Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Stan stood before the cabin, coat pulled tight against the cold. Ford’s card had left a lot to be desired, namely an explanation of why he wanted to see Stan after a decade of silence. But still it wasn’t like Stan had anything better to do than stand in the freezing snow, staring at the rundown cabin Ford lived in. Satellite dishes and metal antennas stuck out of the roof like bent nails hammered by an idiot. Didn’t the guy have enough grant money to get a nicer place? And why were the windows boarded up? Something in the back of Stan’s mind told him to leave, that whatever was going on here was dangerous, that his deadbeat brother wasn’t worth it. 

Stan pushed his doubts down and walked up the drive, maybe Ford just wanted to awkwardly talk in person rather than write a poetic apology in his fancy handwriting. Hold on, was that blood on the porch? Stan looked around nervously, noticing a few more stains smeared across the old wood. Stan felt sick to his stomach. Sure he’d seen blood before. What criminal hadn’t? But this either meant that Ford was hurt, or that he’d hurt someone else.

He took a deep breath and knocked on the door, “Sixer?”

The door was yanked open a little too vigorously by a grinning Ford, “STANLY! YOU CAME! I thought you’d be too busy getting drunk in the middle of nowhere! It’s nice to see you again! Still got all your teeth? Come on in!”

Stan hesitated, there was something very wrong with Ford. His brother was covered in bruises and cuts, some bandaged, some open, a stream of dried blood went from his right eye down to his chin, his clothes were stained and torn worse than Stan’s after a fistfight. But most telling was his face, he was grinning way harder than any normal person and his eyes were open far wider than anyone would be comfortable with. Still, Stan would go along with him for the time being, just until he figured out why his overly composed brother had seemingly forgotten what an indoor voice was. Talking too loudly for comfort was Stan’s job after all.

“Nice place ya got here Poindexter,” Stan remarked, stepping inside and surveying the mess of a living room. Blood stained the walls and splattered across the tables. Strange devices, odd diagrams, and the scribbled writings of a madman covered every available surface, but one message in particular caught his eye. ‘HE’S BEEN WEARING MY FACE!’ Written in pen on the wall. Stan’s skin crawled as he heard the click of a key in the door.

“Thank you, I tried my best,” the thing in Ford’s body smiled as Stan turned to face it. Its eyes glowed yellow in the dim room, with slit pupils like a cat. It held a crossbow level with Stan’s chest, “this isn’t anything personal Mullet, Sixer just hasn’t quite figured out what happens when he tries to beg for help” the voice was wrong now too, high pitched, echoey, and manic as the creature laughed.

It pulled the trigger at the same moment Stan flung himself to the side. The arrow embedded itself in his shoulder with a thunk. The creature swore in a language Stan didn’t recognize as it attempted to reload the crossbow. Stan wasn’t going to let it. He grabbed a thing that looked like a taser and charged, knocking his brother to the floor. He hit the weapon’s on button and jammed it into Not-Ford’s shoulder. 

Nothing happened. It beeped, “anomaly detected”

“Dammit Sixer,” was all Stan could manage before the thing punched him in the face. It was laughing again as it rolled on top of Stan. He grabbed behind its head and rammed it into his own before wrapping his arms and legs around the creature, pinning it to his body. 

Ford might have put on some muscle in the past ten years but he was still no match for Stan, who’d spent 10 years in and out of fights.

“I don’t know who or what you are, but I won’t let you hurt my family,” Stan spat into its stolen ear.

“How cute! Standing up for the family that hates your innards and wishes you were dead!” The creature twisted the arrow in Stan’s shoulder and took the opportunity to push itself up and out of his weakened grip. 

Stan stood up only a little bit slower, “what do you want with Ford anyway?” he snapped, picking up a hexagonal piece of metal from a table.

“Wouldn’t you like to know!” The thing grabbed the unloaded crossbow and hefted it like a club. 

Stan charged again, blocking the crossbow on his injured arm and hitting the creature over the head with the hexagon. The glow left Ford’s eyes as his brother crashed to the ground. Stan stood over him, panting, before he crouched to check for a pulse. He wasn’t going to let Ford down this time, they’d figure something out.

Ford abruptly coughed up some blood, more trickling from his right eye as he met Stan’s gaze, “Stanley?” it was his eyes and voice, thank Paul Bunyan.

“I’m right here Stanford” Stan smiled, forcing the creature’s comment about his family to the back of his mind. It was lying, probably.

Chapter Text

Everything hurt as Ford came to. His head pounded and his eye bled as he turned his attention to the blurry figure before him. Above him? He wasn’t sure. The stranger looked like him. Was this a mirror? No, the hair was too long and the clothes were different. 

“Stanley?” he asked, trying to see his brother’s eyes. Stan wasn’t possessed was he? Fingers crossed this wasn’t a nightmare. How had Stan gotten here? Who’d let him in? What did he want? Why did he have a crossbow bolt in his shoulder?

“I’m right here Stanford,” Stan’s voice was just as rough as he remembered. It would be comforting if not for everything Stan had done. Stan had done more than ruin his project right? Or was that it? Between Bill’s magic and Fiddleford’s invention he wasn’t sure he could trust his own memory. 

He coughed more blood, “What’s going on?” he asked, half expecting Bill’s mocking laughter and half expecting Stan to insult him.

“You tell me,” Stan said with a wince, “it’s not like you explained in the postcard, and what’s with the yellow-eyed bodysnatcher?”

“Bill? You met Bill? What did he say to you? Whatever it was he was lying. He didn’t hurt you, did he?” Ford forced himself to sit upright, the sudden motion making his head spin. What was he saying? Of course Bill had hurt Stan, the arrow in Stan’s shoulder and the developing bruise on his brother’s face were proof enough of that.

“Woah, calm down there Ford. I’m fine. I’ve been hurt way worse by bigger jerks than this Bill guy. Heck, I once had to chew my way out of the trunk of a car. This doesn’t even crack my top ten worst injuries,” Stan was smiling, it was a fake TV smile, but it was Stan’s smile, not Bill’s. This was definitely Stan. Even with all the bad blood between them a part of Ford was grateful for his brother’s presence. A larger part was annoyed by Stan’s naive underestimation of the demon who’d ruined his life.

“Bill isn’t a force to be trifled with,” Ford cautioned, blinking the last of the blood from his eye.

“Fair enough, you got a first aid kit somewhere in this mess? I’m not in the mood to owe money to some quack with a medical degree.”

Ford stared at him incredulously as he finally managed to stand up, of course Stan would say something that boneheaded. Ford was starting to regret asking Stan for help, he should have just froze himself in the bunker to deprive Bill of his puppet. He took a breath, “No, I ran out of medical supplies a few days ago,” he paused, second guessing himself “or was it weeks?”

“Yeesh, no wonder you look so rough, I think I’ve got some stuff in my car.” Stan was giving him a concerned look, “Eh, I’ll make it work. Just don’t get possessed while I’m gone, K’ poindexter?”

Ford watched his brother walk out the door. Stan might still be joking still but something had changed from the loveable goof he’d been as a kid. There was a tightness to his movements, his smile was fake now, and he had the look of a man who’d seen things, a man who’d done things. 

Ford scrambled through the empty house. Where had he put the journal again? There it was. He pulled the battered book out from under a truly impressive pile of spare parts. A post-it note fluttered off the front cover. ‘JUST GIVE UP SIXER’ Ford crumpled it and threw it at the wall. His plan was almost complete, all that was left was for Stan to hide this thing on the other side of the world. The portal couldn’t be activated without the journals.

It was an agonizing half hour before Stan came back in. His brother was now wearing a bright blue v-neck that Ford had seen in one of Stan’s infomercials. The shyster was also wearing his showy brown coat in place of the damaged red one. His right arm was in a well used sling while his left held a battered and stained first aid kit. 

“I usually save this getup for when I’m on TV but in this weather anything without holes is a win,” Stan gave him another fake grin, “you’ve got some nice crossbows out here, I’ll give you that. You want some bandaids for those?” he gestured at the cuts on Ford’s hands.

“I’ll be fine, just take my journal. Hide it, hide it on the other side of the world if you have to. Anywhere Bill can’t find it,” Ford said, offering his research to Stan.

“What?” Stan looked dumbfounded, “that’s why you called me out here? To tell me to get as far away from you as possible?”

“This journal contains information that could end our world. I’ve hidden the other two already but I need this one as far away from Gravity Falls as possible and you’re the only person I can trust right now”

“No,” Stan said, setting the first aid kit on a table. He’d finally dropped the TV grin. Ford didn’t miss it.

“What do you mean ‘no’? Was I not clear that the fate of the universe was at stake?”

