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Chapter Text

Stanley trudged up to the open telephone booth, the weight of his eyelids threatening to pull the rest of his body down with them. Rain pounded on the glass covering. He grabbed the nearly-broken red phone with all the strength he could muster and pressed his finger down on the jumble of numbers his mind had somehow maintained. Lifting the speaker to his ear, he closed his eyes and took a sharp breath as the dull ringing began to play. After a few moments, it ceased, and a voice spoke on the other end.

“Hello? This is Stanford Pines.” The familiar voice made Stanley’s chest tighten, and he considered hanging up and never calling again. He took one more deep breath and began to reply, but instead only let out a strained squawk. He pulled the phone away, coughed into his elbow, and brought the phone back before trying once more.

“Uh– hey.” He murmured. His eyes began to burn. “... Hey.” He repeated after nearly a minute of raw silence from the other end. His hands were already shaking. All his instincts told him to smash the phone back into its place and drive himself off a cliff for even thinking this would be a good idea.

“... Stanley?” His brother finally replied- his voice was rough with either shock or anger. Stan couldn’t tell. “Why are you- how did-” A scraping was heard from the other line, followed by a sigh and a couple more moments of silence, as if the amount between the two wasn’t already great enough. “Why are you calling me?”

Fuck. He shouldn’t be doing this. Maybe the cliff idea wasn’t so bad after all.

Stanley took a sharp breath. He tried to recall whether blinking held back tears or brought them forward. He knew about the phrase ‘blinking back tears’, but was that just a metaphor? “What, a guy can’t check in on his brother?”

“Check in!? Stanley, it’s been nearly a decade!” Stan could imagine his brother pinching his nose bridge as he spoke. He winced at the implication his own brain had given him that his brother was annoyed with him. “..What do you want?”

“Uh… Where are you?” Stanley twirled the phone’s cord around his finger, tapping his foot whilst he spoke. He tried to feign confidence in his voice, as he often did, but for some reason he just couldn’t do it this time. Instead, the words came out choked and unnatural, as if he had to force them out of the depths from which he came. Maybe that was what he was doing. He didn’t know how voices worked.

“Why do you want to know?” Stanford spat. Even more silence- the last thing Stanley expected was to be bored by a call with his brother after all this time. He didn’t dare to speak, however. Instead, he waited until Ford’s quiet voice came through the phone once more. “... I’m in Oregon. Gravity Falls. You… You probably haven’t heard of it.”

Stanley’s face lit up at his brother’s words. “Does that… Does that mean you got accepted into that school? West Coast Tech?” He believed he had ruined his brother’s chances, but if his memory served him right, Oregon was most certainly on the west coast. A small bit of optimism welled in his chest- if what he had done didn’t affect Ford’s chances of getting into his dream school, maybe they could be friends once more.

“No, I didn’t–” Ford’s voice bellowed through the phone. He interrupted himself with a loud sigh, clearly annoyed. All hope that Stan had found vanished as soon as it came. “What do you want?” He spoke through gritted teeth.

“What are you doing in Oregon then?” Stan blurted. He wasn’t sure if he was genuinely curious or if he was simply biding time. He didn’t want to realize that he was scared to speak to Ford, but he already had, and he already hated himself for it. “Did you, like… Settle down, or?”

“Why do you want to know?” The voice on the other end of the phone was cruel and harsh and not the brother Stan knew and also maybe definitely the brother Stan knew. He opened his mouth to reply, but Ford interrupted him (unknowingly- he couldn’t see Stan’s mouth, after all). “I’m… There’s a high concentration of strange occurrences here, so to speak. I’m researching anomalies.”

“Oh. That’s… That sounds right up your alley.” Stan tried to force some enthusiasm into his reply, but he really just couldn’t muster up the energy. He was tired and anxious and itching to just say what he wanted to say. At the same time, however, the voice in the back of his head told him that this was a terrible idea.

“What do you want, Stanley? You keep stalling. I’m not stupid, I can tell.” Ford pulled Stanley out of his thoughts. He knew his brother was right, and he couldn’t stall for any longer. He swallowed, palms beginning to sweat despite how cold it was outside.

Just say it.

“I just thought I could come visit you some time.” Stan tugged at the end of his jacket with his free hand, the wet cloth clinging to his sides. The storm around him showed no signs of giving up any time soon, and if he benefitted at all from this call with his brother, it would be the benefit of shelter, if only for a few minutes. “I’d like to know what you’ve been up to.”

“Well, that’s too bad, because I am in Oregon. Do you realize how far that is from New Jersey? It’s on the opposite side of the country.”

“I’m in California right now, actually.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah. So can I come over or not?”

“If you tell me why.” Stanford grumbled. “Why now? All of a sudden? After nearly a decade of radio silence from you? I’ll admit, I’ve been worried sick, Stanley. And now you’re going to call me and– and act like nothing happened? Why, if you could call me all this time, did you not earlier?”

“... You were worried about me?” Stan blinked in surprise. He knew that his brother was currently mad at him, but he didn’t care. Ford was worried. Somebody was worried.

“Of course I was.” His brother replied in a heartbeat, voice still stern. “Regardless- you haven’t answered my question. Why now?”

“I… I wanted to apologize to you. In person. Would you..” Stan stumbled over his words, still surprised that Ford would admit that he missed him. “I mean- could I?” Another period of dead silence washed over the two, finally broken by a sigh on the other end of the phone.

“I suppose… I don’t see why not. I mean- I see plenty of reasons, but… Yes. Yes, you can visit. And apologize. Do you have a pen and paper? I’ll give you the address.”

“No, but my memory is good enough.” Stan leaned back against the glass walls of the phone booth. His hair and his clothes stuck to his skin and yet the hope in his heart was greater than it had been in years. He prepped his sleep-deprived mind to memorize one of the most important things he would memorize in nearly ten years.

A shuffling could be heard from the other end before his brother’s voice spoke once more. “Wh– alright. The address is…”

—---------------------------——---------------------------—

“I don’t know why he wants to come visit all of a sudden- hell, I don’t even know why I agreed to it!” Stanford paced across the kitchen as he spoke, one hand holding a cup of coffee, the other to his head.

“Then why did you?” Fiddleford bounced his leg at the kitchen table as he gazed down at the tea he’d prepared for himself. Ford had previously told him that he should rather be drinking coffee- it helps increase productivity- but he supposed it was hard to pull a man like him from his ways. “Besides,” he continued. “Won’t it be nice to see your brother after all these years? I’m sure he misses you.”

“Were you not listening the last ten minutes I’ve been explaining this to you?” Ford scowled. “He took away my opportunity to go to one of the best schools in the country! Because he was jealous, nonetheless!”

“Didn’t you say he said he wanted to apologize?” Fiddleford replied. He pulled back a strand of hair from his face as he glanced back up at his partner.

“Well- yes, but he was clearly acting out of anger. Are you truly inclined to believe a man you’ve never met over me?”

Fiddleford narrowed his eyes. “I suppose not.” Following a sip of his tea, he spoke again. “But… You wouldn’t have met me if you’d gone to West Coast Tech.” When he saw the look on Stanford’s face, he quickly added, “Not– not that I’m more important than.. This, of course. I know how important it is to you.”

“No, no, I… I am grateful. That I got to meet you.”

“.. But?”

“But nothing. It’s just that… I’m a bit hesitant to welcome Stanley, is all. He’s always been a bit…” Ford sighed, taking another sip of his coffee as he continued to pace across the kitchen. After a few moments, he made a motion with his hand as he tried to find the correct word to describe his brother. Eccentric? Foolish? Senseless?

“Unstable?” Fiddleford offered.

“Unpredictable.” Stanford snapped as the word came to him. “What if- what if he’s still bitter with me for letting him get kicked out? And he’s trying to get revenge on me? Or… Or…” His mind blanked once more, so he took another sip of coffee to try and give it the kick it needed to continue this conversation.

“While I certainly don’t know yer brother as well as you do, I don’t think he’s trying to get revenge on you. Why don’t you try giving him some grace?”

Ford only sighed in response, taking a seat across from his research partner at the table and putting his head into his hands. He let his heavy eyelids fall close as he spoke, exasperated. “I just… I don’t know. This is all a lot to take in, I suppose.”

“I’m sure it is.” Fiddleford stood up and approached Ford, putting a hand on his shoulder. He then grabbed the man’s chin and lifted it up so the two’s eyes met. If Ford’s mind hadn’t already vacated, it certainly had now. “But if you can do all of this-” he motioned to all the experiments around them- “-I’m sure you can handle a meet-up with yer brother.”

Ford quickly pulled his chin out of the other man’s hands, shaking his head as if to concede to Fiddleford’s ‘argument’. “...You’re right.” Ford replied after several moments of comfortable silence.

“I always am.”

—---------------------------——---------------------------—

Stan had never seen snow this white before. The setting sun reflected on it just perfectly for him to barely be able to see where he was driving. Not to mention how cold it was- this car had lost its heating capabilities a long time ago. He hated to admit it, even to himself, but he actually missed the rain when compared to this. He glanced back down at his hand, where a sloppy, smudged address was written on in sharpie.

Eventually, he arrived at what must be the right place, but what also looked like the last place Ford would have decided to settle down. Sure, it was in the middle of nowhere, which seemed right up his alley, but it was also a run-down cabin.

Here goes nothing.

Stan slipped out the car, a cold breeze brushing his hair out of his face. He scrunched his nose against the cold, squinting as he pulled his hoodie over himself and trudged up to the door of the cabin. He closed his eyes, lifted his fist to the door, and inhaled sharply- this was the moment. He was going to see his brother again after years and years, and he was going to immediately regret it, and maybe this is a bad idea and he should have never came here and-

“Stanley?”

When Stan opened his eyes, a slightly more disheveled version of the brother he knew stood at the open door.

Chapter Text

“Stanley?”

Stan blinked his eyes open to see his twin brother standing at a now open doorway. He slowly lowered his fist back to his side. Stanford… He looked like he’d seen better days, to put it kindly. He had bags under his eyes, messy hair and clothes and everything, really. He’d let a stubble grow out for the first time… Well, ever, really. He even had a tattoo, across his neck of all places, in some foreign language Stan had never seen before. The two gawked at each other for several moments.

“... Hey. It’s… Good to see you again.” Stanley finally muttered. He chewed at the inside of his mouth anxiously. When Stanford didn’t respond, Stan tried again. “Uh… Are you gonna let me in or not? I’m freezing my ass off out here.”

To this, Ford finally blinked away whatever other world his brother’s presence had brought his mind to and stepped aside. “Yes. Come in.” He hastily rasped. Stan awkwardly shuffled past him and into the cabin, where he was quickly met with all sorts of… Well, he wasn’t really sure what he was being met with. Things, he supposed. Eyeballs in jars, piles of papers, what appeared to be some sort of taxidermy bat. Stan decided to give his brother the benefit of the doubt and assume this was some sort of weird science thing. “Apologies for the mess. I didn’t get much warning.” Ford’s voice came off as almost accusatory.

“Is yer brother here, Stanferd?” A soft, country voice called from deeper within the labyrinth of a living space. Somehow, despite Stan knowing absolutely nothing about this person- he wasn’t even aware he existed- they already seemed quite a bit more welcoming than Ford.

“Who’s that?” Stan spoke, hopefully quiet enough for this other mystery person to not hear him. Ford huffed in response, running his hand through his hair before speaking.

“That’s my… research partner. He’s been, er… eager to meet you.” Ford scrunched his nose, as if the enthusiasm of his ‘research partner’ was one of life’s greatest mysteries.

Good to know someone appreciates my presence.

Within moments, a face was put to the voice as a freakishly tall, dirty-blond man seemed to simply appear in front of Stan. Their eerily intense blue-eyed eye contact made him want to shrink into his skin, but he stood tall, not wanting to seem weak. Or something.

“Pleased to meet you!” The man’s voice was eager and quick, tainted by an unmistakable southern accent. “The name’s Fiddleford Hadron Mcgucket, but you can call me Fiddleford.”

Who names their kid Fiddleford? Stan couldn’t help but wonder to himself as he took a hesitant back. And who introduces themself like that? He considered turning around, leaving this god-forsaken place, and never returning. He should’ve hung up that phone when he had the chance.

“It’s… good to meet you too.” Stan muttered, moving his hands behind his back to try and indicate that he DID NOT WANT A HANDSHAKE.

“I sure hope you haven’t been travelin’ too far to meet us! Here, I’ll make ya somethin’. Are you a tea or a coffee person?” Fiddleford continued to ramble, making indecipherable hand gestures as he went along. At least he wasn’t holding it out for a handshake, Stan thought.

“Uh… I’m fine, thanks.”

“No, no, I insist. Unless ya don’t like either? I think we have orange juice. Stanferd, do we have orange juice?” Fiddleford turned to the other person who might as well have not been involved in this interaction at all. He blinked, seemingly in surprise after being acknowledged, and bit his lip.

“Er… I think?” Ford shrugged slightly, tilting his head as he spoke. “I mean, last I checked, yes. But I last checked a week ago, if not longer.”

Stan raised an eyebrow before muttering, “What- nevermind.” What sort of person hasn’t checked their fridge in a week? He didn’t need his twin to answer his question aloud to know what he would say, even after all this time apart. It would be something like ‘oh, I simply don’t have the time to indulge in worldly pleasures such as eating’ or some stupid shit like that. By the time Stan had finished this thought, Fiddleford had already rushed to the kitchen and checked the fridge.

“We have juice, yes- do you want juice?” Fiddleford held up a carton that had certainly seen better days. Stan worried that if he were to drink it, he would die of mold poisoning the next day. Is that how mold worked? He wasn’t sure. Either way, he was not going to drink that.

“I’ll have coffee, actually. If you don’t mind.” Stan spoke reluctantly. He’d been in Texas or Tennessee or wherever Fiddleford was from (it only mattered that he was southern) to know that if you’re a guest, you cannot refuse food or drinks. “Thanks.” He quickly added.

“Of course! You take after yer brother– oh, sorry, I’ve forgotten to ask! What’s yer name?” Fiddleford turned to face Stan, voice slightly raised as he spoke from the kitchen two or three yards away.

To the man’s words, Stan tilted his head. “Did… Did Ford not tell you my name?” He tried to keep his voice as non-accusatory as he could. When he turned to Stanford, he shrugged in response before speaking up for maybe the second time this conversation.

“I did. F just likes to hear people’s names from those people.” He replied, gruff.

“F?”

“It’s his nickname for me!” Fiddleford called from the kitchen as he grabbed a mug from a high-up cabinet Stanley wasn’t even sure he could reach. The freakishly tall man in the kitchen, however, could do it without even standing on his toes. “But yes, what he said is right. If you wouldn’t mind, I’d like to hear yer name from you.” Fiddleford turned to smile at Stan- a smile that somehow felt sincere and insincere at the same time.

“Okay, then.” Stan stretched both words in the sentence. “I’m Stanley. Or Stan. Or Lee. Your pick.” He tried to smile back, but it resulted in more of a grimace than a smile. He would have to practice, he decided.

“I’ve always enjoyed people with plenty o’ nicknames. It lets me choose what to call ya.” Fiddleford’s voice was soft when he spoke- it was a nice contrast to Stanford’s. Stanley entered the kitchen to watch Fiddleford make the coffee.

“You’re just making it black?” Stan muttered.

Fiddleford glanced over at Stan, eyes widening. “Oh- sorry- ya just look like the typa guy to want it that way. I suppose I assumed you took after yer brother. Should I add somethin’?”

“Oh- uh- if you don’t mind.” Stanley began to crack his knuckles as he spoke, glancing away. “I’ll just have it with milk. Thanks.” To this, Fiddleford moved to the fridge with a hum. Stanley gazed at him as he continued to move to make this cup of coffee, mind wandering god-knows-where. He didn’t know why, but the simple request of adding milk to his cup of coffee made him feel… weak. Inferior. Suddenly, as if he was magic, Ford had appeared behind Stan with a scowl. Stan quickly turned, eyes widening.

“What?” he muttered.

“Are you going to keep stalling, or are you going to do what you came here to do?” Stanford hissed, scrunching his nose. “Did you think I let you come here for no reason?”

Stan sighed, clenching his fist. He tried to look anywhere but into his brother’s eyes. “I’m sorry.” He muttered under his breath.

“Look at me. And speak up. I can barely hear you.”

Stanley looked up. “I’m sorry, okay?” His voice had already begun to crack, and he’d barely begun his apology. “I- I broke your nerd machine and ruined your chances of getting into a good college, and I’m sorry. I’ve missed you.”

Fiddleford had left the kitchen, leaving a finished cup of coffee on the counter beside Stan. He didn’t take it.

“I don’t know how to say how sorry I am. I- I don’t know how to make it up to you. I’ll do anything– well, almost anything… Listen. I just- I’m sorry. It really was an accident. I know you won’t believe me, but… I wouldn’t ruin my brother’s life on purpose.” He couldn’t see Ford’s reaction through the blur of tears in his eyes. “I don’t know what else to say. I’ve… I’ve never been good with this sort of thing.”

A silence washed over the two, broken only by a sniffle from Stan.

“You’re more pathetic than I remember you being.” Ford spoke after a couple moments.

“Excuse me?”

“You’re crying. You never cry.”

“And?”

“... And nothing, I suppose.” Stanford cleared his throat. “Listen, I–” He sighed, as if whatever he was about to say was a burden on him. “I… I appreciate the apology, for starters.” Stan’s eyes lit up. He grimace-smiled. “And,” Ford continued. “I believe you. I believe that it was an accident. But–” He took a deep breath. Speaking quieter than he previously had, he muttered, “I don’t know if I forgive you. Or- I don’t forgive you- not yet.”

Stan glanced up at his brother for the first time in this conversation, who’s eyes widened. They stared at each other for a few more moments. Stan felt his heart sink into his chest. He clenched his fists, trying to push down any emotions that may rise. He felt like he couldn’t breathe, but he wasn’t sure if it was due to anger or just… Sadness. He felt defeated.

“So what now?” He spoke quietly, in hopes that it would allow him to keep his feelings in check. “Do I leave? Is that it?”

“I- no. I won’t make you leave. It’s… Stanley, it’s been so long. Why don’t you stay a bit longer?”

Stanley slowly blinked at his twin. His twin who he hadn’t seen in a decade, all because of one stupid mistake he had made. His twin who had stood in front of him and watched as he poured his heart out, as he cried his apology. His twin who didn’t forgive him. His twin who was just standing there, as if he hadn’t just shattered someone’s hopes. It was as if he didn’t even know. Stan wanted to make him know.

“Do you even know how hard it’s been for me!?” Stan took a step forward. “I’ve been trying all this time to fix my mistake! I’ve tried and tried and tried and I’ve done nothing but work all day! And here you are in your fancy little science cabin with your fancy little ‘research partner’-” -He made air quotes when he said this- “- and I’ve been working my ass off! Just look at me! I’ve done nothing but try to correct this stupid mistake I made. I poured my heart out to you, Sixer, and you don’t even have the grace to forgive me!?”

Ford blinked, surprised. Stan looked up. The two made eye contact.

“I… No, I didn’t- I didn’t mean–” Stan sighed. “I understand. Why you wouldn’t forgive me.”

Ford only tilted his head in response.

“I mean, I shouldn’t expect someone to forgive me just because I apologized. It’s just… I thought that you would. I’m stupid for that. But I thought you would forgive me, and that I could… I dunno. I thought I could stay with you.” Stan blinked a few times, glancing back down, away from his brother’s judgemental stare.

“Don’t you have a home?” Ford raised an eyebrow.

“Wh- I- yes, of course I do! What, do you think I’m some sort of…” Stan grasped for a word that wouldn’t insult his own current situation. “Uh…”

“Stanley, are you homeless?”

“No.”

“Stanley.”

“I’m not homeless.”

“Stanley.”

“So what if I am!? Why do you have such a problem with it?”

Ford sighed, rubbing his nose bridge with his fingers. “I don’t. It’s just- why didn’t you tell me sooner?” He clenched his fists. “I could have helped you.”

Helped him? Stanley made a face. His brother wouldn’t have helped him, he would have told him that this is what he deserved and cast him out. The only reason he hadn’t already was that Stan had given up his pride and apologized.

“You don’t know how hard it’s been for me.” Stan hissed. “How hard it’s been to do this.”

“It’s been hard for me as well.” Ford grumbled in response. “You only ever think about yourself, Stanley. You always have. Maybe if you stopped and thought, you never would have gotten into this whole mess in the first place.”

“THAT WAS A DECADE AGO!” Stan raised his voice, taking a step close as he felt rage flood his mind. He wanted to explode. “I’ve changed since then! But for some reason, you think that I’m still this little bitty teenager who can’t do anything!”

“Because that’s how you act!”

“We’ve spoken for a few minutes, Pointdexter! You don’t know how I act! It. Has been. A decade.” Stan put his hands up in exasperation. “And don’t even get me started on how I ‘only ever think about myself’- I poured my heart out to you. And you did nothing. Nothing! You gave me this stupid little ‘oh I kind of forgive you but actually not at all!’ I don’t even know why I bothered like you. You’re just like Dad.”

Silence washed over the two. Stan began to regret everything he had said. He didn’t want to admit he was wrong, though. He wasn’t, really, he just had said the wrong things. His anger was justified, surely. Ford only stared at him, mouth slightly agape.

Ford turned and walked out of the kitchen, moving into the main room and away from Stan’s sight. He stood for a couple moments before turning to the now still-hot cup of coffee Fiddleford had prepared and downing it in two sips. He felt it burn his tongue and his throat and threaten to come back up as he pushed down a cough. He stood still for a few moments before hurling the cup of coffee across the kitchen and into the wall. It shattered and fell to the floor; Stan exhaled a breath he had not realized he was holding. Tears began to form for the third time since he’d arrived at this stupid cabin.

A man- thin as a pole and tall as the doorway, rushed in and stopped just behind Stan, who could see in his peripheral vision that it was Fiddleford.

“Lee?” Fiddleford muttered. “Did ya throw that?”

“I’ll throw you next.”

“Was the coffee still in there?”

“... No. I drank it.”

“Well, thanks fer’ that, at least.” He chuckled as he moved to the kitchen counter, bending down to grab something from the lower cabinet.

Stan cleared his throat. “Sorry for smashing your cup.”

“Hey, s’alright. I get it. Stanferd’ can get mighty annoying at times. Lord knows I’ve broken a few things in his presence.”

Stan chuckled. “Thanks.”

“He’s gone to blow off some steam, I’d reckon. Why don’t you stay the night? There’s a guest room in the attic.” Fiddleford smiled a genuine, friendly smile at Stan, who slowly blinked in response.

“Really? You… You don’t think Ford would mind?”

“I’ll make sure he doesn’t. The man needs some sense knocked into him if he refuses his own twin as a guest.” Fiddleford turned to exit the kitchen. “Come on, I’ll show you to yer’ room.”

—------------------------------------------------------------------------------------—

Stanford forced his jacket over his shoulders and his feet into his shoes. They were old and falling apart, but he couldn’t bother to get anything new. He was too busy with other affairs– that was, until Stan had come and smashed his routine into pieces. The last thing he heard before he disappeared out the door was the smashing of a glass object and the clamor of footsteps from upstairs- most likely Fiddleford’s. Ford didn’t wait to find out. He stepped out into the cold, walking down the driveway and into the woods. The snow was unusual, he remarked to himself, as he took a sharp breath of fresh air. Unusual for anywhere else, that is- it was quite the normal occurrence to have snow in the middle of summer here in Gravity falls. At least, he believed it was summer. He hadn't checked in a while.

Pulling his coat around him, Ford continued walking until any sign of interference from man had left his surroundings and he found himself completely alone. He leaned against a tree, letting his eyes closed as he sighed. Falling asleep in the cold was a surefire way to contract some sort of illness, but he reasoned with himself that he only needed a few minutes.

Ford felt his soul rise from his body- consciousness? Ford wasn’t quite sure how this all worked. He’d have to do more research. Regardless, when he found the energy to open his eyes once more, he knew himself to be in his mindscape- a sort of in-between state of consciousness that was meant to represent his ‘soul’, he had concluded. Instead of using it to find himself- that was simply a waste- Ford used his mindscape to communicate with someone who could not contact him in his waking world.

“I wasn’t aware you had an inferior twin!” A shrill voice called from behind him. Ford turned to see the familiar face he had come to see. Well, it wasn’t exactly a face, but it was close enough- the single eye this being had was enough to express what he needed to express.

“Hello, Bill. I- yes. I suppose it never came up.” Ford adjusted his glasses. “I don’t know what to do.” He sighed. “About him, that is.”

“If you want my advice- and I know you do- I think he’d be a great assistant for that little project of ours!” Bill summoned his cane from thin air and pretended to lean on it.

“Hm. I believe he could, yes. Do you really think it’s… A good idea? To have someone like him around? I mean, I’m just a little, er, perturbed.” Ford cleared his throat. “What if he’s violent?”

“HAH! That guy!? He’s too insecure to hurt anyone but himself!” Bill threw his cane behind him, and it twirled a couple times in the air before flying out of Ford’s field of vision. “You’ll be fine, Sixer! Besides, you have the perfect bribe!”

“... Bribe?” Ford raised an eyebrow.

“Tell the sucker you’ll only let him stay with you if he helps you with the portal, DUH!”

“... I don’t know how ethical that is.”

“Fordsy, none of the greats worried about ethics. You think Darwin was worrying about the ethics of telling everyone their beliefs were all wrong!?”

“Well, there’s evidence that he-”

“Shut up. This is a good idea, I promise you.” Bill smiled- well, his eye showed the signs of one. He didn’t have a mouth to smile with.

Suddenly, Bill snapped, and Stanford found himself back in the woods, leaning against a birch tree. Night had fallen, and so had snow, as his clothes were covered in the white powder. He stood up and dusted himself off before sighing and beginning to make his way home, the sinking feeling in his gut getting worse with every step he took.

He hoped Stanley hadn’t already left.

Yet, at the same time, he really hoped that Stanley had already left.

Chapter Text

Stanford didn’t end up returning to the cabin until late at night. He’d decided, since he was already halfway there, he’d go to the store and pick up some things. Then, he decided that, well, since he was in town, he might as well get some errands done. He’d nearly entered every accessible building in town before he’d realized he had been stalling for far too long and he should probably be getting home.

He walked as slow as humanly possible through the woods on the way home, making a point to admire every tree and stare at the moon for a while. He’d surely noticed before, but he noticed now more than ever how eerily similar the knots in the trees looked to eyes. He knew he was most likely seeing things- perhaps due to exhaustion- but he swore the pupils of the trees’ ‘eyes’ were following him- watching him.

When he did get home, nobody greeted him. Fiddleford must have gone to sleep already, and Stan… Was Stan even here? The sinking feeling returned to Ford’s stomach as the thought came to him. Perhaps he had left. Perhaps that was a good thing.

Ford took off his coat, throwing it at the coatrack- it missed and fell to the floor- and half-rushed upstairs towards Fiddleford’s room. He knocked twice before entering to find him fast asleep, mumbling something as he nearly choked on nothing in his slumber.

“Fiddleford? Fiddleford, wake up.” Ford shook the man. He soon turned over in bed, blinking away sleep. He squinted.

“Stanferd? That you?” Fiddleford reached over to his bedside table as he sat up, grabbing his glasses and adjusting them onto his face. He blinked a few times.

Ford sighed. “Yes, it’s me. Who else would it be?”

“Lee, maybe. I let him stay up in the attic tonight. Ya’ better not have a problem with that.”

Ford grimaced. Lee? Why was Fiddleford already nicknaming him? “So… he’s still here?” His stomach lurched- he didn’t know how to feel.

Fiddleford furrowed his brow. “Is that not what I jus’ said?”

“I suppose. Yes. I don’t have a problem with it, by the way. I want to talk to him.” Ford’s gaze moved away from fiddleford towards the window- the snowfall outside had turned to a near-blizzard in the few minutes since he had returned. He’d come home at a good time, he thought to himself.

“Well, you’ll have to talk to him in the mornin’, cuz I’ve only just stopped hearing his tossin’ and turnin’ through the roof.” Fiddleford put his glasses on the bedside table and moved back into bed. “Goodnight.” “But- I-” Ford sighed. “Goodnight.” With that, he turned and exited the room, shutting the door behind him. He headed back downstairs to his room. It felt rather empty compared to Fiddleford’s, what with how cluttered the other man enjoyed his room. Ford preferred minimal distractions.

After getting ready for bed, he found himself lying in starfish position, staring at his roof, for quite a while. Thoughts swirled around in his head, and despite the amount of times he tried to visualize a windshield wiper wiping the thoughts away, they persisted. Was getting Stanley involved in all of this a good idea? Why was he so worried about this? His muse had never been wrong before, so why was he so doubtful now all of a sudden?

Occasionally, he found himself getting up in the middle of the night to perform some arbitrary task. He created a list or two. He doodled in his sketchbook. He paced around the living room. He stared at the snow out the window. Whenever he caught himself doing something, he’d get back into bed. It felt as if his brain was working on autopilot, and he hated it.

It took several hours for Ford to fall asleep. He did not dream.

By the following morning, the snow had already melted. Strange flashes of unorthodox weather had plagued the town for as long as Ford could remember, so it didn’t faze him too much. He blinked away the sun that shone through his curtain- was it really late enough for sunlight to hit his window?- and slowly rolled out of his bed onto the floor. For a moment, he couldn’t recall why he was so tired.

Ah, right. He thought as he blinked away sleep. The memories of the previous day quickly came back to him.

He slowly made his way through his morning routine- by the time he’d come downstairs, Fiddleford had already made breakfast for the two. Probably the most typical breakfast to grace this planet- bacon and scrambled eggs.

“Mornin, Stanferd! You slept in late.” Fiddleford grinned at Stanford, who only slowly blinked in response. He quickly moved past Fiddleford to make himself a cup of coffee.

“Morning. Breakfast looks nice. Did you make too much, or…?” He angled his head towards the extra plate on the table.

Fiddleford squinted. “That’s for Lee, duh. Did ya forget he was here…?

“I don’t think I could forget even if I tried.” Ford grumbled.

Fiddleford began to bounce his leg. “So… What are you plannin’ on telling him? About stayin’ here?”

“I… What?”

“Well-” Fiddleford cleared his throat. “I, er, overheard yer argument- your conversation- yesterday. Didn’t he ask to stay?”

Ford grimaced. “You… Oh. Yeah. I was thinking about that. He’d be good at some of the more… laborious work. He’s always been strong. I’ve decided he can stay if he helps us with that side of construction. Of the portal.”

Fiddleford hummed. “I suppose that’s reasonable.” He said. “Say, speakin’ of the portal…”

“Is there a problem?” Ford nervously swallowed. He knew the blueprints he and Bill had drafted together were a little outlandish, but he was of the belief it was nothing Fiddleford couldn’t handle.

Fiddleford grimaced; the speed of the bouncing of his leg suddenly greatly increased. “I, uhm… By my calculations, we’d need a Temporal Displacement Hyperdrive. For yer design, that is.” He began to explain, making plenty of non-explaining hand motions as he went. “As far as I’m concerned, creating such a thing would be impossible with our current level of technology.”

Ford grabbed his now finished cup of coffee- he’d brewed it as they spoke- and took a small sip before opening his mouth to speak. “Well–”

CRASH! A series of increasingly louder thumping sounds came from the hall as Stanley slid down the stairs into view. He sat still for a few moments, appearing to be processing the fact that he had just fallen down the stairs. Slowly, he glanced up at Fiddleford and Ford, who were both staring at him, eyes wide. Fiddleford cleared his throat. Ford quickly swallowed the coffee he’d just taken a sip of.

“... Morning.” Stanley finally said, curving his mouth into the least convincing smile to grace this planet. The most scientifically un-smilish smile, Ford concluded to himself. “Thought I’d… Slide into the conversation.”

Ford sighed.

“Oh!” Fiddleford snapped back into reality, both literally and metaphorically as he had also snapped his fingers. “Lee, Stanferd here had good news!”

“I wouldn’t say…” Ford bit his lip. “I… Yes. I suppose I do have good news.”

Stanley quickly stood, putting a hand to his back that had just taken 15 hits down the stairs. He approached the two, sitting himself down in Ford’s spot at the kitchen table with a grunt. “Are you gonna let me stay…?” He asked. The pitch of his voice rose unnaturally high as he gazed at Ford with big eyes.

“Well- yes. But there are conditions.” Ford cleared his throat. “For starters- F and I are working on a… project together. It is a marvelous scientific endeavor and you are to not touch it or speak of it. However, I do require you to help us with work on it in ways that do not involve direct contact. Such as, for example, helping us gather materials.”

“Can’t I just pay rent?” Stanley interjected.

“Do you have money?”

“... Okay. I’ll help you with your nerd project. Go on.”

“Thank you.” Ford cleared his throat. “Where was I… Right. Help us with our project. Condition number two-” -he raised a finger as if declaring some new law- “-If you do some terrible act, I have the right to kick you out at any time.”

“Alright, I can agree with that. What else, sir?” Stanley said the last bit with a mocking tone.

“... That’s it. It's just… I just…” Ford sighed. “I’m tired.”

Stanley laughed heartily. “I can tell.”

Ford took a sip of his coffee. Fiddleford bit at the inside of his mouth. Ford sighed again and tried once more to speak. “... Are you… Do you accept those- ahem- conditions?”

“Sure. It’s not like I have anywhere else to go. I might as well.” Stanley leaned back in the chair at the kitchen table that very much belonged to Ford and Ford would be sure to tell him about this soon. “Say, what is this ‘big project’ that I can’t touch or talk about?”

Ford exchanged a glance with Fiddleford. They both grimaced.

“We’ll tell ya later.” Fiddleford replied for Stanford. “It’s pretty important that the word doesn’t go ‘round. But, speaking of the project.” Fiddleford turned to glare at Ford.

“Yes, yes. What did you say it needed?”

“Temporal Displacement Hyperdrive. Probably not gonna be invented for another five-thousand-somethin’ years.” Fiddleford scrunched his nose.

Ford barely heard Stanley mutter something from across the room. “Temporal Dis-what?” Ford chose not to answer the question- it was most likely too complicated for his brother.

“Ah- yes. What would you think if I told you that I know just where to get one?” Ford smirked.

Fiddleford raised an eyebrow. “Wh- I wouldn’t believe you, Stanferd. I just told ya, they don’t exist yet.”

Ford puffed out his chest dramatically. “They don’t exist in humanity. We, however, are very lucky, because we live right by an alien crash site.”

Silence washed over the room. Stanley blinked a few times in quick succession. Fiddleford’s mouth was agape. Finally, he shook his head, seemingly able to process thought again.

“Sorry. I must have heard ya wrong. We live by a WHAT?” Fiddleford stood up from his seat at the table. Mirroring the behavior, Ford pushed himself forward so he was no longer leaning against the kitchen counter, where he placed his coffee.

“We live by an alien crash site. A UFO, to be more specific. It’s under the town.” Ford began to explain. “I’ve been once or twice. I believe it’ll have the materials you’ll need to make the Hyperdrive, if you’re up for it.”

“Why- I surely am! I- I’d love to visit an– how did you neglect to tell me this in the several weeks it’s been since I arrived!?” Fiddleford’s leg was bouncing faster than Ford had ever seen, and that was saying something.

“Aliens are real?” Stan muttered, still sitting at the table. “Ford, what is this place?”

“There’s plenty of anomalies here, Stanley.” Ford’s voice quickly shifted from excited to stern. “You’ll get used to it in due time.”

“... Alright.” Stan said.

“Well, how far away is this UFO? Autumn is soon approaching, we should go before it gets too cold.” Fiddleford interjected, eyes shimmering.

“It’ll be a multiple day trek to the location we need to reach.” Ford said, nodding. “We should go as soon as possible, though. You’re right, it’ll start getting cold. Why don’t we prepare today and leave tomorrow?”

“That sounds fine. Lee, you can come with and help us gather what we need. Stanferd’s told me you’d make a good asset for work like this.” Fiddleford smiled at Stan.

“Oh- Uh- Thanks. Yeah, I’ll come. I guess.” Stanley cleared his throat, glancing at Ford for a moment. When they made eye contact, he quickly looked away. Ford scowled.

“We can start packing our things when we’re done with breakfast.” Ford grumbled.

“Alright!” Fiddleford grinned.

—---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------—

After breakfast, Stan quickly made his way up into his room in the attic. If he could just follow Ford’s rules, this would be his room forever, he thought to himself as he grabbed his bag from under the bed. Within the bag were only the essentials he had brought with him into the cabin; the rest of his stuff was still in his car.

He zipped open the bag and pulled out the spare sweater he’d managed to stuff into it- he took off the sweater he’d worn the previous day and pulled the new one over him. Good enough. He rummaged through the old snacks in the bag for a few moments more before pulling out a pack of cigarettes. It was his last pack, and it probably would be for a while, so he shoved it right back in. He sighed, putting his head into his hands.

“What am I doing…” He grumbled. A knock sounded on the door; Stan nearly jumped out of his skin. “Yes-??”

The door creaked open, and a worried Fiddleford poked his head through. “Hey.” He said, voice soft. “Don’t you wanna shower? We have spare clothes, if you need.”

“Oh.” Stan glanced away. “Yeah, I guess. I have clothes, they’re just in my car. I haven’t fetched the rest of my shit yet.”

“I can help you!” Fiddleford smiled.

“... Why?” Stan squinted. “What do you want from me?”

“What do I… I wanna help.”

“Yeah, but why?”

“I dunno. Just ‘cuz. You’re, like, my roommate now. I wanna help you out.”

The two remained silent, and Stan moved from crouching over his bag to sitting on the floor. “Thanks, I guess. I don’t need help.”

“Alright. Feel free to holler if ya do, though! I’ll be in my room, it’s just downstairs.”

“Yeah, thanks.”

That guy’s weird, Stan thought.

When Fiddleford left, Stan slowly got up. He made his way downstairs, through the kitchen and the living room- Ford, who was doing something with the TV, didn’t even glance over as Stan walked by. He made his way outside to his car, which was still parked on the road outside the cabin. He pulled the key out of his pocket and unlocked the car, rummaging inside for a bit. He pulled out two more bags and slung one over each shoulder.

He trudged back upstairs, flinging both bags onto the floor. He opened one and grabbed a change of clothes before heading into the bathroom upstairs.

It had been a while since he’d showered in a shower with clear, warm water. He relished in it for longer than he knew he should. He knew he was wasting the water, but he frankly didn’t care. He deserved to wash his hair with real shampoo and relax under the warm water for as long as he wanted to. In exchange for his work for these two mad scientists, Stan decided that he deserved at least some luxury.

Ten or twenty minutes later, Stan had changed into his new set of clothes- a white shirt that had seen better days and long black pants that would probably go for less than a dollar if he tried to sell them. He’d have to find a way to get new clothes eventually. Staring into the mirror, his long still-wet hair draped over his shoulders, knotted and messy, even though he’d just washed it. Maybe it had been so messy for so long the damage was irreversible? He’d have to cut it, he decided.

And god, his face. A scar slithered across his jaw. He resisted all urges to pick at the scab for the millionth time. He had eyebags, despite the nearly eleven hours of sleep he’d gotten the previous night. Maybe those were permanent, too. Oh well.

The door creaked open. Ford entered, locked eyes with Stan, and quickly exited, scowling. Why couldn’t his brother just forgive him? It had been a decade. He wouldn’t even talk to him unless it was something important.

Maybe he just needs more time, Stan thought. He blinked a few times to hold back tears. He wasn’t supposed to cry.

Soon, he was back in his room, taking everything out of all his bags. He chose the least broken bag to bring with him on the next day’s expedition and shoved whatever he thought to be essentials into it.

What do you take on a trek to a UFO crash site?

Sun shone through Stan’s window- he was sure it was snowing the previous day. Perhaps his memory had served him wrong? It wouldn’t snow in August, would it? He took the opportunity of the sun on his bed to lay on it. He stared at the roof for a while, but eventually, he allowed his eyes to close, but he was just resting and he wasn’t going to fall asleep because he had work to do, and

“Lee?”

Stan’s eyes quickly opened. Shit. Had he fallen asleep?

“Ah- sorry to wake you up. I made lunch. Wanna come eat?” Fiddleford stood at the door. “You’re not missing out on anything if you don’t. It’s just oatmeal.”

“No, I’ll be there in a minute. Go on without me.” Stan stretched, slowly sitting up on his bed as he heard his back pop once or twice.

“Alrighty! See ya there!” Fiddleford grinned his stupid grin again, closing the door behind him as he left. Stan sighed.

Making his way downstairs, Stan overheard two voices chatting away. Entering the kitchen, he saw Fiddleford and Ford sitting next to each other at the table. Fiddleford was saying something about raccoons; Ford was shoving a spoon of surprisingly appealing looking oatmeal.

Stan cleared his throat to make his presence known before approaching the table and sitting at the seat across from Fiddleford, where a bowl of oatmeal and a spoon had been set up for him. “Hey.” He muttered.

“Lee! It’s good to see ya.” Fiddleford said, before glaring at Ford and nudging him with an elbow. Ford glanced up, seemingly annoyed.

“Right. Yes. Hello.” Ford grumbled. “Have you packed for our trip tomorrow?”

“Not much to pack. I have a bag. Should I bring extra clothes?”

Both men shrugged in response. “I s’pose.” Fiddleford said. “It could rain.”

“I didn’t think about that.” Ford glanced over at Fiddleford. “Should we bring umbrellas? Jackets, maybe? Towels?”

“I wouldn’t do all that, Stanferd. The weatherman says there won’t be rain.”

“I’ve never trusted the weatherman.”

Stan tuned out the conversation as he poked at his oatmeal with his spoon. He took a bite- it wasn’t too bad for one of the worst meals to exist. Fiddleford was a good cook. If it was Ford cooking, it would be a mess.

When the chatter died down, Stan shifted in his seat, then spoke. “So, uh- how did you two end up here?” He half-smiled.

“Oh!” Fiddleford’s face lit up at the question. “Well, we were college roommates! We went to Backupsmore, it’s a bit south of where you two grew up, and a little bit more inland- I was the first Mcgucket to go to college! But then after we graduated, we went our separate ways- I got married and…”

Stan slowly blinked, beginning to zone out. When he tuned back into what Fiddleford was yapping about, he seemed to actually be at the part where he was answering Stan’s question.

“... And so Stanferd here called me up for help on the project, an’ he said he wanted my help, so I came here! I’ve only been here a couple o’ weeks, but he’s been a pleasure to be around.”

I wish he was a pleasure to be around with me. Stan glanced away.

“But yeah, that’s how we ended up here. Hey, how about you tell me a bit about yerself? What have you been up to this last decade?” Fiddleford tilted his head to the side.

“Fiddleford, we–” Ford started.

“WELL!” Stan began, purposefully interrupting whatever it was Ford was about to say. “I’ve been doing well. I started my own business. Or two. Point is, I sell stuff.”

“Then how did you end up homeless?” Ford hissed.

“Stanferd!” Stan saw Fiddleford kick Ford from under the table.

“No, it’s fine.” Stan reassured. “I… I just didn’t really find a place to settle down.” He hoped the lie was convincing. “I’ve been travelling around the country in my car. But, uh- but now I’m helping you two. I’m… Happy to be able to reunite with my brother.”

“... I suppose it is nice to see you after so long.” Ford conceded. “It is all just a bit strange, though.”

“Too strange to forgive me?” Stan tightened his grip on the spoon he held.

“Stanley, you know it’s more complicated than that.” Ford sighed.

“It doesn’t seem too complicated, considering all you’ve done is ignore me all day!”

Ford rose from his seat. “You’re the one who–” Fiddleford suddenly stood, slamming his hands down on the table. “Are you two not capable of getting along for just TWO SECONDS?” He snapped. Stan bit his lip. Ford quickly shrunk back into his chair. Fiddleford sighed. “You’re brothers! Twin brothers, in fact! If you’re going to bicker like this the whole expedition tomorrow, there’s not going to be an expedition! It’s only been a day- less than a day, even- an’ I’m already sick of it!”

Ford shifted. “Fiddleford, you– you don't mean it about the expedition. We have to, for our project-”

“The damn project can wait! If you two haven’t made up sufficiently by tomorrow, we’re not going. End of story.” With a huff, Fiddleford moved his dishes to the sink and stormed down the hall to his room, leaving the brothers alone at the kitchen table.

The silence between the two lasted minutes.

Ford sighed. “... Listen, Stanley. It’s been hard. I missed you, I really did, it’s just… I don’t know what to do with you. As in… I don’t know… How to talk to you, I suppose. You seem so different.”

“Same to you.” Stan looked down at his oatmeal, which he’d only taken a single bite of. He took another.

“I want to forgive you. I really do.” Ford began. “I’m just not sure who it is I’m forgiving. You’re not the loud, bold, happy, in-my-face Stanley I remember.”

“I wish I still was.” Stan swallowed before he spoke again. “I’m tired, Sixer. It’s been a long decade. I thought this would be our opportunity to make up, but you’ve just been avoiding me.”

“What did you just call me?” Ford blinked.

“Uh… Dunno. What did I just call you?” Stan rubbed the back of his head, going back in his mind on what he said. He didn’t think he’d said anything weird.

“Sixer.” Ford replied. “You haven’t called me that since we… Well, since we were teenagers.”

“Oh. Yeah. Force of habit. I mean, can I call you that?”

“I… Suppose I don’t mind.” Ford sighed. “Listen. We can continue to avoid each other as much as we want. But… Can we at least be brothers around Fiddleford? I don’t want to upset him.”

Stan felt his chest tighten and his cheeks burn. “I want to be brothers all the time, Ford.”

There was silence for a few moments before Ford spoke again, barely audible. “I don’t think I’m ready for that.”

Stan slowly blinked. His brother wasn’t ready to be his brother. Not full-time, at least. He looked down at his hands. Was he ready to be a full-time brother again? He wasn’t sure.

“Fine. You can keep ignoring me when it’s just us.”

“Okay.” Ford replied, standing up. He grabbed his half-full bowl of oatmeal and placed it by the sink. “We’re going to go tell Fiddleford we’ve made up.”

“You think he’ll believe us?” Stan tilted his head. He took another bite of his lunch, still having barely eaten.

“I know how good you are at lying, Stanley.”

—---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------—

Stanford’s eyes slowly opened; he found himself floating in his mindscape. He blinked a few times before sitting up, his feet hitting a forming ground of stars below him. He stretched, now stood tall, and took a few steps forward.

“Bill? Are you there?” He called into the void.

“FORDSY!” The familiar shrill voice called from behind him. Bill quickly floated around Ford and moved close to his face. “You’re doing great. LOVE how you’ve wrapped that brother of yours around your finger! I’m impressed.”

Ford’s eyes widened. “I didn’t mean to–”

“And good job on that portal! You’re working hard!” Bill continued to praise him, moving back. “That expedition of yours will go GREAT, I’m sure.” He snapped and a chair appeared behind Ford.

