“Just a pinch.” Ford says, like he always does. “And then it’s over.”
There could be anything in the syringe Ford is delicately flicking, forcing tiny bubbles to detach from the glass walls of the tube and float upwards to be expelled by a delicate tap of the plunger.
Most likely, it’s a sedative; but that just raises more questions.
Is it because they’re moving again? When it was time to leave the cabin and move into their new home of stone and flesh and eyes (so many eyes) Ford had sedated him.
Is it because Ford is going to do something scary, or painful, and wishes to spare Stan the unnecessary pain? He doesn’t always bother, but when he does, Stan has learned to be very grateful for the mercy—and he’s also learned not to ask beforehand what is going to happen. Much better to let the darkness take him and wake up…. Different, and sore, but not all that traumatized.
Is it because Ford is going to be away for a while, and Stan still can’t be trusted alone for very long? As much as he holds still, arm held out to receive another in a long line of injections, they both know his compliance will fade with his bruises. Stan has always been a slow learner.
These are useless questions anyway, since it might not be a sedative.
Could be a narcotic. Ford might just want to see Stan giggling and stupid, pointing up at the ceiling like the stars he hung there are beautiful.
Maybe it’s poison. Maybe he’s finally had enough of Stan, maybe he’s run out of Ford’s patience and willingness to forgive, and this is the end. Stan hopes if that’s the case, it’s at least peaceful. Like falling asleep.
Hell, it could just be a multivitamin shot. Or medicine for some alien STD Ford caught from Bill that he’s passed on to Stan.
Could be saline. Could just be that it’s been a while since the last time and Ford’s been itching to get under Stan’s skin, make sure his mark is fresh.
If that’s the case, Stan thinks he could stand to slow down. The insides of Stan’s elbows are both scarred to shit, old syringe scars littering the veins. He hasn’t *quite* healed enough on the inside of either arm, which means this is going to hurt like hell.
Ford must catch his expression, because he pauses, tilts his head, and quietly murmurs Stan’s name.
“Huh?” Stan asks, looking up quickly, first to the golden necklace around his throat (a much more elegant collar than Stan’s, to be sure, but that’s the difference between purebreds and mutts, as Bill so often points out) and then to his eyes, deep brown, but framed with gold.
Ford is so often dripping with the gold that Stan chased all his pathetic life, and all it cost was the world.
“I asked if you’re alright.” Ford repeats.
“Oh. Yeah. Just…” Stan starts, and wishes he didn’t, because it’s useless. But now he *has* to finish, because Ford probably thinks he’s trying to get out of it or something. Stan shakes his head, and holds out his arm. “Just bracing for impact. Last one ain’t quite healed.”
“I see.” Ford pauses, and checks both arms, then looks at Stan with a smile. “Well. I know one site that I haven’t used in years.” He says, and glances at Stan’s neck.
Stan feels a chill go up his spine and settle around his neck as he remembers the very first time Ford had stuck him with a needle. The fear, the adrenaline, the realization that he could be fucking dying and there’s nothing he could do…
Stan takes a breath, and shifts to hold his long hair out of the way, tilting his neck to the side.
“Always with the bright ideas, Six.” Stan smiles, and there’s a touch of unease, but only a touch.
No one can stay afraid forever.
Ford smiles back boyishly, somehow managing to retain an innocence Stan isn’t sure he ever had, and there’s a pinch, and
then
it’s
over.
AAA this is lovely, wish i could published it earlier. Domestic Stans but is Ford being a creep once again, amazing.
also, if someone hasnt see it this is based in this comic tysm buddy to make it even better with this amazing fic
