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The first time Stan tasted beer was with Ford on their seventeenth birthday. Sure, it was probably too young, but he felt ready for alcohol at the time. They’d only had one year left of high school, he had his own car (a.k.a. freedom from their parents), and they were ready to go out on their own. It had been a happy afternoon. Stan may have been a rebel, but he wasn’t stupid – they both had only one beer, laughed at the tipsy feeling, and made sure to sober up before returning home. He didn’t want his decisions to get Ford in trouble, especially with their father, so he was careful. They both were.
He wondered for a couple of months whether or not the drinking was a good decision. Surely someone would find out and get the both of them in a lot of trouble. After he was kicked out, however, he was glad – at least he’d had one drink with Sixer before everything was ruined. The memory kept him going for a lot of cold nights sleeping in his car, and many exhausting, sleepless nights down in Ford’s lab. If he could just remember the good times hard enough, Ford had to come back, right? He knew the logic was flawed, but he kept believing it anyway. He needed something to hold on to. Only on the worst of those nights would he have a beer. It wasn’t really a habit he wanted to get into, or one he could afford.
Then after Ford came back, he definitely had a beer. Not more than one – he didn’t dare do anything that would endanger the kids – but the fatigue of slaving away at the portal every night, the emotional toil of being alone and impersonating his brother every day, and the not insignificant sting of the punch to his face were enough to make him crave a cold one. He thought briefly about the whiskey he’d gotten rid of before the kids arrived, but there was no way he would leave that lying around for the kids to find… Or find him drinking. So instead he drank his beer and went to bed. He knew he wouldn’t sleep, but at least he could rest. Rest and remember the one time a beer had been a good thing.
A bottle appeared in front of his face, breaking Stan out of his memories. He looked up to see Ford, smiling, a beer in each hand.
“You looked more serious than usual, so I thought you might want to unwind,” Ford said as he sat down next to Stan and deposited a bottle in his hand. “It’s been a while since we’ve shared a drink. I thought it might be a nice reminder.”
Maybe a beer could be a good thing again.
“To good memories?” Ford held his bottle up.
Stan grinned. “To good memories.”