“... Thank you.” Ford sat down on the chair, crossing one leg over the other as he spoke. “I believe that Stan will be a strong asset on the expedition. And I’m… I suppose I’m glad to have reunited with him.”

“I wouldn’t get TOO glad! You still don’t know what he’s capable of. Trust no one!” Bill circled Stanford, a smile showing in his eye. “I wouldn’t want you to get hurt.”

“I- of course, my muse.” Ford said. He glanced down, biting his lip. “He’s just helpful, is all. The same way Fiddleford is.”

Bill spawned a cup of tea, taking a sip and chucking it into the abyss. “I’m sure he is!” He sat down on nothing. “Tomorrow's a big day, so I’m gonna let you rest now! GOOD LUCK!”

Ford opened his mouth to reply, but he felt his consciousness begin to slip out of his hands. His vision blurred. He blinked a few times, the yellow form of Bill disappearing and morphing into black. He felt his nerves devolve to static and he fell into a dreamless slumber.

Chapter Text

“Lee, wake up! It’s time to go.”

Stanley slowly opened his eyes with a groan. The first thing he saw was a smiling face hovering over him. He yelped, quickly sitting up, sliding himself against the wall, and holding up his fists.

“WHO–!? Oh. Morning.” Stan relaxed his muscles as he recalled where he was and the identity of this guy sitting on his bed in front of him.

“Didn’t mean to startle ya.” Fiddleford said, eyes wide. “It’s time to go.” He repeated. Stan grumbled. Right, the expedition. He blinked a few times, glancing out the window. The sun had not yet risen, and the ominous nighttime air still rested over the forest, refusing to give way to sunlight any time soon.

“It’s still dark.” Stan pulled his blanket back over his head, slipping back onto the mattress.

“Don’t act like a kid.” Stan heard Fiddleford stand up and take a step back. He yanked the blanket off of Stan, who curled up in response. “Come on, now.”

“Fine…” Stan rolled over off the bed onto the floor. He slowly sat up, then stood. He glanced up at Fiddleford, who stood just over him, face patient. “Why are we going so early anyways…?”

“Well,” Fiddleford began. Stan immediately knew he had set the man off on one of his pointless rambles. “I knew that you’d probably wanna get ready before we head out, an’ Stanferd said that we should leave ‘as soon as dawn arrives’, so I thought I’d wake you up maybe thirty, forty minutes ‘fore the sun comes up.”

“... Sure. Thanks. What time is it, even…?” Stan rubbed his eyes, taking a step past Fiddleford towards the set of drawers on the other side of his room, which he had organized the previous night when he couldn’t get his brain to turn off.

“Half-past-five.” Fiddleford turned to face Stan, shuffling his feet.

“Great. When are we leaving?”

“Well, when the sun rises, so I’d guess… Six-ish?” Fiddleford made an ambiguous motion with his hand. “Are you excited?”

“I guess…?” Stan opened one of the drawers, pulling out a pair of old black jeans. It’ll do. He turned to face Fiddleford, who stood dumbly in the center of the room. Stan motioned towards the door. “Can you let me get ready now?”

“Alrighty! Meet us downstairs!” Fiddleford flicked his hand- maybe it was a small wave?- and slipped out of Stan’s room, shutting the door behind him.

Stan eyed his bed. Maybe he could get back in and the two would forget him and leave without him. He sighed.

He had found himself already beginning to fall into a morning routine, grabbing clothes to change into, showering, spending a couple minutes staring at his slowly-bettering face in the mirror- or was it getting worse?

Within twenty minutes, he trudged his way into the kitchen with his packed bag, where Fiddleford was buttering some slices of toast. Clattering could be heard from down the hall- probably Ford double-triple-quadruple checking he’d packed everything, Stan thought. He threw his bag to the floor and plopped himself down into one of the seats at the kitchen table with a sigh.

“You’re rather sigh-y today.” Fiddleford remarked, placing a piece of toast on a plate and sliding it across the table to Stan. He took a bite before replying.

“I’m just tired. Not used to waking up this early.”

“You’ll get used to it soon enough. Stanferd likes to make sure he’s using all the hours in his day. Makes no sense to me, how can you be doing anything useful in yer sleep?” Fiddleford shrugged. Stan didn’t humor a response, only shoving the rest of his toast into his mouth as fast as he could to try and get rid of the feeling of his stomach in his throat. He would never again take food for granted.

“Morning,” a voice called (rather grumbled) from the entrance to the kitchen. Ford stood, hunched over, bag slung around his shoulder. He narrowed his eyes at Stan, then moved to the kitchen counter and took a piece of toast off of it. Fiddleford nudged him.

“You couldn’t have waited until I put it on a plate for you?” Fiddleford smiled.

“Waste of time.” Ford said. He finished the entire piece in two bites. “Sun’s rising. We should get going soon.” He motioned towards the window, where a sliver of light had begun to peek through the trees. Fiddleford leaned against the counter; Stan noticed his knee bouncing at an impressive rate.

Stan stood up, moving his empty plate to the sink. He turned and smiled at his brother. “Morning, Sixer.”

“I- good morning.” Ford’s eyes widened. He cleared his throat. “Are you ready to go?”

“As ready as I’ll ever be to go to a UFO crash site.” Stan joked. Despite how tense Ford was, he still enjoyed being able to at least try and joke with him again. To his surprise, Ford smiled.

“Yes, I suppose that is rather impossible to prepare for. Lucky for you, I’ve done just that.” Ford quipped. He held up his travel bag.

“Sure, whatever.” Stan shoved his brother. “Are we going or what?” Ford scrunched up his nose playfully, then turned to Fiddleford.

“Are you ready?” He prompted.

“Yup!” Fiddleford grinned, his knee bouncing faster at the question. “My bag’s at the door already. Are we gonna head out, or what?”

“Yes, let’s.” Ford moved towards the door, and the other two followed. As the three stepped out onto the porch, Ford pulled out a map. He pointed to a couple spots, probably explaining the route they were to take as Stan zoned out gazing at the trees.

Stopping and staring at nature was cheesy and corny and all those other food-related words that describe something socially unacceptable, but Stan found himself doing so regardless. Pine and birch trees towered up all around them. Pink-orange sunlight filtered through the leaves, dancing with the plants’ movements, never still. A slight wind brushed through the scene, causing a shiver to run down Stan’s spine. He pulled his jacket further over him and rubbed his hands together.

How on earth did he find himself here?

“Stanley? Are you there?” Ford waved a hand in front of Stan’s face, to which he blinked and turned to face his brother.

“Yep. Yeah.” Stan rubbed his eyes. “Lead the way.”

With that, Ford smiled a (probably) genuine smile and hopped down off the porch towards the woods. Fiddleford followed eagerly, and Stan trailed behind just enough to not lose the others. He hadn’t really gone outside since he’d arrived, and wow, it really was nice.

The three continued to trek, Fiddleford rambling on about something to do with his wife or his inventions or something Stan really couldn’t bring himself to care about. That man would not stop rambling. Maybe one day Stan would be inclined to pay attention. Today, however, was not the day.

“Stanley, are you going to catch up with us or not?” Ford called from in front of him. Stan grumbled and increased his pace to match the other two’s. How hard was it for them to understand that he didn’t want to chat? Fiddleford was saying enough words to maintain the conversation. The two had gone silent now, however, and both eyed him as if he had something to say, and maybe he did.

Stan opened his mouth to speak, closed it, then opened it again. “I dunno what you want from me.” He shrugged. “Oh wowww, I’m so excited to go on this big nerd expedition!”

“Stanley.” Ford chided before clearing his throat. “Stanley,” he repeated, voice softer. “Don’t you remember when we used to play pretend aliens?”

Oh god.

“It’ll be just like that. I’m surprised you aren’t more excited.” Stan wanted to punch his brother’s smug grin off his stupid face. Why couldn’t he get that he just didn’t care?

“You said there’s no aliens, so it won’t be just like that. We’re just gonna rob a sci-fi junkyard. I don’t see the big deal.” Stan kicked at the moss below him.

“I was of the belief that you enjoyed robbery.”

Stan decided not to humor a response, only grunting and glancing back down at the moss-covered floor below his feet. He tried to ignore the fog beginning to form at the edges of his vision, or the weight in his brain that threatened to drag down the rest of his body, or the feeling of his stomach trying to consume itself, that something was horribly wrong, that he was in danger, that he was being watched. He knew that his reflexes were whack, that his instincts were to not be trusted. He knew he was safe. And yet he felt he wasn’t.

God, he wished he was wrong.

—--------------------------------------------------------------------------—

About a mile into the expedition, Stanford found himself unable to recall where he was. He stopped to rummage through his bag, pulling out a compass which spun around for a moment before finding its place.

“I think your compass is broken,” Stan remarked from over Ford’s shoulder. He quickly shrunk away, taking a few paces forward before deciding to humor a response.

“It’s not broken, it’s pointing towards the crash site.”

“Yeah, but it sure isn’t going north.”

“None of the compasses here go north, Stanley. The crash site has a very large magnet in its epicenter.” Ford huffed. “Once we reach it, you’ll see, the point starts spinning wildly.”

Fiddleford leaned in from Ford’s right to take a look at the compass. “Fascinating!” He said. “Why is it that you haven’t told me ‘bout all this?”

“It never came up, I suppose.” Ford shrugged. “We’ve been busy with construction of the- ahem- project, after all.”

“Are you ever gonna tell me what this project is?” Stan grumbled from behind the two. “Do you not trust me or what?”

Ford sighed, grimacing. He did trust Stan… As much as he could. He tried to trust Stan. But… He didn’t know where his brother had been all this time. Maybe he had ties with bad people, or he was a mole, or maybe he didn’t trust Ford. Maybe he would sabotage the portal.

“It’s not important to your job,” is the response that Ford decided to settle on. Not a lie. Ambiguous enough to hopefully not imply anything, positive nor negative.

“Right.” Stan’s voice was dull and flat, and Ford immediately knew that whatever he had said had gone the wrong way in his brother’s mind.

The three continued to walk in complete silence- something that, even after only a week or two around Fiddleford, felt like the strangest thing in the world. Silence.

The moss and grass beneath their feet became dirt, then gravel as they walked. Ford never used to be big on exercise, but he supposed, somewhere along the way, perhaps in college, he had taken a liking to it simply because of how frequent of a factor it became in his life. Stan had no problem with the long walk, either, but as the hours passed by, Fiddleford began to lag behind, muttering complaints that Ford could try and decipher if he wanted to, but he didn’t.

When the sun had peaked in the sky, Fiddleford’s grumbles had worn down the other two enough to where they begrudgingly agreed to stop and rest. With a small amount of effort, they found an area where the trees parted and a gentle patch of sun highlighted an arrangement of rocks they could sit on, which they did.

Ford leaned back onto the larger rock he’d sat himself on. He turned over and rummaged through his bag, pulling out an unopened bag of jelly beans. He shoved his hand into the bag and pulled out a handful, popping them into his mouth before looking at them, which was unusual, as he liked to look for strange or malformed ones. Today, however, he was hungry, and he did not care, so he did not bother.

After consuming another couple of handfuls, he sat back up to see the other two eating as well. Fiddleford took a bite out of a sandwich as he sketched something in the ground with a stick. He was grumbling something about robot legs as he worked. Stan was chewing on toffee peanuts (the bane of Ford’s existence- they stuck to his teeth) and… reading?

“Stanley, what are you reading?” Ford couldn’t help the surprise in his voice as he rubbed his eyes to confirm what he was seeing. Stan, reading a real novel. Not a note, not one of his weird magazines, but a novel with a spine and all.

“The Outsiders, I think it’s called.” Stan grumbled between mouthfuls. “God forbid I read.”

Ford shook his head. “I’m just not used to it. That is a nice book, though.”

“S’alright.” Stan said. “I like Dally. The other D-guy reminds me of you.”

“The other…” Ford slowly blinked. “Alright, sure. Since when did you read?”

Stan shrugged. “Since I got books. I didn’t really have much to do, but at some point I got my hands on one, so I read it. The library’s a nice place to sleep and an easy place to steal from.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

The two remained quiet as they finished their snacks, the silence only broken by Fiddleford’s exhausted muttering. Just as Stan had finished his toffee peanuts and Fiddleford was about to finish his sandwich, a rustle from within the bushes sounded from behind him.

“Eh? Whazzat?” Fiddleford turned to face the bushes, which turned out to not be the best idea as some sort of creature leapt from the shadows at him. Fiddleford screamed as the animal- was it an animal? Ford couldn’t see through the blur of chaos- crashed onto his chest, grabbing the sandwich from his hands with its bill. It then settled onto the fallen man’s chest, chewing on its found lunch.

The creature was odd, to say the least. It looked like a typical platypus- duck-billed, flat tail, flippers- but its coat, instead of being a usual brown, was a perfect flannel pattern. Out of the corner of his eye, Ford saw an extremely perplexed Stan.

Ford gasped. “A plaidypus! I’ve heard rumors of them, but I was not aware they truly existed! How curious!” He was excited to be seeing this anomaly in person, and he rummaged through his bag to find his polaroid camera- he would want to sketch this in his journal later.

“That’s great, Stanferd, but I’d appreciate a little bit of help-?” Fiddleford hissed. “I’ve just been tackled by this whatchamacallit.”

“Plaidypus.” Ford muttered, pulling out the camera. “One second, I want to take a picture.” Before he could lift the camera, Stan rushed at the creature, causing it to let out a strangely mannish yelp and leap off of Fiddleford, dropping the sandwich. Within moments, it appeared to have shed its coat- perhaps a defense tactic?- and a new, cleaner plaid coat was revealed beneath the old one. It then curled up on the ground, whining like a kicked puppy.

“Stanley, why did you–” Ford bit his tongue, holding back a frustrated sigh. He was meant to be getting along with his brother around Fiddleford, and he fully intended to do so, but he was making it rather hard.

“Thank you, Lee.” Fiddleford sat up, dusting off his shirt. He turned to face the plaidypus, nose wrinkling in disgust. “Dumb vermin ruining my sandwich.”

“It is not a vermin,” Ford replied, approaching it. “It’s been frightened.” He picked up the shed coat, eyeing it. “Truly fascinating,” he muttered, shoving it into his coat pocket before picking up the plaidypus and holding it to his chest.

“What on god’s green earth are you doing?” Stan looked at Ford, then at Fiddleford, who only shrugged.

“Comforting it. I’ve heard that’s what you’re supposed to do after it sheds its coat. Ethical harvesting, if you will.” Ford tried to his best ability to rock the animal in his arms, but the movement felt robotic and unnatural and the plaidypus seemed more perturbed than comforted.

Fiddleford rubbed his temple. “This is… Fine, if we’re doing this, let me. You’re terrible at this.” He took a step towards Ford and gently pulled the plaidypus out of his arms, cradling it. “There, there…” He muttered after a few moments.

Ford snorted, amused. “I thought it was a dumb vermin.”

“How are you so good at that?” Stan tilted his head.

“I’ve got a kid back home,” Fiddleford replied. “His name’s Tate. I feel bad for leaving him when he’s so little,” he continued, slowly sitting back down onto his rock. “But it was for the best. It’s a delight working on this project with you two.” He smiled a bittersweet smile.

“I didn’t know you had a kid,” Stan muttered. “No wonder.” His eyes were glazed in a way that Ford recognized. His brother had this look when he wasn’t fully present, lost in thought or daydreaming or just tired. He couldn’t help but wonder what had him so engrossed in his own mind at this moment. He decided not to prod.

Eventually, after a long moment of silence, the plaidypus chirped and scurried off into the bushes from where it came. Fiddleford let his hands fall to his side for a minute before getting up, dusting off his pants. “Welp.” He grunted as he stood.

Within a few minutes, the three were walking through the gravel mountain again, rejuvenated enough to continue their journey for a few hours longer before they would have to set up camp.

—--------------------------------------------------------------------------—

Stan had no clue where the three were heading, and why they couldn’t simply go around the mountain, but he didn’t care enough to ask.

Eventually, with the help of a compass, a map, and an admittedly bright memory, the three made their way through the mountain and to a valley, where a lake with an island in the center resided. Before anybody could say a word, Fiddleford ran to the beach, kicking off his shoes and letting his feet sink into the sand. Stan exchanged a confused look with an equally off-put Ford.

“What are you doing?” Stan called, raising an eyebrow as the two caught up with him.

“Feeling the earth, watching the water.” Fiddleford simply replied, sitting down on the beach. Stan raised an eyebrow- this guy was more of a hippie than he previously suspected. “Water is nature’s love language.”

“Everything is a love language with you.” Ford said. He sat next to Fiddleford, and Stan mirrored the action.

“Damn right.” Fiddleford closed his eyes. “Love is in everything.”

Huh.

“Fiddleford, you’re one of the least scientific scientists I’ve ever met.” Ford said, voice soft, probably joking.

“And I’m probably one of the happiest.”

Stan ran his fingers through the sand below him, staring at the expanse of water ahead of him. He had to admit, it was pleasant, despite his distaste for bodies of water. After Tahoe City, he’d be happy to never swim again. But he supposed just looking was fine. It reminded him of his childhood, and of Glass Shard beach, and his adventures with Ford. He wondered if his brother felt the same way about the lake. He sort of hoped he did.

When he found himself back in reality, Ford and Fiddleford were both laughing, and even though he had no clue what they were laughing about, he found himself quietly chuckling. Fiddleford immediately stopped laughing.

Shit. Was I not supposed to find whatever they said funny? Stan swallowed. But instead, Fiddleford’s surprised face became an ecstatic smile.

“I got ya’ to laugh!” He exclaimed. “Stanferd, did ya’ hear that? I got ‘im to laugh!”

… What?

Ford only blinked in response, and Stan couldn’t even offer the courtesy to give any reaction.

Finally, after several silent moments, Stan spoke up. “Uh… Yeah. I guess you did.” He wanted to say that he was simply laughing along to fit in- that was what he was doing, he thought- but another part of him believed- no, it knew that his laughter was genuine. For what reason, he had no clue, but it was, and in this moment, and only for a moment, he was happy.

He felt a pit in his stomach when he remembered where he was, what he was doing. Ford was only pretending to tolerate him to please Fiddleford, and Fiddleford was probably just being polite. They weren’t his friends, and they would probably never be his friends, and when they were to soon realize that Stan wasn’t good for anything, he’d be kicked out again, and he’d be alone again. He was too generous in his trust before, and he wouldn’t let it happen again.

“Stanley, are you alright?” Ford somehow managed to grab Stan’s eye contact, and his face looked genuine and fake at the same time.

“Yeah. Just tired.” Stan smiled back, and his smile certainly looked just fake. Nothing else.

“Hey, what’s that?” Fiddleford said from beside the two, and they both looked to where he was pointing- a large off-white rock that was embedded in the shore.

“... A rock?” Stan tilted his head, confused. Was he meant to be having some sort of realization?

“I mean, yeah, but doesn’t it look odd to you?” Fiddleford stood with a grunt and approached the boulder, putting a hand to it. “Stanferd, come look.”

Ford got up and followed Fiddleford, and despite not having been explicitly summoned, Stan came along as well. The three all stared at the rock.

“It… It almost looks like a giant tooth.” Ford muttered. “Look, there’s even something where the root would be.”

“Like nerve tissue.” Fiddleford nodded. “But what sort of creature could this have come from…?” He began to bounce his knee.

“Maybe the island is secretly a big head.” Stan joked, but he was the only one to laugh. When he turned to see what the big deal was, why the other two didn’t find it funny, he saw two surprised faces.

“You might be right, Stanley.” Ford muttered.

“What.”

“Well, whenever I visited this lake, I noticed that the island had moved. At first, I thought it must have been my memory or something, but… You may just be right.” Ford’s eyes widened. “Maybe there is some sort of island-headed monster in there.”

“How long have you been in Gravity Falls?” Stan raised an eyebrow.

“... Six years.”

“Yeah, okay. And I thought you were observant.” Stan teased, nudging his brother with an elbow.

Fiddleford grimaced, speaking up. “Now that I know there might be a big monster here, I’m not particularly eager to stay.” He bit his lip. “Mind if we keep trekkin’ a bit longer?”

“Yes, of course. We should be heading out anyway.” Ford adjusted his glasses. “I have a shortcut through the rest of the mountains. See that waterfall over there?” He pointed to the distance, around the lake, where there was, in fact, a waterfall.

“Don’t tell me there’s a hidden cave behind it.” Stan groaned.

“How did you guess?”

“It’s only in every movie ever.”

“It’s not like I chose to–”

Fiddleford cleared his throat, tapping his foot against the floor. “Are we going or not? Like I said, I’m not interested in stayin’ here much longer.”

“Right, yeah.” Stan nodded. “Let’s go.”

The twins argued about the stupidity of the existence of a hidden cave behind a waterfall for the entire half an hour it took to get around the lake. At some point, Fiddleford joined in, choosing to be devil’s advocate for both sides, which Stan enjoyed because he just enjoyed banter. Ford appeared to enjoy it as well, probably because he thought that ‘a good debate strengthens the mind’ or something stupid of the sort.

Once they reached the waterfall, all three stopped to stare at it for a few moments. The force of the water looked like it would hurt, and it rushed down a river that flowed into the lake. It wasn’t too deep, sure, but the current was so fast that if you were to fall into it without the ability to swim well, you would get swept off to the lake.

“How are we supposed to get through this?” Stan muttered. He felt a lump begin to form in his throat, which he quickly attempted to swallow down to no avail.

“There’s some stepping stones,” Ford motioned down. A couple small rocks extended across the width of the river and through the waterfall. “They’re sturdy enough to hold our weight. Just try not to fall off.”

“What happens if we fall off?” Fiddleford’s voice was laced with the same hesitance that Stan felt within himself. He was admittedly grateful that he wasn’t the only wimp here.

“Don’t.” Ford spoke quickly, then leapt from the floor onto the first stepping stone, then to the next, and to the next, until his body was shrouded by the waterfall. He was so agile. Nothing like the brother Stan knew, who got a D in gym every year of his life at school. A few seconds that could have been a few minutes later, Ford’s voice called from the other side of the waterfall, muffled by the rushing water. “Come on! It’s safe enough!”

Safe enough. What bullshit.

Stan clenched his fists until his thumbs cracked and his knuckles went white. He felt his throat clog and his eyes burn, but he didn’t cry. He opened his mouth to say something, but the words got trapped in his throat and the only sound he made was the sound of his dry lips separating, then closing again.

Fiddleford nudged Stan. “You go. I’ll stay behind you in case you fall.”

“I don’t need-” Stan sighed. “Alright. Fine. Just… Gimme a moment.” He blinked a few times. How did he end up here? Why did he agree to work for Ford? Did he really think his brother would forgive him? Now, he would fall into this river and hit his head on a rock and die before they could ever truly make up, and he should have just stayed in California, and…

JUST GO.

Stan willed his feet to move- they wobbled, he felt himself tip over, he nearly fell into the river but somehow found the sense to actually jump and land on the first stepping stone. He flailed his arms for a few moments in an attempt to regain balance. A few seconds later, his feet were firmly planted on the first stone.

He felt nauseous.

He blinked again, trying to clear his clouded vision, to see more than a few feet ahead of him. Were his eyes teary or did he just really need glasses? He jumped to the second stone. Then the third. Then, in front of him was a raging wall of water, and all of a sudden he was back at Tahoe with his head shoved in a bathtub with a towel over his head and the waterfall was a running tap, and he couldn’t breathe, and when he found himself back in Oregon, he did not find himself on a stone, but rather in a river, and now he really couldn’t breathe, and wow this train of thought was long, and-

The realization that he had fallen into the river hit him like a train.

—--------------------------------------------------------------------------—

Just as Ford had begun to worry about why neither Stan nor Fiddleford had crossed yet, a shriek called from the other side of the waterfall- Fiddleford. He leapt into action, pushing through the pressure of the waterfall. When he opened his eyes and stabilized his balance, he saw Fiddleford on the stepping stone in front of him, kneeling, half his body in the water.

“Fiddleford! What…” Ford’s sentence trailed off as Fiddleford pulled Stanley from the rushing river by his hands. They huddled together on the one stone that was meant for one person. Stanley rolled over onto his hands and knees, feet still dragging in the water, and coughed up a worrying amount of water. Fiddleford watched in horror, half his body still in the river.

“Come on, Lee, it’s not much further… We can’t stay in the river, it’s– it’s dangerous, come on…” Fiddleford helped up an extremely shaky Stan, who, as if moving in autopilot, managed to cross the rest of the stepping stones without a word, nearly slipping several times along the way.

When all three men were finally on dry ground in a cave on the other side of the waterfall, they allowed themselves to sit down, to catch their breath, to process what had just happened.

“Stanley,” Ford murmured after a couple moments. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah.” Stan blinked a few times. “My nose burns from inhaling a gallon of water, but other than that, I’m fine.”

“You did not inhale a gallon of water.”

“It’s called an exaggeration, Sixer. Ever heard of it?”

A few moments of silence passed before all three found themselves laughing for a reason that Ford knew none of them could explain. Shock, perhaps. Their clothes were wet, their bags were wet (aside from Ford’s- he had the foresight to put his bag down before leaping to rescue), and yet they were laughing as if what had just happened was humorous. They laughed for several moments longer, Ford leaning back onto the cold cave floor. Eventually, the group grew quiet, and the only sound that filled the air was the loud rushing of the waterfall behind them.

“Should we just set up camp here?” Fiddleford finally asked. “I know it’s barely afternoon, but…”

“No.” Ford quickly stood, brushing non-existent dust off himself. “This cave is dangerous. It’s the last place we’d want to sleep.”

Neither man argued, surprisingly. Perhaps they were all just too tired. Within minutes, they were trekking once more. Ford had pulled out an old civil-war-era lantern, which they used to navigate the otherwise dark shortcut through the mountains.

It was quite nice, Ford admitted to himself, to be going on this adventure with others by his side.

A few hours into their walk, the eerie silence was broken only by the chatter of three men trying to fend away boredom. Whenever it got quiet for longer than a few seconds, someone would bring up a topic to discuss for the next few minutes.

Ford and Fiddleford were chatting away about a topic that Ford found rather interesting- the history of physics. He had briefly studied it, but Fiddleford appeared to be far more well-versed in the advanced form of the subject, and Ford was always happy to learn. Stan appeared to be listening, but Ford knew he most certainly was not. Then again, he had been reading earlier, so maybe he’d also developed a sudden interest in science in their decade apart.

“So it was James Watson Cronin and–” Fiddleford’s story was interrupted by the flame that had safely resided in the lantern for the few hours they’d been in the cave suddenly flickering, then dying. All three men stopped in their tracks as their surroundings were quickly engulfed in a pitch-black darkness. Nobody spoke for nearly a minute.

“Shit.” Stan said, finally breaking the silence.

Ford sighed. “Leave it to me to bring a magnet gun but no matches…”

“I told ya we shoulda just brought flashlights!” Fiddleford’s voice called from behind Ford, which caused him to nearly jump out of his skin. The dead lantern slipped out of his hands, and the sound of it clattering onto the floor bounced off the walls of the tunnel.

More silence.

“Well what do we do now?” Fiddleford hissed.

Ford gritted his teeth. “I don’t know! What do you want from me!?”

“We’re hours away from any exit, and ya decided to bring an ancient lantern without matches for what reason!? Nostalgia!? Maybe if ya jus’-” For the second time in a few minutes, Fiddleford was interrupted by a sudden occurrence: two glowing dots illuminating the depths of the cave. Immediately followed by this was the emergence of a singular moving geode. Chirps and hums came from its core, and what appeared to be eyes sat just above what appeared to be a mouth, open and lined with jagged teeth-like crystals. It ambled toward the group, hissing and shrieking, as if wanting to pick a fight.

Ford slowly turned his gaze to observe the hostile creature, eyes shimmering. He’d never seen anything quite like it! He reached out and picked it up, holding it up to his face. It emitted a faint light, not strong enough to guide them through the cave, but a light regardless.

As it was lifted up, it sang an extremely high-pitched tune, which appeared to attract even more of these odd geode-like creatures.

“What on earth are these things!?” Stan said, his figure illuminated to Ford by the light of the creatures.

“I’m not sure.” Ford whispered, only barely loud enough to be heard over the chirps and hums. “Perhaps if we gather them into a pile, we could use their glow to navigate the rest of the tunnel.”

“That’s a mighty fine idea.” Fiddleford nodded.

“Or,” Stanley leaned down to pick up the lantern. He passed it to Fiddleford. “Hold this.” He did. “We could just…” Stan grabbed two of the geodes- they hissed in protest. He approached Fiddleford, who, as if realizing what Stan was up to, held out the lantern to him. Stan banged the two creatures together, which formed a spark that lit up the lantern once more. Within moments, the geodes had scurried off in fear- a shame, Ford would have loved to investigate them more- but their lantern was lit once more.

“Good idea, Lee!” Fiddleford- now fully visible due to the lantern- flashed a smile at Stanley.

Ford cleared his throat. “Yes, yes. Now may we get out of here before we lose the flame again?” Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Stan scowl at him. Perhaps he was expecting praise, but he would not be receiving any.

With that, the three walked for what turned out to only be around half an hour longer before they had escaped the cavern. They continued on their way with less haste than they had entered with.

Eventually, they reached the peak of the final mountain, Gravity Peak, and unanimously agreed to call it a night as the sun had begun to set. Fiddleford prepared beans for dinner, and as they sat around the campfire they had started, they continued to chat the same way they had this whole journey.

“So… What are y’all’s plans for the future?” Fiddleford asked between bites.

“Dunno.” Stan replied, not offering anything beyond the single word.

“I would like to prove my Unified Theory of Weirdness.” Ford said. “That’s why I’m here, after all. I’ll publish it and become one of the greats! From then, I think I’ll be set for life.” He gazed up at the stars. “Nobody will forget my name.”

“Whatever you say, nerd.” Stan grumbled. His words made what he said appear joking, but the tone of his voice made Ford wince.

Fiddleford tilted his head. “I don’t see why yer whole grand theory is needed. You already know so much, why don’t ya just share yer findings an’ settle down?”

“I wouldn’t want some other scientist to uncover my theory before me. Until I find it, I intend to publish nothing.”

“Ya don’t even wanna, like…” Fiddleford scrunched his nose. “Meet someone, maybe?”

“I’m not interested in romance.”

“Whatever ya say.”

Crickets chirped from somewhere in the wilderness. The fire in front of the men crackled and sparked. The light of the full moon cast dancing patches of shadow on the floor as it was caught by the trees above.

“Since when were you ‘not interested in romance’?” Stan said. “Don’t you remember when-”

“No.” Ford cut him off.

“... Well, when I’m done with this project,” Fiddleford began. “I think I’ll move back to California. I’ll make robots ‘n stuff with the wife ‘n kid. Maybe I’ll make enough money to live somewhere nice.” He smiled, taking a break to finish his beans. “I think I’d like to have a dog.”

Ford slowly blinked. His dreams were so… Humble. Quaint. Did he not want to be known? Did he not want to be great? He supposed that Fiddleford has always been a family man, and perhaps he always would be. He supposed that was okay.

“... Do you think it’ll all work out the way we want?” Ford asked after a brief pause.

“Yeah.” Fiddleford replied. “And if it doesn’t, I’ve got things to do in the meantime.”

“... I am grateful that I am no longer alone here.” Ford muttered. For some reason, he felt embarrassed to say it, but it felt right to say, so he did regardless.

Stan quickly stood up after that, putting his hands on his knees as he did. “Well,” He said, voice unusually strained. “We should… We should get ready for bed.” Both men nodded.

“Indeed. We have a long day tomorrow.” Ford said. He couldn’t help but feel a slight bit of concern at Stan’s sudden insistence, but he was right, so he didn’t argue.

Soon, all three were in separate sleeping bags in the tent they had set up, completely still, completely quiet. Ford found it rather pleasant, actually, to be able to fall asleep surrounded by the warmth of others.

—--------------------------------------------------------------------------—

Stan tried to claw at the hands that held him over the tap, but he couldn’t see, and he couldn’t feel the hands he tried to attack with. The cloth over his face and the water crashing onto him didn’t allow him to breathe- he tried, but every time he gasped, more water filled his lungs. The fog in his brain only increased in density with every moment until he could only think

one

word

at

a

time

Stan woke with a start, quickly sitting himself up with a gasp that burned his lungs. He wiped sweat off his forehead as his mind slowly pieced together his recent memory, and he found himself in the tent on Gravity Peak, the only one awake. He could barely see- it was clearly still the middle of the night.

He stirred in his sleeping bag before rising and slowly crawling out of the tent, trying his best not to wake the other two men beside him. Once he escaped the tent, he took a big breath of fresh midnight air. He slowly trudged into the woods, far enough for him to not be able to see camp, but not far enough for him to get lost. He leaned forward, putting a hand against a tree. Despite being alone, he felt like he was trapped in a crowd, as if he was being suffocated by the trees around him.

He hadn’t had that nightmare in a long time. Falling in the river earlier the previous day must have brought it back to him, he thought. He waited a few minutes until his breathing grew normal and his heart rate slowed. He looked up and closed his eyes, taking a sharp breath through his nose, just to be sure that he could.

God, he felt pathetic.

Pathetic and tired and alone. Less alone than before, but still alone.

The stars were nice out here, at least.

“Lee, what are ya doing up so late?” Fiddleford’s voice called from behind him. Stan knew who it was, but he still flinched, startled, for no real reason.

“Couldn’t sleep.” He lied.

“The stars are nice.” Fiddleford remarked, taking a step forward to be beside Stan.

“I was just thinking that.”

Fiddleford smiled. “Come on, let’s sit down.”

They both sat.

“... Wanna talk about it?” Fiddleford said after a few moments.

“Talk about what?”

“Whatever’s happened.”

“Nothing’s happened.”

Fiddleford didn’t push further, only shrugging and leaning back into the grass, probably to see the stars. Stan sighed and copied him, and the two looked up for a few minutes before Stan couldn’t bear the silence any longer, and he finally spoke, trying not to let his voice show how he was truly feeling.

“I had a nightmare.” He began. “It was about something that happened a while back. I haven’t had one- a nightmare, that is- for a while. I think today brought it back.” He closed his eyes, not wanting to see Fiddleford’s reaction to his words. He tried to ignore his nausea.

“That’s understandable.” Fiddleford replied. “I mean, I dunno how to help ya with that. But… I get it. Stanferd’s good with that sort of thing, ya know. He’s always so… Calm, in peril. Dunno how he does it.”

“Thanks, but I’d die before confiding in him.” Stan chuckled weakly.

“I thought y’all made up.”

“Uh… Yeah. We did.” Stan bit his lip. “But…” He sighed. “I don’t really wanna seem weak around him.”

“Yer not weak.” Fiddleford’s voice was soft and soothing, but Stan also found it slightly demeaning. It felt as if he was talking down to him.

“You know what I mean. It’s just not something… something I’d tell him.”

“Why’s it something you’d tell me? Ya know me less than ya know him.”

“I guess.” Stan shrugged, despite knowing Fiddleford wouldn’t see. They were both still stargazing. “You just seem like the type of guy who wouldn’t judge me.”

“And Stanferd would?”

“No, I guess not.”

“Exactly.” Fiddleford hummed. “You’ve got to start trusting others more.”

“I’m not the type of guy who trusts.” Stan said. “Never have been. People aren’t trustworthy. I’m sure Sixer would say the same if you asked him, considering how long he decided to not trust me for. If he doesn’t trust me, I won’t trust him.”

Fiddleford sighed as if he was disappointed. “You really do take after yer twin. Stubborn. Y’know, those who refuse to change will end up destroying themselves.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Stan muttered.

“It means that if one of you doesn’t start trusting the other, neither of you will trust each other for the rest of your days, and without trust, everything falls apart. I have a feeling that yer the one who’s gonna have to start that change, because Stanferd is the most stubborn man I’ve met.”

“Where did you get all this wisdom, old man?” Stan joked.

“I’ll have you know I’m younger than you.”

Neither man spoke for a while. Stan let his eyes close, allowing himself to fall into unconsciousness, but before he could, he was stirred by a movement beside him. Fiddleford was now sat up.

“Let’s head back to the tent. I don’t want ya gettin’ eaten by somethin’.” Fiddleford stood and extended his hand out to Stan. He blinked a few times and took his hand. Fiddleford pulled him up.

The two walked back to the tent silently. Just as they had both crept into their sleeping bags, Fiddleford turned to face Stan.

“Tomorrow's a big day. We’re gonna reach the crash site, I’d reckon.” He whispered. “Try to get some good sleep.”

“Whatever you say.” Stan closed his eyes, and this time, he fell asleep uninterrupted.

He slept soundly the rest of the night, but still, something buzzed in the back of his head, telling him something was wrong.

Why was Ford so reluctant to trust him, even after all this time?

Chapter Text

Ford woke up before anyone else that morning, and used the opportunity to write in his journal about the previous day. He decided to not include the part where Stan nearly drowned- it wasn’t important. Or the part where he came up with the idea of banging together the geodites (he’d decided to call them geodites). He did, however, mention his brother. Once.

He wasn’t avoiding writing about him. Certainly not. He was a man of science, and bias would not muddle his data.

He just… Didn’t have anything interesting to write on the matter. That was all.

Eventually, the other two woke up, and they packed up camp and headed back out on their expedition. They were nearly at the crash site, Ford recalled.

Ford hadn’t realized how suffocating he found the forest until he was free of it, able to move wherever he liked in the infinite field around him. He noticed that the other two even seemed slightly relieved to be free of trees.

A few hours into the morning, as the sun had begun to rise and the temperature began to increase, Ford’s compass began to go haywire- a sign that they were nearly at the crash site. This invigorated the group, and they trekked a little bit faster than before. Just as they were about to reach their destination, Stan’s voice called from just ahead.

“What the hell happened to these cows?”

Ford and Fiddleford exchanged a look before rushing forward to where Stan was. There were, in fact, cows there, grazing lazily on the grass below them. And something had, in fact, happen to them, as an odd pattern appeared to have been printed onto their pelts. They were covered top to bottom in odd spirals, circles, and various other rather intentional-seeming patterns. Their eyes were unusually large and dilated, and looking into them made Ford’s head throb for some reason.

“Odd.” Ford took a step forward, approaching one of the cows, which simply ignored him. “Perhaps it has to do with the crash site. They could be of an alien species.”

“You mean these might be alien cows!?” Stan grimaced from beside Ford. “How weird is this place!?” Ford couldn’t help but chuckle at the remark as he crouched down to get a better look at the grazing specimen.

“You haven’t seen anything compared to some of the anomalies that choose to reside here.” Ford ran a hand down the cow’s side. It only let out a soft moo to the touch, not seeming too bothered. “Wait until you see Steve.”

“Steve?” Stan raised an eyebrow.

Ford lifted a finger. “Don’t let his name deceive you. He’s actually very-”

“Hey guys! Lookit!” Fiddleford exclaimed from somewhere ahead of them. “There’s a bucket o’ milk!”

“Wh- from the alien cows?” Stan lifted his head. Ford followed his brother’s gaze to find Fiddleford crouched down a couple yards away, holding up a bucket that was presumably filled with alien cow milk. He quickly stood, rushing to Fiddleford and grabbing the bucket from out of his hands.

“Don’t.” Ford hissed. “This could be dangerous.”

“How did ya know I was gonna drink it?” Fiddleford reached to grab the bucket back, which he successfully did. Ford frowned.

“You were born and raised on a hog farm in Tennessee. It would be uncharacteristic of you to not drink it.” He reached forward to snatch the bucket away from Fiddleford once more, but he stood and held it up higher than Ford could reach. A downside of being shorter.

“That’s exactly why I should.” Fiddleford turned around and put the bucket to his lips, chugging the entire thing before Ford could take it from him. He lowered the now empty bucket with a sigh.

Ford grumbled and turned around to see Stan simply standing behind him. He flinched, startled. Then, he noticed that in his brother’s hands was… His journal. He gasped. How did he…

“Wh- How did you find that!? Did you take it from me!?” Ford moved forward, clenching his fists. He knew his brother was up to something. “You shouldn’t have that!”

“Eesh, calm down.” Stan held out the journal- it was open to an empty page which had been partly chewed up. “You dropped it when you went to stop Fiddleford. I didn’t read any of it. Promise.”

“... Oh.” Ford let his muscles loosen. He glanced down a bit awkwardly, quickly taking the journal from Stan’s hands.

“I noticed that a cow was chewing on one of the pages, and I saw you writing in it this morning, so I figured it was yours.” Stan said. “I didn’t realize how protective you were over it.” Ford didn’t humor a response- instead, he simply closed the book and shoved it back into the large pocket in his coat, where it rested beside the Plaidypus hide from the previous day. He cleared his throat.

“Well,” Ford started. “I’d love to continue investigating these odd cows, but we’re nearly at our destination, and we have a temporal displacement hyperdrive to find. Let’s go. The entrance should be just past here.” He saw the other two exchange a look behind him, but he ignored it as he began to move forward.

They walked for only another few minutes before Ford found the rock that he’d used to mark the entrance. He motioned towards it, and the others followed- Fiddleford appeared more eager than Ford had ever seen, but Stan seemed to have his mind trapped elsewhere. Ford snapped on his radiation gloves and took a step towards it.

Ford pushed the rock aside, revealing a metal trapdoor, which he attempted to open, but it wouldn’t budge. He sighed.

“Stanley, would you mind helping me open this?” Ford stood back up, stretching his back. “It’s appeared to have rusted over in the two years since I’ve last visited.”

“Huh?” Stan blinked, seemingly being snapped out of another one of his dazes. “Oh- yeah, sure.” He took a few steps forward, and the brothers both grabbed the trapdoor handle and pulled with all their strength. After a few moments, it creaked open, revealing a hole deeper than Ford could see, a ladder attached to one of the sides. All three gazed down into the hole for a moment.

“Oh, this is so exciting!” Fiddleford made a motion with his hands that Ford had come to learn over time meant that he was happy. He wasn’t sure why he did it- one of his southern quirks, perhaps? He’d really have to ask some time.

“I’ll go first.” Ford began to climb down into the hole, holding onto the ladder with all his energy as to not fall however many feet deep this ditch was. After moving down for a few moments, he heard more clamoring above him, and soon, all three men were slowly descending down, completely silent. The air hung with anticipation- this was the moment they’d been waiting for since they began this expedition. Ford was very excited to show off the crash site.

Eventually, Ford spotted a blue light at the bottom of the hole, and as he hopped down to meet the ground below, he saw the expanse that was the crashed, buried UFO. When both men had reached the ground, Ford huffed and spoke, motioning with his arms as he did.

“Welcome to Crash Site Omega.” As he spoke, he saw Fiddleford’s eyes fill with awe. Even Stanley looked decently impressed, his eyes widening as they scanned the area. “Press any button you like, it’s all been broken for millenia.”

“This is so fascinatin’!” Fiddleford exclaimed as he rushed forward to inspect the machines that surrounded them.

“It is pretty cool.” Stan mumbled. Ford felt himself practically glowing with pride as he got a reaction out of his brother, who would typically just dismiss this sort of technological marvel as ‘nerdy’. Perhaps this was too impressive for even Stan to not find it cool. “You’re telling me this was an alien ship?”

“It sure is. Like Fiddleford said, it truly is fascinating.” Ford hummed, moving around to try and find what they were here to find. They could marvel in the beauty of this, grab the hyperdrive, and get out, he decided, if only he could locate it.

If only he could…

CRASH. Ford quickly turned to see what the sound was, to which he found Stan and Fiddleford on the ground- in front of them was a floating machine that Ford instantly recognized. It was large, round and capsule-like, and it had two long metal tendrils that extended into claws. He rushed towards them, shouting as he reached them.

“Watch out! This is the UFO’s security- it detects fear.” He said, reaching the other two, who stared at him, frightened. “If it senses fear, it will grab you and take you god-knows-where. Just stay calm.” He took a deep breath, calming himself. Two in, one out.

“WHAT!?” Fiddleford scrambled back, eyes widening. “How- What–”

The machine seemed to almost stare at Ford, despite not having eyes, for a few moments, before turning to face Fiddleford. It twitched, its machinery clearly having begun to age and wear.

“Stay calm!” Ford hissed. But it was too late- the machine extended an arm(?) towards Fiddleford, claw snapping, ready to grab him. Ford gasped, watching helplessly.

Before he could act, Stan lunged forward, attaching himself to the metal arm and sinking his teeth into it. Ford took a step back, shocked. Did his brother have a death wish?

“Stay away from Fiddleford!” Stan shouted, voice muffled by the mouthful of metal he’d bitten into. “I’ll kill you, you stupid machine!” The arm thrashed around for a few moments, clearly trying to shake Stan off, but he didn’t budge. Ford had to admit that his brother’s bravery astounded him.

As he regained his senses, Ford got an idea. He dropped his bag, opening it and pulling out his magnet gun. He knew it was a good idea to pack it. He extended it to the machine and pulled the trigger, practically tearing the arm off of it- it quickly latched onto the magnet gun, which sent Ford falling back onto the floor. He spotted both Stan and the machine crash to the ground with a thud that echoed across the walls of the abandoned UFO.

Nobody moved for a few moments, all three too stunned to speak. Fiddleford was shaking, eyes wide, muscles tense. Ford moved to check on him, but his attention quickly diverted when he saw Stan out of the corner of his eye, lifting his head to reveal a worrying amount of blood dripping from somewhere within his mouth.

“Stanley, are you okay?” Ford turned to face his brother, who put a hand to his lip, wiping the blood. He only nodded.

“Mmhh…” Stan swallowed. “I think I just lost a tooth or two. Or more. I’ll be fine.” He bared his teeth- there was a gap where two or three bottom teeth should have been. “How’s it look? Bad?”

Ford only stared at Stan in response, taking in a sharp breath as he suddenly became acutely aware of everything going on around him. His brother was on the floor after having decided that sinking his teeth into metal was the smartest way to fight off advanced alien technology- Ford had to save his butt with the magnet gun. Behind him, he heard Fiddleford, breathing loud and fast. If he had just calmed down, they would not have gotten themselves into this situation in the first place. The weight of the items in his coat pulled him down, his shoes were old and worn, his socks had collected splinters that poked at his ankles, his knuckles were scraped and sore from trekking for over a day straight, and he was so, so tired and hungry and…

For a few moments, Ford could do nothing but scream. He screamed from the depths of his soul, clenching and unclenching his fists as if trying to release all of the scrawl in his brain. He then cut himself off with a deep inhale. He held the breath for a few moments before releasing it, allowing himself to fall into the routine he found helped to calm him. Two in, one out. Two in, one out.

Stan was staring at him. Eyebrows raised, eyes wide, mouth slightly open and still dripping with blood. Surprised, maybe. Worried. Confused. Disgusted.

Finally, Ford willed himself to speak, not from wherever his anger had come from, but from a place of logic. “You two. Stay here. Stan, there’s a first aid kit in my bag. I’m going to find the hyperdrive, and then we’re getting out of here.”

