In fairness to the man behind the counter, it's the middle of the goddamn night, so expecting speedy service is asking a bit much. But still, the longer it takes him to ring up his items, the faster Ford's patience starts to run out - by the time everything's been punched into the register, Ford can't bring himself to wait any longer. He throws a ten on the counter, tells the befuddled cashier to keep the change, and rushes out the door and into the crisp night air -

Without a moment to spare, evidently, because just as he feared Stanley is doing something stupid.

"Stanley!" No no no, no getting out of the car, no trying to leave. "If you needed some fresh air you could've just rolled the--"

He stops short, his eyes locking onto his brother's hand now that he's actually close enough to see what's in it. He stares, dread welling up inside his chest as he prays to whatever God that's listening that the thing in his brother's hand is just a pebble, or some pocket lint, or an M&M or anything other than what he thinks it is.

"---Stanley. What the hell is that."