When Stan and Ford are kids, they snuggle. At first it was only when the other had nightmares, but it quickly becomes an every night thing. One of them will crawl into his brothers bed and cuddle up to him, and they’ll drift to sleep like that until morning.
It stays that way until they’re teenagers, and hormones make things awkward; nothing makes a situation awkward faster than waking up with your brothers morning wood against your ass.
And then Stan is gone, kicked out of the house and probably sleeping in a car, and Ford is left lying longingly in his bed, wishing more than anything that Stan could crawl in next to him.
Years pass, and then it’s Ford’s turn to vanish, sucked into his mistake of an invention with no way of getting home, leaving his brother more alone than he’d felt in years. It takes decades, but he gets him home.
He thinks maybe they hate each other. Or maybe Ford just hates him; he doesn’t think he’s capable of hating his brother anymore. He tried that for too long, and he’s long since accepted that he’s miserable without him.
It takes a while, but soon enough that’s fixed too, and they’re on the Stan O’War 2, setting off to sail around the world together like they’d always dreamed.
Their first night is uncomfortably quiet; it’s the first time they’ve slept in the same room in almost forty years, and they can both feel the empty space in their bunks like it’s a burning hot ember pressed to their skin.
“Stan..?” Ford is the one to break the silence, and Stan hates that he flinches in surprise.
“Yeah?” He answers. Ford hesitates, and Stan can practically hear the gears in his head turning. “Spit it out, Sixer.” He urges. The other man sighs, and his voice is quieter than before when he finally speaks again.
“Can I come down there..?”
Stan’s throat is suddenly dry, and he swallows thickly and nods his head, despite knowing Ford can’t see him.
“Yeah.”
He hears Ford’s sigh of relief, and then hears shuffling as his brother wiggles to the edge of the bed to climb down. Stan shuffles himself closer to the wall, and then the bed dips; he knows from instinct Ford is resting his knee on the edge of the bed.
“You’re sure it’s okay?” He murmurs, and Stan nods again in spite of himself.
“Please.”
Ford doesn’t hesitate again, nodding to himself as he shifts to lie down next to Stan, on his side so he can face him. There’s a moment of silence, before Ford manages a weak, awkward chuckle.
“These beds always seemed so much bigger back then.”
“Well, we were a lot smaller back then.” Stan replies easily, and Ford hums softy in agreement.
“True.”
Silence falls over them for a few minutes, and Stan bites his lip. Ford had come this far, it was only fair for him to meet his brother halfway. That in mind, he reaches his hands out and gently grasps Ford’s shirt. He then wiggles forward, enough that he can feel their knees pressed together.
“I know you didn’t come here to stare at my nose in the dark.” Stan teases, and Ford manages a more genuine chuckle at that.
“No, I suppose not.” He admits, slipping his arms easily around his brother and tugging him into his chest. Stan gives a surprised yelp, and Ford snorts a laugh.
“Jesus Ford, muscle enough?”
“Finally, the tables have turned.” The genius whispers into his brothers ear, and Stan can’t help the shiver that ripples down his spine.
His hands tighten in Ford’s shirt, and he takes the last step and pushes his face gently into Ford’s throat.
“You smell like home.” He mumbles, and Ford’s heart twists.
“I am home. I’m home. I’m not going anywhere, ever again.”
Stan sighs contentedly at that and nods his head, nestling closer so he can properly wrap his arms around Ford.
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“Stanley?” Ford asks suddenly, totally out of the blue, and his brother turns his head to glance at the genius over his shoulder.
“Yeah?”
“How long did it take you to get to me when you got my postcard?” He asks, and Stan’s stomach lurches unpleasantly.
“Uh. Little under 20 hours, why?” He responds hesitantly.
“Didn’t you ever wonder how I knew where you were? What I wanted? You just jumped in your car and came here after what I did-“
“Of course I wondered.” He interrupts gruffly, pointedly keeping his back to Ford. “I still wonder. As for what you wanted, I thought maybe you were in trouble, or you-“ He breaks off, coughing uncomfortably and shaking his head. “Don’t matter what I thought. You were in trouble, and ya hated me so I knew you musta been in deep if you were calling me of all people.”
Silence rings uncomfortably through the shack, broken only after what feels like ten minutes by Ford’s pained whisper.
“You thought I hated you?”
At that, Stan spins around so he can shoot his brother a scathing look.