Stan nodded. When Ford turned to try and gauge how shaken his assistant was, he found Fiddleford, sat completely still, looking up at him.

“Are you okay?” Ford said, trying to hold back how honestly overwhelmed he felt.

“Y-Yeah.” Fiddleford quickly nodded. “I’ll- I’ll be fine.” He stumbled over his words, speaking too fast for his own mouth to keep up. “Yer gonna need my- my help to extract the hyperdrive. I’ll– I’ll come with. Jus’... gimme a second.”

He did.

Eventually, Fiddleford had appeared to slightly calm down, enough to stand and wordlessly follow Ford as they ventured deeper into the crash site in hopes of finding the hyperdrive.

—--------------------------------------------------------------------------—

Stan found himself alone in the labyrinth that was this weird abandoned UFO, holding the cloth of his sweater to his mouth with one hand, digging around in his brother’s bag with the other. Papers and vials of unknown substances littered the floor as he mindlessly threw them out of the bag. Eventually, he found a maybe-metal-maybe-plastic container with a big red cross on it.

Bingo.

Opening the box, he found a bottle of something, band-aids, a roll of bandage, a splint, a bag filled with lukewarm water- had Ford really tried to bring an ice pack?- and, double bingo, some gauze pads. He yanked a couple from their container and shoved them into his mouth, feeling around a bit before putting them where his missing teeth would be.

“That’ll work.” He said out loud, voice muffled and odd, to nobody in particular. He ignored how scraped up his hands were, deciding it was a wound not worth treating. Instead, he decided to lean back onto the cold alien-metal floor, closing his eyes.

He let his mind wander, as he often did, to a place far away from where he was. He let it go to Vermont, where he had managed to stay for a month in an actually kind of nice hotel with actually kind of warm running water. From there, his brain wandered down the map, recalling either his journey through or time in each location, until he felt a weight crash down in his mind as he hit New Jersey.

New Jersey. Glass Shard Beach.

Stan didn’t like to think about it often. Thinking about the place he was raised almost always lead to thinking about his childhood, and thinking about his childhood always lead to Ford. Stanford Pines. His brother who was now his sometimes-brother.

He sighed, trying to get his mind to go anywhere else, but it lingered on Ford. It lingered on Glass Shard Beach, where they would go on adventures, hunting for anomalies and monsters and treasure and sometimes just to adventure.

Adventuring used to be something they did together regularly, but now, after all these years and all this growth, this change, it all felt different. It all felt wrong. Every time he thought about the present, it felt wrong, and that single word was the only opinion he could form.

And yet he didn’t run away, not this time, because this time, unlike every other time in the last decade, something deep within him told him that this was a wrong he could right. With time, with change, with something, there was a wrong within Gravity Falls, within his brother, within himself, that he could fix.

He just had to figure out what, exactly. He was sure the how would come to him after.

“Stanley, are you okay?”

When Stan opened his eyes, he saw his brother’s face hovering over him. He grunted, sitting up. Ford took a step back. He saw Fiddleford behind him, holding his bag to his chest as if the fate of the world rested inside of it.

“Yeah. Did you find the thing you need?” Stan stretched his arms and slowly stood, eyes scanning his surroundings.

“Yes, we did. Would you mind holding it in your bag? You’re…” Ford visibly hesitated. “... You’re probably the strongest person here, and the hyperdrive is heavy.”

“That’s what I’m here for.” Stan held his hands out, and Fiddleford took a shaky step forward, pulling the metal heap out of his bag and into Stan’s hands. It was etched with all sorts of weird symbols, and it emitted a small glow. Stan gazed at it for a second before grabbing his duffle bag from the ground and shoving the- what was it called?- the hyperdrive into it.

“Thank you kindly.” Fiddleford offered a slight smile to Stan. “We should… We should get goin’ now.”

“Yes,” Ford nodded, putting his hands behind his back. “We wouldn’t want any more… encounters. Let’s go.”

And that’s what they did. Nobody said a word until they were back out in open air, the sky and sun and clouds above them, grass below them. They took a moment to rest before beginning their journey back, and when they did, Ford finally spoke up.

“So. Which one of you alerted the security technology?” Ford’s voice was stern, tinted with a gruffness that indicated anger.

“It was me, and I’m expecting to be told off.” Stan grumbled.

“You would be correct. To save time, I will tell you off as we walk. Come on, let’s go.”

Ford did, in fact, tell off Stan, for nearly ten whole minutes, as they walked through the expanse of field, past the weird alien-cows, away from the crash site. Fiddleford didn’t say a word, and Stan similarly chose not to speak unless prompted, which he was not.

Eventually, Ford decided to either give Stan some peace or rest his voice, as mid-ramble, he concluded whatever he was saying with “That’s all. Just… Be more careful.” And he left it at that.

The next few minutes of completely silent walking were almost painful with how awkward it felt. Stan felt as if the tenseness in the air would crush him, but, almost unfortunately, it did not, and he kept on walking with the other two.

Eventually, they got to talking again, about nothing in particular. The shortcut home they’d decided to take through the cliffs, ‘are you okay’s and ‘yeah I’m fine’s and comments on the weather and the environment and anything but the tension in the air or what had happened in the crash site or what had followed.

An hour or so into the trek through the cliffs, Ford stopped the other two to point out what appeared to be a dinosaur skeleton, trapped in resin. He said it was ‘seemingly unfossilised’, whatever that meant.

Stan put a hand to the resin, the idea of a creature so large snapping him out of the daze he’d found himself in. He ran his palm down the smooth surface, trying to picture the dinosaur, towering over him, looking down at the puny human below it.

“Wow.” Was all he could say. Ford, who stood beside him, nodded.

“Wow, indeed.” He replied.

Stan turned back to see Fiddleford, who stood behind the two, seemingly cowering at the sight of the skeleton. He wasn’t surprised- in his few days knowing Fiddleford, he’d come to know that he was easily startled and frightened and maybe a bit too anxious to be studying anomalies like Ford said they had been.

“I… That sure is somethin’.” Fiddleford’s voice trembled as he seemed to try and make a remark about what rested in front of him. “We should- we should continue. If we keep a good pace, we could- we could get home before sunset.”

Stan exchanged a glance with Ford, who shrugged and began to lead the way continuing down the path. Just as the three were beginning to get back into their travelling rhythm, they were disturbed yet again by Ford suddenly stopping and holding up a hand, signalling for the other two to also stop.

“Shhh.” Ford pointed ahead. “Look.” He whispered.

Another thing? Stan groaned inwardly. If he was fully honest, he was getting rather tired of strange occurrences. When he looked ahead, however, he realized why he had been stopped.

It wasn’t just another thing, it was… Stan didn’t even know what it was. It was human… ish. It was large, at least twice his size, and full of muscle. It had sharp, elvish ears and clumps of body hair along its arms and back. Its green skin looked rough, unnatural, unhumanlike. It had a large lower jaw with two fangs protruding out of it- the rest of its mouth was lined with smaller but sharper teeth. Mushrooms grew along its shoulders. It was terrifying, Stan admitted to himself. It was also extremely, horrendously ugly.

And it was curled up, fast asleep, sprawled across the path they were walking.

“What the hell.” Stan whispered, taking a weary step back. “I don’t like… whatever that is.”

“It’s a gremloblin!” Ford’s voice was soft but extremely excited. He took a step forward. WHY.

“A what.” Stan frowned.

“Half-gremlin, half-goblin. It’s one of the rarest things you can find here- I’ve only seen one once, and only in passing! I have to sketch it in.” Ford rummaged around in his bag, not seeming to realize that NOW WAS NOT THE TIME.

“Hey, maybe we shouldn’t stop and stare at the giant monster!?” Stan hissed. “Like- I hate to pretend to be an expert here- but this seems extremely dangerous.”

“I agree,” Fiddleford said. “Stanferd, we’d best not linger.”

“Don’t worry, they’re astoundingly deep sleepers,” Ford reassured, pulling out his journal and a pen and opening it to an empty page, where he excitedly began to sketch the beast. Stan watched, honestly astounded. How was it that this man had been in Gravity Falls for- what was it- six years, and yet he seemed to still have no survival skills?

Fiddleford, who was previously in front of Stan, slowly moved back until he was behind a tree a few feet away. Stan couldn’t help but also take a few paces away from Ford and the beast in front of him.

“Stanferd, we should really get a move on.” Fiddleford urged.

“Don’t worry,” Ford insisted, “it’s not–”

Just as Ford was probably about to reassure Fiddleford of the lack of danger surrounding literally standing a few inches away from a ginormous beast, a glow came from Stan’s bag, followed by an extremely loud, high pitched ringing. Stan dropped the bag, and it came crashing to the floor- as it opened, the hyperdrive rolled out, and the ear-piercing sound only grew louder. What the hell was it doing, and why the hell did it decide to do it at this very moment!?

Stan looked down at the hyperdrive, then up at Ford, then the now extremely awake and alert beast he had been previously sketching. It let out a horrible roar before leaping forward, right over Ford, and over Stan, and crashing into the tree that Fiddleford hid behind. Before Stan could react, the gremloblin grabbed Fiddleford, who made not a sound in response, seeming to freeze in fear. It looked directly into his eyes, and it was at this point that the southern man finally gained the sense to scream as loud as he could.

Stan jumped into action, scooping the hyperdrive back into his bag and throwing it over his shoulder as he went hurtling towards the gremloblin. He leapt onto its back, now with the sense to not bite it, and instead punch it as hard as he could. It careened back, letting out a horrible noise, and tried to knock Stan off of it- for the second time that day, he found himself playing a game of Don’t Fall Off The Horrible Flailing Thing, which, as it turns out, is not a fun game to play when your life is at stake. He preferred it when it was a mechanical bull he was grabbing onto for dear life.

Ford, too, ran at the creature, throwing his canteen of water at it, soaking both Stan and the gremloblin. If water was to somehow defeat the monster, Stan deemed getting soaked for the second time this expedition would be a worthy sacrifice.

Apparently, throwing water at a gremloblin, however, does not defeat it. Stan watched in horror as the back he’d latched onto began to sprout wings, as the creature seemed to double, almost triple in size, as its teeth grew larger and its claws sharper.

“WHAT DID YOU DO!?” Stan shouted, sinking his nails deeper into the grebloblin’s back. He didn’t get a response as the beast, Fiddleford in its claws, Stan on its back, mightily flapped its wings and ascended off the ground and into the air. Stan swore he felt his soul leave his body the higher the monster flew.

He said nothing, he did nothing, he only held on as hard as his hands allowed him and tried his hardest not to let go. He couldn’t do anything, really, and if he could, he didn’t know what.

What are you supposed to do when you know you’re about to die?

—--------------------------------------------------------------------------—

Ford watched in horror as the water he’d splashed onto the gremloblin seemed to sink into its skin and invigorate it. He watched as it seemingly out of nowhere grew wings and lifted off the ground, bringing with it his friend and his brother.

No.

Ford pulled out the magnet gun for the second time that day, aiming it towards the monster which was now nearly thirty feet in the air. For a moment, he wasn’t sure where to aim- there wasn’t any metal on a gremloblin, was there?- until he spotted the bag around Stan’s shoulder, a faint glow coming from within. The hyperdrive! He aimed the magnet gun at the bag, adjusted the settings, closed his eyes, and pulled the trigger.

I’ve lost him once, I can’t lose him again!

He felt his stomach lurch as the magnet gun lifted him off the ground, into the air, towards the gremloblin. When he opened his eyes, he found himself crashing onto the back of the beast with a gasp.

“Sixer!” Stan breathed, looking up at Ford with a wide-eyed stare. “You’re… How did you…”

“No time.” Ford replied. He began to clamor up the back of the gremloblin. He took a breath, raised his magnet gun, and smashed it into its head as hard as he could- it was knocked out cold. It went crashing down through the air.

“What the fuck are you doing!?” Stan shouted, voice barely audible through the screaming wind as they continued to fall. Ford looked down to see that, below them, rapidly approaching, was a bright red barn. Fiddleford was still in the monster’s claws, seemingly unresponsive.

“I don’t know!” Ford replied, closing his eyes and lowering himself down as far into the gremloblin’s hair as he could. “Brace yourself!”

They crashed through the roof of the barn and into not the ground, but something soft, which served to at least slightly cushion the fall. Ford heard shuffling all around him, but he couldn’t will himself to move, to lift his head, to see what was going on. He could do nothing but breathe for several minutes. Breaths that burned his lungs and his heart and his throat. He did not allow his eyes to open for several minutes.

No broken arms. No broken legs.

Please let them be safe.

When Ford finally moved, finally opened his eyes, he found himself in a hayloft beside a conscious Stan and an unconscious gremloblin. He made eye contact with his brother, who, surprisingly, leaned forward and pulled Ford into a hug.

“What are you-” Ford started.

“Making sure you’re okay.” Stan murmured.

“By… Hugging me?”

“Shut up. Just… gimme a moment.” Stan had practically sunk his nails into Ford’s back, his long hair brushing Ford’s arms. “We just nearly died. We… God.”

Ford didn’t reply. He didn’t hug his brother back. Part of him wanted to, sure. A lot of him wanted to. But he didn’t. He did nothing. When Stan finally pulled away, Ford spoke.

“Where’s Fiddleford?”

Stan’s eyes widened, and the brothers had a simultaneous realization. Ford quickly stood. His legs burned, but he did anyway, because Fiddleford could be even more injured than him. He looked around for a few moments before spotting him in a hayloft a few feet away. He was laying on his back, and a horse was leaning over him, sniffing his face.

“Fiddleford!” Ford rushed forward to where he was, shooing away the horse. “Are you okay?” He put his hands on Fiddleford’s shoulders, trying to shake him back into reality. Tears were streaming down Fiddleford’s face, and he only groaned in response to Ford’s prompting. His left arm was bent unnaturally, perhaps broken, and pierced in several locations by the gremloblin’s quills.

Throughout all the time Ford had known his research assistant, he’d never seen him in such a state. He’d never seen him cry.

Stan rushed to Fiddleford’s other side. “Shit. He needs help, Sixer.”

“I know.” Ford looked around. “Find my bag.”

“Okay.” Stan turned, looking around, before running off elsewhere. Ford didn’t pull his gaze away from Fiddleford.

I’m sorry.

Ford leaned forward, beginning to carefully pluck the quills from his assistant’s arm. Each time he successfully pulled one out, Fiddleford flinched, and more tears formed in his eyes.

I’m sorry.

With his other hand, he wiped tears from Fiddleford’s face. He knew his own tears weren’t an immediate danger to his health, but Ford hated to see it. He hated to see what he had done.

I’m–

“Here.” Ford flinched when he heard his brother’s voice behind him. Stan handed him the first aid kit from his bag. Ford quickly opened it, assessing the situation and what he could do about it. He pulled out the bottle of disinfectant, spraying it across Fiddleford’s arm and all the spots where the quills had been. He could sense Stan standing behind him. He applied a splint to the arm, trying to recall the medical knowledge he had, trying not to panic. “We’re nearly home. Come on- we just…” Ford moved to Fiddleford’s other side. “Stanley, help me carry him. We need to get him to town. We can get help there.”

“Okay.” Stan nodded. The two managed to get Fiddleford up and walking, one arm wrapped around each brother’s shoulders. They gathered their things and headed out without a word. Nobody wanted to talk, that much was obvious. But even if they did, there really wasn’t much to say.

I’m sorry.

It was only a few hours before they were back in the woods. Ford wasn’t sure what he would have done if the walk was any longer. With the compass broken, they simply walked beside the road, hoping they’d find town if they just kept going. Fiddleford was now walking on his own, but he still didn’t say anything. Nobody did. They just kept walking.

Eventually, a car came by, and it slowed down when the person inside spotted the three. The window rolled down, and a woman with ashy-brown, curly hair poked her head out the window.

“What are you three doing out here? Are you alright?” Her voice was slow and gentle, and her face was plastered with concern. Ford narrowed his eyes. She seemed safe enough. He lifted a hand, signalling to the other two that he could handle this.

“We’re trying to find help for our friend here.” Ford motioned towards Fiddleford. “He’s injured.”

“Well, that’s no good! Get in, I’ll drive you to urgent care.” The woman got out of the car and opened the back door, taking a step back to allow them to get in. “There’s enough space for the three of you.”

“Are you sure?” Ford replied. “We’re–”

“No, I insist. Your friend looks terrible.”

Ford flinched as Stan leaned closer to him and whispered into his ear. “I have a weapon if we need to defend ourselves.”

Ford hesitated before nodding at the woman, and motioned to the other two to get in the car first. Stan helped Fiddleford in, then Ford entered, shutting the car door beside him. The woman got in the car last. She began to drive, and the four sat in silence for a few moments.

“Thank you.” Stan finally said from behind the driver’s seat. “You really didn’t have to.”

“It’s fine. Say, aren’t you those scientists that are working in the cabin in the woods? Us townsfolk don’t get to see you very often.” Ford saw her smile from the rearview mirror.

“I’m not-” Stan started.

“Yes. Yes we are.” Ford cleared his throat. “I’m Stanford Pines. That’s Stanley, and this is Fiddleford.” He motioned towards the people he was referring to as he spoke. “We don’t… Go into town often. We’re very busy.” He adjusted his glasses, leaning back into the worn down car seat.

“That makes sense. I’m Susan, by the way.” The woman- now Susan- hummed. “So how’d he get hurt?” She motioned towards the middle seat, where Fiddleford sat, head down, eyes closed. Was he sleeping?

Ford looked at Stan, narrowing his eyes. Make something up! He hissed in his mind, trying to somehow transfer the thought to his brother through twin telepathy, as if that somehow started existing in the last two minutes.

Stan seemed to have gotten the message, however. He cleared his throat. “Well, we were out doing… Research… And right now, we’re studying at the cliffs over… Beyond the forest. Our friend here was chasing a raccoon and just ran right off a ledge. Landed on his arm.”

“Well, that’s a shame.” Susan replied. “We’re nearly there, so don’t you worry about a thing. The doctors here in Gravity Falls are very good at what they do.”

Unlikely, Ford thought. He leaned over to Fiddleford. “You alright?” He whispered.

Fiddleford’s eyes shot open, and he gasped, sitting up quickly and looking around. “Wh…” He glanced at Ford. “Where are we?”

“We’re on our way to urgent care. You’ll be okay.” Ford reassured to the best of his ability- he wasn’t too sure how to comfort people, it was not something he was familiar with nor a subject he could study.

Fiddleford seemed comforted by this, though, and relaxed slightly. He’d began bouncing his knee as he gazed off into nothing. Ford was okay enough with this, and turned to look out the window as trees became buildings.

Eventually, they arrived in front of the run-down urgent care building, and the group exchanged thank-yous and no-problems with Susan before the car drove off and the three were alone.

“Stanley,” Ford turned to his brother. He pulled a twenty-dollar bill from his pocket (always having spare money was a lesson he’d learned the hard way after he’d found himself without any whilst trying to bargain with an anomaly that had kidnapped him. Not a fun experience.) “Go to the drugstore- it’s just down the street- and get some painkillers. I have a feeling we’ll need them, and I don’t believe I have any back at the house.”

“Why now? I could do that literally any other time.” Stan grumbled.

“Because we’re in town right now, and it’s convenient, and I’d rather not have to explain your existence to urgent care.” Ford replied, frustrated. Why couldn’t he just do what he was told? He always had to– well, he didn’t always have to protest. He’d actually done quite well on the expedition. Regardless, Ford was frustrated.

“Fine.” Stan snatched the bill out of Ford’s hands and quickly turned to walk away. Ford watched for a moment before turning back to Fiddleford.

“Come on, we’re going to get that arm of yours treated.” He took Fiddleford’s hand and led him into the building they had been standing in front of. Fiddleford only nodded weakly.

—--------------------------------------------------------------------------—

Stan pushed open the doors of the drugstore- it was empty, aside from the cashier. He let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. Wearing just a shirt and pants, he wasn’t able to hide himself under his hoodie like he typically would in a crowded space.

He perused down the isles, not wanting to be in too much of a rush. He wasn’t too sure what Ford wanted him to get- ‘painkillers’ is a pretty broad description. Besides, wouldn’t the doctors prescribe them something? Why was he even here? Right, Ford just wanted him to get out of their hair. Stan sighed. He might as well buy something, he thought, since Ford asked him, and apparently Ford is all knowing. Whatever. Stan pulled something from the shelf, staring at the label for a few moments.

“Pines, is that you?” A gruff voice said from behind Stan. He quickly turned to try and identify whether this person was recognizing him or his brother. When he saw the man now in front of him, Stan swore he felt his blood actually run cold.

Shit.

“Uh- Hey!” Stan took a step back into the shelf, swallowing. What was he doing here?

“I knew it was you! It’s been so long, where have you been?” The man wrapped an arm around Stan, who tried to shrink out of it without seeming rude or awkward.

“Hey, Jimmy… Uh, y’know, I’ve… I’ve been around. Here and there.” Stan took another small step away from him, trying his hardest to distance himself from the last person he’d expect to meet. “What are you… Doing here?”

“I could ask you the same thing.” Jimmy smirked. “It’s great to see you, man. I like what you’ve done with your hair. I told you growing it out would look good on you.”

“You did?” Stan curled his lip. All the more reason to chop it all off. “That’s… Yeah.” He cleared his throat. “Well, I’m sort of in a rush, so…” He tried once more to flee the scene, this time with success. He heard Jimmy call something after him, but he didn’t stop to listen. He slotted the bottle of whatever he was holding back into the shelf and scurried out the building. He walked down the street, as far away from that mess as he could, until he found himself back in front of the urgent care building.

Shit. He was supposed to get painkillers… Oh well. Nothing could convince Stan to go back to the drugstore, to risk running into him again.

Stan leaned against the wall beside the entrance to the building. He began to pick at a hangnail as he tried to process what had just happened.

Jimmy Snakes.

If that was his real name.

Stan had known him, what, five or six years ago now? He was… Quite the character. Motorcyclist, long, blonde hair, torn leather jacket, the stereotypical flimsy gang member, really. Was he in a gang? Stan couldn’t recall. He couldn’t recall much about that period of time at all, actually. Was it really that long ago? He just knew that, for whatever reason, Jimmy Snakes was a man to avoid. And now, Jimmy Snakes was in Gravity Falls. Weren’t enough bad things happening to Stan? Did the world just hate him?

Stan thought a lot, despite what others tended to believe. Just… Never about the right things, he supposed. If he was supposed to be focusing on a teacher’s ramblings, he’d be thinking about what he was gonna do when he got home. If he was supposed to be focusing on the world around him, on every terrible thing, he’d escape to the past. Somewhere in the past, he’d lived a good life, surely. He just… Couldn’t recall at the moment.

Maybe the present had something to offer for once. He had a place to stay. Fiddleford seemed nice enough. Ford… Was his brother. He always would be.

Stan wasn’t sure if he was ready for the present. Not yet.

The weight of his duffle bag on his shoulder made it ache. His back still hurt from falling from the sky into a hayloft. Everything hurt, really. He was ready to go back to Ford’s cabin and just relax.

His thoughts were interrupted by the door beside him swinging open. Ford exited first, followed by an extremely dazed looking Fiddleford. Ford jumped a little when he spotted Stan.

“Ah. There you are.” Ford pushed his falling glasses back onto his face. “Did you get the-”

“No.” Stan grumbled. “Something came up.”

“Oh… Alright.” Ford made a face. Stan wasn’t too sure what face it was. “Well, that’s alright, I suppose. The good news is, Fiddleford’s arm isn’t broken.” Fiddleford lifted his head to the mention of his name, raising a shaky thumbs up with his unaffected hand.

“That’s good.” Stan cleared his throat.

“It turns out that the gremloblin’s quills were venomous.” Ford continued. “I didn’t know that- it’s pretty interesting, actually, that it would– sorry, not relevant. The point is, he’s sick. It’ll pass through his system fine, as long as he rests. We’re going to put our project on hold for a few days while he recovers- perhaps you could use the time to settle down.”

Stan shrugged. “Alright. Should we… Head back, then?”

Ford nodded.

“Lead the way, then.”

The walk home was quiet, just as the last half a day had been. Everyone was exhausted, that much was clear. The sun had already set by the time they’d gotten back to the cabin. Nobody bothered to make dinner. Stan didn’t bother to do anything, really, aside from trudge upstairs to the attic where his room was, and collapse on his bed.

It felt weird to think that this room could last him longer than a month.

It felt even weirder to think it could be permanent, if he played his cards right.

—--------------------------------------------------------------------------—

Ford squinted at the floating chess board below him. Surrounding him was the familiar galaxy of his own mind, clutter hovering around him but not too close to where he felt claustrophobic. The game was in his favor, if he could just play his cards- pieces?- right.

Maybe if I move the bishop… No, he’ll expect that.

“I heard you're taking a break from the portal!” Bill’s voice appeared agitated, and Ford quickly looked up, eyes widening. He wasn’t aware this would bother his muse so much, but he supposed maybe he didn’t understand how injury worked. He wasn’t human, after all.

“I- My apologies, but I didn’t have any other choice. Fiddleford is in no state to be working, and while I like to think I’ve improved, I don’t believe I’m strong enough to work on construction on my own, even the parts that do not require his engineering prowess.” Ford ran a hand through his hair.

“Isn’t that what your twin is for?!” Bill leaned back into the small throne he’d created for himself. Ford grabbed the bishop, despite his brain telling him it wasn’t a good idea, and moved it diagonally.

“... I suppose.” He replied. “I’m not sure if I trust him enough to know about the portal yet, if I’m honest. If the wrong person finds out about it…” He didn’t finish the thought, out loud nor in his head.

Bill squinted, grabbing his knight and sliding it across the board. “HAH! As if that poor thing has the power to do anything bad! He doesn’t know anyone. He’s PATHETIC! If anything, you’re doing him a favor by letting him be a part of this! It’ll be the most useful thing he’s ever done!”

Ford bit his lip, blinking a few times. Pathetic? He didn’t perceive his brother as pathetic. A little… Misguided, sure. Brash. Inattentive. Not pathetic.

“I don’t–” He started.

Ford sat up in his bed with a gasp.

Chapter Text

Stan coughed up water- it came from all the holes in his face, really, but mostly his mouth- and pulled himself out of the bloody bathtub, consciousness slowly coming back to him. Why was it bloody? The sound of footsteps rang in his ears. He couldn’t tell if they were actually there, but he wasn’t particularly keen to find out. He wouldn't want him to see he was awake. Not after…

He was only on the second story. He could jump out the window and run, run as fast as his feet would let him. What if he broke his legs? Would he still be able to run then? He didn’t want to risk it. But what else could he do?

He climbed onto the top of the toilet, fumbling with the lock on the small window above him. He pulled the latch, opening the window. Slowly, he lifted himself up as gently and silently as he could. Somehow, he managed to pull himself through the window that was most certainly too small for him. He hung from it, hands on the windowsill. He tried to look below him, but all he saw was the blur of a sidewalk.

He let go.

Stan woke up to the sound of running water. He was in the cabin. Whatever he’d dreamt of the previous night slipped away until all he could recall of it was that it had been unpleasant. His sleep hadn’t been the deepest or the soundest or the most refreshing, but it was something, and he expected today to be more relaxed, so he didn’t need a lot of energy anyway.

He spent a long time in bed, still. He felt as if moving from the position he was in would evaporate all sense of comfort. He worried that if he moved, he’d have to continue moving, continue facing the day and the trainwreck of a situation he’d found himself in.

It was just now starting to settle in how insane it all was. He was in a town with odd paranormal creatures and occurrences, in a cabin in the woods with two mad scientists- one of them his brother- who were working on this top secret project that even Stan didn’t get to know about.

An itch on his leg led to his first movement of the day, which, as suspected, led to the second, then the third, and soon he was starting to face the morning.

Stan grabbed his change of clothes and headed towards the bathroom to finally shower off the gunk that had accumulated the last two days of travelling, but as he approached the door, he heard the sound of running water and assumed someone else had beaten him to it. Instead, he decided to go downstairs to hopefully try and find something to eat that wasn’t expired.

When Stan entered the kitchen, he found Fiddleford hunched over at the table, staring at the bowl of cereal below him, but not eating. Stan stood still for a few moments, unsure of what to do, until Fiddleford glanced up and met his eyes.

“... Mornin’.” The typical energy that Stan had found to be comforting in Fiddleford’s voice was almost entirely gone. Maybe he just wasn’t feeling well.

“Hey. You alright?” Stan walked past Fiddleford and towards the fridge. When he opened it, it was practically empty. He spotted a single apple in the bottom. He decided it would be the easiest thing to prepare, since the rest of the contents of the fridge were ingredients more than meals. Not that an apple was a meal. Unsure of how long it had been there, but also not caring enough to be cautious, he grabbed it and angled his mouth so only the teeth on the right side of his mouth bit into it. His missing teeth were on his left side, and they hurt, and he realized at some point in the night the gauze had either fallen out or been swallowed.

“I’m… No, not really.” Fiddleford rubbed his eyes. “My arm hurts. I’m nauseous. And tired.”

“I feel ya.” Stan sat down across the table from Fiddleford. “Well, I don’t. I wasn’t attacked and poisoned by a giant monster.”

Fiddleford shuddered.

“But I understand, is what I’m trying to say.” Stan tried to make eye contact with Fiddleford to no avail. “I’ve been there.”

“I can imagine.” Fiddleford slowly blinked. “Stanferd said you’ve been homeless this whole time. So maybe ya do understand.”

“Uh, yeah.”

The two sat in silence for a while. Stan had already finished the apple before Fiddleford took even one bite of his cereal.

“Are you okay? Like, seriously.” Stan leaned forward, putting his arms on the table.

“Didn’t ya already ask? I told ya, I’m not. I’m injured, if ya couldn’t tell.” Fiddleford looked at Stan with a face that twisted into a mix of frustration and confusion.

“No, I know that. I mean, like… How are you feeling?” Stan wasn’t sure where the words were coming from- usually, he couldn’t care less about anyone’s emotional wellbeing, but for some reason, he felt the need to ask.

“Ah.” Fiddleford ran a hand through his hair, grabbing a chunk and pulling on it so hard Stan worried he was gonna yank his own hair out. “I’m… I dunno. I didn’t sleep last night. Whenever I tried, I’d get nightmares about…” His voice trailed off, and he glanced away. “I’m fine, though.”

“Well, you clearly aren’t.”

Fiddleford looked back up, eyes widening.

“Remember when you told me that Ford was good with that sort of thing? Like, staying calm or whatever. You said I should ask him for help.” Stan bit at a scab beneath his lip. “I mean, I didn’t. My point is, maybe you’ll benefit from following your own advice?”

“I s’pose. I’ll ask him about it.” Fiddleford weakly smiled- it was so lackluster, Stan barely considered it a smile. “Thanks.”

“No problem.” Stan replied. He paused for a moment before speaking again. “By the way, have you-”

“Did somebody say my name?” Ford poked his head out from the doorway. The first thing Stan noticed was his brother’s outfit- he was wearing the same coat he’d been wearing the last several days, but beneath it was some sort of business get-up, with a collared shirt and a tie. Why on earth was he wearing a tie?

“Literally nobody said your name.” Stan replied, trying to keep his voice light.

“Oh. I thought I heard my name.” Ford stepped into the kitchen, moving towards the coffeemaker. “How are you this morning, Fiddleford?”

“I’m fine.” Fiddleford replied. Stan turned and glared at him, and he quickly blinked a few times before correcting himself. “Well- I’m not fine.”

“Hm?” Ford began to brew a pot of coffee, quickly glancing over at Fiddleford.

“I, uh… I didn’t sleep last night. I…” Fiddleford lowered his voice to the point where it was barely audible. “I kept having nightmares.” He swallowed.

Ford paused for a brief moment before continuing what he was doing. “I can help with that, if you want. I know a couple of meditation techniques that will help calm you down.”

“I’d appreciate that.” Fiddleford smiled. “I think Lee would, as well.”

“Who, me? Nah.” Stan jumped a bit in his seat, surprised that Fiddleford would offer such a thing. Didn’t he know that Stan didn’t need help? He was fine. He just… He was just getting adapted to this new life, was all.

“Ya sure?” Fiddleford tilted his head at Stan. “I thought ya-”

“You thought wrong.” Stan hissed. “Must be the poison getting to your head.”

“... Whatever ya say.”

—--------------------------------------------------------------------------—

Ford sat across the breakfast table from Fiddleford. Stan had already left, claiming he was going to ‘do something’, and Ford didn’t care enough to inquire. It was quiet- not awkward, just quiet- as Ford sipped at his cup of coffee and Fiddleford slowly took small bites of his cereal. It felt almost like a typical morning, aside from it being devoid of Fiddleford’s excited ramblings of his plans for the day.

Ford glanced up at his research partner, who hovered his head over the table, taking short, shallow breaths. He looked up, and the two made eye contact for a few moments before Ford leaned forward. He stretched his arm across the table and put the back of his palm to Fiddleford’s forehead.

Fiddleford squinted. “What are ya-”

“Checking your temperature.” Ford paused for a few moments, feeling the warmth of Fiddleford’s forehead against his hand. He couldn’t quite tell if it was supposed to feel that warm. “... I’m not too good at this, admittedly.”

“It doesn’t come natural to you yet.” Fiddleford replied. “It’ll come to ya when ya have kids.”

“I suppose it will never come to me then.” Ford moved back into his chair, then pulled himself out of it. “Do you feel like you have a temperature?”

“I mean… My skin feels all burny-tingly. Probably.”

“I’ll go fetch a thermometer, in that case.” Ford turned and made his way out the kitchen and down the hallway to the downstairs bathroom. He heard running water above him and assumed Stan was showering upstairs. He grabbed the first aid kit that had made its permanent residence besides the sink and rummaged through it before finding a thermometer. The numbers printed on the side of it had faded, but they were still visible enough to where Ford could sort-of read them.

He walked back to the kitchen, moving around the table to where Fiddleford sat. He grabbed his chin with his available hand and pulled it up so they made eye contact.

“Open your mouth.”

“I can take my own temperature, Stanferd.”

“... Er. Right.” Ford took a step back and handed the thermometer to Fiddleford, who stuck it in his mouth. They both waited, completely silent, for a few moments that felt longer than they should. Eventually, he pulled it out and squinted at the barely-visible numbers.

“Uh… I think that’s at a hundred n’ somethin’... A hundred n’ one.” He blinked slowly. “That’s bad, right?”

“Yes, that’s bad.” Ford sighed. “The doctor said a temperature was normal, if I recall correctly. You need to rest, though.”

“Alright.” Fiddleford slowly got up, then wobbled for a few moments. Ford took a step closer in case he needed to catch him.

“Let’s get you to bed.” Ford reached out a hand to hold Fiddleford’s.

“I don’t need to be babied, Stanferd.” Fiddleford pulled his hand away.

“You look like you’re about to faint, Fiddleford.”

“... Fine.”

Ford guided Fiddleford down the hall and to his room, walking slowly and carefully as to not allow him to fall. They’d both been sick before, and Ford found himself remembering their college days when one of them would overwork themselves and get sick and the other would have to care for them. This was sort of like that, he thought.

Eventually, he’d managed to get Fiddleford into his bed. He stood beside it for a few moments before turning to exit, but he was interrupted by a quiet voice.

“Wait- don’t go yet.” Fiddleford sounded raspy and tired- Ford hadn’t previously noticed. With a sigh, he grabbed the chair from Fiddleford’s desk and pulled it beside his bed, sitting down.

“Do you want me to just sit here?” Ford let his body slump deeper into the chair.

“Yeah.” Fiddleford breathed. “Maybe it’ll help me sleep.”

“... Er. Alright.” Ford shifted awkwardly in his seat, clearing his throat. “Let me go grab something to read, in that case.” He stood and briskly walked to his room across the hall, grabbing the book he was reading from his bedside table. Watership Down. Good enough. He hadn’t found it particularly entertaining so far, but he never put down a book after he started reading.

He poked his head through Fiddleford’s door- he was still in bed, still awake- and tip-toed back to the chair, sitting down. He flipped his book open to the page he’d bookmarked and began to read.

It was rather pleasant, actually, to be able to just sit down and read. His friend’s soft breathing was rhythmic, almost comforting. The book wasn’t too bad, either. Perhaps he’d just had to get himself into the mindset.

He had to admit, he was enjoying himself.

Eventually, Fiddleford did fall asleep- Ford had forgotten how loud he’d snored in the many years since they’d shared a room. It wasn’t too distracting, though. What was distracting, however, were his mutterings as he tossed and turned. No words were audible, but every few minutes, he would shriek and Ford would nearly jump out of his skin.

After around half an hour of this, Ford moved forward, leaning on the bed, and grabbed Fiddleford’s hand. He wasn’t too sure how to comfort him without waking him, but he hoped whatever he was doing would help ease his nightmares.

“Hey, er… It’s okay…” He murmured. To his surprise, Fiddleford’s muscles eased, and he appeared calmer. He leaned over Fiddleford, moving his other hand to his head to see if he could maybe try checking his temperature again. His head felt hot, but then again, so did Ford for some reason, so perhaps that had muddled the data.

The door behind Ford slowly creaked open, and he turned to find Stan, staring wide-eyed into the room. Nobody moved for a few moments, including Fiddleford.

Stan cleared his throat. “I’m- I’ll go. My bad.” He shielded his eyes with a hand as if protecting them from the sun, taking a step back and beginning to close the door again.

“Wh- It’s not what you-” Ford started, but he interrupted himself with a sigh as the door closed and he heard the sound of quick footsteps getting further away. He felt his face burning; he put his head into his hands and groaned.

Ford turned back to Fiddleford, who was now soundly asleep. Carefully, he lifted himself off the bed and snuck out of the room, trying his best not to let the door creak as he closed it behind him. He stood in front of the door for a few moments before walking to the living room, where Stan sat on the couch, reading. He still found the sight of his brother reading odd.

“... Stanley?” Ford approached the couch and sat down next to Stan, clearing his throat. Stan moved a bit to make more room for him. “Mind if I turn on the news?”

“It’s your house.” Stan replied, not looking up from his book.

“Right.” Ford turned on the TV and leaned back into the cushions, listening to the news reporter drone on about the (most likely inaccurate) weather predictions. The weather in Gravity Falls was unpredictable, and he wasn’t really sure why they still tried to predict it.

“Hey, uh…” Stan’s voice interrupted Ford’s thoughts, and he turned to see that his brother had put the book down. “About just now.”

“Stanley, that wasn’t-”

“I’m, like… Cool with it… If you, uh-”

“Stanley, I’m not-”

“No, really, I’m fine with it. If you like guys.”

Ford slowly blinked at Stan. That was… Good to know, he supposed, but he was pretty sure he didn’t. And he most certainly was not involved romantically with Fiddleford. He was a married man, after all.

“It’s not like that,” he said. “I swear. I was just… Checking on him. Since he’s sick.”

“Oh.” Stan’s eyes widened. “Uh… Forget what I said, then.” He quickly picked up his book and glued his eyes to it as if it was the most interesting thing in the world.

The two sat in an awkward silence for a while.

“I… Appreciate the sentiment, though.” Ford finally muttered.

“... Uh huh.” Stan didn’t lift his head, but Ford saw him raise an eyebrow from behind the book. “Good to know.”

Ford decided not to linger on his brother’s reaction and instead focus his attention back on the news. A few moments later, however, Stan spoke up again.

“So are you-?”

“No.” Ford sighed. “No, I’m…” He paused. “I don’t know. I don’t care either, to be honest, because my research comes before petty things like romance. Why do you care?”

“God forbid I look out for my brother.” Stan replied. “... Say, how is Fiddleford? I heard him, like… Screaming.”

“Ah- right. He’s been having nightmares, I think.” Ford sighed. “I’m pretty sure I’ve got it sorted out, though. He’s sleeping now.”

“Okay. How is he, y’know, healthwise?”

“He has a fever, and he’s been sort of… Out of it.” Ford grimaced. “He wouldn’t sleep unless I sat on a chair next to his bed.”

“... Right.” Stan said. “And you’re absolutely positive you two aren’t-?”

“Yes, I’m positive.” Ford quickly replied. “Stop asking.”

“My bad.”

For the second time in the last few minutes, the twins found that they had nothing to say, and so they got back to their own activities. This time, they remained that way until Ford decided it was an appropriate time for lunch, and went to the kitchen to prepare a meal for the three.

For some reason, he couldn’t get the interaction he’d had with his brother out of his head, as if his brain had latched onto it. There was nothing more to it- it had simply been a misunderstanding that Ford had cleared up.

Right?

—--------------------------------------------------------------------------—

Stan, at his brother’s request, crept down the hall until he found the door that he was pretty sure Ford had said was Fiddleford’s. He slowly opened it to find Fiddleford sprawled across his bed, fast asleep, snoring so loud that Stan briefly thought he was dying.

“Uh… Hello?” Stan slowly entered the room, glancing around at the sheer amount of clutter. There was a book on the chair that sat beside the bed- Watership Down. Stan was pretty sure he’d read it. A banjo leaned against the bed, among many other objects and trinkets. “Sixer told me to come get you for lunch.”

Fiddleford stirred for a moment before lifting up his head, blinking slowly. “Hm? What did ya say?”

“Lunch is ready.” Stan stood beside the bed, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “Wanna come eat?”

“Sure.” Fiddleford stretched his arms out- wow, Stan had not realized how hairy they were- and slowly began to rise from his bed. “Don’t wait for me.”

“Okay.” Stan turned to leave, but turned back almost immediately after. “You sure you’re alright?”

Fiddleford sniffed. “I’ll be fine.”

“Alright.” Stan turned and actually left this time, making his way to the kitchen and sitting down in the seat that Ford had taught him was his (apparently he’d been sitting in Ford’s seat this whole time).

Ford stood up from his seat- he’d already begun to eat the sandwich he’d prepared for himself. “Is he coming?”

“Yeah. He said he was on his way.” Stan looked down at his plate, which had another sandwich, which had noticeably different ingredients between the slices of bread. The ingredients were also noticeably the same that he would have in his sandwiches as a kid. His brother had actually remembered. “... Thanks.”

Ford shrugged, shoving half his sandwich into his mouth and glancing away. “Mhm.” He muttered. “How are your teeth?”

“They hurt like hell- not much I can do about it, though.” Stan grumbled. When Ford furrowed his brows, seemingly confused, he continued, “Like you said- I shouldn’t let the people here know I exist. Especially doctors or anyone who could fix my teeth.”

“I could figure out something for you, if you’d like.” Ford replied. “I’m sure there’s some sort of spell that will help.”

Spell?

Stan opened his mouth to speak, then closed it. He wasn’t too sure how to go about replying to that. He was fine with missing a tooth or two. He’d prefer not to have spells casted on him.

Fiddleford entered the kitchen without a word, shoulders slumped. Both Stan and Ford stopped their conversation to turn and look- to turn and stare at him.

“Thanks fer makin’ lunch, Stanferd.” Fiddleford softly smiled. “I ‘ppreciate it.” Ford only smiled back.

“Where have you been? You said you were on your way.” Stan raised an eyebrow. “I was starting to think you decided to go back to sleep.”

“Bathroom.” Fiddleford murmured, plopping himself down in his chair. He stared at the sandwich for a few moments, sluggishly blinking at it as if it was going to start moving at any second.

“Do you… Not want the sandwich?” Ford said.

Fiddleford slowly lifted his head. “Hm? No, no, It’s good. I want it. It’s just… The thought of eatin’ anything right now makes me nauseous.”

Ford nodded. “I can imagine.”

Stan looked at Fiddleford for a few moments before speaking up. “Try eating just the bread. And take small bites- like, really small bites, to the point where you can’t tell if you’re actually taking bites at all. And don’t drink any water until you’re done eating, it’ll get rid of your appetite.”

“How do you know all that?” Ford tilted his head at Stan.

“I’ve been sick my fair share of times, Sixer.”

“Ah. Right. Of course.”

The three ate in silence for a while. Since the previous day, they would often fall into silence, and at first Stan found it a bit unnerving, but he’d gotten to a point where he was kind of used to it. He imagined that he’d be missing the silence once Fiddleford recovered and started yapping all the time again. He decided to sit in it, to try to be grateful for it.

His teeth- or, lack thereof- really did hurt, but he also didn’t care enough to bring it up or do anything about it aside from avoid eating with the left side of his mouth. How did Ford remember that his favorite sandwich was ham and cheese, anyways? Did he secretly care?

The silence lasted longer than Stan was used to, and even though he’d literally just vowed to be grateful for it, he decided that he’d been grateful enough, and as soon as he finished his sandwich, he stood and dumped his empty plate in the sink- he would volunteer to wash the dishes that night, he thought.

As fast as he could without seeming strange, Stan rushed out of the kitchen and up the stairs, where, as soon as his eyes locked onto it, he collapsed onto his bed, face-first into his pillow.

He sighed and rolled over, rummaging in the bag that sat beside his bed for a few moments. He pulled out a book- The Great Gatsby- and pulled it up to eye level. He didn’t open it, however, and after a bit, he shoved it back into his bag, determining that he was too tired to read some actually good literature. He stuck his arm back into the bag and instead yanked out an old magazine from 1960-something. He rolled onto his back and held the magazine above his head, flipping it open to a page he’d probably read a million times before, yet he didn’t care.

For a few lovely minutes, he got to relax in peace away from the strangeness of the town he was staying in and the people he was staying with. That peace was quickly interrupted, however, when the door suddenly opened. Stan didn’t even have to look to see who was standing at his doorway- Fiddleford would have knocked.

Is it impossible to get some peace and quiet in this place!?

“Whaddaya want?” Stan sighed, placing the magazine on his chest.

“... What is that?” Ford finally said. Stan glanced up to see Ford pointing in Stan’s general direction.

Taking an educated guess as to what ‘that’ is, Stan replied. “Magazine.”

“Didn’t you have that one when we were teens?”

“Is there an analogy about old things being good?” Stan mumbled.

“There is.” Ford moved forward and sat on the edge of the bed, quite noticeably avoiding eye contact. Weird.

“Pretend I used that analogy, then.”

Ford blinked a few times. “... Uh huh.” He paused for a few moments. “Right- uh. I just wanted to ask- are you… Alright?”

“Am I- what?” Stan sat up and pushed himself back so he was leaning against the bed frame.

“I said, ‘are you alright?’” Ford scrunched his nose. “As in-”

“Yeah- no- I heard what you said.” Stan shook his head. He heard rain beginning to tap against the windows, but he didn’t turn to check if it was actually raining. “It’s just- why do you ask all of a sudden? Did I do something?”

“Well, you sort of stormed off just now. It was odd, is all. I just wanted to make sure you’re doing fine. Are your teeth bothering you?” Ford adjusted his glasses.

“My teeth are in a UFO crash site somewhere.” Stan said. When he didn’t get a reaction from his brother, he added on, “No. My teeth are fine. Also, I didn’t ‘storm off’, I just finished my sandwich, so I left.”

