There's an edge to Stan's voice - it's dull, not quite as sharp as it would have been if Ford's words had come from anyone but him - but it's there none the less. Ford's not sure why that takes him off guard, but it does. Maybe he just wasn't expecting Stan to still feel so strongly about the subject, or maybe he's just gone so long without someone to keep him from feeling badly about his hands that it just takes him by surprise to have someone do it now.

Whatever the reason, it strikes Ford hard enough to catch him off guard and give him pause, his boots sinking into the fresh white powder at their feet as he gives his brother a confused, lost look.

"Stan." He begins, before going quiet for a moment or two, because he's really not sure what to say after that. "It's fine. I don't mind."

It isn't and he does, but that's not what he's supposed to say, so he stretches the truth a little. Or a lot. Or possibly entirely.

"We're not eight anymore, I'm not gonna go home and cry because someone asked if mom stood too close to a microwave while she was pregnant."