“Look, I know you’re still mad about that stupid science fair project and that you’ve gotten it into your head that you’re better off wasting away in this stupid shack. But I’ve fought off criminals, traveled around the world a few times, gone to jail in three countries, and done a lot of things I’m not proud of over the years. And if I’ve learned anything from all that it’s that if you’re dealing with a lone jerk like Bill you’re almost always gonna win if you’ve got backup. Besides, if that book is half as dangerous as you say it is then that body-stealing demon is gonna come for it anyway. I’m gonna help you out here Sixer, whether you want me to or not,” Stan stood up straight, his brow furrowed in determination, “plus, I’m not losing the only person I still consider family to some monster”

Ford stared at him. Stan still thought of him as family? And he expected Ford to reciprocate that? After everything? Ford’s head spun again, sleep clawed at the edges of his consciousness. He needed a cup of coffee and as much as he hated to admit it, Stan did have a point. Bill was nothing if not persistent and the thought of Stan having to face something that cruel and powerful sickened him. But he couldn’t trust anyone. Bill was right about that if nothing else, after all everyone he’d trusted had betrayed him, even Fiddleford, his nearest and dearest friend, had left him.

“Please Stanley, you don’t want to get involved in this mess. It’s too dangerous. Please just take the journal and go,” he implored, he couldn’t have Stan promise help before walking away. Ford had been through enough already.

“I’ve been involved since that nightmare opened the door, so either you tell me what’s going on or I go through all your things and find out that way,” Stan’s tone was firm and uncompromising. Ford wanted to argue, but he was almost too exhausted to stand, he really needed that coffee.

“Fine, I’ll tell you.”

Chapter Text

Stan didn’t really know why he was so insistent on staying. Perhaps it was because he needed a place to stay after being banned from half the country and broke from the Columbia incident. It wasn’t like Ford was charging him money to be here anyway. Of course this mess was probably going to be more dangerous than being trapped in a car trunk at the bottom of a lake, but still, at least he wasn’t alone this time. Monsters or not, he had his brother now, even if Ford didn’t want him.

“Nice tattoo Poindexter,” Stan snickered as he rebandaged a nasty looking gash on Ford’s back. They were in Ford’s room now, sitting on the bed as Stan patched Ford up, occasionally hissing in pain when he moved his injured arm a bit too far.

“I didn’t get it,” Ford said tensely, flinching as Stan sprayed cheap disinfectant on another patch of scrapes.

“Right,” Stan muttered, remembering the demon who’d taken Ford’s body for a joyride earlier, “What’s up with that anyway? How’d you wind up in this mess? You said you’d tell me.”

“I did,” Ford’s tone was soft as he looked down, “It started about six years after I finished college. I had moved out here to study anomalies and supernatural beings but I’d hit a roadblock in the process of determining their origin.”

Stan nodded along, it made sense that his weird brother would go poke other weird things until they poked back.

“It was at this time when I discovered an ancient depiction of a being with answers on a cave wall. Like any man of science I read the inscription, assumed that the warnings were simply the result of humanity’s habit of fearing the unknown, and summoned the creature in question.”

That definitely sounded like Ford, if he even thought he saw the word ‘knowledge’ all caution went out the window and no amount of ‘do not do this’ warning signs could stop him. This would of course mean Stan had to save him from Crampelter’s goons or whoever else he ticked off.

“He appeared in my dreams not long after and introduced himself as Bill Cipher. He claimed to be a muse who chose one great mind a century to inspire. Needless to say I was thrilled when he offered the answer to my question, informing me that the supernatural properties of Gravity Falls comes from a parallel dimension of weirdness leaking into ours,” Ford shifted sideways on the bed so Stan could better deal with his bruised and cut up shoulder, “He offered me the schematics for an interdimensional gateway that would allow me to explore this other dimension. I accepted of course and began work on the device.”

The con was starting to take shape in Stan’s mind. As a shyster himself he knew that the best grifts were the ones where the victim can’t see any apparent downside or drawback, especially if they don’t even realize you’re getting something out of it. But what did Bill want out of the portal? He finished tying a clean bandage around Ford’s hand and kept listening.

“I quickly realized that I wouldn’t make it far on my own so I recruited an old college buddy of mine to help me out. His name was Fiddleford Mcgucket and he was the most brilliant mechanic I’d ever met,” Ford laughed a little, “you should have seen him solve a cubix cube, the man was practically magic.”

Stan rolled his eyes, the way Ford was talking you’d think he finally got a girlfriend instead of a lab partner.

“Anyway, despite our best efforts, construction still went far too slowly for my liking. In time I became frustrated by my body’s demands for sleep and complained to Bill about it. He once again proposed a solution, he’d use my body to work on the portal while I slept. It just seemed like the best idea at the time.”

Well that explained Ford’s massive eye bags and newfound coffee addiction. Stan once again felt the annoyance that came with Ford’s inability to consider the consequences of his bad decisions. Sure, Stan had made a lot of bad calls in his time but at least he never entered a deal without considering what the other guy was getting out of it and giving a hard no if they said they didn’t want anything. He figured Ford should have known that after growing up with both him and their mother conning everyone but it seemed like even self-righteous geniuses had their glaring blind spots.

“About two months ago we completed the portal and decided to test it. Fiddleford and I decided to send a crash dummy through to determine its safety rather than risk our own lives in the process. What we didn’t realize was that the dummy’s rope was still around Fiddleford’s wrist when we turned it on. He was pulled halfway into the machine before I was able to grab hold of the rope and drag him back. I turned the portal off and excitedly asked him what he saw, instead of answering he gave me an ominous prophecy and quit the project in a huff.”

Stan would bet his lucky dice that Ford had ignored that warning too. His brother’s pride and ego had clearly gotten the better of him without Stan to keep him in check. Why was that his job again? Ford was clearly in over his head.

“After a bit of stewing I decided to rant to Bill, as he was the only person I had left. But when I entered the mindscape to find him he was busy telling an army of monsters that ‘the door was open’. I confronted him about this and he confirmed his true aim, he was going to remake our dimension to his twisted liking. He was not a muse but a dream demon. I swore to stop him, shutting down the portal and hiding my journals detailing its operation. Given that he retained the ability to possess my body while I slept I installed a retinal scanner on my lab door. He’s been trying anything to coerce me into turning it back on. Chances are he’ll kill me if this keeps up.”

Ford turned to Stan and looked him in the eyes, “that’s why I need you to take that journal as far from here as possible. The fate of our entire dimension depends on it, please.”

Stan stared at his brother, Ford’s desperation was written all over his face. He made a mental note to punch Bill if he ever met the demon outside of Ford’s body. He could drill some common sense into Ford later.

“I said no Sixer. You’re not going to just give up on yourself. Look, we’re both outta luck and friends and we’re got no place else to go. All we got is each other so let’s try not to fuck that up. I’ve got an idea for your sleep problem, but I need to know what to look out for. Namely, what does this thing look like and what can he do to me?”

“Bill is capable of invading the dreams of anyone he wants but can’t possess you unless you shake his hand and let him. Possessing me he has my full physical abilities. He is both vicious and cruel, he has no sense of honor or fairness and would peel the flesh off your bones given the chance. Don’t give him that chance. As for what he looks like, he’s a yellow one eyed triangle in a bowtie and tophat. Think of the eye of providence but pure evil.” Ford’s tone was tired and desperate, he looked on the verge of nodding off. Stan poked him hard in order to keep him from passing out, he was not in the mood to go another round with Bill.

Stan forced a laugh to ease the tension, “I knew my hatred of triangle math wasn’t irrational.”

“First off, it’s call trigonometry, secondly-”

“Nope, nope, nope, don’t care,” Stan cut him off “The only math I like is the kind that involves counting cards in Vegas”

Ford laughed a little. It was nice to hear that sound again, even if this was far more deadly than their childhood Jersey Devil hunt, “Okay, what’s your sleeping solution?”

Chapter Text

Fiddleford hated going out in public. It was loud and he could swear it was watching him. Unpaired eyes slithered across his body and under his skin as he attempted to find one reasonably priced food item in this cursed place. The memory was everywhere, watching him from food, money, sharpie sketches on the floor. It wouldn’t leave, he’d erased it a thousand times but it wouldn’t go away. Maybe if he erased Ford it would leave. He didn’t want to though. Then again, Ford was an obsessive jerk who’d ruined his life.

“Sorry,” he muttered, colliding with another customer. No, not any customer, Ford. Wait no, this man’s hair was too long, Ford’s was short. Right? He couldn’t remember. He didn’t want to see Ford now. Or ever. Unless he was lying to himself. He missed Ford.

“Hey, it happens,” The stranger spoke. His voice was wrong, but not Night-Ford wrong. “I’m trying to get some food for my idiot brother,” the man laughed, “He seems to think coffee is a full meal.”

Fiddleford laughed along, this Not-Ford was nicer than Night-Ford, “I knew a guy like that a while back,” he paused, why was he talking about Ford? Did he really miss him that badly? “He was a jerk though, worse at night too”

“Yeesh, sorry about that, I’ve got my share of jerky ex-friends so you ain’t alone,” the man rolled his eyes. One of his arms was in a sling. Fiddleford wondered why. “The name’s Stan by the way. Anyhoo, you wouldn’t happen to know where the reasonably priced items are around here would you.”

“Nah,” Fiddleford admitted, glad Stan hadn’t asked any more questions about his ex-partner, “Ma and Pa are nice enough but they’re practically committing a crime with these prices” He could always erase their memory of their prices and lower them himself. But would that do more harm than good? He and Ivan were just helping people with bad memories, weren’t they? 

