A/N: You have spoken, so you shall receive! The last installment of BKS. Enjoy. ;)

As soon as he stepped outside, Stan found his feet taking him towards the docks, towards the Stan'O'War II, and though he hadn't actually seen where Ford had gone, he was sure he was heading in the right direction. A small smile flitted across Stan's face at how appropriate that was even as he shook his head, telling himself there was no good reason to be even a little amused right then, not when the reason he was going out was so unpleasant. It was probably just his nerves getting the best of him too, but still, not appropriate.

The bit of nostalgia that washed through him was welcome though. It had been a lifetime since circumstances had been such that one of them had gone to the boat and the other had just known where to find them, yet it seemed there were some things that had been ingrained into their very beings. It was a place both of them seemed to naturally gravitate, as if that one little craft on the water was one of the dimensions Ford sometimes spoke about, one made specifically for them.

During childhood the boat had been their play-thing, somewhere they went for fun, to indulge in daydreams of fantastic adventures and better futures. When they were teens it had been their hideaway, their place where they could forget about their troubles, trading them in for work and lulling conversation that ultimately made both feel at ease. Now… Stan wasn't sure what it was to them now, but he was comforted with the certainty that, no matter what happened, so long as they had that boat, they'd be all right. Even if the road to reaching that "all right" was painful.

Stan shook his head to drag himself out of the musings and rolled his eyes at how "Ford" they'd sounded. It was weird hearing long-winded, sentimental, smart-ish-maybe things coming from his own brain sometimes and he reminded himself with a small snort to leave that sort of thought to his brother. Ford was better at it anyway.

The sigh that left him was drowned out by the sound of water lapping gently against various posts and hulls, and Stan slowed his pace so his approach would at least be quiet. He didn't want to freak Ford out any more than he already was. Though, when the Stan'O'War II finally came into view Stan stopped, the sudden lack of movement involuntary but nevertheless helpful as he decided in the same second to collect his thoughts as well as locate exactly where on the boat Ford was.

Although, it took no real effort to spot his brother; Ford stood, back to him, leaning heavily against the boat's railing as he stared out at the starry sky reflected on the slowly rolling waves. Stan wondered what sort of face his twin was pulling right about then because it would have at least given him something to go off of in terms of gauging the overall mood, and then shook his head roughly for how dumb that was.Now you're just stalling and you know it- his face won't tell you much, and you know that too. Go.

Taking a deep breath as if getting prepared to dive into the water beneath his feet (and he supposed in a way he might as well be), Stan got going once more. He tried being quiet when stepping onto the boat but internally winced when he stumbled and noticed how Ford's shoulders tensed. So… on a scale of "Sucking" to "Utter Fuckup" for how he was already doing with this, Stan would say he was around "Epic Failure".

Could've been worse, he supposed.

It took Stan a moment to swallow down the mounting anxiety brought on by that mess-up, but one he had he went to stand by Ford, making a conscious effort to put himself at what he knew by now to be the perfect distance. It was far enough away to prevent his brother from feeling claustrophobic or uncomfortable, but close enough to make it known that he wasn't just there to admire the view. And if the way Ford's fingernails scraped at the paint beneath them was any indicator, he understood that.

As expected, though, he said nothing to even acknowledge Stan's presence, which left him in the awkward position of having to figure out how to break the silence in a way that would immediately put them on the right conversation track but still keep things light enough that Ford didn't feel like he needed to run again. The fact that nothing was coming to mind other than his typical, "So… what's up?" or "Stars're pretty…", was frustrating beyond all imagining and he had to fight off another grumble of "idiot" that he knew would only be rewarded with a glare from his brother.

Again it struck him as both odd and funny that under any other circumstances he'd have been able to talk circles around Ford (in some departments anyway), but now he could barely even think up a proper sentence starter .

