Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The town was deserted as Stan rode his wagon into town.

Perfect.

Two months ago news had spread about a dragon terrorizing the north. Villages had been attacked, farms had burned to the ground, and a giant beast spotted flying in the air. The ones that could had fled to the warmer cities of the south, while the ones that couldn’t migrated to the larger cities, that had larger walls and more defenses.

Leaving everything they couldn’t carry behind.

An excellent opportunity for anyone who dared venture forth into the dragons territory to find something worthwhile. Who knew what got left in the blind panic to escape. Jewelry, weapons, even common household tools could fetch a pretty penny if you found the right buyer.

Stan dared, because dragons weren’t real.

He’d traveled from coast to coast, continent to continent, further and farther than anyone else in his family, chasing riches and glory. Everywhere it was the same, the more magical a creature, the more magic it needed to sustain itself. There was no way something as large as a dragon could survive. They were too fantastical, flying, breathing fire, diamond scales? It’d die before it could hatch from starvation.

The largest magical creature he’d seen were the gnomes, and the best they could do was stack and have weird colored bodily fluids. Anything bigger was a fairy tale, anything more mystical was simply a story teller taking liberties.

Magic itself was a rare commodity. What little enchanted artifacts existed today were few and far between, and even the simplest one could empty out your life’s saving, even if all it did was warm your hands.

Which is why Stan had stolen his. He rolled it between his hands as Stanmare trotted down the stone path into the village proper. Stan pulled on the reins, then jumped down and tied her to a nearby pole.

It was time to get to work.

This was the third village he’d gone through, making his way deeper into the ‘dragons’ territory as he went. It was probably some hot shot kid who found some kind of illusion projector and was broadcasting it into the sky as a prank, while bandits took advantage of the distraction. Or just bandits. Illusion projectors were excellent distractions after all (not that Stan knew anything about that).

He'd skipped any town that had already looked looted, heading further and further north, until he reached here. The sign had said it was called Gravity Falls, which was a weird name for a village, but what did Stan know.

Stan rolled his hand warmer, then shoved it up his sleeve. Thankfully the snow hadn’t come down yet, although judging by the sky it wouldn’t be too long until that changed. This would be his last stop before turning around. He didn’t want to get stuck up here all winter, the Leewagon wasn’t built to go across snow, and with the towns abandoned no one would bother to clear the roads.

Better be quick then. Whistling a tune, he made his way to the first house and tried the knob. It was locked, but that was easily fixed.

He went through all the rooms, opening cupboards and grabbing anything that looked useful or valuable. There wasn’t much, but he didn’t need much. Anything would do at this point. He went and grabbed anything that caught his eye and shoved it in the back of the wagon, in his one other enchanted item.

It was a chest, well worn and scruffy. That was probably the only reason no one had bothered to steal it. The enchantment had been engraved on the bottom, and Stan had nailed it down the best he could after Ford had-

It was his most valuable possession. An almost bottomless trunk. Almost, because there was definitely a limit to how much junk he could stuff in it, he just couldn't figure out the limit. It tended to change depending on what was in there. He had never bothered figuring out what combinations did what, just shoved stuff inside until he couldn’t anymore.

Stan whistled a jaunty tune as he made his way around the village, occasionally rolling his hand warmer and keeping an eye on the sky. He didn’t think it would snow until at least tomorrow, but this kind of weather was always unpredictable.

It was the only reason he saw the growing shadow in the distance.

By now he’d made his way through several houses and businesses, and had gotten a pretty good haul. Enough to get the loan sharks off his back for at least a month, maybe more if the rest of the houses went well. He was just stepping out of a house, carrying a box full of potential profit, when he looked up to check the weather again.

Then stared.

It was difficult to see due to the overcast sky, but in the distance he could see something making its way closer. He spent too long staring at it, squinting and turning his head to figure out what it was, before he realized with a jolt that it was probably the dragon, based on the weird way it was moving.

Stan cursed, then ran to his wagon and dumped the box into his chest. That meant the bandits or whatever using the dragon image to terrorize everyone was making their way here. There was no way to know how far out they were, but he couldn’t take any chances.

He jumped down to untie Stanmare, then grabbed her reigns and lead her down a nearby alley way and to the next street over, out of view of the main gate. The village wasn’t large, so there weren’t really any places he could hide a horse. Hopefully the bandits would pass on by, or give him enough time to charge them.

With that in mind he jumped up to the seat of his wagon and waited, keeping an ear out for approaching voices or footsteps.

Instead of either of those things, a few minutes later a strange whooshing sound filled the air, and something slammed into the ground nearby, shaking the earth and startling Stanmare. She trotted in place for a moment, but settled quickly when he pulled on the reins.

Stan frowned. What on earth had done that? It didn’t feel like an earth quake, and the sound was more windy in nature. As he listened, he heard something scrapping across the road, on the other side of the building. Then the sound of something crashing, shaking the building next to him. Stanmare whined, and Stan pulled the reins again. She settled, but still shifted uneasily.

Then silence.

Stan looked around, tapping his foot, before something wet fell next to him. It looked like a giant rain drop, but it was too cold for rain, and even then, far too large. He looked up, frowning.

Then froze.

That was definitely a dragon.

It was standing on the roof above him, its scales a dark red. Black spikes went down its back and two huge wings with golden webbing were spread out to help it balance. It was easily three or four times the size of the Leewagon and staring straight at Stanmare. Drool was spilling out between its teeth, and a forked tongue darted out. Stan watched as it slowly crept over the roof, watching the stone crack under its razor-sharp claws.

Illusions couldn’t do that, no matter how good they were.

Stan made his choice in an instant. Although he hated it, a horse was more replaceable than his life. This wasn’t even the first Stanmare.

It didn’t make it hurt any less as he reached down and pulled the emergency disengagement lever. It was something Ford had designed; in case his horse decided to try and drag him off a cliff. That was something that haunted his brother’s nightmares for some reason, even though there hadn’t been any cliffs near their childhood home and none of his horses had gone where he didn’t want them to.

Once that was done, he flicked the reins and let go. Stanmare reacted immediately, racing off down the street, quickly breaking out into a full run as the dragon above them snarled and lunged after her.

Stan scrambled back into his wagon, narrowly avoiding its tail as it whipped over head and ducking down out of sight. He could hear it chasing after her, scrambling around the town. Then the sounds of wood shattering, and hooves on stone as she raced down the path out of the village. A moment later a roar shook the buildings, and some of the roof from above fell down and hit the canvas above him.

Stan didn’t move. He could hear it moving around out there, claws scraping across cobblestones and sniffing. His blood froze as he realized it was making its way closer, and he slammed a hand over his mouth, trying to muffle his breathing.

He better not die here just after his horse escaped. That was too unfair.

The sounds of its footsteps drew closer, until suddenly he could see the shadow of its head on the side of the canvas. It was about the same size, which meant it could easily eat him in one bite. It sniffed along the canvas, and Stan shrank down, heart beating rapidly in his chest and sweat dripping down his neck.

A claw reached out and pulled the back flap open. Before he had a chance to move a giant eye peered in. It was brown and slit like a lizard. It looked around, before it spotted him huddling on the opposite side. Then it froze, pupil shrinking. Stan couldn’t breathe as it studied him. From here, he could see his reflection in its eye, looking wide eyed and terrified.

A moment later the pupil grew, expanding to fill its entire eyeball until he could barely make out the brown on the edges. It pulled away, letting the flap drop.

Before Stan could even try to be relieved the wagon rocked around him, knocking him over and making him slam into the wall. He screamed as he saw the dragons talons, digging in and piercing the wood of the wagon, one of them an inch away from his face.

He scrambled to his feet, wobbling as the ground moved from under him, then grabbed onto the side of the wagon and looked out. He paled at what he saw.

The dragon had grabbed the wagon with its two front legs and was flapping its wings hard, pulling it, and therefore him, into the air. They were already several feet up.

Thinking quickly, he climbed onto the front seat, hooked his legs over the side and jumped down. He rolled as he landed on the stone, then shot to his feet, heart beating and joints aching.

A second later he screamed as the wagon crashed down behind him, shattering its wheels. The dragon followed, back legs landing behind the wagon and front legs grabbing onto nearby buildings to support its weight as it bent down and peered at him.

Stan fell down and scrambled backwards, trying to get away and keep his eyes on it at the same time. It just huffed at him. Then it rolled its eyes? Which, what? He stared at it, flabbergasted, then screamed as one of its front claws grabbed him and shoved him back in the wagon. He landed hard, groaning, then scrambled back to his feet as the talons dug back in and the dragon shot into the air.

The motion knocked him back over, making him roll around the bed into the chest and flinging his stuff everywhere. He groaned again, then threw an arm out and held on as the dragon turned, making everything in the wagon shift to the side.

He waited until it evened out, then crawled along the floor towards the back and peeked over the edge. Then he crouched back down, slapping a hand over his mouth as he tried to keep his breathing even.

They were far above the village already and getting higher. There was no way he could jump out now. He could feel his stomach sinking to his feet and closed his eyes.

Dragons were real.

They were real, and one of them was going to eat him.

He shivered, air rapidly cooling at the higher altitude, and pulled out his hand warmer. He crawled back to the chest and huddled next to it, as close to hidden as he could get. It wouldn’t do much, but it made him feel better.

It probably would have been a better idea to see where the dragon was taking him, but the idea terrified him. He’d never been good with heights. Couldn’t even stomach to be on the top bunk as a child. This was much, much higher than any bunk or tower he’d had the misfortune of being on.

He didn’t know how long they flew, too busy trying to control his terror and keep warm, but eventually the even flight went back to nerve-wracking turns. Stan shoved the hand warmer back up his sleeve, then clutched on tightly to the chest, squeezing his eyes closed. The sharp movements made his stomach roll, but he shoved down the feeling. If he was about to die, he wasn’t going to do it covered in vomit.

He'd save it for the dragon’s mouth if he could. Much better use there.

Eventually the movement stopped, and he screamed as the wagon crashed to the ground again. He could hear the talons prying themselves free of the wood. Then silence. Stan refused to open his eyes, just clung to the chest next to him and huddled down against it.

The dragon sniffed around the wagon, and Stan felt its warm breath rushing past him. It smelt disgusting, and he fought down a gag and hunched further.

Maybe if he didn’t move, it’d go away.

It did not. Instead, something large hooked around his chest and tugged on him. Stan tightened his grip, refusing to budge. The dragon let out a puff of air, warming the back of his neck and making him wrinkle his nose. Then it tugged harder, ripping his hands off the chest and pulling him out of the wagon.

Stan’s eyes flew open, and the world became a blur of colors as he was dragged through the air, then dropped. He cried out as he hit something hard and uncomfortable, then kept yelling as the ground slid out from under him. He rolled for a minute, limbs flailing as he tried to catch himself, before he slammed into something.

Stan groaned, then looked up, blinking. His jaw dropped at the sight in front of him.

Treasure. Piles and piles and heaps of golden coins, treasure chests, and gems, spread out in a large stone chamber. Light came from somewhere high above him, making the coins and gems shine. It was more money than he’d seen in his entire life. More than he’d ever see in ten lifetimes.

He was about to start shoveling it into his pockets, when the thing he’d crashed into moved. He glanced over at it, then screamed and tried to scramble away from the dragon’s leg. It was hard to do with all the coins sliding underneath him, but he managed to push away.

Then he slipped and started rolling again as the coin mountain he was on collapsed under him. He slammed into something again and groaned. His ribs were feeling pretty bruised from all the tumbling he’d been doing today. In front of him was another leg, and once again he tried to scramble away.

Before he could more than flail, something grabbed the back of his cloak and pulled him into the air. His hands came up to grab his collar, stopping it from choking him as he kicked his legs. The world became a blur again, before he was dropped back on the coin pile. He slipped and fell over, then once again started rolling, still not used to walking on gold coins as they shifted underfoot and collapsed under his weight.

The dragon huffed above him, then grabbed his collar again, pulling him up and setting him down somewhere more stable. Stan groaned, blinking at the large empty chest he was now sitting in. The dragon made a pleased noise above him, and he jumped. He whipped his head to stare at it, then shrunk down as it brought its head closer. Its pupil was still huge, and Stan saw his own terrified face, once again staring back at him.

Then it nodded and made a strange chirping noise. Stan braced himself, but all it did was circle the chest and curl around it, resting its head on its legs in such a way that it could stare at him. Then they sat there. Staring at each other.

It was kind of boring after a while, once the terror started fading away.

“Uh,” he started to say, then jumped and hunched down further when the dragon’s head lifted up, bobbing up and down. It looked excited? Maybe? Stan didn’t know much about lizards.

It set its head down after a moment, tightening its curl until every side of the box was touching the dragon. Its head was right next to the front, close enough for him to reach out and touch.

Stan wasn’t going to do that, because Stan liked having hands.

It stared at him longer, and he coughed. Then licked his lips and tried again.

“So-”

Once again it lifted its head and bobbed it up and down, this time making a chirping noise. Stan had no idea what was going on anymore.

It slammed its head back down, shaking the box. He hunched again, hands coming up to cover his head. All it did was stare, so he slowly uncurled.

“I-”

More head bobbing. This was actually starting to get annoying. He was trying to talk to the thing that maybe wanted to eat him, and it kept doing this weird head dance. What even was this?

“Excuse-”

Stan growled as it did its little dance again, chirping and looking pleased with itself. He was about to jump out of this box and attack it if it didn’t let him finish a sentence.

Before he could, another voice cut through the room.

“Stanford? What on earth are you doing in here?”

The dragon slammed its head down in response, then used one of its wings to cover the chest. It cut off all the light, except for the faint glow of its eye. Stan hunched back down, once again terrified.

The dragon made a clicking noise, and Stan could hear coins sliding as something walked up the coin pile.

“Thought you were out getting dinner?”

More clicking, and Stan could feel the dragon shifting, getting closer to the box and making the wood creak.

“Are you sure? Winter storms coming, you won’t be able to head out for a while.”

The dragon clicked again, and Stan had had enough.

“What is-”

He was interrupted by the dragon, pupil shrinking as it made a loud growling noise. Stan slammed a hand over his mouth and backed up, suddenly very aware that he was sitting in the middle of a dragon in the dark.

There was a moment of silence, then-

“Stanford.”

The pupil widened again, then the eye started to close as it grumbled quietly. Stan’s heart started beating faster as the light started going away. He did not need to be in pitch darkness on top of everything else.

“Stanford, what do you have.”

More grumbling, but it stopped closing its eye, which was good enough for him.

“Well, you can’t say I didn’t give you a chance to fess up.”

Before Stan could even process the words the top of the chest slammed down. His heart stopped and his hands started getting clammy. Before he could start screaming the lid shot open again. The dragon’s wing was gone, and the light from overhead blinded him. He cried out, slamming his hands over his eyes, then yelled as the chest was suddenly lifted into the air.

“Stanford! You give that to me right now!” the voice yelled from below. Stan looked around wildly to see the dragon’s scales above him. He scooched over to the side and peered over, trying to figure out what was happening. Before he got a good look at whoever was speaking, or where he was now, something smashed into the bottom of the chest and burst through, showering him in splinters. He held up an arm to protect his face, then lowered it when the spray stopped.

There was a giant metal hand, smashed through the bottom and now gripping the floor of the box. Stan had a moment to realize the implications, before they started happening to him very quickly.

The dragon pulled the sides of the chest up, the metal hand pulled the bottom down. The chest, which was made of wood and not built to stand up to this kind of treatment, creaked, then shattered, as the walls went up and the bottom went down.

Stan, who was sitting inside said chest, screamed as he fell, covering his face to protect it from splinters. He slammed back down onto the coin mountain, then rolled down it again as the coins slipped from underneath him. The world was a blur of colors before something grabbed the back of his clothes and pulled him upwards.

His feet dangled beneath him, and he blinked at them for a moment, before looking up. Once again, he froze, as the giant metal face peered back at him. It looked just like a man, if a man was three times the size he should be and also metal. Stan had no idea what he was looking at, but it was looking at him, eyes making a whizzing sound as they studied his face. It opened its mouth, looking shocked, then dropped him.

Stan only rolled for a couple of seconds before the dragon scooped him up, holding him in one claw and running its talons over his head with the other, like he was a doll, and it was a little girl looking for comfort. Stan groaned, then scowled and tried to push the claw away.

“Oh, my lord,” the metal guy said below them, looking up at Stan slack jawed, “Where on earth did you find him at,”

The dragon held him to its chest, then puffed up and made some more clicking sounds. Stan just slumped in its hold, defeated. He had no idea what was happening anymore and was too tired to fight the dragon squeezing him.

“And you were gonna, what, have him live in that box forever?” the look of disbelief changed, voice turning disapproving as it crossed its metal arms, “People can’t live like that. What were you gonna feed him, huh?”

The dragon ducked its head down and muttered something. Stan scowled.

“Uh huh, and what if he wanted to stretch his legs? Get some fresh air? Go to the bathroom? What then?”

The dragon made some more clicks, turning its head away. Stan scowled harder. He didn’t like the way the metal guy was talking like he wasn’t here.

“Hey-” he started to say, then growled as the dragon trilled above him, doing its weird dance and peering at him.

“Can’t you-” The next trill sent Stan’s fury through the roof. First it ruined his looting, then chased off his horse, then kidnapped him, and was apparently trying to keep him as a pet? And now it wouldn’t even let him talk?

Time to see how diamond like these scales really were.

Turns out, pretty diamond like. Stan growled as he bit down on the claw holding him. The dragon didn’t seem to notice, too busy trilling. The scales didn’t even have the slightest flex in them. It felt like he was biting a rock.

“Stanford, he doesn’t look too happy there,” the metal man said, and Stan growled at him, “Although I can see the resemblance even better like this.”

“What-” Stan felt a fury he’d never felt before as the dragon trilled again. That’s it. he was getting out of here if it killed him. The scales were as hard as rocks, but Stan had a new idea. The grip wasn’t too hard, and more for making sure he didn’t fall down. So, he didn’t.

Stan brought his arms up next to him, bracing against the dragons claw, and pushed himself up out of the hold. The dragon blinked and looked down at him, but it was too late. Once Stan’s feet were free, he launched himself out of its claw, covering his head as he hit the coins below him and rolled. He was ready this time, only going for a second before jumping to his feet and running down the coin mountain towards the far wall.

He was pretty sure there had to be an exit around here somewhere, he just had to find it.

Behind him he heard the dragon chirp, then growl. Then the shifting of coins as it followed. Stan focused on the goal in front of him, if he just-

Something grabbed the back of his coat, then pulled him backwards. He screamed as his feet left the ground, then watched in confusion as he shot past the dragon. A second later he slammed into something, and he let out an ‘oof’ as it knocked the breath out of him.

Back to the metal man it seemed. What even was this guy? Better yet, what was happening to him?

“What-” he growled, then the dragon trilled, turning and running back towards them. Stan whipped his head around; all fear forgotten as pure fury filled every fiber of his being.

“IF YOU DON’T SHUT UP I’LL STRANGLE YOU WITH MY BARE HANDS !” He screeched at it, snarling. The dragon stumbled to a halt, then puffed up, growling at him.

Stan growled back, lifting a hand and pointing it at it, “DON’T YOU START! I haven’t been able to get a single word out this whole time! Because of your whole,” Stan did his best to imitate the sound the dragon made, waving his hands around, “what even is that! What’s happening here! Who the hell is this guy!” Stan turned and waved a hand at the metal man, who was looking at him in fascination. Stan scowled.

“Stop staring. Its-”

The dragon made a soft trill noise, now directly next to them.

Stan didn’t hesitate, clawing at its face as the metal man held him back by his cloak. The dragon chuckled as it sat on its hind legs, face far out of reach and gazing down at him smugly.

“Stanford, stop antagonizing your brother.” The metal man said, shaking its head at them and frowning. Stan kept snarling, then stopped. He processed the words, then looked at the metal man in confusion.

“What? What are you talking about? What brother?”

The dragon landed hard on its front legs, making a soft sound at him. Stan just stared back, confused. He only had two brothers, and neither of them were dragons as far as he was aware.

“Stanford, don’t tell me you snatched him and didn’t tell him nothin’” the metal man said, sighing. The dragon, who he refused to call Stanford, dropped its head and looked away.

The metal man sighed and shook its head. “Typical, probably scared him half to death, didn’t you?”

The dragon started making circles in the coins with his claws. Then it perked up and looked back at Stan. It scooched closer, then held up one of its front legs, wiggling its talons in his face.

Stan flinched back, then stared.

“What is this. What are you doing.”

The dragon rolled its eyes, then pulled its arm back, moving each one of its talons down one at a time. Stan kept staring, then squinted, furrowing his eyebrows.

One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six.

Six.

There were definitely six on that dragon. Just like someone else he knew.

Had to be a coincidence. There was no possible way Ford had gotten turned into a dragon. It didn’t make any kind of sense.

“Nope!” Stan crossed his arms and looked away, first at the metal man then the other way towards the  wall. “I am not seeing it! All dragons must have six claws. Just normal dragon things.”

The dragon growled at him, but he stood firm. This was the kind of nonsense he refused to participate in.

“Now Stanley-” Stan whipped his head around, staring wide eyed at the metal man.

“How did you know my name?”

The man looked back at him, unimpressed.

“Your brother told me, if you would-”

“Nope! Not my brother!” Stan shoved his fingers in his ears, looking away, “Lalala! I can’t hear you-AAAHHHH!” Stan screamed as the dragon shoved its snout into his stomach, glaring at him and making a clicking noise. He tried to shove it away, but seeing as it was ten times his size and he was dangling in the air, it didn’t really do anything.

The metal man sighed, then pulled Stan away and tucked him under its arm. Then it started making its way down the coin pile, the dragon (who was Not Ford!) trailing behind him. Stan scowled at it, kicking his legs and trying to pull his arms free.

“Hey, let me go! I have legs! And rights! This is kidnapping!”

“Sorry Stanley,” the metal man said, walking towards a giant set of dark double doors Stan hadn’t noticed before (probably from the terror). His wagon was nowhere to be seen, “But I couldn’t let you go, even if I wanted to. Dragons get possessive of things they view as theirs. Until we can fix your brother, you’re stuck here.”

“What! I’m not a thing! You can’t possess me? And that’s not Ford! I refuse to believe whatever’s happening here!”

“Try telling him that,” the metal man gestured to the dragon behind them. Stan bent forwards and saw it staring at him, pupils once again huge. He scowled at it, then kicked his legs more, trying to hit the metal man and do. Something. He wasn’t sure if this thing could feel pain, but he was willing to find out.

Stan growled as they made their way through fancy stone hallways, walls lined with weird non-flame torches that didn’t flicker.

He should have stayed down south.

Chapter Text

Stan made sure to keep track of all the turns they took while the metal man carried him down the hall the best he could sideways. This place was huge, allowing the dragon to crouch down and follow them the whole time while they passed other large doorways and giant paned glass windows to wherever it was they were going. There were knights stationed at every door, wearing gleaming armor and standing perfectly still, each one armed with a different weapon.

More of the strange steady torches lined the walls, lighting up the halls with a near pure white light. It contrasted against the dark stone the castle (he assumed it was a castle, all the dragons in fairy tales lived in castles or caves, and this was definitely not a cave) was made of, making it the most lit up place he’d ever seen. Fancy paintings filled the blank spaces, showing various landscapes and creepy people in intricate golden frames.

In fact, everything here looked incredibly expensive. The furniture was made of a dark smooth wood, thick red curtains covered the windows, and fluffy cushions sat on the occasional couches. It was also pretty warm, despite the dropping temperatures outside and the lack of fireplaces.

More proof that this dragon wasn’t Ford. No way his brother could have ever lived anywhere so nice and Stan wouldn’t have read about it in ma’s occasional letters. He just had to figure out the metal man’s angle and why the dragon was so obsessed with him.

Eventually they stopped in front of a set of double doors that were identical to all the other ones they’d passed. The knights on either side pushed the doors in, revealing a large dining room with a long table. A chandelier with more steady torches hung high in the center, looking more expensive than anything Stan had ever seen.

The chandelier alone could pay off all his debts and then some. Even taking a few curtains from the windows could get him by for a while, with the right buyer. This place was a dream come true for any thief. Except for the dragon, the eerily still knights, and whatever the metal man was.

Metal man walked over to the head of the table, lifted him up, and set him down in the chair. Then it grabbed him when Stan tried to make a run for it and set him back down.

“Please don’t make this difficult Stanley,” he said, holding Stan’s shoulders down and looking tired (as tired as a metal man could) “Just. Sit tight here, and I’ll explain what’s going on.”

“Fine,” Stan growled, crossing his arms. Then he hunched down further when the dragon’s claws set down on either side of him and its head hovered over him, “but it better be good! I lost my horse to this thing!”

The dragon growled above him, but Stan held his ground. He slid down the chair further to get more comfortable, and no other reason. The metal man backed up, and Stan took the time to examine it now that he wasn’t dangling in the air or being carried around.

It looked human, despite being made of metal, with shifting plates on its face giving the illusion of facial expressions and strange glowing eyes. It was wearing (or made of) armor similar to the knights, just without a helmet and with a pocketed green and brown surcoat instead of bare breast plate. If he wasn’t three sizes too big and shiny he’d look like a normal knight (just less pointy).

“Alright, where to begin,” The metal man said, sitting down in the chair next to him and setting its arms on the table, leaning forwards, “Well to start, how much do you know about your brother’s research?”

“Absolutely nothing. Haven’t seen him in a decade.” The dragon made a crooning sound and set its head down next to him, tilting it so one of its eyes could look at him. Stan leaned the other direction, just so he could rest his arm on the chair and nothing else.

“That’s. Not great.” The metal man sighed, and Stan raised an eyebrow. Did it even need to breathe? “See, Stanford was looking into the source of all magic, and it led him here. I won’t get too into the details, but the past year he’d been looking into breaking curses. He thought there was something here blocking the flow. And there was. And he set it free, leading to,”

The metal man gestured to the dragon, who huffed.

“But before he went all scaly, he went into a… fit of paranoia,” the dragon growled and the metal man glared in response, “Don’t get huffy! There’s no other way to say it!”

The dragon growled again, then huffed and looked at Stan sadly, like it was expecting him to defend it. Stan just glared, making it look sadder.

“Anyhow, the point is he sealed all his research into curse breaking and magic, along with his labs. No one but him can access it, and it’s not recognizing him like this. We’ve been a bit stuck to be honest.”

“That’s where you come in!” The metal man turned and beamed at him, the plates in its face shifting it into a weird smile. It had teeth for some reason. Did this thing eat? And if it did, what? More metal?

“OK, say I believe you,” Stan said, leaning further away from the dragon as it scootched closer, “How am I supposed to get you through Fords magic mumbo jumbo. I don’t know anything about enchantments and crap.”

Except for all the things Ford taught him, all those years ago, but it didn’t need to know that.

“You don’t need to know anything!” it said, excited, “See your blood-”

And Stan was gone, vaulting over the side of the chair and scrambling over the dragon claw before it could finish its sentence. He was not getting involved with creepy blood rituals. They were awful, messy, and he needed all his blood where it was.

He got halfway to the doorway before the dragon’s tail swooped and crashed into him. It knocked the breath out him as it swept him back towards the table, where the metal man grabbed the back of his coat and set him back in the chair. Stan wheezed for a second, trying to catch his breath, then slipped down off the chair to go under the table.

The metal man grabbed the back of his coat before he even made it fully to the floor. Stan yelled as it pulled him up, flailing his arms around and trying to loosen its hold.

“You can’t have my blood!” he yelled, kicking at its chest and trying to push away, “I will not be a part of any more blood rituals!”

“Blood rituals? What? No, I just-” it stopped as he swung up and kicked it in the face. This didn’t do anything but make it look annoyed though, and he growled. Looked like it couldn’t feel pain.

“There’s no blood rituals happening here,” it said, voice even as it held him further away from it, “If I set you down, will you listen to the rest of what I’m trying to say? I don’t want to have to tie you to the chair.”

“Sure,” Stan growled, glaring. The dragon grumbled something, and the metal man shot it a look, then moved to put him back in the chair.

“I’m sure it’s fine Stanford, he just said-”

Apparently, they just had rope lying around here. Stan kicked his legs and yelled as the metal man tied his arms down, then did it some more when it tied him to the chair after he managed to wiggle out of the first knot.

The dragon chortled at him, then set its head back down when the metal man finished and stepped away, back to staring at him. Stan scowled, then brought his legs up to kick at the table, shoving the chair back and hitting the dragon in the neck.

“Ha! Take-Ugh!” Stan yelled and tried to pull away when it licked him in the face, crooning at him (probably trying to taste him). Stan kicked his legs some more, then tried to wiggle one of his arms loose. The dragon licked him again, chortling at his reaction as the metal man looked on, unimpressed.

“Are you two done?” it said, sitting back down in its chair. Stan scowled at it, leaning away as much as he could from the dragon and glaring at both of them. The dragon licked his face one more time, then settled back down, making a few clicking noises.

“As I was saying, your blood should be near identical, being twins, so hopefully it should unlock everything. All ya’ gotta do is put your hands on few things. No blood rituals.”

“Uhuh, just touch some stuff, and then I can leave?” Stan said, seething as he eyed the dragon next to him. The metal man shifted uncomfortably, then sighed again, resting its hands on the table.

“I’d love to send you on your way, despite your,” it grimaced, “delightful company. But Stanford’s not gonna let that happen, at least not while he’s like this. You should be free to go once we fix him.”

Not ideal, but as long as all the blood was staying inside his body, he could work with it. If the metal man was telling the truth (and if he didn’t get out of here first). The dragon clicked something, then butt its head against the chair, rocking it. Stan yelled and kicked his legs, and the metal man reached over and steadied it for him. He’d be grateful if he wasn’t too busy being angry about everything and also hated it.

“Yes, he is Stanford,” the metal man said, “you can’t keep him here forever, and you won’t want to when you’re yourself again.”

Stan sighed in relief once the chair was back in place, then glared at the dragon again. No way this thing was Ford; it was way too clingy. Ford hadn’t been clingy since they were kids running around the beach.

“In the meantime,” metal man continued, giving the dragon a meaningful look, “we’ll set you up with some rooms and find something to feed you. We haven’t had, ah, human company in a while, so I’m not too sure what’s in the kitchen.”

“Wait,” Stan said, eyeing the metal man and trying to work at the knots, “what about the knights, don’t you feed them anything?”

“They don’t need to eat,” metal man said, eyeing him right back.

So, the knights in the hallway weren’t human. Great. Fantastic, even. What the hell were they, because he was pretty sure they opened the doors. Ghosts maybe? It’d make it harder to sneak out if there were unsleeping ghost guards crawling all over the place.

The dragon clicked something, and one of its claws came around and dragged the chair closer to it. Stan yelled at the sudden movement, then started kicking his legs when the chair tilted to the side. It leaned on the dragon’s neck as it kept clicking at the metal man, and Stan tried wiggle out of the rope, heart beating wildly.

“No, he’s getting a room,” the metal man said in response to whatever the dragon had been clicking about, “He’s a person, he can’t live like that. There’s nowhere for him to sleep in there either. And look at him, you’re freaking him out,”

“Hey! I’m not-”

Stan’s struggles froze as the dragon turned its neck to stare at him. It was easier to ignore how terrifyingly huge it was when it was out of sight and just chirping at him. Having its full attention and its whole face right in front of him made him more aware of how small he was, and how easily it could crush him without trying.

The dragon drooped, making a crooning noise and looking away. It drooped more at his sigh of relief, making him almost feel bad.

He shouted as the chair righted itself and got shoved back to the table, jerking him around with it. A moment later he bounced as the dragon flopped its head back on its claw, back to staring at him with one sad eye. He scowled at it, making it look sadder.

Another point against being Ford. His brother didn’t want anything to do with him anymore, he’d made that quite clear.

“I know you don’t like it, but it is what it is,” metal man said, patting its snout. It let out a little chirp and the metal man smiled, then turned to face Stan.

“I’ll show you to your rooms for now, then come get you for dinner. Everyone else should be back by then, and I can introduce you!” Metal man stood up and stepped closer, giving him an assessing look. Stan frowned at him.

“Who else lives here. Also stop talking like I’m not here. Its demeaning.” He needed to know what he was working with, and all the conversations about him were getting annoying.

“Just my wife, sons, and Dan. They’re busy getting us fixed up for winter. Once the snow hits, we’ll be stuck inside, so we’re on a tight schedule. They’ll be excited to meet you, we’d given up hope on fixing this mess.”

Stan mulled that over as the metal man slowly started untying him. How did metal people have kids? Was there a whole metal family running around here? And who was Dan? Better yet, what was Dan, because apparently there weren’t any other humans around here.

Metal man finished untying him from the chair, then slowly stepped away as he rubbed his arms. It tossed the rope on the table, then crossed its arms and glared down at him.

“Now, are you gonna follow me, or do I have to carry you again. Because I will.”

As tempting as it was to book it, Stan grumbled and stood up, eyeing the metal man towering above him. Seriously, was this castle full of giants? He only came up to this thing’s waist, making him feel like a child.

“What the hell am I looking at here,” he muttered, eyeing the metal man. He quickly decided he didn’t care. Hopefully he’d be gone before he even learned this things name. Metal man frowned at him, but all he did was roll his eyes and wave at it.

“Lead the way,” he said louder, shuffling away from the dragon as it started leaning closer.

The metal man backed up slowly, before turning and heading towards a different set of double doors on the other side of the hall. Stan had to jog to keep up with it, picking up the pace when he heard the dragon follow. Every few seconds the metal man would turn suddenly, like it was afraid he’d make a run for it.

He was of course, but not while they were both watching him.

It led him down more hallways and up a few large curving stairways (that the dragon kept squeezing through, really what was with the size of this place?). Stan made sure to ask as many questions about which hallways went were and what was behind every door, humming or tsking as the metal man answered, giving him suspicious looks the whole time.

They finally stopped in front of a smaller door with a knight standing outside it. Just like before, the knight let them in, leaning out of the way so that the metal man could duck inside. Stan followed after, while the dragon lay down on the floor and tried to look in, scales scraping against the stone.

Inside was a bedroom, ten times the size of his wagon bed and fancier than any place he’d ever been. The furniture was made out of the same dark wood as everywhere else, and the bed had deep blue sheets several fluffy looking pillows. A thick circular yellow rug was in the middle of the room, and against one wall was a fireplace with a blue couch in front. Another wall had a desk, and there were a few dressers and a wardrobe set up near the bed. More steady torches were on the walls, and despite the unlit fireplace the room was just as warm as the hallways.

The most important feature was the window, partially covered, showing cloudy skies and no snow.

“Make yourself at home,” metal man said, watching him poke about in the drawers, “I’ll be back in an hour or so to get you for dinner. I’ll get Stanford out of your hair; he needs to go get his own food before the storm starts.”

“Sure, whatever,” Stan muttered, looking through the wardrobe with disinterest. He listened to the metal man shuffle loudly by the door, then its clanking footsteps as it turned and left. The door muffled the conversation between it and the dragon, but a few minutes later he could hear both of them leaving.

The moment their footsteps faded he sprang into action. One hour wasn’t a lot, but he’d make it work.

Stan ran to the window and threw open the curtain, fumbling with the latch before he could stick his head out. The room was about three stories from the ground, and he paled as he looked at the vast woods and mountains surrounding what had to be a castle.

Where even was he. None of his maps had a castle this far north in the mountains. Unless they’d somehow crossed the entire range into the next kingdom over, but it didn’t feel like they’d been flying that long.

Which meant he was off the map. Stan scowled as he scanned the horizon, searching for any signs of civilization.

It took him a few minutes, but he noticed a distant break in the trees near the center of the valley. Possibly the town he’d just been in. Or maybe a bandit’s camp. Whatever it was, it looked like there might be a road of some kind connecting them, based on the direction the road out of the castle seemed to be going.

It was better than nothing. There was no way he was staying here, not when they maybe wanted his blood and were definitely kidnapping him. He wouldn’t be able to beat the snow and get back south, but there’d been enough supplies in the town to last one man through winter. All he had to do was settle down, wait until the dragon forgot about him, then sneak back up and get his wagon when the weather got warmer.

And steal some of the gold. Or a lot of the gold. As much as he could carry.

But it could wait until spring. No reason to weigh himself down if he was going to be stuck in the snow for the next few months.

Plan made, he pulled out his small boot knife and started tearing the blankets and curtains into strips, then tying the ends together. Once he managed to get it to a decent length, he raided the dressers and switched his worn clothes for something sturdier. Most of the stuff in the dressers were silky and flimsy, but there was a few thicker outfits hidden in the back. There weren’t any cloaks, so he kept his own. His was darker anyway, which would help him blend in better than all these bright colors.

It used up some of his time, changing, but he didn’t want to freeze to death if the snow started early.

Once he was snugger, he tied one end of his blanket rope to the bed post, then threw the other out the window. He took a deep breath, tugged on it, and jumped out.

He made sure to brace himself on the wall and keep his eyes forwards as he went down. Hopefully all of the metal man’s knights would be focused on patrolling the hallways and not looking out the windows. It was terrifying enough having to get down, he didn’t need ghost knights and dragons on top of it.

His feet hit the ground with a jolt, and he almost screamed. His heart was beating loudly in his chest as he pried his hands off his makeshift rope, took a few steps away from the wall, then turned and ran into the woods.

Chapter Text

The air outside was much colder than inside the castle. Stan rolled his hand warmer around as he walked through the woods, just off to the side of the road. He wasn’t going to step foot onto it until the creepy black castle was out of sight.

It looked even bigger from the outside, with its giant entryway and tall twisting towers, topped with pitch black tiles. It looked like the castle of a demon from a fairytale book, not a real place that should exist. Stan made sure to keep an eye on it as he walked. He had no idea how long he’d have until someone noticed he was gone.

It was also the reason he saw the dragon, creeping out from somewhere and making its way to the roof. He ducked down next to a tree as it launched itself into the sky, quickly shooting past him and into the valley below.

Probably getting dinner then. Hopefully Stanmare was long gone.

Since his biggest issue was currently distracted with its hunt, Stan quickened his pace through the woods until he couldn’t see the castle anymore, then jumped onto the road and sprinted down it, cackling as the downhill run increased his speed. There was no way anyone would believe what just happened to him, which meant it’d make a great story. All he had to do was stretch some details, cut out a few things, and presto! Tavern tale acquired. Might even get people to pay him to hear it.

He had no idea if any of that nonsense about his blood was true, or if Ford had ever lived in that castle (he couldn’t have. There was no way his brother was living it up in a demon castle and his ma didn’t know about it) but he didn’t care. That dragon would fly back, figure out he was gone and then forget about him. It happened all the time after all.

He sprinted for a little longer, then slowed down into a jog. By the time the first flakes started drifting down he was back to walking, castle a spec in the distance and rolling his hand warmer around again.

It was too bad the fancy rooms didn’t have any gloves. They’d have come in handy (Stan chuckled at the thought, then shivered).

Stan frowned as more flakes started making their way down and the wind picked up. The sky was starting to shift colors, meaning he had another hour or so until the sunlight disappeared completely. Not great, but he’d worked with worse.

Stan picked up the pace, shoving his hands in his sleeves as the snow started coming down and sticking to the road. First a thin sprinkling, then a thicker carpet. Stan scowled and threw his hood up, blocking out the worst and keeping his ears warm.

Which was probably why he didn’t see the dragon coming.

The sunlight was really starting to disappear when he heard the sound of its wings and cursed. He turned to run back into the woods, just as the air whipped up the snow into a mini blizzard and it smashed down in front of him. The ground shook, and his lack of free hands and slippery road made him lose his balance, falling backwards as he tried to pivot and landing on his back.

Stan groaned, pulling his hands out of his sleeves to rub his head, then froze when the dragon growled, face looming over him and pupils’ slits.

It was hard to see in the low light of dusk, but the scales around his face were darker. Something dripped onto his cheek, and he reached a hand up to swipe it away. His breathing stuttered as he glanced down and saw the red smeared on his hand.

Blood.

Stan’s eyes jerked up and stared at it, not even breathing as it crept closer and hissed at him. A few drops hit the snow around him, staining it red. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest as its lips curled up in a snarl, revealing all its pointy teeth and bits of its meal stuck in between them.

Stan flinched as its claw came up and reached towards him, throwing his arms over his head and curling into a ball. He’d been messing with the thing earlier with the metal man, but it hadn’t seemed so intimidating then. Not when he’d been consumed with fury and shoving all his fear down.

His rage was gone now, cooled by the chill air and the taste of freedom. There was nothing for him to use to fuel his defiance. Not with it looming over him like this, covered in blood and not acting like a sad lost puppy.

He shivered on the ground as its hot breaths hit him, warming half of him up and making him gag from the smell. Something hit the ground next to him and he flinched, curling up tighter. He wished it’d get this over with already and do something. The wait was killing him.

When nothing continued to happen, he lowered his arms, peeking up at it. It was still there, head directly above him and staring, back to looking sad. Its claw was slammed down on the road next to him, twice his size and close enough to touch.

They stared at each other, Stan’s jacket drying out from all the warm breaths it was sending his way. After a moment it huffed and turned its head, rubbing it on the trees and ground, wiping the blood away. Stan watched it with wide eyes, trying to make himself smaller as it cleaned itself off.

When it was done it shook itself, then sat back on its hind legs and stared at him, tilting its head back and forth. Stan started to uncurl, then recurled as it suddenly reached forwards with its front claws and scooped him up, cupping one of its claws underneath him and covering him up with the other, cutting off the already dim light as it held him like a bug.

Stan’s heart froze as he sat in the cramped darkness. Then he screamed as the world shook and moved around him, claws pressing him down so he wouldn’t move.

The dragon beat its wings, jolting him as it launched into the air and making his stomach sink.

He tried to push out his arms or stretch out his legs, then wheezed as the space got even smaller, the dragon clutching him tighter.

It was too cramped here. Too small and too dark. He couldn’t breathe, and the world was moving.

He could feel it, every twist and turn, up and down, as his arms were pressed to his sides and his legs forced to curl up.

The sounds of the dragon’s wings beating drowned out everything else, pounding in time with his heart.

Stan kept screaming, trying to push out with his legs and hands scrambling to pry open the claws.  

Abruptly the wings stopped, and the space shook as the dragon landed.

It didn’t make him feel better, but he stopped screaming, throat raw and hands sweaty.

This was worse than- then the wood had give, was weak and smashable. The dragon’s claws were like iron, barely allowing the smallest movements, shaking him as it moved.

The blood in his ears drowned out any noise, even the sounds of the dragon as his brain became fuzzy.

His breaths were coming in short gasps, and his heartbeat was going wild in his chest.

Stan gripped his shirt, whimpering, then yelled as the dragon suddenly dropped him.

Light blinded him for a moment, and a second later he landed on something soft.

He threw himself backwards, slamming his back into something as he rubbed his eyes and blinked, trying to get a grasp of his surroundings before it could grab him again.

He was back in the treasure room, once more on the top of the gold mountain, on a… bed?

Except no, it wasn’t a bed. Beds didn’t have walls on each side. It looked like another giant chest, full of blankets and pillows. Stan clutched the front of his shirt, looking around with wide eyes as he tried to get his breathing under control. He jerked his head up when the dragon let out a puff of air above him, limbs twitching as he tried to stretch out and curl up at the same time.

Its eyes were back to being dinner plates, and it crooned at him sadly. It looked at its claws, back to his panicked face, then grabbed the sides of the chest. Stan only had a second to process the claw next to him before it gripped the chest tightly and yanked off the lid, tossing it further it across the room.

Stan flinched when he heard it shatter, then went back to staring at the dragon. It nodded to itself, looking pleased. Then it abruptly thrust its head forwards into Stan.

He tried to shove himself away, but he was already in the corner. Instead, he cringed as it bent down and started…. Rubbing him? The scales on its face were smooth as they went back and forth over his face and clothes. Stan’s hands came up, tying to do… something, and it shoved its snout in them, pinning him in the corner as it did whatever it was doing.

His tongue felt stiff in his mouth and his throat dry as he tried to stutter out protests. All that came out was a wheeze as his stiff jaw refused to cooperate. The dragon stopped after a few minutes, looking satisfied. It sniffed him a few times, then turned and made its way back down the coin pile.

Stan didn’t hesitate, shaky limbs pushing him up as he threw himself out of the chest and looked around for the door. If he could just find it and get out, then… something. His brain was too full of static to think any further.

He only made it a few feet down the coin pile before the dragon was there, claw smashing in front of him and blocking the way. Stan screamed as he ran into it, then crouched back into a ball, covering his head.

It didn’t pick him up this time, just pushed him back towards the chest, forcing him to stumble to his feet and walk or get rolled across the coins. It didn’t stop until he was shoved up against the side of the chest, then pinched the back of his coat and lifted him up over the edge.

Once he was back in the chest it huffed, claws coming down on either side as it tilted its head at him and tapped the ground. Stan rolled over, scootching into a corner and hugging his knees as they stared at each other.

After a while it sighed (and Stan gagged at the smell), then started walking backwards down the pile, not taking its eyes off him as it neared the wall. Stan kept looking at it the best he could, crawling to the side of the chest to watch it over the edge. They kept staring at each other until the dragon ran into the far wall. The doors were right next to it, the same ones from earlier.

Instead of leaving like he hoped, one of its claws came up and patted the wall a few times, looking for something. It refused to take its eyes off him, sliding its claw up and down the dark stone. Stan watched it, heart rate finally slowing down as his terror morphed into confusion. What was it-

The lights went out, leaving them in pitch blackness, nothing but the dragons faintly glowing eyes across the room.

Stan froze as his breath hitched and he gripped the side of the chest. His heart started beating faster again as the eyes blinked.

He jerked his arm forwards, desperately making sure he had room to move.

It didn’t make it better, and his breathing shortened as he scrambled blindly in the dark, trying to do something. Anything.

He didn’t know what, but just moving made him feel some kind of good. The knowledge that he wasn’t trapped in a small area easing some of the tension in his chest.

The dragon eyes blinked a few times, then disappeared as it turned away. Stan let out a strangled shout when the last faint light vanished.

The blankets and pillows were terrible to move around on, so he crawled until he hit a side and clutched the edge of the chest, trying to breath.

The coins shifted underfoot as the dragon moved around the room. Stan tried to follow it, hoping for just a glimpse of its eyes. Anything was better than the pitch nothingness around him.

He couldn’t even tell which direction he was facing anymore, the emptiness seemed to press in on him, despite him waving and kicking his arms around.

The dragon grumbled, then made a clicking noise that echoed around. The reminder of how large the space around him eased his breathing, but the crashing of coins that followed made him start hyperventilating again.

There was a large crash as the dragon stopped nearby, and he gasped as its eyes popped into view right in front of him. It growled something, then a moment later a soft blue light appeared above Stan.

He let out a startled breath as the chest and the dragon came back into view. A soft blue light, coming from an orb it was holding in the tips of one of its claws, illuminated just the space around them. He could just make out some of the coins further away, but no further.

But it was enough.

Stan took a deep breath, then yelped as it dropped the orb down next to him, chirping happily. The pounding of his heart faded as he jerked forwards and grabbed the orb, holding it to his chest.

It was cool to the touch, light shimmering through his fingers and a little larger than his hand warmer. Stan stared at it while the dragon curled up around him, stretching its wing over the chest like it did when it was hiding him from the metal man.

Stan took a few more deep breaths, huddled around the light, then side eyed the dragon. It was looking pleased with itself as it got comfortable, curling around him until its face was right next to him, pupils’ dinner plates.

He could see himself reflected back, pale and frazzled looking in the light of the orb. The terror was slowly fading as the light chased away the darkness and he stretched out his legs. There was a lot of space under the wing, even if being trapped by a dragon made him feel twitchy.

It… didn’t have to give him the light, he supposed. It was larger and more powerful than anything he’d ever come across. There was nothing stopping it from forcing him to stay locked in a chest in the darkness if it really wanted. He hadn’t even asked, it just saw his terror and did it anyway.

Another mark against it being Ford. His brother was terrible at social cues and never seemed to really know what he was feeling their last few years together. He should probably let it know he appreciated it or something, make sure it didn’t snack on him for being ungrateful.

It took him a few tries to get his mouth working. His throat was dry and raw from screaming, and his muscles were tense from earlier. He licked his lips and swallowed a few times, before taking a deep breath and finding the courage to say something.

“Thanks,” he croaked eventually, and it trilled back happily. Then it reached forwards and picked up one of the blankets, draping it over his lap. Stan looked at the blanket, then yelped when it shoved a pillow behind his head.

“What is this, a sleepover?” he rasped, as it stuck out its tongue and messed with the pillows and blankets. It gently pushed him towards the center of the chest, then set the rest of the bedding around him like a nest.

Stan just let it do its thing, too exhausted from the amount of panic attacks he’d had today on top of all the traveling he’d done this morning. Nothing like being dragged around by a mythical beast to really tire you out.

Plus, he needed to conserve his energy to sneak out later. Once it fell asleep, he could find a way to creep around or crawl over it, nab a bunch of gold and try again for the village, now with a brand new light orb.

There was no way he could sleep like this anyways. Not in the center of a dragon in a chest filled with pillows and blankets. It didn’t matter that this makeshift not-bed was more comfortable than anything he’d slept on in ten years, or that his body was feeling the effects of an adrenaline crash.

He was staying awake all night and getting out of here, no matter what.

Stan woke up to the metal man standing over him, looking some kind of upset. Stan blinked at him, squinted at the light pouring through the dragons lifted wing, then rolled over, snuggling back into his blanket/pillow nest. Metal man said something, but he just grumbled and closed his eyes.

He’d been having a weird dream he wanted to get back to. Something about wishes and deals.

The dragon rumbled around him as he started to drift off, shaking the chest slightly. He sighed, then clutched the light orb closer to his chest, basking in its coolness.

This was the most comfortable he’d been in…... forever. He wasn’t moving unless he absolutely had to.

Or if a metal man grabbed him under arms and lifted him.

Stan groaned as he clutched his light orb and was brought out of the warmth of his blanket nest. Wasn’t kidnapping him enough? Couldn’t it let him sleep in at least? There had to be some kind of prisoner guideline about this somewhere, this kind of treatment was inhumane.

He squinted at the ground as the metal man tucked him under an arm and pried the light orb out of his arms, muttering something that made it turn off. It threw the orb back in the chest, then marched down the coin mountain, dragon yawning and following behind.

“Do you know how worried you made everyone,” metal man said as it reached the doors and strode into the halls, “We spent all night combing the castle and the woods. I had to write a whole speech for Stanford explaining how we lost you in less than an hour.”

“Hah,” Stan mumbled, rubbing his eyes and yawning, “Sucks to suck.”

“It’s not funny,”

The dragon chortled behind him, and the metal man whipped around.

“Don’t you start! You had him in there all night and didn’t tell anybody! There’s a blizzard going on right now! We thought he’d died in a ditch or something!”

“Psh,” Stan slapped its leg, then grimaced as it stung his hand, “stupid cold wasn’t gonna kill me. I’m a master of the elements. Or whatever. Town wasn’t too far out before old scaley there snatched me. Probably.”

The dragon grumbled something, but he couldn’t really see its expression from where he was dangling. He decided it was a grumble of agreement.

Metal man sighed, then turned and made his way back down the hallway.

“Regardless, you missed dinner. I found a few things knocking around the kitchen and rustled up a few…. eggs. It’ll last a few days, but we’ll have to figure out something else before we run out. None of us thought to stock up on humany foods, since there weren’t any humans to be feeding.”

“Don’t worry,” Stan said, yawning again, “I’ll be out of your hair whether you want it or not before that happens.”

The dragon growled at him, but he ignored it. There was no way it was keeping him locked up here for more than a week. He’d have to wait for the blizzard to die down, because he wasn’t a total idiot, but then he was gone.

“Good luck with that,” metal man said, “Let me know how It goes. In the meantime, breakfast, then over to Stanford’s lab. My wife will hopefully be back to help soon, she’s still out looking for your corpse out there.”

“What, so your wife can wander around a blizzard and be fine, but I’m a corpse?” Stan asked, trying to twist up and glare at the metal man. It didn’t even spare him a glance.

“Yes,” it said, then stopped abruptly. Stan twisted as the doors in front of them opened, revealing the same dining room from yesterday. There were three people huddled around the end of it, one giant (but normal human giant and not metal man giant) guy, and two short guys. Probably the metal man’s kids. He couldn’t get a good look at any of them from where he was, so he just slumped forwards, yawning again.

“Look who I found,” metal man announced as it marched into the room, “in the treasure room, where he’s been all night snoozing away.”

“Hey,” Stan said, whacking it in the leg again and frowning, “I didn’t chose to be there. Be mad at someone else.”

“I’m not mad,” the metal man said, sounding mad. It marched up to the table and roughly dropped him back into the same chair as yesterday, then slammed down into its chair and crossed its arms in a very mad way, “just frustrated.”

“We’re all frustrated. We were up all night looking for a guy who’d already been found,” said the… giant tree? Stan stared at the other less giant but still large tree person. It had bark skin and red leaves instead of hair and was wearing a fuzzy hat and flannel. It looked like a lumber jack. Except made of lumber, which was just weird all around.

“Are you Uncle Stanley?” said one of the kids, popping up to stand next to the chair. Stan yelled and flung himself to the side, tiredness forgotten as two identical little kids peered at him. They looked the most human of all the things here yet, except they had little webbed clawed hands and fins sticking out of the side of their heads, with patches of scales on what little he could see of their faces under their dark curly hair. One of the boys was smiling, showing off a row of razor-sharp teeth.

“Yup! Or no acutally? I’m not- I don’t think I’m your Uncle?” he said, leaning as far to the side as he could. Then he jumped when the dragon settled down next to him, trapping him between it and the two fish kids.

“Yes, you are,” Metal man said, rubbing his forehead (which made a really annoying noise), “Stanford helped me and my wife make our son, so he’s an honorary uncle, and he and I found Shifty, making him his dad. Since you’re his brother, that makes you both of their uncles.

Stan stared at the metal man, trying to decide how he felt about all that information it had just dumped on him. First of all, what the heck? And second, what the heck? Ford helped make one, and found the other? They looked pretty identical, but apparently not. Also how exactly did his brother help make a child. Like, in the traditional sense? Because if so, he had even more questions.

He turned to look at the kids, who were looking at him in what he was hoping was fascination and not hunger. What even were they supposed to be? What was with the scales and fins?

Taking a deep breath, he turned and faced the table. He decided he didn’t care.

On the table were a few maps. From what he could tell it looked like ones of the castle and a few of the surrounding area, based on what he remembered from his own. He studied them as quickly as he could, before the metal man noticed and scowled at him. It reached over and snatched the papers off the table, then folded them quickly and shoved them in one of its pockets.

“Stop that,” it said, glaring at him. Stan just stuck his tounge out, making the tree guy snort and the kids giggle. Metal man glared, then made a gesture with his hands. A moment later a knight appeared, carrying a tray with a cover. It set it down in front of Stan, then lifted the lid and stepped away.

The smell hit his nose immediately, making his mouth water. On the plate in front of him was some pancakes and eggs, along with a few strips of jerky. He’d been living off of hardtack and what little preservatives had been left behind in the abandoned villages. This was the first warm meal he’d had since he left the last inn almost a month ago, and it was definitely nicer than the bowl of gruel and watered down ale they’d had.

It was made even better when the knight reappeared with a jug of crystal-clear water.

“Its not much, but-” the metal man started to say, but Stan ignored the rest, tearing into the pancakes and downing the water before anyone could take it from him. He was halfway through ripping into some of the jerky before he realized there was a fork on the platter, which he used to stab at the eggs and shovel them in his mouth.

A small hand started reaching for his jerky and he snarled, jerking the platter away and hunching over it, glaring at one of the identical kids. The kid just giggled at him, then whispered something into the others ear, making him smile.

“I can see the resemblance,” tree guy said as Stan growled and ate his eggs faster, eyeing the kids next to him. The dragon growled, but didn’t otherwise move.

“Yes,” metal man said, sounding tired, “It’s been… I’ve learned a lot, I think. They’re both pretty similar in all the worst ways.”

Stan ignored them, too busy making sure the kids wouldn’t try anything and not choking on his free breakfast. They kept creeping closer to him, then giggling and jumping away whenever he growled. The dragon chortled next him, scales scraping across the stone as it shuffled behind him.

Eventually the knight came to refill his cup, which was amazing, and Stan downed that one too. The third cup he sipped slower, munching on the last of the pancakes. He shoved the last piece into his mouth, finished off the water, then shoved the platter away, slouching into the chair.

“You should get syrup,” he said, crossing his hands over his stomach and eyeing the table. After a moment he shrugged, then propped his feet on it.

If it wasn’t for how terrible this place was, it’d be pretty great. He’d consider visiting even once they figured out what their problem was and stopped trying to force him to stay.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Metal man said, sighing and waving its hand. The knight came back and got his platter, then walked away. Stan followed it, watching as it disappeared behind a wall drapery. Must be a servant’s door there, he’d have to sneak in at some point and get a look around if he was here for too long.

“Now, introductions,” metal man said, “This is Boyish Dan, he lives in the village down below. Stanford was helping him with his… problem.”

“Pines was helping me get my skin back,” Dan said, gesturing to his face, “punched some big tree and it got mad at me. Then he got turned into a dragon because he’s an idiot and chased everyone away.”

The dragon growled, but the metal man didn’t disagree.

“This is Tate, my son, and his brother Shifty.” Metal man continued, smiling as he reached forwards and ruffled their hair at the same time. Stan had no idea which one was which. Would it be rude to ask why they were part fish?

“Why are they part fish,” he asked, leaning back and eyeing them. Giggles started giggling, while the quiet one smiled quietly. Metal man just glared at him.

“They’re not part fish,” he said, annoyed, “Tate’s a homunculus, he was designed to adapt to his surroundings for increased chances of survival as he grew. He just likes to spend time in the lake, so he turned out more aquatic. Shifty’s just copying him.”

Stan had no idea what a homunculus was, or how Shifty was copying him.

“Why aren’t you a dragon?” Dan asked, raising an eyebrow and sounding challenging.

“Why would I be tree boy?” he shot back, annoyed and jerking a thumb over at the dragon, “just because you think that things Ford? Because I’m not buying.”

There was a beat of silence, as Dan glared and muttered tree boy to himself, and metal man sighed again. It did a lot of breathing for a guy made out of metal.

“He doesn’t believe me that its Stanford.”

“Did you show him the-”

“Yes, we showed him the fingers.”

Dan raised an eyebrow at metal man, then turned to face Stan. Stan just glared back at him, crossing his arms.

“Its not Ford,” he grumbled, ignoring the rumbles next to him, “for one, people don’t turn into dragons. That’s not a thing that happens. For two, it doesn't act anything like him, and for three, my brother wouldn’t kidnap me.”

“Yes, he has been acting differently since his transformation,” metal man said , turning to look at the dragon, “we think because his dragon instincts are overriding his human thoughts. Its gotten worse the longer he’s been like this. At first, he could barely eat raw meat, now he only eats things he’s hunted himself.”

Well, Stan was talking about how clingy and obsessed with him it was being more than anything. If Ford had really been turned into a dragon, the first thing he’d do was incinerate Stan on sight, not snatch him and try to keep him in a chest forever. He wasn’t going to correct it though; it’d just keep trying to convince him the dragon was his brother.

“Hopefully you’ll be able to help us into the lab so we can finally start working on fixing him,” metal man continued, getting to his feet, “which is what we’ll be doing now. Boys, I need you to clear a spot in the library. We’ll bring everything down there if the doors unlock. Stanford can’t fit in his labs right now, and then we’ll have direct access to the archives if Stanley can unlock them.”

“Yes dad!” the fish boys chirped, then ran off out of the dining hall.

“Can you keep an eye on them Dan? I don’t want them wandering near the labs while we sort through it,”

“Sure thing McGucket,” Dan said, nodding and stomping after them. Stan watched him go, then yelped when McGucket (and now he knew its name, which was annoying) picked him up and tucked him under its arm again.

“Hey!” he shouted, trying to wiggle free, “Put me down! I can walk!”

“Walk right out of the castle apparently,” McGucket grumbled, “I’m not letting you down until I can be sure you won’t go wanderin’ around. Last thing I need is you getting lost again right after I found you.”

The dragon growled as it got to its feet and followed after, getting closer and shoving the metal man’s head with its snout.

“Sorry, so soon after you found him and didn’t tell anybody,” McGucket said, sounding annoyed, “in any case, you’ve lost walking privileges. At least until we open the doors, and I can stick you with Stanford somewhere.”

Stan growled, once again trying to kick and slap it, now that his hands were free. All it did was make his palms sore, so instead he tried to pry off parts of it that he could reach.

“Stop that,” McGucket said, prying his fingers off and holding him up in front of it as it walked. Stan scowled, then tried to kick it in the face again.

The dragon chortled and McGucket glared harder. Then it sighed.

“You’re impossible to work with, and you brought this upon yourself.”

Stan frowned as it turned back towards the dining table, still trying to kick it.

“What? What are you talking about? Brought what upon myself?”

Turned out, the rope was still there. Stan snarled as he wiggled in place after the metal man tied his arms together and threw him over its shoulder like a sack of potatoes, pinning his legs down with its arms. The dragon chortled, ignoring his glares and chirping at him, occasionally darting forwards to butt its snout gently against his head and ignoring his shouts of outrage.

Stan changed his mind; this place was just terrible and nothing else. He’d never visit, no matter how many soft beds or warm breakfasts they had.

Chapter Text

Stan fumed as McGucket carried him through the giant hallways, glaring at the dragon as it crooned at him. This was the worst kidnapping to ever happen to him, not that it happened often, just enough that he had opinions about it.

For one, these knots were terrible. If the dragon wasn’t staring right at him, he’d be able to undo them with his teeth and bash McGuckets head or something. He had no idea if it’d do anything, but the fact that he could was enough.

The reason they’d kidnapped him was also annoying. He still didn’t believe Ford had ever been in this creepy doom castle, but if he had then there was no reason Stan should be able to undo his magic locks just with his blood. The magic locks Ford had put on his dresser the one time as teenagers gave him some idea what to expect, and Stan didn’t have the first clue what the passcode could be or how his blood figured into it.

Which meant that they were either lying or delusional, and he didn’t know which one was worse. Hopefully they’d let him be once he proved he couldn’t open whatever door they wanted opened. Or at least stop hovering over him and carrying him everywhere.

Eventually McGucket stopped, then lifted Stan and set him back on his feet in front of him.

“Here we are, Stanford’s lab,” McGucket said, waving to the door behind him, “Most everything he had on curse breakings behind the doors, and what isn’t is in the archives, which he also sealed. If you can get past here, then you should be able to get past anything else he thought to lock up.”

Stan opened his mouth, probably to let McGucket know how farfetched the whole thing was, when he turned and got a look at the door.

It was one of the smaller doors, with a single knight posted in front. It was made of the same dark wood as everything else, with gold inlay and looking extremely expensive for a door. There was only one difference between it and all the others in the hallway.

That was the giant circle on it, clearly made of blood with runes carved along the sides with what had probably been a knife and more blood drawn runes on the inside of the circle. A single six-fingered bloody handprint was in the center, glowing a feint gold. The knight was also covered in bloody runes and glowing faintly.

Stan whipped around and glared up at McGucket.

“You said there was no blood rituals happening!” Stan yelled, lifting his still tied arms and pointing at it, “This is a lot of blood for not being a blood ritual!”

“Well, there aren’t any more blood rituals,” McGucket said sheepishly, “Just the ones that Stanford already did to seal the doors and everything else. You should be able to just put your hand on the door and unlock it without cutting yourself open.”

Stan kept glaring, then lifted his tied arms and waved them at it. McGucket sighed, then reached down and untied him. Once he was free, he shook his hands out, then cautiously stepped over to the door.

There were definitely six fingers on the bloody handprint, making his stomach twist. It didn’t mean that they were right, and that the dragon was Ford, but it was becoming more likely that Ford had been living here at some point. Maybe that’s why the dragon was obsessed with him actually, it thought he was Ford, and the others were trying to hide the fact that something had happened to his brother.

Stan inched closer, eyeing the hand print. He’d have to go along with it for now, until he figured out what was really happening here. Better to let them think he was sort of cooperating, so they didn’t tie him up and throw him to the dragon forever.

He glanced back at McGucket and the dragon (he’d have to think of an appropriate name for it. he wasn’t calling it Ford) then sighed and lifted his hand, pressing it against the bloody one on the door and cringing at the texture. Something inside of him ached at how closely the hands matched up, like giving Ford one final high six.

The hand print flashed, then the knight jerked to attention, swinging around and bending towards him. Stan tried to back up, but was stopped by McGucket holding his shoulders. It didn’t get any closer, just looked him up and down, nodded, then swung the door open. Stan got a glimpse of the dim room, packed with books and glass vials, before a pair of metal arms swooped down and grabbed him, hugging him to McGuckets chest as the metal man cheered and started spinning.

“I knew it! I knew you could open the door!” McGucket yelled happily, squeezing Stan, “Oh, this changes everything! We can finally get started on fixing this mess and getting Stanford to normal!”

“Put me down!” Stand wheezed, kicking his legs and slapping his hands on the metal man’s chest, “You’re crushing me!”

McGucket stopped trying to break his ribs, holding him further away as Stan wheezed and smiling at him.

“Don’t you worry none about your brother Stanley. We’ll get him fixed up in no time at all. Now wait here,” McGucket set him down next to the dragon and strode into the room, hitting the wall. The lights flashed on inside immediately, showing off the cluttered mess of books and possibly more blood.

“There’s no telling what Stanford had going on in here before he got himself dragonfied, I don’t want you touching things until I can clear it up. Keep an eye on him while I get this mess sorted Stanford.”

The dragon set its head down by the door and clicked, dinner plate eyes watching Stan as he shuffled to the side and rubbed his ribs. Stan glared at it, still trying to breathe, then tried peeking into the room. The dragon stopped him, using one of its claws to gently move him away and grumbling at him.

“What, I don’t get to look inside?” Stan huffed, then glared when the dragon nodded and crooned, “I opened the doors!”

“He doesn’t want you nearby in case something in here explodes,” McGucket shouted, just as something inside crashed, “which looks more and more likely. Really Stanford, some of the things you have running in here are- don’t you take that tone with me!”

The dragon clicked at McGucket, then scootched forwards so it could peek in the room. Stan huffed and crossed his arms, tapping his foot as he waited for McGucket to finish whatever he was doing in there.

If he could get inside and take a look around, then maybe he could figure out what had happened to his brother. Maybe it was less a fit of paranoia and more for his own protection that Ford sealed the room, if this was Ford and not a second six fingered person wandering around studying magic and messing with blood rituals.

Who was he kidding, he recognized his brother’s rune writing on the door, and the chances of some other six fingered person being into all the same things as Ford was so low it was in the underworld. Which meant his brother had definitely been living here, and might possibly be hiding somewhere, missing, or…...

Probably missing. Or maybe he left, ran away and escaped captivity like Stan was trying to do, and was now hiding out somewhere. If so, he might get upset about Stan unlocking the doors to his lab, but it wasn’t like he had a lot of choice in the matter. He didn’t need to give McGucket another reason to start manhandling him.

Stan mulled over the possibility of where Ford could be while he listened to McGucket clear out the room and talk to the dragon. Mostly about what certain materials were, where things went, and how the dragon was an idiot for doing certain things then leaving them unattended for months.

The longer he watched, the more he realized that the dragon’s eyes were dinner plates again, except they weren’t looking at Stan.

They were looking into the room, gazing at whatever was in there and crooning at it. Stan watched it grumble and growl at McGucket about something, then took a few steps backwards.

It didn’t even twitch, too engrossed with whatever was past the doorway.

It couldn’t be this easy. There was no possible way.

Very slowly, Stan started walking backwards, stopping whenever the dragon growled or McGuckets voice go to loud. None of the knights lining the hall stopped him as he slowly made his way past, then side stepped down the first corner.

Once the dragon was out of sight he turned and quietly kept going, not stopping or picking up speed until he was several hallways and flights of stairs away.

The knights continued to ignore him, some of them even opening doors for him if he stopped in front of them for too long. Stan poked his head in a few of the rooms, finding a bathroom (which he gladly took advantage of) and some bedrooms. There was no telling what else was in this castle, but now he had the time to look around.

When he felt like he’d gotten a comfortable distance, he went to the first window and pushed the curtain away, looking outside. Pure white greeted him, the glass panes shaking slightly from the force of the wind and flakes smashing against the glass. He set a hand against the window, then flinched and pulled it back, letting the curtain drop.

Whatever they were doing to heat this place was amazing and had to be magic, because the window had been freezing. Looked like he was stuck inside for a while, might as well take a look around and get a feel for the place. It would make escaping later much easier

Stan pulled out the maps he swiped from McGucket when the metal man had tried crushing him to death. There was no way it would let him keep them, so he stuck his head in through a few doors until he found some kind of study, then went over to the desk and pulled out a few sheets of parchment and a quill.

He set aside the maps of the surrounding area for now, focusing on the castle ones. Then he got to work making a rough copy of each, only labeling a few key rooms and which floor was which before moving on. There was no telling how much time he had until they noticed he’d disappeared, and he wanted to get the most out of it.

When that was done, he did an even rougher copy of the local area, squinting at some of the details and marking key points he might be able to use to compare it to his own. When that was finished, he put the quill back, shoved his own copies into the hidden pockets of his cloak, then made his way back into the hall, picking a direction and strolling along.

“~Do do do do, exploring a creepy castle, do do do do~” Stan sang, poking his head through every doorway and trying to memorize the crazy layout. The knights continued to do nothing but open doors for him, which eased some of his anxiety and made him more confident as he tried to figure out where he was on the map. This place was crazy, hallways turning into themselves and giant stairways leading to empty rooms, like it was designed by a child who didn’t know anything about architecture.

It was magic in itself that the place was standing really, with the way some rooms and halls were stacked on top of each other haphazardly.

Stan made sure to note the rooms as he went, tilting his head at a few of them. The castle had a lot of strangely proportioned bedrooms (including the furniture), some huge and others incredibly small. There were also some storage rooms, variously sized bathrooms, some kind of steam room, different kinds of crafting rooms, and several mostly empty ones. Some of them looked like meeting rooms, while others didn’t have anything but large yellow carpets with triangles, and one had some kind of altar that had been smashed to pieces. He hadn’t spent a lot of time in castles (almost none and all of them smaller than this) but he was pretty sure none of this was normal.

The décor was also creepy, now that he had the time to properly examine it. The dark furniture had clawed feet of different animals, some of the carvings were incredibly detailed organs, and the stonework near the ceiling looked like it was people in various positions of agony. The paintings weren’t better. The only good ones were the landscapes, when they weren’t of battlefields or rivers of blood. The rest were portraits of various monsters, posing with severed heads or making weird faces. Some of the paintings were missing, and a few damaged, but most of them were intact and staring at him from the wall.

The fact that McGucket, his family, and the dragon chose to live here with these was evidence of some kind of suspicion. Although it made sense that monsters would live in a monster castle really. It’s where they always lived in fairy tales. Except that none of them seemed to fit the vibe of ‘creepy demon death castle’ so maybe they stole this place from some other monster.

“Man,” Stan stopped in front of one of the paintings, depicting some kind of black knight in yellow wrappings with his face carved out, “What is with this place. It sucks.”

“It does, doesn’t it Stanley.” An unfamiliar voice said, right next to him.

Stan screamed and whirled around, looking for the source. Then he froze.

Right next to him was a woman, with thick curly hair wearing a pair of goggles like a headband. She had a white shirt and long leather gloves going up to her elbows. A leather apron full of pockets was over it, full of bottles and bits of paper. Two thick work boots were on her feet, floating several inches off the ground.

Because she was very blue, very glowing, and very clearly a ghost.

“None of that now,” she said, waving a hand in the air, “I’ve been looking all over the mountain side for your corpse, and I find you here. Not even a hint of frost bite on your fingers.”

Stan took a few steps back, before her words hit him. Only one person had been mentioned wandering around out in the blizzard looking for him. He just thought….

Well, he had no idea what he thought. He already knew no one here but him was human.

“You’re the wife right,” he said cautiously, eyeing her, “McGuckets?”

“Right you are, Stanley,” She said, floating closer and sticking out a hand, “Emma-May, pleasure to meet you.”

Stan looked at the hand, then up at her, raising an eyebrow. She wiggled her fingers then shrugged.

“Worth a try, anyhow,” she put her hands on her hips and leaned forwards, frowning, “what are you doing here wandering about. Everyone’s been looking all over for you.”

“Uh, I was with the dragon all night, now I’m...” Stan looked around, then down at the map in his hands, getting an idea.

“Now I’m trying to find the library. I already opened the door to Fords lab, and they wanted me to open the archives next. Got a bit turned around here, this place is a maze.”

“Yes, it can get confusing,” she mused looking around, “but I’m glad my idea of using you to open the doors worked. Less glad that you were with Stanford all night, but you know how he is. Man can get very secretive about things. Regardless!”

She leaned forwards and looked at his map, then at the hallway around them.

“You aren’t too far off, just go down this hallway to the second right, down the first set of stairs, then left until you hit the third double doors. Did you want me to show you the way?”

“No!” Stan shouted, then coughed and scratched the back of his head nervously, “I, uh, wanted to get a feel for the place on my own. And I think they were expecting your help back there. I should be able to manage just fine”

He did not want a ghost walking him around everywhere. And since he wasn’t actually going to the library, he didn’t want an escort. Then he’d just get caught by fish kids and tree boy Dan.

Emma-May nodded, placing a hand on her chin.

“Well, they do tend to need supervision. You head on down then, and I’ll see you later. If you get lost just wait where you are and one of us will find you.”

With that she reached forwards and ruffled his hair (which did nothing but make it feel cold) then floated up into the ceiling. Stan watched her go, then ran the opposite way she pointed, sprinting down the hallways and going down staircases. If she could go through the walls, then there wasn’t a lot of time until-

The dragon roared, and some of the furniture nearby shook. Stan grimaced, looking down at the map to find a good hiding spot.

The library was immediately out, along with the dining room and anything on the upper floors. The bedrooms would be nice, but they were also dead ends. He scanned the map, desperately trying to find a good spot, when all the knights in the hall suddenly jumped to attention, red light spilling from their helmets.

Stan froze and stared at them, as they stepped forwards as one and started looking up and down the hall. Then he watched them open their doors and march inside, doing the same thing.

None of them bothered him.

“OK,” he said, moving back down the hall and side eyeing the knights, “just gonna ignore whatever’s happening here.”

Instead, he looked down at the map. Then he saw the room that was at the end of one of the nearby halls and grinned. There was no way they’d think to look for him there. Stan snapped the map closed, shoved it with the rest in his non secret pocket, and ran down the hallways, grin widening as he reached his destination.

The knights at the doors were just as helpful as the rest, opening then closing them behind him once he’d gone through. Stan cackled at the sounds of the dragon’s rampage and distant yelling. This would be the last place they’d look, especially after last night.

The treasure room was just as amazing as the first time he saw it, and now there wasn’t a dragon to distract from the experience of all the gold and jewels lying around. He giggled as he crouched down and ran his fingers through all the coins, then laid down and started rolling around in it.

This was amazing. Just a few handfuls could pay off all his debts and still leave enough to live off for a couple of years. More if he left the coins and just grabbed the jewelry and gems.

But first he needed to get it out of here. Stan rolled around for a few more minutes, then got up and made his way to the top of the coin pile, near the chest-bed.

“Now, where did old scales put it,” he mused aloud to himself, scanning the piles of treasure for his wagon. It hadn’t dragged him too far away from it yesterday, which meant it should be somewhere close.

It took him a while of going up and around the coins to find it, mostly due to him getting distracted with something shiny every few minutes. Like he’d suspected, it was just to the side of the chest-bed coin mountain, half buried in treasure and wheels absolutely destroyed.

“Damn it,” he muttered, walking closer and shoveling the coins off of it, “Don’t they know how expensive wagon repairs are these days? Good thing I’m already getting compensation for this whole mess.” In the form of all the gold he was taking with him.

Stan grumbled as he cleared the treasure off his wagon, then riffled through his chest to get a few tools and take off the now useless wheels. He picked them up carefully and threw them in a pile further away, then grimaced at the rest of his wagon.

The bottom was scrapped up from slamming into the ground, and both sides had giant holes from where the dragon’s claws had dug into it. The only thing intact was the canvas and his chest, all his loose goods inside were in disarray and some of them torn or broken. He pulled out anything unsalvageable and tossed it into the pile with the wheels, then pushed and pulled the wagon closer to the doors so it wouldn’t get reburied in treasure.

It would probably have been easier to ditch the wagon and just take his chest. Buy a new one with all the gold he was going to steal. But…

He couldn’t. This wagon had been his home for a decade, and it was the last thing he had that still held traces of Ford. Not just his brother’s little inventions and carvings, but also the memories they’d made traveling up and down the seaside, watching him practice magic in isolated beaches and making plans to head out to sea and become magic sailors like Shermie, slaying sea monsters and finding lost islands full of hidden treasure and tomes.

This wagon held all of those memories, he couldn’t abandon it just because of a little damage. There was plenty of wood around here, all he had to do was smash a few beds and dressers to get the parts, turn it into a sled, and then drag it through the snow until he found some wheels or something else to pull it.

In fact, he could probably get started right now while he was hiding out. Just pop his head out, grab a nearby dresser, then drag it back and start repairs. He reorganized the wagon bed, making sure to tie everything down just in case, then hopped out and walked over to the doors, waiting for them to open.

And waited.

And he kept waiting as he realized these doors were far too large to push open by himself, and he had no idea how to get the knight’s attention on the other side of the door. McGucket hadn’t said anything in the previous times he’d carried Stan out of here, just walked towards them. Stan tried backing up and walking towards them with purpose, just stopping before he could run into the still closed doors.

“Hey!” Stan yelled, banging a fist on the wood, “Open up! I’ve got places to be!”

Nothing.

He pressed his ear against the wood, but all he could hear were the roars of the dragon somewhere else in the castle. Looks like he was stuck here. Again.

“Well,” Stan said, turning around and assessing the treasure piles, “fate has decided we’re just meant to be it seems.”

There were worst places to be stuck than a giant pile of treasure. Might as well get to work shoveling as much as possible into his wagon.

First, he’d have to empty everything out of the chest. Stan climbed back into the wagon bed, then opened his chest and started pulling out everything he’d looted from the villages and stacking it near the wall. The only things he kept inside were his own supplies, emergency food, personal items, anything really valuable he’d found, and the box of unsent letters he stopped and looked at for a few minutes.

He’d have to write another one, telling Ford about everything that happened. Later though, when he wasn’t busy stealing and wasn’t hiding from the dragon. He carefully closed the box, then set it down back inside the chest, safe and sound.

Everything else could go, all the metal work, carvings, and interesting bits and bobs he thought might fetch a pretty penny going into the stack. He was in the middle of carrying an armful of tools when the treasure doors opened, and he froze.

In strolled tree boy Dan, who looked around, spotted him, then looked over at all the things he’d shoved against the wall. He made a few interesting expressions, before he turned and glared at Stan, marching towards him. Stan scrambled backwards, then hit his wagon

“Pines did say you were a criminal,” Dan said, coming over and looking down at him, “I just thought he was biased or something. Didn’t realize you’d been robbing the village while everyone was gone.”

“You can’t prove that!” Stan shot back, then yelped when Dan grabbed one of the hammers from his arms, turning it in the light before showing off the carved handle.

“My family does carpentry on the side. I can recognize the work on some of these. This is one of mine.”

Well. That was some pretty good proof right there.

“OK, so I was doing a little bit of robbing,” Stan said, trying to inch to the side, “but its not like anyone was- ugk!”

He dropped the tools and grabbed at his throat as Dan grabbed him by the back of his clothes and lifted him up. They clattered to the ground as Dan turned and marched out of the treasure room, Stan pulling at his collar and kicking his legs again. It was harder to aim held out like this, but he tried to go for Dan’s chest or legs. All Dan did was shake him a few times until he stopped.

He was getting tired of being carried around all the time.

Dan marched them back down the hallways towards where the dragon’s roars were coming from. Stan started wiggling harder as the ground started shaking from the force of it and it stomping around. When he got a moment, he was going to make detachable clothes, something that would come of the back so he couldn’t get picked up and offered to a rampaging dragon.

It didn’t take long for the dragon to come to them, charging down a corridor and smelling at the air, its pupil’s slits. It jerked its head towards them and growled, then stalked over, head bent low. Once it got close enough it snatched Stan from Dan, holding him in one claw and pulling him towards its chest. Stan wheezed from the combination of being crushed and from being jerked out of Dan’s hold, then flinched as his face was shoved against the scales of its stomach.

“I didn’t take him,” Dan said, “I found him. You should keep better track of him if you don’t want him wandering off.”

Stan could feel the vibrations of it growling, making his bones tingle as it grumbled at the tree boy.

“Yes, he did, I found him in the treasure room, trying to steal the gold in there.”

Stan tried to defend himself, but before he could say anything he was pressed harder against the dragon’s chest, air pushed out of his lungs and heart beating wildly as he was shoved further against the scales. He kicked his legs frantically and wheezed, trying to get its attention as it continued to squeeze him, rumbling something back at Dan that shook his whole body.

“It is stealing. He doesn’t-”

The rest of what Dan said was drowned out by the ringing in his ears as he continued to fail to breath. Black spots began dancing in the corner of his vision, heart beating faster and legs kicking slower as the pressure increased and something in his chest popped.

He blacked out for a moment, then came to, gasping for breath and coughing. The lights of the hallway seemed brighter as he was rolled over and someone rubbed his back. He took a few deep breaths, then blinked at the stone ground beneath him. Once he felt less shaky, he looked up to find McGucket and Dan, crouched next to him with concerned faces while the dragon hovered over them. Its eyes were dinner plates again, and it crooned sadly.

“Are you alright Stanley?” McGucket said, helping him sit up. Stan took a few deep breaths, coughed some more, then glared at the dragon.

“What’s wrong with you,” he rasped, feeling his ribs and flinching at the tender spots, “just- squeezing me. I thought I was going to die.”

He flinched as it dropped its head next to him and rumbled. It slowly shifted its head closer until it was just barley touching him. He scowled and leaned away, then scowled harder when it followed him.

“He’s not used to handling people,” McGucket said, still rubbing his back, “We’re a lot more durable, even the kids. I don’t think he realized there was a problem until you stopped moving.”

“Glad to know my struggles are worth something,” Stan kept glaring at the dragon, then groaned as McGucket scooped him up in a bridal carry, “Can’t you just not. I have legs.”

“You’re still banned from walking around,” McGucket said, ignoring his weak slaps to its chest as it stood up and started walking down the hallway, “and you really should be resting after that. I’ll set you up in the library with the boys. Dan, can you keep an eye on him?”

“Better than you can,” came his reply. Stan leaned backwards to see him following behind, looking at Stan. McGucket grumbled something, then sighed.

“I suppose that’s true. Once I get you settled and looked at, I’ll start bringing things down from the lab, then we’ll take a break for lunch. Stanford, you’re coming with me.”

The dragon, which had been slinking behind them looking guilty, jerked up and growled, narrowing its eyes.

“He’ll be fine with Dan, and I need you to tell me which tomes to bring. Your organizational system is terrible.”

Stan sighed as he listened to them bicker, resting his head on McGuckets shoulder, too exhausted to try and get down (not that he was going to tell any of them that). Ford did have a terrible time keeping things organized. Maybe he told the dragon about his system before he disappeared.

Running his hand down his coat, he was pleased to find that none of them thought to look for the maps. The moment Dan’s back was turned he was getting out of the library and back to exploring the castle. He still needed to find the front door after all.

Chapter Text

By the time they made it to the library Stan had gotten his breathing mostly under control, and was also sitting stiffly in McGuckets arms, so as not to aggravate his chest. The dragon had definitely cracked or broken one or more of his ribs, judging by how every breath intensified the pain.

The library doors were large and opened up to reveal the most cursed-looking library he’d ever seen. There was a large empty space just at the entrance, probably for the dragon, with several empty tables along the sides and a few yellow couches. The floor and ceiling were pitch black, and a large chandelier hung from the ceiling, grey with sharp angles and light spilling out of what looked like human skulls, with more skull torches lining the walls (also not flickering).

The bookcases were made of a dark red material, and half of them had bars in front of the books, some of them shaking. Despite the light, gloom and shadows seemed to stick to the corners of the room. The shelves seemed to loom, and fog shrouded the area further in, obscuring the distant turns of the library.

“What the fuck is up with this place,” Stan wheezed as McGucket set him down on a couch, “where is the fog even coming from? Are those real skulls? Why are some of the shelves shaking?”

“You’re more of a chatterbox suddenly,” McGucket said, kneeling down next to him and frowning, hands moving to hover over him, “What’s with all the questions.”

“I have so many questions all the time,” Stan wheezed as he tried to bat the metal man’s hand away, “I just don’t care enough to ask. Now I’m trying to distract myself. From how much breathing hurts.”

“That’s not good, now stop struggling. I need to get a look at your chest.” McGucket frowned, tugging at Stan’s shirt and ignoring Stan’s weak arms. Stan took a deep breath, wincing from how much it hurt, then shrugged off his cloak, setting it next to him and waving the hands away.

“Stop. Just let me do it. I don’t need you ripping off my clothes or something.” Stan didn’t bother trying to take off his shirt, just lifted it and grimaced at all the bruising. The last two days had not been kind to his poor body.

“Good lordy,” McGucket said, and Stan flinched as the dragon slammed its head down next to the couch and crooned, looking at him sadly, “Why didn’t you say anything? This looks terrible!”

“Oh yeah,” Stan said, gasping as McGucket poked at his ribs, “some of its from you slinging me over your pointy shoulders. Being grabbed by the dragon. Rolling in treasure. Been a rough one for me, but its whatever.”

“Its not whatever!” McGucket snapped, and Stan yelled as it poked at his ribs sharply, pain intensifying. The dragon growled, and it held up its hands, leaning backwards.

“Sorry, I just meant, if we were hurting you, you should have said. Stanford was the last human wandering around here, and I never carried him around.”

The dragon rumbled sadly, scootching closer until its snout was brushing against his legs. McGucket frowned at it, then sighed, looking back at Stan.

“We aren’t trying to hurt you Stanley, just…”

“Keeping me prisoner against my will.” Stan finished, eyeing his ribs and gently poking at some of them, ignoring the way it’s face fell, “pretty sure some of these might be broken. It hurts like it at least.”

“Hmm.” McGucket said, shaking off the sad look and peering at him, “I have no idea. I don’t know anything about human bodies. Dan!”

Dan, who had come in and shuffled the fish kids in to the other side of the room, perked up and ran over, waving the fish kids to wait where they were.

“What did you need McGucket,” he said, looking Stan up and down and grimacing.

“Can you find Emma-May and have her help you grab the healing goo that she and Stanford developed.”

The dragon growled, but Dan just nodded and ran out of the library. The fish kids started whispering, and looking at them, then ducked down when McGucket shot them a look. Stan ignored them, just kept poking at his chest and trying to breathe.

“Stanley,” McGucket said suddenly, moving to sit next to him on the couch, “I’m- That is- What I mean to say-” it sighed leaning forwards and rubbing its face.

“You do a lot of breathing for a metal man,” Stan said, eyeing it as it glared at him through its fingers.

“Yes, more often than I used to,” it slumped, then reached forwards and ran a hand down the dragon’s snout. The dragon chirped, then went back to focusing on Stan, one of its claws inching forwards and gently tapping his foot. Stan frowned and pulled it back, making the dragon croon.

“I know its not- that you don’t want to be here,” McGucket said after a moment, drawing Stan’s attention again, “but I promise we don’t want to hurt you. Just. Once Stanford’s back to his normal self, you can talk to him, and then you can go whenever you please.”

“I’d love to go wherever I please right now,” Stan grouched. Then he looked at his marbled ribs, “well, not right now, because I think it’d die if I stepped outside. But later, when there’s not a blizzard and breathing isn’t terrible.”

“Can’t do that I’m afraid,” McGucket said, leaning back, “See, I’m pretty confident the doors to the lab will reseal if they get closed, so we’ll need you to stick around in case of an emergency. And I don’t think Stanford will let you go, even if that wasn’t the case.”

