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Chapter Text

Due to a great deal of experience with it and learning how to lucid dream out of necessity, Stanford could recognize when his sleep was invaded by another’s presence.

He was immediately on guard as his previous dream about locating a colony of harpies for study dissolved away to reveal new surroundings. He was floating in the middle of an empty void. But not the more traditional interpretation that involved smothering darkness. Instead, it was a strangely glittering and mysteriously milky white void. Almost like a color negative version of space. And despite his best efforts, Stanford couldn’t seem to change his surroundings or create his usual weapons.

He had no power over his dream. Someone else was in control.

It didn’t feel like a malicious presence. But in the beginning, Bill Cipher didn’t feel dangerous. It had felt welcoming and wonderful whenever he made himself known. Until Stanford saw the truth behind his charming mask.

This wasn’t Bill Cipher though. He knew what it felt like when Bill slid into his mind. Digging his grip into his neurons and whispering in his mind. He could recognize the Bill’s fingerprints bruising his cerebral cortex. Besides, Bill was gone. His accursed book had eventually come boomeranging back with additions about his ultimate fate: trapped in a secure facility outside of time called the Theraprism.

It wasn’t Bill Cipher, but someone or something was in his dreams. And even if something about the strange glittering white void felt almost comforting and reassuring, the fact that he wasn’t alone made him uneasy. He’d learned the hard way not to trust anyone in his head without some very compelling evidence that they meant no harm.

Trying his best to keep his voice calm and controlled, Stanford said, “It’s rude entering someone’s mind without an invitation or even an introduction.”

“My manners misplaced I have. Please forgive my minor gaffe.”

The strange otherworldly voice seemed to ebb and flow like whale song from the ether. Coming from all directions and none. Beautiful and mesmerizing like the milky white surroundings. Something in him wanted to trust that voice. But Stanford did his best to resist. He needed to be on guard because he didn’t know who he was dealing with.

Beautiful and intriguing facades could hide dangerous monsters. Like the light of an anglerfish, drawing unsuspecting prey in.

Stanford caught sight of something out of the corner of his eye. A bit of color in the void. He turned slowly.

No longer completely empty, the endless glittering voice now contained a vast nebula. Swirling pinks, reds, and cream clouds of gas and cosmic dust, a sight that the people of his home dimension were just now getting telescopes powerful enough to glimpse properly. The edges of the nebula almost resembled flames and he could spy stars within the depths. Distance and size were impossible to judge with nothing to serve as scale, but he could almost feel how much it dwarfed him.

When he and Stanley were small, they would occasionally lay on the beach and stare up at the passing clouds while talking about what they resembled. If they’d seen a cloud like the strange nebula back then, Stanford would have described it as a lizard. He could make out the limbs, a thick tail, and a head. Except there were several fiery protrusions on the neck-like structure that didn’t belong on a lizard. Perhaps it was closer to…

A brief memory of an adorable amphibian kept in his tank until he released it. An amphibian that had no reason to exist in Oregon, but somehow he didn’t think to question it back then. Or at all until that very moment.

“The Axolotl,” he said in quiet awe.

It shouldn’t be possible of a nebula to smile pleasantly. But that was exactly what Stanford saw. And he finally began to relax.

“You have correctly recognized the signs. And you are Stanford Filbrick Pines.”

The Axolotl was spoken of across the multiverse in reverent tones. The various people in the different dimensions would often invoke the Axolotl for protection, guidance, and favors, especially when someone was seeking second chances and redemption. Everything that he’d heard told him that the Axolotl was benevolent. There had not been warnings carved into the walls of a cave warning against contact. In fact, there was at least one shrine that he remembered vividly covered in idols and carvings of the celestial entity. That was where he met Jheselbraum and where she cared for him after installing his metal plate. She seemed to respect the Axolotl and she was not one to trust powerful beings without reason. If she believed that the Axolotl was as benevolent as their reputation, then he could give them a chance to explain themselves.

The vast colorful nebula abruptly began to condense and shrink in on itself. Compacting into a smaller shape, swirling together like it was trying to form a star. And when they reached the point of ignition, a flash of blinding light filled the void. Stanford instinctively squeezed his eyes shut, throwing up a hand to block out the worst of it.

When he blinked away the glare from his eyes, Stanford saw an entity that looked more like a bipedal version of an axolotl that was almost twice his height. Mostly likely intended as a more approachable form than a celestial entity that resembled a living nebula. Not to mention it was easier to enter any buildings or deal with people when they weren’t larger than planets. At least now Stanford could look them in the eye while they conversed.

“And what did I do to earn the honor of a visit from you?” he asked politely.

“I’m afraid that I bring you news most ill. There had been a development regarding Bill.”

With Theraprism’s unique position outside of the normal flow of time, the alarm klaxons and flashing red lights began going off three months ago, right at that moment, one trillion years ago, and three to five minutes in the future. Despite the numerous patients with shady and deadly histories, full-blown riots were rare events there. The first few attempts at instigating them were lonely affairs that didn’t go anywhere. But now that a proper one was underway— some patients took it personal when a puzzle was missing a piece— there was only limited non-time to take advantage of it.

The sturdy door was labeled as “Contraband Storage” with a smaller sign warning “no patient entry.” He’d been casing out the location for at least a third of his stay. The keypad had a regularly changing code. Almost impossible to gain access to because the orbs of healing light were too stubborn and unbribable to let it slip. Of course, smashing the keypad to bits to unlock the door would also work.

That’s why Sixer depended on retinal scanning back in the day. He was always a smart one.

The shelves were neatly labeled. And after listening to his fellow patients whine during group therapy, he knew to search the M-N shelf. If the idiot wasn’t lying, that’s where he’d find it.

“Hff,” muttered Bill as he scrambled his way up. “Gotta make this quick. That little riot in the rec room won’t keep ‘em occupied long.”

His eye scanned the numerous boxes. Reading labels and rejecting them in a frantic search for one specific box. The so-called most dangerous beings in the multiverse had their belongings locked away in these boxes and one of them must have exactly what he needed.

A box almost identical to the others had a label that was neatly labeled as “Minmaximus – DXRT 3312: 6x Globnar Champion—”

“Yes,” he whispered.

Bill pried open the lid. Tucked inside was the prize for Globnar. A glowing, semi-transparent, golden orb containing a bright yellow hourglass symbol surrounded by sparks.

“Yessss,” he hissed excitedly. “I knew it.”

A Time Wish. Minmaximus wasn’t lying. The idiot won the six of the things, but never actually managed to use all of them before being locked up. There was still one tucked away. A complete waste.

You snooze, you lose. Minmaximus didn’t deserve it. Unlike that loser, Bill wouldn’t waste the opportunity.

“Come to papa,” he cackled as he picked up the orb.

Even cut off from most of his abilities, he could sense the power practically burning inside. Enough to manipulate space, time, and reality. Like when Bill was in the midst of Weirdmageddon, but more concentrated and capable of working retroactively. The potential was like the heady rush of a drug.

A fun drug, not the type that they liked using in Theraprism and… and…

Well, it didn’t matter. He did it. The plan worked perfectly.

Cackling wildly to himself, Bill said, “Finally… Finally, I can have the revenge I’ve dreamed of!”

It would be perfect. He would kill Stanley Pines immediately. Bill wouldn’t hesitate or play with him. Just get rid of the spare twin immediately. He might keep Mabel and Dipper around. She was chaotic and creative enough to be fun and Dipper’s anxiety could be entertaining in his newly changed world. Bill would just contain them both properly, not taking any risks by depending on Gideon or anyone else. And Ford—

Oh, Ford would regret every rejecting and betraying him. Bill would keep him alive and properly restrained. Tight chains, collars, and manacles. Ensuring that Ford would never forget who was actually in charge. Eventually, Ford would remember that they both wanted the same thing, that they were on the same side, that he would make the same choices as Bill once he calmed down from his little tantrum, and that they would be much happier if Ford would just listen to him. They could both have fun with Weirdmageddon when things went correctly this time.

Ford would beg for forgiveness and apologize. Bill might subject him to some light hazing, but he was a reasonable guy. Once things were going right, he would give Ford everything that he promised in that new eternal party.

“I can fix it,” he continued excitedly. “I can have everything I want! I can—”

Visions of fire, chaos, and Weirdmageddon spreading across the planet that had been filling his mind slowly gave way to blurs of red and blue. Older memories stained in buzzing static and screams.

“I can—”

Soft voices that sang lullabies. Wavy silly straws. Reassurances that they love him despite his strange eye, his strange ramblings, and his strange flames. Pleading for him to just fit in.

“I can fix…”

He fell silent, staring at the golden orb. All that potential. A chance to have anything that he desired. Even something from much farther back. Where memories gave way to static screams and black outs.

He could fix anything.

As the alarms fell silent, Bill tightened his grip on the glowing orb. Ancient regrets and memories won out over recent revenge.

He vanished.

Stanford stared silently at the floating screen, the Axolotl holding a remote control in their hand. His mind briefly rebelled against what he’d seen. Not wanting to believe it. Then the shock gave way to frustrated anger.

Gesturing towards the screen, the one that the Axolotl created to show the footage of something that was meant to be impossible, Stanford shouted, “He escaped?”

His hands went to his temples. How could this have happened?

“Wasn’t the whole point that he couldn’t escape unless someone summoned him from outside the Theraprism?” he continued.

“An unfortunate oversight we did not foresee. He made use of a Time Wish, paradox-free.”

“Ugh,” he groaned, burying his face in his hands. “Of course, he did.”

Because if anyone would find a way out of the consequences of his actions, it would be Bill Cipher. And he would find a way to become more dangerous than ever.

Abruptly the full implications of what Bill had done hit. And they hit hard. Stanford jerked his head back up.

“But— But nothing’s happened,” he stammered. “I mean, if he used the Time Wish to undo his mistakes and win, shouldn’t everything be different? Dimension 46’\ is the same, my family is unharmed, I’m still here… What did he change?”

The Axolotl pressed a button on the remote. The image on the screen changed. A flat disk with a flat ring around it; though perhaps the ring wasn’t completely flat in order to allow it to encircle the disk without cutting through it and only seemed flat because his eyes weren’t sensitive enough to spot the slight third-dimension. But Stanford had seen the image before. Displayed on Bill’s eye as he spoke about flat dreams and flat minds. And if there was any doubt in his mind of what he was looking at, there was a helpful label in the corner identifying it.

“The mistake he undid was older and greater. Euclydia lives now where once was a crater.”

“…a crater? Can a flat dimension leave a crater?”

“The Axolotl is doing its best with the rhyming scheme.”

It turned out that a whale song voice could sound deadpan. And an amphibian face could appear mildly annoyed. Who knew?

Wincing, Stanford mumbled, “Okay, sorry.”

The Axolotl turned its gaze back towards the screen. There was something solemn in their manner.

“Time Wish records show Bill wished to alter the past. To undo the destruction and return home at last. Euclydia is his oldest regret, it is true… But equally strong, we believe, would be you.”

Stanford stiffened as the Axolotl looked towards him again. Piercing him with its gaze. As if they could spy every complicated feeling that the implications stirred. Feelings that Stanford would rather than acknowledge or identify.

“We think you can convince him to come back to our care, return to Theraprism and continue there.”

Snorting at the ridiculous concept, he said, “You want me to go to his dimension and get Bill— Bill Cipher, my most hated enemy— to go back to therapy? Voluntarily?”

“Yes.”

Stanford would have expected that, after they finished working out all the details of what the proposal entailed, he would simply awaken back in his bunk on the Stan-O-War II. That was where he was before his dream was diverted. That outcome made the most logical sense.

But the Axolotl wasn’t a dream demon and wasn’t limited by the same restrictions. A final parting rhyme about how this might be what both of them needed to “heal from a time that was frightening” and how a “change in dynamics between might be enlightening,” the Axolotl reached out to gently tap his forehead with a finger. Another blinding flash of light overtook him and Stanford was left blinking on the deck of the boat.

He wanted to investigate exactly what they’d done and how the Axolotl accomplished that stunt. Blurring the line between dreams and reality so thoroughly that he didn’t notice when one became the other. But there were far more important matters to worry about currently. He had preparations to make.

Stanford headed into the deckhouse and grabbed his coat hanging just inside the door. They might be in somewhat warmer waters than a few months ago, but it was still February. Staying out there without a coat was chilly. But he didn’t immediately pull it on, tossing it over his shoulder as he climbed down below deck. And since it was morning outside, he knew that he would find Stan in the galley. Sitting at the table, rereading an old newspaper as if he was at a booth at Greasy’s.

“Stanley, I’m leaving Earth for a few days,” he announced bluntly.

“Sure,” he said distractedly, “sounds g— What?”

The double-take was almost comical. His brother’s eyes were practically bulging out of his head. But the situation was too grave for anything other than mild amusement.

Sitting down across from his brother, Stanford sighed wearily and said, “It’s a bit of a long story. I do not know if you read the final updates to the book when it returned, but are you familiar with an entity known as the Axolotl?”

Stan loved his brother. He really did. And he would never regret spending decades of his life working to bring Ford home. The last year and a half had been some of the best moments of his life.

But listening to his twin outline the plan that a mystical space lizard gave him about dragging Bill Cipher out of a pancake-flat world where everyone was based on something from a math textbook and shove him back into therapy jail? Stan had to admit that his life was simpler before his brother returned. And this was coming from a guy who spent half his life in Gravity Falls and its weirdness.

“But why in the world would you agree to this?” asked Stan, gesturing vaguely in front of him. “Can’t they just, I dunno, send space cops to arrest him or something?”

“They think I’ll be able to convince him with less collateral damage… But Stan, that’s not the point. I’m not really going to convince Bill of anything.” Ford narrowed his eyes in a murderous smirk, one that reminded Stan that his brother had an multiversal criminal record and a laser pistol. “I’m going to kill him once and for all.”

Stan pressed his lips together, swallowing his immediate first response. He’d gotten better at not always speaking his mind. Then he took a deep breath and gave him a smile that felt like it came out more as a grimace.

“Ohhh,” he said slowly. “Okay, gotcha.”

As Ford elaborated on what his pursuit of Bill would entail— discussing how after his experiences with Exwhylia, it seemed wise to allow the Axolotl to make adjustments so he could more easily perceive and interpret the visuals of a two-dimensional world and that they would also arrange a way for Ford to remain in communication during those days apart— Stan couldn’t help imagining a little counter board reading “547 Days Since Ford Probably Had Sex With a Triangle” being reset back to zero.

He still dreamt of stars. Bright, glittering, and shining over everything while everyone remained oblivious to something truly wonderous just out of reach. A secret that he wanted to share. He’d tried to share it. Over and over again. They needed to know about those beautiful specks of light that proved how much more there was beyond their small world. He still dreamed of showing everyone those stars and how easy it would be to change everything if anyone else could see them.

But Bill didn’t only dream of stars. He dreamt of other things now. Those stars becoming yellow eyes that he couldn’t hide from, watching his every decision for mistakes that he knew would seal his fate. Indescribable scenes of chaos, madness, and horror. Impossible creatures stretching out in too many directions and with no straight edges.

Mostly, however, he dreamt of pain, fear, sharp tools, and a terrifying sense of paralysis, as if his mind and body abruptly refused to resist what was happening.

Whether he woke peacefully after a night of beautiful stars or in a panic trying to scramble away from stabbing needles, there was always a brief wave of grief when the dream and he opened his eye. Then, despite it being too early, Bill would push himself off the pillow and start getting ready in the dark.

By now, he had the routine down quite well. Breakfast was one of the elliptical fruits in the bowl on the table. He knew that the purple ones tended to be sweeter than the red ones, but he ate whichever one that he grabbed first. Eating was already tricky enough with his unusually-positioned eye-mouth structure without spending all morning being picky on which one to eat. The tangy flavor told him that he’d guessed wrong this time. But it wasn’t too bad. Then he moved to the fridge to retrieve his morning dose.

He slid open the door of the fridge open and reached in, his hand finding and pulling out one of the cups. It didn't have to be kept cold, but it was more palatable that way. The medicine was already carefully measured out and the the two-part lid held both halves of the straw together. Bill briefly ran a hand along the wavy curves of the silly straw, his eye crinkling in a faint smile. Then he brought it close to drink.

Three sips a day to make the visions go away might have once been considered enough, but he was no longer a child. The dosage had gone up despite them taking… other precautions.

Trying not to gag on the flavor and the burning sensation, Bill finished the medicine quickly and put the cup with the other dirty dishes. It was important to stay organized. He didn’t want to risk bumping into anything later.

Next, he put together a sandwich. Thin and long rectangles of bread, a few layers of whichever toppings that his hand brushed against, and the tangy sauce that he could smell as soon as he lifted the lid. He liked mixing up the routine and surprising himself with different combinations. A tiny bit of chaos in a carefully structured life. And once he set it inside his lunchbox, no one would know what odd creation he’d made that day. Especially if he ate it quickly during his short lunchbreak.