Everything he could think up fell flat a second later when he imagined how much more awkward it would make things, and it didn't help that the longer he let the silence persist the more closed off Ford's body language and expression became. It made Stan worry that if he said nothing for any longer his brother might be unwilling to speak with him at all, and that made the man jittery to point he decided it was better to say something bad than nothing at all.

However, as had become more and more frequent recently, Ford cut him off before he could start with a heavy sigh that sounded tense and tired, his head and shoulders drooping as the air left him.

"We can't ignore this anymore, can we?"

Stan hated how resigned his twin sounded, how utterly defeated he looked as his gaze dropped to the water below them.

He had wanted to know what Ford had been keeping from him for the longest time, and there was no doubt about it that it had something to do with what had happened because Ford certainly had never been like that before going through the Portal. However, now that the option to find out was right in front of him, Stan didn't want to hear it.

He'd thought that if he just found out sooner rather than later then things would be better, because at least he would understand where Ford was coming from when he said and did things that made zero sense to him; had thought it so often that he'd gotten angry with his brother when he didn't tell him, but seeing Ford's reaction to possibly having to say something now made Stan retract those ideas.

Sure, he still did want to know -he wanted that more than anything- the only problem was that he didn't want to find out like this .

He wanted Ford to talk to him because he wanted to, because he trusted him, not because he felt like he owed him an explanation. He didn't want to see his brother looking so conflicted and nervous (afraid). And Ford did look conflicted, like he too was having some internal struggle that Stan might not ever understand.

"We can, actually."

The answer slipped out softly, hanging in the air for longer than Stan expected it would as Ford stared at him, stunned and not sure what to say.

Stan would've needed to be blind to miss the hopeful but confused look in his brother's eyes. All he could do was shrug and hand Ford the coat he remembered he was holding onto.

"It's fine, Ford. Don't worry about it."

At that point Stan expected his silence, but that didn't make it any less uncomfortable for him. However, when Ford wrapped the coat around himself and sighed quietly in what could only have been relief, the air became lighter. That was, until he spoke and Stan found himself blinking in surprise out how swiftly his brother changed the subject and diverted the attention onto him.

"Back there, you remembered something. What was it?"

Ah. Yes. That. He'd almost forgotten about that.

The question from his brother wasn't necessarily unexpected, but Stan had sort of hoped he would wait until the morning to bring it up. Granted, Ford had never exactly waited to ask before, so why he'd thought it would be any different this time he didn't know. He was willing to tell him -he trusted Ford with everything in him- but he had been silently rooting for a delay on it. At least long enough for him to figure it out.

Oh well.

Stan wasn't sure if his sigh was contained inside his head or not as he thought back to everything he'd seen earlier that evening. If he was going to be honest, he still couldn't differentiate which reality had been the memory until the point where he noticed Ford standing there, but, he supposed if he thought about it carefully he could figure it out.

Using what he remembered being there when the memory had finally stopped, Stan pieced together some semblance of a proper explanation, and he figured it was accurate because the more he thought about it, the more familiar it became.

"That guy, the one who did this," Stan pointed to the gauze that covered the cut in his neck, "his name was Paolo. Paolo Zinteni. He's part of the, uh… I think it was the Canadian mob that worked under the Mafia family here. Can't believe he's still alive, to be honest. He's at least ten years older than us- ages well, so he's got that goin' for him if nothin' else at least. Heh, though I guess nobody will be able to tell now…"

Ford flinched at the reminder of what he'd done and Stan winced at the tactless words. Stick to the past, moron.

"Right, anyway," He cleared his throat a little awkwardly, "I ran into him and his goons a couple months after what happened in Columbia- you remember that one. I think I was try'na keep my nose clean? Yeah, didn't work that way. Guess word spreads when popular guys like Rico get outsmarted by scrappy kids.

"Anyhoo, I ran into him and they'd heard'a me, so naturally they offered me a job. It a… I didn't wanna do it- at least I think I didn't? Whatever, they convinced me, or forced me- the details are a little fuzzy there. Hm…"

Stan let his gaze drift to Ford, looking to gauge his reaction so far to see if he should continue as he realized the memory was drifting into territory they hadn't exactly gone into great detail on during their previous discussions about their first decade apart. By the looks of it, Ford was either actually taking it fine or faking it well. Whatever the case, Stan took it as an okay to keep going.

