwich between his fingers instead. "Eat. It's turkey with avocado."

Ford's expression changed, the corner of his mouth curling up into a pleased smile. "It's been a long time since I've had real avocados."

"And you like them, right?"

"Yes, I love them. Thank you."

Stan grinned; he loved it when he remembered tiny details like that. Yesterday he'd given Dipper some spare pens he'd found in his desk drawer because he'd remembered that the kid liked to chew on them when he was thinking, and went through them like they were candies. For an alarming second Dipper had looked like he was actually gonna cry happy tears; Stan wasn't sure if it was from getting spare pens, or because Stan had remembered, or a little of both, but either way he'd made him happy, so he was pacified.

As Ford finally began taking bites of his sandwich, Stan examined his project.

"What's this thing?"

Ford swallowed his most recent bite. "Oh, it's just a simple device for detecting weirdness fields."

"Y'mean like the thing you said is surrounding this town?" Stan reached out and spun one of the little arrow dials.

"Yes, but on a grander scale. Say, seeing if there are places in other parts of the world-if I connect it to my watch, it should be able to locate other places filled with anomalous activity."

"Whoa." Stan was impressed, but not surprised. If anyone could build a doodad like that, it was his genius brother-

He pulled on another twirly arrow thingy, and it snapped off into his hand.

It was like his blood turned to ice.

No no no what did I do NO

"NO! I'm sorry!"

Frantically Stan tried to put the compass arrow back on the spindle, even as his heart lurched in his chest and a little voice screamed in the back of his mind something that sounded a little like NOT AGAIN, and blurred memories began flashing in front of his eyes: a spinning machine with a thing on the front falling off, the indistinct blue of a television screen in a dark room, a sidewalk, dark curtains, a giant metal circle dark and empty with the knowledge that he'd FAILED, he'd FAILED again and he couldn't go back to being alone please-

Faintly he could hear Ford's voice on the verge of his hearing, but he didn't bother trying to make out the words, not wanting to hear the rebuke because he would fix this, struggling harder to fit the arrow on the part of the compass it had come from, barely feeling a slight stinging in his hands and saying in a rapid mantra, "I can fix it, just hold on and lemme fix it-"

"STANLEY!"

Suddenly Ford's hands were grabbing his, forcing him to drop the piece of equipment and pulling him away from the compass.

Stan thrashed, trying to get back and prove that he could fix it, that he wouldn't screw this up for Ford again-but then his brother was grabbing his shoulders and ordering him to "Breathe, Stanley! It's okay, you're okay, just breathe for a moment."

"But-"

"Ssh…" With unprecedented gentleness Ford pushed him into a chair, and sat down across from him, still holding his shoulders.

"Do you think you can try to follow my breathing?"

Stan nodded, numbly.

"Good." Ford did a long, slow inhale through his nose; Stan resisted for a moment, but then followed suit.

"That's very good, Stanley. Keep going, you're doing fine."

He repeated until Stan was no longer hyperventilating, and then said, "Stay here for a second; I'm going to get my med kit for your hands."

Stan gave him a nonplussed stare as he got up; what was wrong with his-?

Then he at last registered the stinging pain in his palms and fingers, and the fact that there was blood on them.

Oh.

When Ford came back, bag in hand, he began cleaning and disinfecting the cuts. For a moment they sat in silence aside from the sounds of Ford at work. At last, though, Stan whispered, "I can fix it. I swear, I didn't mean-"

"I know, Stanley. Don't worry about it."

There didn't seem to be any anger in Ford's voice...but Stan felt like there was maybe some reproach. His heart sank.

"I'm sorry!" he protested, hearing his voice crack almost as bad as Dipper's. "I know this is something you've worked really hard on, I shouldn't have touched it like that-!"

"I'm not angry with you!"

Ford put his hands on Stan's shoulders again, squeezing.

"Listen to me, Stanley. I'm not mad at you. I was here, I know you weren't trying to break it, and it's not a big deal, it's very easily fixed. Okay?"

His tone was earnest enough that Stan believed it. But something about his brother's phrasing made him tilt his head and ask, "Who are you mad at, then?"

Ford chewed his lip, and went back to fixing up the cuts. "...Myself. For being part of the reason that you'd get worked into such a state over a stupid mistake."

He tenderly rubbed some cream into a long cut on Stan's palm; it started to fade away even as he looked at it.

Stan tried to think of something reassuring or forgiving he could say. But he'd tried taking all the blame when they'd talked about this before, and that just seemed to make Ford feel worse, for some strange reason. All he could think of to do, when at last the smaller cuts had been healed up and the deeper ones bandaged over, was wrap his hands around Ford's and squeeze gently.

Ford squeezed back, and gave him a half-hearted smile. Then, after a few seconds, he picked up his sandwich again.

"...Tell me more about how this thing works?" Stan indicated the project again.

Ford relaxed a little, and went into lecture mode.

And for the moment, at least, peace was restored.

One of my favorite kinds of sandwiches is a turkey-bacon-avocado with mustard and onions. The delicious sharp flavors all compliment each other in all the best ways, and the onions decrease my chances of being bitten by yellow-spotted lizards.
Since I'm currently living in Texas, this is a particular danger for me.