Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The portal room was way too big.

Admittedly Stan didn't have much experience with the average size of portal rooms, but he knew most of Ford's projects matched his ego, and his ego was enormous. Even though the walls weren't very smooth, the echoes of their argument still bounced around it like tennis balls, each one adding an extra layer of pain to Stan’s growing headache. Ford's voice was as harsh as the freezing air. “I’m giving you a chance to do the first worthwhile thing in your life and you won’t even listen!”

That stung. Stan knew perfectly well that he wasn’t much more than a penniless grifter, scraping his life off the bottom of the barrel, but hearing Ford confirm it still hurt like hell. So he did what he did best: he lashed out. “Well, listen to this! You want me to get rid of this book?" He held the journal up as he fumbled his lighter out of his pocket. "Fine, I'll get rid of it right now!”

Ford paled, “No! You don’t understand!” He lurched forward, reaching for the book. His eyes were wild and terrified.

Stan was so, so tempted to burn the stupid thing, but when he saw the naked fear in Ford's face he couldn’t muster up enough rage to go through with it. his arms dropped to his side and he deflated.

He cares about his dumb mysteries more than he cares about me…

He threw the tattered journal to the ground with a snarl and stormed past his brother to the stairs.

Ford hesitated, looking anxiously between Stan and the journal, before following. He caught up as they reached the main level, grabbing Stan’s shoulder to slow him down. “Stanley wait! You can’t leave without the journal!”

Stan grunted and struggled to throw him off. He was willing to bet he still had the advantage in upper body strength, but he would probably regret it if he socked Ford in the mouth. “Shut up! Obviously you made a mistake calling me here because I’ve got nothing to offer!” he managed to break away, bumping into a shelf that stood next to the door. Its contents rattled in protest.

Ford stepped closer, his expression pleading. “I don’t have any other choice! You’re the only person I can trust with this!”

“Ha! That’s rich!”

“Please!” Ford begged, “I need your help!”

Stan shook his head with a growl. “I’m sick of helping you! All it’s ever gotten me is-! Fuck!” In his anger one of his gesturing hands slammed into the shelf, causing it to wobble. Instinctively he grabbed for the sides to straighten it, but the damage was done. A glass jar full of strange blue sand tipped onto its side, and the lid bounced off of his head. He looked up just in time to be engulfed by a cloud of blue dust.

He stumbled and wheezed, pawing at his face to clear the grains away from his mouth and nose. He heard Ford gasp. “Now look what you’ve done!”

He tried to speak but broke into a coughing fit when he only managed to inhale a lungful of the dust cloud. His eyes watered profusely. “Wha… What was that stuff?!” he croaked. It smelled like burnt pixy stix.

Ford looked like he couldn't decide if he was concerned, or pissed. “I don’t know! I’d only recently gathered that specimen for study, I haven’t figured out its properties yet!” He clutched at his hair in frustration. “And you just dumped it all over yourself! Do you have any idea how difficult it was to obtain that?!”

Stan was reminded vividly of another project he’d ruined a long time ago, and with another hoarse cough he straightened up to apologize.

Well, he tried to straighten up at least, but as he did the ground underneath him shifted and the house swayed, forcing him to grab at the shelf for support. When had they gotten on a boat? Something steadied him before he could fall over, twelve fingers digging into his shoulders. His vision decided just then to make a rather rude attempt at imitating a tunnel.

Ford was definitely worried now, his eyebrows drawing dangerously close together. He always looked worried, one way or another, but Stan just couldn't quite figure out what was causing it at the moment. There were a lot of things he couldn't figure out right now, come to think of it. Like, why was everything tilting at a 40-degree angle? That was weird.

Ford squeezed his arms, catching his attention. “Stanley? Stanley are you alright?”

“I’m fine.” He grumbled, though if he considered it for a moment his eyelids were actually getting really heavy. He could feel Ford grabbing at his coat, trying futilely to hold him upright, but the world was turning without him and there was nothing he could do about it.

So he passed out instead.

 

_____________________

 

When he woke up it was in someone else’s bed. Not the first time that had happened to be honest.

He squinted at the ceiling before realizing that it probably didn't hold any answers, and turned his head to look around. He had to be in Ford’s room. The various oddities scattered everywhere would have been a good enough hint on their own, but the hunched figure seated at the nearby desk, writing furiously in the journal, proved it. Ford’s hand flew across the page as he muttered to himself. The now-empty jar sat next to him in a sealed bag.

“Ford?” The word came out feeling more like a saw blade than a name. God that dust must have done a number on his throat, he sounded awful.

Ford jerked, his pen flying from his hand and landing several feet away from him. He ignored it and sprung to his feet, rushing over. “Stanley! Thank goodness you woke up, you nearly gave me a heart attack!”

Stan cringed. So he had fainted in front of his brother, right after having a huge tantrum. Great. And Ford had carried him all the way to the bedroom too apparently. He needed to get out of here if he wanted to retain any of his dignity. He dragged himself up onto his elbows, avoiding eye contact. “Right. I’ll, uh, get out of your hair. I’ll even take the stupid book too if you want, I guess.” He pushed aside the covers in one quick movement, shifting to a sitting position on the edge of the bed.

“Wait!”

He froze, staring blankly at his legs. They... Hadn't looked like that before. Why were they so skinny? Where'd all his hair go? His feet were tiny, and his ankles barely reached the bottom of the mattress. His hands, clutching at the covers, were equally small. His knuckles were unblemished, despite his extensive history of fighting, and he was missing a host of familiar scars on his arms. He wasn’t wearing pants, just a shirt. His shirt, judging by the stains, but much larger than it should have been. It was big enough to be a nightgown.

He brought his fingers up in front of his face, flexing them. God, they were so... Pink. “Stanford… What happened to me?”

Ford studied him carefully, his expression analytical. “What do you remember?”

“I remember that weird portal… We fought…” Stan looked down at his knees. They were just as alien as the rest of him. “I tried to leave, and then I knocked something down and got it all over me.”

Ford rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “So you retained most of your recent memories it seems. That’s correct. You came into contact with an unclassified substance and lost consciousness shortly after. Then you started to… Change into this.”

Stan studied his hands again, swallowing. “So, what… Do I have some sort of super cancer or something?”

Ford’s eyebrows rose. “No, I don’t believe so.” He rocked slightly on his heels as he tucked his arms behind his back. “In fact, you're probably less susceptible to cancer now than you were before. Children aren’t as likely to get it as adults are.”

Stan blinked. “What?”

Ford cleared his throat, looking at the bedspread and avoiding his brother’s eyes. “Your body may have... Reverted slightly. What I mean to say is... Your body’s natural aging process may have been reversed. By several years. Somewhere around twenty years is my estimate, give or take, I'm not quite sure what your exact age is currently...”

“That’s a funny joke Sixer.” Stan said, his voice monotone. He wasn’t laughing. “That’s hilarious. You almost had me. So, what's actually wrong with me?”

Ford looked pained. “This isn’t a joke Stanley, I’m serious.” He moved to his desk to grab something and returned, shoving an old mirror into Stan’s hands. Stan raised it, shaking, and stared.

The face that looked back at him wasn't what he remembered. He didn't see a mop-headed thug with a big nose and a bigger jaw, or a washed-up salesman with a smile that showed too many teeth. He saw a kid. A young one by the looks of it, with round freckled cheeks and a missing tooth. A cowlick stuck up over the curls that covered his head.

Ford knelt down beside him, face sympathetic. “I'm sorry Stanley, but it appears you’ve been turned into a child.”

 

_____________________

 

Things had not gone according to plan.

Wasn't that the understatement of the year. Ford had to admit that he may have taken for granted how readily Stan had leapt to his aid in the past. In hindsight it was rather naïve of him to think that Stan would be the same as he was a decade ago, boisterous and simple-minded, ready to forgive any perceived slights at a moment’s notice. Back then all Ford had to do was offer to work on the boat, ask for a high six, and they would both be laughing as if nothing had ever come between them. He'd hoped that would be the case this time as well.

But no, that’s not quite right. That implied that he was the one in the wrong. Really, Stanley should have jumped at the chance to help him, and make up for the mistake he’d made back in high school. He'd gotten offended instead, and had even broken something again! Maybe he really hadn’t changed, and what Ford had hoped for was a smarter, more mature Stan. One who would understand what was being asked of him, and would take on the responsibility he would have avoided in the past. But that was apparently asking too much.

After their disastrous argument, Stan had tried to leave, knocking a specimen over and getting covered in it before collapsing. Ford’s immediate reaction had been panic, shouting at his brother and slapping him to try and wake him up. But then Stan had started shrinking, provoking a whole new level of fear and confusion. Five minutes later Ford was left with a small child in his arms, baggy clothes draped over bony limbs. The sand on the floor around them had turned grey, its energy most likely spent once it had been used.

He'd barely managed to gather his thoughts and scoop Stan up, collecting the jar in a plastic bag just in case before moving to his room. Once the boy, his brother he'd reminded himself, had been tucked in he'd proceeded to silently freak out. His journal was useless, beyond providing a place for him to vent his confusion. None of his research told him what he should do. But he couldn't just sit and do nothing, so he'd sat reluctantly at his desk and wrote out every conceivable solution he could think of. Nothing seemed viable.

At least he had mostly been able to compose himself by the time his brother finally woke up.

Now Stan sat on the edge of the bed, feet dangling high above the floor. The neck of his T-shirt had slipped down over one of his thin shoulders, and his sleeves fell past his elbows. He let the mirror fall to his lap, staring at Ford in slack-jawed shock.

Ford cleared his throat, unnerved by the nostalgic face. “Now I know this sort of thing is difficult to take in. You’ve only recently been exposed to the concept of the supernatural after all.”

Stan shut his mouth with a click of teeth. His eyes only grew wider. “Supernatural!?” He squeaked, “I thought you were dealing with a bunch of dumb sci-fi crap, not supernatural crap!”

“It’s not crap it’s science! And it could have been much worse, to be honest, you’re lucky that it didn’t kill you!”

Stan pouted. At least his petulance matched his age now. “Well sorry if I don’t feel lucky when I get turned into a baby!” He waved his arms in Ford’s face, the billowing sleeves of his shirt exemplifying his point. “What the hell did you do to me?!”

Ford felt the anger from earlier surging back up, clouding his vision like a red fog. The last half hour of worrying, on top of the previous weeks of high strung paranoia, had not done his temper any favours. “What did I do?! This is your fault!” He stood, slamming a hand on the bedside table. “If you’d just done what I asked you to do in the first place none of this would have happened!”

He expected his brother to fire right back at him, and for their argument from the basement to continue. He almost welcomed it as an excuse to let off some steam. But Stanley recoiled instead, pulling his knees to his chest and leaning away, looking alarmed. “Okay! Sorry!”

Stan wasn’t usually the type to accept blame or take the fall in an argument. Ford drew back, surprised. “Right, well.” He coughed and took another step backwards. Stan relaxed slightly as he did.

He’d almost forgotten that his brother was much smaller now. He was so used to them being of equal heights if not equal girths, and to his chagrin he realized he may have been looming a bit. “At the moment it doesn't matter who's at fault," he conceded, "what matters is finding a solution. You can’t remain like this forever, obviously.”

After a moment of awkward contemplation, Stan tilted his head, “Wait, what about that thing you said you needed help with? You seemed pretty freaked out about it before.”

Ford felt a chill crawl up his spine. Of course, how could he be so foolish?! He didn’t have time to deal with a problem like this while he figured out how to stop Bill. He hadn’t slept in days! He cursed and sat heavily on the bed, burying his face in his hands with a groan.

Tiny fingers patted his shoulder. “Hey, it’s okay. I can wait. You deal with your weird portal problem and then you can turn me back.”

It was so familiar and soothing, a balm from a lifetime ago when Stan would console him on the beach after a run-in with bullies. He remembered a sunset, salty air, and the calls of seabirds. One of these days, we’re gonna get out of this dumb town.

He sighed and shook off the touch, getting to his feet. “You were supposed to be the solution to my problem.” He said, rubbing his eyes. A bit of dried blood flaked off and drifted to the floor. He watched it fall vacantly. “For now I need to figure out a way to make this place safe. Once I can sleep I’ll be able to regain my focus.”

Stanley slid off the bed behind him, his small feet plodding across the wooden floor as he came up beside Ford. The younger brother in so many ways. Ford had never realized how many freckles they’d had as children, likely a result of so many days spent out in the sun. Stan’s face looked like a map of constellations. One of them resembled Orion, splashed above his ruddy nose.

“Actually,” Stanley said after a brief pause, “Can I ask for one thing at least?”

Ford frowned, wary. “What is it?”

“Can I have some pants?”

Chapter Text

Ford, unsurprisingly, did not have any child-sized clothes. He tried to make due with some of his own clothing and a shrink crystal, but the result wasn’t quite right. The sleeves were still too long, and the pants had to be rolled up and pinned. But it was better than the grimy T-shirt, which got tossed into the wash along with the rest of Stan’s outfit.

Stan seemed happy enough, stomping around the kitchen in his new duds and smiling as the rolled ends bounced with each step. He stopped, placing his hands on his hips. “So what’s the first order of business?”

Ford sniffed, not so willing to be that amicable yet. “The first thing I’ll need to do is go out and gather some unicorn hair. That was what I would have done if you’d taken the book.” Stan’s face lit up.

“You mean unicorns are real?”

“Of course, generally the most prolific myths and legends are based on real phenomenon.” Ford shuddered, “Though real unicorns are far more irritating than their fictional counterparts."

Stan darted ahead of him to the door, grabbing the handle. “What else is out there?”

Ford placed a hand on the door to keep it from being opened, giving his brother a stern look. “It doesn’t matter because you’re not coming with me. The forest here is no place for a child.”

Stanley’s face fell dramatically, “What?! You can’t just leave me here alone! Not when you were freaking out earlier like something was coming to get you!” He tugged at the doorknob, eyes pleading. “I promise I’ll do everything you tell me to! I’ll be really careful!”

The begging made Ford uncomfortable, despite the adult memories Stanley was acting disturbingly childish. But what bothered him the most was the truth in those words. He was unable to stop himself from imagining Stanley alone, getting sleepy, lying down and closing his eyes, then opening them again to reveal a golden glow. He blinked and the image dissolved. Stan was pulling at the doorknob with his full weight now.

Well, compared to the other creatures in the woods unicorns weren’t so bad. He grabbed his crossbow from a nearby hook on the wall and let go of the door. Stanley stumbled back, losing his grip on the handle, and fell against Ford’s legs. “Oof!”

“I’ll let you come on one condition. You do what I say when I say it, and stay quiet! The last thing we need is for you to offend anyone.”

Stan nodded soberly and got to his feet, taking a measure step back from his brother as he dusted himself off. “Right, got it.”

Ford chose to appreciate the obedience rather than question it. After taking a moment to shrink a jacket and shoes for Stanley to wear they headed out into the snow.

_____________________

The unicorn glade wasn’t unreasonably far from the house, but in the winter finding it was more difficult than Ford had expected. Luckily 6 years in Gravity Falls paid off when he was able to recognize the trees that marked its location. “Remember what I said Stanley. Unicorns are very uptight and get offended easily. Only the pure of heart can take the hair from a unicorn’s mane, but if they don’t deem me worthy then I’ll need to be able to get it through less… Peaceful means. I can’t do that if we get kicked back out the minute we walk in.”

Stan folded his arms against the cold, round cheeks pink from the wind. “What do you need a barrier thing for anyways? You still haven’t told me what you’re so afraid of.”

Ford mulled over his answer. Logically telling Stanley the truth would be a good idea. They’d both be prepared for anything that might happen, and Stan wouldn’t be at risk of being tricked by Bill. But whenever he tried to say something about it his throat clogged up. He didn’t want to admit how badly he’d messed up, how he’d put the entire world at risk for the sake of his ego.

In the end he knew he couldn’t keep his brother completely in the dark. “I had an… Altercation with a demon named Bill Cipher. A lot of things happened, but all you need to know is that he can possess people in their sleep, and he wants the knowledge in my journals. He’ll be able to use it to create a portal from his world into ours, so he can gain physical form and take over. I’m trying to stop him from doing that. Unicorn hair is one of the ingredients I’ll need in order to create a barrier that will hopefully keep him from getting inside the house.” That was mostly true, he’d just left out the more incriminating bits.

Stan whistled, eyes wide. “That’s impressive sixer!”

“I thought you’d be a bit more concerned about the fact that a demon is trying to take over the world.”

“Well I’m a bit concerned-out right now.” Stan said, kicking at the snow with his shrunken boots. “I don’t think I can get much more surprised at this point.” He gave Ford a gap-toothed grin. He seemed to be enjoying this a bit too much.

With a shake of his head Ford moved into the glade, clearing his throat as he did so. “Accessing the glade involves a special druidic chant.” He explained, his ears turning red. He cleared his throat one more time and belted out the chant at the top of his lungs. He could hear Stan giggling off to the side. Soon the fortress was rising out of the ground, and he was satisfied to see the gob smacked expression on his brother’s face. The giant doors swung open, and Ford ushered them inside.

Despite the winter weather the glade itself was as warm and lush as it ever was. A waterfall poured down into a shimmering pond, and basking on a nearby rock was a unicorn. Her long rainbow mane glistened.

A melodious voice emanated from her horn. ‘Why, if it isn’t Stanford Pines.’

“Celestabellebethabelle.” He greeted politely. Stan raised an eyebrow at the name.

‘I’m surprised you decided to come back here. Have you finally figured out how to become…’ she tossed her head with a theatrical flourish and blinked her large shining eyes at him, ‘Pure of heart?’

Ford grimaced. “I suppose that’s up to you to determine.”

She stood gracefully, her legs longer than Stanley was tall, and trotted over. Stan shuffled back, grabbing the edge of Ford’s coat as she pressed her horn against the older man’s chest. There was a brief glow before she reared back and whinnied in distaste. ‘Not pure of heart!” she wailed.

Well he’d been expecting that. “I’d still like to request-“

‘And the child?’ she peered around at Stanley, who retreated further. ‘Is he pure of heart?’

She pushed forward, forcing Stan to jump back as she approached him horn first. “Hey lady! Even if I was pure of heart, which I ain’t, I wouldn’t want you poking me with that thing anyway!”

The Unicorn’s eyes narrowed ‘Only a unicorn can determine who is or isn’t pure of heart!’

He stifled a snort with the sleeve of his jacket. “Yeah right. I bet you say no one is pure of heart ‘cause you can’t actually tell!”

“Stanley!” Ford hissed, “What are you doing?!”

Celestabellebethabelle stomped a front hoof, offended. ‘Of course I can tell when someone is pure of heart! I’ll prove it right now!”

She pressed her horn firmly against Stan's chest. He allowed her to this time, a smirk painting his face. “Yeah? Let me guess, I’m not pure of heart?”

The unicorn growled and pushed harder, lighting him up like a Christmas tree. When finished she pulled away, raising her head to the sky triumphantly as her horn glowed a blinding white. ‘You are pure of heart!’

Ford’s chin nearly hit the ground.

Stan looked up at her bashfully. “Wow, really? That’s amazing!” The unicorn puffed out her chest with pride. “Then could I possibly get some of your hair?” He batted his lashes, “pleeeease?”

‘Well, I suppose it’s alright. Since you’re pure of heart after all.’ She allowed Ford to step closer and cut off a lock of her mane. He tucked it away inside his coat, where he could feel it humming against his chest.

Eager to leave before things went sour he grabbed Stanley’s arm and headed quickly towards the exit.

‘You never told me your name!’ Celestabellebethabelle called after them.

Stan gave her a parting wave. “My name is Stan!”

‘Goodbye Stan, be graced with the knowledge that you are the first human in Gravity Falls who was pure of heart!’ The door closed with an echoing boom, and the fortress sunk slowly back into the earth, leaving nothing behind but unbroken snow.

Ford watched it go, stunned. “How did you do that? You and I both know you’re nowhere close to being pure of heart!”

Stan polished his nails on his lapel, studying them smugly. “Oh well, she was obviously lying. I just convinced her to lie in our favor.”

“How did you know?”

“I mean come on, pure of heart? Really? I’m pretty sure there’s no such thing, it’s a total scam! Let me guess, she got you running around doing good deeds in order to become a better person, then said it was never good enough?” He gave his brother a knowing look.

Ford’s face heated. “Of- Of course not!”

“Oh poindexter.” Stan punched his thigh and laughed. “You always sucked at lying. At least your mind is pure!”

He chuckled at Ford’s expense all the way back to the house.

_____________________

Preparing the barrier in the snow was a chore, but once it was finished Ford was finally able to breathe a sigh of relief. Beside him Stan shifted from side to side, hugging himself as he shivered. He’d insisted on staying outside while Ford worked.

“Now I can get some much needed sleep.” Ford mumbled, stepping through the front doorway. As he did a grumbling whine echoed through the snowy air. He turned to see Stan holding his stomach. “Hungry?”

Stan shook his head, ducking past Ford into the house. “Nah, just uh, you know. My gut is disagreeing with me, that’s all.” He headed for the stairs. “Now where am I sleeping?”

Ford pulled him back before he could get very far. “Now Stanley, I’m sure that after passing out and walking in the snow for a few hours you must be feeling a bit hungry. How long has it been since you last ate?”

Stanley winced, “Today?”

“Yes today.”

“No comment.”

“Stanley.”

He wiggled, trying to wrestle out of Ford’s grip on his jacket. “C’mon Ford, I’m fine! You need to sleep, I can eat later!” His voice had the whining quality he’d used to ask for the unicorn hair, high and reedy. It was difficult to say no to.

But ford had a lot of practice. “No Stanley, you’re a child now. Your body requires a specific amount of nutrients each day to stay healthy. If I have to take care of you for the time being then I’m going to feed you properly.

Stan drooped, giving up on escaping. “Right, sorry.”

The sudden change of attitude once again unnerved Ford, but he ignored it. “What would you like to eat then?”

“Cereal?”

“This late in the day?”

“… Pancakes?”

Ford sighed. “Let’s just go to the convenience store. We’ll figure something out when we get there.

_____________________

They took the diablo at Stan’s insistence. “If we’re gonna ride, we have to ride in style!”

The convenience store was near the edge of town, and the closer they got the more Ford hunched down in his seat. He was sure he could feel eyes on them, watching as they passed. There was no way Bill was unaware of their location right now, but Ford didn’t exactly have an abundance of food at home. A few stale slices of bread and half a jar of jam wasn’t the most nutritional option.

He parked hastily and pulled the collar of his jacket up as they entered the store. It only made him stand out more, but he felt better when he couldn’t see everyone staring. Stan kept close, looking around with open interest.

“Aww! Who’s this little slice of pumpkin pie?”

Ford jumped, quickly pushing Stanley behind him as a woman approached. She had a hefty amount of makeup caked onto her face, and she cooed as she bent down to his brother’s level. “Aren’t you a handsome young man?”

Stanley smiled and stepped out from behind Ford, ignoring the hand that tried to keep him back. “Hello! My name’s Stan!”

“Why hello Stan! Are you here with your father?” She looked up to Ford, increasing his uneasiness exponentially when she squinted at him. “Say, aren’t you…?

“No!” Ford blurted, “I’m not his father I’m his… Uh…” He couldn’t claim to be Stan’s father, people would ask questions about where he’d been before now, who the mother was, and they’d wonder what happened when Ford managed to change him back… What about his brother? No the age gap was too wide. Not unheard of, but uncommon enough to draw attention…

Stan placed a hand on his leg, patting it comfortingly. “He’s my uncle! I’m staying with him while my parents are in…” He screwed his face up comically in thought “Fiji I think?”

She clasped her hands in delight. “Oh aren’t you adorable! Your parents went to Fiji? How lucky!”

“Yeah! Anyways, we were just getting something to eat. It was nice meeting you miss!”

“Oh call me Susan! It was nice meeting you too Stan! Wink!” She watched them go with a smile as Stan pulled Ford towards one of the aisles.

“How you manage to do that without blinking an eye I’ll never know.” Ford said, stumbling when Stanley let go of him

“I can’t believe you were terrified of some lady. I know you were always bad with women but that was ridiculous.”

“Yes well… I’ve become something of a celebrity in this town, so I usually avoid interacting with the townsfolk. Normally I would send Fi… Normally I would send someone else to get things for me.” He peered suspiciously over the tops of the shelves.

Stan gave him a strange look, but let it go with a shrug as they came to a stop in front of a section filled with food. “Figures you’d have someone else doing your dirty work. Good thing you’ve got me around to take the heat off ya!” He stretched up on his toes, fingers brushing against the bottom of a box of pancake batter. His tongue stuck out between his teeth.

“Ah yes, you’ve been nothing but a boon” Ford deadpanned, plucking the box from the shelf and handing it to Stan. “You definitely haven’t caused me any problems whatsoever.” He ignored the raspberry blown in his direction.

The rest of their shopping was less eventful, but they couldn’t avoid a crowd at the checkout. If Ford hunched any further into himself he’d turn inside out. Stan’s cute appearance could only distract for so long before Susan gasped and said “Hey, you’re that mysterious science guy that lives in the woods!”

“I’ve heard strange stories about that old shack!” Someone else interjected.

Another man joined in “Yeah! Mysterious lights and spooky experiments!”

“Gosh,” The man behind the counter came to put an arm around his wife, “I'd pay anything to see what kind of shenanigans you get up to in there.”

Ford fumbled with his change, cursing as his shaking fingers nearly caused him to drop his wallet. He pulled his collar up further around his face, trying to shield himself from the curious looks.

“Oh, me too! Do you ever give any tours?” Susan came closer, her hands clutching her purse straps eagerly as she leaned into Ford’s space.

“No! Absolutely no-“

“Wow, that’s a neat idea lady!” Stan jumped in front of him, catching the group’s attention. “Isn’t it Uncle Ford?”

Ford’s tongue wasn’t co-operating enough for him to respond.

Susan bent down, her eyes softening. “Oh? How much would you charge for a tour then little guy?”

Stan rubbed his chin thoughtfully, “Ten… Nah, fifteen bucks a person! We can’t do them right now, we’re just too busy doing science stuff. But for a small fee of five dollars each we’d be willing you give you guys the honour of going to our very first tour! We’ll even notify you about it before anyone else, a one time offer!”

There were murmurs of excitement as everyone dug bills out of their pockets and dumped them into Ford’s hands. Unwilling to stick around much longer he used them to pay for their groceries and practically ran out the door, dragging Stan along behind him.

The first few minutes of the ride home were silent save for the beat Ford tapped anxiously out on the steering wheel. Stan sat in the passenger seat and watched the scenery pass by outside, occasionally stealing glances when he though Ford wasn’t paying attention.

Ford couldn’t keep quiet for very long. “Really Stanley, tours? Do you think I have the time and patience to give people tours of my house? What were you thinking?”

“Hey at least I got them off your case! If you’d said no they would have kept bugging you about it. This way they’re satisfied for now, and eventually they’ll forget about the whole thing.” Stanley kicked at the glove compartment in agitation, his legs barely long enough to reach. “Besides, is it really such a bad idea? I know you have your college money but I don’t want to leach off of you…”

“Well, about my grant…”

Stan’s eyes widened. “Don’t tell me…”

Ford bit his tongue.

Stan slumped back in his seat, little hands pressed against his eyelids. “You lost your college money?

“I didn’t lose it Stanley I spent it. An interdimensional portal isn’t cheap you know!”

“You mean the portal that some crazy demon wants to use to take over the world?”

“… Yes, that portal.”

His brother gave a full body sigh, sinking further down until he was stopped by his seatbelt. “And you just bought me a bunch of food…”

They pulled up to the house and Ford killed the engine. The quiet air just amplified the tension between them. “I still have some funds left, I can afford some pancakes and cereal. I’m not just going to let you starve.”

Stanley didn’t reply, too absorbed in smacking his seat with his heels. One of his boots popped off as he did.

Ford reached over to pick up the shoe and shove it back onto his brother’s foot. “Look, I’ll… Think about the tour idea alright? But try not to offer any other excuses for the town to come up and discover what I’m doing. The last thing I want right now is for a bunch of people I’m not familiar with invading my home.”

“Okay, fine.” Stan pushed open the passenger-side door, hopping down and stomping towards the front porch.

Ford shook his head, moving to grab the groceries out of the back seat. He paused when his hand brushed against rough fabric, pulling out a dirty blanket that had been shoved in the space between the door and the seat.

It was faded, and heavily stained, but Ford still recognized the crooked letters stitched into the corner. Stanley Pies. Stanley had sewed it himself when he was 14, as well as a matching one for Ford. He’d just been taught how to use a thread and needle by their mother. The second ‘N’ had fallen off at some point.

Ford had thrown his out years ago.

His hands tightened into fists, straining the thread that held the remaining letters on. Stanley had kept this? All these years? Had it been in the car when Stan was kicked out, or was it the first thing their father had grabbed while packing the duffle bag? He forced himself to relax and pushed the blanket back into its crevice, then snatched up the grocery bags and followed his brother into the house.

It didn’t matter if Stan had kept it, Stan kept a lot of things. It was just a blanket.

Stan's earlier sulk seemed to be forgotten as he sat in a kitchen chair, swinging his legs. “So what’s next on the docket?” He asked. Ford dumped the bags on the table and poured out a bowl of cereal for both of them. He was feeling a bit peckish himself.

“Well first we should get some sleep. It’s getting late and I know I could use the rest. In the morning I’m heading out to gather more of the sand that we need. If I can study it more thoroughly I can figure out a way to reverse it.”

“Cool, more adventuring! I have to admit, you got a pretty good gig going here if you get to wander the woods meeting creatures and finding magical stuff all the time.” Stan shoved his spoon into his bowl of cheerios and proceeded to stuff his face.

“Don’t get too excited, you’re not coming with me this time.” Ford avoided the devastated look he got from his brother and picked at his own bowl. “The route I’ll need to take is far too dangerous for you, there’s a lot of climbing and hiking. A child your age wouldn’t be able to make the journey.”

“But I’m not really a kid! I just look like this!”

“That’s debatable.” He stared pointedly at the milk mustache dripping off of Stan’s face. “Your emotional state reflects that of a child often enough, I don’t mean that as an insult Stanley so stop pouting, and your stature is unquestionably smaller than that of an adult. Now that the barrier is set up it’s safer for you to stay here.”

“But I could help! I won’t get in the way I promise! I did really well with the Unicorn didn’t I?"

He was rapidly losing his appetite. “I said no.”

“But-”

“This isn’t a debate Stanley!” The handle of Ford’s spoon dug into his palm as he brought his fist down on the table, rattling the bowls.

Stan sat back in his chair and dropped his gaze to his feet, the rest of his cereal abandoned. “Okay.”

Ford shouldn’t have gotten more pissed at that response but he did. He wanted Stan to yell back at him, he wanted to get into a screaming match so he could take out all of his frustrations on his brother. But Stanley continued to defer to him whenever he so much as raised his voice, and all it did was confuse and agitate him further. He blew out a breath that was thick with exhaustion and stood up, grabbing their bowls and tossing them in the sink. Maybe cereal for dinner wasn’t the best idea, he should have made sandwiches at least. “You can sleep on the couch in the spare room. I’ll grab you some blankets and a pillow.”

Stanley nodded and slid off his chair. One of his pant legs had come unpinned, and it caught under his boot with every step. He did nothing to fix it as he left the kitchen.

Ford could only hope he would have some luck getting answers tomorrow. Otherwise this was going to be a long winter.

Chapter Text

Ford’s couch was hard, and the fabric was stiff and scratchy, but Stan had slept in worse places. Normally he wouldn’t have any trouble sleeping, he’d learned to grab some shut eye whenever he could afford it, but tonight was different. No amount of tossing or turning gave him any relief. His discomfort wasn’t physical.

The shadows of snowflakes drifted across the carpet, an ugly teal number that offended him every time he looked at it. Somewhere a clock ticked sporadically. At least he thought it was a clock, the ticks were random at varying pitches, and he couldn’t actually see it anywhere in the room. At some point Ford had moved the skeleton there from the main area. Its head was still on backwards.

He would be stuck here all day tomorrow, alone. That shouldn’t bother him as much as it did, but being bothered by inconsequential things was beginning to become a pattern with him lately. He’d gotten very used to being alone, and after a day of being glued to his brother’s leg he should be fine with taking a break from Ford. He wasn’t.

He felt like he was being pulled in two different directions. One part of him, his adult mind, saw the reason in Ford’s decision. He wasn’t sure exactly how old he was physically, but he was obviously small. He had trouble putting his boots on reliably let alone climbing and hiking in the middle of an Oregon winter. Grade schoolers weren’t known for their hand-eye coordination.

The other part of him, the part that had invaded along with the blue dust, was afraid. He’d be alone in a big creepy house, and Ford would be doing something dangerous by himself. What would Stan do if he never came back? What if he couldn’t find any more of the magic sand? Or worse, what if he could, and he turned Stan back to normal, and just kicked him out again?

Was being a kid really that bad? Conning people was as easy as ever, everyone thought he was cute, and… He got to spend time with his brother. Once everything was said and done, there was no way he’d be kept around and forgiven. He’d done this to himself. As soon as Ford turned him back he’d be taking the book, finding the furthest coast, and sailing off to the ends of the earth. Alone.

But kids were expensive. If he stayed like this he’d just end up being a burden anyway.

He sighed and sat up, wrapping the blanket around his shoulders as he slid off the couch. It was night, but the snow outside reflected enough light to shine through the windows. He made a circuit of the house, familiarising himself with it. Maybe he could offer to clean up tomorrow, as payment for the food. He avoided the basement though. The dark staircase was too ominous.

When he returned to the couch half an hour later he felt a bit better, like he’d done something constructive, even if it was just to memorize the layout of the house. He knew where the exits were, he knew where Ford slept, he knew what rooms looked important and which looked like they were just being used to store random garbage.

It wasn’t much, but it was enough that he was finally able to close his eyes and fall into an uneasy sleep.

_____________________ 

After a quick breakfast Ford was ready to head out. “I don’t have a frying pan at the moment, not one you can eat off at least, so if you want to make pancakes later you’ll have to use the baking sheet on top of the fridge. I’m not sure why I have that since I never bake, but it should work well enough.”