“Ah well, there’s always shoplifting.” Stan smiled and Fiddleford briefly wondered whether or not he was serious as he disappeared to another isle. 

Opting not to think too hard about that Fiddleford continued his shopping. The memory crept into his periphery as he finished up. Luckily he made it to the parking lot before it hit in full. His mind swirled as everything he couldn’t erase crawled into his skull. The wild laughter, the beast with one eye peeling its exoskeleton off, somebody screaming, a clawed hand reaching for his face, an army of demons howling, burnt hair smell, a swirling miasma of chaos. It was too much. He was helpless to stop anything. They’d come in. Gravity would fall and everything would end. He needed the memory gun. He needed a friend. He needed help. He needed-

“Hey man, are you ok?” The voice pulled him out of his head as he felt a warm hand on his shoulder. He flinched back at the sight of Ford. No, not Ford, Stan, yes this was Stan.

“I warned him,” Fiddleford choked out, not caring if he was understood. He was crying. Since when was he crying? Everything felt upside down and backwards, “I told him he could still get famous off of his studies, that the portal wasn’t worth it, that it’d be bad. But I still showed up to the test. His stupid pretty science face convinced me it would be worth it,” he grabbed Stan’s shoulders abruptly, not noticing the man’s flinch as he gripped his injured arm, “I’ve seen things no mortal man should see! Whatever you do don’t even think of turning it on and don’t listen to Ford! He’s a madman who’ll drag you to hell with him!”

Fiddleford broke down as Stan settled himself in front of him, a hand still on his shoulder, “I take it you’re Fiddleford then, the guy who got half stuck in the portal and witnessed the nightmare fuel dimension or wherever that thing leads. And I get why you don’t trust Ford. I came out here to see my twin for the first time in about a decade and got shot by a demon wearing his face in place of a warm reunion. But I’m gonna try and fix things. He’s all I got at this point and if that means fighting demons and dragging him out of his delusions with my bare hands then so be it,” he offered Fiddleford a smile, “I won’t force you to do anything but it’d be nice to have backup from someone who knows how that stupid portal works.”

Stan didn’t know what he was getting into, Ford never listened to reason even when those who loved him got hurt. But on the other hand there was a part of him that hated the idea of Ford self-destructing alone in the woods. Stan was nice but he was a bit too trusting of a man who’d never confessed to having a twin. He stood up shakily,  “Good luck getting Stanford to see reason. You’d have better luck fusing atoms with a rock and some squirrel droppings.” he sighed and pressed a dark red card with his number on it into Stan’s hands before walking back to his car, “Give me a few days to consider, then call”

Giant robots help them both.

Chapter Text

Stan’s shoulder hurt as he returned to the shack. That really was the only proper name for the run down place. Ford’s only grocery request had been black coffee so Stan had just grabbed whatever was cheapest in regards to everything else. He wondered if Ford had gotten any sleep tied up in that blanket. He sighed and threw the door open, sending the anomaly detector he’d mistaken for a taser clattering across the floor as he reentered his brother’s messy lab.

A faint skittering sound coming from Ford’s room caught his attention. He picked up the discarded crossbow off the floor and reloaded it with ease, putting a spare quiver of bolts in his sling. It was actually kinda funny that Bill hadn’t been able to figure the thing out. He walked as quietly as he could towards Ford’s room. The skittering got louder as he approached. 

He opened the door to see a monster looming over Ford’s unconscious form. The thing was long and tar-like with eyes all over its body. Eyes that all fixed on him the minute he walked in. The thing hissed as it glared at him.

“Am I interrupting something?” Stan asked, forcing a grin. Why was Ford constantly attracting things that wanted to kill him?

The monster howled and lunged at him. Skittering on too many legs to count its face split into a giant mouth with more eyes inside it. Stan fired the crossbow only for the bolt to get lost in the tar of the thing’s body. He turned and sprinted down the hall. Why was everything in this building trying to kill him today?

The monster followed him as he tore through the house. Where to hide? Where to hide? There! He ducked into the bathroom and slammed the door. 

Ford’s frantic writing covered the walls in here too. No, not Ford’s writing, someone else’s. ‘HEY FORDSY, IM SENDING SOMEONE TO STEAL YOUR EYES! SAY GOODBYE TO YOUR VISION SIXER!’ Stan’s skin crawled, he could venture a guess as to who’d written that in his brother’s blood.

A faint tapping sound came from the mirror as the eye stealer pushed itself through the glass. Stan thought fast, the crossbow was useless but he wasn’t without options. He grabbed some of Ford’s shampoo, pulled the lid off, and splashed it across as much of the creature as he could.

The thing howled in pain and clawed at its weeping eyes. Stan put the crossbow down as it thrashed and pulled a spare bolt from the quiver. If most of these eyes were stolen maybe it had an original. He took the bolt and rammed it as hard as he could into the largest eye he could see.

The thing screamed again and sank its teeth into Stan’s leg before going limp. Stan hissed in pain as it melted into a puddle of slimy black-ish goo.

He forced himself to limp back to Ford’s room and flicked the lights on, “Hey Sixer, you still got your eyes?”

“Sure do, nice leg wound by the way!” Bill announced cheerfully, sitting up as much as the blanket and ropes wrapped around him would allow. 

Stan rolled his eyes and slammed the door, “Not dealing with that right now,” he muttered to himself.

He was lucky that the bite was shallow and easy enough to clean. He wrapped some of the recently bought gauze around the limb as he glared at the wall of the empty room he’d decided had the least triangles and writing in it. He wondered again why he was doing this. He’d almost died twice in under 6 hours, which was insane even by his standards.

He took another look at the room and its tackey carpet. Eh, they’d make the house livable tomorrow. Right now Stan needed sleep. He laid down on his back and stared at the ceiling until everything went dark.

Stan was driving. It didn’t matter where he was going, he just needed to get somewhere that wasn’t Missouri. He wasn’t banned in Kansas yet was he? He was out in the middle of nowhere. An old faded sign whisked past him advertising a town called B-something-ville, he couldn’t really read it. Could be a good rest stop.

It was a ghost town. Empty homes and a burnt out building with an equally charred metal structure sticking up from it greeted him as he got out of his car to get a better look at the landscape.

“She’s a beauty ain’t she?” A chipper voice said from beside him. The man sounded like he should be on a fifties talk show and wore a back suit with a hat angled to obscure his eyes. He also looked like a corpse and smelled like formaldehyde, adding to Stan’s discomfort.

“What is… she?” Stan asked awkwardly, wondering how on earth this guy had snuck up on him.

“Just a pet project of mine, a gateway to better things and infinite possibilities!” He was smiling, an uncomfortably familiar grin that Stan couldn’t quite place.

He backed up, “Who are you anyway?”

“The name’s Silas, Silas Birchtree!” he offered a hand for Stan to shake. Stan put his own hands in his pockets, something was wrong here.

“Steve Pinington,” Stan said, he never used his real name with strangers and he wasn’t about to start now. Especially in a suspicious ghost town.

“Pleased to meet ya!” Silas retracted the gaunt hand, seemingly unoffended by Stan’s declining of the handshake, “I actually have a preposition for you.”

Stan arched an eyebrow, “What do you want?” There was something fishy going on here but he’d go along with it until he had more information. 

“As you can see, I’ve run into quite a few problems with the gate. Namely of the annoying old lady variety and the stubborn scientist variety,” he laughed wildly for a moment before continuing, “But that’s where you come in! You see, there’s a version of this thing in your basement, all you’ve gotta do is turn it on and then you’ll have the secrets of multiverse at your feet! You could even find a way to go back in time and stop a certain genius from leaving, I bet if you try enough times you’ll get it right! Point is you could have everything you’ve ever wanted! So whaddya say Mullet? You willing to fix your big mistake or let Sixer keep calling you stupid and worthless behind your back? He actually does that, you should read his journals sometime,”

“Your name isn’t Silas is it?” Stan guessed as memories of the day finally came back to him. He forced a laugh, “Y’know, Ford may call me an idiot behind my back but I’ve got something he doesn’t; street smarts. I know what you are, Cipher, and in the actual version of this memory I kept driving.”

Bill laughed, that horrible screeching sound echoed off the inside of his skull as the demon’s disguise filled with bullet holes, immolated, and dissolved into flies to reveal the floating triangle lurking underneath. The scenery dissolved as well, replaced by a starry void littered with evidence of Stan’s greatest failures, a chewed up trunk door, a broken science fair project, that thrice cursed bag of money from the Columbia incident, and a whole lot of used gauze. “You’ve got a good head on your shoulders Stanley, let’s see how long it stays there! ” The demon laughed again, the sound filled the void and echoed louder and louder until-

Stan woke with a start, his heart hammered against his ribs and his wounds hurt like the devil, “Fuck that guy”

Chapter Text

Ford woke up in his own bed, which was unusual given that Bill seemed to enjoy leaving his body out in the elements, slumped against the basement door, or in some other unpleasant location. Furthermore he had no new injuries, which hadn’t happened since he’d quit the portal plan. The cause of his unexpected good health came back to him slowly as he realized he’d only slept after Stan had tied him up in blankets and rope. Apparently this crude but efficient idea came from a woman his brother had been briefly married to who’d done this to him in order to make off with his gambling money. An odd origin for a shockingly effective way to prevent Bill from hurting him.

