#pre regression

[writermich18]

S Classes That I Raised & Legend of Zelda Writing Prompt

When his world reverses time, a mistake happens. The System decides while they work on fixing the mistake, Han Yoojin can work on forming an s class body and getting used to that power. Han Yoojin disappears the day he and Yoohyun had their big argument. Han Yoojin (regressed and not regressed, now one person) finds himself in Twilight Princess as Link. Waking up, injured, found by Ordonians weeks before the start of the game with no memory. He lives out life in Ordon Village, then the game,, goes traveling after.. End of the game, months later while traveling, his memories return in time for a message from the System to pop up apologizing for taking so long, that the mistake was fixed months ago, but it wasn't until now that this world line of Hyrule had allowed the System to grab him again, and that he's strong enough now to return. When Yoojin wakes up as 25yo Han Yoojin, 3 months had passed while he had been missing. His scars and magic as Link had transferred over into scars on his body and S-rank skills, animalistic characteristics popping up as sharp canines and slightly sharp nails almost claws, and instincts acting as skill sets. The Twilight mark on his wolf form that he now has as a power appears every time he activates his mana which is the System's translation of his earned Twil magic and inherited light/sword magic/lessons. The Triforce of Courage while still remaining in Hyrule had left its mark in Han Yoojin. When Yoohyun and Yoojin reunite, Yoojin has a near mental breakdown, haunted by his pre-regression memories and experiences as Link and guilt of forgetting while he was Link. The two brothers hug, finally reunited after eight years, one year and 3 months.

[caleism-1]

Summary:

Han Yoojin has skills geared towards the mind and lending or borrowing power. It only makes sense that if he has a skill to receive the memories of others alongside their power and skills, he could sacrifice his memories of others in return for some strength.

Han Yoojin has a skill that lets him give up memories of someone he holds dear in exchange for more power. Things change, but ultimately stay the same.

[cryptidofthewww]

I love Kiolle he’s legitimately my favorite character in turning. But godDAMN do I want 1st timeline kiolle and Yuder to meet. I want them to be best frenemies and absolutely hate each other but literally everyone else thinks they’re best friends. Maybe that worsens yuder’s reputation (the angst potential!!) and maybe ppl think kiolle is a rebound or something (both of them are practically retching when they hear this rumor). Canon probably diverges (when kiolle dies 1st timeline) by him passing by the traffickers. And eventually he and yuder meet up (obviously)

Anyways I know there is no way Kiolle wouldn’t try to retaliate when yuder makes fun of him, but I need them to interact and yuder needs some stress relief. Kiolle needs to get bullied more often, it’s funny af.

[freyadragonlord]

(Spoilers for the sctir novel)

I honestly don't know what is funnier:

The fact that when Yoohyun learns about the Regression, he pretty much immediately asks Yoojin what his relationship to Sung Hyunjae was before turning time back, and that when Yoojin tells him that he and Hyunjae didn't know each other at all before the Regression, Yoohyun thinks Yoojin is lying to him........

.........or the fact that Yoohyun is right.

[the-universal-sun]

Part two of the fic about Lee going little after Ford pushed him, please?? ❤️

Okay! So a couple of you wanted a part 2 to the drabble about Stan regressing after being burned, and I am more than happy to oblige! Sorry it took so long for this, personal stuff, you know? I’m also going to bounce between Ford and Stan’s POV!

(there are mentions pain medication and sedatives being used on Stanley for his burn, but don’t worry, it’s not super nefarious (it’s ford) and it’s only a quick sentence or two that starts around

“Come on, Stanley, drink your juice.” and ends at “back of his refrigerator”)

Stanford looked down at his brother, sleeping soundly on the couch with his raggedy looking stuffed bear clenched tightly in his arms. Stanley was acting…odd last night. After he was…branded for lack of a better term, his mental state seemed to almost dissolve? No that’s not right, he didn’t act unhinged or crazy, just younger? Stanford details his brother on his Journal page, sketching out the soft lines that make up his sleeping face; the worn Teddy Bear. Could the symbol have caused this phenomena? He didn’t know exactly what the symbol meant-an oversight on his part-just that Bill had told him to put it there. Was that just another one of his tricks and treacheries? Did Bill know this would happen and purposefully tell Ford to put that there so he’d burn his brother, leaving a permanent reminder of this encounter engraved on his skin? Ford has to set aside his Journal before he rips a hole in the page with his pen. He sits there, barely rested after locking himself up in the specialized cage he made, it was his first time using it. He had made it with padding on the walls, no sharp edges, and can only be opened via retinal scan; Bill can’t get out and can’t hurt him too badly, not with his hands wrapped up with excess padding. He wasn’t well rested but it was enough for some of the brain fog to dissipate, he can finally think.