“Welp, gonna keep running till I’m gone. So, guess we’re at an impasse,” Stan wasn’t going to stop unless he found proof Ford was still somewhere in the castle or in mortal peril. Or- but he wasn’t going to think about that. Ford was out there somewhere, maybe even somewhere nearby. He’d get out and scour the village for clues, then come back when it was warmer, and their guard was down.

“We don’t have to be, Just-You keep doing you, and we’ll try not to be so rough when we stop you.” McGucket said, looking tired (as tired as a metal man could), “I wish you’d stick around willingly, but I’ll force you if I have to.”

“Because you’re kidnappers,” Stan said, chuckling, then wincing when the chuckle sent a wave of pain through his chest.

“We’re not kidnappers, we’re just- uh.” McGucket paused, probably realizing fully that they were in fact kidnappers and holding him prisoner, then waved a hand at the dragon, “Stanford kidnapped you, we’re just. Enforcing it?”

“That’s not better, metal man,” Stan said, flinching then groaning as the doors opened suddenly and Dan strode through, stepping around the dragon with Emma-May floating behind him. He was holding a jar of glowing green goo and a roll of bandages.

“That does look terrible,” Emma-May said as she floated closer, “What have you been doing to the poor man.”

“Manhandling me” Stan said, eyeing the jar as Dan handed it to McGucket.

“On accident! None of us are used to grabbing someone so…” McGucket trailed off, then popped the lid off the jar, “squishy. Darling, are we kidnappers?”

“Of course we are, we just kidnapped Stanley and are holding him prisoner. We talked about kidnapping him several times the last few months, don’t you remember?”

“Well, I figured we were more… forcing him to help us?” McGucket said, sticking his hand in the jar, “Which I see now is just kidnapping.”

“What?” Stan asked, they yelped as McGucket slathered a handful of goop over his ribs. It felt tingly and cold, and he tried to scootch away, only for Dan to come over on his other side and hold him in place, “What is that? Don’t just- let go of me! What do you mean you’ve been planning on kidnapping me for months?”

“Stop moving, it’s a healing salve Stanford and I developed, years ago when he kept hurting himself tromping through the woods,” Emma-May replied, crossing her legs and floating in front of them. McGucket moved to kneel on the couch and spread the goop everywhere while Dan held up his arms and shirt, exposing the bruises. The dragon growled at her, then slowly lifted a claw and gently ruffled his hair, much to his annoyance.

“As for the kidnapping, well.” She laid on her side in the air and propped her head up with her hand, “Back when this first started and we tried to get into Stanford’s lab, he mentioned that the seal was tied to his blood, so only someone who matched it could get in. Then he mentioned that he had a near identical twin brother, so we initially planned to go out and drag you back to the castle.”

Stan tried to follow along and inch away from the goop at the same time, then yelped when Dan pushed him forwards so that McGucket could start wrapping him in bandages.

“But Stanford had no idea where you were, and when we tried to ask your mother, she had no clue either, just that you were ‘a traveling merchant, always on the move’, so that plan quickly fell apart. We were lucky you just strolled up to our doorstep to rob everyone after they ran.”

“You were what?” McGucket said, tugging on the bandages. Stan yelled, tears springing to the corner of his eyes as it pulled on his ribs and sent a fresh wave of agony up and down his chest. McGucket quickly loosened them, muttering apologies even as it eyed him.

“Hey,” Stan hissed, “it wasn’t robbing. It was, uh, repurposing. Not like anyone was here using any of the stuff, I was just taking advantage for my own needs.”

“It was very practical,” Emma-May said, ignoring the side-eyes from Dan and McGucket, “it’s unlikely any of the villagers will return while Stanford’s on the prowl, better that some of the supplies got put into needing hands.”

“Thank you,” Stan muttered, as McGucket tied off the bandages and Dan let go of him. He pulled his arms to his chest and gently pat his ribs, grimacing at the weird, trapped goop feeling.

“Plus, it worked in our favor, and I’m sure Dan can return any of the goods that were taken from Gravity Falls if he knows where they go. The rest can stored away somewhere in case someone comes looking or we have need of it.”

Stan pulled his shirt down gingerly, then reached over and grabbed his cloak, holding it in his lap as McGucket set the goop and remaining bandages on a nearby table, looking put out. Probably from being told he was by law a criminal, even if he was really only kidnapping another criminal.

“Now that you’re taken care of,” Emma-May whirled around and disappeared, reappearing next to the doors, “off to the lab! We’ll be back with everything we should need, so wait right here and don’t move too much while the salve is settling.”

McGucket gave him a Look, then nodded at Dan and followed after, pushing at the dragon to get moving. It snorted at him, then crooned and gently rubbed its chin on his head (following him when he tried to duck down), before getting up and following, shooting him backwards glances as it went. It stopped right outside the door and looked at him longingly (for a dragon), only moving when McGucket came back and started pushing it again.

The moment the doors closed the fish kids ran over, jumping onto either side of him and destroying any chance of sneaking out, especially when Dan pulled a nearby chair over and sat down, staring at him.

“So, Uncle Stanley,” Giggles said, kicking his legs and smiling up at him. Stan braced himself for whatever kid questions he was going to be assaulted with, “What was mom like when he was little?”

Stan blanked. He had expected all kinds of weird monster questions, but not that one. Who was the kid even talking about? Stan just stared at them in bewilderment, the two of them looking eagerly back and clarifying nothing.

“He means Pines,” Dan said eventually, crossing his arms and leaning back on his chair.

Alright. So, fish kids were calling Ford mom. That was a thing that was now happening.

“What did you want to know,” Stan grouched, leaning back into the couch and trying to keep his breathing even. Hopefully they just wanted some bare bones fun facts, because otherwise this conversation was going to be awful.

“What kinds of things did he like? Where did you grow up? What are grandpa and grandma like? Did you go on adventures? What-”

“Stop,” Stan said, holding up a hand, “That’s too many. One at a time or none at all.”

Giggles pouted, then looked over at the quiet one. They did some kind of silent communication, then giggles looked back at him.

“What was mom like when he was little. That was the first one, so I’ll start with that.”

“He was a nerd. Next question.”

“But that’s not an answer!” Giggles shouted, pouting and pulling on Stan’s leg, “I want to know what kinds of things he liked! What he thought was funny! What kind of person he was! Those kinds of things!”

Stan sighed, then rubbed at his forehead. He didn’t want to talk about Ford to some random magic kid he just met, or ever if he could help it. Ford was…

Ford was someone who existed somewhere far from him, forever out of reach. Like a dream, unchanging and distant. The last light to always be reaching towards, and never actually touch. Talking about him forced him to face the fact that his brother had reached a height he’d never get to, even if they did met face to face in this castle.

“Ford liked to read,” he said finally, dropping his head back on the couch and staring at the ceiling, thinking back to the time they’d been the best of friends, “all kinds of things. Mostly about magic, and adventure, but anything would do. There weren’t a lot of books growing up, so he’d make do with whatever he could get his hands on.”

Then he’d read to Stan, late at night with a shaky ball of light he’d learned to make from a book. They would gasp and giggle at fairy tales, with Ford making shadow puppets and Stan doing all the funny voices. That changed as they grew, as they started going to school and Ford got his hands on more and more books about magic and less about anything else.

He’d still read them to Stan, but it became less about sharing and more about showing off. Stan didn’t mind, just happy to be included, until even that stopped.

“He was shy, not, um, we kept to ourselves. All the other kids, they didn’t know noth’n. Just a bunch of losers who didn’t realize- they sucked. So, we, well. We just hung out with each other, laughing and playing on the beach.”

Together, but not forever. Ford made that pretty clear.

“There, that enough for you,” Stan said, glaring at the ceiling. He frowned when he heard them whispering to each other, then twitiched when giggles pipped up.

“Yup! Next one, what was it like, the place you grew up?”

“It was a dead-end trash town that had nothing going for it.” Stan said immediately, fists balling at his side as he thought about the glittering beaches and cobbled streets of Gemstone Beach, “It was an awful place to grow up, and I’m glad to have left. Next question.”

Stan didn’t want to talk about home. Not the place where he spent the best years of his life, then watched his future and his family fall apart like a sand castle at high tide. The place where the person he loved the most turned his back on him, after Stan made one mistake too many. The place he could never go back to, not unless he brought home a fortune.

The kids whispered some more, this time sounding agitated, before giggles spoke again.

“Um. Alright, what about the rest of mom’s family? What are they like.”

Man, this conversation was just as terrible as he thought it’d be. He should have shot it down at the start. Ugh, too late to stop though, he was terrible with crying children. Crying monster fish children were probably worse.

“Ma’s a classy lady,” he said, thinking about the one person he could still sometimes communicate with, even if half his letters never reached her hands (And he knew part of the reason was because they made into someone else’s hands first), “She’s a fortune teller, people come from all over to hear about their futures. Ford liked to think he inherited her gift of foresight, but I think he just overthought everything. Don’t need magic to think too much.”

“Pa, well. He’s a tough man. No nonsense kind of guy,” He was harder to talk about, the man Stan had let down the most with his antics, “He’s never impressed by anything, but he’s the reason I made it so far by myself. Helped me toughen up a lot as a kid, took me and Ford to the guards’ barracks and had them show us the ropes. He had a few friends there, and every week they’d toss us around with the recruits and show us how to fight. Ford hated it, but I got pretty good.”

It was the one thing Stan had been good at, fighting. Put a weapon in his hands, or even with his bare fists, and he could use it. Not great, they didn’t really practice enough to become masters, but good enough to keep Ford safe, and later to keep himself alive. He’d never have survived so long without those lessons, it was something to be thankful for.

“Finally Shermie, our older brother-”

“Ma has another brother!” Giggles shouted, slamming his tiny clawed hands into Stan’s chest. Stan yelled, shooting straight up as it sent a jolt up his spine, then clutched the spot and wheezed, leaning back.

“Shifty, you have to be careful,” Dan said, still sitting in his chair, “Remember, he’s like how your mom used to be, and he’s pretty beat up on top of that.”

“Sorry Uncle Stanley,” Shifty (and that made the quiet one Tate) said, reaching forwards and gently rubbing the spot he’d slammed his hands into. Stan waved him away, getting his breathing even.

“Its whatever,” he wheezed, then took a deep breath (and wincing again as it pushed against his ribs), “Don’t worry about it.”

Shifty shuffled guilty, then started rubbing the side of his head, dragging his little claws through Stan’s hair. Tate sat up and did the same on the other side. It felt weird, but Stan let them go for a while before waving the tiny hands away. Whatever they were doing, it apparently made them feel better, because they were back to smiling at him.

“Shermie, our older brother,” Stan said, once he got himself under control and his ribs weren’t radiating pain, “he’s a sailor, worked in the kings navy for a while before a cannon ball took off part of his leg. Now he works on a merchant ship, going coast to coast hauling goods and fighting pirates.”

At least that was what he’d been doing when he got ma’s last letter several months ago. There was no telling how much of that was true and how much was ma’s fibbing. Shermie had been the one to teach them all about proper sailing and how to repair their boat whenever he was back at port. It wasn’t often, but enough to set them on the right path and figure things out on their own.

Stan had no idea what happened to that boat. For all he knew, Ford burned it to the ground the moment Stan left. He’d never asked ma, not in any of the letters he sent.

He didn’t want to know what he’d do if he found the answer.

Any further questions were cut off when the library doors opened and the others returned. McGucket was holding a large box, and the dragon was pushing a cart full of books behind him, wheeling it over to them and letting it drift towards one of the nearby tables.

The moment the cart was settled, the dragon whipped around and stared at Stan, looking him up and down before nodding. Then it laid down in the center of the library, setting its head back down at Stan’s feet and clicking at him.

“We’ll start with this,” McGucket said, setting down his box on the table and pulling books out. Emma-May popped up next to him, waving Dan over to help, “Then grab more as we need it.”

He looked around at everyone, then frowned.

“Emma-May, could you grab a couple extra set of hands to use as scribes? I can’t write notes for all of us. Then… hmm.” McGucket looked at the kids, then at Dan, then over to the dragon, “We’re in a fine pickle here. Tate, would you mind reading to Stanford? He cant-”

McGucket was interrupted by the dragon, clicking happily as its head shot up and its tail started slamming into the ground. Then it gently set its head down next to Stan, sliding it against the floor until it was gently pressing his legs against the couch. One of its dinner plate eye was right next to him, once more reflecting his ruffled looking self.

“Really Stanford,” McGucket huffed, putting its hands on its hips as Emma-May started cackling before disappearing completely, “Let the poor man rest.”

The dragon clicked again, eye still locked onto Stan. He shuffled uncomfortably as the fish kids clambered off the couch and started pulling more books out of the cart.

“What,” he asked trying to pull his legs free and not freak out at the same time. If the dragon broke his legs, he’d really be trapped here, “What does it want.”

The dragon crooned at him, and McGucket sighed, turning back to sort through the books.

“He wants you to read to him, because he can’t read like that anymore. Too big to flip the pages and the texts too small. It hurts his eyes trying to focus on it. Just humor him, won’t you? ”

With that it grabbed a stack of books, then walked around the back of the couch and set them down next to him. Stan stared at the stack, then grabbed the one on top and flipped it open. A wall of cramped text assaulted his eyes, small words wiggling across the pages. Stan flipped through it more, seeing nothing but a few diagrams and more and more little letters.

Then he slammed it shut.

“I can’t read.” He announced, tossing the book aside and crossing his arms, (gently) resting them on his chest, “A real tragedy, the lack of literacy in our kingdom. Such a shame.”

“But you said you and mom read books all the time as kids.” Shifty piped up from the table. Too bad for him, Stan was a practiced liar and trickster and knew exactly what he said.

“No, I said Ford like to read. I never learned, because it’s a waste of time.” He leaned back smugly, daring anyone to call him out on it.

The dragon rumbled and rolled its eye. Then one of its claws came up and gently nudged the book back towards him. Stan ignored it, staring directly into its eye and not budging.

“He says you both learned together,” McGucket said, sorting through the books on the table, “so I already know you’re lying.”

“Well, I didn’t grow up with a lizard, so what does he know. Nothing, that’s what.” Stan scowled as the book flopped onto his lap, “And even if he did, maybe I forgot. Maybe I haven’t read in the last decade, and all the knowledge fell out or something. Huh? What about that.”

“You can read,” Emma-May said, floating back through the door with a pair of knights holding stacks of parchment behind her, “you were reading that map just fine earlier.”

Silence. Then McGucket patting its surcoat down. Stan huddled as much as he could as he listened to its metal feet clomp closer.

“Stanley,” it said, and Stan sighed, rummaging through his cloak and pulling out the maps he stole earlier. A metal hand appeared in the edge of his vision and he held them up, scowling as they were snatched from his hand. The fish kids giggled, then ran off out of the room, whispering to each other.

“Now that that’s sorted,” McGucket said, stuffing the maps away and walking back towards the table, “Stanford would like it if you read to him. Don’t worry about going to fast or nothin’, the knights have to write down all his notes for him, and they don’t go that fast either.”

Stan glared at the dragon, then (slowly) snatched up the book, flipping it to the first page and squinting at the first page. He’d read the damn book, but only because they caught him out and he didn’t want his legs broken.

The words were blurry and wiggly, making everything more annoying. He hated reading, ever since he was a kid and no one seemed to understand how he couldn’t get the letters to stop moving.

“Ugh, Fine. Jerks.” Stan mumbled, then held the book close to his face so he could make out the letters, “What even is this, ‘An Introduction to Ley Lines and their Effects on Magic Arrays of the Fourth Circle’? Oh man, I think I’m going to throw up, there’s so many words in that title.”

“You’ll be fine,” McGucket said, and he turned to see it sitting down at the table, books stacked around it and a pile of parchment nearby. Emma-May was further down next to her own pile and one of the knights. It was sitting down holding a quill with a blank parchment in front of it.

Then he jumped (and wheezed) as something slammed down on his other side. He (slowly) turned to see Dan, standing behind him and getting the other knight settled at the table he’d dropped with its own quill and parchment pile. Dan nodded at him, then walked back over to Emma-May and started sorting books and flipping pages for her.

Stan glared at them all, then sighed angrily and went back to squinting at the book, ignoring the fish kids reappearing with books of their own as they crawled on a nearby couch and started giggling to each other.

The dragon crooned at him, one claw coming over to gently run through his hair, barely touching him. Stan glowered at it, then at the book. It was bad enough reading to himself, now he had all these people around to hear him mangle and backtrack every sentence.

“I want it made clear, I’m doing this under duress,” Stan announced finally, “and that you wanted me to, so you can’t complain about it later.”

“We understand, and we won’t” Emma-May said, then went back to telling her knight what to write. Now that that was out of the way, Stan finally made himself comfortable and focused on the first paragraph.

It was a whole new level of torture, squinting and reading the thick text out loud to a giant dragon that was threatening to break his legs while every breath still pushed his ribs uncomfortably. He kept trailing off and mumbling to himself at some of the longer words, trying to figure out what they said while holding the book up to his face.

The only good times were all the breaks he got from when it wanted the knight to write something for it. Then he could set the book down and lean back on the couch, looking up at the ceiling and letting his eyes rest. Eventually one of the knights appeared with water when he complained about how dry his throat was getting, making him give McGucket a side eye. The metal man ignored him, doing his own reading and writing down notes.

Maybe Ford had read out loud to the dragon before he disappeared, and that’s why it wanted him to do it. Although the note taking was confusing, especially since he couldn’t understand half of what he was reading, what the dragon was saying, or lean back far enough to read what the knight was writing. Hopefully nothing Ford wanted kept secret or some kind of doomsday magic knowledge.

This was awful. He’d never been kidnapping for his ability to read aloud or open magic doors. Or because he looked like Ford.

When he finally found his brother, he was going to demand answers. And for him to take his dragon back.

Chapter Text

When lunch time rolled around, Stan sighed in relief, somewhat pale and sweaty from reading for half the morning. Then he scowled when McGucket carried him to the dining room, since they didn’t want to spill anything on the books, and he still didn’t have walking privileges. The dragon hovered behind them the whole way, looking at Stan and eyeing its own claws.

Dan wandered away somewhere, since he apparently ‘ate the sun now’ or something, and so only Stan and the fish kids had food set in front of them.

Stan got more eggs, jerky, and some kind of fruit jam on toast, while he stared in horror and fascination at whatever goop the fish kids were eating. One of them looked like chopped up raw meat mixed with dirt, while the other had multi colored plants and glowing fruit. Stan watched them chow down on it, but decided he really, really, didn’t care to find out what they were eating, if it wasn’t human foods.

After that it was back to the library, where he spent the rest of the day, dragon pressing its head against him gently and listening to him croak out more magical jargon he barely or didn’t understand while his ribs continued to ache at every other breath. McGucket and Emma-May kept shooting him concerned glances that he ignored, focusing on strangling the next sentence or resting his eyes.

“Stanley,” McGucket said suddenly, after hours of this, making Stan jerk up and wince from where he’d been leaning back against the couch, waiting for the dragon to stop note taking. He yawned, then rubbed his eyes and turned to find the metal man standing over his shoulder, frowning at him.

“What,” Stan replied, squinting at it. The metal man frowned harder, then leaned down and got very close to his face. Stan tried to back up, but between his busted ribs, the dragon pinning his legs, and the limited space on the couch, it didn’t do much.

“Do you need glasses?” It said, eyes flickering over his face, “Stanford did, and we’ve noticed you’ve been doing a lot of squinting.”

The dragon’s eye locked onto him again, narrowing into a slit. It made Stan more uncomfortable as it rumbled and examined him.

“I’m fine. Ford wore the glasses, because he was a book worm.” Stan glared at them both, trying to lean back the best he could, “I don’t wear any.”

“But you need them,” Emma-May said, popping up on his other side and making him jump, “You’ve been struggling and holding the books closer all day. Which reminds me. Boys!”

The fish kids, who were now drawing on the floor, perked up and looked at her.

“It’s time for dinner, let’s go. Stanford, I’ll let you settle your brother down, after he gets cleaned up and gets more salve on those ribs.”

“Hey-” Stan started to say, then yelped when the dragon suddenly stood and reached towards him. It gently scooped him off the couch and into one of its curled claws, then held him up to its chest. Stan’s heart started beating wildly as its scales got closer, but it stopped before he made contact. Stan laid there frozen as it clomped out of the library, ignoring McGucket’s shouts and heading down one of the corridors.

After taking a few breathes, Stan gripped the claw under him and sat up, legs dangling over the edge and hair brushing the scales above him. The dragon rumbled at him, making him freeze again, but it didn’t do anything, just kept walking. He took a few more breaths, then peeked over the edge of the claw.

He wasn’t very high, and he could see McGucket running to keep up with the dragon’s long legs as it walked further into the castle. The ground rushed by underneath him, and he scootched backwards so he was sitting more firmly in the dragon’s palm. It curled its claws, but didn’t otherwise react.

This was… somewhat better than being grabbed and crushed, since he had more room to move. It was also fun to watch McGucket scramble behind them, trying to avoid the dragon’s swinging tail. His heart started to settle, and he felt less tense the longer it held him like this.

Then his heart beat picked back up when the claws curled further around him and the dragon stopped. He had a moment of panic, but all it did was reach forwards and set him down on the ground in front of a door. Stan stumbled for a moment, before getting his feet under him and staring up at it.

It crooned, then waved a claw at the door, just as McGucket came to a stop next to him. It wasn’t out of breath, because it didn’t have lungs, which annoyed him. It wasn’t as fun if the guy wasn’t suffering.

“Stanford, please don’t run off with him. He can’t understand you,” it said, holding the goo jar under one arm as it then turned and had the knight open the door, “dinner will be ready by the you’re all cleaned up. Here let me-”

McGucket led him into the room, which he very quickly realized was the exact same one as yesterday, judging by the shredded curtains and sheets, the now hastily barred window, and the pile of makeshift rope on the floor. Stan avoided looking at it, following McGucket to a side door he hadn’t paid attention to yesterday.

Inside was a large bathroom, with a huge black tub, black marble sink, and an evil-looking toilet. There was a smaller window just above the tub, showing the still pure white of the raging blizzard outside.

Everything here had fully functioning pipes, pouring out clear water. Stan wasn’t too surprised, seeing as the sinks he’d found earlier had flowing water as well, so he knew the place had plumbing. What did surprise him was the steaming hot water that came out of the spigot for the tub. Most places had to heat the water separately, and the few that didn’t were much, much smaller than a giant demon castle.

“Woah,” he said, crouching down as best he could and sticking his hand under the stream, “you guys got heating circles around here? For a place this big? How many do you need for all the rooms?”

“We have a boiler,” McGucket said, explaining nothing, then gestured to the knobs for the tub “This one for hot, this one for cold. Feel free to pick out some clothes from the room.”

Stan messed around with the hot water, then wandered back into the room and riffled through the dressers and wardrobes for clothes. McGucket followed him out, then sat on the couch, setting the goop jar down and crossing his arms.

“You just gonna…” Stan waved his arm at him, grabbing some of the non-silky flimsy options and balling them up in his arms. McGucket looked at him, looked over the pile of makeshift rope, then back at him, raising a metal eyebrow.

“Hey, I said I’d stick around till the blizzards done,” Stan said, making his way back to the bathroom.

“But not that you wouldn’t wander off.”

Stan glared at it, then huffed and locked the door behind him.

The goo wasn’t glowing anymore when he unwrapped his chest, and he grimaced at the weird residue that remained. The bruising looked better though; way better than it should have less than a day later.

Whatever. Glowing green magic healing goop. Why not. At this point anything could happen, and he’d believe it. Except for whatever nonsense was going on with the dragon, because that was something he wasn’t budging on.

After cleaning up (and soaking in the hot water longer than he really needed), he poked his head out, leaving the old clothes in a pile on the floor (except for his cloak and all its hidden pockets).

McGucket was by the now open door, talking to the dragon about some magic jargon he didn’t understand. It paused when it heard him open the door, then turned and smiled at him. The dragon crooned, and he heard it shifting outside as it tried to shove its snout through the door.

“None of that now,” McGucket said, shoving it back out, “You’re looking much better Stanley, let’s get some more goop on those ribs, then get some food in you.”

“Sure, goop away. Nice of you to ask.” The faster his ribs healed, the faster he could start making more plans to get out of here.

McGucket looked sheepish as it walked over to the couch and grabbed the jar, then slathered his ribs and put some more bandages around them. Once that was done, they exited the room, and Stan braced himself as the dragon crooned in his face and started rubbing its snout all over him, gently pushing him into the wall and getting even more gentle when he wheezed and winced.

When it was satisfied it reached forwards and gently scooped him up again, ignoring McGuckets shouts and cupping him closer to its chest, not quite close enough to touch. Stan gripped the claws, tensing as it made its way through the halls and gritting his teeth.

“This is better, this is better,” he mumbled to himself, then flinched when it rumbled. The claw moved up suddenly and he shouted, clutching it tighter as it held him closer to its neck. It clicked a few times, but didn’t move to press him against its scales. Stan let out a breath as the tension slowly left his body.

He was very tempted to close his eyes, but then he wouldn’t know if it moved him or tried to squish him again. Instead, he stared wide eyed as it kept clicking and rumbling, occasionally turning its neck and looking at him.

Before too long they were bursting back into the dining room. The dragon ground to a halt, then reached forwards and slid him off its claw, next to the chair that was unfortunately becoming his usual spot. Stan stumbled, then shouted when it prodded him closer to the chair.

“Stanford, let him sit on his own,” Emma-May said, hovering over the table while the kids finished up their own mystery dinner, “he needs to move around if you want his ribs to heal properly. And you’ve already bruised him enough.”

The dragon (and he really needed to think of an actual name for it) crooned, but backed off, settling its claws on either side of the chair as he slowly sat down and another knight brought over his dinner. It looked like stew, with a side of eggs.

“What’s with all the eggs,” Stan said, before attacking his bowl as fast as he could.

“It’s the only reliable human food we have,” Emma-May said, “So we’re trying to use them as much as possible so that everything else can last. Hmm” She tapped her ching and eyed him, “Stanford, you’ll need to take Dan down to the village tomorrow and loot their supplies. Maybe raid a few other nearby empty villages as well.”

“I don’t want to do that,” Dan said, popping up from somewhere, “Its not our food to take.”

“Maybe so, but we have the need, and I doubt anyone will return for their winter stores. At least not anyone in the immediate area. We’ll only grab enough to last us a few weeks. I should be able to get something more long term set up before we run out.”

“How long do you think I’m going to stay here?” Stan said, finishing up the eggs before going back to the stew.

“As long as it takes to get Stanford back to normal. I’ll get the green house back up and running, and get to work on getting our larder refilled.” Emma-May floated over towards him, pulling out a ghost notebook and looking at something, “It doesn’t take much to feed one human person, but it’ll be more difficult not having the villagers to rely on. Ah well, we’ll make do.”

McGucket clomped in shortly after, looking annoyed.

“Stop running off with him,” he said, sitting down in his seat, “I’m trying to be more mindful of his health.”

“Yes, you should do that, which is why you’ll be reading human health books while Stanford and Dan are resupplying,” Emma-May said, giving him a ghost kiss then floating over to the kids, “Now up you get! It’s time to get settled for the night. Dan, could you help get them ready for bed please?”

“Sure thing, McGucket,” Dan said, making Stan frown. Wasn’t McGucket the metal man? Unless he was just saying goodnight to McGucket, who was crossing his arms looking annoyed. Served him right for all the extra bruising he’d done to Stan’s ribs though.

Emma-May and Dan shepherded the kids away while Stan finished his stew. The moment he was done he pushed the platter away and stood up, slowly stretching before he got grabbed again, then was grabbed again by the dragon. It stood up and set its front claws on either side of him, ignoring McGuckets shouts, then gently prodded him to the side until Stan stumbled into its open claw, ignoring his own yelling.

Once more he was scooped up and held next to its neck, while it turned and left the dining room, McGucket trailing behind. Stan clutched a nearby claw, somewhat less panicked now that it hadn’t crushed or otherwise hurt him the last two times it’d done this.

Then he got mad at himself for getting used to it. He shouldn’t have to get used to a dragon carrying him around, dragons shouldn’t exist, and if they did, they always kidnapped-

No.

He was a grown man, and not a dainty royal lady. He wasn’t going to finish the thought.

Instead, he clutched the claw and focused on the golden scales above him, making sure they didn’t get any closer. Then he squinted at them, turning to look over at the red scales of the dragon’s legs. Were the stomach scales naturally gold? Or was it from laying in gold all the time? How much was he willing to find out?

Before he could decide whether to reach up and touch them, they entered the treasure room, light glittering off the mounds of golden coins and jewels. Stan looked over at the pile of stolen goods, which had been reorganized into something more comprehensible than the haphazard pile he’d thrown everything in. Then he realized that instead of his wagon, there was a broken chest and the wheels he’d tugged off.

Stan looked around for his wagon in a panic. Everything he owned was on that thing, if it disappeared-

Thankfully it hadn’t gone too far, as it now was on top of the coin pile. Unthankfully it had been completely redecorated.

“My Leewagon!” he cried, looking at his poor baby in horror. All the broken and busted wood had been replaced with something darker, which was basically the entire wagon bed. The thick dark red canvas had been taken off, and instead a see-through reddish fabric was draped over the whole thing. He could see the inside from here, and gasped as he saw all of his belongings were gone (except for the chest, much to his relief) and instead there was a thick mattress and all of the blankets and pillows from last night, with the light orb sitting in the middle.

It looked incredibly fancy. Too fancy for a man on the run trying to escape notice. And it still didn’t have wheels.

Stan gaped as the dragon crooned at the wagon, gently brushing aside some of the fabric and sliding Stan onto it. It went around sniffing the outside, while Stan scrambled to the chest and threw open the lid.

Then he sighed in relief. Everything that had been in his wagon bed was now crammed inside, and nothing had been taken out (except for more of the stolen goods, probably the ones from the village down in the valley if he was right about the culprit).

“I’m gonna turn that tree boy into splinters,” Stan growled, shoving his hands in and reorganizing everything, “See how he likes being messed with.”

The original canvas was also inside, and he scowled at the patches that had been sewn in and how much cleaner it looked, along with all his clothes. What kind of creep did a guy’s laundry on top of redecorating his wagon? What kind of prison guards did that? This place was the worst.

“Did Dan do this? It looks good,” McGucket said, walking up to the wagon as the dragon rubbed its snout on it, “Probably his way of apologizing for earlier.”

“By destroying my poor Leewagon?” Stan hissed, glaring at the metal man and trying to keep the inside of his chest out of view. He didn’t need anyone else rummaging in it and discovering his magical secrets, “Look at it! Where did this mattress come from! Why’s it so fancy! Do you know how robbable I’d look riding around in this?”

“No idea,” McGucket said, raising an eyebrow, “since I don’t go around robbing people.”

Stan was about to shoot back with how he’d done a great job of robbing Stan, when he realized there were pieces of wood in his chest. He grabbed one, pulling it out and turning it in the light. It was lighter and more worn, with something on the-

 It was a piece of his old wagon, salvaged and put in there for safe keeping. All of the wood was.

They were the carvings he and Ford had made, all those years ago. Saved from the junk pile. Not all of them, some of them had been destroyed when the dragon grabbed the wagon, but everything else. This one was one of Fords, some sea creature or another riding above the waves. Stan ran a hand over it, then gently set it back inside with the rest.

“Well,” Stan said eventually, coughing and rubbing his face, “As an expert, let me tell you. This thing looks so robbable.”

Then he closed the lid gently and went back to examining the wagon bed. The dark wood looked similar to what all the furniture was made of, just lacking all the gruesome carvings. It was sturdy and well put together and would have been amazing if this wasn’t his wagon that he had to live in and defend from thieves.

Also, what was with the flimsy cover?

That question was answered immediately when the dragon looked at him through it and clicked at him. Stan scowled back.

“Well, since no one here’s planning on robbing you, I think you’ll be fine,” McGucket said, reaching forwards and grabbing the light orb, then muttering something to turn it on, “Looks pretty cozy. I think. I don’t actually know, I don’t sleep in beds.”

Stan glared, then turned away. He wasn’t going to admit anything. And what did that even mean, not sleeping in bed? Did he even sleep? This place was terrible with all the weird things going on and no explanations. He refused to ask questions just on principle at this point.

“That’s what I thought,” McGucket tossed the orb in, then turned and made his way down towards the door, “have a good night! I’ll see you tomorrow.”

He slammed his hand on the wall, turning off the light, then strode out of the room, cutting off the light from the hallway as the doors closed behind him. Once more Stan was left with nothing but the light orb to see, glowing a soft blue and illuminating the wagon and just outside of it.

The dragon rumbled and made itself comfortable around him, leaving its wing down this time. Stan glared at it, then grabbed the orb and held it to his chest. Its coolness soothed his ribs, and he sat back rolling it across his chest and grumbling to himself.

“How about Clingy,” he said, and the dragon perked up and chirped at him, “For your name.”

A growl. No good huh.

“Well, I’m not calling you Ford, because I refuse to entertain whatever nonsense everyone here is spewing,” Stan said, rolling over and staring at the dragon’s one visible eye from the safety of under a blanket, “But it’s getting annoying calling you ‘the dragon’ in my brain all the time. So, how about… Snatchy.”

Growl again. Tough crowd.

“I get it, you don’t like accurate names. Let me think.” Stan rolled onto his back and tapped the orb, ignoring the grumbling around him, “Crusher’s no good, and neither is Grabby. Heart Attack is too long. So’s Lizard Brain. How about Stinky? Because of how bad your breath is.”

It was hard to tell in the dim lighting, but it looked like the dragon tried to smell its own breath, then looked horrified.

“Yeah, it’s terrible,” Stan said, “When’s the last time you brushed your teeth?”

The dragon grumbled, then covered its snout with its claws.

“You should get on that before you lose a tooth or something.”

It huffed, then eyed him through the flimsy fabric. Stan raised an eyebrow, and it glared.

After a moment it shot to its feet and ran into the darkness. Stan yelled as the wagon rocked, reaching out to grab its side. It settled after a moment, tilted somewhat sideways. The sound of cascading coins and the dragon’s footsteps echoed around the room, and Stan sat up, holding the orb to his chest and peering out into the darkness.

He could hear the dragon stomping around somewhere and grumbling, then something breaking. It returned shortly after, looked him up and down, before opening its mouth (and showing off its very large and sharp teeth) and breathing all over the wagon.

Stan wrinkled his nose at the weird earthy smell that had replaced the gross bad dragon breath smell.

“Gross. Why would you do that? I don’t want to smell your breath.”

It hissed at him, then glared as it curled back up, slamming its head nearby with a huff.

“Hey, don’t get upset with me. You’re the one being rude and breathing in peoples faces.” Stan said, settling back down, “Maybe that’s what I should call you, Sir Breathes-a-lot.” A hiss.

Stan shot a few more suggestions out, rolling the orb and trying to keep his eyes open. He wanted to see how far he could get crawling over the dragon before it’d wake up, even if he couldn’t open the doors (yet!). Then he’d have a better idea of when the best openings were for escape.

He wouldn’t fall asleep this time, no matter what.

Stan woke up to McGucket’s muttering, the fragments of his dream fading as he groaned and rolled over. He’d been running through the demon castle, looking for something, while a weird high-pitched voice kept yapping in his ear.

The details faded as he rubbed his eyes and sat up, squinting. It was still dark in the treasure room, but he could see McGucket sitting in the front wagon seat with a stack of books, hunched up so he could sit and read.

Stan yawned, then looked around. It took him a moment, mind still hazy from sleep, but he realized he couldn’t make out the dragon’s shifting scales out side of the wagon, or hear its rumbling breaths.

It was gone.

Which meant he had an opportunity to escape.

Very carefully he untangled himself from the blankets, keeping his eyes on McGucket and ignoring the pain from his ribs. The metal man didn’t move, too focused on whatever he was reading and mumbling. Stan backed up, touching the back side of the wagon with his foot, then shuffling over until he was crouched next to it. He was halfway over it before McGucket spoke.

“You snore in your sleep,” he said, flipping a page, “Stanford did too. Is that a twin thing? Also, stop. I don’t think you can see in the dark.”

Stan huffed, then crawled over to the front, chest aching from the movement. Once he got to the other side, he grabbed a bunch of pillows and leaned on them.

“Stanford went out,” McGucket said as he got himself situated, “So I’m here to keep an eye on you.”

“I don’t need a babysitter,” Stan grumbled, getting comfortable, “And how did that thing get out without waking me up? It’s huge?”

“You were sleeping pretty hard, probably because of all the…” McGucket trailed off, then hunched further over his book. Stan could connect the dots though; this wasn’t his first rodeo.

“So, you drugged me.” Stan wasn’t surprised, it was only a matter of time.

“No, we-” McGucket paused, then sat up and closed his book, turning to face him, “We didn’t intentionally drug you. You would have been just as exhausted without the goo, and all it did was boost your body’s natural healing. Stanford said it made him a little more tired, but not enough to knock him out. You were probably sleeping deeper due to all the stress you’ve gone through the last few days.”

“Uhuh, sure, Mr. ‘its not kidnapping its forced helping’ I’ll believe you.”

McGucket scowled, then climbed out of the wagon and walked off, disappearing into the darkness. Stan looked at the spot where he disappeared, then started shuffling closer to the edge.

“I can still see you!” McGucket shouted. Stan glared into the dark where he could hear the coins clinking and stuck out his tongue. Then he cried out and covered his eyes when the lights turned on, blinding him.

“Alright, lets get going,” McGucket said, walking back up, “You can walk around now. Figure you can’t wander off too far, what with your ribs all… injured.”

Stan didn’t even try to help him feel better, making sure to groan and wince at every movement, really drive in the fact that they’d almost killed him. It helped that it did hurt to climb out, really added to the realism of almost being crushed to death by an obsessed dragon.

Once he was on the coin pile McGucket lead him through the halls towards his ‘room’ (that he suspected he was never going to sleep in), walking slower so that Stan didn’t have to jog to keep up. They didn’t talk, McGucket too busy making sure he didn’t trip and die while Stan focused on breathing, but it wasn’t terrible.

Stan went to the bathroom while McGucket got more of the goop ready, closing the door and turning around. Then he paused, considering.

His pile of clothes from yesterday was still there, right where he left it. Stan eyed it, then looked over at the smaller but still unbared window above the tub. Then he grinned.

These guys sucked at kidnapping people.

Chapter Text

The only thing stopping Stan from climbing out the window immediately was the fact they were still several stories up and one set of clothes was not enough to get down. And his ribs, which were still very sore and broken and hurt with every breath. Not ideal for hiking through the cold mountainside that was recently hit by a blizzard.

Which meant he had to gather supplies and wait for the perfect moment.

Thinking of his next steps, he shoved the clothes in a corner out of sight of the door, freshened up, then walked out for more goo. The old goo residue was just as funky as last night, and he suppressed a grin. Things were really turning up Stan. Finally.

The new plan was simple and also the same as the old one. He’d get out, head to town to hunker down and look for any evidence of Ford, then come back up when the weather was warmer and they weren’t expecting him to sneak in, look for more clues, and steal back his stuff. He’d have to figure out a way to convince them he left the village entirely, but that was a future Stan problem.

When they were done gooping they went back to the dining room. Breakfast was more pancakes, this time cut into tiny pieces. Stan eyed the small squares, then gave McGucket a suspicious look.

“So you don’t choke,” McGucket said, smiling. Stan frowned, glaring down at his plate. Then he looked back up and stared directly into McGuckets eyes as he shoveled as much pancake pieces into his mouth as possible, turning the smile into a grimace.

Stan wasn’t going to choke on breakfast food, despite McGuckets worries. (The coughing fit was unrelated to pancakes. His throat was just dry, and nothing else).

Then it was back to the library, where Emma-May was already reading away with the help of a knight. There was a pair of glasses next to her, making Stan scowl.

“Good morning, Stanley,” Emma-May said, “I hope you slept well. We found Stanford’s spares last night, try them on.”

“I don’t need them,” Stan growled, marching over to the same couch as yesterday and sitting down (carefully), “I told you; glasses are Ford’s thing.”

“Uhuh,” McGucket said, as he walked over to the table, picked up the glasses (which looked tiny in his giant metal hand) and walked over. He held them out and waved them in Stan’s face. Stan scowled at them, then looked away. McGucket sighed.

“Just try them on,” McGucket said as the glasses slowly came back into view, “They might not even be the same strength you need.”

Ugh. Logic. He hated it when people used it against him. And the incoming threat that maybe they’d shove them on his face and accidentally poke his eye out. It seemed like something that would happen to him after the last few days. He huffed, then snatched them out of McGuckets hand, angrily put them on.

Everything looked sharper and clearer, which was great and also terrible, because now he could see better, but he also saw how much creepier the library was and McGuckets smug face in high detail. The stones of the floor had screaming faces carved into it, and the couch he was sitting on had little embroidered organs on the arms.

“This doesn’t prove anything,” Stan said, glaring at McGuckets highly detailed face after he’d been examining the couch for too long, “Maybe everything’s even blurrier.”

“It shouldn’t have been blurry in the first place,” Emma-May said, “which means you needed glasses.”

Damn it. How was he supposed to know everything wasn’t supposed to be all smudgy all the time? He hadn’t worn glasses since he was a kid, he figured he’d grown out of needing them at this point.

Stan crossed his arms and scowled at them both. All they did was smile back, like the awful people they were.

They got back to reading, this time moving closer to each other and talking about magic circles and alternate planes and other magical mumbo jumbo, while Stan sat on the couch, glaring and bored out of his mind. It was almost a relief when the dragon came back, perking up as it walked through the doors and quickly making itself comfortable squishing his legs again. Stan grumbled as he picked up the book they’d left off on, then scowled harder at how much easier it was to see the letters. They were still wiggly, but now they were very clear and wiggly, instead of blurry and wiggly.

Awful. Awful people, torturing him like this.

The rest of the day went much the same as the last, with the dragon scooping him up and carrying him room to room, and Stan demanding another bath to get rid of all the goo residue before bed. No one seemed to think that was strange, and McGucket didn’t even pay attention as Stan grabbed more clothes than he really needed, just sat on the couch with a book and started reading.

Stan shoved the extra clothes in the pile he’d made earlier, washed off the residue, then added the clothes he’d been wearing to it too. This would take longer than using blankets, but it also gave him more time to heal and sneak in a few supplies from his chest into his coat under the guise of reorganizing it.

The next three days were spent the same way. Stan would wake up, double check his clothes pile was still there, eat breakfast, read aloud, lunch, more reading, dinner, add to pile. It was agony, truly the worst three days of his life as he read more than he had in his entire life. Not even anything interesting, just cramped magic tomes full of all kinds of jargon. Pure agony. The dragon breaking his ribs might have actually been better.

Day four was a breath of fresh air, as they’d finally decided they wanted to get into the archives.

“It’s one of the first places Stanford sealed when he went crazy,” McGucket said, walking towards the looming library shelves and ignoring the dragons growl, “We didn’t even realized he’d done it until he’d gone so far into the deep, he was drawing blood sigils everywhere and avoiding everyone.”

“How many more blood sigils are we talking about, because I thought it was just the two doors and some books,” Stan asked, following him through the fog and also ignoring the dragon as it crooned sadly, stuck in the library entrance. There was a breeze and an eerie sound echoing around the shelves, along with the sounds of something dripping.

“Oh, there’s way more than that,” McGucket said, leading him through what he quickly realized was a murder library labyrinth, “Besides the doors to his lab and the archives, he locked his bedroom, his study, several tomes, including his personal research, and whatever else is in those rooms that we don’t know about and any rooms we might have missed. We haven’t really touched the tomes yet, Stanford wanted to brush up and fill us in on the basics of curses first.”

How much blood had his brother lost to do that many blood rituals? He really needed to get out of here and start searching the village for clues and come back when it was warmer so he could crawl around outside without risking frostbite. Ford couldn’t have gotten that far if he had lost half his blood drawing things around the castle.

Thankfully it didn’t take long to reach the entrance of the archives. Unfortunately, the double doors looked like a nightmare, black wood painted in another ring of blood, with two glowing Ford hand prints on each side and no knights in sight. The archway the doors were set into had several eyeballs carved into it, looking around at everything. They were extremely detailed and unsettling.

“I hate this place,” Stan said, trying not to make eye contact with any of the eyes, “It’s terrible. Why would you choose to live here.”

“Ah, that was Stanford’s idea more than anything,” McGucket said, also not looking at any of the eyes, “He discovered the location during his research. Apparently, this place was built on a major wellspring of magic, he thought he could discover…. Well. He thought a lot of things really.”

Figures Ford would discover some crazy magic power source that happened to also be a demon castle and decide to move in. It sounded like something he’d do. Didn’t mean Stan had to like his choices, since it meant that now Stan was being held prisoner in it.

He walked up to the doors and eyed the circle. It looked slightly different than the one on the lab, but he didn’t know enough about runes to really see what the changes did. The glasses made it easier to make out the specifics though, something about auras but nothing saying if the wrong guy tried they’d get zapped. Good enough for him.

With that Stan put his hands on Fords prints, watching them flash gold (and ignoring the other non-rib related ache in his chest), before pushing them open.

The archives were even creepier than the library, doors opening into near pitch blackness with wiggling shadows stretching out. Air rushed by him, blowing back his hair and carrying the smell of something musty and rotten, making him gag. He quickly stepped aside and waved McGucket  forwards (because there was no way he’d be the first person in there), then watched him walk confidently into an invisible wall.

Stan burst out laughing as he stumbled backwards and almost fell over, then started holding his chest and coughing when it strained his ribs.

“Ough, worth it,” he coughed as McGucket held his head and glared, “What was that about?”

“More of Stanford’s nonsense I reckon,” McGucket said, walking back up to the doorway. He reached out a hand and held it forward until it was forced to stop, a golden shimmer blocking the way. Stan watched him pat along the semi-invisible barrier, then looked over to the doors. Some of the runes flashed every time McGucket tried to move forwards, indicating…. something.

He didn’t know. This was Fords thing.

Before he could get comfortable watching McGucket struggle, the metal man looked at the doors, looked over at him leaning against a nearby shelf, then sighed. He marched over to Stan, grabbed him (gently) by the shoulders, then pushed him in front towards the doors.

“What’s happening? Stop?!” Stan said, trying dig his heels into the stone ground, “I don’t want to go in there! Stop shoving me!”

“I got a theory,” McGucket said over his protests, “Just let me-”

The moment Stan’s foot stepped over the doorway, a ring of light sprung up around him, and McGucket stepped through behind. It went a few yards in every direction, illuminating the shelves packed with boxes and books around them. It looked like an ordinary archive (not that he’d been in that many, but it wasn’t dripping blood or anything so).

“Figures,” McGucket said, stepping around Stan and poking the edge of the light. More of the shimmering gold blocked his way, “More of a complex one here. Makes sense, since-”

McGucket stopped, then rubbed the back of his neck. Stan just raised an eyebrow and looked around. So, something down here was so important that Ford put some kind of extra protection on it, only letting himself through even if the doors got open. Definitely a place to come comb through for clues when a giant metal babysitter wasn’t literally steering him around by the shoulders and grabbing more books and a few boxes, pushing him back to the entrance and setting them on a cart.

Stan scowled the whole time. While it would be great if he could get here by himself, since no one could follow him in apparently, it also gave them another reason to keep him around. They’d be even more clingy now that they needed him to access this place.

Which meant he had to time his escape perfectly.

It took another week of dreadful reading, listening to the magic book worms talk, and being shoved around as a magic key while McGucket grabbed more and more books and boxes and the mess of notes and books started spilling over to the rest of the tables in the library, before he felt like he was ready.

Stan spent every night getting more clothes smuggled into the bathroom and tying them together, then the night before rummaging around his chest ‘reorganizing’, grabbing some nonperishables, funds, and a few useful tools and stuffing them into his hidden pockets. The dragon didn’t seem to notice, just got comfortable and got ready to listen to his newest list of names.

It was a real tough customer. Stan had moved away from descriptor names into the wide world of everything else. Stan 3 had been shot down, so had Stanley Jr, Stanwannabe, Stanton, Lizanardo, Jeff, Snarles, and his favorite, Dragone. Because he wanted it gone.  

“I’m not calling you Ford,” he huffed, getting himself comfortable and trying not to be obvious about his heavier pockets, “because that would be admitting defeat. I’m gonna figure it out eventually, you can’t say no to all of them.”

The dragon gave him a look that Stan could recognize as ‘yes I can’ before settling down. Stan glared, then hugged the light orb close. He still didn’t know what turned it on and off, but he could figure that out when he snuck back in and stole it with his chest. In the meantime, he’d enjoy one last night of its coolness.

He didn’t bother trying to stay awake this time, since he’d be gone tomorrow. It never worked for some reason anyways.

Every night since he’d gotten to the castle Stan had been having strange dreams. Most of the details were forgotten when he woke up, besides snippets of a voice, eyes, and walking around either the castle or the woods. They always felt foggy and far away, too dreamlike even for dreams, while something just out of view tried to get his attention.

Tonight, it felt like he finally turned to see what it was.

Stan blinked as he found himself in a dining room, similar to the one in the castle, except in front of him was a giant feast. He was sitting in his usual spot while every kind of food he could have imagined and then some was laid out in front of him, and some things even he hadn’t considered. A glass goblet full of something pink and sparkly was sitting in front of him, and in the chairs various shadowy figures were grabbing from the plates and tearing into it. Indistinct mumbling filled the air, like a party was happening in another room.

Despite how clear and real everything felt, he knew this was a dream.

He blinked at the table in front of him, then drew his eyebrows together as he realized one of the voices was incredibly clear. He turned to his left to see one of the figures wasn’t a shadow at all. It was a man, wearing pitch black armor covered in a yellow surcoat with yellow wrappings around its arms and helmet. Two horns came out from either side of its helm, then turned towards each other, forming a dark triangle with a blue flame on top.

Its helmet was open, and a single glowing yellow eye looked out, staring at the plate in front of it while it waved what looked like human fingers around and talked. Stan stared at it, mouth open as it kept going.

“-said, ‘it's just a few holes! What’s the big deal!’ but all he had to say to that was ‘AHHHHH!’.” The knight shoved one of the fingers into its helm, where the eye was briefly replaced with a large mouth, then chewed and kept going, “Really, no appreciation for-”

It turned to look at him, then stopped as they made eye contact. They stared, then Stan jumped as it slammed its hands on the table and leaned forwards.

“Finally! Took you long enough! Whats it take to get someone’s attention around these parts,” The knight crossed its arms and propped its feet on the table, glaring with its one eye, “What’s it been, a week? Do you know how many conversations we’ve had that you’ve forgotten? I’ve got things to do! People to murder!”

“What is this?” Stan asked, watching as the other shadows started disappearing, along with the feast.

“What’s happening is that you, Stanley Pines, have stumbled upon the deal of a lifetime!” The knight said, tapping its arm with one hand as it looked him up and down, “See, you, my friend, just so happen to be…. Something special. A once in a lifetime find. And I, well, I’m something even more special, a…. spirit, of a sort.”

Yeah, this was definitely a demon. Probably the one who used to live inside the demon castle. It fit the theme too well, had just been eating human fingers, and no one in their right mind called Stan special. Not unless they were trying to sell him something. Also, he was pretty sure this guy was in at least half the paintings around the place.

“What do you want,” Stan said, leaning back in his own chair and putting his feet on the table, looking it up and down unimpressed.

“Always a tough one, aren’t you.” The demon said, “The names Bill, I’m a friend of your brothers. We had a little disagreement recently, and now he’s mad at me. I was at my wits end, when you came along!”

The demon disappeared, then reappeared next to him, leaning on his chair and looking at its hand.

“See, your brother, he was helping me out around here. We were working on a very special project that he bailed on last minute, and since he’s currently, well, indisposed, I need another set of hands. Special, almost identical hands you could say.”

“What is with all you guys wanting my blood!” Stan threw his special almost identical hands in the air and scowled, “No! I’m done opening doors and letting all of Fords stuff get messed with. Go find some other sucker, because once morning hits I’m out!”

“Now don’t be too hasty!” Bill said, leaning forwards, “I’m not asking for much, less than Metal head and Wisp are! All I’m asking you to do is-”

“No.” Stan growled, “I’m not doing anything for you. You’re clearly some kind of demon thing and you’re probably partially responsible for Ford going crazy.”

Instead of yelling or trying to deny it, like Stan thought it would, it sighed, reappearing in its chair.

“Man, you’re really something Stanley. I’ve tried something new every night, and every time you’re on to me faster than the last. I even showed my real self here! I thought I’d have a better chance with you fully lucid and being more honest, but it’s just worse when you’re more aware really. Hmm, what to do, what to do.”

It tapped its fingers on the table and grumbled to itself, then snapped its fingers.

“How about this. I’ll make you a deal, straight out, no tricks. In exchange for you letting me into the castle and into the archives, I’ll get your brother back for you. How’s that sound?”

“No.” Stan wasn’t an idiot, he wasn’t going to make a deal with a demon, even in his dreams. It’d probably kill Ford for bailing and give him the corpse.

“OK, how about your brother and all the gold you can carry.”

“Nope.” Sounded like a good way to get his hands chopped off.

“Brother, gold, and a personal spot at my table.”

“Not gonna happen.” The table had just been filled with all kinds of freaky food, there was no telling what this thing would turn him into.

“GAH!” Bill grabbed its horns and leaned forward, then started kicking its legs and hitting the table.

“WHY WON’T YOU-! Ahem. Give me a moment.” Bill sat up, like he wasn’t just on the edge of a tantrum, then snapped his fingers. A scroll appeared in his hands, wrapped in a pink ribbon with a lizard face wax seal. Bill’s eye flashed red as he rolled it open read through it, mumbling to himself.

“So, can’t get you with deals, dreams, promises…. There’s not a lot of leeway for me here” It glanced up at him, eye flashing red again, then back to the paper, “This would have been easier if everything had gone as planned, but your stupid brother had to go and get cold feet on me. I’d have half the continent conquered by now if it wasn’t for him.”

“Because you’re some kind of demon king, right?” Stan said, leaning forwards and dreaming up a smoke, “Can’t say I’m feeling sorry for you right now.”

“Can it Spare,” Bill growled back, unscrolling the scroll more and more, “I’m not just some kind of demon king, I’m THE Demon King. I’m the guy all the stories tell you about. If they even remember to tell them. I’ve been waiting longer than your puny brain can imagine to have my fun, and I’m not gonna let one little misstep and your paranoia get in my way.”

“Is it paranoia if I was right and you’re bad news?” Stan asked as the scroll got longer and longer. Bill didn’t answer, which was answer enough.

“So, what-” Stan’s voice was cut off as cloth appeared over it and Bill waved a hand at him.

“Shut it, if you’re not going to cooperate then you can sit there quietly. I’ve had enough of listening to you yap.” Then he went back to reading the scroll, wrappings around its body turning redder and redder as he went.

Stan glared, then dreamed the cloth away and got a blank piece of paper. Then he tore it into pieces and started throwing them at Bill. He twitched, getting more and more red as the fire on the top of his horns started getting bigger. Stan was halfway through when he finally snapped.

He slammed his fist on the table, sending a crack through it, then whipped around to face Stan, wrappings and eye red and flame a deep gold.

“THAT’S IT!” He yelled, growing larger and snatching Stan out of the chair, filling the room, “IF YOU CAN’T-”

Stan didn’t wait for him to finish, just dreamed up a straw and shot a spit ball in his eye. Bill dropped him immediately, yelling and covering his face. Stan floated back to the ground, then turned the chair into something more comfortable, propping his legs back on the table as he watched Bill rub its teary eye and stumble backwards.

“AGH! WHY! WHY IS IT ALWAYS THE EYE!” Bill screamed, slamming into the wall before becoming small again. He stumbled over to his chair, then leaned forwards and blinked a lot.

“Probably because its such a big target,” Stan said, munching on some cakes. Bill glared, then froze.

“Huh. You’re pretty immature, aren’t you. Like a kid,” Bill started mumbling, then snatched the scroll and started unfurling it faster and faster, “Wasn’t there something in here about….”

Stan scowled, then went back to throwing paper balls at him. Bill put a wall of fire in between them, so Stan switched to snowballs. The hot water sizzled off of Bills armor, but didn’t seem to bother him otherwise. Had to think of something else then.

Before he could, Bill shouted in triumph, then whirled and pointed a finger in Stan’s face.

“Just you wait Stanley Pines,” He said, leaning through the wall of fire, “If you won’t help me willingly, I’ll just have to make you. You can’t escape me- AGH! MY EYE! AGAIN!”

Stan laughed as he let the straw disappear, then yelled as a giant hand slammed him into the ground, and everything faded to black.

The next morning, he rubbed away the lingering dream (and thought about what he’d eaten to trigger it), then rolled over and climbed out of the wagon before the dragon tried to grab him from inside it again. The last time it had tried it had hooked a claw around his chest and rolled him into the wagon wall, then spent almost an hour holding him to its snout and crying. He wasn’t doing that again.

McGucket met them by his room, waving him inside and sitting down on the couch.

“I’m getting this gunk off now,” Stan said, grabbing more clothes and heading to the bathroom, “and then we’re done. My ribs are fine enough, and I think my skins starting to wrinkle.”

“I’ll get my anatomy book and check them over after breakfast,” McGucket said, flipping through a book, “but go ahead.”

First mistake, not being suspicious at a change in schedule. If Stan was running this operation he would have fired him.

But it also worked out in his favor. Stan went into the bathroom, turned on the tub, then went over and quietly opened the window. It’d be a tight fit, but he’d squeezed through tighter. One end of the clothes rope was tied to the foot of the tub, and the other was thrown out the window. Then he took a deep breath, climbed up onto the side of the tub, and squeezed out.

It was just as terrible as he thought it’d be, looking down at the drop to the snow-covered ground far below. Stan gripped his clothes rope tightly, wiggled his shoulders through the tight space and swung legs outside, then locked his eyes on the wall in front of him and slid down as quickly and quietly as he dared. His chest ached somewhat from the motion, but not nearly as much as it should have. He’d need to figure out what was in that goop when he snuck in later, he could make a fortune off of it.

The wind cut through his cloak, making him shiver as he focused on getting down. He made it most of the way before the rope jolted. Stan froze, then slowly looked up. He watched as a few of the knots that were straining against his weight started slipping, jerking the rope more and more.

Stan slapped a hand over his mouth, then slid as fast as he dared, eyes locked on the knots. Then he slammed his eyes shut and tried muffling his screams when one of them finally failed. He fell for a few feet, then crashed into a pile of snow.

The only good thing about winter really, snow did a great job at softening unexpected landings.

Stan took a few deep breaths, ribs slightly aching but now as much as they should have, then climbed out of the snow drift and looked up. The rest of the rope was now blowing in the wind a story up, but no one was peeking their heads out, and he didn’t hear the dragon roar.

Perfect.

Stan grinned, then once more turned and ran into the woods, leaving the castle behind.

Chapter Text

Although it slowed him down, Stan didn’t go onto the road. The dark red of his coat would be too obvious, and it’d be the first place they looked when they realized he was gone. Instead, he walked a few yards away, making sure to keep it in sight so he didn’t get lost on the way to the village. The cold wind nipped at his face, but all he did was fluff up the hood and roll his hand warmer around. He didn’t want the dragon to get the jump on him again.

The snow was a few inches high, sticking to his boots and the edges of his cloak as he made his way through the woods. It hid the roots and pit falls, making him stumble and trip as he tried to navigate in the morning light. His grumbling stomach didn’t help either, too used to eating three meals a day after just a week. It’d take some time to get used to the hardtack again, but that was better than being locked up.

Even if he had been eating three delicious free meals a day and sleeping in the most comfortable bed he’d ever known. Anything was better than being kidnapped by a dragon.

He figured an hour had passed by the time the dragon’s roar echoed across the valley. Stan froze, then quickly moved faster through the woods, eyeing the branches above him and rolling the hand warmer a few times before shoving it in one of his pockets. Better to be cold now than lose it trying to run later.

He got a good amount of distance before he heard the tell-tale sounds of the dragon’s wings. Stan hurried to the shadows of a nearby tree, then looked up to see the dragon, bursting by overhead. It shot past him, then flew on down the road out of view.

Stan grinned, then breathed into his hands and went back to jogging through the woods. He wasn’t going to let it get the drop on him twice. It flew over a few more times, and he hid in the shadows for each, then veered off somewhere else closer to the castle. Probably scanning the woods for him.

Not great, but he had time if it was starting further up the mountain side. Stan picked up his pace, going as fast as he dared through the snow-covered ground, rubbing his hands together. The wind kept nipping at the exposed skin of his face and hands, and the cold was starting to creep through his boots as he trudged through the snow.

The road became more tempting the further he went on, but he also wasn’t an idiot. There was no way the dragon wasn’t keeping an eye on it from somewhere, just in case he jumped out onto it. No, he’d stay in the woods, where the branches provided some cover and prevented it from swooping down and grabbing him.

A distant voice echoed nearby, and he paused. He waited, straining to hear over the wind, before it came again, somewhat closer.

“Stanley!”

Frowning, he turned behind him, back the way he came. Then he frowned harder at the very clear path his feet had made through the snow. The wind had obscured some of it, but not enough that it wasn’t clear a single man had gone through.

McGuckets voice echoed closer, and he cursed, then turned and started running as quickly as he could through the woods, trying to keep his balance on the snow and avoid any hidden roots. He stumbled, then scowled at the path behind him. Then he looked at the branches overhead and got an idea.

It took precious minutes to find a suitable branch to drag behind him to disrupt the trail, but the snow was powdery enough to make it work. He’d lose some time, and it wasn’t perfect, but It’d do for a while until he was sure he’d lost McGucket. The exposed roots and rocks were slippery, but he tried to step on them whenever possible, making it even harder to follow him.

The sun overhead did little to warm his back as he trudged through the snow and balanced along the icy ground. He shivered and switched the branch from hand to hand, putting the free one up to his mouth. McGucket’s voice faded after a while, just as the slope got steeper. Stan abandoned the branch, then focused on climbing down without breaking his neck.

The dragon roared close by, and he flinched. He scurried over to the shadows of a nearby tree, cursing as he slipped and slid down the hill, then scanned the gray sky overhead. A few minutes later it flashed by again, speeding down the road. Stan watched it for a moment, then listened.

He could still faintly hear McGucket’s voice, but it didn’t seem to be getting any closer. He could also hear the wings of the dragon as it flew further away, then it as roared and started to come back. The dragon shot overhead again, and Stan took the time to shuffle in place and try to warm up his fingers and toes while he waited for it to be done with its road scan.

It roared a few more times, then disappeared somewhere behind him. He waited for a moment, then went back to carefully making his way down the slope, feet starting to turn into ice blocks as the snow melted against the heat of his body and refroze. He shivered, then rubbed his hands together and eyed the road nearby, making sure to keep it in sight.

This was why he liked to stay down south if he could. It didn’t get nearly cold enough for snow, only the occasional frost and torrential rains. Flooding was still preferable to freezing his fingers off trying to climb down a mountain in the middle of winter.

Whatever, it was too late to turn back anyway. There was no telling when the next opportunity to run would pop up.

The sun started creeping further into the sky, dragon roars turning increasingly desperate and wind blowing harder and cutting through the trees. A few flakes started coming down, sticking to his hair and shoulders. Stan grabbed the edges of his cloak and held them tight, squinting through the woods and keeping an eye on the road and sky. McGuckets shouts had long since faded, making him less worried about the trail he left behind.

It took a moment to realize that something had changed in his surroundings. He thought it was the sun glinting off the ice at first, a distant blue sparkle that quickly disappeared. It wasn’t until it got closer that he realized it was a small blue light, disappearing and reappearing through the woods.

It wasn’t until it was much closer that he realized he should maybe hide from it, and by then he was too stiff from the cold to do more than stumble backwards as Emma-May popped into existence right in front of him.

“There you are!” she said, putting her hands on her hips and frowning, “We’ve been looking all over for you! You gave Fiddleford quite a scare back there, he thought you’d drowned in the tub.”

Stan scowled. Who the hell was Fiddleford? The door knight maybe? Whatever, not important. What was important was that Emma-May was a ghost, and therefore not a threat.

“Go away,” He said, walking through her and continuing on through the woods. He shivered intensely as he passed through, her ghost body sending a spike of ice down his spine, but pushed on regardless. The cold was already making him shiver anyways, what was one more.

“I will not,” She said, reappearing in front of him again, “What do you even think you’re doing out here?”

“None of your business, and also its obvious. I’m escaping.” Stan walked through her once more, flinching at the shiver, then eyed the ground and rubbed his hands together, “I’m not going to let you creeps use me to go through any more of Ford’s stuff. I don’t know what he wanted locked up so bad, but I’m done with it. He’ll be angry enough once he finds out what I’ve opened already.”

Emma-May appeared in front of him again, frowning.

“You’re still on about that? We told you; the dragon is Stanford. We have his permission to go through everything, and all we’re doing is-”

“Blah, blah, can it,” Stan stepped around her this time, already shivering enough, “I don’t want to hear whatever nonsense you’re spewing. I know enough about magic to know you can’t just turn people into giant lizards. Breaks too many hard rules.”

“Hard rules put in place for a world that’s lacking true magical power,” Emma-May said, floating along just in front of him, “Back in my day magic could do near anything as long as you knew what you were doing and weren’t afraid of breaking a few ideas about morals. This place is-”

“I don’t care,” Stan interrupted, “and I don’t believe you. Ford might have been living there at some point, but he’s gone so I have no reason to stick around. This whole week’s been awful, and I’m done with it.”

“Awful? How has it been awful? Besides all the bodily harm that happened that first day or so, which we fixed and were very sorry for. You’re being fed, its warm, and we’ve been bonding! Very welcoming in my opinion.” Stan raised an eyebrow at that. She was very quick to dismiss his near-death experience and all the terror of being grabbed by a creature ten times your size that could eat you in one bite. The terror had faded over the week of it not doing that, but still.

“All you book-worms have been doing is making me read, I hate it.” Stan said, turning to watch the ground in front of him and rubbing his hands together, “It’s been pure agony. I’m bored out of my mind, I don’t want to be here, and you literally kidnapped me. All the good food and warm beds can’t make a man stay somewhere he doesn’t want to be.”

“Hmm,” Emma-May rubbed her chin as she floated next to him, then sighed, “I see. My apologies Stanley, I didn’t realize you weren’t enjoying yourself as much as the rest of us. I thought all your grouching was just a symptom of your personality, and not an honest dislike of the situation. Stanford always loved to read away, and you’ve been remarkably adept at picking up the subject material.”

He really wanted to say something about the ‘symptom of your personality’ comment, because what the hell did that even mean? Instead, he glared, and made something far more important clear.

“I’m not my brother,” he growled, pushing down the twisted knot of feelings in his chest, “Just because he loves to read all day everyday doesn’t mean I do. I’m not- magics- we’re different people.”

Ford was the magical genius, not Stan. Stan was the lesser copy, the extra that wasn’t wanted, or even needed once Ford made it clear who was better between them. Ford had never said anything like that of course, he’d been happy with Stan, before-

But everyone else had. Once they’d started proper schooling and Ford had shined as the amazing talented magical prodigy he was. It had been drilled into Stan’s head by his teachers, classmates, neighbors, and parents how much potential Ford had, and how little Stan. Stan couldn’t replace his brother, and he didn’t want to.

Ford was far too amazing to replace.

Especially with someone like Stan.

He didn’t know how to say that to the ghost holding him prisoner, and he didn’t want to. It wasn’t her business how much they’d screwed up trying to get him to be Ford’s placeholder, they should have figured that out on their own by now.

“I see.” Emma-May said quietly, then louder, “Well, if you haven’t been enjoying yourself, we can fix that. Stanford can live with having someone else read to him. I suppose we were caught up in the euphoria of finally being able to fix him, we overlooked your own discomfort. Lets head back then, and we can get it all sorted.”

“No.”

“Why not!” Emma-May popped back in front of him, looking annoyed, “I already told you, we won’t make you read, and we’ll find something more enjoyable for you to do while we work on fixing your brother. Even if you don’t believe us, it’s far warmer and more comfortable there then out here, or even in the village.”

“What part of ‘you’re literally kidnapping me, and I don’t like being held prisoner’ don’t you understand?” Stan said, moving around her again, “I don’t want to help you, and I don’t want to be here. Now go away.”

He huffed as she popped up in front of him again, crossing her arms.

“I’m warning you Stanley, I’ll give you one more chance to turn around before I take matters into my own hands.”

Stan looked at her see-through glowy ghost hands and raised an eyebrow, then stepped around her and kept walking through the woods. The worst she could do was get one of the others’ attention, and he’d be long gone from here by the time they made it over. He’d have to hide his trail again, but the snow was starting to pick up, so it’d be easier.

“Very well,” she said, popping in front of him, again, “but I want you to remember I gave you a choice, and that I won’t enjoy this.”

“What are-” Stan only got a few words in before she rushed towards him, then through him. He shivered, then-

Stopped.

Everything got sort of blurry as he patted himself down, then turned and started marching towards the road. He tried to stop, to go back to walking through the woods, but nothing happened. It was like he was cut off, not actually in his body.

“Really, it’s just a minor kidnapping,” Emma-May said, voice coming out of his mouth as he climbed over a few roots and stepped onto the road, “Just until we fix Stanford. We’ll laugh about it when it’s over.”

Stan did not want to laugh. He wanted to scream, then scream more when his mouth and face didn’t respond to his distress. He panicked, then panicked more as his body didn’t panic with him. The beat of his heart stayed steady, his breathing even, and his stride confident as he started walking up the road back to the castle.

The road was only marginally easier to walk through than the woods, as it was also covered in several inches of snow. The only reason he knew it was a road at all was how even the snow was laying, and the clear path of trees on either side of it, along with a few old bits of fencing and occasional black iron post.

Everything started getting hazier the longer Emma-May made him walk, and his hands and feet started getting numb. It didn’t take him long to realize he couldn’t feel the wind on his face anymore, cut off from himself in his own body like this. He tried to do something, move something, do anything to try and take back control.

“None of that now,” Emma-May said, moving his mouth and lifting an arm to pat himself on the head. He couldn’t feel it, just see the motion from the corner of his eye, “Just sit tight until we reach the castle. Like I said, it’s not any more enjoyable for me to do this either. Do you know how long it’s been since I’ve been alive? I don’t miss the feeling, I assure you.”

Stan didn’t answer, because he couldn’t, but he tried to yell at her from wherever box inside his body he’d been trapped in. Emma-May didn’t respond to any of his thought-screams, just kept walking forwards up the road. His struggles did nothing but get the occasional head pat with his own hand he couldn’t feel.

By the time the dragon landed in front of them, blasting the snow away and looking even more terrifying than it ever had, the world had become a distant blur. His heart had started going slower, and even though he couldn’t feel anything he was very, very tired. All he wanted to do was lay down on the road and go to sleep.

The dragon growled, looming over him, then paused. It leaned forwards and sniffed at him, and he idly saw a few of his hairs get blown across his face. Then it snarled, baring its teeth and eyes narrowed dangerously.

“Calm down, it’s me,” Emma-May said, and it snarled again, “Watch your tone! I didn’t have any other way of grabbing him, and you know I’m terrible with flying. By the time I got your attention he’d have been long gone from where I found him.”

It grumbled, but some of the tension left its body. It reached forwards and scooped him up, pressing him against its chest and rumbling again.

“Ah, of course,” Emma-May said, and his vision went black as he closed his eyes, “I wouldn’t have guessed, what with the amount of times he’s climbed out the windows.”

The dragon grumbled again, then Stan listened to the sound of its wings beating. It was strange, hearing the sound and knowing it was flying while holding him, but not being able to feel the vibrations or react. His heart still beat steadily slower, making him even more drowsy.

The dragon roared, sounding triumphant, then went silent, nothing but the beating of its wings letting Stan know he was still awake. It wasn’t very long at before they landed, and he only knew that because the wings stopped. He could hear it stomping around, and Emma-May opened his eyes to one of the hallways. It carried him through the twists and turns, before stopping in front of a set of familiar doors, that opened up to the treasure room.

“Really Stanford, we need to-” she was cut off as it growled at her, and she sighed, “Yes, yes, you need to make yourself feel better. Your dragon instincts are incredibly inconvenient I hope you know.”

It huffed, then crooned as it made its way to the top of the coin pile and set him back down in his wagon bed, Emma-May sitting down near the side. It crooned again, then it growled and waved its claws around.

“Of course, let me-”

Stan didn’t have time to process the words before he was suddenly thrust back into control of his body, Emma-May floating above him. The haze disappeared, making everything clear and the normal level of blurriness from not wearing his glasses. The disconnect vanished, making him more aware of his body and every part of himself than he ever had before, feeling the damp texture of his clothes as he breathed, and the blankets underneath him.

He was also freezing.

“There we go! Safe and- oh dear.”

Emma-May frowned as Stan suddenly started shivering violently, body still numb despite no longer being possessed by a ghost. His teeth chattered; limbs stiff despite moving under Emma-May’s control so easily just a second before. He blinked slowly, then wheezed as the dragon was very suddenly in his face, growling. He tried to back away, but all he did was jerk and fall over, shivering some more.

“Ah, I forgot about that. It is fairly cold, and he had been warming his hands.” Emma-May looked sheepishly from above him, rubbing the back of her neck, “As you know, I can’t really feel-”

The dragon growled at her, deep and low, then gently reached back into the wagon and hooked a claw around him, rolling him over awkwardly before pinching him gently and lifting him up. It set him down in one of its claws, then reached back in and grabbed a blanket, laying it on top of him.

Then it stood and walked over to a clear spot of coins and curled up, gently rolling the blanket around him and setting him down against its stomach, crooning sadly as it made itself into a ball and rested its head on his feet, so that a single eye could watch him. Stan just let it happen, too tired and cold and used to it manhandling him constantly to really argue about it.

The scales were also warm, which made the side of his face start tingling as feeling started coming back.

“Y-y-you s-suck,” He chattered, glaring at Emma-May as she floated over and twisted her hands, “I w-was f-f-fine before you s-showed up.”

“Yes, an unfortunate side-effect of not actually being alive,” she said, eyeing him, “I tend to override the hosts body’s natural responses with my own, and I don’t feel the cold. We’ll have to get you out of those clothes, but that can wait until Stanford's calmed down.”

Stan kept glaring, before the hyper awareness of his body started fading and he was hit with the drowsiness he’d been feeling before. His eyes struggled to stay open, even as his body kept shivering and the ice melted against his skin, making him even colder.

The rumbling of the dragon underneath him didn’t help, nor did the warm scales on his face. His eyes started closing, and he drifted as Emma-May apologized profusely to the dragon, another member of the ‘accidentally almost killed Stan’ club. She was lucky his hand warmer was bundled up near his chest, the warmth seeping through to him.

He didn’t know how long he laid there, a miserable pile of sorta warm mostly cold and wet, before McGucket burst into the treasure room, slamming the doors open and marching angrily through the coins. Stan peeked open an eye, recognizing the steps of metal feet on coins, just in time to see his furious face get replaced with confusion, then contempt.

“Serves you right, freezing yourself like-” The dragon interrupted, growling low and making Stan’s whole body vibrate as it glared at Emma-May. She rubbed the back of her neck sheepishly, and McGucket looked back and forth between them, before rubbing his face.

“Never mind. It probably would have happened anyway, but I’m not gonna argue. Come on, I’ll help him get changed into something dryer, and then you can set yourself up in front of the fireplace.”

The dragon nuzzled his legs, then slowly got up, gently carrying Stan in his blanket wrap as it followed McGucket back into the castle. Emma-May muttered something, then disappeared, probably to let Dan and the kids know his valiant escape attempt had failed.

Stan closed his eyes again, too tired to try and wiggle free or protest as he was carried wherever they were going. The rhythmic breathing of the dragon above him was almost comforting, and he drifted off again as the sways of its claws rocked him.

Eventually they stopped, and he opened an eye just as it laid down in the hallway and draped him over his snout, rumbling something. McGucket sighed from somewhere nearby, and he heard the sounds of a door opening and closing.

“W-w-whats ha-happening,” he muttered, turning to see McGucket stride out of a nearby door, a bundle of clothes in his hands.

“What’s happening, is that now your brother doesn’t trust you to go into rooms without him,” He said, stepping closer and lifting him off the dragon’s snout, before settling him down on the ground and unwrapping him, “Not until we can bar all the windows and go through the rooms to see what else you’ve tampered with.”

“H-hey,” Stan chattered, shivering harder now that he didn’t have the dragon’s warmth or the blanket, “N-not my f-f-fault you s-suck.” At kidnapping people, he didn’t say, because he was getting tired of talking and didn’t want to start giving them tips.

Also, he was too busy trying to bat McGuckets hands away as the metal man started undressing him right in the middle of the hallway. His hands were heavy and numb, fingers uncooperating. The coldness radiating off of him didn’t help either.

“Stop, your fingers are too stiff, just let me-” McGucket pulled off his cloak, ignoring his sound of dismay, then lifted his damp shirt off of him. He grabbed a towel and draped it over his head, then started rubbing it, drying him off and warming him up.

“Here,” he said, wrapping it around his shoulders and holding out another pile of clothes, looking away, “you can do the rest yourself, just let me know if you need help.”

Stan glared, then huddled under the towel so he could take off his the rest of his clothes, fumbling with some of the strings. He threw them into a pile, then snatched the clothes from McGucket, putting them on as fast as he could with his numb hands. When he was done he dropped the towel, then snatched his cloak before McGucket could wander off with it.

Then he frowned as he realized he hadn’t been given shoes.

“H-hey,” he said, as McGucket grabbed his discarded wet clothes and moved towards the room with them, “y-y-you f-forget something?”

He lifted his feet when McGucket turned, then glared when the metal man smirked.

“Not at all. Can’t get very far on your bare feet in winter, can you?” his smirk turned into a grin as Stan glared harder, and he disappeared into the room, reappearing a second later with a new blanket that he threw around Stan’s shoulders and wrapped around him.

Stan grunted as he was swept off his feet by the dragon, glaring at the scales of its underbelly as they went back to walking, now with McGucket profusely apologizing for continuing to be the captain of the ‘lost Stan out a window’ club.

They went back to the library, where instead of his usual couch he was instead set against the dragon’s stomach, face smushed into its scales as it made itself comfortable in front of the fireplace, grumbling to the other book worms. He tried to mutter angrily at all of them for foiling his escape attempt, but the combination of dry clothes, a snug blanket, and the warmth of the dragon below and the fireplace across from him were too much for his already exhausted body.

He struggled to keep his eyes open as the dragon rumbled underneath, making angry noises anytime someone said his name. The last thing he saw was a single giant brown eye, gazing down at him happily, before he closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep.

Chapter Text

“Wow, that was pathetic,” Bill said, lounging across from him, holding a wine glass he was pretty sure was full of blood.

Stan blinked, then looked around to find himself in some kind of parlor, a fireplace crackling merrily next to them as he sat in a cushy chair, holding his own wine glass and feet propped up in front of him on a small stool. Bill was laying on a couch across from him, legs crossed and leaning against the arm.

It looked like it could be a room in the castle, with the same dark stone walls and flooring. The furniture was made of the same materials, with the same detailed torture and organ designs, and the wine glasses looked like a skeletal hand holding an eyeball. A large yellow carpet was on the floor under the table between them and had a triangle with an eye on it. The eye was looking at Stan.

Creepy.

“I mean, you didn’t even make it to the village,” Bill continued, swirling his glass, “Didn’t you say something about being done with this place today?”

He threw the contents of the glass into its freaky eye mouth, then chucked the glass into the fire, where it exploded. The flames died down to reveal the fireplace perfectly intact.

“Hey,” Stan said, eyeing his own questionable glass, “I’m doing my best here.”

“Your best is terrible,” Bill replied, crossing his arms and resting them behind his head, “but that works for me. Wisp was right after all, what better place to be than in a cozy warm castle in the middle of winter. Some people would kill for that kind set up.”

His eye flashed red, but Stan just scoffed.

“Maybe if they weren’t being held prisoner.” He sniffed the glass, then grimaced at the metallic smell. Definitely blood. He set the glass down on a table at his side, then turned to find Bill, looming over him. Stan yelped, then jumped when Bill got closer, his eye squinted like he was smiling.

“You are, aren’t you. Tell me Stanley,” Bill put two armored hands on either side of him, crowding him as he leaned forwards, “are you unhappy?”

“Uhhhh, yeeessss?” Stan said, trying to lean into the chair to get further away from the demon. He knew that this was a dream, but it was still uncomfortable being caged like this.

“Would you say you’re in need?” Bill got even closer, and Stan could feel the heat pouring off of him, and not just from the flame on the tip of his helmet.

“I need you to back up,” Stan replied, trying to wiggle out from under the demon. He tried to dream himself away, but Bill’s armored hands clamped onto his upper arms, disrupting the thought.

“Sure, sure,” Bill said, not backing up at all, “but would you say, in your own words, that you’re in need of something you can’t acquire for your own happiness?”

What kinds of questions were these? Why was the freaky demon from his dreams suddenly so invested in Stan’s life? Didn’t he already know how sucky it was?

“I guess?” The heat intensified and Bill leaned even closer, “I mean, yes?! I need to get out of here?! What’s with all the questions?” Stan shouted, then yelled as Bill’s eye grinned, and he lifted Stan up from the chair, twirling him around the room while Stan kicked his legs and dried to reach up and grab the hands crushing him.

“You here that!” Bill yelled to the room, stopping suddenly, “he said it!”

“I said what?!” Stan yelled, looking around wildly. Nothing had changed, and no one else was here. Nothing but the crackling flames and the shadows it cast.

“Don’t you worry your empty little head,” Bill said, dropping him roughly on his feet and ruffling his hair, “I’ve got a few more strings to pull, some suckers to charm, but don’t you fret.”

Bill taped his nose, making Stan flinch and back away, bewildered. He yelped as he tripped backwards into the chair, then jumped when Bill appeared next to him, leaning on the back and one eye grinning down at him.

“Soon enough, you won’t have to worry about anything.” He cackled, and Stan glared, confused and annoyed about the whole exchange.

“What-”

Stan sneezed, jerking awake and blinking at McGucket, who was standing and frowning over him. This happened too often really.

“What,” Stan rasped, throat dry and head feeling like cotton. He was otherwise extremely cozy, warm and snug… wherever he was. A quick glance showed he was still in the library on top of the dragon, who was looking down at him from over McGuckets shoulder. Stan kept bobbing up and down with each one of its breaths, but it was warm and felt nice, so he let it slide.

“You’re not looking so good,” McGucket said, and Stan realized he was holding one of his human books and kept looking down at it then back up at Stan, “Describe your symptoms, will you?”

Stan stared at him blankly, then closed his eyes, snuggled back down, and sighed, ready to go back to sleep and hopefully have a non-Bill dream. Once was already enough, he was ready for normal dreams again.

“Stanley,” McGucket said, sounding closer, “This is very important, I need to know your symptoms.”

Stan groaned, then opened an eye to find McGucket crouched over him, holding the book up and peering at his face.

“G’way,” he mumbled, “j’st a cold. Or s’mthin.”

He wasn’t surprised, not after almost maybe freezing to death. Well, not to death, but freezing in general. He probably would have been fine for a while longer before there would have been risk of his fingers and toes falling off. The dragon carrying him back probably helped also.

Regardless he wasn’t surprised he’d gotten sick from it. Nothing to worry about, he’d relax, demand soup, and sleep off the worst. One of the benefits of being held prisoner in a fancy castle.

“Or your organs could be failing from long term exposure to the cold,” McGucket said, rousing him from his doze, “Or pneumonia. How’s your breathing.”

Before Stan could reply McGucket jerked forwards and put his head on Stan’s chest. Stan stared for a moment, brows furrowing, before McGucket jerked back up looking panicked.

“I can’t hear your heart beat!” he yelled, jumping to his feet and hauling Stan into his arms, “Or your breathing! I need! Emma-May! I-”

“Stop,” Stan groaned, head pounding and annoyed that his coziness had been disrupted, “You can’t hear it because I’m wrapped up. I’m obviously breathing and alive, scrap for brains.”

McGucket stared at him, then slumped in relief, carefully setting him back down on the dragon. It wasn’t as comfortable as before, making Stan scowl. The dragon chuffed above them, then leaned down and nosed his side, rumbling before licking the side of his face.

“Ugh,” he grumbled, sniffing and glaring at them both, “I told you; it’s a cold or something, go away.”

“No,” McGucket replied, already in the middle of crouching down and unwrapping him, “I need to make sure none of your limbs are in danger of falling off.”

“My wha- how long do you think I was out there? Stop!” Stan tried to pull the blanket back, but McGucket’s metal arms were too strong, yanking it away and grabbing his arms with his cold metal hands. He yelped as the metal man examined each of his fingers, then tugged off his socks.

“Looks fine, for now,” McGucket mumbled, shoving the socks back on and rewrapping him, ignoring his shouts and flailing as he was once again lifted, “but who knows for how long.”

“For how long?! What does-stop!” Stan yelled, incredulous “I’m obviously fine! My fingers aren’t going to spontaneously fall off!”

“Not yet.” McGucket said, sounding dead serious as he made his way out of the library towards the dining room. Stan stared at him, bewildered, while the dragon grumbled, getting up and trailing behind.

“Yet?! What kind of books have you been reading?! That doesn’t happen to people!” Stan might have been freezing solid when he got back, but not so terrible it warranted this kind of panic. And also, he should be the one panicking if he had been, not the giant metal man whose metal arms were cold and uncomfortable.

“Every one I could find,” McGucket said, pace picking up as they neared the dining room, “I don’t need to sleep like you do, so I have a lot more time to read.”

God, that sounded awful. So much extra time in the day and he used it for reading? Tragic.

“Well, ignore your books and listen to the guy who’s actually human,” Stan said, as they arrived at the dining room and the knights let them in, “Sure, I was a little colder than I should have been, but I’m fine. It’s just a cold, maybe the flu.”

McGucket froze, then stared down at him in horror. Stan stared back, confused.

“Oh dear,” he muttered, before looking up and running to the table, gently setting Stan down in his chair, blanket wrap and all, “oh dear, oh dear. I need!” McGucket looked at his metal hands in distress, then back up at Stan, “I can’t check your temperature.”

He sounded like he’d be crying if he could.

“I’m fine,” Stan repeated, again, “Just need to rest and-”

“SOUP!” McGucket interrupted loudly, hands coming up to grab his metal hair, “Stanford always had soup when he wasn’t feeling well! Don’t worry Stanley,” He crouched down next to the chair and grabbed its side, eyes looking desperate, “It should be on its way right now. We’ll get you fed, and I’ll have someone bring down some medicine for you.”

Stan leaned back, annoyed. If McGucket made this cold into a big deal, he’d kill him.

The soup came quickly, along with a glass of water Stan quickly downed, grumbling as he freed an arm from the blanket wrap. Then he growled when McGucket tried spoon feeding him, backed up by the dragon overhead.  Instead, the metal man hovered, hands coming up and down and jumping every time Stan so much as coughed.

The soup itself sat warmly in his stomach, some kind of meat and vegetable one that tasted better than any inn soup he’d ever had. When he was done, he sighed and pulled the blanket back over his shoulders, then slumped into the chair. His throat felt much better and the pounding had faded, even as his nose got more stuffed.

Before he could get comfortable, McGucket scooped him back up and ran from the room, dashing past the dragon and muttering to himself.

“What now,” Stan asked, glaring and already done with this.

“Medicine,” McGucket said, not even panting as he picked up speed, “Stanford had a few things in his lab, for when he was feeling poorly. I’ll just dose you up, and then you’ll be as right as a rainbow.”

Stan stared. Right as a rainbow? Who said that? What did that even mean? Better yet-

“What kind of medicine are we talking about, because I’m not drinking any of your questionable potions.” The dragon let out a chirp, and Stan looked behind them to see its amused face as it trailed along. Stan glared at it, then glared harder when it let out a sound that sounded suspiciously like a laugh.

“Don’t you worry Stanley,” McGucket said, a cold metal hand coming up to rub Stan’s hair, “It’s very good medicine, Stanford developed it after getting a sore throat once and he never did again. He took it every time he got sick.”