“Are you awake yet Poindexter?” Stan’s voice echoed through the door and into his otherwise empty bedroom, which now had odd black stains on the wall. How had those gotten there? They didn’t look natural.

“I am in fact conscious Stanley” Ford answered, taking care to use Stan’s actual name as a means of proving he wasn’t possessed. 

The door swung open and Stan limped in. Ford’s attention was immediately drawn to the newer bandages on Stan’s leg. What had happened while he was asleep? Had Bill used a different puppet to attack Stan? Why hadn’t the fight woken him up?

“Had to stop something from stealing your eyeballs while you were out,” Stan said, clearly noticing Ford’s gaze as he moved to untie him, “So what’re we doing about this mess anyway?”

“I imagine we search for a means to prevent further intrusions upon our minds and then go our separate ways as I uncover a method of permanently barring Bill from our dimension,” Ford thought aloud as Stan undid the ropes, “Out of curiosity, did you experience any unusual dreams last night?”

“Yup, that pointy jerk tried to convince me to activate your portal or whatever. I told him to stuff it and woke up,” Stan said with a shrug. Although his expression suggested that whatever the dream was, it had shaken him. 

“You didn’t shake his hand did you?” Ford asked as he sat up, stricken with the fear that Stan could be possessed. His brother was mostly muscles and bad ideas and he did not want to get killed by a demon wearing Stan’s face.

Fortunately Stan laughed at the idea, “What am I, an idiot? Of course I didn’t shake hands with evil geometry, just ‘cause the guy’s on money doesn’t mean I want anything to do with him. I’m not stupid Ford.”

“That’s good to hear.” Ford opted not to correct Stan on that last point in favor of getting off the bed.

“So I was thinking-” Stan cut himself off with a grunt of pain as his injured leg gave out the minute he stood up. Ford caught him awkwardly as Stan fell into him.

“What’s wrong?!” Ford demanded. A flicker of protectiveness left over from his childhood rising up as his gaze traveled to Stan's leg, where something dark was oozing through the bandages.

“I guess that thing was poisonous after all,” Stan muttered.

“Venomous,” Ford corrected

“Whatever,” Stan said, sitting back on the bed and peeling the bandage off, “Oh wow that’s ugly” Ugly was an understatement, the wound looked terrible, with venom rotting it from the inside out.

“I know of a regeneration salve that should be able fix this,” Ford explained to Stan, trying not to let his panic show, “Unfortunately it requires snowwiggler fur and those things are a pain to catch”

“Don’t you keep your nerdy monster stuff on hand? It seems kinda unlike you not to keep stuff you need in a fancy dork bucket somewhere”

“It is true that I had some in a temperature controlled jar, not a ‘dork bucket’. However, unfortunately for us and my research, Bill threw all my remaining medical supplies into the fireplace a few days ago and I haven’t had time to restock,” he sighed and dug through his closet in an effort to find a coat that wasn’t torn or bloodstained, “I can probably catch one if I’m quick about it, it’s nice to be fully rested for once”

“Great, I guess I’m gonna try to make this place livable while you take a turn getting beat up by magic jerks.” 

Ford gave him a stern look, “Don’t touch my inventions”

“Fine, I’ll focus on getting blood out of wood then,” Stan grumbled, he seemed bitter for some reason that was lost on Ford.

A few minutes and a quick breakfast later Ford was striding through the woods. He loved the forest, it was a serene place full of mystery and wonder that even Bill couldn’t ruin. He felt infinitely better with a full night’s sleep even if he didn’t fully trust Stan with his tech.

Wait, what if Stan was lying? What if he had taken Bill’s deal? Stan was a shyster too. What if he didn’t care about the world so long as he got rich? What if he was sneaking into the basement right now? Stan wouldn’t do that would he? 

Ford took a breath, “Snowwigglers first, worry later”

“Aww but you love worrying.” Bill’s teasing voice echoed through his mind, making him flinch.

“Get out of my head”

Bill laughed, “You first”

Ford decided to ignore the reminder of their first meeting as he examined the snow around him for the tell-tale motion of the weasel-like creature. He hated his past self for allowing Bill to talk to him while he was awake.

“I love eye-stealer venom, y’know,” Bill continued rambling as Ford desperately tried to tune him out, “It’s an amazing mix of excruciating pain and your guts melting into caustic slime! Absolutely hilarious! Plus, you get to watch the man who ruined your life rot alive!”  

Ford waited until the demon stopped laughing before simply replying, “I didn’t realize it bit you too”

Bill just laughed harder, his wild cackle giving Ford a headache “I forgot how funny you could be Sixer! You really are a riot! Have fun getting eaten by the way!”

“What did you just-” he cut himself off as a dog-sized white weasel emerged from the snow, its ice armor glittering in the morning light. Just one, he could take one. Snow crunched and shifted as three others appeared around him. This was a pack, he could not face down a pack with nothing but his shaving blowtorch and a stun spell with expired components. He cursed himself for not grabbing his crossbow. Screw Bill, Ford would have noticed the snowwigglers if the demon hadn’t distracted him.

The first one growled as Ford dug through his bag for anything else useful. The creatures drew closer, snowwigglers usually refrained from attacking humans but this winter was harsh and his own injuries probably made him look like easy prey. His hand closed around a cracked can of old spam. Gross, but hopefully distracting. He fished it out and threw it as hard as he could.

The pack took off after it, snowwigglers would always take easy food if they could. Ford waited patiently until the creatures were thoroughly busy tearing open the can. Ford carefully crept up on the things and quickly pulled a handful of fur from between the smallest’s armor plates. The creature spun around growling and the others followed suit.

He ran and they chased him, the snow rippling as they screeched, trying to trip him. A bolt of pain went through his right eye and he swore as he fell facedown in the snow, “Dammit Cipher”

The monsters were on him in an instant, nipping and tearing at whatever they could while he fumbled for the blowtorch. He turned it on and jammed it into one’s underbelly causing the snowwiggler to rear back. He stood up shakily, his bleeding eye obscured half of his vision as he brandished the blowtorch to keep the monsters at bay. He slowly backed towards the shack. Hopefully Stan hadn’t broken anything.

Chapter Text

“Stupid demon, stupid eyeball monster, stupid brother,” Stan grumbled to himself as he tied off his new bandage and made his way towards the door, clinging to the wall for support. Ford’s house was a hot mess with tech, notes, and insane ramblings covering the walls and floor. 

He pushed the front door open with a creak and limped over to his car, trying to ignore both the biting cold and the pain of the venom as he did so. Ford didn’t actually think he was stupid, did he? Nah, Stan decided, that was just an old conman’s trick designed to turn him against Ford. Still, there was no harm in reading through that darn journal right? If anything it would prove that Bill was lying. 

Stan retrieved his 8-ball tipped cane and made his way back indoors, beelining for a cabinet that was labeled ‘cleaning supplies’ and ‘HE HAS EYES EVERYWHERE’. Stan ignored the second label in favor of the stain remover and turned his attention to what was probably a living room with an empty fish tank and notes all over the coffee table. 

He was in the process of picking up Ford’s notes and putting them in messy stacks when he noticed the polaroids. There were loads of them strewn across the floor. All were disturbing in different ways and depicted possessed Ford doing things normal Ford would never do. Anything from disrespecting the law to nailing his hand to the table. Wait a second- Stan’s gaze shifted back to the coffee table bloodstain with renewed horror. They really were in deep weren’t they? He pulled out the spray and resumed cleaning up the mess. His aching leg and the photos of Ford’s yellow-eyed face mocked him.

The rest of the rooms were similarly messy and filled with disturbing evidence of Ford’s torment. Whatever this stain remover was, it worked miracles getting blood, ink, and monster gunk out of wood. Stan checked the label which read ‘fairy tears’ in his brother’s handwriting. Ok, Ford, why?

He returned to the front room, cluttered with inventions and bloodstains. He eyed Ford’s inventions with contempt, ‘don’t touch my inventions’. Well ok Poindexter how was he supposed to clean this then. His leg burned as he sat on an open patch of ground. The journal was right in front of him. Eh, he could finish this room when Ford got back.

The journal was part diary and part science notebook, he flipped through it until he saw a page labeled ‘My Twin’ in Ford’s fancy handwriting. He settled in to read.

‘I suppose I must document my less successful twin for the sake of any future historian studying my life.’ Not a promising start to his page, Stan noted.

‘Stanley is a con artist and criminal who’s meddling cost me my chance to attend West Coast Tech. When we were young I considered him my closest friend and confidant. Unfortunately he decided to betray my trust in order to keep me trapped with him in New Jersey. I have not kept contact since he was expelled from our house. I hope-’ The rest of that sentence was scribbled out as though it had offended Ford, ‘It would seem he has departed jersey after all and is currently selling poorly made sham towels to anyone foolish enough to believe cranberries were brought to the moon. As far as I can tell he’s on his way to prison and I’ll be surprised if he ever makes enough money to fulfill Pa’s ultimatum.’ 

