Chapter Text
It had been months, and yet it still didn’t feel real.
Stan and Ford had finally achieved their childhood dream. They had bought a little fishing trawler, repurposed it for research, and were now sailing the world, hunting for treasure and babes (they’d only managed to successfully bring one of these aboard, so far). They were together all day, every day, so much so that they often got sick of each other.
Even so, there were some moments in the dead of night, once the twins had settled down for sleep, when Stan would be unsettled by the inactivity. Ford slept in the bunk just above his, so there should have been nothing to worry about. Stan would’ve known if Ford had left.
But Stan would be unable to see his brother. Without visual confirmation of Ford’s presence, Stan would begin to spiral, wondering if he’d somehow dreamed up the whole thing in a fit of desperation. Stan would occasionally find the need to put on his glasses and get up out of bed just so he could look at Ford’s bunk and make sure he was still there. That Stan had, in fact, brought his brother home after thirty years of trying.
Stan would always feel stupid afterwards and mentally chide himself. There was no reason to be freaked out over something that had already been resolved. He was just being clingy and should stop smothering his brother so much. Sure, Ford was unaware of the whole thing, but Stan was smothering him nonetheless. Stan needed to grow a damn spine.
Eventually the sun would rise and everything would be right with the world again. Ford would immediately launch into his research and Stan would get started with breakfast for the two of them (Ford had tried to once, but had somehow managed to both burn and undercook the bacon at the same time).
This morning, breakfast was scrambled eggs, sausage, and toast. Stan was currently cooking up the eggs in a pan while Ford rummaged through their various maps to find the one he had been looking for.
“It’s just unbelievable, Stanley! Sure, aquatic sirens have become widespread, but the avian variety hasn't been documented for years. Why would something of Southeastern European origin suddenly appear off of the western Canadian coast?”
Stan put the eggs on two plates with the toast and sausage. “Avian, huh? You mean, like, birds? I thought there was only the fish kind.”
Ford looked up and held up his pointer finger. Moses, he was such a nerd.
“Yes, the ‘fish’ sirens have become the more popular depiction, especially since they’ve been the most often spotted in recent years, but they’re not even true sirens-” Stan set a cup of coffee in front of him. “-thank you. They’re just a subspecies of merfolk that developed the same kind of luring technique via convergent evolution. True sirens have only really been documented in ancient Greek mythology. They haven’t been seen in a few millennia, so sources were at a loss for material until the mermaid sirens popped up. Most sources rewrote their interpretations accordingly. But yes, the original sirens had wings and talons like birds. The singing thing still works the same way, though.”
Stan sat across from Ford and picked up his fork. “Is that right?”
Ford pulled out his newest journal and began writing feverishly. “Yes. If the rumors are true, we should run into them if we stay within the foggier parts of the coast. Apparently they like to strike in low visibility. Now, if they reveal themselves to us, we may need to take some advice from The Odyssey and find something to block our ears. I have earplugs, but I don’t think…”
As Ford kept rambling, Stan found himself losing focus on what he was actually saying. Lord, he’d missed this. Everything about seeing and hearing Ford like this, active and in his element, was familiar in a way that, for a while, Stan had thought he’d never experience again. Gone was the anger that had seemed to sit on his brother’s shoulders for weeks after he’d reactivated the portal. He wasn’t guarded or suspicious or vengeful like he had been in the beginning. Now, Ford was completely at ease, talking animatedly with his hands between notes and bites of food or sips of coffee. He still had that childlike wonder about him, even after their sixty-odd years of existing.
Stan’s mind was most centered on Ford’s voice. How it always had an edge of awe in the face of the supernatural. How it oozed with enthusiasm and excitement at the prospect of a new discovery. How Stan was finally hearing it after so long thinking that he wouldn’t. How he’d sometimes wondered if that voice had been silenced, and how that idea had terrified him to no end.
Now here Ford was, real and safe and practically bouncing with energy that reminded Stan so much of their childhood, dreaming of treasure and hunting the Jersey Devil. Stan sighed.
“Stanley? Are you with me? You spaced out for a moment there.”
Stan breathed a laugh. “Yeah, I’m good. Just keep talking, Poindexter.”
…
You have seventy-two hours. Don’t cross me again.