“That sounds like a questionable potion, and I’m not sure I want you shoving it down my throat,” Stan said, trying to shake the cold metal hand off, “and stop, you’re hand’s cold.”

McGucket’s hand disappeared, and he looked at it in horror, before sprinting down the halls. Stan yelled as he was jostled and McGucket started muttering, once more sounding like he’d cry his eyes out if he could.

They stopped in front of Ford’ lab, the door propped open with a desk. McGucket hesitated, then shuffled in place until the dragon caught up, looking more annoyed now and glaring at him. Before it could growl he set Stan down by one of its claws, then rushed into the room.

“Don’t worry Stanley!” he yelled, crashing through the room, “I won’t let you die!”

“I’M NOT DYING?!” Stan yelled back, wiggling in his blanket wrap, then yelled some more when the dragon laid down, rolling him gently across the floor and setting its head on top of him.  It angled itself so it could peer into the room and started clicking and chirping, vibrating Stan’s whole body.

“Get off of me you giant lizard!” Stan shouted, trying to wiggle free. The dragon brought up one of its claws to cup around Stan’s head and shot him a glance, before going back to looking inside the room. Stan scowled, then glared at the ceiling before sneezing.

McGuckets head popped into view a moment later, looking distraught and harried as he clutched a vial of something purple in his hands.

“I’m not drinking that.” Stan said, glaring at him, “its not any kind of normal color.”

“Its very normal,” McGucket said, “In colors your human eyes can’t see.”

“What the fuck does that mean,” Stan said, done with this whole experience. The dragon rumbled, vibrating him again.

“It means its perfectly safe. Stanford drank it every time he got sick, and he was fine.” McGucket said as he crouched down next to him and held out the potion. They stared at each other, before he realized Stan’s arms were pinned by the blanket and the dragon’s head.

“If this kills me,” Stan told him as he popped open the top of the vial, “I’m coming back as a ghost. Then I’m beating up you and your wife and leaving.”

“Noted, now open your mouth,” Stan sighed, then opened his mouth, already cringing at the taste. Better he just let this happen, so the guy didn’t pry his mouth open. and to get this over with. The glowing green goo had worked, so why not a non-glowing purple one. Why not just try all the questionable liquids in the castle and see what happened. Might as well at this point.

He coughed as McGucket poured it into his mouth. It tasted like fruit and felt like jelly. Stan opened his eyes as he swallowed the rest of it down, then coughed some more, much to McGuckets increasing worry.

“Ach- Probably should have sat up,”  Stan said, coughing. Then he grimaced at the weird feeling in his stomach, “Also, if I throw up, I’m not cleaning it.”

“You won’t throw up,” McGucket said, helping him sit up as the dragon finally moved its heavy head, “Just. Now. Um.”

McGucket tucked him against the dragon’s claws again, then couched down and pulled the book he’d been reading and flipped through it, stopping at a page and looking at it intensely. Stan grumbled, then sighed as McGucket started pulling at his metal hair and mumbling to himself.

“Gotcha fed, did a checkup, medicine. Rest. Right, get some rest. I can do that.”

“Yeah, you can do that,” Stan said, smirking at the glare sent his way. McGucket sighed, then backed away as the dragon scooped Stan up. He frowned up at the scales then eyed the claws around him.

He was getting too used to this.

He was also getting too used to being rolled into the wagon bed. McGucket climbed in after, having to crouch to fit, then hunch more so he didn’t slam his head on the bows overhead. Stan frowned as he muttered and started reorganizing the blankets, then loomed over him.

“What now,” Stan grumbled, after McGucket didn’t move for several minutes.

“I’m making sure you don’t stop breathing.” McGucket replied, not even blinking.

“If you don’t back up, I will start screaming.”

McGucket frowned, but he did climb out of the wagon. Instead, he stood at the side closest to him, still watching and crossing his arms. Stan eyed the metal man, then grunted when the wagon shook as the dragon made itself comfotable. It curled up, then poked at McGucket and grumbled. The metal man didn’t do more than wobble.

“Don’t you have more reading to do,” Stan grumbled himself, snuggling into the bed, “it’s all you’ve been doing all week.”

“All the reading in the world’s useless if you drop dead.” McGucket said, once again, dead serious, “Your health’s very important, and since you won’t take it seriously it falls to me.”

“It’s a cold, I’m fine.”

“Maybe,” McGucket said, leaning forwards and clutching the side of the wagon, “Or maybe all your organs are shutting down, or you’ve got some kind of parasite, or your lungs are filling with fluid, or you’ve developed heart arrhythmia, or-”

McGucket kept going, listing more and more ways Stan could be dying from a stuffy nose. Stan stopped listening halfway through, closing his eyes and drifting off again.

For the first time since he got here, his dreams were demons and creepy castle free.

McGucket did make it a big deal, stuffing him full of soup and medicine and acting like every sniffle was one sneeze away from him blowing his own head off. The dragon laughed at him the whole time, trailing behind and not stopping the man from fussing over him.

He was forcefully bedridden until his nose cleared up and he’d regained some of his color. Only then was McGucket confident he wouldn’t drop dead, dragging him back to the library  where Emma-May was determined to entertain him while the rest of them worked on whatever magic jumbo they were working on.

“Since you don’t like reading,” She said, floating in front of him, “what do you like?”

“Gold.” He replied immediately. She stared at him, then rubbed her chin.

“Hmm. I think I can work with that. Stanford!” Emma-May floated up to the dragon, then whispered something to it. It perked up, then shot to its feet and rushed out the door. Stan watched it go, then grunted when McGucket sat down on the couch next to him, studying his face and holding another book on humans.

“If you shove more gunk down my throat I’ll throttle you,” Stan warned, shifting to the side.

“If it saves your life, I’m willing to let you try,” McGucket muttered, lifting the book up and flipping through the pages. Well, as long as he understood.

The dragon came back some time later, after McGucket had wandered back to the tables full of notes and he’d already been scolded twice for trying to sneak out. It was holding another one of those huge chests, which it slammed down next to an empty table. Then it bent down and nudged Stan with its snout.

“What, what do you want.” Stan grouched, getting up and stumbling over to the table.

“I had him bring something for you to occupy yourself with,” Emma-May said, from where she was examining several open books, “Feel free to go through it, we’ll worry about Stanford’s reading.”

Stan shot her a suspicious look, then peeked into the chest.

It was full of treasure.

Stan would have been more impressed if he hadn’t been sleeping on a pile of it for the past week and a half. He scoffed, then stood up straight and crossed his arms, glaring at the dragon. They stared at each other for a moment, before Stan’s will crumbled.

“No take backs!” He yelled, dashing over and running his hands through it. He didn’t really get the chance to appreciate all the gold and jewels he was sleeping on, since the dragon kept carrying him around and he’d been trapped in the library.

Stan grinned as he pulled out several bracelets encrusted with gems and held them to the light, admiring them, then dug through the gold to see what else was in there. He found a few necklaces, a lot of rings with various jewels and engravings, and an actual crown. He draped all of it over himself, then giggled as he rubbed the gold between his fingers.

“Wow,” Emma-May said, making him jump and whip around. She was watching him from over at her table, tilting her head, “you look much happier like that. I can see we’ve been neglecting you.”

“You guys are weird kidnappers,” Stan said, piling the gold onto the table and sorting it, “what are you gonna do if I run off with all this.”

The dragon growled, then cupped its claws around him, cutting off his view from the rest of the room but not actually touching him. Stan turned to see its giant dinner plate eyes, locked onto him.

“Well, if you could,”  McGucket said loudly from his table, “I don’t see why it’d be a problem. None of that gold is ours, it came with the place, and its cursed.”

Stan froze, then looked at all the gold he’d been handling with horror.

“And you’ve been letting me touch it!” Stan pat himself down, searching for anything wrong with himself, “Am I cursed now! Was that your plan!”

“No, you’re fine,” Emma-May said, popping through the dragon’s claws and ignoring its growl, “It’s just cursed to reappear in the treasure room if it leaves the castle.”

Stan sighed in relief, then frowned. That wasn’t good, if he couldn’t take it with him then what good was it. All the gold in the world was useless if it was stuck in one place. Which might explain why it was still here and hadn’t been looted ages ago.

His bad mood didn’t last long in the face of the giant treasure pile, as he sorted through it and started organizing all the coins and jewels. If he couldn’t take it with him now, he’d have to figure out how to break the curse while he waited for the next opportunity to get out of here.

Ugh. Learning. And probably reading. Thankfully he’d unwillingly learned about curses and how they worked recently, so he already had a few ideas. It’d been ages since he’d tried to do magic, but he’d delve back into it.

Anything for a chest full of gold.

Stan spent the rest of the day sorting all the treasure, planning his next steps. The only good thing about getting snatched again was at least he knew the treasure was cursed, which would have sucked to learn when he snuck in to steal it later like he’d planned.

He’d have to lie low for a while, strike when they were least expecting it. And figure out how to get shoes. It might also be better to wait until spring to escape, less chance of accidentally freezing to death. In the meantime, he’d bask in all the treasure, and sneak some of the magic books if his ideas didn’t work out.

It also gave him more time to search for clues about Ford. McGucket said he had a bedroom and a study that were also sealed somewhere around here. If he could find them, he could get inside and hopefully figure out what was going on and what they were hiding. Where Ford had gone, why he’d gone crazy.

If he was still alive.

First, he had to find a way to ditch the dragon.

It didn’t take long to realize that the dragon was not helping McGucket and Emma-May anymore with the reading and book talk. It spent the entire time watching Stan comb through the treasure chest, cooing at him and nudging certain things his way. It’d watch him drape himself with golden jewelry, then clap its claws and coo some more. The next day it abruptly left, then returned with a box full of fancy clothes, shoving them at him and looking expectant.

Since Stan was not about to change in the middle of the library, his room entrance was once again allowed, especially since McGucket had gone around and begun installing iron bars over all of the windows. Stan was set back into ‘his’ room (and someone had finally replaced the curtains and bed sheets and gotten rid of all his rope) where he (only somewhat reluctantly) started changing up different silky outfits and trying out different jewelry combinations.

He’d long ago learned the lesson of dressing to impress, but even he hadn’t been able to afford silk this pricy, or this vibrant. He especially hadn’t owned jewelry this expensive. It felt… good? To clean up and dress like he was actually someone important. He felt guilty, being able to enjoy himself while Ford was still missing, but it wasn’t like he had a lot of options here.

The dragon, his only audience, cooed and clapped at each combination, enthralled. Stan felt a little silly, showing off in front of it, but it was better than being bored out of his mind and he loved performing, even if it was just for a giant lizard who kidnapped him. Dressing up might also work to lower its guard, get it used to him being cooperative then convince it to let him look around.

Which it did immediately a few days later when he asked, because apparently, he could do whatever he wanted except leave. The possibilities were starting to become endless.

This was how he found Dan, who was laying face down on a couch in a nearby hallway in front of a window and snoring away. He’d kind of forgotten about him, since he’d been so focused on escaping, but he hadn’t really seen him since that second day.

“He gets tired during the winter,” McGucket said when he asked, “due to being a tree. Last year we just set him up in the court yard, but all his leaves fell out and he was incredibly…. Well, it was bad. Once the snow hit it was only a matter of time.”

Stan, not one to let a poor teenage tree boy suffer, was kind enough to not draw all over his face while he was vulnerable.

Right away.

The next day he wandered over with a stick of charcoal and went to town, scribbling all kinds of things over his face. Then, when the dragon didn’t stop him and seemed to be amused, he wrote and drew all over the furniture in the hallways. The only thing stopping him from writing on the walls and floor was the fact that they were made of black stone, and the charcoal didn’t show up.

This was fixed by the dragon, who rumbled at a nearby knight after Stan bemoaned this terrible tragedy. The knight came back later with a rainbow inkwell and fancy quill, which was very nice but not as nice as jabbing his fingers into the ink and smearing rainbows all over everything, cackling all the while.

The dragon also laughed, a deep bellowing sound as it followed him around and looked at everything he drew. It especially seemed to enjoy it when he defaced the paintings, drawing mustaches and crude gestures over everything.

The fun doubled when the fish boys stumbled on them, running through the halls playing their own game, which they abandoned immediately when they saw what Stan was doing. He proudly showed off some of his finest works, then grinned when the dragon had a knight bring a whole barrel of rainbow ink, dipping one of its claws in and making shaky lines further up the wall.

They got pretty far with their chaos, before McGucket showed up, cycling through several different emotions before landing on disappointment.

“Stanford,” he said, standing further down the hall while Stan ignored him and the fish boys froze in place, “Stanford, what is happening. You’re supposed to be keeping an eye on him.”

“Hey,” Stan said, squinting as he smeared ink all over a landscape painting of some god-awful graveyard scene, adding rainbows and a few funny faces, “don’t get snippy with me, he brought the ink.”

McGucket looked at the barrel of ink, then up at all the higher smears that were clearly done by the dragon. Then he sighed, rubbing his face.

“You know what. It makes sense. I don’t know why I didn’t see it coming. I guess I’m mostly disappointed with you boys, you know better. But no, you wouldn’t, because you’re children.”

“Sorry dad,” they said, kicking their legs and trying to hide their ink-stained fingers.

“I’m not,” Stan said, and the dragon chortled behind him, “in fact, I think this is an improvement. Thoughts?”

Stan climbed down from the dresser he’d been standing on, then waved to the painting. He’d added a beautiful rainbow to the back, then gave the grim reaper guy some fancy wings and a crown, then all the skulls funny faces. The dragon and kids gave him nods, while McGucket just sighed.

“I think there’s no way I can get you to clean this up, is there,” McGucket said, stomping forwards and grimacing at the disaster around him.

“I will actively make this worse,” Stan replied, “I can think of so much more damage I can add with cleaning supplies.”

“You’re terrible,” McGucket said, “I don’t even- why.”

Stan didn’t reply, just turned and slapped his ink cover hand on McGuckets leg, leaving a hand print behind. Then he cackled and did it a few more times when he shouted in outrage, dashing over to the dragon when McGucket tried to grab him. It crooned at him, then grumbled something at McGucket that made him stop.

Stan stuck his tongue out from where he was hiding behind the dragons leg, then jumped when it moved suddenly. It took a few steps backwards, then held up one of its claws, clicking at him. Stan eyed it, then down at his own ink stained fingers. He shrugged, then quickly dunked his hand into the nearby ink barrel and ran over, slapping a rainbow hand print in the middle.

“There you go,” he said, “official mark of Stan, you’re welcome.” Then he ran over to the fish boys and smashed his hand into both their faces, getting McGucket on the way over. Their combined forces were unfortunately too much for him, and soon enough McGucket had him pinned under an arm and dragged him and the kids back to his room to clean up.

The dragon didn’t follow, too busy looking at the small hand print he’d left. It chirped, its other claw coming over to gently trace around it, then looked around at all the mess they’d made. That was the last Stan saw before McGucket carried him out of sight.

That night, he dreamed a dream where he knew he was dreaming. It had been a while since his last one, and he hadn’t had any creepy demon castle ones, not since his last escape attempt.

This place wasn’t the creepy castle, it was too white and cheerful.

He was in a large room, full of stained-glass windows of a giant pink lizard. Multi-colored light poured through into what he realized was a church, rows of pews on either side of him, going into the distance towards a set of golden double doors. In front of him was a large tub, full of stars, and behind that was some kind of giant piano.

He stared at the fancy white building, then startled when he realized his parents were on either side of him, and he was also a child. They looked older, grayer than he remembered, and his ma was looking at him with tears in her eyes. His pa just stood there; arms crossed and expressionless as ever.

“My little spirit,” his ma said smiling, “Look at you, so carefree.”

“So reckless,” his pa grunted, ignoring his ma’s glare, “It’s true. This will be better; I can finally be rid of the nuisance.”

“Don’t say that,” she said crouching down and putting her hands on his shoulders, “Listen Stanley, we’re not getting rid of you-”

“I am.”

“Shut it!” his ma snapped, before turning back to him and smiling, “We’re not getting rid of you, we’re adding someone to your life! He’ll take good care of you, help you while your out on your own.”

“What are you talking about, ma” Stan asked, confused about what was happening, and why his parents were in his dream, “who’s gonna take care of me?”

“He’s a very special man,” his ma said, cupping his cheek, “He’ll do right by you, better than we could.”

“He’ll get you outa my hair is what he’ll do,” pa said, turning to look around the room, “now where is he?”

“Right here!” Bill said, suddenly in front of them. His ma stood as Stan jumped, then whirled around to see the demon. He looked different, no longer a hulking armored demon king, and instead a very… triangularly shaped person. Like if someone took out their bones and stuck a triangle inside instead. He was wearing luxurious silk clothes and a giant crown with a veil, obscuring what Stan assumed was some kind of terrifying face. The only reason he knew it was Bill was because he recognized his voice.

“So glad you both invited me here, very willingly and with no subliminal messaging on my part,” Bill said, patting both his parents on the shoulders, “now, all I need you to do is sign right here, and everything will be taken care of! Just count on me to watch over your poor, misguided child.”

Bill pulled out a stack of papers and set them down on the desk that was now in front of them. Pa didn’t even hesitate, grabbing the offered quill and signing the stack, not even reading anything. His ma hesitated, looking between Stan and Bill.

“Ma, what’s happening,” Stan said, tugging on her dress, “I don’t want to go with him! I want to stay with you!”

“Oh, my little ocean child,” his ma said, crouching down again and running a hand over his head, “You’re not with me anymore. You’re out there, and I worry. Just remember, I’m still your ma, no matter what.”

Before Stan could respond she stood up, then grabbed a quill and signed her name, right under pa’s. Bill signed the last line, and a giant pink stamp appeared in the air and slammed onto the whole thing, leaving the pink lizards face with its tongue sticking out on it. The papers disappeared, and Bill turned to face them.

“Pleasure doing business with you,” He said, slapping them on the shoulders again, “Like I said, your little Stanley is in good hands, why, the best you could say! He’ll never want for anything ever for the rest of his life!”

“Just get him out of my sight,” Pa said, pivoting and marching away down the church aisle, “I’m done with this.”

And then his pa was gone, between one blink and the next.

“Ignore your pa,” Ma said, ruffling his hair, “he worries for you, in his own way.” She bit her lip, then looked at where he’d disappeared, “you’ll take good care of my baby, wont you?” she asked, turning to Bill.

Stan opened his mouth, but Bill talked over him, high pitched voice cutting through Stan’s protests.

“He’ll get everything he ever wished for, that I can assure you.” Bill turned to look down at Stan, and he could feel the gaze of his single eye, even through the veil.

“Good, that’s good,” ma said, then she leaned down, kissed Stan’s head-

And disappeared.

“What just happened,” Stan said, looking around, bewildered “What kind of dream is this?”

“The best kind new son boy!” Bill shouted, back to looking like a demon and directly next to him, clamping an armored hand on his small child shoulder, “The kind where everything goes your way!”

“It’s not going my- new son boy? What?!” Stan tried to pry off the demons hold, but it just gripped him harder, then lifted him into his arms, ignoring Stan’s yelling. Stan tried to make himself his normal size, but it was hard to think with Bill right in his face, smiling with his one eye.

“That’s right! My new son boy child!” Bill said, snapping his finger and making a scroll appear in front of them, full of cramped text he couldn’t read, “See, there’s certain rules when it comes to beings like me, ones even I can’t break. Yet. One of them says that as long as I have the parents’ permission, which I just got, and I’m in someplace important, which I am, then I get dibs on children. Kinda messed up if you think about it.”

“I’m not a child?” Stan said, trying to wiggle free of the uncomfortable grip, “I’m a grown man! I’m almost thirty!”

“That’s nothing, that’s like crumbs of years. You’re basically still a baby.” Bill held him up under his armpits, then tilted him back and forth in the air, ignoring his kicks, “And now you’re my baby, who I have dibs on and therefore can do certain things with, like visit whenever I want!”

“You already do that!” Stan snarled, “And stop! I want normal dreams!”

“I’m not talking about dreams, my sweaty baby blood bag,” Bill said, eye squinting in delight, “Just you wait, I’ll be there soon, and then we can get to the really fun stuff.”

Before Stan could reply Bill walked over to the tub of stars, held him over it, and dropped him. Stan yelled as he fell, then continued to yell when he kept going, the circle of light getting smaller and smaller above him as he whizzed through the night sky.

“See ya!” Bill called, and then-

Stan woke up to an unfamiliar cold weight on his chest. He groaned, then opened his eyes to find a pile of yellow rags the size of a small dog sitting on him. It was vaguely triangular shaped, and covered in frost, with two small black legs and tiny black clawed hands sticking out. On top of its head was a tiny floating black crown, and two black triangle bug wings poked out from its back.

A single familiar eye peered out from a gap near the center, smiling at him.

“God morning, new son,” Bill said cheerily, “Its me, your demon god father.”

Stan screamed, waking the dragon and throwing everything into chaos.

Chapter Text

Stan scrambled backwards, trying to get away from Bill. Bill followed him with his little clawed hands, grabbing onto Stan’s shoulders just as he hit the edge of the wagon. It shook as the dragon shot up, legs and wings banging into it and causing the coins around them to cascade down the pile.

“Now, now,” Bill said, just as the dragon whipped around to look at Stan, “Let’s not-”

The rest of what he was going to say was cut off as the dragon’s pupils narrowed into slits, smoke came out of its nostrils, and flames started spilling from its mouth. Stan gaped at it, (he knew dragons in stories breathed fire, but he hadn’t seen any evidence this one could. Until now) then screamed when a claw tore through the top of the wagon and snatched him, ripping the fabric and snapping some of the wood. The grip was only marginally less crushing than it used to be, pinning his arms down and squeezing him as the other claw snatched Bill from his shoulders and flung him into the air.

Then it stretched out its neck as a torrent of flames burst out of its mouth, so hot Stan could feel it from where it was clutching him to its chest. The flames engulfed Bill’s form in an instant, then followed his path down to a nearby coin pile. Sweat broke out on Stan’s brow, and he gasped for air as the heat intensified, flames going from red to blue. After a few seconds it stopped, and the dragon roared angrily, rattling the nearby coins and making Stan’s head throb. It stopped, then sniffed and looked around, growling low in its chest.

The pile of coins near where Bill had been thrown had melted into a single golden blob, steam coming up and curling around the empty air above. There was no sign of the demon.

“What-” Stan croaked, then coughed. His throat was parched, a terrible combination of having just woken up then all the moisture in him getting vaporized by the heat. The dragon growled, and its other claw came up to gently run over Stan’s head.

“Wow, talk about an overreaction,” Bill said, once again on Stan’s shoulder, making him flinch. The dragon’s head snapped down, twisting to glare at the demon. It reached down to snatch him again, flames flickering in the corners of its mouth, but before it could Bill’s wrappings seemed to.. tighten? Stan watched as they folded in on themselves until he was half the size he used to be, then scurried under Stan’s hair. The dragon roared, opening its mouth wide and showing off the flame’s sitting in the back of its throat, and all of its razor-sharp teeth.

Stan froze, heart stuttering as the heat blasted him in the face. Looking at its glistening teeth, all he could think about was how easily it could bite him in half. He’d gotten too used to the dragon, he’d forgotten how terrifying it was.

“Better watch yourself Sixer!” Bill shouted, tiny claws digging into his scalp and the sides of his face, “Don’t want to hurt your poor clone by mistake, do you! Again!”

The dragon jerked its head up and let loose the flames above them, filling the area with more heat, then slammed its jaws shut. Stan wheezed again as the grip tightened and it shoved its snout in his face, growling and filling his vision with smoke. It filled his lungs and made his throat even dryer as he coughed.

“Yeah, that’s better,” Bill said, one of his hands clutching Stan’s scalp while the other started patting him on the cheek, “learned that lesson fast, didn’t you? You’re made for something much more deadly than carting around squishy humans. Don’t have the fine motor skills you used to with these bad boys.”

The demon reached forwards and tapped one of the dragon’s claws, then jerked its hand back when it snarled.

“What’s happening,” Stan rasped, eyes darting between the dragon and the demon clutching the side of his head. The demon who was just in his dreams. The demon he didn’t think was real and was just a symptom of the stress of being kidnapped and held prisoner in a demon castle. The demon who his parents (and were those his real parents? He was starting to become incredibly invested in this situation) had just signed him away to somehow.

“What’s happening, blood baby, is that I’m making something clear to Scales here. See, he doesn’t like me much, but he looooooves you,” Bill skuttled to his other shoulder, arms stretching impossibly long to wrap around his head, “So much so that he won’t risk accidentally slicing open your neck, even to get at me. And now that I’ve got privileges, I get a VIP pass to you whenever I want.”

The dragon’s eyes narrowed, and it growled, low and deep. The claw holding Stan started to tremble, then squeeze, increasing the pressure. Stan wheezed and tried to kick his legs as the air started getting pushed from his lungs, then yelled when the dragon burst into movement.

It ran through the coins, then suddenly twisted its tail to sweep an area further away from the molten pile and wagon, making it flat. Stan yelled as the air whipped around him and Bill clung tighter to his face. When it was satisfied it laid down and gently set him back on his feet. Stan stumbled, then jumped when its claws slammed down on either side of him, claws digging into the coins. It loomed overhead, crowding in and growling as it glared, its pupils the barest slits and smoke coming out of its mouth. Stan gaped up at it, then flinched as Bill pat the side of his head.

“Temper, temper,” Bill said, “look at him, you almost cracked his bones. Poor little Stanley, getting crushed by his brother all the time.”

Great. Now the demon was buying into the nonsense about the dragon being Ford. It was like a disease, spreading around and making everyone suddenly turn into gullible idiots.

“Its not my bro-” Stan coughed, then swallowed a few times and tried again, “Not my brother. That’s a dragon.”

Bill leaned forwards and stared at him. Stan glared back.

“Oh, you- you’re serious,” Bill said, then he burst into laughter, “Hahaha! This is great! You don’t even believe it’s- ow wow, look at your faces! Priceless!”

He cackled some more, ignoring Stan’s glare and the dragon’s increasing growls, then abruptly stopped.

“Well, don’t let me stop you from living in your own delusions. Listen up Sixer!” Bill wrapped some more limbs around Stan’s head, and he yelled, reaching up to try and pry them off. Bill just tightened his grip, and Stan stumbled backwards, running into one of the claws and almost falling over. The claw quickly moved to catch him, cupping and dragging him closer to the dragon.

Stan started flailing more, not wanting to be any closer to the pointy furnace than he had to. All it did was curl its claws in response, caging him in until he was directly underneath its looming head, back to feeling its radiating heat. Neither of them seemed to notice his struggles, too busy eyeing each other.

“See, your brother here, as useful as he is, has been incredibly difficult,” Bill continued, ignoring Stan’s grabbing hands as he tried to pry him off his face, “wouldn’t listen to a word I said. Really, for as dumb as he is, it’s amazing how fast he saw through me! So, I had to get creative.”

The dragon growled, deep and low. Stan imagined it was saying something along the lines of ‘get to the point.’ Stan also wanted to tell him that, but the arms were crisscrossing over his mouth and muffling his words. Pulling them off was like trying to bend iron bars, his human hands were useless. Didn’t stop him from trying.

“So impatient!” Bill tsked, then rubbed the side of Stan’s head and pat his hair some more, “Did you know how boring it was? Slogging through all the paperwork to get my hands on one human? It’s exhausting! So many questions! So many waiting rooms! But it all worked out, and now I’m officially the father of this brained filled man.”

The smoke faded as the dragon froze. Then it tilted its head and narrowed its eyes, making a few clicks. Stan, again,  wanted an explanation on why a demon wanted to be his dad. It barely made sense. He and the dragon seemed to be on a similar wavelength lately.

“I’m talking about Stanley! There’s a whole department for God Parents, for all those little old ladies who like to spoil  weepy teenagers. Turns out, the job comes with perks! For example, being able to appear wherever your little bundle of emotions is when they’re in distress or need things. Like, if they’re being held prisoner by a dragon and can’t escape, isn’t that right Stanley?”

“Don’t drag me into this,” Is what Stan would have said if his jaw wasn’t being held shut by long noodley arms. Instead, he glared and kept pulling at the arms wrapping around his face. The dragon rumbled, then growled, bringing its snout down low so it was more level with them.

“Well, I can’t let something happen to the only guy on this miserable rock who can undo the locks you set up all over my castle, can I? And who knows!” Bill hugged his face and leaned into his hair, “maybe I can use all our bonding time to convince him to see things my way.”

The dragon growled, low and deep, then jerked its head and glared harder. Stan was sure it would have crushed him to its chest if it thought he could survive it.

“Of course, if you’re so upset about it,” Bill continued, voice smug, “you could always let him leave. Can’t see my darling flesh sac if he’s not in need after all.”

The dragon’s eyes widened, and its claw underneath Stan spasmed. It reached towards him with its other one, then slammed it into the coins, slammed its tail somewhere behind it, and unfurled its wings.  It quickly turned away and let loose another stream of fire towards the ceiling, then jerked back and snarled, wings curling up and disappearing along its back.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” Bill laughed, arms starting to twist down Stan’s neck and around his chest, “so it looks like I get free reign around here, huh Sixer.”

Stan yelled, which came out very muffled with the arms around his face, then slapped Bill a few times and glared at him the best he could from the corner of his eye. He was tired of not being involved here. This was his life they were talking about after all.

“What, what do you want. Can’t you see daddy’s trying to have a conversation,” Bill said, annoyed. Stan shuddered, then glared, pointing at his mouth, “Yeah, I didn’t want to hear your voice anymore. It’s grating and I’m tired of listening to you talk.”

Stan glared harder, and the dragon growled low. Bill sighed, then loosened his arm.

“Fine, but make it quick, I’m trying to gloat here.”

Stan worked his jaw, bringing up a hand to massage it and pull the arms out of the way. Then he turned to try and look at Bill better, because he had a few serious questions about this whole arrangement.

“What do I get out of you sticking to me like a barnacle? You just gonna yap-” The arms came back, and Stan growled. The dragon did too, which he appreciated.

“You see, that’s the kicker here,” Bill sighed, then sat down on Stan’s shoulder and crossed his little feet, “the job description was kinda vague, but it boils down to ‘making you happy’ and ‘granting wishes’ which, lame? Why should I waste my time making you happy? Your misery makes me happy enough.”

Stan tapped his mouth again, and Bill groaned.

“Look, you’re already so needy. What is it now,” Bill sighed deeply as he loosened his arms, like Stan wanting to talk was some great burden.

“Why on earth would I want you to grant any of my wishes?” Stan asked the moment he could, looking the demon up and down, “you already said you were a demon king-”

“THE Demon king, brat.”

“-A demon king, why would I trust you to do anything?” Stan glared, trying to lean away, while the dragon’s other claw started inching closer, clearly trying to pinch Bill or stab him or something, “you’d obviously twist everything I wanted around, like when people say ‘I wish for my weight in gold’ then-”

Stan gasped as he jolted and was suddenly on his back, then stared in confusion at the ceiling of the library.

Before he could process what had happened, he was smushed into something soft as the dragon shoved its entire snout into his body. He flinched, then flailed, trying to shove it off him and figure out what had just happened.

“Stanley!” Several people yelled, and he managed to tilt his head around to find himself lying down on a mess of blankets and pillows, the dragon curled around him. McGucket and Emma-May were climbing (and floating) over it, looking relieved.

He felt very suddenly terrible, exhausted and starving. The hands trying to shove the dragon away trembled, and his throat was dryer than the desert. The scales rubbing across him pressed harder, shaking him as it rumbled something, then eased as it lifted its head to lay it across his lap, one dinner plate eye looking as close to tears as a dragon could. One of its claws came around to cup the back of his head and help him sit up, which (probably not coincidentally) shoved his face into its snout.

He opened his mouth to complain, then coughed, trying to swallow and get some kind of liquid down his throat. The dragon pulled slightly away and clicked, and a moment later a glass of water appeared in front of him in a giant metal hand. McGucket held him steady as he snatched the glass and chugged it, rubbing his back and looking concerned.

“What happened,” Stan rasped out, blinking around the room. Then he groaned and rubbed his face, “Don’t answer. Stupid question.”

Obviously, Bill had taken his hypothetical wish as him actually asking for his weight in gold, then twisted it exactly the way he was going to say he would. Typical.

“How are you feeling,” McGucket asked, taking the empty cup, “any pains? Lingering stiffness?”

“Hungry. Tired. How long’s it been since…..” Stan frowned, then looked around. There wasn’t any sign of Bill and his squeaky voice, “Where’d he go?”

The dragon growled, shaking his legs, then huffed. It crooned, then ran a claw gently over Stan’s head. McGucket backed up so it wouldn’t smack him in the face, then frowned.

“If you’re talking about Bill, Stanford said he disappeared the moment you went all… gold.” McGucket said, then sighed, “Stanley, what in the Axolotl’s name happened? Stanford explained it best he could, but he was more focused on trying to find a way to fix you than the details.”

Stan groaned, then slumped forwards onto the dragon’s snout. Couldn’t they let him lie here in peace for five minutes? Ten? Forever, and forget the whole thing happened? Maybe if they didn’t talk about it, it didn’t actually happen.

Obviously not, with the way McGucket made himself comfortable sitting next to him and Emma-May floated crisscross to the side. Stan glared at them both, then sighed. Then he sighed longer. On the third sigh McGucket glared at him.

“Stop. This is very important Stanley, we need to know what happened, and Stanford’s being useless. Again.”

The dragon growled, but it seemed half-hearted as it was quickly distracted by looking at him. It brought its claw closer, gently smushing him against its snout and partially cutting off his view of McGucket.

“Uuuuuuugh. Fine, but don’t expect much, because I have no idea what’s happening with that guy. Demon. Demon guy thing. Is he a guy? Because-”

“You’re stalling.”

“Maybe.” McGucket glared harder, and Stan sighed again, shrugging the best he could while being pinned to a dragon’s face, “Listen, I don’t know! I had a weird dream, and I think it might have been real? And now that Bill guy might be my dad or something? Is that a thing that happens to people? Literally anyone?”

Like, a single person. He was starting to get desperate for normal experiences. Surely one other person in the world had been dream sold to a demon. Dream adopted? He was afraid to find out the specifics.  

“What kind of dream,” Emma-May asked, floating closer. They were both looking confused, which was good, because he was also confused. He groaned, then turned to shove his face into the warm scales (now that there wasn’t any fire pouring out). It felt like a snakes skin, sorta soft and smooth, except with no give.

Did the dragon shed? Lizards did that, didn’t they? How much could he get for a few scales. Could he make armor out of them? Felt like there could be a market for dragon scale armor.

“Stanley.”

“Uuuuuuuuugh. Alright, so. I’m gonna start from the beginning, and maybe you’ll see something I missed, because I don’t need this to be another thing that’s happening to me.”

Stan turned to look at their expecting faces, then back into the scales. He was better at telling the truth when he couldn’t see people. Made it feel like he was talking to himself rather than admitting things or incriminating himself in some way.

“I’ve been having dreams,” he started, focusing on the warmth of the dragon, “since the first night here. They started out vague and whispery, and I’d just forget about them. Then there was one that was different, where I knew it was a dream? And that’s where Bill showed up, being all ‘oooh I’m a cool guy just give me your blood’ or whatever. Because that’s what everyone wants out of me lately.”

He turned to give them a glare, but only McGucket looked guilty. Emma-May just nodded, like wanting someone’s blood was a normal thing. Whatever, maybe it was for freaky castle fairy tale monsters.

“Anyway,” Stan shoved his face back into the scales and glared at them, “I knew he was bad news, because he looked and acted like a demon. I mean, who would trust a guy in black armor who buttered you up like that! It’s like he wasn’t even trying!”

The dragon made a weird coughing sound, and he looked to see it staring awkwardly at everything but him. Whatever, the dragon and Bill obviously had some kind of history, he was too preoccupied figuring out his own issues to think too hard about what was going on there.

“I told him to take a hike, and then he pulled out a scroll and did a bunch of reading and got smug about me spit balling him?” The dragon made another coughing sound, then used its other claw to wrap around its snout. Stan gave it a look, but it was still avoiding eye contact, “Then I had another dream, where he got waaaay to close and asked a bunch of weird questions about my happiness, and got very excited about my answers.”

“What were your answers.” Emma-May asked, and he glanced over to see her now holding a little ghost notebook and writing on it with a ghost quill. Stan groaned some more, then sighed.

“Oh, you know, the usual ones when you’ve been kidnapped by a giant fire-breathing dragon- which was terrifying by the way, putting that out there – and then almost freeze to death and are bored out of your mind.”

“Not very happy I reckon,” McGucket whispered to her, ignoring Stan’s glare. The dragon crooned, then smushed him some more against its snout.

“Yes, I’m not very happy with the whole situation.” McGucket looked guilty again, and Stan felt a stab of satisfaction at the sight. Served the metal man right for being a kidnapper and in denial about it.

“Then, last night, I had another dream, except this one was…” Stan trailed off, trying to think about how to describe it. It had all happened so fast, over before he really realized what was even happening, and he’d been thrown off by his parents being there. He almost never dreamed about them, and only when he was at his worst.

Being kidnapped by a dragon was pretty terrible, but overall the experience had been generally pleasant. His only real issues was the kidnapping, keeping him prisoner, and them lying about what had happened to Ford. They seemed to have actually been his brother’s friends, based on their (McGuckets) wimpy attitude and the fact they knew a lot of his more harmless habits. habits actual kidnappers wouldn’t have picked up on.

He'd even consider staying, if it wasn’t for the fact that they had kidnapped him, were keeping him prisoner, and lying about Ford.  Which still wasn’t enough to warrant stress dreaming about his parents.

“I was in some kind of church,” he said finally, hand coming up (and he had to wiggle to free it from the dragon’s smushing) to lay across the dragons snout in front of his face, focusing on the texture and not the fact that it was becoming very likely that his real parents had been in his dream, and what that meant about his pa, “and my parents were there. They were talking about someone taking care of me, and then Bill showed up, with a stack of papers. Everyone signed them, and then he said he was my dad now? Because they gave him permission?”

“Then I woke up with him on top of me, saying he was my- what did he say, demon god father? Does that mean those were my real parents? Did I get sold to a demon? Am I a demon now? How long does it last? Is this a forever thing, because I’m starting to freak out and-”

“Breathe Stanley,”  Emma-May said, sticking her ghost hand through the claws and patting his head. It made his head feel tingly, and he glared even as he took a few deep breaths. He still felt kind of shaky from earlier and was still starving. No one had answered how long he’d been a gold statue, so for all he knew a whole day had passed.

“Why didn’t you say anything before?” she asked, once he’d calmed down some, “If you were having dreams, you should have said. We might have been able to nip this in the bud before Bill was teleporting into the castle.”

“Why would I tell you?”  Stan grouched, “They were dreams, I thought it was a stress thing, not that a real actual demon was trying to steal my blood and make me his son?”

He was starting to get stuck on that. The demon from his dreams was real and knew the dragon that kidnapped him (and maybe the other castle residents) and was now, by some magic law, his dad. What kind of life was this? Who else had these kinds of problems? It was starting to become absurd.

“That’s, well..” McGucket sighed, then scrubbed at his face with his hands (making a very annoying sound) “that’s on us. We shoulda mentioned him, given you some kind of warning. Although, to be honest, I thought he’d be dead already.”

“So did I,” Emma-May agreed, back to writing in her notebook, “his current form didn’t look to be well suited to living on the side of a mountain in the middle of winter.”

Stan was very suddenly reminded of one of Bill’s comments, about how some people would kill to live in a castle. Then of how cold he had felt when he’d woken up, and how he’d been covered in frost. How he wanted Stan to let him into the castle, that first official meeting.

“Are you saying he’s been living in the woods this whole time?” Stan asked, “Just, around here?”

“Oh yes,” Emma-May said, “Stanford chased him out when this first started, months ago. He tried to sneak back in a few times, but one of the perks of being a dragon is sensing when intruders are in their lair. Bill also has a foul odor apparently, which makes him very easy to track down.”

Stan gaped at her, then chuckled. The image of that ball of rags fighting off wolves and shivering in a cave was incredibly amusing. Less amusing was the thought of being jumped by him the two times he’d been wandering the woods before. Was that how Bill knew about him? Had he been watching him any of those times?

Terrifying to think about.

“What’s his deal then,” Stan asked, “and can we do this over food, I’m starving.”

The dragon jerked up, and he yelled when he fell forwards without the support. Before he could process what was happening it had scooped him up and ran from the library. Something shattered as they moved, and something else clanged to the floor, followed by McGucket’s shouts.

The dragon didn’t stop, just (gently) pressed him against its belly scales as it ran. He flailed in the hold, uncomfortable with being pressed and the tightness of its claws, even if he wasn’t being crushed. After a moment it eased, then jerked him forwards. They were back in the dining room, and it slid him off of its claws so forcefully he rolled across the floor until he hit the chair.

There was a moment of silence before the dragon cried out. Stan groaned as it rolled him back over, then glared at it. Once again, it looked like it would be crying if it could, as it claw hovered over him, too afraid to smush him again probably.

“Yeah, that’s right,” he groaned, as he pulled himself to his feet using the arm of the chair, “feel bad about that. What’s wrong with you?”

It crooned sadly, then plopped its head down next to him when he collapsed into the chair. Everything in the room bounced, and it crooned again when Stan shouted.

“What even was your plan here,” he asked, eyeing it, “can you even get Fiddleford to get food from here?”

The dragon gave him a smug look, then turned to one of the knights and chirped something. It didn’t do anything, but after a few minutes of waiting another knight strode in from the servants entrance, holding a platter. It set it down in front of him, revealing some bread, cheese, and a jar of jam.

So Fiddleford was the name of the knights, good to know. Stan dug into the platter in front of him, stuffing his face. Then he blinked when a tiny black hand reached forwards and grabbed some of the cheese. He looked up to find Bill, sitting across from him on the table and shoving it in his eye-mouth.

“Man, this is good,” he said, and Stan watched in disguist as a tongue swiped across its eye, “you know how long it’s been since I-”

He was interrupted by the dragon, who shook the dining again as it roared and jumped to its feet. It snapped its jaws around Bill and shook its head, then flung him into a wall. A moment later Stan felt a weight on his shoulder, and the familiar feeling of arms wrapping around his face.

“No, you don-” Stan flailed as they jammed his mouth shut, narrowly avoiding biting his own tongue. His hands came up to pull at the arms, but once again it was like pulling at iron.

The dragon grabbed the chair, wrapping its claws around Stan’s face and yanking him away from the table. His screams were muffled as he was dragged backwards and, then suddenly let go. The chair was now further back in the dining room, giving the dragon enough space to curl around it and growl at Bill (and Stan) face to face.

“Can’t even let a guy eat around here,” Bill said, tsking and shaking his head at the dragon, “no manners, I swear, even after all we’ve been through.”

The dragon snarled at him, tail slamming into the ground nearby and making the chair shake. A moment later he heard the door slam open, and Emma-May poke her head over the dragon’s side.

“Bill!” she shouted, floating closer and glaring at him, “Get away from Stanley at once!”

“No can-do Wisp,” he said, curling his arms further down Stan’s neck and over his shoulders, “this meat kid is my new blood key, whether he wants to be or not. I’m not going anywhere until we finish what Scales and I started. Starting with this!”

Stan let out a muffled scream as the noodle arms started wrapping around his own, then jerked them away from his face.

Then he screamed very out loud when Bill disappeared, leaving nothing but pink smoke behind. His screaming faded, and he looked around, bewildered. A moment later McGucket appeared, climbing over the dragon’s back.

“What-” he said, then he yelled as the dragon suddenly moved, snatching Stan from the chair with one claw and holding him up to one of its eyes, quickly examining him. The other claw came up to run over his head, gently pushing his hair back. Stan used its giant pupil to examine his face, but there didn’t seem to be any marks from all the grabbing Bill had been doing.

“You gotta stop doing that!” McGucket shouted, and Stan looked down to see him scowling up at them, “I’m gonna dent at this rate!”

“We have much bigger problems than denting dear,” Emma-May said, floating up and peering at Stan, “What happened, how did he get in?”

“No idea,” Stan said, rubbing at his jaw, “Wasn’t there one second, was the next. Ate my cheese.”

“It was very good cheese” Bill said, back on his shoulder, and sounding annoyed. Stan’s scream turned into a wheeze as the dragon squeezed him, then a shout when it quickly set him back on the ground. He stumbled on his feet, then jerked his hands up again when the arms circled his face and slammed his mouth shut. Again.

“Bill! Again!” Emma-May shouted, floating in front of him suddenly, “What are you-”

“Blah, blah, quiet will you,” Bill said, sitting on Stan’s shoulder and using another arm (and where were all these arms coming from?) to hold out a scroll and read through it, “Apparently there’s a bunch of rules to being a dad I didn’t care to read.”

“I will not-”

“Not listening,” Bill said, unfurling the scroll more and more, “doing something much more important than listening to you whine.”

“Don’t bother sweet heart,” McGucket said, walking over, “you know how he is.” He frowned, looking Stan up and down, then walked over and grabbed at the arms around Stan’s face, pulling at them. He frowned harder when they didn’t budge, instead just tugging Stan forwards and taking him off balance. Stan let out a muffled yelp, then glared at him.

Bill didn’t even spare them a glance, focused on the scroll in his hand. Emma-May floated over to look at it, then sighed, mumbling something about skipping language courses, before floating away.

The scroll got longer and longer as Bill kept reading, ignoring McGucket trying to pry his arms off of Stan’s face. At one point he lifted Stan off the ground trying to tug them off, and Bill did nothing but pat his hair and mumble to himself. Eventually Stan had to wave McGucket away, because all the tugging was starting to hurt his neck. McGucket let go, then crossed his arms and loomed next to him, scowling at Bill.

The dragon spent the whole time growling and letting out smoke. Emma-May floated over to its head and whispered to it, running a hand over its scales. That was probably the only reason it hadn’t snatched Stan again.

“WHAT!” Bill screamed, after about thirty minutes, turning red. He scanned whatever passage he’d been reading through a few times, then screeched as flames engulfed the whole thing.

“NO!NO!NO! I REFUSE TO ACCEPT THIS!” Stan yelled as the hands got tighter, squeezing his neck and making it difficult to breathe, “THIS WAS SUPPOSED TO-”

And then he was gone, arms disappearing from around his neck in a puff of pink smoke. Stan gasped, then coughed and rubbed his neck. The dragon didn’t snatch him this time (probably due to Emma-May’s frantic whispering) just leaned down and crooned at him, nudging him backwards into the slightly crushed chair with its snout.

Stan slumped into it, not even bothering to react when it slid across the floor closer to the table. He snatched some cheese and shoved it quickly into his mouth, then grabbed a glass of water that had materialized from somewhere and chugged it. Never knew when his mouth would get slammed shut again.

McGucket stomped over and sat in his usual spot, looking frustrated.

“I don’t like him popping in and out like that,” he muttered, tapping on the table, “or the whole… dad. Thing. Emma-May, would you know anything about what’s happening with that?”

“Hmm,” Emma-May floated down to hover over the table as the dragon lowered its head and set it gently down next to Stan, eyeing him sadly, “My best guess would be a role similar to a fairy godmother, but unfortunately the practice had only really started after I exploded, so I don’t know the rules.”

Stan shoved more food into his mouth to avoid asking what she meant by exploding. It was probably how she died, but he refused to ask about any more details. He already knew too many things about these people. It made it hard not to care, and he really didn’t want to do that.

“Darn,” McGucket muttered, leaning back, “I’ll look in the library, see if there’s anything. It don’t sit right with me, him being in the castle messing with Stanley.”

It didn’t sit right with Stan either. If he ever got out of here, he’d was going to go live somewhere remote. Forget about making his fortune, he was going to find Ford and drag him to the most unmagical place on the planet. See how he liked being places he didn’t want to be. But first he needed to figure out what was going on with the demon.

“Anyone gonna explain him,” Stan asked, glaring at the food platter, “I really don’t care, but now he’s my, ugh. My dad. Or something. So I guess I need to know.”

They all exchanged glances, looking uncomfortable. The dragon clicked something, and McGucket sighed.

“He’s a demon-”

“Wow really? I never would have guessed!”

McGucket glared at him, but he just glared back. He wasn’t asking about the obvious stuff, and they all knew it. Eventually he won the glare off, causing McGucket to huff and cross his arms.

“I don’t know the exact details, because Stanford’s too embarrassed to tell us, but he made a deal with your brother. Bill would help him fix the well spring, and in exchange Stanford would help craft a physical form for him, out of materials ‘left behind’ in the castle. Stanford…well.”

“He was tricked,” Stan finished, poking at the rest of his platter. It made sense, his brother had always been the type to trust easily at face value. It had been Stan’s job to look out for him when they were children, and it became less of a problem as they grew, as more people admired him for his skills in magic and made fun of him less for his hands.

“Yes.” Emma-May said, floating closer to the dragon and patting its snout when it huffed sadly, “Those materials were actually Bill’s original body, scattered and sealed within the castle to prevent his resurrection and rise to power. Stanford caught on to him, but only after he’d started the process. The wellspring is also being used to power the seals, If Stanford had succeeded in fixing it, there’s a very high probability that they would fail, and Bill would come to power anyway.”

“Thankfully it didn’t get that far,” she said, waving her hand at the dragon, “Bill got angry about Stanford’s refusal to cooperate and did this, but something went wrong. From all the screeching he did when we threw him out, the curse was supposed to make him bend to Bill’s command.”

Obviously, that hadn’t happened, not with the amount of times it had growled and tried to kill him, and the fact that this wasn’t Ford.

It wasn’t. Stan refused to believe it. He might not be the magical genius Ford was, but he knew enough to know you couldn’t turn normal regular people into gigantic fire breathing lizards. Maybe it was some kind of memory spell, they just thought Ford got turned into a dragon, and the real one was somewhere else.

But not before sealing parts of the castle with his own blood, preventing Bill from getting whatever he was looking for. Seals that thought Stan was Ford, because they were twins. Seals that Bill very much wanted access to.

“And now this guy can pop up in my face whenever,” Stan grumbled, glaring at a piece of cheese. “Great. Love that. Just gonna have a demon steal my blood or something.”

“We won’t let that happen,” McGucket said, probably trying to be reassuring, but instead coming out more threatening, “We’ll just have to keep an eye on you, and make sure all of Stanford’s rooms are sealed. It’ll slow us down, but we already got most of the materials from the archives anyway, and I doubt he was interested in the curse breaking materials.”

Stan groaned, then slammed his head onto the table, letting it rest there. It was going to be even harder trying to get out of here with all of their constant hovering. And Bill probably wasn’t going to help, since he wanted Stan trapped just as much as they did. It felt like every time he got somewhere, something else popped up to make life harder.

Whatever. The next time that guy showed its smug face, Stan would give him a piece of his mind.

Chapter Text

It took three days for Bill to reappear.

The first day Stan went back to the treasure room and worked on fixing his wagon, with the dragon looking on guiltily. Some of the bows had snapped, and there was now a large scratch on the inside which he sighed over and did what he could with the tools McGucket had provided and some spare wood. The flimsy cloth also had a huge hole that he sewed closed with some thick brown thread he’d pulled from his own chest.

It didn’t look as fancy as when Dan had done it, but the tree-teen was still passed out on his couch, and would be for at least another month or two, so it’d have to do.

Once that was done, he was back to being stuck in the library, under the watchful eyes of McGucket and Emma-May, while the kids were confined to their own area of the castle.

It was incredibly boring, and nerve wracking.

He was too afraid to look into anything he wanted to do, in case Bill popped up and started questioning him. That meant he couldn’t sneak around and look through Fords things, or ways to escape, or how to uncurse gold. Sorting treasure didn’t help either, because all he could think about was Bill, grabbing his face and gloating about how none of it could leave the castle (yet! He was working on it).

So here he was, back to sitting on the couch and reading aloud to the dragon, expecting that any second Bill would reappear and wrap his immovable noodle arms around his face. The dragon didn’t seem too comfortable either, one of its claws was curled around the couch, and it stared at him like it was afraid he’d disappear any second. McGucket and Emma-May kept poking their head around to check on him, which added to the tension.

It was almost a relief when he finally showed his face.

He was in the middle of taking a break while the dragon grumbled to the others, laying down and staring at the ceiling and contemplating where he’d gone wrong in life (coming here was his first guess, but there were a few other places that might have contributed to his general lot in life) when the ceiling was suddenly blocked of by Bill, grinning down at him with his one eye.

“Heeeeeeeey Stanley!” he said, petting his hair and sounding far too friendly, “how’s my sweat baby boy doing today?”

Stan stared at him in shock, then watched him disappear as the dragon snatched him in its claws and crushed him into the floor, smoke pouring out of its mouth as it snarled. He immediately reappeared, wrapping an arm around Stan’s forehead and once again petting him.

“Bill!” Emma-May shouted, floating over as Stan sat up and scrambled to a corner of the couch, “Back again! Don’t think that you can do as you please, just because-”

“Hey now,” Bill interrupted, leaning on Stan’s head, and still petting him for some reason, “No need to kick up a fuss!”

“I think there’s a pretty big need.” Stan muttered, eyeing the arms across his forehead.

“Nonsense!” Bill came around to hang in front of him, then squished his cheeks with two of his hands, “I’m just visiting my favorite grown child!”

His eye twitched at that last part, and it sounded like it physically pained him to call Stan his favorite anything.

The dragon snarled, dropping low and shoving its snout into Stan’s chest as one of its claws pulled the couch closer, forcing Bill to move back onto his shoulder. Stan grunted as it pinned him into the cushions, then quickly brought his hands up to try and make some kind of barrier between his mouth and any attempts to seal it shut.

“What game are you playing,” Emma-May said, floating next to them and putting her hands on her hips. Stan could hear McGucket creeping up behind him, his clanking footsteps and creaky joints destroying any attempts of stealth.

“No games here!” Bill said, back to petting his hair, “Just you’re average, very normal, check up on my…” he took a deep breath, then forced the rest of the words out like someone was actively holding him at sword point, “beautiful. Charming. Son.”

Everyone stared at him. Stan could see his eye twitching, and the arms holding onto his forehead tightened slightly.

“I think I preferred before,” he said finally, giving Bill a side eye, “where you were insulting me. Not… whatever’s happening here.”

“What, don’t want to hear all the great things your dear old man has to say!” Bill snapped, like Stan asking him to insult him was an insult itself, “Too bad! You’re the organ of my eye! My little hellfire! A chip off the old skull! My-”

Bill started coughing, then leaned over the side of the couch and spat out some glob of blackness that squelched onto the floor out of sight. McGucket’s clomping steps got louder as the metal man quickly crouched next to them and looked at whatever had just come out of the demon. He pulled out a stick from his pocket, poked it, then made a disgusted face.

“Don’t tell me what that is,” Stan told him when he looked up, “I don’t want to know.”

“I do,” Emma-May said, “Go grab a jar and bottle it, we can study it later.”

McGucket nodded and clomped away, while Bill leaned on his head and wheezed, clutching his rags and looking like someone had stabbed him. Not even all the smacking around by the dragon had made him look this bad. The dragon itself was looking irritated, probably thinking the same thing Stan was.

“Ugh. You two freaks were made for each other,” Bill said, before taking a deep breath and looking over at Stan, eye smiling like he hadn’t just thrown up, “Anyway~ how are you?”

“Freaked out,” Stan said, arms lowering the longer Bill didn’t try and slam his mouth shut. He set them on the dragon’s snout, idly rubbing it while he looked over at Bill suspiciously, “not liking this new attitude.”

“WHAT!” Bill flashed red, then took a deep breath when the dragon snarled. He did a dainty little cough while Stan grimaced and rubbed his ear, then said, in a very fake cheerful voice, “What do you mean exactly! Aren’t I being. Just. Soooooooo nice?”

“Yeah, and it’s weird. A few days ago, you nearly strangled me.” Stan said, holding up a hand to block his view of McGucket as he came back with a jar and crouched down next to Emma-May over the blob, “So this new thing is just. Not natural.”

“It is very strange,” Emma-May added, “Your normal personality is far more twisted, and you did threaten Stanley’s safety several times when you were here last.” Then quieter, “Make sure to pick up all the residue.” Stan shuddered, trying not to picture demon blob residue.

“I did, didn’t I. Ah, fond memories,” Bill sighed, then looked up at the ceiling like it had been years and not literally three days ago, “Well, I’ve moved past that!”

Bill stood up, then hugged Stan’s head, one hand rubbing the side of his face as he smushed himself into Stan’s hair. The dragon growled, and its tongue darted out and smacked Stan in the face. He sputtered, then wiped off the saliva with the arm not blocking the sight of the blob, even as Bill crooned into his hair.

“See, I’ve turned over a new leaf,” he said, as he pulled out a piece of his rags from somewhere and wiped Stan’s cheek, which did nothing but smear the saliva around, “I’ve decided to dedicate my time to looking after my dear little Strangle Bunny.”

Bill shuddered, then coughed, like being nice was physically hurting him. Which might actually be what was happening.

“But why?” Emma-May asked, floating back in Stan’s line of sight. He put his hand down when he heard McGucket clomp away and made sure not to look in his direction as he finished up wiping his face, “You’ve made your opinion on humans very clear.”

“Yes, but not this human.” Bill said, and Stan burst into laughter as he realized what was going on.

“Holy Mackerel! He wheezed, slamming a fist into the dragon’s snout. It hurt his hand more than anything, but he couldn’t help it, “You can’t do anything to me can you! You’re being nice to try and get on my good side, to try and get me to help you with your evil demon schemes!”

Stan cackled as Bill shouted in outrage.

It just made sense. Every time Bill had disappeared before; it had been after he’d done something to Stan. Turning him into gold the first time, then jerking his arms, then almost strangling him. The mouth sealing shut probably got by on some kind of technicality, because Bill hadn’t hurt him, and was only making it so he couldn’t move his mouth instead of trying to force him to do something. Really fine line kinda thing.

“NO!” Bill shouted, small hands gripping his hair, “NO! YOU DON’T KNOW THAT!”

Bill pointed angrily in Stan’s face, then ran a tiny, clawed hand down the back of the couch, leaving a deep scratch along the back. When Stan kept laughing at him, he screamed, and more hands poured out of him, ripping the couch and cushions to shreds and bouncing off the dragon’s snout.

But not a single one of them touched Stan.

The dragon grinned, (which was incredibly terrifying, as its snout was still pressed against Stan’s chest and gave him a front row seat to all its teeth), and its eyes crinkled in delight. Then it crooned mockingly, and one of it claws came around to swat at Bill.

“SHUT IT!” Bill screeched, as all his arms descended uselessly on the dragon, “YOU DON’T KNOW WHAT YOU'RE TALKING ABOUT LIZARD BRAIN!”

“Oh, I think they do,” McGucket said, and Stan turned to see him grinning at Bill from the table. Then he quickly looked away when he realized he was still holding the jar. Bill screeched at him, then grabbed one of the torn-up pillows and threw it. It didn’t go far, just hit the table and exploded into a mess of feathers.

“FINE!” Bill yelled, extra arms slithering back into the pile of rags, “You got me. I can’t harm a hair on this-” Bill sucked in air, and he growled, speaking like he was grounding his teeth (if he had any), “poor, unhappy souls curly head. BUT!”

Bill suddenly wrapped more of his arms around Stan’s face, cutting off half his vision and shoving himself in Stan’s hair. Thankfully he didn’t cover his mouth this time.

“Nothing’s stopping me from charming him into doing my- helping me out,” Bill leaned down so they were looking eye to eye, then.. maybe blinked or winked, it was hard to tell, “Listen, ever wanted power beyond your wildest dreams?”

“Occasionally,” Stan said, ignoring the shouts and growls of the others, “but considering I don’t trust you, you clearly don’t like me, and you turned me to solid gold, I think I’m good with what I got.”

“What you’re still hung up on that?” Bill sighed, then pat the side of Stan’s head, “Listen, we’re past that! I’m- hurk- fond of you-”

“Clearly a lie.”

“And I- humph- want what’s best for your wellbeing-”

“You’re literally making yourself sick saying all this.”

“So, how’s about, you and me. We bust through Sixers dumb locks, put my body together, and then you get to reign over your own little slice of the continent for all eternity. What do you say?”

“So, this is a permanent thing, huh?” Stan asked, raising his eyebrow. Bill turned red, and his arms spasmed, slithering across Stan’s face like snakes, before going still. Bill took another deep breath, fading back to yellow, then leaned in closer. Stan would have loved to lean back, but he was already pinned as far as he could go by the dragon (who was growling very lowly and making his legs vibrate).

“That’s right! You’re stuck with me forever, might as well get all this over with and finish what your brother started.”

“Nah, now get out of my face.”

Bill screeched again, turning red, but he did back away. Stan sighed in relief as Bills arms unwound from his head, then watched him throw himself down on the couch next to him, ripping at the cushions even as one of arms was hooked around Stan’s own. The dragon quickly snatched him and pulled, then dropped him to the floor when it yanked Stan’s arm as well.

“Well done, Stanley,” Emma-May said, floating over to watch Bill throw a tantrum, “Its not easy to resist the temptations of a demon.”

“I feel like it’s not that hard in this case,” Stan replied, as they watched Bill scratch up the stone floor, then climb back up onto the couch, seething.

“FINE! Its fine,” Bill said, crawling up Stan’s side to sit back on his shoulder and wrap his arms around Stan’s head, “I’ve got time. I’ve got eternity-”

“I don’t,” Stan said, listening to McGucket try and creep up behind them again. Bill froze, then looked over at him intensely, “So you better figure it out quick before I kick the bucket. Unless those seals are the kinds that tend to break down after a while.”

The dragon crooned at him, looking sad at Stan’s ready acceptance of his own mortality. Stan just pat its snout in response. Hopefully he’d be long gone by the time that happened.

“Well, looks like I better get started then,” Bill said, making it sound like trying to get on Stan’s good side was some kind of death sentence. Then he stood and leaned on Stan’s head again, “so, what do you want.”

“What?” Stan asked, then watched McGucket lean over the back of the couch and the dragon’s claw, trying to grab Bill. It worked just as well as last time, Bill’s iron grip on Stan’s head just brought him along, making him wince as it tugged on his hair. McGucket let go immediately, scowling at the demon as it stuck it tongue out at him.

“You just gonna barnacle on him forever?” McGucket asked, glaring.

“Pretty much Metal Head,” Bill said smugly, then he turned back to Stan, “told you, didn’t I? I grant your stup-pendous wishes or something. So, wish away! My infinite power is.” He gagged, “it’s at your command.”

“Wish for him to go away.” Emma-May said, and the dragon rumbled agreeably.

“Hey!” Bill snapped, glaring at them, “That’s not-”

“I wish you’d go away.” Stan said. Then they all watched him not do that at all.

“Like I was going to say,” Bill said, eye flashing red, “can’t do that. You’re stuck with me, no matter what you want to do about it.”

Stan scowled. That’d be very annoying if he couldn’t even wish for privacy.  Having him stuck to his side constantly was going to become a headache.

“Try to keep it simple,” McGucket said, leaning on the couch and looking down at him, “so we don’t get anything like what happened before.”

“Or just don’t wish for anything,” Emma-May added, “Just let him fume.”

Man. That was very tempting. Not as tempting as-

“I wish for as much bacon as possible.” Stan said, looking at Bill expectedly.

Then at the three strips of bacon that plopped down on the ruined couch next to him. They weren’t big pieces, and they weren’t even cooked. That was on Stan though, he didn’t specify.

“That’s. Not a lot.” McGucket said, reaching down and grabbing a strip.

“What are you talking about,” Bill said, and to Stan’s surprise he sounded out of breath, “How much bacon does one mortal need. That’s plenty.”

“But also not what he wished for,” Emma-May said, floating over the last two strips, “he said, ‘as much bacon as possible’ not for as much as he needed. I thought you’d flood the place to be honest.”

Stan hadn’t even considered that, too excited at the prospect of potential bacon. He was growing tired of dry jerky and jam. The dragon rumbled, then stuck its tongue out and took the last two pieces, swallowing them and looking away from Stan’s outraged face.

“Fine!” Bill hissed at her, then he took a deep breath and snapped his fingers.

Three more pieces of bacon, still uncooked, plopped back down on the couch (which were also quickly stolen by the dragon). They all watched as Bill let out a wheeze, slid off of Stan’s shoulders and fell into a heap next to him.

Before anyone could react, the dragon snatched him in its claws, then slammed him to the floor again, freeing Stan’s legs as it hissed and growled at the demon. They watched it grind him to the floor, and Stan could hear his muffled shouts as Bill was roughly dragged across the library.

After a few minutes of that Bill reappeared on Stan’s shoulders, looking haggard and torn. He slumped into Stan’s hair and muttered something, and didn’t react when McGucket lifted him up and away from Stan.

“What just happened,” Stan asked, as McGucket walked off and held him back up to the dragon. It grabbed him again with its teeth, then shook its head like a dog as smoke filled its mouth.

“Well,” Emma-May said, floating down and sitting on the couch next to him, “I believe he’s far less of a threat than we realized. I knew he didn’t have much power he could access, otherwise he’d have run us out months ago, but…”

She smirked, then looked over at the last piece of bacon left on the couch where McGucket dropped it.

“Conjuration has always needed more power than transmutation, but it does explain why it faded so quickly, and maybe why it took so long for him to reappear.”

Stan nodded, watching the dragon use Bill like a chew toy. Figures he’d get the worst magical wish granting demon ever. Not only was he annoying and evil, he also wasn’t very powerful. It’d make him easier to ditch, but also was kind of disappointing.

He grabbed the last piece of raw bacon, then stared at it, thinking.

“HEY!” he yelled, getting the dragon’s attention. Stan waved the bacon around, then asked what could be the most important question of his life.

“You think you could cook this with your fire breath?”

“Let’s lay out some ground rules,” Emma-May said, after a few minutes of the dragon ripping into Bill. The only reason it hadn’t continued was because Bill had teleported back to Stan, then made himself very small and tangled himself into Stan’s hair, where McGucket was too afraid to try and grab him. Stan would have helped, except that McGucket had shut down his attempts to cook bacon with dragon fire, giving the terrible beast enough time to snatch it out of his hand.

So far, the dragon had been getting more enjoyment from the wishes then Stan had.

“Since it’s been made clear we can’t get rid of you,” She said, back to floating in front of Stan, who had moved to a different, more intact couch while McGucket sat down next to him. He had his arms crossed and was glaring at Stan's head, “we’ll have to adapt. One, you are absolutely not allowed near the children. I don’t need your bad influence affecting their growth.”

Bill muttered something from under Stan’s hair but didn’t otherwise object. The dragon, who was looking much more relaxed and had shoved its snout back on his lap the best it could, growled, then crooned at Stan, looking at him sadly. Or rather, at Stan’s head, where he was sure it was crying about not being able to rip Bill out.

“Two, you are not allowed to be unsupervised in the library.”

“How you gonna enforce that Wisp?” Bill said, poking a head out somewhere to the left of Stan’s ear, “gonna haunt the shelves again?”

“If I have to.” Emma-May snapped back, already looking irritated by the idea. Bill blew a raspberry, then skuttled back into Stan’s hair, making him shudder as his tiny hands moved along his scalp like the world’s worst lice.

“I also have some rules,” he said, resisting the urge to scratch at his head. The last thing he needed was to poke a finger too close the demon’s eye and have him bite it off on reflex, “Nonnegotiable ones. Mostly, no following me into the bathroom, or watching me sleep. And stay out of my dreams!”

“Anything you say,” Bill said, sneaking out a hand and rubbing Stan’s cheek, “my lovely-hurk- sonboy.”

“If you throw up in my hair, you’re dead.”

“Should probably get a room set up for him.” McGucket muttered, tapping his fingers along his arm, “Somewhere away from everything important.”

“Hey!” Bill popped up somewhere near the top of his head, and Stan pressed his hands into the dragon’s snout to hold back the need to itch, “I have my own rooms! This is my castle! You stole it! From me!”

“We’re not giving you your rooms,” Emma-May said matter of factly, “Who know what you have in there that we don’t know about. No, you can stay near the dungeon while Stanley’s sleeping, or a closet. And if you have any complaints about that, Fiddleford can watch you.”

Stan shivered as Bill scuttled back into his hair, grumbling. It made sense to have the knights watch the demon, although now Stan was really curious about how Fiddleford worked. Was it one knight ghost, controlling all the knights? Or a bunch of small ghosts all called Fiddleford who talked to each other.

He crushed his curiosity. Asking any questions at this point felt like admitting defeat.

“And if I find out you’ve been in our rooms,” McGucket said, glaring, “I’ll make sure Stanford can get at you for several hours at least.”

“You guys are so boring,” Bill muttered, “all these rules. What’s to stop me from doing as I please?”

Stan reached up and ran his hands through his hair, ignoring Bill’s screams as he untangled him. Once he managed to tug out his tiny arms, wincing as he tugged at his own hair, He held the tiny demon out to the dragon.

“Here boy,” he said, shaking Bill around in outstretched hand, “Wanna play fetch?”

The dragon growled at him, but it quickly looked at the tiny Bill in his fist, eyes narrowing.

“Alright! I get it!” Bill yelled, waving his tiny noodle arms around where they poked out between his fingers. Stan pulled his arm back, letting him crawl back into the safety of his hair, much to the dragon’s disappointment.

“But I got my own rules!” Bill said, retangling his arms, “You!” A tiny hand came out and pointed at the dragon, “Can’t attack me! Not while I’m playing nice! And you!” the hand turned to point at McGucket, “Can’t grab me! I don’t like getting manhandled by relics! Finally, you!”

This time the hand twisted to point at Stan, before patting his nose, “One wish a day! None of this doubles stuff. Can’t spoil my…” Stan twitched as Bill shuddered, uncomfortable with the way it made his whole head tingle.

“Just insult me, I don’t want any of whatever that was earlier in my hair.” Stan said, nose twitching as he tried not to sneeze.

“My ugly walking corpse.” Bill spat out, “seriously, how do you manage to live such short lives? It’s a miracle you mortals get anything done; you’re basically born to die.”

“Thanks,” Stan said dryly. He knew he asked for it, but it was still something to hear the stuff that came out of his mouth. Eye. Eye mouth.

Great, now he was thinking about how Bill even worked. He was starting to become his brother.

Thinking of Ford soured his mood further. He couldn’t sneak away from the dragon like this, not if Bill could pop up and interrupt his search. Not only would he stick his grabby hands in all of Ford’s things, but he’d also sound the alarm and get Stan recaught. After all, he could only teleport to Stan if Stan was in some kind of situation where he needed help, even if didn’t actually have to help Stan apparently.

One more thing he’d have to work around to escape. The list really got longer all the time.

Stan slumped forwards onto the dragon, ignoring Bill and Emma-May bickering about more rules the demon had to follow and the dragon’s outrage of not being allowed to attack Bill on sight. He’d need to rework his escape plan slightly, save looking for Ford until after he’d gotten out of here and snuck back in. He still needed to wait for spring, which was another month or so away, and find some shoes. The rest would come to him later, like actually getting out of the castle.

Although now that he had a daily wish (which probably had less to do with spoiling him, and more to do with not exhausting Bill’s meager powers) he had something he could use. In the meantime, he’d work on uncursing the treasure hoard. He actually payed attention to the books he’d been reading aloud, now that they’d become relevant to his interests, and he needed something to do to pass the time since he wasn’t looking for Ford’s room or being used as a door key until they figured out how to manage Bill better.

Stan groaned into the dragon’s warm scales. He’d never been a long-term planner, all the different things he needed to keep track of were starting to become annoying.

But if he could pull this off, it’d be worth it. Then he could brag to Ford about saving him. Maybe even get a thank you.

As long as he could find his brother and get out of here, nothing else mattered.

Chapter Text

According to the piece of wood Stan was using to keep track of the days, it had been a little less than a month since he’d been snatched. He had about another month to go for everything to start warming up enough for all the snow to melt, then he’d have to wait for it to get dry, so he didn’t leave behind a trail through all the mud.

Plenty of time to learn how to uncurse gold, in his opinion (he had no idea. His attempts with magic had never gone as good as Fords). All he had to do was get some books to help figure out how to uncurse things, pocket the glasses, and he’d be good to go.

That part was easy, as everyone who lived in the castle (besides Stan, who was not living here by choice) were all terrible criminals. Not a single one of them noticed when Stan pocketed some of the lighter introduction to breaking curses books, (except maybe the dragon, but he was starting to get the feeling it’d let him get away with anything as long as it kept him inside) and the glasses. Not even a twitch as he was politely shoved out of the library when it became clear Bill was going to heckle McGucket and Emma-May as they did whatever magic stuff they were doing.

Leaving him alone with a demon and a dragon, who both seemed to hate each other and were determined to fight over Stan about it. He could feel Bill scurry around his head and stick his face out to blow raspberries at the dragon, then shivered at the warm puffs of air blown his way from the dragon growling in response.

His life had become ridiculous.

“Another rule,” Stan said, as he strolled down the hallway towards the treasury, “if I get a concussion because of you I’m going to shove you down its throat.”

“Like that would happen,” Bill said, scurrying towards the top of his head, “Sixer’s too scared to even try, aren’t you!” Bill blew another raspberry, then shrieked at something the dragon did, running down to sit near Stan’s neck.

“Rule for you,” Stan said, turning on his heel to point up at the dragon. It quickly changed its expression from a full snarl to looking like an eager puppy, bending low so it wasn’t looming over him, “if you crush me again because you can’t control yourself, I’m going to….”

Dang. What could he do to a dragon. Its scales were like rock, it could pick him up like nothing, and it breathed fire. Stan didn’t have much he could work with to make sure it gave him some kind of space while Bill was using him as a shield.

But its eager puppy eyes gave him an idea.

“I’m going to ignore you!” Stan shouted, then grinned at the devastated look it shot him, “That’s right! If your need to crush this guy gets me hurt, I’ll ignore you for a whole da- I mean week! A whole week!”

It clicked at him frantically, eyes desperate as it waved a claw at his head, but Stan turned away, crossing his arms.

“You can’t argue your case,” he said, standing firm as it scootched closer and tried to make itself look sad, “because I can’t understand what you’re saying, and I refuse to compromise. I let you pick me up enough as it is, I’m not gonna let you two be the reason my ribs get crushed. Again. Got it!”

He gave it a side eye, until it crooned sadly and nodded its head.

“Hah!” Bill laughed, pointing at it from the safety of Stan’s shirt collar, “Serves you right, you out of control lizard!”

“That goes for you too,” Stan added, pointing at Bill, “If you mess with it enough it accidentally crushes me, I’ll ignore you. And shove you down its throat.”

“Puh-leese. Like you can stick to that,” Bill said, crawling back to the top of his head, “I’m far to irresistible, and you’re too weak-willed. I’d give you a day before you crack.”

“Well, play nice and you’ll never have to find out.” Stan said back, before making his way back to the treasury. He had some books to read after all.

“I hate what he’s done with the place,” Bill said, an hour and half a chapter later. Stan groaned from where he was lounging on the couch the dragon had dragged from somewhere and set down for him to sit in while it went around reorganizing its hoard. The pile of melted gold had solidified into a hard golden blob, and now it couldn’t decide what it wanted to do with it. It kept dragging it around, then holding it up against walls, then placing it around other coin piles and shaking its head.

“I had a system for all this, and he ruined it,” Bill continued, “a way no one could mess with my things. When I get my body and power back, I’ll make him put everything back where he found it.”

Stan paused from where he was reading, then turned to look at Bill. The demon had taken one look at his book, laughed at him, then wandered around the treasure hoard, bemoaning all the changes that had apparently taken place.

“Hey,” Stan called out, then jumped when Bill appeared next to him on the couch, looking far too eager about Stan wanting to talk to him.

“What, wanna hear about my organizing system?” Bill asked, little hands gripping the couch in excitement, “it was great, I had all kinds of weapons and magical artifacts strewn everywhere, so that anyone that broke it would be tempted to grab them. Then get hit with all the curses I weaved over everything.”

That sounded like a pretty good anti-theft policy, but also not what Stan wanted, and he also wasn’t going to let Bill know how he felt about it.

“Terrible. And no, this is your gold, right?” Stan’s excitement grew at Bill’s nod, even as he ignored how the eye narrowed, “How do I uncurse it so it can leave the castle.”

“Ohoho!” Bill climbed onto the back of the couch, then leaned on Stan’s head so he was forced to look up at him, “trying to steal all my hard stolen goods huh? Can’t even wait to get an allowance when your old man gets back into power, huh?”

“Stop calling yourself my dad, it’s weird.”

“I was wondering about the sudden interest in learning,” Bill said, ignoring Stan’s words as he examined his claws, “we both know you barely know how to read after all, and you’re pretty firm on Sixer not being your brother.”

“Because it isn’t.”

“Well, I do know how to break all the curses I cast.” Bill paused, grinning down at Stan as he straightened up, “but I’m not going to tell you.”

“What!” Stan yelled, throwing his hands in the air and glaring at him, “why not!”

“First of all,” Bill said, standing up and balancing along the back of the couch, then gesturing to the literal sea of gold around them, “this is mine. I put a lot of work into taking it and making sure it couldn’t get taken back. Second, I know you, Stanley Pines. Your little brains dead set on getting out of here, and I’m not gonna help you go any faster with whatever scheme you’ve got going on.”

Bill floated (and looked a little shaky as he did so) in front of Stan, then wagged a little finger in his face before plopping down onto the gold, trying to make it look casual even as he wheezed.

“That’s the one thing me and Scales can agree on, keeping you nice and safe here. Sooner or later, you’ll see things my way, then its back to taking over the continent and none stop partying!”

Stan scowled down at him, then tried to kick him away from the couch. The demon dodged, then cackled as he ran back through the treasury. The cackle was quickly replaced by a scream when the dragon swat at him with its tail, and together they watched him go flying across the gold before slamming and rolling down a coin pile.

“Good hit,” Stan said, grabbing his book and getting back to reading. The dragon puffed up, then went back to sorting gold. At one point it gently picked up his wagon and set it by the entrance, then cleared a space and set the gold blob in the center. Stan peeked up to watch it examine the blob, then shoot it with its fire breath, remelting it down and smushing it with its claws.

He shuddered, then went back to reading.

It was going to be a long wait for spring.

The new rhythm (which was already the third since he’d been kidnapped) was less fun than running around the halls and trying on fancy clothes, but still better than being trapped in a library being forced to read.

Instead, he made himself read, spending the mornings after breakfast trying to understand the few books he nabbed, then after lunch he rested his brain and alternated between actually trying to use that knowledge and arguing with the dragon about how to sort the piles of treasure (It seemed happy with everything in a big heap, and had no appreciation for his attempts at sorting. Bill was no help, as he wanted everything littered with booby traps). And ignoring or bickering with Bill, who was determined to both be his best friend and also make Stan feel sorry for ever being born. He was only given a break  from the demon after dinner, where McGucket would drag Bill off to wherever his room was, and Stan would go to his wagon bed.

He also managed to figure out Bill’s limit on wishes. The longer he waited between each one, the less the wishes tended to tire Bill out and make him grouchy. Whatever Stan wished for always managed to fit the number 3 in it somehow, and Bill would try to twist it to inconvenience him in some way.

Like when he wished for a pair of boots and got three pairs made for children. Then specified the next day for boots that would fit his feet and got three left ones. Then specified for a pair of boots, one for each foot, and got three pairs of the worst quality boots he’d ever seen.

By the end of the first week, he had a pile of useless boots and a very smug demon (he saved two of the left ones. One uncomfortable boot was better than none at all). The very smug demon was also no help when it came time to finally try and uncurse some of the gold.

“Wow,” Bill said, lounging on the ground nearby as he watched Stan draw a circle on the ground of the treasury, “I can see all the talent went to your brother. What even is that, it looks like an egg.”

“Don’t you ever shut up.” Stan snapped back, glaring at him, before turning back to the circle he’d drawn with the chalk the dragon had gotten Fiddleford to get. He scowled down at it, even as he wrote the runes along the inner edges.

It did look like an egg.

Magic was tricky, at least nowadays. According to history books that might as well be fairy tales, wizards long ago used to be able to wave their hands and say some nonsense to make magic happen, but nowadays there wasn’t enough in the air or something to make that possible. Instead, you needed magic symbols that drew magic towards them.

Or something.

Really, all Stan knew was if he drew a circle, put down the correct runes in a right looking order, thought real hard about it working, then something would happen. Ford could go on and on about ley lines and materials and using the mind, but Stan was a simple man. A simple man, with a simple egg and a rough idea about how to make it work, even if he didn’t understand why.

With that he drew the runes around the inner edge, looking at the book next to him to make sure they looked mostly right. If he was reading them correctly, and putting them in the correct order, they should break the curse on the treasure, letting him take it from the castle.

The dragon made what he was going to take as an encouraging clicking noise from where it watched in the gold nearby. It had molded the golden blob into a golden platform, and had set the wagon on top so it wouldn’t wobble around so much at night. It was currently working on putting coins and jewels around it in a way that was probably comfortable for it, but was taking a break to watch him attempt magic.

It clicked again, then leant forwards to eye his egg circle. Stan had made it fairly large, so that he could fit the blockish runes he was making in the thick chalk lines. He’d put one of the coins in the center, because he was pretty sure it went in before he finished it.

Maybe.

(He might need to retry this by throwing the coin in if this didn’t work)

The dragon clicked some more as he drew more runes, and he frowned when one of its claws came forwards and pointed at something in the egg circle.

“He says your doing it wrong.” Bill said, then glared when the dragon growled, “What! It’s what you said!”

The dragon snarled, then turned to look at Stan sadly, even as it pointed at his egg. It probably was telling him he was doing it wrong, just in a nicer way than Bill.

“Listen,” Stan finished the last rune, then stepped back to look at his work, “I don’t speak dragon, and I’m not about to play messenger through the world’s worst godfather-”

“I’m the best dad you’ll ever have brat.”

“Debatable, incredibly so. Anyway, still not going to do that. I feel like it’s a good way to get squished when you start yelling at each other.”

It had already happened a few times. Stan would just sitting there, innocently minding his own business as the two of them started fighting over how hazardous a treasure room was supposed to be, or how Stan wasn’t allowed to touch anything, or have his own room, or Bill not appreciating the interior decorating they’d done (although he had laughed for a solid hour at Stan’s additions to some of the paintings, which were apparently some of his underlings).

Before too long Stan would be screaming as Bill climbed him and the dragon snarled in his face, even as it tried to gently run a claw over his head. It was terrifying, and he wasn’t going to repeat it over his egg circle.

“Alright, I think I’m ready,” Stan said, eyeing his egg magic circle. He checked over the book one more time, then ignored the look the dragon gave him. Taking a deep breath, he crouched down and put his hands down next to it, then focused, willing the curse to break.

The chalk glowed a faint blue, and a smile crept onto Stan’s face. The smile very quickly disappeared when the coin sparked, then snapped in half. Bill burst out laughing, and Stan scowled at him. Then he scowled at the dragon when it crooned and gently tapped his head.

“Yeah, yeah. Laugh it up. I don’t see you helping.” Stan bat the claw away, then eyed his egg circle. It could be the egg shape, or his rune combination. Or just his Stanness.

“Of course not,” Bill said, floating over and peering at his circle, “I already told you I wouldn’t. Its just too much fun watching you struggle.”

“Didn’t you say you wanted to get on my good side?” Stan said, using his socked feet to rub out the chalk, “How is this getting on my good side.”

“Easy,” Bill said, reaching over a long arm and ruffling his hair, “I’m playing the long game. Eventually you’ll either move on from this or wish for things that are actually interesting. Can’t play the long game if you’re not here. Plus, think of this as a…”

The ruffling stopped, and Bill stared out into the distance. Stan raised an eyebrow, then jumped when Bill gripped his head and was suddenly right in front of his face.

“Learning experience.” He whispered, sounding horrified. Stan stared back with wide eyes as the demon’s hands moved down to cradle his face, “What are you doing to me, you evil leech.”

“I’m not doing anything to you,” Stan whispered back, then jumped when Bill let go and was suddenly laying in the gold nearby. The horrified tension was gone, and Bill was suddenly back to watching him nonchalantly.

“Plus, if you do this long enough,” Bill said, stacking coins, “maybe you’ll upgrade yourself into a better version.”

Stan eyed him, then went back to rubbing out the chalk with his socks. His next circle was somewhat less egg shaped, and made all the writing on the coin disappear.

This was fine. He still had two more months to figure it out. Plenty of time.

When the weather finally started getting warmer, and the snow started melting, the dragon started leaving more to go hunt. Apparently, it had done it while he was sleeping before but was limiting itself to the surrounding area and local wildlife. Now that it was getting warmer, and the wildlife population had been decimated, it was flying further out to get its meals.

Which meant more time hanging out with McGucket, his self-assigned babysitter. Somehow, despite all the screaming Stan got to when stuck between Bill and the dragon, this was worse.

“He needs to eat it to stay healthy,” McGucket growled, after dragging Stan out of bed for a breakfast of oatmeal and jam covered toast. Bill, for some reason, was offended by this.

“Maybe,” Bill said, sitting in the chair across from McGucket (He had to add a lot of pillows and a stool to reach the table), “but its boring. Come on Stanley, my little pulsing sack-”

“Can you not call me names while I’m eating”

“-don’t you want something actually worth eating?” Bill stretched forwards, making little grabby hands, “I can get you way better things. All you have to do is ask, and I could make a feast of actual good food.”

From what Stan remembered of the feast from his dream the first time they met, half of those foods involved questionable materials and he wouldn't trust the other not to have human blood or something. Before he could tell him to let him eat in peace, a tiny hand snatched a piece of his toast and shoved it in his eye-mouth.

“Don’t take his breakfast!” McGucket shouted, “He’ll starve!”

Stan grabbed his bowl of oatmeal as McGucket grabbed a stick from his pocket and reached over across the table to whack Bill with it. Bill hissed, then grabbed the stick, starting an impromptu game of tug-of-war.

“He’ll starve because of all the tasteless drivel you’re shoving down his throat!” Bill hissed, sending bread crumbs everywhere, “Take it from someone who actually has a tongue, this is practically poison!”

It tasted fine to Stan, but he also lived off of hardtack and potatoes, so what did he know about fancy rich demon foods. He shuffled back into his chair, still clutching his bowl, as the two of them got into a shouting match about what foods he needed to survive, and how the other was trying to starve Stan to death.

When the bowl was empty, he set it on the table, then slowly stood and left the room, leaving them behind. Neither of them even twitched when the doors opened, and he was halfway down the hallway before he heard the yelling intensify, then McGuckets clanging footsteps.

“Hey!” Bill yelled, suddenly on his shoulder and flashing red, “Don’t run off while I’m sticking my neck out for you! Ungrateful brat!”

“I’m pretty sure-” Stan started to say, before the dining room doors slammed open (throwing the poor Fiddlefords into the walls) and McGucket stormed out. They made eye contact, just as McGucket scowled and started marching towards him. The marching became a run when Stan turned and booked it.

“Get back here!” McGucket yelled, as Stan tried to get some kind of space, more out of habit than any actual desire to escape right now.

“Never!” Stan yelled back, then screamed when Bill’s arms wrapped around his face, covering his vision. He stumbled forwards blindly, then slipped as his socks slid on the stone tile and crashed into something hard. The ground was even harder, and so was what he assumed was McGuckets hand heaving him up into the air by the back of his shirt as he groaned.

“What was your plan here.” He heard McGucket ask, voice muffled by the demon arms wrapping around his head.

“Making sure he couldn’t get far,” Bill said, voice making the side of Stan’s head vibrate uncomfortably, “not my fault he can’t keep his feet under him.”

Stan groaned again then lifted his hand and pried weakly at the arms. To his irritation, it was McGucket who shoved his hands back down (he could tell by how hard and cold they were).

“I was talking to Stanley,” McGucket snapped, “now let go of his face.”

The sensation of arms slithering off of him made him shudder, until he was blinking in the light of the hallway and at the metal mans irritated face.

“McGucket,” Stan said, as he rubbed his sore side, “fancy seeing you here in-”

Stan tried to bring his legs up to kick McGucket, then yelled when the robot man caught his legs in his other hand. The hand holding him by the back of his shirt let go, then went to join the other in holding Stan upside down.