Ford began to fidget with his hands, tapping them against his legs. “I suppose.” He replied. “Well, it’s not just that- er, Fiddleford told me you had something to tell me.” His voice lowered near the end of the sentence, but Stan still heard it loud and clear.

That little…

“Well you can tell him that I have nothing to tell you, and the fever must be messing with his memory.” Stan huffed, grabbing his magazine and opening it back up, hopefully getting across that he was disinterested. “Go away.”

“Stanley, you’ve been acting odd since… Well, since the river, I’d guess.” Ford said. “Even though we’ve been apart for a decade, I’m still your brother, and I can tell something’s wrong.”

“I thought you weren’t ready to be my brother.” Stan replied.

“I am now. Please. Tell me what’s wrong.” Ford turned to face Stan, and the sincerity in his pale face seemed to melt away the anger in Stan’s chest and replace it with an almost pity. He felt that Ford was the one shutting him out, but in reality, he was now doing the same thing.

Stan sighed. “Fine. It’s just… It’s kind of hard to be okay with all of this.”

“What is ‘all of this’?” Ford prompted.

“I’m suddenly in this crazy town in Oregon with crazy monsters and weird shit and I’ve reunited with my brother for the first time in a decade and met this new person–” He took a breath. “-and now we all just live together but only if I help you work on this big project that I don’t get to know about and- you get the point. It’s kind of a lot.”

“I suppose.” Ford’s gaze softened. “Is that… Is that it? Are you sure there’s not something else? You’re just adjusting?”

Stan hesitated before replying. “I… Yes, that’s it. I’m fine, really.”

“And you’re not mad at me?”

“I thought I was, but no. Not really, to be honest. I feel like I should be? But I’m not.”

“Mhm.” Ford nodded. “I feel the same way.”

“Oh.” Stan wasn’t really sure what else to say. “Huh.”

Stan closed his eyes. That… Felt good to hear. His brother wasn’t mad at him. Sure, he had something to be mad about, obviously, but… He wasn’t. That was enough. Stan felt like they were starting to get better. They were starting to become brothers again. He couldn’t help but smile at the thought that his brother was, in most regards, finally back. He hadn’t had a brother in a long time.

Wow.

“Say, er…” Ford interrupted Stan’s state of beginning to zone out- he opened one eye to indicate he was paying attention. “About what you said.”

“What did I say?” Stan opened his other eye, looking at Ford. Had he said something wrong? He couldn’t remember saying anything more stupid than his usual levels.

“About Fiddleford.” Ford bit his lip.

“God, not this again.” Stan muttered under his breath. He wasn’t sure if his brother heard him. “What now?”

“It’s just- hypothetically, of course- if, possibly, my- er- if my romantic preferences were leaning more… Well, if-” Ford continued to stammer for another ten seconds before Stan decided to finally cut him off.

“Sixer, I’ve told you this already- I really could not care less who you like. You’ve made it clear that it’s not Fiddleford because he has a family or whatever, which means that I don’t know whoever you’re crushing on, and therefore I don’t care. Hell, I wouldn’t care if it was someone I knew either.”

“... Are you sure?” Ford whispered.

“Yes. I’m positive.” Stan said. “Like you said, I’m your brother. We’re family, and something stupid like that isn’t gonna change it. I just got you back.”

Ford swallowed, staring at his brother for a few moments. his lips pursed as if he was about to say something, but he didn’t. When he did speak, his voice was strained and unnatural. “Goodbye.” He quickly stood and briskly walked towards the open door.

“Yeah. Bye. You’re welcome.” Stan said, watching as Ford closed the door behind him. With an exhale, Stan shoved his magazine back into his bag and grabbed The Great Gatsby, deciding that maybe he was in the mood for some real reading.

He felt as if a weight had been lifted off his shoulders.

—--------------------------------------------------------------------------—

Ford stumbled down the stairs, trying his hardest not to fall, but for some reason he felt as if the world around him was spinning. His head hurt- not the typical pain that came with dehydration or being around something too long, rather the weird, almost cold headache that came to him when he stood up too fast or cracked his back weirdly, but amplified multiple times over. He felt as if he couldn’t breathe. He wasn’t too sure why.

Entering the research area by the entrance to the cabin, he leaned into the rather out-of-place vending machine with a gasp. Somewhere in his hurricane of thoughts, it came to him that maybe a bookshelf would have worked better. Mindlessly, he mashed at the buttons in a combination that came to him like it was second nature. The vending machine creaked, then slid to the side, revealing a dark staircase. For the first time, he realized how trope-y it felt. He also didn’t care because it was cool.

Slowly, he walked down the stairs until he reached a run-down elevator. He entered and pulled an intricate golden key from his coat, shoving it into a lock that rested below the buttons of the floor options. Pressing the now-available button for the second floor, he leaned back into the walls of the elevator to allow himself a moment to think. He just needed to be alone. Somewhere where nobody would find him.

When the elevator halted and the doors opened, Ford found himself in the room he’d been using for several years now for his more… Private research. He couldn’t keep portal instructions out in the open, after all. Leaving the key in its place, he stepped out into the cluttered room.

All four walls were lined with bookshelves, and where there weren’t shelves, there were tapestries of his muse and charts of the plans for the portal. Trinkets and fidgets and dangerous materials littered both the floors and the large wooden desk in front of him.

Pulling his journal out of his coat and slamming it onto the desk, he stood above it, face burning, as if he was about to cry. He did not cry. He was not the type to cry. He flipped open the journal to an empty page and pulled out his pen, staring at it for a few moments.

What was there to write? He wanted, so desperately wanted, to write about his feelings and his thoughts that had come crashing down on him in this time where he was suddenly faced with, simultaneously, all of the problems he’d shoved away for the last ten years and time to mull over these problems. But he couldn’t bring himself to write.

And for the first time in many years, he found his intelligence, his confidence, unravelling and revealing… Nothing. He was nothing. Without his brains, without his muse, without his research, he was nothing.

God, that hurt just to think. Why did he have to let himself get close to Stanley again? He only brought trouble. He only…

Ford couldn’t bring himself to be mad at his brother. He couldn’t bring himself to be anything. Not smart, not loving, not this big ball of life and truth that he had wanted so desperately to show to the world. At some point, he’d lost it.

He slammed his journal shut and moved to the bookshelf to his left, pulling out a plain black sketchbook and flipping it open to all the drawings of monsters and creatures he’d found, of all the people he’d met, of things he’d encountered in all his time in Gravity Falls, and he found that none of it meant anything to him. He became acutely aware of how fast he was breathing, how hard his heart was beating, how pounding his headache was, as he put pen to paper and began to simply draw.

He found himself drawing Bill, then Stanley, not in the state he’d previously drawn him, but in the state he was in now, with his long hair and tired eyes. He heard something from somewhere above him, on the ground floor, but he paid no mind to it. On a separate page, he drew Fiddleford. Once, then twice, then three times, then at some point, he found words spilling onto the paper, not from his head, but from somewhere else within him, from his soul, perhaps, then-

GOD.

He tore the page out and crumpled it into a ball. Why was he so emotional all the time? Whenever he had a chance to breathe and think, he’d get angry and sad and overwhelmed and…

“Stanferd? What are ya doin’ down here?” Ford felt his soul nearly leave his body as he turned and saw Fiddleford standing at the elevator door. He was swaying, clearly exhausted, and yet the concern in his eyes were clear as day.

“I- What are you doing down here?” Ford quickly closed his sketchbook and dropped the crumpled piece of paper in his hands.

“I heard you openin’ the vending machine, and I wanted to see what you were up to.” Fiddleford tilted his head. “Are you… Alright? You look pale, and yer eyes have that wild look to ‘em.”

Ford felt his heart skip not only one beat, but maybe ten beats followed by a heart rate faster than he’d ever experienced… Perhaps that was an exaggeration, but that was how it felt. When he noticed that Fiddleford was simply staring at him, waiting for an answer, Ford quickly raced to find one.

“I’m.” His mind drew a blank.

“Stanferd, yer worryin’ me.” Fiddleford took a step forward.

“I’m. I- I’m just… Hey, didn’t you say you wanted me to teach you those- those meditation exercises? For your- for your nightmares?” Ford moved his hand behind him and patted the table for a few moments until he grabbed the crumpled drawing, shoving it into his coat pocket.

“What?” Fiddleford’s eyes widened. “Whaddaya… Eh? Why do ya bring that up now?”

“Oh, I was just reminded. After all, we are scientists, and with a bit of… With a bit of creativity, we can solve any problem.” Ford let himself ramble, hoping his distraction was enough to satisfy Fiddleford.

“Are you okay?” Fiddleford squinted. “I haven’t passed my sickness onto you, have I? I’m pretty sure poison isn’t contagious, but you look mighty…” He made a gesture with his hand that Ford failed to understand.

Why was it so hard to breathe all of a sudden?

“You must be seeing things. I’m perfectly normal.” Ford felt his palms sweating. He clenched his fists.

Fiddleford sighed. “Okay. I can tell that yer not in the mood to talk. We’re gonna have dinner at seven, and we’re gonna talk about everythin’. Cuz things have been weird ever since yer brother arrived, and I’m just about ready for answers.”

“I… Alright.”

“Good. I’ll see ya there.” Fiddleford turned around and pressed the button to open the elevator- when it did open, he stepped inside and allowed the doors to close without looking back. As soon as Fiddleford had arrived, he was gone, and Ford found himself alone again. Instead of all the sadness and anger he had felt earlier, he now felt nothing but dread.

It was two P.M. He had five hours to think of something, anything, to tell Fiddleford aside from the truth.

—--------------------------------------------------------------------------—

Stan laid on his stomach, eyes scanning the words on the pages in front of him. If he was to be perfectly honest to himself, The Great Gatsby sucked. It was far worse than The Outsiders. He also didn’t care, because he had not yet read it in full, and anything that was new was welcome to him. He hummed a tune that he had long forgotten the origin of.

A knock on his door caused him to groan. Did the universe simply not want him to read? He folded the corner of the page he was on and placed his book beside him.

Stan turned to see Fiddleford standing at the doorway, tapping his fingers on the open door. In his other hand was a piece of paper. His eyes flicked from Stan to the book, then back to Stan. He looked tired.

“How hard is it to get some alone time around here?” Stan grumbled. He sat up, making eye contact with Fiddleford.

“Sorry, was I inturruptin’ something?” Fiddleford began to close the door again. “I can go-”

“No, I’m just messing with you. What’s up?” Stan replied.

“Oh- alrighty. Do ya mind goin’ to the store and pickin’ up some groceries? I have a list- I would go myself, but, y’know, I’m not doin’ too well. And I would ask Stanferd, but he’s…” Fiddleford frowned. “He’s busy.”

“Yeah, whatever. I have nothing better to do.” Stan shrugged, standing up. “I’m gonna need some money, though. And directions. I have no clue where anything is here.”

Fiddleford nodded. “I can do that. Thanks, Lee.” He handed Stan the list, and after a couple moments of digging in his pocket, a few ten-dollar bills. “That should be enough. Do you know how to get to town?”

“Yeah, I remember.” Stan said.

“Alright, you can just ask one of the townsfolk where the grocery store is- they’re all mighty friendly.” Fiddleford smiled. “Anything else?”

“No, I’ll head out now. Lemme just put on a coat.” Stan cracked his knuckles and moved to his chest of drawers, opening the top drawer and rummaging around. He pulled out his red jacket-coat thing and pulled it over himself. When he turned back to the doorway, Fiddleford was gone. With a shrug, he headed down the stairs, through the living room and the kitchen and the weird zone that Stan assumed was for experiments, and out the door.

It was cold out, and the grass beyond the porch was wet with a dew that had indicated it had rained not too long ago. The sun had just peeked out from between the clouds, casting a dull light onto all that it could reach. Stan took a deep breath, savoring the smell of wet grass and rain and sun (did sun have a smell?) before stepping off the porch and into the woods.

It was maybe a ten minute walk to town- Stan really had no clue why Ford decided to live in such a remote cabin. Maybe he really did hate social interaction that much. Or maybe it was for research. Regardless, it was inconvenient. More than once, Stan saw something out of the corner of his eye- a flash of color that wasn’t natural to the woods, a movement that looked too intentional to be non-living, but whenever he turned, whatever the thing was would be gone.

Eventually, trees and dirt turned to small buildings and run-down roads, and soon enough, he’d reached town. Just as he spotted a nice-enough looking person to go and ask about the whereabouts of literally anything, he felt an extremely strong hand grip his shoulder and forcibly turn him around.

Without thinking, Stan recoiled, punching whoever- or whatever it was that had grabbed him. When he looked up to meet eyes with his attacker, he saw an unimpressed face- scarred and nearly covered in blond hair- gazing down at him, unaffected by the punch.

Shit.

“Heyyy, Jimmy…! Didn’t… Didn’t see you there!” Stan took a weary step back. Why must the universe curse him like this?

To his surprise, Jimmy huffed, then broke into a grin. “Nice to see you still got your reflexes, Pines! What are you up to?”

“Oh, uh, y’know… Just grabbing groceries.” Stan glanced down, anywhere aside from Jimmy’s eyes. “Speaking of, do you know– do you know where I could… Get… Those?”

“What, you don’t know where the store is?” Jimmy raised an eyebrow.

“Uh. Yeah. Usually my… Roommate gets groceries. But they’re sick right now, so- yeah.” Stan mumbled.

“Your roommate, huh?” Jimmy laughed and slapped Stan’s back- he felt like he was about to throw up. “Who’s the lucky gal?”

“What? No, he’s just my roommate.” Stan shook his head. “Do you know where the store is?”

“Sure I do. Follow me.”

“Haha… Sure.” Stan lagged behind as Jimmy started to walk. He kept his eyes on the sidewalk and his fists balled to his sides just in case. He just had a bad feeling about Jimmy, despite only barely remembering him. Maybe- hopefully it was just because of how he looked, Stan thought. Not that he didn’t look good. The long hair actually suited him well, and he certainly knew how to dress. He just didn’t look friendly.

Eventually, the two arrived at the store- it looked like it had seen better days- and they both entered.

Jimmy smiled. “I’m also getting groceries, actually. What are you looking for?”

Stan’s eyes widened, and he fumbled around in his pocket for a bit before pulling out Fiddleford’s list. “Uh… Eggs. Milk.” He squinted. “The hell does he need ‘whole wheat flour’ for?” He cleared his throat. “I, uh. Better go do that then.”

As Stan tried to escape, he saw movement behind him, and when he turned he saw Jimmy still walking beside him. How hard was it to lose him?

“I’ll come with you.” Jimmy’s raspy voice was too friendly for Stan’s liking. It felt almost fake.

“Uh, alright.” Stan replied. The two walked in silence for a bit as Stan scanned the shelves for whatever it was he’d needed- he had to frequently check the list to remind himself what exactly that was.

“You know, that long hair really does look good on you. Works well with your whole… Energy.” Jimmy said, breaking the silence between the two.

“I’m probably gonna cut it.” Stan grabbed a bag of chips from the shelf in front of him- it wasn’t on the list, he just thought they looked good. “Not a fan of how it feels on my back.”

“Well, it looks nice. So does the coat. Red’s your color.” Jimmy hummed, looking down at Stan’s torso.

“Are you flirting with me?” As soon as the words came out of Stan’s mouth, he immediately wanted to shove them back in. He froze, recoiling at wherever the thought came from to not only even think such a thing, but to say it out loud.

“Ha! You could say that.” Jimmy’s voice lowered at the end of the sentence, and he smirked, which set off every alarm within Stan that a single action could possibly set off.

“... Uh huh.” Stan narrowed his eyes. “Listen, man, I’m not…” he coughed. “I’m not interested in whatever’s going on here.” He tried to ignore everything in his body telling him to turn around and run and never go back or punch the smirk off this guy’s face or just do something.

Jimmy blinked a few times, nose scrunching. His smile immediately fell. “... I’m sorry. For what happened.”

“What happened?”

“You- Wh-” Jimmy, for the first time during the whole conversation, hesitated. “You don’t remember?”

“No, not really.” Stan took a step back. He was scared, and he didn’t know why, but apparently Jimmy had previously done something that was worth apologizing for however many years later. And for some reason, that terrified him.

“... I’ll see you around.” Jimmy turned, and within moments, he was gone, and Stan was left alone in the aisle of some random grocery store, fluorescent lights buzzing and flickering above him, dirty tiles below him.

And for a while, he did not move. But, he had things to do and groceries to buy, so he kept on with his shopping.

He suddenly realized how alive he felt. Maybe it was because he had people to care about, to really care about, not whatever he’d had with everyone else. He was tired and he still had problems to face and his hair was in disarray and his clothes were dirty and his legs hurt and so much had changed- and despite all that change, he felt more like him than he had in a very long time.

… Whole wheat flour. What even is whole wheat flour?

—--------------------------------------------------------------------------—

Ford slammed his head into the desk below him. Things were just starting to go well, and he just had to mess it all up with his stupid feelings. He’d tried napping to see if his muse could help him, but it was dreamless, and he woke up an hour later with even less time to think about what to do. It wasn’t like he could just sit down at the dinner table, look Fiddleford in the eyes, and say ‘oh, the reason I’ve been acting so weird is because I’m having a crisis over maybe loving you’.

He supposed he could. Technically, he could say anything. There wasn’t some rule in the universe that would stop him from randomly confessing to a married man. But logically, it was very clearly a bad idea.

He couldn’t ask Stanley for help, either, because he decided to lie to him and say that it wasn’t Fiddleford he was crisis-ing over. He could go back on what he said. But who’s to say that Stan knew any more about this sort of thing? He’d just be embarrassing himself.

Running a hand through his hair, Ford rolled back in his chair away from the desk. This was precisely why he’d avoided this sort of thing for nearly his entire life.

3:45 PM.

Ford doodled away in his sketchbook. Nothing in particular- just shapes. Circles and zig-zags and stars and a combination of shapes that maybe looked a little bit like Fiddleford which he scribbled out for no particular reason.

Perhaps he could actually tell Fiddleford what’s going on, just vaguely, so he doesn’t put the pieces together. Something along the lines of him going on some sort of self-discovery journey. After all, he supposed that was what he was doing.

But what if he did put the pieces together? Ford wasn’t sure if he could move on with that fear. He felt humbled. What happened to being fearless in the face of danger?

4:30 PM.

Why now all of a sudden? Ford groaned into the pile of torn-out sketchbook pages on his desk. He hadn’t felt this way about Fiddleford- about anyone before, so how come it’d suddenly become a thing now that Stanley had simply suggested it?

… Perhaps he’d only now just realized. He’d always been closer with Fiddleford. They’d been inseparable in college. They would take care of each other when one got sick. They would help each other study and do work and learn how to perform different household tasks and when one had a nightmare, the other would comfort them, and… Those were all simply things friends did, weren’t they?

It could be something he was going to get over. Maybe it was only a temporary thing, caused by the sudden shift in his life. If he could just wait it out, maybe this whole silly romance thing would pass.

5:15 PM.

Ford felt acutely aware of his muse’s ability to see through all depictions of himself. He felt as if he was being watched and judged through the tapestries that littered the room. Was the reason his attempts to contact Bill had failed because this sort of thing was unworthy of his time? Or was it because Ford was stuck in a problem with no good solutions?

It could be a test. Bill could be testing him to see if he really was a brilliant enough mind to be inspired by his greatness. Or maybe Bill didn’t know, either. That thought scared Ford, so he shoved it down as deep as he could.

6:23 PM.

Perhaps he just needed some fresh air.

Ford stood from the seat he’d been planted in for the last however many hours and strided to the elevator, pressing the button to go back to the ground floor. It whirred then rose with an unusual hum. He would have to check it out later. With a ding from the elevator, Ford removed the key from the slot it had sat in and stepped out to the bottom of the staircase. He made his way up and pushed a button on the wall beside him, and the wall in front of him opened to reveal the main study. Ford stepped out and watched as the hall behind him was covered by the vending machine, secure once more.

He walked out the door and onto the porch. He took a few steps forward and sat down in the rocking chair that had made its residence on the edge of the wooden platform. He wondered where everyone was. Maybe in Fiddleford’s illness, he’d forgotten all about this proposed dinner confrontation, and he’d been worrying for nothing. A man can hope.

As if being summoned by Ford’s curiosity, Stan emerged from the forest, grocery bag in hand. Almost immediately, the two locked eyes, and Stan’s pace increased as he hopped up onto the porch.

“Hey.” Stan put the bag down beside him and sat down on the floor next to Ford. “Whatcha doing out here?”

“Thinking. Fiddleford said we’re going to have dinner at seven, which is normal, but he also said that he wants answers, because he can tell we’ve been hiding things, which is abnormal.” Ford leaned back into the rocking chair. “Like some sort of intervention… Or something along those lines. I’m not sure what I’m going to tell him.”

“The truth?” Stan replied, as if it was that simple.

“I can’t, Stanley. It’s not… He wouldn’t…” Ford trailed off, then cleared his throat.

Stan stared up at his brother, eyes clouded with confusion, for a few moments until he blinked and his eyes widened. “Ohhh. Fun.” He smiled.

“It’s not funny.” Ford hissed.

“No, yeah, you’re right. My bad.” Stan turned his head, and the two found themselves both looking out into the forest, neither twin saying a word for a few minutes.

“I’ve only just found out today. I’m not ready to tell him. Any of it. I mean, I only told you because you’re the one who proposed the idea. And it was all because of a stupid misunderstanding, as well. It’s just…” Ford sighed. “This is all going too fast.”

“Life goes too fast, Sixer. You just gotta catch up.” Stan shrugged. “I mean, this one time, I escaped from prison, got in a fight with two gang members, and nearly got kidnapped in two hours, and I just had to keep moving.”

“... What.” Ford turned to face Stan, who was still looking ahead, seemingly entirely unbothered by what he had just said. “Stanley, that’s not something you just casually tell someone.”

“Isn’t it? Oh well.” Stan replied. “Honestly, it’s easier to just turn off my brain when crazy shit is going on. I know you’re a giant brainiac and all that, but you should try it some time.”

“That doesn’t sound healthy.”

“It probably isn’t.”

“Is that how you’ve been so relaxed about all this?”

“Yeah, pretty much.”

With a hum of acknowledgement, Ford looked back out onto the several yards of field ahead followed by the deep wooded thicket. The nearly even mix of the deciduous birch and evergreen pine created a forest that was both green and turning brown as fall had begun to make its way to Gravity Falls.

For a moment, Ford allowed himself to forget his current dilemma and find tranquility in the beauty of it all. After a few moments, he was brought back to reality when Stan spoke up.

“So what are you gonna tell him?”

Ford sighed. “I have no clue.” They remained silent for a few more moments before he added on, “Where were you just now?”

Stan held up the bag. “Fiddleford sent me to get groceries. He said you were busy.”

“Did you get there alright?” Ford replied. Stan had only been in Gravity Falls for a couple of days, after all, and he most likely didn’t know his way around.

“You could say that.” Stan frowned. “Hey, do you know why Fiddleford needs whole wheat flour?”

Ford slowly blinked. “Er, he’s probably going to make sourdough, If I were to guess.”

“Oh, that sounds nice, actually.” Stan said.

“You’ll love it- he can bake like nobody else I know. Honestly, he’s great at anything food-related. Perhaps it’s because of how precise he is.” Ford sighed. “God. I’m just… What do I do, Stanley?”

“How should I know?” Stan looked back up at Ford. “Just tell him you’re having an identity crisis or something.”

Ford balled his fists, then unballed them. “At this point, I just might.” He conceded. “I just wish I could stop whatever this is. Or hide it better. He needs to recover, and we’re just stressing him out more.”

“Don’t get mad at yourself for being a person.” Stan stood up. “I’m gonna go deliver this to Fiddleford.” He smiled at Ford, turned around, and walked inside, shutting the door behind him.

Ford closed his eyes and listened to the birds chirping. He sort of wished he wasn’t a person, if this was what being a person entailed.

—--------------------------------------------------------------------------—

Stan walked through the study and into the kitchen, where Fiddleford was stirring spaghetti in a pot on the stove, bouncing his knee, humming a tune that Stan thought he might have recognized. Fiddleford turned and smiled.

“Thank ya kindly!” Fiddleford took the bag from Stan and placed it on the counter beside the stove. He dug through it for a few moments. “I appreciate it, Lee.”

“It’s no problem.” Stan replied. “Hey, uh, listen. I’ve got something to tell you.”

“Hm? Is something wrong?” Fiddleford tilted his head at Stan, eyes darting from him to the spaghetti and back to him again.

“Well, Sixer told me about the.. Plan for dinner. Y’know, where we try and sort things out.” Stan narrowed his eyes, leaning against the kitchen counter.

Fiddleford quickly nodded. “Mhm- you two have been actin’ weird, an’ I’m gonna get to the bottom of it. It’s only been a few days, an’ I’m gettin’ sick of it.”

“Okay, yeah. That makes sense. I know we’ve been a bit insufferable. I promise we are getting better, though.” Stan shrugged.

“You better be.” Fiddleford replied.

“We are. But… Listen, Ford’s got some stuff going on. It has nothing to do with me, and it…” He hesitated. “It has nothing to do with you, either. But he’s only just started sorting it out, and I only really found out by accident, and I’m not… I don’t think he’s ready to talk about it.”

“So what do you want me to do?” Fiddleford’s voice was soft and sincere, despite the hoarseness to it.

Stan scrunched his nose. “Just… Go easy on him.”

“I can do that.”

“Thanks.”

Fiddleford, with his bare hands, grabbed a few pieces of spaghetti from the boiling pot and chucked it at the tiled wall in front of him. Stan noticed that the tiles had been painted with all sorts of different flowers. It was rather quaint. The spaghetti stuck, and Fiddleford huffed, turning off the stove.

“Go tell Stanferd that dinner’s nearly ready.” He said. Stan nodded.

Making his way back through the study, Stan poked his head out the front door. Ford was in the same spot, biting his nails. The wooden rocking chair creaked as he spun around to make eye contact with his brother.

“Dinner’s almost ready.” Stan called.

“Can I just stay out here?” Ford muttered- Stan barely heard him. “I’m not ready. I don’t know what to tell him.”

“... Hey. I told him, uh… Well, I didn’t say anything too, uh, detailed, but he said he’d go easy on you.” Stan said. “Come on. You can do it.”

“I- Alright.” Ford slowly stood, following Stan back inside and into the kitchen, where they sat down in their respective seats. Fiddleford was putting the spaghetti into three separate bowls and seasoning them. He turned, all three bowls and forks in hand, and placed them on the table.

“Hope ya like it. I’m tryin’ out a new method of cookin’ it.” Fiddleford sat down in his seat and shoved his fork into the bowl, not looking up at the two.

Stan exchanged a glance with Ford before turning and grabbing a couple pieces with his hands.

“Good luck.” He muttered.

—--------------------------------------------------------------------------—

If having butterflies in your stomach was supposed to be a good feeling, Ford felt like he had spiders in his stomach. He looked down at the spaghetti in front of him. He was sure it was good, but he had no appetite, and he was scared that if he did eat it, he would throw up. He supposed that would be a good way to get out of this whole mess. Next to him was Stan, who looked at him like he was a child, and in front of him was Fiddleford, who looked at him like… Well, Ford couldn’t really tell what he was thinking.

Fiddleford swallowed the bite of spaghetti he was eating, then glanced up at Ford. “Alright. I… Listen, I really don’t mean to be scary or anythin’, but I know how bad you are at communication n’ all that, so this is how I’m gettin’ answers.”

Ford nodded.

Fiddleford slowly blinked, inhaled sharply, then continued speaking. “Ever since Lee arrived, you’ve both been actin’ mighty odd, and especially since we got back from the trip. I’d just like to know. Tell me what’s goin’ on. Start with whatever’s happened today, because something’s happened today.”

Ford wanted to speak- he really did- but the words got caught in his throat. He felt his muscles lock up, and he could do nothing but just stare for several moments before he finally managed to choke out a single word. “I’m…”

“You’re?” Fiddleford motioned with his hand to continue.

“I’m… I’ve been… working on something.” Ford drew out each word, trying not to hyperventilate. He swallowed. “I suppose you could call it self-discovery.”

“Alright, we’re gettin’ somewhere. I’m not sure why yer so scared to just… Tell me. I don’t judge, you know that.”

“I know,” Ford hissed. “But…” He took a deep breath. “Fine. I’m- I’ve had some… Realizations about myself.” He felt the other two’s gazes on him, and he wanted to shrink so small he couldn’t be seen. “It’s- well- you know how, on our expedition, we were talking about our future?”

Fiddleford nodded. “Uh huh.”

“And how you asked me about whether I’d consider meeting someone, settling down? And I said no, I’ve never been interested in romance.” Ford couldn’t believe he was saying this. He wanted so desperately to stop the words that were now spilling out of his mouth, but he couldn’t. “And then– well, uh, that… Got me thinking.” It really hadn’t at the time, but he wasn’t about to admit what had really got him thinking. “I’m still not particularly interested in romance. With women, that is.”

There. He’d said it. He’d said half of it, and half of it was enough, and was it too late to run away and become one with the anomalies he’d been studying?

“Oh.” Fiddleford tilted his head. “So, like… Yer gay, or what?”

Ford couldn’t bring himself to speak, so he shrugged. Then nodded.

“Stanferd, ya don’t need to hide that sort of thing from me. I mean, I know other people care ‘n all, but I don’t. Live and let live, y’know?” Fiddleford said. “An’ I know yer not supposed to say this sort of thing, but I think I kinda knew. I mean, whenever we watched movies back in college, you were always all about the male characters ‘n actors ‘n all that stuff.”

Stan nodded from beside Ford, then spoke up. “Yeah, I kinda knew as well. I mean, you were really obvious about it when we were kids.”

Ford looked from Stan to Fiddleford, then back to Stan, jaw slightly agape. “You both knew before me?” He muttered.

“Yer not the most observant person.” Fiddleford said. “I mean, remember that one Christmas when you-”

Ford felt his face immediately heat up. “NO. Not another word.” He interjected.

“Hang on, I wanna know what he did.” Stan smirked. Ford glared at Fiddleford in hopes of getting him to shut up.

“It’s a great story,” Fiddleford continued to Ford’s dismay. “We were out at this party, cuz we got invited, and somehow I convinced Stanferd to come with- I think I bribed him with something- and so obviously, we both got a lil’ tipsy, but Stanferd, turns out his alcohol tolerance is like… Like…” He leaned forward. “Whoa. I’m feelin’ mighty dizzy all of a sudden, sorry…” He put a hand to his head. “I’m… Um…”

Stan leaned forward over the table and put the back of his palm to Fiddleford’s head. His eyes widened. “Jesus, you’re burning up.”

“Am I…?” Fiddleford slowly blinked.

Stan turned back and nodded at Ford, who, trying to interpret his signal, quickly stood and moved around the table.

“You need to stop over exerting yourself.” Ford said. He grabbed Fiddleford’s arm, Stan having already grabbed the other. “Come on.”

“Mhm. Thanks.” Fiddleford muttered as the two hoisted him out of his seat. As they made their way to the hallway, he leaned into Ford’s shoulder with a tired groan. Ford sharply inhaled, glancing down at the floor as he continued to move.

Eventually, the twins managed to get Fiddleford back into his bed, where he fell asleep within minutes. They exchanged a glance- Ford hoped his face didn’t reveal how fast his mind was racing- and wordlessly walked back to the kitchen to clean up.

“I’ll wash the dishes.” Stan offered.

“I can help.” Ford replied.

And so, the two fell into a routine, one that Ford found familiar, yet different. They used to do chores together as kids- a memory he’d buried deep down that had only just resurfaced- in a way, the act of doing so again made Ford feel closer to recovering his bond with his brother than he had the last few days.

“It’s a shame we didn’t get to hear the rest of Fiddleford’s story. I was excited to get some new blackmail.” Stan joked. He grinned, revealing his two missing teeth. Ford tried to hide his worry at the sight.

“You have enough blackmail.” Ford simply replied. He couldn’t help the smile that crept across his face.

“Yeah, but all the stuff I have is old now. Who cares if you cheated on a test when you were seven?”

“I care.”

“Okay, nerd.”

Ford laughed. He had to admit, he felt good about having Stan back. He felt as if they could go back to being brothers again- to being friends again.

He felt ready.

Chapter Text

Stan narrowed his eyes at the group in front of him. He tried to move his hands, but they were firmly tied behind his back, and so he only thrashed around. He bared his teeth at his captors, who looked at each other, then back at him with smiles that unnerved him to his core.

“Looks like someone can’t fight back.” One of the men- hair long and the same shade of black as his eyes- flicked Stan’s nose. In his hand was a bottle. “It’s good to see you again, Stan.”

“That’s not my name.” Stan hissed. “You know that. It’s–”

“Save it.” The man barked. “It wasn’t hard to find your real identity. I’m surprised nobody else did before us.” He leaned forward. “Oh wait- they did. That’s why you’ve had to change it so many times. Steve Pinington. Pan Stines. Stupid. You really thought nobody would find out?”

Stan used his legs to back himself up against the wall behind him. Turning around, he found that it wasn’t a wall, rather the side of a bathtub- a dirty one, at that. The whole place was dirty. He guessed that he was either in some sort of motel, or one of these guys never cleaned their house.

“I can bite hard, you know.” Stan said. He felt his heart pounding, and beads of sweat began to form on his face and neck. He tried to swallow down his fear.

The man laughed, grabbing Stan’s left arm with one hand and shoving his face to the right with the other bottled hand. “Shut up. We’ve made our decision.” Several more men moved forward, grabbing Stan’s limbs. One of them counted down from three. Stan’s heart lurched as his captors picked him up and dropped him into the bathtub, face just below the tap.

“What do you want from me!?” Stan shouted. “I can give you money. I can- I can-”

“If you really need to know, Jimmy sent us to take care of you.” The long-haired man put his hand on the tap. “We don’t need anything from you. That’s why we’re discarding you.” He held up the bottle and smashed it to the floor, and–

– Stan heard the sound of shattering glass, and he sat up in his bed with a scream. He put a hand on his chest to feel his heart pounding. Every breath he took burned from how sharp and fast they were. Sunlight peeked through his blinds onto the wood floor below the bed.

The last few days had been like this. During the day, he’d fallen into a routine, him and Ford taking care of Fiddleford while he recovered. But at night, he was constantly plagued by dreams of memories, slowly revealing to him parts of his life he had not previously recalled. He hated it.

Fast footsteps sounded from somewhere in the house, getting louder and louder.

The door swung open, and Ford- wearing gloves and a mask- rushed in. His eyes were wild as they scanned Stan, then the room. His fists balled and unballed repeatedly, his breathing pattern weird and unnatural.

“Stanley– are you okay? What happened?” Ford took a cautious step towards Stan, removing the glove from one of his six-fingered hands and holding it out to him.

“Wh-” Stan looked around, fragmented memories of the last several years since the events of the nightmare rushing back into his brain. “I’m fine. Just…” He looked down at his scarred, calloused hands.

“Bad dream?” Ford’s eyes softened.

Stan sighed. “Something like that.” He rubbed his eyes, hands still trembling. His throat felt dry. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”

Ford shook his head, eyes closing. “It’s not your fault. Did I wake you up? I dropped a vial and it broke.”

“Oh- uh- maybe.” Stan cleared his throat, turning to get up. “I’m fine, though, really. Go back to… Whatever it is you’re doing.”

“I’m trying to come up with an antidote for gremloblin poison.” Ford furrowed his brow. “It’s… Not going too well. I think I’m getting close, though.”

“Uh huh. Well, you go do that. I’m… I’m good.”

“If you say so.” Ford snapped the glove back onto his hand and turned to leave. “Be careful touching the door handle, by the way. It might have acid on it.” He left, not shutting the door behind him, and rushed back down the stairs.

“Great.” Stan grumbled. He sat on his bed, feet on the ground for a couple minutes longer, simply thinking about his dream. Had Jimmy really…? He shook the thought away, standing and grabbing his change of clothes, not allowing himself to think about anything but his morning routine and the steps to go about it.

In the shower, he had to imagine a tornado blowing his thoughts away more than once. Looking in the mirror, he tried to think about anything but how similar he looked to one of them. Changing into his clothes, his mind rushed to find something, anything, to distract itself. Punching the wall turned out to be a good distractor, but he didn’t want to put a hole in his brother’s wall, so he only did it once.

Whenever he failed to not think about his dream- his nightmare, he couldn’t help but wonder- why? Why, when he met Jimmy again after all these years, did his own brain hide how dangerous the man was? Why had he not remembered in the first place? Why was he still so scared? He probably wasn’t going to see Jimmy again, and if he did, he had the resources to fight back, but he wouldn’t need them, because he would avoid him at all costs. At the very least, he was safe in this cabin.

Making his way downstairs and into the kitchen, he found himself to be the only one present. Fiddleford was probably asleep, but Ford… He must have gone back to his room, Stan thought. He grabbed the metal handle of the fridge, but before he could open it, a loud, almost frantic knock sounded from the front door. Looking around and realizing he was the only one who could answer, Stan sighed and walked through the messier-than-usual study to the front door.

Opening the door, all he needed to see was the flash of long blond hair that sat on the man who stood at the door to slam it shut again. Putting his back to it, he gasped. How did he find this place!? He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, hoping that he would just leave.

Another knock- rather, a punch- sounded against the door, and it rattled, a rattle that shook both Stan’s body and his mind. He screwed his eyes further shut, and wanted nothing more than to just never open them again. A muffled shout came from the other side of the door, filled with a passionate rage that nearly made Stan cower.

“Go away!” Stan shouted, knowing that while the words would do nothing to stop the man on the other side of the door, he had to try, because there really wasn’t anything else for him to do. More shouting, now increased in volume, came from the other side. Stan couldn’t tell what he was saying, but he also didn’t really want to know.

The last person he’d wanted to see that morning was Jimmy Snakes.

—--------------------------------------------------------------------------—

Hearing whatever was going on at the front door, Ford groaned, putting his head in his hands. He’d just gotten back into bed. Exhausted, he slowly got back up and emerged into the hallway. He hesitated at Fiddleford’s open doorway. He moved to be able to see inside, where he saw Fiddleford, still fast asleep. He closed the door and continued down the hall.

“Stanley, who’s at the door?” Ford’s voice was agitated and stern as he entered the study. He ran a hand through his hair.. “All this shouting is going to wake Fiddleford.”

“No one.” Stan hissed, pressing his back further against the door than it had been when Ford entered. “I can handle this.”

Ford took a step forward. “Just let me see. I don’t appreciate the ruckus you’re causing.”

Stan visibly hesitated, but held his ground. “Seriously, Sixer, it’s fine. I’m handling it.”

With a sigh, Ford stomped forward and pushed Stan aside with a force that he clearly hadn’t been expecting, as he stumbled aside. Ford creaked open the door just enough for him to see who was there, and poked his head out, narrowing his eyes.

“There you are!” The unfamiliar man shouted. “I don’t–” He paused. “... You’re not Stan.”

“No. I’m not. I don’t appreciate you trying to break my door down, though.” Ford replied. “Do you need something or are you just here to be loud?”

“I’m here to see Stan.”

“He doesn’t seem like he wants to see you.”

“That’s why I’m here. I want to apologize. Move out of the way and let me in.” The man growled. He began to crack his knuckles.

Ford scoffed. “If you’re trying to threaten me, it’s not working.” He turned his head and raised his eyebrows at Stan, who quickly shook his head. Nodding at his brother, Ford turned back to face the person at his door. “Leave.”

“At least just let me talk to him! I don’t have to come in. We can stay at the door.”

Ford turned back around. “Stanley, are you okay with that?”

“Fine.” Stan muttered.

Ford nodded, taking a step to the side and opening the door slightly wider so the two could see each other. “I’m going to go check on Fiddleford. Are you fine on your own?”

“Yep.” Stan nodded.

Ford gave a weary smile at his brother, mouthed ‘good luck’, then walked back to the hall and to Fiddleford’s door. He cracked it open, glancing in. Fiddleford had sat up, looking around- the two locked eyes, and Ford entered the room.

“Go back to sleep.” Ford sat down on the chair he’d set up beside Fiddleford’s bed. “You need more rest.”

“I’m fine, really.” Fiddleford replied hoarsely. His face was pale and his breath was labored. “What’s goin’ on over in the study?”

“There’s someone at the door wanting to talk to Stanley. I left them to chat.” Ford decided to humor the conversation- Fiddleford had slept enough. He settled into the chair, glancing over at Fiddleford’s desk- his Cubix Cube sat, unsolved. It had been for the last several days, which worried Ford. Usually, when he scrambled it, he’d find it solved once more within minutes.

Suddenly, he recalled what he had gone to check on Fiddleford for, and he looked around through his coat pockets for a few moments before pulling out a vial of purple liquid.

“I made this medicine– it should help you recover faster. Do you want to try it?” He handed it over to Fiddleford- his friend hesitated before taking it from him.

“Is it safe?”

“Probably.”

“Good enough.” Fiddleford stared at the vial for a couple moments, then downed the whole thing in one sip. He didn’t need much convincing- he was southern, after all. Afterwards, he stuck his tongue out, scrunching his nose. “Yuck.” He muttered. He sighed and leaned back into his bed, turning his head to look at Ford. As they made eye contact, Ford swore he felt his thoughts stutter.

“That should- er- that should work.” Ford looked down at the floor.

“Thank ya kindly for doin’ that for me, Stanferd. Makin’ that elixir, that is.” Ford glanced back up to see Fiddleford smiling warmly, practically glowing. “An’ I appreciate you stayin’ with me.” He reached out a hand and placed it on Ford’s hand, which rested on his leg. “You’re the best.”

Ford hoped whatever look was on his face wasn’t visible to Fiddleford as he attempted to process what his friend had just said. “Oh- I- well-” He coughed. “Yeah.”

Fiddleford drew his hand away, sinking deeper under the blankets with a shiver. He didn’t say a word, only closing his eyes. Ford stared at him for a while- possibly too long- as he slowly fell back asleep.

You’re the best.

—--------------------------------------------------------------------------—

Stan leaned against the doorframe, narrowing his eyes. Jimmy narrowed his eyes right back, and the two stood like that for a couple moments before Jimmy broke, sighing and looking away.

“Listen. I hate to be pushy, but… I wanted to apologize.” Jimmy said. “I just wasn’t going to let that chance slip.”

“How did you find out where I live?” Stan hissed.

“I just asked someone. They didn’t know where you lived, but they knew where a Stanford lived, and I thought he might be related to you. So I showed up and… Here you are. Is he your brother or what?”

“Yeah. Are you gonna get on with the apology now?”

Jimmy flinched. “I- yeah. Judging by the way you tried to lock me out, I’m guessing you remember now…?”

“Clear as day.” Stan balled his fists. “And I’m expecting a damn good apology.”

“Listen, I- I didn’t know they were going to do… That. I asked them to bring you to me, and-”

“What were you going to do with me?”

Jimmy hesitated, eyes flickering with a look of shame. “I… Talk to you, I guess. You owed me money, sure, but- but you were special. I thought we were going to sort something else.”

“But instead your henchmen tried to kill me.”

“I didn’t mean for that to happen!” Jimmy pleaded. “I didn’t tell them to… To do that, and I didn’t- I thought they were going to find you and, like… Bring you to me, and we would sort something out- maybe you could have, like, done something for me, and I… I just didn’t know.”

“I don’t care that you didn’t know, Jimmy!” Stan took a step forward, scowling. He couldn’t believe the nerve of this man to blame anybody but himself. “Say what they did.”

“What?”

“You’re avoiding it. You’re trying not to actually say what they did so that your stupid little brain can shove down that guilt, so that you can convince yourself that what they did wasn’t that bad, or that it wasn’t your fault.” Stan raised his voice, despite his brain telling him that what he was doing was not a good idea. “Say it, Jimmy! They tried to kill me- they drowned me in a motel bathtub! I nearly died.”

“I thought you did!” Jimmy replied. “They told me they killed you. I only just found out that you’re still alive when I saw you in that store- I was so worried, I-”

“YOU were worried!?” Stan shouted. “You don’t get the right to be worried when it was your stupid gang who fucking waterboarded me! To death, in your mind! You don’t get the right to be worried, when I was the one who nearly drowned and broke both his legs trying to escape! I’ve had to live with that, Jimmy. What have you had to live with? The fact that you killed a guy you never really cared about in the first place?” He felt his chest tighten, as if the rage that filled him was going to stop his heart and explode out of his soul.

“Stan, I-”

“You’re pathetic. I hate you, Jimmy. I hate you.”

“But I apologized.” Jimmy looked genuinely confused, as if he had been forgiven for everything he’d done the last thirty-something years of his stupid existence. “Wouldn’t it be better for both of us if you forgave me? I… I apologized..”

“And I don’t forgive you!” Stan put his arms out, exasperated. “It’s not that hard to understand that I don’t forgive you for nearly murdering me. What would I gain? What would I possibly gain from freeing the conscience of the guy who tried to kill me!? Go away and never talk to me again.”

“Wh- no! I apologized! Did you not hear me? I’m sorry!”

Before Stan could fully process what he was doing, he leapt forward, out the doorway, and tackled Jimmy to the ground in front of the door. He lifted his arm and punched his stupid face as hard as he could- once, then twice, then three times. Jimmy screamed, thrashing around. He clawed his nails down Stan’s arm as Stan lifted his fist once more.

“Stan, please–”

“I wish I had a bath to chuck you in so you could know how it feels!” Stan shouted. “Do you see why I haven’t forgiven you yet!? This is only a fraction of what you did to me!” He punched him once more, hands trembling, voice breaking. “God, I hate you!”

“You little–” Jimmy tried to roll over, but Stan pinned him to the floor, sinking his nails into Jimmy’s wrists. After a few moments of struggle, Stan lifted his arm once more, ready to swing.

Before Stan could continue, a voice from beside him stopped him right in his tracks.

“What on earth is going on here!?” Ford’s voice seemed to cast a silence upon the scene- both Stan and Jimmy immediately froze. Stan turned his head to the right to see Ford looming over the two, eyes a swirl of surprise and anger.

Stan sat up, and as he did, Jimmy immediately scrambled back, putting a hand to his face. Blood dripped from his nose and his wrists, but nowhere else. Unfortunate.

Looking down at his bloodied knuckles, then back at Ford, Stan frowned. “He deserved it.”

“Wh- Stanley, what are you on about!? You just beat someone up- who even is this!? I never actually received an answer to that.” Ford growled, putting his head in his hands.

“He tried to kill me, like, a couple years ago.” Stan stood, wiping off his bloody arm on the side of his pants. “Came here with the nerve to try and apologize, then refused to leave until I forgave him.” Jimmy, by the time Stan had finished explaining, had gotten up and scurried off into the woods from which he came. Stan let his muscles relax as he took a deep breath. “Honestly, I don’t know what came over me. I don’t feel bad about it, though.”