He’s thought a lot in the last couple of hours; how he could apologize to Stanley for the burn and his words-looking back they’d been so cruel, so much like Bill how he could find a way to at least keep Bill from this dimension, and most recently, what happened with Stanley. He doesn’t think the burn had anything to do with his mental state-at least not the symbol. He already had that ragged looking stuffed toy with him in his knapsack. And Ford, upon looking through Stanley’s meager belongings, found a worn but seemingly well-loved large patchwork quilt-neither the bear or the blanket were things he can ever remember Stanley having back in Glass Shard before he was kicked out left. So he must have gotten them somewhere between that time and now, and judging by the looks of the comfort items, they were acquired a while ago, probably when Stanley was still in his teens. Which… that thought brought forward unpleasant feelings about how young they both were in Ford that he’d rather not think about right now. ‘

Is Stanley used to this phenomena? Has it happened before? Could it be psychological? I wish I knew where F left his psychology books, somewhere in my living room I think…’ Ford’s pulled out of his thoughts, pulling his hands down from tugging on his hair, by movement on the couch beside him. Stanley seems to be waking up, the light of the sun hitting directly in his eyes. Hopefully Ford can get some answers from him about what happened last night. He watches as his brother stirs from his sleep, one hand reaching up to rub at his eyes, Stanley was never much of an easy riser, always wanting to stay asleep and bundled in his warm blankets. Ford gets a look at Stanley’s eyes, just to make sure they weren’t yellow with slitted pupils; a sign of possession. They were his regular eyes, the iris color matching Ford’s own, but the look in his eyes was the same as last night, when he acted off. When he acted like a child. Perhaps…perhaps the issue is more psychological than magic or anomaly-induced, in which case, Ford’s going to have to deal with this with a light hand, he doesn’t want to mess up Stanley’s mind as well as his body. He still cares for his brother, even if he’s mad at him. He’ll try his best to help Stanley, even if that means that, for now, he has to treat him with near literal kids gloves.

Ford does his best approximation of a gentle smile as he can muster, he doesn’t think it turns out well though-he can feel the corner of his mouth slightly twitching and his eyes are probably entirely too wide with his ever present dark circles on display. Something must work, because Stanley, sleep now rubbed out of his eyes, is giving him a small smile back.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-

Stan snuffles into Poindexter as the sun wakes him up. He wanted to stay in his blanket of warmth, he hasn’t been this warm in so long. But he remembers where he is, at Ford’s house, and Ford has never wanted to sleep in, and he wants to spend time with Ford, so he gets up anyway. He rubs the sleep and eye crusties away, squinting against the light burning his eyes. He goes to look for his brother and finds him on a chair next to the couch Stan slept in, giving him a weird smile. He looked…Stan didn’t know how he looked. Crazy? Like a mad scientist? He doesn’t seem like he’s mad at Stan or wants to hurt him, so he smiles back, clutching Poindexter to his chest and wrapping the blankie further around him. Ford’s house-Sixer;s house?- is warmer than his car, but Stan gets cold easily, so while he can, he’ll bundle up. It’s not his nice and big blankie with all the cool patterns some granny in New York gave him, but Ford’s sweater and blanket will do for now.

“Stanley, can you tell me how you’re feeling? Do you feel any different from last night? Physically and mentally? Do you know who I am?” Ford lists off too many questions for Stan to think through at once this early in the morning. And Stan can’t answer him anyways, not in the ways he wanted. He closes his eyes tightly, trying to find the ability to speak in him, bunching up Poindexter to his face and rocking slightly, feeling a tiny distressed. When the idea hits him. He holds up Poindexter and points between him and Ford like he did last night, trying to form the word in his mouth.

“The bear? Stanley I am not-Yes! We went over this last night, the bear and I have the same glasses!” Ford isn’t getting it! He’s supposed to be the smart one! Stan guesses he’ll have to try his best to speak, even if he’s not happy about it.

