O Brother

Obsessive Reader

Preface

O Brother Posted originally on the Archive of Our Own at archiveofourown dot org U.R.L.

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply Category: Gen Fandom: Gravity Falls Relationships: Ford Pines & Stan Pines, Fiddleford H. McGucket & Ford Pines, Fiddleford H. McGucket & Stan Pines Characters: Ford Pines, Stan Pines, Fiddleford H. McGucket, Bill Cipher, Steve (Gravity Falls), Gnomes (Gravity Falls), Rico (Gravity Falls), Sergei (Gravity Falls O.C) Additional Tags: Time Travel, Alternate Universe - Timestuck (Gravity Falls), my take on timestuck, Mullet!Stan, Researcher!Ford - Freeform, Young!Pines Twins, Fluff and Angst, this will get angsty, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Everyone Needs A Hug, They'll get one eventually, Pre-Portal Incident (Gravity Falls), Bill Cipher is a Jerk, Manipulative Bill Cipher, no beta we die like Bill in the finale, Timestuck, Protective Stan Pines, Protective Ford Pines, Stan and Ford have a comfort song because why not, More tags might be added, Mild Language, First Aid, Fiddleford is an exhausted mom, Fluff, Angst, Journal 3 (Gravity Falls), help I'm hyperfixating and I can't stop, Protective Fiddleford, Smoking, stan is trying his best, (how is that not a tag?), Hurt/Comfort, Ford Pines is a Jerk, (but only for a moment I swear!), Codes & Ciphers, Blood and Violence, Brotherly Bonding, Brotherly Love, Wordcount: Over 200.000

Language: English

Stats: Published: 2023-02-16 Updated: 2025-12-14 Words: 222,361 Chapters: 45/?

by Obsessive Reader

Summary

The summer of 1966 was one of the happiest summers Stanley and Stanford ever had. It was the year they found their beloved ship and promised each other that they would one day sail in search of adventure. Unfortunately, things hardly ever seemed to go right for very long, and they soon find themselves very far from home and each other.

In January of 1982, Stan and Ford are over a thousand miles away each other when they each have a chance encounter with familiar faces.

Notes

My husband finally got me to watch Gravity Falls for the first time a few months ago, and I've got 10 years worth of obsessing to catch up on! I've been reading and looking up Timestuck au content for the last month, and it's honestly my favorite au for this series. I saw some amazing sketches by candycatstuffs on Tumblr, one in parcituclar of Mullet!Stan and Young!Ford, and it got me thinking. I haven't really seen any fics about the first generation of twins meeting their pre-portal selves, and I felt there was potential. I know I have a few other stories to complete, but when I get an idea that I just can't shake off, I have to see where it goes. This will be slow to update like the others, but so far I'm already having fun with it.

First chapter is a little short, but I'll try to make the rest longer. Leave a comment and tell me what you think.

Chapter 1: Shards in the Sand

Chapter Notes

Update, December 2024: This is just a small heads up for anyone who hasn't been here since the beginning. I started writing this in February 2023, several months before the Book of Bill was even announced, and I was already 30 chapters deep by the time I was able to read it. Because of that, there will probably be a few things that don't really align with the Book, but I'm doing my best to incorporate what I can as I go. Just figured I'd let y'all know.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

New Jersey, 1966

Glass Shard Beach might not have been the cleanest or safest beach in the world, it wasn't even the best beach in New Jersey, but the sunsets were something special. The bright colors of red, orange and pink reflected off the glass embedded in the surrounding sand, causing it to shimmer like multicolored diamonds. Oddly beautiful and obviously dangerous. One might say it was the perfect description for this town.

At the center of the beach, just off the outskirts of town, two twin boys sat beside each other on the deck of a broken ship, half shaded by an old, tattered sail. They had found the old beauty sitting in a cave only a month ago, just a few days after their 12th birthday. Any other person would have seen the vessel and declared it as forgotten trash.

As far as Stanley and Stanford were concerned, it was the coolest, most beautiful thing they had ever laid eyes on. She just needed a little fixing up.

“I've got a few more words down,” Stanley piped up brightly.

Stanford's eyes left his own notebook to look at his brother. Once the two of them had decided to fix the Stan O' War so that they could sail away in search of adventure, they had started coming up with a list of things they needed. Well, Stanford made the actual list, Stanley vocally listed things off with enthusiasm.

Wood and nails were obvious enough, and they would definitely need more paint. They would also need to figure out how to fix the sail, or just get a new one all together if- no, when they got the money for it.

Of course, there were the nonessential things. One thing Stanley was particularly fond of was the idea of them having their own shanty. His brother insisted that if they were going to be adventuring sailors, they needed their own sailor songs, not just the ones everybody already knew.

Stanford couldn't understand why at first. Neither of them were very musically talented, and it had taken days for them to even come up with the first few lines. It was, however, very fun to brainstorm lyrics with his brother, and he liked the idea of them having their own theme. Besides, he had seen the comic Stanley had written and drawn, and it wasn't bad. If he could write a whole story, he could probably write at least one song.

Stanley held out his own notebook, a spare he had borrowed from his twin. Stanford tucked his pen behind his ear before taking the book and glancing at the lines he had added.

“These are pretty good.”

Stanley smirked as he twirled his pencil between his fingers. “Eh, what can I say? I'm a savach- Ow!”

Stanford looked up to see his brother had accidently stabbed his thumb with the end of the pencil, which clattered against the wood. Stanley put his thumb in his mouth as his brother snorted.

“I think you mean 'savant',” he corrected.

“Yeah, that too.”

“I don't think I'd call either of us savants anyway,” Stanford looked down at the notebook. “You rhymed 'fun' with 'fun' twice, in the same verse, remember?”

“Yeah? And?” Stanley jabbed him hard in the shoulder. “It made you laugh, didn't it? If it's funny, then who cares?”

Stanford rolled his eyes as he handed the notebook back. “Yeah, okay.”

His brother smiled before going back to his scribbling. He frowned slightly at the paper before crossing out a word and squishing a new one in the small space next to it. Stanford took the pen from behind his ear and brought it to the paper he had been writing on when he stopped. His gazed focused on his six-fingered hand, and he felt his stomach twist. He could still remember the day they had found their ship.

So far, it was one of his happiest memories, but it was also painful. He could still hear Crampelter and his goons sneering at them, and he resisted the urge to tuck his hands into the sleeves of his jacket.

Stanford turned away from his notebook and looked out at the water beside them, the colors of the setting sun reflecting off its surface. He wasn't sure if that particular moment of bullying was what finally made them want to leave this place one day, but he certainly hoped it wasn't just a decision made in the heat of the moment. The thought of sailing with his twin, having adventures and making fascinating discoveries felt like a dream, and he hoped it would be more than just a dream one day.

“Stanley?”

“Hm?”

“Do you… do you really think we'll go sailing one day?”

The sound of pencil scratching on paper stopped. Stanford didn't turn around, waiting for a response, but it didn't come. He felt a hand grab his shoulder.

“Bro, look at me.”

He hesitated for a moment before turning to face his twin, who was looking at him with a smile that was overflowing with confidence and determination. It was the kind of smile only his brother could give.

“We promised each other, didn't we?” he asked, pointing a finger between them. “And when we promise each other somethin', we keep it, don't we?”

Stanford didn't hesitate to smile back, suddenly feeling very silly with himself. Stanley was right, of course. When the two of them set their minds to something, there was hardly anything that could stop them.

“Yeah, we do.”

Stanley's smile turned into a smirk as he playfully punched his brother's arm. Stanford laughed and punched back.

Another hour into brainstorming, and they had finally written enough to sort it all out. They each took some of what Stanford had written and some of what Stanley had come up with and mashed it together into something that could be considered a song. It was a little short, but Stanley said they could just fill in a few more verses later. Once they had a final draft, they each started writing the completed version on a clean sheet of paper in each of their notebooks. Stanley wanted to just let Stanford write it in his notebook, but his twin insisted on each of them having a copy incase something happened to one of them.

“Should we even bother with an instrument?” Stanford asked absentmindedly. “Even if it's something as simple as a flute? Or maybe a harmonica?”

“Ah, we don't need any flutes or strings,” Stanley waved him off. “The best sound you can make is what comes straight from the gut!”

“We should at least figure out the beat, though.”

Stanley frowned slightly as he thought about it, his band aid covered fingers drumming against the wood of the deck. He looked at his notebook as he formed his hand into a fist and started to lightly hit it at a slow tempo, muttering under his breath. Stanford could tell he was muttering the lyrics as his brother's eyes scanned across his own copy. Stanley shook his head before he started hitting his fist a little faster, muttering to himself as he slowly nodded his head.

“Stan. Stanley!”

“Huh?”

“It might help if we both hear it.”

Stanley spluttered and rolled his eyes. “Whatever.”

He held his notebook up to his face, his eyes going back and forth between his brother and the paper. Stanford raised an eyebrow and smirked.

“You're not gonna chicken out, are you? This was your idea.”

“What?” Stanley snapped up, a little louder than necessary. “What're you talkin' about, Sixer? Me? Chicken out? No way!”

But Stanford could see his brother's ears turning red. He decided he could tease him about it later.

“Why don't we just… sing what we each wrote,” Stanley suggested offhandedly, his eyes not meeting his twins'. “It'll be easier that way.”

Stanford could tell that he was just embarrassed to sing by himself. He couldn't blame him, he'd be embarrassed to sing by himself too. He glanced down at his copy and swallowed.

“Sure, okay.”

Stanley's smile was genuine now. He clenched his fist and started hitting the deck in the same steady beat he had before. Oh, right. Stanford wrote the first few lines. He willed his hands to stop shaking as he looked at his notebook, took a deep breath and sang his lines.

“I've been locked in the locker

I was picked last in soccer…”

His voice was soft but clear. Stanley grinned, his fist continuing the beat as he cut in.

“And they say that it's all fun

But their fun, it ain't fun

Man, I'm done…”

Stanford felt his stomach unclench as he raised his own fist and added it to the beat his brother started.

“And I know that we're different

Our beliefs and our mindsets…”

But I don't see the difference

In me, you

Yo, tu

Or moi, vous…”

“So if you've had enough, then…”

Maybe it was wishful thinking, but their theme was already starting to sound good. The more they sang, the less self-conscious they seemed to be. The twins beamed at each other, banging their fists against the wood as they sang in unison.

“Come to the land of the lost and lonely

Don't be afraid, we'll be our own family

Of freaks, like you and me

I know a place where the bruised and broken

Live like the kings and queens of tragedy

Just freaks, like you and me

We are the freaks”

Both boys were still beaming as they stopped banging their fists, their voices breaking into laughter. The whole thing was so silly, but Stanford decided he was fine with that, and it had been fun.

The things other kids would say about him, about both of them, still stung Stanford in a way he found hard to express. But he didn't need to, Stanley could read him like an open book. He decided that if people wanted to think he was a freak, at least he wasn't alone.

Pa needed their help in the pawn shop for a few days, so they weren't able to go back to the ship as soon as they would have liked. However, on the third day, Stanley accidentally knocked over a display of fake gold rings. Miraculously, nothing was damaged, but that didn't stop Pa from being upset. He must have been in a slightly better mood- if you could even call it that- because all he did was give Stanley an angry lecture and then told both boys to go out before they actually broke something.

Both boys instantly went up to their room to grab their backpacks. Stanford's still had one or two of his school books in his, but it also held a book on boat mechanics and some of his notebooks- one that was for school notes, and one that had his sci-fi sketches, the supplies list and their song lyrics. Stanley had practically dumped anything school related out of his backpack the moment summer started. It was filled with comic books, sketches of his own, and the notebook he had borrowed from his brother.

Ma had managed to stop the boys just before they ran out the door. She knew full well that they probably wouldn't be back from the beach until dinner, and she made them each take a sandwich she had made them for lunch. The boys stayed put just long enough for their ma to give them each a kiss on the cheek before they practically leapt out the door.

The streets weren't that busy today, save for a few adults here and there. Most kids made their way to the park or rode on their bikes during the summer. Hardly any of them went down to the beach, their parents being more concerned with them hurting themselves on the glass. The twins didn't mind though, they liked having the place mostly to themselves.

As they made their way to the beach, they started talking about ways they could get supplies to start fixing their ship. Stanley admitted that he was tempted to just swipe whatever they needed, but Stanford reminded him that stealing wood and tools would be more difficult than stealing an extra ice pop while the ice cream man wasn't looking. The boys decided that if they needed money to get supplies, then they would need a way to get money. They also agreed that they needed to keep their earnings hidden away somewhere, lest they lose it all to their Pa's greed.

The twins had toyed with the idea of asking their parents for allowances. Most of the kids at school had their own and were able to save up for toys, ice cream and things like that. However, they quickly decided against the idea. No doubt Pa would say no before they could even get the words out.

“What do you two need money for?” he would say. “You have a roof over your heads, clothes on your backs and food on your plates. Anything more than that is a waste of my money.”

Stanley suggested something small and simple, like a lemonade stand, but Stanford said they would need a plan that would last after the summer, when lemonade weather was over. Stanley argued that they could just switch up what products they sold as the weather changed, and his brother countered that they would likely get sand in whatever they tried to sell anyway, which would undoubtedly cause backlash.

“What about caricature drawing?” Stanley added. “Like those guys with giant sketchbooks at carnivals? We're pretty good at drawing, we could do that.”

Stanford tapped his pen against his chin as he looked down at the list he had made in his notebook. “Possibly, but we'd need sketchbooks first.”

“Pft! That's easy! We'll just use regular notebooks and offer to do some for kids at school. Most of them always have a few bucks in their pockets. Once we have enough, we'll get our own sketchbooks and do better ones for people on the street! We can go near the beach at summer, go by the diners at winter, and go to the parks in the spring.”

“What about Fall?”

“Eh, nobody really does anything then. It'd be a luck of the draw at that point anyway.”

Stanford chewed the end of his pen for a moment before giving a small nod. “Mmm… you know what? I'm gonna put it down as a maybe.”

“Good enough for me,” Stanley placed both of his hands behind his head. “If we wanna get it fixed before we finish school, we gotta get supplies and start fixin' it now.”

“I just wanna make sure we have a more concrete way of doing it. We're gonna need a lot of stuff to fix her up.”

“Yeah, but I ain't worried. Once we get the cash for it, it'll be smooth sailin' 'til she's finished. Pun fully intended-”

“I know it was intended,” Stanford said irritably, but he failed to hide his smile.

Stanley laughed as he threw an arm around his twins' shoulders. “One way or another, we're gonna ditch this place and go on epic adventures, and no one can stop us!”

Stanford chuckled. Stanley started beating his fist onto his chest, and they both started to sing in unison, unconcerned with anyone who might be listening. It was the first time since finding the Stan O' War that they felt like they really had a plan to make it all happen. Stanford knew that it would probably take years of work, and they would undoubtedly need to tweak their plan a bit as time went on, but at the same time it felt so real and assuring. As they made their way down the sidewalk, closer to the beach, he felt as though nothing could stop them.

Stanford felt his foot catch on something, causing him to trip.

His face nearly met concrete, but his brother's grip on him tightened and stopped him before he fell. He gasped as he was pulled upright, his glasses falling lopsided.

“You okay, Sixer?” Stanley asked, sounding more concerned than what was probably needed.

“Yeah,” Stanford readjusted his glasses. “I-I just… tripped on something.”

They both turned in unison to see what could have caused him to lose balance and stopped where they stood. There, laying on the concrete, was some sort of small yellow and black box. It was so odd and out of place, Stanford wondered how he could have missed it. He convinced himself that he must have been too distracted by singing to notice.

Stanley moved first and picked up the strange box. Once he got a good look at it, Stanford realized that it was some sort of tape measure, but it wasn't like any he had ever seen.

“Ha! See what I mean, Poindexter?” Stanley held up the tape measure. “Our luck's startin' to turn! We needed something like this, right? We can cross it off the list.”

“Yeah, but,” Stanford shifted uncomfortably. “It doesn't belong to us. Someone's probably looking for it.”

His twin shrugged. “Hey, if they cared about it that much, they would've come back for it by now. Besides, we need this to help with the wood and stuff, right?”

“Well, yeah…”

“There you go!”

Stanford rolled his eyes as the took the tape measure from his brother. Now that he got a closer look at it, he noticed how strange it looked. He didn't recognize the company logo, and he was confused by the two arrow buttons. He flipped it around to examine the back and froze when he saw a long crack running down the plastic.

“Aw man, it's cracked.”

“Hey, nothing a little duct tape won't fix,” Stanley reached forward and pulled the tape out. “See? Still works!”

Stanford smiled as he looked down at the tape, then frowned. Instead of inches and feet, it said things like hours, days, months and years.

“Stanley, look at this.”

Stanley looked down at the tape. “Uh, ain't that supposed to say inches or somethin'?”

“Yeah, I'm not sure what that's about,” Stanford said as he curiously pressed one of the buttons, and Stanley shrugged as he released the tape.

Stanford blinked as a bright blue light started glowing through the crack in the tape measure. Soon, the whole thing was glowing as blue sparks started shooting out of it. He gasped, his hands jerking away on instinct. The tape measure fell from his hands but Stanley caught it before it hit the ground. They both flinched as a loud whirring sound began to fill their ears.

“Ford, what's happenin'?”

“I-I don't know!”

Before either of them could say or do anything, there was a bright flash of light. Stanford heard his brother yell his name before everything went dark.

Chapter End Notes

Zh Duh Wkh Iuhdnv eb Mrugdq Fodunh 55 d ixfnlqj ers!

Chapter 2: A Different Place...

Chapter Notes

I tried so hard to make Stan's section just a bit longer, but I couldn't figure out how to fill it. I think it's done pretty good anyway, though. Let me know what you guys think!

See the end of the chapter for more notes

New Mexico, 1982

Stan was feeling, not necessarily happy, but definitely lighter than usual. He had spent the last few days at a casino across town and had somehow managed to walk away with almost 500 bucks. It was the most money he had on him at once in a long time. He would be able to afford a few more nights at the motel, and he could get gas and cheap food for at least a week or two. That would give him plenty of time to try to come up with more cash.

Stan stuffed his hands into his jacket pockets as he made his way down the sidewalk. He was glad he had gone to the casino furthest from where he was staying. He was certain he would slip up and end up banned eventually, and it was easier to run when he didn't live right next door.

Stan looked up as he noticed a bright light ahead of him. It was a small 24hour waffle diner. He had passed by it a couple of times since coming to this town and had contemplated going in, but even if he had wanted to pay for anything he hadn't had any money for it before. As if on cue, his stomach rumbled loudly. It had been almost two days he had eaten anything. It wasn't the first time he had gone without eating- hell, it wasn't even the longest time- but he was still tempted.

He stood by the doorway for a few moments before finally deciding to go inside. Only half of the booths were full but it didn't seem too busy. Stan slid into the booth right beside the door- just incase he decided or needed to run- and grabbed one of the menus that were propped on the wall side of the table. Not even a minute later, a pretty waitress with a messy bun and bags under her eyes approached him.

“How're you doing this evening?” she asked in a tired voice, not even waiting for him to answer. “Can I start you off with a coffee or something?”

“Just water's fine.”

“Sure thing, take your time.”

The waitress walked away to get his water. Stan tried to get comfortable in his booth, but couldn't help glancing around the diner. He had allowed himself to get too comfortable a few times before, and it had always ended poorly for him. It was only part of the reason why he had dined and dashed so often, besides the lack of money of course. This place was nice, he'd like to come back at least a couple times before he was put on their personal ban list.

The waitress came back with a tall glass of water after only a minute. Stan offhandedly said that she was a tall glass of water herself, but she just rolled her eyes. Eh, still a better reaction than what he usually got. Last time he had tried to flirt, he had just narrowly avoided a right hook from the woman's husband, who had literally appeared out of nowhere. He was never able to go back to that sandwich shop again.

Stan ordered a cheeseburger and fries, and she took his menu without saying a word. Stan huffed irritably, but he couldn't blame her. It had been while since he had been able to shower and his jacket was a little grungy.

Stan found himself looking around the diner again, just to make sure that no one was looking in his direction. As he did, his gaze landed on a table in the far corner of the diner. It was occupied by what appeared to be a father and his two kids, an older boy and a smaller girl.

The father was in a white button-up and tie, his jacket sitting in a lump beside him, and he appeared to be taking notes as he sipped his coffee. Probably had just gotten off work. The boy appeared to be teasing his little sister, who giggled loudly through a mouthful of waffle.

Stan realized about a second too late that he was staring, and he immediately turned to look down at his glass. It couldn't be avoided, really. There were billions of people in the word, running into siblings was unavoidable.

Surprisingly, he had only come across one pair of twins in the last 10 years. It was at a gas station when he was still in Texas. Two girls, probably around 12, were debating which candy bar they should pick out while he paid for only half a tank of gas. They had seemed adamant about getting the same candy but were arguing over two different kinds. Stan remembered taking out what little cash he had slowly so he could see how the argument ended (he was mostly curious to see who got slapped first). Both girls suddenly agreed on a completely different third candy, and Stan had stomped out of the station disappointed.

Seeing siblings getting along with each other stirred something inside him in an unpleasant way. It forced his mind to think of moments that were once pleasant but now only made him feel sick. He remembered how, for the first few weeks on his own, he would wake up after finding a mostly secluded spot to crash and immediately think he was still in his bunk bed at home before realizing how cold he was. One time he dreamed he was sitting in the kitchen for breakfast, and even when he woke up, he could still smell the polluted air mixed with the pleasant aroma of his mom's coffee. Stan promised himself he would call her as soon as he had some quarters to spare.

It had been almost 10 years since he had been kicked out of the family- 10 years since he had watched those curtains close- and it was just as hard to think about now as it was then. He was just better at keeping it hidden now.

Stan was snapped out of his stoper when a plate was suddenly placed in front of him.

“Can I get you anything else?” the waitress asked in a bored voice.

“Nah, thanks.”

She scribbled on her pad, placed the bill in front of him and walked away. Stan stared down at his food, feeling significantly less hungry than before, his stomach twisted in knots. He knew he would have to eat though. It had been so long since he had eaten a hot meal, and he was not letting the opportunity go to waste, especially over some stupid old feelings that he should have gotten over by now.

Stan hunched over his plate and forced some fries into his mouth, ignoring memories of stealing fries off his twins' plate when he wasn't looking.

Gravity Falls 1982

Stanley felt his feet temporarily lift up before he immediately fell and tumbled to the ground, landing on his knees and forearms. He groaned as he managed to push himself up with his free hand, his other hand still holding the tape measure. He could feel dirt and rocks bury into his skin. But… shouldn't it have been concrete?

He blinked a few times until his vision finally returned. When it did, he saw that he seemed to be crouched in the dirt. Stanley whipped around and had to grit his teeth to keep himself from gasping.

He was no longer on the sidewalk in the middle of town, but was kneeling in the middle of a forest. Pine trees taller than he could see towered over him, surrounding him on all sides. He heard something scamper across the high branches and a woodpecker from somewhere behind him.

“Ooookay…” he muttered as he slowly pushed himself up to sit on his knees. “This… is fine. I'm just dreamin'. Yeah! I fell and knocked my brain loose, that's all this junk is. Right, Sixer?”

Stanford didn't respond. Stanley turned around, thinking he might have been too shocked to talk, and found himself completely alone.

“Sixer? Ford…?”

He whipped his head all around him, looking for any sign of his twin and finding none. He quickly pushed himself up to his feet and stared out into the trees, his mind buzzing. Stanford was standing right next to him not even seconds ago, where could he have gone?

He quickly reached over to pinch his upper arm hard, and yelped as he felt the pain. Okay… maybe he wasn't dreaming.

Stanley wiped his hand on his shirt to get rid of the dirt as he looked down at the tape measure in his other hand. The crack on the back was larger now, and he could see the inside of it. He wasn't sure what the inside of a tape measure was supposed to look like, but he was certain it wasn't supposed to have electrical parts that beeped and lit up. He thought about how the device had sparked and lit up, blinding him only moments ago. He remembered hearing his brother yell out before going quiet. Now he was all alone.

Stanley glared down at the little box, his grip on it tightening. This stupid sci-fi junk had gotten him separated from his brother and dropped him into a dumb mess of trees. He wanted to crush it with his bare hands. He wanted to throw it at a nearby trunk and watch it fall to pieces. He wanted to take his foot and stomp it into the dirt.

But then he thought… what would Stanford do? He would probably tell Stanley to calm down and stop him from breaking it, if nothing else to keep his brother from hurting himself. He would probably tell him some nerd junk, like “if this thing brought us here, it could probably bring us back,” and Stanley would probably roll his eyes and insist that they should dump it before it does something else to them.

But he knew he was right. Stanford was always right, even if he wasn't there.

So, gritting his teeth and huffing through his nose, Stanley took off his backpack, yanked open the flap and angrily shoved the tape measure inside. He quickly threw the straps on his shoulders before he could be tempted to change his mind. He turned around to face the forest, brushing his bangs out of his face.

Dream or not, he wasn't doing himself any favors by staying here. He couldn't see anything besides trees all around him. He really wished he had a compass, like the explorers in the stories he and his twin had read.

He could probably find his way eventually if he did. He vaguely recalled Stanford telling him that the wind blew from west to east in Jersey, and that it was a good way to know what direction you were facing when you had no other way. That is… if he was even in New Jersey anymore. Stanley quickly shook that thought out of his head. He couldn't remember seeing any forests like this around home, but he couldn't be that far, could he?

Stanley stuck a finger in his mouth and held it up into the air. After a moment the wind blew on the back of his finger- presumably from the west. He turned his head to the side in the direction he assumed was north, shrugged, and started to make his way in that direction.

His shoes crunched on the ground as he forced himself through the trees, the smell of pine thick in his nose. If fact, the air itself smelled clearer than he could remember it ever being. He might have enjoyed it more if he weren't lost and alone. Stanford would have liked it.

Stanley had spent what felt like an hour calling out for his brother, hoping that maybe they weren't that far from each other. He only stopped when his throat became dry, and his voice went hoarse. After that, the only sounds were his own footsteps and the distant woodpeckers.

After what may have been two hours of walking- he had a sudden desire to own a watch- Stanley groaned and huffed, leaning back against a tree trunk. The ground was so rough and jagged compared to what he was used to, and his feet had started to grow sore. This crap ain't working, he thought to himself as he folded his arms.

He needed to do something else before he ended up going in circles. Stanley looked up to the sky, or about as well as he could through the thick canopy of pine. If he wasn't so scared of heights, he could climb one of these trees and get a better view from above. No way that was happening, even thinking about it made him nauseous.

He was just contemplating taking a break and eating the sandwich Ma had made, because what else is he going to do, when he heard it. Soft muttering from somewhere behind him. Stanley whipped around but couldn't see anyone. He opened his mouth to call out for his brother, but he stopped himself. If it had been Stanford, surly he would've been calling out for Stanley as well, and he wouldn't be whispering.

Stanley gripped the straps of his bag as he slowly made his way towards the whispering. As he got closer and it slowly got louder, he could tell that it definitely wasn't his brother. The voice was clearly older, but oddly pitched.

He could also hear some strange clicking and chirping but couldn't identify what it was coming from. No matter how carefully he stepped, the leaves continued to crunch under his feet, but he kept moving forward.

Before he knew it, the voices were practically beside him, right behind the tree in front of him.

“Look, all I'm saying is, squirrel baths are a perfect substitute hygienically speaking, as well as a fun pass time.”

Stanley placed a hand on the trunk as he leaned over as far as he could. He blinked once, twice, three times just to make sure he wasn't seeing things. Standing on the other side of the trunk was a large squirrel sitting on its' hind legs, and standing in front of it was a little man with a beard and pointy red hat. He looked like one of those figurines Stanley had seen in neighbors' windows, but he couldn't remember what they were called.

“You would of course be compensated with as many nuts as you deem appropriate for your time,” the little man continued.

The squirrel seemed to shake its head and chirped sharply.

“Hey now, that's a little high, don't you think? I'm not asking for much here.”

The squirrels' head suddenly snapped to face Stanley, and he froze where he stood. The little man made a confused noise and whipped around to face him too.

For 3 seconds, they all stared at each other in silence. Stanley was the first to break it.

“Am I… interuptin' somethin'?” he asked, uncertainly.

The bearded man glanced back at the squirrel before folding his arms. “Yes, as a matter of fact, you are. What the heck are you doing here?”

That was a loaded question that Stanley was not prepared to answer even if he wanted to. He decided to ask another question.

“Uh… you're not like a leprechaun or somethin', right?” he asked before quickly shaking his head. “No no! I'm thinkin' of somethin' else, aren't I?”

“Leprechaun?!” the little man shrieked. “What the- are you blind?! I'm a gnome, you dope!”

“Hey, I ain't a freakin' dope!” Stanley snapped, taking a step forward. “You're the weirdo havin' secret meetings with squirrels in the woods.”

“Shut up and buzz off, kid!”

“Why don't you make me, huh?!”

In retrospect, that might have been a mistake. However, Stanley would argue that it was good to make a few mistakes. It was probably the best way to learn anything. Today, he learned that he should never antagonize a gnome, especially if he didn't know how many friends he had around him.

The giant gnome was halfway formed before Stanley finally came to his senses and started running. He didn't know where he was going, all he knew was that he had to get as far away as possible. He had only run for about 10 seconds before he felt the ground start shake with a loud thump… thump… thump…

He grunted as he bounced off the trunks he sped by, not even caring as his arms stung on impact. He could feel the steps getting closer and closer, the ground rumbling so hard that he nearly tripped over his own feet. The trees started to thin out slightly, and the sun shined so brightly that he was blind. Stanley raised a hand to cover his eyes, and suddenly felt his foot drop onto nothing.

Whoever decided that steep drop-offs in the middle of the woods were a good idea deserved to go to prison. That was all Stanley could think as his body fell over the edge. He slammed onto his back, heard a loud crack and his body tumbled into the dirt. He felt something sharp scrap his knee and the stings from the splinters on his arms as he eventually rolled over and stopped.

He groaned as he spat dirt out of his mouth, then gasped as he scrambled to his knees, reaching for his backpack. The loud thuds from behind him felt much farther away than they actually were.

Stanley had broken too many things in the past to not expect it at this point. Despite what most people thought, he didn't do most of it on purpose. That being said, he had a bad habit of breaking a lot of things. Displays from the shop, dinner plates, figurines… things that weren't easy to fix or replace, and there was only one thing in his bag that could make that sound and couldn't be replaced.

Stanley reached into the bag with shaking hands and pulled out the tape measure- both halves of it. Wires and metal pieces protruded out from the open parts. He still didn't understand what this thing was supposed to be, and it was clearly too complicated for him to even try, but he did understand that it was busted. He had no idea how to fix this, or if he even could fix it. His hands started to shake more severely.

“Aw no, what did I do?” he asked in a tearful voice.

It was almost funny. A few hours ago, Stanley would've been glad to see this stupid thing in pieces. Now, he felt like he was seconds away from- No! Don't freaking cry!

The ground suddenly shook very hard as something blocked the sun from behind him. The parts fell back into the bag as he whipped around and yelped when he saw the giant gnome towering over him. The smaller gnomes that it was made of glared and snarled at him, and a few shouted curses. The gnome at the very top, the one Stanley had insulted, was staring directly at him.

“We'll teach you to mess with gnomes, brat!”

Stanley grabbed his backpack, not even bothering to put it on, and started sprinting again. He heard the top gnome yell at his buddies and the ground started shaking again. Stanley noticed that there were large fallen branches all around him and he started jumping the avoid tripping over them. Unfortunately, luck just wasn't on his side today.

Just as he jumped over a particularly large branch, he felt his foot land in a mess of exposed roots, and he fell forward. His backpack fell out of his grip and landed about a foot away from him. Stanley pushed himself up to reach for his bag, but something caught on his foot.

He whipped around to see that his foot was caught in the roots and immediately tried yanking it out but found himself unable to pull himself free. The giant gnome was right above him now, reaching a large, menacing hand out to grab him.

Stanley yelled as he shut his eyes and turned away. He expected to feel something large grab him before being bitten and scratched by the little weirdos. Instead, he heard a loud crash and shouts of surprise. Stanley opened his eyes and saw the giant made of gnomes crumbling to the ground. The gnomes seemed to be fearfully looking at something behind him before they started to scamper away, most on all fours.

Stanley sat up and stared at the gnomes as they ran away. It wasn't until the last gnome left his line of sight that he noticed that he was still in shadow. He gulped as he slowly raised his head to look above him, wondering how much weirder this could get.

The answer was a lot.

A very large hand, covered in wood and moss, was hanging directly above him. As soon as Stanley saw the hand, it began slowly lowering towards him. He gasped and raised his hands above his head, unsure of what else to do at this point.

The hand grabbed the large root Stanley was stuck on between its pointer finger and thumb and gently lifted it up. Stanley stared for about two seconds before he quickly shuffled back a few feet. Once he did, the hand released the root, letting it slam to the ground. The hand then gently settled itself on the forest floor just a few feet beside Stanley. He ended up staring at it for so long that he noticed it wasn't covered in wood and moss, it was wood and moss.

Stanley braced himself for weirdness as he slowly turned to see who or what the hand belonged to and found himself surprised for a different reason. He could just barely make out a large outline in the trees, and one large eye peeking through the thick branches, but aside from that and the hand, that was it. Whoever they were, they were clearly huge and staying hidden on purpose.

“Y-you-” Stanley's voice was faint, and he cleared his throat. “Did you… just stop those guys?”

The eye blinked down at him, but the creature didn't verbally respond. Stanley gulped.

“You, ah… didn't do that just so you could eat me instead, huh?” he asked, trying to mask the worry in his voice.

The eye seemed to shake from side to side in the shadows. Stanley took that as a no, and felt only slightly relieved.

“I, uh… thanks!” he added, shrugging. “Guess I owe you one.”

Still no response. Stanley slowly pushed himself to his feet and winced as his knee started stinging. He looked down and saw that a hole had torn in his jeans at the knee, which was bleeding slightly. He must have skinned it when he tumbled over the drop-off.

Stanford almost always had a few bandages on him since, of the two of them, Stanley tended to get scrapped up more than him. But, even if his twin had some in his bag, neither of them were here now. Stanley was more concerned with the hole in his jeans than his injury though.

“Aw man, Pa's gonna kill me.”

Stanley huffed as he picked up his bag and threw it over his shoulders. The strange forest giant didn't move or say anything the entire time. Once he was settled, Stanley turned to face his apparent rescuer.

“You're, uh… you're not gonna tell anyone I screamed like a girl, right?”

No response.

“Who are you? Do you have a name?”

Silence.

“You shy or somethin'?”

The giant didn't say anything, but the large eye suddenly glanced down, and one of the fingers started digging circles in the dirt. It looked… embarrassed.

“Hey, it's fine, man,” Stanley said quickly, waving his hands in front of him. “I get it, talkin' is hard sometimes. My brother's bad at talkin' to people too, I can usually speak enough for the both of us. Teachers at school say I'm “such a chatter box.”

The eye looked back at him and squinted, as if the face behind the darkness was smiling. Stanley grinned back, and then he stopped.

“Hey, you haven't seen my brother around here, have you? Looks just like me, 'cept he's got glasses and six fingers on each hand. Probably wearin' a jacket?”

The eye widened slightly, staring down at him as the silence stretched. Then it blinked, and the hand suddenly flipped over, palm up. Stanley stared at it as the fingers curled in a 'come on' kind of gesture.

“You… wanna take me to him?”

The giant didn't say anything but continued to curl its fingers. He took that to mean yes. Even though Stanley couldn't see the entirety of the giant, he could still tell that it was big, and if he was picked up, he would be very high in the air. That thought alone was enough to make his knees shake, though he would never admit it. However, the prospect of finding Stanford outweighed his fear.

Stanley gripped the straps of his bag tightly as he slowly made his way closer to the hand. He placed one foot onto the palm but hesitated.

“Listen, I… got a problem with heights, so… just don't drop me, okay?”

The eye blinked, almost as if it were nodding. Stanley took a deep breath and stepped into the center of the palm before sitting down. The texture was strange, a weird combination of skin and wood. The hand started to rise, and Stanley yelped as he gripped the large thumb and closed his eyes.

“I hate this, I hate this, I hate this…” he whispered to himself.

Stanley was too many feet in the air to count before the hand stopped. He refused to open his eyes as he felt himself move, gripping the thumb tightly. He could hear the heavy steps as the giant made their way through the forest, and the scampering of creatures down below.

He dared to peek one eye open at one point and had to stop himself from vomiting. He couldn't see anything except the pine trees moving past him, but he could still tell that he was much higher than he was supposed to be.

Stanley never let go of the thumb, telling himself that he was doing this for Stanford and that it would be over soon. Plus, now he'd have an epic story to tell him. He would have to alter some details to make himself sound a bit more heroic, but he swore to stay mostly loyal to the plot.

Just as the trees started to thin out more the hand suddenly dropped, and Stanley felt his stomach lurch. Once the hand had reached the ground, the thumb, which he was still holding in a death grip, nudged him gently. Stanley swallowed as he slowly released his grip, and the hand tilted so that he gently slid onto his feet on the ground. His knees buckled slightly but he managed to stay standing.

Once he had shaken himself off, Stanley noticed that he was standing on a dirt road. He could see tire tracks embedded in the ground. He turned to look up at the eye again.

“Where is he?”

Stanley followed the hand as it rose and pointed to his left, down the end of the road. Stanley looked back at the eye, now annoyed.

“Why didn't you take me there then?”

The hand pointed back in the same direction, then waved a finger in a disapproving way.

“You… can't go any farther?”

The hand gave him a thumbs up.

“That's convenient,” Stanley muttered before raising his voice. “But, I'll find him?”

The eye blinked like it was nodding again. Stanley glanced down the road before looking back at the eye. As weird as this all was (part of him was still trying to convince himself that he was dreaming) he had been glad to not be alone for a while. That being said, he was going to listen to them, even if it meant being alone for a little while longer. Even he wasn't stupid enough to argue with someone who was as big as a building, even if that someone had been proven to be a friend of sorts.

“Hey,” he spoke up. “Thanks for helping me out. You really saved my butt back there.”

The eye squinted like it was smiling again. The hand raised a finger over to him, and gently rubbed the top of Stanley's head, tousling his hair. Stanley couldn't help but chuckle. He only let them do it for about three seconds before he snorted and pushed the finger away.

“Yeah, yeah,” he grinned. “See yah around, okay?”

The eye blinked at him twice before slowly turning and the hand pulled back into the trees. The giant stomped away, going who know where. Stanley stood there and waited as the steps faded into nothing before turning back in the direction they had pointed. He wasn't sure where he was headed, but if Stanford was there, then he should be too.

“I'm gonna find you, Sixer. I promise.”

Chapter End Notes

Zdiioh Krxvh dw 3dp klwv gliihuhqw

Chapter 3: ...A Different Time

Chapter Notes

This chapter is a little short, but I hope you guys like it.

Warning: Stanford has a small panic attack, but I promise it'll be okay.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Gravity Falls 1982

Ford faded into consciousness, his eyes slowly blinking open, the sun from the study window shining on his face. His glasses were sitting on his nose at a weird angle, and it only took him a moment to register that his face was pressed into the surface of his wooden desk. He didn't have to reach up to tell that there was an imprint on his cheek.

He groaned as he slowly sat up in his chair, feeling his spine crack as he did so. He noticed a slight weight on his shoulders and realized that there was a blanket draped over himself. He didn't remember putting that on the previous night- he never tried to make himself too comfortable when he was working, he was trying to stay away after all- so he could only assume that Fiddleford must have put it there.

Ford ran a hand through his hair as he readjusted his lopsided glasses. He had spent another night going over his notes and plans for the portal instead of sleeping. He was certain Fiddleford would have some choice words for him. He was surprised his assistant hadn't woken him up just to scold him for it. Of course, even if he had, Ford would argue that sleep was nothing more than a speedbump on the road to progress. They were only a week away from being ready to test the portal.

How could anyone possibly relax or sleep when they were so close to making history? Though he wasn't interested in sleeping more than necessary, he tried to not be too irritated with his friend. At the end of the day, Fiddleford was a good person who did what he could to help him, and not just with his savvy technical abilities.

Hell, if it wasn't for him, Ford would've run out of food more times than he cared to count. He would survive off nothing but white bread and coffee until their project was done if he was allowed.

“Don't forget what happened to Icarus,” Fiddleford had said as he dragged himself to bed well after midnight.

“He didn't flap hard enough,” Ford had answered.

Ford huffed as he stood up, pulling the blanket off his shoulders and folding it before hanging it on the back of the chair. He wasn't sure why he was so adamant about staying up so late anymore. After all, his Muse had so kindly and brilliantly offered him a perfect solution.

He had managed to get even more work done ever since he had allowed him to use his body while he rested. They were months, probably years ahead of schedule than they would be otherwise. The only drawback was the stinging that lingered in his right eye, but he was managing that just fine. A few pain killers and a monocle and he was alright to keep working. He simply chalked it up to being another limitation of his mortal form, of which there were many as his Muse constantly informed him.

But, even with his help, Ford was determined to see it through as much as he could. He didn't want to slack off and leave all the work up to him. How could he take credit for the work if he allowed someone else to do it all for him? If he wanted to be recognized amongst giants like Tesla and Einstein, then he needed to put in as much effort as his body would allow.

That being said, he could probably afford a few minutes to make himself a sandwich or something. At the very least, it would prevent a curt lecture from his assistant.

Ford made his way out of his study and headed upstairs. He knew Fiddleford had mentioned wanting to go into town to pick up more groceries, but he figured there must be something in the fridge. He walked into the kitchen and opened it up, relieved to find some prepackaged roast beef and a few slices of cheese still left. He placed them both on the counter as he reached for the pantry to pull out the bread.

Roast beef sandwiches had been his favorite ever since he was a kid. He could remember the countless times his mom would make them for lunch and give them to him in a small brown bag. There were plenty of days where bullies would take, eat or simply destroy his lunch just for a laugh, but the times were the bag actually made it with him to lunch time were great. Ma used to cut the crusts off for him when he was small, but as he grew up he insisted he needed to be more mature and eat it with them on. Sometimes though, when they were all running late in the morning and moving in a rush, she would still cut them off out of habit. Odd, considering it would take less time to just leave them on. Stanford had always felt slightly embarrassed when this happened and he pulled his sandwich out at school, but he didn't mind too much. He thought it was kind of sweet. Sometimes, she would be in such a rush she would accidentally give him the wrong lunch bag, and he would always have to trade it back with Stanley, who always preferred peanut butter and jelly.

Stanford felt himself freeze, his arm hanging in midair as he reached into the cabinet for a plate. He wasn't sure why his mind had brought that up out of nowhere. He was just thinking of home, but thinking of home meant thinking about…

Stanford could already feel himself growing frustrated as he thought about it. He shook his head as he pulled out a plate and assembled his lunch.

It shouldn't be that surprising really. Sandwiches were connected to his childhood, and his childhood was connected to his twin. Of course, his mind would go there. It couldn't be avoided completely, despite his best efforts to ignore it. It hadn't just happened during mundane moments of the day either, sometimes it would happen while he was researching or sketching in his journal.

He had always mentally kicked himself anytime he caught himself adding small notes that mentioned Stanley before hastily scribbling them out. If it wasn't for the fact that he was worried about running out of room, he would just rip the page out and start all over. He was certain that he would need a new journal once the portal was finished anyway.

No doubt the rest of his third volume would be filled quickly once they successfully tested the portal. He could only imagine what new discoveries he would be able to research and catalog in great detail.

And there he goes, using his work to take his mind off his frustrations. Well, it was certainly better than thinking about him. Anything was better than thinking about him. But, even as he thought that, something in his gut twisted like it was fighting against it. Ford told himself it was just hunger and finished cutting his sandwich.

As he placed the knife in the sink, Ford glanced at his watch and was startled to discover that it was 3 30 PM. How long had he been out? Why had it taken him this long to notice? Even if he had a way of getting work done while he slept, he couldn't just sleep the day away like this!

Part of him wondered if perhaps he should take Fiddleford's advice and rest a little more to avoid moments like this, especially since he had a way around it anyway. That part was outweighed by his determination to see this project all the way through without fail. Without hesitation, Ford hurried to make his way down to the basement, his sandwich laying forgotten on the counter.

New Mexico 1982

Stanford felt something lift him up off the ground before he tumbled over his own feet and fell on his back. His glasses were knocked so loose that they fell off his face and landed on his chest. He quickly scrambled to pick them up and felt around for cracks before placing them back on properly.

He blinked several times when he found himself staring at a brick wall, and it was much darker outside than it had been a moment ago. He could see a dimly lit backdoor with an 'Employees Only' sign and saw a cat crawling along the edge of the nearby dumpster. The air was warm and smelled earthier than it had been before, and he could hear a car honk loudly in the distance.

“Wh-what- Where are we?”

But Stanley didn't respond. Stanford turned his head and found that he was only one sitting on the pavement.

“S-Stanley?”

The only response was another distant honk and the squeaking of tires. Stanford took a shaking breath as he pushed himself to his feet, his legs trembling.

“Stanley!”

The cat whipped around, its' yellow eyes narrow as it hissed at him, and Stanford turned and ran around the other side of the building. He didn't get very far though and quickly skidded to a halt as it somehow became darker. He looked all around and realized that he appeared to be in some alleyway. He had been in Glass Shard his whole life and had never seen an area like this, and he and Stanley practically knew the town like the back of their hands at this point.

But Stanford was far less concerned about that and more concerned about the fact that Stanley wasn't here. Stanley was standing right beside him less than a minute ago and now he was gone.

He could feel his heart begin to race as he looked all around and found nothing but darkness and litter. His feet stumbled until he was standing with his back pressed against the brick wall, one shaking hand clutching at his chest. This couldn't be happening! Stanley was standing right next to him. How could he just disappear?

Or maybe he was the one who disappeared? Was his brother still home or had he ended up somewhere else too? Did he know where Stanford was? He couldn't remember the last time he had ever been alone, now he was alone and…lost.

Stanford could feel his whole body shaking now, his head spinning and chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath. He closed his eyes, ignoring the smells and sounds around him, and tried to picture himself at home.

This sort of thing had happened to him only one other time. It was at the beginning of the previous school year, and he and his brother were tasked with doing the dishes again. For once, Stanford had been the one with butterfingers and he had accidentally dropped Pa's coffee mug, breaking it into several pieces.

He hardly ever broken anything, let alone one of Pa's things, and it had caused him to go into a full-blown panic. He was unable to breath and had been close to tears. He had been grateful that their parents and Shermie weren't anywhere around, but he had still been embarrassed to fall apart like that in front of his twin. It was so bad he nearly passed out, Stanley had to help him sit on the floor and calm down him down.

“Ford, it's okay! It'll be okay,” Stanley had assured him, holding his twins' hand in both of his own. “I break stuff all the time, it ain't so bad. Sixer, come on, you're scarin' me.”

“I- I c-can't-” Stanford had stuttered, unable to speak.

“Hey, you're gonna pass out,” Stanley had sat beside him, still holding his hand. “Just… try to breathe with me, okay? That's it, buddy.”

It had taken an embarrassingly long amount of time before Stanford was even able to speak again, let alone breathe properly. But Stanley hadn't teased or joked for a single second; that was all Stanford had needed to know that his twin had taken it seriously. They had sat on the kitchen floor, breathing together until Stanford finally had the strength to stand up again.

Once everything had settled, they quickly finished the rest of the dishes before immediately running upstairs to grab some glue. They had spent nearly an hour trying to piece the mug back together. It seemed… stable enough, though they both knew that Pa would never be able to drink from it again. They had placed it in the very back of the cabinet, hoping that he wouldn't notice for a while.

Pa noticed the very next morning. He had immediately called them both downstairs and demanded to know who was responsible for making him have to buy another mug. Stanford remembered trembling as he stood there, hands behind his back. However, Stanley had opened his mouth before Stanford could even react and said that he had dropped it and tried to fix it. Of course, Pa had yelled at him, called him a knucklehead, and put him on solo sweep duty in the shop for the whole week.

Stanford knew he couldn't say anything then. If Pa had found out that Stanley had lied, not only would they both have faced punishment, but Stanley's would've been far worse. Stanford knew that letting his twin take the fall was wrong, but he also knew it would have been much worse if the truth had been revealed.

Stanley wouldn't have wanted him to say anything anyway, and he hadn't been bitter with his twin at all for that entire week during his punishment. Stanley always seemed to do everything he could to protect his brother, whether it was from bullies at school, adults they had caught staring, or their Pa when he was angry. It was amazing how naturally the instinct came to him.

This time though, Stanley wasn't there to tell him that he was alright, that he was safe. Heck, he wasn't sure if he even was safe. But he knew that he wouldn't get anywhere at all if he couldn't move.

So, he slowly lowered himself onto the ground, clasped his hands together close to his chest, and tried to picture his twin telling him to breathe. He inhaled through his nose as slowly as he could, and then exhaled through his mouth. He repeated this several times, each time imagining that the hand squeezing his was his brothers'.

It wasn't as helpful as it had been before, but Stanford soon found himself able to breathe steadily. That's it, buddy. Once he thought he had the strength for it, he slowly and carefully pushed himself to his feet.

For a while, all he could do was stand there, staring at the ground, holding onto the straps of his backpack as though they were a lifeline. He took another deep breath in, and looked up the alley where he could see the road. If he was going to get anywhere and find his brother, he would have to start moving. His knees shook as his feet slowly carried him out to the edge of the alley.

Even once he reached the street, Stanford still had no idea where he was. He couldn't see any street signs, and there weren't any cars around for him to read the license plates. As he looked around, he realized he was standing between a convenient store and a pizza shop, both of which were closed. He noticed a few smaller signs in the windows that were written in Spanish.

He looked to the left, then to the right. After a few moments of debating, he went left. He wasn't sure what he was going to do, but he needed to figure out where he was. Maybe that would help him find Stanley faster.

After just a few minutes of walking, Stanford noticed a bright light up ahead and saw what looked like a small diner that was thankfully still open. It was full of people, most of whom were wearing very strange clothes. It was the first sign of life he had seen since being dropped here.

He thought about going inside and asking one of the workers for directions, but the prospect of talking to strangers- strangers in an unknown area, no less- made him nervous. He shook his head. He couldn't afford to let his nerves get in the way right now, he had to figure out where he was and find his brother.

Taking a deep breath, Stanford forced himself through the front door. He was immediately welcomed with warm air and the smell of grease. He could see over a dozen booths, only half of which were full, and one row of stools. Chefs and waitresses seemed to be just on the other side of the counter, moving around and quickly calling orders out to each other. No one seemed to glance in his direction when he entered, and he was grateful for that.

He was trying to pluck up the courage to ask somebody for directions when a pretty waitress with brunette hair in a messy bun walked in his direction. She looked at him with tired eyes, but her face lit up when she saw him.

“Hey there, sweetheart,” she spoke in a sweet voice. “You hungry? You can sit wherever you like.”

“Oh, n-no,” he said quickly. “I'm not here to eat, I-I don't have any money.”

She frowned slightly. “Oh? Are you looking for someone?”

“Sort of. I'm, uh… I'm a little lost. Could you tell me where I am?”

She raised an eyebrow at him. “You're in Santa Fe, hon. We're on West Alameda St.”

Stanford took a moment to process what she had said. Santa Fe… that was in New Mexico, on the other side of the country. He wasn't even in New Jersey anymore.

“Santa Fe… right…” Stanford tried to not let the worry show in his voice. “Alameda St…”

“Hey, if you know where you need to go, there's a bus stop just up the road that way,” the waitress said, gesturing in the direction he had just come from outside. “You sure you don't want something to eat first? I could probably grab you a couple of biscuits from the back.”

She said the last part in a hushed tone, giving him a wink. Stanford almost didn't hear her, his head still reeling. He appreciated her kindness, but he didn't want to risk getting either of them in trouble. He was already in enough trouble at the moment.

“No thanks, my ma made me a sandwich. Thank you though.”

“No problem, hon.”

The waitress walked away to help a customer in a nearby booth. Stanford stood there for only a second before turning and walking back out the door. The chilly air made the hair on the back of his neck stand up, or maybe it was already like that.

His brain was still trying to register what she had told him. He had apparently been teleported in the middle of New Mexico. That left him with more questions than answers.

He glanced in the direction the waitress had pointed and slowly began making his way down the sidewalk. His mind immediately went back to the moment before he had ended up here. He thought about how the strange tape measure had glowed and sparked, and how he had been literally dropped in a different location. It was like something out of one of Stanley's comic books.

He remembered how Stanley had screamed his name before being blinded. He also remembered that Stanley had been holding the tape measure when it all happened. Wherever his twin was, it was possible he still had it. Which meant that, even if Stanford could figure out how the device worked, he couldn't even use it to get back.

Even more reason to find his brother sooner rather than later. Stanford didn't like thinking illy about his twin, but the tape measure already had a sizable crack in it and Stanley had a habit of breaking things on accident.

Just as he was nearing the bus stop, a strong wind blew by, picking up litter and moving it across the road. A stray piece of news paper suddenly fluttered onto the sidewalk, and Stanford stepped on it just in time to stop it. He glanced down at the page and saw it was some sort of article about a local man robbing a gas station of all their beef sticks. Stanford picked up the paper to look at it closely and his eyes landed on the date.

January 9th, 1982

Stanford found himself staring for the longest time. His shaking grip loosened until the paper was picked up by the wind and floated to the ground. That… couldn't be right, could it? There was no way! Being transferred to a different part of the country was one thing, but time travel?

Stanford raised his head and saw just a few feet away from the bus stop was car parked in a parallel spot. He immediately sprinted past the bench by the stop and ran up to the car bumper. He looked at the corner of the license plate and saw that it read 1982. Even if it was a false plate, why on earth would someone put 1982 there if that wasn't the year?

The world around him seemed to be spinning at an angle, causing Stanford to almost lose his footing but he managed to stay up. He barley registered his own movements as he made his way to the bench and sat down. For several minutes, all he could do was stare down at his feet. The logical side of his brain was trying to tell him that this was crazy, that there was no way he had time traveled. The other side, the one closer to his panicked heart, was telling him to face the facts.

Stanford wrapped his arms around himself, gripping the sleeves of his jacket tightly. He didn't want to fall apart like this. He wanted to be brave like Stanley, to be able to go out and face whatever came his way so that he could find him, but he just didn't know how.

He was in a completely different state, in a completely different time, with no idea how to get home, assuming he even could get home. Even if he found a bus that could take him straight to New Jersey, it wouldn't be his New Jersey. His family might not be living in the same building anymore. Had he been gone this entire time?

Did they think he was just missing? Would they even recognize him if they saw him? Would Stanley recognize him?

Stanford was certain that, if he could just calm down and think for a moment, then he could probably figure out a plan. Stanley always said he did fine under pressure when it came to thinking. But, right now, in this moment, he couldn't think of anything, and he huddled in on himself and started to sniffle.

He barley noticed the sound of footsteps on the sidewalk beside him.

Chapter End Notes

Sohdvh uhphpehu wr hdw vrphwklqj dqg gulqn zdwhu

Chapter 4: Things Only Get Weirder

Chapter Notes

Y'all... I'm so embarrassed!

My dumbass grew up in the south and I forgot that in places like awruhgon it snows in January, which is when this is suppose to take place.

Sooo... let's just pretend that it's an oddly warm January but it's gonna get very cold soon. Sound cool?

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Gravity Falls 1982

Fiddleford was no stranger to oddities at this point in his life, but he would never try to assume that he was used to it. He had grown accustomed to it, he supposed. Staying in a place like Gravity Falls would do that to you. He had been introduced- for lack of a better term- to the anomalies that surrounded Ford's life pretty early on. It was almost impossible to miss.

But of course, there were some things that were very well hidden. He remembered how excited he had been when Ford had taken him to Crash Site Omega, as he called it. It had been terrifyingly fascinating and life altering, as well as the 2-day hike to get there. Of course, there was also the confusion surrounding his old friends' passion project. He was still having trouble figuring out how Ford had even thought to build something of that magnitude, let alone be conveniently living right next to the perfect source for parts.

All that's to say, Fiddleford was used to oddities appearing at their front door. What he wasn't used to appearing at their front door were people, and even while still sitting in his car, he could see someone standing on the front porch.

Fiddleford grabbed the grocery bags from the passenger seat before stepping out of his car. Even when he shut the door, they hadn't turned around. It wasn't until he got closer that he realized it was a child, probably a boy from what he could see. He was wearing a red and white striped shirt and a backpack. The schools in this town were pretty far away from here so he isn't sure how any child could get so lost and end up here. The boy appeared to be pacing across the porch, glancing all around, and still somehow hadn't noticed Fiddleford yet.

“Hey there, can I help ya?”

The boy whipped around and froze when he saw him. He looked scared for a moment before he straightened his shoulders, brows furrowed.

“Hey.”

“You're pretty far out, you know?” Fiddleford nodded back to the road. “Not much out here and town's back that way.”

“Pfft! Yeah! I know!” the boy rolled his eyes, his smile clearly feigning confidence. “I was just, uh… I got a little lost and um…”

Fiddleford raised an eyebrow as he stepped closer toward the porch. As he did, he was able to get a closer look at the boy, and he inhaled sharply. The child had dirt and pine needles embedded in his hair, a multitude of splinters sticking out of his arms, and one of his knees was badly scrapped. He could just barely make out a few red blotches around the hole in his jeans.

“My goodness boy, you're bleedin'!”

“Huh? Oh, yeah,” the boy looked all over himself before shrugging. “'S not so bad. I've gotten hurt worse than this at school.”

“You shouldn't just leave it untreated like that,” Fiddleford tapped his foot on the ground for a moment. “Hey, I've got a med kit inside. Why don't ya come in, we can take care of that knee and those splinters.”

The boy remained silent for a moment; his brows furrowed again. Fiddleford watched as the boy eyed him, as though he were sizing him up. He couldn't blame him; it wasn't particularly wise to just go into anyone's house. Still, he couldn't just leave an injured child outside.

What would his mama think if she knew? Grown or not, she'd have his hide.

He was just thinking of offering for him to wait outside when the boy grinned slightly and nodded.

“Sure, okay.”

Fiddleford nodded. He quickly took out his key as he made his way to the front door.

“So, what's your name, youngin?”

“Stanley.”

“Nice meetin' ya, Stanley. Name's Fiddleford Hadron McGucket.”

Stanley snorted. “Sheesh, what a mouthful. Mind if I just call you Fidds?”

Fiddleford chuckled. “I don't see why not! Had a couple friends from college that called me that, too.”

He finally got the door open, and they both made their way in. The house, though not nearly as bad as it had been when Fiddleford had first arrived, was in a bit of a disarray. Ford had been taking even less care of the place as well as himself as the testing for the portal drew closer. Books, old blueprints and notes were stacked all over, only most were organized. There were also a few jars and vials with samples that Ford had yet to deal with.

Stanley whistled. “Wow! What's this, some kind of mini nerd museum?”

The boys' voice was teasing but not malicious, and Fiddleford chuckled. “It does kinda look like that, huh?”

“Yeah. Man, my brother would've loved this.”

Fiddleford led Stanley through the living room and into the kitchen. It was, surprisingly enough, as clean as he had left it. His eyes landed on the sandwich left abandoned and uneaten on the counter, and he huffed as he placed the grocery bags on the table.

“Have a seat, I'll go grab the kit.”

Stanley placed his backpack by his feet as he slid into one of the chairs. Fiddleford quickly made his way towards the bathroom. He wasn't surprised that he hadn't run into Ford yet. That workaholic was probably still passed out in his study.

Fiddleford had been tempted to shake him awake when he had found him there that morning but had decided to let him sleep. At least he was getting some rest, even if he was using his notes as a pillow. He thought about the sandwich left abandoned on the counter, and while the fact that Ford had made an attempt was good, he still needed to follow through and eat it.

Fiddleford quickly made his way back to the kitchen, now carrying the first aid and a small towel. When he entered the room, Stanley sat up in his seat, his foot nudging his bag to the side a bit. Fiddleford decided not to comment as he soaked the towel with warm water.

“Let's get that knee taken care of, then we can work on those splinters.”

“Okay.”

Fiddleford sat in the chair next to him, placing the med kit on the table. He reached forward with the towel and gently started to wipe away the dried blood. The bleeding seemed to have stopped, but it was still pretty scraped up and there was dirt in the cuts. Stanley's leg flinched slightly, his face scrunched up, but he didn't complain or pull away.

“So, what's with all the nerd junk?” Stanley asked suddenly, probably trying to distract himself.

“My partner has been out here for the last 6 years studying the, eh… wildlife out here,” Fiddleford explained as he carefully dried the knee. It wasn't entirely a lie. “I've only been here for the last year though, helpin' him with his projects. You think there's junk now, you should've seen this place when I first came by. You could barely walk anywhere it was so full.”

“Figures. My brother's a total nerd too, and he's always hording stuff.”

Fiddleford placed the towel on the table and opened the kit. He pulled out a roll of gauze, a tiny pair of scissors and a small roll of tape.

“So… tell me what happened to ya,” he said as he began unrolling the gauze.

Stanley rubbed the back of his head, looking at the ground. “Ah… you wouldn't believe me if I told you.”

“Try me.”

Stanley blinked up at Fiddleford before fixing him with that same look as before. He couldn't help but wonder why this child was so cautious, as if he was looking for a fight. Or preparing for it? As he cut the gauze and began folding it into a large square, Stanley cleared his throat.

“Okay… So, my brother and I were walkin' down the street to go to the beach, and we found this… thing…”

“Mhm?”

“And we thought it was just a tape measure or somethin', but then it started glowing and there was a flash, and I ended up in the woods.”

Fiddleford didn't interrupt, but his hands did hesitate as he began taping the gauze to the boys' knee. He certainly hadn't been expecting anything abnormal to come from this but found himself oddly calm about it. Perhaps he was finally starting to realize some things just weren't meant to be normal, and his life in Gravity Falls was anything but normal. Ford would get a kick out of this.

“I didn't have a compass or anything, but I my bro told me once that the wind goes from West to East, so…”

“North to South.”

Stanley raised an eyebrow. “Huh?”

“The winds blow North to South here.”

Stanley frowns at him for about five seconds before his face completely falls. It was hard to read his expression- a weird mix of realization and horror. Fiddleford wasn't sure how to respond. He pats the knee as he finishes taping it before reaching into the box to pull out the tweezers.

He told Stanley to brace himself before he began working on the splinters. Aside from the occasional flinch in the arm, he didn't react or say anything. Fiddleford was halfway through when Stanley spoke up again.

“We… we ain't in Jersey, are we?”

“New Jersey?” Fiddleford shakes his head. “Certainly not. We're in awruhgon, on the other side of the country.”

He pulled out a particularly large splinter and ended up drawing a little blood. He quickly picked up the towel and dabbed it away. After placing a small band-aid on the spot, he glanced up and saw Stanley was staring blankly down at the floor. Fiddleford cleared his throat.

“You said you were with your brother?”

“Yeah,” Stanley's voice was softer now. “I thought maybe he ended up here too. I started lookin' for him, and I ended up findin' these little guys with beards and pointy hats.”

Fiddleford stopped and stared. “You found the gnomes?”

“Yeah!” Stanley seemed a bit more excited now. “I called them all leprechauns, 'cause I couldn't remember what they were, and they flipped out! They started stackin' on top of each other and turned into a super gnome, and they chased me though the forest. They almost got me, but then I got saved by a giant!”

“A giant?”

“Yeah! Looked like he was made out of wood and stuff. He scared the gnomes off and told me he knew where my brother was. Well, he didn't tell me, he showed me. I dunno if he can actually talk, he seems pretty shy.”

Fiddleford gulped as he placed everything back into the box. He wanted to believe that the kid was over exaggerating on how he ended up here, but everything else seemed plausible. He had run into the gnomes himself during his first week here. He had heard something rummaging through their trash one night and had gone out with a bat, expecting to find a possum or a racoon, and instead found one of those pests munching on an empty chip bag.

He really wished Ford wasn't so busy so that he could talk to this boy himself. No doubt his friend would have a better response than him.

“Well… the giant is news to me, but everything else seems to check out.”

Stanley blinked. “Hold up, you actually believe me?”

“'Course I do. Gravity Falls is a hot spot for all sorts of weirdness. What you just said is honestly pretty tame.”

“Gravity whonow?”

“Gravity Falls,” Fiddleford snorted. “That's the town you're in.”

“Never heard of it.”

“Yeah, I hadn't either. Most people don't even know it exists,” Fiddleford closed the box and gestured to the knee. “Welp, there ya go! Good as new.”

Stanley looked down at his leg before grinning up at him. “Thanks, Fidds!”

“Don't mention it.”

Suddenly, there was the familiar sound of a particular door opening before quickly closing. Well, that confirmed his suspicions.

“That's my partner,” Fiddleford nods his head. “Better let him know what's happened. After that, you can use our phone to call up your folks.”

Stanley looked suddenly very uncomfortable, his smile a bit too forced as he nodded. Fiddleford frowned but decided to leave it be for now. He stood up from his chair as he heard footsteps approaching the kitchen.

“Fiddleford?”

“In here.”

“Ah, good. I figured since I overslept today that I would run some diagnostics. As far as I can tell, everything looks good, but if you'd like to check a few times…”

Ford's voice trailed off into nothing as he entered the kitchen. He had looked up from his journal to face him, but his eyes immediately locked onto their surprised guest.

“Found this little one on our doorstep,” Fiddleford said with a grin, pointing a thumb back at Stanley. “Poor thing was bruised and bloody. Apparently, he had a run-in with those pesky gnomes. I've already patched him up, so I reckon we could just let him use to phone so he can get home.”

Ford's body seemed to go ridged as his hands shook, the journal falling from his grasp and landing with a thud. His mouth hung opened as his eyes widened in panic. Fiddleford blinked.

“You alright?”

“Hey, you look familiar…” Stanley spoke up, sounding suspicious as he looked at Ford. “Do I know you?”

Ford's jaw clenched, his still shaking hands locking up on either side of his body. He suddenly snapped his head to look at Fiddleford, and his voice was breathless and terrified as he spoke sharply.

“Living room. Now.”

New Mexico 1982

Stan was certain he had left a few more bucks than he had intended to in his rush to leave the diner.

He had barley paid any attention when he first heard the doorbell ring, too invested in forcing down the last of his burger. As good as the meal was, it was still a struggle to force himself to eat. He recognized his waitress' voice and rolled his eyes when he heard how sweetly she had spoken. Where was all that kindness when he was talking to her, huh? What really caught his attention was the child's voice responding to her.

He didn't understand why at first, it just sort of hit something in his brain that compelled him to pay attention. As the child asked for directions in a timid, shy voice, he felt a surge of memories flash by in an instant. He had heard that voice every time his twin had to do a presentation in front of the class, or whenever their father had scolded him. He knew that voice better than anyone.

He tried to shake it off, telling himself that he was being stupid, hearing things that weren't really there. Still, he needed to make sure, just for his sanity's sake.

When the kid said thanks and the bell rang again, Stan turned just in time to get a glimpse of him as he was leaving. He saw the boy for only two seconds, but two seconds was enough. He saw the glasses, he saw the jacket, he saw the fluffy brown hair and cowlick. The only things he couldn't see were the hands.

Stan told himself that it was just a coincidence. Billions of people in the world, remember? A good chuck of them had to be similar enough in looks that it was possible. Still, something in his head was causing his pulse to quicken in a way that was somewhere between being excited and being in danger. It didn't make sense, but he didn't know how else to describe it.

Either way, he chose to leave some money before running out of diner as quickly as possible. He had heard the waitress tell the kid about the nearby bus stop up the road, which just so happened to be the direction he needed to go to get to his car. Another coincidence.

Stan stuffed his hands into his pockets as he began powerwalking down the sidewalk. What was he in a rush for? He just needed to get to his car. Yeah, that's it. He needed to get to his baby before some punk tried to break in or steal one of his tires again, and if some kid happened to be there, it was no big deal.

He heard him before he saw him. Stan's steps slowed slightly when he heard sniffles coming from the dimly lit section where the bench was. He saw the boy sitting alone on the bench, huddled over and crying softly. Even as he got closer, Stan couldn't get a proper look at the hands, which seemed to be stuffed in his jacket pockets.

He shook his head. Just get in the car and get back to the motel, he told himself. He couldn't avoid walking past him though, his car was parked on the other side of the stop after all.

The boy didn't seem to notice as he walked up to him, too distressed to hear or see him. Stan's steps slowed more and more the closer he got, until finally he was standing by the other end of the bench. The boy still didn't look up.

Damn it all.

“Hey kid, you alright?”

Finally, the boy reacted. His head snapped up, wide shining eyes staring up at him in surprise. Stan had to stop himself from spluttering once he got a good proper look at his face. Lookalikes were everywhere and very possible, but this kid was the spitting image of the twin he used to know, from the nose to the handful of faint freckles around his cheeks.

The boy gasped slightly when he saw him, and Stan quickly raised a hand in surrender.

“Hey, it's okay. Just…” he paused. “You lost or somethin'? You waitin' on anybody?”

The boy didn't answer him at first, and Stan couldn't blame him. A random stranger coming up to talk to you this late at night was weird at best and dangerous at worst. Still, something inside of Stan, something he thought he had long since buried, had compelled him to at least make sure that he was okay. The boy glanced down at his feet.

“Y-yeah… sort of…” he muttered. “I was… I'm looking for my brother.”

Stan felt something clench in his chest as he spoke. “You two get lost tryin' to get home?”

The boy shook his head. “Not exactly… Have you seen him? He looks just like me, has band-aids all over his fingers and wearing a red and white striped shirt.”

Stan was almost always covered in patches and bandages as a kid. He had a habit of breaking himself as well as everything else around him. Some things never change.

“How old is he? Older or younger?”

“Same as me, we're twins.”

Fuck. Okay, now this was getting weird. If Stan didn't know any better, he would think he was being set up. He couldn't see how though, he hadn't gotten close enough with anyone to even mention his old life, let alone the fact that he had a twin. He was certain that some of the people he had worked for in the past were smart enough to track it down eventually, but even so, this was a bit much for a trap.

“Sorry kid, haven't seen him.”

The kid's face contorted, and his gaze fell to the ground. Stan rubbed the back of his neck.

“Hey, don't worry. If you two were together, then he can't be that far. He's probably lookin' for you, too.”

“You think?”

“Definitely.”

Stan felt like he was lying through his teeth. He hadn't seen any other kids besides the two at the diner, and this kid's brother could be anywhere at this point, but he also wasn't sure what else he could say. He didn't need a kid panicking next to him; not only would that look awful, but it would also draw too much attention to him.

“You could probably report it to the police or somethin'. You got bus money, right?”

The kid shook his head. “I don't have any money.”

Stan clenched his hands in his pocket. Don't do it. It's none of your business.

“You, uh… need a ride?”

Stan wasn't sure why he had offered, and part of him was hoping he would say no. He was willing to just give him a few bucks for the bus or something and move on with his night. The kid glanced around, kicking his feet as he thought it over. After a moment, he nodded.

“Um… yeah.”

The boy slid onto his feet, hands still tucked in his pockets. Stan still needed to see them- he knew he was being stupid, but he had to be sure. He tried to smile as he raised his hand.

“Call me Stan.”

He didn't even bother with the fake identity. This kid wasn't going to see him again after tonight anyway, right?

The boy grinned slightly, finally taking out one of his hands to shake his. “Nice to meet you, I'm Stanford.”

It took everything Stan had to not grip the small hand too tightly as he shook it. The kid even had the same damn name! He looked down at their hands and his eyes immediately landed on the extra finger. Stan stared as he felt his grip tighten slightly. Even if everything else could be chalked up to coincidence, how could this?

Stan realized he had been staring too long when 'Stanford' suddenly withdrew his hand and tucked it back into his pocket.

“I-it's a defect,” he spoke quietly, his tone embarrassed. “I was born with it. I know it's weird…”

Stan quickly shook his head. “No no, it's… it's just funny,” he had to choose his words carefully. “I… I knew someone who had six fingers, too.”

'Stanford' blinked up at him. “Really?”

“Yep,” Stan grinned. “One of the smartest guys ever. Bit of a knucklehead, but smart.”

'Stanford' rubbed the back of his head. “Y-yeah?”

“Oh yeah. He used to get teased for it a lot, that didn't do any favors for his social skills. But I always thought he was the coolest person ever,” he let out a small noise that almost sounded like a laugh. “He and I had a bad habit of getting into trouble, used to always carry band-aids with him incase we did something dumb and hurt ourselves.”

'Stanford', who had been smiling up at him, blinked as his face fell. His eyes widened slightly as he stared up at Stan, who cleared his throat awkwardly. Maybe oversharing with some random kid wasn't a good idea. Get it together, Stan! You're loosin' your mind!

'Stanford' gestured for Stan to move in closer. He raised an eyebrow before getting down on one knee so that he was eyelevel with the boy. 'Stanford' adjusted his glasses as he squinted at the older man, apparently searching for something. Stan didn't say anything as he watched those familiar eyes analyze his features, feeling confused and lost for words.

Small, six-fingered hands suddenly reached up for his face, and Stan flinched on instinct. Normally, the only time anyone reached for him was to hold him down or give him a knuckle sandwich straight to the teeth. He wasn't used to not being on edge for this long.

'Stanford' hesitated, his hands hovering in the air.

“S-sorry,” he stammered. “Just… bare with me a second?”

Stan glanced around before giving him a stiff nod. 'Stanford' waited a moment longer before reaching up to grab Stan's face. He turned his head slightly to the side, still searching for that something, but Stan couldn't imagine what he was looking for. The kid pressed his hands to his temples and pulled back, smoothing the wrinkles around his eyes. 'Stanford' frowned, then pressed a finger on either side of Stan's cheeks and pushed upward.

“Alright, I'll bite. What're you doin'?”

His voice was slightly altered due to the position his mouth was in, but his question was clear. 'Stanford' didn't respond for a moment, eyebrow raised in confusion.

“Could you smile real quick?”

“Could I what?”

“Smile. Just for a second.”

Stan pulled back as he rolled his eyes. “Look, kid, you can't just go pokin' peoples' faces and askin' them to do things. Now do you need a ride or-”

Stan wasn't fast enough to avoid what happened next. One of 'Stanford's' hands shot up and started poking at a spot in the crook of his neck- a spot that only his twin had known about.

“H-hey, no- t-that's cheatin'!”

Realistically, Stan could easily push the kid away and stop him from tickling him. However, he found himself just barley pushing him away with his arm, and he was laughing out loud now. He couldn't remember the last time he had laughed so genuinely; his throat felt dry, and his cheeks felt oddly sore.

“A-alright- Hey, alright! Enough!”

Stan finally managed to pushed the smaller arms away, still catching his breath. His heart was racing but he no longer felt in danger. Something definitely would have happed by now if he was.

Taking a deep breath, Stan lowered his hands as he looked up at 'Stanford', who was staring at him with awe and amazement. He swallowed loudly before speaking, his voice even softer than before.

“Stanley…?”

Stan was certain that the burger he had eaten just had some bad meat and he was hallucinating, that was the only way this could be happening. It had been years since he had had a dream or nightmare about his brother, and it had never happened while he was so conscious. But, no matter how much he fought against it, Stan felt the corners of his mouth curl into a smile.

“Hey, Sixer.”

Stanford blinked and gasped. There was no shot that anyone else could have that nickname and have the same reaction to it. That was all the proof Stan needed.

“Stanley!”

Stanford threw himself forward, wrapping his arms around Stan's shoulders and squeezing him hard. Stan inhaled sharply, his hands hanging stiffly at his sides. He… couldn't remember the last time anyone had hugged him.

It was almost uncomfortable at first, and he was tempted to pull away. He felt tiny hands grip the back of his jacket tightly, and he gulped as he slowly raised his hands to awkwardly hug back.

“Hey, buddy…”

Chapter End Notes

Wkh ghhshu wkh vsolqwhu, wkh kdughu lw lv wr uhpryhExw brx zrq'w jhw dqb ehwwhu li brx grq'w sxoo lw vrrq

Chapter 5: Where Do We Go from Here?

Chapter Notes

I just wanna be clear, I absolutely love and adore Ford. But… pre-portal incident Ford was an idiot who was still picking at old wounds instead of letting them heal. So… prepare for that.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Gravity Falls 1982

“Now do you understand?!”

Ford couldn't remember the last time he had been this on edge. Wasting an entire day without working was bad enough, but even that couldn't top this. If it hadn't been for Fiddleford, he would've thought he had lost his mind. The fact that his friend could also see him was enough to confirm that it was no illusion, but that didn't make him feel any better.

A 12-year-old version of his brother was currently sitting in their kitchen. Ford knew that there were only a few explanations.

For a brief, horrifying moment, he had assumed that it was the shapeshifter again. Ford isn't sure how the creature could've escaped containment, but that would've been more logical and easier to deal with. The fact that Fiddleford had been around him for half an hour patching up injuries and nothing disastrous happened was enough for him to know that it wasn't the shapeshifter.

That creature was adamant about seeing his journals, and it definitely would've tried to find them the moment it entered the house. Besides, how could it have shifted into this form of Stanley? He didn't keep any of his childhood photos in that bunker.

That only left two options: age regression or time travel.

Age regression seemed unlikely. Stanley hadn't recognized Ford when he had walked in the kitchen, and turning young again shouldn't have altered his mind or memories too much. Of course, that would depend on what could've caused his age to change. Not to mention, Ford hadn't seen his brother in 10 years at this point. Perhaps he would be unrecognizable? But he knew he was kidding himself with that thought. 10 years or not, they were twins, and he would surely recognize his own face.

That left time travel, but that didn't help him much either. Even if time travel were to become possible in the future, how could a younger version of his twin end up here? Time travel didn't exist yet currently, let alone 18 years ago.

After dragging Fiddleford into the living room, Ford had tried to tell him who exactly the boy in their kitchen was. He had mentioned the fact that he had a twin only once or twice while they were still in college together. He had tried to not talk about, to not think about it, but it had come up before. So, Fiddleford knew that Stanley existed. Of course, even with Ford's explanation, his assistant had some trouble believing him. Ford couldn't blame him; he was having trouble believing it himself.

After furiously whispering and still getting nowhere for 10 minutes, Ford had stomped over to the bookshelf that hid the doorway that led to the basement. His hand immediately reached for his copy of Treasure Island- the same copy he had owned since childhood- and opened the front cover. Tucked into the crease was an old photo of himself and Stanley standing aboard that broken ship they had found just days after they had turned 12. He plucked out the photo and quickly placed the book back on the shelf.

Ford had felt his hand shaking as he marched up to Fiddleford and handed him the photo. His assistant had been confused, but his expression quickly turned as he stared down at the photo in his hands. Ford folded his arms, waiting for some sort of response.

“Well… this is…”

But Fiddleford's voice trailed off as he tried to form words. He didn't confirm whether he believed Ford or not, but he wasn't immediately dismissing it. Ford sighed, running a hand through his already messy hair.

“The only thing that might explain it is some form of time travel, but that still doesn't make sense,” he said, still keeping his voice lowered. “How could he have possibly come into contact with something like that, and how could he have possibly ended up here?”

“Well, uh…” Fiddleford gulped. “He… he mentioned you, too.”

Ford blinked at him. “What?”

“H-he told me about how he got here. According to him, you two found some sort of device in the street, there was a flash and then he ended up in the woods.”

“And?” he asked cautiously.

“He's assumed you'd ended up in the woods too, but he hasn't found you yet.”

Ford shook his head. “I don't remember any of this happening when I was his age. This has to be… I don't…”

“Hey.”

They both froze where they stood before slowly turning their heads towards the doorway. Stanley stood there, hands in his pockets, staring at them in confusion. Ford felt the air leave his lungs as he stared at the boy in front of him. He could sit him down, inspect and question him for hours and it would make no difference- Ford knew for a fact that it was his brother. The red nose, the band-aids, even the way he carried himself was exactly as Ford remembered.

“Why are you two gossipin' like old ladies?” Stanley asked as he scratched a spot behind his ear. “I know I just kinda showed up, but I didn't ask to get dumped here.”

“Oh, it's okay, Stanley,” Fiddleford said cheerfully as he quickly handed Ford the photo faced down. “We're just havin' some issues with one of our projects, nothin' to be bothered about.”

Ford glanced at the floor as he took the photo and tucked it securely into his inner coat pocket. He had barley taken his hand back out when he heard a loud gasp and the sound of quick footsteps. Before he could react, a pair of much smaller hands suddenly grabbed one of his own and held it out in front of him.

“Cool! You have six fingers!” Stanley stated brightly. “My brother has 6 fingers, too. That makes you both 6 times cooler than anyone!”

Ford had gone ridged when Stanley had grabbed him, unable to pull away. That very phrase was one he remembered his brother using often whenever he had felt self-conscious about his defect. Ford glanced over at Fiddleford, who gave him a small shrug and made a sort of 'go on then' gesture with his hand.

Like that was any help! How was Ford supposed to react to this?

“Well… technically it would be 1.2 times,” he muttered awkwardly.

Stanley snorted. “Ha! Yeah, he says that, too.”

He finally released his hand, and Ford drew it back, ringing it nervously with his other. He cleared his throat.

“My assistant tells me that, uh… you got hurt running from the gnomes?

“Yeah, but it's no biggie. I've had worse.”

Boy, wasn't that familiar? Ford couldn't help but frown at the boy in front of him.

“Bad habit of getting yourself hurt, huh?”

“Hey, it's not just me,” Stanley said defensively. “I know I'm usually the one covered in band-aids, but my brother's gotten himself hurt, too. Like last summer, we were running on the beach, and he accidentally fell and cut his hand on some glass. He actually has a… pretty cool scar…”

His voice trailed off as his face fell. Ford raised an eyebrow at him, wondering what on earth that look was for. Had he said something wrong?

Suddenly, Stanley snatched one of his hands- his left one- and held it up close. Ford could only watch as his brother's eyes landed on the faded but still very visible scar that stretched across the back of his hand, right over the knuckles.

“Just like that…”

Stanley's voice was oddly quiet when he spoke. He raised his head to look at Ford, who opened his mouth to respond, but nothing he could think of seemed good enough. How could he possibly respond to this? He was still trying process what was happening in front of him.

He mentally prepared himself for any kind of reaction- anger, confusion, panic. What he wasn't prepared for were bright, shining eyes and a smile so sweet it could rot teeth in seconds.

Sixer!

Ford's hand was released before Stanley threw himself forward, wrapping his arms around his middle. Ford definitely hadn't been prepared for that and had immediately fallen back and landed on his butt. His glasses sat lopsided on his nose as his brother squeezed him in a rib crushing hug, unfazed by the fall.

Ford heard a soft chuckle and he turned to see Fiddleford half turned away, shoulders shaking as he covered his mouth with his hand. Ford frowned at him before he looked down at Stanley, who then propped his chin on Ford's chest to beam up at him.

“I can't believe it's you! I was scared I wouldn't find you!” Stanley blinked up at him. “You're so big… you kinda look like Pa! How did you get so old? Some nerd magic? Failed experiments? Did you have to blow somethin' up?!”

“S-Stanley, calm down,” Ford stuttered, readjusting his glasses. “I'm… I'm still trying to process this.”

Stanley finally released him but didn't back away, sitting back on his legs. “What's to process? I'm here, you're here, everything's gonna be fine now!”

Ford pinched the bridge of his nose. “No, Stanley… how did you get here?”

His much younger twin frowned as he rubbed the back of his head. “Eh, still figurin' that out. I thought I was just dreamin' at first, but uh, my knee stings kinda bad so I don't think I'm sleepin'.”

“Didn't ya say that you found somethin'?” Fiddleford asked. “Somethin' that flashed and brought you here?”

Stanley gasped, his eyes growing wide before he sprung to his feet and sprinted back to the kitchen. Ford raised an eyebrow as he slowly got to his feet and straightened himself out. A few seconds later, Stanley came running back in, holding his backpack with one hand and rummaging inside it with the other.

As he came to stand in front of Ford, he pulled out two pieces of some strange, blinking device. Stanley looked down at the pieces sadly before carefully holding them out for Ford.

“We were headin' down to the beach, and we found this weird tape measure on the ground,” he explained. “We took it because we needed it to help fix up the Stan O' War.”

Ford hesitated in reaching out for the pieces for only a second when he heard that name. The Stan O' War… He hadn't thought about it in years, not until he saw that old photo just minutes ago, and hearing her name coupled with his twin's voice instantly brought forth a surge of other memories he thought he had buried deep. It was starting to make his head feel fuzzy. But then the second was over, and he shook those thoughts from his head as he took the pieces in his hands.

If he held the two halves together, he could see why someone, especially a child, would assume it was a normal tape measure. It sure looked simple enough on the outside, albeit odd. However, one look at the inside and Ford could tell it was anything but simple.

Metal pieces, wires and lights, things that a tape measure shouldn't need, let alone have. He had never seen technology like this.

“Fiddleford…”

His assistant stepped beside him as Ford held out one of the halves. His eyes widened as he stared at the device.

“My my… ain't that somethin'?”

Ford stared down at the half in his hand, and noticed it held the large roll of tape. Ford had no idea how delicate this device was supposed to be didn't want to risk touching it, so he tilted it to get a better look at it. It read hours, months, years… decades…

“Stanley, what year is it?”

Stanley doesn't question why Ford would ask what should be an obvious question. Instead, he just scoffs.

“World's dumbest genius… 1966, duh!”

Ford took a deep breath as he held out the piece in his hand. “Stanley, what does this say?”

Stanley folded his arms as he squinted at the roll. “Oh yeah, we got confused about that, too. I was startin' to think it was a joke prop or somethin', but after what happened, I dunno what it is. I think we just got teleported here, but that doesn't explain why you're older or-”

“We didn't teleport anywhere,” Ford iterated. “I've been here for the last six years.”

“Yeah, right! You were standing right next to-”

“Stanley, the year is 1982.”

Stanley blinked. “What?”

“1982. You weren't teleported, Stanley. You… you time traveled.”

In hindsight, Ford probably could have been a little more cautious with his explanation. He was mostly thinking out loud, still too shocked to consider the boy's reaction. He could see Fiddleford giving him an incredulous look out the corner of his eye.

Stanley, as always, tried to play it all off like it was a bit.

“What? No… No, c'mon Sixer. That crap ain't real, that's just comic book junk.”

“Stanley, I'm standing right in front of you,” Ford gestured to himself. “Why do you think I'm so much older than you?”

“I-I don't know.”

Ford had very few memories of his brother stammering, being the more confident of the two. Hearing it like this made his heart clench.

“I thought… maybe you were cursed, or some stupid experiment, or… or…”

But even as he tried to debate, Ford could see the expression turn gaunt.

“Stanley?”

Stanley's eyes widened as he gave a thousand-yard stare to the floor. He suddenly let out a shuddering breath.

“This… this can't be happenin'!” Stanley brought his hands to his head, gripping his hair tightly. “I can't be in the future! I-I have to- Even if I can get home, it won't be home. Ma and Pa might be gone and I… I…”

“Woah, woah, hey,” Fiddleford carefully placed his half of the device on a nearby side table before kneeling beside him, placing a hand on his shoulder. “It's alright son, just take a second to breathe. We're trying to figure this out too, but it'll be okay. Just breathe.”

Ford had never been more grateful of the fact that his assistant was an experienced parent. The moment Stanley had started to panic, he could feel his own heart begin to race. He had never been good with kids; he was barley acquainted with Shermie's son. His nephew had always cried whenever he tried to hold him as a baby, and any children he had seen on the streets had only ever stared at his hands.

However, Fiddleford was able to remain calm and so Stanley stopped his stammering and tried to take in a few deep breaths. Fiddleford suddenly looked up at Ford, a very stern expression on his face. Ah, right. Ford swallowed hard, placing his half of the device next to the other before taking a step forward.

“He's right, Stanley,” he said firmly. “We… we're having a hard time understanding this too, but I'm sure we'll get through it.”

“But-”

“I know this is scary, but you're safe here,” Ford hesitated before placing a hand on his other shoulder. “I promise.”

Stanley stared up at him, his expression still unsure, before giving him a firm nod. Ford smiled slightly, glad to see that things had somewhat settled for now. Stanley suddenly threw himself at Ford again, though this time more gently.

He buried his face into his sweater vest, holding him tightly. Ford stared down at him for a moment before awkwardly placing one hand on his shoulder and the other on his head, tousling his hair slightly. Stanley only squeezed him tighter.

“So…” Stanley's voice was muffled by his sweater. “You're… you're not the Ford that came with me?”

Ford shook his head. “No, I'm not.”

“But, that means…” Stanley gasped. “Wait! That means my Ford is still out there! I gotta find him!”

The sudden change in attitude coupled with Stanley yanking himself away was almost enough to throw Ford off balance. Stanley scooped up his backpack and started to make his way towards the door, but Fiddleford jumped in front him, arms held out. The boy collided with him and tried to push through his grasp.

“Let me go!”

“Stanley, wait!” Fiddleford pleaded. “Stop! You can't just run out there by yourself.”

“Why not?” Stanley snapped. “I made it through before, didn't I?”

“Yeah, and look how scrapped up you got,” Fiddleford spoke in a tone that Ford had come to recognize as his 'dad voice'. “You're lucky ya didn't end up braking somethin'. If it hadn't been for that giant, those gnomes could've scratched ya to pieces!”

Stanley grunted as he yanked his arms away, taking a step backwards but clearly ready to make a brake for it when he got the chance. Ford's brows furrowed.

“Giant?”

Stanley turned to look at him. “Yeah, there's a tree giant in the forest. He saved me from the gnomes and told me my brother was here,” he looked at the ground. “I, uh… guess he didn't know you were supposed to be my twin.”

Ford blinked several times before asking, “You… You've met Steve?”

Now Stanley looked confused. “Steve?”

“Yes, that's his name,” Ford explained. “At least, that's what I've been calling him, he hasn't told me otherwise. He's never really been much for conversation, and he never hangs around long enough for one anyway.”

Fiddleford sighed as he rubbed his forehead. “Of course, you of all people would find a giant and name it 'Steve'…”

“And what is that supposed to-”

“Hey!” Stanley yelled. “What about my Ford, huh? He could still be out there!”

“We know, Stanley,” Fiddleford assured him. “I'm sure we can think of some-”

“I can go look for him.”

Both of them turned to stare at Ford. He raised his chin and held his hands behind his back.

“If he did come here with you, then he couldn't have gone far,” he explained. “I'll see if I can find him, and we can go from there. Fiddleford, could you stay here with him?”

Fiddleford raised an eyebrow but nodded. “Certainly.”

Stanley frowned. “Wait, you're goin' by yourself?”

Ford resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “I've been through nearly every corner of these woods, Stanley. Rest assured, I'm fully capable.”

“But-”

“And, once I'm back, Fiddleford and I can start looking at that device and see if we can figure out how it works, and how to fix it.”

Ford had said the last part curtly, and Stanley looked at the ground ashamedly. Ford had suspected he had something to do with the devices current condition, and that just confirmed it. Fiddleford cleared his throat as he placed a hand on Stanley's shoulder.

“Why don't we just go back to the kitchen, hm? Let's get you somethin' to eat.”

Stanley held his fists at his sides and glared at the ground. Ford knew that look- the one he always wore when their father would scold and punish him. The look he made when he knew he wasn't getting out of it.

Stanley didn't respond, but he did nod. Fiddleford grinned and started to turn him away, but Stanley stopped and looked back at Ford hopefully.

“You're comin' back, right?”

Ford raised an eyebrow. “Of course, this is my house.”

“Ha, yeah…”

Stanley's laugh didn't quite match his eyes, and he let Fiddleford lead him back to the kitchen.

Ford was being mostly honest. He had every intention of searching the woods to see if a younger version of him was wondering around, but that wasn't the only reason he had offered to look himself. Truthfully, Ford also needed an excuse to get out of the house.

His head was pounding, the rooms were spinning, and his nerves were completely shot. He just needed a moment alone with his thoughts.

Ford knew he would probably be out for a while, and the sun was already in the process of setting. So, he quickly grabbed a flashlight- he chose to forgo the lantern just this once for the sake of saving time- and made his way outside into the forest.

Chapter End Notes

Orvw erbv lq d orvw zruogXqdzduh ri zkhuh wkhb'yh ehhq kxuohg

Chapter 6: What Has the World Done to You?

Chapter Notes

I posted this at midnight while snacking on oreos. That is all.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

New Mexico 1982

Stanford clung onto his shoulders like his life depended on it, sniffling while trying his best to take deep breaths. Stan was able to somewhat relax after a few moments before he properly hugged him back, rubbing a hand on the back of the boy's head.

“It's alright, buddy,” his voice sounded gravellier than usual when he spoke. “I gotcha, just take it easy.”

He felt Stanford nod, but he didn't move away. Neither of them did.

Stan wasn't sure how long he stayed on the ground hugging his brother- his brother. He was almost expecting this to be some sort of crazy dream, that at any moment now, he would wake up slumped over his bed at the motel. But the cold breeze was sending pinpricks down his spine, and his knee was starting to sting as he knelt on the ground. You don't normally feel those things in dreams, right?

After what felt like ages, Stanford took a deep breath before finally pulling away. He kept one hand on Stan's shoulder, using the other one to rub his eyes under his glasses. Stan noticed his legs shaking and kept one hand on his back just in case.

“I- I can't believe…” he sniffed. “I… I actually found you.”

Stan's smile fell slightly. He wasn't sure why, but he had a feeling this tiny version of Ford wasn't looking for a 28-year-old version of his twin.

“I'm… I'm not sure if I'm the one you're lookin' for, though.”

Stanford readjusted his glasses as he turned his head towards Stanley's car. Was he looking at the license plate? He turned back and looked directly into Stan's eyes, and Stan grimaced. He felt like he was being analyzed again. Stanford placed both hands on Stan's arms and his grip tightened.

“What happened to you?”

Stan glanced away as he rubbed the back of his head. “That, ah… that's a loaded question, Poindexter. Honestly, I should be askin' you that. What're you even doin' here?”

Stanford opened his mouth to respond, but at that moment something made a loud clang in a nearby alley and a cat squalled loudly. Stanford gasped slightly and moved closer to Stan.

“Can- can we go somewhere else first? This place freaks me out.”

Stan drummed his fingers against his knee. There was only one place they could go at the moment, but he wasn't too keen on his brother- his little brother- seeing the mess that was his temporary crash spot. He still had a few Stan Vacs stashed in his room for crying out loud! But, even his dumb brain knew that this wasn't something they could put off or talk about out in the open.

“Let's… go to my place,” he said after a few moments of silence. “We can talk there.”

Stanford's eyes lit up and he smiled. “Okay!”

Stan felt his heart clench at the look his brother gave him as he finally got to his feet. He stood there awkwardly for a moment before fumbling with his keys.

“Just… give me a sec.”

He quickly made his way over to his car, unlocking it before opening the passenger side door. He tossed whatever trash there was out onto the floor of the back seat and checked for any wet spots before gesturing inside. Stanford quickly made his way over and got into the seat without hesitation. Stan took a few seconds longer to get in the drivers seat, trying to keep his breathing steady as a particularly cold breeze blew by. It was still a little chilly inside the car once he shut the door.

“Sorry,” he muttered offhandedly as he started the engine. “Heater's a little busted, but it works.”

Stanford shook his head. “It's alright, I'm fine.”

Stan nodded. He sat there for a few moments, gripping the stirring wheel tightly before finally putting the car in drive.

It was only a 15-minute drive back to the motel, but it felt like an hour. Stan couldn't think of anything to say and turned on the radio simply to avoid the silence. He didn't pay attention to anything that was being said or whatever music was playing, his focus fixed only on getting back. He could feel Stanford's eyes on him the whole drive.

He didn't say anything, didn't ask any questions, just stared at him. That was a bit out of character, but Stan couldn't blame him. He imagined be must have been a poor sight for sore eyes compared to how he used to be- how this Stanford remembered him.

Stan had seen and read enough forms of fiction throughout his life to have a dumbed-down idea of what was going on, but at the same time he had no idea what the hell was going on. A younger version of his twin was sitting in his freaking car! He was well passed believing it was a hallucination by now, but that didn't do anything to ease his confusion. How was this possible?

Why was he here? How the hell had Stan been lucky enough to be the one that found him? He briefly thought about what might have happened to Stanford if he hadn't gone after him, if he hadn't noticed him, if he hadn't gone into that diner in the first place. Stan quickly shook those thoughts from his head and continued driving.

Eventually, he pulled into the parking lot of the dingy motel he called his temporary home. Aside from the lights on outside the building, there was no sign of life. Even the hobo that usually slept by the dumpster- a weirdo named Kevin who always sounded strung-out when he talked- was nowhere to be seen. Good. That was good.

Stan pulled the car up to the spot in front of his room before taking the keys out. Stanford blinked at the building as he slowly unbuckled his seatbelt.

“This is where you live?”

Stan glanced away. “Yeah, for now. C'mon, let's go.”

He got out of his seat and quickly made his was over to the passenger side. As soon as Stanford was out, Stan triple checked to make sure his car was locked before ushering the boy to his door. He fumbled with the keys before finally getting the door opened.

The room was exactly as he left it. It was good sign, because that meant no one had tried to break in and take what little he had left, but it was also embarrassing as he had nothing but junk, most of it from his failed business attempts. At least he had bothered to pick up the trash earlier. Even he had a limit on how much garbage he could walk on before he got uncomfortable.

Once Stanford was inside, Stan quickly shut and locked the door. He stared at the peephole for a few minutes, just to be safe, before finally taking a deep breath and turning around. Stanford had taken off his backpack and set it on the ground, staring around the room with awe and confusion.

“This is where you stay?” he asked.

“Yep,” Stan answered shortly. “'S not much, but it's got a bed and a shower.”

Stanford didn't respond. Stan cleared his throat and gestured to the bed, and Stanford took the hint and sat on the edge of it. Stan walked over to a box that was stashed by the side of the bed and dug around before pulling out a bottle of water- the last one he had. He had been rationing his water until he could come up with some cash to get some more. Food was easy enough to shoplift, but bottled water was a little tricky. They didn't fit in his sleeves very well and made to much noise if he wasn't careful.

Stan walked over to Stanford and held it out. “Here.”

Stanford grinned as he took the bottle. He squinted at the logo for a moment before opening it and taking a long swig. Stan grabbed a chair by the nearby table and pulled it up to sit across from him. Now that things were somewhat settled, they could talk in peace.

“So,” Stan started. “You're Ford, huh?”

“Of course, I am,” Stanford said obviously. “You know I am. Look at me!”

“I am, I just… don't get how you're here.”

Stanford glanced at the floor. “I… I think I do.”

Stan leaned forward and folded his arms over his knees. “Well?”

Stanford gripped the comforter as he continued to stare at the floor. Stan recognized that look. His twin used to always have trouble forming the right words, and would always need a moment to think it over before even opening his mouth. After a few seconds, Stanford took another swig of water before looking up at Stan.

“Well, we- me and my Stanley,” he gestured to himself. “We were walking through town to go to the beach and hang out on the boat.”

Stan felt his hands clench into fists. He and his twin spent nearly every day at the Stan O' War when they were younger. It was the one place in Glass Shard where they were happiest- where they could be themselves without consequences.

It hadn't been until they started high school that Ford had started to spend less and less time at the boat, and with Stan for that matter. He had thrown himself more and more into his schoolwork, constantly working for academic success. There had been a few occasions where Stan had had to beg him to take a break and hangout.

Ford had always been reluctant, but also seemed happy once they actually got out there.

“We were walking on the sidewalk, but I tripped on something. It looked like a normal tape measure, so we were gonna take it to help fix the boat. It was cracked so we tested it out to make sure it still worked, and sparks started shooting out! Everything went white, and I ended up in an alley right by the bus stop.”

Stan frowned. So, some sort of sci-fi tech was involved. That part didn't surprise Stan all that much, it was either that or some kind of weirdo magic that was behind this. He wasn't an expert in either though, so knowing that didn't help him much. Stuff like that was always Ford thing. He was the smart one, after all.

Stanford took another sip from the bottle before putting the cap on and setting it beside him. He placed his hands on his knees, clenching them nervously.

“At first, I thought maybe it just teleported me away from home, but… I found this newspaper on the ground, and… and it said the year was 1982…”

Stanford lowered his head to look at his feet. He didn't look like he was trying to figure out what to say now, he just looked completely lost for words. Stan couldn't blame him; he was feeling lost himself.

“So… you're sayin' you time traveled?”

“I guess so.”

“Uh-huh…” Stan tapped a finger on his arm. “This tape measure thing, do you have it?”

Stanford shook his head. “No… I think my Stanley still has it, wherever he is.”

“Didn't he end up here with you?”

“That's just it. I was all alone when I ended up here. I'm not sure if he even traveled back with me.”

Stanford gripped the comforter on the bed tightly, his brows furrowed. After a moment, he looked up at Stan, and his voice shook as he spoke.

“Stan… what's gonna happen to me?”

Christ on a bike, how was Stan supposed to respond to that? Even if he was smart enough to handle something like this, he still didn't know how this was possible or why this had happened. There was only one person he could think of that might have an idea of what to do. Unfortunately, that person was the last one that would ever want to speak to Stan again, let alone help him. He decided to leave that idea on the back burner for now.

“I'm not sure, buddy,” he admitted. “This ain't exactly my area of expertise.”

Stanford's face contorted as he stuffed his hands in his pockets. Stan leaned over and put a hand on his shoulder.

“Hey, that doesn't mean we can't figure this out, right?” he grinned. “Whatever happens, however long it takes, I'll make sure you're okay.”

Normally, Stan wouldn't want anyone so young getting involved with his life. Hell, he wasn't living so much as surviving. That's not the kind of thing any decent person would want a kid getting involved with. But, this wasn't just any kid.

This was Stanford- a version of him that didn't belong here. He didn't have anyone else to help him and or anywhere else to go. Stan could feel his stomach and chest twist and tighten with feelings left behind by old, unhealed wounds, but he forced them all down. Whatever this was, he needed to be there for Stanford, at least until they could find his Stanley.

Stanford smiled up at him, eyes shining. He rubbed his nose before reaching up to grab his hand.

“Thanks, Stan.”

Stan grinned. “Don't worry about it, buddy.”

“Um, Stan?”

“Yeah?”

“How come…” Stanford glanced around the room. “Why do you live here?”

Stan shrugged. “Because it was cheap and available.”

It wasn't technically a lie, but he knew full well what his brother meant. He was not ready to open that can of worms yet, assuming he would at all.

“No, I mean-”

“I know what you meant, Sixer,” Stan ran a hand up his face and through his hair. “Look, I… it's a long story, alright? Too long to get into right now.”

“But-”

“No buts, Ford. It's… been a long night, okay? We can talk about this later.”

Truthfully, Stan didn't want to talk about. In fact, he would be perfectly happy not talking about it at all and pretending like it didn't happen. But, that hadn't exactly worked the passed 10 years, so he doubted it would work now.

Even his stubborn brain knew that the topic would come up eventually, and he would have to say something. Stanford would definitely be able to tell he was lying, but that didn't mean he couldn't try, right?

Stanford looked slightly put out but nodded anyway. Stan sighed as he got to his feet and picked up the chair. He triple checked to make sure the door was still locked before propping the head of the chair under the door handle.

“I'm gonna take a quick shower,” he explained. “If anyone knocks on the door, don't answer it, and don't open it. Just come get me, okay?”

“Okay.”

Stan nodded before walking over to his duffel bag and rummaging around. He pulled out an extra shirt and a pair of sweatpants and brought them up to his face. They didn't smell too bad, so he shrugged and made his way to the bathroom.

He had long since run out of soap, but even just having clean water felt wonderful. He was starting to get too used to just wiping off his face and arms in the sink. But, for the first several minutes, all he could do was stand there and let the events of that night wash over him.

A 12-year-old version of his twin had time traveled to the future and had miraculously run into him. Stan was more than grateful that he had found him when he did. No kid should be lost on the street this late at night, and Stanford was way more than lost at this point.

Stan ran his hands through his hair, trying to get as much grease out as he could. What the hell am I doing? The real question was, what was he going to do? No amount of time on his own could have prepared him for this. He didn't even have the courage to speak to Ford over the phone, and now this version of him was here, in his room, smiling at him like he was his favorite person in the world.

Even if Stan had been Ford's favorite person at one point, he certainly wasn't anymore.

The water was cold by the time Stan finally turned the knob and stepped out. He hadn't needed to stay in that long. Perhaps part of him, the part begging for things to just be normal again, was delaying the inevitable.

He hoped he had convinced Stanford to drop the subject of himself for now, that he could just forget about it and sleep it off for a few hours. He doubted he would be able to handle this any better in the morning, but he could at least pretend for now, right?

Once he had dried off and changed into his slightly cleaner clothes, he walked out of the bathroom. The motel room was dark, the open bathroom providing the only light. Stan tossed his dirtier clothes into the duffel bag before his eyes landed on the bed.

Stanford had taken his glasses and aviator jacket off and set them on an old cardboard box next to the bed. He was currently curled up under the blankets on one side of the bed. He looked comfortable enough, but Stan doubted he was fully asleep yet.

Stan flipped off the bathroom light, and the whole room went dark save for the bit of outside light peeking through the blinds. He slowly shuffled to the other side of the bed and hesitated before slipping onto the mattress. Stanford shifted his head on one of the pillows but otherwise didn't react.

Stan looked at his brother's face for a moment before turning to stare up at the ceiling. Maybe he'd wake up tomorrow and this will all have been a very weird dream.

No, even he wasn't lucky enough for that.

“Stanley…?”

Stanford's muffled voice snapped Stan out of his trance, and he whispered, “Yeah?”

“You'll still be here when I wake up… right?”

Stan huffed slightly. He was wondering the same thing about the boy lying next to him.

“'Course, I will, buddy. Now go to sleep.”

“Mmkay…”

Stanford let out a deep sigh before settling down again. Stan continued to stare at the ceiling until his eyes became too heavy.

Chapter End Notes

Grfwruv uhfrpphqg 8 wr 9 krxuv ri vohhsExw L wklqn 4 wr 5 lv vwloo uhdvrqdeoh

Chapter 7: How Can One Sleep?

Chapter Notes

Stanley tends to see patterns, no matter how simple or coincidental. Stanford tends to overthink and end up at the most dramatic conclusion.

Need I say more?

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Gravity Falls 1982

The beginning of January had been oddly warm, causing a good amount of snow to melt and disappear, but if the wind was any indication, they might get a little more snow before spring comes.

Ford had wondered the forest for a good hour after the sun had set. Aside from a few irritable squirrels, he hadn't spotted any other sign of life, let alone a young boy that resembled himself. Part of him hadn't expected to actually find him, but not finding him made Ford feel uneasy. If he wasn't here, then where could he possibly be?

Ford continued to search through the trees until his hands started to feel numb, only then did he start to make his way back to the house. He would just have to try looking again tomorrow. Perhaps he could ask Fiddleford to help search so that he could stay and continue working on the portal.

This entire situation had flung a wrench right into the center of his plans, and it was already close to tipping over. If he didn't get this problem solved quickly, they would have to put off their test by at least a few days.

Once again, his brother was getting in the way of his success, even if it wasn't his fault.

Most of the lights still seemed to be on as Ford approached the house. He dug in his pocket for his keys and quickly made his way inside. He heard footsteps coming down the stairs as he locked the door and looked up to see Fiddleford carrying a quilt and a spare pillow.

“Any luck?” he asked as he reached the first floor.

Ford shook his head. “No, nothing.”

Fiddleford sighed. “Oh boy… he ain't gonna be happy.”

“Did he give you any trouble?”

“Only a little. He tried leavin' to go with ya about three times, even tried sneakin' out the window once,” Fiddleford shook his head. “I was about ready to tie him down, but he gave in before it could come to that. We've talked and he's agreed to not go out by himself unless he's with one of us.”

Ford seriously doubted that Stanley would stick to that agreement for long but decided not to voice his concerns. Now that he was back in his house, whatever energy he had possessed had left him, leaving a dull ache in his shoulders.

“Where is he?”

“I left him in the kitchen 'til I got him settled,” Fiddleford lifted the quilt in his arms. “Figured he could sleep on the pullout couch, so I grabbed these for him.”

Ford was about to question why he would leave Stanley alone- it was Stanley for crying out loud- but he frowned at what he had just said. The pullout couch?

“That's in my study.”

Fiddleford raised an eyebrow. “I'm well aware of that.”

“But I-”

“We don't have another bed and I'm not makin' him sleep on that forsaken couch in the livin' room. It's covered in clutter and I don't get why ya even have that thing, it's so uncomfortable.”

Fiddleford turned away and began heading towards Ford's study. Ford stared with his mouth agape until he was gone. Since when was his friend so firm with him? Ford shook his head before making his way to the kitchen.

Stanley was sitting in the same chair he had before, arms folded on the table, staring at a small notebook laying open in front of him. His foot was tapping the ground slightly, and he was humming softly. The melody seemed familiar, but it was too quiet for Ford to identify. He cleared his throat loudly, and Stanley's head snapped up to look at him.

“You're back!” Stanley beamed as he sprung to his feet and ran up to him. “You okay? Did you find him?”

“I'm alright,” he started. “I'm sorry, but… I haven't found him yet.”

Ford was prepared for Stanley to be surprised, to immediately fly into a panic and try to run outside again. Instead, his smile fell as he glanced at the ground. He looked concerned of course, but he also looked deep in thought. It was the same look he wore whenever he had a plan for an extravagant prank, all that was missing was the cocky smirk. Ford swallowed.

“I'm certain we will find him, no need to worry.”

Stanley nodded but didn't say anything. He slowly turned and walked back to the table, picking up the notebook and staring down at the page. Ford leaned forward curiously to look but Stanley closed it and placed it back in his bag. He cleared his throat.

“So… have you eaten?”

Stanley nodded. “Yeah, Fidds was gonna make somethin' but I already had a sandwich Ma made me. Didn't wanna waste it, you know?”

“Well… good.”

Three seconds of awkward silence followed. Ford gripped his hands behind him tightly, nervously. Stanley raised an eyebrow as he tilted his head.

“You okay, Sixer?”

Ford frowned and huffed. “Of course, I am.”

“No, you're not. You've got that look on your face.”

“What look?”

“That look,” Stanley emphasized, pointing a finger up at him. “People who're okay don't look like that.”

Ford felt his irritation spike and opened his mouth to argue, but quickly shut it. Control yourself, Stanford, he told himself. You're better than this. He was 28 for Pete's sake, he shouldn't be having petty disagreements with a 12-year-old, even if it was his brother.

Stanley had always known how to push his buttons without even trying. It was exhausting.

“There's a pullout couch in my study,” he said shortly. “Fiddleford is already setting it up for you. You should probably head in so you can sleep.”

“Oh… okay,” Stanley picked up his backpack. “Where is it?”

“Follow me.”

Ford led Stanley out of the kitchen and down the stairs that led to his study. Once they reached the bottom, Ford noticed the door was ajar. He pushed it open and saw that the room was bathed in the soft light from his desk lamp. It was just as he had left it that afternoon, except now the pullout bed was set up. Fiddleford was unfolding the large quilt and turned when they walked in.

“It ain't much, but you should be comfy enough,” he told Stanley as he laid the quilt on the mattress.

“Ah, don't worry about it, Fidds. I've got more room on this than my bunk at home anyway.”

Fiddleford grinned before tossing the pillow on one end of the mattress. Stanley placed his bag on the floor and propped himself on the edge of the bed, bouncing a little and making it creak. Ford stood in front of the doorway, hands behind his back. He was just about excuse himself when Fiddleford spoke up.

“I think I'm gonna turn in. Y'all sleep tight, okay?”

“Night, Fidds.”

Ford didn't respond as his assistant made his way towards the door. Fiddleford stopped for a moment once he was next to him, nodded his head towards Stanley, and left without another word. Ford inhaled deeply through his nose as he turned back to face the room.

Stanley was still sat on the edge of the bed, currently taking off his shoes. Ford hesitated before taking a few steps forward.

“Will you be alright for the night?” he asked.

“Um…” Stanley glanced around the room and gulped. “Yeah, I'll be fine.”

Ford watched as he lightly swung his legs over the edge of the bed. Stanley then looked back at the door before leaning forward and gesturing for Ford to come closer. Ford blinked at him, then slowly moved over to stand beside him. Stanley patted the space next to him on the mattress, and Ford huffed as he sat down.

“Sixer,” he began. “I… kinda had an idea…”

Ford hated to admit it, but he was curious. “Indeed?”

“Yeah. It's just…” Stanley tapped a finger against his knee before continuing. “Me running into you was pretty lucky, right?”

'Lucky' wasn't the word Ford would use to describe it, though he supposed it was for the best that he found Stanley before anyone else.

“I suppose so.”

“Right. So…” Stanley frowned and shook his head. “Okay, I know how this sounds… but, what if my Ford did come back with me?”

Ford raised an eyebrow. “I told you Stanley, I didn't find him out there. But I'm sure-”

“No! I mean, he traveled to the future with me.”

Ford folded his arms. “I thought we had already established that is exactly what might have happened.”

“Yeah, and if I'm here with you,” Stanley hesitated for a moment before continuing. “Then… what if he's with me?”

“…What?”

“I mean… If I really time traveled, and I ended up here with you, then maybe he ended up here with your Stanley.”

It was so oddly simple that Ford was almost ready to immediately dismiss it. But the more he thought about it the more it seemed plausible. The fact that Stanley had ended up in Gravity Falls as opposed to anywhere else in the world was an incredible coincidence, and with something as peculiar as this, what was one more?

“Do you have any reason to believe this may be the case?” he asked after a moment.

“I mean… besides this?” Stanley gestured between the two of them. “This is pretty much it. If I was lucky enough, maybe he was, too.”

Perhaps this was why Stanley hadn't reacted poorly to Ford coming back empty handed. That must have meant that he was confident enough to not be worried, but he had no other proof than his own situation. Still, it was a better hypothesis that what Ford could come up with at the moment, and a more hopeful one as well.

“I suppose it's possible,” Ford admitted, shocked to hear himself say it. “That's… oddly wise of you, Stanley.”

“Of course, it is!” Stanley threw his hands up, a smug look on his face. “I know how to use my brain, it's just more fun when I don't.”

“It's also more dangerous when you don't,” Ford said seriously.

“That's what I have you for, Sixer! I bring the fun; you bring the brains. Together, we make awesome things happen!”

Ford was unable to stop himself from rolling his eyes. He tried to tell himself that he shouldn't be too judgmental, that this version of Stanley still had childish naivety. He himself had that at one point, but he also knew that Stan never quite stopped being childish, and that was part of the reason why their relationship had started to strain even before the incident.

The idea that a younger version of himself could be stuck with Stan gave him nausea.

“Hey…” Stanley muttered, causing Ford to whip around. “I'm… sorry I didn't recognize you sooner. You're just… different.”

The look on his face was enough to snuff out any irritation Ford felt, replaced with a need to see that look gone immediately. Distress didn't look good on Stanley; it didn't look right.

“Oh no, it's fine,” he said quickly. “Honestly, I'm surprised you were able to tell without me explaining it. How did you know it was me so quickly?”

“I dunno. You do look kinda like Pa,” Stanley suddenly reached forward and grabbed one of Ford's hands. “And I saw your hands, and the scar, and all your nerd crap looks a lot like the stuff you have around our room.”

“Ah,” Ford's whole body stiffened when his little brother grabbed him, but didn't resist. “Well… yes. When you put it that way, I supposed it is obvious.”

Stanley beamed at him before looking down at his hand. Ford didn't understand what he was looking for this time, but he couldn't find it in him to ask or pull away. A moment later, Stanley's face fell.

He looked confused and curious. He reached over and grabbed Ford's other hand, holding them both up in front of him. He slid his own smaller hands until their palms were pressed together gently.

Ford couldn't see from his brother's point of view, but he imagined Stanley's hands looked very small compared to his own. He could feel his smaller fingers lining along his, and Ford could feel something bubbling in the pit of his stomach. Something warm yet terrifying. He tried to ignore it as he remained perfectly still.

Stanley didn't say or do anything, staring at their hands for what felt like minutes. After a while, he frowned slightly as he looked up at Ford.

“You're really big now, huh?”

His voice was so uncharacteristically soft it shook Ford to his core. He swallowed hard as he shrugged.

“Yes, well… that's what happens when you grow up.”

Stanley stared down at their hands for a moment longer before slowly lowering his own onto his lap, staring down at them. Ford held his hands in his own lap, not saying anything. He wasn't sure what he could say. It had only been a few hours since this madness had started, and he was still having trouble wrapping his head around it.

“Sixer?” Stanley spoke up quietly.

“Yes?”

“Where am I?”

Ford raised an eyebrow. “Stanley, you're in Gravity Falls. Didn't we tell you that?”

Stanley shook his head. “No, I mean… I mean your version of me.”

Ford immediately tensed up. In hindsight, he should've seen this question coming. He was surprised his younger brother hadn't asked sooner. That being said, he wasn't sure how to respond.

“If I ain't with you, Poindexter, where else could I possibly be?” Stanley looked up at him with concerned eyes. “Where… where am I?”

Ford swallowed hard. The first few years after he had moved to Gravity Falls, he had tried to call his mom at least a few times a month. Their talks were always nice, but any time she even mentioned Stanley by name, he did what he could to end the call sooner. She must have noticed the pattern, because she brought up his brother less and less as the years went on. Ford vaguely remembered her saying he had attempted to start his own business at one point, but nothing more than that. He had no idea where his twin could be or what he was doing, and it left an unpleasant feeling in the pit of his stomach that he immediately tried to shove away.

Ford suddenly realized he hadn't talked to his Ma or Shermie in a while. He made a mental note to call soon, after he finished testing the portal.

“I, um… I don't know,” he admitted. “I haven't known for a long time.”

“Why?”

Ford groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. Even if he had time to find a way to explain why his brother wasn't around, there was no way he could actually tell Stanley. Emotional baggage aside, it was totally irresponsible of him to say more than necessary. Time travel was risky business, he could disrupt so many things simply by being in the same room as this version of Stanley. The fact that nothing disastrous had happened yet was some sort of miracle.

He couldn't lie though. He may be a younger version, but Stanley could always tell when he was lying. He had made that abundantly clear when he had pointed out 'the look' earlier.

“Look, Stanley, I can't possibly tell you everything. Time travel is a concept of which we know very little, I'm not even sure how you could've gotten here to begin with. If I tell you too much, it could affect the past.

If it changes too drastically, anything could happen. I might cease to exist.”

Stanley's eyes widened. He seemed surprised by Ford's response, but he didn't seem to think he was lying. Then his brows furrowed.

“Can't tell me or don't wanna?” Stanley asked, his voice slightly bitter.

Ford shook his head and stood up. “I'm sorry, but I can't tell you more than that.”

“Sixer-”

“Goodnight, Stanley.”

Ford refused to look back as he exited the room. He heard his brother let out an agitated sigh as he shut the door. He stood still, his hand still on the doorknob for what felt like minutes before he finally released his hold and made his way upstairs.

For the first time in ages, Ford wanted to do nothing but go to sleep.

New Mexico 1982

When he first woke up, Stanford had nearly forgotten where he was and couldn't understand why he wasn't in his bunk. When he looked over and saw Stan snoring loudly beside him, everything from the previous night came flooding back. An odd mixture relief and anxiety swelled in his chest, and he found himself unable to go back to sleep. So, he simply put on his glasses and took out one of his notebooks- the one with his sketches.

The first thing he did was flip to the most recent page he had written on, the one with the lyrics to his and Stanley's shanty. It was hard to believe that they had written it just a few days ago, that things were so normal. Stanford raised a hand and ran his fingers down the page. He was tempted to hum the song, thinking it might helping him relax for a moment, but he didn't want to risk waking Stan. He pulled his pen out of the notebook spiral before flipping to a blank page.

He had spent the rest of his time awake jotting down notes of everything that had happened in the last 12ish hours. He and Stanley found a device, they had time traveled, and Stanford had ended up with an older version of his twin. Stanford was stuck on why his Stanley wasn't around when he appeared here. Was he in a different part of town? Was he even in the same country? How had Stanford been lucky enough to find Stan?

Stanford wasn't sure how long he had been awake. The clock on the bedside seemed broken, it had been stuck on 3 o'clock since he had woken up, but he thinks he's been up for a little over an hour. The light peeking through the blinds was enough for him to see it was probably early morning. He heard a few cars drive by at some point, but otherwise it was quiet.

Stanford was chewing on the end of his pen, trying to think of an effective plan to search for his Stanley. They could probably try driving around just to see if he was in town first, and then just go from there. But… where could they go from there? Where would they even start looking?

Stanford turned to look down at Stan, who was still fast asleep, one arm hanging off the edge of the bed. Even though he wasn't the brother he came with, Stanford was immensely happy that he had found him. If anyone could keep him safe and help him with this mess, it was Stan. The two of them were unstoppable together, and there was no reason- as far as he was concerned- why a 16-year difference would change that.

But now that the excitement of finding Stan had settled and the room was quiet, he had a moment to truly register his now older brother. He did look a bit like Pa, but for some reason he mostly reminded Stanford of their older brother, Shermie. Maybe it was just because he was taller and had longer hair. Shermie didn't have a mullet like Stan did, but it was at a length that made their dad glare every time he saw it. Stanford was almost positive that the reason Pa had stopped fretting over it was because Shermie had been so adamant and stood his ground about how it was his hair.

Perhaps Pa respected that? Or perhaps he was hoping that Shermie would eventually be embarrassed and get it cut.

But the mullet wasn't the only thing different about this Stan. Stanford had been stunned to realize that his brother was living in a very small, very rundown motel room. There were multiple boxes, each with an image of Stan's face. He noticed one was filled with smaller boxes of band aids labeled 'Rip-Off', and one box had 'Stan Vac' written across it. He could see the duffle bag laying open in the corner, and it was full of dirty clothes. He hadn't said anything when he first walked in, too concerned with telling Stan what happened. While his brother had a tendency to leave their bedroom a bit messy, this room just looked too small and too cluttered.

Stanford wasn't surprised at how old Stan looked; he was 16 years into the future after all. However, there was something about the way he spoke and the way he carried himself that was… too different. His Stanley had always had exhilarating confidence that was almost contagious, his chest out and head held high.

This version of his brother was more quiet, even fidgety. Stanford had caught him staring at his rearview mirror multiple times on the drive to the motel, and he had glared through the peephole a little too long when he locked the door. The chair was still propped under the doorhandle.

But what was even worse was that Stan looked so… tired. Like he had been rung ragged, barley hanging on by a thread, but still pushing on anyway. Stanford couldn't understand what had happened to make his brother look like that. It made him scared.

It made him angry. If Stanley had been in any sort of trouble, surely he would have gone to him for help. They always managed to figure a way out of things. So, why hadn't he-

A thought suddenly crossed Stanford's mind- a thought that was chilling and horrifying, but once it had made itself known, he couldn't shake it away.

He was dead.

It was the only thing that made any sense. The sad smiles Stan had given him, the way he spoke of his twin in past tense, and the fact that Stan was all alone in this dingy motel with no clothes and presumably no food. The only reason Stanford would leave him in this mess would be because he wasn't around anymore.

Stanford suddenly felt the air leave his lungs, his grip on his notebook tightening and wrinkling the paper. Stan suddenly let out a very loud snort and Stanford whipped around to look at him. He shifted his head before settling down, snoring loudly once more. Stanford didn't feel like being the only one awake anymore, and he quickly placed his notebook back into his bag before shifting closer to Stan.

“Stanley?”

Stan didn't respond or even move. Stanford reached over and gently pushed on his shoulder.

“Stan, wake up.”

He groaned and shook his arm slightly. Stanford frowned before poking him in the back, hard. Stan grunted and lazily swatted at his hand, which Stanford easily avoided.

“Stan!”

Stan sighed as he started to sit up, rubbing a hand across his face. He suddenly gasped and whipped around, staring at Stanford with wide, terrified eyes. After a moment he took a deep breath and pinched the bridge of his nose.

“You don't gotta poke me that hard, bud,” he grumbled.

“Sorry.”

Stan looked at Stanford for a moment before falling back on his pillow, staring up at the ceiling.

“What time is it, anyway?”

Stanford shrugged. “I'm not sure, the clock has been stuck on three since I woke up.”

Stan groaned before slowly forcing himself up and onto his feet. He shuffled his way to the other side of the bed and began messing with the clock. A moment later he placed it back on the side table, and it now read 7:30.

“Man…” Stan stared at the clock before turning to look at Stanford. “Why'd you wake me? You okay?”

“Because…” Stanford glanced at his hands to avoid his gaze. “Well… it's morning. We… we should get up now.”

Stan's brows furrowed. Stanford wanted to ask him- he needed to know- but the second he looked at Stan the words were caught in his throat. He was scared of the answer. Stanford was certain Stan could tell he was lying, but he didn't say anything.

Stan stood there and stared at him for a few moments before turning and making his way to his duffle bag.

“There's a gas station up the road that has decent food,” he said. “You hungry?”

Stanford hadn't eaten anything since last night, having finally eaten the sandwich in his backpack while Stan was in the shower. As if on cue, his stomach rumbled just loud enough for them both to hear. Stanford gripped the front of his shirt as Stan chuckled.

“I'll take that as a yes?”

Stanford nodded. “Yeah, breakfast sounds good.”

“Alright then.”

Stanford finally pulled the comforter off and leaned over to put on his shoes. As he tied his laces, he looked over to see Stan putting on his red, frayed jacket before picking up his own muddy boots. He hadn't even changed out of his shirt and sweat pants.

Perhaps he didn't have anything cleaner than those? Stanford tried to hide his frown as he put on his own jacket and ran his hands through his hair, attempting to straighten it out.

Once they were ready, Stan finally moved the chair away from the door. Stanford moved forward to follow him outside, but Stan stopped and turned to face him.

“Look, ah… we gotta set a few rules,” he began. “I need you to stay close and don't wander off anywhere. And try not to do anythin' too crazy or draw any attention to us, okay?”

Stanford nodded. “I won't.”

“And…” Stan gripped his fist nervously before continuing, “If I tell you to leave or to run, I need you to listen to me.”

Stanford blinked. “Why would I need to run?”

“Ah, you know,” Stan rubbed the back of his head. “People in this city can be kinda crazy. Everyone's either off their meds or tryin' to sell you somethin' and it's really annoyin'. Best to avoid that, you know?”

He didn't seem to be lying, but Stanford could tell that he wasn't telling him everything. He wanted to push for more, but he figured he would probably have better luck once they ate something.

“Okay, then.”

Stan nodded. He stared through the peephole for a few seconds before finally opening the door. Stanford blinked several times as the sun shined in his eyes. Once he was out, Stan quickly shut and locked the door, even tugging on the doorknob just to make sure it was secure.

After that, he turned and walked right passed his car, making his way across the parking lot towards the sidewalk. Stanford moved quickly to catch up with him.

“We're not taking the car?”

Stan shook his head. “I don't waste gas if I can help it. Besides, it's a short walk up the road,” he gave him a small smirk. “You can keep up, right?”

Stanford reached up and shoved him playfully. “You know I can keep up!”

“Bet you run outta breath before we get there.”

“Bet you I don't!”

Stan chuckled before he started walking a little faster. Stanford glared as he marched to keep up with him.

Chapter End Notes

Vlohqw zklvshuv, lqylvleoh hbhvWuxvwlqj klp zrxog qrw eh zlvh

Chapter 8: Mornings are Awkward

Chapter Notes

Y'all, I've been Busy this week! I had this chapter like 99% completed days ago but I've been held up with work. But I'm back, and with a slightly longer chapter this time. Let me know what y'all think.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Gravity Falls 1982

Stanley's eyes blinked open when he felt the sun shining directly on his face. He lazily raised his fist to rub his eyes, groaning slightly. It didn't take him long to remember where he was; he could feel it in his bones.

He wasn't uncomfortable, but he felt different having slept in a bed that wasn't his own. As he lowered his hand it landed on something laying on his chest. Stanley frowned as he looked down and saw that it was his notebook, lying open and face down.

Despite what he had said last night, Stanley hadn't been alright. How could he be? He was in a completely different time, in a completely different bed, and he was once again all alone. He hadn't had the guts to admit it to Ford, and part of him had regretted it.

Stanley had never put much thought into it before, but he had never really slept alone. Stanford had always been there with him, either above him in his own bunk or occasionally with Stanley in his bunk. The two of them would often stay up late reading stories, playing games and messing with each other until they passed out together.

Last night had been the first time in his life that Stanley had ever slept alone. He hadn't really expected Ford to stay, hadn't even bothered asking. Ford was an adult, and perhaps they had grown out of that habit by now. Still, the fact that his now older brother hadn't even hesitated to leave was jarring.

Stanley hadn't felt like sleeping after that. Once he had been sure Ford was gone, he had pulled out his notebook and immediately flipped to the page with their shanty. He had spent a long time just looking at the lines, staring at the wrinkles and pencil smudges on the page. Stanley had attempted to add more to it to distract himself or make himself tired but had only managed to jot down a few words that he could possibly rhyme together before his brain gave up. After that, he simply looked over the lyrics, singing quietly to himself over and over, until he finally managed to close his eyes.

Stanley closed the notebook carefully and held it close to his chest, staring up at the ceiling. He really wished his brother was here with him, but he was trying not to let himself panic. He was certain that Stanford was with his older self. He had to be. He wasn't sure why the idea had occurred to him. When he had talked to Fidds the previous night, the man had mentioned how lucky Stanley was to have run into Ford, and Stanley agreed. It was lucky- too lucky to be a coincidence. He knew it wasn't much to go off of- Stanford would probably say that it was nothing to go off of, and that they should consider their options before sticking to one theory.

Stanford had to be with an older version of Stanley. He wouldn't know what to do with himself otherwise. At least this way, there was a chance.

Something shifted beside him, and Stanley snapped his head to the side. Someone was sitting in the desk chair, slumped over the desk beside it. Stanley's brows furrowed as he set down his notebook and slowly got to his feet. It wasn't until he had crept up to the desk that he realized it was Ford, dressed in a white shirt and blue plaid pajama pants. One arm was resting over the desk while the other hung limply at his side, his face lying inside an open book.

Stanley blinked at his brother before raising a finger and poking him in the cheek.

“Ford? Wake up.”

Ford stirred slightly, but otherwise didn't react. Stanley rolled his eyes before reaching up and pinching his brother's nose shut. Ford's mouth opened as he gasped, and not even a second later his eyes snapped open as he immediately sat up in his chair. His eyes landed on Stanley, who snorted loudly at the sight of Ford's messy hair and foggy glasses.

“Mornin', nerd.”

Ford glared as he pushed up his glasses. “Stanley! What're you doing in-”

But Ford stopped talking as he looked down at himself before glancing around the room. He spun in his chair, his mouth hanging open slightly as his brows furrowed.

“…my study?” he muttered.

Stanley raised an eyebrow. “You left me in here, remember? Should be askin' why you're in here.”

Ford didn't answer him immediately, his eyes still roaming all around him, clearly confused. Stanley was confused as well, wondering when and why Ford had come back, and why he had been sleeping in a chair. Didn't he have his own bed?

