Ford can feel himself bristing, his shoulders squaring as the rest of him draws inward. He curls in on himself a bit, feeling sickened and angry and still so very anxious, along with a cocktail of other things he doesn't care to put a name to at the moment.

"You know damn well what you're doing."

He folds his arms over his chest, wrapping them tight in an effort to get his breathing under control - it's a lot harder to let himself take those too-deep breaths when his arms are keeping his chest from expanding too far out.

It scares him, how much this feels like the real Stan. He supposes he shouldn't be surprised - Cipher had access to all his memories. Everything he knows about his brother, so does he. Everying thing except...

Except what happened after he put in the metal plate.

Ford looks up suddenly, feeling something small and dangerous well up inside of him. Something that hurts to harbor in his chest because he knows how very easily it can be snuffed out.

He risks a sideways glance at Stan, not wanting to dare hope it might really be him, but being unable to help himself.

"Wait. If you're--Stan would know. If you're him, you'd know."

That doesn't make any sense without context, but thankfully Ford is quick to fire out a question that makes things a little more clear.

"What was the last thing I said to you, to Stan, before I went to sleep?"