Here they are, right smack dab in the middle of an absolute shitshow of a situation, and the first thing Stanley thinks to do is to make a joke.
Ford would laugh at the audacity of it if he weren't so sure that he was one wrong breath away from crying, and wouldn't that just be the icing on the cake that is this horrible night.
Rather than laugh, or cry, or do anything that might open the goddamn floodgates and turn him into an emotional wreck, Ford simply exhales out of his nose. It's an ambiguous gesture, one that can be interpreted as everything from mild, begrudging amusement to getting choked up, which is fitting because Ford's genuinely not sure which end of the spectrum he's falling on right now. He's not sure of anything right now, honestly, least of all what he should do next.
It's a horribly disconcerting feeling, not knowing where to go from here. All his life, that had been his talent, his thing. He had been the brains to Stan's brawn, the half of their dynamic duo who always had a plan, a way out, a third option. And yet here he is, kneeling in a filthy parking lot without so much as a clue as to where to go from here.
Maybe he'll just have to improvise, take a leaf from his brother's book and just...go with things and see where it takes him.
"You know what I believe, Stanley?" His voice is soft, or at least, as soft has he can reasonably make it now that his throat feels like he's been gargling gravel all night. "I believe, without a shadow of a doubt, that I'm not going anywhere. Hallucination or not, I'm gonna stay with you, alright? I'm gonna get you through this."
He knows it didn't do much good the first time, but he squeezes his brother's hand one more time, just for emphasis, just because he can.
"You've got to trust me, Stan. You don't have to think I'm real, but I can't- I can't help you if you don't let me."
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Ford would laugh at the audacity of it if he weren't so sure that he was one wrong breath away from crying, and wouldn't that just be the icing on the cake that is this horrible night.
Rather than laugh, or cry, or do anything that might open the goddamn floodgates and turn him into an emotional wreck, Ford simply exhales out of his nose. It's an ambiguous gesture, one that can be interpreted as everything from mild, begrudging amusement to getting choked up, which is fitting because Ford's genuinely not sure which end of the spectrum he's falling on right now. He's not sure of anything right now, honestly, least of all what he should do next.
It's a horribly disconcerting feeling, not knowing where to go from here. All his life, that had been his talent, his thing. He had been the brains to Stan's brawn, the half of their dynamic duo who always had a plan, a way out, a third option. And yet here he is, kneeling in a filthy parking lot without so much as a clue as to where to go from here.
Maybe he'll just have to improvise, take a leaf from his brother's book and just...go with things and see where it takes him.
"You know what I believe, Stanley?" His voice is soft, or at least, as soft has he can reasonably make it now that his throat feels like he's been gargling gravel all night. "I believe, without a shadow of a doubt, that I'm not going anywhere. Hallucination or not, I'm gonna stay with you, alright? I'm gonna get you through this."
He knows it didn't do much good the first time, but he squeezes his brother's hand one more time, just for emphasis, just because he can.
"You've got to trust me, Stan. You don't have to think I'm real, but I can't- I can't help you if you don't let me."