“P-Poinde-x-ter.” Stan tries to slowly say the word so he doesn’t mess it up. He doesn’t know what he’d do if Ford made fun of him for how he spoke when he was feeling all fuzzy in his head. He points between Ford and Poindexter while saying the word. Ford better get it this time, because Stan’s tongue is feeling really thick in his mouth now-and his body hurts too.

“Poindexter? Stanley, I-” Ford stops and just stares at Stan, making him fidget nervously. Was Ford made he named his Teddy after him? It was one of the few comfort items Stan had, he cuddled him even when he wasn’t feeling all fuzzy headed like now. It reminded Stan of hugging Ford.

“Did you name the bear after me?” Stanley nodded shyly, hiding his face in Poindexter’s back, scared of Ford’s reaction. It’s been so long since they’ve seen each other that he COULD get mad at Stan for naming his Teddy after him, kicking him out into the cold again, to be alone and scared and to never see Ford again-

“I see. That’s…that was sweet of you, Stanley, thank you. A-are you okay? Are you in any pain?” Ford’s voice was softer than it was before, when he was asking all those questions. Stan wonders why. He lifts his face up from his stuffy and looks at his brother, his Sixer, and sees his face. It looked softer than when he was smiling before, he was sitting on the edge of the bed too. Stan didn’t even feel the bed move, and he had gotten really good at that after all these years. Ford must have had some sort of ninja training to be so sneaky when moving. The thought of Ford being a ninja makes him giggle, his shoulder moving with his laughs makes him wince, though. He points to his shoulder, the one that hurt. Now that he’s focusing on it, it hurts really bad, like really REALLY badly. So bad he wants to cry, but he can’t cry because then Ford will think he’s a big stupid baby. And Stan’s NOT a big dumb-

“I thought that would be the case. I never got to give you any pain medication,” Stan cringes at the thought of medicine, “and I doubt I have anything truly strong enough to numb the pain of a burn to that extent. I do have a mild sedative that I could give you, it would make you loopy for the duration until it wears off, but I…I doubt that would be a problem with how you’re acting now.” Stan doesn’t think there’s anything wrong with how he’s acting, Ford’s just a Fuddy Duddy sometimes, like right now. He pouts at Ford from behind Poindexter where he’d hidden his face again, his brother looked like he had this thinking cap on and working at full capacity, holding his chin in his hands and thinking with his eyes closed. Stan can’t help it, while Ford’s not looking, he sticks his tongue out at him.

���Are you still afraid of needles? If you are-” Just the thought of needles or any sharp object of any kind has Stan clutching Poindexter and hiding under the blanket, body shivering. He HATES needles and anything involving the doctor’s office. Distantly, his mind knows there’s other reasons he hates needles, but he can’t bring himself to think of them right now, not when Ford wants to jab him with a big giant needle! He whimpers as his shoulder moves, making it hurt even more than before. His face hurts too. So does his whole body. He just wants to go back to sleep, but he knows he can’t, not with the pain and not with Ford here, who probably wouldn’t even let him go back to sleep.

“Relax, Stanley! No needles, I promise, I’ll find another way to give you the sedative, so please just relax. I need to look at your shoulder and change your bandages, can I do that? Please? Let me take care of you, at least for this.” Ford taking care of Stan? He hasn’t thought about that at all, he thought he was hated by his brother, but if Ford put him in a cozy sweater, let him sleep in his house, and says he wants to take care of Stan, then it must mean that Ford still loves him, right? Stan sits up, blanket still draped over his head and eyes Ford, his hands are up and his eyes still look soft, but they look tight at the edges, like he’s stressed about something. Stan’s gotten good at reading faces. Is he upset because of Stan’s burn? That’s stressing him out too, he doesn’t like pain, not one bit. He nods his head and moves to get off the couch, blanket still wrapped around him and his Teddy still in hand, and Ford moves off it, too, standing in front of Stan. He grabs Ford’s hand before he starts to walk forward, making Ford just stop and stare super intensely at Stan, and Stan stares back. Are they having a staring contest? He doesn’t know if he’ll win or not, he’s still pretty tired and his eyes still burn, but Ford has some BIG dark circles under his eyes, so who knows? They don’t seem to be having a staring contest, his brother looking away and starting to walk forward, gripping Stan’s hand very tightly.

