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hellorebecca · 4 years

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Back From the War

Some 80s era Stancest I wrote a while back. Inspired by some of @nekoaimy‘s posts on the subject.

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"So, um, you okay?" Stan asked, his hands unsteady.

Ford nodded, and sipped from his mug of coffee. "I feel better, now."

"Okay," said Stan. He breathed out a sigh, ran a hand through his hair. "Okay."

It was almost surreal, remembering the events of the past hour: him and Stanley fighting over the journal in the portal room, him branding his brother's shoulder (and oh, was that going to leave a mark), the shove, the panic that filled him as he floated above the room--

Then, the rope, the relief, as he was slowly pulled back to earth by his brother's strong arms.

Stanley cleared his throat, snapping Ford out of his reverie. "So, what's up?" he asked, a look of concern on his face. "You kinda spaced out for a second there."

Ford shook his head. "Just thinking over the day's events," he said softly. Then: "How's your shoulder?"

Stan looked ashamed, as if he had been the one who had burned his own brother. "I mean, it hurts, but... it's fine, really. I mean, I can still use it." He rotated his right arm for emphasis. Ford couldn't help noticing the wince that Stan made at moving it around.

“Let me take a look at that,” he said, setting his mug down and reaching his hand towards his brother’s wound.

Stan hesitated; then, he slowly took off his jacket and shirt, carefully avoiding touching the cloth to the brand. Ford drew in a deep breath as he took in Stanley’s bare back. His muscles were cushioned under a layer of fat, and there were scars scattered across his skin. There was one particularly nasty one, just above his waist, that Ford wished he could ask about, but he just didn’t have the time.

Right. The brand. “How badly does it hurt?” asked Ford, as he carefully inspected the still-blistering scar.

“Honestly, it’s not too bad,” Stan answered. “I mean, I’ve definitely had worse.”

“Hmm.” Ford gingerly touched the tips of his fingers to Stan’s brand; he couldn’t help his heart from sinking when Stan flinched away from that. “Well, first we need to clean it, of course.” He went to the cabinet and got out a rag and the first aid kit. He ran the faucet cold over the rag, and added a little dish soap for good measure. Gently, he washed the burn, taking care not to pop any of the blisters. He then fished out a tube of aloe vera from the first aid kit.

“Pull your hair back for me,” said Ford. “I don’t want this to get messy.”

Stanley did as he was told, and Ford carefully spread the lotion over his brother’s charred skin. As he did so, he thought of long, hot summer nights, when they would rub aloe vera into each others’ sunburned backs. It was a good memory, and Ford felt a pleasant shiver thinking about it. Stan let out a sigh of relief, apparently releasing some of the tension from what had happened that night.

“Good, good,” said Ford, as he checked his handiwork. “Now I just need to cover it with a bandage.”

“You’re not gonna kiss it better?” asked Stan.

“No,” said Ford, suppressing a laugh. “It just wouldn’t be sanitary.”

“Ah,” Stan replied, and if Ford didn’t know any better, he’d almost say Stan sounded… disappointed. “Well, alright.”

Ford took out the gauze and the medical tape from the first aid kit and said, “Um, I can kiss you, though.”

“What?”

“If you want me to,” Ford added. “Not… not on the lips, of course, but I can kiss you. Just—just say where.”

“Um.” Stan craned his neck towards Ford. “Are you serious?”

Ford grew oddly hot. “I mean, ah, touch has been known to lower the body’s stress levels, which can help with, with the healing process—That’s... why I suggested it.”

“Ah,” said Stan, turning his head away from Ford again. “So you’re just being a weirdo.”

Ford swallowed. “Stanley, I...”

Stan waved him off. “It’s fine. Just… bandage me up, man.”

There was no point in disobeying that, so Ford carefully positioned the gauze on Stan’s burn wound, then applied the tape to make it stick. “We’ll need to reapply the bandage every day until the burn fully heals,” he said when he was done.

“‘We,’” Stan repeated. He turned around to face Ford. “Does that mean I’m staying?”

It was strange, how shocking Ford found the question. “I guess so,” he answered, considering his words carefully. “At least, for now. But—Stanley, it’s not… safe, here.”

“Because of the portal.”

Ford nodded. “Not just that, but yes.”

Stan groaned and ran a hand through his hair. “So, when do I need to leave?”

Ford held up a hand. “Stanley...”

“No, no, it’s...” Stan starting pacing around the kitchen, gesturing wildly. “I mean, I know you don’t—well...”

Ford caught Stan by the chin. “Stanley, please, just—listen to me.”

“C’mon, Stanford, it’s fine,” said Stan, who still resisted meeting Ford’s eyes. He sounded like he was going to cry. “If you don’t want me around...”

That definitely wasn’t true, so Ford needed to prove it false. If he was any less sleep-deprived, he might have done something else. As it was, his brother’s chin still in his hands, he laid a kiss upon Stanley’s lips.

Stanley tasted of cheap cigarettes and stale coffee, but Ford didn’t mind, far more interested in the way Stan warmed up to the kiss, tense at first but soon kissing back, running his hands through Ford’s hair. It was the culmination of everything they had been dancing around for a long, long time.

“Thought you said you weren’t gonna do that,” Stan gasped out, once they broke away.

Ah, right. The offer he made from earlier. “Guess I lied,” Ford panted.