“I… I must have… been sleepwalking,” he said slowly before suddenly perking up. “Yes! That's it! Sleepwalking.”

Stanley felt his face fall as he stared up at his brother, who seemed oblivious to his reaction. He's lying.

“You don't sleepwalk.”

Ford's expression turned irritable as he looked at him. “As a child perhaps, but a lot can change in 16 years.”

Ford straightened up in his seat as he reached for the book he had been using as a pillow. Stanley glanced down at it and saw some strange intricate drawings before it was quickly shut. It had a dark red cover with a golden six-fingered hand on the front, and a large number 3 in the center. Stanley tilted his head as he stared at the book, very curious.

“It's passed 7,” Ford stated as he placed the book to the side. “I'm sure Fiddleford is awake by now. Why don't you go upstairs, he can get you something to eat.”

Stanley's attention was drawn away from the book at the statement. Now that he was awake, he realized how hungry he was.

“Yeah, okay.”

He turned away and walked over to the bed to pick up his shoes. After slipping them on and tying them tight, he started to make his way to the door when he noticed that Ford didn't get up to follow him.

“Aren't you gonna come eat?”

“I'll be up in a minute,” Ford said offhandedly as he picked up a few papers on the desk, not even looking at him.

“Okay…”

Stanley stood there for a moment before realizing that Ford was being serious, and he slowly left the room.

People loved to say that Stanley was a moron who couldn't pay attention, but even he could tell that Ford was being oddly distant with him. Stanley had quickly realized that there was something different about his brother that wasn't there before. Instead of just being shy he was tense and closed off. Stanford had a hard time communicating with other people sometimes, but he had always been open and completely himself around Stanley, and he had never lied to him. He didn't know what to think of it.

The wooden stairs creaked as Stanley made his way up, and he could already smell coffee coming from the kitchen. It instantly made him think of Ma, and he felt as though someone had punched him in the chest. They had already been gone for so long. Would she be worried about them?

Stanley had thought about her last night when he had eaten the sandwich she had made for him. He had realized that if he couldn't find a way back home, then that would be the last thing she would ever make for him. He had taken his time in eating it after that.

When he finally reached the kitchen, he saw that Fidds was in fact awake. There was already a pan on the stove, and he was whisking something in a small bowl. He turned as Stanley entered the room and grinned.

“Oh, mornin' Stanley.”

“Hey Fidds. What're you makin'?”

“Breakfast, obviously. Some of us have to eat around here,” Fidds rolled his eyes. “Ford's probably already awake and workin', but I'll get him up here eventually. Take a seat if you want, I'll just be a few minutes.”

Stanley fiddled with the end of his shirt absentmindedly. “You… need any help?”

Fidds blinked at him for a moment before smiling. “Why, sure. You can throw some bread into the toaster, and there should be some jam in the fridge.”

Stanley nodded. He really just needed something to do. He felt jittery for some reason and didn't want to sit still. He pulled the small jar of jam out of the fridge as Fidds poured the contents of the bowl into the pan. Stanley could tell by the smell that it was scrambled eggs. He eyed the oddly shiny toaster before dropping in a few slices of bread.

Stanley glanced over at Fidds, who was stirring the eggs with a spatula. He had been apprehensive when he had first met the man yesterday, still confused and worried about his brother. Stanley wasn't an untrusting person, but he was a bit apprehensive around new people. His Pa had always taught him to stay on his toes and to be careful around strangers.

However, there was a certain kindness in Fidds' eyes that didn't feel malicious in any way, so he had chosen to trust him. Fidds had been unnaturally kind to him- letting him inside, patching up his wounds, trying to make him feel safe- which had made Stanley feel a bit crappy about what had happened later.

Stanley had tried to run not even five minutes after Ford had first left. He had managed to grab the door handle before Fidds managed to pick him up and drag him back into the kitchen. When he had reached to grab something from the fridge, Stanley had tried to climb through the window, and had nearly made it through when his foot knocked over a tupperware bowl. When Fidds was busy making himself a grilled cheese sandwich, Stanley had tried to simply tiptoe out of the room, but Fidds had simply said “Don't.” in a very firm voice that almost reminded him of Pa. After that, Stanley had finally given up and sat in his chair glumly.

Fidds didn't say another word until he had finally sat down at the table. Stanley prepared himself for a lecture, to be yelled at and called a knucklehead or an idiot. It had been a lecture of sorts, but it was much softer than he had anticipated. Fidds said that he understood that Stanley was worried and that he felt for him, but that it wasn't safe for him to be by himself in the woods, and that he should put a little more faith in Ford. Stanley hadn't quite apologized, but he had agreed not to go off by himself after that.

“So… how do you know how to cook?” he asked, unsure of what else to say.

“My mama taught me. Wanted to make sure I could properly feed myself without needing my wife to do it for me.”

“Ma makes us help sometimes, too,” Stanley added. “Especially for Hanukkah. She's always too busy to do it all by herself. Pa doesn't really help, but we get it done just fine.”

Fidds gave him a small smile as he continued to stir the eggs. “So… ya doin' okay then?”

“Huh?”

“Ya know… being in the future, and your brother…”

Stanley shook his head. “Nah, I'm not worried.”

Fidds stopped and looked at him. “You're not?”

“Nope. Ford and I talked last night, and I think that younger him just ended up with older me, like how I did.”

Fidds continued to stare at him for a few moments before looking back down at the pan. “Well… can't say I've thought of that.”

“Yeah, neither did he.”

Stanley had been momentarily pleased when he had told Ford his theory when his brother hadn't thought of it himself. Then he remembered how Ford said he didn't even know where his Stanley was, and he felt his stomach sink. Ford wouldn't tell him why that was, and that alone was disturbing enough. He was snapped out of his thoughts as the toast suddenly popped up.

Eventually, they each had a plate of eggs and toast, and were sitting at the table. Fidds had given Stanley some orange juice while he stuck with coffee. It had been about 20 minutes, and Ford still hadn't come up yet. Not coming up with Stanley was odd enough, but he should've been up by now. His twin never missed breakfast. Most important meal of the day, and all that, right?

Stanley gripped the front of his shirt as he glanced at his plate. He had only taken a few bites, but he didn't feel very hungry anymore.

“Fidds?”

“Yes?”

“Why is Ford actin' so weird?”

Fidds paused halfway into taking another bite of his toast as he blinked at him. “What do you mean?”

Stanley set down his fork and sat back in his chair. “It's just… at first I thought he was upset I didn't recognize him immediately, but even when I did, he was still actin' weird around me. I mean, I'm weirded out by all this too, but… he's actin' like he doesn't even want me here. What's with that?”

Fidds face fell as he slowly set down his toast. He glanced away, looking conflicted. Stanley didn't know Fidds well enough to be able to know if he would lie or not, but he sure hoped he would be honest with him.

“He's just worried, Stanley,” he said finally. “It's gonna take some time for us to figure out this mess and he wants to make sure that ya get home safely, that's all.”

“Then why does he look at me like that?”

“Like what?”

Stanley's mouth snapped shut and he turned away. He hadn't meant to say that; it had just slipped out. It was something that he had noticed when he had spoken with Ford last night, something in the back of his mind that he had tried to push away but was gnawing at him.

Ford looked at Stanley like he didn't even like him anymore.

“Nothin'.”

Stanley looked away and picked up his fork to continue eating. He could feel Fidds' eyes on him but ignored it. He tried telling himself that he was being stupid, that he was overreacting just because Ford was a little different now, but a tiny voice in his mind continued to argue with him.

Fidds took a sip of his coffee before speaking again. “How's about when we're done eatin', we get ya a change of clothes. I have some stuff that I thought my son would like and ya look about the same size. I was gonna send them to him, but I'm sure he wouldn't mind if ya borrowed it first.”

Stanley nodded as he silently ate his breakfast. A moment later, Fidds reached over and put a hand on his arm, causing him to freeze.

“Hey, it'll be okay,” he spoke softly. “Once we're done, I'm gonna take a look at that time machine ya brought and see if I can figure it out. If you're really certain about that theory of yours, you and Ford can work on finding his Stanley, okay?”

That made Stanley perk up a little. Of course, they would just have to call or something. His older self might not even be that far away. It couldn't be that hard, right?

Stanley smiled a little as he nodded, and Fidds gave his arm a small pat before pulling away. Stanley stared at him for a moment, eyeing him up much like he did yesterday, only this time he wasn't sizing him up to see if he could tackle him or outrun him if he needed to.

“Hey, Fidds?”

“Hm?”

Stanley glanced around to make sure Ford hadn't come up yet before taking a deep breath. “I'm uh… I'm sorry I tried sneakin' out, or whatever…”

Fidds lowered his coffee mug from his face to blink at him, and Stanley felt his face burning up. He hated being in the wrong, and he especially hated admitting he was wrong. But, Fidds was the first adult he had truly met that was actually okay. Most were so angry and bitter.

They always seemed to sneer at him and his brother, always ready to snap and tattle to their parents whenever they got into trouble. But Fidds was just… nice.

“I was just… I really wanna find my brother.”

Fidds smiled again. “It's alright son, I understand.”

And he drank his coffee without another word. No additional lectures or warnings or threats, just acceptance.

Stanley ate the rest of his breakfast with a little more gusto after that.

New Mexico 1982

Stan kept his hands in his jacket pockets as he looked all around the street while they moved down the sidewalk. It was still early so there weren't as many people around yet, but that didn't mean much. There didn't need to be a lot of people around for one person to cause trouble. His mind kept wandering to the pocket knife he had stored in his boot, and he really hoped he wouldn't have to use it.

Stan was constantly looking down beside him, making sure that Stanford was still keeping up with him. He had been merciful and had slowed his pace earlier, so the kid wasn't out of breath yet. Every time he looked down to check on his brother, Stanford would always look back up at him and smile brightly.

Stan felt his chest swell every time he saw it, but always forced himself to look away to focus on his surroundings. They weren't going for a stroll in the park. They just needed to get some food and get back as soon as possible.

As the gas station came into view, Stan could see a handful of people gathered in a huddle, smoking right beside the front door. He felt Stanford grab his sleeve tightly, and he looked down to see him standing even closer to him, staring at the station tensely.

“Relax, Sixer,” Stan told him. “Just stay close to me, alright?”

Stanford nodded, not taking his eyes off the building. Stan kept his eyes on the group standing at the front until they finally made it inside.

One side of the station held the area with snacks, bottled drinks and other convenient goods, and the other held a small dining area of about five tables with chairs. The register counter sat in the center, connecting the two sides. There was one girl at the register who was helping a line of three people.

Good. She's distracted. Stan placed a hand on Stanford's shoulder and guided him towards the goods. He glanced at the corners of the ceiling and didn't see any cameras, so he suspected there could be some behind him.

“Why don't you grab a pack of water bottles real quick, okay?”

Stanford hesitated before nodding and making his way down one aisle. Stan kept his eyes on him as he moved over to the next aisle. He saw packages of cookies, crackers, pretzels and what looked like hundreds of candy bars.

He made sure his back was still turned in the direction he thought any cameras may be as he knelt down. He pretended to rummage around with one hand while he grabbed a few packages with the other.

He managed to get some crackers and a package of beef jerky stuffed into his jacket when his eyes landed on something colorful- a pack of jellybeans. Stanford had always loved jellybeans, he used to get excited any time he found an oddly shaped one. Stan hesitated for a moment before grabbing the pack and stuffing it in his pocket.

“What're you doing?”

Stan's head snapped up and he saw Stanford standing beside him, holding an 8-pack of water bottles. He was staring at him in confusion, and Stan quickly pulled his hand away from the shelf.

“Just seein' if they had somethin' I like, but I guess they're out.”

Stanford's brows furrowed but Stan stood up and started moving before he could say anything else.

The last customer had just walked away as they made their way up to the counter. Stan took the bottles from his brother and placed them on the counter.

“Just the water then?”

“We need some egg and cheese biscuits, too.”

“Gotcha,” The girl nodded and turned her head. “Terry, two egg and cheese biscuits.”

Suddenly, a skinny boy in an apron popped up from the other end of the counter that was protected by long sneeze guards. He moved over to the area that held products in containers under heaters and began to assemble their food.

“That'll be 10.95.”

Stan moved carefully as he pulled a few bills out of his pocket and placed them on the counter. This was far from his first time shoplifting, and he knew how to make as little noise as possible without looking too suspicious. He could see Stanford eyeing him but ignored it.

The boy in the apron walked up and placed the two biscuits wrapped in paper on the counter as the cashier handed him some change.

“Have a good one, sir.”

“Thanks.”

Stan gave Stanford his biscuit before placing his own in his pocket and picking up the water bottles. It wasn't until they passed the gas pumps outside that Stanford finally spoke up.

“Why did you do that?”

“Do what?”

“You've got snacks in your jacket,” Stanford stated. “I saw you.”

Stan frowned and shrugged. “I know. Now I won't have to waste more money to eat later.”

Stanford frowned at him but didn't respond. Stan looked at him for a moment before sighing.

“Look, there are some things I can't avoid paying for, like gas or car repairs. My car is all I really got, and I can't afford to lose her. I can manage without much else for a while. Money is… kinda tight right now.”

That was an understatement if he'd ever heard one, but it seemed to do the trick. Stanford's expression softened as he looked down at the package in his hands, looking at it like it was more than just gas station breakfast. He carefully unwrapped it, stared at it for a moment, then took a large bite. Stan knew for a fact that gas station food was mediocre at best, but Stanford smiled as he continued eating.

Not even a few minutes later, they had finally made it back to the motel. Stan glanced around the parking lot and started to walk faster when he noticed movement by the dumpster. He quickly unlocked the door and practically dragged Stanford inside before quickly shutting it. Once it was locked, he checked through the peephole, and he could just make out Kevin shuffling through the parking lot. Stan kept his eye on him until he laid down on the ground in the middle of the lot, apparently taking one of his 'naps.'

Stan set the water bottles on the table along with all the snacks he got before sitting down in the chair, finally taking his biscuit out of his pocket. He took a large bite out of it as Stanford took a seat on the edge of the bed, still holding half of his own biscuit. He had the same lost, concerned expression on his face he had earlier when he had woken up Stan.

After spending every night alone for 10 years, Stan had been terrified when he had realized someone was in his room. His hand had flown to his boot for his knife before he remembered that he was in bed and his knife wasn't anywhere near him. Once he saw Stanford's face, everything that had happened came flooding back, and his adrenaline immediately dropped.

Stan could tell that Stanford had lied when he said why he had woken him up. He had the same look on his face he would get whenever he had woken up from a nightmare and would climb down from his bunk to slip in bed next to Stan. This was the first time he hadn't been honest about why, though.

“So, you gonna tell me what was buggin' you this mornin'?”

Stanford's head snapped up, his mouth hanging slightly open as he froze where he sat. He looked like a deer caught in the headlights. Stan crossed a leg over his knee as he took another bite of his biscuit, expecting him to take a moment to gather his thoughts. He must have been prepared though, because he didn't even hesitate to speak.

“Stan, am I dead?”

Stan inhaled sharply, causing him to choke on a large chuck of his biscuit. He uncrossed his legs and leaned over, beating a fist into his chest as he coughed. After a moment, he finally managed to get it up and spat it in the nearby bin. As he spat and coughed, trying to catch his breath, he leaned up to stare at Stanford, who was blinking at him in confusion.

“Wh-what?!” he gasped.

“I- I asked you if I'm-”

“No!” Stan cut him off sharply. “What do you- No, you're not dead! Moses, why would you- Why?”

Stanford's grip on his biscuit tightened, practically squishing it apart. His face flushed as he stared at the ground.

“It's just… Well, you seemed kinda sad talking about the other me before, and you're in this place all by yourself and…” he gave a small shrug. “I just… don't know why else I wouldn't be around, you know?”

Stan was so shocked he nearly dropped the rest of his biscuit. The fact that Stanford thought that the only reason he wasn't around was because he had died made Stan feel breathless. It was crazy, insane even!

But, as he thought about it more, he figured it might not have been that crazy. He certainly never imagined a future that didn't involve his brother when he was this age. Perhaps he would have thought the same thing?

Stan sighed. “You're not dead, Stanford. You're just…” he hesitated before continuing, “Doin' your own thing, that's all.”

“Without you?”

“Well… yeah.”

Stanford's frown deepened. “But… but what about the Stan O' War? We were supposed to go sailing.”

Stan felt like he was choking again, and this time he couldn't make it go away. He set the rest of his biscuit down on the table as he dug his hands deep in his pockets to hide his clenched fists, trying to figure out how to respond. He must have waited too long, because a second later Stanford gave him a miserable look.

“We… we didn't?”

Stan lowered his head. “I'm sorry, Sixer. Things just… didn't work out that way.”

The look on Stanford's face nearly broke him. His mouth hung open, his eyes shining as he glanced at the ground. Stan turned away quickly, if he looked any longer he might crumble, and he would not let any version of his twin see that. Fuck, why is this happening?

Stanford suddenly let out a loud sniff.

“Was…” he gulped. “Was it my fault?”

In the beginning, Stan used to feel that it was both of their faults, not just his own. Stan may have broken his brother's project by accident, but Ford had intentionally thrown away the dream they had both worked for. One day, he had been just as passionate about sailing the world as Stan had been, and the next he acted as if even talking about their ship was a chore he wanted to avoid. All the hours of hard work and labor that went into fixing the Stan O' War, all of the careful planning as they got older, all of the happy memories made on her…

All for nothing.

As the years went on and it became harder and harder to look in the mirror sometimes, Stan had begun to resign to the idea that it really was all his own fault. Ford may not have wanted to sail the world with him anymore, he may not have wanted to spend every day with him anymore, but he had still cared about Stan, hadn't he? He had told him, with happy enthusiasm, “You better come visit me on the other side of the country!” He had still wanted to see Stan, he had still wanted him in his life. He had still wanted to be brothers.

At this point, Stan would've been satisfied to even be strangers. He might as well not even exist at this rate. He could fall off the face of the planet and Ford wouldn't even know or care. If it weren't for Ma and Shermie, he wouldn't even have a reason to still be here.

Now, Stanford was staring up at him, looking like he was seconds away from crying, all because of the dream his older self had given up. Stan knew he wouldn't be able to handle it if he did. Stanford had already thrown him for a loop, causing him to be discombobulated. He couldn't lie his way out of this; he wouldn't be able to even pretend that he was convincing enough. Perhaps being vague would be better.

“Not really,” he said in a low voice. “It was pretty much my fault. It was an accident, but… we didn't exactly get a chance to talk it out.”

Stanford rubbed his nose. “Why?”

Stan opened his mouth, but he couldn't force the words out. Should he really be talking about this? Stanford was still his brother, his twin, but he was just a child. Stan couldn't just unload his problems onto him, that wouldn't be fair. This version of Ford hadn't even gone through that moment in their lives yet. Talking about it wouldn't do anything except cause more problems, and Stan had enough problems to deal with already.

“I screwed up. That's all you need to know.”

“But I-”

“I don't wanna talk about it,” Stan said firmly. “Okay?”

Stanford flinched slightly, and Stan felt like he had been slapped in the face. He had only ever seen him do that when he was facing a lecture from their father.

“Okay…” Stanford muttered.

Stan sat there for a few moments, unsure of what to do. Stanford wouldn't look at him, his biscuit sitting forgotten on the mattress.

“You should finish that. It'll taste like crap later, trust me.”

Stanford nodded as he silently ate the rest of it. Stan stuffed the rest of his biscuit in his mouth as he stood up. He needed to get out for a while, get some air.

“We need to find your Stanley,” he said. “No clue what to do once we find him, but it's better than doin' nothin'. I'm gonna drive back to the street we were at last night and start there.”

“I'll go with you,” Stanford said quickly, his voice cautious and hopeful.

Stan shook his head. “No dice, Poindexter. This whole thing has been… a lot, and the last thing I need is you gettin' in trouble.”

Stanford frowned. “That's rich, coming from you. You're always lookin' for trouble.”

Stan huffed in amusement. “Nah, trouble just loves findin' me. Seriously though, I need you to stay here. I'd feel a lot better knowin' you were… safe.”

Stanford groaned but nodded without argument. Stan felt his stomach tighten but tried to ignore it. He turned to make his way towards the door when he remembered the other thing he had in his pocket. He quickly pulled out the package of jellybeans and tossed them to his brother, who fumbled with it a bit before he got a good grip on it. Stanford stared at the colorful bag before blinking at Stan in amazement, and Stan smirked.

“Don't say I never did nothin' for you,” he said. “Remember, don't answer the door for anyone. If someone comes by, just stay down and stay quiet.”

Stanford still didn't respond. Stan stood there for a moment before turning and making his way towards the door. Stanford suddenly leapt up from the bed and threw himself at him. Stan staggered for a moment before putting his arms around him, staring down at him in confusion. Stanford held him tightly as he raised his face to look up at him.

“You'll come back, right?”

Stan blinked before giving his head a soft noogie. “Don't be a dork, of course I will.”

Stanford sniffed as he shook his head, a small smile growing on his face. After a moment, he finally released him. Stan stood there awkwardly before turning, staring through the peephole before making his way out the door.

Kevin had disappeared, but Stan wasn't worried. Poor guy probably went to find a different spot to beg for change. Stan glanced all around him before getting into his car. He started it up and made his way down the road, to the opposite end of where he had come from earlier.

Stan didn't know how long he would be out but told himself to be back before dark whether he found his younger self or not. Stanford might be safer in the room, but he shouldn't be left alone for too long. But, he figured since he was already heading out, he should try to make some quick spending money. Stan had no idea how long Stanford would be with him, but he was going to need more than what he had no matter how long he was around. A little pickpocketing and he would come right back.

No problem.

Chapter End Notes

Gsv gifgs xzm'g yv zelrwvw uliveviDsvm orvh ziv glow, gifhg rh hvevivw

Chapter 9: Curiosity Breeds Discovery

Chapter Notes

Hey y'all. I know it's been a minute. Work has been hell lately and I've tried working on my other stories, but my brain is hyperfixating on this one in particular so it'll be a bit before I update anything else. This chapter isn't as long as the last one, but I'm not too worried about that. Everything's still building.

Also... I've had an idea.

So, a few chapters back, TheoryOfWeirdness left a comment telling me about the specific titles of time travel related aus. Timestuck is Dipper and Mable going to the 80s, Reverse Timestuck is Stan and Ford going to the 2010s, and Timeswitch is when Dipper or Mable switches places with one of their younger uncles. However, there didn't seem to be one for an au like this.

I've been thinking it over for a while and, since this universe centers around the StanTwins, what if I called it... Stanstuck.

If any of y'all have a better idea I'd love to hear it, but otherwise I think I'm gonna call it this from now on. Hope you enjoy!

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Gravity Falls 1982

January 11th

Last night, something incredible (and not in the good way) had quite literally been thrown into my life and caused everything I know to be thrown onto its head.

A 12-year-old version of my brother, S, has appeared in my home. If his and F's accounts are to be trusted, S had apparently come across a small device used to travel through time and had traveled from the year 1966. He had appeared in the forest around my home in the late afternoon yesterday and had spent most of the day looking for his version of me, believing he had traveled with him. He evidently ran into some gnomes, who gave him a very rough welcome. Though I didn't see him when he first arrived, the patches and bandages F had used to help S were evidence enough.

How had he escaped from a worse fate? According to S, he had been saved by a giant made of wood and moss.

The fact that S has met Steve and even received help from him is remarkable. I can't even get two seconds alone with the creature, and yet my brother was saved and assisted without hesitation. He even spoke of Steve as if he were a friend. Indeed! As if someone so kind would literally destroy my car on my first day here, unwarranted.

S didn't recognize me at first, but as soon as he did, he threw himself at me, knocking me to the ground. He's lucky his clumsiness didn't cause any further injury to himself, or me. He was overwhelmingly happy to see me, believing me to be the brother he had traveled with, that I had fallen for some sort of ailment that made me older. He was far less happy when he realized I was not the one that came here with him.

The time machine he had with him was strange. It appears like a normal tape measure on the outside, but the inside is evidence enough of its true nature. I was only able to see the inside because it was in pieces. I'm not sure what could have happened to cause the device to be in such a state, but one look at my brother's guilty expression was enough to tell me that he had something to do with it. No doubt, he probably treated it like some sort of toy and just played a bit too rough with it. He always had a habit of being too careless, almost inconsiderate with things he shouldn't have been playing with.

I had attempted to search the forest to see if his version of me had traveled with him, but simply appeared somewhere else in the area. I was unsuccessful, but I suspected that. Once F had S settled- in my damn study, no less- my brother told me of an interesting hypothesis; if he was 'lucky' enough to arrive near me, then perhaps his version of me arrived near my version of him.

Ridiculous, of course. Pure speculation coupled with childish naivety. Though… I myself haven't been able to think of a solution or reason why the younger me isn't anywhere around.

I don't know how these events will affect the rest of the week. We are just days away from being ready to test our project, and I would hate to see it pushed back any further because of this.

Ford paused in his writing, rubbing a hand over his face. His right eye was stinging again, even more proof that Bill had used him the previous night. He isn't sure why he was so surprised; he more often than not awoke in his study or in the basement after his Muse continued working into the night.

Ford supposed he was a little surprised he didn't stop for a chat. He hadn't heard from him directly for about two days already, and surely, he would want to discuss the insanity that had recently transpired. Or perhaps he found it meaningless in the grand scheme of things.

Ford closed his journal as he stood from his chair. He had been down in his study for almost an hour since waking up and was only now starting to feel hungry. Perhaps he could afford to eat some toast before getting some real work done.

He quickly made his way to his room, changing into some fresh clothes. He slipped the journal into the inner breast pocket of his coat before finally heading for the kitchen.

In wasn't until Ford reached the first floor that he realized he hadn't run into Fiddleford or Stanley since leaving his study. He hesitated for only a moment but shook it off. They were probably just in another room. He was certain that Stanley would make his presence known, boisterous as he was.

There were still some scrambled eggs left over in the pan, and the jam was still on the table. Ford decided to just stick to toast and placed some bread in the toaster. He planned to start working as soon as possible, going over every note and configuration involved with the portal. Even if it was completed, he had to be sure that everything was ready and in place. He was determined to remain on schedule.

Once he had some toast and jam, Ford placed it on a plate and turned to leave. He had taken only one step out of the kitchen when something- or rather, someone- laughed and suddenly slid in front of him, stopping him in his tracks. It was Stanley, looking a bit cheerier than before and wearing a new set of clothes; pale blue jeans and a red shirt with a vicious Tyrannosaurus stitched on the front. The shirt was loose-fitting, but otherwise seemed to fit.

“About time you came up, Poindexter,” he said brightly.

Ford blinked at him. “Well, I did say I would be up, didn't I?”

“And I didn't have to come fetch ya this time,” Ford looked up to see Fiddleford walking up to stand behind Stanley. “Managed to find him some more clothes. Not perfect, but it'll do.”

“You kiddin'? This is so cool!” Stanley pulled the end of his shirt to look down at it. “Your kid's gonna love this!”

Fiddleford grinned down at him. Ford cleared his throat.

“I suppose you haven't had a chance to look at that tape measure yet?”

“Just about to, actually. Just wanted to make sure this one had eyes on him before I got lost in my work.”

Stanley rolled his eyes. “No need to mother me, Fidds. I'm fine.”

“You've been here for less than 24 hours, and you've already proven to be too hyper when you're bored.”

Stanley huffed as he folded his arms, but he didn't seem truly put out. Fiddleford chuckled.

“Alright, you two have fun searchin'.”

“What?”

But Fiddleford walked away without answering. Ford frowned at him before looking down at Stanley, who had his hands in his pockets and was grinning back up at him.

“What did he mean by that?”

Stanley shook his head. “Duh! We need to look for me. Well… your Stanley, I mean. I… I know you said you didn't know where he is, but somebody's gotta. Maybe Ma, or Shermie, heck even Pa might know.”

Ford's grip on his plate tightened. He hadn't spoken properly with his father in a while, but he doubted he knew where Stan was. Shermie might know, but Ford didn't speak with him nearly as much as he spoke with Ma.

Just two nights after the incident, Shermie had gotten into a fight with their father about what had happened to Stan. It was a shouting match that even riveled the one his parents had had the night it all went down. The first one had shaken the walls, but the one with Shermie shook the whole neighborhood. Pa had stated that it was his house and anyone who jeopardized his family's livelihood didn't deserve to stay, and Shermie had called him a selfish old bastard who would rather push everyone away and die alone than admit he was in the wrong. Shermie had taken his son back with him that night and hadn't stepped foot in their house since.

The tension between them remained high even as they sat through Ford's graduation, but that wasn't even the worst of it.

Ford and Shermie had gotten into a fight right before he had left for college. Shermie had mentioned being able to finally talk to Stan the day before and had offered to help Ford speak with him if he wanted. Ford had, of course, insisted that he didn't want or need to see Stan after what had happened, but Shermie had continued to push. The conversation had developed into a full-on fight, something that hardly ever occurred between Shermie and his little brothers.

Though he had admitted that Stan had screwed up, Shermie had called Ford selfish and stupid for pouting like a child while their brother was out all alone and unable to even graduate himself. Ford couldn't remember his exact words, but he had said something about Stan being a poor excuse for a brother and that Shermie was as stupid as he was for thinking he deserved any forgiveness. He hadn't meant it, had regretted it the moment he said it, but it was too late to undo it.

Shermie had gone home to his wife and son after that, and Ford hardly saw him much in the years that followed. They still called each other at least once during the holidays, maybe once or twice throughout the year, but not much more than that. They hadn't even seen each other since his college graduation.

So, that only left his mother. If anyone knew where Stan could be, it was her.

“I… I can probably call Ma,” Ford said slowly. “But… maybe later. She's probably still busy with a few clients right now, so I'll give her a few hours and call later.”

This was a lie. Ford knew full well that his mother was off in the morning and hadn't worked at this hour in years. Truthfully, he was putting off getting into contact with Stan for as long as he could. He wouldn't even know what to say. 'Hey, how've you been? By any chance, is there a younger me hanging around annoying you?'

Stanley shook his head. “Man… alright, but what am I supposed to do 'til then?”

“Don't leave the house and don't touch anything,” Ford said simply.

“Nah, I need somethin' to do. I'll go stir-crazy just sittin' in here.”

“I have some books if you need something to do.”

Stanley groaned. “Ugh, I don't wanna read nerd books.”

“I have fiction as well.”

Ford turned and began making his way to the storage room. He didn't need to look to know Stanley was following, he could hear footsteps trailing behind him. Part of him was wondering why he was even doing this, showing Stanley instead of just telling him where to go. Then he reasoned that he just didn't want him to accidentally open the door to the basement.

The last thing he needed was his younger brother getting involved in another one of his projects. Who knew what could happen if he broke something this time?

Once he reached the bookshelf, Ford glanced back at Stanley cautiously before gesturing to all the books in front of him.

“Many of the books I have are on fascinating subjects like quantum physics and cryptology,” he explained. “But I have plenty of fiction novels also. Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea, The Lost World, I have a few Sherlock Holmes books as well…”

“How about that one?” Stanley questioned. “Journey to the Center of the Earth?”

Ford looked at said book and quickly shook his head. That was the only book he couldn't let Stanley touch.

“Normally I would say yes, but that is a very old copy, and I don't want it to get too damaged.”

“Well… what about this one?”

Stanley reached up and pulled out one of the smaller books from the bottom of the shelf. Ford only had to glance at it to know which book it was- Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy. Fiddleford had gotten it for him as a birthday present a few years back, and though he found it a bit odd at first, it was a very enjoyable read. The book hadn't been published until 1979 though, and Ford hesitated at the idea of Stanley reading something that didn't exist yet.

However, the fact that he had shown interest in it was peculiar, and part of him didn't want to take that away. He'd be lying if he wasn't a bit curious of Stanley's opinion on the book as well.

“Doesn't look too long,” Stanley quickly flipped through the pages. “I could probably go through this in a few hours.”

Ford nodded. “Well, good. Now you have something to do, and I have a lot of work to catch up on.”

He turned and began making his way back towards the stairs to head for his study. It wasn't until he had reached the stairs that he realized he could still hear footsteps behind him. He stopped to turn around, and saw Stanley standing right behind him, looking up at him expectantly and smiling. Ford stared down at him, confused.

“Ah, where exactly do you plan on reading?”

“Wherever you are.”

Ford huffed, but quickly composed himself. He usually preferred to work in solitude, but it was clear that Stanley didn't plan on leaving his side for a while. At least now he had something to distract himself, so hopefully he wouldn't be too much to handle.

“Very well, just try to be quiet.”

Stanley rolled his eyes. “I'm just readin', Sixer. How can I be noisy if I'm readin'?”

Ford didn't respond as he made his way down the stairs. Not even five seconds later, Stanley's voice piped up behind him.

“What're you workin' on, anyway?”

“Something of great importance,” Ford answered irritably. “Nothing that concerns you.”

“Alright then…”

Ford crossed the study and sat down at his desk without another word. He heard the creaking of the mattress as Stanley sat down, but he didn't say anything either… for about five seconds, again.

“Fidds mentioned you went to college,” he said. “That's cool. Did… did you do that after we went sailin'?”

Ford was pulling his journal out of his coat pocket when he froze. His mind immediately went to the old photo still tucked into his other pocket, and his hand unconsciously wandered to hover over it. His head was pounding as he thought about what to say. What could he say? Realistically, he shouldn't say anything. Stanley would return to his time eventually, and when he did none of what happened here would even matter. Everything would transpire the way it was meant to. It must, otherwise, something horrific would have already happened here.

“If you're not going to read, I can just take the book back.”

“I am, I am!” Stanley said quickly. “Sheesh…”

Ford raised an eyebrow as he glanced back at Stanley, who had finally sat back against the arm of the couch and opened the book. Ford exhaled gently before finally opening his journal.

After several minutes, Stanley suddenly let out a loud snort.

“Hey, this guy's got the same name as you,” he said brightly. “That's awesome!”

“My name's not that unique,” Ford muttered. “It's bound to happen sometimes.”

“Yeah, but it's still cool.”

Ford shook his head as he finished the note he was adding. A moment later, Stanley started cackling again, and Ford sighed as he turned around to look at him.

“What is it now?”

“Nothin', nothin',” Stanley snorted. “Just… now when I read his name, I keep thinkin' it's you, and it's really funny.”

“Well, if you can't be quite about it, then you should go read somewhere else.”

Ford turned back around, scribbling fiercely. Stanley had stopped laughing. In fact, he didn't respond at all, but Ford didn't pay him any mind, too busy trying to finish writing to care. A moment later he heard the door creak slowly and he turned to see the room now empty.

He stared at the door as something heavy settled in his chest. Annoyed or not, he probably could have been less cross about it. Stanley hadn't done anything wrong necessarily, though he had promised to be quiet. He should have known he wouldn't be able to and gone to a different room instead. There was plenty of space in the house, after all.

Ford sighed as he looked down at the work in front of him. He hadn't even touched his toast yet. He put down his pen and grabbed a piece, stuffing it into his mouth.

Stanley hung his head as he began walking back up the stairs. That definitely could have gone better. He had been hoping that spending a bit more time with his now older brother would be good for them, that he could try to get to know this version a little better. At the very least, so he could figure out why Ford had his panties in a twist whenever Stanley was around.

Stanley had been putting off asking Ford about sailing because he was afraid that they might not have gone at all. There were not pictures of them on their boat or signs of treasure around, and of course if they had there would be an abundance of each. From what he could tell, this house wasn't anywhere near the ocean or by any docks where a boat could be held. On top of all of that, Ford hadn't even answered Stanley when he had asked about sailing. That all but confirmed his fears.

He hadn't meant to make Ford upset with his comment, he just thought it was funny that the character had the same name as him. They usually loved comparing each other to their favorite book characters, often acting out their favorite moments whenever they would play pretend. He was usually great at making his brother laugh. Instead, all Stanley had managed to do was make Ford even more irritated. He actually kind of liked the book he had chosen too, now he didn't even feel like reading anymore.

Stanley dragged his feet as he entered the living room, which was still as crowded and cramped as it was before. He placed the book on the side table as he started to clear a spot on the couch, thinking he could just read there. As he turned around while carrying a stack of papers, his elbow accidentally bumped into a tower of books, causing them to tumble and flop open on the floor.

“Crap!”

Stanley placed the stack he was holding on the floor before kneeling to pick up the books. He didn't want to give Ford another reason to be annoyed. Would he notice if they weren't stacked the way they were before? No, no point in worrying about it. Stanley made sure the pages weren't damaged before closing and restacking each of the books carefully.

He reached over to grab the last book on the floor and felt himself freeze. The book was laying open facedown, and the cover looked exactly like the one Stanley had seen Ford sleeping on that morning, except it had a large number one in the center. Stanley stared before slowly reaching over to pick it up. It was heavier than he expected, and he brushed off the cover before flipping it over to the first page. Not only was it handwritten, but it appeared to be in Ford's own handwriting.

November 20th, 1977

My name is Stanford Pines. I have moved to Gravity Falls awruhgon to study the marvelous anomalies that have been rumored to roam the forests and mountains. I intend to document my findings in this journal, though I suspect I may need more than one. If what I've heard is anything to go on, I may need to fill 10 volumes. Heck, maybe even more than that!

But I'm getting ahead of myself. For now, I must settle into my new home.

Stanley blinked down at the page. Anomalies? He had heard Stanford use that word before. It was supposed to mean stuff that was weird or supernatural, right?

He suddenly remembered how Fidds had told him that Ford had come to study the 'wild life' in these woods. He failed to mention the nature of said life, however. Stanley thought about the gnomes and the giant Ford had nicknamed 'Steve', and briefly wondered if there was anything about them in this book, or the other one he had seen. He flipped to the next page.

The town I reside in, Gravity Falls, is a strange one. The people seem very kind, but very odd. Though I'm not particularly close with anyone, I've been able to question a few residents about the oddities rumored to occur in this town.

They seem to treat it like it's some sort of secret but aren't very secretive about it themselves. In fact, they seem to love talking about them. Like their own personal game of gossip.

“Boyish” Dan Corduroy claims he saw a massive monster while fishing at the Gravity Falls Lake, while some local teens claim they've heard ominous singing while lying on the bank late at night. A waitress at Greasy's Diner named Susan told me she had seen little bearded men digging through the dumpster, and the mayor gleefully mentioned seeing bats the size of cars fly by his house at night.

I suspect if I keep my eyes open, I'll see even more of these anomalies for myself. I wonder what my first discovery will be.

Stanley hardly noticed as he rose to his feet, and only registered his movement when he realized he had sat down on the couch. He was strangely lost while reading, feeling both confused and intrigued. His brother was not one to lie or over embellish, always stating things exactly as they were. If something was boring, he would say so. If it was something truly wild and amazing, he would say so. The things he was writing about sounded incredible, and Stanley had hardly read anything yet.

The only thing that would make this cooler is if Ford would tell Stanley about this himself. He could imagine his brother smiling as he went into enthusiastic detail about the crazy stuff he had discovered and written about. He wanted to ask Ford about it, to hear what wild things he had seen and done, but he was probably still too irritated to even listen, let alone speak to him.

Stanley shook his head and flipped to the next page, eager to see more.

I've finally encountered my first anomaly since moving here. I was walking home after grabbing some dinner at Greasy's when I stumbled upon a…

Squirreldillo

I've decided that should I ever discover anything previously unknown to man, I shall do my best to give it a name. Nothing too complicated. Something fun and memorable.

Though not terribly big or impressive in the long run, I was overjoyed when I realized what I had found. I thought it was just a normal armadillo at first until I got a closer look at it. It seemed to be the size and shape of a normal squirrel but had the outer shell of an armadillo. It even curled up in a ball once I got too close to it. I poked it gently with a pencil I had on me, and it instantly snatched it and started to chew on it. Perhaps it eats wood instead of nuts? I was unable to finish my drawing of the creature until I arrived home. I should use pens instead from now on.

Stanley stared down at the drawing in the middle of the page. Ford's sketching had obviously improved over the years, but something about the curves and lines of the art reminded him so much of the brother he knew currently. He was always sketching things in one of his notebooks.

The creature drawn did look very much like a squirrel with large black eyes, but its body was covered in the same scaly armor an armadillo would have. The sketch showed it crouched on the ground, nibbling on the end of a pencil. There was a smaller sketch in the corner of it curled into a protective ball. A large arrow pointed at the creatures' flat armored tail with a note next to it that read: Possibly used for defense?

When Stanley realized that Ford had written this book, he had expected it to be some kind of glorified nerd diary. It was, but the stuff in it was kind of cool and written in a way he could actually understand. Maybe it was because his brother was the one writing this junk, and Stanley knew his twin like the back of his hand and never had a problem understanding him. He was certainly having less trouble understanding the fun stuff in here than Ford at the moment.

If the book he had spotted that morning was anything to go on, then there were at least two others just like this one. He wondered what other crazy things his brother had seen and written about. Maybe he could ask him later, when he was done working.

Stanley tucked his legs underneath him and got comfortable before flipping to the next page.

Chapter End Notes

Vevib zxgrlm szh zm vjfzo zmw lkklhrgv ivzxgrlmRm lgsvi dliwh: Ufxp zilfmw zmw urmw lfg

Chapter 10: Tension is a Funny Thing

Chapter Notes

I hate when I write out a full decent chapter, but it's not as long as I want it to be and I just can't fill it with anything else cause the pacing would be off if I tried...

But! I've already started writing the next chapter and hopefully it'll be longer, and come out sooner. Leave a comment if you enjoy!

See the end of the chapter for more notes

New Mexico 1982

Stanford was used to finding ways to entertain himself. He and Stanley had been grounded numerous times before, often spending prolonged periods in their tiny bedroom together. One time, he and his twin even pretended that they were prisoners who were locked away and were scheming to try to find a way to break out.

Shermie had even played along, pretending to be a prison guard that would nag and scorn them playfully. Another time, they pretended to be ghosts that were doomed to haunt their room for all eternity. Stanley in particular had been making very convincing ghost sounds, and Ma had warned him to keep it down so he wouldn't scare the neighbors.

Was it less fun than going outside? Definitely. But, even when confined to their room, they had always managed to make some fun out of it.

That proved to be much harder to accomplish when he was all by himself, however.

Stanford had spent the first few minutes on his own enjoying some of the jellybeans Stan had given him. He hadn't wanted to finish them all at once yet, and quickly put the bag in his backpack before he was tempted. He had spent a good amount of time searching the boxes and junk around the room.

They appeared to have similar products like the vacuum and band-aids, all with a “Stan Co” label slapped on somewhere. However, most of the boxes looked old and faded, and most were overstuffed with junk. Stanford imagined that Stan didn't have a lot of room to store his belongings these days.Stanford grew bored after the first two hours and started making a few paper airplanes from some of the paper from his notebooks. He tossed them around the rooms, seeing how high he could make them go and how many loops he could do. His twin was much better at it than he was, but he still enjoyed it. He got bored of that pretty quickly though.

With nothing left to do, Stanford pulled out the book on boat mechanics he had gotten from the library- Boating Dos and Don'ts. Part of him wasn't sure why he was even reading it. If what Stan had told him was true, then he and his current twin might never end up sailing anyway. He wouldn't need to know how to steer a ship through a storm properly or how to keep it tidy and up to code. Perhaps some small part of him refused to believe that, even though the truth seemed to be staring him in the face in the form of a busted, grungy motel room that housed his seemingly lonely brother.

Stanford had been reading for about an hour when he looked at the clock beside him. It was already 3pm. Stan had promised not to be gone for too long, but he had been gone for hours now. Even if he had taken the time to search every nook and cranny of the area, Stan should have been back by now, right?

His thoughts were suddenly interrupted as he heard something heavy thud against the door. Stanford's grip on his book tightened as he stared at the door. If it was Stan, he would have simply walked in, wouldn't he? Stanford remembered what Stan had told him to do if anyone turned up, but he found himself frozen in the middle of the room.

What if they somehow got in? There weren't any good places to hide and even if he tried, they were bound to find him eventually. How well hidden could one be in a single, tiny room like this?

Before Stanford could even think of what to do, there was a small click and the door swung open. He immediately felt relief when he saw Stan throw himself into the room and slam the door shut, locking it instantly. As soon as he did, there was another much louder thud, followed by muffled laughter.

“Go bother someone else, Kevin!” Stan snapped. “I'm not dealin' with you today!”

The man- presumably Kevin- let out a disappointed groan and Stanford watched as his figure passed by the window. Stan stayed at the door, staring through the peephole for several seconds before finally letting out a loud sigh.

“Phew… Christ, I'm outta shape.”

Stanford grinned as he walked up to his brother but stopped dead in his tracks when he turned to face him. Stan looked relatively the same as he had when he left, except now his right cheek was bright red and swollen, and the corner of his mouth was bleeding. Stanford must have been staring because a moment later Stan glanced away from him, as if he were trying to hide it.

“What happened?”

“Huh? Oh, this?” Stan gestured to his face, his lips curling as he shrugged. “Don't worry, it's nothin'.”

Stan was smiling. He was bruised and bleeding and he was smiling. Stanford didn't know whether to feel sad or angry.

“Stop lying to me.”

Stan's smile fell at that. “I'm not,” he groaned as he ran a hand through his hair. “Look… someone just tried to mug me, but it's no big deal.”

“Someone mugged you?!” Stanford gasped.

“Tried,” Stan reiterated. “Just some dumb punk. Probably his first time or something. He managed to get a couple hits in, but I knocked him out easily.”

He shuffled past Stanford and grabbed a water bottle from the table. He sat on the edge of the bed, taking a long swig from the bottle. Stanford stood still for a moment before slowly shuffling forward and sitting next to him. Stan didn't look at him as he took another swig.

Stanford immediately reached down for his backpack and began rummaging inside. Band-aids couldn't help with something like this, and he didn't have ice for the swelling, but he did have a small pack of travel tissues. He took out the pack and immediately pulled out a tissue. He didn't hesitate to reach up and wipe the blood from his brother's mouth. Stan flinched, but Stanford didn't freeze this time.

“I… I don't have any ice…” he muttered.

Stan shook his head. “Don't worry about it. Swellin' will go down eventually.”

Stanford nodded as he wiped the last of the blood off. He crumpled the tissue and tried to toss it in the bin but missed. He shook his head as he dropped his bag on the floor.

“So… you didn't find him?”

Stan raised an eyebrow at him. “You see a mini me around us right now?”

“No…”

Stanford hung his head and stared at the floor. He didn't want to cry, he had blubbered enough when he first found Stan last night, but he sure felt close. He didn't know what else to do. His Stanley couldn't have gone too far in a city like this all on his own, but if he wasn't around here, then where on earth was he?

“Hey, chin-up buddy,” Stan said. “He's bound to be somewhere. Me and you used to be attached at the hip at your age, he couldn't have gone too far.”

Stanford was about to correct Stan on his grammar when he stopped. 'Attatched at the hip'. Something about that sentence made something click in Stanford's head, like puzzle pieces being put together, but he couldn't quite see the bigger picture yet. He and his twin were never apart for more than a few minutes until now, and they had always managed to find their way back to each other somehow.

Stanley had been standing right beside Stanford when the time machine had flashed, and then he wasn't. But, Stanford had still found him, at least a version of him. It seemed even circumstances as strange as this one couldn't stop that habit, even if it was unintentional. But then, could that mean…

Stanford suddenly gasped out loud, causing Stan to flinch and jump to his feet.

“What?! What is it?” he snapped, his hand reaching for his boot.

Stanford felt his face split into a grin as he turned to face his older twin. “Stanley! What if you're with me?”

“What now?”

“What are- What are the chances that my Stanley ended up with your Ford?”

Stan blinked as he slowly pulled his hand away from his boot and straightened up. “I'm guessin' astronomical?”

“Exactly! This whole thing has been astronomical! What's one more coincidence, right?”

Stan looked like he wanted to argue, but he also seemed to be thinking it over. Stanford couldn't blame him. Things were crazy enough as is, but was the fact that his Stanley might have been lucky enough to find an older version of Ford really that odd? Yes, it was. But, maybe that was the point?

“I mean… maybe?” Stan shrugged. “There's no way to be sure-”

“Why don't you call him?” Stanford interjected. “Er, me. Older me…? Whatever, you know what I mean!”

Stan winced and rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah, that, uh… that's easier said than done, Sixer.”

“Why? Don't tell me you don't even know his phone number.”

“No, I just…”

But Stan stopped and glanced at the floor. Stanford felt what little excitement he had start to deflate. Perhaps it wasn't that Stan couldn't call his older self, but that he didn't want to. Or maybe, older Stanford didn't want Stan calling him. Was whatever had happened between them in the future really so bad that the idea of even talking seemed uncomfortable? But this was an emergency! Even if Stanford's older self didn't like talking with Stan (he was still trying to wrap his head around that atrocity), surely, he would understand considering the circumstances?

“I mean… what if you're wrong?” Stan said finally. “What if he's not there and I end up botherin' him for no reason? Unless a younger me is stuck with him and annoyin' the crap outta him, there's no way he'd believe me about any of this.”

“Yes, he will.”

“No, he-”

“Yes, he will!” Stanford snapped.

Stan leaned back, eyebrows raised. Stanford hadn't meant to be so harsh, but he was determined and annoyed. He was hurt that Stan thought that his twin wouldn't listen to or believe him and upset that he seemed unwilling to even try. Besides, at this point, what other choice did they have?

Stan shook his head. “You don't know yourself as well as you think, bud. Things change, people change. Besides, even if I wanted to, I couldn't. I don't have any quarters on me right now.”

“Then we'll get some,” Stanford said, placing a fist onto his palm. “We could just ask a cashier to exchange some ones. Or we could buy some food and get change.”

Stan stuffed his hands in his pockets and glanced away without answering. Stanford stood up and stepped closer to him, reaching up to grasp his arm.

“Please Stan?” he muttered. “I… I just wanna find him and go home.”

Stan's expression softened as he looked down at Stanford. A moment later, he rolled his eyes and sighed.

“Alright, fine… We'll get some quarters and go from there.”

Stanford beamed up at him. “Awesome! Let's go!”

“Wait, right now?”

“There's no time to lose!”

Stanford began pulling Stan across the room, closer to the door. Before he could even get his hand on the doorknob, Stan grabbed his shoulder and stopped him.

“Hey hey, let's wait a bit, okay?” Stan glanced at the window. “I don't wanna run into Kevin right now. Once he sees you, you'll be stuck listening to his craziness for an hour and I don't want you to see that.”

“Okay…”

Stanford released his hold, kicking his feet as he slumped on the edge of the bed. Why was it that every time he seemed to get closer to finding his twin, something got in the way? This version of his brother was much more cautious than normal. He supposed he would have to get used to it for now.

“Hey, you make these?”

Stanford looked up to see Stan holding one of the paper airplanes he had been throwing around earlier. He had forgotten to pick those up earlier.

“Yeah, I got bored,” Stanford smiled slightly. “I'm not as good as you though. Remember the one you made in Ms. Frankle's class? It made three whole loops and landed in her hair. She was so mad!”

Stan snorted. “Barely. Forgot I did that, to be honest.”

Stanford glanced at the ground as he fiddled with his fingers. “You… wanna make one?”

Stan shook his head. “Ah, I don't know… haven't made one in years, let alone a decent one.”

“Come on, what else are we gonna do right now?”

Stan looked from the paper airplane to the door to Stanford, apparently deep in thought. He didn't seem to have an argument for that. He let out a small chuckle.

“Alright, I'll try.”

Gravity Falls 1982

Ever since he was young, Fiddleford had a bad habit of biting his nails whenever he got stumped on something he was working on. Whether it was tech related or just the stress of everyday life, every now and then he would find himself chewing them down to the nubs and would have to shake himself off to make it stop. Not even chewing tobacco was enough to distract him from it. It wasn't until his pointer finger started stinging that he became aware that he was currently doing it again. He groaned as he wiped his hand on his shirt.

He had been in his room examining the time machine for the last few hours and he felt just as lost as he had been before. Some of the material seemed familiar enough- tungsten wires, titanium metal, and the outer casing seemed to be made of P.B.I. The thing that really stumped him was the power source. At least, he assumed it was the power source. A small sheet of metal that he couldn't identify, and a large, busted bulb in the center of it. He wasn't sure what had caused it to break, and even if he knew it probably wouldn't have helped him identify the material.

Fiddleford glanced at his bedside clock and saw it was almost 4pm. He mentally chastised himself for pulling a Ford and skipping lunch, then realized he could afford to splurge a bit just have a big dinner. He stretched out his arms and legs and spat the last of his tobacco in the spittoon before slowly getting up from his chair. He thought about maybe just ordering takeout or something. He was rather tired and didn't feel like cooking tonight.

As Fiddleford made his way towards the living room, he could hear soft chuckles emanating from the room. It only took him a moment to realize that it must have been Stanley. Ford was definitely still huddled in his study at this hour.

Fiddleford stepped into the living room just in time to see Stanley whip back around in his seat on the couch, holding a small book in his hands.

“Hey Fidds!” he said, his voice a bit too enthusiastic.

“Hey youngin'. Whatcha got there?”

“Uh… just a book,” Stanley shrugged. “I didn't have anythin' to do so Ford let me borrow one.”

Fiddleford leaned forward. “Ah! Hitchhiker's Guide, huh? That's a great one. How ya likin' it?”

Stanley avoided his gaze as he fiddled with the page he was on. “Oh, pretty good. I uh, just got to the part where…” he looked down at the book. “…huge yellow somethings were screaming through the clouds… Wha…?”

Fiddleford raised an eyebrow. Stanley didn't seem to actually know what spot in the book he was in. Additionally, he seemed to be shifting his leg over to the side, almost like he was hiding something in the couch cushion. Fiddleford had seen his son Tate try to hide things from him too many times to not recognize the signs. He decided to ignore that for now.

“So, did ya have any luck findin' the… other you?”

Stanley's shoulders slumped and he shook his head. “No. Ma probably knows where he is, but Ford said she's still workin' right now, so she probably wouldn't answer.”

“I see.”

Fiddleford had overheard Ford talking with his mom a few times over the last year, and he had definitely talked to her earlier than this. He always seemed to want to get it out of the way sooner so he wouldn't have to stop working throughout the day. Again, he decided to ignore that.

“It'll be dinner time soon,” he said. “Didn't feel like cookin' tonight so I was just gonna go into town and grab some pizza. Wanna come with me?”

Stanley's head snapped up. “Really?”

“Sure!” Fiddleford gave him a wink. “Can't get into too much trouble so long as one of us has an eye on ya, right?”

Stanley nodded, placing the book down on the side table and standing up. “Should we get Ford?”

“Oh, he ain't picky. I'm sure whatever we get will be good enough.”

“Let's get one with everything!” Stanley threw his hands up enthusiastically.

Fiddleford chuckled. “I reckon we can manage that.”

He made his way towards the front door and grabbed his car keys from the key ring. Stanley followed right behind him as they made their way outside. Fiddleford couldn't help but glance around at the trees as they headed for his car. The last thing he needed was something jumping out and scaring them.

Stanley jumped into the passenger seat without hesitation as Fiddleford got behind the wheel.

“Seatbelt.”

“I know, I know,” Stanley assured him as he strapped himself in.

Fiddleford started up his car and slowly started to drive down the long dirt path. Stanley leaned over in his seat, looking out the window into the trees. Fiddleford couldn't understand why at first, but figured the boy was probably just keeping an eye out for those gnomes or the giant.

He hoped they would make the trip without encountering anything too weird, at least for now. Weirdness could never be avoided for very long in this town. He'd be lying if he said part of him didn't love it, but a big part of him still feared it.

It wasn't until the house was out of sight in his rearview mirror that he finally spoke up.

“So, what were you really lookin' at earlier?”

Stanley whipped around. “Huh?”

“You're not as slick as ya think, son,” Fiddleford glanced over at him. “I'm a slow reader myself, and even I could've gotten farther into Hitchhikers than you claimed to. You're not in trouble, I just wanna know.”

Stanley folded his arms and stared out the window, clearly not in the mood to answer. Fiddleford raised an eyebrow and frowned at him, a tactic he often used on his son. Stanley glanced back at him several times, looking nervous, before finally tossing his hands in the air.

“Ugh… okay, fine!” Stanley groaned. “I was gonna read it, but when I was cleanin' off the couch, I accidentally knocked over some books. I put them all back, but I found one that turned out to be some kinda journal, the one my brother wrote in.”

Fiddleford clenched the steering wheel tightly. “D-did ya?”

“Yeah,” Stanley rubbed his arm. “Don't tell Ford, okay? He's been actin' really weird and I don't want him to know I was lookin' at his stuff. He'd probably get mad or somethin'.”

“Uh huh…” Fiddleford swallowed. “So… what do ya make of it? The stuff you read?”

“I think it's cool!” Stanley perked up in his seat and smiled. “My bro's always been obsessed with sci-fi weirdness. He's always going on about all the crazy things we could find while adventuring, and he's actually found some! A few things in there look scary, but most of it just looks fun!”

Fiddleford chuckled, trying not to let his nervousness show. While some of the anomalies Ford had discovered were fascinating and relatively harmless, there were a few that he would have preferred to have never seen. Though he could no longer remember certain things, he knew for a fact there were some creatures so awful he had forced himself to forget permanently.

Fiddleford had contemplated offering Stanley the chance to forget his scary encounter with the gnomes and the giant, but the idea of using his device on a child gave him shivers. Stanley hadn't seemed too bothered by his experience anyway. He was very young as well; he would probably grow up and write it all off as his own crazy imagination anyway.

“You won't tell him, will you?”

Fiddleford glanced over at Stanley, who looked nervous again. He thought it over for a moment, then shook his head.

“I won't say nothin',” he promised. “Just try not to mess with those journals too much, Ford's pretty protective over them, even if he tends to leave them lyin' around. Don't go lookin' for trouble either, there's a reason he's the only one who lives this far out, ya hear?”

Stanley sat silently for a moment, then nodded. “Yeah, okay.”

Chapter End Notes

Grnv rh z kivxrlfh trugVeviblmv mvvwh rg, yfg mlg veviblmv zkkivxrzgvh rg

Chapter 11: Stack the Dominos...

Chapter Notes

I try not to stress too much about the ciphers, buuut I feel pretty clever about this one.

Hope you enjoy!

See the end of the chapter for more notes

New Mexico 1982

They had ended up staying in the motel room for about two hours, occupying their time with paper airplanes. Stan had to refold his plane a couple times before he finally got it right. It seemed so stupidly simple. He had done it hundreds of times before as a kid, but it had been so long that it had taken a couple tries before his muscle memory finally kicked in. After that, everything else just came back.

Stan would toss his plane with little effort, and it would loop several times before landing smoothly on the ground. It wasn't anything extraordinary and not nearly as fun as it had been when he was younger, but it made Stanford smile every single time.

The sun was almost setting by the time it was safe to leave without risk of running into Kevin. That only made Stan slightly more paranoid than usual. He reasoned with himself that as long as Stanford stayed close and didn't wander off, then everything would be fine. Besides, they didn't need to go too far. They just needed to find a place that would be willing to exchange some ones. If not, he could just buy a pack of gum and ask to just get quarters back.The prospect of actually talking to his brother- the one that didn't want to speak with Stan- was weighing on his shoulders more than he liked. He was seriously hoping that the younger version of him would just pop out of a dumpster or something just so he wouldn't have to call, but even if he did, Stan didn't have the faintest idea of what to do afterwards. Hell, part of him wondered if Ford would even know what to do.

Stan glanced down to look at Stanford and saw that he had stopped walking and was staring at something beside them. He stopped too and turned to see a bright, neon sign that read “Frosty's”. It looked like a small shake and ice cream parlor. It was filled with bright lights and happy looking customers, mostly comprised of parents and their children.

Stanford was staring at the building with wide eyes. Stan couldn't blame him. He remembered the small shake shack that used to be open right beside their school, and how they would often beg their parents to stop so they could grab a milkshake. Their father always said no, but every once in a while, Shermie would take them to the shack and use a few bucks he earned working as a cashier to buy a large one for each of them. Stan loved peanut butter shakes, and his twin would always get chocolate.

They would always have to finish them before they went home though. It didn't matter if it was Shermie's money or not, if their father had found out that he had 'wasted' even a single cent on something as meaningless as milkshakes, there would have been an hour-long angry lecture in store for their older brother.

“You want one?”

Stanford was snapped out of his trance, and he whipped around. “What? Oh, I uh…”

“We need to break change anyway, right?” Stan asked. “Might as well get somethin' nice.”

Stanford fiddled with his hands nervously as he glanced up at the parlor. After a few seconds, he grinned and nodded. Stan walked forward and led them through the front door.

Normally, Stan wouldn't bother with trivial things like this, being as broke as he was, but he had almost 700 bucks to his name after pickpocketing that afternoon. He felt he could afford it just this once, especially considering who it was for.

A family of four squeezed past them as they made their way through the entrance. The place was busy, but not too packed. A few more parents with kids, and even a few couples who appeared to be on dates. Stan glanced around before they walked up to the counter. A girl who couldn't be older than 16 was standing at the register, a clearly forced smile on her face.

“Hi, welcome to Frosty's,” the cashier said in an enthusiastic but tired voice. “What can I get for you two this evening?”

Stan looked down at Stanford. “Know what you want?”

He nodded and looked up at the girl. “Could I get large chocolate shake, please?”

“Of course,” she typed into her register before looking at Stan. “Anything for you, sir?”

“Just the one shake is fine.”

Stan would be lying if he said he wasn't tempted, but he also didn't feel like spending more than he needed to. He was mostly doing this for Stanford and to get some quarters. He could see his little brother frowning at him out the corner of his eye, but he ignored him.

“Alright, we'll have that out for you in a minute. That'll be $1.60.”

Stan reached into his pocket and almost hesitated to give her the $5 bill. “Any chance I could get the change in quarters?”

“Of course, sir.”

The cashier took the bill and within a few minutes, Stan had a fistful of quarters and a few dimes. They stood by the end of the counter and waited as a teenage boy got to work on the shake. Not even a minute later, he placed the large styrofoam cup into Stanford's outstretched hands.

“Thank you.”

“No problem, little man. You enjoy.”

Stan gave the kid a short nod before leading them towards the back of the parlor. There weren't that many people seated there and he didn't feel like sticking around crowds for too long. Once they had reached the table in the back corner, Stan slid into the seat with his back to the wall. He wanted to keep an eye on the rest of the parlor, just to be safe. It wasn't until he was firmly seated that Stanford finally took the straw and sipped his shake.

The smile that appeared on his face made Stan's heart break.

“Good, huh?”

“Mhm.”

Stan grinned slightly before glancing around the room. A few minutes went by. More people came in, and a few more people left. No one glanced at them or even moved in their direction. Stan didn't know whether that was a good sign or not just yet.

Stanford took another large sip before gently pushing the cup towards Stan. He stared for a moment before shaking his head.

“I'm good, buddy.”

“Come on,” Stanford urged. “Why do you think I got a large?”

Stan blinked at his brother's expectant stare for a few moments before rolling his eyes and taking a sip. Chocolate wasn't his favorite, but damn it had been so long since he had something sweet that it tasted amazing in that moment. Stanford's smile was noticeably larger when Stan took another sip and finally pushed it back towards him.

“So, are you gonna call him once we're done here?” he asked before taking another sip.

What might have resembled a smile fell from Stan's face and he nodded. “Yeah. That's, ah, why we're here, right?”

“Is there a payphone nearby?”

“Not around here, I don't think,” Stan scratched the back of his head. “There's one by the motel, we can try there once we head out.”

“And if there isn't?”

“Well… we'll have to look for one.”

Stan knew for a fact there was a payphone right by the hotel. Hell, they had passed it up on their way to and from the gas station that morning. Stanford had somehow not noticed it both times, and Stan had been grateful for that. Even if he had wanted to, he wouldn't have been able to use it anyway. Now that he had a pocket full of quarters, putting it off was going to be more difficult.

Stanford's neutral expression seemed forced as he pushed the shake back towards him. Stan didn't take it this time. He frowned and leaned forward.

“What's wrong?”

His smaller brother didn't answer at first. He didn't seem lost or like he was trying to find the right words this time. He looked hesitant, almost scared. He fiddled with the edge of his jacket sleeve for a moment before looking up at him.

“Stan, am I a bad person?”

Stan sat up straight. “What do you-” but he lowered his voice and sighed. “Christ, Sixer, why do you keep askin' me these crazy questions? Where's all this comin' from?”

“Can you really blame me?” Stanford asked, his voice firmer now. “I mean, everything's different here and nothing is like how it's supposed to be. You and I were supposed to go sailing and find monsters and become awesome adventurers, but we're not. You're in a mess all alone, I'm off doing who knows what, and…”

Stanford stopped as his face fell. Whatever semblance of hardness he could express immediately vanished as he hung his head.

“And you don't even wanna talk to me.”

Stan felt his throat clench as he watched the painful expression on his brother's face. Moses, this kid was going to make him crack if he kept doing that.

“It… It ain't like I don't wanna,” he admitted. “I've tried to call before, but…”

Stanford's head snapped up at that. “But what?”

Stan bit his tongue hard. He had tried- God, he had tried- so many times to call his brother in the past. Some moments were out of desperation or the need for help, others were when he simply wanted to try to talk, to try to mend things, and every time he heard his brother's voice answer, he would hang up without saying anything. Stan didn't like to think of himself as a coward, but he sure was good at acting like one.

“I chickened out, alright?”

Stanford tilted his head slightly. “But… you never chicken out.”

Stan shrugged. “Told you before, Poindexter; people change.”

Stanford didn't seem to like that answer, but he didn't comment on it either. Stan pulled the shake closer to him and took a large swing before pushing it back to his brother.

“You should finish it before it melts.”

Stanford nodded, taking the shake and sipping it silently. Stan frowned and fiddled with a loose thread of his sleeve. Then he got an idea, and he grinned.

“Hey, wanna hear a joke?” he asked. “What do you call a mythical milkshake?”

Stanford looked surprised for a moment before staring down at his own shake. He tapped his fingers on the table and frowned, clearly thinking it over.

“I don't know… what?”

Stan couldn't help the smile that grew on his face as he raised his hands in a grand gesture and said, “Legendairy!”

Stanford blinked at him for two seconds before he snorted loudly. Stan smirked, suddenly feeling very pleased with himself.

“Stan, that's awful!”

“But it made you laugh, huh?”

Stanford shook his head, still giggling.

10 minutes later, Stanford had finally finished his shake. The shop was oddly empty as they left, but Stan decided that was a good thing. As they made their way back towards the motel, he rattled off a couple more puns just to pass the time.

Why do I only get sick on weekdays? I have a weekend immune system. How do cows stay up to date? They read the Moo-spaper. One amazing pun after the other, all of which made Stanford groan and laugh. It was almost enough to distract Stan from his impending task.

“Alright,” he said as they neared the motel. “I know there's a payphone on the other side of the road here. I'm gonna drop you off at the room, and I'll go try to call him.”

“I don't mind staying with you.”

Stan rolled his eyes. “Yeah, but I do, especially when it's this dark. You don't know what kind of crazy-”

But Stan stopped dead in his tracks. He heard Stanford say something but couldn't hear what. Everything in his brain went fuzzy and his adrenaline spiked like crazy. He could feel his heart thundering against his ribcage.

There in the parking lot, right in front of his room, a group of men were surrounding his car. One appeared to be knocking hard on the door to his room while the others stood by and waited. Stan didn't need to get a closer look to know who they were.

“Stan?” Stanford's voice was enough to snap him out of his blank state. “What's wrong? Are you al-”

Stan immediately grabbed Stanford��s arm and started to drag him back in the alleyway next to them. He gasped and asked him what he was doing, but Stan didn't respond. He didn't have time to respond, he needed to focus on his actions.

There was a large dumpster halfway down the alley, and it appeared to be surrounded by large, carboard boxes. Perfect. Stan let go of Stanford and moved towards the boxes. He gave them a good kick, and when nothing made any sort of response, he immediately began moving them away.

“Stan, what're you-”

“No time,” Stan grabbed his brother and pulled him forward until he was standing right beside the dumpster. “Quick, crouched down.”

Stanford frowned but did as he was instructed. Stan started picking up the boxes and stacking them around his brother.

“I need you to stay right here,” he said as he piled on box after box. “Don't make a sound and don't move until I come get you, okay?”

“But what-”

“Now's not the time!” Stan snapped. “Just do as I say, alright?”

Stanford flinched, but he nodded without question. He looked so scared, but Stan couldn't afford to worry about that at the moment. Keeping him hidden and out of the way was a priority.

Stan made sure the boxes were stacked around him inconspicuously, like a fortress of garbage. He picked up the last box and moved to place it on top. He glanced down at Stanford, huddled on the ground in the center of the stack. Stan swallowed hard.

“No matter what you hear, don't make a sound, okay?”

Stanford gulped and nodded. Stan put on what he knew was a fake smile before placing the last box on top of the stack, completely hiding his brother.

He turned and quickly made his way back to the end of the alley, trying not to make too much noise with his feet. Once he reached the end, he leaned over to stare out towards the parking lot. The group of men where still crowded around his car, obviously waiting for him.

How long had they been there? How would they wait for him? Stan mentally cursed himself when he remembered that his brass knuckles were stashed in his glove compartment.

He figured he could take them on one by one if he could get them separated, but how on earth could he do that?

Before Stan could move, something suddenly grabbed him by his collar and pulled him back. He had just enough time to register the man beside him before something smashed his nose and his vision went white.

Gravity Falls 1982

Ford had finally left his study to ask Fiddleford if he had made any progress on the time machine when he realized it was quiet- too quiet. Even more so than that morning. Even if Stanley had simply been sitting in the living room reading, he would've found a way to make some sort of noise, even if he was simply laughing at the book.

Ford made his way to every room on the first floor- the living room, the storage room, the kitchen, but found nothing. He quickened his pace as he made his way upstairs. Fiddleford wasn't in his room and there were no signs of life in the attic.

Perhaps they had gone outside? Stanley had mentioned his distaste for being stuck inside all day, perhaps Fiddleford was just keeping an eye on him there.

Just as Ford was about to walk out the door and find them himself, he peered through the window and saw Fiddleford's car pull up. A moment later, he and Stanley both stepped out, a large pizza box in Fiddleford's hands. They must have just gone into town to grab dinner. Ford could feel himself shaking but quickly took a deep breath and steadied himself. The idea of Stanley wandering in the woods by himself was bad enough, but to take him into town was asinine. What sort of problems could he get up to that would affect their timeline?

Ford placed his hands behind his back and made his way to the kitchen. A moment later he heard the front door open, and he could hear Fiddleford and Stanley giggling inaudibly about something. The giggling continued until they finally reached the kitchen, to which they both stopped in their tracks.

“Well, lookie here,” Fiddleford said, amazed. “Second time in a row you've come outta your study without bein' forced. That's a new record for ya.”

“I realized how quiet it was and became concerned,” Ford stated, unamused. “Don't you think it's a little risky to be taking Stanley into town like this?”

“Now Ford, I know what you're gonna say, but…” he and Stanley glanced at each other before he continued, “At yeast let me explain.”

Stanley spluttered for a moment before turning away and laughing into his hands, and Fiddleford grinned. Ford raised an eyebrow.

“What's so funny about all this?”

“Sorry, Sixer,” Stanley covered his mouth as he snorted. “That's on a… knead-to-know basis.”

Ford opened his mouth but quickly shut it as he realized what his brother had said. Oh god, the puns… He should have seen this coming. His mind suddenly began replaying every instance he could remember where his brother managed to somehow make a pun out of anything, to the point where it was a catastrophic nuisance. Apparently, the initial shock of being transported through time had worn off enough that Stanley was prepared to make up for lost time.

Fiddleford giggled as he carefully placed the pizza box on the counter. Ford placed his hands behind his back and turned to face him.

“Well, thank you for picking up some dinner anyway,” he said sincerely. “You didn't have to.”

“Oh, it ain't nothin',” Fiddleford turned to grin at him. “Really, it's the yeast I could do.”

All sincerity left as Ford's mouth fell open and Stanley fell into a fit of giggles beside him. Ford was used to hearing the occasional pun from his assistant- usually something connected to his southern roots that Ford couldn't understand enough to be irritated with anyway- but that was only about once a month at most. Now he had made two within a few minutes of each other, and it was already getting on his nerves. He tried to think of something to say that was safe enough not to encourage more out of either of them.

“Is there… a reason you decided on pizza?” he asked hesitantly.

“Don't tell me you don't like pizza, Sixer,” Stanley sounded surprised, then smirked. “What are you? Some kinda weirdough?”

Fiddleford placed a hand on his stomach and turned away as he chuckled. Ford whipped around to glare at Stanley.

“Are you done yet?” he asked exasperatedly.

Stanley rubbed a finger under his chin. “Hmm, I think I've got one more, but…” he grinned and shook his head. “Nah, it's too cheesy!”

Fiddleford laughed so hard he had to lean against the counter to keep himself up on his feet. Ford facepalmed and groaned irritably.

“What? Not a fan of my pizza puns, Poindexter?” Stanley beamed. “What're you? Laughtose intolerant?”

“Alright, I get it!” he snapped. “You both can stop now.”

“Alright, alright,” Fiddleford waved a hand in surrender. “I think we're fresh out anyway. Right, Stanley?”

Stanley shook his head. “Nah, I could do this all day.”

“I'll just take my plate to my room then.”

“What? No, you have to eat with us!” Stanley marched up and grabbed his arm. “C'mon, you've been stuck in your room all day.”

“He's got a point, ya know,” Fiddleford added.

Ford frowned at his assistant before looking down at his brother, flinching away only slightly against the grasp on his arm. Stanley was staring up at him with hopeful eyes, his smile wide and gleaming. Ford could feel something inside him crumbling under his gaze, and he sighed.

“Very well.”

Stanley's smile grew larger as he pulled Ford by the arm over to the counter. Fiddleford pulled three plates out of the cupboard above him before opening the box. A small puff of steam rose from inside as a delicious smell filled the air.

Ford couldn't remember the last time he had pizza. Maybe his first year after he moved to Gravity Falls?

Stanley immediately grabbed a plate and a large slice before making his way over to the table. Ford looked inside the box as Fiddleford got his own slice.

“What kind did you get?”

“Supreme with extra cheese. Stanley insisted on getting everything, but even Uncle Joe's has their limits.”

“Doesn't a supreme usually come with black olives?”

“You don't like black olives,” Stanley piped up. “Don't worry, I made sure they didn't put any on.”

Ford raised an eyebrow. He was never much of a picky eater as a child, but black olives had been one of those things he just couldn't stand for some reason. The fact that Stanley remembered that was comforting, although that was probably just because this version of him came from a period of their childhood. The current Stanley probably wouldn't remember such a pointless detail.

Ford grabbed a slice for himself and sat down at the table. They were silent for the first few minutes as they ate their food. It wasn't anything extraordinary, but Ford found himself enjoying it as much as the other two.

The extra cheese was definitely a good idea. Ford wondered if that was Stanley's idea as well.

“So, did you get a chance to look at the time machine?” he asked before taking another bite.

Fiddleford covered his mouth as he swallowed. “Yep, and it's just as complicated as I figured. Some of the components are familiar, but the power source is bafflin'. Never seen tech like it before.”

“Well, for all we know, this tech won't exist for a few centuries, so that makes sense. That doesn't explain how it just appeared in 1966.”

“Maybe a time traveler was takin' a vacation and dropped it,” Stanley piped up through a mouthful of pizza.

“Swallow, then talk,” Fiddleford told him sternly.

“I highly doubt someone trusted with such technology would use it to take a vacation in the past,” Ford added. “That would be highly irresponsible.”

Stanley swallowed loudly before asking, “Well, how do you think it ended up there?”

“I don't know, there could be a number of reasons. None of that matters, so long as we find a way to send you back.”

“Yeah, but we gotta find my Ford first,” Stanley sat up straight. “Oh, did you ever call Ma? What did she say?”

Ford took an extra-large swig of his water before answering. He hadn't actually tried to call his mom yet. He had meant to, even if he didn't want to, but he had become so distracted with his work and the stress of this whole situation that it had completely slipped his mind.

The fact that he wanted to avoid speaking with Stan didn't help him either. He couldn't say that though. Neither of those were very good excuses.

“I tried a few times, but she didn't answer,” he said finally. “They must have been out today or something. We can just try tomorrow.”

Stanley's brows furrowed as he frowned at him, but he didn't say anything else as he continued to eat his slice. Ford cleared his throat before turning to address Fiddleford.

“So, the power source- what do you make of it?”

Fiddleford folded his arms on the table. “Well, it's obviously made of some type of metal and had some sorta lightbulb, but I didn't recognize the material and the bulb is broken. I'd have to look at it a little more to see if I can identify anything else.”

“Don't overdo it though,” said Stanley. “You won't be able to think straight if you stress about it. Ford gets like that all the time when he overthinks his homework.”

Fiddleford snorted as Ford whipped around to glare at him. “Be that as it may, the sooner we figure this out the better. It would be unwise to let you or the other me wander in this time too long.”

Stanley shrugged. “Yeah, but I'm not worried. You two are super smart scientists. I know you can figure it out, even if you haven't yet.”

“It probably would've been less difficult were the tape not broken.”

Stanley's confident smirk instantly fell, replaced by a look of embarrassment as his ears turned pink. Fiddleford turned to stare at Ford, his lips pursed, and brows furrowed. Ford simply raised an eyebrow. He had a point, didn't he? If the machine weren't broken, they probably could've found a way to figure it out by now.

Stanley stood up from his seat and quickly placed his plate in the sink. “I think I'm just gonna read some more before bed,” he said, his voice sounding just like it always did whenever he tried to worm his way out of trouble. “Gotta find out how they deal with the end of the world or whatever.”

He quickly made his way out of the kitchen, his eyes locked on the floor. Ford sighed as he stuffed the last of his piece into his mouth. It wasn't until he finished that he looked up and saw Fiddleford still glaring at him.

“What?”

“That wasn't necessary, ya know.”

Ford rolled his eyes. “Yes, well… my point still stands. We might've found a way to send him home by now if he hadn't broken it.”

“Ya don't even know if he broke it,” said Fiddleford. “Ya probably haven't bothered askin' him how it happened, have ya?”

Ford frowned at him. True, he hadn't asked Stanley the details of how the machine ended up in its current state, but really, what else could've happened? It was Stanley! Ford might not have seen his current twin in years, but he remembered their childhood painfully well, having spent most of it cleaning up Stan's messes.

“I think I'll turn in early tonight,” Ford stood up from his seat. “I'll see you both in the morning.”

Fiddleford sighed. “Alrighty, then. Night.”

“Goodnight.”

Ford stuffed his hands in his pockets as he made his way out of the kitchen. He passed through the living room to make his way to his study. Stanley was sitting on the couch, still reading Hitchhiker's like he said he would. Just as he passed by the couch, Ford's eyes landed on a stack of books standing to the side and spotted Journal 1 sitting on top of it.

“Ah, there it is,” he muttered.

He reached out and picked up the journal, turning it over to see if there were any damages or messes. How was he always leaving these things around? He should really be more careful with them from now on, especially in present company.

Ford glanced over at Stanley, who had his face buried in the book as if he were hiding. Ford raised an eyebrow as he noticed how many pages he had gone through.

“Haven't gotten far in the book, I see.”

Stanley chuckled, clearly embarrassed. “C'mon Sixer, you know I get distracted easily.”

Ford let out a soft 'hm', but otherwise didn't comment. He turned away and began making his way back down to his study. He was tempted to keep working, but really, there was nothing much left to do at this point.

Everything was set and ready. All they had to do was keep an eye on the portal and double check the readings in case anything went wrong before the test.

He heard the footsteps behind him just as he reached the bottom of the stairs. Ford rolled his eyes as he made his way into the dimly lit room, marching straight for his desk. He slid Journal 1 into the small shelf with the other two, making sure it was tucked in securely before he started to gather and organize his notes and papers on the desk. The door creaked behind him.

“Coming to bed already?” he asked.

Stanley didn't respond. Ford turned to look at him and felt himself freeze at the look of shame and embarrassment on his face. Stanley kicked his feet at the floor before slowly raising his head to look back at him.

“I didn't mean for it to break,” he said quietly. “I'm sorry.”

Ford sighed. “Yes yes, I'm sure it was an accident. You were probably just playing too rough and didn't mean to break it.”

Stanley swallowed before looking around the room, shifting his feet and tugging at the bottom of his shirt- an obvious tell that something was wrong. Ford raised an eyebrow at him.

“What is it?”

“I…” Stanley clenched his fists as he stared at his feet. “I wanted to break it.”

Ford blinked, his confusion quickly turning into frustration as he asked, “Why on earth would you want to break it?”

“Because it sent me here!” Stanley snapped defensively. “Because it sent me away from home and got me and my brother separated! I wanted to smash it to pieces!”

Ford leaned back, surprised by the outburst. The fact that Stanley was upset about his situation wasn't what surprised him though. It was the fact that it had taken him this long to truly express it.

Stanley took a deep breath, and all his anger seemed to subside. “But I didn't.”

“Really?” Ford couldn't stop the disbelieving tone in his voice. “And what compelled you to resist breaking it if you wanted to so badly?”

“I dunno…” Stanley rubbed his arm nervously. “I figured that's what you would've done.”

Ford opened his mouth but couldn't respond. The very idea that, in his first few moments of time traveling and being lost in the future, Stanley had thought about what he would've done was surprising to say the least. Ford couldn't remember the last time, if at all, that he had been in a situation and had thought about what his twin would do.

“Well, how did it break then?”

“It was an accident.”

“Really, Stanley?”

“I'm serious!” he said desperately. “I didn't know what to do with it, so I put it in my backpack. Then the gnomes chased me, and I fell in a drop off and it broke in my bag. I didn't mean for it to happen, I swear! Why can't you just trust me?”

“It's not a matter of trust Stanley, I'm just looking at it logically,” Ford stated simply. “You tend to be careless and break things, that's just the way it is. It's perfectly reasonable to assume it broke because you weren't being cautious enough.”

Stanley's mouth opened slightly as his eyes widened. He was staring at Ford with a mixture of shock and confusion, then it slowly melted into something that he couldn't quite identify. Ford sighed as he started to make his way out of the room.

“I'm going to bed, and you should, too,” he said as he raised his hand to grab the door handle.

“I did somethin', didn't I?”

Ford froze and turned to face him. “What?”

“I'm not stupid, Ford,” Stanley's hands were shaking slightly. “Even if everyone else thinks I am. I did something that made you mad, and you're still mad about it. That… that's why you don't trust me, isn't it?”

“Stanley…”

“Look, I dunno what future me did, but I swear it was an accident. If I said somethin' or did somethin' bad, I swear I didn't mean it.”

Ford rolled his eyes. “You keep saying that.”

“Because it's true! I'd never try to hurt you Ford, you know that-”

“Enough,” Ford cut across him firmly. “Stanley, whatever happened to us doesn't matter now. It's long since passed as far as now is concerned, and you haven't even experienced it yet. You apologizing doesn't mean anything.”

Ford truly didn't see any problem with what he had said. It was the truth after all. Stanley apologizing for something he hadn't even done yet was pointless. Even if current Stan apologized, it wouldn't do much to change what he had done.

He had clearly said something wrong though. Stanley's fell as he stared up at Ford, then it contorted as he sniffed.

“It… it doesn't?”

Ford felt his heart drop as he raised his hands. “Stanley, that's not what I-”

“But I really am! I- I don't know what I did but… I'm sorry!”

Something sparkled in Stanley's eyes, and he immediately turned away to wipe his face.

Growing up with a father as strict and hard as theirs, Ford and Stan were raised on the idea that 'Men don't cry, especially in front of anyone else. You need to be strong and toughen up, or you'll never be real men.' That being said, there were several times when life got just a bit too hard, especially when they were young. Ford could remember, with much embarrassment, how he used to seek the comfort of his brother whenever their father was particularly harsh or whenever he had a terrifying nightmare.

Stan, to his credit, never teased or joked if it was serious. He had always tried his best to make Ford feel better, even if it was a temporary comfort.

Stan must have felt that he had to be strong for Ford because of this, because he could count on one hand the number of times his twin allowed even a single tear to fall in front of him.

“You need to dust in here, bro,” Stanley muttered, still not looking at him.

Ford sighed and stepped closer to his younger brother. He leaned forward and gently placed a hand on his shoulder.

“Stanley, look at me.”

Stanley hesitated before slowly turning to look up at him. His eyes were still shiny, but Ford paid no mind or commented on that.

“Stanley, listen to me… I understand that this is a lot, and it's not what you want to see or hear, but… it is what it is, and nothing can change that. I know I've been harsh, but… it can't be helped sometimes.”

Stanley's lip quivered as he looked at the floor. Ford gave his shoulder a soft squeeze and shook it slightly.

“But, no matter how I feel about my current brother, I promise I'm going to help you find a way home. You'll be just fine, alright.”

Stanley swallowed hard. He didn't look too convinced, but his face set as he nodded. Ford couldn't help but smile a little, glad that he had done something right tonight. Then, his brother moved forward and wrapped his arms around his middle.

Stanley moved much slower than he had the previous night, but his grip was just as tight as he hugged him now. Ford froze, half-crouched in an awkward position as his brother hugged him. He bit back the groan that was building in his throat, and he slowly and carefully lifted his arms to hug him back. Stanley's shoulder shook slightly, but he didn't make a sound.

After what felt like several minutes, but was probably just a few seconds, Stanley's grip slackened. Ford didn't hesitate to remove his arms and straighten up. He cleared his throat and gave his brother an awkward pat on the shoulder before stepping away.

“Right, well… I'm going to bed now,” he muttered as he turned to leave. “Goodnight, Stanley.”

“Night, Ford.”

Ford quickly shut the door behind him. He didn't linger as long as he had the night before, and immediately made his way upstairs.

Tomorrow. They would find answers tomorrow.

Chapter End Notes

...zmw dzgxs gsvn uzoo

Chapter 12: Pesky Bug of Doubt

Chapter Notes

This chapter took longer than I thought it would. Hopefully the next one will come out sooner. Hope y'all enjoy!

See the end of the chapter for more notes

New Mexico 1982

“I'm surprised to see you're still alive, Avery. Didn't expect you to actually make it out.”

Avery Pineston. That was the alias he had been under the last time he had gone to prison, the one he had used when he met the punks that first got him connected with Rico, and the only one these guys knew of.

Stan, who was currently being pinned to the hood of his car by the big guy that punched him, could barely turn his head to see the person speaking to him, but he didn't need to see to know who it was. Sergei, Rico's right-hand man since before Stan even knew him. A cold, no-bs criminal that Stan was stupid enough to believe was his friend at one point. He had seen the guy pull this move plenty of times before, and only now knew how those previous suckers truly felt.

“Eh, what can I say?” Stan grunted. “I'm a tough nut to crack.”

“Apparently,” Sergei leaned forward until he was eyelevel with him and blew his cigarette smoke into his eyes. “Tell me, how long did you suffocate in that trunk before you managed to crawl your way out? An hour? Maybe two? I can't imagine it was more than that, you wouldn't be breathing right now otherwise.”

Stan stared daggers at him, but he didn't say anything. He knew full well he was in no position to be backtalking.

“But hey, a deal's a deal,” Sergei said admittedly. “Rico said if you managed to bust out, he'd give you another month to pay him back. How long has it been?”

“Three weeks,” one of the goons stated firmly.

“And how much does he owe us, exactly?”

“30 grand.”

“Ah yes, thank you,” Sergei turned to smirk down at Stan. “So, how much have you managed to collect, hm?”

Again, Stan didn't respond. Sergei chuckled.

“Oh, come now, amigo. You must have something!” he looked at the man pinning Stan down. “Let him up.”

Large hands grabbed Stan by the shoulders and yanked him upright before pushing him towards his motel door. He whipped around and took a step back, expecting them to attack. They didn't. Sergei took another long drag from his cigarette before gesturing to the door.

“Go on then,” he said. “Cough it up. All of it.”

Stan stood still for a moment, fuming. This son of a bitch knew damn well he didn't have nearly enough, and he still wanted to take all he had. Two of Sergei's goons pulled up their shirts to reveal pistols strapped to their waists, and he swallowed hard. He didn't need to see the others to know they were packing too. He angrily pulled out his room key and kept his eyes on all of them as he opened the door.

None of them made a move as Stan marched into his room and crouched beside his mattress. He slipped a hand underneath it until it reached the $400 he had hidden away and pulled it out. Stan was quiet as he slowly made his way outside the room. He held out the small wad and it was immediately snatched by one guy, who handed it to Sergei.

“Happy now?” he asked, unable to help himself.

Sergei shook his head and pointed at Stan's feet. “I said all of it, Avery.”

Stan glared at him, but one of the goons got cocky and pulled his pistol out of his waistband. Stan remained silent as he slowly took off his right boot and plucked another $100 out of it. He held it out to Sergei, who tucked his cigarette between his teeth as he reached up and took it. Stan stood there, still holding his boot as he watched him slowly count out every bill he had found. Sergei shook his head as he clicked his tongue.

“Ahh, my friend,” he said woefully. “I'm disappointed in you. I thought you of all people would have managed to gather more than this.”

Stan shrugged. “I gotta eat sometimes, man.”

“That doesn't excuse you for having so little,” Sergei tucked the wad of cash into his jacket pocket before taking a step towards him. “I thought we made ourselves painfully clear. If you don't get Rico every cent he's owed… I'm afraid you'll have trouble surviving next time.”

Stan clenched his fists. “I just need a few weeks.”

“You've already had a few weeks, I'm afraid. Now you have one more week to get Rico his money. Plain and simple,” Sergei leaned forward as his voice dropped. “You can't scheme your way out of this one, amigo. Don't try it.”

They stood there, staring at each other for what felt like ages. Sergei smirked, chuckled, then turned to face his men.

“Hemos terminado. Vamos a movernos.”

They didn't hesitate to listen. The guy that pulled out his gun tucked it back into his waistband as they all turned, now making their way toward a car parked on the other end of the lot.

“If you run, we will find you, Avery,” Sergei called out without even looking at him. “You know we will.”

Stan stood frozen and watched as they all piled into the car, still holding onto his boot. It wasn't until it started to pull out of the lot that he finally reached down and slipped it back onto his foot, his eyes staying locked on the car until it disappeared around the corner.

He waited. 10 seconds. 30 seconds. One minute passed before he finally moved, sprinting back into his room with lightening speed. Sergei might have known that Stan didn't keep all his money together in the same spot, but he hadn't known how separated it was.

He ran into the bathroom and pulled the lid off the tank of the toilet and sighed with relief when he saw the small bag of $200 tapped underneath was still there. He snatched it before placing the lid back down and running out of the bathroom. Grabbing his duffle bag, Stan began running around the room, grabbing everything and anything he thought he would need. He stuffed the money down in the bottom before piling the water bottles, stolen snacks and what few clothes he had on top.

Stan stared around at the boxes of his failed business attempts and contemplated what to do with them. Realistically, he knew he wasn't doing himself any favors by holding onto them. It had been years since he had been able to sucker anyone into buying anything he had on him. But, if he left most of his stuff here, maybe they would take that as a sign that he was still around when they came back looking for him.

They would assume that he wouldn't leave behind what little he had left. That would buy him some more time.

Stan quickly ran out and tossed his duffle bag into the back seat of his car before running back into the room. Wherever he was going, it was only going to get colder, and he didn't hesitate to grab the comforter off the bed, leaving the sheets. As he balled up the material in his arms, his eyes landed on the small backpack lying on the floor beside the bed, and his heart sank. Stanford was still hidden behind the dumpster in the alley.

Stan grabbed the backpack and hauled both it and the comforter outside to his car, slamming the door of his room shut. He shoved both items into the back with his duffle bag before turning and sprinting back out to the street. He didn't even look around him as he ran down the alley, too concerned with getting back to his brother to worry about his surroundings.

Stan ran up to the pile of boxes and immediately pulled off the top box. He let out a strangled sound of relief when he saw Stanford was still crouched where he left him. He looked up at Stan and gasped.“Stanley!”

“Easy, bud,” Stan said as he began moving the boxes. “C'mon, we gotta go.”

“What happened?”

“I'll explain later, right now we gotta move.”

Stan pulled Stanford up by his arm and began leading him quickly out of the alley. He stopped at the end and looked down both ends of the street three times before rounding the corner into the parking lot.

“Stan, what's going on?” Stanford asked nervously.

“Change of plans, Sixer,” Stan said quickly. “Some stuff's come up and we gotta leave.”

“Leave? B-but, I thought-”

“I'll explain once we're far away, alright?”

“But, my bag-”

“Already in the car.”

Stan glanced down at his brother and saw the panicked expression on his face but didn't say anything. He'd have to deal with that later. Getting them both as far away from this place as possible was more important.

Stan yanked open the passenger door and practically shoved Stanford in, shutting it before he had even put on his seatbelt. Just as he was about to step into the drivers seat, he saw movement out the corner of his eyes. He glanced up and saw Kevin crouched beside the dumpster, staring at him intently.

No loose ends. Stan reached into his pocket and pulled out his room key.

“Hey Kevin! Room's covered for the rest of the week. You want it?”

Kevin's eyes widened and he started to step forward, but Stan held his hand out.

“If anyone comes by lookin' for me and asks you, you tell them I'm out gambilin'. Deal?”

Kevin nodded fervently. Stan hesitated for a second before tossing the key towards the man, who surprisingly caught it. Kevin gave him one of his crazed looks- the same one he got whenever he managed to get $5 out of some poor sucker- and cackled with delight before immediately making his way for the room. Stan paid him no mind as he finally got into his car, fumbling with his keys in the process.

“C'mon, c'mon- Shit!” Stan swore as the keys fell from his pocket and onto the floor, and he scrambled to pick them back up. “Okay, okay…”

“Stan?”

Stan didn't respond as he turned the ignition. The car sputtered for a moment before thankfully coming to life. Stan glanced around before whipping out of the parking spot and immediately pealing out of the lot. Stanford gasped lightly as he grabbed onto the passenger door to keep himself from moving around too much.

Stan's eyes darted around, looking for Sergei's car, or any patrol cars that might pull him over. Someone above must have been looking out for him because there were no cars in his line of sight, and he floored it as much as he could down the street.

Minutes went by, the only sound being the revving of the engine as Stan made his way through town. He just had to get to the interstate. He could go as fast and as far as he needed to once he reached it.

“Where are we going?” Stanford asked in a timid voice.

“North,” Stan answered shortly.

“What's north?”

“Not here, that's what.”

Stanford shifted in his seat but didn't say anything.

Stan nearly sighed when he saw the interstate come into view, but he stayed focused. Even when he reached it and started speeding down the road faster than he should have, he didn't let himself get settled just yet. He had to get as far away as possible, to keep himself safe- to keep them both safe.

He refused to let Stanford see anymore than he already had.

“Stan, are you in trouble?”

Stanford's voice was so quiet Stan almost didn't hear it over the roar of his engine. He didn't answer for a moment, his grip on the stirring wheel tightening, then nodded.

“Somethin' like that. Don't worry about it though.”

“But you said we-”

“I know what I said!” he snapped, but a quick glance at his brother's expression was enough to soften his tone. “We… we just gotta get to the next town. I don't know where, so don't ask, but we gotta get out of Santa Fe.”

In reality, Stan didn't plan on stopping until he made his way out of the state. He wasn't banned from Utah yet, perhaps he could make his way up there. Hopefully he could keep his head down long enough for this mess to blow over. Then, maybe, he could figure out how to help Stanford.

“There's crackers and jerky in the duffle bag if you're hungry,” he said gruffly. “We're stuck with that until we gotta stop for gas or somethin'.”

Stanford shook his head. “I'm not hungry.”

Stan frowned. “Try to get some sleep, then. I'll find somewhere to crash eventually, but we're gonna be on the road for a while.”

Stanford nodded as he kicked off his shoes and curled in his seat to try to get comfortable. The motel room might have been worse for ware, but at least the bed had been cozy enough. Stan had slept in his car so many times at this point it was almost second nature, but it had still been an adjustment when he first started out on his own.

No doubt Stanford would have a hard time adjusting. The two of them had taken long road trips with their parents and brother to see family out of their home state before, but they had always managed to find somewhere to sleep for the night. Not this time, though.

“You're not gonna tell me what's going on, are you?”

The question came out of nowhere, and Stan took his eyes off the road completely to look at his little brother. He was still curled up in his seat but was now looking back at him over his shoulder. Stan huffed and shook his head.

“The less you know, the better, Sixer. Just trust me on that.”

Stanford didn't respond, and he turned to lean his head against the window. Stan glanced at him for a moment before locking his eyes onto the road ahead of him. Maybe if he drove far enough, he would be able to leave all his problems behind in the dust.

Right… like that's ever worked before.

Gravity Falls 1982

Ford almost smiled when he opened his eyes and saw the familiar space that was his mindscape. The dark, seemingly endless starfield surrounded him, filled with floating relics similar to what sat in his study and lab. Ford hadn't seen it for some time, and a sense of calm washed over him. He knew that if he was here, then that could only mean one thing.

“How's it going, smart guy?”

Ford smiled even wider as he turned to see who addressed him. “Hello, Bill.”

“So nice of you to drop by for a chat.”

Bill hovered a little closer before snapping his fingers, and a small table and armchairs appeared. Another snap and a fully set chess board appeared on the table.

“You up for a game of chess?” his Muse asked, taking a seat in the smaller chair.

Ford nodded as he sat in his own chair. “Aren't I always?”

He'd be lying if he said he wasn't a bit curious as to what Bill was up to for the past few days, and why he had chosen now to show up. But, he decided that if his Muse wasn't worried, than neither should he. Ford leaned forward to look down at his pieces on the board. Bill often let him play white. He reached forward and moved his pawn to D.4.

Minutes went by. Ford managed to steal a few pieces, and Bill stole a few in return. His Muse wasn't playing as aggressively as he normally would, and that wasn't the only thing out of place.

Bill was being oddly quiet. Were it anyone else, Ford would normally assume that they were simply focused on the game. That was never the case with Bill. He was an excellent multitasker and would often spout off before they would even start playing. This was definitely different.

“Haven't heard from you directly for a few days,” he started as he moved his rook to A.5. “I was beginning to wonder if you would turn up.”

“Even omnipotent beings like me get busy, Sixer,” Bill stated with a shrug before moving his knight to G.4.

“But you had enough free time to do some work last night? I saw the notes you added.”

“Of course! This is the biggest project I've worked on in at least a millennia. Can't afford to leave it on the back burner.”

Ford nodded, his eyes moving back down to the board. His king was safe, but his queen was exposed. He could move his knight to protect it, but that could leave a path to his king.

“You've been pretty busy the last couple of days, haven't you?” Bill piped up. “Lot of interesting surprises.”

Ford swallowed and moved his knight. “You're referring to the appearance of my brother.”

“Duh, of course! Gotta admit, even I didn't see that one coming.”

“Really?”

“Don't look so surprised,” Bill waved a finger and moved his bishop to H.4. “I'm able to see a lot of things, Sixer, but every once in a while, something surprises me. Not complaining though. Keeps things interesting!”

Ford didn't respond. He supposed Bill had a point, but surprises could also bring destruction and ruin. The best you could do against the unknown is be prepared and don't panic.

“You think we'll be able to figure this out before our scheduled testing?” he asked as he moved one of his pawns. “I'd hate to push it back any further because of this.”

“I feel the same, Fordsy,” Bill picked up his rook. “But don't worry. All you gotta do is get that time machine fixed and you can kick him to the curb.”He accentuated his point by knocking over the knight that guarded Ford's queen. Something twinged in the back of his mind at the phrasing, but Ford pushed it away. Bill was just being honest, if a bit harsh.

“Best to do it sooner than later, though. We don't want him getting in to trouble.”

“I have no intentions of letting my brother get hurt, Bill,” Ford assured him as he used his queen to take the rook.

“Oh, obviously!” Bill laughed. “But I was talking about the portal! Can't have him running a muck around this place and breaking something else. You remember the last time he got too close to one of your projects, don't you, Sixer?”

Ford closed his eyes and sighed. He knew full well the possibilities should Stanley get too close to his work this time, and the consequences could be far more dire than simply making Ford look like a fool in front of superiors. Though, the prospect of failing Bill was much worse than looking foolish in front of college executives.

“Yes, of course I do.”

“Good to know we're in agreement,” Bill leaned over the board, rubbing a finger under his eye. “Time travel is tricky, risky business, but I think I can try to find some way to help you. I have a few guys who owe me a few favors.”

“Any help you could give would be greatly appreciated.”

“Hey, anything for my buddy!”

Bill used his knight to take down the rook, leaving open space in front of the king and queen. Ford shook his head. He should have seen that coming. He hesitated before moving his queen to a more defensible position in front of the king.

“He's gonna keep asking questions though.”

Ford raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

“Oh, come on. You think I didn't hear about what he's been asking you?” Bill rolled his eye. “From what you've told me, your brother's always sticking his nose where it doesn't belong, and he's doing it again now. He's gonna want to know why you had to cut him out of your life.”

'Had to'. Something about the way that was worded settled oddly in Ford's stomach. He had to, hadn't he? His brother destroyed his work, tarnished his future, all for his own selfish gain. When their father threw him out, Stan had taken off in his car and never came back. That was his own choice.

What was Ford supposed to do? Wallow and sulk, hoping he would come back one day? He would still be stuck in New Jersey if he had. Ford shook his head and moved his bishop to take Bill's queen.

“Yes, well, it's not as if I can actually tell him anything, even if I wanted to.”

“Couldn't you?”

Ford looked up and frowned. “What?”

“Think about it, Ford. He's just gonna keep pestering and bugging you until you give in,” Bill placed his hands behind his head as he leaned back in his chair. “Your brother might be a selfish jerk, but he's stubborn and has a hard time giving up. You can afford to give him a few hints until he finally shuts up.”

“Bill, I can't tell him things like that. Giving Stanley too much information about the future could cause catastrophic effects to our timeline.”

“You think I don't understand the complexities of time, Sixer?” Bill tilted his hat down as he turned away. “Honestly, I thought you knew me better than that.”

Ford flinched in his seat and hung his head. “No… no, you're right. I'm sorry.”

“Ah, don't worry about it!” Bill said brightly, floating over and putting an arm on Ford's shoulder. “Doubt is a creepy little bug that lives in everyone's basement, Ford, but I know you're smart enough to overcome and get rid of it. One of the many reasons I chose you, after all.”

Ford smiled as Bill floated back to his seat. His Muse was one of the smartest beings he had ever known, he should know by now not to question his advice. He was the only reason Ford was so close to truly discovering the secret to the weirdness of Gravity Falls, the only reason he was so close to becoming one of the most renown researchers of the century.

“You don't have to get into all the tragic details about how he betrayed you,” Bill stated as he leaned over the board. “Just give him enough until he's satisfied.”

“You really think so?”

“C'mon Sixer, don't you trust me?”

Ford nodded without hesitation. “Of course, I do. Without question.”

“Good,” Bill waved his finger in the air. “You can probably afford to be a little less trusting when we play though. Checkmate!”

Bill's bishop moved across the board and knocked over Ford's king. He blinked and stared down at his fallen piece, then grinned and shook his head. He should have seen that coming.

“Very good. I'm sure I'll get you next time, though.”

“Oh, I'm sure you will, Sixer. Just keep practicing.”

It was nearly midnight. The house was quiet, the only noise coming from the crickets outside. An owl hooted in the distance.

When he had opened his eyes, he immediately sat up, tilting his head to crack it on both sides. He rolled his shoulders as he pushed himself from the bed. His vision was blurry, so he quickly threw on the glasses.

Normally he wouldn't bother; tripping and stumbling had the potential to be hilariously painful. He had tried stabbing his leg with a fork a week ago and that wasn't nearly as painful as the time he had stubbed his toe in the door, and he wasn't even trying that time!

But he wasn't here for fun this time.

He snuck through the house at an inhuman pace, making as little noise as possible. He made his way down the stairs towards the study, taking even slower steps as he carefully opened the door. The room was dark, and there was loud snoring coming from the lump on the mattress. He left the door open as he made his way inside and didn't stop until he stood directly beside the bed. He leaned over slowly, eyeing the boy below him.

“You've really mucked up my plans, haven't you, brat?” he whispered irritably.

The child, of course, didn't respond, still deeply asleep and completely unaware of what was going on around him.

It would be so easy to kill him here and now. The hillbilly was dead asleep, Sixer wouldn't be waking up for a while, and they had been dumb enough to leave this kid all by himself.

He raised a tempting hand towards his face, just aching to place it around his throat. He hovered for a moment before gripping his hand into a fist and leaning back up. The child didn't stir or make any indication that he had been disturbed, still snoring loudly.

He walked over to the desk chair and sat down, turning to stare at the sleeping boy. He raised his hands and tapped all six fingers together, his mind wandering over all the possibilities.

“Hmm… maybe this can work,” he whispered to himself. “Maybe I can use you…”

Chapter End Notes

Glwzb'h Hkvxrzo: slg kozgv lu nzmrkfozgrlm drgs z hrwv liwvi lu orvh zmw tzhortsgrmt

Chapter 13: The Difference Between Dreams and Reality

Chapter Notes

Second half of the chapter isn't as long as I wanted it to be, but I'm still happy with it. Hope y'all enjoy!

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Gravity Falls 1982

The sunsets on the beach were always beautiful, but something about today made it even more so. The sun's warmth was comforting as opposed to the blistering heat that happened on most days. Stanley and his twin had spent most of their day on the Stan O' War- at least, he thinks they did. Why else would they be on the beach?

Now, they each stood at the end of the dock that sat just a few yards away from their ship.

“What kind of treasure do you think we'll find once we leave?” Stanley asked, swinging around the support pole on the edge of the dock.

“Oh, all kinds, I assume,” Stanford answered. “There's so many places that have been left undiscovered, and they're bound to have all kinds of treasure there. Maybe we'll find Atlantis!”

“Or El Dorado!” Stanley beamed. “We could probably buy the whole state with just a sack full of gold.”

Stanford laughed. “Yeah, but why would you wanna buy New Jersey?”

“Because I could! That's what rich people do with their riches, Poindexter. They buy junk they don't need just because they can.”

“Boy, I can't imagine being that rich.”

“Well, better start imagining then, 'cause once we find some buried treasure, we can have whatever-” Stanley swung around the support just a little too fast and was now standing on the very edge of the dock, about to fall back into the water. “Wow!”

“Stanley!”

Stanford reached out and grabbed Stanley's arm, holding him in place on the edge of the dock. Stanley gripped his twin's forearm as he turned his head to look down at the deep water below him. He grinned and let out a loud huff.

“Phew! That was a close one, huh?”

Stanley turned back to his brother, expecting him to make another quip about him being too clumsy for his own good. He didn't. Stanford was staring at him with a blank, neutral expression that didn't suit his face very well. What's more, he didn't make any sort of effort to pull Stanley up to the safety of the dock like he normally would.

“Uh, Sixer?”

Stanford didn't respond, still staring at him with dull eyes. The beaming sunlight started to fade, replaced by dim shadows as darker clouds started to roll in. Stanford's grip on Stanley's arm grew painfully tight.

“Hey, what're you doin'?” he asked. “C'mon, pull me up!”

Stanford still didn't respond. As the sun disappeared and the clouds blocked the sky, Stanley blinked, and his brother was suddenly much taller, much older, and his expression grew cold. The grip on his arm tightened even more.

“Ford…?”

His now older brother stared down at him, completely emotionless behind his glasses. Then, without warning, Ford let go of his arm. Stanley gasped as his back slammed into the water and he began to sink. But, as he continued down, he discovered he was no longer sinking into the ocean, but falling down an empty, black chasm, the figure of his brother slowly fading into nothing.

This would normally be the part where he would wake up…

Stanley was screaming.

How could he not be? He was falling down an empty black hole and holy crap this didn't feel like a dream anymore. He was far too lucid. He could feel the air rushing past him and blowing through his hair as he fell, his arms reaching up for something, anything to make it stop.

Just as he was preparing to hit the bottom of… wherever this was, Stanley suddenly stopped falling. He flinched, expecting to feel pain, or anything, but he didn't. He opened his eyes and realized he was just floating in empty darkness. He waved his arms and kicked his legs to try to move, but he just hung there, suspended in the emptiness.

“Okay, this is really freaky,” he called out. “I'd like to wake up now!”

Suddenly, a bright yellow light started glowing behind him, and a high, chipper voice called out, “How's it hanging, kid?”

Stanley whipped around and gasped. What looked like a glowing nacho chip was hovering in front of him, except it had arms and legs, a tall top hat, and one large eye that was staring right at him. Stanley squirmed and tried to use his legs to move back, but to no avail.

“What the- Who- What are you?”

“Geez, relax short stack, no need to freak out yet. Trust me, you'll know when I do something freaky!” the triangle took off his top hat and bowed to him. “Name's Bill Cipher. Happy to meet you, Mac, even if you are a bit early.”

Stanley stared at him for a moment, unsure of how to respond. Then he finally registered what the nacho- Bill- had said, and he frowned.

“My name's not Mac.”

“Ha! Ever heard of nicknames, kid?” Bill put his hat back on his head and placed his fists on his sides. “You should know plenty about that, you've got several for your brother.”

Stanley blinked. “How… how do you know about my brother?”

“Stanford? Oh, he and I are best buds!” Bill stated with delight, throwing his hands in the air. “We've been hanging out a lot since he moved here, mostly to do some crazy nerd magic in his lab.”

“Nerd magic?”

“Don't know about that, huh?”

Stanley frowned as he folded his arms. He knew that Ford and Fidds were apparently working on some kind of nerd project, but his brother had refused to give him any details when he asked. Not like it mattered, right? It was probably too nerdy and weird for him to understand anyway.

“No. How do you know about that?”

Bill rolled his eye. “Ugh, so many questions, Mac,” he placed his hands behind his back and floated closer. “Let's just say I see lots of things and know even more. You don't seem to know much though, do ya? Like why Ford's all the way out here and older you is off doing who-knows-what.”

Stanley glanced away and grumbled, “It ain't my fault. Ford's only given me bits and pieces about what's happened.”

“Ah, that must be so annoying,” Bill circled around him and placed a hand on his shoulder. “I sympathize with ya, kid. I can't imagine what it would feel like if Fordsy was closed off with me.”

Stanley glared, rolling his shoulder to shove the hand off. Bill wasn't being unfriendly by any means, but there was something… off about him. Something that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.

“Why are you here, anyway?”

“Ain't it obvious? I feel for ya, kid,” Bill said gleefully, nudging Stanley's arm. “I like Fordsy really, but I do feel like he's being a bit unfair. I mean, it's not your fault you ended up in the future, right? And all you want is some answers.”

“Why don't you tell me then, if you know so much!” Stanley demanded, now feeling irritated.

“Oh, I'd love to, but I'm afraid it's not that simple,” Bill moved to float directly in front of him. “See, in order to do something for you, you gotta do something for me.”

Stanley raised an eyebrow, unfolding his arms. “Like what…?”

“I'm glad you asked! All you gotta do is agree to do a favor for me in the unforeseeable future, and I agree to give you the answers you so desire,” Bill almost seemed to grin as he held out his hand, and Stanley flinched as blue flames ignited around it. “What do ya say, Mac? Interested?”

Stanley blinked at him before staring down at the flaming hand in front of him. He had no idea who this guy was, or if any of this was even real, but if Bill really knew what was going on with Ford, he could use that to try to fix things between them. Still, the fact that he was being so vague about it was… odd.

“I dunno man… what do you want from me, anyway?”

“Just a buddy willing to help me out in my time of need, should the occasion ever arise,” Bill floated even closer, and Stanley could feel the warmth from the fire on his hand. “Come ooon… you can't tell me you aren't a little curious about what caused your brother to hate you so much.”

Whatever part of Stanley that was even considering taking the offer suddenly disappeared. Ford seemed upset with him, he even seemed to dislike him at times, but there was no way he hated Stanley. They were brothers, they loved each other, even if they didn't say it enough. No matter what had happened between them, no matter how bad it was, there was nothing in the world that could stop that.

Stanley folded his arms and shook his head. “You're wrong. Ford's obviously mad, but… he doesn't hate me. He doesn't!”

Bill sighed, the flames disappearing as he retracted his hand. “Have it your way, kid. But you'll come around eventually, and when you do, I'll be right here with a big, special deal just for you!”

“I don't need your deals!” he snapped. “I'll find out on my own!”

“Hahaha! Good luck with that, you're gonna need it!”

Bill snapped his fingers, and suddenly Stanley was falling again. He gasped and screamed, reaching out for something to stop himself…

Then his eyes finally opened.

Stanley instantly sat up, still gasping, trying to catch his breath. His stomach was in knots and his whole body was shaking. He raised his hands and patted himself down, just to be sure he was fine.

Once he was certain nothing was out of place, he let out a heavy sigh and glanced at the window above him. The sun wasn't even up yet, but the night sky had started to turn light. Fidds and Ford probably weren't even awake yet.

Stanley looked around the room and saw that the study door was wide open, but nothing else seemed out of place. Ford wasn't sleeping in the desk chair like he had been the day before. He didn't know if that was a good thing or a bad thing just yet.

Once his breathing had settled, Stanley sighed as he brought his knees close to his chest. He couldn't get the image of Bill out of his head. He tried to tell himself that it was just a stupid dream, that none of what he saw was real.

It wasn't like when he first arrived in the woods, he had actually been asleep this time. Still, everything had felt so real.

Everything that Bill had told and promised him replayed in his mind over and over. Though he was no longer here, his voice seemed intensified.

Ford's all the way out here and older you is off doing who-knows-what…

I can't imagine what it would feel like if Fordsy was closed off with me…

You can't tell me you aren't a little curious about what caused your brother to hate you so much…

Stanley's stomach twisted and his throat tightened; he felt like he was about to throw up. He shook his head and immediately leaned over to pull his notebook out of his backpack. He quickly flipped through the pages until he found their shanty. They had spent days working on it together, just like they had worked out how to earn money for supplies.

They were both prepared to spend as much time as it took to make their dream a reality. That had to mean something, right? Even if future-him had screwed up, surly he could fix whatever happened. He would make sure whatever bad thing that had happened wouldn't happen again.

Stanley sniffed as he stared down at the page, rubbing the forming tears out of his eyes before they even had a chance to fall. He pressed his forehead to the notebook and began softly singing the shanty to himself.

That wannabe nacho's full of it, he told himself. He doesn't hate you… he doesn't.

Somewhere Else 1982

Stanford wasn't sure what woke him up. Perhaps it was the feeling of his glasses digging into his cheek as he leaned against the window. He really should've taken them off, but there wasn't anywhere safe to store them in the car. He groaned as he slowly sat up, readjusting his glasses and rubbing the sore spot on his face.

The car wasn't moving anymore. Stanford rubbed the bleariness from his eyes as he looked out his window to see that they were in a completely different area now. The lot they were parked in was wide and empty, the pavement cracked and covered with litter.

The building they sat behind was tall but decaying. Probably an abandoned warehouse or something. He could just barely make out the sun rising from the other side.

Stanford looked over to ask Stan where they were but found himself alone. The only thing in the drivers' seat was a small white carton with two small cigarettes sitting inside. Stanford turned to look through the windshield and saw Stan sitting on the hood of the car. He couldn't see his face, but he could see a small trail of smoke rising from in front of him.

Stanford frowned. To say he was scared last night would be an understatement. He had been terrified when he saw the stranger that punched his brother drag him off. He wanted to scream, he wanted to go after him, but the dead seriousness in Stan's voice when he told Stanford to stay put kept him there. He had lost track of how long he had been stuck in that pile of boxes, and only felt relief when he saw his brother's face again. That relief hadn't lasted long, and the discomfort of the car seat wasn't the only thing that made it hard for him to fall asleep.

Stanford didn't understand much, but he did understand one thing: Stan was in serious trouble. What kind? He had no idea. For how long? Also, no idea. But it must have been bad enough to cause him to want to get out of town so quickly. What was really troublesome was the fact that Stan refused to talk about it. Stanford was sure that if his brother had been honest with him, they could figure something out; they could come up with a plan. But, aside from admitting that he was in some kind of trouble, Stan had been silent on the matter.

Stanford sat there and watched his brother for a few moments before finally unbuckling his seatbelt and opening the door. Stan didn't turn around or even react as he stepped out and shut the door. He did turn away slightly as Stanford moved around the car to stand next to him. There was no way he was trying to hide it; it was pretty obvious.

“Sleep okay?” Stan asked, gruffier than usual. “Didn't wake you, did I?”

Stanford shook his head. “No, I'm fine. What about you?”

“Eh, got an hour of sleep after I pulled in. Can't afford to stay too long.”

Stanford frowned. If that was true, then Stan must have been driving all night. A small power nap surely wasn't enough to combat that. The bags under his eyes were proof of that.

“Are you… gonna be alright?”

“Hm,” Stan took a drag of his cigarette and turned his head to blow the smoke away from Stanford. “I'll be fine. I've had to live off short naps for a while. Nothin' I can't handle.”

“Oh.”

Stanford stuffed his hands in his pockets, shuffling his feet. He wondered how often his brother was forced to sleep in his car if he had grown used to it. Was that grungy old motel room nothing but a temporary luxury?

Stan shifted around and finally turned to look down at him. “So… we need to go over some new rules.”

“Okay.”

“Rule number one: You stay in the car unless I tell you otherwise. You're probably safer in there than out here.”

Stanford squirmed and took a step backwards. “Should I-”

“Nah, you're fine right now,” Stan fiddled with his cigarette before bringing it up to his lips. “Rule number two: Don't use my real name in public. If you gotta ask or tell me somethin', call me 'Avery'. Ah… actually, no. Call me 'Jim'.”

Stanford nodded. “Jim… okay. What about me? Do I need one?”

“Mmm… yeah, probably. How about you pick one? It'll be easier for you to remember.”

“Okay,” Stanford rubbed his chin for a moment. “How about… I don't know. Phil?”

“Perfect,” Stan stared down at his hand as the cigarette burned between his fingers. “If anyone asks, you're my little brother and I'm takin' you on a road trip for a… family reunion or somethin'. Got it?”

Stanford nodded. “Any more rules?”

Stan shook his head. “Just the same ones as before: Don't run off and do whatever I tell you.”

They stood there in silence for a few minutes, Stan taking a drag from his cigarette every couple of seconds. Stanford didn't know what to do besides stand there, watching him. Stan barely even glanced at him, staring out at the empty lot.

“You're still gonna call your Stanford, right?”

Stan didn't answer him immediately. He took one more long drag before dropping the cigarette butt on the ground and grinding it under his boot.

“Yeah… eventually,” he said. “Right now, we don't need to be doin' anythin' besides headin' north.”

Stan nodded towards the car as he moved to the driver's side. Stanford turned and quickly made his way back to his side. Once in the car, Stan took the nearly empty carton and quickly stuffed it into his glove compartment before fishing in his pockets for his keys. Stanford fiddled with the sleeves of his jacket.

“Stan… why are those guys after you?”

Stan halted for a second before huffing and pulling out his keys. “I'm not sayin' anythin' unless I absolutely have to, okay?”

Stanford frowned as he looked down at the floor. “You used to tell me everything.”

Stan didn't respond as he turned the ignition. When the car didn't move, Stanford looked up to see him gripping the stirring wheel, staring straight ahead of him. After a moment, he sighed and shook his head.

“It's stupid grownup stuff, Sixer. You don't wanna hear about it.”

“But I do-”

“Trust me. You don't.”

Stanford folded his arms and huffed. He didn't like being upset with his brother, but it was becoming harder the longer he kept stuff from him. 'Stupid grownup stuff'. Even if he was an adult now, Stan shouldn't have had a reason to not tell him anything. Didn't he trust Stanford?

No, perhaps not. He was struggling to even call his Ford in this time period. There probably wasn't a lot of trust between them. They still cared about each other though, didn't they?

Stan reached in the back seat and rummaged for a moment before pulling out a package of cheese crackers and a water bottle.

“Here,” he placed the items in Stanford's lap. “You should eat somethin'. We're gonna be on the road for a bit.”

Stanford didn't say anything as the car finally started moving. He picked up the brightly colored package before carefully opening it. The crackers smelled odd, but not bad. He pulled out one cracker, looked over at Stan, and then held it out to him. Stan raised an eyebrow at him.

“You need to eat, too,” Stanford reminded him.

Stan stared at him for a moment before rolling his eyes and taking the cracker, stuffing the whole thing in his mouth. It wasn't much, but it made Stanford grin anyway.

Chapter End Notes

Wivznh ziv z tzgvdzb gl ivzorgrvh yvblmw lfi xlnkivsvmhrlmErhrg zoo blf orpv, qfhg nzpv hfiv blf pvvk gsv wlli hsfg

Chapter 14: Two Steps Forward, One Step Back

Chapter Notes

We're around the halfway mark now, y'all. Not sure how long it'll be until I can get the next chapter up, but rest assured, there's plenty more coming. Honestly, this might end up being well over 20 chapters at the rate I'm going, much more than I initially thought this story would be.

Anyways, hope y'all enjoy!

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Gravity Falls 1982

Ford felt the aches in his legs before he even opened his eyes. He groaned as he sat up in bed, rubbing the knot in his neck as he reached over for his glasses on his side table. He squinted at the clock to see it was just past 8 o'clock. Not as early as he would've liked, but not nearly as bad as the other day.

Ford forced himself from his bed and made his way to his closet to get dressed. Despite having slept decently, he didn't feel any more rested than he had the day before. Perhaps Bill had been working after their game? His right eye wasn't stinging as much as it normally would though.

As he was putting on his trench coat, something made a small tink sound against the wooden floor. Ford looked down and saw something small and shiny lying on the floor by his feet. He reached down to pick it up, and instantly recognized the bluestone ring he had received from the creepy psychic at the carnival. He must have left it in his coat pocket and forgotten about it.

“When this is blue, you may pull through. When this is black, you can't go back.”

Ford stared at the ring for a moment before shaking his head and stuffing it back in his pocket. Ridiculous. He wasn't sure why he was even keeping it.

The only thing going through Ford's mind as he made his way downstairs was his need for coffee. Lots of it. He could already smell it wafting from the kitchen. Of course, Fiddleford would be awake first.

He had grown up rising with the sun to help his family on their farm. Probably one of the many reasons he was so stern whenever Ford would elect to stay up late and work. He thought about what he should work on today. He could probably afford to focus on something other than the portal for a bit. Perhaps he could take a look at the time machine and see if there was something he could do to help Fiddleford figure it out.

Just as he reached the first floor, Ford's mind suddenly went to Stanley. He was probably still asleep downstairs. Ford stood there contemplating for a moment before turning and making his way to his study.

As he thought about his brother, Ford remembered what Bill had told him the previous night. He knew his Muse was right; Stanley was stubborn and was bound to ask more questions until he got some answers, but the thought of giving even a minimal amount of information was terrifying. What if he accidentally said too much? What sort of consequences could that have for his reality?

Ford was halfway down the stairs when he looked up and saw the door was wide open. He was still for half a second before immediately running down the stairs. There was no way Stanley would sneak out, right?

Oh, who was he kidding? Of course, there was! Any time they were grounded, the first thing his twin would do was try to figure a way out without getting into trouble. Being told not to go off on his own wasn't on the same level as being grounded, but surely it was enough to tempt him to try to leave.

Ford practically jumped through the doorway and looked at the pullout bed. To his surprise, Stanley was still there, curled up under the blankets and breathing heavily. Ford took a deep breath and sighed.

It was too early to be overreacting like this. He just needed some coffee, then he would be able to focus and relax.

Ford straightened himself up and slowly made his way over to his brother, who looked oddly peaceful as he slept. He had always imagined his twin looked more comical while sleeping, something almost cartoony to match the loud snores that would often plague them at night. Not now though.

Ford leaned over and placed a hand on his little brother's shoulder. “Stanley? Wake up.”

Stanley barely moved, snorting slightly before rubbing his face deeper into the pillow. Apparently, Ford's memories of his twin being a deep sleeper were more correct than his previous assumption. He opened his mouth to speak again when his eyes locked onto something else.

Stanley's arm was curled around a small, spiralbound notebook. It looked like the same one he had seen Stanley looking at the night he had arrived at their front door. Ford raised an eyebrow as he reached for the notebook and carefully slid it out of his brother's grasp. Stanley didn't even flinch.

Ford straightened up and flipped the notebook over to look at the page it was open to. There were a few doodles and scribbles all around the page, but what really grabbed his attention was the column of words in the center. He thought it might have been some kind of poem at first, but his brother was never one for creative literature.

Come to the land of the lost and lonely Don't be afraid, we'll be our own family Of freaks, like you and me…

I know a place where the bruised and broken Live like the kings and the queens of tragedy Just freaks, like you and me We are the freaks…

Ford's grip on the notebook tightened as he stared at the page over and over again. Lyrics… they were song lyrics. The wave of nostalgia that crashed into him was enough to make him dizzy.

It was the song that he and his twin had written for themselves after they had found the Stan O' War, when they were convinced that they would go sailing for adventure one day. Ford hadn't thought about this song in years, had completely forgotten about it, and Stanley had fallen asleep looking at the page. He swallowed hard as something twisted painfully in his chest.

There was a soft groan, and Ford looked down to see Stanley stirring under the covers. He quickly shut the notebook and stuffed it into the nearby backpack. He cleared his throat and reached down to gently shake his brother again.

“Morning, Stanley.”

“Huh…?” Stanley yawned as he slowly sat up, and he suddenly gasped as his eyes widened. “Ford! What're you doin' in here?”

“Oh, just coming to wake you up,” Ford answered quickly. “No sense in sleeping the day away, you know?”

Stanley moved his bangs away from his eyes, his sleepiness nearly disappearing as he smiled up at him. There was something in that smile, something that almost looked like relief, but Ford couldn't understand why. Ford could also see small circles under his eyes that definitely weren't there yesterday. Did his brother not get enough sleep?

Stanley's arm started to reach out, almost as if he were about to hug him, but Ford quickly let go of his shoulder and straightened up.

“Well, better get dressed. I'm sure you're hungry.”

Ford pretended not to see the confused look on his brother's face as he turned and quickly left the room. He was still coming down from the initial shock of finding that notebook. He could remember clearly now.

He used to write so many notes for school and draw so much in his free time that he had an abundance of extra notebooks. It had been one of his extras that he had given to his brother, specifically for their song. He remembered how they had sung it together so often that they had it memorized by heart by the end of that summer.

They would burst into song when they played together on the playground, and whistle and hum it as they worked together on their ship. It was practically ingrained into their brains by the time they were high school seniors. How could he have possibly forgotten?

Perhaps it was just one of the many things he forced himself not to think about after the incident. Another precious memory that was tainted by the actions of his arrogant brother. He could barely remember more than a few words without looking at them now. He couldn't even remember how to sing it.

Ford straightened himself up as he entered the kitchen. Fiddleford was standing by the counter, munching on a toasted bagel while filling his coffee mug. He turned and smiled at Ford.

“Mornin'. Coffee?”

“Yes, please.”

Fiddleford nodded and plucked another mug from the cabinet. He filled it to the brim before handing it to Ford.

“I picked up some more cereal the other day, ya want it?”

Ford shook his head as he pulled the milk from the fridge. “No thanks, I'm not that hungry.”

“Hm.”

“Relax, I'll have lunch later.”

Fiddleford rolled his eyes as he sipped his coffee. Ford poured a little milk into his mug before reaching over for the jar of sugar. He frowned when he saw that there were only a few spoonfuls left.

“We're out of sugar.”

“Aw, dang it,” Fiddleford groaned. “I knew I was forgettin' somethin' the other day.”

“Don't worry about it,” Ford assured him as he dumped the remaining sugar into his mug. “I can grab some later. I needed to get some more duct tape anyway.”

“You're gonna do that after ya call your mom, right?”

Ford didn't respond. He could feel his assistant's eyes on him as he stirred his coffee. Of course, he planned on calling his mother today.

No reason he couldn't do both, right? He kept his back to Fiddleford as he slowly sipped his coffee. Ah, much better.

“Ford, I know you're not itchin' to see your version of Stanley, but this ain't about ya. I mean… it is, but it isn't? The point is ya can't keep puttin' this off.”

“I don't plan on it,” said Ford. “I just… I just need to prepare myself up, that's all.”

Fiddleford sighed. “Alright then.”

They both turned as footsteps approached the kitchen, and Stanley entered a moment later, still rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He was now wearing a green T-shirt with a giraffe on the front. Fiddleford probably left it in the room for him earlier.

“Mornin' son,” Fiddleford beamed. “Ya hungry? We got some cereal if ya want it?”

“Yeah, sounds good,” Stanley yawned.

Fiddleford reached into the pantry to pull out a box of overly sugary cornflakes as Stanley sat at the table. He hunched over the table, resting his chin on his palm. Ford frowned as he sipped his coffee. His brother was noticeably more tired than he had been the other day.

Fiddleford set the bowl of cereal in front of Stanley, who immediately shook himself and leaned up.

“Thanks,” he muttered before taking a bite.

“You're welcome,” Fiddleford picked up the rest of his bagel and his coffee. “Well, I'm gonna… go look at somethin'. I'll be right back.”

Ford narrowed his eyes as he watched Fiddleford leave the room. He wasn't even trying to be subtle anymore.

Ford watched Stanley slowly eat a few bites of his cereal before he started to make his way out of the kitchen. Might as well take a look at the time machine while things were calm.

“Where'd you get the T-rex head?”

Ford stopped and turned. “What?”

“You've got a T-rex head in the living room,” Stanley lifted his head to look at him. “Is it real? How'd you get it?”

Ford opened his mouth to give him a vague answer but stopped himself. He thought about what Bill had told him the previous night. Just give him enough until he's satisfied. He wasn't sure if he was ready to talk about the incident, but surely talking about some of the things he discovered here wouldn't hurt.

“Yes… it's real,” he answered after a moment. “We actually found it when we were clearing the area to build this house.”

Stanley straightened up in his chair. “You… just found it? And you got to keep it?”

Ford drummed his fingers against his mug. “Well… yes.”

“Woah,” Stanley beamed. “That's awesome! Did you find the rest of it or just the head?”

Ford blinked, then smiled. He was surprised but pleased that Stanley seemed impressed.

“Just the head, unfortunately,” he said as he slowly took a seat at the table. “Though, just finding that was fun and exciting on its own. Besides, I doubt I'd be able to keep it all to myself if I found the whole skeleton. Kind of hard to keep that hidden away.”

“You find any other crazy stuff like that?” Stanley asked as he continued to stuff his face. “Like, have you found any weird trinkets? Any buried treasure?”

Ford chuckled slightly. “No treasure, I'm afraid. Although not all treasure comes in silver and gold. There are plenty of fascinating and weird things to be found and discovered.”

“Like what?”

“Well… the anomalies that live here, for one. You've already seen Steve and the gnomes, but there's a number of other strange creatures that live here.”

Stanley stared into his bowl. “You don't say.”

“Oh yes. I don't doubt you'll see a few of them before we're able to send you home.”