They end up in the bathroom again, with Stan’s shirt off and his brother fixing up the ouchie on his shoulder. He bites his lips, and then Poindexter’s ear (He’s sure his friend wouldn’t mind if it helps with not crying out) because his ouchie hurts worse than last night, and the pain is making his head go even fuzzier, fuzzy like last night, which is the bad way because when it gets even fuzzier then he really is just a big baby. But…but Ford said he’d take care of him, so is it really bad, right now at least? He doesn’t think so, it’d be real nice to be taken care of when his head gets so fuzzy he can barely think. It’s probably for the best that it happens with his big brother here, because he blinked and suddenly he’s at a table, not in the bathroom anymore, and he has a new sweater on. He still has Poindexter and Ford’s blankie in his arms, though, so he doesn’t panic as much as he thought he would, especially not with Ford sitting next to him at the table. He just lets his mind go into that nice, super fuzzy feeling.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-

Ford’s getting worried about Stanley. While he was redressing his burn in the bathroom, Stanley’s mental state seemed to worsen, reverting back to the glaze eyed and clingy person he was yesterday, except it seems that this Stanley seems more…stuck in his head? Ford doesn’t know and he’s internally panicking because he cannot tell if this is indicative of some head injury Stanley had gotten-unlikely as his pupils contracted all the way and his head had no bumps, cuts, bruises, or scars-or if this was something to do with his inner psyche, a concept Ford has scoffed at and derided but is in sorely need of a deeper understanding of it now. It does seem like Stanley can understand him, if not slowly, which is good because that means that he still has his cognitive abilities about him, but he can’t find any reason as to why his brother would be acting like a child. It doesn’t seem like Ford’s done anything wrong beyond mentioning needles-driving Stan to hide pitifully under the blanket he still has clutched in his hands. It’s fine, he’s fine. He’s Stanford Pines, he can take care of his brother, he’s capable and in control enough to do that.

“Come on, Stanley, drink your juice. It’s-um- peach juice? Maybe?” Ford had taken the sedative from his first aid kit and emptied a dose from the needle into a cup of some juice he found in the back of his refrigerator. The label was mostly rubbed off, he can’t tell what the flavor is but it smells like peach so it might be. He can’t remember getting it, but the best buy date printed on the side has it listed for still being good for a week, so he’s sure it’s fine to let Stanley drink it! He holds the cup steady when it appears that his brother was going to just lap at it from the table, which would just end in an all out sticky mess that he doesn’t have the energy to deal with. It’s a bit tricky trying to get Stan to go up the stairs after that, the juice working fast and making his legs quake and look close to giving out, but he makes it to the room eventually, gently depositing Stanley on the couch and looking around for his Journal to write down his observations. He left it here when he tended to Stanley’s wound. He finds it and opens it to the bookmarked page, a rough sketch of a sleeping Stanley greeting him. Hmm, now that he was looking at it, Stanley did seem almost…cute…in a way. The look of peace on his face with the way he was clutching the bear-Poindexter, Stanley had called it (Ford is going to ignore the feelings it stirs in his chest and the ache it brings to his stomach, imagining a young teenage Stanley holding the bear tight and calling it Poindexter like-). He pulls the ear of that bear from Stanley’s mouth, the sedative mixed with all of the tension in his brother’s body must be having a toll on him, he can barely keep his eyes open. But he still has such a tight grip on the bear and the blanket, luckily Ford was able to take the quilt from Stanley’s bag while he was in the kitchen, and he tucks it tight around his brother, a small smile lifting the corners of his lips as a small sigh is released from his brother’s at the feeling of such an obviously loved item surrounding him.