Not that they had time to pay attention to anything during their short lunchbreak. And the work was mind-numbingly tedious. A child that hadn’t grown into their third row of lines yet could handle it. And his boss basically assumed that everyone working there was an idiot.

But it was still a job. One that made him a productive and normal member of society that could fit in with everyone else. And he was running out of options. He’d lost several jobs already or wasn’t hired in the first place. If he couldn’t keep a respectable job, then…

Well, there were reasons that most shapes looked down on isosceles triangles. There were more of them than there were jobs willing to hire them. Very few of those jobs were nice ones. He wasn’t an isosceles, but he wasn’t perfect either. Extremely narrow isosceles especially had a reputation for taking disreputable jobs. Desperate times, desperate measures. When no one will hire you, sometimes the only option left was to offer “discrete geometry studies” to more important and successful shapes.

Bill chuckled bitterly to himself. Honestly, some of his flaws might work to his advantage if he was forced into that career path.

But that would break his parents’ hearts, Bill wasn’t that desperate yet, and he didn’t want to risk giving the impression that he was failing to fit in. He needed to fulfill his proper role. He was a competent and productive equilateral triangle. He needed to prove that. Otherwise, they might take more drastic measures to make him fit in.

That couldn’t happen. He didn’t know what else they would take. He refused to consider it.

So Bill would keep this job. He would be a happy and helpful worker, never complaining. It was a great job. Boring, but great. Perfect for someone like him. He fit the job perfectly.

Lie until it was no longer a lie.

Bill shook himself off. He’d been lost in his thoughts for too long. Maybe it was a good thing that his dreams always seemed to toss him out of sleep early. He tended to waste that extra time. But then again, what else was he supposed to do? His old books, a beautifully and lovingly-maintained collection with the reels wound tight, were taken after one too many references to up because they were “too exciting for his overworked mind.” A laughable precaution, all things considered. But they and most of his other belongings were gone, so he was limited in his ability to entertain himself.

But that was fine. Less to bump into while wandering around in the dark. And he had a good routine. He would need to get moving though. He would hurry to work and afterwards, he would stop for his weekly visit with his parents. That always brightened his mood. They’d eat, drink, discuss their week, and have a nice evening together.

That’s all he really needed. Spending some time with his parents would make everything else better.

Bill took a moment to push himself off the floor with his legs and float towards the main door. It was always more difficult to navigate outside in the dark. There were more obstacles and shapes to avoid. Memorization helped. And listening, the deeper voices of higher polygons being especially important. And when someone was close enough, he could feel the light coming from them enough to get a rough idea of their location.

Because of course no one else was wandering around in the dark. The world was always bright with a constant light. It was illegal to question the source and Bill knew it was too strong to be from the stars, but it was a mystery that he wished he could risk pursuing. But the light was everywhere and never changing. And every living shape, from the lowest triangle to the highest polygons of all, radiated light. Glowing faintly and brightening when they spoke. There was no denying it. Bill knew that he was surrounded by light.

He was the only Euclydian to see stars. And now he was the only one who saw darkness.

Looking ahead out of habit and his ruined eye seeing nothing, Bill hoped for the best and proceeded out his door. He needed to get to work.

Chapter Text

There was a plan. A very detailed and thorough plan. Stanford had spent a few hours working on it. In case he needed to infiltrate the society briefly in order to gain access to Bill— if he’d made himself ruler of Euclydia, for example— he worked with Stanley to devise an impressive backstory with a few variations depending on the circumstances and anything that he might learn about the place. He’d checked that the quantum destabilizer was functional and fully charged despite how long it had been since he’d needed it. Stanford packed up any supplies that he thought could be helpful. Thirty years in the multiverse had given him a reasonable idea of what served him well in most circumstances.

He certainly felt better prepared than when he fell through the portal the first time. Stanford also made certain to say his goodbyes to his brother and reassure him that he would be back as soon as he could; they weren’t too far from Piedmont, so Stanley would be sailing in that direction and might invited Dipper and Mabel to swing by the closest marina to keep him company.

And if the parting hug lasted a little too long and Stanley’s fingers gripped a little too tight, Stanford wouldn’t say anything. Despite knowing circumstances were different this time, he was reluctant to let go as well.

“Be careful,” said Stanley as they finally pulled apart. “I won’t be there to watch your back.”

Smiling reassuringly, he said, “I survived half my life on my own and I was far less prepared for those challenges than I am now. And unlike before, I will have a method of contacting you if I end up in trouble.”

“You better contact me. If I don’t hear from you by the end of the week, I swear that I’ll find that magic space lizard—”

“The Axolotl.”

“—and I’ll threaten to rip its tail off if it doesn’t send me after you. Got it?”

Chuckling, Stanford said, “I have no doubt that you would. But it won’t be necessary. I am certain that I can deal with Bill before that point.”

Not that Stanford had any intention of letting his brother or any of his family near that monster ever again. He still had nightmares of Dipper and Mabel being chased through the Fearamid and the gut-wrenching blankness in Stanley’s eyes, his memories and all sense of self sacrificed to stop Bill. It was as if he’d murdered his twin despite his heart still beating. Only a miracle and a scrapbook spared him that loss.

Stanford would not give Bill another chance to hurt anyone. This was more than personal. It was between the two of them and no one else should be involved.

The quantum destabilizer might be the most reliable and certain way to annihilate Bill Cipher from existence, but there was something incredibly satisfying about the concept of killing him with his bare hands. He wanted nothing more than to pin Bill’s helpless flat body under him, Stanford’s knees digging into those vertices as he watched Bill panic and realize that it was Stanford that had defeated him. Small black hands scrambling up his arms and tearing at his sweater, but unable to pry him free. Maybe driving his thumbs into Bill’s bulging eye until it popped, Bill writhing and pleading and helpless in his suffering. There was something thrilling about the thought that made his heart race, even if he knew it was impractical and unrealistic. Probably some primal instinct about fighting against dangerous threats or driving off rivals or—

“Ford, you’ve got a weird look on your face,” said Stanley slowly, his own expression looking a little concerned.

Shaking his head sharply to clear his thoughts, he said, “I’m fine. Just thinking about the best way to handle Bill.”

His brother gave him a rather scrutinizing look, but didn’t push further. Which was a smart decision because there really wasn’t anything more to it. A small and unrealistic murder fantasy. Not the first that he’d entertained over the decades, but hopefully the last once Bill Cipher was properly gone. It was admittedly intriguing and visceral, but he should put it aside to focus on more realistic plans.

“Please inform the children that I’m sorry about missing them,” he continued.

Waving it off, Stanley said, “Don’t worry. They’ll understand. And maybe if ya hurry, you’ll get done early and come back in time to visit.”

Stanford smiled as he shifted the pack on his back. He could only hope. He never liked to miss seeing the young teenagers after being absent from their lives for so long. But his responsibility came first. And Bill Cipher would always be his responsibility. It was a burden that he accepted half a life ago. His family might have priority over almost anything else, but he’d already seen that his ancient mistakes would affect them if he wasn’t careful.

Deal with Bill and then come home. He would breathe easier with him gone.

Giving Stanley a final look, he turned to climb back up towards the deckhouse. The view through the glass showed the Pacific Ocean and the distant California coastline. But when he opened the door to the deck, Stanford stepped out into the mysterious glittering milky white void from before.

“You are well prepared with supplies for this task. I understand that it will take time to do as I ask.”

Stanford wasn’t confronted by a massive living nebula this time. The Axolotl seemed to also be leaning towards a more quadrupedal posture rather than the bipedal from before. They floated through the void like they were lazily treading water.

“All that I’m missing is the promised method of communication,” said Stanford.

The Axolotl blinked and what looked like a smaller version of a payphone materialized with a pop. Complete with a curly cord and numerous buttons. It was thin, but not completely flat. The image of the Axolotl’s face sat just under a display screen. The receiver was a little oddly-shaped, but perhaps it would be more effective as an Euclydian.

Stan knew that their boat didn’t have a landline phone. It wouldn’t work. At sea, it was better to rely on radios, the complicated cellphone that Dipper helped him pick out, and the sturdy laptop that McGucket put together for them when they set sail. Stan was fairly certain that the latter was a lot more advanced and reliable than anything that could be bought at a store, but Ford was the one that actually messed without outside of the regular video calls to the kids. Regardless, there was no reason to install a landline on the Stan-O-War II and he knew that they didn’t add one.

And yet he was staring at one hanging on the wall. A phone that wasn’t there before. And rather than the usual keypad, there were just buttons next to tiny pictures. One was a cartoonish version of Ford’s face and another was a weird pink smiling thing.

Stan stared at it for a moment. He blinked. And then he turned around and went to refill his coffee.

He might not have thirty years of multiverse-weirdness experience like his brother, but he did spend half his life in Gravity Falls. It took a lot more than that to get him freaked out.

Stanford managed to slip the new phone into his backpack, squeezed between his framed picture of Stan and the kids and his new journal. Then he slipped the backpack on again, standing up straight. Ready to face whatever threats that Bill might present. He only vaguely noticed the look on the Axolotl’s face.

“Before this new form on you I bestow, is there any last thing you wish to know?”

Gripping the backpack straps, Stanford said, “Nope. Let’s do this.”

He was ready. He had wasted enough time. The sooner that he got started, the sooner that Bill would be dead and gone forever.

“Oh, uh… Okay…”

The slightly awkward tone barely had time to register before a sudden pop made Stanford feel like someone knocked the air out of him. Everything felt inexplicably off. Like when he was in some of the dimensions that were less hospitable to human biology, but not quite.

Then it hit him. He’d lost his depth. He wasn’t human anymore.

And just as he barely managed to wrap his mind around the change, his surrounding swapped out with a boop.

Oh, his vision just went strange. He could make out a starry sky overhead and his peripheral could make out a flat endless white plane that stretched out on all sides. Rather like Exwhylia. But he could see over his surroundings a little, giving him a more comprehensible idea of what he was looking at. He could actually identify what he was seeing instead of merely glimpsing indistinguishable line segments that could be almost anything at any distance. Did the Axolotl give him bulging fish eyes that reached slightly above the flat world, providing him with a more familiar three-dimensional perspective? Did he base them on Bill’s eye?

His vision reminded him of lying on his back staring up at the sky, but still able to turn his eyes enough to get a decent idea of his surroundings. But gravity seemed to be minimal or absent. It certainly wasn’t pulling him in direction that should be “down” from those stars. There was only the faint sense of direction and orientation. Not up and down, but maybe north and south. The disconnect between the perspective of what looked like it should be upright and what vaguely felt like upright? That only seemed to make his disorientation worse.

But with Stanford’s new visual field, he could make out buildings and what seemed like flat bushes towards his left and right. And he could tell that was what they were and how far away they were from him. Which was already an improvement over his visit to Exwhylia. He could work with that. And when he turned his eyes “southward,” he could glimpse his new geometric form and a familiar shade of maroon.

Hands briefly patting at his edges, he muttered excitedly, “One, two… six sides. Fascinating!” A wave of nausea rolled over him. “Umm… the new visual setup will take some getting used to…”

He shoved down the not-quite-vertigo. He refused to let it control him. He’d gone through far worse over the years.

Raising his hand decisively, Stanford declared, “Time for all that later! Now, to find Bill.”

Unfortunately, the gesture somehow sent him spinning ninety degrees counter-clockwise. That did nothing to help his nausea. And it made him realize exactly what he was doing. The full implications of what he was attempting. And that’s when it all came tumbling out.

“Oh, no. I don’t know how to move around,” he whispered frantically, glowing with each word. He also realized that he was continuing his rotation at a slower rate, a very gradual spin that was heading towards something that felt almost upside down. “How do I walk? How am I talking? How do I eat? Why can I hear color? Where are my ears? Do I need clothing? Where did my clothes go? Do I still have pockets? Do I need currency? I didn’t think this through—”

“Sir, are you lost?” asked a concerned and high-pitched voice, yanking Stanford out of his mental (though not the literal) spiral. “Do you need help?”

The isosceles triangle approached carefully. And as Stanford thankfully figured out how to stop spinning, he was able to tell for certain that it was an isosceles triangle and not an equilateral or scalene. The base with the legs was shorter than the sides. There also seemed to be a round blue hat above the apex. His vision might be an adjustment, but he could make out useful details.

Honestly, he was mostly happy that he could tell the difference between a person, a distant building, and a plant right in front of his face. His experience with Exwhylia might have been brief, but it was frustrating.

Once he’d stopped rotating against his will, Stanford managed to force himself back upright. Floating wasn’t nearly as easy as it looked or completely intuitive, but he was figuring it out. It wasn’t going to slow him down on his mission for long. And since the purple triangle in front of him did ask if he required assistance…

“Yes!” shouted Stanford. “Where is Bill Cipher!”

“Uh… who?”

“Bill Cipher!” How did he not know, after everything that he’d done and was undoubtedly doing now? “The Beast with One Eye! The cackling maniac who destroyed this world a trillion years ago and is now trying to hide from his crimes!”

The sickening visuals of his new senses were still rather off-putting, but he could make out the triangle cringing. Maybe Stanford should control his volume better. Especially since his shouting also resulted in a bit of a light show. He kept flaring up brightly with each sharp word.

“S-sir,” squeaked the triangle. “Please.”

Whatever else the nervous shape intended to say didn’t matter because Stanford abruptly caught sight of a familiar shade of yellow and three perfect sixty-degree angles that he would recognize anywhere. He’d spent far too long admiring and practically even worshipping that triangular entity. He knew him even at a distance.

“Ah-ha!”

Wobbling and wavering badly, Stanford floated after Bill. Leaving behind the confused purple triangle in pursuit of his enemy. The movement did nothing to help his vertigo. But it didn’t matter because the monster was right there.

As he drew closer, Stanford noticed some minor changes from the last time he saw Bill Cipher. His hat and bowtie were shucked away and missing. And there was something different about his eye, a branching line of staticky color running across it. Perhaps an attempt to disguise himself? Maybe the Euclydian equivalent of wearing a fake mustache? Stanford discarded the thought as irrelevant. All that mattered was that he’d found Bill.

There was a plan in place. A good plan. It covered a wide variety of situations and scenarios. But the nausea, hatred, and desire to wring the triangle’s non-existent neck led to that plan evaporating from his thoughts.

“Cipher!” he shouted, making the yellow triangle jolt in surprise. Stanford pointed at him sharply. “You thought you could hide from me here, you demon!”

The deep voice shouting at him made him jump. It was clearly from a higher polygon— that voice had to belong to a pentagon at a minimum— and he clearly knew Bill’s name. But he certainly didn’t know the speaker. It wasn’t as if he regularly socialized with the upper-class shapes. It was almost certainly someone that Bill didn’t know.

Getting intercepted by a shouting upper-class shape, angry and aggressive, was never a good thing. And a very reasonable amount of worry and confusion was certainly present. But oddly enough, not true fear. There as also something about that deep voice that sent a thrilling shiver from his apex to his base.

The actual words took longer to register than the pitch and tone. Then his confusion worsened.

“I’m not hiding,” said Bill, careful and uncertain. “I just finished work and I’m heading home. Like every day. And why would I hide from you? I don’t know you, do I? Have we met?”

“Oh, don’t pretend you don’t recognize m— Wait, no…” The aggressive voice trailed off briefly, sounding a little awkward. “I don’t really look like myself right now. Even Stanley would have trouble recognizing me like this…” The volume spiking again, he shouted, “Fine. But that doesn’t mean you get away with what you’ve done to me and countless others. All that pain and destruction? Those lives lost? The lies, betrayals, manipulations? Everything to do with the Portal and Weirdmageddon? I am here to make sure that you pay for all of it!”

His brow furrowing, Bill said, “I don’t understand. You’re not making any sense. I haven’t hurt anyone. And at least one of those words sounds fake.”

“Don’t you dare lie to me. The Time Wish might have reversed what you did to this world, but you can’t hide from the truth.”

“I swear that I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Bill couldn’t see him, but the light coming from the loud shape told him that he was getting closer. Getting close enough that Bill forced himself not to move or risk bumping into the upper-class stranger. The accusations were confusing and unnerving. But the aggression and invasion of his space, especially from someone in such high social standing, was strangely thrilling.

He briefly wondered if he stumbled into a more-implausible-than-usual plot from one of his old romance novels before shoving away that random thought.

“Drop this nonsense immediately. Bill, I’m here to kill you once and for all.”

“Okay,” he said instinctively, partly because he knew better than to argue with a higher polygon and partly because an oddly excited part of him was cheering yay at anything he might suggest.

“No, wait,” mumbled the stranger, starting to sound confused too. “That’s not— What?”