Stan watched Ford move around with amusement. Every time he picked something up to take with him he dropped something else, and when he came across it again he would frown in confusion and collect it again. It took several tries to keep everything with him, and he shoved it all into his collection of pockets. A good night’s sleep had recharged his battery it seemed, and instead of bouncing between manic and lethargic, he was stuck on 100% nerd energy. Stan still remembered when Ford would spend weeks staying up late to study for an exam, then crash as soon as it was over. The day after the test Ford would practically launch himself out the window as soon as he woke up. That had been the best time to work on the boat, when Ford was still filled with the need to do something, and actually had the energy to do it. Now that the preparation was complete, he made a beeline for the door.

Stan followed after him, his mood dimming as he remembered that he wouldn’t be tagging along. “If I set the house on fire it’s legally your fault, just so you know.”

Ford paused in the doorway, the hem of his coat billowing as the cold air rushed in around him. He almost looked kind of cool, for a nerd. “Yes well, I may have already dealt with the local fire department in the past.” He winced “Apparently they’ve labeled my house as a “high risk” building. Their response time will be pretty fast.”

Stan shook his head, disappointed. “Well try not to set yourself on fire while you’re out okay? I’ll do my best to reduce the amount of fire hazards for when you get back.”

Ford gave him a suspicious look, the same one he’d given Stan when the offer to clean had first come up. “Of course, and thank you again for offering.” He said, not sounding thankful at all. “Just remember which rooms are off limits, which items are dangerous to handle, which items in the fridge need to remain untouched, and which-“

“Oh just go!” Stan pushed at his legs, forcing him out onto the porch. “I’m not completely useless, I can clean a house if I have to.”

“But you’re doing it willingly, that’s what has me concerned…”

“Get out!” He slammed the door shut before Ford could list something else. Using a chair in the kitchen to look out the window, he watched his brother loiter out front for a few minutes before turning on his heel and walking to the car.

Once Stan was finally alone, door locked and everything, it was time to start. Ford had estimated that the trip would take a good chunk of the day, so Stan would probably be able to make a dent in the mess. Even with his tiny limbs. His primary focus would be on the front entrance, the living room, and Ford’s bedroom, all of which were utter chaos.

Most people thought that Ford would be the clean twin, but while Stanley wasn’t exactly a neat freak Ford took messy to a whole new level. Pens, papers, half finished projects, everything that could be left lying around was. At home Ford had been content to sleep squashed between piles of books, while Stan had at least kept his bunk clear enough for it to function as a bed. When time would come for them to clean their rooms he usually ended up doing the bulk of it, partially because Ford would get distracted by a rediscovered blueprint or prototype that had been buried for the past week.

Stan didn’t mind cleaning that much, he even kind of liked it as an adult. It could be quite cathartic, turning his mind off and getting stuff done. And after a decade of living out of his car, or in sketchy motel rooms, or even on the streets, he enjoyed staying somewhere clean when he had the chance. It was nice to sleep somewhere without being surrounded by dirty clothes and empty fast food containers. Ford’s spare room was the tidiest place in the house, probably because it was almost completely unused. It still had stacks of papers and an old shirt hung on a chair, but Stan was lucky he didn’t have to share the couch with half a library.

With one last look out the window he jumped down and headed for the living room first. If he had to stay behind then at the very least he was going to make himself useful.

_____________________

Ford couldn’t help but be impressed at the condition the Stanley Mobile was in. Stan had always taken good care of his car, but after so many years of a less than stellar financial situation Ford wouldn’t have been surprised if car maintenance had taken a lower priority. The inside was cluttered but not overly so. Most of Stan’s belongings had either been stuffed in the back seat or moved into the house, and the upholstery was still in tact and mostly stain free.

It also ran better than Ford's rental, which was why he’d taken it instead. He was still bitter about Steve eating his car.

He’d marked down the route he’d taken when first discovering the magical dust, a winding path up into the mountains that surrounded Gravity falls. Heading out straight from the house would be too tedious, but if he drove a few miles up the highway and cut across he could save himself a lot of time and hiking.

The forest was as lively as ever. Gnomes ran around under his feet, fairies darted in an out of the trees, he was pretty sure he saw Bigfoot pass by, and a leprecorn pranced merrily around the base of a nearby rock. The anomalies in the forest usually avoided human eyes to some extent, but after so many years of traversing the area he’d become a familiar face, so they ignored him. To them he was just another denizen of the woods.

As predicted the path he had to take was long and arduous, even with the shortcut. He was forced to slog through a magical swamp filled with various tentacle covered creatures grabbing at his heels, navigate through dark winding tunnels filled with ancient hieroglyphs, climb up over crumbling rocks and pass caves filled with bats the size of a fully grown man. It took the better part of the day, and when he finally reached the plateau he was looking for, halfway up the mountain, he nearly collapsed in relief.

In the center of the plateau, surrounded by bright blue trees, was a pond that somehow remained unfrozen despite the cold winter air. The surrounding area was clear of snow and filled with familiar blue sand. He theorized it was some sort of fountain of youth, but it was nowhere near safe for human consumption. The first time he’d come across it he’d witnessed a deer drinking from the pool, and in an instant it had simply vanished into thin air. He’d tested a drop of the water on the roots of a centuries-old tree, and the result had been a tiny un-sprouted seed. Anyone who attempted to drink from the fountain would surely meet a horrific fate; It was simply too potent.

In hindsight Stanley had been incredibly lucky that the sand did not have such a strong effect. Twenty-ish years was nothing to sniff at, but it was better that the erasure of his existence. Ford may have been at odds with his brother, but he was grateful that he at least still had a brother to be at odds with.

Carefully he knelt next to the pool, keeping his distance from the water’s edge. Theoretically consumption was required for the magic to take effect, but he wasn’t about to take his chances. He pulled the jar from his coat pocket and, using thick gloves and a measuring cup, gently scooped a generous amount of the sand into it. When he was done he deposited the scoop inside and screwed back on the lid. Tightly.

He was tempted to take a break, but he still had quite the trek ahead of him on the way back to the car. Stanley would surely be waiting for him to return, so instead he took a lingering look at the valley laid out before him before pulling out his climbing gear and starting the long journey down.

_____________________

Despite Stan’s small size even he could make progress when he had all day to do it. The living room was still filled to the brim with crap, but there was less random garbage strewn about, and the stuff that was left was at least organised somewhat. The floor was clear, and while he didn’t have a vacuum handy for the carpet, he had managed to scavenge a broom from a closet for the hardwood parts of the floor.

The front entrance had been a bit easier, since most of the stuff in there was for utility. Crates, barrels, a gas canister, some freaky looking bones, and more garbage. He’d left the shrivelled mermaid alone, but most of the other stuff got stacked up along the walls. He finished off with a quick dusting, then headed upstairs to Ford’s bedroom.

Ford wasn’t really a stickler for privacy, probably because most of his stuff got spread around the entire building instead of being confined to th bedroom, so his room was almost impersonal compared to the rest of the house. Filled end to end with books and loose papers, but not much else. Stan had a sneaking suspicion that Ford didn’t actually spend much time in there, whether to sleep or otherwise.

The bed was unmade, and books had already begun piling up on top, but what caught Stan’s attention was the one sitting alone on the bedside table. The journal.

Despite his resentment toward it he couldn’t help his curiosity, so he hopped up on the bed and propped it open in his lap, skimming through the pages. It wasn’t much different from what he remembered of Ford’s notes when they were kids: Large detailed pictures illustrating various creatures, notes that tried to be scientific but ended up devolving into opinions and questions, codes and scratched out mistakes, and long rambling journal entries that chronicled Ford’s life in Gravity Falls. Stan skipped over most of these, he wasn’t interested in reading page after page of entries, and just because Ford wasn’t big on privacy that didn’t mean Stan was going to just read through his whole diary.

He stopped when he came across a familiar picture of a jar, accompanied by an entry on the magic dust. Ford had added a bunch of squashed notes to every empty space available, and while Stan didn’t understand everything he did get that it was mostly about him and his predicament.

‘While the sand’s effects are significantly diluted they are still potent enough to take seriously.’ Said one entry. ‘Without any active dust I cannot take direct action to cure him without risking complications or endangering his life. I will need to make plans to obtain more. Will he remember what happened when he wakes up? Or will he remember only his childhood years? How will he react? There are no surviving victims of age regression that I am aware of, I may even be the only person with knowledge of the location, so there are no prior cases to base any observations on. I could potentially try a magic reversal spell when I have the necessary materials. Requires test subjects, a tree perhaps?’

Below that was another entry, the writing less rushed and frantic. ‘It has been a day and while Stanley did retain his adult memories, his behaviour has most likely been affected. He has definitely displayed more childish behaviours than seems normal, and for some reason he complies with demands more easily than usual. He gives in when pushed rather than fighting with me, which is something he’s never done before and wasn’t something he did when he first arrived. It has been years since I last interacted with him, but I’ve seen nothing that leads me to believe that either behavior had developed before the regression. Prior to the incident he was definitely as argumentative as I remember.’

Stan frowned at the book. Was he really acting that childish? Sure maybe he wasn’t exactly being reserved or anything, but at least half of it was playing to a crowd. He wasn’t making a complete fool of himself, or sucking his thumb or anything. Maybe he got milk all over his face last night, and maybe Ford had to cut up his pancakes for him at breakfast. It wasn’t his fault that his tiny limbs were uncooperative.

As for the other observations well… old habits die hard. Fighting with Ford wasn’t the same when he was so… Big. And it was probably all the sleep deprivation but sometimes when he got mad he didn’t sound like Ford. He sounded like pa.

Stan went to turn the page, not wanting to dwell on those thoughts. He was more interested in seeing what else Ford might have written about him, but before he could continue he paused.

Somewhere downstairs something rattled.

Okay, this house wasn’t that old, but it wasn’t exactly impenetrable… It wasn’t out of the question for Ford to have mice or rats or-

His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of breaking glass.

His mind raced as every limb tingled with a sudden rush of adrenaline. Shit, why now?! Best case scenario it was a burglar, but small towns like Gravity Falls didn't usually have much crime, and what were the chances of a burglar just randomly deciding to break in to the weird scientist's house in the woods? He tried not to think of what the worst case scenario would be. Some of those illustrations in the journal had given him the willies.

A frantic glance around the room didn't reveal much in the way of options. He had plenty of experience hiding from thugs, and as a child he’d have the best chance of going unnoticed, but it also meant he couldn't fight back if he got caught. Unfortunately Ford didn’t keep locks on most of his doors, and Stan’s stature would make it infinitely harder for him to barricade himself inside a room. Ford’s bedroom had a closet, but one of the doors had a broken hinge and looked like it wouldn’t close all the way. There was no way he’d be able to leave through a window, and even if he’d had his bat with him it would be useless in the hands of a kid his size.

Making a snap decision he quickly shut the door and turned off the lights, leaving the window as the only source of light in the room. Ford’s bed was narrow, meaning it wasn’t the best option for hiding under, but he didn’t have much of a choice. As quietly as he could he ducked underneath, glad for the stacks of books that provided a bit of cover on the side facing the door. He realised belatedly that he’d held on to the journal, tucking it up against his chest. It was an oddly comforting weight.

He waited, anxiously trying to calm his breathing as he strained to hear any other noises from below. If only he was on a lower floor, where he would have more escape routes. He was pretty sure the basement had a cellar door. He wished he’d been hanging out there instead of in Ford’s tiny room.

He froze as a voice drifted up from below, followed by the telltale creaks of someone making their way upstairs. “Well well well well well… I like what you’ve done with the place kid. It almost looks functional.”

Stan forced himself to keep breathing. Holding his breath would only backfire once he was forced to gasp for air moments later.

“You know when Stanford first called you up here I didn’t expect you to stick around. He didn’t exactly have the best opinion of you, so I figured he’d send you off as soon as possible.” A shadow came to a stop in front of the door. Stan felt nauseous at the sound of it opening. Why had the guy made a beeline here? He curled up as tightly as he could, using the books on the floor to block the view from the doorway.

“But the kid thing? That’s hilarious. I’d kind of hoped that Fordsy would touch that stuff himself, he's always been too curious for his own good, but this was so much funnier! It’s like watching a circus act. You know, the kind where the trapeze artist misses the bar and doesn’t have a net to catch him.”

A pair of trainer-clad feet wandered slowly around the bed. Stan’s stomach fell with each step.

“Those are always my favourite.”

He bolted for the door, slamming it shut behind him before sprinting down the hall as fast as his tiny legs could carry him. He practically threw himself down to the first floor, rattling his teeth when he landed. He wasn’t interested in waiting for the creep to flush him out, and there was no doubt in Stan’s mind that this guy knew exactly where he’d been hiding, but when he skidded to a stop in the main entrance he felt like his blood had been replaced with lead. The window on the door had been shattered, littering the floor in front of the exit with broken glass. He couldn’t even attempt to run through with nothing but socks on, he’d lame himself for sure, and he didn’t have time to toss on his shoes even if they'd been within his reach. The basement was his closest option, so he wrenched open the door to the stairs.

“If you think I haven’t blocked every way out then I have some bad news for you.” At some point the intruder had followed him, his face illuminated by the light from the entrance. A strange tattoo took up most of it, sectioning off parts of his bald head into categories like “knowledge”, “size”, “form”, and “color”. He had a hooked nose, and his face was greasy and acne riddled. He was wearing a long maroon cloak that trailed at the hem. He looked like a teenager, but it made him no less intimidating.

His eyes were also yellow, with narrow cat-like pupils. “Nice to finally meet you kid.” He greeted Stan with a toothy smile. “What are you, seven? Nine? I’m bad with human ages. Name’s Bill Cipher.” He raised his arms as he moved to block the front exit, looking like a religious figure paying tribute to his god. “I know every inch of this house, so trust me when I say that you won’t have much luck trying to escape. I’m not interested in chasing you around the forest.”

Stan couldn’t say he was entirely surprised that this was the demon Ford had talked about, but why hadn’t the barrier kept him out? Wasn’t it supposed to repel him or something?

Bill seemed to know exactly what he was thinking. “Stanford’s little trick with the unicorn hair was pretty smart, but you know how he is. Tunnel vision.” He chuckled and shook his head mockingly. “I can’t enter this place through the mindscape, but a human body can pass through physically no problem. I just had to get one. I wouldn't usually be able to do much with this pathetic meat sack, but against someone your size? Ha! Couldn't have asked for an easier target.” He gave Stanley a faux pitying look. “He really shouldn't have left someone your age home alone. I doubt Sixer expected me to make a move this soon, but he doesn’t know me as well as he thinks he does.”

Stan flushed with anger, “Don’t call him that!” Bills face split from ear to ear with a grin.

“Awh why not? Are you the only one allowed to call him nicknames?” He strode forward, grabbing Stan’s shoulders before he could scramble away. His grip was vice-like. Stanley was slammed into the wall of the basement staircase, driving the air from his lungs. He wheezed and struggled, but he didn’t have enough strength to push the larger man away.

Bill’s breath was sickly sweet as he leaned in close to Stan’s face. “Let me make this perfectly clear so even someone as dumb as you can understand. You’re gonna give me that book, cause if you don't, I'll make some very bad things happen to you.”

Stan squirmed, doing his best to tuck the journal behind him, his hands numb with how tightly he clutched it. “No!”

“Well, don’t say I didn’t warn you.” Bill said with a smile, and pushed him down the stairs.

Chapter Text

“You’re a little fish in a big pond kid.”

Stan tried to drag himself up and run, fight back, anything, but he couldn’t. Pain burned through every inch of him. He’d hit his head on the way down at some point, though he hadn’t lost consciousness, which was a good sign at least. His ribs ached with each breath, and his left leg was on fire. He hoped it wasn’t broken.

Shoes scraped on the concrete of the basement floor, and Bill’s legs came slowly into view. “You know, you’re lucky. If I could, I would have just activated the portal and thrown you in, kill two birds with one stone. But at some point Fordsy locked it down. Probably afraid some little snot-nosed brat might accidentally turn it on or something.”

Stan’s vision swam, but if he turned his head he could see the journal on the ground in front of him. The gold foil hand reflected the light from upstairs like a beacon. He grabbed for it, heaving himself up onto his elbows.

That was when Bill stomped on his hand.

He screamed, blinking back tears of pain as Bill cackled above him. “Oops! Oh I always forget how brittle human bones are. I didn’t break anything, did I?” He lifted his foot, but Stan refused to let go of the book. He dragged it underneath his body, panting miserably as it pressed against his sore ribs. It didn’t help him much, Bill simply hooked a toe under his stomach and flipped him over like a little Stan-shaped pancake.

“I gotta hand it to ya kid, your resilience is impressive. You’re kinda growing on me. Tell you what.” Bill crouched, all knees, and held a hand out, “I’ll make you a deal. You give me that book, and I’ll let you live. I'll even tell you how you can fix your little predicament, as a bonus.”

Why was this stupid journal such a big deal? All it ever brought Stan was pain and misery, and if he’d had the choice he would have tossed it into the furnace the first chance he had. Nothing was in it except a bunch of random supernatural crap and Ford’s diary entries. As far as Stan was concerned it was useless!

But that didn’t mean he was interested in giving this yellow-eyed creep what he wanted. It was Ford’s journal, no-one else’s.

He glared up at Bill, seething. “Do you think I’m an idiot?”

Bill quirked a brow, amused. “Do you really want me to answer that question?”

Stan's voice wasn’t as steady as he would have liked, but he continued anyway, putting as much conviction into it as possible. “I’d have to be a total moron to believe that crap. First you went after my brother, then you threatened the world with total domination or whatever, and then you broke in and pushed me down the stairs! I’d have to be crazy to believe anything you say, even if you weren't already the biggest sleaze ball I’ve ever laid my eyes on!”

The demon chuffed a laugh and gave Stan a couple of slow, sarcastic claps, “Alright, you got me, you've caught on real quick.” He held up a finger. “You got one thing wrong though.”

“What?” Stan asked, eyes narrowed.

“I didn’t go after your brother first, he came to me.” Bill rose, his limbs moving robotically as he circled. “He ignored all the warnings and summoned me at the drop of a hat. Shook my hand and let me in without any fuss. I don't always look like this you know, I'm usually more angular and symmetrical, less squishy. I don’t know if you noticed all of the… Idolatry lying around.” A robed hand gestured to one of the murals on the wall. “Honestly, he was obsessed with me. He believed every word I said, even built me a portal without questioning it." he snorted, rolling his eyes. "Boy was his face red when the truth came out.” He stopped at Stan’s feet, looking down with a smug grin.

Stan just felt confused. “Wait, you mean that triangle thing is you?” And here he’d thought Ford had gotten super into geometry as an adult. He laughed weakly, “That's You? You look like a jaundiced ice cream cone.”

Bill grabbed him by the collar and hoisted him up, ignoring his gasp of pain. “Oh, I haven’t heard that one before, that’s a good one.” He chuckled. Stan fumbled with the book, managing to keep his grip on it despite the abused fingers on his right hand. “For that, I’ll give you one last chance little fish. Give. Me. The Journal.”

Stan snarled, doing his best to level a glare at the Demon despite his precarious position. “Over my… dead body!”

“… If you say so” With a shrug of his shoulders, Bill strode forward to one of the consoles along the wall, holding Stan out in front of him like an offering to an altar. A red glow lit up his face, and his smile was stretched wide over his teeth in a grotesque parody of a human expression. “What a convenient irony. You know Stanley, the stairs to the basement are quite steep.” Stan could feel a radiating heat at his back, soaking through his thin shirt and prickling at his skin. “You should really watch your step.”

“BILL!!”

Bill’s eyes widened, but before he could turn around someone tackled him at full speed, dragging him to the ground.

Stan was sent tumbling, though he sat up quickly, ignoring the way the world spun around him.

Illuminated by the dim rune on the console, his brother grappled with Bill. They rolled, cursing and flailing as Ford struggled to gain the upper hand. He was bigger than Bill, and older (at least in body), but Bill didn’t seem overly bothered by the difference in weight class. “Ol’ six fingers! You’re home early!” he hissed. His bony hands shot forward to dig at Ford’s eyes, forcing the scientist to duck away.

Ford managed to get a white-knuckled grip on Bill’s wrists, holding the demon at arm's length, but it had little effect. He was still being pushed back, inch by inch. Bill was limited by his human form, but he still had more than a few tricks up his sleeves. He twisted out of Ford's grasp and grabbed at him again, catching a fistful of hair and yanking it back. Ford grunted, attempting to pull away, but Bill just hooked a leg behind his knee and forced him to the ground with inhuman strength. Even when at a physical disadvantage with a smaller host, Bill knew how to fight dirty, and he didn't care about getting hurt. He loomed over Ford, a yellow-toothed grin splitting his gaunt face.

That was when Stan lurched forward and walloped Bill across the face with the journal as hard as he could.

Maybe Bill wasn’t limited by human pain or restraint, but hit someone in the face the right way and they won’t know their ass from their eyeballs. The demon's head snapped to the side and he let go of Ford with a snarl, managing to catch himself before he could fall to the ground. He swayed in place for a moment with one hand held to his temple. Ford scrambled back, staring at Stan in astonishment.

Stan pointed to his chin with his good hand. "His jaw!”

Ford just sat there, baffled.

He groaned in frustration, “Ford, sock him in the jaw! Remember boxing practice!? Knock him out!”

Understanding dawned in Ford's eyes and he leapt to his feet. His stance was sloppy, and his hips were angled all wrong, but all he needed was enough leverage and force to really sell it. He put all of his weight and fury into a wicked right hook.

Demon or not, the scrawny teenage body didn’t stand a chance. Bill was out cold before he hit the floor.

_____________________ 

Ford wasn’t much of a fighter, but when he’d come home to broken glass, and an open front door, it wasn’t his flight response that had taken over. He’d never felt so afraid, and so angry, in his entire life. He’d known what had happened, even before he heard the voices in the basement. He may as well have flown down the stairs, because he didn’t remember touching a single step.

Of course all the gumption in the world didn’t change the fact that he was a sleep-deprived scientist going up against a demon in physical combat. He’d won, but only barely, and mostly thanks to Stan’s timely intervention.

He stood with his hands on his knees, chest heaving and heart pounding as he shivered with leftover adrenaline. Bill’s puppet was still on the floor a few feet away. Ford hoped they hadn’t injured the man too badly, he was as much a victim as they were.

“Stanley, are you alright?” He asked, regaining his breath. It was difficult to see in the unlit basement, but his brother looked unsteady on his feet.

“I’m okay.” Stan looked over at the man on the ground. “What do we do with this guy? Tie him up?”

“It wouldn’t do us much good, Bill is probably already long gone. He’d broken the barrier on his way in, probably so he wouldn’t be stuck inside it if he got forced out of the body.

“So then what should we do?”

“The best option at this point is probably to drop him off in front of a hospital.” Ford bent to grab the man under his arms and dragged him slowly up the stairs. He was careful not to add any extra injuries.

Though the sun was low, there was still enough light for Ford to recognise the teen. The name escaped him, but he recalled speaking with the boy at a carnival a few months back. Or rather, he recalled Fiddleford speaking with him. The cloak he wore was worrying, as Ford definitely recognised the eye crossed out on the hood.

It took a while for Stan to appear in the doorway. He hovered, watching Ford rifle through the man’s pockets for an ID.

“It seems his name is Ivan Wexler.” Ford said replacing Ivan’s wallet. “You’ll have to come with me to- Stanley! You said you were fine!”

In the light Stan looked awful. A cut across his cheekbone was bleeding and starting to swell, and his arms and face were covered in developing bruises.  His right hand was curled up against the journal, and it was mottled red across the knuckles. His fingers had puffed up considerably. He limped closer, watching Ivan with wary eyes “I said I was okay, and I am. I’m not dead. Thanks for saving me, by the way. I haven’t really said that yet.”

Ford abandoned the man on the floor to check over his brother, making sure to be gentle as Stan hissed and winced with each prod. “You’re limping! Should you even be walking? You should have said something, I would have carried you up!” He let the journal fall to the floor, forgotten.

Stan rolled his eyes, “I don’t need you to carry me! It’s just a sprain, I can tell. It’s not that bad.”

“What on earth happened? What did he do to you?”

“Most of this was from falling down the stairs.”

“What!?” Unthinkingly he squeezed Stan’s injured fingers, which he’d just started inspecting.

Stan paled alarmingly, yanking his hand back with a gasp. Ford had to grab him to keep him from falling over.

“Okay…” Stan whispered, “Those are broken.”

“I’m taking you to a hospital.”

“No!”

Ford paused, about to scoop Stan up and rush him to the car. He gave his brother an incredulous look. “Why not?!”

Stan pushed him away and took several unsteady steps back. “No way, I don’t need to go to a hospital. I refuse.”

“Stanley, your fingers are broken!”

“I- I don’t think all of them are broken, just one or two! I don’t need to go to the hospital for that!”

Ford tried to approach Stanley again but his distress only seemed to worsen. He retreated further, his good hand held up in front of him defensively.

“Please Ford! They just need a splint! Or I can just tape them together!”

"I’m sorry Stanley but I can’t agree to that.” Ford knelt, allowing Stan to keep a comfortable distance, even though distance was the last thing he wanted right now.

“Why not?!”

“Because you’re hurt!”

“I’ve dealt with broken fingers before, I’ll be fine!”

“You were hurt because of me!”

Stan went silent, shocked at the outburst.

Ford continued. “I left you here alone.” God he was an idiot. “I knew what Bill was up to and I still left you here alone! You’ve only been a child for a day and already I put you in danger, because instead of coming up with a careful plan of action I went traipsing around the forest as soon as possible! If I hadn’t taken a shorter route this time…” He couldn’t stomach the thought of what would have happened.

“You needed to turn me back.”

“But not at the expense of your safety!” He dug his palms into his eyelids, irritating the cuts on his face from Bill’s nails. “How I didn’t realize that Bill could cross the barrier in a physical body I’ll never know, because my mind was apparently in another dimension when I decided to leave!”

Stan shuffled forward, his need to comfort Ford greater than his need to avoid him, and placed a hand on his shoulder. “You just made a mistake, that’s all.” He mumbled. “Happens to everyone. It turned out alright in the end.”

Ford bowed his head, eyes burning. He couldn’t keep everything to himself anymore. If Stan had just been more informed maybe he could have defended himself better. “I’ve made too many mistakes Stanley. I… I was the one who summoned Bill here. This was all my fault.”

He expected Stan to be surprised at the admission, or angry, but instead he laughed. “Ford, I’m the last person who would judge you for that. No one’s made more mistakes than me.”

“… Mistakes that threatened the entire world?”

“Well, no… But nobody’s perfect. If someone had to endanger the world it’s probably a good thing it was you, and not some shlub on the other side of the planet with a crayon up his nose.”

Ford looked up at him, puzzled. “What do you mean?”

“At least you can fix it. You know, make up for your mistakes. Most other people would’ve just crawled under a rock and cried about it.” He shrugged one shoulder, looking away. “At least you’re doing something.”

Ford reached over and cupped his brother’s injured hand in his own. “Then please let me do something now. Let me take you to the hospital, or to a doctor at least.”

Stan bit his lip, shaking his head. At least he had calmed down. “Do you know how expensive hospitals are? Besides, how are you going to explain what happened to me? We can’t blame the sleeping dead over there, he’s innocent. Probably.”

Ford blinked. He hadn’t thought of that. “I’ll tell them it was a home invasion… And that the intruder got away.” It was sort of true.

“Then they’ll have to do an investigation.”

And search the house to collect evidence. “Oh.”

“And if you take me in there, all bruised up with broken fingers, and you don’t have a good story to explain it, what do you think will happen? Who do you think their top suspect will be?”

He drooped. In the past decade child abuse had become a hot topic in the media. It was a good thing in his opinion, but if he walked into a clinic with an injured child and no explanation as to why… All eyes would instantly be on him. “I don’t care if it’s expensive Stanley… But you’re right. We can’t afford that sort of suspicion on us at the moment.”

Stan relaxed. It took a moment with his leg, but he managed to sit down next to Ford, who still held his hand gently. It was kind of weird, they hadn’t held hands since they were six, but it was kind of nice too. Maybe Ford wouldn’t have held his adult brother’s hand, but Stanley was a child right now. A little brother who needed some comfort.

For a few minutes they sat and rested, letting the exhaustion take over. But unfortunately there was a lot that needed to be done, and it was getting late.

“You still need to be treated.” Ford said. Stan tensed, but didn’t pull away. “Maybe not at the hospital, but you need to be seen by someone with some medical expertise.”

“Ok…”

“And as much as I hate to admit it, we need help.” He glanced at Ivan, “There is one other person I trusted with this sort of thing, and while we didn’t exactly part on the best terms, at this point I don’t really have a choice. It would also give us more options if there were three of us working together instead of two.”

Stan’s head jerked up in surprise. “Wait, you’re counting me?”

“Of course. I hope you’ll excuse me for saying this, but the biggest enemy of a con-artist is another con-artist.”

“Aww shucks poindexter you’re making me blush.” He ducked his head, smiling. “Well when you put it that way how can I say no?”

“Although,” Ford amended, “You’ll be kept as far away from Bill as possible at all times.”

“No complaints there. Who’s this friend of yours you were talking about anyway?”

At the reminder Ford stood up, his knees cracking as he stretched. Stanley did the same, though with less stretching.

They walked over to Ivan, Ford’s eye once again caught by the symbol that adorned the cloak’s hood. As usual it struck a chord of familiarity. “Someone I’ve known since college. He worked with me for years, and even helped me build the portal. His name is Fiddleford McGucket.”

Chapter Text

Despite the urgency of the situation Ford refused to leave right away. Instead he carefully tied up Ivan in the back seat of the car, in case he woke up and freaked out or remained possessed, and escorted Stan to the nearest bathroom. He insisted on some cursory first aid treatment before anything else.

Stan was actually quite familiar with injured fingers, what with all the punching he did on a daily basis. They were able to determine that two of Stan’s fingers had been broken for sure, but the others were likely bruised. Only one was out of alignment. According to Stan it would need to be set, and Ford was the one who would have to do it.

“I shouldn’t be doing this…” Ford said, swallowing convulsively. “I’ve dealt with injuries before of course, Fiddleford was quite prone to them, but broken bones were always brought to a hospital. It was stuff like poisonous quills that couldn’t be treated by normal means…”

Stan allowed himself to be lifted awkwardly and placed on the edge of the bathroom counter. “Don’t worry.” He tried to sound more relaxed than he felt, “I’ve done this loads of times. Just do what I say and we’ll be done real quick.”

“How badly does it hurt?”

He sighed, holding out his injured hand. “Look, it doesn’t matter. We can’t tape it if it’s crooked, and it’s gotta be set fast or it’ll heal funny. We don’t know if- when I’ll be able to see a doctor so…”

Ford didn’t look convinced, he just turned a darker shade of green. “Should you take something first? For the pain I mean…”

It was tempting. Stan was trying to downplay things as much as possible, since Ford was already on the edge of freaking out. But truthfully no matter how many times he broke something it still hurt the same. It wasn’t like slowly getting into a hot tub. He couldn’t just get used to the throbbing heat pounding away in his fingertips.

He shook his head, “Nah, anything strong enough to work will make me loopy or tired.”

Ford wasn’t happy about it, but took the offered hand.

“Ok, just do it slowly.” Stan instructed. “You know a lot about hand and finger bones right?”

Ford glanced at his own digits. “I have done my fair share of research yes, and I do know first aid.”

“So you’ll probably know when it’s aligned. It’ll be easier for you to tell than me.”

Ford grimaced. “I… Alright.”

It was the pointer, or as Stan liked to call it: the nose picker. It had continued to swell, with the red morphing into an ugly purple, and half of the finger was bent slightly upward at an uncomfortable angle. Ford stared at it apprehensively. He'd always been sensitive when it came to hand injuries.

He blew out a heavy breath and closed his eyes. When he opened them he looked different, more focused, as if Stan was nothing but a project he was working on. It was a distant, unaffected look, but to Stan it was a comfort. Ford was a genius, and if Stan’s hand was just another science experiment then no one was more qualified.

Ford didn’t bother with a countdown or even a warning, which was probably for the best. With a firm grip on Stan’s wrist he began to slowly and meticulously realign the bone.

It hurt. A lot.

Stan instantly broke out in a cold sweat. He'd had broken fingers set before, so he'd been braced for a familiar experience but this was somehow worse than he remembered. Like he was feeling it for the first time, fresh, in bright technicolour. He managed to keep from making any embarrassing noises, barely, but couldn’t stop the gasp that slipped out before he could bite his lip to stifle it. He might have tasted blood, but it did nothing to distract from the pain in his hand. He couldn’t see Ford’s face past the mosaic of spots collecting in his vision.

Ford might have said something to him, words of comfort or concern, but the dull buzz rising in his ears muffled everything except his heartbeat. He was forced to lean back against the mirror as his already precarious balance threatened to abandon him completely. He shut his eyes tightly to fight off the vertigo, and tried to regulate his breathing, since huffing and puffing too hard would only make him more likely to keel over. At least as an adult he’d been able to take a few shots of whiskey or something before doing shit like this. Thank god it was just a finger, and not a leg or an arm.

Pain could stretch time like a guitar string, but it had to end at some point. Eventually the pressure on his temples loosened, and the hum in his ears faded. Ford had placed an ice pack on the injured hand and was rubbing Stan’s arm soothingly. The chill felt good on the burning skin of his fingers, even if the weight stung.

“Well that sucked.” He mumbled.

“Please don’t ever make me do that again.” Ford said, his voice rough. “I’m not liable for any permanent damage I may have caused.” He looked almost as ill and clammy as Stan felt.

Stan laughed weakly. “I’m sure you only mutilated me a little bit.”

The rest of the treatment went more smoothly. Ford’s first aid kit had a bunch of splints handily (heh) available, and there was even a sling. There wasn’t much that could be done about the bruises on Stan’s face, but they bandaged the cut on his cheek, as well as a few others on the rest of his body. They even wrapped his leg, though if he could walk on it then it probably wasn’t sprained too badly.

After that it was off to the Stan Mobile.

_____________________ 

Ivan was restrained and unconscious, but Stan still seemed uncomfortable with him in the back of the car. He kept turning to look, practically spending half the trip backwards in the passenger seat. Ford settled for watching the rear view mirror for any signs of movement.

The drop off was unceremonious. Ford was unwilling to leave Stan alone in the car, so they ended up depositing the man on the sidewalk in front of the hospital and using a nearby payphone to call in an anonymous tip. They wanted to make sure he was found as soon as possible, but they weren’t willing to stick around and wait.