“Is that why you came here?”

Ford took a large gulp of his coffee before answering, “Yes. This town has the highest concentration of anomalies in America, and I felt it was a good place to study.”

“Is that what your project's about?” Stanley asked. “Is it, like, to help you find more or somethin'?”

Ford nearly choked as he gulped his coffee. He swallowed hard as he glanced around him, unsure of how to respond.

“Not exactly…”

Stanley put down his spoon and leaned forward, his smile growing with anticipation. Ford stared at him for a moment then sighed.

“Well… Like I said, there's a lot of weirdness in this town compared to anywhere else. I've studied them for years, but I've never been able to figure out why here. Why do anomalies find solace here as opposed to anywhere else? My project is intended to discover that very reason.”

Stanley blinked. “Huh… cool! Weird, but cool! Can I see it?”

“Oh no, absolutely not,” Ford shook his head. “The only ones allowed anywhere near it are Fiddleford and I. It's much… safer that way.”

Stanley rolled his eyes. “C'mon, bro. It's not like I'm gonna break it by lookin' at it.”

“I'd prefer to keep it in private, Stanley.”

“But-”

“I said no. I assure you, there are plenty of other things around to entertain you,” Ford told him firmly. “You should finish your cereal before it gets soggy.”

Stanley frowned at him, then rolled his eyes. “Yeah, okay.”

Ford gripped his mug as he got to his feet. “I'll be in my study if you need anything.”

“Mhm…”

Stanley didn't look at him as he resumed eating, looking far more putout than before. Ford stood there awkwardly for a moment before leaving the kitchen.

He felt he had done a decent job. Stanley had asked far more simple questions, Ford had answered honestly, and the universe didn't collapse. That was a good sign.

The only thing that had caused him to fumble was Stanley bringing up his project. An innocent question really, but it was enough to make Ford nervous. He had been telling the truth; it was safer for only he and Fiddleford to see the portal, especially since they hadn't tested it yet. But, a tiny voice at the back of his mind was screaming that it wasn't the only reason he didn't want Stanley anywhere near it.

“You remember the last time he got too close to one of your projects, don't you, Sixer?”

Ford sighed. Maybe getting out of the house for a moment would clear his head. Yes, he would go to the store to grab what he needed and he would worry about work when he came back. Then, when he made some progress, he would call his mother.

Fiddleford was right, he couldn't afford to put it off much longer. Still… another hour or two couldn't hurt, right?

Ford gulped down the rest of his coffee and set the mug on the side table before heading for the front door. He just needed a little more time to himself before everything would inevitably come crashing down.

Utah 1982

They had been driving for several hours now. Stan could feel his brain going fuzzy as his eyes strained to look at the road. Nothing he wasn't used to. A small slap to the face or a sharp pinch to his soft side and he would be good for another 30 minutes. He knew he would have to stop and rest eventually, but he could make it for a few more hours.

Stan didn't know where he was going. He never did most of the time. Ever since he had ended up on his own, all he had ever known was that he had to keep moving.

A sitting duck's a dead one, and all that. The longest he had ever stayed in one place- or at least one state- were the last few months he had spent in New Mexico. It wasn't always nice, but it was the longest he had gone without feeling like he had to run. He should have known it wouldn't last, even if he hadn't crossed Rico.

Stan glanced over at Stanford and saw him scribbling something in his notebook. He had been doing that off and on since they had gotten back on the road earlier that morning. Stan hadn't bothered asking what he was doing. Anything that kept his little brother calm and distracted was a good thing, and he didn't want to ruin that.

As much as he didn't want to, Stan knew he would have to call his current brother sooner rather than later. If his younger self was with him, he needed to know so he could figure out where to find them. For all Stan knew, he could be driving further and further away from them. Part of him was happy with that, content with staying as far away as possible, but he knew that was being selfish to Stanford.

About half an hour after crossing the state border into Utah, Stan saw that his gas tank was almost empty. He could probably get a few miles in before he needed to stop to refill, but it was a risk he wasn't nearly as tempted to take as he normally would. That last thing he needed was to get himself and Stanford accidentally stranded. Still, even stopping would be a risk. He was sure that Rico's goons wouldn't be chasing him so soon after threatening him, but no one else had crossed him like Stan had before.

“I gotta go to the bathroom,” Stanford suddenly piped up.

Stan looked up and saw a gas station coming up on his right. It was small, and he couldn't see too many cars around. Now or never. He took a deep breath and flipped his turn signal before shifting lanes.

“Try to be quick,” he said. “We don't wanna linger anywhere too long.”

“Okay.”

Stan turned into the lot before pulling up to an empty pump. He narrowed his eyes around the rest of the lot before stepping out of the car. Stanford slipped on his backpack before stepping out, and Stan made sure the car was locked.

“C'mon.”

Stan kept a hand on his brother's shoulder as they walked up to the front door. The middle-aged cashier didn't even look up from his magazine as they entered. Stan glanced around the building until his eyes spotted a sign labeled 'Restrooms'.

“There,” Stan pointed it out. “I'm gonna try to grab some things. Just wait by the counter for me.”

Stanford nodded before heading towards the sign. Stan glanced at the cashier before making his way around the building. There was one camera hanging behind the register, and another in the far-left corner by the cold drinks.

Stan contemplated trying to grab some more snacks, but figured it wasn't worth the risk. They still had plenty of water and snacks for a day or two, he could wait until then to grab something.

Stan dragged his feet over to one of the coolers and his eyes locked onto a blue and silver can. Some kind of energy drink. He wouldn't be able to sneak it out, but it was only a couple of cents anyway. He stared at the can for a few moments before opening the door and grabbing two, just enough to help him get through the day.

Stan turned and began making his way back to the counter, and nearly froze when he saw Stanford standing at the front, apparently talking to the cashier. He swore to himself and marched up to the counter. Stanford turned around and was practically beaming as Stan approached.

“St- Uh, Jim! He said there's a payphone on the other side of the station! We can use it to call… ah, call Phil.”

Stan, who was a second away from telling his brother off for talking to anyone, froze. Of course, Stanford would be keeping an eye out for any available phone. He had asked about it twice since they had started driving again.

“Oh. Uh… good. That's good,” he muttered as he placed the two cans on the counter.

“Is that it?” the cashier asked.

“I need 20 bucks on pump three.”

“Alright then. It's gonna be 22.50.”

Stan was internally screaming as he handed the guy his money. He couldn't afford to let himself get to zero, especially now that Stanford was with him. Perhaps once they get farther into Utah, he could pullover somewhere and try some pickpocketing.

Or maybe wait by a bar at night to see if some sucker would drop their wallet. Either way, he needed to get some more cash.

Once the cashier handed Stan a handful of coins in change, they both turned to leave. As they exited, Stanford slipped off his backpack and unzipped it, holding it up for him. Stan stuffed one of the cans in the bag and opened the other one. He could already feel his brain buzzing as he took a large gulp.

“So? Can we call him now?” Stanford asked urgently.

“Hey, let me wake up a little bit, bud. I gotta fill the tank first anyway.”

Stanford huffed irritably but didn't argue any further. Stan knew that he could call first, but in truth he just needed to hype himself up a bit. There was no getting out of it this time, not without looking like a major ass to his little brother. Stan kept his eyes on the ground as he filled his tank, but he could see Stanford frowning out the corner of his eye, arms folded and foot tapping the ground impatiently.

Stan had barely placed the nozzle back into its slot when Stanford ran up and grabbed his arm, tugging it with all his might.

“Come on! Let's go call him!”

“H-hey, relax!” Stan urged. “Let's… let's just take a second, okay?”

“Stan, please! We've been putting this off long enough! If we don't do it now, we might never get to.”

“I know, I know!” Stan pinched the bridge of his nose. “It's just… I need a second, alright?”

Stanford's enthusiasm faltered for a moment, his grip on Stan's arm tightening. Then he smiled and nodded. Stan squared his shoulders as he looked around the lot.

“Which side did he say it was on?”

“Over here!”

Stanford grabbed Stan's wrist and began pulling him to the left side of the building. Sure enough, there was a small payphone propped to the side of the wall. Stan was almost hoping that it wouldn't be there or be out of order, but aside from being a bit dirty, it appeared fine.

Stan took a long, large gulp of his energy drink before handing it to Stanford. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the handful of quarters he had been holding onto since the previous night. He stared at the coins in his hand before looking up at the phone, glaring at it like it had offended him. His hand twitched, but he found himself unable to move. He felt frozen. Was it fear? Was it nerves?

“Stan?” He nearly flinched when Stanford reached up to grab his arm. “I… I don't know what happened between you and me, but I'm sure it'll be okay. I mean… I can't be that bad, right?”

Stan turned to look down at his brother, who was looking up at him with fake confidence, the fear obvious in his eyes. Stan felt terrible in that moment. No matter who his brother was now, this version of him had been nothing but good to him in their childhood and he was being even better now, especially under the circumstances. Stanford didn't deserve this; he didn't deserve any of this. If calling Ford was the only way to get him back with his Stanley, then Stan would just have to suck it up and do it.

Stan put on his well-earned scammer grin and raised his free hand to ruffle Stanford's hair. “Ha! Of course not!” he chuckled. “I'm just awkward over the phone. Gotta figure out what I'm gonna say so I don't sound too stupid, you know?”

Stanford giggled as he gently shoved his hand off, looking far less nervous now. Stan could only hope he looked as confident, because his heart was going a million miles a minute. He took a deep breath and picked up the phone with his free hand, using the other to fit a few quarters into the slot. He could see his hand shaking as he carefully dialed the number.

The phone rang once, twice, three times, and all the while, Stan took slow deep breaths as he gripped the side of the payphone like his life depended on it. After the fourth ring, someone finally answered.

“Why, hello?”

Stan didn't recognize the voice on the other line. For a horrifying moment, he worried that he might have dialed the wrong number. He knew that couldn't be the case though. He had called and hung up on his brother so many times at this point, he knew the number by heart.

“Um…” Stan's voice cracked, and he cleared his throat. “Hi. Uh… I-I'm lookin' for Stanford Pines. This is his number, right?”

“Yes, it is, but I'm afraid ya just missed him,” the southern voice drawled. “He went into town just a few minutes ago, won't be back for a bit.”

“Ah,” Stan muttered, feeling an odd mixture of relief and disappointment. “Well, who am I talkin' to?”

“Oh, sorry! Name's Fiddleford, I'm Ford's assistant. Now, I'm sure he'll be back soon, but I could leave a message for ya.”

Stan tapped his fingers against the payphone. Talking with Ford about this would have been hard enough, but he couldn't explain this mess to a stranger. Who even was this guy? A friend? A roommate? Ford had always been the one who answered whenever Stan was brave enough to try to call.

“It's kind of urgent. Tell him…” Stan sighed. “Tell him it's his brother.”

There was silence. Stan looked down at Stanford, who was giving him a questioning look. Stan just shrugged.

“Stanley…?”

That got Stan's attention real quick.

“Uh… yes?”

“Oh!” the man- Fiddleford- sounded shocked and… almost relieved? “Well… that's convenient! Ford's actually been meanin' to call ya for the last couple days.”

Stan spluttered. Ford had been trying to call him? But why?!

“He… he has?”

“Oh yes! There's been an… an interestin' development…”

Stan's brows furrowed. What the hell was that supposed to mean?

“Now, uh… this might be an odd question,” Fiddleford began. “But, uh… ya wouldn't happen to have a… a younger version of him with ya… would ya?”

If this were any other situation, Stan would've simply assumed that the man on the other line was crazy. This wasn't any old situation though. Stan glanced down at Stanford before clearing his throat.

“Do… do you have a younger version of me with you?” he asked cautiously.

“Yes… as a matter of fact, we do.”

Five seconds of silence followed this revelation. Stan made a sound that was somewhere between spluttering and laughing.

“Holy shit.”

“I know, right?” Fiddleford said, sounding just as shocked and amused.

“This… this is crazy!”

“I agree. It's been… a bit wild over here on our end. What about you two?”

Stan rubbed the back of his head. “Oh, you know… It's goin'.”

“I hear ya. Did… did your Stanford tell ya what happened?”

“I know the basics. He and mini me found some kinda time machine and it blew up and sent them here. Hey, you don't have it with you, do you?”

“Yes, we do. Younger you had it with him when he arrived. I've been tryin' to look at it to see if I can figure it out, but it's far more complicated than I imagined.”

“Stan?” Stanford muttered. “What's going on? What am I saying?”

Stan leaned away from the phone. “It ain't him. Apparently, he's got an assistant or somethin' stayin' at his place.”

“Woah… I must be pretty great to need an assistant.”

“Stanley?” Fiddleford's voice piped up.

Stan brought the phone back up. “Just Stan, actually.”

“Ah, right. I think it might be best if you two head over so we can figure this out. At the very least, we should get the boys back together.”

Stan swallowed. “Yeah… yeah, you're right.”

“Do you know where to go?”

“No idea. Hang on,” Stan lowered the phone as he looked down at Stanford. “Write this down.”

Stanford nodded and began scrambling to open his backpack. One he had a notebook and pen out, Stan brought the phone back to his ear.

“Alright, where are you?”

“Gravity Falls, awruhgon. 618 Gopher Road.”

“Gravity Falls, awruhgon… 618 Gopher Road…” Stan repeated, watching as Stanford scribbled the address into his notebook. “Alright. We just cross the border into Utah, so it'll be a couple of days before we get there.”

“Are y'all gonna be alright?”

Stan frowned. For a complete stranger, Fiddleford was being oddly soft and caring with him. He briefly wondered if his younger self had anything to do with that.

“We'll manage,” he said. “Been travelin' on my own for a while. I can handle a two-day drive.”

“Alright then. Keep in touch and let us know when you're close.”

“Hey, uh, when Ford gets back…” Stan paused. “Ah… n-nevermind. Just let him know we're comin'.”

“I will. Y'all be safe.”

“No problem.”

Stan hesitated for a moment before finally hanging up. He barely had time to breathe before Stanford squealed and threw himself at him, squeezing Stan's side.

“You did it! You actually did it!”

“Wasn't much, bud,” Stan muttered. “I didn't even speak to Ford.”

“Yeah, but you still called, and now we're finally gonna be able to see him and my Stanley,” Stanford beamed up at him. “I'm proud of you!”

Stan could feel something starting to sting in the corner of his eye, but he ignored it and shook it off quickly. He chuckled before raising a fist to softly noogie his brother's head.

“Heh, nothin' to be proud of yet, Poindexter. We still got a ways to go.”

“Well, let's get going then!”

Stanford gave Stan his energy drink back before grabbing his hand and leading him back to the car. Stan felt… good. He still felt nervous, the prospect of seeing his Ford doing nothing to help that, but he knew he had done the right thing. Whatever happened between him and his twin, as long as they found a way to help their younger versions, then maybe it would all be worth it.

Stanford practically jumped into his seat, still beaming as he put on his seatbelt. Stan slipped into his seat and downed the rest of his drink before tossing it the back. He felt slightly more awake now.

He could probably make it for a few hours before needing to drink the second one. Stan looked up to adjust his rearview mirror, and something shiny appeared in the reflection. A second later the image became clearer, and he saw that it was a car. A very familiar, low-riding silver car.

Stan's heart leapt in his throat.

Chapter End Notes

Oruv szh z dzb lu prxprmt blf rm gsv yzooh ml nzggvi sld tllw blf'ev tlg rg

Chapter 15: Fight or Flight Responses

Chapter Notes

Trigger Warning: Mild gun violence and panic attacks.

Though I have suffered from panic attacks myself before, I have never actually witnessed somebody having one. Any research I tried to do only described a character going through a panic attack, not witnessing one themselves. I hope I made it genuine enough to read.

Please enjoy, and stay safe out there.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Gravity Falls 1982

Fiddleford couldn't help the smile that grew on his face as he hung up the phone. Of all things, he did not expect Ford's twin to call himself. It certainly made things a little easier on their end. He couldn't wait to see the look on Ford's face when he returned and realized what had happened.

Though the conversation had been short, it left him feeling… odd. Being around young Stanley for the last few days and suddenly speaking with his older self was jarring. Fiddleford knew he was in no position to properly judge; adult Stanley was very much a stranger to him. Still, the difference between the gruff man on the phone and the smiling boy making paper airplanes in the living room was quite a shock. He could only imagine the difference between Ford and his younger counterpart.

Speaking of which, he should probably share the good news.

Fiddleford walked into the living room to see Stanley exactly where he had left him. He was sitting upside down on the couch, already folding another paper airplane. He hadn't noticed Fiddleford yet. He stuck his tongue out as he carefully aimed, then tossed the plane.

It arched high into the air before shooting down and landing right on Stanley's nose. He yelped, shaking his head and rubbing his nose. Fiddleford couldn't help himself, and he chuckled into his hand.

“You didn't see anything!” Stanley snapped, his voice not at all threatening.

“I won't say nothin'.”

Stanley sighed. “Who was on the phone? Wait, don't tell me. You've won a million dollars and can retire early!”

Fiddleford folded his arms and leaned against the doorframe. “I wish. Try again.”

“Okay… some charity askin' you for money?”

“Nope.”

“Uh… someone tried to sell you cow insurance?”

Fiddleford turned and snorted. Cow insurance? Who ever heard of such a thing?

“Creative, but no.”

Stanley, still sitting upside down, placed his hands behind his head and shrugged. “Eh, no clue then. Who?”

“You.”

“Huh?”

“You did,” Fiddleford repeated. “Ford's Stanley. He called, and guess what? Your Ford's with him, just like you said.”

really?!

Stanley beamed as he suddenly whipped around and sprung to his feet, only to immediately start wobbling. He groaned as he hunched forward, holding the sides of his head.

“Oh, crap… headrush…”

Fiddleford rolled his eyes as he stepped towards him, placing his hands on his shoulders, and guiding him back to the couch. Stanley sat back, squinting his eyes as he rubbed his forehead.

“Phew…” Stanley shook his head and smiled up at Fiddleford. “But, for real? You found my Ford?”

“Technically, older you did, but yes,” he grinned. “Apparently they're in Utah, but they're on the way and they'll be here in a couple of days.”

Stanley frowned. “A few days?! Aw man…”

He stared at the ground, his hands clenched into fists. Fiddleford's grin fell and he leaned forward, placing a hand on the boy's shoulder.

“Hey, none of that now,” he said. “We know where he is, and he knows where we are. You'll see him soon. Chin up, okay?”

Stanley looked up at him, and he smiled. Fiddleford could already tell how much brighter that smile would be as soon as the boy's twin arrived. Hopefully nothing would keep them away for very long.

“Hey Fidds?” Stanley spoke up. “Could, uh… You think I could go play outside today? I've been couped up in here for days and it's kinda gettin' to me.”

Fiddleford rubbed the back of his neck. “I mean, we could go out for a bit, but I was gonna try to figure out the time machine, and I gotta look at the por- project today.”

“That's fine, you can work. I just wanna go outside.”

“Stanley, we told ya before-”

“C'mon, Fidds!” Stanley begged. “I promise I won't run off, I just wanna play outside. Just a few hours. Please?”

Fiddleford folded his arms and glanced away. It wouldn't hurt to sit outside and keep an eye on Stanley, but he really wanted to get some work done today. Stanley hadn't attempted to run off like he promised but leaving him alone in the woods wouldn't be very wise.

Fiddleford dared to look down, and immediately regretted it. Stanley was standing right beside him, his hands clasped together, eyes wide and practically shining with innocence.

“Please…?” he pleaded softly.

Fiddleford knew exactly what Stanley was doing. He and his siblings were guilty of pulling this very move with their parents in their childhood. His folks were rather strict, so it almost never worked. Fiddleford was never as hard as they were though, and he could already feel himself crumbling under the boy's gaze.

“Ah… well…” he stood his ground for only a moment before letting out a long sigh. “Oh, alright. Just try not to wander off and make sure to keep the house in sight. I don't want ya gettin' lost, okay?”

Stanley beamed and leapt into the air. “Yes! Awesome!”

Without another word, he turned and sprinted passed him down the hall, away from the front door. Before Fiddleford could even question where he was going, the door suddenly opened. Ford stepped inside, carrying a single grocery bag, and shivering slightly.

“The temperature's dropping again,” he muttered as he shut the door. “Some of the locals said it's supposed to snow in a few days. We should probably break out those ugly sweaters your aunt made you for Christmas.”

Fiddleford spluttered. “They're not that ugly!”

“You can't lie to me; I saw the look on your face when you opened the box.”

Fiddleford folded his arms and grumbled, causing Ford to chuckle as he walked towards the kitchen. Fiddleford followed him, wondering exactly how to tell him what had happened earlier. He had a sneaking suspicion his reaction wouldn't be as jovial as Stanley's.

Ford took out the large package of sugar and tossed the grocery bag onto the table. Fiddleford tugged on the collar of his shirt before clearing his throat.

“Someone called while you were out, by the way. You'll never guess who.”

“Ugh, not another scam I hope,” Ford groaned as he filled the jar with sugar.

Fiddleford smirked. “Not even close.”

Ford stopped and turned to raise an eyebrow at him. “Why are you looking at me like that? Who called?”

“Your brother.”

Ford's eyes widened as he stared back at him. The package crinkled loudly as his grip tightened.

“I… don't suppose you're talking about Shermie.”

“Definitely not. Stanley called. Your Stanley, I mean.”

Ford seemed to freeze where he stood, his mouth set in a grim line. Fiddleford stood silently, waiting for some sort of reaction. His friend was still for a few seconds before shaking himself off and crumpling the empty bag into a ball.

“Did, ah… What did he say?” he asked as he tossed the ball into the bin.

“Little Stanley's theory was right,” Fiddleford told him. “Apparently, younger you ended up with him, all the way in Utah, no less. I gave him the address and it'll take them a couple days to get here, but they're on route as we speak.”

“Ah,” Ford rung his hands together, glancing all around him nervously, as if to find something to distract himself. “Well, that's… that's good then. One step closer to figuring this mess out and moving on with our lives.”

Fiddleford raised an eyebrow. Ford was clearly nervous and thrown off, but did he really have nothing more to say? His actual twin, who he hadn't seen in years, was coming over and all Ford could do was fumble like a scared little kid.

“Well, I have more free time with that out of the way,” Ford said quickly as he turned away. “I'm going to go keep an eye on the portal for a bit, let me know if you need help with the time machine.”

Fiddleford shook his head. “Yeah… okay.”

He watched as Ford marched out of the kitchen without even looking at him. Just as he heard the door to the basement close, Stanley suddenly walked into the kitchen, now wearing his backpack.

“Was that Ford?” he asked brightly. “Did you tell him? What did he say?”

Stanley looked so happy in that moment. Fiddleford didn't think he could stand what that expression could turn into if he knew how Ford had really reacted.

“He's… happy that your theory was correct,” Fiddleford answered. “A bit anxious and nervous, but he's happy to get you and your Ford back together. Things are sure to be easier once they arrive.”

Stanley exhaled, looking almost relieved. Fiddleford was sure that the boy would understand the gravity of the situation as soon as his older self arrived, but they would cross that bridge when got to it. For now, it was best to keep him happy and calm.

Stanley slung his backpack in front of him as he strutted up to the pantry. He flung it open and grabbed a few small bags of the pretzels Fiddleford had bought the other day.

“Why are you takin' your bag?”

“So I can carry snacks,” he answered simply as he adjusted said bag back onto his shoulders. “And in case I find somethin' cool! One time I found a rock on the beach that looked like a dagger! Mom wouldn't let me bring it in the house, so I just kept it on our boat.”

Fiddleford didn't doubt the boy's tale, but he was suspicious of the bag. Stanley hadn't made any sort of attempt to leave, but perhaps the prospect of seeing his brother was too great to resist. He folded his arms and stared him down, hoping he would crack like he had before.

“What?” Stanley raised an eyebrow as he stared back up at him, then his smile fell. “Oh… you think I'm gonna try to run again, don't you?”

Stanley gripped the straps of his bag as he stared at the floor. He seemed genuinely hurt. Fiddleford sighed and he marched over and put a hand on his shoulder.

“I don't think you're gonna run off on me, Stanley, but I do understand the temptation. Just… don't fall for it. They'll be here soon, alright?”

“I know, I won't,” Stanley groaned. “I mean… I've waited this long. I'm tough enough to handle a few more days. Right…?”

He didn't look as confident as he said that last part. Fiddleford smiled and raised a hand to tousle his hair.

“Of course, ya are. Heck, I know if I were in your position, I would've lost it by now, but you've been more patient than I ever could've expected. Just keep it up, okay?”

Stanley nodded. “Okay.”

Fiddleford patted his arm as he straightened up. Stanley grinned up at him before turning on his heel and sprinting for the front door.

“Remember, keep the house in sight!” Fiddleford called out.

“I will!”

Utah 1982

Stanford had only ever been truly scared a handful of times in his life. The night he appeared in New Mexico without his Stanley was definitely at the top of that list. At least, it had been until he saw the expression on Stan's face before he instantly peeled out of the parking lot, the car swerving so hard it nearly knocked his glasses off his face.

“Stan, what's-”

“Not now!” Stan reached over, grabbing Stanford by his collar and pulling him forward. “Keep your head down and stay there!”

Even though he was yelling, Stanford could tell that he wasn't yelling at him. Stan didn't sound mad, he sounded scared. Stanford still squirmed in his seat, wrapping his arms above his head as he stayed low. The engine roared as Stan sped down the street, swerving back and forth every few seconds. Stanford could hear the squeaking of tires and several cars honking, but Stan paid no mind and kept up his pattern.

“Hold on to somethin'!”

Stanford had only a second to grab onto the door before the car turned very sharply to the right. He raised his free hand to keep his glasses on his face as he slid in his seat. Stan grunted as the car eventually evened out, and he resumed speeding.

Stanford dared to peek through his window and saw that they were peeling down a very narrow street. He could see graffiti on the brick walls, but only in blurs of color as they sped down the street. The fact that they hadn't been pulled over yet was a miracle.

“Stan, what's going on?”

Before he could answer, there was a sudden loud Bang followed by shattering glass. Stanford couldn't help himself, and he whipped around to see a small hole in the rear windshield, along with a small tear in the fabric on the roof of the car. Gun… that was a gun. Stan suddenly grabbed him by his shoulder and forced him down hard.

“I said Stay Down!” he yelled.

Stanford whimpered as he curled in on himself. He didn't understand what was happening, and he was scared. Why was someone shooting at them? Why was Stan so afraid of them? Why were they being chased? His thoughts were interrupted as a few more shots rang out, and he cried out.

“Okay, okay…” Stan was panting. “Hold on, this is gonna be rough.”

Despite the warning, Stanford didn't have time to brace himself. The road seemed to become very rough, and he bounced in his seat as Stan sped down what appeared to be a narrow alley. Just when it looked like they had reached the end, Stan swerved to the left into a small pocket of space at the back of whatever building they were at. The car came to a stop and Stan whipped around in his seat, staring around frantically.

“Stay in the car,” he ordered, his voice almost cracking.

Stan reached over and flung open the glove compartment. The first thing Stanford noticed was a shiny set of brass knuckles. The second thing he noticed was a pistol, and his heart sank.

“Stan…?”

Stan didn't respond as he grabbed the knuckles and stuffed them into his jacket pockets. Then he grabbed the pistol before practically jumping out of the car, slamming the door behind him. Stanford held his breath as he watched his brother run over to the edge of the alley, gun held at the ready. He stood at the corner with his head barely peeking out, and he waited.

One minute passed. Then two minutes. Five minutes. Stanford lost track of how much time had gone by as he watched his brother guard the corner of the alley.

Then, when maybe 10 minutes had passed, Stan's shoulders slumped, and he finally stepped back. Stanford assumed that meant that whoever was chasing them had lost them, and he sighed with relief.

Stan didn't come back to the car like Stanford had hoped he would. His legs shook violently as he staggered back until he was flat against the wall. This pistol fell from his hand, and he slowly slid down to the ground, one hand running up his face to grip his hair. Stanford couldn't hear anything, but he could see Stan's mouth hanging open as his chest rose and fell rapidly. It was oddly familiar…

Stan either didn't notice Stanford stepping out of the car or didn't care. As he moved towards the back of the car, he glanced at the windshield and saw that two more bullet holes had joined the first one. Stanford shook his head and didn't hesitate to move forward towards his brother.

He could hear him panting now, and it only got louder as he got closer. His eyes were wide as he stared up into the sky, only to suddenly squint them hard as his other hand rose to grip the front of his shirt. Stanford gulped as he slowly kneeled in front of him.

“Stan?” he spoke gently. “What's wrong? Are you hurt?”

Stan didn't respond, or maybe he couldn't. He didn't even seem to know Stanford was there. He was gasping loudly, as if he couldn't breathe. He looked like he was seconds away from crying but forcing it all down.

Stanford wanted to reach out but was scared to touch him, worried that it would agitate Stan even further. He couldn't think of anything that could help.

Except… No, that's stupid. It wouldn't be a good idea, would it? It was certainly better than just sitting here and doing nothing, at least.

Stanford slowly moved forward and lowered himself to the ground until he was seated right beside Stan. He was staring up at the sky again but was still panting loudly. Stanford leaned back against the wall and turned his head to look up at the light gray clouds that covered the sky. He started slowly tapping his foot on the ground, and after a moment, he began to hum softly.

Stan didn't react or acknowledge his presence, but he did lower his hands and placed them on the ground beside him. After a few seconds, Stanford took a deep breath, and started to sing.

“I've been locked in the locker…

I was picked last in soccer…

And they say that it's all fun…

But their fun, it ain't fun

Man, I'm done…”

Stan's legs were still shaking, but less so than before. He was also breathing more deeply, as if he were trying to control it. Stanford inched a little closer as he continued.

“And I know that we're different…

Our beliefs and our mindsets…

But I don't see the difference

In me, you

Yo, tu

Or moi, vous…

So, if you've had enough…”

Stan wasn't panting anymore, but he was still breathing heavily. Stanford, unsure of what else to do, took a chance and reached over to touch his hand. It twitched slightly but didn't pull away. Stanford held his breath as he grasped his brother's hand, and Stan held his back in an iron grip.

“Come to the land of the lost and lonely

Don't be afraid, we'll be our own family

Of freaks, like you and me

I know a place where the bruised and broken

Live like the kings and the queens of tragedy

Just freaks, like you and me

We are the freaks…”

Stan's breathing had slowed to a steady pace, his eyes closed as his head leaned against the wall. Stanford squeezed his hand a little tighter as he watched him, waiting. Stan inhaled through his nose a few times before letting out one, long exhale, and finally turned to look down at him.

“I… forgot about that…” Stan croaked when he finally spoke up. “I… I'm so sorry, Ford. I didn't...”

His voice trailed off. Stan looked so worn and tired, like he might pass out at any second. Stanford held his much larger hand in both of his own as he stared up at him worriedly.

“What's going on with you, Stan?” he asked. “Why is this happening?”

Stan grimaced slightly and turned away. Stanford didn't push or pry; he waited, hoping that Stan would finally tell him something- anything.

“I've… made a lot of mistakes, Sixer,” Stan sighed. “I got comfy with the wrong people, did things I shouldn't have, and now they're after me.”

“Why?”

“Because I was on my own. I couldn't get a job and I needed money. Scammin' and pickpocketin' can only get me so far.”

“No, I mean…” Stanford gulped. “Why are you doing it in the first place? Why are you all alone like this? What aren't you telling me?”

Stan didn't answer. He looked down at the ground, a scowl growing on his face. Though his brother didn't seem angry at him, Stanford recoiled slightly at that expression. He wanted answers- he needed answers, but he was terrified of what he would hear.

“It was our senior year,” Stan's voice was horse as he spoke. “My Ford had won 1st place in the science fair every year since middle school. That year though… I guess he wanted to go out with a bang before graduatin'. Made this… perpetual motion thingy. I didn't get it, but the whole school went nuts for it. A few schmucks from this pristine collage wanted to come check it out, would've given him a scholarship for it…”

Stan paused, his grip on Stanford's hand tightening. Stanford moved closer until he was pressed against his side, urging him to continue. Stan sighed.

“He wanted to drop our plans to sail the world and go to college. I wanted to be happy for him, but… Look, I was a stupid kid. It felt like he was ditchin' me just to go to school. I got angry. I went to the school and… I got mad and punched the table his project was on, and apparently that's all it took to break it. I didn't mean to, I even tried to fix it, but it wasn't enough.

The folks from that college weren't impressed, and he didn't get in. He asked me about it that night. I confessed, we got into a fight, and Pa got involved. He threw me outta the house and… that's the last time I ever saw him. Been on my own ever since.”

Stan stopped talking, and this time Stanford knew that he was finished, no longer hesitating. His mind was racing with what he had been told. His chest tightened as his eyes began to sting.

“You lied.”

Stan whipped around. “Huh?”

“When I asked you why we never went sailing. You said it wasn't my fault… you lied.”

Everything made sense now. The awkward pauses whenever Stan spoke to him or about his Ford, the blatant unwillingness to call him, and the nervous tension at the prospect of even seeing his Ford again. Ford had let his brother get kicked out of their home and hadn't tried to stop it, hadn't tried to help or look for him. Stan was all alone in this crazy, scary world and it was all his fault.

Stanford blinked, and a few tears fell from his eyes. He looked away and raised a hand to wipe his face, the other still holding Stan's. Stan suddenly straightened up and leaned forward, his other hand gripping Stanford's shoulder tightly.

“Hey, look at me. Look at me!” he urged. “It was my fault, okay? I shouldn't have been at school in the first place. I was a stupid, angry kid who took it out on his work instead of takin' out on the punchin' bag. He just wanted to go to college, I was the one who screwed everythin' up. It's what I do…”

“But… but I should've said something!” Stanford sniffed. “I should've stopped Pa! I should've gone with you! I-”

“You haven't done anything yet, so stop sayin' 'I', alright? Besides, it's… it's probably better this way. He probably went to a better college and has, like, a dozen PhDs by now. He's doin' just fine,” Stan gave him a crooked smile. “You're the smart twin, remember?”

The smile did nothing to settle Stanford's aching stomach, tears continuing to trail down his face. Stanford stared up at him for a moment before hanging his head and leaning forward to press into his chest. Stan wrapped his free arm around him and held him close, and Stanford sniffed as he held him back tightly.

Despite Stan's assurance, Stanford felt shame and guilt rise in his chest. He couldn't believe it; he didn't want to believe it. Finding out that he had died would have been far less painful than finding out that he had intentionally left his brother all alone.

He had a feeling that the truth was worse than Stan had been letting on, but he was in no way prepared for this.

“We need to get movin',” Stan told him. “Someone's bound to have called the cops by now, and we don't wanna be here when they get here.”

Stan gave him a soft squeeze before releasing him, reaching around to pick up his pistol. He stuffed it into his pocket as he carefully got to his feet, wobbling slightly as he tried to keep his balance. Stan visibly had less energy than he had earlier, but he was doing a good job of hiding it. He tugged Stanford's hand, and he took the hint and got to his feet, still wiping his eyes.

They walked back to the car in silence. Stan didn't release his hand until Stanford was safely settled in the passenger seat.

Chapter End Notes

8-21-18-20 13 to 5 23-9-20-8 20-8-5 20-18-21-20-82-21-20 14-5-22-5-18 3-15-13-6-15-18-20 13 to 5 23-9-20-8 1 12-9-5

Chapter 16: All Ideas Are Good Ideas

Chapter Notes

Can y'all believe when I first started this that I actually thought "Hey, this idea is fun. I can probably knock it out in 16 chapters or somethin." Ha. Hahaha. Yeah...

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Gravity Falls 1982

Stan shivered as a particularly strong breeze blew by. It was much colder than it had been before, but it wasn't unbearable. The winters in Jersey could be tenacious at times, and he had grown used to the cold weather. He walked until he reached the first group of trees that surrounded the house before turning to look back at it. He could just barely make out Fidds walking by through one of the windows, and waited for a brief moment to see if he was about to come outside. When he didn't, Stanley turned and began making his way through the trees.

He hadn't been lying when he told Fidds he wanted to mess around outside, but he hadn't been fully honest either. Yes, he wanted to play a bit, but he was also curious to see some of the crazy weirdos he had seen in his brother's journals. Sure, seeing them written down was cool, but being able to see them with his own eyes would be way cooler! Besides, it wasn't like Ford was in the mood to tell him much more at the moment.

He could tell from the way Fidds spoke about the anomalies that the older man didn't always feel comfortable around them, but Stanley didn't blame him. There were a few things in those journals he definitely didn't want to run into. So, he had simply told Fidds that he just wanted to play outside by himself for a bit. Again- not fully true, but not fully a lie either.

Stanley watched his feet as he walked, careful not to step in any unseen holes. He hadn't had a chance to really register the area when he had first arrived, too busy with finding his brother to really look at it. There were obvious signs of winter, and though the ground was a bit damp, there was no snow. He vaguely remembered Fidds saying something about the weather being warmer the previous week. He wondered what this place must look like in the summer, when the air was warm and the sun was brighter.

Stanley would be lying if he said he wasn't tempted to go further out, to explore what this forest had to offer, but he only went out as far as he could without losing sight of the house. He climbed up onto a short, fallen tree trunk, and held his arms out as he slowly started walking down to the other end. He had been out for nearly an hour, and all he had seen were a few woodpeckers flying overhead and an agitated squirrel in a tree.

How does Ford do it? Stanley wondered as he hopped off the end of the trunk. How does he keep from getting bored or lost? Stanley glanced up at the trees, hoping to spot any sort of movement but found nothing. He briefly remembered looking at the tops of those trees when the giant- Ford called him Steve- had carried him to the road that led him to Ford. Stanley had been terrified at the time; the only thing that had kept him from being sick was the thought of finding his brother.

He couldn't believe he had managed to keep his eyes open for more than a few seconds. Looking back on it now though, he felt… curious. Being that high in the air was surreal.

What else would Stanley have seen if he had been just a bit braver, if the fear of being at the same level as the treetops wasn't such an overbearing weight?

There was a loud sharp snap , and Stanley whipped around. He couldn't see anything, but he knew that was no reason to think he was alone. He remembered there were a few creatures in the journals that could turn invisible or were really good at hiding. Maybe whatever it was would leave him alone?

Or maybe it was waiting for him to let his guard down? What if it was one of those stupid gnomes again?

Stanley heard something scuffle on the other side of the large tree right beside him. It sounded small. He gulped and looked around, hoping to find something that could help him.

Low and behold, there was a large broken branch laying on the ground by the fallen trunk. He cautiously moved forward and picked it up, making as little noise as possible.

Stanley held the stick up in the air, ready to whack anything that might lunge at him as he stepped closer to the tree. He gripped the stick tightly, took a deep breath, and leapt around the trunk. He was just able to make out something small as it scurried behind another tree, but he didn't see a beard or red hat. Stanley raised an eyebrow as he slowly took a step closer to the tree, and that's when it appeared.

At first, Stanley wasn't sure what he was looking at. He thought that whatever creature was behind the tree had just kicked a small pinecone out into view. That is, until the pinecone blinked at him with wide, adorable black eyes. It almost looked like a porcupine, except it was much smaller, and the quills looked like thin green pine needles protruding from the open pinecone scales on its back.

"Woah... you're not one of those jerky gnomes, huh?” Stanley muttered as he lowered the stick. “Heh! You're a lot less ugly, that's for sure."

He took a cautious step towards the strange creature, and it immediately squeaked and flinched back, huddling against the base of the tree. Stanley looked at the stick in his hand and immediately waved the other in surrender.

"Hey, no, it's okay!” Stanley crouched down and placed the stick on the ground behind him. “I'm not gonna hurt you. I'm cool, look."

The little porcupine thing didn't move from its spot, but it didn't seem to be forcing itself back any further. Stanley crouched on the ground, staring at the animal.

“Wonder what Ford calls you…”

He definitely hadn't seen anything like this in the journals, although he hadn't had a chance to look at the third one yet. It didn't seem dangerous, and even if it was, it seemed more afraid of him at the moment. Stanley didn't want to scare it off, but he wasn't sure what else he could do.

Stanley thought about the time he had first found Shanklin- an angry possum that he had fed and strapped with a knife to use as defense for his and Stanford's adventures. He had to lure him in with food for weeks before the little guy would even let Stanley near him, let alone hold him long enough to strap the knife to his back. Stanley had some pretzels in his bag, but he had no idea what this thing ate. Did it even eat? It was a walking pinecone!

Stanley slowly reached around to grab his backpack, pulling it around in front of him. He kept looking back and forth between it and the porcupine as he unzipped the bag and reached in for a pack of pretzels. The little pinecone made no move to run or get closer, but was staring at him, almost intently. Stanley opened the little yellow package, pulled out a broken pretzel, and carefully tossed it over to the creature. It landed only a few inches away from it, and the beady eyes locked onto the snack as its oddly-pointed nose sniffed at it. Then, after a few seconds of hesitation, it leaned forward to bite it cautiously.

Once the little guy let out a squeak and started nibbling away at it, Stanley felt himself smile as he pulled out another pretzel. He waited until it finished the first one before tossing it, this time a little further ahead. The little porcupine slowly inched closer and didn't hesitate to eat it. Stanley had to feed Shanklin for days before he would eat closely to him, and this thing was already coming closer so quickly.

Stanley tossed the porcupine-thing two more pretzels, each one inching towards him, and the creature kept moving to grab more. Once it finished the last one, the porcupine stopped and stared up at him. It didn't look nearly as afraid as it had been before. It almost looked like it was waiting for more snacks. Stanley pulled out another pretzel, and this time he held it out in front of him. The creature followed his hand but made no move to grab the food.

“C'mon,” Stanley urged. “It's okay. Take it.”

The large black eyes looked up at him, then back to his hand. It looked like it was really thinking it over. Stanley had never seen anything like that in an animal before (definitely not Shanklin). Maybe it was just one of the things that made the creatures here different from the ones out there. You could almost see their intelligence.

"C'mon… I won't bite if you don't.”

Stanley knew how to avoid getting bitten by a possum, but he wasn't sure how fast this thing could move if it turned on him.

The porcupine stood there for about five seconds before slowly moving closer. It sniffed Stanley's hand cautiously before reaching up and grabbing the pretzel with its teeth, pulling it out of Stanley's grasp. It didn't move away; it remained right in front of him, munching the pretzel like it was the best thing in the world.

Stanley felt his smile widening as he pulled out another, and let it sit in the center of his palm. As soon as he lowered his hand, the porcupine leaned forward and placed one of its tiny paws on his palm as it ate the pretzel. Stanley huffed in amazement as he watched it eat, and when it had finished, it sniffed and licked the crumbs left behind. It tickled, and Stanley giggled.

He quickly placed another pretzel in his palm, and the porcupine didn't hesitate to eat it, both paws now propped up on his hand. Stanley raised his other hand cautiously and lifted two fingers to gently touch the creature's head. He wasn't sure what he expected. It felt like a regular pinecone, only much warmer, the same way it would feel if he were petting a cat or a dog. Even when it finished the pretzel, the porcupine didn't move or flinch away. It looked up at him and leaned into his touch, letting out a soft squeak.

There was another squeak and a small scuffle from ahead of him, and Stanley snapped his head up. Two more little porcupines- one with brown pine-quills and one with half green, half gold ones- appeared from around a nearby bush. They froze at the sight of Stanley but didn't run away. The little green one in front of him turned and squeaked a few times at the newcomers.

“Friends of yours?” Stanley asked, not expecting an answer.

The little green one squeaked at his buddies a few times, then turned to look up at Stanley, almost expectantly. Stanley raised an eyebrow.

“Oh! Yeah, here. Go nuts.”

Stanley picked up the bag and dumped the contents onto the ground just a foot ahead of him. The green porcupine moved off his hand and walked up to the pile. The other two watched their friend for a moment before slowly approaching the pile of pretzels themselves.

Stanley sat on the ground and crossed his legs as he watched the little group eat. He wondered what Ford called these things, and how he had discovered them. Was it by accident? Was he hunting something else and came across these instead?

Did he find them amusing or annoying? Or… maybe he hadn't discovered them yet. Stanley didn't know what was in the third journal, but he was sure Ford must have seen these little guys at least once. True, they were small and probably good at blending with the rest of the forest, especially during the warmer months, but surely Ford had discovered and named them already.

And if he hadn't…

Then he got an idea; an idea so brilliant he nearly patted himself on the back. He brushed the dirt off his hands before reaching into his backpack and pulling out his notebook.

Ford had every intention of going down to the portal, but he had been slightly deterred on his way down. His conversion with Stanley was still fresh in his head. Stanley bringing up the portal, and wanting to see it, made something in the back of Ford's head twitch. Like a leech that reared its ugly head any time he thought of anything that reminded him of the incident .

As soon as he reached the bottom of the stairs, Ford entered the elevator and immediately went to the second floor, rather than the third. He knew he was being silly; one little conversation shouldn't be enough to derail him like this. Still, he found himself needing some sort of comfort, a little reassurance.

Bill was always happy to be all ears for him.

“You were right about giving him a bit of information, though he only asked me about trivial stuff,” Ford explained. “He hasn't tried to ask about why we separated ourselves from each other again.”

“Isn't that a good thing?” Bill asked, folding his hands behind his head as he hovered in midair. “Makes things easier when you don't have to focus on that nonsense!”

Ford nodded. “True, but I'm not sure what I'm supposed to tell him when he does ask again. I know he will.”

“With the way he's prying, he's gonna end up finding out something whether you tell him or not,” said Bill. “If he asks again, just give it to him short and sweet. 'Hey, you're actually kinda selfish and you cost me a big opportunity'. Rip it off like a band aid.”

“I can't say that!” Ford said, stunned by his bluntness.

“Why not? Wouldn't you rather he hear it from you than from digging around in places he shouldn't.”

“I can't just…” Ford waved his hands for a moment before gesturing behind him, as though younger Stanley was right behind him. “I can't tell this Stanley that he… derailed my life. It hasn't even happened for him yet.”

“But it's true, isn't it?” Bill sat up and folded his arms. “That's what you've been telling me all this time- that your brother cost you everything.”

Bill spun his hand in the air, and a small opening appeared in the space next to them. It was an image of his parents living room in Glass Shard. It was dark, the only light coming from that old T.V, and the only people that could be seen were Ford and Stan.

“This was no accident Stan, you did this! You did this because you couldn't handle me going to college on my own!”

Ford swallowed hard and glanced away. He hated this memory.

“Look, it was a mistake! Although, if you think about it, there's a silver lining. Huh? Treasure hunting…?”

“Are you kidding me? Why would I want to do anything with the person who sabotaged my entire future!”

Bill snapped his fingers, and the memory disappeared. Ford felt himself shrink a little. Even if Bill couldn't see his memories, Ford had always been honest with him, even when the conversation somehow turned to what his twin had done to him. Stan was responsible for Ford's denial at West Coast Tech, an opportunity that would have shaped his life very greatly, and Ford hadn't been ashamed to tell his Muse this. However, a somewhat embarrassing feeling crept up his back as he thought about it now.

“Well… yes, but-”

“And now this mini version of him is here, throwing things out of whack for you again,” Bill leaned forward, his one-eyed expression almost serious. “If he wants to know so bad, just give him the short version. Don't waste time with all the boring details.”

'The short version'. Ford wasn't sure if there could be a short version of those events. Truthfully, the issues had started long before the incident , and he knew for a fact that Stanley would ask about what led to such a terrible thing happening.

Ford was starting to wonder if telling him anything was a good idea after all. He decided to keep these feelings of doubt to himself for the time being.

“You don't happen to have any ideas on how to fix the time machine yet, do you?” he asked offhandedly, anxious to change the subject.

oh, I'm so glad you brought that up! I was gonna surprise you when you went to sleep tonight, but I guess I can tell you now,” Bill beamed. “I've seen the design for that little doodad before, and I happen to know what material you need to fix the power source!”

Ford blinked. “Really? That's amazing!”

“One problem though… As I don't have a physical form in your world, I have no way of getting it to you at the moment.”

Ford felt what little excitement he had just conjured deflate at those words. Of course, there was a catch. There was always a catch.

“Well, what can we do?”

“Simple! You just have to hold out for, oh…” a bright blue watch suddenly appeared on Bill's wrist as he looked down. “Five more days until you can test the portal. Once we know it works, we can just pop that sucker open and I'll be able to have a way to get to you!”

Bill seemed so happy and sure, but Ford felt uneasy. The plan was simple enough, and that was part of the problem. Nothing was ever that simple.

Stan was on his way over right now, with a younger version of Ford, and would arrive in just a few days according to Fiddleford. They would be stuck with each other for at least a few more days after that, and that wasn't counting the time it would take to actually finish the machine and send their alternates home. Being around his twin for even a day would be a hassle, but to go for possibly an entire week…

“So, we'll just have to hunker down until then?” Ford asked, unable to hide the disdain in his voice.

“Don't look too disappointed, Sixer. I know you hate having the kid around, but we're sorta in a bind here! Besides, you said that your Stanley is on his way, right? If having them all here is too much you can just tell them to shove off!”

“Pardon?”

“Tell them to take a hike for a bit,” Bill stated, as though it were obvious. “Plenty of space out here, lots of fresh air… It'll give you the space you need to focus.”

Now that definitely wasn't a good idea. Whatever Ford's feelings were towards this whole situation, leaving any of the others out of sight would be an even heavier burden. Two Stanley's in the same room could cause havoc, two Stanley's left outside unattended could cause unbridled chaos. Besides… Ford would be more comfortable being able to see that they were safe.

“I don't think leaving them alone would be wise.”

Bill shrugged. “Hey, have it your way. Just figured you'd wanna be free from any distractions. But hey, now you've got two good reasons to make sure that portal gets up and running!”

“Yes… I suppose so.”

“C'mon, Fordsy…” Bill floated forward and propped his elbow on Ford's shoulder. “You can handle this! This mess is nothing but a bump in the road.”

Bill turned and waved his hands in a presenting manner, and the starry space in front of them opened once more. The first thing Ford noticed was himself, wearing a bright lab coat with his name stitched on his left side, standing on top of a brightly lit stage. He appeared to be talking to a large arena full of people, all of whom were smiling and applauding.

Ford recognized this vision. It was one he had dreamed about multiple times since moving to Gravity Falls. The idea of becoming a renowned researcher of the unknown and macabre, being able to define the Law of Weirdness, being recognized with respect in the scientific community… it was all he had ever wanted for so long.

“We're gonna do things so great, you won't even remember any of this!” Bill said gleefully, gesturing at the vision in front of them. “It'll be nothing but smooth sailing for us! You just gotta tough it out for a few more days.”

Bill snapped his fingers, and the vision swirled until nothing but stars remained. Ford blinked, having been temporarily mesmerized by it. He shook his head and squared his shoulders.

“You're right. Thank you, Bill. I've been silly about all of this.”

“Aw, don't worry that big brain of yours, I.Q!” Bill seemed to grin as he gently poked Ford's forehead. “Wouldn't be much of a victory without a few challenges thrown in, am I right?”

“You're absolutely right,” Ford sighed. “I think I should go check on the portal, while I'm down, just to be safe.”

“Good overthinking, kid,” Bill said, his voice already starting to fade. “Don't be afraid to pop in and tell me how it's going!”

“You know I will.”

The starry field of his mindscape started to fade into darkness. Ford gasped slightly as he opened his eyes, and found himself once again in his meditation study, the still images of Bill staring unblinkingly at him from all around the room.

Chapter End Notes

20-8-5-18-5 1-18-5 14 to 15 18-9-7-8-20 15 to 18 23-18-15-14-7 3-8-15-9-3-5-19,15-14-12-25 3-15-14-19-5-17-21-5-14-3-5-19.

Chapter 17: Mistakes Were Made

Chapter Notes

Would y'all believe me if I told you that I had the very end of this chapter written in my notes before I even had an outline? Before I even knew how the story would begin or end? That I have been waiting and building to this moment specifically since I first came up with this concept?

Welcome to the first of many climaxes in this story. If I don't make y'all cry with this one, I'll be very disappointed.

Y'all stay safe and enjoy!

also! Shout out to TheoryOfWeirdness for the name 'Porcupinecones'. Super cute and much better than what I had.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Idaho 1982

Stan had been on edge for the last several hours. It had taken him longer than he cared to admit to leave the alley after he had his breakdown. He was absolutely mortified that he had let himself fall apart like that in front of Stanford. Realistically, he should have seen it coming. He hadn't had a moment like that in ages, and it was bound to boil over eventually. That didn't make him feel any better about it though.

After taking a moment to down the second can of energy drink he had bought, Stan was as well as he could be to continue driving until they left Utah. He had kept his eyes on his rearview mirror practically the entire drive, hoping he wouldn't see Sergie's care in its reflection. The fact that they had gone after him so soon was terrifying. Had they come back the next morning to see if he had bayled?

Had someone spotted his car on the interstate and snitched? Either way, Stan wasn't too keen on finding out.

Stanford had been quiet the first few hours during the drive. He was very fidgety, tugging on the sleeves of his jacket and constantly looking out the window. Stan felt terrible seeing him scared like that. Once his heart had settled slightly, Stan tried distracting the kid with a game of 20 Questions. He tried to make the answers funny but obscure, something that would help him think and laugh a bit. It must have worked, because Stanford seemed less tense as they continued driving.

Stanford had asked if they could stop somewhere to eat halfway through the drive, but Stan was too paranoid to stop unless absolutely necessary. So, he simply told him that he wanted to reserve whatever cash they had left, and let his little brother eat the remaining cheese crackers while he chowed down the small package of jerky. Stan really underestimated how long those would last. He would just have to figure something out later.

It took him seven hours to reach the border of Idaho, and he had only stopped for gas once more when his tank was nearly empty again. He didn't even bother hanging around to take anything this time, his eyes constantly looking through the window to make sure Stanford stayed safe in the car. Stan thought about trying to swipe something more for them to eat, but there were just too many people inside the station for him to get away with it without fuss. He knew he would have to get something soon though, even if it was just enough for Stanford. Stan could handle himself fine if he was hungry, but he refused to let his brother suffer the same.

It wasn't until the late afternoon, when the sun was lowering closer to the horizon, that Stan decided to pull over somewhere and see if he could grab some cash. He was apprehensive about leaving Stanford alone in the car, but it would've been too much of a hassle, not to mention potentially dangerous, to have him near while he 'worked'. So, Stan had found a secluded area by a strip of small stores- a bakery, hardware store and an all-year costume store- and told Stanford to stay put and to stay low.

“But can't I-”

“No. I can't keep my eyes on you and the people around at the same time while I'm doin' this, and if things get ugly I don't want you there for it.”

Stanford closed the passenger door gently as he sat back in his seat. “Why don't you try something different instead?”

“Already tried, Poindexter. Didn't work out.”

Stanford didn't look any less irritated, and he folded his arms as he frowned at the passenger window. Stan's brows furrowed as he leaned over and grabbed his shoulder.

“Look, I just wanna make sure we have enough for gas and stuff. We still got a ways to go, and gettin' stranded on the side of the road ain't fun. Trust me.”

Stanford glanced over at him, still frowning, but seemed slightly less irritated. He sighed, and nodded. Stan patted his shoulder before turning and stepping out of the car. He was about to shut the door, but stopped and looked down.

“I'll be right around the corner. If anything happens, just run straight to me, okay?”

“Okay.”

Stan nodded before shutting and locking the door.

Nearly half an hour had passed since then, and Stan wasn't doing nearly as well as he had hoped. But, that was the thing with pickpocketing; you never knew what you were gonna get. He had managed to get his hands on a wallet after 'bumping into' a guy that was leaving the bakery with his hands full of boxes. He ignored the photo of the man and his happy family and quickly pulled out $30 before tossing the wallet inconspicuously by the bakery entrance. If the guy came back for it, he would just assume he had dropped it.

Stan stayed close to the walls as he circled the strip, trying to keep his eyes out for anyone who seemed like an easy target with decent cash on them. Unfortunately, everyone was either walking in groups or moving too fast for him to get anywhere near them. Ah well, he was still 30 bucks richer than he was before. He suspected that he must have a little over a hundred all together now. That was more than enough gas money to make it to awruhgon, but he still needed to feed Stanford. Fuck, what am I gonna do?

Not wanting to look too suspicious, Stan wandered for another 10 minutes before finally calling it quits and making his way back towards his car. The sun was in the process of setting now, the sky slowly fading from blue to orange. The street lights hadn't even turned on yet, leaving the area in an odd glow as he passed by the strip.

Stan saw something glitter out the corner of his eye, and turned to look through the display window of the costume store. He could see an arrangement of party decorations, strange costume pieces, and plastic jewelry. The object that caught his attention was a display of fake diamond rings.

Most of them looked gaudy and clearly fake, but some of the smaller ones looked pretty realistic. It reminded Stan of the fake gold rings and jewelry his dad would sell in the pawn shop. He remembered how certain pieces would be on display for so long that the paint would start to crack and peel, and their dad would make him and Ford spend a few hours repainting them in the kitchen before dinner.

Nope. Uh-uh. Not thinking about that.

Stan was about to round the corner when he heard the unmistakable sound of a car door being shut. His heart dropped and he ran, ready to see someone breaking into his car, hoping that they hadn't done anything to Stanford. However, as his El Diablo came into view, he saw that it sat just as lonely as it had before. He could just barely see Stanford shifting around in the passenger seat, and as his eyes locked with Stan, he smiled and waved. Stan took a second to catch his breath before marching over to the drivers side and shoving himself in.

“How'd it go?” Stanford asked, his voice oddly cheerful.

“I've had worse,” Stan stated, glancing oddly at his brother. “Managed to get a little. Should be okay for a bit.”

“That's good.”

Stan frowned at his brother, feeling a bit suspicious. It wasn't a secret what he was doing, and Stanford had been apprehensive about it before whenever he had mentioned it. No surprise there. Stan's twin had always lectured him on the dangers and implications of stealing, even if it was something as harmless as an extra popsicle that they didn't have the money for.

Now however, Stanford seemed a bit too chipper about the whole ordeal. Stan felt put off, but decided not to worry about it for now.

Stan had only been driving for a few minutes when he heard the unmistakable rumble come from the stomach sitting next to him. Oh yeah. Stanford hadn't eaten in hours, and what he had eaten barely qualified as lunch. Stan glanced around the buildings on either side of the street as they drove, and his eyes landed on a bright, neon sign that read 'Ronda's'.

“Hey… you hungry?”

Stanford looked up and nodded. Stan nodded back before slowly pulling into the parking lot of the very small diner. It didn't look nearly as busy as the one in New Mexico had been, which made Stan feel slightly better. A quick in and out, and they would be good to go.

Stan felt himself shiver as he stepped out of the car. Yep, definitely getting colder. He wondered if his wonky heater would be able to handle it as they went further north.

Stan had to keep a hand on Stanford's shoulder to keep him from just sprinting through the front door. The first scent that hit his nose was coffee, and then the wide range of smells one would expect out of a diner. Stan wasn't sure if dinner rush hadn't hit yet or if it was just a slow night, but there were hardly any other patrons inside.

Stanford grabbed the sleeve of his jacket and tugged him towards the empty back corner on their left. Stan didn't even have to lead or tell him. He wondered if it was just something his brother had picked up on over the last few days.

Once he found a booth he was comfortable with, Stanford released him and slid into one seat while Stan sat across from him. This place was cleaner than the one in New Mexico as well. The table wasn't sticky and the napkins in the holster didn't have any mysterious stains or anything on them. There were two flimsy paper menus sitting in front of each of them, and Stanford immediately picked up his own to look at the small corner labeled 'Kids Menu'- the cheapest options besides water. Stan didn't even bother looking at his menu.

After a few seconds, a waitress in a pastel blue uniform and apron approached them, notepad in hand, and smiling brightly.

“Hi, welcome to Ronda's. What can I get you started with?”

Stanford looked over at Stan, who gestured for him to go on. The kid held his hands together and smiled up at the waitress.

“Can I have some mac n cheese and water, please?”

“Of course, you can,” the waitress said sweetly, scribbling in her notepad before turning to Stan. “And what can I get for you sir?”

“Just water, thanks.”

Stanford's smile instantly fell at those words. The waitress looked up from her notepad, apparently confused.

“Could I get some fries too, please?” Stanford suddenly piped up.

Stan raised an eyebrow as the waitress looked over at him. Something like realization flashed in her eyes, and she grinned.

“Absolutely. I'll be right out with those waters.”

She tucked her notepad into her apron's pocket before turning and walking to the back. Stan waited until she was gone before turning to stare at Stanford, who was looking frustrated as he stared back.

“Really?”

“You need to eat, too.”

“I'll be fine without it,” Stan tried to assure him. “Besides, we only have a little cash on us at the moment. I need to make it last until we get to awruhgon.”

Stanford huffed as he folded his arms and leaned against the table. The waitress came back after a few moments with two glasses of ice water and straws for each of them. Stan slowly ripped off the end of his wrapping as he watched Stanford place his straw into his cup. Then, he quickly lifted the straw to his lips and blew the paper wrapping at his brother, hitting him right between the eyes.

Stanford blinked, his mouth hanging open as Stan felt the shit-eating grin spread on his face. Stanford smirked before taking his wrapping, rolling it into a ball and tossing it right back. It hit Stan's chin, causing them both to laugh.

Not long after that, the waitress came with the food. She placed the bowl of mac n cheese in front of Stanford, and carefully placed the small plate of fries in front of Stan, giving him a subtle wink as she did. He wasn't sure how to respond, so he simply nodded. Stanford shared a smile with her before she walked away to help another customer.

Stanford didn't hesitate to pick up his spoon and start devouring his food, a smile still visible on his face. Stan stared down at his plate for a moment before picking up a few fries and eating them whole. He wouldn't admit it aloud, but he was glad that Stanford insisted on getting them. Nothing gourmet by any means, but when you lived scarcely like he did, even something as simple as fries felt like food for the soul.

“So…” Stanford piped up. “Where are we gonna sleep tonight?”

Stan shoved a few more fries into his mouth before answering, “Not sure… I wanna get a few more miles in, but I'll find somewhere to crash soon.”

“You're gonna actually sleep this time, right?”

Stan swallowed hard. Getting to Gravity Falls was his top priority at the moment, but even now he could feel his eyes struggling to stay open. The last thing he needed was to get them in an accident. Not only would that draw attention, it would also give Sergei and his band of assholes time to track him down.

“Yeah, I will.”

Stanford still looked concerned, but he smiled and nodded anyway.

10 minutes passed where they continued to eat silently. Stan ate through his fries rather quickly, savoring every bite he could. He was certain that it would be at least a day before he would allow himself to stay anywhere too long just to eat. Stanford had been eating his food rather quickly, but started to slow down halfway through. Stan noticed him constantly glancing up at him, but he would look down into his bowl any time their eyes met. Stan let this continue for a few minutes before downing the rest of his water and leaning forward.

“Somethin' on your mind, Poindexter?”

Stanford didn't speak or look at him for a moment, stirring his spoon around in his bowl. Stan folded his arms and waited, wondering what could possibly be giving his brother issues now.

“Stan?”

“Hm?”

“So… you know how you said we needed a bit more cash to make it to awruhgon?”

Stan raised an eyebrow. “Yeah?”

Stanford tapped his spoon against his bowl a few times before looking up. His expression was a mix between nervous and determined. He dropped his spoon to reach into his jacket pocket, and a moment later he produced a small plastic bag and dropped it on the table between them. The contents sparkled, and Stan leaned forward to see that it was filled with several rings, the same ones he had seen on display at the store.

“I kind of had an idea…” Stanford muttered.

Stan spent several seconds looking from the bag to his brother, feeling both stunned and impressed. He knew for a fact Stanford wasn't the type to just steal anything, and had a feeling if he checked the cash stored under his seat, he would find a few bucks missing. But, rather than feeling angry about it, he felt curious. Very curious.

“I'm listenin'…”

Gravity Falls 1982

Ford stared up through the glass pane at the portal looming above him, dark and still unactivated. He couldn't pretend anymore even if he tried; everything was perfect and ready, just waiting to be switched on. He could go over every configuration and inspect every screw and it would make no difference. With the portal being ready for testing, Ford no longer had a good excuse to not be around present company anymore; nothing to drag him away for a moment of seclusion. All that was left was to wait for the day of testing, and hopefully Bill would be able to bring whatever parts were unavailable to them with him.

Ford wasn't sure how much progress Fiddleford could have made on the time machine himself, but if the materials they needed to fix it were only available for Bill, then chances were he was no closer to fixing it now than he was before. Ford was starting to wonder if maybe it was time to finally tell his assistant about his Muse. Assuming the portal worked- because of course it would- then Bill would have a way to enter the world physically and hopefully bring the parts they needed to fix the time machine. Ford was certain his assistant would have a boatload of questions for him; he was always questioning how Ford had managed to come up with the idea of the portal in the first place. Being a bit more honest would, at the very least, prepare him for what he would inevitably see.

Bill had always been hesitant about letting Fiddleford in on their arrangement however, and he never mentioned telling him about anything when he came up with their plan earlier. Perhaps it was obvious and he didn't feel the need to mention it? Or maybe it was obvious that he didn't want him to know anything yet? Ford should have asked him when he had the chance.

But, surely Fiddleford would be more hesitant to test it with Stanley around and the mess they were dealing with. If opening the portal was the only way to get Bill here with the parts they needed, then of course Ford would have to tell him something.

Ford let out a long sigh as he got up from his chair and began to make his way to the elevator. Perhaps having something to eat would clear his head. He looked down at his watch and blinked when he saw that it was well past five. He had stayed down below much longer than intended, but he was glad he had taken some time for himself.

He quickly entered the elevator and began making his way back up the stairs. He grimaced as he rubbed his eyes underneath his glasses. Why was it that every time he actually tried to get some decent hours of sleep, he always felt more exhausted than when he passed out at three o'clock in the morning?

Ford peeked around the bookshelf as he entered the storage room. Seeing no sign of Stanley, he quickly moved and shut the door before he had a chance to just wander in. As he did, he could already smell something wafting in from the kitchen. Fiddleford was probably cooking again.

Ford stopped as he reached the doorway to the kitchen and saw that Fiddleford was standing by the stove, stirring a large pot in front of him, while a smaller pot filled with some kind of tomato sauce sat steaming beside it. Stanley was seated at the table, his backpack lying at his feet, looking at what appeared to be a comic book. Ford knew for certain that there were no comic books in his house, and simply figured that Stanley must have brought it with him when he time traveled. It appeared to be an issue of 'Supermaniac'- a series Ford remembered his brother being very fond of in their youth.

Stanley must not have been that invested in his comic, because his head turned the moment Ford had stopped in the doorway, his smile widening even more as he spotted him.

“Heya, Poindexter,” he said brightly, placing his comic down on the table. “Whatcha doin'?”

Ford cleared his throat. “Just… finishing up some of the final adjustments on our project. We're going to be testing soon, so I need to be thorough.”

“A watched pot never boils, Ford,” Fiddleford said without turning around. “We've gone over everythin' a hundred times and then some. I'm sure everythin' will be ready to go once we get this mess sorted first.”

Ford frowned. He suspected his assistant would say that. Now he would definitely have to explain himself and Bill in order to convince him. Perhaps he could pull him away to talk privately once dinner was over.

Ford glanced up and saw that Stanley was still looking at him, smiling like he had just delivered the punchline to an amazing joke.

“What?”

“Oh, nothin',” Stanley said, his voice very cheery as he picked up his comic and resumed reading.

Ford raised an eyebrow but decided not to question it. Stanley could be happy for no particular reason, right? Best case scenario- he was just happy to see Ford come out of hiding. Worst case scenario- he had some sort of joke or prank lined up. Ford decided that whatever the reason, it was probably harmless enough.

“I'm going to add some notes to my journal,” he said as he turned to leave. “Just call me up when dinner's ready.”

“Sure thing,” Fiddleford called out.

Ford could feel his mind wandering as he made his way to his study. How was he going to explain everything to Fiddleford? He remembered how his assistant had been on the brink of a breakdown when he was first told about Crash Site Omega, but had recovered and was ready to see it just a few hours afterward. How would Fiddleford react to discovering that Ford was partners with an omnipotent being from another reality?

Would he even recover from such a revelation? Would he be able to keep himself together for the sake of getting the younger twins back to their own time period? Ford would have to consider every possible reaction before bringing it up.

Ford felt something pinch in the back of his mind as he entered the study, making his way to the desk and sitting in his chair. He pulled out Journal 3 and was about to open it when he noticed something sticking out from the middle of the pages. It appeared to be white notebook paper- something he would never just stick haphazardly into his research. Ford frowned as he opened the journal to the section the page was tucked in, just a few pages after his latest entry about the arrival of his little brother.

Ford was… confused, to say the least. It was a slip of notebook paper that had been ripped out and stuffed into his journal, and on it was a slightly messy pencil drawing of three little creatures that looked like porcupines. They looked odd, like their bodies were made out of some kind of scales that opened and protruded from their backs, and their quills were a mixture of green, gold and brown that had been drawn on with crayons. They were huddled in the center, apparently eating what looked like a pile of pretzels.

Ford felt his brows furrow as he glanced down the page and saw a note written in very familiar handwriting.

Porcupinecones! (Get it? Because they're walking pinecones!)

For a brief moment, Ford felt an overwhelming sense of numbness as he stared at the drawing, his journal laying open and forgotten on his desk. Then, quite suddenly, a wave of anger crashed into him with enough force to move a mountain.

Stanley wasn't stupid- he never was. He may have done stupid things in the past, but that was not a testament to his intelligence. When he set out to do something, he always knew damn well what he was doing. Ford had told him that he was researching the strange anomalies in Gravity Falls, but he never explained where he was putting his research, nor had he intentionally shown Stanley any of the journals.

The only way Stanley could have known about these journals, made a replica drawing that nearly matched Ford's style, and thought to put that drawing in one of them, was if he had seen them, read through them, and done who knows what to them.

Ford was furious .

He slammed the journal closed as he got up from his chair, clutching the drawing tightly in his fist. He would have time to flip through his journals to see the damage, if any, later. His footsteps were heavy as he made his way up the stairs, but he didn't care. He couldn't. He had spent years of his life cataloging all of his discoveries in those journals, and Stanley had messed around with them like they were books at a library that anyone could just pick up and look at. The audacity of such blatant disregard- Ford didn't have the words.

Ford stomped into the kitchen to see Stanley helping Fiddleford strain some pasta out of the pot. Fiddleford placed the pot back on the stove before turning to look at him.

“Back already? Spaghetti won't be done for a few-”

“Stanley.”

The boy turned to face him completely, that smile still plastered on his face. Ford grinded his teeth for a moment before holding up the drawing.

“What is this?” he asked shortly.

“Ha! Knew you'd find it eventually,” Stanley had the nerve to sound happy. “Pretty cool, huh? Figured since you hadn't found those yet I'd help you out. You're welcome.”

Stanley beamed and did a mock bow; he sounded so proud of himself. Ford could feel his hands begin to shake.

“You went through my journals?”

Fiddleford was giving him a stern look, but Ford ignored him. Stanley's happiness faltered slightly, and he rubbed the back of his head sheepishly.

“Yeah, a little… I did earlier because I wanted to see if you had found those things yet, and I thought-”

“Did it not occur to you,” Ford cut across him. “That the reason I didn't tell you about my journals or show them to you was because I didn't want you looking at them?”

Even if he didn't look angry- and Ford was certain he did- he could definitely hear it in his own voice. Stanley's smile fell completely as he blinked, looking back at him in confusion.

“I… I-I didn't…”

“Ford, maybe ya outta take a second,” Fiddleford suggested. “It ain't like he destroyed your-”

“I don't know what he's done,” Ford spat. “I haven't even looked at the rest of them yet because- because I have to deal with this mess .”

“S-Stanford, c'mon,” Stanley's voice had grown quiet as he raised his hands slightly. “I didn't- I wouldn't do that. I just- You just seem happy lookin' for weird things in this place, and I just thought-”

“And on top of that, you insult my intelligence by trying to pass off this 'discovery'?” Ford held the drawing out in front of him. “I've been here for over six years, Stanley! Do you honestly think that I could go this long without finding something as miniscule as this?”

Stanley opened his mouth but no words came out. He looked so lost, even a bit scared. Ford told himself that he had every right to be upset, that Stanley shouldn't have gone through his things, especially in secret. How did he think Ford would react? Did Stanley honestly think that Ford would be happy about any of this?

Even if these little things- these porcupinecones- were real, then surely Ford should have discovered them by now. Why wouldn't he? He had been here for years, spent every day looking through every nook and cranny, and he knew this place like the back of his hand. How could he have missed something so small?

Fiddleford suddenly flipped the stove off and marched over to Ford, who was still glaring at his little brother. Then he grabbed Ford's forearm and began pulling him away.

“What're you-”

“Stanley, stay here for a moment.”

Stanley didn't respond as Fiddleford began dragging Ford out of the kitchen. Ford tried to resist, but the grip on his arm was tight. He quickly decided that he didn't like being manhandled like this and hoped there was a good explanation for his assistant's strange behavior.

Fiddleford continued to drag him through the living room and into the storage room. Once they were in the center of the room, his grip finally loosened and Ford yanked his arm away. Before he could even open his mouth, Fiddleford immediately rounded on him.

“Ya mind tellin' me what the heck that was about?”

“What do you-”

“Don't you dare!” Fiddleford snapped. “I know you and your brother ain't exactly two peas in a pod anymore, but that ain't no reason to treat Stanley like this.”

Ford blinked at him. He couldn't believe this. His own friend was trying to defend Stanley's actions and was even using his 'angry dad voice' on him. Fiddleford was never a man of confrontation, always looking for ways to deescalate the situation. Now he had apparently thrown all of that out of the window for the sake of someone he had only known for a few days, and had turned his anger onto the person who was supposed to be his friend.

Ford glared before turning to face the door. “I'm not going to stand here and be lectured like a child.”

“Then stop actin' like one!”

Ford whipped around and yelled, “What do you want from me?”

“I want ya to stop treatin' your own brother like he's your enemy!”

Ford scoffed. “Easy for you to say! You've never had someone you trusted sabotage your work!”

“That incident didn't happen until the end of high school accordin' to you,” Fiddleford said, pointing a finger at him. “And that boy in there ain't even started middle school yet. For heaven's sake, Ford, you're angry at him for somethin' he hasn't even done!”

“Yet.”

“Why does that matter?”

“Of course, it matters!” Ford shouted, throwing his hands in the air. “He destroyed my project! He's the reason why I ended up at Backupsmore instead of West Coast Tech! Who knows where I'd be now if it weren't for him?”

“Ya might not be here, right now, ya moron!” Fiddleford spat. “Where's all this comin' from, anyway? I thought ya liked being in Gravity Falls, I thought ya liked your work here!”

Ford rolled his eyes. “Oh, please ! I would've ended up studying anomalies out here anyway, it's what I've wanted to do for years. But, if I had been able to go to West Coast, I'd probably have much more credibility than I do now. Do you know how hard it is for anyone to take me seriously when they realize I went to Backupsmore ? It's even more humiliating than being from Glass Shard!”

Fiddleford's face suddenly fell as his eyes widened. He didn't seem to be focused on Ford anymore, but Ford hardly cared. Every emotion he had ever felt since the incident was boiling and spilling over with seemingly no end in sight.

“Ford-”

“Enough! You don't get to stand there and tell me that I didn't get screwed out of the biggest opportunity of my life, because I did !”

“Stanfo-”

“I might've already made something out of myself by now if it wasn't for my arrogant brother-”

“Stanford!”

“What?!”

Fiddleford grabbed his shoulders tightly, and Ford resisted for only a moment before he was forced to turn around. All the anger and fire that had risen in his chest suddenly deflated, replaced with an odd, icy feeling as his mouth fell open.

Stanley stood frozen in the doorway, his face contorted and eyes bloodshot.

Chapter End Notes

20-23-15 16-5-1-19 9 to 14 1 16-15-4, 8-21-4-4-12-5-4 6-18-15-13 20-8-5 18-1-9-1415-14-5 6-5-12-12 15-21-20, 20-8-5 15-20-8-5-18 18-5-13-1-9-14-5-4

Chapter 18: Apologizing is Hard, Forgiving is Harder

Chapter Notes

oof! Y'all still recovering from that D.D.o.S attack the other day? I wasn't quite done with this chapter yet at the time, but I was still so Worried! Thank god it didn't last too terribly long. Now we can all go back to writing and binging our fics in peace.

That being said... I've got a nice, extra-long chapter here for y'all. Hope you enjoy!

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Gravity Falls 1982

Stanley's whole world was spinning. His whole body felt weird and light, like he had been electrified. He could barely feel his own movement as he ran to the kitchen to grab his backpack, flinging it on his shoulders haphazardly before throwing himself out the front door. He thought he could hear someone shouting from behind him, but the pounding in his head was too loud for him to focus. Everything in his body was screaming at him to run, to get away.

He barely registered the cold as he tripped down the porch stairs, but he quickly regained his footing and began sprinting towards the trees. It took him only a second to realize the other noise drowning out the shouting from behind him was his own staggered breathing, his voice oddly broken. His vision was blurry for some reason as he maneuvered around every tree.

He blinked, and something cold and wet began trailing down his face. Real men don't cry, boys.

He roughly wiped the wetness from his face as he continued running, unable to stop even if he had wanted to. More shouts reached his ears, much fainter this time, but oddly enough he could almost make them out now. They sounded like Ford…

Stanley dared to look back to see how far ahead he was, and almost immediately felt his foot catch on something and roll to the side. His stomach flipped as he fell face first into the ground, but he shook himself off and quickly got to his feet to continue running. He suddenly took a sharp right, and began running through the trees in that direction. Ford's voice was fading even more now.

Stanley wasn't sure how long he had been running when it finally hit him- pain. A horrible, throbbing pain in his right ankle. But he couldn't stop, not now. He had to get away. He just couldn't…

Real men deal with pain every day, so suck it up!

Stanley's running stuttered until he nearly tripped over himself, his vision starting to blur again. He suddenly slammed shoulder first into a large trunk, and instead of pushing off to keep going, he grasped onto it for support as he gasped for air. His throat burned as he inhaled the brisk air, grasping onto the tree as if it would hold him back. His ankle was throbbing even more now, a burning pulsing feeling that spiked when he tried to put weight on it again.

Stanley leaned over as he breethd heavily, blinking the mess out of his eyes. He couldn't deny what they were, he could see them shining on the ground before absorbing into the dirt. His good leg started to shake as he leaned his full weight against the tree, but he refused to sit down.

He needed to be ready to run again, because of course he would need to run again. The only other option was facing him , and he just… couldn't.

Looking back, he knew he had done something. That was the only explanation. Ford had all but confirmed it the previous night when Stanley had asked, even if he hadn't explained what exactly he had done.

Stanley knew it must have been bad to cause his brother to act so strangely towards him. But the way Ford had spoken about it, the anger in his voice… it was so dangerously similar to how Pa sounded when he was lecturing them. So much fire and spite… and it was all directed at him…

Stanley had broken… something. He wasn't sure what, but it was obviously something important. Something that would've made his brother a big shot with other nerds like him.

And Stanley had just… destroyed it? That was what Ford had said, anyway. But, that couldn't be right. Stanley broke things by accident out of clumsiness a lot, but he would never intentionally break his twin's things, would he? But, he must have. At least, his older self had.

That wasn't right. It couldn't be right! Stanley didn't want to believe it.

Something cold suddenly hit the back of his neck, and Stanley flinched as he leaned up to look around. Snowflakes; gently falling and barely visible through his teary eyes. The feeling in the rest of his body finally caught up to him, and he grasped his arms and shivered as a strong wind blew by. Why couldn't he have time traveled to the middle of spring or something?

Stanley sniffed as he began rubbing his arms, and his fingers brushed against the straps of his backpack. He had almost forgotten about it. He pulled it around and opened it, his hand immediately grabbing onto his notebook. It was still flipped open, and he could see strands of paper from when he tore out his drawing.

He had been so happy and proud less than an hour ago, convinced that Ford would be delighted at what he had found. That he would rattle on about how fun and adorable the porcupinecones were, and even ask Stanley if he could help him find them. He should've known better.

Maybe tucking the drawing into the journal was a mistake? Or maybe trying anything at all was a mistake?

Tears began to build in his eyes again, and he rubbed them out with his fist. Why couldn't he stop crying? What was wrong with him? Boys don't cry! Men don't cry! He shouldn't be doing this crap!

Stanley sniffed loudly as he slowly flipped to the previous page. His hands shook as he stared down at their shanty, his stupid brain slowly processing everything he had seen and heard. Stanley had done something- broken something- and it had ruined everything.

Their plans, their dream, their friendship. He had royally screwed up, and now…

His brother hated him.

Stanley let out a strangled sob as he suddenly flung the notebook at a nearby tree without a second thought. It hit with a loud thunk before landing open on the ground. Stanley's fists clenched as he glared at the notebook, his breath coming out in pants. Ignoring the throbbing in his ankle, he turned away and began marching through the trees once more.

He continued walking, limping as the pain in his ankle grew. He didn't know where he was going, but he just… had to keep moving. Anything was better than going back at the moment.

But, even his stubbornness wasn't enough to ignore the pain for long. The moment he came across a small area full of tree stumps, his legs gave out and he sat down on one.

Stanley didn't know what to do. He was out in the cold without a jacket, he really didn't know where in the forest he was, and the thought of Ford finding him filled him with dread. What would happen if he did? Would he yell at Stanley more? Tell him how much he hated him? Stanley wished now, more than ever, that his Stanford was with him right now.

But, at the same time, he didn't want to be anywhere near his twin, not if he was destined to hurt him. Stanley didn't want to hurt him, he didn't want Stanford to hate him. He didn't…

Stanley held his face in his hands, pressing his fingers against his eyes, hoping he could force the tears away. His mind immediately went to his family. Were they worried?

Did they miss them? What would his parents and Shermie think if they saw Stanley like this? Ma might worry, but Pa would definitely scold him for acting like a baby. Shermie would… Well, Stanley wasn't sure.

Neither he nor Stanford had ever cried in front of their older brother before. Would he tell Stanley to suck it up too? Or would he be a bit more understanding? Stanley wasn't sure if he wanted to find out.

Something very big suddenly pressed into his back, and Stanley whipped around, expecting to see Ford towering over him. Instead, his jaw fell open as he saw what was unmistakably a large, wooden hand hovering next to him, the pointer finger extended out slightly. Stanley blinked as he followed the arm, and saw a very large, very familiar outline hidden amongst the trees.

“Oh… it's you…”

Steve didn't respond of course, but the hand inched closer, and the large pointer finger nudged his side gently. Stanley shook his head, wiping his nose as he looked away.

“What? I'm fine!” Stanley snapped. “I don't need you to coddle me!”

The ground rumbled slightly as the hand rested on the ground beside him. Stanley sat there, fuming for a few moments, before a small pit of guilt bubbled in his stomach. Embarrassed or not, he shouldn't yell at Steve. He was nice, friendly even, and probably had no idea what had happened.

Maybe his tendency to snap or lash out was part of the reason his older self had been pushed away.

“Ford said he calls you Steve,” he mumbled. “Is… that actually your name?”

The eye squinted as Steve's outline seemed to shrug a little.

“So… is it okay to call you that?”

The eye nodded. Well, that was good to know at least. Stanley folded his arms and leaned against his knees. He could feel Steve watching him, but couldn't bare to look back at him. He didn't want him- or anyone for that matter- to see him like this.

Something nudged his back again, gentler this time, and Stanley didn't flinch away like before. He sighed as he hung his head.

“My brother's mad at me,” he muttered. “I just… I dunno. I didn't wanna…”

But Stanley wasn't sure what he could say. He couldn't explain why he ran off. He just felt the desperate need to get away, that maybe if he ran far enough, he could leave all of this pain behind.

Stanley held himself and shivered as a strong wind blew by, tousling his hair in front of his eyes. His hands were slightly damp from the snow that had melted on his skin. Crap, it was cold. He should have grabbed a blanket or something before just running outside.

There was movement from beside him, and he turned to see Steve's hand laying palm up just as it had before. Stanley stared for a moment before shaking his head.

“I don't wanna go back… not right now.”

The fingers curled, gesturing for him to come forth. Stanley looked from the hand to the eye and back again, unsure of what Steve was asking. Realizing he had nothing better to do anyway, Stanley groaned as he carefully got to his feet, using the stump for support. He started to hobble over, but the hand quickly moved closer to him, gently bumping the back of his legs and causing him to fall back on the palm.

Stanley gripped the straps of his bag, preparing to be lifted up into the air again. Instead, the hand simply moved closer towards Steve's large, shadowed figure. Maybe it was the shade from the trees, but Stanley could barely make out Steve's form in detail. He did seem to be sitting cross legged on the ground though.

Stanley stared open mouthed as he was brought closer to Steve until he was right against him. The giant's body seemed to be mostly covered in thick, dark green moss. The other hand came up to cup around him, and suddenly Stanley didn't feel nearly as cold as he did before. He didn't think wood and moss could ever feel so warm and comfortable, but here he was, lying back in the hands of a giant to avoid the shivers.

Stanley used his good foot to move himself until his back was pressed against Steve's chest. He folded his arms and laid his head back, looking up at the large eye that was staring down at him with what was obviously concern. His eyes were stinging again, and he sniffed.

“Thanks…”

Ford was sprinting through the trees as fast as he could, his heart hammering in his chest. He hadn't even had time to calm down from his argument with Fiddleford before Stanley had run off, and his nerves were shot. Ford had partaken in his own exercise regimen for quite some time now, and had built up enough cardio to outrun all kinds of dangers in Gravity Falls. Stanley had gotten a decent head start on him though, and was out of sight almost as soon as he went into the trees.

“Stanley!”

There was no answer, but Ford continued running. Part of him felt gruntled, having known that Stanley would run off on his own eventually. That part was outweighed by the other half that was screaming for Ford to find him before he got hurt, or worse.

Finally, after running for what might have been ages, Ford jogged to a halt. His breath came out in puffs of smoke as he panted slightly. He took in several deep breaths as he stared around, hoping to spot any movement or hear any noise that would lead him to his brother. All that greeted him was the sound of the wind and the slowly falling snow.

Ford wasn't as cold as he could've been since he was wearing his coat, but Stanley had only been wearing a T-shirt. The sun was even lower now, he could barely make it out through the trees. Ford hadn't had time to grab a flashlight or lantern when he chased his brother out the door. He had to find Stanley before nightfall.

Even if the weather hadn't been growing colder, there were dangerous things that often roamed at night. If anything happened to Stanley…

Suddenly, another sound reached Ford's ears that made his head snap. Something distinctly different from the wind. He marched towards the direction the sound was coming from, unsure of what he would find. He stepped around a large tree and saw something very out of place.

Stanley's notebook was lying open on the ground, the pages fluttering in the breeze. Ford swallowed hard as he leaned over to pick it up. The pages were smeared with dirt and there were wet spots where some snowflakes must have landed. The sketches and words of the shanty- their song- were still perfectly legible, if a bit smudged now.

“Stanley!” he called out again. “Stanley, please!”

Again, all he could hear was the wind. Ford took in a shaking breath before stuffing the notebook into his inner coat pocket. He kneeled down to inspect the area, and saw that there were noticeable divots in the dirt by the other tree beside him; footprints.

It was just enough to lead Ford in a direction, at least he wasn't wandering aimlessly anymore. As he was following the tracks, Ford noticed that while one side of prints seemed to be more indented, the other side left a kind of trail, as if Stanley had been dragging one of his feet. Was he hurt? Sweet Moses, please don't let him be hurt.

It's your fault if he's hurt.

Ford shook his head and pressed on, keeping his gaze on the footprints. He couldn't afford to panic or lose focus. He needed to find Stanley, and fast.

Ford continued to follow the footprints all the way up to an area of small tree stumps; one of the many places local lumberjacks would come to gather wood. He looked up to see if he could spot Stanley sitting on any of them. If he was hurt, surely he would have to stop to rest.

All the air in his lungs vanished for a moment as Ford's eyes locked onto an incredible sight. A very large figure- half-hidden in shadow but still very visible- was sitting just within the edge of the trees. Steve.

Ford felt frozen where he stood. Despite the fact that he was still mostly hidden by trees, he had never seen Steve so clearly before, let alone for this long. Just enough to see that he was crouched down and hunched over slightly. What was he doing out here?

Why was he just… sitting in the cold? Didn't he have a cave or something to hide in? Did he even feel cold?

Ford took a single step forward, and flinched as he stepped on a twig with a sharp snap . Slowly, Steve's figure turned, his large eye widening as it stared down at him. Ford had never been able to find out if Steve only had one eye or if the other one(did he have more than just two?) was always conveniently covered by moss and shadow. But this wasn't the time for theories.

They both remained still, staring at each other, waiting for the other to act or say something. Ford was certain that, despite the damage done to his car when moving here, Steve wouldn't have hurt Stanley if he came across him. He had been the one to lead the boy to Ford's house after all. But still, Ford felt like he knew so little about the giant that he was justified in feeling worried.

Before Ford could say or do anything, Steve glanced down and turned his head slightly in front of him, as if he were nodding at something. Ford gulped before slowly making his way closer to the giant. Despite the growing pit in his stomach, he forced himself to stand tall and square his shoulders.

It wasn't until he was right next to him that he noticed that Steve had his hands curled against his chest, as if he were holding something. Ford raised an eyebrow as Steve gazed down at him, his one-eyed expression unreadable. Steve's hands moved away from his chest and lowered down until they were right in front of Ford. A moment later, one of them shifted to the side, and Ford gasped.

“Stanley!”

Stanley's head whipped around, and he gasped when his eyes landed on Ford. His brother immediately tried backing up but was held in place by the large hand cupped around him. He looked like a scared animal trapped in a corner. Ford felt something in his heart twinge, but was too concerned with getting him back to the house to mind it.

“It's alright, I'm here,” he placed one hand on the wooden palm and held the other out to his brother. “Come on, we have to get you out of here.”

Stanley didn't respond. He didn't move. Ford felt hurt but couldn't stop the irritated sigh that left him.

“Stanley, you can't stay out here like this. It isn't safe!”

“Why do you care?” Stanley snapped, his voice a mix between scared and angry.

Ford opened his mouth but was unable to respond, and slowly pulled his hand away. Part of him wondered how on earth Stanley could think that, but then scornfully reminded himself of what he had said before.

“Stanley, I- Look, I'm sorry, alright? You- you weren't supposed to hear any of that. I just…”

But he wasn't sure what else he could say. Stanley shot him a painful glare before folding his arms and turning away, leaning more into Steve. Ford clenched his fists and stared at the ground, unsure of what to do.

Suddenly, something started pushing him from behind and his whole body fell next to Stanley onto the open palm.

“H-hey! What-?”

Ford pushed himself onto his knees and turned to see Steve's other hand had cupped around them, blocking them in as they were brought closer to the giant's form. Being trapped inside a giant's grasp, Ford decided, was very strange and very unpleasant.

“What on earth…?”

“He's not gonna hurt us,” Stanley muttered, still turned away from him. “Just keepin' us warm.”

Ford stared at his brother for a few moments until his heartbeat finally settled. He pushed himself back to sit more comfortably until his back was against Steve's chest. He felt something soft and warm on the back of his neck, and he turned to see that the wall of wood was covered in thick moss. Ford raised a hand and brushed it curiously. How was it not cold or wet? Was most of Steve's body covered in moss? Did it just grow on him? Or did he wear it like some sort of nature-grown bathrobe? No, now's not the time for that.

Ford glanced over at Stanley, and saw him rubbing his right ankle gingerly. He remembered the jagged trail of footprints.

“Are you hurt?”

“I'm fine.”

An obvious lie, but Ford didn't push the subject any further. Even if they were warmer in Steve's grasp, they couldn't stay out here forever. Ford needed to get Stanley back to the house, but his brother didn't seem keen on cooperating. How was he supposed to convince him to come back? You should apologize.

What on earth could he apologize for? Being honest? Then again, he had lashed out quite a bit, and it wasn't like Stanley had gotten the full story from the fight, especially if he hadn't heard everything.

“Stanley, I…” Ford swallowed. “I really am sorry.”

“For what?”

Ford snapped his head to look at his brother, who had folded his arms to lean against his good knee, and was now staring at his own feet. He won't even look at you.

“For what you heard,” he reiterated. “I… I shouldn't have lost myself the way I did. I should've… Well, I shouldn't have said anything at all, but I could've been more… composed about it.”

“There's no nice way of spellin' it out,” Stanley grumbled, his voice shaking. “You hate me. That's it.”

Ford blinked. “What do you- No, Stanley, I-”

“Yes you do!” Stanley snapped. “You said it yourself! I ruined your life!”

Ford shut his mouth. Stanley's words hit something deep within him; something he had spent years building up that shook upon impact. Ford sighed as he leaned his head back against the wall of moss. What now?

Well, he could… Any damage that could be done was already done anyway, right? How much worse could it get?

“Our senior year…” Ford paused, but when saw Stanley glance up at him out of the corner of his eye, he continued, “I made a perpetual motion machine for the science fair. I won first place of course, and everyone was impressed. The principal called up mom and dad to tell them about it, and he told us that some executives from a very high ranking college across the country wanted to see it. They would've given me a scholarship. I was… so happy. People were going to see something I created and be impressed by it, and not put off by… other things.”

Ford stared down at his hands and clenched them tightly. But, one glance at his nervous little brother was enough for him to relax his grip.

“I went in the next morning to show it off. I didn't even check it before. I mean, why would I? There was no reason to think anything had happened to it. But… when I revealed it to them, it was… motionless. Screws were loose, pieces had fallen off, it was a mess. They didn't even give me a chance to explain or fix it.”

That part had always irked him. The executives from West Coast had come all that way to see his project, and when they saw that it had clearly been tampered with, they had chosen not to waste anymore time with him. As if their time hadn't been spent already.

“I confronted my Stanley about it, and he confessed that he had damaged it. We started to argue, and… our dad got involved. He was… very unhappy about it. He told my Stanley to leave and to not come back until he could make amends for it, and… he did. He just left…”

Ford could see the scene playing out in his mind's eye. Stanley nervously admitting what he had done, Ford pushing him back, their father dragging him to the front door…

“So… I did break it.”

It was a statement, not a question. Ford took a deep breath and nodded.

“Yes. He said it was an accident, but…” he huffed. “But how could it be? I get an opportunity to do something great with my life that contradicts his plans, and the project that guarantees that opportunity ends up destroyed?”

“It wasn't my plan, it was our plan.”

Ford whipped around to look at his brother. Stanley was still staring at his feet, but he didn't seem as irritated as before. He just looked… sad.

“Why did you wanna leave?” Stanley asked, his voice practically a whisper. “I mean… we had a plan. We were gonna sail away from that dumb town together. Did… did you even wanna do it with me? Were you… even happy around me?”

“Stanley…”

Ford felt that the answer to that was obvious. Part of the reason why the past was so painful to think about was because he had been so happy back then. It had made the betrayal all the more worse.

“I was happy at your age,” he admitted. “We were a team, and neither of us needed anyone else. It wasn't until high school that I realized how… codependent we both were. Neither of us knew how to be without the other.”

“So what?” Stanley grumbled. “Most people can't rely on anybody. We've been relyin' on each other since before we were born. We're lucky.”

Ford shrugged. “Perhaps, but there's cons for every pro, Stanley. I had been a part of a duo for so long that I didn't know how to be my own person. I suppose neither of us did. I wanted…” He glanced down as he wrung his hands together. “I wanted to see myself as an individual, not just half of a whole, and… Well, my Stanley didn't see it that way.”

A heavy silence followed that statement. Ford rubbed his hands nervously, unsure of what else he could say. Stanley wasn't avoiding his gaze or ignoring him anymore, but he didn't feel any better now compared to earlier.

“So, it was my fault.”

“What?”

“I ruined everything,” Stanley sounded so much smaller as he curled in on himself. “Pa's right… I'm just a screw up.”

Ford immediately opened his mouth to retort that, but found himself unable to speak. What could he say? Words weren't enough to make something like this better. He stuffed his hands into his pockets, and realized something was already inside his right pocket. He fiddled with it for a moment before he remembered what it was. He had stuffed Stanley's drawing into his pocket without worry back at the house before his fight with Fiddleford.

Ford slowly pulled out the crumpled piece of paper, staring at it as a deep pit formed in his stomach. He carefully pulled the corners apart and tried to flatten it as best he could. Even with the immense wrinkles, the picture was crystal clear.

Ford wasn't foolish enough to really believe he had discovered all of the secrets of Gravity Falls yet, but how on earth had he missed these creatures?

“How-” his voice cracked, and he cleared his throat. “How did you find them? These… porcupinecones?”

“On accident,” Stanley muttered. “Kinda just snuck up on me.”

“That makes sense,” he said, his voice more analytical and familiar as he stared at the drawing. “This area is mostly dominated by pine trees, so there's pine cones all over the place. All they'd have to do is hold still and… anyone could miss them. Probably a defense mechanism to hide from predators.”

Stanley shrugged. “I got lucky, I guess.”

“Yes…” Ford bit his lip for a moment before turning to look at his brother. “Would you… Could you show me?”

Stanley whipped his head around to stare at him, eyes wide as his mouth hung open. Ford bit the inside of his cheek nervously, but waited for his response. Stanley swallowed hard.

“Really…?”

Ford nodded. “Yes, really.”

Stanley glanced around, looking unsure. A moment later he turned back, and with an almost-smile on his face, he nodded. Ford felt an odd sense of relief wash over him as he folded the picture and gently put it pack into his pocket.

“We should probably head back soon, though,” he said offhandedly. “The sun's probably down by now.”

Stanley nodded, then turned and patted the moss behind him, “I'm ready to go now.”

There was silence for a moment. Then, instead of the hands opening, Ford felt his stomach lurch slightly as he suddenly rose into the air. Stanley gasped slightly as his legs flinched, and he suddenly winced and grasped his right ankle. Again, Ford decided not to push it. Fiddleford was better at medical care anyway. He would be able to look at it and see if it was broken or not.

They didn't speak as Steve carried them through the forest. Ford couldn't see the outside, but he could feel each thunderous step the giant took. As the walk continued, Stanley slowly began inching closer and closer next to him, but didn't get close enough to touch him. It was both funny and sad, considering how often he tried to hug Ford over the last few days.

After only a few minutes, the steps finally stopped. Ford's stomach lurched again as he felt himself being lowered by the hands. Once they stopped, the hand cupped in front of him shifted, and Ford was almost surprised to see his house just a few yards ahead of him. He might not like to be manhandled, but it was a much easier form of travel.

Ford scooted forward until he could push himself onto his feet. He turned to wait for Stanley, but he didn't move. He sat in the center of the palm, staring at the house as if it were a haunted display at a carnival. Ford bit his tongue, wondering what he could do to persuade Stanley to move. He had promised his brother that he would be safe here, he needed him to feel safe again.

Ford felt his face relax slightly as he looked up at his little brother, and slowly raised his arms out to him; an open invitation. Stanley's head snapped up to look at him, his eyes widening. Ford swallowed and gestured with his hands, hoping to get the point across.

Stanley's face contorted like he was about to cry, but before Ford had time to interpret it, his little brother suddenly leapt up and threw himself at him, his small arms latching around his shoulders. Ford's arms wrapped around him instinctively, his knees bending slightly as Stanley wrapped his legs around him. Ford was frozen for a second before adjusting his hold to make sure he didn't drop his brother. Stanley buried his face into his shoulder, his body shaking as he gasped and shuddered against him.

Ford felt something- the very walls that had shaken before- begin to crack, and he felt himself holding Stanley closer than necessary just to keep him up. It was the first time since this whole ordeal began that he had held his brother without it feeling like a chore, like something he had to do to keep Stanley at ease. A tiny voice in the very back of his mind screamed that it didn't want to let go.

The ground rumbled slightly, and Ford looked through his snow-covered glasses to see Steve had turned and was finally retreating back into the forest. Ford stood there and watched as the giant slowly faded into the trees.

Stanley suddenly shivered, and Ford turned to finally bring him back inside.

Fiddleford was chewing his nails fiercely as he paced around the living room. It was all he could bring himself to do for the last hour. When Ford had gone after Stanley, he had simply shouted “Stay here in case he comes back!” before running off into the woods.

Despite his desire to go after him, Fiddleford had listened and remained inside the house. He had taken the pasta left on the stove and placed them into some tupperware just to give himself something to do; something else to think about for just a moment.

Fiddleford felt his hands twitch in a way that not even nail biting could relieve. He knew what that meant, and he cursed himself for even thinking about it. He had been trying so desperately to keep himself from even looking at his memory gun any time things became too much for him, but it was becoming increasingly more difficult. The sense of absolute euphoria one felt when having no bad memories to look back on was… addicting; there was no better way to say it. He loved and hated it fiercely. Part of him wished he had never even thought about making such a device, but the other part begged- pleaded - for just a moment of that unique relief.

Suddenly, the house shook as the ground rumbled. Fiddleford stopped pacing and froze in the center of the living room. An earthquake? Highly unlikely, considering the town they were in. But, if not that, then what?

Another rumble, then another and another. A constant pace, almost like… footsteps.

Fiddleford nearly tripped over his own feet as he ran up to the front door and threw it open. The first thing he saw was Ford walking up the porch steps, holding Stanley in his arms. The other thing he saw was a huge figure walking back into the trees. He stood in the doorway, staring slack jawed as the giant disappeared into the forest.

“W-what-? How did-?”

“Not now.”

Fiddleford blinked as Ford gave him a pointed look, and he gulped before stepping aside to let him in. He quickly shut and locked the door before turning, and saw his friend walking straight through the living room towards the stairs that led to his study.

He thought that Stanley might have been asleep at first with how still he was, until he suddenly let out a loud sneeze. Thank goodness Ford found him when he did. The sun was already down now; any longer and the poor kid could've gotten sick. Stanley buried his face into Ford's shoulder, his hands gripping his brother's jacket tightly.

Fiddleford stood in the study doorway, wringing his hands together as he watched Ford place Stanley onto the pullout mattress very carefully. As he tried to move back, the boy's fists clenched into fists, apparently unwilling to let go. Ford whispered something as he patted his brother's back, and after a moment Stanley finally released him. The poor boy's eyes were red and puffy as he stared at the ground.

“He hurt his ankle,” Ford said without taking his eyes off of his brother. “I'm sure it's just sprained, but… could you make sure?”

Fiddleford shook himself off before nodding. He walked into the room and kneeled in front of Stanley, who was holding his right foot slightly above the ground. It seemed slightly swollen, but didn't have any odd bumps or bruises. Fiddleford kept his questions short; Does it hurt when I hold it? What if I turn it this way?

Stanley flinched slightly every now and then, but he didn't seem to be in terrible pain. Thank goodness.

“Well, good news is it's just sprained,” he declared. “We can put some ice on it to help the swellin', but ya should stay off it 'til tomorrow.”

Stanley nodded silently. Fiddleford folded his arms across his knee and leaned forward.

“I bought some hot chocolate packets the other day. Ya want some?”

Stanley's eyes lit up slightly as he looked at him, and he nodded again. Fiddleford grinned as he got to his feet.

“Ford, come help me for a sec?”

His friend looked surprised for a moment, then nodded. Fiddleford turned to leave the room, but stopped in the doorway when he noticed his friend wasn't following him. Ford leaned forward and placed a hand on Stanley's shoulder.

“I'll be right back, okay?”

“Okay…”

Ford patted his shoulder before finally turning to leave the room.

They both remained silent as they ascended the stairs. They hadn't properly settled their argument before Stanley had run off, and the tension between them was heavy. This had only happened between them a couple of times over the years, and Fiddleford had always been the one to initiate the conversation afterward. Ford had a tendency to close in on himself whenever he felt guilty.

As they entered the kitchen, Fiddleford walked up to the pantry and opened it. He grabbed a few hot chocolate packets, and then his eyes landed on the box of small plastic sandwich bags. Fiddleford pulled a plastic bag out of the box before shutting the pantry.

“We don't have any ice packs, but this should do the trick,” he said as he handed the bag to Ford.

Ford nodded, still not looking at him. Fiddleford moved past him to pull the milk out of the fridge and poured it into a small pot. He turned on the burner as he glanced back at his friend, who was filling the plastic bag with ice.

“I get it, ya know.”

Ford turned to look at him. “What?”

“Ya ain't the only one with a degree from Backupsmore,” Fiddleford clarified. “Most folks don't take me very seriously either. Even if the tech I make is impressive, the fact that I went there puts them off.”

Ford's mouth fell open as he stared at him. Fiddleford simply shrugged as he turned back to look at the pot. The milk had started to steam by the time he heard Ford sigh behind him.

“God… Fiddleford, I- I didn't mean-”

“I know. Don't beat yourself up,” Fiddleford opened the packets and poured them into the pot. “Anger makes us say and do stupid stuff, Ford. Stuff we wouldn't normally do. Thankfully, I'm a bit more patient than most.”

“I don't deserve that…”

“Well, that ain't for ya to decide, now is it?”

Ford didn't seem to have a response for that, and he sat down at the table. Fiddleford remained quiet as he stirred the hot chocolate. After a few minutes, he pulled out three coffee mugs and filled each with the hot drink. He brought all three to the table, pushing one closer towards Ford. His friend stared at the mug for a moment before reaching forward and slowly pulling it closer to him.

“What am I doing?”

“Been askin' myself that for the last week.”

Ford sighed, running his hand across his face. “I… don't know how to feel about any of this. Even if I can somehow make things… better with Stanley and I, what am I supposed to do when my Stanley arrives?”

Fiddleford silently sipped his hot chocolate. He didn't know the answer to that either. This was far beyond his pay grade at this point.

Not to mention, Ford's issues with his twin ran deep, and had been going on long before Fiddleford even knew him. It wasn't like he had the answer. But, then again… maybe he wasn't supposed to.

“Ford?”

“Hm.”

“Do ya think…” Fiddleford drummed his fingers against his mug. “Ya reckon all of this is happenin' for a reason?”

Ford raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

“I mean… Look, this ain't somethin' that happens to alotta people. Heck, I doubt anyone else has had to deal with somethin' like this. Maybe this is… I dunno… Maybe the universe is givin' y'all a chance to hash things out? Make amends?”

Ford frowned slightly, turning his gaze into his own mug. He seemed frustrated, but Fiddleford wasn't exactly sure why.

“I ain't sayin' it's gonna be a cakewalk,” he added. “But… it's somethin' to think about, ain't it?”

Again, Ford didn't respond. Instead, he picked up his mug and began chugging it quickly. After a minute, he barely slammed it back onto the table, and let out an exaggerated sigh.

“What am I supposed to do…?” he asked hopelessly.

“Well… makin' amends with this Stanley first might help.”

Ford glanced up at him, and Fiddleford grinned. His friend looked over at the bag of ice, which had started to melt. Ford took a deep breath before getting to his feet, picking up the third mug of hot chocolate and the bag of ice before marching out of the kitchen with more bravado than he had before.

Well… I guess that's a good start, Fiddleford thought as he sipped his mug.

Chapter End Notes

5-13-15-20-9-15-14-1-12 23-1-12-12-19, 19-20-18-15-14-7 1-14-4 20-1-12-1215-14-3-5 20-8-5-25'22 to 5 3-18-1-3-11-5-4, 5-22-5-14-20-21-1-12-12-25 20-8-5-25'12 to 12 6-1-12-12

Chapter 19: Don't Be Suspicious

Chapter Notes

Took me a hot second to get this one done. Kind of a short chapter again, but I hope y'all enjoy it.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Idaho 1982

Angela didn't consider herself very naive. She may be only 18, but she felt that she had seen her fair share of messed up scenarios. Growing up downtown and working at a gas station just off the overpass will do that to you. She had seen people being robbed of everything except their shoes. She had seen car accidents that rivaled those shown in action movies right outside the station she worked.

She had witnessed people do very questionable things just to avoid starving for the next few hours. She never called out anyone stealing food, not if she could help it. She just didn't have it in her to do that.

She knew there were worse places to work, but she also knew there were better places, with better paychecks. Not too many people wanted to offer a decent paying job to a high school graduate who barely passed and had no way of going to college, so she had to settle. There was one other cashier who only came in to relieve her at night, but other than him, she was mostly stuck with her boss. He was nice enough, always paid her on time, but he could still be a pain in the ass even on a good day.

Today had been like any other. She awoke, got dressed, drowned her frustrations in cheap coffee, and went into work. There was some construction happening on her usual route, and she ended up coming in a few minutes late. Her boss lectured her only briefly before putting her behind the counter and then heading to the back in his office(if you could even call it that. It was barely bigger than their supplies closet).

The morning had been uneventful, save for a few men and women getting their tanks filled before going into work. That was how it went most days, assuming nobody decided to come in and cause trouble, of course. How much do you need on pump three? No, the two for one deal doesn't apply to the alcohol, just the chips. Yes, the donuts are expired, but my boss won't let me toss them.

At around noon, her boss told her to sweep the floors(again) before going out for an early break. He did that a lot. Angela wasn't sure if he was actually allowed to do that or not, but as long as she was paid she didn't really care. Nothing much happened around this time of the day anyway.

As she was sweeping, she caught movement out the corner of her eye, and glanced up through the large, glass windows. There were only two cars by the pumps- a busted up truck that looked like it was being held together by duct tape and a prayer, and an old fashioned El Diablo. There was a man crouched on the ground beside the red car, apparently looking underneath it. He seemed decently dressed, but clearly disheveled. Angela had seen potential customers put off by far less weirdness, and she didn't want her boss getting onto her again for letting something odd scare people off.

Letting out an exasperated sigh, she placed the broom behind the counter before making her way outside. The man was still crouched on the ground, and didn't seem to notice her even as she came to stand behind him. She cleared her throat.

“Sir? Are you alright?”

“No, I'm not,” he huffed, not even looking at her.

Angela raised an eyebrow. “You lose something, or…?”

“I…”

The man stopped before sighing and sitting back on his knees. The white button-up he was wearing was smeared with dirt. How long had he been on the ground?

“Yeah, I have,” he quickly got up to his feet and brushed himself off, not that it did anything. “I just bought an engagement ring for my girlfriend. I thought I put the box in a safe spot, but when I opened the door, the box fell and the ring popped out.”

Agnela's jaw fell. “You're kidding!”

“No, I'm not!” the man looked like he was seconds away from breaking down as he ran his hands through his mullet. “I've looked everywhere but I can't find it, and I'm late for work, I-I'm supposed to be getting a promotion, but…”

He groaned in panicked frustration as he rubbed his face. Angela felt bad for the poor guy. Her older brother had just recently gotten engaged, and he had worked so hard and stressed so badly trying to save up the money for the perfect ring. This guy looked like he was about to have a mental break.

“Do you have a phone number?”

“Huh?” the man turned to frown at her. “Uh, yeah. Why?”

“Well… if you're really running late, I could look around for it. Unless someone else already grabbed it, it's bound to be here somewhere.”

The man's jaw fell open as he stared at her. Angela wasn't sure what to make of his expression, but it was certainly more animated than she was used to.

“I can pay you back for it.”

“What?” she shook her head. “No, that's-”

“Five grand,” he cut across her. “I'm getting a huge pay increase with my promotion, so that's not much of a dent for me. That's an extra thousand more than the ring cost.”

Angela blinked several times. Five grand… A whole five grand just for helping this guy find his ring. She would be able to put a huge dent in her car payment.

She could get herself some new running shoes. She'd be able to get her mom an actual cake for her birthday instead of a pack of store-bought cupcakes.

“I… Sure, okay.”

The man grinned. “Great!”

He ran to the front of his car for a moment before coming back with a pen and paper. He scribbled on it quickly before thrusting it into her hands.

“That's my home number. Just call as soon as you find it, and I'll get back to you as soon as I can.”

Angela nodded fervently. “Yep! No problem.”

“Thanks!”

Without another word, the man threw himself into the driver's seat, ignited the car and sped off. Angela stood there and watched him until his car disappeared. Once it had, she looked down at the phone number in her hands, and the name written above it. Jim.

“Angie, the hell are you doing? Come finish sweeping!”

Angela jumped slightly before stuffing the paper into her pocket and running back into the station.

The rest of her day remained relatively uneventful. The homeless woman who hung around their station all the time, Erma, came in asking for cigarettes, and of course her boss made her leave when she made it clear she couldn't pay for them. A few more people came in to buy some scratch offs and swore loudly when they were revealed to not be winners. Other than that, perfectly normal.

Whenever she had a few minutes to spare, Angela would go out to the pump Jim had been parked by and search around for the ring. But even getting on her hands and knees and keeping her nose an inch above the ground provided zero results. Even after circling the pump several times, she just couldn't find that damn ring.

At around three o'clock, her boss announced that he was going to take another lunch break and to have the candy section restocked by the time he got back. Angela glared as she watched him walk out the front, ready to pick up her magazine the moment he was far enough away that he wouldn't bother coming back for anything. As she watched him cross the street, something else caught her eye.

A small boy with large glasses and a backpack started walking up past the pumps. That didn't surprise her. A lot of kids and teens would come in to grab a slushie or some candy right after school.

What did surprise her was when the boy stopped right beside the pump that Jim had been parked at before, and was looking at something on the ground.

Angela had rounded the counter and was out the front door by the time she saw the boy pick something up off the ground. She couldn't see it in detail, but she could definitely see something glinting in the boy's tiny hand.

“Hey kid,” she called out. “Whatcha got there?”

The boy's head snapped up to stare at her as she approached, and she slowed down until she was only a few feet away from him. She didn't want to scare the kid off. He seemed frozen for a moment before raising his hand slightly, and Angela barely registered the extra finger on his hand as she spotted the small diamond ring. She felt jittery as she smiled.

“Thank god, you found my ring!”

Angela reached forward to take the ring, but the boy suddenly retracted his hand back. She stared as he gave her a funny look.

“Yours?”

“Uh, yes?”

The boy looked her up and down, his expression suspicious. “Kind of young for marriage, aren't you?”

Angela frowned slightly, but she couldn't blame the boy for being suspicious. If she was lucky enough to find a diamond ring, she wouldn't be too keen on giving it to the first person who claimed to own it either.

“Well… okay, it's not mine, but it belongs to a friend,” she explained. “He didn't have time to look for it, so I offered to. Said he would pay me if I found it and sent it to him.”

That made the boy's eyes light up. He stared at the ring for a few moments, then he smiled up at her.

“So… do I get a reward for finding it for you then?”

Angela narrowed her eyes. This kid was clever, she'd give him that. She supposed that was only fair, she wouldn't be able to get any kind of reward if it weren't for him. Jim said he would pay her five grand, but this kid didn't need to know that.

“He's paying me 1,000 bucks for looking for it, so how about we split that? I give you 500 for finding it, and I get 500 for delivering it.”

The boy rubbed his chin thoughtfully as he looked from her to the ring and back again. Angela knew damn well she could take this boy on if she needed to, but she didn't want to make a scene or be the reason the cops got called. She still needed to work, after all.

“Mmmm… Okay then.”

Agnela smiled and gestured for the boy to follow her. Once they were inside the station, she rounded the counter and stopped at the register. She took out her spare key and popped the register open before taking a few hundred dollar bills and several 20s.

“Is that legal?”

“My boss will just take it out of my check,” Angela said offhandedly as she counted the money. “Not like it matters anyway, right?”

She quickly shut the register and held out the wad of money. The boy stared at it for a moment before slowly raising both of his hands, placing the ring on the counter with one and grabbing the money with the other. Angela released the wad, and the boy immediately put it in his pocket. She grinned as she picked up the ring and put it in her own pocket.

“Thanks for the help, kid.”

“You're welcome.”

The boy turned and was about to walk out of the store when he froze. He turned, marched right to the aisle of candy, and grabbed a small box of jelly beans and a pack of gum before making his way back up to the counter. He pulled $5 out of his pocket and placed it on the counter before making his way out of the building.

Angela was beaming as she marched over to the store phone and pulled the number out of her pocket. The guy was probably still at work, but she could at least leave a message to let him know she had found the ring. Angela quickly dialed the number and waited as the phone rang once, twice… click!

“Thank you for calling Wang's Takeout, what do you want?”

Angela blinked. “Ah, sorry, wrong number.”

She immediately hung up, feeling only a little embarrassed. She probably just missed a number. She looked down at the paper and dialed each number carefully before calling again. Two rings, then…

“Wang's Takeout, what's your order?”

Again?

“Um… is there a Jim there?”

“Shrimp? You want the shrimp plate?”

“No, Jim .”

“There's no Jim here. Can I take your order?”

Angela's brain felt numb as she stared at the number in her hands, and the realization hit her like a sack of bricks. Holy fuck…

Stanford walked down the sidewalk with a spring in his step. He couldn't help but be a little proud of himself that his idea had worked not just once, but multiple times. The first place they stopped at had taken a little longer to get through, and Stanford had stuttered through most of his words.

However, according to Stan, his sweet innocent face and shyness played into their favor, and the people at that station had taken pity on him. He had only gotten a hundred bucks out of that one, but it had still caused Stan's eyes to light up. The second place had been more apprehensive towards him, but the cashier had managed to convince his boss to give Stanford another hundred. The third had been a bit more trusting, and had given him 300 dollars and a few bags of chips. He was just glad that they hadn't been caught yet.

Stanford had to resist the urge to run once he rounded the corner and saw Stan's car. Still smiling, he marched up to the passenger side and lightly knocked on the window. Stan looked up, grinned, and immediately unlocked the door to let him in.

“How'd it go?” he asked as Stanford got settled in his seat.

His smile widened even more as he reached into his pocket and pulled out the wad of 500 bucks. He held it up, and Stan's jaw fell as he snatched it.

“Hot pumpkin pie!” he beamed as he flipped through the bills. “This is even more than we got at the last stop!”

“She seemed more responsive to me being closed off than being overly concerned,” Stanford noted. “I guess being too nice makes you seem more suspicious to some people.”

“You can say that again,” Stan stuffed a few 20s into his pocket before wrapping the wad with a rubber band and tucking it under his seat. “Can't believe our luck with this one, I should've tried this ages ago.”

Stanford huffed a little and folded his arms. “As if you could've done it without me in the first place.”

Stan laughed, his large hand reaching over to tousle Stanford's hair. “Yeah yeah, whatever you say, you little nerd.”

Stanford giggled as he playfully pushed his brother's arm away. He hadn't seen Stan this happy since before they had been forced to leave New Mexico, not that he had been super happy before though.

“How many do we have left?”

Stanford opened the glove compartment and pulled out the small, plastic bag that held all of the rings. Only three remained now; another testament to their efforts.

“We still have a few,” he said. “We might not even need them though. We should have more than enough for gas and food now, right?”

“Yeah yeah, sure,” Stan rubbed his chin. “Still… no problem with havin' a little extra, just in case.”

Stanford frowned at his brother. “We're not doing this just to have money Stan, we just need it to make it to awruhgon.”

“I know, I know,” Stan sighed as he shook his head. “Probably best to stop for a bit anyway. Don't wanna draw attention to ourselves or anythin'.”

Stanford nodded as he placed the bag back in the glove compartment. Stanford would be lying if he said he didn't feel a little bad about what they had been doing, even if it was his idea. Though he had never done anything to stop his brother swiping things before, he had never encouraged it, let alone participated in it. But he had seen how stressed Stan had been before, and it was clear that he was struggling to help himself at the moment.

He felt that, even if it was just one time, he could help make sure that he and his brother didn't end up stranded and starving. He still made it clear that they should stop once they had enough though.

As he sat back in his seat, Stan reached over and grabbed his shoulder. “Hey, listen… I know you don't exactly enjoy doin' this, and I wouldn't have forced you to do this if you didn't want to in the first place. If you think we should stop, we will. No biggie.”

Stanford nodded. It was his idea, and he had been more than willing to do it, but he was grateful that his brother wasn't pushing him to do more than necessary.

Suddenly, both his and Stan's stomach started rumbling loudly in unison. Right, they hadn't eaten anything besides those bags of chips from their third stop. They looked at each other for a moment before they both started laughing.

“Geez, now our stomachs are in sync. You've been stuck with me for too long.”

Stanford snorted. “You say that like it's a bad thing.”

Stan shrugged as he turned the ignition. “Eh, depends on how you look at it.”

Stanford put on his seatbelt before pulling out the box of jellybeans he had grabbed. He had already finished the bag Stan had gotten for him the other day, and though this box wasn't nearly as big, it was enough to satiate his addiction for now. He opened the box and immediately spotted an oddly shaped green one. He beamed as he grabbed it, admiring it for a moment before popping it into his mouth.

“You know, we've got about a grand on us at the moment,” Stan said as he pulled out onto the street. “We might be able to find somewhere a bit nicer to sleep. At the very least we could find a bed without any bedbugs.”

Stanford shuddered. “ Eugh , bedbugs…”

“Hey, how's about we get somethin' actually decent to eat before I find somewhere to crash?” Stan suggested. “I could go for some tacos. What do you think?”

Stanford paused halfway into putting a few more beans into his mouth. He had only had Mexican food once before, when his parents had taken him and Stanley through New York to visit family. They hadn't eaten in hours at that point, and their mom had finally managed to convince their dad to stop somewhere to eat. He ordered the cheapest items on the menu and even made the twins split a plate, but it had still been really good.

Even if Stanford hadn't wanted tacos, the look on Stan's face when he had asked was more than enough reason to get some.

“Tacos sound great,” he said with a smile.

Stan grinned. “Alright then!”

Stanford stuffed the box of jelly beans into his bag for later before leaning back in his seat. It wasn't much, and he was still anxious about finding his Stanley, but for the first time since this mess had started, Stanford felt oddly content.

Chapter End Notes

18-21-12-5 #32: 5-14-10-15-25 20-8-5 12-9-20-20-12-5 20-8-9-14-7-19

Chapter 20: Do Something Impulsive

Chapter Notes

Imma be honest, y'all. This chapter is mostly just some fluff, but I wouldn't call it “filler” as it does advance the story and eventually help with character growth(which is the best kind of “filler” in my opinion). Besides, after the last few chapters I think we can afford a sweet little break.

Don't get used to it, though… Enjoy!

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Gravity Falls 1982

Ford shuddered as he carefully marched up the icy porch steps. The snow had continued to fall gently throughout the night, leaving small patches everywhere it landed. At this rate, the ground could be covered again by the next day. Nothing they couldn't handle though. Even if the heat were to go out, they had a fireplace and plenty of supplies to help them hunker down.

Ford quickly got inside and shut the door behind him, the hand holding the large plastic bag shaking slightly as he locked the door with the other. It wasn't until his head took a moment to settle in the warmth of the house that he thought, Is this a good idea? But he quickly shook his head.

No, of course it was. It was already snowing, and Stanley would need something to keep himself warm, even if he didn't want… No, he was overthinking this. It was just a simple purchase. He had simply done it this early so he wouldn't have to worry about running into any townsfolk and being held up by their simple small talk.

Ford didn't even bother taking off his jacket and gloves as he made his way through the house. Fiddleford had been in the kitchen making more coffee when he had left, but he wasn't there now. His mug was left abandoned on the table.

Out of the ordinary, but no cause for alarm. Still, it was strange that neither of them were up and around yet. Stanley had always been up and roaming about around this time for the last few days.

Then again, he was recovering from a sprained ankle. Perhaps he was still too hurt. Or perhaps he doesn't want to see you.

Ford shook off his anxieties and began making his way towards his study. If his brother was still too hurt to move around a lot, then surely he would still be down there.

Coming to the staircase, Ford had taken only a few steps when he heard voices coming from the slightly opened door below- Fiddleford and Stanley. Ford swallowed as he carefully made his way downstairs. As he did, Stanley's voice became more clear.

“I dunno… maybe I should just stay down here until this whole thing is fixed.”

“C'mon now,” Fiddleford said tenderly. “Stayin' cooped up in here won't do ya any good. You're smart enough to know that.”

“I ain't smart at all.”

“I highly doubt that.”

Stanley snorted. “Oh yeah? Name one smart thing I've done since showin' up here.”

Ford heard his assistant huff at that. “Well… I'd say ya were smart enough to find us in the first place.”

“That doesn't count, I had help.”

“And ya were smart enough to ask for it when ya needed. Most people have a hard time doin' that, ya know.”

Ford crept up to the door and leaned over to peer inside. He could just make out Fiddleford's legs, and his brother's somber face.

“And, ya were smart enough to trust us when we said not to just run off whenever you felt like it.”

Stanley shook his head.“I did last night…”

“Because ya were scared and confused and didn't know what to do. That's not dumb, Stanley, it's… just bein' human,” Ford could just barely see Fiddleford's hand reach over to grab the boy's shoulder. “And we ain't mad either. We're just glad ya didn't get seriously hurt.”

Ford's grip on the bag tightened as he listened in. Hearing his little brother talk about himself in such a way was daunting. Stanley wasn't dumb, he was just a bit impulsive. He was still at an age where he didn't know how to stop and think when things became too much or too complicated. That didn't make him stupid.

He took a deep breath and slowly pushed the door open, the creaking of the wood causing both parties inside the room to turn. Fiddleford was sitting on the edge of the bed, leaning against his knees. Stanley was sitting on the opposite end with his back against the armrest, a small plate of toast laying on the mattress by his feet, untouched. Ford cleared his throat.

“Good morning,” he said faintly.

“Mornin' Ford,” Fiddleford said brightly. “Ya bring my ride back in one piece?”

“Huh? Oh, yes!”

Ford used his free hand to quickly fish his friends keys out of his pocket. Fiddleford stood up from his seat and walked over to take them. He turned back to Stanley and pointed at the plate of toast in front of him.

“Make sure ya finish that,” Fiddleford told him before moving past Ford to head back upstairs.

Ford turned to look at his brother, who had his arms folded across his legs in front of him, and was staring down at the plate as if he were expecting it to move or something. Ford opened his mouth, but quickly closed it. He didn't know why he was feeling nervous about this, he shouldn't be. Perhaps it was the fact that he had acted without even talking to Stanley about it first, but he reasoned that it was like a little surprise. Ford remembered how his brother used to love surprises. I wonder if he still does these days…

“How's your ankle?”

Stanley lifted said ankle above the mattress slightly and rolled it. “It's fine. Feels a little funny, but Fidds said I should be good.”

“Ah… good.”

Another awkward pause. How was Ford constantly getting himself into these situations?

“Haven't seen that coat before,” Stanley muttered, gesturing up at him. “What's with that?”

Ford paused, looking down at himself. He had traded his usual tan trench coat for a thicker black shearling coat. He hadn't worn it in some time, mostly due to him staying inside his house to work on the portal, but it still fit well and was comfortable enough for the weather.

“I had to go into town to grab something,” he said simply. “Trench coats are all well and good, but don't do much for the cold.”

“What did you get?”

Swallowing whatever issues were trying to rise up, Ford marched over to stand beside his brother and held out the plastic bag. “Here.”

Stanley raised an eyebrow as he slowly took the bag. “What's this?”

Ford placed his hands behind his back. “Well, I figured it would be best to get you something a little warmer, especially if you ever want to go outside more.”

Stanley blinked up at him for a moment before laying the bag next to him and reaching into it. The first thing he pulled out was a pair of black wool gloves similar to the ones Ford was wearing. He placed them on the mattress before reaching back into the bag and pulling out a puffy, red down jacket. Ford had simply guessed on the size, but decided having something that might be too big was better than too small. Stanley held the jacket up, apparently stunned.

“This is for me?”

“Yes,” Ford rang his hands behind him tightly as he turned and moved toward his desk. “It's much colder today, there's even some snow on the ground. Can't have you getting sick on us.”

Once at his desk, he reached towards the slot that held his journals and grabbed journal 3. He quickly flipped to the back end and saw that the original picture that Stanley had drawn was still folded and tucked away in the back crease where he had left it. He smiled slightly before closing the journal and tucking it into one of his inner coat pockets.

“So… if you were feeling up to it, I was thinking you could help me find those porcupinecones.”

Stanley didn't respond. Ford turned and saw that he was staring up at him, his mouth hanging open.

“You… you mean it?” Stanley asked.

Ford nodded. “Of course. I asked you to help me find them yesterday, didn't I? It would be a shame not to add a new anomaly to my research.”

Three seconds of frozen silence followed this statement. Once the moment had passed, Stanley blinked and his expression instantly turned into one of glee, his eyes wide as he beamed up at Ford.

“Yeah! Let's do it!”

Stanley flipped his legs over the edge of the bed and tried to get up so fast that he nearly tripped over himself. Ford raised his hands in worry, but settled when his brother regained his balance.

“We can go in a little bit,” he assured him. “But you should finish your breakfast first. I don't think Fiddleford would appreciate it if I dragged you off without eating.”

Stanley rolled his eyes, but nodded and sat back down on the bed. He reached for the plate, picked up a piece of toast and began shoving it into his mouth.

“You should eat too,” he said, his voice muffled. “Fidds hates it when you don't eat, you know.”

“Duly noted,” Ford placed his hands in his pockets as he made his way to the door. “I'll be waiting upstairs.”

Stanley made a strangled noise of acknowledgment as Ford left the room, feeling oddly lighter than before, and a bit excited. He was always thrilled whenever he found something new to study. The fact that he had missed something so small after all these years still irked him a bit, but his anticipation far outweighed those feelings. He was also very curious to see how Stanley intended to find them or draw them out. How far would they have to go? How long would they have to wait? Well, with the portal fully completed and awaiting testing, there was nothing stopping him from waiting all day if he had to.

Fiddleford was in the kitchen when he entered, sipping his coffee as he looked through what appeared to be one of his cookbooks. Ford immediately grabbed his own mug to make a cup for himself.

“So? You two headin' out?” Fiddleford asked him without looking up from his book.

“Yes, in just a few minutes,” Ford explained as he stirred in his sugar. “Maybe even less. He seemed very excited.”

“I'd imagine so. After all that's happened, he's probably happy to actually do somethin' with you.”

Ford paused, staring into his own mug. “Yes… I suppose so.”

“I'm not sayin' that to put ya off, silly,” Ford looked up to see Fiddleford was grinning at him. “It's a good thing. Besides, doin' somethin' a little more fun after all the work you've done oughta be good for ya.”

Ford smiled and nodded before finally taking a large gulp of his coffee. Normally he would prefer to at least have two or three cups before doing anything with his day, but he had a feeling that he wouldn't have the time for it today. Sure enough, after only two more sips, he heard the sound of running feet before Stanley suddenly slid his way into the kitchen, already wearing his jacket and gloves. He seemed to be walking well enough as he immediately made his way to the pantry and grabbed a few snack bags of pretzels.

“We'll definitely need a few of these.”

“Hold on son, you've still got the tag on.”

Fiddleford got up to help Stanley as Ford gulped down the rest of his coffee. Oh well. If nothing else, he could grab some more when they got back.

He had just managed to put his mug in the sink when Stanley suddenly ran up and grabbed his arm, already pulling him out of the kitchen.

“C'mon, c'mon!”

“Alright, alright. I'm coming!”

Ford allowed himself to be dragged until Stanley threw open the front door like a showman pulling back the curtains. He practically strutted down the porch steps as Ford marched behind him, hands in his pockets. His brother's enthusiasm was certainly a pleasant surprise.