Bill didn’t expect for the unknown shape to abruptly back away from him, groaning quietly. He tried to follow before remembering himself, keeping in place. Except then Bill heard the groan give way to an almost retching sound.

Reaching out a hand cautiously, Bill asked, “Are you all right?”

Was he ill? Maybe sick and confused? That might explain the strange nonsense that he was ranting about. Did he need help?

Once he was feeling better, would he still try to kill Bill for those inexplicable and ridiculous reasons? And why was that not nearly as scary as it should be?

When he didn’t get a response, Bill called, “Do you need anything, Mr. Death Threats? Maybe some type of medication that you forgot to take?”

No one responded. And Bill had to admit that he seemed to be alone, the stranger long gone. He couldn’t help the brief twinge of disappointment. It had been strange, but also an exciting break from the routine.

He didn’t even get the higher polygon’s name…

Stanford wobbled and struggled away, fighting desperately as the nausea reached its peak. The vertigo was too much to bear. And now he could feel his stomach rebelling.

Adding to his miserable state, he felt his eyes trying to draw back into his body. Trying to expose twin mouths and give his nausea an escape. He clenched down his newly-located teeth to stop anything from escaping. And out of sheer desperation, Stanford almost instinctively shoved himself up.

It was like peeling a sticker from a sheet of them. And as soon as he tore himself free of the flat world, his hexagon body was replaced by his normal human one with human senses. Unfortunately, the nausea didn’t pass nearly as quickly.

By the time that he was recovering, shaky and unsteady, Stanford could begin taking in his new surroundings. He was floating in a beautifully star-filled space. Like he was in the clearest night skies that he’d ever seen. Millions of bright glittering stars and swirling distant clouds of nebula adding some extra depth to the darkness. He didn’t know if he’d shoved himself into a neighboring dimension or perhaps Euclydia was one of several two-dimensional worlds suspended in a more three-dimensional space. And if it was the latter, was it like that before Bill restored it? Regardless, it was beautiful and peaceful.

And, rather importantly, he could breathe there.

Next to him or below him or above him was Euclydia itself. The strange place that he’d just left. A vast flat plane like a sheet of paper or a painting canvas, covered in tiny lines and shapes. Every detail laid out in front of him. So many lives that had been long dead. All restored as if nothing ever happened. Except their revival was due to the whims of a cruel and self-confessed insane monster. It was such a fragile second chance for such a world of innocent lives. None of them deserved what Bill was undoubtedly scheming, regardless of his current act of ignorance.

Stanford tore his eyes away from the restored Euclydia. And he noticed with some mild relief that his backpack was floating nearby. All of his supplies right there, waiting for his return from his first attempt at making contact. At least that much had gone correctly.

Nothing else seemed to be going according to plan.

February 24

Among the supplies that I packed for the mission that I intend to store in the empty space above the planet’s surface, I brought a new journal. My primary goal may be to kill Bill Cipher permanently, but Euclydia has been gone for a trillion years and very little information is available about the place and its people. This is especially true since anything that I observed about Bill cannot be trusted as completely accurate because he could easily be an outlier, may have no longer been representative of his species due to his pursuit of power potentially altering his physiology, and because a sample size of one is unreliable for drawing any conclusions, statistically speaking. And anything that Bill might have said about his species cannot be trusted because he’s a lying liar that lies.

In order to cause less distress to the local population, and to avoid the difficulties that I encountered trying to interact with Exwhylia as a three-dimensional organism, the Axolotl has given me a Euclydian body for the duration of the mission. They were quick to clarify that there were some alterations to both my eyes and mind in order to comprehend and recognize what I am seeing since I won’t have a lifetime of experience navigating a 2-D world. Stanley had strong opinions about letting someone else “screw around” with my mind and I did have some initial hesitation. Once bitten, twice shy, as the phrase goes. But since I have no interest in stumbling around blindly because I cannot tell the difference between a building off in the distance and a leaf five inches from my face, I chose to risk trusting the Axolotl.

Unfortunately, even with those modifications, my new senses are an adjustment. I have already thrown up once from the disorientation and that experience is somehow worse when my eyes also serve as individual mouths. Hopefully the nausea will pass as I acclimate further. On a more positive note, there is a unique form of synesthesia that I’ve noticed where I can “hear” the flashes of colorful light from other Euclydians when they are speaking.

I will start my observations with my new Euclydian body. Four limbs with fairly simple feet and four-fingered hands seem to be standard. But rather than one large eye located near the center of my body similar to Bill’s configuration, I still have two eyes along the top edge of my new hexagon form. I also do not appear to require my glasses, which is somehow almost as strange to me as being a flat geometric shape.

Since I know Mabel and Dipper would be interested in the details, I would describe myself as a maroon hexagon. The shade is very similar to my favorite turtleneck, though the faint glow that intensifies when I speak is not a common feature in my wardrobe. I cannot help wondering if the Axolotl purposefully changed me into a six-sided geometric shape due to my polydactyly and if that and the color are signs that they have a sense of humor.

The most particular change is that I do not believe that I am a carbon-based lifeform any longer. The scanner that I packed along with my journal, the quantum destabilizer, my remaining nutrition pills, and a few other necessities— I am much better prepared than my first foray into the multiverse— indicate that my new body is composed of photonic molecules. In essence, solid light. That might be connected to the previously mentioned synesthesia, my new senses detecting the light radiating from the others and my mind translating it into hearing. Bill’s declaration of being a living example of pure energy might not have been a complete exaggeration.

I am uncertain if my ability to move my limbs in all directions, including the third dimension, is due to another change by the Axolotl or if any Euclydian could achieve it if they were able to comprehend the concept. But after a little bit of practice, I have been able to work out a rudimentary understanding of how they move the more mobile parts of their bodies in their two-dimensional world.

As far as I can determine, the main body of the Euclydians do not have an internal skeletal structure and there is a certain amount of flexibility in where the limbs and eyes connect to the more geometric form. I hypothesize that there is an extremely thin layer of transparent covering that runs along the edges of their body like skin. Among other roles, it covers the embedded eyes while still allowing them to see through. It only would need to open when one of the eyes would draw back to expose the mouth. Of course, I can test that theory more thoroughly when I get hungry enough to raid my supply of nutrition pills.

As for the limbs, there are no established joints and a certain amount of elasticity to them. I can reach out further than it would initially appear. And where the arms connect to the body can move along the edges, in some cases shifting both arms to the same side when necessary. The change can be fast, the limb sliding across the top of the shape before reaching the opposite side in the blink of an eye. And speaking of eyes, shapes that are pointier on top like triangles and pentagons seem to do a similar trick to switch their eyes from one side to the other. Sliding along the perimeter. A very clever adaptation when their 2-D home does not allow them to reach across their own bodies or turn around to face someone.

Unfortunately, while moving limbs and eyes around the perimeter of my new body is coming across rather instinctively, actually moving around Euclydia is taking more effort to perfect. Legs seem to be used occasionally to push off of other surfaces, but most locomotion is achieved by floating and hovering. And while there is a general sense of the what correct orientation should be— comparable to the “magnetic compass” for migratory birds— it still takes concentration to stay upright. Or I suppose the more accurate term would be “northward.”

In regards to my more primary mission, I did have my first encounter with Bill Cipher today. It was… unproductive and unsatisfying. He is acting as if he has no recollection of anything. Not his original destruction of Euclydia, not his trillion years of terrorizing the multiverse, not his time within the Nightmare Realm, not the countless lives ruined or ended, not the Portal or Weirdmageddon, and not the Time Wish.

He is acting like he does not remember what he did to me.

But if there is one hard lesson that I have not forgotten, it is that Bill Cipher cannot be trusted. This entire act is a cheap façade. He cannot maintain it. I know that he is the same monster as before. And I will prove it and he will know that he has truly failed. That is when I destroy him forever.

Chapter Text

After waiting for his stomach to settle, Stanford made certain to record the entire experience in his journal. He did make a second short visit to Euclydia— a rather simple process consisting of making contact with a spot on the world— and took some readings with a scanner. But he didn’t stay long enough for the nausea and vertigo to lay him low a second time. Just long enough to gather useful data for his documentation.

Then it was a matter of setting up his base camp. He’d lost count of the number of times that he’d put together and disassembled a semi-secure place to rest when exhaustion demanded that risk sleep while things were calm or risk collapsing against his will soon regardless. On many of those occasions, the best that he’d been able to do was find a defendable location and maybe drape his coat over his body like a blanket. This time, Stanford could do better.

Despite gravity still being less than effective, he managed to unfold and set up the camp bed he’d packed. Rudimentary, but it offered more comfort than he’d normally experienced wandering the multiverse. Despite not having anything to set it on, Stanford let his photograph of his family float next to his bed. His nutrition pills would satisfy his body’s basic needs without testing his recovering stomach too much. The small handful of jellybeans were more to brighten his mood. And because he didn’t want to have dentures like his twin— though the efforts to regain Stanley’s memories had confirmed that the loss of his teeth wasn’t from a lack of dental hygiene, but instead much darker reasons— Stanford had made certain to bring a toothbrush. If nothing else, it helped erase the lingering taste of his earlier nausea.

Naturally the quantum stabilizer was placed close his bed and within easy reach. His smaller laser pistol was already tucked under his small pillow.

Between his first foray into the disorienting flat plane of Euclydia and some minor unpacking, Stanford found himself more worn out than he’d expected. He briefly contemplated calling Stanley to inform him that he’d arrived safely, but rejected the idea. Not yet. Not until he had actual news to share with his brother. The rather frustrating confrontation…

No, he would wait. Tomorrow, Stanford would be more prepared for his new body and senses. He wouldn’t be overwhelmed again.

And he wouldn’t put up with Bill’s nonsense again. Denying and claiming ignorance of his crimes was a new one. He generally preferred to brag about them. Bill’s trick was unexpected, but he would be ready next time.

Stanford wanted him to acknowledge the harm that he’d done when Bill finally died. He wanted to look Bill in the eye and have him admit that he understood how much he’d hurt…

Bill would be honest about what he’d done. Stanford wanted at least that much satisfaction before he pulled the trigger.

Stanford’s initial plan to wake up early and immediately return to deal with Bill hit a snag. Between him floating in the middle of space with no visible sun in range— though he certainly wouldn’t discount the possibility of one on the far side of Euclydia— and illumination of the two-dimensional world constant, it was difficult to judge the passage of time. He couldn’t depend on his own circadian rhythms either. Years of paranoia-induced insomnia because he never knew if his dreams were truly safe and traversing numerous worlds in various dimensions that had vastly different day-night cycles, his sleep patterns were a wreck at the best of times. Oddly enough, despite wrestling with his own sleep issues after decades of long work hours of running the Mystery Shack and nocturnal efforts to repair the Portal, Stanley was better at keeping them relatively on a regular schedule. Without him, Stanford was less certain if he’d woken up at a point that counted as “early.” Especially with how weary he’d felt when he’d retired for the evening.

The second snag that he hit was that he couldn’t find Bill.

In his defense, everything looked different and much smaller from an outside perspective. He couldn’t even be certain that he could identify the same spot that he’d confronted Bill the day before. There were countless lines and shapes all across the vast white plane. Stanford couldn’t help mentally comparing it to an ant farm. The scurrying activity of small silent shapes along various paths, incomprehensible and yet purposeful, was similar enough on the surface to the insects.

But even if Stanford could determine the exact spot where he’d encountered bill, he was unlikely to be there any longer. It had been hours. He could have gone anywhere.

There had to be a logical way to locate Bill again. The constant movement of the various living polygons added a bit of a challenge to the task, but he could solve this. Stanford contemplated the vast white plane as he swallowed his nutrition pill for breakfast.

If he knew anything about Bill, it was that he liked being in control. He wanted to be the guy on top. Weirdmageddon came with the Fearamid floating above an apocalyptic landscape and a throne of petrified victims. If Bill used the Time Wish to restore Euclydia, it would only be so he could rule over them this time rather than simply killing the population.

He devised a rough plan. First, he would target the larger or fancier-looking buildings (which was admittedly difficult to judge when they were all flat lines). They would have a better chance of being an important place like a palace or a mansion. Granted, they could also be a mall, but it was the best that he could do.

Next, he would search those areas for that precise shade of yellow. It was bright enough to catch the eye even in a rainbow of shapes. Whenever he spotted the right color, he would check if it was the right shape. Finally, if they were also a triangle, he would count the eyes.

Simple and straight forward. Almost impossible to mess up.

What he quickly noticed was that there were more large buildings towards the north and they were a bit more spread out. At least on average. He would also encounter more elaborate arrangements of flat bush-like plants in the northern sections, perhaps an indication that those shapes liked gardening or at least the aesthetic appeal of landscaping. He even saw something that reminded him of a hedge maze in the relatively-open space between two larger buildings. Perhaps it was a park?

Of course, there were still some larger buildings towards the south, but they were crowded by more buildings of smaller sizes. Or there were some larger structures that were heavily divided inside. As if they had numerous rooms or even apartments.

He also found himself taking note of the general construction designs in case they might offer clues of the purpose of different buildings. Most of them seemed to be fairly familiar blocky rectangles, but he did spot a few exceptions. There was a more circular shape that had a spiraling hallway to enter it. And he saw a very interesting building constructed of five large connected octagons. He’d ended up searching above that one quite thoroughly because of the uniqueness.

He worked his way south in a rough grid pattern above the more inhabited areas. And Stanford liked to think he was making progress. More and more often when he glimpsed a yellow shape, it turned out to be a triangle. Not the right triangle (though he did spot one with a ninety-degree angle), but it felt like he was getting closer.

His search eventually brought him to a large building with a lot of activity. By the time that Stanford drifted close, there was a metaphorical flood of shapes pouring out the door; scattering in every direction. But lingering back from the rest, moving only when the chaos and crowd ebbed enough, was a perfect equilateral triangle of the exact shaped of yellow that haunted Stanford’s dreams. The last to leave and floating close to the various walls and the “ground.” And there was only a single central eye.

Stanford shifted, trying not to be in his potential line of sight. That was certainly Bill Cipher. He kept his gaze locked on the small triangle as he traced his path along the various streets of Euclydia. The current size difference between them made Bill and the others look so harmless. Like Stanford could crush him with one hand like he was a fortune cookie, his words as untrustworthy as the supposed “fortune” on the slip of paper.

But Stanford knew better than to let size sway him. As a hexagon, they were approximately the same height. Though he was fairly certain that his area was greater than the triangle’s. And in the Fearamid, Bill became a towering pyramid monstrosity of teeth, grasping hands, and cruelty. Grabbing, pinning, and squeezing his helpless captives as they tried to resist.

No, he couldn’t let his guard down because of how large or small that Bill might appear.

Granted, a version of Bill closer to his own size would be more convenient to deal with. Drag him outside of Euclydia where Stanford didn’t have to struggle with an unfamiliar body and senses. Grab those flexible arms and wrench them up as far as possible, twisted out of the way and trembling as Stanford found his limits. There weren’t any solid surfaces to pin him down on, but he could still sit on the lower brick-lined base. Spread his legs enough to let his knees bend around the edges and grip Bill that way. And he could keep Bill helpless and trapped, shaking under Stanford as he learned what it was like for someone else to have power and control over him. Making him admit to every cruelty, the pain, the torture, the manipulations, and various crimes against the multiverse. Dragging the truth out of him until Bill ran out of words, shuddering and panting and whining in distress. And once he’d pushed Bill pas the point of endurance, breaking him down until he was a shadow of himself, Stanford would pull out his laser pistol from his holster to press the tip against Bill’s eye-mouth structure and—

And Stanford yanked his thoughts from another unrealistic murder fantasy because he realized that Bill seemed to be heading towards a specific building. One with lots of doors to individual rooms or apartments. And there seemed to be no other shapes currently close by. Now was his chance to confront him.

Returning to Euclydia meant the return of the new visual field and form of locomotion. But it was easier to handle than the first time. Stanford was able to avoid sending himself spinning this time. And when he charged out towards Bill, he only wobbled a few times.

“Confess!” he shouted as Bill pulled a door open, making the triangle stop. “Your little game of pretend is over!”

Thanks to the alterations that the Axolotl did to give him more comprehensible vision, Stanford could see the way that, despite the strange new lines across his large central eye, Bill’s pupil slid over to point in his direction. There was something different about his faze than when Bill used to look at him in the past, as if he could peel all the layers to reveal his secrets and found them only vaguely amusing. The intensity wasn’t the same. But Stanford didn’t let it distract him. There were numerous explanations for that. He wasn’t as hopelessly in awe of Bill as before. His perspective was still a little strange and something that he was adjusting to, so it was probably difficult to judge more subtle expressions. And most importantly, Bill most likely didn’t even recognize him as a hexagon.