Stan relaxed noticeably as they drove off. Despite his calm façade Ford could tell that the incident had affected him more than he let on. He looked pale and tired, but the chances of either of them getting to sleep any time soon were pretty small.

“So do you know where this college buddy of yours is?” Stan asked.

Ford frowned thoughtfully. “I believe so yes. I originally thought he left town after he quit, but when I tried to contact him his wife told me he was still in Gravity Falls.” It had been more than a month since the incident. For what reason Fiddleford might have stayed Ford couldn’t fathom. “She gave me an address, but he hasn’t answered any of my calls…”

Stan hummed, picking at the bandage on his face absently. “Well, it’s a lot harder to ignore someone at your door.”

“That’s true…”

They lapsed back into silence. Ford’s left knee bounced with a nervous energy.

Stan noticed, of course. “Something on your mind?”

Ford cleared his throat, keeping his eye on the road. For the sake of driving safely and absolutely not to avoid Stan’s eyes. “You seem to know quite a bit about first aid.”

“Yeah, I guess…”

“You mentioned that you’d broken your fingers before. Does that…” He sighed, “Does this sort of thing happen often to you?”

Stan shifted in his seat, hugging his bad arm to his chest.

Ford knew of course that Stan had been involved with less than savory characters and dealings. He’d known and yet Stan’s words in the basement had failed to sink in. Until now. ‘I once had to chew my way out of the trunk of a car!’

Seeing him deal with the whole thing, like it was business as usual, put things into perspective. Ford had dealt with plenty of injuries himself, but he interacted with dangerous supernatural monsters on a daily basis. Stanley didn’t have that excuse, and his monsters were very human.

“Occupational hazard.” Stan replied, his tone casual. “Got hired as muscle a lot. Punching’s about the only thing I’m good at so I might as well get paid for it.”

“That’s not true, you’re good at plenty of things!”

Stan snorted. “Okay, name one other thing I’m good at, except lying. That doesn’t count.”

Ford chewed his lip, brow furrowed. “You’re good with people! Like at the Dusk 2 Dawn, you handled the townsfolk perfectly. I was seconds away from just taking off and stealing our groceries out of desperation.”

“Okay, you got me there.” Stan chuckled, “Compared to you I’m not too bad with a crowd. Doesn’t mean I’m good with people, I got too many guys hating my guts for that, but I’m better than you. That’s something at least.”

_____________________

The house they pulled up to was not particularly impressive. The bricks were dirty and uneven, the fence and walls were covered in graffiti, and it was close enough to the town dump that the air smelled permanently like garbage.

Stan studied it as Ford helped him hop out of the car. “Huh. Not what I expected from one of your science buddies.”

“It’s not quite what I expected either…” Ford replied with a frown. Fiddleford, like him, wasn’t the tidiest person on the planet, but he wasn’t the sort to allow things to fall completely into disrepair.

They approached the door cautiously. The peephole had been painted over with a large black X. Ford knocked, ignoring the anxiety crawling in his stomach. Nothing happened for a while, long enough that he worried that Fiddleford wasn’t home, or was ignoring them. But before he could knock a second time the door flew open. He jumped and yanked Stanley behind him, his hand going to the handle of his crossbow instinctively.

Fiddleford stood in the doorway. His eyes were wide, with bags underneath big enough to give Ford’s a run for their money, and his shirt was covered in stains. It looked like he hadn’t shaved in days, and his hair was greasy and standing on end, like he’d run his fingers through it over and over again. His clothes hung off of him. He was more reminiscent of a scarecrow than a grown man.

He didn’t look happy to see Ford. Like a threatened cat he puffed up, hissing “you!” before slamming the door shut in their face.

Stan peered out from behind Ford’s legs. “That went well.”

“I didn’t really expect a warm welcome, but this is worse than I feared…” After a brief moment of hesitation Ford knocked again, but this time he gained no response.

Stan stepped around him. “Hey! Fiddler on the roof!”

“Stanley!”

He ignored Ford’s attempts to pull him away, cupping his mouth with his good hand. “Heeeey! We’re here to talk to you! I’m going to keep yelling until you come out!”

The door jerked open again, and Fiddleford’s angry face peered out. “I’m not interested in talking to…” He froze, staring at Stanley. “A child?” He looked incredulously at Ford. “Ya got a child involved?!”

Ford cringed, but Stan moved forward. “Hey, he didn’t get me involved. Well, he did, but I’m not a kid!”

“This is my brother, Stanley.” Ford explained. He looked down at his feet, trying to speak past the lump in his throat. What had happened to Fiddleford? Had Bill… Had Bill done something to him? The thought was chilling. “Fiddleford… I know you probably don’t want to speak with me, but there’s something I have to tell you.” He sucked in a steadying breath. “I was wrong. You were right about the portal, it was too dangerous. I was too blinded by my desire for progress. I thought I was doing something to help the world, but instead I was only putting it in danger.”

Fiddleford had withdrawn slightly, hiding his face from view. His fingers remained, clutching the door.

“I understand if you don’t want to forgive me.” Ford continued, “But I need your help. And I know I haven’t shown it, but you’re the only other person I can trust. This isn’t just about me anymore.”

Fiddleford spoke, his voice uneven. “Why do ya trust me now all of a sudden? Ya didn’t trust me back then.”

His words that night still rang in Ford’s head. ‘Fear the beast with just one eye’. He’d had fair warning, and had chosen to ignore it. “Because I was an idiot. I’m still an idiot.”

There was an agonizing moment where he thought for sure that Fiddleford would refuse, leaving Ford behind once more, justifiably. But with a sigh and a creak of hinges he stepped out from behind the door.

“My goodness, yer brother looks like he got caught at the wrong end of an elephant.” He said, kneeling in front of Stanley. He checked over him carefully, tutting and wincing at the injuries.

Stanley let him fuss with a grin. “You should’ve seen the other guy!”

Fiddleford sent Ford a withering look. “There shouldn’ta been another guy in the first place, but I’m sure he looked awful.”

Ford looked away. He was relieved that his friend was willing to talk, but he knew from experience that forgiveness would be a long time coming, if it came at all.

“Awh, cut him some slack.” Stan said, utilizing his puppy dog eyes to full effect. “He’s the one who knocked the guy’s lights out. Totally saved my life!”

Critical hit. Fiddleford smiled sweetly, the stress and fatigue leaving his face for a moment as he ruffled Stan’s hair. “Well, I suppose if it’s you that’s askin’.” He sobered, getting to his feet. “I don’t know yet if I’ll help ya with… Whatever it is yer dealin’ with, but I’m not about to leave ya with a battered kid out on my doorstep.” He gestured inside with hunched shoulders. “You can say yer piece.”

Ford nodded gratefully and stepped forward.

And came face-to-face with hundreds of eyes.

It took every last ounce of self-control he had not to bruise Stanley’s shoulder as he tightened his grip, pulling him to his chest. Every hair on his body stood on end. It was only a minor relief when he realized that they were not Bill. The symbol from Ivan’s hood was plastered over every surface of the house, crossed out eyes staring unblinkingly at them from every direction. He felt Stanley shiver under his hand.

“Fiddleford… What is this? What are those symbols?”

Fiddleford blinked and looked around, his expression dull as he studied the walls. “You know… I don’t quite remember…”

Chapter Text

Ford’s fingers shook as they dug into Stan’s shoulders, not quite tight enough to hurt, but getting there. “Stanford,” Stan murmured, “Calm down.”

Fiddleford stared at them in confusion.

“You… You don’t remember?” Ford threw a hand out, gesturing around at the hallway they stood in. “Fiddleford, this place is a mess! It’s covered in- in cryptic symbols, and you don’t remember what they are? Are you serious!?” Stan had thought Ford was freaked out by the symbols, but instead he sounded angry. After the heartfelt apology from moments before it was a surprising change of tone.

Fiddleford’s response was equally as fractious, his voice rising with his defensiveness. “What I do with my house is my own business!”

“And what about what you do with your head?”

“Excuse me?!”

“Normally,” Stan interjected loudly, catching the attention of both men, “I would be totally willing to stand here and listen to you yell at each other but,” He grimaced, “my leg is kinda unhappy with that idea…”

Ford was instantly apologetic. “Of course, I’m sorry Stanley I should have realized…” He hovered, probably tempted to pick him up, but afraid of hurting his pride. Stan was stuck between maintaining his dignity and playing it up for Fiddleford.

Honestly the pain really was bothering him, but he wasn’t about to let Ford lug him 5 feet to the nearest chair. “I’m fine, I just need to sit down if you’re going to go at it.”

Fiddleford gave him a guilty look. “I hadn’t realised yer leg was botherin’ ya… I have an ice pack if ya need one?”

“Sure.”

The argument had been successfully averted, but the tension remained. Stan was guided to an ugly maroon loveseat in a room filled with papers and scrap metal. It was wallpapered on all sides with various notes, drawings, and disturbing messages written in what Stan hoped was red paint.

He made use of what looked like half a microwave to prop up his foot. What little of the room he could see looked like something his grandmother would have lived in, filled with wood framed furniture, velvet in every crevice. His hand left trails in the fabric, flattening the fibres like a truck in a corn field. The two scientists were staring each other down, only breaking eye contact when Fiddleford left to grab Stan’s ice pack. He returned with a glass of water to go with it, which Stan gratefully accepted.

“You used it didn’t you?” Ford said, his tone reproachful.

Fiddleford’s back was stiff as he crouched beside Stanley, studying the wounds more closely. “If yer gonna start judgin’ me ya might as well be clear about it Stanford.”

“The memory gun, you used it on yourself.”

“I don’t know why yer surprised about it, I didn’t exactly feel like taking yer opinions into consideration anymore after what happened.” He tutted at Stan’s fingers, his eyes soft despite the ice in his words.

“I’m surprised you even remember it.” Ford admitted. He kept a hand on Stan’s shoulder during Fiddleford’s ministrations, sitting on the couch beside him. With the other hand he pressed the ice pack against Stan’s leg.

“I don’t, not in detail. I didn’t even remember that it’d happened until ya showed up at my door. Thanks for that.”

They were like two cats trying to occupy the same space at the same time; stiffly trading hisses, and liable to blow up at any moment if they got offended enough. The only thing keeping them from a full blown fight was Stan, the toy dangling in the middle.

Well if he had to play peacemaker then so be it. “Ford, what are you guys talking about?” They looked away from each other, expressions darkening.

“Before he left Fiddleford had developed a device.” Ford kept his voice carefully even. “It was meant to, well, erase certain targeted memories. I felt it was too dangerous to use, and I thought I’d convinced him not to use it but.” He glared at the wall, “I conveniently can’t remember if he destroyed it or not.”

Fiddleford rolled his eyes. “Oh fer- ya really think I’d use it for somethin’ like that? I coulda just as easily lied about it, or broken it then built a new one, I had the schematics after all. Maybe ya just had yer head too far up yer ass to realise!”

“So you’re saying you didn’t use the gun on me?”

“Not even once!”

Stan raised a hand, cutting them off. “Okay, well, that sounds like a phenomenally bad idea.” Fiddleford gave him an offended look. “But whatever, what’s with the crazy eyes then? Did you forget those on purpose?”

Fiddleford peered at the symbols again, this time studying them with greater intensity. His brow furrowed with worry. “Ya know I… I do think they look familiar. I don’t really know why I woulda forgotten them specifically…”

“It could be important.” Ford stood, pointing at one of the bigger drawings, splashed in red across the wall of papers. “Men dressed in robes with this symbol have been harassing me repeatedly, and just today one of them broke into my home and attacked my brother. He was possessed at the time but… Does the name Ivan sound familiar to you?”

Fiddleford paled, going still. “Ivan…”

“Ivan Wexler.” Stan supplied. “He had a really weird tattoo on his face.”

Ford nodded, “A phrenology map, if I remember correctly. We met him at the carnival, and you gave him a note at the time. Surely there’s a connection.”

Fiddleford jumped to his feet and began pacing, forcing Ford to back up to avoid being run into. He pulled at his hair in a fit of frustration. “Ivan! Ivan Wexler! I know him, I… He was one of my first… My first… disciples!”

“Disciples?!”

“He was one of my first followers. He wanted to forget somethin’ so I offered to help. I told him we could help others too. We created a society…” He stumbled to a halt in the middle of the room, eyes squeezed shut as he muttered to himself. “The eye. I didn’t want to see... The Society of the Blind Eye!” he whirled around and pointed a shaking finger, nearly smacking Ford in the face.

Ford jerked his head back and Fiddleford quickly pulled away, sheepish. “I… I thought it would help people. Ivan seemed to feel the same but…” His face fell “He didn’t think we were doin’ enough. I didn’t want to use it on someone who didn’t agree to it, not unless it was absolutely necessary, but he didn’t feel the same way. We fought about it and then…” He shook his head, morose. “I can’t remember. He musta used it on me when I had my back to ‘im. I- I think he took it.”

Ford watched him wring his hands, pale and unhappy. “So it’s possible that he’s using it on innocent people."

“I… It’s possible. It’s possible he’s used it on me more than once…”

“Would he have any reason to make a deal with a demon?”

Fiddleford blinked, collecting himself as his mind focused on something else. “That’s right, ya did mention somethin’ about a demon didn’t ya. Of course ya’d get involved in something like that. ” He shivered. “Well… We weren’t sure whether the effects were permanent at the time. It seems my ability to recall triggered memories proves that it isn’t…”

Ford rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “So if this solution wasn’t permanent, he’d likely seek out another. He would have been a perfect target for Bill.”

“And he attacked yer brother…” Fiddleford hung his head, entire body drooping with the guilt. He was a very emotive man apparently. “I’m so sorry.”

After a brief hesitation Ford patted him awkwardly on the back. “Well that can’t be blamed on you at least. Even if you hadn’t worked with Ivan, there’s a good chance Bill would have targeted him anyway.”

Fiddleford gathered himself, cheered partially by Ford’s words. “I suppose yer right… Who is this Bill anyway? Is that what ya needed my help with?”

It was Ford’s turn to droop, his earlier melancholy returning. “Yes. I’m afraid I’ve made a grave mistake. The portal wasn’t what I thought it was, and you were right, the blueprints weren’t entirely my design…”

_____________________ 

Stan snorted as he woke with a start, freezing when he realized someone was shaking him. There was some sort of argument going on over his head.

“Really Stanford, it’s late! He’s a child, he needs to rest!”

“Not here! I hadn’t even realized he’d fallen asleep… We need to go back to the house, I can repair the barrier and we’ll work something out from there.”

Oh, right. They’d been discussing things. Bill, Fiddleford’s memory gun, what they should do next. It had been interesting at first, but at some point he’d stopped being able to pay attention, and had nodded off.

He pushed himself upright. “’M up, sorry.”

Ford was kneeling in front of him, a hand on his good arm. “It’s alright Stanley, I understand you must be very tired. Are you… Feeling okay?” His voice was sympathetic, but he still peered intensely into Stan’s eyes.

Stan squirmed but let him check. “Don’t worry, my head is geometry free.” It was filled with an entire marching band, drumming away at his temples, but he kept that to himself.

Ford looked relieved, and exhausted. “We’ve come to an agreement, of sorts.”

“The feel good heart-to-heart wasn’t convincing enough?”

Fiddleford chuckled. “Oh we always talked more with our mouths than our hearts.”

“He’s agreed to help us as long as he doesn’t have to work directly on the portal.” Ford helped Stan to his feet. “ Ivan won’t likely be a problem for the next little while, so we can deal with him and his cult later.”

“It’s not a cult it’s a society…” Fiddleford grumbled, “Well at least it’s not supposed to be a cult…”

Stan wobbled, feeling stiff after his brief nap, but with Ford’s steadying hand on his elbow he was able to stabilize. Fiddleford waited until he’d gained his balance, then offered a bundle of something to him with a smile. Stan accepted it, on autopilot.

It was a set of clothes. Not warped shrunken clothes like the ones he was currently wearing, actual child-sized clothes. They were soft, coloured in pastel; Faded from sun and use, but clean. He looked up, confused. “Are these for me?”

Fiddleford raised an eyebrow at the question. “Well, I know for sure yer brother won’t have anythin’ proper for a kid yer size to wear, and I don’t think those’d fit anyone else. I have a son around yer age who visits from time to time, and he left em here. He’s startin’ to grow outta them anyways, so ya can keep em if ya like.”

Stan stared at them, unsure of how to react. Borrowing his brother’s clothes out of necessity was one thing, being given clothes by someone who was practically a stranger was another.  “I dunno if my brother told you yet, but I’m not actually a kid. You don’t have to give me these…” He rubbed the fabric of one of the shirts with his thumb. It had the fleece-like quality of something that had been washed a million times, and one of the shoulder seams had been ripped and re-sewn with tight, professional stitches that would have been invisible if the threads had matched. It was well taken care of. He stopped, afraid of getting it dirty. When was the last time he’d washed his hands?

“Oh Stanford filled me in about your situation alright.” Fiddleford said with a laugh, “It’s a lot to wrap my head around but I can’t say I haven’t seen weirder. It don’t matter if yer a real kid or not, ya look like ya could use somethin’ comfy to wear. Ya’ve been through enough as it is I’d imagine.”

Ford gently took the clothes from Stan, tucking them away somewhere in his bottomless trench coat. “He’s right Stanley. I’d intended to go clothes shopping, but with everything that’s happened this is probably the better option.”

Stan swallowed, trying to dislodge the lump in his throat. Something must have shown on his face, because both adults were giving him concerned looks. They were just clothes. He’d gotten free clothes before. Sure, usually it was because he’d shoplifted them, but so what? It wasn’t like they were doing it because they thought he was a charity case or anything. They were just being nice, he should enjoy it while it lasted. “Thanks.” He mumbled, more to Fiddleford’s pant leg than to the man himself.

“There’s a coat in the front closet ya can wear too, and some shoes. If ya like, I got a bathroom ‘round the corner ye can change in.”

He nodded mutely, then limped to the bathroom, with Ford on his heels as an escort. Being dressed by his brother wasn’t the most mortifying thing he’d had to endure in his life, but it was up there. He couldn’t do much on his own without incurring a great deal of protest from his fingers, he didn’t have enough coordination to even put on a shirt. He would be unable to untie the sling in order to get his arm through the hole, and his arm would have to be tucked inside, which would just look stupid. With Ford’s help it was much easier. At least he got to keep his underwear on. The new clothes really were comfortable, and it was nice having pants that fit properly. A cartoon whale on his shirt assured him that he was having a “whale of a time”, while shooting a rainbow out of its blowhole.

He stared at it in the bathroom mirror, “So we’re heading back?”

Ford retied the sling absently, covering the design. He straightened out the collar of Stan’s shirt, and generally fussed over him. “Yes, after everything it’s still our safest option. I can repair the barrier, and with Fiddleford there with us we’ll be able to maintain our security a bit better. He suggested a night watch schedule, which I think is a good idea.”

“And then what?”

Ford paused, halfway through attempting to flatten Stan’s cowlick, which had gotten out of control. “Then I suppose we put our heads together and come up with a plan of attack. We can’t cower under Bill’s shadow forever, there has to be some way to defeat him. If we can we’ll work on reversing your condition, but it might be slow-going for a while.”

“Eh, I can wait. I think the fate of the world is a bit more important than whether I can reach all the top shelves or not.”

For some reason Ford frowned at that, his expression conflicted, but he shook himself and gathered up the dirty clothes, herding Stan back out into the hall. Fiddleford was waiting at the front door, studying the graffiti-covered walls with an unreadable look on his face. It vanished when he noticed them. “Well don’t ya look adorable! Tate’s a tad bit bigger than ya but they don’t fit too bad, do they?”

“They’re perfect, thanks!” Stan gestured to his chest, lifting his arm to show the whale. “This shirt speaks to me.”

Fiddleford grinned, “Well, Tate always did have a good eye for fashion.”

Ford cleared his throat, interrupting. “Will you be taking your own vehicle?”

“I ain’t about to leave my beetle behind.”

“Well then we’d better get moving.”

_____________________ 

The house looked the same as when they’d left it. Bill hadn’t made much of a mess, and if it wasn’t for the wind whistling through the front window there wouldn’t have been any evidence of the break in at all. Ford could feel the weight of the journal in his pocket, bumping against his leg with every step. A constant reminder of what had started this all.

He took a few precautions before reclosing the barrier of course, detection spells and the like to make sure of Bill’s absence. It wasn’t the relief it had been before, but it was better than nothing, and at least they’d be able to sleep. It was nearing midnight, and the house was filled with cold shadows. Ford flicked on the light in the kitchen.

Stan hobbled over to the stove. He’d apparently tried to make pancakes at some point during his time cleaning, but they’d come out lumpy, and weren’t even close to being pancake shaped. There wasn’t much left that was edible.

Fiddleford followed, peering at the mess on the pan. “Hey, that’s my bakin’ sheet, I knew I’d left it somewhere. Are ya hungry?”

Stan shrugged. “Yeah, kinda.”

“Well take a seat and I’ll whip us up a few butter biscuits.” Fiddleford bent and pulled out a frying pan from under the sink (so there had been a clean one left somewhere). It wasn’t long before the last of their pancake mix was sizzling over the burner, filling the kitchen with the sweet smell of cooked batter. Ford deposited his brother on to one of the seats and sat across from him, pulling out his journal and flipping through it. He knew there was nothing useful in it about Bill, they hadn’t met yet back then, but it gave him something to do.

“Ya still have that thing?” Fiddleford asked, flipping the pancake with a practiced flick of his wrist.

Ford let the pages slide through his fingers. “Well yes. I’ve hidden the others, but we’re stuck with this one at the moment.” From the corner of his eye he saw Stan look away, one small hand clutching the edge of table. There was a hollow, uncomfortable feeling in his chest at the sight. If Stan had just taken the book and left, then this entire nightmare wouldn’t have happened, but that thought didn’t make Ford angry like it normally would have. Instead the memory of Stan’s bruised face sat in his head like a hot coal. Stan hadn’t said what Bill was after, but Ford could put two and two together. “The portal blueprints aren’t impossible for Bill to replicate, but unless he finds another world class genius like myself he’ll need the ready-made instructions, if he ever decides to find himself a new pawn that is. As a demon he has all the time in the world, but not much patience.”

Fiddleford pursed his lips disapprovingly. “If it’s so dangerous then why don’t ya just destroy it?”

“It’s my life’s research Fiddleford, I can’t just throw that away.” Ford protested, stiffening defensively.

Fiddleford was incredulous. “I know it’s groundbreakin’ an’ all but if it could end the world then maybe it’s not worth keepin’. What, were ya plannin’ on buryin’ it somewhere in the garden an’ hopin’ it wouldn’t be dug up again?”

“I…” Ford stalled, face heating as his response stuck in his throat. ‘No, I was going to send my brother to the other side of the planet with it.’ It was the truth, and yet he was reluctant to say it, afraid it wouldn’t sound like such a good idea anymore if he tried to explain it out loud. He felt his brother’s presence at the table acutely, the baby-blue fabric of the sling a bright spot in his peripheral vision.

The world was far more important than a few years of study, and Ford knew many of the entries by heart anyway, so logically destroying the journals was the right choice. Even if losing the portal blueprints would be a huge detriment to humanity’s progress, it wasn’t worth much if humanity ceased to exist.

But Stan had risked his life to protect it.

The tense silence was broken when Fiddleford dropped the stack of pancakes in the middle of the table. He took the third seat between them, handing each a set of utensils. Stan took his with a mumbled thanks, quickly snatching the first pancake off the top with the fork, and proceeded to hack at it with gusto. He carefully avoided looking at Ford, who picked at his own flapjack morosely.

Fiddleford shook his head. “Well you sure have gotten yerself into a pickle. But that’s why ya asked me to come in the first place right? We work best as a team, that way we can keep each other in check an’ make up for what the other misses. I’m sure in our current states we’ll be missin’ a lot.”

“That didn’t exactly work out before, if you recall.”

“Then it’s lucky we got Stanley here now to keep us both in check.” He gestured at Stan, who had given up on cutting his pancake one-handed, and was currently shoving the entire thing into his mouth.

“I’m… Utterly filled with confidence.”

Fiddleford took the plate, and what was left of the pancake, away from Stan. He started cutting it up into bite sized pieces. “Puttin’ the journal aside fer now, we need ta figure out what we’re gonna do.”

“The problem is that I have no idea how to defeat Bill, or if it’s even possible.” Ford rested his chin in his hand, twirling his fork on his plate. “If we had time I suppose we could nullify the Portal’s ability to connect to the nightmare realm, which would render it useless to him. But developing that technology could take years. With how aggressive he’s been I don’t know if it would be feasible.”

“So we gotta focus on him first then?”

Ford bit into a forkful of pancake. He wished he’d had the foresight to buy syrup as well, but it was good enough to distract him from the fact that his mind was completely blank. Any weapon strong enough to hurt Bill would only work in the nightmare realm, and would require a gargantuan amount of power. There was the memory gun, but it was currently out of their hands.

“What about the barrier?” Stan asked through a mouthful of food. He seemed cheered now that he was eating something.

“While it’s a helpful short term solution it’s not very sustainable. We can’t hunker down forever, we’ll have to leave it regularly for food and supplies, and Bill can exploit that at any moment. He’s also entirely capable of finding another vessel and entering it again.”

Stan shook his head, swallowing. “No, I don’t mean the one around the house. What if we made another barrier somewhere and just, I dunno, lured him inside? Like a cage? Then he’d be stuck and you could do all that portal stuff just in case.”

Ford let his fork fall to his plate. “It can’t be that simple, can it?”

“How does the barrier work?” Fiddleford asked.

“It blocks any connection to the nightmare realm, essentially bubbling a section of the mindscape and isolating it. Bill can’t enter it, and he can’t exit it either.”

“I reckon that sounds like a pretty good cage.”

Ford drummed his fingers, thinking. “But how would we lure him in? He’s lived longer than earth has even existed, he’s not easily tricked.”

Stan scoffed, “Being really old doesn’t make you smart. I know lots of dumb old people, and they all had something in common with Bill. They’re arrogant. They’re convinced they know more than you possibly could because they’ve been alive longer and they’ve done more stuff.”

“This is a bit different Stanley.”

“How? I bet if we made him feel like he was winning, or that we were giving in, he wouldn’t even think twice about it. ‘Cause in his mind, why wouldn’t we give in? Since he’s clearly so superior.” He picked up his plate and tilted the last of the crumbs into his mouth.

“There’s no way he’d believe I’d give in to him, not after everything that’s happened.” Ford said, rubbing his eyes tiredly. “And Fiddleford is an atrocious liar. If either of us attempted to summon him he probably wouldn’t even bother to reply.”

Stan slammed his plate back down, like a drunkard at a bar demanding more beer. “I’ll do it then.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Not on yer life.”

“Oh come on!” he flopped back in his chair, looking put-upon. “You’re the one who told me a con’s greatest enemy is another con. He wanted to make a deal when he was trying to get the journal ok? He said he’d let me live if I gave it to him. I told him to stuff it, but still.”

Ford scowled, angry at Bill all over again. “Even so, if you’ve already refused then he has no reason to believe that you’ve changed your mind.”

“Sure he does.” Stan replied with a smirk. “I’m just a little kid right? I got hurt really bad, it’s only natural I’d have second thoughts. And he said he didn’t think you wanted me around, so if I played it up, told him you were being a jerk or something, I bet he’d think I didn’t trust you anymore. I bet he’d think he got to me.”

Ford’s stomach churned at the idea, and at the words Stan recalled so casually from Bill. He had a quarter of a pancake left, but it wasn’t very appetizing at the moment. “It’s too dangerous. And the Journal is a physical object, he’d only be able to interact with it through a physical body. The barrier wouldn’t trap him then.”

“We just gotta sweeten the deal.” Stan seemed determined to enact this plan, almost bouncing in place as he tried to convince Ford. “He said you locked down the Portal. Maybe I “figured it out” and offer to open it for him? I just need him to tell me what to do since I don’t know how it works, so he has to follow me down. I open the barrier, lead him downstairs, and bam!” Ford jumped as he smacked a tiny fist on the table. “We got a brand new pet triangle in our basement!”

“Or,” Fiddleford interjected, “he figures it out and plays along so he can trick you right back. What if he hurts ya again? All he has to do is stash another patsy in the bushes and use it to grab ya when ya take down the barrier. Or what if he possesses you this time?”

The thought made Ford nauseous. Bill was incredibly dangerous, with or without a body. “There has to be another way.”

Stan pouted, slumping when he realized he was being opposed on both sides. “At least think about it. If you can think of something else then that’s fine, but it needs to be an option if we’re serious about saving the world.”

It was blunt, but true. “We should get some sleep first, we can figure something out in the morning.” Ford stood to gather the empty plates, tossing them in the sink. “I’ll take it into consideration, but let’s try to think of something safer if we can.” Stan looked unhappy, but conceded.

“I can take first watch.” Fiddleford offered.

“Are you up to it?”

“My head’s a bit scrambled, but I’m not a vegetable Stanford. I can look out a window for a few hours without losin’ my mind.”

Ford shrugged sheepishly. “Of course.”

Stan dropped down from his chair. “What about me?”

Ford picked him up, ignoring his squeak of protest, and carried him towards the spare room. “You will rest and allow yourself to recover. In the morning we will look into finding an off-the-books doctor to look over your injuries, and then you will rest some more while we discuss our options.”

Stan kicked ineffectually with his good leg, his face the colour of a tomato. “Let me go! Stanford!”

Ford obliged, setting him on the couch. He put his hands on his hips, staring his brother down. Stan glared back up at him.

“Thank you for your help with Fiddleford.” Ford said.

Stan balked at the unexpected gratitude, rubbing the back of his head, “Uh… No problem. He seems like a nice guy.”

Ford silently agreed, lord knows he didn’t deserve the help. He sat down next to Stanley, who watched him from the corner of his eye. He returned the look. “You didn’t believe Bill, did you?”

“About letting me live? No way, I’m not an idiot.” Stan leaned back, picking at the loose threads in the cushion.

“No I don’t mean that.” Ford rested his elbows on his knees, fidgeting with his hands. “What he said about me not wanting you around, did you believe him?”

Stan was silent.

His heart sank like a stone to the cold and miserable depths of his stomach. “Stanley…”

“I mean, that’s kinda the impression you gave me before this whole thing started. You told me to get away from you, as far away as possible.” Stan turned away, his body curled around his injured hand as he hunched in on himself. “You said it would be the first worthwhile thing I ever did.”

Ford cringed. God did it hurt to have those words thrown back at him, when he was no longer blind to the venom in them. He’d been so upset, so angry, and yes, Stanley had hurled his own accusations but…

Everything Stan had said about him was true. He had been living it up, with his grant money and his research. He’d squandered it, through no one’s fault but his own, and when he’d had no where else to turn he’d called his brother for help. And Stanley had come.

“And the worst part is,” Stan continued, “you were right. If I’d just taken the dumb book and left none of this would’ve happened. You probably would’ve got together with Fiddleford, figured out how to get rid of Bill, and lived a long happy life getting famous and making lots of money.”

Each word was delivered with the pained breathlessness of an upset child. Instinctively Ford placed a hand on his shoulder to comfort him, but when Stan tensed in response he moved to rub his back instead. “I’m sorry for saying that. I was wrong. We have no way of knowing what would have happened, and I, well, I would have been alone if you’d left.”

Stan relaxed slightly but didn’t turn to look at him. “If I’m staying in here again, where’s the Fiddler gonna sleep?”

Ford suppressed a laugh at the nickname. “In my room.”

“Uh, then where are you gonna sleep?”

“In here? I was hoping we could share a room, you know, just like old times.” He smiled when Stanley finally met his eyes. “I’ll take the floor?”

His brother contemplated it for a moment, his face a perfect poker mask, then grinned, showing off the familiar missing tooth. “Alright Sixer, but if you snore I’m kicking you out, got it?”

“Got it.”

Chapter Text

When Stan woke up the next morning, roasted into wakefulness by the sun beaming down on his face, Ford was gone. He’d rolled up that ugly shag carpet at some point, so the room was a lot nicer to look at. It was almost 10 already.

Despite Ford’s promise that they’d continue to discuss their plans the next day, when Stan wandered bleary-eyed into the kitchen his brother was nowhere to be found. Instead Fiddleford sat at the table, huddled over a scattered pile of papers and muttering to himself as he scratched out and scribbled down stuff with a stubby over-sharpened pencil. He looked up when he noticed Stan’s entrance. “Good mornin’! How are ya feelin’?”

Stan stretched as best he could with the sling, groaning at the aches and pains that flared in his limbs. “I feel like I was hit by a bus.”

“Well I suppose that’s to be expected.” Fiddleford said, putting down his pencil. “Ye don’t look much better to be honest.”

Stan couldn’t refute that. His bruises had darkened overnight, going from blotchy maroon to an ugly mix of black and purple, which stood out on his arms like spots on a dog. He could only imagine what his face was like.

He managed to climb up onto one of the other chairs, and squinted at the pages spread out in front of Fiddleford. They were pretty incomprehensible to him, a mess of scribbled formulas and chemical equations, with many crumpled and crossed out pieces discarded on the floor. No wonder Ford had partnered up with this guy, they were like birds of a feather. “So what are you doing?” Stan asked.

Fiddleford sat with his fingers threaded together. It looked like he’d finally indulged in a comb at some point, but he still wore the same dress shirt from last night, and he seemed about as harried as he had before. “I’m tryin’ ta make head or tails of this. I ain’t ready to help yer brother with the portal,” he shuddered, “but I figured I could put some work in on yer age dilema.” He sighed, dropping a hand to the table and spreading out the center set of diagrams. Drawing of molecules covered the page, interrupted only by the occasional note or series of numbers.

Stan pulled them towards him, tilting his head as he studied them. “Huh, that’s a lot more science-y than I expected.”

“Well magic and science get along better than ya’d think.” Fiddleford pulled out another paper and continued his scribbling. “Everythin’ in the universe follows laws, and everythin’ in the universe is connected somehow. Ya just gotta know what to look for to see how they fit together.”

“And let me guess, that’s the part you’re having trouble with?”

“… Yer on the money with that I reckon.” He growled, scratching at his hair line. “I was never too adept with the magic side of things, that was more yer brother’s expertise, and my chemistry degree can only get me so far with elements that don’t exist on the periodic table. I’m an engineer more than anythin’. But yer brother wanted to disable the portal before you-know-who tries anythin’ funny, so he’s a bit busy at the moment.”