Ford stood thoughtfully for a few seconds before sighing. “I suppose I would have done the same thing.”

“You’re not mad at me?”

“No, I am. I just can’t blame you.”

Stan shrugged. “Good enough.” Looking down at his bleeding, scratched up arm, he frowned. “Surprised the guy even left a mark. He’s not…”

Ford nodded. “Come on, let's get that treated.”

—--------------------------------------------------------------------------—

Ford yanked the first-aid kit from its home beside the bathroom mirror, acknowledging to himself its increase in use since Stanley had arrived- the deja-vu of his action was not deja-vu, rather true familiarity. He supposed some things would never change. Looking down at the cold metal box in his hands, his mind urged him to just wait for a few more moments, to find peace in the cold and quiet of the bathroom. Shaking off the thought- he had more important things to do than relax- he turned back and opened the door into the hallway.

Ford let his mind wander as his feet guided him back to the living room, where Stan rested on the couch, seemingly unable to sit still, letting his legs move back and forth as they dangled off the couch. He held his bleeding arm away from him, as if afraid that if the blood touched him, it would infect him with some sort of disease. Perhaps it would. Ford wasn’t too sure what sorts of ailments the mysterious person at the door had contracted.

Without a word, Ford sat down on the couch beside Stan, sitting on his heels, legs folding in on themselves as he turned to face his brother. He placed the first-aid kit on his lap and gently opened it. The midday sun shone down on the metal in a way that sent a glare into Ford’s eyes, and he squinted, readjusting his position to try and redirect the reflected light. In front of the couch, whatever Stan had put on the TV served as a white noise to fill the otherwise silent room.

“Are you going to explain what just happened?” Ford prompted as he pulled out the disinfectant and poured a small amount on a cotton swab, moving forward to dab it onto Stan’s outstretched arm. “If the police come knocking at my door, I’d like to know what to tell them.”

“I’m not ready to talk about it yet.” Stan grumbled, seemingly looking everywhere but into Ford’s eyes. Swiping the cotton along Stan’s arms, Ford sighed.

“Stanley, you can’t run away from your life forever.” Ford pulled his hand away when Stan flinched, hissing presumably at the stinging of the disinfectant. “Avoiding your problems does not serve you any good.”

“Since when were you a philosopher?”

“I took a few philosophy courses in university, but I’m far from considering myself a professional in the subject.” Ford fussed with a bag of band-aids that appeared resistant to simply opening as he spoke. “However, recognizing that you are running away from your problems does not take a professional to do.”

Stan glared at Ford, making eye contact for the first time that conversation. “Fine, whatever. It’s not that big of a deal, anyways.”

“Anyway.” Ford muttered.

“What?”

“Anyways isn’t a word.”

“Literally nobody cares.”

“Hm. Fair enough. Go on.”

Stan leaned back further into the couch as Ford began to bandage the long scratches that snaked down his inner forearm. “I dunno where to start.”

“From the beginning?” Ford offered.

“No shit, I just– yeah. Okay. Uh, the guy you just saw, his name’s Jimmy. He ran this- I guess you could call it a gang? They, like, sold drugs and blackmailed people and stuff, so yeah, it was a gang. He was the leader. Point is, I got involved with them somehow. I don’t remember how- I think I might’ve dated Jimmy at some point, it’s not important.”

“So Jimmy ran this gang, and I was involved, and at some point I was in debt to them, and- y’know, I was between homes, so I didn’t have the money to give to ‘em, and they didn’t like that. I didn’t know what to do, so I ran away. This was in Vegas, by the way. I ran away to California, up to Tahoe City.”

“I thought I was safe there, but somehow, his weird little gang found me, and…” Stan swallowed, taking a deep breath.

“Do you want to take a break?” Ford moved back, indicating to his brother that he’d finished treating his wound. Stan pulled his arm back and remained quiet for a few moments before shaking his head.

“No, it’s fine. It’s not a big deal.”

“You sure?” Ford replied.

Stan shrugged. “Yeah. So his gang found me, and they- I can’t remember what they did exactly, but somehow I ended up in this dinky motel room with them. Jimmy wasn’t there, but these guys said that he’d sent them. They- they put me in this bathtub, and- and they tried to drown me, I guess. They knocked me out, and I guess they thought they’d killed me, cuz when I woke up they had just… Left me, I think.”

“I didn’t want to risk them seeing me, and I thought they might’ve still been in the room, so I… I jumped out the second-floor window. Broke both my legs, but I managed to get away. I thought I’d never see Jimmy- I thought I’d never see any of them ever again. And I didn’t, until I met Jimmy here a couple days ago, when you sent me to get painkillers for Fiddleford. I didn’t even remember what he had done- just that he was bad. But after the expedition- after the river, I started getting nightmares about it, and it kinda… The memory kinda slowly came together again. And then Jimmy came here to try and apologize, and you know the rest.”

Ford felt nauseous as he listened to Stan describe what had happened to him so casually, as if it truly wasn’t a big deal. Sure, he sounded a bit anxious as he spoke, but not nearly as distressed as Ford felt he should have been recounting such an experience.

“Stanley, I… That’s terrible.” Ford muttered. He wasn’t sure what to do- how does one comfort someone who’s just said something like this?

“It’s fine, really.” Stan cleared his throat.

“No, it isn’t. I- I’m sorry you had to go through that.” Ford held out a hand. “I’m here for you if you… Need to talk. About anything.”

“Uh huh.” Stan nodded, standing up. “I’m gonna go… Do something. Away from here.” He rushed off up the stairs, and Ford remained on the couch to sit in his thoughts.

Determining that he should leave his brother be for the time being, Ford slowly lifted himself off the couch. It was best that he did something productive, so he decided to go check on Fiddleford. Trying to outpace his worries, he walked to his assistant’s room, where he found Fiddlford sitting at his desk, tinkering with some sort of contraption.

Seemingly startled, Fiddleford flinched, glancing up at Ford. “Oh- howdy, Stanferd! Whatcha doin’ here?”

“Checking on you. What is that?” Ford moved to the desk, leaning over Fiddleford to see what he was working on. It didn’t look familiar to him- it held almost the same shape as his magnet gun, but smaller and with a couple extra parts, such as a large, long, lightbulb-like object where the barrel of a gun would typically be.

“It’s my latest invention!” Fiddleford swivelled his chair around and held up the machine, knee bouncing, eyes shimmering with excitement. “It’s a gun that targets an’ destroys bad memories. It has a dial to input what you wanna erase, an’ a canister to convert the memory into a tape. Ya said somethin’ about how we can use creativity to solve any problem, an’ that inspired me to make this!”

Ford stood, eyes wide, mouth slightly agape, for a few moments. He couldn’t string together the words to express how horrible he felt about this revelation, so instead he just made a face that he hoped sent across the emotion he was trying to convey.

Fiddleford frowned, looking up into Ford’s eyes. “... Is somethin’ wrong?”

“I… Fiddleford, I’m not sure how to say this, but… That doesn’t sound safe. Or healthy. I can tell your intentions are in the right place, but this could be misused horribly. How am I meant to know you aren’t going to use it on others?”

“Wh- because you trust me!” Fiddleford shook his head. “I’m only gonna use it to erase things that truly need to be erased.”

Trust no one.

“I… I suppose, but it could fall into the wrong hands, or it could go wrong, or- there’s so many things that could happen when you begin to tamper with the mind. This isn’t safe in the slightest. It needs to be destroyed.”

Fiddleford hesitated, looking down at his creation for a few moments. “... I guess. I- yeah, I could use these parts to make somethin’ else.” Something about his response made Ford nervous, but he dismissed it and nodded.

“That you could.” Ford replied.

“Alright, I’ll get to that later.” Fiddleford looked deep in thought as he turned and placed the memory gun back onto his desk- he rested his hand on it for a moment too long before removing it.

“Good.” Ford took a step back, trying to convince himself that he was relieved, and that his anxiety was pointless, because it was.

A crash from upstairs pulled him back from his thoughts.

—--------------------------------------------------------------------------—

Stan looked down at his arm. It was covered in band-aids, yet parts of the long cut peeked out through them, a reminder of both his inescapable past and his even more inescapable present. He looked back up at the bathroom mirror, forgetting why exactly he was there in the first place. Just to torture himself by staring at his reflection, he could only guess. The running water of the sink below him was stained red as he let his burning arm rest under the cold water.

Instead of watching his own face slowly morph into one that did not belong to him, Stan decided to turn his gaze to the oddly-shaped window that sat too high to be looked out of, serving only as a natural light source. Ford or whoever had constructed this place seemed to have had a weird obsession with triangles- they were everywhere. Half the windows were triangular, the carpets were triangular, everything was triangular. More than just that, they all had what looked like an eye in the center, like the tip of the pyramid on the dollar bill.

It sort of freaked Stan out. He felt as if the windows and the carpets were watching him, even though he knew they weren’t. The bathroom window was also triangular, and made of several connected bits of glass for the sole purpose of having an eye in the center. The more he stared into it, the more he felt like the eye was looking right at him- it wasn’t just a weird feeling, he swore that he was making eye contact with the thing.

And then it blinked.

Stan, without really thinking, leapt back, crashing into the wooden door behind him and sliding to the floor. When he looked back up at the window, its eye was open again, and the pupil seemed to have moved down to look at him.

Slowly, hesitantly, Stan stood again, legs trembling as he did. The eye, almost as expected, followed his face as he rose. He felt his blood run cold. His heart beat so hard it slammed against his chest each time he did, and it burned. He knew this place had weird supernatural things, but whatever this was freaked him out more than anything else had, for some reason.

Just as Stan reached back with his hand to turn the doorknob, not allowing himself to break eye contact with that thing, the world seemed to freeze. And not in the weird fight-or-flight everything slows down sort of way. The world literally stopped. The running water from the tap stopped running, stuck in its place. The room around him went from a mix of dull blues and yellows to nothing but grays and blacks and whites. He felt his own heart slow, then stop as his soul separated from his body without physically separating.

A shrill voice sliced through the stillness, through Stan’s brain, and burned all of his being as it spoke. “WELL, WELL, WELL! Look who it is! I’ve been TRYING to reach you FOREVER!”

“Who are you?!” Stan replied, but he wasn’t too sure if he had actually replied, as he did not feel his body speak, only his spirit. “Show yourself!”

As if peeling from the bathroom window, the body that the voice belonged to emerged, the shame shape and size as the window with the same wide, frantic eye. It was the only pop of color in the otherwise currently gray world, its form a bright yellow. It held a cane in one of its thin, stick-figure-like arms, and, for whatever reason, it was wearing a tophat and a bowtie, as if that was a normal thing for an otherwise terrifying entity to wear. Maybe it was.

“You know, old Sixer thought about you SOOOO much, it’s great to FINALLY be able to put a face to the voice! What a shame that it’s such an uninteresting face!” The thing floated closer to Stan, who balled his fists.

“Who– What are you? How do you know Ford?” Stan growled.

“Jeez, calm down! What a hothead!” The thing cackled, floating circles around Stan. Suddenly, as if a switch was flicked, it went from yellow to red, and its voice lowered to an unnatural tone that sent chills down Stan’s spine. “Listen, kid-”

“I’m in my thirties.”

“AND I’M IN MY TWO TRILLIONS! You’re getting too buddy-buddy with ol’ Fordsy, and he has better things to focus on. If you take even ONE step out of line, you will never know the end of the TORTURE I will subject you to.” Its eye squinted, as if disgusted.

Stan prepared to fight for the second time that day, pulling his arm back to punch the thing in front of him, but before he could, he felt like a weight had suddenly attached itself to his brain, pulling him down face-first into the cold floor below him, dragging him into a darkness that stained his vision, then his consciousness as he felt his spirit slip away from him.

Gasping back into the waking world, Stan found himself on the bathroom floor, vision clouded as he slowly regained his senses. The world spun around him, and a wave of nausea crashed into his body when he tried to sit up. His head ached horribly.

The dizziness lasted a couple minutes. Eventually, Stan was able to sit up as he tried to grasp what had just happened. The window looked normal again- its eye gazed out into the distance. The sink was still on and the water was running normally. The world had regained color.

A loud, frantic banging came from the door behind him, accompanied by a muffled, indecipherable voice that could only belong to his brother; still, Stan flinched at the sound.

Stumbling to the door, still on his knees, Stan reached up and fumbled with the lock for a moment, then pulled the door open with all the fatigued strength he could muster. Almost immediately, Ford was kneeled down in front of him, holding him up.

“Stanley, are you okay?” Ford looked over Stan. “I heard a crash and…”

“Yeah, I’m fine. I guess I didn’t sleep well, cuz I… I passed out or something.” Stan put a hand to his head, trying to blink away his fatigue. “I was washing my hands and I had this, like, weird dream, and next thing I know, I’m on the ground.”

“Odd. Perhaps you’re deficient in something. What did you dream of?” As Ford spoke, he took Stan’s hands in his own and slowly helped to lift him up. As he rose, the pounding in Stan’s head only got worse.

“It- it was weird. I was washing my hands, and then everything froze, and the window came to life, and it was this weird creature, and it told me to stay away from you… Or something.” Stan swallowed, wobbling as he attempted to pull away from his brother and stabilize his balance.

Ford looked up at Stan as if he’d seen a ghost, muscles tensing, and neither spoke for a few moments. After visibly reorganizing whatever thoughts he’d just had, Ford cleared his throat. “I- that is strange. Here, why don’t I get you some vitamins and- and you can rest for a bit…” He put his hands behind his back and gave a hesitant smile.

“... Are you okay?” Stan raised an eyebrow.

“Yes, yes. I’m simply… Worried. About you. Come on, then.” Ford put a hand to Stan’s back and led him to his room. Practically shoving him onto his bed, Ford inhaled sharply. “I’ll- I’ll get you a cup of water and those vitamins. They will… Help you feel better after a fainting spell.” He adjusted his glasses and scurried off, leaving Stan alone, sitting on his bed.

“... Okay?” Stan said out loud to nobody. Why couldn’t his brother just act normal for once? Maybe his dream was familiar to Ford, or reminded him of something, or…

Maybe it was real.

—--------------------------------------------------------------------------—

Ford pulled open the kitchen cabinets with a force that somehow managed to surprise himself. He wasn’t just mad. He was furious. Why was his muse talking to Stanley? Hadn’t he said he chose a brilliant mind to inspire once every other century? What happened to that? What happened to being special?

Ford gripped onto the vitamin bottle, gritting his teeth as he twisted the cap open and shook the bottle, allowing two of the capsules to fall into his hand. He resisted every urge to crush the pills in his palm and watch the dust fall between his fingers as his tornado of thoughts bounced against the edges of his brain. It physically pained him just to think.

If only he could channel his anger, Ford thought. He ripped his journal out of its compartment in his coat, slamming it onto the counter in front of him as he threw the vitamins beside it. Flipping it open to the nearest empty page, he wrote. Not about Bill, in case he was being watched, in case his muse wasn’t off galavanting with some other ‘brilliant mind’. Instead, he decided to write about the memory gun, and how that was a horrible idea, and how that was what angered him and not the thought of the deity who had graced him having spoken to others at the same time, having tried to distance him from his brother.

When Ford found that his handwriting was sloppier than usual, that his analysis of Fiddleford’s invention was not as detailed as he would like for it to be, he yelled in frustration, then shut the journal with as little force as he could muster in order to not damage its spine. His swirl of thoughts beginning to dissipate, he only looked down at the book on the counter, not with anger, but with something else that he couldn’t quite describe. Emptiness, perhaps.

Fresh air worked for him last time. He just needed fresh air.

Dragging himself through the study and out the door, Ford only felt worse when the afternoon sun beamed down onto him. He took a few steps forward, then a few more, until he allowed himself to walk into the woods, away from his cabin, until all he saw was the pine and birch trees around him. Going for walks was typically his problem-solving strategy. Sure, some would consider it ‘running away’ from problems, but he liked to think of it as simply taking a break from them.

He remembered the last time he’d gone for a walk, the night Stan had arrived. Despite it only really being a bit more than a week ago, it had felt like just the previous day he’d gone deep into the woods to contact his muse.

Perhaps Bill had a good explanation.

Perhaps Ford didn’t care to hear it.

Finding a suitable fallen tree to sit on, Ford looked up into the sky, bright blue and cloudless in contrast to the mostly cloudy day it had been the previous day. It was rather pleasant, despite the circumstances. If he wasn’t worrying about his life possibly being a lie, he would have enjoyed it.

Then, the strangest thing occurred- an owl, despite it being the middle of the day, flew down from somewhere within the trees and landed in the clearing in front of the log Ford sat on. It pecked at the floor for a few moments before raising its head and making eye contact with him. Ford slowly blinked at it, and, to his surprise, it blinked back. They both remained still for a few moments that could have been an eternity. Eventually, the owl drew its head away, and gazed deep into the woods, in the direction Ford had come from.

Perhaps it was injured or sick. Ford slowly stood, taking a cautious step towards the bird, but before he could act, it flinched and, with a great beat of its wings, it flew off in the direction it was looking. The wind gusted from behind Ford, blowing his coat forward, and he could do nothing but stand in the moment for a while.

Why had he come to Gravity Falls in the first place?

To study anomalies. For the last seven years of his life, the answer was simply intuitive to him. He was in the place with the highest concentration of strange sightings in the country, and he was to study them and their origin. And Bill had promised him that the portal would help him discover that origin, that they had come from another dimension, that the portal would give him access to that dimension.

But somehow, despite the strangeness of the anomalies he had come across, despite how unbelievable they all were, there was something so earthly about them. It felt as if the fantastical creatures and properties of the town had simply existed for as long as the dirt below them had. Perhaps there wasn’t some sort of ‘weirdness dimension’ connecting Gravity Falls to its strangeness. Perhaps Gravity Falls was intrinsically strange, simply on its own, without any outside factors. What separated this town’s native creatures from the native creatures of any other location, aside from how interesting humans found them?

Ford balled his fists. Bill wouldn’t have lied to him, though. He was a deity, all-knowing and all-powerful; he had no reason to lie. Unless he somehow benefited from doing so.

Ford turned away from the direction he came from, instead facing deeper into the woods, and continued to walk. Perhaps if he went back to the beginning, he could get answers. If he could find the cave from which he had summoned Bill, it could reveal something about his motives.

Minutes passed. Ford wasn’t sure how many, but he didn’t quite care, either. Something was happening, and he had to figure out what it was at any cost. He kept walking. The wind had begun to pick up, the cold air stinging his face. Clouds covered the sky that had been clear only a few minutes ago. Eventually, to his dismay, Ford realized that he wasn’t able to keep going, that it was about to start raining, that he needed to go home.

With a frustrated scream that echoed through the forest and was heard by nothing but the bugs and the birds, Ford turned and began to make his way back to the cabin, wrapping his coat around himself with his hands as raindrops began to hit him.

Within a minute, the storm had grown to a strength that made the wind howl and the trees sway. Ford ran with all the exhausted energy he could muster, the weight of the last week crashing down onto him, suffocating him, as he tried to outrun his own anger, his own fear.

When he made it to the safety of his cabin’s porch, underneath a roof that protected him from the pouring rain outside, he peeled off his drenched coat and slowly pulled open the door.

The last thing he expected to see standing at the door was his brother, face expectant as if he had been waiting for Ford to return.

“Oh- Stanley, I forgot about you. I apologize, I was…” Ford trailed off as he looked down to see his own journal in Stan’s hands.

Stan shoved the journal into Ford’s chest, glaring daggers at him, muscles tense.

“We need to talk. Now.”

Chapter Text

“We need to talk.”

The harshness of Stan’s voice immediately tipped off Ford to the fact that whatever he’d seen in the journal had not been good. He swallowed nervously before hesitantly taking the book out of his brother’s hands.

“I… Suppose we do.” Ford, given only a few seconds to think, hastily began to weigh his options. He could explain everything, including his own suspicions about Bill. He could turn around and run while he had the chance. He could get Stan to not ask any questions under threat of eviction.

“Great, because I thought that we were being honest and open with everything! Weren’t you the one who said we shouldn’t be hiding things from each other? What happened to that?” Stan did not let Ford even enter his own house before he began shouting at him. “What do you have to say for yourself!?”

“... I need a cup of coffee.” Ford sighed. “I’ll- I’ll tell you everything, I promise. I just… Need the energy.”

“Fine. But talk while you work. And make me one, too.” Stan took a step back, allowing Ford to enter and walk into the kitchen, brother in tow. “With milk.”

“I know.” Ford replied. “I have a batch from this morning. I’m just going to heat it if you don’t mind.”

“Why would I of all people mind? Stop stalling.”

“I…” Ford bit his tongue to stop himself from insulting his twin. He knew he was in the wrong, probably. He just… Wished Stan would be a bit more competent. “What do you want me to say?”

“Do you want me to start?” Stan leaned on the counter beside Ford, who had taken the coffee to the stove. “Because I’ll start. Who- What on earth is your ‘Muse’? Are you being possessed by a ghost or what?”

“He isn’t possessing me, Stanley. He… He visits me in my dreams. He gives me inspiration, is all. He’s a deity that chooses a brilliant mind every other century to inspire.” Ford felt his chest tighten. “At least, that is… What I presumed of him.”

“Okay, there’s a start. What the hell does that mean?”

“I’m not too sure, myself. I’ve only discovered just today that I’m not the only person he has been visiting.”

“Well, who else has he…” Stan’s voice trailed off, and after a few moments of thought, his eyes widened and his mouth slightly opened. “You mean that demon I saw was your ‘Muse’!?” The way he said the word ‘muse’ caused Ford to flinch- he sounded harsh, disgusted.

“He’s not a demon, but… Yes. And what he said to you concerns me. If he is trying to push you out of my life, that leads me to believe that his intentions may not be as pure as I once suspected.”

“Oh, yeah, that actually takes me to my next point. WHY ON EARTH are you building a DOOMSDAY DEVICE!?” Stan lifted his hands from the counter for the sole purpose of slamming them down again.

“It’s not a doomsday device. It’s a portal.” Ford replied.

“A portal that’s gonna spit out monsters from the- the-” Stan stumbled over his words, baring his teeth with a sigh. “The weirdness dimension or whatever the hell you’ve decided to call it!”

Ford moved to the cabinets a few feet away as he spoke. “There’s already ‘monsters’ here, Stanley. It wouldn’t hurt to bring in a couple more for research.”

“What are you gonna do when you open the portal and another gremloblin comes out!? Or maybe it isn’t even connected to a fuckin’ ‘weirdness dimension’, maybe it’s connected to wherever that demon is from, and he’s gonna come and flip the world upside down!”

“He’s not a demon, and he would never do such a thing.” Ford found himself repeating what he had already said as he pulled two mugs out of the cabinet.

Stan groaned into his hands. “That thing’s got you wrapped around its finger, Sixer! I’ve seen it once and read a few pages about it, and somehow I seem to know more about it than you do in your two years of knowing it!”

“You just think you know.” Ford replied. “I know that he’s… Not perfect, but he wouldn’t actively harm anyone. I don’t… I’m not sure what his intentions are, if I’m honest.”

“And I’m telling you what they are! He’s going to come through that damned portal and start the apocalypse or some shit. And I’m the only one who can see that because I’m the only one you’ve told about this, and you’re too obsessed with the stupid triangle to see what’s happening!” Stan took a step closer to Ford, who glared at his brother.

“Literally how do you know?” Ford hissed.

“How do you not!?” Stan replied, turning around and taking a few steps away. “This apparently all-knowing ‘deity’-” He did air quotes as he said deity- “Gave you an ego boost and told you to go build a doomsday device and you did! And it’s so obvious it doesn’t mean a thing it says! How can you be so smart and so dumb at the same time!?”

“I KNOW I’m wrong!” Ford snapped, turning to face his brother. “I know that there’s something going on with him, and I know that there’s something going on with the portal, and I know I should have told you! But… I’ve been with him for two years, and the last I saw you was a decade ago. I think it was understandable for me to be hesitant to trust you. And… I trusted him.” He paused, eyes widening.

Trust no one.

God, I should have listened.

Stan crossed his arms, raising an eyebrow as he leaned back into the counter. “So you know this is all messed up. Why are you still arguing in that thing’s favor?”

Ford blinked a few times. He looked down at his trembling hands, listened to his own shaky breath. “... I don’t know.” He whispered. “I need time to think. I… I need a break.”

“Fine. Go. I can finish the coffee.” Stan sighed, turning to the stove, not daring to look back into Ford’s eyes. Ford glanced down at his feet before turning and heading down the hall to his room.

He was going to contact Bill.

Climbing onto his bed, Ford sat, legs crossed over one another, and closed his eyes. He listened to his own frantic breathing as it slowed, then calmed. He allowed his muscles to relax and his mind to drift off, away from itself, away from him, away from the waking world.

For a moment, he found peace.

A sudden coldness woke him. When his eyes opened, he’d found himself having successfully travelled to the starry expanse of his mindscape. He smiled, proud, for a moment, before recalling the severity of the situation.

“Cipher!” He called. “Show yourself!” He stood and took a few steps forward, brow furrowing. “I know you’re out there somewhere!”

“THERE YOU ARE, FORDSY!” Bill’s voice came from behind Ford, who quickly turned, jumping back. “I heard you’re trying to take me down!”

“Explain yourself, Cipher. I’m not playing games.”

“I AM! I have been this whole time, Sixer! I’m surprised it took you so LONG to figure it out!” Bill cackled, rolling over himself as he floated. “That inferior twin of yours might not be so inferior after all! There’s no explanation, Fordsy.”

“So you have been deceiving me!” Ford took a weary step back, clenching his fists.

“SURE HAVE! Me and my pals need a new dimension to take over, and that earth of yours looks ripe for the taking! But you won’t be shutting down that portal of yours. You’re gonna keep working.” Bill’s eye squinted into a mouthless smile.

“Why would I? I can’t- I can’t trust you.” Ford replied.

“It’s simple! If you don’t finish that portal, I’m gonna make YOUR life a LIVING HELL!” Bill laughed again, as if it truly was all just a game to him. “Specs goes first, then that brother of yours, then the main course- YOU!”

Ford’s stomach lurched. “You- You can’t hurt them! You exist only in my mind!”

“That’s what YOU think! Don’t forget, you’ve let me into your BODY before, and I can do it againnn!” He spoke in a sing-songy voice, his eye shimmering. “If you don’t keep working on that portal of yours, I will MAKE YOU SUFFER. Bye-byeee!”

Ford awoke with a gasp. Rain still pounded on his window, failing to drown out the sound of his labored breathing. He sat on his bed for a few moments, trembling. There was nothing he could do. He’d lost. How had he been so stupid?

And then he started to cry.

He wanted so horribly to stop, to shut off the tears that formed in his eyes and ran down his face, to stop the horrendous nausea he felt as tears turned to sobs, as he curled in on himself. He wanted to swallow down the lump in his throat, to suck it up and get back to work, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t do anything but cry, because there was nothing else to do.

He was weak.

He was pathetic.

—--------------------------------------------------------------------------—

Stan sighed, closing his eyes as he took a sip of his coffee. God, he was tired. Was it impossible to get a break in this place?

It wasn’t like he got a break anywhere else, anyways. At least he had a nice bed to sleep in.

The storm outside raged on- every once in a while, the sound of distant thunder snapped Stan out of his daydreams. He would look outside for a few moments before zoning back out as he continued to drink his coffee.

Minutes passed before a sound came from somewhere within the house- for a moment, he thought it was someone laughing. Then, it became almost immediately clear to him that it couldn’t be further from a laugh.

Grabbing the other cup of coffee that he had prepared for Ford, Stan rushed down the hallway- he wasn’t sure which room was his brother’s, but he managed to follow the sound into the correct room, where he saw Ford, curled up on his bed, sobbing.

Placing both cups on the bedside table, Stan quickly went to his brother’s side, shaking him to get his attention. “Sixer? You there?” he muttered. Ford groaned into his pillow in response, not lifting his head to face his twin.

Stan froze- he wasn’t sure what to do. The last time he’d seen Ford cry was… Well, he wasn’t sure, actually. Had he ever?

“Hey… What’s wrong?” Stan placed a hand on Ford’s back, inching closer to him.

Ford flinched. He seemed to try to gather himself for a few moments before he replied. “You were right, Stanley.” He rasped, voice shaky. “He tricked me, and now he’s going to- he’s going to do terrible things, and I can’t do anything about it.”

“It’s… It’s okay.” Stan made his best attempt at a smile, despite the dread that had settled in the pit of his stomach. “We’ll figure something out.”

“It’s all my fault.” Ford sniffled.

Slowly, Stan began to move himself off the bed. “Hey- I’m going to fetch Fiddleford. He’ll know what to do.”

“Don’t!” Ford lifted his head from the pillow, eyes wide and red from crying.

“Seriously, Ford, he’s not going to judge you. He can help us figure this out, because… Honestly, I’m not too sure what to do about all this.” Stan stood up, looking down at his brother, who reached his arm across the bed weakly.

“No, no, F is… He doesn’t know about this. About Bill.”

“Bill?”

“That’s the name of…”

“Oh. Right.” Stan cleared his throat. “... He doesn’t know?” Ford shook his head. With a sigh, Stan sat back down on the bed beside his brother. “He’s gonna have to find out eventually.” He said. “We have to figure out how to fix this. I mean, you said he’s gonna do ‘terrible things’- what is he gonna do?”

Ford didn’t speak for a few worrying moments, instead curling further in on himself with a groan.

“Sixer?” Stan nudged his brother with the back of his hand.

“Mhm. I- he can possess me. When I fall asleep.” Ford’s voice was barely audible.

“He can what.”

“He said he’s going to- to take advantage of that. He said he’d hurt F. And you.” Ford tightened his grip on his pillow as he sat up to face Stan, still avoiding eye contact. “Stanley, I’m– I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be.” Stan sighed, moving forward to put his hands on his brother’s shoulders. “We can figure this out. That demon isn’t gonna be hurting anyone.”

“Stanley, you don’t know what you’re up against.”

“No. He doesn’t know what he’s up against.” Stan leaned over to the bedside table, grabbing both cups of coffee and handing the darker one to Ford. “Have some. It’s still warm.”

Ford took the coffee, holding the mug in his hands for a few moments, staring down at the liquid within. He slowly blinked, then looked up and made eye contact with Stan. “Stanley, I… I’m sorry. For all of this. For calling you pathetic when we first met. If anything, I’m the pathetic one. Look at me.”

“One, I don’t even remember that, so it’s fine. Two, we’re both pathetic, Sixer.” Stan weakly smiled. “We can be pathetic together, I dunno.”

“Mhm.” Ford took a sip of his coffee. “... Perhaps we could find a way to restrain me while I sleep. So if Bill does possess me, he won’t be able to do anything. At least until we find a more permanent solution.”

“See? I don’t see why that wouldn’t work. We can figure it out.” Stan said. “We could, like, tie you to the bed or something. Or take the important stuff out of your room and lock the door.”

“He’d break the window.”

“... Right. We could do the bed thing, though.

Ford nodded. “I could just… Not sleep tonight.” He offered. “Maybe we could come up with a solution by tomorrow.”

Stan shrugged. “I think we need a break tomorrow. You’ve been worrying non-stop, Sixer. Your brain needs a reset.”

“I can take a break after I fix this.” Ford hissed.

“If you’re gonna ‘fix this’, you’re not gonna do it with a tired brain. You’re sleeping tonight, and we’re doing something fun tomorrow as a break.”

“I’ll sleep tonight, and we can negotiate tomorrow’s break.”

“... Good enough.” Stan took another sip of his now lukewarm coffee. Ford nodded. The two remained silent for a minute, both drinking their respective cups of coffee, before Stan decided to speak again. “Hey, remember when we went to the boardwalk that one summer and found that cat?”

Ford blinked, eyes widening as he looked up at his brother. “Why do you ask?”

“Just thinking. Do you?”

“How could I forget?”

“I guess. Y’know, I wonder a lot what happened to it after that summer–”

As Stan began to speak, a bright flash came from outside the window. As if it was second nature, he began to count. One mississippi, two mississippi, three mississippi, four–

BOOM. The sound of lightning crashed through from wherever it had come.

“Four.” Both brothers said at the same time. They looked up at each other, then smiled, then laughed for a few weird moments.

“I’ve forgotten what that means.” Ford said through chuckles.

“It means the lightning’s two miles away.” Stan replied, nudging Ford’s shoulder. “Why’d you count if you don’t remember what it means?”

“I don’t know. Instinct, I suppose.” Ford’s smile fell after a few moments, and the two fell into silence once more. This time, despite the circumstances having not changed, the silence felt more comfortable.

And weirdly, Stan felt that, even though everything outside was terrible, somehow, just for this moment, it would all be okay. They would figure this out.

—--------------------------------------------------------------------------—

Ford knocked at Fiddleford’s door a couple times. When he didn’t get a response, he slowly creaked it open. Fiddleford sat at his desk, sketching something on a sheet of blue paper with a white pen. He was humming a song that Ford had last heard in his college days, seemingly fully absorbed in whatever it was he was drawing.

Ford cleared his throat to get his assistant’s attention. “Fiddleford?”

“Oh! It’s good to see ya again, Stanferd! Need somethin’?” Fiddleford swivelled his chair around, grinning at Ford.

“Er… Not really. Just came to check on you.” Ford smiled. “Again. You… Have you moved at all since I was last here?”

“Well, When you heard that sound upstairs an’ went to check on it, I got an idea for a new gadget, so I started makin’ blueprints, an’... Yeah, I guess I’ve been doin’ that since.” Fiddleford said. “Speakin’ of, what was that sound? Ya ran off into the woods before I could find out.”

“Oh- it was nothing.” Ford took a few steps closer. “What’s your idea?”

“Take a look!” Fiddleford held up the blueprint he was working on. “It’s a device that scans words on paper an’ reads ‘em out to you. Ya just hold it to the paper an’ it reads the words out loud.”

Ford adjusted his glasses, crouching down to see the blueprint better. “Impressive. This could see great use, Fiddleford.” He smiled. “Your inventions continue to astound me.”

Fiddleford laughed. “This is nothin’ compared to that portal o’ yours. I swear, Stanferd, the stars would be proud to know their particles made you.”

At the compliment, Ford felt his brain short-circuit, and he quickly scrambled to reassemble the broken pieces of whatever he had been thinking about. After a couple moments of what Ford felt was extremely awkward silence, Fiddleford’s smile fell and he began to speak, voice quiet.

“Say… I hate to intrude on your business, an’ I know curiosity killed the cat n’ all that–”

“But satisfaction brought it back.” Ford interjected.

Fiddleford blinked. “What?”

“That’s the full saying. Curiosity killed the cat, but satisfaction brought it back.”

“Oh. Well in that case, um, I… I heard you crying earlier, an’- Well, I was gonna go check on you, but I heard Lee get there before I could, so I thought I’d give ya some privacy. I just… What’s goin’ on?”

Oh.

Ford ran a hand through his hair. “It’s a whole thing. Stanley… He treats me too well for what I’ve done.”

Gaze softening, Fiddleford swivelled his chair around, motioning towards the foot of the bed. “Sit down.”

Ford nodded and sat at the end of the bed, looking down at his feet with a sharp inhale that burned his nostrils.

“Tell me about what’s goin’ on with Lee.” Fiddleford placed his blueprint on the desk behind him.

“I just… After what happened all that time ago, I feel like I abandoned him. And now he’s back, and he’s the one who called me first, and he’s the one who’s doing all this work to repair our bond, and I feel like I’ve done nothing.”

“You’ve done plenty, Stanferd. You’ve offered to let him live here even after all that time apart.”

“I suppose.” Not like that idea was mine. “It’s just that he’s done so much for me and I feel like I don’t show enough how much I care for him.”

“You care and it shows in everything you do.” Fiddleford replied. “An’ I’m sure Lee can see that as well.”

Ford nodded. “If you say so. But…”

He’s gonna have to find out eventually.

“That’s not- that’s not the main problem.” Ford took a deep breath. “Listen, F. I’ve been keeping something from you.”

“Like that’s news.” Fiddleford scoffed, smiling mischievously.

“Er… right. This all started three years ago, when I met this… At the time, I believed him to be a deity, who inspired great minds of his choosing, and… I suppose I hid it from you. He would visit me in my dreams and show me where to find anomalies, and- well, he was the one who gave me the idea for the portal.” Somehow, telling this all to someone felt both exhilarating and dreadful at the same time.

“I knew you were workin’ with someone!” Fiddleford slapped his knee, sitting up a bit more. When he was met with silence, he coughed and slid back into his chair. “Sorry. Bad time. Continue.”

Ford slowly blinked, processing what his friend had just exclaimed, before shaking his head and proceeding anyway. “He helped me construct blueprints and plans and- and when I couldn’t construct it I invited you, and, well… I’m getting sidetracked. This- this supposed deity, he… He wasn’t telling me the full truth about his intentions.”

“Stanferd, if you tell me you were workin’ with the devil or somethin’-”

“He wasn’t the devil.” Ford quickly interrupted. “He was just… A demon. I presume.”

Fiddleford put his head in his hands. “Stanferd.”

“I know. I messed up. The point is, he wasn’t truthful about the portal. If it were to be activated, uh… Well, he’d get access to this world, I suppose. He said he was to… Take over.” Ford cleared his throat, trying his hardest to look anywhere but Fiddleford.

“There’s a doomsday device in our basement!?” Fiddleford exclaimed.

“It’s not activated yet,” Ford quickly reassured. “I mean, we’ve barely started building it, remember? Despite him– despite that demon being with me for three years-”

Fiddleford took his head out of his hands. “Sorry, hold on. With you?”

“Yes?”

“Stanferd, were you dating a literal demon?”

“Wh- NO! Well… Maybe. Looking back, we definitely had a thing. BUT we never actually, well, dated or anything like- like that.” Ford winced at the implication, but he supposed he’d be a liar to say otherwise.

Finally, he looked up at Fiddleford to try and ascertain his reaction- the two made eye contact, and Fiddleford raised an eyebrow. His knee was bouncing at an unbelievably fast rate. “What is this- this thing’s name anyways?”

“... Bill. Bill Cipher.”

“You dated a demon named Bill.”

“That’s not important right now.” Ford hissed. “Listen- there’s- there’s a problem. We cannot simply just shut down the portal, because Bill is- well, he’s capable of possessing me. When I fall asleep.”

“Oh my god.” Fiddleford muttered.

“I am working on a solution. Until I can figure out how to kill him, I have decided to restrain myself when I sleep. Therefore, if I am possessed, Bill will be incapable of causing any harm.”

“What, so you’re just gonna tie yourself to yer bed?”

“Precisely. Until I can find a way to kill him, that is. I… Do not want him to harm anyone else in the future.”

Fiddleford sat in thought for a few moments before sighing. “And how do you plan to kill this demon?”

“Well, if I was alone, I’d have no clue. But I have Stanley, and I have you, and I am confident that we will find a way together. We’re scientists, remember? We can solve anything if we’re creative enough.”

Fiddleford frowned. “Y’know, if ya hadn’t just confessed to me that you’re bein’ haunted by a demon, what ya just said woulda been really sweet.”

“Heh. Yeah.” Ford looked back down at his feet.

“But you’re right. I’ll help you the best I can- We can figure this out.”

“You’re… Strangely calm about this.” Ford muttered.

Fiddleford laughed, voice strained as he did. “I am most certainly not. Stanferd, my brain feels like it’s about to explode. I’m terrified. I mean, I've never seen ya cry, so that tips me off that this is real serious, an’ you look scared, and you’re never scared, an’... God, what have you gotten yourself into!?” He rolled his chair back a bit. “But… No matter how uncertain the future is, you gotta work like things are going your way, and then they will.”

“Where did you get that wisdom from?” Ford replied.

“Dunno.”

—--------------------------------------------------------------------------—

Stan sat at the kitchen table, scribbling away at his years-old notebook with a ballpoint pen that had seen better days. Every couple of days, he would get a new idea for a story and begin to write the concept, then get distracted by something and never pick the story back up. He’d been doing it for nearly the whole decade since he’d been kicked out, and only once had he continued a story beyond one page. That special idea made it to three before it was dropped.

Just as he was getting into the flow of his latest story- it was soon to reach two pages!- two approaching voices snapped him out of his trance, and he looked up to see Ford and Fiddleford entering the kitchen, chatting away with words that Stan failed to understand.

“Perhaps with the hyperdrive, we could– Oh! Hello, Stanley.” Ford locked eyes with Stan and gave him a small nod. “F and I were discussing possible methods of defeating Bill.”

“I thought he didn’t know about Bill.” Stan raised an eyebrow as Ford moved to the fridge and Fiddleford stopped at the doorway, waving at Stan.

“I didn’t- Stanferd just told me. It… Sure is a lot.” Fiddleford gave a smile that was so weak it was more of a wince than an actual smile. “But wallowin’ will get us nowhere! We gotta get to work.”

“Easier said than done.” Stan grumbled, leaning back in his chair. “I mean, do you defeat a demon?”

“Well,” Ford chimed in as he pulled what looked like an old sandwich from the fridge. “I’ve had a couple ideas, but I don’t believe any of them will work. There is one thing, though.”

“Go on.” Stan shut his notebook and turned his chair to face Ford.

Ford cleared his throat. “If… If there is no other way, we could hypothetically get Bill to possess me, and, well… One of you could kill my body. I believe that could kill him, and-”

“WHAT.” Both Stan and Fiddleford exclaimed at the same time, glaring at Ford.

“Sixer, I’m not going to kill you. There’s going to be another way. You don’t need to fuckin’ sacrifice yourself.” Stan leaned so far forward against the back of the chair it nearly toppled over.

“Yeah, what Lee said.” Fiddleford took a few steps towards Ford, putting a hand on his shoulder. “We will find a way.”

“I know, but-”

“But nothing.” Fiddleford hissed. “Say, I have a better idea. The travellin’ carnival is coming around tomorrow, and you said that among all the fakes there’s always one or two real things. Maybe we could find something there- a spell or a fortune teller who can tell us whether this is pointless, or somethin’. It’ll be a good break for the mind, as well.”

Stan nodded. “I do think we need a break.”

“We don’t have time for breaks, this is…” Ford’s voice trailed off and he sighed. “Fine. Perhaps we can find something to help defeat him there. I will go, but for that purpose, and for that purpose only.”

“Whatever you say.” Stan replied. “I didn’t know you got travelling fairs here. I thought we were in the middle of nowhere.”

Ford shrugged, moving to sit beside Stan. “When you get one carnival one day in the three hundred and sixty five in a year, I believe it’s plausible to still consider this place ‘the middle of nowhere’.”

“Fair.” Stan replied. “Can I have some of that sandwich?”

“Mhm.” Ford tore the sandwich in half, handing the smaller piece to Stan. “I suppose it’s settled, then. We will go to the fair tomorrow.”

Fiddleford nodded, sitting down across from the two. “An’ we have to figure out yer sleepin’ situation. I don’t want a demon goin’ on a joyride in yer body in the middle of the night.”

“Right.” Ford adjusted his glasses. “Stanley, do you know how to restrain people effectively?”

“Yes, and yes, I will tie you to your bed in the most painful way possible.”

“Not– I’d prefer it to be the most secure way possible.”

“I know. I’m kidding.” Stan, after thoroughly inspecting his piece of sandwich, shoved the whole thing in his mouth.

“Oh.” Ford replied, looking down at his own sandwich.

Stan couldn’t help but feel a bit bleak. No matter how much he tried to tell himself that they would figure it out and no matter what, Bill would not win, it felt wrong. The idea that Ford may have to sacrifice himself- that he would probably be okay with it because he believed this was his fault- was haunting.

What would Stan do if he had to kill his own brother?

The next few hours passed by in a blur of “maybe we could try this” and “no that wouldn’t work” and “okay but what if we tried this” that went on and on until the sun had set and everyone was too exhausted to think.

Fiddleford slowly lifted his head from the kitchen table. “We should go to bed. We can- we can figure this out tomorrow at the carnival.”

Stan nodded, glancing outside the window, where the rain had begun to die down. “Yeah. I’ll set Ford up.”

“I don’t need to sleep.” Ford grumbled, staring down at all three of his journals, which he’d spread out across the table for what he claimed to be ‘optimal reading speed’. Stan wasn’t sure if reading three books at the same time was optimal.

“Yes you do.” Stan hissed. “You look exhausted- you’re not gonna get anything done like this. Besides, you promised me you’d sleep.”

“Did I?”

“Well, you said you would. You didn’t promise. But still.”

With a sigh, Ford shut his journals and gathered them into a pile. “Yes, I remember now. Very well, then.”

Stan quickly stood. “I have rope in one of my bags.”

“... Right.” Ford slowly blinked. “I forgot about that. I will be in my room.” Ford slowly lifted himself from his seat and disappeared down the hallway.

“Goodnight!” Fiddleford called. “G’night, Lee. Let me know if ya need anything.” Fiddleford smiled, beginning to sort together the mess of papers that covered the table like a sheet of snow.

“Night.” Stan nodded at Fiddleford and began to head upstairs, his exhaustion threatening to drag him down like a weight. When he made it to his room in the attic, he rummaged around in his bag for a bit, retrieving the rope, but hesitated before heading back down. He decided to bring his sheets and a pillow with him as well.

Walking to Ford’s room, Stan found his brother sitting on his bed, tapping his foot on the floor. They made eye contact and Ford took a deep breath.

“Why’d you bring blankets?” Ford asked.

“I’m gonna sleep on the floor here. I’m not risking Bill finding a way to escape and just having free roam of the place.” Stan chucked the blankets on the floor beside the bed. “Want me to tie your hands or your legs first?”

“I– Legs, I suppose.” Ford pulled his legs to his chest. “Are you sure this will keep Bill from moving? What if he manages to break through?”

“I’m sure. I’d like to think I’m good at this.” Stan crouched down beside the bed and wrapped his first bit of rope around Ford’s ankles several times. He pulled on it to tighten the grip as much as he could without hurting his brother, then tied the best knot he could remember how to make.

“And you’ll be able to untie it in the morning?” Ford attempted to separate his feet to no avail.

“Uh huh. You’ll be fine, Sixer.” Stan grabbed his second length of rope, motioning towards Ford’s arms. “Hands in front of you.”

“Isn’t it safer behind my back?”

“I’m not arresting you.” Stan took his brother’s wrists and did the same to them as he did with his ankles. “... I’m starting to realize that Bill’s still going to be able to crawl around.”

“I thought you were going to actually tie me to the bed.” Ford tilted his head.

“That’s not a bad idea.” Stan grabbed the rest of the rope. “Lay down.”

“Fine.” Ford sighed.

Stan threw the rope across his brother. He then moved to crawl under the bed to retrieve the other end. “Just tell yourself it’s for your own safety.”

After a couple minutes of mindless chatting, the two had decided that Stan had done a decent enough job at tying Ford to the bed, and so they began to settle down. Stan set up a comfortable enough spot on the floor to lay, and within minutes, they were both fast asleep.