“Oh, you’re back,” said Bill. “Well, well, well, that’s a surprise. And I still have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Rolling his eyes— oh, that was disorienting— Stanford said, “I know you’re a better liar than that. I’m not leaving without dragging the truth out of you. Give up the pretense and confess your crimes. And when you do, I might kill you quickly.”

“Right. You’re going to kill me,” he said slowly, his brow furrowing. “I remember that part from yesterday. And doing it quickly is… preferrable? Don’t most people want to live as long as possible?”

“Depends on how much they suffer before dying. But don’t worry. I built the quantum destabilizer specifically for the purpose of ensuring that you are completely destroyed. Powered by the element NowYouSeeItNowUDon’Tium from the Paradox Dimension, there is nothing like it in the entire multiverse.” Even without a normal mouth, Stanford gave him a rather ruthless grin. “A direct hit should kill even you.”

“Ah-huh…” Bill fell silent for a moment before suddenly pointing. “What’s that behind you?”

Stanford’s eyes jerked around, the speed of the change stirring up the return of his previous nausea. He was blinking to clear his vision when he heard the unmistakable sound of a door slamming shut.

For a few seconds, he could only stand there. Trying to come to terms with the fact that he’d just fallen for the oldest trick in the world. The type of trick that Stanley would pull back when they were seven. But eventually Stanford had to look.

No Bill and a shut door.

Stanford managed to control his temper long enough to tear himself from Euclydia and return to his human form above it. Then it no longer mattered how he responded.

In space, no one can hear you scream.

Bill stayed by the door listening for a few minutes. The apartment wasn’t exactly the fanciest. The walls were thin and sound tended to carry. But there didn’t seem to be any yelling or pounding at the door. All signs pointed towards the aggressive shape leaving as abruptly as he did the day before.

Some small part of him felt a twinge of disappointment at that.

He knew that he’d made a smart decision getting away from Mr. Death Threats. It wasn’t simply a random encounter on the street any longer. The stranger had followed him home. He knew where Bill lived. That wasn’t a good sign. And that was ignoring the multiple death threats that he’d thrown in Bill’s direction.

Though it was a little flattering that some upper-class shape would build— or at least believed that he’d built— a special and unique gun for the sole purpose of killing him.

Bill did his best to shake off that train of thought. It wasn’t helpful. He needed to be practical. There were plenty of sensible and rational reasons why he should be concerned about all of this. He had to keep them in mind.

If the stranger progressed from “quirky” to actually dangerous, there wouldn’t be much that he could do to stop him. It wasn’t as if Bill could describe him to police or his landlord or his parents. He didn’t have a name, color, or even a number of sides that he could use to identify him. Only a loud and deep voice.

And even if he could point the stranger out to someone, what would that accomplish? No one would do anything about it. They didn’t intervene when a quadrilateral got inpatient and shoved a blind triangle out of the way while shopping, even if it was only a kite or a trapezoid. They certainly wouldn’t hinder a pentagon or someone even higher up the social ladder from doing whatever they wanted to a triangle.

That was something that his parents drilled into his mind. Metaphorically, not… But it was a lesson that actual stuck, unlike their various pleas to stop talking about dangerous topics. He might be an equilateral triangle, but he was still a triangle and he was Irregular in other ways. No one would ever take his side over any other shape. That was why it was important to always be polite, helpful, cooperative, and to fit in. Conform, follow the rules, and don’t draw attention. Everything would work out if he did everything right. Only shapes that strayed from their roles would catch the wrong attention. That’s what his parents always asserted.

But the wrong attention could take a variety of forms. Getting fired from a job on a whim or because a more important shape wanted it. Getting accused of theft, having belongings taken to “return to their upper-class owner,” and arrested for the supposed crime. Getting beaten with a cane until they were left bleeding and barely conscious for the mistake of not staying out of the way. Getting killed and having the entire thing labeled as an accident, the upper-class shape only paying a small fine or occasionally having the police apologize to them for “witnessing” something that upsetting; it depended on the exact shapes involved. The hushed rumors were always very detailed and never openly discussed. And of course, there was the classic tale of a young and wild upper-class shape heading south in search of some fun, finding some triangle or lower quadrilateral by themselves, trapping them in an isolated corner or even breaking into their homes, pushing their edge hard against them, and—

Well, there were reasons why Bill’s mother taught him not to judge single parents, unlike so many others did. You never know for certain what the circumstances might be. She had first-hand experience with similar issues regarding her parents. His grandparents had dealt with suspicions on how unlikely it was for a child to have a violet triangle mother when her husband was a green triangle. Scalene Cipher wouldn’t gossip about other households after growing up under those rumors.

But the point was that he needed to be cautious about the upper-class shape that followed him home and kept making death threats. It wasn’t the most common event, but such deaths weren’t unheard of and no one would care except his parents. And Bill couldn’t be completely certain that his parents wouldn’t say or do something dangerous if he died like that. So he needed to avoid being horribly murdered by a mysterious stranger who probably forgot to take his medication.

Even if it was the most exciting thing that had happened in a while. Anything could happen. In fact, the stranger could be waiting for Bill to lower his guard. He might be bullying the manager of the apartment building for a key at that very moment. And with that key, he could easily sneak in to Bill’s home and do anything that he wanted, not a single soul willing to stop him. Anything.

And that was deeply concerning. A very scary prospect that he should take seriously, not an exciting and thrilling idea. Not something that sounded like a plot from a book that he would have loved to read back when he still could. It was absolutely concerning, scary, and bad. Even if that deep voice made him shiver in all the best ways.

Bill needed to be smart about this. He knew that. It was safer not drawing attention to himself and loud upper-class shapes yelling at him about nonsense would certainly draw attention. The wrong type of attention. He needed to fit in. Not only for his sake. If they didn’t believe that he was a regular and ordinary member of society, then there would be consequences.

His arms drawing close, Bill sang softly, “Two dimensions, to and fro. You always know which way to go. If you’re lost, don’t be afraid. In Euclydia, you’ve got it made.”

Childhood rhymes and songs were always comforting and familiar. It made problems seem smaller. Mom would use them sometimes to cheer him up about visiting the eye doctor.

He shivered, not wanting to think about Dr. Sine, fitting in, or consequences.

“Run too far to right of frame, you’ll appear on left again. Jump too high, don’t cry or fret. You’ll pop up from the ground I bet. In this space, there is no fear. Loved ones will be ever near. Roles and rules always clear. Euclydia, we hold you dear.”

Rules and roles always clear. As long as he fit in, nothing bad would happen. And as intriguing as the stranger might be, it would be easier to fit in without the death threats. He needed to avoid inviting further attention. Just keep away and try not to talk to the upper-class shape if he found Bill again. As much as he might wish otherwise, Bill knew that eventually he would get bored and find someone else to scream at. Then his life would go back to normal and boring again.

That would be best for everyone.

Chapter Text

Bill went through his normal morning routine. Breakfast, medicine, and making his lunch. Then he was out the door. He always tried to stay out of the main flow of traffic, keeping close to the edges of the various buildings. It kept him from running into other shapes making the commute to work or taking their children to school. He listened to the various chattering voices in order to keep track of their general movements around him while also silently measuring the distance that he needed to go for each turn. Bill had a fairly detailed mental map of the neighborhood by now and only had trouble if he strayed outside of those familiar paths or someone changed things unexpectedly; the day that they started adding a new addition to expand the grocery store, he’d run straight into a wall.

But his calm and routine morning with minimal nerve pain for once was abruptly interrupted by a deep and loud voice shouting as the owner charged after him.

“Just admit it!”

Bill shoved down the brief spike of excitement at the return of the weird mysterious stranger. Because this wasn’t good. He wasn’t alone this time, even if the other triangles and quadrilaterals had gone quiet at the yelling. Bill didn’t need a functioning eye to know that they were all staring. This wasn’t thrilling. It couldn’t be. All of this was the exact opposite of fitting in.

Trying his best to continue forward like normal, Bill said quietly, “Buddy, I’m just trying to get to work.”

“Oh no, you don’t!”

Bill stiffened as he felt something brush along his arm, almost scrambling along it before a hand clamped tightly around his. Squeezing over Bill’s curled-up fingers and trapping them. The contact felt like an electric jolt that stole his breath away. His hand practically tingling where the stranger was touching him.

He was touching him.

“You may have fooled yourself and everyone else on this planet with this little charade,” ranted the angry upper-class shape, “but I know what you really are, you monster.”

Bill really wanted to listen to that loud and deep voice. He should pay attention to what exactly he was being accused of and what he intended to do. The super special murder gun was still a concern. But Bill couldn’t seem to focus on those more practical concerns. All that mattered was the feeling of the firm grip. The way that it buzzed and burned in the best way.

The upper-class shape was interested in him enough to not only know his name and seek Bill out, but now he was intentionally touching Bill. He could feel himself growing warmer as that sank in. This was new to him. Even before his surgery, Bill wasn’t exactly the most popular shape or considered that desirable.

Still angry and not apparently caring about the audience, the stranger snarled, “And you’re not going anywhere until you admit you’re pretending and remember everything. You remember what you did to my home. You remember what you did to my family. You remember what you did to me.”

Bill should try to break away. That was his original plan, right? But that didn’t seem to matter as much. He did rather like the feeling of physical contact with someone. And it was extremely distracting.

He couldn’t even tell for certain what shape or color that the stranger might be. And yet even this small bit of contact was more than Bill had experienced in…

He didn’t know how long.

The reassuring flick from his parents or a rough poke from a cane from his boss didn’t compare. This was far more intense and made him realize how much he craved contact like this.

Bill was focusing hard on the feeling of that hand and the buzzing tingle of the physical touch, letting those frustrated threats and accusations wash over him. The deep and loud voice mattered far more than the actual words.

A sharp jerk, the stranger yanking hard and dragging Bill closer. Close enough that he could feel how bright the stranger was as he yelled, the light radiating enough that it pressed against his edges almost like a physical force. It was intoxicating. Very little space between them at all.

“Don’t you dare ignore me, Cipher,” he snapped viciously.

Bill was intimately aware of how close they were. Just barely separated. The slightest twitch and he knew that he would brush against one of Mr. Death Threat’s edges.

He didn’t know if the other early morning commuters were still watching or if they’d scattered because they didn’t want to risk getting involved in upper-class drama. Bill found himself struggling to worry about potential witnesses. Or consequences. He was just so hot and tingly and breathless.

A distant sound rang out. A bell. Announcing the hour.

That cut through the distracting haze. Panic pushing the exciting intrigue away. Bill began breathing again, far too fast and frantic. He was late.

“I’m sorry,” said Bill, interrupting further ranting. “Can I get back to you on the death threats and accusations about things that don’t make sense? Bye!”

“What—”

As much as he didn’t want to, Bill dashed away from the stranger. Tearing his hand free from the tight grip. He was running the risk of bumping into someone moving at that speed, but he had no choice. Bill was navigating by sheer memory and luck. Left turn, straight, right turn, around the circle of decorative bushes, right turn. Bill needed to hurry.

He could hear the sounds of manufacturing well underway from outside the building. Bill was forced to slow down. An active factory was dangerous enough while blind without adding recklessness to the mix. Besides, running might draw someone’s attention and make them realize that—

“Cipher, you’re late!”

The instinctive wince at the voice happened almost simultaneously as the sharp poke from a cane. Hemming had a tendency to punctuate his instructions or lectures towards his employees with a few jabs. Maybe because he thought the collection triangles and quadrilaterals weren’t clever enough to pay attention otherwise. Or maybe as a reminder of his authority. As a pentagon, he was at the lowest rank of the upper-class shapes and Bill’s coworkers liked to occasionally snicker that his top corner was wide enough that he could be mistaken for a quadrilateral at first glance. They really liked gossiping about that; Bill hadn’t been able to hear enough to know if Hemming was purple or a lighter lilac, but he knew for certain that he almost looked like a rectangle.

Another sharp jab in Bill’s side. Hard enough to make him mutter “ow.”

“I’m waiting,” he said.

Oh, he was looking for a response. Unfortunately, not being able to see meant that Bill would sometimes (often) miss certain subtler or more nuanced signs during a conversation. Leading to misunderstandings and him looking like an idiot. And his boss already assumed anyone with fewer sides than him was an idiot.

“Sorry, Mr. Hemming,” he said evenly. “There was an—”

“I don’t want any excuses,” he interrupted, poking Bill again. “It better not happen again. There’s a lot of shapes out there that would love to have a good job like this one. I could replace you by the end of the day.” And Hemming was poking him hard with every sentence. “I knew it was a mistake to hire someone like you, but I’m too soft-hearted for my own good. Giving chances to the broken and Irregular.”

Bill couldn’t help the way his brow furrowed and his fingers curled into fists, but he managed to keep his temper from igniting in flames. That’s how he lost his job as a short-order cook. He couldn’t lose another job.

“I appreciate having his job, Mr. Hemming. I didn’t mean to run late like this,” he said tightly. “It won’t happen again.”

Another sharp jab of the cane, hard enough to push Bill back a short distance, Hemming said, “See that it doesn’t. Now get to work. And in case you’re wondering, this laziness is coming out of your lunch break.”

Bill resisted the urge to point out that a decent chunk of the delay was because his boss felt it necessary to lecture him. Instead, he hurried to his station while ignoring the sore spot on his side. He needed to catch up.

The main product of the factory was books. Not the thin line of colors of the text themselves. That was for publishers. They built the round circles that they spooled the text around and the snug case, a hollow rectangle missing a side, to house the book. It was useful for making it possible to actually carrying around the text. In ancient times, it might take an entire side of a building to record a short message in tiny dots of color. Now people could simply unwind the thin film a little at a time and wind up what they’d already read.

Of course, they still needed to completely reverse the process when they finished to get back to the start. A time-consuming task, but there were services that could do that. Especially for longer books. Not that Bill had any use for that service now…

Bill’s role was simple, tedious, and monotonous. He would inspect the manufactured pieces, feeling along them for defects or mistakes. He didn’t have to see to know when something was wrong. The ones that turned out perfect were sent off to the printers to wrap the lengthy text around. The flawed and defective ones, Bill sent to the incinerator.

There was no place for imperfect mistakes.

Despite starting out behind, Bill quickly fell back into his normal rhythm. Which left his mind free to wander. And it didn’t take long to wander back to the feeling of the stranger’s hand. The right and firm grip and the way that he clearly didn’t care who saw it. The feeling of being desired in some form and the ghost of the tingly contact on his hand kept him company for the entire work day.

Stanford was gradually getting better at handling the changes that came with his hexagon form. Granted, he’d forgotten earlier that the two-dimensional world meant that he couldn’t wrap his fingers around to grab Bill’s arm to keep him from walking away, but he’d managed to make it work regardless. He could handle his new vision easier and navigate better than before, the odd perspective not causing as much of an issue as initially. But while the vertigo had improved, the nausea was not quite gone. It continued to linger. That limited his time on Euclydia. He didn’t want to risk pushing himself into emptying his stomach again. He wasn’t wasting his jelly beans like that.

Trying to find a solution, he floated over to his relocated base camp. Once he’d established Bill’s apparent territory the day before, he’d moved everything closer so he could keep track of Bill. He couldn’t risk losing him among the crowds and various buildings again.

But for now, Stanford focused on digging through his first aid kit in search of anything that might help combat the nausea. Something preventative would be preferrable. He would be able to stay in Euclydia longer. There must be something useful.

The first aid kit wasn’t completely standard. The gauze, smaller bandages, medical tape, small containers of antibiotic ointment and burn cream, forceps, some aspirin, gloves, and antiseptic wipes came with the box. The suture kit, the bottle of pills from his travels that could counteract most poisonous substances, the emergency injection of adrenaline, and the new mini-dispenser of the alien adhesive were all later additions. Thanks to what happened to Military Expert Mabel, they had determined that the substance worked well at sealing up more serious wounds in addition to tears in the fabric of dimensions. He should be more than well-prepared if something went horribly wrong.

Unfortunately, what he didn’t have was anything to combat nausea. Stanford sighed slowly before closing the kit. He would have to continue building up his tolerance and comfort with the new visual field the long way. It wasn’t pleasant, but he’d adapted to worse. Getting stuck on worlds with different balances of oxygen, nitrogen, carbon dioxide, and other atmospheric gases and staying on the verge of hypoxia the entire time had been worse. By the end of the week, he should be used to the change enough not to end up disoriented and nauseous. He could manage until then.

Stanford sighed wearily and rubbed the back of his neck. He honestly shouldn’t need to stay until the end of the week. When he’d left Stanley, he truly expected to be back that evening. The next day, at most. He hadn’t expected Bill to be running some type of memory loss con. Did he get the idea from what happened with Stanley, hoping to trigger some residual feelings because of the similarity?