Ford certainly had fun with researching anomalies, but tended to view it as just that- research. Fiddleford was more than happy to help him on the portal, but seemed to view the anomalies themselves as pests to worry or fret over, especially the more dangerous ones. The idea of sharing that enjoyment with someone else felt more alien to Ford than Crash Site Omega. Then again, this is the same boy who helped him find the Jersey Devil and dreamed of finding lost treasure out at sea.

The house was barely out of sight when Stanley finally stopped walking, and Ford stopped just a foot behind him. His brother pulled a bag of pretzels out of his pocket, opened them and started shaking them, as if he were urging a street cat out for dinner. Ford felt the urge to question his tactics, even offer a few suggestions, but ultimately decided to be patient. It wasn't that odd of a method, after all. He literally used trails of marshmallows and canned beans to lure out scampfires before.

A few minutes went by and Stanley continued to shake the bag, looking all over the ground around him. Ford opened his mouth to ask if he could help, and that's when he heard it- faint, tiny squeaks. Stanley gasped slightly and started shaking the bag a little faster.

A moment later, Ford saw something very small poke out from the other side of the tree. Then another, and then another.

Ford felt his jaw drop as he watched the pinecone with solid green quills suddenly move around the tree and start crawling towards Stanley, the other two following close behind. Stanley waited until they were only a foot away before getting down on one knee.

“Hey guys, you hungry?”

The porcupinecones all seemed to chirp in response, the one with green and gold quills going so far as to sit back on its hindlegs. Ford blinked as he slowly sat down on a fallen tree trunk, not wanting to spook the little creatures. Stanley chuckled as he reached into the bag and dropped a small handful of pretzels onto the ground in front of them. The creatures didn't even hesitate jump at the pile, bumping into each other to get a piece of the snack.

Ford found himself staring for a solid 10 seconds before frantically reaching into his inner pocket, pulling out his journal and flipping to a blank page. He usually added whatever notes and descriptions were necessary later in his study, but always did his sketching in person with whatever anomaly he had discovered. It was much easier to record the appearance in detail that way, rather than doing it by memory later on. He pulled a pen from his outer pocket and started to draw, looking up to see Stanley had reached over and was scratching the head of the solid green one.

“Fascinating…” he muttered. “Do you suppose those quills are actually a part of them, or do they put them on artificially for camouflage?”

Stanley shrugged. “I dunno. Maybe, but I don't wanna pull them and hurt them if they are.”

“Oh, definitely not.”

Ford spent a few minutes doing a rough sketch of one of the porcupinecones on one page when he paused to watch them a little more. The creatures had been slightly apprehensive when they had first appeared around the tree, but had become instantly social as soon as they had seen Stanley and the food. How long had it taken him to gain their trust?

Was food the only reason? Would they have been just as friendly if he had nothing on him? Were they purly prey, or were they predators to any smaller animals? Were pretzels a healthy option for them, and what did they eat otherwise?

So many questions that Ford was certain Stanely didn't know the answer to, but he was more than happy to discover them on his own.

“C'mon Ivy, not my laces!”

Ford paused his scribbling again to look up at his brother, who was lightly nudging the green porcupinecone away from his shoe, the end of his shoelace still tucked in its mouth.

“You named them?”

“Duh! Why wouldn't I?”

Stanley crouched down and reached a hand out towards the porcupinecone with green quills. It dropped the lace to sniff his hand for a moment before it started crawling onto his palm. Stanley smiled as he carefully picked it up and turned to face Ford so that he could see.

“This is Ivy,” Stanley explained, petting said creature's head. “She's the first one I found. I don't know if she's the leader or what, but the other two like followin' her around.”

Ford could only nod as he continued his drawing. “And I half expected you to name them after tree puns or something.”

“I tried, but I couldn't think of any good pinecone puns.”

Stanley carefully placed Ivy on his shoulder before bending over to pick up the porcupinecone with green and gold quills, which had been running in circles around his feet. The creature seemed a bit over excited and continued to spin in circles in the boy's hands.

“This little maniac is Copper,” Stanley giggled, maneuvering his hands so that the apparent 'Copper' didn't fall. “He was pretty shy at first, but he was a lot cooler after stuffin' his face.”

Ford paused, eyebrow raised. “Now, 'Ivy' I can understand, but why 'Copper'?”

“'Cause of his quills.”

“I don't follow…”

“Remember all those cheapo gold rings Pa has in the shop?” Stanley asked, and Ford nodded. “You know how sometimes people come back and whine about them makin' their fingers turn green?”

“Yes?”

“Well, you told me once that they do that because they're made of copper, and it just sorta stuck.”

Copper had stopped running in circles and suddenly started rubbing face into Stanley's chest, causing him to snort and scratch his head. Ivy sat calmly on his shoulder, nestled comfortably as she watched her fellow comrade with interest.

Ford suddenly heard a soft thunk , and he looked down to see the brown porcupinecone was headbutting Stanley's foot over and over. Stanley giggled as he placed Copper on his other shoulder and quickly picked up the last one.

“Couldn't think of anything cool for this guy, but he's crazy and funny, so I just call him Goober!”

Ford chuckled, amused and amazed at the sight before him. Seeing a younger version of his twin covered in excitable, odd creatures certainly wasn't on his bingo card, but part of him felt immensely happy to have witnessed it. I wonder if Stan would adore these creatures the way this version of him does.

“Think you can stand still for a moment?”

Stanley opened his mouth but suddenly laughed as Copper began trying to climb from his shoulder onto his head. “Sure, but I don't think they can.”

“That's quite alright.”

Having done this for several years, Ford was more than prepared to draw a quick rough sketch of his brother and the little pinecones- Ivy on his shoulder, Goober in his arms, and Copper nestling on the top of his head as if it were a nest. Good thing he was quick about it, because as soon as he had it done, Copper slipped and Stanley managed to catch him in his free arm. He opted to put them all back on the ground after that.

“So, how long did it take you to find them?” Ford asked as he continued his new drawing.

“Eh, about an hour?” Stanley shrugged. “Wasn't lookin' for anything specific, just tryin' to see… well, anything.”

“And why's that?”

“Well…”

Stanley trailed off, and Ford looked up to see him twiddling his thumbs as he stared at the ground. Ford placed his pen in the center of the journal and straightened up.

“What is it?”

Stanley bit his lip and looked up at him. “I… I saw one of your journals the other day. It was kind of an accident, but I saw it and got curious. There was a lot of really cool stuff in there, and… I dunno. I guess I wanted to see it myself.”

Ford didn't bother questioning why his brother wouldn't ask him about it. His initial reaction to discovering that Stanley had gone through his journals last night was reason enough.

“I see…” Ford pondered for a moment. “Well, it's a good thing you did, or I never would've discovered these creatures to begin with.”

Stanley's ears went pink as he beamed with pride, and Ford smiled.

Suddenly, something bumped hard against his foot, and he looked down to the little brown pinecone- Goober- headbutting his foot the same way he had done with Stanley just moments ago. His twin chuckled as he walked over to Ford, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a pretzel. He held it out to Ford, who placed his journal beside him on the trunk and held his hand out hesitantly. Stanley placed it in the center of his palm before carefully picking up Goober and holding him closer to Ford. The little pinecone stared up at him for a moment before leaning forward to sniff the pretzel, then slowly started to step out of Stanley's hands.

Ford could feel himself tense up slightly as the creature slowly made his way closer to him, and he quickly held up his other hand to make sure he had enough room to stand. Soon enough, he found himself holding Goober as he munched on the pretzel in his hand. Stanley looked pleased with himself as he sat on the ground, and the other two pinecones immediately crawled into his lap.

Once Goober had finished his pretzel, he immediately turned and began headbutting Ford in the stomach. It felt as if someone had thrown a small, foam ball at his stomach with minimal force. Ford was certain one would become annoyed if it went on long enough, but he was just so fascinated by the creature's behavior that he couldn't be bothered. Ivy seemed to be calmer than her friends, content with lounging in Stanley's lap. Copper appeared to be hyperactive, moving from one spot to another and constantly begging Stanley for pets.

Goober seemed to be, not really aggressive, but a creature that loved to roughhouse. Ford raised a hand towards him and gently rubbed the top of his head. Goober immediately froze but didn't pull away, and as Ford continued to pet him, he slowly but surely closed his beady eyes and rolled onto his side.

“I think he likes you,” Stanley pipped up.

Ford smiled silently as he pet Goober a little before stopping to pick up his journal and continue his drawing. The little guy seemed to have finally exhausted himself, and remained still in Ford's lap.

Just as he was finally finishing, a small breeze blew by, causing some of the pages to flip over the one he was on. Ford went to stop them, and his hand landed on a particular page. He sat there, staring at the image he had landed on, and got a fantastic idea.

If Stanley loved these porcupinecones, then he was sure to love these as well.

“You know, I could show you some other creatures I've discovered, if you'd like.”

Stanley's head snapped up. “Really?”

“Oh yes. It's a bit of a walk, and I'd have to grab a few things at the house, but I'd be more than happy to, if you're up for it.”

“Heck yeah!” Stanley carefully moved Ivy and Copper off of his lap before springing to his feet. “Can we go now?”

Ford grinned.

Idaho 1982

Even though Stan had a general idea of where he was going, he wasn't exactly sure where Gravity Falls was. He had stared at the map multiple times during this trip, and couldn't see any 'Gravity Falls' labeled anywhere in awruhgon. It must have been so small and out of the way that people just figured it didn't need to be labeled. It was frustrating, but Stan didn't feel too surprised. Of course his twin would want to live far away and isolated from the masses. He never did well with crowds.

If Stan's map was to be trusted, then they were only an hour away from awruhgon. Normally, he would do his best to get as close as possible to his destination before finding a place to sleep. But, since he had a little extra cash in his pocket, he figured he could afford to let Stanford sleep in a bed this time. His little brother hadn't complained about sleeping in the car even once, but Stan had seen the way he constantly shifted in the passenger seat to try to get comfortable, and how he stretched his legs and rubbed the back of his neck. So, after stuffing their faces at the Mexican restaurant in the previous town, he decided to stop at a nice looking hotel just a few miles away from the awruhgon border.

The parking lot was half full, but Stan was certain there had to be at least one free room. As he parked by the entrance, he looked over to see Stanford leaning against the passenger door, his eyes barely open.

“Fallin' asleep on me, buddy?”

“Mmno…” Stanford mumbled even as he rubbed his eyes.

“Uh-huh, sure. C'mon.”

Stanford nodded slowly, but made no effort to move yet. Stan shook his head as he stepped out of the car and made his way over to the passenger side. He waited for a few seconds, and when Stanford didn't do anything he opened the door himself.

Stanford stretched his neck as he unbuckled his seatbelt, and as soon as it was released, he immediately started to slump forward. Stan was quick and managed to catch him before he fell out of the car, and he sighed as he carefully lifted his little brother into his arms. He kicked the passenger door shut, shivering as he began making his way to the hotel entrance. Stanford's head shifted on his shoulder, his arms wrapping around his neck.

Stan blinked as the bright lights of the lobby stung his eyes. He adjusted his hold on his brother as he made his way to the front desk, looking around and finding no one else around except the receptionist. She looked up as he approached, and seemed to stare at Stanford for a moment before grinning at Stan.

“Good evening,” she said quietly. “Checking in?”

“Yeah, just for the night. I need your cheapest room.”

“Of course. What's the name?”

“...Jim Pinery.”

She nodded. “Okay… Our cheapest room for one night is gonna be $50.”

Stan huffed as he dug in his pocket and pulled out the cash, resisting the urge to pull back as he handed it to the receptionist. As she counted each bill, Stanford groaned slightly as he shifted in Stan's grasp. He rolled his eyes and patted his little brother's back. The receptionist gave him a soft smile as she handed him the key.

“Here you are. Room 103, down the hall and just passed the stairs.”

“Thanks.”

Stan held his brother a little tighter as he made his way down the hall. Once he reached the door, he unlocked and quickly made his way in.

The room was nice. Much nicer than the motel in New Mexico, at least. It was a bit bigger, with a desk and tiny coffee table set up by the large window, and an even larger bed with beige sheets and soft pillows. Not bad, Stan thought. But even if the room had been as dingy as the motel, they were only staying for the night anyway.

“Alright, up and at 'em.”

Stan held Stanford under his arms and carefully dropped him onto the mattress. He remained upright, but remained slouched and yawned loudly. Stan stretched as he began taking off his boots.

“Haven't showered in a few days. Not sure how long we'll be drivin' tomorrow, so you should go ahead and get it over with.”

Stanford rubbed his face. “Can I do it tomorrow…?”

“Hey, I get it, showers are annoying, but we're both startin' to reek,” he explained. “Besides, we gotta leave early so we can get to awruhgon without problems.”

Stanford groaned, falling back onto the mattress. Stan folded his arms, raising an eyebrow at his brother.

“If you don't do it now, I'm gonna take all the hot water on purpose.”

Stanford's head snapped up as he stared back in shock, and Stan gave him a pointed look that said 'try me, I dare you'. After a second he leapt from the bed, all tiredness apparently gone as he threw off his aviator and kicked off his shoes and socks. Stan snorted, shaking his head as his brother ran into the bathroom.

He took off his jacket as he sat on the edge of the bed, pulling off his own boots and socks. He looked in his left boot to make sure the pocket knife was still tucked safely before setting the pair to the side. As he waited for Stanford to finish, he pulled out his roadmap for what felt like the millionth time.

The road they were taking would take them straight through the center of awruhgon, and there was bound to be a road sign or some indication of where this 'Gravity Falls' would be. If not, he could probably stop and ask the locals. Lots of people vacationed in awruhgon, perhaps someone passed by or had family there. He could always try to call Ford again, but he had barely managed to call the first time.

What would he say if Ford actually picked up next time? Hey, haven't spoken to each other in a decade. Where the hell is your house?

Stan shook his head. He knew there was no point in trying to avoid it anymore. One way or another, he would be face to face with his brother soon, possibly by this time tomorrow. He would have to figure out what to say and do eventually. He decided that he would try to find the town on his own, and if he had no luck, then he would try calling again.

He still had some quarters on him, so the only thing keeping him from trying was his own cowardice. Man the fuck up, Stan, this isn't about you.

After only 10 minutes, Stanford finally walked out of the bathroom, drying his hair with a towel, still in his jeans and shirt. Stan didn't have anything else that would fit his little brother, and there were noticeable dirt smudges that stood out against the white fabric. Stan was used to living in dirty clothes and having to occasionally wash them in sinks whenever he could, but he'd be lying if he said it wasn't uncomfortable.

He couldn't remember the last time he had managed to get his hands on some fresh clothes. Not since he went to prison in Columbia, maybe. Perhaps he could stop somewhere and get him a new shirt and socks. Stanford deserved to at least have some clean socks.

“I wouldn't bother with the soap if I were you,” Stanford grumbled as he lifted the towel from his head. “It smells like stale baby wipes.”

Stan threw his head back and laughed. “Seriously? What the hell does that even smell like?”

“ That , apparently.”

“Eh, better than B.O, at least,” Stan set the map on the side table as he stood up. “Now remember-”

“If someone comes by, don't answer the door. Just come get you.”

“Atta boy. I'll be out in a minute.”

Stan walked into the bathroom and his eyes almost immediately landed on a tiny white bottle propped on the shower neesh. That must have been the soap Stanford was talking about. Stan picked up the tiny bottle, popped the cap, and sniffed cautiously.

His brother hadn't been lying; it did smell like baby wipes, but like a pack that had been pushed to the back corner of a shelf and collected dust over many years. Weird…

Stan didn't waste too much time in the shower. It was already a bit late, and he wanted to be able to leave as early as possible in the morning. Once finished, he threw on his sweatpants and stained shirt before leaving the bathroom.

The room was dark save for the lamp beside the bed. Stanford was laying back on the pillows, scribbling away in his notebook. Stan paid no mind to it as he dried his head.

Man, his mullet was getting long. Sometimes he wished he could just hack it off, but he had tried cutting his hair with his knife once before, and it had looked even worse than it did now. Maybe Ford had some scissors he could borrow once they reached his home.

“Do you think we'll make it there by tomorrow?” Stanford asked.

Stan shrugged as he tossed the towel on the floor. “Probably. Might take us a while to actually find the damn place, but there's gotta be at least one person who can give us directions. We can ask someone next time we gotta stop for gas.”

He scratched a particularly bad itch on his back as he got settled on the other side of the bed. Stanford seemed to take the hint and quickly closed his notebook before stuffing it back into his bag. Stan waited until his brother had slipped under the covers before reaching over and turning off the lamp.

He could feel himself sinking into the mattress as he laid back. He knew he couldn't afford to get used to it, but it was hard not to when it was this soft and plush.

He hadn't even closed his eyes when Stanford suddenly spoke up.

“Stan?”

He sighed. “Yeah?”

“When this is all over, and my brother and I go home…” Stanford paused for a moment, then asked, “What're you gonna do?”

Now, wasn't that a million dollar question? Truthfully, Stan had no idea what he was going to do once this mess was over and done with. He hadn't planned on leaving New Mexico so soon, hadn't planned on suddenly seeing his twin after a whole decade, but here he was doing it. How do you move on from something like that?

“Well… I guess the first thing I'm gonna do is call Ma and Shermie,” he answered. “Haven't talked to them in a while. Don't want them thinkin' I'm de- passed out in a ditch or somethin'.”

“And… after that?”

Stan understood perfectly well what Stanford was asking. He wanted to make sure his brother was going to be alright when all of this was over. The sentiment made his chest hurt.

Stan was certain that he would do okay. He had been surviving just fine for the last 10 years after all. Sure, it wasn't easy, and it was often dangerous, but he was tough enough to deal with it. What else could he do, right?

Stan shrugged as he placed his hands behind his head. “I dunno… Can't go back to New Mexico. awruhgon's probably nice. Might just crash there for a bit before movin' on.”

Stan didn't need to see his brother's face to know that he hadn't given a good enough answer, but what else could he say? Ford hadn't tried to make contact with him even once over the last decade, and he certainly wouldn't want anything to do with him if it weren't for this very weird situation. Stan was certain that his twin would simply give him the cold shoulder until they could send the boys home, and then promptly send him on his way once it was done. Well, at least they would be able to avoid arguing in front of their younger counterparts.

It wasn't that Stan didn't want to reconcile with Ford. He tried to deny it for the first few years after he was kicked out, when the pain and betrayal was still fresh, but even after everything that had happened, he still missed his brother. Their relationship just felt so broken now that he couldn't see how they could fix anything. Sometimes he felt like giving him a good punch to the face, sometimes he felt like hugging him like he used to when they were kids.

Stan glanced over at Stanford, and even though the room was dark, he could still make out his anxious expression.

“Hey, don't worry about me, alright?” he urged, grinning slightly. “I've been in bad spots before, and I always find a way out of it. This mess ain't nothin'. Trust me.”

Stanford still looked concerned, but nodded silently. Stan turned to stare at the ceiling as he slowly closed his eyes. Just as he started to relax, the mattress shifted, and he felt a tiny arm lay across his chest and cling to his shirt.

Stan opened his eyes and looked down to see Stanford curled up against his side. Stan felt frozen as his brother held him close, eyes closed and apparently unbothered. Stan frowned slightly before slowly lowering his arm and wrapping it around his brother, who smiled, but otherwise remained still.

Don't get used to it, Stan, he told himself as he closed his eyes. Once you find his Stanley, he won't need you anymore.

Chapter End Notes

5-22-5-18-25-15-14-5 4-5-19-5-18-22-5-19 20 to 15 6-5-5-12 12-9-11-5 1 4-9-19-14-5-25 16-18-9-14-3-5-19-19

Chapter 21: Mischievous Collectors

Chapter Notes

Journal 3 doesn't explain the 'secret path' into the tunnel behind Trembly Falls in detail, and we only ever see the cave itself once for a few moments in the show, so I took some creative liberties. A lot easier than trying to go through the actual waterfall, anyway.

Also, I'm going on a small vacation to go see my brother get married! So... it'll be quite a bit before the next chapter comes out. I already have notes for it, but it'll be a few weeks. I don't do schedules with my stories (I don't have the time or headspace for them anyway), but I still felt like I should give y'all a heads up this time.

Y'all have been an absolute treat! Enjoy!

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Gravity Falls 1982

Ford hadn't been kidding when he said it was a bit of a walk. At first Stanley had assumed that it would just be a little further into the woods, but as they walked more and more, he realized that whatever Ford wanted to show him must have been well hidden. But if Ford was excited about it, then it must have been worth it, right? Stanley's ankle wasn't hurting anymore, but it still tingled if he didn't step down properly.

He didn't voice his discomfort though. This was the first time since he ended up in the future that Ford was not only speaking to him without any minor annoyance, but actively trying to hang out with him, to show him something cool. He didn't want to ruin his enthusiasm.

Stanley had tried asking about what Ford was trying to show him, constantly looking over his shoulder in case what they were looking for was sneaking behind them or something, but Ford wouldn't budge. He simply stated that they would “see them soon”, and Stanley begrudgingly left it at that for the rest of the walk.

“Here we are.”

Stanley followed his brother's gaze to stare up at the tall mountain. The massive waterfall was plunging down the top, cascading into the lake below the rocky level they stood on. Stanley had never seen a waterfall up close before, and it was admittedly very cool, but he couldn't figure out why his brother would take him here if he just wanted to show him some more weird creatures.

“Not for nothin', but, you didn't bring me here just for the waterfall, did you?”

“Not at all,” Ford leaned in close and pointed at the waterfall. “You can't see it from here, but just on the other side of this waterfall is a large, secret cave. I've conducted several studies there and it's a great shortcut for hikes, and it's home for quite a few oddities as well. That's where we're going.”

“How're we supposed to get through?” Stanley asked. “Is there some kinda secret door that blocks the waterfall or something?”

“This town is full of all sorts of amazing secrets, Stanley,” Ford told him, his voice professional yet mysterious. “Though, admittedly, some are more mundane than others.”

Before Stanley could ask what he meant, Ford started pushing a large rock that sat against the stonewall of the mountain. Stanley blinked as a large entrance was revealed, just tall enough to walk through. Ford huffed, brushing his hands off before reaching into his bag and pulling out a flashlight.

“You ready?”

Stanley grinned, reaching into his backpack and pulling out the spare light Ford had given him. “I'm always ready.”

Ford smiled before turning and entering the tunnel. Stanley quickly flipped on his flashlight before following after his brother. The tunnel was significantly colder, but not unbearable. He could hear the thunderous sounds of the waterfall from outside even as they walked further in. Stanley could see dampness on the stone walls, and couldn't resist raising a hand to press his fingers against the cold rock as they walked.

“You're lucky you weren't here the last time Fiddleford and I made our way through these tunnels,” Ford commented, his light pointed at the ground. “I foolishly brought a lantern, and of course it went out on us. Despite my anxious packing, I somehow managed to forget matches.”

“How did you make it out?”

“You'll see in a moment.”

Ford straightened up as he entered the other side of the tunnel, and Stanley ran up to stand next to him, expecting to see some odd creatures. Instead, he saw that they were now standing inside the massive cave, a pool of water sitting in the center that connected to the waterfall, which fell like a curtain hiding everything inside. Stanley blinked as he stared around the large, open area. This would be an epic secret hangout spot.

“This way.”

Stanley moved quickly to keep up with his brother as he led him further into the cave. He felt his foot catch on something, and instantly froze and pointed his flashlight down. It was a large, pale blue feather that looked to be about the length of his arm.

Stanley stared at it for a moment before turning his flashlight around, and saw that a good chunk of the cave floor was covered in a mix of tiny white feathers, and a few larger ones. He wasn't an expert on wild animals, but even he knew that these feathers were too odd to belong to anything normal.

“Come on, Stanley.” Stanley hesitated for a moment longer before turning and running up to join his brother, who was still walking as if nothing was out of the ordinary.

“So, uh… how big are these things anyway?” Stanley asked hesitantly. “Oh, not very big at all. In fact, they're only a little bigger than your porcupinecones. Very cute, too.”

Then where did those feathers come from? Stanley shook his head. Ford knew this place better than he did. If he wasn't worried, then Stanley shouldn't be either.

Ford stopped walking, and Stanley stopped to follow his gaze. They had reached a tall wall at the back of the cave, and propped against it was a very tall ladder that led to the top. Stanley could just barely make out an opening near the ceiling. He swallowed hard.

“That's… pretty high.”

“Yes, it's-” Ford stopped and looked down at him, realization plain on his face. “Oh… oh yes. I'm sorry, I hadn't thought…”

He glanced at the ground, seeming embarrassed, and Stanley gripped his flashlight tightly. The idea that Ford hadn't been near his Stanley in so long that he had forgotten his fear of heights was painful, but Stanley didn't dwell on it. They were here to have fun, right? He didn't want his stupid fear getting in the way of that. Still… it was a very high climb.

“Do you think you can make it up?”

Stanley gulped and stammered, “Y-you kiddin'? I can handle anything! Just… give me a second.”

He took a step back and turned around, bending over to prop his hands on his knees. You can do this. It ain't a big deal. Ford wants to show you something cool, don't ruin this!

You got this! He spent about 10 seconds taking deep breaths, trying to hype himself up for what he was about to do. He inhaled through his nose, straightened up, and exhaled.

“O-K.” Stanley huffed as he turned back around. “I think I'm ready.”

Ford grinned. “Wonderful. Why don't you go first?”

“...Why?”

“I can stay down here to make sure the ladder stays in place,” he answered. “And, if for some reason you were to fall, I'd be able to catch you.”

Stanley grimaced. “Great…”

He stared up at the impending incline, wishing he could just fly or crawl the wall himself or something. He took another deep breath, approached the ladder and slowly began to step up. His grip on the sides was so tight he could see his knuckles turning white through the darkness, and his stomach was turning. Ford kept his flashlight pointed up at him, obviously to help him see as he climbed, but all Stanley was conscious of was seeing just how high he was going.

“Don't look down, don't look down…” he muttered to himself, over and over again.

“You're doing good,” Ford called up from below. “Just a little further-”

“Yeah, got it!” Stanley snapped, his voice shaking.

He forced his shaking legs to take step after step, going higher and higher until finally, he reached the ledge. He quickly shoved himself over and rolled onto his back, panting as he settled on solid ground, the cave floor cool against his sweating neck. Just as he was able to catch his breath, Ford suddenly appeared by the ledge, a smile still visible on his face even as he held his flashlight with his teeth.

“Not bad,” he said as he pulled himself up to stand beside Stanley. “I was worried you would stop halfway through, but you made it.”

“Yeah…” Stanley sighed, staring up at the cave ceiling. “Sure did… Great …”

Ford gave him a sympathetic look and held out his hand. Stanley took it and allowed himself to be pulled up to his feet. “We're nearly there now,” Ford told him, his voice slightly lowered. “Just a little further ahead, I promise.”

“Okay…”

Ford started to pull his hand away, but Stanley held onto it tightly. He knew he was being stupid, but his stomach was still twisted and his legs felt like jelly. Ford looked down at him for a moment before giving him a firm nod and continuing forward, allowing Stanley to squeeze his hand.

Ford kept his flashlight to the ground as he led them down the stone hallway, and Stanley used his flashlight to look around as they walked. Aside from a few stone spikes protruding from the floor and ceiling, he saw that there were a few holes in the walls, as if something had been burrowing into the stone. Stanley wondered if they were hiding places for mutant rats or something. He wasn't opposed to seeing rats, but Ford had said that these things were cute, and rats didn't exactly fit that description.

After several minutes of walking, Ford suddenly stopped.

“Here,” he whispered. “Just up ahead. Go on.”

Stanley raised an eyebrow. “By myself?”

“I'll stay within sight, but they might not come out if I'm too close,” Ford looked frustrated. “Fiddleford and I didn't exactly leave a good impression the last time we saw them.”

Stanley frowned up at him. What if these things were dangerous? What if he did something to piss them off? What if Ford wasn't close enough to help him if things went wrong? Ford gave him a confident smile.

“It's perfectly safe, I promise.”

Stanley turned to stare down the dark tunnel, nervous but intrigued. He released his brother's hand, squared his shoulders and started marching forward confidently. His stature faltered as he slowly got further and further away, but every time he turned to look back at Ford, he would grin and give him a thumbs up. That alone was enough to give him the confidence to keep moving forward.

He was a few yards away from his brother when he heard it- an odd sort of clinking sound. Stanley pointed his flashlight around in the direction the sound had come from, he even tried looking into a few of the holes in the wall, but couldn't see anything yet. He stood there silently, wondering what he was supposed to do. He was about to call out to Ford when he remembered what he had told him just a few minutes ago.

“I foolishly brought a lantern, and of course it went out on us…”

Stanley raised an eyebrow at his flashlight before cautiously flipping the off switch. He stood in the dark for a few moments when he heard the soft clinking again, and something bright appeared in one of the holes in front of him.

They looked like tiny, glowing rocks. They reminded Stanley of those… What did Stanford call them? Geodes? Yeah, the rocks that were filled with gems and crystals and junk.

The little creatures were covered with crystals and glowing bright, with glowing eyes and large mouths, all with tiny, crystal teeth. They had spider-like crystal legs that clinked as they walked across the stone ground, and they made chirping sounds that were odd and echoing. Most of the little weirdos had a glowing, blue aura, but Stanley could see a few pink and purple ones scurrying in the mix.

They crawled out behind rocks and out of the holes in the walls, all apparently curious to see who had come into their home.

These things were definitely weirder than the porcupinecones, but Stanley didn't feel bothered by them. Weird or not, they were super cute and cool-looking, though he couldn't help but wonder how much these crystals would sell for. Pa would have a field day with them, but Stanley decided not to dwell on that thought.

The group of geode-things crawled towards him until they were a foot away from where he stood, chirping cutely up at him. A purple one suddenly shoved its way to the front, and seemed to stare up at him, its crystal filled jaw hanging open. Stanley raised an eyebrow as he slowly got down on one knee, and the geodes flinched back slightly. He swallowed and slowly reached a closed fist out to them. He was certain that Ford would tell him if they were bitey, but didn't want to take any chances. He'd have a hard time explaining to Ma why he was missing a few fingers.

The purple one in the front took a few tiny steps forward, blinking up at his fist. Then, before Stanley could move or do anything, it opened its jaw and closed it on his knuckles. He flinched, but realized a second later that it didn't even hurt, like it wasn't even trying to hurt him.

The weird crystal teeth pressed against his knuckles for a few seconds before unlatching. The creature stared at his fist for a moment before leaning forward and nuzzling it. Stanley grinned as he opened his hand and started petting it. It felt like a rock, it didn't even feel warm, but it leaned into his touch anyway.

The moment one geode determined he was safe, the rest of them immediately began advancing on him. A few blue ones tried crawling up his legs, and suddenly a pink one leapt up and collided with his chest, causing him to fall back onto his butt. He laughed as the weird little rocks started crawling up into his lap, nibbling his shirt and headbutting his stomach lightly.

“Heh, just a bunch of cuddly weirdos, aren't you?”

The little geodes didn't respond of course, but they did seem to understand him as they nuzzled against him. Stanley felt himself smiling as he turned around to look back at Ford, who was still standing a few yards away.

“Ford, you gotta come see this!” he called back, his voice echoing.

“Stanley, I told you-”

“C'mon, it'll be fine. Just come slowly.”

He heard Ford sigh, and smiled when he saw him switch off his flashlight. He watched his brother approach slowly, his steps echoing down the stone hallway. It wasn't until he was 10 feet away that one blue geode noticed him, and began making a whistling hiss in his direction. A few more joined in and began backing away, causing Ford to stop.

“C'mon, don't be like that,” Stanley urged, petting all the rocks he could reach. “He's cool, I promise.”

The geodes continued hissing softly, but didn't back away anymore. Ford waited for a moment before slowly getting closer, stopping when he was about a foot away from Stanley.

“What do you call these goofballs?”

“Geodites,” Ford answered firmly. “They were a very unexpected find. They aren't similar to any other creature in this town or outside of it. I believe they're an entirely new organism, which is- Oh, good grief…”

Another purple geodite suddenly ran up to Ford and started gnawing on the end of one of his pant legs. Stanley giggled as Ford gently shoved it away with his foot.

“You must've really pissed them off,” Stanley said as a few more geodites crawled into his lap.

“That's one way to put it,” Ford sighed. “We found them right after our lantern went out. I had suggested we just round a few up to help light our way out, and Fiddleford… well…”

“What?”

“He sort of… banged them together to get a spark. We were able to light the lantern, but we ended up scaring them off.”

Stanley stopped petting and frowned up at Ford, who shook his head.

“Don't think ill of him. He grew up on a farm, and I think he sees these creatures more like pests or livestock because of it.”

“That's messed up, Sixer.”

“Well… yes, I suppose so.”

Stanley shifted as the geodites crawled towards him, away from Ford. He was surprised to hear that Fidds would be so rough with animals(were they even animals?) like these, but Ford's explanation did make sense. Plus, the man had already proven that he wasn't the biggest fan of the weirdos of Gravity Falls. Maybe he just didn't know how to be around them? Or maybe he had run into too many bigger, dangerous ones to relax around the ones that were clearly just there to hang out. Maybe if Ford helped show him some of the smaller, friendlier ones, he'd be less anxious around them.

A purple geodite crawled to the front of his lap, nuzzling his stomach. Stanley smiled and started scratching its side. It suddenly began to twitch and let out an odd, clattering sound that almost seemed like a laugh. Apparently, these things were also ticklish.

Stanley chuckled and continued tickling it. The geodite continued twitching and vibrating before it suddenly stopped and stood up on his legs. A moment later, it opened its jaw and vomited, a wet mess of glowing glitter spilling onto his lap.

“Aw man, gross !” Stanley yelled, flinching back and holding his arms up.

“Interesting…” Ford muttered as he quickly brought out his journal and pen.

Stanley groaned as he carefully picked up the purple geodite and set it to the side. It wobbled a bit before laying down on its side, an odd groan whistling through its teeth. He raised his hands to try to wipe the mess off of his lap when he stopped. Embedded in the glittering mess were several small gems, all glowing a beautiful purple color. Stanley felt far less disgusted as he reached down and picked up one of the crystals.

“Ford, look!”

Ford shut his journal and slowly moved forward as Stanley held out the slimy crystal. He took it and held it up closely to examine it.

“Fascinating! It seems they can expel gems when prompted. I wonder if they can do it willingly or if it's only when they get sick or too excited.”

“Who cares?” Stanley grinned as he picked up the rest of the messy crystals. “We're rich! Forget swiping ice cream, I can buy the whole damn truck with these!”

“Let's not do anything too rash,” Ford warned as he placed his own crystal in his pocket. “They might look pretty, but they could easily be made of some sort of cheap material, or material that no normal jeweler would recognize.”

“Even better! Just tell them they're amethites and they'll probably buy it.”

“You mean 'amethyst'.”

“Yeah, that. Whatever.”

Ford sighed and shook his head, but otherwise didn't comment as Stanley cleaned the crystals with his shirt and stuffed them into his backpack.

They spent quite a while in the cave, with Ford adding notes to his journal a few feet away as Stanley sat with the geodites. Some chose to remain in his lap, some wrestled with each other on the ground, and a few simply roamed around. Stanley could've sat in the cave with these little guys for ages, but the mess on his pants was starting to become uncomfortable, and even with the jacket he was starting to feel cold. So, he waited until Ford was finished with his notes before gently moving the geodites off of him, and getting to his feet.

“Are you sure you're ready?” Ford asked as he placed his journal in his bag. “If we leave now, we should be back before sundown.”

Stanley nodded as he straightened his backpack. “Yeah. I'm kinda hungry anyway.”

Ford pulled out his flashlight as he began leading him back out of the hall. “Well, I'm sure we still have plenty of leftovers. We didn't get a chance to eat any last night.”

Stanley kept his hands in his pockets as he followed next to his brother. Even thinking about the previous night left an odd, sinking feeling in his stomach. He was still having trouble trying to wrap his head around what his future self had done.

He had broken Ford's project, that much was obvious, but it had to have been an accident. Though he had gotten most of his questions answered during their conversation in Steve's grasp, that part still stumped him. He refused to believe that he would intentionally hurt his brother, but Ford didn't seem to believe it was an accident.

But, even with all of that, Ford had still been much nicer since their conversation. Making sure Stanley ate before they left, asking him questions rather than begrudgingly answering his own, he even went out of his way to show him some awesome creatures hiding in a cool secret cave. Stanley wasn't sure how Ford would react when his older self arrived, but the fact that he was willing to be kind and hang out with him gave him hope. Maybe if they just saw each other, if they just talked to each other, things could be better between them.

As they started to approach the end of the hall, Stanley looked up at his brother and smiled.

“Thanks for bringin' me here, Sixer.”

Ford blinked down at him, then grinned. “You're welcome.”

They were a few feet away from the ledge when Stanley heard it. An odd, soft humming was echoing off the walls of the cave. Stanley frowned and stuck a finger in his ear, thinking he was just hearing things, but it didn't go away. In fact, it seemed to become louder, growing from faint humming to clear vocals, as if someone or something was singing. He opened his mouth to ask what that was when Ford suddenly stopped. Stanley looked up at him, and saw a surprised expression on his face.

“Ford…?” Stanley whispered. “What's that noise?”

Ford turned, and a grin was slowly growing on his face. “Don't worry, nothing to be afraid of. They're friends of mine.”

“Who?”

“Come see!”

Ford tightened the straps of his bag before marching forward and quickly making his way down the ladder. Stanley stared as he watched his brother climb down without issue. He grunted as he put his flashlight in his teeth and slowly began making his way down the ladder. It was surprisingly easy going down the ladder as opposed to going up, maybe because he was getting closer to solid ground.

By the time his feet touched the bottom, Ford had already taken off his bag and was digging around inside it.

“I wasn't sure if they'd be asleep by now or not, but I figured we might run into them.”

“Who?” Stanley repeated, slightly annoyed.

Ford merely smiled at him before pulling a small paper bag out of his backpack. Stanley raised an eyebrow as Ford straightened up and held the bag high above his head.

“I know you're there,” he called out, shaking the bag. “I've got your favorites.”

The humming grew steadily louder, and Stanley stared around the cave to see where it was coming from. Suddenly, something large shot above his head with a loud whoosh , causing him to flinch down. There was a sharp crinkling sound, and he looked up to see that Ford was still holding his hand up, the paper bag now gone.

Stanley slowly straightened up, his mouth hanging open as he watched a dark shape soar through the air and land on a higher level of rock. He slowly made his way closer to Ford, who was still smiling as he placed his hands in his pockets. Stanley squinted as he slowly raised his flashlight higher towards the shape, and froze when he saw the tips of long, blue feathers.

“Yes! Chocolate with sprinkles!”

Stanley raised his flashlight a little higher and his eyes widened. At first, all he could see was an abundance of feathers, but once his eyes adjusted, he realized that they were attached to people. Three tall women were crouched on the edge of the level, their bodies covered in white and gray feathers, and large pale blue wings folded on their backs. Their hair was a dark mess of curls and tangles that draped over their shoulders, and their eyes were so bright he could see them through the darkness of the cave.

“You spoil us, Stanford,” one of the women stated as the one with the bag reached in and pulled out a donut.

“I know better than to bring you anything less than the best.”

“Ford…?” Stanley muttered.

“It's alright,” Ford whispered back to him. “They're sirens. I assure you, they're very friendly.”

Stanley frowned. “But… I thought sirens were, like, mermaids or somethin'.”

“No no, that's a common myth. It annoys them greatly, so best not to mention it.”

Stanley could feel a part of his brain shattering as he slowly turned to look back at the sirens. They each had pulled out a donut and were munching on them like they hadn't eaten in ages. As they ate the pastries, Stanley noticed that they were wearing a variety of clothing that looked like it came out of a donation basket. One seemed to have a blanket draped over her shoulders with a scarf tied around her waist, one looked like she was wearing two oversized shirts on top of each other, and one was wearing a stretched out sweater and had a jacket tied around her waist like a skirt.

The pastries were gone within seconds, and the sirens each stood up before leaping off the edge of the rock, their wings opening to help them glide safely down. Stanley stepped closer to Ford and grabbed his arm without hesitation, but his brother simply chuckled. Seeing creatures like the geodites and the porcupinecones was one thing, but seeing mythological people was more than he bargained for. They were very strange, very big, and very pretty .

“Been keeping warm?” Ford asked.

“Very much so,” the siren with green eyes told him, gesturing to her blanket and scarf. “We were able to get some warm stuff before people stopped coming by the lake. We've mostly just been huddled in the cave, as usual.”

“I hope we didn't bother you.”

“Not at all. You know we're always happy to see you.”

“Yeah, you don't visit as much anymore,” the siren with amber eyes and the jacket-skirt groaned. “We've missed you.”

Ford laughed. “You only miss the donuts.”

“I can miss both!”

Stanley was staring in astonishment. These sirens were odd and gorgeous and Ford was talking with them like it was no big deal. The last time his Stanford tried even speaking to a girl she had screamed and ran off. He avoided them like the plague after that.

“Oh my goodness!” Amber eyes suddenly cooed when she spotted Stanley. “Who's this little guy?”

“He's adorable!” added the siren with blue eyes.

Stanley inhaled sharply as all three sirens turned to look down at him. He suddenly became aware that his pants were still covered in glittery vomit, and he quickly grabbed the end of his shirt to pull it down. His shirt was also covered in glitter from when he cleaned off the crystals, but he chose not to think about that.

“Girls, don't hover,” Green eyes stepped forward and leaned over to smile at Stanley. “What's your name, dear?”

Stanley's mouth was bone dry. He swallowed hard and coughed as he tried to answer, but all that came out was breathy spluttering. He bit his tongue hard as he gripped his brother's arm even tighter.

“This is Stanley,” Ford answered mercifully. “I just brought him by to see the geodites.”

Green eyes smiled as she crouched down to be eye level with Stanley. “Wonderful to meet you, Stanley. I'm Amara,” she gestured behind her. “These are my sisters, Sophia and Cora.”

“You babysitting or something, Stanford?” the siren called Cora asked. “You've never brought anyone else here before.”

“Well, ah… funny thing is…”

Stanley was only half listening as he stared back at Amara, who was looking right into his eyes. Her gaze was pervasive, almost hypnotic, and her eyes seemed to glow brighter for a moment. Stanley felt like he was being drawn in more and more before she blinked, and whatever spell he was under lifted. Amara's face twisted in confusion before turning into a look of sympathy.

“You're his brother.”

“Not his version though,” Amber eyes- Cora- stated firmly.

Stanley glanced up to see that she and Sophia had been staring at Ford, probably doing the same thing that Amara had done. Stanley frowned at them.

“How do you know that?” he asked defensively, wincing when he heard his voice crack.

“Sirens can see into the deepest parts of anyone's heart,” Amara told him. “The unicorns love to scam people by saying they can do that too, but it's all a dog and pony show for them.”

“Yeah. Can't exactly “lure humans with their ultimate desires” without knowing who they are or what they want,” added Sophia.

“Oh yeah? Well…” Stanley fumbled for a moment. “What do I want then, huh?”

“Stanley…” Ford muttered warningly.

“You want to find your version of Stanford and go home, and do everything you can to save your relationship with him.”

Silence met Amara's answer. Stanley felt his face growing even hotter as every pair of eyes turned on him. He refused to look at Ford, despite the fact that he could feel him staring into the back of his head. He quickly released his hold on his brother and folded his arms.

“Ain't you supposed to sing about it or somethin'?” he huffed angrily.

Cora giggled. “That's just to grab people's attention and reel them in. We don't have to, but it is fun.”

Stanley swallowed. “So… you're not gonna drown us or eat us or anything?”

The sirens blinked at him for a moment before they all began to laugh. Ford gave him a pitying smile and patted his shoulder, but it was clear he was trying not to laugh as well. Stanley could feel his face turning red as he stared at the ground.

“Kid, if we wanted you dead, we would've done it by now,” Cora stated as she wiped her eyes.

“Yeah, look at us,” Sophia leaned over to grin at him. “We're not that threatening, right?”

“You can be intimidating when you want to be though,” Ford chuckled.

“Don't tease, Stanford,” Amara warned. “Remember how you reacted when you first met us?”

Cora and Sophia giggled, and Ford groaned as he rolled his eyes. Amara smiled at Stanley, and he froze when she leaned forward and whispered behind her hand, which was covered in feathers and had talon-like nails.

“Ford wore earplugs for months after he first met us. He used to think we were biding our time until we could lure him into a trap or something.”

Despite his nerves, Stanley covered his mouth as he laughed. “Seriously?”

“I was only being cautious,” Ford defended, folding his arms. “It's not like everyone gets the chance to actually get to know sirens. I had no idea what to expect.”

All three sirens continued laughing, and Stanley found himself joining in. Knowing that Ford had been just as worried, if not more, when he met these three made him feel a little less stupid about it.

“So yeah, nothing to worry about,” Amara smiled sweetly as she reached up and gently pinched his cheek. “Besides, what's the point of hurting a cute thing like you?”

Stanley felt his whole body tense up as she released his face, which felt surprisingly warm. He smiled sheepishly, rubbing his cheek as he glanced at the ground.

Ford suddenly cleared his throat. “I hate to break this up, but we have to get going if we want to be back before dark.”

Sophia sighed. “If you say so…”

“Try not to stay away too long this time,” Cora told him.

They both turned, expanding their wings and launching themselves into the air to return to their perches on the higher levels. Amara straightened up and smiled at Ford.

“Thanks for the donuts, Stanford,” she looked back down at Stanley. “Nice meeting you, dear.”

“Y-yeah,” he muttered. “You, too.”

Stanley watched as she spread her wings and shot into the air to follow her sisters, and didn't move a muscle until Ford nudged his arm. He swallowed hard before following his brother back towards the tunnel that led out of the cave. Just before he reached the tunnel, he looked down and saw the same blue feather he had stepped on earlier. He hesitated for a moment before snatching it off the ground and stuffing it into his backpack.

Stanford won't believe I met sirens unless I got proof. That's all I need it for. Nothing else!

Stanley refused to look at his brother until he was finally out on the other side. He nearly froze when he saw Ford giving him a sly smirk.

“What?” he snapped.

“Oh, nothing,” Ford said airily, glancing ahead of him.

Stanley glared and punched him in the arm, but Ford just chuckled.

“And ya didn't have any trouble with your ankle?”

“Nah, didn't even feel it,” Stanley assured as he stuffed his face with the leftover spaghetti. “It takes way more than a sprained ankle to take me down anyway.”

Fiddleford rolled his eyes. He hadn't been terribly worried about the boy, though he'd be lying if he said that the idea of Ford taking him off for a journey through the woods didn't make him nervous. It was sort of a coin flip whether the trip would go well or not, and Fiddleford had contemplated advising against it. But Ford had seemed almost excited as Stanley had been, and he didn't want to be the one to rain on their parade. So, he had simply crossed his fingers and said a small prayer after they had left.

“Still had to stop a couple of times though,” Ford gave his brother a teasing look. “He's not as used to hiking as we are.”

“Hey! I could walk for miles on sand or concrete. 'S not my fault the woods are so… wonky.”

“It takes some gettin' used to,” Fiddleford added. “My family's farm was right by a huge forest that my siblings and I loved to play in, so it wasn't much of an adjustment for me.”

“Only took a few months for my feet to adjust,” said Ford. “Couldn't afford not to if I wanted to get any decent research done.”

Stanley played with his food absentmindedly. “Well, hopefully I won't be stuck long enough to get used to it, 'cause it sucks .”

Ford chuckled as Fiddleford stared into his own plate. He had tried working on the time machine for a bit while they were gone, but was still a bit stumped. He had a few ideas on how he could possibly fix the power source and get the dang thing working again, but it was no guarantee. He didn't make this clear though. He wanted to at least try to fix it before losing any hope.

Stanley had just finished his plate when he suddenly yawned, raising a fist to rub his eyes.

“Tired?” Ford asked. “I know we did a lot today.”

“Mmm… yeah, kinda.”

“Go get some sleep,” Fiddleford told him. “We'll finish up in here.”

“Mkay…”

Stanley stood up from his seat, reaching up to stretch his arms. He started to make his way out of the kitchen, but stopped in the doorway. He turned to look back at Ford, who was helping pick up the dishes.

“Yes?” Ford questioned.

“Ah… nothin'. Night.”

Stanley quickly made his way out of the kitchen after that. Ford stared after him for a moment before shaking his head and bringing the plates to the sink.

Should I tell him now? Fiddleford thought to himself. He and Ford were the only ones in the room now, and if his friend were to become upset, surely it wouldn't reach all the way downstairs. He would hate for Stanley to hear them arguing again.

He looked over at Ford, who was drying his hands, a small content smile on his face. Fiddleford didn't have it in him to wipe that look off of his friend's face. He had such a fun day with Stanley, he didn't want to be the reason it ended on a bad note. Darn it… Maybe I can just tell him tomorrow.

Several minutes later, Fiddleford had just finished drying the dishes when he noticed that Ford was still sitting at the table. He had that look- the look he usually got back in college when he was overthinking a good introduction for his thesis. Fiddleford dried off his hands before turning around to face him.

“Penny for your thoughts?”

Ford blinked up at him, looking almost surprised to see him there. He sighed and shrugged.

“I just… I don't know.”

Fiddleford grinned as he walked over and sat down next to his friend. Fold glanced over at him and folded his arms on the table.

“I suppose I'm just wondering whether or not my brother would be just as interested in this place as this Stanley is. I've… never thought about it before.”

Fiddleford shrugged. “Most folks are a bit curious. If he's anythin' like that boy, I'm sure he'd be interested if ya tried showin' him around.”

Ford frowned, then shook his head. “I don't know about that.”

“Well, you'll have plenty of time to figure it out while we try to get the time machine fixed.”

“How's that coming along?”

“Eh, could be better. Ya know the spot where it looked like it had a busted lightbulb? I'm thinkin' of makin' my own and putting it where the previous one was. I imagine it would need to be pretty powerful and I don't think any of the smaller bulbs we have available would do. We could probably use parts from the crash site, like the portal.”

“How long do you think it would take?” Ford asked.

“To make one? A day or two, maybe. We'll have to find a way to test it, and if it doesn't work we can try again.”

“What about the portal?” Ford asked. “We're supposed to test it in a few days.”

Fiddleford felt his face fall and he glanced away. Ford was right; their initial test was supposed to be in four days. He couldn't put this off anymore, he had to say something now.

Before Ford could ask, he stood up and walked over to the counter to grab a paper towel. He pulled a pen from his pocket as he sat down, and began to draw a small diagram.

“After y'all left, I tried takin' a crack at that time machine again,” he said as he drew. “Obviously I got stuck, so I was just doin' some calculations on the portal to get my mind off it. Figured an answer would come to me while I worked. As I was lookin' into it, I… noticed some issues.”

He wrote 'Probability of Failure' beneath the diagram, on which an arrow curved and shot straight upward. He slid the paper towel over to Ford, who frowned as he pulled it closer to look at the diagram.

“I think we're takin' too big a risk with this whole thing,” Fiddleford continued. “We're bein' a bit careless. The chances of somethin' goin' wrong are… astronomical. Not just for us, but for the town as well. I… I think it might be best to just… reconsider it.”

Fiddleford bit his tongue nervously. This was something he had been meaning to talk about with Ford for a while now. He had his reservations when Ford first proposed the idea, he had them as they continued to build the portal, and he still had them now. He wasn't sure if he would have the guts to voice his concerns, but after seeing the results earlier, he knew he would have to say something, at least warn Ford of the possible consequences.

Ford didn't respond for a moment, staring down at the quickly drawn diagram. Fiddleford held his hands together as he waited for his friend to say something, anything. Finally, Ford raised his head, and a look of betrayal was etched on his face.

“So, what then? Are you suggesting I just throw away everything I've worked for?”

“This ain't everythin', Ford,” Fiddleford countered. “You've only been workin' on this project for the last year. Ya still have your research, all of the crazy and wonderful things you've discovered in this town. You could catalog it, publish it, have everything you've ever wanted and more. Ain't that enough?”

Ford stared at him incredulously, and Fiddleford resisted the urge to shrink away, squaring his shoulders and fixing him with a firm look. Ford's fists clenched on the table.

“Fiddleford… you can't be serious. After everything we've done…”

“I just think it's a bit unnecessary,” Fiddleford urged. “Not to mention dangerous. I mean, is it really worth the risk just to find out why this place is the way it is?”

“Of course it is!” Ford snapped, slamming his hand on the table. “No one ever did anything great without taking a few risks. Besides, if I don't figure out every secret about this town, someone else will. What's the point of researching everything about this town if I never discover how or why it is the way it is?”

“What if there ain't no reason? What if it's just one of those things that, ya know… it just is.”

Ford huffed angrily. “Nothing's ever 'just is'. There's always a reason.”

“But are ya really willin' to put yourself in danger to find out?”

“It's not that dangerous.”

“What makes ya so dang sure, huh?” Fiddleford countered irritably. “Ya won't even tell me where ya got the crazy idea to build it in the first place.”

Ford opened his mouth but froze, his brows unfurrowed, an unreadable expression on his face. Fiddleford had tried getting Ford to tell him where the idea from the portal even came from multiple times, and each time he was brushed off with a vague answer that never felt genuine. He sighed and shook his head.

“Well… we can't do anythin' with that thing until the boys are home anyway. We'll just-”

“We can't fix the time machine on our own,” Ford's voice was low and defeated. “We won't be able to send them home unless we open the portal.”

Fiddleford stared at him. “Stanford… ya ain't seriously considerin' throwin' them in-”

“Of course, I'm not!” Ford snapped. “But… we will have to open it if we want to send them back.”

“And what makes ya say that?”

“The same thing that gave me the idea for the portal in the first place.”

Fiddleford furrowed his brows as he stared at his friend. What was that supposed to mean? Ford looked at him meticulously for several seconds before he leaned against the table, running a hand through his hair.

“Ford…?”

No answer for a few more seconds. Then, Ford sat up, a look of reserved finality on his face.

“Two years ago, when I first started looking into the source of this town's weirdness, I came across some ancient drawings in a cave…”

Chapter End Notes

1-12-16-8-1'19 18-5-20-9-18-5-13-5-14-20 16-1-18-20-25 9 to 19 14-5-24-20 23-5-5-11. 19-9-18 3-1-5-19-1-18 1-14-4 13-9-19-19 1-20-2-1-19-8 1-18-5 2-18-9-14-7-9-14-7 3-8-9-16-19 1-14-4 19-15-4-1. 6-18-15-13 14-15-23 15 to 14, 25-15-21'12 to 12 1-14-19-23-5-18 20 to 15 13 to 18. 22-9-7.

Chapter 22: Ain't That Just The Way

Chapter Notes

I'M Back!!! And I've got another long chapter that I'm sure y'all are gonna love. Now, y'all know I can't make any promises, but assuming life goes well, I should have the next chapter out sooner than I did this time.

Also... we'VE Reached Over 100K Words! how Epic is that?!

Mr. Vig is ready for you... Enjoy!

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Gravity Falls 1982

Stanley couldn't remember falling asleep, he couldn't even remember dreaming. One moment, he was lying comfortably on the pullout bed, and the next, he had opened his eyes to see that he was at Glass Shard Beach once more. The difference between this dream and the last one was that he was alone; no Stanford, no bystanders, even the seagulls were absent.

He didn't mind that last part though, he always hated those things. He was certain that he was dreaming this time. After all, he knew very well that he was still stuck in Gravity Falls and nowhere near home.

Still, the breeze blowing through his hair and the sand squishing between his toes felt a bit too real. Why hadn't he dreamt up some shoes or something?

Stanley carefully avoided the glass as he started walking along the beach. It looked like the same beach back home, but there was something off about the atmosphere. Like he was looking at everything through a shimmering fog.

Maybe some sort of dream effect? This was still a dream, right?

“At least it's warm here,” Stanley muttered to himself.

He continued down the familiar path along the bank until he saw it appear; just a dark shape from this distance, but he knew full well what it was. Stanley, completely forgoing his concern for the glass, began sprinting down the bank, his feet splashing every time the waves rolled in.

The Stan O' War was still sitting right where he and Ford had left it before this mess, tattered sail and all. He skidded to a halt, his feet kicking up the sand, a wide grin spreading on his face at the sight of her. He raised an eyebrow as he slowly made his way towards the broken entrance of the hull.

“Sixer?”

No one responded of course, because no one was there. The interior of the ship was just as he remembered it, except for one thing; a large, cardboard shoebox, painted over to look like a treasure chest. Stanley instantly recognized it, as he and Stanford often used it whenever they would play with the ship, when they would pretend to be pirates or adventurers searching for gold.

But, it shouldn't be here. Stanley remembered bringing the box back home and stowing it in their closet the last time they had played with it. Why the heck was it back out here? Then again, this was a dream. Dreams didn't always make sense, right?

Stanley carefully made his way into the cabin, the wood oddly cool against his bare feet. He crouched in front of the box, hesitated, then reached for the lid and opened it. It was filled… with comic books. Stanley and his twin would put all kinds of things into this box to pretend that it was sunken treasure, but they never used comics before. He leaned down to look at the covers, but he didn't see any of his copies of Captain Nazi-Puncher or Skimparella . Instead, he saw strange illustrations of his own face under titles like Lil' Stanley Climbs Mount Laundry , Lil' Stanley Suffers Detention , and Lil' Stanley Hates Shots .

“Ooookay… this is weird…”

Stanley reached a hand inside and began moving some of the comics around, and stopped only when he saw a cover with Stanford's face on it. He blinked, then snatched the comic out of the box. It was titled The Mystery Twins and the Quest for the Golden Monocle . The cover showed him and Stanford standing on top of the Stan O' War, dressed as pirates with cardboard cutout swords. They had made their own costumes by using old, faded dresses that Ma was going to just throw away, and turned them into scarves, vests and eyepatches.

Golden Monocle … that part sounded familiar, but Stanley couldn't put his finger on it. He frowned as he slowly opened the comic, still unsure of what it was. The first panel showed an image of Stanley standing on top of the deck, while Stanford stood in the sand in front of him.

“Remind me why I can't be captain this time.”

Stanley jumped slightly, not expecting the illustrations to move and talk. Pirate Stanford frowned up at Pirate Stanley, who gave him a pleading look.

“C'mon, bro. I beat you in rock, paper, scissors, fair and square. You can be captain next time, I promise!”

Pirate Stanford sighed. “Alright. Ahem… Where we be headin' for today, cap'n?”

Stanley couldn't help but chuckle. Stanford was such a stickler for proper grammar that hearing him get in character whenever they played was hilarious. He was really good at it, too.

Pirate Stanley beamed before straightening up to place his fists on his hips. “Ha ha! We must make haste, Sixer, for the treasure of Dinero Infinito calls to us!”

Stanley could vaguely remember now. This was one of the first times he and Stanford had played on their ship after finding it. Stanley looked over at the next panel and watched as Pirate Stanford climbed up to the deck, and Pirate Stanley reached down to help him up.

“But… what is at the Isle of Dinero Infinito, cap'n? Gold? Jewels? Magical trinkets?”

“Aye, all of that and more, matey! But the ultimate prize be this…”

The panel froze, and Stanley quickly flipped the page. He watched as Pirate Stanley rummaged in his pockets and pulled out a folded piece of tan construction paper and opened it. On it was a messy map with a path and an X drawn out, and underneath it was a drawing of a very fancy monocle.

“The Golden Monocle,” Pirate Stanley declared. “The most sought after treasure this side of the ocean.”

“What be so grand about it, cap'n? Is it worth a lot?”

“Aye, that it be, but we ain't sellin' this one.”

“We're not?” Pirate Stanford sounded genuinely surprised.

“This here monocle is enchanted with ancient power… the power to see the future!”

Stanley felt his smile falter a bit. He had forgotten about that part of the game. It was painfully ironic, in hindsight.

“The future, cap'n?”

“Aye. You hold it up to your eye and can see where you'll be in the future, as far into the future as you desire. Perfect for winnin' fights and avoidin' the cops!”

“Pirates didn't fight cops,” Pirate Stanford corrected in his normal voice. “They mostly fought with any neighboring country's navy. Civil law enforcement is a rather new development, in the grand scheme of things.”

“Oh, brother…” Stanley muttered, rolling his eyes as he turned the page.

“Yeah, whatever, you know what I mean.”

Pirate Stanford grinned and shoved his shoulder before continuing, “But, the chest that holds it must be guarded and locked, cap'n. How will we ever find the key?”

Pirate Stanley laughed. “Ha! We be havin' no troubles with that, Sixer, for I have… The Skeleton Key!”

Stanley watched his illustrated-self reach into his makeshift vest and pull out a literal skeleton key. It, too, was made out of cutup cardboard, with a skull on the end and covered in gold paint.

“The ultimate key that can unlock anything. A man could unlock the pearly gates themselves with this if he tried!”

Pirate Stanford's face fell when he looked at the key. “Stan, how did you paint it gold like that?”

“Bro, quit breaking character.”

“Did you use the paint from Pa's shop? Stanley, he'll kill you if he finds out!”

“He ain't gonna find out. I only used a little, and it's not like he's gonna need it any time soon, right?”

Pirate Stanford looked weary as he fiddled with his hands. Pirate Stanley saw this, and gave him a confident grin as he put a comforting hand on his shoulder.

“C'mon, bro. It's fine, I promise.”

Pirate Stanford sighed. “Okay… just don't let him see it!”

“Relax, I'll wrap it in a shirt and stuff it in the treasure chest. He never looks in there anyway.”

The panel froze, but Stanley didn't turn to the next page. He stared down at the still image of his Stanford, and felt his stomach begin to twist. He liked being with Ford, he was happy to have found him at all, but he missed his twin terribly. Fidds had said that it would take them a few days to reach Gravity Falls, but what if something happened to him? What if he got hurt?

What if they got stuck in traffic forever and ever? He would never be able to show his face at home again. What would he say to Ma? What would Pa say to him?

That dork better make it tomorrow, or I swear, I'm gonna…

“You've got quite the mindscape, kid!”

Stanley gasped. He knew that voice, and it was coming from outside the boat. He dropped the comic into the box and slammed the lid on it before turning and skidding out of the cabin. The beach was exactly as he left it before, except now a wannabe nacho chip was floating just a few feet beside the ship.

“I would've expected it to look more like a violent comic book or something, but this is nice ,” Bill produced a cane out of thin air and prodded at the sand beneath him. “You even added the broken glass in the sand! Excellent touch! Bet you've earned quite a few scars from walking all over these, huh?”

Stanley took a step back. “What do you want now?”

“Relax, Lil' Mac, I just wanna talk. Here, take a load off!”

Bill snapped his fingers, and two beach chairs and a tall umbrella appeared beside the ship. Stanley watched as Bill floated over to sit on one of the chairs, stabbing his cane into the sand and leaning back with his hands behind his pointed head. Stanley hesitated for a moment before cautiously making his way towards the other chair, but he didn't sit down.

“Thirsty?”

Bill snapped his fingers again, and two large glasses topped with whipped cream and cherries appeared, hovering in the air. Stanley blinked as Bill grabbed one… and used his freaking eye to sip the straw.

“It's peanut butter,” Bill urged in a singsong voice.

Stanley stared at the floating drink wearily before slowly sliding onto the chair and grabbing the glass. He stared at it a second longer before cautiously taking a sip. Peanut butter milkshake; his favorite.

“Am I dreaming again?” he asked. “'Cause dreamin' about you once is weird, twice is freaky.”

Bill laughed. “Hahaha, nope! You are asleep though. I figured you'd be a little more comfortable if we talked in your mindscape this time.”

“Mindscape?”

“A world put together in your own mind based on your life and experiences,” Bill pointed over to the Stan O' War. “Those comics you were looking at? They're essentially doorways into your past memories. Everyone's doorways are different, but yours is pretty cool.”

Again, despite the niceties, every word Bill spoke sent tiny pinpricks up his spine. Stanley took another sip from his shake before letting it go, watching it hover next to him.

“Gotta admit, this is a nice change of pace from Ford's mindscape,” Bill commented, gesturing at the unmoving sunset. “His is beautiful and creative of course, but it certainly doesn't have a view like this!”

Stanley stared at him. “You've been in Ford's head?”

“I tend to linger every now and then, take over if I must,” Bill answered airily as he picked the cherry out of his shake, and Stanley squirmed as he watched him eat it with his eye. “I mostly do it just to help him get work done though.”

“Take over…?” Stanley wasn't sure what to make of that. “And… you can do that with anybody?”

“Of course I can! But only if they give me permission. I can frolic in people's dreams and minds whenever I want, but I can't take over unless they let me.”

“Why would Ford do that?”

“Simple. Humans are flawed and need sleep to function, so when Ford drifts off, I take over to finish whatever work he's started while he rests. It's a nice little system we have going on.”

Stanley frowned as he stared off into the permanent sunset. The idea that Ford was so overworked that he needed a freaking magical chip to take over and help made him feel uneasy. He still wasn't sure if Bill was even real or just a figment of his dreams, though each time he had seen him had felt a bit too real for his liking.

“So… why are you here then?”

“I was curious to see if you've considered my offer.”

“I already told you, I don't need your stupid deals,” Stanley said angrily. “Ford and I talked, and I know what happened now.”

“You don't know why though,” Bill's tone was still casual, but his words made the hair on Stanley's neck stand up. “You don't know if you really did it on purpose or not, do you?”

Stanley opened his mouth, but quickly shut it. That part was true; he didn't know why his older self had broken Ford's project. He was absolutely certain that it had to have been an accident, but why else would Bill be here implying otherwise? Did he really know something Stanley didn't? He did claim to be good friends with Ford (assuming he was actually real, of course).

“I can show you, if you'd like.”

Stanley whipped around. “Wh-what?”

“I've gotten well acquainted with Fordsy's head, Lil' Mac. I've seen everything, from the moment he was born to about 30 minutes ago before he went to bed. I can't show you the moment you broke it because Ford didn't witness it himself, but I can show you the aftermath when the two of you fought about it. Might fill in a few blanks for you.”

That… was tempting. Stanley would be lying if he said it wasn't. But, Bill was still being a bit too vague on what he wanted in return, and it didn't seem like he was interested in sharing that detail yet.

“And you won't show me until I make a deal with you first, right?”

“That's kinda how it works,” Bill shrugged. “But hey, if you wanna stay in the dark, I won't stop you.”

Stanley frowned and folded his arms. “Maybe if you tell me what you wanted, I'd be willin' to think about it.”

“See, that's the thing; I don't need anything from you yet. What I do need is someone in my corner willing to help me out when the time does come. Insurance is a gamble, kid, and I'm gambling that I'll need it.”

Stanley huffed as he leaned back in his chair. “You're not makin' this easy, you know.”

“Hey, I get it. You don't wanna end up doing something you'll regret. No one likes bad deals, but that's the thing with gambling, Lil' Mac- you never win unless you're prepared to lose.”

The fact that what Bill was saying actually made sense made Stanley angry and worried. He grabbed his shake out of the air and sipped it without even questioning it. Even if it wasn't real, it certainly tasted real enough.

“What if I could give you a little more than just information?”

Stanley raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

“I'm a very powerful being, kid. Seeing almost everything isn't all I can do. I can make things happen too,” Bill clasped his hands together as he leaned against his own chair, staring ahead of him. “I can make you rich beyond your wildest dreams. I can make you the most famous, respected person on earth. I can give you anything and everything…”

Anything and everything… That sure was a big offer. A million different ideas passed through Stanley's mind, and only one stood out above the rest. He glanced at the ground as he tapped his thumbs against his glass.

“So… if, for some reason, Ford and Fidds couldn't get me and my brother home…”

“Oh yeah! I can make that happen,” Bill assured him brightly. “It'll take a few days, but I can do it.”

Stanley frowned. A few days… Just a few days… Why was it that everything he needed help with took so long to do? Fidds might figure out a way to fix the time machine himself by then. But, if he didn't…

“So? How's about it?”

Stanley turned to see Bill, still holding his shake which didn't seem to be getting anymore empty, now outstretching his free hand over to him. The blue flames ignited, but Stanley didn't flinch this time. He stared at the hand, thought long and hard, but finally shook his head.

“I'll… think about it.”

alright! he could hear Bill smiling as he shot up from his seat with delight. “Nothing wrong with thinking it over. Very mature, kid, excellent business practice. Just don't wait too long, or I might find someone else to lend me a hand.”

Stanley folded his arms. “If you really had someone else to help, you wouldn't be wastin' your time with me.”

Bill blinked at him for a moment, then laughed again. “Hahaha! Fair enough! You really are smarter than you look.”

“The hell is that suppose to-”

“Ah-ah, none of that now,” Bill waved a finger in front of him. “I'll come see you tomorrow once you've made your decision. For now, why don't you just… sleep on it.”

Bill leaned forward, and the finger in front of Stanley's face gently poked the center of his forehead. It was like he had flipped some sort of switch; Stanley's whole body suddenly felt very light and heavy, and his limbs turned to jelly. He groaned as he fell backwards off of the beach chair, but instead of landing in the sand, he continued to fall down, down, down…

He shoved the glasses onto his face, getting to his feet and making his way out of the bedroom. He wasn't trying to be quiet, but his feet moved stealthily anyway. That was good, he needed to be quick. Lil' Mac and Six-Fingers would be out until the sun rose, but there was no telling when Spectacles would wake up.

Bill had a feeling something like this would happen, but that didn't make it any easier. He had thought that Ford would be clever enough to think of a way to get the dumb hick to listen without spilling the beans, but the poor guy felt cornered and panicked. If only he had the same amount of backbone his twin possessed. It would've been so much easier to just tie Specs down for a few days until they could turn the damn portal on. Dumb humans and their dumb reasons for avoiding easy solutions.

He marched down the hallway until he finally reached the hillbilly's room. It was only two in the morning, so he was definitely in a deep sleep by now. He carefully slipped through the bedroom door before closing it behind him. The brilliant-minded skin puppet was, as he figured, sound asleep in his bed on the opposite end of the room. His eyes roamed around until they landed on the work desk, and he made a beeline for it.

“Alright, hick for brains, where are you hiding it?”

He started by looking through the surface compartments on the desk, and found nothing. He looked in all of the drawers, but still, nothing. He nearly cursed as he laid on his back and slid underneath the desk, looking for something, anything that seemed out of the ordinary. He ran his hands on the underside of the desk surface, and his fingers brushed against something that was definitely not supposed to be there- a switch.

“Hm, that's probably it.”

He pressed the switch, and a secret compartment in the very back opened up, nearly hitting him in the head. He sat up and turned to look inside, and there it was. A grin spread across his face as he grabbed it and got to his feet. The memory gun was in excellent condition as always, it was even fully charged.

Bill hummed softly to himself as he marched towards the bed. “Nothing personal, Specs. You're a riot when you loosen up, but I can't have you asking questions and making things difficult. Don't worry, I'll leave just enough to fill the gap.”

He turned the dial until the little screen read 'Bill Cipher'. He spun the gun in his hand, nearly laughing out loud as he finally reached the bed, and aimed for the hillbilly's forehead. Just as he placed his finger on the trigger, the human began to stir. Bill tilted his head and watched as his eyes barely peeked open to look up at him.

“Mmm… Ford…?”

Bill grinned as he raised a finger to his lips. “ Shhh… ”

The poor meatsack had just enough time for his eyes to widen before Bill pulled the trigger.

Idaho 1982

Stanford wasn't aware of much as he slowly regained consciousness. He was far too warm and comfy, and part of him wanted to just let himself sink into the plush mattress. But, he reasoned that Stan would probably force him to wake up any moment now anyway, so he simply sighed before slowly opening his eyes.

A faint light was peeking in through the large curtains, just enough to make his eyes sting. He groaned slightly as he rolled over on the mattress, and blinked when he found no one laying beside him. Stanford slowly pushed himself up as he looked around the room, but found himself completely alone. Stan's boots were still off in the corner, but then, where was he?

Almost as soon as that thought crossed his mind, Stanford heard soft muttering coming from the bathroom. Of course Stan was in there. He would've woken Stanford up if he had to leave the room for some reason. He put on his glasses before begrudgingly forcing himself out of bed. As he did, he noticed something shiny by Stan's boots, and he looked over.

One of the boots was laying on its side, and sitting against the cuff was a small, closed pocket knife. Stanford frowned in confusion as he slowly bent over and picked it up. There was obvious wear and scratches all over it, suggesting at least a few years of use. He almost wondered why Stan would need this until he remembered the chase they had narrowly escaped from the other day.

Stanford grimaced as he safely tucked the knife into his pants pocket, intending to give it back to him. It wouldn't be a good idea to leave it laying around. He approached the bathroom door and raised a fist to knock when he noticed it was opened ajar. He didn't have time to ponder this before he heard Stan's voice again.

“Okay, okay… Uh, hey! How've you been? It's ah… um…”

Stanford swallowed as he leaned in more to peek through the cracked door. Stan was standing in front of the mirror, his hands held out in front of him, and he seemed to be staring at his own reflection. His expression turned foul as he groaned, bowing his head and rubbing the back of his neck.

“God damn it…”

Stan sighed as he looked back at the mirror. He stared for a moment before reaching behind him and pulling his mullet back, as if he were hiding it behind his head. He took a deep breath, and put on an obviously fake smile.

“Hey, Ford. It's, uh, good to… Ahem , crazy, all of this, ain't it? I mean… it's…”

Stan's voice trailed off again, and his smile slowly fell. He let go of his mullet and his arms fell to his sides. Stanford felt something twist in his gut as he realized what his brother was doing.

He's not even here, and he's still struggling to even talk. Stan sighed as he leaned forward and propped his hands on either side of the sink.

“What the fuck am I gonna do?”

Stanford frowned, waited a few seconds, then slowly pushed the door open. It creaked, and Stan whipped his head around. Whatever distress that had been on his face instantly melted away as he grinned down at him.

“Mornin', bud. Sleep alright?”

Stanford nodded. “Yeah. The bed's really nice.”

“Yeah, tell me about it. Honestly, I'm gonna miss it.”

Stan was still grinning as he moved to exit the bathroom, tousling Stanford's hair as he walked by. He smiled at the gesture, but still felt disheartened by what he had seen. Should he say something? Would anything he say even help? Stanford had been adamant about Stan doing everything he could to get in contact with his version of Ford, but ever since he learned the truth about what drove them apart, he found himself focusing less on that and more on simply getting there and finding his Stanley.

How could Stanford possibly give any help or advice when he didn't even know who he was anymore?

“Just past eight,” Stan commented as he began putting on his boots. “Not too bad. If we head out now, we might get there by midnoon.”

Stanford nodded as he slipped on his own shoes. “Yeah, the sooner the better. Right?”

“Right,” Stan stood up and stretched his back, and it cracked a few times. “You ready?”

“Sure am.”

Stanford slipped on his backpack as he followed Stan out of the room, his hand instinctively reaching up to grab his brother's. Stanford was always nervous the first time he ever went somewhere new and different, he had just been too sleepy the night before to mind it. If Stan had noticed he didn't bring it up, and he was grateful for that.

They had just entered the lobby when Stanford realized how hungry he was.

“You think we could stop for breakfast?” he asked hopefully.

“Already on it.”

Stanford frowned but didn't argue.

A cleanly shaven man now stood at the front desk of the lobby. There were two other women standing behind the desk with him, each holding napkins and licking their fingers. Stanford was able to crane his head and see a large pink box filled with donuts sitting behind the counter, obviously for the employees.

“Good morning,” the receptionist said shortly as Stan approached. “Checking out?”

Stan released Stanford's hand as he gave the man the room key. “Yeah, 103.”

“Is there anything else we can help you with today?”

“Uh…” Stan paused, then fished around in his jacket pocket for a moment before pulling out his map. “Yeah, actually. We're tryin' to get to some place called 'Gravity Falls'. Middle of awruhgon. You know it? I ain't seein' it on any of my maps.”

The man looked surprised. “Gravity Falls? Yeah, I know it. I've got a nephew that lives over there.”

“...Well, I'll be damned,” Stan placed the map on the counter. “So…?”

“Well, you gotta keep going down the interstate here, and you're gonna take this exit. Then, keep going until you see the first dirt road on your left- don't worry, you'll hit pavement eventually. Keep going straight from there and you'll reach the town in no time.”

“Yeah, sure.”

“Hey, Adam?” another employee came in from the otherside of the lobby. “There's a guest in 207 who's complaining about the air conditioning, she wants to speak with you.”

“In a moment,” the receptionist- Adam- placed the room key on a shelf and wrote something down on a sheet of paper. “Alright… Thank you, Mr. Pinery. You have a pleasant day.”

“Thanks.”

Stan turned and took only one step away from the desk before he suddenly stopped and kneeled down. He appeared to be tying his shoe, but Stanford could see that it was already tied. He frowned at his brother before glancing around, and saw that the receptionist was walking away with the other employee, and the two women had left as well.

Stan continued pretending to tie his shoe until the footsteps faded, at which point he stood up and walked back over to the desk. He glanced all around the lobby before reaching over the counter, grabbing a napkin, and taking two donuts out of the box.

“Stan…”

“Just act natural, Sixer,” Stan winked, looking “oh so casual” as he tucked the donuts by his side. “You'll thank me once we're in the car.”

Stanford rolled his eyes, but said nothing as they finally made their way towards the entrance. He was almost surprised to see snow all around the parking lot as they walked outside. The wind was sharp and brisk, and Stanford shivered as he tucked his hands into his pockets. He really wished he had some gloves on him.

Stan turned on the ignition as soon as they were in the car. The heater was still as busted as before, but it was still warmer than outside. Stanford had just gotten his seatbelt on when they started to move. Once they were back on the road, Stan held out a donut covered in chocolate icing and sprinkles. Stanford stared for only half a second before taking it. Stolen or not, it's a donut. Who says no to a donut?

“Told you,” Stan said smugly before taking a bite of his own.

Stanford chose not to respond, and he ate his breakfast.

The first half-hour into the drive was mostly silent, aside from the low radio. Stanford watched the sky through his window as more snow began to fall softly. He wondered how heavy it was snowing on Stanley's end. His twin never hated snow exactly- he loved having snowball fights by the beach- but he loved the summer months especially.

Stanley had to be alright. Surely, Stanford's older self would make sure he was well looked after. Wouldn't he?

“So?” Stan suddenly piped up. “How you feelin'?”

Stanford shifted in his seat. “Well… I'm happy, obviously.”

“But?”

Stanford paused as he glanced over at his brother. “...Nervous.”

Stan laughed. “What're you nervous about?”

Everything, Stanford wanted to say. Ever since this whole ordeal started, his number one goal had been to find Stanley, and find a way back home. He still wanted to find him, he still wanted to go home, but he felt more discouraged than before. After learning the truth of what was to come for them, Stanford worried about what his brother's reaction to that would be. Would he be sad? Angry? Would Stanley even want to be around Stanford after learning about how he would abandon their dream and leave him to be kicked out?

Assuming, of course, he didn't already know. God, would Stanley even be able to look at him once Stanford found him?

“Do you think your Ford told my Stanley about what happened, too?”

Stanford knew he didn't need to specify what he was talking about. Stan's expression faltered as he stared through the windshield.

“I mean… maybe?” he guessed. “Not sure if he would or not. I've got no idea how he feels about all of this, you know, since…”

Since we haven't spoken to each other in 10 years, Stanford wanted to finish, but he kept his mouth shut. He knew, and Stan knew that he knew.

“Why do you ask?”

“Well, if he knows what happened, that I- that older me… you know…” Stanford fiddled with his hands. “I mean, what if… he doesn't even wanna see me?”

A heavy silence followed that question. Stanford bit his tongue as he turned to look up at Stan, who was staring ahead, his mouth pressed thin. The silence went on long enough that Stanford assumed he simply couldn't answer, then he suddenly spoke firmly.

“He does, Sixer.”

“But-”

“ Trust me. He does.”

Stanford didn't know how to respond. He stared up at his brother for a while before turning away to stare out the window again.

Stanford had been watching the snow and passing trees for what felt like an hour when his eyes drifted to the side-view mirror. He stared for only a moment before he noticed another car behind them. It was too far away to see the shape and color, but it was quickly picking up speed. Ever since the first chase, Stanford found himself staring through the side and rear view mirror almost as much as Stan. He still tried to keep himself in check and not freak out any time he saw a car, but it was difficult.

“C'mon, where's the damn exit…” Stan muttered beside him.

Stanford swallowed but stayed silent, watching as the car got closer and closer. At first, he assumed that it would just speed up until it passed around them, but it continued to get closer without any indication of moving over.

Stanford saw a flash of silver, and he gasped.

“Stan, Stan!” he reached over and pushed on his brother's arm. “That car, I think it's following us!”

Stan's brows furrowed as he whipped around to look through the back windshield, then back around to look into his rearview mirror. He squinted at it for a moment, then his face fell.

“Shit, shit, shit!”

Stan slammed his foot onto the gas pedal, and Stanford was flung back into his seat as the car sped down the road. Almost immediately, the car behind them began picking up more speed as well, and was slowly gaining on them.

“What do we do?” Stanford cried.

“We can't let them know where we're headin',” Stan huffed angrily. “We gotta lose them and circle back.”

“How?”

“I'm workin' on it!”

Stan was looking around the sides of the road frantically, as if hoping a miracle would spring out in front of them. Stanford bit his lip as he looked through the back windshield, watching as the silver car continued to get closer, and closer…

hold on!”

The car suddenly swerved, and Stanford choked as his seatbelt constricted against him. Stan was driving off into the trees, down a narrow path that could barely be considered a road. Branches slapped against the windshield as he swerved around every trunk, going as fast as he could through the rougher terrain. Stanford gripped his seatbelt tightly as his heart raced and his breathing became ragged. No, not now!

Stan swerved again, and parked the car beside a mess of fallen tree trunks, no doubt knocked over by the storms. He turned off the car and began scrambling around in his center console.

“I want you to stay here and keep your head down,” he spoke rapidly. “Get in the backseat and hide under the blanket. Don't move or make a sound until I'm back.”

“But, what if-”

“Damn it, Ford, now's not the time!” Stan's voice was angry and desperate. “Remember the rules? Now, get in the back and stay there!”

Stanford flinched back at his brother's tone, but quickly nodded. Stan stayed just long enough to see Stanford slide into the back seat before stepping out of the car and locking it. Stanford watched him pull his pistol from his pocket before he disappeared around the trees.

Stanford wished he could do something- anything- but all he could do was clutch the blanket in his fists as he slid onto the car floor.

Chapter End Notes

Wcyg wwoprorbz hguomm ligk vgzdrcsyl wpn'g ilo bcmk tylm

Chapter 23: Scarlet Promise

Chapter Notes

Did anyone manage to solve the previous cipher? The Vigenere is a bit complicated for me, so I hope it came out alright.

Also, just a sidenote: I feel like the teen and up rating is fine for now, but if anything happens that makes you guys think it should go up to mature, let me know. I grew up watching violent, edgy stuff so my filter might be a bit scuffed.

Anyways, hope you enjoy and be sure to leave a comment!

See the end of the chapter for more notes

awruhgon Border 1982

Panic was flooding Stan's mind as he raced to get as far away from his car as possible. The snow was still falling gently, a stark contrast to the tension that was building in the air. Part of him screamed to go back, to drive off and keep driving until he couldn't anymore, but he had to face these guys head on if he wanted to keep them away from his brother. He wasn't sure if Sergei or his guys even knew about Stanford, and he wanted to keep it that way.

He hoped his brother was smart enough to stay in the car. Stupid thought, really. Of course, Stanford was smart enough to know that.

The second he heard voices overhead, Stan instantly ducked behind a tree. He held his breath and waited a few moments until all he could hear was the wind. He swallowed hard and slowly peeked his head around the trunk. He could see two figures lurking several yards away; two of Sergei's goons. He couldn't see Sergei, but he had to be sneaking around here somewhere.

Stan watched as the two guys seemed to speak to each other, but he couldn't hear what they were saying from so far away. A moment later they nodded to each other, and they started to move in different directions. One of them started heading towards him, and Stan instantly moved back behind the tree.

The hand holding his pistol was shaking, his thumb twitching over the safety. He didn't want to use it if he could avoid it, but he had to keep these guys away from Stanford, no matter what.

Stan brought his left hand into his jacket pocket, and quickly slipped his fingers through the set of brass knuckles. If he was fast enough, he could probably knock the guy off balance and get the gun out of his hand without having to use his own. He kept his finger off the trigger for now, but held onto the gun tightly.

The snow crunched as the footsteps got closer and closer. They paused momentarily, then continued forward, deliberately slow. Stan glanced around quickly to make sure that neither Sergei nor the other guy was sneaking up on him before turning back.

He could feel his heart hammering in his chest and the adrenaline pumping through his veins. He couldn't even feel the cold at this point. The gun slowly appeared from the side of the tree, and Stan swung his left fist without much thought.

His aim was true, and he socked the guy right between the eyes. Stan used his free hand to grab the wrist attached to the gun, and used the other to swing the handle of his pistol into the guy's face. It was enough to knock him down, but not enough to knock him out.

Stan was quick enough to kick the gun from his hands and deliver another brass-knuckled punch to his face. This time, he stayed down.

Stan waited a moment to make sure he was out cold before stuffing his own pistol into his jacket pocket and picking up the one on the ground. He turned on the safety and unloaded the gun, watching as the bullets disappeared into the snow at his feet. He used his foot to brush some snow on top of them before tossing the gun into a nearby bush.

“ ¡Héctor! ¿Lo encontraste? ”

Stan knew he only had a few seconds to act. He crouched down and started moving past the trees as quickly as he could-

Bang!

He flinched on instinct, then took off running. The second goon shouted behind him but Stan couldn't understand his words over the sounds of his feet sprinting through the snow. Another shot went off, narrowly missing him and hitting a tree instead. He quickly swerved to the left, not wanting to accidentally lead him to Stanford.

Stan slid down a small hill, landing right by a patch of bushes. He rushed to crouch behind them, holding his breath even as his lungs begged for oxygen. Not even a minute later, the other man appeared at the top of the hill, his face red as he aimed his pistol around.

“ ¡No hay dónde correr, Avery! ”

Stan watched through the bushes as the man carefully slid down the hill, still on his feet. His fingers were almost numb as he reached into his pocket and pulled out his pistol again. He only had one shot.

Don't screw this up, Stan. He held the gun tightly as he slowly raised it, aiming through a small opening in the bushes. Just a little closer. Closer…

Stan turned off the safety and pulled the trigger not even a second after. The shot rang out, and the man immediately screamed as he clutched his now bleeding leg. He fell to his knees, swearing loudly, and Stan lunged at him. His boot collided with the man's chest, knocking him down onto his back, and he quickly kicked out again, this time hitting him in the face. He went down faster than his buddy had.

Stan watched the unconscious goon for a moment before taking his gun and tossing it like he had before. He gripped his own pistol as he turned around, stepping out into the more open area.

“That's far enough, Avery!”

Stan whipped around, his finger already on the trigger. His eyes had just enough time to register Sergei before they landed on who was in front of him.

The cold returned with a sharp vengeance, causing his whole body to feel instantly numb. Sergei had one arm wrapped tightly around his little brother's neck, and his other hand was gripping onto a pistol that was aimed right back at him. How did Sergei even get to him? Did Stan forget to lock the car? Did he break one of the windows to get to him? Stanford stared back at him with wide eyes, his small hands gripping Sergei's arm in an attempt to pry it off of his neck. Stan didn't hesitate to take his finger off the trigger and hold his hands out.

“Hey… just take it easy, Sergei,” he said calmly. “Don't do anything crazy. He's got nothin' to do with this.”

“All the more reason to keep him between you and me,” Sergei glowered. “Now, drop the gun.”

“Yeah… yeah, okay…”

Stan could feel his hands shaking as he slowly bent over and tossed his pistol to the side. He held his arms out as his eyes moved from the pistol in Sergei's hand to the terrified expression on Stanford's face. He wanted more than anything to tell him that it was all going to be fine, but even he couldn't lie his way out of this.

“Turn out your pockets,” Sergei ordered. “Take off your boots. ¡A ver! ”

Stan nodded silently. He showed off his empty pockets and even lifted his jacket to show that he didn't have anything tucked behind his back. He had to bite his tongue as he slipped out of his boots, worried that even the slightest sound would set Sergei off. There were holes in his socks, and his skin burned against the snow.

Sergei waited until he was done before gesturing with his pistol for him to come forward. Stan kept his hands up as he slowly walked towards him.

“You're a slippery little shit, I'll give you that.”

Stan didn't respond as he continued forward, stopping about five feet away when Sergei told him to. Stanford whimpered as the arm around his neck held him tighter. Stan's mouth was dry as he tried to speak.

“Look, I dunno what Rico promised you-”

“Much more than whatever cheap shit you can offer, amigo, that's for fucking sure.”

“Sergei, c'mon…”

“¡Cállate!” Sergei snapped. “Do you have any idea what your bullshit stunt cost us?”

“It was 30 grand, man! You guys could've made all that back in the time it took you to track me down.”

Sergei shook his head. “Chinga tu madre! Half of our guys got shot because of you! Carlos and Mark didn't even make it.”

“What was I supposed to do?” Stan countered angrily. “You assholes set me up to take the fall! You really thought I would just sit and take that?”

Sergei stared daggers at him as his arm squeezed around Stanford's neck tighter, causing him to let out a choked gasp. Stan could feel a mixture of fear and rage building inside of his chest, and had no way to unleash it without getting himself or Stanford hurt.

“If you were smart enough to figure it out, you should've been smart enough to not run,” Sergei's face split into an evil grin as his pistol clicked. “I told you before, Avery. We'll always find you.”

Stan's mind was buzzing like white noise. Even if he let Sergei do whatever he wanted to him, there was no way to guarantee that he would let Stanford go when he was done. There was nothing he could do and nowhere to run. They were in serious, deep shit and it was all his fault.

Stan hadn't realized that Stanford's hand had been in his jacket pocket until he suddenly whipped it out. He saw a flash of silver before Stanford swung down, and Sergie cried out. The arm holding Stanford dropped him, and Stan moved before he had a chance to think. His hands gripped the front of Sergie's shirt and he threw his whole weight into him, throwing him onto the ground. The gun flew to the side, but Stan didn't even glance at it. He was so enraged that he couldn't even see straight, but he instantly started throwing his fists, hitting anything that looked even remotely like a face.

Stan threw punch after punch, slowing down only when he felt something in his knuckles pinch painfully, and even then he threw down one more punch for good measure. His breath came out in ragged pants as he stared down at Sergei. He remained on the ground, his nose bleeding and broken, obviously alive and just knocked out. Stan glanced down at his hands, his knuckles bruised and covered in Sergei's blood. As he looked down, he noticed a dark red stain forming on Sergei's thigh, and in the center of the stain was a pocketknife- his pocketknife.

Stanford…

Stan whipped around to see his little brother sitting on the ground just a few feet away, his head hung low, cradling his hands. Stan immediately pushed himself up and rushed over, crouching in front of Stanford as he grabbed his shoulders.

“Are you alright?” his voice came out hoarse, as if he had been screaming for hours. “Are you hurt?”

Stanford shook his head silently, but he held his hands close to his chest.

“Here, let me see.”

Stanford didn't move. Stan, slowly as possible, reached forward and grabbed his brother's tiny hands. Stanford didn't object or pull away as he turned them over to examine them. There were no cuts or injuries, but there were streaks red all over his palms- Sergei's blood.

“I… I didn't…” Stanford whimpered. “He was gonna… I-I didn't know what else…”

“Stanford-”

“I was gonna give it back, b-but I forgot, and… and then he-”

“Hey.”

Stan, well aware of the blood still on his own hands, reached up and gently held Stanford's face to make him look up at him. His eyes were wide and brimming with tears.

“It's alright,” he spoke gently. “You're alright. Just take a second to breathe.”

Stanford gulped. “Am I… D-did I…?”

“No,” Stan stated firmly, fully aware of what his brother was asking. “You just hurt him a bit, I knocked him out.”

Stanford turned slightly to look over at Sergei, and he gasped as his eyes landed on the blood that was now staining the snow around the injured leg. Stan shook his head and quickly turned his brother's face back to him.

“Hey, don't look at that. Just look at me, okay?” he urged, brushing his thumbs against his brother's cheeks. “Look at me. Just breathe, okay? Breathe…”

Stanford's mouth hung open slightly as he slowly took in staggering breaths, his eyes never leaving Stan's. His fingers left small red smudges on his poor brother's cheeks, but Stan held on anyway. Moments passed. Stanford blinked, and tears rolled down his cheeks. Stan took a deep breath.

“Listen… we have to go, right now. We gotta get as far away as we can before they get up. We'll getcha cleaned up soon, I promise, but we gotta move, alright?”

Stanford sniffed loudly and nodded. Stan nodded back as he quickly got to his feet, grabbing his brother's arms and helping him up.

Stan quickly picked up his pistol and boots, deciding to simply stay barefoot until they were at a safe enough distance to put them back on again. Stan glared down at Sergei before leaning forward and yanking the knife out of his leg. Sergei flinched and groaned lowly, but otherwise didn't react. Stan picked up his pistol too, stuffing it in his pocket as he approached Stanford. His little brother threw his arms around his waist, burying his face into his side as he began to cry.

“I've got you…” Stan soothed as he wrapped his free arm around him. “ Shh , I know. I know…”

Stanford kept his face hidden as Stan ushered him through the trees, back towards his car. Whether it was to hide his own expression or to keep himself from looking at Sergei's unconscious form(or both), Stan couldn't tell. It didn't matter either way.

Seeing blood like that for the first time could be jarring for anyone, at any age. He could still remember the first real fight he had gotten into after being shoved onto the streets. A lot messier and more painful than an after school brawl, that's for sure.

The fighting only got messier after that. He barely flinched at the sight of blood anymore. He was so… used to it. His mind drifted to the scars that littered his body like the messy paintings of a three-year-old's canvas; a testament of how much he had been through and survived.

That was all Stan was anymore; a survivor. Despite his many flaws, he was proud of the fact that he was at least good at something.

“You got him in the right leg, too,” he said absentmindedly. “He won't be able to drive himself. That oughta slow him down a bit, huh?”

Stanford only responded by squeezing him tighter. Perhaps moving on from the situation would be better than finding the positives in it.

The car was a sight for sore eyes when they finally reached it. None of the windows were broken, but one of the back passenger doors was wide open. Bastard probably broke the lock or something. Stan made sure Stanford was safe and secure in the front seat, and even handed him the blanket from the back before shutting the door. His feet were practically numb by the time he got into the driver's seat.

He simply dropped his boots onto the car floor behind him before quickly turning on the ignition. It sputtered a few times, and he swore under his breath. Don't crap out on me now! Please! Please… Yes!

The car roared to life, and Stan wasted no time speeding back the way he came. He stared at the unconscious forms of Sergei and his goons as he drove passed, making sure that none of them moved. Stanford kept his eyes on them long after they disappeared behind them.

As they reached the edge of the trees, Stan saw that they had parked their car on the side of the road just beyond the path. He put his car in park and quickly got out, pulling the still bloody knife out of his pocket. He made quick work of slashing all four tires and even ripped a few cords and pieces out of the engine for good measure.

Even if they tried to track them on foot, it would take them ages to even find them again. Try catching us now, asshole.

Stan threw himself back into the driver's seat and sped out onto the road, back the way they had come from. The exit wasn't too far off from here, he just had to keep moving. As they approached the exit, Stan reached behind him and fished around before pulling out one of their water bottles. He placed it in Stanford's lap before handing him the napkins he had snatched from the hotel.

“I know it ain't much, but…” Stan swallowed. “I'm sure my Ford has a bathroom you can use once we get there.”

Stanford didn't respond. He didn't pick up the bottle or napkins either. Stan felt a pool of hot shame fill in his gut as he sped down the road.

Now that the adrenaline was gone, his mind had more than enough room for reprimand. How could he let this happen? He was smarter than this, better than this!

He shouldn't have stopped. He should've just stapled his eyes open and kept driving. Anything would've been better than this.

His brother shifted in his seat, and Stan glanced down at him. Stanford, his cheeks still sporting bloody fingerprints, was looking up at him with a mixture of sadness and… relief? What on earth for? Well, they were still alive, so that was one thing to be relieved about.

But, he shouldn't be looking at Stan like that. He should be angry, hurt, betrayed beyond belief! He should be yelling at Stan for putting him in such a horrible situation. Why wasn't he screaming at him?

Stanford moved his arm and held his still bloody hand out on the center console, offering it to him. Stan blinked, completely dumbfounded, then slowly reached over and grasped the smaller hand with his own. Stanford's mouth twitched, as if he wanted to smile but couldn't, and he turned to stare ahead at the road.

Stan held his brother's bloody hand tightly as he finally reached the exit.

Gravity Falls 1982

“You must be happy to be getting these back, I bet.”

“Yeah. The stuff Fidds gave me is cool, but I love my clothes more.”

Ford grinned as he handed Stanley the clothes he had arrived in. After breakfast that morning, Fiddleford had decided to go ahead and get the laundry done and out of the way.

“We'll have two boys in here with us soon,” he had said. “Can't have them wearin' the same thing every day.”

His assistant had been oddly chipper that morning, which was somewhat of a surprise. When Ford had confessed the truth about his Muse, Fiddleford had been shocked beyond belief, even more so than when he had been told about Crash Site Omega. He immediately accused Ford of summoning some sort of nefarious demon and being stupid enough to make some sort of pack with it. He had kept his voice down to avoid waking Stanley, but still made it very clear that he thought Ford was messing with things beyond his control or comprehension, and had stomped to his bedroom while muttering the Lord's Prayer under his breath. Of course Fiddleford's religious ideology would keep him from seeing the bigger picture. Ford hadn't even told him about the deal he had made to allow Bill to use his body in order to help with his work, and decided it would be better to leave that part out for now.

Ford had expected Fiddleford to still be upset when he woke up, and instead found him happily cooking up eggs and sausages in the kitchen. Ford had asked him if he was feeling alright, to which his assistant replied, “Why wouldn't I be?” The change in his attitude was a surprise, but Ford simply chalked it up to him wanting to remain calm around Stanley. No doubt he thought the boy would be scared by such a concept.

While Fiddleford was doing the laundry, Ford assisted Stanley with taking off the bandaids all over his hands and the bandage on his knee. Everything had healed over nicely, though Ford was certain his rambunctious little brother would need at least a few more before the day's end.

Once his clothes were finally clean, Ford had managed to convince Stanley to finally take a shower. The boy was as adamant about avoiding the task as Ford remembered, and only agreed begrudgingly when Ford pointed out that girls don't like smelly boys.

“I'll be in the kitchen if you need anything.”

Stanley nodded before entering the bathroom. Ford waited for a moment before turning to head for the kitchen.

He and Fiddleford had finished their first pot of coffee already, so he quickly got to work on making another. They had enough coffee grounds to last until tomorrow, but one of them would have to get some more soon. He wanted to work on adding some notes to his recent sketches, but he also wanted to be ready and alert today.

If what Fiddleford had told him was correct, his Stanley would be arriving at some point today. A mixture of complicated emotions swirled in his chest, making his whole body feel tense and heavy. He had tried not to let these feelings be known during breakfast as to not upset Stanley, but it was difficult.

He hadn't seen or spoken to his twin in a decade, and he wasn't sure how to approach it. What could he possibly say? How have you been? Where have you been? Have you even thought about me before this whole ordeal?

Ford was confident that Stan had been doing just fine until this happened. He was certain their mother would've told him otherwise. He couldn't imagine what his brother had to put on hold just to come by so they could attempt to fix this mess. No doubt he would be just as frustrated by it. Well, at least they would be able to agree on that. He doubted they would be able to agree on much else.

As the coffee began to brew, Ford took a seat at the table and pulled out his third journal and a pen. He flipped to his most recent entry- the drawing of Stanley and the porcupinecones- and began writing in the empty space around it.

January 15th

It seems that the arrival of my twin's younger counterpart has proven to be beneficial. While playing outside the other day, S discovered very strange but adorable creatures he calls…

Porcupinecones

While their appearance is similar to normal porcupines, their size would suggest a closer relation to hedgehogs. Nevertheless, the name is quite creative and fitting.

After further examination, it's no surprise that I never found these creatures myself. Their bodies seem to be made of brown scales similar to a pinecone, and even have pineneedle quills protruding from their backs that come in a variety of natural colors; easily hidden away with the other unassuming “normal” pinecones all around the forest. I'll have to examine them further to see if the quills grow on their backs or if they place them there themselves as a disguise.

Although timid at first, these little walking pinecones are easily won over with food. They didn't even hesitate to come close to S when he gave them a bag of pretzels from my pantry. I've yet to discover what they eat in the wild. They're also very friendly once won over, and love to be pet and held.

Ford moved to the second page- the drawing of all three porcupinecones climbing all over Stanley- and wrote each of their names and descriptions by their own sketches.

Of course, S chose to name them each accordingly.

Ivy- Definitely the most relaxed. Seems to be the leader of this particular trio (must study their hierarchy system).

Copper- The most hyperactive of the group. Named after the fake gold rings that turn your skin green.

Goober- Funny attitude and loves to roughhouse. Wouldn't stop headbutting my shoes!

The coffee maker started to make a loud bubbling sound, and Ford sighed thankfully as he got up from his chair. Just a few more cups and he would be all set for the day.

He was finally pouring his third cup of coffee when Stanley ran into the kitchen, towel hanging around his neck and hair still damp.

“Check it out! Fidds fixed the hole in my pants!”

Ford looked down as Stanley raised his right leg, and saw that the hole above his knee had indeed been neatly sewn shut. Whether it was a product of his southern hospitality or simply a part of who he was, Fiddleford's kindness was often unmatched.

“Be sure to thank him for that.”

“Yeah yeah, I will when I see him.”

Ford nodded as he stirred the sugar in his coffee. He brought the mug up to his face and inhaled deeply, and he suddenly felt a presence right next to him. He looked down to see Stanley staring up at him, or more specifically, his mug.

“Can I try some?”

Ford raised an eyebrow at him. “Coffee?”

“Yeah. You drink as much as Ma does. It's gotta be good, right?”

Ford stared at his brother for a moment before shrugging and reaching into the cabinet for another mug. He filled it up before handing it to his brother.

“There's milk and sugar if you-”

But Stanley didn't wait for him to finish before sniffing the coffee and taking a small swig. His face instantly scrunched up, and he somehow managed to swallow before letting out a disgusted groan.

“ Bleh! Geez, how do you drink this crap?”

Ford chuckled. “Try it with milk and sugar instead.”

Stanley glared down at his mug before placing it on the counter and grabbing the sugar bowl. Ford nearly snorted as he watched his brother pour almost half of the bowl into the mug before adding milk. He stirred it for a moment before hesitantly taking another small sip, and his eyes widened.

“Huh… Okay, that's actually good.”

“I imagine it would be with that much sugar in it.”

Ford sat back down in front of his journal as he gulped his own coffee. Stanley stood still for a moment before taking a seat next to him. Just as Ford picked up his pen to continue writing, Stanley suddenly spoke up.

“Hey, Ford?”

“Yes?”

Stanley stared down into his mug. “Um… you know how you said that this place is like a hotspot for weird stuff?”

Ford raised an eyebrow. “Yes…?”

“Like… what kind of weird stuff though?” Stanley asked. “Are there things that can… you know, make you see things that aren't there?”

That was an oddly specific question. Ford put down his pen and took another sip of his coffee before answering.

“There are a few things that can help you see visions of sorts, or things that can cause illusions. Why do you ask?”

Stanley glanced down as he kicked his feet out. “Well… what about dreams?”

“Dreams?”

“It's just… Ah, it's probably nothin'. Forget it.”

Ford shook his head as he set down his mug. “No no, tell me.”

Stanley didn't say anything for a moment. He took a long sip of his coffee before setting it down on the table and looking up at Ford.

“I've… had some weird dreams since I showed up here,” he answered. “Not the normal weird either. Like, weird weird.”

Ford nodded. “I see. What do you see in these dreams exactly?”

“Most of them are different, but… there's this guy that keeps showin' up.”

“A guy,” Ford repeated flatly.

“Yeah. Real show-offy, loves to hear himself talk. Keeps offering to show me stuff in exchange for favors. That's not even the weirdest thing about him.”

“Really?”

“Yeah,” Stanley leaned over as he spoke. “He looks like a floating nacho. Has a stupid top hat and bow tie, too.”

Ford had been reaching for his mug again and nearly knocked it over when he heard that. He looked over at his brother, feeling his own brows furrow in confusion. A floating nacho in a top hat and bow tie that appeared in dreams- Ford knew perfectly well the being that fit that description. But… that couldn't be true. Bill wouldn't just introduce himself to Stanley, not without telling Ford at least, right?

He had never contacted Fiddleford in the last year, and he was directly involved in their project. Why would he be appearing in Stanley's dreams?

Ford took a long sip of his coffee before answering. “I'm… not very familiar with such a thing,” he said, keeping his voice as calm as possible. “But I'm sure it's nothing to fret over. Dreams can be very confusing, after all.”

Stanley laughed awkwardly as he picked up his mug. “Yeah, figures. Probably just going loopy or somethin'.”

His brother seemed convinced enough as he drank his coffee. Ford's mind was racing as he drained the rest of his mug in a few gulps. He left it on the table as he quickly shut his journal and stuffed it into his inner pocket as he got to his feet.

“Where're you goin'?”

“Oh, I just remembered, I… have to look at something for our project,” he answered quickly. “Won't take but a minute.”

“Okay…”

Ford didn't waste anymore time in marching out of the kitchen. He glanced behind him to make sure Stanley wasn't following before making his way towards the bookshelf. He tugged on the book Journey to the Center of the Earth , and it clicked before the shelf swung open. He quickly shut the door behind him before making his way down the stairs towards the elevator.

It had to be a coincidence. It wasn't Bill's fault he looked like one of the most basic shapes of human history. A “floating nacho” could mean anything. Ford would simply summon him, ask him out right, and he could put this confusing moment behind him.

Ford didn't wait for the elevator to fully open before stomping into the meditation study. He slowed down only to light a few candles before sitting cross-legged in the center of the room. He took a moment to breathe and relax, not wanting to seem panicked when he spoke with Bill. There had to be a reasonable explanation to this, and his Muse would surely provide one. He pressed his fingers and thumbs together as he rested his hands on his knees, took a deep breath, and closed his eyes.

He meditated for what felt like ages… and was greeted only by silence.

Chapter End Notes

Hzcr rp qrl, bnj ipofwq qvkbfw teowqcs sg bnj bnhwrlh.

Chapter 24: Twins Collide

Chapter Notes

Chapter's not as long as I initially wanted it to be, but I think I did a decent job. I've already got notes for the next chapter, but I'm probably gonna give my brain a little break to recuperate. Rest assured; I probably won't be gone for a month or anything like that. Just got some books and games to catch up on in my free time.

Hope y'all enjoy!

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Gravity Falls 1982

Stanford's brain felt numb and oddly empty. He was conscious of the fact that he was just staring through the windshield as they drove, but not much else. He heard Stan say something at some point, but couldn't register what.

It wasn't until the driver's door suddenly shut that he seemed to snap back into reality. The car was parked in front of what looked like a small corner store, and he could see Stan rushing through the front doors. Had he told Stanford what he was doing?

Yes, he must have. He wouldn't just leave like that without saying anything. Stanford just hadn't been listening well enough.

Stanford tucked himself further into the blanket, lowering himself so he could stay well hidden. The silver car hadn't followed them, but that hadn't stopped him or Stan from constantly checking their mirrors or speeding past a few stop signs. Whatever he had felt after the first chase had only intensified now.

He felt like a c racked china cup that was just one tap away from crumbling to pieces. Was this how Stan felt all the time? How did he deal with it? Stanford wanted to be happy that they had nearly made it, but he was too stressed about bad people chasing them to even worry about how his twin would react to seeing him again.

But, underneath all of that, all Stanford could do was worry; worry about what would happen to this version of his brother once he was gone. Stan hadn't killed the men that had gone after them (Stanford decided that was a good thing), and even if they didn't know they were in Gravity Falls, they wouldn't stop trying to come after him. Stan had told Stanford not to worry, that he would figure something out, but it was clear that his only plan was to keep running until his heart gave out.

Or until he was caught. The idea of his brother being at the mercy of men like that was enough to give Stanford nightmares, and he was certain he would have plenty.

Not even a few minutes later, Stan came out of the store carrying a small plastic bag. He quickly unlocked the car before throwing himself in and slamming the door shut. Stanford shivered slightly as the cold wind rushed in for a moment.

“Moses, it's cold!” Stan shuddered before handing him the bag. “Here.”

Stanford slipped his arms out of the blanket and took the bag. He looked inside, and blinked when he saw a small package of socks and a long-sleeved red shirt.

“Why did you…”

“Figured you've gone long enough without some clean clothes.”

Stan then reached inside his jacket and pulled out an unopened roll of gauze. The fact that it wasn't in the bag was enough evidence to know that he had stolen it, but Stanford didn't have the heart to tell him off for it. Stan tore off the plastic with his teeth before rolling the material around one of his scraped up knuckles. Once he had enough, he suddenly took out his pocket knife, and Stanford flinched as he flicked it o pen. He shook his head and pulled off the blanket to quickly change into his new shirt.

He had just managed to put on a fresh pair of socks when the car started up again. He hadn't noticed how gross his feet felt until now, and he cringed as he tossed his old socks and dirty shirt into the plastic bag. The new shirt was soft and fit him perfectly, just loose enough for him to move around comfortably. Stanford never wore red very often, but found he actually liked it.

“I asked the folks inside about the address,” Stan said as they got back on the road. “Just gotta keep heading straight this way. Apparently, my Ford's somewhat known for being mysterious and closed off. Been here for years and no one knows hardly anything about him.”

Stanford nodded silently as he put his aviator back on. He tried to bury his issues with the men that had chased them and think instead of the prospect of seeing his twin again. He was still worried about whether or not Stanley would be happy to see him, but told himself that even if he wasn't, Stanford would do everything he could to make sure things were well again.

The ride was silent for a few minutes. Stan didn't even turn on the radio, and Stanford wondered if he was going to say anything. He started to reach for the volume dial when Stan suddenly spoke.

“I'm sorry.”

Stanford looked up. “For what?”

“Everything. For not bein' quick enough, for not bein' smart enough, for getting you involved in all my problems. I never… I didn't want…”

“It wasn't your fau l t,” Stanford said quickly. “You didn't- It's not like you made them come after us.”

“I pissed them off enough to make them come after me,” Stan countered dully. “And I wasted so much damn time stoppin' instead of getting you here as soon as possible.”

“You needed to sleep.”

“I can handle not sleepin' just fine.”

“You shouldn't have to!”

“Enough!” Stan snapped suddenly. “I get it if you can't forgive me, but there's no point in denyin' that it's my fault, alright?”

Stanford didn't flinch at his brother's tone like he had before. He stared up at his angry, defeated expression as a deep pain shot through his chest. He wanted to cry, but something stopped him.

“You never would've even met them if you hadn't been kicked out in the first place.”

“Stanf-”

“No!” Stanford cut him off. “If- if you wanna blame yourself for what you did, fine. But you've got to accept the fact that I- that he messed up, too. If he defended you, or if he went with you, things would've been different.”

Stan stared down at him, and Stanford stared right back, daring him to argue. The car started to swerve slightly, and Stan snapped his head forward as he straightened out on the road. He let out a long sigh.

“I wouldn't want either of you to go through what I did,” Stan said finally. “Maybe things would've been different, maybe they would've been better, but… it doesn't matter. I'm… I'm glad he wasn't stuck with me for all of that.”

The heater sputtered slightly, doing everything in its power to provide what little warmth it could. The air still felt icy, like it wasn't even blowing at all. Stanford frowned as he turned to look out of the window.

“Do you think he'll be happy to see you?”

“I doubt it.”

“Then what makes you so sure my Stanley will be happy to see me?”

Stan huffed. “Easy; you're still kids, you don't know any better.”

“Ya just turn it this way, then that way, and… tada!

Fiddleford grinned as he held up his completed Cubic's Cube. Stanley, who was sitting cross-legged on the couch, stared at the puzzle with wide eyes, his mouth hanging open.

“How the hell did you d o that?”

“Language,” Fiddleford told him, but not too seriously. “And it just takes a bit of practice. Easy as pie, really.”

Stanley stared at the Cube, apparently transfixed, then looked up at him. “Can I try?”

“Sure ya can.”

Fiddleford scrambled the Cube for a few seconds before handing it over to Stanley. The boy stared at the toy for a moment before immediately starting to twist it around. He continued for about a minute, only scrambling it further, and frowned at the messy result.

“This is gonna take a while, isn't it?”

Fiddleford shrugged. “Well, if ya can't handle it, ain't no shame in admittin' it.”

Stanley's head snapped up, a look of frustration clear on his face. That look quickly turned into determination as he began furiously twisting the parts and pieces, biting his tongue as he glared down at the Cube. Fiddleford chuckled and shook his head.

“Imma go take out the trash. Try not to hurt yourself.”

“Uh-huh, sure…”

Stanley didn't even look up at him, and Fiddleford shrugged as he walked out of the living room.

He wasn't quite sure why, but he had been oddly happy since waking up that morning. Maybe it was because yesterday had ended so perfectly(and peacefully). Even if he hadn't made too much progress with the time machine, he had somewhat of an idea on how to proceed. The only real problem, even if they managed to whip something up, was being able to test it without putting anyone in danger. They had somehow managed to go this long without anyone doing anything crazy or potentially life threatening, and that was a pattern he was hoping to repeat from now on.

It could also be because Ford's current twin would be arriving, and the two younger boys would finally be reunited. Fiddleford was certain that would be quite a sight to see. He wasn't looking forward to the older counterparts' interactions though. He knew tensions would be high, no matter what sort of “progress” the men had made with their younger twins. 10 years worth of grievances didn't just go away overnight, especially if you hadn't talked with the version who actually went through it with you.

Fiddleford made sure his jacket was zipped up tight before quickly making his way out of the door, full garbage bag in one hand. Growing up in Tennessee, he had experienced a few rare moments of snow. That being said, he certainly wasn't prepared for how cold awruhgon could get sometimes. That was why, despite how ugly they really were, he was happy his aunt had sent him those Christmas sweaters. Even if they were a bit large, he could let the boys use them if it really came down to it. He hoped Ford's twin and younger counterpart were properly bundled.

Fiddleford ran out towards the garbage can, checked to make sure there weren't any gnomes hiding inside, then quickly dumped the bag. He was about to turn to head back inside when he spotted a small speck at the end of the road in front of the house. His brain immediately thought “car”, but experience in these woods told him that it could be just about anything.

He stood still, watching the speck grow bigger, fully prepared to run into the house in case it turned out to be something dangerous. Thankfully though, after a few seconds, it became clear that it was indeed a car.

They never got any random visitor s (excluding Stanley of course), and there was only one reason anyone would be coming this far out of town.

Fiddleford could feel the wind nipping at his neck, but figured there wasn't any point in going back inside now. Might as well wait to give them a proper greeting before letting them in. He shifted in his boots as he watched the car come closer and closer, going almost unnecessarily slow. It made its way just past the mailbox and slowly parked right next to his beetle. He could barely make out the driver, but he knew full well who it was.

Here we go.

Fiddleford clenched his hands inside of his pockets before making his way towards the car. He was halfway towards it when the driver's side door opened, and the driver stepped out.

He had no idea what to expect when he finally came face to face with Stanley's older self, and was still so surprised that he nearly stopped in his tracks. The man that stood before him was bigger than he imagined, broad shoulders hunched with his hands in his pockets, a large duffle bag slung over his shoulder. Even through the snow, Fiddleford could see that his clothes were ragged and very well worn, with stains and patches all over his jacket, which definitely wasn't enough to keep him warm in this weather.

His hair (good Lord, he had a mullet) was long and tangled, his bangs just barely reaching his eyes. His face, a mirror image of Ford's, was visibly hollow and tired.

Fiddleford was so distracted that he almost didn't notice the passenger door open and shut, or the small figure that ran out and quickly hid behind Stan. That had to be Ford's younger counterpart. Stan took one of his hands out of his pocket and reached behind him to hold the boy's hand, and that small gesture alone nearly broke Fiddleford's heart. It was obvious that these two had been through a terrible ordeal.

“Um… hey,” Stan muttered, his voice even more gravelly in person. “Are you Fiddleford?”

Fiddleford swallowed hard, then smiled. “Yes, I am. But please, call me Fidds,” he raised his hand. “I reckon you must be Stan.”

Stan stared at his hand for a second, as if he were considering, then took his other hand out of his pocket to grasp it. Fiddleford noticed his knuckles were bandaged but didn't bring attention to it.

“Yeah, that's me.”

“Happy to meet yah,” Fiddleford said kindly as he released his grip. “Wish it was under better circumstances though.”

“Yeah, no kidding.”

There was silence between them for a moment. Fiddleford found himself almost staring at Stan's eyes, finding them oddly familiar and yet so painfully different. They were the same shape and color as Stanley's of course, but they held almost none of his spark. They were weathered, tired… dull.

Fiddleford was snapped out of his thoughts as he heard the snow crunch, and he looked down at the boy standing behind Stan. His head was barely peeking out from behind his older brother, but the tiny six-fingered hands grasping onto Stan's hand and arm was enough of a giveaway.

“Is… is this him?”

“Yeah,” Stan looked behind h im, and his voice immediately softened. “It's okay, bud. We're safe here.”

The small boy didn't move, his grip on Stan's arm visibly tightening. A moment later, he peeked his head out further, and Fiddleford had to stop himself from gasping. The child in front of him was so alike, and yet so different from his friend.

There was none of the confident bravado that was present in the genius that resided inside, only timid shyness. Big brown eyes stared up at him through large glasses as his brows furrowed with worry. Fiddleford smiled pityingly, then lowered himself to the boy's level before holding out his hand.

“Heya, kiddo. Name's Fiddleford, pleasure to meet ya. Well… meet ya again, I suppose.”

Stanford clung to his brother's arm as he eyed Fiddleford's hand as if it would bite him. He stared up at Stan, who grinned and nodded. Stanford swallowed hard before slowly raising a hand to shake his.

“Are we… friends?” he asked quietly.

“Why yes, we are,” Fiddleford said cheerfully. “We were roommates back in college. Older you called me up here to help him with a big project he's been workin' on.”

“Do I have a lab?” Stanford asked, his voice low but slightly excited.

“Technically, the whole house is a lab, but there are a few rooms reserved only for examinations and experiments.”

“Wow…”

Fiddleford grinned as he got to his feet. “Y'all have trouble gettin' here?”

Stan's grin faltered as he glanced away. “Ah… a little, but it was no biggie. I'm just glad we got here before the snow got too bad.”

“Oh yeah. Weather channel said it's supposed to snow pretty heavily tonight. Y'all got lucky.”

“Heh, yeah. Lucky…”

“Hey, Fidds! Check it out!”

Fiddleford whipped around to see Stanley stepping out onto the porch, holding the Cubic's Cube with a fully matched blue side up in the air.

“I matched a whole side!”

Stanley took only one step down the porch steps before he stopped in his tracks, his smile falling as he stared past Fiddleford.

“Holy shit…” Stan mumbled beside him.

Stanley's arm fell as he dropped the Cube, but Fiddleford didn't have it in him to scold him for it. He cautiously glanced down at younger Stanford, whose jaw fell o pen as he stared back at his twin. The distant wind whistled as the silence stretched.

Then it shattered.

Stanley!

Stanford!

Stanley ran down the rest of the stairs as Stanford tore himself away from Stan, both boys instantly sprinting towards each other, kicking up the snow at their feet. They collided with each other just a few yards in front of the house, their arms wrapping around each other in a vice-like grip. Young Stanford must have had a little more force behind his sprint, because he managed to knock Stanley completely off his feet, causing him to fall onto his back in the snow. Neither boy seemed to care or mind, both half laughing and half crying as they clung to each other on the ground.

“I- I don't believe it!” Stanford cried as he held his brother. “I finally found you!”

“Holy- You're here!” Stanley's voice rang out. “You're actually here ! You- Where the hell have you been?!”

Stanford let out a choked laugh as he quickly grabbed Stanley's arms and pulled him to his feet. Both boys were covered in snow, and neither did anything about it.

“Are you okay? Are you hurt?”

Stanford shook his head as he sniffed. “A little tired, but I'm alright. Are you hurt?”

Stanley laughed tearfully, raising a hand to wipe something out of his eye. “ Me ? Who cares?”

“I do!”

Stanley's eyes were bright as he beamed. He suddenly wrapped his arms around his brother and lifted him up, spinning him in circles as he laughed. Stanford giggled loudly as he held his arms around his brother's neck.

Fiddleford, big softie he was, couldn't help but put a hand over his heart and smile at the scene. For the briefest moment, he had forgotten about the dangers and struggles of trying to send two lost time travelers home, and just stared at the two happy kids, crying and laughing as they held each other. He hadn't been this touched since he watched Tate sing in the youth choir for Christmas last year.

Then he remembered the older Stanley standing next to him, and he turned. Stan was watching the boys too, a small smile on his face, but his eyes were filled with bittersweet longing. He had an air of sadness around him that looked so painfully similar to his younger counterpart whenever Fiddleford had seen him on the brink of tears. Stan was very much a stranger to him, but he couldn't help but feel the urge to put a hand on his shoulder to comfort him.

Before Fiddleford could do more than open his mouth however, another voice spoke out.

“Stanley? I heard screaming, is everything al-”

Fiddleford turned to see Ford standing frozen halfway down the steps. He stared down at the two boys, who had stopped spinning but continued to cling to each other like a lifeline. Fiddleford couldn't see young Stanford's face, but he could see his shoulders suddenly go stiff as he continued to h u g his twin, who was still smiling, oblivious to Ford coming out. Ford's gaze moved past the boys, and fell directly onto his twin.

Fiddleford glanced over at Stan, and saw that his grin had disappeared, replaced by a thin, apprehensive line. He let out a soft exhale, stuffed his hands in his pockets, and began to slowly walk forward.

It wasn't until Stan started making his way towards the house that young Stanley finally opened his eyes, and his jaw dropped at the sight of his older counterpart.

“Woah…”

Stanley and Stanford finally pulled apart, but held onto each other's arms as they watched Stan walk right past them. Each step made a deafening crunch in the snow, the only thing audible other than the breeze. Ford's face was set firmly, and Fiddleford saw his hands clench into fists at his sides.

Stan stopped right in front of the stairs, just a few feet away from his brother. They stared each other down, as if they were sizing each other up.

“Stan…”

“Ford…”

It wasn't a greeting, more of an acknowledgement of each other's presence. That was better than silence wasn't it? The two men continued to stare at each other for a moment, and Fiddleford wondered if they were going to say anything else (or at least move their staring contest inside where it was warm). Finally, Ford sighed, then turned away.

“Come in then.”

He said nothing else before finally walking inside. Stan sighed before slowly making his way up the porch steps. Fiddleford stuffed his hands back into his pockets before walking up to the boys.

“C'mon, you two. Don't want y'all freezin' out here.”

Stanley nodded as he turned to head to the house, but Stanford didn't move. He was staring up at the space where their older selves had been, a lost expression on his face. Stanley grinned as he stood beside his brother and grasped one of his hands.

“C'mon, Sixer. It's okay.”

Stanford looked at his brother, startled, as if he had forgotten he was there. Then he smiled, and nodded. Stanley held his brother's hand tightly as he led him towards the house, Fiddleford following right behind them.

He made sure the door was locked before turning back to the room. The two kids remained in the doorway of the living room, and he could see Stan standing in the center. Ford was nowhere to be found, and had most likely found solace somewhere else. Of course he did…

“Y'all must be cold,” Fiddleford piped up. “We've got some hot chocolate and tea if ya want some?”

The kids, of course, both turned and nodded in unison. Stan turned to look at him with a surprised expression, and slow l y nodded.

“Yeah, sure.”

Fiddleford grinned as he led them to the kitchen. He thought about making some tea for himself and Stan when he realized he wasn't sure what kind the other man liked, or if he even liked tea. Young Stanley only ever asked for juice and hot chocolate (as any child would), but of course his tastes would have changed as he aged, wouldn't they?

Still, not too many people disliked hot chocolate, so maybe that was a safer option for now. So, he pulled out three packages of cocoa mix and only one tea bag for himself.

He had a pot filled with milk and the kettle full of water on the stove before he finally turned around. Both boys had taken a seat at the table, though they had moved their chairs to sit closer together. Stan was standing in the corner by the doorway, and was constantly glancing around the room when he wasn't looking at the boys. Stanley was mostly looking at his own twin, but Fiddleford caught him casting suspicious glances at his older self.

The silence was tense and awkward, but no one seemed keen on breaking it just yet. Or they simply didn't know how to. How did one make small talk in a situation like this?

“Where'd Ford go?” Stanley piped up.

Young Stanford gave his brother an odd look, and Stan frowned in the corner.

“I'm sure he's probably in his study,” Ford explained quickly. “He was working earlier, probably just wants to finish up.”

Stanley nodded. Stanford suddenly leaned over and whispered something in his twin's ear, causing him to grin. Stanley shook his head before whispering back, and Stanford covered his mouth as he giggled lowly. Fiddleford nearly smiled, but felt it falter when he saw Stan fold his arms and stare at the floor.

Several awkward minutes later, Fiddleford finally had three mugs full of hot chocolate, and one with a steeping tea bag. He left his mug on the counter as he brought the other three to the table, placing two of them in front of the boys, and the third in front of one of the open seats. He looked up at Stan, who was still leaning against the corner, but was now staring at the lonely mug.

“I didn't take ya for a tea guy,” Fiddleford shrugged, slightly abashed. “Hope ya don't mind.”

Stan looked from him to the mug, hesitated, then slowly made his way to the table. He slumped into his seat before reaching for his drink.

“Thanks…”

Fiddleford nodded as he turned to remove the bag from his tea. He added some honey before making his way over to the table himself. Stan and Stanford took careful sips from their mugs at the same time, and both sighed with content. Stanley wiped a chocolate mustache off of his face as he stared up at his counterpart, looking confused.

“What's with your hair?” he asked.

Stan's head snapped up, and he glared. “What's with your face?”

Stanley blinked, then glared right back. Stanford looked slightly uncomfortable as he sipped his hot chocolate, looking like he was trying to hide inside of his mug.

“So,” Fiddleford interjected quickly. “How long of a d rive was it for ya?”

Stan's glare faded as he turned, and he and Stanford both shared a look. The boy just stared into his mug as Stan turned back to answer.

“Pretty long. I was in New Mexico when he first popped up. Only reason it took so long to get here.”

Fiddleford nearly choked on his tea. “New Mexico?”

“Why were you all the way down there?” Young Stanley asked.

Stan raised an eyebrow then shrugged. “Eh, you know. Just workin' on Nunya.”

“Nunya?”

“Nunya business.”

Stanley's brows furrowed and he moved to stand up, but Stanford quickly grabbed his arm and shook his head. Fiddleford was certain that wouldn't be enough to stop any hot-tempered boy from speaking his mind, but found himself surprised as Stanley huffed and settled back down in his seat. Fiddleford cleared his throat as he slowly sipped his tea.

Footsteps approached from outside the kitchen, and they all looked up in time to see Ford reach the doorway. His mouth was still pressed as he held his hands firmly behind his back. He glanced around before turning to address young Stanley.

“I brought some more pillows and blankets to the study,” he said, his voice deliberately calm. “The pullout couch should be more than enough room for the two of you.”

Stanley grinned and nodded. “Okay, thanks!”

Ford nodded, his eyes briefly shifting to his younger self. Fiddleford was certain he was imagining it, but young Stanford was looking up at Ford with slight disdain in his eyes, his brows furrowed. Ford didn't say anything to him before slowly turning to address his own twin.

“I… left some on the couch in the living room as well,” h e said shortly. “We don't have any other beds, so…”

“That's fine,” Stan replied, not even looking at his brother.

Ford's face twitched slightly at his brother's response, but he seemed to be making a conscious effort not to retaliate (for now, at least). He inhaled slowly, then turned to Fiddleford.

“I'll be in the storage room if anyone needs anything.”

“Sure thing.”

Ford didn't hesitate to turn and march away, his footsteps fading. Stanley, who at least seemed to have not noticed the atmosphere between their older selves, downed the rest of his hot chocolate and got to his feet.

“C'mon, I can show you where we're sleepin',” he told his twin excitedly. “It's super nerdy, and the bed is huge !”

Stanford looked up at his brother, surprised. Then, he smiled, chugged the rest of his drink as well, and got up from his chair.

“Okay!”

Stanley grabbed his arm, and the two ran out of the kitchen. An odd silence fell between Stan and Fiddleford. The other man hadn't even acknowledged the boys' departure, he just continued to stare into his drink. Fiddleford drummed his fingers against his own mug, trying to think of something to say. Getting to know Stanley had been relatively easy, but getting to know the man he had grown into could be a completely different story.

“What kinda sandwiches do ya like?”

Stan looked up and frowned. “Huh?”

“Sandwiches,” Fiddleford r epeated. “I was thinkin' of keepin' it simple tonight. I know Ford doesn't really keep it kosher anymore, but I wasn't sure if ya did or not.”

Stan let out a huff that almost sounded like a laugh and shook his head. “Can't really afford to be picky on my budget. Whatever you got is fine.”

Something about that response didn't sit well with Fiddleford, but he simply nodded. “Alright then.”

Chapter End Notes

Q pcrlosl... hkiig vlvl avif eivp?

Chapter 25: Sweet Dreams

Chapter Notes

Back with another chapter y'all. Wish it was a little longer (not sure how many times I've said it) but I think I did okay. I'm a bit tired so I got nothing much to say other than that.

Thank y'all for the amazing comments and I hope you enjoy!

See the end of the chapter for more notes

When Fidds had made their sandwiches later on, Ford had simply taken his plate up to his bedroom and didn't come back down for the rest of the evening. Stan's younger self had seemed a bit put out by that, but otherwise it went seemingly unnoticed. Stan wasn't all that surprised.

He wasn't exactly aching to be around his twin at the moment either. Still, the fact that Ford wasn't even pretending to be decent was a bit much. Stan was mature enough to eat a damn sandwich without making a fuss about it. Why couldn't Ford?

Stan remained relatively quiet as he ate the ham and cheese sandwich Fidds had made for him. He almost felt bad for the other man, even if the meal was as simple as it could be, but his grumbling stomach kept him from telling him that he shouldn't have bothered. His younger self, however, had spent nearly an hour on and on about some of the dumb things Ford had apparently been doing in the forest.

It sounded like a bunch of made up, supernatural crap that some bloke on the street would use to sell his merchandise or something (Gnomes? Giants? Seriously?). Dumb kid talked loudly through a mouthful of peanut butter and jelly, but Stanford had just smiled and listened with rapt attention, without even commenting on his own twins table manners. Stan loved and hated it. He was happy that what he had told Stanford was correct- his younger self had been thrilled to see him- but he also hated witnessing it. It was worse than simply thinking about or imagining his past with his Ford. He couldn't ignore it or push it aside, not when it was happening less than a few feet in front of him in real time.