“‘Course ya did, sixer. I lost you your chance at yer nerd school. You don’t have to lie to me. I saw your face when I called for a high-six and ya closed the curtains on me. It was crystal clear.” He averts his gaze again, tears pricking uncomfortably at his eyes, stomach twisting unpleasantly in his gut.
“Stan-“
“It’s fine.” He interrupts, exhaling gruffly and turning his back to his brother once again. “Doesn’t matter anymore.”
Ford stares at him in silence for a moment, hand outstretched to reach for Stan, but eventually it falls to hang limply at his side.
“Why did you come?” He whispers. “If you thought I hated you, then why..?”
“I thought you needed me.”
“I did.”
“I know.”
The silence returns, and neither wants to be the first to break it. Eventually Ford caves.
“I traced the pay-phones.”
“Huh?”
“When you’d call me at all hours of the night.. I would trace the numbers so I knew where you were.. knew if you were near anyplace dangerous.”
Stan snorts out a skeptical laugh.
“Good thing I never called you from prison then. Mighta given you a heart attack.”
Ford is quiet, unsure how to respond to that. He bites his lip, gaze firmly trained to Stanley’s back, and he sighs softly before he speaks again.
“I’m sorry, Stanley. If I’d tried to be more understanding back then, maybe things would be different-“
“I didn’t go there to break your invention, Ford. I know you probably won’t believe me, but I didn’t break it on purpose. I was complaining to myself and punched the desk. When I left it was still spinning.” He sighs, lifting a hand to push up his glasses and pinch the bridge of his nose. “I just..”
“.. Stanley?” He prompts.
“I didn’t want you to leave. I didn’t want to lose my brother- my best friend. You were gonna go off to some fancy shmancy school and I was going to be stuck home with dad, being a disappointment to everyone. I didn’t want to hold you back, but.. I didn’t want to lose you. And I know you wanted to lose me.”
Ford’s chest twists unpleasantly as he recalls that perhaps, way back in high school, there had been a time when he had resented Stan for copying his papers and work. Thinking back he has to be honest with himself, the thought of bringing Stan with him to university hadn’t even crossed his mind back then; all he wanted was to get away. Make their dad proud.
“Stan, I-“ He breaks off, tossing words around in his head, unsure what he even wants to say.
“That’s what I thought.” Stan mumbles, and Ford feels his heart splinter in his chest.
Stan shifts and takes a few quick steps toward the stairs, and Ford panics, desperately hoping to keep his brother from walking away right now, and blurts the first question that comes to his mind.
“What.... what did you hope I wanted?” He whispers weakly, and Stan stops and laughs, a soft and watery noise that feels more like a cry.
“That maybe you’d forgiven me, and you still wanted to sail around the world on the Stan O’ War.”
Ford’s mouth hangs open in surprise, and his eyes burn with the sting of tears building up.
“Stan-“
“It’s okay Ford, s’not important.”
He turns again to walk away, and this time Ford scrambles forward and grabs him.
“Come here, you stupid old man.”
Without giving Stan a chance to yank himself free, Ford turns him around and pulls him into a hug. Stan goes rigid in his arms, and Ford squeezes him as tight as he can without hurting him, pushing his face into the crook of his brothers neck.
He inhales deeply, and feels sick. Stan smells like home, and Ford’s throat tightens as he struggles to stay composed. Stan still isn’t moving, so Ford shakes him a little without releasing his hold, stifling a shaky sob into his neck, and that seems to shake Stan out of his trance.
His arms slip around Ford, loose and unsure first, but after a moment he tightens his grip and shoves his face into his brothers shoulder, and Ford’s stomach lurches unpleasantly when he hears a muffled sob from the other man.
“I never hated you, Stan. I was a dumb kid and held onto a grudge for too long-“ His words are shaky as he rushes to get them out, hoping Stan is listening. “- I never should’ve let you leave, I should’ve gotten in that stupid car with you-“ He breaks off into a sob, trembling in Stan’s arms as the emotions he’d been struggling to shove to the back of his mind and forget all resurface. “- I shouldn’t have let that come between us, we’re best friends- brothers- you should’ve meant more to me than some stupid project- I’m so sorry Stanley.” He squeezes tighter and another sob escapes. “You came when I needed you and all I did was rip your heart out and stomp on it.”
Stan can’t seem to find anything to say, so he weakly nods against Ford’s shoulder, and Ford feels the metaphorical knife in his chest dig deeper.