They drew in for another kiss, deeper, more passionate. It left them so breathless and panting that it took a while before either of them spoke again.

“So, why can’t I stay, for real?” asked Stan. “Because I know there’s something there.”

Damn. Stanley knew Ford all too well. “There’s… an entity, that takes control of my mind when I sleep. I don’t want it to harm you,” Ford admitted, as much as he was willing to admit.

“Is that why you’re so strung out?”

Ford nodded. “Mostly, yes.”

Stan grunted and lifted himself about the counter, sitting on the countertop. It would annoy Ford were he not so charmed at the moment. “Okay, so, is there like, a way we can get that—thing out of your head?”

“There is one way I know of.” Ford scrubbed his face and frowned. “But it involves dealing with creatures that I’ve found to be—quite frustrating, in the past.”

Stan looked at Ford expectantly. “Well?” he asked.

“You’re going to laugh,” Ford replied glumly.

“C’mon, just tell me!”

“Unicorns,” Ford answered.

Stan let out a loud guffaw, and for a moment Ford truly hated him. “What, ain’t they really fond of virgins?”

“Actually, no,” said Ford stiffly. “Though the requirements for dealing with them seem just as strict as in legend. And by the way, I’m not a virgin.”

Stan grinned. “Sure you’re n--”

“Would a virgin kiss you as well as I just did?” Ford replied smugly. He took a certain amount of pleasure in the shock on Stan’s face.

“Man, you really have changed,” said Stan. “Gone a long way since your ‘kissing machine’ days.”

Ford groaned. “Please don’t mention the kissing machine, Stanley.” He took the journal off the kitchen table and started flipping through the entries. “Anyway, if you’re really serious about this--”

“Of course I’m serious,” Stan retorted.

“I’ll warn you again, unicorns are not easy to deal with,” said Ford. He found the entry on unicorns in the journal and handed it to Stan. “Their standards for good behavior are very exacting. I doubt you’d be able to live up to them.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Stan grumbled. He seemed upset by Ford’s assertion. He always had carried a chip on his shoulder on being the lesser of the two Pines twins. “I’ll just kill one of them, so what?”

“Stanley...” Ford started.

“What, they need to be alive?”

“No, you’ll just need the hair from their manes,” answered Ford. “But killing a horse—or horse-like creature—can be harder than it looks.”

“Eh.” Stan shrugged. “I mean, I killed a llama once.”

Ford raised an eyebrow. “Lama-with-one-L or llama-with-two-Ls?” he asked.

“Llama as in the weird animal with the long hair,” Stan said with an eyeroll. “Cripes, you’re a nerd.”

“Technically, that could describe both--” Ford got a poke in the ribs. “Oof. But seriously, are you sure you want to do this?”

“I mean, if it’ll keep you safe,” said Stan. He looked down at his bare chest. “Though, uh, I’m gonna need some clothes that haven’t been singed.”

Ford looked Stanley over. He was still naked from the waist up, and though that was fine for an evening of making out, it was less than ideal for a night in the cold and snow.

“Hang on,” said Ford. “There are some sweaters in my room.” He dashed over there as quick as he could, unable to suppress the irrational worry that Stan would be gone by the time he got back. He fished through his drawers and found a bright and cheery Christmas sweater, a gift from Fiddleford when they were still in college. (Ford didn’t have the heart to tell him that he was Jewish and had never celebrated. It was good at its main purpose, at least, which was keeping warm.)

Back in the hallway, he was struck by the sudden realization that this was real, that he had really kissed his brother and his brother kissed him back. It was funny, how repressed they both had been about it, and how open they were now. He supposed it made a certain amount of sense—incest was a Rubicon that neither of them were prepared to cross, even as odd a pair as they had been, but once they set their mind on something, there was no doubt, if it were in any way possible, they would get it.

Once they put their mind on something, there was no doubt they would get it. Ford smiled at the thought, and hurried back to the kitchen. He found Stan sitting on a chair, a far more reasonable position than the counter. “Here,” he said, and handed Stan the gaudy sweater.

“Bit late to be wearing this,” said Stan, looking it over.

Ford shrugged. “If it keeps you warm.” He grabbed his coat from his chair. “Here, wear this, too. Do you still have your gloves and hat?”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Stan grumbled. “I’m not gonna freeze to death, Ford.” He grunted as he struggled to put on the sweater.

“Careful,” said Ford. He helped pull the sweater down. “You still need to look out for that shoulder.” He gave his brother a quick peck on the cheek.

“Heh heh.” Ford enjoyed the way Stan blushed. Stan cleared his throat. “Alright, so they live in this glade, right?” Stan said, as he put on the coat. “Shouldn’t take too long. I’ll be back in a jif.”

“Stay safe, Stanley.” Ford squeezed his brother’s hand. “Remember to come home in one piece.”

“I will,” Stan replied softly. He pat Ford on the shoulder, then pulled him into a brief kiss. “Take care of yourself while I’m gone, knucklehead.”

“Okay, okay,” Ford said with a soft laugh. He watched Stanley go out of the house and into the unknown, once again the brave hero of their youth. For the first time in a long while, he felt a deep, sustaining hope, one that would last him the rest of their lives.

#Stancest #I'm in the mood for sap okay so sue me #my drabblings

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