A tear fell onto the page. Stan wiped his face off with his good arm. This was from 6 years ago. Maybe Ford had changed his mind? No, Ford had called him out here just to send him away. Stan staggered to his feet, fingers digging into his cane as he shot a glare at the offending book. Was his leg getting worse? It was time to see this stupid portal for himself and break it if he could.

The door to the basement was covered in blood, locks, and scratch marks. Some of the blood looked disturbingly recent. All of the locks were either picked, open, or broken except for a retinal scanner with a deadbolt attached. Stan winced as he wiped blood off the scanner and held his eye against it. Worst case scenario it just didn’t work.

“Human eye verified. Welcome, Dr. Stanford Pines”

So they were identical after all. How about that? The door swung open to reveal a staircase. The bloodstains here were more sporadic and significantly older. Stan limped down the stairs as the lights flickered. His skin crawled. His vision drifted in and out of focus. Something or someone was watching him, he could feel it. 

He looked around as the shadows shifted. No one was there. “It’s all in my head,” He reassured himself, “Wait a minute, all in my head? You’re watching me aren’t you?” 

There was no verbal response but the darkness seemed to get a bit sharper and more angular. “Just fight me like a man you demon cornchip!” He yelled in frustration into the lab at the end of the staircase.

Ford’s lab was enormous. This was clearly where most of his grant money had gone. Machinery lined the walls, dials and gauges and levers Stan didn’t dare pull adorned the room. But perhaps the most commanding part of the space was the portal itself. It really did match the one from his dream, a massive inverted triangle that radiated wrongness. The pain in his leg flared up again as he slumped over the table. His vision swam. How could he dismantle it? How could he prove Ford wrong? How could he prove he wasn’t stupid?

The portal blinked.

“What the heck?” Stan stood upright as the machinery around him melted into a bloody slush. The floor tilted and Stan struggled to keep his balance as the gorey liquid rushed off into the abyss. 

The portal was moving too, flipping over and changing color until it morphed into the demon he’d literally just yelled at. Bill was huge this time, looming over Stan. “Really Mullet? This was your grand plan? Destroy Sixer’s life’s work in order to prove your worth?” Bill’s form broke apart and reappeared floating at Stan’s side. He slung an arm around Stan’s shoulder, ignoring the conman’s discomfort, “That’s low even for you kid. But hey, you’ve still got a way out! All you gotta do is pull that lever and you’ll be the best treasure hunter who’s ever lived”  

Stan glared as the demon gestured towards the only piece of unmelted machinery in this strange void. The lever seemed harmless. Stan took a  shaky step towards it, “How would that even work?”

“It’ll grant you access to realms where no human has ever set foot! How fun would it be to find treasures that no one’s even heard of? Just think of all the artifacts you could rub in Sixer’s face! Who’d be the worthless one then?!”

Stan walked towards the lever. It would be cool to do something worthwhile. His hand hovered over the switch. His instincts told him he shouldn’t pull the darn thing. Why? He’d known a minute ago. Memories slid in and out of his head as his leg sent sparks of agony through his entire body. The world flickered between the void and the lab.

“Well? What are you waiting for?”

“STANLEY!”

Wait, was that-

Stan snapped back to reality with a jolt as Ford burst into the room. His hallucination dissipating as he noticed how close he was to the portal switch. Right, end of the world stakes. How had he managed to forget that? His vision spun again as he looked around to see that the demon had vanished. 

Ford was covered in scratches and bites and clutched a clump of white fur in one hand, “What were you thinking!?” he yelled and Stan remembered why he was down here.

“Ford, we need to talk.”

Chapter Text

“Then talk,” Ford’s voice was cold, not that he cared. He’d come close enough to death and Stan had come enough to ending the world that he no longer saw a reason to be civil. 

“Y’know when that demon told me you talked crap behind my back I figured he was lying.” Stan glared at him, “I didn’t think you actually did it. ‘Less successful twin’ my foot, at least I didn’t build a doomsday device!”

“Says the man who almost turned it on!” Ford spat.

“I was trying to break it and started hallucinating! You never told me that three-sided two faced son of a seagull could manipulate those too!”

“So you were trying to ruin my life’s work again? Wasn’t costing me my dream school good enough for you?” Ford took a step towards Stan, his injuries momentarily forgotten.

“Seriously Sixer? How many times do I have to tell you that was an accident? All I did was punch a table. How was I supposed to know that plate would fall off?” Stan’s voice was rising. Ford didn’t believe him

“Because it was labeled! I literally had a ‘fragile do not touch’ sign on the board! You were just mad because I had a future! You ruined my life Stanley!” Ford snapped back.

“I ruined your life? Look at me, Stanford! My leg is rotting because I chose to help you! My arm’s freaking useless and you have the audacity to pin this on me? Sure I’ve made my mistakes but I never wanted to hurt you! You ruined your life all on your own!” Stan was shaking now, tears streaming down his face as he yelled at his brother, “You would have done this no matter which school you went to! You chose to move out here, you summoned that monster, and you built this thing!” He gestured wildly at the portal, “So quit blaming me for your stupid mistakes and take responsibility for once in your goddamn life!”

Ford stared at Stan, dumbfounded. It wasn’t his fault. It couldn’t be his fault. He was the one who did things right. He was the good twin. He was the smart one. Stan had to be wrong about something. But he wasn’t. Ford still would have chosen this field of research, hit that roadblock, and made that deal. He had ruined his own life.

Stan sighed, leaning hard on an 8-ball cane Ford had never seen before. He looked terrible, pale faced and sickly with his tears dripping down his face and his wound oozing through its bandages, “I don’t know why I care about you Sixer, because you’ve made it pretty obvious that you only care about yourself.”

“Stanley-”

Stan was still crying. Stan never cried. For once Ford had no idea what he was supposed to do. What could he do? Stan was airing a decade’s worth of stress and Ford had no clue how to help. What sort of a brother was he? “Let’s-” he paused, second guessing himself, “Let’s get you upstairs. That venom won’t cure itself.”

“So you don’t deny it,” Stan muttered. Ford ignored the way the words cut into his already damaged mind.

The journey upstairs was made in silence. Ford practically carried Stan most of the way. The house was significantly cleaner, although a part of him died inside at the prospect of re-organizing his research later. But that wasn’t important. He helped Stan onto the couch and set to work in the kitchen. He’d really screwed up this time. There was no way around it. He’d ruined everything and had no one else to blame. He had no plan. No friends. No way out. He finished the salve in silence. Silence used to be comforting. Now he just wished Stan would make a stupid joke or goof off so he’d have something other than his thoughts to listen to. 

Bill was conspicuously silent, Ford was surprised the demon hadn’t dropped in to mock his suffering yet. He wasn’t sure if he should be grateful for or nervous about that. He returned to the living room and cautiously unwrapped Stan’s leg. The bite was an oozing rotted mess, blackened flesh and acid pitted bone greeted him. If Ford’s stomach was any weaker he would have thrown up.

“This is going to hurt,” He warned his brother.

“What doesn’t these days?” Stan asked dryly as Ford put on his modified radiation gloves. He couldn’t be sure they were clean but they were better than nothing. He took a deep breath and started applying the foul smelling paste to the worse smelling wound. Stan cried out in pain as the magic took effect, knitting his torn flesh and damaged bone back together. Ford stood back, this was powerful stuff. He definitely should have found something to numb the wound with first.

The screaming eventually stopped when Stan passed out. Ford checked his brother’s pulse to be safe before applying a bit more of the paste to Stan’s shoulder injury. He put the leftovers away, his own injuries would heal fine on their own. It was amazing how much pain Stan had put himself through for Ford’s sake. 

He settled into a chair to wait for Stan to wake up, vaguely remembering the way he used to doze off on his brother’s shoulder after boxing when they were kids. He watched the sun set through the window. He missed those days, when everything was fine. He should really say sorry.

With Stan unable to utilize the sleeping solution Ford would simply have to stay up. Not a hard task for him, it was just one night. He made coffee, cleaned the front room, reorganized his research, and started a fourth journal, putting to page the events of the past few days. 

Out of habit he put on one of Fiddleford’s bluegrass records to keep himself up. The frenzied banjo playing reminding him of days long gone. He was reminded of the apology he owed Fiddleford and wondered idly if the post office was still open at this hour. Of course, Fiddleford was never going to accept an apology from the man who ruined his life. Much like how Ford would never accept an apology from Bill in the unlikely scenario the demon actually gave one. He laughed mirthlessly at the idea. 

He had a lot to apologize for and no idea how to go about it.

Chapter Text

Fiddleford liked their base. The catacombs under the museum were an ideal place for him and Ivan to do their work undisturbed. The structure had been there forever and Fiddleford was pretty sure it'd been built by the early Northwests as a private church. His first order of business upon gaining access to the place had been to remove all depictions of the eye of providence. He’d assumed that given what he knew of the family they’d been worshiping money but between the revelation of Ford’s demonic ties and his own experience in the portal he was getting a bit less convinced of that.

He shook off the memory, determined not to have another breakdown. He was going to try erasing it again, maybe this time it’d take. Maybe he could forget the divorce while he was at it. Or better yet, forget he’d ever been married.