“And I hit you- god, you spent thirty years trying to save me and I repaid you by punching you in the face.”
At that, Stan manages a weak giggle.
“Yeah, you did.” He agrees.
Ford pulls back slightly, and Stan takes the hint, moving so their gazes can meet. Their eyes are bloodshot and watery, glasses foggy around the edges, and Stan cracks a small half-smile that makes Ford’s heart stutter in his chest.
“Any chance I can get a do over?” He asks, and Stan raises a skeptical eyebrow.
“What, so you can say ‘oh thank you Stanley for spending thirty years of your life learning theoretical physics to bring me home’?” He teases, and Ford shrugs.
“Something like that.”
Stan searches his gaze, tilting his head slightly to the side. After a moment of tense silence, he shrugs.
“Go for it.”
With that blessing Ford swoops forward and captures Stan’s lips in a gentle kiss. The other man goes rigid in shock, eyes flying wide open, and Ford desperately hopes he hasn’t misread the situation- hopes that Stan still feels the same after forty years.
To his immense relief, Stan kisses back. His grip on Ford tightens and he drags him impossibly closer, hands clutching at his shoulders as they kiss, soothing a desire that had been festering for four decades.
When they finally separate, Ford leans forward and gives Stan a quick peck on the lips before speaking.
“Thank you, Stanley.” He says gently, and Stan’s eyes open once more to meet Ford’s gaze, surprise clear in them. “Thank you for coming to me when I needed you, despite how we parted ways. Thank you for never giving up on me. Thank you for spending thirty years teaching yourself theoretical physics and rebuilding the portal so you could bring me home. Thank you for being you.”
Stan’s mouth hangs open in shock, eyes wide, and it takes him a moment before he lurches forward to drag his brother back into a tight, bone crushing hug. Ford hugs back just as tight, and Stan hugs out a laugh.
“You’re welcome sixer. I’d do anything for you, you know that, right?”
“I do.” He replies earnestly. “I do. I love you, Stanley.” He squeezes him gently as he says it.
troublewrites answered your question:ive been having issues keeping my new helix...
Clean it more often. My triple forward helix is the only piercing I clean multiple times w eek, and it’s usually around 4 or 5 times. Sometimes even as many as ten, if I’ve had an active day/put a lot of products in my hair.
i clean all three of my new piercings with saline and distilled water twice a day and once every two days with an antibacterial soap in the shower for right now since i literally got them done on saturday
Cuddly Grunkles? Like looking up at the stars or something cute like that?
“Hey, sixer?” Stan calls softly as he walks into the basement, glancing around the dark space that his brother usually resides in. There’s a bang from across the room and a bewildered shout, and then Ford stumbles into view, grease smeared across his hands and his face.
“Stanley? What brings you down here?”
“I wanted to take you somewhere.” he replies, glancing in the direction Ford had come from. “Can you take a break for the night, or…?”
He leaves the sentence hanging, leaving Ford room to back out, but the other man shakes his head and smiles.
“Sure.” he wipes his hands on the dirty apron covering his body as he steps closer to his brother, arching an eyebrow. “What’s the plan.”
“Well, you’ve been locked up down here since you got here.” he replies, shrugging his shoulders. “I thought maybe you would want to come stargazing with me?” Stanford stiffens slightly and Stan continues quietly. “Like we used to when we were kids..”
Silence rings through the basement, and it’s broken by Stanford clearing his throat.
“Sounds good.” he replies, and Stanley visibly relaxes. He waits a few minutes for Stanford to clean himself up, and when he returns he’s clad in his usual black jeans and red turtleneck.
Stanley snickers slightly and shakes his head, turning and leading his brother from the room and into the elevator. The ride up is silent and somewhat tense, and when they reach the first floor he leads Ford through the house, grabbing a blanket and a picnic basket on his way through the kitchen, and they climb up onto the roof.
It’s silent as Stanley lays out the blanket and takes a seat, leaning back against the slope of the roof and patting beside him for his brother. Stanford joins him and Stan hands him a Pitt Cola out of the basket he had grabbed.
“You thought of everything,” Stanford teases softly. “Except-” he breaks off when Stanley holds out a straw to him, and his cheeks flush as he takes it. “You win this round.” he mutters, and Stanley snickers.