It was well past 8 o'clock by the time they had finished eating. Fidds had encouraged the boys to head for bed, especially Stanford, stating he must have been exhausted. Stanford didn't need much convincing, and had merely nodded sleepily.

Stan watched his younger self grab Stanford's hand to lead him out of the kitchen, but not before Stanford smiled and waved back at him. Stan grinned back at his little brother, but it quickly faded as the boys disappeared. As Fidds placed the dishes into the sink, he told Stan that he was welcome to use their washing machine to clean whatever clothes he had on him. Stan told him that wouldn't be necessary, but Fidds had simply looked him up and down and gave him a skeptical stare. Yeah, alright. He might not be as dirty as he usually was, but the same couldn't be said for his clothes.

Stan told Fidds he would worry about it in the morning, but he knew full well that wouldn't be happening.

He settled himself on the couch, pretending to get comfortable as Fidds made sure the front door was locked. The man muttered a friendly “Goodnight,” before leaving Stan alone in the dark living room. He could probably afford to close his eyes for an hour, but no more than that. He needed to be quick and ready if he wanted to leave without alerting anyone.

Stan had made up his mind ages ago, long before they had ever reached the town; once he knew Stanford was safe and with people that could help him, Stan would leave. He wasn't doing anybody any favors by staying here, and on the slight chance Sergei and his goons managed to track him down, they would just follow him away from this place. It wasn't something he had discussed with Stanford, he knew the poor kid would disagree without hesitation. Unlike Ford, this younger version had a tendency to make decisions based on his feelings instead of just logic- not nearly as much as Stan used to, but enough to be noticeable. Stan had no doubt that his younger brother would be upset when he found out in the morning, but he was doing the kid a favor. He was doing everyone in this house a favor.

It was nearly midnight when he opened his eyes again, and the house was completely quiet. Stan quickly slipped on his boots and jacket, and made sure his duffle bag was still packed securely. He still had quite a bit of cash on him. He'd be able to fill up his tank and grab some water before hitting the road again.

He was still banned from California, but taking an alternate route down that way would be better than taking the road he had come from. Plus, it would be warmer. Stan hated being cold; another thing his younger self hadn't caught up on.

He thought about leaving a note. It wouldn't cushion the blow much, but at the very least it would make him feel less scummy about just dashing. There wasn't any loose paper around, none that wasn't already scrawled with nerd notes that he didn't have the time or patience to understand. He thought about using Stanford's notebook, but the kid had brought his backpack downstairs to Ford's study. He wouldn't be able to get it without waking either of the kids up.

Stan stood in front of the couch, staring down at his bag. Why wasn't he moving? He should be leaving now while he has the chance, so that no one could stop him from getting as far away from here as possible. What was stopping him? He let out a low groan as he opened the side zipper of his bag and pulled out his carton of cigarettes. Only two left.

Was it even worth buying more? He did have a few hundred bucks left on him, and it's not like went through them that quickly anyway. Whatever. He'll just worry about that once he's on the road again.

Stan stuffed his carton and zippo lighter into his pocket as he slowly made his way towards the front door. He carefully unlocked the deadbolt before slipping out into the cold. The wind wasn't harsh, but the snow was falling heavily, the footprints and tire tracks from earlier already covered up. It might take him a few tries to get his car started up again, but everyone else was either sleeping upstairs or downstairs, and he would still have plenty of time to leave without worry.

He quickly pulled on his hood as he made his way towards the railing beside the porch stairs. He dug into his pockets and pulled out a cigarette, placing it between his teeth before pulling out the lighter. He flicked it once. Twice. Three times? Stan groaned as he continued flicking the lighter over and over, but to no avail. C'mon, not now!

“Need a light?”

Stan gasped and whipped around, his free hand immediately going for his side despite not having a weapon on hand. It was Fidds. He stood in front of the door, tucked in his own jacket, holding up a small pocket lighter. Stan hadn't heard him open the door. Had he already been outside? Stan took a second to catch his breath before frowning.

“What're you doin' up?”

Fidds shrugged. “Couldn't sleep. Came out for a smoke.”

He took a few steps forward and held the lighter out. Stan stared at it for a moment before slowly reaching up to grab it. It was bright yellow and covered in orange slices. Cute. Stan glanced up at Fidds again before quickly lighting his cigarette, and then handed the lighter back without saying anything. Fidds dug around in his pockets before pulling out a carton of his own, and Stan felt oddly surprised to see it was completely full.

“I don't smoke that often,” Fidds said simply as he pulled one out. “I usually just chew.”

Stan shook his head as he took a drag. “Tried that once. Never got into it.”

“Yeah, it ain't for everybody.”

Fidds moved to stand next to Stan as he silently lit his cigarette. Stan inhaled his own as he watched him stand by the railing, and said nothing as he folded his arms on the top rail. For a few minutes, they both remained silent, content with watching the snowfall as they smoked.

Stan's nerves had calmed down, but he still felt on edge. Even with the southern hospitality, Fidds didn't have any real reason to act this calm and nice around him. He was a dirty, homeless stranger that had taken refuge in his house under astronomical circumstances. Being civilized for the sake of the situation was one thing, but going out of his way to speak with and be around Stan was another.

“Can't blame ya for not sleepin',” Fidds held his cig between his fingers. “Had a feelin' you'd be up.”

Stan exhaled as he raised an eyebrow at him. “Oh yeah? How come?”

“I've spent the last few days worryin' over your 12-year-old double. He… has a tendency to follow his impulses.”

“You don't know me.”

“No, I don't,” Fidds took a long drag before turning to look at him. “But, I certainly wouldn't mind gettin' to know ya.”

Stan frowned as he shook his head. “You don't wanna know me, man.”

“And why's that?”

Stan didn't reply. He stared out at the trees as he took another drag from his cigarette, making an effort to not look over at Fidds. Stan wondered if he was going to push for an answer, but Fidds remained silent as he smoked.

The next 10 minutes passed in an oddly peaceful silence. Stan only moved to smoke or wipe the occasional snowflake off his nose. Eventually, Fidds tossed his cigarette butt into a nearby bucket, then lightly tapped his arm.

“Come back inside. I got somethin' I think you'll like.”

Stan frowned slightly as he watched Fidds make his way towards the door. He thought about staying outside, claiming he just needed a minute, then he could figure out a way to leave quietly. Instead, he put out his cigarette on the snow-covered railing before tossing it in the bucket, and followed Fidds back inside. Curiosity killed the cat, but Stan had a feeling that whatever this nerd had in mind was harmless.

Stan waited as Fidds locked the door, then followed him back towards the kitchen. He blinked as the harsh lights were flipped on, and watched as Fidds grabbed a chair and brought it towards the fridge.

“Had to move these around when Stanley turned up,” he said as he stood on the chair and opened the cabinet above the fridge. “I don't reckon he would've done anythin' with them, but better to be safe than sorry.”

Stan didn't say anything, raising an eyebrow as he watched the other man rummage quietly for something. He heard the soft clinking of glass, and Fidds finally stepped down from the chair. Stan saw his proud smile before he saw what the man was holding. He blinked as he stared at the two large mason jars, both sealed tightly and full of clear liquid.

“Is that…?”

“Finest moonshine around,” Fidds finished confidently. “Figured you'd appreciate somethin' a little stronger than hot chocolate.”

Stan couldn't help but stare as Fidds placed the jars on the table before going to another cabinet. He wasn't sure what to say or do, so he settled for just sitting in one of the chairs as Fidds opened one of the jars and filled two glasses. Stan stared at the one placed in front of him for a moment before grabbing it and taking a sip. The burn was sharp but familiar, and he swallowed it before letting out a low cough.

“Damn! Haven't had anything that strong since I passed through Mississippi. How did you…?”

“I have good friends in low places,” Fidds answered with a shrug. “Best to leave it at that, ya know.”

He took a long sip and sighed, not even flinching. Stan grinned in astonishment as he took another sip from his glass. It was really good stuff, and it would certainly warm him up more than hot chocolate.

It couldn't have been easy for Fidds to get this, let alone bring it with him this far from home. Stan felt his grin fall. Fidds must have been saving these jars for a special occasion, so why would he bother giving any to Stan?

“Why are you doin' this?”

Fidds raised an eyebrow at him. “It's no trouble, really. I don't drink terribly often, and I still got plenty.”

“You know what I mean.”

“Ah,” Fidds glanced away as he drummed his fingers on his glass. “I guess… I just worry. It's a problem, I know.”

“Why?” Stan could feel the defensiveness in his voice. “Is it 'cause when you see me, all you see is that kid downstairs?”

Fidds didn't look at him as he sipped his moonshine. Stan huffed as he took a gulp from his own glass, but he swallowed too hard. His throat burned, and he had to bite his tongue to keep from coughing.

“Well… I'd be lyin' if I said no, but I'd be lyin' if I just said yes.”

Stan furrowed his brows as he frowned at him. Fidds sighed as he placed his glass on the table.

“Stanley, I-”

“Stan.”

“Right, sorry. Look, I can't pretend to know how I would've reacted if I'd met ya under normal circumstances, but I've met people like ya before,” Fidds twiddled his thumbs as he stared down at the table. “People that used to be bright and kind to a fault, only to grow up and have that taken away from them because who knows why.”

“'S not rocket science, man,” Stan said with a shrug. “They were too stupid and made too many mistakes, too many to even try fixin' anything.”

Fidds frowned up at him. Stan felt his throat tense up and he quickly turned away to take another gulp from his glass. He was talking too much.

“If ya don't mind me askin', why were ya so harsh on young Stanley earlier?”

Stan nearly laughed. “You kiddin'? He's a walkin' germ.”

“I don't understand.”

“No one in this house knows that little brat more than me,” Stan stated firmly. “Not even Stanford. He's so damn bright-eyed, arrogant, and… just stupid. He's got all these dumb thoughts floatin' around in his head, and no idea how pointless it all is. He still reads comics, for fucks sake.”

“What's wrong with comics?”

Stan rolled his eyes. “They're just dumb pyramid schemes to get kids to waste their allowance.”

“I see,” Fidds leaned forward slightly. “And did ya come to that conclusion yourself, or did someone tell ya that enough times until ya believed it?”

Stan glared at him before shifting in his seat, nearly turned away. Fidds wasn't being pushy (not yet, at least), but he was asking a lot of questions. Why was he being so nosy? Stan finished his glass before setting it to the side, fully expecting Fidds to finish his own before leaving the room. Instead, he poured some more moonshine into Stan's glass before topping off his own.

“Here's a better question,” Fidds said as he pushed the empty jar to the side. “Why's your bag packed?”

“You know why."

“I know nothin' good can come from just leavin',” Fidds said seriously. “Little Stanford would be torn up if ya did, and Ford… I know it doesn't seem like it, but he'd be upset, too.”

“Yeah, sure.”

“No, I'm serious.”

Stan rolled his eyes before looking up at Fidds. “How much do you know about what happened?”

“He's spoken about it only a couple times.”

“Then what's to be confused about? I screwed up, messed with his life, and now he hates me. Plain and simple.”

“Ya sure about that?”

“I've gone a decade without so much as a phone call.”

“Did you ever try callin' him?”

Stan shook his head, his brain buzzing as he spoke. “Look, I know what you're tryin' to do, but… I've made a lot more mistakes, and some of those mistakes are still followin' me. Literally. It would… be safer if I left before they followed me here.”

Fidds didn't say anything as Stan took another burning gulp from his glass. Part of him felt like he shouldn't be saying any of this, but he needed at least someone to realize he was trying to do everyone a favor by not sticking around. Ford might be an even bigger, more pompous ass than before, but Stan wouldn't know what to do with himself if he got hurt because of him.

“You've got people after ya?”

Stan didn't reply.

“Does that have anything to do with it?”

Stan glanced up at Fidds, and saw him gesturing to his left side. Stan looked down at himself, and froze when he saw a dark shape on the left side of his jacket that almost looked like a handprint. Stanford must have left it on him hours ago, when his hands were still bloody.

“Poor kid looked really shaken up when y'all arrived,” Fidds took another sip from his glass. “I'm sure bein' sent through time against your will would do that to anybody, but he didn't look a bit relieved 'til he saw Stanley.”

“He ain't hurt,” Stan muttered quickly. “We… got chased a couple of times. Got caught for a moment this mornin', but he got out of it okay.”

“And you?”

Fidds was looking at the gauze wrapped around his knuckles, and Stan quickly tucked his hands under his arms. He felt like he was being interrogated, but didn't feel in danger like he usually did. It completely threw him off.

“I shouldn't have let it happen,” he muttered. “Even if I didn't have anyone after me, it wouldn't be a good idea for me to stay here. I can't help you fix that time machine, and those two don't need complete supervision. Ford and I practically raised ourselves half the time, they'll be fine. Besides, 's not like Ford wants me here anyway.”

There was a sense of finality in his voice as he said that. He was certain that he had made his point plain and clear, and that the conversation was finally over.

Fidds downed the rest of his glass and placed it down with a sigh. “Well, ya can't leave now anyway.”

Stan huffed and rolled his eyes. “What makes you say that?”

“You've been swayin' for the last five minutes, and ya don't strike me as the kinda man that'd be stupid enough to drink and drive. Plus…” Fidds was smirking as he raised his hand, holding Stan's car keys. “Ya kinda need these to leave anyway.”

Stan stared, absolutely bewildered. He had completely forgotten that he had left his keys laying on his duffle bag before going outside for a smoke. He quickly reached out to take his keys back, but Fidds snatched his hand away. Stan tried to stand up from his chair and instantly felt his knees buckle. His whole body suddenly felt heavy, and his head became more dizzy the more he tried to move. Man, this moonshine was good . Stan wished he was in a better mood so he could enjoy it properly.

“I could just hotwire it, you know.”

Fidds nodded. “Ya could, but ya won't.”

“What makes you so damn sure?”

“Ya would've left already if ya really wanted to.”

Stan glared up at him, but it faded almost instantly. He hated being the one to get swindled, but he was kind of impressed. Game respects game, and Fidds had conned him fair and square. Besides, he was right; Stan did care too much about his car to ever drink and drive.

Stan grumbled lowly as he folded his arms onto the table. Fidds took the glasses and moved to place them into the sink. Stan heard the faucet running, and a moment later, Fidds had placed a glass of water in front of him.

“Drink that before sleepin'. You'll thank me in the mornin'.”

Stan didn't say anything as Fidds walked out of the kitchen. He stared down the glass of water for a moment before picking it up and downing it in a few gulps.

Fair play, nerd. Fair play.

Stanley knew where he was the moment he opened his eyes. The sunset was bright and warm, and the sand was oddly soft against his feet. He looked to his left, and found himself standing right next to the Stan O' War this time. The tattered sail shifted against the breeze, and the water splashed onto the shoreline, soaking his feet.

Something squeaked softly, and Stanley turned to look behind him. The swingset that he and Stanford sat at nearly every day was propped just a few feet beside the ship, the seats barely swinging against the wind. Stanley knew for a fact that the swingset at home was a little further away from their ship than this, but his mind must not have cared about that detail. It must have considered it a package deal when constructing his mindscape; can't have the beach or the ship without the swings.

Stanley stuffed his hands into his pockets as he made his way over to the swings, wet sand sticking to his feet. He stared for only a moment before sitting on the left swing- his swing. He glanced at the empty, barely moving seat beside him, and felt something twist in his gut.

Even though he knew his brother was right beside him back in the study, seeing Stanford's swing without Stanford felt wrong. Like seeing someone trying to eat soup with a fork; it just didn't make sense. Stanley looked away as he gripped the chains of his swing, burying his toes in the sand as he pushed himself back and forth gently.

“Well, it's about time!”

Stanley's head snapped up, and frowned when he saw Bill lounging on the swing next to him. He had his cane stuck into the sand, and was using it to smoothly push himself back and forth. Stanley rolled his eyes before turning to look out at the sunset.

“What took you so long, Lil' Mac?” Bill asked. “Something keeping you awake?”

“Couldn't sleep.”

“Guess I can't blame you there. A lot of fun things happened,” Bill leaned over to look at him. “A lot of crazy, brain-breaking things, huh?”

“Why do you care?”

“Of course I do! I wouldn't be willing to lend a hand if I didn't!”

Bill pushed himself off the swing to hover in the air. His cane disappeared as he moved to float in front of Stanley, blocking his view of the sunset.

“So? Have you thought about my offer?”

Stanley gripped the chains tightly. “Yeah…”

“And…?”

Stanley pushed himself back as far as he could, then kicked his feet out as he began to swing. Bill was just far enough that he couldn't hit him, but Stanley doubted it would do much if he could. Bill watched him silently, patiently, waiting for an answer.

“I'm gonna give it a few days,” Stanley said as he continued swinging. “Give Fidds a chance to fix that machine first.”

Bill's eye narrowed. “Seriously? I can get you boys home like that and you'd rather sit and play the waiting game?”

“I didn't say no yet. Just give him a few days to try.”

“I don't have a few days.”

Stanley frowned as he lowered his heels to dig into the sand, the swing skidding to a halt. That response was noticeably different from what Bill had said the last few times. Not to mention, he sounded more impatient.

“You said you just needed my help in case you needed somethin',” he said slowly. “Now you're actin' like you need my help in a few days? What do you want from me, man?”

Bill sighed and rubbed his eye. “Trust me kid, the less you know, the better. It would just confuse your simple-minded cranium anyway.”

Stanley gripped the chains angrily. “Simple?”

“Don't take it personal, Lil' Mac,” Bill's voice had returned to his usual charming tone, but Stanley didn't feel any less patronized. “You're human, that's all I meant. Heck, it took old six-fingers ages to even come close to grasping what I am and what I'm capable of.”

“Like what?”

“Like helping you out, for starters!” Bill stretched his arms and straightened out his bowtie. “So, how's about we skip the song and dance, and get right to the big stuff. Just agree to help me out, and I'll help you out! Real simple, kid.”

Bill floated closer as he extended his hand out. Stanley found himself staring at the blue flames that surrounded the hand, and felt compelled. He was certain Fidds was smart enough and could probably figure out the machine, but what if he couldn't? Even if he could, how long would it take to fix? Would he and Stanford even be able to work it themselves? Or would Stanley inevitably break it again, leaving them stranded with dinosaurs or pilgrims or something? Was it even worth the risk if Bill could, theoretically, get them home in an instant?

Stanley's right hand released its grip on the chain and hovered in front of him, part of him itching to grasp Bill's…

That's when he heard it. A soft sound, distant but obvious, from somewhere behind him. Stanley whipped around, expecting to see something or someone, but saw nothing. The noise got louder, this time it sounded like an uncomfortable groaning. He stood up from his swing and stared out at the seemingly endless beach behind him, wondering where the noise was coming from?

“Hey, what's the hold up?”

Stanley ignored Bill as he continued to listen. The groaning had developed into whimpering, and it was loud enough now that it didn't sound like it was coming from behind him. It sounded like it was happening all around him, as if it were inside his own head.

Suddenly, the dream beach started to look strange. It was foggier than normal, and there was a soft buzzing in his ears. It took Stanley only a second to realize that the beach around his immediate area was fading, disappearing into an empty white fog.

“C'mon, stay focused kid,” Bill snapped his fingers. “Don't wake up on me now.”

Wake up. If the mindscape was only accessible when Stanley was asleep, then the distortions must be caused by him waking up. Were the sounds coming from the other side then? Were they caused by something? Or someone?

The white fog was only a few feet away from the swing set when the whimpering suddenly turned into very familiar crying, and Stanley tensed.

“Stanford…”

“He can wait a few minutes,” Bill urged quickly. “You might not get another chance at this.”

“If he can wait, then so can you!” Stanley whipped around to snap back. “If you really needed me so badly, you'd be willin' to wait!”

“You really wanna pass this up?” Bill retaliated. “You know I can get help by other means, right? I didn't have to waste time with you!”

“Go do it then!” Stanley yelled. “Go grab some other clown to help you out! I told you before, I don't need your freakin' deals !”

“Wait, no-

Before Bill could say or do anything else, Stanley whipped around and sprinted under the swingset, leaping headfirst into the fog.

One moment he was floating on nothingness, and the next, he was staring up at the ceiling of Ford's study.

Stanley blinked several times as he came to his senses, raising a hand to rub his eyes. It took him only a second to notice the sniffling. He turned and saw Stanford sitting on the edge of the bed, his back turned and head hung low. Stanley quickly sat up and reached over to touch his twins' shoulder.

“Stanf-”

Stanley had barely even touched him before Stanford whipped around, pushing his hand away. The action shocked Stanley so much that he froze, his hand held up in midair. Stanford stared at him wide eyed for a few seconds before a look of recognition washed over his face.

“I… ” Stanford shuddered. “Oh… oh man. Stanley, I-I'm sorry. I didn't mean-”

“Don't worry about it,” Stanley lowered his hand and shifted closer to his brother. “What happened? Nightmare?”

“It's… it's nothing.”

That was a lie, and Stanley knew it. Stanford never held things from him, especially when it came to nightmares or anything similar. Why the hell would he start now? Stanley moved even closer and nudged his brother's arm with his own.

“Hey, don't clam up on me now,” he pleaded gently. “What is it?”

Stanford bit his lip as he turned to stare at the floor, but he didn't flinch or move away this time. That was good. Stanley watched his brother twiddle his thumbs before ringing his hands tightly, patiently waiting for him to get the words out.

“It's just…” Stanford swallowed. “A lot of scary things happened on our way here, and… it's kinda hard to think about, and it's hard to sleep.”

Stanley knew it didn't take much to scare Stanford, but he didn't seem like he usually did after a simple nightmare or particularly bad lightning strike. This was an uncomfortable tensity that Stanley wasn't used to at all. Ideas of what his brother could've gone through on his journey here began filtering through his head, and all of them made him feel sick.

“You wanna talk about it?”

Stanford folded his arms and shrugged. “I… don't know.”

Stanley reached up and wrapped an arm around his shoulders. “That's fine. Just tell me when you feel like it.”

Stanford nodded, the tension in his shoulders vanishing as Stanley held him. He sniffed loudly again as he leaned against him, and Stanley leaned over to press his head against his twins'.

They sat in silence as Stanley rubbed his shoulder, wishing there was something better he could do. Despite spending hours together after his arrival, part of him still found it hard to believe that Stanford was here. After spending more time apart than they ever had before, being together again felt strange, but in a comforting way. Like finding two lost puzzle pieces behind the couch and putting them together to finally finish the puzzle.

Stanley hated that something was making his brother feel this upset, but at the same time, he felt happy and content to sit like this for hours. It wouldn't be the first time the brothers had done it, after all.

“Stanley?”

“Yeah?”

Stanford fiddled with the sleeve of his new shirt. “Do you… think we're gonna be okay?”

Stanley frowned as he pulled back slightly to look at his brother, who remained motionless as he stared at the floor. Stanford was the smartest person he knew, and Ford was even smarter, so of course Stanley believed he could figure it out. Why would Stanford worry? Did he not think that Ford and Fidds were capable of getting them home?

“I can get you boys home like that and you'd rather sit and play the waiting game?”

Stanley shook his head and grasped Stanford's shoulder tightly.

“Sure we are!” he chimed confidently. “I mean, we've made it this far, right? Besides, if anything goes wrong, we'll figure somethin' out, like we always do. I'm here, you're here, and that's all that matters. Right?”

Stanford was still for a moment before he nodded, raising a hand to wipe his nose. Stanley grinned as he gave his shoulder a comforting squeeze. Stanford suddenly let out a soft, choked sound before whipping around and wrapping his arms around Stanley's torso, pulling him in for a tight hug. Stanley didn't hesitate to wrap his arms around Stanford's shoulders and hug him back.

“I missed you,” Stanford whimpered into his shoulder.

Stanley sniffed and swallowed hard. “Yeah… I missed you, too.”

Chapter End Notes

Kifwjbsd xoe bqwz wrs jlnle ao xicee oal, foey tuh guec aoo udnl ny xpef

Chapter 26: A New Kind of Self-Contempt

Chapter Notes

When I first came up with the concept of this story, I figured I'd be able to finish it in 20ish chapters or so. I wasn't intending for it to be this long. It just sort of… took over after the first few chapters. I know I've made comments about, “Oh, is my pacing okay?

Am I rushing anything? Am I dragging it too much?”

Well, people… I've decided that it's better to drag a bit than to rush too quickly, because even if it drags, at least I'll know I didn't leave anything important out. Don't get me wrong, I have no intention of dragging things more than necessary. But… I'm starting to think this story will be closer to 40 chapters before it's done, based on my notes and all so far. We're really in it for the long hall it seems.

I, for one, did not expect things to go this way… but Dammit I'm having way too much fun with this story to really care. Besides, as long as y'all are still loving it too, then I guess none of us have anything to worry about!

Just a little tidbit that I've had on my mind lately. Thought I'd get it out in the open.

Be sure to leave a comment and let me know how y'all enjoyed!

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Ford felt relieved for only a moment when he found himself in his mindscape- it meant that Bill had returned to speak with him again- but when he remembered why he had been wanting to speak with him earlier, his relief was quickly replaced with frustration. It wasn't out of the ordinary for Bill to visit when he slept, but it was out of the ordinary for him to not respond when Ford tried to connect with him. He certainly hoped there was a good explanation for his absence.

He was considering whether or not to wait for Bill to appear or to just start searching for him when suddenly all of the journal replicas in his immediate area began floating towards him. Ford blinked as he watched them all line up on top of each other in front of him before forming a hovering staircase, leading further up into the starry space. Ford wasn't completely sure if that was his doing or Bill's, but he didn't quite care at the moment.

He and his Muse needed to have a serious talk. So, he puffed out his chest and began making his way up the makeshift staircase.

As he climbed higher and higher, Ford could feel some of his confidence begin to drain. Bill might not have responded immediately when he needed answers, but surely he had a good reason for that. They were friends after all, and Bill wouldn't keep things from him, especially if it was important. Still, the thought that his Muse had revealed himself to his younger, time-traveling brother was baffling. He needed answers for that.

Ford was halfway up the staircase when he heard it- music. A piano was echoing from above, but he was still too far away to tell what song was playing. Ford looked up, and could see that he was coming closer and closer towards a large, square-shaped surface.

Some kind of stage or arena? It wouldn't be the first time something new appeared in his mindscape. Ford found something new and unique floating around nearly every time he woke up here.

He was only a few steps away from the top when he finally recognized the song being played. “We'll Meet Again” by Vera Lynn; one of his favorite songs since childhood.

When he finally reached the top, he saw that the large square surface was actually a replica of his blueprints for the portal. Instead of being divided up into three different sheets, it was all together on one singular surface. In the center of the floor, right on top of the image of the portal, was a large grand piano. Bill was sitting on the bench, still playing as he hummed along with the music.

Ford took a deep breath as he began to make his way towards him. His feet echoed as if he were walking across polished tile, and he was only acknowledged when he was halfway across. “Hey, I.Q! Nice of you to drop in,” Bill glanced back at him for a moment before continuing to play. “Hope you don't mind. It's been a minute since I've gotten some practice in, and the ambiance in here is amazing !”

Normally, Ford wouldn't mind. He was usually more than happy to let Bill have fun in his mindscape, but his frustration was outweighing everything else at the moment. He stopped just a few feet away from Bill, who didn't look back or stop playing.

“I tried to contact you yesterday,” Ford started. “But you never responded.”

“Oh yeah, I saw you rang earlier. Did I miss anything interesting?”

“Well, my brother and my younger self finally arrived.”

Bill's playing slowed down slightly, and his voice was sympathetic as he spoke, “Oh, buddy, I'm sorry I couldn't be there for you. That must've been such a pain.”

Ford held his hands behind his back, clutching them nervously. “No no, it's fine. It was more awkward than anything, but that's not why I tried to speak with you.”

“Oh?” Bill finally stopped playing and turned in his seat to face him. “And why might that be?”

“Stanley– the younger one– told me something interesting,” Ford took a deep breath. “He said that he's been having odd dreams since he arrived here, and claims to have seen you there.”

“Did he now?”

Bill's tone and demeanor hadn't changed, but Ford felt tension building in his gut. He had never had any real argument or disagreement with his Muse up until this point, and he was really hoping that streak wouldn't end now.

“I'm sure you must have had a good reason,” he said slowly. “But what I can't believe is that you wouldn't tell me first. Why would you show yourself to him?”

Despite wanting to know the answer, Ford felt nervous about demanding an answer out of his Muse. He was certain that Bill wouldn't be too offended by his questioning, but he had never kept anything from Ford before. He felt like he was dipping his toe into uncharted waters, unsure of what lied beneath the surface.

Suddenly, incredibly, Bill leaned back as he started to laugh.

“Oh-ho, Fordsy! You had me worried!” Bill chortled. “I thought it was something serious!”

“But- but it is!” Ford insisted. “You've never revealed yourself to anyone else since we met, and- Would you please stop laughing!”

“Ford, Ford, relax!” Bill floated over and placed an arm around his shoulders. “It's not like that. I didn't actually go into his mind and introduce myself. I simply placed my image in his mind, and let his dreams do the rest.”

Ford frowned. “But… why?”

“Simple! I'm gonna be popping outta that portal in a few days time, and the last thing you and I need is everyone in that house freaking out when I do. They'll still be pretty shocked- I mean, look at me!” Ford could practically hear Bill grinning as he straightened his bow tie. “I'm perfection incarnate! But this way, we won't have to worry about anyone dying of a heart attack. Get the picture?”

Well, Ford would be lying if he said he didn't understand Bill's reasoning, but he still felt confused.

“Well… why didn't you tell me first?” he questioned. “Why didn't you respond to me before?”

“You just seem so stressed and busy that I decided to take a bit of the load off and let you know later,” Bill answered kindly as he patted his shoulder. “And I didn't respond because I was fishing around for parts to help you fix that time machine. Just because I know how to get them doesn't mean it's easy to get them.”

Ford felt stunned by his answer. Then came a wave of foolish embarrassment. Of course the answer was more simple than he had realized.

He should have known better than to let himself become paranoid. As much as he prided himself on his intelligence, Ford wasn't foolish enough to believe he was smarter than Bill. Of course his friend was only trying to get things done quickly and efficiently.

“I didn't realize…” Ford shook his head. “I should've known. I'm sorry.”

“Aw, don't worry your pretty head, Sixer,” Bill pinched his cheek. “I'm always happy to help you out. I know you can't wait to get those brats out, and your younger self, too. The sooner they're out of our hair, the better.”

Ford nodded, still feeling rather abashed. He wished now, more than ever, that he could go back to last week, when everything was normal and the only thing he had to worry about was finishing up the portal.

“Honestly though, I'd be less worried about the little one and more worried about the big one.”

“Believe me, I'm already worried about him.”

“Right?” Bill propped his elbow on Ford's shoulder. “I mean, he's only been here for a few hours and he's already bonding with your roommate? Talk about boundary issues.”

“What do you mean?”

Bill waved a hand in front of him, and Ford watched the space in front of him twist into a large opening. He stared dumbfounded at the image of Stan and Fiddleford leaning on the porch railing, apparently smoking together.

“Can't blame ya for not sleepin'. Had a feelin' you'd be up.”

“Oh yeah? How come?”

“I've spent the last few days worryin' over your 12-year-old double. He… has a tendency to follow his impulses.”

“You don't know me.”

“No, I don't. But, I certainly wouldn't mind gettin' to know ya.”

Ford felt his jaw drop as the image faded and the opening closed. That had to have happened only a few hours ago. Why was Stan awake so late? Why was Fiddleford? Why was he talking to him as if Stan were a friend?

“Unbelievable,” Bill sighed. “First he takes away your chance at your dream school, and now he's cozying up to your assistant. Man, this guy is the embodiment of distractions.”

Ford felt his hands twitch. “This whole week has been… difficult. I'm sure Fiddleford was just trying to be hospitable.”

“By having deep conversations with your twin at midnight like a bunch of teenagers at a sleepover?”

“Fiddleford is smarter than most give him credit for,” Ford defended. “He knows better than to get too distracted.”

“Maybe. Or maybe he wants to distract himself,” Bill held his hands behind him as he hovered in front of Ford. “He didn't react too kindly when you told him about me, afterall.”

Ford's confusion and frustration were instantly replaced with embarrassment again. He hadn't spoken with Bill since before he had told Fiddleford about him. He didn't seem upset, but he didn't seem pleased either.

“I… I know you said to keep our arrangement a secret for now,” he began. “But… I just thought–”

“Hey now, don't get all nervous on me,” Bill said quickly. “I get it! You didn't want him to have some kind of breakdown when I came through. Your approach was just a tad blunt is all.”

“He seemed fine this morning, though.”

“Yeah. A bit too fine , if you ask me.”

Ford's brows furrowed. “What do you mean?”

“Try asking him about your conversation the other night. You'll see what I mean.”

Bill could be rather cryptic when he wanted to be, but this didn't seem like the sort of thing to be cryptic about. Perhaps it was more obvious than Ford thought, and it wouldn't take much to notice? But, what was he supposed to notice?

Before he could ask however, he heard the familiar buzzing. He glanced around and saw that the starry space was starting to disappear into the white fog.

“Looks like you're waking up,” said Bill. “Try to keep your head up, buddy. Just a few more days, and it'll all be over.”

Ford nodded. “I'll certainly try. Thank you.”

“No problem, Sixer!”

Bill's voice echoed as the mindscape began to fade away, and Ford, still embarrassed but far more at ease, let himself sink into the emptiness.

Ford had remained in bed for nearly half an hour after waking up, his mind still racing with all that had happened the previous day. He dreaded having to leave his room, but he knew he couldn't just hide away all day. He had things to do, things to prepare for. Not to mention, they now had two 12-year-olds to keep an eye on, as well as an unpredictable 28-year-old. The last thing he needed was any of them getting hurt or hurting anyone else.

Ford allowed himself to remain in bed until he heard footsteps running around downstairs, and even then he only forced himself to get up when the sudden urge for caffeine hit him like a freight train. He was certain he would have to leave the house at some point today, so he decided to put on a navy blue sweater instead of one of his vests. He could still feel the weight of that dumb ring in the pocket of his slacks as he forced himself out of his room and down the stairs.

He could hear voices conversing happily from the kitchen. Fiddleford must already be in the kitchen, no doubt helping the two boys get some breakfast. Ford was already halfway through the living room when a loud groan caused him to stop in his tracks. His head snapped over to the couch, and he was almost surprised to see someone sleeping on it.

To say that Ford had been surprised to see his twin would be an understatement. It wasn't that he hadn't expected Stan to actually make the trip, he had just been surprised to see him at all. The last time Ford had seen his brother, he had a face full of acne, greasy slicked hair, and the kind of confidence only an 18-year-old jock could have. The man sleeping on the couch was nothing like the boy Ford had seen drive away 10 years ago. Stan was still big and broad, but there was a hollowness in his face and a hunch in his shoulders that hadn't been there before.

His clothes were filthy, his hair was horrid, and when he had first approached him yesterday, Ford had stared at him long enough to see the small but very visible scars on his face; one on the left of his forehead, and one on the right side of his chin. Their mother had told Ford that Stan had attempted to start his own business, but it was clear by his appearance that things were less than ideal. Ford had felt a wave of curiosity and worry fill his gut at the sight of his twin, but it wasn't enough to drown his anxiety and frustration at seeing the one who betrayed him years ago.

Stan shifted under the blanket as he let out another groan, then fell silent again. Ford stared at him for a moment before quickly making his way towards the kitchen. He was certain he and Stan would run into each other more than once in the next few days; there was no need to start this early in the morning.

Ford had expected to find their younger selves as he entered the kitchen. He had not, however, expected to see them both standing next to Fiddleford as he busied himself over the stove.

“Ya wanna add the chips?”

“Yeah!”

Stanley excitedly took the small package of chocolate chips from Fiddleford before moving to stand in front of the large pan. Fiddleford grinned down at Stanford.

“Wanna grab the plates? They're in the cabinet over there.”

Stanford nodded before moving towards the table to grab one of the chairs. His eyes landed on Ford, his grin fading almost instantly. Ford was filled with an eerie sense of deja vu as he stared down at his own younger face.

He wasn't even sure if that was the proper way to describe what he felt, but he didn't know how else to describe it. How was one supposed to feel when seeing their younger self in person. Stanford gave him an agitated frown before moving the chair towards the cabinet, his nose in the air, apparently making a point not to look at him. Odd, but Ford couldn't exactly blame him. Seeing how you would look in the future must be jarring.

Ford cleared his throat loudly as he made his way over to the coffee pot, causing Fiddleford and Stanley to both turn.

“Hey, you're up!” Stanley said brightly.

“Yes yes, shocking, I know.”

“It is, considerin' your usual sleep schedule,” Fiddleford commented. “You've been doin' pretty good this week.”

“Obviously, I've had to focus on other things besides work.”

“Well, good. Ya needed a break.”

Ford rolled his eyes, but didn't respond as he turned on the machine. As the coffee brewed, he glanced over and watched as Fiddleford helped Stanley flip pancakes in a large skillet. Once a few were made, Stanford held out a plate for them to stack them on. It felt… weird, seeing Fiddleford bond so quickly with their younger counterparts.

Ford simply chalked it up to him being a good father and knowing how to handle kids. Ford almost envied him for that.

“Don't use all of them, Stanley.”

“I won't,” Stanley assured even as he piled a large amount of chips onto what were obviously his pancakes.

Stanford set the rest of the plates on the counter and nudged his twin. “You can go ahead and start eating. I'll do the rest.”

“Awesome!”

Stanley quickly grabbed two plates of pancakes- one of which had a more reasonable amount of chocolate chips- and placed them on the table. The coffee machine bubbled, and Ford quickly pulled out a mug. He had barely filled it when Stanley suddenly marched over, looking between him and the pot excitedly. Ford grinned before pulling out another mug and filling it up for his little brother. Young Stanford glanced over confusedly as he watched his twin stir milk and sugar into his coffee, but the second he saw Ford looking back at him, he glared back down at the pancakes still in the skillet.

Eventually, both boys and Fiddleford took their seats at the table and began to eat. Ford remained standing as he quickly drank his first cup of coffee. Once he had filled his second cup, he finally made his way to the last empty seat. There was already a plate of pancakes placed down for him, but there were significantly fewer chocolate chips compared to all the others. He glanced suspiciously at his younger counterpart, who seemed to be purposely avoiding his gaze as he ate. Ford decided to ignore him and simply sat down.

He had just taken his first bite when he heard feet shuffling and a low groan from just outside the kitchen. He looked up to see Stan stepping through the doorway. His hair was even messier and there were bags under his eyes, but other than that, he looked no different than he had yesterday.

“Mornin',” Fiddleford greeted. “Hope you're hungry.”

Stan let out a low grunt of acknowledgment, brushing his bangs out of his eyes. Stanford suddenly pushed himself from his seat and ran up to the counter, grabbing the last plate of pancakes. These ones had a large amount of chocolate chips, even more than Stanley's. Stanford looked almost proud as he handed the plate to Stan, who looked dumbfounded.

“I… accidentally added too many. I hope that's okay.”

Stan blinked down at his plate, then chuckled. “Do I get any pancakes with this chocolate?”

Stanford giggled as he made his way back to his seat. Stan shook his head before moving over to lean against the counter, completely forgoing a fork and picking up the whole pancake with his hand. Stanley gave his twin an odd look, but otherwise didn't react as he continued to eat his own pancakes. Ford frowned at his younger self, who still looked proud as he continued to eat.

The kitchen was oddly quiet as they continued eating. Fiddleford remained unbothered as he read the newspaper, and the two boys occasionally whispered to each other, causing them to laugh at whatever they were saying. Ford would occasionally glance over at Stan as he took sips from his mug, but Stan never looked back, content to just stare down at his own plate as he ate. Ford didn't care though. The less they interacted, the better.

By the time he finished eating, Ford's second cup of coffee was already gone. He slowly got up from his seat and made his way to the coffee pot, just a few feet away from Stan. He made a point not to look over at his twin as he filled and prepared a third cup, but he swore he could feel eyes on him. Ford decided it was best to just leave the room.

He had barely made it past the table when Stanley suddenly whipped around in his seat.

“Hey Ford, can we play outside?” he pointed his thumb back at young Stanford. “I just wanna show him around a bit, see if we find anything fun.”

Ford stood frozen in his tracks, and he could instantly feel all eyes turn to him. Stanley smiled up at him expectantly, Fiddleford gave him an encouraging grin, and young Stanford raised an eyebrow at his own twin before giving Ford an apprehensive look. He couldn't see Stan's expression, but he could feel his gaze on the back of his head.

“Yes… that should be fine,” he answered. “Just remember to keep the house in sight, alright?”

“Yeah yeah, no problem.” Stanley stuffed the last bit of his pancake into his mouth before turning to address his twin. “C'mon, let's get our jackets!”

Stanford's face instantly split into a grin as he chugged the rest of his juice. As soon as he was done, both boys sprung to their feet and sprinted past Ford out of the kitchen. Fiddleford chuckled as he set down his own coffee and got to his feet, already picking up the empty plates. Ford was about to ask if he needed help when Stan suddenly moved past him and started picking up the rest of the dishes.

“I can help with these.”

“Oh, ya ain't gotta do that.”

“Eh, 's not like I got anything else to do.”

Ford felt his grip on his mug tighten as he turned and walked out of the kitchen.

His mind wandered to what Bill had shown him in the mindscape. He wasn't sure why Fiddleford being kind to Stan bothered him, but it did. After all, his assistant somewhat bonding with Stanley wasn't that much of a surprise in hindsight. Fiddleford was a father with a boy of his own, and Stanley was a lost child, so of course he would be kind and caring towards him. But, Stan was a grown man, and the one who had betrayed Ford's trust in the first place.

Being hospitable was one thing, but going out of his way to show kindness? Why even bother? It's not as if Stan was going to stick around after this mess was dealt with.

It's not like he wants to be around you anyway.

Ford shook his head. Even with the extra sleep lately, his mind still felt anxious and exhausted. Perhaps Fiddleford was right; a small break from everything would be a good thing. All he had to do was wait for their scheduled testing, and everything would go back to normal.

He made his way towards the bookshelf, but instead of opening it, he simply pulled out his copy of Brothers Grimm Fairy Tales . It had been a while since he had read any of them, and his study would be unoccupied for at least an hour or so. Perhaps reading in peace would calm his nerves a bit.

Chapter End Notes

Udsghwixw udmt ilvgscaw ekp aawwp irhfol oaplsne acjml, erw lzi gfhc xh mm islar abep cgmn fekp pefvo. M hhy'b qsca xlx ccpwk, E nyle nsddka xapu.

Chapter 27: An Odd Calm, an Odder Storm

Chapter Notes

I can't Believe it's been an entire month since I've updated. I don't know why this chapter took so long, but I finally got it down. Sorry for the wait, but hopefully the next one won't take as long to complete.

Things are slowly but surely starting to get crazy good y'all. I hope you're ready.

Enjoy!

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Stanford hadn't been sure what to expect when he finally arrived in Gravity Falls. He didn't know too much about awruhgon, only that it had a lot of trees. He had figured that this place would be similar enough to any other small town. That was quickly proved to not be the case.

It wasn't that Stanford hadn't believed Stanley when he had told him about some of the supernatural oddities that apparently lived in the forest. He knew for certain that things of that nature did exist(their chase with the Jersey Devil was something he would not soon forget), but some of the things his brother had claimed to have seen still seemed very out there. That being said, he had been very excited when Stanley had offered to show him some of the said oddities.

Stanford had barely put on his jacket when his twin grabbed his hand and practically dragged him out the front door. The snow was thick enough to cover their shoes, but it wasn't impossible to walk through. Stanley wouldn't stop talking about these creatures that he had discovered and named all on his own.

It reminded Stanford an awful lot of all the times he himself would ramble on and on about an interesting science fact with his brother. But instead of pretending to be bored or overwhelmed by all the “nerd talk”, Stanford was absolutely elated. He hadn't seen Stanley this happy or excited to talk about something since he had gotten his latest issue of Captain Nazi-Puncher .

“Here!”

Stanley stopped and turned left, dragging Stanford towards a large tree. He could see a hollow hole that was only a little taller than they were as they approached. Stanley finally released his hand and dug around in his pockets.

“I caught them crawling up here yesterday. Guess they hid to avoid the snow.”

Stanford watched as his brother pulled out a half empty package of mini marshmallows. Stanley untwisted the bag and pulled out a single mallow before holding it up to the hollow.

“Hey guys, got somethin' new for you this time,” Stanley beckoned. “C'mon, I know you're in there…”

For a few seconds, nothing happened. Then, Stanford saw a pointed brown nose poke out from the edge of the hollow to sniff the marshmallow. His jaw dropped as he saw the head of the creature poke out before grabbing the mallow with its mouth.

It was small and cute with beady black eyes, and dark green quills on its back. A moment later, another one with gold and green quills popped out, and Stanley quickly held out another marshmallow for him.

“What are they…?” Stanford muttered in amazement.

“Porcupinecones!” Stanley replied proudly, holding out more treats for the little things. “Not sure if they really do anything, but they're cute and really funny!”

Stanford could practically feel the stars in his eyes as he watched his twin feed the little creatures. Suddenly, a third porcupinecone with brown quills poked its head out, sniffing around wildly. Stanley reached into the little bag and held a few marshmallows out to Stanford, who stared for a moment before taking them.

He gazed up at the more energetic creature before carefully holding the treat out. It seemed to hesitate at first, but after sniffing for a few seconds, snatched the mallow from his fingers. Stanford held his hand still for a moment before carefully moving his fingers closer to scratch the creature's head, and it instantly leaned into his touch.

“Hey, you're a natural,” Stanley complimented. “Guess that makes sense. You were supposed to find this place first.”

Stanford was hardly listening, still amazed as he watched the little porcupinecones enjoy the marshmallows. Stanley enthusiastically raddled off the names he had given the little creatures– Copper, Ivy, Goober– all perfectly fitting for each. He was always the more creative of the two of them, even if no one ever acknowledged it.

As Stanley raised both hands to pet Ivy and Copper, Stanford noticed something flicker out of the corner of his eye. He whipped around and saw what looked like a small ball of light on the ground, barely hiding behind a tree. Stanford squinted as the light seemed to rise and twist in the air, and a faint scent of burning wood filled his nose.

“Stan, look!”

“Huh? What?”

Stanley's head turned at his words, but as soon as he did, the little light seemed to turn before it started running further into the trees.

“Come on!”

“Wha- Hey!”

Stanford had barely nudged Stanley's arm before he took off after the strange little light.

“Sixer, wait!”

But Stanford was too excited and intrigued to stop. He could only imagine what kind of creature this was. Would Stanley be able to tell him what sort of interesting things he knew about it? Did Stanley even know what it was? Would this be something strange and new that they would discover together? Stanford was dying to find out!

He could hear the crunching of snow and the small gasps just behind him, so he knew Stanley wasn't far behind. Stanford kept his eyes on the little ball of light, desperate to catch up with it. But even as he ran, he could see it slowly starting to fade from view. Then, without warning, the light vanished through the trees.

“Stanford!”

More disappointed than anything, Stanford felt his energy die almost instantly as he slowed to a stop. Stanley eventually staggered beside him, still panting loudly.

“Dang, I lost it,” he muttered. “Whatever it is, it's fast. Do you think we could track it down?”

Stanley didn't respond. Stanford turned to see his brother gripping his knees as he attempted to catch his breath. His arms were shaking. Stanford stepped forward and raised a hand to grasp Stanley's shoulder.

“Sta-”

But his voice and movements were cut off as Stanley's body snapped up, and he suddenly grabbed Stanford's arms tightly. Stanford was too stunned to even flinch.

“Don't– Don't do that!”

Stanley's voice shuddered angrily as he spoke, the grip on Stanford's arms growing tighter. His eyes were wide and shining, as if he were about to cry.

“Stanley?”

“Sixer, you can't just run off like that!” Stanley gasped. “ I barely know this place! If you got lost, if I can't…”

All of the anger suddenly vanished from his eyes, replaced with a look of fear and panic. Stanley's hands constricted for a moment before he finally let go, his arms falling to his sides as he lowered his head. Stanford was frozen as he stared at his brother.

“Stan… are you okay?”

Stanley didn't respond for a moment, his hands clenching at his sides. Stanford couldn't understand what had made his brother so upset. It wasn't the first time either of them had run off in a random direction to play or explore. No matter who ran first, the other was always right behind. So, why was it so different now?

“I've never slept alone before this,” Stanley's voice was quiet and tired. “We've shared a room since forever, but… obviously, they don't do that these days. Even if they didn't… hate each other, they're grownups. Grownups don't do that. So… I didn't have the guts to ask him to stay with me or nothin'.”

Stanford felt his mouth open slightly, but no sound came out. As simple as the matter was, it was something that he hadn't even considered. How could he? Stanford hadn't been left alone for more than a few hours the first morning after he had first arrived.

Stan had been by his side basically the entire time afterward, including when they slept. Even when they had to sleep in the car, Stan was right beside him. Of course Stanford hadn't struggled with sleep.

The very idea of being left alone in the dark and silence filled him with an odd sense of dread. The fact that his older counterpart hadn't even considered how that would affect Stanley made him sad and angry. I should've given him plain pancakes!

“But, even with you there, it took me forever to fall asleep last night,” Stanley grumbled as he raised his hands to grip his own hair. “I was so happy to see you again, and… and my stupid brain kept makin' me think that it was just a dream! That you'd be gone when I woke up!”

“Stanley…”

But he didn't respond, eyes still locked on his own feet. Stanford slowly raised his hands to grasp his brother's wrists, and gently pulled them away from his head. Stanley refused to meet his gaze as he sniffed.

“I'm scared you're gonna disappear again,” he muttered. “And this time I won't be able to find you…”

Stanford felt a lump form in his throat. Stanley never let himself be this vulnerable very often– he always seemed so brave, especially against bullies– but whenever it did happen, it always shook Stanford to his very core. He wondered if that was why his brother was always so comforting whenever he was unhappy.

Stanford released his brother's wrists and pulled him in for a hug. Stanley didn't hesitate to hug him back, his arms holding him tight.

“I'm scared of that, too,” Stanford admitted. “But… it isn't like before. We sort of know what we're doing now, right?”

“I guess…”

“We just have to keep an eye on each other. Should be easy enough, right?”

Stanley squeezed him tighter, but his voice sounded a bit lighter as he responded, “Yeah.”

Stanford smiled as he held his brother, but it almost felt forced. Stanley had been right about one thing; their older selves did seem to hate each other. Seeing how they had “greeted” each other yesterday had filled his gut with a sick, twisted feeling.

Even if he wasn't thrilled about being around his older counterpart, Stanford still hated seeing how they interacted– or rather, how they didn't interact. Aside from last night, they hadn't spoken to each other at all. They acted as if they couldn't even see each other. It was like watching a firework with a very long, slowly burning fuse, just waiting for the terrible explosion.

Stanford had long since made up his mind about wanting to make sure Stan would be okay when he and his own twin eventually went home, and he supposed that meant wanting 'Ford' to be okay as well. But that begged the question; how to get them to work things out?

His thoughts were interrupted as he saw something flicker ahead of him, and he looked up. It was the same little light from before, but it was much closer now. It looked like a small, walking campfire, with thick, spider-like wooden legs that crawled slowly through the snow. There were two dark shapes in the middle of the flames that could've been its eyes, and they looked up at him briefly before it slowly started to make its way closer to them.

Stanford patted his brother's back and whispered, “Stanley, look!”

Stanley pulled away just enough to turn his head, and his jaw fell. “What the…?”

The little walking campfire trotted slowly, stopping every few seconds before continuing forward. Stanford watched as the snow around it slowly melted as it progressed, and when it was a few feet away from them, he saw something appear on the ground where the snow had once covered. A mini marshmallow was visible for only a second before the fire leaned forward and consumed it, the sweetness mixing with the scent of burning wood. Stanford looked over at his brother, and saw the open package of marshmallows hanging halfway out of his jacket pocket.

“It's… eating the marshmallows.”

Stanley pulled the package out of his pocket, looking between it and the new creature. He shrugged before pulling out a handful of the mini mallows and tossing them forward. The campfire let out a crackling hiss before scurrying forward, lapping them up as the snow continued to melt.

“Amazing…” Stanford sighed, taking a few cautionary steps towards the creature. “Stanley, what is it?”

“Uh,” Stanley rubbed the back of his head, looking a bit sheepish. “I think I saw a drawing of this thing in one of Ford's journals. Calls it a… scampfire, I think?”

“He has journals?”

“Yep. Three big ones, and they're all full of weirdos like this thing.”

“Why didn't you say so?” Stanford grabbed his brother's hand. “Come on, let's go check them out!”

“No!”

Stanley yanked his arm back– not enough to slip from his brother's grasp, but enough to resist his pull. The scampfire flinched slightly at their movement, but quickly returned to eating the marshmallows left on the ground. Stanford blinked at his brother, confused.

“Why not?”

“I mean… it's…” Stanley cleared his throat. “He's always busy with them, you know? He's probably writing... whatever nerd notes he's gotta put down. Yeah! I- we can ask him later.”

Something about the way he said that made Stanford frown. Stanley didn't seem to be lying, but he still looked a bit too shifty. It was eerily similar to how Stan had looked when he had avoided telling Stanford about why he was on the run.

“Okay then.”

They stood and watched the scampfire eat the marshmallows for a few more minutes until they were all gone. It let out a soft crackle that almost sounded like a purr before slowly trotting off into the trees. Stanford tucked his numb hands into his pockets as Stanley adjusted his gloves.

“C'mon, I'm freezin' my butt off.”

Stanford nodded as they started walking, following their messy footprints back to the house.

Stanford had expected his brother to continue on about any other things he knew about that lived in these woods, but Stanley was being oddly quiet as they walked. He still seemed a bit on edge, but he was doing a pretty good job at hiding it. That happened pretty much any time Stanley let himself be vulnerable around Stanford; he would yell or cry about whatever was bothering him, then immediately act like nothing had happened once he had calmed down. Stanford never thought about it much before, but perhaps his brother was just embarrassed by it. That didn't make much sense though.

Any time Stanford had some sort of breakdown and cried, Stanley would always comfort him and promise to punch whoever had made him upset. Stanford knew he meant it, too. That promise was part of the reason why Stanley used to come home with so many broken glasses until Pa decided to stop getting him new pairs all together.

He never made Stanford feel embarrassed about it though. Did Stanley not think that Stanford would do the same for him? Then again, Stanford never knew what to do when Stanley was upset most of the time. He usually just sat there and let his brother vent until he wore himself out, then would tell him to calm down before he hurt himself. Looking back on it, it was a pretty poor way to repay all the times Stanley had helped him.

Stanford hadn't noticed that they had made it back until they were finally out of the trees. They had barely taken a step towards the house when Stanley groaned.

“Aw, geez…”

Stanford followed his brother's gaze, and was surprised to see Stan sitting on the front porch steps. He hadn't noticed them yet, and he seemed to be staring off in the distance, cigarette held between his teeth.

“Why the hell is he out here?”

Stanford paid no mind to his twin's comment, feeling a smile spread across his face as he started to quickly make his way towards the house. Stan noticed him when he was halfway across, and he quickly took the cigarette and put it out on the snow-covered step.

“Hey.” he grinned. “You two alright?”

Stanford nodded. “Yeah, just a bit cold.”

Stan gestured his head at the trees. “See anything weird?”

“Yeah! The stuff here is amazing!”

“You spyin' on us?” Stanley suddenly piped up behind him. “We don't need a babysitter, you know.”

Stan rolled his eyes. “What? I can't just sit here?”

Stanley rolled his eyes, clearly annoyed, but Stan paid him no mind as he turned to stare past them. Stanford followed his gaze, and realized he was staring down the road that led away from the house. It only took him a moment to realize what Stan was actually doing, and Stanford found himself almost transfixed on the road as well. He thought about the nightmares that had plagued him the night before; terrible visions of those men chasing them through the forest, Stan screaming for him to keep running, and Stanford wandering aimlessly in the snow. He felt relatively safe here, but he was still worried that they might somehow find them again.

“Bro, you good?”

Stanford suddenly became aware of the hand on his shoulder, and he whipped around. Stanley was staring at him, confused and concerned, just as he had last night. Stanford cleared his throat and nodded.

“Yeah, I'm fine.”

Stanley didn't say anything for a moment, still staring at him. He briefly glared over at Stan before grabbing Stanford by the elbow and pulling him forward.

“C'mon, let's go inside. Ford's got a ton of nerd books you'll like.”

Stanford immediately perked up at the prospect of seeing new books(books from the future no less!), but resisted his brother's pull as he looked over at Stan. Even if nothing was wrong, even if they were truly safe, he didn't like the idea of leaving him alone outside. Stan finally turned to look at him, then gestured back at the house.

“Go on, I'll only be a minute.”

Stanford grinned and nodded. Stanley then grabbed his arm with both hands and pulled, and Stanford let him lead them back inside.

“He's got books all over the place, but these are all the good ones.” Stanley pulled a small book from the lower shelf. “This is the one I'm reading. A lot of weird sci-fi crap, but it's really funny.”

Stanford looked at the book, stunned to see a bookmark already tucked in the middle of the pages. Stanley had only ever been interested in one or two books ever, and even then, he usually just listened while Stanford had read them aloud. The fact that he was willingly reading something other than a comic book was surprising, but in an oddly good way.

“Go on, pick one.”

Stanford looked up at the towering bookshelf, glancing at the numerous titles. He recognized a few of them( Dune , The Crystal World , Fahrenheit 451 ), but most of them were unfamiliar. He had no doubt that some of these books weren't published until after 1966. Would it be smart to read any of those? Should he play it safe and just read ones that he knew for a fact had been published before he was even born? Then again, it's not everyday that one gets to read something from the future.

“ Ugh , come on, Poindexter,” Stanley urged. “It can't be that hard to choose.”

“But, there's so many!” Stanford gestured wildly in front of him. “I don't think some of these were even written yet in our time.”

“All the more reason to just pick one. We're not gonna be here forever, you know.”

“Alright, alright.”

But Stanford didn't rush as he looked at all of the books in front of him. He spent nearly an entire minute reaching for one book before hesitating and reaching for another one, over and over again, without even touching one. Stanley remained patient for only that minute.

“I'm gonna annoy you if you don't hurry up.”

Stanford rolled his eyes. “You do that anyway.”

Stanley sighed. “Well, I didn't wanna have to do this, but… Trust Fall!”

“Wha- Stanley !”

Stanford had just enough time to turn around before Stanley started to fall backwards towards him. Stanford held his arms out instinctively to catch him, and immediately felt his knees start to buckle under his brother's weight.

“Nice catch,” Stanley jeered, not making a single effort to stand up. “You wouldn't have to worry about it if you would just pick somethin', though.”

“Kind of hard to rush,” Stanford grunted. “When you do crud like this.”

“Consider it a challenge. Now your next move really means somethin'!”

Stanford shook his head as he tried to push Stanley back on his feet. His twin just laughed as he started purposely pushing himself back down, causing Stanford to huff as his legs shook under the weight.

“ Ugh! Why are you so fat?”

“Your face is fat!”

“We have the same face–!”

But as Stanford adjusted his footing to try to keep himself up, his foot slipped, and his back slammed into the bookshelf. Two books fell from the higher shelves and slammed onto the floor loudly. That finally got his brother to stand up.

“Aw, man!”

Stanley tucked his book under his arm before quickly picking up one of the fallen ones, dusting it off as he looked up to find its place on the shelf. Stanford stared as he straightened himself out, confused by his brother's sudden nervous behavior.

“Stan, it's okay.” Stanford picked up the other book. “Books are pretty durable. You'd have to do a lot to really damage one.”

Stanley didn't respond as he slipped the book into one of the empty spaces. Stanford shook his head as he placed his book back on the shelf. As he did, his eyes landed on a title just a few spots to the right; Journey to the Center of the Earth . Stanford had heard of it, but had never had the chance to read it yet. His jealousy and delight at knowing he would own his own copy in the future was overshadowed by his sudden need to read it.

“Wait, not that one!”

But Stanford was already pulling the book. However, instead of slipping off the shelf, it tilted and something made a loud click . He heard the gentle sounds of something mechanical, and it took him only a second to realize the entire bookshelf was moving. Stanford immediately jumped back, worried that it was going to fall on top of him. Instead, it swung around, like a door being opened.

In front of them was a tall doorway, illuminated by a single ceiling light. Stanford leaned forward and saw a long stairway that led even further down, possibly further than the study. He could just barely make out the floor at the bottom, but nothing beyond that.

“Woah, what's down there?”

“I… I dunno,” Stanley muttered. “I didn't know this was here.”

Stanford thought about how Fidds had told him that the entire house was a lab, with a few selected areas being purely for studying or experiments. Whatever was down there was probably very important to be hidden behind an inconspicuous bookshelf. His curiosity was thoroughly peeked, and he started to slowly make his way towards the mysterious doorway.

“Hey, hold up.” Stanley grabbed his arm. “You don't know what's down there.”

“But I want to,” Stanford said matter-of-factly. “This is my future lab, right? I want to see what I've got down here. Don't you?”

“Well… yeah, but we're probably not supposed to be down there.”

“Since when do you care?”

“I…”

Stanley frowned as he glanced at the floor, looking embarrassed again. He looked over at the doorway leading out of the room, as if he were making sure no one was watching. That's when Stanford realized.

“You're scared of upsetting him , aren't you?”

“What? No! I…” Stanley paused for a moment, then shook his head. “Look, there's a lot of weird and freaky stuff around here Poindexter, and some of it's… kinda dangerous. He probably had it hidden for a reason, so… we probably shouldn't mess with it yet.”

Stanford really wanted to see what was downstairs, but the anxiety in his brother's face and voice was strange, and very out of the ordinary for him. It was obvious he was scared about doing anything they probably weren't supposed to be doing, which was even more out of character. Stanford didn't know how to feel about it. It's fine, he's fine. The sooner we get home, the sooner things will go back to normal.

“Alright.”

Stanley sighed with relief. Not even a moment later, Stanford heard the unmistakable sound of footsteps from somewhere down the hall, outside of the room.

“Someone's coming.”

Stanley gasped before quickly rushing forward and pushing the bookshelf. Stanford helped him push it back into place until they heard the soft click of the door latch. No sooner had they closed it than the footsteps arrived at the doorway. They both turned, and nearly sighed with relief when they saw that it was only Fidds.

“Y'all alright? I thought I heard somethin'.”

“Yeah! Just playin' around,” Stanley answered casually, throwing an arm around Stanford's shoulders. “We accidentally knocked over some books, but we put them back. No problem!”

Fidds raised his eyebrows as he glanced up at the bookshelf, his glaze a little firm. Stanford wondered if he knew about what was behind the bookshelf. Just because he was Ford's assistant didn't necessarily mean that he knew everything. But what did Stanford know? Everything about this future was wrong as far as he was concerned.

“Right, well, try to be more careful. Don't want y'all gettin' hurt.”

“Yeah yeah, no problem.” Stanley suddenly shoved a random book into Stanford's arms. “We're just gonna go read and stuff. C'mon, Ford.”

He gave Stanford a pointed look before making his way out of the room. Stanford resisted the urge to roll his eyes as he started to follow him, looking down at the book he had been given. He stopped just outside the doorway as he realized he was looking at a very old copy of Treasure Island – his and Stanley's copy. It had to be. The paperback cover even had the same crease in the bottom right corner from when it had accidentally fallen from Stanford's bunk after he fell asleep reading it one night.

“Ya alright, kiddo?”

Stanford looked up to see Fidds looking down at him with slight concern. He bit his lip as he turned back to Stanley, who was waiting expectantly just a few feet ahead of him.

“Ah, you go on. I'll catch up.”

Stanley hesitated for a moment before slowly making his way down the hall. Stanford drummed his fingers against his book as he turned back to face Fidds, who was looking at him questioningly.

“Fidds? I was wondering… you said that you and I met in college, right?”

“That we did.”

“How?”

Fidds folded his arms as he leaned against the doorway. “We were roommates. Shared a dorm 'til graduation. Had quite a few classes together, too. It was kinda impossible to not get along.”

Impossible to not get along . Stanford felt like that alone was an impossibility. He didn't know the details of his alternate's future, but he himself had always struggled to even be around anyone else besides Stanley, let alone talk to anyone else. Even if he wasn't so terribly awkward at making conversation, there was always one thing that threw people off every time they saw him.

“So… you weren't bothered by me?”

“What do ya mean?”

“You know… my hands.”

Fidds blinked at him, his confusion quickly melting into a pitying expression. Stanford felt a wave of embarrassment as he tucked one hand into his jacket pocket, and hid the one holding the book behind his back. Fidds may have shaken his hand when they met yesterday, but that could've been out of politeness. Just because one didn't want to come off as rude didn't mean that they didn't feel the way everyone else seemed to feel.

“I was a bit surprised at first,” Fidds admitted. “But no, it ain't never bothered me a bit. Actually, I thought it was pretty fascinatin'. Polydactyly fingers are rare, and it's even rarer for them to function like the rest.”

Stanford raised his eyebrows as he slowly brought his hand out of his pocket. He stared down at it, his eyes locked onto his extra finger. He hadn't bothered trying to do more research on his own condition in quite some time. In addition to not having much access to it, anything he had ever been lucky enough to get his hands on had always labeled it as an 'abnormality' or 'abonitation'. Words like that didn't instill him with confidence whenever he was out in public. It was almost more insulting- seeing how professionals defined his defect rather than the bullies who would simply write him off as a freak.

Stanford was pulled from his thoughts as Fidds reached forward and held his smaller hand in his own, letting it rest on his palm.

“Not to mention, you were a great study partner, and an even greater friend.”

Fidds smiled down at him as he released his hand, and Stanford felt something warm swell in his chest. It was the first time anyone besides Stanley made him accepted despite his weird hands. Stanford felt the grin spread across his face as he gripped his hand into a fist.

“Thanks, Fidds.”

The man nodded before stuffing his hands into his pockets and walking down the opposite end of the hallway. Stanford looked down at his book, running his hand down the worn paper cover.

Maybe not everything in this future is bad.

Chapter End Notes

B gwwhsi dqjqs lwmscj mwto kaecyt hc mjbqmqf

Chapter 28: Peace is Temporary

Chapter Notes

Woo!!! I'm back sooner than before, and I've got some more fluff and angst for y'all. I've had a lot of fun writing the last few chapters and this one, and rest assured, it's only gonna get more interesting from here on out.

Enjoy the peace (or lack thereof) while you can...

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Stanford was acting weird. Well, both versions of him were acting weird. Ford had been off ever since Stanley showed up, but he had seemed somewhat better yesterday and the day before.

It wasn't until Stanley's olderself had shown up that Ford had started to act more like how he had when this whole mess began. Stanley had hoped that things would be slightly better, but at the same time, part of him wasn't that surprised.

Stanford was mostly himself, but still weirder than usual. He had seemed so worried, almost scared, when he had first arrived yesterday. It wasn't until the incident with the nightmares last night that Stanley had somewhat of an idea as to why. He still didn't know what sort of mess 'Stan' had drug Stanford through, and the fact that Stanford wouldn't even talk about it was scary. Ford might have been willing to keep things from Stanley, but Stanford keeping things from him was shocking.

At the moment though, things were alright. Well, things were peaceful anyway.

Ford hadn't been in the study when they had entered, and Stanley had been slightly relieved at that. He had seen how few chocolate chips Stanford had given his counterpart, and had seen the look in his eyes every time he saw him. Stanley had wanted to say something every time he saw it, but worried that doing so would cause a fight between him and his twin. He had spent nearly four days without Stanford, and he didn't want to risk causing trouble so soon after finding him.

They had been quietly reading for only about half an hour. Stanford was sitting against the back of the couch, quietly reading Treasure Island. Stanley was laying across the mattress, his head resting in his brother's lap, holding his book above his head as he read. They hadn't sat quietly like this since before they had time traveled– probably a week or so before. Stanley usually had a comic book whenever they did this, but this was the first book in a while that he was thoroughly enjoying.

“Man, check this out!”

Stanley raised his book up to Stanford's face, nudging his own book out of the way as he did. Stanford didn't huff or roll his eyes like he normally would though, and even smiled as he looked at the pages in front of him.

“Imagine seein' all this weird crap after getting shot out into space,” he added. “It's like they're havin' a fever dream or somethin'.”

Stanford chuckled. “You know, I'm pretty sure if someone was shot into space, their lungs would just collapse or something.”

Stanley rolled his eyes as he lowered the book. “You're such a nerd. You gotta open your mind and lower your expectations of reality sometimes.”

Stanford chuckled, but didn't refute him. Stanley only managed to read a few more lines before he realized that his twin hadn't resumed reading his own book, and Stanley turned to see him smirking down at him.

“What?”

“I just can't remember the last time you willingly looked at an actual book,” Stanford playfully poked his forehead. “All this “nerd junk” isn't starting to rub off on you, is it?”

Oh, hell no. Stanley swiftly tucked in his bookmark before snapping the book shut and slowly sitting up. He raised an accusing eyebrow at his brother, but he couldn't resist the smirk growing on his own face.

“Excuse me, but are we really gonna pretend that you ain't the biggest nerd in this room right now?”

“I'm not saying I'm not one,” Stanford countered. “I'm just saying that you are, too.”

“Nu-uh! Nerds go crazy over boring stuff, like… chemistry and math homework,” Stanley waved the book in his twin's face. “Weird stuff like this? It's like straight out of a comic book, and comics are cool!”

“I'm just saying, I've seen you do way cooler stuff than this before.”

Stanley huffed. “Oh yeah? Well… I'm still cooler than you!”

“Nu-uh!”

“Yeah-uh!”

Stanley felt his grin widening as he used his free hand to shove his twin's shoulder. Stanford, of course, shoved him back, and Stanley responded by repeatedly jabbing him in the chest. Stanford grinned, and suddenly his hand shot up and caught Stanley right in the crook of his neck.

“H-hey! No! Ch-cheater…!”

Stanley felt his whole body start to spasm. He immediately dropped his book as he fell onto his back, and his brother continued to tickle him mercilessly. Through teary eyes and laughter, he tried to shove the hands away, but Stanford would quickly maneuver around before continuing. Stanley was gasping for air when he managed to grab a nearby pillow, and he instantly threw it at his brother's face.

Stanford laughed as he was knocked back, and Stanley stared at the ceiling as he tried to catch his breath. A moment later, Stanford's still smirking face appeared above him.

“Still think you're cooler?”

Stanley, still panting, snorted at his brother's overconfidence. “You kiddin'...? I know I'm cooler…”

Stanford rolled his eyes as he shuffled away and stepped off the bed. Stanley took a deep breath before slowly sitting up, his now messy bangs hanging in front of his eyes.

“You know… there's a lot of space on this bed,” Stanford commented. “We could probably remake Fort Stan here.”

Stanley beamed, his exhaustion instantly dissipating as he leapt from the bed. “Aw, yeah! That'd be so awesome!”

“We'll need something to prop up the blankets. We could probably use sticks, but I don't wanna make a mess.”

“They probably have stuff around the house we can use. I'll go get it.”

Stanley didn't hesitate to sprint out of the study, running up the stairs in just a few seconds. He was so excited to be doing fun stuff with his brother again. He was especially happy that Stanford seemed to have forgotten about his minor outburst after the chase in the woods. Stanley was certain the embarrassment from that would keep him on edge for a bit, but as long as he had something fun to distract him, eventually he'll forget about it too. No problem, right?

Stanley did a quick sweep of the first floor and found no one around. Even 'Stan' was nowhere to be seen. Good. Stanley didn't want to see that big weirdo anyway. His hair was weird and he smelled funny, not to mention the grumpy expression that never seemed to change much. Stanley couldn't understand why Stanford was always so nice to him. Then again, maybe he understood more than he wanted to admit.

Just as he started sprinting back towards the stairs to look for Fidds, Stanley collided with someone in the hallway.

“Stanley!” Ford stared down at him, surprised. “What's the hurry?”

Stanley let out an embarrassed chuckle as he raised his hands. “Heh, my bad, bro. It's just… Stanford and I wanted to try remakin' our fort downstairs, and we just needed somethin' to prop up the blankets. You got anything we can use?”

A strange look spread across Ford's face as he glanced away. “Well… I'm not sure what we have, but Fiddleford can certainly help you with that.”

There was something off about the way Ford spoke; his voice clipped and annoyed. Stanley had just about grown used to his older twin's tone and behavior since arriving in this future, but still found it more odd in this moment. Not to mention the fact that Ford seemed to be making a conscious effort to look everywher e else but at him. Was Ford upset with him? Does he know we opened the bookshelf?

“You okay, Sixer?”

Ford looked back at him, his brows furrowed. “Of course. Why wouldn't I be?”

“I mean,” Stanley rubbed the back of his neck. “You've been actin' kinda weird again. Is it… because of him?”

“Ah,” Ford looked significantly more uncomfortable, but he didn't turn away again. “Well… yes and no. I have a lot on my mind at the moment, and it's all been a bit exhausting.”

“So, it wasn't anything I did?”

Stanley hadn't fully intended to say that last part, but it slipped out anyway. He stuffed his hands into his pockets, glancing away in embarrassment. He really needed to learn how to keep his mouth shut sometimes.

“Oh, Stanley, no,” Ford took a step forward and placed a hand on Stanley's shoulder. “No, you didn't do anything. Look, I know all of this has been… a lot, but rest assured, everything is going to be just fine. The hard part is mostly over, now all we have to do is focus on getting you both home.”

Stanley glanced up at his brother, saw the comforting look in his eyes, and instantly felt a bit more relieved. Even if Ford was being weird again, Stanley was happy that he was at least not angry with him. That also meant he still had no idea that he and Stanford had accidentally opened the crazy bookshelf. He definitely would've said something by now if he did.

Something moved several feet behind Ford, and Stanley leaned over, thinking it might've been Fidds. Unfortunately, it was just 'Stan', who was standing in the center of the hall, seemingly staring at Ford with a confused frown on his face. Stanley glared.

“What're you starin' at?”

Ford frowned as he turned, then immediately drew his hand back as he straightened up. Stan was silent for a second before rolling his eyes, looking almost bored.

“Don't sass me, kid. You're the ones blockin' the bathroom.”

Stanley glanced to the side, and was disappointed to see that they were in fact standing in front of the bathroom door. Ford let out a soft huff as he placed his hands behind his back, barely glancing down at Stanley.

“Fiddleford should be in his room. He'll help you get what you need.”

With that, Ford turned and walked away, completely ignoring Stan as he marched past him. Stan glanced at his own twin briefly before stuffing his hands in his pockets and making his way down the hall. Stanley tried to hit his counterpart with another glare, but the man paid no attention to him as he opened the door and entered the bathroom.

How the hell did I turn into that?

Fidds did indeed have some spare metal poles from previous projects that they could borrow, but he made Stanley swear to be careful with them before handing them over. Stanley promised of course, but his mind was still busy pondering over other things to really focus.

Why did this happen every time he and Stanford interacted with their counterparts? One moment, everything was happy and fine, and now he felt sad and weird again. He wasn't thrilled about being around 'Stan' either, but seeing Ford completely ignore him– his own Stanley– left a sinking feeling in his gut that only grew as he finally made his way downstairs.

“Finally,” Stanford sighed as Stanley entered the study. “I was about to come looking for you,”

“Fidds had to look around for a bit.”

Stanford took the poles and examined them for a moment. “These are perfect! We can prop them up in the creases.”

Stanley didn't respond. He silently watched as his twin laid the poles on the mattress, next to their folded up blankets. He was more than ready to simply pretend like nothing had happened; to continue with making the fort and not talk about what he had witnessed. He didn't want to dampen the mood any more than he had already today. But, seeing their older selves look at each other without even saying a word to each other made Stanley feel more apprehensive about keeping his mouth shut than before.

“Do you think we're gonna end up like them?”

Stanford was in the process of slotting one of the poles into the corner of the couch, but stopped to look back at him. “What?”

“You know,” Stanley pointed at the ceiling above. “ Them .”

“Oh…”

Stanford's expression shifted as he glanced away. Stanley grimaced as he rubbed his arm. Now look what you've done.

“No.”

“Huh?”

“We're not going to end up like them.”

Stanley frowned. “But… what makes you say that?”

“Because we are here,” Stanford was clenching his fists nervously, but his expression was firm. “We both know what happened, what will happen, and we can change that.”

Stanley stared at his brother, confused. Stanford's voice was a little too confident to be merely hopeful. If he was really so sure, then there must be a reason.

“But how?”

Stanford's eyes lit up, as if he had been waiting for Stanley to ask just that. He walked over to the left side of the couch where both of their backpacks sat, and immediately began rifling through his own. Stanley stuffed his hands into his pockets, nervously fiddling with the inner fabric as he waited.

“After I found Stan, I started writing everything that had happened in my notebook,” Stanford explained. “I just… I needed something to do. It made it all feel… more real, like I couldn't just pass it off as a dream or me going crazy, you know?”

Stanford grinned slightly as he finally pulled out his notebook. He stood up and walked over to Stanley, who was tugging on the inside of his pockets so hard he was sure he might tear a hole in them.

“I've written down everything that's happened since, too. Even… even the stuff that he told me happened between them– between us.” Stanford looked sad as his eyes locked onto Stanley's. “Did… did he tell you what happened, too?”

Stanley didn't need to ask to know who his brother was talking about.

“Yeah, he did.”

The room was deathly quiet. Stanford's grip on his notebook tightened as he stared at the floor, and Stanley heard a soft pop as he pulled out a seam inside of his pocket.

“I'm sorry-”

They had each spoken in unison. That happened quite often, usually followed by eyerolls and laughter. Not this time though.

“How are-”

“Why would-”

In unison once more, but not the same response this time. Stanley's hands curled into fists as Stanford furrowed his brows at him.

“Why are you sorry?”

Stanley looked at the floor. “I'm the one who broke your stuff and got you kicked out of school or whatever… Of course, I'm sorry.”

“But- but you haven't even done anything yet!” Stanford refuted.

“Doesn't mean it won't happen.”

“But-”

“Why're you sorry, huh?” Stanley's cut across him. “You didn't even do nothin-”

“I gave up on everything we worked for!” Stanford snapped. “I gave up on our dream to go away, and… and I let Pa kick you out!”

“Well… so what?” Stanley argued. “I told you before, he's never liked me! Even if I didn't ruin your life, he probably would've-”

“Your life was ruined, too!”

The shout was so loud that Stanley was worried that it might've carried all the way upstairs. Stanford seemed shocked at his own outburst as well, and they both paused and stared at the ceiling for a moment. About a minute passed, and they didn't hear any footsteps or voices. Once they were sure no one was coming, they each sighed and looked back at each other.

“I… I don't wanna throw you out,” he whimpered, his lip trembling. “I can't let that happen. I won't …”

Stanley absolutely hated seeing his brother like this. Normally, all it took was a well-crafted pun or an angry threat towards whatever bully that had wronged him to make Stanford feel a little better. But no amount of jokes or left-hooks could solve this. There were no bullies to fight, no easy paths to pave with comedy; just them and their screwed up future.

“Stanford…”

“Please, j-just listen,” Stanford held up his notebook. “I have it all written down here. I don't have every little detail, b-but… it's better than nothing! With this, we have a chance to fix everything. We just have to do our best to change, or avoid these things completely, and we'll be fine!”

“Sixer, I-”

“Come on, Stanley,” Stanford pleaded tearfully. “Don't… don't you want to fix this? Fix them?”

Of course Stanley wanted to change the messed up future he and his brother seemed to be destined for. He wanted to, more than anything. The sirens wouldn't have said so if it wasn't his heart's deepest desire or whatever, but it just seemed so impossible. Even if it was possible, Stanley couldn't think of anything they could do. How could they possibly change the future when it seemed to be set in stone?

But if they could…

“What's gonna happen to them?” Stanley asked. “If we change the past, will they… I dunno. Disappear or something?”

Whatever hope was in his twin's eyes seemed to vanish, and Stanley hated himself for it.

“I…” Stanford glanced away, clutching the notebook against his chest. “I don't know.”

The silence was so much worse than hearing their own trembling voices. Stanley finally took his hands out of his pockets as he slowly moved towards the bed. He sat on the edge of the mattress, and patted the space next to him. Stanford's gaze remained on the floor as he slowly made his way over. He sat down next to Stanley, still cradling his notebook like it was a stuffed toy.

“Well… let's just say they won't disappear,” Stanley started quickly. “I… I wanna make sure they're okay before we go home.”

“Me, too,” Stanford muttered. “But how?”

“I dunno. Getting them to talk could help.”

“That… might be difficult.”

Difficult would be an understatement. Whatever progress they had each made with their older twins didn't seem to matter at the moment. Stan and Ford(thinking of them as separate from himself and Stanford was so weird ) hadn't said more than a few words to each other since yesterday, and the few words they had spoken were barely civil, let alone kind. The interaction earlier didn't even count, because Stan had spoken directly to Stanley, and so had Ford.

“We have to get them alone together,” he stated firmly. “They won't have an excuse to ignore each other.”

Stanford perked up slightly, and nodded. “That might work, but how are we going to get them together long enough to actually talk?”

“Well…”

“We can't just lock them in a room, Stanley,” Stanford rebutted before he could finish. “They'll know it was us, and that'll just make them angrier.”

Stanley huffed. “Well, what did you have in mind, then?”

Stanford didn't respond immediately. He stared off into space, biting his lip as he tapped a nervous finger against his notebook. Stanley fiddled with the bedsheet as he waited, hoping his brother had some sort of plan in that genius brain of his.

“Maybe… if we had some help…”

“I bet we can get Fidds to help us,” Stanley added hopefully.

Stanford looked up. “Do you think he would?”

“Definitely. He seems just as annoyed with them as we are.”

Stanford's expression was slightly brighter as he nodded. “Okay… Assuming he says yes, we still have to come up with some sort of plan to get them alone together. Fidds might be able to help us on that too, but there's no harm in having an idea ready-”

“Hold up,” Stanley placed a hand on his brother's shoulder, squeezing it slightly. “Before we do anything, we… we gotta get our stories straight first.”

“What do you mean?”

Stanley swallowed. “Look, I think it was all my fault, and you think it was all your fault, right? Maybe if we went over our versions of what happened, it'll make more sense. Two sides to every story or whatever, right? I mean… it might help us figure out how to help them.”

Stanford seemed to think it over for a moment before nodding, placing his notebook onto his lap. Stanley sighed as he folded his arms over his knees.

“So… who wants to go first?”

Stanford was as still as a statue for a moment before slowly opening the notebook. “I guess I will.”

Chapter End Notes

Sck tde iqjoj tjx gbtr zwwts, ozh dhkm iqjoj asoe ojhkxj luphsjl oaea dcl pgkk jnhy t lxaz.

Chapter 29: Brother Trap

Chapter Notes

Quality over quantity is always the best policy. That being said... I did not intend for this chapter to take so long. For some reason I was just struggling for a way to make this one work.

Not to mention, the entirety of December was a bitch-and-a-half to get through and my job was fucking Horrendous for the whole month. Now though, things have finally slowed down, I can somewhat breathe again, and I was finally able to get this one done. I'm more prepared for the next chapter, so it shouldn't take over a month to put out, but we'll see what happens.

Thank you all for the wonderful comments, praise and kudos! I couldn't ask for better readers. Enjoy!

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Stan was bored. Of all the things he could be feeling at the moment, boredom was probably the least concerning. He figured hardly anyone felt anything but bored while doing their laundry. He was honestly tempted to just skip it all together, but it wasn't like he had anything better to do.

Stan hadn't seen his younger self in nearly an hour, but he had heard two sets of feet running down the hall and the front door slam as he was bringing his dirty clothes to wash. No doubt they had grown bored of whatever they had been doing downstairs and went outside to play some more. It made him happy, seeing Stanford acting more like he did in Stan's memories, when he and his twin had actually been that age. He couldn't stand to watch it though. Staring at the wall while the washing machine rumbled was better than seeing how they used to be– how they still could be, if things had turned out so shitty. If he hadn't screwed up so badly. If he hadn't–

“Hey, got a sec?”

Stan whipped around to see Fidds leaning through the doorway, wearing his heavy jacket and gloves again. Stan hadn't heard him walking by, too lost in thought to notice. Or Fidds was just very good at sneaking. Neither option was very comforting.

Stan glanced back at the washing machine and shrugged. “Got at least an hour. What's up?”

Fidds grinned. “Oh, good! I was just gonna bring in some more firewood. Mind helpin' me?”

“Uh, sure.”

No more interesting than watching his clothes wash, but at least he'd be doing something.

Stan followed Fidds through the shack until they reached the back door. He had expected the man to simply continue outside, but he stopped and picked up a large, colorful lump from a nearby chair.

“Here,” Fidds dumped the material into Stan's arms. “Your jacket's in the wash, right? Just use this 'til it's dry again.”

Stan held up the fabric to reveal a dark olive green sweater covered in bright blue snowflakes. Across the chest in white were the words, “Up to Snow Good!” Stan felt that “Christmas Barf” would've been a better option. He gave Fidds an unamused look, and the man chuckled abashedly.

“Yeah… Ain't the prettiest thing, but it's warm.”

Stan stared at the sweater for a moment before rolling his eyes and slipping it on. He knew he looked ridiculous, but he only needed to wear it for a moment anyway. Besides, it was warm, and surprisingly comfy.

Stan followed Fidds outside, but had to stop as he watched the man immediately lock the door behind them.

“Why bother lockin' it?” Stan asked. “We're not goin' that far, right?”

“Nah, it's all piled on the side of the house,” Fidds answered. “It's just… After some of the things I've seen, I'd just rather be safe than sorry.”

Stan rolled his eyes, but didn't argue. He didn't have room to, anyway. He spent most of his nights lying awake and peering through window blinds just to make sure no one would sneak in on him while he slept.

Fidds led him off the porch and around the left side of the house. There was a large stack of chopped wood piled against the wall, covered with a black tarp to keep the snow off. Fidds lifted up the corner of the tarp closest to him, then started handing logs over to Stan.

“I know it's all probably covered well enough out here, but I figure there's no harm in bringin' some inside,” Fidds stated simply once Stan had a hefty stack in his arms. “Just in case somethin' happens, ya know?”

Stan nodded silently. He couldn't tell if Fidds was talking simply to break the silence or because he was just a talkative person, but found he didn't mind either way. Just another thing to help keep his mind off everything else going on around him. Stan could use the distraction; being alone with his own thoughts was exhausting at best.

Once they each held a hefty amount of logs, Fidds lowered the tarp and began heading back towards the back door. As they reached it, Fidds balanced his logs in one arm while he fished around in his pocket, obviously for the keys.

Suddenly, laughter echoed out from behind them, and Stan turned. Their younger selves were only a few yards away, kneeling on the ground and playing with something in the snow. Stan realized a second later that they were forming a small snow wall. They must have just finished it, because Stanford got up and ran towards a second already completed one. A moment later, the two started throwing snowballs, shouting jeers and playful threats at each other, their laughter echoing through the trees.

It was an absolute gutpunch.

“Stan? Ya comin' in, or–”

Stan didn't look to see if the door was even open before turning around and forcing his way inside, his grip on the logs tightening. He was halfway down the hall when he realized that he didn't actually know where the fireplace was, and he stopped to wait for Fidds to catch up.

“Ah, this way.”

Stan could feel his teeth clenching as he followed Fidds through the shack. It wasn't until they went through a doorway that he looked up again.

It looked like some sort of parlor. There was a desk in the far left corner, a few small filing cabinets, and a large rug in the center of the floor, but nothing much beyond that. The fireplace was on the right side of the room, and Fidds moved to kneel in front of it. Stan stood in the doorway for a moment before following.

Fidds placed his logs in front of the fireplace before reaching into a nearby metal bin. Inside were what looked like hundreds of folded up newspapers, and a handful of kindling sticks stuffed in the center.

“Nearly out,” Fidds muttered. “Well, had to go get groceries anyway. I'll just pick some up then.”

Stan placed his logs beside the fireplace as Fidds pulled out the remaining kindling and a few newspapers. Unsure of what else to do, Stan slowly sat down on the floor, propping his knee up. Fidds reached into his pocket, and a moment later started patting all the pockets he had on him.

“Aw, dang it. Where is it?”

Having an idea of what he was looking for, Stan reached into his own pocket and pulled out his zippo. He held it out to Fidds, who grinned as he took it.

“Thanks,” he picked up a sheet of newspaper and rolled it up. “Ya know, I used to love startin' fires as a kid.”

Stan blinked, surprised by the statement. Fidds looked surprised too, his eyes widening as he quickly waved his hands in front of him.

“I-I mean– Uh, that came out wrong.”

Stan raised an eyebrow as he smirked. “Bit of a pyromaniac, eh?”

“No, no ! That's not what I meant!”

Stan turned away as he chuckled, unable to stop himself. Fidds huffed, but was smiling slightly as he lit the end of the rolled up paper.

“I just mean… I went campin' a lot with my family, and I loved helpin' my dad build the campfire. By the time I was 10, I could build my own without any help.” Once the end was lit, Fidds leaned forward and placed the paper in the center of the wood, lighting the rest of the paper and kindling. “I guess it's just one of those weird things ya find comfortin' as a kid. The colors, the warmth, the smell of the wood burnin'– I dunno, I just really like it for some reason.”

After a few seconds, the kindling was fully lit, and Fidds sat back. Stan folded his arms across his knee as he watched him move the rest of the logs to the side.

“We lived on a huge piece of land, and we had this massive burn pile in the back end behind our house,” Fidds continued as he grabbed the poker. “We'd spend the whole year piling it with all kinds of stuff. Broken branches, newspapers, pizza boxes– if it was flammable, it went in the pile. Then, on New Year's Eve, we'd light it up and watch it burn all night. Mama would make us eggnog and dad would tell us scary stories 'til midnight.”

“Sounds fun.”

“Yeah,” Fidds smiled at him. “What about y'all? Ya do anythin' like that for New Years, or…?”

Stan's smile faded as he turned to stare into the slowly growing fire. He could feel Fidds' eyes on him, but didn't look back. He didn't want to answer at first, but…

“When we lived in Jersey,” he started quietly. “They used to have fireworks go off from the boardwalk. It wasn't a huge event– most people just go to Times Square for that, you know? Our parents used to take us there when we were little, but… Pa felt like doin' it less and less each year, and then he just stopped.

Ma didn't wanna upset him, but she would always let us sneak out to go see them. Seein' fireworks explode above the water… I dunno. Thought it was prettier, I guess.”

Fidds didn't respond. Stan hesitated before glancing over, and the nerd was smiling at him. Stan held his gaze a moment longer before looking back into the fire. Fidds placed the poker back into the tool rack.

“So… ya holdin' up alright?”

“What do you mean?”

Fidds gave him a pointed look, eyebrow raised. To his credit, the question was pretty clear, but Stan wasn't really looking to spill his guts over it.

“I mean… we haven't exploded yet,” Stan said with a shrug. “So, that's good.”

Fidds frowned. “Avoidin' each other won't solve nothin'.”

“Yeah, but I doubt talkin' would do much at this point.”

“Ya never know unless ya try.”

Stan barely resisted rolling his eyes as he stared at the flames. Thanks to the fire and the ugly sweater, he was feeling warmer now than he had in months. If it weren't for the fact that Fidds was right next to him, he would've been huddled over the fire, close enough to touch it. The shack was warm enough on its own, but having a more stable source of heat that didn't rely on the electricity was an incredible comfort.

Stan remembered the first few winters he had suffered through after being kicked out. The first year, he had simply stayed in the back of the car, huddled with whatever clothes or materials he had on him, hoping his body heat would be enough to get him through the night. The second year, he had managed to steal some bed sheets from a cheap laundromat.

They had still been damp, so the first night had been rough, but every night after had been slightly better. By year three, Stan had a slightly thicker blanket he had stolen from a donation bin, and had figured out how to start a small fire with little to no supplies. He even figured out the best places to make one without drawing any attention(mainly police). After that, keeping warm in the cold was relatively simple, provided he wasn't caught, and he had been caught many times before he learned. But it didn't matter whatever situation he had been in during the winter months; as long as he could keep himself warm, he could survive until the spring, and figure something out later.

Stan tried keeping himself closer to warmer states after those first three years. No snow, fewer problems, right? Unfortunately, sticking to warmer places is what eventually led him to Colombia, which got him sent to prison, which put him right in front of Rico. Maybe if Stan had just tried harder to tolerate the snow, he wouldn't be where he is now; always looking over his shoulder, wondering if he would even have time to run.

“I'm gonna head to town, pick up some things,” Fidds said as he got to his feet. “Need anything?”

“No.”

“Oh, c'mon–”

“Really, I don't.”

Stan picked up the poker and started jabbing at a log. Fidds was still for a moment before slowly making his way out of the room. Stan waited until his footsteps had faded before dropping the poker and inching himself closer to the fire. He held his hands up near the flames, and sighed.

Just make it to tomorrow, he thought– a personal mantra he used to tell himself on nights when he wasn't able to keep warm. Just until tomorrow, and see what happens.

Stan wasn't sure how long he had been huddled close to the fire, but at some point, his attention was drawn to the sound of multiple footsteps and distant voices. He glanced up at the doorway of the parlor, and a moment later he recognized Fidds' and Ford's voices coming closer.

Still ever curious, even after all this time, Stan slowly got up to his feet and carefully made his way closer to the doorway. He was nearly up against the wall when the words finally became clear.

“If you're so dang curious, why don't ya ask him yourself?” Fidds huffed irritably. “Honestly Ford, he's your brother.”

“You're acting as if you don't know exactly what will happen if I do that,” Ford responded curtly. “You two have been so chatty, I doubt he hasn't–”

“He didn't give me details,” Fidds cut across him. “Not enough to answer what you're askin', and of course I've been chatty. Someone had to speak with him, and Lord knows you refuse to.”

“Fidd–”

“I'm goin' to the store,” Fidds' voice was set as he spoke. “Got no idea how long we're all gonna be hunkered down together, and we need more kindlin'.”

Stan listened as a set of boots marched further and further away, and a moment later he heard the distant sound of the door being shut. Ford hadn't moved yet, and he sighed loudly. Stan frowned as he waited for him to leave. He heard footsteps again, except this time they were slowly heading towards the parlor.

Stan held his breath as he turned and swiftly moved back to his spot in front of the fireplace. He picked up the poker and started jabbing the logs again, trying to look as casual as possible even as the footsteps slowly reached the threshold.

He pretended not to notice at first when Ford stepped into the parlor. He cleared his throat loudly, and Stan turned to look up at him. Straight-backed and proud with his hands behind his back– just like he had been years ago– but there was definitely something off about the look on his face.

“I–” Ford's voice broke slightly, and he coughed. “That is, Fiddleford and I were having trouble figuring something out about the time machine.”

Whatever Stan had expected Ford to ask, it wasn't that. He felt only a little disappointed as he turned back to the fire, raising the poker to push back one of the logs.

“Don't look at me. Can't help you fix that thing.”

He could feel Ford's eyes glaring as he stated, “I assure you, we don't need your help fixing it. I– We were wondering about how they got separated in the first place if they were both right next to the machine when it sent them here.”

Stan rolled his eyes. “And how do you expect me to help with that?”

“If you would just–!” Ford stopped talking for a moment, then huffed. “I just want to compare their stories, see if anything stands out about them that might help us figure it out a bit.”

“Why not ask them?”Ford's brows furrowed as he glanced away. “I think it's best to leave them both out of as much of the work as possible. Easier and safer that way.”

Stan frowned up at his brother, then sighed before setting the poker down. “Right. So?”

“What?”

“Mini me,” Stan clarified. “How'd you find him?”

“Oh,” Ford brought his hands from behind his back, wringing them slightly. “Well, he found us, actually. From what he told us, he had appeared somewhere in the woods. He wandered for a couple of hours, and after getting into some trouble, he managed to find his way here.”

“What kinda trouble?”

“Gnomes,” Ford answered bitterly. “Apparently they gave him a bit of an unfriendly welcome. Thankfully, he walked away with just a few scrapes and splinters.”

Stan raised an eyebrow, then snickered. “No, seriously, what happened?”

Ford glared at him. “Just because you refuse to believe that what's in these woods is real, doesn't mean that it isn't.”

Stan, who had been almost smiling, felt his face fall at the seriousness in his twins' voice. He thought about all the wild stuff his younger self had claimed to have seen, and his mind flashed back to when Fidds had told him why he always locked the door, no matter how close by he is.

“So… what? You're sayin' all that trash he was talkin' about before was true?”

“My research isn't trash ,” Ford said waspishly. “It's my life's work, which I've been dedicated to for the last six years.”

Ford scoffed as he folded his arms. Stan frowned. It was a genuine question; why get so huffy about it? Did Ford think he was making fun of him or something? Stan remained quiet as he turned back to face the fire.

“What… what about my alternate?” Ford asked, his voice surprisingly calm.

“I was crashin' at this rundown dive in New Mexico,” Stan answered. “I stopped to get some food at this diner, and the kid just happened to walk into the same place, askin' for directions. When I left, I found him by the bus stop right next to my car. I saw his face and everything, but… took a minute for me to accept who he really was,” Stan fiddled with a loose thread on his sleeve as he continued, “Didn't take him long, though. I mean, you're the smart one, right?”

Ford didn't respond. When the seconds stretched and he still didn't say anything, Stan finally turned around. Ford was staring down at him, dumbstruck and confused. Stan felt confused, too.

“What?”

“I just…” Ford shook his head slightly. “When you called the other day, Fiddleford said that you had called from Utah. What… what were you doing all the way in New Mexico?”

Stan refused to let his ears trick him into thinking he could hear concern in his twins' voice. He swallowed hard and turned away.

“Ah… you know,” he muttered. “Bit of this, bit of that. Nothin' really important.”

“Very descriptive.”

Stan rolled his eyes. “Well, excuse me for wantin' to keep my own business private.”

“I wasn't trying to–” But Ford stopped and raised his hands. “No, I'm not doing this. I just want to get our stories straight, I'm not going to be the one who starts something.”

“Tell that to your ego.”

“Excuse me?!”

Stan flinched, realizing he hadn't muttered as quietly as he thought. He exhaled through his nose as he slowly stood up to face his twin, who was staring at him incredulously.

“Stop actin' so offended, alright? I don't like being prodded.”

“Since when have–” Ford shook his head. “Ugh, forget it! I doubt we have anything more to discuss anyway.”

Stan frowned as he folded his arms. “You sure? You're such a great conversationalist, afterall. Oh wait, I forgot! You suck at talkin' to anyone!”

“At least when I talk it's with a purpose.”

“At least my question was relevant.”

“How was mine not relevant?!”

“Why the hell do you care why I was in New Mexico?”

“I–!”

Ford's mouth stopped as if the air had been ripped from his lungs. He stared at Stan, and Stan stared right back, hoping he looked tougher than he felt. Truth be told, he felt oddly exposed, on edge as if he were in danger. He knew that he wasn't, and he was more than capable of dodging if Ford decided to take a swing at him, but that wasn't enough to calm his nerves. Ford clenched his jaw, straightening his shoulders as he stared at Stan with discontent.

“I don't.”

Yikes… Stan told himself that he shouldn't be surprised, but it still stung way more than he was willing to admit. He clenched his fists as he glared at his brother.

“Good. Didn't wanna tell you anyway.”

“Good. I didn't want to hear it.”

“Fine!”

“Fine!”

Silence filled the room as they both glared at each other, daring the other to say something else. Ford was still for a moment before he shook his head and marched out of the parlor. Stan stood there, his fists clenched so tightly that he could feel his arms shaking. He waited until the footsteps had faded before releasing the breath he had been holding.

Should've left when I had the chance…

Stan tugged on the sleeve of his sweater as he slowly moved back in front of the fireplace. Not even the warmth was comforting enough to stop the emptiness of the room from closing in on him.

Fiddleford had been on edge from the moment he had left the house to the moment he was parked in front of it again. He wasn't fully sure why. The prospect of intentionally leaving Stan and Ford alone– per the request of their child doubles– made him tense, but it shouldn't have been enough to cause him so much stress while getting groceries. He hadn't been entirely sure what the kids had planned to do, if anything. They had simply stated their desire to get the two men to talk, and Fiddleford had agreed to assist.

He had asked Stan to help bring in wood when he didn't actually need it, he started a fire so that Stan would have no choice but to stay put and keep an eye on it, and he had intentionally led Ford closer to the parlor so that he would be more inclined to directly ask Stan his questions once Fiddleford had left. Overall, even if the kids' plan to get their older selves to talk didn't work, Fiddleford was confident that nothing could end badly enough for anyone to get physically hurt. But if that was true, why had he felt so jittery during his trip into town?

He had felt as though he were being watched from every angle while he was out, as if a million eyes were on him all at once. Any time someone passed him, Fiddleford would feel goosebumps erupt on his arms. He had done his best to ignore it, keeping his gaze low as he grabbed everything they would need for the next few days. The feeling never quite left him though, and he only felt normal and safe again once he was parked outside of their home.

The house was quiet as Fiddleford entered, each arm carrying three grocery bags. He supposed that the silence was a good thing, though it did make him wonder where the kids were if it was this quiet. Did their plan to get their alternates talking work?

After making sure the door was locked, Fiddleford quickly made his way to the kitchen. In his rush to set the heavy bags on the counter, he just barely noticed Stanley and Stanford sitting at the dining table.

“Hey boys,” he greeted. “Help me put this stuff away, then we can…”

But his voice trailed off as he took a second to really look at the two kids. Stanford had his arms crossed on the table, his head so low that Fiddleford couldn't see his eyes. Stanley had his arm propped up on the table, face resting in his hand while the other was on his brother's back. They looked so distraught, and Fiddleford knew exactly why.

“I'm guessin' it didn't go well?” he asked cautiously.

“We could hear them yellin' from outside,” Stanley replied morosely.

“Maybe we shouldn't have let him see us playing,” Stanford muttered. “Probably made him too upset.”

“I'm tellin' you, if we locked them in a room–”

“No, Stanley.”

“Stanford's right, kiddo,” Fiddleford agreed as he approached the table. “Ya can't force people to get along, they have to want it. If they don't, they won't bother tryin'.”

Stanley didn't respond as he glanced away. Stanford slowly turned his head to look up at Fiddleford, his eyes misty.

“Are adults always this difficult, or is it just us?”

Fiddleford chuckled morosely. “Heh, ya don't even know the half of it,” he hesitated for a moment before taking a seat next to Stanford. “Y'all wanna know a secret?”

Both boys looked at each other before turning to look back at Fiddleford. He glanced around, pretending to make sure that they were alone, then leaned forward as he spoke.

��The truth is, adults are just as clueless and stubborn as kids. No no, it's true,” he promised even as they frowned at him. “Ya know when ya find yourself in trouble, ya don't know what to do, but your parents seem to have it figured out? Truth is, they don't. They're just tossin' things at the wall and hopin' somethin' will stick. It can get messy, and some messes are harder to clean than others.”

“But we've always been able to pick up after ourselves,” said Stanford. “Why can't they?”

“Well… I reckon it's 'cause they don't see the point in tryin', or they wanna but don't know how.”

“So, what? We just gotta wait and see if they get over it themselves?” Stanley asked irritably.

“Don't think there's much else we can do, kiddo.”

Stanford swallowed. “But… what if they don't?”

Fiddleford opened his mouth, but found he couldn't respond. He had considered this, of course, when this whole fiasco began– when he realized that Stan would have to come here to help them fix this. The older twins' initial reunion wasn't nearly as destructive as he had feared, but it was still rather cold and distant, especially compared to the younger twins.

Of course, being the hopeful family man he was, Fiddleford had thought that being around each other again might be enough to at least get Ford and Stan talking again. But he wasn't naive; Fiddleford knew– despite how painful it was to admit– that some things were just too broken to be fixed.

Stanley sighed as he leaned back in his chair to stare up at the ceiling. “Who're we kiddin'? At this rate, they'll never bother tryin'.”

Stanford lowered his head until his chin was resting on his arms, looking just as lost and hopeless as his twin. Fiddleford felt something clench in his chest, but there wasn't much he could say to make this better. They could force Stan and Ford to stay in the same room for hours and it wouldn't make any difference if neither man even wanted to talk. There wasn't much else they could do without making things more complicated. All they could do now was wait and see if the older twins would figure out a way to cooperate on their own.

Fiddleford slowly pushed himself out of the chair and made his way over to the counter.

“C'mon, help me put all this away,” he said brightly. “Y'all can help me make dinner too, if ya like.”

The two boys glanced up at him before looking at each other, their eyes saying a million different things that Fiddleford couldn't decipher if he tried. They stared for several more moments before they both slowly stood up in unison. Fiddleford grinned as they approached the counter.

“So, how do y'all like your chicken?”

Chapter End Notes

“4-6-3-5-4 15 to 5 12-15-13-19 23 11-15-6-6-9-6. 25-9-3 21-23-10 18-15-26 15 to 4 15 to 18 15 to 4-'5 22-6-9-13-19, 22-3-4 25-9-3 21-23-10 5-4-15-12-12 5-19-19 4-16-19 21-6-23-21-13 15 to 10 4-16-23-4 11-9-4-16-19-6-18-3-21-13-15-10-17 6-19-18-12-19-21-4-15-9-10.”

Chapter 30: In the Dark of the Night

Chapter Notes

So, I just noticed that we're a few days away from the 1 year anniversary of when I started this fic. I was considering waiting a few days to post this chapter because of it, as a semi not-so-grand celebration of it, buuuuut... I'm a bit too impatient for that.

As a longtime reader of fics myself, I'm sure having a completed chapter sooner rather than later is never a bad thing. I'm so excited for this next arc of the story, and I hope y'all are ready!

Be sure to leave a comment, and I hope y'all enjoy!

See the end of the chapter for more notes

…and to think I put myself out there and spoke to him first. It seems there are some childish aspects my brother hasn't grown out of. He could've just told me to leave him alone, and I would've done so. I don't know why I even bothered. I'm sure my Muse will have a better answer to my questions anyway, and he won't tell me off for 'prodding' either.

I can't wait for this nightmare to be over with.

Ford stared down at the words he had spitefully written over an hour ago, feeling a swirl of emotions in his gut as he read them over and over. He had spent the majority of his afternoon residing in the storage room, continuing to add to the new collection of entries he had written since this whole ordeal began. He would've been more comfortable in his study, but upon seeing the makeshift blanket fort made on the pullout bed, he had grabbed the journal he needed and left very quickly.

He had attempted to remain calm as he wrote about what had occurred since his twin had arrived, but he had still been angry from their argument, and so the general log had slowly turned into a winded monologue about his frustrations. He had already filled an entire page with useless venting and was about to start a new one when he realized what he had done. The words were slanted in a way he knew only happened when he wrote too quickly, too angrily. Sloppy.

Ford sighed. He hated being too emotional in his writing. This was a documentation of his research, not a damn diary. He hadn't really needed to go this in depth over what had transpired, least of all his argument with Stan mere hours ago.

He was really tempted to rip the page out and start over, but the idea of willingly ripping a single page out of any of his journals made Ford feel… sad? Disappointed?

I could always copy a new one, he thought. It won't be the original, but… Oh, I'll figure it out later.

Ford sighed as he finally closed the journal. He looked down at his watch and saw that it was just past six. He hadn't been in a rush to leave once he had finished writing for multiple reasons.

For one, he had been too busy stewing over his own literary outburst. For another, he wasn't looking forward to coming face to face with Stan again. Ford knew that after that first argument, it wouldn't take much to set either of them off, and he really wasn't in the mood for it.

Ford ran a hand through his hair as he turned and made his way out of the room. He hesitated as he passed through the living room, but he didn't see Stan on the couch, or anywhere for that matter. He took a deep breath as he reached the kitchen, preparing himself for whatever may come.

But as he entered, he saw only Fiddleford by the sink, apparently washing dishes. The table was clear save for a single plate with braised chicken and rice.

“Don't bother ignorin' it,” Fiddleford said without turning around. “I know for a fact you ain't eaten since this mornin'.”

Ford hesitated before slowly making his way to the table and taking a seat in front of the plate. The food smelled incredible, but he couldn't dig deep enough to find his appetite. He was certain that if he took a single bite, it wouldn't stay down very long.

“So… where is–”

“He ate in the livin' room,” Fiddleford answered quickly. “Guess y'all are both too chicken to eat near each other.”

“Fiddleford–”

“I ain't gonna argue with ya about it. Either talk things out, or don't, but don't make it our problem, alright?”

Our problem . Ford had a feeling he knew what that meant. He hadn't thought that they had been that loud during their argument, but perhaps that hadn't been the case.

Ford could already feel his stomach turning as he picked up his fork and began to eat. A few minutes later, Fiddleford finally turned off the faucet and stepped away from the sink. Ford glanced up at him, watching as he drank from his mug without looking back at him.

“So… what did you get up to today then?” he asked awkwardly.

Fiddleford raised an eyebrow at him for a moment, then moved to stand by the table. “Well, other than groceries, I managed to round up some spare materials from our project. Gonna try to put together the powersource tomorrow. If you're not too busy hidin' away, I could use some help on it.”

Ford stared up at his friend. Surely he wasn't talking about the time machine. Why would Fiddleford be working on it if he now knew that they didn't have the parts to fix it?

“What are you talking about?”

“The time machine,” Fiddleford clarified as he frowned. “That's what I've been workin' on for the last few days? We can't send the little ones home without it.”

“But,” Ford shook his head. “Fiddleford, we don't have the proper parts to fix it.”

“We'll figure it out. Ain't the first time I've had to jerry-rigg some–”

“You can't “jerry-rigg” something like this.”

“Well, not with that attitude.”

Ford sighed as he ran his hand across his face. “Look, I know our conversation the other night went negatively, but that's no reason to act like it didn't happen.”

“What conversation?”

Ford was starting to feel very confused as he emphasized, “ The conversation. Remember? I told you about Bill and how I got the idea for the portal?”

Now Fiddleford looked confused. His brows furrowed as he muttered, “Who's Bill?”

“Who's–” Ford blinked at him. “Fiddleford, we just talked about this the other night.”

“No, we didn't.”

“Yes, we–”

But Ford stopped. He stared intently into Fiddleford's eyes, and realized that his friend genuinely had no idea what he was talking about. But, that was impossible! There was no way that he would've forgotten a conversation like that so soon. Not unless… but…

“Try asking him about your conversation the other night. You'll see what I mean.”

Now, Ford understood why his Muse had told him to question his assistant. It seemed that the only other person in this house that he could trust wasn't as honest as he pretended to be.

“What's wrong?”

Ford stood up from his chair with a little more force than was necessary as he glared at his friend. “You used it again, didn't you?”

“What do ya-”

“Don't.” Ford cut across him. “You know damn well what I'm talking about. You told me you would destroy it… but you didn't, did you?”

Fiddleford's face fell as he stared back at Ford. His expression became cross as he set his mug down on the table hard.

“Don't ya dare start accusin' me of anythin',” he spat. “Ya have no right-”

“I thought we were on the same page when I told you to get rid of it. I told you it was dangerous!”

“Dangerous?” Fiddleford repeated incredulously. “Don't speak to me about danger, Stanford! If ya really cared about putin' anyone in danger, ya wouldn't have made that thing in the first place.”

“You had no problem helping me build it over the last year,” Ford argued. “So, don't blame me just because you were too cowardly to voice your concerns sooner.”

“Don't ya dare call me a coward!” Fiddleford yelled. “I'd rather be overly cautious than blindly ambitious!”

“Keep your voice down!” Ford warned, raising his hands. “We already discussed that the other night too, remember?”

“What… what do ya mean?”

“See? That, right there! We just talked about this two nights ago, before Stan showed up. There's no way you could've possibly forgotten, not unless you made yourself forget.”

“But, I didn't!” Fiddleford argued desperately. “I… I didn't. We…”

Fiddleford's eyes grew wide, his gaze lost, as if he were seeing something that Ford couldn't see. Suddenly, he gasped as he hunched over, his hands came up to grasp his head. He groaned painfully, and Ford felt his anger suddenly dissipated.

“Fiddleford?”

“ Ngh … can't see,” Fiddleford grunted. “Can't… remember…”

He shuffled backwards and hit the table hard, causing his mug to fall over. Tea spilled over the surface, and Ford instantly moved forward, reaching out for his friend.

“Fiddleford, just take-”

But before he could even touch him, Fiddleford flinched away, bumping into a chair and nearly knocking it over. Ford froze, staring in disbelief. Fiddleford had one hand clutching at his stomach, and the other gripping his hair tightly, as if he were trying to rip it out. Ford took a single step towards him, and Fiddleford released his hair to point a shaking finger back at him.

“You…” his voice shook as he spoke. “You did this…”

“What do you-”

“J-just leave me alone!”

Still clutching his stomach, Fiddleford turned and practically sprinted out of the kitchen. Ford stood frozen, accompanied only by the soft drip, drip, drip as tea slowly spilled off the table and onto the floor. It wasn't until the footsteps faded up the stairs that he finally grabbed a towel and started cleaning up the mess.

You did this. What did that mean? Was Fiddleford blaming him for his own memory lapses? Ford wasn't the one who made him create the damn thing, and he certainly didn't force him to use it. What on earth was he on about? Perhaps that device was causing more than a few issues with his friend's mind.

Well, it serves him right, a nasty voice whispered from the back of his mind. You told him to destroy it, and he didn't listen.

Ford shook his head as he picked up the mug and his barely finished plate. Deserved or not, he would never wish any ill will on his friend. He tossed the remaining food into the garbage can before placing the plate and mug into the sink, and then immediately stomped out of the kitchen.

His stomach was still in knots as he quickly slipped through the passageway behind the bookshelf, hardly conscious as he made his way down the stairs. Ford had done this so many times he could probably do it in his sleep if he tried hard enough. He typed at the keypad without even looking and shuffled into the elevator, his mind still reeling.

His argument with Stan had left him fuming, but this one left him feeling drained. How many more things were going to go wrong because of this? How much longer would his patience be tested before he found results? All Ford wanted to do was discover something great– to make something of himself that people could be proud of. He hadn't come this far just to fumble at the finish line.

Ford stuffed his hands into his pockets as he exited the elevator, but paused as he felt something inside the left one. He grabbed whatever it was and pulled out his hand. There, in the center of his palm, was that same damn ring from the carnival. The gem was solid black.

Ford rolled his eyes as he marched further into the laboratory. He didn't have time to waste on frivolous carnival scams. He practically tossed the ring across his desk as he moved to stare through the glass wall that sat in front of it.

There it was. His life's work, his greatest achievement, the thing that would finally introduce him to the world. Less than a week ago, his future felt so close he could almost touch it. Now it felt farther away than it ever had before.

It doesn't have to be.

Ford glanced around the area, and his eyes landed on the control panel. It wouldn't take too long to activate it. Just a few switches and buttons, and… But, no. That would be a terrible idea. Why would he even think that?

The nasty voice whispered again.

Turn it on.

Ford shook his head. He shouldn't. It was too risky to test it alone, and they were only two days away from their original testing date anyway. Besides, things were rocky enough between him and Fiddleford already. If Ford activated it without even telling him…

You don't need him. You don't need anyone. You might as well do it yourself.

“No,” Ford muttered to himself. “I can't.”

The voice seemed to stop, but of course it would. If anyone could stop Ford's own thoughts, it was himself.

Ford sighed as he moved to sit down on the cot in the corner of the lab. He hadn't felt this stressed and exhausted since he first pitched his idea to go study Gravity Falls in the first place. His mind raced through every moment since then, wondering where he went wrong, if there was anything he could've done to prevent all of this.

You'd already be somebody if Stanley hadn't ruined anything, if he had stayed out of the way, if he had never been b–

The thought had barely crossed his mind, and Ford flinched, instantly horrified. How could he think of something like that? Yes, he was still very upset with Stan over the incident , and dealing with two versions of him was more than Ford ever bargained for, but he could never wish something so awful on his own brother.

Even if they hadn't spoken in years– even if they couldn't get along anymore– Ford still cared. Right?

“Why the hell do you care why I was in New Mexico?”

“I don't.”

Ford felt something twist painfully in his chest, and he suddenly didn't have it in him to stand up. Despite having a perfectly comfortable bed upstairs, he found himself slowly leaning back until he was lying down on the cot. His eyes were already drooping as he stared up at the ceiling.

One night down here won't kill me, he thought to himself. I could just stay down here until it's time to turn it on. It would be less trouble for them anyway.

The nasty voice didn't respond this time.

Fidds had told them happily over dinner that he had figured something out with the time machine, and that he could have it done by tomorrow night. Of course, Stanford and his brother had been excited for a moment, but then he realized that meant he could be gone by tomorrow. That simply wouldn't be enough time to help their older selves reconcile, or even be civil to each other. Stanley hadn't caught on at first, but once he saw Stanford's face, his own remained oddly stoic.

When they had gone downstairs after dinner, Stanley was the only one who was ready to just sleep it all off. Stanford, however, couldn't find it in himself to even sit down. He had simply thrown off his jacket and started pacing in circles around the room, muttering angrily about everything. The arguing, the time machine, the gnome that they had caught peeping at them through the kitchen window– it was all nonsense!

If they hadn't found that stupid time machine, none of this would've happened. They would still be home, with Ma, Shermie, and Pa(truth be told, Stanford didn't want to think about his father at the moment). They would still be able to see the beach whenever they wanted.

They would still be busy rebuilding the Stan O' War. But, if they hadn't, they wouldn't know how awful things had spiraled for each of them. Wasn't it better to know so they could avoid the same mistakes? Wasn't it worth it? It didn't feel good, that's for sure. Stanford wasn't sure how he should feel.

“You're gonna leave footprints in the wood if you keep doin' that.”

Stanford spared a glance at his brother, who was already laying down underneath the fort they had built on the pullout bed. He shook his head. Even if he wanted to sleep, he doubted it would help.

“I can't sleep.”

“Well, I can't either with you movin' around like that.” Stanley huffed. “At least hit the light, will you?”

Stanford rolled his eyes as he marched over to the desk. He turned off the lamp, and Stanley yawned a muffled, “Thanks”. Stanford folded his arms as he leaned back against the desk.

“How come every time things seem okay, they only get worse?”

Stanley sighed. “Sixer, it's gonna be fine.”

“You don't know that.”

“Hey, come on,” Stanley sat up to look at him. “We still got all day tomorrow, right? Hell, Fidds might need more time than he thinks. We've still got time, bro.”

We don't have enough, Stanford thought worriedly. If everything they had done so far wasn't enough, how could they ever fix things for themselves by tomorrow?

Stanley reached out and patted the space next to him with his arm, staring up at Stanford expectantly. Stanford wanted to stew over his frustrations a little longer, but he knew there was no real point. He held his ground for only another moment before angrily marching over to the bed. He sat down on the edge with a huff, already in the process of pulling off his shoes.

“It probably would've gone smoother if he hadn't gotten so angry.”

“Ford wasn't the only one yellin', you know.”

Stanford turned to look back at his brother. Stanley had a troubled look in his eyes as he fixed him with a frown. Stanford glanced away.

“I… I know.”

As much as Stanford hated to admit it, Stan hadn't made things any easier. They were both unfriendly towards each other. That only made Stanford more frustrated. Stanley shifted behind him, and a moment later he was sitting next to Stanford on the edge of the mattress.

“What's with you actin' weird around Ford?” he asked. “You get all uppity when he's around.”

“You're one to talk,” Stanford rebudled. “You can't be around Stan without getting angry.”

“Hey, I asked you first!”

Stanford groaned as he shook his head. He knew full well the reason; it was undoubtedly the same reason his twin acted irritably around Stan. The thing was, Stanford believed that what Stan had done was an accident. Ford didn't. Ford also allowed Stan to be kicked out of their home and never once tried to contact him in 10 years . Stan had been left all alone and seemed to always be in constant danger. Surely, that was worse than whatever Ford had gone through. Stanford just couldn't see how Stanley could still be so nice to him after knowing what had happened to them.

“I… understand the irony of it all,” he started. “But… how? How can you defend him? How can you stand to even look at me knowing what I– what he did?”

Stanford's hands clenched as he waited for a reply. When none came, he raised his head to look at his brother. Stanley was staring off into space, brows furrowed, apparently deep in thought. After a moment he sighed, turned back to Stanford, and gave a small shrug.

“Because… he's my brother, too.”

And that, right there, was the only real answer. No matter how much worse Stanford felt his future actions were, Stanley still only saw his brother in Ford, just as Stanford still saw his brother in Stan.

Stanford sighed as he let himself fall back onto the mattress. Stanley followed soon after, tossing one side of the blanket onto Stanford. He still couldn't find it in himself to close his eyes.

“What're we gonna do?”

“You don't need to ask me that.” Stanley nudged him with his elbow. “You're the smart twin, remember?”

“I'm not smart enough for this.”

Stanley sighed. “Yeah… me neither.”

Stanford stared up at the blanket that hung above them– their fort. Despite their failed attempts at getting the other two to talk, it had been fun to mess around for a bit. It was hard to believe that they were having fun just a few hours ago. It was hard for Stanford to believe that he was still capable of having fun. When he had been in that man's clutches– “Sergei” Stan had called him– he had spent far too many minutes thinking he would never feel anything but the rushing in his head and the pounding of his terrified heart.

Stanford gripped the blanket tightly as he started following all the different color patterns above him, hoping he could just bore himself to sleep.

“Oh, crap.”

Stanford instantly sat up. “What?!”

“Sorry! I just thought…” Stanley turned to face him, propping himself up on his elbow. “What happened to Shermie? You think he's okay?”

Stanford released the breath he had been holding, but he didn't feel anymore relieved. Of course. Shermie. They had been so concerned with themselves and their older selves that neither of them had even thought about what became of their older brother. Understandable, given the circumstances, but that didn't ease Stanford's nerves.

“I… I didn't think about that.”

Stanford gripped the front of his shirt as a sinking pit formed in his stomach. Suddenly, Stanley laughed as he reached over and gave Stanford a small shove.

“Pfft! What am I sayin'? Of course he's fine!” he placed his hands behind his head as he laid back onto his pillow. “He's just busy! Probably graduated and went off to be a millionaire or somethin'.”

Stanford stared down at his brother. He knew Stanley was just as concerned as he was, and was only spouting off in an attempt to deter their worries. Stanford couldn't blame him though.

They had enough brothers to worry about. So, he allowed himself to chuckle at the idea of Shermie somehow becoming rich beyond measure.

“That might explain why he isn't here to knock some sense into them.”

“Exactly!” Stanley affirmed. “He'd noggie us 'til we went bald if he saw us actin' like this.”

Stanford giggled as he laid down on his side. “How do you think he gets rich?”

Stanley hummed as he raised a finger to scratch his chin. “Hmm… I bet…” his face suddenly broke into a grin. “That he sells the best , most awesomest donuts in the world!”

“Really? Donuts?”

“Not your regular, run-of-the-mill donuts either. I bet– I bet he makes them look like pieces of art! Like an artisan.”

Stanford had to shove his face into the pillow as he erupted into laughter. Stanley using big words(usually incorrectly) was as common as getting sand in your shoes at the beach, but hearing him say a word like “artisan” was just too weird and too funny.

“Wh-what?” he panted as he leaned his head up. “When did you even learn that?”

Stanley smirked as he shrugged. “Eh, saw it in one of Fidds' cookbooks. Not sure what it means, but it sounds fancy !”

Stanford snorted before stuffing his face back into his pillow. Stanley started laughing too, trying and failing to defend it with his hands. It was the first time they had laughed or even smiled in hours, and it felt wonderful.

But, all too soon, they each ran out of breath. Their laughter died down, and soon even their heavy breathing stopped. The dark room was eerily quiet as their happy expressions slowly fell.

“We should ask them later,” Stanford said quietly. “Just to be safe.”

“Yeah…”

Stanley gave Stanford a gentle shove before curling up in his spot and closing his eyes. Stanford watched his brother for a few minutes before finally letting his eyes close.

He seemed to drift off for only a few moments when suddenly, his eyes were open once again. They took a moment to adjust to the dark, but once they had, Stanford realized that Stanley wasn't in bed. Odd, but he reasoned that his brother probably went to the bathroom or something.

Stanford smacked his lips, and he suddenly became aware of how dry his mouth was. Water. He groaned as he slowly forced himself to sit up and slump out of bed. He just needed a drink, and then he would go back to bed.

He walked as slowly and carefully as he could up the stairs so as not to make them creak, but was slightly less careful when he made it to the first floor. He accidentally bumped into the wall, and he groaned as he made his way down the hall. Since he was up anyway, he figured he could just bring a cup of water back downstairs and have a few jellybeans before–

Something grabbed the front of Stanford's shirt and yanked him to the side. One hand seemed to wrap around him as another came up to cover his mouth. Stanford's heart instantly started pounding. For the briefest moment, he felt like he was once again in that snowy clearing in the trees, that arm wrapped around his throat, and Stan slowly walking with his hands held high…

“ Shh! It's me.”

Stanley.

Stanford nearly sighed with relief, but due to the severity in his brother's whisper, he held it in. Now that he was wide awake and alert, he could hear something other than his own breathing. Soft footsteps were coming from the room ahead of them, and it took Stanford only a moment to recognize the room that held the mysterious bookshelf.

“It's Ford,” Stanley whispered. “I left to get some water and he came out of the kitchen. He looked… off.”

A soft creaking and clanking came from the room, and Stanford knew instantly it was the secret passageway. Stanley finally took his hand off Stanford's mouth and gestured for him to follow. Stanford nodded, and the two of them slowly crept up to the doorway.

Stanford peeked his head around the corner just in time to see the bookshelf slot back into place, as if nothing was amiss. He and Stanley looked at each other before slowly making their way further into the room, stopping only once they were in front of the bookshelf.

“What do you think he's doin' down there?” Stanley whispered.

“No idea,” Stanford took a step back. “Stan, maybe we should–”

But he was cut off as a gentle rumble erupted from the wall. Stanley moved forward and pressed his ear to the wall beside the bookshelf. Stanford followed suit on the other side. If it weren't so quiet, it would've been impossible to notice, but there was definitely something moving down below.

Stanford pulled his face from the wall and began to step away. He had been so eager to see what was beyond this passageway before. Now, when it was this dark and this creepy, he suddenly felt less confident.

“He's probably just working or something,” he muttered. “We should go back.”

Stanley didn't respond. His ear remained pressed to the wall, his face set as he stared up at the bookshelf. Then, he quickly pushed off the wall and reached up for one of the books– the same one Stanford had pulled before.

“What're you doing?!”

Stanley stepped away as the bookshelf slowly swung open. Stanford took another step back, expecting Ford to be there waiting for them. But, as the door completely opened, all he could see were the stairs. He leaned forward and saw no one waiting at the bottom either.

“C'mon.”

“What?”

Stanley was already moving, and had taken about 10 steps down the stairs before Stanford moved to catch up with him.

“Stanley!”

His brother didn't respond as they finally reached the bottom. In front of them was another door, and Stanley immediately tried pushing it but nothing happened. Stanford noticed a dial above the door with the numbers one through three, and an arrow pointed at three.

“I think it's an elevator.”

Stanley stopped attempting to pry open the doors as he stepped back. “How're we supposed to open it?”

Stanford glanced around to see if there was a button, and noticed a strange panel on the left side of the doors. Too curious to resist, he reached up and flipped it open. There was a keypad, and taped to the inside of the panel door was a slip of paper with a note.

Since you keep forgetting. –F

Underneath the note was a line of strange symbols Stanford had never seen before. He frowned at the paper, then up at the keypad. Stanley moved to stand beside him, also staring up at the note. Suddenly, he reached for the keypad, but Stanford instantly grabbed his wrist.

“Don't!”

“I just need to make sure he's okay.”

“Need to–” Stanford spluttered. “You were the one acting scared about coming down here earlier. Why're you doing this now?”

“He wasn't actin' like this before!” Stanley looked scared as he defended, “You didn't see him, Stanford. He was moving all weird and whispering to himself. It was like he was sleepwalkin' or somethin'.”

“I don't sleep–”

“I know, I just wanna make sure he's fine.”

Stanford huffed as he tried to pull his brother away from the elevator. “What if it is dangerous then? You said yourself we could get in trouble if–”

“You don't have to come,” Stanley stated as he attempted to pull his arm away. “I can handle it myself.”

Stanford gaped at him. “What? No, Stan–”

“Just give me five minutes. If I'm not back by then, you can go get Fidds. He's bound to know about this place and how it all works.”

“I don't know…”

“Just five minutes, Sixer,” Stanley placed his hand on top of Stanford's, urging him to let go. “This way, if everything turns out fine, I'll be the only one that gets chewed out, alright?”

Once again, Stanley was only concerned about Stanford's well being and keeping him out of trouble without concern for himself. Even if what lied beneath their feet was completely harmless, Stanford didn't like the idea of leaving his brother alone. But, going any further just felt wrong in a way he couldn't explain, and he could tell that he wouldn't be able to convince Stanley to just go back to sleep at this point. Waiting here by the stairs would be easy enough to do, and it would at the very least ensure that Stanley wouldn't be completely alone in this.

Stanford sighed as he finally released his brother's wrist and took a step back. Stanley grinned as he stepped closer to the keypad. He pressed the buttons according to the note, and the elevator buzzed as the dial lit up. The arrow slowly moved until it reached the one, and the doors opened. The inside was smaller than Stanford had expected, probably not meant for more than one or two people.

Stanley didn't even hesitate to step inside, and Stanford clenched his fists nervously. Stanley reached up for the elevator buttons, but stopped to look back at him. He smiled as he held out his free hand.

“High six for good luck?”

Stanford grinned as he high-sixed his brother. “Five minutes?”

“Five minutes.”

Stanford stepped away as Stanley pressed the elevator button. The doors slowly slid close, and Stanford felt his smile fade as he watched the arrow slowly move to the third level. Now, there was nothing left to do but wait. He steadied his breathing as he started to count in his head. 10 seconds… 30 seconds… 1 minute…

Stanford shook his head as he stepped away from the doors. He reached up to shut the keypad panel when his eyes landed on the note. Since you keep forgetting.

Something about that really irked him. Did his older self have to sound so pretentious? Stanford didn't sound like that, did he?

Since you keep forgetting…

Stanford frowned at the note. There was no way that Ford left this note for himself(their memory was quite excellent, thank you very much), so this note had to be for Fidds. But, if Fidds knew all of this was behind the bookshelf, why would he need a note for the keypad? Surely, if he was coming down here often enough, then he would remember on his own eventually.

Fidds said that he had been helping Ford for nearly a year after all. But who else could this note be for then?

Is it for us?

Stanford shook his head. Stanley had told him that Ford had been very secretive on the nature of this “project” he and Fidds had been working on. Why on earth would he leave a note for the two of them to find? That didn't make any sense. But, it didn't make sense for it to be for Fidds either. So, why have the note in the first place?

“He wasn't actin' right. It was like he was sleepwalkin' or somethin'...”

Stanford felt a chill crawl up his spine as he turned to stare at the elevator doors.

2 minutes, 30 seconds…

Chapter End Notes

1 to 19 10-9-1 6-19-4-3-6-10 4 to 9 9-3-6 6-19-17-3-12-23-6-12-25 5-21-16-19-20-3-12-19-20 8-6-9-17-6-23-11.