"They had me as a mule or somethin'- don't really remember much on that..."

A lie, and probably one Ford saw right through, but Stan didn't want to burden his brother with the details. Hell, he didn't want to mention the details when just thinking about having to swallow those balloons was making his stomach twist painfully. Not his fondest memories.

"But when I got back from a trip I may or may not have been stopped by the feds. I dunno how they knew who I was, but they did- actually, now that I think about it, it was probably my record. Yeah. Duh. But, uh, they picked me up and said I either tell em where Paolo's gang was, or I go to prison. I sure as hell wasn't going to prison again.

"They had me meet up with Paolo and the guys so they could follow me and make sure I wasn't setting 'em up, or somethin' like that. 'Bout halfway through the meet Paolo figured something was up and that's when things went south. I think I got stabbed- but nothing serious, obviously. Everything after that is… that's where it cut off.

"I guess after however many year he put in the big house Paolo got out, heard I died but never really forgot my face. Saw me back here and… well, mobs and mafia are like this weird, fucked up family, and they do this stupid thing where they vow or whatever, to find and kill whoever screws 'em over.

"He's got good memory. Unlike me, ha."

Ford was quiet for a beat longer and Stan said nothing because he understood it was going to take a minute for his twin to process everything. It was a lot to take in when he'd only ever hinted at some of the less pleasant parts of his life.

Sure, Ford knew about his time in that Colombian prison with Rico and Jorge. He knew how they'd tried to kill him -even if he still didn't know how- and he knew there was more he hadn't been told, but Stan would bet the million bucks he didn't have that Ford hadn't taken into account the vast amount of tough, gritty situations living on the streets put a person in.

Now, whether that was just lack of thought (and Stan knew Ford had done his best to forget him at times, so it was possible) or denial on his brother's part, he couldn't be sure.

Whatever the case, the way his hands were slowly curling and uncurling in a clearly agitated manner led Stan to believe he hadn't exactly considered how dangerous his life had been. Not that it mattered. It was all in the past, so there wasn't any need to be getting huffy over it.

Sure, Stan didn't think he'd ever forget what he'd gone through, but at the same time it wasn't something he often thought about. Those memories were buried under a mountain of newer, better ones.

Those memories were shadows in the closet, the things that went bump in the night, the monsters that occasionally had him waking in a cold sweat... But they were only memories. They couldn't hurt him now, anymore than that demon triangle could, so there was no reason to treat them like a huge deal.

It did make him wonder, though, if that was the only memory that hadn't been restored until now, or if there were more. He'd thought he'd recovered everything before, but he supposed when you forgot your entire life and the things you did remember fit into perfect chronological order, then you would think you'd remembered all there was.

Still, at the moment, it didn't matter.

When it became clear that Ford didn't quite understand the unspoken sentiment, Stan shrugged again, letting the movement catch his twin's eye as he spoke, sounding completely unperturbed.

"But hey, shit happens. It's pretty much water under the bridge at this point."

Ford said nothing yet still and Stan bit his tongue to keep from going on; there was no use blabbering when his brother was obviously absorbing the information. He was so quiet, in fact, that Stan found himself almost missing when he muttered, "I'm sorry that happened to you."

He did hear him, though, and Stan couldn't help but scoff, the sound not so much derision as it was surprised amusement, making Ford blink and frown slightly before Stan rolled his eyes.

"Quit bein' sorry for things ya can't control, Si-ah-Stanford. As far as I'm concerned, you've apologized more than enough already… for now."

The snort that the added last bit pulled from Ford made a smile tug at the corners of Stan's mouth. At least even when he was making his brother think about unpleasant things he could still get a laugh out of him. It was nice, knowing he was still good for something in regards to Ford, even when somber situations such as these dulled most of the mirth.