“Why are you like this,” McGucket said, stomping down the hall. Stan would have given him a snippy answer, except he was too busy shrieking due to Bill climbing up his chest, digging his tiny claws into Stan’s skin like a rat.

Eventually the feeling stopped, as Bill reached McGuckets arms. The blood rushed to his head as they went further down the hall and he took a few deep breaths, then he scowled.

“Hey!” he snapped, trying to reach McGucket’s surcoat and pull on it, “put me down! Why are you-Ah!”

McGucket dropped him on something soft, which Stan quickly saw was a couch further down the hallway, and he looked up to find him with Bill on his shoulder, both of them with their hands on their hips, looking disappointed.

“Young man,” Bill said, pitching his voice deeper, “your mother and I-”

Before Stan could even process that sentence, McGucket looked at him in horror, then grabbed and threw him down the hall. A moment later he popped up next to Stan and blew a raspberry, then huddled further into Stan’s shirt. McGucket covered his face and sighed, then moved to rub his metal temples.

“You know that sounds awful,” Stan said, making himself comfortable, “and I’m not calling you mom.”

“Please don’t.” McGucket said, “Just. If I lose you again, I think Stanford might actually melt my arm off.”

“Sounds like you should get some. Spare arms. Or whatever it is you…” Stan took a deep breath. He wouldn’t ask. He wouldn’t. Asking was admitting defeat.

McGucket gave him a weird look when he suddenly sat up, then pushed himself off the couch. They had at least an hour before the dragon (he really needed to figure out a name for it at some point) got back, and he was not going to let McGucket heckle his curse breaking attempts or see him read.

Which meant he needed to figure out something else to do. What to do, what to do.

Bill climbing back onto this shoulder to heckle McGucket gave him an idea.

When the dragon got back, Stan was sitting comfortably in the hallway, watching McGucket and Bill yell at each other about the proper needs of one Stan. He managed to get them riled up when he brought up breakfast again, and now they were yelling at each other about how Stan might die if he breathed too much or something. He’d lost track of the conversation when it started getting physical.

At some point he’d need to figure out how Fiddleford worked, because he’d love some nuts or something to snack on while he watched them go at it. Bill’s endless tiny arms kept grabbing and scratching at McGucket’s ironed plates, while McGuckets giant arms pulled them away and kept grabbing Bill and trying to throw him back down the hall.

They didn’t stop when the dragon strolled in, and neither of them looked up when Stan got up and left with it. He left them at it, going back to the treasure room and leaving their squabbling behind.

And then it was spring.

Chapter Text

Ah, spring. The season of change and rebirth. A wonderful time of the year where the weather got warmer, the flowers started blooming, and birds returned home to build nests and fill the air with noise before the hour decent people should be awake. Truly a beautiful season.

That Stan assumed was happening outside. Hard to tell when all the windows were barred, and you weren’t allowed to leave the building.

After three (ish) months of being held captive in a demon castle (which actually ranked as his favorite place he’d been held prisoner. It wasn’t that hard though, as the rest of the places had been prisons), Stan was ready to make a run for it. His attempts at breaking the curse on the gold had been unsuccessful so far (most had done nothing or snapped things in half), but he’d learned enough from the books to figure out the rest later. Probably.

After he got out of here and snuck back in. The sneaking was the most important part, because as long as none of them knew he was in here looking for Ford, they wouldn’t be looking for him inside or be holding him prisoner. That meant no more Bill popping up to prattle in his ear, and therefore no risk of the demon going through Ford’s things.

The question became how far he needed to get away from it for it to be considered escape. The town felt like a safe bet, but also the first place they’d look. All he needed was a way to confirm he was no longer considered ‘in need’ or whatever allowed Bill’s teleporting.

Stan grinned, currently watching Bill as the demon went on about how the dragon was wasting its time hunting and should instead be terrorizing the larger cities in his name. He’d skipped wishing the last few days, using ‘increased bacon size’ as an excuse, but was really trying to figure out the best way to use a wish to his advantage.

 He made sure to look back at his latest attempt at curse breaking before the demon caught him looking. Couldn’t let him know Stan was scheming after all, not when the demon seemed to be the one most likely to rat him out.

The first step was getting everything together without arousing suspicion. Luckly Stan made a point to wear his cloak as often as possible, and no one had even thought to check to see if it had pockets. He still had the map he drew, along with his hand warmer and some useful thieves’ tools and emergency rations, but figuring out how to sneak the shoes in without looking suspicious had been difficult.

In the end he used a knife (that again, no one had taken from him. It wasn’t even hidden) and cut the boots up until they were just two left soles and some straps to make sure they’d stay on his feet. Like a (very) poor man’s sandals. Those fit just fine in the folds of his cloak, and then it was just a matter of timing.

The biggest obstacle was, of course, the dragon. It was huge, terrifying, and followed him everywhere. Any attempt to try and get away from it only led to more manhandling, and it wouldn’t let him inside any of the smaller rooms without McGucket, putting a halt to any snooping.

So, he had to wait for when the dragon wasn’t around, which happened without any kind of schedule he’d noticed. The weather also had to be dry enough not to leave behind an obvious trail. Finally, he actually had to get away from McGucket and find a way outside the castle, since all the windows were barred and all the balconies locked.

Luckly, he had a demon godfather who was determined to grant every one of his wishes, one of which he was hoping could be used to his advantage.

The morning of his final (this time for sure!) escape, Stan awoke to McGucket, sitting on the wagon seat and looking intensely through one of the thick tomes. He yawned, then grabbed his cloak and waited to be escorted to breakfast, just like every morning the dragon went to go hunt.

It wasn’t ideal, because there was no telling when it had left or when it’d come back, but there was also no telling when his next chance would be. It hadn’t rained all week, and it looked fairly warm outside. Probably.

He was mostly just impatient, and ready to get out of here.

As usual breakfast was accompanied by free entertainment. He had no idea what Bill and McGucket were fighting about now (it started out with an insult to whatever McGucket got up to his free time), but they were currently trying to hit each other from across the table.

Once he’d finished his bowl of oatmeal, making sure to keep it out of the line of fire, he made his move.

“Hey, creep.” Stan called out, twitching as Bill immediately stopped yelling at McGucket and popped up in front of him.

“What do you want, I’m trying to prove to this walking scrap pile that my existence is crucial to-”

“Yeah, yeah,” Stan waved his hand, then leaned forwards, “I think I’m finally ready for that wish.”

“What, now?” McGucket asked, looking at his empty platter, “you just had breakfast, why would you need more food?”

“Quiet!” Bill snapped, reaching forwards and caressing Stan’s scowling face, “He can have bacon whenever he wants!”

Stan would be feeling a feeling next to touched if he didn’t know for sure Bill would gut him if given the chance. Some of the dreams he’d had over the months made him think the demon was still visiting him while he slept. Only half of them had been any kind of pleasant.

“Yeah, no.” Stan pulled his face away, then smirked, “I wish I could leave.”

An instant later Stan found himself right outside the dining room, which was pretty much exactly what he was expecting. Without wasting time, he pivoted, then dashed down the hall and dove next to a couch, hiding behind it as McGucket’s metal footsteps clanged towards the doors.

The Fiddleford’s were once again smashed into the walls as the doors burst open, and McGucket ran out. Stan tensed. The moment of truth. There was a fifty-fifty chance of McGucket going either way down the hall, and if he came Stan’s way an even higher chance he’d be spotted.

“STANLEY!” Mcgucket shouted, making him tense further. The metal man’s feet slammed into the ground as he burst into a sprint-

Away from Stan. Grinning, he peeked around the edge of the couch to see him running down the hall. The moment he disappeared around a corner Stan burst into action, quietly following behind.

“Clever,” Bill wheezed, weight pressing against his head, “But what’s to stop me from-”

Stan didn’t waste his breath trying to convince the demon that this was an elaborate trick or game. Instead, he grabbed him, turned, then drop-kicked him back the way he came, before turning to follow McGucket again.

 Couldn’t lose his escort to the front door after all.

Stan had to drop kick Bill three more times, then tied his arms around a Fiddleford while he waited for McGucket outside the library, where he assumed the metal man was not-crying to his wife about Stan’s latest escape.

A few minutes later McGucket burst back out of the room, and Stan ducked behind the corner he’d been watching from. The metal footsteps clanked away from him, and Stan peeked back to see him sprinting down the hall.

“Once I’m back in power,” Bill wheezed, “I’m going to seal your mouth shut. And you’re grounded.”

“Uhuh, keep dreaming pal.” Stan whispered, before quickly darting down the hall when McGucket turned a corner. He slowed down when he passed the library, but there was no familiar blue glow of Emma-May, so hopefully she was already out teleporting around the woods.

The best thing about McGucket was how loud he was (right now, it was kind of annoying any other time) so even when Stan fell behind, it wasn’t too hard to figure out where the metal man was going. After several minutes of quietly running after him (and he really needed to get back into shape. All the reading was making him soft), he heard the sounds of something crashing and turned a corner to find himself looking down at the front entrance hall of the castle.

Then he scrambled backwards when he realized McGucket was still standing there in front of the doors.

The front hall was huge, made of the same dark stone as the rest of the castle, with a large set of double doors sitting opposite him. They were pitch black, with some gold engraving around the edging and in the door. From where Stan was peeking out around the corner, he could see two curling stairs leading down to the main floor, where multicolored stones had been set  depicting different scenes. More steady lights went around the ceiling, pouring out of monstrous skulls, and the chandelier was in the shape of some creature’s rib cage, each point bathing the room in more light.

It might have been horrifyingly fancy, if not for the deep gauges and scratches everywhere. Whatever design had been on the door was unrecognizable (but probably Bill, knowing him) and the tiles were so scratched up it was almost impossible to see what they were supposed to be (except this was Bills castle, so it was probably bodies or fire). The skulls were cracked and parts of the railings on the stairs were missing.

McGucket was standing in front of the doors, pushing against them as they scrapped across the floor, until there was a gap big enough for him to fit.

“STANLEY!” he shouted, shoving a shoulder through, “GET BACK HERE!”

“Not on your- do metal men have lives?” Stan whispered, watching him run down the cobbled road and scan the ground, “whatever, not on whatever it is you have.”

He watched the metal man’s back disappear, then started creeping down the stairs, keeping an ear out for-

Halfway down the stairs, he realized Bill hadn’t reappeared since he’d left him tied up by the library. There was a chance the demon was too tired, but Stan didn’t think so. Not when he hadn’t been left alone outside sleeping and going to the bathroom for almost two months. The only reason Bill would leave him alone now, when Stan was in the middle of an escape attempt, was if he’d lost that tie that let him teleport wherever Stan was.

Because no one was holding him prisoner. The dragon was out, McGucket had left, and Emma-May had followed. The kids weren’t jailors, and Dan was still passed out on the couch last he’d checked.

For the first time in three months, no one was tying Stan down.

With another grin he whipped out his map and ran back up the stairs. Why waste time trying to sneak in when everyone thought he’d left! The dragon would be back eventually, but it had no way to know where he was or where to find him. All Stan needed to do was find Ford’s bedroom, and he’d have an impenetrable defense against everyone else in the castle.

Over the months he’d filled in his rough sketch with more labels for all the rooms, and he took a moment to go into one of the bedrooms to write in where the entrance hall was. There wasn’t a whole lot left unexplored, which narrowed down where to look.

A part of him wanted to go hall by hall and do a sweep for it, but something drew his eye. There was a set of stairs in the corner of the castle that led up to a single room in one of the messed up towers.

Exactly the kind of place Ford would turn into his room, if he’d found an abandoned demon castle in the mountains and was given free reign. Stan looked through the sheets to figure out the fastest way to get there, then put the ink and quill away. There was no telling when that dragon would come back, and he had a lot of stairs to climb.

By the time he got to the top of the tower he was out of breath, patience, and cursing whatever part of his brother thought this was the best place to spend time in.

Because spread across the only door at the top of the stairs was the familiar sight of the blood circle, dark red and faintly pulsing gold as he approached. There was no knight here, the space too small for it to stand, just a glowing handprint and the rune for destruction on the door knob.

Stan rolled his eyes as he placed his hand on Fords and twisted the handle. Really, his brother missed his calling as a traveling performer with the amount of dramatics going on around here.

A blast of musty air greeted him as the door swung open into darkness. Stan ran a hand along the wall until he found the little lever that made the lights activate, then grimaced at the sight before him.

As children their room had been a mess. Toys, books, weapons, clothes, everything they owned spilled over the floor and across their beds. Neither of them had ever been the organized type, Ford always knowing where everything was and Stan content to make the mess worse to find anything he was looking for. Years on the road had taught Stan how to appreciate a clean and organized space, as well as trying to manage his bottomless chest to make it more bottomless.

Judging by the state of Ford’s bedroom, his brother hadn’t.

And it was a bedroom, even if the bed was covered in a layer of dust and dozens of books. More books were stacked along the walls and bursting out of shelves, along with arcane objects and opaque jars. A desk was shoved against one wall, full of scattered parchments and even more books, along with broken quills and toppled ink jars, long since dried and staining the wood.

Two doors were set on either side of the room, a quick peek revealing one to be a bathroom (with even more red stains, and really, how much blood had come out of his brother’s body) and a balcony (Which was quickly shut and walked away from. This tower was exactly as tall as it looked like). There was no sign that anyone had been here in some time, and no body either.

“I hope you appreciate this Sixer,” Stan mumbled to himself as he approached the desk, “Because I've done more reading for you here than I have in my entire life.”

The room remained silent, which made something in his heart ease. If he’d been a ghost, Ford definitely would have responded to that. Hopefully.

Most of the parchments on the desk were unsalvageable, the spilled ink having long since obscured the words. What was left was endless scribbles about how nowhere in the castle was safe, that Ford was always being watched, and that he’d made too many mistakes.

The crossed-out Bill eyes made his blood boil. He’d known Bill had to be at least partially responsible for his brother’s disappearance, but hearing about it and seeing the evidence were two different things.

Stan picked up the ink bottles, then organized the parchments. A few of the books were also stained, but most of the damage was on the covers and not the pages. Stan read through the titles, setting aside a few that looked curse related, and eyeing the rest. With a sigh he stacked them on the ground to go through later, then turned towards the rest of the room.

Dismissing the books for now, he went around and picked up all the loose sheets of parchment scattered everywhere. Most where more scribbles about Fords growing paranoia, but there were a few that mentioned the wellspring, or his ‘muse’.

Stan grimaced as one sheet had scratched out the word ‘muse’ so hard it was nearly unrecognizable, and had demon written over and over again around the edges. At one point the ink had turned red, before trailing off. In one corner, in pure dark red, it simply said ‘He’s watching me.’

The next time he saw Bill he was going to squash him into a ball and throw him down the dragon’s throat.

He didn’t know how long he went around the room, scanning through books and rummaging through the desk drawers, before he found his first potential lead. One of the books on the shelves caught his eye. It was red, titled ‘The Mysteries of the Emerald Sea’ in golden letters. Unremarkable, except that the rest of Ford’s few books on the ocean were stacked next to his bed, dog-eared and worn. This one looked untouched amid a shelf full of magical tomes.

“No.” Stan said, reaching up and pulling at it, then staring wide-eyed as the shelf sank into the wall and turned inwards, “A secret room? in a sealed room? What’s next, a secret…”

Stan trailed off as he entered the room. It was small and covered wall to wall in pinned parchment, each one holding a symbol with strings connecting them. Another desk was set against the wall, and Stan walked over to find two things. The first was a stack of parchment, describing Fords method on creating the seals on all the doors. To Stan’s relief, not all of it was blood. Apparently, there was a red berry Ford had grown and harvested in the green house that he’d mixed in to the seal and was also the source of the red stained bathtub.

The other thing was another red book, with another golden pulsing hand and the number one in the center. It didn’t have a title, but Stan would bet all the cursed gold in the castle that this was one of Ford’s sealed diaries.

“A secret book. Great.” Stan sighed, then slowly reached forwards and picked it up. It pulsed gently in his hands, somehow warm despite how cold Stan felt. Taking a deep breath, he opened it up to the first page, ready to read about his brother’s decent into paranoia.

An hour later, and relocated to the bed, he groaned and threw the stupid book at the wall.

“I don’t care about the stupid stone work!” he growled, “Or your dumb plants!”

Despite where he’d found the book and the magical glowing glow, the entire thing was near useless. There was nothing about Bill, or the well spring, or blood seals, or anything other than his brother’s excitement about finding a ‘detailed’ abandoned castle on what his research showed might be a hot spot for magic. Pages and pages describing all the ‘interesting’ carvings and the purpose for each room, and how F was going around fixing up the old ‘wiring’ (whatever that was, and who was F, Fiddleford? How long had the knights been following his brother around? Or-no. not gonna think about it).

The only mildly interesting thing had been the pages depicting parts of some kind of advanced magical circle. There were more runes on it than Stan even knew existed, and nothing about what it did or why Ford had dedicated two full pages to it.

Whatever had happened to Ford, it wasn’t going to be found in here. At least not until he had a better idea of what he was looking for.

With a sigh he picked up the book and shoved it in his cloak, then left the bedroom, making sure to close the door behind him. The golden glow returned, and he nodded at it as he made his way back down the stairs. There was still the study to look for, and he wanted to get a look through Ford’s lab at some point.

But first, lunch. There had been no sign of the dragon when he’d peaked through the balcony doors, and he’d used far too much brain power riffling through Fords junk. He was pretty sure he knew where the kitchen was, and if not, he’d just use the servants passage that connected it to the dining room.

He made sure to keep an ear out for McGucket and Bill as he made his way down the stairs, just in case either of them suddenly got smart about where he could be. Both of them were very loud and impossible to miss. Which is why he was very surprised to see a group of people  when he exited the stairway.

Two dozen men, all wearing long dark cloaks with weapon’s drawn, stared back at him from down the hall. One of them was holding a dark red pendent that was pointing directly at Stan.

Ah right. He’d forgotten about that, what with all the other blood magic going on everywhere else.

“Well, look who it is. Steve Pinington,” One of the men said, stepping forwards and pointing his sword at Stan, “There you are, you’ve made Rico quite unhappy. How many months late are you now, six? Seven?”

“Juan!” Stan grinned nervously as the rest of the men started circling around him, “Listen, I can explain, you see-”

“Save your snakes tongue for Rico,” Juan said, stepping closer and lifting his free hand to signal two men forwards and to grab Stan by the arms, “I thought you might be hiding out up here, but this…”

Juan looked him up and down, scowling. Stan winced, it didn’t really look good for him, wearing all the nice silk clothes and probably looking healthier than he had in years from all the steady meals. There was no way any of them would believe him about the dragon.

Didn’t mean he wasn’t going to try.

“Listen Juan, its not what it looks like!” Stan said desperately, as the men on either side of him jerked his arms back and started shoving him down the hallway, “I was going to come back, honest! But there was-”

“Gag him.”

“Wait! You don’t under-” Stan was cut off as one of the men came forward, holding a long piece of cloth he used to tie around Stan’s mouth, roughly tying it off and stepping away. Stan tried to wiggle and arm free to pull it down, then cried out when they jerked his hands further back and tied them together.

“I don’t need to understand,” Juan said, sheathing his sword and grabbing Stan by the hair, “All I need to do is drag you back to Rico, where you can beg on your knees for forgiveness. You owe him more gold than your pathetic life is worth, and he wants it all back in blood.”

“Gold, you say!” Bill said, sitting on Stan’s shoulder and kicking his legs, “Well I think I can help you there!”

Juan let go and stumbled back, drawing his sword with a shout and pointing it at Bill. The rest of the men did the same, and Stan had to catch his balance when the men on either side of him sprang away.

“What are you!” Juan yelled, wide eyed and gripping his sword so tightly it was shaking. Bill just laughed, then stood and tipped his crown forwards in a tiny bow.

“Names Bill Cipher! I’m the house spirit for this here castle! It’s my job to keep everything nice and tidy for when the king returns, nice to meet you!”

The men started to relax, weapons starting to drop as Bill rightened his crown and leaned on Stan’s head. Even Juan, who Stan was pretty sure hated magic on principle, let out a sigh of relief, once again sheathing his sword. House spirits were harmless after all, all they did was sweep up dust and sing little songs to babies.

They were fairly common in larger buildings, drawn by the pull of people and whatever small offerings were left behind. Most tended to reflect the building they lived in, which meant Bill, who looked like a demon and inhabited a demon’s castle, fit the role perfectly.

Too bad Bill was anything but. Stan tried to shake him off his shoulders and shout at Juan, but the cloth muffled any of his words and Bill just wrapped a hand around his forehead to steady himself.

“Bill, huh. You a friend of Steves?” Juan took a step closer, eyeing Bill as he shook up and down from Stan’s attempts to get him off, “You see, he owes my lord a lot of gold, if you think you can help.”

“Of course I can!” Bill hugged Stan’s head more and ruffled his hair, “any friend of Steve’s is a friend of mine! And there’s soooooo much gold lying around, I’m sure the king wont mind if you take some!”

Stan shook his head as Juan smiled. There was no way he could lead these men to the treasury. Not only would they want to take everything back down south, they’d slit Stan’s throat the moment they realized they couldn’t. Or drag him south so Rico could do it himself.

Too bad Bill didn’t get the memo.

“Its right down that way!” He chirped, pointing down the hallway to the treasury, “Steve’s been so helpful, helping me take care of it! It’s the least I can do to let you have some!”

One of the men stepped forwards and grabbed Stan’s arm, pulling him with the group as Juan led the way. He tried to gnaw the cloth and send Bill death threats with his eyes, but all the demon did was hum a tune and yelled at Juan where to turn without a care in the world.

“What are you doing!” Stan screamed with his glare, tensing as the man holding his arm jerked him forwards suddenly. He had to scramble to keep up, still not wearing shoes and trying to warn everyone around him about the demon on his shoulder with his hands tied behind his back and a gag in his mouth. There was no telling what Bill was up to, but it couldn’t be good.

Ford’s room was a few levels above the entrance to the treasury, which meant several sets of stairs. None of the men cared to let Stan try and find his own footing, just made sure he stayed upright enough Bill wouldn’t fall off. A few of them laughed when he nearly slipped and snapped his neck, only saved by the painful grip on his arm pulling him upright and nearly dislocating his shoulder.

When they finally reached the treasury (with more than one man eyeing the knights distrustfully) Stan’s arm was sore and probably bruised. The man holding him dragged him to the front, then let go when Juan grabbed his other arm, twisting it so that Stan was forced to stand up straight.

From the corner of his eye, he could see Bill’s eye curl into a smile.

“Here we are!” Bill said, waving his hand. Both Fiddlefords snapped to attention, then pushed the doors open, revealing the ocean of coins and jewels, unguarded and shining in the light. Several men dropped their weapons, and Stan could hear more than a few gasps as several more men ran forwards and started combing their fingers through the coins. Juan twisted his arm more, then shoved him into another man, striding towards the closest mountain of gold.

“By the divine,” he whispered, grin splitting his face in half, “This is very helpful, my new little friend. Very helpful indeed. I think my lord would be glad to see even a handful of this.”

Juan lent forwards and grabbed a necklace, holding it up into the air and watching it catch the light.

“Its no problem!” Bill said, sitting down on Stan’s shoulder and kicking his legs, “Take as much as you can carry!”

The man holding Stan shuffled in place, then gripped his arms and shoved him down next to the doors, chuckling as Stan rocked back and slammed the back of his skull on the ground. He laughed as Stan groaned, then ran off to join the others as they shouted and laughed.

“Aww” Bill cooed, one hand rubbing the sore spot on the back of his head, “Did my little runaway get hurt? If only someone hadn’t left the doors wide open, maybe the vermin wouldn’t have gotten in. Then again, maybe not.”

Stan shuffled back and pushed himself up into a sitting position, then glared at Bill. All the demon did was run a hand through his hair and pinch his nose, tweaking it before leaning in close.

“Do you know the best part of having a dragon,” he whispered, one hand going down to brush Stan’s bruised arm, “They make excellent weapons sure, the amount of death and destruction they can rain down from the sky is unmatched.”

“But the best part,” Bill leaned in closer, arms coming around to circle Stan’s face until he couldn’t turn away, even if he wanted to, “Is that they always know when intruders are in their lair, no matter how far away they are.”

“And they always know when someone damages what’s theirs.”

Stan stared at Bill with wide eyes, then looked behind him at the two dozen men, running their hands through the dragon’s gold and picking up the dragon’s jewels. Then his eyes darted down, at his own bruised arm. The back of his head throbbed from where it hit the ground, and he looked back at Bill, horrified.

“Figure it out yet, my little jewel?” Bill whispered, caressing his face, “See, it doesn’t matter how far you run, you’ve been marked by a dragon, and now your part of its hoard, no matter how far you go.”

A roar filled the air, shaking the coins and making the men flinch as they covered their ears. Stan scrambled back the best he could without using his arms, until he was right up against the open doors, eyes darting down the hall.

He let out a muffled scream as something grabbed his arm, only to look up at Juan as the man pulled him up to his feet, red faced and angry.

“You think you can fool me, Pinington!” he yelled, other hand grabbing Stan’ hair, gripping him tightly, “Everyone knows the dragon is just some tall tale from Northern men with more ice than brains! Whatever you’re doing, you can-”

Another roar shook the room, closer, and Stan’s eyes widened as he saw the dragon appear, but not from the hallway.

From the treasury. There must have been another entrance somewhere else, because it came gliding towards them from further inside, jaws and claws already dripping red with blood. It slammed down on the pile of coins the men were already backing away from, eyes narrowed as it glared at them.

Then its gaze locked onto Stan, still in Juans hold and mouth still tied shut. Bill had vanished, leaving him alone as its pupils narrowed to slits and it hissed.

“RETREAT!” Juan yelled, pulling Stan with him as he tried to sprint through the doors and into the castle. The dragon let out a shriek before he could, and the Fiddlefords’ outside the doors stepped out from behind, eyes glowing red and drawing their weapons. Juan skid to a stop as they held out their swords, jerking Stan to the side and causing him to stumble.

“Burn it!” Juan cursed, shoving Stan aside and drawing his sword. Stan yelled as he fell sideways, slamming into the ground. The men nearest the dragon had drawn their swords and were yelling at it as they waved them around.

It didn’t even spare them a glance, eyes locked onto Stan’s fallen form as it moved closer, hissing and wings coming up at its sides.

One of the men yelled as its leg came down next to him and swung his sword, bringing it down onto its claws.

The blade snapped in half, doing nothing but drawing the dragon’s attention. Everyone watched as it snarled at him, then lifted its leg and slammed its claws down on top of the man.

Stan flinched as the sound of breaking bones shot through the air, then tried to gag as it pulled its leg away, leaving behind a red smear with a squelch that stuck to its claws before it wiped it away on the ground.

Some of the men screamed, dropping their weapons and running towards the doors. Stan huddled into a ball as they ran by, then turned to see them try to push past the Fiddlefords.

More had appeared while he had been preoccupied with watching the dragon, each with its weapons drawn. Two of the men managed to dodge past the swings and sprint down the hall, one with a deep cut in his arm, but the rest weren’t so lucky.

With calm indifference, the different Fiddlefords brought down their weapons on whoever tried to leave the room, cutting into limbs and stabbing sides, then shoving them back towards the dragon. With horror Stan realized that the doors were slowly closing, making the gap smaller and smaller, and that much more impossible to escape.

Someone grabbed Stan again and jerked him back to his feet, shaking him as they yelled in his face.

It was Juan, looking pale and splattered in blood.

“How do we get out of here, you mongrel!” He yelled, then screamed as the dragon snarled.

In an instant it had closed the distance, looming above the remaining bandits as the doors finally slammed shut. Several men were slumped against it, clutching at wounded arms and bleeding stomachs.

But none of them dead. None except the one man brave (or stupid) enough to try to fight it. It growled, deep and low, as it glared at Juan, smoke starting to come from its nostrils.

“I suggest letting go,” Bill said, once again sitting on Stan’s shoulder and petting his hair, “If you want to keep your arms that is.”

Juan let go of Stan instantly, backing away and holding his hands up as he smiled nervously at the dragon. Bill had disappeared again, while Stan wobbled from the sudden release.

“This is a misunderstanding!” he yelled, voice shaky, “You see-”

The dragon didn’t give him time to respond. Faster than Stan’s eye could follow it slammed one of its front claws down in front of him, separating him from the rest of the group. Several men screamed, and he heard the familiar sound of feet trying to run on coins as they tried to make a break for it, but then he had a far bigger worries then a few men running around.

With its other claw (the same one it had-) it snatched Stan off of the ground, smearing blood all over his cloak as it held him to its chest. He tried to gag at the stench, then flinched as it pressed his face against the scales of its stomach and pushed his still tied arms into his back. The angle forced his head up, and he watched upside down as it growled, a low gurgling sound.

Juan and dozen men were still in front of the closed doors, most of them injured in some way by the Fiddlefords’, while the rest were copying Juan, raising their hands while he tried to speak to the dragon.

Even if he had wanted to, there was no way to shout a warning out with the gag in his mouth. The scales of its stomach became uncomfortably warm as it inhaled deeply, then shot out a stream of red flames at the door. The room filled with the stench of cooking flesh, before it was quickly replaced by ash as the flames turned blue, then almost white, making the scales even hotter and forcing Stan to close his eyes or risk blindness.

After a minute it was done, and the flames sputtered and died. Stan blinked at all the black spots in his vision, then stared.

The doors were perfectly intact, and so was the floor. What wasn’t was Juan and the dozen men, who’d been replaced by a dozen and one blackened skeletons. What had once been Juan was still standing, arms raised. The others were still crouched where they’d been, just before. Frozen in their final moments.

Stan felt his heart beat pick up at the sight, and he wheezed when the dragon hissed and slammed at them with its tail. They crumbled at the assault, blackened bones snapping and shattering until all that was left was a pile of ash and shards.

The claw around him tightened slightly, and he whimpered, eyes locked onto the pile. In less than a second it had incinerated them, and in a minute had burnt them so far beyond a crisp, they were nothing but ashes.

For Stan. Because they’d hurt him.

And it wasn’t done yet.

Of the two dozen men who had entered the castle, two had escaped the treasury, a dozen had been cooked, and one was now being smeared into Stan’s cloak. That left about ten more, running around the treasury and trying to escape.

The dragon snarled one more time at the pile, then lifted its head and sniffed at the air. It turned away from the door, taking Stan with it as it lumbered further into the treasury.

None of them had gotten very far, not really. The rumbling of its growls shook Stan as it lunged at one of them men, snapping him in its jaws and shaking him until the screaming stopped. Without opening its mouth, it filled its jaws with flames, then opened them to let the ash drift down onto the coins.

The next man met a similar fate, teeth snapping bones and cutting his screams short. The one after that was snatched it the dragon’s other claw, then flung into the air towards the doors, where he slammed with a sickening crunch. Three more men joined him, before the dragon lumbered the opposite direction.

Five more.

The man screamed as the dragon snatched him in its jaws, squeezing down until something cracked, and it went silent. He joined the other men by the doors.

Four.

He tried to keep running, dodging and rolling under the jaws and snatching claws. With a snarl the dragon brought its wings down, lifting into the air and slamming its hind legs on top of the man, snatching him. It pivoted, then flew over to the entrance and tossed him. He screams cut short when he slammed into the wall above the doors, then slid down them to join the rest.

Three.

He tried to use one of the pillars as a shield, running around it whenever the dragon got too close. It snarled at him, then curled around, chasing the man until he was face to face with the dragon’s tail, which came down on him so hard Stan could hear his bones crack. The body joined the rest, slumping at unnatural angles.

Two.

This one had gotten the farthest, dashing around the coins and breathing heavily. The dragon didn’t hesitate to lunge forwards and snatch him in its mouth, squeezing him as he kicked his legs frantically and screamed. The sound stopped with a gurgle and a shower of blood, which dripped off the dragon’s jaw as it once more filled its mouth with flames, until all that was left was ashes.

One.

The last one was already dead, slumped behind a pillar. Stan watched with detached interest as the dragon turned the corner to find Bill, tearing into the man’s guts and shoving them into his eye-mouth. The demon turned when the dragon made a clicking noise, then noisily slurped up whatever he’d been eating.

He said something, waving a little black claw, then spoke again. Stan couldn’t make out the words, not with the way everything was buzzing and not there. After a minute Bill shrugged, then turned and went back to tearing into the man’s chest.

The dragon left him to it, leisurely making its way toward the doors and the pile of bodies. It sniffed around again, then took a deep breath, scales tingling Stan’s face as it incinerated them, first red, then blue, then near white.

When it was done it roared again, standing on its hind legs and spreading its wings wide. The sound seemed to pierce through the air and vibrate his whole body from where he was still pressed against its stomach. After a moment it stopped, landing with a thud and holding Stan up rub its snout into his chest.

It was drenched in blood, amongst other things. Stan watched numbly as his chest became redder and redder, the warmth seeping into him and making his skin crawl. After a moment it gently set him down, a little way off from the door in a clear spot amongst the coins. It cooed sadly at him as he slumped over, reaching down so he was sitting up against one of its claws. When he continued to stare It clicked a few times, then gently reached around and ran a claw through the rope binding his hands.

It eased a tension he hadn’t noticed  in his shoulders as they fell to either side of him. The dragon trilled, then ran a single claw gently down his face until it hit the cloth wrapped around his mouth. It clicked a few times, then tugged gently until it managed to snag and tear it.

Once it came off Stan took a deep shuddering breath, eyes staring forwards at the dragon in front of him as it seemed to smile. It laid down, then gently propped him up against its stomach so he was facing away from the door. One claw came down and gently traced his hair line, before running through his hair, leaving a trail of blood behind.

A part of Stan was terrified about what was happening. The dragon had killed all those men without even putting Stan down, cutting them down without even trying. He was drenched in their blood, as the same claws that had crushed a man and thrown others so hard against the stone it smashed their insides into paste, gently ran through his hair. The same mouth that had snapped men in half and turned them into smoldering ashes cooed at him.

The same dragon that had hunted men down after it had trapped them in its own lair, was cradling him as it stared with two dinner plate eyes.

With another shuddering breath, Stan pulled his legs up, clutching them and resting his head on his knees. The other part of him, the part that wasn’t terrified, felt like it was drifting away. Nothing felt real anymore, nothing had since that first day, when the dragon took one look at him and thought he was worth keeping.

That’s how he knew this wasn’t Ford. No matter what everyone told him, no matter what they said, he knew his brother. His brother had cast him out a decade ago and never looked back.

If this was really Ford, he’d be as dead as Juan.

Instead, he was sitting here, shaking as a creature that could level cities tried to comfort him, after slaughtering two dozen men for daring to hold his arm a little too tight. To this thing, Stan was more precious than any of the coins and jewels in the treasury.

Ford hadn’t even stood up to their instructors for Stan. Hadn’t comforted him since they were thirteen years old and therefore ‘too big for coddling.’ Didn’t think Stan was worth anything since who knows when.

The blood kept running down his face, strangely clear as it dripped down onto his blood-soaked clothes.

Two dozen men. Dead. For Stan. Over a bruise and a bumped head.

It was the nicest thing anyone had ever done for him in his whole life, and it was by a terrifying lizard who was holding him prisoner and was also murder. He didn’t know if he should laugh or cry. Scream or shut down.

So, he just sat there, silently shaking as it started licking his hair.

He wasn’t hungry anymore.

Chapter Text

He wasn’t sure how long he sat there, eyes unfocused as the dragon continued to lick his hair. Long enough to become drenched in its saliva, but not so long that it did anything other than smear all the blood around.

The air reeked with the nauseating combination of cooked meat and smoke, each breath reminding him of the blackened skeletons, hands raised as they tried to appease the dragon.

The same dragon who nosed at Stan’s bruised arm and ran a gentle claw over the back of his head, smearing more blood through it. With it this close, he could see himself in its pupil.

He made sure not to look.

It huffed, then started licking his head again, clicking softly at him. The scraping of its scales on the coins sent a shiver down his spine, and he took another deep, shuddering breath. His hair was damp and warm, his back almost too hot where it was pressed against the dragon. The rest of him was cooling down, blood starting to dry where it was splattered all over him, making his skin itchy.

Both of them tensed at the sound of the doors opening, with the dragon quickly curling up further until all Stan could see and feel were its scales, warm to the touch as its neck bent around so that its head hovered over him.

Something warm hit the back of his neck and across his shoulders, and he glanced at the nearby coins to see the red splatter. The blood continued to drip down, staining him even further.

“What the- Stanford? What is all this?” McGucket said, voice cutting through the fog as his loud footsteps clanged into the treasury. Every few steps were accompanied by a crunch as his heavy feet crushed the bone shards left at the entrance.

The dragon let out a pleased grumble, settling once it realized it wasn’t more of Juan’s men. Would it hunt them down later? Or did it not care now that they weren’t in its direct line of sight. He couldn’t decide which was worse, the dragon getting its claws into them, or them escaping and telling Rico everything that had happened.

On one hand it was two more men to add to the body count, but on the other Rico would definitely send more men if he knew about the riches in the castle. He’d send more either way really. The southern crime lord hated anyone who tried to sneak out from under his thumb, and Juan was one of his favored huntsmen. The question became how prepared the next group would be, and how determined Rico was to get through the dragon.

Stan was startled out of his thoughts as the dragon moved, one blood soaked claw coming down to hold him closer to the dragon’s side. It was the one that-

Stan huddled further into his legs, trying not to look too closely, focusing instead on the heavy footsteps as they changed from crunching to clinking when McGucket stepped onto the coins.

“How’d they- never mind. Stanford, about your brother- well.” McGucket sighed, “I lost him. Again.”

The dragon crooned mockingly then uncurled and lifted its claw, gesturing to him smugly. Stan watched as McGucket’s nervous face morphed into horror, eyes darting between the dragon’s blood-soaked face and Stan. His legs were stained black, with a trail leading back around the dragon, towards the entrance.

“Hey.” Stan whispered, hands still clutching his knees. It felt like that one word broke some kind of spell, and suddenly his shaking got worse as his face got warmer and damp. He couldn’t stand to see McGucket’s wide-eyed expression, so he shoved his face down into his legs.

“Oh, my Axolotl,” McGucket whispered, clanking closer, “When you said- I thought. Oh my. You really just- That’s not good. Not good at all.”

“What, its natural!” Bill said, weight pressing into Stan’s shoulder as a tiny hand started combing through his hair, “Haven’t you read the stories! Dumb humans try to sneak into the dragon’s lair, the dragon barbeques them! Too bad Sixer here already ate before swooping in, wasted so much free meat.”

Oh god. Stan wasn’t sure what he would have done if the dragon had eaten any of those men. Thankfully the snarls of the dragon made it pretty clear it wasn’t fond of the idea either. So did the sigh of relief from McGucket.

“What!” Bill shouted, tugging something out of Stan’s hair, “Don’t knock it till you try it!”

“How about we don’t encourage my friend from going around killing humans.” McGucket said coldly, stomping closer until he was right next to Stan, “It’s bad enough he’s terrorizing all the villages and stealing livestock.”

“Hey, don’t blame me, blame him.” There was a poke on Stan’s skull, then something wet dragging across the back of his head. He didn’t want to know if it was the dragon or Bill licking the blood off.

“Little sneak here’s the one that got everyone riled up. If he hadn’t left the doors wide open, none of them would have gotten in and followed this thing right to him.”

Stan peeked up at that, glancing to the side to find Bill holding the blood pendant. It was still pointing at him, even from a few inches away. Great. Another thing stopping him from getting out of here, a compass that only pointed at him.

It was infuriating.

Before anyone could react, he reached up and snatched it out of Bill’s tiny hands, then shoved it in his mouth and bit down as hard as he could. It sparked on his tongue as the runes were interrupted, then dissolved, filling his mouth with blood and adding another sensation that would haunt him for the rest of his life. The blood was still warm as he spat it out, then rubbed at his face with his sleeve.

It was already stained anyway, why not add his own blood to the mix.

“Hey!” Bill leaned down to glare at him, then growled when Stan shoved his face back in his knees, “That was mine! You little-”

“What was it,” McGucket interrupted, sounding even closer. Stan peeked up again to see him kneeling on the coins, dirtying his knees as he looked Stan up and down, “And go clean yourself up Stanford, you’re” he grimaced, looking around, “you’re getting blood, uh, everywhere.”

The dragon jerked, and Stan glanced up to see it looking at its own claws, as if seeing them for the first time. It flexed them, wiggling each individual claw one at a time, before looking down at Stan, then around the room.

Unlike McGucket, it didn’t seem that horrified with the mess. Instead, it stood, sniffing around and looking annoyed at the carnage around them. With its bulk out of the way Stan had the perfect view of the pile of ashes that used to be people, and the nearest stains where the dragon had crushed men in its jaws.

He gagged, then shoved his face back in his knees. The buzzing of voices continued around him, and the dragon let out a few clicks before settling back down. Bill moved from sitting on one shoulder to standing on his head, two feet little spots of pressure on the back of his skull as he looked down at his darkened chest and tried not to think.

He should have probably listened to the conversation, even if just to hear whatever nonsense Bill was spewing, but he couldn’t muster up the energy for it. Couldn’t muster up anything at all. All he could do was sit here, clutching his knees while the images of what just happened haunted him.

The warmth of the scales behind him were both comforting and a grim reminder of being helplessly pinned, unable to do anything while men who would have gladly slit his throat got torched. And crushed. And thrown. And-

Something cold touched his knees, and he looked up to see Emma-May, floating right in front of him.

“Stanley,” she said softly, hand rubbing his knee, “Can you explain who those men were?”

Stan just stared, even as McGucket groaned next to him and the dragon growled angrily.

“What!” The softness in her tone disappeared as she whipped around at them, “We need to know who they were, and he’s our best lead!”

“And he’s also covered in their blood, among other things.” McGucket eyed him, then grimaced and stood, “So maybe we should get that sorted before we interrogate him.”

“Hmph. I suppose. Come along Stanley, we’ll get you freshened up, and then you can explain what happened from your perspective, starting with how you escaped this time.” She floated away to give him space, then stared down at him expectedly.

Stan just stared back.

“Stanley?” McGucket said, hand coming down to wave in his face. Stan looked at it, then shoved his head back down. Cleaning up did sound like a good idea, but he couldn’t seem to gather the energy to do more than shiver and clutch his legs. All the while the blood started drying and his hair became stiff.

McGucket muttered, “That’s not good.” Before clomping away. Bill, who had gripped Stan’s head so he wouldn’t fall over, tugged at his hair, hands wet and smearing whatever was there deeper.

“What’s the issue here,” he said, a tiny hand squeezing between the gaps of his arms to wave in his face, “never seen a dragon get territorial? Couldn’t handle the sight of a delicious snack? Don’t tell me a little barbecue is enough to make you squeamish!”

The dragon growled, shaking Stan and getting a grumble from the demon. Bill’s hand disappeared, and the demon clambered off of him, scampering into the coins before screaming suddenly. Probably from the dragon doing something to him. The world became fuzzy again as Emma-May and the dragon started talking to each other, and all he could focus on was the feeling of the blood drying on his skin and the dragon pressing in behind him.

Then something not scaly touched him.

Stan screamed and jerked backwards, trying to get away, before he realized it was just McGucket, holding a blanket out from where he had been draping it around Stan’s shoulders. Stan wheezed as they stared at each other, pressing his back into the dragon’s stomach. It was rumbling slightly, making Stan feel safe and nauseous.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you none.” McGucket said, crouching and holding out the blanket, “Here, I’ll just-”

The metal man shuffled forward, then set the blanket around Stan. Once that was done, he hesitated, then turned to face him.

“I’m going to lift you up now, so just. Don’t scream.”

Stan just kept staring. After a moment McGucket smiled awkwardly at him, then set an arm under his legs and behind his back, lifting him into a bridal carry. Stan just let him, too focused on trying to breath without retching while McGucket turned and made his way back to the doors. The smell was worse the closer they got, and with a jolt he realized he might be the only person who could smell it and not be horrified. The dragon didn’t seem too concerned about it, and Bill obviously took pleasure in slaughtering clueless humans, so that just left Stan with the only functioning nose in the room.

He couldn’t look away from the pile as they got closer. There was a trail from where McGucket had made his way through earlier, and a few Fiddleford’s had appeared holding buckets and had started on cleaning up already. Soon there’d probably be no evidence of what happened. Nothing but what he saw when he closed his eyes.

It got worse the moment McGucket took a step out the door.

As fast as lightning the dragon snarled, then lurched forwards and stepped over them, wings coming up as it blocked the way further into the castle. McGucket stumbled, then stood there as the dragon bent its head low, teeth bared.

“Stanford, what are you-”

McGucket tried to take another step, then scrambled backwards when the dragon roared, hot breath rolling over them. The moment they were back inside the treasury it stopped, folding its wings up and huffing at them.

It got harder to breath as Stan wheezed, eyes locked on the dragon as it stalked closer, forcing McGucket to walk backwards until they were back on the coin pile. McGucket had mentioned before that it would melt off his arms if he lost Stan again, and now it might happen right in front of him.

“Stanford, what are you doing,” McGucket said, as he kept walking backwards awkwardly, stumbling on the uneven ground, “Stanford.”

“Stanford!” Emma-May popped up between them, hands on her hips, “Get a hold of yourself, you-”

The dragon growled lowly, then moved. Before Stan could even process what was happening it darted forwards and snapped its teeth at McGucket. The metal man shouted as he quickly moved backwards, then fell over as the coins slipped from underneath him.

Stan didn’t even have a chance to brace himself or react before it snatched him out of McGuckets hold, smushing him to its stomach. The feeling of its scales on his face made him shudder, as he watched with wide eyes as it roared in McGuckets face, then turned and ran further into the treasury.

It eased something in his chest as McGucket and Emma-May shouted at them. She popped up once in front of them, then quickly disappeared when the dragon snarled and barreled through her ghostly form.

After a few minutes it slowly came to a stop, then used one claw to move some of the coins around into a small pile and set Stan down on top, then curled around him and started licking his hair again. The blanket was now slightly stained where it had grabbed him, and he slumped into the dragon’s side as he looked at it.

Stan took a few gasping breaths, legs splayed out in front of him as he gripped the blanket and tried not to think about what could have happened to McGucket. Once the dragon was satisfied with his hair, it licked his face once before moving onto his hands. Its breath smelled smoky, clogging his lungs and making him think about all the men it had incinerated in its mouth.

“Wow,” Bill said, sitting on his shoulder, “talk about overreaction. You’re lucky he likes that tin can so much, or he’d be a melted puddle.”

There was a crunch, and Stan slowly turned to see Bill holding something black and eye now a mouth as he chewed. The smell made his eyes water, as he realized what exactly Bill was holding.

He quickly looked away.

“Really, this is your fault,” Bill continued, “if you’d just stayed put and given McGucket a little scare, then none of those mortals would have gotten in.”

“No.” Stan whispered, hands twitching a little as the dragon paused in licking them. It lifted its head and crooned at him, then set its blood-stained jaw on his legs. The blood was starting to dry, leaving dark marks around its mouth. Idly, Stan reached up and started rubbing at them, watching them fleck and fall onto the gold below him.

“No? No what? Because it’s definitely your fault-”

“No, it isn’t.” Stan whispered, “I didn’t- it’s not my fault. I didn’t ask it to do any of that. I-”

Stan took a shuddering breath, then leaned forwards and set his forehead on the dragon’s snout, forcing Bill to scramble to keep his balance. It had probably saved his life in the worst way possible. If they’d dragged him back to Rico, there was no way he would have been able to convince him that Stan hadn’t tried to run, that the dragon was real and obsessed with him.

Rico would have made an example of him, one way or another. He’d already been on thin ice with the man before coming up to loot.

“They’d have gotten in,” he whispered, “Little barred windows wouldn’t stop them. Just…”

Stan trailed off, eyes locked on the blood, and the thought of what they would have done if they’d found McGucket. There was no way they wouldn’t have attacked him. Did McGucket know how to defend himself? What would have happened if he didn’t? Would they have pulled him apart? What if McGucket could? Judging by the metal man’s reaction to the pile of ashes being people, he probably wouldn’t have killed them, but there was no way to know for sure.

Would it have been worse if Bill hadn’t lured them to the treasury? Would it have hunted them down in the castle, would the Fiddlefords help? Would it have been able to find him, or just know he was hurt somewhere.

What was worse, being held prisoner by a dragon living a life of luxury as it slaughtered anyone who tried to take him, or being dragged to face a crime lord and probably tortured to death. The answer seemed obvious, but he couldn’t-

He couldn’t-

Black skeletons, perfectly intact.

Posed in terror.

Showers of blood, dripping down its jaws as once frantic legs jerked to a stop.

Watching it all happen, unable to make a sound.

Bill said something else, but Stan didn’t catch what. Everything was too much. Too much sound, too much smell. Just too much.

The only thing he could focus on was the scales, smothering him. The awful knowledge that he was in the safest place he’d ever been, and exactly why that was.

The scales in front of him disappeared, and he blinked as the dragon scooped him up again. It didn’t push him to its stomach, just held him like it usually did, and he watched the scales above him as they moved and flexed with each of its steps. They came to  a stop, and the dragon gently set him to his feet.

He stumbled but managed to catch himself as he stared blankly at what was in front of him. Bill had disappeared at some point, he realized, sometime when he hadn’t been paying attention.

They were still in the treasury, judging by the nearby piles of gold, but not anywhere he’d seen before. A large lake spread out in front of him, with a distant water fall coming down. Glowing crystals lined the bottom, shining dark red and making the whole thing look like watered down blood.

Unless it was blood, which knowing this place, wouldn’t be a surprise.

Someone had dragged a giant tube full of steaming water from somewhere and set it in nearby. A circle had been drawn around it, one he recognized for heating. A small washtub was sitting nearby, and a small table was set up next to the tub with some soap and a few towels. McGucket was standing in front of him, hands on his hips as he glared at the dragon.

“How’s this?” he asked, annoyed as he gestured to the area. The dragon leaned forwards, eyeing everything, before nodding its head. Then it looked at the ground and grumbled something while its claw drew little circles in the coins.

McGucket sighed, then took a step forward and grabbed the blanket from around Stan’s shoulders. He was wearing long leather gloves (or had replaced his arms with leather, hard to say), and was wearing a leather surcoat instead of his usual brown and green one.

“I know, you can’t really help it. I just wish you’d explain yourself better.”

McGucket folded the blanket and put it in the small washtub to the side, then turned and faced Stan.

“So, he’s not going to let you out of the treasury for a while, too hyped up on. Ah. Um.” McGucket looked off to the side, and Stan slowly turned his head to follow. He couldn’t see anything but gold, but it was probably where the doors were.

“Anyway,” McGucket waved at the tub, then walked around the side and grabbed a set of clothes and set them down on a nearby chest, “I got this set up so you can at least clean up. Emma-May is checking the rest of the castle for any more intruders, but she promised to handle them herself, so no need to worry about her popping in. I’ll just. Give you some privacy. Put all your clothes in the bucket and I’ll take care of it.”

McGucket nodded at him, then awkwardly turned and made his way over the coins, leaving Stan and the dragon behind.

Stan watched him go. Then he just. Stood there. As McGucket disappeared over the coin pile.

“Call me if you need anything!” Then he was gone.

Stan turned back towards the tub. Cleaning up sounded like a great idea. His skin was itchy and sticky from the blood and dragon spit covering him. Soaking in a hot bath would probably help.

Probably.

The distance between himself and the tub felt like a chasm, and he couldn’t muster up the energy to walk over. Instead, he just stood there, watching the steam and thinking about how much it looked like smoke.

The dragon, which was still standing over him, leaned its head down until it was right next to him and crooned. Stan turned to look at it, then leaned forwards until he was slumped on its snout, face pressed into the scales.

Better to see the scales than anything else really.

It clicked, then clicked louder when he didn’t respond.

“What?” McGucket called out, and Stan heard him walking closer, the sounds of his clanking feet getting louder, “What do you mean-oh. Hmm.”

The clanking got louder, until it came to a stop right next to him.

Then something touched him.

He stiffened, holding his breath as a giant hand gently pried him off the dragon and turned him. McGucket was crouched down, face worried as he studied Stan’s face.

“Stanley, I ah. No. um.” He sighed, then rubbed his forehead, “I know you’re not alright. I don’t rightly know what happened exactly, but I can guess you saw a fair bit of it.”

“All of it.” Stan croaked, making McGucket and the dragon flinch, “Got a nice front row seat. Saw all it happen.”

Then he let out a long breath, looking over McGuckets shoulder at the steam, watching it curl and disappear in the air. Like this, he couldn’t see either of their expressions as the dragon whined and pressed its snout against his side. It was the first time it seemed upset about what had happened.

How nice.

“Oh dear. Ok. I’m just going to.” McGucket stood and gently pushed Stan’s shoulder, forcing him forwards and closer to the tub. Stan let him, stopping right at the side and looking down at himself in the water.

He looked terrible. Blood was caked into his front and sides, his face had streaks going up and down it, smeared around his mouth, and his hair was in weird clumps, still red in some areas. Some of the red on his clothes was clumped, like there were other things then blood stuck to it.

Stan didn’t want to know.

McGucket pulled off his cloak, lifting up  off his shoulders, then frowned, shaking it. Stan turned and watched as he flipped it inside out, then felt around and pulled out Ford’s book.

He’d forgotten all about it.

“Where did you- never mind, I’ll just-”

McGucket went to tuck the book into one of his own pockets, and Stan felt a stab in his chest. That was Ford’s book. His brother’s book, that he’d hidden away so no one could find it. Stan couldn’t let anyone wander off with it.

With a sudden rush of energy, he lunged forwards and grabbed the book, pulling it from McGuckets hands and snarling at him. His back hit the tub as he stepped backwards, growling low and clutching it to his chest.

McGucket stared back with wide eyes, frozen. Then he bent down and held his hands out, still holding the cloak.

“Alright. Don’t want no one else touching it. But you also can’t take it in the water, so…”

Stan snarled again when McGucket reached out for the book, backed up by the low growl from the dragon. McGucket sighed, then turned and gestured at it. Looking down smugly, the dragon crept forwards and held out a claw, cooing at him.

Stan hesitated. The dragon would probably give it back, it let him do whatever he wanted as long as he didn’t try to run off.

But it was still covered in blood. So was Stan, but at least Stan was Fords brother, so it was probably fine. With a growl he narrowed his eyes and side stepped away from both of them. McGucket raised an eyebrow, then turned as the dragon’s smug face turned annoyed.

“How about you just set it down,” McGucket said, when it looked like the dragon might try and chase Stan, “and we’ll promise not to touch it.”

Stan eyed him, then glared at the dragon until it huffed and nodded. With that he shuffled to the side and set it down on the ground furthest away from the blood lake near the gold. Once it was settled he backed up until he was back at the tub, then turned to see McGucket emptying out his cloaks pockets.

“Hey.” He said softly, “That’s mine.”

“Sure is,” McGucket said, annoyed as he pulled out Stan’s maps and thieves’ tools, then his emergency food supply, “How none of us thought to even check, I’ll never- Where on earth did you get this?!”

McGucket yelled as he pulled out Stan’s hand warmer, holding it away from himself and looking at Stan in shock. Stan frowned, then started tugging off his shirt. It was too late to try and stop him, and now that he felt more energized, he wanted to get the blood off him more than fight McGucket over stuff he already made copies of and stuffed in his chest. The dragon would probably make him give it back if he asked.

“Stole it,” he muttered, pulling at the sleeves, then flinching as the dragon splashed its snout into the nearby lake, “it’s a hand warmer. Good for cold weather.”

“You’ve been using this to warm your hands?”

Stan made an affirmative grunt as he pulled his shirt off, throwing it in the general direction of the small tub. Then he made an annoyed grunt when McGucket appeared and grabbed his arms, turning them in the light and looking freaked.

“Its always something with you! You’re just as bad as your brother.” McGucket held up one of Stan’s hands and eyed it, then groaned and let go, “Well. It looks fine, but who knows what’s going on in there. Hand warmer, I can’t-”

His voice lowered as he started muttering angrily, and Stan frowned as he pulled off his socks, looking at his arms.

“What’s your issue.” He eyed McGucket’s turned back, then quickly chucked off his pants and climbed into the tub.

“My issue,” McGucket growled, piling all of Stan’s things in a corner, “Is that this is an arcane battery. It’s for powering larger constructs, not to be held in peoples’ hands. You’re lucky it hasn’t exploded.”

Stan frowned as he sank into the hot water. Hand warmers weren’t common, but he’d never heard of one exploding before. But maybe… maybe…

He held up a hand, watching the water run-off and taking some of the blood with it. It was almost as hot as the dragon’s scales, when it-

When it-

“Stanley?”

Stan hummed. Then blinked, turning to look at McGucket. He was crouched at the edge of the tub, back to looking worried.

“Huh?”

McGucket frowned, “I said do you need help?”

“Course not.” Stan growled; he didn’t need help taking a bath. He was a grown man, a little blood and gore and... and…

Stan reached around and grabbed the soap, then started scrubbing his hands, desperate to get all the blood off. The steam filled his lungs, making him think of-

The soap slipped out of his hands, falling into the tub. Stan stared at it as it sank into the water. Then he kept staring as McGucket started pouring water over his head and washing his hair. He wanted to snarl, smack his hands away and start throwing things and scream.

Instead, he stared at the water as McGucket helped him clean off the rest of the blood, watching it get darker. When he was done McGucket helped him climb out, then wrapped him in a towel. He managed to dry himself off and put on the clean clothes by himself, each movement feeling stiff and far away.

When he was done, he walked over and grabbed Ford’s book, clutching it to his chest and sitting down on the floor. The dragon was done washing itself in the lake and walked over to rub its now clean snout into Stan’s side.

McGucket went about picking up all of Stan’s bloodied clothes, setting them into the small washtub.

“Alright,” he said, turning, “I think we’re-”

Stan didn’t get to hear the rest, as the dragon, hearing they were done, scooped Stan up and ran off into the treasury. The smell of smoke got stronger, until all Stan could think about was skeletons. He turned to see the entrance of the treasury, more Fiddlefords' combing the gold and sweeping up the remains. Bill was also scuttling around, picking out things from the pile and putting it into a bag at his side.

The dragon rolled him down into his wagon, then lifted its head, looking around and narrowing its eyes. Stan curled up into a ball in the blankets as the wagon shook, the dragon lifting it gently in its claws and walking off with him somewhere.

Fords book was like an anchor, pressing into his chest. Its golden glow pulsed gently, almost like a heartbeat. The wagon came to a stop, then shook one more time as the dragon curled around it, peeking in at him and making a soft trill sound.

Stan ignored it, pulling the book up and tracing Ford’s hand print. The golden glow pulsed in time with him, a comforting light, soft and steady.

Stan stared at it for a long time, long after the dragon turned on the light orb and the rest of the treasury went dark.

Chapter Text

At some point he must have fallen asleep, because Stan woke up to the sound of whispered voices and Bills tiny hand petting his hair and pulling at his curls. His head felt fuzzy and his eyes crusty, so he dragged a hand up and rubbed at them. His body ached in the familiar way of being roughed up the day before, muscles sore and joints stiff both from being dragged around and clutched by the dragon. Every limb felt like stone as he opened his eyes to Bill’s cheery glowing eye.

“Morning!” he said, high pitched voice grating Stan’s ears, “Finally ready to stop sleeping the day away?”

He used his eye crusty hand to push the eyeball away, then brought the other hand up to his face. The book was still clutched in it, and he pressed it against his forehead and groaned.

“Rude,” Bill said, clambering onto Stan’s head and poking him in the cheek, “don’t you know how long it’s been? I’m bored, and your nightmares are only so entertaining for so long before they get repetitive.”

Stan swatted at the air above his head, then groaned more when light suddenly spilled in through the sides of the book. Peeking over, he saw the dragon, one wing lifted and looking in at him. It clicked, and a moment later Emma-May was floating above him, arms crossed.

“Stanley, you’re awake,” she said, floating lower, “how are you feeling?”

Stan groaned again, then pushed himself up to a sitting position, blinking groggily as McGucket climbed over the side of the dragon, tripped, rolled the rest of the way down and slammed into the side of the wagon with clang.

He’d been feeling pretty terrible until then, but seeing McGucket pop up with a wide-eyed expression and pat himself down made him feel a little better.

“Hrmph.” Stan mumbled, clutching the book to his chest and watching McGucket as he walked over to the back of the wagon and clutched the side, “I’m alive.”

“Already doing better then everyone from yesterday!” Bill said cheerfully, getting a few dirty looks from everyone else, and a blank one from Stan, “So stop moping around and let’s get out of here!”

The dragon growled, then abruptly stopped, ducked its head down, and looked away. Stan eyed it, then waved off Bill’s tiny hands as they started pulling on him.

“Don’t mind him,” McGucket said, metal fingers tapping the side, “he’s just upset we wouldn’t let him wake you up. Are you hungry?”

Stan sat there for a moment, thinking. Was he hungry? He hadn’t eaten since breakfast yesterday, but instead of hunger he just felt a dark pit where his stomach was. The idea of moving from this spot felt like too much effort on his part, so he just shrugged.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” McGucket said, climbing into the wagon and sitting crisscross in front of him. His legs almost touched both sides of the wagon where he sat as he rifled through his pockets and pulled out a jar of preserved fruit and a spoon. The spoon was held out, then shoved into the crook of Stan’s arm when he didn’t reach out to take it.

A moment later the newly opened jar was waved in his face, and he sighed.

“If I don’t eat that, are you going to spoon feed me?”

The way McGuckets face pinched was answer enough, and he sighed again as he grabbed the spoon, shoved the book under his shirt, then took the offered jar. It tasted like nothing as he started shoveling it into his mouth, but it did ease some of the tightness in his chest. When he was done McGucket took the jar, then held out another jar with a few eggs in it.

Stan stared at it, then raised an eyebrow as he looked at McGucket.

“They’re boiled,” the metal man said, giving him a flat look, “I know enough not to give you uncooked eggs.”

Stan took the jar and grunted, then frowned at the eggs. They still had their shells on, and it felt like too much effort to try and peel it off. After a quick glance at McGucket he sighed again, then reached in and picked up an egg, contemplating it.

A quick bite and hastily spitting out the painful shards into the previous fruit jar was enough to get him to peel off the rest of the shell, even as McGucket shot him a frustrated look and Bill laughed.

“Some day I’ll finally figure out your thought process,” McGucket said, looking disgusted as Bill took the egg shells and started eating them, “maybe then I won’t worry so much.”

“Don’t have to worry at all,” Stan muttered around egg, “m’not your problem.”

“No, technically you’re Stanford’s. But seeing as he’s currently thinking more like an animal then a man, and that he’s my friend and you’re his brother,” McGucket took the jar back and shook out an egg, then set it down next to them, “I can’t help but care. Especially after yesterday.”

“Speaking of yesterday,” Emma-May said, floating down to sit crisscross over the blankets, “If you’re feeling more aware, we would like an explanation about who those men were. I found one in one of the lower halls, but he’d already bled out and wasn’t wearing anything identifiable.”

Hmm. Only one guy. That meant the other got out. Not great, but at this point Stan couldn’t muster up the energy to care. What he did care about was how McGucket could apparently peel the shell off a boiled egg, dropping the shards into the discarded jar for Bill to eat. He handed Stan the peeled egg then grabbed another one.

Stan took a bite, feeling more than tasting it as he ate.

“Got a guy down south,” he said, around the mush, “Rico. Owe him a lot of money. Those were his men, sent to drag me back. He’s pretty good at blood magic, s’how he keeps tabs on all his debtors so they can’t run off.”

“Which to him, it looks like you have,” Emma-May said, tapping her chin, “I’m guessing none of them believed you about Stanford, and that they got violent and set him off.”

“Yup!” Bill said, crunching his shells, “Got all kinds of handsy with Goldy here, and as the prize of the hoard that’s an instant death sentence.”

“Which we will be discussing,” Emma-May said disapprovingly, “but thankfully you destroyed their tracker, so the chances of them coming-”

“There’s more.” Stan interrupted, taking another egg from McGucket, “Rico’s not dumb enough to only make one. Too easy to steal or break. Got a handful of ‘em off of what he got from me.”

Stan held up his left arm, where a scar ran across the forearm. They’d held him down for it, letting his blood fill in the mold Rico had held his arm over, muttering all the while. One of the more terrifying interactions he’d had with magic.

The dragon growled, and Stan grunted as a claw reached in from behind him and ran a talon through his hair. It disappeared after a moment so the dragon could reposition itself, then returned to rest in the wagon bed, Stan sitting snuggly between two talons while it crooned.

Yeah, that seemed about right. He put his arm down and shoved more egg in his mouth.

“That’s not good,” McGucket muttered, peeling another egg, “How many more.”

Stan shrugged and made an ‘I don’t know’ sound. After chewing and swallowing he set his head down on his knees and tried to think back to when Rico had been bragging about how Stan couldn’t disappear a second time.

“At least three,” he decided, taking another egg, while McGucket started on the last one, “Hard to tell with all the blood loss and how dark it was. Ambiance or whatever, can’t drain a guy’s blood somewhere nice and sunny or something.”

The talons squeezed him slightly, and Bill huffed.

“I’ll have to pay him a visit, tell him to back off,” he growled, hands coming up to tangle in his hair, “You’re my blood bank now, and I don’t like sharing.”

Stan eyed him as he took the last egg from McGucket. That was two entire nightmare creatures ready to kill people for him. Not as comforting as he thought it’d be really.

“You do that,” Emma-May said, frowning, “In the meantime, we’ll need to put up some defenses, make sure they can’t get into the castle, and putting some rules in place for if they do.”

She stood up, then turned and pointed at the dragon, “First of all! No more killing humans! It sets a bad example and encourages bad behavior! You’re going to learn some self-control while I work on trying to uncurse you and Fiddleford increases the castles’ defenses. Nothing too crazy, dear,” She turned to McGucket, “Just bar the windows and start up a guard rotation, sentry mode. We’ll also move the boys closer the treasury, in case of a break in.”

“Can do,” McGucket said, frowning, “But we’re running out of materials, I’ve already barred most of the windows on the-”

He stopped suddenly, then turned and faced Stan, looking horrified. It took him a second to realize what the problem was, and he sighed, leaning back on the dragon’s claw and pulling out Fords book to lay on his chest.

“Don’t worry, I’m not gonna try and figure out what windows you haven’t gotten. I’m just gonna….”

He trailed off, slumping further and trying not to think about what he was going to do. Leaving wasn’t an option right now, what with Rico after him and the dragon apparently knowing wherever he was or if he got hurt.

When had that happened anyway? The first few days it had freaked out whenever he’d gotten out of sight, but lately it hadn’t had any trouble tracking him down whenever it left to hunt and he was with McGucket, now that he thought about it. Maybe it was an odor thing, and he’d spent too much time with it.

Whatever it was, he was trapped with a dragon who was obsessed with him. For some reason.

McGucket and Emma-May started talking about castle defenses and ways to help the dragon learn self-control (which involved Stan getting dragged around too much for his liking), but he let the voices fade into a buzz as he looked at the see through cloth above him and felt the scales on the claw dig into his back.

Why did the dragon want him around so much? His first guess was that it thought he was Ford, but it seemed too smart for that. Maybe it just liked that he looked like Ford? But Stan didn’t really act like his brother besides reading that first week and trying to learn magic. It also never really asked or demanded him to do things, besides read to it. Even then it hadn’t pushed when he refused to continue, content to follow him around and watch him.

What was the limit on its tolerance. At what point did its patience start to run out. It didn’t like it if he tried to leave, but that was only because it was obsessed with keeping him here. If he could figure out how far he could go before it couldn’t tolerate him anymore then….

Well, then he’d know. At this point it was the only thing standing between him and a painful death from Rico. He couldn’t risk finding its tipping point on accident. The only difference between him and the men it had incinerated was its feelings about him, and he needed to know how far they went.

There always came a time when people stopped caring about Stan, and now his life depended on making sure that time didn’t come here.

Black Skeletons. They hadn’t had a chance, and neither would Stan.

The dragon wouldn’t let him out of the treasury after breakfast (lunch? He wasn’t sure what time it was), so he spent the rest of the day alternating between laying in gold staring at the ceiling and trying to distract himself with the curse breaking books. At this point it was more just to do something more than any desire to leave rich. If he spent too long staring at the ceiling then his thoughts started to catch up with him, and he was done thinking alone thoughts for the rest of forever.

But he couldn’t spend too long reading either, before the words became blurry and his mind started to wander. Drawing circles and trying different rune combinations left him feeling rung out and sweaty after a while too, so he'd rest on some gold, stare at the ceiling, and the process would start again.

Bill, apparently finding his lack of reactions and silent reading boring, scampered off somewhere to ‘deal with Rico’ or whatever, leaving him alone to figure out his next plan of action.

After a while McGucket came by with a tray full of food, and Stan started testing the waters. The dragon hadn’t cared when he’d tried to attack the metal man before, or if he vandalized the castle, or if he egged McGucket and Bill on into fighting, which meant he had to try other things.

His stomach was still a mess of twisting nausea and emptiness, so it was only with a little regret that he took the tray and dumped it onto the gold. A quick glance at the dragon showed nothing but a look of concern at the spilled meal, and nothing towards the mess of food now staining the gold.

Alright then, it just meant Stan needed to try harder.

He ignored McGucket’s concerned blabbering, sticking his hand in some of the mess (oatmeal it looked like) and walking up to the dragon, then smearing it along its leg. All that got was confusion and the dragon cleaning its leg and his hand with its tongue, then nuzzling into his side as McGucket’s voice picked up.

So small messes were nothing. That was fine. Stan could do much worse things around here then spill some food and ignore McGucket.

Like take the mop McGucket brought to try and make Stan clean up and use it to clean the metal mans face, then dump all the water and watched it disappear in the pile of coins. This got nothing but a chuckle from the dragon and a scowl from McGucket, as he snatched the mop and stormed away, sending a Fiddleford to clean it up instead.

It didn’t react when Stan started undoing all its cleaning work, and the dragon just found that amusing too. Stan wandered away when it became obvious nothing was working, crawling back into his wagon and pulling Fords book out from a satchel McGucket had brought.

Messing with McGucket didn’t feel as satisfying anymore. Neither did making a mess and trying to get a reaction out of Fiddleford. All he could feel was the thudding of his heart in his chest, as the dragon loomed overhead.

The book helped. Watching as Ford’s handprint reached out towards him, glowing comfortably, eased something in his chest.

He flipped over to the page he’d left off at, then hesitated. Eying the dragon, he scooched into a corner of the wagon, grabbed Ford’s spare glasses, then took a deep breath and started reading aloud, doing his best Ford impression.

It was almost like Ford was there, reading to make Stan feel better. The dragon let out a low croon as he went on, curling around him and reaching in to run a talon along his legs. A grim reminder at how gentle it chose to be.

The next day the dragon let him eat breakfast in the dining room, and he idly listened as Emma-May made it sit further back in the room and give him space. Stan used the time to grab a fork from the table and slide it into his sleeve.

Later he wandered the halls and started stabbing furniture and ripping paintings with it. Again, the dragon didn’t look anything other than concerned or amused, crooning at him as he dug the fork into a shelf and made a large scratch. He left it lodged in a door, then went inside (ignoring the dragon’s urgent clicking) and started dumping things out of the dressers and cabinets.

When the dragon did nothing but click at him, he wandered out and went back to the dining room, knocking over chairs and watching them slam into the ground. The dragon helpfully flipped the table, then crooned sadly at him when he turned and left.

There were other things to try after all.

The library just had Emma-May in it, with even more books piled around the table and floors, pens and scattered papers laid across the one she was floating over. She said something as Stan wandered in, but he ignored her, going straight to one of the shelves and pulling down a book. Turning to face the dragon, he held it in his hands and watched its expression as he opened it and started tearing out the pages.

His heart beat picked up as it let out a cry of outrage, but all it did was gently reach out and swipe the book out of his hands. When he reached for another, it blocked his way with a claw, then desperately scanned the shelves above him and used one talon to knock a single book off the shelves and nudge it towards him.

Stan picked it up, then frowned at the happy croon it let out when he started ripping out the pages. The book joined the other on the ground, and he quickly ducked under the dragon’s claw and grabbed another one, tearing out a chunk as the dragon growled.

He made sure to keep his grip on it when the dragon reached out and tried to swipe it. Its talon snagged on the paper, leaving a long rip down the middle and making it freeze.

Holding his breath, he watched as the dragon pulled its talon out of the spine, crooning sadly at the destroyed book. It gave him a glare, that quickly turned sad as it reached out and cupped a claw behind him, picking him up and taking him out of the library.

Stan listened to Emma-May’s outraged yelling, letting it wash over him as he thought. The book destroying had gotten the biggest reaction yet, which meant it didn’t matter that he destroyed things, just what he destroyed.

He held his breath as they approached the entrance to the treasury, keeping his eyes locked on the golden scales above him as they passed through the doorway and headed deeper. There was a lingering burning smell in the air still, making his stomach twist and the corner of his eyes water, but the dragon’s long legs meant that they moved away quickly.

It set him down on a pile of gold, then clicked at him before turning and running across the coins. Stan watched it, then turned to the pile of treasure. It hadn’t cared about the snapped coins when he was trying to break the curse, but maybe he could do something else.

By the time it got back he had a small pile of jewelry next to him and was working on getting the gems out, doing his best to twist the metal with his bare hands, not caring as things got scratched up. The dragon didn’t seem to care either, setting down a dresser down in front of him, then dropping a whole sword next to it.

Stan worked on digging out what he was pretty sure was a ruby out of a bracelet as he eyed the objects. The dragon crooned, then nudged the sword closer.

With a sigh he dropped the bracelet, then picked up the sword.

“What am I supposed to do with this?” he asked testing the weight. It wasn’t too bad, light and easy to swing around. The dragon pointed at the dresser, then dug its claw in when all Stan did was stare.

Stan groaned as he got to his feet, then shuffled over to the dresser. With a frown, he begrudgingly swung the sword down, watching it thunk off the side and leave a long scratch. There was a cheerful croon from the dragon as he took a few more swings, before he sighed and dropped the sword, turning away and flopping face first (gently) into the gold.

Now it was encouraging his destructive ways. Time to change tactics.

Taking a deep breath, he flipped over and started singing at the top of his lungs, trying to be obnoxious as possible. He’d been told several times he had a voice that made babies cry, and now he was going to use it to annoy this dragon into being mildly upset.

For some reason. It felt like a good one, but he refused to look at those feelings any further.

Instead, he was startled out of singing when the dragon opened its mouth and… well, singing was a generous name for what it was doing. There was definitely some kind of rhythm going on with it, but the croaking made him want to cover his ears.

So, he did.

It looked down on him smugly as he rubbed the side of his head and glared at it.

“Yeah, yeah,” Stan said, sitting up and glaring at it, “I got it, you’ve got a voice only a mother could love.”

It crooned, then belted out another rumbling tune that shook the area and made his ears feel like they were bleeding. Stan rolled over and shot to his feet, then ran further away while he covered his ears. The vibrations stopped after a moment, and he turned to see its smug face as it sauntered over, easily closing the distance.

Alright, couldn’t annoy the dragon either. At least not with his singing.

He scowled as it bent its head low and crooned at him, trying not to think about how close its teeth were as it nuzzled into his side, briefly lifting him off his feet. Once it was done, he smacked it’s nose, then shouted and waved his hand around as he tried to shake off the throbbing.

“Alright wise guy, laugh it up!” Stan yelled as it chuckled overhead, “S’not my fault you have rocks for scales!”

That got a reaction, as its laughter cut off and it puffed out its chest. It took a few steps back, then spread out its wings and curled its neck, slowly turning around and swishing its tail.

“What. What is this.”

It let out a trill, then shook out its wings and spread them further until the golden webbing caught the light. One wing went up, while the other went down, and they started shaking slightly, sending ripples that looked like molten gold.

“I get it, you got giant fans on your back,” Stan grumbled at it, sitting back down on the gold and resting his chin on his hands, “looks like you’re about to throw up or something.”

Its trilling went up and it shot him a displeased look, then spread out its wings and lifted its neck, showing off its golden underbelly.

“Are those your real scales or is it just gold from you lazying about so much.”

The trilling turned into a hiss as it stomped over and almost sat on him. He choked as its underbelly came closer, brushing the top of his hair, before coming to a stop. A moment later its neck twisted around so it could glare at him, and its stomach tilted awkwardly as one claw came up to point at the scales above Stan’s head and it growled.

Tentatively, then more confidently when it gave him an encouraging grumble, he reached up and ran a hand along the scales. It didn’t feel like there was anything encrusted on them, they had the same soft hardness as the rest of the dragon.

That didn’t stop Stan from humming, then shaking his head and letting out a sigh.

“I knew it, just plated-GLK!” The underbelly came abruptly closer as the dragon shifted and pushed him over, until he was flat on his back and in full contact with it. The coins and gems dug into his back painfully as it growled, and he froze, holding his breath.

It lasted less than a second as the dragon moved and kept readjusting itself, but all he could think about what it felt like to be pinned against them.

The heat radiating with every breath.

Not enough room to wiggle. Barely enough to breathe.

Blood, dripping down in front of him while small rivulets ran down its neck.

Every crunch as the jaws tensed.

Silently watching it all.

The world went fuzzy for a while, until he blinked and found himself back under the light, the dragon firm against his back. Its head was on his lap, and it was making a soft chirping sound that sounded vaguely familiar.

“Hwuh?” Stan blinked more as he looked around, the world coming into focus around him. They were still in the treasury, probably still in the same spot, although it was hard to tell just by looking. The dragon let out a soft coo, then reached up and ran a talon through his hair, sending a shiver down his spine.

Right. It probably saw him freeze and freak out. Over a little shove. How humiliating.

“Get off me,” he grumbled, pushing at its head until it moved and freed his legs. Using one hand to brace against its side, he pushed himself to his feet, letting out a deep sigh as he stood and looked around. All the energy he’d had before was gone, replaced by a churning fog, writhing around in his chest.

Trying to figure the dragon out felt like too much work, so he scanned the sea of treasure until he spotted his wagon in the distance, then trudged through the coins towards it, dragon hesitating a moment before following.

It got the hint and picked him up after a few coin mounds, gently holding him so he wasn’t pressed against its stomach as it walked over. It didn’t stop his heart from thudding away in his chest as the scales of its underbelly brushed against his hair and its talons curled around him.

He spent the rest of the day going between reading the books he stole, drawing magic circles, and staring at the ceiling again, trying to keep ahead of the dark thoughts swirling in the back of his mind and trying to stop his hands from shaking. Instead he focused on all the runes and what he’d figured out about the dragon.

So far, all he had was it didn’t like it if he destroyed books or insulted how it looked. It didn’t care if he destroyed anything else, not even the treasure. The growing pile of snapped coins was proof enough that while it like to roll around and bury itself in coins, it didn’t care about keeping anything one piece.

That made some kind of sense, gold was still gold, even in two pieces, but you couldn’t read a book if it was ripped to shreds.

He took a few loose pages from his chest and started writing things down, then wrote down some things to try out the next day. Then added a note to find the wine cellar. A castle this large had to have one somewhere, and he was determined to find it.

Chapter Text

They must have missed lunch at some point (or Emma-May and McGucket were too annoyed with him to feed him) because when McGucket clomped in during his latest curse breaking attempt it was to call him for dinner.

The metal man paused when he saw Stan sitting in front of his latest circle, drawn onto a clear space a little way from the wagon. The dragon was lounging in a nearby pile of coins, tail swishing through the gold and sending coins cascading down the pile as it watched him.

“So, this is where these books went,” McGucket said, startling Stan out of whatever brain funk he’d been in. At some point without realizing he had started writing the rune for break over and over into the ground, blankly watching the chalk get smaller and smaller in his hand.

“Emma-May was looking for this,” McGucket continued, reaching down to pick up one of the books from his pile nearby, “wouldn’t have guessed it was here, or that you were willingly reading with the fuss you kicked up before. What are you doing?”

Stan shrugged, then turned back to the rune he’d been doing over and over. The lines had become thick and the symbol unrecognizable from the amount of chalk  encrusted over it, and now it was just a big circle. The dragon clicked from where it was sitting, and McGucket hummed.

“That makes sense I suppose. Well, you can get back to it later, its dinner time.”

Stan let McGucket drag him to his feet and away for dinner, then let the dragon gently pick him up and dash through the entrance. The meal seemed to pass by in a blur, some stew that tasted like ash and felt like mush in his mouth. He idly used his finger to trace the break rune in the table, trying to focus his mind on that instead of thinking about the chunks of meat he was eating.

That night, once the lights were off and he was curled in his wagon with the light orb, he read Ford’s book again, flipping through the pages and examining the complicated circle in the middle. It was the only thing of interest inside, the rest was either written in some obscure languages or codes, or Fords description of the castle and some of the surrounding area. The last page said there was another volume lying around here somewhere, which would hopefully be more helpful then Fords idle thoughts about the building and his excitement in finding secret passages and making the whole thing habitable again.

He ignored the burning in his eyes and the way his body seemed to slump more and more, fighting to keep himself awake. The dragon’s heavy breathing gently ruffled his hair back and forth, the sound making him think of the waves hitting the beach, and between one page and the next he was gone.

Pressure, crushing him while something wet and thick seeped into his skin.

Faces, full of fear and pain, staring up at him in desperation.

Juan, smiling with his hands held high, even as his skin bubbled and blacked, leaving empty sockets that kept on staring, deep into his soul. Pleading for a chance.

The flex of each muscle as bones crunched and the screams were cut short, one by one by one.

A yellow eye.

“Hey kid!” it asked, leaning forwards and holding up a severed arm, slightly charred, “want a bite?”

“I didn’t all you a kid, I called you Gold Fish.”

He couldn’t look at anything but the body as it was torn apart. Small hands digging in deeper and deeper, pulling out blackened bones and crunching away.

“Ugh, this is getting boring,” Bill’s hands came up to grasp his face, first one, then two, then more and more, pulling and tugging him, trying to get it to turn, “Can’t you dream of something more interesting? I need something entertaining while I wait for your pal Rico to fall asleep again.”

The flames shifted, and there was Rico, lips pressed into a line as he held a bloodied knife and stepped through the flames, glaring at him.

“You think you’re so smart Pinington?” he said, knife reflecting the light, “Think you can weasel out of what you owe me? Not this time. Tell you what though, you survive this? I’ll give you one more chance.”

The crushing grip came from every side, and suddenly Rico was above him, looking down as one hand held the top of the crate. The dragon loomed overhead, eyes slits as fire flickered out of the side of its mouth.

“Ohh! Mixing it up a little! Now this is good!”

Blood started filling the crate, staining everything red as he tried to kick out, to scream, to do anything. For the first time, Rico smiled.

And slammed down the lid.

Stan gasped as he sat up, heart beating a mile a minute and hands sweaty as he lunged for the light orb, clutching it close. He was soaked in sweat, hair plastered to his face and shivering from the coolness of the treasure room.

It was better then the heat from a second ago.

Groggy and exhausted, Stan looked around for his pile of books and pulled them closer, flipping through one of them and staring at the fuzzy words. It took him a moment to find the glasses, slipping them over his nose and hunching over in a corner of the wagon. Around him the dragon continued to breathe deeply, easing some of the anxiety gripping his heart.

Trying to read the books by the light of the orb was agony, each too long word hurting his head while he tried to understand why certain rune combinations did one thing, but switching two around might do something completely different. Magic had always been Ford’s thing, with his brother involving him less and less in the process as they grew older.

But anything that kept him awake and aware was fine, and he wasn’t about to wake up a sleeping-

Before he could think twice about it, he grabbed one of the books and threw it at the sleeping dragon, body tense as it slammed into it. The wagon jerked as it woke up with a snort, then blinked and looked around, confused. It yawned, face barely in sight of the orb, before sniffing around looking in at Stan.

Its pupils were still dinner plates, easing some of the strain in his shoulders.

With a grumble it set its head down, shifting slightly and letting out a long sigh. It clicked at him a few times, then shoved its snout closer and blinked, eyes slowly closing as its clicks got duller and it’s breathing deeper.

After a few minutes it was asleep again, breathing deep and even.

Stan threw another book.

This time it jerked slightly, then looked around and clicked in confusion. When it saw Stan staring, it nuzzled its snout closer still, then yawned and closed its eyes when he didn’t say anything.

Stan threw another book, and it growled. Gripping the blankets, he watched as it bared its teeth and squinted in the light, then turned to see the small pile of books that had rolled down its side. It sniffed at them, shoved its snout into the wagon as best it could to sniff at him, then gently pulled its head out and laid it down on its front legs, closing its eyes and huffing.

The next book got a small snarl, then a claw coming up to cover its face as it grumbled and let out a breath. The next two didn’t get any reaction at all, and then all he had left was Ford’s book, which he wasn’t about to use to test a dragon’s patience. Instead, he crawled over to his chest and opened it, eyeing the contents.

The clothes wouldn’t get any kind of reaction, and his box of letters wasn’t leaving this chest ever, but there was a hammer near the bottom he reached for, tested the weight, and chucked at it as hard as he could.

This got a reaction. A very boring one, as (without opening its eyes) it reached in with one of its claws and waved it around until it bumped into him, then gently pat his head as it let out a soft trill. Stan grunted at the treatment, then watched as the claw moved away and came to rest on the mattress, leaving him nothing but the small area in front of the chest to sit in. The dragon’s breathing became even, and Stan was stuck with its talons digging into the mattress and leaving six tiny holes.

“Hmm.” Stan stared at it, then at his box of letters, “Guess I wasn’t sleeping anyway,” he rasped, reaching in and grabbing it, then a blank piece of paper and his ratty quill.

It took him a while to figure out what he wanted to tell Ford, writing and crossing out lines several times, before he finally got something he liked. Nothing about the skeletons, or the blood, or Bill’s diet. Just everything else. He hadn’t written one to Ford since before getting kidnapped, so he had a lot to catch up on. There was time to get to the rest later.

When the lights of the treasury eventually turned on he had a few pages sealed away and was back to staring at Fords book.

Exhaustion ate at him, but he’d been tired before. He’d be fine.

As the days went on everything started to blur. He had no idea how long he’d been awake for, unable to track it as the dragon had started shoving him in the wagon and turning off the lights whenever he started tilting too much. Too often Stan fell asleep, waking up at odd hours after intense nightmares and not knowing what day it was.

Nothing seemed worth doing anymore either. A heaviness seemed to drag at every part of him, making every movement and thought take twice as long. A swirling pit had taken residence in his stomach, and he was never hungry, just different levels of nauseous. The only thing that kept him eating was the memories of what starvation could do and the threat of McGucket spoon feeding him. Nothing that got served seemed appetizing, all of it a flavorless mush that he shoved into his mouth just to stay alive.

Finding things to do to keep the crackle growing in the back of his mind quiet was becoming a hassle as well. While before he could sit for a few hours and work on the treasury curse before quitting out of rage, now he could only sit for three or four attempts then be forced to stop because of how awful each try made him feel. Every time a coin broke or chipped it seemed to tug at his chest, clenching it painfully as he broke out in a cold sweat.

Reading wasn’t much better, his tired eyes struggled to make sense of the words and remember what he’d already read before. Only Ford’s book seemed to hold his attention, and that was only its cover, pulsing softly as he stared at it, golden glow shoving all of his thoughts away. It was the only thing that made him feel calm.

Until he passed out, then woke up more exhausted than ever.

His attempts at riling up the dragon had stopped feeling like relief as it didn’t react, and started feeling like a test. Every time it gave him a look of concern or started joining in in whatever he was doing made him feel more and more like he was on the edge of a cliff. Besides the books and its appearance, it hadn’t shown a bit of irritation or anger with him, was more amused or sad or some other not negative emotion that didn’t let Stan know how close he was to tipping the scales against him.

There had to be something. More than just books and teasing. It hadn’t even gotten that mad at the teasing, not really, and it had just found different books for him to destroy, and it didn’t care if he trashed the rooms, or talked too loud, or wasted food, or bothered anyone, or moved things into obnoxious areas or anything.

There had to be something. There was always something. Not finding that something was driving his heart rate higher and higher, as he desperately tried to figure out why a gigantic fire breathing deadly lizard liked him enough to do anything. Stan ignoring it for an hour shouldn’t make it beg at his feet, tucking its tail as it made pitiful sounds and brought him more and more valuable things from around the castle. Stan ignoring it for two hours shouldn’t make it drag McGucket towards him to see if he was sick, then growl at the metal man when Stan didn’t ignore McGucket.

