"You could've--" Ford repeats the words, his voice quiet, hushed.
His brow furrow, his mouth working on words that get tangled up in his throat. He finds himself moving, crossing the room in a few quick, uneven strides. He doesn't know what he's doing when he reaches his brother, doesn't know why his hands are reaching for his shoulders and gripping tight.
"Don't." His voice is still hushed, though there's firmness there that replaces the incredulity from before. "Don't you dare put this on yourself."
He sounds angry now, though not at Stan. No, what he's angry at is something intangible, something he can't rage against physically so he'll have to settle for growling at his brother instead.
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His brow furrow, his mouth working on words that get tangled up in his throat. He finds himself moving, crossing the room in a few quick, uneven strides. He doesn't know what he's doing when he reaches his brother, doesn't know why his hands are reaching for his shoulders and gripping tight.
"Don't." His voice is still hushed, though there's firmness there that replaces the incredulity from before. "Don't you dare put this on yourself."
He sounds angry now, though not at Stan. No, what he's angry at is something intangible, something he can't rage against physically so he'll have to settle for growling at his brother instead.