Stan was woken by Ford’s voice. Well, for a moment, he thought it was Ford’s, because it sure sounded like him, but it was a bit higher, more shrill, more energized than his brother’s tone.

“Oh Stannleeey!” Ford- rather, Bill possessing Ford’s body, called Stan’s name in a sing-songy tone that scraped through his brain. Stan screwed his eyes further shut, trying his best to ignore the demon. Maybe if he didn’t entertain him, he’d leave Ford alone. A man can hope.

A rustling came from the bed beside Stan, followed by a clearly frustrated groan. “WOWIE! Looks like you can tie someone up! What, do you have experience!?” Bill cackled. The idea that this thing had possessed Ford more than once terrified Stan. “You can’t ignore me forever! I know you’re awake!”

Don’t entertain him.

“I’m not surprised you’re so good at this! After all, I’m sure you’ve had to kidnap PLENTY of people during your time in that gang! HAH! I crack myself up.”

Don’t entertain him.

“... You’re boring.” Stan heard Bill move around for a couple more seconds before sighing. “FINE! I’ll leave your stupid brother alone. I have BETTER things to do with my time anyway. But just know that one day you two will slip up, and when you do, it’s OVER for ALL OF YOU!” Bill cackled one last time before he went quiet, for a minute, then two minutes, then three, then…

“WAKE UP!”

Without thinking, Stan quickly sat up and turned to see Ford staring directly at him. The only way Stan could tell it wasn’t his brother was his wide, manic eyes. They glowed a bright yellow, and the pupils had become thin lines within his irises.

“I KNEW you were just pretending to sleep! You thought I’d just let you have a good night’s rest!? AS IF!” Bill grinned an unnaturally wide grin, and Stan wanted nothing more than to never see his brother’s teeth again.

“Christ, you’re like an annoying toddler.” Stan grumbled, rubbing his eyes. “You’re not even cool-evil. You’re just kinda lame.”

“WHAT!?” Bill tried to lunge at Stan, but the rope pulled him back, and he coughed a couple times, wind seemingly having been knocked out of him. “STUPID…” He wheezed before continuing to cough.

“Hah.” Stan smiled at the sight of the demon failing to understand the workings of a human body, watching for a few moments before rolling over and laying back down onto his pillow. “Goodnight, Bill.” “I HATE YOU!” Bill said between coughs. For the next half an hour, he hurled insults at Stan, but the more he was ignored, the quieter he got, and eventually the room was silent once more.

Stan didn’t sleep for a while. Despite how calm he had managed to remain, his heart was racing nearly as fast as his mind as he tried to go back to sleep. He couldn’t help but wonder what would have happened if he wasn’t there. If Ford had continued to build the portal and finished it and brought doomsday, or if he had realized on his own and Bill possessed him and killed him, or if Stan had arrived too late. He wondered about the present, about how they still didn’t have a good plan to defeat Bill, about how the only solution may be to kill Ford.

Stan did not want to kill his brother.

He’d just gotten him back, and now he could lose him again.

Forever.

Chapter Text

Waking up knowing that you could be experiencing your last day alive was not a pleasant feeling.

With every breath he took, Stanford Pines was acutely aware that he may not have very many left. Sure, he could technically die at any point in time, regardless of the idea of a world-saving sacrifice looming over his head, but it felt more real with the knowledge that he may have to willingly die.

Ford turned over in his bed, eyes slowly adjusting to the light that filtered through the window behind him. His eyes landed on Stanley, soundly sleeping on the floor beside the bed.

In a way, resorting to taking Bill down with him still felt like losing. Bill would die. His worthless, horrible life would be over, and he would be nothing more than the dead stars and planets that came before him. But still, his lack of existence would be happy to know that he got what he wanted in Ford’s death.

He blinked a few times, slowly shifting to sit up.

Did it truly matter? It wasn’t like he would be performing this noble sacrifice to be viewed as a hero. It was a last resort. A way to simply get rid of a stain on the universe. Why did it matter that he was technically losing? It didn’t, Ford determined.

He tip-toed past his brother and out the room, moving up the hall and into the small bathroom.

Surely he wouldn’t have to resort to sacrifice. He would find a solution at the fair and he would defeat Bill and he would be left unharmed. He would be honored as a hero, at least by those who learned of what he did, and…

Pulling back the hair on his neck and looking into the bathroom mirror at an angle to where he could see his side, Ford couldn’t help but stare at the tattoo that branded his neck, written in a foreign language. Bill had claimed it meant ‘Wise One’ in his home language. Perhaps he had been lying about that as well.

… What would he do after he defeated Bill? He had dedicated himself to the portal. He’d already built his whole life goal around it. Without the portal, without the knowledge of the origin of Gravity Falls’ weirdness, he was not sure what he would do once this was all over.

He splashed water onto his face and dragged himself to the kitchen, where Fiddleford leaned against the counter, staring at a pan that sat on the stove. The light above the table flickered.

Fiddleford turned and waved at Ford. “G’mornin’. Breakfast is almost ready, could ya call Lee?”

“Oh- sure. What are you making?” Ford replied.

“Bacon- I thought the protein’d help ya stay energized for the fair today.” Fiddleford smiled. Ford nodded approvingly, then turned to fetch Stan.

Re-entering his room, Ford saw Stan still fast asleep on the ground. He held his pillow to his chest, arms wrapped around it in a tight embrace. His blanket was barely draped over him, only really covering his legs.

“Stanley?” Ford took a step towards his brother. “Fiddleford made breakfast. Come eat.”

Stan groaned, eyes slowly opening as he tilted his head up. “Mmmhh… J?”

“... Er, no. It’s Stanford.” Ford cleared his throat. “Who’s Jay?”

Stan rubbed his eyes as he sat up, blinking at Ford a few times. “Wh…? Oh. Morning, Sixer. I was- I was still half-asleep.” He yawned. “What did you say?”

“Breakfast is ready.”

“Alright.” Stan stretched, then pushed himself up off the ground. “Lead the way, captain.”

“What?” Ford replied. When he got no further explanation from his brother, Ford turned and walked to the kitchen, Stan in tow. They sat in their respective seats beside each other at the kitchen table.

“Just in time!” Fiddleford turned from the kitchen counter with a smile. He slid two plates of just bacon to the brothers, then sat across from them with his own plate.

“... Is that it?” Stan’s voice was hesitant as he motioned down to the bacon.

“Oh- did you want somethin’ else with it?” Fiddleford lifted his head.

“No, it’s just… I dunno, I feel like it usually comes with something else.”

“Well, we had bacon n’ eggs the other day, so…” Fiddleford shrugged.

“I guess.” Stan shoved a piece into his mouth without a fork, as if he was an animal, which Ford briefly thought was odd before he recalled that his brother had never really eaten with utensils. He supposed the strange childhood habit had simply stuck with him all this time.

After a couple lingering moments of silence, Fiddleford spoke up. “So, Lee. What’s yer favorite color?”

“What?” Stan replied, raising an eyebrow. “Uh… Red, I guess.”

“Hm. I thought someone like you would like somethin’ a bit more interestin’.” Fiddleford chuckled, his eyes shining with a warmth that could melt snow (and Ford’s heart).

“The hell is that supposed to mean?” Stan said.

“Dunno, it’s like- whenever you ask someone what their favorite color is, it’s always either red or blue.”

“I like yellow.” Ford interjected.

Stan turned and made eye contact with him, eyes widening then squinting into a look of confusion. Ford almost immediately realized what he had said.

“I mean–” He stuttered. “I- I think red is rather nice.”

“Oh, come on!” Fiddleford held his hands out. “Y’all are both boring.”

“What’s your favorite color then, wise guy?” Stan turned his head back to look at Fiddleford. Ford felt relieved at the redirection of his brother’s judgement.

“I quite like olive.” Fiddleford replied.

“Olive?” Both Stan and Ford said at the same time.

“What? It’s pleasant.”

“Isn’t that, like…” Stan cringed. “Green?”

“Green-ish. It’s a browny green.” Fiddleford tilted his head.

“That’s even worse.” Stan muttered. He then shoved another piece of bacon into his mouth, as if trying to erase the taste of the color olive… If that was a thing.

“You like red!” Fiddleford exclaimed, tone simultaneously accusatory and friendly.

“Mmffh.” Stan grumbled in response, mouth still full.

“So do I.” Ford said. “Wouldn’t the popularity of the color indicate that it’s good?”

Fiddleford’s eyes locked onto Ford’s, and he raised an eyebrow. “I could tell any story from college and you would shut up real fast.”

Ford bit his lip, unsure how to reply.

“That’s what I thought.” Fiddleford laughed.

For a moment, the pleasantness of the morning and the conversation nearly lulled Ford into a sense of security. Nearly. It would be impossible to fully forget about the current happenings, about the stakes of the day ahead of them, about how this breakfast could be his last.

The weight of unspoken words hung over the kitchen table, as if everyone had silently agreed to not bring up what had happened– what could happen.

“Wait, hold on.” Stan looked at Ford, narrowing his eyes. “How did you get untied?”

Ford slowly blinked. How did he get untied? Searching through his memories, he recalled that he had simply woken up that way. Had Bill managed to untie him? Perhaps he had done something while he was asleep- if so, what had he–

“Oh, that was me.” Fiddleford said, interrupting Ford’s spiraling train of thought. “When I was makin’ breakfast I went and freed ya cuz I know you were gonna wake up before Lee.”

“How?” Ford replied.

“Ya really think I can’t untie a couple o’ knots?”

“I Suppose you are correct. But still, that's dangerous. What if Bill tried to possess me when I was untied?”

“Stan was right next to ya, an’ I was in the kitchen. Bill woulda gotten his ass beat right back to where he came from.” Fiddleford dismissed.

“Ah… Okay. I suppose.” Ford nodded, heart beginning to uncontrollably race at the idea of Fiddleford freeing him from his restraints… Having to be so close…

GOD. Was he simply incapable of thinking normally? Everyone always spoke of love like it was some sort of grand, beautiful experience, but Ford just found it to be a nuisance.

“So…” Stan started. “When’s the fair open?”

Fiddleford’s eyes lit up at the question, as if he’d been looking forward to it for a while. Knowing him, he most likely was. “Nine A.M. sharp! It is every year, accordin’ to Stanferd. He says it's the only constant in this town.”

“Well, it's seven right now…” Stan mumbled, seemingly to himself.

Ford looked up at the clock on the wall above the stove. “7:02.” He corrected.

“Same thing.” Stan hissed. “It’s seven right now, so I–” He stood up, carrying an empty plate with him. “-Am going to get ready.”

“Alright.” Ford said, watching his brother as he trudged off out of sight.

Finding himself suddenly alone with Fiddleford, things felt… Different. Different in the sense that he had been alone with Fiddleford plenty of times– they were college roommates, even– but after everything that had happened in the last several days, it was… Not worse. Different really was the only word he could find to describe it.

The knowledge of everything that had happened was suffocating. Ford didn't dare to speak– maybe he should, maybe Fiddleford was noticing that he was acting strange, maybe-

“Say, do you remember what happened at that party?” Fiddleford asked, tilting his head at Ford.

“What party?”

“Well, when I was telling Stan the story about that party back in college, ya got real defensive, like ya didn’t want me to tell it. I honestly thought ya didn’t remember.” He looked away, as if avoiding eye contact. “I- I didn’t intend to actually upset you, by the way. I’m sorry. I realize now that–”

“Wait, hold on.” Ford shook his head. “Number one- I don’t remember exactly what happened, most likely because– well, from what I do remember, I was… inebriated.” He cleared his throat. “And I quite frankly do not want to remember, because the way you were telling the story, it sounded like I did something… Empty-headed.”

“Oh.” Fiddleford smiled. “Alrighty, then. Forget I said anythin’.” He adjusted his glasses.

The two sat in silence for a few moments longer, allowing Ford’s gears to start turning and his curiosity to flick on like a lightbulb. “Did I hurt anybody?” He hesitantly asked.

“No. Ya didn’t do anything illegal.” Fiddleford shook his head.

Ford thought for a couple more seconds, various possibilities coming to his mind, each one no better than the last. “Did I-”

“I thought you didn’t wanna know.”

“No, yeah, you’re right.” Ford flicked his hand in dismissal. “I don’t.”

Several minutes later, Ford had finished his now-cold bacon, avoiding acknowledging Fiddleford’s existence out of fear he would no longer be able to handle being alone with him. Additionally, his throat hurt like he had swallowed shards of glass whenever he spoke. He wasn’t too sure why.

It was cold outside, but not rainy. Ford wore a sweater he was not sure he’d worn since his college days and sweatpants that were most likely not meant to be worn outside. Fiddleford, despite the weather, wore his lab suit and coat- perhaps feeling professional was a tactic to remain calm. Ford didn’t mind, obviously- it looked good on him, and it was probably hard to find clothes that fit his thin, tall form.

Perhaps Ford would die without ever being able to tell Fiddleford the whole truth about how he felt. The thought was simultaneously relieving and miserable. He would never know. Ever. He would go home to his wife and kid and never want to think about Ford again. He couldn’t blame him… But that didn’t stop the idea from hurting.

The sound of running water from upstairs that served as white noise for the otherwise quiet kitchen suddenly ceased, and a few minutes later, Stan came stomping down the stairs. His hair was still slightly wet and beginning to frizz. He wore the same outfit he’d worn the day he arrived, though considerably cleaner as all his clothes had been washed since.

“How long will it take to get to the fair?” Stan called, not bothering to greet the two.

“I’d say it’s a fifteen-minute walk.” Ford replied.

“Let’s get going, then.”

—--------------------------------------------------------------------------—

Literally seconds after the three arrived at the fair (which was apparently called ‘Mama Misfortune’s Travelling Carnival and Freak Show’- a name that was both far too long and far too stupid), Fiddleford had already run off to go watch a pig race. Or something like that. Stan didn’t care.

Finding himself alone with nobody he recognized but his brother, Stan simply followed Ford around as he looked at various items being sold and only identified phony after phony. The fairgrounds were large and the attractions were all pretty low-quality. He didn’t know what he expected, but this wasn’t it.

Maybe it was hopeless.

Eventually, after an amount of time he didn’t bother to count, Stan spotted a tent with a big metal sign sticking out the top, in the shape of a hand. Below it, on the fabric of the tent, the words ‘PALM READER’ were painted out in big sloppy letters.

“Sixer,” Stan prompted his brother, nudging him and pointing towards the tent. Ford placed the glass ball he was inspecting back onto the table from which it came and turned to look where Stan pointed. “Look. We should get your palm read.”

“... Why?” Ford raised an eyebrow at Stan.

“Cuz. You have six fingers, I wanna know how they’ll react. Maybe you can expose them as a con or something since they won’t know what to say.”

“... I suppose we have time to indulge in a bit of entertainment.” Ford narrowed his eyes.

“That’s the spirit!” Stan replied. “Come on, let’s go before a line forms.” He grabbed his brother’s hand and practically dragged him across the fairgrounds, through the crowds, and to the tent, where the two stood for a few moments.

“... Are we meant to knock?” Ford said.

Stan shrugged. “There’s nothing to knock on. Just go in. You first.”

Ford sighed, pushing through the cloth of the tent and crouching down to enter. Stan quickly followed. Inside the tent, Stan was immediately met with the smell of every herb on the planet and the sight of a million crystals. He swore he saw a couple severed hands hiding around, but he couldn’t tell in the dimly lit tent. He was probably just seeing things.

This place is a nightmare.

“Why, hello.” A raspy voice spoke from somewhere within the tent. Looking down, Stan saw a short table surrounded with cushions. At the end opposite to the entrance, an old woman- almost witchly in appearance- looked up at the two with a soft smile. Or was it threatening? “Sit down, sit down. Who am I reading today?”

Stan exchanged a glance with Ford, and the two both sat across from the woman. “Uh…” Stan muttered. “Him.”

The old crone turned and scowled at Ford, and Stan felt infinitely grateful the look wasn’t to him. “And what took you so long, Sixer?”

“Er- my name is Stanford. Stanford Pines.” Ford adjusted his glasses and cleared his throat.

“Mhhhmmm.” The woman scrunched her nose, then turned to pull a pack of tarot cards from under the table. She spread them out in her hands. “Pick three cards. Allow your soul to guide you.”

“What does this have to do with palm reading?” Stan thought out loud.

“SILENCE! You must also pick one card. Your fate is deeply intertwined with his.” The woman hissed, as if picking a card from a deck was the most important thing Stan would ever do.

What’s her problem? Stan thought, this time not out loud, as he grabbed a random card from the deck. Ford placed his three cards down on the table facing down, and Stan mirrored the action, trying not to appear nervous.

The lady cackled the most witchy cackle Stan had ever heard, and flipped the cards over one by one. Depicted on the card were multiple images that Stan failed to understand. The woman, however, gasped when she saw them, eyes widening at the sight. Stan noticed her eyes were green.

“These cards…” She looked up at Ford as if his grandma had just died.

She pointed at the first one- a mountain at night, with a moon reflecting onto a lake below. “Great troubles await you.” She began. Moving her hand to the next card- a snake moving through a two-dimensional triangle- she continued to speak. “Somebody very close is deceiving you.” Then, the third card- A single star shining on an all-black background. “Despite this, you have allies who you should trust, or the evil will overcome you.”

Finally, she motioned to the final card, the one Stan had chosen. On it was a rotary phone, which Stan thought was a little out of place compared to the nature-y drawings on the other cards. “Changes have occurred that go against your fates- both of you. You can use this change to resist the fates and shape the future, or you can allow yourself to fall into the future that has been planned for you by your past. You must choose wisely.”

Then, the woman pulled a ring out from seemingly nowhere. Embedded in it was a blue gem. She handed it to Ford, speaking in a hushed voice. “When this is blue, you may pull through. When this is black, you can’t go back.”

“What, so it’s like a mood ring?” Stan asked.

“I SAID SILENCE!” The woman’s voice boomed through the tent.

“Yeesh, tough crowd.” Stan shrugged. “Are we gonna do the palm reading or not?”

“Yes, I would also appreciate it if we skipped to that.” Ford said.

“Hmph. Fine.” The old woman sighed, moving forward and grabbing Ford’s hand. She moved her own fingers along it. “Your relationships will not last– nobody wants to play with a dog that bites.”

“What?” Ford replied. “I’m not a dog.”

“You act like one sometimes.” Stan joked.

“Hm.” The woman continued on, ignoring the two. “This aligns with your card reading- you have a decision to make, and if you choose wrong, you will never again truly be yourself.” She continued to move her hand along Ford’s. Stan saw his brother wince as she pressed on his palm, but he didn’t say anything. “You are too smart for your own good.”

“I will assume that is a compliment.” Ford muttered, voice strained with either pain or unease- maybe both.

“It isn’t.” She moved her hand up to his pointer finger, which Stan noticed was calloused. “Hm. You need to start thinking before you act… These sores are healing. Perhaps you already have.”

“What about my extra finger?” Ford prompted. “Is that special?”

“It is.” The woman nodded. “In fact, it makes you very special… Say, if you aren’t busy later, what do you say we get some tea?” She smiled an almost toothless smile- something she hadn’t done since the two had entered the tent.

The three sat, completely quiet, for a few moments. Stan was too stunned to speak, and it was obvious his brother felt the same.

After what felt like the most awkward eternity ever, Ford stood up. “No thank you. I’m gay.” Then, he turned to leave, and Stan very quickly followed.

As soon as the two had escaped the tent, they both let out a sigh of relief at the same time, and waited until they were a couple paces away from it to continue talking.

Stan laughed, then nudged his brother with his shoulder. “Good excuse.”

“It’s not an excuse if it’s true.”

“I guess.”

Suddenly, someone had pushed between the twins, turning to look at Ford. When Stan looked up to see who it was, he saw Fiddleford, lab coat tied around his waist. Maybe he’d gotten hot- Stan knew he was after being trapped in that stuffy tent. Deciding that what Fiddleford had done was a good idea, Stan began to remove his own sweater as Fiddleford started talking.

“Stanferd- I found this weird zoo-lookin’ thing, an’ they claim to have ‘monsters’!”

“Which is code for anomalies.” Ford nodded. “Perhaps we can find something there. Stanley, do you wish to come with us?”

Stan didn’t look up to reply, too absorbed in tying his sweater around his torso. “Ehhh, seeing animals in cages isn’t my thing. I’m gonna go find something to eat.”

“Alright, we’ll find you when we’re done.” Ford nodded at Stan, then him and Fiddleford raced off into the crowd, and Stan found himself alone.

Alone and very, very hungry.

—--------------------------------------------------------------------------—

Ford stared down at the dusty floor below him, trying to match the pace of his steps with Fiddleford.

“Sorry for running off earlier.” Fiddleford said, chuckling. Ford looked up at him, but the two did not make eye contact, so Ford turned his head to look forward. “I saw pig racin’, an’ I thought I could win a pretty penny.”

“Did you?” Ford replied.

“Sure did!” Fiddleford dug into his pocket and pulled out two fifty-dollar bills, a grin plastered across his face. “But yeah, I didn't mean to abandon you n’ Lee. What did you two get up to? Find anything useful?”

Ford furrowed his brow, humming in acknowledgement while he thought of a good answer. “Er, You could say that. We found a palm reader and got distracted with that. I wanted to see how she’d react to my extra finger.”

Fiddleford nodded. “Sounds like somethin’ you’d do. And how’d she react?”

“She tried to flirt with me.”

“HAH! So I’m assumin’ she was a fraud?” Fiddleford replied- the sudden loud sound of his laugh made Ford flinch.

“Not exactly.” Ford shook his head, trying to resync his steps with Fiddleford’s, nearly tripping over his own feet in the process. “Some of her.. Predictions were frighteningly accurate.”

“How so?” Fiddleford turned to face Ford, leaning slightly forward.

“Well, she started with a tarot card reading, and she said that someone I’m close with is betraying me. Which, you know, immediately strikes me as…” Ford cleared his throat. “But then she told me that I need to pick who to trust, and that I have some sort of big decision to make.”

Fiddleford’s eyes widened. “That does sound accurate.”

“Mhm. Then she told me that I’m ‘too smart for my own good’, which makes no sense to me. Intelligence is a positive attribute. How can you be too smart?” Ford shrugged, looking back down at his feet. “Then she told me that I need to think before I act, and that makes me believe that there is a solution we can find.”

“To… Destroy Bill?” Fiddleford asked.

“Yes. To destroy Bill. Perhaps the solution can be found in one of the anomalies in the zoo. We’re close, I can feel it.”

“To the solution or to the zoo?”

“Huh?” Ford finally noticed that the two had stopped walking, and when he looked up, he saw the entrance to a large tent- large enough to clearly be the main attraction to the fair- with a wooden sign beside it that read ‘Mama Misfortune’s Crazy Creature Enclosure’ in some of the worst spraypainted handwriting he’d ever seen. “Oh. Both, I suppose.”

“C’mon, let’s go!” Fiddleford grabbed Ford’s hand, yanking him into the tent as he tried to maintain his balance.

Entering the tent, Ford lifted his head to see… Not much. A large crowd of people all gathered around a couple of enclosures. Upon further inspection (A moment of his time to look into the cages), Ford’s heart sank.

The first cage contained a dead chicken duct taped to a rather miserable looking gorilla. The rest contained similar abominations. A smaller enclosure had several rabbits with crab corpses glued to their backs. Within a medium-sized cage rested two very alive raccoons tied to each other with a rope, practically biting each others’ heads off as they fought.

Why had he gotten his hopes up? The two continued to explore the ‘zoo’ (if you could call it one) in hopes that not every ‘monster’ was fake. Instead, they encountered fraud after fraud, poor abused creature after poor abused creature.

“Surely there’s more…” He muttered, taking a step forward, deeper into the crowd, which he had become acutely aware of the extremely loud presence of. “There has to be something here. There… There has to be.”

“Stanferd, it’s alright.” Fiddleford made eye contact with Ford, expression hernest. “We’ll find something. Maybe it won’t be here, but we’ll find something.”

Ford leaned forward, putting his hands on his knees as the world spun around him, the hay floor below him warping and distorting every time he blinked. Saliva began to form in his mouth and he swallowed it down, trying his hardest not to throw up in public, in front of everyone, in front of Fiddleford. All the sounds and smells around him felt as if they’d been amplified tenfold.

CAN’T SOMETHING JUST GO RIGHT FOR ONCE?

Ford sunk his nails into his own thighs, hissing in pain as he did. A small amount of drool dribbled out of his mouth and onto the ground. He wasn’t angry. He wasn’t sad. He was just defeated. The stupid fortune teller had told him he had to make a decision, and he had foolishly, selfishly believed that it meant he would find a way.

I SHOULD HAVE NEVER GOTTEN MY HOPES UP.

He felt a hand on his back, and he flinched, but upon realizing it was Fiddleford’s hand, he allowed himself to lean into it. A soft, kind voice came from beside him.

“Hey.” Fiddleford whispered. “Deep breaths. In…” Fiddleford inhaled as he spoke, and Ford latched onto his words, focusing on nothing but following his instructions. “Out.” Fiddleford continued, drawing circles on Ford’s back with his palm.

For an amount of time Ford could not determine, perhaps seconds, perhaps minutes, Fiddleford guided him through existence, through breathing, through not throwing up in the middle of a fair. He allowed himself to fall into peace for just a few moments.

“Let’s get out of here.” Fiddleford intertwined his fingers with Ford’s, pulling him up and into a slow walk towards the exit. As they walked, as Ford began to find his footing, he looked up at his friend.

“How did you know how to do that?” Ford asked.

“Do what?” Fiddleford tilted his head at Ford as they made eye contact.

“Calm me down like that. Typically, you don’t do well in stressful situations.”

“Parental instinct.” Fiddleford replied. “I sure ain’t good at keepin’ myself calm, but when it’s someone else, it’s not as hard.” He smiled. “I miss Tate.”

Ford waited until they had exited the ‘zoo’ before taking a deep breath, and the two found a bench to sit on as he continued to attempt to fully regulate himself.

Finally, when Ford found himself able to talk again, he did. “I have been…” He looked down at his shaky hand. “I’ve been getting whatever those are more often.”

“They’re called panic attacks.” Fiddleford replied. “It’s a new term– Emma-May’s a psychologist so I know a bit about this sort of thing. It’s basically when yer real stressed n’ yer brain just-” He snapped, most likely for emphasis, “-Shuts down. It’s reasonable that you’ve been gettin’ them. I can’t imagine how stressed you are.”

“Oh.” Ford began to crack his knuckles. “Well, they really aren’t helping. I feel like I’m dying every time I get one.”

“You’ll survive.” Fiddleford said. Not knowing how to reply, Ford did not.

As the two sat holding hands, unspeaking, a thought from earlier in the day came to Ford’s mind. What if this was the last time he’d properly hang out with Fiddleford? What if he never got the chance to tell him how he felt?

Ford looked up into his friend’s eyes. He opened his mouth, closed it, then opened it again and spoke as loud as he could muster, which ended up being only barely audible amongst the volume of the fair–

“I love you.”

And although the words had come out strained, unnatural, they had still come out, and Fiddleford had heard them, and he’d said it.

“I know.” Fiddleford whispered.

“What?”

Fiddleford smiled. “I said I know. Love ya too, friend.”

Ford smiled back, the best smile he could bring himself to give despite the aching of his heart, and leaned into Fiddleford, resting his head on his shoulder. “... Yeah.” He muttered. “Yeah.” He didn’t know what he expected to get in response. Fiddleford had a wife and a kid. It still stung a bit, though.

Ford stood up, legs still weak. “I- I’m not feeling well. I need some time alone. Go have fun without me, I’ll- I’ll be fine. Just…”

Then his legs willed him to run, and he was too tired to go against their decision, so he ran.

—--------------------------------------------------------------------------—

“Here you go.”

Stan took his hotdog from the person handing it to him, nodding him a thanks.

“Y’know…” The seller continued. “Your hair is quite pretty.”

“I’m a guy.” Stan replied, not looking up from the hotdog. “I appreciate the compliment, though.”

“Oh.”

“Could you not tell from my voice?”

“I thought you were just sick.”

“Great. Bye.” Stan turned and walked away from the stand, back into the crowd of fair-goers. Just as he was about to take a bite of his hotdog, someone ran past him, bumping into him, and the hotdog fell to the dusty floor. “Hey!” He shouted after the person, but they had already run too far away, and…

Wait, was that…?

Confirming his suspicions, Fiddleford of all people emerged from the crowd, chasing the person who had run past Stan. “Stanferd, wait–!” He stopped in his tracks, turning and blinking at Stan, eyes widening, knee bouncing.

“... Hey.” Stan said.

“Lee! Did you see where Stanferd went? He- he got upset, an’ I thought I’d calmed him down, but then he just skedaddled off.” Fiddleford frantically replied.

“He probably just needs alone time. He gets like that sometimes. He’s been like this since… Since we were kids, I guess.” Stan shook his head. “He’ll be back.”

“... You’re right. He used to do this in college as well. It just worried me, I s’pose.” Fiddleford looked around. “So, uh… Where’ve you been?”

“Well, I was just about to eat, but…” Stan motioned down at the floor-hotdog dejectedly. “It’s whatever. Come on, let’s find somewhere less crowded.” He looked back up at Fiddleford, smiling with his teeth. When he remembered that he was missing two and they probably looked stupid, he settled for a closed-mouth smile instead.

Fiddleford nodded, and the two found a quiet enough spot by the edge of the forest to sit and relax. It wasn’t very comfortable, but it was something, and being away from all the people was relief enough to sacrifice comfort.

“So, uh…” Stan began. “What exactly happened?”

Fiddleford sighed. “Well, he got real confident about the zoo havin’ our big solution. Some sort of crazy anomaly, or somethin’. The fortune teller got his hopes up, I reckon. But… Well, there wasn’t anythin’ there. Real or useful. He got real panicked but I managed to calm him down. Then, when we were chattin’ a couple minutes later, an’ he told me he loved me, an’ I said I loved him too cuz, y’know, he’s my best friend. Then he gave an excuse and just ran off.” He frowned. “I’m worried I did somethin’ wrong.”

Shit.

“Okay, for starters, it’s not your fault.” Stan muttered. “Sixer just has this- this thing. With… Uh.” Since when was he so bad at lying? It had literally been all he’d done for the last decade. “With that phrase. Yeah.”

Fiddleford raised an eyebrow at Stan. Shit, he wasn’t buying it. “But he said it first?” Fiddleford questioned. “I mean, I wasn’t lying, I do love him, but–”

Then he paused, eyes widening.

“Oh.” Fiddleford slowly blinked, mouth slightly agape. “Oh. He… He loves me, doesn’t he?”

“Please don’t tell him I told you, but…” Stan couldn’t bring himself to verbally confirm Fiddleford’s suspicions, so he slowly nodded.

“I really messed up, didn’t I?” Fiddleford leaned over, groaning into his hands. “Why would- why would he try an’ confess to me? He knows I’m married! Hell, I have a kid!”

“I honestly have no clue. He’s not the type of person to do anything like that unless it’s ‘logical’.” Stan shrugged. “It really isn't your fault, though. He chose to do that, so it’s his fault. He chose, like, the worst possible time.”

“Yeah.” Fiddleford said. “But… I understand. He probably isn’t sure if he’s gonna make it through this, cuz… Y’know. Love is weird and it makes you do weird things. Honestly, I’m not sure how I didn’t realize sooner– That he loved me, that is.”

Stan hummed. “How so?”

“Well, we were very close in college, y’know? An’ we were both pretty relaxed about it, but he was always a little less relaxed. Like, he enjoyed being with me, but he was always really awkward. I always just assumed it was because he was antisocial.”

Stan nodded, slowly standing up. “Well, there’s no point in moping. Why don’t we go do something fun while we’re still here?”

“Sure!” Fiddleford replied, looking up at Stan. “I’ve been eyeing some of the carnival games, but Stanferd isn’t the type of person to engage in ‘em. You?”

“I love that sort of thing.” Stan remarked. “I know they’re all scams, but they’re fun, y’know? I think some fun is worth the money.”

“Exactly! You don’t always have to win. I am mighty good at ring-toss’, though.”

“Let’s go do that, then.” Stan stretched- his back cracked twice- then turned and helped pull Fiddleford off the ground. “I’m pretty sure the ring-toss booth is over that way.” He said, both to himself and to Fiddleford. Fiddleford nodded, and the two began to head off in the direction that he had motioned towards.

Stan cleared his throat, glancing over at Fiddleford. “So, Fidds- can I call you Fidds?”

“Hell yeah! That’s a great nickname.” Fiddleford beamed, and for a moment Stan sort of understood why Ford liked him. He wasn’t really Stan’s type- like, at all- but he looked nice when he smiled.

“Alright. So, Fidds, you talk about missing your family a lot. Where are you from?”

“Well, I was born an’ raised in Tennessee, on a hog farm, but…” As Fiddleford started talking, Stan used the moment of not having to hold his end of the conversation to zone out, disconnect from the world for a bit. He desperately needed the break.

And throughout the thinking about having to sleep on the floor again and red maybe being a basic color and the loss of his hotdog, somewhere in the forest of thoughts, Stan realized something that had been lost to him for the last decade.

He was alive.

Sure, he had been alive this whole time, but he hadn’t really acknowledged it, because that was just a fact of life. In order to think, he had to be alive. Duh. But still…

He was alive.

That was pretty neat.

“... An’ after the wedding, we moved to Palo Alto- that’s in California- an’ that’s where we had Tate. We’ve lived there ever since. I’m just here to help out Stanferd with his… You know about the project now, right? I’m assumin’ he told you?” Fiddleford looked at Stan as if expecting an answer.

“Oh- well, uh- I found out, yeah. The portal?” Stan replied.

“Yeah, the portal.” Fiddleford nodded. “I know now, in hindsight, that it was a horrible idea from the start. But what can you do? Ya just gotta keep movin’ forward.”

“Mhm.” Stan nodded. “Speaking of moving forward, we’re here.” He pointed at the ring-toss booth, which was now just a meter away. “I’m so gonna kick your ass at this.” He smiled.

“Oh, you’re on.”

—--------------------------------------------------------------------------—

Ford sat on the floor of his living room, one leg crossed over the other, hunched over his own journal from years ago. Below him was a red carpet with a depiction of Bill on it- he’d placed his journal over its eye so it couldn’t see him. The more he looked around his home, the more he realized the extent to which he had worshipped this being. He was everywhere.

Ford put his head in his hands, moving his hands down and pulling down his bottom eyelid. He then lightly slapped his face a few times to wake himself up. He flipped the page to one about a mushroom he had discovered and named ‘Fairy’s Harness’. Its spores would target your mind and temporarily make one’s limbs move outside of their control. If only he could target the demon within his own mind and destroy it…

Ford’s ponderings were cut short by the sound of the door slamming open, followed by two chatting voices entering the house.

“Honey, I’m home!” A distinctive voice- Stanley’s distinctive voice- called from the study. A few more moments of barely audible conversation between him and Fiddleford passed, then Stan entered the living room, both hands behind his back.

“Hello.” Ford looked up at Stan, stretching his back after having been hunched over for the last however long it had been.

“I come bearing gifts.” Stan used his head to motion down to where his hands were- still behind his back- and grinned. “Pick a hand.”

“Er… My left– I mean, your left.” Ford pointed to Stan’s left hand for emphasis, in case his brother still did not know his directions. Stan pulled his left hand out, revealing it to be holding a bag of jelly beans. Ford raised an eyebrow. “I thought you did not like jelly beans.”

“I literally just said it was a gift.” Stan chucked the bag at Ford, who caught it– for a moment, before it slipped out of his hands and onto the floor. “Good catch.” Stan said.

“Thanks.” Ford looked back up at his brother, who still had one hand behind his back. “What’s in your other hand?”

“Do you own a fish tank?” Stan asked completely out-of-the-blue. He still had a dumb smile plastered across his face.

“He does!” Fiddleford’s voice called from the kitchen. He then poked his head in through the doorless doorway, entering the living room and plopping himself onto the couch. “No fish, though.”

“I used to study them, but I believe most of the fish here are normal.” Ford clarified. “Why do I need a fishtank? Did you win a goldfish at the fair or something?”

“Better.” Stan proclaimed, pushing his other hand practically into Ford’s face. In his hand was the stereotypical fair winning-goldfish bag, but in lieu of a goldfish, there sat an odd reptilian creature with frills on its face.

“We won it in ring-toss.” Fiddleford chimed in, leaning forward on the couch. “The guy said it was called an axolotl. Apparently they’re native to Mexico.”

“Fascinating.” As gently as he could, Ford took the bag from his brother, staring at the pink salamander within. It did not move aside from occasionally flicking its tail. “We must give it a better home than this- It can barely move. I will prepare its tank immediately.” He stood, attempting to dig up the memory of the location of his tank.

“What are you gonna name him?” Stan prompted as Ford thought.

“Oh- er… Frilliam.” Ford landed on the name, and quite honestly felt proud of himself for it. The creature had frills, and it looked distinguished enough to have a name like William, so he believed it fit well. “His name will be Frilliam. Stanley, will you help me prepare his tank? I believe it is in the study, and it will just need water- It should still be decorated from when I kept fish.”

Stan nodded. “On it.”

“I’ll start preparin’ dinner- it’s already gettin’ dark out.” Fiddleford lifted himself from the couch. He exchanged a look with Stan, which Ford presumed they did not think he would notice. He could not help but wonder why.

And so, the three got to work- Fiddleford in the kitchen, Stan and Ford outside with the tank that they had indeed found in his study. Ford was grabbing the hose from the side of the cabin, and Stan simply trailed behind.

“The guy gave us a pamphlet on how to care for Frilliam.” Stan dug through his pocket and held up a folded piece of paper. “You need to keep the water at… I think it was sixty degrees?”

“I can do that.” Ford nodded. “Will hose water suffice? It is clean, but…” He shook his head. “We should use tap water.” He concluded.

“Alright– but, hey, while we’re still out here…” Stan took a step forward, approaching Ford as he put the hose back in its place.

“Hm? Is something wrong?”

“Not really.” Stan said. Ford must have made a face, because he quickly added on, “No- no, nothing’s wrong. I just, uh… I heard what happened with Fidds.”

“Fidds?” Ford narrowed his eyes.

“That’s what I’m calling him now. Easier than saying his full name.” Stan flicked his hand in dismissal. “Don’t change the topic- I said, I heard about what happened.”

“How so?” Ford bit his lip.

Stan sighed. “Y’know… You, uh- I’m guessing you were trying to confess to him or something.” He ran a hand through his long hair. “Listen, man- I hate to be the dictator of your love life, but, like, maybe now isn’t a good time.”

“Did he- did he find out!?” Ford’s eyes widened. “Did you tell him?”

“No– no, he- uh- he doesn’t know.” Stan stammered.

Ford groaned. “Okay- that’s good. I didn’t… I didn’t mean to do that. It just came out. I know it’s not a good time. It… Won’t happen again, I suppose.

“Great. Uh, nice chat.” Stan shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “Are we gonna go fill the tank or what?”

“Right.” Ford nodded, and the two lifted the tank from the floor once more, carrying it into the kitchen, where Fiddleford was stirring something within a pot. They placed the tank down- it did not fit in the sink, but they managed to get it under the tap with a bit of finessing.

“Okay.” Stan muttered, turning on the tap. “That’ll take a few minutes.” Ford nodded in response, taking a step back.

“Once it’s full, we’ll slowly introduce Frilliam to the new water temperature.” Ford said. He turned to Fiddleford, peering into the pot. “Spaghetti?” He asked.

“Yup!” Fiddleford pulled his hand away from the pot, placing down the spatula he used to stir it and putting his arm by his side. Following it with his eyes, Ford couldn’t help but notice the several dotted scars that ran down his arm, a constant reminder of the gremloblin’s attack.

“Say… How are you doing? After what happened.” Ford lowered his voice, motioning down to Fiddleford’s arm to indicate what he was referring to.

Fiddleford looked down at his arm. “Huh?” He murmured. “Whaddaya mean?”

“Y’know… With the gremloblin.”

Fiddleford blinked at Ford, seemingly confused, as if he had no clue what he was talking about. After a few moments, his eyes widened. “Oh– Um, I’m doin’ fine.” He weakly smiled. “Juuuuust peachy.”

“You don’t sound ‘just peachy’.” Stan called from behind Ford.

“Stanley.” Ford hissed. Without thinking too hard about what it was he was doing, he grabbed Fiddleford’s arm to further inspect it. “Are you sure it isn’t infected? It looks a little red…”

“What– What are ya doin’?” Fiddleford said, flinching.

Ford squinted, adjusting his glasses to get a better look at the scars. “Making sure it’s healing well- we have… Been neglecting it, now that I think about it.”

“I- I’m fine, Stanferd, really.” Fiddleford pulled his arm away. Now feeling a tad bit awkward, Ford took a few steps back.

“If you say so.” Ford looked down at his feet. “Er… When’s the spaghetti going to be done?”

“Any minute now.” Fiddleford replied.

He was correct- just a few minutes later, the three were sitting at the dinner table, all nibbling away at their respective bowls of spaghetti. (Aside from Stan, who had cleaned his bowl in maybe two minutes.) It was quiet- not a comfortable, familiar silence, but a worrying, awkward silence.

Finally, Fiddleford cleared his throat. “Alright, a lot’s happened today, and we still don’t know what to do about the demon. Has anybody gathered any ideas?”

“Well, I was thinking about returning to the cave I summoned Cipher from.” Ford replied, poking his spaghetti with his fork. “I failed to record the cave paintings in my journals during my first visit, so perhaps they have some sort of clue.”

“That’s somethin’.” Fiddleford nodded. “Lee?”

“Me?” Stan pointed at himself, eyes widening.

“Yes, you.”

“Uh… Ford told you about the fortune teller, right?”

“Yes, he did.”

“Okay, then I’ve got nothing.”

Fiddleford sighed. “Oookay. We can… It’s only the first- second day. We still have time to sort this out. Right, Stanferd?”

Ford nodded. “Theoretically, we have as much time as we need. I do worry that the longer this takes, the more likely we are to make some sort of mistake that would allow Cipher to… To cause havoc, I suppose. So ideally, we figure this out as soon as possible.”

“Great.” Fiddleford replied. “Maybe tomorrow, with that cave. We’ll restrain you again tonight, an’ tomorrow, we kill that demon.”

Ford nodded. “It’s good to stay hopeful.” Despite what he had just said, despite being surrounded by people who were helping him, Ford still felt… Bleak.

What if this is my last dinner?

—--------------------------------------------------------------------------—

Stan opened his eyes and immediately wished he could glue them back shut. He found himself on the floor again, in a room that wasn’t his, beside a bed where his brother slept soundly. No possessions yet, thank god.

After a couple more minutes of trying to force his body to fall asleep by pretending it already was, Stan decided that he probably needed to go to the bathroom- he wasn’t very good at differentiating his needs. Maybe he was actually hungry or thirsty or just tired.

Finally, he quietly groaned, pushing himself up off the bed. He tip-toed out the room and just down the hall where the door to the downstairs bathroom was. He tried and failed multiple times to find the doorknob with his eyes still half-closed– he hoped that by not opening them, he would stay sleepy. Finally, he managed to open the door, and–

Stan immediately moved to shut the door again when he saw that 1. The lights were on, and 2. Fiddleford stood at the sink, holding something to his head, and– wait, what the hell was that?

Freezing up, Stan witnessed Fiddleford pull the trigger, and a blue flash overcame his vision, accompanied by the sound of crackling electricity. After a few moments, the light faded, and Fiddleford hovered over the sink, lowering the…

The memory gun.

Stan had read about it when he’d stolen borrowed Ford’s journal the previous day, but… Ford had written that it had been disposed of, that it hadn’t been used.

“Fidds?” Stan whispered.

Fiddleford spun around, hugging the memory gun to his chest. His eyes widened as they met Stan’s. “Wh- Lee, what are ya–”

“Fidds, put that down.” Stan took a step forward. “I- I know what that is. Sixer told you not to use it. Put it down.”

Fiddleford tightened his grip on the gun. “I can’t.” He breathed.

“I don’t wanna have to take it from you.” Stan took another step towards Fiddleford, who suddenly moved to do something with the gun, twisting a dial on the back of it for a few moments, then–

– he pointed the memory gun at Stan–

– Stan, without thinking, leapt into action. He moved forward and grabbed the end of the gun and pushed it down so it was facing the floor. He pulled as hard as he could, yanking it out of Fiddleford’s grip. Stan stumbled back into the door, and Fiddleford fell forward onto the tiled floor below him.

“Shit–” Stan hissed.

“Lee, please, I- You can’t take this from me, it’s all I have–” Fiddleford crawled forward, hands trembling. “I can’t– I can’t let myself remember…”

Stan pressed himself further against the door. He didn’t know what to say or do, he just stood there, looking down at Fiddleford. “This…” He muttered. “This isn’t going to help you.”

Fiddleford slowly pushed himself off the ground, reaching out a trembling hand and letting it fall onto the memory gun. Stan pulled the gun away from him, using his available hand to gently push him back.

“What are you doing?” Stan said. “Are you okay?”

“I need- I need to recover- I need to erase– I…” Fiddleford put a hand to his head as he swayed, legs threatening to give in under his own weight. “I don’t remember… Need… Need sleep… A lot.”

“Okay, let’s, uh- let’s get you to bed. This thing’s clearly messing with your head.” Stan leaned forward and wrapped an arm around Fiddleford. “We’re gonna figure out… Whatever this is in the morning.” Allowing Fiddleford to lean on him, Stan slowly walked with him as he continued to mutter words he barely understood.

“Lee… I really, um… Need help.”

“I know, pal.” Stan had expected Fiddleford to be a lot heavier, considering how tall he was, but he really wasn’t. Either Stan was stronger than he thought he was, or Fiddleford was just really thin. “I don’t blame you for using that thing, though. A memory-wiping gun does sound pretty appealing– God knows I could go without some memories.”

“Do ya… Wanna try?” Fiddleford’s words slurred as he spoke, almost as if he was drunk. Stan guessed it was some sort of side effect from the memory gun.

“Hell no.” Stan shook his head. “You- I hate to say it, but you look terrible. I’ve done my rounds with that sort of thing.” He sighed. “Why did you point it at me? Were you going to erase my memory of seeing you?”

“Yeah, but… My mind wasn’t in the right place. Still ain’t. I would never…”

“I know, but you almost did. If it had been Ford, or anyone who didn’t know how to react to that sort of thing, you would’ve gotten them. That thing’s dangerous, Fidds.” Using the hand with the memory gun still in it, he struggled to open the door to Fiddleford’s bedroom, but he did after a few moments. “People do crazy shit when they’re addicted.”

“I’m not addicted.” Fiddleford muttered. “I’ve only used it… Three or four times, I’d reckon.”

“Yeah, and it's been, like, one or two days since you made the damn thing.” Stan replied as he led Fiddleford to his bed. “We’re having this conversation when you’re more conscious. Go to sleep.”