No one liked anyone that much, and the dragon shouldn’t like him at all. And if it did, it shouldn’t act like he was the one doing it a favor for breathing.

To make everything worse, the wine cellar was a total bust. His attempts at asking Fiddleford for alcohol had gotten him nothing but a cup of freshly made (bad) juice, and asking the dragon to take him to the cellar had crushed his spirits further.

It turned out that if ancient demonic overlords didn’t also curse their alcohol, it’d get stolen. There was nothing but bare racks and broken dreams in the vast expansive room. What had once been a decadent shrine to drunkenness was now a home to spiders and too sober prisoners.

He had no idea where Bill had disappeared to either. Whatever the demon was doing to Rico was taking forever, and now Stan was kind of missing him. Not because he wanted Bill around, but because he really wanted to wish to get drunk and thinking about how Bill would be forced to fit three in that was the only thing that made him feel any kind of positive feeling towards the demon.

Could be three bottles of alcohol. Could get wasted for three days. Or hours. At this point he’d accept three minutes of feeling the happy buzz as long as it made everything stop.

He was pretty sure McGucket was trying to help him feel better, but it was hard to tell. Not only because the man was busy running around the castle barring up windows (and wasn’t Fiddleford supposed to do that? Maybe Fiddleford needed someone on hand to direct them, and that was McGuckets job?), but also because Stan spent half of their conversations tuning him out. It was all the same anyway, asking about how Stan was doing and telling him to let him know if he needed anything, and to get some rest.

What Stan needed was to stop feeling feelings for a while, but that was hard to do in the driest castle in the world.

The only nice parts of his day were when he encountered the boys.

Tate and Shifty, now living closer to the treasury, were a far more common sight than when they’d been living wherever else they’d lived before (and Stan missed his map. His rough copy was hard to read and not filled in as well, and now that he’d been walking around more, he was pretty sure it was missing some floors and rooms). Whenever Stan stumbled upon them, they’d call out greetings to him and the dragon (and really, he needed to name it something other than Stanford), then try and include them in whatever game or lesson they were doing.

Stan hadn’t interacted with kids often, or ever really, being a criminal. Since these were actually his nephews (And he really, really didn’t want to ask anyone how they’d been made if it involved Ford in any way) that made them family.

It’d been a decade since the last time Stan had been with his family, so anytime the boys wanted to play some silly rune games or hear stories about his time on the road, he’d do his best to shove down all the exhaustion and buzzing and put on a smile. It wasn’t their fault they had the weirdest family ever, or that the only home they’d ever known was a demon’s castle. That made it his job to show them how normal people had fun.

Of course, McGucket always swooped in to ruin everything, telling the kids to give Stan ‘space’ and to find something else to do somewhere else, then hover over Stan like playing with two fish kids might break him or something.

But he was too tired to fight about it. Too tired to do anything but shrug and move on with the day, back to figuring out what would finally get the dragon to snap.

It took Stan a second to register where his wandering feet had taken him. Walking was the only thing he could do for long periods of time that didn’t hurt his brain or make him feel sweaty and wrung out. Today (or tonight, or this morning, or whenever time it was) his feet had taken him to the stairs leading up to Fords room.

The dragon crooned as he started making his way up, and he glanced back to see it trying to fit its head into the spiral staircase to follow him. He kept walking, ignoring it as it chirped at him. After a while it huffed, and he listened to the thud of its footsteps as it stomped away.

Weird, but whatever.

The stairs felt twice as long as before, every step a struggle as he ran a hand along the wall and kept his eyes forward, until he finally reached the door. Ford’s handprint pulsed steadily as ever, and he rested his forehead against the door and watched it, listening to the beat of his heart as they moved together.

After a moment he placed his hand against it and pushed, looking at the mess around him when he turned on the lights. It was just like he left it, piles undisturbed and secret door wide open. He took his time closing the door behind him, shuffling his feet as he scanned the different books and ran a hand along the shelves, trying to imagine Ford doing the same.

His thoughts were interrupted by the tower shaking and a heavy thud above him, then something tapping on the balcony doors. Stan slowly made his way over, listening as the polite tapping grew more and more insistent, rattling the hinges by the time he finally reached up and opened one of the doors.

The dragon smiled at him from the other side, neck snaking up and out of sight to where it was probably sitting on the roof. It clicked and tilted its head, trying to look nonchalant as if it hadn’t been trying to break the doors down less than a minute ago. Behind it, Stan could make out blue skies, meaning it was still daytime.

“You need to work on your clinginess.” Stan muttered, opening the other door so the dragon could fit its head in, “and this tower breaks while I’m inside, I’ll only talk to you through McGucket.”

He turned away as the dragon huffed, going back to looking through Fords things. The books felt like too much work, but opening and closing drawers was easy enough, and he kept at it until he got too tired for even that, shuffling over to the bed and flopping face first onto it.

Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath. The room was musty from lack of use, but underneath there was a faint woodsy inky smell, and he sighed as he rolled over, grabbing a pillow to hold while he looked at the ceiling.

Ford probably laid here like this, chewing his nails and thinking over complex nerd problems. How many nights had his brother paced around this room, how many times had he actually slept in the bed, instead of collapsing on the floor or one of the couches around the castle. Did he still tap the spines of books when he was thinking? Did he stand straight and hide his hands when he was trying to be confident? How had his brother changed in the time they’d been apart, how had he stayed the same?

At the rate Stan was going, he’d never know.

“You think Fords ok?” he asked, turning to look at the dragon. It had shoved its head in as far as it could and was scanning the secret room with a critical eye, but glanced over briefly to show it was listening.

“He’s been missing for a while,” Stan continued, watching as the dragon tilted its head so it could turn it in the small space, “and no one else is lookin’ for him. I just…”

Stan sighed as the dragon chirped and made a funny face, then turned away and rubbed his face.

“My brother’s the smartest and coolest guy the worlds ever seen, and no one’s even tryin’ to find him.” He pressed his hands harder into his eyes as they started watering, “he doesn’t deserve that. He should have all kinds of guys clamoring to find him, not his dumb brother. Not me. He deserves better than-”

The dragon growled, and Stan turned to see it glaring at him. It made a few angry clicks, then nodded its head and huffed like it’d said something profound.

Maybe it had.

“I get it, you think I shit gold and barf rainbows or something,” Stan sighed, looking back at the ceiling, “but that doesn’t change the fact that I’m no good at any of this mystery magic stuff. If I can’t find him, then- then-”

Then he’d be alone. Truly, really alone. The spare Stan, finally stepping up to center stage. It made his heart ache just thinking about it. The dragon grumbled something and puffed out a breath, but Stan ignored it, grabbing the pillow and holding it close, breathing in Ford’s smell.

The only thing keeping him going right now was the thought of finding Ford. If he could, then maybe he’d finally be forgiven. Finally prove to his brother that he could manage to do something right. That he could keep up, be better, could still be useful to have around.

After all, Ford had all the money he wanted in the castle. No fortune Stan could ever get would ever compare. It was a thought that had been creeping up on him for the last few months, that in the end, Ford had still gotten his millions, and all Stan had gotten was a kick out the door.

Granted, the fortune Ford had was apparently cursed, but he had no doubt his brother could uncurse it whenever he wanted. Which actually sounded like something to look into, later, when he didn’t feel like becoming a part of the bed.

He fought to keep his eyes open, sitting up and tracing the rune for break again into the sheets. It helped him focus, watching the sheets shift under his finger and thinking about all the ways he could break a bed.

The soft crooning of the dragon caught his attention, and he sat his head on his knees and turned to look at it, blinking slowly. It was staring straight back, bobbing its head rhythmically while its crooning went on and on, sounding vaguely familiar. It was only as he closed his eyes that he realized why.

It sounded like something their ma used to sing to them, a long, long time ago.

He ran down the beach, breathing heavy as he locked his eyes on his brothers back.

“Wait up!” he called, trying to run faster. Stanford called something back, but the wind snatched it away before he could make out what it was.

“He said ‘why should I’. Face it Gold Fish, you’re nothing worth waiting for.”

He slowed down to a walk and watched his brother as he faded into the distance, first a boy, then a teen, then finally a man, too far away to make out the details.

Then he was gone, nothing left but his foot prints, slowly washing away in the tide.

He’d been left behind. Just like he always was.

“Just like you always will be, Spare. Glad you already know all the most important facts about yourself.”

Why wouldn’t he be. Ford was the one going places after all, he was only holding him back.

Because he was bad. Ford would be better off out there, without someone who always BROKE things.

“Woah. What was that?”

Better off finding new friends, friends who didn’t SMASH  everything they touched.

“Seriously, what are you doing?”

Always messing things up, always DESTROYING everything he tried to make. There was something wrong with him, some important thing that everyone else knew about but him.

“Please,” he whispered, crouching down and hugging his legs, “I don’t want to be alone.”

“Hah! Don’t worry about that! You’re gonna have me stuck to your side for the rest of your pathetic life! I told you, didn’t I? You’re mine now, I own you.”

A hand came down and smashed into his hair, and he looked up to find Bill crouching next to him, looking-

Looking-

“Don’t try to look too hard Goldy, this isn’t one where you know what’s happening. Try to see me like this and you might look further then you can handle, and the last thing I need is a brain-dead baby.”

“I’m not a baby,” he said, pouting.

“Sure, you aren’t! You’re a big boy crying about a few corpses you didn’t even know, and how sad it is your brother doesn’t love you.”

This guy sucked actually. He didn’t want him to stick around forever, he wanted him GONE.

“Oooh! I see what’s happening. Someone getting into their runes lately? Pick a favorite one? Better be careful, there’s more ways to do magic than a few crummy circles, and wizards aren’t the only ones who can cast spells. Keep going on like this, and you’re gonna do something you can’t take back.”

He frowned, what was this guy-

“Well, this has gotten boring. I’m gonna go see if there’s anything interesting going on in the west while I wait for that pal of yours to conk out. You really know how to pick ‘em; this guy’s a hard nut to crack.”

Despite that, Bill was still standing next to him, hand getting tight where it was clutching his hair. He squirmed uncomfortably as the grip got tighter and tighter, hands coming up to grab the-

The-

The thing grabbing him tightened further, and he screamed as he felt a crack and something wet trail down his face. The pressure got worse and worse, Bill shoving him further into the sand as he kept squeezing.

“Man, this never gets old! The way you humans just wiggle around, like your struggles actually matter? Hilarious! Too bad I can’t do this to your real body, but I’ll take what I can get.”

Something else grabbed his chest as Bill loomed over him, crushing his lungs and pinning him to the wet sand underneath. He screamed and kicked his legs as he was pressed harder into the ground, the air filled with laughter until-

Stan gasped as he shot up, hands clutching the pillow and water leaking from the corner of his eyes. The details of his dream faded as he shivered and looked around the room, feeling exhausted. Light was streaming from behind the dragon’s head where it rested on the balcony, but there was no telling if it was still the same day or if Stan had finally gotten a full nights sleep.

The pounding behind his eyes and the headache piercing his skull, along with all the heaviness still clinging onto him made him think it was probably the same day.

With a groan he rolled off the bed and pulled himself to his feet, shuffling towards the door. Behind him he heard the dragon click, then the sound of doors closing and something rocking the roof again.

The stairs were again a near impossible challenge, every step feeling like ten as he clutched the wall and made sure he didn’t tilt too far forward and risk breaking his neck. By the time he finally got to the bottom the dragon was waiting, nuzzling into his side as he grunted and closed his eyes.

Despite how awful he felt, he did feel somewhat more energetic. Good enough to try testing the dragon again at least.

With a groan he straightened up and blinked, looking up and down the hall. There were a few things he hadn’t tried yet, and he might as well get started here.

The idea of BREAKING things was suddenly all he could think about, and so he shuffled to the nearest room, found a fire poker, then walked back out to find the nearest window. Once he had he pulled back the curtain, squinting at the light that hit his eyes and ignoring the questioning chirp of the dragon.

Unlike the rooms, the hallway windows didn’t have bars. That was because they didn’t open, so McGucket hadnt thought to lock them in any way.

A rookie mistake.

Making sure to look at the dragon, he held the poker up, then brought it down hard and SMASHED the window, scattering glass everywhere.

Chapter Text

The dragon let out a roar as it lunged forward, and Stan tensed, eyes wide as it reached out-

And slammed a claw in front of the window, clicking angrily at him. It eyed the ground critically, then used its other claw to gently scoop him up and set him further away from the broken glass covering the floor, then turned to a nearby Fiddleford and clicked at it. Fiddleford stood up straight, then marched away, probably to get a broom or something.

Once that was done the dragon nodded and looked at the window, eyeing it. From here Stan could feel a cool breeze, carrying the smell of rain as it ruffled his hair. The woods outside were starting to look a little greener, and birds were chirping somewhere further away.

The tension drained out of him as the dragon nodded at the shattered pane of glass, then bent low and sniffed at his feet. It tensed when he started walking away, but relaxed and trilled once he made it obvious he wasn’t going towards the broken window and the pile of glass.

It didn’t spare the hole a second glance as it followed him. More upset about him potentially cutting himself than the fact he was SMASHING things.

It always circled back to that after all.

He went down to the next window, eyeing the dragon as he held up the poker. All it did was hold out a claw and angle it to cover him in case of falling glass, and he growled as he used to poker to stab at the window, making a small hole and sending a crack down it instead of shattering it completely. This actually made the dragon happy, as it pulled its claws away and nodded encouragingly.

He stabbed the pane next to it, making another big crack, then walked over to a wall and tried to jab the poker in between the stones. This did nothing but make an awful sound that sent a shiver down his spine and a small scratch, so he swung a few more times.

Then he swung it down on a cushion of a couch, using the poker to RIP the cloth and send the stuffing inside everywhere. The dragon didn’t get angry at that either, just chirped and blew out a sharp breath that sent all the stuffing flying down the hall in an explosion of fluff.

It would have been kind of funny, if Stan wasn’t starting to feel shaky and sweaty, desperate to get the reaction he wanted. Nothing seemed to phase this thing, no act of DESTRUCTION made this thing angry or upset. Not even a whiff of the fire it had churning in its chest, no slit pupil, not threatening growl.

A part of him knew it was a good thing, but a larger part could only see it as the unknown threat it was.

The shaky desperation urged him forwards, making him push down the aching of his joints, the fuzziness of his thoughts, the feeling of wanting to lie down and not do anything at all forever. His breathing picked up as he marched further down the hall and scanned frantically for something else to whack at, something else to BREAK.

Which is why he used his poker to swing at a messed up twisted vase, launching it full force down the hall and smacking McGucket in the face just as he turned the corner. The vase made an interesting DONG sound as they collided, then fell and bounced on the ground until it rolled and came to a stop.

McGucket stared at him with wide eyes, a small dent in his nose from where the vase hit him. The surprise slowly turned into fury as his gaze went past Stan and took in the path of DESTRUCTION he’d left behind.

“What is that thing made of,” Stan muttered, eyeing the vase. It was yellow and red, and twisted in some kind of weird complex loop, looking perfectly intact from where he was standing.

“What,” McGucket said, voice low, “is your problem.”

Stan shrugged, still staring at the vase as he tried to think of how to BREAK the ugly thing. Forget the dragon, he needed to figure this out before the gnawing in his chest and the shattering thoughts growing in the back of his mind ate him alive.

“You don’t know,” McGucket said, stomping closer, rage starting to fill his voice, “You don’t know why you’re giving me more work to do? Why every conversation is like walking on glass? Is this some kind of game to you? Are you trying to test my patience?”

“Not yours.” Stan said, holding up the poker and examining it. He grunted as it was snatched out of his hands, McGucket looming over him.

“Not mine? Not mine, you say.” McGucket growled, and so did the dragon. Enraged, McGucket turned, pointing the poker at its snout as he shouted “SHUT IT STANFORD!”

Stan looked up as the two of them snarled at each other, watching with interest as McGucket seemed to swell with anger.

“I get that he’s your brother, and you can’t help it, but GOSH DARN IT LOOK AT THIS!” he swept an arm to gesture at the broken windows and ruined furniture, “What if the boys came down here! What if those men saw this and got in again! I can’t be everywhere! I can’t- What are you even tryin’ to accomplish! Letting him wander around breaking things!”

The dragon snarled deep and low, crouching down so they were almost eye to eye. McGucket didn’t back down, jaw set as he continued to glare. The poker in his hand started to bend, shaping into McGuckets fist. The snarl turned into a growl as McGucket started waving it around, pointing at everything and yelling louder and louder.

Stan’s interest in their conversation faded as he turned back to look at the vase. The buzzing need to do something was still making his hands shake, so he forced his legs to walk down the hall and pick it up, turning it around in his hands. There wasn’t a mark on the thing, and it didn’t feel like any vase he’d ever held, too smooth and light.

Looking back at the dragon growling down the hall he held up the vase and threw it as hard as he could at the wall. The poker and McGucket’s face might not have been enough, but he wasn’t going to lose to a stupid decoration.

This meant he wasn’t paying attention when the vase bounced back and hit him on the side of the head.

He yelped, then before he could even lift his arm to rub the sore spot the dragon lunged. Stan froze as it snarled and slammed its claw down on the vase, over and over, until it was nothing but a flattened blob on the ground. When it was satisfied, the dragon lent forwards and started sniffing at his head, trilling softly and giving the sore spot a lick.

Heart thudding away in his chest, he let out a shaky sigh and looked around for something else to try.

“Are you happy with yourself?” said McGucket, clomping over as he shuffled to a nearby curtain.

“No.” Stan responded, squinting at the thick material. Grabbing it in one hand, he looked at the dragon and pulled as hard as he could, until he felt something give above him. He stiffened as it brought up a claw, but all it did was raise it above his head, so the curtain didn’t fall on top of him.

The small amount of energy he’d gotten from his nap wasn’t helping anymore. It was too busy zipping up and down his arms, sending shivers down his spine and making him jittery. He could barely hear anything over the beating of his heart, and he let out a long breath as the claw moved away, staring at the fallen curtain on the ground.

Then at the hand gripping his arm.

Frowning, he started at it, then blinked and followed the hand to the arm to the McGucket, crouched down in front of him and looking horrified.

“Stanley,” He said, “why are you breaking things around here.”

Ugh. Conversation. With a sigh he tried to jerk his arm out of the iron grip, then sighed again when he got nowhere. Might as well give McGucket some kind of answer, then maybe he’d go away and let Stan go back to BREAKING

“Just gotta know,” he mumbled, gaze wandering the hall to find another target. He grunted as McGucket shook him, then groaned when the metal man’s other hand came up to snap in front of him. Above them the dragon growled, but McGucket shushed it before turning back to Stan.

“Know what Stanley,” He asked, eyes searching as the hand gripping Stan’s arm squeezed him gently, “What do you want to know.”

Stan groaned again, lifting a hand to rub at his eyes. Did they really have to do this right now? The thudding of his heart was starting to bash against the pain in his head, and every blink made his eyes burn.

“Stanley.”

“You know,” Stan groaned, gesturing to the dragon, “That guy. Gotta… Gotta figure out the point.”

“The point of a dragon?”

Stan squinted at McGucket, baffled.

“What? No, its..” he held up his free hand waving it around, “you know. It’s Stan point. Everyone’s got one, just gotta figure out this things, and I’ll be good.”

McGucket took a deep breath, then snapped his fingers in his face again when his eyes started looking back down the hall.

“What’s the Stan point.” Hrrrn. Too many questions with this guy. The longer he stood here not moving, the more Stan felt the creeping heaviness of his limbs, begging him to lay down and sleep.

Stan wasn’t about to lose to a few stupid limbs though. Sleeping was overrated.

“You know,” he said, when it became clear McGucket wasn’t going to let go of him, “the point! Just-”

His leg started getting jittery, and he brought up his free hand to run through his hair, over and over, feeling the long locks slip through his fingers.

It felt kinda disgusting actually. When was the last time he took a bath?

“You know!” Stan shouted finally, pointing at McGucket, “The point! The point! Its-! I’m the spare, so there’s always a point! I know yours and Emma-May’s, it’s whenever Ford comes back, and the kids! It’s the same, everyone here will be there with Ford, but that thing!”

Stan pointed at the dragon, hand wavering as he blinked hard and tried to stop his vision from going in and out of focus.

“I can’t find it. It doesn't care about whatever I do. I thought it was the books, but then it just brought other books and got sad! So what is it? What do I have to do! Where’s the line!”

“Stanley,” Stan’s eyes snapped towards McGucket and his soft tone, “what line? What are you talking about?"

"The line!" Stan yelled, clenching his hands, before turning to try and pry McGuckets hand off of him, desperate to get back to moving and not thinking and just doing, “There’s always one! I cross the line, and then people don’t care about me anymore! Most of the time, it’s easy to find! Just talk or breathe or touch something, then people can’t stand me!”

“Stanley,” McGucket whispered, looking sad, “that- that can’t be a- what gave you the idea we’d stop caring once we fixed Stanford.”

Stan burst into laughter, jittery feeling making his skin buzz and kicking up his thoughts.

“You said it, didn’t you? Just gotta fix up Ford, then it’s goodbye Stanley! Just gotta lock me up because I can open a couple of doors! Just care because I’m his brother! But guess what!”

Stan took a deep gasping breath, then another, trying to force the wetness away from his eyes.

“Guess what! Once he gets back, its over! Ford doesn’t care about me! I crossed the line! I thought it was me and him forever, but I ruined it! I always ruin it! I made one mistake, and he cut me loose! And I haven’t fixed it yet, I’ve got nothin’ to show! Fords livin’ it up in a fancy castle in the woods and all I got is the same crummy wagon! I- I-”

Stan let out a wheeze, hand gripping his chest as his heart beat out of control. Every thud felt like thunder, each beat spreading warmth into the rest of him. McGucket was saying something, the hand on his arm squeezing him gently, but Stan couldn’t hear it over the rushing in his ears and the coldness creeping up his spine.

“Just gotta find the line here,” He said, eyes wandering up to stare at the dragon. It had bent its head lower, looking devasted. Stan couldn’t understand why.

“If I find the line now, then I can’t stumble on it later, then I’m safe.”

He flinched at the snap next to his head, staring at McGucket.

“Safe from what.” McGucket asked, “Why do you- why’s knowing where the line is so important.”

Stan stared at him, then shuddered, eyes darting away.

“Don’t want to think about it,” he muttered.

“Its because he thinks old Sixer there will incinerate him,” Bill said, suddenly lounging on his shoulder, “Idiot doesn’t realize dragons don’t work that way.”

Everyone stared at Bill, sitting cross legged on Stan’s shoulder and examining his nails. The beat of Stan’s heart got louder and louder as he slowly looked up at the dragon, blood draining from his face as it’s pupils turned into slits, and it snarled.

“What its true!” Bill shouted, hand coming around to tangle into Stan’s hair, “all this numskulls been dreaming about lately is how awful watching a bunch of humans get melted was, then how awful it’d feel if it happened to him. I mean, talk about a broken record! Move on already!”

Bill tugged at his hair, tilting his head and forcing him to look away from the dragon looming overhead.

“Now onto more important things,” Bill continued, like the dragon and McGucket weren’t looking at them with horrified expressions, “Bad news. Just as I was about to convince that Rico guy that hunting down one poor shmuk in dragon territory was a terrible business strategy, he got news about the ocean of treasure guarded by terrifying dragon. Turns out one of his guys made it out, and now he’s determined to come up here and slay IQ or something.”

Bill kept blathering on, but Stan didn’t hear what else he had to say, too stuck on what that meant.

Rico knew about the gold. Knew about the dragon.

Probably knew about Stan.

He’d never stop trying to get in. Some part of him had already known that when he realized that the other guy had escaped, but another part had hoped he’d die in the woods or something, and Rico would stay some distant threat.

But now Rico was coming here. To slay the dragon. With more men.

More skeletons.

More fire.

More blood and screams and crunching.

And what would happen when he realized the treasure was cursed? That the one person who could lift it was Stan’s own brother, lost in the castle or the woods or some other plane.

What would he do then. To the kids. To McGucket. To Stan.

What would he-

B             R             E             A             K            

Suddenly the swirling thought cluttering Stan’s head vanished. He took a deep breath, then thought about the rune. The BREAK rune. The one he’d been drawing over and over, one of the central runes for curse breaking.

But what did it mean? What was breaking?

With more laser focus, Stan turned to look at McGuckets hand, still clutching his arm as the metal man argued with Bill about something. It was made of several interlocking plates, connected by small nails.

What did it mean to BREAK? To SHATTER?

To Stan, it always meant making things not work anymore, but that wasn’t it. Curse breaking wasn’t just about making the curse not work, it was about undoing it, removing it from an object and using the energy to reverse the process. That’s why he was struggling, he could inscribe the BREAK rune all he wanted, he just couldn’t figure out how to direct it at the curse and not the coin, couldn’t figure out how to take it apart the right way.

But a snapped coin was still gold. A shattered window could still be looked through, shards were still glass, just smaller. Just different. Just separated.

What was DESTROYING something really. Not making it not work, just making it different. Taking something apart and making something else.

You had to BREAK the earth to build. Had to DESTROY wood to write. It was all the same, just flipped.

Something seemed to click in his head, some understanding about the world realized. Sure, he always BROKE everything he touched, but maybe he just hadn’t been thinking about it right.

After all, if Stan had never destroyed Ford’s circle, a life time ago, then Ford never would have found this castle, never would have met Bill or figured out the source of magic and why it was disappearing.

All the blood-soaked scribbles in Fords bedroom said that, clear as day.

Slowly, Stan’s arm came up, until his hand was right over McGuckets. The warmth that had been pulsing with his heart seemed to flow down into his finger as he steadily traced the BREAK rune into the back of McGuckets hand, thinking about all those tiny nails and layered plates. The warmth left his hand as he did so, leaving a golden glowing trail.

“BREAK”

Then he watched in fascination as all the little nails started popping out and falling to the ground. The hand let go of him, but it was too late. More and more nails came off, clattering onto the ground and releasing the plates, and for the first time Stan saw what was under the armor.

Thick cords, in varying colors, neatly arranged around a metal skeleton. A green panel sat just under where his knuckles were, covered in tiny metal bumps and glowing dots, connected to smaller threads that attached to his fingers. Each joint was a small hinge, with more glowing dots blinking with every flex of his metal fingers.

All of it was falling to pieces as the golden glowing light from the rune pulsed and started creeping up the man’s hand, loosening nails and unwinding cords as it went. The lights went out one by one, as more cords came loose, and tiny glass bulbs clattered to the ground.

Distantly, he became aware of Bill’s shrill laughter, and the panicked shouts of McGucket as he waved his hand around and tried to shake off the light. Overhead the dragon roared, shaking the hallway as it hissed at the rune and started digging its claws into the stone floor, snarling at the shaky circle it was making.

It didn’t take long for McGuckets hand to fall apart, the rune itself disappearing even as the light continued to go up his arm, then over his elbow. Every pulse from its warm glow tugged at his chest and made his head hurt, but he was too tired to really think of why.

Just as the dragon slammed its claw into its lopsided circle and screeched desperately at McGucket, arm gone up almost to the shoulder, an ax appeared. It swung down hard on McGuckets shoulder, cracking the plate, then several more times. The dragon took the hint, grabbing the crumbling arm and wrenching it out of the socket before the light could make its way to McGuckets chest. It left behind a sparking hole, ripped cords and glowing lights glittering in the dark.

Stan turned to watch the light creep up the wrecked arm, releasing all the nails and plates and cords, then turned to look at where the ax had come from.

Next to McGucket was Dan, leaves slightly green and ruffled, face still covered in all the doodles Stan had left on it months ago, in black charcoal and rainbow ink. The treenager looked at the disappearing arm, then at the crying dragon, then at Stan and Bill, demon still giggling on his shoulder.

“What’d I miss?” he asked, making Stan burst into laughter. The laughter turned into a wheeze as the light disappeared from the arm, and his face became warm, even as the rest of him was suddenly freezing.

Bringing a hand up to rub at his face, he glanced down to see the red smeared on it, then at all the drops hitting the floor by his feet.

“What’s all that about?” he muttered, knees already hitting the ground. Something caught him before his face followed, and he sighed into the scales, blinking slowly as the world turned into a blur of colors and sounds. He shivered, heart beating faster and faster.

It was so, so cold.

Winter was always his least favorite season. Too cold to play at the beach, too loud to play inside, too weird to play with anyone else but each other.

And they always got sick.

He shivered under his blankets, desperately wishing for his brother. They used to share a bed when they were younger and the fire place was put out, but pa had put a stop to that when they became older. Now Ford was snoozing away in the top bunk, warm as could be.

And Stan was down here. Alone.

“Man, talk about abandonment issues.”

A crinkle next to him caught his attention, and he turned to see BILL.

“What are you doing here?” Stan rasped, blinking as the dream came into focus. Then he blinked again when he realized Bill was back to looking like his full demony self, black armor and all.

He was also sitting in his pa’s armchair, which had been moved into his childhood bedroom. The demon was reading a newspaper that, upon closer inspection, didn’t have writing, and instead had the same squiggle on it, over and over.

No, not squiggle. A rune. The BREA-

“Stop that,” Bill snapped, quickly rolling up his newspaper and smacking Stan in the head with it. The outrage he felt quickly turned to bewilderment, as he saw the brown mustache and monocle Bill now had over his face.

The mustache was stuck below where he imagined a nose could be on the demon, but the monocle was slightly to the side of his eye, where it’d be if Bill had two eyes instead of one.

“Why do you look like that?” Stan said, before he shivered violently and snuggled further into the blankets, “And why am I always a kid now.”

“I’m trying to fit the role of your caring father,” Bill answered, leaning forwards and tucking him in, “and because I want you to be. You’re much more enjoyable to be around when you’re tiny and harmless.”

Stan scowled at him then tried to imagine himself bigger.

Nothing happened.

“Wha-”

“Yeah, that’s not gonna work,” Bill said, sounding far too pleased, “Not with your brain too stretched thin to bother with looks. Maybe try sleeping more often, or managing your energy better. Right now I could do anything I wanted, and you’d be helpless to stop me.”

That sounded like it should be bad, but he was too cold to really care.

Bill huffed, then crumbled up his newspaper and threw it behind him, into the room. Stan followed it, then frowned at all the pictures on the wall. As a kid he’d hung up his story ideas and Ford had hung up his own nerd theories on the wall, filling the space and making it their own.

Those pictures were gone, replaced with BRE-

Suddenly Bill was there, looming over him and cutting off his view of the rest of the room. It was probably supposed to be intimidating, but the mustache and useless monocle was making it hard to take him seriously.

“That’s right Goldy,” Bill growled, “Eyes on me. Stop looking too hard at yourself, I can’t afford to try and find another blood key, not when I have a perfectly functional one right here.”

“What?” Stan croaked, shivering violently again, “What are you talking about?”

Bill poked him in the forehead, then leaned back to sit in the chair. When Stan’s eyes started wandering again he growled, then climbed into the bed and laid on his side, caging Stan in and blocking off the rest of the room.

“I’m talking about how if you try that stunt again your brain’s gonna melt.” Bill said, “And Sixer said if I make this whole thing pleasant for you he’ll let me move into the linen closet and give me my own breakfast. I figure, I keep this up? I’ll have an actual room and three meals a day by the end of the month.”

Stan chuckled at the thought of Bill sleeping in a pile of towels, then groaned. Even in a dream, he felt awful. An ache seemed to go through him, down to the bone, while the coldness went even deeper. After a moment he realized he closed his eyes and squinted one open to look at Bill.

The demon was still there, one hand propping his head up while the other started tracing something on Stan’s chest, over the blanket. It left black lines that slowly faded as they sunk into him and left him feeling more and more drowsy.

“What are you doing” he asked, watching the lines disappear.

“Making sure you don’t get too curious. Last thing I need is for you to start wandering around here while you’re like this.”

He hummed, then snuggled further into the blankets, trying to get warm. When pa was done he pat his chest a few times, then pulled out his newspaper, flipping to a page full of pictures of dead rats.

“Woah,” he whispered, trying to angle his head to see better, “That’s the best thing I’ve ever seen.”

“Psh. You think this is good? Back in my day you’d find fairies floating in buckets by the dozens. Their tiny little brains were hard wired to drown themselves whenever they saw their own reflection.”

 He giggled, then moved his head to rest on pa’s shoulder. It was bumpy and uncomfortable, and pa made a sound of disgust, but he didn’t mind. Pa was always making those kinds of sounds at him.

Pa flipped to another page, and they laughed at the man with backwards arms and legs. They kept going, laughing and mocking more and more unfortunate people. It was nice, all it was missing was-

His brother snuggled into his side, wrapping his arms around him and resting his head on his chest. Warmth started to seem in there, slowly spreading further as he let out a sigh and closed his eyes.

“Ugh. Finally. If I was at full power I’d never have to stoop to this. I’d just snap my fingers and fix your crumbling brain.”

He hummed, letting the warmth grow, spreading golden light everywhere as it did.

Then he was falling, warmth growing as he sank deep, deep, and deeper still.

Chapter Text

He wasn’t sure how long he floated there, in the dark. It could have been minutes, or hours.

Days.

The darkness was nice and comfortable. More comfortable than he’d been in a while. Something heavy was on his legs, pressing them into the softness below him, and a warm weight sat on his chest, beating in time with his own heart. Faint buzzing filled the air, distant and pleasant, with an occasional rumbling that shook his body, rocking it back and forth. Whatever was underneath him was soft and smooth, rubbing his hands as he started running his fingers over it.

As time went on though, he became aware of a deep ache in his chest, like a bruise. The beating of his heart turned from comforting to pounding, as it rattled his brain and eyes. Everything felt sore, itchy, his throat was dry, and he was starving.

It felt almost like a hangover; except he was pretty confident he hadn’t been drinking.

With agonizing slowness, he opened one of his eyes, squinting at the ceiling above him. It looked like the library, although it was hard to tell with how everything had a nauseating rainbowy gleam. He glanced down to see the weight on his legs was the dragon’s head, laying across his lap as it rumbled away at something, and the warmth on his chest was his handwarmer.

Hmm. That wasn’t good.

“Isn’t that a bomb?” he rasped, then groaned as the world exploded into noise. He closed his eye as everything started shaking, then squinted it open again when he felt something looming over him.

It was McGucket, face pinched and hovering over him. Like the ceiling, there was a rainbowy aura around him, that started to fade the longer Stan squinted. He was kneeling on whatever Stan was laying on, eyes darting around as one hand came up to move the hand warmer from Stan’s chest to the crook of his elbow.

The other hand was missing, along with the rest of McGucket’s arm.

The plating had been removed from his shoulder, and the frayed cords from before were gone as well. Stan couldn’t see the sides from here, but he’d bet money that the rest of the socket wasn’t a sparking mess. It almost looked like it hadn’t been damaged at all, if you ignored the fact that he was very much still missing the rest of the arm.

Right. He was hoping that it had been a very vivid dream. Not everything, the time between the…. incident, and watching McGucket’s arm fall apart was blurrier and hazier as time went on, in the way too many sleepless nights were. The feeling of fear and anxiety, and the need to keep moving and do things, were all that really stuck out to him. Along with all the night terrors that had been plaguing his sleep.

Except for that one moment. The time he grasped the BREAK rune to the moment he collapsed. Every detail he remembered in perfect clarity, like someone had painted it out in his mind. Understanding the rune, the feeling of reaching out and marking McGucket, then the expression on his face as his arm fell to pieces. All of it was seared into his memory.

Which meant it took less than a second to make a decision.

“What happened to you.” he rasped, ready to avoid whatever conversation anyone might want to have, “Dragon finally melt it off?”

Instead of something like horror or pity like he’d hoped, McGucket gave him a suspicious look, then adjusted the blanket that was laying on top of him and leaned in closer.

“You tryin’ to tell me you don’t recall what happened?” he asked, voice even.

“Yeah,” Stan replied, struggling to open his other eye, “S’why I asked.”

“I see,” McGucket gave him a considering look, then fiddled with something on Stan’s waist. He lifted his head to see the blanket covering him slightly lifted, and his left arm tied to his side with a leather strap in some kind of mitten. Stan wiggled his other arm, and realized it was tied down too, fingers squished together.

What the fuck?

“We won’t be needing these then, will we?” McGucket kept going on, undoing whatever mechanism was keeping Stan’s arm down and giving him some kind of weird look.

“I guess?” Stan said, bewildered. The dragon rumbled something, but McGucket just hummed and didn’t respond, moving to undo the other one, “Why did we need them at all?”

“No reason to worry about, I suppose,” McGucket said in the most hair-raising voice possible. Stan was positive the metal man was trying to catch him out on something, but for the life of him he had no idea what. What did his tying his arms up have to do with him remembering McGuckets arm falling apart?

“I’m still worried.”

“Well, since you don’t recall what happened,” McGucket said, ignoring him completely, then reaching over with his one arm to help Stan sit up, “Why don’t you tell us what the last thing you remember was.”

Stan let out a huff as he was propped up against the dragon, who had shifted slightly to get closer, then looked around. They were in the library, on top of a giant mattress with black sheets in the middle of the entry way. On top of him was a thick yellow blanket with an eye in the center, that he pinched between his fingers and rubbed as his gaze wandered.

The dragon was curled around him, like it often was, and peeking over its head across and above him were the boys, Dan, and Emma-Ma. None of them got closer as he got his bearings, but they did wave when he did, so that was something. Dan’s face had been cleaned off, the tips of all his leaves were green, and he was finally wearing a different shirt.

So was Stan, now that he was paying attention. Instead of… whatever he’d been wearing (something blue? Maybe?) he was wearing a loose tan shirt with golden embroidery on the collar and cuffs. Probably because his last one got coated in blood, but the idea of someone (probably Dan as the only almost adult with two working arms) stripping him made him squirm. He took a moment to get comfortable, groaning as he did so. Everything was stiff and sore, and his mouth felt disgusting and dry.

“Can I get some water first?” he asked, bringing up his now freed (why?) hands to rub at his face and buy some time.

“Sure can! Dan, would you..?” McGucket waved at Dan, and the treenager disappeared. Stan used the time to think about the last thing he remembered that had nothing to do with McGuckets arm. Being in Fords room was his best bet. He had a vague recollection of chatting up the dragon in there, so it was probably something that actually happened and not a dream.

Dan reappeared with a wooden cup, clambering down the dragon’s side and passing it to McGucket who handed it Stan, then dashed away and vaulted over the dragon, peering back over a moment later. Stan sipped at his water, then downed the whole thing as fast as possible while he thought about what he’d just witnessed. His eyes trailed downwards to where the handwarmer had rolled down to rest near his hip, and he eyed it.

“Wasn’t that thing dangerous,” He said, gesturing to it with the hand not holding the cup, “I thought you said it could explode.”

“It can,” McGucket responded, taking the cup and tossing it back towards Dan (who caught it with a small cheer, then quieted at the others shushing and went back to lurking), “but it’s primarily a battery. It’s used to power things, and will only explode if handled incorrectly. Now if you don’t mind?”

Stan grunted at the raised eyebrow, then tapped the blanket and looked over at the dragon.

“I guess, Fords room?” he lied, trying to look contemplative and not avoidant, “went up there, then boom! Woke up… here? Why am I in the library anyway.”

“We were looking into something that apparently isn’t necessary anymore,” McGucket said, “But that’s alright, the important thing is you’re awake and responding. Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to talk to my wife about something.”

“Sure?” Stan said, and McGucket stood and walked over to where Emma-May was hovering and started whispering something. Dan scuttled over to join in on the conversation, shooting him glances before Emma-May waved her hand through his arm and drew his attention.

It was slightly annoying, being excluded in a conversation that was probably about him, but he was too tired to really put in the energy to complain. Instead, he leaned back with a sigh and looked at the ceiling (the rainbows had thankfully faded, only appearing if he moved too fast), then down at the dragon (who was watching him with its dinner eyes). They stared at each other for a moment, the dragon cooing softly, before Emma-May called for it and its gaze snapped towards her.

With another sigh he looked down at the blanket, pinching the material between his fingers and rubbing it, frowning. It was really ugly, but incredibly warm and soft. Lifting it up to look closer, he could see thousands of tiny threads, woven together. On closer inspection it wasn’t a solid yellow, but varying shades, put together in an intricate triangle patterns. He had no idea why someone would spend what must have been ages making a blanket that looked so terrible, but whatever.

As the whispered conversation continued, he got more and more entranced by all the tiny threads. Who had made the blanket? Why? Did Bill do it? Was it made with magic? Or had someone taken the time to actually weave this monstrosity. How long would that have taken? What was it even made of?

What would it look like if he BROKE it?

Idly, without thinking, he lifted his hand, letting the warmth pulse from his heart to the tip of his finger. So many threads, so many shades of yellow, making the world’s ugliest comfortable blanket. He thought about all those tiny threads, unraveling into a mess of string. Maybe then it could be put back together into something that didn’t hurt to look at.

The warmth felt steady as he traced the BREAK rune into the blanket. The DESTRUCTION rune. The rune used to take something apart, as long as he could picture how he wanted it to happen.

It almost felt like it was whispering to him. A little boy, sharing all the best ideas. Or yapping, like a dog excited to see its owner. Eager to get to work. A distant voice, calling his name, saying something just out of range.

So many threads, unraveling with just one rune.

Potentially months’ worth of work, undone in an instant.

Almost like-

A giant metal hand clamped over his, just as he was about to finish the rune and jerked it away from the blanket. A golden glowing line connected his finger to where he’d left off, before it fizzled and vanished. Stan gasped as the warmth shot back to his heart, making his chest buzz before it evened out to follow the beat.

He jittered for a moment, then made a weird choking sound when McGucket jerked his hand forwards and tied it back down to his side, shoving it in the mitten and pulling the buckle tight before reaching to do the same with the other one.

“And that’s why they’re tied down,” McGucket said, turning his head slightly so everyone else peeking over the dragon could hear him, “At this point he just can’t help himself.”

“What?” Stan wheezed, the hand that had been writing spasming as whatever lingering  warmth there buzzed away and made the whole thing feel numb, “Wha- I just- Huh?”

McGucket gave him an unimpressed look, then grabbed the handwarmer bomb and placed it in his lap. When Stan did nothing but stare back in confusion he sighed, rubbing his forehead. The dragon made a grumbling sound, and the metal man sighed again.

“I know, I know. You told me before, I just!” McGucket growled, then moved so he was leaning back against the dragon’s side, right next to Stan, “It’s hard. Every time I think I’ve got it all sorted, something else comes up. The fact that he even tried to lie about it! Its!”

With a heavy sigh the metal man lifted his remaining hand and pinched the bridge of his nose, then turned to look down at Stan.

“If I hadn’t been here, what were you going to do to the blanket?” he asked, sounding tired. Before Stan could try and plead ignorance, he held up his hand, “And don’t try to fib. I know you remember just fine what happened with my arm. Probably remember it better then anything else in your life.”

He did. It was the clearest memory he ever had. He was pretty sure he could count the nails that dropped off of McGuckets arm if he tried, and the order they fell. Not like he’d tell any of them that.

“I don’t-”

“Yes, you do,” McGucket interrupted, hand settling onto Stan’s head and shaking it slightly, ignoring Stan’s cry of outrage, “Unlike the rest of you, I know sorcery when I see it, and how it works. If I’d known you were that close to clicking, I’da locked you in a room somewhere and not let you near anyone ‘till it happened. Do you know how many click related deaths there are? Or were, I suppose.”

“Whats clicking?” Stan asked, trying to shake the hand of his head, “And sorcery? Isn’t that just a fancy word for wizard?”

The heavy metal hand disappeared as McGucket slammed it into his face.

“That’s what I said,” Dan called out, and McGucket groaned.

“Another word for wizard,” he grumbled, dragging the hand down his face, “If you said that back in my day, you’d get jumped. No, sorcery is not another word for wizard. They’re not anything alike. And clicking is what- well, no, the actual ‘official’ term is ~resonating~,” McGucket brought up his hand and wiggled his fingers, grimacing, before dropping it, “but back home we just said sorcerers clicked.”

“That’s what you did,” McGucket said, turning and poking Stan in the forehead, “when you undid my arm. S’when someone, well, clicks, with the flow of magic. Now it knows you’re listening, and it’s not going to stop bugging you until you use it. It’s also how I know you remember what happened, they did studies about it, and every sorcerer could recall with perfect accuracy the first time they casted.”

Stan scowled and tried to rub his forehead, then growled when his hands just jerked at his side and did nothing.

“You can’t-”

“I can prove it,” McGucket interrupted him, again, “You just tried to destroy this blanket somehow using sorcery, which means you clicked, and since you hadn’t been going around destroying things with your bare hands before my arm, it was probably the first time you’d done it.”

Stan scowled harder at McGuckets unimpressed stare, before looking away and trying to cross his arms. When his arms did nothing, he hunched his shoulders instead.

“Fine! You got me!” Stan growled, glaring at everyone, “Yes, I remember. I didn’t want to talk about it, so I figured I’d do a little fibbing! Happy!”

“I’m not happy you destroyed my husband’s arm, no.” Emma-May called out, and he shot her a dirty look.

“If he didn’t want it broken he shoulda kept his hands to himself!” Stan snapped, “Not my fault it was right there and breakable! Look at that guy!”

Everyone turned to look at McGucket, who looked back with a long-suffering expression.

“Look at all those tiny nails!”

“Screws”

“They were practically begging me to pop them out!” Stan snarled at the giant metal hand that came down and pat his head, “Get off me! You walking lump of-”

“You’re right.” McGucket said, cutting of Stan’s tirade. He stared up at the metal man in shock, before straightening up and looking away.

“Of course I am!” Stan glanced at McGucket from the side of his eye, subtly trying to free his head, “But you should explain why, just so everyone else knows.”

“Because I should have recognized the signs,” McGucket said, lifting his hand and setting it on the dragon’s side, “I’m the only one left who can. Besides Bill, but he was never going to be helpful here.”

“Hey!” Stan jumped in surprise at the sound of Bill’s screechy voice, then looked up to find the demon perched above him on the dragon’s back, “I gave Goldy here a warning, not my fault he didn’t listen!”

“When did you do that?” Stan asked, trying to remember seeing the demon the last… however long it’s been since before the arm incident. It was hard to say with how everything started blurring together.

“That’s not the important part,” Bill shot back, “the important part is I tried.”

“I’m sure you gave him the vaguest warning when he was paying the least amount of attention,” Emma-May called out, “So that makes you partially responsible for my husband’s arm.”

Bill blew a raspberry, then rolled away out of sight.

“Anyway,” McGucket said, turning back to Stan, “I was so darn busy with the castle, and keeping a look out for anyone wanderin’ too close, and Stanford’s curse, I chalked up all your moodiness to the break in. Didn’t think to see if that battery of yours coulda had any long-term consequences, like what’s apparently an abnormally large magic reserve. Wrote off all your exhaustion as lack of sleep, and seeing, you know.”

McGucket waved his hand at the dragon, and Stan frowned, looking down at the blanket.

Yeah. He knew. He’d chalked up how awful he felt to that too. Still wasn't convinced there was another reason either.

“But I went and took a look at your circles,” McGucket said, after a moment of silence, “Figured out you’d been pumping all your reserve into them. Didn’t matter much when you had your battery, little thing was probably charging you up before you noticed anything was missing. But then ‘that’ happened, I took the battery, and you kept on going and going.”

“So what,” Stan grumbled, “you think I’m some fancy wizard now? I told you, didn’t I? Magic’s Ford’s thing, not mine. Not sure what happened with your stupid arm, but it had nothing to do with me.” As long as he ignored how it felt to watch it fall to pieces and how the glow seemed to pulse with his own heart.

“It’s sorcery, not wizardry,” McGucket said, “and it used to be common. You might be the first one in the last few hundred years.”

“Now I know you’re making this up.” Stan growled, trying to wiggle his hands out of the straps, “Like I keep telling you, Ford’s the magic expert. I’m just the muscle. It- None of this makes sense if its me.”

The dragon grumbled, then reached over and poked Stan in the chest with a talon, before clicking a lot and gesturing in the air. Stan stared at it for a while, before turning to McGucket with a raised eyebrow.

“He said there’s more to you then your muscle, and that you don’t need to be an expert to be a sorcerer, you just need to understand what you want to do.”

Stan gave the dragon a suspicious squint, just as it snarled low and glared at McGucket.

“I’m not repeating all of that.”

The snarling got louder, but McGucket held firm, doing a weird motion with his arm that looked like he was trying to cross it and forgot he only had one.

“He said if anyone was going to be a sorcerer it’s you,” Dan called out when neither budged, “Because you’re the best most special Stanley in the whole world, so of course you’d be able to do ancient forgotten magics. And that he isn’t surprised that you’re so special, because your so great and amazing.”

Stan opened his mouth to call Dan out on his lie, then closed it when the dragon nodded and looked pleased with itself. Well, if the impossible dragon thought he was a sorcerer, why not. Why not let anything happen. Maybe this was a dream and if he went along with it, he’d eventually wake up.

“So what, I just wave my hand and things happen now?” Stan asked, turning to face McGucket again, “Gonna be honest, not really understanding how this works.”

McGucket rubbed his eyes, then looked down at his hand, curling the fingers, before turning to face Stan.

“How much do you know about magic?” he asked.

Stan shrugged. Even after all his reading he’d done the last few months all he really knew was he had to draw a circle, write runes down in the correct order, then make it work. The books didn’t really describe the process that well, just that it involved will power and knowing what he wanted to happen.

“Right, right,” McGucket muttered, tapping his leg, “Why would you know anything. Most folks don’t need to know a lick about it nowadays. Well,” McGucket turned to face Stan, “First of all, magic ain’t some static thing. It’s alive, in a way, and runes are how it talks and how we talk to it. Wizards, like your brother and I, we write it a message, tell it what we want it to do. Sorcerers, like you, you don’t need to learn all the important bits of conversation. You’re more connected, more natural. You don’t just talk to it, it talks to you, and when you click, that’s when it realizes it has someone new to talk to, and it’ll talk your ear off. Probably chatting up more than usual, since there hasn’t been any sorcerers in a while. Now-”

Stan zoned out as McGucket kept going, talking about runes and history and ‘back in his day’ or whatever. Like an old man. He sounded like some of his teachers Stan and Ford had back in his learnin’ days. There was an old grouch who came to the school building three times a week to talk about local history, and he’d drone on and on about how ‘back in his day’ the town was set up differently, and ‘back in his day’ they’d all be working the mills or conscripted.

And really, why did he have to know a bunch of magic mumbo jumbo. Just because he’d ‘clicked’ or whatever with a rune? He’d done just fine before knowing almost nothing, he was pretty sure he could keep on going without whatever information dump was happening. Also, he could apparently  now destroy things with his bare hands in a way cooler way than he’d been doing his entire life, so if-

“Stanley.”

“I was listening!” Stan shouted, sitting up straight and avoiding eye contact with everyone, “Runes talking, magic, blah blah blah. Can you untie my arms now?”

“The fact that you asked tells me you didn’t hear a thing,” McGucket said, sounding tired, “and no. Not until you get more control. The last thing we need is you blowing a hole through a wall because you wanted to see how it’d fall to pieces.”

“Like I’d-”

“Arm. Blanket.”

“You grabbed me!” Stan didn’t remember why, just that he had, “And look at this thing! It’s awful! I’d be doing the world a favor making it fall apart.”

“Hey!” and there was Bill again, popping up next to Emma-May and looking offended, “It’s a tasteful-”

“Its ugly,” Dan and the boys said together, and Bill sputtered in outrage before disappearing again, grumbling.

“And I’m sure you’d rationalize why you’d need to watch a wall fall apart,” McGucket continued, standing up, “Its just how new sorcerers are. Give ‘em the power to rewrite reality and they can’t help but test it out on every little thing. Knew a lady back home, had a little fae in her blood. One day she clicked with the dance rune and had people clicking their heels together left and right, because ‘they looked like they needed a little more life in their legs’.”

“Theres a dance rune?” Stan said, locking onto the only important thing McGucket had said since he’d woken up, “What does it look like. For a purely academic interest.”

McGucket sighed and shook his head, then waved at the dragon to move and reached down to pull Stan to his feet. Stan groaned at the movement, muscles aching and legs shaking as he tried to stand on the mattress. The blanket slid off, taking the handwarmer with it along with the steady warmth he realized was coming from it and making his bruised chest feel better. Thankfully McGucket didn’t let go of him, so he didn’t have to try and balance with his hands tied down. They waited a moment for the dragon to uncurl and move, before McGucket dragged him off the bed and towards a table, everyone else trailing behind.

“What’s with the peanut gallery,” Stan grumbled, collapsing into a chair and resting his head on a table, “Don’t you have better things to do then watch a man get dragged around.”

“Most definitely,” Emma-May said, floating above the table. All of the books she’d been going through had been moved to the opposite side of the library instead of spreading out across the entire room, and only a few thick tomes had been placed right in front of Stan, along with a stack of blank parchment and a stick of charcoal. The dragon stood up and stretched, then walked over and stood over him, twisting its neck down to watch him.

“But sorcery has become a lost art,” She continued, gesturing for the boys and Dan to sit at the other end of the table, “Even in my day there were only a few dozen known sorcerers, and I never got the chance to meet any of them. This is a good learning opportunity for the boys, and an interesting one for me.”

Stan side eyed her as McGucket sat down next to him, placing the handwarmer next to him, and pulled one of the books closer, flipping it open to a page and tapping on it. Stan moved his head a little closer to the hand warmer, then bent his neck to look at the rune. Unlike the BREAK rune, which looked like a mountain snaped in half, this one looked like a weird Y with three lines on the top instead of two.

“Since there’s no one else to teach you,” he said, grabbing a parchment and setting it in front of Stan, “besides Bill, who I don’t trust to do anything-”

“Despite me being on my best behavior and everything!” Bill yelled out from under the table, rattling a few chairs as he did whatever he was doing under there.

“-I’ll have to do it. I already finished putting up defenses and a sentry, so if anyone comes up the path we’ll know, and the only way in is through the front door. Which means I can focus on drilling at least one more rune into your skull and making sure you don’t try and break everything that catches your fancy.”

Stan huffed rolling his eyes. He didn’t want to break everything. All he wanted to do was watch the table snap in half, just to see what would happen. And undo the spines on the books, let all the pages free. Maybe try again for the blanket, finally end its suffering. And really, did McGucket need two arms? Because-

“This,” McGucket said, cutting off his train of thought and sliding the book closer, “is the grow rune. It’s used to help plants grow. You’re gonna write the thing over and over for the next hour, then we’re gonna go commune with nature.”

Stan recoiled, face twisting in disgust.

“What! Nature!” he shuddered, “No thanks. Don’t you have something in there that doesn’t involve me becoming a friendless hermit in the woods?”

“No.” McGucket said, leaning down to untie one of his arms, “And since I’m the one who’s arm you broke, you don’t have a say in what I pick out for you.”

“I thought you said it wasn’t my fault.”

“No, I said I shouldn’t have grabbed you. You still broke my arm, so you’re gonna learn how to become a respectable-”

The dragon burst out laughing, a deep throaty sound that shook the room, before it slammed a claw over its mouth and looked away. Its body started shaking, and it laid down so it could clamp both of its claws over its mouth as it wheezed.

“I don’t think Goldy here knows what that means,” Bill said, clambering into the chair across from McGucket, “And anyway, this is a waste of time. Just let me do it!”

“Do wha-”

The dragon’s laughter cut off as it growled, then reached forwards and dragged Stan’s chair closer to McGucket. Stan used his one free hand to grab the arm and make sure he didn’t fall off, while McGucket grabbed the paper and moved it closer.

“We’re not letting you dump a bunch of rune knowledge in his brain,” McGucket said, “and anyway-”

“Hey! Don’t I get a say in this!? Maybe I want to get demon magic drilled into my brain!” Stan yelled, glaring at everyone, then he turned to Bill, and the demon sent a smug look at the dragon and McGucket. The look turned into a glare when Stan continued with, “I wish I had something to eat, that I can actually eat. Human food.”

There was no way he was letting a demon dump weird magic into his mind, and no one had said anything about breakfast. Or what time it was. Plus, Bill owed him at least ten wishes after disappearing.

Bill glowered and snapped his fingers, and three slices of bread appeared in front of him. They were stale and had weird wrinkly fruit in them, but Stan didn’t hesitate shoving one down his throat as fast as possible, scattering crumbs all over the table.

“Oh yeah,” Emma-May said, rubbing her chin, “when’s the last time we fed him? Yesterday? Speaking of food,” She turned to look at the dragon and gave it a hard look, “Stanford, go get something to eat. You’ve been stuck to his side the last three days and-”

“Three days!” Stan yelled, sounding more like ‘free hays’. He choked on the dry bread, then wheezed at the hard slam McGucket delivered to his back, “What do you mean three days!” he rasped, sitting up straight and looking at everyone wildly. No wonder They’d finished the castle fortifications, if it had three whole days where he was snoozing away.

“Its to be expected Stanley,” Emma-May said, as she floated over and started shooing the dragon out of the library. The dragon kept shooting him looks full longing, taking the smallest of steps as it slowly got to its feet, then shuffled out of the door backwards so it could look at him as long possible.

“Not only were you extremely sleep deprived,” She continued, floating back and giving him a wide berth, “but you were suffering from severe magic depletion. Fiddleford was surprised you were able to ‘click’ at all.”

What, were the knights suddenly magic experts now? He really needed to figure out how to talk to them, find out what all they knew. And how to order them to do things. His eyes wandered to the paper in front of him, and how empty it was.

Perfect for SHREDDING.

“Stanford’s been by your side the whole time,” McGucket said, shoving the stick of charcoal into Stan’s hand and sliding the book with the grow rune on it if front of him, “too afraid to leave, and because. Well.” McGucket gave him a look, then sighed, “We’ll talk about that later, when you’re less likely to-”

Stan jumped when McGucket jerked forwards and grabbed his hand again, wrenching it away from the paper where he’d been drawing the BREAK rune with charcoal. He blinked at it, then shuddered at the feeling of the warmness inside him slushing around.

“-To do that.” he finished.

“Shouldn’t have been so shredable,” Stan muttered, glaring at the paper, then at the grow rune. Then at everyone else. The boys were watching in fascination, while Emma-May was looking at him like he was an interesting puzzle she was trying to solve, “How long is this supposed to take? And are you sure something’s actually going to happen? Because I don’t think-”

“If you say ‘I don’t think sorcery is real’ I’ll make you write the grow rune for two hours,” McGucket cut in, eyes focused on Stan’s hand, “We already discussed how you remember breaking my arm, how else do you think that happened?”

“Bill.” Stan said, eyeing the demon next to him. He had grabbed some of the paper and another stick of charcoal and was doodling pictures of himself in his larger form, crushing towns and riding on what he assumed was the dragon. Or just a dragon.

“Please,” Bill scoffed, rolling his eye, “If I was going to break Tin Heads arm, I’d do it the right way. Not the way you did it, where he can put it back together.”

That made some kind of sense, he supposed. He grumbled as he went back to glaring at the grow rune and its stupid funky Y shape. It felt like just as he was starting to get a handle on his life, something else would go out of his control. First kidnapped by a dragon, then forced to read, possessed by a ghost, sold off to a demon, watching-

Stan slammed the charcoal tip onto the paper and scowled as he drew out the rune. As much as he wanted to rage and scream that this was all some kind of mistake, that Ford should be the one with crazy magic powers, he couldn’t deny what he’d done, or what he’d tried to do to the blanket and paper.

The longer he was awake the more aware he became of the warmth in his chest. It beat in time with his heart, but wasn’t the heat of his body. It was some other, not-part-part of him. Every beat made the warmth grow larger, spreading further as he scribbled away. It was strange, some curling thing that was tangled inside of him, but had always been there. He just hadn’t been aware of it before, hadnt noticed the way he could tug on it and let it flow out of him, then jerk back every time McGucket pulled his hand away from whatever he’d tried to use it on.

Did Ford feel like this, every time he activated his circles? Did other wizards? It was like he’d finally noticed a limb he’d had his whole life and no one had bothered to tell him about. The urge to use it was making him jittery, the need to see what would happen if he just pushed it out the right way.

In the back of his mind he could hear the BREAK rune, whispering and begging to just-

Stan jerked back as a golden line suddenly shot down the table in front of him, and a second later the whole thing snapped in half, middle going upwards and sending everything on top flying. Books slammed into the ground and papers fluttered in the air, while McGucket lay half under the half he’d be on and Bill sat crushed under the other. The handwarmer, which had been sitting next to his elbow, rolled along the floor until it hit the mattress.

He stared at the hand holding the charcoal in confusion, then turned to look at his other hand, which he’d wiggled out of the restraint and was still glowing slightly. The heat in his chest eased, and he let out a long breath, feeling the tension flow out of him.

The boys and Dan gave a quiet round of applause, until Emma-May shot them a glare. After a moment McGucket shoved the table off of him, and Bill teleported to sit on his head.

“Lets go look at some nature,” McGucket said, looking around the room, “get back to tracing later.”

“Sounds like a plan!” Bill said, pulling on his hair, “Then maybe Goldy here can fix my courtyard. The things still half dead from a millennia of neglect.”

“There’s a courtyard?” Stan asked, blinking slowly and hands flexing as he surveyed the damage, “How havent I found it? I’ve been wandering around this place for months.”

“That’s because you’ve only been wanderin’ around half the castle,” McGucket said, walking over to grab the handwarmer, then coming back to shove it one of Stan’s hands while he restrained the other, pulling the buckle tighter, “most of its hidden behind secret passages or complex mechanisms. Not to mention there’s an enchantment that makes people wander in circles somethin’ fierce.”

“And you guys just let that happen!” Stan yelled, “What else have I missed around here!”

“Well, we are keeping you prisoner Stanley,” Emma-May said, floating over and eyeing the mess, while McGucket grabbed the handwarmer and stuffed it into one of his pockets, then grabbed Stan’s other hand,  “so after some debate we agreed not to tell you about the secret passages and hidden rooms. Especially with your penchant for running off.”

God. And Fords book-

Stan jerked his hand out of McGuckets hold and whipped around, eyes searching for the satchel he carried Fords book in. With all of what had happened, he hadn’t even realized it was gone. Who’d taken it? Where could they have-

His eyes found the satchel with Dan, strap across his chest as the treenager wandered closer. Stan lunged for it, free hand grabbing the strap and pulling, before McGucket wrapped his arm around his chest and pulled him away.

“Give that back!” he snarled, kicking his legs and trying to grab at it, “That’s mine!”

“Now Stanley,” McGucket said, “Just calm-”

Stan growled, then twisted and tried to free himself from McGuckets hold. That was Fords book, and it was his job as his twin to-

“What if you break it on accident.” Dan said, grinding his struggles to a halt as he stared at the kid with wide eyes.

What if he had? The thought of watching all those pages fly was both addicting and horrifying. That was Ford’s book, something he thought was so important he hid it in a secret room behind two blood seals. His brother would never forgive him if he BROKE something so important.

Again.

“Alrighty there,” McGucket said gently, setting him back on his feet, “Dan’s just gonna hold onto it for now, but we can give it back once you get yourself under control, sound good?”

Stan stared at the satchel some more, then turned to face McGucket.

“Where’s the courtyard. I wanna get this over as fast as possible.”

With a sigh of relief McGucket turned and exited the library, grabbing Stan’s free hand in his own and Emma-May keeping an eye on his other the whole way there.

He was going to commune with nature so hard, all those plants would regret the day they ever grew.

Chapter Text

McGucket dragged Stan through the hallways, giant hand squishing his fingers so he couldn’t lunge and start writing the BREAK rune over everything he saw (and he wanted to, kept staring hard at every piece of furniture and painting they passed with longing). They went down several sets of stairs, some he was pretty sure hadn’t existed before, then down a few more hallways until McGucket opened a door and Stan was blinded by sunlight.

The lighting in the castle was better than anything Stan had seen anywhere else, but it still didn’t beat the brightness stinging Stan’s eyes as he squinted and was hit by the earthy smell of nature. He stumbled, McGucket pausing so that he could get his bearings, then stared at the courtyard in front of him.

It was larger than any courtyard he’d seen before (Not that he’d seen a lot), big enough to hold four or five dragons, and even from here it was obvious that the entire thing was shaped like a triangle (as everything always was). The castle loomed on each side, dark and ominous above them, while a covered walkway lined the edges, small openings allowing entrance into the area every few dozen feet, with benches set up against the walls of the castle and the glassless windows into the courtyard.

The courtyard itself was a mess of tangled plants and withered bushes, with only small hints of where fences had once held back bushes and a vague dip where a path might be hidden under the foliage. There was one dead tree at each corner, with a large black barked one in the middle, bare branches arching towards the sky and giving him the creeps. He didn’t recognize anything growing here, and some of them looked dangerous, with weird spots and a few teeth.

Stan didn’t care. Without thinking twice he jerked his hand out of McGuckets hold, dashed toward the grass, and threw himself to the ground, breathing in the smell and soaking in the heat of the sun. Everything had that fresh spring feeling, new growth coming in, bugs buzzing, a few brave birds chirping from some of the trees. He hadn’t realized how much he missed being outside, missed the smell and the feeling of the wind on his face, until just now. He’d been cooped up for months at this point, and all the windows were either barred or didn’t open.

He rolled over with a sigh, then opened his eyes to look at the bright blue sky above him, watching the fluffy clouds drift across.

“Shoot, do humans need sunlight to survive?” McGucket muttered, stomping closer, “I don’t recall Stanford ever having this reaction from staying inside all winter, but now I’m not confident he even knew how to take care of himself.”

“Pretty sure Goldy’s just being dramatic.” Bill said, making Stan jump as he remembered the demon was still on his head, looking grumpy about being slammed into the ground and rolled on, “I’ve kept humans in the dungeons for years, and they never croaked. Not from the lack of sun at least.”

“I hate listening to you talk about yourself,” Stan said, eyeing the triangle where he was trying to detangle himself from Stan’s hair, “You always say something awful.”

The sight of the grass waving in the wind distracted him from whatever Bill sniped back. It wasn’t very long yet, only coming up to his ankles, but it was enough to bend in the slight breeze blowing through the courtyard.

He wondered what I’d look like if it exploded.

McGucket clamped his hand on Stan’s before he could do more than lift his arm and reach forwards, then sat down next to Stan’s head and scowled at him.

“I was hoping the sight would be enough to let you click here, but that’s too much to ask, isn’t it. What were you going to do.”

“Blow it up.”

“That’s what I thought.”

“Listen, just.” Stan tried to roll over and sit up, but with Bill now half dangling off his head, McGucket holding one hand and the other still tied down, all he managed to do was roll onto his side and flop over. He struggled for a second, before McGucket used his grip on his hand to pull him up.

“Just let me do it to something.” Stan continued, looking up at McGucket and feeling jittery, “Something small. I think not doing it is killing me. Seriously, like I might explode if I don’t explode something.”

The warm feeling squirming in his chest had eased after he’d broken the table, felt less demanding. It was there and he knew it was there, and it knew he knew and what was a little broken grass? One less window? He needed to see how he could pull and twist and shape it, feel it flow out of him and watch what it did.

“No can do,” McGucket said, eyeing him as his leg started jiggling and he tried to scratch his head with his shoulder, “I know it might feel like it might buzz right out of you, but if you feed it its just gonna get worse. Right now the important thing is learning how to control your magic and not let it control you. Let me just-”

McGucket shoved his free hand back in the strap, tightened it, then let go. Stan wriggled for a moment, trying to pull one of them free, growling when it did nothing but dig into his wrists and hurt his shoulders. With a huff he flopped backwards into the grass, then rolled back and forth while Bill yelled at him, hands still tangled in his hair.

“Now since I’m not a sorcerer,” McGucket said, like Stan wasn’t rolling in the grass and snarling at him, “I’m not sure exactly how you’re supposed to click with other runes. Most of what I remember and read says you just gotta connect with it, which don’t make a lick of sense to me.”

“So, you have no idea what you’re doing.” Stan huffed, coming to a stop face first in the grass, “great.”

“Like I said,” Bill wheezed, yanking his hands out and flopping down next to him, “Just let me do it. Way faster than whatever you’re trying to do here.”

“You mess in my brain enough, I’m good.”

“I know more than anyone else here, and according to Stanford this is what you’ve been doing the last couple weeks. Just try watching some plants grow,” McGucket sighed, waving over at Dan, “see how it makes you feel.”

Stan sighed, then turned his head so he could look at the grass. Someone had cleared a little area here, so the tangled bushes and budding death flowers were further back, making a small safe zone to lay in. The grass in front of him moved back and forth with each of his breaths, tickled his face where he was laying on it, and smelt like grass.

“Makes me feel bored.”

“It’s been ten seconds, look at it longer.”

With a groan Stan pushed himself up with his head and sat down, scowling at all the spiky bushes and their polka dotted leaves. This was the worst, sitting out here in the sun to appreciate nature like an old man, arms tied down and itchy after rolling around so much.

He jumped as something slammed down next to him, and turned to see a big pot full of soil. Dan was standing next to it holding a tiny shovel and a bag, and as Stan watched he dug a little hole, poured what looked like seeds into it, then covered the whole thing.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Stan said, as Dan wandered off with his little tiny shovel, “can’t we do anything else? There’s gotta be a rune in one of those books that isn’t this boring.”

“Probably,” Emma-May said, floating near some kind of hissing flower, “but we determined you needed something calmer to counteract your need for destruction. Something to balance it out.”

“Until this clicks,” McGucket added, leaning forwards and resting his head on his hand, “we’ll be spending every day out here plant watching and writing the grow rune. Now that Dan’s awake he can start helping around the castle taking care of the boys while I sit with you and make sure you don’t blow anything else up.”

“And I’ll stay with you in case you do!” Bill chirped, and Stan turned to see him peering out of a tangled brush, “I want to see what your tiny mind can come up with. Its always funny to see baby sorcerers push their limits, just whacking reality and seeing what sticks.”

Awful. Both of them, awful.

For the rest of the afternoon Stan was forced to sit outside and look at various plants, taking breaks for more rune writing at a small table Dan had brought out so he wouldn’t accidentally blow up the library. The sun and wind felt nice, but having his hands tied down and the burning itch to start dismantling things left and right took away a lot of enjoyment for him.

McGucket hovered over him the whole time, snatching his hands whenever he started reaching for anything or glowing, while Dan and the boys started working on clearing away some of the dead bushes. Occasionally they’d wander over and watch him watch grass or write, but when it became obvious McGucket wouldn’t let him BREAK anything they wandered off again.

The dragon came back as the sun began to set, crushing plants under its claws as it slammed down. Stan glared it from where he was laying on the grass, face first with Bill doing something to his hair.

“Really Stanford?” Emma-May called out from where she was poking at a nearby plant, “We’re trying to get him used to growing things, and now you’re crushing everything.”

Stan eyed the smushed plants as the dragon bent its head down and crooned sadly, “Can I-”

“After dinner,” McGucket said, patting his head, “Like I said, control. Its not… bad, that you’re breaking things, just not great that you’re breaking everything.”

Stan grunted, then turned back to watch the grass, trying to think grow thoughts. Whatever those were. Clicking with the BREAK rune had felt like a deeper understanding of something he already knew, but he’d never been one to take care of plants. Not only was that difficult on the road, he’d grown up by the sea, in the middle of town. Any plants growing there were by the neighbors, and he spent most of his time stomping those down stealing pies from window sills than appreciating the beauty of nature or whatever.

What deeper understanding was there in watching a plant get a little bigger at an agonizingly slow pace? Watching the dead branches shake and creak? Being creeped out by the tree in the middle as the dragon stomped around and started pulling out-

“Stop!” Emma-May cried, floating over to it and waving her hands as the dragon started ripping things out of the ground by the roots, “Those plants are over a thousand- They don’t grow anywhere else! Do you know how- You can’t just- ARGH!”

Stan watched in interest as the dragon sat on its hind legs and started clicking at her, waving its claws around and shaking its head like it was giving her a lecture. With a side eye to make sure McGucket was staring at them both in concern, he rolled over slightly to hide the movement of wiggling one of his hands free while the two of them started going at it.

McGucket had been correct in that he hadn’t actually exploded from the building feeling of warmth in his chest, his magic reserve or whatever, and at some point it had stopped filling him until it buzzed throughout his entire body, pulsing along with his heart and wiggling with the need to do something now that they were aware of each other.

He waited until McGucket looked about ready to interfere with the argument, then yanked his hand out and quickly drew the BREAK rune into the grass nearby. It came even easier now that he was full of magic, not having to travel the length of his arm, and in short order the glowing golden symbol was sinking into the grass.

In fascination he watched as the golden glow started spiraling outwards, cutting the grass in half as it went and filling the air with a fresh smell, making him sneeze. The glow spiraled out more and more, the wind blowing the freshly cut parts and flinging them into the air. The spiral got larger and larger, draining the warmth, until he was abruptly pulled away from the ground, McGucket scowling at him as he blinked.

All at once the glow stopped, the rest sloshing back into him as he lost connection to the ground. Stan wheezed, then sneezed again as more grass was flung into his face by the frantic movement of the dragon running closer and crying out in panic.

“He’s fine,” McGucket said, carrying him over to a nearby bench and setting him down, “he just doesn’t know how to limit the power yet. Something he’ll learn the more he does it.”

The dragon flopped down in front of him, then shoved its face into his stomach as McGucket shoved his hand back in its strap and tightened it.

“I’ll make you something more comfortable once I fix my arm,” he said, patting Stan’s head and brushing off the grass, “if you havent learned control by then.”

Stan muttered angrily, then turned to see the area he’d shorn. There was a giant circle of cut grass, with two impressions from where Stan and McGucket had been sitting and laying down, then more from McGuckets footsteps. It covered most of the yard and had cut down some of the bushes to the side. He hadn’t even realized the spell had gone through him, to absorbed with watching the grass get chopped in half.

Cool.

And a mark for being done for the day. They had dinner in the dining room, Stan fuming as McGucket hand fed him and Bill crooning over his single bread roll. When that was done instead of going to the treasury, they went into a room that had nothing but a table, chair, and various odds and ends. There was no other furniture, and no other doors. Emma-May shooed the boys away to get ready for bed, then disappeared to go ‘figure out’ the courtyard for tomorrow, whatever that meant.

“Now we’ll work on controlling your power,” McGucket said, “Right now you’re just pouring everything into every spell until its finished or you collapse, which is dangerous for number of reasons.”

He led Stan to the chair, then turned and slammed the door in the dragon’s face, ignoring its outraged cries and angry stomping.

“Until you can control yourself, we’ll be doing it in here, just you and me. The last thing we need you trying that rune out on a living person.”

Stan scoffed, “I wouldn’t-”

“You would.” Stan froze at McGuckets tone, looking up to see a grim expression on his face, “Told you, didn’t I? Click-related deaths were a terrible statistic in my time. There were signs to look for, ways to mitigate the damage, but once a sorcerer clicks it becomes a race to teach them as many runes as possible before someone gets hurt. You’re feeling good because you just destroyed all that grass, but if anyone else had been closer I guarantee they’d be your first target.”

Like one of the boys, McGucket didn’t say. “No, I-”

“Stanley,” McGucket interrupted, crouching down across from him and looking sad, “I know a lots been happening lately, and you’re havin’ a rough time of it, but trust me. Sorcerers were well known back in the day, and if this had happened then you’d know how secluded fresh sorcerers were until they had two or three runes they’d clicked with. It wasn’t their fault, just like it’s not really yours. Sorcery has a way of messin’ with the mind, that connection makes all your thoughts work themselves into thinkin’ anything’s alright as long as you get to flex your ability.”

They stared at each other, McGucket searching his gaze, before he nodded and stood. Stan frowned down at the table as the metal man came around and started loosening one of his hands. He was certain he’d never use it on the kids, or Dan. Maybe the dragon, but it was asking for it really with how grabby it got. Bill probably deserved it, and he had no idea how lethal that’d be for the demon.

That certainty wavered when he remembered how quickly he’d lunged for the grass. He hadnt thought about what he was BREAKING, just that he had to do it as quickly as possible. If Tate had wandered too close, If Dan had come back to hand McGucket something…

They had been giving him a wide distance since he’d woken up. He thought it had something to do with the magic, and now he was realizing what.

“Here,” McGucket said, startling him out of his thoughts and placing a ratty-

“Hey! This is my shirt!” Stan yelled, snatching the garment and scowling at McGucket. It had been the one he’d been wearing when the dragon snatched him, in all its rough worn glory. He hadn’t really thought about it over the last few months, seeing as the castle was loaded with much nicer things, but it was still his.

“Is it?” McGucket muttered, eyeing a few of the holes in the sleeves and torso, “I’ve been using it as a dish rag.”

“What? A- Dish rag? You do the dishes?” Stan asked, flabbergasted, “Why a shirt? Why my shirt? Why not use a freaking towel?”

“Of course I do the dishes,” McGucket said, rolling his eyes, “who do you think cooks your meals? And I’ve been using it to clean up my work area, found it in the bottom of a laundry pile and assumed it was one of Stanford’s old ones.”

Stan felt like the ground was falling out from under him. He’d assumed Fiddleford had cooked everything, had taken care of the more mundane chores around the castle. Learning McGucket was the one doing it rocked his entire world view.

“But- But- But what about dinner!” Stan shouted, hands clutching his apparently stolen shirt, “You’ve been stuck to my side all day! When did you find the time to do that!”

“I cook all the weeks meals in advance,” McGucket said, sounding tired, “then have the knights heat things up as needed. They’re not built for tasks with a lot of moving parts, cooking’s a bit much for them.”

Stan stared at McGucket, then turned and stared at the shirt in his hands. McGucket cooked. Had been cooking. Everything Stan had eaten (except for anything wished in by Bill) had been made by the metal man.

Before the image of McGucket puttering around a kitchen froze his brain he slammed the shirt down and started writing the BREAK rune into it, thinking about all those threads coming undone. McGucket didn’t stop him, just sat back on his heels and crossed his one arm as the golden glow ripped through the garment and undid it, knot by knot.

When the final knot came undone the golden glow faded. It eased something in his chest, like when he’d snapped the table in half. Stan sighed at the feeling, then blinked at how exhausted he felt. The warmth was still there, rune still whispering away, but it wasn’t as vibrant as before, not filling him near bursting.

“The more you use it,” McGucket said, stepping forward and sweeping all the threads away, allowing Stan to slump forwards onto the table, “the more you’ll recognize how much power you’re putting in, and how to control it. One shirt shredding spell wouldn’t be enough to wind you like this if you had better control.”

Stan grumbled, then eyed a few other objects on the table. There was a metal box, a quill, some parchment, and a little wooden block. McGucket wandered away to take what had once been his shirt away, and Stan used the time to reach for the quill and write the BREAK rune into it, watching all the little feather bits fall off. McGucket didn’t say anything about it when he came back, just waited for the glow to stop and slid the paper towards him. Stan ripped those into pieces with magic, shattered the wooden block to pieces, and snapped the metal box’s hinges in half.

By the time he was finished the warmth had fizzled into a tiny ember, squeaking away at him as he laid his face down on the table and let his arm dangle by his side. He felt exhausted, strung out in a way that he vaguely recognized as feeling the last few weeks when he wasn’t sleeping after-

It was familiar, and it sucked.

“How ya feelin’ Stanley?” McGucket asked, crouching down next to him and poking him in the head. Stan groaned, then muttered something into the table, closing his eyes and sighing. He felt his hand get shoved back into the strap, then a cold hand pat him on the back.

“That looks about right,” and Stan grunted as McGucket grabbed him by the back of his shirt and hauled him to his feet, using his one hand to help steady him. They left the room behind, and Stan slumped face first onto the dragon’s snout when it shoved its face into his stomach, too tired to try and pull away.

The dragon and McGucket muttered angrily at each other for a few minutes, before it huffed, cupping a claw around Stan and gently turning its head so he’d flop into it. Stan grumbled again, then sighed as he was lifted up and carried. He was ready to collapse, fall into his wagon bed and not be awake for several hours while the magic in his body recharged.

He dozed in the claw, rocking motion and cool scales tugging at his exhausted mind, until they came to a stop. The dragon set him down, and he looked around in confusion to find himself in another hall in front of a door and not the treasury.

“Thought it was bed time,” he muttered, as McGucket came around and tugged him inside, “where’s the bed.”

“You’ll be staying here until we can be sure you won’t kill Stanford in your sleep,” McGucket said, and Stan blinked as he let go to turn on the lights. The room was huge, and looked somewhat like a bedroom, with a small bed pushed against the wall, in a hastily cleared area. It still looked silky and soft like all the other beds in the castle, but without any canopy or fancy frame. Against another was a giant dresser, with small figurines and strange cubes arranged neatly on top.

That was where the similarities to a bedroom ended.

A large window was set into the wall opposite the door (with bars) and underneath that was a large McGucket sized giant desk. Various tools, metal plates, nails, and other devices were laying across it, along with the beginnings of what was obviously McGuckets arm, metal skeleton laid out with some cords restrung around it. Giant shelves lined the rest of the walls, one full of books and stacks of papers, and the rest with boxes of other metallic bits and bobs Stan didn’t recognize. More boxes were lined up around the edges of the room, a giant net in one corner held strange machinery, and two more doors led elsewhere.

McGucket pulled Stan towards one, releasing his hands and grabbing a bundle of clothes to shove in his arms, “Feel free to clean yourself up. I’m fairly sure you’re too tired to cast anything else, but just in case I removed the locks. So be warned.”

With that he opened the door, and Stan shuffled into a large bathroom. It looked similar to the one he usually used, if dustier. There were marks on the floor where things had been dragged out, and a few loose nails rolling around that gave Stan the impression this room was probably used as extra storage and not a bathroom before this.

With a groan he dragged himself to the tub, eyeing the pipes. It would be nice to watch the water burst out of them, but McGucket was right in that he was too tired to tug at the magic sitting tiny in his chest. Instead, he reached out, turned on the water, and took a bath for the first time in who-knows long.

When he was done and dressed, he shuffled out of the bathroom to find McGucket sitting at his desk, bent over the arm with a circular glass and poking at it under a bright lamp. Without looking up he waved over at the small bed, one hand holding a metal rod.

“Beds over there,” he said, “Sorry if I keep you up, I need to work on this while you’re sleeping, or it’ll never get done. Emma-May might come in and out throughout the night, so don’t panic if you see her.”

Stan grunted, tossing his old clothes by the door and walking over to face plant into the bed. Despite McGucket’s concerns, he was out before his head hit the pillow.

Stan blinked at the board in front of him, then down at the table he was sitting at. It looked like the school room of his childhood, long rows of benches and tables facing the front of the room where the day’s instructor would come in and yap at them for hours on end. Except there was no one else here but him, and instead of a teacher there was-

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Stan said, giving Bill a look of disgust, “What is this. And stop making me a kid!”

Bill’s eye crinkled in delight as Stan scowled back and made himself his actual age, scooching back in the chair so he wasn’t as squished.

“Welcome to dream school!” Bill said, leaning on the podium in front of him, “where you’re going to tell that walking bag of bolts we went over that stupid grow rune a million times, so that I’ll get a fancy breakfast tomorrow.”

“Why would I do that.” Stan grumbled pushing away from the table and walking towards the door.

“Easy!” Bill smiled from the other side, looming over him as he stepped into the hall, “If you don’t, I’ll do this!”

He wheezed as he found himself in an endless sea of gold, blackened sky crackling above him and streaked with fire.

The ground shifted underfoot, and he yelled as something grabbed his leg. He looked down to see a black skeletal hand, gripping his ankle and pulling him down.

As he watched more and more hands burst out of the gold, gripping onto his clothes and pulling, harder and harder, until he was scrambling to keep himself above the tide.

Just as he was about to be pulled under a skeleton burst out in front of him, leaning down to grip his face tightly.

“Well look who it is,” came Juan’s voice, raspy and gurgling, “Stanley Pines.”

Stan gasped as he pulled away, hands coming up to rub at his face. With a shudder he looked around to find himself back in the hall, Bill leaning on the wall across from him and examining his fingers.

“What’d you do to me,” Stan rasped, patting himself down and looking for any signs of skeletons.

“Nothing your puny mortal brain isn’t already doing to itself,” Bill said, pushing away from the wall and stretching, “As long as I’m here messing with the signal, your sleep is nightmare free. But if you want me to go…”

Stan couldn’t help the panicked look he shot Bill’s way, and he growled at the smug look Bill shot back. He turned and stomped off down the hall, away from Bill’s cackling laughter. Letting Bill see his moment of weakness was bad enough, he didn’t need him rubbing it in Stan’s face.

“Well since you’re so desperate,” Bill said, suddenly next to him and keeping pace, “I guess I’ll stick around.”

“Or don’t,” Stan grumbled, glaring at him, “Can’t you do this without talking to me?”

“No-”

Stan grinned at the beach in front of him, leaning back in a chair as he felt the sea breeze brush against his face. This was much better, watching the boats bob in the distance, listening to the waves crash against the sand, no demon gloating or whatever in his ear.

“Haha,” Bill said, suddenly in front of him, “think your real funny don’t you.”

“I know I’m funny,” Stan said, sipping his drink, “now go away, you’re blocking the view.”

“I-”

Stan sighed happily at the bright sky above him, then closed one eye and held out a hand, sticking his tongue out as he moved the sun across the horizon until he got a nice sunset gradient he liked. Sea gulls called overhead, and in the distance a pod of mermaids jumped out of the water.

With a wave of his hand, he held up a pair of binoculars to watch, then scowled at Bill’s annoyed expression.

“Hey,” Stan snapped, putting them down to glare at the demon, “This is my dream, let a guy enjoy himself why don’tcha!”

“Sure, sure,” Bill muttered, not letting him enjoy himself at all as he stood there in front of the ocean view. A second later Stan made him disappear, and he sat back and watched the waves go in and out, the clouds drift across the sky, and the sun dip under the horizon, until the sky was full of twinkling stars.

They were in the shape of Bill’s eye, but as long as he ignored that, it was the best dream he’d had in years. (Ford would have made it even better, but there was no way that was happening with Bill being a creep)

The next two weeks were much the same. Stan woke up in McGuckets room recharged and lunging towards whatever was closest, with the metal man clamping his hands down before he managed to reach anything. Then they’d spend the rest of the day out in the courtyard, Stan writing the grow rune over and over again, then sitting in the grass and watching the plants get whacked into shape by the combined might of Dan, the kids, and the dragon, under the watchful eye of Emma-May.

All of the freaky plants disappeared, uprooted by the dragon and set up somewhere else she could keep an eye on them and they wouldn’t potentially kill Stan. The dead trees in the corners were punched down by Dan and broken to pieces by Stan every night so he could wear himself out and not destroy the bathroom when left unsupervised. The path and fences were freed from their bush prisons, along with several benches, and Stan helped throw some seeds down in the newly cleared beds in an attempt to help him click more.

So far all he’d managed to do was get a better understanding of how to control the amount of power he pumped into the BREAK rune. He could feel the warmth move through him, and figured out how to thin it out so he wouldn’t tire himself out so quickly trying to cast one spell over and over. Which was great, except that he had to cast even more now so that he wouldn’t be compelled to break things in the night.

The grow rune continued to escape him. Watching the moss spread on the rocks, the grass blow in the breeze, and small creepy black flowers bloom and  fall from the tree in the middle of the courtyard did nothing for him except make him want to shred things more.

The dragon seemed more upset about it than he was, as until he’d clicked McGucket wouldn’t let him sleep in the treasury or snuggle up to him for longer than ten seconds. When they finally cleared the courtyard out it curled up in the closest corner and spent the whole time crying out at him while he watched clouds drift across the sky and tried not to think about how much he’d love to rip his hands free and start scribbling on the walls.

McGuckets arm looked more and more put together every morning, until one morning Stan woke up to McGucket clamping his hands down with two of his own, like he'd never lost it in the first place. Except for the welded crack on his shoulder, where Dan's ax had slammed into it. Looking at it made Stan's stomach feel a weird gurgling feeling he refused to examine, instead just snapping that McGucket should fix his grip and that he was crushing Stan's hands. The look he got back made the gurgling worse, but McGucket didnt say anything as he strapped Stan's hands down and they went off to breakfast.