Stan smiled ruefully. “I appreciate the thought at least. How come you’re not working on the portal then? I mean, I sensed there might be some history between you two, but if you’re more of an engineer…?”

Fiddleford shivered again, kneading his temples nervously. “I uh, had a bad experience with the darn thing. I can’t remember the details I admit, but I don’t think I’m ready to confront it yet.”

Stan shrugged, not wanting to push. “I guess that just means I get to know you better.” He grabbed a few sheets of paper from Fiddleford’s pile, and nabbed one of the extra pencils scattered about. “I can’t do chemistry stuff, but I can draw a cool dude with a sword.”

The corners of Fiddleford’s lips twitched up, and some of the tension left his shoulders. “Well that’s definitely somethin’ I’ll have to see.”

_____________________

Contrary to what many people had thought about him over the years, Fiddleford wasn’t a fool. Sure he had the stereotypical hillbilly accent, and he’d made his fair share of bad decisions, but he’d always considered himself to be a shrewd man. So he hadn’t missed the fact that Ford had never once mentioned a brother in all the years Fiddleford had known him. Since they were apparently identical twins that was quite the omission.

Stanley was cute as a button, and Fiddleford was unavoidably reminded of his own son. Mind of an adult or no, he couldn’t help the fondness he felt while watching the boy draw, wobbly lines shaping his characters. It looked quite good to Fiddleford, artistic talent must be something shared between the two brothers, but Stan was unsatisfied, cursing and shaking his hand.

“Havin’ trouble?”

Stanley pursed his lips, a comical look on someone his age. “I’m not as good with my left hand to begin with, but my dumb baby arms are too shaky. My body feels so weird like this.”

“Really? In what way?” Fiddleford asked. Perhaps it wasn’t a good idea to get distracted from his work, but as both a father and a scientist he couldn’t really help himself. He’d never witnessed an age regression before.

“Well it’s like, I dunno. You know how to ride a bike right?”

“Yes.”

“Well, when you first learned how, you didn’t know before then, right? Like… They say you never forget how to ride a bike once you learn how. Lots of things are like that, writing, drawing, fighting. Heck, even walking and running are things you already know how to do, even though you had to learn how at some point.” Stan held his hand out in front of his face, wiggling his fingers demonstratively.

“Yer talkin’ about muscle memory and hand eye co-ordination.” Fiddleford picked up the drawing, studying the uneven strokes. The lines were similar to Tate’s attempts at art that hung on his fridge back in California. He was beginning to see what Stanley was getting at. The technique was there, but the smooth confidence that came with experience was missing. It looked more like it had been traced.

Stanley shrugged. “It’s like… It’s like I forgot how to do a lot of the things I learned how to do. I know in my head how to throw a punch, but if I tried to do it now I don’t know if I’d be able to. Half the time my hands and feet feel like they belong to somebody else.”

Fiddleford hummed thoughtfully. “It’s almost as if yer body hasn’t been regressed so much as it’s been reversed, like when ya rewind a tape.”

“What’s the difference?”

“Well if ya’d regressed, it’d be like yer body was just turned into that of a kid. But if yer age is reversed, it’s like yer time has been rewound backwards, meanin’ the body ya have now is the exact same as it was back when ye really were that age. That’d explain yer tooth, unless ya were missin’ that before?”

“Not this one. I still don’t know what happened to my partial.” Stanley stuck his tongue through the hole in question.

Fiddleford shot up in his seat. “Yer par- do y'mean ya had dentures?! But y'were the same age as Stanford weren’t ya?”

Stanley looked uncomfortable, hunching his shoulders as he looked away. “Ah well, I can’t say I ever took good care of my teeth.” He chuckled humourlessly.

Fiddleford wasn’t a fool, but he also wasn’t a busybody. He could take a hint when it was given, and though he felt an instinctual desire to figure out what was wrong, he had to remind himself that Stan was really an adult. One who probably wouldn’t react well to others prying into personal matters just because he’d let something slip. “I see. Hopefully things go back to normal once we figure out a solution. Magic does have a tendency to pocket things if it can’t discard them, since it takes less energy than converting an object into something else.”

Stan’s discomfort was replaced by amusement. “Of course, makes total sense. I have magic pockets.”

“I suppose it does sound a bit silly if you put it like that.” They shared a laugh. “Well if ya don’t feel like drawin’ anymore, maybe ya can give me a hand with this stuff?”

“But I don’t really know anything about chemistry.” Stan said, raising a brow.

“That’s no problem, how’s yer math?”

Stan squinted at the papers, unsure, but not unconvinced. “I’m okay at it.”

“Well if I give ya the numbers and tell ya how to calculate em, we could cut down on some of the work.” Fiddleford rose from his seat, walking over to the fridge. “But first why don’t I rustle up some grub?”

_____________________

Dismantling the portal completely would take days at best.

Ford was tempted to start anyway, wanting to get rid of it as soon as possible, but his numerous misgivings couldn’t overcome his reasoning. If they were forced to go with Stan’s plan they would need an in-tact, if not functioning, portal to lure Bill into the basement. It was the only place to do it really; safe from curious civilians, and away from the main house. He’d have to block off the entire floor with several layers of concrete in order to be able to sleep at night, but it would only need to last long enough to sever the demon’s connection with his mind, and the portal’s connection with the nightmare realm.

And it would only be a last resort! He didn’t enjoy considering it, but when their other potential option was to interrogate a concussed man and erase someone’s mind, he couldn’t logically dismiss it. He just had to think of a better option, that’s all.

At the moment there was nothing more he could do with the portal. He’d removed some of the more important components, and had destroyed them. It wasn’t fool-proof, with enough motivation Bill could identify and recollect what he needed to turn it on again, but it would be a significant delay. It would have to serve as a safeguard for now.

He’d gotten started early that morning, so even though he’d been working for a while, it was only an hour or so past noon. His next step would be to continue discussing plans, both long term and short, with the other two, so he headed upstairs. Stanley was likely awake, and probably hungry. In hindsight, squirreling in the basement was not something he should be doing with a child in the house, but hindsight had always been an issue with him to begin with.

He needn’t have worried, the sound of excited chatter greeting him as he reached the main floor. He entered the kitchen to see Stan attempting a dramatic performance, standing on his chair with a finger pointed at Fiddleford.

Even as a kid his Ford impression was almost perfect. “So what if I got a D? Physical education is a waste of time!” He lifted his nose high in the air, sniffing disdainfully. “I could just invent something to play sports for me, why would I ever want to do it the hard way?”

Fiddleford wheezed, slapping a hand on his knee. “Oh my, that’s perfect! Ya sound just like ‘im!” He spotted Ford in the doorway, but instead of looking contrite, like he should, he just laughed harder.

Stan continued, unaware. “Besides, what do we need people for anyways? Robots are the future! Why have meaningful conversations when I can inject science directly into my brain and become a robot myself! Beep boop!” He did an awkward one-handed dance move, similar to the one he’d done on the beach so many years ago.

Ford cleared his throat, silencing the monologue.

Stan jumped at the sound. “Uh… Hey Ford…” He slid back down in his seat, turning to give Ford a crooked smile. “Didn’t see you there…”

Ford rolled his eyes. “Yes because that makes it much better. And I don’t talk like that at all!”

“Oh I’d say it’s pretty accurate!” Fiddleford wiped tears from his eyes as he attempted to regain his breath, the traitor.

Well it was good that they were having fun at least, though Ford wondered how much work they’d gotten done. He eyed the messy spread of papers, mixed with various cartoony drawings and a cereal bowl that had left milk rings all over everything. “I’m sorry for leaving you with my brother, he can be a bit distracting.”

“Oh he was no bother!” Fiddleford assured him, “He’s been quite helpful actually. He’s a real whiz at calculatin’ things. Once I taught him some of the formulas he was a great help, getting’ all the busy work outta the way.”

Stan ducked his head as Ford’s eyes widened. He picked up one of the sheets, looking at the wobbly letters interspersed with doodles. Indeed it was all surprisingly accurate, and it definitely wasn’t Fiddleford’s work. But Stan had always struggled with math, among many other things, in school, even with some of the simpler stuff. He’d preferred copying off of his brother instead. “That’s… Unexpected.” Ford said, wincing at how that sounded. “Not that I think he wouldn’t be capable! It’s just…”

Stan waved it off. “I get it, math wasn’t really my thing in school.”

And yet he’d grown so sufficient. “Then how…?”

“You know what math’s really handy with?” Stan’s eyes sparkled, “gambling!”

“What?!”

“Okay, I got caught counting cards a few times, and that wasn’t too fun, but when it worked it really worked!!”

Fiddleford seemed tickled but Ford could only run a hand through his hair in exasperation. Of course Stan had fostered a skill like that by cheating at gambling. “At this point I don’t think it’s worth complaining about your illegal activities. I’m glad you’ve been making headway though.” He sat down heavily across from Fiddleford. “I’ve done what I can with the portal, which isn’t much. But it’s better than nothing. “

“So now we just have to figure out what we’re going to do.” Stan said, his voice turning serious. “For real this time.”

Ford scrambled mentally to come up with something, some new idea, but had nothing. He could offer to travel to where he’d found the spell to summon Bill, but he’d gone over those caves many times in the past, and nothing had ever come of it. The only symbol that made any sense was the hand with six fingers. Everything else, the shooting star, the pine tree, the question mark, they were completely nonsensical. The best he could come up with was a distraction. “First we have to figure out your injuries. I said we’d deal with it today, and I don’t want to put it off any longer.”

Stan was predictably unhappy with the change in topic, but he didn’t argue. “Ok well, what are you going to do? You got somebody in mind?”

“I… No.” Ford admitted, embarrassed. “I’m afraid I never really got to know the people living here all that well.”

Fiddleford shook his head. “Oh yer as hopeless as ever. I suppose I have a few people I can call in on to ask a favor, they might know a nurse or doctor in the area who’d be willing to help without askin’ too many questions.”

“And how do you know these people?”

“I network Stanford, it’s part of joinin’ the scientific community.” Fiddleford folded his arms. “Of course ya never got involved with anyone but me, and when we were invited to fancy parties and got to accept fancy awards you only showed up to get yours and go. I also happened to get to know my neighbors while livin' here. Maybe it’s my southern hospitality.”

“Oh, you’re about as hospitable as a cactus!” Ford grumbled. He didn’t know why they kept finding things to get irate over. He hadn’t expected immediate camaraderie, but after seeing the way Stan and Fiddleford had gotten along he’d kind of hoped the bad blood between them had mellowed a bit. Not so, apparently, the engineer was as prickly as ever. Stan watched them with a long-suffering look. Perhaps engaging in the argument wasn’t the best response.

Fiddleford at least seemed to realize he was being a bit snippy, and he backed off, sheathing the claws, so to speak. Though judging by the look in his eyes there was something still on his mind. “Stanley, I was hopin’ to speak with yer brother about somethin’ a bit more personal, would ya be willin’ ta do me a favour?”

“Why?” Stan asked, immediately skeptical.

Fiddleford’s serious look faltered, “Er, what I mean is that it’s not somethin’ I think ya’d be interested in hearin’, that’s all. I was hopin ya’d be willin’ to get me my extra notes from yer brother’s room, it should be in my bag.”

Even Ford could see past the lie in that statement, but surprisingly Stan didn’t question it. He just pouted and slid out of his chair, watching them with narrowed eyes over his shoulder on his way out the door.

Ford sent Fiddleford a questioning look. “That was about as subtle as a brick to the face.”

“Speakin’ of bricks to the face,” Fiddleford’s brows were furrowed as he leaned forward conspiratorially. “Did ya know yer brother had dentures?”

“What?!” of all the things he’d expected Fiddleford to say, that wasn’t even on the list. “What on earth are you talking about?”

“I didn’t think so.” Fiddleford’s expression darkened. “Stanford, what exactly went on with him before the whole turned-into-a-child thing?”

Ford held up a hand. “Hold on, back up. What do you mean he has dentures? This is completely out of left field.”

“Well, had dentures, partial ones. Apparently he doesn’t have em anymore since he turned young, an he was wonderin' where they'd gone.”

“He…” It was a chunk of information he didn’t know how to process. “He told you this?”

“Well, more or less.” Fiddleford had lost his head of steam when met with Ford’s confusion. He sat back with a huff. “I guess you really didn’t know.”

“I had no idea! Did he tell you what happened?”

“No, but why didn't you already know?”

It was a laser guided question that bore straight through Ford, silencing him. He hadn’t exactly detailed his relationship with Stanley beyond that of brotherhood, hadn’t even considered broaching the subject, at least not while dealing with their current crisis. But Fiddleford had other plans it seemed. Ford wasn’t quite sure how to say ‘My brother was kicked out of the house as a teenager and that was the last I saw of him until now’ without sounding like an ass. “We uh, we weren’t on the best terms until recently.” Were they even on good terms now? Why did every conversation about his brother have to turn into a field of landmines?

Of course, he knew exactly why, but that didn’t mean he wanted to admit it. After the talk last night he’d been forced to take a closer look at himself and his actions. His brother wasn’t a saint by any means, but he wasn’t just a memory anymore. He was a thinking breathing person and Ford had lost sight of that somewhere along the way. He still remembered what Stan had said about the trunk of a car… Oh god, he didn’t want to think about it.

Fiddleford wasn’t pleased with his silence. “I wouldn’ta brought it up if it was just that. He seemed reluctant to talk about it, so I could have let it go with no skin off my knees. But it seems like his body hasn’t just regressed Stanford, he claims that his muscle memory has also reversed, like it’s the same as it was when he was a child. His age has been rewound completely.”

“That’s… Fascinating, but I don’t see-“

“Has he been actin’ funny around ya?”

Again Ford was at a loss, struck by the intensity with which Fiddleford had latched onto the topic. “What do you mean?”

“I went to swat a fly outta the air next to him and he looked like he was ready to dive under the table!”

“If you could get to the point of this interrogation I would be very happy!” Ford growled.

Fiddleford studied him closely, pinning him like an ant under a magnifying glass. Whatever the engineer was looking for he didn’t find it, and he sighed, rubbing at his face. “I suppose I am bein’ a bit overbearin’. There’s just somethin’ about it rubbin’ me the wrong way is all.”

Ford swallowed nervously. “I- I had noticed that he was, well, acting a bit strangely. But he’d been getting better with me recently so I thought…” Stanley’s reluctance to confront him, his obedience in the face of anger, and his reactions to some of Ford’s more violent moments, all had been quite out of character. Stanley had always been the type to push back, put up a front, shake things off, or dig in his heels. Ford had maintained the image in his head of a brash teenager, ready to pick fights and reluctant to back down. Instead he’d been met with a shaggy haired man with bags under his eyes to match the one hung on his shoulder. Now he was confronted by a child that should have been chomping at the bit, and was instead retreating from conflict. “I don’t really have an explanation for it, except maybe that he only just met you. But even the, he’d never acted that way towards me before, I’ve only ever seen him like that around our… Our father.”

Fiddleford’s expression darkened, though at this point Ford could at least tell it wasn’t directed at him. “So yer tellin’ me he’d flinch when yer father raised a hand?”

Ford’s instinctive reaction was denial, but he forced himself to consider it. He couldn’t ignore the correlation. He wracked his brain, trying to remember what it had been like during their childhood, what Stanley had been like. He’d spent so long avoiding those thoughts, and the fog of time blurred every detail. It didn’t help that he had a hard time picturing Stanley as a child without seeing him as he was now, corrupting what little Ford could recall. Stan’s boxing lessons and his vendetta against bullies could explain the band aids and bruises he’d always sported, but was that the only cause?

How much of his behaviour was due to respect for their father, and how much was due to fear? Filbrick had never raised a hand against Ford, though Ford had never drawn his anger directly in the way Stanley had. Perhaps it was his tendency to brawl in his youth that could result in that behaviour? That was what Ford would like to believe, but he knew Stanley had never acted that way towards other children. “I- I don’t know if anything like that was going on. But, well, our father was a very strict man, and he wasn’t easily impressed. Stanley is usually less than inclined to do what other people tell him to, which is what makes it stand out when he suddenly becomes obedient. He’s usually so argumentative, but he would refuse to engage in those situations. He’d just give in, and that’s something he only ever did with... Well, with pa.”

“... So it’s possible it stems from him?” Fiddleford asked.

“... I’ve never witnessed any violence between them.” Ford replied uneasily. Although, he could vividly remember one moment in particular: Filbrick looming over Stan, hand fisted in his shirt as he jerked him around and pushed him out the door, hard enough to scrape his elbows. The duffel bag tossed carelessly into his lap had been pre-packed, stored in the front closet as if in preparation for that moment. Ford had never witnessed violence in person no, but he could picture it far too easily.

He didn’t want to tell that to Fiddleford, not out of reverence to their father, but because it was too personal, for him and more importantly for Stan. Being confronted by an outsider, even if it was a close friend, felt like an invasion. He knew that Fiddleford was a father himself, and that he was an empathetic person as well. And ferociously curious to boot. It was understandable that he’d be concerned. But this wasn’t his fight. Ford could see his friend’s desire to pursue the topic, so he had to make sure to stop it before it went too far. “Please don’t ask Stan about this.” He said. “I know you’re worried but I don’t want to start dredging up the past. It’s enough of a sore spot as it is, and I don’t mean to be blunt, but it’s none of your business.”

Fiddleford’s face flushed with indignation. “If I think a kid has been mistreated then I’ll make it my business!” he snapped, but then he sat back and sighed. “... Is what I'd like to say, but I reckon it wouldn’t be a good idea to bring it up. He’s not likely to confide in me about it.” He rubbed at the back of his neck, deflating further. “S'pose I'm letttin' myself get carried away a bit, s'just that he's a real cute kid, even when he's talkin' 'about stuff like illegal gamblin'.”

“You two did seem to get along well. Only a day and you’re already joking together.” And they hadn’t even needed a life threatening situation to get on friendly terms, Ford thought. He was definitely not a little bitter about it.

Fiddleford’s mouth twisted sheepishly. “I always did have a soft spot for young'uns. I know he’s an adult on the inside, but that don’t really mean much when he’s tellin’ me silly stories and doodlin’ on my notes.”

Ford huffed in amusement, picking up the picture in front of him. A caricature of Stanley stood shirtless, with a flowing mane of hair, and a sword held to the sky. It was egotistical, but somehow endearing, and Ford could attest to the fact that Stan’s adult mind did nothing to offset his innocent appearance.

“There’s somethin’ else we should talk about, before Stanley gets bored and heads back down.” Fiddleford said, his voice somber. He clasped his hands and leaned forward. “You were right.”

Ford peered warily over the drawing. “Of course… About what?”

“About the memory gun. I didn’t realize it until I started workin’ on somethin’ again.” He hissed in frustration, curling his hands into fists on the table. “It’s like I’m tryin’ ta think through mud. Every thought has to fight its way outta my brain before I can even put it on paper. Thank goodness Stanley could take some of the load or I might not’ve gotten anythin’ done at all. Workin’ through it with someone else helped.”

Ford lowered the paper back down to the table, smoothing it out. “Is it permanent?” he asked. The thought was sobering.

“I don’t know. I hope not.” Fiddleford stared at his hands. They looked washed out and pale in the light from the window. “I’ve made some improvements already, as ya likely noticed, but what if I never completely recover?”

He’d been warned that this could happen. Ford had told him over and over again that the gun was dangerous, that brain damage was a very real possibility. But Ford lived in a glass house, and he knew well what would happen if he started throwing stones. He remembered his own confession to Stanley on the floor of the front room, and how his brother had put a hand on his shoulder, told him he’d just made a mistake, that’s all.

He looked outside, eyes roaming over the snow-decked trees. “Then we’ll figure something out.”

Fiddleford blinked, then chuckled weakly. “Simple as that, huh?”

“I’m the last person who should be judging you for your actions F.” Ford gave him the best crooked grin he could muster. “No one’s made more mistakes than me.”

Fiddleford laughed, though the tears in his eyes were from more than mirth this time. “Yer darn right about that.”

Chapter Text

“Stanford yer gonna carve a line in the floor if ya don’t stop pacin’”

It had taken a few hours, but Fiddleford had finally managed to get the number of someone who could come check on Stanley. Reluctant to leave the safety of the barrier any more than they had to, they’d decided that the visitor would have to come to them. It was the better option, but Ford still wasn’t keen on inviting a stranger into his home, not so soon after the last invasion. With his pen light in one hand, and the crossbow in the other, he paced, unable to sit down for even a moment. Fiddleford and Stan watched him with a shared air of tolerance.

He felt the urge to run his fingers through his hair, but unfortunately they were all occupied. He stopped himself, settling for vigorously tapping his foot in order to express some of his nervous energy. Several nights of sleep might be good for his skin but it was awful for his anxiety. “Maybe this was a bad idea.” He muttered, peeking out the front door window again. The saran wrap he’d taped over it kept the snow out, but did little for the cold seeping in and chilling his face. There was nothing out there except darkness.

Fiddleford was looking increasingly exasperated. “It was yer idea to begin with, and fer once I agree with ya. Or wouldya rather wait until any issues he might have can no longer be fixed?”

There was, of course, undeniable logic to his reasoning. And Ford had insisted. But all he could think of was how perfect the opportunity could be for Bill. Possessing someone probably wouldn’t work a second time, now that they outnumbered him 2.5 to 1, but the dream demon would no doubt have other tricks up his sleeve.

When the doorbell rang he nearly flew out of his skin. He was sure his boots would have come off if he’d jumped any higher. He was at the door in an instant, but Fiddleford had somehow beaten him there.

“I can check the eyes myself Stanford.” His face brooked no arguments. “I don’t think yer likely to give a warm welcome with that.” He gestured to the crossbow.

Ford bit his cheek and stepped back, raising the weapon in case it was needed, though he kept his finger off the trigger.

The door swung open to reveal a stout middle-aged woman, her greying hair bundled up in an impressive beehive. She clutched a large bag in front of her. Despite her soft appearance her eyes were sharp enough to match her hooked nose. She looked over at Ford. “You must be Doctor Pines.”

He cleared his throat, taken off guard. In the light from the entrance he could see that her eyes were a warm brown, not the yellow he’d feared. “Yes, that’s me. And you are?”

She smiled. “My name is Maria Ramirez, but you can call me Maria.”

_____________________

Maria’s first response to Stan’s wounds wasn’t to gasp in horror and start tutting like a school marm, which is what he’d expected. She followed them calmly into the kitchen, and after setting her bag on the counter she motioned for Stan to sit on one of the chairs in front of her. He did so reluctantly, eyeing the instruments she pulled out, as his trepidation increased. She didn’t start immediately, instead she placed everything out on the table. Bandages, a stethoscope, one of those flashlight ear things, a blood pressure cuff, and various other items, big and small. She pulled out her own chair and sat down in front of him. Their knees were almost close enough to touch. She folded her hands in her lap and studied him calmly.

He squirmed, already uncomfortable. Ford and Fiddleford hovered uselessly. It looked like he’d have to be the one to get the ball rolling. “So, you’re a doctor, huh?”

“No.” She replied, “I was a nurse, but my husband is a doctor.” Her accent was Hispanic, though Stan couldn’t place the region. To be fair his Spanish was acceptable at most, so he wasn’t exactly an expert. She held out her hand silently, small smile still in place, and with a sigh he pulled his injured hand out of it’s sling and offered it to her.

She was gentle, but it still stung with each movement. She got him to curl his fingers, which was excruciating, and felt around the joint, which was nearly as bad. The rest was standard fare for a doctor’s visit. What he could remember of his last one anyway, it had been a long time since he’d seen any physician willingly. Unwilling visits tended to go a bit differently, and ended with him taking off in the middle of the night and leaving a hefty bill in his dust. She took his blood pressure, checked his ears, shone a flashlight down his throat and in his eyes, and even took his pulse. She spent extra time studying his mouth, humming at his missing tooth.

She made the whole affair as drawn out as possible, asking him question after question. Did he feel pain when he did this? If so, on a scale of one to ten how would he rate it?

The hardest were the lifestyle questions. How many meals a day? How many days did he eat in a week? What kind of food did he eat? How often did he exercise? Had he ever had a concussion before? Did he play sports? Stan would have preferred checking on his hand and head and leaving it at that. On a good day he wouldn’t have wanted to answer shit like that, but as he was now he didn’t even know how to answer. Technically his current body had lived a different life in the past decade than he had.

But Ford had insisted on a full checkup, since Stan had been exposed to a magical substance, plus there was the whole transformation thing. Yeah, it made sense, but that didn’t mean he had to like it.

He tried his best to remember what kind of life he’d lived back at that age. He’d been going to boxing practice. He ate 3 meals a day, every day. Yes he’d been concussed before, what with all the boxing gloves he’d taken to the face, but they’d been pretty minor.

Maria was stoic and professional throughout the entire conversation. She didn’t comment on any of his answers, and her questions were only as personal and invasive as they needed to be. Eventually she seemed to come to some conclusion, and she stopped and turned to the other two. “I would like for you to leave the room please.”

Ford puffed up defensively. “Excuse me? I’m not going to leave Stanley alone with you!”

“I can not do a full physical with you in the room.” She insisted, her expression remaining unchanged. “He may be young but I’m sure he’d like to have some privacy.”

He withered at her no-nonsense tone. Fiddleford put a hand on his shoulder and pulled him towards the door. “C’mon Stanford, Stanley’ll holler if he needs us.”

Stan watched them go, torn between wanting them to stay and not wanting them to see him in his underwear. Maria helped him get his shirt off, silent as she did so. The cold head of her stethoscope made him jump as she pressed it to his chest without warning. “Take a deep breath.” She instructed.

He did as she asked, staring at the wall behind her. She traced an arbitrary path across his front, and then moved behind him to run it along his back, giving him instructions as she did. After a few minutes, when she’d lulled him into a false sense of security, she broke the silence. “Is Doctor Pines treating you well here?”

Their story, according to Fiddleford, was that Stan had showed up at Ford’s house, bruised and battered, and refused to go to the hospital. Knowing that Stanley would turn heads and not having any explanation, they’d had no choice but to ask for help from another source. It had enough truth in it to tell convincingly, even for Fiddleford, and only enough lie to obscure the more outrageous circumstances that they knew wouldn’t be believed. That said, he still should have expected her to question it anyways.

“Yeah, he’s treating me just fine. I told you, I got these from somewhere else.” He hunched his shoulders. “And before you ask, no it’s not Fidds either.”

She hummed. “And you refuse to say who gave them to you, yes?”

“Yeah well, it’s not because I’m protecting them, that’s for sure.” He grumbled.

She gave him a knowing look. “I have been doing this a long time my dear, I may not have your medical history, but I do not always need it to be able to see a big picture.”

He prepared himself from more interrogations and accusations, for her good intentions to get the best of her. Just because she was doing this “off the books” that didn’t mean she wouldn’t feel obligated to interfere on his behalf.

Instead she continued her ministrations. She got him to remove his pants, and he sat in his underwear, red-faced, as she felt his leg for any abnormalities that would indicate a fracture.

“Aren’t you gonna ask me anything?” he asked, frustrated by her silence.

She tested his ribs, the pressure from her fingers both tickling and stinging him. “Is there something I should ask?” He could feel goosebumps forming all over his body. Ford didn’t keep the heat very high.

“I dunno, you can’t say something like that and then just drop it.” He tried not to shift too much, but he was beginning to shiver. She took the hint and finished quickly, before helping him back into his clothes.

“Is that not what you want me to do?”

“I…” Okay, yeah, he’d wanted her to drop it. His jaw snapped shut with a clack of teeth.

“When was the last time you have been to the dentist?”

Well that was a non sequitur. He stalled, thinking. He’d chipped a tooth once when he was 7, face planting hard into the corner of a table. It was one of his baby teeth luckily, but it had happened in front of his kindergarten teacher, who’d made a huge fuss about it. The memory was a swirling mix of colours and shapes, providing impressions rather than anything distinct. His teacher’s worried face, young and new to the job. His pa’s stiff stance as she insisted on calling the school nurse, and the cold tilt of his head as they talked about a dentist visit. Filbrick would need to follow up with their suggestion to keep face. Stan remembers sitting in the back seat on the way to the dentists office, wishing Ford had come with him as pa grumbled at the wheel about such a “fucking waste of money…”

He’d never gone again. He’d been too afraid to ask. “I don’t remember.” He said.

Maria pulled a series of bottles out of her purse, studying each one with a trained eye before choosing two and returning the rest. “Some people say a person’s mouth is a window.”

“A window into what?” he eyed the bottles.

She shrugged as she wrote something out on a notepad. “Everyone answers differently. Your health, your soul, the life you live. It can tell you a lot about someone.”

He rolled his eyes. “Sounds like rubbish.”

“Perhaps.” She tore the page out and folded it, handing it to him. When he accepted it she covered his hand gently with her own. Hers was soft and warm. His was cold and clammy. “Do you feel safe here Stanley?”

For the first time since she’d arrived he met her eyes, mostly because at that distance he couldn’t avoid it. She didn’t look like she was judging him, or like she was going to demand answers. She was asking an honest question. He was reminded suddenly, and painfully, of his mother.

“Safe is a four letter word.” He replied. “But my brother would never hurt me.”

She smiled, the corners of her eyes folding neatly into well-worn lines. “Strange. The townspeople say he is your uncle.”

He froze. Shit. Shit! He’d forgotten about that stupid lie! It felt like it had happened a million years ago!

But she just chuckled, patting his hand before pulling way. “Do not worry.” She held a finger to her lips. “Your secret is safe with me.”

_____________________

In the absence of a pen Ford had taken to chewing his nails. He abstained from pacing, for Fiddleford’s benefit, but his foot continued its incessant tapping. Fiddleford sat on the couch nearby, arms crossed as he waited. Their discussion from last night still weighed on Ford. He’d had some time to ruminate in the implications, and he didn’t like the conclusions that he was coming to.

His mind kept returning to the one thing he knew; Filbrick had never raised a hand against Ford. He’d been cold, harsh in the face of failure, as rare as it was for the older twin, but never violent. But did that mean he’d do the same for Stanley?

He wanted to believe so, but he couldn’t quite convince himself, and that weighed heavily on his mind. The “what if”s bounced around his skull. What if it had become physical? What if Stan had been hurt? What did that mean?

It meant Ford had never noticed anything.

Finally they were called back into the kitchen, and he hurried inside, glad to see a normal-looking Stanley sitting unharmed in his chair, back in his sling. One of his pant legs was rolled up, showing the pressure bandage that had been applied to his ankle. He waved at them as they came in.

Maria stood, nodding her head in greeting. “His fingers look to be set properly. I can not be 100 percent sure without an imaging machine, but there are no signs of anything wrong. Keep weight off his leg if you can, and ice it often. There are no other broken bones, and his knock on the head is not serious, but there are a few things to look after.” She placed a hand on Stanley’s forehead in demonstration. “He is a bit warm. There are no other signs of fever, and I can’t think of cause, but you should still monitor it.”

“I feel fine though.” Stanley interjected, “I don’t think I’m sick. My immune system is super healthy!”

“He does not have an infection.” She continued. “But there is this.” She pulled his hand out and spread his fingers, showing Ford the cuticles. They were tinted blue at the base. “At first I thought it was lack of oxygen to finger tips, but these…” She turned it over, revealing a blue spot on the palm, then she parted his hair, revealing more blue spots on his scalp. “These, plus the lack of other symptoms, make me think it might be something else. It can happen if he is in contact with certain metals for too long. Silver is most common.”

Silver had been one of the few identifiable elements that they’d found in the dust, but Stanley’s exposure had been minimal. Then again, it was magic dust, so its effects could easily have been amplified. “Is it dangerous?” Ford asked, worried.

She tilted her head. “Hmm, depends. If exposure was stopped early enough then blue skin is only side effect. Too much could be dangerous, loss of co-ordination, poor night vision, bronchitis, and quite a few other issues. The blue spots will likely be permanent.”

Ford chewed at his thumb nail. Stanley had complained about a lack of co-ordination with his limbs, but his issues seemed natural for a child his age. “I’ll make sure that he isn’t exposed to any more.”

Maria nodded. “I do not think it is too serious, as the spots are small, but it is important to make sure he avoids it in future.”

“Of course.”

“I have given Stanley a note of what to do, it would be good for you all to read over it together. I have also left pain killers and antibiotics.” She indicated the bottles on the table. “There is not much else I can do. I still must advise seeing a real doctor, but he should not be in immediate danger.”

Fiddleford stepped forward. “Thank you very much, we appreciate it. How much do we owe ya?” He moved to grab his wallet.

She brushed off the offer. “I don’t need money just for checking over a child.”

Ford shook her hand gratefully. “If you ever need anything, uh, science related, you can ask us any time.”

She laughed, patting his shoulder. “I will keep that in mind.”

Their goodbyes were brief. At some point Stanley had warmed up to Maria, and he even gave her a hug on her way out the door. She kissed the crown of his head, and muttered something under her breath in Spanish. His head shot up, surprised, and when she noticed his expression her eyes widened. “Tú hablas español?”

His face reddened and his eyes flicked over to the other two, embarrassed. “Sí…” he muttered. Ford tried to hide his shock, he’d had no idea that Stanley was bilingual.

She pinched Stan’s cheek. “Oh, you are just full of little surprises eh?” She planted another kiss on him before turning to leave, throwing one last wave over her shoulder and trudging out into the snow.

“Spanish huh?” Fiddleford teased, ruffling Stan’s hair. “The language of romance?”

“Every language is the language of romance.” Stan pushed him away with a grin, hobbling back to the kitchen. “You just gotta speak it the right way to someone who doesn’t know it. I can make German sound sexy!”

“I’m sure ya can. Why don’t ya take a look at the instructions she gave ya?” Fiddleford wasn’t far behind him, followed by Ford.

Stan took the paper out and unfolded it. It was pretty much exactly what she said it would be, a list of instructions, the names of the medications, and when to take them. He was about to put it away again when Ford grabbed his wrist. He flinched.

Ford pulled his hand out, studying the paper. “There’s something on the back…”

Intrigued, Stan flipped it over. Instantly his blood chilled.

“What a nice lady.” It read. The text was scratched out in capital letters, the handwriting completely different from Maria’s looping cursive. A little cartoon eye was drawn next to it, its narrowed pupil dark and foreboding. The meaning was clear.

Bill.

They stared at it in stunned silence, before Stan crumpled it up and threw it under the table.

“Stanley!”