Tomorrow. After Stanford had a chance to relax a little, try to sleep, swallowed his nutrition pills, and worked out the details of his next attempt, he would return to Euclydia and try dragging the truth out again. Bill couldn’t keep dodging and avoiding it. He couldn’t maintain the façade forever. There would be cracks in the illusion. A flaw. A detail that Bill couldn’t help letting slip. Proof that he remembered everything and knew exactly what he did. And the instant that Stanford had his proof, he would yank the quantum destabilizer down from where it was floating just above Euclydia and vaporize Bill from existence.

For now, he would relax on the cot with his journal. Record some more observations about the two-dimensional world that had been lost for a trillion years. Maybe sketch out some of the more important areas, creating a map of everywhere that he’d observed Bill so far. That would be productive.

And if that would happen to give him a good view of the framed photograph of Stanley, Dipper, and Mabel, then so be it. Stanford had spent more time than he wanted to admit looking at his childhood picture while wandering the multiverse. He wasn’t too proud to take comfort in the reminders of his family.

He’d learned his lesson the hard way. Being a great man does not mean being alone. In fact, he was better when he wasn’t. There’s strength in having the humility to reach out to others. Stanford might have left to deal with Bill himself, but his family remained close in his thoughts. And even if he wanted to keep them as far from Bill as possible— he still had nightmares of what could have happened in the Fearamid— Stanford knew that he could and would contact them if things went badly. Because he’d finally learned who to trust.

Euclydia glowing pleasantly in the darkness of space, Stanford settled in to watch the small shapes moving around their world. Completely oblivious to his presence as they went along in their ordinary lives. Dipper and Mabel would have found the sight fascinating. He could already imagine the two of them commenting about where that green square was going or what that bright red hexagon further north was probably whispering to that pink isosceles triangle, the two crowded so close together. Stanford blinked away the quiet regret at their absence. It was a shame that he couldn’t bring them to witness the sight of this strange and unique dimension at some point in the future.

But he doubted the Axolotl would do him that sort of favor. Especially after Stanford murdered Bill instead of bringing him back to the Theraprism as agreed.

Despite the overcast skies, it wasn’t actually raining as Stan eased the Stan-O-War II into the Emeryville marina. A converted old trawler didn’t exactly blend in with the fancy yachts already there. But the type of people with the money to buy or even rent those types of boats were unlikely to come down on a dreary Thursday in late February. And if some snob tried to complain, Stan would just shove them in the bay. He had just as much right to be there as anyone else. He was even paying this time.

After all, he couldn’t risk needing to run off early.

Tying everything off and getting the boat settled in properly took longer on his own. After a year and a half sailing together, Stan was keenly aware of Ford’s absence. Like he was missing a limb. He did his best to ignore how much the feeling reminded him of those first few months after being thrown out as a seventeen-year-old, the way he’d kept turning to say something to his brother and then remembering that Ford wasn’t there. It always felt like a punch to the gut back then.

But he was fine. They’d spent forty years apart; thirty of them were in completely different dimensions and with no proof that Ford was even alive. And he wasn’t some dumb kid who couldn’t handle some time alone. It had only been three days. Stan could handle being away from Ford for three days.

The new phone on the Stan-O-War II was a comfort though. A small and tangible connection to his brother. He wasn’t completely cut off from Ford. Even if it was taking a lot of willpower to give Ford the promised week.

It wasn’t that he didn’t trust his brother. He knew that Ford could take care of himself. Stan had seen that plenty of times since they’d set sail. Ford didn’t always have common sense or much of a survival instinct, but he was capable of coming through almost anything intact.

But anything to do with Bill Cipher was like a gap in his armor. A weak point, mentally and emotionally. It could slip through his defenses and bury itself in deep. There was a lot of paranoia involved and impulsive decisions when Bill entered the equation. And his feelings towards Bill were intense. Lots of hate and regret and pain. But Stan could pick up enough to tell that their Capital H History had other extremely charged emotions involved at one point. There were reasons that Stan didn’t want to know what happened in the Fearamid before they showed up to rescue Ford.

The straight-forward plan to murder Bill could have complications.

Stan knew and trusted that Ford could handle the physical threats that Bill might present. His giant sci-fi gun would vaporize the triangle and anything else that might get in his way. Mind-games, manipulations, and emotional torture was a different story. A moment of weakness could give Bill an opportunity to hurt him. Or the triangle’s demise could make Ford spiral, relief over destroying Bill warring with guilt over missing him.

Or there was a chance that some hate and desire wires could get crossed, leading to certain things that Stan didn’t want to picture his brother doing with the psycho triangle. Though he would make a wager about it with McGucket.

The mental image might be scarring, but money was money.

Racing footsteps, far too fast to be safe on a wet dock, pulled Stan from his uncomfortable musings. He looked up just in time to spot a pair of gangly fourteen-year-olds with almost Ford-levels of missing survival instincts. Stan hurried to get on the dock himself before someone slipped and ended up in the water.

“Grunkle Stan!” shouted twin voices.

He braced himself as they tackled him in a tight hug. And it was a good thing that he did. They were growing like weeds and were putting on some muscle mass. Both of them. Their affection could actually pack some punch. But Stan managed to keep his feet under him. And he was more than willing to risk the potential bruises if it meant seeing these kids.

Mabel was still wearing her handmade sweaters, though she was wearing a knit hat not too different that Stan. Undoubtedly due to the cooler weather. And her brother still had Wendy’s old hat. The shirt under his jacket looked like one from the Mystery Shack. Probably the one from Soos from last summer when they’d all returned for a few months, though Stan wouldn’t discount the possibility of someone mailing Dipper a new one. Sometimes when he chewed a pen until it exploded, his clothes could not be salvaged.

“Looks like you timed it perfectly,” said Stan with a gruff chuckle. “I just got here.”

Gradually untangling from the embrace, Mabel said, “We grabbed the bus as soon as school let out. Emeryville is only a few miles from Piedmont, so it didn’t take too long to get here.”

“But you’re totally paying us back for bus fare, right?” snarked Dipper.

He chuckled as he shoved the boy’s hat down to cover his face. Stan had taught the kids well.

“Hey, I would have loved to park the Stan-O-War II right in front of your house, but this was the closest marina. You’ll just have to deal with it.”

“We don’t mind.” Smiling brightly, Mabel asked, “So did you bring any cool seashells from your latest voyage? I was going to make a new cover for my next scrapbook, but the seashells in the craft supply store aren’t very exciting. They don’t have character. And your seashells would come with stories, making the scrapbook more personal.”

Scratching the back of his head, Stan said, “I think Ford took some samples a couple months back that he was done with now. I’ll check later.”

“Where is Great-Uncle Ford?” asked Dipper, craning his neck back towards the boat.

And time for the awkward conversation already. Too bad. Stan had hoped to enjoy the reunion for a little longer first.

Sighing slowly, Stan said, “That’s a bit complicated, kid. So a few days ago, Ford got visited by a weird space lizard that apparently runs an even weirder therapy-jail outside of time or whatever…”

Chapter Text

Despite how strange and unusual his week might have turned out towards the end, there were still practical matters that needed to be addressed. Certain routines that couldn’t be ignored. Life continued in its unceasing cycle, from the bright spark of birth to the dimming of death and everything in between. Even in the midst of chaos and overwhelming new developments, some constants remained.

It didn’t matter that Bill had gained an upper-class stalker who yelled death threats and clung tightly to Bill’s hand. He still needed to go grocery shopping.

If Bill was honest, shopping was not exactly his favorite activity. It was always too crowded, too loud, and too busy. The occasional rearranging of the store only made it worse, ruining his mental map and forcing him to search longer for what he needed. And the other customers would eventually get impatient and start shoving him out of the way. The entire process was simply frustrating from beginning to end.

But as Bill gathered the ends of the long fabric loop to form his shopping bag, he couldn’t help feeling the faint prickle of eager anticipation. After Mr. Death Threats showed up three days in a row, each time getting bolder, Bill felt confident that he would encounter him again. And his grocery shopping trip would provide the perfect opportunity. Just the thought had him feeling a little warmer. Hopefully the slightly darker yellow shade of his blush wasn’t noticeable.

Maybe he should get a hat like his father? A really tall one? It wouldn’t give him quite as distinguished of an appearance as a cane, but Bill was a triangle. Not a member of the upper-class. He needed to be more realistic about his options. But a nice enough hat might make an impression on his stalker. It might help keep his interest from eventually waning.

Bill shook off that flight of fancy. He was getting ahead of himself. He needed to focus on his grocery shopping and wait to see what happened.

Metaphorically…

Shoving down that brief bitter feeling, Bill headed for the door. He carefully followed his memorized path while listening to the moving crowds of shapes. And if he just so happened to go a little slower than normal, offering a certain upper-class shape extra time to locate him, no one could prove it.

But while Bill thought that he might have heard his name, he was already heading into the store by then and the chaotic noise bouncing off the walls as he floated through the door was overwhelming enough that he couldn’t be certain. At that point it was more important to focus on navigating his surroundings. No one followed predictable paths in stores. They were always zigzagging and backtracking as they searched for what they wanted. And some people who chose to use rigid-sided baskets instead of sensible fabric bags would leave the thing sitting in the middle of the aisle and then would get upset when Bill ran into it.

He needed to pay attention.

It could be worse. Bill knew the general layout of the building fairly well, even if they might rearrange the contents. His last job before being hired by Hemming was stocking the grocery store. Unfortunately, like so many other jobs, it didn’t work out.

Specifically, he ended up with the job almost immediately after his… operation. He had still been adapting to the loss of sight and the pain. He restocked everything in the wrong places and was fired after a single day.

But Bill was much better adjusted now. He didn’t bump into the walls or rows of neatly organized food. Only the other shapes that dashed around him chaotically. He was better at navigating blindly and the lingering nerve pain was manageable. He was perfectly fine.

As he reached for where he was fairly certain that one of his preferred jars of condiments should be, he heard the familiar deep voice. The thrilling shiver ran up and down his sides. Bill nearly fumbled the jar like he was back to his first few days of being blind.

“Nice try. Hiding in a crowd? Hoping that I would lose track of you? Or maybe you believe I will hesitate to do anything where innocents could be collateral damage? So you think that these people will serve as living shields. But it won’t work. Nothing will protect you from what you deserve.”

The voice wasn’t shouting this time. Maybe because they were inside? But it was still angry. It was more of a simmering frustration though. Some impatience too. But even quieter, the voice remained just as effective at affecting him. Bill could feel that warmth just below his eye.

Holding his bag high enough to be seen from the opposite side, Bill said, “I’m just grocery shopping.”

Making a brief scoffing sound, the upper-class shape said, “You and I both know this game is pointless. You may as well drop this ‘amnesia’ angle right now and make this easier on both of us, you isosceles monster.”

“Because then you’ll kill me quickly with a special gun,” said Bill, continuing his shopping a little faster. Since everyone was giving the upper-class shape a wider berth, he no longer had to worry about bumping into anyone. “And a fast death is apparently better than a slow one. I remember we established that a couple of days ago. That’s why I should confess to… I’m sorry, what am I confessing to again? I don’t think you’ve actually told me yet.”

The series of noises that the stranger made in response to that didn’t even slightly resemble words. More like he was choking. And by the time that Bill gathered the rest of his groceries and went to pay, he’d shifted towards sounding like a tea kettle: extremely high-pitched and steamed. It was taking a lot of effort not to laugh. He hadn’t even meant to fluster his stalker like that. But it did feel a bit good. He almost wanted to tease the stranger, but that was probably too far.

It was only after Bill was leaving the store that the upper-class shape seemed to finally snap out of it. The tea kettle noise stopped. And as Bill made the first turn, the angry voice snapped.

“Don’t walk away from me!” A brief pause and then he sounded a bit uncertain. “Er… float? Hover? Glide? Whatever! I’ll check the thesaurus later.”

Bill felt fingers momentarily slide along his side, scrambling for purchase in a way that made him jerk and squeak in shock. He lost his grip on his grocery bag. He couldn’t believe what— He knew that his stalker was bold, but— Bill must be mistaken. An accidental brush that just happened to make Bill’s sides buzz and tingle, his imagination and pathetic desperation making it more than—

Those racing thoughts and rationalizations came to a screeching halt as those hands returned. Find a grip on Bill’s lower corner. And in a swift move, the stranger used his new leverage to yank hard and flip Bill sideways. And just as Bill adapted to the new east-to-west orientation, those hands returned to his newly-north side to slam him towards the “ground.” He winced slightly at the impact. But the hands remained in place, pinning Bill there as the upper-class shape loomed over him.

“You know what you did,” growled the stranger, his voice somehow going even deeper. The voice was doing things to Bill that was almost as exciting as the rough handling. “I might not know the full extent of your crimes, but we both know you remember and take pride in every act of cruelty. If nothing else, you remember what you did to me.”

It was taking a lot willpower not to wiggle under those firm and unmoving hands. Those twin points of contact tingled and burned with intensity. Bill nonsensically wondered if the stranger had pyrokinesis too. It felt like fire, but it didn’t hurt. Regardless, Bill needed his touch. He needed more.

“Confess!” snapped the upper-class shape, pushing harder. “You’re no dream demon here. You’re not immortal. You can’t win here.”

Struggling to get his overwhelmed mind to focus on the current version of the death threats and accusations, Bill said, “H-hey, I might have an easier time telling you want you’re looking for if you could give me a clue. Like who you are? Help a guy out a bit, please?”

“You seriously still can’t recognize me like this?” One hand vanished from Bill’s side, probably gesturing. “I know we tricked you with my brother, but I know you’re more intelligent than this. I spent half my life seeking a way to destroy you permanently. You had to know that I would follow, no matter where you tried to escape. The Axolotl gave me passage to this dimension and this form in order to drag you back, but I have no intentions of allowing you to survive that long.”

There were a few words in there that didn’t make sense and a lot of confusing references to a mysterious shared history. Which seemed to be a standard part of his ranting. But it was hard to worry about all that. Bill was much more interested in his stalker’s close proximity and the infuriatingly-still hand on him. Couldn’t he at least put the other one back on Bill’s side?

“Nope. No surviving. Because you built a special gun,” said Bill, breathless and rather unsteady. “A special ‘murder Bill Ciper specifically’ gun.”

“The quantum destabilizer.”

“Uh-huh. And is the ‘quantum destabilizer’ here with us now?”

“Technically, I have it stored floating above Euclydia, but it is in easy reach if you try to test me, Cipher.”

Bill stiffened, a small flicker of fear and dread competing with the burning enthusiasm. Only a single word, an impossible and illegal concept, being mentioned so casually. Maybe the upper-class shape could get away with it, but…

“You— You shouldn’t say things like that,” said Bill, his voice coming out muted and dull.

Sounding oddly puzzled, he asked, “What?” Then a little more suspicious, he asked, “Do you think I’m bluffing? True, the dark color of the weapon blends into the darkness above slightly, but if nothing else, the blank gap deprived of stars should provide you with a general hint of where it is.”

Stars.

Rough hands dragging him forward, his attempted and incomplete star-o-scope left behind as shattered glass. The sharp scent of sterile hallways. His beautiful stars shining above as he struggled uselessly.

“Don’t do this.”

A dark and murky green. Numerous wide angles. A deep and dark voice like a bottomless pit, waiting to swallow him whole.

Tight clamps on each corner. Painfully tight. Restraints on each limb. Trapped. Unable to escape.

The urge to summon flames smothered out by fear. Like infinite yellow eyes staring down at him like those stars. Fighting back will make it worse. He knows it without knowing how. Resisting will destroy things worse.

“I’ll be good. I promise.”

Voices crowding close. Sharp objects in the corner of his vision. His breathing racing. No one listening, but too much attention on him. The wrong attention.

The murky green and deepest voice. Close. Too close. Cold, clinical, professional, and sharp. Sharp as the waiting instruments. No mercy.

“Don’t do this, please.”

Pain. Pain, pain, pain. Cracking, digging, prying, burying pain. Echoing screams and tears and blood and wrongness. Murky green, staticky-silver blood, bright stars. Pain and fear and laughter. Screaming laughter filled with blurring tears.

Blurring colors. Blurring lights. Blurring darkness. Shouts to sedate too late for him to miss the extinguishing stars.

Panic and instinct took hold. And the upper-class shape clearly didn’t expect resistance at that point. In a move that so many childhood bullies had used on him, Bill shoved him off in a way that would also send his stalker spinning uncontrollably away. Then, sparing only a moment to grab his bag and shove back in some of what had tumbled out, Bill reoriented himself and broke into a sprint.

This time, Bill wasn’t as lucky during his rush as he was last time. He felt himself bump and jostle several shapes, sharp and high-pitched complaints chasing him. But in a short time, he was scrambling at his apartment door.