The weather had gotten warmer and warmer, black blossoms turning into yellow leaves, garden beds growing a variety of small shoots, when it happened. Just as Stan had been agonizing over writing the grow rune for the trillionth time a Fiddleford marched into the courtyard. It looked at McGucket, and the man sat up in alarm.

“Dan!” he called, reaching over and shoving Stan’s hand back in the strap, “Grab the boys and take them to the treasury, let Emma-May know to put everything on lock down. Stanford, you stay here, I’ll take Stanley with me.”

“What?” Stan said, as the dragon growled and McGucket pulled him to his feet, “Where are we going? What’s happening?”

“That was the sentry,” McGucket said, dragging him back inside and through the halls, “they just spotted something coming up the road. It looked like a large group of people, and they didn’t look friendly.”

If McGucket hadn’t been dragging him forwards he would have frozen in his tracks. In all the magic cram lesson’s he’d forgotten all about what had lead him to clicking in the first place. The reason he’d stopped sleeping, had lost the battery he slept with every night, the man who’d swore the next time he had to track Stan down, he’d remove Stan’s head from his shoulders.

Rico was coming. Bringing more men, with more weapons.

More skeletons, just waiting to happen.

Chapter Text

McGucket pulled him through several long hallways and up a few flight of stairs, until they stopped in front of a set of double doors with an iron bar across them. He paused, then looked at Stan nervously before sighing.

“I’d rather you’d stayed with Stanford,” he said, letting go and eyeing the hall around them, “but since you haven’t clicked yet you’re safest with me. And since I’m the only one here with a lick of sense that can also interact with people, I’m going to be the one talking to your- I don’t want to call him, your friend? Because you made it clear he wasn’t. You’re acquaintance? Pursuer?”

“You could just call him Rico,” Stan said, now looking at the door with interest. It didn’t look like the one that led to the entrance, but it had been a while and they all sort of looked the same.

“Him. So. As I’m sure you’re aware, we don’t have a wall.” McGucket said as he crouched down and double checked the tightness of the straps, “Because Bill didn’t need one when he was stomping around. Too sure of himself. Instead, there’s a sort of balcony above the front entrance so he could gloat at folks who’d come to fight him or watch his demons march out and rampage. Or so he said.”

“Why were you asking him?” Stan asked, grunting and wiggling his hands. McGucket frowned at him, before muttering to himself and standing up, turning towards the door.

“I didn’t, I was checkin’ the place out while you were unconscious, and he felt the need to share.”

With that McGucket lifted the bar, took out a large key, and unlocked the door, the Fiddlefords’ eyes on either side glowing a soft yellow color. McGucket put his hand behind Stan’s back and pushed him forwards, and Stan looked around at the balcony, tensing as they got closer to the low wall.

Before them was the whole valley, an ocean trees mostly green with a few late bloomers dotted here and there, adding color. The wind blowing across it made it look like waves, leaves rippling and soothing away some of his fear.  Far in the distance he could make out the break where the village was, and directly below him he saw a good thirty feet of cleared area before the tree line started. The main path was directly below them, heading off into the trees.

The balcony itself was fairly large, around the size of three or four wagons lined up front to back. Two towers were on either side, rising up towards the sky with angular windows and triangular roofs. The balcony wall was made of stone and looked more like a rampart’s, stone juttomg out every foot or so, providing cover, the highest part comming up to Stan’s chest.

The castle loomed tall and dark behind him, every inch of it a demon’s castle come to life. A giant triangle with an eye had been engraved in the wall above them, looking down at the road. He was sure it was very intimidating when Bill had been an actual threat, but he’d seen the demon rubbing his hands together over too many bread rolls and flopping over in exhaustion to feel anything other than bemused at it.

As McGucket pushed Stan near the wall he started digging his feet in, before the metal man stopped and shoved his shoulders down until he was crouching behind one of the higher placed stones.

“So, what’s the plan here,” Stan whispered, as he leaned against the wall and tried not to think about high up they were or the fact that any of this was happening, “you gonna fire bolts at them or something? Have the dragon swoop down from overhead?”

“What? No, I was just going to ask them to leave,” McGucket said, looking down at him in alarm, “You said you owned them some gold, so I brought some to throw down to them. Then maybe they’d scamper off.”

“I’m sorry, what?” Stan gaped, staring at the metal man, “you’re just going to ask them? Are you crazy? Rico knows about the treasure room, he’s not gonna walk away with a handful of gold when he knows there’s more inside!”

“Well, maybe he will when I explain its all cursed.” McGucket muttered, turning to glare out over the wall, “Stanford already took care of all his… men. In a very violent way. If they know what’s good for them, they’ll scram before he gets too restless.”

“Holy Mackerel,” Stan whispered, seeing the determined expression on McGuckets face, “you think this is actually going to work.”

“Humans tend to be fairly reasonable,” McGucket said, “Now hush, they’re getting closer, and I’d rather they didn’t know you were here.”

If Stan had his hands free, he’d have covered his face and groaned into them. This was his fault really; he’d been too out of it then too high on magic to think about asking anyone what their plan for dealing with Rico was. He’d assumed they’d scare him off with either the giant dragon or the army of ghost knights, but apparently not. No, instead they were going to ‘talk’ their way through this. Like a bunch of druids.

Instead of hiding his face in his hands he shoved them in his knees and closed his eyes, already cringing at the upcoming conversation. The warmth in his chest burbled and made him want to jitter away from everything. If he was down there, if he was closer-

Stan shut down that thought before it could finish. He’d already BROKE one arm, he didn’t want to think about how it’d look if that arm hadn’t been made of metal.

“Halt!” McGucket shouted, standing up straighter and glaring at what was probably the men coming out of the trees up the path, “Come no further, if you know what’s good for ya.”

From here Stan couldn’t hear more than the sounds of horses and faint voices, before a very familiar one called out.

“What a strange creature you are!” Rico said, making Stan shiver, “Tell me, are you the master of this castle?”

“That’s none of your concern!” McGucket shot back, and it took everything in him not to groan, “Now state your business, or be on your way. We don’t welcome strangers kindly around these parts.”

“No, I suppose you don’t,” Rico said, voice coming closer, “I’m looking for a man, a criminal who owes me a great deal of gold. My sources tell me he can be found here. Tell me, what do you know of Steve Pinington?”

“Who?” McGucket said, and Stan jerked his head up and started shaking it, face paling as McGucket didn’t turn to look at him. He tried to kick his leg, but all McGucket did was poke him back with his foot. Maybe if he didn’t have feet-

He wasn’t going to finish that thought either.

“Steve Pinington?” Rico sounded amused, not a good sign, “The long-haired human I was told had made himself quite at home here.”

“Oh, you mean Stanley!” McGucket said, then the metal idiot looked straight down at Stan and said in the loudest whisper he’d ever heard, “Why’s he think your names Steve?”

Stan didn’t dignify that with a response, just bashed his head into his knees and sighed.

“Is he up there right now?” Rico called out, and Stan could imagine the smug expression on Rico’s face without seeing it. McGucket whipped his head up and opened his mouth, hands twitching at his sides and probably prepared to spew some terrible cover for why he was talking to his feet. Before he could dig himself into some terrible lie that’d make himself look bad Stan pushed himself against the wall behind him and used it to help him stand up, then turned around, salesman grin slapped on  his face.

“Rico!” he called out, leaning away from McGuckets attempts at shoving him back down behind the wall, “Crazy story!”

Just as he’d feared, they were looking down at Rico and his men from about two or three stories up. The height made him break out into a sweat and tense even further, but he pushed on, eyes rapidly taking in the scene before him.

Around two dozen men had come with him, all wearing black cloaks and armed with swords and bows. Hidden in the tree line were two wagons, with potentially more men and weapons. Or not, they could have also been brought to transport the gold the crime lord was hoping to pilfer from the castle. Most of the men were on horseback, but a few by the wagons were on foot, each one with their hands on their swords and a few holding bows, scanning the sky.

Rico himself was on his own black horse, wearing a black cloak and standing a little further ahead of the group. It didn’t look any different from the other men’s from here, but he knew it was a finer quality than what they had. He had a dark gray tunic underneath, a sword hilt poking out from one side, and a leather belt with several pouches strapped on. On top of his head was a black cavalier hat, one large red feather sticking out of it and blowing in the wind.

He was looking straight at Stan.

“So, I really did mean to come back,” Stan continued, hands flexing where they were trapped by his sides, “but, uh. There’s this dragon-”

“Yes, I’ve heard tales of the beast,” Rico called up to him,  hands gripping the reigns as his smile became icy, “Twenty men I sent to drag you back, and only one of them returned. Where are the rest of them? Stanley, was it?”

Ooooh that was bad. Stan did not like that Rico now knew his real name, for several reasons. Mostly because before he could come up with some kind of lie about it McGucket finally put a hand on his head and shoved him back behind the wall.

“I told you I’d handle it!” the tin man hissed, then kept his hand in place while Stan tried to wiggle free of the grip, “Listen, Stanley’s already told us he owed you a lot of gold. This should be enough to cover what he owes and then some. So kindly skedaddle!”

With that McGucket pulled something out of one of his pockets and lobbed it down below. A second later someone shouted out in pain, and a few horses started whining in distress. Stan managed to squirm around to peek over the edge and saw one of the men behind Rico holding his side while another one next to him reached over to steady him. A third man ran up to grab the bag McGucket had turned into a projectile weapon, quickly handing it over to Rico before going back to the safety of the trees.

“Sorry!” McGucket shouted, wincing a little and looking embarrassed. Rico waved a hand, opening the bag and looking at the contents with interest. Stan wished he’d known about this part of the plan too, just so he could have helped pick out the worst of the hoard to give him.

“This is a hefty amount,” Rico said eventually, shoving the bag into his cloak, “But I’ve heard you have even more hidden away in there, and I’m no fool. Open the gates, return my men, and no harm will come to you and yours.”

“Listen,” Stan popped his head up, propping his chin on the wall so that McGucket couldn’t push him down without putting in more effort, “Whatever your man told you, it’s an exaggeration. Sure, there a bit of gold in here, but not only is it way less then you’re imagining, it’s also cursed.”

“Cursed!” someone by the trees yelled, before being hushed. Stan grunted as McGucket grabbed his head and shoved it back down, then tried to wiggle under and away.

“It’s nothing too horrid!” McGucket reassured them for some reason, “It just can’t leave the castle. Even if you were to come in, it wouldn’t do you much good other than lookin’ sparkly.”

“You cannot fool me,” Rico said, “Even if the curse is real, you obviously have some way to dispel it, otherwise you’d have none to give.”

Dang. That was a good point. Too bad Stanley hadn’t been in on the plan or he’d have hopefully pointed that part out to them. Really, trying to talk was their first mistake, they should have just terrified everyone with the dragon the moment they came out of the trees.

“I won’t ask again!” Rico shouted, voice turning grim, “return my men and open the gates or….”

His voice trailed off, and Stan managed to duck under McGuckets hand and peer over the side again. All of the men below had frozen, horses backing up to the trees while they stared up at the castle. From here he could see their paling faces, and Rico’s slack jawed one. Stan turned to see what they were looking at, and saw the dragon, peering over the side of the roof as it tried to sneak over. The castle must have been built with dragons clambering all over it in mind (not surprising, knowing Bill) because the tiles on the roof stayed in place and none of the walls looked even a bit strained from the weight.

It didn’t look happy, but it also didn’t look like it had noticed being spotted. Not with the way it was ducked low and slowly making its way to perch directly over the balcony.

There was a mumble below, and a quick glance at McGucket, leaning over the wall with his head in his hands, gave him the chance to pop back up and grin down at Rico.

“So, that dragon.” He said, licking his lips and feeling jittery, “Very real. Kind of obsessed with me, for reasons I don’t understand. It uh… there’s no more men in here. Because… you know.” Stan glanced up at the dragon, who had frozen with wide eyes, somehow surprised it had been spotted so quickly, then grinned down nervously at Rico.

“That is unfortunate,” Rico said, face getting determined and eager in a way Stan didn’t like, “I was rather fond of Juan.”

Stan wasn’t. He wasn’t a fan of any of this actually. In fact, if he could get down there-

Too much thinking happening in his head lately. None of it helpful.

“So, if you’d just take the gold,” Stan continued, inching away from McGucket when he straitened up and glared at the dragon, “It won’t, you know. and then everyone’s happy!”

The men in the far back nodded enthusiastically, while those closer to Rico and Rico himself got grim expressions, hands tightening on bows. With a shake of his head the man started rolling up his sleeves, and Stan’s heart thundered in his chest as he saw all the circles tattooed down his arms. He’d seen what some of those could do, and while they were terrifying, they weren’t as terrifying as what he’d seen the dragon do.

“I’m afraid I won’t be happy,” Rico called out, looking at Stan while he pulled something out of his cloak, “I lost several good men, and I’ve heard that there’s more riches in there than any one man has seen in ten lifetimes. But,”

The wind rippled through Rico’s coat as the man flung it back and held out his arm, holding something in his hand and pointing at Stan.

“If what you say is true, then a dragon is far better replacement.”

“I’m sorry, what-”

Stan didn’t get further than that before one of the circles on Rico’s arm glowed, and Stan felt a huge tug on his chest. Before he was aware of what was happening, he was pulled forwards, over the wall.

And down to the ground below.

The dragon roared and Stan screamed as the Wind blew past his face and he watched the stone path get rapidly closer, before he was jerked to a stop, right before he’d have slammed to the ground. He screamed for a few seconds longer, before trailing off into confusion, and a second after that he was dropped to the ground. Everything shook as he tried to push himself up, something large slamming directly overhead.

The dragon.

It snarled at Rico and his men, one claw coming down to hover over Stan as he groaned. More of the horses whined, and he saw a few bolt back down the path, taking their riders with them.

“Interesting!” Rico yelled, and Stan looked up to see him pulling on the reigns and staring up at the dragon a few feet away, “Very interesting. But what will you do when I do this?”

He held his hand out, the same circle glowing, and Stan yelped as he was dragged across the ground towards Rico. He managed to roll over, so his face wasn’t getting scrapped across the stone path, and a moment later his slammed into something.

It was the dragon’s claw, blocking the way towards Rico as it snarled overhead. The tugging didn’t stop, and a second later it grew more intense, Stan gasping and trying to claw at his chest. Trying, because his hands were still tied down so all he could do was kick his legs and wheeze. The dragon clicked at him desperately, then moved its claw away and cried out when Stan shot back towards Rico.

“Don’t like to see him hurt do you?” Rico mused as Stan came to a stop at his horse’s feet, “I’m sure Juan wasn’t being gentle when he came in. Did that anger you?”

Stan wheezed as someone ran up and dragged him to his feet, and he looked up to see the dragon, stomping its claws on the ground and snarling, face scrunched up in fury. Its eyes were the thinnest of slits, and flames flickered out of the sides of its mouth as it stood there. Stan felt his heart stop at the sight, freezing as he thought about all the men behind him. They weren’t close to Stan, and therefore easy targets.

As he watched, holding his breath and limbs shaking from far more than fear of being dragged around by Rico, the dragon snarled, looked over at him, then closed its mouth. The flames stopped, and its claws dug into the ground as it leaned closer to Rico and growled low in its chest.

“Ah ah ah!” Rico called, gripping his reigns as Stan looked up between them, “I know a fair amount about dragons, probably more than our friend Stanley does, and I know how you get with things you’ve claimed. If you don’t-”

Stan didn’t listen to Rico’s demand, eyes locking in on what Rico was holding in his hand. It was one of those stupid blood pendants, clutched tight and wrapped in some kind of pink vine. It was glowing softly, and probably what let Rico drag him around.

He stared at it, then over at Rico, then side eyed the man holding him up. He’d hate what was about to happen, but he’d rather stick with the dragon who let him do whatever he wanted than with Rico who he was pretty sure would keep him locked up so he could control it.

He really needed to give that thing a name.

His hands had been loosened by the drag, and he kept his eyes locked on the horse so he wouldn’t get any ideas about anything else too close to him. With sharp inhale, Stan jerked his arm out of one of the cuffs, jerked forwards towards Rico’s saddle, and wrote the BREAK rune on it.

Then the world descended into chaos.

All at once the golden glow shot out, snapping all of the straps on the saddle. Rico shouted as he slid off his horse, and the horse used its new found freedom to turn and bolt, running away as fast as it could from dragon, WIND flowing through its mane as half the other horses followed.

The men, those who hadn’t been dragged off by their frightened steeds, started firing arrows at the dragon. All of them bounced off as it lunged at Rico, glanced at Stan, then roared in his face.

Its wings spread open, flapping once and filling the air with dust as they beat against the ground and whipped up the dirt. Stan coughed, then turned, eyes locking onto the man still holding onto him. Still within easy reach.

Still so BREAKABLE.

And really, he was grabbing Stan, was working with Rico. Who knows what the man had done in the past. What other horrors he’d inflicted on the world in the crime lord’s name. Stan was doing the world a favor here.

Did he need two arms? Or bones? What would it look like if his skull splintered, if his joints turned all the wrong angles. How many ways were there to BREAK someone?

The world slowed down as Stan reached up, finger already glowing as his heart thudded in his chest, the yelling and roaring around him fading into a distant buzz as the clueless man tightened his grip, still looking up at whatever the dragon was doing.

As Stan watched, the AIR  rushed past, BLOWING the man’s cloak back. It FLOWED around them both, lifting clothes and ruffling their hair. It FLOWED in and out with every heavy breath, let the clouds DRIFT overhead, CARRIED the smell of the earth, the rain, the sea. Connected everything together.

Stan had always known it, since the moment he was old enough to toddle through the glittering shores of Gemstone Beach. Had felt its touch wherever he’d roamed.

Through the best times.

Through the worst times.

Stan felt it

C             L             I               C            K

Time seemed to slow down as he blinked and looked around at the scene before him. Just behind him was the dragon, AIR coming in and out with every deep breath, was pushed around with every beat of its billowing wings. It was roaring at Rico, claws slamming around him and THROWING up the dirt as the man arms glowed and he threw blasts of light back up at it.

It ran through the clearing, BLOWING the grass, the leaves, the clothes. FLOWED around every man, over, around, and through. CARRIED a thousand smells, a million little fragments of where it’d been, to wherever it was going. Always MOVING always GOING. Nonstop. Couldn’t be stopped. Could only be slowed, or redirected.

He turned back to the man, watched the WIND flow around him.

His hand was still moving, still going towards him, but instead of writing BREAK he wrote something else. An angular swirl, something he’d never seen, but always known. It whispered sweetly into his ear, FLOWED deeply into his lungs, pulsed across the land and sea. Had always been there, always a part of him.

“WIND” he whispered, watching the golden swirl hover over the mans chest.

Then he watched as the man was launched away, grip gone with the blast of golden air Stan shoved him with. He flew across the clearing and slammed into another man further away. They collapsed into a pile, both groaning and in one piece.

Stan stood there for a second, then whipped around when someone grabbed him by the arm.

Right. He had been in the middle of something.

“Get back, or I’ll-” Rico was yelling, apparently missing what Stan had just did to the other guy. Everything still felt slow and strange, the BREEZE whispering a thousand little secrets into his ears. Stan blinked as the man kept yelling, then turned to where the dragon was slamming its tail into the earth and snarling, eyes darting towards Stan before it launched a blast of white-hot fire into the sky.

And not towards the men. Distantly, a part of him became aware that it didn’t want to freak him out again. That part was smothered by the tiny little ripples in the air as Stan turned, wrote WIND over Rico’s chest, then watched him get blasted away in a golden whirlwind, flying towards the wagons before the BREEZE died down.

He’d dropped the pendant in the blast, along with a knife Stan hadn’t noticed. Stan bent down, idly freeing his other hand in the process, then wrote BREAK over the pendant, watching it explode into a fine red shimmering mist.

Then he grabbed the knife, doing the same to it and watched the blade snap in half. The warmth in his chest buzzed, eager to see what else he could do, what else he could BREAK and how else he could watch the WIND move.

“STANFORD, GET AWAY!” McGucket shouted, and Stan blinked to find the dragon, crouching low and crooning at him in concern.

Stan wrote the WIND rune in front of him, then watched the dragon squint in irritation at the golden blast that he shoved in its face. It didn’t move it further away, but watching the golden sparkle flow over and around its scales and spikes was memorizing, and the way it sneezed and covered some of the men in disgusting dragon snot was a sight to be seen.

Heh.

Now that he knew how to thin and manage the flow of warmth inside him, he didn’t feel nearly as drained by all the magic he’d been flinging everywhere. The tingling after effects of whatever had just happened helped take the edge off of whatever feelings he’d been feeling before, as he blasted the dragon in the face again, then jumped when his hands were grabbed and shoved back into their straps.

“And that’s enough of that,” McGucket said, “And if you know what’s good for you, you’ll take your men and scram!” the last part was yelled towards Rico, and with a jolt Stan realized he was staring straight at Stan, calculating and hungry in a way that made him very uncomfortable.

The dragon roared, moving to stand over them and bringing up a claw to cup Stan and McGucket. Rico got to his feet, then fingered some of the pouches that were sewn into the insides of his cloak. The look in his eyes didn’t fade, but he frown and pull his hands out and up.

“I know when I’m beat!” Rico called, signaling to the surrounding men and backing away, “But you owe me Stanley! And Rico always collects his debts!”

The dragon growled, hunching over them and lowering its head, flames flickering. Stan froze as its belly brushed the top of his head, and McGucket was forced to duck down. It didn’t blast them though, just watched as Rico and the men backed further into the trees.

The moment they were out of sight Stan was yanked off his feet, dragon snatching him and taking off.

Into the sky.

Holding him.

Stan screamed as the ground and McGucket were left behind, then screamed as the dragon landed on the roof, still clutching him tight. It scampered off over the building, Stan clutched in one claw as it weaved around a few towers, ducked under a bridge (and where was that?) and climbed until it was sitting perched on top of one of the towers.

Maybe Fords bedroom, but it was hard to tell being on the outside with his eyes now closed.

The WIND whipped around him, blowing his hair around while the dragon held him close and sniffed his face. Well, he assumed it was sniffing his face, because his eyes were closed. The way the air was warm and smelled like it’s weird earthy breath mints made him pretty confident, that’s what it was doing.

“Get me down from here!” he yelled, eyes still squeezed tight and refusing to look at what he was sure was a beautiful view.

It sniffed him some more, then cooed sadly and rubbed Stan’s face all over what was probably its snout. Stan grunted and wiggled at the treatment, then froze when he remembered he did not want to wiggle out of its hold right now. Something (probably a talon) ran through his hair, and the dragon started clicking angrily. Probably insulting Rico and how McGucket had lost Stan over the edge of the castle.

“Are you listening to me!” he shouted, hunching his shoulders as it clicked, then licked the side of his face. After a few minutes of his shouting, they moved again, the dragon’s claws scrapping across tile and stone, before the sound changed to claws crashing through gold, and Stan peeked open an eye to find them back in the treasury.

It crashed into a pile, Stan clutched protectively close, then buried them both underneath the coins. Stan yelled as everything went dark, before he was shoved against some scales and a small crack of light appeared above him.

He was pressed against the side of the dragon, one wing stretched out over him and allowing a small bit of light through while the dragon twisted its neck around to set its head on top of him. Gold coins and jewels flowed in from the side, before the stream stopped.

Stan caught his BREATH, then glared at the lizard crushing his legs as it dinnerplate eye drank him in and it started rubbing against him.

“What was that!” Stan yelled, then groaned when he remembered he had no idea what the dragon was saying as it clicked at him worriedly. Its heavy BREATHS rocked him up and down, the warmth of its scales soaking into him after the chilling  AIR of the castle roof.

“Nevermind,” He muttered, trying to wiggle his hands free. The warmth sitting in his chest felt just as buzzy and filling as before, if somewhat less after he’d used it outside. But something else had changed. The demanding need to be used wasn’t as bad as before, as the WIND and BREAK rune whispered over each other, drowning out each other’s voices.

Meaning McGucket was right. A terrible thing really.

After some grunting and wiggling he managed to free a hand, then grinned as he flexed his fingers. There was no McGucket here to stop him, so he smirked at the dragon (who blinked and seemed to realize too late that Stan being able to run a hand over its scales was a bad thing) then wrote the WIND rune in the air, filling it with the smell of strawberries.

“Nice,” He muttered, writing it again and changing the smell to the sea. He relaxed, filling his lungs with the smell as the dragon half closed its eyes and breathed in deeply, making a pleased grumble. Stan wrote it again and shot a little AIR arrow at the dragon, chuckling as it flinched and grumbled at him.

What else could he do.

Stan wrote it again, then watched in amazement as a little golden tornado whirled to life, sitting in his hand before it wobbled and collapsed. Another rune and he had a nice warm golden BREEZE moving through the small space under the wing, ruffling his hair and clothes. He reached down and grabbed a coin, holding it in one hand while he wrote the WIND rune with the other, then watched a tiny golden whirlwind lift it off his hand. It twisted and wobbled unsteadily, then fell down and rolled off somewhere when the whirlwind collapsed.

“Man,” Stan said, feeling the warmth start to shrink, “Imagine what I could do if I wasn’t stuck in here. So many places I could stink out. So many jerks I could slam into walls.”

The dragon clicked agreeably, then shifted so one of its claws was free to ruffle Stan’s hair. Stan rolled his eyes, then eyed its six talons.

“How about Six,” He said, writing the WIND rune to change the smell to pastries, “Since you’ve convinced everyone here and yourself you’re my brother.”

The dragon growled at him, eye briefly becoming a slit, before it grumbled and settled down.

“You can’t trick me of course,” Stan continued, ignoring its growling and huffing, “but since you’re so sure, and I’m not calling you Sixer, you can be Six. It’s getting annoying calling you ‘the dragon’ all the time.”

The dragon let out a long breath, then rolled its eyes and nodded. Stan grinned back at it, then yelled when its pupil engulfed its eye and it leaned harder into him, making a weird grumbling sound that vibrated his entire body.

“Yesh, I get it!” Stan wheezed as it let up and stuck its tongue out to lick his chest, “I know, I know, I’m the best ever or whatever. Just-” Stan drew another WIND rune, blasting its face and snorting at its expression. The warmth in his chest was starting to shrink into ember territory, so he changed the smell a few more times before finally going back to the sea.

With that he slumped forwards, resting his forehead on Six’s face and sighing. They sat there quietly for a while, nothing but the sounds of their BREATHING, the distant beating of its heart, the shifting coins, and the smell of the sea.

It was nice.

“Shoulda just roasted him,” he muttered, body heavy, “now he’s gonna come back. Probably bring more guys you gotta roast anyway.”

Six clicked, and Stan sighed as one of its talons started going through his hair.

“I woulda been fine,” he said softly, dragging a hand up to run along the scales of its face, “You know. Eventually. Few bad dreams, I coulda handled it.”

Six made a low crooning noise, then wiggled around to cup Stan’s head and gently pressed on him. It was kinda nice, like a heavy blanket that was also alive and squishing him every time it breathed.

When McGucket finally charged in, throwing Six’s wing up and shouting at it, Stan was already half asleep, drooling on its face. He ignored the shouts, too tired to do more then grunt when his hands were shoved back down, then whine when the warmth from the dragon was removed. McGucket yelled something at him, but he stuck his tongue out, refused to stand up, and was finally dragged up and away.

Chapter Text

Stan was too exhausted to keep going on trying to click with the grow rune, and apparently clicking with something else was ‘frustrating and just like you’ according to McGucket. Instead McGucket dragged him back to the courtyard for ‘fresh air’, then dropped him in the grass.

Six couldn’t fit through the entrance they took into the courtyard, so it scampered away once McGucket made his destination clear. It hadn’t gotten there by the time Stan was face first in the dirt, but it was really only a matter of time. Stan pressed his face into the grass, then squinted up at McGucket.

“Alrighty then,” McGucket grumbled, sitting down crisscross in front of him, “What rune was that you were throwing around. I didn’t get a good look at what you were doing, what with Stanford throwing a fit and being so high up.”

“I dunno,” Stan muttered, eyes already drooping as his tired mind begged for sleep. Writing the wind rune a couple dozen times and blasting Rico and his goons really took it out of him. He really needed to figure out how to thin out his magic better so he could fling more.

“Some, air thing.” Stan continued, sighing as the wind ran through his hair and ruffled the grass in front of his face. It was mesmerizing to watch, to see it work and know what made it happen. He could feel the rune around him, how the wind made it and was made of it in an endless cycle onwards forever.

He wondered if watching someone else break something had the same effect.

“Air, huh,” McGucket said, and Stan could feel him watching him, “Makes some kind of sense, I suppose. But where did you learn it? I don’t think it’s in any of the books we’ve got out.”

Stan shrugged, blinking slowly as the ground shook. They’d cleared out a walkway for the dragon, and Six used it to carefully walk around the garden beds, spread its wings out in the sun, then lay down and rest its head on top of Stan’s back. Stan grunted, then watched as the force from its wings moved the grass and made some of his hair fall into his face.

“Don’t think I forgot about you,” McGucket yelled, poking at the scaly head on top of him, “I warned you what coulda happened! What if he hadn’t clicked, huh! You’d be a pile of dragon!”

Six grumbled, making Stan’s body vibrate, then clicked. The pressure and warmth from both it and the sun tugged at his eyes some more, until they shut completely, and he felt himself drifting off again. McGucket and the dragon kept talking, but it faded into a distant buzzing and cozy vibration as he was squished further into the dirt.

Time seemed to stretch and slow, and the warmth in his chest slowly started coming back to him. BREAK and WIND whispered in the back of his mind, over and around each other, like two people trying to talk to him at once. He could pick out some of the words, but the overall conversation was lost.

When the warmth of magic had filled his chest, he yawned, then blinked awake and squinted at the courtyard around him. The shadows had shifted, the sun hanging a little lower in the sky. McGucket was gone, but the boys were a little ways away, crouched over a garden bed with sticks, poking at one of the plants while Emma-May floated above them, talking about life cycles or something.

Stan watched them for a moment, before the hardness of the ground he was laying on started to register, and he squirmed.

“Get off me,” he grumbled, trying to shift his shoulders and use his chin to wiggle out from underneath Six. Six grumbled back, but did lift its head so Stan could roll over and sit up. He rolled his shoulders the best he could with his hands tied to his side, then yawned again.

“You up then?” McGucket called, and Stan turned to see him sitting on a bench under the covered walkway with a pile of books, flipping through one of them. Stan grunted, then rolled back over and tried to use his head to push himself to his feet.

Before he could do more than arch his back Six bumped him with its snout, knocking him back over.

“Hey!” Stan shouted, then yelled and kicked when the dragon kept rolling him through the grass towards McGucket. The world became a small blur of grass-sky-grass, until the dragon pulled away, and he came to a stop on his back, groaning.

McGucket was staring down at him, hands on his hips and a poorly concealed look of amusement on his face.

“What’re you lookin’ at.” Stan snapped, making McGucket snort.

“I think you know,” He said, reaching down to grab Stan’s arms and pull him to his feet. He led Stan back to the table he’d been writing the grow rune at a million times, then helped him sit down. Six was too big to fit underneath, so it moved its head to lay on the other side of the low wall separating the courtyard from the walkway and watched them through the gap.

“So,” McGucket said, sitting down next to him and sorting through the book pile, “Now that you’re feeling a little more recharged, explain to me how you clicked this time. I’ve been watchin’ you like a hawk these last few weeks, and I didn’t see you practicin’ the air rune at all, unless you have somethin’ you want to confess?”

McGucket raised an eyebrow, and Stan rolled his eyes in response.

“Nah,” He said, using his shoulder to scratch his head. It was full of grass and itchy, but with his hands still tied down there wasn’t much he could do about it, “I just, knew it? I don’t know what to tell you. One second, I was watching everything get blown around, the next it just…. Clicked.”

It was kind of annoying, using the word McGucket gave him to describe what happened, but there wasn’t any other way to describe it that felt right. Like finally understanding something Ford had been explaining for an hour. Looking someone in the eyes, and fully knowing they were going to betray you. Watching a merchant train heading down the road, when they finally got to the perfect spot for an ambush.

Everything just clicked into place, the wind rune slotting into his mind like an old friend, eager to talk now that it knew he was listening.

“Then I just kinda, knew what to do. Like it was telling me,” Stan turned and looked out at the courtyard, at the wind blowing through the trees, clouds drifting high above him, the grass (that hadn’t been crushed by Stan or the dragon) shifting in the breeze.

All of it singing out to him, whispering, asking him to play.

If he could just-

Stan jumped at the metal hand snapping in front of his face, then turned to face McGucket with a scowl.

“Lost ya for a second there,” the metal man said, “That’s one of the downsides of the elemental runes, hard to ignore ‘em when they’re chatting. Or so I’ve heard. Anyway, it’s good that you’ve got another rune under your belt, one more and I shouldn’t have to keep your hands tied down.”

“Finally,” Stan whispered under his breath, as McGucket scootched closer and dragged a book to lie open in front of them.

“Since the wind one seemed to click without you doing anything more than lookin’” McGucket said, “I figure there’s more to clicking for you than writing the rune over and over. The grow rune hasn’t been working, so we’re gonna go through and try something else. Let me know if anything here catches your fancy.”

With that he started flipping through the book, showing off different runes on each page. There was one for everything apparently, anything from elements, to concepts, to ideas, to even just crabs.

“Crabs?” Stan muttered, eyeing the claw like rune on the page.

“Crabs.” McGucket said, nodding and explaining nothing as he flipped to the next page. A few of them had caught Stan’s eye, but nothing he was going to mention to McGucket, especially as the man had tried flipping past some of them very quickly.

Understandable, as darkness, hide, illusion, and silence were not the kinds of things you wanted your prisoners to know. The fire rune looked tempting, but just the thought of how he’d use it made him shiver and break out into a cold sweat.

Best to stay away from that one, if he wanted to keep his wits about him.

In the end he decided on the light rune, an almost sun like one that would make life very pleasant if he could click with it. No more huddling in the darkness if the fire went out, no need to steal the light orb (not that learning light magic would stop him from doing just that), no more freaking out in a too small space thinking the walls were coming in.

If he could get this to work, all he’d need to do was wiggle his fingers, and he’d be able to make it as bright as he wanted.

And it meant that later, as he watched the sun go down and the lights of the castle flicker on around him, no one would notice if he saw how the shadows grew too.

After all, no one said he couldn’t try to do two at once.

“I know what you’re doing.” Bill said that night, after Stan had eaten dinner (with his own hands!) exhausted himself in the rune room (and got to blast McGucket int the face!), washed up and gone to bed. He was still sleeping in McGuckets room for now, as McGucket wasn’t sure how desperate Stan would be to cast fully charged, but depending on how Stan reacted in the morning he might go back to the treasury tomorrow.

“Don’t know what you’re talking about,” Stan said, leaning forwards on the railing of his dream ship and watching the sun set. It sank into the ocean, light sparkling across the waves and painting the sky in different shades of purple and pink. The ocean looked darker from it, while the shadow from the sail grew darker.

Bill was standing next to him, too tall to lean on the human sized railing. Instead, his hands were folded behind his back as he stared down at Stan, not quite looming but still uncomfortably close.

“Please,” Bill said, rolling his eye, “I’ve been around for millennia, you think I didn’t notice you looking a little too hard at what comes when the light disappears? I’m not Tin Head, I know how sorcerer’s work, and what a prisoner might do to try and escape. He’s too dull to realize you won’t stop trying to run until you’re out or have a reason to stay.”

“Don’t I have a reason?” Stan asked, watching the demon from the corner of his eye, “After all, Rico’s out there with at least one more pendant that leads straight to me, I’m safer here with Six.”

“Ah, you were,” Bill said, turning to squint his eye in a grin, “but now you’ve got all that magic in your head. You can defend yourself better now than you ever could. What’s Rico going to do to you when you can bend reality to your will with just a thought and a word.”

“Except!” Stan jumped as Bill appeared on his other side, small enough to sling an arm around his shoulders while he shook his head, “you haven’t realized the draw backs to your fancy new toys.”

“What draw backs,” Stan said, subtly trying to shake Bill’s arm off, “McGucket didn’t mention anything.”

“He didn’t think to, he’s not a sorcerer.” Bill let go, then waved his hand at Stan’s chest, “Unlike him, you’ve got all your power right there, sitting nice and cozy inside you. You can pull it out and fling it around whenever you want. Which is great! Except unlike him, you run out.”

“Yeah, and it comes back,” Stan said, somewhat confused on where this was going, “All I gotta do is wait a bit, and I’m back in action.”

“As long as you’re right here.” Bill said, eye grinning wider. Stan blinked, and found his dream had changed around them. He was sitting on a high-backed black chair with yellow cushions, facing Bill who was lounging in his own, fancier one. A yellow triangle was engraved on the top of Bill’s and a quick look showed an open-mouthed fish on his chair in the same spot. In between them was a circular table with a map of the continent, and all around them was a star filled night sky.

Stan clutched the arms of his chair, eyeing the infinite emptiness below him, but he couldn’t feel himself falling, and Bill was looking at the map, so he was probably fine.

Bill tapped the center of the map, and Stan leaned forwards to get a closer look. The map was fancier than any he’d ever seen, being carved into the table and painted to show elevation and terrain. As Bill tapped it a black castle popped out, surrounded by the mountains and complete with a tiny golden Stan.

 “My castle is built on The Wellspring,” Bill said, and a blue mist filled the table, thick at the castle and getting thinner as it got farther away, “the main source of all magic that pumps into the planet. There’s nowhere else on this dust ball that has as much magic sitting around in the air than right where you’re standing.”

As Stan watched the mini-Stan on the map waved its hands, cast a spell, and lost its golden color, turning red. It took a deep breath, then was back to being vibrant as the blue mist flowed into it. It gave them a thumbs up, and Stan raised an eyebrow Bill ignored.

“The moment you get far enough away, you’ll realize it’ll take much more than a good night’s sleep to recharge.”

Bill snapped, and the mini-Stan appeared on the other side of the map, where the mist was thin. Mini-Stan cast a spell, lost its gold, and took a deep breath. Instead of being back to fully golden, it just got a little shiner. Mini-Stan gave them a thumbs down, then took a few more deep breaths, barely getting its shine back with each one.

“Even if that was true,” And Stan really hoped it wasn’t, “I’ve got the battery. I’ll just use that.”

Stan snapped his fingers, and Mini-Stan got its own tiny hand warmer. The golden glow flowed between them, and it was back to being shiny, giving them a thumbs up.

“IF you can get it off of Tin Head,” Bill said, making a metal Mini-McGucket to snatch the battery out of Mini-Stan’s hand , “and then it’s only a matter of time before that thing runs out. It was a miracle it lasted this long, it could stop working today, tomorrow, or next year! There’s no way to know until it does, and in the meantime, you’ll be draining it faster and faster as all you keep running and running. Not just from your pal Rico, but from Six. He’s not going to let you go without a chase, and he’s not going to stop chasing until he has you again.”

At Bill’s words the tiny battery lost its glow, and Mini-Stan started running around the map, tiny shadow figures chasing after it as it lost its golden glow and started stumbling. Then a Mini-Six swooped down from the sky and snatched him, flying across the map and dropping him back at the castle.

Stan scowled at the map, then looked up to glare at Bill. The demon only looked mostly smug, the rest a cold calculating that made his skin crawl.

“Why are you telling me all this,” Stan said, narrowing his eyes, “what’s your angle here.”

“Simple!” Bill leaned on the arm of his chair, and his eye curled into a grin, “I don’t have a lot of power at my disposal right now, and I don’t want to waste it chasing you down later. But I also understand you don’t want to stay, so I’ve got a proposal.”

“I’m not making any deals.”

“Of course not,” Bill said, waving his hand, “you’ve made that clear. So how about something else, a… partnership.”

“I saw what you did to Ford,” Stan growled, clutching the arms of his chair, “I’ll pass.”

“Sixer didn’t have the same protection you have,” Bill said, eye burning as he watched Stan, “and you want to find him, don’t you?”

Stan felt his heart skip a beat, then glared, “I thought the dragon was Ford. That’s what everyone keeps saying anyway.”

“Sure, sure, they believe that, but I couldn’t trick you. You’re twins after all! You’d know your own brother!”

Bill’s voice had a hint of laughter, but without a face it was hard to read his expression. Stan was pretty sure he was being mocked somehow.

“See I’ve got the solution to all your problems, right here.” Bill tapped the map again, and it shifted until it was just the valley, black castle sitting between them, “You want to leave and be able to recharge? You want to find your brother? You want to get me off your back?”

The castle fell to pieces, stones floating up to hang above them, until all that was left was a large pool of blue, swirling at the bottom.

“All you have to do is finish what your brother started on the wellspring.”

Stan watched as Mini-Stan stood at the corner of the swirling blue pool and waved its tiny hands. The blue light flickered, and then a thick mist exploded out from it. He waved his hand and coughed, then blinked down at the map. The mist had thinned out but was still spewing out from the tiny pool and shooting up towards the night sky above them. A Mini-Ford climbed out from it, and both of the mini figures hugged, before freezing solid.

Stan looked at the scene hungrily.

“You’re saying Ford’s in the wellspring?” Stan asked, reaching out to pick up the Mini-Ford (shaking the Mini-Stan off) and turn it in his hands. It was red, wearing a long coat and its tiny face was tired. Looking at his brother in miniature made his heart twist, like he was holding a piece of him.

They still looked almost exactly the same.

“I’m saying,” Bill said, chair suddenly next to him, “that if you fix the wellspring, you’ll find your brother.”

That wasn’t a yes, which probably meant there was more to finding Ford than doing a bit of magic and opening it or whatever. But it was more than he’d found on his own, and it made some kind of sense.

Ford was alive, he knew that for sure, but he couldn’t find any sign of him anywhere in the castle. All of his friends were convinced he was the dragon, and maybe the dragon was too. Maybe that’s what Bill did, all those months ago, conjured a dragon like he did that bacon, then did something to Ford to make him fall in? Or maybe Ford had done something and fallen in on his own, and Bill had used the opportunity to bring the dragon in and trick everyone, except he couldn’t control it.

There was no point in asking Bill, as the demon would lie either way.

Stan held the Mini-Ford close, looking at its tiny, relieved face. Happy to be free. To be saved.

To see Stan.

No matter what had happened, he was right. Even if Ford wasn’t in the wellspring, fixing it up would mean Stan could be at full charge wherever he went. Plus, then Bill would stop bothering him, and he could finally search the castle without worrying about the demon popping up and getting into Ford’s things.

There was just one problem.

“Too bad I don’t know anything about magic circles,” Stan said, setting the Mini-Ford down by the Mini-wellspring, then looking back up at Bill’s golden eye, “so I’m not sure how I’m supposed to help you. And I’m not letting you do it!” Stan interrupted when Bill perked up, “You’re a demon who tortured my brother, I’m not letting you mess with his stuff.”

“Works for me!” Bill cheered leaning far too close, “I don’t care how we do it, because I’m sure you’ll mess something up. No matter if it’s today, tomorrow, or a hundred years, you tampering with that thing will lead to the seals weakening, and I’ll be back in business. Tell you what!”

Bill was back on the other side of the table, and with a snap of his fingers and the castle came back down, now with a Mini-Bill standing on the balcony. The mist turned red and all the green of the trees blackened, while dark shadows wriggled out of the earth and started prowling around.

“IF, and this is a big if,” Bill said, picking up the Mini-Stan from where it had been tossed aside and setting it down next to the Mini-Bill, “you’re still alive when I finally bust out and get back to partying, I’ll let you keep your brother, and you’ll get your own little slice of the world to rule over. We’ll figure out the details then.”

Mini-Stan was joined by Mini-Ford, and Stan watched as the Mini-army threw its hands in the air and started dancing. He raised an eyebrow at it, then looked up at Bill.

“Uh, sure,” He said, “Still doesn’t change the fact that I don’t-”

Between one blink and the next they were in Stan’s childhood classroom, Stan front and center while Bill stood in front of the board, drawing something with yellow chalk. Blinking, he looked around, then scowled when he looked down.

Stan was a kid again.

He fixed himself, then jumped as Bill smacked his hand on the board. He’d drawn a rune, a large X with two semi circles on either side, like a crossed-out sun.

“This is the darkness rune,” Bill said, tapping it with his chalk, “I’ll throw it in for free, try to remember it.”

“What is-” Stan started to say, then jumped again as books popped into existence around him. The rune on the board was gone, and instead there was a list of other, smaller runes, what they meant, and how that changed when combined together. As he watched with growing horror Bill put his hands together, then pulled them apart as a long stick came into existence between them.

“This, my little meat ball, is our first lesson,” Bill said, eye curling, “Think of it as family bonding.”

“No,” Stan whispered, looking around with wide eyes, looking at the books, the board, and the papers now on the table in front of him, “You wouldn’t.”

“Gotta cram all this in your empty skull somehow!” Bill said, now in front of him and looming, yellow eye locked onto him, “Seeing as you won’t let your poor old man do any of the work. And since you won’t let me carve anything into your tiny little brain, we’ll have to do it the old-fashioned way.”

With that Bill turned, using his stick to point at the first rune on the board. What proceeded was the worst dream and lesson of Stan’s life. Not only was Bill a terrible teacher, impatient and laughing at all of Stan’s failure to grasp whatever high-end lesson he’d started them with, the demon wouldn’t let Stan get out of it. Every attempt at twisting and changing the dream was met with Bill, popping up and tearing it apart. No matter what Stan threw at him, from deep sea monsters, to Six, to the endless white void, Bill would wave a hand and make it change back to the classroom, right where they’d left off.

A nightmare in every sense of the world.

“And that’s all for tonight,” Bill said, after what felt like an eternity, “I’ll need to let your brain get some actual rest, or it’ll stop working or something.”

Stan groaned from the table, chin resting on an open book on rune grammar as he stared at the board. It was like learning a new language, but worse, because all the little runes kept buzzing in his brain in a chaotic mess of nonsense.

“Of course,” Bill continued, sitting on the table and scrunching Stan’s head, “All of this is useless without the rest of Sixer’s books.”

“His’wat?” Stan muttered, blinking slowly. Then he blinked slower at the red book that popped in front of him. It was red, gold, bloody, and very familiar.

Fords diary.

“There’s three of them,” Bill said, as Stan reached out and grabbed the dream one in front of him, “and they have everything you need to do written down in them.”

“Can’t you just tell me?”

“Sure, here, but once you’re actually at the wellspring I’ll be a bit preoccupied with making sure no one notices what we’re doing. You think Tin Heads gonna let you mess around with it? Or Scales? No, I’ll be playing interference while you get to work.”

Stan hummed, then placed his hand over the cover of Fords dream book, closing his eyes and feeling it pulse under his palm. Bill muttered something, but he was already falling, deep, deep, into the dark.

Stan woke up feeling warm, recharged, and with a slight headache from spending all night in dream cram school. The need to use the warmth coiled around him was still there, but it was with a lazy hand, not a desperate one, that he started to write the BREAK rune onto the pillow under his head. Like always a metal hand reached down and grabbed him before he got more than halfway done.

“Mornin’ Stanley,” McGucket said, pulling Stan up and shoving his hands back in the straps, “how’d you sleep?”

Stan grunted, yawned, then squinted up at the metal man looking down at him expectedly.

“Fine.”

Now that Stan sort of knew what it felt like, he could almost feel himself clicking with LIGHT and DARK. Like a creeping feeling going up and down his spine and tingling the back of his brain. It helped that it came on much faster than BREAK and WIND, coming up on him after two days of writing the LIGHT rune during the day and DARK at night in between Bill’s crash course on magic circles.

Like watching a snail move, then getting hit by a horse. Each rune that was starting to pull at his attention tugged at his mind. Like they were taking out pieces of him to make room, crawling into the gaps, poking around at all his thoughts and memories. The last two had creeped up until they were already there, these were digging into him at full speed, with no sense to slow down and ease themselves in.

He was starting to think that maybe someone had said not to do two at once, but it was too late to stop. All he could do was lay in the grass and watch the setting SUN GLINT off of Six’s scales as the sky changed colors and the SHADOWS’s darkened while his head tried to vibrate off his neck.

The boys clanging sticks together in some kind of mock battle three feet away from him wasn’t helping.

“Its about dinner time,” McGucket said suddenly, leaning down to help Stan to his feet, “Up and at’em. You too Stanford, you’ll need to go get something, might as well do it now.

Six grumbled, then leaned down and rubbed its’ snout into Stan’s stomach. He grunted, but didn’t protest, too busy making sure his head didn’t explode. It stretched, yawning, before backing up to spread its wings and start climbing the side of the castle. Stan watched it as McGucket led him inside, then dragged his heels and pulled at McGucket as he watched the castle LIGHTS come on around them.

The sight of the disappearing SUN, DARKENING the sky overhead, combined with the warmth of Spring and the LIGHTS glinting off the waving grass roused a distant memory. Some small, faded thing, from when he would run wild with his brother up and down the sand of Gem Stone Beach.

In the fading LIGHT, with the DARK walls all around him, the grass almost looked like waves, the PITCH-BLACK  stone and sky almost the NIGHT, and the castles LIGHTS almost STARS.

Almost.

Almost.

Stan raised his hand, only vaguely aware it was now free, and idly drew the WIND rune. With a thin string of warmth and a thought, a breeze ran through the courtyard, whipping the grass into a more wave like movement, and filling the air with the smell of the sea. He walked over to the grass, reaching down to take off his socks, then stood right at the edge of the sun warmed path.

Almost.

Almost.

Another thought and a wave of his hand, and the stone path below his feet crumbled into a warm sand, and he curled his toes into it as he looked up at the TWINKLING STARS starting to appear overhead. The sky grew DARKER, and DARKER, until the courtyard was almost BLACK, only the LIGHT from the STARS and streaming in from the windows ILLUMINATING the world around him.

The memory tickled the back of his mind. Him and Ford, running across the GLITTERING sand, DARKNESS all around them, no parents to call them back home because-

Because-

It was a festival. A once in a hundred year event, multi-colored LIGHTS strung across the streets, no one worried about kids being awake at the late hour, because-

Because-

The LIGHTS were put out, the whole town going DARK as everyone raced to the beach, no one making a sound as they waited.

And waited.

Until-

C                            L                             I                               C                            K

C                             L                              I                               C                             K

Dark.

Light.

It seemed into every corner, was every corner. The deepest parts of people, the unseen and unknown.

Aways chasing, always pushing and fighting to make itself and all things known. The parts you choose to be.

The natural state. Made in blackness.

The unnatural state. Thrust into brightness.

Pushing and pulling and always in battle. Two forces, since the beginning until the end.

Made DARKER by the LIGHT

Made LIGHTER by the DARK

Welcoming and drowning. Friend and Foe. Safety and Danger. Can’t be known until it is, every step a mystery.

Exposed and seen. Friend and Foe. Safety and Danger. Always known, can be seen for what it is.

Hiding.

Finding.

Taking all the parts of yourself and holding them close. No one can hurt you.

No one can help you. Not without opening yourself up.

Back and Forth, Bright and Dull, mixing and shifting and neither can exist without the other and-

Too much is death, a cold void, and closed coffin.

Too much is death, a burning void, an open grave.

But when they’re together they’re-

Stanley is running ahead, cheeks burning from the force of his grin. Stanford is hot on his heels, desperate gasps the only sound between them.

Most of the town is further up, but not them. Not now, when Ma and Pa told them all about what was coming, why tonight was so important.

Stanley stops right at the edge, toes curling into the still hot sand as Stanford stumbles to a stop beside him.

“Do ya’ see ‘em” Stanley whispers, hand reaching out to take his brothers.

Stanford wheezes but clutches his hand just as firmly. It’s too dark to see each other, the moon is gone and the lights of town gone.

“Not yet,” Stanford says, once his breathing is more even, “But it’s still early, maybe-”

Stanley shushes him sharply, free hand patting his shoulder, “Listen!”

They listen, alone in the dark.

Alone in the light.

In the distance, over the waves, the sea glows a shimmering rainbow. As it comes closer, so too, does the sound of twinkling bells.

They’re here.

Both brothers grin at each other as the first turtle pokes its head out of the waves with a cheerful ringing. Its shell is painted in an array of glowing blue patterns, so bright and eye drawing it makes the skin of the turtle look pitch black.

It’s beautiful.

Stanley listens to Stanford whisper about how the glow mimics dangerous sea monsters found in the deep and scare off predators and is how they express the subtle magic flowing through their blood.

More and more turtles climb onto the shore, not caring about the two boys or the townsfolk gathered further up the beach.

They have done this for a thousand years, less and less, until now it is only a rare occurrence.

Every time they come, it might be their last.

The turtles climb further up onto the beach, finding the perfect spots.

Laying their eggs.

No one here will touch them, (most of them, at least) there is not enough magic in the turtles to make them worth hunting.

Not with how poisonous they are.

The eggs are as hard as stone and won’t hatch for a year. The egg shells come in an array of colors, and the boys’ ooh and aah over each nest they glimpse before the mother turtles bury them.

There will be another festival next year, where thousands of multi colored glowing turtles make their way back to the sea, but for now the boys watch their mothers illuminate the beach and cast funny colored shadows over their faces.

Stanford makes sure Stanley doesn’t get too excited while they run their hands over the shells. Stanley makes sure Stanford doesn’t get too eager in poking the dark skin and bothering them.

A single bite could be fatal after all, and they are much, much faster than any non-magical turtle.

When the last turtle has come and gone, the boys will watch them disappear under the waves, each one twinkling away in its sing song voice.

It is just as beautiful watching them go, as it was when they came.

Stan blinked as the memory faded, then lazily traced the Light rune in the air, feeling the warmth inside of him thin and stretch until it laid over the courtyard in a golden haze. Then it faded, and he watched the grass glow in a multicolored wave, blowing in the breeze like the ocean did, all those years ago.

Then he traced the Dark rune and darkened everything else, until all he could see was the grass.

It was beautiful.

“I think I’m going to pass out,” Stan said, feeling his nose bleed again as all the runes whisper and mummer in the back of his mind. The need to use them wasn’t there now that they’re drowning each other out. If he focused, he could pick out their individual voices, could draw and use them, but it was much easier to ignore their call.

“You’re not going to pass out,” McGucket said, coming up to stand next to Stan as the boys rush past them to run through the grass. They look like two shadows come to life, and a moment later shadow Dan joined them. The three of them ran their hands through the grass, then one of them (impossible to tell which one with them so close to each other) started picking longer strands and weaving them together.

“I think I’d know better than you,” The whispering and buzzing is almost a relief after the itching he’d been feeling the last day or so. He swayed a little, before McGucket grabbed his arm and pulled him to sit in the glowing grass. He could feel the thin strand connecting him to the spells, fueling them.

With a frown and a tug, he grabbed a ball of warmth, then shoved it at both spells, then cut it off.

He.. was pretty sure that wouldn’t make this permanent.

Maybe.

Hopefully.

“If you were gonna pass out,” McGucket said, running his shadow metal hand through the glowing grass, “you’da done it already. You’re just a little light headed s’all.”

Stan hummed, half closing his eyes and watching the grass ripple and wave, breathed in the still salty air.

One of the shadow boys ran by and set a glowing grass crown on his head with a giggle (probably Shifty then) then ran off and called out to the others. They ran, rolled, and tripped over other shadow obstacles while Stan sat with McGucket, trying to make sure his brain didn’t fizzle away out of his ears.

After a while the spell faded, grass losing its glow while color returned to everything else and the light from the windows shone down on them.

McGucket gave him a knowing look, now that they could actually see each other, then frowned. With a deep sigh, the metal man reached into his pocket and pulled out a rag, then handed it to Stan. He frowned at it, giving McGucket a questioning look, before the metal man waved at his face and Stan remembered his nose.

“Now that you’re a bit more stable,” McGucket said, once he’d cleaned himself up, “and less likely to start blowing things up, we’re gonna have that talk I talked about.”

“Talk?” Stan asked, as he pushed himself up and trailed after the boys towards the dining room, “What talk? When was this?”

“Oh,” McGucket said, in a tone that made Stan’s hair stand on end, “a while ago. After dinner though, once Stanford’s back.”

Stan frowned, desperately raking his brain for any mention of some kind of conversation they were supposed to have. By the time they made it to the dinning room he’d come up with nothing, so he shrugged, ate his food, and chose not to worry about it.

Probably nothing important anyway.

Chapter Text

After dinner McGucket started leading him towards the treasury for their ‘talk’ before pausing and heading in another direction. They went around a few halls (some Stan was pretty sure didn’t exist before now), before stopping in front of another set of large double doors. The Fiddlefords opened them to reveal what he could only call a grand lounging room.

Several fireplaces lined the walls, each with an array of multi colored couches and giant pillows. The center of the room was sunken in and lined with more cushions, like a giant cozy pit with a circular table in the middle and several small tables scattered throughout. On the far end of the room was a large lounging couch sitting on top of a pedestal with a triangular table next to it. Several large windows with yellow curtains were on either side, with two doors that had been barred shut (probably balconies).

What caught his attention was the wall of glass bottles set to his left and the counter in front of it.

They looked perfectly intact.

Stan didn’t hesitate to ditch McGucket and head directly for them. He had to weave around some of the couches and pillows, then jumped over the counter to rifle through them. They came in a wide vairity of colors and shapes, each one with a label he couldn’t read. But that wasn’t important, not right now.

What was important was that they were empty.

“Oh, come on!” Stan yelled, scanning the rows of glass bottles for the barest drop, “Really!”

“Really,” McGucket said as he clomped over and sat on a nearby stool, “Not only is this place older than me, there’s children runnin’ about.”

“Then get a lock or something,” Stan grumbled as he started sorting through all bottles to look at the ones in the back, “I’m dying here. Wait- Where’s Bill? I need to wish for something unrelated to what we’re talking about right now.”

“I told him I’d bake him something if he went and schemed elsewhere tonight.”

Stan tsked, then went back to looking through all the empty bottles. A thump from behind him drew his attention, and he turned to see his satchel on the counter, McGucket sliding it over even as Stan lunged forwards and snatched it. A quick look showed Fords diary sitting snuggly inside, and it eased something in his chest he hadn’t realized was tense.

“Promised I’d give this back to ya’” McGucket said, watching him as Stan pulled the book out and ran his hands over the cover, “once you clicked with more runes. I figured you might have forgotten, what with how hectic things got and with them runes chatting away at you at all hours.”

“Yeah,” Stan whispered, watching the glow pulse for a moment, before he set the book back in the satchel and slung it over his shoulder. He shuffled awkwardly for a moment, before mumbling a thanks and turning back towards the wall. McGucket hummed (a weird, rumbly sound that made his teeth tingle), and they drifted into silence, except for the bottles clinking together and McGucket drumming his fingers.

“Am I gonna get any hints about what we’re talking about,” Stan asked, a few minutes later.

“Nothing too terrible, if that’s what you’re worried about,” McGucket responded, “Although I did want to tell you that since Dan’s awake now to help me manage Bill, I’ll need you to open the door to Stanford’s lab again, and we’ll need to get into his study soon. A good amount of the books came from the library originally, which we’ve returned as we’ve gone through them, but the ones that didn’t need to get put back. Everything that’s not relevant anyway.”

“How’s that goin’ for you, breaking the very real curse.”

Stan saw McGucket shoot him an unimpressed look from the reflection in one of the bottles, and shot him one back. Instead of trying to argue about how the dragon was Ford, McGucket sighed, then rubbed his temples (which made an unpleasant grating sound, as always).

“Slow,” he said, “Neither of us specialized in curses like Stanford did, and since he’s being just plum unhelpful lately, we’re having to start from the bottom and work our way up. You takin’ some of the books didn’t help, and Bill being the one to cast it didn’t either.”

“What does Bill have to do with it?”

“He’s powerful, near god-like from what I’ve been able to gather. Or was.” McGucket sat up and rest his head on his hand, “Just means he knows how to make things more complicated and nastier than us regular folk. And even though he’s like a wet dish rag in terms of power now, he wasn’t a few months back when he first came back. I’m worried….”

Stan raised an eyebrow when McGucket trailed off, and he sighed again.

“I’m worried that even if we can figure out how to break it, we might not be able to do it with the amount of ambient magic that’s stickin’ around nowadays. Even here, and even with you, the amount of raw power to turn one creature into another and back ain’t small. I’m sorry Stanley, he might be stuck like that.”

Stan rolled his eyes, then went back to looking through the bottles.

“What’d you have to be sorry for? It’s not Ford.”

McGucket sighed again, but Stan ignored him, focusing back to the task at hand. The shelves within reach were bare, which meant he had to look elsewhere. There wasn’t a ladder to reach the higher shelves, and McGucket refused to help him on his quest, so stuck his tongue out and tried to use the Wind rune to carry them down towards him. He got through a few of them before his mini cyclone wobbled and almost dropped a bottle on top of him, and he decided to look around the room instead.

The giant lounge couch was obviously Bills, which meant his larger armored form from his dreams was probably actually smaller than he was in reality.

A chilling thought.

Other than that one, there were several other larger or very small sized couches and cozy chairs, and Six would be able to fit inside the room fairly easily, as long as it limited itself to a corner and another dragon didn’t come in.

There actually looked like there was a dragon sized corner for just that. On the right of the entrance was another cushioned lowered section, this one without any tables. Stan stood in front of it, eyeing the space, then at a few cushioned stools nearby. It was easy to picture Six strutting through the doors, curling up in the corner, then laying its head down on them while demons and Bill partied and got wasted and did whatever else they did while hanging out here.

Which is exactly what happened about an hour after they’d got there. Stan was testing out the coziness of a particularly plush looking chair (and not falling asleep!) when the doors opened and Six strolled in. It scanned the room until its eyes caught sight of Stan, then chirped happily and (carefully) bounded over. Stan barely had a chance to grumble at it before its talons were closed around him, and it carried him over to the corner to make itself snug.

“Hey!” Stan yelled, kicking his legs and wiggling as Six turned around like a cat, “I’ve got legs! And I was comfortable!”

Six clicked at him, before laying down and setting Stan down against its side. Then it reached over and grabbed a few of the pillows to pad around him. The scales were warm against his back, and he was gently rocked with each breath. The cushions helped make a soft barrier at his sides and its back claws and made nice arm rests.

Still.

“Its not the same,” he grumbled when it was done, getting an offended look in return. Before it could start ranting at him in dragon tongue, McGucket coughed. The metal man had taken the time Six was getting comfortable to come over and sit down on the edge of where the floor dipped, long legs stretched out in front of him as he leaned forwards and put his hands together.

“So,” he said, clanking his fingers together and looking pensive, “Where to start.”

“How about what we’re talking about that I need a giant dragon I can’t understand to be around for.” Stan said back, watching as Six pushed the pillows around, ran a talon through his hair, then set its head down next to McGucket with a satisfied chirp.

“Well, hmm. How much do you remember, from right before you first clicked.”

Stan frowned, trying to think back. Clicking with the Break rune was just as clear and vivid as it had been the first day, more so then the Dark and Light rune he’d just clicked with earlier. The moment before that though…

“Not much,” He admitted, squinting his eyes and trying to focus, “It’s all kind of hazy.”

He vaguely recalled being in Fords room, and then a blur of going around smashing things. McGucket must have showed up at some point, otherwise he wouldn’t have been able to Break his arm in the first place, but there wasn’t a distinct memory of when that was. Just a lot of wandering around and then Boom! McGucket was there, in his face and saying something. Then maybe Bill? He remembered hearing Bill’s laughter when he Clicked, but not seeing the demon himself beforehand.

Or maybe he had, and he’d been too sleep deprived and magically drained to notice.

“Alrighty.” McGucket took a deep breath, then looked Stan straight in the eye, making him shift uncomfortably against the dragon’s stomach, “I’m not sure if there’s a… correct? Way to go about saying this, but you said a few… concerning things.”

“What kinds of things,” Stan asked, narrowing his eyes. It better not have been anything embarrassing, the last thing he needed was McGucket and Six hearing about his nightmares or something.

Six clicked softly, reaching forwards to run a talon gently through Stan’s hair, then very carefully hooked it around Stan’s head. He tensed, but all it did was do a soft petting motion before pulling back.

“Still don’t know what you’re saying,” Stan said, letting out a quick sigh of relief at not having a giant dragon talon wrapped around his neck.

Six clicked, then tapped McGuckets head while the man’s expression became pinched.

“He said that you said that he didn’t care about you, which he does. He’s sorry that he let things fall apart between the two of you, and that his actions led you to that belief. You’re twins, he should have stuck up for you.”

Oh god. This was worse than Stan telling someone about his nightmares.

He’d talked about his feelings.

“First of all!” Stan said loudly, face warm as he looked away from their piercing gazes, “That’s- Six is not Ford! So there was nothing to fall apart! Second!”

Stan tried to bolt to freedom and escape the conversation, then realized quickly that the pillows had been put on either side of him not to keep him comfortable, but to keep him trapped. They provided a squishy barrier so that when Six curled a little tighter and used its back claw to hold Stan in place, it didn’t need to press down as hard or worry too much about squishing Stan on accident.

“We don’t have to talk about it!” Stan yelled, one arm free and trying to pry the giant claw off of him, “It was- I was tired! People say all kinds of crazy things when they’re tired and- and- and doing magic stuff! Or whatever it was you said before! Lets just move on, forget it ever happened!”

“I wish I could,” McGucket said calmly while he watched Stan struggle and did nothing, “But I can’t. And not just because of Stanford, but because…”

To Stan’s horror Mcgucket stood up, walked over to him, and set a heavy hand down on his shoulder.

“I know we had a rough start,” McGucket said, voice full of sincerity and making Stan’s skin crawl, “and I’m technically aiding and abetting in keeping you prisoner-”

“There’s no technicality happening here, that’s just what you’re doing”

“-But even though you’re frustrating, childish, difficult, and give me more stress than I’ve had in… some time, I still care about you Stanley. Not because you’re Stanford’s brother, although that might be the reason we met and it helped me overcome some of your more… less desirable personality traits, but because you’re not a bad person. Sure, you vandalized my home, destroyed my arm, and made me question my sanity, but underneath that you’ve got a big heart. The boys like you, and when you weren’t sleeping and suffering from extreme magical depletion, you never broke down or made them feel afraid. And even though you’ve been here for months, have sworn up and down that you’d get out, and have had Stanford bring you several weapons, you’ve never tried to hurt anyone.”

That didn’t really mean much. He wasn’t awful enough to attack two kids or dumb enough to try and take on the metal giant twice his size and a ghost. Stan had to suppress the need to gag as McGucket squeezed his shoulder and leaned forwards, eyes soft and face gentle.

“I’m not gonna stop worrying about you, even after we fix Stanford. The boys aren’t going to stop liking you just because he’s back to his regular self. Emma-May… Well. To be honest, I’m not actually sure she minds Stanford’s current state, so she might actually be dragging her feet with fixing him and might be upset if we figure it out. Dan… Dan just lives here. I think he wants to go home. He’s been asleep for most of you bein’ around and I can’t really say how he feels about anything.”

“Can you stop now; I think you’re making me physically ill.” Stan could feel his insides squirm, and his chest was tightening in a way that was distinctly uncomfortable. Six wasn’t helping, looking at him over McGuckets shoulder with big goo-goo eye and gently squeezing him with the claw holding him in place.

“No,” McGucket said, moving to sit down next to him and ignoring his fake heaving, “I can’t say I understand why you feel that way, although Axolotl knows Stanford’s said enough things that made me question your childhood, but I want you to know that there isn’t gonna come a point where we’re gonna kick you out. Once Stanford’s fixed you’ll be free to go, but you can be free to stay if you want, I don’t-”

Stan very suddenly remembered he had magic powers now, which meant he could have escaped this conversation immediately instead of suffering through McGucket trying to connect with him or something. It was amazing how easy they were to forget, now that they were a background buzz in his brain and not yelling at the forefront.

He used his free arm to write the Break rune on the closest pillow, exploding it into a cloud of fluff that made the dragon jerk away in surprise. Stan scrambled to freedom in the confusion, then tripped over the step in the flooring as the fluff got into his eyes and blinded him.

A hand grabbed him by the back of the shirt and pulled him up, and one Wind rune to get ride of the fluff showed McGucket and his long suffer suffering expression.

“What-” McGucket paused as Stan wrote another wind rune that blasted the fluff into his face, but wasn’t enough to push him back, then continued, “What are you tryin’ to accomplish here.”

“What are you trying to accomplish!” Stan snarled, kicking his legs and trying wiggle free of the grip. He didn’t really want to Break his shirt, and the second Wind rune did nothing but make Six sneeze and then cough on all the fluff that got in its mouth. Stan growled, then glared at the Wind rune when he wrote it again and blasted McGucket.

His inner warm feeling (and he’d have to come up with a better name then warmth at some point. Calling it magic made it feel too wizardy for his taste, like he was using something he wasn’t supposed to have touched), which was already low from clicking with Light and Dark earlier, didn’t have enough power to shove McGucket like he’d done to Rico and his goons. It didn’t help that McGucket was probably three or four times their weight, meaning he’d need to blast him with a lot more to even tilt him.

He needed to learn more attacky type runes that wouldn’t shatter people to dust fast. Something that he could use to throw McGucket around at least, since Break came on too strong and Wind would probably only work if he threw all his warmth into it.

“I’m trying to…” McGucket lifted his other hand, the one not holding Stan (which he quickly realized was the one he’d Broken) and waved it around, looking a little lost, “... Not fix you, humans don’t work that way. Feel better? I don’t…”

McGucket sighed, rubbing his face, then turned to look at Stan, still dangling in his grip, and looked sad. Six finished coughing up the fuzz, squinted its eyes at them, then eyed the fluff everywhere else. A low rumble summoned a Fiddleford with a broom, and Six backed up so it could get to work.

“Some of the things you said,” McGucket finally settled on, walking over to Six to set Stan down in its open claw, “Well, I can’t stop you from feeling those feelings, but I can try to ease your mind. We won’t kick you out once Stanford’s back to normal, and he won’t hurt you while you’re here.”

“Who says I need easing about any of those things.” Stan growled, scowling up at Six when the dragon cooed softly and bent down to shove its snout into Stan’s side and rub into it, pushing him towards its talons before leaning away and doing the same to the top of Stan’s head. He grumbled at the treatment, but since he wasn’t pinned, he let it go.

“In a way, you did.” McGucket said, reaching forwards to pat Six’s snout, “I know you don’t rightly remember, which I’m not too surprised at with the state you  were in, but…”

He grimaced, then sighed again.

“Sorry Stanley, there were people back in the day that dealt with mind healing, but..” His face twisted, and he got a far away look in his glowy eyes, “I don’t think they really exist like they used to, and I wasn’t one of them. Just..”

Stan gagged at the concerned look McGucket gave him, then shuddered when he kneeled down and set his hands on Stan’s shoulders. The size of them meant McGucket was holding him from his neck almost down to his elbows, making him feel like he was going to be shaken.

It would have been preferable to what actually happened, which was McGucket looking him in the eyes, and saying in a soft voice, “I know we got off on the wrong foot, and we’re technically keeping you prisoner-”

“Again,” Stan interrupted, “Not a technicality.”

“-but that doesn’t mean we’re gonna give you the boot when everything’s all settled. And you don’t need to worry none about Stanford. He might accidentally squeeze you or get rough now and then, but dragons can’t… there’s no off switch for how he feels about you. You could do just about anything right now, and he’ll forgive you every time.”

Stan shuddered, then eyed McGuckets searching gaze. He looked to the side, studying the bottles on the far wall, mulling over the one thought that had gripped a corner of his mind and hadn’t let go.

Teeth stuck together and feeling like someone was pulling nails out of his chest, he ground out “and what won’t it forgive.”

He made sure not to look at either of them, didn’t want to see their faces or be here or have to talk about any of this. No one but him needed to deal with his shitty problems, and he had been planning to take all his dark thoughts and worries to the grave. Having someone else talk to him about it made him feel exposed, vulnerable.

Feelings were for chumps after all. Real men shoved everything they knew about themselves into a box in their heart and only opened it on too cold nights with empty stomachs while they looked at the overcast sky and tried to remember if life had ever been good in the first place.

“Easy,” McGUcket said, giving him a squeeze while Six crooned and rubbed his head, “he won’t forgive you if you don’t take care of yourself. If you keep bundling up all your feelings and not speaking up when you’re bleeding all over the place, then I’m not sure what he’ll do to you. Might keep you in that wagon for days, maybe weeks. Drown you in dragon licks.”

At his words Six pulled away to lick Stan in the face, making him sputter and whack at McGuckets arms until he let go. He dragged a sleeve over his eyes to get all of the saliva off of him, then looked at down at it in disgust.

“I know you don’t really believe me,” true, “but I wanted you to know. You might technically be held captive here-”

“You keep saying technically, do you not know what that means?”

“- but we’ll do all we can to keep you safe and comfortable. Stanford might get a bit too eager with the safety part, and we’ll work on that, and we might mess up now and then, which we’re very sorry for, but I didn’t want this to be somethin’ you gotta be freaked about. I wish Stanford had been his usual self when you showed up, that we coulda met under better circumstances, but since he isn’t, and we didn’t, I’ll work with what I’ve got. Stanford’s my best friend, helped me work through a lot of changes, and since he’s…”

McGucket turned to look at Six, and Stan followed his gaze to find the dragon staring at him with his huge, dinner plate eye. It widened when they made eye contact, and it started making a deep rumbling sound in its chest and brought its head closer and closer, until Stan could have reached up and poked its eye out.

The only thing stopping him was the fact he was sitting in its claw.

“… Not himself, I’ll figure all this out. If you need anything, get them dark thoughts, I’ll do my best to help you.”

Stan gagged again, then shuddered at the thought of going up to McGucket and willingly having any kind of mushy brain conversation. McGucket sighed, but didn’t look surprised at Stan’s reaction. Instead, he looked up at Six expectedly, and the dragon perked up.

“What-” Stan started to say, before the dragon started clicking at him, other claw coming over to run its talons through Stan’s hair again. He side eyed McGucket, but he was focused on the dragon rambling at them. It went on for longer than he thought necessary, until it came to a stop, looking pleased with itself.

Stan turned to McGucket, who looked tired as he turned back to face Stan.

“He wants you to know that you never crossed any lines with him, that although he was sure there was some reason he was upset about what you did, it pales in comparison to your…” McGucket grimaced, and the dragon stopped running its claws through Stan’s hair to poke him in the head.

With a sigh and a hand to the head, McGucket continued, “To your magnificence. His life is great, he’s got the-the best hoard, the best den, and the best- Now I’m sure he meant friends!” McGucket turned to yell at Six, who looked away until McGucket looked back at Stan, looking annoyed, “but instead used a funny word that could have also meant servants, which I’m sure he remembers! No one here is!”

Six grumbled, then tried to hide its head behind Stan. Since Six’s head was ten times the size of Stan’s body, this did nothing but get it an unimpressed stare from McGucket.

“Anyway,” he said, giving the dragon one last glare, “He’s known his whole life that there was no one as impressive or wonderous as you, and he’s sorry he didn’t look for you sooner. But-” another sigh, “its better he didn’t, because if he did he wouldn’t have found such a great home for you. And that’s all I’m translating.”

Six huffed but didn’t argue. Instead, it brought its other claw down next to the one Stan was already sitting on, cupping him in them.

“Gross,” Stan said, rubbing at his chest and feeling weird. It was nice the dragon seemed to like him more than anyone in his entire life did, but every time someone told him what it was saying it seemed less and less Ford like. Ford wouldn’t forget why he was upset about what Stan did to ruin his life until Stan made it up to him in some way (like rescued him), or call Stan something like ‘wonderous’. Even when they were kids, the best he’d get was funny, cool, or crazy. They were best friends (were, because Stan had messed up and gotten himself replaced by someone far more interesting to Ford), but that didn’t mean they were all over each other like Six was with Stan.

“Are we done now,” he continued, “because-GAH!”

Too late, he realized Six had cupped its claws for a reason. The reason being now Stan wouldn’t roll around and fall if Six brought its entire side of its snout down and rubbed him back and forth, pushing the flat scales of its face all over him. Stan yelled, using his arm to push himself away from the assault while Six squished the rest of him gently between its head and claws.

“He’s been missing you these last few weeks,” McGucket said, and from what Stan could see he had stood up and was starting to wander away, “so he might be a bit clingy for a few more days now that you’re stable.”

Then the jerk waved a hand and wandered away, like he hadn’t just tortured Stan with a whole speech about being there for him. Stan needed him right now! To get him down and away from the giant murder beast that was going back to rubbing Stan with different parts of its face.

“Get off me!” Stan yelled, pushing away at its forehead when it curled around to rub Stan between its horns, “What am I, soap? Put me down!”

Six ignored his hands as he shoved at its giant head and kicked it in the teeth. He growled, then stopped pushing. It meant it could now shove his face into its cheeks and top of its snout, but it also freed his hands so he could write the Wind rune and shoot a bunch of air arrows at it. Each one took a little warmth with it, but they also made Six flinch each time at the unexpected burst.

Six pulled away, giving him a disappointed look, but Stan just scowled and wrote the Wind rune again, blasting it in the face and making it squint.

“Yeah, that’s right,” Stan said, wiggling his fingers, “can’t just do whatever you want now! I’ve got-hey!”

Six stood up, then rolled Stan to one claw and held him to its chest as it trotted out the room and down the hall. Stan had to hold on to one of the talons so he wouldn’t fall, the dragon almost skipping around the castle until they reached the treasury.

When the doors started opening, he slammed his eyes closed and hunched his shoulders. A quick Wind rune made the air salty, but even that wasn’t enough to hide the lingering smell of burning flesh.

It followed him as Six ran through the gold, until he peeked an eye open to find themselves further in the treasury. He let the sea smell go, slumping into Six’s claws as his.. inner fire (felt too dragony for his taste, but he’d workshop it) died down to embers. Both smells faded, and he was gently rolled into his wagon bed shortly after.

He was tempted to show off his new Light rune, but that could wait until he had more… inner fireness, to throw around. Instead, Six turned on the light orb, then ran off to turn off the lights while Stan made himself comfortable, reaching into the satchel to bring out Fords book.

He pressed his hand to the cover while the lights went off, letting the golden pulse ease the tension he’d been carrying since McGucket had taken it. There was no impulse to tear it to shreds, no need to watch it fall apart just to see what it’d look like. He just held it, closing his eyes slightly and feeling it beat in time with his heart.

When Six got back the dragon curled around the wagon, turning so it could stick one of its claws in and lay it down on top of him, pinning his arms down and the book to his chest. He grunted from the weight, scowling at the talons resting on either side of his head, then squirmed trying to get out from under it. When it did nothing but make Six curl its talons more, he huffed, then turned to glare at its glowing eye.

“Don’t get used to this,” Stan said, “This is not a thing that’s going to happen every night.”

Six crooned, shifting slightly to get more comfortable, then started chirping something. It sounded like a song, something familiar that tickled the back of his brain. Whatever it was, he felt himself relax as Six kept chirping away, until his eyes became heavy, and sleep overtook him.

“Alright,” Bill said, tapping the board, “I think I’ve found the problem here.”

“To what.” Stan said, face down in the desk and trying to figure out how to split himself in dreams. Maybe then it’d take longer for Bill to notice he’d slipped away.

He wanted to figure out the wellspring thing, but there was a reason only Ford had been scouted for wizard college and he’d been the barnacle hanging on to him. While the four runes that buzzed in the back of his brain made perfect sense to him, everything else was just as vague and confusing as ever. None of Bill’s ‘lessons’ had helped, each one a nightmare as Bill rambled on about ‘inter-planar runes’ and ‘resonating meanings’ or whatever.

“To why none of this seems to stick in you baby brain,” Bill said, suddenly next close enough to poke him in the back of the head, “I thought there’d be enough empty space in there for this to slide in, but we haven’t even gotten past interlocking runes.”

“Is it because you suck?”

“No, it’s because you do.”

Stan grunted as Bill gripped the sides of his head and lifted it, forcing him to make eye contact with the demon towering above him.

“I was spoiled with Stanford,” Bill said, voice crooning in a way that made him uncomfortable, “your brother has a once in a lifetime mind. That kind of genius is hard to find, and it meant all he needed was a little nudge here and there to get the ball rolling. You’re not even half of what he is, don’t even have the slightest knowledge on rune basics rolling around in there.”

“I thought you were supposed to be charming me or something,” Stan asked with a raised eyebrow, “needed me to open doors for you? None of what you’re saying feels any kind of persuasive.”

“Hah! Like you’d go for that,” Bill laughed, dropping Stan head and turning to face the board again, “No, you’re to stupid to keep trying. Instead, I’ll call it like I see it. I’m guessing Fordsy never shared much of his interests with you, if you can’t even grasp this.”

Stan shrugged, not comfortable with Bill enough to admit that Ford had stopped trying to explain what he was telling Stan sometime around when he was fourteen, right about when he’d started actually learning how runes worked and how to use them. Before that it was all about how magic used to work, or various magical creatures that used to exist or were barely hanging on.

Once they hit fourteen the long explanations Ford would delve into trickled and stopped, and instead Ford just had Stan copy his school work. It was faster and easier, and Stan didn’t have too much of a problem with it (not until they were sixteen and he realized Ford had stopped reading to him entirely).

“So, we’ll have to go back to basics, hope your brain can figure the rest out if it has any kind of foundation,” Bill said, drawing Stan from his thoughts as he pointed at the board. There were three runes written on it, the first one Stan didn’t recognize, but the one in the middle was the Wind rune, and the last one was a triangle with an eye in it. Bill pointed to the first one, then turned to Stan.

“There are three kinds of runes you puny mortals can comprehend. The first is this one.”

Bill tapped the rune, then wrote a few more around it.

“These are the most useless runes for any sorcerer to know, but you’ll need them if you want to take a stab at finishing the circle around The Wellspring. None of them have more than the barest magic presence, just a bunch of grammar and filler words for other casters to try and tell reality how to bend.”

Bill took a step to the side, then pointed to the Wind rune and wrote Break, Light, and Dark around it.

“Next are the ones that are actually worth knowing. These bad boys actually mean something and have power to match. You learn enough of these and work on that reserve, and you’ll be following in my footsteps before you know it!”

“I don’t want to do that.”

“The last kind,” Bill said, ignoring his comment and pointing to the last one, the one that looked like the triangle he liked to plaster everywhere, “are where its really at. These runes,” Bill pointed to the second group, “are just runes of power, these” Bill pointed back to the triangle, “are the god level runes. They have regular power sure, but they come with a little extra boost if you’ve got the owners attention.”

“Let me guess,” Stan said, looking at the triangle, “That one’s yours?”

Bill clapped condescendingly along with cheers from an invisible audience. Stan scowled at the treatment, silencing the extra applause.

“Look at that, you can learn.” Bill wiped away a nonexistent tear, then slammed his hand on the board next to the triangle, “This is my rune. It belongs to me, and even though every two-bit sorcerer and wizard can fling it around and use it like the second-tier rune, it’s got some juicy extras that come with it, IF I want to give them out.”

“Extra, huh.” Stan muttered, eyeing it, then Bill, “What kind of extra.”

“So glad you asked.”

Stan shivered at the look Bill gave him, then shook it off as he sat up and put his head in one of his hands.

“My rune,” Bill said, looking him in the eye, “Is the See rune. It lets you see the unseen, extend your sight, and even look at the future, for those who can handle it. And those who can’t.”

“So, it’s a spying rune.”

“If that’s how you want to use it. That’s up to you. BUT!”

Stan jumped as Bill popped up right next to him, sitting on the table with one leg over the other while his hand tapped Stan’s forehead.

“Like I said, I can give it a little something extra. Something I never got to give Old IQ. Your brother, as interesting as he is, isn’t a sorcerer. He got a few other perks when we made our deal, perks that I cut off when he turned his back on me-”

“Because you betrayed him.” Stan growled, pulling away and glaring at him, “Then tortured him for a few weeks until he went crazy.”

“Details, details,” Bill said with a wave of his hand, “All I mean is, if you click with my rune, I can give you your own set of eyes to help you get around, see what you’re not supposed to.”

Stan gave him a look of disbelief, then leaned back and crossed his arms.

“Listen, I’m all for trying to figure out the wellspring thing,” He said, glaring harder when Bill wandered off to erase the board, “but I’m not about to let you mess around in my brain. You messed with my brother, and I’ll never forgive or forget that. Once he’s back I don’t want anything to do with you.”

Bill let out a fake sniff, then pulled out a yellow handkerchief and dabbed his eye.

“Its true what they say, kids always tell you the most hurtful things.” He blew his eye like a nose, then tossed it away and went back to filling it with tiny nonsense runes, “anyway Gold Fish, you don’t have to worry your empty little head about it. I was just giving you an intro to the basics. You already told me you didn’t want me helping you out.”

Stan scowled at him, eyeing his back as he went on to explain basic intro runes. There was no doubt in his mind that was an attempt at getting Stan interested in what his ‘super’ rune had to offer, and no doubt whatever ‘perks’ would come with unwanted side effects. Probably nothing dangerous, or Bill’s godmother contract would whisk him away (to get yelled at? Stan had no idea where Bill went any time he tried to hurt Stan).

But there were other ways to get at people besides hurting them. Ford’s blood-spattered notes had written ‘he’s watching me’ all over them. Even before knowing Bill was apparently the god of creeps, it had been obvious who his brother had been talking about. Stan already had to deal with Bill popping up whenever he wanted (which was thankfully less now that Stan was actually helping him), he didn’t need the demon any more in his business.

Which made the fact that Bill’s rune would have been incredibly useful to know so grating. He could think of all kinds of things to do with the See rune, and now he knew what it looked like. All thoughts on locating enemies, looking for guards, or ambushes, or even treasure were shoved into a box and locked tightly away.

Focusing on the words written on the board and trying to pay some kind of attention now that Bill wasn’t trying to shove advanced rune knowledge in his brain, he thought about all the other runes he’d click with instead.

McGucket had left the rune book out in the courtyard after all, and now that Stan was stable he’d go back to doing whatever he did all the time, leaving Stan free to rifle through it at his leisure and figure out what else he wanted to learn.

Chapter Text

The rune book, much to Stan’s disappointment, was gone the next day. That didn’t mean much, seeing as he didn’t need to know the rune to click with it, but it was still annoying. Especially now that Dan was awake, and therefore it was back to ‘Stan the blood key’ hours.

It would be more annoying if he didn’t already need to get into Fords sealed rooms to look for his books, but he made sure to grouch and drag his feet as much as he could when McGucket and Dan led him back towards Ford’s lab. The door was pulsing as strongly as ever, and this time Stan only jumped a little when the Fiddleford got in his face.

Unfortunately, he wasn’t ‘allowed’ to rummage around, as McGucket didn’t want to give Bill any chance to go wild with Stan there to give him instant access to the room. Since Stan couldn’t outright tell them they had nothing to worry about(and he wasn’t actually sure they didn’t), and that Bill wasn’t interested in the contents except for Fords diaries, he leaned against Six and paged through the one he already had, looking back through for mentions of the secret passages and side halls.

He was tempted to ask if any of them had seen the other two, but knowing Ford (and the fact that he’d gotten the first one in a secret room in an already sealed one) they’d been hidden away where no one would be able to find them that easily. He’d have to figure out a way to come back either by himself or with Six.

When they were done in the lab, and after a quick stop at the library to drop off the books McGucket had grabbed, they made their way up several sets of stairs (with Six now holding the trolly) to another set of double doors with a familiar red circle drawn around it. Stan eyed the hall, making a mental note of where it was in relation to everything else, before turning to examine the doors further.

Like Fords lab, the bedroom, and the archive, there was a circle of red with runes written around and inside it. Fords handprint was in the center, gently pulsing glow, and both Fiddlefords had a few lines wrapped around them.

“This is Stanford’s study,” McGucket said, stepping aside so Stan could place his hand on it, “It should have the rest of the books we need, unless he squirreled any away in his room.”

Six clicked, then set his head down on his claws as Stan’s hand lined up with Fords (making his heart twist as he placed them together), then crooned as the Fiddlefords on either side examined him, then pushed the doors open.

He got a quick glance at a few rows of shelves, more scattered papers, and a stained-glass window, before Six was grabbing him with one claw and shoving its face closer.

