Work Text:
Working for Dr Ford Pines was an adventure in how much sleep a human being needs. If you weren’t up half the night transcribing his research, you were running around the woods helping catch some kind of creature or another.
Tonight you and the boys had just gotten back from Mothman’s cave, and you could still hear all those wings fluttering. You’d genuinely rather stay back and copy up notes, thank you very much.
Ford and Fiddleford immediately rushed to the lab to analyse the dozen or so moths they’d managed to catch, and Stan settled himself down on the sofa to watch some late night tv. You grabbed your notebook and the hazardous stack of papers and made yourself comfy at the kitchen table. If you knew Ford, you knew he was going to slam down a stack of papers in the morning all about tonight’s trip, and you hadn’t even finished the notes from last week’s adventure with the gnomes.
A few hours in you could feel your eyes blurring. You were exhausted and you had to get this finished, but you were so tired. The kitchen table looked so inviting and maybe if you just shut your eyes for a second, you could get some more work done.
The next thing you know, you can distantly feel a pair of large hands tuck under your legs. The world tilts for a moment, but you’re genuinely too tired to care. Whoever is carrying you only walks a short moment before gently placing you on the couch.
“Sorry, kid. I’m not carrying you up those stairs.” Ah, so it was Stan. He straightens up and you can faintly hear his bones crack.
A sharp feeling seizes your chest at the idea of him walking away. You miss the feeling of being warm in his arms. It felt...safe. Before you can overthink it you reach out an arm and weakly grab the hem of his shirt.
“Stay?”
He just gives you a confused, hopeful stare for a moment. “You ah, you sure? I can go get Ford or Fiddlenerd if you want one of them instead?”
“Please stay, Stan?”
“Well, I cant say no to that face. Sit up a sec, kid.”
As you sit up he slides himself underneath your head, and pulls you back down. You snuggle your head gently into his lap and shut your eyes again.
His hands hover nervously, as if he’s afraid to touch you. You’re so relaxed, so vulnerable. He doesn’t want to scare you or make you uncomfortable somehow. But you’re basically asleep already. And you asked him to stay, him. That’s gotta mean something, right?
Stan runs a hand through your hair anxiously and you sigh, practically melting. He relaxes and you mumble a few words that sound suspiciously like a thank you, and an I love you.
In the morning light Ford finds the two of you asleep, Stan’s neck at an awkward angle, a hand resting on your waist and the other in your hair. You’re the most relaxed he’s ever seen, all tucked up in his brother’s lap. Ford can’t help but smile. Instead of waking you up and giving you his Mothman research like he’d planned, he just shakes his head and goes to make himself coffee.
Stan better know what he’s doing, he doesn’t want to have to find a new research assistant because his brother broke the heart of his last one.