#TRAGIC your plasma may i add….

[kunshokunsho]

“plasmmmaaa plasmma yurrri plasma” i whisper to u

[journalxxx]

Quid Pro Quo

Ford had to muster every ounce of self-restraint not to kick the man into his goddamn portal, and only because he didn't trust him not to drop a granade on the boat in retaliation on his way out. He should have blasted his face off the moment he had popped in front of them out of nowhere, honestly. That would have spared so much trouble to everyone. He re-entered the cabin alone, finding Stan sitting at the kitchen table with a glass of strong whiskey. He looked normal, but Ford was under no illusion about his state.

"Nice guy." "Yes, I know." "I know it could sound weird coming from me, but you really have a pretty poor judgement when it comes to making friends, Ford." "He isn't my friend. Never has been. In fact, the one and only time I met him, I nearly got beheaded, he almost got imprisoned for life, and a city lost three entire blocks to what was officially deemed as a spontaneous fire." "Nice." Stan emptied the glass with a long gulp and immediately poured himself another. Ford thought that he should either stop him or join him, but he didn't feel like doing either. He just waited for the inevitable questions to drop. He didn't have to wait long. "Did you know?" "...No." Stan looked up from the table for the first time, shooting an unmistakably doubtful glance at Ford. He hadn't seen one of those in a while. Ford wished he could feel affronted by such unwarranted distrust, but his attention was momentarily stolen by a tiny, negligible detail he had completely forgotten until that very moment. This isn't your dimension, Bill, you have no right to be here! Neither do you. Don't be such a hypocrite, Brainiac. "...Theoretically, I did know that the mathematical probability was incredibly low. But so were the chances of a portal opening in the Nightmare Realm exactly in that moment, exactly how it did, so I guess I just... didn't question the unlikeness of the whole thing. I never thought to check. I wouldn't have known how to, anyway. I don't have that kind of knowledge or technology." "...Ah." Stan's gaze dropped to the glass again. Silence stretched between them, heavy and uncomfortable. Stan traced the rim of the glass slowly, his tone unfittingly light and casual. "I don't know, seems to me like the kind of thing you'd want to check right away. And it took that guy what- five seconds? No more than four buttons pushed, that's for sure. Didn't look that difficult." "Sanchez has access to a wealth of notions and equipment that is unrivaled in most of the universes I've seen, and most of it is tragically misused. He doesn't share it as a rule, and asking him any sort of favor is almost as much of a bad idea as making a deal with Bill. I didn't know, Stanley. I really didn't." This time he got a grunt in reply, swiftly drowned by another gulp of whiskey. Again, he waited. "So... what now?" "I..." Ford took a moment to choose his words carefully. "...It's a troubling situation, there's no point in denying that... but I think we can make sense of it. We haven't noticed for months, we may have kept ignoring the issue for much longer if Sanchez hadn't showed up. I think it's less of a world-changing revelation than it might seem." Stan gaped at him in disbelief. "What do you mean?" "Well, as I said, we didn't even notice. Many universes differ from each other only by ridiculously tiny details, almost unobservable quantic states that have little to no visible macroscopic repercussions. Our memories of our childhoods seem exactly the same, much like anything else I have observed since I got here. Not to mention that this has no impact whatsoever on the experiences we've made in the last months, and on how close we've..." Ford stopped when Stan started waving his hand in dismissal, his expression darkening visibly. "This is... all very nice and very true, Stanford, but I was talking about something more practical. I meant what are we going to do. About the other Stanford, you know... my brother. The one who must still be lost on some God-forsaken random planet of a God-forsaken random dimension. How do we find him?" This time, it was Ford who broke eye contact first. Nevertheless, Stan managed to guess his thoughts flawlessly. "You asked him where he is, didn't you? Did he know?" Of course he asked. Of course Ford knew that Stan's first priority in light of the new discovery would be locating his own brother, the one that, apparently, Ford wasn't. Of course Ford asked, and of course Rick knew, with the same inexplicable confidence that allowed him to know exactly how to materialize a perfectly functional and safe interdimensional portal from a gun-sized device, or how to brew a strawberry flavored beverage that could make a human liver spontaneously produce alcohol for 72 hours, or how to destroy months of cherished domestic tranquillity with less than 20 words. Ford didn't reply, and that was as clear of an answer as Stan could get. His brother grew very pale, very quickly, and dropped his gaze as well. "...How?" "Stan, I don't think-" "Ford. How." "...It seems he... got lost during another