When they began their journey on the Stan O' War II, Stan volunteered to do all the heavy lifting so Ford could focus on his research. Ford, of course, had said no. He would pull his own weight as well.

But Stan hadn't made it easy. Every time Ford tried to do a simple task: cleaning, cooking, fishing, navigating, Stan always beat him to it.

There was a huge storm on route to their next destination, so someone would have to be up all night to make sure they didn't go off course. Ford insisted they navigate in shifts so they could both get some sleep. He was dubious when Stan offered to take the first shift. He made Stan promise that he will wake him up and not stay out in the rain all night.

So, Ford was pretty angry the next morning when he realized Stan never woke him. He ordered Stan to come down to their bedroom.

"You promised you would wake me up, Stanley!"

"I was doing fine, Sixer. I'm not even tired." The dark circles under Stan's eyes indicated otherwise.

Before Ford could reprimand his brother further, Stan broke into a coughing fit. He felt Stan's forehead. "You have a fever. You've gotten yourself sick, knucklehead. Come on, you're going to bed."

"I can't go to bed. I gotta navigate to the anomaly thing."

"I'll navigate. Besides, we have a new destination. I'm taking you to a doctor."

"I don't need no doctor," Stan mumbled.

Ford bit back the urge to point out Stan's statement was a double negative. Things didn't go well the last time he corrected Stan's grammar. Instead, he grabbed Stan's arm to guide him to the bed, but Stan sluggishly pulled away.

"I'm fine, Ford. You're overreacting."

"You're seeing a doctor and that's final. Now lie down."

"I don't need to…" Stan's speech became more slurred.

"I'm taking you to a doctor whether you like it or not." Ford rolled his eyes. "Maybe I'll leave you there too."

Stan's demeanor changed from lethargic defiance to wide-eyed panic.

"Stanley?"

"I'm sorry, Ford. I'll do whatever you say." Stan quickly plopped down on his bed like a child caught awake after his bedtime. "I'll be good, I promise. Don't leave me, please."

"Stanley, I…I was just joking."

"I'm sorry I made you mad. I should have listened when you told me to stop. I just didn't wanna be useless. I didn't want to be a burden."

"Stanley…" Ford's overwhelming guilt left him at a loss for words.

"Don't go, Ford, please."

"Stanley…Stanley, relax. I'm not going anywhere, I swear." Ford went to his brother's side. "You are not useless nor are you a burden."

"Then, can I come home?"

"Home? What are you-?"

"Please, Dad."

Ford's throat tightened. Occasionally, Stan would have memory lapses where he forgot what age he was. The fever was making the memory lapses worse, so bad he thought Ford was…

"Dad? Stanley, I'm not…"

"Please, Dad. I'm sorry. Please let me come home. It's so cold out here. I'm so cold."

Ford immediately threw the covers over Stan while trying to process what his brother was saying. "Stanley, I…yes, you can come home."

"Really, Dad?"

"Yes, I want you to come home."

"Thank you, Dad. I'll make it up to the family. I'll make things right. I'll…"

"Shh…" Ford put his hand on his brother's burning forehead. "The only thing I want you to do now is rest. Will you do that for me?"

"Yes, whatever you want. I'll do anything you want." Stan was worn out, but he had an important question to ask before he fell asleep. "Stanford…"

Ford perked up at his name and moved closer to his brother.

"Stanford…is he still mad at me?"

This was probably the closest chance Ford will ever get to fix the biggest mistake of his life. "No, Stanford's not mad at you anymore. In fact, he missed you very much."

"Really?" Even looking a terribly ill as he did, Stan's face was so lit up with hope. "Where is he? Can I see him?"

"He…he'll be here as soon as he can. You should sleep in the meantime. The more you sleep, the quicker Stanford will be here." Ford stroked his brother's hair until Stan finally fell into a restless sleep.

Ford cared for his brother: watching over him and putting a cold washcloth on his face to keep his fever down. But there was little change in his condition.

That is until later that night when Stan's fever reached its peak. He opened his eyes and looked straight up, but his eyes were unfocused as though he couldn't see Ford above him. His eyes then grew wide with fear.

"Stanley?"

"Déjame salir! No puedo respirar!"

Ford didn't know what his brother was saying, but he didn't need to in order to pick up on Stan's panic. "Stanley, what's wrong?"

"Por favor abrir el maletero o moriré! Por favor no me mates!"

"Stanley, it's me, Stanford. Tell me what's happening. I'll help you."

"Ford? Ford, is that you?" Stan still sounded terrified, but at least he was speaking English again. "Ford, help me. I can't get out. I can't breathe."

"Listen to me, Stanley. Whatever you're seeing isn't real. You're safe. Nothing will happen to you."

"Ford, it's dark. I can't move. I can't breathe. I'm gonna die."

"Shh, shh, shh, it's okay. It's okay."

"I'm scared." Stan sounded so young. Ford wondered how young he was during whatever incident he was reliving.

"I know you are, but you don't have to be. I'm here with you." Ford put his hand on his brother's forehead to comfort him and was relieved to feel Stan's fever breaking. He ran his fingers through Stan's hair like before. This was enough to calm him down. "Don't be afraid. I'll protect you. I'll always be here to protect you."

"You…you promise, Ford?"

"I promise."

Ford watched his brother slip back into a more peaceful slumber. He placed a soft kiss on his brother's forehead and could have sworn he saw a tiny smile play across Stan's mouth. Even though his brother was fast asleep, Ford whispered one more reassurance for good measure.

"You're home now, Stanley. You're home."