Chapter Text
While he was driving Robbie home, Stan called Ford to update him on timing. Robbie's house only added about ten minutes to the drive, but he didn't want another window to break when Ford panicked and decided to come "rescue" him.
They were halfway to the kid's house when the kid started bitching.
"I don't know why we had to leave," he said. "I was having fun."
"Them's the breaks, kid," Stan said. "I'm just driving."
"It's not like I was even doing anything. Killjoy here just came in for no reason and ruined everything."
Stan ran his thumb along the steering wheel. He wondered if Will had ever punched this kid in the face, and if not, how long until he did.
When nobody rose to his bait, Robbie got even whinier: "And who cares if I did? It's none of anyone's business what I do. Why should you care-"
Will spun around so that his knee was on the seat and his body was turned entirely toward Robbie. Stan hadn't noticed until that moment that he was unbuckled. Instead of belaboring the issue, Stan decided to focus on driving carefully.
Will's voice was low and threatening, practically a growl. "Do you even know what she was handing you?"
Robbie shifted in his seat. A streetlamp passed by and lit up his startled face. He picked his too cool for this voice to respond, though: "Why do you care?"
"Because you've never fucking used before. Do not lie to me, you haven't. Were you drinking?"
"Wh-" Robbie shifted again to cross his arms. "So what if I was? Are you gonna snitch?"
"Were you fucking drinking?"
"YES! I was! You happy?"
The kid was clearly lying. Stan rolled his eyes.
"Because you could have fucking DIED, you moron!" Will shouted back.
That cut Robbie's tough guy act short. "N-no-"
"I have fucking seen it happen, Robbie. It's not a game and you don't do it with strangers. And you especially don't do it with strangers who act like that."
Will's voice was hard, but it was lucid. He sounded like a coach or a teacher. He did not sound like he was about to kick a house.
Robbie's voice got higher and quieter as Will's confidence sapped him of his: "They seemed nice."
"That skinny bitch on your shoulder?" Will snapped. "I think she was on fucking meth, idiot."
Stan swallowed back an interjection. What?? No wonder the kid wanted out, who did meth at a party? Even Robbie took a sharp breath; clearly those dumb TV PSAs had made it through to him.
"So what?" Robbie said. He obviously wasn't certain, though, just fighting for the sake of fighting.
"Really? You're this fucking dumb? Fine."
Will's arm shot into the back seat. Robbie squeeled, but it wasn't a blow. It was a demonstration.
"Do you see this? This is from where my dealer tried to stab me because he thought I was coming on to his girlfriend. I didn't even fucking touch her, she was blitzed as shit and wouldn't get off of me. So let's pretend all those rich assholes were fine. Let's pretend the bitch with the pills was your friend and was looking out for you. Which, get fucking real, but what do I know. What are you gonna do when a drunk-ass boyfriend with anger issues shows up, huh? Whose fucking business is that?"
Robbie was finally, finally completely speechless.
Stan rolled up to the little yellow house by the funeral home.
"Whelp!" he said. "We're here. Get out, tell your parents you're safe, don't die I guess. Have a whatever night, kid."
They waited until he got in the front door, then started home.
Will's knee bounced with agitation in the passenger seat.
"So," Stan said.
Will ignored him.
"You said meth?"
Will growled.
"...Just. Who does meth at a fancy college kid party?"
"Who serves to a school kid?" Will snapped.
Stan didn't try get him to talk after that.
Distinct and unsmudged mud tracks. Door to the far end of the bathtub, back to the door. And, as Ford thought about it, another thing jumped in his brain: there were no damp towels in the bathroom this evening. Perhaps Will had gotten out of the shower wet, tracked water all over the floor, and thus caused the mud. Odd that there would be no puddles, if such was case. Steam might also have produced mud directly, in sufficient quantities: if he left his shoes by the door and for some reason put them on before turning the shower off, that would result in similar tracks.
Ford heard the front door, then Soos's voice and the sound of dishes. Stanley was back then. Presumably safe. Ford had Will's jacket, nickle buttons and all, folded and set aside: a peace offering.
As Ford was walking down the hall, though, he looked down at the garment in his arms and stopped.
There was a prominent mud stain on the jacket. Dammit. He couldn't give this to him.
Ford leaned against the hallway wall. Could he trust himself to speak to Will? It was so late, and had been such a long day. Ford felt calmer than before, more focused. His logic seemed coherent as well. That hardly amounted to much, though; Will had a way of making his brain fog and his temper flare, even in amicable moments.
Ford walked back to the laundry room. The quiet conversation in the kitchen died to nothing behind him. Modern bleach alternatives were color safe, apparently, and modern garments color fast. He painted the mark with Abuelita's stain remover, checked for further spots, and left it to set.
Ford felt, once again, that he owed someone an apology for something he did not understand. He had made a mess of this, but he wasn't sure what exactly he did. Many decades ago, Bill would make him feel guilty and exposed for nothing at all. Now he had managed to kill that feeling, but he suffered from an analgesia in his conscience such that he could no longer accurately judge when or why he was in the wrong. He was sailing without a compass or stars.
Perhaps Will felt the same.
Or perhaps Ford was just uniquely broken.
Ford wandered back through the house. It was silent now; presumably the boy had gone to bed. Ford drifted to the TV room and settled in Abuelita's chair, staring at the moon over the trees that made him feel stared at on bad days.
As he watched, it climbed past the top of the window and out of sight. His mind was empty when he drifted to sleep.
Will was up first, as usual; Ford awoke with a start soon after to the sound of footsteps and the shine of golden sunlight in the window. They met in the kitchen, and did not speak to one another. Exactly once they made eye contact with one another. Ford nodded a greeting; Will returned it.
Forgiven, then - more or less, at least.
As Will put toast in, Ford remembered his offering, and went to retrieve it. As soon as he laid eyes on it, though, he was completely overwhelmed with dread.
Not so color-safe after all.
Ford's fingertips tingled. Five outstretched fingers and the tip of his thumb brushed over the affected area, a hideous pale stain.
Ford's breath hitched. He swallowed, and calmed himself. This was an idiotic thing to sob over.
It would be immature and childish to do anything but own up to his mistake. He would look at the bottle later to figure out what he had done wrong, but for now Will deserved it back. Perhaps Ford could replace it, if Will would allow him to.
Dice clicked in his pocket, comforting against his fingers. The toaster popped right as he returned. Will pulled a piece out and spread peanut butter on it directly, not bothering with a plate.
Ford cleared his throat. "Um. W-Will." How stupid that his voice caught. "I believe I owe you an apology."
This seemed to startle Will, whose shoes twisted in a dance step to face him. Ford braced himself, and forced it out.
"I, ah, I feel quite foolish about how I behaved yesterday. I intended to do my best to make reparations, but, uh, I seem to have made things worse." He handed over the jacket. Will placed his toast on the counter and took it. "There was a stain from the woods, you see, that didn't come out in the wash, and my attempts to remove it... seem to have made it worse."
Will ran his fingers over the stain. As usual, Ford could not read his expression.
He put the jacket on, stain and all.
"Thanks."
Ford buried both hands in his pockets. "It was an idiotic mistake."
"Na."
Ford tried to smile. It felt unnatural on his face, though, and he let it drop. Will rarely seemed to care anyway.