Every once in a while I get to thinking about a Runaway Stans AU (Ford following Stan when he gets kicked out) and I get. So very emotional.
[This is HUGELY inspired by @eeveelotions and you should MUST check out their beautiful fics!]
Ford keeps studying while Stan gets a few jobs so they can afford to live in a very small, shitty studio and Ford's stuff for school. And for the most part, it works— but Ford cannot shake the feeling that he's being a burden, no matter how much Stan insists that he just needs to focus on his studies so he doesn't end up like him. The oldest hates hearing that. What Stan does to support them isn't laughable nor shameful: his barely-adult twin is working three jobs (one in the afternoons, one at night and one on the weekends, plus a fourth one Ford suspects he hasn't told him about) just so they can have a roof over their heads. No 18 year old should go through that, yet Stan had taken his role without complaint, just to make sure that Ford could keep studying.
So yes, Stan has definitely sacrificed enough for them (for him), and Ford can't in good faith keep letting him carry all of that weight by himself.
But Stan won't let him get a job, saying he already has enough as it is with uni, and he just needs to use his big brain to get them a good gig in the future. Ford, on the other hand, doesn't feel like that's enough in the slightest.
Maybe he gets a job at a café in the afternoons, or at a supermarket. Something that aligns with Stan's schedule, so he won't suddenly appear in his place of work. Somewhere he can steal stuff from every once in a while.
Here's the thing about studying and working at the same time, though: it is really fucking draining. No matter who much you love studying, how well you plan your day or how easy you think your job is, juggling both at the same time is extremely exhausting.
However, Mr 'got a PhD three years ahead of time' doesn't see his exhaustion as a warning sign to slow down, but rather as proof that he isn't doing enough. Stan is working three or four jobs a day and he gets all prissy about one? Pathetic. Weak. He can't afford that. Stan doesn't deserve that. So he grits his teeth and keeps working.
Meanwhile, Stan starts noticing some changes in Ford's mood. He's elusive, sometimes skittish when he asks him how his day went. Some days he'll arrive late for dinner, right before Stan has to leave for work, mumbling something about studying at the library and losing track of time.
And what does Stan have to say about that? Nothing. 'Cause, really, what is he supposed to say? "Don't study"? "Study at home, with the shitty lights that keep flickering and give you a headache, the noisy neighbors and the furniture that is one sneeze away from falling apart"? Fuck no. Ford deserves a nice place to work in, and if it were up to Stan, he would live in an actual home with his own, peaceful office.
But, precisely because of Stan, Ford can't even have a table of his own.
So instead, he settles for making a passing comment about being home on time so dinner will still be warm when he arrives, and avoids mentioning that dinner is the only part of the day when they're both awake at the same time anymore.
This goes on for at least two or three months. Stan doesn't comment on Ford being late anymore, and Ford...
He isn't doing too hot.
His 'weakness' is starting to take a toll on him. From asshole classmates, useless teachers and difficult classes, to having to work in retail every day, to losing precious time he could be spending with his brother... it's all too much. He's tired, and angry, and so, so fucking guilty. He's not stupid; he can see the sadness in Stan's face whenever he comes home late and he knows. He knows Stan blames himself for having a late night job and having to leave. But that's all the more reason for Ford to keep going, because if he keeps making money then Stan will be able to sleep properly and not have to work 16 hours a day. It's all worth it to give Stan just a little back for all that he's sacrificed for the both of them.
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Three months later, Ford has some money saved up that he managed to keep hidden from Stan, and an excuse: one of the teachers liked a chemistry paper he handed in, and encouraged Ford to publish it. They gave him some money for it and left the door open for possible future publications.
It's a good plan! It's not like Stan knows how research publishing works, or how much they pay per paper, or whether his articles are good enough for that (they aren't, especially not now). Besides, Ford already made some money in high school selling homework and essays. This is just the legal, more academic version of it!
So he tells him. And he was right: Stan doesn't know a lick of research publishing or anything related to it. There is, however, something that Stan knows real well.
Ford.
In hindsight, Stanford should've seen it coming. Lying to Stan in passing conversations about being late while purposefully avoiding looking at him isn't the same as telling a convoluted lie straight to his face.
Stanley is pissed. And hurt. And rightfully so. So it doesn't take long for Stanford to 'fess up, arguing that he did it for their sake— for Stan's sake! But that isn't what Stan is furious about, and Ford knows, so he lets him pace around their place, and scream (thank God they have noisier neighbors than themselves), and slam their bedroom door closed.