"Maybe so, but I am nonetheless," Ford said before his expression fell once more and he was looking out onto the water.

Stan wished he'd stop doing that since it was more annoying than anything when he was obvious about trying to hide what was running through his mind.

"Oi, don't go all mysterious, brood-master on me. What's up?"

Ford sighed heavily and tilted his head back to stare at the stars that were slowly beginning to dot the sky. Stan didn't follow his line of sight, more intently focused on the short flashes of emotion he caught as his twin spoke.

"Stan… I want to tell you why I reacted like that, but-"

"Hey, Ford, I said you don't have to-"

"But I want to. I owe you that much, don't you think? After all, you're willing to share-"

"I don't want you telling me cuz you "owe" me, Ford."

He straightened out at that, no longer leaning against the railing as he whirled on Stan, throwing his arms out in exasperation, his voice climbing higher, frustration cracking the words in a way that reminded Stan of Dipper.

"Then what do you want?"

He couldn't help it when his voice rose until he was almost yelling to match Ford's volume. "I want you to tell me because you trust me!"

"I do trust you! Wha- What made you think I didn't?"

Stan opened his mouth to reply but found no words came out when he noticed how hurt Ford seemed over his thinking he didn't trust him. It made Stan ask why he didn't just tell him earlier that week before all of this happened, but it sounded childish even in his mind. There were the occasional moments when Stan could say he knew how to act like a mature adult.

However, Ford's change in demeanor, as well as his sudden adamant desire to say what was on his mind, did beg the question: Why now? Stan decided that one was okay, so long as he worded the question right.

"Why do you want to all the sudden?"

Ford blinked owlishly.

Okay, he wasn't expecting that...

"W-what?"

Stan kept his tone level as he repeated the question.

"Why didn't you say anything earlier?"

His earlier bravado disappearing in an instant, Ford went to turn away again. He was stopped only by Stan's hands grabbing his shoulders. There was no way he was going to be allowed to get out of this now.

"Huh-uh, none of that crap," His brother flinched and Stan conceded that he had sounded harsher than he'd meant to. Taking a breath, he spoke again, sure to be soft so Ford actually listened.

"Just tell me why and I'll leave you alone- you don't have to say anything more."

Any fight that might have been present in his twin before bled away as Ford bowed his head, apparently finding sudden interest in the woodwork beneath their feet as his shoulders drooped, his fate accepted.

He was still quiet for several beats, but Stan didn't worry about pressing him any further; they had all night and he knew Ford was only collecting his thoughts, not being stubborn.

"You have to promise you won't hate me."

He felt his brain short circuit as his hold on Ford went limp and he looked at his brother with the most baffled expression he'd ever worn in his entire life. A strained sound eventually made it past his lips that Ford would likely later describe as the keen of a dying Banthar and it took Stan a minute to realize he was laughing, which in turn would explain the odd way his twin was eyeing him.

And he knew this wasn't funny, but for the life of him he couldn't stop himself, because of all the reasons Ford could have had for keeping to himself, that was the one Stan had least expected. So… maybe it was a little funny.

"Me? Hate you. Jeez, Ford, relax!"

"I'm not- I'm… being serious, Stanley."

He knew that. He knew Ford was being serious, but the small voice coming out of his brother helped to drive home just how serious. This wasn't like when they were kids, and the "of course I won't hate you" sentiment wasn't implied like he'd thought it was… Ford... really did need to know.

He really thinks I could hate him?

"Ford," Stan sighed heavily to kill any nervous, residual laughter, before looking his twin in the eye. "I promise I won't. I thought after everything we've been through it would be pretty obvious that I could never hate you. If I was gonna hate you don't ya think I woulda done it a long time ago?"

Ford shook his head a little harder than necessary and Stan resisted the urge to roll his eyes even while something weighed heavy in his gut. He didn't believe him… did he? Stan had always thought his brother had hated him on some level or another that he never spoke of, but not once had he entertained the thought that Ford might think he thought the same.