Chapter 31: Show Your Hand

Chapter Notes

Honestly, I don't know what I can say that I haven't already. Fingers crossed that work doesn't kick my ass too much this month. Might get another chapter out before April.

Be sure to leave a comment, and I hope y'all enjoy!

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Despite his own reassurances, Stanley felt a bit nervous as the elevator slowly descended. He wondered how severely Ford would react to seeing him down here when he definitely wasn't supposed to be, but Stanley told himself that he could handle it. Even if all that waited for him was an angry lecture, Stanley preferred that over being worried. Plus, he was still very curious about what Ford's big important project really was.

The elevator finally came to a stop, and the doors slid open. Stanley had expected to see something more stereotypically nerdy– safety goggles, lab coats, and test tubes filled with colorful chemicals– but the room in front of him was surprisingly dark. There were strange machines along the walls on both sides, but nothing seemed to be turned on. Not to mention, Ford was nowhere in sight.

Stanley took a deep breath before exiting the elevator. His socks didn't do much against the cold floor. He stared at the machines and gadgets all around the room, wondering what it was all for, but he wasn't here to explore(not yet, anyway).

At the end of the room was a desk covered in stacks of paper and multiple books, and a large ring sitting in the center. It looked like something Ma would wear; she loved gaudy jewelry. There was an open door right next to the desk, and Stanley started to make his way towards it when he noticed a glass panel above the desk.

Stanley's jaw dropped. On the other side of the glass was a massive room, probably bigger than the entire house, illuminated in pale blue light. On the opposite side of the room stood some kind of strange metal structure; an upsidedown triangle with a large hole in the center. There seemed to be symbols of some kind around the circle, but he couldn't quite see from so far away.

Suddenly, a shadow passed by the glass, and Stanley instantly crouched down behind the desk. He could hear something moving from the other side, but he couldn't tell what it was. He swallowed hard before slowly crawling across the floor, inching closer to the open doorway. He carefully peeked his head through and his eyes immediately found Ford. He seemed to be pacing around the area, hands behind his back, still swaying oddly like he had been before. What was more, he seemed to be humming happily to himself. Now, Stanford would hum and even sing on occasion, but Stanley hadn't heard Ford do anything of the sort the entire time he had been in Gravity Falls.

Stanley sat back on his knees, ready to make his presence known, already coming up with a decent excuse so that he wouldn't be prepremanded too badly. Before he could even stand, Ford started chuckling.

“Ahh, look at you…”

Stanley froze. There was something wrong with his brother's voice; it was high and far too gleeful. Ford moved to stand in the center of the room, staring up at the giant triangle.

“Aren't you just beautiful !” Ford sighed contently. “Fordsy sure did a good job, didn't he?”

Stanley frowned. Fordsy? Talking in third-person was one thing, but Stanley had never heard anybody call his brother by that name. Nobody except…

“I tend to linger every now and then, take over if I must…”

Stanley gasped far too loudly before instantly covering his own mouth. Ford's head turned slightly, but Stanley quickly scooted back before he could be spotted. He could feel his heart pounding as he held his breath, listening for any movement or more talking.

His mind filtered through all of the moments he had spoken with Bill in his dreams, and all of the things he had said about Ford. Bill had said that he could “take over” Ford whenever he was asleep. Was Ford even aware of what was happening right now, or was he too busy dreaming while the freaky triangle messed with his stuff? Stanley had too many questions that he didn't have the answers for, and now was not the time to be asking them.

Stanley stayed low to the ground as he slowly started to crawl away from the doorway. He had to get back upstairs and tell Stanford what he had seen. Maybe Fidds would have some answers. He was Ford's assistant, maybe he knew about Bill and could clear things up. At the very least, it would help make this all seem less creepy.

Stanley could feel dirt clinging to his skin as he finally reached the elevator. He carefully got to his feet and reached for the button, hoping that he would have enough time to get back upstairs without being noticed. Before he could press the button however, a large hand suddenly slammed against the wall above him.

Stanley's whole body went rigid, and he gulped before slowly turning around. Ford was towering over him, looking far too menacing despite the smile on his face.

“Heya Stanley,” he greeted in a high singsong voice. “What're you doing down here? You know this place isn't safe for you, right?”

Stanley couldn't move as he stared up at his brother. Ford's eyes, much like his smile, were unnaturally wide. Maybe the darkness was messing with his own vision, but their color seemed… off. Stanley felt a shiver crawl up his shoulders even as he forced himself to speak.

“Ah, I was… you know… I just saw you movin' weird upstairs,” he blurted out. “I thought maybe you were sleepwalkin' again, but you seem fine to me! I'll just, uh, go back upstairs and–”

Stanley quickly tried to reach for the elevator button, but Ford suddenly reached out and grabbed his wrist. The grasp was almost painful, and Stanley felt his heart spike.

“You know, for someone who grows up to be a criminal, you're a terrible liar at this stage of your life.”

Stanley stared up at his brother, whose smiling face now even closer, and gasped. Ford's wide eyes were literally glowing yellow– a very familiar shade of yellow. For a brief moment, Stanley felt more annoyed than anything as he frowned up at those eyes.

“It's you , isn't it?”

Bill shrugged. “Yeah, it's me. Don't pat yourself on the back too hard.”

Before Stanley could react, Bill turned and began dragging him back into the creepy lab. Stanley tried to resist, but the grip was now painfully tight.

“Hey, let me go!”

“No one forced you to come down here, kid,” Bill responded nonchalantly. “Your actions have consequences, and you gotta live with them.”

Now that Stanley was fully aware of the fact that he was speaking with Bill and not his brother, he could truly hear how different his voice was. It wasn't just Ford's voice speaking at a different octave. It was almost as if he and Bill were speaking in unison perfectly; so perfect that it was almost impossible to tell that there were two different voices.

Bill grabbed the rolling chair by the desk with his free hand, and dragged both it and Stanley into the next room. It somehow felt even colder here. Stanley dug his heels into the floor to try to stop himself, but he continued to be dragged even further in.

“Look, poppin' up in my dreams is one thing, but if this is about that freakin' deal–”

But he was cut off as Bill suddenly laughed. “Hahaha! Oh, please ! If that was all I wanted, I would've been in your dreams an hour ago!”

Bill released the chair and reached inside of Ford's trench coat, and a moment later he pulled out a large roll of duct tape. Before Stanley could register what was happening, he was suddenly forced into the chair, and one of his wrists was being quickly taped to the armrest. He instantly tried pushing Bill away, but it seemed to barely even affect him. For the second time since arriving here, Stanley was cruelly reminded of how much bigger Ford was compared to him.

“H-hey! Stop it!”

“Don't make this difficult, Mac, or I'll have to tape your ankles, too.”

Bill's voice was so casually playful, as if what he was doing was a part of some messed up game. Stanley had only ever felt annoyed by this weirdo before, but now he felt absolutely terrified as both of his wrists were tapped down tightly. The fact that Bill was sporting Ford's face while doing all of this wasn't helping either.

“There,” Bill seemed satisfied as he stuffed the roll back into his pocket. “That oughta hold you long enough.”

Stanley grunted as he moved around, trying but failing to break free from the tape. He had to dig deep to find whatever was left of his courage before glaring up at Bill, ignoring the pounding in his chest.

“Let me go!” he snapped. “I– I mean it!”

“Oh, you m-mean it ?” Bill cried mockingly. “Oh no! Whatever will I do?!”

He pretended to blubber for a moment before quickly switching to laughter again. Stanley glared, but he didn't feel nearly as confident as he hoped he looked. Realistically, there was nothing he could really do. He could threaten and curse all he wanted, but it wouldn't be enough to make Bill let him go.

“Alright, you've been down here for two minutes, plus the minute it takes to come down the elevator…” Bill muttered as he looked at the watch on Ford's wrist. “How long did you tell Lil' Fordsy to wait before coming to get you? Five, ten minutes?”

Stanley was too stunned to keep his expression neutral. How the hell did he know?

“Eh, nevermind. I'll just wait two minutes and go from there.”

Stanley felt his anger spike as he attempted to stand up. Unfortunately, his wrists remained stuck to the armrests, and the force was enough to knock the chair over completely. Stanley's head hit the ground hard, and his vision went blurry for a moment.

“Aw, now look at what you've done,” Bill sounded like a disappointed teacher. “You're too clumsy for your own good, Mac.”

Stanley ignored the pressure building in his head as he turned to look up at Bill. “Just wait until Ford wakes up. He'll know you were messin' with his stuff, and you'll be sorry!”

Bill blinked at him, perplexed for a moment, then keeled over with malicious laughter. Stanley could feel dirt stinging in his eyes, but kept them open as much as he could to stare at the maniac above him.

“Oh-ho boy! Oh, that's hilarious!” Bill beamed as he wiped his eyes. “You honestly think I'm upset that you caught me? Oh, Lil' Mac… I was hoping for this!”

For a brief moment, all of Stanley's anger and fear disappeared, replaced with pure confusion.

“Wha…?”

“Oh, c'mon kid! You didn't really think that note was for the hillbilly, did you?” Bill suddenly grabbed the back of the chair and yanked it up right. “Don't get me wrong, it would've been convenient if you hadn't, but I didn't think that this was gonna be that easy.”

Stanley felt dizzy as he shook his head. “Wait… You wanna be caught?”

“Yep! Curious, isn't it?” Bill smirked as leaned down, propping his arm across the headrest. “Well, as brash and crazy as it may seem, it's really the only thing I have left to make this work without having to wait any longer. I mean, a few decades is a blink in my existence, but I've been blinking for so long already.”

“What're you talkin' about?”

“C'mon Mac, I'm talking about this!” Bill spun the chair hard and stopped it so that Stanley was now facing the giant machine. “The greatest thing that's ever happened to this miserable dimension. The thing that's gonna finally give me everything I want!”

“Also shaped like a triangle, huh?” Stanley grumbled, unamused.

“What is art but an attempt to imitate untouchable perfection?” Bill said flippantly as he brushed his hair back. “It was Fordsy's idea, and I couldn't say no to him.”

“But… Ford said it was supposed to help him study the stuff in this town.” Stanley frowned up at Bill. “What do you want from it?”

“Oh, far more than research, Lil' Mac, that's for sure. I'd tell you, but you're a little too dense to ever truly understand.”

Stanley glared, and without thinking he swung out his leg and kicked Bill right in the shin. Bill merely flinched, then chuckled darkly as he shook his head.

“Well, aren't you adorable?” Bill leaned in as he sneered. “You're lucky I find pain hilarious. Also, I can't bruise, but your brother sure can, so… yeah.”

Stanley could only frown before Bill pushed against the chair, causing it to quickly spin in circles again. He became even more dizzy as he tried to keep his eyes on Bill, who was slowly making his way back towards the desk.

“I had a pretty solid thing going on here with me and Fordsy. I was this close to finally fulfilling a very ancient prophecy that involves this beautiful spectacle here,” he gestured to the massive triangle. “Unfortunately, there was one thing I didn't count on– you .”

Stanley shook his head as he watched Bill move behind the desk. He couldn't see what he was doing, but he could hear switches being flipped and buttons being pressed.

“See, you and Mini I.Q were never supposed to be here. You completely threw Sixer off his groove, and now he's fumbling the ball. Even that hick is losing faith, and it took forever to convince him to help. Now, since you've mucked it all up, I've had to reevaluate my plan.”

“What plan?”

“Oh, you'll all see eventually. Ah, there we go!”

Bill smiled wickedly as something started moving and clanking in the other end of the lab. It only took Stanley a moment to realize that it was the elevator. His five minutes must already be up, and Stanford was finally on his way down with Fidds.

Bill chuckled as he cracked his knuckles. “Let's set the scene, shall we?”

Suddenly, the lights around the giant triangle lit up, and Stanley heard the unmistakable whirring of something powering up. Whatever this thing was, Bill seemed to be trying to turn it on. Stanley was so focused on the machine that he hadn't heard Bill approach from behind, and he gasped as the chair suddenly began moving forward. Stanley realized he hadn't fully considered what the giant hole in the triangle was for, and feared that he was probably about to find out.

“What're you doin'?”

“Well, I wouldn't wanna spoil anything,” Bill said as if it were obvious. “No fun in that, right?”

Stanley squirmed against his restraints as he was pushed closer towards the black and yellow safety line. Now wasn't the time to panic. Stanford and Fidds would be here any second. He just had to keep Bill talking long enough for them to arrive, and he would be fine.

The chair finally stopped moving once Stanley was right on top of the safety line. He whipped around to see Bill approaching what looked like a tall lever standing on the ground in the center of the line. He already had both hands on it when Stanley suddenly shouted out.

“Wait!”

Bill froze, then sighed before turning to look back at him. “What?”

“Uh…” Stanley considered every excuse he could think of before finally muttering, “You, ah… Don't you wanna make that deal?”

Bill's jaw dropped, and he stared back at Stanley for a solid five seconds. Then, he threw his head back and roared incredulous laughter. He laughed so hard he ran out of breath and had to grab his knees to stay on his feet. Stanley took advantage of the distraction and looked across the room at the glass panel, anxious about how long it was taking Stanford and Fidds to get down here.

“Oh! You're an absolute riot, Lil' Mac!” Bill was grinning as he approached slowly. “One of the few things I like about you. Unfortunately, you've rejected my offer three times now, and you've already begun to outlive my patience …”

Bill reached forward and grabbed the armrests, squeezing Stanley's wrists in the process. He let out a small whimper as he was pulled forward, his eyes locking with Bill's. He was dangerously close now, and Stanley pushed against the back of the chair until he couldn't anymore.

“If I were more reckless, I would've dealt with you on the first night,” Bill snarled. “I could've easily ̸͇̦̣͗y̷̡̟̒̑o̸̬̪̼̞̒̉ǘ̵̢̩͎̀̊͒r̴̝͔̈̏̐ ̶̼̩̺͒̕͝n̸̠̭͔̑͠ë̵̦̣̤̮́̎̈́̒č̵̲̰̪̠͊k̵͈̪̋͌̿͘ , but I can't risk this timeline becoming undone because of you, too. So, I suggest you s̷̨̗̻̿̊̃̏h̴̨̞̠̯̓̀u̷̝̼̜̇̾ͅẗ̴̺͇̖́̇͋ ̵̱͈͋ū̵̞̊̕p̶̟̻͎̿̃ and this'll be easier on both of us, got it?”

Stanley knew that this wasn't Ford. He knew that, despite how rocky they were sometimes, that Ford would never look at him and speak to him like this. Bill was obviously the one pulling the strings at the moment. Still, hearing that voice and seeing that look on his own brother's face, all while those larger hands squeezed his wrists almost enough to crush them, was causing bile to build in his throat.

Bill huffed a little as he finally released his grip. Stanley's wrists were throbbing, and his eyes were stinging again. He sniffed as his breathing became heavy.

“Oh, quit blubbering,” Bill bemoaned as he rolled his eyes. “Nothing's gonna happen yet anyway. I'm just building the tension so they'll call my bluff.”

Stanley blinked the tears out of his eyes. Bill was bluffing? Bluffing about what? A small part of Stanley was relieved to know that he might not get thrown into whatever this machine was, but that was outweighed by his growing confusion.

“But… why?”

Bill snickered as he grabbed the lever again. “Told you before, kid. Insurance is a gamble… and I'm aiming for the jackpot.”

“Ford!”

Stanley gasped as he whipped around, his heart instantly lighter as he heard Fidds' voice. There, standing just past the doorway, were Fidds, Stanford, and… Stan? Stanley didn't understand why he was even awake, let alone down here, but he was so elated to see that help had come that he couldn't find it in him to be irritated at his older self. Even Bill seemed slightly surprised by Stan's presence as he beamed at everyone.

“Well, lookie here!” Bill's voice echoed as he held his arms out.. “A full house tonight! I must say, I'm honored to have your attention.”

“Stanford, what're ya doin'?!” Fidds cried out. “Are ya crazy?”

“Ford's taking a little power nap right now, and about time, too. He deserves it after working so hard for me,” Bill took a step back. “And I'm sure he'll appreciate me getting rid of all these… distractions while I'm here.”

Suddenly, Bill grabbed the headrest of the rolling chair with one hand and swung it back behind him. Stanley was now far past the safety line, and much too close to the giant triangle. It looked even more ominous from this angle.

“Stanley!” Stanford shrieked from across the room.

“Now now, no need to fuss,” Bill spoke calmly. “Nothing bad has to happen yet, so try not to do anything stupid.”

Stanley struggled to turn around as much as he could. He could just make out his twin, who seemed to be struggling against the hold that Fidds had him in. Stan was a few feet ahead of them, and seemed to be slowly making his way towards Bill.

“Ford, let's talk about this. I know this week's been rough, but–”

“Told you already, Fordsy's not here right now,” Bill groaned, clearly more annoyed than anything. “Are you in denial, or are you just that dense?”

Stanley could hear his own heart beating over the hum of the machine, which was slowly getting louder. He swallowed as he watched his older self take another step forward.

“Alright…” Stan began cautiously. “Who am I talkin' to then?”

Stanley could practically hear Bill smiling as he replied, “Oh, yeah! I guess you and I haven't technically met yet. I've gone by many names, but your brother calls me Bill.”

Something moved in the background, and Stanley glanced back to see that Fidds was now hunched over, clutching his own head. Stanford had taken the opportunity to try to run forward, but he only managed a few feet before Stan held out his arm, telling him to stop. Stanley hadn't been sure what to expect, but his twin obeyed almost instantly.

“What, like the dollar?”

“Why not? Classy and easy enough to remember.”

“Uh-huh,” Stan looked oddly casual as he took another step forward. “Guess I just expected somethin' more… vicious from someone who could pull a stunt like this.”

“You're not impressed?” Bill asked in mock surprise. “Well, don't worry. There's much more to me than just my name.”

“Yeah, sure,” Stan held his hands up slightly, now only about 10 feet away. “You know, if you wanted attention, you probably could've just asked instead of… this.”

“Maybe, but this way is so much more exciting!”

The chair jerked slightly as Bill moved to stand closer to the lever, and Stanley watched as he grasped it once more.

“Don't!” Fidds yelled. “Ya have no idea what'll happen!”

Bill snorted. “Oh, I know exactly what will happen, Specs. That's why I'm just dying to show you!”

If the slowly growing rumble was anything to go on, Stanley had a feeling that things would only get worse if Bill managed to pull the lever. He had been staring up at the creep long enough to see that he was thoroughly distracted now. So, Stanley planted his feet on the ground and quickly whipped his chair around, causing it to slip out of Bill's grip. With no other option available, Stanley quickly leaned over and bit down on his hand. Sorry, Sixer.

Bill yelped as he yanked his hand back and shook it out. However, his surprise quickly turned into delight as laughter erupted from his throat. Before Stanley could do more than blink, Bill raised his leg and kicked him right in the stomach. He felt the wind leave his body as he was flung backwards, and his stomach lurched as the chair suddenly stopped and toppled over.

Stanley's head hit something hard, and pain shot through his skull before his vision went white.

Chapter End Notes

20-9-10-'4 22-19-12-15-19-2-19 19-2-19-6-25 4-19-12-12 25-9-3 5-19-19.

Chapter 32: The Consequences of Ignorance

Chapter Notes

Welp, this is what I get for hoping work doesn't kick my ass too hard. I'm sorry I couldn't get this one out sooner. Buuuut... I've got an extra long chapter here to try to make up for it. I'll try to get the next one out when I can, but I'm not giving myself any expectations for when. It seems every time I do, something comes along to prevent me from meeting it.

Also, just hit the 150K word count! How cool is that?

Hope y'all enjoy, and be sure to leave a comment!

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Stan sprinted forward the instant his younger self had been kicked aside, but he hadn't been fast enough to stop the thing posing as his brother from pulling that lever. Stan rammed into him with enough force to knock him down, but the damage was done. The portal screeched as it began powering up, and the hole in the center illuminated the entire room in a powerful, blinding light.

The fear that suddenly kicked Fiddleford's heart was enough to get him out of his slump and make him straighten up. A small part of him was amazed at the fact that the portal actually seemed to work, but the rest of him was terrified of what might happen if any of them ended up going through it. They had to shut it down before that happened.

Fiddleford looked over at Stanley, who seemed to be unconscious on the floor, but had thankfully been kicked onto the safe side of the safety line; that would have to be good enough for now. Fiddleford ran forward and grabbed Stanford by the arm before pulling him back into the other room.

“We have to help Stanley!”

“We can't help anyone with that thing on.”

Fiddleford used his free hand to open the bottom right drawer of the desk and pulled out three brass keys. He turned and immediately began running for the manual override system on the far right wall, still pulling Stanford along with him. He spared a glance at Stan, and saw that he had the creature pinned to the ground on his stomach, thankfully on the right side of the safety line.

“C'mon, man! Don't make me hurt you!”

The thing was still laughing, and the sound was more piercing than nails on a chalkboard. The only thing louder was the still growing roar from the portal. All three of them were still too close; they had to shut it down now.

As they reached the system, Fiddleford released Stanford's arm and handed him one of the keys. He inserted the two he was still holding, and Stanford fumbled for a moment before inserting his own.

“When I say now, turn that key.”

Someone suddenly screamed, and Fiddleford whipped around. Stan was now suspended in the air, his legs dangling towards the portal as he held onto the lever for dear life. The thing that called itself 'Bill' straightened up, cocking his hip as he waved mockingly up at the other man.

“Excellent performance, big guy! Why don't you take five.”

Bill slowly turned to face them, and Fiddleford felt his blood go cold. An evil grin spread across the creature's face as he reached into one of Ford's pockets and pulled out something small. Fiddleford couldn't tell what it was until the blade suddenly snapped out, and Stanford gasped beside him. Bill held up the pocketknife, as if he wanted to make sure Stan could see it.

“Hope you don't mind,” the thing sneered back at him. “I just love borrowing other people's toys. It's always more fun!”

Bill lowered the knife as he began to slowly move towards them, teeth bared in a frozen grin and eyes glowing an awful yellow. Fiddleford didn't know what this monster really looked like– he only just remembered that he even existed– but he decided that he never wanted to find out. Seeing him through his friend's eyes was more than enough.

“Stanford, now!”

Stanford whipped around and quickly turned his key in time with Fiddleford. As soon as they did, Fiddleford grabbed Stanford's arm and dragged him back, putting himself in front of the kid as Bill continued to approach.

“Stan! Push the button!” Fiddleford yelled, hoping Stan could hear him over the sounds of the portal.

Fiddleford held his arms back as he began to shift to the side, hoping he could get close enough to the door so that Stanford could run if he had to. He glanced all around him, looking for something he could use to defend himself– a hammer, a wrench, anything! Before he could look anywhere else, the ground suddenly shook, knocking them all off their feet. The roaring slowly died down, and the light faded until the room was dim once again.

Fiddleford snapped his head up, and he saw Stan was now laying face down on the floor, one hand still holding onto the lever while the other remained pressed down on the button. He had done it; the portal was down. They had no time to celebrate as Bill quickly got to his feet, his eyes now glowing even brighter in the dark.

“Move!”

Fiddleford and Stanford jumped to their feet before running towards the other room. Stanford made it through first, sliding to his knees next to the desk. Fiddleford tripped through the doorway and only managed to get the door halfway closed before Bill slammed against the other side. Fiddleford pressed his whole body against the door, desperately trying to shut it.

“You can't hide away forever, Specs!” Bill called out playfully.

“Stanford!” Fiddleford grunted. “Find me somethin' to hit him with! Quick!”

Bill laughed as he gave the door a heavy shove, nearly knocking Fiddleford back. He planted his feet firmly on the ground, pushing against the door as hard as he could manage.

“Here!”

Fiddleford looked up in time to see Stanford toss him a large book on quantum physics. He managed to catch it before something suddenly slammed into the door with enough force to knock him to the ground. Fiddleford gripped the book tightly as he sat up, and he saw that it was Stan who had barreled through the door. He had his arms wrapped around Bill and was struggling to hold him to the ground.

“Tape! Left pocket!” Stan yelled. “Grab it!”

“Yeah, keep fighting!” Bill taunted loudly. “It doesn't matter anyway. I've got what I wanted!”

He suddenly threw his head back and slammed it against Stan's face, causing his grip to slacken. Bill managed to push himself away, and swung the arm holding the knife as he spun around. Stan yelped as he staggered back against the doorway. One hand covered his nose while the other held his right side where he must have been slashed.

“Will you all stop being so dramatic?” Bill said impishly as he got to his feet. “This was only the first act; nothing serious! Just wait until you see what I've got planned for the grand finale!”

Fiddleford felt something akin to pure rage flood through him, and he leapt to his feet, swinging the heavy book out towards his possessed friend's head. The glasses flew off somewhere as Ford's body fell to the floor with a heavy thud. Stanford, who had been hiding under the desk, was frozen as he stared at his unconscious counterpart. Stan grunted as he straightened up, stepping away from the doorway to stand over his fallen brother.

There were a few beats of tense silence, broken only by heavy breathing. Then, Stanford gasped before scrambling to his feet. He seemed to pick something up off the floor before he sprinted through the doorway, back into the portal room. Oh God, Stanley…

“Ya got him?” Fiddleford asked faintly.

Stan nodded. “Yeah. Go ahead.”

Fiddleford tossed the book onto the desk before running after Stanford, who was already kneeling beside his brother. Poor Stanley remained unconscious, his wrists still strapped to the chair's armrests. Stanford was attempting to pull the tape from his brother's wrists, but to no avail. Just as Fiddleford kneeled beside them, Stanford held up the thing he had picked up. The red-handled pocket knife looked far too big in his poor hand, which started to shake a little once the blade was out.

“Here,” Fiddleford said quickly as he grabbed Stanford's wrist. “Let me do it.”

Stanford hesitated for only a moment before letting the knife slip out of his grasp. Fiddleford swallowed as he began carefully cutting the tape. Once it was off, Fiddleford put the knife in his pocket before grabbing Stanley and gently moving him away from the chair. He raised his hand to press his fingers against the boy's neck, and sighed with relief when he felt a pulse. Thank the Lord.

“He's not waking up,” Stanford gasped in a watery voice. “Why won't he wake up?”

“He's just knocked out,” Fiddleford said calmly even as his voice trembled. “He should be alright. C'mon.”

He carefully scooped Stanley into his arms before getting to his feet. Stanford stayed ahead of him as they made their way back to the other room, constantly turning his head back and forth in an effort to keep an eye on his brother. As they entered the room, Fiddleford saw that Ford– also unconscious– was now propped up against the opposite wall, his hands and ankles tied together with the duct tape.

Even his glasses had been placed back on his face. Stan was leaning against the desk, now holding his right side gingerly. Blood trailed from his nose to his chin, but nothing seemed to be broken.

Fiddleford could feel his legs shaking as he gently laid Stanley on the nearby cot. He carefully lifted the boy's head and looked at the spot he had hit in the fall. The left corner of his forehead was scraped up, but there was barely any bleeding and he seemed to be free of any other injuries.

The cot creaked, and Fiddleford turned his head to see Stanford sitting on the edge beside him. His eyes were gleaming as he reached out a trembling hand to grasp his twin's.

“He don't look too bad,” Fiddleford said assuredly. “He'll have a bump on his head and maybe a concussion, but he should be fine.”

Stanford still looked just as worried as before, but he nodded anyway. Fiddleford patted his shoulder before straightening up and moving towards the desk. He and Ford had earned more than a few cuts and bruises while building the portal, and so they had a larger medkit stored down here for such occasions.

He reached into the bottom left drawer and pulled out the large white case. Stan groaned as he used the end of his shirt to wipe the blood off of his face, but held a hand to his side to keep the fabric from moving up. Fiddleford set the case on the desk, hesitating for just a moment before reaching out.

“Here, lemme see.”

“I'm fine.”

“Then lemme see.”

Stan frowned, then rolled his eyes before moving his hand. A dark red stain had started to spread against the white fabric of his shirt. Fiddleford gulped before gently lifting up the fabric, revealing a bloody gash right underneath Stan's ribs. It didn't seem that deep, but it was nearly three inches long and blood was still trailing slowly down his side.

“It ain't that bad,” Stan assured him. “I've had worse.”

“That don't ease my concerns,” Fiddleford took a deep breath before reaching over to open the medkit. “You'll definitely need some stitchin'. We've got painkillers, but I don't–”

“ Ford… ”

The faint, groggy voice was enough to make Fiddleford spin around and stare towards the cot. Stanley was stirring, his brows furrowed as he groaned.

“Stanley?” Stanford asked hopefully, holding his brother's hand closer.

“Don't worry about me,” Stan said, nodding towards his younger self. “Worry about him. I can handle it.”

“Stan, ya need stitches –”

“I can do it myself,” Stan cut him off firmly. “'S not the first time I've had to. I know what to do, he doesn't, okay?”

Fiddleford didn't like it. He didn't like that Stan already knew how to do stitches; he didn't like that Stan knew how to do it on himself without help. Unless Stan had somehow gotten himself into medical school at some point, there was no normal reason for him to know how to do either. Fiddleford didn't want to leave Stan to do it himself, he wanted to help him. But… he had a point. Stan might not need his help, but Stanley definitely did.

Fiddleford pulled the miniature flashlight out of the kit before making his way over to the cot. He kneeled down beside it and gently placed a hand on Stanley's forehead, avoiding the injured spot.

“Hey kiddo, it's me,” he said kindly. “I need ya to open your eyes for me, alright?”

Stanley made a small sound of acknowledgement but didn't say anything. Not a great sign, but at least he was conscious enough to listen. Fiddleford leaned forward as he turned on the little flashlight and held it up to the boy's eyes. His pupils reacted normally, but he still blinked and flinched under the light.

“Too bright…”

Light sensitivity, Fiddleford thought to himself.

“Can ya tell me your name?”

Stanley shook his head. “Fidds, you know my name.”

“Tell me your name, son.”

“ Ngh … Stanley Pines…”

“Good,” Fiddleford pointed the flashlight away from the boy's eyes as he continued, “How old are ya?”

“12…”

“Where're ya from?”

“New Jersey…”

“And where're ya right now?”

“Gravity… Falls?”

It was worded more like a question, but at least he was responding coherently.

“Think ya can sit up?”

Stanley nodded before he started to slowly push himself up. Fiddleford placed a hand behind his back to help him up, and Stanford held both of his brother's hands to help pull him forward. Stanley groaned as he hung his head.

“ Ugh … why's my head exploding?”

“You– you got knocked out,” Stanford muttered.

“Stanley, what happened?” Fiddleford asked. “Why were ya even down here?”

“I saw Ford walkin' around upstairs and–” Stanley stopped and raised his head. “Wait… where's Ford?”

As if on cue, Ford suddenly let out an agitated groan. They all froze and turned to watch as he stirred, shaking his head as he started to move. Once he realized he was tied up and couldn't easily move his limbs however, he quickly became more alert and suddenly straightened up. His head snapped to each of them, his eyes wide, confused, but devoid of any yellow.

“What are you– Why am I–” Ford spluttered. “What is going on here?!”

“You tell us, smart guy!” Stan snapped at him. “You can start by tellin' us what that thing I nearly got sucked into is!”

“You're not supposed to– No one besides Fiddleford and I…” but all of the anger suddenly faded from Ford's eyes as he got a good long look at his own twin. “You… W-What happened?”

The drastic change in his tone was so sudden even Stan seemed surprised. Fiddleford stared at Ford, wondering if his friend was truly with them this time.

“Stanford, what's the last thing ya remember?”

Ford turned to gape at him. “What was– The last thing I remember is going to bed,” his eyes drifted to Stanley, and his sudden concern only increased. “What… what happened to Stanley? What's going on?”

Ford seemed normal, but that didn't mean much, considering how long he's been working with that monster. If this Bill was somehow capable of possessing him, who knows how many times he had pretended to be Ford over the last year. It would certainly explain some of the odd things Fiddleford had noticed. Walking around all night every night, always complaining about his right eye, and all of the dark humor he had let slip out on a few rare occasions(yet somehow always forgot about).

“We'll fill ya in on that later,” Fiddleford tucked the flashlight into his pocket before turning to address Stanford. “I ain't a professional, but Stanley might have a concussion. We gotta keep him awake and keep an eye on him for a few hours, 'kay?”

Stanford nodded determinedly. Fiddleford placed a hand on Stanley's shoulder as the boy looked up at him.

“Think ya can make it upstairs?”

“I… think so.”

Fiddleford gave the boy a pitying smile before nodding at Stanford. “Help your brother up, would ya?”

He might as well have not said anything, because Stanford was already up on his feet and placing one of his twin's arms around his own shoulders. He made sure he had a good hold on his brother before slowly helping him move through the room. Stanford glared down at Ford as they passed by, and even tried to keep his twin turned away from him. He needn't have bothered; Stanley's eyes were already closed in discomfort, making him look as if he were sleepwalking.

Fiddleford huffed as he made his way towards the desk. Stan had already cut a strip of bandages and was holding it against his side to stop the bleeding. Fiddleford placed the bandage roll and the flashlight back into the kit before shutting.

“C'mon.”

“Fidds, I told you–”

“Ain't no clean water source down here, and you've gotta clean that before ya stitch it.” he said matter-of-factly. “Besides, I reckon we're safer upstairs.”

“Would one of you please tell me what the hell is going on?” Ford piped up loudly. “At least untie me, would you?”

They both turned to look down at him, but neither of them responded. What could either of them say? Fiddleford wanted to believe it was his friend speaking to him, but he couldn't bear being the one responsible for everyone getting hurt if he was wrong.

He didn't know enough about this 'Bill' to know what he was truly capable of, and he really didn't want to find out. Heck, he was starting to doubt if he ever really knew Ford at all.

“Fiddleford…?”

Fiddleford turned away from Ford as he reached into his pocket and pulled out the knife. He looked up at Stan and held it out for him.

“You're his brother,” he said simply. “If ya think ya can handle him, then just undo his ankles. Your knife, your call.”

Stan stared down at his knife, then at Ford, then back at the knife. He took it from Fiddleford as he pushed himself off the desk, slowly making his way towards his brother. Stan kneeled in front of Ford and stared at him intently for a few moments.

Ford stared back, looking concerned and confused. Stan sighed before reaching down and cutting the tape around his brother's ankles.

“You've got some explainin' to do.”

The ride back to the first floor was awkward to say the least. Due to the size of the elevator, Fiddleford had taken it with the boys first while Ford and Stan waited for it to come back down. It was probably for the best anyway. Ford wasn't sure what was going on, but even he could feel the tension permeating through the air.

He felt… Well, he was feeling a lot of things at the moment: Anger, irritation, confusion and worry. He'd have to do some research to see if there was a single word that could describe feeling all of those at once. He was torn between arguing about how ridiculous this whole thing was, and worrying over what had happened to both of his brothers. Why were they down in the lab?

Why were they injured? Why was everyone looking at Ford like he was an irate patient in a psych ward?

The tension seemed to only increase once he and Stan finally entered the elevator. Stan was silent as he pressed the button, and he remained silent as they started to make their way back up. Ford glanced over at his brother, whose eyes remained locked on the door. He took note of the blood still under Stan's nose, and his eyes trailed down to the hand pressed against his side. The bleeding from whatever injury he had sustained seemed to have stopped, but seeing that much red on his brother was still enough to set off any and all mental alarm bells.

“Stan–”

“Not now.”

Normally, Ford would argue over being told to not speak(in his own house, no less), but even he could tell that something was very wrong here. So, he remained quiet as he waited out the rest of the ride.

The walk up the stairs had taken just as long as the elevator. Stan had to keep one hand glued to his side while he kept the other pressed to the wall in an effort to support himself. Ford had thought about offering some assistance, but he would need his wrists free to do so, and he had a feeling that wasn't going to happen for a while.

Once they were finally on the other side of the bookshelf, Stan gestured for Ford to go ahead of him, and they both made their way towards the kitchen. The sink was already running and their younger selves were already seated at the table; Stanley was leaning against the surface with a small bag of ice in his hands, and Stanford was asking him random questions in an effort to keep him awake and focused.

“What's your favorite breakfast?”

“Pancakes…”

“What's your least favorite vegetable?”

“They're all gross… brussel sprouts are grosser…”

Fiddleford stood by the counter, already cutting off a square roll of gauze. Stan shoved his way past Ford and moved to stand by the sink.

“Should be warm enough now,” Fiddleford stepped aside as he gestured to the medkit on the counter. “Suture pack is in there.”

Stan nodded as he picked up a hand towel and held it under the running water. Fiddleford made his way over to the table, froze for a moment when he spotted Ford, then slowly sat down. The sour expression lasted for only a moment before he turned to press the gauze to the injured spot on Stanley's head. Once it was taped on, Stanley pressed the ice bag against the spot with a groan. Ford would probably be more willing to accept the shame that was building in his gut if he at least knew why he was feeling ashamed.

All he did was sleep in the basement lab. How could things have ended up like this?

Ford took a single step past the threshold, causing everyone to turn their heads towards him. A mixture of concern, anger, and even fear was present in all of their gazes. He swallowed hard.

“Please,” he could only hope that he sounded genuine enough. “Will someone tell me what happened?”

The two boys didn't respond; Stanley looked like he was on the verge of passing out and Stanford looked like he wanted to spout every conceivable insult he could think of. Fiddleford and Stan both turned to look at each other, each with the same cautious expression on their faces. Fiddleford merely shrugged, and Stan looked down at his side as he started to clean around his wound.

“You said the last thing you did was go to sleep?” he asked without looking up.

“I– Yes?”

“Alright,” Stan stopped moving for a moment as he looked over at the boys. “You two, tell us what happened.”

“Yeah,” Fiddleford added. “Why were y'all down there in the first place?”

Stanford and Stanley glanced at each other, their expressions tense but otherwise unreadable. Stanley sighed as he laid his chin on the table, and Stanford placed a comforting hand on his back.

“I came up here earlier to get some water,” he explained. “Stanley was up here too, and… and we saw him walking around the house.”

Ford raised an eyebrow at the sour expression his younger self threw at him. Despite Stan and his counterpart throwing a few minor insults at each other over the last two days, Ford had somehow managed to avoid any verbal communication of any sort with himself. It was obvious that young Stanford wasn't interested in talking with him, but apparently he had no objections with talking about him.

What really stumped Ford was the fact that they had apparently seen him moving around. Had Bill simply been busy working? But, if that was the case, why had he come upstairs at all? Ford had fallen asleep next to the portal. It didn't make sense.

“We watched him go down the stairs behind the bookshelf. I wanted to leave it alone, but…”

“I wanted to make sure you were okay,” Stanley glanced up at Ford. “You were movin' weird. Didn't sound like yourself.”

“But how were you able to use the elevator?” Fiddleford asked. “Only Ford and I know the code.”

“There was a note right next to it.”

Stanley groaned as he rubbed his eyes. “I… I think it was left for us.”

Ford shook his head. “That's impossible. I've never left a–”

“Didn't say you did it.”

Ford frowned, and Stanley frowned back. The poor kid still looked like he was fighting to stay awake, but his gaze was still irritated and… hurt? Didn't say you did it. Ford was confident that Fiddleford wouldn't leave a note with the code.

He had witnessed his assistant type it in without even looking at the keypad multiple times. No one else was supposed to even know about what was behind the bookshelf, so who else–

Ford realized that he already knew the answer to that question. There was technically one other person in this house(even if he wasn't there all the time) who knew the code. Stanley couldn't be suggesting that Bill had left the note, right?

That made even less sense. Bill shared Ford's concern about letting Stanley– or any outsider– too close to their project. Why would he purposely lead the boy right to it?

In any case, Ford hadn't told Stanley anything about Bill, or about their deal. How could he even suspect that Bill was capable of using Ford's body when he was asleep? Unless of course Bill had told him. But… no. No, Bill had been clear when he said that he hadn't actually interacted with Stanley. He wouldn't lie… right?

“Stanford woke us up earlier,” Fiddleford said to Stanley. “He said you had taken the elevator down yourself.”

Stan suddenly let out a loud hiss, and everyone turned to look at him. He seemed to be in the process of flushing out his wound. After a moment, he whipped around and fixed his counterpart with a glare.

“You went alone?” he demanded angrily.

Stanley rolled his eyes and waved him off. “Didn't want Sixer gettin' in trouble if it turned out to be nothin'.”

Stan was clearly irritated, but didn't respond. Then, he huffed before turning back to tend to himself. Fiddleford cleared his throat.

“Well… what happened when you were down there?”

Stanley shrugged. “He caught me, tied me up, and kept yappin' about how he was glad that I caught him.” he groaned in discomfort as rubbed his temple. “ Ugh … He said wanted to get caught.”

“I did what ?” Ford asked, aghast.

“Not you . The other guy.”

The other guy… That all but confirmed what Ford had been trying to deny. There was no other reason why Stanley would respond that way. He really did know about Bill, at least enough to know that he was capable of using Ford's body. But, that just left him with more questions! If Bill had made his presence known in front of them all, how had they ended up in such horrible conditions? Why were both of Ford's brothers injured?

Did he… hurt them?

Ford shook his head. That couldn't be true, it just couldn't! Bill was his muse, his friend.

He hadn't been happy about the appearance of Stan or the boys, but he had been far more lax about it than Ford had been. Why would that attitude change all of a sudden? Why would he hurt them? To whose benefit would that serve?

“You… you must be mistaken.”

“You sayin' you taped him to the chair on purpose?” Stan asked grimly.

“Of course not!” Ford defended. “I could never!”

“How do ya explain it then?” Fiddleford got to his feet. “We all go down there, see Stanley strapped to a chair and you holding the portal lever. Second everything goes south, you knock out Stanley, try to attack Stanford and I, and use your brother's own knife on him. If it wasn't someone else, then who was it?”

“You kept sayin' 'Ford's not here right now'.” Stan said as he dug around the medkit. “You said your name was Bill.”

Ford felt like he had received a sledgehammer to the face. No, it can't be true… But how else would they even know that name? Bill said he had only placed in his image… Clearly he had done more than just that. Bill had said not to worry about it… Maybe because he had his own plans on how to deal with Ford's distractions . Suddenly, all of his internal denial stopped, leaving nothing but an odd, low buzzing in his ears.

Fiddleford stepped forward, his expression hurt and disappointed. “That wouldn't happen to be the same Bill you mentioned the other night, would it?”

Ford blinked. “You… you remember?”

“Unfortunately.”

“You knew about that freak?” Stan asked, surprised.

“Briefly, then not at all, then quite suddenly a few hours ago.”

Stanford frowned up at him. “How do you just… forget?”

Fiddleford's expression faltered, now looking guilty himself. He folded his arms as his gaze lowered to the ground.

“I… have a device,” he admitted in a defeated voice. “A personal project of mine. It's… good for helpin' me forget things. But it seems the… effects ain't as permanent as I thought.”

Ford gaped at him. He hadn't expected his assistant to be so open and honest about his invention, especially after hiding it from Ford for so long. Whether it was because of shame or an unwillingness to continue lying, Ford couldn't tell. Fiddleford's gaze was lost in the distance for a moment before he shook his head and fixed Ford with a hard look.

“Earlier, when ya tried to talk to me about the other night, I had no idea what you were talkin' about. Then it just… happened. I saw it; I felt it, all over again,” Fiddleford's voice darkened as he stepped towards Ford. “And I know for a fact that I saw you use it on me that night.”

Ford had only truly felt intimidated by his assistant once or twice in the years they had known each other. The first time was in college, when Ford realized just how quickly and efficiently his friend could build any trinket his brilliant mind could come up with. The second time had been when he had seen the complicated deathtrap said friend had created to keep the shapeshifter trapped inside their hidden bunker. Ford once jokingly wrote in his journal that Fiddleford would be a terrifying villain if he weren't so good natured. The look he was receiving was filled with that same intensity, making him feel like he was peeking at what his friend could be if he weren't.

“Fiddleford–”

“Yeah, I know it wasn't you .” Fiddleford straightened up. “Am I right in assumin' it's the same fella?”

Ford gripped his hands tightly as he glanced around, noting how everyone– except Stan of course– was staring at him. He had hoped, even now, that some new evidence would present itself; something that would prove that this was a misunderstanding, that someone else was behind it all. But no one else spoke up, even his own internal doubts had gone quiet.

“Yes… yes, it is.”

More silence followed this statement as they continued to stare at Ford expectantly. He supposed he couldn't blame any of them for that, but what else was he supposed to say? Nearly a minute passed before Stan finally spoke up.

“So, what is he?”

“He… he's a being from beyond our dimension.”

The confused looks he received told him that this statement clearly wasn't enough to go on. Ford swallowed.

“I went exploring in the mountains within the town, and I found some cave paintings with instructions on how to summon him.”

“As well as a warnin' sayin' not to do that,” Fiddleford added coolly. “Which ya promptly ignored.”

Ford flinched slightly. A small, selfish part of him was a little disappointed that Fiddleford remembered that part. He instinctively glanced over at Stan, and was surprised to see him finally looking back at him, though his expression was rather incredulous.

“You can't be serious…”

“I was just trying to study it,” Ford explained plainly. “I wasn't sure if anything would actually happen . For all I knew, it could've been a hoax.”

“Ya didn't think that the warnin' was a big enough red flag?”

Ford huffed. “If they didn't want him being summoned, why would they leave the incantation to summon him in the first place?”

“I've got a better question,” Stan pulled a needle out of the suture pack and gestured at Ford. “How can he possess you? Can he do that with anyone? How do we know if we're safe?”

Ford shook his head. “No, he can't just possess anyone. The only way he can is…” he glanced away as he shuffled his feet. “Is if you give him permission.”

Several beats of silence followed his confession.

“Ford…” Stan bemoaned.

“Stanford Pines, tell me ya didn't!” Fiddleford pleaded.

“It made sense at the time!” Ford defended quickly. “We were falling behind on our progress with the portal, and he doesn't need to sleep like we do.”

“So you just made a deal with him without even thinkin'?” Stan asked sharply.

“Without even– I was thinking about my future, about the future of the scientific community, and–”

“You lied to me.”

All three of them stopped and turned. Stanley was sitting upright, the bag of ice now discarded and melting on the table. He was glaring up at Ford, his eyes sharp as his brows furrowed.

Ford was so surprised by the statement that it took him a moment to realize what Stanley was talking about. His heart leapt in his throat.

“Stanley, I– It wasn't like–”

“You lied to me!” Stanley suddenly jumped to his feet, wobbling dangerously before Stanford stood up to grab his arm. “I told you I was havin' dreams about him, and you acted like I was stupid!”

“What?!” Fiddleford gasped before rounding on Ford again. “You– Why wouldn't ya say nothin'?”

“I thought it was some sort of coincidence!” Ford defended quickly. “I was convinced we were friends! I– I thought I could trust him.”

“What about me, huh?” Stanley's voice broke as he pointed at his own chest. “How could you trust him over me? I'm your brother!”

“Yeah, join the club, kid,” Stan said offhandedly as he pulled some thread out of the suture pack. “Might as well get comfortable.”

Stanley whipped around and snapped, “Shut up! It's all your fault. You're the moron who messed with his stuff and–”

“That was a fuckin' accident, and you ain't been through it yet. So don't go spoutin' about shit you don't know about!”

“You're not making this any better by yelling, Stan,” Ford said bitterly.

“Leave him alone!” Stanford yelled at him, catching Ford completely off guard at being addressed directly. “You're the one who made a deal with a monster in the first place!”

Ford scoffed, “Oh, as if you have any comprehension about what I–”

enough!

All four of them went silent as Fiddleford's voice rose above them all. Stanley and Stanford's anger had disappeared, replaced with worried anticipation like they were about to receive an old-school lecture from their father. Stan stood still, hands frozen in midair, looking rather surprised by the outburst. All Ford could do was stare as his friend clenched his fists, his nostrils flaring.

“Damn it all, fightin' ain't gonna solve nothin'! We got enough problems goin' on right now, so will y'all get a grip?!” Fiddleford pointed a threatening finger at Ford. “ You. Ya got us into this, you'll get us out of it. Ya love workin' so damn much? Start workin' on how to stop that thing !”

Ford didn't have the courage to argue even if he had anything to stand on. Fiddleford lowered his hand, the anger in his expression already fading as he sighed.

“I'm gonna try finishin' that time machine. Don't nobody bother me 'til I'm done,” he turned to address the boys. “You two should try to get some rest. Take it in turns, make sure Stanley is awake every couple of hours, alright?”

They both nodded. Fiddleford glanced at the other two for a moment before shaking his head and moving towards the doorway. As he passed by, Ford could hear him muttering irritably to himself.

“Go to Gravity Falls, he said. It'll be great, he said. Lord almighty, it's like I'm watching four kids instead of two.”

Ford could feel his stomach twisting in knots as the footsteps faded up the stairs. A few moments later, the two boys started to slowly follow suit, no doubt heading for the sanctuary of their fort downstairs. Ford hoped that Stanley would at least look at him and see how much he regretted letting something like this happen, but his little brother kept his gaze to the floor as his twin led him past, bumping his elbow against Ford's leg in the process. The knots only became tighter after that.

“Here.”

Ford looked up in time to see Stan making his way towards him, already holding his pocket knife in one hand. He used his free hand to grab Ford's wrists, and gently slid the blade under the tape to cut it. The small sense of relief at having his wrists freed paled in comparison to the ever growing anxiousness in Ford's chest.

“Just… sit for a sec. I won't take long.”

Ford rubbed his wrists as he watched his twin make his way back to the counter, already grabbing the needle again. He was certain Stan knew what he was doing– he would've at least asked for instruction if he didn't– but a small part of him, buried deep down, wanted to offer his help. He knew it would be pointless though. After everything that had happened, the fact that Stan had even untied his wrists was a miracle. Besides, Ford could feel his hands shaking the moment they had been released, and he just couldn't seem to regain control of them just yet.

So, he remained quiet as he slowly made his way to sit in one of the nearby chairs.

Chapter End Notes

“15 16-23-20 12-9-2-19 15 to 10 11 to 25 12-15-18-19 9-10-21-19, 23-10-20 25-9-3 13-10-9-1, 15 to 4 22-15-4 11 to 19. 15 4-16-15-10-13 15 12-19-23-6-10-19-20 23 12-15-4-4-12-19 22-15-4 9 to 18 23 12-19-5-5-9-10 18-6-9-11 4-16-23-4; 25-9-3 9-8-19-10 25-9-3-6 16-19-23-6-4, 23-10-20 22-12-9-9-20 21-9-11-19-5 9-3-4 23-10-20 25-9-3 20-15-19.”

Chapter 33: Strange Problems Require Strange Solutions

Chapter Notes

I Live...!!!

from the Ashes of Despair and Ruin, I Rise to Greet A New Dawn, Motherfuckers!!!!!

*ahem...* Sorry, had to get that out. I know it's been A Minute, and I've kept y'all waiting, but I'm sure it was worth it. Hope y'all enjoy!

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Stan was almost relieved when Ford eventually left the kitchen, muttering something about retrieving his journals. Stan hadn't paid him any mind as he was still finishing the knot on his stitching. All things considered, it had turned out much nicer than when he had stitched himself in the past.

It was nice, having all the right supplies for once. He usually only had a handful of bandages and rubbing alcohol to help whenever he was injured.

To say that Stan had been unprepared for what had happened would be a terrible understatement. Hell, he had only caught half of Stanford's frantic ramblings when the kid had abruptly woken him up. The stairs hidden behind the bookshelf had been surprising enough; the giant death machine underneath them even more so. But nothing had been more shocking than the sight of his brother standing in the middle of it all, his mouth twisted in a smile rotten enough to make grown men cry.

Stan was also surprised that Ford– or rather, Ford's body– had managed to hold its own during their fight. The two of them had roughhoused quite a bit growing up, but Stan had pretty much always been the stronger one. Ford wasn't as scrawny as he used to be.

Stan had just finished washing the blood off his hands when he heard the footsteps coming back. He turned to see Ford nearly dragging his feet towards the kitchen table. He placed down a tall stack of red books; the top one bore a gold six-fingered hand with a one in the center.

Stan had expected Ford to explain what they were for, but he remained silent, his expression lost. Stan couldn't really blame him for that, but there was visible sadness in his twin's eyes that wasn't there a moment ago. It tugged at something deep in Stan's chest, but he ignored it.

“What're those for?

Ford's eyes flashed over at him, his expression shifting to an almost terrified surprise, as if he had forgotten Stan was there. He shook his head before taking a seat in one of the chairs.

“My journals. They all contain several years worth of research about Gravity Falls, and every anomaly that lives here,” he explains this as he spreads all three journals out across the table. “I've yet to figure out why so many oddities are attracted to this place– though I do have some theories– but if he was attracted here too, there must be some sort of connection they all share, a reason why . If there is, there could be something powerful enough to rival some of his influence. I doubt we'll be able to harm him in any way, but there might be a way to hold him off until we can figure out a way to keep him out forever.”

The idea that there was something in Ford's nerdy diaries that could help against a powerful being that could possess you with ease sounded delusional at best, but Stan had already gotten himself in too deep to bother questioning the craziness anymore. From the moment he stepped out of that diner, Stan had willingly stepped out of his element, and had felt nothing but scared since. It pissed him off.

Stan slowly stepped towards the table. “So, what's the plan, then?”

Ford blinked up at him, and his eyes seemed to soften for a moment. “Well, for starters, we need to find a way to… to keep Bill from regaining control of me. I doubt we'll find anything permanent on such short notice, but there should be something that can help us temporarily.”

“Uh-huh,” Stan's brow furrowed as he looked down at the journals. “And how're these supposed to help?”

“Every time I think I've learned everything about this place, something new always turns up,” Ford answered simply, placing a hand on the journal in front of him. “There are many possibilities. If there's anything that can help us, even a little, it'll be in one of these. We just have to find it.”

Stan noticed Ford's other arm moving not-so-discreetly under the table, and his eyes shifted down to his hand. In it was a much smaller, much more colorful paperback book, which his brother was attempting to slip into his coat pocket.

“What's that one for?”

“What?” Ford's gaze followed Stan's, and he suddenly scrambled to stuff the book into his pocket. “Oh, he was– Well, it's… It was piled with the rest of them. Outside of my study.”

“Okay…?”

But Ford didn't elaborate as he picked up journal one and buried his nose in it. Stan decided to leave it be as he looked down at the other journals, noting that these ones had two and three on their covers. Of course, his brother would research so much that he would have to write a trilogy. Without even thinking about it, Stan reached for three and held it up to examine it. Ford's eyes suddenly snapped up at him, causing Stan to hesitate.

“What?”

Ford stared at him, unmoving for a moment, then…

“Nothing.”

Stan frowned, but his brother remained silent as he continued reading.

The journal was heftier than Stan had assumed, and this one even had a monocle attached to it. He opened the journal to a random page and came face-to-face with a drawing of a creepy little man with a beard and pointy hat. It looked like something out of a cursed cartoon, and the fact that the note on weaknesses was completely blank underneath was disturbing.

“You, ah… weren't kiddin' about the gnomes, huh?”

“Mhm…”

Ford didn't look up as he sped through the pages of his journal, and Stan began flipping through his own. Most of it seemed like boring nerd-talk, but every now and then, a funny name or cool drawing would catch his eye. Portal Potty, Barf Fairies… Leprecorn? How could so many weirdos fit in one place without anyone noticing?

Of the few people Stan had spoken to in the store, the oddest thing they had talked about was the weather. Even if flying eyeballs were a common occurrence in this town, that should still be odd enough to warrant a heads-up for outsiders.

Stan stopped flipping pages as he noticed a small drawing of a confusingly horrifying creature that had tentacles and wings. Hawktopus: Too stupid to study. All of the tension in Stan's body seemed to vanish as he started laughing; it made the stitching in his side sting, but not enough to make him stop. Ford's head snapped up.

“What?”

“Sorry,” Stan snerked as he flipped the journal around and pointed at the abomination. “But what the fuck is this?”

Ford's eyes fell on the journal, and a hilarious look of disgust appeared on his face. “A crime against nature, and reason.”

“Are you kiddin'? This thing's so ugly, it's hilarious!” Stan laughed as he looked down at the creature. “The circus would pay in solid gold for an attraction like this. Where the hell did it come from?”

“I wouldn't know,” Ford said indignantly. “I simply recorded my findings and left it alone.”

Stan raised his eyebrow at him. “You found a monster that could live in water or air, and you didn't bother lookin' into it? I thought this mess was what you lived for.”

“We can discuss my research methods later,” Ford leaned over the table, glaring down at his own journal. “Right now I have to figure out a way to keep all of you- us safe.”

Stan could feel the tension returning to his shoulders as he frowned at his brother. He rolled his eyes before flipping through more pages.

He quickly grew bored as he reached the section on ghosts, and decided to just skip ahead by a few pages. Ford would probably end up reading through all of the journals himself anyway. The date on the page he landed on was from just a few days ago, around the time the kids would've turned up. It was a small, but vaguely irritated recounting of how Stanley had appeared.

Stan couldn't help but smirk at the more realistic description, compared to how his younger self had explained it on their first night. Of course Ford would make it sound semi-professional while Stanley spun it into a grander story.

I don't know how these events will affect the rest of the week. We are just days away from being ready to test our project, and I would hate to see it pushed back any further because of this.

And of course, he's more worried about work, Stan thought. It didn't surprise him, but it still irritated him. Hell, he wasn't exactly screaming for joy when Stanford appeared, but at least he tried not to be callous about it.

Stan flipped to the next page, and blinked as he saw a drawing of his younger self holding several little pine cones… with faces. Okay… kid hadn't been lying about those either then. It was no surprise that his younger self looked so happy with them. Stan had wanted a pet when he was little, but their father had turned it down again and again until he eventually stopped asking all together.

Another page. There was a large note in the corner that read: Additional Knowledge on Geodites!!! Underneath it was a large crystal that seemed to be covered in glittery slime… which turned out to be sentient-rock vomit. Stan cringed, but he still made a mental note to ask Ford about the crystals later. A pretty rock like that could fetch a pretty penny anywhere, and Stan was going to need all the money he could manage once this was all over.

“Of course!”

Stan flinched at his brother's voice. Ford stood up from his chair before slamming his journal onto the table.

“There's a protective spell that I learned ages ago when I first started my research here. Haven't used it since I tested it, but all the instructions are right here.”

Stan frowned. Spells, too? He must've skipped that part.

“Let's see. We still have some mercury, there should be some moonstones in my study, and– Oh…” Ford grimaced as he flipped to the next page. “Right. That's why.”

“What?”

“There's a very important ingredient that is… difficult to obtain.”

“How much?”

“Price isn't the issue, it's who has it,” Ford raised his journal and pointed. “Unicorn hair. The spell won't work without it.”

Stan frowned at the drawing. “Unicorns.”

“Unfortunately.” Ford set down his journal before pulling a pen and notepad out of his other pocket. “Finding them is simple enough, but obtaining the hair will be a challenge. It's too dark to look now, but that gives us some time to prepare.”

Stan watched as his twin started scribbling away on the notepad, muttering under his breath. He had caught Stanford doing the same thing; brief moments of their roadtrip when he would write in his own notebook. It was kind of nice, seeing that a few traits and ticks of the brother he remembered were still alive in there. Stan waited for a moment before flipping to the next page.

He blinked as he saw that the date at the top was from yesterday(technically a few hours ago, but still). He couldn't remember anything major happening that would explain a new entree, but that didn't really say much. Aside from their argument, the last hour had been the most Stan and Ford had spoken to each other since he had first arrived.

Stan cautiously glanced up at his brother, who was still muttering and scribbling, and so he began to read. The first two paragraphs seemed to be Ford's own internal ramblings, wondering about the details of the time machine, and what could've caused the two boys to become separated when it activated.

…Though I'm sure my Muse has all the answers I need, surely doing my own research wouldn't hurt.

I'm certain that S has told me everything he knows, and my younger counterpart doesn't seem very inclined to speak with me. Understandable, of course. Seeing who you will become many years down the road must be jarring, especially to a child. He may have information that might prove useful, but I hesitate to involve either of them more than necessary.

We used to be so little

We've been lucky so far that nothing catastrophic has happened to our world yet, and I refuse to allow that to change. It would be safer if I simply asked S– the older one– if my counterpart mentioned anything odd about the machine. Even if there's nothing, at least we'll know.

If I could just

I should approach this with

Perhaps I'll ask F first. He's spent a surprising amount of time with S already. Maybe he knows something.

Oh. Stan had a sneaking suspicion of where this was going. He considered just closing the journal and leaving it alone, but a small voice in the back of his mind was urging him to keep going. Curiosity's a bitch, and Stan continued reading.

He instantly recognized his twin's angry handwriting. There had been multiple occasions during childhood when Stan had spotted his brother writing messier than usual. It was something Ford only did when he was angry, and the only thing he wanted to do or was allowed to do was write. Stan could remember days when he would look through his brother's notebook whenever he had been sick or simply ditched school for the day, and he would complain about not being able to read half of it.

Stan had never been the subject of the angry writing though.

F insisted that I asked S myself, and so I did. He told me about as much as I had expected; my counterpart just appeared in close proximity to him, only he didn't have the time machine with him. The conversation went about as well as you would think: catastrophically.

He didn't have to make it so diff

I can't say I'm surprised. My brother's always been brash. Ask him why he had to travel halfway across the country, and he berates you for being nosey. Ridiculous, and to think I put myself out there and spoke to him first.

It seems there are some childish aspects my brother hasn't grown out of. He could've just told me to leave him alone, and I would've done so. I don't know why I even bothered. I'm sure my Muse will have a better answer to my questions anyway, and he won't tell me off for 'prodding' either.

I can't wait for this nightmare to be over with.

“Stan?”

He finally looked up from the journal, only now realizing that Ford had apparently been talking, and was now looking at him expectantly. His stomach felt twisted in a strange mixture of hurt and anger.

“What?” he demanded.

“I– Don't you agree?” Ford asked hesitantly. “Fiddleford should stay with the boys while we get the hair. He can finish fixing the machine and–”

“Great.”

Stan shut the journal and practically slammed it onto the table, causing Ford to flinch. He stuffed his hands in his pockets as he marched out of the kitchen.

“What are you–”

“I need a smoke.”

Stan didn't give his brother any time to say anything else before he threw open the front door and slammed it behind him. He didn't even have any more cigarettes on him, but it was a good enough excuse that should convince Ford to leave him alone for a bit.

Stan gripped the porch railing as a strangled, breathy sound expelled from his chest. He knew he was being stupid; he knew there were bigger, more important things going on, and being exposed to the outside probably wasn't doing him any favors. He just couldn't be around Ford at the moment.

Going to another room wasn't enough right now; Stan needed to be as far away as he could safely be for just a few minutes. Just a few minutes alone, and he could psych himself up for whatever would come.

Grit your teeth and bare with it, Stan, he thought. You've done worse, you can do this.

Stanley's head was swimming. He had gotten his fair share of scraps and headaches after getting into fights at school, but he had never been knocked out cold before. One moment, he was strapped to a chair, and the next thing he knew, there was a flashlight in his eyes.

It had taken him several minutes to remember what had happened, and several more to be able to recount it properly. He had never experienced anything like it before. It was weird; it was scary. Hell, everything that had happened after he got into the elevator was scary! Even getting cornered by Crampelter and his jerks had never been so bad, never felt so… dangerous.

A soft exhale cut through his thoughts, and Stanley looked down at his brother, who was fast asleep with his head lying in Stanley's lap.

When they had first come back to the study hours ago, the first thing Stanley had done was grab Ford's copy of Hitchhiker's and throw it out the still open door. He was so angry and hurt that Ford had lied to him about knowing Bill; it was all he could think to do. It made him feel better for a moment, but guilt had started to creep in when he had seen how the pages and backcover had been bent in the fall. Before he had a chance to regret his decision however, Stanford had grabbed all three of Ford's journals from the desk, dumped them in a pile on top of Hitchhiker's , and slammed the door shut.

“There,” he had said proudly. “Now they have no reason to bother us.”

Despite how late it was, Stanford had stayed up for over an hour to keep an eye on Stanley. After asking him question after question– from boring ones to funny ones– Stanford had finally allowed him to take a short nap like Fidds had told him to. It hadn't been hard to fall asleep; the second Stanley laid down, he was out like a busted lightbulb, only to be woken up two hours later. Stanford had been visibly tired by that point, and though it took a little arguing, Stanley finally managed to convince his twin to get some sleep as well.

Stanford's head stirred a little in his lap, and Stanley instinctively reached up to resume gently playing with his messy hair– an old habit they both shared. It happened quite often, especially whenever one fell asleep near the other. Stanley wasn't sure why; maybe it was a twin thing, or just a them thing. Even as Stanford's head settled and remained still on his lap, Stanley continued to run his fingers through his curls as he leaned against the armrest of the couch.

The anger from before had since faded into a dull ache in his chest– another discomfort to go with the others. Stanley didn't wish that he was still angry, but at least that anger gave him something else to think about other than what had happened to him. He hadn't had any nightmares while he slept, but now that he was awake, all he could think about was the portal towering over him as his brother cackled behind glowing eyes; the same brother that the one sleeping next to him was supposed to become.

“He destroyed my project! He's the reason why I ended up at Backupsmore instead of West Coast Tech! Who knows where I'd be now if it weren't for him?”

Stanley could feel his thoughts twisting in different directions. Where would Ford be if he had gotten into the school he wanted? He had argued with Fidds that he would've ended up in Gravity Falls anyway, but was that true? Would he have still ended up in this place, in this situation?

Or would he have found something bigger and grander to study? Something far away from this place, far away from any evil floating triangles. If Stanley's older self hadn't screwed up so bad, maybe their brothers– and by extension, everyone– would be safe.

The study door suddenly creaked. Stanley straightened up and nearly threw Stanford off of him as it opened, but he settled when he saw that it was only Fidds. He looked more disheveled than Stanley had ever seen him before; there were heavy bags under his eyes, his hair was a mess, and the front of his yellow button-up had small black stains across the front.

“Hey kiddo,” his voice was gentle, but very groggy. “We, uh… we gotta talk real quick. Think y'all can make it upstairs?”

Stanley didn't feel nearly as bad as he had before, and his legs didn't feel like jelly anymore, but he still hesitated. Anytime their parents had ever said something like 'we need to talk', it was often followed by terrible news. Stanley wasn't sure if he could handle anything else going bad today, but he knew he couldn't avoid it forever(no matter how much he wanted to).

“Yeah, I'll be fine.”

Fidds nodded. “Alright. Just meet us in the livin' room.”

Stanley nodded as he stepped away. He waited until Fidds' footsteps were further away before leaning over and shaking his twin's shoulder.

“Hey, Ford.”

“Mmm… five minutes, Ma…”

Stanley chuckled as he shook him a little harder. “C'mon, get up.”

Stanford let out a long groan before slowly pushing himself up. His hair was sticking up in all directions, causing Stanley to chuckle. He grabbed the glasses sitting on the armrest and held them out to his brother, who was still rubbing the sleep from his eyes as he took them.

“Is something wrong?”

Stanley shrugged. “Dunno. Fidds said they need to talk to us.”

Stanford yawned as he put on his glasses. “Okay…”

Stanley's knees shook a little as he got to his feet, but once he regained his balance, he was able to reach the study door with ease. He only managed to take a few steps before he whipped around, realizing that all of the books they had tossed out were gone. Had one of the adults come down for them earlier?

But, Stanley hadn't heard any footsteps before Fidds. Perhaps Ford had grabbed them while he was asleep. The fact that he hadn't woken up to angry yelling was a miracle, but… it didn't feel like a good sign.

They eventually made their way upstairs, Stanford standing close behind just in case Stanley fell or tripped. It was nice that his brother was watching over him, even if it was a bit out of the ordinary for him. He was probably just as freaked out as Stanley was, maybe more. After all, Stanley had basically slept through most of it; Stanford had witnessed all of it.

Stanley squinted slightly as he passed under every light until they finally reached the living room. Stan was sitting on the couch, his bloody shirt now replaced with a painfully colorful Christmas sweater under his jacket. Fidds was pacing in small circles in the middle of the room, one hand tucked under his arm while the other one was covering his mouth. Nail biting– again . Both adults looked up as they entered, but Stan quickly turned his gaze to the floor as Fidds approached them, the ghost of a smile on his face.

“How ya feelin'?”

“I'm okay.” Stanley glanced around. “Where's Ford?”

“He's in the storage room.” Fidds rang his hands together, and Stanley noticed that his fingers were also stained black. “Now boys, listen: We all talked it over, and… we might've figured out a way to keep us all safe.”

Stanley glanced over at his older self, expecting him to add something, but he remained silent, his gaze still averted. Stanford shifted uncomfortably beside him, and Stanley moved to stand closer to his twin.

“What do we do?”

His response caused Fidds to chuckle, but it sounded scratchier than it usually did. His small outburst from earlier must have left some lingering damage. It made Stanley wonder just how rarely Fidds actually let himself yell when he was angry.

“That's the easier part. All ya gotta do is stay in the house and do what we tell y'all for the next couple hours.”

Stanley rolled his eyes. Of course, they would be forced to sit and wait while the grownups did all the important things.

“And then?” Stanford asked.

Fidds rang his hands a little more fervently. He turned to look down at Stan, who was now glaring at the carpet like it owed him money. Fidds cleared his throat loudly, and Stan finally looked up at him, then slowly turned to face the boys. His eyes lingered on Stanford before he shook his head.

“Ford and I are gonna head into the woods. Don't know exactly where, so don't ask. There's somethin' he needs for, uh… some kinda shield magic, I guess?” Stan glanced cautiously up at Fidds, and when the other man nodded, he continued, “Accordin' to him, we'll probably be gone all day tryin' to get it. You two are gonna stay here where it's safe while Fidds works on that time machine.”

Stanley frowned. “So, what? We just have to sit here all day and hope whatever you're doin' works?”

“Yeah!” Stanford added. “What if you need help? What if the shield doesn't work?”

“It's just our problem now,” Stan said. “We'll figure somethin' out. Not like you'll be here if we screw up, anyway.”

“What do you mean?”

Stan's brows furrowed, then he looked up at Fidds. “You didn't tell them?”

“I… I thought it was obvious.”

Stan sighed as he rubbed a hand across his face. Stanley frowned at his counterpart, more confused than irritated. Fidds took in a deep breath before taking a step towards the two of them.

“I'm afraid we're long past pretendin' everything's okay, boys,” his voice was purposely gentle, as if he were trying to keep them from exploding or something. “Truth is, it ain't. We're dealin' with somethin' bigger than any of us. We don't know what we're gonna do about it, but we do know how to help y'all.”

Stanford suddenly inhaled sharply, and Stanley turned to see a look of realization and horror etched on his face. But, why? What had he realized that Stanley hadn't?

“I'm just about done with the machine. It won't be long 'til I'm ready to test it, and…” Fidds paused for a moment, and he seemed to steel himself before continuing, “As soon as it's safely finished… we're sendin' y'all home immediately.”

There are many moments in one's life when sudden, shocking news is delivered, whether you want it or not. It is usually deserving of a few moments pause; a few seconds to let it properly sink in before addressing it properly. And, there are moments when one took the news given to them and tossed it out the window where it belonged.

Stanley didn't even need to ask to know that he and his brother were on the same page.

what?! they shouted in unison.

“Now, fellas–”

“You can't send us now!” Stanley argued. “We can't go home while you guys are in trouble! What if you need help?”

“Yeah! Statistically, more heads are always better than less,” Stanford added desperately.

“What if somethin' bad happens to you? What if you don't make it?”

"We don't know what that freak has planned for us, and we don't want you to be here when we find out," Stan said seriously. “Like I said, it's our mess now. The only thing you two need to worry about is gettin' home.”

Stanley could barely believe it. Here he was, probably hours away from going home, the one thing he and his brother wanted since the beginning, and it was happening at the worst possible moment. Was this what Bill wanted? Was this why he wanted Stanley specifically to find him? To make the adults scared and send him and Stanford away, leaving their fates unknown?

Before Stanley could even open his mouth to argue, Stanford suddenly ran forward and threw himself at Stan. Stanley thought he was trying to hug him at first, until he saw his fists start to hit and smack at Stan's chest and arms.

“You can't do this!” he spluttered angrily. “You– you can't just send me away… not after everything !”

Stan only let Stanford get a few hits in before reaching up to grab his wrists. Stanley would've told him to let go if the grip on his twin's hands weren't visibly gentler, if he hadn't seen the sadness in his counterpart's eyes.

“I know, I know–”

“No, you don't!” Stanford cried as he tried to pull his hands free. “It– it's not fair! Y-you get to go on knowing I'm safe, but I… I have to hope you're safe?! You can't do that to me!”

Stan's expression only grew more dejected as he continued to hold Stanford's wrists, his grip not letting up until he slowly started to calm down. All of the fight that had erupted from Stanford vanished as quickly as it had surfaced, his knees shaking as he fell forward, burying his face in Stan's chest. His sobs were muffled as Stan put his arms around him, one hand coming up to rub the back of his head, ruffling his already messy hair.

Stanley was so focused on what was happening that he nearly jumped when something clasped his shoulder. He turned to see Fidds standing right next to him, his expression sad, but understanding.

“Let's give 'em a sec,” he whispered.

Stanley didn't want to leave, not when his brother was so distraught. He wanted to help him, to make the crying stop; it was the only thing he was good at. But even as he hesitated, Stanford made no move to come back to him, still sobbing in the arms of his older brother. Stanley swallowed whatever ill feelings were threatening to come up before letting Fidds lead him out of the living room and into the hallway.

“I know this must seem unfair,” Fidds said softly. “But, ya gotta understand, keepin' y'all safe is our top priority right now. I'd never forgive myself if anythin' happen to y'all, and I can't imagine how they'd feel if y'all got hurt.”

Stanley still wanted to argue– still wanted to fight to stay here just a little longer– but they were truly backed into a corner now. Even if only one of the adults wasn't on board with this plan, it would be easier to fight it, but it was pointless against all three. Stanley couldn't even convince himself that there was a way around it. We failed…

“Promise me,” he started quietly. “That you'll try to help them get along when we're gone.”

“Stanley–”

“Please, Fidds, please !”

Stanley grabbed his hand tightly, trying to emphasize how badly he needed him. If he and Stanford couldn't be here to help their counterparts, someone would have to pick up where they left off. Otherwise, it would all be for nothing. Fidds looked conflicted, his gaze wandering everywhere before landed back on Stanley. He opened his mouth, sighed, then gave a small nod.

“I… I'll try.”

Stanley's heart settled slightly as he finally released Fidds' hand. He didn't feel nearly as relieved as he hoped he would, but it would have to be enough. There wasn't anything else he could do now.

“He's probably still in storage,” Fidds gave him a pitying look. “Y'know, if things go as planned, this might be your last chance to say goodbye… if ya want.”

Stanley glanced down the hallway, his eyes landing on the doorway leading into the storage room. He was still upset with Ford, and a small part of him was a little scared to be left alone with him, but he did his best to shake it off. It wasn't him, he kept reminding himself. He wouldn't hurt you. You know that.

Stanley looked up at Fidds, who gave him an encouraging nod, before turning and making his way down the hall. As he got closer to the room, he could hear something shuffling around and quiet muttering. Stanley hesitated before stepping forward and entering the room.

Ford was standing on the far side of the room, stuffing something into a large backpack– the same one he had used when he took Stanley to see the Geodites and the sirens. It was almost funny; despite the pain and struggles from the beginning, they had still managed to find ways to get along and have fun. It didn't seem to make much of a difference now though.

Stanley raised his fist and lightly knocked on the doorframe. Ford whipped around, his heavy eyes wide and anxious before finally landing on him.

“Stanley!” Ford looked relieved for a moment before his demeanor settled. “How… How are you feeling?”

Stanley shrugged. “I'm fine.”

He was definitely not fine, but what else could he say? Was there anything left to say? Was there any point in him doing this?

Ford didn't respond for a moment. The air felt awkward and heavy as he slowly zipped up his backpack, and Stanley nervously fiddled with the hem of his shirt. He wondered if Ford was going to say anything else when he turned back and suddenly took a step forward.

“Stanley–”

But Stanley instinctively took a step back, keeping the same amount of distance between them. Ford froze, his expression shocked and a little hurt. Stanley hadn't really meant to move back, but his body refused to let him be any closer, as if it were certain there was still danger.

“Sorry,” he muttered, now feeling embarrassed.

“No, don't apologize,” said Ford. “If… if anyone should be apologizing, it should be me. You were hurt because of me, you're scared because of me. I… I can't undo that.”

The expression of shame and pain on his face was almost enough to make Stanley want to reach out for him again. It didn't matter how old Ford was; seeing that expression on his brother's face would always make Stanley feel crushed.

“But, I can try to rectify it,” Ford hesitated before taking a half-step forward, and Stanley was thankfully able to stay still this time. “Did Fiddleford tell you–”

“Yeah.”

“Ah, good,” Ford rang his hands for a moment before stuffing them into his jacket pockets. “Assuming things go as planned, you should be safe at home before we get back.”

“Nothing ever goes as planned for us.”

“It will. It has to.”

The awkward silence stretched for longer after that as Ford picked up his backpack and threw onto his shoulders. Stanley rubbed his arm, staring nervously at the ground before looking back up at his brother.

“Why did you lie to me?”

Ford stopped moving for a moment before he finished adjusting the straps on his pack. He turned to face Stanley, fiddling with his hands before finally answering.

“Bill never made his presence known to anyone besides me, and he claimed that he wanted to keep it that way,” he stared at the floor. “He is– I thought he was my friend. I trusted him more than anyone… even myself. I wanted to believe that there was something bigger at play, and there was. It just… wasn't what I expected.”

Part of Stanley still found it hard to believe that any version of his brother could believe in someone so obviously weird, especially over anyone else. But if being the son of a pawn shop owner taught him anything, it's that even the most skeptical people can be tricked with a clever ruse, and Bill had already proven that he was very clever.

“I don't deserve forgiveness from you, Stanley, but I hope that you can at least believe me when I say that I'm so sorry.”

Of course Stanley believed him. He wasn't sure if he had completely forgiven his brother yet, but there was no point in denying the very real regret in his eyes.

Ford moved again, taking a full step forward this time, and Stanley was able to keep his body in place. He waited as Ford slowly approached him until they were face to face.

“I know I wasn't perfect, and I probably- no, definitely could have handled things better in the beginning,” Ford swallowed. “But, I did the best I thought I could, and… I hope it was enough.”

It wasn't enough, but that wasn't Ford's fault. Stanley wanted more– more time, more conversation, maybe even more fun– but that wasn't an option anymore, and there was nothing he could do to stop it. He couldn't even comfort his own twin in this moment. But… he could still comfort his brother.

Steeling his nerves, Stanley took a step forward, and held his arm out for his brother. He wouldn't force the hug this time if he didn't want it, but he was more than willing to give it if he did. Ford blinked at him before kneeling down, placing his arms around Stanley and pulling him into a hug. It felt nicer than any of the previous ones, even if it was bittersweet. Stanley tried to put as many unsaid feelings into the hug as he could, and hoped that Ford was smart enough to understand it.

“You must promise to be careful,” Ford said seriously. “And to take care of yourself, alright?”

“Okay.”

They held onto each other for a few moments, unwilling to let go just yet. Stanley hugged his brother tightly, even as he felt him pat his back, indicating that he had to let go. He slowly released his arms, and Ford got to his feet. They remained silent even as Ford placed a hand on Stanley's back and led him out of the room.

Fidds wasn't anywhere to be seen, no doubt already back to working on the time machine in his room. As they made their way through the house and approached the front door, Stanley looked up to see his twin and older self already waiting in front of the door. Stan was kneeling on the ground as he spoke to Stanford, and though Stanley could hear what he was saying, his twin just continued nodding at whatever it was. The hand on Stanley's back tensed for a moment as they got closer, and it wasn't until they were a few feet away that the other two finally looked up at them.

“We have to go,” Ford said firmly.

Stan nodded before looking back at Stanford, who was still sniffing loudly. Stanley watched as his counterpart placed something in his brother's hand, but he couldn't see what it was.

“Remember what I said, and stay safe, okay?”

Stanford nodded, slipping whatever Stan had given him into his back pocket as the man got to his feet. Ford's hand slipped away from Stanley's back as he approached his own twin, and Stanford finally moved to stand beside Stanley again. His eyes were still red and puffy, but he was significantly calmer than before.

Stan and Ford looked at each other for a long moment, their expressions tense and unreadable. Stanley wondered if they were going to say something– anything to each other. Instead, they both turned to address him and his brother.

“Good luck, you two.”

“Don't do anything stupid.”

Neither of them responded. There was nothing left to say, nothing left to do. Stanford let out a tearful sound, and Stanley felt the last of his hope start to fade away as the door slowly shut behind their brothers.

Chapter End Notes

8-6-19-21-23-3-4-15-9-10-5 9-10-12-25 1-9-6-13 15 to 18 25-9-3 4-23-13-19 19-2-19-6-25 8-9-5-5-15-22-15-12-15-4-25 15-10-4-9 23-21-21-9-3-10-4.

25-9-3 20-15-20 10-9-4.

Chapter 34: Delaying the Inevitable

Chapter Notes

Did you miss me?

See the end of the chapter for more notes

The silence traveled along the wind as they both made their way through the snow. The bit of sky that could be seen through the trees was a deep, clear blue– the first shades of twilight. Ford held onto the shoulder strap of his pack with one hand, and the other clung to his side where he could feel the outline of his journal through his coat. He felt nervous about leaving the other two behind after everything that had transpired, but there was no sense in packing unnecessary supplies, especially when they already had so little time to work with.

It had been nearly 2 in the morning when Ford had first awoken in the basement, and the minor aches and bruises that Bill had earned while possessing him didn't do much to fuel his missing energy. But, after hearing what had happened and realizing the truth of the matter, Ford now understood that sleep really wasn't an option anymore. He couldn't afford dozing off, he couldn't afford getting knocked out again, he couldn't afford getting too comfortable.

In the hours he had to prepare, he had managed to down two pots of coffee, nearly scalding his throat in the process. Though he wore his shearling coat, he only had a thin shirt underneath and had left the zipper slightly undone so that he wouldn't be too warm. Warmth was a comfort, and comfort could lead to falling asleep; the cold would keep him alert.

He had considered taping his eyelids open just to be safe, but decided that leaving his eyes constantly exposed to the harsh cold would do more harm than good.

Ford shuddered as a chill ran down his back, but he pressed on, letting the discomfort push him forward. Something shifted loudly from just behind him, and he whipped around to see that Stan had nearly fallen over, but had caught himself using a nearby tree. He waited for a moment to let his brother straighten up before continuing forward.

Stan hadn't said a single word to Ford since he first stormed out of the kitchen. Ford had waited for him to come back inside so that they could go over his plan, but Stan had remained on the porch for nearly an hour before Ford gave up waiting and went to tell Fiddleford instead. He wasn't entirely sure what had soured his brother's mood so quickly. Yes, things were tense now that the danger Ford had put them all in was evident, but Stan had been relatively calm, even civil in the aftermath. He was the one who had decided to undo Ford's bindings after all.

It wasn't until after Ford rediscovered the unicorn spell that Stan became visibly more angry; the kind of angry Ford would've expected first and foremost after what happened in the basement. He wasn't sure what could've caused his brother's attitude to suddenly switch, and Stan clearly didn't feel like talking about it. That was probably a good thing anyway. Talking didn't seem to get them anywhere these days.

After nearly an hour of brain-numbing silence, they finally reached the hill. There wasn't anything spectacular or wonderful about it; Ford just simply knew that this hill in particular was a halfway point to a few different destinations in these woods, including the glen where the unicorns resided. The trees were less crowded here, allowing him to see more of the sky above. The deep blue faded into a mass of purple and pink that bloomed from the horizon, which had gained a few streaks of pale yellow; the sunrise had begun.

Ford let out a small huff before stepping up to the hill. He only managed to take a few steps before he heard an agitated sigh.

“Alright, I'll bite. How're we gettin' the hair?”

Ford stopped walking to face his brother, stunned. Stan was still at the bottom of the hill, glaring up at him expectantly. Ford didn't think that would be the first thing his brother asked after all of the silence, but it made sense.

He hadn't actually explained his plan before they left, too focused on trying to get it done to even think about talking. Not to mention, he was so used to going on expeditions alone that he had completely forgotten to explain anything out loud anyway.

“I'm not entirely sure,” he admitted. “The last time I managed to get some, I had all the time in the world to get it. Now time is of the essence.”

Stan rolled his eyes. “They're just glittery horses. How difficult could it be?”

“They're not unintelligent, Stan, they're just… difficult. Difficult, and vain.” Ford gestured ahead of them. “But they're not heartless. There are few things in these woods that actually are. If I explain why we need the hair, I might be able to convince them to be more–”

“'Convince them'?” Stan gave him a disapproving look. “Didn't Pa teach you anything? What're you gonna do if they want somethin' from you?”

“We can't trade with them. I tried that the first time, but they never wanted anything I offered.” Ford gave him a pointed look. “And furthermore, the last time I traded something, it turned out to be a horrible mistake. So, that is non-negotiable.”

Stan glared back at him. “No use sassin' me over that. You did that to yourself.”

Ford was running on two pots of coffee and barely any sleep, and being lectured was not on his list of priorities.

His nostrils flared as he stomped down to his brother's level. “I never asked for this, alright? Do you honestly believe that I wanted any of this to happen?”

Stan didn't move from his spot as he countered, “We were both raised by a professional conman. You should know a bad deal when you see one.”

“Well, excuse me for not treating an astronomical opportunity like I'm making a deal on a used car.”

“You're excused.”

Ford groaned agitatedly before snapping, “Don't you get it? He lied to me! He tricked me, he made me believe he was my friend!”

“How? Did he call you a genius? Did he never call you out on anything? Did he always talk about how you were destined for greatness and nothin' else?” The bite in Stan's tone only grew as he stepped forward. “Go on, spill it. What exactly made him so damn special that you trusted him over anyone ?”

“You– That's not fair!” Ford took a step back, shaking his head. “It's not like– like I just ran into some loon on the street who was shouting nonsense. He's an omnipotent being who's been alive longer than the earth has existed! He's smarter than everyone in the world combined! Can you honestly blame me for believing him when he said I was destined for great things?”

Stan scowled at him. “Only an arrogant ass like you would be stupid enough to believe that anything could be that easy.”

“I'm surprised you even understand the word 'arrogant'!”

Resorting to smaller, pettier insults probably wasn't doing either of them any favors, but the words happened so fast, they were out of Ford's mouth before he could internally process them. What happened next was so quick and out of nowhere that Ford couldn't even remotely prepare for it.

Stan pushed him. Really pushed him. Hard enough to knock him off his feet, causing his back to slam against the bottom of the hill.

The snow did little to cushion his fall, now seeping into the exposed sections of his coat. Ford barely had enough time to look up before Stan moved to stand over him.

fine! You wanna fuckin' fight?!” he bellowed. “Let's get it over with, 'cause I'm sick and tired of your bullshit.”

Whatever shock Ford had felt was quickly overshadowed by anger. “ My bullshit?!”

“You're not easy to be around either, you know.” Stan pointed down at him. “Don't think just 'cause we weren't talkin' that I didn't notice you prancin' around on your fuckin' high horse.”

Ford gawked at him. “I don't prance .”

“Denial doesn't make it untrue.”

Ford could feel his anger growing as he struggled to push himself up, not even bothering to shake off the snow. Stan didn't move an inch, his eyes sharp as he watched Ford get to his feet.

“Well… you're just jealous that I never needed you!” he declared. “I managed to do something with my life on my own. I had plans to do something grand and worthwhile.”

Stan raised an eyebrow as he pointed a thumb behind him. “You call that mess 'grand and worthwhile'?”

“You know what I mean! Obviously, none of this was my intention.”

“Not your intention?” Stan's voice turned to mock surprise as he slapped his hands to his face. “Are you sayin' it was an accident ? Gee, I thought that was the only word you missed when you memorized the dictionary.”

Ford's frustration dimmed only slightly as his anger-fueled brain registered what his brother had said. Of course that was going to come up eventually, but this was hardly the time or place for it.

“That… has nothing to do with this,” he said, his voice clipped. “Why even bring it up?”

Stan shrugged. “Why not? You would've brought it up eventually anyway.”

“No, I–”

“Don't lie! It's been on your mind ever since I showed up. Hell, since he showed up.” Stan held his arms out expectantly. “Go ahead, tell me I'm wrong like you always do.”

Ford didn't answer. Maybe he couldn't or maybe he didn't want to. It didn't matter either way. His silence was more than enough of a giveaway.

“You couldn't accept the fact that I wanted to do my own thing,” he defended.

“You threw away everything we worked for and left me behind with nothing,” Stan countered.

“It was a fun pastime, Stan!” Ford said exasperatedly. “A childish dream that went on for far too long. You didn't seriously believe it would actually sail one day, did you?”

“Yeah, I did!” Stan spat defiantly. “I wouldn't have wasted so much time working on it if I didn't.”

“It was broken and rotting when we found it! It never would've made it past the shore, let alone to the middle of the ocean.”

Stan's eyes widened in disbelief at that. For a moment, he seemed speechless. His mouth twitched, like he wanted to speak but just couldn't find the words. Ford held his breath as he waited for whatever rebuttal his brother would throw at him. Resigned anger flashed in Stan's eyes as his fists clenched, and then he sighed.

“Whatever.”

Stan tucked his fists into his pockets, making a point to not look at Ford as he moved around him.

Whatever?

Ford was stunned as he watched his brother start to walk up the hill, following his previous footprints. After all of that, Stan was just going to give him the cold shoulder again?

Whatever?!

Ford stomped after him, the snow melting down his neck fueling his anger.

“What was I supposed to do?” he yelled, causing Stan to stop and face him. “Give up everything that I wanted so you could have what you wanted?

Stan shook his head. “I thought we wanted the same thing! You're the one used to get all excited about findin' real-life sea monsters,” he gestured vaguely at Ford. “And you could've told me when you gave it all up so I didn't have to waste so much goddamn time on it.”

“I thought you would find something else for yourself, like I did.”

“What the hell else was I gonna do, Ford?!” Stan snapped. “Stay at the shop with Pa? Scrape barnacles off the docks? You really think I had anything else goin' for me?”

“Your life isn't my responsibility, Stanley!”

The silence that followed those words was piercing . Like the stunned surprise one felt after dropping something extremely fragile and watching it break into a million pieces; there's nothing to be done, and all anyone can do is stare at the resulting mess in disappointment.

But Ford doesn't feel disappointment(it's certainly not at the forefront of his emotions, anyway). All he feels is a sudden, heavy tug at his chest that weighs him down, as if trying to pull him further to the ground. He was almost tempted to let the force drag him down and pull him beneath the earth, because standing above it to witness the mix of emotions on his brother's face was gut-wrenching .

They stared at each other for a long moment, both equally too shocked for words. Ford eventually broke first and glanced away. He couldn't tell if Stan did the same.

Deep down, he felt that, realistically, what he said wasn't entirely wrong. Stan's life wasn't his responsibility anymore than Ford's was to Stan. But, something about putting that to words– and allowing those words to come out of his mouth– felt… wrong. Like he had crossed some sort of line that he never realized was there until it was too late.

“You never even tried to look for me.”

Stan was obviously still angry, but the defeat in his voice was enough to cause Ford to look up. His brother was staring at the ground, arms hanging firmly at his sides, his fists unclenched.

“You had no idea where I was, no idea if I was even alive,” Stan's eyes suddenly locked with Ford's. “If it wasn't for this shit, you would've forgotten all about me.”

Something about those words hit Ford like a knife to the chest, making him feel winded. Stan remained still, his gaze dim and unmoving. Behind him, the sun had finally started to peek over the horizon, causing a bright glow of yellow, orange and pink to illuminate the open sky above them. The sight would've been beautiful if the tension filling the air wasn't so thick and heavy.

“You never came back,” Ford tried to keep himself composed even as his voice wavered. “You just… disappeared. What was I supposed to do about that?”

Stan's brows furrowed as he snapped, “I didn't just up and leave, I was kicked out!” he stomped down the hill until they were almost face-to-face. “Did you honestly expect me to just come home after Pa shoved me out the door? He hates me, Ford! What part of that makes you think it would ever be safe for me to go back?”

“Don't be dramatic,” Ford argued waspishly. “Pa never hated you.”

Stan's jaw dropped. He took a single step back, staring at Ford with an almost disappointed awe. Ford wasn't sure how to respond, and he waited with tense anticipation.

“You…” Stan stammered for a moment, and then he erupted, “you'RE A fuckin' Moron!”

“What–”

“No, shut up! You don't get to stand there, after all these years, and tell me that Pa doesn't hate me. He threw me outta the house when I was 18 over a stupid mistake! He told me to never come back unless I made a fuckin' fortune!”

“Are you kidding me?!” Ford exclaimed. “Do you honestly think he was being serious?”

“It's Pa! Of course he was being serious!” Stan grabbed the sides of his head, fingers tangling in his mess of a mullet. “Damn it, why is it so hard for you to see that he never gave a shit about me? Hell, the only reason he tolerated you was 'cause he saw you as a potential gold mine.”

“That's not true! He lo–”

“the Bag was Already Packed, Ford!”

Stan's voice echoed through the trees before fading into the wind. Ford was… speechless. For the first time since they had left together, all of the anger, irritation and spite had completely melted away, replaced with only cold realization.

Stan didn't give him enough time to recover.

“He had a bag packed and ready for me,” his voice was spiteful and defeated. “Bastard was waitin' for the chance to kick me out the door… or he was just plannin' on shovin' me out once school was over. Either way, he had it.”

Ford remembered Stan being shoved through the front door rather quickly, but he had never questioned the bag their father had tossed at him. It had been Stan's bag after all; the one he used to always take with him to boxing. It made sense for Stan to have it, right? But then, why had their father even bothered giving it to him while he was so angry? How had he managed to grab it fast enough while pulling Stan to the front door? How could he have even known where it was at that time?

“But hey, at least he bothered to pack somethin' , right?” Stan grumbled as he turned away. “Hated me enough to disown me, but cared just enough to leave me 20 bucks and some clothes. What a swell fuckin' guy.”

Ford could feel chills running down his back that had nothing to do with the snow. There was a dull ringing in his ears, and he could feel the tug in his chest again. Stan glanced over at him.

“What's the matter? No witty comeback?”

“I… I never thought…”

Stan's brow furrowed, but he didn't look angry. Ford swallowed.

“He… He did have it packed, didn't he? I didn't…”

Ford didn't know what to say. What could he say? Words were not enough to properly address the situation, but there was nothing else he could do.

“Whatever, it doesn't matter,” Stan pointed back up the hill. “What matters right now is gettin' this shit done.”

“Stan–”

“Look, I don't have experience fightin' supernatural demons or nothin', but this,” he gestured between them. “Is gettin' us nowhere. We need to get that hair before things get any worse.”

Ford could tell that Stan was deflecting, because of course he was. Ford would probably do the same if their roles were reversed.

Stan stepped to the side, and gestured for Ford to go ahead. He knew where to go from here after all, so it would only be right for him to continue to lead. The silence didn't instill any confidence in Ford, but it would have to be enough for now. He gripped the shoulder straps of his bag tightly to give his hands something to do before pressing on, ignoring the now blinding sunlight glowing ahead of him.

Fiddleford was a man who more often than not tried to keep a strict schedule, at least for certain aspects of his life. He ate three meals a day, always got at least eight good hours of sleep, and he never did more work in a day than he knew he was capable of. It wasn't that he wanted to limit himself, he was simply aware of his own limits as a human being who needed certain things in order to function properly and consistently. He'd be lying if he said he always followed his schedule to an absolute T(everyone slips up every now and again, right?), but he had probably lost more sleep in the last week than he had in the entire year he had spent in Gravity Falls. He tried not to blame himself too harshly though. Anyone would probably lose sleep if they were in his position.

The previous night was the first time in a long time that Fiddleford had forced himself to pull an all-nighter(and the few hours he had gotten beforehand hadn't done much to benefit him). True to his word, he had marched straight up to his room, turned on his desk lamp, and began putting together the new power source for the time machine. It wasn't particularly difficult, but it was delicate work.

Not to mention the ever growing tension that only increased every time his brain flooded with doubts; What if it doesn't work? What if they end up lost? What if they end up dead? This has to work, it has to be perfect, it has to be…

But, nearly an hour after Stan and Ford had left, Fiddleford had finally added the final piece to his most important project yet. It would be obvious to anyone who looked at it that it was an “upgrade” of sorts– extra wires and strips of metal wrapped around to keep it together– but he felt proud of his work.

The machine would have to be tested first; that was a no-brainer. Fiddleford could not, in good conscience, send the boys off to who knows where without knowing if the machine even works. He had toyed with the idea of using a squirrel or a gnome, but both would take too much time to obtain, and there was no guarantee that they would be able to come back even if it worked. That only left himself. It was dangerous, undoubtedly, but it was the only logical option he had at the moment, and Fiddleford had a feeling he was running out of time as well as other options.

But, before he tested the machine and risked dooming himself, there was one more thing he had to do. One more thing that might ensure everyone's safety should everything else fail.

Ford took pride in the portal, it was his idea after all, but Fiddleford was the one who had helped design and build it. He knew every inch, inside and out. So, it wasn't very difficult for him to add a protocol that called for a password– a password he only just came up with, and only he knew. It wasn't much, but he figured that it would at least buy the others some time.

Fiddleford thought about the last time he saw his wife and son, not even two months ago. He had managed to take a break from their work to go visit them for Christmas. Tate had awed over the dinosaur book Fiddleford had gotten him, and Emma had made eggnog the way his mama used to. He held onto that memory as he forced himself back up the basement stairs.

He was just considering going to fetch the boys to let them know of his progress when he heard a loud crash coming from the kitchen. Fiddleford nearly dropped the time tape as he sprinted through the house, nearly tripping over his feet as he reached the kitchen. To his relief, there were no vicious creatures or possessed friends. Stanley and Stanford were alone in the kitchen– Stanley was in the process of stepping off of a chair that was propped by the counter, and Stanford stood frozen over a mess of broken glass on the floor.

“Boys?”

The little ones snapped their heads up to stare at him, their mirrored expressions a mix of shock and fear.

“What happened? Are y'all alright?”

“We…” Stanley looked nervous as he gripped the chair tightly, apparently unwilling to get down just yet. “We just wanted some water.”

Stanford looked back and forth between Fiddleford and Stanley a few times, his expression visibly more worried. Before Fiddleford could ask, he suddenly blurted out.

“I did it!”

“Wha- No, I did!” Stanley stated as he finally got off the chair.

“No, it was me!”

“Nu-uh!”

“Stop it, Stan–”

“You stop it!”

“Boys, boys!” Fiddleford's voice rose above theirs. “It's fine! It's just glass, and glass can be replaced. No sense yellin' over it.”

The boys looked surprised for a moment before they both hung their heads in embarrassment. Fiddleford gave them a pitying smile before stepping into the hall and heading towards the supply closet. He pulled out a broom and dustpan before returning to the kitchen.

“Here,” he gave the broom to Stanford, and the dustpan to Stanley. “Y'all clean it up, then no hard feelings. Not that there are any.”

Both boys looked at the items they were handed, and nodded silently. Fiddleford hesitated for a moment before reaching into his pocket.

“Stanley?”

The boy looked up. Fiddleford took a deep breath before finally pulling out the small envelope, and he held it out to Stanley.

“I need ya to hold onto this for me, okay?”

Stanley raised an eyebrow as he took the envelope. Stanford continued to sweep silently, though his eyes flickered up towards the envelope curiously.

“What is it?”

“It's a message for Ford.”

Stanley frowned up at him. “You said we'd be gone before they got back.”

“Yeah, ya will. I just…” Fiddleford felt his throat tighten, but he forced a reassuring smile on his face. “Just in case somethin' else happens, I need ya to make sure he gets this, 'kay?”

Stanley stared up at him oddly before his expression fell. Fiddleford wasn't sure if he had fully caught on to what he was implying or not, but it seemed to get the message across. Stanley carefully stuffed the envelope into his own pocket before looking back up at Fiddleford, his expression confident.

“Okay.”

The assurance in his voice was enough to ease Fiddleford's worries just a little bit(or maybe he was just being hopeful.).

“Thank you.”

Without another word, he turned and left the kitchen. He felt terrible for not explaining everything to the boys, but the parent in him was confident that he had made the right decision for their sake. If the boys had no idea what Fiddleford was doing and things went wrong, they would have no reason to feel bad for not stopping him.

Besides, even if they tried, nothing they could do would be enough to stop him. Fiddleford was determined to make sure these boys got home safe. He would want the same if his own son was in their position.

Fiddleford had barely crossed the living room when a sudden, rapid banging erupted from the front door. He flinched, freezing where he stood as he stared at the door. Who could possibly be knocking at their door, on today of all days?

Surely, Stan and Ford couldn't be back yet. Ford had said it would likely take all day to get the hair.

“Fidds?”

Fiddleford turned to see both boys peering at him through the kitchen doorway. He glanced back at the front door, then back at them as he gestured to the stairs.

“Upstairs. Don't make a sound.”

Stanley nodded, but he was already in the process of being dragged up the stairs by his twin, who had started moving the second Fiddleford had spoken.

Fiddleford waited until the kids disappeared upstairs. He flinched again as the knocking continued, more fervently this time. He quickly side-stepped into the kitchen to grab the broom before carefully making his way towards the front door.

He could see the shadow of something moving from the nearby window, which shook with every knock. He carefully moved towards the window, leaned over to peek through, and he saw…

“What in tarnation?!” Fiddleford stomped to the front door and swung it open fiercely. “Ford?! Why–”

But he had barely started his question before Ford suddenly pushed past him, knocking him back against the open door.

“Sorry, in a bit of a rush,” he spouted quickly. “I only just realized that I need the other two journals for this journey. It wouldn't do well to leave ourselves unprepared.”

“But, ya don't even need–”

Fiddleford stopped talking once he realized that Ford wasn't listening, apparently too hellbent on searching for the other journals. He turned back to the outside, hoping that Stan would have some sort of explanation for their very early return.

Only Stan wasn't standing in the doorway, or even on the porch. In fact, there wasn't a single soul outside of the house.

“What the…”

Fiddleford took a few steps outside, glancing all around the front yard. Stan didn't seem to be anywhere, and there were no other signs of life. Did Ford… leave Stan behind? Just to grab his other journals?! Sweet sarsaparilla, this man was really starting to get on his last nerve.

Fiddleford started to turn back to the house, already preparing to give Ford another good smack to the back of the head, but he stopped as his eyes spotted something in the snow. Two sets of footprints– obviously Stan and Ford's– that started at the bottom of the porch steps, and continued forward towards the road. That wasn't all that odd. What really caught Fiddleford's eye was a third set of footprints that veered to the right; a set of prints that seemed to come from the trees that surrounded the house.

The front door creaked as Fiddleford slowly closed it behind him. He contemplated locking it, but decided leaving it unlocked would probably be safer(in case they needed to run). He decided not to get the kids attention, too afraid that doing so would draw attention to them instead. Ford didn't know where they were yet, and that was good.

Fiddleford gripped the broom tightly as he made his way down the hall. He could hear rummaging coming from the storage room, and he mentally prepared himself before stepping into the doorway.

What he saw didn't quite scream 'danger', but it was unsettling. Ford seemed to be tearing down every book from the bookshelf, all of which were already laying in heaps on the floor. Ford grunted irritably before quickly turning to rummage around the rest of the room.

Fiddleford stared at the now nearly empty bookshelf. Only one book remained– Journey to the Center of the Earth . Fiddleford knew that book was the one slotted into the mechanism that opened the shelf, but something about seeing it left untouched felt… odd. The whole situation was odd, and the mess certainly wasn't helping.

Fiddleford readjusted his hold on the broom so that it would look more casual in his hands– as if he had just been sweeping– before he cleared his throat.

“Ford?”

“Yes yes, I know. I'll be out of your hair in a moment.”

Fiddleford took a cautious step forward. “Ford… where's Stan?”

“What?”

“Stan. Your brother. Where is he?”

Ford stopped his rummaging and turned to look back at him. Fiddleford was relieved to see that his eyes weren't glowing, but that didn't settle the chill that was building at the base of his spine. A very unnatural look of confusion crossed Ford's face before supposed realization covered it.

“Oh, right, of course,” he laughed. “He didn't feel like walking all the way back, so I simply came alone.”

Fiddleford was so shocked that he momentarily forgot to keep himself composed.

“Ya left him alone?!” he gasped. “After everythin' that's happened, ya just… ditched him?”

Ford rolled his eyes. “He's an adult, he can make his own decisions. It's not my fault he'd rather stay in the snow,” he glanced around before moving to search around the other tables and cabinets. “Now, where are those journals? You don't remember where I put them, do you, friend?”

Now that was extremely odd. Ford might have an issue with leaving his things around sometimes, but he always knew where he left them, especially his precious journals. The chill had started to slowly creep up Fiddleford's back, but he was determined to keep it down. He took a few steps forward and placed a hand on Ford's shoulder– something he did often, only now it somehow felt… unfamiliar.

“Ford, I need ya to focus, alright?” he said cautiously. “We both know the journal you took was the only one with anythin' on unicorns. Ya don't need the other two… so why're ya really here?”

Ford didn't respond, he didn't move. The chill suddenly shot up Fiddleford's spine, setting off all alarm bells in his head. His hand flinched away from Ford's shoulder, and Ford finally turned to look at him. A look of irritation and disgust was etched across his face, but his eyes remained unchanged.

Was he truly possessed again? Had something else taken over? What else could possibly be wrong with Fiddleford's friend?

The tension was broken as a sudden loud Bang echoed through the house, causing Fiddleford to jump and drop the broom. A moment later he heard the gentle sound of the wind from outside. The front door was open.

Ford laughed. “Well, it's about time!”

Something large suddenly latched around Fiddleford's neck, and he was pushed back until he was pinned against the wall. He gasped as he reached up for whatever had grabbed him, but it didn't flinch no matter how hard he tried. He gulped as he looked up to see what had attacked him… and saw 'Ford' still standing where he had been before, his arm now several feet longer, pinning him to the wall. Fiddleford was too shocked to even try to speak.

'Ford' started to walk towards him, and Fiddleford watched in horror as his 'friend' started to grow taller, his skin slowly turning gray as his face began to twist and morph. Fiddleford let out a spluttered gasp as the now large hand around his throat squeezed and dragged him further up the wall, putting him at eye-level with the monster that had a hold of him. The last traces of 'Ford's' face had disappeared, replaced with drooling fangs and large red eyes.

“Long time, no see, hillbilly,” a horrible voice jeered. “Remember me?”

Fiddleford did remember, though he wished that he didn't. He flinched instinctively as he envisioned himself trapped in the bunker, cradling his broken arm while locked in that supply closet.

“Oh, you do remember! Good.”

Fiddleford gasped for air as he tried to pry the grotesque hand away, but it remained strong and tight around his throat. The shapeshifter's breath was hot and wet against his face as the creature let out a strange, clicking growl.

“Fidds!”

Fiddleford's panicked heart began thumping harder as little footsteps quickly approached them. He tried to shout a warning, but the constriction around his neck was too tight for him to do more than stammer. His eyes shifted to the doorway, and his heart sank as Stanley and Stanford suddenly slid into view. They both gasped as their eyes landed on the shapeshifter, who let out a low, threatening hiss.

“There you are…” he growled.

The distraction was just enough for the hand around Fiddleford's neck to loosen. He used both of his hands to pry it open more as he threw his head back towards the boys.

run!

The shapeshifter instantly latched onto him again, slamming him against the wall hard. It didn't matter; the message was clear.

Stanley had instantly grabbed Stanford's hand and began dragging him away. The shapeshifter didn't even move. He… laughed. What little relief Fiddleford had felt vanished as he suddenly realized that the boys had run towards the front door– the one that had just burst open.

He heard a small, distant gasp, and then the loud, steady thud of approaching footsteps. Fiddleford choked on his own breath as the boys came into view once more, now slowly moving backwards into the room. Another figure now stood in front of them. Though his vision was starting to fade, Fiddleford could make out the tall silhouette, the strange bandages tied around the right upper thigh, and the twisted smile coupled with glowing yellow eyes.

“Heya, kids! Hope I didn't keep you waiting!”

Chapter End Notes

20-19-10-25-15-10-17 4-16-19 15-10-19-2-15-4-23-22-12-19 9-10-12-25 5-19-6-2-19-5 4 to 9 21-6-19-23-4-19 4-19-10-5-15-9-10 22-19-18-9-6-19 4-16-19 22-15-17 22-23-10-17.

Chapter 35: Glittering Chaos

Chapter Notes

It is nearly midnight and I am sooo tired...

I hope you enjoy! Leave a comment and tell me what you think.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

“This is it.”

Stan looked up at his brother's words. In front of them was a wide, open area, a frozen stream cutting across the thick snow. The spot probably wouldn't look like much if it weren't for the stone structures that stood in a large circle. Stan thought it looked like a bad attempt at recreating Stonehenge.

Ford reached inside his jacket as he started to approach the stones. Stan glanced all around the area before moving forward, stopping when he was next to his brother. Ford had his journal out and was flipping through the pages, but quickly stopped. Stan glanced at the drawing of a bearded man in ancient robes, wondering what his brother was trying to do, too unwilling to bother asking.

Ford straightened up, puffed out his chest, and suddenly let out a deep, guttural sound that Stan had never heard him make before. He stepped back, staring in shock, and quickly had to cover his mouth as he started laughing. He didn't need his twin giving him anymore crap today, but he just couldn't help himself. Ford's shoulders seemed to stiffen, but he didn't move or stop his strange throat singing.

Stan was finally about to ask what the hell he was doing when the ground started to shake, stifling his laughter. The stone structures shook violently as they began to rise, breaking apart the snow and dirt, all while Ford continued his chant. As the ground fell away, Stan could see that the stones were actually a part of an even bigger structure: dark stone walls that towered high above them, covered in dark vines with a few dead leaves still attached. Directly in front of them was a set of massive golden doors that shone in the rising sun, and purple gems along the center that glittered in an sort of way.

Stan's mouth hung open, his mind already trying to think of a way to pry off one of those gems.

“Oh please,” Ford groaned beside him. “It isn't that spectacular.”

Stan closed his mouth and frowned. “Not everyone gets to see this shit on a daily basis like you.”

Ford didn't respond as he marched up to the door. Stan rolled his eyes, following his brother as he pushed against the massive doors.

Stan nearly sighed as a wave of warmth suddenly enveloped him. He blinked several times as the sunshine, suddenly bright as summertime, hit his eyes. Once they had adjusted, Stan was stunned to see so much color everywhere, especially the green, not-snow-covered grass.

Tall trees, their flowers fully in bloom, lined along the tall walls. Butterflies flew along floating waves of glitter and color, and the air smelled fresh and clear.

Stan felt oddly safe and overstimulated all at once.

“Take off your shoes.”

Stan frowned. “What?”

“Trust me, it'll be less of a fuss if we just take them off.”

Ford was already in the process of taking off his shoes, and Stan wearily stared down at his own. He didn't want to take them off(especially not when he was being told to), but he was as far from his own domain as he could be, and he didn't need any enemies of the magical variety competing with the others. This was Ford's world, so Stan(very begrudgingly) would have to play by Ford's rules.

Stan grimaced as he bent down to take off his boots. He briefly wondered what Ford would think if he saw the holes in his socks until he slipped off his right boot, and he realized that his current socks didn't have any. Right. Fidds, whom Stan had quickly learned was unnecessarily generous, had bought him a whole pack of new socks when he had gone into town yesterday.

Stan figured the guy must have seen his laundry at some point and had just decided to get some more. Stan had told him he didn't need anything, and Fidds had essentially told him “too bad”.

Once their shoes were off and left to the side, Stan followed Ford further into the glade. At the center of everything was a tall waterfall, a large rainbow suspended near its waters. At the base of a waterfall, laying on a shimmering rock, was something that Stan had long assumed was just “fairytale crap”.

Stan had always thought that the paintings and drawings he had seen of the creature were over-embellished– just another way to sell marketable toys to little girls. But, there it was– A unicorn. An actual unicorn, with a flowing rainbow mane and a glittering horn that glowed in the sunlight. Stan was so baffled he couldn't find it in him to be mad when his jaw dropped again.

“Don't act too impressed,” Ford said irritably.

“I'm not. I'm just bummed.”

Ford looked over at him. “Why?”

“I lost a bet.”

“You– What?”

“Some chick I knew a few years back swore up-and-down that unicorns were real, that they're just good at hidin'. Told her if I ever found a live one, I'd owe her a 20.” Stan gestured ahead of him. “Now, I do owe her a 20.”

Ford stared at him before shaking his head and moving forward. Stan stuffed his hands into his pockets as he followed. The unicorn was still as a statue until they were just a few feet away. It flipped its flowing mane away from its muzzle as it let out a loud, echoing neigh.

“My, my! Who enters our home of enchantment?” the unicorn's eyes fixed on them– or, more specifically, on Ford– and whatever shining innocence was in them faded almost instantly. “Oh… it's you .”

“Hello, Celestabell,” Ford greeted reluctantly.

“You've got some nerve coming back here,” the unicorn– Celestabell, apparently– sneered as she rose to her hooves. “Are you here for a rematch?”

Stan raised an eyebrow. Rematch?

“What's she talkin' about?”

“The last time I came here for some hair, I had to arm-wrestle her for it.”

Stan slowly turned to stare at his brother, managing to keep his jaw shut but unable to keep his expression neutral.

“ You arm-wrestled?”

Ford nodded. “Yes… It went on for over 30 hours.”

“And I only let you win because I was bored.” Celestabell's eyes narrowed. “You won't win so easily this time.”

Stan felt his hands twitch as the creature stepped off the rock to move towards them. He had never fought a unicorn before– in fact, of all the animals he had gotten into fights with, he had managed to avoid anything horse-like at all– but if this thing was going to come at them at any point, he would have to be ready for it. He had a feeling that horn was meant for more than just aesthetics.

“We're not here to fight you,” Ford told her seriously.

Celestabell blinked her large, shining eyes at him before letting out an annoying, high-pitched laugh. “Oh-ho! Is that so? Well, I'm not sure what you hope to gain then. The only reason any human comes here is for my hair, and we both know your heart isn't pure enough for me to simply give it to you.”

“What's his heart gotta do with your hair?” Stan piped up.

“Stan, don't–”

“Only those who are pure of heart may receive a lock of my beautiful hair,” Celestabell flipped her mane again, then eyed Stan curiously. “You wear his face, but you are not him. Perhaps you would like to see if you can stand the test?”

Stan could not physically stop himself from snorting. Pure of heart– a load of horse shit if he ever heard it(hehe… horse shit). It didn't matter how innocent or well-intended somebody was, no one was fully pure of heart. So, either this thing was hoping for someone or something otherworldly to appear at her doorstep, or she was lying through her teeth to keep people away from her hair. The latter seemed more likely.

“Don't bother,” Ford whispered to him. “It's all a ruse. They just say that because they want to keep the hair for themselves.”

“ Really ? I couldn't tell,” Stan gave his brother an annoyed look before turning back to the unicorn. “Don't waste your time. If his heart ain't pure enough, then neither is mine. I've done worse stuff than him anyway.”

Ford huffed as he rolled his eyes. Celestabell squinted at Stan, her expression suspicious, but also intrigued.

“How curious,” she said. “Not many humans would willingly admit how dark their hearts are. Most just assume they're good enough to begin with.”

Stan raised an eyebrow at her, wondering what she was getting at. Celestabell stared at him for a long moment, then let out an annoying huff before turning away from them.

“But, that doesn't make you worthy of receiving any of my hair. I suggest that you both just take your shoes and leave at once.”

“Celestabell, please, just listen,” Ford begged. “I'm not here for research or experimental purposes, I'm here because we are all in terrible danger!”

“Ford–”

“An evil entity is threatening to tear apart everything. If he succeeds, no one will be safe. Your glen may be fine for now, but there's no guarantee that it will stay that way. If we're to have even the slightest chance at stopping him, we need some of your hair.”

Stan grimaced. He knew from experience that the one thing you never do when making a deal is let someone know how desperate you are. If you're desperate, you're more likely to agree to anything, even something that will inevitably screw you over.

Celestabell glanced back at them, her large eyes gleaming with mischief, a small grin growing on her muzzle. Shit.

Stan put on the most convincing smile he could muster as he threw an arm around his brother's shoulders. “Ah, could you excuse us for a moment? My brother and I need to get some things straightened out before we agree to anything.”

Ford flinched at the physical contact, but Stan ignored him. Celestabell giggled, and gave a small nod. Stan continued smiling as he pulled Ford to the side, far enough that they could whisper without worry. As soon as he stopped, Ford shrugged off his arm.

“What are you doing?!”

“Pullin' us outta the hole you're diggin' us into,” Stan retorted. “The hell are you doin'? You already know she's got no reason to do us any favors. Why are you just tellin' her how badly we need the hair?”

“Because we do need it. Badly.”

“Well, you're askin' for it badly .”

Ford shook his head. “What do you know about conversing with these creatures–”

“I don't, but I know how to make a deal sound half-decent, and you're totally blowin' it.”

“At least I'm not trying to lie and scheme my way out of this,” Ford said far too loudly. “Getting on their bad side isn't going to help us!”

“Knock it off!”

Stan shoved Ford in the shoulder, and Ford pushed his arm away. The unicorn let out a small huff, almost as if she were… laughing. Stan glanced at her for a moment, then looked back at Ford, and he pushed him again, harder this time.

“Hey–!”

Cellestabell let out a snort before flipping her mane. Ford straightened up and stomped closer to Stan.

“What the hell are you doing?”

“Did you see that?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Her.”

Ford frowned as he glanced over at the unicorn. She was smirking now, that mischievous glints still prominent in her eyes.

“Don't mind me,” Cellestabell called out. “Do carry on. It's been ages since we've seen a good fight.”

Stan noticed the movement in the trees surrounding them before he even registered the word 'we'. He could see a variety of glittering horns, each paired with a set of large eyes, all staring at the two of them. Ford looked panicked. Stan took a deep breath.

“You wanna see a fight?” he looked back at Cellestabell. “We can make that happen. But, it's gonna cost you.”

“Don't just agree–!” Ford stammered.

“You know what we want.”

Cellestabell's gaze hardened as she stared back, her tail flicking noiselessly behind her. She seemed hesitant at first, and then she shrugged.

“Very well. You two continue your little brawl, and I'll give some of my hair to the winner.”

Ford gaped at her. “Are you serious?”

“If it means free entertainment and getting you out of my home faster, sure. Why not?”

Stan weighed his options. Pros of rejecting: None. Con: They leave empty handed. Pros of accepting: They're guaranteed the hair and he has an excuse to slap Ford. Con: Ford has an excuse to slap him back.

Oh well.

“Alright, deal.”

“What?” Ford spluttered. “No! No deal!”

“Excuse me, Mr. Voodoo Dork, you're the one who said we needed that hair, and we have a way to get some. It doesn't matter which of us wins, we'll have it. Let's just get it over with.”

Stan was already in the process of taking off all of his extra layers, leaving only his shirt and jeans. He ignored his brother's gaping expression as he rubbed his foot against the ground, testing the grass to see how slippery it was.

“You– You can't be serious.”

“What? Afraid you're gonna lose?"

“This isn't about winning or losing!”

“Relax, I won't break anything,” Stan pulled a dirty rubber band from his pocket and pulled back his mullet. “We've technically fought already, and that wasn't too bad.”

Ford's face twitched as he shook his head. “That doesn't count! It wasn't even me.”

“It's not like you can actually hurt me, Ford.” Stan shook out his shoulders. “I'll go easy on you. This is happening, so just suck it up.”

Ford stared at him incredulously for a long moment, then let out an agitated groan as he began taking off his jacket. Stan gave him a chance to hang it on a nearby branch before moving.

“Just make sure you don't–”

Stan didn't give Ford a chance to finish before he lunged at him.

The first time Stanford had been in genuine danger, he had an arm wrapped around his throat while a gun was pointed at his brother. The second time, he had hidden under a desk while a maniac chased them with a knife. This time, he had his wrists tied behind his back and tape slapped over his mouth, unable to make a sound.

Once they had all been restrained, Bill had left to search the house, and the creature he called 'Shifty' remained in the room with them, stalking back and forth across the walls like a predator. Fidds attempted to block the two of them from view as best as he could from his spot on the floor, and Stanley remained back-to-back with Stanford in a vain attempt to keep him more guarded. There was nothing they could do from where they were now; nothing but wait.

“I've waited a long time for this,” Shifty growled from the corner of the ceiling. “I'll be capable of so much once I have all three journals.”

He started to crawl down the wall, and Stanford felt the hairs on his neck stand up. Shifty crawled forward until he was face-to-face with Fidds.

“I'm glad I got to see you again, little man. It was so fun making you scream last time.”

The creature's face suddenly shifted, and Stanford saw Fidds' face twisted in pain, and a horrible scream echoed throughout the room, shaking the walls. The face shifted again, and Shifty chuckled darkly. Fidds made a low sound like he was going to vomit.

“Take it easy, big guy. Can't have anyone dying on us yet.”

They all snapped at attention as Bill walked through the doorway, now holding the other two journals in each hand. Shifty's mouth twisted in a disgusting grin.

“Yes…!”

He launched forward and immediately snatched one of the journals– number three. He flipped through a few pages, completely giddy and manic.

“Oh, yes! Brilliant!”

Shifty reached out to take the other journal, but Bill held it just out of reach.

“Ah ah ah! Not yet.”

Shifty's large red eyes narrowed. “You swore–”

“I know what I said, and I intend to deliver,” Bill tucked the journal into his jacket. “Consider this a downpayment. You'll get the other two once we're done.”

Shifty let out a low growl, and Bill stared up at him in amusement, completely unthreatened. The staring contest lasted for a few moments before Shifty scurried to the far corner, already flipping through the book again. He let out a low chuckle, and quickly shifted into a gnome. Another flip of the page, and he turned into an eyeball with large bat wings.

Stanford's attention was pulled away as Bill moved to stare down at all three of them.

“Hey, no need to look so glum, you guys. You're about to witness your world's liberation!” he chuckled as he looked over at Fidds. “Well, you are, at least. You two are gonna have to wait a few years, I'm afraid.”

Stanford's brows furrowed at the statement. What did this thing have in mind for him and his brother? Stanley managed to let out angry grunts as he shifted in his spot on the floor.

“What? Got something to say, Mac?” Bill kneeled in front of them, glaring at Stanley. too Bad! You've talked enough already!”

Stanley didn't need his mouth uncovered for the slew of curses he threw to be known. Stanford could recognize each syllable by the tone that was stuck in his throat.

Stanford flinched back as the glowing yellow eyes suddenly turned to him instead.

“But you– I think we can stand to have a little chat.”

A large hand reached forward, and Stanford closed his eyes, his mind flashing back to when the same hand had dragged him out of Stan's car. The tape ripped from his mouth, and he gasped.

“Isn't this fascinating?” the man's mouth stretched into an unnaturally wide smile. “Mini I.Q, in the flesh! I'm a little starstruck.”

Stanford grimaces as he glances away, unable to shake the fear growing in his chest.

“Aww, what's the matter, bud?” Bill soothed. “You don't need to be scared of me. Hell, you and I are buddies these days. You and I are gonna do such wonderful things when you grow up.”

Stanford tried to tune out his words, but then he was only left with the image of his puppet– Sergei, the man that had tormented him and Stan the whole way here, who was now here again. Was it even possible for things to be worse at this point?

“Or maybe… it isn't me that you're afraid of?” Bill leaned in until his eyes locked with Stanford's again. “Is it my new puppet? I know you and he have a bit of a history already, but you don't have to worry. He's fast asleep… for now.”

Stanford took in a shuddering breath, then shook his head as he looked away again.

“J-just leave me alone!”

Bill let out a bored sigh. The large hand suddenly grabbed Stanford's chin and forced him to look up.

“You're not in a position to make demands, Sixer. Unless you want the same treatment your brother got, I suggest you play nice.”

Stanley pushed back against Stanford in an attempt to separate them, making angry noises as he glared up at Bill. Bill glared back, unamused.

“I wouldn't throw yourself around too much, kid. You already have a concussion.” he turned back to Stanford, the crazed grin already returning to his features. “But hey, no worries, I.Q. You won't have to deal with that trauma for very long. In fact, once you're back home, you won't remember any of the “bad things” that happened here.”

Stanford blinked. “W-what? What do you mean?”

“Ah, there it is! Your curiosity just can't help itself. It's adorable!” Bill pinched Stanford's cheek for a moment before continuing. “See, I need to ensure that things proceed the way they need to for this to work, and in order to do that, I need to make sure nothing screws with the timeline.”

Bill reached into a jacket pocket, and pulled out the upgraded time machine. He gave Fidds a knowing wink before stuffing it back.

“The thing is though, I can't just send you back after everything that's happened. You know too much, and kids are so dramatic. You're bound to screw it up.” Bill reached behind him, and he pulled out a strange device that almost looked like a gun. “So, once we get the ball rolling, I'm gonna make sure that doesn't happen.”

Fidds let out a gasping sound behind his tape, and Stanford only needed a moment to understand. This was the device Fidds had mentioned earlier, the one that had the power to erase memories. If they got sent home with nothing, they wouldn't be able to help, they wouldn't be able to stop Bill, they… they wouldn't be able to avoid the same fate as their counterparts.

“You– You can't!”

“Actually, I can, and I have everything I need to do it,” Bill gave him a matter-of-fact smile. “I don't expect you to understand yet, Sixer. You're just a little sponge at this point, barely the genius you are these days. Trust me, when this is all over, you will thank me.”

Stanford gasped as Bill reached up and placed the tape back onto his mouth. Stanley, on the other hand, was irate as he threw himself from side to side, yelling despite being unable to speak. Bill groaned irritably before reaching down and yanking the tape off harshly.

“What?”

“You're a real asshat, you know that?”

“Is that really all you've got to say, Lil' Mac?”

“If you could do this the whole time, why didn't you just do this while we were sleepin'?” Stanley snapped. “Why are you doin' all of this crap?”

“Wow! An actual intelligent question– at least from your perspective.” Bill shrugged. “Well, long story's short, I'm capable of seeing many different possibilities at once. There's only a handful of paths that lead me to victory in this scenario, and in a handful of those, that involves making things more complicated for you.”

Stanford frowned. Bill knew this could happen all along? Did that mean he knew everything? Where Stan and Ford went? When Fidds had finished fixing the machine? Everything?

“I knew there was nothing I could do to stop the explosion, so I just lit the fuse myself,” Bill gave Stanley a mischievous grin. “If I know what's coming, I can prepare for it. Why do you think I waited for those two knuckleheads to leave?” “You–”

But Stanley was cut off as Bill placed the tape back on his mouth. He continued to squirm around as Bill straightened up. Shifty was still in the corner, shifting into a new creature every time he turned to a new page in the journal.

“C'mon you, we've got work to do.”

Shifty glared at Bill for a moment before shutting the book and crawling out of the shadows. Bill opened the bookcase doorway, and the two of them descended down the basement stairs without looking back.

Stanford struggled against his bindings as he heard the distant sound of the elevator running. He slipped as he attempted to stand, landing on his side, and he felt something hard press against him from inside his back pocket. It took him a few moments to remember what it was, and his heart skipped a beat. Stan had given Stanford his pocket knife before he left.

Stanford glanced at the open doorway for a few moments, listening for any new sounds. When there were none, he quickly moved around until he was able to sit up on his knees. He shifted his hands as best as he could, trying desperately to reach his back pocket. Stanley made a confused sound from behind him, but Stanford ignored it.

After what felt like hours, Stanford finally managed to hook a finger into his pocket, then another, and finally they found the handle of the knife. He exhaled through his nose as he felt around for the opening, and then carefully clicked it open.

There was an audible bang from downstairs. Stanford couldn't tell if it was the elevator again or something falling from below, but there wasn't time to find out. He tried to slide the blade under the rope around his wrists, nicking his wrist a few times in the process. He felt the blade catch on the material, and he started to cut.

Stanley had finally caught on to what was happening, and was watching his brother intently, his eyes flicking back towards the basement doorway every now and then. Stanford could feel the tension around his wrist lessening more and more, until finally it released.

Stanford gasped as he pulled the tape back off of his mouth, tossing it and the rope that bound his wrists to the ground. He quickly shifted over to his brother, and carefully pulled the tape off. There were already red blotches on his face from when Bill had yanked it off without care.

“C'mon, c'mon! Quick!”

Stanford nodded as he reached for Stanley's wrists. As he began cutting the rope, a series of bangs erupted from below, causing all three of them to freeze. Stanford shook himself off quickly though and resumed cutting his brother free. Once he was, they both sprang to their feet as Stanley threw the rope away.

Stanford began to move behind Fidds as Stanely pulled the tape off of his mouth too.

“C'mon, we gotta go–” Stanley was cut off as another sound rumbled, but this time it didn't stop. Stanford felt his heart lurch as the familiar sound of the elevator reached his ears.

“It's too late,” Fidds said rapidly. “Y'all gotta get outta here now, before they see you're gone.”

“We can't just leave you here!” Stanford argued.

“They can't both follow you at the same time, and I can distract at least one of 'em.” Fidds eyes were firm on the basement doorway. “'Sides, I reckon I know what Bill is throwin' a fit about. Y'all still got a head start. Take it.”

Stanford opened his mouth to argue, but the clang of the elevator reaching the bottom of the stairs jolted him. Stanley made the decision for him, and grabbed his hand before pulling him out of the room. He nearly tripped as they sprinted across the living room, and Stanley threw open the front door without a moment's hesitation.

They had just managed to reach the trees surrounding the house when they heard a loud roar come from the inside. Stanford ignored the urge to turn around as he stuffed the knife back into his pocket, managing to keep up with Stanley as the grip on his hand tightened like a vice.

He had no clue where they were headed, but anywhere was better than here. At least, Stanford hoped it would be.

Chapter End Notes

5-9-11-19 20-19-21-15-5-15-9-10-5 23-6-19 19-23-5-15-19-6 4 to 9 11-23-13-19 4-16-23-10 9-4-16-19-6-5. 23-10-20 5-9-11-19 20-19-21-15-5-15-9-10-5 11-3-5-4 22 to 19 11-23-20-19, 10 to 9 11-23-4-4-19-6 4-16-19-21-9-5-4.

Chapter 36: Bittersweet Victory

Chapter Notes

Holy shit, only been a week and I've already got another chapter done! My writer's block must be gettin' weak on me, ha!

So... I'm doing something different with the codes this time around. It may or may not work, so if there's no new code for a few days, you know why.

Hope y'all enjoy!

Edit: it Worked

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Whatever courage Fiddleford had managed to muster up faltered as the shapeshifter roared, causing the walls to shake and his ears to ring. Shifty's eyes turned on him, and he crouched on all fours before quickly scurrying forward. Fiddleford didn't have time to flinch before he was knocked onto his back, landing awkwardly on his hands. The creature growled above him, eyes wild and mandibles bared.

where are they?!”

Fiddleford squirmed in an effort to move away, shaking his head as flecks of drool hit his face.

