Archive of Our Own ^beta

His family had told him, repeatedly these last two days that it really was okay if his memory coming back slow going. Bits of his mind felt hazy, sometimes he felt lost in a sea of fog that refused to let up. And Ford… his brother, that's right, he had a brother, a twin apparently— Stanford even went into excruciating detail on just how normal it was that he wasn't getting his memories back as fast he wanted, or as fast they wanted. Told him with comforting smiles and soft eyes that these things took time, and that Stan had nothing to worry about, he'd remember everything eventually. Yet the annoyance remained. Because he knew that they all wanted him to remember everything, the looks on their faces when he could recall something, the heartbreak, the happiness when he could, he was trying, he really was but not everything was coming back.

And it was all so frustrating. 

He was basically a blank slate with no idea who he had been, everyone told him that he was a hero, but he couldn't remember at what of what he'd done to make them think that. And the things he did recall didn't help with that either. Lying, cheating, jail time. He sounded more like a common con man then a hero. Sometimes he would remember things that didn’t make a lick of sense. Everything felt like a puzzle he was too stupid to solve. It’s like his own memory was compromised and broken, could he even trust his memory anymore after what it’s been through?

If he couldn’t trust his own memory, then what was the point? 

On the third day of his recovery, he woke with a thought that persisted throughout the day, it nagged at him like an itch he couldn’t scratch, but didn’t exactly know how to bring it up to his brother. The topic was sketchy, he felt a pit form in his stomach, because the feeling he got with the person in question left him even more unsure of how to process what he was feeling. Eventually, around the late evening, Stan turned to Ford as the two were sitting in the kitchen while Ford told him more stories of their childhood, "Was our Pa a good person?" Addressing their father Filbrick, aloud only seemed to make that pit in his stomach grow. He recalled fragments of the man. He got him his first car. He’d signed him up for boxing lessons. He took him camping once when he was little but Stan remembered they didn’t even make it to the campsite before turning around and heading home. He kicked him out, without a second thought. And yet something didn’t seem to fit. He was missing a lot, including if he had good person at all. 

At the question, Stanley watched Ford's eyes go wide and he stiffened just a little. "What?" His brother was obviously taken aback by the question, so Stanley decided to explain.

"I mean, I remember what the old guy looked like, hell I even remember the day he died, but I don't know him. Like I can't seem to recall how he was. Like if he treated us right or not. When he kicked me out, I always thought that was because I deserved it with, with breaking your project and all..."

A hand touched his shoulder, stopping him from going any further, "Now hold on, Stanley.” Ford's words sounded calm and soothing, making Stan relax just a little more as well. "What happened back then, no matter how angry I was, Dad had no right kicking you out. You were seventeen years old, barely even a legal adult yet. What he did to you back then was never okay. Do you understand?"

Stan nodded, how could he not when Ford sounded so convincing. "Okay but, is it bad if I don't ever fully remember everything about him?"

Ford had a faraway expression on his face, almost like he was thinking about something, "Not everything about Pa had been bad, but— but some of his worst traits shined through more then his good ones. I wouldn't worry about him too much, Stanley. If he was never able to see the greatness in you then he isn't worth your time." His brother smiled and gave his shoulder a comforting squeeze. "Okay?"

Stanley smiled, feeling a little lighter, "Okay."

On the fourth day of his recovery, Stanley woke to yet another vision that left him baffled. The scene he had dream about was him sitting in a clearing within a forest, he felt the wind blowing threw his hair and heard the birds chirping in the distance. Then he saw the kids and Ford coming towards him, he watched as Mabel come to him, putting his Fez on his head, then her expression turned from joyous to that of horror as she was dragged away from him by Ford and Dipper. His body numb he couldn't do anything but sit there as Ford talked to the kids, Stan watched as Ford walked over to him and knelt down to his level, his brother's face looked absolutely distraught with grief. Then without so much as a warning, Ford embraced him tightly, letting out a few muffled sobs against his shoulder, while Stan sat there motionless.

And when he woke up a few minutes later, he was crying, a whimper tore itself from his throat as sweat dropped down his forehead, he had the worst ache in his chest he didn't understand why. Because that hadn't happened, right? True, when Stan recalled the events of Weirdmageddon he and Ford had somewhat reconciled before hand. Stanley remembered that as they had swapped clothes, Ford had told Stan how sorry he was and how wrong he had been about him for these last few decades. But they had not hugged one another since before their Pa kicked him out.

Sitting up in bed, Stan wiped at his cheeks before putting on his glasses and checking the time, 4:15 am.

Ugh, great I'm gonna regret getting up this early. He thought with a sigh, as he rubbed at his face, annoyingly. Gently, he swung his legs over his bed and stood up, holding onto the side of his bedpost for support as the action made him feel dizzy, as it always did. Quietly, he opened his door and walked down the stairs into the kitchen to get himself something to drink, something to keep him awake.