"At the very least you'll no longer trust me."

"Bullshit," Stan stated without thinking about it, "But okay."

"Y-You won't see me the same as before…"

"Well, with these cataracts and screwed up lens I'm not really seeing anything the same."

It was a poor attempt to lighten the mood and both men knew it but Stan could think of nothing else to do. Ford was obviously having a not-so-internal battle over what he was trying to do and say, and everything coming out of his mouth sounded more like he was trying to convince Stan he didn't want to hear anything more.

It was as if he didn't believe Stan when he'd said he really didn't need to hear an explanation, and even if he was telling him he trusted him and wanted to tell him, Stan wasn't so sure. He couldn't be certain, though, because they'd encountered plenty of instances in which Ford put off saying what he wanted for as long as possible and took every road he could think to avoid it; Stan knew where his trust issues stopped, Ford's kept going and it took much longer for his brother to feel comfortable letting his inner thoughts known, even around people he'd known for years.

Or maybe he was trying to dispel his own fears by letting Stan shoot them down.

"I'm serious, though," He added when it was clear Ford was having trouble deciding where to go from there, "You don't have to tell me anything. I get it, and I won't be mad. And I definitely won't hate you."

"Heh," Ford dragged a hand through his hair, releasing his breath in a heavy sigh. "I know. Of course, yes. I just- ahem. Yes. Okay, um-"

Stan gave his twin's shoulder a reassuring squeeze and Ford cleared his throat again, turning his attention back to the sky as if searching for help amongst the stars. When he started, Stan made conscious effort to stay put and not lean forward into his personal space in an attempt to get a listen at his brother's thoughts.

When Ford did speak, he kept his face towards the cosmos, and Stan wouldn't have been surprised if he was allowing himself to get lost in them, letting the words tumble from his mouth but not registering exactly what he was saying. He did that sometimes, when he was explaining complex things over and over in as layman's of terms as he was able to get.

"I've done… many things I regret, as you already know. I'm sure after… earlier, you can imagine what some of those might have been."

Nodding slowly and feeling his throat suddenly go dry at the recent memory, Stan swallowed. He could guess where Ford was going with this, but if the churning in his gut is anything to go by he wasn't going to want to hear it. Yet he didn't dare interrupt, and Ford, unaware of what wasn't spoken, kept going.

"I tried to avoid hurting anyone for as long as I could, but it seemed for every good dimension I came across there were five more that wished me ill. Bill had a bounty -an entire galaxy - on my head, I had to learn to defend myself. I-I had to survive, Stanley. I needed food, shelter, someone to turn a blind eye so I could pass safely through. I did what I had to do and-"

"Whoa, whoa, Stanford, you're making no sense now. Slow down." Stan brought his hands up in a clear message to stop. He could hear the panicked edge his brother's words had started taking as he sounded more and more like he's trying to defend himself before he'd even said anything detrimental.

Ford looked embarrassed and swallowed nervously. "Sor-"

"It's fine, don't apologize."

Stan was so tired of hearing him apologize when he'd done nothing wrong. It was practically a reflex now, which was as upsetting to him now as it was during their childhood.

Once his brother collected his thoughts further, Stan was relieved to note he sounded less unsure in what he was saying, like he'd gotten a plan for the speech in mind mapped out. Good. Ford with a plan was... well he hated to say "easier", but it was true. Hysterical Ford was just hard to manage- always had been.

"You saw what I did to those men."

The vehement emphasis on the word "men" didn't go unnoticed, but for the sake of the conversation Stan ignored it.

"Yeah."

"You realize if… if you hadn't interfered I would have-"

"Yeah," Stan interrupted. He could tell Ford hadn't wanted to finish that sentence; his fidgeting had gotten worse. The two shared an understanding nod before getting back on track.

"I've… done worse, Stan."

