Stan's eyes catch on those scars before he thinks about it and he looks away, fast. "Then I won't summon him," he promises easily, not thinking about it, just needing to turn Ford's doubt into belief. Belief in him. "I won't call him up and leave some shittalking message on his demonic answering machine either, whatever, if that's what you want, you got it. It's just, Ford, you said, you said we had a deal. You gotta' let me prove I can help you out here. That was the deal. How am I supposed to do that if you shut up tighter than Ford Knox on me whenever I start tryin' to figure all this horror movie BS out? How else am I gonna' make up for all this, Ford? It's like you don't want me involved, still, after all this shit. But you said you would, you said you'd give me a chance."

"Give me a chance," he says, turning to try and look into Ford's eyes, his voice slipping into that tone he's used a million times before, his voice earnest and open, his face honest. He means it, is the thing. He always means it, to big guys with baseball bats, to random strangers on the street. To his brother most of all.

"Please."