“Hey, no! Bad!” Bill suddenly appeared next to Shifty and used his own journal to smack the top of his head. “We still need him alive.”

Shifty's head snapped up at Bill, and Fiddleford quickly used his legs to push himself back until he was no longer underneath the monster. His vision was partially skewed as he sat up, his glasses now sitting lopsided on his nose.

Shifty snarled threateningly, his face less than an inch from Bill's. “If I don't get those journals–”

“You better hop to it, then.”

Shifty leaned back slightly, blinking in confusion.

“Well, go on,” Bill used the hand still holding the journal to gesture at the doorway. “After them! Bring them back here– Hey, look at me! Bring them back alive , got it?”

It was obvious from the heavy breathing and the malevolent look in his eyes that Shifty wasn't too pleased about being bossed around; a trait he had carried since he first hatched. Back then, Ford had simply called it a disciplinary issue. Fiddleford felt that the creature was simply born rotten from the inside.

Shifty turned back to Fiddleford, teeth bared as he pointed a threatening claw at him. “I'm going to enjoy breaking the rest of your bones later.”

Fiddleford could feel his body trembling. Shifty's body twisted and contorted, and a moment later he had turned into a giant, monstrous vampire bat. Journal still gripped tightly in his clawed foot, he let out a loud screech before storming out of the room.

“And no missing limbs either!”

The only response was the distant, heavy beating of wings before it faded into nothing. Bill sighed, shaking his head as he tucked the journal back into his jacket.

“Fucking animal…”

His glowing gaze turned to Fiddleford, and he grinned before slowly walking towards him. Fiddleford instinctively tried to scoot further away until his back was pressed firmly against the wall.

“Looks like it's just you and me, Specs.”

Fiddleford didn't respond, but his shaking breath gave away his anxiousness. Bill squatted down in front of him and reached forward. Fiddleford flinched, but was surprised when Bill simply adjusted his glasses properly.

“Now, this is interesting.” Bill intertwined his fingers under his chin as he smiled. “I'm curious, Specs. Did they leave you behind because you told them to, or because they realized how hopeless you really are? Or maybe both? It's just a little difficult to tell on my end, you see.”

Fiddleford was only half listening to the demon's words, his mind racing with other questions and worries: Did the boys get away in time? Did they get far enough? Did they have anywhere to go, anywhere to hide? What if the shapeshifter already caught them?

These were questions that Fiddleford wasn't going to get the answers to any time soon. He couldn't afford to let his mind wander too far right now. He had to focus on his own survival, and to have faith that the boys would be fine on their own for now.

“...Hopeless, huh?” he swallowed. “That– that's funny. Ya wouldn't even have the portal if it weren't for me.”“Oooo, catty!” Bill beamed at him. “Well, you've got me there! You know all the ins and outs of that beauty, probably even more than Mr. Brainiac.”

A wicked smirk stretched across Bill's face as he stood up. He reached into his jacket pocket, and pulled out a small, now opened envelope– the one that Fiddleford had given to Stanley.

“In fact, you definitely know more about it than him.”

Fiddleford grimaced as Bill pulled out a folded piece of paper.

“Let's see… If you're reading this, then it means I failed to fix the time machine, bla bla bla… I've always treasured our friendship, yada yada yada… Ah!” Bill smirked as he continued to read, “ I've locked the computer to turn on the portal with a password, and I'm the only one who knows it. Assuming I am unable to come back, then the secret will die with me. It may not hold forever, but it might buy you enough time to tear that damn thing down- Oh-ho, wow!” Bill snorted before continuing in a mocking tone, “ Stay safe my friend. Take care of yourself… Good luck. ”

Bill laughed as he stuffed the letter back into his pocket. Fiddleford felt a strange mix of anger and embarrassment swirl in his gut.

“Well, aren't you a sweetheart? I like to leave Fordsy little letters too, you know. Shame that you left such damning evidence in that kid's pocket though.” Bill leaned over until the slits of his eyes were level with Fiddleford. “You don't know how to think ahead, do you, redneck?”

“I…” Fiddleford straightened up as best as he could, ignoring the thundering in his chest. “I ain't tellin' ya nothin'.”

“Oh, don't be silly, hillbilly!” Bill reached forward and ruffled Fiddleford's hair. “Of course, you will! You and I both know you're not tough enough to outlast much, let alone me.”

“Ya don't know me, demon.”

Bill pouted at that. “I do, too! I might not be able to possess you, but I can still see into your dreams… and your nightmares.” His mouth twisted into a cruel smile. “I know about your little encounter with the Gremloblin, and what you saw when you looked into his eyes.”

Fiddleford gasped as another spike of pain shot through his skull. For a few brief moments, all he could see and hear were faded, scattered images of his parents calling him a disappointment, his family's farm burning to the ground, and the painful screams of his wife and son…

“N-no…” Fiddleford whimpered as he shook his head. “Stop…”

“Yeah… Nasty stuff. Nasty enough to make you build the memory gun in the first place.” Bill scratched his chin thoughtfully. “Would be a shame if someone… made it all happen.”

Fiddleford's eyes shot open as he looked up at Bill, his emotions fluctuating somewhere between horror and fury. Bill's brows furrowed, and he reached up to move Fiddleford's messy hair away from his eyes, as if he were annoyed by the unkemptness he made.

“One way or another, Specs, I'm gonna get that portal up and running. You can make things easier on yourself if you help me,” Bill's tone was calm and nonchalant as he continued, “If you do, I can guarantee your safety in my new world order. I'm feeling generous, so I'll even throw in your family free of charge! I know you humans have weird attachment issues with each other.”

Some small part of Fiddleford– the part closest to his deepest fears and darkest thoughts– was instantly tempted to agree. He couldn't stand the idea of anything happening to his family. He couldn't stand the idea of not being able to help his wife and child. But, even if what Bill said was true– even if they all would be spared from his torment– would they even be able to understand why Fiddleford did it? Would his parents be able to forgive him for helping this demon, even if it guaranteed their safety? Would Emma-May even look at him once she realized what he did? How would Tate react to realizing how much of a coward his father was?

Don't ya dare call me a coward!

“So? How about it?”

“I…”

Fiddleford had never felt so scared in his life. He knew what was coming, he knew what would happen once he gave his answer. He prayed that the Lord would give him the strength to get through what was to come, and even added a small apology to his family. He took a deep breath through his nose, looked the demon straight in the eye, and glared.

“I won't.”

Bill's smile slowly melted away as he raised an eyebrow at him. He didn't even look angry, he just looked unamused. Fiddleford wasn't sure if that was supposed to be better or worse. Then, Bill smiled and gave a little shrug.

“Welp! Can't say I didn't try!” he straightened up and moved to stand beside Fiddleford. “Guess we gotta do this the fun way! Ha! No skin off my teeth, but I can't guarantee the same for you.”

He suddenly grabbed Fiddleford by the hair and threw him down to the floor hard. Fiddleford managed to turn his head in time before his cheek slammed against the wood, his teeth clashing together. His glasses had flown off and clattered against the floor somewhere out of reach. Fiddleford groaned as he shifted onto his side, his vision blurred, and he could taste blood.

He felt something grab his ankle, and even without his glasses, he could see that Bill was now dragging him towards the basement stairs. Fiddleford squirmed around to try to break free, or at least sit up, but his hands were bound too tight, and Bill's hold on him was too strong.

“You know, I think this is gonna be great for us,” Bill said joyfully. “You and I have never had a real heart-to-heart in all the times I've popped in and out of Ford's head, and I'm just dying for us to get to know each other better!”

They started to descend the stairs. Fiddleford cried out as his knuckles slammed and scraped against the first step, and then again as his spine landed painfully on the next one. Three, four, five steps down, and Fiddleford realized that Bill had started whispering– no, humming to himself. He got louder and louder the further down they went, and it wasn't long before he started singing.

“Oh what a beautiful morning…

Oh, what a beautiful day…

Fiddleford yelped as his head hit against the edge of another step, and little stars blotted his vision. God, help me…

“I've got a beautiful feeling…

Everything's going my way…”

Ford was still catching his breath from the fall, and was unable to avoid the oncoming fist that slammed against his cheek. He quickly raised his hand in time to grab the next oncoming fist, and threw out his own without hesitation. He only managed to hit Stan in the chest before his arm was pushed away, and another punch connected with his face. A series of laughs and cheers echoed from the trees around them.

With a loud grunt, Ford kicked out his foot as hard as he could, and finally managed to knock Stan off of him. He readjusted his glasses as he scrambled to his feet. Stan quickly rolled onto all fours before pushing himself up, feet purposely spread on the grass, both fists already raised again. Ford was stunned to see a smirk growing on his brother's face.

“What? That all you got?”

Ford could feel his anger and frustration rising at the smugness in Stan's voice. Guaranteed hair or not, this was no laughing matter. This whole situation was ridiculous! Being completely surrounded and urged to fight like wild animals in a cage was not how this was supposed to go, but it was their only option now; an option that Stan had gotten them stuck with.

Ford clenched his fists before advancing, prepared to hit wherever he could reach. Stan suddenly slid to the side at the last second, and Ford tripped over his outstretched leg. His glasses bounced on his nose as he landed on his stomach, and before he could even move, Stan had him pinned. He wrapped an arm around Ford's neck and pulled back, putting him in an uncomfortable hold.

All around them, the unicorns continued to cheer, and some of them began egging them on.

“Yeah! Knock his teeth out!”

“This is the funniest fight we've had in ages.”

“Come on! You're not even bleeding yet!”

“My gold's on the fat one!”

Any retort Ford wanted to throw at the annoying crowd was lost in his throat. He grabbed at Stan's arm, trying to pull himself free.

“Take it easy,” Stan suddenly whispered in Ford's ear. “We gotta make this convincing. Just a few more seconds, then you tap out, alright?”

Ford grunted as he choked out, “Oh, I tap out, do I?”

Without hesitation, he threw his head back to hit Stan's face. Ford knew his nose was probably still sensitive from the fight earlier, so it didn't take too much force for Stan to let out a painful yell and release his hold. Ford turned on his side and kicked Stan in the stomach, knocking him onto his back.

Ford quickly launched himself forward, grabbing Stan by his shirt and punching him right in the jaw. He raised his fist to hit again, but Stan quickly snatched his wrist to stop him. Ford tensed for a moment once he realized that Stan's nose was bleeding again .

“Why the hell are you tryin' so hard?” Stan grunted irritably. “It doesn't matter who wins, remember?”

“If it doesn't matter,” Ford panted. “Then why are you trying so hard?”

“I asked you first!”

Stan suddenly lunged forward, headbutting Ford right in the jaw. He felt his lip sting and blood fill his mouth, and his hands instinctively reached up to cover it. Stan grabbed him by the front and pulled him to the ground, already moving in an effort to keep him pinned. Ford grasped at his shoulders and tried to push back, his arms shaking with the effort.

“You're makin' this difficult…!” Stan said through gritted teeth.

“You started this!”

“No shit! I don't start fights I can't finish.”

Ford continued to push as hard as he could, forcing Stan to push back. He counted for a few seconds, then suddenly let himself fall back, pulling his brother with him. Stan hadn't been prepared for Ford to drop his defense, and he immediately face-planted into the grass.

Ford quickly forced himself to his knees before grabbing Stan by the front again. He didn't bother using his fists this time though.

“We might've found another way if you had stopped to think for a moment!” Ford yelled. “We wouldn't be doing this if it wasn't for you! I wouldn't be here if it wasn't for you!”

He saw the fury flash in Stan's eyes before he was suddenly knocked back by another, much harder punch.

Ford's world was spinning for a moment, and then it stopped as he landed hard on the ground. He blinked a few times, and quickly realized that his glasses were gone. He swayed as he forced himself onto his knees, patting his hands around in the grass. He could see little yellow spots– probably flowers– popping in and out of view as he scrambled. Finally, his fingers found the metal temples of his glasses.

Ford quickly threw on his glasses and glanced around to get his bearings. His eyes landed on the grass, and Ford found himself absolutely appalled by what he saw. The little yellow spots hadn't been flowers at all. Scattered randomly in the grass were fallen pieces of yellow kernels. The unicorns had brought popcorn. How wonderful…

Ford attempted to shake the dizziness from his head as he looked up at his brother, who was already on his feet again, his face red and nostrils flaring.

“You wanna blame me for not gettin' into that school?” Stan shouted as he stomped closer. “Fine! I deserve that . But, you don't get to blame me for whatever happened after. I wasn't there for any of it!”

Something inside Ford cracked under the force of those words.

That was exactly the problem. Stan wasn't there. He wasn't there when Ford was sweating bullets while giving his speech as the valedictorian.

He wasn't there when Ford left his childhood home for the last time. He wasn't there to give Ford advice when he was faced with the prospect of social gatherings at college. There had been many things in Ford's life, both grand and trivial, that Stan hadn't been present for.

Despite what he had assured himself– despite what he had tried to deny– Ford had needed Stan, and Stan wasn't there .

Ford barely managed to stagger to his feet before Stan grabbed him by the front and threw him back down, causing him to slam against the base of a tree. Ford's shearling coat fell from the branch it was hanging on, landing right beside him. Ford moved to get up, but Stan was too quick for him. He pressed his forearm against Ford's neck, pinning him hard against the trunk.

“Then… you can't blame me for what happened to you,” Ford coughed. “I wasn't present for any of your mistakes, either.”

“Yeah, no shit!” Stan spat in his face. “Why do you think I was so pissed about you leavin'? Bein' on my own is hell! Do you think I have any idea what the fuck I'm doin'?!”

He reared back for another punch, but Ford was ready this time. He tilted his head at the last moment, and Stan's knuckles connected with the tree. He swore and shook out his hand, but the forearm on Ford's neck didn't relent. Ford put as much force as he could muster into his voice as he spoke.

“Then why?”

“Why what?!”

why didn't you Call me?!”

Stan, fist already raised for another hit, stopped. The anger in his face melted away, the tension in his shoulders seemed to disappear, and after a few moments, his fist fell to his side. The pressure on Ford's neck lessened, but he didn't feel prepared enough to try to pull the forearm away yet.

“The first night,” Ford stammered. “I… I was so angry . I didn't want to see you, I didn't want to speak to you. But… after a few days…”

Stan stared at him with wide, stunned eyes for a few moments, then his gaze hardened. The forearm on Ford's neck shifted, and Stan's hand moved up to grab the front of Ford's shirt, no longer pinning him, but keeping him in place all the same.

The gesture wasn't threatening; it was interrogational. Stan was telling Ford to keep going, to finish what he started. Ford swallowed.

“You… you never tried to find me, either.” he said quietly. “You never called, never wrote… you just vanished. What was I supposed to do? I didn't know where you were, what you were doing… I didn't know , Stan.”

Ford lowered his gaze, his hands gripping nervously at the grass around him. He could hear the unicorns murmuring irritably around them, but he didn't have the energy to be even mildly annoyed at this point.

Ford wasn't sure why he was even saying any of this. Why had he done this? Now that the adrenaline was fading, he mentally kicked himself for letting the fight go on more than necessary. Stan had gotten them a golden opportunity to get the hair without worry, and Ford had to go and make it personal. What's wrong with me?

“...I did call.”

Ford's head snapped up, eyes wide at the resignation in his brother's voice. Stan's grip on his shirt released, and he sat back, looking defeated.

“I tried a few times,” Stan raised his hand to wipe the blood from under his nose. “Well… maybe more than a few. I just… never said nothin'. I didn't know what to say.”

Something in Ford's brain suddenly clicked, and he gasped. For the last few years, Ford had received a number of random phone calls, all of which had been completely silent on the other end. He had written them off, believing them to be some sort of strange prank, or a bad connection on the caller's part. He never questioned them much after that. He definitely should have.

“Not like it would've done much though,” Stan muttered. “You would've hung up once you knew it was me, anyway.”

Ford quickly leaned forward, hand outstretched. “Stanley–”

“Hey!”

They each turned to see Cellestabell climbing down from her rock, eyes sharp and impatient. She wasn't the only one. All around them, the other unicorns were huffing and groaning, stomping their hooves and kicking up dirt impatiently.

“You can't stop now! It was just getting good,” Cellestabell bemoaned as she approached them. “You've barely even bruised each other. If you want my hair, you'll have to do better–”

But she stopped in her tracks. Her nostrils flared as she sniffed the air, her sparkling eyes widening as they landed on the ground. Ford flinched as she suddenly reared back and let out a loud, echoing whinny, kicking her front hooves in the air. This caused a chain reaction, and the other unicorns around her responded in kind. Cellestabell planted her hooves firmly on the ground and leaned her head down.

“Where did you get that?!”

“Get what?”

Ford followed her gaze, and tilted his head when he saw something purple sparkle in the grass, just a few inches away from his fallen coat. Before he could get a better look at it, Stan suddenly sprang forward and snatched it.

“No!” Cellestabell gasped.

Stan scrambled to his feet before taking a few steps back, holding whatever he had caught above his head. The unicorns neighed with fury as they began to advance beyond the treeline, and Stan continued to back away further as he held his other hand out in front of him.

“Get back!” he snapped. “Everyone get back! Or I'll throw this over the wall, I swear to god!”

“Don't you dare!” Cellestabell demanded.

“Go ahead, test me! I fuckin' dare you!”

The neighs and yells died down, and all the unicorns slowly backed away into the trees, muttering angrily. Cellestabell remained stone still, her eyes unblinking. Stan looked down at Ford and gave him a quick nod, telling him to get up. Ford quickly pushed himself off the ground and moved to stand beside his brother. His eyes lingered on the fist raised in the air, and that's when he realized what Stan was holding.

It was one of the regurgitated crystals Ford had collected from the Geodites with Stanley. Ford figured he must have left it in his coat pocket and forgotten about it.

“Now,” Stan's tone was calmer as he waved the crystal in front of him. “What is this thing?”

Cellestabell laughed hysterically. “Foolish human. You don't even know what you possess!”

“What do you mean?” Ford asked, more curious than anything. “Is it valuable?”

“Yes, and incredibly rare.” Cellestabell's eyes stared greedily at the crystal. “The creatures that produce them live in the shadows and only reveal themselves in darkness. They only regurgitate these fractures if they feel completely safe and comfortable with another. To receive a fracture is a blessing of good luck.”

“Right…” Stan eyed the crystal curiously. “And, what? You use these for spells or somethin'? Make them into jewelry?”

The unicorn shook her head and scoffed. “Heavens, no! Grinding the fractures turns them into a wonder spice that makes healthy food taste better. Perfect for avoiding the holiday weight gain!”

The unicorns murmured in agreement from the trees. Ford stared incredulously up at the fracture. Stan simply smirked.

“You said this stuff's rare, huh? Must be hard to stick to a diet without some,” he held the crystal close to his chest and reached out his other hand. “How's about this? You give us some hair, and it's all yours.”

Cellestabell stopped staring at the fracture to glare daggers at Stan, but she didn't reject the offer. The unicorns muttered anxiously all around her. Ford remained stock-still, reeling in the revelation that the crystals had such a ridiculous purpose here, and confounded by the idea that this deal might actually work.

Cellestabell closed her eyes, and sighed. “Fine.”

Ford's jaw dropped, and Stan's smirk grew.

“Francis!”

At her call, a small brown satyr suddenly appeared from behind a rock, holding a flat, golden box. He lept into the air and landed gracefully on Cellestabell's back. He opened the box, pulled out an ivory comb, and began to comb her mane. Ford took the opportunity to grab his coat and slip it on. He quickly reached into his pocket for one of the plastic bags he had brought to carry the hair. Stan remained still, eyes unmoving as the satyr pulled out a set of golden shears.

“Just a few inches, dear,” Cellestabell added shortly.

The satyr nodded smugly before he began cutting her mane, taking extra care to not let a single strand fall to the ground. Stan held his free hand out to Ford, who immediately passed him the plastic bag.

Once the satyr snipped the last lock of hair, he hopped onto the ground and stepped towards them, his face stern as he held out his hands. Stan mimicked him, holding out the fracture and the open bag. He had to lean down a bit once they were face-to-face. The satyr quickly dropped all of the hair into the bag, then snatched the fracture out of Stan's hand before trotting away.

“There.” Cellestabell spat. “Now, take your shoes and be gone!”

Stan rolled his eyes as he turned away, waving the little bag in the air. “Pleasure doin' business with you.”

He shoved the bag into Ford's hands as he passed by, moving to pick up his sweater and jacket. Ford quickly placed the bag securely in his coat pocket before bending down to pick up his shoes. He made quick work of putting them on before following Stan, who was already waiting for him at the doors, boots in hand. A few nearby unicorns huffed at them threateningly as they pushed their way through.

It wasn't until the doors shut that the walls started to slowly descend. Stan waited until the ground had settled before leaning over to put on his boots.

“That was more trouble than it was worth,” he grumbled. “Hope you're on good terms with whatever puked that up. Those assholes probably won't accept anything less from now on.”

Ford didn't have the stomach to admit that he was not, in fact, on good terms with the Geodites. He felt like he didn't have the stomach for much at the moment. The success of their trip did little to lighten his mood, the weight in his chest ever present.

Stan lifted his shirt to wipe the rest of the blood from his nose.

“Thank you.”

He stopped, staring at Ford in stunned silence. Ford swallowed.

“I'm not sure how well that would've worked if we hadn't– I just–” Ford paused before giving a firm nod. “Good thinking on your part.”

Stan frowned slightly as he began putting on his sweater. “Yeah, well… Scammin's about the only thing I'm good at these days. No sense in not puttin' it to good use.”

Ford felt the weight tug even harder at that.

Once Stan was fully dressed, he stuffed his hands in his pockets and started to walk away. Ford hesitated for a moment before jogging after him. Once he had caught up, he reached out and grabbed Stan's elbow.

“I should've said something.”

Stan flinched when Ford grabbed him, but he froze at his words.

“What?

“When Pa threw you out. I should've said something, anything, but…” Ford stammered for a moment before muttering, “I was scared. I'd never seen him so angry before.

He released his hold and let his hand fall. Stan didn't move. He didn't blink. Ford hung his head slightly.

“But, you were scared, too…” he clenched his hands. “I should've done something–”

“Stop.”

Ford looked up to see Stan shaking his head.

“Don't be stupid, Ford. He would've made your life hell if you tried.”

Ford didn't defend the accusations this time. There was no point in denying that life was always more difficult when either of them ever stood against their father, even over tedious things. Attempting to do so under serious conditions would lead to hell, indeed.

“Do you think he had a bag for me?”

“What?”

“Do… do you think he had a bag packed for me as well?”

Stan stared at him slack-jawed before running his hands over his face. “Again with the crazy fuckin' questions,” he groaned. “You were the only one worth anything to him. It's like you said, you were gonna go off and do somethin'. I'm the one that's no good for anything.”

“But, if I hadn't gotten into college… if I hadn't been able to go to Backupsmore–”

“Stop it.” Stan cut him off harshly. “You're the only one who had any chance of being great, Ford. Pa had no reason to doubt you. 'S why he gave me shit for holdin' you back.”

Ford opened his mouth but couldn't find the words. Stan stood there, patiently, as though waiting for him to collect his thoughts.

“You're more capable than you think,” Ford told him.

“You're just sayin' that because you don't know what to say.”

“No, I–”

“You don't know me, and I don't know you, either. We haven't been within miles of each other in years.” Stan gave him a serious look. “We both know damn well how much things can change in a day . How much do you think can change in a decade?”

Ford didn't even try to respond at first. How could he? Stan wasn't wrong. People change day by day, and they hadn't seen or spoken to each other in a very long time.

“I… can't answer that.”

“That's a first.”

“What do you want me to say?” Ford asked desperately.

“You don't have to say anything.” Stan said simply. “It's fine. Let's just finish what we started.”

They stood there for a long moment, letting the weight of it all sink in. Stan cleared his throat and gestured ahead of them, and Ford immediately began leading the way back home.

“Do you think the kids are okay?” Stan asked. “I mean, we're not dead or anything, so…”

Grim, but no less true. If anything serious were to happen to their little brothers, surely something would've happened to them. Perhaps Fiddleford had already sent them home. Some part of Ford felt a little disappointed at the thought.

“Yes. I'm sure they're fine.”

Chapter End Notes

click me

Chapter 37: Run Boy Run

Chapter Notes

So... this fic's been getting a lot of attention lately, huh?

To anyone who's new here: Hi, welcome, glad to have you here. I love and appreciate all the love and support y'all have been giving, and all of your comments are adored and welcomed.

Sorry this one took a minute. Just left my job yesterday and I've got a new one lined up. Hoping for better, easier days.

Anyway, hope y'all enjoy!

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Holy shit holy shit holy shit Holy shit!

Stanley could barely think of much else as he sprinted through the trees, holding Stanford's hand in an iron grip. He couldn't even tell where he was going, and he didn't care. He just needed to get them both as far away from the shack as possible.

What seemed like mere moments after he heard that terrifying roar, Stanley heard the unmistakable sound of large wings. He didn't bother looking back. It didn't matter what creature Shifty had turned into, all that mattered was keeping as much distance between him and them he could.

So, Stanley ran. When the screeching grew distant, he ran. When the sound of beating wings disappeared, he ran. When his head became heavy and his legs burned in agony, he pushed himself to keep going.

Can't stop running… Can't stop running…

“Stanley!”

He barely heard his brother's voice over the thudding of his feet and the pounding in his head.

“Stanley, wait!”

Stanley didn't even realize that the world was tilting until he suddenly slammed into a tree trunk. It was enough to throw him off balance, and he fell onto his stomach, his hand now suddenly empty. He grunted as he quickly pushed himself up, his hand scrambling to find his brother's once more. Stanford was already kneeling in front of him, and he grabbed Stanley's arms to help pull him to his feet.

“Come on, over here!”

Stanford held Stanley's wrist firmly as he quickly pulled him to the side through the thick trees. Now that they had slowed down, Stanley's stomach had finally caught up with him, and was now swirling and twisting so much that he felt sick. His eyes snapped shut as his temples began to throb again. No, not now!

When he opened his eyes again, he saw that he was being dragged towards a large pile of chopped down tree trunks(probably left behind by the local lumberjacks). Stanford continued to pull Stanley with him until they were behind the wall of trunks. The moment he stopped moving, Stanley reached up with his free hand to support himself against the wood. He could feel himself swaying again.

Stanford turned and grabbed Stanley's shoulders. “Here, sit down.”

Stanley shook his head. “We can't stop now.”

“You're still concussed! If you keep going like this you'll pass out, and I can't carry you.”

Stanley wanted to argue, but his twin had a point. Stanford could probably drag him along just fine under normal circumstances, but he wouldn't be fast enough to avoid Shifty if he found them. Stanley let out a long sigh as he let his brother gently ease him onto the ground. He closed his eyes again as he leaned his head back against the wood, trying to settle the pounding in his skull.

“Okay…” Stanford said. “Let's think for a second.”

“About what?”

“We can't run forever. We don't even know where we're going,” Stanford said seriously. “And we have to go back for the others eventually. Besides, without the time machine, we'll never get home.”

“We can't go back now,” Stanley mumbled as he rubbed the sides of his head. “We're outnumbered there. They'll just pick us off.”

Stanford was silent for a moment, then he mumbled, “If they were there, we might've had a chance.”

Stanley didn't need clarification. If their brother's had been there, they would've had a better chance at taking on Bill and Shifty. Instead, they were still out on their own, searching for whatever they needed to help protect themselves.

Stanley's eyes suddenly snapped open. “They don't know…”

Stanford looked up at him. “What?”

“They don't know what happened!” Stanley gasped. “They're gonna go back and run into Bill! He might– They might–”

“Shifty's still out here looking for us,” Stanford countered calmly. “If they make it back, it'll be three against one. I– I'm sure they can handle that.”

Could they handle that? Sure, Stan and Fidds managed alright on their own when Ford was possessed, but Stanley had a feeling that was only because Bill let them. He had wanted to get caught after all. Stanley had already learned how annoyingly determined Bill can be, and if his only focus now was to get that crazy machine turned on, there wasn't much any of them could do to stop him from trying as many times as he wanted.

And if Bill can possess anyone who lets him, he could probably have an infinite supply of puppets to use. He could just keep coming back again, and again, and again…

“Stan?”

Stanley didn't respond. He brought his knees up to his chest, staring at the ground as he gripped his own hair.

“Why did I run into the trees?” he bemoaned. “Why didn't I just follow their footprints? We could've found them, warned them…”

Stupid stupid Stupid

Stanford scooted closer and grabbed Stanley's wrists, pulling his hands away from his hair.

“We… we can't worry about them right now,” he said softly. “We don't even know where they are, we can't help them from here. We have to think about ourselves first.”

Stanley looked up at his brother, at the heavy concern in his eyes, and sighed. Stanford let go of his hands, and Stanley folded his arms across his knees.

He wasn't sure what they could do now, but he wasn't alone in these woods this time; he didn't have to wonder what Stanford would say or think. He was here, Stanley was here, and they could figure this out together. Everything would be fine… probably.

“Okay… We have to make sure we stick together,” Stanford stated firmly. “We're no good on our own, and we can't risk getting separated with Shifty running around. He might try to trick us.”

“What do we do?” Stanley asked.

“We could… try to find help,” Stanford pondered. “What about that giant you talked about? We could try asking him–”

But Stanley shook his head. “No. Way. We dunno how big that creep can transform, and I don't wanna find out.”

“But we have to do something!” Stanford said desperately. “Where else can we go? Who else can help?”

Stanley shook his head as he glanced around, as if hoping an answer would appear from the trees. Why was Stanford asking him anyway? Stanley was the dumb twin– the one who had picked up the damn time tape and managed to break it without even trying. How was he supposed to–

“ Where… Where… ”

Stanley's head snapped up as he heard the voice– no, not quite a voice. It sounded more like a call, like the sound an animal would make. He straightened up and glanced around, his heart already racing, thinking it must be Shifty trying to be coy with them. He saw movement by a nearby shrub, but before he could even think of warning Stanford, he saw what it was.

A small brown bird with an odd growth on top of its head, shaped like a question mark. Ford had called them Question Quails. They had come across a small collection of nests on their way to the waterfall, and Ford had spent a few minutes enthusiastically describing their habits and how he had discovered them.

“ Where… ” the quail cheeped again. “ What… Why… ”

“That's… peculiar.” Stanford said curiously. “They're not… dangerous, are they?”

Stanley didn't respond, his gaze fixated on the nest. One of the quails was pecking at something on the ground, and Stanley could see that there was a small white spot at the top of its question-shaped head. He recognized that one. He specifically remembered asking Ford if they all had spots like that, only to find out it was some sort of rare birthmark that only the one quail possessed.

It was the same nest. That would mean…

“...I know where we are.”

“What–”

“I know where we are!” Stanley leaned forward and grabbed his brother's arms. “I saw that nest the other day! I've been in this part of the woods before!”

“O-okay?” Stanford stuttered. “And… that's good?”

“Yes!” Stanley could feel the smile growing on his face. “There's a huge waterfall nearby, and there's a secret cave behind it! I dunno if Shifty knows about it, but it's better than nothing.”

“But, what about getting help?”

Stanley opened his mouth, but stopped as an awful screech reached his ears. It was distant, but there was no denying what it was. Shifty was close– too close. They didn't have time to worry or think anymore.

“I'll explain on the way,” Stanley pushed himself to his feet and held out his hand. “C'mon, we gotta go!”

Stanford nodded, grasping Stanley's hand as he quickly stood up. Stanley didn't waste any time as he ran past the quail nest, following the path he was certain he had taken before.

Please, he thought. Let me be right for once…

Ford was only mildly regretting not dressing more warmly now. He was awake and alert, which was ideal, but that didn't stop him from feeling annoyed and uncomfortable with the weather. The shivering had started not long after they had left the unicorn's glen, and had persisted, on and off, through the entire walk back.

Ford didn't complain though. He had no right to. For one, he had willingly done this to himself. For another, he had put everyone else through so much pain of their own, he could handle something as simple as feeling cold.

“I can hear you trembling,” Stan said without looking at him. “Should've taken one of those ugly sweaters.”

“I'll be fine,” Ford huffed as he stuffed his hands into his pockets. “I can't risk being to comfortable, I have to stay sharp–”

“And what if you pass out?”

“What?”

Stan raised an eyebrow at him. “You know hypothermia is a thing, yeah? And if you pass out, there's no guarantee you'll be the one who gets back up.”

Ford opened his mouth to argue, but he stopped. He felt that he knew his body well enough to know how much it could stand against, but that didn't make him invincible. If their trip had taken too much longer, he probably would've been at risk of passing out.

But it didn't take too long. The house was already in sight, and they were that much closer to succeeding in their mission. Ford was almost tempted to argue that very point, but after a moment, decided against it.

“I'll have time to warm up once we're back,” he muttered.

“Good.”

Stan didn't say anything else as they continued forward.

As they neared the house, Ford thought about what would happen next. The boys should already be back home in their own timeline, so that would be one less thing to worry about. All that was left was to deal with the portal, and find a way to keep Bill from coming back. Dealing with Bill would require much more research, so disassembling the portal would have to be first. Ford would be lying if he said that taking apart the project he had spent an entire year on wasn't a little heartbreaking, but if Bill was willing to hurt people to make it happen, then it was obviously meant for something more than Ford was told to believe.

He and Fiddleford would obviously be busy with taking apart the portal for some time. But that raised the question– What about Stan? He had clearly gotten more than he bargained for by bringing Ford's counterpart to Gravity Falls, and as far as Ford knew, Stan never made any promises to stay longer than necessary. Yet, here he was, helping Ford get the things he needed to protect themselves. Though, he could've just been doing it for the sake of the kids, and now that they're gone…

As they stepped out past the treeline, Ford cleared his throat before finally speaking up.

“You know, dealing with Bill might prove to be… a bit challenging,” he began. “Especially with just the two of us. Fiddleford is brilliant in his own right, but I'm not so sure how he'll hold his own against him. If… if you wouldn't mind staying to help…”

Stan stopped walking. Ford stopped too and frowned, almost expecting him to immediately refuse. But, Stan didn't look at him. His whole body was stiff as he stared straight ahead, his eyes unblinking. Ford's brows furrowed as he followed Stan's gaze, and his heart sank.

The front door to his home was wide open.

No…

His legs started moving before he could even think about running. Stan ran too, keeping up with Ford even as they forced their way through the doorway. Ford nearly slipped on the snow that had started to build up on the floor as he ran into the living room.

“Fiddleford!”

“Kids?!”

No one responded as they made their way further into the house. Stan ran for the kitchen as Ford moved down the hall, taking note of the scratch marks along the floor and walls. They looked eerily similar to the markings he had seen in the caves where the vampire bats resided. But, what would one of those creatures be doing in his house, at this hour, in this weather ?

But Ford didn't have time to ponder those thoughts as he reached the storage room, and stopped dead in his tracks. The room was in absolute disarray; all of the books had been pulled from their shelves and thrown across the floor, along with piles of supplies and crumpled paper. There were even more claw marks and scratches on the walls of the room, though these ones were different; sporadic, constantly changing. The bookshelf was wide open, and in the dim light that poured into the room, Ford could see something reflective on the floor.

A pair of large circular glasses.

“Are they in here?!”

Ford felt frozen as Stan ran up to him, the panic in his face as evident as it was in his voice.

“Holy…”

Stan stepped into the room, staring at the mess in awe. He spotted the glasses laying on the floor and almost instantly moved to pick them up, holding them as if they were more fragile than they were. Stan looked back at Ford, but he was too busy taking in his surroundings to form words.

Bill was a lot of things(most of which were things Ford had only learned in the last several hours), but he was never messy. He was eccentric and chaotic, but there was always some level of organization– a method to the madness. Even if he was a monster, there was no way he would leave behind a scene like this, not after being so cautious and well-hidden for so long. This mess was caused by something else.

Ford's eyes lingered on the claw marks, on their varying lengths, and his blood went cold.

“C'mon.”

Ford snapped at attention, and felt his heart stop as Stan started to approach the basement stairs.

“Wait!”

Ford sprinted forward and grabbed Stan's arm, holding him in place. Stan whipped around, glaring as he yanked his arm back.

“Are you serious–”

“Stan, listen to me.” Ford grabbed Stan firmly by his shoulders. “We could be dealing with far more than just Bill down there, so we need to be careful .”

“Ugh, we're wastin' time!”

“Stanley, I'm serious!” Ford pleaded, his grip tightening. “I need you to trust me on this, alright?”

Stan's eyes softened as he stared in confusion. That was fine. Stan could be as confused as he wanted, and Ford would tell him what to do later. But, now was not the time for arguing or resisting. They had to act quickly, and right now, Ford was the only one who had any experience with what could be downstairs.

Stan sighed as he shook his head. “Fine.”

“Good.”

Ford released his hold on Stan and immediately turned to cross the room. It looked as if whoever was here had torn the place apart, but nothing seemed to be missing. It was almost like they had been searching for something– his journals, no doubt. He briefly worried about the two he had left in his study, but he didn't have time to search for them. They had already been gone for so long, and they couldn't afford to waste anymore seconds.

Ford crouched beside the counter and looked underneath the shelves of storage. Please let it be here, please– Yes! He quickly pulled the case out onto the floor and threw it open. Inside was the crossbow he had purchased ages ago when he first started researching the more dangerous parts of the town. He hadn't had a need for it in over a year, but he was immensely glad he had kept it.

“Why the hell didn't you bring that with us?” Stan asked irritably. “We wouldn't have had to hit each other to get the hair.”

“I was hoping to get it quickly without violence,” Ford answered as he strapped the quiver to his back. “Unfortunately, we'll definitely need it down there.”

Stan huffed as Ford moved to stand next to him. His hands shook slightly as he loaded an arrow into the crossbow. It didn't make him feel anymore powerful, but it was all he had. I hope I'm wrong about this…

“Stay behind me, alright?”

Stan rolled his eyes. “Uh-huh, sure.”

Ford gave a firm nod, took a deep breath, and slowly stepped onto the basement stairs.

There wasn't much room for a normal person to hide in the stairway, but that didn't ease his concerns. His eyes wandered along the walls, and he saw more of the same insane claw marks. He could transform into a bug, or a dust bunny, and we wouldn't know until it was too late…

Ford was almost relieved once they finally reached the elevator, but that only meant that the potential danger was further down. He wasn't even concerned with checking the 2nd floor. There was only one floor that anyone or anything breaking in would be on.

One thing puzzled Ford as they silently rode the elevator down. If Bill's goal had been to turn on the portal, then surely it would be running already. They would be able to hear it– feel it– all the way upstairs. So, why wasn't it on?

“This feels too easy,” Stan muttered as they neared the 3rd floor.

“Agreed. Stay close and stay quiet until we see Fiddleford.”

Stan nodded, stuffing his hands into his pockets for a moment before pulling them back out. Ford glanced down to see each hand was adorned with a set of knuckle dusters. Though not as deadly as the crossbow, they gave Ford a sense of comfort even as the elevator slowed to a stop.

The moment the elevator doors opened, Ford raised the crossbow, ready for anything that might jump out from the dark. When nothing happened, he carefully stepped out into the lab. Stan remained right beside him, his hands clenching and unclenching as he stared around.

The lights were still off and everything was shut down. The lab was quiet. Very quiet.

Ford tightened his grip on the crossbow, his trigger finger twitching as he slowly moved further into the lab. His eyes landed on his desk, and he tensed when he saw one of his journals laying on the surface. He marched forward and saw that it was Journal 2. So, at least one of the other journals was brought down here, but where was Journal 3?

Ford readjusted his hold on the crossbow as he looked around the room. Nothing seemed out of place except for his missing desk chair. He glanced up through the glass wall above his desk, and frowned when he saw that his chalkboard standing in the center of the portal room.

Ford barely managed to step through the doorway when he froze again. His heart leapt in his throat, and his breath stilled. Fiddleford was sitting in front of the chalkboard, strapped to the desk chair, apparently unconscious. Please, let him be unconscious.

“Stan,” Ford whispered.

Stan moved to stand beside Ford, and he looked through the doorway.

“Fidds!”

“Stan, wait!”

But Stan ignored him as he pushed his way through. Ford bit his tongue as he quickly followed his brother, keeping his finger on the trigger as he looked around the basement. Stan quickly grabbed the back of the chair and spun it around, causing Fiddleford's head to loll to the side.

His wrists were tapped to the armrests, and his ankles were tapped to the legs. Even in the dim light, Ford could see the swelling of his right eye, and the blood on his mouth and chin. Stan raised a hand up to Fiddleford's nose, and he sighed.

“He's breathin',” Stan grabbed Fiddleford's shoulders and shook him a little. “Fidds? C'mon, man…”

Ford swallowed as he turned away, keeping his guard up in case something jumped out at them. His eyes landed on the chalkboard, and for a moment, all of the tension in his body switched to confusion. It looked like a game of Hangman, with eight empty dashes underneath. Hanging from the 'noose' was a crude cartoon drawing of Fiddleford, and one of his legs had been crossed out.

The shapeshifter had always been a fan of games, but nothing like Hangman. What was the point?

“B… B…”

Ford whipped around as he heard his assistant's strangled voice. Stan quickly pulled the glasses out of his pocket and carefully placed them on Fiddleford.

“Bill?” Stan asked. “Did he do this to you? Did he do somethin' to the kids?”

Fiddleford's lips twitched as he tried to speak, but only managed a painful groan. Even with his glasses on, he seemed to struggle to keep his eyes open. Something suddenly shifted behind Ford, and he spun around as he pulled the trigger. The arrow shot forward, hitting nothing before embedding into the nearby wall.

“Will you quit fuckin' around?!” Stan snapped. “Find a knife or somethin'. I can't get through this tape.”

Ford didn't respond as he quickly pulled another arrow out of the quiver. He could feel a chill crawling up his spine as he stared around the basement, expecting something– anything– to jump out at them.

“Where is it?” Ford asked hastily as he reloaded. “Fiddleford, where's the shapeshifter?”

“The what ?” Stan asked.

Ford ignored his brother as he continued to observe the room, aiming wherever he looked. Fiddleford groaned behind him.

“Be… hind …”

Ford was too slow to react, and he heard a loud thunk as he whipped around. Stan had fallen to the ground in a heap, apparently knocked out. Standing above him, holding the same quantum physics book that had been used against Ford earlier, was a man Ford had never seen before.

Tall, broad, dark hair and eyes. The area around his nose was heavily bruised, and there was a blood-stained bandage wrapped around his right thigh. The man was grinning ear-to-ear as he whistled.

“Boy, you're brother's a real knockout , am I right?”

Ford didn't respond, and instantly pulled the trigger on his crossbow. The arrow nearly hit the man in the shoulder, but he swerved out of the way at the last second.

“Woah woah, easy Fordsy!” the man chuckled as he waved his hands. “It's me, look!”

Ford was already loading another arrow when he stopped. Something about the man's voice sounded… familiar. Ford stared at the man's ever growing smile, and then looked into his eyes. They were bright, and glowing.

“Bill…?”

“Hey buddy! Miss me? Don't worry, I know you missed me.” Bill winked as he dropped the book. “Sorry I haven't been back in a bit, I just had to wrangle up some help for us.”

Ford's trembling hands nearly dropped the crossbow as he struggled to form a sentence, or a single coherent thought. He had been expecting the shapeshifter, and instead had gotten the one problem they weren't yet prepared for.

They had wasted too much time at the unicorn's glen, and now Bill was inside the house. How the hell was the hair supposed to help now?

“What? Is there something on my face?” Bill looked down at himself, then grinned as he gave Ford a dismissive wave. “Oh, don't worry, Sixer! This body here is just temporary! This puppet means nothing to me– strictly professional.”

Ford shook his head, ignoring Bill's remarks. He couldn't afford to lose focus now. He had to stay calm; analyze the situation, and find the solution. He tightened his grip on the crossbow.

“What are you doing here, Bill?” he asked in a firm voice.

“Isn't it obvious? I'm making things easier for us!” Bill said brightly. “I'm helping you out by getting rid of the people trying to screw you over.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Oh, come on !” Bill pointed down at Stan, who was barely stirring on the ground. “That one has been causing you trouble since you were born,” he pointed at Fiddleford, still barely conscious in the chair. “And this one went out of his way to keep you from achieving greatness. Talk about a waste of time and energy.”

Ford felt something twist in his stomach as he watched Stanley's barely conscious form, but Bill's comment about Fiddleford shook it off. What did Bill mean? Fiddleford may have had a few “hiccups” during the last year, but he had never tried to sabotage Ford.

“He… he's only ever helped me– helped us.”

“Guess again, Brainiac. Ol' McDonald here added an extra layer of coding and put a password in the computer,” Bill moved to stand in front of Fiddleford, and bent over to look him in the eye. “Can't even start the portal now. He hasn't cracked yet, but I'm making progress.”

Though barely conscious, Fiddleford was awake enough to turn his head slightly in an attempt to move away. Ford's hands trembled on the crossbow. Password? Fiddleford added a password?

Ford turned to look back at the chalkboard, at the number of empty dashes under the noose. Bill followed his gaze, and smiled as he moved to stand beside the board.

“You like it? Just my personal take on the game Hangman,” Bill suddenly reached inside his jacket, and pulled out a kitchen knife. “Only instead of adding limbs, I'm subtracting them!”

“What?” Ford gasped.

“I know, right? I was just about to start on his leg when you came down.” Bill suddenly beamed. “Hey, now that you're here, you can help me out!”

“No!”

The word left Ford's mouth before he could even think about it. Not that there was anything to think about. What Bill was saying and suggesting was absolutely horrible and asinine! How could he possibly think Ford would be okay with any of this?

Ford had to mentally remind himself that Bill was no longer the Muse Ford believed him to be. He never was.

“I'm sorry, what?”

Ford swallowed. “I… I said no.”

“No no, I heard that, I just don't get it,” Bill tilted his head in confusion. “I'm doing this for us, Ford. You can't achieve greatness without getting your hands dirty, and I'm more than happy to cause the mess and handle the clean up.”

Bill spoke with the same casual cadence he always had, but it brought none of the reassurance and sanity that Ford had grown accustomed to.

Ford narrowed his eyes as he started to raise the crossbow. “Does hurting my brothers sound like 'clean up' to you?”

“Fordsy, Fordsy, just listen,” Bill urged. “You're not thinking clearly. You're letting your emotions take the reigns instead of your intellect. I know it's tough for a being like you, but you're not like everyone else, Stanford. You never have been.”

Bill took a step forward, and Ford took a step back. His finger twitched against the trigger, but he found himself unable to fire.

“Just look at what we've already done! Think about what we can do if we keep going, if we don't let anyone stand in our way,” Bill's smile slowly returned as he continued to move forward. “This is just another bump in the road, Sixer, but we can move past it. Hell, we can bulldoze right through it if we have to!”

The dim lights in the room seemed to fade as the excitement in Bill's voice increased. Despite the spaciousness of the lab, Ford felt like he was being backed into a tight corner. He definitely should've pulled the trigger already. Why wasn't he firing? Was it temptation? Fear? An unwillingness to know what would happen if he tried?

“It's not too late, Sixer. We can still pull this off,” Bill was beaming as he reached his hand out. “Just imagine what we'll accomplish together once all this mess is behind us!”

Bill had barely finished speaking when something suddenly flew up and hit him in the head with a heavy smack . It was the quantum physics book again.

Ford had just enough time to register the movement ahead of him before quickly stepping to the side. Stan lunged himself at Bill, knocking them both to the ground. Bill's irritated cursing mixed with Stan's angry grunts as the two wrestled each other. Bill tried to swing out with the kitchen knife, but Stan was quick enough to grab the wrist holding it.

Stan managed to get a few hits in with his free hand before Bill grabbed his arm to stop him. Blood coated his teeth as he smirked.

“I'm surprised you're trying so hard, Big Mac,” Bill jeered. “Especially for someone who hates you so much!”

Ford finally regained feeling in his limbs as he quickly adjusted his hold on the crossbow, aiming it towards the struggling duo. But, every time he lined up his shot, they would move and throw him off. It didn't matter where Ford aimed, it always ended with an arrow pointing at his brother's back. If he could just get a clear shot–

“Do you really think you can stop me?” Bill yelled as he and Stan pushed against each other. “I've been around since before your family got its name! I've got tricks you couldn't even fathom!”

Bill threw his knee forward and hit Stan right in the stomach. He groaned as he hunched over, and Bill lunged forward, throwing Stan onto his back. He attempted to drive the kitchen knife down, but Stan managed to grab his arm with both of his hands. His arms shook as he struggled to keep the blade away from his chest, and Bill cackled in his face.

Bill's back was completely exposed now.

“What's really funny is that you still think what you're doing matters to him!” Bill laughed as he pushed against Stan's grip, trying to force the knife down. “You really think Sixer would choose his worthless reject of a brother over unlimited knowledge and power? I can give him everything he's ever wanted! All you give him is headaches!”

Ford felt his face contort as he pulled the trigger, and this time his strike was true. The arrow hit Bill in the shoulder, and he yelped as he jerked back. Stan shoved Bill's arms away before grabbing the front of his jacket, and throwing his head against Bill's face. He fell back, and the knife fell out of his hand as Stan sat up and reached for the quantum physics book.

He grabbed Bill by the front of his shirt and hit him across the face with the book over, and over, and over again. Bill's body eventually went limp, and Stan released his hold, letting Bill fall back as he slowly forced himself to his feet.

There was a tense, uncomfortable silence as they both stared down at the unconscious body. Stan dropped the book before moving to kick the fallen knife away from Bill's unmoving hands. He crouched down and started to rifle through all the pockets.

“Why'd you hesitate?” Stan asked, sounding out of breath.

“I… didn't have a clear shot.”

Stan pulled a roll of tape out of one of the pockets, and began tapping Bill's wrists behind his back. “Why didn't you kill him?”

“That would likely only kill the vessel,” Ford explained shortly. “And it's clear he has no problem getting a new one if he needs it. This way, he's somewhat contained.”

Stan didn't respond as he pocketed the tape and stood up. As he picked up the knife and moved back to Fiddleford, Ford moved to stand over the unconscious vessel. He had never witnessed Bill take over someone else before. It was unsettling; it hurt in a way that he couldn't explain. A small part of him– a part that was still too close to the memory of “his Muse” being his friend– had thought that him giving Bill access to his mind had been something… Special? Important? Clearly, it was more simple than that if Bill was able to find another “puppet” so quickly.

Ford's thoughts were cut short as he heard a harsh grunt from beside him. He turned to see that Fiddleford was now free of his bindings, and seemed a little more conscious and aware as he leaned over in the chair. Stan stared at him with concern as he gently rubbed his back. His expression hardened as he glanced up at Ford.

“What do we do now?”

Ford frowned as he looked back down at Bill. They still needed to protect themselves, but how was the unicorn hair supposed to help if Bill was already in the vicinity? It was supposed to keep him out, not keep him inside.

Unless… it could keep him inside.

“See what you can do for Fiddleford,” Ford said as he set his crossbow off to the side. “I'll start working on the shield.”

“How's a shield gonna help if he's already inside?” Stan asked.

“If the magic is strong enough to keep him out, it might be good enough to keep him contained,” Ford explained as he took off his quiver. “Like a cage. As long as he's possessing… whoever this is, we can keep an eye on him.”

“Are you sure?”

“Probably.”

The truth was, Ford had never tested the spell to see if it could work as a cage. He had only ever used it to shield and block. But, it was the best he could come up with, and they would have to work fast before Bill woke up.

Ford looked back at his brother, waiting for some kind of response. He wasn't sure what he wanted or expected to hear– Rejection? Confusion? Arguing? But Stan simply looked down at Bill, looked back at Ford, and nodded.

“Good enough for me.”

Chapter End Notes

click away

Chapter 38: A Chill in Your Bones

Chapter Notes

Hey y'all. Been a rough couple of weeks, but I managed to get the next chapter done. It isn't as long as I hoped it would be, but I think it still ended nicely. Next one should be a little longer though.

Hope y'all enjoy!

Edit: I fixed the link!

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Stanford could feel the sweat freezing on the back of his neck. He would've been a shivering mess if they hadn't been running so much. Maybe it was just the life-threatening situation they were in, but the thick, wooded terrain felt much more imposing than it had before; like a maze of trees with no end in sight. Stanford had barely gotten a chance to explore this place, and he had no idea where he was being led to, but if Stanley was confident enough to lead them onward, then it only made sense for him to follow.

“C'mon! We're almost there!”

Stanford nodded at his brother's words, forcing his legs to keep moving even as they screamed in protest. It wasn't long before he heard the distant sound of rushing water, growing steadily louder, and louder.

Finally, the trees began to separate, and Stanford could see the edge of a barely frozen bank. They burst through the trees and skidded to a halt, just for a moment. Stanford looked in the direction the water was flowing from, and felt his heart leap when he saw the waterfall. Still many yards away, but still so close!

Stanford had always wanted to see a waterfall with his own eyes. The closest he had ever gotten was seeing the quick, flashing images from the nature channel on T.V, or a few pictures in storybooks. It was one of those natural marvels that he had wanted to see for himself, to journey out and discover on his own.

This spot would be a beautiful place to rest and sketch if they weren't currently running for their lives.

“This way.”

Stanley tugged on his arm as they made their way along the water. The ground level became higher and higher as they neared the waterfall, and Stanford could feel the moisture in the air sticking to his face. Or maybe he was just sweaty. They had been running for so long now.

Stanford could feel the grip on his hand tightening as Stanley ran faster, practically dragging Stanford with him as they neared the waterfall.

“Are– Are you sure they can h-help us?” Stanford stammered as he tried to keep up with his brother.

“Sure they can!” Stanley panted. “They probably know this place better than Ford does. If anyone can find them, they can.”

Stanford didn't have a counter for that. The prospect of asking sirens– actual sirens – for help felt a little far-fetched, but Stanley seemed to trust them, and it wasn't as if they had many options. So, he simply focused on his breathing as they continued running.

When they reached the mountain wall, Stanley released Stanford's hand as he sprinted forward. Stanford didn't understand what his brother was doing until he started to push against a tall rock that was propped against the wall.

“Help me!”

Stanford ran forward to stand beside his brother, and together, they pushed against the rock. It was bigger than both of them, and very heavy, but after a few hard pushes, it started to slide over. Stanford felt cool air on the back of his neck, and he looked up to see the edge of an opening peeking out from behind the rock.

“Keep pushing!”

Stanford nodded, taking a deep breath as they continued to push. Soon, the entrance was exposed enough for him to peek inside, but it was hardly big enough for them to even squeeze through. Stanley still attempted to though, managing to only fit his arm through.

“Damn it!” Stanley grunted. “Just a bit more!”

Stanford huffed as he turned and pressed his back against the rock, hoping the new angle would give him better leverage.

Something moved out the corner of his eye, and Stanford turned his head. Standing on the ground just a few feet away from them was what seemed to be a small woodpecker. Stanford frowned as he stared at the bird, and it stared right back.

“Stanford!”

He shook his head and immediately started pushing again.

Eventually, with their combined effort, the rock finally shifted, causing Stanford to slip and fall on his butt. It wasn't completely out of the way, but the entrance was exposed enough for them to easily walk through.

“We got it!” Stanley took a step forward, then quickly turned around and gestured with his hands. “C'mon, c'mon! Let's go!”

Stanford readjusted his glasses as he got to his feet, but he stopped as the woodpecker suddenly moved, hopping a few inches closer. It stared up at him, and Stanford frowned. He could feel an odd sense of unease crawling up his shoulders, but couldn't understand why. The bird turned its head, and blinked.

There were several different species of animals whose eyes closed vertically. Woodpeckers were not one of them.

“Stanf–”

Stanford didn't hesitate to turn around and push his brother hard, and Stanley fell back inside the cave entrance. There was a strange collage of sounds from behind him, and Stanford turned back only to be forcibly shoved to the side. His feet disconnected from the ground, and suddenly he was falling.

Stanford flailed his arms as he gasped for air, unable to scream or yell. He looked up to see Shifty just above him, his grotesque limbs outstretched as he let out a horrible screech. Over the rising sound of the waterfall, Stanford heard his brother scream his name before he slammed against the water, and everything became blindingly cold.

Every cell in his body was on fire, and his brain kept screaming, Get out, get out, get out! Stanford could feel his limbs shaking violently as he screamed beneath the water, and it took everything in him to not breathe in. He pressed a hand to his face to keep his glasses from floating off, and began desperately kicking his way up towards the surface.

Stanford's head broke through the water, and his nose and throat burned as he gulped for air. Water covered his glasses, and his vision was a blur of splotches. He could barely make out the edge he had been pushed off of, and he couldn't see Stanley. He couldn't see Shifty, either.

Before he could even think about swimming to the edge, something latched onto Stanford's foot. He barely had time to hold his breath before he was pulled beneath the surface. Stanford was unable to see what had him as it moved and began dragging him through the water. He flailed his arms in an attempt to push himself up, but he couldn't get his head high enough to breathe. He attempted to kick at whatever was holding him, but it simply grabbed his other foot and kept moving.

Stanford was suddenly pulled above the surface, and the thing unlatched from his foot as he was thrown away. He flew through the air before landing hard on his side, and his glasses flew off as he tumbled. The snow on the ground stuck to him like glue, and it burned like fire against his skin. Stanford coughed and spat as he tried to push himself up, already feeling around for his glasses.

Something splashed by the bank, and Stanford's head snapped towards it. He didn't need his glasses to know what the large gray shape crawling out of the water was. He could still make out the menacing red eyes glaring back at him.

“I would've drowned you,” Shifty snarled wetly. “But, Bill insists that we need you both alive.”

Stanford gulped as he scrambled around anxiously, but he couldn't feel his glasses anywhere. Shifty slowly rose to his feet.

“But, after all the trouble you've caused, I think I can afford to make a point …”

The creature began to transform, and Stanford pushed himself backwards until his fingers suddenly touched plastic. He quickly picked up his glasses and put them on, only to immediately wish he hadn't.

Stanford felt his heart stop when he saw Stan standing in front of him, a menacing grin etched across his face as he slowly approached.

“Why don't I start with those extra fingers you hate so much?”

Stanford couldn't breathe as he attempted to stand, but his feet kept slipping on the snow. Shifty was getting closer now, his hands outstretched, his gaze unwavering.

Sharp piercing pain suddenly hit Stanford's skull as a harsh, screeching call echoed around them. He yelped and covered his ears, and watched through squinted eyes as Shifty screamed and squirmed in front of him. Something large and colorful suddenly flew across his vision, and in a blink Shifty was gone, and the screeching ceased.

Stanford turned to see where the shape went, and his jaw dropped when he saw two shapes moving– no, fighting – in the sky. One was clearly the shapeshifter, and the other seemed to be a person with very large wings.

“Stanford!”

He whipped around at the sound of his name, releasing the breath he had been holding before gasping once more. Stanford had registered the sight of his brother before realizing who he was with.

Stanley seemed to be riding on the back of a very tall woman, but she was unlike anyone Stanford had ever seen before. She was covered in white and gray feathers, her feet looked more like clawed talons, and she was draped in some kind of makeshift robe. A siren…

Her piercing green eyes never left his as she outstretched her wings and landed in front of him. Stanford flinched back, and the woman raised her hand.

“It's alright,” she said calmly. “I'm not going to hurt you.”

“Sixer, it's okay,” Stanley jumped off the woman's shoulders and moved towards him. “These are the sirens I told you about. It's cool, they're cool.”

Stanford took in a staggering breath as he carefully shifted onto his feet. His clothes felt frozen against his skin, and his knees shook as he forced himself to stand.

“Stanford?” Stanley frowned as he approached. “Are you hurt? Did he hurt you?!”

Stanford attempted to take a step forward, and his legs buckled. He was already on his knees as Stanley moved to kneel in front of him. Stanford could feel his whole body shaking as he tried to speak.

“I…”

But his breath caught in his throat. Stanley reached out and gently grabbed his forearms.

“C'mon, it's alright,” he said. “We're gonna be alright.”

Stanford's mouth was cold and dry as he let Stanley pull him to his feet. Something quickly flew by again, and Stanford looked up to see another set of wings had joined the first. The shifter seemed to have transformed himself into a large bat, and was continuing to fight the two sirens in the air.

“That's Cora and Sophia,” Stanley said as he continued to pull Stanford forward. “And this is Amara.”

Stanford's whole body shook as he was led towards the siren, who was staring down at him with deep concern rather than confusion. She looked at Stanford as if she already knew him, as if she truly cared.

Stanford stopped in front of her and swallowed. “So… you're a siren.”

Amara blinked, then nodded. “I am.”

“Huh,” Stanford felt his mouth twitch. “I knew the movies got it wrong.”

Amara smiled at him, and Stanford's world spun as his legs gave out again. Large arms quickly came up to catch him, preventing him from hitting the ground. He felt so weak…

“It's alright,” Amara soothed, rubbing his back with a clawed-hand. “Just breathe.”

Stanford felt completely drained as he let Amara pull him against her, her feathers tickling his nose. She felt so warm, and he almost immediately felt warmer as she gently tucked parts of her makeshift robe around him.

“Come, Stanley. Quick.”

Stanford heard footsteps run around him before Stanley's face appeared next to Amara's.

“But, what about your sisters?”

Amara tilted her head up, no doubt looking at her sisters. Even through squinted eyes, Stanford could see the sternness and concern in her gaze. He couldn't blame her.

Despite how high up they were, Stanford could hear the grunts and screeches of the fight. It sounded as if the three of them were trying to tear each other apart.

“We've had to fight worse things than him before,” Amara turned back and smirked at Stanley. “They'll be just fine until I get back. Honestly, you should be more worried about him .”

Stanley's eyes widened in awe. “Cool…”

“Alright, hold on tight!”

Amara cradled Stanford against her tightly before they suddenly lunged into the air. His stomach sank for a moment before they leveled out, and the cold breeze blew against his face as they began to soar. He heard Stanley say something but couldn't decipher what. He was so cold, and so tired…

I wanna go home…

“Ack!”

“Stings like a bitch, huh?”

“I ain't fussin'.”

Stan hummed in amusement as he continued to apply disinfectant to the scraped up spot on Fiddleford's cheek. Bill had spent quite a while giving him a good whacking with that quantum physics book. No doubt he was feeling bitter after Fiddleford managed to knock him out last night.

Fiddleford remained as still as possible as he continued to wrap bandages around his own wrists. Bill had strapped him so tightly that the tape had cut into his arms. It had taken several minutes for the blood to start circulating in his hands again, and they were still tingling.

But, as battered and bruised as he was, Fiddleford was simply happy to still be in one piece. The image of Bill slowly approaching him with that kitchen knife, all while Fiddleford had been restrained and helpless to stop it, was something he knew he would be seeing in his nightmares for a while. His fingers began twitching again, but he quickly shook them off. Not again. No more.

“Alright,” Stan flattened a large bandaid on Fiddleford's cheek before stepping back. “That oughta do it.”

“Thanks.”

Stan nodded as he started to put everything back into the medkit. Fiddleford straightened up as he fastened the knot on his bandages, and he turned towards the glass above the desk. He could just make out his reflection, and boy, was he a sore sight.

“Don't think it'll stick, do ya?” Fiddleford asked as he touched his face. “I'd have a hard time explain' things to my wife.”

Stan grinned as he shook his head. “I doubt it. Wouldn't worry if it did though. Women love battle scars.”

Fiddleford turned away as he snorted, and Stan chuckled. Battle scars. Ridiculous, really. Fiddleford was many things; a farmer, a scientist, a father, but he sure as hell was no warrior. If he were, he probably would've stood a better chance against the shapeshifter at least. He wouldn't have gotten tortured for the last hour either. Fiddleford looked back at his reflection, briefly picturing what he would look like with scars on his face.

His eyes readjusted as he saw movement on the other side. Ford, who had just come back down after going upstairs for supplies, had finally started to place moonstones around the unconscious body. The host(Fiddleford wasn't sure what to call the poor gentlemen when Bill wasn't using him) was still splayed out on the ground, his face even more bruised than before.

It was… odd, seeing such plain, human exhaustion on that face instead of a twisted nightmare. Fiddleford figured that Bill must be so horribly powerful that his expressions push the boundaries of what a human face can show. Or he was so inhuman that he didn't know how to make human faces look the way they should. Neither alternative was very comforting.

“You think he knows what he's doin'?”

Fiddleford turned to see Stan right beside him, also looking through the glass. His eyes were firm but unsure, a look that Fiddleford was almost certain he had seen on young Stanley before.

“He thinks he knows what he's doin',” Fiddleford answered simply. “Just gotta wait and see if it works.”

They both remained silent as they watched Ford circle the body again, this time sprinkling a small vial of mercury around the moonstones. His expression was tense and focused, but there was something haunting in his gaze; like the lingering aftershock of horror. Fiddleford felt something clench in his chest. Whatever wrongs his friend had committed, Ford was still that– his friend, and seeing him in such a state didn't make Fiddleford feel any better. Besides, it was hard to stay angry when Ford was clearly putting in the effort to make things right.

Stan moved beside him, and Fiddleford turned to see him pulling on his jacket.

“Where're ya goin'?”

“I'm gonna find the kids.”

Fiddleford frowned. “By yourself?”

“They've been on their own too long already,” Stan said dismissively. “And Ford can't be left alone with that creep. You guys should stay–”

“No.”

Stan had been adjusting the laces of his boots when he stopped. He looked up at Fiddleford, brows furrowed.

“What?”

“I said no.” Fiddleford folded his arms and stepped forward. “ You should stay down here with your brother. You'll be a better help to him if things get ugly. I'll look for the kids.”

“You–” Stan shook his head as he straightened up. “Fidds, you said the shapeshifter thing is still out there.”

“And it's snowin' all across town. That thing's weak to cold. He'll be slower.”

Fiddleford didn't give Stan a chance to respond as he turned to move towards the elevator. He only managed a single step before Stan moved in front of him.

“Fidds, you can't–”

“I know damn well what I'm capable of, Stan.” Fiddleford stated firmly. “'Sides, I've been here for a year, I know these woods well enough. You'll get yourself lost, 'specially in this weather.”

Stan opened his mouth, but apparently had no argument. Fiddleford gently patted his shoulder before moving around him. He was nearly at the elevator when Stan suddenly grabbed his arm to stop him.

“Is it true?” he asked. “You put a password on the computer?”

Fiddleford tensed as he remained silent. He wasn't sure why he was hesitating; Bill had already exposed the truth, anyway. But… Fiddleford was scared.

Terrified of what could happen if he said anything. Ford had claimed that Bill was one of the smartest beings in the universe, and Bill had proven himself to be even more knowledgeable than that. How could they possibly know what he knows? Was Bill somehow listening in on them right now? Was it even worth the risk?

“I was gonna test out the machine once I finished, and I…” Fiddleford swallowed. “I had to make sure that demon couldn't turn it back on, in case I…”

“In case you what?”

Fiddleford didn't respond. Stan's eyes widened, and his grip on Fiddleford's arm tightened.

“You were gonna test it yourself?!”

Fiddleford stood his ground as he pulled his arm away. “What was I supposed to do? Test it on the kids?!” he snapped. “It ain't like we got alotta options.”

Something made a loud noise in the other room, and they both stopped and turned. Through the glass above the desk, Fiddleford could just make out Ford rolling the chalkboard away from where he was working. If he could hear them arguing, he was doing a very good job at ignoring them.

“You could've waited until we got back,” Stan said calmly, though still clearly angry. “Hell, I could've tested it for you.”

Fiddleford scoffed. “Absolute not –”

“You've got a family, Fidds.” Stan told him seriously. “You've got people waitin' for you. No one's waitin' for me.”

“That ain't true.”

Stan glared at him for a moment before folding his arms with a huff. Fiddleford stood there in disbelief. Why was this man so determined to put himself in harm's way? Did he have a death wish or something?

“Does anyone else know it?”

Fiddleford shook his head. “No. That demon tried his best, but I kept my mouth shut.”

“Did you tell Ford?”

“He… had no idea about it. No one did.”

Stan looked back at him, eyebrow raised. Fiddleford sighed as he ran a hand through his hair.

“I didn't think I could, alright? I trust Ford well enough, it's that thing I don't trust.” Fiddleford glanced around before lowering his voice. “He has a direct link into Ford's mind, Stan. If I'd let anythin' slip…”

But even saying that much felt dangerous. Fiddleford gulped and glanced away. Even after surviving as much as he did, he felt like he was seconds away from shattering.

Maybe one password wasn't enough? Maybe he could add another? Or two, or three? No, there was no point. Bill now knew that was a strategy that Fiddleford was willing to implement. He was bound to be prepared for it now.

Maybe… Maybe Fiddleford could make himself forget the password all together? Then there would be no risk of anyone accessing the portal. No, not again. But, if it was to keep everyone safe– Not. Again.

“Fidds, do you trust me?”

Fiddleford looked up in surprise, so lost in his own panicked thoughts he had almost forgotten that Stan was still there. His gaze was still tense, but no longer unsure. There was a determination in his eyes, a spark of an idea. Fiddleford had definitely seen that in young Stanley more than once.

“I reckon I do…”

Stan looked slightly surprised, but also relieved. He glanced back at the glass window for a moment before moving in closer.

“I've got an idea,” he whispered. “But, you probably won't like it.”

Boy, if I had a nickel…

“I'm all ears.”

Chapter End Notes

clicky clicky

Chapter 39: Dangerous Heights

Chapter Notes

I'm soooo tired and soooo ready for what comes next, y'all have no idea. Thank you all so much for the wonderful comments and support. I'm so happy y'all like the story so much.

Oh! Minor announcement! I did notice a bit ago that few people commented asking for permission to print and bind my fic into they're own personal copies. I can't remember if I responded to all of them, but for future reference: Yes. Y'all have my permission to print my fic for personal use if you want. My only request is, if you plan on binding it, then I would love to see the final result. Whether you send a pic through tumblr or discord is quite alright with me, I'd just love to see it myself.

Anyway, hope y'all enjoy the chapter!

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Ford lost track of how long he had been holding his breath as he meticulously lined up each end of the unicorn hair. This circle was much smaller than the one he would've put around the house, so he still had plenty left in the bag, but that wasn't the point. The fact that Bill hadn't woken up yet was a choice, that much was clear. Whatever his intentions were, Ford had to be quick, and he had to be perfect. If even a single strand was out of place…

“Fidds left to find the kids.”

Ford's hands froze in place as he carefully turned his head. Stan stood just a few feet behind him, hands in his pockets. It took a moment for his words to register, but once they had, Ford found he didn't feel all that surprised.

Once he had regained consciousness, the only thing Fiddleford could talk about were their missing counterparts. Ford was surprised he stayed long enough to let Stan patch him up.

“Alright then.”

Ford turned back and continued gluing down the unicorn hair. He heard Stan move a little closer.

“You're not worried?”

“Fiddleford knows the area well enough by now,” Ford answered. “And he's not the type to act on impulse unless he knows what he's doing. He should be fine.”

Ford held his tongue between his teeth as he finally connected the last strand of hair. The ring glowed brightly for a moment before rising from the ground, forming a dome around the vessel. The dome disappeared, and the light faded away.

“Does… that mean it worked?” Stan asked.

“I believe so,” Ford said as he rose to his feet. “The spell seems to be reacting normally. We'll just have to wait and see if it keeps him contained.”

“Great…”

Ford stared down at the body as he tucked the bag of hair into his pocket. There was no way to really test the shield unless something with evil intent tried to touch it, so waiting was their only option. Ford turned to face the other end of the room, his eyes locking onto the portal.

It had never quite dawned on him how eerie (and familiar) the portal's design looked until now. It was practically impossible to not see the resemblance anymore.

“Does anyone else know the password?”

“No.” Stan answered quickly. Too quickly.

“Good.”

Ford's gaze didn't shift as he took a few small steps towards the portal. It seemed so much larger and impending than it had before. It was strange, to look at something he had loved and cared about for so long, only to realize how potentially dangerous it had always been.

A tiny voice in the back of his mind– a voice he was absolutely certain was his own this time– wondered if Bill was really as clever as he claimed, or if Ford simply wasn't as smart as he thought he was.

“What's up?”

Ford hadn't heard Stan move to stand beside him, too enraptured with his own wandering thoughts. He considered not answering, but…

“Just… taking it all in.”

“And?”

Ford took a deep breath. “I feel… hurt, betrayed, humiliated…” he paused, then gave a small shrug. “But… a little satisfied, to be honest.”

He could feel Stan frowning at him. “What?”

“I mean, it worked, didn't it?” Ford gestured up at the portal. “I'm not sure what was on the other side, but it worked. Our effort actually paid off.”

A week ago, Ford would've been happy beyond reason to know that their project worked, that their efforts were successful. But, there was nothing to be happy about. This wasn't a success, it was a damn travesty. Ford had been so obsessed with the prospect of being special that he hadn't stopped to consider what that would mean, or if there truly was such a thing as 'being special'.

“It worked… and a fat load of good it did.”

Ford glared up at the portal as if it were mocking him, his fists clenching at his sides. He nearly jumped as he felt Stan's elbow gently nudge his arm. He had done that often when they were younger, both as a way to urge Ford to keep going, and to let Ford know that he was listening. Ford didn't think something so simple could still have the same effect on him after all these years.

“I really thought that I was doing something good. I thought I'd be able to do something wonderful with this,” Ford swallowed as he dared to look at his brother. “I trusted him, believed in him… and I thought he believed in me.”

Stan didn't speak. His gaze was soft, but his eyes flickered with too many emotions for Ford to fully interpret. He turned away and lowered his head.

“He… made me believe that he cared…”

I'm such a fool.

Ford flinched slightly as he felt something touch his back, but his heart settled when he realized that it was just Stan.

“You look tired.”

Ford nodded. “I am tired.”

Stan's hand moved up to rest on his shoulder. “You should rest for a bit. I can keep an eye on him.”

“I can't sleep now.”

I can't sleep ever again…

“Hey, don't worry. We'll figure this out.” Stan squeezed Ford's shoulder gently, the corners of his mouth curling in an attempt to smile. “Besides, thanks to Fidds, we don't have to worry about anyone turning it on. All we gotta do is take it apart.”

“It's not over.”

“I mean, might take a few months, but–”

“No, Stan, that's not what I'm talking about.”

Stan's eyes hardened in confusion. The hand slipped from Ford's shoulder as he turned to face his brother.

“Bill has free range over my body and mind whenever I'm asleep or unconscious,” Ford explained. “That was a part of our deal.”

“So what? He did it so you could get the work done faster, and now the work is done.”

“That's not it…”

Stan stood there patiently, but the words were stuck in Ford's throat. He opened his mouth again, but couldn't force them out. Stan's brows furrowed.

“...How much time did you give him, exactly?”

Ford hesitated, ringing his hands nervously. Stan's eyes widened and he stepped closer.

“Ford, how much?”

Ford's hands shook as he stammered, “I– I promised him–”

“From now until the end of time…!”

The air around them seemed to vanish as they whipped around. Ford felt his heart skip as he saw the vessel– Bill– sitting cross-legged at the edge of the circle. He was repeatedly poking the edge of the shield, causing it to flash over and over again.

“Honestly, I would've been satisfied with the rest of your life, but you were really committed to having me stick around.” Bill smirked back at Ford, and winked. “Not that I'm complaining. I like sticking around you, Sixer.”

Ford felt his throat constrict and his stomach twist. Before he could even think of an insult, Stan grabbed him by the arm and turned him away.

“Ignore him,” he muttered. “What do we do now?”

Ford huffed. “Well, the shield seems to be working. We'll just have to keep an eye on him for now.”

“Whispering is rude, you know!”

Stan glared back at Bill. “I don't suppose that magic bubble has a mute button, does it?”

“I have earplugs if we need them,” Ford responded without hesitation.

“Those won't do much once you're asleep,” Bill called out. “And you can't stay awake forever, Fordsy. But, I've waited this long, I can wait a few more days if I have to.”

Ford felt his face twist as he glared back at his former Muse. Former . That word felt too strange, too new. Barely 12 hours ago, Ford had still considered Bill his friend, his partner, his best and most reliable confidant. Every good memory he had shared with Bill– every compliment or cleverly-worded science joke– still clung to him like the clothes on his back. But they no longer brought him joy and warmth; only a restricting numbness, like some kind of mental straightjacket.

Heavy footsteps snapped him out of his thoughts, and Ford blinked to see that Stan had taken a few steps towards the shield. He stood directly in front of Bill, as if he were trying to shield Ford from his view.

“I wouldn't be yappin' if I were you,” he said. “We've already got you on lock down, and if that hair can keep you in time-out, it can probably be used to shut you up, too.”

“You only have me because I let you have me,” Bill said waspishly. “And I wasn't talking to you , so why don't you butt out?”

“I'll butt out when you stop messin' with us.”

“But, it's so much fun!” Bill whined. “Besides, you can't expect me to not mess around a bit. Not when Fordsy so graciously let me in.”

Something hot spiked in Ford's chest as he stomped forward, stepping around Stan and even moving to stand in front of him. He was angry about a lot of things at the moment; the absolute failure of his year-long project, the fact that he had let himself be manipulated and tricked, and the lingering shivers after being outside for too long without enough layers(even if that was his own doing).

But the thing that made him the most angry was one simple fact– Bill was right. Ford had let him in, and now he had to do everything in his power to keep Bill from getting out .

“I let you in because I thought I could trust you!”

“And you can!” Bill assured brightly. “You've got nothing to worry about, I.Q! I want big things for the both of us, just like I always promised.”

Stan grabbed Ford's arm and attempted to turn him away again, but Ford pulled himself free. No, he wouldn't let himself be shielded from this. He needed to hear this.

“If it was for 'us', you would've told me everything from the beginning.”

Bill's smile didn't fall, but the corners of his mouth twitched oddly. Ford clenched his fists as he stepped closer towards the shield.

“Every word you said to me,” he punctuated firmly. “Every single thing– It was all a lie.”

“Oh no, not at all,” Bill countered airily. “You wanted to understand the reason behind the weirdness of this town– I know the reason. You wanted to discover the secrets of the universe– I can give you a million libraries worth of information. I never had a problem giving you what you wanted, Sixer. I just needed a little favor in return. Pretty small price, all things considered. You're lucky, you know.”

“I never wanted this!” Ford argued. “ This – none of this was supposed to happen. No one was supposed to get hurt.”

Bill rolled his eyes. “Oh please, Sixer. You can't make an omelet without killing a few chickens, and a man like you can only ignore who you are for so long.”

Ford huffed as he struggled to form words. Bill suddenly shifted, and Ford ignored the urge to step back. He refused to let himself be intimidated. He watched as Bill slowly rose to his feet, hunching over slightly to avoid hitting the top of the dome.

“Curiosity is the core of your being, Ford. It's the one part of you that you can't ignore. It's the reason why you'll never be satisfied.” Bill smirked as pressed his hands against the dome, illuminating the area around them. “Your mind wasn't meant for such a mundane world, Sixer. No matter where you go, no matter what you do, eventually, you'll get bored and go search for something else. It's what you do.”

Ford could feel an odd numbness spreading from the base of his skull down his back. He couldn't tell if Bill was trying to suede him or scare him. Probably both. He had done so in the past before of course, but it was always followed with simple laughter or a playful rebuttal. Now though, Ford was certain he couldn't muster up a simple grin even if he had wanted to.

“But I've got big plans for this world, Fordsy.” Bill's tone grew more excited as he pressed his face against the dome. “Once we get that thing up and running, even the snobbiest, snootiest meatsacks you call 'people' will know what real fun is like. You'll have so many things to research and discover, you'll never be bored ever again.”

Ford clenched his fists so hard he could feel his nails digging into his palm. Did Bill really think tempting him with more would be enough to sway him? Did he think Ford would be that simple?

That easy? Had Ford's devotion and naivety made Bill believe he was that easy? Maybe it would've been enough in another life– in another time– but it certainly wouldn't convince Ford now.

Ford shook his head as he turned away. “You're insane if you still think I'll help you.”

“But, Fordsy…” Bill whined. “You've always known I was insane. I thought that was obvious.”

“Obvious?” Ford snapped as he turned back. “Is that a joke? Are you trying to be funny?!”

“Nope!” Bill smirked as he rubbed his chin. “Although, when you think about it, the fact that you never even noticed kinda proves that you're just as crazy as I am. That's pretty funny!”

Ford could feel the anger building in his throat as Bill began to laugh. He was already dangerously close to the shield, and he could feel his fists twist with a desire to see that manic smile gone. Stan grabbed him by the arm again, and Ford didn't resist being turned away this time.

“C'mon,” he urged. “Let him yap. He can't do nothin' right now.”

“Aw, c'mon! Not even a smile?” Bill called out. “Well, listen to this! Hey, Mac! Tell Brainiac about the time this guy nearly killed you!”

It took a moment for the words to register in Ford's mind, and he slowly turned back to Bill.

“What?”

“Oh yeah!” Bill beamed as he gestured to his own face. “These two go way back, don't you, Mac?”

Ford felt the hand on his arm constrict. Stan tried to pull him away, but Ford resisted and pulled out of his grasp.

“You know the person he's possessing?”

“I–” Stan clenched his fists as his face twisted in frustration, then he huffed. “Yeah, I do, but that ain't–”

“And he tried to kill you?!”

“We can talk about it later!”

“No, we can't!” Ford argued as he gestured wildly back at Bill. “If he's in league with people you know– people who mean to cause you harm – we could have a serious–”

“Stanford!”

Ford barely had time to register the panic in his brother's voice before he felt something latch around his wrist. He whipped around, and he felt his blood go cold as he saw that his arm was extended across the shield's border. Bill had a death grip on his hand, a horrible, satisfied grin etched on his face.

“If you wanted to hold my hand Fordsy, all you had to do was ask.”

Ford moved to pull his arm away, but it was too late. Bill's grip was too tight, and he easily pulled Ford into the circle with him. Ford landed awkwardly on his side, but he barely managed to move before an arm suddenly found itself around his neck.

Ford kicked and struggled against the hold, but every time a limb managed to slip out, it would quickly become entangled again. The light of the shield flashed over and over as Ford attempted to throw Bill off of him, but all he did was laugh. Bill didn't seem to be trying to hurt him, but he wasn't letting Ford go either.

Through the constant flashing, Ford could see Stan already moving towards them. This is fine, he kept telling himself. Don't panic. He's powerless within the circle–

Click!

Stan stopped dead in his tracks. The anger and frustration on his face had vanished, replaced by pure shock and horror. Ford frowned as he attempted to pry the arm from his neck. He turned his head to see what his brother was looking at, and his whole body froze.

“What? You think I'd pick up a new toy and leave behind the accessories?” Bill gleefully waved the pistol in front of him. “Took a while to find the bullets. You hid them well.”

Stan let out an almost angry growl as he took a step forward. The arm around Ford's neck pulled him tight against Bill's chest, and something cold and firm pressed against his temple.

don't!

“Ah, there he is.” Bill sighed. “There's the stubborn little brat who cares too much.”

Ford wanted to move. He wanted to run, kick, scream, but he couldn't tell if Bill's finger was on the trigger. He remained as still as a corpse as he watched Stan raise his hands and take a single step back. Just one step, but there might as well be miles between them at this point.

“I gotta say, I didn't think I'd have to go down this route, but I'm not complaining,” Bill chuckled. “Your mini double might've been stubborn, but boy, was he hilarious! I can only imagine how much you've downgraded since. What's it like at rock bottom anyway?”

Rage flashed in Stan's eyes as his leg flinched, but he didn't step forward again.

“Ah Ah! Careful…” Bill sang sweetly. “We don't want anything to happen to Sixer, do we? I mean, he's far too important to end up as a long forgotten cold case or something, right?”

Ford could feel his heart hammering in his chest as his eyes flicked between his brother and Bill. They were truly stuck now, and with Fiddleford gone in search of the kids, it could be hours before help would arrive. Assuming it was even possible to help them now.

Stan lowered his hands slightly, his eyes never leaving Bill. “What do you want?”

“You know what I want.”

Stan frowned, turned to look back at the portal, then back to Bill. His eyes locked with Ford's, and there was so much within them– too much for Ford to even attempt to decipher in this situation. But there was one emotion he could identify– it was pleading. It was almost entirely foreign, but still familiar enough for Ford to know what it meant. Trust me.

What other choice did he have, really?

“And… this is how you're doin' it?”

Bill tilted his head. “Huh?”

“It just seems a bit much, y'know?” Stan's tone was surprisingly casual as he dropped his hands. “You're kinda goin' all in when you don't have much to begin with.”

“Stan–!”

But Ford was cut off as the arm around his neck shifted, and a hand clamped over his mouth. Ford tried to pry it away, and the barrel pressed against his temple again.

“Relax, Sixer, I got this,” Bill whispered in his ear, then turned to address Stan. “What do you mean by that exactly?”

“You won't shoot him.” Stan looked far too calm as he placed his hands in his pockets. “You need him.”

What the hell is he doing?! Ford thought wildly. Calling someone's bluff while they had a gun to someone else's head was definitely not a smart thing to do!

“Oh-ho, really?” Bill chuckles. “And what makes you so sure?”

“You need him to get that thing on.”

“I just need that hillbilly alive long enough to get the password.”

Stan's brows furrow. “He's injured and alone, and there's heavy snow. Plus that shifting thing is still out there, yeah?” Stan shrugged his shoulders. “Odds aren't in his favor. If he doesn't make it back, my brother's the only chance you've got.”

Bill remained silent for a moment– a moment that felt like an eternity to Ford. He wasn't sure what his twin had in mind, and he certainly didn't feel any safer, but they weren't dead yet. Finally, Bill let out an almost bored sigh, and the barrel moved away from Ford's temple.

“Okay, fair point.” Bill held onto Ford tightly as he aimed the pistol down at his leg. “What if I shoot him in the foot instead?”

“Let's not–”

“I said if , you big baby.”

“No one has to get hurt,” Stan said quickly, his tone slipping almost desperately. “We can talk this out, alright?”

Ford felt nothing but shock as the grip on him loosened, just barely. But, no matter how badly he wanted to push himself away, his body remained stiff as his eyes continued to look from the pistol to his brother.

Suddenly, Bill started laughing, almost genuinely. Ford held his breath as the arm around him tightened again, but it felt less hostel, almost like a hug.

“Oh, okay! I get it!” Bill said, his voice overly giddy. “This oughta be hilarious ! You wanna chat, Big Mac? Alrighty then.”

Stan didn't look any less frustrated, but the tension in his shoulders seemed to fade a little. Ford still felt confused, but he was also very curious as to where this madness was going. Bill suddenly pulled him in closer, and whispered in his ear.

“Sorry about this, Sixer. You'll thank me later.”

Before he could even think of questioning anything, Ford felt something slam against the back of his head, and everything went dark.

Stanley could feel his body shivering. There hadn't been time to grab his jacket when they had escaped, and now that they were no longer running for their lives, the weather had finally caught up with him. His hands, numb from the cold, gripped Amara's shoulders tightly as she dived towards the ground.

He couldn't see much beyond the snow and the trees, but he was sure she knew what she was doing. She extended her wings, causing her to slow down before landing with a heavy jolt.

Stanley felt his stomach lurch at the sudden movement, but he didn't waste any time hopping off of Amara's back. He quickly moved around her to get a quick look at Stanford, who was still securely tucked against Amara's chest. He looked a little better than before, but he didn't seem eager to move on his own just yet.

“You okay?” Stanley asked softly.

Stanford turned his head slightly, and gave him a small smile. “I'm alright…”

Stanley nodded, patting his brother's arm before turning to look around.

When Fidds had told them about the plan to get unicorn hair(Stanley was still trying to wrap his head around unicorns actually being real ), he had pictured some sort of magical meadow with fairies and boring flute music. The area around them was nice(ish), but nothing about it screamed “secret home of magical horses”.

“So… is there some kinda password or somethin'?”

“I think we may be too late.”

Stanley turned to see Amara crouched on the ground, looking down at the snow. He followed her gaze, and he saw multiple footprints that definitely didn't belong to any of them.

“These ones move towards the glen's entrance,” Amara muttered, keeping one arm around Stanford as she reached out with the other. “And these ones move away from it.”

“So they could already be back at the house?” Stanley asked worriedly.

Stanford groaned as he shifted in Amara's arms. “We… have to go back. We have to help them…”

“Shh, save your strength,” Amara soothed, then she looked over at Stanley. “He's right, though. If your brothers aren't here, they must be heading home. If we're quick, we might catch them.”

Stanley really wasn't looking forward to being so high up again, but they really didn't have any options right now. He gulped as he moved to climb up Amara's back again. He held his breath as she shot into the air, and he barely saw the tops of the trees before he clenched his eyes shut.

Stanley didn't feel as sick as he had the first time Steve carried him, but that didn't make him feel any less anxious. He was even higher than he was last time! The fact that he hadn't passed out was a miracle.

“You don't like heights, do you?”

Stanley opened his eyes on instinct, then quickly turned his head to avoid looking down. Amara didn't repeat herself as she continued flying, but he could tell she was waiting for a response.

“No…” he muttered.

“It's nothing to be ashamed of. Everyone is afraid of something.”

Stanley didn't respond. The wind suddenly picked up, causing them to lurch slightly, and he gripped Amara's shoulders even tighter. The turbulence only lasted a moment, but the tension didn't leave his body.

“You don't have to worry about falling,” Amara told him gently. “I promise, you're safe with me.”

“It's not just the fallin'.”

Amara's head turned slightly, her piercing eyes staring back at him, but they weren't glowing as they had before. She wasn't peering into his heart this time. She was waiting for him to say it himself.

“It's just… everything looks so big and far away,” he started. “And it makes me feel small. It's always freaked me out, I dunno why.”

“I see.”

The silence wasn't heavy or intense, but it did leave Stanley feeling anxious. It wasn't easy for him to talk about things that scared him, and here he was spilling his guts to a gorgeous birdwoman. Why am I such a dork?

“When my sisters and I were small, and we found ourselves scared of such things,” Amara looked back at him again, her gaze soft and kind. “Our mother would tell us to try looking at everything from a different angle. Try to find something nice or beautiful about it, and it makes it seem less scary.”

Stanley frowned as he lifted his head to look at her. She smiled back at him before looking ahead.

“The world is very big, intimidating even, but doesn't it look wonderful from up here?”

Stanley swallowed as he followed her gaze, and he willed his eyes to stay open as he looked out. His stomach twisted as he fully registered how high up they were, but still found himself stunned by the view of the trees and the low hanging clouds. He could almost see the tops of nearby mountains, their highest peaks decorated in snow. It was all so vast, but something in him kept him from closing his eyes.

“Yeah…”

“Hey!”

Stanley's head snapped down as he noticed movement in Amara's arms. Stanford was scrambling around, untucking his arms from her robes as he pointed down below.

“Look! I see someone!”

Amara adjusted her wings as she followed where Stanford was pointing. Stanley leaned over her shoulder to look down, and he could see a figure walking up through the trees. As they got closer and the figure became more clear, Stanley could make out a head of light brown hair, and an overly colorful sweater under a heavy coat.

“It's Fidds!”

Amara picked up speed as Fidds suddenly turned his head in their direction. They were close enough that Stanley could see the absolute shock on the man's face as they neared the ground. Fidds moved back several feet as they landed, looking close to running until his eyes locked onto Stanley's.

“Boys…?”

“Fidds!”

Stanley leapt from Amara's back before sprinting forward. Fidds stared back, slack-jawed as he lowered himself to his knees. He opened his arms just in time for Stanley to throw himself at him, his small arms wrapping around Fidds' shoulders tightly. Not even a moment later, Stanley felt a second figure throw themselves at Fidds next to him. Stanford held onto him just as tightly, his breathing still heavy and ragged.

“Goodness, Stanford, you're freezin'!” Ford stammered as he put an arm around him. “Y'all alright? Y'all hurt?”

“We're okay,” Stanford sighed as they moved back to look up at him. “It… could've been worse.”

“Fidds… your face–”

“I'm fine,” Fidds assured calmly. “Just bruised. Ain't the first time I've been roughed up.”

Stanley grimaced at the smile Fidds attempted to make under the bruises and scrapes, at the way his busted lip quivered. He had hated having to leave the man behind; it was the only other thing he had been worried about besides their own safety. Fidds wouldn't have gotten hurt if they had been fast enough, but Stanley had a feeling if he tried to apologize, Fidds would deny that they were at fault.

“The others,” Stanford piped up. “Have you seen them? Are they okay?”

“Yes, yes, they're fine. There was… a bit of a mess, but we had it handled before I left. We're alright.”

Stanford sighed with relief, and Stanley could feel himself grinning. Their brothers were safe, and right now, that was all that mattered.

Stanley caught movement out the corner of his eye, and he turned to see Amara staring back in the direction they had come from. She turned back to them, her expression tense, and her eyes locked on Fidds.

“My sisters and I will do what we can,” she told him. “But, I can't make any promises.”

Fidds swallowed, and gave her a small nod. Amara looked down at Stanley, then at Stanford.

“Keep an eye on each other, alright?”

They nodded in unison, but Amara had already turned around, spreading her wings before launching herself into the air. She had clearly been flying slower for their sakes, because it didn't take long for her to blend in with the snow before disappearing completely.

“Incredible,” Stanford muttered excitedly as Fidds finally moved to stand. “Real, actual sirens. Can you believe it?”

“Yeah…”

Truthfully, Stanley was only half paying attention as he watched Amara fly through the trees. He was a little worried about them being left alone with the shapeshifter, but it was 3-on-1. They could totally take him. Amara had seemed confident when she assured Stanley that Shifty was in more danger than they were. She's so cool.

“Oh my god, you like her!”

Stanley felt his heart drop as he whipped around. “What?”

“You do!” Stanford grinned as he pointed at him. “You like like her!”

“N-no, I don't!” Stanley argued, but he could already feel heat rising on the back of his neck.

“Oh, you so do!”

“Nu-uh!”

“Then why is your face red?”

“We've been running for our lives all day !”

But Stanford continued to snort behind his hands, and Stanley grumbled as he rolled his eyes. Despite his embarrassment, it was hard for him to stay mad when his brother still looked drenched and cold. Neither of them had paid any attention to Fidds, who suddenly reached down and placed his larger winter coat around Stanford's shoulders. Stanley couldn't help gawking at Fidds' hideous purple and brown sweater, the words 'Oh, deer!' written across the front.

“C'mon, you two,” Fidds urged. “We need to get back to the others.”

Stanford's smile slowly faded as he held the oversized coat around him tightly. Stanley's irritation instantly vanished as he stepped forward and grabbed his brother's hand. He was still cold and clammy, but it made him feel safer than anything else. He pulled his brother along as Fidds moved to walk on his other side, his hand resting securely on Stanley's shoulder. Once they got back to the shack, everything would be fine.

As long as they were together, everything would be fine.

Chapter End Notes

click if you wanna

Chapter 40: Bargaining Chip

Chapter Notes

Hey y'all. Sorry this one took so long. Working in a bakery during the holidays is a lot, and I've been exhausted this month. I was going to try to get this chapter out by Christmas, but my husband wrecked his car so I had to handle that on top of holiday stuff.

Nevertheless, we persevere and move forward. I hope everyone had a wonderful holiday of their own, and I hope y'all stay safe for New Year's. And, I hope y'all enjoy the chapter!

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Stan felt what little confidence he had nearly shatter as Bill hit Ford with the handle of the pistol. Ford's body went limp as his head rolled down, and Bill finally released him. Ford slumped onto the floor, just barely within the circle.

“The hell are you doin'?!”

“Oh, stop it. He's fine,” Bill said dismissively as he placed the pistol on the ground, then pointed at his own head. “Let me put this guy on sleep mode real quick.”

The maniacal grin melted as Sergei's face went slack, and his eyes, now devoid of yellow, rolled back. His body soon followed, landing in a heap halfway out of the circle. Stan was so focused on watching him fall that he almost didn't notice Ford's hand twitching.

The hand slowly reached out and grabbed the pistol, far too smoothly to be natural. Ford's body began to slowly push itself back up onto its knees. The head rolled up, and Bill's eyes stared back at Stan once more. He felt a wave of disgust and anger wash over as Bill cracked his neck and stretched his arms, looking far too comfortable.

“Ahh… much better.” Bill looked down at Sergei's unconscious form, grimacing as he unceremoniously kicked him until he rolled out of the circle. “Man! Glad to be out of that head! I don't know how you dealt with him for so long. He's such a whiner .”

Stan could feel his arms shaking, his fists clenching and unclenching in an effort to keep himself grounded. It didn't work that much, but he tried to pretend that it did. Bill still had Ford, and he was still holding that pistol. Stan couldn't afford to rush this.

You've done this before, he told himself. Match his energy until he caves…

“How'd you get stuck with him anyway?”

Stan could feel chills on the back of his neck as Bill grinned, shifting to sit with his legs crossed.

“Well, when your mini double showed up, I figured it would be a good idea to keep an eye on you. I could've kept my plan going if I got that brat out of the way, but when I saw that Mini I.Q was here, I knew you and him would come by and cause too many problems.” Bill nodded at Sergei's unconscious body. “So, I gave him a little push to keep you from making it.”

Stan stared down at Sergei, then back at Bill. The realization hit him with the force of a sledgehammer.

“You told him how to find us.”

“Oh yeah, totally!” Bill said brightly. “He didn't wanna believe I was real at first, but I spooked him enough to check out your motel room; didn't waste any time tracking you down after that. He nearly had you the other day, but Lil Brainiac had to go and get all stabby. Impulsive little thing, ain't he?”

Stan's eyes instinctively shifted to the bandages on Sergei's leg. Leaving him to possibly bleed out in the snow hadn't felt great(even if Sergei had been trying to kill him), but it had been the only other option besides killing him. Stan was a lot of things, but he wasn't a murderer. At least, not yet. Bill was doing a good job of making that title sound tempting.

“He was in pretty bad shape when you left him.” Bill leaned towards the edge of the circle, smirking as he stared down at Sergei. “Just weak enough to accept any help offered and, well, here I am!”

Stan couldn't help but grimace at that. Of course, his actions resulted in this prick getting exactly what he needed to trap them. Talk about bad luck.

“But, enough about him.”

Bill turned to face Stan, his expression now devoid of any amusement. He grabbed the slide on the pistol and pulled it back. Stan flinched at the sound it made. Bill rested his free arm on his knee as the other one raised the pistol, pressing the barrel against Ford's temple once again.

“Now… why don't you stop wasting my time and tell me what you want.”

Stan knew that Ford wasn't in control right now, knew that Bill was purposely doing this to scare and intimidate him. Still, the sight of his twin holding a gun to his own head made Stan feel sick. He swallowed hard as he attempted to ignore it. He had Bill's attention now, he couldn't afford to lose it.

“I want you out of my brother's head.”

There was a beat of silence, and Bill blinked at him. Then his expression cracked as he threw his head back, howling with laughter. It reached an octave that left Stan's ears ringing. He didn't move or make a sound as he watched the maniac cackle, clutching his stomach with his free hand while the one holding the pistol twitched and waved around. Stan would've been more worried if the idiot's finger was even on the trigger.

hahahaha! Hahahaha… Haha…”

It took several moments for Bill's laughter to die down, and as it did, he stared up at Stan with delighted bewilderment. Stan stared back intently. Bill remained stunned even as his smile faded.

“Oh. Oh, you're serious.”

Stan raised an eyebrow at that. Bill frowned, looking disappointed as he shook his head.

“Oh, come on, Stanley . We're both businessmen, aren't we? You know as well as I do that a deal's a deal.”

“Yeah, I do.” Stan hesitated before taking a single step forward. “I also know that every deal's got a loophole, and you're way too cocky to think about those before you make one.”

Bill rolled his eyes. “Look, I offered Sixer the ability to get more work done, and he was generous enough to extend our partnership to the end of time. I can't be blamed for his choices.”

“Except he can't.”

“...Excuse me?”

“He can't give himself to you forever,” Stan emphasised. “He's not immortal. He'll die eventually.”

“Oh, please!” Bill scoffed. “You really think I don't have any tricks to get around death?”

Stan shook his head. “Death and taxes might be certain, but only one gives you a chance to cheat it. You're a punk with too much power, but that doesn't mean you can cheat death.” He took another step forward. “You can't avoid it forever, and Ford definitely can't. Which means… your deal is invalid.”

Bill stared up at him, slack-jawed. Then, the corners of his mouth twitched as he lowered his head, snorting into his hand. Stan glared down at him, his expression never shifting even as Bill looked back up, shaking his head in astonishment.

“Seriously?” he chuckled. “ You are lecturing me about honoring a contract word-for-word? That's rich!”

“Last I checked, cosmic voodoo shit tends to be more firm on rules, whether we want them to or not.” Stan narrowed his eyes. “You couldn't possess Sergei or Ford until they made deals with you, right? That means you've got rules that you have to follow, and if Ford can't hold up his end of the bargain, then you can't hold him forever.”

The mischievous glee vanished from Bill's gaze as his expression twisted into irritated fury. The hand holding the pistol twitched as he leaned forward.

“Is that so?” he glowered. “Then why am I still here?”

Stan scoffed. “Easy. You're desperate.”

“Oh, I'm desperate, am I?” Bill bit back. “You're the one trying to haggle with a being that's equivalent to a god in your world.”

“You think you're the first schmuck I've met with a god complex?”

“ Watch it, Pines… ” Bill looked very unamused as he pressed the barrel against his temple even harder. “Don't think just because you know how to con the average primate that you can con me. I've got tricks you couldn't fathom. You've got nothing on me.”

But Stan didn't feel nearly as worried as Bill might've hoped. If he was going to pull the trigger, he definitely would've done it by now. Not to mention, despite throwing his own insults, Bill hadn't technically denyed anything that Stan had said. If anything, Bill's attitude only confirmed what Stan already figured: Bill's deal was not as concrete as Ford believed, and that was all the reason Stan needed to go all in.

“I've got somethin' you don't.”

“Oh yeah?” Bill's smile didn't match his eyes as he tilted his head coyly. “And what might that be?”

“I know the password.”

The smile instantly faded.

“...Bullshit.”

“Fidds told me before he left.”

“You're lying.”

“Am not.”

Stan fumbled inside his jacket for a moment before he pulled out the memory gun. He nearly smiled as he watched Bill's eyes widen in shock. The device was odd and complex, but Fidds had explained it well enough before. How it functioned, what it ran on, and how it kept track of uses. Apparently, the poor guy became paranoid that he would accidentally forget something he didn't want to, and had added a mechanism that kept track of who the device was last used on, and what they had been made to forget.

“He showed me how it works.” Stan raised the device. “Go ahead. Check it.”

He tossed the gun, and Bill instantly leaned forward to catch it in his free hand. His eyes never left Stan's as he slowly sat back, keeping the pistol pressed against his temple. Then he placed the device in his lap and began to fiddle with it. Stan didn't need to see the screen to know what it would say; he and Fidds had already checked it before.

Recent User: Fiddleford H. McGucket

Subject: Secret Password

Stan felt himself smirk as Bill glared down at the device like it had insulted him. The silence didn't feel nearly as intimidating as before, but Stan still dropped his expression as Bill raised his head to glare up at him.

“You're really annoying, you know that?”

“I've heard.” Stan took another step forward, now only a foot away from the circle. “So, if you really wanna get that death machine turned on, you're gonna have to deal with me first.”

The look Bill gave him still sent a chill up his spine, but Stan didn't let himself worry about it. The only reason Bill was annoyed was because he knew that Stan had him cornered. He had no choice but to deal with him instead. Bill rolled his eyes as he let out a long, agitated groan.

“Ugh… What do you want?”

“I already told you,” Stan said firmly. “I want you to leave my brother alone.”

“I can't just let him go.” Bill snapped, clearly agitated. “If you wanna make a deal with me, you gotta offer me something.”

Stan had to physically stop himself from grinning. Gotcha.

“You a betting man?”

Bill side-eyed him curiously. “I tend to dabble.”

“I don't know my mindscape anymore than you do.” Stan raised his hand, and pointed at his own head. “You want that password, and I can't let you have it. Let's see who gets to it first.”

All anger and irritation suddenly vanished as Bill stared up at him, stupefied. Stan remained silent as he lowered his hand, waiting for a response.

Fidds had done his best to explain the concept of 'mindscapes', but he didn't have as much experience with the subject as Ford did. In fact, before he had left, Fidds had taken Journal 2 and showed Stan what pages to read and what kind of advice to look for. The entries were complicated and definitely could've used some dumbing down, but Stan had skimmed through enough to get an idea of what he was in for. That didn't mean he knew what to expect, though. Stan was still very much out of his element, and that was exactly what he needed to make this work.

Bill's mouth split into a wide grin, shaking his head in disbelief as he chuckled. Stan clenched his hands as he swallowed again.

“You mean, I get to dig around your pathetic little mind and rip what I want out of it?” Bill's eyes sparkled wickedly. “Sounds like fun !”

Stan frowned, but didn't say anything. Bill gave him a cheeky grin before shifting to stand up. He popped the bullet in the chamber before placing the pistol in his jacket pocket.

“I presume that when I win– which I will – I'll finally be able to open the gates and get this party started?”

“Yeah, sure.” Stan grumbled. “And if you don't–”

“Yeah yeah, Fordsy's free and I'll fuck off to a new dimension or something.” Bill brushed him off carelessly as he straightened himself up. “But, that's if you win, which you won't.”

“Uh-huh.”

Bill was grinning like a Cheshire cat as he cracked his knuckles. Then, he moved to stand at the edge of the circle, and raised his hand.

“Well?” he chimed. “Do we have a deal?”

Stan eyed him for a moment before lowering his gaze, staring at the outstretched hand. He would be lying if he said he wasn't nervous about what was coming, and he didn't have the energy to lie at the moment. But, his nerves didn't matter. All that mattered was keeping the others safe, and making sure this psycho didn't get what he wanted.

“What's the matter?” Bill tilted his head. “Not getting cold feet, are you?”

Stan was considering what smartass answer to give him, but his thoughts were cut short by a distant rumbling coming from outside the room. He turned to look back through the glass panel, and he could just make out the floor indicator above the elevator. The arrow was moving; somebody was coming down.

“You better think fast.” Bill sang warningly. “I don't think the kids will be happy about what you're doing. Might try to stop you…”

He was right. There was no time to think, no time to hesitate. It was now or never. Stan held his breath as he raised his hand.

“Deal.”

Bill shook his hand, and the world around Stan vanished as he began falling, falling, falling…

Fiddleford wanted nothing more than to put Stanford in front of the warm fireplace and keep him there, but he had to check on the brothers in the basement first, and he wasn't letting the kids out of his sight just yet.

“We got a plan, but it's dangerous,” he had explained to them. “Y'all need to stay close and keep your eyes peeled, and do exactly what I tell ya, alright?”

The boys had listened politely, but Fiddleford knew that they would revert to their natural impulses the moment they saw their brothers.

The elevator doors had barely opened before the boys pushed their way into the lab. Fiddleford called after them, but they ignored him as they ran through the next door. He hesitated for just a moment when he reached the doorway, stunned by what he saw. The unknown man had been moved outside of the cage, and Ford was now laying inside of it. Stan was laying on his back on the other side of the cage, barely stirring. All three men were apparently unconscious.

“Stan!”

Stanford threw off Fiddleford's coat as he ran towards his brother, his twin following right behind him. Fiddleford swallowed hard as he jogged after them. Stanford dropped to his knees as he grabbed at Stan, shaking him desperately.

Stanley seemed to wrestle with himself for a moment before moving to kneel beside Ford. Fiddleford found himself frozen, unsure of what to do first. Was this good? Did it work?

There was a muffled grunt, and Ford began to stir. Stanley, who had been trying to shake him awake, quickly flinched back. Fiddleford marched forward, grabbing Stanley's shoulders to pull him away. They watched as Ford slowly pushed himself up, groaning as he rubbed the back of his head.

“Ow…”

Stanley took a step forward. “Ford…?”

Ford's head snapped up, and Fiddleford sighed when he saw that his eyes were normal. They were also wide with surprise, and filled with concern.

“Stanley?” Ford's legs shook as he moved to stand. “You– Are you alright? Are you hurt?”

“I–”

“He's not waking up!”

Fiddleford turned to look back at Stanford, his expression twisted and distraught. Ford instantly sprang forward to kneel beside his twin, reaching up to place his fingers against Stan's neck.

“What's wrong with him?” Stanford asked in a watery voice.

Ford's hands were shaking as he held Stan's face and turned it towards him. Even while standing, Fiddleford could see that Stan was clearly unconscious, but his brows were furrowed as his face twitched in discomfort. He did it…

“What happened?” Ford's voice shook as he raised his head to look at his counterpart. “What happened while I was out.”

Stanford was trembling as he muttered, “I– I don't know.”

“We literally just got back,” Stanley explained. “You guys were just… layin' there.”

Something suddenly glinted in the corner of Fiddleford's eye, and he looked down to see the memory gun laying inside the magic circle. He quickly moved to pick it up, and had to bite his lip to keep himself from cursing as he examined it. A few of the wires had been undone, and more than a few screws were loose. How long had Stan let that demon look at it? How had Bill managed to do it in front of him? Then again, if what Ford had said was true and Bill was as old as he claimed, it wouldn't surprise Fiddleford if the monster had perfected his sleight of hand.

“We were both inside the shield…” Ford muttered lowly, more to himself than to any of them. “Bill couldn't pass through it, he shouldn't have been able to do anything. Unless Stan got too close… but he wouldn't. Not after I got pulled in. Why would he–”

“They're in his mind.”

Fiddleford gripped the memory gun tightly as he slowly turned around. Three sets of eyes stared back at him; two confused, one shocked.

“Fiddleford?”

“He– It was Stan's idea–”

Fiddleford's throat closed as he attempted to speak, and he glanced away as his grip on the handle tightened. Explaining this seemed so much easier in his head. He looked up as he heard movement, and within seconds Ford stood less than a foot away from him. His expression was a painful mix of horrified and furious.

“What did he tell you?” he demanded.

“Ford–”

“What did he do?” Ford's voice rose as he grabbed the front of Fiddleford's shirt. “What did he offer?”

“Ford, stop,” Fiddleford grabbed Ford's wrists, urging him to let go. “It ain't like that. Stan said he knew what he was doin'–”

“What is he doing?!”

“He's distractin' him!”

Ford's anger suddenly switched to confusion, and his grip slackened. Fiddleford took the opportunity to take a step back and pull himself free.

“It was all we could think of,” he explained quickly. “I… I gave him the password, and I erased it from my mind. It was the only way to keep Bill from trying to leave the house.”

“But, why?” Ford asked desperately. “What did he do? What did he offer?”

“He made a bet.”

Ford frowned as he turned to look down at his twin. Stanford was still kelt beside him, one hand still latched onto his shoulder. Stanley stood beside them, his eyes distant as he stared down at his counterpart. Stan remained still on the ground, his face barely twitching.

“What do we do?”

“We help him cheat.” Fiddleford examined the gun closely. “I need to fix this so we can erase the password from his mind before Bill finds it. This don't look too bad, but I'll need time–”

Ford didn't wait for him to finish before turning and marching into the other room. Fiddleford frowned as he watched his friend move and scramble around through the glass panel. He glanced back at the boys, both of whom still looked confused.

Within seconds, Ford came back carrying something in his arms. It took Fiddleford a moment to realize that he was carrying candles.

“Fiddleford, get the vessel back in the circle.” Ford said quickly as he moved toward his brother. “We need him contained in case Bill tries to use him again.”

Fiddleford frowned slightly, but the seriousness in his friend's voice urged him forward. He tucked the memory gun into his waistband before moving towards the unconscious body. He had carried pigs heavier than grown men for years, so moving him wasn't a struggle, but being near the same face that had tortured him for an hour didn't feel great.

When he turned back, Fiddleford saw that Ford had placed the candles in a circle around Stan, and was already lighting them with Stan's zippo lighter. Stanley and Stanford stood to the side, their posture tense and anxious. Fiddleford frowned as he stepped toward his friend.

“What're ya doin'?”

“I'm going in after him.”

“You–” Fiddleford spluttered as he moved to stand in front of Ford. “No, ya can't. Stan–”

“He doesn't have any experience in his own mindscape. He could get stuck, or lose himself, or worse!” Ford lit the last candle before stuffing the lighter in his pocket. “Besides, even if you erase the memory in time, I doubt Bill will leave Stan's mind peacefully.”

Fiddleford didn't have an argument for that. That had been one of the main reasons he had initially questioned Stan's plan to engage with Bill. But, damn it all, Stan was persuasive and they didn't have time to wait for another solution.

Ford stepped outside of the candles and moved to stand by Stan's head. He lowered himself slowly until he was sitting on the ground.

“Time passes differently in the mind. We may be out for hours, or a few minutes. It's hard to tell.” Ford looked pale as he gave Fiddleford a firm look. “Erase the password when you're ready, just be sure that nothing else gets erased.”

“I know how to use my own device,” Fiddleford assured him, though he couldn't blame Ford for his concern. “Do ya remember the words?”

“It would be easier with the journal, but… yes, I do.”

Ford's hands twitched and clenched a few times before he let out a long sigh. He raised his hands, gently pressing them to his brother's temples, and he closed his eyes.

“Vindentis Omnium… Magister Mentium… Magnesium Ad Hominem…”

The air seemed to shift around them, causing the candles to flicker. Fiddleford inhaled sharply as Stan's eyes suddenly began to glow a vibrant blue.

“ Magnum Opus… ” Ford continued as his eyes began to glow as well. “ Habeus Corpus… Inceptus Nolanus Overratus… ”

Stanley suddenly grabbed his twin's arm, and Stanford stared at his counterpart as the light around them grew brighter and static filled the air. Ford's voice carried above it all.

“ Magister Mentium, Magister Mentium, Magister Mentium…! ”

The light grew brighter until it was blindingly white. When Fiddleford could see once more, he saw that the candles had blown out, and Ford had fallen awkwardly onto his back.

There was no turning back now.

Chapter End Notes

you don't have to click, but...

Chapter 41: Stan's Labyrinth

Chapter Notes

Holy shit y'all I am so sorry it's been so long. I've been busy in the bakery dealing with Mardi Gras season, and this chapter took so long to finish. The next couple chapters are probably gonna be a little slow to update as well. but, rest assured, it Will continue to update. So long as I'm breathing, this story Will be finished.

That being said, I hope y'all enjoy!

See the end of the chapter for more notes

The first thing Ford saw when he opened his eyes was stars. For a dreadful moment, he thought that he was in his own mindscape, but his heart settled once he heard the distant sound of crickets chirping. Crickets had never been present in his mind.

Ford blinked as he regained the sense in his limbs, and he quickly sat up. It was dark, and he seemed to be surrounded by trees. Very different, as expected.

He pushed himself to his feet as he observed his surroundings, and quickly realized that he was standing on a path. No, not a path– a road . Simple enough, but which direction was he supposed to take?

The thought had barely crossed Ford's mind when something bright suddenly flashed in front of him. He flinched as he shielded his eyes, and he heard an engine roar to life. He blinked a few times until he could see properly, and he lowered his arms.

It was a car. Or, more specifically, Stan's car; his precious El Diablo that he had somehow managed to fix up back in high school. The same one that was parked outside of Ford's house right now. He frowned at the vehicle as he cautiously stepped to the side to look at the driver's seat.

It was empty. Maybe that was the point; maybe the car was the only way to travel in Stan's mind, but… why? Ford had never needed assistance traveling in his own mindscape.

It could be a trick; some sort of trap set by Bill. But, even as he thought this, Ford found his feet unwilling to move away from the car.

He looked down both ends of the road, and it appeared to be nothing but trees and darkness as far as the eye could see. He could walk, but something told him it would take far too long, and he didn't have any time to waste. Ford stared intently at the driver's side door, took a deep breath, and stepped forward. His hand twitched as he pulled the door open, and he quickly threw himself into the driver's seat.

He sat there for a few moments as the engine hummed and the heater sputtered– nothing happened. He hesitated before reaching up to grab the steering wheel, and he carefully pressed his foot on the gas pedal. The car urged forward, and soon he was gliding down the dark path.

As the car sped past the trees, Ford finally gave his own thoughts a moment to process. He felt familiar enough with his own mind that he figured looking through Stan's shouldn't be a problem. The atmosphere may be very different, but every maze had an exit, and there was no reason Stan's mind would be any different. There were many parts of the mind that were always the same: Good memories, bad memories, hopes, fears, dreams, nightmares–

Suddenly– far sooner than expected– Ford slammed his foot on the brakes as he quickly came upon a crossroad. The tires squeaked as the car jolted to a stop, and Ford huffed in frustration. He peered through the driver's side window and saw what looked like an interstate sign, only it didn't display any street names. On the left side, three arrows pointed left, right, and straight ahead. The right side, where the names of the destinations would normally be displayed, seemed to be covered by a mess of black tape.

Ford frowned as he quickly got out of the car, making his way towards the sign. It looked like simple duct tape, sloppily torn and slapped across the surface at all angles. Ford shook his head as he reached up to pull the tape off.

“Agh–!”

Ford snatched his hand back as a shocking, blinding pain shot through his fingers and up his forearm. He groaned as he brought his hand close to his chest. It felt as if he had touched boiling oil, leaving a pulsing sting that only worsened as it lingered.

Don't look, Ford reminded himself. It'll make it real. Nothing is real in the mind. It's fine…

He inhaled through his nose, held it for a moment, then exhaled as the pain slowly vanished. Ford cautiously looked down at his hand, and sighed when he saw that it was unharmed. He raised an eyebrow at the sign.

After everything that had happened, it wouldn't surprise Ford if Bill had placed traps to keep anyone from following them. Then again, Stan had gone out of his way to get Bill into his mind. Perhaps he had placed the tape to keep Bill from finding his way? Either way, it wasn't coming off, and that left Ford with a choice to make.

He stared at the crossroad, frustration already building. How was he supposed to find his brother now? Any direction could potentially take Ford further away from Stan and Bill. Now wasn't the time to be getting lost.

There had to be a way around it. Maybe he missed something? Maybe, if he went back and investigated the other direction–

The car's engine suddenly revved loudly, and Ford flinched. There's no time, he thought. I'll just have to pick one and… hope I get lucky.

Ford clenched his fists for a moment before stomping back to the car and throwing himself in. He briefly considered each direction in front of him before pressing his foot on the gas, taking the path straight ahead of him. This was fine. The path was bound to deviate eventually, and there would probably be more signs. There had to be at least one that wasn't covered up, at least one that could tell him where he was going.

Ford was considering taking the first turn he saw when he noticed a light shining up ahead. It wasn't much at first, but it continued to glow brighter as he continued to drive forward. Ford hit the brakes again as he was blinded for a moment, and when he opened his eyes he could no longer see the trees. Instead, he was parked in the middle of a street, surrounded by small shops and apartment buildings.

A loud, nearby thunk caught Ford's attention. He looked up to see a light blue Mercury Comet parked in front of him, and the young man who had slammed the trunk moved to walk around the vehicle. He seemed to be wearing a red and white letterman's jacket, and Ford couldn't figure out why that seemed familiar. His eyes traveled to the building he was parked next to, and his jaw dropped.

He could see the old antiques and gaudy jewelry through the glass display, and the neon 'Phone Psychic' sign was blinking even in the daytime. He was home.

The front door of the pawn shop burst open, and Ford stared as he saw his younger self and Stan suddenly rush out. He watched as the young man– Shermie – smiled and held his arms out, pulling the little ones in for a group hug.

Of course, this had to be the day that Shermie left for community college. Several years worth of tackles and concussions on the football field had managed to earn him a small scholarship. Ford could vaguely remember how sad and worried he and his twin had been at the thought of not seeing their brother for so long. Looking back, Shermie must've been very annoyed with their whining. He must have done a good job at pretending not to be, if the view of him smiling down at his little brothers was any indication.

“If I didn't know any better, I'd say you two were gonna miss me.”

Ford blinked, surprised that he could hear his brother so clearly from inside the car.

“Of course we will!” Young Ford replied as he looked up at Shermie. “You're going away for months!”

“What about your room?” Young Stan grumbled into his brother's shoulder. “What if Pa starts usin' it for storage or– or tries to sell your stuff–”

“C'mon, bud, you know Ma wouldn't let him do that.”

“You know he would.”

Shermie frowned as he grabbed Stan's shoulder. “Hey, look at me.”

Stan raised his head, and Ford was stunned to see tears in his eyes.

“It's gonna be fine. You're gonna be fine. Things might be different for a while, but…” Shermie paused, then smiled as he tousled Stan's head. “It'll be better soon. I promise.”

His brother nodded silently, and Shermie pulled him and Young Ford in for another embrace.

This memory was a little more tense than Ford remembered it, but that was probably due to him seeing it from Stan's perspective. He had seemed the most distraught about it after all. Regardless, this memory didn't seem to have any hint or clue as to where the current Stan was. Ford had to keep moving. He pressed his foot on the petal, and the memory slowly faded as the dark trees returned.

Another sign up ahead, and an option to turn left. The small green sign on top of the post was covered in tape. Ford didn't bother getting out, and immediately drove left.

He saw the light ahead of him once more, only it didn't seem as harsh. As he drove, Ford glanced out the window in time to see the trees slowly bleed into more brick walls.

Stan Pines!”

Ford felt his heart stop as he suddenly slammed on the brakes, and the car screeched to a halt. He knew that voice; he knew that tone. It isn't real, he told himself. Just a memory. Ford swallowed before lifting his head to look out the window, and found himself puzzled by what he saw.

It was his childhood home, no doubt about that, but something was wrong. Ford had literally been driving through the complicated road that was Stan's mind. Realistically, he should only have a streetside view of everything. He shouldn't be able to peer into his family's old kitchen like he was looking through a window.

Pa was noticeably younger; not as many grey hairs, but just as many frown lines. That being said, he was still the imposing figure he had always been. The same figure that was currently glaring through his sunglasses down at Young Stan. He looked smaller, probably 8 or 9 years old.

“Yes sir?” Stan asked cautiously.

“You wanna explain why this was in your Ma's grocery bags?”

Pa reached for something on the counter, and he slammed it onto the kitchen table. Stan flinched at the sound, then looked down at the table. Ford frowned when he noticed that it was a single, small chocolate bar.

“I… I just thought–”

“Look at me when I'm talkin' to you, boy.”

Stan's head immediately snapped up, and Ford could see the fear in his eyes. “I just– We never get any, and I thought–”

“It's not on your Ma's receipt,” Pa's fists were clenched as he moved around the table. “She didn't pay for it, which means you stole it.”

“I didn't–”

“Don't lie to me, boy!” Pa snapped. “How could you be so careless? What if your Ma had gotten in trouble for it?”

“I didn't steal it!”

don't Raise your Voice at me!”

Pa's footsteps thundered as he approached Stan, who instantly backed up against the wall. Ford felt something ignite in his chest as he threw open the car door and stepped out–

Only to be greeted by dark, ominous trees once more.

Ford's jaw dropped as he spun around, staring in every direction. How was this possible? This couldn't be possible! He had been driving for so long already, how was he back at the start?

Did getting out of the car reset everything? Was none of it even real? Was Bill already in control of–

Smack!

Ford frowned as the sound hit his ears, and he looked down when he realized it had come from inside the car. He also noticed that, while the area outside was dark and unknown, the interior of the car was illuminated in the same soft glow of the kitchen lights.

Ford swallowed as he carefully lowered himself back into the driver's seat to look through the door's window. The same memory was still going, moving across the glass like some kind of strange television program. Whatever stunned curiosity that was brimming within Ford immediately vanished as he registered that Young Stan was now huddled against the kitchen wall, one hand rubbing against his face.

He hit him…

“I can't believe how selfish you are,” Pa practically growled. “Just when I think I can trust you to be half-decent in public–”

But he stopped talking as Ma suddenly came into the kitchen, her expression irritated and confused. She looked at her husband, followed his gaze to their son, and immediately fixed him with a glare of her own.

“Filbrick, what–”

“Our boy's a thief.” Pa cut her off as he gestured to Stan. “Brat snuck candy into your bags.”

“Candy?” Ma glanced at the table, and her eyes widened as she rushed forward. “No! Filbrick, he–”

“You can't keep coddlin' him like this, Caryn.”

“I ain't coddlin', he didn't steal nothin'!”

Pa's shades instantly turned on her, and Ford found himself envious at how little that look affected his mother. “Woman, if you start lyin' for him, he'll just keep doin' it!”

“I'm not!” Ma snapped. “Stanley and Stanford both asked if they could have some chocolate while we were leavin', so I gave them two dollars for it! That's why it's not on the receipt.”

“Are you serious?!” Pa yelled, gesturing angrily with his hands. “I have bills to pay, and you're wastin' our cash on candy?!”

“Last I checked, I contribute to this family, too. If I wanna buy my boys candy, then I will!”

The screaming faded into white noise as Ford stared at his brother, who hadn't moved from his spot on the wall, still rubbing his reddened cheek. His eyes were distant, as if he were somewhere else entirely. Stan had always been good at tuning others out when he felt like it.

Ford quickly slammed the car door shut and pressed his foot on the gas pedal. He kept his eyes on the fuel gauge even as the light from the memory quickly faded into darkness. He couldn't understand why his hands were shaking. Sure, their father had been strict and disciplined them when they messed up, but he had never slapped them.

No– he had never slapped Ford.

He shook his head as he pushed aside what he saw and tried to focus on the here and now. Stan was trapped in his own mind, in a race against Bill, and Ford had to find him before something terrible happened.

He quickly took the first right turn he came across, and not long after the trees began to thin out. Ford had expected the light to come in again, only this time, it didn't. He narrowed his eyes as he looked through the window, and saw that he was parked in front of the pawnshop once again, only now it was nighttime.

At first, Ford couldn't see anything unusual. The sign was still glowing on the top floor, Pa was moving around inside the shop, and Stan was standing on the sidewalk–

Ford frowned as he stared at his brother, who was standing in front of the glass display of the store. He couldn't be older than 10, maybe 11, but he seemed so much smaller than that. Stan looked exhausted, his face was slightly sunburned, and he was holding a handmade cardboard sign out in front of him. Ford didn't bother trying to open the car door, and instead squinted through the window to read the sign.

Extra Stan, 3 dollars or better offer.

…What?

The shop bell dinged loudly as the front door opened, and Young Stan instantly perked up as he turned around. Pa reached out to flip the Open sign to Closed, then, without so much as looking at his son, he moved back to shut the door. Stan quickly tucked the sign under his arm and stepped forward.

“Pa!”

There was a pause, then the door opened again. Filbrick looked down at his son, and Stan gulped as he fiddled with a corner of the sign.

“Um… can I come in now?”

Pa's brows furrowed as he glowered, “Did the F– on your History test magically turn into an A?”

“...no.”

“Then no.”

Stan flinched as Pa shut the door firmly, and with a very audible click , the door was locked. Stan was still for a moment before he slowly turned to face the road, tears trailing down his face as he held the sign with trembling hands.

Ford wasn't sure what happened next or how long he sat there. His pulse was pounding in his ears and all he could see was red, and the next thing he knew he was speeding through the trees once more. He couldn't believe what he had just witnessed.

Their father had always had a plethora of different punishments depending on what they had done wrong, but he had never threatened to lock them outside, let alone actually done it. When did this happen? How on earth did Ford not know?! How could Stanley not tell him ?!

Later, he told himself. When he's not in danger. Normally, having a goal to focus on and work towards was a good method to keep him distracted when stressed; it did nothing to ease pounding in his head this time

The trees began to fade. Ford contemplated just driving past the memory, but even as he pressed on the gas, the car seemed to resist, almost purposefully slowing down. Ford clenched his eyes as the light began to pour in again, and he sighed. If forcing himself through these memories was what it took to find his brother, then there was no point in fighting it. He would just have to grit his teeth and see it through until it was over.

Ford raised his head to look through the windshield, and found himself looking at his and Stan's old bedroom. The first thing he noticed was that Fort Stan was no longer set up in the far corner. That meant that this memory took place when they were older, probably in Middle School. That also meant that the memories were happening chronologically. Ford figured as long as he kept moving forward, he would run out of memories until he was left with nothing but the present, and wherever that was, Stan would be there, too.

The second thing he noticed was that his younger self was seated at the top bunk, scribbling in a notebook, and the mattress was covered with open books. He looked to be about 14. The bedroom door suddenly opened, and Young Stan strolled in, looking exhausted but relieved.

“Man, how does the shop get so dirty?” he groaned. “I'm gonna lose feelin' in my wrists if Pa keeps makin' me sweep like this.”

“Mhm…”

Stan looked up at his twin, and Ford watched as he moved to step onto his bunk. Young Ford didn't look up as Stan pulled himself up, propping his elbows on the edge of the top bunk.

“Whatcha doin'?”

“Thinking of what to do for my next science project.”

Stan frowned. “Seriously? Ford, summer just started. Can't you at least wait 'til August?”

“We're about to start high school.” Young Ford replied matter-of-factly. “My grades and performance really matter now, and I want to make sure I have something great when the next science fair comes around.”

“Pfft, of course you're only worried about school, you nerd.”

Young Ford rolled his eyes. “Ha ha, very funny.”

“What? You're the one tryin' to do homework while school's out.”

Stan suddenly reached up and began to playfully jab at his brother's leg. Young Ford huffed as he tried to shift away.

“Stan, knock it off.”

“You know I'm right.”

“I'm not in the mood.”

“C'mon, Sixer, I'm just–”

“Pa's still angry about my abysmal grade in P.E, Stan.” Young Ford snapped as he pushed his brother's hand away. “I need to make sure I stay on top of my other classes. The last thing I need is to give him another reason to be upset with me.”

Ford inhaled sharply, the statement hitting him with the force of a truck. Stan's boxing hadn't earned him much praise from their father, but it was no secret that he had been better than Ford in the athletic department when they were younger. For years, whenever Ford brought home his report card, he would always be met with an unreadable nod and a short “Quite slackin' in gym class.” Eventually, after freshman year, Pa gave up on trying to push Ford and firmly told him to just avoid getting an F.

Ford got a D– in P.E for years and Pa never did anything about it. He didn't publicly humiliate him for it. He didn't try to sell him for it. He didn't lock him outside in the dark for it. Ford's grip on the wheel tightened.

“Ford–”

“And for the record, Pa makes me do chores, too,” Ford gave Stan an annoyed look. “Right now, I just want to focus on my blueprints while I have time for it.”

Stan didn't respond as Ford turned to look down at his notebook. The sunlight shining through the bedroom window began to dim.

“You wanna go to the beach later?” Stan asked cautiously.

Young Ford glanced up at him for a moment, hesitated, then shook his head.

“I… I really just want to focus on this today.”

Stan's face fell. “But we haven't worked on the boat in days.”

“We can work on it tomorrow,” Ford said dismissively. “It's not like it's going anywhere.”

Stan didn't respond for a moment, then he slipped down from the top bunk to slide into his own. He grabbed a discarded comic that was laying on the mattress, stared at it, then tossed it away before rolling onto his side. Ford took a deep breath as he drove away.

What he saw wasn't nearly as egregious as the previous memories, so why was his heart still racing?

Ford wasn't sure if he had passed any turns or not, but he could see the soft glow of a sunset, and with it came the sound of seagulls. Glass Shard.

