Ford doesn't respond right away. At least, not with words - the click of a dial and the sudden, steady rumbling of the heater as it purrs into life is the only answer he can think to give, because he's never been good with words, and part of him doubts Stan would even hear all of them even if he did say something. The poor bastard looks like he's ready to pass out, like he's fading in and out of awareness.

Ford's not sure if he should let him drift off or not. God knows he could use the rest, among other things, but Ford's never had to deal with someone who looks so damn close to overdosing before. He doesn't event want to entertain the idea, but a big part of Ford is terrified that if he lets his brother fall asleep, he might not wake up again.

Suddenly uncomfortable with the silence that's fallen between them, Ford glances over at Stan, just, you know, to make sure he's still awake, still breathing. Despite knowing he should really keep both hands on the wheel, Ford gives in to the urge to reach over and lay a hand on his brother's shoulder. He gives a gentle squeeze, then a little shake, just - just to wake him up a little.

"Stanley? You still with me, buddy?"