If it were anyone else telling him all of this, Ford probably wouldn't believe it. Which, you know, you'd think it would be the exact opposite considering Stan's predisposition towards bending the truth. A stranger would tell it to him straight without sugar coating things, right? Well, maybe. Maybe they would, maybe they wouldn't, but Ford doesn't really have to worry about that with Stan. He doesn't have to worry about his brother lying to him - he's never been able to. The guy could charm the pants off the pope if given half the chance, but he's never been able to work his magic on his own brother. Whether his conscience just gets to him, or Ford's just that good at reading him is up to debate.
The point is, when Stan tells him they've got a chance, that maybe things will work out in the end after all - well, Ford believes him. He believes him with all that he is because if he doesn't he might just start tearing up again, and Holy Moses he has done that enough for one lifetime, thank you.
Thankfully, before he can get all weepy and sentimental, Stan brings up an excellent point - the dream problem. And what a problem it is.
"Well, ah. About that." He begins haltingly, his hand moving up to rub awkwardly at the back of his neck, mindful not to get too close to the fresh wound at the base of his skull.
"Typically, you can only dream once you've entered the REM state, which means, theoretically, I should be fine so long as I don't sleep for more than ninety consecutive minutes at a time. Seventy, if we want to be careful."
He glances over at Stan, trying to see if he's noticed the very obvious hitch in this plan.
"The problem with that is, if you don't get any REM sleep whatsoever, you'll start hallucinating, having waking dreams - or you'll just pass out and stay out until you fall into REM sleep naturally."
He shrugs, trying to pass that little biology lesson off as a fun fact rather than the unfortunate reality of his situation.
"I'm fucked, basically."
He hardly ever swears - at least in front of polite company - but he hopes maybe Stan will get a kick out of him casually dropping the f-bomb like that. It's a small consolation in the face of such grim news, but, well, Ford's tired. It's the best he can do.
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The point is, when Stan tells him they've got a chance, that maybe things will work out in the end after all - well, Ford believes him. He believes him with all that he is because if he doesn't he might just start tearing up again, and Holy Moses he has done that enough for one lifetime, thank you.
Thankfully, before he can get all weepy and sentimental, Stan brings up an excellent point - the dream problem. And what a problem it is.
"Well, ah. About that." He begins haltingly, his hand moving up to rub awkwardly at the back of his neck, mindful not to get too close to the fresh wound at the base of his skull.
"Typically, you can only dream once you've entered the REM state, which means, theoretically, I should be fine so long as I don't sleep for more than ninety consecutive minutes at a time. Seventy, if we want to be careful."
He glances over at Stan, trying to see if he's noticed the very obvious hitch in this plan.
"The problem with that is, if you don't get any REM sleep whatsoever, you'll start hallucinating, having waking dreams - or you'll just pass out and stay out until you fall into REM sleep naturally."
He shrugs, trying to pass that little biology lesson off as a fun fact rather than the unfortunate reality of his situation.
"I'm fucked, basically."
He hardly ever swears - at least in front of polite company - but he hopes maybe Stan will get a kick out of him casually dropping the f-bomb like that. It's a small consolation in the face of such grim news, but, well, Ford's tired. It's the best he can do.