He settled on a Pit Cola and decided that maybe the fresh air outside would calm him down. He tried so hard to clear his head, to make this pain in his chest stop aching but no matter how hard he tried his thoughts always went back to that dream. Now that he had time to think, a chance to a take moment and breathe he was finally able to process it all, the dream had felt way too vivid for it to not have been a memory, the question is why was he suddenly remembering it now? Leaning back against the couch, Stan closed his eyes and tried to piece it all together.

The next moment Stan felt a hand gently touch his shoulder, and he couldn't deny that the simple contact made him jump out of his skin, jolting him from his peaceful serene. Eyes snapping open, he blinked several times, mind still in a dazed confusion. "Stanley?" Almost on autopilot, Stan turned to the voice and saw Ford standing there, a frown on his face and worry in his eyes. "What are you doing out here?" Stanley opens his mouth to try and answer, only for a yawn to escape instead of actual words. Embarrassed, he covered his mouth and rubbed at his eyes. And he only got that much redder, when Ford softly smiled at him. "Did you have a nightmare?" The concerned expression Stanford had previously on his face was back.

Stan blinked yet again, and he turned towards the lawn, the morning sun made it have a purple like hue to it as he watched the last few fireflies dance around the yard before the full raise of the sun would make them go away. "Not necessarily?" He paused, to try and find the right words. "I mean, I did wake up crying and—" Stan barely had time finish his sentence before Ford was kneeling down in front of him, with a serious expression but also a gentleness Stan hasn't seen since they were teenagers.

"Did you remember something?" Ford asked while softly placing his six fingered hand on Stan's knee. Going into Kill Mode within seconds. "Did you remember someone? Did they hurt you, Stanley? I swear if they..."

"Whoa, whoa! Easy Stanford, it's nothing like that." Jeez, when had his brother become so threateningly protective? More so when had he come that way towards him? Probably after he had to erase my mind. "I just remembered something that didn't really make sense to me? Like maybe I made it up, or wishful thinking?"

"What was it?" Ford urged softly, his voice holding that same gentleness again.

Stanley looked down to his hands, and clenched them. "I was sitting in a clearing, everything was peaceful? Which is weird because the forest here is hardly ever peaceful." He paused for a brief moment as Ford chuckled lightly at that, "I was alone, and then I saw you and the kids coming my way and then Mabel was all happy to see me and then she got all sad and you and Dipper had to pull her away from me?" He unclenched his hands and was now just staring at them open faced. "And then you knelt down in front of me, hugged me and started crying?” The moment in question flashed within his mind as he closed his eyes and was gone in a matter of seconds when he opened them seconds later. "Was that— Did that actually happen or am I completely crazy?" He glanced up at his brother, whom looked like he was a deer caught in the headlights, then his expression calmed as he inhaled a small sigh.

"Yes, that... actually did happen. It was the day you lost your memories, the day that you— were just gone." Ford explained thought his had a far away look in his eyes, almost like his twin was recalling that memory himself too. 

Ford nodded, letting out a huff with a small smile, "Yes, I suppose so, I was... rather emotional at having lost you."

"But I never hugged you back." Stan stated, speaking matter of factly. Because if that actually had happened, why wouldn't he have returned that display of affection? When he's waited 30 years to do so ever since he brought back his brother from the other side of that portal? "That's a little unfair."

His brother shrugged, solemnly. "You didn't not know who I was."

That still wasn't a good enough excuse, in Stanley's opinion. "I coulda tried at least."

Ford's hand gently squeezed his knee to get his attention. "I don't blame you for it, Stanley. I was practically a stranger to you at the time."

"Still."

They both laughed, laughed like they hadn't done in years where their shoulders bounced, and their smiles reached their eyes. Then a comfortable silence fell between them. Ford made no move to stand and walk away, he simply just stayed where he was legs crossed, sitting on the porch. It was such a feeling of nostalgia, because this was something they used to do as kids. Just kneeling down in front of each other, it was the easiest way to show that the other was there and always would be. Something that would most always result in an embrace.

But that hadn't happened.

And all too quickly Stan felt this urge, this tick within his bones. His body was practically screaming at him, "I want a hug." But he didn't know how to properly word it to Ford without feeling embarrassed, because how much worse could this get? He was 59 years old, wanting a hug more than a teenager wanted a car for their birthday. And yet, the feeling remained, "Ford?"

"Hmm?"

Stan racked his brain for something to say, to explain his feelings without sounding too desperate. "So since that hug you gave me didn't really count since I didn't know who ya were..." why were his palm sweaty all of a sudden? "I was wonderin', maybe we could have a proper one? Ya know now that I remember who you are and all and since you’re not gonna punch me in the face this time. If... that's okay with you."

Dammit, why the hell was this so hard to do?