It’s then that he allows his gaze to fall upon the sky, and he gasps softly. His memories really hadn’t done justice to the scene before him, and hes struck suddenly with the realization that he had desperately missed the night sky. None of the other skies in the other dimensions he’d been in had been quite as beautiful, and he feels a pang of sorrow that he’d been gone from it for so long.
“It’s beautiful.” he whispers unnecessarily, and Stanley hums softly in agreement, content to watch Ford’s expression of amazement as he watches the sky.
“Memories don’t do it justice.” he comments, and Stanford feels a pang in his chest. He isn’t the only one that had been missing something.
He turns to face his brother, and Stanley’s gaze is locked on him, and he’s reminded of when they were kids, and would lie in the Stan-O-War and watch the stars, their sides pressed together as they spoke softly and laughed with each other. That tradition carried on until they were separated, and he remembers long nights spent with Stanley’s arm wrapped around his shoulders, his cheek pressed against his brothers shoulder as they watched the sky.
He remembers the last time they had done that, before Stanley had been sent away. They’d been so busy that they hadn’t been able to go down to the boat in a few weeks, and so they finally set things aside to slip away together. Stan had held him tightly, and halfway through the night a shooting star had shot across the sky. He remembers blathering excitedly about it, but most of all, he remembers Stan’s wish before he gently kissed his brother.
“I wish that this would last forever.”
He swallows thickly, and Stan tilts his head, clearly wondering what his brother was thinking about. Ford shakes his head and crawls forward, and Stan’s eyes widen in surprise even as he lifts his arm for his brother to duck under. He sits, pressing himself flush against his brother, and his arm gently slips behind him while the other drapes across Stan’s stomach.
Stan coughs and his cheeks flush, but his arm gently wraps around Stanford’s shoulders, and he hums softly, head tilting so his cheek rests gently against his brothers head.
“I missed you.” Stanford admits softly, and Stan hums in response. He knows he doesn’t need to agree -his actions have made his feelings on the matter clear- but he does anyways.
“I missed you too.”
Stanford is quiet for a moment, pressing his cheek harder against his brother and nuzzling gently, earning a fond smile from Stan. Silence falls between them, Stan’s fingers gently tracing patterns on Ford’s shoulder, and Ford traces tiny patterns onto Stan’s stomach, their gazes still locked on the sky.
Stanford’s smile falters slightly when a shooting star whizzes across the sky.
“Hey, poindexter,” Stan whispers, and Ford can hear the barely concealed pain in his voice. “Remember last time we saw a-” he breaks off when Ford sits up slightly.
“Stan..”
“Yeah?”
“… I wish that this would last forever.” he whispers, and Stan’s cheeks flush, and before he can say a word Ford has their lips gently pressed together.
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Teen Stan liking girly stuff like hair clips and stocking but being too embarrassed to wear them till Ford buys him some stuff. Your thoughts?
I wrote a thing I hope it’s okay
“Hey, Stan!” Stanford calls, and he gets a noncommittal grunt in response. He smirks, and rolls his eyes. “Come here, you potato.”
“I’m not a potato!” Stanley replies, and Stanford hears a few muffled grunts before Stanley sighs. “Can’t you just come here?”
Laughter is Stanford’s response, and his brother groans pitifully, a few moments later entering the room. He kicks the door closed behind himself and heads straight over to his brother, dropping onto the bed next to him and raising an eyebrow, eyes closed as he lies on his back.
“Sup, sixer?”
“I know about your secret.” He replies, and Stan’s eyes fly open in shock, shooting straight to his brothers face. “And I got you something.”
“I don’t have a secret!” he snaps, sitting up and shoving the box back toward his brother. “No secrets here!”
“Stanley just open the box.” he snorts, holding it out, and Stan huffs but does as his brother asks, taking the box and tearing it open.
His eyes widen in surprise when he realizes that inside the box is an assortment of headbands and hair clips -some shaped like flowers, others like hearts, a few like lady bugs- and he gasps. Ford smiles timidly and and holds out another small package, and when Stan opens it, its two things: the first is a pair of black thigh high stockings, completely see-through and adorned at the hem with thin red ribbons. The other, the same but with blue ribbons.
“Ford…?” he asks tersely, confusion evident in his tone.
“I know you like this stuff, but you always try to hide it from everyone. Including me. And I understand hiding it from mom and dad, but I thought maybe getting you this stuff would encourage you to stop trying to hide it from me.” his hand gently covers Stan’s and he offers a warm smile. “I don’t see anything to be ashamed of.”