“Mmhh… Fine.” Fiddleford muttered, pulling his blanket over himself. “G’night, Stanferd…. I mean- g’night, Lee.”

Stan sighed. “Goodnight, Fidds.”

He didn’t sleep very well that night. The knowledge that the memory gun was on Ford’s bedside table, just feet away from him, accessible by Bill if he managed to break through the restraints, was terrifying. He could get up from his makeshift floor-bed and move it, but he was tired and confident enough that Bill wouldn’t be able to break through.

Stan wished that they could just erase Bill in the same way that Fiddleford had simply erased his own memories.

… Maybe they could.

Chapter Text

Stan did not sleep. He existed in a state of consciousness between worlds, yes, but he did not really sleep. Every ten seconds, he’d forget what he was previously thinking about, but he knew he had not fallen asleep and he was thinking about something.

At a point in the very early morning where he was more awake than asleep, Stan decided he might as well make himself fully awake, and so he got up, deciding to untie his brother like Fiddleford had the previous day, still leaving him to rest. He took the memory gun with him as he dragged himself back up to the nice bathroom upstairs to shower.

Maybe his idea would work, he thought, as he rinsed his hair. Maybe he would be the one to figure out how to kill Bill, and he’d have actually been good for something for once in his life.

After all of this, he’d get his hair cut to a more reasonable length. Not as short as Ford’s, he didn’t want to be mistaken for his brother out in the wild. Maybe shoulder-length. He just didn’t like it brushing against his back with every movement he made.

After a couple moments too long staring into the mirror, like he had been doing for so long it was starting to get boring, Stan decided to take a rubber band that had been sitting on the counter since he’d arrived, slipping it over his hand and around his wrist. Just to wake himself up, he pulled on it then let go, allowing it to snap against his arm. The sting did a pretty decent job of pulling him back into reality.

With the first task of the day complete, Stan quickly moved to his second task- having a good conversation with Fiddleford before Ford woke up.

This place would be more convenient if it was just one floor, Stan thought as he went downstairs and down the hall for the millionth time that week. The whole place was poorly designed overall. He knocked at Fiddleford’s door in that rhythm that every annoying person ever knocked in. He heard the movement of something, followed by a “Come in!”

Entering the room, Stan found himself in one of the most cluttered messes he’d seen. That was a lie. He’d seen much worse. But still, it was pretty damn cluttered.

“G’mornin, Lee! What brings you here?” Fiddleford sat at a chair by his desk, which he had turned to face the door. He was holding a banjo, which he put down beside him. He wore what must have been his pajamas- a white t-shirt and gray shorts.

“Uh… Do you remember what happened last night?” Stan started, trying his best to ease Fiddleford into the conversation. He held up the memory gun, which was still in his hand, in hopes of jogging his memory. “Like, at all?”

Fiddleford nodded. “... Vaguely. I, um. Yeah.” He sighed. “You’re right, Lee, I really shouldn’t be usin’ the thing. I don’t know if it’s good for me or…”

“I’m glad we can agree on that.” Stan leaned against the doorframe. “How many times have you used this– the memory gun?”

“Um- three or four times, I’d reckon. Just to get rid o’ the real bad memories, I think.” Fiddleford shrugged. “I can’t know for sure what it is I erased– obviously. That’s… Kinda the point.” He weakly chuckled, grimacing.

Stan took a deep breath, speaking as he exhaled. “Okay. You were also really dazed when I found you. What was that about?”

“I get like that after usin’ it. It’s one of the side effects, but I’m tryin’ to–”

“One of the side effects?” Stan interrupted, raising an eyebrow. He put a hand out. “What the hell else does it do? How dangerous is this thing?”

“Well, I’ve started gettin’ headaches since I’ve been usin’ it.” Fiddleford said. “I’ve also noticed that I’m a lot less alert? Like, my guard’s nearly almost down, but at the same time, I’ve been a lot more nervous… Somehow.”

“What, so it’s like you’re high?”

“If that’s what bein’ high is like.” Fiddleford replied. “I’ve never been. But yeah, there’s quite a few side effects. The memory gun is still a prototype.”

Stan snapped, remembering the other half of what he had wanted to talk to Fiddleford about. “I actually have a question about that.”

“Ask away.”

“How does this thing, like, actually work?” Stan shook the memory gun. “In non-nerdy terms.”

“Oh, well… That’s not what I thought you’d ask. Um…” Fiddleford leaned back in his chair. “Well, each memory is connected to a neurological pathway- like, a part of your brain, I s’pose. The memory gun finds and targets that pathway, then it sends a wave of radiation to it that sorta pulls it apart. Then, it copies that memory an’ turns it into a tape in case I ever need it again. The tape function isn’t quite workin’ yet, though. Does that make sense?”

“Sort of.” Stan bit at the inside of his mouth. “So, if there was something else in your brain that you wanted to erase that wasn’t a memory, would it be able to get rid of that as well?”

“I s’pose.” Fiddleford shrugged. “You’d just have to input it with the dial. Why?”

Stan looked down at the memory gun, running his available hand down it. “So if someone was… Y’know, possessed by a demon?”

Fiddleford’s eyes widened, and he sat up in his chair a little bit. “Stanley Pines, you are a genius. We could– To destroy Bill? That could work. Have you told Stanferd about this?” His knee began to bounce- Stan wasn’t too sure if he was more excited or nervous.

“No, not yet. He’s still asleep. You really think it’ll work?”

“Maybe! We’ll have to ask him, though. He knows Bill better than both of us.” Fiddleford stood up. “Why don’t we wake him up an’ ask him now?”

Stan nodded in response, pushing himself off the doorframe. “I don’t see why not.”

And so, Stan went back to Ford’s room, Fiddleford in tow, and slowly, cautiously creaked open the door. When he did, he saw his brother sitting upright on his bed, legs crossed over each other, scribbling something in his journal. The sheets had seemingly been thrown off the mattress, and he looked slightly distressed as he wrote.

Stan cleared his throat to make his presence known. “Morning.”

“Oh! Good morning.” Ford lifted his head, meeting his frantic gaze with Stan’s. “Come in, come in. You two– your conversation woke me. Do you need something?”

“Sorry for that,” Fiddleford began, entering the room and sitting down on the pile of sheets Stan had called his bed the last two nights. Aware of being the only person in the room standing up (and a bit self-conscious of it for no good reason) Stan sat down next to Fiddleford. “We wanted to talk to you about somethin’- we think we know how to defeat Bill, but… Y’know, yer the knowledgeable one about this sorta–”

“Wait, you think you-” Ford shook his head, eyebrows raising. He immediately placed his journal down. “Do tell.”

“Well, Lee came up with the idea.” Fiddleford smiled softly. He nudged Stan’s arm with his own.

“Uh, yeah. I guess I did.” Stan realized that he’d have to tell Ford that the memory gun had not been destroyed like he previously thought it had been. Why should he be left to spill Fiddleford’s business? “I was… Thinking about the memory gun.” He pulled it from behind him, where he had put it down when he entered the room. “I read about it in your journal, by the way. Fidds hadn’t destroyed it yet, lucky me, haha. I, uh… I thought that since it could wipe memories, maybe it could get rid of other things in the brain, and when Bill possesses you, I’m guessing he’s in your brain and…”

Ford gasped, interrupting wherever it was that Stan’s ramblings were going. “We could erase him with the memory gun, yes. That… Hm.” He looked up thoughtfully, leaning back where he sat.

“Do ya think it’d work?” Fiddleford prompted.

Ford sighed. “Maybe, but… What if it doesn’t?”

“But what if it does?”

“... I… I don’t know. But… That does give me an idea. We could…”

—--------------------------------------------------------------------------—

Ford took a deep breath– he wasn’t used to actively participating in such a long conversation, he had not done so in many years. The sun had risen and now beamed onto Ford’s back. But this was important. They knew how they were going to destroy Bill.

“... Okay. So, we’re all on the same page about this?” Ford lifted his head, looking at Stan and Fiddleford, who glanced at each other then back at Ford. They both nodded.

“Sure are.” Fiddleford replied. “When do ya think we should go through with the plan? We don’t wanna rush into something as… Y’know, important as this, do we?”

Ford crossed his arms over his chest. “Under typical circumstances, I would agree with you. But these circumstances are not normal, and the longer we wait, the more likely it is Cipher finds out about this plan, and the more likely we are to fail.”

“What, so we’re doing it now!?” Stan leaned forward, eyes widening. “What if this isn’t a good idea? What if something bad happens?”

“We won’t know until we try, unfortunately.” Ford glanced away from his brother, choosing instead to look at his journal beside him. “We don’t have time, Stanley. He could be watching us right now. Besides, you’ll have time. It will take me a while to contact him.”

There was quiet for a few moments, then a sigh from Stan. “Alright. Fine. Whatever. I think we’re rushing, but you know best.”

Fiddleford stood, approaching Ford, who still didn’t dare to pull his gaze from his journal. “Hey.” Fiddleford whispered. “Look at me.”

Ford did.

“Ultimately, this is yer decision, because it’s you who this affects the most. An’ I respect your decision to get this over an’ done with. We’re right by yer side.”

“I can’t do this.” Ford choked. He couldn’t bear to look into Fiddleford’s blue eyes knowing that if something went wrong, he may never see them again.

“Don’t go back on yer decision now.” Fiddleford extended a hand and put it on Ford’s shoulder, crouching down slightly to be at his level. “You can if you want, but… Yer gonna do this, and yer gonna do it great. I want you to know that I care about you so much, and I will care about you forever.”

Ford shook his head. “You’ll learn to forget me someday.”

“Stanferd Filbrick Pines, I will remember you for the rest of my life.”

Ford couldn’t tell if he was crying or if his eyes were just burning. He really hoped it was the latter. Unable to provide a reply, he simply nodded, blinking back tears.

Fiddleford stood back up, allowing his hand to fall off Ford’s shoulder and back to his side. “You can do this.”

Hoping for something- anything, from Stanley- encouragement, a show of love– Ford looked up and met his brother’s eyes.

“You’re not getting a speech from me.” Stan narrowed his eyes. “Speeches are for dead people, and you’re not gonna die. Not on my watch.”

It all felt so sudden. Ford’s whole world had been flipped upside down, and now, all of a sudden, he was to flip it back around again. Hopefully. He took another deep breath. “... Okay. Let’s do this.” He replied. “I’m ready.”

Wordlessly, both Stan and Fiddleford stood up. They both looked at Ford for just a moment longer, then they turned and within moments, they were out the door, and the door was closed, and Ford was alone.

He held onto the moment. He didn’t want it to end. He wasn’t ready, but he was ready, and he had no time to sit and linger on a moment that could be among his last.

I will make it through this, even if it kills me.

Slowly, he leaned forward, grabbing his sheets from the floor and pulling them over him, resting his head on his pillow, and the next few fleeting moments were comfortable, and the next were tired, and the next were asleep.

Ford walked through the path of stars that had been laid out for him for as long as he could remember his own mindscape. Every time he’d found himself back here, he’d be a little bit further on the path. Looking forward, he saw that the path curved up, something it had not done before. Additionally, it grew thinner, more narrow.

He could continue up the hill. Perhaps it represented greatness, fame. But something in him told him that while it might, something was wrong about it.

“Changes have occurred that go against your fates- both of you. You can use this change to resist the fates and shape the future, or you can allow yourself to fall into the future that has been planned for you by your past. You must choose wisely.”

He turned around, looking back to the path behind him. There was none, as if with every step he took, the stars below him fell. Maybe they were his memories. Maybe when they fell, they were going somewhere else.

Ford dug through his coat pocket for a few moments. When he felt something small and cold, he grabbed it and pulled it out. The ring that the fortune teller had given him. He rolled it in his palm a few times. The gem that was embedded within it was blue.

“When this is blue, you may pull through. When this is black, you can’t go back.”

He turned and looked down below the path, down into the endless expanse that he had never once dared to explore. He held his hand over the void. Then, he loosened his grip and allowed the ring to fall, and it did, until Ford could no longer see the small metal object.

“I’M BAAAACK!” A shrill, terrible sing-songy voice boomed in Ford’s ears, and he turned to see a familiar glowing triangle. “You better not have been plotting against me! That would be SUCH A SHAME!” It cackled.

“I’ll have you know that I have been.” Ford took a step forward. “Your reign is over, Cipher. I will be defeating you once and for all.”

“HAH! How cocky. Boring, too- do you know how often I’ve heard that same hero speech!? TOO MANY TIMES!” Bill began to go from yellow to red. “‘Ohh, I’m gonna defeat you once and for all and you’ll be dead and I’ll be the hero who saves the–’ SHUT UP!” He paused, taking a deep breath, red fading back to his typical yellow. “Look around, buster. There’s only one path for you, and it’s UP WITH ME!”

Ford tightened his muscles. “If I have to go down with you, I believe it is a worthy sacrifice.”

“You REALLY think that’s gonna work!? NEWS FLASH! I DON’T DIE.” Bill floated in circles around Ford, stopping just in front of him, inches away from his face. “You’re gonna die, and I’m gonna find some stupid gullible human to turn the portal on. Or maybe I’ll just do it myself right now! I don’t know if you’ve forgotten, but your body’s uninhabited right now, and I’m ready to take it for a ride! THERE’S ONLY ONE PATH. JUST TAKE IT ALREADY.”

“I’ll stay here forever if I must.”

“Listen, kid. If you just start up that portal for me, I’ll spare you and your little friends in the apocalypse. In fact, you can rule the world with me! Imagine, complete and utter power. Everybody will know your name.” Bill wrapped an arm around Ford’s shoulder, turning him to look ahead to the upwards path of stars. “That’s all you want, is it not?”

Ford hesitated. He hated to admit it to himself, but he did. Just for a moment, one of the last of his fleeting moments, he considered the idea. Then, he shook his head, peeling Bill’s arm away from him, taking a step back. “No. Unlike you, I do not need a constant flow of attention to be happy.”

“SURE YOU DO! How do you think you’ve been living this whole time?” Bill laughed maniacally. “You’ve been living, FEEDING off my praise. Oh, Fordsy, you’re so smart and perfect and handsome and so SO good at building portals!!! You’re the BEST! I never REALLY cared about you.”

Ford took another step away from Bill. “I’ve learned my lesson. I’m not falling for your tricks, Cipher.”

“Oh please, just call me Bill!” He floated forward, narrowing his eye. “You’re too smart for your own good, don’t you think? Isn’t that what the silly little fortune teller said? Why don’t you listen to her, huh? Go on, take that path forward! KEEP BUILDING THAT PORTAL!”

Change the fates and resist the future.

Ford took one last step back, a step that landed on nothing, and he slipped, stomach lurching as he fell backwards into the abyss of the depths that were his mind.

A hand grabbed onto his, and he was left dangling between his mindscape and whatever was below.

“Whoops! Nearly slipped there.” Bill’s eye curved into his version of a smile.

“Let go.” Ford growled.

“You’re not gonna achieve anything down there, kid. You’re just gonna leave your body vacant, and I’m gonna take it and use it to finish the portal, then NOBODY wins! Except me, of course.”

“Why won’t you let go, then?”

Bill didn’t reply.

“Why don’t you just do that then, if you’re so confident you’ll ‘win’?” Ford continued. “Unless you’re lying.”

“I’m not lying.” Bill’s voice was low, more calm than Ford had ever heard. It was unnerving. He looked down and didn’t dare look back up, allowing the demon’s yellow glow to be all that illuminated his vision.

“Then why are you holding on?”

Before he could get an answer, Bill’s grip on Ford’s hand tightened, just for a moment, then loosened, then let go.

And then

he

was

falling

through the void, until the stars above him were but a soft glow, until they were nothing, until he could not tell which direction he was falling in or if his eyes were open or shut or if he was even still alive.

But he was. He was thinking about being alive, and dead people don’t think about being alive.

He could be dying. People who are dying can still think of life.

Even if he was dying, he felt okay with that fate. He trusted the others to get rid of Bill.

… He trusted them. He truly, wholly trusted them. He couldn’t believe it. He believed in them, and he felt okay with that, happy with that, because he didn’t have to force himself to not do so anymore. He put his life in their hands, and he knew they would treat it well.

Ford’s entirely dark vision began to change- it went gray, a gray that slowly got lighter, as if there was a light below him.

Then his falling body crashed into an endless ball pit of small, glowing dots- the stars that had fallen from his path, each a memory. When his body made contact with them, they rang out like wind chimes, and with every movement he made, the sound persisted. He swam in an ocean of stars, of himself.

He reached out a six-fingered hand to a star that glowed brighter than the others. He held it in his palm for a few moments, then closed his fist around it and allowed its light to envelop him.

—--------------------------------------------------------------------------—

Stan sat against his brother’s closed door, mindlessly writing in his notepad about nothing in particular- another story that would soon mean nothing to him. On the other side of the door was an eerie, worrying silence. He knew Ford was in there. He just wasn’t moving, fast asleep, more than fast asleep.

He heard footsteps approaching from somewhere else in the house, but he didn’t bother to look up to see who it was, too engrossed in his own writing.

“Lee, you alright? I came to check on ya.” Fiddleford said softly. Stan glanced up at him- he held a pill and a cup of water.

“Hey, Fidds. I’m fine.” Stan mumbled.

“How’s Stanferd?”

“Haven’t heard a peep. What’s that?” Stan motioned his head towards the pill, just in case Fiddleford thought he didn’t know what water is.

Fiddleford glanced down at his hand, as if he had forgotten what it was he was holding. “Oh- just a painkiller. I have this headache that just won’t go away.” He leaned against the wall beside him.

“Probably the memory gun.” Stan remarked. “I told you it was gonna fuck up your brain.”

“That you did.” Fiddleford replied. “Nobody likes a guy who says ‘I told you so’, though.” He crossed his arms over his chest, glancing down at Stan’s notepad. “Whatcha writin’?”

“Nothing, really.” Stan muttered. “I just like to come up with story ideas. I always tell myself ‘this is the one that I’m gonna turn into a big story’, but it never is. I just have a bunch of one-pagers in this thing.”

“Well, what’s this one about?” Fiddleford prompted.

Stan thought for a moment, considering whether it was worth it to tell Fiddleford about his writings. It would be a good time-waster.

“Uh… It’s about this girl who realizes she’s able to leave her own body- like, her spirit- and she can fly around and spy on other people.” Stan chewed at his pencil’s eraser.

“That sounds cool! What does she do with that power?” Fiddleford smiled at Stan, then threw the pill into his mouth and took a big swig of water.

“Well, everything. Cheating on tests, seeing what other people are doing… But she realizes that the more she does it, the more she realizes that she’s super in-tune with everyone else’s lives, but not her own.” Stan looked back down at his notepad. “So she- her spirit tries to fly up into the sky to separate herself from everyone else, so she can figure out who she really is. But then, she realizes that now she’s distanced herself too much from others, and she’s, like, trapped in her own little world.”

Fiddleford nodded, seeming actually genuinely interested. “So how does she fix it?”

Stan shrugged. “Dunno. Haven’t figured out that part yet.”

“You’ll figure it out.”

“Yeah.” Stan slowly blinked, unsure of what to say. “So, uh… How are you feeling?”

The question seemed to trigger a response in Fiddleford. He motioned for Stan to move as he crouched down to sit against the door with him. Sighing, Fiddleford looked up at the roof above them. “Well… It’s certainly been quite the week, hasn’t it?”

Stan nodded.

“Like…” Fiddleford continued. “Meeting you an’ getting to know you has been nice, actually. Findin’ out that Stanferd’s gay doesn’t really matter to me… I just wish it hadn’t been for a demon, and then me, y’know?”

“Wait, huh? What does Bill have to do with-” Stan’s eyes widened. “Okaaay. That’s another conversation for later. Go on.”

Fiddleford chuckled. “Um, where was I? Right- that demon. I don’t appreciate knowin’ that all my hard work was for that pest, but I understand that Stanferd didn’t know any better. We’re sorting it out now, and then I’m not gonna hafta worry about it.” He bit his lip, eyes clouded in thought. “But… I dunno what to do about the other thing. His… Likin’ fer me. It’s not that I’m a man, it’s more so that I’m a married man. Do I just keep pretendin’ I don’t know about it? Hope he doesn’t bring it up again?”

“That’s kind of all you can do.” Stan shrugged, shutting his notepad and placing it down next to him to indicate that his full attention was now on Fiddleford’s words. If it had been just a week ago, he’d be tuning him out by now.

“It is, ain’t it?” Fiddleford tapped his fingers on the wooden floor. “Y’know, if he had confessed to me earlier, say, college, I might’ve actually reciprocated the feelings.”

Stan raised an eyebrow at his friend.

“Don’t look at me like that.” Fiddleford said. “I’ll admit, he’s a pretty damn nice guy. He’s pretty an’ smart an’... Hell, if my heart wasn’t already elsewhere…” He trailed off, clearing his throat. “Um. Yeah. But my heart is with Emma-May. I don’t think anything would change that. ‘Sides, he’s a bit too stubborn for my liking.”

“He used to be a pushover.” Stan smiled. “When we were kids, I could convince him to do anything if I nagged him enough.”

“Hah. He was like that in college as well.” Fiddleford replied. “Well, at the beginning. Eventually, he managed to find his footing. With his stubbornness came confidence, an’ I think that’s a good trade-off for him. He’s strong now.”

Stan nodded. “Mhm. I’m happy for him. Really.”

Fiddleford remained quiet for a bit, then lifted his head and gazed at Stan- a gaze that, for some reason, he could not meet. “Do you… Think he’s gonna be alright?” Fiddleford finally said, voice barely a whisper.

“What?” Stan shook his head like he was shaking off the notion of his brother not being okay. “He’s gonna be fine. Why would you even say that?”

“Cuz… This is risky. I just- I’m not sure if he’s gonna… Y’know, survive. This is all a lot, and maybe- maybe the only way out of this is…” He sighed. “We have to discuss what we’re gonna do if that is our only option, Lee. I mean, we can’t tell anyone that he was possessed by a demon. They won’t believe us.”

Stan balled his fists and tightened his jaw, trying to glare Fiddleford’s yap shut.

“You could pretend to be him, maybe. Nobody knows that you’re here yet- nobody important, that is. I could help you. You could start a new life, just under a different–”

“Shut up.” Stan snapped. “Sixer isn’t gonna die. Like you just said, he’s strong. He’s stronger than Bill, stronger than- than this stupid plan, he’s stronger than all of this. He’s going to live.”

This quickly shut Fiddleford up, who glanced back down at the floor, eyes widening. “... I’m sorry. I didn’t intend to…”

CRASH. A sound came from behind the door, the sound of something hitting the floor and shattering. Stan immediately stood, Fiddleford quickly mirroring the action.

“Go, go, go.” Stan whispered, practically pushing Fiddleford away. With a nod, he rushed off down the hallway and out of sight. Stan took a deep breath, spinning around to face the door. He hovered his hand over the doorknob for a moment.

It’s time.

Stan slammed the door open, hinges nearly falling off with the strength of the push. In front of him stood his brother, staring down at a lamp on the floor- the ceramic base had shattered into several large pieces.

Ford slowly lifted his head, and as the rising sun from the window beside him hit his glasses, Stan caught a glimpse of an unnatural yellow in his eyes. He grinned, wider than his brother had ever or would ever grin.

“LOOK WHO IT IS!” Ford– no, Bill- twirled around, then took a wobbly step towards Stan. “hoo-WHEE! Haven’t taken a good joyride in a human body for a hot minute! It is GOOD to be back!”

“You won’t be back for long.” Stan growled, narrowing his eyes at the thing in front of him. “You think I’d just let you hang out with my brother’s body?”

Bill laughed just one short laugh. “Do you REALLY think you can defeat ME!? I’m trillions of years old, kid. I’m far beyond you puny humans.” As if Stan just wasn’t there, Bill pushed him aside and walked out the doorway and into the hall.

“Get back here!” Stan ran past Bill, stopping in front of him. He put his arms and legs out to prevent him from simply pushing past him again. “You’re not getting away that easily.”

“Oh, I think I will! What are you gonna do about it?”

Stan grumbled something- nothing, rather. Instead, he resorted to trying to stare a hole into his brother’s brain and directly through the stupid demon inhabiting it.

“That’s what I thought!” Bill smirked and took another step forward, shoving Stan to the floor. His strength was frightening. “Your brother’s dead, pal.”

No.

“I killed him. He’s gone, pal. It’s just me now! That Sixer–”

“Don’t call him that!” Stan bared his teeth, lunging forward at Bill’s legs. Diving right into his ankles, Bill was sent flying forward onto the ground now behind Stan. The two, now both on the floor, turned and glared at each other.

“I CAN CALL HIM WHATEVER I WANT! He’s MINE! His soul is mine, and now his BODY is mine!” Bill shouted. “You’re just a little ANT that’s getting in my way!”

Stan stood up, hovering over Bill, fists so tight his knuckles had begun to go white. Bill scrambled back, pushing himself up as he did, then quickly turned and began to saunter off to the kitchen as if he owned the damn place. Stan quickly followed behind, trying to match Bill’s pace, but it was odd and irregular and so unlike his brother’s that he ended up almost tripping over himself.

“Why are you doing this!?” Stan pleaded as the two entered the kitchen.

Bill spun around, face mere inches away from Stan’s. “BECAUSE I CAN! Me and my pals in the nightmare realm need a new dimension to inhabit, and Earth looks like just the place! It’s filled with USELESS creatures like you who only live for mere MOMENTS of my life! Why should I care? If I don’t take over the world, you’re all just gonna die anyway!”

“Not if I kill you first.” Stan lifted his fists, but took a step back away from Bill.

“If you kill me, you kill ol’ Fordsy, remember?”

“You said he was already dead.”

“And YOU don’t believe me!” Bill tilted his head, smiling so wide Stan was worried the edges of his lips were gonna crack. “You’re just a pathetic, puny human who can’t stay in his lane! You’re only here because I felt pitiful for you, so I convinced Ford to let you stay here! IT’S ALL ME!”

Stan clenched his jaw- if he was in a cartoon, steam would be coming out of his ears. “Why don’t you stay in your own damn dimension, huh? Go home.”

Bill froze for a few moments, smile faltering. Just as quickly as his facade had seemingly fallen, it came back up. “I liberated my dimension long ago, Stanley! Nothing you stupid human can say will change my mind. I’ve been working for THOUSANDS of years to take over this stupid planet!”

“You liberated your dimension? What, is that code for ruining it like you’re planning on doing to earth?”

Bill’s eyes widened, as if what Stan had said wasn’t the response he was expecting. Maybe it had hit close to home. “You little…” He hissed. “What are you gonna do about it?”

“I’m gonna kill you, that’s what I’m gonna do!” Stan shouted. He put one foot back, lifting his fist to punch the stupid demon in the face, to end it once and for all. He was gonna punch it out of Ford’s body and straight into hell, that’s what he was gonna do.

“Oh no! The childish brute is at it again, punching his way into a solution that doesn’t work! Do it, you won’t.” Bill’s voice was calm, smooth, as if he knew that no matter what, Stan wasn’t going to punch him. He was going to prove this stupid thing so wrong.

The realization came crashing down on Stan that by killing his brother’s body, he would be killing his brother. He had already realized it, a long time ago. He just hadn’t realized the magnitude. He hadn’t realized that Ford really wouldn’t come back.

He hesitated.

“You can’t do it, can you? You can’t bear to kill me, even if you know it will ‘save the world’.” Bill sneered.

Finally, after a long moment of silence, Stan lowered his fist.

“You’re right.” He whispered, breathless. “I can’t do it.” He looked up at Bill, who grinned such a horrible, triumphant grin that made him feel sick to his stomach.

Then, a movement came from behind Bill. A silhouette- Fiddleford’s silhouette- rose from under the kitchen table, holding something in his hand. He snuck up behind Bill, holding up the object to the back of his head.

Stan returned the smirk to Bill. “But he can.”

Fiddleford pulled the trigger.

A bright blue light, brighter than it had previously been, overwhelmed Stan’s senses, followed by a horrible scream–

– a scream that drew out Bill’s last moments of existence, his infinite life cut short as he slowly went from something, the biggest something in three peoples’ lives, to as much of a nothing as the stars so distant that nobody witnessed them. A scream that encapsulated so much pain, so much suffering, so much of a horrible, pathetic existence, that it shook Stan to his very core. Eventually, his voice cracked and broke into coughs and sputters–

– and then his body- not Bill’s, but Ford’s- shut its eyes and came crashing down into Stan’s arms.

And Fiddleford threw the gun down to the floor, rushing forward and pulling the two into an embrace as all three fell to the ground in a pile of warmth and life and tears.

And Stan couldn’t tell if the sobs that filled the room were his own or Fiddleford’s or both.

And it was over.

And Bill was dead.

Chapter Text

It all went by too fast.

He hadn’t gotten enough moments.

—--------------------------------------------------------------------------—

The sound of distant seagulls pulled Ford back from whatever it was he was thinking about. Something was nagging at his brain, but, unsure what it was, he tried his best to ignore it. His feet were planted in the warm, soft sand below him- he’d only just gotten tall enough to reach it from the swing he sat on. He looked forward, off into the ocean ahead of him.

“I’m boooored!” Stan complained- his swing let out an ugly creak as he leaned forward. His voice slightly lisped over the two fresh gaps where his baby teeth had been. Ford had been slightly jealous when he’d lost two teeth in one day. He’d gotten six whole dollars from the tooth fairy!

“What do you think we should do, then?” Ford tilted his head at his brother, who pressed his feet into the sand, then pushed himself back as his swing struggled to maintain his weight. It would collapse any day now, Ford was sure of it.

Stan hummed in thought. As the swing reached its peak, he leapt off of it, landing on the beach below him on his hands and knees. “I know! Let’s go trick people under the boardwalk.”

“We got in trouble with Pa the last time we did that, remember?” Ford slowly lifted himself off his swing.

“Yeah, cuz you didn’t run fast enough!” Stan sneered, sticking out his tongue at Ford. “Just try harder this time and we’ll be okay.”

Ford groaned in resignation. “Fiiine. But if we get in trouble again, you’re taking the blame!”

“Okay, okay.” Stan grinned. “Come on, then! Let’s go!” Without giving Ford time to even form a single word of thought, Stan turned around and bolted off across the beach. Ford quickly ran after him, nearly tripping once or twice as he tried to match his brother’s speed.

When the two found a crowded enough spot at the boardwalk, they stopped and took a moment to catch their breath before quietly walking under. They had to stand on their toes to reach the underside of the wooden walkway, but they were barely able to reach it.

“Here, you go first.” Stan whispered, pulling a dollar bill from his pocket and handing it to Ford. “You can even use my tooth fairy money.”

Ford wordlessly took the bill from his brother, nodding. He stood on his toes and reached his arm up as far as it could, and after a bit of finessing, he slipped the dollar through the cracks between the wooden planks of the boardwalk. Trying to stay as still as possible, he closed his eyes and waited, waited, waited.

After a few minutes, Ford felt a force from above tug on the bill, and as fast as his reflexes allowed him, he quickly yanked the dollar back down, dropping to the floor as he tried to hold in his giggles.

“Aw, what!?” A muffled voice called from above Ford. This sent Stan into a fit of laughter- he doubled over himself as Ford tried to shush him. “Wh– hey, who’s there!?” The person exclaimed.

“That’s our sign to run!” Stan quickly scrambled off the ground and began running down the beach, Ford mirroring the action. He felt as if he was going to burst a lung as the two just kept running and running, until Stan eventually collapsed to the floor, Ford coming down with him not very soon after.

Feeling far enough away from whoever they had incited the anger of over a single dollar, Ford leaned back, stretching his arms out as he laid back on the cool sand below him. His left hand, however, did not land on sand, rather something softer and warmer. As his hand pressed into it, it growled– Ford quickly lept back, spinning around to see what he had just squished.

“Whoah!” Was all both brothers could say when they simultaneously locked eyes with the creature Ford had provoked. A kitten, no older than a year, arched its back at the two, fur puffing out. It was a pale yellow with a white underside, about the same size as a mouse, and adorable.

“What’s a kitten doing here?” Ford muttered, adjusting his glasses to get a better look at the animal. He held out a hand to it, but it hissed and batted the hand away with its paw, leaping back.

“Ow…” Ford pulled his hand away, wincing.

Stan crawled forward, eyes widening. “Sixer, look at its paws!” He whispered.

Slightly confused, Ford glanced down at the kitten’s paws, and, sure enough, they did look odd. For a moment, he couldn’t quite tell what exactly was strange about them. Then, he quietly gasped. “It has six toes!”

“Aren’t they supposed to have three?” Stan asked, eyes fixed on the cat’s paws.

“I think they typically have four.” Ford nodded. “It must have been born with a deformity– maybe its owner abandoned it..!”

“Awh, it’s just like you!” Stan smiled at Ford, who tilted his head, confused. “Not the abandoning thing.” Stan quickly added. “You both have six fingers! Isn’t that neat?”

“Huh.” Ford couldn’t help but smile as he looked down at his own hand. “I suppose it is. I wonder if it’s as rare in cats as it is in humans… I’ll have to do research.”

“We should bring it home!” Stan quietly exclaimed. “I’m sure Pa won’t mind. Our birthday is coming up, this can be our birthday gift!” He extended a hand to the cat, but quickly pulled it back when the kitten began to growl again. “... How are we gonna take it home?”

“Maybe we should leave it here for now. We can go back and ask Pa, then come and fetch it if he says yes.” Ford crouched down to be on eye-level with the kitten. “I mean, imagine if you had been abandoned by humans, and then two of them just broke into your home. I’m sure it’s scared…”

Stan crossed his arms, puffing out his cheeks. “We can’t win over Pa’s heart with a kitten if we don’t have a kitten to win him over with!”

Ford turned and raised an eyebrow at his brother. “I don’t think he has a heart to be won over with in the first place.”

“Mmmhh.. Fair enough.” Stan shrugged, pushing himself up off the sand. “C’mon, let’s go ask then!”

“Jeez, lemme catch my breath a little more first.”

—--------------------------------------------------------------------------—

If only he had just had more time.

Ford tightened his grip on the star in his hands, screwing his eyes shut.

—--------------------------------------------------------------------------—

“Have a good day!”

“You too, sir!” Ford smiled up at the cashier as he handed him the small bag of kibble. He turned and smiled at his brother who hovered a few feet behind him, staring down at his feet. “Come on, Stan, let’s go.”

Stan looked up. “Finally! Egg’s gonna be waiting for us.”

“We’re not that late. Egg can wait for a few more minutes.” Ford flicked his hand in dismissal. “Besides, it’s not like he has anything better to do.”

“That’s not nice!” Stan chuckled despite his statement as the two made their way out of the store. “I’m sure Egg has a very strict schedule.”

“Oh, yes, he’s off seeing other humans right now, then he has a meeting with the president at six.” Ford nodded, putting on the best serious face he could, turning to look at Stan as they walked down the boardwalk. He noticed that his brother had a large red dot on his forehead- he’d already told him a million times not to pick at his pimples, but it clearly wasn’t getting through to him.

Stan made a face at Ford. “What are you looking at?”

“You?” Ford tilted his head, confused. “What do you mean?”

“You’re not looking at my eyes, though. Is there something on my face or what?”

“Yeah, a giant cockroach.” Ford opted to instead look down at his feet, then the bag of cat food in his hands that swayed with every step he took. He felt the heat of the sun beating down on his back– perhaps he should have worn sunscreen. For a brief moment, he felt a sense of Deja Vu, but he quickly dismissed it.

The two chatted away for the rest of their trek, mostly about how school was finally out for summer and how they were going to be in high school the next year and what classes they were going to take and how they shouldn’t be talking about school, it’s summer!

Eventually, they reached their spot. Sitting on the beach between the boardwalk and the shore was a sailboat that had certainly seen better days. The brothers had been working on restoring the thing (which they had named the ‘Stan-O-War’ pretty soon after finding the wreck) for a few years.

Stan leapt off the boardwalk, landing on the sand on his knees and one hand. Ford took a safer approach, scooting off of it until he was hanging from the edge of the planks by his hands, then letting go to only fall a few inches.

A small, familiar face poked up from a hole below the deck of the Stan-O-War, greeting the two with a pleased meow as he raced forward to greet them. Before Ford had the opportunity to greet him, he stretched up a paw to bat at the bag of kibble Ford held.

“Hey there, Egg!” Stan crouched down and scratched Egg beneath his chin. “We come bearing an offering.”

Smiling, Ford walked to the base of the beached boat, Egg and Stan in tow, and crouched down in front of the small blue food bowl that sat half-buried in the sand. “Are you hungry?” Ford asked the cat in a strained voice that was a bit too high-pitched for his vocal chords.

Egg didn’t seem to mind, meowing hungrily in response as Ford tore open the bag. He pulled the bowl out from the sand, shaking it off, then poured a large helping of kibble into it. Egg rubbed his face against Ford’s leg for a few moments before beginning to chow down.

“Someone’s hungry.” Stan remarked, jumping up and climbing to the deck of the boat. “Come on, Sixer, we gotta get to work before Pa notices we’re gone!”

“Right.” Ford pushed himself up off his knees. “Say, when do report cards come in? Is that today or tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow. I already have a plan to intercept the mail before Pa gets his hands on mine. I’m not staying indoors all summer again.” Stan pulled a plank of wood from somewhere on the deck. “Catch!” He called, throwing it down to the floor. Ford did not, in fact, catch it, as it slammed into the sand with a boomf.

“Have you ever tried just… Getting good grades?” Ford looked up at Stan, who jumped down from the deck with a few tools in hand. “Like, actually studying? You wouldn’t get in trouble, then.”

Stan scoffed, tossing Ford a measuring tape- he did catch it this time. “Pa’s never gonna be proud of us, anyways. What’s the point in trying? ‘Sides, I’m busy.”

“With what?” Ford asked. He leaned down to pet Egg, who was busy weaving in and out between his ankles.

“Unlike you, I have a life.” Stan replied. “For example, I have a date tomorrow– hey, measure that hole, I’m gonna patch it up.” He motioned towards the hole in the deck from which Egg had emerged earlier. With a nod, Ford turned and did so, struggling to pull the measuring tape from its… Whatever contained it, but he managed.

“45 centimeters.” Ford said, tossing the measuring tape to his brother. “Who on earth do you have a date with?”

Stan grinned as he began to measure the wooden plank beneath him. “Nancy… Robinson or something. We’re going to the boardwalk.”

“What’s so special about the boardwalk?” Ford leaned against the ship’s deck. Egg meowed up at him before curling up and settling down on his foot. “Shouldn’t you take her somewhere fancy?”

“Sure, maybe, but we’re going to the boardwalk… At night.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, I’m planning on sneaking out.” Stan pointed to the end of the measuring tape with his free hand. “Hold that for me.”

Ford crouched down, picking up a sleeping Egg from his foot and placing him where Stan had pointed. “That’ll do. You’re not going to get caught this time, I presume?”

“Oh, no, that’s exactly my plan.” Stan deadpanned, grabbing a saw from behind him. “Of course I won’t. Hey, when are you getting a date? We’re almost in high school, you gotta find a girl soon.”

“I’m not interested in romance. I would much rather focus on my academics.” Ford grumbled.

—--------------------------------------------------------------------------—

He wanted nothing more than to go back.

If he knew of his fate, he would have cherished these moments more.

—--------------------------------------------------------------------------—

The dull crash of waves on sand was all that kept Ford awake as he laid on the Stan-O-War’s deck. Egg was curled up on his chest, fast asleep, as he typically was nowadays. He wasn’t that old, but every day he acted more and more like an old man. Laying beside Ford was Stan, who held a magazine up above his face, absorbed in whatever the contents of it were. Ford had learned his lesson when it came to investigating his brother’s choice of reading, choosing to instead keep his eyes closed and protected from the harsh sun above him. It was rather peaceful. Ford wished he’d brought a book to keep himself entertained, but it wasn’t like he was particularly bored.

“I still can’t believe you’re running off to some high-end college across the country.” Stan said, breaking the calm almost-silence.

“Only if I get accepted.” Ford corrected. “Besides, even if I do, we still have all of this year and then summer. That’s plenty of time.”

Stan grumbled something Ford couldn’t quite hear- he wasn’t sure if he wanted to hear it, regardless. He didn’t understand how his brother couldn’t see how big of an opportunity he had! He would regularly call and visit on holidays and, hell, they’d be eighteen and going their separate ways regardless of what college they would go to! He didn’t voice his complaints, however, because that would simply lead to another argument.

Sometimes Stanley was just so arrogant.

“... Where are you planning on going?” Ford said after a couple lingering moments of silence.

Stan scoffed. “Nowhere’s gonna want me. I’ll… I’ll figure it out, I guess.”

“I’m sure there’s somewhere for you. Maybe if you started studying now, you could finish your senior year with decent grades.”

“Nah. I’m too busy.”

“You are most certainly not too busy. You’re laying on a boat reading a magazine.” Ford scrunched his nose.

Stan sighed, the rustling of the aforementioned magazine being put aside serving as Ford’s indicator to open his eyes and sit up. The two made eye contact for a moment before Stan glanced away. “I know, I know.” He growled. “It’s just… I know I’m not gonna end up doing great things. Hell, I don’t even want that. I’m happy enough here.”

“You can’t stay here forever. You’ll have to get a job or…” Ford glanced down at Egg, who slowly rose from his lap, blinking drearily up at him. He lifted a hand and began to scratch Egg’s chin.

“I’ll figure it out.” Stan flicked a dismissing hand at Ford, looking ahead to the boardwalk. Ford followed his gaze. “Hey, at least I have a girlfriend.”

“Nancy’s hardly a girlfriend.” Ford remarked. He let his hand fall to his side as Egg leapt off his lap and approached Stan, who smiled down at him. “She’s probably ‘dating’-” -he made air quotes at ‘dating’- “-a million other guys.”

Stan laughed, pulling a cigarette from somewhere in his pocket. When Ford eyed the cigarette, then his brother, Stan slowly put it back. “Well, I’m one of those guys… But, hey, no matter what happens, we’re still brothers, right?”

“Always.” Ford nodded. “Why do you say that all of a sudden?”

“Just checking.” Stan stood up off the hot wood below the two, stretching. “Let’s do something. I’m bored.”

“You’re always bored.” Ford rolled his eyes- rather, he attempted to roll his eyes, but he was pretty sure he had just widened them.

Stan lightly punched Ford in the shoulder. “That’s cuz there’s nothing to do here! Come on, let’s go make up stories about people at the boardwalk.”

“Sure.” Ford replied, getting up and following Stan as he hopped down off the ship, Egg trailing behind the two. Overall, the day had been rather nice- the sun was warm, the sand felt nice below his feet, but something was off. He felt as if he wasn’t truly living in the moment, as if he was spectating his own life. Trying to ignore the feeling, he sped up his footsteps to catch up with his brother, who had been walking faster than him.

“Sixer?”

Realizing that Stan had been saying something, Ford quickly glanced up, locking eyes with him. “Sorry, what?”

“I said,” Stan smiled. “Would you press a button if it got rid of all mosquitos, but it made all cockroaches grow to twice their size?”

Ford raised an eyebrow. “Huh?”

“Just answer.”

“Er, I don’t think I would. Eradicating an entire species- especially one as prominent as mosquitos… I worry that would greatly affect the ecosystem. But… I do suppose it would also eradicate malaria. But what environmental impact would larger cockroaches have?” Ford hummed in thought as he reached a wooden staircase at the end of the beach. “I wouldn’t press the button. It’s too risky.” He stepped into his sandals, which he had left at the first step.

Stan, who was leaning against the railing at the top of the steps, stuck his tongue out at Ford. “God, you’re such a nerd.”

“Oh, hush.” Ford chuckled. “Let’s find somewhere to sit.”

After a couple minutes of searching the crowded afternoon boardwalk, the two found a bench that gave them a decent view of the people walking by. They settled down on the bench, Egg leaping onto Ford’s lap and kneading his paws into his legs before curling up.

His head hurt.

“Shit, I forgot my magazine.” Stan hissed as Ford put his fingers to his temple, trying to rub away the headache.

“It’s not gonna go anywhere.” Ford muttered.

“Yeah, you’re right.” Stan leaned back into the bench, lifting his arms and placing his hands behind his head. “Hey, see that guy in the yellow jacket looking out at the beach?”

Ford scanned the crowd for a moment. “Er… Oh- yes. With the black hair?”

“Yeah. He’s actually a time traveler.” Stan grinned. “He’s come from the future to try and warn his past self about something stupid he’s about to do.”

Ford nodded, smiling with his brother. “Yes, his past self is about to create an invention that’s actually super dangerous. He’s wearing a jacket in this weather because his invention blew up and burnt his arms, and he’s trying to cover that up.”

“Yeah, so he can dramatically pull up his sleeves and reveal the burn scars to his past self.” Stan added on. “But the invention is actually the time machine, so when he gets his past self to not create it, he’s not able to go back in time…”

“So his past self does create it because his future self can’t come back and warn him.”

“Which is why time travel is stupid.”

“Agreed.” Ford chuckled, despite doing so only worsening the pounding in his head. He ran his hand down Egg’s back, who purred in response. The sun’s brightness felt suddenly amplified as the world around him began to inexplicably spin, so he closed his eyes…

—--------------------------------------------------------------------------—

Death isn’t beautiful.

The universe doesn’t give you signs when a death is about to occur. One day, they’re alive, the next day, they’re not, and it’s not dramatic or heart wrenching or this big, powerful thing like people make it to be.

It just happens.

—--------------------------------------------------------------------------—

Stanford trudged through the damp, compressed sand, the weight in his mind threatening to pull itself down, taking his body down with it. Rain pounded onto his back. With all the strength he could muster, he began running, chest tightening with each labored breath he took.

The Stan-O-War sat in the sand, as it always did, the name etched on the side of it a horrible reminder of what he had done. The rain was inconvenient, but he honestly could not care less as he collapsed against the side of the boat, allowing his tears to mix into the rain.

God, he hated crying.

“Egg?” He choked the word out, hoping that he could be heard through the storm. “Are you there?”

Ford spotted a movement in his peripheral vision, turning to see Egg slowly, hesitantly approaching him. The cat let out a soft meow, moving to Ford’s side and nudging his hand with his head.

Wordless, Ford lifted his hand and began to pet Egg, body occasionally being taken over by uncontrollable sobs. “Stanley’s gone.” He whispered. “He’s gone, and it’s my fault– no, it’s… It’s his fault. It’s my fault. I don’t know.”

Egg pressed his head into Ford’s shoulder, practically climbing onto him with a weak mewl. It was as if he was a kitten again, clamoring for warmth, for love that Ford couldn’t bring himself to provide.

“I’m sorry.” He wasn’t sure what else could be said. “I’m so sorry. I can’t… I’m not ready. I’m not… I don’t even know what I’m saying.”

Egg placed his chin into Ford’s hand with a seemingly content purr, despite the pouring rain that crashed down onto the two of them, despite Stanley’s absence, despite everything.