A yell broke him from his thoughts and he bolted into the erasure room. Ivan was wrestling a young woman into the chair when he arrived.

“What in tarnation are you doing!?” Fiddleford yelled at the younger man.

“I’m helping her,” Ivan said as if it were obvious.

“He’s trying to erase my memories!” the teenager yelled in panic.

“Y’know we’re supposed to ask first, right? It’s like a consensual thing?” Fiddleford asked Ivan, anxiety creeping through his bones. Maybe Ivan erased that conversation by accident?

“She saw the lake monster, she’ll be happier this way,” Ivan’s voice was cold as he took aim.

“We started this to help people, not to just erase memories willy-nilly,” Fiddleford said, drawing himself up in imitation of Ford’s angry posture as he advanced towards his friend. 

“I am helping people, it’s not my fault you’re a coward,” he pulled the trigger at the same time Fiddleford tackled him. The blast struck the wall and the gun skittered across the floor as the two tumbled to the ground. Both men scrambled after the weapon. Fiddleford snatched it just as Ivan grabbed his robe and pulled it, dragging him across the floor. He rolled onto his back and pointed the memory gun at Ivan.

“Stay back!” both his voice and hands shook as his mind raced for a way out. He didn’t want to use the thing without consent. Why had he brought someone else into this? Why were all his decisions terrible? The teenager had run off during the scuffle. Good for her. 

Ivan stared down at him as Fiddleford climbed to his feet. He was shaking badly. 

“I thought we were friends, Fiddleford,” Ivan said, eyes glued warily to the gun.

“So did I, but I can’t just let you hurt folks with something I built. I quit,” Fiddleford turned on his heel and ran. Ivan gave chase behind him. 

The two tore through the museum and out into the cold. Fiddleford held his robe closer around himself as he fled, weaving through trees in the frozen forest. He ditched the robe over a bush as a diversion. It would stand out in the dark woods far more than his lab coat. 

Cold wind bit at his flesh as he ran, he needed a place to go. No one was out here. Well, no one except Stanford and his brother. His gaze flicked up to the dark sky, Ford would probably be possessed at this hour. That meant the question was risk a murderous demon and maybe get killed, or stay out here and die of frostbite? Neither sounded great but he’d take maybe getting murdered over definitely freezing to death. 

He never should have taken Ford up on that offer. He never should have come out here. Too late now. He slowed to a walk as the old lab came into view, it looked terrible, bloodstained and boarded up. What the devil had Ford gotten himself into?

Fiddleford took a deep breath before knocking on the door. He stood there shivering as he heard footsteps moving about inside. Stanford was holding a crossbow when he opened the door. He looked terrible, scratched and scraped with bandages clinging to his battered body. A stream of dried blood ran down his right cheek and Fiddleford would bet money that his old partner hadn’t washed his hair since he left.

“...Fidds?” Ford looked surprised to see him. Probably because they hadn’t spoken since he’d quit the portal.

“Can I come in?” Fiddleford searched the man’s face for any sign of possession. He seemed fine, but Fiddleford could admit that he had no clue what he was looking for.

“Yes, yes, of course, my apologies” Ford seemed to finally notice his ex-partner's half frozen state and moved aside to put down the crossbow and let Fiddleford in. His voice sounded normal. Night-Ford yelled everything.

Fiddleford let Ford lead him to the kitchen and pour them both coffee. The inside of the place looked significantly cleaner than the outside and Ford seemed to have triple locked and deadbolted the door to the basement. Good riddance.

He noticed Stanley out cold on the couch surrounded by bandages and some of their more occult medical supplies.

“I suppose you want an explanation?” Ford asked him, following his gaze. 

“I know why Stan’s here, he told me himself. I just wanna know what all this demon business is about. And start at the beginning, how long’s this been going on for?”

“You’ve met Stanley-?” Ford cut himself off with a shake of his head, “Nevermind, I suppose this all started a few months before I called you…”

Chapter Text

Ford explained everything he could. He  told Fiddleford about the roadblock in his research, the way Bill had given him the idea for the portal, the deal that allowed the demon to possess him, what he’d learned after the accident, the perils and torment Bill had put him through, his desperate attempt to gain Stanley’s help, and the way that had gone horribly wrong. 

“...and now you’re here, for some as of yet unknown reason,” Ford finished awkwardly. He truly had no experience being vulnerable and was rather curious about why Fiddleford had appeared on his doorstep.

“I’m here because I’ve got no place else to go,” Fiddleford said, glaring at a spot on the table like it had insulted his wife, “I suppose it’s nice to know you finally believe me.”

Ford winced a bit, his friend’s bitter words hit him like another nail through the hand, “I should have believed you sooner.”

“Yeah, it’d have saved us both from a whole lotta mistakes,” Fiddleford laughed dryly, “I kinda lost it after the accident. Started just erasing everything that hurt, formed the blind eye to help other people forget, got divorced, quit the blind eye, and ran back here.”

Ford stared at him for a moment, “You got divorced?”

“Yeah, she said I didn’t love her and Tate enough,” Fiddleford had a far off look in his eye and Ford wondered if he might cry, “I didn’t even fight her on it, she was right, I’m a terrible father.”

Ford could do nothing but watch as his friend started crying. How had he ever believed Fiddleford was plotting against him? The man had the biggest heart of anyone Ford had ever met and Ford had met his kindness with suspicion. He took a deep breath and walked over to place a hand on Fiddleford’s shoulder.

Fiddleford flinched and pulled away. Ford let him go.

Fiddleford wiped his face on the back of his sleeve, “Look, I’ll help you and your brother save the world, but that’s it. After we deal with that demon I’m headed back to Palo Alto and outta this mess forever.”

“I understand,” Ford relented, leaving the kitchen. Of course Fiddleford hated him, he’d ruined everything. He just wanted to get some sleep, good sleep without the risk of possession. In other words, the impossible.

A siren wailed as he watched the sun rise through a window. He ignored it as it got louder. Some hippies had probably gotten caught sleeping in the logging camp down the road again.

Someone else knocked at the door and Ford felt an instinctive chill rip through his bones. The only two people he trusted were in his house. He picked up the crossbow and loaded it.

He threw open the door, “What do you want, you monster?” he yelled at a pair of very startled police officers.

“Stanford Pines, you’re under arrest.” the lead cop said, her long faded red hair tied up in a braid.

“What?” he asked, completely caught off guard. “What did I do?”

“Well let’s see, you disturbed the peace, screamed terrible 50’s music for three hours straight, slapped officer McCoy here, and now you’re threatening us with a crossbow.” The police officer stated, her badge identified her as Sheriff Corduroy. 

Ford quickly set the crossbow down before desperately attempting to explain himself, “It- it wasn’t me officers, I was possessed, I swear, I-”

“Save it for the judge, Pines,” She said with an eye roll, pulling out a set of handcuffs as she and her partner advanced on him.

This was bad, Ford couldn’t get arrested, he needed to be with his research, he needed to stop Bill. A clatter distracted him from his racing thoughts.

“One of your accomplices?” Sheriff Corduroy asked, her eyes narrowing at Fiddleford who had been trying to bring some large machine part downstairs.

“No, he’s just a research assistant, he’s innocent,” Ford said, interposing himself between her and Fiddleford.

“Fair enough, the guy looks harmless,” She fastened the cuffs around his wrists. He was too tired to resist, everyone in town knew Sheriff Corduroy wasn’t one to mess with anyway. He hoped this wasn’t going to be a long sentence, and that he didn’t fall asleep in prison.

Chapter Text

Stan’s leg was itchy as he woke up. His dreams had been normal for the first time since his arrival, still nightmarish, but demon free. His leg was fine now, with nothing but a nasty scar to show he’d ever been injured. Ford wasn’t beside him anymore, but given that Ford was a selfish jerk that wasn’t too surprising. He wondered idly how long he’d been out.

“Flapjacks and fiddlebanjos!” Something crashed in the front room and Stan was off the couch in an instant. His leg was still stiff and sore as he ran towards the noise.

Fiddleford had tripped over some of the junk piled against the wall and was rubbing his shoulder as he sat up, “G’morning,” the man said awkwardly.

“What’re you doing here?” Stan asked, last he’d seen the guy he was having a breakdown outside of a convenience store.

“Quit my cult, decided to help y’all save the world,” Fiddleford rubbed the back of his neck, “Stanford said I could stay.”

“Great, I’m gonna go make pancakes, tell Poindexter to get his butt in here if he wants some,” He turned and headed for the kitchen. As he walked it was obvious that Ford had applied the salve to his shoulder along with his leg. Both injuries were rapidly losing their stiffness. A part of him wondered why Ford had bothered, maybe because he didn’t want to lose his meatshield of a brother.

“About that, Ford got arrested a few minutes ago,” Fiddleford said, hurrying after Stan.

“What? On what charges?” Stan couldn’t quite get his head around his goody-two-shoes brother committing any sort of crime except perhaps a crime against nature. Although evidently Ford’s ego had gotten him mixed up in something sinister.