“We can’t wait anymore, we’re out of time!” Stan turned to Ford, pointing at the note. “She’s in danger now! We just made her a target, and she doesn’t know anything! You said we’d talk about it later, well it’s later now!”

Ford took a step back. “Now hold on, he’s just trying to bait us into acting rashly!”

“Do ye know that fer sure?” Fiddleford asked, his face creased with worry.

“I-“

Stan stomped his good foot. “It doesn’t matter!”

Ford clenched his fists, his adrenaline rising as he struggled to think past the fear settling in his chest. “It’s too dangerous!”

“It’s the only option we have right now! Let me try at least, I can do it!”

“I don’t care if you can do it or not, you’re not doing it!”

“Stanford, we need to discuss this calmly.” Fiddleford said, trying to disperse the tension building in the room.

Ford scoffed. “Oh, now you’re perfectly fine with him endangering himself.”

“That’s not what I said!”

“Don’t pick on Fidds just because you’re mad at me!” Stanley snapped.

Ford ‘s heartbeat was filling his ears. After everything that had happened he didn’t want to risk it, he hated to admit it, but he didn’t care about Maria enough to throw his own brother to the wolves. “We’re not doing it Stanley, and that’s final!” he turned away, signalling that he was ending the discussion.

But Stanley wasn’t done yet. “Then I’ll just go after her and bring her back!” He darted for the door, his gait unsteady but determined.

Ford intercepted him, moving on instinct as he grabbed Stan’s shoulders and shook him, pulse hammering at the thought of his brother travelling through the forest alone. “God damnit Stanley listen to me!”

He knew then that he’d overstepped his bounds. Stanley yelped and froze, curling up in a full body flinch, his eyes squeezed shut as he tried to cover his face with his arms. “Okay I’m sorry! I’m sorry!”

Ford let go quickly, his hands tingling as if he’d been shocked, but instead of retreating Stanley fell to his knees. His sprained ankle was forgotten, tucked underneath him as he sat on the floor.

Ford had never seen him look so small.

In the blink of an eye Fiddleford was standing between them, pushing Stanford back with a firm hand. “That’s enough, I think we could all use a few minutes to cool our heads and think things through.” He stared Ford down, his expression somber.

Ford felt numb. He could no longer deny what Stanley’s behavior implied, and it gutted him. He wished that Fiddleford would look angry, raise his voice, or that Stanley would start arguing again, but neither moved a muscle.

“We’ll do it.” He croaked. Fiddleford furrowed his brows in confusion. “We’ll go with Stanley’s plan. He’s right, we can’t sit around waiting for Bill to gain the upper hand.”

“Now that’s not what I-”

“I’ll get the materials we’ll need to conduct a summoning.” He turned stiffly, and before Fiddleford could say anything he escaped up the stairs. He knew he was just avoiding the issue, ignoring his problems like he always did, but he didn’t want to see Stanley like that, cowering on the floor. He’d caused that. So he ran away, tail tucked.

And if he took his time gathering the supplies? Well, who could blame him.

_____________________

It was like all of his barriers, built up over years of hardships, had vanished. Sucked into the void along with everything else that Stan had gained as an adult. Brick by brick he’d shored up his defenses, but now it took so little to bring him back to that time, when pa had been the one looming over him in his nightmares, rather than any monster under his bed or in his closet.

He struggled to his feet, unable to meet Fiddleford’s eyes. He crawled back onto the chair he’d sat in during his examination and hunched there silently.

He heard Fiddleford sigh, and the engineer came up beside him. “Do ya wanna talk about it?”

Stan shook his head and then dropped it to the table with a thud, heaving a large frustrated breath.

“Would ya like a cup of hot chocolate?”

He hesitated, then nodded, his forehead dragging against the wood.

“Alright, I’ll whip ya up a mug then. I had a stash hidden on top o’ the cupboards.”

Stan couldn’t help but chuckle weakly, and soon the kitchen was filled with the sweet smell of cocoa.

It took a long time for Ford to come back down. Stan had finished two whole mugs before the scientist stumbled into the room, arms laden with materials. Candles, chalk, maps, a bundle of scrolls, a large tome, and an actual feather quill, ink bottle included. He dumped it all on the table. His face was unreadable, and Stan was happy to lean back and focus on the stuff instead of on his brother. They could just pretend that whole thing never happened, then everyone would be happy, especially Stan.

Ford cleared his throat, hand clenched around his tie. He adjusted it fitfully. “The most important thing you need to know, is how to deal with Bill. I’ve come up with three major rules of engagement.

“One: never make a deal with him, ever. That one will obviously be broken for the purpose of our deception, but it’s still worth saying. Bill is not to be trusted, keep that in mind.

“Two: Never shake his hand. No matter what excuse you have to come up with, absolutely do not shake hands with him. That is how he seals a contract, and is what allows him to act upon you.”

Stan narrowed his eyes, remembering what Bill had said in the basement. “he even shook my hand”. He opened his mouth to mention it, but stopped himself. Ford had already confessed to summoning Bill on purpose. Bill had tricked him. If Ford had shaken his hand, it would probably be something he really regretted. There was no guarantee that he’d be willing to admit what sort of deal he’d made, and Stan didn’t want to stir up any more heated emotions.

“Three:” Ford continued. “under no circumstances should you ever allow him to enter your mind. He is a master of the dreamscape, and he can and will wreak terrible havoc.” His hands were tight fists again, but he stuffed them in his pocket and exhaled slowly. “You know that this plan wouldn’t have been anything but a last resort under any other circumstances, but without time and resources we’re stuck. Bill is acting far more aggressively than I thought he was capable of, and we must respond in turn. But that doesn’t mean we can’t take a few precautions.”

They went over it as thoroughly as they could. At night would be best, since they could claim that Fiddleford was asleep, and that Ford, still having difficulties sleeping, hadn’t lasted through his watch before following suite. Stan would trek out to a clearing a kilometer away and do the summoning. Ford still had his draft notes on the spell, which Stan would “swipe” on his way out. He would also be kitted with one of the listening devices Fiddleford had developed a few years back, and it would allow them to monitor the conversation. Stan would offer to open the portal, but claim he didn’t know how to operate it. He would ask Bill to come with him, in order to show him how, and in exchange Bill would let them live.

It wasn’t a good plan, but it would have to work. Stan would make it work.

_____________________

Stan’s boots crunched loudly in the snow, breaking the icy silence but producing no echo. Snow was good at muffling sound, as long as you avoided stepping in it, which could be useful in the right circumstances. There wasn’t any wind now. It made the trek easier, but it also increased the eerie atmosphere that hung on every branch. There were no animal sounds, no signs of life at all really, and the only thing keeping him from getting lost was the map Ford had gifted him, and the trail markers left from previous excursions.

Despite that the clearing was pretty easy to spot. The moon was blocked by the trees, but the stars were still bright enough to provide illumination. He almost didn’t need his flashlight.

His breath coated his scarf and hair with white frost, forming shimmering crystals that stung his skin wherever they touched. He ignored it as he dropped his bag and pulled out the candles.

He placed them around the clearing, carefully following the diagram on the paper from Ford’s draft notes and ignoring his reddening fingers. He paused, gathering his courage, then knelt. He wished it didn’t feel so reverent, but Ford had said that the gesture would be enticing to Bill, so he grit his teeth and ignored his pride.

“Triangulum, entangulum. Meteforis dominus ventium. Meteforis venetisarium!" he recited. He huddled in his coat, not knowing what to expect, and at first he thought nothing was happening. But it wasn’t long before he noticed that the snow had stopped falling.

Except it hadn’t stopped snowing, the snowflakes had just frozen in mid-air.

A rushing sound filled the clearing, and with a flash of light and a hideous cackle, a yellow triangle with a familiar glowing eye popped into existence right in front of him. The demon had no mouth to speak with, but it's voice still invaded Stan’s ears, like a snake sneaking into a rabbit’s den.

“Well well well well well well well… If it isn’t the little fish. So nice of you to finally drop by.”

Chapter Text

The El Diablo had broken down in a blizzard once, leaving Stan with no power, no heating, and one threadbare child-sized blanket to keep himself from freezing to death.

It still didn’t compare to the cold he felt creeping over his skin as the demon flashed into existence in front of him. The colours of the forest flickered between monochrome grey and over-saturated. Everything around him looked dead and acidic, as if touching it would burn him. He would almost welcome it, compared to the ice pooling in his stomach. He’d dealt with people trying to kill him before, so it shouldn’t have bothered him, but the yellow eyes were still stuck in his mind. It didn’t take a lot of effort to bow his head and shudder, playing the role of a frightened child. The best lies were always the ones with a little bit of truth to them.

Bill’s presence was different in this form. He still looked like a cartoon, but unlike Ford’s murals it did nothing to reduce the malevolent aura oozing from him. Instead of silly it was more unsettling, like a doll that bordered the line between cute and creepy. He wondered if this was why some people were afraid of clowns.

The demon had no mouth to speak with, but his voice still filled the clearing. “To what do I owe the pleasure, then?”

Stan swallowed; once because he needed it, a second time to sell the act. He looked away, rubbing his bad arm. “Maria.” He mumbled.

“Oh yeah.” Bill circled him, chuckling when Stan flinched at his proximity. “Seems like a real nice lady. A little obsessed with vacuuming, but cleaning distracts her from stuff she doesn’t like thinking about. Like the son who left her. Went to find his fortune overseas and cut ties, smart man.”

Stan grit his teeth. An invasion of someone else’s privacy wasn’t something he usually cared about, morals like that didn’t last long on the street, but coming from Bill it rankled. “Have you hurt her?”

“Nah, not yet.” The demon leaned an elbow on Stan’s shoulder and ruffled his hair. He attempted to shrug Bill off, but he was pinned him in place with surprising strength. “Why, got a plan to stop me?”

“No. I- I know I can’t stop you.”

Bill raised his solitary brow. “Oh?”

“But…” He straightened, and took a deep breath before meeting Bill’s gaze. Eye contact was one of the most complicated aspects of selling a con. Too much and you would seem too intent, too little and you would seem too squirrelly. He needed to convince Bill that he held sincere conviction in his decision. It was funny, in a horribly unfunny way, getting Maria involved had actually given him a good tool to use in his act. A kid who grew attached to a kindly older lady and was working to keep her from getting hurt made for a convincing story. “I want to make a deal.”

Those words definitely got Bill’s attention. “Ooh, now you’re talking kid. What happened to being loyal to your big brother?”

Stan looked down again, letting his face fall. “I tried to help him but…”

“Let me guess, he wasn’t interested in anything you had to say?”

He stayed silent.

Bill wrapped a thin arm around Stan’s shoulders, jostling him uncomfortably. “Let me give you some advice kid, he left you behind a long time ago. If you forget about him then it’ll be better for you in the long run, trust me.”

Stan ignored the desire to argue that and instead hunched his shoulders, looking away. “I’m not doing this to get back at him okay?”

“Right, you’re doing this for your lady friend.”

“Ford didn’t want to do anything, but it’s my fault she got involved in the first place.”

“That’s true.” A small cold hand patted his head. Bill was damn touchy. “So you want me to guarantee her safety. And what’s in it for me?”

Stan took his time answering, pretending to mull it over, debating with himself and all that. “In the basement you said you’d let me live if I gave you the journal.”

“And then you refused and insulted me, what’s your point?”

“What if…” He bit his lip, “What if I got you something better?”

Bill’s eye narrowed. “Something better.” He sounded predictably suspicious.

“You want to open the portal right? I don’t get a lot about what’s going on, but I get that much. For some reason opening that portal will help you get what you want.”

Bill laughed, conjuring a cane out of thin air to twirl as he did. He leaned on it, as if he wasn’t floating casually in mid-air. “Oh, and you’re going to help me open the portal, is that it?”

“I’m not just offering out of the goodness of my heart!” He insisted, irritation colouring his voice. “But… I don’t want anyone to get hurt because of me, not my brother, not Fidds, and not Maria. I know how Ford did it, I heard them talking about it.”

“And you’ll tell me how he did it in exchange for what, immunity? I don’t take your miserable mortal lives when I bring Armageddon to your dimension?”

“All I want is for you to leave us alone.”

Bill studied him, mulling over the request as he circled Stan closely. “Well,” he said finally, “how’d he do it then?”

“Even if I told you it wouldn’t do you any good, would it? You can’t do anything without a body, I’ve figured out that much.”

“Are you volunteering yours?”

Stan shuddered “I can put it together for you, I just… Need some instructions. I’m not exactly used to doing this sort of thing. If I let you through the barrier, you can come in with me, right? Unless you want to go find a body somewhere.” The suggestion was risky, since if Bill did decide to go get a body their plan would become pretty useless, but he had to gamble a bit if he was going to lower the demon’s guard.

Bill rubbed his… The area of his face above the bowtie. Possibly his chin, if he had one. “That could take forever. What about your brother and the hillbilly guarding the gate?”

“Asleep. Ford took first watch and I slipped some Vicodin into his coffee.”

The demon barked out a laugh “Oh man, I like you kid. I guess I can humor you a bit. You get that portal open for me and I’ll let your little posse live through the apocalypse. Dunno what good it will do ya, but you got a deal.”

Ford had told him not to shake Bill’s hand, and in preparation for that he’d made sure to keep his hands full. But Bill didn’t attempt it. Instead he nudged Stan’s shoulder, wordlessly pressing him to start moving towards the house. Stan was under no illusion that he’d so easily bamboozled the demon, but he wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth either, so he headed slowly back through the deepening snow.

_____________________

Their plan hadn’t been for Stan to go it alone, not entirely. Even after the incident in the kitchen Ford wasn’t willing to let him do that much. Luckily Fiddleford had come through with one of his many inventions, a small listening device that Stan could tuck into his sling. It would allow the two older men to keep track of what was going on with the demon. It was convenient, and it went a long way towards easing some of Ford’s anxiety. Stan couldn’t hear them though, an earpiece would have been too obvious.

“We may not be able to see him like you will, but Bill does show up in audio recordings, thankfully.” Ford had explained. “I imagine it’s similar to the mechanism that allows us to capture the voices of ghosts.”

“That’s a thing?”

“Well not the way it’s usually portrayed on TV or in movies.” Ford had laughed, scratching the back of his head. Like Stan could afford to go out and see movies all the time. “They’re actually quite candid if you manage to find one, none of that whispering and vague threats people expect. More often than not they want to talk about their love lives.”

They waited for Stan now in the house, hidden out of sight in Ford’s study, which was connected to the basement by another set of stairs. They were ready to leap out and defend him if needed. He hoped it wouldn’t come to that, there was no way it would end well if they were made by Bill. The triangle may not have been able to harm them physically without a body, but Maria was still in his crosshairs.

The light cast on the floor of the entrance room was uncomfortably familiar with the yellow eyed presence at his side. He ignored it, making a point to “listen” for any movement inside before making a steady line for the basement staircase.

He stopped at the top. “You first.”

“I’m hurt.” The triangle said mournfully, “Where’s the trust? Aren’t we working together now?”

Stan scowled. “I don’t wanna lose my other arm.”

“Eh, you should learn how to grow a new one then. You humans are so inefficient.”

Each step down took a toll on Stan, his already sore leg complaining the entire way. He’d planned on playing up that injury, but he hadn’t needed to in the end. He’d left the lights off, turning them on while supposedly doing this in secret would be too suspicious, so it was just as dark as it had been the last time. He could feel himself sweating, a combination of his coat and nerves making him unreasonably clammy.

When he’d been 12 years old he’d convinced Ford to go with him to a haunted house once. At that age he’d been pretty terrified of ghosts, and monsters, and other supernatural phenomena that couldn’t just be punched away, but when he was with Ford he could pretend to be brave, to protect his brother. Ford was a cloak he could wear to shield himself from the world, and make him feel invincible. He couldn’t protect himself from pain and fear, but he could do anything if it was for his family.

It was the same now. The darkness was oppressive, but he could feel the weight of the listening device as it sat nestled against his arm. He knew that just one floor above the basement, connected by a secret staircase, his brother and Fiddleford waited in hiding. He needed to be brave for their sake.

The rune still radiated red light from the console, and beyond it was the portal. He couldn’t see it, but he could sense it, a hulking presence that made the gloom even thicker on the other side of the viewing window. Bill floated forward a bit, peering through as if he could see the portal. His eyes were like cats' eyes. Maybe he could see in the dark too. “You know how long I’ve been waiting for this kid?”

“No?”

He jumped when the demon patted his arm amiably, having appeared behind him at some point. “Millennia. Thousands of years have passed since I first set my eyes on this god forsaken dimension, and god have those years been awful, let me tell you.” He leaned in close, voice lowering conspiratorially. “But you know exactly what that feels like don’t you? Waiting forever for something you want more than anything.”

Stan frowned, looking away.

“Maybe not for as long as me,” Bill continued, “But humans live such short lives, it’s practically the same, right? Let’s hope this ends better for me than it did for you.”

“Well then, what do I have to do?”

Stan's heart was climbing up his throat with each second that Bill stayed silent, staring through the window.

“Come to think of it…” The demon hummed.

Each word was like a nail in Stan’s coffin. “What?”

“I mean, so many things could go wrong.” Bill didn’t have a mouth, but there was a sadistic grin in the lines around his eye. “It’d be pretty stupid of me if I didn’t make sure things will turn out the way I want them to. I’ll need some collateral.”

“What do you mean?” This was bad, this was really, really bad.

“Well, your brother is sleeping right? I don’t really need you specifically to activate the portal, but since you let me in I can consider it as part of the deal. If I have some leverage I’ll know for sure that you won’t try anything funny, otherwise you’d be putting him in danger.”

Stan’s skin crawled. “What!? No! You already have Maria!”

“Oh come on.” Bill shoved him amicably, “I won’t do anything to him! Not physically anyway. Like I said, I’ll still oblige your little request.”

“Don’t you need… Permission or something to possess someone?”

“Yeah, and news flash, Ford gave me that permission a long time ago. We used to be partners! Well, at least he used to believe we were partners. We did it all the time, and he only suffered a little bit of damage.” Bill floated up to Stan’s face, flicking his nose cheerfully. “Besides, what has he ever done for you? I’ve been in his head you know, I know how he felt about you.”

Stan swallowed. He knew what kind of things Bill would say, and he knew there was every chance that they were all lies. But they could just as likely be the truth, and he didn’t want to hear it. Especially not coming from Bill. But his jaw might as well have been wired shut. Stalling was his best option, he had to get Bill past the doorway and into the barrier’s circle, so that Ford and Fiddleford could take their cue and activate the spell. Distracting him for a bit would give Stan more time to think, if nothing else.

Bill continued. “I saw what happened. The science fair, the machine you broke.”

Stan’s mouth opened before he could stop himself. “I-I didn’t-!”

“Oh that’s right, it was an accident. You were just horsing around.”

“I didn’t break it on purpose!” He’d been mad, he’d been scared, and he’d resented that dumb machine more than anything else in the world at that moment. But he hadn’t wanted to break it. He never would have hurt Ford on purpose, even if he felt like he was being left behind.

“Of course not, I believe you, really I do. But my opinion isn’t the one that matters now is it? Your brother watched while you were chucked out the door like a bag of garbage, are you saying you aren’t at least a little bitter about that?” Bill's breath ghosted over Stan’s face, smelling faintly like ozone. Stan wasn’t quite sure where the demon was even breathing from. “Do you want to know what he was thinking when it happened?”

He didn’t. He wanted to forget it had ever happened, that Ford had ever looked him in the eyes before shutting that curtain forever. He said nothing.

Bill’s voice was low and smooth, the voice of a con who could smell a sucker. “He was thinking 'good riddance'.”

Maybe there was a time when Stan would have felt low enough about himself to believe that. Back when he was 19 and had lost his fifth job in a row. When he was 23 and serving his fourth jail sentence. Or even when he’d been 27, celebrating his birthday in a moldy old hotel room and eating shop-lifted cereal out of the box. But he didn’t believe it now. Ford was emotional. He was also vindictive, and could be downright petty, but he was always emotional. He may have cursed Stan’s name with everything he had, but “good riddance” was too detached, too cold. It was something his father would think, not his brother.

Well if Bill wanted a sucker, Stan would give him a sucker.

“So you, what, have Ford under contract or something?”

Bill blinked at his casual tone, bemused. “Something like that.”

Stan turned to the window again, tried to find the barrier’s circle from memory. He’d made sure to mark its location in his mind, how many steps it was from the entrance. If Bill tried to go after Ford he’d realize they were tricking him. They’d be busted. He absolutely could not find out about their plan. “What if it was me instead?”

Bill’s eye narrowed. “What?”

Stan made sure to let his emotions show on his face. It would be more convincing that way. “What if I was your collateral instead? Can contracts be transferred from one person to another?”

Bill laughed, grabbing his stomach. “Oh man! You really are just like a dumb dog aren’t you? Always crawling back after you’ve been kicked.”

“Can you, or not?” Stan growled, “If you can’t do it just say so.”

Bill’s cackles receded and he considered the offer more seriously. “Oh, I guess I could. It helps that you’re twins, but why on earth should I?”

Stan strode forward through the door, stopping just inches from the invisible ring on the ground. He turned back to Bill and gestured around with his good arm at the machines, blueprints, plans, and other miscellaneous items Ford had accumulated along the walls as he’d dismantled the portal. Notes upon notes about Bill were spread all over, plans for defeating him written in messy black ink. “Ford is dedicated to stopping you, he doesn’t care about survival. I’ll do anything you want willingly, no fuss. I won’t fight it. Something tells me that possessing someone isn’t all sunshine and flowers, so would Ford just sit back and let you use his body? Or would he try to stop you, for as long as he possibly can?” Admittedly Stan had no idea, he was just bluffing. For all he knew it could be a total cake walk, impossible for the host to resist. But it didn’t gel with him. Something like that had to take more than a little effort if there was an unwilling party. Otherwise why would an all-powerful demon have to get permission in the first place?

There was a long pause as Bill stared him down, one hand spinning his cane idly. “You have a point there. If I keep him in there with me for too long he’ll try to buck me off. Pulling him out means he’s free to be a nuisance. Exhaustion is a lot less fun than pain, and he’s tired all the time.” He circled Stan, like a judge evaluating a show dog. “Kids are always more bright eyed and bushy tailed. Plus there are some other benefits to using newer models.”

Stan was sure that by now the two scientists wouldn’t have continued to sit and listen, he needed to go through with this quickly before they interrupted. “Well?”

“Alright then, it’s a deal.” This time Bill did hold out his hand. With only a moment’s hesitation Stan shook it, feeling more like he was connecting the wires on his own electric chair than agreeing to an offer. Vibrant blue flames sprung up between them, travelling without heat along his skin and making his fingers tingle. There was no turning back now, all he could do was hope that Stanford would be able to do something, and that Stan could keep Bill preoccupied long enough to let him do it.

Bill’s voice filled the cavernous room, booming with power that shook the air. “FOR NOW, UNTIL THE END OF TIME.” His body stretched and grew until it filled all of Stan’s vision.

“Until the end of something.” Stan replied softly, and just as Bill came down over him he stepped backwards, pulling the demon with him into the center of the circle.

The last thing he saw was his brother bursting into the room before everything went dark.

_____________________

Ford knew more than anyone that he had been foolish. He’d done so many things wrong that he’d lost count, trusting Bill, underestimating Bill, letting Bill gain an advantage over him to the point where he’d run himself ragged trying to avoid even a moment’s sleep.

Bust the most foolish thing he’d done was allow Stanley to face Bill alone.

“Besides, what has he ever done for you? I’ve been in his head you know, I know how he felt about you.”

“Don’t listen to him Stanley!”

Fiddleford hushed him. “He can’t hear ya Stanford, how many time do I hav’ta tell ya that?”

“I saw what happened. The science fair, the machine you broke.”

“I-I didn’t-!”

“Oh that’s right, it was an accident. You were just horsing around.”

“I didn’t break it on purpose!”

This was beyond painful. For the most part Ford had no idea how much was real, and how much was Stanley’s acting, but he could hear the real pain in his brother’s voice now.

“Of course not, I believe you, really I do. But my opinion isn’t the one that matters now is it? Your brother watched while you were chucked out the door like a bag of garbage, are you saying you aren’t at least a little bitter about that? Do you want to know what he was thinking when it happened?”

Silence.

“He was thinking 'good riddance'.”

“That’s it!” Ford stood angrily, and nearly fell flat on his face when Fiddleford grabbed his sleeve. “Let me go! I’m not listening to another word!”

“I know ya don’t want to hear it, but if we blow this now Maria’ll be in danger!”

Ford bit his lip, fists shaking, but he didn’t try to leave again. They’d come too far already to throw it out the window. It had been hard enough when his deal with Bill had been revealed, but hearing the demon rub the science fair in Stanley’s face was too much. He honestly couldn’t say whether he’d ever believed his brother before about what had happened. Back then he’d been too angry, he’d needed to be able to take it out on someone, and Stan had been the perfect target. If it wasn’t on purpose, if he didn’t deserve it, what did that mean?

That it had all been for nothing.

“What if it was me instead?”

“What did he just say?” Ford whispered.

Fiddleford shared a horrified look with him. “This is bad.”

“What?”

“What if I was your collateral instead? Can contracts be transferred from one person to another?”

They were both on their feet, rushing towards the stairs. Fiddleford didn’t try to hold him back this time.

“You really are just like a dumb dog aren’t you? Always crawling back after you’ve been kicked.”

It was Ford’s worst fear come to life, Stanley was going to make a deal with Bill.

“I’ll do anything you want willingly, no fuss.”

God why was the basement so far down?! Why had he put a door at the bottom? Why hadn’t he invested in an elevator?!

“Well?”

“Alright then, it’s a deal.”

They charged into the basement, Ford in the lead, just in time to see that they’d been too late. Stanley stumbled back, eyes wide and hand outstretched, before falling to his knees in the center of the circle.

Fiddleford was too stunned to move, but Ford moved on auto pilot, rushing forward to catch Stanley as he closed the barrier with a muttered word. He should have been panicking, but instead he was somehow terrifyingly calm. “We’ve only got moments before Bill starts to take over.” Stan hadn’t done this because he’d given up and was letting Bill win, he’d done this because he trusted them to figure something out. Ford had to believe that. He looked to Fiddleford, eyes pleading. “I’m going in after him. I need you to tie me and Stanley up and get ready to pull us out of the barrier as soon as I regain consciousness and give you the signal.”

“What!?”

He struggled to remember the incantation, the words scrambled in his head. “There’s a spell that allows a person to follow Bill into someone’s mind in order to force him out again. The plan didn’t work, but it’s not over yet! If we can drive him out and leave the barrier before he can retaliate then it won’t all be for nothing. There’s always a moment of disorientation for both parties before and after a possession, and that’s our time to act. Stanley got him into the circle, now we have to get Stanley out!”

“Oh I can’t believe you!” Fiddleford snapped, dropping down beside them. Stan’s face was pinched with discomfort, and he was tense in Ford’s arms. The engineer watched him sadly. “Gettin’ involved with demons and the like! I’m chargin’ extra for this whole debacle!” He raised his head to glare at Stanford. “Hurry up then, ya both better come back in one piece ya hear me? Or I’m donatin’ yer bodies to… Somethin’ unscientific and humiliatin’! I’ll get ya stuffed and donate ya as props to a creationist exhibit!”

Despite the grave situation Ford chuckled weakly. “Truly a fate worse than death. Thank you.”

His brother began to stir then, struggling as if he was experiencing a nightmare. There was no more time. Ford placed a hand on Stan’s damp forehead.

This time the words came more easily, and without the candles set up to disperse the channeled energy the air swirling around him, filled with sheer magical power. It was one of the strongest spells he’d ever learned. “Videntus omnium. Magister mentium. Magnesium ad hominem. Magnum opus. Habeas corpus! Inceptus Nolanus overratus! Magister mentium! Magister mentium! MAGISTER MENTIUM!”

For a brief moment the room stilled, and he could see Fiddleford’s worried expression in perfect clarity. The beads of sweat on Stan’s face glinted in the dim glow of the activated barrier.

Then everything disappeared in a blinding flash of light, and he was falling, tumbling head over heels into his brother’s mindscape.

Chapter Text

He didn’t land in Stanley’s mindscape, not in the traditional sense. One moment he was falling aimlessly through nothing, and the next he was standing, feet planted firmly as if he’d been there the whole time.

He couldn’t see anything, not even a hand in front of his face, and after he’d waited a moment for his eyes to adjust he didn’t know what to make of what little he saw. Grey bands stretched vertically across his vision, like the bars of a jail cell. But as he followed them up with his eyes he wasn’t met with a ceiling. Far, far above him was a canopy of stars, bright and unblemished, untouched by clouds.

He was surrounded by enormous trees, great pines that caged him in and loomed so far over his head that the sky was barely a sliver. He took a step back, trying to get his bearings, and his boot scraped on concrete.

there was a road beneath his feet, a two lane highway winding through a forest, not unlike many that ran through the mountains surrounding Gravity falls. It disappeared from his sight as it curved around a bend. Everything was an amorphous monotone grey, the colour sucked out along with the light. The trees may as well have been a wall, only some occasional narrow gaps would have allowed someone to pass, and he didn’t want to venture into that total darkness if he could avoid it.

Stan’s mindscape was different from anything he’d seen before. He’d seen very few admittedly, Bill had taken him “on a tour around town” when first showing him the ropes and he hadn’t entered anyone’s mind since then, but he still remembered them being much different. He was used to wide open spaces, colour, some indication of where he was and what purpose the area served. It was supposed to relate to the psyche of the person it belonged to, but this was just a road. A dark, claustrophobic road with no beginning or end in sight, and he had no idea which way to go.

Thankfully it seemed he wouldn’t have to choose. When he turned to peer in the other direction he spotted a car, shadowed and nearly invisible where it sat part-way round the curve of the road. He drew closer, his steps loud in the eerie silence, and recognized it as the Stanleymobile. Finally, this was something that made sense, something he could connect to his brother. He quickly opened the door and sat inside, glad to have a barrier between him and the forest.

It was empty. There wasn’t just a lack of people, none of Stanley’s things were there either, not even a key in the ignition. But as soon as Ford placed his hands on the steering wheel the car came to life, the symbols on the dashboard flickering on. The headlights remained dark.

“You paid that much for this hunk of junk?”

He jumped, heart leaping into his mouth as his own voice buzzed over the radio. He sounded young, amused.

“You’re just jealous poindexter, this baby is gonna get me all the girls!” Stanley’s voice replied.

Their laughter echoed through the car, fading into white noise. He sat frozen, recalling the memory as vibrantly as if it had been his own. But it was Stanley’s, one of his memories from buying the Stanleymobile and showing it off to Ford, proud and beaming despite every dent and scratch in the paint. He’d restored it, slowly and painstakingly through a year of part time jobs and babysitting. It was one of the few things Stanley did that their father hadn’t sniffed at.

Ford had no other leads to go on, so he tightened his grip and stepped on the gas, making his way through the endless trees in search of his brother.

_____________________

He wasn’t sure how long he drove. He knew that time passed differently in the mindscape, often stretching to the point where hours could take minutes, but he should have encountered something by now. No mindscape he’d ever seen had been this empty. There should have been other landmarks, or memories, or branches in the path, but there was nothing. Just more trees.

At one point he’d been desperate enough for something to happen that he’d stopped the car and attempted to leave the road, squeezing in between the trunks, conjuring a light that was useless in such close quarters (though it made him feel a bit better in the dark). When he’d come out the other side the Stanleymobile had been there waiting for him. Apparently he couldn’t leave the forest through other means. He didn’t like the idea of destroying anything in his brother’s mind, but the trees were just constructs, and could easily be regrown. So he’d taken a chainsaw to them.

That hadn’t worked either. They remained unscathed, no matter how hard he tried to cut them, or burn them, or knock them over. He should have had the ability to manipulate everything around him, but no matter what he summoned it was of little use. He could only provide some illumination, which darkened the shadows as much as it provided any light. He chose to return to the car, mulling over his next move. He wasn’t even sure if he’d gained any distance, or if he’d just been driving in circles.

“Ford?”

His shoulders stiffened. He didn’t jump this time, just slowly turned his head to glance in the rear view mirror. Stanley sat in the back seat, exactly as he’d looked in the waking world. His bruises were extra vivid in the dim interior light. But it wasn’t Stanley, no matter how much it looked like him, no matter how sad and scared he looked. “Did you really think you’d be able to fool me with that Bill? You’ve been in my head far too many times for me to be tricked by your illusions, I can practically smell you.”

“Wow, way to make it creepy Sixer.” Bill’s eyes flashed yellow, part of the facade falling away to reveal his lizard-like pupils. He kept the rest of Stanley’s appearance, except the sling was now gone, and he sported the classic striped shirt. The red was over-saturated in the gloom. “You know, your brother isn't what I expected at all. After everything I saw in your head, I honestly thought he was a great big bumbling oaf, latching on to everyone around him like a leech.”

Ford clutched the steering wheel tightly, channeling all of his loathing and disgust into a glare. “You can’t do anything to me here Bill, not in someone else’s mind.” He bluffed. Bill responded with a snort of laughter. It felt wrong hearing Stanley's voice coming from something so fundamentally not him.

The demon examined his shoelaces casually, bouncing his foot with a smug smile. “Now why would I want to do that? You’re so much more useful to me if I let you do your own thing.”

Ford didn’t reply, refusing to engage despite the foreboding words.

Bill continued. “Like I said, your brother really surprised me. Do you remember how long it took for me to teach you how to shape your own mindscape? And that was just for aesthetic purposes, I haven’t even taught you how to do anything useful with it! But this guy?” He pointed at the looming trees, “His mind is a labyrinth! Either he’s got naturally high defenses, or he’s got quite the hidden talent if he can come up with this on the fly.”

It had taken weeks for Ford to get the hang of moving things around, making it more functional. Creating temporary things was easy, but maintaining something permanent, especially on a large scale, was incredibly difficult. His mindscape was still connected to who he was, and who he was could not be reshaped with the wave of a hand. He had never even considered a defensive use for the ability. He was good at clearing his mind, and narrowing his focus, but the thought of creating something like this just to hide himself made his head spin. “And what does that have to do with me?”

“Well, frankly I barely know the guy. I don’t have my usual influence here, either. But you’re his twin, if anyone can find him it’s you.” Bill crossed his legs and leaned back, hands behind his head. “Why bother wasting energy when someone else can do the heavy lifting for you?”