When there was a sturdy barrier between him and the rest of the world, his shaky panting gradually slowing down, Bill abruptly felt rather foolish. He shouldn’t have reacted like that. There was no need. He was perfectly fine.

Drawing his limbs close, Bill went over the entire mess. Everything had started so well. Getting roughly yanked and pushed around, his corner tugged, hands pressing on his sides, and getting pinned against something had been thrilling. Even before then, his stalker had been fun to talk to, even if half of what he’d said didn’t make sense. There was a nice and almost familiar rhythm to it. Easy and effortless. Mr. Death Threats had been moving everything in exciting directions.

And then he referenced Up. He talked about stars.

Bill laughed weakly. Once, he would have done anything to have someone who understood— who actually believed him— when it came to the stars. Now the idea only made him anxious. Like there was a trap waiting for him to take the bait. It was enough to transform a thrilling amount of attention and contact into… into…

Squeezing his aching eye shut, Bill did his best to shove those memories back below where they belonged. Mentally slamming a trapdoor closed over them and dragging some furniture to hide them. The situations weren’t similar at all. The referenced stars, a deep-voiced upper-class shape, and Bill being trapped barely counted. They were faint coincidences. The whole thing was completely different. And what happened back then didn’t matter anymore. It was the past.

Lie until it was no longer a lie.

He was fine. Bill was completely fine now. He was fine, normal, and fitting in, so there was no reason for anything else to happen.

Nothing except being stalked by a mysterious upper-class shape who was obsessed with him and who mentioned Up and stars with impossible casualness. As if he expected everyone to know and accept the concepts. Bill wasn’t certain if he’d misunderstood or misheard the stranger or if the hints of madness in his nonsensical rambling simply contained a seed of illegal truth. But now that Bill wasn’t getting tangled in totally-unrelated-and-unimportant memories, there was something dangerously intriguing about the idea. The potential threat it posed adding to the thrill.

If Bill wasn’t blind, he would almost be tempted to try his hand at being an author. He could turn this into an incredibly intense and exciting romance novel. Assuming that the Ministry of Truth even let a plot that dangerous and forbidden slip through. There were limits on what was allowed even in fiction.

Feeling calmer than when he arrived home, Bill slowly reached for his bag of groceries. He should check how much food he’d lost in his foolish panic.

Stanford had been improving. His nausea had been faint and minimal, even when he’d tilted sideways compared to the normal northern-orientation. The unnerving perspective conflict was much easier to handle. He would have almost considered himself over the entire problem.

But that was before Bill managed to send him spinning worse than the Tilt-a-Whirl at a summer carnival.

He’d thought that the first day had been unpleasant as he’d attempted to adjust to everything. He’d thought the nausea and vertigo had been powerful then. But it was nothing compared to the uncontrolled chaos as everything had swirled around him. And Stanford hadn’t been able to stop until his spinning body crashed into something.

The first day when the new experience was too much and his stomach had rebelled, Stanford had managed to keep it together long enough to leave Euclydia before it was too late. This time, he’d failed. Badly. And despite not having eaten much and his stomach being fairly empty already, he’d still learned that his eye-mouth structure made the experience just as miserable as he’d imagined.

Even after he’d pried himself free of Euclydia, Stanford still felt like he was spinning. Like a magnet rotating in an electric generator and producing some rather impressive joules. He couldn’t open his eyes or move without drying heaving. But even staying perfectly still, collapsed on his cot, his head pounded and swirled. He was sweating in a way that had little to do with the actual temperature of his surroundings. And his mouth tasted like something died and had been decomposing on his tongue for two weeks.

Before this trip, Stanford would have believed that he had a decent constitution. He couldn’t survive the multiverse otherwise. But he’d clearly found his limit.

Bill hadn’t destroyed Euclydia or slaughtered the population in the last few days. Perhaps it would be safe to risk it and not confront Bill again immediately. Maybe Stanford could rest first. At least until his stomach stopped trying to climb up his throat and his equilibrium returned to normal.

In the end, Bill only lost one jar of condiments and a couple pieces of fruit in his ridiculous escape. He might have a few bland sandwiches in his future and he would probably need to skip breakfast at some point, but it wasn’t that bad. He’d kept most of his food. Which meant that he didn’t need to try shopping again so soon.

The rest of the day passed like normal. He cleaned his home and straightened a little. He made dinner. He took another dose of his medicine. He listened to the muffled noises through the walls of his neighbors going about their evening and made-up stories about them for entertainment. And eventually he headed to sleep.

Though as Bill settled against his pillow, his mind seemed rather uncooperative and unwilling to focus on trying to sleep. Instead, it kept bringing back up his stalker.

Bill didn’t know what color that stranger might be or his side lengths. He didn’t even know his angles or what shape he was. He could be the mythical Carlyle Circle returned from death in Euclydia’s most desperate hour for all Bill knew, though that probably would have caused a bigger stir in the grocery store. He barely knew anything about his mysterious stalker.

But he knew his loud and deep voice. Bill knew his aggression. And he knew his hands.

He knew what those hands felt like. Holding onto Bill’s hand. Grabbing Bill’s corner. Yanking and shoving Bill around. Pressing against Bill’s side hard and pinning him in place. The sensations were vividly imprinted in Bill’s mind. Every detail impossible to forget. He could practically feel ghostly hands still all over him.

And if he couldn’t see anyway, who could really say that the echoes of sensation were only in his mind?

Despite his differences making him no one’s first choice and certain “necessary precautions” when he was thirteen, Bill got the same general education as anyone else in school. He knew how tessellations worked and he got the speech about waiting until he married his Ministry-of-Unity-approved spouse. And of course, some of his old novels were very descriptive. Bill had plenty of theoretical knowledge. That made it very easy to picture how it would go.

Mr. Death Threats was already bold and audacious, so he would take the next step. Breaking down the door would fit his directness and aggression, but he would be subtler. A key. Easy to obtain for someone like him. And once in Bill’s apartment, he would move with quiet purpose. Hunting him with deadly intent. Completely focused on Bill and nothing else.

Even the thought made Bill feel warm and excited. An upper-class shape who wanted him specifically.

It wouldn’t take very long to find him. The apartment wasn’t exactly huge. And his stalker would find Bill on his bed. Cornered and trapped. His stalker would cross the distance in an instant, pinning Bill against the bed just like he pinned him earlier.

Bill moved his arms enough to press his own hands against his side. The angles weren’t quite right, but he could almost match the imagined touch. Warm, buzzing, and tingling touch from his obsessed stalker.

“Look at me, you monster,” he would say, making impossible demands of Bill. “I’ve found you. And you won’t escape again. You had your chance to have a quick death. Now I’m going to draw it out and make you beg for it to end.”

Bill shivered, the voice so vivid in his mind that he could almost believe that his stalker was in the room with him. That it was his ruthless hands on Bill’s body. He couldn’t mimic the feeling of the loud shape’s light against him at close range, but Bill pressed his hands harder. Then with deliberately slow movements, he dragged them along his edge.

“You may have fooled everyone else on this planet with your little charade, but I know what you really are, you cruel creature,” he would growl, sliding his hands in a taunting manner. The deep-voiced stranger not making it clear if his intention with the movements was to scare Bill with the implications of what he intended to do to him before killing him… or to push Bill into begging for him to hurry up with it. “There’s nowhere in all of Euclydia where I would not go to reach you, Cipher.”

He was already panting and rocking slightly, trying to get more contact and surface area than his hands could provide. But remembering the way that his name sounded in that voice caused a moan to slip out.

It felt good. But not nearly good enough.

The upper-class shape would taunt, “Pathetic. Even isosceles aren’t that shameless. I should just tear you apart already and finish you off with my quantum destabilizer. But I want you to suffer. And I might as well enjoy your demise first.”

The concept sent a shudder from Bill’s apex to his base that was an exciting mixture of imaginary fear and more authentic enthusiasm. Bill couldn’t even describe how much— The buzzing, tingling, and warmth of the stalker’s touch was addictingly nice, but he needed more. And the ghostly echoes of the stranger’s fingers and his own fumbling hands could only do so much. It would never be enough.

But Bill wasn’t giving up. He paused one hand to reach over and around to grab his pillow. He needed something longer than his hands.

The ruthless stranger would release his hands that were pinning Bill in place, but only for a moment. He would replace the pressure by pressing his own side against Bill, ready to claim what he wanted. Undoubtedly glowing even in his silence and radiating heat. Unable to conceal his eagerness. So much burning energy waiting to be shared. He might even grunt deeply with satisfaction at moving forward.

The pillow was long enough and covered enough of Bill’s side. But it wasn’t bright, warm, or even firmly rigid. Great traits for a pillow, but not for a high polygon trying to ravish a victim. Bill gripped it tighter to add more pressure like there was something hard and solid to the surface, dragging it along his side.

Not quite, but a little closer to right.

He would be panting like Bill. Eager and almost desperate to slake his violent and aggressive desires. The stalker still intending to kill Bill, but holding off. Rubbing his side against Bill and realizing that the angles and side lengths made Bill a perfect fit.

Crazy, broken, and blind Bill was the only thing that he wanted.

Bill squirmed and moaned. He felt like he was on fire in the best ways. Hot and bright and practically vibrating out of his thin transparent exoskeleton. Which wasn’t opening like it should. Because no amount of imagination and creativity could give the pillow the ability to give off the right stimuli. It just couldn’t provide all the necessary stimulation to convince Bill’s body that it was an upper-class shape trying to phase partially through him. It was a pale imitation of the proper tessellation described in his books.

But it was better than nothing.

“That’s it. So warm and eager,” the stranger would say, his loud voice quieter and almost a whine. “But you will be disappointed. You deserve to be left wanting. To be unfulfilled. But if you are a good freak for me, I might let you live a little longer. And if you beg, I might even give you some pleasure before you die. A small reward.”

“P-please,” whined Bill, hot and tingling and so close to what little his pillow could offer. Pressed hard against his side and practically grinding into him in short, rapid, and rough movements. “I’ll— I—”

“Do we have a deal?” the stalker would growl, letting those rough hands rejoin his aggressive movements along Bill’s side.

The sensations of his side against Bill were already maddening. But those hands would go everywhere. Grabbing, pulling, tugging, pressing, holding.

“Y— y—”

So close. So bright and hot and not enough and not inside him and yet still so much and Bill might be trapped in darkness, but he felt so bright—

“Is it a deal, Cipher?”

His voice strangled and pathetic, writhing against the pillow, he whimpered, “Y-yes.”

The hands would leave his sides and corners, no longer teasing. Instead the stranger would abruptly press down on his front plane. Pinning Bill, but touching where nothing should be capable of touching. Not phasing into him, but something similar and yet impossibly different. Hands coming from Up among the stars.

Maybe his stalker was a star. Bright twinkling light from the infinite darkness. Seeing Bill like he’d always seen stars.

“Mine,” murmured that deep voice.

Bill shuddered, igniting in a stuttering and weak flare. A pleasurable sensation, but not the grand prize that he was looking for. More of an honorable mention.

When the exciting and nice feelings faded, he released his grip on the pillow and tried not to feel sorry for himself. He tried not to think about how pathetic the whole thing was. It had felt good. But those sensations and the emotions didn’t linger long, leaving him feeling tired and a little cold in the aftermath.

It wasn’t the first time he’d tried something like that. There wasn’t exactly a long line of volunteers who were eager to join him for some proper tessellation, so a solo act was his only real option. He’d mostly tried imagining himself in the various roles from his old romance novels. But he never had much luck with getting it to work well.

Not until he had someone specific to imagine with him. Someone real instead of a work of fiction.

There was something about his stalker. Something unique and different. He didn’t fit in. And Bill couldn’t help forgetting all caution or concerns. Whatever the stranger wanted, Bill didn’t think he’d have the willpower or desire to deny him. He’d do anything just to make the upper-class shape stay.

If he stayed, then Bill wouldn’t feel alone. Even if the stalker wanted to kill Bill, he still wanted him.

Chapter Text

While still in the southern part with the other triangles and quadrilaterals, Bill’s memorized route was taking him towards a nicer neighborhood than his own. More individual homes than apartments and a few nicer stores. The smell of fresh coffee told him when he passed the building where he had his first job as a teenager; switching around caffeinated and decaf and actually having a personality was apparently enough to be considered “unsuitable” for the role. Bill knew this neighborhood well. He grew up there.

They’d actually moved there from a much smaller town when he was born. A tiny agricultural town that grew crops and was solely populated by triangles. As equilateral triangles, their family had been fairly respected there. His father had even been mayor and supported by numerous other similar towns. Apparently, there were some people who thought that he could have an actual political career, even if it would always be somewhat limited by his shape. But he had to give up the job when they moved to a larger town because they were required to get their Irregular child “specialized medical care” and because certain deals were made to have Bill considered to be on the “acceptable” side of the line of Irregularity.

They loved him. And they made certain that he knew the sacrifices that they’d made because of him.

Bill couldn’t see the house anymore, but he knew it was relatively nice. The numerous bushes lining it almost always had flowers. Different colors over time as his mother changed her mind. He didn’t know what color the flowers might be now, but he could smell them as he got closer. Bill’s eye crinkled in a faint smile. They would probably always be comforting. The scent made him think of home.

He knocked at the door and listened carefully. The walls were thicker than the ones in his apartment, but he might still hear something. Bill had spent a lot of time figuring out how to keep track of his surroundings with his other senses. But he didn’t hear anything until the slight creak of the door opening.

“Oh, Billy,” greeted his mother. “I didn’t expect to see you. It’s a bit early in the week for your regular visit. Is something wrong?”

She spoke carefully and deliberately. She and his father knew that Bill had difficulties with certain nuance and tone. It was already tricky back when it was only the medication that dulled “the visual input from his malformed eye.” But after the surgery, Bill couldn’t see any of it. Not the slightest glimmer of light with their words. And since he couldn’t see all the subtleties of their glow, his parents tried to compensate by being clear with the spoken part of their words.

“Nothing is wrong, Mom,” he said excitedly. “I’ve just had a lot happening the last few days and I wanted to tell you about it.”

“Well, I certainly won’t complain about getting to visit with you early.” Giving him a brief and affectionate flick near his apex, his mother said, “Come inside. I’ll fix you something to drink. Euclid should be home soon and you can tell us all about your exciting news.”

It wasn’t surprising that his father wasn’t home yet. Every role in Euclydia had different days off, with some having more of the nine-day-weeks off than others. A low-level government clerk’s schedule wouldn’t match up with a factory worker. But he didn’t usually work that late. Not unless something came up and his bosses forced him to stay.

There had been a lot of late nights when Bill was growing up, if he stopped to think about it…

But he wouldn’t mind if he needed to wait a little longer. Bill always felt better when he was around his parents. There was something reassuring about their presence. He had nightmares occasionally where they were gone and Bill knew somehow it was his fault. The visits helped him remember that the nightmares weren’t real. Bill never felt better than when he was around them.

Though his mysterious stalker was also turning out to be just as talented at brightening his day.

“I’ll admit that it just hasn’t been the same since you moved out. I worry about you all alone in that apartment,” said his mother, leading him towards the kitchen. “Your old bedroom is still yours if you want it.”

“I moved out years ago, Mom. Part of growing up, remember? You were proud of me being independent and trying to act like a responsible member of society.”

“Well, yes, but that was before…”

She trailed off for a moment, trying to pretend that she was focus only on tea preparations. Bill could hear her clanging around and purposefully not discussing the surgery. Not discussing everything that led to it. Not discussing that he was blind and broken now.

Her voice regaining a cheerful edge, Mom asked, “Oh, before I forget, how are you on your medication? Do you need to visit Dr. Cevian for a refill? You can’t run out on it.”

Despite not being able to see, Bill still looked away. Dr. Cevian had been his doctor for quite a while. Most of his life. Since he tried to talk about impossible things that were too dangerous to shrug off as childish imagination. Since he started taking his medicine. Bill didn’t like him, but he wasn’t the worst doctor that he’d ever dealt with. He rarely had nightmares about Dr. Cevian.

“It’s fine. I can handle it. You don’t have to worry about me, Mom.”

Pausing so she could get close and give him another flick, she said, “I’ll always worry about my silly Billy. That’s my job.”

Bill chuckled quietly, brushing away the more uncomfortable feelings. She wasn’t wrong. She always worried about him and that had never changed. Nor had her love. She would always do what she considered to be best for him because of that love. He would never doubt that much.

The role of lowly clerk in one of the local offices for the Ministry of Unity was a decent job for a clever, educated, and hard-working triangle. He wasn’t allowed to deal with the people who came in to fill out marriage requests or put in applications for new potential jobs that might fit their societal role, so he wasn’t eligible to collect potential “generous donations” from those who wanted something a bit better, but he worked in the background. Filing and looking up information to ensure that everyone could live the lives that they were meant to live. It was reliable and constant work. It wasn’t the same as being mayor of an entire town and trying to make things better, but everyone had an important role to play and this was a way that he could fulfill it. He fit in this job perfectly.