Stan wasn't all that sure he wanted to ask Ford to elaborate, but his mouth apparently ran with his thoughts before he could stop it. "...How much worse?"

"I…" Ford paused to breathe and Stan did his best not to twitch, feeling antsy even though he was fairly certain he already knew what his twin would say.

"Stanley, I can't tell you everything- not yet, anyway. 30 years is..."

"A long time."

"Mm," He nodded when Stan finished for him.

The silence that proceeded after was like a heavy quilt, smothering and much too hot in spite of the cold nighttime air, but Ford's eyes had taken a distant look to them that had Stan knowing if he wanted his twin to keep talking he'd have to get his attention.

Not that that was ever difficult. Nope. Never. It wasn't like Ford's mind ran a mile a minute or anything.

"Ford?"

The man startled and Stan winced apologetically, not having realized how zoned out he'd become, even though he really should have. Ford recovered quickly, though, and went on as if he hadn't stopped.

"Before I say anymore, I just- you need to know I did what I felt necessary to survive."

That was never a good way to get into things, Stan knew that all too well, but he could see where his brother was coming from and he let Ford know that. "I get it, Ford, and I'll understand, whatever it is."

Bad promise, moron! What if you don't get it?

Shut up.

Stan was already more than aware that what it was had the potential to be twice as bad as what he'd been putting together, because not only was Ford scared to the point of having a panic attack, but Stan knew firsthand the lengths people would go to when they felt they have no other choices for survival.

"Families, Stanley. Women. Children . Anyone who came too close… or seemed threatening. You saw how I was after everything with him . I'd be lying if I said I'd never gotten to that point again once or twice. Worse. Sometimes..."

Ford trailed off but there was no explanation needed to what he was referring to, what he was talking about. It wasn't difficult to put two and two together.

Still, there was something he was trying to say, and yet kept stopping himself before he could get to it. Stan couldn't help but tilt his head and make a questioning noise that had Ford catching his gaze and blurting out the words before he could prepare himself to hear them.

"I didn't always hate it. I was feral! " Ford spit the word like poison even while he choked on it, a hand shooting to cover his mouth.

The shock that hit Stan when the words sunk in had him grabbing the nearby rail for support. The thought of Ford actually killing someone, whether it was self defense or no, would've been almost comical just yesterday, but now… now it left a pit in his stomach. The fact that Ford had gotten to a point so low that he'd felt he had to was… it pained him. Nobody was supposed to reach that level of desperation,especially not his family.

At least now the way Ford had fought, his movements fluid, perfect like he'd done it a million times, made sense. He probably had done them a million times. To survive -for money, or food, or whatever was offered… his brother had killed people (aliens?) and even if it was staggering, it wasn't the worst revelation Stan had been expecting.

And hey, Stan had had his fair share of feeling good after hurting someone if it meant he got to live another day, so there was no way he would hold that against his brother. Though, Ford probably hadn't realized all he'd been feeling was a weird mixture of triumph and relief, and that was why he thought he'd liked it. After all, Ford overthought everything negative that happened to him until he had some sort of insanely guilty conscience thing going. For a genius, he could be such an idiot.

Still, it was hard to think about Ford doing anything like that, especially when the only images wanting to flash through Stan's mind then showed the side of his brother that laughed at puns, and loved cuddling the kids, and stayed up all night researching, but chastised Stan when he found him awake at the same hours.

The Ford that purred like a giant old cat when he was content, and did everything within his power to keep those around him safe, whether he knew them or not.

The Ford that hadn't left his side while he'd been getting his memories back even though he could have.

Yet on the other hand Stan kept seeing the other sides of Ford. The ones that only now made sense, the parts that Ford tried to hide but didn't always succeed in doing. The Ford that watched everyone's movements cautiously, the one that growled like some kind of animal when he perceived he was being threatened, the one that jumped at shadows and spewed wild strings of violent curses, both in languages belonging to Earth and not, when he was working and thought nobody could hear him…

The one that could take down multiple armed assailants and almost beat one to death without flinching.

