"I'm giving you the chance to do the first worthwhile thing in your life, and you won't even listen!"

Stan had stormed out when Ford said that. His brother's words haunted him because they confirmed what he's feared all along: his brother, his former best friend, believes he's never done anything worthwhile in his life. Anything and everything Stan ever did, he did for his family, and his own brother thought he was worthless.

And he was right. Stan has known it all along. All his lying, cheating, and stealing amounted to nothing. He finally had the one chance to have his brother back, and he ruined it. He should have just done what Ford wanted. They'd be apart, sure, but at least Ford would care about him again.

He shivered and tried to bundle his jacket more tightly only realize it wasn't there. He left it at Ford's house.

Great, now he had to go back and admit to that smug nerd that he left his jacket behind like the moron he was. He hoped Ford would be gracious enough to let him get his jacket so he didn't freeze to death.

Then again, would his brother even care? For all he knew, Stan could have been dead these past ten years, and he nearly was many times. Those times he faced death, whether by someone else's hand or his own, he asked himself if anyone would miss him if he was gone. Ford always came to mind. It was a flimsy hope but one that gave Stan the will to survive.

Maybe he should just bite the bullet and risk the trek back to town, but it seemed just as futile. No one would care if he didn't make it back. So, why should he?

"I'm giving you the chance to do the first worthwhile thing in your life…"

Why should he?

"I'm giving you the chance to do the first worthwhile thing…"

There was still one worthwhile thing he can do.

"…first worthwhile thing in your life…"

He will rid the world of Stanley Pines for good.

He fell to his knees. He scooped the snow into a pile like how he used to make a snowman. He used the pile as his pillow as he laid on his back. He extended his arms and legs like when he used to make snow angels. But he didn't move. He was still as death.

Since he rarely had a roof over his head, he had to regulate himself to warm, southern states. He hadn't seen snow in years. He always loved the snow. Because of his dangerous life, Stan thought his inevitable demise would ultimately be more gruesome. Freezing to death didn't seem like a terrible way to die. It'll be easy, like going to sleep. He had fallen asleep in the cold plenty of times. All he had to do was let his body go numb.

—

Ford was getting worried. He held the jacket that Stan had forgotten when he stormed off. He had gotten concerned when Stan didn't come back right away. It was freezing out here. How could Stan not notice he didn't have it? He'd have to come back eventually, right? He decided to go after Stan and meet him halfway.

As Ford searched for his brother, he had time to contemplate his actions. He regretted his harshness towards his brother. In retrospect, he should have understood why Stan would get upset. He hadn't seen him in years, and he summoned him out of nowhere to do him a favor — a favor asking him to go away from him once again. He at least owed Stan an explanation.

Ford saw something up ahead. It was a person lying on the ground.

"Stanley?" Ford went to the fallen individual's side. It was Stanley. "Stanley, are you okay?"

Stan gave several blinks before finally acknowledging his brother. "What are you doing here?"

"You forgot your jacket, knucklehead." Ford tried to put it on him, but Stan swatted at him.

"Leave me alone."

"Stanley, I need to get you out of the cold." Ford tried to help his brother up, but he rebuffed him once again.

"Go away."

"Stanley, do you want to freeze to death?"

His brother said nothing. Ford's insides twisted as the horrifying implications of Stan's silence set in. "No…no, Stanley, you can't…"

"Why not?" Stan snapped. "It's not like I've done anything worthwhile, right?"

Ford's eyes widened as he realized how cruel his words were as they were thrown back at him. His brother felt like his life was worthless — because Ford had basically told him so.

"You don't have to pretend to care, Stanford. Just go back to your mysteries. I'll be out of your life soon enough."

Stan turned away and waited for Ford to walk away and abandon him for the last time. Instead, he came around to lay down in front of Stan.

"What are you doing?" Stan asked.

"I'm not leaving without you."

"And what? Die with me?"

"If you won't come with me, then…"

"Then what?"

"I came into the world with you. I can leave this world with you too."

Stan couldn't believe this. First, Ford dismisses him as worthless. Now, Ford was playing chicken with his life for him? He can't take much more of this emotional tug of war.

"Are you serious?" Stan could always tell when Ford was bluffing. Ford was a terrible liar. He could see in his eyes that Ford was 100% willing to die alongside his brother. "You're serious."

Ford gave him no choice. Stan begrudgingly sat up. He held out his arms so Ford could put on his jacket. Ford helped him up, but when he stood, Stan's body seized up and collapsed.

"Stanley, come on. Get up," Ford said calmly to try and conceal the underlying panic.

"I…I can't." The cold settled deep into Stan's bones. It paralyzed him.

"It's alright, I'll help you." Ford put his brother's arm around his shoulder to support him as they walked back.

Stan collapsed once again, nearly knocking Ford over as well. "I don't think I can make it, Ford."

"Yes, you can. Just hold on a little longer. I'll get you nice and warm, okay?" Ford helped him up again now entirely supporting the weight of his brother. He pushed through the exhaustion because he knew every second Stan was out in the snow decreased his chance of survival.

