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“I got us a job.”
Stan decided to pop the news over breakfast, as much of a wrench thrown into their perfect day as it was going to cause. Their adventure last night had been a byproduct of their return from a pretty shitty job, and here he was, thrusting them into another one. But this was perhaps the biggest paying job they’d ever had, and that was enough to cause Stan to push aside anything else, including the risk factors Ford definitely knew more about than he did.
“A job?” Ford put down the fork he was currently tearing into his waffles with, raising an eyebrow. “Stanley, we just got off of a job. A particularly harrowing job, might I add.”
“Yeah, Sixer, I know, just hear me out, okay?” He cleared his throat like he had some grand announcement, and Ford rolled his eyes playfully at the ceiling; he appreciated the gesture in its own little way, and he knew he was about to have the upper hand here. Ford was easily tempted, and what he was about to say was nothing but tempting. “It pays six grand. In Quixang.”
Ford stopped for a second, muttering numbers under his breath, before his eyes widened. “Stanley, you’re joking.”
“Dead serious. Cross my heart ‘n hope to die. That’s what I said to that woman, though, believe me. She swore on her life that those were the right numbers.”
Ford drummed his fingers on the table, and Stan knew he was already winning. “Alright, I’ll bite. What sort of a job?”
“A retrieving sort of job. She wants a blood sample, and she wants the thing back aliv.”
“....What sort of a thing?”
There was the catch, wasn’t there? There was always a catch. He wasn’t sure how Ford was going to respond to the news, so he paused for a minute, but that seemed to only make Ford more curious, so eventually he spat it out. “A demon.”
“Aha. There it is.”
“Alright, is that the worst possible thing I could’ve said?”
Now Ford considered his answer, raising an eyebrow before chuckling softly. “That depends. That’s a species that carries too much variety for generalizations. Did you get a subclass? Because it really could be nothing, or it could be quite serious. I’d assume the latter, but...I’d still like to know how serious.”
“I got a file, I’ll let ya’ look at it back at the room, but…” He pursed his lips. “But it didn’t say much.”
“Well, better to look than not. It might have some vital information.”
The file did not, apparently, have any vital information, as could be evidenced by Ford’s intense grumbling an hour later as he shoved various items back into the bag. Clothes, weapons, whatever--Ford had done up enchantments on them, so that anything they needed was theirs as soon as they reached in. This didn’t mean the bags could hold an infinite amount, but it was still pretty cool in his eyes. Once he was all finished, he made his way into the room that his brother was currently occupying (not his brother’s room, because his brother didn’t sleep there and that’s what makes a room a room) and leaned against the doorframe, raising an eyebrow at the way Ford was poured into the file, rubbing his temples in frustration every few moments.
“...You good there, poindexter?”
“No.” Ford grumbled, folding his hands in his lap. “No, I’m not. The amount of information we have been given is pathetic. We know we’re to retrieve a demon, bring it back alive, and coordinates. That’s it. We cannot possibly be expected to do any sort of research without knowing what the subclass is. It’s like being asked to buy your mother a dog and being told she wanted a chihuahua after you came home with a great dane. It’s pathetic.” Ford buried his head in his hands, and, feeling bad, Stan crossed the room and sat on the bed next to him, where Ford leaned his head on his shoulder.
“We don’t have’ta go, if you don’t want to.”
“No.” Ford grumbled. “No, the pay is too promising. It would be idiotic to pass it up. We’ll just have to be ready for...Whatever, I suppose. Literally whatever.”
He wasn’t scared. “We can handle whatever, Ford. We’ve faced whatever.” It was true. Banshees, ghosts, demons, shapeshifters, bear-goat-pig-vampire hybrids. They’d been nearly killed more times than he could count on their 22 fingers combined. And yet, they’d always made it out. They had eachother, and that was more than enough.
Still, they prepared as much as they could. Their bags were stuffed to the brims of even what their enchantments could hold, a multi-variety kid for fighting every sort of demon possible; salt, iron bars, matches and mercury, and much, much more--plus Ford carried all three of his journals, just in case they would need spells. They still weren’t prepared for everything-- knowing what to use when was going to be its own challenge, and take a good amount of improvisation--but they were good at improvisation, and they were ready as they’d ever be. So, bundled up in layers (they at least knew that where they were going was cold), they punched the coordinates into their portal guns in perfect synchronization, and Stan stopped one last time to adjust his brother’s scarf against the wind before they jumped in.
