"Don't throw 'em out, not something like that." Stan moves closer and sits beside his brother, still looking down at him. "You got the room to keep 'em, they'll come in handy someday. And, uh, hey - take it from a guy who knows about wrecks, Ford, you ain't one. Your head's fine. You're just... Things ain't been goin' your way, that's all, but they'll pick up. They always do, huh?"

He reaches out to nudge Ford's shoulder with a fist - not hard, not a punch or even a thump, just a little nudge, slow and careful. With Ford's eyes closed like that Stan don't want to startle him or nothing, not when Stan's wondering just how long it's been since Ford got any sleep that don't come from the bottom of a bottle. Speaking of -

"I wish us normal guys could go inside people's dreams too. Then I'd really give that asshole the old one-two, make him let you alone for a real night's sleep, for once."