odyssey!✨️

Stan groans. Even though it's the least (and last) he can do, he still doesn't feel like getting scolded right now.

As he raises the phone to his ear, the voice becomes clearer.

"—up, Stanley, fuck's sake, don't leave, just answer dammit! Answer the phone, talk to me, please—"

"Hi, Six," he says quickly, before his brain can figure out it's a terrible idea. The voice goes quiet. "Sixer?" he calls again, now a little bit weirded out by the silence. "Ford, I picked up, don't you go silent on me now."

Another beat of silence. Well, Stan isn't gonna waste the precious money he put in, so he waits.

"Stan?" a now much shyer voice replies.

"Yep, that's me. Hold up, why are you asking? You already knew it was me."

"I... did," Ford replies, as if taken aback by his own words.

"Well... how are you? How's life?"

"Where are you?"

"Uhm... I'm in Louisiana at the moment, why?"

"No."

"The fuck you mean 'no'? I'm pretty sure I know where I am."

"Are you next to the sea?"

"Closeby, yeah. Why?"

"Were you in your car?"

"A few minutes ago, yeah. What's with all the questions?"

"You... d-did you almost...?"

"Whoa, hey, are you crying? What happened?"

Okay, now this is decidedly weird. Stan doesn't know how Ford knows it's him, why he's asking all of those weird questions or why he's crying right now.

One problem at a time. First, calm Ford down.

"Sixer, I need you to breathe, alright? You're not making any sense."

"No!" his brother yells, half choked by his own tears. "No, I know... y-you were— you can't—"

The sharp breath Ford takes in an attempt to keep talking makes him cough almost violently. Stan winces, noticing the ugly sounds coming from Ford's throat that threaten to close it entirely. He sighs, knowing well enough that his twin won't stop until he gets all of his words out; however, that's the last thing he needs.

"Ford, listen to me. Take a deep breath, alright? Breathe, clear your throat and then ask questions. But first, breathe."

The other does as told, but it barely lasts ten seconds before he's trying to squeeze out words again.

"No," he says, and coughs again. "No, you only put about three dollars into the phone, that's too little time."

Stan is pretty sure Ford is clearing his throat again, but he barely hears any sound at all. The world has gone quiet.

"... what did you just say?"

"Listen, you can't—"

"Answer the fucking question, Ford."

Now, Stan wouldn't consider himself a superstitious man. You won't catch him dead looking at a rabbit's foot, or avoiding walking under an open ladder, or refusing to open an umbrella in a closed space. He won't throw salt over his shoulder after accidentally knocking the shaker. He won't hide from a black cat on the street.

What Stanley Pines is, however, is a man who doesn't believe in coincidences. Call it karma, call it 'you reap what you sow', call it the consequences of your actions, call it destiny if you will, but not a coincidence. Things happen for a reason. And that reason is usually himself being a idiot.

But how the fuck did Ford know how much money he put in? He sounded dead serious when he said it, very matter-of-factly. Granted, that's how he usually speaks, but it's cristal clear when he's not sure of his words. This isn't it.

"Ford, I swear to God, tell me, now."

"I... I saw it. I saw you," he replies, quiet but honestly. "There was a fair on campus, and there was a seer in a tent, he offered free readings so I tried, and he... he showed me..."

The breathing on the other side of the line hitches momentarily. Stan finishes the sentence.

"Me, on my car, next to the beach?" he says, his voice defeated.

"Yes," Ford lets out. "I didn't believe him at first, but it was so real and... you went to get some coins for a call. A l-last call, you said." Stan closes his eyes tightly. "Y-you believe me, right? I didn't believe in Ma when we were kids, but you did, you knew they weren't just coincidences, you knew she was right sometimes, more than the average person!"

"Yeah, I believe you," Stan replies, pinching the bridge of his nose. "What do you want, then? To test if that seer was real?"

"What?" Ford asks, slowly.

"Look, he was, you've checked now. I'm here, I'm fine, so... that's that. Experiment complete."

"You... you actually, genuinely think that's why I'm calling?!" Ford's voice quickly picks up in volume, and Stan flinches. "I watched you almost drive off a cliff, I was right next to you in the passenger seat, I watched you almost kill yourself! And you think I'm just doing an experiment?!"

Stan's ear rings from his brother's yells, but he can't find it in him to put the phone away. Ford is very clearly on the verge of a panic attack, and just like about everything else, it's his fault.

"I'm sorry," Stan murmurs. "You shouldn't have seen that."