“Disturbing the peace, screaming 50’s music, and slapping an officer, none of which really sound like him,” Fiddleford was definitely correct on how un-Ford-like the crimes were. Especially considering Ford’s general distaste for the music they’d grown up to.

“You’re right, that definitely sounds more like that haunted piece of cheese claiming to be a demon,” Stan mixed pancake batter as he spoke. He hadn’t made them since fleeing his own failed cult in Missouri but he loved pancakes. Something about the familiar motion curbed his anger and made him feel safe.

“Haunted piece of cheese?” Fiddleford asked, confusion written all over his face.

“Bill Cipher, the naked guy on one dollar bills,” Stan clarified, “Anyway, Ford will probably only be in there for a day unless he managed to anger someone rich and petty enough to bribe the cops,” He poured the batter into the pan, finally banishing the rank smell of blood and cleaner from the room and replacing it with the far more pleasant smell of fresh pancakes.

“I was thinking of moving Stanford and I’s science products downstairs if you wanna help?” 

Stan could appreciate the man’s offer but he really didn’t want to give Ford another thing to yell at him about. He flipped the pancakes. “He’s still bitter about some stupid accident in high school and won’t let me touch his nerd stuff,” Stan shrugged, “I’m gonna go watch TV and scrub out the bloodstains when you’re done.”

The day passed in a haze as Stan sifted through commercials, nearly getting a heart attack when an old ‘Sham Total’ ad cropped up. How on earth was that still airing? He and Fiddleford had leftover pancakes for lunch before trading off. He was in the middle of scrubbing a particularly stubborn bloodstain when Fiddleford yelped from the TV room.

“What’s going on?,” Stan demanded as he ran in. The news was on and Fiddleford was death-gripping the couch.

“Look!” His odd housemate pointed to the TV where a reporter was explaining that the Northwest family was accusing Ford of not fully paying off the house and that his sentence was getting extended by a day.

“That ain’t good,” Stan’s eyes narrowed, “Who’re the Northwests?”

“They’re the richest family in Gravity Falls and Stanford bought the land from them. They also insulted my banjo skills,” Fiddleford said that last bit with such vitriol that Stan made a mental note to never insult bluegrass again in his life.

The Northwests were definitely a type he could understand, rich, greedy, shallow liars. They were the sort of con men who only got away with it via bribes and threats, there was no real artistry to it, and if nothing else he could appreciate that the literal demon in the situation had put more effort into his scam than these idiots. He couldn’t quite figure out their motive yet. Sure they probably wanted the house, but why?

The portal. It hit him like that car in Louisiana. That was why his nightmare had been demon free, “We gotta clear Ford’s name.”

“How?”

“I bet those money addicts have the papers to disprove their lies. All we gotta do is liberate them tonight.” Stan grinned, he hadn’t pulled a proper heist since Colombia and was determined to redeem his record, it was time for jewel thief Andrew ‘8 ball’ Alcatraz to come out of hiding.

Chapter Text

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Fiddleford asked for what was probably the millionth time that evening. Their tools were laid out on the living room floor and it was pretty clear who’d done this sort of thing before. Stan had gloves, a grappling hook, some lockpicks, and a set of brass knuckles in case things went south. Fiddleford, by contrast, had nothing but his memory gun, banjo, and a handheld laser.

“Nope, but it’s a fate of the world thing so it’s not like we have a better option,” Stan said with an annoyed eye roll, “I miss only having to worry about the fate of my wallet.”

“Yeah, I wish I could just worry about my pterodactyltron instead of a whole darn multiversal fracture type dealio,” Fiddleford agreed wholeheartedly.

“That thing’s gonna do what now?” Stan shook his head, “Nevermind, we’re going in and out through the study and if we see anyone you just use that terrifying doohickey of yours to keep them from remembering us. Sound doable?”

“Sure,” Fiddleford definitely had his reservations about using his inventions for a heist but that didn’t matter. Ford and the multiverse were at stake. Wait, why was Ford the higher priority? 

He shook off the thought as he piled into the car with Stan. It was a mess and definitely looked lived in. A part of him felt terrible for Stan, especially since he seemed like a genuinely nice person in spite of his unsavory profession. They parked the car a few blocks away from Northwest Manor.

The sun was well below the horizon as they trekked up the path, maintaining silence by the mutual agreement known as common sense. The brick wall, while impressive, was an easy climb for a farmer’s boy and a career criminal. The grounds were disgustingly ostentatious, peacocks strutted around and numerous expensive looking statues adorned the yard, coated in pale white snow just like the flakes that fluttered down around them, obscuring their tracks. No alarm went off, no hounds ran from a hidden doghouse. Perhaps the Northwests thought they were too important to rob, or maybe something worse was waiting indoors. He let Stan take the lead as they crept up on the house.

“Stanford told me their study’s on the northwest side of the building,” he reminded his accomplice in a hushed voice.

“Ground floor?”

“Yep.”

The two slowly circled the building, peeking through the windows into darkened rooms.

“This look like a study to you?” Stan asked quietly.

Fiddleford looked over his shoulder into the darkened room. He could just about make out a desk strewn with papers and a number of bookshelves, “If that ain’t a study I don’t know what is,”

“All right then, you’re up,” 

Fiddleford took a deep breath as he raised the handheld laser to the window and flicked it on. He carefully ran the tool along the locking mechanism, once, twice, a third time, the mechanism gave and the window creaked open. A draft of warm air brushed enticingly past his freezing face.

Stan opened the window wider and the duo stepped out of the cold. The house was quiet, too quiet judging by the way Stan’s gaze darted across the space. They closed on the desk, the land deal rested right on top of a stack of books, it was paid in full.

“Well well well! Fancy seeing you two here,” The eerily familiar voice cut through the room like a knife before breaking into an absolutely deranged cackle.

Old Man Northwest stood in the doorway, looking like the devil in human skin. His eyes were an unnatural shade of yellow and a fiendish smile split his face in two as he leveled a gun at the would-be burglars.

“Bill Cipher, I recon,” Fiddleford said, trying and failing to keep his voice from shaking.

“Took you long enough to figure it out, Specs. Especially with how much Sixer went on about you being a real brainiac.” The demon shifted his attention to Stan “Nice to see you again Mullet, aren’t you supposed to be a rotten corpse already?”

Stan clenched his fists, “Didn’t pan out how you expected, did it you demented wannabe tyrant”

“Oh well, I guess I’ll just have to fix that myself,” Bill laughed again as he raised the gun, the sound tugging at Fiddleford’s official least favorite memory. The world spun around him. Not now. Not now. 

He raised his own weapon, “You don’t scare me, demon!”

The blast singed the wall right where Bill had just been standing right as a gunshot nearly burst his eardrums. Something shattered and a trickle of blood ran from a gash on his cheek as he recovered his senses.

“Oops, I hope that wasn’t an expensive one of a kind invention!” Bill teased with sadistic glee as Fiddleford turned his horrified gaze to the memory gun’s mangled remains. It was completely beyond repair. The monster pointed his weapon at Fiddleford’s head, “See you around Specs!”

“Hey ugly!” Stan yelled, having crossed the room in the chaos, “We still got the papers” He held them up triumphantly in front of the window.

Bill grinned, “Do you really?”

Another bang split the night. The window shattered behind Stan, spraying glass into the room and shredding the documents in the process.

“Run!” Fiddleford bolted for the window. Stan didn’t need to be told twice as gunshots and demonic laughter chased them from the property.

The two only caught their breaths after fleeing the scene in the car.

“Sorry about your memory thingy” Stan said, rummaging through his backseat for band-aids. Thankfully none of the glass had embedded itself in his skin and it all came off with his jacket.

“It’s fine, it wasn’t doing anybody any good anyway,” He tried to keep the sadness out of his voice.

“Where to now?” Stan asked, his voice heavy, “We’ve gotta wait out the apocalypse someplace.”

“Stanford and I have this research bunker out in the woods. Maybe we slip him a note and reconvene there? Plot to take back the house somehow?” Fiddleford offered. It was a thin hope, but his back was to the wall and there was nowhere left to run.

Stan shrugged, “I don’t have a better plan, pass me that piece of paper.”

Chapter Text

Stan had to admit, the bunker was pretty cool. He kinda wished he had a place this cool to store pugs and other forbidden items during his time on the run. The first room was empty save for strange symbols Fiddleford pressed in sequence on his way through. While the second had a large storage unit and a single bed. Stan gave his companion a curious look. From the looks of things Ford and Fiddleford might have been more than lab partners. Either that or they just couldn’t fit two beds down here. 

“Anywhere I can change into something without holes in it?” He asked Fiddleford. He didn't really want to change but the bunker was pretty drafty and that stupid demon had managed to ruin both his shirts, leaving his drag gear as the only wearable option.

“Sure, you can do it in the decontamination cabinet,” Fiddleford said before tossing him a box of bandaids, “Maybe patch yourself up while you’re at it,”

Stan nodded and set about applying bandaids in the cabinet. He took a deep breath before zipping himself into his sparkly red cocktail dress and stepping back into the main room, “You got any sewing stuff in there?”

“Sure I-” Fiddleford froze mid sentence, staring at Stan, “Why are you wearing a dress?”