To his relief, when Stan looked back to his brother, he found that Ford's expression didn't have one of a teasing nature or smugness. But a genuine smile with a fondness he hasn't seen since they were kids. "Stan, nothing would make me happier." Ford said as he uncrossed his legs and adjusted himself into his one knee like he had before. And Stan barely has time to utter another excuse, before he felt strong arms wrap around him, pulling him close. This was definitely a whole lot different than his dream. There, Ford was basically clinging to Stan, while sobbing his little genius heart out into his shoulder. But now Stanford held him gently, his arms gently wrapped around his shoulders. Stan wasted no time in recuperating, he brought his arms around Ford's back, and he hugged his brother for the first time in 40 years.

And it felt like old times. It felt like nothing changed and yet everything changed all at the same time. He spent his entire half of his life dreaming of this moment, he spent 10 years trying to get back in the good graces of his family so that he might have that again and then he spent another 30 trying to get his brother home.

And now he was here, now they were okay.

It felt like home, being with Stanford again, he felt whole. Tears burn at his eyes. Because god, had he missed his twin, his other half. He waited so long for this, so long to reunite with his brother, to just let everything go and just be brothers again.

Gently, he reached a hand up and yanked his glasses off his nose and they fell to the floor with a clatter, while his grip on Ford's trench coat tightened, to the point where his nails dug into the fabric. His shoulders shook as a sob escaped his throat, and the tears cascaded down his cheeks. He felt like he was drowning in a sea of his own emotions, and Ford was the only one keeping him from being dragged down into that dark abyss he thought he'd never find his way out of.

He clung to Stanford, buried his face in his brother's shoulder and cried. He cried and wept for all that he lost and all that he gained. He cried happy tears and sad tears, tears made from shame and guilt. He wept like a child, cried even harder than the day their Pa kicked him out and even harder than the day he lost Ford through the portal.

Soon his sobs turned into hitched breathing, that then turned into hiccups that left his entire body trembling.

A few more minutes pass before Stanley's tears finally ran dry and the sobs become much more quiter. And when Stan was coherent enough to think straight, when the fog of his emotions had lifted to where he now felt tinge of embarrassment for falling apart as much as he had from a simple hug from his twin, Stan moves to part from this embrace, because Ford must be weirded out by this, by this breakdown?

But as he goes to pull away, Stanley barely gets three inches of distance between them before he feels his brother gently yank him back down. Ford's arms tightened around him, holding him close and secure against his chest, while one of Ford's hands dug into the fabric of the back of his shirt, the other tightly curled around his shoulder. It was at that moment that Stan realized that his genius of a brother was actually crying just as hard as he had been before, if not more so. The shock of it all, the knowledge that Stanford was crying and clinging to him like the one in his dream had, left Stanley stunned for a few minutes.

"Stanley..." Ford's voice sounded just as broken as Stan felt. He could hear the guilt laced throughout that voice, along with shame and joy and fear all with that one word. His brother tightened his hold around him that much more. "Stanley—" It didn't take but mere seconds for fresh tears to fill his eyes once more and it took even less time for him resumed his tight embrace as he buried his face in his brother's shoulder.

And there they stayed, clinging to one another, as the force their combined sobs shook them both, left them trembling with hitched breathes. Amongst their cries, Stanley found himself babbling almost incoherently, "Ford... I'm sorry." Because what else could he say but how sorry he was, everything that happen had been his fault more or less. The Portal, Ford's project, Weirdmaggedon? He had a hand in all of that and god, his heart could hardly handle how sorry he was. "Everything is my fault, I'm so sorry."

Distantly, he felt Ford shake his head against his shoulder, voice choked. "Stanley, no—" Stanford sounded like it was taking a lot of self control just to remain speaking, as his breath kept hitching. "None of this is on you. I'm the one who's sorry, because god I was wrong. Stanley, I was wrong about you and how I saw you."

Ford pulled away from their desperate embrace long enough to look at Stan in the face. And Stanley could see the tears still streaming down his cheeks, his glasses smugged and pooled with tears that clung to the frames. "You're the best thing that's ever happened to me, Stanley. And I'm going to spend the rest of my days proving that to you, because that's what you deserve, the absolute best for all the good you've done for me and everyone else and I'm so sorry that I and the rest of the world made you feel any less than that." Softly, Ford leaned forward and pressed his forehead against Stan's and smiled a big watery smile. "I love you, Stanley. Never forget that."

Stanley's lower lip trembled without his permission, his breathe hitched and he almost choked on it because when had Ford become so sappy? Hell, when had he become so sappy? Was it from old age? Or was the memory gun solely to blame? Regardless, none of that didn't stop the fresh sob to escape his throat, because he's waited 30 years to hear those words from his brother and now that he was, he could hardly contain himself, it was overwhelming, feeling this much joy and sadness all at once. "I love you too, nerd."

He was barely holding himself together, but lucky for him he didn't have to because Stanford was right there to keep him from shattering and in turn like a two-sided coin, he was there to keep Ford from breaking too. Together, they held each other above the surface, kept each other afloat, content in each other's arms.

And when all the tears were cried out, and the sobs turned quiet, did they finally detangle themselves from each other only to take a new position with both of them sitting on the couch, each having one arm wrapped around their shoulders, and together they watched the sun fully raise into the now blue sky, signaling a brand new day.