Ford’s about to get up and head down to the basement to find a way to stop Bill the portal when he feels a hand tightly grip his own-it’s Stanley, of course. The first time he had done it, Ford could only bring himself to look at his brother, his eyes not seeing the almost 30 year old man, but the younger, gapped tooth version who insisted they hold hands on the pier so as not to get lost. It stirred feelings long pushed down inside of him-taking care of Stanley in this way has been doing that, bringing these feelings he pushed down up the the surface. He looks at the hand gripping his vest, then looks at Stanley’s face, his eyes, hazy as they are, seemed downtrodden and he let out a whine. He did this last night, didn’t he? Holding on to Ford and silently begging for him to stay. And who was he to deny Stanley, really? He knows he wouldn’t be able to concentrate much down in his labs, not with Stanley up here like this. All alone and in a very vulnerable state of mind. No, he’d better stay now, too, to keep watch over Stanley, who knows what kind of side effects the sedative could have, either? He settles down on the bed, sitting next to Stanley, just brushing his hair back with one hand and writing down the events of the morning in his Journal with the other, his mind feeling a bit more peaceful now than it had in a while. He’ll talk to Stanley about this later, hopefully he’s feeling better. Hopefully he may let Ford take care of him like this again. Ford doesn’t dwell on those thoughts for long, slowly sketching out another image of Stanley in his Journal, for his own safekeeping, this time.

[dyinggirldied]

I love, love all the fics exploring the Han brothers' love and tragedy and possibilities, especially the pre-regression era, in fics and arts. But also, consider a what-if au where pre-reg Yoojin and Myeongwoo are friends. They were both F-rankers who are struggling to pay the bills and have since resorted to accept even shady deals to earn money. There has to be a chance of meeting.

Two men who have been casted out and been made to think as useless by society, who are severely depressed and suicidal.

Maybe their friendship is the saying "love alone cannot save you." but it gives them a meager hope to stay afloat in this world for just a little bit more.

[transsongtaewon]

Sung Hyunjae: *gives Han Yoojin a book about empty nest syndrome*

Han Yoojin: Instructions unclear *babytraps him*

[windcloudii]

♀️ Yoojin

I was kinda torn between two options for f!Yoojjn with "Dead mom" hairstyle and regular short hair, so why don't we have both.

[wangxianficrecs]

tiny gentians by humancorn

tiny gentians

by humancorn (@humancorn)

G, 1k, Wangxian

Part of the MDZS Kidfic Exchange

Summary: Lan Wangji scolds five year old Wei Wuxian and deals with the consequences. Kay's comments: Things I didn't know I needed was having teenage Lan Wangji having to deal with a de-aged and timid little A-Ying. Cuteness overload, there is no other way to describe it. Excerpt: “Wei Ying?” Lan Xichen calls. Wei Wuxian's head pops out from behind the building at the mention of his name, his eyes wide with curiosity. Lan Xichen waves Wei Wuxian over, beckoning him to join them with a warm smile. Wei Wuxian hesitates for a moment before slowly making his way over, his little feet shuffling on the ground. He cannot be more than five years old, Lan Wangji notes, as his eyes flicker from Lan Xichen to Lan Wangji, uncertainty written all over his tiny face. “Come here, A-Ying,” Lan Xichen says gently, crouching down to be at eye level with the boy. “It’s alright.” Wei Wuxian takes a tentative step closer. When Lan Xichen offers his hand, Wei Wuxian takes it. Lan Wangji feels strangely bitter as Lan Xichen easily lifts Wei Wuxian into his arms, settling the boy on his hip in much the same way he used to carry a small Lan Wangji when they were younger. His brother, traitor that he is, gestures toward Lan Wangji and says, “A-Ying, did something happen? Was Wangji mean to you?”

pov lan wangji, canon divergence, cloud recesses study arc, age regression/de-aging, de-aged wei wuxian, child wei wuxian, soft lan wangji/wei wuxian, pre-relationship, fluff

~*~

(Please REBLOG as a signal boost for this hard-working author if you like – or think others might like – this story.)

[hehearse]

i hope u dont mind me dropping ideas in ur askbox but,, Are You Satisfied? by MARINA is a very Han Yoojin song i think. prereg mainly!!

aw i don't mind! but YEAH THAT IS VERY YOOJIN PRE-REGRESSION. very much the yoojin refusing yoohyun's bloody money,,,

i see your vision, yoojin at the peak of his bitterness, with his grudge as close to heart as his love, alone, lost and misunderstood. a control freak who drove his brother away, a greedy older brother. head in hands...

i am, by the way. forever haunted by yoojin drinking himself to sleep whenever he crawled out of dungeons as the lone survivor. to then only be dragged out by the people yoohyun hired. oh yoojin you poor heart....