In any other situation, Ford might've stood his ground a little more, especially when it's Stan and not someone who will immediately hurt him for talking back. But... he remembers how he felt when he thought Stan was lying about breaking his project on accident. The incident is fresh enough to remember how long it took him to get rid of the nasty feeling of "what if he's lying". And he just did that to Stan.
Some brother.
Ford sighs and drops back into his plastic chair. There's no way he's going to sleep now, not with the way his body has decided to drown him in his own guilt. He simply takes his books out of his bag and opens them. Might as well catch up on some studying.
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After an hour and a half of reading the same page over and over again, the bedroom door opens.
"Come to bed," says a still very visibly angry and pajama'd up Stan.
"I have to finish—"
"Tomorrow's Sunday. It can wait. Or do you have work tomorrow?"
"No, only Monday to Friday."
"Then get your ass to bed."
"I can take the sofa—"
"That shit will break your spine. We didn't spend money on a mattress to not use it. Close those books and come get some shut-eye."
The tone leaves no room for further arguing. Ford watches as Stan walks to the bathroom, presumably to brush his teeth, and he hesitates just a moment before doing as told. He goes into their shared room, leaving his glasses on the floor next to his side of the mattress, and he puts on his own pajamas. Stan re-enters a minute later, and he silently lays on his side of the bed, facing away. Even though it's his usual position, Stanford can't help but feel a little pang in his chest. He turns off the light and lays down as well, back to his brother.
"I'm sorry," he says after a few minutes, unable to endure another single second of silence.
"Don't. Fucking lie to me," Stan replies through gritted teeth.
"I know. I'm sorry. But you also keep things from me about the jobs you have, I just—"
"Me not giving you details about my jobs is pretty fucking different from lying to your face."
"I know, I know," Ford relents, already regretting his previous words. "But we needed some extra money."
"No, we didn't!" Stan half-yells all of a sudden. "We aren't starving anymore! We have a roof, and a bed! And shit, I know it ain't the Ritz, but... I can always take another job. You already have enough as it is with uni, you shouldn't have to worry about work as well."
"How is that even remotely fair?"
"Simple. You study, I get us money."
"How is that fair for you? I have 6 hours of classes a day, and you work 16 hours a day!"
"That's only on Saturdays."
"Right, sorry, the rest of the week you simply work the totally normal amount of 12 hours."
"A lot of people do that, what's the problem?"
"The problem is that it isn't fair for you, for God's sake! You got us this home by working a frankly illegal amount of hours a day just to be paid a misery, you make sure there's food in the fridge and running water and blankets for the winter, and what do I do? I can't even pass classes like I always have, and now I can't have a stupid job that is barely 6 hours a day! I can't do anything even though I'm doing nothing in comparison. And now I'm here complaining like a child while you haven't even done so once!"
The room falls silent as Ford breathes again.
Stan sighs. Ford can feel the moment he stands up and walks to the door, and he really wishes they had dusted the room better, feeling the slight burn already pricking at his eyes.
A second later, the light turns on. Ford closes his eyes in response, shocked by the sudden flash, and he feels the mattress dip on the other side.
"Sit up."
Even less room for arguing than before. Ford sits up slowly, and he turns to face his brother, although he doesn't have it in him to look him in the eyes.
"You are... a fucking idiot." Ford doesn't move an inch. "You think I wouldn't ask you to get a job if we really needed money?"
Well, that's an easy answer.
"I know you wouldn't."
"Really?"
"Yes. Because you said yourself you still think it's your fault I'm here with you, and not my own choice."
Stan's face falls.
"Alright, I'll give it to ya, I walked right into that one," he concedes, raising his hands. "But aside from that, what you're doing right now is more important than any job I could have."
"How so?"
"Because you'll have a fancy McPants job in the future, something that actually pays the bills, and you won't be in this shithole anymore!"
"We won't. Right?"
"... right. We. But in order to do that, you need to do what you do best, which is putting your big nerd brain to good use. And you can't do that if you're working."
"Lots of people study and work at the same time, why wouldn't I?"
"Honestly? Because you can't, Six." Stan's bluntness goes straight through Ford's pride, even if his voice is significantly softer than before. "Look, I'm not saying you literally can't. I mean, you're doing it right now. But you're not cut out for the regular working life, and I don't mean that like an insult."
"It kind of sounds like it."
"No! What I mean is, you're not made for working at a café and dealing with assholes who won't even say thank you. You're made for studying, and researching, and finding whatever cure we need to find next, and discovering 50 new planets! That's who you are!" Stan shrugs as Ford takes the words in. "I'm not cut out for that. I can't do the things you do. I can't learn that stupid periodic table, or the kings in Europe, I can't do that!"