“Hey!” Stan yelled, now pressed against the dragon’s side, “Let go of me!”

Six clicked, turning to look at him briefly, before going back to examining the room, pupil widening as it took in the sight.

“Last time you wandered off,” McGucket called out as he squeezed past and started rummaging through things, “so he’s not gonna let go of you while he’s distracted.”

Stan growled, then shot Dan a glare when the treenager snorted. With a wiggle he managed to free one of his arms, then drew the Wind rune and shot more air arrows at the side of Six’s head. The dragon flinched with each one, then shifted so it could gently press one of its talons on the top of his head.

Stan scowled.

When a few more arrows got nothing but a huff, he crossed his arms and tried to bend forwards to see around Six’s giant head. Then he slumped, fingers tapping along its scales as he glared. The grip wasn’t so tight he couldn’t wiggle around, but every time he started getting free it would gently use one of its talons to press him back down, ignoring his grunts and yells of outrage.

It only let go when McGucket was finished and the doors were closed. Stan eyed the giant stack of books they brought back to the library, then frowned at the misty shelves, where the archive was located.

“How many doors did you say he sealed?” Stan asked, one hand in his satchel and running along the spine of Ford’s diary.

“Well,” McGucket said, sorting the stacks by some secret order, “There’s the lab, his room, the study, archives, the- and that’s it.”

Stan suppressed a smirk at McGuckets unintentional slip. The metal man’s eyes had darted down, and he had no doubt in his mind that was where the wellspring was. Hopefully none of the books were down there, or else he’d really have to wing it once he made a move to try and fix it or something.

Since they were done with book managing for now, Stan wandered off, mind whirling with how to slip out of McGucket and Six’s watchful gazes. They’d started getting laxer since Rico had rolled up, probably due to some misguided thought that Stan would stick around now that the crime lord was lurking in the woods. He’d have to see how lax the next time Six went hunting and use the time he had now to figure out how to slip away from McGucket (and Dan, now that he was awake).

It wasn’t until later that night, mulling over the bared window in the bathroom that he got the start of an idea. The only time he had real privacy was when he was here, meaning whatever he came up with, it had to start in the bathroom.

Thankfully, McGucket continued to be the worst, as the metal man hadn’t even thought of putting any kind of restrictions on Stan’s casting (or maybe he couldn’t, and was hoping Stan wouldn’t figure it out). Which meant it was incredibly easy to wander to the far wall, the one he was confident connected to the room next door, eye it critically, and write Break on it to get one of the stones to pop out of place.

Just as he’d hoped, another bathroom was on the other side. A smile made its way across his face, even as he shoved the stone back in and started planning.

After all, he only had so much time in here before McGucket burst in, he had to time everything perfectly.

“Uncle Stanley?” a tiny voice chirped at him, a week or so later while he chewed on a stick and tried to think of the fastest way from Fords lab to his study. His attempts at wishing for a complete map of the castle had gotten him three that were written in invisible ink (and an eye wink (or blink? Hard to say)), and another that only had a third of the castle, none of it connected.

Almost useless really, but he’d take what he could get (Since Bill had decided that, even though Stan was helping him now, it was funny to watch him struggle).

“What is it,” He asked, turning to look at one of the boys. They were all sitting in the courtyard enjoying the warm weather while Six stretched out and sunbathed on the roof, lifting its head and stretching it every once in a while. It didn’t seem concerned with his map, and that meant he had free reign to spread it out on the grass and scheme as much as he wanted, as far as he was concerned.

“Can you ask pops to let us go to the lake?” Shifty (he was pretty sure it was Shifty, at least) asked, Tate standing a few feet away and twisting his hands, “we always start going when the weather gets warm, but he says it’s too dangerous with those bad guys around. Could you try asking instead?”

“Listen kid,” Stan said, leaning back, “I’m not sure why you think McGucket would-”

“No, not dad,” Shifty interrupted, pointing up at Six, “pops. Dad can’t go swimming, it’s bad for his joints.”

All at once Stan was reminded that Ford was partially responsible for the two kids’ existence, and that they thought Six was Ford. Stan looked up at the dragon, thinking. It had let him do whatever he wanted, but there was a firm line where that freedom ended.

“I’ll give it a shot,” Stan said, pushing himself to his feet and dusting the grass off his pants, “But I can’t give you any promises. It’s pretty dead set on keeping me in the building.”

The kids nodded, and they trailed after him as he wandered over closer to where Six was lounging. It had started out directly above him, then gradually moved as the sun shifted and its head kept falling down from trying to watch Stan.  Now it was farther away but could still watch as he got closer with the boys.

“Hey! Six!” Stan yelled, waving up at it. It angled its head to show it was listening, and the tip of its tail started twitching, but otherwise didn’t react, “The boys want to go swimming at the lake! You gonna take them or?”

Six started clicking at them, then shook out its wings and settled down. A quick glance behind him showed twin looks of disappointment, telling him everything he needed to know about what Six had said.

Well, that just wouldn’t do.

“Booo!” Stan yelled, backing up to nudge the boys, “Booo!”

“Booo!” Shifty yelled, shaking a tiny fist at the dragon, “We wanna go to the lake!”

“The lake!” Tate yelled, cupping his hands around his mouth, “Lets go to the lake!”

They heckled the dragon for a few more minutes, before it finally huffed, lifting its head to glare down at them. With a roll of its eyes it stood, shaking its wings out before carefully stepping down from the roof and picking all three of them up in one claw. Stan had a moment of triumph before he realized his mistake.

“Hey, wait-”

Six curled its talons so all three of them were squished together, than climbed back onto the roof and spread its wings. Stan hunched his shoulders and slammed his eyes shut as the kids on either side started shouting in excitement. Then everything was drowned out under the beating of his heart and Six’s wings.

The lake must not have been very far, because they weren’t in the air for long before Stan and the kids were gently slid off onto the ground. It was also much quieter, lacking the excited cheering he’d expected.

A peek at his surroundings answered why, as instead of a blue lake under the sun, he was greeted with the blood red lake of the treasury. Tate and Shifty slumped down on either side of him, while Six started chirping and nodding its head. Probably some kind of safety lecture.

“Boo!” Stan shouted again, getting to his feet and glaring at the ominous water, “This sucks! This isn’t a lake! Not a fun one anyway. It looks haunted. Or cursed.”

“It was!” Bill said, popping onto his shoulder and kicking his little legs, “but that faded away millennia ago. Used to be anyone who touched it would shrivel like a grape as all their blood got sucked away, and anyone who drank it became a vampire for ten minutes then explode.”

Stan stared at Bill in disgust, then shot a look at the two nervous faces behind him.

“Too bad it needed fresh blood to keep going,” Bill sighed, shaking his triangular body, “Otherwise ol’ Sixy here would’ve been the biggest dragon grape of the century.”

“I need you to stop talking.”

“Can’t we go to the real lake pops?” Shifty asked, going over to drape himself over one of the dragon’s talons, “I wanna go swimming in normal water.”

Tate went to join his brother, and the two of them groaned and whined at the dragon’s feet while it kept gesturing to the blood lake, still chirping and looking sure of itself.

Stan frowned at them, then at Bill’s tiny kicking feet, then at Six’s resolved expression. It reminded him of an incident years ago, when He and Ford had been grounded all summer, stuck staring at the glittering open sea from the window, watching all the other kids run free and have fun while they were stuck inside.

He wasn’t going to let a stupid dragon, some goons, and a demon stop these kids from having fun, not if he could help it. Rico was in the woods somewhere but the chances of him catching up to Stan before Six did were slim to none.

“Alright fish kids,” Stan said the next day while they were sitting in the shade of the Creep Tree, “Your Uncle Stan’s thought long and hard about it, and I think I’ve got a way to get you to the lake of your dreams.”

They didn’t need to know the length was ten seconds and the hard was softer than clay.

“What’s the plan Uncle Stan?” Shifty asked, scootching closer. Tate shot them both concerned looks, before glancing over at Six, once more sunbathing on the roof.

“Simple,” Stan said, grinning, “Old Six there can’t enter and exit the building without taking the long way. All we gotta do is ditch him long enough to make a break for it, and if our timings right, he’ll have to run all the way back to the treasury before chasing after us. You know the way to the lake, I know how to get us out of here and make sure none of those bad guys get us. We’ll be kicking it back before you know it.”

The boys looked at each other, looked at Six, then turned back to him, determined expressions on their twin faces. Stan grinned wider, than waved them closer, whispering his plan.

One day at the lake wouldn’t hurt anyone (probably), and Stan had cool magic powers now.

It’d be fine.

The first part of the plan worked like a charm. McGucket spent most of the time doing whatever he did and only seemed to show up around dinner, while Dan was out doing ‘teen stuff’ (whatever that meant). As long as Six was there, no one else bothered to keep an eye on Stan, and they boys had been living there their whole lives, they were trusted not to cause too much of a ruckus.

Which meant there was no one to stop Stan and the boys from wandering inside and down the halls towards one of the outer rooms. They listened to Six grumble and start making his way inside, then casually found a room with a window that faced the woods outside the castle. Shifty kept an ear out while Stan Broke all the bars off, peeked out at the two-story drop, then grabbed Tate while Shifty quickly ran over and scrambled onto his back.

“If we get in trouble,” he said, tiny nails digging into Stan’s skin, “I’m telling them it was your idea.”

“Probably for the best,” Stan agreed, walking over to the window and taking a deep breath, “Since your dad already told me I can do anything I want and won’t get in trouble.”

With that they listened to Six get closer, Stan tensing at every step. It was only when it got near the hall that he forced himself to move. He threw a leg out the window, squeezed through, then wrote the Wind rune as he imagined them drifting to the ground like a leaf

Much to his relief, it worked just as intended, their fall slowing instantly as a golden glow surrounded them.

Then, much to his horror, it worked just as intended, when a huge gust of wind blew past, sweeping them up into the air much like a leaf.

All of them screamed as they were launched into the air, followed by the roar of the dragon as Stan and the kids were swept away from the castle to the valley below. Stan made sure to keep the warmth as thin as he could, making it last as long as possible as they clung to each other and tumbled through the air.

Trees and branches rushed by just out of reach, a sea of green in every direction with no way to pull the reigns without freefalling to the forest floor. Stan made sure to clutch Tate close and felt Shifty’s little claws dig further while his legs wrapped around Stan’s waist.

Then a final gust threw them up into the air, and Stan gasped as the forest disappeared from underneath them.

The lake, as it turned out, wasn’t very far at all. The only reason Stan couldn’t see it from the castle was because it was directly below a cliff face that cut it off from view. Now, directly above it and a mile in the sky, he could see the village in the distance, and the castle behind them.

And he could hear the Wind, giggling as it pushed and tugged at the spell he’d cast, begging him to go higher and farther and further still. A child, asking to go again. An older woman, calling him a sweetheart. The fishermen from the docks, calling out.  A thousand voices, all laughing together as they finally had someone to play with again.

And Stan laughed, giddy at the feeling of the Wind all around them. The rune in his mind sang and laughed as the Wind pulled them down and along the surface of the LAKE. WATER sprayed up at them as they rushed past, screams of terror quickly turning to joy as Stan stuck his legs down and skid across it, casting another Wind spell and letting the leaf one fade away.

With a grin he felt the wind run along with him, carrying him up just enough so he wouldn’t sink into the middle of the LAKE. He skipped and let himself tumble to the shore, then crashed into the beach as he very suddenly realized he had no idea how to stop. The three of them laid on the pebbly ground, groaning in a heap, before Shifty rolled off Stan’s back and threw his arms in the air.

“That was awesome!” he cried, scrambling to his feet and pulling at Stan’s shirt, “Uncle Stanley! That was so much fun! And way better than walking!”

Stan groaned, then rolled off Tate and looked up at the clear blue sky. His last spell had been interrupted by the crash, and now all his warmth was sloshing all over the place. The giggling of the Wind rune faded with it, until it was lost under the drone of the others, a comforting buzz in the back of his mind.

“For sure kid,” he said, sitting up and taking a deep breath, “Totally what I meant to do. Now we gonna sit here all day or enjoy this lake!”

Shifty cheered again, then pulled his still dazed brother from the ground and tugged him towards the WATER. Stan followed, pushing himself up and brushing off his pants. He still didn’t have shoes, instead wearing a pair of comfortable if impractical slippers, both of which he kicked off as he walked into the LAKE.

The sun shone down on him, warming him up as he closed his eyes and breathed in the fresh, non-prison air. There was just enough warmth inside him for a few more runes in case of emergencies, but he figured Six would be here before anything had a chance of happening.

“Alright kids, what-” Stan opened his eyes, just in time to see both of their heads disappear under the WATER. He waited, then waited some more, before he remembered they were part fish, and that he’d been abandoned.

“Welp.” Stan stared at the LAKE, then watched as a flock of birds took flight over the cliff as Six roared in the distance, “This is fine.”

“Isn’t it?” Rico said, and Stan screamed as he turned, seeing the man walking down the beach, a large grin plastered across his face. Stan backed up, until the WATER was midway up to his thighs and Rico had stopped right next to Stan’s discarded slippers.

“Rico!” Stan said, sweat breaking out along his brow as he thought about the two kids who were who knows where in the WATER and the dragon probably headed this way, “What-how on- You’re here!”

Stan could feel his grin twitch along with his clammy hands. He’d used most of his warmth already, and the runes he had weren’t much use in the middle of a wide-open area. The Light rune could blind him, but Stan was almost waist deep in WATER and there was every chance Rico had more men hiding in the trees. His mind scrambled to think of what he could Break to by himself time, cursing himself for not listening closer to McGuckets explanations of how sorcery worked.

“So are you,” Rico said, still wearing his long black cloak (and wasn’t that thing hot? Summer was on its way, and that thing didn’t look any kind of cool), “Imagine my surprise to see you out here, so soon after my failed attempts at getting inside your keep.”

“Haha,” Stan laughed awkwardly, “I, uh- wait attempts?”

“That dragon of yours is a dedicated caretaker,” Rico said, brushing his question off as he started rolling up his sleeves, shooting Stan a knowing look, “None of my men have been able to so much approach the keep without it taking notice.”

All at once Stan was reminded of Six, sunbathing on the roof and stretching out its neck. But it wasn’t stretching, was it. It was looking, watching all of Rico’s goons try and approach the castle. Scaring them off with just a look.

And he’d ditched it.

Oops.

“Ha! Yup!” Stan backed up, cold WATER coming up to his waist while Rico calmly started going through the pockets at his waist, “Its, uh, it does that. What are you doing here?”

It sounded more like a plea than a question, but Rico flashed him a grin regardless, even as he pulled another piece of that purple vine out. He wasn’t holding a pendant, but there was only one person to target.

“Well,” Rico said, winding it around his fingers, “My men and I were using that abandoned town as a base of operations before the beast drove us out. And after seeing its… memorable, display, I decided a nearby water source was essential in dragon hunting.”

So, their camp was nearby. Great. Fantastic even. Especially as he’d been hollering at the top of his lungs less than ten minutes ago, right in the middle of the LAKE for the whole world to hear.

Stan opened his mouth, ready to let it go wild as he tried to stall for time, eyeing the water around them and trying to think about how it could be Broken, but Rico was faster. The hand not holding the vine slammed onto a circle further up his arm, and a thick purple glowing vine shot out of his hand, hitting Stan straight in the chest before he could react and curling around his arms.

Around his hands.

Shit.

“Hey!” Stan shouted, jumping to try and keep his balance as Rico started pulling him closer, “Lets just- talk this out!”

“I’m done talking, Stanley,” Rico said, pulling the magic rope, “If that’s even your real name. I’m not going to let a gift like this escape my grasp, not when you’ve delivered yourself to me with so little fuss.”

“OK, first of all,” Stan said, WATER now back to his thighs as he got closer to shore, “creepy. This was a total accident; I had no idea you were here. Second? I’m fussing a lot here actually. Lots of fussing happening.”

“You’ve always been such a chatterbox,” Rico said, tugging him closer and closer, “We’ll fix that.”

“What does that mean!?”

“It means he’ll probably sew your mouth shut or something,” Bill said, sitting on his shoulder. Rico paused, staring at him in confusion, giving the tiny demon enough time to reach down and cut the rope connecting them with his tiny claws. Stan stumbled backwards at the sudden loss, then screamed as Six slammed down behind him, sending a WAVE that pushed him forwards, making him lose his footing and slam down into the SURF.

“Talk about clumsy!” Bill shouted into his ear as he struggled to keep his head above the shallow WATER, “But I think you learned your lesson here, didn’t you Gold Fish?”

“I’ve learned nothing!” Stan shouted, then screamed again as Six and Rico lunged for him at the same time. The purple vine was still pinning his arms to his side, meaning all he could do was awkwardly roll on the hard gravel ground as a giant claw smashed down next to him and Rico lurched to a stop where Stan had just been. He pivoted, face twisted in a snarl, but Six was faster, scraping across the gravel and snatching Stan up (along with some of the dirt and mud, squishing it into him).

“The kids!” Stan shouted, when Six spread its wings and looked about ready to launch itself into the sky. Rico was shouting something below him, but Stan was focused on Six’s irritated expression as it growled and turned. He got a satisfying glimse of Rico getting launched somewhere to the side by Six’s tail, before the dragon roared, loud enough to rattle his teeth and shake the WATER.

“oooh” Bill said, somehow completely dry and still sitting on Stan’s shoulder, “someone’s in trouble! I think we’re looking at a three-way grounding! What would your poor mother think when he learns about this.”

“Stop calling McGucket my mom,” Stan growled, scanning the water for a pair of heads, “Its somehow worse than when you call yourself my dad.”

“Tch,” Bill shook his body, one hand coming up to flick Stan in the nose, “My son baby is so mean to me. No respect for all the care and time I’ve put into your upbringing.”

Before Stan could tell him that less than a month’s worth of rune lessons was almost nothing, two heads popped up further in the lake. Six growled, then lunged forwards and snatched them both with its other claw, using the motion to propel itself up and into the air. Stan watched the LAKE get smaller and smaller, before he realized that being so high up because of a dragon instead of a rune did not have the same feeling of joy and whimsy.

He slammed his eyes shut, wind whipping his wet hair in his face as they went back to the castle, and they stayed closed through the entire lecture McGucket gave the three of them about safety, and how leaving the castle while a known criminal was out camping right outside their doorstep wasn’t something he’d thought he’d have to explain was all kinds of a terrible idea.

He was right, of course, but Stan wasn’t going to let something like ‘high risk’ stop him from having a good time.

Besides, even if he’d almost been kidnapped (again), he didn’t regret any of it. Not just because he could feel the WATER rune starting to click, but because the moment the lecture was over and Stan’s arms were free, Six did nothing but nuzzle his chest and hold him close.

Not even a hint of flames.

“So, Rico’s been trying to get in?” Stan asked at dinner, freshly washed and ignoring the safety lecture Emma-May was giving the boys (and maybe Stan, he wasn’t paying attention, and she’d started her lecture with saying Stan should accept his imprisoned life), “Since when?”

“Oh,” McGucket tapped the table, irritation still clear on his face, “Now you’re worried about him? After he almost snatched you with the kids?”

“Yeah.”

Bill laughed at McGuckets growl, a small plate of soup in front of him he’d been slurping.

“You’re impossible.” Stan shrugged, giving him wide, innocent eyes, that did nothing but get an annoyed huff in response, “But whatever. I already knew that. This is my fault actually, I shoulda known you’d try something so soon after stabilizing. Why wouldn’t you?”

“Glad you’re taking all responsibility.”

“Quiet you. For your information, he’s been trying to sneak back in after the first day. Dan’s been clearing all the trees nearby so we have a clear view, but none of them have gotten close enough to try any of the windows.”

Stan hummed, then squinted over at Dan, who was nodding along to Emma-May’s safety lecture and whatever responsibilities he was being given to enforce their grounding.

“How come he gets to go out?” Stan asked, stabbing at his dinner and glaring over at Six. The dragon had its head cocked slightly, like it was listening to something else. Maybe whatever told it people were breaking in or something.

“Because no one wants to kidnap him, he’s almost an adult, and I’ve been standing guard so no one can creep up on him.” McGucket said, “now eat your dinner.”

“And no dessert!” Bill chimed in, licking at all the soup stuck to his wrapped up face with a tongue that came out of his eyeball, “not after giving your poor mother a-”

Stan laughed as McGucket threw something at the demon, knocking him off the stack of pillows he sat on to reach the table and onto the floor. The chuckles faded as he went back to eating, thoughts turning back to his whole situation.

He didn’t notice a difference in his warmth coming back at the lake, but he also hadn’t been there long enough to really pay attention, and it might still be close enough to the wellspring not to matter. Part of the reason he’d been interested in going was to test out how true Bills words about how long it’d take to recharge.

But looking back through his maps in the wagon, it made some kind of sense. He’d marked reported sightings of magical creatures, and they became more frequent the closer they got to the valley. Meaning he probably did have to do something about it if he wanted to get out of here after he rescued Ford.

And something about Rico, who probably had the whole castle surrounded and a secret base near the lake. Meaning no more escape attempts until he upped his rune amount (and really, the Water one couldn’t go any faster?) and found Ford. Then he had to do something about Six, and Bill, and find out how McGucket broke the curse on the gold, and get his wagon out of the treasury, and, and, and-

Hopefully his brother was actually in or around the wellspring, because if he wasn’t, and Stan messed it up, then he’d have much worse problems than his brother being mad at him.

Chapter Text

Once Stan was done being ‘grounded’ (and what was he, ten? None of these people were his real parents) he went back to scheming. Really, all he was doing was waiting for Six to go hunting while Stan was awake, giving him the max amount of time to explore before it could hunt him down.

Which was only two days after he’d been ungrounded, as it didn’t feel comfortable leaving at night with Rico lurking around. At least that’s what McGucket said, after breakfast when Six held him to its snout and McGucket translated the promise it wanted him to make not to step outside the castle while it was gone.

Stan rolled his eyes, then set a hand on its nose and solemnly promised that no, he wouldn’t try to escape. Or go to any of the windows. Or do anything that would put him in danger while Six was gone.

Which wasn’t a lie, as he planned to stay very inside the whole time.

“I’m pretty sure I’ve got another rune that’s about to click,” Stan told it, rubbing the smooth scales around its eye, “I’m gonna camp out in the bathroom and see if watching the bath or sink run will help jog it along. Its taking forever.”

Six’s eye softened, then it chirped and nuzzled his chest one more time.

Then it was gone, and he was dragging McGucket towards his ‘room’, which was really just his changing room now. At some point the bed had disappeared, replaced with several wardrobes full of fancy outfits and a vanity stuffed full of jewelry. He’d started swapping some of it now and again and mix matching outfits into outrageous combinations when he was bored.

Leaving McGucket on the couch, he strolled into the bathroom, turned on the sink and tub, then crouched next to it, watchinG the WATER pour out and swirl into the drain. It felt different in here than at the LAKE, like meeting someone at party, then seeing them at their workplace the next day. Still the same, but more formal and put together.

Or pretending to be, in any case.

He sat there for a while, going back and forth between the sink and tub, watching the WATER swirl and disappear, until the door slammed open. Stan jumped, then looked over at McGuckets panicked face with fake confusion.

“What?” he asked. McGucket didn’t say anything, just stared at him, then tried to hide a glance at the window with a cough and a mumble as he backed out of the room. Stan watched him go, bemused, then smirked at him when he burst back in five minutes later.

“You need something?” Stan asked, sticking a hand under the sink and watching the WATER run over his fingers.

“No, no.. just.” He saw McGucket eye the room distrustfully, then slowly back away, “Just checkin’”

“Uhuh,” Stan said, as the door closed again, “Knock next time! What if I’m on the toilet!”

He heard McGucket mutter something, then his clomping footsteps as he went back to the couch. The metal man lasted another five before he banged on the door, and Stan rolled his eyes.

“Come in!” This time he gave McGucket an unimpressed look as his head peeked around the corner, scanning the room, “I said I wouldn’t try to run off, didn’t I? Where’s the trust.”

“Left with your brother,” McGucket muttered, giving him a Look before slowly pulling back. Stan was still staring when he slammed the door open a minute later, then shook his head as McGucket squinted suspiciously at the bathtub.

“Look,” Stan said, gesturing to the tub, “I’m just trying to click with the water rune here. I think I can feel it trying to happen, and you coming in and out is really distracting, can you not?”

“Alright,” McGucket said, nodding and slowly backing up, “I’m sorry, I just.” He sighed, “Feels like every other time Stanford leaves you with me, you skedaddle on out of here, and with Dan making sure the boys finish all their punishments, I’m a little on edge.”

Shifty and Tate had been tasked with each cleaning out one of the halls, airing out clothes, sweeping, dusting, and then writing an essay on why letting Uncle Stanley throw them out a window wasn’t the best decision. Stan had been able to get out of it by flat out refusing, then got out of his week long McGucket tag-a-long punishment by being as annoying as possible, using the Wind rune to mess up whatever chore he was working on, shooting air arrows at things, making rooms darker so they could hardly see each other, then the next one extra bright so McGucket had to squint to see. The metal man had only lasted two days before admitting defeat, and Stan was free to do what he was doing right now.

Which was wait until McGucket closed the door, listen to his footsteps as they went back into action, and using McGuckets trusting nature against him, as he Broke the bars off the window, sound muffled by the combined might of the tub and sink. He put them down next to the tub, then went over to the wall and started pulling out the stones he’d been working on.

He didn’t want the whole thing to collapse, so he only pulled enough for him to squeeze through. Then he turned and put as many of them back in place as he could, and used the Wind rune to awkwardly lift and shove in the rest. It wouldn’t last under scrutiny, but hopefully McGucket would be distracted by the window and not notice the stones sticking out.

He made sure the wall wouldn’t collapse, then stood with a grin.

They (McGucket) never learned.

“Wow,” Bill said, now on his shoulder as he poked his head out into the bedroom (empty), “That was really something. One of these days he’s not gonna let you in there without supervision.”

“Eh,” Stan said, walking through the near identical room towards the door, “Maybe. Now if you’re gonna be here be quiet.”

Bill blew a raspberry, but didn’t talk as Stan slowly opened the door, stepped into the hall, and closed it behind him. None of the FIddlefords said anything as he snuck past his ‘room’ and towards Ford’s lab, and the moment he turned a corner Stan burst into a sprint.

“That was pathetically easy,” Bill said, looping an arm around Stan’s head, “If it were me, I’d have chopped your legs off the first time you ran. Except I can’t hurt you. Hmmmm.”

Stan didn’t bother responding, too busy keeping an ear out for any of the other residents as he ran and walked through the halls. The castle really was too big for the handful of people who lived here, and he didn’t encounter a single one by the time he was standing in front of Fords lab.

Bill snapped his fingers, then squished his body into Stan’s head, “I’ll just get rid of the windows! Then you can run around and get all your energy out, and I won’t have to worry about losing you.”

“What am I, five?” Stan muttered, placing his hand against Fords. Bill dropped down to the floor when the knight leaned in, then clambered back up when the door opened. Stan raised an eyebrow, then filed the behavior away for later.

For now, he had a lab to rummage around in.

It looked exactly as he’d imagined Fords wizard lab to look. There were several shelves, each one dedicated to books or glass bottles containing different colored liquids. There were two large windows on the far wall, and two giant tables in the center of the room, full of all kinds of strange glass instruments. More tables lined the walls between the shelves, and a fireplace to his right had a cauldron sitting on the ground nearby, empty.

On his left was a cleared space with a giant empty circle engraved into the floor. There weren’t any runes drawn on it, so he ignored it and kept looking for any hint of red, or any potential secret door levers.

 It wasn’t as messy as Fords room, probably because McGucket had already gone through and put all the blood-stained papers on one of the tables. All of the books had long, complicated titles, only some of them red and none of them Fords diary.

“Any idea where he’d hide it?” Stan asked, glancing over at Bill, still sitting on his shoulder. It was the only reason he wasn’t ‘throwing a tantrum’ about Bill being in here.

“Don’t look at me,” Bill answered, scanning the room, “Fordsy didn’t want me to find them, so he made sure I couldn’t peek into any of his rooms. You’ll have to figure this out yourself, finally use that brain for something useful.”

Stan sighed, then went over everything again. He didn’t want to touch anything glass, and going through Fords notes just made him want to punch Bill. After an hour he sighed again, then left to try his luck at Fords study. He shut the door with a click, then paused.

All the Fiddlefords were standing at attention, eyes red and helmets scanning the hall. A few of them stared at him as he crept past, but once again none of them stopped him on his way to the study, and the moment Bill hoped off he realized they’d been watching him, helms jerking down with the demon.

“What are they doing,” Stan muttered, unlocking the door, “Was there another break in?”

“Nah,” Bill said, waving a hand as he climbed back up, “Tin Head realized you weren’t there and put the castle on high alert. Idiot forgot they’re still programed to ignore Sixer, and all of them think you’re him.”

That… made a lot of sense actually. The few times this had happened before none of them had paid him any mind. Hopefully McGucket wouldn’t realize, and he’d continue to wander as he pleased while the man scrambled to find him. The image of McGucket running around made him chuckle as the doors opened and he stepped inside.

It was the little things really.

Fords study was around twice the size of his bedroom, with a large black desk directly under a circle patterned stained-glass window, painting the room in reds, oranges, and yellows. Another giant circle was in the center of the room, this one half filled with chalk runes that were smudged by what looked like McGucket’s footprints. A large couch was against the wall to his right, with a few grimy pillows and a blanket scattered around it, a door to his left led to a bathroom, and the rest of walls were taken up by half emptied book shelves, the books now in the library with Emma-May.

A large half dead plant was in each corner, some green thing Stan didn’t recognize but didn’t look too deadly as he poked around nearby. The bathroom didn’t look too different from all the other’s he’d seen, none of the books were Fords diary, and the desk was full of more mad scribbles, paragraphs about Bill’s betrayal, the wellspring, and-

Stan paused at the letter, torn in half and shoved to the side. He wouldn’t have paid it much mine, if not for the ‘Stanley’ written across in Fords familiar scrawl. He sat down on the dusty cushioned chair, picked up the pieces and put them together.

Half of the words were illegible, crossed out or smudged, but from what he could make out were different variations of the two words in big blocky letters, printed across the bottom.

PLEASE COME

“Oh look,” Bill said, ruining the moment with his high-pitched voice, “Sixer was gonna cry for help, how-”

“Shut up,” Stan growled, “This is your fault, and the only reason I haven’t punched your eye out is because I need you to help me save Ford.”

Stan glared at the demon, then gently folded the torn letter and put the pieces in his satchel. Bill stayed quiet as he combed the rest of the desk, but a quick glance showed the demon was too busy trying not to strangle him to talk, not because of anything Stan had done. His hand not wrapped around Stan’s head had sharpened into points, and he was eyeing Stan’s throat and flexing it like he was one lack of focus away from slashing it.

Stan looked away, then sighed. It looked like he’d gotten lucky with the first diary, and the other two had been slightly better hidden. He’d have to start dumping shelves and wrecking things if he wanted to find them.

Ford would (hopefully) forgive him, as long as it brought him home.

He stood up, ready to start tipping shelves, when a loud crash outside the door made him jump. Freezing, he looked over at Bill to find the demon shrinking and climbing into his hair.

“What are you-”

“Shut it meat baby,” Bill whispered, “If you want to fix The Wellspring, then I was never here.”

Before Stan could ask what he was talking about, there was a loud bang on the door, then McGuckets furious voice.

“STANLEY PINES! GET OUT HERE.”

Stan tensed, ready to run, before he remembered no one else could get in here without him.

“How’d he find us,” Stan whispered, shifting his weight as contemplated how long he could get away with ignoring McGuckets shouting. Bill didn’t answer, but he got his answer a second later when McGuckets voice was drowned out by Six’s growl.

Dang it, he hadn’t even heard it, too lost in thought and busy staring at all the blood staining Fords desk. With a groan, he walked over to the door, then leaned against it.

“What’s the password.” Stan asked, twitching as Bill burst into muffled giggles that tickled the back of his neck.

“I will start using chains if you don’t open up.” McGucket growled.

“Wrong answer.”

“STANLEY!”

“EEH! Wrong again.”

Six clicked something, and McGucket sighed angrily.

“Please come out,” he ground out, “I promise, you’re not in trouble.”

“Wrong, and also a lie.”

Stan was jostled as McGucket pounded the door, before he sighed again, sounding exhausted.

“Stanley, this is getting ridiculous. What are you even doing in-”

Stan shoved the door open, grin plastered on his face as he looked up at Six and McGucket.

“Ridiculous was it! Wow, you got it so quick!” Stan pushed past him and started walking down the hall, eyes forward and pace brisk, “I wasn’t expecting- Hey!”

Six gently picked him up, then pressed him against its snout as it turned back and clicked at McGucket. Stan struggled, trying not to look down as he shoved at the warm scales, until Six moved, pressing its head against the floor and ignoring Stan’s protests.

“Stanley,” McGucket sighed, and he jumped at the metal hand on his shoulder. He side eyed the tin man, who was standing on the other side of the claw holding him and reaching over it, looking annoyed, “I get that you want to-to be closer, to your brother. Next time, just say something. If I hadn’t seen the wall you’d wrecked I’da been scouring the woods. Again. It’s becoming… stressful.”

“Listen McGucket,” Stan grunted, turning back to glare at Six, “You can get all mushy and weird, but this is very much, and not any kind of technicality, a kidnapping. So I get that I gotta go behind your back for any kind of privacy. It’s how these things work. Don’t look too hard at what I’m doing, its normal.”

“It- Ok. You want some alone time. I get that.”

“Do you?”

“Yes,” McGucket said, pinching his nose and stepping away so Six could set Stan back on his feet, “How about, instead of you giving me a heart attack, you just ask. And as long as Stanford’s around to make sure you don’t sneak out of the castle, we can give you an hour or two to wander and… do whatever it was you were doing.”

Stan frowned at him, searching his eyes for any kind of trick. Much to his disgust, McGucket looked sincere and earnest, if very much annoyed.

“I think I prefer the heart attacks. It’s fun for me.”

“But not for me,” McGucket said, teeth clenched, “And if you sneak out of the bathroom again, I’m going to chain you-”

Six clicked at him, looking proud, then butt its snout against Stan’s back and chirped. McGucket groaned, then rubbed at his face, as grating as ever.

“Never mind. You can pick locks. Of course you can, why would this be easy for me. Fine, I don’t want to do this, but if this goes on, you’ll leave me no choice. Stanley,” McGucket glared down at him, irritated, “If this happens again, I’ll be going into the bathroom with you. I’m tired of all the disappearances”

Ugh. He probably would too, knowing McGucket. Then Stan really wouldn’t get any kind of alone time around here.

“Fine,” Stan said, rolling his eyes, “I’ll let you know next time I wanna be left alone.”

“Thank Axolotl.”  McGucket sighed, then turned to Six, who was sniffing at Stan’s head, eyes narrowed, “Stanford, that means you too. If he asks you gotta back off.”

Six trilled in outrage, and a second later Stan was snatched off the ground and gently pressed into Six’s shoulder as it turned and held him. He yelled at the treatment while it clicked at McGucket, kicking his legs and trying to push out of the hold. As always, his human arms were useless, and he quickly started shooting Wind arrows at the dragon’s spine and at the membrane of its wings as they argued.

It flinched every time but didn’t set him down. With a growl, he wrote the Wind rune again, sending one more air arrow, then started biting the hard scales. It didn’t do anything, but maybe there was some kind of teeth rune that he could learn bite through them. Or something.

Eventually Six and McGucket came to some kind of agreement, and Stan was moved from Six’s shoulder back to its snout, where it set him down and started walking back towards the treasury, forcing Stan to hold onto the ridges on its face or fall off.

“Put me down!” Stan yelled, as Six grumbled and clicked. A quick peek over the side showed it was only holding its head a few feet above the ground, so he quickly slid over the side and let go.

Then yelped when Six grabbed him again, putting him back on its snout with a grumble.

“No,” Stan said, moving to slide again, “This is not a thing we’re doing now, I already-”

Stan grunted as his feet hit the ground, then cursed as its claw picked him up and put him right back.

“-already let you carry me!” Stan turned to the side so he could glare at one of its eyes, hands clutching the ridges so he wouldn’t fall, “This? This is not carrying. This is like, awful dragon riding- Don’t!”

Six perked up at the mention of riding, then pinched the back of Stan’s shirt, lifted him into the air, and twisted to set him down on its back, right between two black spines. Grabbing them to catch his balance, he turned to glare at it, ready to put a stop to all this nonsense.

He froze at the playful expression on its face, then paled when it stood up and flexed its wings.

“Don’t you da-RE!” Stan screamed as Six took off down the halls, only slowing down on the corners as Stan held on for dear life. The walls became a blur of darkness and occasional blurbs of color as Stan clutched the spine in front of him and Bill’s tiny hands dug into his scalp. Six trilled, occasionally looking over at him, then started speeding up with a roar.

Between one blink and the next the dark walls were replaced by the gold of the treasury, and Six’s wings unfurled. Stan screamed as they beat once, lifting them off the ground, then screamed as it started gliding across the cavern, the ground a glittering sea of gold underneath them. A few more beats took them further in, Stan’s screams echoing around and back at him, until a familiar red sight  greeted him.

The blood lake.

“NO!” Stan yelled, squeezing the spine as hard as he could, “DON’T EVEN THINK ABOUT IT!”

Six trilled, then dived. The air whipped past Stan’s face, tugging at his hair and sending Bill flying with a high-pitched scream. Stan screeched as the water got closer, then slammed his eyes and mouth shut as Six slammed into it. WATER rushed past him, and a moment later he squinted an eye open to see the red tinge of it all around them.

The surface wasn’t too far, and he managed to pry his fingers loose from the spine and kick off of Six’s back towards it. A moment later something rocketed into from underneath, and he quickly burst out in a SPRAY of red. He coughed, then wiped the WATER out his eyes and glared down at Six. He was sitting between its black horns, and he could see both its eyes looking at him.

“You suck.” Stan rasped, SOAKING WET and still half terrified out of his mind. His heart was still beating wildly as Six chirped and started swimming around the LAKE, sending RIPPLES across its still surface.

“Not doing this!” Stan called, grabbing a horn and leaning down to glare at one of its eyes, “This is not a thing we’re doing now!”

Six clicked, then dunked its head down until the water came up Stan’s waist. He grabbed the horn with his other hand, then bent down when it brought its head back up and gently shook it.

“You’re spoiled,” Stan continued, “and-and! Awful. What if I fell off! And if you try to fly with me back there? We’re done. I’ll ignore you for life.”

Six crooned, then started bobbing its head, sending larger RIPPLES. Stan glared harder, and Six spread out its wings, lifting them above the WATER, DROPLETS trailing down in a small red SHOWER, looking like-

“Now this is a proper sail!” Stanley said, looking at the Stan’O’Wars new bedsheet sail, “Its pretty much seaworthy at this point, right?”

Sixer laughed, punching him in the shoulder.

“No way! Its still got holes!”

“They add character!”

Both of them laughed, then ran around to climb onto the little sail boat. They raced each other to the prow, Stanley beating his brother by an inch. With a shout Stanley raced across their makeshift front, something Shermie had helped them put together last time he was docked, and jumped, splashing into the sea with a-

-scream. Stan clutched the rail as another wave hit the ship, storm raging around them. He’d bartered hard for passage, and now he was going to die because of a little bad weather.

“ALL HANDS-ON DECK!”

Sailors moved around him, and he pushed away to grab onto the ropes, fighting against the wind, the sea, and the-

-rain fell quietly down around him as he huddled under the trees. The forest was awash with all kinds of noise, and each drop added to it, every pitter pater on the large leaves overhead drowning out his pained wheezes as he held his side. He watched a drop trail down his hair, falling off and hitting-

-the river burbled cheerfully as Stan laid back on the bank, Stanmare drinking nearby. Cigar held in one hand, and the other behind his head, he sighed. Times like these were rare. Warm weather, full belly, and not a cloud in the-

-sky was grey, a storm incoming. Stan eyed it and-

-the drops came down-

-ran together-

-to the-

-river-

-lake-

Back home, to the sea, where it started all over again.

Stan let out a breath, watching the red lake around him. It had been here for so long, but it had started somewhere else. Everywhere else. Every drop carrying lifetimes of history, in a never-ending cycle. Coming apart and back together.

Every drop a lifeline.

Every drop a death sentence.

A killer and liquid life, all wrapped together. You couldn’t fight the current, but if you let it sweep you away, you’d die just the same.

Flowing, back and forth and bringing everything together.

He could feel the Water rune, surging into him, not chaotic like Break, or an old friend, like Wind, or some deep part of himself, like Light and Dark.

It felt like the arms of his ma, calling out to him and admonishing him for staying out too late.

The voice he heard in his dreams.

Freedom. Freedom. Come to me, and I’ll set you free.

Stan lifted his arm, letting Water rush down his arm and guide his hand, writing the wave like Water rune.

All the warmth left in him surged forth, sending a golden ripple that covered the lake-

And made it the sea.

Stan grunted as the surface of the lake got choppier and choppier, waves surging up and knocking him into Six’s horn. The dragon made a questioning trill, then clicked in annoyance as a particularly large wave surged over its head and got into its eyes.

Then it roared, as the waves got larger, bringing it up into the air, until the golden glow vanished and it all collapsed back down. Stan grunted as he bounced, sliding off of Six’s head and down its snout, until a claw came up and clamped down on him.

“Hah,” he wheezed, feeling wrung out, “take that.”

Six rolled its eyes, then swam back to shore. The water had surged past the stone shore and disrupted some of the gold, turing it into a golden beach. Six set him down, then shook itself, spraying droplets all over him. Once it was satisfied, it picked him back up and wandered to a nearby pile of treasure and set him down on top, curling up next to him.

Six crooned, then nudged at him with its snout until he started rolling back down towards its chest, where he collided with an ‘oomph’. The gold dug into his back uncomfortably as he glared up at the golden scales of its underbelly and dragged his arms up to cross them. Six nuzzled him again, then brought one of its claws closer to press him into it with a squelch of his soaked clothing.

“Stop trying to be... I don’t know, cute?” Stan grouched, scowling at it, “it’s not working.”

He grimaced as Six huffed, blasting his face with warm air, then settled down and started clicking at him, gesturing with its other claw. Stan sighed, slumping further into the warm scales surrounding him while it clicked. Occasionally it’d pause and glance at him, then nod and continue, like it was making sure he was listening.

It did this sometimes, sat down next to him and clicked away. Listening to it click away made him wish he understood it, and not with a twisted Bill wish, but some other, not demon related way. A real way.

He listened to it click and chatter for a while, drying off while the warmth started creeping back, then squirmed until it let him go. A quick look in his satchel showed Fords bone dry journal and letter, making his gut twist as he closed it. McGucket had given it to him, had given him some expensive enchanted satchel to hold a diary, and he’d given him a metal heart attack.

It made him feel… some sort of way. Especially after the mushy talk and making sure he didn’t Break everything for two weeks.

Whatever. The whole thing had been (mostly) a bust, but at least now he could look into Fords rooms without everyone kicking up a fuss. He’d have to play it carefully, go over every room slowly so McGucket didn’t realize what he was doing, but it’d be easier (if boring) now that he could request some ‘alone time’.

Hopefully nothing was in the archive, not only because he had no idea how to navigate the haunted library to get there and because of Emma-May hovering in the front entrance almost all hours, but because he was confident that’s where the rest of Bill’s body was. It was the last place he wanted the demon to wander around, even if it came with extra defenses.

Hopefully he’d find them by the start of summer, Bill would finish his rune lessons, and he’d have that wellspring fixed before anything else weird started happening around here.

Two months later and no closer to any of his goals, Stan was interrupted from an impromptu water battle with the kids by McGucket, a pained look on his face.

“Stanley,” He said, clomping over to him and grabbing his arm, “I need you to make sure Stanford doesn’t kill someone again.”

“What?”

“There’s a man at the front gate,” McGucket explained, pulling him inside and towards where he vaguely recalled the balcony was, “He says he’s here to challenge the dragon.”

“Again, what?”

“Just,” McGucket sighed, stopping in front of the barred door, “I don’t know. Stanford should be back soon, and if he sees someone this close he’ll incinerate them. Again, so if you could just stand out here and make sure that doesn’t happen? Or make him go away.”

Stan nodded, still confused, as McGucket unlocked the door and led him outside. Just like he said, there was a man standing on the road below, riding a brown horse and decked out in armor. Real armor, not the weird not armor that McGucket had. A large sword was strapped to his side, and a blue feather was sticking out the top of his helm.

“Ah, you’re back,” the man called out, “With the kidnapped lord! Release him, and I shall spare your life.”

Stan stared at him, then turned to look at McGucket in confusion. McGucket shrugged, and Stan turned back to the knight down below.

“Excuse me, what? What lord? Kidnapped? Who are you?”

“I am Sir Knightingale! The man declared, pounding his chest, “I heard tale of the dragon terrorizing the north, and of the kidnapped son of a lord in its clutches. A hefty reward is said to be waiting for whoever slays the beast, and a greater one for rescuing you!”

Stan gaped at him. That was the thing about being isolated in a castle away from any kind of civilization, no one came by to bring them the news. How long had tales of his lordly kidnapping been going around? Who’d even-

With a groan, Stan brought a hand to his head. There was only one person who’d spread rumors like that, the one man who’d been unsuccessfully trying to break in for two months, and who’d pay more money for Stan than killing the dragon.

Rico.

Chapter Text

Stan woke up with a grumble, then a suspicious squint. Since he’d been kidnapped, he’d be woken up by McGucket without fail for breakfast at the sameish time every day, despite not having any kind of schedule for the rest of it. The only exceptions were when he was sick or injured, or if Stan had a particularly bad night that even Bill’s dream tampering couldn’t save him from.

So, waking up on his own, healthy and full of Bill’s rune lessons, was a danger sign.

Six was still curled up around him, already awake and watching. It perked up when Stan moved to eye the room, then sat up and roared in his face. Stan slammed his hands over his ears and cringed at the blast of noise, then jumped as Six rose. The dragon uncurled, jumping to its feet and running around the treasury in a gleeful burst of energy.

“What’s with the racket?” Stan yelled, rubbing his ears and wincing at the crash of coins as Six dashed through mounds and rolled around in the nearby piles. Before Stan could even consider climbing out or maybe curling back under the blanket and calling it a day, Six was back. It crashed into a halt next to the wagon, shaking it and forcing Stan to hold onto the edge or fall over.

“Hey! Whats-” Stan yelled, then screeched when Six reached in and grabbed Stan, curling its talons around him and pulling him out, blanket and all. It uncurled its talons so it could shove its snout into his chest and rub its face all over him while he flailed and tangled himself further in the blanket. When it was done it pressed him to its snout and held him there as it dashed towards the entrance of the treasury.

“We talked about this!” Stan yelled, hands gripping the ridges of its snout while his hair blew around in his face, “You can’t go around snatching me! Warn a guy!”

Six trilled and bobbed its head (and therefore Stan, much to his annoyance), but didn’t slow down as it tore through the hallways towards the dining room as fast as it could on three legs. It ground to a halt in front of the double doors, and Stan shouted, gripping the ridges tighter to stop the sudden jostle.

He groaned from the treatment, then eyed the Fiddlefords as they stood there and Six as he sat on his hind legs and started clicking softly at Stan. He grunted as it pulled him away from his face and cupped him in its front claws. One claw twisted so it could run a claw through his hair, ignoring his scowl and the hand he sent to bat it away.

“Stop,” Stan said, bending forwards to untangle his legs from the blanket, “It’s too early for this. I don’t care what time it is!” Stan yelled, when Six tilted its head and gave him a Look, “I just woke up, so it’s early!”

Six huffed, then clicked at him and went back to trying to fix his hair with its giant talons. A fruitless task, with the way Stan’s hair curled and tangled at this length. Stan left it to it, yawning and scratching his stomach, hungry and too used to its weird grooming habits to push it further once he had the blanket off.

It had stopped licking him at least, which was already an improvement.

“So, am I getting breakfast anytime today or?” Stan asked, after they’d been sitting in front of the doors for a few minutes. Six shuffled in place, ran another talon through Stan’s hair, then clicked at the Fiddlefords. They stood at attention, then turned to open the doors. Stan covered his face at the blinding light that pierced his eyes, then gaped at what he saw.

The room had been decked out in gold and blue streamers, ribbons were hanging down from the chandelier, the table had a blue tablecloth draped over it, the chairs golden chains. Stan kept gaping as Six walked carefully into the room, setting him down next to his usual spot and trilling triumphantly. McGucket, the boys, Dan, and Emma-May were arranged around the end of the table, and all of them grinned at him with varying levels of enthusiasm.

“HAPPY BIRTHDAY!” they yelled, sending a stab of pain through his chest as he saw the small pile of presents piled in the middle of the table. A platter full of pancakes and fruit was set up in front of his seat, along with a bubbly pink drink. Bill was lounging in his usual spot, looking annoyed and exhausted as the demon could be.

“We figured you’d probably lost track of the time,” McGucket said, stepping forwards to guide Stan to sit, “So we put together a little something for you two to celebrate your first birthday together.”

“Were you surprised Uncle Stanley!” Shifty yelled, standing in his chair and leaning forwards, “We surprised you, didn’t we!”

Stan closed his mouth, then swallowed and shot his nephew a shaky grin.

“Uh, yeah! I didn’t- didn’t realize it was Juntasy already. Been, uh. Been a bit longer. Then I thought.”

“Juntasy fifteenth!” Tate said, puffing his chest, “That’s pa’s birthday, and you’re twins, so it’s the same!”

“Yup!” Stan felt his cheeks hurting from the force of his fake smile as he looked around the room and back to the breakfast in front of him, “That’s the thing about birthdays huh. Always the same every year!”

McGucket frowned at him, but he ignored it, forcing cheer into his voice as he looked at the boys.

“You guys set this up?” He said, eyeing the pancakes, “Snuck around ol’ Uncle Stanley’s back huh. I’ll have to up my game.”

The boys giggled, beaming at him and each other, then burst into excited chatter about how they helped make his ‘special birthday breakfast’ (it was the same one he used to share with Ford) set up his special birthday colors (yellow and blue were the cheapest, left over from the beach opening festival and easy to find in their sea-side town), and got his presents ready without him noticing (Every year they’d get the same gifts to share. A brick from their pa, a free fortune from their ma, and whatever curiosity Shermie may or may not have sent their way.)

There were five wrapped boxes on the table, two more than they’d ever got and five more than he’d had to himself (they’d tried getting gifts for each other, but with their meager savings and combined living situation they always ended up buying each other candy or something they both wanted and shared)

He hadn’t celebrated his birthday in ten years, had barely celebrated it to begin with. It was only missing one thing, and if it showed up Stan would lose it.

“I know customs have changed over the years,” Emma-May said as he ate his breakfast and pretended every bite didn’t taste like ash, “but Stanford assured us gifts were still the norm. His will be waiting for you after breakfast.”

Ok, three more than they’d had to share, and six all to himself.

“Happy emergence day,” Bill said, voice flat and bored, “You haven’t died since you exploded out of your human parent and started screaming about it. Here you go.”

Bill snapped his fingers, and a small piece of paper appeared in front of Stan. It fluttered down onto his plate of half-eaten breakfast food, and he snatched it before it could get any more stains. It was yellow, with a picture of Bill, arms open wide an eye… kind of sad looking? Pleading maybe? The text on the side said, ‘one free hug’.

“There,” Bill said smugly as Stan looked at the paper, “Dadly duty done. It’s a one-time offer, so spend it wisely.”

“Thanks,” Stan said slowly, folding the paper and shoving it in one of his pajama pockets, “I’ll think long and hard on when I want to use this.”

Three more presents than he’d shared with his brother, and all six of them for Stan. All from Fords friends who thought the dragon crooning above and behind him was his brother.

“Does, uh,” Stan stuttered, then forced a grin when Dan shot him a weird look, “does the big guy not get anything then?”

“He’s been useless this year,” Emma-May said with a roll of her eyes, “Usually we’d find him some books, get him some rare writing materials, something like that. Unfortunately, all he wanted was for us to give you things, and for you to read to him later. Not a great list to work with.”

Six crooned, then set its head down so it was next to Stan and as close as possible. Stan reached over to pet its snout, then shoveled his breakfast down his throat, just trying to get this over quickly.

When he was done they pushed their wrapped gifts towards him, and he grabbed Dan’s first, curious on what the teen would even get him. The box was small, wrapped in blue paper, and made a dull thudding sound when Stan shook it. Stan ripped through it to find a small Six, carved out of wood, standing on his hind legs and wings spread open. Stan held it up to the dragon, getting a sniff and an approving nod.

Emma-May got him a few books on sorcerer history so he could ‘know his culture’, Shifty had made him a bracelet out of pieces taken from others and amateurly melted and twisted together, while Tate had taken a bunch of gold and melted them together in the shape of a fish, with a red ruby eye.

He managed to politely grin and thank the kids for their gifts without twitching, but McGuckets made his smile feel like glass and his chest tighten. The square box had been ripped open like all the rest to reveal a thick red cloth. Stan picked it up with bemusement, ready to ask the metal man why he thought Stan needed even more clothes, when he lifted it up and shook it out.

It was his cloak.

Not the same one of course, with its ratty patches, threadbare edges, and bloodstained hood. McGucket had tried returning that one after ‘doing the best he could’ with it. Stan couldn’t stan the thing anymore, not with the memories it brought. In another time, when he didn’t have a choice but to make do with what he had, he would have squirlled it away for if he really needed it. Not anymore, with all the other, non-death related options. He’d shoved it back into McGuckets and told him to trash it. Not even all the pockets he’d sewn into it were worth the way it made his breathing quicken and his skin crawl.

This one was a deeper red, thicker and of a better quality than anything he’d owned before getting snatched. It had a furred hood, just like his old one, if something much softer and fluffier. A slow examination revealed several hidden pockets, much like the ones he’d had on his old one, almost in the same spots. It had a golden chain with a fish clasp at the neck, and golden thread was sewn into the edges, depicting little dragons.

“I used your old one to get an idea of what you liked,” McGucket was saying, as Stan rubbed the material in between his fingers, “Might be a tad too warm right now, but you were always wearing it, thought you’d like a new one.”

Stan opened his mouth, closed it, then took a deep breath.

Then he wrote the darkness rune in the air, shoving as much warmth into it as he could so the room went black and he booked it.

Six roared, and he felt the air above him whoosh as something large just missed him. Stan didn’t waste time trying to scramble over the dragon towards the main doors, instead heading to the wall the Fiddlefords always popped out from. He slammed into it with an oof, then desperately slid his hands across the wall behind the drapery until he hit wood, found the handle, and burst back into a lit corridor.

Ignoring the yelling and commotion behind him, he dashed through and slammed the door behind him. It wasn’t as fancy or well lit as the main castle, but that didn’t matter. All that mattered was it was too small for a dragon to fit, and it’d take him far, far, away.

He took an immediate right once the door slammed, rushing past other doors and darting through random passageways, breathing heavy as the roaring got fainter. A quick turn took him to a spiral staircase, and he ran down two at a time until he hit another floor and kept running.

He ran until his legs started burning, and his breathing became gasps. A stumble took him into a wall, and he wheezed as he slid against it, trying to catch his breath. He could hear Six rampaging somewhere above him, distant and far away. With a groan he pushed himself up, leaning against the wall until he got to the next door and let himself in.

The room he found was dark, so he wrote Light to give himself a little ball, using it to find the lamp switch. From what he could see with its faint glow, he was in some kind of storage room, boxes and sacks piled on shelves all around him. He wandered along the wall the best he could, until he found something better than a lamp switch.

Two crates, stacked near the wall at such an angle Stan could sit between them and not be seen. Stan collapsed into it, bringing his knees up and draping the cloak he’d been lugging around the whole time over his head. He dropped his other light spell, then made a new one that made the inside of the cloak glow just enough so he could see.

Then he sat there, head on his knees as his gut churned and his heart pounded in his chest. After a moment he groaned, squeezing his eyes shut as his eyes got irritated by the dust in the room.

What was he doing. Six knew where he was, always knew. It was only a matter of time before it got down here and either nabbed him itself or made someone else do it. Then he’d have to laugh it off as some kind of panic response or a joke. His stupid feelings, doing stupid twisting things to his heart was a terrible reason to ditch everyone, after they’d gone and celebrated his birthday.

Their birthday.

Ten years since he’d celebrated with anyone, and it wasn’t even the cake that broke him first, like he thought. It was a fancy cloak to replace his shitty one that he’d stolen off some rack and mended and altered to suit his needs. His awful stitching job, replaced by neat little lines and fancy gold thread, with all the same pockets, even though McGucket had sounded so annoyed about them.

It was the worst gift a warden could give their prisoner.

All of it was awful. Sure, he was Ford’s brother, but that didn’t mean they had to throw a whole surprise party for him. Didn’t need to give him gifts, or food, or put their special birthday colors up just like ma used to do. They could have let it pass by, and Stan would have been all the happier for it. He hated his birthday, had since he turned eighteen all alone behind some dingy bar crying his eyes out with nothing but his wagon, his horse, and the satchel pa had thrown at him.

It was just a reminder of everything he’d messed up. No more beach colors, or bricks, or how he was destined for greater things.

No more Ford.

Just Stan, another year older hundreds of miles away from home, surrounded by people who were the first to be nice to him for no reason he could find. They already had him opening doors, already had him locked up more than anything worth keeping, could just throw him to Six and wash their hands of him. There was no reason for gifts, or smiles, or ‘good morning, Stanley!’s.

He didn’t know what to do with it.

“Knucklehead,” Stan said, in his Ford voice, “They think I’m a dragon, and the dragon cares about you, so obviously they’d care.”

“Well, Pointdexter,” Stan said, back in his normal voice, “plenty of people back home didn’t care about me for being your brother, so this is creeping me out.”

“What, people caring about you is creepy?”

“Yes? No? I don’t know.”

“You do an excellent impression of your brother”

Stan screamed at Emma-May’s voice, then screamed again when her face popped in through the cloak. He scrambled backwards, immediately slamming into the wall behind him. A quick pull brought the cloak off his head, and he wrapped it around his shoulders while he scowled up at Emma-May’s floating form.

“Can’t a guy talk to himself in peace around here!” he yelled, hunching up and glaring, “Go haunt a book or something!”

“Do you pretend to be Stanford a lot?” Emma-May asked, floating lower and crossing her legs, “I’m not sure if that’s a concerning sign for your mental health.”

Stan scowled harder, then looked down at the cloak and pinched the glowing fabric. It was soft and thick, the thread glimmering in the soft light. He pulled the hood down over head,

“Whats it too ya?”He snapped, ignoring the way the question made him squirm.

“As my husband told you, we care about you Stanley. He didn’t tell me the specifics about your conversation, but enough to give me a general idea. Although,”

Stan looked up to see Emma-May’s tilted head, one hand rubbing her chin. She tapped it a few times, then tilted her head the other way.

“Now that I’ve seen your reaction, I don’t think Stanford liked his birthday either. We didn’t even know when it was until the boys were old enough to ask. He was very excited today, so I’m seeing a connection.”

“You don’t see anything. Close your eyes.”

“I suppose it’s a sensitive topic, being estranged as you were, and how you refuse to accept that Stanford’s a dragon.”

“Because he isn’t.”

“I think I understand the problem.”

Emma-May leaned forwards and put a hand on Stan’s shoulder, and he shivered from the contact. She leaned in as he grimaced, and he leaned back until his head hit the wall and he couldn’t go any further.

“Stanley.” She said, voice serious.

“Emma-May.” Stan said, annoyed (and not anything else).

“This is... I am not an emotional person. My passions are many and burn bright with a flame not even death could extinguish, but when it comes to interpersonal matters, I’ll admit Fiddleford has a better understanding then I ever had.”

Fiddleford did? The knights? What were the knights saying that was so emotional? Stan mostly ignored them or gave them awkward waves and nods when alone, but maybe he should be putting more effort into speaking to them.

“Nonetheless,” She continued, disrupting his train of thought, “I shall try my best to convey my feelings.”

She set her other hand on his shoulder, then let go and crossed her arms. Stan stared at her, gut churning uncomfortably at whatever she was going to say and regretting putting himself in a corner like this. Physically she couldn’t stop him, but one procession was enough for him, and he tried to avoid going through her when he could.

“Stanley, I am getting the feeling,” She drew out the word feeling like it was a foreign word, and she’d forgotten what it meant, “that you don’t enjoy your birthday. Possibly! Because of Stanford. Worry not, for although you don’t believe us, Stanford is right here, and he’s very excited to share your first birthday together in ten years. There, how does that make you feel?”

Stan stared at her, the panic and anxiety in his chest fading into annoyance and some other, annoyed and tired feeling he wasn’t sure how to name. Exasperation maybe.

“Wow,” Stan said, sitting up and letting out a breath, “I feel so much better. Thanks for telling me the dragon I don’t believe is my brother, really is. Very helpful. I’m feeling all sorted.”

“Excellent,” Emma-May said, his sarcasm going right over her, “Glad to help. Now follow me, I know the way back to the dining room.”

Stan sighed but pushed himself up. He followed her around several shelves to a door, then stepped out into the light and another narrow hallway. They walked in silence (Stan slowly getting further and further behind) until they reached another door that led out into the main castle’s wider halls. A crash from nearby made him jump, then he groaned when Six charged out from in front of them. He’d been hoping to ditch Emma-May and hide away somewhere else, but whatever.

Six’s wide eyes landed on Stan, and he only had a second to brace himself before the dragon was in front of him, scooping him up and clicking angrily. He was shoved into its snout, where he let out an oomf and refused to look at it as he crossed his arms and glared at the walls.

He let the light spell on the cloak go as Six carried him back to the dining room, where everyone else was standing in front of the doors. Dan and the boys were messing around in the doorway, and as they got closer, he realized it was because his spell was still very much making the entire room pitch black. The boys were darting in, watching themselves disappear and pretending they were getting dragged away.

Any other day he would have joined them. Today he just slumped further onto Six’s snout and looked away.

“Hey,” he said, when Six got closer. It refused to let him down, so he just let his head drop onto the scales below him.

“Stanley.” McGucket said, tone some strange mix of stern and understanding. It made his skin crawl.

“Can we not right now?” Stan grumbled, “Can’t a man just run off on his birthday?”

Six growled, then smushed him a little into its snout. Stan sighed, then pulled the hood down all the way so he couldn’t seE anything but the scales underneath him. He could make out a couple of muffled voices as Six moved to cover him more with its claw, then felt it grumble something.

He grunted as Six’s talons curled around his chest, lifting him from its snout and setting him down in front of the small crowd. Stan frowned at them, then tugged his hood down further so he couldn’t see their faces.

“Ahem,” McGucket said, “How are-”

“If you finish that sentence,” Stan said, peeking out to glare at him, “I will start scribbling runes on the walls.”

McGucket sighed, then rubbed his face. Before he could cut in with some other variation of ‘do you have feelings Stanley?’ Dan appeared. The treenager pulled Stan’s hand off from where it was gripping his hood, then handed him an ax? He looked up, mouth open, but Dan beat him to it.

“It’s your birthday, want to go wreck some stuff?”

Stan closed his mouth, looked at the ax, then looked at the still pitch-black doorway.

“How ‘bout we chuck stuff in there?”

The boys (and Bill’s?) cheers drowned out McGuckets protest, so they got to work having Fiddlefords bring them various sharp objects to chuck into the darkness. It lasted a good hour, with McGucket standing by in case any of them managed to hurt themselves. Six lounged behind them and politely clapped its claws with every throw.

Something about holding something dangerous and chucking it full force into pitch blackness helped ease some of the tension in Stan’s chest. No one mentioned it being his (their) birthday for the rest of the day, instead they went around throwing sharp objects at things, ‘improving’ the paintings, doing an impromptu sewing lesson when Stan stumbled upon one of Fords storage rooms that was full of taxidermy (which Bill claimed only a few as his originally). They mixed and matched the different animals, then made a game of explaining what they had, how it came to exist, and why it was now dead. Emma-May forced McGucket to help design her ‘perfect beast’ while Six grumbled and sighed in the background.

At the end of the day, feeling somewhat less exposed and like everyone was just waiting to do something (He wasn’t sure what, but some part of him was waiting for a hit, physical or otherwise), Stan grabbed Fords spare glasses and reluctantly read some books to Six. He let the dragon pick one, then grumbled and read some out to the kids when they demanded more, doing silly voices and roping Dan into acting the parts out while he narrated.

At dinner there was no cake (which was a deeper relief then he realized), and instead they had a fancier than usual meal then retired for the night. Six carried him back to the treasurey, then hesitated after they got through the entrance. It shuffled its feet while he sat in its claw, then went towards the blood lake. Stan looked up from the boys golden gifts as they got closer, then felt his heart drop back to his feet at what he saw.

There was a small boat sitting in the water, tied to a nearby chest. Not that it needed tying, as the lake was still. It was made of dark brown wood, with an off-white sail. Smaller than-

Stan exhaled as Six set him down next to it and crooned softly, nudging him with its snout. He set his other presents down, then walked over to it.

Then he stared.

Six crooned again, then laid down so its head was next to him, carefully avoiding Stan’s gift pile. He kept staring at the small boat, eyeing the ropes, the sail, the small board connecting it to the stone shore.

Another present, just for him.

“I didn’t get him anything,” Stan said, eyes burning, “I- you know Ford, he’d get other presents sometimes, from our instructors. Nothing much. Some journals, fancy quills. One year he got to take home a preserved bug. Some fancy magic moth thing. He loved it.”

Stan breathed out slowly, then looked up at the ceiling, away from the small boat sitting on the still water.

“I never did.” He admitted, hands clenched at his sides, “Just what our family got us. Had a girlfriend one year, planned to sneak some alcohol out, make a night of it.”

Another sigh, and Stan looked back down at the boat, pristine and probably stolen.

“She broke up with me before- so it was just what we got.” Stan let his gaze wander to the gift pile, to the crappy bracelet, and the ugly fish, and the tiny Six. The books about sorcerers, the shitty piece of paper.

It was more than he’d ever gotten. More than he deserved. This was Fords family (plus Dan and Bill), he should be the one celebrating with them, the one getting gifts.

Not Stan.

“I wanted-” Stan swallowed, then looked back at the boat. It just made him feel worse, staring at the blinding reminder of all his shattered dreams.

“I had this whole plan,” He rasped out, “Never told no one, so don’t say a word. We’d hit eighteen, ditch that stupid town, and I’d bring out the bottles I’d swiped from pa’s stash. One for each of us. Hid them on the boat so Ford couldn’t find them, bein’ busy with his magic circles Then I-”

Stan swallowed, then rubbed at his eyes. He’d never told anyone this, had never wanted to, but Six was- the dragon, it-

Stan didn’t have the words for how it felt now, half a year after it took one look at him, terrified and huddled in the back of a falling-part wagon, and thought he was the most precious thing in the world. Sure, it was terrifying, had almost killed him, had definitely given him nightmares that haunted his waking hours and made him gag at meat, even now, but-

But.

But he’d gone on a rampage for two weeks, and it had encouraged him. Gave him tools to break things, books to rip, furniture to smash to pieces. He’d snuck out and gotten nothing more than a snarl and forced dragon cuddling. When he’d almost killed McGucket, it had stuck by his side until he woke up. It curled up around him every night, not to stop him from sneaking out like he’d thought, but because it liked to listen to him and thought all its precious treasures should stick close (according to Shifty).

It wanted him.

No one had ever wanted him before, not even-

So, it felt right to tell it this, something he’d been determined to bury in his heart, with the rest of his hopes and dreams.

“Ford, he loved magic. Thought it was the best thing ever,” Stan said, “So I- I was terrible at it. Still am, with all that wizard shit. All those little symbols, I know it’s supposed to be a language, but it- anyway.”

Stan took a deep breath, then let it out slowly. It was ten years ago, and it was so stupid. He should be over it already, moved on like everyone else.

But he’d always been too sensitive. Too needy. Clung too hard and never knew when to let go.

“Got him this cool little magic doodad,” Stan turned away from the boat and looked at Six, saw its dark eyes watching Stan, wide and watery, “Didn’t steal it or nothin’. Got a bunch of coins doin errands around the docks, trying to learn all we needed to go sailing. Managed to strike a good bargain, a needle that always pointed towards the nearest shore. It was-”

Stan swallowed, then took a step closer and shoved his face into Six’s snout, brought his arms up to wrap around his head.

It was supposed to be a promise that even if they got lost, they’d always make it back. That together, they could make it through anything. The needle had probably been a scam, but Stan was a dumb kid and Ford would have fixed it anyway, laughed about how Stan was always falling for magic tricks.

“Don’t know what happened to it, or the booze. Or the boat.” Stan whispered, staring at the dark scales and feeling the warmth on his face, “Couldn’t stand to go back, not till… but it doesn’t matter. Fords got a castle and a family and mountains of treasure, he…”

Stan wiped his face, then yelled when Six’s talons wrapped around him and lifted him into the air. The dragon didn’t take him far, just set him down on top of its snout, then used its claw to press Stan between its horns. it let out a soft click, then rubbed Stan into its forehead, ignoring Stan’s flailing as he shouted and tried to claw his way out from being rubbed into the scales.

After a moment the rolling stopped, and Stan yelped when he was jerked up and set down next to his present pile. Six gestured to it, and Stan picked it up, eyeing the beast the whole time. The moment the last item was secure in his arms Six scooped him up and ran to the wagon-bed.

“Gah!” Stan yelled, gripping his presents tightly so they wouldn’t get lost, “Slow down you giant lizard!”

Six, of course, sped up, running as fast as it could on three legs and skidding to a stop next to his bed. It gently set him down inside, then shoved its snout inside and knocked him over.

Stan yelled as he was crushed underneath it, then kicked his legs when it pressed him into the mattress and started clicking like crazy. It pulled away for a moment, but a claw quickly replaced the head in squishing him, so that Six could loom above him, head angled so it could watch him struggle.

“Get off me!” Stan yelled, arms pinned to his chest and presents digging into him uncomfortably, “What are you- no! This is not a- This is uncalled for!”

Six kept clicking, ignoring his yelling as its dinner plate eyes softened and one of its talons started gently rubbing the side of Stan’s face. He wriggled at the treatment, then sighed. Stupid lizard. Stupid Stan, spilling his guts to an emotional giant that thought crushing Stan and poking his head whenever he got a little sad was a great idea.

Stan wriggled his arm free, bringing Tates fish with him. He reached above him and set it on the mattress, then started getting the rest out so it wasn’t digging into his stomach uncomfortably. Six didn’t seem to notice, too busy crooning and clicking away.

It kept going for a while, long after Stan had yawned, wrapped an arm around the talon squishing his face to get it to stop, and fell asleep.

Chapter Text

“Listen,” Stan yelled down at Sir Knightingale, “I think there’s been some kind of misunderstanding. I’m not a lord!”

Sir Knightingale didn’t say anything, just tilted his helmed head and moved it in such a way Stan could tell the man was looking him up and down. Stan looked down to see his fancy purple silk shirt with what he was pretty sure was gold trim, then back down at the man.

“OK,” he yelled, putting his hands up, “I know what this looks like, but I promise, no lords around here.”

“I could be a lord,” McGucket muttered next to him, “you don’t know.”

“Wait, are you?”

“No, but I could’ve been.”

“Worry not your lordship!” Sir Knightingale yelled, drawing his sword, “For I have traveled far and wide, have seen and slain many a terrible beast! I shall have you home to your father before the day is done!”

Stan eyed the gleaming armor, the large horse, and the sword pointed in the air. Then he eyed the dragon approaching in the distance. Six was a tiny dot on the horizon, quickly getting bigger. Stan had also traveled far and wide, and seen what kinds of terrible beasts usually drew the attention of knights, wandering or otherwise.

Six would eat this guy-

“I think your underestimating the dragon,” Stan yelled, keeping his eyes on Six’s rapidly growing form, “You should just go, get some distance while you have the chance!”

“Nonsense!” Sir Knightingale declared, pointing his sword at the gate, “I am a man of my word, and I have sworn to-”

Six slammed into the ground behind him, chest looming above the knight, even astride his horse. The tip of his sword snapped off when it hit the scales above it, and they all watched it clatter to the ground. Six twisted its head to glare at him, and Stan could see the slit of its eye and the flames flickering in its mouth. Its wings twitched, then rose, making it look twice as big and cast a shadow against the walls of the castle.

It looked terrifying.

Stan stared at the scene in front of him, chest burning as he held his breath. He could feel the cold stone under his hands, watched as Six opened its mouth wide, flames burning in the back of its throat.

It had already melted gold; plated armor couldn’t be that different.

“Stanford!” McGucket yelled, “Why, how nice to see you! Isn’t it Stanley!”

Six whipped its head around to stare at them, mouth still slightly open and eyes wide. It looked at Stan, looked down at the knight below it, then slammed its mouth shut so fast everyone could hear its teeth click. A cloud of smoke burst out of its mouth instead, causing it to cough for a minute before turning to face them again. It grumbled something at McGucket, then glared at the knight.

“Ah.” Sir Knightingale shook off his terror, then held his sword again, tipless and trembling, “So you’re the dragon! Come at me you- AAAGH!”

Six, shooting glances at Stan the whole time, reached forwards and picked Sir Knightingale up between two talons. His horse bolted immediately, running back down the road and leaving its rider behind. With gentle care, Six shuffled over to the balcony, then started stripping the armor off the knight, revealing a sweaty looking man with brown hair and a terrified face. It set all the pieces down next to McGucket, along with his sword and everything else he’d been carrying, until he was stripped down to his undergarments.

Then, still shooting Stan looks, the dragon walked quickly over to the road and set the knight down, making a shooing motion with its claw. The knight stumbled, shot the dragon a look, then bolted after his horse, screaming all the while. Stan watched him go, tension in his easing as his voice got fainter and fainter.

“Well,” McGucket said, crouching down and examining the armor, “that’s one way to get rid of unwanted company. Stanley, did you-”

Stan teleported to the pile of discarded goods and immediately started rooting through the pouches the man had strapped to his belt. There were some coins, a few pieces of jerky and road rations, and a handkerchief with flowers embroidered on it. Stan ditched the piece of cloth, shoved some jerky in his mouth, then grabbed the coins.

Six peered over the side and clicked, then narrowed its eyes.

“No,” McGucket sighed, “you won’t. It’s unlikely to happen again anyhow,”

“My name!” announced the knight the next week, wearing gleaming armor with a red tabard and riding a dark brown horse, “Is Sir Curtaincallonmars!”

“What?” Stan yelled back down at him, “Did you say Curtain? Your name is Curtain?”

“No!” the man yelled, “Its Curtaincallonmars! It’s a family name!”

“What kind of family name is Curtain?!”

“Curtaincallonmars!”

Six, who had been in the treasury when McGucket sprinted into the room and snatched Stan from where he’d been organizing the endless sea of treasure so he could find things faster, finally emerged from the side of the building, grumpy and shooting McGucket an annoyed look. Probably for beating it here.

Sir Curtain froze as the dragon made its way down, jumping in his saddle when it slammed onto the ground. This time, instead of grabbing the one knight and stripping him naked, Six grabbed the knight and the horse. Both yelled, whined, and wriggled in the grip, and Six stared at them both, before holding the horse up to McGucket and clicking.

“No,” McGucket said, ducking down to avoid the horse’s kicking legs, “If you want it, you have to take care of it yourself. I’m not dragging it inside for you.”

Six huffed, then awkwardly put Sir Curtain in its elbow so it could cut the straps on the saddle. The knight yelled and kicked his legs, then slipped out of the hold and slammed to the ground. Six grumbled, then quickly finished snapping the saddle off and dropped it on the balcony before leaning down to grab Sir Curtain when the man tried to scramble to his feet.

Then it stood there, knight in one hand and horse in the other. It eyed Stan from where he was trying to slide over to the saddle, then sighed. With a great show of regret, it set the horse down, then got to work stripping Sir Curtain as it ran off down the stone road.

“Unhand me beast!” Sir Curtain yelled, trying to grab his sword and swing it while Six turned him in its claws and ran its talons over the straps, “Your reign of terror will come to an end after I-”

Six shook Sir Curtain when it cut the last strap, holding the poor man over the balcony so all his armor would fall into a pile near the saddle. The knight groaned from the treatment, then wobbled when Six set him down and shoved him back down the path. It was only when the man scrambled to a run that Six turned away to look at Stan with a searching expression.

Stan gave the dragon a thumbs up and a sigh of relief, then went to dig through the saddle, pulling out all kinds of interesting bits and bobs and pocketing all the coins the man left behind. McGucket was scrambling to grab all the armor pieces and weapons in a similar matter, making Stan pause briefly before shrugging and going back to his own scavenging.

McGucket was made of metal and took care of the Fiddlefords, he probably needed all the extra supplies he could get since there weren’t any blacksmiths left in town. They gathered the extra loot and dragged it inside, and Six met Stan halfway down the hallway towards the treasury, carrying him past the front doors in a burst of speed. The smell had finally started fading away, but he still couldn’t look at the doors without freezing, so he appreciated it all the same.

“I’ve come to rescue you!” yelled the newest knight, wearing another set of gleaming armor and astride a smaller, brownish horse. It was starting to get towards summer now, and all the armor looked way too hot for anyone. Stan himself was wearing a loose blue silk shirt with a silver trim, cursing himself for dressing fancy when the knight had shown up.

Not that he wore anything that wasn’t silk or of a higher quality anymore. Six seemed to get mopey when Stan wore anything the dragon deemed ‘plain.’

“Listen, I keep telling you guys,” Stan shouted down, listening for Six, “I’m not a lord! I’m- well, I do need rescuing, but not right now! I’m kind of in the middle of something!”

That something was taking Fords lab apart shelf by shelf and examining every piece of furniture and every book, but no one else needed to know that.

McGucket had set up a table near the doors and was in the middle of muttering over some blue parchment, abandoning Stan to get the newest knight to scram by himself.

“My name!” the knight yelled, ignoring him completely, “Is Sir Kaykayli! I have heard of your plight and have come to slay the beast!”

“Whatever plight you think I have, I don’t!” Stan yelled, sighing, “Can’t you just say you tried and go home or something? The last two ran right away.”

“Rejoice!” Sir Kaykayli called out, drawing their sword, “For soon you shall be-What is that!”

Stan turned to see Six peering over the side of the castle, squinting down and looking grumpy. It had been taking a nap in the courtyard, the only reason Stan had beat it to the front door. McGucket was trying to set up a bribery system to make sure it wouldn’t incinerate any knights if they showed up, seeing as they’d already gotten three in the last month, but so far all that had worked was saying that he’d drag Stan out to see the results of whatever Six did.

Stan had seen McGuckets weak will crumbling, but thankfully Six hadn’t.

Stan opened his mouth to tell Sir Kaykayli that the dragon was Six, the beast the knight had come to slay, only to see the knight gone. If he strained, he could hear their horses hooves fading into the distance, but nothing else.

“Never mind I guess,” Stan muttered, stretching his back and wandering back inside, “let me know if they come back, I’m gonna take a nap.”

McGucket hummed, then went back to work. The three knights that had come to ‘rescue’ him had been weird, and knowing his luck the next one would be even weirder.

“Oh,” the next knight said, when Stan peered over the balcony, “hmm. Are you Lord Stane?” she called out, and Stan squinted back and held up a hand, blinded by her glistening pink armor.

“Its Stanley,” Stan yelled, “And I’m not a Lord. Let me guess, you’re here to-”

“Well,” She interrupted, tossing her head, “I was going to rescue you, but well.” She tilted her helmet, and Stan felt her eyes examining him, “I guess I can make it work. I’m Dame Sofia, I came to slay the dragon? But we can just dip.”

“You guess you can make it work?” Stan shouted back, offended, “Listen lady, I might not be a Lord, but I’ve got my own roguish charms! What’s not to like!”

“Well,” She set a hand against her hip and leaned back, lifting one hand to examine her bright pink gauntlet, “For one? Your outfit is totally an eye sore. Too many clashing colors.”

Stan looked down at his bright purple shirt and yellow vest, then tugged at the giant orange hat he was wearing to block out the sun while he and the boys had been playing shadow jump in the courtyard. Stan’s ability to now remove and add shadows really enhanced the whole experience.

“The clash is a part of the look!” Stan yelled, glaring, “Makes everything look brighter!” and he had not been paying attention to colors today, but she didn’t need to know that.

“Uh huh,” Dame Sofia said, rolling her gaudy helmet, “So are we getting out of here or…”

“I’m good.”

Dame Sophia groaned, then jerked her reigns and trotted out of sight before Six even peered over the building. Stan waved away its curious chirp, turning to head back inside and crush a couple of kids at a made up children’s game that Stan was definitely cheating at.

The next Knight showed up with an entire entourage, and Stan groaned at the horns that pierced his ears as he dragged his feet towards the balcony. It was too early in the morning, the sun barely peeking over the horizon, and McGucket had had to carry Stan the whole way and set him down when they got to the doors.

“What!” Stan snapped down at the newest, and what he was afraid was going to become a common, annoyance. As the fifth knight in one month, Stan was certain his several reassurances about not needing rescued by any of these guys wasn’t getting through their helmed heads. Each knight was also determined to outdo each other it seemed like, as Stan peered down at a large knight astride a large gray horse, with a group of men behind him.

“I!” the knight boomed, startling some birds from the trees and making Stan wince and pull the blanket he had draped around his shoulders tighter, “AM SIR M_KUST!”

Stan squinted at him, then rubbed his eyes.

“Sir Mkust?”

“NO! M_KUST!”

“Mmmkust?”

“M_KUST!”

“How are you making that- never mind. Can’t you come back later!” Stan yelled, yawning, “Its too early for your nonsense.”

“THIS IS NOT NONSENSE! THIS IS A RESCUE YOUR ROYAL HIGHNESS!” Sir Mkust declared, and Stan winced as some of the guys behind him blew some trumpets.

“Can you rescue me later!” Stan yelled, “After breakfast maybe!”

“NO!”

“Course not,” Stan grumbled, squinting as the sun came up and beamed him in the eyes.

“I HAVE MADE AN OATH!” Sir Mkust said, While Stan yawned again and leaned an arm on the balcony wall, vaguely aware of McGucket puttering around behind him, “THAT I SHALL RESCUE BEFORE THE SUN REACHES ITS ZENITH!”

Stan turned to McGucket, mouth open, but McGucket was ready, already sitting at a table with some weird tools and what looked like armor, “He means around noon.”

Stan turned to squint at the rising sun, then down at the fully armored knights and his hanger-ons. How early did they get up to get dressed and walk all the way up here? More importantly,

“How much is the reward!” Stan yelled, curious and tired. It had to be big if full knights were coming all the way north like this. All of Six’s farm raiding hadn’t even got any knights trying to slay it, so it must be pretty good.

“I CARE NOT FOR COIN!” Sir Mkust yelled, banging his fist on his chest “I AM HERE FOR VALOR! FOR HONOR! FOR VANQUISHING THE DARKNESS THAT HAS PLAGUED THIS LAND FOR TOO LONG!”

“So, fame huh,” Stan said, making the knights entourage gasp in shock, “What! If it’s not gold, it to get famous! You want bragging rights!”

“I HAVE NO NEED FOR BRAGS!” Sir Mkust yelled, drawing his sword and pointing it at the doors, “FOR I SPEAK NOTHING BUT TRUTH! NOW COME OUT AND FACE ME BEAST, SO THAT YOUR TERROR SHALL DARKEN THE LAND NO LONGER!”

“You already used that line!” Stan yelled, just as Six dragged itself over the roof and rolled off it. Stan cursed and ducked as the dragon whooshed past him and slammed into the ground, then peeked over the side to see it groaning on the ground. The entourage had backed up, and some were already booking it back down the road, while Sir Mkust had been thrown from his now disappearing horse. The mans sword was laying a few feet away from his groaning form, and as Stan watched the knight rolled to his feet, lunged for it, and ran at Six’s prone form.

The sword came down hard on the scales of Six’s stomach as the dragon groaned and rubbed its eyes, snapping in half and spiraling away. Sir Mkust jumped closer to Six’s neck and swung again, and the rest of the sword shattered, leaving just a hilt. To the knight credit, he didn’t run in terror or indifference, instead grabbing a knife from his belt and bringing it down again.

Six flicked the knight before it could land, and they watched as he went tumbling backwards, stopping a few feet away. While the remaining members of the entourage looked on in shock, Six raised its head, yawned, and hissed at them, looking just as tired as Stan felt. More members ran for the road, and Six let them, reaching over to grab Sir Mkust’s leg and drag him closer to get his armor off instead.

Sir Mkust sat up and stabbed the dagger into Six’s claw, shattering it like the sword and leaving him weaponless as Six started cutting the straps. That didn’t stop the knight, as the man tried kicking and slamming his fists on the claw tugging the plating off. Six grumbled, then yawned again and stood to put the armor on the balcony near where Stan was slumping further into the ground.

“RELEASE ME BEAST!” Sir Mkust yelled, arms swinging as Six turned him, “THIS IS SHAMEFUL BEHAVIOR!”

“It’s a dragon,” Stan said, “I don’t think there’s any rules or shame involved. Also, you chose to come here at the crack of dawn while we were trying to sleep. Everyone’s grumpy when they get up this early.”

Stan watched Six drop Sir Mkust back on the ground, then watched the knight try and kick the dragons claw with his bare foot. He cursed and jumped away, and Stan snorted as he continued to curse and yell back down the road with the rest of his men, swearing to come again.

“COME LATER!” Stan yelled, then yawned. Six rubbed its snout into his hair, then started climbing back up the castle. It slipped a few times, tired and clumsy, then eventually dragged itself over. Stan took the easy route of wandering over to McGucket and flopping onto the metal mans table, demanding he carry Stan either to breakfast or back to bed.

It was way too early after all.

Instead of showing up at the crack of dawn, the next knight  showed up when the sun was starting to set, right as Stan was ready to head to bed. He’d moved on from the books in the lab and had moved onto the fireplace. Examining every stone and moving his hands along the pot. Ford loved his secret passages after all, there was a chance one of the stones was actually a button or the pot had a false bottom.

Or there was nothing, and Stan was wasting his time.

“My name,” the knight said, armor as black as his horse, “is Sir WingsofEbony!”

Stan jumped as a flock of crows burst out of the trees and started cawing. They disappeared into the darkening sky, and Stan looked back down in bewilderment as the knight grabbed the edge of his cloak and threw it back dramatically. It was also black, making it hard to see.

“… OK?” Stan called, keeping an eye out for any killer birds, “If you’re here to rescue me, let me stop you here. I do need rescuing, but not right now, and not by you. I’m not a lord, and whatever reward Rico promised you, I promise he’s lying or planning on double crossing you.”

“I’ve come for no reward,” The knight called, voice raspy as he brought an armored hand in front of his face and crouched over the pommel of his saddle, “I’ve come to gaze upon the abyss. To see the creature that haunts the dreams of those claiming noble and pure hearts. I desire nothing more than to see the face of that most dreadful. Stealing its prize is no quest of mine, for I walk a darker path.”

McGucket had walked over to join Stan in staring down at the knight posing dramatically in front of the gates. Stan drew a Wind rune to blow his cape dramatically, and they could see the knight straighten his spine and angle himself to catch the wind better.

“You came to see the dragon then?” McGucket called, confused, “I mean, sure? I don’t…”

McGucket turned to look at Stan, and he shrugged.

“My experience with knights was more, uh, official business,” Stan whispered, watching Sir WingsofEbony strike another dramatic pose, “I never really met up with any of the wandering ones. I have no idea if this is normal.”

Six appeared over the building, and Stan grimaced at the high-pitched squeal from down below. Then he sighed as the Sir WingsofEbony coughed and made a weird clicking noise. McGucket winced, then muttered something about accents. Six perked up though, then puffed its chest out and spread its wings. It growled deeply, then opened its mouth and let out a roar that scared the rest of the birds from nearby trees and made Stan clamp his hands over his ears.

Then Six jumped off the roof, flapping its wings once to slow its fall as it slammed into the ground in front of the knight. Stan watched as it did its show off walk, letting the dying light catch on its scales and whip its tail at the air, so fast it made a whistling noise.