[mylove-thresher]

*con traje y corbata, llorando* estimados hijos de su reputa madre

[sentientsky]

i’ve been terrible at replying to people lately. i feel so guilty, but how the hell am I supposed to explain that i’ve been flaky because i can't stop thinking ab two fictional immortal losers that spend two seasons of a tv show and 5 and a half odd million years just homoerotically gazing at one another and yearning???

[gennyan]

the absolute fucking whiplash of going from webtoon chapter 1 happy cheerful yoojin to chapter 2 alcoholic depressed yoojin

[min-xie]

OC design

[jjtheresidentbaby]

yellowjackets agere community how do we feel about little!nat with cg!van?

brought to you by me only being on the third episode but not being able to stop thinking about the post I saw abt them living in the same trailer park

[the-universal-sun]

what if instead of stan punching ford when he was branded he regressed

I love this idea! And sorry it took so long, I could only see this request on mobile and not my computer for some reason

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Ahhh!” Stan screams, the pain in his shoulder was like fire scorching his skin. He clutches at his shoulder, he’s not touching the burn but he can feel the heat radiating off of it, coming in waves. He whimpers, all the fight leaving him, unwitting tears leaking from his eyes as he stifles a sob. It hurts so bad, worse than anything he’s been through. He hates this, he hates the pain, he’s tired of the pain. He doesn’t know why this is affecting him so much, because it was Ford who caused it? But, Ford didn’t mean it, did he? His brother, his big brother, wouldn’t mean to hurt him, right? He rocks himself, almost violently, hoping to at least soothe the torrent in his mind.

“Oh my gosh, Stanley! A-are you alright?” He can hear Ford call out as he rushes over to check, but he can’t bring himself to speak, the pain in his shoulder too great and his tongue feeling too thick. He just moans lowly in his throat, wincing as he feels Ford prod at the edges of his burn. Hearing his brother talk to him without scorn for the first time in a decade is what causes his sobbing, unaccustomed to and sorely missing his brother’s words and presence, He finds it hard to breathe with his tears, he rocks faster and faster until he’s stopped by a hand on his other shoulder. He finally looks up to Ford, throat tight and eyes wet and blurry. Stan doesn’t know what Ford sees in his face, but whatever it is has him gently hauling him up and guiding him to the basement’s elevator. Stan’s legs are heavy, like his tongue, and don’t want to move, so he stumbles a lot, his brother having to keep him steady. He winces, scared to get yelled at again, but Ford says nothing, just tightens his hand around Stan’s waist. The elevator ride is silent, Stan doesn’t speak, he just leans against Ford, thinking about how long it’s been since he’s done this, instead of the pain.

After what seems like forever, they make it upstairs and hobble into a room at Ford’s direction. It’s a bathroom. Stan distantly wonders if there’s hot water, he hasn’t had hot water in forever. Would he be able to shower, with his shoulder? Stan starts to think there’s something else he should be worried about when Ford makes him sit on the toilet, stepping away. He grasps at Ford’s coat, bringing him closer, so scared he’s going to leave him, making him be all alone again. He doesn’t want to be all alone again

“Stanley, I have to get a first aid kit to help and examine you. Your burn is very serious, infection is a dangerous possibility.” Ford tries to pull away again, but Stan buries his head in Ford’s and shakes his head, silently begging for him to stay. “Stanley, please,” Ford sounds exasperated, grabbing Stan’s hands to pull them off, “I need you to-” he whimpers out a vaguely sobbed ‘no’, clenching tighter to the coat. He feels Ford kneel down, his hands bringing Stan’s up, making their eyes connect. He speaks softly. “Stanley-Lee, come on. I won’t be far, the first aid kit is right under the sink here, you can still see me. Okay?” Ford stands up, backing away slowly as Stan lets the coat slide from his fingertips. Stan grasps the end of his brother's coat, still looking at him. He needs this contact, he’s scared Ford will leave and disappear if he doesn’t keep a hold on him. Ford just stares at him, a weird look in his eye, before he steps towards the sink and opens the cabinet underneath, rummaging for the first aid kit. All with Stan grasping his coat.