“I won’t let you get to him!” Ford snarled, twisting around, but the back seat was empty.

Bill’s voice crackled over the radio. “I can wait a long time Fordsy, but I can't say the same for you. Either you abandon him here and I find him eventually, which won't be pretty, or you lead me to him anyway. Clock’s ticking…”

Ford slammed his fist into the dashboard, but the cackling went on unfazed, tapering slowly to static, and then silence.

At this point he wasn’t even sure what Bill would gain from finding Stanley, he had to know that Ford’s body was currently unoccupied. Ford had secretly hoped that it would act as bait, luring the demon out of his brother and into him instead. But Bill didn’t like being fooled. It was possible that he was more interested in punishing Stanley than immediately escaping.

Ford couldn’t let that happen. “Come on, think.” He muttered, pressing his forehead to the steering wheel. “There has to be something…”

A soft yellow light washed over his face, illuminating the interior of the car. For a moment he thought Bill had returned, but when he lifted his head he didn’t see the demon lurking outside.

He saw a beach.

Gulls circled lazily over foaming surf, their calls a distant buzz on the radio. He could see two figures running around below them, high pitched shrieks and laughter as clear as a bell. It was another memory, one as painfully familiar to him as it was comforting. Elated at finding a potential clue, he scrambled to unlock and open the car door, but when he stepped out onto the pavement the dark trees were all that greeted him. The sounds of the ocean still filtered out of the car, but the beach, and his brother, were nowhere to be seen.

He returned to the driver’s seat, closing the door, and sure enough the light returned. He was rewarded with the sight of their younger selves, roughhousing in the sand during a brilliant New Jersey sunset.

They were closer now, but too far ahead to get a good look at. Instinctively he pressed on the gas, and to his relief he was able to move closer. It was as if the car was in two different places, and the windows provided, well, a window from one into the other. Usually memories were encased in something, kept and organized according to the desires and personality of the person they belonged to. Ford’s had played on large screens that hung high above the ground, not unlike the ones he’d seen at drive-in theaters, lined up in rows and stacked on each other. But right now Ford was the one enclosed, looking out at the memory instead of looking in. And it seemed he wouldn't be able to interact with it by simply opening the door.

As he continued to drive the sunlight intensified, and the warmth seeped into his skin. It was so real, he could almost believe that he was there. Stanley was right next to the car now, whooping as he evaded Ford’s younger self in a playful game of tag. Young Ford’s hands were covered in mud, scooped from a bank of clay, and he wiggled his six fingers deviously as he grabbed at his brother’s clothes. They never spared the intruder a look as they darted around the Stanleymobile. Ford sensed somehow that he wouldn’t be able to find the real Stanley here, but he didn’t move on right away. He took a selfish moment to watch, and bask in the happy memory.

Eventually there was a shudder that ran through the car, and the children vanished without a sound. The sea and sun remained, and Ford spotted a familiar pair running towards him through the waves, further down the beach. He watched himself bend over and gather a handful of something from the shallow water, then Stanley shrieked and the chase began again.

He suspected that if he stayed here the memory would continue to replay itself, over and over. He would have done exactly that if he’d had a choice, but he knew he couldn’t waste any more time. With one last glance at his brother he started the car up, and drove away.

Pure instinct had him steering into the water, and when the waves that flowed over his windshield fell away to reveal the forest road, he felt a profound sense of loss.

_____________________

He passed through several memories that way. There would be a surge of light, forcing him to blink, and when he opened his eyes he would be somewhere else. They weren’t in any particular order, sometimes they’d be teenagers, sometimes they’d be small children, and sometimes they’d be at the awkward in-between phase that wasn’t quite either. But they were all early memories, when they’d still been on good terms. Most of them were on the beach, through varying seasons. The Stan O’ War was a common fixture, whether it was still a splintered wreck covered in barnacles, or the pristine sailing boat it was destined to become, and the sight of it stung every time. He’d left it there, on that beach. It was most likely gone by now, and more than ever he wished he’d kept it. The boat, the blanket, his brother. He’d thrown so many things away in an aimless attempt to rise above them, because he’d thought they were dragging him down.

No wonder he’d flown too high. Eat your heart out, Icarus.

He couldn’t leave a memory until it played at least once. Even if he tried to drive through, to skip to the next one, it would loop around. Like his attempt to cut through the forest, he always ended up where he started. So he had to sit and watch. He wouldn't have minded too much, they were mostly happy memories, but he was still running on a deadline.

He wasn’t sure what triggered them, there wasn’t any set amount of time that passed between each one, so when the dark forest was replaced with more darkness instead of bright sunlight he almost didn’t notice that he’d entered another.

The wall of trees had been replaced by an actual wall, dull white plaster surrounding a room filled with tables. He slammed on the brakes, nearly smacking the wheel with his face, and his heart rate rose. This memory was different than the others. He had reached a tipping point somewhere along the line, he could tell, because this wasn’t a happy childhood memory. He recognized those tables, this was the science fair.

Or rather, it was the night before the science fair. The exhibits were set up for the next day, each prepped and polished to a shine, and he felt his gaze drawn magnetically to one in particular.

Stan stood in front of it, a bag of toffee peanuts crumpled in one hand, his other clenched into a fist. His shoulders were tense, a slight tremor betraying the strength of his emotions. He tossed the bag to the ground and pointed an accusing finger at the project. “This is all your fault, ya dumb machine!” With an angry growl he brought his fist down on the table, shaking it. The machine wobbled, its grate popping out and clattering as it fell. Smoke began to seep from it, confirming that there was extensive damage.

Even after all these years, it still hurt. Ford liked to believe that he had long since moved on from West Coast Tech; Backupsmore was awful, but it had only taught him to work harder to earn the respect he wanted so desperately from his peers. He’d achieved everything despite his disadvantages, and that was an accomplishment he couldn’t get from a prestigious school that churned out geniuses like a factory. Handing them everything they needed on a silver platter.

It was the betrayal, knowing that Stan had seen this chance for Stanford to succeed and hated it.

But this time, it hurt in a different way.

“Oh no. Oh no no, what did I do?!”

His brother’s panicked voice wasn’t what he’d always imagined, when he’d tried to figure out what Stan had been thinking. He’d considered that it was an accident, many times, but he’d always avoided fully believing it. Why couldn’t Stan have just told him? Let him fix it? He still clearly remembers his brother’s face when confronted. “Hey, maybe there’s a silver lining, huh?” Stan hadn’t felt bad about it, he’d felt relieved. So then why did he sound so upset now? Why was he scrabbling to put it back together?

Stanley pushed the grate into place, confident that he’d solved the problem, and covered it up with a tarp. The scene jolted, and the machine was uncovered again. Stanley clutched his empty plastic bag, threw it to the ground, and pointed a finger. “This is all your fault, ya dumb machine!”

Ford didn’t know how many times he re-watched that scene before moving on, but it was more than he cared to admit.

The next one was worse.

He went from forest to building again, but this time it was during the day, blinds filtering light into the waiting room outside the principal’s office. Stanley stood a few feet away, his ear against the office door. The voices that played over the radio were familiar to Ford, his parents, his principal, and his own voice. He could hear them, but he couldn’t see them. As he listened realization slowly set in, and he buried his face in his hands.

“Now, Mr. Pines, I'd like to speak with you very frankly if I may.”

Stan had heard the whole thing.

“You have two sons: one of them is incredibly gifted, the other one is standing outside of this room and his name's Stanley.”

If Ford had known he would have… What, stopped it?

“I'm saying your son, Stanford, is a GENIUS!”

Why hadn’t he stopped it then? He had become so used to hearing people talk that way about his brother, but how could he have ever tolerated it to begin with? Just because he hadn't known Stanley could hear, as if that made a difference? His own silence from the other side of the door made him sick to his stomach.

“But what about our little free spirit, Stanley?”

“That clown? At this rate he'll be lucky to graduate high school.”

He’d thought Stanley’s dismissal of West Coast Tech had been from jealousy, from not wanting to see Stanford be his own person, and grow as an individual. He’d clung to Ford because he was too lazy, too unmotivated to do the same for himself.

“Look, there's a saltwater taffy store on the dock. And somebody's gotta get paid to scrape the barnacles off of it.”

But it didn't make sense, Stan had always encouraged him, told him he was destined for greater things. Cultivated in him the belief that everyone who had ever ridiculed him would regret it when he became someone famous and important. He’d be hiring them to shine his shoes, and Stan would be there, laughing with him.

“Stanford's goin' places.”

Had Stan had ever been given a reason to think that he could make it on his own? Ford had come to terms with being viewed as a tool by his father, but Stan hadn’t even been that much. He would have seen Ford’s leaving as a confirmation that he was just a shackle on his brother’s wrist, and that he’d be left behind.

“But hey, look on the bright side: at least you'll have one son here in New Jersey forever.”

In the same way Ford had been trying to fly, Stan had been trying not to fall. Stanford was going places. Stanley wasn’t.

Stan slid down the door, hugging his knees to his chest. Ford wished his brother had at least cried, but he knew it was not the first time Stan would have heard this sentiment. He didn’t cry, he huddled in on himself, eyes distant, then at the sound of footsteps he stood and sat back in his chair. When the younger Ford came out with their parents, Stan sprung up with a grin and put him in a headlock. “I thought I was the only one allowed to get in trouble at school?”

Young Ford laughed, pushing him off “I didn’t get in trouble! Look at this, they think that I can-” The scene reset, Stan stood at the door once more, listening.

Ford drove on, unwilling to watch it again.

He had to be making some sort of progress. The frequency of the memories hadn’t changed, but the tone had. The sunlit nostalgia was gone, replaced with tension. It was like there was a bomb waiting to go off.

Him and Stanley arguing.

Stanley sitting on the swing set at the beach, alone, looking out over the water with a blank stare.

Stanley looking down at his feet as their father berated him for another bad grade.

Just as he was reaching the peak of his frustration Ford came to a stop next to a tree hedged in by a small high-fenced yard. It was the tree that grew behind their house, recognizable in the memory’s twilight gloom because of the shoddy birdfeeder that swung from the lowest branch. The open back door cast light over the two figures that stood next to the car, their father’s bulk framed in the doorway as he blocked Stanley’s way into the house.

It was an older memory. Stan was similar in age to his appearance after his transformation, but he must have been a bit younger because he was sporting a full set of teeth.

“What have I told you a million times?” Their father’s voice was as piercing as it had always been, his accent thick with his anger.

Stan wrung his hands together, avoiding eye contact. He leaned as far away from Filbrick as he could without backing up, twisted to the side. He looked like a dog being scolded. “I-I’m sorry, Crampelter threw a rock at me, and-”

“I don’t give a fuck about what Crampelter did. What did I even put you in boxing lessons for if you’re just gonna take it like that?”

Stan flinched at the curse, ducking his head. His broken glasses were cradled against his chest. Ford remembered that night, they’d been heading home late after boxing practice, and Crampelter had ambushed them with his group of flunkies. They’d thrown rocks at the twins, laughing at their attempts to shield themselves and fight back. Ford had only received a few bruises, but Stan had taken a hit to the face, which cracked the lenses of his glasses.

When they’d returned home Filbrick had sent Ford inside, telling him to go to bed, and Stan had been forced to stay behind. He was taken into the back yard for a “private talk”, as was common when Stan was in trouble. Ford had felt bad, but hadn’t questioned it.

“I’m sorry.”

“That’s the last time I buy you a pair of those. I’m not interested in wastin’ money if you’re just gonna break them.”

Stan’s head jerked up. “But you buy Ford new ones all the-” SMACK!

In spite of everything that had happened over the past week, Ford didn’t actually expect Filbrick to throw a punch. He wondered if deer felt the same when they were struck by a car, seeing it far in advance, and having plenty of time to move out of the way, but still somehow getting hit.

Stan fell to the dirt with a yelp of pain, hand clamped over his mouth. Something dark and viscous dripped to the grass from between his fingers. “I’m sorry!” He whimpered, his shoulders hunched as he curled in on himself, trying to look as small as possible. Filbrick towered over him, blocking out the light from the house.

Ford yelled from inside the car, enraged and impotent. He tried to wrench the door open, but once again the forest was all he saw. He looked for the mechanism to roll down the window, but it was absent. Filbrick advanced, and the knowledge that it was a memory, and had already happened, was no comfort at all.

“Your brother earns his keep.” Their father snarled. As if they were just tenants who owed him rent.

Ford punched the window, hoping it would break. It didn’t. “We were children!”

Filbrick grabbed Stan’s collar and lifted him to his feet. As Stan’s hand fell from his face, blood bubbled over his bottom lip and down his chin, staining his shirt. The gap where his tooth had been stood out sharply against the bright red. Their father scowled at the sight, then tsked and let him go, shoving him towards the door. The wrath he’d held a moment ago seemed to dissolve, and all that was left was the usual distant annoyance. “Clean yourself up before your mother sees you.”

Stan wobbled, but dutifully entered the house. He didn’t protest, or cry, aside from a few pained sniffles. He simply did what he was told.

The next morning Ford would ask him what happened, in shock at the missing tooth, and the bruising that would form around his brother’s mouth.

“You won’t believe it!” Stan would say, grinning. “I was halfway up the stairs and I tripped on my own feet, smashed my face right into the steps!”

“Ouch!”

“Yeah, but I didn’t cry or nothin'. I had to clean up the carpet after, cause pa was real mad about it, but now ma will give me a quarter! So it’s not a total loss.”

The memory never got that far. Filbrick had just entered the house when the scene reset, and Ford couldn’t take it. He opened the car door again, but this time it wasn’t to try and interfere. He slammed it closed and stumbled to his knees on the side of the road.

He spent a long time desperately fighting the urge to vomit.

Chapter Text

“Well that was pathetic.”

Ford didn’t turn around. He refused to give Bill the satisfaction. He’d lost track of how long he’d been kneeling on the side of the road, fighting with an imaginary nausea. The grass beneath him was dull and black, and the blades were oily to the touch. “If you think I’m interested in playing any of your games” he rasped, “you’d be sorely mistaken.”

“You think this is some kind of game, boy?”

Every hair on his body stood on end and he twisted around, coming face to face with his own father. Filbrick’s eyes were a sickly gold behind the sunglasses. His mouth twisted into a sneer. “What? Don’t you have anything to say to your old man?”

Ford stumbled back, his shoulders scraping against rough bark. Bill followed, his stalking gait an uncomfortable reminder of the memory still Fresh in Ford’s mind. It took everything in him not to cower. “You’re disgusting!” He snarled.

Bill just chuckled. “Thanks, I try. You know, you’re not getting me anywhere Stanford. I was hoping you’d be all heroic, charging in on a white steed to save your brother.” He sighed, leaning up against a tree beside Ford. “Instead I have to do all the steering while you doze off at the wheel. You know how hard it is to line up memories in here? They’re all hiding, and you’re not doing anything to find them.”

“I’m not…” Ford cut himself off with a growl, struggling to speak around the burning anger in his chest. “You… You’ve been doing his?”

Bill nodded, picking his nose idly. It was one of the most unsettling things Ford had ever seen, and he had seen a lot of unsettling things. “Hey, those memories are the closest thing to landmarks this place has. Give them a nudge in the right direction and you should be able to find a clue to getting out of here, theoretically. Honestly, I’m doing you a favour.”

“Doing yourself a favour you mean.”

“Well, yeah. That too.”

Ford took a shaky step, making sure he could actually walk, before stomping away, putting the car between him and Bill. He didn’t actually have anywhere to go however, so he was stuck.

“Look Sixer-“

“Don’t call me that!” He snapped. The stars, previously a uniform white, had taken on a red hue.

Bill’s voice was cold as he continued. “Listen Sixer, I can do this the easy way, or I can do it the hard way. I’m sure you’d prefer your brother’s mind stayed intact after all this is over, right?”

“What exactly do you want from me?” Ford leaned heavily on the hood of Stanley’s car. It felt warm under his hands. “You’ve had your fun, but I think it’s pretty well established that I have no idea what I’m doing! And even if I did, I’m not interested in helping you!”

Bill rolled his eyes. “Yeesh, you’re starting to sound like a broken record. I’m trying to stimulate all your gooey human brain juices, that’s all.”

“By showing me…” Ford’s fist hit the hood with enough force that he should have put a dent in it, but there was no damage. It just made a weak thud that echoed through the trees. “How the hell is that supposed to be stimulating?”

“You know, strong emotions equal a stronger connection, blah blah blah.” The demon shrugged. “I didn’t think you’d bail so easily.” His casual attitude betrayed his true nature, a complete lack of understanding when it came to empathetic emotions. It had been a big red flag during their partnership, and Ford had ignored it, convinced he just needed to be anthropological about it. Bill wasn’t human after all, he couldn’t be expected to feel the same way about certain things. That hadn’t changed, but the implications of it certainly had.

Ford deflated, losing his anger in a rush when he realized that he was just playing into Bill’s mind games. He didn’t want to get back into the car, and he didn’t want to lead Bill to his brother, but at the moment his options were severely limited, an ongoing theme throughout this whole debacle. He just had to bide his time and figure out some way to ditch the demon and find Stanley before things went south. His only clue was the car, so like a moth to a flame he sat back in the passenger seat. The inside was dark, meaning the memory had thankfully terminated at some point during Ford’s absence. “Why do you want to find him so badly?” He asked, tired. “Do you really think Stanley’s body would be more useful to you than mine?”

But the road was already empty.

_____________________

It took a long time for him to see another memory. He wasn’t sure if he was grateful for that or not, so he chose not to think about it. He let himself drift at the wheel, trying his best to think about a plan of action, and not about the bright red blood on a young Stanley’s chin.

When he did finally come up on something, it took him by surprise, because instead of a building or a beach, the only thing he spotted was Stan walking along the side of the road. If it hadn’t been for the slightly shorter hair, and the other man following a few feet behind, Ford might have mistaken it for his real, pre-transformed, brother.

Ford slowed to a crawl, and once again voices drifted in through the radio. “Stan, come on.” The stranger pleaded. He was hauling a large motorcycle along beside him, an accessory that matched his leather jacket and his handlebar mustache.

Stanley didn’t answer. He wore a similar jacket, though his was dirty and torn in places, and his shoulders were hunched up around his ears. His gaze remained on the ground as he ignored his pursuer.

“C’mon, you’re not even gonna listen to what I have to say?” The stranger’s voice was both annoyed and imploring, almost a whine. “You can’t take it personally darlin’, anyone would’ve done the same.”

That earned Stanley’s ire. “I wouldn’t! I would have stayed!” He stopped and turned to his companion. “I wouldn’t have just left you to die!”

“Then you would have ended up dying too!”

“But I didn’t die!” He threw up his hands. “I got out on my own, and now you want to come crawling back expecting me to just continue on like nothing happened?! And this isn’t even the first time you’ve done it!” He tried to storm off again, but the biker stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. He curled in on himself defensively, a familiar motion, and Ford’s hackles rose at the sight.

“Can’t we just talk about this?”

“No. I’ve had enough talking, I’m done. With you, with the gang, with everything!” Stanley’s voice cracked with the last word, and he grit his teeth. “I’m going to get my car, then I’m leaving.” He shook the man off and continued forward.

The stranger’s face tightened with a mixture of rage and guilt, but the rage won out. “Fine! Go on then, leave!” he growled. “You can just be alone again, because god knows I’m the only person on this planet who actually gives a shit about you! Good luck finding someone else who’ll tolerate all your bullshit!”

Almost immediately he seemed to regret saying it, wincing as Stanley stumbled to a halt.

“Ah, look, that’s not what I meant Stan. I-“

“No.” Stan’s reply was dull, void of the emotion he’d been filled with moments before. “You’re right.” He ran a hand through his hair, clutching at it as he let out a sad laugh. He still hadn’t looked at the stranger, instead glaring morosely at his boots. “You guys are the only ones who ever gave me the time of day. I just…”

“You’re upset, that’s all, you’re letting it get out of proportion.”

“You left me behind.” Ford sank in his seat, feeling the history of those words.

The man sighed. “Look, I knew you could figure out some way to save your skin, it’s what you’re good at.” He wrapped a tattooed arm around Stanley’s shoulders, pulling him in closer.

But Stan didn’t look comforted, he looked drained, only mustering enough strength to mutter an apology. He had a bruise on his cheekbone. Ford couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen his brother with an unblemished face.

“Ah, it’s all water under the bridge, right?” The stranger jostled him amicably.

“Yeah.” The smile Stanley offered up was weak, barely any attempt at sincerity. A scab at the corner of his lips pulled with the motion. “I guess I shouldn’t take it for granted when I got a good thing going for me, huh?”

In what world was this a “good thing”? Being manipulated by a man who dropped him as soon as he was a liability? Ford didn’t have a lot of context to draw from, but everything about the man made his skin crawl.

He half expected the memory to end there, confined, like the others, to one of Stanley’s most vulnerable moments. But it lingered uncomfortably on that image of one-sided camaraderie.

Stan’s eyes were no longer focused on the stranger, he was looking at the car. The hollowness in his gaze had evaporated, replaced with something more aware.

Ford felt frozen, torn between opening the door, and trying to hide whatever was happening from Bill, who was surely watching. He held his breath, hoping for some kind of signal, but nothing came. With a blink the scene reset, and this time the pause at the end was absent. Whatever message may have been intended, the moment had passed.

Afraid to sit too long and raise suspicion, he moved forward, mind racing. Had Stan been trying to give him a clue? Make contact? Or was it Bill playing another one of his tricks. Could Bill even do something like that? Maybe in another person’s mind, but he’d admitted to being more limited here. Was that because of Stan’s natural defenses, or something else?

For the next few memories he kept an eye out for anything that stood out, but had no luck. The memories themselves had grown darker, bleaker, and colder, and it hurt whenever he saw his brother dealing drugs out of an alleyway, fighting off someone with a bat behind a bar, or sitting in a dingy jail cell, staring vacantly at the wall across from him. Ford forced himself to watch anyways. Not just because he needed to look for clues, but because this was the life Ford had consigned him to. Stanley’s punishment would become his. It wasn’t much of a reparation, but it was better than nothing.

19 year old Stanley shivering in the back seat of his car on Christmas Eve. 20-something year old Stanley getting kicked out of a run-down casino on the edge of some desert city. An older, tattered-looking Stanley with gauze packed around his mouth as he moped over a hospital bill. Each scene was another blow to Ford’s mental fortitude, with no end in sight.

When he came across yet another memory, rolling up to the edge of a moonlit lake, he was confronted with the sight of Stanley struggling against a group of men on the beach. He cursed and spat at them. Based on their bruises, as well as a few visibly broken noses, he’d put up a decent fight, but they quickly overwhelmed him. He was brought to his knees, his eyes wide with fear. Another man stood apart from the group, watching silently. Once the fight was finished he approached. He had the presence of a leader.

Stanley shook as he looked up at the man. “Rico, Rico please. Por favor, ¡no me mates!”

“Eres tan patético.” The man sneered. “Embarraste tu chance.” He kicked Stan in the gut, forcing him to double over with a wheeze, then yanked his head up by his hair. “Si no ganas billete, eres un inútil.”

“¡Ganaré!” Stanley gasped as Rico’s grip tightened, “¡Ganaré!”

“Demasiado tarde.” Rico let go and stood, giving a nod to the men holding Stanley before turning to leave.

The struggle renewed, and the group began to drag Stan towards another nearby car. The trunk was open, which he noticed with a dawning look of horror. “¡Malparido!” He snarled, twisting to spit a mouthful of blood in Rico’s direction. The closer they drew to the trunk, the more he cursed, sometimes in English, sometimes in Spanish, until he was reduced to yelling in wordless frustration. It took five men to bind his hands and push him into the trunk. Even after they slammed the door shut, his muffled shouts could still be heard along with metallic thumps as he kicked against the walls.

Ford’s hands were sweaty, the wheel creaking under his tightening grip. He knew there was nothing he could do. Just like the memory with their father, if he tried he’d only end up back on the side of the road. He didn’t understand a lick of Spanish, but he could get the gist of the conversation. Stanley had earned the wrath of a powerful man, and he was paying for it.

Attempting to run the group over like a set of bowling pins would probably be futile, no matter how tempting it was.

The men jeered and laughed, banging against the trunk and the sides of the car. One of them reached into the front, and with a triumphant shout they all stood back when the vehicle began to roll forward, slowly approaching the edge of the water.

“I’m sorry.” Ford whispered, feeling like an accomplice. Watching his brother’s attempted murder and doing nothing.

It was an agonizing wait. The car submerged inch-by-inch, and the men provided a less than respectful audience, tossing insults at the water until they got bored and decided to leave. The lake water bubbled as more of Stanley’s air escaped with each passing minute.

Pulling teeth would have been more pleasant than watching this, though the analogy made Ford queasy as soon as he thought it. When his brother’s head finally broke the surface, the gasp for air was a welcome relief for both of them.

Stanley’s mouth and wrists were like something out of a horror movie. Dangling bits of flesh trailed from shredded skin and gums that were slick with blood, and the teeth he still had left were stained red. He dragged himself out of the water on his hands and knees, collapsing onto the beach with a moan. He let out a series of gurgling coughs as bloody saliva soaked into the sand.

Ford covered his own mouth, praying for the memory to end. He really should have known better.

After several agonizing minutes spent lying prone, breathing heavily through the pain, Stanley struggled to lift himself up on his elbows. Every inch of him shook with the effort, but he wouldn't have much time to wallow in misery. At any moment Rico's men could return to make sure they'd finished the job. Yet despite the severity of the situation, when Stan eventually got his knees under him he just sank back on his haunches, threw back his head, and choked out a wet, miserable laugh. “S-somehow...” He croaked, his voice so hoarse and slurred that he was barely understandable. “Somehow I always end up... Back at square one.” As he said the last few words he tilted his head forward, focusing directly on the Stanleymobile.

Ford stiffened. Was this coincidence, or…?

No, the look in his brother’s eyes was too intense, separate from the horrific scene he’d just endured. He held Ford's gaze through the windshield for a few stuttering heartbeats, until the awareness eventually drained from his expression, and his chin dipped wearily to his chest. His shoulders slumped as he let out a wheeze of discomfort. Only then did the scene finally reset.

Ford swung the door open, and though he didn’t need to evacuate so urgently this time he still sucked in the cool forest air in an attempt to clear his spinning head.

It helped that he had something to focus on now. Stanley was definitely giving him clues. When you’ve got something good going on don’t take it for granted. Somehow always ending up at square one. It seemed simple but that only made him more wary of the answer. Even if he was right, how would he do anything without tipping off Bill?

As if reading his mind, the Stanleymobile’s lights flickered, and the engine revved. He jumped, smacking his head on the roof, and glared at the dashboard. But the annoyance was quickly replaced with realization. The car had always reacted without direct input from the beginning, but now it was acting on its own. Whether it was in response to some sort of cue he was giving it, or from something else, it didn’t matter. He could use it to his advantage.

It took more concentration than he was used to, since conjuring a mirror would be a bit too suspicious, but he was able to painstakingly recreate an image of himself, sitting exactly where he was sitting. A “shell” that allowed him to slip out of the car, using every bit of mental strength he could muster to cloak his presence, and leave a perfect replica in his place. The clone heaved a sigh, and closed the door. The engine roared to life once more, and Ford watched himself drive off, continuing down the road to further memories. He didn’t know how accurate the replica was, or whether it would react appropriately. Now that he’d let it go, it would operate on autopilot. But even if it wasn’t perfect, it would buy him some time.

The direction that lead back to where he came from was just as dark and foreboding, and the distance he would have to travel on foot wasn’t exactly something he was looking forward to. It pained him that the solution may have been sitting right in front of him from the beginning. If only Stanley had sent his signals a bit sooner… Then again, Ford wasn’t sure whether he would have preferred to remain ignorant about the difficulties in his brother’s life. Ignorance is bliss, or so he’d been told, but ignorance was antithetical to the pursuit of knowledge, his ever elusive white whale. The memories were awful, but they gave him a special insight into his brother, one he’d feared he’d lost forever. Maybe it was selfish of him, to covet something private like that, but knowing what he’d caused when he’d closed those curtains was a much needed reality check.

He still wasn’t sure why he’d never come across that particular memory, the night Stanley had been kicked out. It would have been prime fodder for Bill’s attempts at “stimulating” their connection. But that was a question for another time. For now, he had to follow the bread crumbs Stan was leaving behind, and hope they could find a way out of this together.

_____________________

He remained vigilant for Bill’s presence, mind on alert for anything that might have followed. The decoy must have worked, because the demon was nowhere to be found as far as he could tell. But he wasn’t going to become complacent. Bill could easily be masking his “scent” in the same way Ford had masked his. With that in mind, he would just have to hope that he managed to get lucky.

He’d been driving for what felt like hours, and he expected the return trip to be at least twice as long, if not more. So when he came across a particular stretch of road and felt compelled to stop, he almost kept going. It was no different from any other spot he’d passed through, with dull grey concrete, and tall silent trees, but the sky above him felt familiar. He just knew, somehow, that this was where he’d started.

The stars weren’t white anymore, they’d shifted to an unsettling red, painting the trees and increasing the ominous atmosphere. If he squinted they seemed to pulse, brightening and darkening in a rhythm that matched the distant waves.

Wait… Waves?

The forest was no longer dead silent. Now that he was paying attention, he could hear the sound of the ocean, rising over the canopy. The red light didn’t all come from the stars, some of it filtered in between the trunks, dim but still visible. He squeezed in between them, using the glow to navigate, his heart beating against his ribs as it grew steadily brighter, and the waves grew steadily louder.

When he came out the other side, he found himself standing on a beach. A reoccurring theme in this place.

He knew it was Glass shard beach from the nearby wooden sign, but it was currently unrecognizable. Not once in his life had he ever seen the tide as high as it was now, washing over his feet and leaving his pant legs stuck to his shins. Dark clouds were rolling in from the horizon, illuminated crimson from behind. The water churned, wind whipping up his coat and tearing at his hair, and the waves rose taller than he was, breaking before they reached the edge of the forest.

The sand and the trees were still unsaturated, but the water was a blue so intense it hurt to look at. The only thing he could see from where he stood was a pale glow, far out over the surf. Beside him, their childhood spring rider bumped repeatedly against the shore, cartoon eyes staring at him mournfully.

Well, it wasn’t like he had any other leads. He took a few seconds to appreciate his last moment of being warm and dry, and plunged in.

He was soaked immediately, water level rising to his hips after a few steps, but while the water was certainly wet it wasn’t as cold as he’d feared. It wasn’t unlike wading into a pool. A wave pool. In a hurricane.

The shallow slope of the beach worked in his favour. Even after 30 feet the water hadn’t gone past his waist, and he had hope that he’d be able to reach the glow before being forced to swim. Something had started peeking up over the waves, the familiar wooden top-bar of their swing set. He was sure he could hear the creaking of the rope.

Then the water dipped, indicating an oncoming swell, and he caught sight of a small head of brown hair. The cowlick was unmistakable. “Stanley!”

“Ford?” The reply sounded young, and frightened, and it was the sweetest thing Ford had ever heard. It was the real Stanley, he felt it in his bones. The water may as well have been packing peanuts, because it did little to slow him down as he charged forward, welcomed by the wide eyed face of his brother.

Before Stanley could say anything, Ford wrapped him up in a bear hug, lifting him partially out of his seat on the swing. Stan squawked in surprise, but soon they were both laughing. “You came!” Stanley said, breathless. “You really came for me, I wasn’t just imagining it!”

Ford couldn’t decide if he was offended, or saddened by that. He went for a mix of both. “Of course I came for you.” He pulled back, hands on Stanley’s shoulders, though he kept his grip light, and lowered himself down to his brother’s level. The water was shallower here, only coming up to his knees. “What were you thinking?” He asked softly.

Stan lowered his gaze. He looked exactly like he did in real life, bruised and tired, with a sling around his neck. He still wore the jacket from Fiddleford, the sleeves just a bit too big. “I figured, if worst came to worst you could just, I dunno, tie me up and stick me in the circle until you found out how to get rid of him.”

“And leave you to fend against him on your own?” Ford shook his head. “Stanley, there’s no way Bill would have let you get away with it. He would have destroyed your mind long before we could come up with a solution. I’m surprised you’ve stayed hidden as well as you have.” Bill didn’t usually aim to destroy someone’s mind, content to play tricks and mess with the person’s thoughts, but if he wanted to he could easily do irreparable damage.

Stanley shrugged, “I dunno why, but he couldn’t follow me here. It’s like he can’t see this place, or something.” He swung his feet, kicking up the bioluminescent water.

Ford bent to look more closely, but was unable to pinpoint a source of the light. “Fascinating…”

“And check this out!” Stan shoved one of his hands in front of Ford’s face, forcing him to blink and lean back. His eyes crossed as he tried to focus on what his brother was showing him. The blue mark that had been on Stan’s palm was now glowing as brightly as the water. An inspection of his hairline revealed that the ones on his scalp were doing the same.

“This is amazing!” He prodded at the spots, earning a few grumbles from his brother.

“Okay, I thought they were neat, but what makes them amazing?”

Ford grinned, looking down at the ocean around them. He still held Stanley’s head in his hands, squishing his chubby cheeks indulgently. “This could be exactly what we need to get out of this situation in one piece!”

“You’b loft me.” Was Stan’s muffled reply.

“One of the few ways to keep Bill out of your mind is to place a physical barrier between it and the outside world. Just wearing a hat isn’t good enough. In fact, one of my potential plans if you hadn’t come, or perhaps after you left, was to get something surgically installed in my own head.”

“Wha-!?”

“But this…” He poked at the spot on Stan’s scalp again. “I never thought of something like this.”

Stan smacked his hand away. “Okay, if you’d get to the point any day now that’d be great.”

“According to the info Maria left for us in that note, the blue marks are caused by something called argyria.” Ford explained, “The silver in the dust you ingested collected under your skin, changing the colour. Normally the amount you were exposed to wouldn’t have any effect, but that wasn’t normal silver.” He ruffled Stanley’s hair, unable to keep the excitement from his voice. “The dust essentially created a subdermal shell of magic-imbued metal over certain areas of your frontal lobe!”

Stan sighed. “Ford, you know I barely understood a single thing you just said. Try again.”

“You, uh, you’re wearing a magic tinfoil hat under your skin, and it’s protecting parts of your brain. Specifically the part that dictates memory and emotion, among other things.”

“That’s gross, but awesome. What do we do with it?”

