This is not a talk Ford wants to be having. This especially isn't a talk he wants to be having with nothing but a towel wrapped around his waist, and yet here he is, having to do just that anyway.

He doesn't say anything for a minute. He just drags his hand down his face, then back over his head through his hair. He stares at the floor rather than looking at Stan, because it's a lot easier for him to look at the bloodstained hardwood than it is to see that look on his brother's face and know he put it there.

"...I wasn't joking earlier, when I said I was a bigger screw-up than you."

He glances up briefly, his hand moving to hang off the back of his neck in a clear show of discomfort as he finally looks his brother in the eye.

"I've made huge mistakes, Stan. You have no idea how idea how far this goes."