I wholeheartedly agree. Rotten egg jellybeans sound awful. Well, I hope you enjoy this next installment! Tw: Um...Stan is in pain. ? Also, I said 'insomnia' instead of 'amnesia' in the last chapter- oops. Funny that no one even mentioned it.
The drive back to Stanford's cabin hadn't been nearly as peaceful as the drive to town.
Stanley tried to relax, yet somehow it only seemed to make the growing pit of anxiety in his stomach worse. Halfway back to the shack and he was trembling. Lightly, yes, but trembling all the same. His fingers twitched on the wheel, tapping nervously, and his left foot {the one he didn't need to drive with} was bouncing even faster than his fingers were.
He figured he should pull over when he couldn't breathe.
Stanley let his head fall against the wheel as he parked on the side of the road. His breath came in short gasps. What was going on? Why was he freaking out?! He was just going back to the house, back to the shack! Back home! To...to...Stanford.
Home, he was going home to Stanford.
The thought bounced around in Stanley's head, so much so that he didn't notice as the trembling throughout all his limbs lessened and his breathing was beginning to even out.
He was going home, to Stanford.
He was going home, to Stanford!
He was going home!
Of course, I'm going home! Stanley thought. It only makes sense! It's not like I was leaving forever...just a drive into town. That's it!
Yet it had felt like so much more. It had felt so familiar and normal, yet it wasn't normal. The shack was normal. Stanford was normal. Stanley groaned and curled up into the seat. All of these conflictions were making his head hurt.
Ow.
Okay, his head really hurt. It was pounding as if someone were taking a hammer to it, consistently beating him in the back of his head.
And somehow that thought was familiar to. He shuddered and pulled himself deeper into the seat as the pain worsened. Nonono! Run! RUN FASTER. Freak, no, no! Please no PLEASE!
Go, go, go, keeping moving, please don't hurt me, please no, please I didn't do it, no. No...
Stanley groaned, his fingers clenching the side of his head, tugging on his hair as if ripping it out would make the pain go away. Would make the thoughts go away. His eyes were clenched shut, his teeth grinding against each other. Any pain was better than this. Anything.
Anything! Please, I'll do anything! Don't leave me- please don't leave me...please...
The pain was getting even worse, and now he regretted his words, the phantom pains ripping through his torso. His arms, his legs, were not better. They were worse. Tears were running freely off the side of his face, but he didn't really care at the moment.
The scars were old. They were done with. They were healed. Stanley knew they existed. He didn't know why, but why didn't matter because they were healed, they were gone.
Yet they felt as if each had been delivered in that very moment, that very second and it hurt.
PLEASE! LET ME OUT! LET ME OUT!
Stanley felt everything burn, even his mouth, which felt like it had been shredded with a cheese grater.
When his shoulder caught on fire, he couldn't handle it anymore.
Please...please. No more...
Please never got me anywhere kid.
Darkness shrouded his vision and he sank into it willingly.
...
Ford's eyes found the car on the road and his body visibly slumped in relief.
He had been following the road down to the town. He could try and track the car, what with the fresh tire tracks and all, but what was the point? Where else would Stanley have gone? There was really only one road up to the shack...so Ford followed it. Logical. It was logical.
Logical or not, Ford had been running down the road. He tried to tell himself that it was alright, that Stan was probably hanging out with the locals, yet his mind gave him no respite from the many possibilities it conjured. And when I say many, I mean many. Everything from Stan going grocery shopping to the pterodactyl scooping him up off the ground and eating him for breakfast.
Ford had a good imagination. When it wanted to work at least.
When the StanelyMobile came into view, Ford didn't sob in relief, he didn't. And no one could prove otherwise. Running the rest of the way, Ford bit his lip with nervousness.
Something was wrong.
He crept closer, his hand straying towards his gun automatically. Not that he wanted to shoot his brother not again. But if that wasn't Stanley in there or if something had hurt his brother...
It was going to pay.
Ford got close enough to peer through the tinted windshield and jumped into action. The gun wasn't really necessary at the moment, Stan seemed to have passed out. It took all of Ford's self-control not to scream.
The portal had one thing going for it, releasing emotion was as easy as pulling out his gun and killing his dinner. Ford struggled to open the door until he realized it was locked.
Crap.
Pulling away, Ford stared at the car as he tried to keep it together. Stan is in there, so I need to get inside. Ford did his best to think through his haze of panic. Come on! You've done this before! It's easy. Ford took a deep breath.
He could do this. Instead of pounding on the glass, begging Stan to wake up like he wanted to, Ford circled around to the trunk of the car. Stan had a spare key in there before, right? He never locked his trunk. {He didn't really want to think of why that was.} Ford pulled the trunk door up and flinched away when it nearly knocked his glasses off his face.
Ford's mouth set into a determined frown as he concentrated. He recalled there being a secret compartment for the key, something Stan had made himself years ago. When he found out {Post weirdmaggedon} any congratulations for making something like that were lost on his brother since Stan didn't actually recall making it. The compartment had been a surprise for both of them, although later on, Stan remembered that he indeed did make it.
For my spare keys! I remember that. I had gotten locked out of my car and decided that breaking a window wasn't worth it, so I made a copy of my own key- don't ask where I learned that I don't know, and I broke into my own car. So afterward I had two keys and made the little storage thingy for it so no one could steal it.
Ford shook his head fondly at the time. Stan had sounded so proud of himself. Shaking himself out of his thoughts, Ford quickly pressed the nearly invisible button that opened up the compartment and snatched up the keys thank Thor they're here and turned to open the driver's door.
It swung open and it was only years worth of relying on reflexes that Ford managed to catch his brother before he sprawled to the ground.
Ford caught him and carefully pushed him onto the passenger seat. Ford's mouth was set in a determined frown. He wanted to make sure Stan was alright, yet it seemed a better idea to take him back home and make sure he was okay there. Ford had more supplies at the house anyway- that being said he didn't really look at Stan at that moment, too busy with trying to not crash the car.
If he was being honest, even when driving was something he did every day- he had never been very good at it. The car jerked uncomfortably and Stan cried out in his sleep. Sleep? What had happened, exactly? Ford's foot tensed as he made the car go faster.
This was definitely a bad day. Ford only hoped it didn't get worse.
...
Stan *stares at the story blankly*
Ford: WHAT ARE YOU DOING TO MY BROTHER I SWEAR- *reaches for his gun*
Me *backs away, eyes wide*: Woah! Calm down, this is all for the better- I swear!
Ford *glares at me*: If you hurt him anymore...you know what?! I want to switch. Give me the angst and him the fluff. *Stance softens* Please? Just this once.
Me *fearing for my life: I was planning on that anyway! Ahem. So yeah, I'll do it.
Stan *blinks back into reality*: What's going on?
Ford *attacks his brother with a hug in his excitement*: Yes! Finally!
Stan *confused as he's tackled to the ground*: What on earth...?