Yes, it made sense- in fact it made so much of the puzzle click into place it was amazing.

Why Ford had deflected the Portal conversations over and over and gotten so defensive whenever Stan didn't leave it alone, why he'd been so scared to tell Stan anything regarding those days.

He understood now, and he both did and did not want to.

It became clear in a way Stan had never thought it would, and while the revelation was disturbing to say the least, Stan found he wasn't at all upset like he'd expected he would be, and that fact didn't surprise him like it should have.

After all, he had seen his own experiences and how they'd made him act in the past in some of Ford's actions before. He just hadn't acknowledged them.

Hell, he'd seen himself in that horrifying grin as Ford had been pummeling Paolo, and Stan didn't like to admit what that said about his character any more than he liked to think about what it said about Ford's.

Yet, it wasn't a world shattering discovery, and it certainly wasn't enough to make Stan hate his brother or even view him all that differently; he was still Ford. He was still a huge nerd who loved long coats way too much and was obsessed with his anomalies. Now he just had… "asskicker who was pretty awesomely terrifying when you pissed him off" added to the list.

Yes, what Ford had just disclosed was upsetting, but not in the way anyone would have expected. It was upsetting because it almost physically pained Stan to think about how awful things must have been for Ford to believe he had no other option; how scared his brother must have been. Because if his own life on the streets could measure up to even half as bad as the Portal… Stan didn't want to think about what that meant for Ford.

The fact that his brother obviously felt such remorse for his feelings and actions that he was so broken up to the point he'd convinced himself Stan would hate him was what really drove the stake through Stan's heart, and had his throat tightening, though.

He would never - never - think ill of his brother for protecting himself… Ford should have known that. Had he not made it clear enough to his twin? Had he needed to do a better job after those times calming Ford down after the kids had gone home?

Or did Ford truly think that little of himself when he was in that state of mind?

If so, it only spoke all the more volumes as to who his brother really was:

He was still Ford.

That's what it boiled down to.

Yes, he'd killed people, but he'd done it for reasons he considered imperative to survival, and considering Stan had done his fair share of questionable things for the sake of staying alive (and even after he was safe), who was he to judge?

And what had happened earlier… Stan had already made peace with the fact that Ford had been protecting him. That was all that mattered.

The only unfortunate thing about everything, though, was that he'd said zero of his thoughts aloud, and it wasn't until Stan heard Ford tentatively say his name, fear lacing the his voice heavily, that he realized he hadn't said anything for quite awhile.

Stan meant to lead with something deep and meaningful to let his brother know everything was fine, because he knew how sensitive he needed to be; Ford had bared a part of himself to him that he could've kept secret.

But, as per usual as of late, the only word his throat actually produced was more of a sound, and not at all what he'd meant to say.

"Huh."

The way Ford suddenly blanched and repeated the word back to him in a way that sounded numb and broken had Stan fighting off panic.

Shitshitshit! Say something! You moron!

"No, wait, that's not what I wanted to say! Just, uh…"

Ford looked on the verge of tears at that point and Stan felt his heart clench painfully at the sight. It wasn't often nowadays that his twin allowed himself to cry, and when he did Stan knew he'd better be prepared for at least an hour of quality time (usually in some form of cuddling) afterward.

Thankfully, Ford held it in at least long enough for Stan to get his voice working again.

"Look, remember how I said with those guys how it was water under the bridge? Well, that goes for you too- even though you didn't do anything to me... well, anything like that. Ugh, no, ignore that, that was stupid. Uh, what I mean is..." Stan scowled at the floorboards, willing the correct words to come to him.

Nothing.

Figures.

Stan scratched the back of his neck. How to start? What was it that Mabel always said? "Start from the beginning. Speak from the heart. Word-vomit is better than no vomit at all!"

He sure hoped she was right.