It *was* cold--this was some next level cold, actually. And since he’d always been more adjusted to the cold than Ford (always, but 17 years sleeping in his car hammered that home) he turned to his brother, who was furiously rubbing his hands together, in worry. Stan placed his own hands over Ford’s, squeezing tightly. He wished he could get gloves for him, but…it was a worry for another time. “You alright?” He asked gently, tilting his head. The demons could wait. Ford nodded, biting his lip, and Stan pulled his scarf further up over his neck to keep some of the gently falling snow out. A similar winter than theirs, this dimension appeared to be facing, though year-round.
“Yes. Thank you.” Ford replied, straightening out his shoulders. “There’s more important things to worry about than the cold. For one thing--the demon.”
“Right. Where do you think we’ll find it?”
“We were sent to these exact coordinates. I don’t suppose it should take us long to find something of interest. We shouldn’t split up, though. Just pick a direction.”
As it turns out, they didn’t have to pick a direction. Because as it turns out, they weren’t the only ones looking.
“Well well well, what have we here?”
The voice was chilling, and sent shivers down his spine. He straightened up, just a bit, and felt Ford’s shoulders tense from where he was still holding onto his scarf. His hand trailed towards his holster, and Ford’s went for his bag, as the catty-cornered themselves to face more directions at once. The figure materialized then; silver, or maybe blue, around the edges, vaguely humanoid, but its features shifted so it never really looked like any one person in particular. The one thing consistent were the eyes, a brilliant blue sort of color, and they were trained...not on him. On Ford.
“Stanford Pines, in person! Oh, the honor’s mine.”
This put Stan immediately on edge. They were a team, through and through, he and Ford. However, they both might’ve been able to admit that he himself did most of the headlining. This was pretty much just chalked up to the fact that he was the fighter and Ford was the thinker--naturally, the demons would pick after him, try and shoot him down, and et cetera. People--the bad guys--knew that there was nothing he wouldn’t do for Ford. Nothing he wouldn’t do to keep him safe. So, when he felt Ford mosey behind him slightly, on average, it was nothing more than nerves, than his instinct to stand up for his brother while whatever adversary they were facing picked on him a bit. But today? Not quite. Today, it seemed, the demon had other ideas.
“Ex...cuse me?” Ford raised an eyebrow, and Stan gauged the look in his eyes. He would know right away if this was someone he recognized, so he knew right away that it wasn’t. Ford shook his head a bit. “Do I know you?”
“No, no, we haven’t met .” The creature smiled, a solid smile against its amassing configuration of facial features. “But oh, people talk.” And that was strange, that people talked about Ford, because once again, they were a team. Everything they did they did together, so to have his brother singled out was...strange. Strange and unnerving, and it pissed him off.
“Leave my brother alone, will ya’?”
“Stanley, Stanley.” Ford urged, and then he backed off, letting Ford handle this. “Who... who talks?”
“Just the grapevine. Unimportant, really.” An eyebrow raise. “The point is, I have heard so much about you, and now, we meet at last! There is many a creature who would love to have a chat with that brilliant mind of yours.” Only then did the demon’s eyes divert, finally meeting his own, and gazing into them unnerved him even more than hearing his voice. “And you brought your brother along with you. Stanley, isn’t it? Tell me, what brings the two of you to Hiems?”
What he wanted to say was we’re here to kill you, and then get right to the killing, and he was sure Ford might feel the same, but he diverted instead, did what he did best; talked a game. “We’ve heard much about your tactics in dealing with some of the creatures here in Hiems.” That much he’d drawn from the case file. “And we must say--it intrigues us.” He popped an eyebrow. “We’re dying to know more. Maybe get a demonstration?”
He rested his laurels on two facts here. One; demons love flattery, all demons, and if he gave this guy a chance to talk about itself, it wouldn’t question the motive. Two; if he got the demon fighting, even if not against him, it would be an easy way to fight back; much easier to slip in mid-parry than to have to deal the opening blow, which it might be expecting, ready for, or even anticipating.
It appears that at least one fragment of his plan worked, because the demon brightened right up. “That sure is a proposition, Stanley! It intrigues me. And as much as I would love to faun about your brother's achievements for hours, one cannot deny your propagating skills! What do you say the two of us take a walk? We can discuss more thoroughly."
He knew this was their chance, but he was also incredibly reluctant to leave Ford behind. But Ford’s gaze, and the way he nodded furiously, showed that he was eager to be as far away from the demon who knew a little too much as possible. “Do it.” He muttered. “It’ll be easier. I’ll follow behind, I promise.”