planet's equivalent of a snowstorm. He couldn't find a shelter quickly enough." "He got lost? You mean that they just lost track of him, or...?" "A nomadic tribe found him. His body. Thirteen years ago." Ford didn't add that his alternate self's body had been subsequently handed to Bill's agents in exchange for a meager monetary reward. It seemed a very unnecessary and gratuitously crude piece of information, pretty much like the entirety of their conversation with Sanchez had been. He should have definitely shot him. Possibly when he had showed up specifically to enquire on the whereabouts of a small packet of crystals he had misplaced in Ford's pocket no less than ten years before - what the hell was wrong with that man, seriously? Surely when he had started to complain about Ford's allegedly disastrous haggling skills in trading it with new clothes, three fully charged plasma guns and three months' worth of human food - a life-saving bargain in Ford's situation. And then, just out of spite for not finding his goddamn crystals, he had started to ask, and imply, and chatter, for no other purpose than to pour his own annoyance onto others. And now, not for the first time, Stan was paying the consequences of Ford's foolishness. He squeezed his brother's wrist gently, taking in his sombre expression and stricken silence. "...I'm sorry." Stan didn't reply, or drink, or react in any visible way for a few, long minutes. He gazed out of the porthole, his hand covering his mouth, his eyes lost in the misty horizon. "Fuck." He finally exhaled, briefly rubbing his hand over his whole face, before resuming his idle staring. "Fuck, I really thought..." Ford suddenly felt as if they were back at eight months before. As if all the progress they had made, the heartfelt apologies and reciprocal forgiveness, the lightness and ease they had consciously allowed in their relationship had been swept away in a matter of minutes. It had been quite a while since he had last seen that particular brand of guilt haunting Stan's features, one whose existence he hadn't even guessed until it had slapped his metaphorical face. "Stanley." Ford tightened his hold on his brother's arm, rubbing his thumb on his skin soothingly. "You did everything you could. More than anyone else could have ever done. To try to fix something that was way beyond your control. You didn't build the portal, you didn't want to be involved, you didn't start the fight. Your brother did. We did. You know this isn't your fault." "That doesn't mean shit. Even if it wasn't, I was the only one who could have done something. I should have done something. But I didn't. For thirty fucking years. I couldn't." Stan freed his arm from Ford's grasp to wipe away the tiny, shiny smidgens gathering at the corners of his eyes. "I couldn't save his life. How isn't that 'world-changing', Ford?" Ford clenched his fist. That was going to be harder than the first time, he realised. First and foremost because forgiving oneself after a troubled but ultimately successful misadventure was one thing, while doing the same after everything had gone horribly wrong was another. Secondly, because this time he couldn't provide a somewhat justified encouragement, because it turned out he wasn't even directly involved in the matter any more. A different approach, then. "You saved mine." Stan just shook his head with a heavy sigh, but Ford continued testily. "No, I'm not just saying it, I mean it literally. I've never told you what I was doing right before jumping in your portal, have I?" That got him a marginally interested glance in response. Good enough, he thought. "I was facing Bill. I was literally about to try to kill him in his own lair. It was... an hazardous plan, one I probably wouldn't have survived. The Nightmare Realm wasn't a proper dimension, it was more of a stray space-time pocket between worlds. Very unstable, and held together solely by Bill's powers. If I had managed to defeat him, I imagine the Realm would have collapsed on itself very quickly, possibly immediately. I doubt it would have lasted long enough for me to find a way out." "That sounds like a very poorly thought plan, not gonna lie." "I suppose it was. I didn't really think about the aftermath of my raid. Taking Bill down was such an ambitious target that any possible negative consequence seemed of little importance. The point is that you effectively provided me with an escape route, then and there, and subsequently destroyed the demon himself. You saved more lives than we could count, including a great deal of Fords, I bet." Even though not the one that mattered to him the most, unfortunately. Ford thought it, and Stan thought it, and no one could really offer anything to soften that blow. Stan nodded thoughtfully, and they fell silent again, slowly digesting the several implications of that complicated evening. Unexpectedly, it was Stan who spoke up next. "So... what about the other Stan?" "Mh?" "Your brother, in your own dimension. Is he still alive?" "I... don't know..." Stan frowned, and Ford knew instantly that he had just made another glaring mistake. "You didn't ask? You asked about my brother and not yours?"

