stanbill drama for sixfingerednerd

[goodguygrifter]

So this little bastard's in front of him, okay, a kraken or some shit, and she's having a little tantrum, tentacles waving everywhere, that's fine. That would all be fine, if she wasn't waving them at his ship. His ship. One of those tentacles slaps between him and Ford and he hits the deck, rolls and looks over at Ford, wide-eyed. And that's it, alright? No one would disagree, right, there's nothin' wrong with trying to take a little control back, not for his brother, on his ship. His wide eyes narrow, and he gets to his feet.

"Aww, did we wake the widdle baby from her nap?" He stands there, feet set wide, arms on his hips, and his voice carries somehow, all the way from his mouth to that big slimy face, all high up. "Look, how old are you, not even a thousand? I know that first millenium's rough, kid, but life's gonna' go a whole lot easier for you if you learn to recognize the big leagues when you see 'em." 

The kraken shrieks and flails, trying to smash the boat again. This time, the tentacle heads for exactly the place he last saw Ford.

She's not just trying to break his boat, he realizes. She's trying to break Ford, and Stanley feels something shift in him, his face is a scowl and he reaches out and his fist, closed over nothing, tightens. The kraken shrieks again and this time she ain't angry, and Stan's scowl turns into something with too many teeth in it.

"Warned you, didn't I," he asks, cheerful now that things are kinda' going his way. "Look, I'll make you a deal! Come back in another thousand years, try that again, maybe I'll even give you a free swing! But for now it's time to stop that little tantrum, okay?" 

"Hey, Stanford!" He calls it over his shoulder, not turning his head to look. "You wanted to give this kid a little interview, right? Do a little of that research you like so much? Well, go ahead and ask all the questions you want, 'cause I think we got ourselves our first captive audience!"

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[sixfingerednerd]

Ford doesn't look where he's going - he doesn't particularly care where he's going so long as it puts some distance between himself and his brother. A little distance, that's all he needs. Some distance and some time to think, some time to get his shit together and figure out how the hell he's going to address these new, terrifying developments in Stan's supernatural abilities.

He moves without thinking, and he damn near steps right through that sizable hole in the deck of the ship before its suddenly stitched back together beneath his boot - the splintered wood melds back together seamlessly, all those broken and battered pieces fusing into solid, sturdy planks. Within moments the ship looks good as new, like it had never been touched.

Ford can't help but wonder if Stan knows he can probably do that in reverse, too. If he really wanted to, if the mood ever struck him, he could probably tear things apart and stitch them back together again, and again, and again and--

Ford Swallows hard against the sudden burning feeling in the back of his throat and grimaces against the taste of bile. It's nothing, probably just seasickness. Nevermind that he's never been seasick even once, not even when they were children with sensitive stomachs and weak constitutions. There's a first time for everything, right? Right.

"I'm fine, Stanley."

He doesn't turn around, he doesn't even spare a look over his shoulder. He just keeps walking forward, his gait tense and stilted as he makes his way towards the cabin and prays that his brother doesn't follow.

[goodguygrifter]

Either Ford's praying to the wrong guy or he oughta' start his prayers out a little smaller, because of course Stan's not going to let things sit like that. Of course he's curious. But he doesn't think things are that bad, a little weird but not bad, so he doesn't really try to overtake his brother, he just kind of walks after him, keeping pace a few feet behind.

"Oh yeah? Then why'd you end that so easy? You coulda' made that shot with your eyes closed." Just one more thing Ford's better at, but Stan's never been able to hit the broad side of a barn with anything smaller than, say, a car, let alone a gun. So you know what, he's almost used to the way Ford outclasses him with his body now, too, instead of just his brain, and if Stan can use that little factoid to prop his argument up he almost don't have to think about that almost or how much it still gets to him.

"You're not gonna' shut yourself up in the dark and pretend you're not licking your wounds all by your lonesome, are you? 'Cause I got to break it to ya', Sixer, this ain't the Shack, there's no creepy isolated basement on the Stan O' War and, you know, there ain't really any locks."

[sixfingerednerd]

"As if a lock has ever kept you out of anything."

Had it been any other time, Ford would have meant that as a compliment. He would have spoken those words with fondness and amusement instead of snapping like an intimidated dog masking its fear with aggression. He might have sounded a little proud, even, proud of his morally-dubious yet undeniably talented brother who could probably break into Fort Knox with nothing but a pair of bolt cutters and a mouthful of liquid courage.

God, what Ford wouldn't give for a drink himself right about now.

Shaking his head, Ford roughs a hand through his hair and tries to banish that thought from his mind before it can take root. He's not a young thirty-something anymore; he can't afford to keep putting his liver through the wringer, and if he falls off the wagon again God only knows when he'll be able to climb back on it.

"...I'm going to check the charter." He says belatedly, his hand resting heavy on the handle of the cabin door. "If we don't get back on course, we won't make it to the next port until midnight."

It's a horrible excuse. The scrape with the Kraken didn't last long enough to cause any significant delay, and Stan knows it. Ford knows he knows it, but maybe if he gets real damn lucky his brother will take the obvious hint for what it is and just let it go.

Yeah. Ford doesn't need to be a genius to know the probability of that happening is abysmal.

[goodguygrifter]

And you know what, he almost does it. Ford doesn't want him there, that's what almost stops Stan. Just the surprise of it, after asking Stan to go around the world with him, after rebuilding the Stan O' War II together and everything it stood for, the fact that Ford genuinely doesn't want him around right now almost surprises Stan enough to stop him.

But with Stan, surprise don't stick around too long. It usually moves out pretty quick to make room for something else.

"Oh come on," he says, not thinking about the blue hand-shaped rope of force he stretches out in front of him toward the handle under Ford's hand, wanting to flick the lock closed. "You're gonna' feed me a story like that? Look, I did everything right with that kraken thing, better than right, so you can't be that ticked off with me."