LET'S SEE IF I CAN WRITE FLUFF THIS TIME. * EDIT. I CAN'T

It was bright, but Ford didn't feel like it was blinding him anymore.

He lifted his head off the edge of the mattress and studied his surroundings. Everything was a blur in his memory, but he knew he was in a hospital, and he knew why.

How could you do it, Stanley? How could you try and...you were fine! You were supposed to be fine, Stanley. Ford sat up fully and stared at Stan's sleeping face. He looked almost peaceful, considering everything that had happened. Ford wasn't sure what he was expecting, but he certainly didn't expect any of this.

All his life, Stan had been his rock. He wasn't sure when he'd forgotten that, but it was true. Stan was the one who kept his spirits up when his anxiety started to get him down, started to make him spiral. Stan was the one who protected him without question and with everything had when Ford was attacked. Even if the attack wasn't physical. Stan would beat the enemy down with words and pick up Ford's fallen pieces after the fact. Ford blinked as he went through everything Stan did.

Stan made him take care of himself when he forgot. He reminded him that teachers weren't perfect, that his essay was, the teacher just didn't like him. {Which was actually true, the teacher was sick of being showed up in his own classroom.} He kept Ford sane during finals every year. He was the one who was always by his side while he was hurting.

Where had Ford been? How long had Stan been hurting?

Ford wasn't completely incompetent on human emotion. He had once read a book about psychology. He knew that people like...like Stan. People who tried to take their own life didn't just decide to die one day. It was like a bomb. Lots of build up until one day they just...explode. But just like a bomb, it needed a trigger. A switch. Ford swallowed hard.

I was his switch.

Just three days ago, Ford had accused Stan of ruining his chances into the most prestigious school in the world. West coast tech. Ford had been so excited, he had plans drawn up and even an entire schedule drawn out on what his days would look like.

Now that he thought about it, Stan wasn't in any of it. Ford felt an acute pain in his chest as the thought entered his mind. Ford was well acquainted with this pain.

Guilt.

No matter what he tried, guilt was never easily absolved by reasoning or facts. It didn't help the facts were against him on this one. Fact number one, Stan wasn't fine and Ford hadn't noticed. He knew it must have been going on for a while. Things like these had roots, roots that either withered away or grew and fact number two was that Ford had not only not noticed, but he'd fed into it. He'd given this, this depression, even more, to feed on. He pushed Stan away towards the growing roots, rather than tried to pull him out and fact number three was that it had escalated too far. Stan had been done. Done with Ford, done with himself, done with life.

Ford couldn't believe how it had happened. Not only the fact that he'd pushed Stan to this, but that he had even managed to stop it.

Ford had been driving aimlessly, trying to blow off steam without wrecking anything. He had nearly taken out his frustrations on the contents of his room, but considering the several unstable things he had lying around, self-preservation quickly took over and instead he grabbed the keys to his father's car and told Filbrick, almost spitting it, that he would be back.

Filbrick watched him leave without interfering. He never stopped Ford from doing anything. Because I'm the 'good' kid. I'm the USEFUL kid. Ford felt the realization like a brick to the chest.

He would have to deal with that later.

As Ford had left the house, he knew that he was wasting gas, that there was no point in driving aimlessly. Despite this, he kept going. Eventually, he landed at the end of the dock. He parked the car.

This had been a safe place for him at one time or another. Maybe it would be again. He clambered out of the car-

and froze. A man was standing at the edge of the dock, leaning dangerously over the rail. Ford wasn't concerned at first. The dock was safe enough, and most everyone in Glass shard could swim. Ford huffed, slightly annoyed at not having the place completely to himself and sat on a bench towards the middle of the dock. He stared out into the water, watching the subpar sunset fall over the horizon.

Splash! Ford jerked around with just enough time to find that the man had gone over. Ford raced over to where the man had fallen, expecting the man to surface and swim back to shore. Surely he'd fallen on accident.

Ford watched with wide eyes when the only thing that surfaced were air bubbles. Ford kicked off his shoes and dived over the rail. Ford was a good swimmer. He had been doing it since infancy, and he knew these waters. He swam deeper until he glanced the man {Ford squinted, thinking he look familiar, but his glasses had fallen off} beside the pole that helped keep the dock up. The man wasn't moving. Ford grabbed him by his shirt and dragged them both back towards the surface. He couldn't believe this was happening. He gasped as they both surfaced and he continuously spat out the salty ocean water as he blindly led them both back to shore. The man still wasn't moving. Ford was shaking from the cold water.

I don't know CPR! What am I supposed to... Wait- the bait shop! Ford ran up back towards the dock and still without his glasses, banged his hand on the store's door. He thanked his lucky stars that someone was still there.

"Call an ambulance! A man just jumped over the dock rail! He nearly drowned!" Ford gasped in breathe between sentences. He really wasn't one for unexpected physical exertion. The man inside surged towards the store's only phone and Ford scrambled to get back to the man and bring him to the dock. Before he made it though, he quickly grabbed an extra pair of glasses from within his father's car. Filbrick didn't know about them since he had assumed Stanley had broken his, but Ford quickly shoved Stanley's unused glasses onto his face and ran back. He was faster, more confident now that he could see.

The man was exactly where Ford had left him. Ford grunted as he tried to move the man and eventually fell on one knee, using his legs to lift the man. He carried him up from the bank up to the dock, where Ford could finally get a good look at him in the light of the dock's bait shop.

His jaw dropped.

"STANLEY!"

...