"You're smart enough to—"
"That's not the point, man! The point is I would go insane if I had to do that for a living! I'd rather do 12 hours of hard work every day than having to study and take exams and write essays for a living. I couldn't do it. Just like you would rather set yourself on fire than work customer service."
Ford opens his mouth to speak, but he quickly closes it again. There isn't much he can deny about that, Stan is right.
"What you can't do is both at the same time. And really, I'm not judging you, I couldn't either. But you've been all gloomy and snappy for three months, this is affecting you."
"So what, we go back to you carrying all the weight and me just going to class and spending time reading?"
"Don't say it like it's a bad thing."
"It IS a bad thing! You're killing yourself working while I'm just doing nothing!"
"Ford..." Stan pinches his nose, his voice so tired it makes Stanford feel even worse.
"You can't seriously tell me that it's fair. You can't." The pricking feeling in his eyes turns to warmth, but he isn't fast enough to wipe them before a tear runs down his cheek. "It shouldn't be your job to take care of us. But I'm too weak to do anything about it. I thought coming with you would be helpful, I thought I could be helpful, but I'm just another mouth to feed. And it's you who has to work double just to keep both of us afloat. I don't—"
"Stanford."
"I'm sorry for being a burden."
Ford closes his eyes tight, unable to see anything through the tears anymore. He doesn't have time to wipe them, though, as his arms are now being pinned to his sides by his brother in a tight embrace. Instinctively, Ford buries his face in the crook of Stan's neck, muffling his sobs in the other's shoulder. He tries his best to hug him back, only managing to grab his shirt.
After a few minutes, Stan's grip shiftens, throwing one arm around Ford's shoulders and resting his other hand in his hair, soothing him. Now with his arms free, Ford hugs him fully, enveloping Stan's torso hard enough to let him know he means it. Every word, every apology, everything else he's too much of a coward to admit. He means it all.
A loud crash is heard through the wall, and then a door slam. Stan rolls his eyes.
"Great, there's gonna be a show tonight."
"I think," Ford mutters, "judging by the door, that she left. We might have some peace tonight."
"Heh. That'd be nice."
Ford sniffles, his breaths evening the slightest bit. Stan doesn't let him go, still massaging through his hair, mindlessly untangling any knots he comes across.
"Listen, Sixer. What you said about being a burden, you have to know it's not true."
"But I'm—"
"Stop. If you want me to stop believing it's my fault we're here, then you have to stop believing you're a burden. I don't care if you think it's true or not, I just need you to trust me like I trust you, okay?"
"I... trust you."
"You better. And you have to quit your stupid job, okay?"
"I can't."
"Why not?"
"Because you can't keep working for the both of us. It's not—"
"If you say it's not fair one more time, Six..." Stan interrupts, and he breaks the hug. He looks at Ford's face, shiny with freshly-shed tears, and he grabs it with both hands. "Look, you can take care of us in the future, when you discover time travel or something and become rich and famous." Slowly, Stan wipes Ford's cheeks with his thumbs. "But in order to do that, you need to study now. I'll take care of us now, and in the future you can do it, yeah?"
"There's no guarantee I'll succeed in the future, Stanley."
"Bro, I'd gamble my life on it, no questions asked. You're having a bad streak now, that's fine. But being a genius is just second nature to you. You'll be fine in no time, I know it. But you have to let me carry us for a while before we get there, alrigh'? Just trust me on this."
It's a dirty card, and both men know it. But Ford can't deny the calm that washes over him when Stan talks to him like that, so unabashedly honest, so sure of his words, so full of blind trust. Trusting Stan is the easiest thing in the world.
"I trust you," he repeats, now much more seriously.
"And don't. Ever. Lie to me again," Stan declares, his voice once again cutting. "I wanna trust you too."
"I promise," Ford replies, swallowing the new wave of guilt.
"Even if you think you're doing it for my sake, don't. Ever."
"Ever. I swear," Ford states, serious as a heartache. Stan is giving him a last chance, and he won't waste it. "I swear on everything."
"Good. Now," Stan says, and Ford doesn't miss the way his brother takes a deep breath, "go to sleep. I may not work tonight, but I do tomorrow. And you need your beauty sleep or you'll bite my hand instead of the toast tomorrow morning."
Ford chuckles lightly at his twin's poor attempt at a joke.
"Yeah, okay, look who's talking Mr. 'My Hair isn't perfectly combed'." His sarcasm is met with a playful shove, which does succeed in knocking him down.
"Shut your yap and go to sleep already. I'll see ya tomorrow."
Ford smiles, getting up and turning the light off before laying down again, his back turned to his brother.
"Goodnight, Stanley."
"Goodnight, nerd."