Ford shot up with a stifled yelp, his heart racing and his lungs heaving for air. He looked around, expecting eyes and blood and teeth and yellow and-
He was in his bunk on the Stan O’ War II. The waves were gently rocking the vessel back and forth in a soothing manner.
Ford took a few deep breaths to calm his nerves, scrubbing his hands over his face to wake himself up a bit more. He groaned in frustration. He couldn’t recall a single time they had gone longer than a week without one or both of them having a nightmare at some point.
At least this one had been easy to come down from. Ford remembered one night when they’d both had some particularly ugly memories rear their heads at the same time, leaving the two of them terrified of each other for a few minutes before they’d finally recognized each other. Once the terror had faded, they had been able to do little more than sit on the floor and clutch at each other like children in the dark until the sun rose.
Oh crap. He hadn’t woken Stan up, had he?
He peeked below his own bunk to find that Stan wasn’t there. At that, Ford couldn’t help but worry. Despite Stan’s memories being mostly intact now, he would still occasionally have memory lapses that would, at best, leave him wandering the boat in a haze of confusion and, at worst, actively trying to escape the boat and even Ford himself in a bout of paranoia.
Ford quickly hopped down to the floor and ventured out of their shared bedroom and into the main area. He quickly laid eyes on Stan, who was sitting at the table and flipping through one of Ford’s journals. He perked up when he saw Ford approaching him. “Ford.”
“Stan.”
Stan gave Ford a scrutinizing look. Ford suddenly considered how he probably looked: wide eyes, shaking hands, hunched shoulders. Oh, well. It wasn’t like Stan looked much better, what with his tired expression and tousled hair like he’d been running his fingers through it. Stan scratched the back of his neck. “Nightmare?”
Ford nodded.
Stan got up from the table and closed the journal. “I guess that makes both of us. C’mon.” He pushed past Ford and went back into the bedroom. Ford followed him.
Stan sat on the edge of his bunk and patted the space next to him, gesturing for Ford to sit. Ford didn’t hesitate to accept the offer, plopping down and allowing Stan to wrap an arm around his shoulders.
“Was it Bill again?”
Ford dropped his head onto Stan’s shoulder. “I think you already know the answer to that one.”
“Do you wanna talk about it?”
Ford raised an eyebrow. “Do you want to talk about yours?”
Stan was silent for a moment. “Touche,” he finally settled on.
It was quiet again. As the silence wore on, though, Ford felt increasingly antsy. No matter how hard he tried, his thoughts always returned to Bill and the horrors that he had caused for the world and for Ford personally. It did nothing to help his anxiety.
“Stanley,” Ford finally spoke up, “the kids said there’s some old period piece that you like to watch. What’s it called?”
Stan scoffed. “You mean ‘The Duchess Approves?’ Don’t let the kids fool you. I only watch it because it’s terrible. Like how you can’t look away from a car crash.”
“And you like to watch this ‘car crash’ on repeat with ice cream and tissues?”
“Remind me to dunk the kids in ice water next time we see them.”
“Sure, Stan.”
They fell into silence once more until Ford spoke again. “Would you- uh, would you care to summarize the plot for me?”
Stan snickered. “Seriously? I wouldn’t really say it’s your thing. There’s no sci-fi, magicky stuff in it at all.”
Ford pulled back and gave Stan an imploring look. “Stanley.”
The teasing expression on Stan’s face immediately softened. He seemed almost guilty. “Oh. Uh, sure, Ford.”
Ford smiled softly. “Thank you.”
Stan propped up the pillows and leaned back against the headrest. “Well, you’d better get comfortable.This is gonna take a while.” He opened up his arms as an invitation.
Ford settled in next to Stan, wrapping an arm around his stomach and placing his head on Stan’s chest. “Oh, I’m sure.”
“Shut up.” Stan wrapped one arm around Ford’s shoulders in a loose hold and used the other hand to play with his brother’s curls. “Anyway, it starts with this duchess, see, and her mom wants her to marry this pretentious asshole, right? But then, as she’s out visiting her cousin’s estate…”
Ford sighed deeply and closed his eyes. With the rocking of the waves and Stan’s voice taming the voices in his own head, he gradually fell into a dreamless sleep.