And so he went, feet crunching on the snow, resting on the fact that Ford wasn’t far behind. Once they were out of earshot, the demon turned, and something in those vivid eyes was different. Not allured, not drawn-in, not poetic. It was menacing, plain and simple. Menacing and evil. "Listen, Stanley Pines." It was all matter-of-fact now, in its voice, nothing showmancy about it. "I know why you're here. I know you're here on a job. I know you've been sent to take me to another dimension. And to that, I say---alright!" It held up both hands, newly formed, in mock surrender, chuckling some. "You want me to come with you? Fine. Didn't think I'd say that, did ya'? It's alright by me! I'll scurry on out'a here whichever way you want me." It meandered slowly away, its back to Stan.
"But."
It turned around, suddenly, smiling. "You wanna go back your way? We'll play by my rules. I'm all for bargains, Pines." It studied it’s new hand--the right one--casually. "But they'll have to be my kind of bargains. Nothing specific, nothing dangerous. I'll come up with you to the world of the living, just like you want. Just consider it an.........an IOU for later." It smiled, almost devilishly. Almost like it had been waiting for this for a very long time. "Whatd'ya say, Pines? Have we got a deal?"
The flames were bl ue.
The flames were blue, and that fact didn’t mean much to Stan. Not as much as it should. But Stan still wasn’t born yesterday. He’d never met a demon that tried to bargain with him, but he’d seen enough movies (and things that were much, much realer) to know that it didn’t end well. He knew the demon was trying to get into his head, but before he could even open his mouth to respond, he heard a gasp from behind him.
It was Ford. “You’re a quadrivium.” It wasn’t a word he’d ever heard before, but it was a look he’d seen before from his brother. Not often, but he ha d. Something in the way his eyes shone and his hands went to his sleeves and his breathing picked up showed things around the edges things that he might not have been intending--Ford was absolutely terrified, and he needed to know what a quadri-whatchamacallit was, and why it was important enough to make him almost break down like that. “That’s how--that’s why--that’s--” Ford was shaking his head in denial, and Stan backed down from the demon right away, going to his side.
“Hey, Sixer, it’s alright, breathe with me, okay?” He wound his hand around Ford’s, looking to the demon. He was beginning to be almost as frightened as Ford, if just for the lack of answers.
“What’s a matter, Goethe’s got your tongue? Right you are! Shame you weren’t told, huh? We’re quite a rare subclass. To hard to...pin down!! Those were the words you used, right? In the journals?”
“How do you…” Know about the journals. Ford beat him to saying the words, but the thought only seemed to panic him more, and Stan rubbed a thumb alongside the back of Ford’s hand, trying to ground him. It worked, he talked, but he could tell from the airy way it was phrased that Ford’s head was still bouncing around. He would’ve interfered in moments, gotten Ford away to where he could be safe before things got dire, but the conversation was too high-stakes. Still, he never in a million years would’ve expected the next words out of Ford’s mouth, words that seemed to break him, sending soft tears down his cheeks, words that he would’ve liked to flay this demon alive for making him say out loud.
“What else did He tell you about me?”
“Oh, everything!” The demon laughed. “First off, that you’re a needy little insecure egoist who is just desperate for attention.” Every word made Ford’s hands tremble more, his breath come in a little faster, and every word made Stan more and more livid. “Second off, that he had you just wrapped around his pinkie, and what a surprise that was, with your own freakish hands!”
“He---said they were freakish?” Ford’s voice broke on the last word, and only then did Stan connect the dots. Ford let out a sob at the notion, and Stan followed him down as he fell to his knees, pulling them up to his chest.
“Hey, hey, Ford, breathe, look at me.” He tried to take one of Ford’s hands in his own, but Ford was holding his own hands rigidly, shaking his head in disbelief and shock as he stared at them. “Ford?” He asked, quietly, feeling the condescending gaze of the creature on them, but Ford was far-gone. In the desperation in his eyes, he could see a flash of gold.
Then, he saw red.
Ok, fuck this job. That thing wasn’t making it out of here alive.
“You’re going to pay for that.” He growled, standing up and drawing his gun. He didn’t know if he could shoot this thing, and he knew he couldn’t ask Ford for help, but he was sure as hell going to try. The good thing was that seeing the gun seemed to take the demon by surprise, as did his aim, and he bit down a wave of fury as the thing took an interdimensional bullet to the brain.
He disappeared, and Stan breathed a sigh of relief, thinking he was in the clear; then, he felt fingers pinning an arm behind his back that were ice cold, and he took a shaky gasp. “I thought your job was to bring me back alive, Stanley.” The thing laughed again, much harsher. “Maybe two-to-one you could take me, but I knew well the only thing I had to do to knock your brother out of commission was hurt his feelings. Didn’t think it would be so easy, th--”
That was as far as he got. Because what this demon didn’t know was that along with the knife he kept on the front of his belt, he also kept one on the back, for this exact reason. He grabbed it in one fell swoop and sliced, and it seemed to surprise the demon, at the very least, who stepped back and hissed. Okay. Gun was a no, knife was a yes. He hadn’t met a single person who he couldn’t take in a knife fight, so...silver lining.