Besides, Euclid knew that he couldn’t have another job where he could use his charisma and people skills. They wouldn’t allow it.

But that didn’t matter. The past was over and he and Scalene had made their decision. Things might not have ended perfectly, but they had a family and Scalene was happy. A few generations ago, they would not have even that much. A combination of professional sacrifices, certain deals, and the revised standards established by the amendment to the Polygonal Irregularity Tolerance Statutes ensured that she was allowed to raise a child.

Packing away everything left on his desk and working his way out of the maze of files, Euclid let his mind drift. The amendment to the Polygonal Irregularity Tolerance Statutes was probably the most important improvement in the lives of the lower-class shapes. Without it, quadrilaterals would still be limited solely to squares and a single flaw would be enough to condemn a child from the beginning. Rectangles, trapezoids, and rhombuses could all find useful and productive roles in society. And shapes with flaws or mutations could be allowed to grow up as long as certain conditions were met: surgery to correct the problem or at least ensure that it would not be passed to the next generation.

It wasn’t enough to spare all Irregulars. They had to be reasonable, after all. There was a certain order to Euclydia. Some shapes were too Irregular to be allowed. His sweet Scalene was named in honor of an aunt that was lost to the family as an infant, her ill-proportioned sides outside the acceptable deviation limits. Her family was always sentimental. But far more Irregulars were spared by the amendment.

At least in the lower-class. The upper-class held themselves to much stricter standards.

Bill was one of the lucky Euclydians spared by the amendment. Though admittedly his specific case was more complicated than most.

Euclid paused in the street and took a deep breath. Things had been complicated from the start. It took a very long time of trying for her to get pregnant in the first place and the birth was… difficult. But they both made it through and his child was a perfect equilateral with three beautiful sixty-degree angles. Except a quick exam on his edges revealed the right number of chubby limbs of youth, but no eyes.

Not until Bill yawned wide enough for them to glimpse the corner of a single large eye-mouth structure buried deep in his body. A rather unnerving discovery at first. The nurse certainly yelped in surprise and Euclid wasn’t quite certain that he didn’t do the same.

Despite being perfect in proportion, the blatant physical mutation made Bill a clear Irregular. One that should have been immediately marked as unacceptable. A kindness, reassured the medical staff as Scalene begged. A child marked as too Irregular was handled quickly and would suffer less than starving to death because of his malformed anatomy.

But after giving birth to a baby that drastically Irregular, Scalene would never be allowed another chance. And she couldn’t bear the idea of never having a child. She was willing to try raising the strange and unnerving infant, regardless of the challenges.

The two of them argued their case, citing Bill’s perfect proportions and hoping to stretch the amendment just enough to keep their child. Deals were made. Conditions, requirements, restrictions, and specific terms were established. Consequences discussed. Costs and sacrifices were reluctantly agreed upon.

The price was heavy, but— after mastering how to feed their baby with a straw in the tiniest gap at the corner of his eye-mouth structure that barely reached his edge— they were allowed to take Bill home. Euclid expected an adjustment period for everything…

Giving up his position and moving, taking up the role of a clerk and Scalene working as a cleaner with a more flexible schedule. The required medical monitoring and eventual procedure for Bill at puberty. Learning not to be creeped out by their featureless child.

What Euclid never expected was for the situation to get more dangerous for all of them as Bill drifted even further from normal as he aged. The toddler temper tantrums being punctuated with pyrokinesis was concerning. A rare, but not an unheard-of phenomenon. A mutation that popped up occasionally to varying degrees. But Bill was already scheduled for his procedure at puberty, so it didn’t drastically change much except them punishing him to discourage the ability. Then he started talking about what he could see. They’d already determined that his strange eye could at least see enough to navigate the world. It was the other things that he claimed to see… Impossible things… Impossible and illegal to even suggest…

Euclid shook off those dark thoughts. It could have ended much worse. Especially with the way that Bill never knew how to stop pushing and arguing and causing trouble and—

And it ended how Euclid always warned him. Bill pushed too far and the consequences finally landed. Euclid and Scalene had protected him his entire life, bargaining and risking so much just so he could have a life, but they couldn’t any longer. And perhaps this was for the best. The consequences could have been worse and Bill could fit in better now. He would be safer and eventually happier if he was at least closer to normal.

It was like they always told him. Just fit in and everything would be fine.

Euclid turned a corner and came in sight of home. Scalene’s yellow flowers and the bushes hid most of the wall from sight, but the line of the door was clear and easy to spot. He abandoned his trip along memory lane to focus on his beautiful home and beautiful wife. He might miss his old job and everything that could have been, but his current life wasn’t all bad. It was simply… complicated.

“Scalene?” he called as he opened the door. “I’m home.”

“We’re in here. I just made tea,” she called back.

“We?”

“Our Billy came to visit us early. He says he has some exciting news.”

Euclid went through several emotions before settling on being cautiously optimistic. He found them next to the short table and stools with their cups of tea: his bright red wife with her bow on her side and their grown-up yellow son. He no longer felt that shudder running down his sides when he saw his blank-featured son. Though it was still unnerving when Bill would run around at any speed like that, clearly seeing his surroundings despite everything telling Euclid that it was impossible with where his strange eye was located.

Of course, that unnerving perceptiveness was no longer an issue after Bill’s “emergency surgery.”

“If I knew that we had company, I would have tried to hurry,” he said, collecting his waiting cup of tea and claiming a seat. “How are you, Bill? You seem to be in a good mood.”

The lack of visible eyes did make it more difficult to read his expressions. But Bill’s voice and body language were generally reliable. And he was practically bouncing in place and the leg that was towards Euclid was tapping rapidly. There also seemed to be a darker yellow patch even with where Bill’s eye should theoretically be; his son was actually blushing. It was the liveliest that he’d seen Bill in a long time.

Some cynical part of Euclid worried that Bill was about to start raving about “stars” and proof again.

“I am,” he confirmed, bright and cheerful. “Mom? Dad? I’ve met someone.”

Euclid’s eyes immediately slid around his edges so that he and Scalene could exchange looks. Bill met someone? He briefly wondered if he misunderstood what his son meant, but Euclid was relatively certain that he looked the same way when he first met Scalene. Between Bill’s physical differences, his dangerous ideas, and the results of his first surgery, he was not exactly the most eligible triangle in town. But it could be possible.

Getting the relationship approved might be tricky. There might be a couple of coworkers that owed Euclid favors and might be willing to approve the paperwork if it was a borderline situation. If it required bribes— such as Bill somehow attracting the attention of a square from a good family, to use a completely ridiculous example— Euclid was relatively certain he and Scalene had enough saved. Especially if the other shape chipped in for those bribes…

But Euclid was getting ahead of himself. They didn’t know anything about the mystery shape. Technically, they didn’t know for certain that they existed; Bill did have a history about imagining things like “stars” and that the kind and generous doctors who agreed to such a difficult case… This felt slightly more realistic than past fantasies, but they should hold off any major plans until they had more information.

“You’ve met someone?” he repeated slowly, trying to prompt his son to continue. “We would love to hear more.”

“Yeah,” said Bill, practically giggling, “so this one guy keeps following me and harassing me and calling me a demon and a liar and saying he’s gonna kill me—”

The cautious optimism crashed hard. That made more sense unfortunately. Especially with Bill’s history. He was far more likely to antagonize someone than to be considered an attractive prospect. Bill was always good at lying and denying it, even deluding himself to an extent. But this was a lot, even for him. Euclid exchanged a nervous look with Scalene, both of them silently asking the other what did Bill do to tick this guy off so bad?

And Euclid knew that his blindness meant that Bill couldn’t see the subtleties of conversation and thus could misunderstand the tone that someone used, but how did he miss the fact that death threats were generally not a good sign?

Scalene at least managed an interested hum to let Bill know that they were paying attention. Euclid couldn’t find his voice at all.

“—Plus grabbing me by the arm,” Bill continued cheerfully, his blush deepening into a warm gold, “grabbing at my sides and corners, pinning me against stuff to keep me from walking away—”

“What?!” shouted Euclid and Scalene.

Oh, look at that. He found his voice again after all.

Bill simply giggled again at their scandalized tone, acting like a half-grown child with his first crush, and added, “I can tell he’s an upper-class shape, but I don’t know what shape.”

And that took the concern straight to panic. Bill catching the attention of an upper-class shape was already stressful enough. There were so many ways that could go wrong. But an upper-class shape getting that familiar and physical already? It wasn’t as bad as them immediately dragging Bill into a secluded corner for a little tessellation before tossing him aside. This sounded slightly more prolonged and involved. But it also wasn’t the proper courting like what would happen between two upper-class shapes or even more casual dating that would happen among triangles or quadrilaterals. It was something… Whatever it was, it was setting off more alarms in Euclid’s mind than he could handle.

This wasn’t right. It didn’t fit.

“—and he talked about the third dimension and he sounds super smart and he has this sexy voice—”

“And now it was even worse. Talking about illegal topics. Or maybe Bill mentioned it and the other shape was simply too stunned to shut the conversation down. Because nothing else made sense.

Was this real? Was this guy real?

“—and he threatened to kill me with this fancy gun he built from scratch,” sighed Bill dreamily.

And there were the death threats again. The guy couldn’t be real. If he was real, then he was giving off some crazy mixed signals.

Another delusion, Euclid decided. Like all his talk about stars and some strange Up-but-not-North direction. Bill was imagining the entire thing. That must be it. There might be a medication adjustment in his future, but it was a manageable issue.

But just in case there was a small sliver of truth buried within the delusion— such as Bill being bothered and threatened by a square with a deeper than average voice— perhaps they should keep an eye on him for a while. The last thing that any of them needed was for Bill to get into more trouble.

And in some impossible scenario where their blind and deformed son somehow caught the eye of an upper-class shape and it was the threats that were the delusions instead, then Euclid and Scalene would need to get them married immediately before the shape could come to his senses and change his mind.

Stanford had to reluctantly agree that his brother might have a point about the importance of regular meals. The rather aggressive attempts to empty his stomach and the fallout might have been less straining and unpleasant if his stomach hadn’t been mostly empty for the majority of the week. Nutrition pills and a small handful of jelly beans weren’t quite enough. Only being able to dry heave or expel bile in response to the nausea and disorientation likely contributed heavily to why he took longer to recover than at the beginning of his mission, when he’d started off with a proper breakfast before leaving his home dimension. The nutrition pills might be enough to keep him alive and healthy, but there were some benefits that they couldn’t mimic.

But just because Stanley had a point about eating regular meals didn’t mean that Stanford intended to take his advice regarding what could be considered a proper meal. He was honestly surprised that his brother didn’t get scurvy at some point during those forty years apart.

The headache and nausea were gone. As well as a good amount of his water that he’d brought. But he shouldn’t have any issues on supplies. He was recovering and it should only take a day or two to finish dealing with Bill.

Stanford sat on the edge of his cot while rubbing the back of his neck. He might have improved, but he still felt rather wrung out by the entire experience. And his dreams while resting had been rather… intense.

He couldn’t even string together much of what happened in those dreams. Just flashes, impressions, and emotions without only a few solid pieces. Though those moments of clarity were disjointed and confusing in their own way. Some of those dreams had Stanford as a shape and others as a human, but all involved having Bill at his mercy. Jamming the quantum destabilizer against him or wrenching his arms around or restraining Bill in his own glowing blue shackles or simply pinning Bill in place using his own body. On the ground or against a wall or over a desk…

He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, dragging his hands down his face. Obviously his scrambled state left his subconscious in disarray. Filled with chaos and confusion. Nothing making sense. No rhyme or meaning to anything it conjured. And the emotions they stirred… Just as meaningless and illogical. There was no point examining or digging any further. He should hopefully have more rational dreams now that he was feeling more like himself again.

Despite the difficulties with judging the passage of time, Stanford was relatively certain that he’d wasted almost an entire day with his recovery. Which didn’t leave him with much time left before he would need to contact Stanley or risk his brother trying to find him. But all the little shapes that he could see seemed to be heading to their homes for the evening. It would be more reasonable to wait until morning.

Stanford quietly reached for his journal. Since he was feeling better, he should at least record a warning about that spinning move that Bill used against him. It was very effective. And perhaps he could consider the idea of seeing if he could obtain some of the local cuisine and start eating more than nutrition pills. There were some logistical issues with the idea, but he had some time to work them out.

Chapter Text

Scalene knew that she shouldn’t take the day off from work. There were other triangles who could cover her specific responsibilities, but it always seemed like the cleaning took longer when she returned anyway. But Euclid was already off and that made it simple for them to pay their own impromptu visit to their son.

She could admit it. Some of what Bill said the day before worried her. Euclid reassured her that most of it was probably exaggerations, misunderstandings, and delusions. And she knew that he was most likely right. Her little Billy had his problems. They’d known his issues extended beyond his physical differences for a long time.

But Scalene only needed to look within her own family to know that an upper-class shape taking an interest in a triangle could and did happen, but it was rarely like the romance novels that were removed from Bill’s home. It wasn’t necessarily a good thing. It could ruin lives.

A few more frequent visits would help put her mind at ease.

She did wish that Bill lived closer. It would be easier to make certain that he was staying out of trouble. Maybe if he still lived in the old neighborhood and she could keep watch over him, maybe his emergency operation wouldn’t have been necessary. Maybe he would still…

But a little independence was good. And it wasn’t as if he could afford a home in that neighborhood and his apartment was closer to his current job. It made logical sense. That didn’t mean that she didn’t wish she could just hide her son away, settling him back in his childhood room where he would be safe. Because he would always be her baby.

At least the apartment had some nice bushes around to help brighten things up. They weren’t as lovely as her own plants, but Scalene knew that not everyone grew up in a farming community. They didn’t all know how to grow the best plants. Still, they were a nice touch. They made the place seem more welcoming.

The bushes also seemed to have something maroon in them close to the door to her Bill’s apartment. And she knew for a fact that those types of shrubs weren’t flowering. Someone was lurking there.

Scalene shifted her eyes along her edge briefly, trying to get a better sense of the exact angle that she was glimpsing. Then she blinked in shock. An external angle of two-hundred-forty degrees, indicating an internal angle of one-hundred-twenty. It could be a particularly sturdy trapezoid. She would need a better view to be certain and that would certainly be a more likely shape for the neighborhood. But when combined with Bill’s description of an upper-class shape, Scalene felt certain that she was staring at a hexagon.

What did her child go to catch the attention of a hexagon?

Subtly indicating the lurking shape to her husband, Scalene said quietly, “That’s… got to be him, right?”

“Oh,” he said, sounding rather stunned, “he actually exists.”

And if he existed, then how much of Bill’s concerning descriptions of their interactions would turn out to also be true? Scalene needed answers.

So far, Bill had not left the domicile. Stanford knew that for certain. He’d watched closely after checking Bill’s location from above Euclydia. Based on previous encounters, he would have expected Bill to have left his home by this point. He was always going somewhere.

But it was irrelevant. He couldn’t stay in there forever. If he delayed his usual routine, then Stanford would simply outwait him.

Though, now that he considered it, Stanford could have theoretically just arrived in Bill’s home instead of outside of it. Simply drop down on Euclydia inside the building. Or he could easily go over the wall now. It was a flat line. It would not be difficult at all to get over it.

“Excuse me, sir?”

The polite, cautious, and yet firm and loud voice made Stanford freeze. His eyes slid around his edges to look behind him. There were two equilateral triangles approaching him. A red one with what looked like a black bow attached to a side and a blue one with a black hat of a very familiar style. Perhaps top hats were a popular choice on Euclydia. The pair looked rather nervous about him even as they drew near.

And Stanford belatedly realized that objectively-speaking… and without any context… him lurking outside someone’s home while half-concealed by shrubbery might come across as creepy. And that wasn’t including the previous stalking and threats to kill Bill that he made in public…

Maybe he should have tried being more subtle in his approach.

As Stanford shifted awkwardly, the red triangle continued, “So sorry to bother you, but—”

“H-honey,” said the blue one quietly, reaching for her.

“—our son has been telling us some worrying things—”

“If our Bill has been bothering you with his stories, sir,” he said hurriedly, “we apologize—”

“Euclid!”

“—He’s not very well, you see. He doesn’t mean anything by it.”

Parents… A feeling of horrified realization washed over Stanford. These were Bill Cipher’s parents. He had never really imagined Bill having parents or a childhood. At first, the concept seemed laughable for an eternal and all-knowing muse. Then the tragic description of his dimension’s destruction almost made him wonder about Bill’s past, but Stanford had focused more on the deadly monster that supposedly caused it. And then, when the truth came out, Stanford didn’t are about his origins beyond what it may offer in the form of potential vulnerabilities.

