In the back of his mind (the part that hasn't been scorched all to hell) Ford can hear a voice that sounds suspiciously like his father's telling him to suck it up and stop being such a little queer. He would be more than happy to follow such sage advice if only he knew what he was crying for in the first place - he genuinely has no idea why he's coming undone like this. It's just sort of a thing that's happening right now, probably because Everything is just happening so much and his poor overworked brain has no idea how to deal with it.
There's only so much stress and hurt and trauma a person can go through before they break, and after everything he's been through as of late, Ford is long overdue for a nervous goddamn breakdown.
Only, he's not so sure that's what this is. As much as he hates their existence on principle, these don't seem like the bad sort of tears - the kind that force their way from your eyes, unbidden, when the world just gets too hard to keep existing. No, these feel more like the other kind.
He doesn't feel like smiling, not when everything is still such a godawful mess, but he feels the corner of his mouth twitch anyway as he lets out a shaky, almost giddy sounding breath. The sudden realization that he's safe, that Stan's safe, that He has no control over him anymore - it knocks the air out of him, leaving him sitting there chuckling breathlessly like a goddamn fool while his eyes keep right on watering, because what else are they to do in the wake of such all-encompassing relief?
Distantly, he realizes he's being manhandled again, that his brother is pulling him close and holding him tight. Lightheaded and disoriented as he is, Ford recognizes the gesture for what it is and tells the quiet protest in the back of his mind to go fuck itself as he does his best to return Stan's embrace. He doesn't have the strength left in him to hold on as tight as he'd like, but given the circumstances he'll cut himself some slack.
This is...nice. This is good. Things are okay and pretty soon it'll be like they never weren't okay and they can put this clusterfuck behind them and Ford will never ever have to be afraid to close his eyes again for fear of them not being his own when they open again.
Stan's talking again, saying things Ford only half-hears, and for some reason it doesn't alarm him that he's having trouble registering words. He has his mind back, he has his freedom back, he has his brother back - as far as he's concerned all is right in his world. But then, his world is starting to go a little fuzzy at the edges and he has to blink hard as Stan helps him to his feet in order to get it to come back into focus.
"Sounds--" Wow, words are getting hard to say all of the sudden. "Sounds like a plan."
...Yeah, looks like he really didn't plan things this far ahead at all. Probably explains why he feels struck dumb that this impulsive self-surgery actually worked in the first place.
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There's only so much stress and hurt and trauma a person can go through before they break, and after everything he's been through as of late, Ford is long overdue for a nervous goddamn breakdown.
Only, he's not so sure that's what this is. As much as he hates their existence on principle, these don't seem like the bad sort of tears - the kind that force their way from your eyes, unbidden, when the world just gets too hard to keep existing. No, these feel more like the other kind.
He doesn't feel like smiling, not when everything is still such a godawful mess, but he feels the corner of his mouth twitch anyway as he lets out a shaky, almost giddy sounding breath. The sudden realization that he's safe, that Stan's safe, that He has no control over him anymore - it knocks the air out of him, leaving him sitting there chuckling breathlessly like a goddamn fool while his eyes keep right on watering, because what else are they to do in the wake of such all-encompassing relief?
Distantly, he realizes he's being manhandled again, that his brother is pulling him close and holding him tight. Lightheaded and disoriented as he is, Ford recognizes the gesture for what it is and tells the quiet protest in the back of his mind to go fuck itself as he does his best to return Stan's embrace. He doesn't have the strength left in him to hold on as tight as he'd like, but given the circumstances he'll cut himself some slack.
This is...nice. This is good. Things are okay and pretty soon it'll be like they never weren't okay and they can put this clusterfuck behind them and Ford will never ever have to be afraid to close his eyes again for fear of them not being his own when they open again.
Stan's talking again, saying things Ford only half-hears, and for some reason it doesn't alarm him that he's having trouble registering words. He has his mind back, he has his freedom back, he has his brother back - as far as he's concerned all is right in his world. But then, his world is starting to go a little fuzzy at the edges and he has to blink hard as Stan helps him to his feet in order to get it to come back into focus.
"Sounds--" Wow, words are getting hard to say all of the sudden. "Sounds like a plan."
...Yeah, looks like he really didn't plan things this far ahead at all. Probably explains why he feels struck dumb that this impulsive self-surgery actually worked in the first place.