Ford lifted a finger, mouth open, and stayed like that for a moment, squinting into the distance. “I don’t know.” He admitted. “Not yet at least.” He sat heavily in the empty swing beside his brother, letting out a long breath.

“Well…” Stanley looked up at the ever-reddening sky, brows drawn with worry. “I don’t know how long this place will hold out, so I hope you think of something soon.”

The wind and the waves surrounding them was a rush of white noise, reminding Ford that their sanctuary was still turbulent. Stanley’s spots were small and scattered, they wouldn’t provide protection forever.

He wondered how long his brother had sat here, alone with the water, watching the storm roll in. “There’s something we should talk about.” He murmured.

Stanley ducked his head, but stayed silent.

Ford continued. “I don’t know exactly how much you were aware of, but Bill… He showed me a few things.”

“I know.” Stan’s fingers dug into the rope, “I didn’t know what to do. You were right there but Bill was there too. If I let you in, it might have let him in too. I thought that if you distracted him, I could figure something out. I didn’t know he could do something like that, and I couldn’t hide everything from him. I couldn’t always tell what was happening, but I got the gist of it.” He shuddered. “I didn’t want you to see that stuff.”

Ford reached over to rest a hand on Stanley’s back. “I’m sorry.”

“Why? It wasn’t your idea, you were just along for the ride.”

“I don’t mean about the memories, though I regret having to invade your privacy like that. I mean…” He paused, searching for the right words. A decade without communication had widened the gap between them. Even when he thought they were making progress, something new unveiled itself, laughing in his face while he struggled to pick up the pieces of their relationship. But he needed to try. “I’m sorry for all of it. I’m sorry I didn’t know about pa, or about the principal, or your life on the streets. I’m sorry that you had to deal with people like Rico, or that biker.” He ducked his head, “I’m sorry I let you get kicked out, and I’m sorry that the only time I ever reached out to you was when I needed something from you.”

“I… Do you really think this is the right time to be saying this sort of thing Sixer?” Stanley’s voice shook.

“Maybe not, but I wanted you to hear it.” There were a lot of things Ford wanted him to hear, but among them this was the most important. “There’s no guarantee we’ll get out of this unscathed, so if anything were to happen, well, it’s something you deserve to know.”

Stan finally met his eyes, expression a mix of emotions. “I’m sorry too.” He admitted, trying and failing to hold in a sniffle. “For breaking your project and being a jerk about it.”

“If anyone was being a jerk it was me. You’re worth way more than some stupid high school project.” Ford smiled, “Well, you were being a little bit of a jerk I suppose, but no more than usual.”

That earned him a watery laugh. “I guess being a jerk runs in the family.”

The water level had risen, approaching Stanley’s chest and threatening to engulf him. Their hair had long become soaked and flecked with foam. There was salt on Ford’s lips. He could feel their bubble shrinking, the growing presence of Bill a threat that could no longer wait. “The problem with the shield the dust provides is that, not unlike the unicorn hair barrier, as long as it remains we will be unable to leave. Though I’m the only one of us who’d be affected by that.” He definitely did not want to leave Bill alone with Stanley’s body.

Stan swiped at his eyes, straightening in his seat. Ford took the chance to wipe his own face. They would have to continue their reconciliation after they stopped Bill. And they would stop Bill, no matter what.

“So what do we do then? Does that mean we can’t kick him out?”

“It’s possible… But if that is the case, I may have an idea. Do you know where your mental center is?”

Stanley raised a brow. “My what?”

“It would be in the center of your mindscape, the main hub, so to speak. It represents your core emotions and desires, usually represented by somewhere or something important to you.” He looked around them, “If I could hazard a guess, I’d say it was here, but if that was the case Bill should have been able to find you by now. It would have been the first place he looked.”

Realization slowly dawned on Stanley's face. “Oh, I think I get what you mean. No, this isn’t it.” He pointed further into the ocean, finger angled down. “I think it’s over that way. I don’t really know how I know that though, this whole thing is new to me. But, that's where my gut is telling me it is.”

“Your mental center is at the bottom of the ocean?”

“Hey, it’s not like I woulda put it there on purpose. Making the maze was hard enough.”

The road had been a maze? Interesting, Ford hadn’t noticed any other paths branching off… He shook his head. He couldn’t let himself get distracted. “Well, we’ll have to lure Bill there somehow, if my plan is going to work.”

“So you’re saying you want me to act as bait. Again.”

“I don’t want that at all!” He protested, “If we do any baiting from now on we’ll be doing it together. More accurately we’ll be forcing a confrontation.”

Stanley looked skeptical, and nervous. “Is that really such a good idea? He’s like, a dream demon right? And he’s already messed with my memories and stuff, won’t he be a lot stronger than us?”

“That’s the thing, we may have to take a gamble here.” Ford turned his seat to face his brother. “I don’t know if it’s the magical interference, or if you just have a natural affinity, but you have more control over your mindscape than I’ve ever seen before. As you said, you’re completely new to this, and yet you have an incredible level of control over your own mindscape.”

“Not enough to get rid of Bill.”

“But enough to challenge him in his own domain.” He gently took one of Stanley’s hands, and turned it palm up. The glowing spot was small, but bright. “It’ll be risky, but at this point there’s no easy way out. Are you willing to take that bet?”

Stan smirked, “You know me better than that bro.” Together they stood, facing the sea. Ford gripped his brother’s jacket, holding him steady against the wind.

“It’s double or nothing.”

Chapter Text

Throughout the years of hunger, pain, and regret, there was one thing Stan had clung to; his love of the ocean. When possible he’d sought out coastal shorelines, drawn especially to the east, where the beaches were familiar. Now the only east coast state he wasn’t banned from was Virginia, and they weren’t exactly fans of him either.

The ocean in his mind was familiar, comfortable even, pushing against his legs like a pack of dogs. Sometimes he felt like he could reach out and pet the waves. He knew they were probably just a part of his own psyche, but it was still nice.

Further out the water didn’t feel quite as friendly. Completely consumed by the red light, it looked dead, and wild.

That was where his “center” was, apparently. Which was great, absolutely peachy. Spend who knows how long trapped on an island, and then find out you get to swim across shark infested waters. Yeah, sounds like the perfect idea for a vacation.

Ford’s steadying presence helped, the isolation had been the worst part, but that didn’t stop the nerve sweats he’d developed, making him extra clammy even in the places he wasn’t wet yet. And wasn’t that unfair? Even in his dreams he was way too sweaty.

Once Ford had explained his plan it was up to Stanley to lead the way. It was a bizarre feeling, submerging and opening his mouth to inhale instead of holding his breath. Even with his brother’s assurance that he couldn’t possibly drown in his own mind, the feeling of water rushing into his mouth was awful and terrifying. The fresh reminder from his memories of his dip in the trunk did not help. But once he’d managed the first breath it got easier, like he was breathing really humid air.

The blue gave way to an oily black, and the gentle slope dropped off into a sudden abyss. The longer he’d been stuck there, the more alien his own head had felt, slowly corrupted by Bill. He could already feel eyes on him, staring back up from the depths.

“Are you alright Stanley?” Ford’s voice reverberated in the water, sounding muffled and distant.

Stan shook his head and took a steadying breath before kicking out over the drop-off. He didn’t have to put too much effort into swimming down, because there was already a downward current. It was almost like gravity, pulling him towards the ocean floor. It sent all the alarm bells in his head ringing out of instinct, but he couldn’t turn back now.

A glance over his shoulder confirmed that Ford was right behind him, trench coat billowing.

Stan wasn’t afraid of the dark, but that didn’t mean much in a situation like this. Dark water was dangerous, it was something that every land dwelling creature felt instinctively; you couldn’t see what was down there, you would be out of your element being anywhere near it, and your imagination easily supplied all sorts of predators that could be waiting for something tasty to swim by.

Stan didn’t want to even think about what nasty things could be floating around inside his head.

At one point it was so dark that he could barely see Ford, despite them being close enough to hold onto each other, and he seriously considered turning back. They could think of something else, probably. But before he lost his nerve completely the water began to grow brighter. It wasn’t the same blue glow from his safety bubble, it was a pale white that made everything look washed out and faded. It came from above somehow, leaving patterns on his skin, as if they were only a few meters under. He could see a sandy floor down below, and directly beneath them the Stan O War sat, half buried.

It looked like it had when they’d first found it. Broken in half, with a tattered sail and barely enough wood left to identify it as a boat to begin with. They sank slowly to the ground beside it, watching the ghost-like shapes of fish drift in an out of its hull, nibbling on the planks.

Ford rested a hand on the railing, his expression nostalgic. “I suppose I should have guessed that this would be here.” Flecks of rust rose from around his fingers as he moved them. “I have the same thing in the center of my own mindscape.”

“You do?” Stan had never pegged Ford as the sentimental type, so if he’d had to guess he would have said that Ford’s mindscape would have a giant robot or something in the middle. Or maybe a giant statue of himself. Come to think of it why wasn’t there a giant statue of Stan hanging around? That seemed like a missed opportunity.

“Yes, well…” Ford coughed and looked away, playing with his tie. “It was a big part of our childhood, so it’s logical for it to be an important landmark.”

True, Stan hadn’t exactly had an attachment to anything else. At home he’d cared about the people, his ma, his brother, but the house hadn’t meant much to him. There was his car, but it couldn’t just sit in one place, it didn’t feel right. The boat had been a constant source of happiness, until it had been ripped away from him on that night along with everything else. Yeah, it made sense for it to be his center.

“So, what do we do now? How long will it take for Bill to show up?”

“Oh, not long.”

Ford had opened his mouth, and it was his voice that spoke. But he wasn’t the one who had answered.

Another Ford stepped into their circle of light. “Hello boys, finally got tired of hiding?”

Stan felt fingers grip his shoulder, pulling him back. The real Ford glared at the intruder over his head. “I’m flattered Bill, but I’m not sure why you came here dressed like me.”

The form the demon had taken was younger, and clean shaven. He was dressed in the same outfit Ford had worn on the night Stan had been kicked out. His eyes weren’t yellow like Stan expected them to be, which made the whole charade more effective at unnerving him than he wanted to admit.

The unhinged smile was all Bill though. “What, you don’t like it?” he asked. “I thought I did a pretty good job.” He gestured to himself like a lady in a gameshow, wiggling his fingers. “I even kept the extras.” He took a step closer, and Ford pulled away, dragging Stan with him. “What? I thought you were waiting for me.”

“We’ve come to bargain with you.”

Bill laughed, shaking his head. “That’s cute. That’s really adorable, that you think you have anything to bargain with.”

“We know why you haven’t left yet.”

The laughter stopped. “Oh? I think it’d be pretty obvious.” He levelled his eyes on Stan, cold and empty in a way the real Ford’s could never be. “I don’t appreciate the little game you played with me.”

Stan sunk further back. “That’s not it though. You could do whatever you want to me once you take over the world, so why stick around and waste time?”

Bill gave him an unamused stare.

“You need something from him.” Ford said, catching the demon’s attention again. “Because you can’t get out.”

Bill’s poker face was good. He smiled, condescension practically radiating from him. “Oh is that what you think? Let me guess, when I deny it you guys will tell me to prove it? Which I can only do by leaving of course.”

Stan shrugged. “Nah, we know you’re not that stupid. We’re going to offer to tell you how to get out. In exchange for our lives.”

“Oh, is that what you’re trying to do? Forgive me if I’m not shaking in my boots.” Bill’s face didn’t emote like a normal human. He had the basics down, smiling, frowning, etc, but he lacked the micro-expressions that made people look alive. It was like he moved each part of his face consciously; sometimes the movements would be out of sync, and when they did move it was stiff and sudden, almost mechanical. It made him difficult to read. But Bill loved to talk, and while he had an impressive poker face, his poker voice wasn’t quite as good. The anger bled through, turning Ford’s regular timber into a low growl.

“You don’t want to be stuck in here forever, in the body of a small child.” The real Ford interjected. “You’d be laughed out of the nightmare realm.”

That actually seemed to bother Bill, his scoff was higher pitched as he put on an offended expression. One of his eyebrows twitched. “And what makes you so sure about that?”

“I was suspicious before, but now I know. You came here looking like me, and before that you took the form of our father, and before even that you took the form of Stanley himself. Why? Because you’re hiding from something.”

Bill was so still, he made statues look lively. “I don’t hide.”

“Running then?”

“You’re really pushing your luck Stanford.” The demon gathered himself, smug expression slipping back into place. He blinked each eye, one after the other. “What would I be… Avoiding exactly? It isn’t you two I can tell you that. I’ve been looking for that little runt for way too long already, so meeting you here was convenient for me.”

Stan stepped forward this time. “You don’t even know what it is, do you?”

Bill’s other eyebrow twitched.

Ford stepped up beside Stan, keeping one hand on his shoulder. “You asked what we had to bargain with, and this is it. You let us live, we’ll tell you what’s keeping you here, and how to stop it.”

Bill studied them, eyes shadowed and unreadable, and then he began to chuckle. It grew into a full-blown cackle, his head thrown back as he wiped tears off his face. “Oh Fordsy.” He gasped, “You just never learn do you? I don’t know what your plan was if I agreed, because I know you weren’t planning on actually letting me get what I want, but you’ve made a bit of a miscalculation.”

Ford swallowed, crowding closer to Stan.

In the time it took for them to blink Bill vanished, and Stan was ripped out of Ford’s grip by his hair. He fought very hard to not shriek like a little girl. It hurt, but not as much as he was used to it hurting in real life. It was the surprise that caught him off-guard.

With a kick Bill sent Ford flying into the Stan O War. That actually did hurt, throbbing in Stan’s head as a cloud of debris rose around his brother

“You see Fordsy,” Bill held Stan up by his collar, breath hissing against his ear. “It’s not much of a bargaining chip if I can just beat it out of you.”

Ford emerged from the ruins of the boat, coughing as he waved the dust away from his face. He gave the wreckage a mournful look. “It’s not like we didn’t consider that Bill.” He huffed a regretful breath, then got into a fighting stance. “You’re mistaken if you think we’re defenseless here.” He held out a hand, and a blue light began to collect in the air in front of him, forming something long and thin, like a sword. A hum reverberated through the water.

Stan’s jaw actually dropped when he saw what Ford had conjured. “A lightsaber? Really?”

Ford’s ears went bright red. “It’s the most powerful weapon I could think of!”

“Oh and a gun would just be too useless then?”

“It’s about my mindset while fighting Stanley, this would be the most effective option. I’ve never used a gun before.”

“You’ve never used a lightsaber before either! You have a crossbow, use that inste-”

Bill leapt forward again, cutting them off. He swung at Ford’s head, but Ford ducked, sweeping his weapon in a wide arc at Bill’s midsection. Bill deflected it with a foot and used it to propel himself upwards. He floated, tucking Stan under his arm like a large squirming football. Ford followed close behind.

Stan curled over Bill’s arm and bit the closest body part he could reach. The snarl of pain he got in response was satisfying, and Bill’s grip loosened just as Ford slammed into them. There was a sizzle as one of Bill’s limbs was lopped off, allowing Stan to be pulled away by his brother. He watched the six fingered limb tumble through the water, feeling queasy at the sight. Ford seemed unaffected, swinging again at his own face with way too much gusto. Bill recovered quickly, and knocked the saber out of his hand with an inhuman amount of force. If this had been happening in real life Ford would have lost his own arm for real.

Bill did land a blow this time, a haymaker reminiscent of Ford’s attack on Ivan in the basement. They landed hard in the sand, and the silt kicked up around them hid Bill from view. Ford flipped over just in time to shield Stan from the next attack.

Even with the protection Stan was driven down by the weight of his brother and Bill, knocking the breath out of him. The next few seconds were a bit of a blur, but when he managed to stumble to his feet Bill had ford in a headlock. The demon’s arm had re-attached at some point. He leered at Stan, eyes wild. “Oh that was fun, wasn’t it?”

Stan coughed, fighting the feeling of sand caught in his throat. Why did everything in the mindscape have to be so realistic? “Let him go!”

Ford’s face was turning red as he tried to pry Bill off of him, Stan had a sinking suspicion that their lack of a physical body didn’t do much when fighting against a dream demon. The water he was breathing suddenly felt way too thick for comfort. He swallowed, trying to come up with a stalling method. He didn’t think a sneak attack with a book would be as effective this time around.

But he wasn’t helpless. This was his own mind, wasn’t it?

Bill seemed to come to the same realization, his gleeful look faltering. Before he could shore up any defenses Stan put as much mental effort as possible into shoving the demon away from Ford.

He may have overshot it a bit, because Bill was hit with enough psychic force to take his head off.

The shocked look on Ford’s face was almost comical. He gasped, grip on his neck loosening, and scrambled away. His crossbow appeared in his hand, and he centered it on Bill’s drifting body.

Again Bill regenerated, but more slowly this time. Bits of ropey flesh floated back to him, remoulding a copy Ford’s face like really disgusting clay. The eyes had returned to their original yellow, and they were fixated on Stan. “You shouldn’t have done that.”

Stan clutched at Ford’s pant leg. “How are we supposed to fight him if he can do that!?”

“I.. We’ll figure something out!” Ford’s hand shook, which didn’t help his aim.

They flinched when Bill took a step forward, but he didn’t attack. He just grinned at them menacingly. “Was this Sixer’s idea? Did he convince you that you could actually fight back against me?”

Ford’s lips pursed at the nickname, but he stayed silent.

Bill continued. “It’s a joke really, he should know better than anyone that fighting against me here is useless. Especially if the one fighting me is him. I don’t get it.” He flexed his new jaw. “Why would you cling so hard to him? I’ve been in both your heads now, and I’m still baffled by how dumb humans can be. I mean, do you know how easy it was to trick him? Show humans even a little bit of attention and they’ll practically lick your feet.”

Ford’s complexion had already been suffering under the water-logged light, but it looked even worse now. He stepped in front of Stan, as if by hiding his brother from view he could block out what Bill was saying. But Stan pushed up to stand beside him again, too angry to care about his safety. “You’re lucky I wasn’t around when you did that you shitty dorito!”

Bill and Ford both blinked, taken aback.

“If there’s one thing I hate it’s bullies who think they’re hot shit just because they hurt my brother!” He threw out a hand, launching another blast of energy towards Bill. The demon dodged it, but he looked unsettled as the rush of power clipped his shoulder. Stan wasn’t sure how he was doing whatever he was doing, but when he glanced at his palm the glowing spot winked at him.

Well he wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth. He pressed the attack, and Bill retreated further. Every time the demon attempted to rush Stan, Ford would cut him off with a carefully aimed crossbow bolt. With each hit they scored, the regeneration was slower than the last, and for a moment Stan almost thought they could really do some damage.

Something caught one of Ford’s legs, and he hit the ground hard with a yell of surprise.

Stan was torn between the smart thing to do, keep his eyes on Bill, and what he wanted to do, check on his brother. Bill took advantage of that, sending another one of his own energy projectiles at Stan’s feet. More sand blinded Stan, and he stumbled back. His eyes stung. Of course, somehow he hadn’t considered the possibility that Bill could fire back at him. Not with as much power, but you didn’t always need power to win a fight. Stan knew that much from experience.

12 fingers wrapped around his neck, lifting him into the air. He gasped, and no amount of willpower seemed enough to allow him to breathe. Spots danced in front of his eyes.

“I told you, Stanley.” Bill snarled. He no longer used Ford’s voice, instead what came out was a garbled echoing mess. “You’re a little fish, and this little fish bowl you’ve made for yourself won’t protect you.” Behind him Ford attempted to stand, but a kick to the ribs from Bill sent him down again. “This may be your mind, but it’s my world. You can’t beat me at my own game.”

“That… That’s the thing Bill…” Stan struggled to talk, and Bill had to pull him closer in order to hear him. “We weren’t… trying to win.”

Bill paused. “Then what exactly were you trying to do?”

Stan’s attempted reply was barely more than a whisper, and the demon pulled him even closer. “We were… Trying to expose you…”

“Expose me to wha-“

Stan drove his thumbs into Bill’s eyes.

Bill’s shriek of rage reverberated through his head, filling his ears painfully like knives in a blender, but he kept going. He tore at the sockets, peeling back the skin as far as he could. He focused all of his energy into ripping apart the outer shell, and what he revealed was a mass churning under his fingers. Whatever it was, looking at it hurt, as if Stan’s own eyes rejected the image completely.

He was dropped, and the thing loomed above him. The mask attempted to repair itself, but it didn't work. In a last ditch effort Bill compressed his form, a familiar golden triangle materializing in the air.

At some point the white light around them had turned blue.

Chains formed around Bill’s ankles, locking him in place. Ford had regained his footing at some point, and he held the other end tightly. “You sensed it, didn’t you?” he asked, panting.

A single bloodshot eye focused on him, the weight of the rage behind it was both terrifying, and in this moment, satisfying. Because mixed with that rage was fear. “WHAT DID YOU DO?”

“It’s the same kind of magic that gives life to unicorns. The kind that can play with time and draws power from the moon and the sun!”

Stan wanted to stand, to join in Ford’s dramatic gloating, but the ground beneath him was shaking, and he felt like he was looking down a long dark hallway. Or maybe up a long dark hallway, since he was lying on his back. Tunnel vision couldn’t even begin to describe it. He clenched his eyes shut, his hand and head burning.

Bill screeched, sounding like an enraged animal. “LET ME GO!”

“Maybe it’s some sort of fae magic, or maybe it’s something else, but you and I both know what it really is Bill!” Ford’s voice was loud, booming even over the rushing noise filling Stan’s eardrums. “It’s alive!”

Ford crouched low, a finger held up as he went into lecture mode. “Unicorn hair acts like a barrier true, but more accurately it acts as a guard. It allows us to pass through but not Demons, which means that it recognizes the difference between us and acts discriminately. I’ve studied it for a while now, and it acts more like… Like a guard dog. Maybe an immune system. Recognizing intruders and expelling them, or exterminating them. I’ve theorized that it could even be fine-tuned to keep out people with ill intentions or-“

“Okay, get on with it you big nerd.”

“… Right.” He cleared his throat. “I believe that the magic dust you consume has the same properties. Bill has yet to appear in his regular form. Which is strange, because in my own experience he prefers using it in the mindscape. He rarely took any other form while in my mind. I think he’s doing it for a reason.”

“Like what, camouflage?”

“Precisely. He’s taking the form of people that occur naturally in your memories. When he wasn’t taunting me he retreated, letting me do the searching. You both came in here together, you should have landed together, but that didn’t happen. You found a safe haven, and Bill was left outside.”

“You think this… Magic guard dog had something to do with it?” Stan asked.

“I think it recognised that its host was being invaded, and took action.”

“So if Bill is hiding from it, that means he’s scared of it right?”

Ford grinned. “That means it’s a threat to him. And that means he doesn’t want to be found by it. All we have to do is call attention to him, and theoretically it could help us drive him out.”

“Okay, I like the sound of that so far, but how do we get its attention?”

Ford’a face fell a little. “That’s the risky part. It would likely respond to a direct attack on the host, but with his disguises I don’t know how long that would take, and you’d be in danger in the meantime.”

“What do we do then?”

“Well, that’s the gamble. I believe that if we’re able to hold him off long enough we could buy enough time and cause enough of a commotion to expose him without incurring serious harm.”

Stan stared out over the water, watching the red storm roll closer and closer. “Can we hold him off long enough?”

“I don’t know, but it’s the only plan we’ve got.”

Stan liked to think he could hear the baying of dogs approaching. Maybe it was his imagination, or maybe the stuff inside him was taking cues from his thoughts, but it was a comforting sound. He rolled over, ignoring the throbbing blue spots on his skin, and pushed himself to his hands and knees. He raised his head to look at his Brother, who struggled with Bill’s thrashing chains.

“DON’T DO THIS STANFORD! YOU KNOW THE SORT OF THINGS I CAN DO! YOU KNOW WHAT I HAVE TO OFFER! WE CAN MAKE A DEAL!”

Ford smiled kindly at Stan, somehow managing to maintain his hold. Beads of sweat stood out on his temple. “Don’t worry about me Stanley. There’s going to be a path out of here soon, I just have to follow along behind them. The magic wont be strong enough to destroy Bill, but it can force him out.”

But what if it thought that Ford was a threat too? What if it hurt him?

“You can sleep now Stanley, everything’s going to be alright, I promise. I’ll be fine.”

“You better be…” His eyelids were so heavy. “’Cause I don’t want Fidds to sell you to a museum, okay?”

“Of course not, although being donated to a legitimate museum wouldn’t necessarily be a bad…”

Stan’s head had already hit the sand, cutting off Ford’s nerdy tangent. The distant howls drew closer, and Bill’s pleas slowly faded along with Stan’s consciousness.

Then he was sinking. Down, down,deeper than even the ocean itself could fathom.

Chapter Text

Sleeping was different from being possessed.

When Bill had invaded he’d fought it, and it had been like slowly falling down a well, waiting to hit the bottom and hoping he never would.

Now it was more like he was being crushed beneath 500 feet of water. His head throbbed with every beat of his heart, keeping him acutely aware of his own body, but not allowing him to wake up.

“Do you think he can hear us?”

“That’s hard to say… He was apparently somewhat aware before, but to be honest… I’ve never been possessed without sleeping or meditating beforehand.”

Voices penetrated whatever depths he was floating in, and like a bucket on a rope they pulled him up, bit by bit.

“Wait, that’s why you were meditatin’ all the time? How many times was I talkin’ to him instead o’ you?”

“Not… Ah, not too often. At least not to my knowledge. I think he wanted to avoid giving himself away too much.”

Stan’s eye’s cracked open, squinting against the daylight that filtered in through the window.

Ford sat next to him, scribbling in his journal with a focused expression. Unlike the last time Stan had woken up in Ford’s bed to see him writing, the pace was much more relaxed. He was currently using Stan’s lap as a make-shift desk to rest the book on.

Fiddleford was slumped in another chair, looking as tired and as ruffled as he’d been when they’d first met. Ford didn’t look quite as bad as he had in the beginning, but he was definitely less rested than before.

Stan cleared his throat. “Hey.”

Ford kept his pen this time around, but his journal went flying as he whipped it off of Stan’s lap, yelling “Stanley you’re awake!”

“No,” Stan answered dryly, “I’m sleep talking with my eyes open.”

Fiddleford laughed, approaching the bed. “Well I guess we know his brain is still in tact.”

Ford leaned in to study Stan’s face, his brows furrowed with concern. “How do you feel?”

“Eh… Been worse I guess.” He struggled into a sitting position. “How long was I out?”

“Not too long, maybe half a day or so. You woke up for a moment in the basement, but you might not remember that, since you were pretty out of it.” Ford wrung his hands in his lap.

Fiddleford smirked, “Ya told me I was a good dog, which is a little strange but I appreciate the complement.”

Stan flexed his fingers in front of his face, disappointed, but not surprised, when they were still small and pale. He felt like he should be dirty, or sore, but he wasn’t. He just felt tired, and a bit stuffy after sleeping in a sweater. “So then Bill is…?”

Ford sat back in his chair. “He’s contained for the moment, though he’s not happy about it.”

Stan couldn’t keep the grin off his face “So it worked? We did it?”

Ford returned the grin with his own. He gripped Stan’s good shoulder and squeezed it. “We did it! We beat Bill!”

The stress and anxiety that had gathered in Stan’s chest over the past few days drained out of him all at once, leaving him shaky and elated. He couldn’t imagine how Ford must have felt. “And you’re okay?” Stan asked, “They… It didn’t hurt you or anything? The magic stuff?”

“It wasn’t a comfortable ride by any means.” Ford answered, “In fact I imagine it was somewhat like being caught in the eye of the hurricane. But I wasn’t the threat, just someone along for the ride. Bill got the brunt of it.” He leaned back, face stuck between amused and disturbed. “He fought back the entire time, but that only seemed to make it worse.”

Fiddleford swooped in to join their hug, ruffling Stan’s hair. “That made it pretty easy for Ford ta get back and give me the signal. Hauled ya both out quick as I could. I swear I could almost hear him screechin’, the air in that bubble was so thick.” he shuddered. “I’m glad it’s over with.”

“You can say that again.” Stan muttered. Ford nodded in exhausted agreement.

Fiddleford rubbed his chin, scratching the stubble. “In fact, we should go out ta celebrate, make it an evenin’.”

“Now…” Ford held up a hand, looking uncomfortable. “I’m not sure we should leave Bill alone in the house quite yet. I doubt I’d be able to focus on anything else.”

“Ah, I suppose yer right.”

Stan mirrored Fiddleford’s gesture, though he had less stubble to scratch. “Delivery?”

Both men managed to look disgusted and tempted at the same time.

Ford hmm-ed. “All we have is the one pizza place though.”

“And the food there is incredibly unhealthy.” Fiddleford added.

Stan rolled his eyes. “Uh, that’s what makes it good. I expect this from my brother, but you Fidds?”

“I lived on a farm Stanley, ya don’t get much healthier or fresher than that. Grease ain’t my first choice. But…”

The scientists exchanged looks. “I suppose… After the week we’ve had, a bit of indulgence wouldn’t be that uncalled for…”

_____________________

Maybe it was naïve, but Stan had thought that things would get better after everything was over.

He’d had his little heart to heart with Ford, they’d hugged, and there may or may not have been some tears shed. So he’d expected for everything to be easier. That they could talk normally, and Stan wouldn’t have to feel like everything he did was blowing air into an overfilled balloon, waiting for it to pop. Well, technically he didn’t, since he never really got a chance to talk to Ford or even see him.

Because Ford was avoiding him.

Their little pizza party had been fun. They’d traded stories about their life in the years leading up to the whole debacle, and Stan had plenty of crazy or funny adventures to talk about. He even got Fiddleford to laugh so hard cheese came out his nose.

Ford had laughed too, but not as hard as Stan had hoped. When his brother’s turn came around the stories were funny, or interesting, yet he couldn’t seem to muster up quite as much enthusiasm.

Fiddleford hadn’t held back, providing a fascinating tale of how a bunch of mismanaged cow hearts ending up in the college swimming pool, earning the engineer his one and only F grade on an assignment. “I actually cried.” He chuckled. Stan thought it was hilarious.

Ford smiled, amused, but he only grew more nervous whenever Stan started on another story of his own.

Stan had dismissed it, but now, a few days later, every uneasy expression came to mind as Fiddleford gave him an apologetic shrug and pointed to the basement stairs.

Ford was in his office again, working on making the antidote.

“Did something happen?” Stan asked. He refused to voice the real question he wanted to ask. Did I do something wrong?

He wasn’t that pitiful.

Fiddleford sighed, resting his head on one of his hands, and putting his pencil down on the kitchen table. “Well ya know how he gets. Could be he just wants to help cure ya as soon as possible.” He didn’t sound like he completely believed it.

Stan understood, he really did. It wasn’t like the magic dust problem went away just because they’d stopped a demon from taking over the world. But Fiddleford seemed fine working in the kitchen, joking around with him and sharing more stories. Ford however had decided to retreat. The reason Stan hadn’t already gone down after him was partially because he had grown a great dislike for those stairs (Ford should really install an elevator or something), and partially because he figured that his brother had a good excuse for squirreling away. Why else would he do it?

In the end, after half a week of only brief glimpses of his brother at breakfast, Stan decided ‘screw that’ and stomped down into Ford’s den.

Okay, he hobbled down slowly, but he made sure to stomp his good foot as loudly as he could manage, to keep up appearances.

Of course, as soon as he made it to the door he stalled. The landing was halfway down, and though they’d set up a bunch of lights in the lower floor, it still felt like he was staring into the depths of something dark and dangerous. Somehow it still frightened him less than the prospect of knocking on Ford’s door.

It was the phone calls all over again. The desire to reach out was beaten down by the dread of being rejected. What if Ford didn’t have a good reason? What if now that he wasn’t obligated to hang around he realized that he still didn’t like being near Stan? What if he was working so hard on the serum because he wanted to send Stan off as soon as possible?

Self doubt was an old friend of his, and it liked to drop by at the most inconvenient times.

He shook the feeling off, literally shaking his head like a dog. That was unfair to Ford. After everything that happened in the mindscape between them, he couldn’t bring himself to doubt all the earnest words and apologies. The joy on his brother’s face when they’d reunited. Ford had risked a lot doing that, even his own body. The least Stan could do was have a little faith.

Before Stan could move to grab the doorknob, a soft sound drifted up from below.

“We’ll meet again…”

It was an unfortunately familiar voice.

“Don’t know where, don’t know when,

But I know we’ll meet again some sunny day…”

_____________________

The circle of unicorn hair looked empty.

That didn’t stop the singing, streaming steadily out of the nearby radio. It sat on a hastily set up table, surrounded by more of Ford’s messy notes.

“So will you please say hello

To the folks that I know,

Tell them I won't be long.

They'll be happy to know

That as you saw me go,

I was singing this song.”

Without any accompanying instruments the lyrics fell flat, crackling with static but still recognizable as Bill’s voice. Stan waited, unnerved, until the words faded to silence.

“What, not a fan of the classics?”

“I’m not much of a music person.”

“Don’t lie to me Stanley, I was in your head, remember? I know all your little secrets now. Like how you always wanted piano lessons, or about the song you wrote for Carla on your guitar before you destroyed her hippie boyfriend’s van.”

His cheeks heated. That hadn’t been one of his best moments. “Okay so you know a bunch of stuff about me now, so what?”

“Why’d you come down here little fish? Did ya miss me?”

“Curiosity, I guess.” He didn’t know where he should look during the conversation. He couldn’t see Bill, and though he preferred it that way he still felt awkward staring at empty space. What if he was staring at the demon’s crotch or something without realizing? What if Bill was making faces the whole time and laughing at him? He settled for watching the radio, brushing his good hand over the scattered papers.

“Curiosity killed the cat.”

“And satisfaction brought him back.” He’d read the full quote on a fortune cookie once. “I feel pretty satisfied seeing you trapped down here with a baby monitor.”

“You felt it too.”

Stan frowned. The ink stood out, dragging against the tips of his fingers. “Felt what?”

“You and I are cut from the same cloth. I couldn’t quite figure out what made you so interesting, but I get it now. You’re just like me, a con artist, a manipulator, selfish and cunning, it’s like looking into a dumb sweaty mirror.”

Disgust and horror warred in Stan’s chest. Suddenly he didn’t like having his back turned on the circle. He faced Bill’s prison. “You’ve got to be kidding.”