“Demon wrecked my shirts,” Stan kept his expression neutral.

“I get that, but why do you even own one of those?”

“There’s places out there who’ll hand you money to strut around in ladies’ clothes,” Stan explained, not quite sure how else he could explain his involvement in drag to someone who’d probably never even thought of men in dresses.

“Oh,”

The awkward silence stretched out between them.

“Here’s your repair stuff,” Fiddleford muttered, clearly holding back a lot more questions. Not that Stan cared, if his career choices kept the guy distracted from their fight with Bill then he could take some awkwardness.

They worked in silence for a while, Fiddleford drafting and discarding machines while Stan sat on the bed and stitched up the holes in his shirts and jackets.

“Is this the whole space?” Stan asked after a few hours ticked by.

“Nah, we got a lab. Here, I’ll show you,” Fiddleford said quietly as he led him to the decontamination cabinet. He seemed grateful for a distraction from his unsatisfactory designs.

A blast of weird mist later they were both standing in an observation room overlooking a series of cryotubes, one of which contained a strange monster.

“What’s that thing?” Stan asked Fiddleford

“Stanford calls it ‘Shifty’ and kept it as a test subject until it broke out, locked me in a closet, and impersonated me to get at his journal. Stanford tricked it into running in there and we froze it,” Venom soaked the scientist’s voice as he glared at the beast.

“Wait, you said it impersonated you, didn’t you?” Stan asked, his tired mind whirling as he processed the new information, “Doesn’t that mean it’s sentient?”

“Technically the term is sapient,” Fiddleford corrected him before stiffening like he’d been slapped, “Good lord we kept a sapient being as a test subject.”

Stan groaned. As if the demonic portal nonsense wasn’t bad enough the two crazy scientists had gotten themselves tangled up in unethical science, “And the ramifications just now hit you?”

“It was for science,” Fiddleford muttered, looking sick.

“I’m gonna go let him out,” Stan straightened his dress and made his way towards the cryotube that held the monster.

“Sapient or not, it's still dangerous!” Fiddleford started after him.

Stan ignored his protests as he examined the control panel on the tube. The dorks hadn’t bothered labeling the buttons so Stan just took a breath, closed his eyes, and pressed a random button.

A moment passed, and the tube door slid open with a frigid blast of cold air.

Stan took a step back as the creature took a few stiff steps forward. Fiddleford ducked back behind the dividing wall. Shifty was about Stan’s height with slimy white skin and mismatched arms. A set of pale pink eyes narrowed in anger.

“Stanford Pines,” Shifty growled, voice low and menacing.

“Nope, wrong twin,” Stan held up his hands for the creature to look at. It was oddly nostalgic, something he hadn’t done since he was small and matched Ford more closely, “I’m Stanley”

“Stanley…” the creature said the name slowly, as if investigating it, “Stanford never spoke of you”

“Yeah,” Stan confirmed, the pain of the reminder bubbling back up and spilling into his voice, “I’m just the twin with common sense, something my brother clearly didn’t want anything to do with.”

Shifty’s form warped suddenly, shifting and reshuffling until Stan was looking at an exact replica of himself, scars, bandages, dress, and all.

“Common sense?” Shifty asked in Stan’s voice. He probably would have considered that pretty freaky if he hadn’t already reached his weirdness limit for the week.

“Y’know, stuff like ‘if a deal seems too good to be true it probably is’ and ‘if it can carry a conversation it probably deserves more dignity than a lab rat’. Basically stuff my genius brother’s really stupid about,” Stan shrugged, “Also maybe don’t wear a criminal’s face anywhere there might be cops.”

“Cops?” Shifty asked, furrowing his brow in confusion.

“Good grief, what did these dorks tell you about the outside world? Tell you what, we head back to the main room and I give you a crash course on life outside this hole.”

“Will it involve new forms?” The shapeshifter asked, looking at him with a familiar expression. The wary look of someone who wasn’t sure hoping was worth it. He desperately hoped he didn’t look that wistful when Ford spoke.

“Well, I don’t know where Ford’s monster book got to but I’ve got some magazines in my car if you want more human looks?” Stan offered despite Fiddleford’s rapid head shaking. They’d need all the help they could get, and besides, Stan needed more friends in his life.

Chapter Text

Ford read the note again. It was short and written in Stan’s messiest handwriting but he needed something to focus on or else he’d drift off. He needed to stay awake. The cops had staunchly refused all of his requests for coffee and he was considering begging for it. He read the note again, noting the grammar errors.

‘Hey 6, bad news - triangle jerk has minions who took house. F & I was nearly shot. Alive for now. Gonna hide in bunker. Join us on release. Don’t do anything stupid.’

Blood dripped on the note. Ford’s eye burned. He considered asking for coffee again.

“I expected this from Stanley, not you,” his father’s voice came from behind him, just as cold and unsympathetic as he remembered it.

He whirled, facing the plaid suited figure of his father, “It wasn’t my fault, I was framed-”

“No excuses! You could’ve made history, been the first of our kind to explore the multiverse, Ma and I would’ve been proud! But no, you chickened out and got arrested. If you hadn’t quit that project you’d’ve been famous and we’d’ve finally gotten outta Glass Shard! Now we’re stuck there forever and it’s all your fault!” His father seemed to get louder and angrier with each word. Ford shrank back. Something was wrong with his pa’s voice, it kept dropping dangerously close to-

“Bill Cipher,” Ford narrowed his eyes at the imposter, “What are you up to this time?”

The demon wearing his father’s face leaned back with a smile that looked painfully out of place on the man’s features. Ford’s skin crawled as Bill spoke, “You don’t miss a trick, do you Sixer? Gotta say your dad’s got one heck of a fashion sense,” Bill raised the sunglasses to rest on Filbrick’s fedora and struck a pose like a drunk jellyfish imitating a deranged fashion model. Ford winced at the unnatural contortion of his father’s limbs. 

“Seriously IQ, you can’t have possibly thought that you were the only gullible idiot in this stupid town,” Bill cackled, leaning against the bars, “I have plenty of friends around here Fordsy, and you’re going to meet them!”

“I have friends too, Cipher,” Ford spat out Bill’s name with as much venom as he could muster, “and I will die before you dare enter this dimension.”

Bill laughed wildly as both his disguise and the scenery cracked like glass, “You just don’t get it, do you? I have new puppets now! I DON’T NEED YOU ANYMORE! ”

Ford staggered back as the ground crumbled beneath him. It gave out and he fell into a howling pit of madness.

His head cracked hard against the stone floor as he awoke. Pain shot through every fiber of his being as he examined himself. Bandages were strewn across the cell and every half-healed wound had been torn wider by his own hands. His breathing was rough and uneven as a combination of blood loss and exhaustion threatened to claim his mind. He hurriedly threw his coat back on to cover the damage as the sound of footsteps reached his ears.

“Dr. Pines, you’re good to go,” Officer Corduroy gave him an odd look but didn’t comment on his condition, “The Northwests repossessed your house so you might wanna go see if your assistant has a spare room.”

“I… am aware,” Ford said. The letter was missing. He didn’t have the energy to look for it.

“Your eye’s bleeding.”

“It does that.”

He gathered his things and limped out into the cold evening as blood seeped through his coat. He forced himself to keep going as the frigid wind and ice bit into his fresh wounds. The streets were pale and empty. He staggered, bracing himself against a streetlight in the growing dark. There was a phone booth. Why didn’t the bunker have a line? He forged onwards as his lungs struggled for air and his bloody coat froze. He was going to die out here. 

The woods loomed before him, cold and haunting. There was Stan’s car. Someone in a red dress and a hurriedly mended brown jacket was going through the cabin while an unfamiliar man with a patched denim jacket and a striking case of albinism looked on.

“Ford?” Stan was in a dress. Was he hallucinating? Who was the other guy? His legs chose that moment to give out.

“You good Poindexter? Shit! Don’t bleed out on me! Hey Shifty, can you grab my medical junk? …yeah I know you don’t like him but trust me yelling at a corpse ain’t cathartic!” Stan’s words didn’t fully register in his mind as the world faded in and out of view. 

Stan was still yelling as he felt himself lifted up off the floor. He could hear the stranger now, speaking in a familiar voice, “Is this the box?”

“If it’s got a red plus sign on it, yeah”

“Very well, can I take the journal too?”

“Go nuts, grab the rest of my magazines while you’re at it”

“Is he dead?”

“Will be if we don’t hurry up!”

His attention faded as Stan carried him through the woods. He needed to apologize, especially if he was dying here, “I’m… sorry… Stanley,” He forced out through chattering teeth.

“Can it Stanford! You can apologize when you ain’t french kissing the reaper!”

They descended into the bunker. Everything hurt. Ford curled into his brother’s chest.

“What in tarnation happened to him!?” Fiddleford’s voice hit his ears as the door wooshed open.

“Nothing good. Clear the bed,” Stan gently dropped him on the sheets as a shape moved out of the way.

His coat was pried off as he clung desperately to consciousness, exposing his many injuries.

“Pass the healy shit”

He passed out as a fresh wave of salve based agony tore through his mind.