“Stan, the eyes.” He heard Ford gasp from behind him. The eyes. Right. Aim for the eyes. Stan stepped back in, and once again, seemed to take the thing off-guard. It was a good fighter, Stan realized in retrospect, but those were the sorts of things you only realized in retrospect; it had eventually drawn out a weapon, a dagger slightly bigger than his knife, and it, like everything else in this dimension, was cold to the touch, and he felt icicles shoot down his veins when he clipped him. For a singular moment, he feared hypothermia, but the moment passed. This thing had hurt his brother. It wasn’t getting out of here alive.
Unfortunately, the eyes plan didn’t seem to work as well as he thought it might. One perfect hit did nothing except leave the demon staggering back; it would’ve been the perfect opportunity to hit somewhere else, but Stan had no idea where to hit. He could feel the cold in his arm get colder, somewhere distant what wasn’t really registering, but then the demon moved its hand from its eye, and Ford saw it blister, then evaporate. Of course. This thing liked the snow--thrived in the snow. That meant...worth a shot, right?
Thank god for the enchantments; not having to look in the bag as you reached for something meant that he could grab the oil and a match mid-parry. One-handed, he found a way to upcap the oil, and sort of spilled it everywhere--onto the snow below, the demon, himself, and the weapon. Right. Keep the knife away from his own pants, and everything should be fine. Stan pulled the match out with his free hand, and only then did the demon seem to hesitate. “What’s the matter?” He growled, striking it against his belt. “You don’t want me to light this up?”
A flaming knife is a hell of a thing to fight with, especially when it burns up your enemy as you work it. It’s something he would have to try more often, but again, that was a retrospective thought. In the moment, his mind was nothing but pure fury; he wanted this thing dead, and nothing was going to keep him from that fact.
And nothing did. It was barely five minutes before the demon was nothing more than ash coating his knife, and he rubbed his arm furiously, trying to warm it. They’d figure that out when they got home. Only then did he remember Ford, turning back and running to his side. He was still trying to catch his breath, and Stan’s brows furrowed in concern as he knelt down next to him, shrugging his coat off his shoulders and wrapping it around him. “It’s alright, Sixer.” He muttered, rubbing his hand down the side of his brother’s face, trying to steady Ford’s eyes. “Look at me, okay? Breathe with me. I’m right here.” He guided Ford’s hand to his chest so he could feel him breathing, and it seemed to work, at least momentarily.
“The job.” Ford gasped, eyebrows furrowing.
“Okay, fuck the job.” He laughed. “I wasn’t letting that thing live another second.”
“Yes, well.” Ford’s posture relaxed just a bit, knees moving away from his chest, and Stan breathed more easily, scooching next to him in the snow. He held his arms out and Ford worked his way into them, and he just held him for a moment, until he kept talking. “I cost us a lot of money because of some...stupid demon’s insults. I need to stop being so...sensitive.”
“It’s alright, Ford. You’re goin’ through a lot. And strongly, at that. There’s no reason to beat yourself up.”
Something else was troubling Ford, though, and he followed his brother’s gaze to his un-gloved hands. “Aw, don’t worry about that. It couldn’t think of anything better. I mean, seriously?”
“It’s not the hands.” Ford muttered, but after cracking a small smile at Stan’s joke. “I just, didn’t think He would...He always... about my hands, and…”
It wasn’t something they talked about a lot--Ford wasn’t always ready, and he got that--so it was reasonable that his brother was a bit tongue-tied. “Always seemed to level with me about them. I hate the feeling that I’ve been talked about.”
“Yeah. It’s gross.” Stan nodded. He’d been the subject of gossip at school, so he got it. Sort of. This was a little heavier than simple schoolboy insults, but he still got it. “Normal’s bullshit though, amiright? ‘N Bill’s full of bullshit too.”
The last remark seemed to take Ford entirely by surprise, and he looked up, laughing for real this time. “Yes, full of bullshit. I...suppose so.” Ford let the extra weight off his shoulders, then, and Stan put his coat back on, standing and helping Ford up. “Pretty impressive, the way you...lit him on fire.” Ford chuckled slightly. “Oh, what are we going to tell our client?”
“Thing was temperamental. Let me do the talking, alright?”
“You don’t have to. You don’t have to...do any of this. Do the talking for me. Light things on fire for me.”
“What are brothers for if not a little arson once in a while though, huh?”
Ford smiled, pointing his gun ahead of them. “You’re ridiculous, Stanley.”
Things would be warmer on the other side.