Ford shook his head as he cleared the event from his mind. That moment, even just less than thirty-eight hours ago, had been the worst one of his life. In the amount of time, it took for his eyes to tell his brain that his brother had just tried to kill himself, Ford's anger had dissipated, replaced by an overwhelming panic and then he just...broke. He could barely think straight. Ford could barely recall what had happened after that. The paramedics, the noise, the way there and suddenly waking up, yet still unable to think was all a blur. He knew they'd happened, yet, he couldn't remember the details.

It was a bit frustrating. Ford growled at himself, irritated. Absolutely nothing about this situation was okay.

Ford blinked and looked down as a soft pressure tugged on Ford's hand. He realized Stan and he was holding hands. Okay then. Ford returned the pressure and leaned back, his face drawn in a frown.

He was done crying. Crying wasn't going to help anymore, but yet Ford could still feel it. A nervousness, a fear, that something else was going to go wrong, that maybe he'd broken Stan too much. That he'd been too late.

Hnnng.

Ford watched Stan stir in his sleep. Maybe...maybe if Stan would wake up, then it would be okay. Then they could talk and then Ford could fix it. Then maybe Stan wouldn't want to leave and he would come back and everything would go back to normal. Not recent normal, a good normal, when west coast tech didn't even exist and they were nothing more than two boys waiting for a grand adventure.

Maybe.

Stan was getting more restless. Ford contemplated whether or not he should wake him up. If he was having a nightmare...

Everything is a nightmare right now. It couldn't be worse than this, could it?

Despite his reservations on taking Stan from much-needed rest, Stan yelped out in his sleep, obviously in the beginnings of a nightmare and Ford quickly shook Stan's shoulder.

"Stanley, you need to wake up." Ford urged. Stan's eyes shot open and he started hyperventilating. Ford pushed him back onto the mattress. "Woah! Stan, you're okay." Ha, that's funny, " You were having a nightmare."

Stan stared at him in disbelief for a moment before his breathing started to even out again and he swallowed. He was staring at Ford intensely. Ford raised a brow, trying to hold back a grin as a wave of relief washed over him. He had no idea how tense he'd been until Stan finally woke up.

"Guess you're back to normal then," Stan said dully. He didn't elaborate, forcing Ford to ask;

"Back to normal?"

Stan coughed and looked away pointedly. "uh, yeah."

Ford's brow furrowed, but he could only chalk it up to the blurry memories and how chopped up everything had seemed, even his thoughts. Like his world had been falling apart into pieces.

"What did I do? When I was acting...not normal." Ford asked, fingers tapping against the chair. He wanted nothing more to reach out and wrap his brother in the largest, longest embrace he could manage, but Stan wasn't even looking at him. Ford sincerely hoped he hadn't said anything he'd regret now.

Stan shifted uncomfortably and sighed. "You kept saying 'you weren't breathing'. Basically. I think you had some sorta attack or somethin' too." He admitted. "You weren't exactly making much, well, you made sense, you just also didn't make sense." Stan summed up. Ford almost smirked. This felt more normal, conversating with his brother about how Ford never made sense. It was a common teasing topic between them, yet now it held nothing but...sadness, confusion.

"I guess I just don't get it," Stan mumbled. Ford's frown deepened.

"Don't understand what?" Ford was marveling over how they were actually managing to talk. He hadn't expected the conversation to start so easily. Stan moved his head to stare at him again. Ford forced back a shudder as Stan's dark, empty eyes glared at him.

"Why you care. You never really explained that. Just kept repeatin' yourself."

Ford felt the words like a physical force, making his throat close up and his chest tighten. He was right, Stanley thought Ford didn't care. He thought that, that Ford would...want him gone.

"No."

Stan raised a brow and Ford cleared his throat.

"Stanley..." Ford finally stop repressing it and he started trembling. Stan's eyes blew wide open.

"Heyheyhey, none of that!" Stan tugged on Ford's hand and Ford took it as an invitation. He fell over and wrapped his arms around Stanley's torso.

"I don't want to lose you, Stanley. Please." The fear was obvious in his voice and Ford was almost embarrassed when Stan started combing his free hand through Ford's hair. Ford couldn't stop shaking.

Stan laughed, actually laughed and spoke with more than the dull confusion from before. Ford felt another wave of relief hit him. Stan sounded alive.

"Ford, I've tried it, and I don't think death is for me if you know what I'm sayin'." Ford could hear the smile in Stan's voice. Ford finally smiled, and if a single tear fell, neither of them mentioned it.

...

If there was one thing Stan hated, it was indecision. When he made a decision, he stuck by it. Unless he had to change his mind. Then he wouldn't change it again. Even if he had ordered the wrong burrito, he would just keep the one he'd accidentally ordered. It was food, why complain? So Stan had finally made up his mind.

He had already changed his mind once. He couldn't do it again.

Guess Ford was stuck with him. The thought made him grin.

"You know you're never getting rid of me now?" Stan mumbled. Ford still hadn't let him go.

Ford huffed, but it sounded suspiciously like an attempt at laughter.

"Likewise, ya knucklehead."

So...I'm not sure this is over but I made it purposefully like this so that it could go on, but the ending isn't a complete cliffhanger? Just in case I don't continue it. Anyway! I was having a good morning, so obviously, a suicide fic was in order. Man, I have issues. Love ya guys.

Ford: I...this story...

Stan: This was a lot.

Ford: You wrote all of this-this morning, Carmen!? No prep, no anything!?

Me: Haha yeah...

Ford: Are you...okay?

Me *watching Sherlock and eating a plastic plate.*: Yeah, yer point?

XD I'm kidding. About Sherlock. XD Anyway, hope you enjoyed and don't die all. {Seriously.}