“Ford…”
Stanford shakes his head and reaches into the box, pulling out a small ladybug clip, and he gently clips it into his brothers hair, smile widening when Stan’s cheeks turn pink.
“Thank you, Ford..” he murmurs
Stanford smiles and presses his lips to his brothers cheek before getting up and slipping out of the room. “Come on, I want to get something to eat.”
Stan doesn’t hesitate to follow. It’s a few weeks later that Stan dares to try on the thigh high stockings, and he does so while in a pair of shorts. Ford is completely unprepared and chokes on his drink when Stan walks in the room in the stockings, a few clips in his hair, and drops onto the couch next to his brother.
“What are we watching?” he asks, and Stanford sputters for a moment before shrugging his shoulders.
“What do you want to watch?”
“Football.” he replies, and Ford snickers. Both freeze when the door opens and their father walks through, and Stan moves to leap off the couch, stopping a mere step away when their father calls his name.
“What the hell are you wearing?” Stan recoils slightly, unsure how to reply, and he fumbles for a response for a second.
“Leggings and hair clips?” he finally replies.
“Are you a little girl?” he hisses, and Ford stands up, earning his fathers attention.
“He’s helping me with a social experiment.” Ford replies, and his father raises an eyebrow. “How thick headed neanderthals reacts to men wearing stereotypically feminine clothing.”
If Filbrick notices the jab, he doesn’t comment. Eventually he just grunts and turns, leaving the room again.
“Thanks.” Stan whispers as they head back toward their room.
“I told you Stan,” he offers a smile as he reaches up to adjust one of his brothers clips. “It’s nothing to be ashamed of.”
I don’t know where the idea for this came from but here have old men being dorks.
"Hey, Grunkle Ford!" Dipper calls as he rushes from the elevator and through the small office space to the vacant part of the basement that the portal used to occupy. "Grunkle-" he breaks off when he spots his grunkle laying on the floor face down, completely motionless. His expression contorts in confusion. "Grunkle Ford?"
"Dipper!" he responds, voice muffled by the ground, and Dipper raises an eyebrow. "Do me a favour, would you?"
"Sure. Whats up?"
"Walk on my back." he requests. Dipper blinks.
"What?"
"Walk on my back." he repeats, and Dipper tilts his head.
"Uh.. Okay?" he walks forward and steps up onto his uncles back, walking up the length of it carefully, confusion obvious on his face, and after a moment a pitiful groan escapes the older man. "Grunkle Ford?"
"Can you grab your uncle Stan, please?"
"Okay..?" he responds slowly, and he turns and rushes from the room. When he returns, Dipper slowly follows behind the older man, and his eyes widen in surprise when Stan starts laughing as soon as he sees his brother.
"Dipper, you can go upstairs, your uncle Ford is fine." he waves a hand dismissively.
"You're sure?"
"I'm positive." Stan replies, and Dipper nods, waves, and turns and gets back into the elevator. Once he's gone, Stan approaches his brother. "Really, sixer?"
Stanford sounds frustrated when he responds.
"My back is sore and I can't get it to crack."
Stan rolls his eyes but kicks off his shoes and steps up onto his brothers back, arms held out to his sides for balance, and he carefully steps up the length of Ford's back. Beneath his feet he feels the mans spine crack, and Ford lets out a satisfied groan. Stanley snickers and turns, moving back down his back. There's another crack, and the man beneath him sighs.
"Thank you." he mumbles, and Stan grunts, stepping a little further down his back.
He remembers when they were younger and he would do this, when he stepped at the base of his brothers back, it would always crack and leave Ford feeling a lot better than before. The same with his shoulders. He turns and steps back up, and when he steps between the other mans shoulders the loudest crack yet rings out and Ford groans and practically melts. Stanley smirks and turns, walking back down and stepping on the base of his back, a crack even louder than the last sounding, and Ford whimpers weakly, practically a puddle of goo.
Stanley hops down and kneels next to his brother, and Ford has a dopey grin on his face, eyes lidded as he hums happily.
"Feel better?"
"Much, thank you."
Stan chuckles.
"You gonna get up now, or..?" he trails off and raises a brow, and Stanford shakes his head.
"I was going to do some yoga." he rolls onto his back and smirks up at his brother. "Care to join me? You used to love doing yoga with me."