In a blink he was on the beach that surrounded his home. Through the passenger window, Ford could see himself and his brother sitting on the swingsets. He couldn't make out their faces, but he could hear them clear as day.

“Look, Stan, I can't pass up a chance like this,” Ford could practically hear the smile as his younger self held up a blue pamphlet. “This school has cutting-edge programs and multidimensional paradigm theory.”

“Beep boop, I am a nerd-robot.” Stan responded stiffly before slumping his shoulders and pointing at his brother. “That's you. That's what you sound like.”

Young Ford chuckled. “Ah, well… If the college board isn't impressed with my experiment tomorrow, then…” he gave a little shrug. “Okay, I'll do the treasure hunting thing.”

Stan straightened up a little. “And, if they are?”

Young Ford leaned over and playfully punched his arm. “Well, then I guess you better come visit me on the other side of the country!”

Ford watched as his younger self stood up from his swing and walked away, his expression proud and gleeful. He could remember that night almost perfectly– how he had felt like his whole life had been laid out in front of him, with nothing but success and recognition on the rise: a path that quickly deviated and twisted into something very different due to his brother's actions.

But that was all they were– actions, not intentions. At least, that's what Stan had said. He had also said that he deserved to be blamed for Ford's rejection at West Coast Tech.

Young Ford soon disappeared, and Ford turned his attention to the brother still seated on the swing. He couldn't see his face, but he could tell that Stan was staring out at the open water, clearly lost in thought.

Time began to pass very quickly, and the sun set lower and lower behind the horizon. Stan remained motionless as he watched the sky turn dark. When the last few strips of sunlight finally vanished, Stan suddenly leaned forward, and Ford nearly gasped as he heard his brother begin to sob. The weight in his chest pulled sharply .

You threw away everything we worked for and left me behind with nothing!

I thought we wanted the same thing!

It wasn't my plan, it was our plan.

Ford nearly jumped as Stan suddenly stood up from the swing and began to stomp away. He settled as he prepared himself to keep going, expecting the memory to fade.

It didn't.

He watched as Stan's memory stomped across the sand, but as his gaze followed across his windshield, the area outside began to change. Stan's footsteps echoed as the sand disappeared to reveal smooth hardwood floors, and the dark sky was replaced by a dirty gym roof.

Ford felt a lump form in his throat as he watched his brother march past the other science projects, his hands now digging into a bag of toffee peanuts. He stopped once he reached the end of the gym, and Ford could just make out something moving on the table in front of him; his perpetual motion machine.

For the briefest moment, Ford felt a familiar anger spike in his chest, only for it to be tugged by the constant, crushing weight once again. This was the moment that changed everything, the moment that had completely uprooted their entire lives. Ford would never admit it, but he had spent countless nights wishing he had somehow had the foresight to check on his project that evening, if nothing else, to ensure that it was still working as it should have been. He had also spent countless nights bitterly wishing that he had caught Stan in the act so that he could have seen for himself that it wasn't an accident, that his brother had ill intentions from the beginning.

That's what Ford had told Stan, afterall. This was no accident, you did this. That was what Ford had told himself every time he struggled to fall asleep in an empty room, every time it felt unnaturally quiet at the dinner table, every time his glasses would fall off his bunk and he would reach down, expecting someone to hand them back to him. The only thing that made it all seem worth it was the fact– the idea that Stan had sabotaged him on purpose, hurt him on purpose.

I don't know what future me did, but I swear it was an accident…

I'd never try to hurt you Ford, you know that…

You never even tried to look for me…

Ford barely saw Stan move out the corner of his eye when he suddenly slammed his foot on the gas pedal, and the car quickly sped away. Some part of him– no doubt the overwhelming curiosity that Bill had mentioned– was screaming at him to stop, to turn back. You have to see it, you need to see it!

“No… I don't.”

Ford shook his head. He still hadn't found Stan yet, he had to keep moving. He spared a glance at the rearview mirror, at the last wisps of light of the memory he could make out, and then he continued driving.

Another crossroad, another taped up sign. Ford eyed the paths wearily before settling on the left.

As he rounded the corner he was stunned by the sun's sudden brightness. Ford looked out the passenger window to see he was on the beach again. He could see the Stan O War stationed by the bank of the water, and there were two small figures standing on her deck.

Ford blinked a few times as he realized that the younger versions he was looking at were noticeably younger than before. No, that can't be right. He shouldn't be going backwards. Had he taken a wrong turn? How the hell was he even supposed to know with every sign being vandalized?

Ford groaned as he leaned his head against the steering wheel. He could hear the two boys laughing as the memory continued to play out.

“But… what is at the Isle of Dinero Infinito, cap'n? Gold? Jewels? Magical trinkets?”

“Aye, all of that and more, matey! But the ultimate prize be this… the Golden Monocle.”

Ford frowned as he lifted his head, slowly turning to look out at the boys. Something about that statement made his brain click.

“This here monocle is enchanted with ancient power…” Young Stan said mysteriously. “The power to see the future!”

“The future, cap'n?” asked Young Ford.

“Aye. You hold it up to your eye and can see where you'll be in the future, as far into the future as you desire. Perfect for winnin' fights and avoidin' the cops!”

Ford stared as the memory continued, but he was no longer listening, Young Stan's words now repeating themselves in his head. As far into the future as you desire. Surely, it couldn't be that easy, could it? Then again, he was in the mind; anything he could imagine was possible.

Ford leaned back in his seat and held out his hands. He closed his eyes, and tried to envision the monocle sitting in his palms. A monocle that can help me see into a future, he thought. One that can help me reach my destination faster.

Something smooth and warm pressed against his fingertips, and Ford opened his eyes to see a golden monocle resting in his hands. He sighed with relief, clutching the device with one hand and the steering wheel with another. The sounds of joyous laughter soon blended into crickets.

Ford was feeling rather lucky even as he came upon another four-way stop. He held the monocle tightly as he stared down at it, realizing he hadn't put much thought into how he was supposed to use it. Then again, it was an imaginary trinket his brother came up with as a child. How hard could it be?

Ford raised the monocle to his good eye, and he glanced at the left lane. He waited for a few seconds, but nothing happened. He turned to look at the lane straight ahead of him, and again, he saw nothing. Ford could feel his mouth growing dry as he slowly turned to look at the right lane, and he gasped when he saw the tail lights of the El Diablo speeding away into the darkness.

Ford nearly dropped the monocle as he scrambled to grab the steering wheel, and he immediately took the right lane. He didn't have the time or patience to think about the legitimacy of using this device. This was the closest to help he was probably going to get, and he wasn't going to waste anymore time thinking about it.

Chapter End Notes

free puzzle if you click

Chapter 42: A Road Paved with Consequences

Chapter Notes

I'M Back! I'M not Dead, I'M Still Here!

Sorry about the long wait y'all. Too much stuff is going on in my neck of the woods and I am exhausted... Not to mention this chapter kicked my Ass! I was nearly done ages ago, and realized that I hated how it was going and had to rewrite the second half. On the plus side, it's a lot longer than most chapters, so I hope you like that. Plus, we just brok 200K!!! how awesome is that???

Quick personal note though, nothing serious, just some shit on my mind.

I know I... don't exactly reply to many comments. I try to, when I can, I just don't always know what to say. Not to mention, there are... A lot more people here than I expected there to ever be. I mean, there's so many of you guys now, and I love and appreciate it fully! It's just... I feel like I can only say "Thank you, I'm so honored" so many times before it starts to sound repetitive, y'know?

And I don't want that. I'm not sure what the solution for me is yet, but I just wanna say... I see you, I hear you, every single one of you. And I love and appreciate all the support and love you guys have given.

None of you are screaming aimlessly into the void; the void is listening. Now, with that being said...

*starts banging on the dinner bell* come and get it...!!!

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Stanley had decided that he hated silence. He hated being left alone with his thoughts, constantly twisting into horrible images of what could be happening to their brothers. It was all he could do as he watched them lay there, their chests slowly rising and falling.

For some reason, Stanley found himself constantly looking over at his counterpart. Every odd twitch or movement would make Stanley wonder what was happening– or what was being done to him– and an eerie chill would crawl up his spine.

Stanley looked up as he heard movement. Stanford had come back, now holding Fidds' large winter coat in his arms. He had abandoned his soaking wet aviator, now wearing the red shirt Stan had apparently gotten for him. Stanford didn't look as cold or tired as before, and there were no more tears in his eyes, only exhausted concern.

Stanley watched silently as his brother crouched down and carefully draped the large coat on top of Stan. Stanley bit his lip as he looked down at Ford, who was just as motionless as his twin, his glasses still lopsided from his fall. Stanley hesitated before reaching up to readjust them. Ford exhaled softly when he pulled his hand away.

“What do you think is happening in there?” Stanford asked him.

Stanley swallowed and shook his head. “I dunno.”

There was a sharp intake of breath, and Stan's arms started to fidget slightly. Stanford quickly scooted closer and placed his hands on Stan's shoulder, squeezing it gently. Stan twitched for a moment before he settled once more.

Stanley tried to ignore the subtle frustration that was bubbling in his chest as he noted the distance between himself and his twin. It wasn't like Stanford was purposely moving away from him, he was just concerned about Stan. How could he not be? Stanley understood that; he was concerned about Ford, too. He just… didn't know how else to comfort him, especially since part of him still felt nervous about being too close.

It wasn't until high school that I realized how… codependent we both were.

Stanley could feel his stomach swirling with guilt and embarrassment. This was stupid; he was stupid.

Being jealous of the attention his counterpart was getting– while unconscious no less– wasn't helping nobody. Trying to bring it up would probably do even less good. Stanford would probably call him a hypocrite, and Stanley wouldn't even blame him.

He had said it himself: He's my brother, too. What kind of brother would Stanley be if he got upset at Stanford for worrying about his?

Besides, once everything was over and dealt with, Stanford would be going home with him. They had the rest of their future to figure things out. On the other hand, it was very unlikely that they would ever see their older brothers again. At least until they grew up, when their own reflections would inevitably become both familiar and unrecognizable.

Stanley's thoughts almost immediately shifted, and he briefly wondered how he'd look if he tried letting his hair grow out now instead of later, or maybe not at all. Maybe he should start wearing hats…

“Did you hear me?”

Stanley had been imagining himself wearing a comically tall tophat when his twin's voice brought him back to reality. He looked over and shook his head.

“Huh?”

“I said, at least we have one advantage in all of this.”

Stanley raised an eyebrow. “What's that?”

Stanford turned his head, looking through the glass where Fidds was working. Then, he quickly scooted closer, and his voice became a whisper.

“We're still here, and we'll probably be here for a little while,” he said. “I was thinking… We need as much information as we can, before we go home.”

Stanley glanced at their counterparts. “I don't think we're gonna get anymore out of them. Took them forever to tell us anything, and we dunno how long they're gonna be out like this.”

But Stanford shook his head. “No, not them. I mean, if we find out more, good. But, I'm talking about everything else.”

Stanley frowned. “Wait… you mean Bill?”

“Yes! I mean, what if he tries to come after us? Or– or what if there's an alternate version of him waiting for us back home?”

Stanley hadn't thought of that; hadn't even considered it. He had assumed that Bill was just one creep they would have to deal with, but if they went back to the past, they would also be going back before Bill was dealt with.

“Well… he didn't show up until after he was summoned, right?” Stanley suggested. “That's what Ford said.”

“He also said Bill is older than our planet,” Stanford reminded him. “For all we know, he could've had something like this planned before we were even born.”

Stanley hadn't thought of that either. Why was it so hard for him to think about these things? At least Stanford was smart enough to consider it.

“What if he comes for us before we can even plan anything?” Stanford asked, and he gestured down at Stan. “What if he does something like this to you, and I can't help you?”

Stanley swallowed hard. “Well… what do we do?”

“Looking at those journals might help.”

“But, Shifty still has Journal 3, doesn't he?”

Before they could say anything else, the door at the end of the room opened. They both turned to see Fidds walking towards them, hands already holding the time tape and the memory gun. Stanley and Stanford glanced at each other before they both got to their feet.

“Alright,” Fidds sighed, sounding better than he looked. “Finally got it workin' again. Let's get this over with.”

He placed the time tape in his pocket before messing with the dial on the gun. Stanley glanced at his brother, and Stanford looked fidgety, like he was struggling to speak. Stanley stepped forward and cleared his throat.

“You– You're sendin' us home after you do that, right?”

“Yes, I am,” Fidds assured him. “Y'all have been through enough of this mess. Best ya go home before somethin' else happens.”

Stanford immediately stepped forward. “Fidds, before we go home, can't we–”

But he was cut off as a sudden, distant rumbling echoed from somewhere else. All three of them stopped and looked around, already on edge. Stanley looked through the glass panel to see if it was the elevator, but it didn't appear to be activated. The rumbling grew louder and louder, and the room around them seemed to shake.

Finally, the sound was loud enough that Stanley could pinpoint where in the room it was coming from: the wall directly behind them. Dirt and dust puffed and dissipated in the air as the rumbling grew even louder, now sounding like several pairs of feet marching through a tunnel.

Stanley gasped as something suddenly grabbed his arm. He looked up to see Fidds was now dragging him and Stanford away from the wall and over towards the magic rainbow circle. The man Bill had possessed earlier was still unconscious, but that didn't stop Stanley from resisting as they got closer.

“Hey, what're you–”

Fidds released them both before reaching down for the man. He quickly dragged the body out of the circle, leaving it in a heap before marching back to them.

“Ford said this thing's supposed to protect from evil,” Fidds responded hurriedly as he grabbed them both by the arm. “I dunno how true that is, but I ain't takin' no chances. Get in.”

“Wha–”

Fidds shoved Stanley into the circle before quickly pushing his brother in too. Stanford stared down before giving Stanley an uneasy look. Stanley couldn't blame him; he didn't exactly feel safe inside a ring of rainbow hair either.

Fidds turned away from them, hands shaking as he looked around the area. His head suddenly turned to look into the next room, and in a blink he sprinted out of sight. Stanley could hear things falling and crashing as Fidds tore through the room, apparently looking for something.

Whatever was beyond the wall let out a loud, angry screech. Stanley gulped.

“Fidds–”

“Stay in the circle!”

There was a huge bang followed by the sound of crumbling dirt and rocks. Stanley could feel his knees shaking as he stared at the now large hole in the wall, and then he saw movement.

It almost looked like a pillbug, if pillbugs survived on a diet of protein and radiation. Its legs were sharp and creepy, its pincers were jagged, and it made a horrible wet sound every time it opened its mouth. But that wasn't what stuck out the most; it was the thick, slimy green muck that coated most of its body and was oozing out of several nasty slashes.

Fidds sprinted back into the room– one hand clutching a shovel with a long, wooden handle, and the other dragging a long, silver tank. Fidds gasped when he saw the bug, releasing his grip on the tank and sprinting forward to stand in front of the circle.

The pillbug shrieked before flopping forward and falling onto the ground. Not even a second later, its body began to shift and morph, and Stanford's breathing grew heavy. Stanley stared as the shapeshifter rose to his feet, his wild, bloodshot eyes instantly locking onto Fidds.

Ford could feel the cold edges of the monocle digging into his skin as his fingers gripped the steering wheel with newfound vigor. He wasn't looking forward to what he might see, but he knew that he must be on the right track, and that was enough to keep him motivated. Ford hadn't come across another turn yet, and he glanced between his windows for any creeping memories. The trees must have sensed his eyes on them, because it wasn't long before they began to dissipate, and Ford blinked as he was suddenly engulfed in a blinding white light.

Ford eased on the brakes as he looked through his window, and saw that he was at the edge of a public parking lot. He recognized the nearby bookstore and laundromat– he was on the outskirts of his hometown. The light of a nearby street lamp reflected off the hood of the car, and Ford could see a payphone right next to him. The only thing he couldn't see was Stan.

Ford jumped and nearly dropped the monocle as he heard a loud sigh, and he whipped around in his seat. The street light completely illuminated the backseat, but he saw no one there. Ford knew he heard someone . He glanced at all the back windows and the ones in the front, but he couldn't see anything different, nothing that stood out against the mundane parking lot.

Ford looked up at the rearview mirror, noting how the back of the car mostly looked the same; empty, except for the dark gym bag that definitely hadn't been there when Ford looked. He quickly reached up to move the mirror, wondering if something else would–

Ford didn't see his own reflection when he tilted the mirror towards himself. Instead he saw his 18 year-old twin sitting in the driver's seat, his hands propped loosely on the steering wheel, his forehead resting against his wrists.

If Ford's memory was correct, Stan seemed to be wearing the same clothes he had worn the night of the incident. How long had it been since he had been thrown out? A few hours?

Stan's reflection lifted his head, his tired eyes nervous but determined. Ford watched as he moved to get out of the car, and he felt his seat shake as Stan shut the door. Ford turned to look out the window as his brother approached the payphone, his hands already digging in his pockets. A few coins spilled over as he pulled them out, and Stan immediately scrambled to pick them up.

Hated me enough to disown me, but cared just enough to leave me 20 bucks and some clothes. What a swell fuckin' guy.

Stan hesitated in front of the payphone for a moment, digging and kicking his feet on the pavement. He shook his head, then picked up the phone as he inserted a few coins.

Ford frowned as he watched the memory play out. Who could Stan have possibly called? Did he call home? Did he talk to Ma? She was one of the few people who had spoken to him semi-regularly over the last decade.

And whose fault is that?

Ford waited as the phone rang once, twice–

“Pines residence.”

“Shermie?”

Ford inhaled sharply.

“Hey buddy, how's it goin'?”

He sounded so happy.

“Oh, you know– same old, same old,” Stan was clearly doing his best to sound casual as he leaned against the payphone. “H-how about you? How's your arm?”

That's right. Shermie had broken his arm while hiking with his wife, or something like that; Ford couldn't quite remember. In any case, taking care of a baby while dealing with a broken limb was no simple task, and Ma had offered to watch little Alex for a few days while Shermie got a cast for his arm.

Ford could still remember his nephew's cries cutting through his father's angry tirade as Stan was thrown out the door.

“Not bad. Better than it was before.” Shermie chuckled. “Lisa took some crazy pictures before I got the cast, I'll show you when I come by tomorrow.”

Tomorrow? Ford distinctly remembered Shermie showing up two days after the incident. Had it been two days already at this point? Where had Stan been? Where had he gone?

“How's babysitting goin'?” Shermie asked. “Kid's not givin' the family trouble, is he?”

“Huh? Oh no, he's good. He's just… bein' a baby.” Once again, Ford couldn't quite see Stan's expression, but the way his shoulders tensed was an easy tell. “Um, Sherm, quick question– remember the other day, you were talkin' about your buddy, Eddie? Said he was tryin' to sell off his metal detector?”

“Yeah…?”

“Does he still live in that place outside of town?”

“Yeah, but that's three hours away,” there was a pause, “And it's Sunday night. Don'tcha have school tomorrow?”

“Ah… yeah,” Stan laughed, sounding more nervous than relaxed. “But, you know me, man.”

“Yeah, I do.” Shermie's voice was stern, but he didn't sound angry. “Bud, I know how you feel about school, but you've only got two months left. Don'tcha wanna try to stick it out?”

Stan's school attendance had never been perfect. The moment they had started High School and their parents told them to start taking more responsibility for themselves, Stan often elected to do the opposite. It wasn't unusual for him to skip the last class of the day, or even a whole day, and he wasn't above taking advantage of being sick. Ford had tried to push him to attend more classes, but Stan had always resisted once his mind was set on ditching.

Ford could remember thinking that Stan was foolish for risking his education for more free time, but would always justify it by telling himself that Stan never cared about his grades anyway. Although, considering that Stan had always complained about the confining layout of school, the monotonous way their teachers ran their lectures, and the fact that no one would want to help him even if he asked, were probably good reasons for his dislike of school.

“C'mon Sherm, ain't no sense in denyin' it,” Stan's tone was beginning to lose its faux casualness. “There's no way I'm graduatin', not with my grades.”

Shermie sighed. “Well, I know Ford would appreciate it if you at least went with him on your last day. Think you can manage that?”

Stan froze for a moment, and the phone slipped out of his hand. He managed to catch it before it hit the ground, but he didn't say anything even as he held the phone up to his ear. Ford could see his face now– drained of color, his tired eyes suddenly panicked and defeated.

“Stan? You there?”

“I can't go back…” Stan muttered, his voice devoid of any causality. “I… I can't focus on school no more.”

There was a brief pause. Ford swallowed as he felt the tension in the air shift.

“...What happened?” Shermie questioned, and when Stan didn't respond, his voice grew firm. “Stanley, tell me what happened.”

“Sherm–”

“Don't you dare fuckin' lie to me.”

Shermie's voice was dripping with a building anger, but it was clear he was trying to hold back. He had done that quite often growing up. It was no surprise that all three of them had inherited their father's temper in varying degrees, but Shermie had always made it a point to control his own.

Their older brother could be absolutely terrifying if he allowed himself to be.

“Pa– Pa threw me out, Sherm.” Stan sounded as if he were forcing the words out. “I've… been sleepin' in my car the past two days.”

Ford could feel his pulse quickening as their brother went silent. Stan looked like he was on the verge of being sick as he gripped the phone tightly, his knuckles turning white.

“...Shermie? Sherm–”

“Where are you?”

Stan blinked, his expression going from sick to panicked. “Uh… n-nowhe–”

“Tell me where you are.” Shermie said hurriedly. “I'll come get you right now.”

“What?” Stan gasped, then shook his head. “No, Shermie, I don't need–”

“Don't tell me what you don't need, Stanley. You're 17, you can't be out on your own like this.”

Ford frowned. Shermie had only told him that he had managed to get into contact with Stan, he never mentioned anything about offering Stan a place to stay. Why would Shermie have kept that from Ford? Had Stan asked Shermie not to say anything?

“I know, but– Look, it's fine!” Stan's voice shook as he attempted to sound bemused. “I've still got my car. I– I just gotta make a little money and then I can find a place to sleep.”

“I have a spare bedroom you can use for free.”

“No, you don't.” Stan's failed attempt at a grin almost immediately crumbled. “You and Lisa turned it into a nursery, remember?”

“Stan–”

“And the other one already got turned into a crafts room.”

Ford felt a tug in his chest and a twist in his stomach as his twin's words sunk in.

“I– that's not an issue at all!”

“Shermie, you just had a baby.” Stan's voice was beginning to lose all emotion entirely. “You can't– You don't need to be worrin' about me. You've gotta focus on your family.”

“You're my family!” Shermie snapped, sounding hurt and appalled. “Stanley, please, at least tell me where you are!”

Stan didn't respond. His grip on the phone was visibly looser as he hung his head.

“Stan?”

“I'm sorry.”

“Stan, don't–”

But Shermie's voice was cut off as Stan hung up the phone. He quickly dug out the spare change before marching back to the car. Ford felt the car shake again as Stan threw himself into the driver's seat, and he watched as his brother's reflection angrily wiped the tears from his eyes.

The monocle was nearly cutting into Ford's skin as he gripped the steering wheel and pressed on the gas. The tug in his chest was sharp and painful as his mind twisted into numerous scenarios of where Stan could've gone, what he could've done, but he tried to push them to the side. Now wasn't the time to be frantic, especially over things that had now long since passed. Stan was in danger; they all were in danger. They could address their mess later, assuming Stan would even want to talk.

Ford heard the memory before he saw it. It sounded like someone was using a microphone in the middle of an arena. As he rounded the corner and the trees faded into bushes, Ford saw that he had pulled up near the side entrance to his old high school's football stadium. Ford had never frequented it often enough to really recognize it, but one look at the school posters on the fence and the miscellaneous stains under the bleachers confirmed his suspicions. The voice on the microphone was more clear now; a woman listening off names before being bombarded with applause and cheers.

Ford couldn't understand why Stan would've come here after the incident; he never turned up in class again afterwards. As far as Ford knew, the only other student Stan had been close to was his ex-girlfriend, Carla. Ford doubted he would be here to see her. She had been very adamant about never speaking to Stan again after he had driven her new boyfriend's van into a ravine.

The door to the nearby restroom squeaked open, and Ford watched as someone in a grey hooded-sweatshirt stepped out of the men's room. He moved towards the fence, but he didn't try to walk through.

As the crowd settled down once again, the woman on the podium cleared her throat.

“And now, ladies and gentlemen, we will present this year's valedictorian– Stanford Pines!”

The crowd erupted into cheers, and the hooded man stepped forward, placing his hands on top of the fence. Ford felt the air leave his body as realization hit him.

Stan had come to Ford's graduation. He actually came, he was right there – and Ford had missed him.

“Thank you, everyone,” Ford's younger, more timid voice echoed across the field. “Ahem… Students, faculty, if there's one thing I've learned over the last four years, it's this…”

The speech faded into nothing as Ford stared at Stan, waiting to see what he would do. He didn't move; he was as still as a statue, his gaze never shifting from the field.

Ford could vaguely picture where he should be standing right now– across the field, on some sort of decorated stage, standing behind a podium with flashcards clutched in his trembling hands. Stan might've been far away, but he wouldn't have been invisible. If Ford had taken a second to lift his head, if he had just noticed the one person who was standing away from everyone else–

“I take my diploma with pride, and I swear to not take this opportunity for granted, and neither should any of us. We're… lucky to be standing here. We should never forget that… Um, thank you!”

The field erupted with cheers and applause as the speech concluded. Stan still didn't move from his spot, his grip on the fence visibly tight. Ford couldn't tell what he was thinking or feeling, and that irked him.

Ford waited until Stan finally turned away from the fence before moving the car forward. He couldn't believe that, after everything that had happened, that Stan still chose to come to his graduation. He had wasted time and gas to come, only to leave before Ford could have a chance to spot him.

Why did he stand so far away? Why did he leave so soon? Why didn't he–

Later… Later…

Ford looked up as he noticed another four-way coming up, and another vandalized sign. He only eased on the gas slightly as he raised the monocle to his eye, and he followed the lights going down the left lane.

Once again, Ford heard the memory before he rounded the corner, only this time it sounded like police sirens. He drove past the trees until he found himself parked at the end of a dark alley. The sirens grew louder, as well as the sound of running feet.

Ford blinked as a large figure slid into view and sprinted down the alley. They panted as they ran up to a dumpster and quickly crouched behind it. It was dark, but the light of a nearby window was enough to illuminate the person's face.

“Stan…” Ford whispered.

His brother looked older now, by at least a few years. He didn't have a mullet yet, but his facial hair was thick and unkempt. He looked sweaty and filthy, and he was even missing one of his shoes. The worst part was the look of fear and panic in his eyes that didn't settle even as he pressed himself against the dumpster.

Stan looked… awful.

The sirens were blaring as a cop car suddenly sped past the end of the alley in a flash of red and blue. Stan looked rigid as he listened to the sirens fade down the road. It wasn't until they disappeared completely that he settled slightly, slumping against the dumpster.

Once his breathing slowed down a bit, Stan dug around inside of his shirt, and pulled out a large plastic package. It took Ford a moment to realize that it was a loaf of bread.

“Finally…”

Stan tore open the plastic, completely ignoring the twist-tie on the end. He tossed the packaging to the side, and then immediately took a large bite out of the loaf. His eyes closed as he leaned his head against the dumpster, sighing with relief.

The weight in Ford's chest twisted as he watched his brother's memory eat. No one reacted like that to a simple loaf of bread under normal circumstances. How long had it been since Stan had eaten? How many times had he had to steal to eat? How many times had he been unable to avoid being arrested for it?

Stan was halfway through the loaf when he suddenly stopped. He raised his head and turned it slightly, as if he were listening for something. Something made a soft but audible whine, and Stan suddenly whipped around. Ford had to lean over to see what he was looking at.

It was a dog, no doubt a stray due to the condition of its fur. It looked mostly like a mutt, although the ears and snout suggested some breed of German Shepherd. It wasn't nearly as big as one, though. In fact, the poor thing looked as if it were already starving, its ribs barely visible.

Stan stared at the dog as it slowly crawled out from under the dumpster. It stood a few feet away as it stared back.

“What're you lookin' at?” Stan muttered.

The dog didn't respond of course. It just continued to stare up at Stan, cautious but waiting. Stan looked down at the bread in his hands, then back at the dog. Its ears perked up slightly. Stan sighed as he turned away.

“Don't look at me like that.” he muttered dismissively. “I gotta eat, too.”

The dog let out another soft whine as Stan took another bite of the loaf. His eyes continued to glance back at the dog as he ate, his expression quickly growing more anxious and uncomfortable. The dog hung its head as it whined again.

“But… you can't get food like I can, can you?”

The dog kept its head low, its large, adorable eyes constantly flicking up at him. Stan looked down at his loaf, his fingers visibly tightening around it.

Don't do it, Ford thought to himself. He knew it was a tad heartless, but his brother clearly needed that bread more.

Stan sighed as he tore a huge chunk off the loaf and held it out for the poor creature.

“Here. C'mon, take it.”

The dog's ears perked up, and it cautiously inched closer. Once it was close enough, the dog quickly took the bread in its mouth. Stan was already in the process of tearing another piece as the animal ate greedily.

“Don't get used to it,” Stan warned. “It's all I got.”

The dog paid him no mind as it immediately raised its head for more. Stan held out another piece, and the dog took it. It didn't move away this time, and even nudged Stan's hand with its snout. Stan was still for a moment before he lifted his hand to pat the dog's head.

“You're pretty polite. You belong to anyone?”

Stan took another big bite out of the bread, and held out the rest. The dog swallowed it almost immediately, licking the crumbs off Stan's fingers.

“Nah, too skinny.” Stan slowly raised his other hand to scratch the dog's ear. “Did you get dumped, buddy?”

The dog leaned into his touch as Stan petted the sides of its head. It slowly inched closer and closer, until its body was fully pressed against him, and then it sat down. The poor thing was filthy, probably covered in fleas, but Stan didn't pull away; one hand continued petting the dog's head as the other gently scratched its back.

“Yeah… me too, bud. Me too.”

Ford watched his brother be somewhat at peace for a few more moments, then he turned away as he pressed on the gas. The trees faded in, but he could still see the strain and exhaustion on Stan's face. Dumped – Ford didn't like that sound of that, but that didn't make the description any less accurate. Any sane person would probably feel the same if they were thrown into the street with nothing but the clothes on their back and a barely packed bag.

Stanford? Don't leave me hangin'... High-Six?

Ford slammed on his breaks as he barely noticed the car parked in front of him. He mentally cursed himself as he tried to calm down; these were only memories. There was nothing he could do that would change or affect them.

He was in another public street, though this one was unrecognizable. It was nighttime, and there didn't seem to be anyone around. He was parked next to a small pharmacy– which seemed to be closed– and a 24-hour convenience store. It looked empty except for the middle-aged woman behind the register, who was constantly turning her head from the windows to her magazine.

A figure emerged from the nearby alleyway, and Ford was stunned to see the same man that Bill had possessed before. His clothes were different and his face was devoid of bruises and swelling, but it was definitely him. Another figure appeared next to him, and Ford's jaw dropped when he realized it was Stan. His mullet was shorter, and the leather jacket and jeans were surprisingly clean. He appeared to be in much better condition than before, but the heaviness in his eyes was still present.

What on earth was Stan doing here? What was he doing with him ?

Stan glanced down both ends of the street before he gave a small nod, and the other man moved to exit the alley. Stan followed, and suddenly two more men that Ford hadn't even seen followed after them.

Ford could feel his heart racing. What was his brother doing with a group like this? Why would they be out so late? They're not about to rob this place, are they?

The memory of Bill's new vessel opened the front door, and the woman's head snapped up as Stan entered the store. The vessel followed him, and the other two men remained outside. One of them lit a cigarette while the other leaned against the doorway, looking almost bored.

“Hey Ruth,” Stan greeted as he approached the counter.

“Avery,” the woman acknowledged as she nodded. “That time again, huh?”

“Seems like it.”

“Hm.”

Ruth closed her magazine and set it to the side. She leaned over to reach for something under the counter, and a moment later pulled out a small, paper bag.

“It's all there.” Ruth placed the bag on the counter. “Count it if you need to.”

Stan stepped forward and quickly grabbed the package. He had barely opened it when the other man stepped forward.

“Actually, there's been an update to our arrangement. ”

Stan looked back at him, brows furrowed. Ruth's expression shifted as her shoulders tensed.

“What?”

“Rico's orders, senora. Payment is 700 from now on.”

Stan's frown deepened as he placed the bag of money back on the counter. “Sergei, what–”

“I only have the 400,” Ruth confessed, the neutrality in her voice fading rapidly. “I can't afford the rest right now.”

The vessel– Sergei, apparently– smirked wildly as he stepped forward. He quickly slipped past Stan and placed his hands on the counter. Ruth almost immediately leaned back.

“I'd be more than willing to negotiate, if you're more than willing to–”

“Sergei, take the fuckin' bag and shut up.”

The tension was immediately broken as Stan grabbed the bag and shoved it into the man's hands. Sergei frowned at him, his confused gaze quickly shifting into a glare. After a moment, he huffed and rolled his eyes before marching through the front door. Sergei snapped something in Spanish to the other two men, and the three of them headed for the alleyway.

Ford swallowed as he watched his brother look back at Ruth, who looked very pale.

“I-I really don't have it right now…” she muttered softly.

“Sergei's just being a dick.” Stan explained quickly and calmly. “Rico doesn't do surprises when it comes to these things– surprises put his money at risk. If he wants somethin', he makes sure you know .”

Ruth nodded, but she didn't look too convinced. Stan tapped his finger on the counter as he looked out the windows. Ford could see his thoughts shifting with his expression.

“Do you… want me to stay until you close up?”

“No,” Ruth shook her head. “No, just… just go, please.”

Stan nodded, and he left without another word.

As he rounded the corner, the memory on the windows shifted, and Ford saw that he was now parked inside the alleyway. He looked out the passenger window, and he could see Stan's figure was now walking towards him.

Something moved around the front of the car, and Ford looked up to see Sergei standing with his hands in his pockets. Ford couldn't see his face, but his stance made it look as if he were staring down his brother.

"What the hell was that?" Stan demanded as he approached.

Sergei shrugged. "Just trying to get ourselves something extra. Nothing major."

"You looked like you were about to jump her."

"Don't be silly, hombre,” Ford could feel the smirk in his voice. “I would've walked around the counter."

Stan frowned, his hands already clenched. He stuffed them in his pockets as he glanced down at the street, then quickly turned back.

"You know why Rico sends us here, Sergei,” Stan stressed in a hushed voice. “If you cause problems, we could lose this whole block. If we lose business, we both could lose our heads."

"Ay, Avery, relax.” Sergei stepped forward and grabbed Stan's shoulder. “Your paranoia is infectious, and quite frankly, annoying. We're owed a lot more than we're given, nothing wrong with trying to make up the difference, yes?”

Stan glared as he shrugged off the hand. “I ain't fuckin' paranoid!” he spat. “I'm just tryin' not to do anything stupid that might get us killed.”

Sergei didn't respond for a moment. He slowly lowered his hand, staring at Stan as if he were contemplating him.

“Stupid, eh?”

There was no ice in his tone– it was eerie, and heavy. Ford felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.

"Sergie, I'm serious. You can't be–"

"You've got some cojones trying to boss me around.”

Stan didn't speak, he didn't move. The defiant anger that was in his eyes had vanished, his figure suddenly tense.

“I'm not tryin' to–”

“Especially since you're the reason we're here in the first place.” Sergei stepped forward. “Who was the one who suggested this block? Who insisted on working pick up duty?”

Stan looked away, his expression uneasy. Sergie took another step forward, and Stan's leg twitched as if he wanted to move back.

“Rico might like the work you can do for him Avery, but that doesn't mean you get to call shots while we work.” Sergei's voice sounded dangerous as he leaned forward. "Don't think because you're his new golden boy that you're untouchable."

Stan straightened up. "You threatenin' me?"

"Are you threatened?"

Stan didn't answer, but Ford could see the panic in his eyes, how the rise and fall of his chest quickened slightly. He stared at Sergei, looking as if he were only a second away from running.

Then, Sergei let out a surprisingly calm chuckle. He shook his head as he raised his hand to clasp Stan's shoulder.

"You're too serious, hombre."

Stan didn't move as Sergei turned away. He started to make his way to the car, and Ford tore his eyes away from his brother to slam his foot on the gas. Real or not, he wasn't going to give that man the satisfaction of getting in.

Ford didn't take his foot off the gas as he quickly neared another fork in the road. He gripped the monocle tightly as he raised it to his eye, and he saw the backlights speeding down the right lane. He turned sharply, nearly veering off the road as he drove.

Ford pressed on the gas pedal to go faster, but the car didn't speed up. In fact, it almost seemed to be slowing down. The fuel and mile gauges were struggling to stay up as the engine started to die down. Ford frowned as he pressed his foot harder, but the car only moved slower until it eventually came to a halt. The engine sputtered for a few seconds, and then the headlights died.

For a moment, Ford was suspended in darkness. He could barely make out the interior of the car, and he couldn't see anything through the windshield. He wanted to get out and investigate, but something in his gut told him that would be a bad idea.

The sky began to shift as the sunlight slowly faded in. Ford realized that the trees and road were gone, replaced by an open desert area. It didn't feel quite like the middle of nowhere, but it did seem far enough from civilization that getting stuck here would be a problem. Ford looked across the windshield and both the front windows, and he could see nothing but a few scattered bushes.

Ford heard something make a noise outside, and he whipped around in his seat. The same desert was visible through the back window, and Ford could see that the back end of the El Diablo looked different on the outside. The paint was a very faded shade of blue, and there were some rusted spots on the trunk door. That wasn't the only thing Ford noticed.

Four distant figures were making their way towards the car. Ford could just make out another car parked at a distance, but he couldn't figure out why they'd be so far away in the first place. Ford also couldn't tell which of the four men was Stan, but he had to be here. This was his memory after all.

As the figures got closer, Ford could see that one of them appeared to be struggling, as if he were having some sort of fit. Two of the other figures seemed to be holding the struggling one, but they didn't appear to be helping him. In fact, it looked as if they were dragging him towards the car.

Finally, the group was close enough that Ford could make out their faces. The one leading the group was the same man from before– Sergei. The other two were unfamiliar, and the fourth– the one being dragged– had a bag over his head and his hands behind his back. Ford felt his throat tighten as he realized that the grunts of resistance coming from the bag sounded very familiar.

Sergie approached the car leisurely, as if he were on his morning walk. He yanked the trunk open as the other three stood beside him, and Ford felt the interior of the car shake as something– or rather, someone– was thrown into the trunk. Ford couldn't see what was happening past the open hood, and he quickly whipped around to look in the side-view mirror.

Sergei reached into the trunk, and he yanked out the bag. Behind him, Ford could hear heavy breathing inside the trunk through the backseat.

“Ah, Avery… it's a shame to see you fall so low.”

Stan's grunts were muffled, as if his mouth were covered. Sergei leaned down, propping his hands on the edge of the trunk before reaching inside again. Ford heard the ripping of tape accompanied by an agitated yelp.

“Never thought it would end this way,” Sergei gave an unapologetic grin as he balled up the tape, and flicked it into the trunk. “But hey, better you than me, yes?”

“You don't gotta do this,” Stan panted, and the car shifted as he moved inside the trunk. “You– you can just let me go! I'll disappear! You'll never see me again!”

“Oh, you're right about that, amigo.”

“Sergei, c'mon,” Stan's voice was faint, panicked, desperate. “I don't wanna–”

“Should've thought about that before taking off with our money.” Sergei placed his hands on the hood of the trunk. “Thanks for that, by the way. It made pinning the botched heist on you so much easier.”

“Sergei–!”

The trunk slammed, and the car shook. Sergei pulled out a cigarette as he and the other two turned to leave. The sunlight shifted a little lower, and their figures faded like mirages.

Ford could feel something wet coating his fingers as his grip on the monocle tightened. He could also feel sweat building on the back of his neck. Why was the car so hot? Why was it–

The car rocked slightly as Stan threw his weight inside the trunk. Ford could hear him panting and grunting, no doubt struggling against his bindings. Ford could feel the sweat building in his shoulders as he fought to keep his breathing steady.

Ford turned in his seat and pressed on the gas pedal, but the car didn't budge. He reached up to turn the keys, only to find there were no keys in the ignition. Ford stared around the car wildly, looking for some kind of solution, all while the car continued to shake. He couldn't afford to get stuck now. Not here; not like this.

Then he heard it; an odd tap , a loud crack , and Stan let out a painful yell.

The cool air outside stung Ford's face as he threw himself out of the car. He paid no mind to the dark trees that once again surrounded him, nor the fact that he was no longer sweating– even his shirt felt clean– as he rounded the car in two large steps. It's just a memory.

Adrenaline pulsed through him as he moved to the trunk. It didn't move or shift on the outside, but Ford could still hear Stan shouting of pain, accompanied by more of those odd cracks. There's no point.

Ford grabbed the handle of the trunk and pulled, but it didn't move. He used both hands and tugged as hard as he could, yet it wouldn't budge. He didn't even register the blood on his hand as Stan's shouts turned into desperate cries, his fists against the trunk. You can't change anything.

Ford dug his heels into the pavement as he pulled the handle with all his might. He could feel the vibrations through the metal as Stan continued to throw himself against it.

“Come on,” Ford grunted angrily. “Open damn you–!”

The words barely left his mouth when he heard a loud clunk . The trunk of the Diablo flew open, and Ford's fingers lost their grip as he fell backwards. His back met the pavement, and his vision flashed as he hit his head.

Ford lingered on the ground for a moment as his head throbbed. He placed a palm on his forehead as he slowly rolled over, then pushed himself to his feet. The trunk was quiet now.

Ford wasn't sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing. He managed to keep his balance as he marched forward, and wincing slightly he looked inside the trunk.

It was empty.

Of course it's empty.

Ford could feel his ears ringing as his vision went fuzzy. He felt his hands clench as his stomach flipped. He gasped as he felt something rip from his chest, then his whole body wretched as he suddenly keeled over.

Idiot.

Ford felt as if he couldn't speak, couldn't move. The only thing he could see was his own horrible, conjured up image of his brother, stuffed into a trunk and left to rot like garbage. Ford opened his eyes, and looked down to see that he had vomited.

His throat burned and his eyes stung; the only feelings keeping him grounded in this not-quite-reality. Ford spat on the pavement before lowering his head, trying to will himself not to crumble.

Suddenly, he heard another thunk , only this one was softer, distant.

Without lifting his head, Ford turned in the direction the noise had come from. He saw the golden monocle laying on the pavement just a few feet away from him, still covered in blood from where it had cut him. Ford took a deep breath before straightening up, and he shuffled over.

Once he was close enough, Ford gingerly reached down to pick up the monocle. He immediately noticed that, while everything around him remained dark, he could still see the bright light and the desert sand through the little sleeve of glass. Ford looked back at the El Diablo, then down at the monocle again. He swallowed hard before slowly pointing it at the open trunk, and lifted it to his eye.

The trunk of the rusty blue car was open, and laying on his hands and knees in front of it was Stan; gasping for air, exhausted and drained, his face just visible enough for Ford to see the blood dripping from his mouth. It was too fresh to be from whatever beating his former companions might have given him. There were lacerations and all over his hands, one of which was holding a small, red-handled pocket knife.

Stan turned his head and spat on the ground. More blood stained the sand, but Ford noticed something else sticking out against the red mess: a tooth. His eyes quickly scanned the ground, and he saw at least two more teeth laying in the sand.

Stan had chewed his way out of the trunk. He had chewed through a car. Stan was only 28 years-old, and he had already lost enough teeth to need dentures. Did he even have dentures?

Was he able to help himself at all? Ford hadn't asked; he didn't know! I didn't know…

Ford didn't realize his legs were shaking until he fell to his knees. He almost didn't register the sound coming out of his mouth, nor the strain caused by the sounds ripping through his already sore throat. He raised a hand to his face, and it was wet. No… No…

He lowered the hand to cover his mouth, but that only forced the sounds out of his nose. He could still feel dampness dripping down his fingers. Wipe that mess off your face, boy!

Ford ignored that voice as he closed his eyes, trying as hard as he could to slow his breathing. 1… 2… 3… 4… Stan could've died. 1… 2… 3… 4… He could've died, and Ford would never have known…

Get a hold of yourself! A new voice in his head snapped. It's just a memory; Stan's fine, he survived.

Yes, Stan had survived, but he shouldn't have had to.

Ford's life over the last decade hadn't been perfect, but he had never had to live in desperation and fear. He had never had to worry about where he would sleep, or what he would eat. He never had to worry about someone trying to hurt him. Ford had thrived while Stan had survived.

Stan hadn't always been there for Ford; Ford hadn't been there for Stan at all.

But he was here now. They both were. If this was the kind of life the world had thrown at Stan, then whatever Bill had planned could only be worse. Ford couldn't afford to break, not while he and his brother were still living and breathing.

Ford's breathing slowed more and more, until finally, his head stopped spinning. He lowered his hand, still covered in blood, snot and tears. It's just a memory, he reminded himself, and just like that, the blood vanished.

Ford wiped what remained on his trench coat as he firmly pushed himself to his feet. He contemplated the still open trunk for a moment, then stomped forward before slamming it shut. Never again.

He marched up to the driver's side and threw himself into the seat. The desert area was gone; only the trees remained. Not only that, Ford found that the keys had miraculously returned to their designated spot. He raised his hand to turn the ignition, and the car roared to life. The warmth inside was no longer overpowering, but reassuring.

Ford looked down at the monocle, resisting the urge to grip it tighter.

“I need to find my brother now,” he said, speaking to the monocle as if it were sentient. “No more memories, no more games– now .”

The monocle, of course, didn't respond. Ford raised it to his eye, and he saw something that definitely wasn't there a moment ago. The outside was entirely the same, except for a small street sign pointing straight ahead that hadn't been there a moment ago. Not only that, it was completely devoid of any tape.

Glass Shard Beach, 5 miles

Without a moment's hesitation, Ford tossed the monocle into the passenger's seat and slammed his foot on the gas.

Ford wasn't foolish enough to believe that what he had seen was all there was. He knew that these memories must be just a taste of what the last decade had brought his brother. But, he had seen enough to know that Stan had survived more than enough by now, and Ford was determined to ensure that he would survive this as well.

Never again… I promise.

Chapter End Notes

c'mon... you know you wanna...

Chapter 43: Victory Paid in Blood

Chapter Notes

Hey y'all! Had to go take a vacation for a few days. Managed to get a few notes down, and got this chapter finished as soon as I got home. It's a tad short, but I think the next few are gonna be a bit longer anyway.

Hope y'all are ready, and enjoy...!

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Stanford could feel his knees shaking as he watched the shapeshifter rise from the ground. His grotesque form was covered in bleeding slashes, hunched over slightly even as he stood up. His eyes locked onto Fidds, and Stanford felt his brother grip his wrist tightly.

“Nowhere to run now, little man…”

Fidds didn't respond, or maybe he couldn't. Stanford could see his arms shaking as he held the shovel tightly. This was bad, very bad. Stan and Ford were still unconscious and exposed, and Stanford couldn't think of any way to help Fidds. Heck, he wasn't even sure if the shield would actually work. The only thing that gave him any sort of solace was the fact that Shifty was already very injured, though Stanford had a feeling that wouldn't do much if– when he attacked.

“I don't care what the demon says,” Shifty snarled angrily. “I'm tired of chasing. I'll kill you all and take those journals for myself!”

The shifter let out an agitated snarl as his body twisted around himself. In an instant, he shifted into a very large, very ugly creature– dark scaly skin, gross fungi on his shoulders, and very large sharp teeth. It looked like some kind of horrible cross between a gremlin and a goblin. The creature roared, and then he charged.

Stanford felt his knees buckle before he landed on the floor, and Stanley quickly kneeled beside him. Fidds took a step back as he raised the shovel like a baseball bat, still visibly shaking. In a moment, the shapeshifter was on him, and Fidds swung the shovel hard, causing Shifty to lean back to avoid it. But it wasn't enough, and the shifter instantly raised an arm and shoved Fidds aside, knocking him to the ground.

Stanford didn't have time to see if Fidds was okay before Shifty's gaze turned on them. Stanford, unsure of what else to do, held his twin firmly and ducked his head, unwilling to watch as Shifty charged at them. Stanley whimpered as they braced for the impact, only to be greeted by a dull thud . Stanford opened his eyes, and was surprised when he saw flashes of pink light. The shield…

The shapeshifter continued to pound his fists, unable to break through the magic dome. Stanley's grip on Stanford tightened.

“You brats can't stay in there forever–!”

Shifty was cut off as the head of a shovel suddenly smacked him hard across the face. Stanford watched as Fidds swung again, this time hitting Shifty in the jaw. The shifter roared, clutching his face as he stepped back.

Fidds raised the shovel and swung down again, but Shifty was ready this time. He grabbed the handle, his large eyes narrowing as he straightened up.

“My turn…”

Shifty lifted Fidds off the ground by the wooden handle, and tossed him away towards the center of the room. Shifty crouched and charged forward, but as he did, Stanford noticed something fall off his person. It was the journal, and the shapeshifter, remarkably, hadn't realized he dropped it. For a brief moment, Stanford felt his fear and anxiety dampen, his gaze fixated on the book.

There was a yell followed by another roar. Stanford looked up and saw that Shifty had Fidds pinned to the ground. Fidds' arms were shaking as he held the shovel above him, handle now lodged in the monster's mouth, preventing him from biting Fidd's head off. Shifty clenched his jaw, and with a loud snap , the wooden handle shattered in half.

“What do we do?” Stanley hissed desperately.

Stanford could feel his legs twitching with anticipation and anxiety, and without another word, he pushed himself to his feet. He managed to slip through Stanley's grasp as he leapt out of the circle, his eyes never leaving the discarded journal.

Stanford didn't realize he was holding his breath as his fingers slipped around the already damaged bindings. He quickly straightened up and began to turn away, but he stopped as his eyes landed on the shapeshifter.

The creature had a firm grip on Fidd's upper arm, and was holding him high above the ground. Fidds kicked his feet as he tried to pry his arm free, and Shifty laughed.

“Still fighting?” He sneered. “You couldn't stop me when I had no powerful forms to rely on; what makes you think you can stop me now?”

Shifty's grip visibly tightened, and Fidds let out a painful yelp.

“Seems a shame to rush things though… I wonder what noises you'll make when I break the rest of you.”

Panic surged through Stanford's chest as he quickly picked up a piece of nearby rubble, and without thinking, he threw it at the shapeshifter. It hit the back of his head, which snapped as Shifty glared back at him.

“Stanford, run!”

Shifty snarled before throwing Fidds by his arm, flinging him across the room. Stanford didn't have time to see where he crashed or if he was okay, and the shapeshifter instantly charged at him.

“Sixer!”

Stanford quickly turned to sprint towards the shield. He didn't even make it halfway when something snatched him by the back of his shirt and hoisted him up.

Stanford held the journal to his chest as he kicked and squirmed, his whole body fighting to get away. He rose until he was eye level with the shapeshifter, and his body went cold. Shifty, eyes still glowing with bloodlust, actually laughed as he watched Stanford struggle.

“I can't decide if you're hilarious or pathetic!”

Stanford grunted as he shook himself, trying to slip from the monster's grasp. Shifty laughed again as he raised a clawed hand, reaching for the journal.

“I'll be taking this back, thank–”

There was a loud, crunching thud , and Shifty let out a painful roar. He let go of Stanford, who landed on the ground hard. He kept his grip on the journal tight as he rolled onto his knees and looked up. Stanley stood beside him, along with the huge chunk of rumble he had dropped on Shifty's foot.

“Run!”

Stanford pushed himself onto his feet, and they ran towards the shield. Shifty roared with anger, but Stanford didn't stop even as he heard footsteps gaining on them. The circle was so close, just a little further–

The world was a blur as Stanford was suddenly knocked off his feet, and he landed painfully on his side. His head throbbed as he struggled to open his eyes. Though his vision was swimming, he could see a barely stirring shape just a few yards away. Stanford blinked, and he realized it was Fidds– barely conscious, a trail of blood running down his forehead.

A set of very heavy footsteps began to stomp closer, and Stanford suddenly realized that his hands were empty. He lifted his head, and his eyes landed on the journal, just a few feet ahead of him. Stanford lifted his arms and pushed forward, crawling on his stomach towards the journal. He reached out desperately, only for a pale gray claw to reach down and pick it up instead.

Shifty breethd heavily as Stanford turned to look up at him. He stood tall in his true form, still covered in rancid green blood, red eyes glaring down.

“Are you afraid?”

Stanford, still dazed and suddenly unable to breath, attempted to scoot away. Shifty lunged forward and slammed a three-fingered hand against Stanford's chest, pinning him to the ground.

“ Good . It's the least you deserve after what you did.” Shifty's breath was foul as he leaned dangerously close. “Keeping me in a cage, constantly poking and prodding me, never having the guts to even show your own face.”

The hand on Stanford's chest began to slowly transform– a large human hand protruding from a red sleeve. Stanford gasped as the pressure on his chest increased.

“I… I didn't…”

“Oh, but you will…” Shifty growled as his body continued to transform, forming a torso in a red jacket, but not yet reaching his face. “Don't worry, I'll make sure that never happens.”

Stanford shut his eyes as he struggled to breathe, the weight against his ribs becoming painful. His hands scrambled to push or pry it off, but it was useless. No no no no please no-

There was a loud slash, and the pressure on Stanford's chest released as the shapeshifter reared back and yelled. Stanford opened his eyes and immediately began scooting backwards, panting slightly as he tried to catch his breath.

Shifty's half-formed transformation melted away as he reached behind him. With a grunt and a loud, wet yank, he pulled the previously discarded shovel head out of his back. Shifty snarled as he turned around, and Stanford suddenly froze, his fingers barely brushing the ring of the shield.

Stanley stood just a few feet from the shapeshifter; his fists were clenched, but his eyes were wide. No…

“You want to make things difficult?” Shifty tossed the shovel head away. “Fine. I'll kill you first.”

No!

Shifty didn't give Stanley time to flinch before grabbing him; he didn't give him a chance to struggle as he lifted him up, and he didn't waste time with words. Without hesitation or thought, he reared back and threw Stanley across the room, directly into the pile of rubble from his invasion. Stanford couldn't even scream as he watched Shifty lunge at the rubble, and Stanley wailed .

Many things happened all at once, and Stanford saw all of it. He saw Stanley flinging rocks at a flock of restless seagulls that just wouldn't leave them alone. He saw Stanley yelling at a group of kids that had teased Stanford about his hands. He saw Stanley sporting another bloody nose after shielding him from another incoming punch from Crampelter. He saw Stanley being punished after taking the blame for Pa's broken mug. He saw Stanley being held at gunpoint while Stanford was forced to watch, unable to do anything.

But no one was holding him hostage this time.

Stanford could feel tears streaming down his face as his feet propelled him forward with a momentum he had never felt before. He felt the handle of the pocket knife in his hand before he even realized what he was doing. He jumped as he rushed at the creature, and his hand found purchase on one grotesque shoulder. Stanford couldn't hear anything past the blood rushing in his ears, but he could feel the scream that ripped from his throat as he plunged the knife down, delivering a devastating blow to the crook of the monster's neck.

Stanford didn't stop there, and he stabbed again. He stabbed, and stabbed, and stabbed, barely aware that his right arm was almost entirely covered in the creature's blood. But Stanford didn't stop, not until a sudden force knocked him back, sending him tumbling across the floor, and the knife flew out of his grasp.

The world was spinning as Stanford opened his eyes. The adrenaline was still flowing, and he struggled to push himself to his knees. He barely registered the sound rushing towards him when he was pushed onto his back again.

Stanford attempted to lean up, and a pair of gross gray hands latched around his throat and pushed him down. Stanford's eyes widened as the pressure increased, and suddenly he was unable to breath.

Stanford grabbed at Shifty's hands, desperate to relieve his neck. Shifty's eyes gleamed above him, and he started to laugh. Stanford could feel his body start to twitch and kick as he choked on whatever air he had left.

The pressure on his throat didn't lessen even as Shifty's form began to morph. His stature grew smaller, and Stanford could barely make out a flash of red and white as his eyes filled with tears. Stanford blinked, and he saw his own face looking down at him, only he wasn't wearing his glasses… The corners of his vision began to darken…

“What's wrong, brother?” the twisted imitation of his twin's voice echoed strangely in Stanford's ears. “Cat got your tongue?”

Stanford's hands weakly reached up to push against Shifty's face, but it was in vain. The pressure was too tight, too strong…

There was a sickening squelch , and the shifter screamed as something sharp and splintered stabbed through his chest. Stanford felt something warm hit his face, and suddenly the pressure on his throat was gone.

Stanford threw his head back and gasped for air, his lunges burning with the need for oxygen. He rolled onto his side and crawled away, his vision swimming as he coughed and hacked, and nearly vomited. Stanford raised a hand to his cheek, and felt something oily on his skin. He lowered his hand– it was the same green muck that coated his right arm.

There was another painful scream, and Stanford whipped around in time to see Shifty change back into his true form. He remained hunched over on the ground, hands clutching at his now open chest. Standing between him and Stanford was Fidds; one of his shaking fists was clutching the broken handle of the shovel, and the splintered end was covered in green blood.

Stanford couldn't see Fidd's face, but his footsteps were firm and certain as he marched forward, rolling up his sleeve with his free hand.

“ Gah! ” Shifty spat as he attempted to sit up. “You… you little–”

Fidds sped up as he got closer, and he quickly stabbed the creature's shoulder. Green splattered his clothes, and Shifty cried out. Fidds propped a foot against Shifty's chest, and kicked him back before marching forward again.

“No! Wait–!”

“Wait?!” Fidds grabbed the handle with his other hand and plunged it into the shifter's chest again, and Shifty roared. “I spent hours trapped in that closet, hours clutchin' my broken arm, hours wonderin' when you'd come back to finish me off!”

Shifty growled up at Fidds, and cried as the wooden handle was pulled away. Fidds reached for something behind him, and Stanford finally noticed the silver tank he had pulled out before. Fidds was holding the end of some sort of hose that was attached to the nozzle of the tank.

“I won't let ya hurt nobody else…”

Fidds stepped forward, and Shifty actually started to back away.

“No, stop-

Fidds lunged forward and plunged the splintered shovel into the shifter's other shoulder. His movement yanked the hose on the tank, and it fell on its side. It rolled over slightly, and Stanford could finally see the label on the side.

Warning: Liquid Nitrogen. Handle with care!

“You didn't stop when I begged ya!” Fidd's voice was broken and angry as he ripped off the end if the hose. “You don't get to beg me !”

Nitrogen hissed out as Fidds raised the end if the hose, and plunged.

The reaction was instant. Shifty screamed as he suddenly kicked Fidds away, but the damage was done. The hole in his chest hissed and spluttered as the nitrogen released. Shifty scrambled to attempt to pry it away, but a thick sheet of ice had formed around the hose, and was emptying rapidly.

Shifty screamed and wailed as he attempted to crawl away. The rest of his body twisted and morphed, but it couldn't stop the slowly forming ice. Fidds stood up slowly, unflinching, his gaze never leaving the shifter. Stanford found himself almost mesmerized as he watched ice begin to form from the other bleeding gashes.

Shifty's eyes were wild and desperate as they turned to Fidds. He turned to face him, then fell onto his side with a heavy thud. He coughed and spluttered, hacking up blood as he struggled to crawl forward.

“ You … You …”

Shifty's voice was a raspy hiss as he reached a shaking claw towards Fidds, still attempting to grab him. Fidds didn't move a muscle. The hiss turned into a muffled choke, and fog hissed from the creature's mouth as ice formed around his fangs. The hand trembled for another moment, then fell limply to the floor.

The adrenaline vanished almost instantly. Stanford's body felt heavy and stiff, odd tingles running through his bones. For a moment, he couldn't tell the difference between his hands and his feet.

Fidds suddenly let out a long sigh, then fell to his knees. His shoulders rose and fell as he breethd heavily. Stanford's mouth was dry as he shakily pushed himself to his feet, feeling something twinge in his left ankle.

There was a loud whimper. Stanford's chest tightened as his head snapped, looking towards the pile of rubble. Stanley…

Stanfird ignored the pain in his ankle and ran towards the rubble. There were random splashes of green blood across the dirt and rocks left behind by the shapeshifter. Stanford nearly slipped on a puddle as he climbed over the biggest part of the fallen wall.

Stanley lay crumpled on the floor, completely huddled against the rock except for his left leg, played out in front of him.

“Stanley!”

Stanford threw himself over the edge and slid down the wall, landing on his feet. He crouched beside his twin, reaching out to grab his shoulders. Stanley flinched at his touch, but as soon as his eyes registered that it was Stanford, they broke.

Stanley remained curled in on himself as he leaned against the rubble, crying through his teeth. Stanford couldn't recall hearing Stanley cry like that before.

“What is it?” Stanford asked, afraid of the answer. “Where does it hurt?”

Stanley sniffed loudly, and his body shook. “M-my… leg…”

Stanford glanced down at the outstretched leg, and saw a long slash along the pant leg. He couldn't bring himself to look as he realized the frayed material around the calf was stained, dark. It seeped through the fabric just like Sergei's had before…

“It's– it's okay…”

Stanley's eyes were spilling as he moaned in pain, his whole body shaking. Stanford's vision was spinning and blending, and for a split second, he saw both his brothers crying and bleeding on the ground, and had no idea how to help either of them. The air suddenly felt thinner.

“It… it hurts …!”

“It'll be– Fidds can probably do something,” Stanford looked around and moved to get up. “Something that– I don't know… I'll go get him, I'll–”

But even as he moved to stand, Stanford felt something pull him by his chest. He looked down and saw that Stanley was gripping the front of his shirt, his fist shaking steadily. Stanford couldn't tell if it was just from the pain, or something else.

Stanley, still leaning his head against the wall, barely straightened up as his other arm moved. Something solid was placed against Stanford's stomach, and his hands instinctively reached for it.

It was Journal 3. The corner was damaged, the spine was covered in green blood, but it was intact. Shifty had taken it… How had Stanley…?

“G-got it…” he stammered.

Stanford could feel his hands trembling as he stared down at the journal. His vision blurred, tears fell and seeped into the new crack in his right lens. He looked up at his brother, then tossed the journal to the side before reaching forward. Stanley flinched slightly as he lifted his arms, and whimpered as he leaned against Stanford's shoulder.

Ford only felt a touch relieved as he finally pressed his foot on the brake pedal. That relief was overshadowed by the stunned anxiety of what was in front of him. Glass Shard Beach; there was no mistaking it. Part of Ford couldn't believe that place would still be such an integral part of Stan's mind after so long; part of him wondered why he himself didn't know that it would be.

Ford put the car in park once he was close to the edge of the water. He gripped the monocle tightly, then stuffed it into his pocket as he stepped out of the car. The breeze was steady, and the waves rolled against the bank with purpose. He slammed the door shut.

The fact that there seemed to be nothing on the beach was the most concerning thing; no other features that would've been present in reality. No swing set, no Stan O' War, even the seagulls were absent. Ford frowned as he walked along the bank. What was he supposed to find here? He was just about to pull out the monocle when his eyes caught something.

The beach seemed to be smooth for the most part, even with the occasional piece of litter or glass protruding out. The sand just a few feet in front of Ford was disturbed; a large divot that trailed down across the bank, as if something heavy had been pulled into the water. Ford turned to look out at the ocean; the sky was covered in dark clouds, twisting and turning like a brewing hurricane.

Lightning crashed, thunder roared in the distance; Ford felt the tide rise and wash over his feet, soaking through his shoes. There you are.

Ford pictured himself wearing a high-powered jetpack, and almost immediately felt the straps on his shoulders. Without putting much thought into it, he crouched down and pushed the red button on the right handle. His body immediately shot into the air, and he fumbled to keep his glasses secure as he eventually managed to level himself out.

The waves below him rose and crashed against the bank even harder. Ford eyed the storm in the distance, then pressed the button again to propel him forward.

Chapter End Notes

...---... ...---...

Chapter 44: Trapped in a Bottle

Chapter Notes

Not sure what to put here today, so here's your daily reminder to eat, sleep, and drink plenty of water!

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Stan could barely hear himself think over the sounds of the storm. Rain slammed against the glass of the cockpit like fragile bullets. Every flash of lightning left him stunned, and each clap of thunder made him flinch.

The fact that the boat hadn't tipped or sunk yet was a damn miracle. Stan wasn't sure if Bill was the one making the storm worse or if it was his own dumb head, but it didn't matter; he had to push through it.

The sky flashed again as another large wave began to rise up ahead. Stan gripped the steering wheel and turned the bow slightly towards the waves. The water rose above deck, and he braced for the impact. The hull tilted and shook, and Stan held onto the wheel to keep from slipping.

Water flooded the deck and flowed into the open cabin. It rose to his ankles for a moment before sloshing across the floor.

Being cold and wet fucking sucks .

Stan grunted as he pushed the throttle forward. The boat cut through the flat side of the tide, more water splashed onto the deck. He could feel his arms shaking as he fought to keep the boat steady.

Stan wasn't quite sure where he was going, but he could feel that he was heading in the right direction. He really would've preferred if it wasn't in the middle of a hurricane, but he was just glad the boat hadn't been picked up into the sky. Being that high in the air would only make things more difficult.

Stan groaned as he tried to shake his wet hair out of his eyes. He blinked through the glass of the cabin, and his jaw dropped. Another huge wave was building up right in front of him, and Stan didn't have time to avoid it. He pulled back the throttle, his other hand gripping the wet steering wheel tightly. The bow began to rise, and he groaned.

“Great…”

Stan planted his feet and gripped the steering wheel tightly as the boat creaked, and the bow began to tip down. The hull slammed into the water, and his legs buckled. Stan landed on his side and inhaled water as it rushed in around him.

He pushed himself onto his hands and knees, coughing and spitting on the deck. C'mon, he urged himself. Just a bit further…

Something heavy suddenly landed on the deck, and the vibrations instantly shook Stan to his feet. He grabbed a nearby bucket without thinking and threw it straight at whatever was in front of him. He only registered the trench coat and glasses as the intruder raised their arms to block the incoming bucket.

“Ow!”

Stan watched as his brother slipped and fell back with a heavy clunk . Ford groaned as he attempted to sit up, and Stan gawked as he realized there was a large metal jetpack strapped to his back.

“Ford?”

Ford slipped his arms out of the straps of the jetpack as he moved to stand up. He wiped his hair from his face as he blinked at Stan, looking winded yet relieved.

“You're here?” he gasped. “You're actually you?”

Stan's shock immediately shifted to anger. “What the hell are you doin' here?!”

It took everything he had not to let himself panic– this was not a part of the plan. Stan was just supposed to keep Bill distracted long enough for Ford and Fidds to erase the password and get the kids home. Ford was not supposed to show up halfway through the race.

Hell, Stan wasn't sure if he was even heading towards the finish line at this point. He was just trying not to drown in his own head.

“I'm… I'm here to help,” Ford answered as if it were obvious.

“You're supposed to be back at the house with Fidds,” Stan snapped. “The hell are you doin' here ?!”

“Keeping you from getting stuck in your own head!” Ford defended firmly. “Bill is far more capable in the mind than in a vessel, Stan. You don't know what you're up against!”

“I–”

But he was cut off as the thunder crashed again, and lightning flashed from somewhere behind them. The light felt closer than before, and Stan looked up at the sky. The last thing they needed was to get struck.

“Is it Bill?” Ford asked urgently. “Is he causing the storm?”

Stan felt his body lurch as the wind picked up speed, and suddenly his feet began to tilt. He turned around, and swore as he saw another wave rearing up ahead of them. He nearly slipped as he ran for the cockpit, grabbing the steering wheel and turning it as quickly as he could. Stan ducked his head and held on as the wave practically swallowed half the ship. The glass of the cabin shook threateningly as the water slammed against it. There was a yelp, and Stan turned to see Ford holding onto the edge of the boat to avoid being swept away. Once the water lowered to his ankles, Stan pushed the throttle forward, and they sailed across the turning sea.

It was bad enough that he hadn't found the stupid memory yet, now Stan had to keep an eye on Ford as well as himself. That is… assuming it was Ford, and not some kind of dumb trick sent by Bill. Stan glanced behind him, and Ford was wobbling to keep his balance on the deck, one hand resting against his temple to keep his glasses from falling off. Yep, definitely his brother.

Stan turned to look out at the ocean ahead of them. He heard footsteps approach, and Ford moved to stand beside him.

“Where is it coming from?”

“How the hell should I know?” Stan hollered over the rising wind.

“It's your mind, Stan. It must be conjuring it for some reason.”

Stan didn't respond as he turned towards another incoming wave. The crash shook the whole boat, but they managed to stay on their feet. Stan rolled his eyes before narrowing them at his brother.

"Save the questions for later," he said firmly. "It's hard enough gettin' through this storm already."

“If we knew what was causing it, it might be easier to push through it,” Ford insisted.

“Why don't you fly up and ask it?”

“I'm asking you .”

“I don't know!”

Thunder crashed as the sky howled. Stan felt his heels lift slightly, and he whipped around. A much larger wave was rising behind them, big enough to swallow them whole.

How the hell was that even fair?! Before Stan could even think about moving the boat, Ford suddenly slid in front of him and held his arms up. There was a subtle flash, and suddenly the cabin was contained by another wall. The boat tilted, and the wave crashed down.

Stan's feet, though still soaked and uncomfortable, weren't surrounded by water this time.

Ford let out a deep breath as he lowered his arms. He turned back to Stan, his eyes focused and determined.

Stan sighed and shook his head. “Look, I don't know, okay? I woke up on the beach, and the only thing I could find was this boat.” He shrugged. “The rest seemed obvious.”

Ford's gaze softened, but he still seemed tense. Stan couldn't blame him. The storm wasn't making this mess any easier.

Maybe that was a good thing? If it was guarding the memory, then maybe Bill wouldn't be able to get through it either. Then again, he had been very confident and eager when Stan had offered the deal.

“What kind of stuff can he do?”

Ford blinked. “What?”

“You said he's powerful in the mind,” Stan clarified. “What can he do?”

“Oh, well… just about anything really,” Ford wrung his hands as he explained, “He can manipulate whatever is around him, he can conjure whatever he wants– even things that can't or shouldn't exist. One time he–”

Ford suddenly stopped talking. Stan frowned as his brother's face reddened, then he shook his head angrily.

“That's to say… he can do just about anything you can imagine,” Ford continued with a huff. “And it can leave a lasting impression when you wake up. I… personally haven't seen him use the mindscape aggressively yet, but considering all that's happened, I wouldn't be surprised if he did.”

“Right.” Stan watched his brother fidget for a moment before turning back to the wheel. “Be prepared for anything, use my imagination. Got it.”

“Do you know where the memory is?” Ford asked hopefully. “Do you know where you're going?”

Stan hesitated. “...Not really?”

“What?”

“How about you keep an eye out for anything weird, and I focus on keeping us from sinking.”

Stan had expected a witty clapback or a nasty retort– neither of them had thrown or received one of those in a minute. He hadn't expected Ford to silently lean closer towards the glass and look around. Stan stared at him for a moment, then he pushed the throttle forward, and they continued speeding along the water.

For several minutes, things continued as normal. Stan turned the boat to avoid another incoming wave, but it didn't rock the boat nearly as hard as before. Another minute passed. Maybe it was his imagination– whether literally or figuratively, Stan couldn't tell– but the waves seemed less intense than they were before. He hardly had to turn as they moved past the ones that did managed to form.

Suddenly, Ford gasped, “Look!”

Stan's eyes followed Ford's hand as he pointed ahead of them. It was hard to make out through the rain on the glass, but Stan could see it. A small patch of the heavy clouds ahead of them seemed lighter, almost thinner. It didn't move or shift even as the air around them twisted and blew.

“Any idea what it could be?” Ford asked.

Stan let out an enthusiastic “Nope!” before slamming the throttle forward. Ford grabbed onto his shoulder for support as the boat surged with a speed Stan didn't think it possessed. Was he making it go faster? How did the imagination thing work? Ford hadn't needed to say a magic word or anything when he put up the wall to close up the cabin.

They continued to sail faster and faster, and the waves became less intimidating the further they went. The howling wind was fading into whistles, the trembles from the thunder began to drift away. Even the clouds swirling around them were becoming more like a turning fog. Stan felt the hand on his shoulder constrict as they sailed further, and further…

Suddenly, they were outside. The glass was clear, the wind was behind them, and the water ahead was barely shifting. Stan released the breath he had been holding as the boat rocked back and forth until it slowly leveled out. He glanced over at Ford, and his expression was as tense as the hand on Stan's shoulder.

"Hey, you okay?"

Ford didn't respond, his eyes fixed on the glass. He suddenly turned on his heel, tugging Stan's arm as he moved towards the newly formed door of the cabin.

“What is it?”

Ford didn't answer as they stepped through the doorway, and his hand dropped from Stan's arm. Stan looked around- it looked as if they were surrounded by walls of clouds, the sounds of the wind and thunder muffled on the other side. The water surrounding them stirred gently, barely forming small waves. Stan looked over at his brother, and Ford was staring up at the sky.

Stan looked up too, and saw a large, open vortex swirling above them. He could see stars flickering in the open sky.

They were in the eye of the storm.

“It's here.”

Ford's head snapped down to look at him. “Here? You're certain?”

“Gotta be,” Stan responded, gesturing around. “Why else would this be here?”

He wished he had more to go on than that, but Stan thought it was still pretty obvious. He just hoped it wouldn't be too obvious. Bill didn't seem to be around, but that didn't mean he wouldn't catch up eventually.

“If that's true,” Ford moved to stand by the portside hull. “Then the only place it could be is–”

“Down there.”

They both leaned over to look down at the water, dark and foreboding. Realistically, Stan knew they wouldn't be able to see the bottom from the surface, but that didn't ease the tension in his gut.

“How the hell are we supposed to get down there?” he asked, more to himself than Ford. “It's too deep to come up for air.”

“We're the mind, Stan,” Ford reminded him. “Anything we can imagine is possible. If we say we can breathe under water, then we will."

Stan gave his brother a skeptical look. "That easy, huh?"

"Yes, we'll be able to search the bottom without issue.”

“Besides Bill, you mean?”

“Yes… besides him.”

Stan's eyes narrowed slightly. Ford was staring down at the water, but his eyes looked a thousand miles away. Stan wondered what was going through his head, what thoughts or memories he was shifting through for reference.

Or maybe he was stuck wondering what he could've done to prevent all of this. Stan couldn't tell anymore. He hadn't been able to read his brother in years, and even if he could, it wouldn't make much of a difference right now. Stan didn't understand much of this magical nonsense, but he did understand being stuck like this. The only solace he had was the fact that nothing had happened to the ship– yet.

“You go.”

Ford's eyes shifted back to the present, then turned to stare at him. “What?”

“I don't wanna leave our only ride unattended,” Stan explained. “Besides, you know more about this mind stuff than me. I'd probably drown by accident or somethin'.”

“Stan–”

“Bill doesn't know you're here.” Stan gave his brother a pointed look. “Let's keep it that way.”

Ford looked like he wanted to argue for a moment. Stan didn't like splitting up either, but neither of them knew how long it would take to find the memory, and they really couldn't afford to lose the boat. Not to mention, if they found a way through the storm, there was a very good chance that Bill would find it too. The race wasn't over yet.

But that wasn't all. Stan wanted to try to keep as much distance between his brother and that little freak as possible. The image of Bill being a little too comfortable in Ford's body while holding a loaded gun to his head was haunting, infuriating. Stan didn't want to see what he would do at his strongest.

Ford stared at Stan for a moment, then he nodded firmly. “Right.”

Ford looked back to the water, and without another word, he carefully pushed himself over the edge. He held onto the railing as he shifted his legs to the other side, then slowly began to lower himself.

“Hey.”

Ford stopped and looked up at him. Stan didn't know what to say. Part of him was still angry at his brother for throwing himself in here, but a part of him was grateful that he wasn't alone in this. Stan could've been stuck in the storm for hours, or crashed the boat, or something. If anything had happened to him… Well, it was good thing Fidds was gonna zap him anyway.

“Don't take too long, alright?”

Ford blinked, and his eyes softened. “I won't, I promise.”

Without another word, Ford released his hold on the boat, and sank straight down into the depths.

Fiddleford was never great at being under pressure. Whenever an imposing task or a rapidly approaching deadline weighed on his shoulders, it always left him frazzled. It would leave him so scrambled that he couldn't tell the difference between his head and his feet.

But there were times, few as they may be, where he was somehow able to put aside the pressure, and focus with perfect intensity. Not because he could do it, but because he had to. It always left him feeling sick afterwards. Still, whatever sprains and scraps Fiddleford felt, it was nothing compared to what the boys were going through.

Despite the pain pulsing in his arm, Fiddleford had managed to scoop Stanley out of the rubble as carefully as he could. He had been tempted to place him back in the circle, but quickly decided that the cot would be better. The poor boy was still bleeding, and his leg would need to be elevated. Stanford only moved away from his brother to grab the medkit when Fiddleford asked, and seated himself right beside Stanley afterwards.

The wound needed stitches, that much was obvious. It needed to be cleaned, and there wasn't any running water in the basement. Fiddleford knew he couldn't afford to miss his window to erase the memory, but he couldn't just leave Stanley unattended, not like this.

So, he had settled for binding the leg to stop the bleeding for now. They would just have to clean and stitch it later once everything was finally over.

The next few minutes almost felt like a blur. Fiddleford was constantly shifting his focus between carefully wrapping the wound, and sweetly reassuring Stanley that he was doing wonderfully and that it would be over soon. Even without the stitching needle, the boy was still clearly in a lot pain. Stanford looked as stressed as Fiddleford felt, maybe even more. Each time Stanley flinched in pain or was unable to repress a sob, Stanford would suppress his own sniffling and squeeze his brother's hand firmly.

"Agh!" Stanley's leg flinched as Fiddleford wrapped the last section of the wound. "S... Sorry..."

Fiddleford shook his head. "Don't apologize. Honestly, you're doin' better than I would." he carefully lifted the leg to tap down the end of the bandage. "When I was your age, I got a huge splinter stuck in my foot. Didn't go too deep, didn't even bleed, still cried like a baby when my brother helped take it out. You're leaps ahead of me, I'll tell ya that."

It wasn't a total lie. Fiddleford had cried a lot when his brother pried that splinter out of his foot, only he was 8, not 12. But Stanley didn't need to know that. He just needed a little distraction, and reassurance that he was going to be alright.

“Stanford, hand me some books please.”

Stanford hesitated for a moment before slipping off the cot and moving for the desk. A moment later, he came back with a stack of three large books, and Fiddleford placed the stack at the end of the cot. He wrapped the thin blanket into a comfy-ish lump, placed it on the stack, then gently placed Stanley's foot on top of the lump.

“There,” he sighed, trying but failing to hide his exhaustion. “That should help for a bit. Try not to move too much, 'kay?”

Stanley lean up slightly, staring down at his leg. He lifted his hand, and Fiddleford was about to tell him not to touch it when he instead grabbed the shredded material of his pant leg. It was stained and torn, unfixable.

Fiddleford figured it wouldn't be too hard to replace though. There was bound to be a pair of jeans in town that looked similar enough, they could just cut all the logos and tags.

Stanley's face contorted, and he shook his head as he gripped the material tightly. Fiddleford stared, confused.

"Stan...?" Stanford muttered softly.

Stanley sniffed loudly. "P-Pa's gonna be so mad..."

Fiddleford felt his stomach sink, and his throat tightened. He glanced over at Stanford, hoping he would say something to his brother to dispute that. Stanford remained silent, one hand holding his brother's, and the other clutching his own stomach.

Fiddleford felt his hand clench. Stanley shifted on the cot, wincing and sniffing loudly.

“It… it really hurts…”

Fiddleford felt his heart constrict, and it took everything in him not to imagine his own son in this position– dealing with this pain and stress. No child deserved that. Fiddleford took a deep breath as he leaned over and cupped Stanley's face gently.

“I know,” he said softly. “I know it does. I wish I could do more right now, but I promise we'll getcha fixed up. I need y'all to be strong just a 'lil bit longer, alright?”

Stanley sniffed loudly, another tear fell from his eye and ran down his cheek. Fiddleford wiped it away with his thumb, and Stanley leaned into his hand.

“Okay…”

Fiddleford gave him an encouraging smile, then looked over at Stanford. “Stay here with him. Keep the door shut 'til I say.”

Stanford nodded silently. Fiddleford gave Stanley's shoulder a gentle squeeze before standing up. He glanced back at the boys briefly before walking out to the portal room, and closing the door behind him. As soon as the door was shut, Fiddleford let out a trembling breath as he leaned his head against the cool metal.

It had been moments after the shapeshifter fell when Fiddleford realized that the device in his pocket felt… off. It didn't shift quite right, and he could still feel something small jabbing into his leg. He hadn't been brave enough to check yet, too worried about his reaction once he saw. He didn't want to risk scaring the kids. Now that they were tucked away and safe(for the most part), there was nothing preventing him from looking.

Please, please, please…

Fiddleford lowered a trembling hand into his pocket, and felt the air leave his lungs as several small somethings slipped into his grasp. He pulled out his hand.

The time tape was in pieces– several, this time. It was so shattered that he could feel a few parts still sitting in his pocket. The pieces in his hands were broken and dented, wires were ripped, and a few parts even seemed to be leaking. Fiddleford couldn't even kid himself into thinking he could fix it. The time machine was destroyed; broken beyond repair. Their only hope or option to get the boys home was gone, and Fiddleford had no idea how to fix it. How am I gonna tell them?

Fiddleford could feel his stomach twisting with anxiety, but he forced it down. Whatever would happen to the kids later didn't matter yet, not while there was still a violent demon to deal with. After taking several deep breaths, Fiddleford straightened himself up and placed the remaining pieces back into his pocket. One problem at a time– it was the best he could do for now.

Fiddleford moved towards Stan and Ford's still slumbering forms. It was incredibly lucky that the shapeshifter hadn't even thought to attack them. Maybe he would've, if he had been given too much time to think about it. Fiddleford had barely managed to defend himself and the boys. If Shifty had thought to attack the men on the floor, they likely wouldn't have been able to stop much.

As he moved to stand over Stan, Fiddleford reached down to pick up the memory gun. He was incredibly grateful that he had chosen to put the device aside; their plan would've completely failed if it had gotten destroyed in the fight, too. Fiddleford could feel his hands twitching as he reached into his other pocket.

Before they had erased the password from his mind, he had written it down on a tiny slip of paper and placed it deep in his pocket. It was the only way to guarantee that, not only would the password be erased, but the right password. Fiddleford didn't know Stan well enough to know what other passwords he had in his life, and simply typing 'password' would be too vague, too risky.

The paper was crumpled into a tiny ball when Fiddleford pulled it out. He ignored his trembling fingers as he carefully unfurled the paper. It simply read: tatertot. Of course, his and Emma's nickname for their boy. Not even Ford knew of it. It was almost enough to make him laugh.

Stan groaned slightly at his feet, and Fiddleford took a deep breath as he inputted the password. His hands stopped twitching as he placed his finger on the trigger, almost instinctively. He hated how natural the device felt in his hand, how a part of him wanted nothing more than to press the barrel to his own temple.

Fiddleford looked down at Stan, and tried not to imagine the injured boy in the next room when he did. He tried not to flinch as he raised the gun to Stan's head. He didn't have to try to keep his hand steady as he pulled the trigger.

Chapter End Notes

error: cipher.exe has stopped working

Chapter 45: Unsinkable

Chapter Notes

My writer's block has it's hooks in my fucking throat... but I'm still breathing dammit!!!

In all seriousness though, I'm so sorry that this chapter took so long. Getting everything down into words the way I wanted and needed it to turned out to be harder than I initially thought, and that combined with the struggles of work and home made it hard to write for a while. I would've had it out a little sooner, but when I got on here yesterday I discovered most of the linked codes in previous chapters were just broken for some reason, and I had to spend some time fixing those too.

I meant to have so much more put out by now, but I'm hoping to get more out in the future. That being said, I'm thinking the next chapter might take a month or two, as Christmas and New Years are coming up, so work will definitely be keeping me busy for a bit.

Thank y'all so much for your patience, I'm sorry to have kept everyone waiting. I really hope you enjoy this chapter, and I hope y'all are ready for what comes next!

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Ford held his arms out as he dropped through the water. Within seconds, it shifted and expanded away from him, encasing him in an airtight orb. He shook his hair out of his face as he slowly continued to descend. He was just wondering how deep the water was when his feet suddenly hit the sandy floor, causing him to land in a crouched pose.

Ford straightened up and looked around. The water was dark, but not so much that he couldn't see right in front of him. He glanced upward, and was relieved that he could still see the water's surface, although the distance looked further away than it had felt during his descent. He could just make out the underside of the ship floating above him. Ford looked down at the ocean floor around him, trying to decide where to even start.

Aside from a few underwater plants, there didn't seem to be anything down here, not even fish. Nor was there any indication of where the memory could be. How wonderful… Suddenly, a small light seemed to appear beside him. Ford looked down, and discovered that the light was coming from his pocket.

He reached in, and was slightly surprised when he pulled out the golden monocle. Ford had previously assumed that it had disappeared or something once he had found Stan, but perhaps its purpose wasn't finished yet.

Ford held the monocle up to his eye and looked around. He could see through the water a bit more clearly, though nothing else seemed to stand out. Ford glanced all around until he looked down at the sea floor, and there it was: a surprisingly bright red dash just ahead of his feet.

There was another dash in front of the first, then another and another, all in line with each other and stretching out to the left, like a path drawn on a child's treasure map. Of course.

Ford carefully took a few steps forward, watching to see how well his sphere of air would move with him. It shifted to cover him, slightly slower than his own pace. Ford straightened his shoulders as he held the monocle to his eye, and began to slowly follow the path before him.

The water remained relatively still and unchanged as he moved. More odd plantlife revealed itself, but the only consistent change was the direction the path would take. It turned left and right, over mounds of sand and through small drop-offs, even turning into a few pointless loops. Ford could feel the same anxiety he had experienced in the Diablo start to ease in, but he kept himself composed.

At least he wasn't walking blind this time. He would periodically look up in an effort to keep the ship in sight, but he needn't have bothered. Despite how far he was walking, it didn't seem to be any further away, almost as if it was following him.

Ford wasn't sure if Stan was doing that intentionally or subconsciously, but he was happy to see it regardless.

Ford felt as if he had followed the trail all over the area contained within the eye when he finally spotted something different. He craned his head up to try to see further ahead, and that's when he noticed something on the path. It didn't look like another dash, though it was the same color of red. Ford took a few steps closer, and the mark became clear: a giant red X.

Concern for the water surrounding him nearly disappeared as Ford quickly jogged along the path. When he finally stood on top of the giant red X, he placed the monocle in his pocket, and quickly summoned a large shovel. As he started to dig, a wave of curiosity and concern washed over him.

How would the memory present itself? Would it be too difficult to lift or carry? Would there be any sort of security measures to ensure it couldn't be moved? What if it just… blew up?

Before he could convince himself to stop or slow down however, the head of the shovel suddenly made a loud and heavy thunk. Ford paused for a moment, and when no explosion happened, he tossed the shovel to the side and crouched to his knees. His hands dug through the remaining sand, and he felt his nails scrape against something solid.

Finally, the overarching top of an old pirate's chest revealed itself. Ford dusted off more sand before grabbing the handles on each side, and pulled. The chest was heavier than he had expected, but after a few good tugs, it eventually emerged. Ford set the chest down with a huff, and kneeled in front of it.

The chest seemed old, as if it had been buried for decades. The water damage was heavy, bits of wood and paint were chipped off in places, and sections were covered with growing coral and a few barnacles. Not only that, there was a large, rusted-gold clam shell lock in the center.

Stan hadn't told Ford he might need a key, but perhaps he hadn't known that it was necessary. Stan had essentially been sailing blind before Ford had showed up, after all.

It didn't take long for Ford to realize that opening the chest would be difficult. He tried to imagine a key that could unlock it, but even after trying several different shapes, colors and even materials, it didn't budge. He imagined a lockpicking set, and spent a good five minutes trying that before the set snapped into pieces. He tried a simple paperclip– no luck there either. Ford was about to start kicking the damn thing when suddenly, his mind recalled something else he had seen in the previous memory.

“The Skeleton Key! A man could unlock the pearly gates themselves with this if he tried!”

Ford had heard young Stan's memory before, but he hadn't really minded it, too focused on producing the monocle and finding his own Stan at the time. Ford unclenched his fists as he closed his eyes, trying to imagine what the skeleton key had looked like. It would've been handmade of course, likely the same cardboard material that was used for their old treasure chest. Ford vaguely recalled Stan “borrowing” their father's gold paint for several craft projects, and of course a “skeleton key” would have to look like a skeleton.

Almost as soon as the image appeared in Ford's vision, he felt something solid drop into his lap. It was a large golden key– a real one, just like the monocle– with a skull-shaped handle and two tiny emeralds placed in the eyesockets. Ford quickly picked up the key and inserted it into the lock.

He turned it, and finally heard the loud click of something unlatching. Ford paused, and he waited. He listened, glanced all around, and when nothing seemed amiss, he reached out to carefully open the chest.

Ford wasn't sure what he was expecting– a chest could be used to hold many things, and a chest in someone's mindscape could hold literally anything. Memories, secrets, intrusive thoughts. However, the only thing inside the chest was undamaged, soft red cushioning that filled each corner, and sitting in the center was a green glass bottle.

Ford hesitated before reaching out and carefully lifting the bottle from its cushion. It looked like a small wine bottle, and felt surprisingly sturdy. He turned the bottle in his hands, and saw a small, rolled up piece of paper sitting inside. That must be it. Ford felt a sense of relief as he reached for the cork, and began to pull.

The water shifted behind him, and Ford instantly whipped around. He couldn't see anything out of place, just a small patch of seaweed growing just outside of his air bubble. The leaves were swaying harder than before though, as if something had swam through them very quickly.

Ford turned his head slowly, his eyes snapping in every direction. He couldn't see anything– not a single fish, crab, or even a miscellaneous blob– but the water didn't feel nearly as empty as it had before. As Ford tried opening the bottle again, his eyes landed on his own shadow.

It seemed to be growing taller, and the dim light from the water's surface seemed to be getting brighter, and brighter…

Ford quickly placed the bottle inside his inner coat pocket before slamming the chest shut. He pushed it down into the sand as much as he could, and then immediately began to rebury it. The light behind him intensified as he dug desperately into the sand, particles digging under his fingernails. Ford barely had time to cover the chest before the light was on him, nearly blinding him. He covered his eyes as he turned around, and the light slowly began to dim.

“Ah, there you are!”

Ford lowered his hand, and scowled as he saw Bill floating in front of him, his large eye shining like a searchlight. He looked just as well as he had the last time Ford had seen him; bright, energetic, and clearly pleased with himself. Ford could already feel his blood beginning to boil.

“Hey there, Fordsy!” Bill blinked, and though the light left his eye, Ford's bubble remained fully illuminated. “I had a feeling I might run into you.”

Ford didn't respond as glared up at his former muse. So much for keeping his presence a secret. He didn't know how Bill managed to find them, but as far as Ford knew, Bill didn't know that he had found the memory. That was enough to keep Ford's mouth shut, for now.

“Aw, c'mon. Not even a 'hello'?”

Ford had much more to say than just a simple 'hello', but he remained silent.

“Hey, it's fine, I get it. You're upset that I knocked you out,” Bill shrugged, floating up to hover just outside the bubble. “But trust me, it was for the best. That twin of yours is a real chatterbox.”

Ford gritted his teeth as he watched Bill float around. He was as moving as easy and carefree as he usually did, but his calm demeanor only put Ford more on edge.

“Gotta admit, I wasn't expecting to have any trouble with his head.” Bill rolled his eye as he observed the ocean floor. “I mean, using his own confusion about the mindscape to make the path even more complicated? Pretty risky move, I can respect that.”

Ford felt the tension in his face falter. So, it was Stan who had vandalized those street signs. A small part of his brain reminded him to ask Stan what he could consciously remember about this experience once all of this was over.

“But, I've had my fun,” Bill adjusted his hat as he turned to face him. “So, why don't you toss me that memory, and we can get back to work.”

Ford felt his throat tighten as he clenched his fists. If Bill truly knew that he already had the memory, then there was no point in focusing his energy on trying to deny it. Ford needed to get away– now. Was the ship still above him? Would he be fast enough to reach it? I need more time…

“Seriously?” Ford spat, taking a step back. “After everything you've done, you're still asking for my help? You're still pretending that you need me?”

“Oh, now's not the time to be pointing fingers, Stanford,” Bill warned sweetly, waving a finger back at him. “After all, you're the one that agreed to help me build the portal. You practically begged me to enter your mind when I offered. You're the one who summoned me in the first place.”

“I–”

“And for the record, I don't need anything from you.”

Bill looked down at him, and Ford felt sick under his condescending gaze.

“But, considering how hard you've worked for me, I'm more than happy to overlook the whole arrow-in-the-shoulder bit. Ouch, by the way.” Bill deadpanned, then he laughed. “But, it's not like you actually hurt me. Hell, you couldn't even if you tried!”

The mere idea must have been hilarious; Bill sounded as if he couldn't resist laughing a little more. Ford ignored the mixture of shame and anger building in his gut as he risked a glance above him. He could make out the ship hovering on the water's surface, still much further away than anticipated– probably another obstacle intended to protect the memory.

“Hey, don't stress, I.Q. Partners fight all the time, it happens.”

Ford wasn't sure if the pounding in his chest was his actual heartbeat or the thundering of his own subconscious, acutely aware of the danger it was in. His eyes locked onto Bill, who was beaming at him from the other side of the bubble. He raised his hand, and plunged it straight through. Water splashed at Ford's feet, the air turned still, cold.

“Just hand over the memory, and we can finally put this little “rough patch” behind us!”

Ford already had his answer prepared. It was voicing it that felt the most difficult.

“No.”

Huh. Not as difficult as he thought. That didn't stop the hairs on the back of his neck from standing up as Bill blinked at him once, twice, then…

“I'm sorry,” Bill chuckled as he rubbed his brow, and the extended hand formed a tight fist. “I think my hearing is off, 'cause it almost sounded like–”

“Then read my lips,” Ford angrily cut across him. no!

Ford jumped, and suddenly the bubble was propelling him up, up, up towards the surface. He was closing in now, he could just make out the dim light from above. Ford was able to make out the details of the ship's bow when the bubble suddenly stopped.

He paused, and tried to propel himself again. Nothing moved.

Ford looked up at the ship above him, and suddenly the world around him began to dim. The light faded rapidly until he was left suspended in darkness. He couldn't even see the outline of the bubble anymore.

“Oh Fordsy, my sweet, naive little brainiac,” Bill's voice reprimanded within Ford's ears and all around him. “I think you're forgetting one teeny tiny, very important detail…”

Something large reached out from the darkness, and the bubble popped. Ford barely had the chance to gasp before he was enveloped by the water, and the large shape that turned out to be a hand grabbed him. Ford resisted the urge to gasp as he struggled against the hold. You can breathe underwater, you can breathe underwater! he screamed to himself.

Ford took a deep breath, and felt no liquid fill his lungs. He had no time to feel relieved before the large hand pulled him forward. Bill was massive, far larger than he had ever appeared in Ford's head before, glowing red as anger flared in his single large eye.

“Ĩ̷̺̩̖͜͜ ̴̛̩̣̣̯͙͊͋̔̿O̵̡̗̖̤̠̭̽W̶̪͔̼̦̥̎̌͐̒͠Ņ̸̩̝̤̭̟̈̐͌̍͆

The words held enough force to throw Ford back in Bill's grip. Before he could even squirm he felt something pull at the back of his neck, and he was engulfed in a wave of white hot pain.

His body felt miles away, and yet the agony seemed to fill every pore. Ford could feel something pull at his limbs, something painful pop between his sockets– then it was gone, as if it never occurred. Ford didn't have time to catch his breath before his vision blurred and shifted in color, and his head suddenly became too heavy.

“Do you really think I need your permission to do anything?” Bill's taunting voice echoed in his ears. “Oh, Stanford… you're a little out of your element, I'm afraid. Don't you realize the kind of power I hold having access to your mind?”

The water around him was thick as Ford felt a hot pressure around his head, both pressing and pushing from inside his skull. The nausea building in his gut was overwhelming, he couldn't think. He barely managed to scramble with his hands before something forced them behind his back. Ford tried to kick with his feet, and something tight and solid latched onto his ankles.

“I was just trying to give you an easy option.” Bill's disappointed tone was more clear as the pressure from Ford's head faded. “Having you work for me willingly is so much easier than trying to force you… even if it is less fun.”

The force around his ankles constricts, and one of them twists. Ford snaps up as he yells in pain, the water in his mouth feeling more present than it should be. You can breathe underwater, you can breathe underwater, don't forget that you can breathe!

“But, I've been waiting for this moment for far too long,” Ford blinked up to see Bill's angry eye less than a foot away from him. “And I'm not about to lose it just because you can't keep your shit together.”

Ford could feel the force around his body constricting tighter and tighter, grinding his bones and squeezing the air from his lungs. Ford gasped for breath as he tried to move, to fight, to pull away, anything…

Make it stop, a childish voice in the back of his mind pleaded. Please, make it stop…

The pressure around him suddenly pulled back, and Ford's gasp was drowned by Bill's sudden yell. His eye reared back and turned, and Ford craned his neck to see what had happened. A massive harpoon was embedded in the side of one of Bill's angles.

“Huh?! What the–”

Another harpoon suddenly shot down, but Bill was ready this time. He shifted to the side, and the harpoon shot down before embedding into the sea floor. Bill turned fully to face his attacker, and Ford could finally see who it was.

Stan was floating just a few yards away from them, already holding another harpoon in his hands. Ford felt a mix of relief and worry fill his gut as Bill glowered irritability.

“Agh, you little–!”

Stan quickly adjusted his grip before throwing the harpoon. It sped through the water surprisingly fast, and pierced right through Bill's eye. Bill screamed and whined as he squirmed, the rest of his many hands coming up to cover his face and pull at the harpoon. The hand holding Ford loosened its grip, and Ford finally managed to kick himself free.

hey!

Ford didn't give Bill time to recover before he kicked his feet again, reimagining his shoes as rocket boots. He shot through the water, right towards his brother, and Ford quickly reached out for him. He managed to grab Stan by the arm before they sped upward, and finally broke through the water's surface.

Ford felt a wave of ice hit his body as he fell and tumbled onto the deck of the ship. He lost his grip on Stan, but he heard him grunt as he hit the deck beside him. Ford quickly pushed himself up and whipped around. Bill hadn't followed them up yet, but the water around them was turning fiercely, dangerous and angry.

“Stan!”

“I'm on it!”

Stan scrambled for a moment before running for the cockpit. Ford pushed himself to his feet, and nearly fell over again as the ship turned sharply. They headed for the stormy wall of the eye, the winds picking up as they neared.

Ford could feel his heart hammering as he grabbed the left side of his coat, where the bottle remained safe in his pocket. Nearly there, just a little further…

Ford was suddenly knocked off his feet as the bow swerved, coming to a kidding halt. Water splashed and flooded the deck, and Ford looked up to see giant black fingers clenched around both sides of the ship. Stan burst through the door of the cockpit.

“Ford, give me the memory!”

Ford flinched as he heard a sudden loud crash, and he turned to see something large emerging from the water.

Bill's eye still had an almost glitching slash across it, still slowly healing over as he glared down at them. Ford felt frozen, like a deer caught in the headlights. His grip on his coat tightened.

Ford barely had time to register the angry cry when another large hand extended and reached for him. He was about to kick off his rocket boots again when something– or rather, someone– shoved him aside. Ford fell to his knees again, and quickly scrambled to look up.

Bill's massive form was hovering above the ship, and held tightly in his grasp was Stan. He kicked and struggled against the hold, but Ford knew it was no use. He quickly pushed himself to his feet as Bill sneered down at Stan.

“You don't know when to quit, do you?” he glowered as he raised another hand, clenching and unclenching as it reached for Stan. “That's fine, I can deal with you myself now.”

hey!

Bill stopped to look down at Ford, and his eye widened. Ford stood tall in the center of the deck, one hand on his jacket, and the other holding up the bottled memory.

“It's over, Bill,” Ford called out, sounding much braver than he felt. “The race is won, you've lost. Put him down– now!”

For a brief moment, time seemed to stand still, the only movement coming from the storm outside of the eye. Then, Bill's face contorted as he let out a small huff that slowly turned into a chuckle. He reared back as he started to laugh, wringing his other hands and kicking his feet like a manic jester.

“Ah, you really are adorable…”

Ford felt his blood go cold, his grip on the bottle tightening. “I- Did you hear me? I said put him down–”

“No can do, I.Q,” Bill stated calmly. “The game's still on.”

“What do you–”

“Your brother made a deal with me,” Bill pointed a thumb at himself, then down at Ford. “And you weren't a part of it. If he wants to beat me, he has to finish this race himself.”

Bill leered sweetly as the hand holding Stan suddenly tossed him up in the air. Stan yelled as he was caught by his ankles, dangling like a tempting treat for some animal.

“You fuckin'– P-put me down!” Stan demanded even as his voice trembled.

“You really thought you had me with that little spiel about rules, huh? But, your rules didn't say anything about cheating, did they?” Bill grabbed Stan's head and turned it to face him. “Not the worst strategy, I'll admit. Unfortunately, you gave us both an advantage with that one.”

Stan glared, but as Bill continued to dangle him in the air, whatever retort he might've thrown was swallowed by a fearful yelp. The fact that Stan still seemed to have a problem with heights didn't surprise Ford, but it didn't help to see his brother look and sound so terrified.

“Oh, don't feel bad for him, Sixer. The mind is my domain, he was never gonna beat me… and neither were you.” Though he technically lacked a mouth, Ford could feel the smirk as Bill held Stan's head between his finger and thumb. “Now, you just hand over that bottle, and I promise not to pop him like a zit!”

The hand holding the memory shook as Ford stood there, unable to speak, unable to move. Of course the rules would be that technical. He should've given Stan the memory when he had the chance. What should he do? What could he do?!

“Come on, Sixer…” Bill's voice was growing dangerous as another hand began to reach out. “I've already lost enough of my patience today, don't make me–”

There was a sudden loud crunch, and Bill reared back as he yelped. Ford stared as his twin latched his teeth onto one of the fingers wrapped around him. Bill swore as he suddenly flicked Stan away like an annoying bug. Ford had just enough time to kick off his rocket boots and shoot into the air before his brother collided with him. The force was enough to bring them both down, and they landed hard on the deck again.

Ford mentally cursed himself for not manifesting a mattress or something as he felt the air leave his lungs. His head spun slightly as he readjusted his glasses, and realized he could still feel something pressed against his right side. Stan was on his knees now, his hands gripping the sleeve of Ford's coat. His eyes were wide and fearful as he stared down, his body trembling.

“Stan,” Ford moved to sit up, and he reached for his brother's arm. “Stan, come on! Stay with me here!”

Stan blinked up at him, as if he just realized Ford was still there. Before Ford could say anything else, Stan turned his head and suddenly sprang to his feet. Ford looked over to see that Bill had shrunk slightly and was now hovering just above them. He tried to stand up, and had to lean against the cockpit doorway as he felt something pinch in his ankle.

“You're a slippery piece of trash, aren't you?” Bill snarled at Stan as he lowered himself closer to the deck. “It's bad enough you've got Sixer brainwashed against me, but you're seriously starting to piss–”

shut up!”

The volume and sharpness in Stan's voice was enough to shock both Bill and Ford. Bill blinked down at Stan, clearly dumbfounded, and Ford was left in awe as he watched his brother move to stand in front of him, his knuckles white as his fists clenched.

“Wow. Really?” Bill remarked, unimpressed.

“I said shut up!” Stan yelled with fury as he pointed a threatening finger up at him. “You… don't get to call him that! I call him that!”

Despite the severity of their situation, Ford felt something oddly comforting swell in his chest at his brother's words. Bill looked genuinely surprised for a moment, then turned away as he snorted. As his snorts turned into laughter, Ford took the opportunity to look around the ship, to see if there was anything he could use to their advantage. He looked back inside the cockpit, at the stirring wheel and the throttle…

ahahahaha...! Oh, ho-ho, oh man…!” Bill sniffed as he wiped a tear from his eye. “You… you humans are so fucking funny! I'm about to destroy your mind from the inside, and you're worried about a stupid nickname–”

But Bill's voice was cut off by the ship's engine as Ford pushed the throttle all the way up. He heard a loud thud as Stan hit the deck again, and a second later heard Bill's distant scream of disapproval. The ship was nearing the wall of the eye, and at the last second, Ford turned the stirring wheel sharply and began shooting straight for the center of the eye again. He heard an almost cartoonish skidding sound from behind them, and Bill began cursing after them again.

“What're you doing?!” Stan shouted as he entered the cockpit.

“The storms outside are too chaotic,” Ford answered quickly. “We can't risk facing him outside of the eye, we need him in a more controlled area.”

Stan grunted. “Well, what do we do?”

What could they do? Bill was too close; it wasn't enough to just give Stan the memory anymore. No, Ford needed to get them far enough away that Bill wouldn't be able to use either of them as leverage.

“Take the wheel.”

Stan looked confused, but he didn't hesitate to grab the stirring wheel as Ford stepped aside. He reached into his jacket with both hands, his fingers scrambling as he tried to keep his thoughts clear, precise, intended.

“And how's running in circles supposed to help?” Stan asked urgently. “He's gonna catch up eventually.”

Ford doesn't answer as he grips the glass bottle, making sure the cork is secure. Give him the bottle, give him the bottle… his thoughts chant loudly, and for the first time in nearly two days, Ford actually hopes that Bill can hear them. He doublechecked his pockets just to be safe before holding the bottle out for his brother.

“Here, take this.”

Stan looked at the bottle in his hand, and his confused expression hardened. “Ford, this isn't–”

“Trust me.”

“But–”

“Just trust me!”

There was a horrible screeching sound above them, and Ford looked up to see the roof of the cockpit being peeled open. Bill hovered just above, and before Ford could move, and hand reached down and grabbed him again. Within moments, he was pulled out of the cockpit and lifted into the air. Multiple hands grabbed at him, pulling at his jacket and rummaging through his pockets.

“I need that memory, Stanford,” Bill glowered angrily. “And I will have it, one way or another…!”

“Hey, jackass!”

Bill's eye snapped down at Stan's voice, and widened when he saw the bottle in Stan's hand.

“You want this?” Stan shouted from the cockpit. “Come and get it then!”

He pushed the throttle up, and the ship started shooting through the water with surprising speed. Bill let out an irate scream before angrily throwing Ford away. Ford yelped as he fell towards the water, but he managed to kick out one of his feet and activate the rocket boots. He spun in the air for a moment before he managed to activate the other, and quickly found his balance.

Ford looked out to see Bill chasing after the ship, which was rapidly twisting and turning in an effort to avoid him. Ford kicked out his feet, and he shot like a bullet towards them.

He was only a few yards away when Bill suddenly shot down towards the ship, and there was a loud crash followed by a huge wave. Ford skidded to a halt just above the crash, and as the water turned and dissipated, he saw the bow of the ship slowly tilting upward as the backend began to sink.

Before Ford could even think about charging in, there was another huge crash as something burst from the water. Bill emerged from the waves, holding Stan in his grasp once again as his other hands dug and rummaged through his jacket.

“Ah-Ha!”

Bill looked triumphant as one of his hands pulled away, and the one holding Stan dropped him like a piece of litter.

Ford was moving before he even heard Stan screaming. His glasses shifted on his nose as he shot through the air, his eyes never leaving the falling form of his brother. You can reach him, you're fast enough, don't stop moving–

The moment he could see the white of Stan's eyes, Ford immediately reached out for him. Desperate hands grasped his own, and Ford kicked his legs down, igniting his boots to prevent them from dropping any further. Stan didn't seem any less panicked, and was breathing heavily as he kicked out his feet like a spooked animal. It took Ford a moment to realize just how high up they still were.

“Stan, it's okay! I've got you!”

Stan didn't respond, and his arms trembled in Ford's grasp as his panting intensified. Ford tried to concentrate on placing a raft beneath them, but it was difficult to do while trying not to let his brother slip.

“Stan, look at me,” Ford pleaded with him. “Please, look at me!”

He must have hit some sort of nerve, or maybe he sounded more scared than he intended; either way, it was enough for Stan to snap his head up, his eyes wide as he looked at Ford. His gaze shifted as their eyes met, and his breathing faltered slightly. Ford took the opportunity to imagine a large, yellow life raft, and it splashed as it appeared beneath them.

“It's alright, just breathe,” Ford encouraged as they began to lower. “I've got us.”

Stan looked unable to respond as he was lowered towards the raft. His legs wobbled before buckling beneath him, and he placed his hands on the floor of the raft as Ford kneeled beside him. They had no time to celebrate as Bill's cruel chuckle cut through the air. Ford looked up, and saw that Bill was holding the bottle up in the air, twirling it around his fingers mockingly.

“Gosh, it's adorable to see you try so hard,” Bill teased sweetly as he finally uncorked the bottle. “Honesty though, I expected better from you, Ford. Even you should've known better than to cross me…”

Ford's eyes narrowed as they watched Bill tip the bottle, as he shook it out to empty it. But, nothing fell into his palm. Bill shook the bottle a little more vigorously, but still, nothing came out. He seemed to frown as he raised the little bottle even closer to his eye, which widened as he saw what Ford knew he would see: the bottle was empty.

“What the-?” Bill groaned angrily before throwing the bottle away, causing a huge wave that rocked the raft violently. “Where is it?!”

Ford felt a bit of pride fill his chest as he reached into his back pocket, and pulled out the tiny rolled up slip of paper. “Looking for this?”

Bill's eye twitched as Ford grabbed Stan's wrist, and placed the little roll in his hand. Stan stared back at him with shock and awe, almost lost for words. Then, his mouth curled into a smirk as he turned to look up at Bill, who had started to shake with fury.

“Heh, would you look at that,” Stan waved the memory in front of him. “Guess you're not as quick as you said you– argh!”

Stan was cut off as a bright blue light engulfed his hand. The memory had burst into flame, and Stan instinctively leaned back as he dropped the memory. It burned as it fell to the floor of the raft, and crumbled to ashes as the fire flickered out.

“No no no, no...!

Bill was red with rage as he kicked his feet and balled his fists. He started to fly down towards them, but before Ford could even think to be scared, Bill suddenly stopped in mid air. He tried kicking off his feet, but nothing happened.

“Huh? What the–?” Bill twisted and squirmed as he fought to move forward. “What's happening? What're you doing?!”

“I'm not doing anything,” Ford muttered as he glanced at his brother. “Are you?”

Stan didn't answer at first, his brows furrowed in– confusion? No, the thought behind his eyes was too clear to be unaware.

Before Ford could question anything, the winds suddenly picked up around them, turning the water and causing the raft to sway. Stan wobbled and Ford instinctually reached for his shoulder to steady them both. He looked back up at Bill, and Ford's eyes widened as he saw something hovering behind Bill in the sky.

It looked similar to the twisted portals that Bill would conjure every time he showed Ford a terrible memory or an out-of-reach promise. Only, Bill didn't seem to be the one conjuring it. In fact, when his large eye landed on the steadily growing hole behind him, he gasped and started to kick and scramble, trying to run through the air.

no! No, no, no, don't you dare–!”

“Our deal…” Stan muttered. “He… he said if he lost, he'd let you go, and… he'd fuck off to another universe or something.”

Ford didn't have time to wrap his head around that statement as he finally spotted something beyond the portal; A large, distant structure, pink and reflective, and a bright neon sign he couldn't quite read. The wind was picking up more now, and Bill screamed as he was slowly pulled back towards the portal.

“He wasn't exactly specific either.”

no!!!” Bill screamed. “You– Ŷ̷̮̯̘͖̱̳̒͂̿̉̀Ó̴̪̥̄̍̐͛͆Ų̷̖̹͇͉̹͂͂͊̄͝͠ͅ

But Bill was cut off as he was pulled back sharply, as if the wind itself had solidified and grabbed him. He slammed against the edge and flipped over, nearly falling through the portal. His hands managed to latch onto the edge, gripping it as if he were hanging over a cliff. The combined force was enough to turn waves in the ocean, rocking the raft and nearly causing them to tip over. Stan grabbed onto Ford's arm to keep his balance, and Ford watched in awe and horror as Bill desperately clung to the edges of the portal with several pairs of hands.

A single finger lost its grip, then another, and another. Bill grunted as he tried to heave himself out, but it was clear that whatever was dragging him in was not going to let up. Bill slowly burned red again as his large eye narrowed down on them.

“You're not… getting away… T̵̢̲͔͕̮͋͊͛͘̚ͅH̶̫̓̈́̈́̈́́͠Ā̸͓͍̥̰̘̜̖̐̌͘͝T̷͓̕

Bill raised one of his arms and reached out towards them. Instead of grabbing anything or conjuring something up, he curled in his fingers, and snapped– louder than a firework, more force than a bomb. A wave of wind flew through them, knocking both Ford and Stan onto their backs as the raft tipped threateningly.

Ford blinked up in time to see Bill's arms scramble like a bug as he was finally pulled through, and the portal swiftly closed.

The calm wasn't instant; the surrounding water shifted the raft until it melted to a gentle rock, the howling wind slowly lowered to a whisper, and even the walls of the storm's eye began to drift and expand, as if the weather was finally starting to dissipate. Ford sat up slowly, adjusting his lopsided glasses. Stan sat up beside him, propping himself up on his palms.

“Is… is that it?” he asked hesitantly. “Is it over?”

Ford swallowed. “I… believe so.”

Silence fell over them for a moment; a tense, exhausted silence. Stan sat up a little more, then reached up to place a hand on Ford's shoulder.

“You alright?”

“I…” Ford took a deep breath. “I think so. Are you?”

“I'm fine.”

Ford wasn't sure if he fully believed that, but he nodded regardless. Stan's hand fell from his shoulder, then sighed as he leaned forward, crossing his legs in front of him. Ford watched his brother for a moment, unsure of what to say or do.

“Thanks,” Stan muttered breathlessly. “You know, for coming in after me. I dunno if I would've… but, thanks.”

Ford blinked, and felt a mix of warmth and indignation in his stomach.

“You shouldn't have made that deal.” He began. “It was too dangerous, too reckless. If you hadn't gotten as far as you did, if I hadn't managed to find you…”

Stan gave him a neutral expression. He didn't argue with Ford, but he didn't seem to regret his decision either. Ford didn't expect him to.

“But… You were very brave to do so.” Ford admitted. “I'm not sure what else we could've done. Thank you…”

Stan's mouth twitched, as if he wanted to smile, and he gave a small shrug. The silence passed over them for a moment longer, broken only by the sounds of the water barely stirring around them.

“So… what do we do now?” Stan asked.

Ford wasn't entirely sure. With Bill out of the way, the only other task to worry about was getting the boys home, and Fiddleford definitely would've done so by this point. He figured the best they could do was to wait for Stan to wake up, and then they would help Fiddleford with whatever was left.

Tracking down the shapeshifter would have to come first; that creature was too dangerous to be left unattended in the woods. Ford wasn't entirely sure what they were gonna do with Sergei's unconscious form, but they could sort that out once they were awake.

The mere thought of Sergei was enough to bring up the memory of Stan in that trunk, and Ford felt his stomach twist. He hadn't thought about what Bill's journey through Stan's mind must have been like. He had mentioned getting lost for a bit before, so he must have come across a few winding paths and distracting memories. Ford wondered what sort of memories Bill had to wander through, what kind of things he saw, if Stan had seen or felt anything.

Ford opened his mouth to say something– he wasn't even sure what– when Stan suddenly yelled, hunching over as if he had been hit. His hands reached for his stomach, and he grunted painfully.

“Stan?” Ford could feel a lump forming in his throat. “What's wrong?”

“I don't– arg!”

Stan's hands scrambled at his sides, as if he were trying to rip something away. Ford shook off whatever was keeping him frozen and quickly grabbed his brother's shoulders.

“Stan, what is it? Talk to me!”

Stan didn't answer, or maybe he couldn't. His arms hugged his stomach as he keeled over until his head pressed into the floor of the raft.

“Stan!”

Ford could feel the panic rising in his chest as he crouched beside his brother, trying to get a better look even as Stan curled in on himself. What the hell even happened? Everything was fine a moment ago! They had won, hadn't they?

Ford noticed movement out on the water– on the horizon, passed where the wall of the storm had disappeared. The night sky was fading away, but not due to sunlight. A dense white fog was stretching across the water all around them, and it was slowly getting closer and closer.

Stan was waking up. Why was Stan waking up?

“Stan, talk to me!” Ford urged desperately. “What do you feel?”

“Like someone just fuckin' stabbed me!” Stan yelled through gritted teeth.

Ford nearly stopped breathing as his hands constricted on Stan's shoulders. His brain buzzed for answers too vague to describe, until he could only focus on a single thought: you won't get away that easily.

Nothing had happened when Bill had snapped his fingers. Ford had assumed that he had simply tried and failed to use his powers to save himself. Now however, he wasn't so sure. The fact that Stan was waking up now couldn't be a coincidence. Something must have happened when Bill snapped his fingers, even if they hadn't seen it. Something that would have affected them outside of the mindscape, something that would have–

And then a thought crossed his mind– a horrible, bone-chilling realization that shook Ford to his core. A thought that left him breathless as he held onto his brother, who was still groaning in pain as the white fog slowly engulfed their raft.

Ford hadn't been the only one under Bill's control.

The first thing Stan felt when he opened his eyes was a searing hot pain on his left side. The second thing he felt was something warm coating his hand as he reached for the source of his agony. He blinked, and the pain intensified as the basement ceiling slowly blurred into view. Before he could sit up to look at his injury, Stan heard heavy footsteps followed by a loud yell, and immediately turned his head.

His vision was still blurry, but he could see someone standing several feet away, and they seemed to be struggling with something large on their back. Stan blinked again, and felt his blood go cold when he realized it was Sergei. Before he could even think about panicking, Stan saw that the thing Sergei was fighting to get off his back was a person.

Fidds had Sergei's arms pulled back in a full nelson, eyes wide and teeth bared as he fought to hold him. Stan glanced up, and felt his heart sink as he saw his own red pocketknife clutched in one of Sergei's fists. The blade was red and wet under the basement lights.

Fuck…

“Stan?!”

Stan blinked as another figure leaned over him, and he quickly realized that it was Ford, eyes shocked and panicked as they stared down at him. Stan immediately moved to sit up, only to lean down on his elbow as the pain stabbed through every nerve in his body. His hand clutched his side, and warmth seeped through his fingers. Damn it, this was bad.

“Don't move,” Ford sounded breathless as he put his hands on Stan's shoulders. “Just stay down–”

“Stanford!”

Stan turned his head to see Sergei finally throw Fidds off his shoulders. His back hit the ground, and Sergei immediately turned, fist tightening around the knife. Before Stan could open his mouth, Ford sprung to his feet, and within seconds he had thrown himself onto Sergei's back. They fell into a heap on the ground, and as they began to struggle Fidds quickly leapt to his feet to assist.

Stan attempted to sit up more, and the throbbing in his side raged against him. This was bad– this was worse-case-scenario-bad. Just having Sergei in the same building as them was dangerous enough. Now, Ford and Fidds were struggling to hold him off, and Stan could barely do anything about it.

Stan bundled as much of his shirt as he could, and hissed through his teeth as he pressed it against his bleeding side. Don't look at it, don't look at it… He pressed his free hand to the ground, and managed to force himself onto his knees. He was bleeding and defenseless on the ground and fuck this hurts.

Okay, he needed to breathe, he needed to think. He couldn't do anything about his injury right now. Being empty-handed though, he could do something about that. Grab something, anything.

Stan was eyeing the bits of rubble on the ground around him when he heard Sergei yell. He looked up to see Fidds fall to the floor again, only this time he didn't get back up. Ford held onto Sergei's arms to keep him subdued, only for Sergei to throw his head back and hit Ford in the face. He lost his grip, and Sergei whipped around to punch him square in the jaw. Ford spun around before falling onto the floor.

Stan stilled for a moment, waiting to see what Sergei would do. Instead of turning back to Stan, Sergei held the pocketknife tightly as he started to slowly advance on Ford. Stan moved to get to his feet, but his body protested more, leaving him grounded. Dammit, come on! Think! Stan's gaze drifted, and that's when he saw it: Ford's crossbow was laying on the ground like a tantalizing promise, just a few feet away from Ford's fingers.

Without hesitation, Stan picked up a piece of rubble the size of his fist, and threw it at Sergei's head. It hit its mark with a sharp thunk, and Sergei howled as he hunched over. Stan quickly looked down at Ford, who was now sitting up, holding his forehead as if it weighed too much for his neck. He glanced at Stan, who immediately turned and nodded at the crossbow. Ford turned his head, but Stan had no time to make sure he understood before Sergei rounded on him.

“You…” Blood trailed from one nostril as Sergei snarled. “You sneaky, stubborn little shit stain.”

Stan slowly, deliberately, picked up another piece of rubble as he kept his eyes on Sergei. He couldn't afford to let Sergei spot Ford now. He could only hope Ford would be fast enough to react.

The arm keeping Stan upright shook as the other raised the rubble, ready to throw. But as Sergei approached, he stopped just outside of the unicorn circle and picked something off the ground. Stan could feel color drain from his face as Sergei gripped the pistol in his hand.

Bill holding a gun was unpredictable, but at least Stan knew he had a chance to get around him. Sergei only had one use in mind for it, and Stan knew he could never talk his way out of it.

“I thought it was cute when you begged for mercy in that trunk,” Sergei reminisced angrily as he cocked the pistol. “I thought it was funny when you ran from Santa Fe. Now, you've just become another thorn in my ass, and I've lost my patience trying to pull you out.”

Stan raised the rock as Sergei raised his foot, and a solid boot kicked him in the chest. He fell onto his back, and his side roared with agony. Stan propped himself on his elbows as Sergei's tall form loomed over him, and he barely managed to shoot a glare before he was staring down the barrel of the pistol.

“You've run out of holes to crawl back to, amigo,” Sergei said darkly. “And I'm tired of chasing you everywhere.”

Stan could almost feel the finger start to squeeze the trigger when a loud, almost crunching squelch echoed through the room. He blinked, and the barrel aimed at his face started to tremble. Stan looked up, and felt his jaw drop.

Sergei's eyes were wide with shock, his mouth hanging open as he reached towards his neck with his free hand. The sharp head of an arrow was protruding through his Adams apple, which was already starting to pour red. Sergei attempted to speak, but could barely splutter as blood spat from his lips.

His legs shook as he coughed and choked, hand desperately grasping at his throat. Stan could only watch as a red stain started to pour and grow down the man's shirt. The hand holding the pistol trembled until it lowered, and Sergei gagged as his knees buckled beneath him.

Ford stood just a few feet behind Sergei, crossbow aimed firmly, his chest rising and falling rapidly. His brows unfurrowed, and his angry huffing turned into breathless pants as he slowly lowered the bow. For a single moment, everything felt painfully still.

Fidds began to stir from his spot on the floor. Sergie choked softly before falling silent once more. Stan thought he could hear someone crying from behind the glass of the next room. Kids…

Stan tried to sit up again, and this time his body screamed in protest. He felt a rush of agony flow through his side, and his head spun as he fell onto his back.

Ford snapped out of it first. He dropped his crossbow before running forward, jumping over Sergei's motionless form to reach Stan. Ford crouched beside him, one hand reaching for Stan's arm as the other carefully held his face.

“Let me see.”

Stan didn't have the strength to argue as he let his hand fall from his stomach. He hissed as the fabric of his shirt was lifted for a moment, then Ford suddenly scrambled to take off his own trench coat. He didn't even bother folding it, just bundled it tightly before pressing it against the bleeding wound.

“Ford?” Fidds' voice called from beyond Stan's vision.

“Fiddleford, grab the med kit!”

Stan heard footsteps running, but he didn't bother trying to look. He didn't resist as Ford shifted his knees under his shoulders, helping him sit up a little. Whatever adrenaline Stan had was fading rapidly now, and his lungs were definitely struggling more than they should. Dammit…

“Stan, look at me,” Ford said urgently, one hand keeping pressure on the wound as the other cradled the back of Stan's head. “Keep your eyes open, alright? I need you to stay awake.”

Stan couldn't believe the tremble in his brother's voice, the crack in his normally-stiff expression, the barely contained terror beneath his eyes.

“You… actually followed me.”

Ford blinked down at him.“What?”

“You came after me,” Stan craned his neck to look at his twin directly. “You helped me… after everything…”

“What do you– Of course, I helped you! Do you really think I'd just let him–” But Ford stopped, and he adjusted his hand against Stan's injured side. “This is all my fault. If I had just found you sooner, if I hadn't made that foolish deal in the first place…”

“It wasn't your fault…” Stan managed. “You… said it yourself; he used to you. You didn't know…”

Ford didn't look convinced as he gently held Stan's head up. Stan glanced down his feet, at the now motionless body that was losing warmth slightly faster than he was now.

“I knew they were trouble– all of them– but I thought I could handle it…” Stan grunted angrily. “I dragged my mess here to you… I-I'm sorry–”

“Don't talk like that,” Ford's tone softened as he kept a steady pressure against Stan's side. “You– You'll be alright. You're here, I'm here, everything will be fine…”

Stan knew he must have lost a lot of blood, because he almost believed his brother's words. Almost believed that he was still concerned, still ready to patch up Stan's bloody scrapes like he did when they were kids.

Fidds suddenly appeared on Stan's other side. He watched through blinking eyes as their hands reached for him, as they applied burning liquid and tight bandages. Stan appreciated that his injury wasn't exposed to the air, but that didn't stop the energy seeping from his body.

“Hey, look at me!” Ford held Stan's face, urging him to look up. “You have to stay awake, just keep your eyes on us.”

Stan was struggling against the pull on his eyelids, and the air thinning in his lunges. All he wanted to do was sleep…

“I can't…”

“Yes, you can!”

Stan's vision was blurry as he watched Fidds reach over him towards his twin. “Ford–”

“We have to work quickly, I can't keep pressure forever.”

“Ford, he ain't gonna make it here.” Fidds' worried voice was growing steadily more distant in Stan's ears. “We can't give him what he needs with what we got. We gotta get him to the hospital, now.”

“We can't wait for an ambulance–”

“We can take my car. I'll help get him upstairs, and I can drive us.

“The boys are still–”

“Ford, we don't have time!” Fidd's voice cracked, shocking Stan enough to blink up at him. “Stan needs help, and he needs it now!”

They both were silent for a few seconds. Stan felt the hand around his injury constrict briefly.

“...Do you remember where you put your keys?”

“By the front door,” Fidds answered immediately.

“Let's hope they're still there.” Ford leaned down as he slid his arm around Stan's back. “We need you on your feet, just hold onto us.”

“C'mon, up ya get,” Fidds gently placed Stan's other arm around his shoulders, and they both slowly started to rise. “We gotcha. Easy now…”

Stan was clinging to consciousness by a thread, but he couldn't afford to pass out yet. If they wanted to waste their efforts on helping him, the least he could do was try to make it easier for them.

Stan grabbed whatever parts of their shoulders he could reach, and he pushed as much force as he could into legs until he was trembling on his feet. Ford used his free hand to keep a steady pressure to Stan's side, and he and Fidds began carefully but quickly moving towards the basement door. Stan didn't want to think about the look on Stanford's face once he saw him like this, and was secretly glad he was too messed up to worry about coming up with an explanation.

They had only managed to make it halfway to the door when there was a strange, sharp sound, and a bright green light illuminated from behind them. They all turned their heads, and Stan saw a tall hourglass-shaped screen standing just a few feet behind them. He realized a few seconds too late that the 'screen' was actually a doorway as three large figures suddenly marched through. They were armed from head to toe like extras from a sci-fi action movie, their faces hidden behind armored masks with ominous, green circular lenses, and their chest plates were etched with green hourglass emblems.

Stan and the others were frozen, dumbfounded, and the armed man in the front held a hand up to the side of his head.

“Suspects found! I repeat, suspects found!” his voice thundered roughly from beneath his mask. “Squad A proceeding with containment.”

The leading man reached for his waist, and pulled what looked like a long baton from his belt. He pressed a button on the handle, and the baton whirred loudly as the end glowed green. Stan didn't know who these guys were, or what that stick was supposed to do, but he didn't have the strength to find out.

Stan nearly lost his balance as Fidds suddenly pulled away from his right side. He bent down to pick up a splintered wooden handle, his left arm shaking visibly as he held it firmly.

“Go on!” Fidds urged as he ran forward. “Get 'im outta here!”

Ford didn't hesitate to hold Stan tighter as he continued leading him forward, moving faster now. Even as he pants, Stan can't help but look back as Fidds stood before the strange figures, brandishing the broken handle like a baseball bat.

There was a flash of green, a spark of electricity, and Fidd yelped as he crumpled to the floor, the handle falling from his grasp. He twitched and struggled on the ground, as if he was trying to move, but couldn't.

“Shit!” Ford gasped as reached out for the basement door.

Stan could already tell it was pointless. They were all injured, exhausted, and now they were being jumped by a new enemy that clearly outmatched them. Stan couldn't help but feel like it was somehow his fault– him and his stupid, infectious bad luck. All you do is lie, cheat, and ride your brother's coattails.

They didn't even make it past the doorway before there was another flash of green. Stan didn't feel nearly as surprised as he should have as an odd electricity erupted over his body, only the crushing guilt as Ford fell with him. He didn't feel scared as he heard heavy boots approach, only sadness as he heard Stanford's terrified cry from far away– probably by the elevator, trying to escape. All you do is hurt everyone around you.

Stan felt the weight beside him move away, and heard his brother swear as the green light flashed again. Another thump, and Ford's body hit the floor beside him once more. Stan couldn't even move his head to look at him properly.

“Stan,” Ford's voice echoed as it struggled to reach Stan's ears. “Stan, i-it's okay, just try to breathe.”

“Squad B, secure the basement stairs,” The leader spoke even as the elevator rumbled. “Younger suspects are making a break for it.”

No.

More sets of footsteps echoed in Stan's ears, and Ford grunted and struggled beside him. A pair of boots appeared in Stan's vision, and the air beside him turned cold as his brother was suddenly pulled away.

“Get your hands off me– No! Stan! Stanley…!”

No!

Stan tried to move his arms, but they refused. He tried to lift his head, and little stars appeared in his vision. Someone grabbed his shoulders, and he was turned onto his non-injured side surprisingly gently. The voices and sounds of the room were far away now, becoming more fractured by the second.

“Squad L… -o Headquarters, we're… hover gurney on stand… -spect S-82 is losing…”

No…

Stan could feel his body struggling to twitch and shake under his paralyzed condition. His vision was fading rapidly now, his pulse pounding loudly in his ears. He could barely feel a cool pressure being applied to his now burning left side.

Stanford…

Something cold was pressed to his arm, followed by a sharp, needle-like sting, and everything faded until it was gone.

Chapter End Notes

warning: Tantrum imminent, seek shelter immediately

You've reached the end of the book.