"Stop," Ford half-wheezes out. "I don't want to hear any apologies, I don't want any more words right now."

Stan feels his eyes warm up against the sea breeze. He can't say he doesn't deserve it but holy shit does it hurt. The whole point of what he was trying to do was to avoid any more pain. He almost opens his mouth to apologize again, but he shuts it again as his mind replays Ford’s words.

"I want you," his brother manages to say, "to tell me where you are right now. So I can see you."

Stan blinks, the deep pain in his chest blooming even harder with newfound anger.

"What for? So you can spit in my face in person? Look, I'm sorry for what you saw, and for everything, but th—"

"Shut up and listen!" Ford somewhat screams, the action clearly painful by the sound of it. "I want to see you. I want to see you in person, alive, and safe. I can't... I won't know if you are... if I'm not there."

"Ford..."

"No! You have to. If you don't..."

"Look, I know you're shaken right now, alright? But you don't want me anywhere near you. You're still angry with me, nothing has changed! Just breathe. I'll go to my car and park somewhere, I'll go to bed and so will you. And tomorrow you'll see things in a different way, yeah?"

"No—"

"Yes, Ford," Stan states, his voice laced with finality. "Look, things aren't different now than they were twenty minutes ago. You don't want to see me, you haven't wanted to see me in what, four or five years?" Had it really been that long? It felt both too little and a lifetime. "Even right now, we can't even talk without yelling at each other! You don't want to be near me, and I get it. Really, it's fine. I've made my peace with it." Stan sighs, in a poor attempt to cover the shakiness of his voice. "So please, just... forget what you saw, alright? I'm fine, you're fine, we just... need to go back to our lives, yeah?"

A beat of silence.

"Ford?" Stan asks tentatively.

No response.

Well, you got what you wanted, didn't you? He left, for good. What are you waiting for? Just hang—

A muffled scream cuts his train of thought. That was Ford alright, but if sounded like... well, like if someone was smothering him with a pillow. Stan can faintly hear a door and a second voice near, followed by a few "get out, GET OUT" in a very weird tone for his twin. The door closes again, and the next sound comes perfectly clean through the speaker.

A high-pitched, jarring, miserable sob.

Stan almost flinches again. He's heard Ford cry before, but never like this. It's almost movie-like in its magnitude, in how desperate it sounds. He barely has time to check in with his twin before he starts rambling.

"Stanley... just— you can't do this. You can't, you can't, don't do it, please— you can't, just— just let me help, I-I promise it's— it's going to be okay, but— you have to let me, please, let me—"

The absolute helplessness of Ford's voice is just about enough to break the dam. Stan feels the warmth in his eyes quickly turn to needles with the cold night breeze.

"Ford..."

"No, NO, there's— no time, no money, the call— it c-can cut at any moment, please tell me..."

"Ford, c'mon, don't do this to yourself."

"TELL ME WHERE YOU ARE," Ford yells, downright desperate. "T-tell me where you are, before the call cuts, s-so I can see, so I know you're okay."

"Listen man, I don't have much change left, so let's do something—"

"No, no."

"I'm gonna go back to my car and sleep, and you're gonna go to bed, yeah?"

"No."

"We both take a nap and tomorrow we'll feel better. This was a rough night. So let's sleep a little and continue with our lives."

"How do I know you're not lying?"

"You have my word, alright? As soon as you hang up, I'll go to my car and go to sleep."

"What about next time?"

"What next time?"

"Next time you decide to end your life and not to call me."

Stan falls silent while Ford keeps sniffling.

"Can you promise that? Can you swear that you won't try to do something like that again? That I won't have to hear about your death from Ma?"

Stan sighs. There's no use in lying if Ford already knows the answer.

"I know you think this an in-the-moment decision, but it isn't. I don't know what world you think we live in that I would be okay with you passing away, much less by your own doing, but that is NOT the case. Please, please tell me where to find you, because... you're right, maybe in a few days I'll remember how angry I am at you for... things that happened in the past, but right now I'm just... I'm terrified. Because if it weren't for that seer, you'd be dead right now. Dead! And I wouldn't know!"

"Ford—"

"No! Do you have any idea of what that would've been like? Because I can't. I can't believe that you're even considering actually taking your own life, and I can't, I just can't imagine you leaving like that. No mistake you've ever committed would ever compare with finding out you died. And yes, you messed up, you made mistakes that can't be fixed, that is never going to change, but I—"

Beep, beep, beep.