Ford steps back to Stan and tries to step behind him when Stan panics again, turning to face him. What if Ford leaves when Stan can’t see him?! He’ll never be able to find him then! Stan can feel more tears leak and the ache in his throat and chest get worse at the thought of losing his brother again. He can feel Ford hovering around him before something gets shoved in his lap. He looks down to see his brother’s coat, but wasn’t he wearing this? Stan looks back up, Ford’s hands are hovering right in front of him.

“There, now that you have my coat, I can’t leave. Now can I please see to your burn?” Stan can’t argue with that logic, it’s super cold outside, and his brother’s too smart to go play in the snow with no coat on. Subdued, Stan turns his back to Ford, letting him look at his shoulder. It really does hurt a lot now that he’s not so worried about Ford leaving him. Ford’s silent as he pokes and prods at his burn, anytime he hisses and whimpers in pain, his brothers hand strokes his head, calming him. Stan hears scissors snapping and feels Ford cut away his shirt and jacket. He sniffles, holding back tears, this was his warmest coat, his only coat, and now he’s gonna freeze. Stan brings his legs up the the toilet seats he’s sitting on and buries his face in his knees, using Ford’s jacket to wipe away his tears and hide his face until his burn is fixed up.

It takes forever, but Stan feels Ford finally cover his burn with a bandage. Just in time for Stan to release a big yawn, rubbing his eye with one hand, the other still clutching Ford’s coat. Now that everything’s hitting him, Stan feels really sleepy, his eyes struggling to stay open.

“Stanley, how do you feel?” Ford’s kneeling in front of him again. How does he feel? He feels light, fuzzy, kind of hazy? He doesn’t really know, and he can’t speak anyways, so he just shrugs and blinks slowly. He stands with Ford as he walks over to the door, Stan grabbing his hand and clutching it tightly before he could open it.

“Stanley, really I-“ Ford doesn’t finish what he was saying, he just looks. Stanley yawns again, swaying on his feet. If his tongue weren’t so heavy, he’d ask for jammies and to sleep. Ford must have read or mind, his brother’s so smart, because all he does is softly say something about getting Stan some clothes and getting him a room. He follows Ford as he walks, holding his hand, before he freezes. His bag! Stan’s bag is still by the front door and he needs it! It’s got Poindexter, and he can’t sleep without Poindexter!

He walks to where he can kind of remember where the door was, still holding Ford’s hand, dragging him along and tuning out his protests. He gets to the bag and finally lets go of his brother’s hand, bending down and rummaging through it until he finds and brings out Poindexter. He turns around to show him to Ford, shoving him in Ford’s face.

“Stanley what-Ack! Yes I see it! Very nice-“ Stan shakes his stuffy, Ford’s not getting it! He points to Poindexters glasses and then to Ford’s, trying to tell him that they’re matching. “Y-yes, your-um. Your bear and I both wear glasses, Stanley, that’s very fun. Listen, why don’t you get some pajamas from your bag-“ Stan cuts him off, shaking his head. He doesn’t have any pajamas, just some shirts and pants, nothing he can sleep in.

“You don’t have pajamas? Stanley, I-I…” Ford doesn’t finish his sentence, he looks really sad, which confuses Stan. He doesn’t know why Ford’s looks sad. He shuffles on his feet, clutching Poindexter and Ford’s coat tighter, he really wants to go to bed now. Ford must want to, too because he doesn’t finish his sentence, grabbing his wrist and guiding him to a room with a really ugly carpet. He’s so distracted by the ugly carpet that he doesn’t notice his brother left his line of sight until Ford’s in front of him, trying to get him to raise his arms. He lets Ford move him, too sleepy to protest. Ford dresses him in a cozy sweater, tight but warm and clean, and moves Stan to the couch in the room.

“You can sleep here tonight, Stanley. It’s the only room with a bed right now. We’ll talk more in the morning.” Ford covers him him a blanket and tries to leave, but Stan grabs his hand again. Staring up at him, begging him to stay. He buried his head in Ford’s hand, hearing him sigh. “Just until you fall asleep, Stanley.” And Stan relaxes, happy that Ford’s watching over him, that he’s staying with him and won’t leave him alone. He’s so tired, it doesn’t take him long to drift off, curled up tight against the couch, clutching Ford’s hand, his coat, and Poindexter. He manages to move his heavy tongue to mumble a ‘night-night’ to Ford, and Poindexter, before he falls fully asleep, his eyes too heavy to open any more.

“I’m sorry, Lee”