Stan saw the house up ahead. He was so close. But he couldn't do it. His body was shutting down. He was too weak to even shiver. He didn't even feel cold anymore, just tired. The last thing he heard was Ford's panicked voice begging him to stay awake.

—

The next time Stan woke up, he was delirious. He tried to process everything that was happening around him. He was lying down. There was someone standing above him. That person reached his hand towards him. Stan instinctually flinched as the only physical contact he's had the last ten years was people trying to harm him. He tried to move away but found something heavy was tucked around him restricting his arms to his side.

"Lie still, Stanley."

Stan continued his feeble attempts to move. But he was so weak. A hand touched his face. He whimpered expecting to be hurt.

"Shh, shh, shh, Stanley, it's okay. You're safe."

The hand didn't cause him any pain. In fact, it felt like it was gently stroking him. It felt warm compared to his cold cheek. He liked it.

Stan realized that the thing on top of him was a blanket. Did this person give him the blanket? Maybe this person meant him no harm. Even if he did, Stan wasn't strong enough to fight him. So, he kept still and offered no further resistance.

Something metallic was put in his mouth. It held a hot liquid that went down his throat. It tasted good, and it warmed his insides. Soup…he was being fed soup. Was he sick? He couldn't be sick. He wasn't the one who got sick, that was always…

"Stanford…" The name came weakly from his lips. That's who was with him: Stanford.

"It's me, Stanley. I'm here."

Ford continued to feed Stan until he broke until a coughing fit. The soup dribbled down his face. He used a napkin to wipe his brother's mouth. He thought maybe that was enough food for now.

"Ford, I…"

"Shh…" Ford pressed his finger to Stan's lips. "Go back to sleep. You need your rest."

Stan immediately obeyed Ford's order to sleep. Stan's breaths came out more smoothly. His skin felt warmer now too.

Stan had lost consciousness when they arrived. His breathing had been labored and his skin felt like ice. Because of the blizzard, Ford couldn't get him to a doctor, so he had to try to nurse his brother back to health himself. He took him to the bedroom and put him under every blanket he could find. He only left his side to make him soup which he gave him once he was at least somewhat awake.

Though Ford felt better about Stan's prospects, he still stayed by his brother's side to keep watch over him.

—

Stan was much more coherent the second time he woke up. He let out a moan prompting Ford to get up closer to his brother.

"Stanley, how are you feeling?"

Ford looked so worried. Stan remembered his brother risking his life for him, carrying him, bundling him up, and feeding him. He wasn't complaining. It was nice to be cared for, to get a warm bed and a hot meal for a change, but…

"Why? Why did you save me?"

"How could you ask such a thing?" Ford had been so afraid he was going to lose his brother. It couldn't have been a coincidence that Stan was suicidal after their fight. He would have had to live with the fact that he had pushed his brother over the edge. "Please don't ever do that again."

"I won't, I promise." Stan could never do it again now that he's seen how much it would hurt Ford. "I'm sorry."

"No, I'm the one who should be sorry. You were right, I'm selfish. I was so cruel to you. And you almost…almost…" Ford put his hand over his mouth and sobbed.

"Hey, hey, calm down, Sixer. I'm here. I'm alive." Stan put his hand on his brother's shoulder. "Thanks to you."

Ford gave him a small smile and wiped the tears from his eyes. "You should get some rest."

"Yeah, here…" Stan moved to get up. "I'll go to the couch so you can-"

"You'll do no such thing." Ford grabbed Stan's shoulders and made him lay back down. "You're sleeping here until we get you your own room."

"My…my own room?"

"Yes, your own room."

Now Stan was the one tearing up. "You won't regret taking me back, Ford. I'll get a job. I'll get two jobs. I'll help with your projects. I'll help around the house. I'll-"

"Hush now." Ford cupped his brother's face. "I don't care about any of those things. I just need my brother back."

"I need my brother back too." Stan put his own hand over Ford's. "I won't be a burden, I promise."

"If you're going to live in this house, you will never call yourself a burden or anything of the sort again. Is that understood?"

Stan was amused at how much Ford's scolding reminded him of their mother. "It's your house."

"It's our house now." Ford grabbed the covers and tucked them around Stan.

"Where will you sleep?" Stan asked as Ford sat back down in his chair.

"I'm staying here just in case."

"Ford-"

"Don't worry about me."

"You need to sleep too, nerd."

"I'm not leaving you alone."

And people called Stan the stubborn one. Then again, he'd probably be doing the same thing if the roles were reversed.

"Well, there's a bed right in front of you." Stan scooted over and lifted the blanket.

"Stanley, are you sure?"

"Don't make this weird. Just get in the bed, Poindexter."

Ford laid down next to him. He put his arm around Stan and snuggled close to him.

Stan appreciated the affection he had been deprived of for so long. But he did have a reputation to uphold. "At least buy me dinner first."

"Shut up, knucklehead."

"Thanks for doing all this for me." The warmth he felt from his brother's body drove away the last bit of cold in Stan.

"You're worth it."