"Look, what you did in the past… it's in the past . It doesn't define you and it doesn't change who you are now. And… who you are is my brother . I know you'd never hurt me. You protected me. If you hadn't I'd be- yeah. And I could never hate you for surviving. If I'm pissed with anyone, I'm pissed with Bill! If he hadn't done anything to you in the first place…"

"I let him," Ford said.

"Doesn't matter!" Ford looked away and Stan snapped his fingers to bring his attention back, "Hey, it doesn't. I don't care if you let him or if he forced you. Point is, cuz of him, bad things happened. But what happened to you, it's not your fault. None of this is your fault."

The slight tremor in his brother's hands didn't go unnoticed and Stan swallowed the lump in his throat. The fact that Ford still harbored so much guilt for things that had been out of his control once set into motion was hard to see. He wasn't supposed to look how Stan felt most days. It wasn't right, and he just wanted to make it better.

"I'm not mad, and I don't blame you, Sixer. If anything I should be thanking y- oof! "

The wind was knocked out him when Ford barreled into his chest, but he couldn't care too much as he wrapped his arms around his brother to holding him steady. There it was. That was much, much better.

The small shuddering breaths that escaped from where Ford had his face buried in his shoulder served to make Stan squeeze harder, and when he felt twelve fingers grasp his shirt tightly the younger twin smiled, muttering quiet reassurances until the last of the tension in Ford's shoulders bled away.

Stan had expected that reaction from his brother, but what he hadn't expected was just how completely relieved Ford was to not have been pushed away. It made Stan want to keep hold of him for the remainder of the night and protect him from the voices in his head that had led him to think he would be rejected; made him want to shield him from the demons that haunted him still.

It had been a long time since Stan had felt that need to protect his twin, but it felt… almost good to have that back. The fact that Ford was willing to allow the comfort was pleasant as well. It had been too long since they had clung to each other like that. Much too long.

They stayed like way for some time, until the moon had risen high enough to cast a cool glow on them from above; Stan just holding Ford and listening to his even breathing and feeling his heart beating almost in time with his own. Ford occasionally mentioned how it was probably getting late but never made any attempt to severe the contact and head back to the motel.

When Stan did finally release his brother it was only because Ford had begun nodding off and nearly collapsed in his arms.

" Ack! Oi, Ford, wake up!"

"Wha-? Oh!"

To his credit, Ford did wake up- Stan just wished he'd had the sense to not move as quickly as he had, because the ringing in his ears caused by Ford's head slamming into his jaw wasn't exactly pleasant. The metal plate in his head hadn't helped any either.

"Sorry," Ford immediately mumbled, fixing his glasses before they could slide off his nose completely.

Stan waved it off and stifled a yawn, "'S fine."

"Maybe we should go get some rest before we head out tomorrow," Ford suggested with a barely contained yawn of his own, "You look exhausted."

Stan stared incredulously at his brother before dissolving into a short fit of laughter.

Of course Ford would never admit he was tired. It was an act long perfected since childhood and Stan couldn't help but grin when he realized it hadn't been forced either; Ford was being genuinely normal again… as far as his standards for that sort of thing went with him. He wasn't faking being okay for Stan's sake, he wasn't reacting negatively to what had been discussed… He was okay.

In fact, Stan was tempted to go so far as to say that when he caught Ford's eyes, his twin appeared at peace.

Of course, he knew they hadn't solved all of their problems yet, and that there were still plenty of things they'd both yet to reveal, plenty of skeletons in their closets, but now, knowing Ford trusted him with the past just as much as Stan trusted him… it made the road ahead a lot less daunting.

So it was with playful nudge to Ford's side and a knowing look, that Stan replied.

"Stanford, ya read my mind."

A/N: The end. I hope it lived up to expectations and that you are satisfied with this ending.

Man, this was truly a ride, guys. Thank you to everyone read this and stuck with it! I couldn't have done it without your support and truly wonderful words of encouragement. You're all the best, really.

There will be plenty more you will see from me, but until then, seeya, friends.

Stay Nerdy.