He could imagine Bill’s shrug. “Hey, I didn’t say I was happy about it, but you can’t deny it, can you?”

Couldn’t he? The thought rankled, but it matched with every word used to describe him over the years. Especially the “dumb and sweaty” part.

“He is nothing like you Bill.”

Only when Ford’s voice interrupted them did Stan wonder if he was even allowed to be here. He hunched, peering behind him, but Ford placed a steady hand on his shoulder. He didn’t look angry, just tired.

“That’s rich coming from you.” Stan could practically hear the sneer. “What was the word you always used to describe him? Oh yeah, ‘suffocating’.”

Ford’s grip tightened, but not painfully. “Stanley was not the one who was suffocating me.” He replied calmly. “I bore the judgement of my peers, the expectations from my father, and I turned them into a fire. One that fueled me, and my ambitions, but also made it harder for me to see clearly. When I was inevitably smothered by the smoke I blamed it on the person closest to me, instead of those who deserved it.” He looked down at Stan, lips quirking in a small self-conscious smile. “I heard you on the stairs, but you never came in. I wondered if you were down here for someone else…”

“I didn’t come for him!” Stan blurted, still trying to wrap his head around what Ford had said. “I wanted to talk to you! I just got distracted…”

Ford’s face pinched, but he kept the smile. “Well perhaps my office would be a more private place to talk.” He guided Stan back towards the stairs, steadfastly ignoring the barrier.

“This isn’t over Stanford, for either of you.”

Stan stopped in front of the first step, looking back. “Ford was right though, I’m not like you at all.”

There was a pause. The buzz of the radio quiet in the cavernous basement.

“I have people who actually care about me, even though I am a selfish, cunning, manipulative con man.”

Ford’s hand on his shoulder was warm, and the basement didn’t seem quite as dark as before.

“No one gives a shit about you Bill.”

_____________________

Stan wasn’t surprised by what he saw in Ford’s office. More books, more papers, more paraphernalia. A hint of yellow poked out from behind the tarps hanging on the walls, and a series of old tv screens were piled up on one end, their screens dusty and dark. One of the desks had been cleared off, the contents scattered on the floor next to it, to make room for a series of tubes and beakers. They were smoking faintly. A metallic smell filled the air.

The early awkwardness was back in Ford’s stance. He fidgeted, grabbing items and moving them aimlessly, as if he was trying to tidy up but realized there was nowhere to put anything anyway. He cleared his throat. “What was it that you wanted to talk with me about Stanley?”

Stan wasn’t about to waste his newfound confidence about their relationship by beating around the bush. “How come you’ve been avoiding me?”

Ford’s fingers drummed against his desk, his expression pained. “You noticed then.”

Well at least he wasn’t denying it. “Yeah, kind of hard not to when you’ve been harder to catch in the open than Bigfoot.”

“Well that’s not true, Bigfoot is actually quite…” Ford wilted in response to Stan’s raised eyebrow. “Right… I may have been keeping my distance somewhat.”

He pulled out a couple of chairs and sat in one, gesturing for Stan to sit as well. They faced each other for a moment while Ford chewed his lip in thought and stared at his knees.

Finally he looked up at Stan. “I thought you needed it, after everything that happened.” He heaved a sigh. “I invaded your privacy in ways that no one should ever do, and you had no choice in the matter. I believed you would have had enough of my presence to last a lifetime, so I thought I’d give you some space to breathe.”

“It was my choice to get into that situation though.” Stan said, resisting the urge to squirm at the reminder. “Yeah it was embarrassing I guess, but I’m fine with it.”

Ford’s hands clenched, wrinkling the fabric of his pants. “That doesn’t erase the fact that it happened. Your mind, your memories, your deepest thoughts and feelings, they were all exposed against your will, to me and because of me.”

Stan frowned. “Because of Bill.”

“I allowed him to manipulate me-”

“He tricked you!”

“I was the one who summoned him in the first place!”

Ford seemed to realize that he was on the verge of starting another shouting match, because he winced and pulled back. But Stan wasn’t flinching away this time. He leaned forward, his brows drawn. “Yeah? So what!”

Ford blinked, caught off guard.

Stan threw a hand up. “So what if you summoned him! Yeah, that was probably pretty stupid! Sometimes even really smart people like you can be really, really dumb. But everything after that was on Bill, okay? He was a big evil asshole, and just because you did something dumb that doesn’t mean that everything he does is your fault! Plus you saved me so, doesn’t that like balance it out or something?” He drooped, his energy spent in his outburst.

“I’m not sure it works like that.” Ford muttered halfheartedly.

“I don’t need any space, and I definitely don’t want you to avoid me. I had plenty of space for more than ten years.” Stan looked away as his voice caught in his throat. He wasn’t going to cry damnit! Not when all the heavy stuff was finished and it was over something so silly. “Do you really think I wouldn’t want you around?”

Ford sank down in his chair, covering his face with his hands and groaning. “I wasn’t thinking this through.” He mumbled through his fingers. “Clearly.”

“It’s a habit of yours.”

He chuckled roughly. “So it seems.” He let his arms drop, staring at the beakers on the desk. “I couldn’t stop thinking about what I saw.”

“Story telling might not have been the best idea after that huh?” Stan scratched his head ruefully. “Though I kept it to more lighthearted stuff.”

“I still can’t believe you were married.”

“Well if you get me drunk enough I’ll probably marry anything. Do you know what kind of tax benefits you can get from doing that? It’s crazy! If she hadn’t tried to steal my car I probably would have lived happily ever after.”

Ford laughed, then his face turned serious again. “Did you ever try to call me?”

“Um…” Stan bit his cheek. “Maybe?”

Ford gave him a look.

“I dialed the number a few times I guess. I never did manage to say anything though.” Stan considered asking what Ford would have done if he had actually tried to talk, but decided against it. That sort of ‘could-have-should-have’ thing would only make them both sad, no matter which way Ford answered.

“I’m-“

“If you apologize again I’m going to kick you in the shin.”

Ford squinted at him. “What? Why?”

“You already said you were sorry. If I let you do it again you’ll never stop, and that’ll get annoying really quickly.” Stan bumped Ford’s leg lightly with his foot. “You’re sorry, I’m sorry, can we just…” He trailed off.

“… Be brothers again?”

Ford’s eyes were embarrassingly wet. Stan pretended he didn’t notice. “Yeah.”

Ford jerked to his feet, stumbling to another desk across the room from them. He rummaged through the books scattered on top of it, tossing them aside when they didn’t have what he was looking for. Stan just sat there and watched, baffled.

With a shout of triumph Stanford held something over his head, then brought it down slowly shuffling back over to Stan. His ears were red. “I wanted to show you this, but now that I think about it, it’s probably not worth a lot.” He handed Stan a small piece of square paper, the material thick and glossy.

Confused, Stan turned it over to reveal an old photo of them, posing dramatically on the Stan O’ War. It was a little rough around the edges, and creased in places, but Stan knew it was because the picture had been handled often. Looked at, and treasured.

His vision blurred, and he swiped at his face. “You- you need to get this place cleaned up!” he kept the photo tucked against his chest in his injured hand, ignoring his stinging fingers. “There’s way too much dust floating around, getting in my eyes!”

“And your nose, and your throat.” Ford pointed out, amusement in his voice.

Stan kicked him in the shin.

 _____________________

The following days went a lot smoother. Ford and Fiddleford argued in the kitchen as they slowly turned it into a laboratory, filled with bubbling chemicals. Stan showed off his math and art skills as he helped with equations and livened up their notes with little doodles.

And they all ate copious amounts of unhealthy food, since Stan was apparently the most adept at cooking among them, and he was too short to reach the stovetop. So pancakes, cereal, and leftover pizza were all they had. At least until Fiddleford’s parenting instincts kicked in and he insisted on a trip to the grocery store. Then they were able to add sandwiches and fruit to their menu.

When Ford finally produced a sparkling orange vial of liquid and announced that it was a success, Stan was almost sad that it was over. They gathered upstairs, and Stan donned his original, now clean, set of clothes. He sat on Ford’s bed, feeling like a badly set up circus tent.

“I’ve put it through extensive testing.” Ford told him, handing over the antidote. “If all goes as planned your injuries should heal rapidly, meaning you won’t have to worry about maintaining your broken fingers, but it may be a very draining experience. Learning that the main element of the dust is silver was very helpful in figuring out how to reverse the effect.”

Stan swallowed against the nervous feeling in his gut, deciding he really wasn’t all that fond of magic. “Okay, no problem.” He brought the concoction to his lips, but was stopped by a six fingered hand on his wrist.

“Before you drink it, I thought I’d ask…” Ford drew the potion away from Stan’s mouth. “Well Fiddleford decided to move back in and I thought, since you were such a great help during this whole process if you’d um…” Ford looked at his friend imploringly, but Fiddleford just folded his arms.

“Oh get on with it, yer making this more embarassin’ than it has to be.”

Ford huffed. “Alright! I have a room in the attic that I don’t really use, and since you’d be needing a place to stay, and since you’d be very useful around the house, I was wondering if you’d be interested in staying. Here. With us.”

Stan’s eyes widened, hope rising to mix with the nervousness. “You mean, you want me to work with you?”

“Yes and,” Ford took a steadying breath, “if you’re interested, perhaps someday when I finish my work here, we could make plans to visit other anomalies in different areas around the world. Since you’re banned in most states, making travel difficult on land, we could possibly go… By sea?”

“Ford, are you saying you want to travel around the world with me on the adventure of a lifetime?” Stan asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

“I, yes. That is exactly what I’m saying. Fiddleford would likely tag along of course.”

Fiddleford gave Stan a slap on the back, “Wouldn’t want you two ta kill each other. Ye’ll need a babysitter.”

“I’ll understand if you need some time to think-“

Stan threw his good arm around his brother. “Are you kidding me?! Of course I want to stay!”

Ford beamed, returning the hug happily, then handed him back the vial. “Well then, are you ready to be an adult again?”

“Am I ready?” Stan scoffed. He snatched the antidote out of Ford’s grip. “I’m ready to stop being less than five feet tall.”

He tilted his head back and downed the entire potion in one shot. It tasted like he’d swallowed a smoothie made of dimes.

He was out cold before his head hit the pillow.

Chapter Text

Stan’s senses tuned in slowly one by one. First he felt the soft sheets brushing against his fingers, and the cool air chilling the skin on his face. The sour taste of prolonged sleep lingered in his mouth, and the aches in his body filtered along his limbs. He could smell something sweet, possibly vanilla, and he turned his head to take in more of it.

There was a soft humming coming from somewhere nearby, accompanied by faint clicks and brushes of fabric. It sounded familiar, soothing to his ears, and it almost lulled him back to sleep. But his skin tingled uncomfortably, and that feeling eventually convinced him to open his eyes.

He closed them again immediately, squinting against the sunlight coming from the nearby window and turning his head back before trying again. This waking up from unconsciousness business was starting to get old.

The first thing he noticed was his own hairy arm, lying across his chest like a dead fish. He was propped up slightly against something, allowing him to get a good look at his body. The potion had undoubtedly worked, because his big feet poked out from under the blanket at the far end of the bed. He held his hand up slowly, blinking at how heavy it felt. His larger knuckles were back, as well as his thick, wide tipped fingers. They were ugly, no longer pale and soft like a kid’s, but they were the best thing he’d seen in a long time.

The humming had stopped, and he glanced at the other side of the bed, not quite ready to sit up yet. An aged smile under a hooked nose was what greeted him, topped by that ridiculous beehive hairdo.

“Maria?” Stan breathed then winced, remembering too late that he wasn’t the kid she was familiar with anymore. He didn’t know why she would be here, unless something had gone wrong while he was out, but she definitely hadn’t met him as an adult yet.

He spotted an IV stand next to the bed, just on the edge of his peripheral vision. An unfinished piece of something knitted sat on Maria’s lap, and it shifted as she leaned forward and pressed the inside of her wrist to his forehead. “Hello my dear, did you sleep well?”

“Uh…”

She noticed the confusion in his face and gave him a pat on the head. “Doctor Pines seemed worried at how long you’d been unconscious, so he asked if I could keep another secret.”

“I, um…” His hoarse voice couldn’t hide his hesitance. He hadn’t had nearly enough time to come up with an explanation, and he had no idea what Ford had told her. He settled for a safer question. “How long have I been out?”

She tilted her head, thinking. “Well, Doctor Pines called me last night. I think you were “out” for a day before that. He was worried about your health, and it was a good thing he did.” She nodded to the IV, “Whatever happened to you was not very kind to your electrolytes. You were dehydrated too.”

The fluids bag was connected to his right wrist, which was no longer bandaged, and no longer hurt. He wiggled his fingers carefully, but there wasn’t even a twinge.

He felt pretty okay at the moment, though he was tired. The boundless energy was one aspect of childhood that he’d miss. He used his elbows to push himself further up against the baseboard. “How’s my brother?”

She pointed to the desk, where Stanford had his face squashed into a pile of papers, fast asleep. Apparently writing was his go to activity when he was waiting for something. Maria chuckled. “He seemed to think it was something he had done.” She gave Stan a knowing look. “I am not so convinced that it was all recent.”

Well, racing across country to Oregon wasn’t easy on the wallet, and he’d been too worried to stop for more than gas and bathroom breaks anyways. He hadn’t exactly been in top shape before his transformation, but he didn’t remember being that bad. He shrugged sheepishly. “Good thing you were here huh?”

She raised a brow, before picking her knitting needles back up and continuing her work.

“So uh…” He squinted at her. “What exactly did Ford tell you about me?”

“That you had been under an enchantment, and his cure may have taken a toll on you.” She replied, mildly.

“Enchantment… Right…”

She glanced at his hand. “Yes, he was light on details, but it seems like it caused a lot of trouble.”

He turned his palm to face him, knowing before he did that she knew who he was. A faded blue dot still marred his skin. It was harder to find now that he was older, and less pale, but it was definitely still there. She had said it would probably be permanent. “Well, that’s a little awkward.” He laughed. “You’ve seen me in my underwear.” She snorted.

The door opened then, bringing Fiddleford into view. His arms were piled with groceries, actual groceries, not just pancakes and cereal. His face lit up when he spotted Stan, and he quickly dumped his haul on a nearby chair. “Yer awake! I knew Maria would get ya goin’, the transformation woulda took a lotta energy, and there’s not many places to take it from other than you! Stanford was worried that we’d done somethin’ wrong, but I know he triple checked his work so I wasn’t convinced!”

Well, that explained why he was worse off than before.

Fiddleford came in closer, poking and prodding at Stan curiously. He even tugged at a strand of long hair, looking fascinated. ”Not much we coulda done about it unfortunately, though we mighta hooked ya up sooner if we’d realized.”

Stan prickled as Fiddleford crowded him, and for a brief moment he couldn’t figure out why. It was just Fidds. He came in close to Stan all the time, ruffling his hair, giving him a pat on the back. It was actually kind of nice. At least, it had been nice before.

But that had been as a kid, hadn’t it? As an adult someone who got that close to him was usually a threat. Apparently the muscle memory thing worked both ways, which was unfair considering the lingering spot on his hand had carried over just fine, and even the scars on his hands had vanished. Magic just didn’t seem to make any sense.

He ignored the urge to lean away, enduring the attention with a wince as bony fingers dug into some tender spots. “Alright well, I wasn’t exactly at peak health before this whole thing happened, could ya maybe take the hands off the merchandise for a sec? I’m ticklish.” That wasn’t true, Ford was way more ticklish than he was, but it was as good an excuse as any to stop the poking.

Fiddleford sat back, taking a long look at Stan as he did so. It only ratcheted up the uneasiness. Luckily the engineer noticed the discomfort this time, and his expression turned apologetic. “Right, I guess I haven’t really let myself take it in yet. Ye look just like yer brother, if he were wider in the shoulders and had longer hair.”

“And a bigger gut?”

“Well I wasn’t gonna mention it…” The tension eased off then, as they shared a laugh.

A rustle of papers from the nearby desk announced Ford’s return to consciousness. He lurched into a seated position and fumbled for his glasses, waking as suddenly and with as much violence as he always did. Ford didn’t rouse like normal people, gradually and incrementally, he was either awake or he wasn’t, and the transition was something his body refused to waste time on. Sometimes that meant his brain had to hustle to catch up to him.

Eventually he found his glasses where they’d been pushed up on his forehead. “Stanley’s awake…?” he squinted in their direction.

Stan smiled. “Yeah, I got my share of beauty rest. ’S a shame yours didn’t work out so well.”

Ford stumbled his way to the side of the bed, trying to put his glasses back on his face as he did. He missed entirely, and poked himself in the eye instead. “How are you feeling? Are you in pain? Does everything feel like it’s back to normal? How long have you been awake?”

“I dunno how I’m supposed to answer you if you won’t stop talking.” Stan managed to say when his brother stopped to take a breath. He did his best to ignore the feeling of ants crawling over his skin when Ford took his previously injured hand and gave it a thorough examination. At least he probably hadn’t been manhandled while he was asleep, since Ford wouldn’t be so intent on prodding him if that was the case.

Ford pursed his lips, the desire to ask further questions practically buzzing around his head. But he remained silent, giving Stan his full attention. It had been a lot less awkward the last time they’d done the bedside routine.

“Well uh,” Stan brought his other arm back up and flexed his hand, feeling kind of like he was trying to move through jello. “I guess it’s hard to tell if I feel different from before.” He paused, searching for the right words. “You know when you get out of a hot tub and jump into a pool, then get back into the hot tub later? Like how the pool felt really cold at first, and then the hot tub feels way hotter than it was when you first got out?”

Ford nodded, comprehension dawning on his face. “Your body adjusts to the temperature, so a sudden change feels more dramatic.”

“Yeah, it’s like that I think. I just have to get used to being big again.” Stan wiggled his fingers, enjoying the familiar feeling of control, even through the jello. He’d never been particularly fond of his own muscles before, they were just kind of a necessity. Now however he let himself admire the fact that he wasn’t just a bunch of noodles strung together. Sure it came with some girth, and a lot of body hair, but he could live with that.

“It doesn’t hurt?” Ford pressed.

“Nah, not any more than the regular aches and pains.”

Mariah took that moment to butt in on the conversation. “He has only been awake for a few minutes, so you did not miss anything important.”

Stan chuckled, tilting his head back against the pillows. “I still can’t believe you told her about what happened.” Not that he was complaining; he was glad to see her safe after all of Bill’s threats.

Ford rubbed the back of his neck, his other hand flung up in exasperation. “You were practically comatose! I didn’t know what to do, whether it was the magic or something else. And you seemed to trust her. If anyone is a good judge of character around here it’s probably you, so…”

Stan snorted. “Hey I didn’t say I had a problem with it, just that I couldn’t believe it, considerin’ how paranoid you were. I’d bet money that for a while there you couldn’t wipe your ass without peeking out a window to see who’s watching.”

Ford’s face went tomato red, but his sputtering was drowned out by Fiddleford’s knee slapping guffaws. He laughed like a real hillbilly. “Looks like some things don’t ever change!” he wiped a tear from his eye.

Both brothers gave him a confused look. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I thought maybe ya’d be a different sorta person as a grown up.” Fiddleford continued, his face inexplicably fond, like he was still looking at a kid despite the fact that Stan could probably bench press him now. “Glad to see yer pretty much the same.”

This time it was Stan’s turn to go red as he avoided the fatherly gaze. “Hey I’m plenty different, I can actually punch people now. Also I can cuss without feeling bad.”

“You couldn’t cuss without feeling bad before?”

“Well a kid isn’t supposed to cuss.”

The banter helped to reduce more the discomfort Stan had felt upon waking, and he relaxed further as it dissipated. He even got used to the prodding, the pats on his shoulder, even a hair ruffle or two from Fidds. Maybe it was just the encroaching fatigue that allowed him to lower his defenses, but he hoped that wasn’t all it was. He’d have to get used to this after all, since he was going to live here, wasn’t he? The thought certainly lit a warm fire in his chest. He might have questioned the decision now that he was an adult again, it was a lot easier to make those sorts of plans when you were looking at a doe eyed brat, but he found he just couldn’t bring himself to doubt it. They weren’t that good at acting.

“There is one thing I managed to figure out!” Ford interjected, rushing to grab his journal and shoving it in Stan’s face. “Or at least I have a very solid hypothesis!”

Stan pushed it out to a more reasonable distance, trying to make sense of what he was reading. “About what?”

“About the fountain, and the dust!” Ford placed the book on Stan’s lap, pointing to a map of Gravity falls that he’d drawn across two pages.

It looked a bit off. Stan had looked at a map of the place before, while trying to find his way to the house, but he didn’t remember any of the roads looking like that. One near the top was huge, ducking in from one corner, before curving back up out of the top. The location didn’t make much sense for a road, because from what he could remember that area was a series of cliffs and hills. A red mark stood out somewhere along the middle of it.

“These are ley lines.” Ford explained, sensing Stan’s confusion. “They’re like… Underground rivers except instead of water it’s magic that flows through them. Pure, untainted magic that wells up from somewhere within the earth’s core. Originally I’d studied them thinking that they were related to the natural weirdness that surrounds this place, since there are far more in Gravity Falls than most places.” He sighed. “That ended up being a dead end. Other areas of high concentration didn’t yield the same result.”

Stan scratched his head, unsure of how to react to that information. “So… When you say they’re like rivers…”

“I didn’t think to make a physical comparison until recently, but in all honesty it should have been obvious!” Ford flipped the page, showing off an impressive drawing of a small pond surrounded by trees. “It’s a spring! Most ley lines are far below the earth and difficult to access, so while I can detect them fairly easily I don’t think I ever saw one physically before. But the pond is directly over one of the biggest lines in the area.”

“I remember you said something when we were fighting Bill.” Stan interrupted, trying to make sense of it all. “About how the magic was… Alive?”

Fiddleford at least seemed properly awed by this information, probably because he actually knew a thing or two about magic. “Well that makes sense don’t it? Ley lines are filled with magic that stems from life itself.”

Ford was nodding, knees bouncing with his excitement over the discovery. “Obviously drinking straight from the fountain wouldn’t be safe, it would be far too potent, but if the properties slowly seeped into the surrounding area over time, then they could theoretically have diluted, but similar, effects.”

That was… It wasn’t necessarily scary, but it was crazy to think that the thing in his head could have been caused by something that sounded so powerful and important. “But why’d it make me younger then? And what was the silver from?”

Ford hmmed in reply, rubbing his chin as he studied his own notes. “That I can only guess at, but it could be that ‘life’ in this case is applied more literally. As in it literally provides more years of life to any creature that consumes it by reversing the aging process. As for the silver, well the earth’s crust is filled with it, and silver has many magical and non-magical properties that allows it to act as a purifying agent. Many cultures believe that it’s a symbol of the purity of nature itself.”

“That seems kind of dangerous, for it to be out in the open like that.”

“Oh of course, which is why I plan on heading back to place wards around the whole area.” Ford smiled, “You could even come with me when you feel up to it, get to know the layout of the land for future trips.”

Stan’s confusion over the explanation was instantly forgotten, replaced with excitement. “You mean I actually get to go look at the fountain of youth? I thought you wouldn’t want me anywhere near the thing.”

“Well I’m sure you have some sense of self preservation Stanley, enough not to go skipping past a deadly pool of liquid magic at least.”

“True…” He paused, realizing something. “Now that I think about it, shouldn’t we tell people about this? Fountain of youth and all, seems like the key to immortality.”

But Ford shook his head. “While it could be an amazing discovery for humanity I’m wary about jumping to conclusions. Over time the magic affected the land around it, despite not being directly consumed. The sand has the ability to de-age someone, as we already know, and I have a feeling that the sap of the nearby trees could have a similar result, maybe even the bark and the leaves as well. Imagine what consuming it repetitively could do to someone over time.”

Stan sighed and sat back, mourning his brief idea to get rich by selling youth potions and the like. “Ok, so no telling people about the radioactive pond magic, got it.”

“You were going to try to make money off of it, weren’t you?” Ford teased, a knowing look in his eye.

Stan pressed a faux-offended hand to his chest, “Me? Never!” He turned to Maria, who appeared to be about as broadsided by the information as he’d been, based on the look on her face. “Don’t believe what he says, I’m a model citizen! I wouldn’t dream of taking advantage of people like that!” He batted his eyelashes at her,

She grinned indulgently, patting his head. “I’m sure you’ve never done anything wrong in your life mijo.” Everyone chuckled at that.

The conversation slowly died down, until it was just a quiet discussion on further medical care (mostly rest and nutrition) between Stanford and Maria. By that point Stan was practically dozing, his eyelids too heavy to keep open any more. He was about to ask for a drink before he nodded off, running a tongue over his dry lips, when he noticed something that had him sitting up again. “Oh, hey Ford! Guess what!”

All eyes turned to him, curious. “Yes, what is it Stanley?”

“I got my teeth back!”

_____________________

Stan couldn’t find it in him to be upset about the downtime that Maria enforced on him, not with the elation from growing his teeth back still running through his head. Feeling smooth enamel and regular gums instead of the familiar partials had been unbelievably satisfying. So instead of moping about the required convalescence he let himself sit back and enjoy it while it lasted.

Ultimately it didn’t take long for him to get back on his feet, but for once he didn’t have to go anywhere. He could just lounge around, helping with odd projects, and occasionally going out to grab something or other that the nerds needed. His second visit to the Dusk 2 Dawn had been interesting, to say the least. At least a mysterious new twin brother with a questionable backstory was more than enough to distract from questions about the kid who’d been with Ford about a week ago.

The basement was pretty much off limits, mainly because no one wanted to go down there, and Ford even seemed interested in Stan’s suggestion to hide the door behind something more innocuous. He was hesitant about the vending machine idea, even though it was obviously genius, but he didn’t dismiss it outright. Stan still wanted to try out the whole tours thing, if he could convince Ford to go with it. At least then he could help with the house’s income.

Maria still visited, even though she didn’t need to provide any medical help. She mostly just came to talk, and pester Stan about brushing up on his sewing abilities. Who knows how she learned about that particular “skill”. She liked to bring little gifts with her as well, including an adult sized version of the shirt he’d gotten from Fiddleford. The little whale on the front was as cheerful as ever, and he couldn’t even pretend that he didn’t love it.

If he was being honest, the whole thing had started to feel… weird. Domestic. He lived in a house with people who didn’t hate his guts and who weren’t trying to sell him drugs, or kill him. He still had Rico to worry about, but considering his brother was practically a wizard he felt a lot less nervous about that than he normally would. Ford hadn’t been pleased to hear about Stan’s connections with the Mexican cartel of all things, but most of the ire stemmed from worry. Not that he could point fingers, what with the demon summoning and all.

It wasn’t hard to be distracted by other things at least, and above all else Stan’s favourite distraction was the monster hunting. Ford didn’t call it that, he called each outing a “research trip”, but Stan knew it was really just them going out to hunt monsters. He didn’t always have to punch them either, since some of them were actually friendly. The hard part was figuring out which ones. The mean ones had a tendency to look more approachable, and the nicer ones usually wanted to be left alone. Turned out Stan’s skills as a salesman were pretty handy in getting them an audience with the Multibear, a creature Stanford had thought to be unapproachable after various unfortunate encounters. A few jokes and a compliment about the bear’s music taste had him eating out of Stan’s hand. He was a pretty nice guy too.

Stan even managed to make some money on the side selling off some of the random junk that the nerds deemed safe for the public. He marketed them as science doodads, playing up their functions as a mystery to cover up the fact that they did nothing in particular. It helped relieve some of the curiosity that had built up in the town, and let him earn a bit of a name for himself. That mysterious guy who lived up with the other mysterious people in that mysterious shack. (Hmm, that sounded kind of catchy…)

It was nice. He was really starting to settle in with his brother and Fiddleford, and was living a more carefree life chasing monsters and exploring new places than he’d ever dreamed of.

But as nice as it was, the more time that passed the more Stan couldn’t help feeling like there was another shoe that needed to drop, lord knew he’d already dealt with at least five other pairs. Because that had been his life up until now, just a constant wait for something new and terrible to happen. He’d come to expect it. Better to brace himself for the inevitable rather than be caught by surprise. It was worse when it was a surprise. It had been a month already since he’d regained his adult body, and he couldn’t use his recovery as a buffer anymore to put off his misgivings.

When Fiddleford announced that he was taking a small sabbatical, to go see his wife and kid, the feeling only intensified. Sure Fiddleford would come back to work with Ford again, plus he still had that cult thing to deal with. But for now it was just Stan and Ford, and occasionally Maria, hanging out in the same big house, doing nothing until the engineer returned. The less Stan had to keep him occupied, the more uneasy he became.

Ford must have noticed that his brother was feeling off, because that’s when he invited Stan to sit down on the porch with a couple of beers, to enjoy the cool weather while bundled up to their eyeballs. Stan could break in the new jacket he’d bought with the cash earned from his doodad sales. His old coat had been falling apart at the seams, and his other clothes weren’t very pleasant to look at either, even after being washed.

Ford didn’t drink much. Sure he collected fancy brews and vintages, which he kept on shelves around the house. He even had a canteen he took with him, though it was mostly a just in case sort of thing. But he just wasn’t the type to sit down and crack open a cold one, let alone out in the frigid air of a winter’s evening.

That meant it was a rare event, so Stan silently obliged. He sipped his beer slowly, peeking at his brother occasionally over the lip of the can. Together they sat and puffed steamy breaths into the darkening sky.

“I’ve been thinking,” Ford began, “about a lot of things. In fact I’ve been rather motivated to dwell on stuff I might have avoided in the past, since that only ever seemed to come back to haunt me later.”

Stan quirked a brow. “This gonna be another one of those shmoopy heart to heart talks? Haven’t we had a bunch of those already?”

Ford smiled, huffing in amusement. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“Well, I guess it’s not.” Stan admitted. He sighed. “That sort of thing just comes easier as a kid. I’m not really used to it now.”

“Well maybe we can rectify that?” It’s voiced as a question, and that more than anything told Stan that Ford was just as unsure about this whole thing as he was.

“… Yeah, that sounds… Okay.”

Ford stalled for a moment, like he’d expected Stan to fight it more. Stan was a little surprised too, but he wanted things to work out this time around, and if that meant he had to get all mushy and uncomfortable then it was a sacrifice he was willing to make. It wasn’t like he hadn’t already poured his heart out over everything.

But Ford wasn’t interested in taking things slow, he went straight for the throat. “Have you considered seeing a therapist?”

Stan choked on his drink, coughing as he resisted the urge to take off running for the hills. Immediately he thought of a million different deflections, a thousand different variations of blunt, but honest, rejection. But in the end he finally settled for asking “Why?” his voice rough from the choking and definitely not from nerves.

Ford winced, “I thought that’d be obvious.”

“What about you?” He tried not to let that sound as accusing as it felt. “Pretty sure you’d need it just as much as me, if I needed it. You planning to go to therapy too?”

“Yes.” Was the immediate response. “It’ll certainly be difficult, considering how much of what happened involved eldritch horror and demonic possession, but I wouldn’t expect you to go into it alone, and you’re right when you say that I need it as much as you do.”

“I thought you said that head doctors were all quacks, since their profession was a “soft science” or something…” Stan was definitely deflecting now, though he felt like he’d earned at least a little bit of resistance.

“I also thought Bill was my muse, and…” Ford cleared his throat, looking down at his shoes. “I thought a lot of things about you that turned out to be wildly incorrect.”

Stan blinked, taken aback. “Oh.”

“And talking about stuff with you, instead of avoiding it, has helped. I’ve even enjoyed it to some extent, despite the heavy topics. I’ve enjoyed just… Talking with you. So if we get more used to talking about that sort of thing, or more importantly, learn how to talk about that sort of thing, maybe we can just…” Ford shrugged, “Talk.”

Stan stared down at his half empty beer. “I can’t make any promises.” He admitted, “I get where you’re coming from, and half of me thinks it’s a good idea but… Have I told you I was put in the loony bin once?”

Ford jerked, twisting to look at him with wide eyes. “I-, no you most certainly haven’t told me that! What happened?” He faltered, “I mean, if you want to talk about it that is…”

“Nah it’s alright. I thought if I did something crazy in prison that I’d be able to stay somewhere safer until I finished my sentence.” He picked at his sleeve, yeah, that hadn’t been his smartest move. It had been worse than prison. “I know there are good, uh, mental health places popping up nowadays…”

“Short stay treatment centers.” Ford supplied automatically.

“Yeah, and I know there are good therapists too, and if anyone can find the good ones it’s you, right? But I don’t exactly have a good history with that sort of thing…” He peered at his brother, who looked like a kicked puppy. “Hey, don’t go thinking that it was a bad idea, or even that I’m saying no! Just… Let me warm up to the idea, okay?”

Ford nodded. “Of course. What was the name of the institution you stayed at, by the way?”

“Ah it got shut down years ago, I don’t even remember the name, and I was out of it most of the time I was there anyways.” Ford stiffened, and Stan reached over to pat him on the shoulder. “It happened a long time ago, it’s over and done with. If you wanna talk about it then I guess I’d be an ass if I said no after everything that’s happened, but there’s nothing you can do now so don’t get all mad about it.”

“You’re not obligated to share stuff Stan, unless you want to.” Ford rubbed at the bridge of his nose. “This is supposed to be helpful, not a hostage situation.”

Stan smirked, swirling his drink. “I see what you mean though, the talking thing. It is kinda nice. Heck, even the not nice bits aren’t too bad.” He took another sip, leaning back to watch the stars as they slowly appeared. These were the normal white stars that he was used to seeing, which he appreciated. “I wouldn’t say no to doing it again, if you wanted.”

The feeling before, the anticipation, it hadn’t totally gone away, but he recognized it now. It was just regular old fear. The kind that didn’t care about rational thinking and logical evidence, it was the adult version of the monster under the bed, the one that had kids leaping the last few feet to the mattress at night, tucking their toes under the blanket. That sort of thing was what therapy was for, wasn’t it? Or if that didn’t pan out he could always keep talking to his brother, and dispel it. Make it seem less real, less dangerous.

Ford’s eyes were gentle with understanding. “I would like that.”

In unison they leaned forward and clinked their beers together, then tossed the rest back and threw the cans into the forest, where they were gleefully gathered up by the local gnomes. It beat recycling.

Stan held up a hand, wiggling his fingers in front of him with a grin on his face “High six?”

The returning smile was equally as bright, and Ford’s own hand rose up to meet his in the middle. “High six.”