Stans cheeks flush at the innuendo but he nods and agrees, lowering himself to the ground next to his brother and raising a brow, silently asking what to do. Stanford shifts so he's sitting up and wiggles his shoulders for a minute, pleased at how loose they feel, and he smiles slightly.
"Stretches like this first, and then standing up?" he offers, and Stanley nods.
At his agreement, Stanford quickly begins some simple stretches, just like the ones they did when they were younger and he would make Stan stretch with him. The time passes quickly, and Stan admits to himself that sometimes his brother makes sense, since his body feels a lot better than it usually does.
"You know," Stanford begins as he gets to his feet and Stan follows. "This would be a lot better for you if you'd take that damn thing off." he points towards his brothers stomach, and Stan turns away self-consciously.
"Oh- I- I need it." he lies.
"Stanley, I'm not an idiot."
Stan sighs and shakes his head.
"I don't want to take it off, Ford." he mutters, turning to meet his brothers gaze, and Stanford frowns slightly. "I... I'm not exactly in shape."
Ford steps forward and places his hands on his brothers shoulders, turning him to fully face him, tilting his head.
"Stanley, I'm not going to judge you." he murmurs. "Have I ever?"
"It's been thirty years." he argues softly, but Ford can tell by his tone that he's won this debate.
Stan sighs softly and steps only slightly away, fingers unbuttoning his jacket. He slips it off and tosses it aside to where Fords own jacket rests on the floor, and then pulls off his tie. It joins the jackets and after a moment so does his shirt. Ford tilts his head when Stan hesitates, but a split second later the gurdle is torn off and tossed to the side, and he turns his head away.
Stanford smiles and steps forward, lips meeting his brothers shoulder, and he smiles against it.
"Beautiful." he murmurs, and Stan flushes and scoffs. Stanford chuckles and rolls his eyes, and steps back, pulling his turtleneck off so they're both in undershirts. "There. Now we're even."
"Ford.." he murmurs and his hands reach out, gently tracing the scars covering his brothers skin. Ford smiles slightly and shrugs.
"It's alright."
"No it's not." he protests, leaning forward and pressing his lips to a particularly bad one on his brothers shoulder. "It's really not."
"It's all in the past, Stan." he assures him. When Stan steps back, Ford offers a small smile. "Yoga?"
"Do I still get to stare at your ass?"
Ford snickers and his cheeks flush, but he nods.
"If you want to."
"When don't I?" he counters, and Ford laughs again, unable to argue with that.
"Alright, alright. Let's at least stretch a little before you try to jump me."
Stan's gaze flicks down to his brothers ass and he makes a show of wiggling his eyebrows and licking his lips.
"Get started then, sixer, because you don't have long."
"Oh my god." Ford snorts, and Stan flashes a wide grin as he steps up next to him and bends over, reaching for his toes.
His gaze flicks over to his brothers ass and he smirks to himself.
"Not long at all." he mutters before he bends next to him and reaches for his toes, snickering when his brother wiggles his eyebrows once more before his glasses slip off his face and he yelps. "Nothing changes."
AU where Stan followed Ford to his fancy nerd school, and then followed him to Gravity Falls. I just wanted domestic fluff.
It’s well after lunch time when Stanford wakes up hunched over his desk, shirt stuck to his back with sweat, and he groans. He sits up and passes a hand through his hair, a noise of disgust escaping him at the feeling of the sweat soaked locks, and he adjusts his glasses, gently rubbing the imprints they'd left on his face when he had fallen asleep.
His gaze falls upon the clock, and he frowns guiltily. He should have been up more than an hour ago; he had promised Stanley some lunch. In fact, he shouldn't have fallen asleep in the first place. He sighs and gets to his feet, body automatically carrying him toward the elevator and pressing the button for the first floor, mind still distracted wondering what his brother would be doing.
When the elevator dings he walks down the short hallway and up the stairs, and slips out the entrance to his, as Stan liked to call it, lair. He makes his way through the home and into the kitchen, opens the fridge, and fishes out some meat, cheese and various other toppings for sandwiches, figuring they shouldn't eat much since it was now, thanks to him, going to be a late lunch.
The process is quick and he makes four sandwiches, two for each of them, and tucks the ingredients back in the fridge. He pauses, and then grabs a Pitt Cola for himself and a beer for Stanley. He tucks them into his pockets and grabs the plates with the sandwiches and heads back through the house, winding up on the front porch, gaze landing upon his brother several dozen feet away.