Thinking about Bill when he was young… a child with parents… It wouldn’t do any good.

But with Euclydia’s restoration came the return of Bill’s family. And while visibly nervous, they seemed so ordinary and normal. The complete opposite of their monstrous son. Mostly likely ignorant of the sheer scope of his cruelty and terrible actions. These poor people didn’t deserve to be wrapped up in Bill’s schemes. Stanford needed to handle the situation delicately.

“Oh, I—” Stanford scratched an upper edge awkwardly, hunting for the kindest way to approaching things. “Well, that’s— That’s fine. I just need to talk to him.”

That should work. Talking was much less concerning than killing. A far more reassuring verb.

Though the expressions on the pair’s faces (such as they were) did not look reassured. If anything, they seemed more upset. More afraid.

His voice pleading and almost desperate, Euclid said, “Please, Mister…”

“Oh,” said Stanford, responding automatically — he’d spent far too long and worked too hard not to defend the title that he’d earned — and immediately corrected, “it’s ‘Doctor,’ actually. Dr. Stanford Pines.”

And that somehow caused an immediate change in demeanor. Like he’d flipped a switch. Almost all of the anxiety and unease melted away, leaving the pair of triangles relieved and relaxed. Suspicion replaced by trust.

Sighing, Euclid said, “Oh, that explains it.”

“We’re so sorry to have bothered you, Doctor.” The red triangle chuckled and rocked briefly in a way that reminded Stanford of someone shaking their head ruefully. “I feel so silly.”

He was grateful for the change in demeanor, though Stanford could not claim to understand it. Perhaps Euclydia placed a great deal of respect and admiration for those that sought out higher education? That would make a certain amount of sense. It would explain why his title might evoke such a response. The more he considered it, the more likely it seemed. He couldn’t help appreciating a dimension that held the pursuit of knowledge in such high esteem.

“I’m sure you understand, with his condition…” At least some of the careful pleading leaked back into her voice, but it still felt like she had more faith in him than earlier. “Of course, he hasn’t gotten in trouble in years!”

Something in the red triangle’s tone reminded Stanford of his own mother. Claiming that her children wouldn’t have caused whatever mischief that they were accused of that day or talking about her bright clever boy and little free spirit.

“With the… the medication and operation—”

Wait, what?

“—he’s completely normal now!” she insisted cheerfully. “Fits right in!”

“Oh, yes,” agreed Euclid enthusiastically, “he fits in perfectly! Model citizen. You’d think he was a Regular!”

Hissing, she said, “Euclid…”

“What?”

That sparked several questions. What surgery? Medication was less mysterious— if anyone needed to be medicated, it was Bill Cipher— but surgery was a different matter? And then they mentioned “a Regular.” That felt significant. In pure mathematical terms, any equilateral triangle would be considered a regular shape due to the identical side lengths and angles, but the way that Euclid said it felt like the term meant more.

He didn’t have enough context. And he couldn’t make the necessary inquiries without drawing attention to how he didn’t belong.

Scratching at his upper edge, Stanford bluffed slowly, “…Yes, of course.”

“Oh, where are our manners? I apologize, Doctor,” said Euclid. “We approached you on the street and certainly interrupted your work, undoubtedly making observations for your files and such, but at no point did we proper introduce ourselves before behaving so disrespectfully.”

Holding up his hands in a hopefully reassuring gesture, Stanford said, “No apologies necessary. Any parent would do the same.”

Was he about to be drawn into small talk? Polite social interactions with strangers were not his strong suit. Should he run? Maybe claim there was something behind them as a distraction? Or he could try being a bit friendlier and talk about interesting topics. That might raise fewer suspicions. There was a fascinating subspecies of moths that he encountered last autumn that he could discuss.

“Please let us correct this. My name is Euclid Kepler and I work as a clerk for the Ministry of Unity. And this is my wife, Scalene Cipher.”

“And I am truly sorry about my overreaction,” she said. “We are not normally like that. Since we moved here, no one has ever had a complaint about myself or my husband. We have always fit in well, regardless of the circumstances. I am just a little protective of my little Billy, I’m afraid.”

Stanford’s expression softened as he looked at these two. They seemed like such nice and loving parents. Far better than someone like Bill Cipher deserved. He couldn’t imagine how such a monster could come from such polite and caring people.

His apartment had a few flaws. One of them was the relatively thin walls. It was incredibly easy to hear if someone shouted on the other side. Like, to use a completely random example, his mother called out for someone’s attention outside his door. And if Bill stood close to the wall and concentrated, it was extremely simple to eavesdrop on conversations that were just on the other side. They would be a little muffled, but completely understandable.

And at first, Bill was extremely excited to hear his stalker’s voice. It had been rather disappointing not to encounter him the day before. The sound of his voice had felt like a reassurance that the strange upper-class shape hadn’t grown bored with Bill yet. Some enthusiastic part of him even briefly wondered if Mr. Death Threats had been preparing to break into the apartment before being interrupted.

But then those intriguing thoughts came to a screeching halt and all oxygen abandoned him as Bill heard his stalker finally identify himself. A name. And, more importantly, a title.

Dr. Stanford Pines.

Doctor.

Something inside Bill shrieked and panicked and cried and struggled to breathe. Terror and horror holding sway. But another more cynical part laughed. A harsh and cruel laugh at the worst joke in all of Euclydia. And he was the ultimate punchline.

“A… doctor,” he whispered shakily.

You idiot! You really thought—

“He’s a doctor…”

Stupid, gullible idiot, why—

They were still talking on the other side of the door. He could barely hear them. His mind was filled with static, sticky glasses filled with medicine that coated his mouth thickly, staring yellow eyes like malevolent eyes that eternally spied and waited for his inevitable mistakes, and sharp needles crowding around him.

A doctor. That explained everything. A ragged laugh clawed its way out of him.

Silly Billy, of course. Why else would he be interested in someone like you?

His eye already hurt, so he wanted to blame the burning on nerve pain. Except he could feel wetness escaping at the corners of his eye and leaking down his sides. He should wipe them away, but he was trapped in the paralyzing spiral of fear, horror, and self-loathing over the entire fantasy that he’d created in his mind.

Cipher, Cipher, he’s insane. Starting fires with his brain.

He should have known better. The sharp-edged laugh tore its way back out again as he stayed pressed near the door. No one wanted Bill. It was another trick. A trap to get him to admit something. No wonder there was a mention of Up. Bait for the trap. Trying to trip him up into saying something dangerous and illegal again.

The doctor said three sips a day would make the visions go away.

But he was being good. Bill choked on the familiar pleas and promises that he would try harder. He did everything that he was supposed to do. He didn’t cause trouble. He was a productive member of society. He took his medicine. He didn’t even mention the stars anymore. Why did Dr. Stanford Pines… What more did they want?

First the drugs and then the cut, when will it ever be enough?

The voices were no longer coming through the wall. Either they’d stopped talking or they’d left. Leaving him alone with the awful twisting feelings and memories of everything that they’d tried to make him normal and safe and correct.

Just fit in. Just fit in. Just fit in.

Medicine and needles and pain and judging eyes and stars fading away and a sickening murky green that spoke with a deep crushing voice that he couldn’t escape.

Just fit in, just fit in, just fit in, just fit in, just fit in—

While they’d originally intended to visit and check on Bill, the brief conversation with admittedly-eccentric Dr. Pines reassured Scalene enough that they decided not to crowd and smother their child. After all, he was an adult and independent. And while he made some mistakes regarding the details, he wasn’t completely delusional this time. He was correct that an upper-class shape had been following him.

As for the death threats…

Well, Bill always seemed to have an inexplicable dislike and distrust when it came to doctors. Which was ridiculous because he’d always had some of the most respected and skilled doctors treating him. Both surgeries were performed by Dr. Sine and he rarely involved himself unless the patient was rich, high-ranking, or particularly challenging. Everyone knew that. Agreeing to handle Bill’s unique anatomy was a generous offer and Scalene knew that there would have undoubtedly been far worse side effects if anyone else attempted either surgery.

The various doctors had always done what was best for her strange, delusional, and curious child. Those doctors always had his best interests in mind. They just wanted to take care of him and ensure that he could live a fairly Regular and healthy life, fitting in with everyone else.

But Bill didn’t like or trust his doctors for some reason. So it made sense for his odd little mind to convince himself that his new doctor was making death threats. It explained everything.

And despite that, his excitement yesterday suggested that he rather liked his new doctor. Scalene would take that small victory. Perhaps Dr. Pines would be exactly what her Billy needed.

Stan knew it was Monday. He also know that there was no such thing as Great-Uncle Day; his niece had tried to that lie before and it had been during the summer instead of late winter. And even if there was a Great-Uncle Day, he knew that they wouldn’t cancel school, no matter what Mabel might have claimed with her warm smile when she and her brother climbed onto the boat when there was barely any light and the skies were still a gloomy gray. But he wasn’t their parent. If they wanted to play hooky from school to see an old man while he was still docked close by, he wouldn’t stop them.

Instead, his early morning visitors were getting a nice fresh batch of Stancakes.

It was soothing and relaxing. The quiet sizzling of batter on a hot surface, the excited chatter of teenagers basking in the thrill of their small act of rebellion, and the improvised tune that Stan was humming as he cooked all combined into a rather peaceful morning. One that helped distract him from less pleasant concerns. No, he was going to enjoy the moment. Everything felt perfect.

No one expected the phone to ring. A landline phone that shouldn’t exist on a boat, but did. Stan nearly flipped the pancake across the galley in shock.

“Is that Great-Uncle Ford?” asked Dipper, perking up from his stack of papers that didn’t quite look like homework and was more likely his own research.

Giving the teenagers a confident and certain grin, Stan said, “Should be. Today makes a week and he promised to call by then.”

Juggling spatula and pan, Stan managed to free up a hand to grab the receiver by the third ring. He also made certain to have his back towards Dipper and Mabel. They didn’t need to see his uncertain and nervous grimace. Everything was fine and they didn’t need to worry. As far as they were concerned, there was no chance that anything could go wrong. So Stan had to make sure they believed it.

They didn’t need to think about broken portals, guilt, and decades of failure.

“Hey,” he said, keeping his voice calm and casual.

“Greetings, Stanley.”

Breathing a silent sigh of relief as a knot in his chest loosened, he whispered, “Ford.”

“Can you hear me all right?” he asked, speaking a little louder.

“Yeah,” he said, relaxing and allowing himself to finally fully believe that it was fine, “weirdly good reception for being in another dimension. Your voice sounds a little flat though.”

Stan laughed slightly at the joke. And when Ford chuckled a little too, his own smile widened. It really wasn’t that different than having his twin researching in a library while Stan tried charming the locals into sharing the gossip on the resident anomaly of a place. Divide and conquer, but still in close contact. Even if they were in different dimensions, it wasn’t like the last thirty years. He could make certain his brother was safe. They could communicate and Ford could come home when it was over. He could handle this.

“So how’s it going?” continued Stan. “You find the little yellow twerp yet?”

Ford was initially silent, giving Stan a moment to focus on breakfast preparations. And when the words came out, they were slow and even. Carefully chosen.

“…Yes, I found him.”

“Great,” he said, flipping another pancake. “So what’s the hold up? Debating whether to shoot him or stab him?”

“Do both!” shouted Mabel from the table.

“Mabel says do both,” relayed Stan in case his twin couldn’t hear her enthusiastic suggestion that far from the receiver.

The kids hadn’t exactly been thrilled initially to find out that Bill was still causing problems that needed to be sorted out. Not surprised; the worst book in the universe already proved that even death wasn’t enough to keep the pest from annoying them. But that didn’t mean they wanted Ford chasing him down alone. Dipper had asked how they could help and Mabel had simply sighed dramatically while saying Bill better not be trying to rekindle the relationship instead of moving on.

Honestly, Stan agreed with her, but Dipper was ignoring the signs and he wasn’t going to tell his nephew that there was an unfortunately decent chance that Ford might have had weird geometry sex with a triangle at some point. And he definitely wasn’t telling the young teenager about his Fearamid theories.

If the kids were going to hear about Ford’s mistakes in the bedroom, Ford would have to do it himself. Stan wasn’t touching that topic. He had his own relationship disasters; he wasn’t going to scar the kids with someone else’s.

But Stan had managed to convince them that the trip wasn’t a big deal. Basically a quick errand. Like Stan running down to the grocery store to shoplift some Pitt Cola. Then he distracted them with the idea of a world of living shapes and Ford needing to turn into a shape, causing a debate about what shapes they’d like to be. And that was enough for them to relax about it over the weekend.

Ford, however, didn’t sound relaxed. His response to the light-hearted suggestion about potential murder methods came out slow and reluctant.

“I… There’s been… It’s complicated.”

“Complicated how?” asked Stan suspiciously.

He wasn’t hurt. There was no pain in his voice and after tailing around searching for anomalies, Stan knew what his brother sounded like when he was hiding an injury. Ford was better at it than when they were kids, but Stan knew what to listen for. There was no physical pain in Ford’s voice.

But he was reluctant and conflicted. Uncomfortable in a different way. He was struggling to find the words to explain what was wrong.

Stan silently begged for it not to be a confession about giving into hate sex. Not with Dipper and Mabel in earshot.

“I need proof,” said Ford finally. “I need to know he’s really lying, that he remembers who he is and what he did. I just…” Ford sighed and Stan could easily picture his slumping shoulders and downturned eyes. An expression that always aged his spry twin an extra decade. “I need it.”

Stan might not have all the details about what was wrong or what had happened during the past week. But he knew Ford and he knew that tone. A reluctant confession for something that you could barely explain to yourself. Knowing it was foolish and irrational, but needing to try anyway.

Revenge, closure, the truth, or whatever, Ford needed more than a quick execution. Stan might try dragging a few answers from him later. But right now, the pancakes needed him to finish cooking and Ford needed to know that he wasn’t wrong to need things.

“Okay,” said Stan, quiet and firm. “You do what you gotta do.”

Breathing out an audible sigh of relief, Ford said, “Thank you for understanding.”

“Hey,” he said lightly, transferring the last of the pancakes to a plate, “this is a lot less stressful than the last time you went dimension-hopping. At least this time, I know you’re alive.”

The laugh didn’t have a lot of humor— time had helped and they could joke about it some, but it might always sting a little and stir up darker moments for both of them— but Ford still replied, “True.”

As Stan approached the table, teenaged twins perked up and started reaching in his direction. Not towards the warm pancakes with minimal hair cooked into them. Their eyes were locked on the receiver.

“Our turn!”

They very rarely did the whole twins speaking in unison thing, but it clearly happened occasionally.

“Grunkle Ford,” called Mabel, dragging out the name.

“Hi, Grunkle Ford,” yelled her brother.

Grinning and fighting back laughter, Stan said, “Okay, okay, ya little gremlins.” He set the plate of food down on the table and shifted his grip on the receiver. “Ford, remember you’re not allowed to teach them alien swear words.”

Again. Mabel memorized them far too easily and wasn’t afraid to use them while knitting. Even when no one other than Ford recognized the actual meaning of the words, the tone was universal enough that the kids’ parents were getting suspicious.

Sighing once more, Ford said wearily, “Yes, sorry.”

Stan set the phone on the table and the teenagers took that as the signal to metaphorically pounce.

“Grunkle Ford—”

“How do you eat in shape form?” asked Dipper, interrupting his sister.

“Grunkle Ford,” she said, undeterred, “yesterday I threw a marshmallow at Dipper’s face and it went up his nose and he got a nosebleed.”

“Nooo…” whined Dipper as Stan cackled. “Mabel, don’t tell him that.”

“Grunkle Ford, do you have a house there?”

“Do shapes have cars? Do you have a car?”

“Can you taste colors?” asked Mabel.

Falling into a familiar lecturing tone, but with an incredible amount of fondness in his words, Ford said, “Well, it’s interesting that you bring that up, actually. As a matter of fact, while I do not seem to be experiencing color as a taste, I have discovered that color and light seem to be an important aspect of Euclydian language. And upon adopting their form, I can ‘hear’ color.”

As Dipper and Mabel made it clear how cool they thought that was, Stan settled in his own seat and reached for some pancakes. No reason to let them get cold.

This was actually pretty nice. Granted, he would have preferred it if Ford was in the same dimension as the rest of the family. But with him chatting excitedly about nerdy stuff while the kids asked a million questions, the distance and separation didn’t seem so bad. A bit like the video-calls on the computer with Dipper and Mabel while he and Ford were at sea, but shifted around.

Yeah, he really did appreciate the weird phone. Just like the cellphone and learning to “text,” it did end up helping. As long as the Axolotl guy didn’t end up charging them extra for long-distant calls. Those fees could add up fast back in the day.