Sir WingsofEbony made some more clicking noises, then held his shield up. As Stan watched Six bent down to scratch at it with its claw, almost shoving the knight off his horse. They clicked at each other some more, and the knight handed over a pouch, before bowing deeply, and riding off into the night.

“That guys gonna run into a tree out there,” Stan said, watching him go, “Why’d he even show up?”

“He wanted an autograph,” McGucket said with a shake of his head, “Total dragon fanatic. I’m not surprised, dragons were popular back in my day, it was only a matter of time before a hard-core fan showed up.”

Fair enough. There were plenty of tourists that showed up to Gem Stone Beach to get a glimpse of the mermaids that swam by for migration, so why not dragons. He was about to turn to head back inside, when Six clicked at him, and held out its claw. The pouch was sitting in it, and Stan picked it up, curious.

Then grinned at all the coins inside.

He could get used to this.

Stan yelled as McGucket carried him through the halls, sprinting past the doors faster and around corners. The sounds of fighting and Six’s roars got closer and closer as they drew near the balcony, and Stan scrambled to get out of the metal man’s grip.

He didn’t want to go out there. Didn’t want to see it.

They’d been in the courtyard when Fiddleford saw the newest knight coming, meaning Six had plenty of time to book it towards the front gates. Stan had been ready to hunker down somewhere on the other side of the castle, cover his ears and pretend he couldn’t visualize what was happening perfectly, but McGucket had other ideas.

It turned out the metal man was perfectly able to go through with his threat, even if Stan himself was less willing.

“STANFORD!” McGucket yelled, and Stan slammed his hands over his ears when the door burst open. It didn’t help, the roars and yells were still cutting through, digging into his brain while the smell of ash clogged his throat, “STANFORD YOU STOP THAT RIGHT NOW!”

Stan couldn’t close his eyES as McGucket set him down on the ground, hands on his shoulders and still facing away from whatever horror show was going on below. It was getting harder to breathe out here, the air thick and his chest tight. Someone yelled something else, and Stan flinched as something touched his back.

McGucket twisted him around, but didn’t pry his hands off his head. Six was in front of him, eyes wide and panicked, jaws moving as it clicked. Once it saw it had his attention it brought up its claw, where a struggling knight in red armor was trying to pry its talons loose. Their armor was dented, and black scorch marks had been left across her armor, but they was alive, and in one piece.

And very loud.

“Unhand me!” she yelled, loud enough Stan’s hands couldn’t block him out “Let us continue our battle! Do you hear me!? I am Dame Igniferrus! I shall not be bested by a giant lizard!”

Six twitched, then chirped and reached out to run a hand through Stan’s hair. He took a deep breath, then wrote the Wind rune that sent a strong breeze around the balcony, getting rid of the ash and replacing it with something sweeter. He took a deep breath, bringing his other hand down and clutching his elbows

It wasn’t until the knight went silent that he realized that maybe that wasn’t the best idea right now.

“Uhh.” Stan said, as he stared at the frozen knight, “You didn’t see anything.”

“No, I definitely saw that,” She said, waving her hand around, “What manner of magic was that? With no circle or-”

“Six, if you could-”

Six perked up, then started stripping the knight down to her undergarments. Stan looked down at the scorched ground as it did so, grimacing at the black marks and the still burning trees. The knights horse was prancing around where the path met the forest, refusing to leave its rider behind.

But it wasn’t dead, and that was enough to ease the tension in his chest.

“I demand answers!” Sir Igniferrus yelled, wearing nothing but her undergarments as Six dropped her down next to her panicking horse.

“Too bad lady!” Stan snapped, “Live with the mystery and move on like the rest of us!”

With that he stomped past McGucket and towards the door, away from the yelling knight.

Stan groaned at the latest knight to roll up and interrupt his day. More and more had shown up throughout the summer, the awful heat doing nothing to dissuade the fully plated hero seeking idiots from strolling up and challenging Six. His semi relaxing swim in the not as bloody lake with the boys and Dan, who’d they realized was both boyant and could hold his breath way longer than before, was ruined because of a couple of dragon slayer wannabes.

And all of them were overly dramatic weirdos who spoke like saying what they meant was a disease. It was all ‘slay the blight of the north’ or ‘free you of your fiery chains’. Even if Stan hadn’t been busy trying to carefully go through all the jars and beakers in Fords lab, he still wouldn’t have gone with any of them.

His hair was still damp, and he’d thrown on a thin purple bathrobe over his swim wear, making him look even more disgruntled as the long wet locks slapped him in the face and made the robe stick to his skin. A quick Wind rune helped blow it out of his face as he peered over the balcony to see-

No one.

Stan frowned down at the empty ground, then turned to watch Six climb over the roof. Before he could ask McGucket it maybe Fiddleford had finally messed up their watch, an arrow slammed into the ridge of Six’s snout and clattered to the ground.

Then everything happened very quickly.

Before Stan could process the arrow rolling around the balcony McGucket was there, throwing his metal body over Stan and shoving him to the ground. He wheezed as McGucket crushed him, then took a deep breath when the pressure on his chest eased, McGucket shifting his weight to his arms as he curled over Stan.

“Stay low,” he said, face serious as pushed Stan closer to the wall and peered over the edge. Six had moved from the roof when McGucket tackled him and was now down below, roaring. Stan couldn’t see what was happening from where his back was pressed against the wall and with McGucket still caging him, but he couldn’t smell fire either.

Something crashed below, and a few more arrows slammed into the wall of the castle above them and rolled around. Stan tried to sit up and see what was happening, then yelped when McGucket grabbed his shoulder and shoved him back down.

“Hey, what gives!” Stan whisper-yelled, “I thought I was supposed to keep an eye on Six, make sure it didn’t kill anyone!”

“You can’t do that if one of them arrows miss and hit you in the skull,” McGucket whispered back, hand moving to shove Stan’s head down, “He should be fine as long as you’re here and safe. I’m not sure what he’d do if you got hit, even if its just a scratch.”

Stan shivered as he thought back to-

He’d been barely bruised, and Six had slaughter way more than a bowman. There was no telling what something more serious would lead to.

“Back, you terror!” Came a voice from below, “For I am Dame Karliiscoveredinsand, and I have come for your head!”

Stan blinked at the name, then shifted so he could face McGucket better, “Did she just say she was covered in sand?”

“You know,” McGucket said, still looking over the wall at whatever was going below, “I have no idea. Names have changed a lot since my time.”

“They changed a lot in the last few months if that’s what everyone’s calling themselves since I’ve been stuck here.”

There was more roaring, some yells, a couple more arrows, and then another voice.

“Karliiscoveredinsand! Hold on!”

McGucket and Stan exchanged glances, then grimaced.

“Maybe it’s a knight thing?” Stan said, shifting slightly so the ground wasn’t digging into his back so painfully, “They have to pick a terrible name when they get knighted?”

“Must be,” McGucket muttered, “Another culture thing Stanford forgot to mention.”

“Tremble, or scaled terror of the sky!” the new voice called out, “For I am Sir PainterofDreams, and together we shall-oof!”

There was a large clang, then Six grumbled. McGucket eased off him, and Stan shot up to peer over the side of the wall. More arrows were scattered below, across the ground and sticking out of trees, with a curved sword thrown near the path. A pile of metal sat near the treeline, that he realized was the two knights slumped over each other. It wasn’t full plate like most, and it was colored green and tans. Six wandered over to the pile and picked the green one up, and Stan realized it was the two knights, groaning in a heap.

Six stripped their armor off, then set both dazed knights on the path near the trees. It clicked angrily at them for a minute or so, then huffed and wandered back towards where Stan was still kneeling and peering over the side. It ran a talon through his hair, ignoring his grumbling, then licked McGuckets face, much to the metal mans annoyance.

Stan stood up as Six moved all the armor to the balcony, dusting his bathrobe off and cracking his back.

Hopefully Rico would stop sending knights to ‘rescue’ him soon. All the yelling and declarations was getting annoying, cutting into his time and making him stand outside in the heat.

As the summer dragged on and turned to autumn more knights came and went, generally a week between each one. Stan barely talked to them anymore, and ever since he’d shown off his sorcery in front of the first one and several more had came to rescue the dragons ‘magical captive’ Stan spent most of his time lounging on the balcony and writing various runes to either mess with them or McGucket. It didn’t really matter, as Six could crush all of them fairly easily, and McGucket was the easiest person to mess with.

So it was with a bored sigh and a roll of his eyes that he walked out onto the balcony one crisp afternoon, new cloak wrapped around his shoulders and thinking about how many stones were on the floor of Fords lab and if it was worth checking all of them for a secret compartment. He probably should, just to be sure, but the thought of testing each and every one of them made him groan.

He looked down at the knight riding a brown and white horse, grimacing when they slammed their gauntlet to their chest.

“My name is Sir Kat_Co!” He yelled, making that weird _ sound that was so popular nowadays, “I’ve come to rescue Princess Stanel!”

Whatever Stan was going to say vanished at the knight’s declaration. He stared down at them, then turned to where McGucket was staring back, wide eyed and holding what looked like a gauntlet. The knight was still there when he turned back around, not a hallucination and therefore real.

“What!?” Stan yelled, still trying to figure out what on Fantasy land this guy was talking about.

“Princess Stanel!” he said, again, for some reason, “Tales have spread far and wide of the magical princess, held here by a fearsome dragon! I’ve come to rescue her!”

Stan gaped down at the knight, then jumped when Six started wheezing above him. He shot the dragon a glare, then went back to the knight.

“There’s no one here with that name!” Stan yelled, “And Princess? Since when am I a princess! Who’s telling these tales! I need names!”

“So, you are Princess Stanel!” The Sir Kat_Co said, “I had no idea- but it doesn’t matter. I’ve come to rescue you your royal highness!”

Stan stared at the man, mouth open and trying to figure out what part of him made this guy think he was a princess. What part of any of this made anyone think he was a princess. Who was spreading these rumors? Was Rico even sending people anymore, or were people hearing about the dragon and the princess and just showing up?

He barely registered Six jumping down and batting the knight around, too busy trying to figure out how this had happened and how to stop it. McGucket wandered over when Six started stripping the knight, and Stan turned when he coughed.

“So,” McGucket said, smirk growing on his face, “A princess, huh?”

Stan face burned as Six started chortling, the dragon leaning over the side to croon at him. In a flash he wrote the Light rune, sending a burst of light to blind them as he turned and ran back inside, away from whatever was happening out in the world that was making his life a mess.

Really, a princess? Of where? Since when?

And who did he need to punch to put an end to this.

Chapter Text

As summer passed, the season changed to Autumn, more knights showed up. Like a new, Stan specific type of weekly pest. If they’d shown up three or four months ago he would have jumped at the chance to use them as a distraction and get as far away as possible, but now, after seeing each bizarre knight after another and actually needing to do things inside the castle, they were more annoying than anything.

Especially with the whole ‘Princess Stanel’ rumor that was going around. His gruff voice had shattered more than one knights heart, but too many had shrugged it off and continued on, like calling grown men Princess was a normal everyday occurrence.

Maybe it was for them. Who knew what those weirdo’s got up to when they weren’t waving their swords around and yelling at people.

They were also cutting into his ‘Alone time’, aka ‘Six moping outside of Fords lab or study while Stan tried to discreetly go through all of his things and Bill became even more useless than usual, as the seal on them prevented him summoning them and Six’s ability to sense where he was could only be masked by Stan’s presence for so long. The demon spent most of his time skittering around the castle making a nuisance of himself, or lounging around and yelling out insults at everyone while they went about their day.

Which meant Stan was on his own in his search. He’d already scoured the lab as best he could, going over every book, every stone, and (Carefully. Extremely carefully) Fords fancy glass bottles and liquids. All those weird glowing potions were a heart attack waiting to happen, and none of them had been a secret lever or had some kind of instructions written somewhere about where Ford might have stashed the other two journals.

So, he’d moved onto the study. He’d gone through all the books already, shoved the half-dead plants around and tested for fake branches, then shoved his hands between all the couch cushions. He still needed to check the bathroom and all the stones, but at this point it was looking like a couple of dead ends.

If he couldn’t find something soon, he’d have to find a way to sneak past Emma-May to get into the archive. Not impossible, but difficult, seeing as she never slept and would only pop out of it randomly to do lessons with the boys.

But as It got colder and colder, and the knights appearances started to decrease, it looked like he’d need to start scheming.

“Pines!” Dan called out to him, right after breakfast before he could wander off and figure out how he wanted to spend his day. Only so much time could be spent looking for the books, and the boys weren’t always free to goof around and give McGucket metal man equivalent of a heart attack, so he was often left to his own devices. Or with Bill, which was only sometimes fun and mostly annoying.

“What?” Stan asked, pausing by the dining room doors while Six paused above him.

“I got something for you to do,” Dan responded walking past him and waving an arm for Stan to follow, “Seeing as all you do is laze around here.”

“Hey!” Stan snapped, even as he started following, “I’m being held prisoner here! Why should I be doing anything but laze around! Not that I’m doing that, but still!”

“Well, your majesty,” Dan said, smirking at Stan’s scowl, “I figured you want to keep eating over the winter, but if not…”

“Is that a threat?” Stan asked, giving Six a look behind them. The dragon had its eyes narrowed at Dan’s back, but didn’t otherwise show any sign of aggression.

“Nah,” Dan shook his head, leading Stan down towards the lower levels of the castle, “but seeing as McGuckets busy keeping an eye out for intruders, the kids are kids, and I’ll be crashing in a few months, I thought I’d show you this sooner rather than later. Don’t want you starving to death because I started snoozing before I got around teaching you how to feed yourself.”

“What does that mean?”

“Just follow me.”

Dan kept on going, heading towards stairs until they hit the ground floor (and Stan would need to find the entrance to the basement at some point), then down several hallways until they stopped in front of set of double doors with a few shelves set in front of it.

“Here we go,” Dan said, nodding at the Fiddleford’s in front to open the doors, “take a look.”

Any attempts at telling Dan he refused to lOOK at anything for private reasons were blown away by the wall of heat that slammed into his face. He grimaced at the humidity, then gaped at the room as Dan hurried them in and closed the doors behind them.

A sea of green met him, sunlight shining down through a glass dome ceiling. The walls, instead of being stone like the castle or glass like any greenhouse he’d ever seen, were a slick grey, covered in runes near the bottom that continued around the room and beaded with water.

It was around the size of the dining room, except more squarish. Long garden beds were set up from wall to wall in rows, each one full of plants in various stages of growth. More shelves and gardening tools were near the front doors, where Dan got to work putting on a pair of gloves, while a few crates full of fruits and vegetables were already waiting on the ground.

Six didn’t follow them in, probably due to the lack of space, but its continued clicking and growls made it very clear how upset about this it was.

“This,” Dan said, wandering over with an extra set of gloves he slapped in Stan’s hands, “Is the green house. It used to be Bills heat room or something, but the other Pines fixed it up to get food all year round. Don’t go near the walls on the left, that’s where McGucket put all those plants we tore out from the courtyard.”

“Don’t go near the demon plants, got it.” Stan said, shrugging off his cloak and hanging it by the door, “Now why are you showing me this?”

“Like I said,” Dan said, walking further in and poking at some of the shoots, “I don’t want you to starve to death. McGucket’s a human health freak now, but even he can’t be everywhere, and the last time they tried to get the knights to do gardening they pulled up every sprout regardless of it was a weed or not. Once I crash he’s gonna get swamped with work, so just in case…”

“Can’t let our baby boy starve to death!” Bill called, and Stan whipped around to see the demon, lounging under a small tree in a tiny chair. His tiny crown was hanging off the back, while his wings were folded up to fit behind him without being crushed.

He also had a black towel wrapped around his triangular base. Like he wasn’t already a pile of rags with nightmare arms.

“Not that I’d let that happen,” Bill said, eye closed and soaking wet, “but little Sprout here didn’t trust me to help you make it through the winter.”

“Good call,” Stan told Dan, “Now what are you doing?”

“Relaxing,” Bill stretched out his tiny black limbs, then put his arms behind his head with a content sigh, “Just because Sixer decided to redecorate, doesn’t mean I can’t use the room. Now move along, daddy’s sweating his stress out.”

Stan shivered, then gagged. He hated it when Bill got too into the whole ‘dad’ thing, and seeing him like this wasn’t helping. Quickly turning around, he found Dan with a disgusted expression of his own, and the two of them exchanged looks before heading deeper into the rows of plants.

“I know the whole plant thing’s not your style,” Dan said, stopping in front of a row of what might be potatoes, “but I think you like not starving even more.”

“Not starving is pretty good motivation,” Stan agreed, still holding the gloves and groaning internally about why Dan had brought him here, “and you’re sure McGucket can’t just add this to his list of chores?”

Dan turned to face him, then raised an eyebrow and held up his hands.

“McGucket, being a guy who doesn’t sleep and can touch things, already does a lot around here.” Dan started holding up fingers as he listed off each one, “He cooks, he directs the knights to keep things clean, he’s in charge of maintaining the circles of important rooms, surveying the grounds and keeps watch for intruders, gets the boys food , is in charge of their physical lessons, carries things for his wife, does the laundry, including yours, does whatever he does to make sure he doesn’t fall apart, takes care of the animals in the stables-”

“There’s animals? And stables?”

“-and on top of all that,” Dan said, moving on and leaving Stan questioning, again, what all was in this castle, “He makes sure you don’t get yourself killed just by breathing around here. I think doing a little gardening to get the food only you eat isn’t too big an ask, don’t you?”

Stan stared at the gloves, stared at Dan, then side eyed all the plants around them.

“Ye-”

“Shut up and put the gloves on.”

Stan groaned, tried to shuffle backwards out of the room, then groaned again when Dan grabbed the back of his already sweaty shirt and pulled him backwards.

“Plus,” Dan said, once he’d shoved the gloves onto Stan’s hands and dragged him to one of the closer plots, “This’ll give you something to do. I’ve noticed you spend way to much time sighing and flopped around on the furniture lately.”

“I don’t flop.” Stan muttered, rolling his sleeves up and resigning himself to the next hour of agony, “I lounge. Ruggedly.”

“Ruggedly lounge over here so I can show you how to not kill your main food source.”

With another groan and a drag of his feet, Stan trailed behind Dan and half-listened to the kids instructions on how to take care of the various plants dedicated to Stan’s meals. There were only two rows on the right that had various vegetables and fruits growing out of them. He made sure to make agreeable noises to make it look like he was listening, eyeing some strawberries and squinting at smore runes carved into the wood of each row. The Water and Light rune were the only two he recognized, along with some of the grammar ones. Not enough to figure out what each set was doing, but enough to guess.

Enough to recognize Fords rune writing.

He had no idea when he stopped following Dan, staring at a softly glowing circle next to a blueberry bush. The Water and Light rune seemed to pulse brighter than the rest, and he reached out to trace them.

Ford wrote them slightly differently than Bill or Stan did. Enough that they were recognizable, but with his own Fordish flourishes. The Water rune looked more flowy than Stan’s, less angular than Bills, while the Light rune had little flourishes on the end of the sun beams.

He smiled at the image of Ford, hunched over each bed, tongue sticking out and carving the runes. Leave it to his brother to keep his own fancy curly writing, even when he was using a knife on a plant bed. The other runes also had slight curves and swirls, more elegant than Stan’s chicken scratch writing, or his rough rune tracing.

Ford would be so excited to see Stan’s sorcery. Probably chat Stan’s ear off about all the different rune kinds, how it could be used, the differences between all the different kinds of magic. Stan had started reading some of Emma-May’s sorcery books she’d gotten him, and Stan had learned (because he was bored! Not other reason!) all kinds of things about the sorcerers who didn’t exist anymore. How different sorcerers described their magic differently, some feeling cold, others tingly, different ways to use runes, different schools, different jobs they’d do, different schools, lineages.

Now it was just Stan.

He wasn’t sure how he felt about it now, months after the fact. At the beginning it was an annoying chattering in his mind, something he didn’t deserve, stolen. A thing to control so he didn’t smash the building around them. Then it was another tool, a way to mess with people or help him sneak around. Something he could add to his list of tricks, up his survival.

Now it made him almost… sad. No one else could hear the runes chattering away, could feel the fabric of magic all around them. Felt the way they twisted and ran into each other, made the world turn, desperate to be heard.

Lonely.

“You know,” Dan said, making Stan jump and look up at the treenager, “I’m not an expert, but we could probably make some kind of wine out of some of this, couldn’t we?”

Stan stared at the kid, stared at the fruit, then over at Bill, lounging in his chair. His attempts at wishing for any kind of alcoholic substance had gotten a lecture on his poor, mushy human brain, three drops on a plate, then the demon snapping its own bottle to guzzle in his face.

“No idea,” Stan said, pushing himself up and looking at the blueberries in front of him, “how about we find out? How hard could it be?”

Turned out, slightly harder than Stan and Dan thought, but not impossible. There were a million empty rooms to stash their attempted wine enterprise, no one would notice a bunch of missing fruit, Dan could get a couple of small barrels, and when he told McGucket he was getting Stan to do ‘a single chore around here’ the metal man had been too stunned to question the motivation.

The difficult part was getting the ‘starter’ (which Dan learned from the one book he was able to get from the library, as Stan was too ‘suspicious’ looking and would ‘get them caught immediately’ or whatever the treenager was yapping about), and convincing Six not to rat them out to McGucket (which was done by Stan agreeing to nighttime head smushing). After that it was just a matter of setting up in an unused bathroom the kids were unlikely to wander into, getting enough various fruit to juicify (seeing as they only had bush and vine fruits, no trees growing in the greenhouse and the funky lemon ones on the creep tree being off limits for more than one reason), and waiting.

Then being blackmailed into learning how to look after plants, once the whole thing was set to go and Dan turned around and threatened to tattle if he didn’t.

“I can’t believe you pulled one over on me,” Stan grumbled, wearing a thinner shirt and thick garden gloves, “I thought you were on my side here.”

“I’m a tree,” Dan said, smacking Stan’s hand away where he was poking at a leaf, “I’m not even sure I can get drunk.”

“So this could be a great time to learn!” Stan yelled, throwing his hand in the air, “Live a little!”

“Sure,” Dan said, “but only if you actually do some work around here.”

Awful teenager. Stan grumbled, then frowned down at dirt and plants in front of him. It wasn’t awful, actually having something to do, but he refused to cooperate without complaining the entire time. Plants and gardening were for little old ladies and hippies, and Stan was neither of those things.

But he also liked eating, and really, really, wanted to get drunk at some point.

“Look,” Dan said after a while, dragging Stan from his grumbling, “I get that you don’t want to be here, so making you help out is kinda.. eh, but. Hmm.”

“What, spit it out.”

“Just. I’m not like McGucket or the kids, or the other Pines,” Stan turned to see the kid staring at a row of carrots, brows furrowed and hands still in the dirt, “I know what the worlds like, what a man has to do to survive sometimes. McGucket freaks out if you cough, he has no idea how rough life is out there for most folks. Not really.”

“This is a pretty good set up,” Dan poked at some of the carrots, then grimaced, “We got food, shelter, magic. I’m not asking you to help out with anything other than stuff that affects you. Ugh-”

Dan stepped away and put his hands on his hips, looking around the greenhouse with a scowl. Stan stood and stretched his back out, then sat down on the edge of the nearest bed, watching the treen bite his wooden lip before turning to face Stan.

“I’m not good with this kinda thing,” He said, gesturing between them, “And you’re a criminal who was stealing from my neighbors. Then I was asleep for months a missed a bunch of stuff, and suddenly more stuff was happening all the time. Feels like I’m the odd man out now, watching you and McGucket, and the squirts.”

“Heh, I get it.” Stan said, turning to look at some nearby… green things. He sighed, then groaned, then scowled at the glass ceiling, “Look away for a moment and suddenly your whole life’s changing around you and you’ve been kidnapped by your brothers friends in the most terrifying way possible.”

Dan hummed, then wandered over to sit next to him.

Stan did get it after all, being a kid and so sure of yourself, then suddenly your brothers going on about going to magic college, your tutors are saying you have no future as anything other than a sell sword or scraping barnacles, and your ma just watches in silence as you get thrown out. Your older brother doesn’t spare you a glance, just tells you to grow up already, like he hadn’t been encouraging Stan’s dreams with every tale and lesson. Realizing you’d never made a back up plan, because that was your brothers job and he’s moving onto bigger and better things now that your gone.

Going through all of Fords things and seeing the life Stan missed. So many idle notes about events he’d never known, trinkets from cities all over, a journal full of Fords discoveries and all his friends.

Stan might have accepted he’d need to stick around to figure out the wellspring and save Ford, but it didn’t mean he didn’t feel like an intruder, Fords shadow come to life. Taking his place, stealing his things.

It was probably similar to how Dan felt, passing out with everyone snapping at each other, then waking up to Stan having a melt down and all of McGuckets mushiness. They’d sort of figured each other out over the summer, but he’d noticed the teen avoided him when he wasn’t messing around with Tate and Shifty.

Watching the kid, red leaves on a bark covered face, he remembered what he’d said, all those months ago. About how Ford had been helping him, then disappeared. What McGucket said, about Dan wanting to go home. His family had lived in the abandoned town after all, how long had it been since he’d seen them?

Had they wanted to see him, cursed as he was?

“Alright,” Stan said, slapping Dan on the shoulder, grimacing at the rough feeling of his bark through the shirt, “I can’t promise I won’t grumble and complain, and the moment you wake up I’m done with this place, but you can show me what to do so I don’t have to rely on Bill.”

“Good!” Bill shouted, making Stan jump and whirl around. The demon was scuttling out from under a garden bed like a cockroach, towel in hand and already damp, “I’m getting tired of using up my power for all your needy desires. Greedy kid.”

“I wish you would leave.”

Bill disappeared, but Stan groaned when he saw the demon slide out from behind a shelf a few minutes later, oozing smugness and setting up his tiny chair near the freaky demon plants, cooing at them all the while.

Stan let Dan show him the ropes of the greenhouse for as long as it took the wine to finish fermenting. The book said it took at least two weeks, and Dan decided to make it three, so that they wouldn’t be getting potentially drunk around the kids birthdays (which no one had told Stan about until way too late to do more than freak out and throw something together).

They poured two mugs of their homemade bathroom wine, then toasted each other and threw it back.

Stan choked his down while Dan bolted for the sink and opened his mouth, gagging at the taste and using the faucet to rinse his mouth out. Breathing through his nose and trying to remember how drunk he wanted to be, Stan took another sip. It tasted awful, too sour and made his mouth feel like it was shriveling. Dan was hogging the sink and sputtering, so Stan, his mouth screaming to clear out wine coating it winning out against his desire to potentially get drunk, rushed to the bathtub. It was awkward angling his head around the tub to get at the water, but the moment the flavor started fading he sighed in relief.

“Gah!” Stan sputtered, spitting a few times and wiping at his mouth, “Never been a wine guy, and I think I’m even less of one now.”

“I think something went wrong.” Dan gasped out, “And my wood mouth is making it stick even worse. Axolotl, I can’t get it out, its coating everything.”

Stan laughed at Dan’s wild expression, then pushed himself up and wandered over to the two barrels of wine they’d made. It smelled awful, and with a sigh Stan poured some more into his cup and chugged it before he could second guess himself.

“I can’t believe you’re drinking more of it,” Dan gargled out, mouth still in the stream of water, “I think I’m done with wine forever.”

“I’m desperate kid.” Stan coughed, then rushed back to the bathtub to rinse the taste out, “Just one night is all I need. Cut loose and forget all the weird crap that happens to me every time I turn around. Wait.”

Stan straightened up, eyes unfocused as a whole new road opened up to him.

“Do you think if I asked the knights they’d do deliveries?”

Dan wheezed and choked over by the sink, while Stan admitted defeat and dumped the rest of the opened barrel in the tub and shoved the second one in a corner. Maybe give it a month or two, come back to it. In the meantime, he’d have to figure out how to ask a bunch of righteous weirdo’s to bring him some ale.

Later that night, stomach turning and not wanting to explain to McGucket why, Stan wandered into Fords study for some ‘alone time’. No one had really asked what he did in Fords rooms, but one time Stan hadn’t closed the door all the way and McGucket had walked in while Stan had been sitting at Fords desk, hands searching for secret compartments. He’d frozen when McGuckets metal head had poked through, and the expression he’d shot Stan with made him bolt from the room before he could try and talk about their feelings again.

He didn’t try to do any book searching today, instead flopping onto Fords couch and pulling out the one he already had. Most of it was useless, his brothers whimsical musings about different rooms and inability to say exactly where all the secret entrances were, just that there were some (The way Ford wrote these entries left a lot to be desired), but not all of it.

Not the middle pages, containing one third of the wellsprings circle.

Stan looked at it, squinting at the runes and looking over at some of the detailed writing. For something this complex, Ford had to write the runes very small, probably measured each one to make sure he had enough room for everything. He’d have to ask Bill how far Ford had gotten in finishing the circle around the wellspring, if it was carved or used chalk, and if Ford had destroyed any of it. The more he knew going into it, the less he’d have to improve later, when they made their move to fix the stupid thing.

And he’d have to figure out a way to fix Fords fix, so that Bill didn’t get unsealed and end the world or something. That would be the hardest part really, as nothing Bill said could be trusted, and it wasn’t like he could ask McGucket for help. The man would probably take the journals and put Stan in lock down so he couldn’t try anything.

Then there was Six, and however the dragon would feel about it. It was hard to say, not being able to talk to it. All Stan knew was that it hated Bill more than anything, so Stan helping the demon and vice versa probably wouldn’t go over well. It had known something about magic though, he knew that, but if it was as smart as the real Ford was another thing entirely.

With a groan Stan shoved his face into the book, then dragged it down and grimaced at all the dirt on his sleeves. He had a few more months before he’d have to keep an eye on all the plants in the greenhouse, and he was already dreading it. He didn’t know anything about plants, and neither had Ford, based on his plants and their withered leaves and-

Stan stared at the dirt, then stared at the plants.

He hadn’t checked there-but no. No way Ford would- not after the first one had triple security.

But now that the thought was there, he knew he’d have to at least check. If he didn’t it the thought would sit there in the back of his mind, taunting him.

Stan rolled over, pausing slightly when his stomach sloshed uncomfortably before pushing himself to his feet and wandering over to the closest plant. He knelt down next to it, then started working on uprooting the whole thing and digging out all the soil.

Nothing.

He shoved the plant back in and did his best to scoop up all the dirt, then moved onto the next one. There were four in the room, one at each corner, and each one as dead as-

No that wasn’t right.

Most of the plants had started to come back a little now that Stan could open the doors. Not from his doing, but McGucket asking to be let in to try and salvage them. There were a few green spots here and there, and they didn’t look as wilted and sad as they had when Stan had first snuck in.

All of them, except one. In the corner to the right of the desk was the one plant that looked even deader than the rest. Stan hadn’t paid it much attention after he’d determined it was a real, dead plant, and not a fake, but now that the thought was there he rushed over and tore the thing out of the pot. He set it to the side, then dug into the dirt, heart beating and stomach gurgling uncomfortably.

He had most of the dirt on the ground by the time his hand hit something. Holding his breath, Stan grabbed it and pulled it out of the pot, staring at the dirt covered, book shaped package. Ford wasn’t a complete idiot at least, wrapping the book up so it wouldn’t get damaged by being in a pot, but still.

A pot?

Just in the dirt?

No secret lever, no hidden room, no complex mechanism protecting his diary from anyone looking for it?

Just a hole and a dead plant and a hope that no one would think to turn them over? Stan could have found this a few weeks ago if he didn’t think Ford was putting all his things behind sealed doors and locks. The only reason he’d thought to check now was because he was at the end of his rope and thought he might as well

“Really Poindexter,” Stan grumbled, taking the wrap off to reveal the red book, the golden hand, and the number two written on the front, “When I find you, we’re gonna have a long talk about secure hiding spots.”

The wrap went back into the pot, along with as much dirt as he could scoop off the ground and the dead plant. Then he wrote the Wind run to get the rest. Hopefully McGucket either wouldn’t notice or would take Stan Light and run as a hint to drop it.

With a grin Stan gripped the book tightly, then rushed back to the couch where he’d left the other one. A quick skim through it showed a lot more drawings of jewlery and swords, but right in the middle was just what he was looking for.

The next part of the circle, taking up both pages and just as complex and dizzying as the first.

One step closer to finding his brother.

“I’m coming for you Sixer,” Stan whispered, holding the books together so they lined up, “Just hang tight.”

One more book, then whatever rune lessons Bill had to cram into his brain. The using those lessons to fix Fords own trap circle, so the demon couldn’t get his power back and end the world.

Easy.

Chapter Text

Fords second diary, when Stan finally got a chance to read it, was full of all kinds of magical artifacts and enchanted objects he’d found in the treasury. All of it very interesting and totally useless to what he was trying to do here.

There was no mention of the basement, the wellspring, or any kind of secret pathways around the castle. If it wasn’t for the diagram in the middle, it’d be nothing more than a fancy encyclopedia on all the cool and fun ways to get cursed fumbling around the treasury before Six cleared it out.

The dragon had been… weird, after Stan had scurried out of Ford’s study for bed. It had known right away something was up and nosed at Stan’s satchel until Stan had pulled the book out, grinning. The look it shot at him made him pause, before he’d gone on to say he’d found it in the worst hiding place ever and gotten a tongue to the face. After he’d sputtered and coughed it had picked him up and clicked at him softly, before sighing and pressing him into its snout.

Hopefully it wasn’t getting wise to any of Stan’s long-term plans. The last thing he needed was for it to lock him up even more than he already was. Especially since he was so close to getting everything he needed to get what he wanted.

“You’re no where near close to having everything.” Bill said, smacking him in the head with a stick when he’d fallen asleep, “You still need the third journal, the stairs, and remember enough runes to actually do anything when you get to the Wellspring. At the rate you’re going, you’ll have the runes done sometime this century.”

Stan rubbed his head, glaring at Bill as the demon turned back to the board. They’d ditched Stan’s childhood classroom since the space was ‘too small, just like your brain’ for Bill’s lessons. Instead, they were back in that starry space, floating chalkboards covered in runes all around them and a firm, floating rock ground beneath them after Bill kept warping them here and Stan kept freaking out at the dream drop.

Sure, it wasn’t real, but looking down at the abyss was terrifying regardless of its realness.

“Why do I need to know the runes if I have the books,” Stan asked, head on one of his hands, “Can’t I just copy what Ford wrote down. And just tell me where the stairs are already!”

Not that he wanted to copy it exactly, just enough to get the wellspring some kind of functioning so he could find Ford to fix the rest. Having a demon rampaging around the planet seemed like a sure-fire way to get Ford permanently mad at him. He wanted Ford to be, at best, only very mad at him for messing around with his circle, and hopefully not mad at all.

Hopefully Ford would be happy to see him, grateful even.

“Hah!” Bill laughed, then popped over to lean on Stan’s head and poke his forehead, “As funny as that’d be to watch, you’d mix up the runes or fumble the whole thing if that happened. Although…” Bill taped his helmet, ignoring Stan’s flailing, then pushed away, “That would be pretty funny. But.. eh.”

“Tell you what.” Bill popped in front of him, hands on the desk and looming over him the way he liked to do, “If you can get Sixer’s third book we can skip the lessons, focus on your writing so you don’t kill everyone by accident. As for the stairs, you’ll just have to keep LOOKING.”

“Stop that.”

“No idea what you’re talking about Gold Fish!” Bill whirled around, then went back to writing more runes, ignoring Stan’s groan and grumbling.

He’d have to ease off finding the next book then, until he knew enough to mess around with the wellspring circle. Not too hard, seeing as his continued sweeping of Fords lab had turned up nothing, and Emma-May was firmly in the way of reaching the archives. He’d have to check the basement first and rule it out, before trying to sneak past her and risk getting possessed again.

It was just finding the stairs down that was becoming a problem. That and the looming creep of the SEE rune.

As the weather got colder, and winter settled in, the knights appeared less and less, and Dan got more and more drowsy, Stan started spending time in the treasury, EYES closed or focused on writing the other runes, trying to drown out the noise. It felt like all the other runes he’d noticed trying to click, doing nothing to help his unease as he felt it hovering, just out of SIGHT.

Stan groaned on the couch he’d been sprawling on. Fords second diary was open on his chest, his glasses shoved up to his forehead while he rested his EYES. Six was riffling through a nearby pile, pulling out strings of necklaces and bracelets and putting them into a tinier pile. Stan could hear the chains clinking, the shifting of coins, the mumbles of the dragon.

It would have been terrifying a few months ago, but now it was its own kind of comforting. Not trying to run off every second he was left alone had made the dragon more comfortable leaving him to his own devices while it sorted its hoard (although it hadn’t stopped rubbing its face all over him every morning and night) and listening to it putter around eased some of the tension building in his chest.

After a moment the puttering quieted, and it shuffled towards him. He PEEKED an EYE open to see its giant snout next to him, Six staring down in concern.

“I’m fine,” he grunted, shoving himself up and rubbing his temples, “Stop hovering. I thought you were a dragon, not a mother hen.”

Six huffed, then shook its wings and stretched them out, casting a shadow over the surrounding area. It arched its back like a cat, tail curling and yawning, then shook out the rest of its legs. Stan had to grab the book and the couch to stop himself from falling when the couch shifted, and he yawned a moment later, stretching his own back out.

“Stop infecting me with that crap,” Stan grumbled, rubbing his EYES. Six clicked, then poked Stan in the stomach and held out a claw. He didn’t really want to get carried around anywhere, but the sound of Six’s grumbling stomach and its sad expression was enough to get him moving, standing up so it could gently scoop him up after shoving the diary into his satchel.

It carried him past the doors in a burst of speed, then slowed down. Stan closed his EYES, one hand gripping the closest talon and trying to lose himself in the motion of the dragon.

All too soon it was over, and Stan was being set down in front of a door. He PEEKED an EYE open to SEE it was the boys’ classroom. They spent a few hours a day there doing various lessons Stan didn’t care to follow. Six clicked at the Fiddleford, and the knight opened the door.

Inside was what once was a bedroom, but now housed several bookshelves along the walls, two small desks in the center of the room, one large desk to the side, a blackboard with various colored chalk on the wall, and a low shelf full of various art materials and toys near the door.

Tate and Shifty were at the desks, diligently writing something down (Tate still, while Shifty’s leg was bouncing). McGucket was writing something on the board but turned when he heard the door open.

And that’s all Stan SAW before closing his EYE and shuffling inside towards the one giant pillow that had been dragged in the first time Six had left Stan here. He flopped onto it when he felt it hit his foot, sighing and sinking into it. Six clicked something, and shortly after its heavy footsteps shook the room as it went back to the treasury to get outside.

“Feelin’ alright there Stanley?” McGucket asked. Stan grunted, then waved a hand when he heard his metallic clanking approach.

“Fine. Headache. I’m not even here.” McGucket grumbled something, made Stan jump when his cold hands pressed against his neck, then clomped back to the front of the room, leaving Stan in peace. The lesson, something to do with plates, continued, a semi-pleasant drone that buzzed while he focused on how to get around with his eyes closed forever.

It lasted about thirty minutes or so, Stan falling into a doze as the lesson continued on the other side of the room. The pillow was thick and comfortable, molding around his body. His thoughts drifted, ideas about where to look for the stairs, how to do it without anyone noticing, and what was for dinner coming in and out of focus until he had no thoughts at all. Just the gentle tug of falling into not-quite-sleep.

So he was very startled when McGucket grabbed him by the back of his shirt and threw him over a metal shoulder.

“Gwuh?” Stan asked, one of his cheeks covered in drool and cold at the sudden contact with the castle air. McGucket was moving, and he PEEKED an EYE open to see Shifty and Tate following them out of the classroom, faces worried and holding each other’s hands.

“What’s happening, what I miss?” Stan asked again, trying to twist around to SEE where they were going, kicking his legs to get put down. McGucket’s metal shoulder dug into his stomach as they left the classroom behind, not hard enough to bruise but still uncomfortable.

“Rico, I think,” McGucket said, voice grave as he quickly made his way through the halls, “the knights detected multiple break ins around the castle, and it’ll take Stanford a good while to get back here. Really, I’m surprised it took him this long to try.”

Stan stopped struggling, closing his EYE to flop down and groan, “Probably hoping the knights would do the hard work for him. And getting all his guys together. Where are we going?”

“Treasury.” McGucket said, slowing down. It took everything in Stan not to PEEK again to see why, instead grabbing the back of McGuckets surcoat so he wouldn’t get flung around. The SEE rune was looming over him like a wave, seconds from crashing into him. Any moment it’d hit, and he’d get slammed with the ‘bonuses’ Bill had hinted at along with whatever else the rune did.

The last thing he needed was more things to be happening to him, especially right now when something else already was.

McGucket continued to clank away, slowing down at certain points before bursting back into motion. The tiny pattering of the boys’ feet followed them, never too far behind. Stan squeezed his EYES shut at the distant sound of clashing metal, clutching the surcoat tighter.

“Were is that… Dan!” McGucket shouted. There was more clanking, an abrupt stop, and suddenly Stan was ripped from the shoulder and dropped to his feet. He threw his hands out to steady himself and felt two pairs of arms grab onto his shirt. Two little bodies pressed into him, and Stan reached down to pat their heads and what felt like their faces.

“Dan, wake up!” McGucket yelled close by, “I need you to move!”

Dan groaned, and McGucket grumbled something. There was another crash (that sounded suspiciously like a large treenager slamming into the ground), and Dan groaned again, muttering something under his breath.

“What.” Dan growled, voice thick with sleep and irritated, “I’m-” a yawn, “-I’m... hibernating. Or something. What’d’you want.”

“We’ve had a break in,” McGucket said, and Stan stumbled as a giant hand was suddenly pushing him along, “We need to- Stanley, I know your head hurts, but I need you to see where you’re going.”

Well that just wasn’t happening. His EYES were staying closed for the rest of forever (or at least until he could subtly ask McGucket if he knew how to stop a click from happening).  He’d have to come up with something so McGucket would drop it.

“I can’t,” Stan said, stumbling forwards and sticking a hand out in front of him so he wouldn’t run into anything, “I glued them shut.”

The hand on his back disappeared, and he took a few more steps before the kids on either side of him pulled him back.

“I’m sorry, what?” McGucket asked. Stan stumbled as he was suddenly turned, and a heavy hands was set onto his shoulder, gripping it, “Did you say you glued your eyes shut? Why?”

“Uhh.” Dang it. Stan had just blurted out the first excuse that popped into his head, “I got some on my hands, and then rubbed it on my face?”

“Why does that sound like a question? Stanley.” The hand on his shoulder disappeared, and something cold poked him way too close to his eyes, “There’s nothing there. What did you do, really.”

“What, you don’t believe that I’d actually glue my eyes shut!” Stan yelled trying to lean back when the metal and prodded his face some more, “Get off my face!”

“Stanley, this really isn’t the time,” McGucket said, and Stan heard something shift before he was turned and shoved forwards again, “just open your eyes. I can’t carry both of you.”

Alright, so McGucket was carrying Dan. Nice to know, but more importantly-

“Ok, so I didn’t glue my eyes shut,” Stan admitted, stumbling as his foot hit something. The boys tugging him up and McGuckets hand on the back of his shirt were the only things that kept him up, and he had to awkwardly skip to get his feet back under him before continuing, “Here’s the truth. I blinded myself. I was messing around with the light rune, and I-”

“If that were,” McGucket interrupted, “Stanford would have freaked out. Try again.”

“Fine.” Stan thought for a second, one hand holding onto one of the kids while the other was still out in front of him. McGucket and the kids had to work together to pull him to a stop every once in a while, and turn him whichever direction they were going, slowing their pace to match his staggering.

“Got it, so the truth is-”

“Stanley,” McGucket sighed, hand moving away from his back to grab his head, giant metal fingers freezing his forehead where they gripped him. Stan brought a hand up to smack it, but McGucket just used it to push him forwards and turn him by moving his neck, “This really isn’t the time for whatever it is your… wait.”

Stan was jerked to a stop by the hand on his head, and opened his mouth to ask what had happened, when the distant sound of clashing metal reached his ears.

Rico. Or some of Rico’s men at least.

McGucket muttered something under his breath, let go of Stan’s head, grabbed the back of Stan’s coat, and pulled him backwards, forcing him to move or get dragged along. The tiny hands repositioned themselves, then helped him turn so he wasn’t walking rapidly backwards.

“Not good,” McGucket said quietly, once the sound had faded, “We’ll have to find another way around, or….”

McGucket slowed down and stopped again. Stan caught his footing and stuck a hand out to try and figure out where McGucket was and grab his leg or surcoat again. Both boys repositioned themselves again, and he put his free hand down to pat their heads (and faces) again.

“What’s happening dad?” one of the boys asked, quiet and trembling. McGucket didn’t answer right away, but something must have happened, because they leaned into him hard.

The metal man muttered something under his breath, and Stan jumped as the hallway they were in was filled with noise. It took him a second to recognize the marching feet of the Fiddleford’s, and he listened as they marched away from them.

The need to SEE what was going on was killing him.

“I’ve sent more knights to try and stall them, but,” McGucket sighed, and a screeching sound made Stan grimaced. He recognized the sound of the metal man rubbing his temples, but it didn’t make the sound any more pleasant, “I’ve never had to test them on a real threat. They’re,” another sigh, “They’re not as effective as I’d like. Most of the men are ducking around or disarming them. Not a good sign.”

“So, what’s the plan,” Stan asked, letting go of McGucket to put his other hand on the kid not currently getting his face rubbed, “You got somewhere to lay low until Six gets back?”

“Yes,” McGucket said, and Stan jumped as the metal man grabbed him by the back of his cloak and pushed him forwards again, “It’s called the treasury. The problem is that Rico’s men are blocking the way, and a few groups are heading right towards us.”

“Damn,” Stan muttered, “Rico shouldn’t have more than one or two pendants left. Might be using some kind of artifact, telling them where to go. You got eyes on him?”

“No,” McGucket grumbled pushing and pulling Stan somewhere, “I thought he was by the front entrance, but now I’m seein’ a bunch of them have those fancy hats.”

“Not good,” Stan went silent, trying to think of what they could do. McGucket would be fine, being made of metal, but the rest of them weren’t, and Dan hadn’t said a single word since they’d found him on whatever couch he’d been dozing on. The treen was either too out of it to contribute or sleeping again.

Four hands dug little claws into his legs made him very aware of the kids, half fish and all interesting. There was no way Rico would let anyone in this castle go free once he got a look at them. The best thing for them would be to hide them away somewhere, in one of the unused rooms in a closet or something, wait for it to blow over. Rico didn’t know they existed yet, and it would make it easier to get around without worrying about them getting caught in the crossfire if Rico’s men got too close.

Before Stan could do any of that though, there was a shout, the clattering of feet, and the sound of metal hitting metal. The hand gripping his coat pulled so hard he briefly choked and was lifted off his feet, kids and all. It let go a second later, and Stan slammed back onto the ground and wobbled, all three of them holding onto each other so they wouldn’t fall over.

“Stanley!” McGucket yelled over the sound of clashing metal, “Get them out of here!”

“Where!?” Stan yelled, EYES squeezed shut as tightly as he could and gripping the kids to his side, “You said there was nowhere to go!”

There was a grunt, a scream, and more clashing. Stan took a few steps away from the noise, then jumped as his back hit something. He let go of one of the kids to pat behind him, then sighed in relief at the wood that met his hand.

The sigh of relief turned into a yelp when the boys on either side of him cried out and let go. He reached forwards to snag them, felt nothing, and opened his-

EYES

C            L             I              C            K

The hallway in front of him was perfectly lit up by the steady light of the torches on the walls. Four men in black cloaks, none of them Rico  but two wearing hats similar to his, were arrayed around McGucket. The metal man had a sword stuck in the chains of his grapple hand, and the man wielding it was tugging it further, not enough to pull McGucket off balance but enough to take his attention. One of the hat-less men was on the ground, groaning, while the other two had their own swords and were getting closer.

Tate and Shifty were running forwards, inches out of Stan’s reach. To the side was Dan’s fallen form. He was pushing himself to his feet, eyes drooping and struggling to get his weight under him.

Stan could SEE it all, the Sight before him slow, like time itself was slowing down. The shadows under everyone, the way their clothes rippled and moved with them, the tension in human muscles, the strain in the chain. How the kids were pushing themselves forwards, no one focused on Stan, but Stan clearly seeing all of them.

There was a saying he’d heard years ago, probably from Ford, about how if a tree fell in a forest, and no one was around to see it, did it really fall? The question seemed stupid to Stan, who’d told whoever (probably Ford) how no one seeing something didn’t mean it didn’t happen, but now…

Now it was stupid for a different reason.

Someone was always watching. No moment went by unseen. Something, somewhere, would notice.

The smallest moment.

The littlest scene.

Bugs skittered across the ground, birds flew in the air, animals of all different shapes and sizes prowled and stalked and dashed across the earth.

No matter what, they’d see. The way the world moved, the change’s around them. How the lights danced across the leaves, the shadows deepened, exchanged glances, whispers behind someone’s back.

The See rune hit Stan with a rush, crashing into his mind and hooking in tight. It’s voice was drowned out by the others, a drone in the back of his mind, always there but not overpowering. It felt no different than any of the other runes.

Except for one thing.

All of the runes had a voice of their own. Not in words he could hear, but something he Knew deep inside, with their own tone and rythem. Break spoke with a rumble of a thousand crashing disasters, Wind a thousand stolen voices, Light a soft pitched melody, Dark a deep soothing drone, and Water like the waves, in the cadence of his ma’s. If asked, Stan wouldn’t have been able to describe them as anything other than themselves.

See sounded like Bill, whispering and cackling in his mind.

Just like he was doing right now, tiny hands gripping Stan’s head and eye blocking out the disaster in front of him.

“There we go!” Bill laughed, tweaking his nose, “Finally! Took you long enough Gold Fish, and now that my runes knocking around in there, everyone will know who you belong to, especially once I do this!”

Before Stan could even ask what he was going to do, he felt the See rune twist and change in his mind. It didn’t dig in deeper as much as it became bigger, more of itself. Its voice didn’t get louder, but it seemed to echo and seep into the warmth that made up the magic in his body, rattling around until it rang out and-

Between one instant and the next Bill disappeared, along with the hallway and the distant sounds of combat. Instead he was outside the castle, looking down at the forest and valley below. The village was a speck in the distance, smoke coming from the houses and lights filling up the area.

Stan blinked, shocked, then found himself back in the castle, in another hallway. More men were fighting some Fiddlefords, dodging their slower blows and darting around them. Another blink and he was in the library, books abandoned and Emma-May nowhere in sight.

Blink

The dining room, empty and-

Blink

Another room in the castle, looking down at a pair of ugly yellow couches, lights off and-

Blink

The woods, watching the sun set, turning the white trees around him pink and orange. A deer turned to look at him and-

Blink

A city, bright like here wasn’t. Looking down at it from somewhere high as people below him bustled and birds called out and-

Blink

Every time Stan opened his eyes he was somewhere else, watching people go about their day. Different cites, forests, the castle, back to somewhere else. Day or night, inside or out, from up high, or peering in through cracks, from the ground. He could see everything like he was standing right there, could hear whispered conversations in languages both familiar and strange. Saw sights he’d visited once, nearby or an ocean away.

He could feel Bill’s little claw hands holding his head, a thousand miles away from where he was watching a merchant scam some stary eyed traveler, then back into the woods. He tried to force himself back, to follow the echo into his own mind.

Instead, he felt himself scream, as his vision fractured and he was looking out of a hundred different trees at himself looking out of the other trees.

Suddenly everything went dark, and he gasped at the cold metal hand covering his face. The See rune sloshed in his mind, sending a ripple of warmth down his spine that felt every kind of unpleasant. A ringing sound filled his ears, and he groaned.

“-ley! Stanley! Fix it you little devil or so help me I’ll shove you down Stanford’s throat myself!”

McGucket’s voice pierced through the haze, and Stan brought his hands up to pat at the metal hand covering his eyes. Bill’s little arms were wrapped around his head again, being squished uncomfortably into Stan’s face under McGuckets palm.

“He’s fine!” Bill said, patting Stan’s temple, “Just gave him a fun little upgrade. It’s not my fault he got lost.”

“It’s your fault anything happens,” Stan groaned, “I think I’m gonna be sick.”

“Stanley, thank goodness,” McGucket sighed in relief, then removed his hand. Stan kept his eyes closed, too aware of the way the See rune was making itself cozy in his warmth, “How’re you-”

“So!” Stan interrupted, before McGucket could make a big deal out of how he felt, “I lied. I didn’t glue my eyes shut.”

There was a heavy silence, before one of the kids giggled, and he realized with a jolt they were latched back onto him. He patted their heads, then bat Bill’s hand away so he could rub his temples.

“Never mind the details,” Stan continued, waving a hand in front of him and batting McGuckets comment about minding them very much away, “But now I really can’t see without-”

Stan opened his eyes and, just like he suspected, was yanked away. He could feel the tiny hands gripping onto him (both Bill and the kids) but all he could see was some small village blacksmith, and his ears rang as whoever was at the anvil lifted their hammer and-

Stan coughed as the darkness slammed over him again, McGuckets palm once more covering his face. The warmth sloshed again, and he shuddered at the feeling.

“-without that happening.” Stan finished, once he’d caught his breath again, “I really wish that’d stop happening.”

“Too bad kiddo!” Bill cackled. Stan grunted as the demon crawled around his shoulders and tiny hands pinched his cheeks, “That’s something that comes with practice! And anyway, you shouldn’t worry so much about it! Not with your pal Rico crawling all over the place.”

“We can spare some worry,” McGucket grumbled, removing his hand and clanking away, “Considerin’ I can’t fight off all the men crawling around the castle, and we’ve got another twenty or so minutes before Stanford can make it back. Emma-May should have realized something was wrong, but I can’t get into contact with her and watch the four of you at the same time.”

“She wasn’t in the library,” Stan said. He was still standing, leaning against the wooden probably dresser, so he pushed off it and stretched his back out, trying to shake the gurgling warmth feeling away, “I didn’t see her there.”

“That’s… that’s good.” McGucket sighed, then clanked a short distance away, where Stan heard some men groaning, “She should be clearin’ out some of the more superstitious. I need..”

Another sigh, and then more clanking. Stan could pick up the low murmur of voices, and Dan’s groaning, before McGucket clanked back over.

“Here’s the plan,” McGucket said, just as someone further down the hall shouted.

McGucket cursed, and a moment later Stan stumbled at the heavy weight of what was probably Dan. The treen confirmed it with a groan, and Bill cackled at something Stan couldn’t see before McGucket was clanging a little further away.

“Well look who it is. And what a gathering you have!”

Rico’s voice sent a jolt of fear down Stan’s spine, and he turned towards the voice and shoved the kids behind him, Dan’s weight vanishing and replaced with a loud slam. It took everything in him not to look to see if he’d fallen to the floor or hit the wall or something, focusing on Rico’s approaching footsteps. It sounded like he had at least five other men with him but probably more.

“Rico!” Stan yelled, smiling, “We’ve got to stop running into each other like this! Or at all!”

“Get out.” McGucket growled, “I won’t let you make a mess of my home.”

“Ahem.” Came Bill’s shrill voice, “This is still my castle.”

Rico let out a laugh, and Stan tensed, “I must say, ever since I’ve come here, I’ve seen marvels unlike any other. Surender now, and I won’t be forced to do anything you’ll regret.”

“Get a load of this guy,” Bill muttered into his ear. Stan smacked at his general area, trying to focus on Rico’s slow steps and the sound of rustling cloth. He thought about risking a peek, but even the thought of looking made the See rune perk up like a puppy.

“How about you give us a moment to talk about it,” Stan said, “and we’ll get back to you.”

“I’ve already got my answer,” Came McGuckets grim voice. There was a loud shrill shrieking noise, like metal getting torn in two, and then something crashed next to Stan, making the floor shake. He jumped, saved from falling over only by the tiny hands still grabbing him.

“DAD!” The kids yelled, and this time Stan was ready to grab them before they could run off into whatever commotion he couldn’t see happening.

“Could you let me handle this just once!” Stan yelled, before he was knocked off balance by the kids quickly moving to the side. He scrambled to follow, only to pulled back by someone else’s grip on his back. Bill hissed in his ear, and a moment later the hand let go as someone yelped nearby.

But it was too late, he’d lost the kids and was now standing somewhere not near a wall while the sounds of fighting happened nearby. With a muttered curse he held up a hand to do… something, before quickly realizing he couldn’t write any of his runes without knowing what was happening around him. The last thing he needed was to hit one of the kids on accident.

“Bill!” he hissed, turning to face the general direction of the demon sitting on his shoulder, “Get the eye stuff to stop! I can’t do my stuff if I can’t see!”

“No can do Goldy,” Bill said, squeezing Stan’s head a little before easing up, “It’s a one and done deal. Buuuuuuuuuuut! I can make it so you can’t look through my eyes, how’s that sound?”

Stan hesitated. On one hand that was exactly what he asked for, on the other this felt like a trap.

Someone cried out nearby, McGucket’s clanging footsteps barely muffling the sound of Rico’s taunting. He had no idea what was happening, and if it came down to it whatever Bill had planned here was probably better than one of the kids getting hurt because Stan couldn’t handle a bad deal with a demon.

“Fine,” Stan ground out, “Just until Rico’s taken care of though! Then….”

Stan groaned as Bill laughed, immediately aware of what Bill had meant by can’t. The See rune didn’t change in any way, but what did change was the warmth that curled around his heart and pulsed with its beat.

It poured into the See rune, draining away his magic and taking his strength with it. The speed picked up after a moment, and Stan wheezed as it was squeezed away. The demon on his shoulder cackled louder as it went, weight disappearing after a moment and something slamming to the ground nearby.

Something grabbed the back of his cloak and jerked him into the air, and his eyes slammed open on reflex. The See rune spasmed as it tried to shift his view away, but the lack of warmth meant it did nothing but blur his vision before settling down with the rest of the runes in the back of his mind.

Stan blinked his eyes, squinted at the floor below him, then twisted to see Bill, pinching the back of his cloak and holding him in the air. The demon was large enough to fill the hallway, gigantic eye twisted in delight and made of far more wrapping than he should have. His crown, which usually looked plain, was ornate and glowing blue, while the wings on his back were darker and shifted with different shadowy patterns.

Most of them looked like screaming faces.

“Now this is more like it!” Bill said, swinging Stan around as he faced the commotion down the corridor. Rico was further down, standing in the middle of an intersection with his sleeves rolled up. Purple ice was stuck to the floors and walls, along with one of McGucket’s feet. Seven men, two wearing copies of Rico’s hat, were strung around, two similarly iced further up the hall, one on the ground near where Dan was sluggishly grappling another, two more holding swords and standing near McGucket, and the final one next to Rico.

All of them froze at Bill’s booming voice, staring at the demon now filling up the hallway.

“Whew!” Bill continued, flexing his wings and filling the air with a buzzing sound as they started beating rapidly, like a bee, and taking them off the ground, “You pack quite the punch there. Should have figured out how to do this ages ago.”

Stan groaned as he dangled in the air, too strung out to really feel the fear about being so high up. The barest spark of warmth sputtered in his chest, siphoned away by the See rune before it could grow and spread out.

Stan wheezed, “You suck.”

“Now now,” Bill said, another arm coming out of the wrapping to grab Stan around the waist and hold him, the first one patting his head, “Daddy’s gotta get rid of all the pests crawling around here. Don’t worry though! I won’t kill anyone today; I don’t want a repeat of what happened last time.”

Bill moved, hands pouring out and slamming into the men laying around the hall. Each hand wrapped around them and jerked them into the air, ripping them out of the ice and knocking Dan aside. Stan blinked as they screamed and writhed in the demon’s hold, hands pushing at fingers and legs kicking wildly. Before he could think about being horrified Bill was moving again, more hands drawing a strange circle in the air. It warped and twisted, and a second later Stan’s face was blasted with cold air as the forest popped into view.

“Good luck trying to make your way home!” Bill called out, shoving all the men through what had to be some kind of portal. Stan gaped at it (as much as he could from where he was being used like a living arcane battery or whatever), looking at the dark sky outside and the frosted woods.

There were a few places someone could go to teleport, all of them owned by royal families and so well guarded and infrequently used Stan wasn’t sure if they were real.

And here Bill was, casually making one in the middle of the hallway.

In front of Rico.

Stan put in enough energy to groan as the last man was snatched and shoved into the portal, then groaned again when it blinked out of existence and Rico was gone. Bill hummed in delight, then slammed his feet into the ground, wings coming to a stop.

“Playing a little hide and seek, are we?” Bill said, two hands slamming and rubbing together, “Sure, why not!”

Bill, instead of flying or using his legs like any normal way of moving around, slammed his hands into the stone walls and used them to skitter forwards like a demonic triangular spider. McGucket shouted something as Bill scampered overhead and out of sight, before the sounds of Fiddlefords fighting and yelling drowned him out.

“Could you put me down?” Stan wheezed out, weakly whacking the black fingers wrapped around his chest, “I don’t like how you’re swinging me around like this.”

“No can do sonno,” Bill said, eye flickering down towards him before looking forwards again, “Can’t let anything get lost in transport, and I’ve got a whole castle to clear out.”

Stan slumped forwards with a groan, the giant hand holding him weird and smooth. Bill scuttled around a corner to more men and Fiddlefords fighting, and with a few quick grabs Bill had them screaming in his grip. Instead of making a portal right away he kept going, screaming men dragged behind them as the demon found the next group and grabbed them too.

The Fiddleford’s watched them pass by, red eyes changing to yellow once Bill had snatched up the men. A few had lost some limbs, while others had no weapons. None of them moved back to their stations, just continued to stand there until Bill moved out of sight.

“Oh,” Stan muttered after the third or fourth group Bill had snatched, making more and more arms to grab Rico’s goons and the walls, “This is a magic thing. You gotta save your juice. Ha. Ha ha.”

The hand around him squeezed tighter, but all he did was send a lazy smirk Bill’s way. Bill couldn’t hurt him after all, and he only had as much power as Stan could give, which, while more than Bill’s apparently, wasn’t enough to make a million portals.

The grip eased after a moment, but not before Bill’s eye flashed red and he started grabbing the goons with more force. When he had a dozen or so he stopped to make another portal, blasting Stan’s face with the outside winter air. The screaming men were shoved in quickly, before the portal blinked out of existence.

“Listen blood bag,” Bill growled, scampering away again, “You pack a punch, but even this is nothing to what I’ll wield once I’m back in my full body. I need you working here, which means I can’t have some mortal with an ego stomp around my castle, or have you become a zombie again. It’s annoying.”

“Sure, sure,” Stan mumbled, limbs heavy. He flopped his head forwards as Bill ran around the halls like the demon he was. He had no idea how many men were running around, and his brain started getting fuzzy the longer Bill took the warmth from him, so it was anywhere from five minutes to an hour before he noticed Bill’s movements getting slower and his size shrinking. The fingers gripping his chest got smaller and smaller, until they no loner wrapped around his whole body and he was barely above the ground.

They rounded another corner, and Bill ground to a halt. Stan forced his head to look up to find McGucket standing there, one leg still encased in ice and the rest of him covered in scratches. His face was twisted into a disapproving scowl, and a few feet behind him Dan was leaning on the boys.

“Bill,” McGucket said, stomping forwards, “that’s enough. The-”

Between one second and the next Bill’s grip on him was gone, and Stan let out a strangled shout as he dropped. His knees hit the ground hard, but thankfully McGucket grabbed the back of his cloak before his face could join it.

He was once more yanked into the air, and he groaned again. A slow blink revealed Bill, face down on the floor and half as big as he usually was. McGucket sighed, then tucked him under an arm and reached down to grab Bill by a wing. The demon looked as good as Stan felt, tiny limbs dangling and wings limp. His crown was back to looking plain, and his eye wasn’t as bright as it was earlier.

“Worth it.” Bill whispered, as McGucket straightened up and walked back towards where Dan and the kids were leaning against a wall, “Been too long since I heard all that screaming.”

“I’m sure you had loads of fun terrorizing all the humans,” McGucket grumbled, “and drainin’ poor Stanley dry. Don’t think I don’t know what you did, even if I’m not too sure how you did it.”

Bill grumbled something, and Stan mumbled in agreement. The feeling of his warmth getting drained away stopped, and he sighed in relief. Hopefully that meant Rico was gone, and that he could go collapse into a heap in peace.

The See rune started flickering again, so Stan closed his eyes, letting McGuckets voice fade into a distant buzz. Emma-May might have shown up at some point, but it was hard to focus with the way sleep tugged at him.

When Six roared and slammed into the castle, some unknown time later, the dragon took great joy in slamming Bill to the ground a few times for ‘daring to take Stan’s magic’ (as McGucket put it, when Stan asked what all the ruckus was about), then stalked through the castle corridors, making sure no one remained of Rico’s break in.

Only when it had done a few laps did it gather everyone (except for the Fiddlefords, who McGucket had put into some kind of order while Six swept through the castle) into the treasury. Stan, the boys, and Dan were shoved into the wagon and bundled up under a few layers, while McGucket, Bill, and Emma-May were yelled at for failing to be good guards.

Or, at least, that’s what Stan could get from the half of the conversation he understood.

“I keep tellin’ you!” McGucket shouted, back pressed into the wagon while Six was curled around them, looking down at him in disapproval, “I’m not a soldier! I don’t know how to fight people! Especially not so many!”

Six clicked, and Stan closed his eyes as his vision started flickering, content to listen to someone else get yelled at.

“Well how was I supposed to know they wouldn’t work too well! We’ve never had to use them!”

More clicking, and then Emma-May cut in.

“Don’t be mad at Fiddleford. None of the knights had been tested, and you can’t get mad if you didn’t think of doing so earlier either.”

That was nice of her, sticking up for the FIddlefords. Fiddleford? It was too late to ask if it was one creature controlling all of them, or a bunch of separate guys, but he was starting to think it was the former.

Six clicked again, and Stan grunted as the wagon rocked, and a talon ran through his hair.

McGucket sighed and rubbed his face, making that awful metal sound, “I’ll see what I can do, but I can’t make any promises! Everything I know about fighting is from thousands of years ago, times change. No one even knows what a laser gun is anymore.”

“What’s a laser gun,” Shifty asked, voice vibrating Stan’s chest from where he was curled up on Stan. The boys had latched onto him and dug in their little claws the moment Six had dropped them in the wagon. Stan let them, content to become a living pillow while Dan started sleeping at the end of the wagon bed.

It had been a long day.

“I’ll tell you when you’re older,” McGucket promised, “you just sit tight for now while you mom gets his grump out.”

Stan chuckled with the boys snickering, then sighed, snuggling down into the mattress. The scolding continued, but Stan let it be, drifting off while the talon continued to run through his hair, and the boys snuggled into his chest.

Bill popping up next to his head and trying to hold his face like a teddy bear made that a little more difficult, but he’d manage.

Chapter Text

Stan woke with a yawn, and the press of two small bodies on either side of him. One of his hands went down to rub one of the boy’s heads as he stirred, and the other went up to rub his eyes.

Something was wrapped around his face, and he grimaced when he realized it was Bill, the demon limp in his hair. Bill didn’t breathe as far as Stan could tell, but there was a suspiciously wet feeling area around where his eye was located making Stan’s hair stick to his scalp.

Disgusting.

Stan scowled, hand moving to pull Bill off, and he opened his eyes to-

The sunrise, coming up over the mountains and painting the valley below in yellow and orange. It glistered over the frost covered trees, shone down on the sleepy village waking up with the dawn, brightened the sky in a-

Blink

A port town, loud and bustling. Merchants yelled out across the street, sailors called out to each other, goods were tossed around and a man with a peg leg wearing a black coat turned to-

Blink

The castle hallway, still and silent. The Fiddleford's were standing at attention, some of them still missing weapons but otherwise content while they waited for-

Blink

A dark field, sky overhead an ocean of stars. Bugs buzzed softly, while in the distance something called out, cry echoing through the night-

Blink

A fire, people screaming and-

Blink Blink Blink

Stan could feel the mattress underneath him as the scene’s changed, one after another. The weight of the children was like an anchor, and he blindly reached down to grab them and pull them closer. The movement was distant and far away, something to try and drag himself towards.

The See rune pulsed, and he was back in the castle. He managed to keep himself there for a few more scenes, looking down at various empty rooms and hallways, before he lost whatever intangible grip he had and was suddenly somewhere else again, watching children play in a field under a noon sun.

Something touched his arms, pulling the kids out and leaving him with nothing but Bill’s arms around his face and drool in his hair. He reached out, panicked and echoey, trying to grab something to help him focus back on his body while he watched and heard a woman sing a lullaby to a baby. A moment later Bill was ripped off his face and he had nothing but the mattress beneath him and the sounds of yelling as he watched a bar fight until-

Stan gasped as the familiar weight of McGuckets hand covered his eyes, warmth cut off from the See rune abruptly. It swirled back into him, sending a wave down his spine and limbs, making him shudder from the feeling. It took his ears a second to adjust being back in his body, and he flinched when the wagon shook and Six’s roar filled the air.

“-tanley? You back yet?” McGucket was saying softly, barely audible over Six’s roaring and Bill’s high-pitched screech. The weight of the demon appeared on top of his shoulder, just to immediately disappear again as McGucket shifted. Based on his high-pitched yell and Six’s roar, McGucket had flung him out of the wagon back at the dragon.

Good. Little creep deserved it for messing up Stan’s eyes.

“Hrrg.” Stan said, hands coming up to grab McGuckets, “Get’off. I can cover my own eyes.”

“Perhaps now, but not before.” And there was Emma-May. Her cool ghostly touch made him flinch, then sigh as her hand passed through his hair and poked his skull, “I’m not sure how long you were awake, but whatever’s causing this connection has only stopped with outside input.”

Stan grumbled as Emma-May started going off about runes and her voice moved away. It was impossible to hear her over Six’s roaring, so he didn’t bother, working on prying McGuckets hand off his face.

“One moment Stanley,” he said. Something rustled nearby, and Bill’s weight was flung off him again. A moment later the hand moved away, replaced by cloth, something silky and smooth. It pressed against his eyes, and he grimaced at the darkness.

“Is this a blindfold?” Stan asked, as McGucket helped him sit up and the cloth got tighter, “are you serious? I’m-”

“Don’t say fine,” McGucket said, and the cloth was tugged, “You obviously weren’t. Hopefully this is temporary, and we can get Bill to reverse this or-”

“Not on your borrowed life Tin Can!” Bill hissed next to Stan, before something shifted and he screeched again, voice fading before it started getting weird. His best guess was Six had snatched the demon from the air and was shaking him, judging by the growling. The wagon shifted, and Stan itched to pull the blindfold off and take a peek at what was going on. Instead, the mattress dipped, and tiny hands pulled on his arms.

“Are you OK now Uncle Stan?” one of them, Shifty maybe, asked (it was hard to tell without looking, especially when they were worried and talked in similar tones).

“Sure squirt,” Stan reassured him, waving a hand around until it hit what he was pretty sure was a kids head and gave it a pat, “Bill just broke my eyes is all. Nothing I can’t handle.”

Bill yelled something, but Six’s roars and a wave of crackling heat drowned out the words. The kid whose face he was scrunching grabbed his hand and removed it, and he let them.

“You were breathing kinda funny,” One of them said, and the kid holding his hand squeezed it, “and you were holding on real tight.”

Oof. He hadn’t realized, not with the way his body felt so distant. The urge to look made his skin crawl, and he pushed it down. McGucket would have told him if he’d hurt either of them, so they were probably fine.

Probably.

“Well, I don’t know about you two,” Stan said, deciding to change the subject to something actually important, “but I’m starving. We missed dinner yesterday due to Rico’s failed snatch attempt. What’s for breakfast.”

Stan tried to push himself up, but the kids grips and McGuckets hand on his shoulder shoved him back down.

“Hold your Pegasi,” McGucket said, exasperated, “Don’t try to walk around like this, all your gonna do is hurt yourself. Here.”

The mattress shifted, and Stan could just make out his feet hitting coins over the noise of Bills continued beating, before the boys let go and shuffled away. Before Stan could ask them where they were going a pair of familiar giant hands lifted him up under the armpits and pulled him into the air.

There was no thought into what Stan did next, just the panic of him being off the mattress and not knowing how high McGucket was holding him. The moment he stopped touching the wagon Stan flailed and yelled, heart beating in his chest as his imagination ran wild. Realistically he knew was just as high as he usually was whenever McGucket picked him up, but in the darkness that void below him felt infinite, and he couldn’t help imagining a drop.

Six’s roaring suddenly cut off, and Stan flinched at the sound of coins crashing into each other nearby. The (also, and way too) familiar feeling of Six’s talons circling his chest made his heart race as the dragon tugged him out of McGuckets grip and rolled him over to lay in a claw. It clicked at him worriedly, and he grunted at the scales that ran across his face before the dragon pulled away.

After a few deep breaths Stan sat up, coughed, and said, “I’m fi-”

“No, You’re not.” McGucket said, again, “But that’s on me. Shoulda’ warned you what I was doin’.”

“Yeah, you shoulda.”

McGucket muttered something, and Stan gripped the claw as it suddenly started swaying underneath him, the same time he heard the dragon start moving. The treasure clinked under its claws, and he heard more movement before something plopped next to him.

“Hi Uncle Stanley!” Probably Shifty chirped, grabbing his sleeve. Another weight hit his other side, and probably Tate grabbed him there.

“Hey, kiddos” Stan said, still gripping the claw as Six started moving again. Probably Shifty pat his arm a few times, before going off about a strange dream he’d had, and Stan’s other hand went up to try and get some of the drool out of his hair with a grimace.

The sound of coins clinking ended abruptly, changing to Six’s claws hitting the stone floor of the castle as they probably left the treasury and hopefully went towards the dining room. He listened to Tate and Shifty talk, occasionally imputing his own thoughts but mostly focusing on trying to visualize the castle around them.

This was already getting old.

“So how do I fix this.” Stan said, gesturing to his face once Six came to a stop and had gently set him down. A moment later metal hands guided him towards a chair, and Stan let McGucket sit him down with only a minor amount of grumbling.

“There’s nothing to fix ungrateful brat,” Came Bill’s wheezing voice to his left, “I gave you a-”

Six growled behind him, making the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end as he tensed. There was something more threatening about a giant dragon growling behind him now that he couldn’t see it. He knew it wouldn’t hurt him (on purpose) but having his sight cut off was putting him on edge, everything felt far more ominous. Dangerous. He couldn’t protect himself from a threat he couldn’t see, and it made his skin crawl

He shoved the feeling down.

“From what I recall through prior research into sorcerers,” Emma-May said, somewhere in front and above him, “and based on Bill’s unhelpful commentary, he is correct. There’s nothing to fix, this is just an unfortunate side effect of the blessing of a greater rune on a sorcerer. Unfortunately, I didn’t see anything about the process or how to teach control, so we’ll have to do so through trial and error.”

Stan groaned, slumping in his seat, then jumped when something clattered in front of him. Various footsteps moved around the room, and he tensed as he waited for something to happen.

“Ah. Hmm.” McGucket said, after Tate and Shifty had gone silent and he heard them slurp of their weird funky meals, “Stanley, I know you like your independence, but…”

Right. Breakfast. That is why they came here.

“I’m not letting you feed me.” Stan growled, reaching forwards to try and figure out what was in front of him. His hands hit the table, and he slid them across the smooth surface until they hit something cold and metal.

The platter.

Running a hand over it, he managed to find something hard and sticky, and shoved the probably toast into his mouth, victorious. It crunched like bread and stuck to his teeth like jam and he grinned at his success. Who needed to see anyway, he’d just figure out how to live with a blindfold over his eyes forever.

Then he reached forwards to grab what he was pretty sure was another slice, smacked something hard, and heard glass hitting wood and the cries of an audience in front of a rapidly spreading mess. Probably Six dragged the chair backwards, and Stan gripped the arms to steady himself as McGucket burst into motion in a cacophony of noise.

“What?! What was that!” Stan called out, listening to the metal man clunk around and grumble, “was that juice or water, because I was told there was a limited amount of juice, and I will lick it off the table.”

“It was water,” McGucket  said, just as Bill called out juice. Stan sat there, pensive, then stuck a foot out to try and feel how far away the table was and if it was worth trying to shuffle over and take a lick. The blackness around him made the ground feel farther, even as he tapped the ground and swung his leg around.

There was a grumble from Six, the clanking that meant McGucket was moving, and Stan yelped when the chair was shoved forwards. His stomach hit the table, knocking the breath from his lungs. Wheezing and pushing himself up, he tried to glare at everyone, and instead scowled when his eyebrows rubbed against the cloth on his face.

“Listen up,” Stan said, hand slowly moving across the table in front of him so he could find the platter again (and the damp spot on the table. He couldn’t tell if it used to be sticky, but the lack of liquid irked him regardless), “If you move me again without warning we’re gonna have issues. I might not be able to see you but don’t think that means I can’t figure out how to make your lives a nightmare.”

McGucket grumbled, and the only thing that prevented Stan from trying to kick him was the fact he’d already done it before, and it hurt Stan more than McGucket every time. That and not knowing where, exactly, his leg was.

“We’ll do our best to accommodate you Stanley,” said Emma-May, “but there’ll be an adjustment period, so try to control your temper.”

“I’ll control nothing!”

Stan found the platter, grabbed more toast, and stuffed his face, twitching at the sounds around him. When he finally finished breakfast (With some minor assistance from the boys in the form of them shouting warmer or colder to find his food), Six picked him up and carried him….

Somewhere.

With the forced blindness and the way most of the castle was identical it was impossible to say. He had the layout (at least, what he knew of it) memorized, but Six’s uneven giant footsteps combined with the fact that there were entire hallways that were still enchanted not to be noticed meant it wasn’t very useful.

Wherever he was, it had a soft couch McGucket guided him to and a crackling fire. It sounded like it was across from him, and he leaned back and carefully lifted one of his legs. Stretching it out, he waved it around until it hit something hard. Careful prodding showed a flat surface, and he grinned as he kicked his legs onto the table in front of him.

“Hah!” Stan grinned, leaning back and putting his hands behind his head, “Who needs eyes to see when-”

Something wet touched his hands and he screamed, tucking them to his chest and lurching to the side. His shoulder hit the couch as he fell over, and he froze as he felt Six’s breath blast into him, warm and damp.

“He's sorry Stanley,” McGucket said, somewhere to his left, “Stanford didn’t mean to startle ya.”

“I wasn’t startled,” Stan grumbled, and tiny hands helped pull him up, then the boys settled down next to him, “I just wish I could see with my actual eyes.”

Stan waited a moment, then reached for the blindfold. A metal hand shoved his own back down, and he scowled.

“I wouldn’t do that,” McGucket said, “Bill’s bein’ quiet, but I don’t trust the look of ‘im.”

“What!” Bill said, somewhere next to and above him, maybe on the back of the couch, “You think I’d watch my little princess get lost! Just sit here and watch him freak out again?” Stan tried to swat at him for the princess comment. His hand hit the couch instead, and he shook it out with a grumble at Bill’s cackle.

“Hah! Nice try,” Bill’s voice moved around him, along with the sound of tiny claws scrapping against furniture, “but you can’t just wish my favor away you- sweet! Uh. Skin thing.”

Six’s huff and the way Bill’s voice got warbly gave Stan a pretty good idea of what was going on between them. So did the way Bill’s weight appeared on his shoulder and his tiny hands started clambering into his hair.

“Hey!” Stan yelled, trying to untangle the demon, “You don’t get any free rides around here until you tell me how to fix this!”

The arms wrapped around his forehead, and one tiny claw trailed his cheek.

“Weeeeeellll,” Bill drew out, and Stan flinched as something tapped his nose, “Normally this would be against the rules, but I like you. Just give me some of your-”

“No. Emma-May you come up with anything?”

Silence. An awkward cough.

“She isn’t here, is she.”

“No,” McGucket said, clanking away next to them as he did whatever he was doing, “She went to look through the library again, so-”

“I’m entering the room!” came Emma-May’s voice, loud and further away, “No need for research, I’ve realized exactly what we need to do!”

“Really?” Stan said, patting the kids heads when they cheered, “Great! What do I gotta do?”

“Nothing at all yet!” Emma-May announced, getting closer, “I’ll just possess you, then-”

“No. McGucket, any suggestions?”

“I think Emma-May-”

“Welp,” Stan reached up and grabbed the blindfold, pulling it up, “Looks like I’m on my own here.”

He opened his eyes to find himself in a snowy field, sun glistening off the ice. It made his eyes water, and the next few blinks made him slap his hand over his mouth from the rapid changes. Focusing on the sensation of his stomach rolling and the many hands holding onto him, Stan tried to drag his eyes towards his body. The See rune pulsed and ate away at his reserves at each new image, and he-

“Interesting,” Came Emma-May’s voice all around, as a cool sensation overtook him and the vague feeling of his body disappeared, “I’m surprised you’re able to throw your consciousness so far from your physical form. Godly runes truly are powerful.”

Stan was looking at a city street, deep at night and near silent. A few dark shadows darted here and there, but overall it was quiet and still, too dark to make out the details of where this was. The details blurred as Emma-May looked around, and if he could control his mouth he’d scream at her about how much he hated this.

She blinked, and the scene changed. Now they were looking out at a field of sheep, sun shining down and birds chirping.

“Hmm. I see, some kind of…hmm.” Emma-May muttered to herself, blinked a few more times, then muttered some more, “Ah, if only I’d taken that course in higher rune upper planar webbing.”

Stan had no idea what that meant. When she muttered and blinked a few more times, explaining nothing, he shoved his feelings at her. He hated being possessed, the speed was making him dizzy, and not being able to feel his body anymore was freaking him out.

“Apologies Stanley,” Emma-May said, blinking a few more times, “I’m trying to drag your consciousness back to your body. I’m having some trouble navigating the network of Sight runes, but if you give me a moment-”

The next blink took them to the castle, looking down a hallway. From here he couldn’t see any paintings, but it looked like one near the courtyard. Hard to say for sure though, with the identical decorations and doors.

“Aha!” Emma-May blinked a few more times, looking at more hallways and rooms, “Now how do I…”

The room in front of Stan came into unfocus, blurry at the edges from Emma-May’s possession. McGucket was in front of him, expression pinched and sitting on a large chair while he tapping his knees. Behind him was a crackling fire, and a coffee table had been shoved to the side. Tate and Shifty were sitting down next to it, pages spread out in front of them and scribbling away.

“-til this done,” McGucket was saying, looking at something above Stan, “I don’t want to let leave ‘em alone in case there’s another break in.”

“Here we are!” Emma-May announced, and everyone in the room jumped and turned to face them, “Back in your body, now-”

Emma-May’s presence disappeared, and Stan was slammed with the nausea of her quick blink traveling and his warmth getting cut off from the See rune. His eyes watered as he hunched forwards and gagged, hand slamming over his mouth. A metal hand rubbed his back, and Stan looked up to glare at McGucket.

Instead, he glared at a grey stone hallway, paintings of various scenery hanging across from him. It was a castle of some kind, judging by the maids walking underneath and the knights marching down the hall, but not one he knew based on one hallway.

The nausea making his stomach roll disappeared, and he would have screamed if he could at the rapid blinking Emma-May did before he was slammed back into his body.

“There, now-”

Stan missed what she said, eyes watering and probably throwing up on someway based on the way his insides rolled and his throat burned. It was hard to say, with his body a million miles away while he watched a hunter line a shot on a deer.

The hunter disappeared right as he let go of his arrow, cool metal hands covering Stan's eyes. The feeling of his inner warmth sloshing made the nausea even worse, and he gagged for a moment as he forced himself not to spew.

“No, wait,” Stan coughed out when he could, grabbing McGucket’s hand, “send me back, the nausea's worse when I can feel it…. Did I throw up?”

“Thankfully no,” McGucket said (as Bill shouted yes somewhere else), not removing his giant hand and bringing the other up to sandwich Stan’s head when he tried to pull away, “Emma-May, why don’t you explain what you’re doing before Stanley does.”

“I don’t see why, but if you insist. Stanley,” Stan shuddered at the cold hand on his shoulder, stomach clenching and as he broke out into a cold sweat, “Runes are connected to each other, but specifically their self. That connection is stronger with higher tear runes such as the Sight one, and I believe Bill’s boost has allowed you to use that connection and travel along it. I can pull you back to your body as long as I know the route, I’m just not sure how to keep you here.”

Six grumbled something above them, and something pointy gently ran across Stan’s head (probably a talon).

“You couldn’t just tell me that before possessing me?” Stan grumbled, “What good is it if you know how it works, huh? You planning on ridding around in my body to make sure I don’t get lost forever? I don’t think so. Not gonna happen, not on my watch. Never again if I can help it.”

“Hmm. Yes, I do see the problem there. Hmm.” Stan took a few deep breaths while she thought of a better plan and dropped his hands to press against the couch. If he’d known this was a thing they’d be doing, he would have waited to eat breakfast. Too late now though, he was determined to figure this out before he memorized the castle layout blind.

“I have an idea,” Emma-May said finally, once his stomach was mostly settled, “Dear, if you would? I'm going to possess you, but just once.”

Stan let out a long sigh, then nodded as much as he could with the hands squishing his head. McGucket let go and Stan looked up at a cloudy sky. It went blurry after a moment as Emma-May possessed him again.

“Now try and pay attention Stanley,” Emma-May said, blinking once to change the view into another sunlit forest, “Focus on the feeling of moving as you change from one rune to another. Can you feel the trail as it changes? The small spark of magic? I’m going to let go now so you can fully feel it, but I’ll be back in… five minutes should be adequate.”

Then she disappeared, and Stan forced himself not to blink as the distant feeling of his body came back. He leaned back until he hit the back of the couch, then blinked slowly, trying to find the connection.

It took him longer than the five minutes Emma-May gave him, closer to thirty, with constant interruptions by the spirit as she had McGucket cover his eyes and ask how he was doing it. Eventually though he felt the tiny surge his magic did every time he blinked, then focused more on trying to figure out how to follow it to the ‘connections’ or whatever.

The Unseen Seeing Road.

Yeah, that’s what he was calling it now. He didn’t care if it had any kind of official name, he was the only sorcerer around, he could call things whatever he wanted. Who was going to stop him anyway, Bill? The demon would have already strangled him if he could, Stan wasn’t scared of the little triangle (anymore).

Unfortunately, just as he managed to mentally grab the surge and follow it, the connection vanished. His warmth stopped flowing into the See rune, and he blinked at McGucket and the kids playing a card game with Bill at the coffee table. Six’s head was hovering over him, golden throat blocking off the ceiling, while Emma-May was floating over Tate's shoulder and pointing at his cards.

Confused, he sat there watching them play, before he realized the reason the warmth had stopped was because he’d run out, and he was too exhausted to do anything other than sit here, watching them all cheat terribly at what looked like a childrens card game.

“He’s bluffing.” Stan muttered, after Bill made one too many comments about having a seven, “Pretty sure he's got a six.”

Six chirped in delight at his words, shoving its face down and twisting its neck so it could rub its snout on Stan. Stan groaned as the movement made him flop over on to the couch, then groaned more when Six shoved him down into it and vibrated his body with its chirping.

Several voiced cried out his name, and when Six disappeared it was replaced with McGucket’s smiling face.

“Figure it out then?”

“Hah!” Bill cut in before Stan could answer, popping onto his head and ruffling his hair, “As if! You think Goldy here could figure this out in less than a day?”

“..Ye-”

“Wrong!” Bill poked at Stan’s face a bunch, then skittered back to his cards, snatching them before Tate could grab them and see what the demon had, “He’s just out of juice. Can’t use magic if he doesn’t have any.”

Stan stuck his tongue out at the demon, grumbling when McGucket pat his head and went back to grab his own cards and a soft comment about getting some rest.

Jerks. Leaving him here. His hands felt too heavy to hold anything and his brain was too wrung out to even think about playing cards, but still.

At least he had Six. The dragon crooned over him, setting its head down so it could look at him while one of its talons ran through his hair over the back of the couch. Stan sighed at the treatment, then closed his eyes.

He’d just take a quick nap, recharge, and figure this out when he got up. The surge had been right there, it couldn’t be too hard to follow it back to his body. Then he just had to figure out how to stop it every time he opened his eyes.

By the end of the day he’d be back in business.