The way Stan words things, the way he treats everything that's happened like it's soley his fault - well, it doesn't sit well with Ford. It sinks down heavy in his gut, drops hard like a stone and makes something in his chest twist unpleasantly. He's not sure what to call the feeling, other than bad, but if he had to wager a guess he'd say it was guilt.

"Well," He begins, only to pause to clear his throat before he can really say anything substantial. "I could do without the whole "begrudged by a dream demon" thing, but other than that--"

He shrugs, then favors Stan with a weak smile.

"Can't say I imagined things turning out this way, but...I'm glad they did."

He looks down at his hands then, watching as one plucks the decorative tooth-pick from his burger and sticks it in what's left of Stan's french-fry fort.

"I dub thee Fort Stan."