"I... honestly, I was more worried about your reaction, you looked very unsettled. And I wanted that bastard out of my sight as soon as possible, so-"

"No, ok, listen here." Stan rubbed his face again, a deeper, more concerning frown twisting his features. "I know you're more used at this whole multiverse bullshit than I am, but this is... You really- do you even care about where you are, or who you are with? Because it really looks like you're giving many fewer fucks about this mess than any sane person would." "Of course I care. As I said, this is disconcerting news, but it doesn't- it shouldn't change where we stand. You shouldn't think any less of your objectively astounding merits, I shouldn't feel any less at home in this dimension just because I wasn't born here. Hell Stanley, we shouldn't doubt the value of what we have built just because a few numbers don't match, when everything else, down to our memories, does!" "Easy to say for you. It's not your head that got turned inside out..." Stan frowned even more, then shook his head and bent slightly forwards. "That's not the point though. Are you really not seeing this? Is this where you really want to be? Are you absolutely sure you aren't forgetting anything?" "Are you seriously asking me why I'm not running off this instant?" Ford tapped his fingers on the table nervously, starting to grow impatient. "If it is some sort of declaration you're looking for, I'll own it, and gladly. I love you, and you know I do. I cherish our travels and your company just as much as you do, and I wouldn't relinquish them for anything. Though I am honestly surprised that you're insinuating the opposite." Stan stood up and started pacing around the room nervously, not in the least reassured by Ford's forwardness. Why, Ford couldn't fathom. Suddenly, he smashed his fist against the table, causing Ford to almost jump in surprise. His brother looked positively fuming. "You love me, uh? You say it just like that, but... alright, here's a question for you, Poindexter. If you really love me, if you're really all sparkly-eyed and filled with unbridled affection and oh so ready to do anything for my precious peace of mind, how come you aren't sparing a single thought to this other Stanley, who is just like me, just as much worthy and brave, just as much undeserving of guilt or contempt, who has been breaking his back and mind for thirty goddamn years to bring you back from sci-fi hell? Doesn't he deserve to have you back, instead of having you gallivanting around alternate dimensions and fucking alternate brothers?" Ford couldn't do anything but gape in shock at the vehemence of his brother's words. In the last decades, he had fought monsters, aliens, demons without sparing a single thought to his own safety and without ever cowering before any opponent, yet, had he been standing up, he would have taken a step back when Stan marched right in front of him, jamming his index in Ford's chest accusingly. "And mind that, Ford. To have you back. You. Not any other Pines, or clone, or doppelganger, or random lookalike. You. His own brother. Call me or any other Stanley stupid, but I'm pretty sure none of us ever thought that your sixth fingers were what made you unique." Ford could swear Stan was trying to bore a hole in his face just with the sheer power of his glare. He found he couldn't quite reply, nor really weasel out of that scorching aura of disdain for a whole, endless, oppressive minute. "I-" "I'm going to bed. This bullshit is giving me a migraine." Stan stormed out of the room without another word. His rage kept permeating the room like a suffocating cloud. Ford walked out on the deck, taking a few deep breaths of the chilled Arctic air. The night was beautifully serene and clear. Stars shone, bright and vivid, tracing known shapes and silhouettes on the deep darkness above. The constellations had seemed incredibly familiar and welcoming when Ford had first seen them after coming back from the portal. How little it had taken for them to look like a cheap trick instead, a sly illusion of reliability in a house full of mirrors. For the second time in eight months, and in more than thirty years, Ford felt lonely.