Stanley hasn't noticed his presence, his back to the house as he diligently chops wood, back drenched in sweat, and Ford notices his discarded shirt lying on the ground several feet away. He stands for a few more moments, content to watch his brother, watching his muscles flex and relax as he swings the axe, and he bites his lip. His brothers shoulders are turning red, and he's willing to bet his grant money that Stanley didn't put sunscreen on.
"Aww, for me?" he hears Stanley tease, and blinks to clear his head, realizing he had zoned out and now Stanley knew he was there. "You shouldn't have."
"Well, I could always take them back inside." he grins, raising a brow, and Stanley mocks a hurt expression as he approaches, tossing the axe to the side, blade embedding itself in the ground next to the discarded shirt.
"Looks great, sixer. Thank you." he gently takes the plate and their lips meet, and it takes Ford a moment to remember that he has a beer in his pocket for his brother.
He coughs and holds it out, and Stan beams and takes it happily, nodding his head toward the grass in an invitation for his brother to join him. Ford nods, and the two step off the porch, walking across the lawn until they're under some shade, and they sit next to each other, each completely at ease in the others presence.
"Nothing quite like a beer and a sandwich after chopping wood all morning." Stan sighs happily, eyes lidded, entire body relaxed, and Ford smiles slightly.
"Sorry it's so late. I passed out at my desk again."
"I figured. You're overworking yourself, sixer."
"I'll be fine." he scoffs, but he knows Stan doesn't believe him. He changes the topic quickly. "Did you put any sunscreen on?"
"Nah."
Ford snorts,
"When you get a sunburn, and you're in pain, don't come crying to me to rub Aloe on your back." he warns, but he knows its an empty threat. And apparently so does Stanley.
"I won't need to come crying." he chirps back, smirking at his brother. "You'll do it anyways."
He hates that he's right.
They fall into silence once more, finishing their sandwiches and drinks without a word, and when they're done Stanley shifts and leans against his brother, a content sigh escaping him.
"This is nice." he murmurs, and Ford hums in agreement.
"Do you ever wonder what it would be like if we had gone on the Stan-O-War?" he hears himself ask, and now that he's asked he isn't sure if he wants to know the answer.
He knows his brother gave up on those dreams to follow him to school, and then to Gravity Falls, and he hasn't complained about it a single time, in all the years it had been since high school. Stanley is silent, contemplating the question, and Ford almost feels sick. In spite of it all -in spite of how utterly happy he is with his life- he feels guilty. He feels guilty that he made a promise to his brother to go sailing, and they never did. He feels guilty that he took that away from his brother.
He feels guilty that his brother gave up so much to be with him. In more ways than one. He gave up kids, and marriage -having a normal life. All to be with his brother. And Ford appreciated it, and was on cloud nine, and loves Stanley with all of his heart, but he can't help but worry that Stanley wants more. More that Ford can't give him -or that Ford denied him when he was younger. Does he still think about the Stan-O-War? He hates to think about how often that question has plagued his mind and lead to sleepless nights.
"Yeah." Stanley finally replies, and Ford almost feels like he's being choked. "I mean, it was part of our life for six years." he shrugs, as if it's no big deal, and Stanford feels lightheaded with guilt. "But, do you know the main reason I wanted to go on that trip?"
"Why?" his voice sounds hollow when he asks, and Stanley shuffles closer to him, their bodies pressing more flush together.
"Because I would get to spend all my time with you." he replies honestly, gaze locked on their house. "And I get to do that now, anyways. We have a house -and it's a pretty fucking awesome one. We have a car, we have jobs -this is a good life. It's a great life." he turns, now, meeting Fords gaze. "I wouldn't change a thing."
"You wouldn't?"
"Nope." he grins, and he leans forward and presses their lips together. Ford instantly presses back. "Besides, it's not like we didn't bring her with us. As soon as you have a break from grant paperwork and nerdy things we can put her on the lake and go sailing for a bit."
Stanford nods, relaxing as he leans into Stanley’s touch.
"I admit, I'm relieved." he murmurs, and Stan hums curiously. "I was worried you had regrets."
"Nah." Stan shakes his head, nestling it into the crook of Fords neck and pressing a gentle kiss to his throat. "I'll never have regrets, sixer. Not as long as I have you."