“Were you waiting for me?” Ford asked. Egg meowed, as if saying yes, then deeply exhaled, now clearly feeling safer in Ford’s arms. The next few moments were still, too still. Ford placed his free hand on Egg’s still warm back. He sat, completely still, as the cat’s fur slowly cooled, most likely due to the rain, due to the cold, due to…

“Egg?” Ford whispered. “Egg, wake up.” He shook the cat’s weak, cold body, a sob catching in his throat. “Why are… Why won’t you…” His breaths quickened, as if trying to make up for the breaths Egg could not take. “I can’t lose you. Not so soon after Stanley. Please.”

He waited. He waited For Egg to lift his head and snuggle up against him through the cold. He waited for minutes. Then hours.

He felt as if he was being punished.

Perhaps he was.

—--------------------------------------------------------------------------—

Ford let go of the star he held to his chest, finding that despite having exited the memory, there were still tears rolling down his face. His body heaved uncontrollably. He’d just gotten everybody back, and now he was to lose himself.

Then, his surroundings began to shake, the stars he swam in clinking against each other. For a moment, he believed it to be a reaction to his own emotions- he was in his mind, after all- but then, a bright blue light flashed above him.

The memory gun.

He didn’t have much time left. As fast as he could, Ford waded through his own memories, searching for another moment of his past to relive. When his eyes locked onto another particularly bright star, he grabbed it with all the force he could, trying to ignore the horrendous stabbing pain in his head, trying to buy just a few more moments.

Chapter Text

Ford rolled over on his bed, blinking back sleep with a groan. His headache may have been caused by a lack of sleep, but he was not certain of that fact, and he was not to surrender to sleep simply because of a little pain. He had better things to do, after all. He pulled his book up over his head and slowly blinked to try and clear his vision enough to read.

The blizzard outside raged on, to Ford’s displeasure. He could be- no, he should be visiting his family, not holed up in some stuffy, bug-infested dorm room. It was times like this, however, where he was glad to have some company, despite his first impressions of his roommate. It made this all sort of bearable. If only said roommate wasn’t so miserable.

“When’s this storm clearin’ up?” Fiddleford’s complaining voice came from somewhere in the room. Ford didn’t care to look around and see- he had a book to attend to, after all. He decided that he could humor an answer, however, leaning his head back into his pillow as he did.

“Er… I believe the weatherman said it would clear up later in the day, but-”

“But you don’t believe in the weatherman.” Fiddleford interrupted. “He better be right this time. I’m startin’ to go stir-crazy. How are you so calm about this, anywho?”

“Anyway.” Ford corrected.

“Po-tay-to, po-tah-to. Just answer the damn question.” Fiddleford lightheartedly replied. Realizing that he wasn’t just asking a question, rather aiming to start a conversation, Ford sat up, pushing himself against his wall and placing his book on his lap.

“How am I so calm about this? I… Suppose I simply don’t mind being here. The blizzard can’t go on forever, and this gives me a good opportunity to study.” Ford replied, looking around to meet eyes with his roommate. He found Fiddleford to be sitting on his bed at the other end of the room, holding his knees to his chest.

“Yeah, but yer missin’ out on Christmas with yer family!” Fiddleford put his arms out, turning his head to look at Ford, as if he simply did not understand the concept of indifference.

Ford raised an eyebrow. “I don’t celebrate Christmas.”

“Well then, Hanukkah or whatever. My point still stands.” Fiddleford rolled his eyes at Ford- at least, Ford was pretty sure he had? His glasses assisted his sight, but not to that extent.

Ford shrugged, tilting his head. “I mean, I do wish I could see my parents, but we’re not as much of a tight-knit family compared to yours- at least, from what I’ve heard of yours. Besides, I’m pretty sure they’re still mad at me about the whole college thing…” He paused, clearing his throat. “... Also, being around you makes it more bearable.”

“I appreciate that.” Fiddleford smiled. “I s’pose bein’ trapped here with some other roommate would be worse. That’s a plus. And… The snow’s kinda cool. I’ve seen snow before, but never this much. Never enough to make more than one snowball, if I’m lucky.”

“Precisely. We can’t control the circumstances, but we can control how we feel about it.”

“That’s a nice way to look at things.” Fiddleford stretched out his limbs– whenever his back straightened Ford was reminded of how tall his roommate was. He was eternally grateful for his friend’s horrible posture, because it was honestly a little bit frightening. “But, like, if I can drive my car through this, which I can-”

“You can’t even drive in regular weather.” Ford replied.

“Sure I can, you’re just a wimp. If I can drive through this, which I can, why can’t a plane fly us to our homes through this?”

Ford sat up, trying to give his roommate his best baffled expression, just so he knew how stupid what he had just said was. “F. Those are two entirely different vehicles. Do you realize how obstructive a blizzard is?”

“I know, I know. I don’t really mean it. It’s just that our flights got cancelled n’ we’re trapped here over Christmas n’ I was excited to go home for a bit n’ I’m frustrated. And bored.” Fiddleford flopped back onto his bed.

“We’ll find something to do when the storm dies down.” Ford reassured, despite his disbelief in said dying down of the storm. “And, er… We can spend Christmas together. You can teach me about traditions and such, I suppose.”

“You’d do that fer me!?” Fiddleford rolled over so far off his bed that he ended up in a bundle of blankets on the floor. He thrashed around in his blanket prison for a few seconds before bursting out with a gasp. “... You’d do that fer me?”

“Hah! Sure, if it makes you feel better. It won’t hurt to take a break from my studies for a couple days… Probably. I’d be with my family regardless.” To this, Fiddleford grinned up at Ford with a genuine smile he hadn’t seen since the blizzard had begun.

Ford felt a warmth within him that managed to combat the cold of the heater-less room he found himself trapped in. He supposed it came from the shared joy of seeing Fiddleford happy. Never before had he had a friend as close as his roommate, aside from…

“Perfect!” Fiddleford exclaimed, startling Ford out of his thoughts. “Christmas is tomorrow, so I can prepare today. We should go to the shops and get gifts for each other!” He pushed himself off the floor, haphazardly throwing his blankets back onto his bed.

“Er… I don’t think anywhere is gonna be open.” Ford glanced out their shared window- there wasn’t really much to look at, as it was entirely white. “Why don’t we watch a movie instead?”

“Oh, right. Yeah, we can watch a movie! I’m sure the campus library will have somethin’. I’ve been itchin’ to get outta this room, anyhow.”

Anyway. Ford bit back the correction.

—--------------------------------------------------------------------------—

A rush of warmth overcame Ford as he was forcefully pulled from his memory- the star was rattled out of his hands as he slipped deeper into the shaking pool of memories. The memory gun was just supposed to erase Bill- had that been too much for it? Was it erasing other, unrelated memories? Had it malfunctioned?

A scream rattled through his body, both a familiar shrill scream and one that sounded almost like his own. A scream louder than he had ever before heard, a scream that echoed with sorrow and anger and all the emotions that Ford had shoved down his whole life, as if a floodgate of all he hated had been opened and encapsulated into one sound.

He tried to swim up, but the stars slipped down when he moved as if he was trapped in quicksand. He lifted his arm and grabbed a star, trying to hopefully use it to pull himself back up, but a familiar cold enveloped him- he found himself helpless to his loss of awareness.

—--------------------------------------------------------------------------—

Ford crept into the expansive campus library, Fiddleford in tow. He glanced around before taking a few more steps forward and glancing around again.

“... I’m pretty sure it’s empty.” Ford muttered.

“Why are we sneakin’ around, anyways? It’s not like we ain’t supposed to be in here.” Fiddleford sauntered over to the library’s VHS rack, pulling something seemingly entirely random from it.

“I’m pretty sure we can’t just take a movie, that’s why.” Ford replied, approaching his roommate and glancing down at the tape he’d chosen. It was unlabelled, and frankly, it looked like it had seen better days.

“We’re gonna watch it here, so I’m sure it’s fine. C’mon, I have a feelin’ this one’s good.” Fiddleford smiled at Ford, who could only raise an eyebrow in response. How did he know that it was good if it was entirely unlabelled?

Regardless, the two ended up on one large barely in-tact beanbag, watching a barely in-tact movie on a barely in-tact television. The ultimate college experience, truly. West Coast Tech would have had better…

Ford was snapped out of his thoughts as the movie finally began after maybe three straight minutes of opening credits. A girl was running through the forest during a thunderstorm, presumably being chased by something.

“Is this a horror movie?” Ford asked, readjusting his glasses to see if it was his vision that was blurry or the horrible screen.

“I’m sure it’s one of those shoddy ones that ain’t actually scary.” Fiddleford remarked, leaning back into the beanbag chair. “I ain’t a fan o’ horror movies, but I can appreciate the laughable ones.”

“Agreed.” Ford nodded, slightly smiling. It was better than lazing around doing nothing, he supposed. He could be studying. But he’d sacrifice some study time to cheer up his roommate. It was the least he could do.

The two fell into silence as they were both absorbed in the movie- the main character decided to hide from her aggressor in an abandoned mansion (stupid) and she chose to hide under the bed upstairs (even more stupid).

Almost twenty minutes into the movie, they finally got their first glimpse of what the main character was actually hiding from- a humanoid monster with several rows of teeth, covered almost head to toe in eyes, and constructed of a strange black ooze. Ford found that it was actually rather fascinating– perhaps that was the cryptozoology major speaking.

Fiddleford, however, did not appear to share Ford’s fascination, as at the reveal of the monster he practically leapt into Ford’s shoulder, screaming like a frightened goat. Ford yelped as he felt his roommate’s rough mustache scrape against his arm.

“It’s not that scary!” Ford hissed. He lightly pushed Fiddleford’s head away with a palm, who glared back up at him accusingly.

“You screamed too!” Fiddleford retorted, scrunching his nose.

“Yeah, your mustache hairs hurt!” Ford replied as he rubbed a hand on his arm. “I’m telling you, you have got to get rid of it.”

“Oh yeah!?” Fiddleford grinned, shoving his face back into Ford’s arm– Ford, in turn, lost his center of balance, falling off the bean bag sideways, dragging Fiddleford down with him. The two collapsed onto the floor, Fiddleford landing on Ford’s chest, knocking the air out of him, before rolling off of him and onto the ground beside him.

A few moments of silence passed before the two found themselves laughing for a reason that Ford knew neither of them could explain. Shock, perhaps. Regardless, they were laughing. It hurt his chest to laugh as it heaved between chuckles, trying to regain lost air. They quickly turned into coughs, Fiddleford still giggling beside him.

There was that Deja Vu again. He had been getting it at random points throughout the day, stronger than he had ever experienced it. It was less of a feeling that it had previously happened, Ford just knew that it had. Perhaps it had, at some point, and he simply did not remember it. Perhaps the day had just been one that was similar to one in his past.

When he blinked back to reality, Ford found himself laying on his side, his face inches away from Fiddleford’s. He quickly scrambled back as Fiddleford smiled at him.

“Jesus- you’re more frightening than the movie.” Ford gasped.

“Oh, hush.” Fiddleford replied, rolling onto his back and sitting up. “... Maybe we should call it quits. The movie, that is.”

Ford gazed up at the tiled ceiling, stained with the coffee-looking mark that seemingly every ceiling of that nature had. “You’re just a scaredy-cat.”

“I’d reckon I’m more of a dog.” Fiddleford huffed, moving to eject the VHS.

Ford slowly pushed himself off the ground, ignoring the throbbing pain in his head as he did. “I’d say you’re an otter.” Fiddleford laughed as the audio from the movie suddenly ceased and the screen turned off, plunging the two into darkness.

Soon, the two had navigated their way through the dark, back to their dorm. It was already past midnight- Fiddleford had decided to just go to bed, but Ford sat at his desk, reading the same book he had been reading earlier before he was interrupted.

If he was honest, he didn’t mind the break he’d gotten. Sure, he did enjoy reading about anomaly sightings, but it did get a little boring when it was all he had been doing since the blizzard had started. He appreciated getting some time to spend with his friend. But now, he was drained and ready to just sit down and get some peace and–

“Stanferd?” Fiddleford’s hushed voice called from his bed. So much for peace and quiet. Ford sighed, leaning back in his chair.

“Yes, Fiddleford…?” He groaned.

“I can’t sleep.”

“Well, what do you want me to do about that?” Ford swivelled his chair to face Fiddleford, whose head was just barely poking out under his blanket.

“Mmhh… What’re ya readin’ about?” Fiddleford muttered, looking up at Ford with such a soft gaze he just couldn’t say no. It was his talent, really.

Reluctantly, Ford rolled his chair over to Fiddleford’s bedside. “Anomaly sightings.” He began. “I’ve noticed a strange amount of sightings in this really small town in Oregon, of all places. It’s not even on any of the maps I have access to at the moment. Fairies, gnomes, these– weird… little hybrid animal things…”

—--------------------------------------------------------------------------—

He should have told him.

He supposed he had, but he didn’t get it, and Ford hadn’t bothered to correct him. He should have. Now, he couldn’t. Now, his own memories had decided to torture him by showing him what could have been.

And he hated it. He hated it so much, and yet he wanted more, and yet he held on.

—--------------------------------------------------------------------------—

Ford’s mind was spinning as he stood in front of the door to the house that was far too big to belong to a bunch of college students. Not just from the headache that had persisted all day- it was a new type of head spinning, a nervous oh-god-why-am-I-here sort of head spinning.

Somehow, Fiddleford had managed to bribe him into going to a Christmas party they had been invited to. Why had they been invited to a party? Why had he accepted only two books as a reasonable bribe in turn for attendance for a party?

To his dismay, Fiddleford, who stood next to him, knocked on the door before he had gotten the chance to gather his thoughts. He swallowed nervously, putting his hands behind his back as the door practically exploded open and a man who reeked of alcohol swung his head out the doorway.

“Hey, guys! Come on in, the party's just started.” The man grinned at the two as if they were long-time friends, stepping aside to allow them to enter. Simultaneously, he had given Ford a preview of the bright, loud mess that he would have to endure for the next few hours.

“Great, thanks!” Fiddleford grinned right back, grabbing Ford’s hand and practically dragging him into the house. Yeah, great.

Upon entering, Ford was greeted with the full extent of the sensory nightmare that was this university Christmas party. Holiday lights had been carelessly strewn around the main area, flashing every horrible color out of sync with each other. A crowd of people stood, sat, layed around, all contributing to the horrible smell of alcohol and sweat. It had been seconds and he already wanted nothing more than to scream and run away, but Fiddleford dragged him further into the mess.

“C’mon, let’s go find somethin’ to drink. It’ll make this all more bearable, trust me.” Fiddleford’s voice could barely be heard through the chatting and laughing of the other attendees.

“I’m not much of a drinker.” Ford replied, trying not to shout while maintaining an audible volume.

“We drank together, like, the second night after we met.” Fiddleford pushed Ford towards a foldable table with an open bowl of… Something sat in the middle. Red solo cups were strewn about the table and floor surrounding the bowl. As if this couldn’t get more stereotypical.

“That was beer.” Ford blinked down at the mystery bowl. The liquid within was a color that almost certainly did not appear in nature. “Beer doesn’t get you drunk. Besides, I only had a little.”

“That’s not– alright.” Fiddleford grabbed two cups, disregarding if they had already been used, and poured the mystery alcohol into them. He held one out to Ford as if any of this was a normal thing to be doing on a Thursday night, especially a Thursday night that also happened to be Christmas. When he didn’t accept the cup, Fiddleford shook it a bit until he reluctantly took it, but most certainly not to drink it.

“This doesn’t seem safe. Or sanitary.” Ford swirled ‘his’ drink, narrowing his eyes.

Fiddleford smiled up at Ford- god, that smile was going to be the death of him if he kept using it this way. “It ain’t! But just for you, I’ll test it.” He lifted his cup to his mouth and somehow managed to down the entire thing in one big gulp. Ford couldn’t help but wonder if this was a southern thing or a Fiddleford thing. After a few moments, his smile came back. “Alrighty, yer turn!”

Ford looked down at his drink, then back up at Fiddleford and his smile. Was he succumbing to peer pressure? Yes. Was alcohol among one of the most dangerous drugs, despite its common use in most cultures? Yes. Had he quite literally just sworn that he wouldn’t drink? Yes. In the moment, Ford didn’t quite care as he attempted to mimic how Fiddleford had drunk that stupid drink.

Immediately after he swallowed the alcohol of unknown origin, he regretted it. He could feel it burning down his throat and he could do nothing but hunch over and sputter and cough as Fiddleford (and most likely other partygoers) watched on in horror or amusement or indifference or whatever that wide-eyed stare was. It hurt. Was it supposed to hurt? Fiddleford took a step forward and slapped Ford’s back.

“Ya weren’t supposed to down the whole thing, silly!” Fiddleford laughed.

“That’s what you did!” Ford slowly stood back up, trying to ignore the burning in his throat.

“Yeah, we’re different people!” Fiddleford replied. “That was kinda cool, though… Before you started dyin’. C’mon, let’s go find some people to hang out with.”

Ford didn’t bother to argue, dragging himself along behind his friend as they made their way to the kitchen island, where a small group of people were chatting.

“And so I said, it’s not cheating if it’s–” The blonde girl in the center of the group paused, making eye contact with Ford. “... Stan?”

Unsure how to respond, Ford pointed at himself with raised eyebrows, as if there was another Stan right behind him this girl would be talking about. When the girl nodded at him, he opened his mouth, closed it, then opened it again. “Sorry, do I know you?”

“Omigod, I haven’t seen you in- what, two years? It’s me, Nancy! Those glasses suit you.” She smiled at Ford, who felt his heart drop as he realized who this was.

“Oh- er, I think you’ve got the wrong guy. I-I’m Stan’s brother.” Ford fidgeted with his hands behind his back, shifting his weight between his feet as he felt the group of people all staring at him. “He’s Stanley. I’m Stanford.”

“Nancy, who is this guy?” A man within the group muttered, words slurring together until they were almost one big word.

“He’s the brother of this guy I used to date… Before he, like, vanished. Where’d Stan go, anyways?” Nancy directed her attention back to Ford, who held back every urge to correct her grammar, as that was not something you did at such a social gathering.

Ford cleared his throat. “He… I’m not sure where he is at the moment.” When Nancy looked at him with a raised eyebrow, he continued, “B-because he’s travelling. His work requires him to… To move around. Quite a bit.”

Fiddleford, who hovered beside Ford, spun his head over to meet eyes with him. “I thought you didn’t–”

“Hush.” Ford nudged his roommate. He was not in the mood to tell the whole story about how his brother was kicked out to a group of people he’d just met.

—--------------------------------------------------------------------------—

Why had he been so okay with all of it?

He was drunk. That was why. But still… People say you tell the truth when you’re drunk. What he had ended up telling Fiddleford was not the truth.

… Why did he feel the need to lie to himself even in his own mind? Of course it had been. He’d made it painfully obvious the last few days.

It wasn’t fair. None of it was. But it didn’t matter how unfair it was. The universe hated him, and it had made that clear.

He was going to live. He had to.

—--------------------------------------------------------------------------—

Ford fell in and out of awareness as he leaned against the kitchen island, half-listening to Stacy or Nancy or whatever her name was drone on and on about how she cheated on her boyfriend with a girl but it wasn’t cheating because it was a girl and how if he broke up with her he was just jealous. He honestly could not care less.

“Stanferd? Y’alright?” Fiddleford leaned over and whispered into Ford’s ear. “Ya look like yer gonna conk out any moment.”

“Yeah, just a little bored.” Ford replied, slowly blinking at Fiddleford, who smiled back as he dug around in his pocket for something. After a few moments, he pulled out a rubber band- rather, a bunch of rubber bands, most of which bounced down to the floor. “What are you doing?”

“Tyin’ my hair up. It’s hot in here.” Fiddleford replied, doing as he said, pulling his hair into a half-ponytail, half-bun. “An’ there’s a lotta people who I don’t want touchin’ my luscious locks.” He chuckled to himself.

Wow. His hair actually looked decent. More than decent, even. Nice. Pretty. Ford couldn’t help but wonder why he didn’t tie it up more. He’d done it so seamlessly, too, the same way he could so easily work a screwdriver or slice fruit. Ford wished he had that dexterity.

When Fiddleford cleared his throat, Ford realized he had most certainly been staring for too long and he quickly glanced away, running a hand through his hair. He felt his face warm for a reason he wasn’t too sure of- the alcohol, perhaps.

“Ohmigod, Stan… Ford. Do you have six fingers?” Nancy’s stereotypical valley girl voice (despite having been born and raised in New Jersey) startled Ford out of whatever it was he was doing. “I thought that was just a rumor!”

Ford quickly shoved his hands behind his back. “Er, no. It’s… It’s true. It’s called polydactyly.” He sheepishly muttered.

“Oh.” Nancy made the face, along with almost everyone else in the group aside from a guy who looked too drunk out of his mind to care. “That’s… Kinda weird. Like, why do you have it and not your twin? Wait, does he, like, also have six fingers and I just didn’t notice?”

“Er…” Why had Ford said ‘er’ so much in the last few minutes? Had other people noticed? Why was his brain not working? “He doesn’t. You would have noticed, but… I’m not sure why. Can we-”

“Does the extra finger make you better or worse at- at doing things? Like drawing.” Another person in the group who Ford had not bothered to remember the name of chimed in. “Or-”

“No. I mean- It doesn’t affect that, I believe. Er, I am just… Naturally not- not particularly dexterous.” Ford stumbled over his words- something he didn’t typically do, he tended to be good at articulating his thoughts.

Another guy lifted his head, eyes lighting up as if he’d just solved world hunger. (Ford had bothered to learn his name- it was Richard. He was not to refer to Richard with his nickname.) “Okay, but are you better in–”

“Guys, stop with the questions.” Fiddleford interrupted, scowling. “It’s his first time at a party, and I’m sure he don’t appreciate bein’ bombarded like this.”

“You didn’t need to tell them that…” Ford murmured.

“Whaat? We’re just trying to get to know him.” Nancy dramatically leaned against the kitchen island as if she had been shot, batting her eyelashes. “What’s so bad about that?”

Fiddleford turned and raised an eyebrow at Ford, who, understanding his message, quickly nodded and took a step back. “Welp,” He smiled at the group. “We’d best get goin’! We’ve got places to be an’ people to meet up with. C’mon, Stanferd.”

“Oh- ‘kay. Bye, boys!” Nancy waved at the two, who quickly ducked away into the nearby crowd.

“Sorry ‘bout that.” Fiddleford whispered to Ford once they were far enough away. “I didn’t realize they’d be so… Weird ‘bout yer digit.”

“It’s fine. I’m used to it.” Ford waved him off, sighing as he tried to get one clean breath. He looked up at his roommate- when he couldn’t meet his concerned eyes, he instead opted to further observe his hair, allowing his brain to just turn off for a moment.

Fiddleford curled his lip, narrowing his eyes at Ford. “You’ve been starin’ at me funny all night. Is there… Is somethin’ wrong?”

“Oh- no, it’s- I’ve just… Never seen your hair like that before.” Ford tried to ignore the bodies shoving against him. He could barely breathe. “It looks pretty. I mean- it looks… Handsome. No– nice- no, you… You know what I mean.”

“Yeah, I do.” Fiddleford chuckled. “Maybe I should tie it up more.”

Ford quickly nodded- maybe a bit too quickly. “YES.” He blurted. “I mean- yes. You should. It suits you. Makes the mustache look a bit better as well.” Fiddleford raised an eyebrow. Had Ford said something wrong? Why did he feel so warm all of a sudden?

“Wanna take a break? You seem stressed.” Fiddleford put an arm around Ford’s shoulder. “It’s… A lot more crowded here than I thought it’d be. I s’pose I shoulda expected it.”

“Mhm... Let’s go get more to drink.” Ford grumbled.

“That’s the spirit.”

After the next drink, time felt a lot more like the construct it truly was. The two had been bouncing from group of people to group of people, most not particularly… Pleasant. Some moments felt like they had barely happened, others felt as if they’d lasted a lifetime. Eventually, the two found an unlocked room to sneak off into, just to get away from the crowd of equally annoying people.

“We’re not supposed to be here.” Ford slid down against the wall, allowing himself to sit for the first time in… However long this stupid party had been going. He wasn’t sure who’s bedroom this was, but it was quite frankly a mess. The host probably hadn’t expected people to sneak off into their bedroom, but… Still.

“It’s better that we’re in here just relaxin’ rather than another pair o’ people doin’ worse.” Fiddleford shrugged, sitting down next to Ford a comfortable distance away. He pulled the rubber band from his head, allowing his dirty blond hair to drape over his shoulders with a relieved sigh. “I could tell ya needed a break, anywho.”

“I suppose.” Ford replied. “Everyone’s just so… Loud. Annoying. I mean, everyone’s like that normally, but it’s worse here… Not you, of course. You’re never… Mmh.”

“Yeah, I get it.” Fiddleford nodded. “I feel the same way ‘bout you. I appreciate you.”

“Mhm. It’s like… You’re different from everyone else. You always know what to say to calm me down. You’re smart. You’re kind. Honestly, if you were a woman, you’d be… My type, I suppose.” Ford closed his eyes, taking in the moment of tranquility among all the chaos of the last several hours.

“Ya sure yer not just gay?”

“Positive… I just… I love you.”

“Okay, you’re definitely drunk.” Fiddleford laughed, presumably to himself. “Why don’t we just head home?”

And go home they did. Ford had never before been so happy to flop down onto his horrendously uncomfortable bed in a dorm full of rats and bugs and leaks, but in that moment, he didn’t really care. He was just happy to be home.

Despite everything, it was nice to be able to spend time with Fiddleford.

—--------------------------------------------------------------------------—

The rumbling stopped. The blue light of the memory gun slowly died down as the scream overwhelming Ford’s senses slowly dimmed, then devolved into coughs and sputters, then nothing. The stars around him began to blur as if he was squinting, but he wasn’t. He was warm and cold and tired and so, so awake at the same time.

And then his eyes opened again, despite being already open, and he was in a bed he recognized as his own in a room he recognized as his own. And his head felt like it was exploding a million miles a minute, and he couldn’t quite remember what had happened but he knew that something had been erased from his mind for some reason.

Ford slowly blinked, turning over in bed- as he did, pain shot from his ankle up through his body. Perhaps he had injured it. All that mattered to him was that he was alive, and he… He sort of remembered everything. He wasn’t too sure how much he’d forgotten, on the basis of not remembering, but he remembered Fiddleford and Stan and in the moment, that was all that mattered.

As he continued to gain awareness, Ford noticed the sound of someone humming to the banjo, a soft, warm, unmistakable hum that made Ford just a bit more comfortable.

“F…?” Ford murmured, mustering all his energy to speak. The sound of the banjo and Fiddleford’s humming quickly ceased, and after a few moments, Fiddleford entered his field of vision, kneeling down beside his bed.

“Stanferd? You’re awake– are- are you okay?”

“Head hurts.” Ford replied. “And… I’m tired. But… I’m alive.” He wasn’t sure if he was imagining it, but Ford swore he saw Fiddleford tear up. “How long have I been… Asleep?”

“Two days.” Fiddleford wiped his eyes, one at a time. “God, it’s good to hear yer voice again. Do ya… Do ya remember Bill?”

“Bill…” As Ford said the name, a sharp pain stabbed through his head. He flinched, scrunching his nose. “Ow. Hurts.”

“That’s alright.” Fiddleford softly smiled at Ford- a smile that held so much emotion that it made Ford smile right back. “How are ya feelin’?”

Ford slowly sat up, looking down at his hands. “Alive.” He began. “I… It hurts to think about… him. But I do remember, sort of. It’s weird, like the memory doesn’t belong to me but… I know it does. I’m not sure what to do now. He…” He paused, wincing as his headache only worsened. “He was my galaxy. And now he’s gone. I don’t know what to do with myself. With all that love I had.”

Fiddleford reached out his hand, intertwining his soft, warm fingers with Ford’s. “There’ll always be something to love if ya stick around n’ wait for it.”

“... Thanks.”

“I’m gonna go fetch Lee. I’m sure he’ll be happy to see you awake.”

Ford nodded, allowing himself to close his eyes for a few moments longer as Fiddleford rushed off. He was safe. He was okay. He was alive. Everything was alive, regardless of how present that… Demon was in his life. Hell, he couldn’t even remember what the thing was called, what it looked like. He had other things, other people to live for now.

“Sixer!” Ford’s door slammed open and a familiar body came crashing into his arms. “You’re awake! I was- I was worried. I was so worried, Ford. God, you scared me– don’t ever do that again. I’d just gotten you back, and…”

“I didn’t have much of a choice, Stan.” Ford ran his hand through his brother’s hair. “I’m here now. I’m not leaving again.” He glanced over at Fiddleford, who leaned against the doorway, then back at Stan. “It’s okay.”

“I’m not crying, you are.” Stan sobbed into Ford’s chest.

“I never said you were.” Ford replied. And for the first time in a very, very long time, he felt full.

He felt complete.

Chapter Text

Orange morning light beamed through the window, reflecting blue onto the kitchen table through Frilliam’s tank. Ford stabbed a couple times at the egg on his plate, missing and clinking his fork against ceramic every time. With a frustrated sigh, he rubbed his eyes before trying again.

“Sixer, you good?” Stan said from beside Ford, tilting his head at his brother. He’d tied up his hair per Ford’s suggestion- Ford had noticed he’d seemed slightly less on edge since. He was quite proud of the idea, though he’d die before admitting he got it from the memory of a college party.

“Fine. My hand-eye coordination has been off since…” Ford trailed off, leaving the obvious end of his sentence open for Stan to infer.

“Oh. Right.” Stan quickly replied. “How… How are you today?”

“Fine.” Ford repeated. It had been about a week since everything had happened, three since Stan had arrived and flipped his world upside down. Ford frequently wondered what would have happened if he hadn’t called or shown up, or if… The demon hadn’t told Ford to let him stay. If anything, it was its own downfall.

What was he thinking about again?

“So…” Fiddleford cleared his throat from across the kitchen table. “What now? I mean, I hate to rush y’all, but… We haven’t done anythin’ since Bill was defeated.”

“Don’t say his name.” Ford hissed, finally managing to take a bite of his egg. “It makes my head hurt.”

Fiddleford’s eyes widened. “Right, my bad.” He muttered. “But, um- we’ve gotta do somethin’. We can’t just sit here forever. Surely there’s more.”

“I… I suppose my next step would be to discover what the true source of Gravity Falls’ weirdness is. I suspect it may have something to do with the crash site.” Ford said. “Why do you ask?”

“Well–” Fiddleford took a deep breath. “Since we’re not workin’ on the portal no more, I was thinking of goin’ home. To Emma-May and Tate.” He paused. “Not that I don’t like being here, of course! I’ll come visit plenty- you two are my best friends. But I think I’m ready to go home an’... Forget about all this, I s’pose.”

Ford saw his brother tense up out of the corner of his eye, then heard the clattering of his fork landing on the table. “Don’t– you better not be planning on using that damn memory gun.” He growled, narrowing his eyes at Fiddleford.

“No, no, that’s not what I meant.” Fiddleford quickly reassured. “I meant it… Rhetorically? Hypothetically? Point is, I didn’t mean it like that. I mean, I wish, but…”

Not particularly interested in hearing Stan and Fiddleford debate the ethics of the memory gun for the millionth time, Ford focused his attention back down to his plate, beginning the quest to land his fork again. As he tuned the other two out, he began to debate what excuse he’d use for his symptoms when he’d eventually have to talk to other people. At the moment, a head injury seemed like the most reasonable excuse, but then he’d have to make up a story and that seemed like a hassle.

He so desperately wanted to just tell people what really happened. They wouldn’t believe him. If word got out, he’d be deemed crazy. He had saved the world- something that could give him all the fame he had wanted, really- but instead, the knowledge of his heroic act was restricted to his brother and his friend in the middle of nowhere, Oregon. A shame, really.

“Stanferd?” Ford quickly glanced up at Fiddleford, who was eyeing him expectantly as if wanting a response to something. “Whaddaya think?”

“Sorry, what was the question?” Ford asked.

“Do ya think it’s about time I head home? Or is there somethin’ I’m still needed for?”

“I… Suppose we don’t need you here anymore, no. I have greatly appreciated your time with us, though– we wouldn’t have been able to do what we did without you.” The sunlight began to grow harsher as dawn slowly turned to day- Ford squinted at the brightness. “Er- When are you planning on going?”

“Tomorrow, maybe. I can pack up my things tonight or in the mornin’.” Fiddleford shrugged. “I don’t really mind though.”

“No, tomorrow sounds good.” Ford replied. “We could do something fun today, perhaps. As a sendoff.”

Mouth still full of food, Stan chimed in. “Maybe we could–”

“Swallow before speakin’.” Fiddleford chided, voice still soft as ever despite the seemingly stern intent behind it.

Stan nodded, doing as he had been told. “... Maybe we could burn your evil basement shrine.” He said.

“Evil basement shrine?” Fiddleford repeated.

Ford’s eyes immediately widened- he flinched without realizing. “Wh- I- how do you know about that? I didn’t tell you about- I didn’t tell anyone about that.”

“Wait, that’s what that was?” Fiddleford muttered, eyebrows knitting together.

“You didn’t tell me about it. I read about it. Remember?” Stan tilted his head at Ford.

Right. He had forgotten about that, admittedly, among the chaos of everything. He’d forgotten that Stan had read through his journal… He wasn’t too sure how to feel about that, still. He supposed it had all turned out to be a net positive in the end, so it didn’t matter.

“Yes. I remember now. I… Wouldn’t call it a shrine.” Ford clarified. “He– Bill would…” He paused, trying to blink back the headache that came with thinking or talking about Bill. “He would make me purchase or create… Objects that looked like him, or represented him. Tapestries, carpets, figures… Things of the sort. And I’d keep them in a floor in the basement that I have… Not shown either of you yet.”

“I haven’t seen any of the basement.” Stan interjected.

“I always wondered what that weird room was.” Fiddleford added on. “I just thought it was extra storage… Or somethin’.”

Ford cleared his throat. “Point is, I suppose it is about time I discard those things. I’m just not too sure how. I wouldn’t want to donate or sell any of it, because… If he is somehow still out there- which he isn’t, I hope- I wouldn’t want him to have access to those things.”

“Yeah, I getcha.” Fiddleford nodded, taking a sip of orange juice.

“Let’s burn the stuff, then. We can set up a campfire tonight.” Stan said. “We could roast marshmallows ‘n shit.”

“That’s a mighty fine idea, Lee.” Fiddleford replied.

Ford nodded in agreement. “It’s settled, then. That’s what we will do.”

—--------------------------------------------------------------------------—

Stan pulled his red hoodie over his arms, the same one he’d worn when he arrived, the same one he’d worn on so many occasions since and so many occasions before. Rarely was the hoodie-wearing occasion one he viewed as positive.

Today was different, in that sense.

The familiar red fabric-y comfort hugged Stan’s back and sides- he shivered into the warmth. He glanced up into the bathroom mirror one more time before heading out, and staring back at him he saw himself. His hair was thick, brown, and curly, but not knotted- it still draped over his shoulders, but for some reason, it didn’t bother him as much. Maybe it was because he knew he could just tie it up whenever. Besides, it provided him some extra warmth on cold days like this one.

And his face… While somehow more battered than it had been when he’d arrived, it was his face now. The scar that slithered across his jaw was just another memory- one he had overcome, despite its lingering remains. He was still missing two of his teeth- he’d find a way to sort that out soon, he promised himself. It didn’t bother him too much anymore, and that’s all that mattered for now.

He made eye contact with his own eyes- large and dark and full of something he hadn’t seen in a while. There were still eyebags under his eyes, but he only gave them half a thought as the door behind him slowly creaked open and Ford poked his head in.

“Stan, you ready?” Ford said.

“... What did you just call me?” Stan replied, unsure if he’d heard his brother right.

Ford narrowed his eyes, visibly confused. “Stan?”

“You normally call me ‘Stanley.’”

“Do I?”

“Yeah. It caught me off guard, I guess…” He ran a hand through his hair- his thick, brown, curly hair- and slowly blinked. “Uh- Yeah, I’m ready. Why, are you coming too?”

Ford nodded in reply, glancing in the mirror. “I am. Did I not tell you?”

“No, you didn’t. I’d love for you to come with, though. Are you ready?”

“Unless we need a list, I believe I’m ready.”

“We’re literally just getting s’more supplies. We won’t need a list.” Stan replied, playfully nudging his brother. “Come on then, let’s go.”

And so, the two set off. They said their ‘see you later’s to Fiddleford and Frilliam (who had made his permanent residence in a tank in the now cleaned up kitchen counter), then they were outside the cabin for the first time in a week, into the woods and towards town.

Being in town was strange. Stan hadn’t been around more than two people for over a week, and now he was surrounded by them. It wasn’t bad. Just unfamiliar, after all this time. He was noticing things about Gravity Falls he hadn’t during his last visit. Overall, he had started to see things he hadn’t seen before. Or, maybe he had- he just hadn’t been paying attention.

“So, uh…” Stan looked down at his feet, taking a second to sync up his footsteps with Ford- an action that came easily to him despite how long it had been since he’d last done so. “Would you press a button if it killed all mosquitoes but made cockroaches grow to twice their size?”

“You’ve asked me that before.” Ford quickly replied with a chuckle.

“What? When?” Stan glanced back up at his brother, meeting his eyes- the same eyes he’d seen in the mirror. “I don’t remember that.”

Ford hummed in thought for a moment. “When we were teenagers. We were walking up the stairs to the boardwalk. I said no, because of the environmental impact such a thing would have, and you called me a nerd.”

“How on earth do you remember all that?” Stan raised his eyebrows, surprised. He was almost inclined to believe that Ford had simply made that up to mess with him.

Ford paused before slowly replying. “I… Happened to have recounted it recently, is all.”

Deciding to believe his brother (for now), Stan grinned. “Well, I agree with past me, then. That’s a nerdy answer.”

“I, too, agree with my past self. I believe my answer is quite logical.” Ford smiled playfully back at Stan. “Agree to disagree, I suppose.”

“Agree to disagree.” Stan concluded.

Eventually, the two arrived at the grocery store- the cracks in its aged walls had been overtaken by weeds. Upon entering, the fluorescent lights above them buzzed and flickered a greeting. As the brothers scanned the endless rows of shelves of dubiously branded snacks and probably expired pre-packaged meals, Ford began to speak.

“Hey- I have a question for you this time.”

Stan nodded. “Okay, go on.”

“If you were in a room with everyone you’ve ever met,” Ford continued. “Who would you go to first?”

Stan held up a finger to indicate he needed a second, grabbing a bag of chips off the shelf beside them and squinting at the label. He’d gotten them the last time he’d come here, and they’d been pretty good… Were they good enough to purchase again, though? Probably not. He placed it back on the shelf. “Uh… You. Duh.” He finally replied.

“Why me of all people?” Ford raised an eyebrow as if his answer was at all surprising.

Stan scoffed. “Who the hell else would I go to, if not you? You’re my twin.” He grabbed a bag of marshmallows from the bottom shelf and immediately went to check the expiration date. October 1st… What was that, a week from now? “Wait, are you saying you wouldn’t pick me?”

“I… have not yet thought of that. I suppose I would.” Ford replied after a beat of silence. Glancing down at the bag in Stan’s hand, he added, “Those look good.”

“Great. Now we just need… The things you put the marshmallows in. Greg cookies.”

“Graham crackers.” Ford corrected.

“Those too. Do you think they sell ‘em here?”

Ford adjusted his glasses, looking behind him as if the graham crackers would magically spawn there. “Er… They certainly do. I’m just not too sure where.”

“How long have you lived here again?” Stan smirked.

“Six years. I know. I’ve just never felt the need to remember where in the grocery store they sell graham crackers… You go search that way.” Ford motioned towards more aisles. “I’ll go the other way.”

“Alright.” Stan nodded, then the two set out their separate ways in search for the fabled crackers.

Perusing the aisles, only partially present in reality, Stan didn’t expect to run into anyone else. Well, maybe he did. An old lady in the canned goods section or a parent with their kid in the toy section, maybe. But never in a million years did he expect to see who he saw on the other end of the cold foods aisle as he turned the corner into it.

Clearly the other man wasn’t too sure how to react either, as both simply froze in their tracks, staring at each other as if they were both simultaneously the deer and the headlight. He was unmistakable, really, even across the aisle through Stan’s horrendous eyesight. His long blond hair and stupid black leather jacket were giveaways. His long combat boots and torn black jeans didn’t help either in the recognizability department.

Stan felt the bag of marshmallows slip from his hands. The rustle it emitted as it crashed to the floor was the only sound that filled the otherwise silent area. His throat felt dry, like if he spoke nothing but a cough would come out. Were his hands shaking? He really hoped his hands weren’t shaking.

“Pines?” Jimmy softly called. “Is that you?”

The kindness in his voice was enough to snap Stan out of whatever it was he was feeling. He bent down and grabbed the dropped bag, then took a few steps towards Jimmy. Then a few more. Then, when he reached the other man, he didn’t stop, he didn’t glance at him, he just kept walking.

He didn’t feel the need to check the frozen foods aisle. They don’t put graham crackers in the frozen foods aisle.

Finding his twin wasn’t too hard- he was the only other source of noise in the desolated grocery store. He had just so very conveniently pulled a box from the shelves with a picture of S’mores on it, because graham crackers are never used for anything else.

“Great, you found them.” Stan briskly walked up to Ford, tugging on his sleeve. “C’mon. Let’s pay and go. Quickly.”

“What? What’s going on?” Ford pulled away from Stan’s grasp, raising a confused eyebrow.

“I’ll explain once we’re outta here- come on, let’s go.” Stan nagged. Seeming to finally understand his urgency, Ford nodded, taking Stan’s hand and leading him to the cash register- they were out in under two minutes. Stan rushed his brother through town, nervous they could still encounter him, only feeling safe enough to slow down when they had reached the edge of the woods.

“Stanley, what’s going on?” Ford hissed.

Between breaths, Stan replied. “I… I saw… Jimmy. In the store. Called my name– I didn’t… Didn’t know what to do.”

“Oh.” Ford replied. “Oh. Do you…” He held out his arms, gaze softening.

“Yeah. Yeah, I do.” Stan tried to offer his brother a smile as he fell forward into his embrace. “Thanks.” He murmured into Ford’s brown sweater. Ford didn’t reply for a moment, only hugging Stan tighter.

“... I wish your past had been easier.” Ford breathed. “But… I can’t change that. So I’m going to try and make your future better.”

And for the first time, Stan felt like he could cry without guilt. So he did.

Running his hand through Stan’s hair, Ford continued. “Come on, let’s get you home. F can make you coffee.”

“Can he make hot chocolate?” Stan whispered. “M’not in the mood for coffee.”

“I’m sure he can.”

—--------------------------------------------------------------------------—

Ford shook the last of their food supply into Frilliam’s tank, making a mental note to himself to figure out where one can acquire more axolotl food. He grabbed his cup of coffee, leaning back against the kitchen counter with a sigh.

“Are y'all gonna tell me what happened or what? Ya both looked real panicked when ya came back.” Fiddleford prompted from the kitchen table, where he sat backwards on his chair to face Ford. Stan sat on the other side, slowly sipping the hot chocolate Fiddleford had happily agreed to make for him.

“It’s… A very long story. One that doesn’t concern you, to be frank.” Ford replied. “Nothing bad has happened.”

“If ya say so.” Fiddleford shrugged. “Say, why don’t we go an’ gather all the things from yer evil basement shrine? Since we wanna burn it all t’night.”

Ford blinked back the persistent headache that began to worsen at the thought. “Don’t call it that. Also, I can do that on my own.”

“I don’t mind comin’ with! I can… I can imagine it’ll be hard. For you. I wanna help. ‘Sides, it’ll give me somethin’ to do and Lee a bit of alone time.”

“Yeah, go away.” Stan chimed in, voice light but not fully joking.

Ford tapped his fingers against the counter, taking a sip of his coffee. He supposed it wouldn’t be much harm for Fiddleford to see that floor of his basement again. It wasn’t like he was hiding B– the demon from him anymore. “I… Sure. I would appreciate the help.”

“Great! Shall we go now?” Fiddleford’s eyes lit up as if he was excited to clean out a room full of junk.

“I don’t see why not.” Ford shrugged, pushing himself off the counter. The two made their way into the now cleaned up study, Fiddleford reaching the vending machine first and entering the code. As it slowly opened, revealing the hidden staircase, a shiver ran down Ford’s spine- he wasn’t sure if it was from the anticipation or if it was simply random.

The two silently walked down the stairs, Ford brushing his hand along the cold metal rails. It was annoyingly dark- the light must have died since his last visit. Ford fumbled his way to the elevator button, hearing the doors creak open followed by Fiddleford’s footsteps entering– Ford trailed behind. The light in the elevator thankfully flickered on after a few seconds.

Ford moved his hand around in his smaller coat pocket for a bit- when he felt the elevator key, he pulled it out and attempted to slot it in the keyhole by the elevator buttons, to no avail. Silently cursing his newfound horrendous coordination, he tried a few more times before Fiddleford took the key from his hands and got it in the keyhole on his first attempt.

Ford couldn’t help but feel jealous, but he quickly casted that thought away as he pressed the button for the second basement floor. The elevator whirred and clunked before slowly beginning to move.

Fiddleford hummed in thought, opening his mouth to speak, closing it, then opening it again. “Y’know, when I… Encountered that room before, I thought it was some weird science thing I didn’t understand. Like your thing with Nikola Tesla.”

“I do not have a thing with Nikola Tesla.” Ford muttered.

“Yeah ya do.”

“Shut up.” Ford replied as the elevator doors opened once more, revealing the room that Ford had been dreading entering. He was everywhere. On tapestries, on the carpet, on drawings haphazardly taped to the walls wherever there weren’t bookshelves. A stabbing pain shot through his head at the sight. It made him dizzy.

“Y’alright?” Fiddleford put a hand on Ford’s back.

“Fine.” Ford growled- he didn’t intend for the word to come out so harsh, but it did. “Fine.” He repeated, now a bit softer. He took a step towards one of the walls covered in drawings and gritted his teeth, practically lunging at it and tearing the papers off the walls like a rabid dog.

He couldn’t help it. It felt therapeutic, in a sense, tearing down what he had once believed to be the sun in the center of his solar system. He tore papers from the wall until there were none left, then turned to the tapestries above his desk, standing on his desk to take them down. Fiddleford gathered papers from the floor as Ford continued to take down everything on the tainted walls.

Eventually, he’d calmed down enough to take a moment to pause and gaze upon the results of his anger. It felt great to see it all as a mess below his feet… Then again, he’d have to pick it all up, a task that Fiddleford had already begun.

After a few minutes of silently working to clear the room of its mess– the two had begun placing everything in boxes that they had found in the corner– Fiddleford softly spoke up from behind Ford, who was grabbing small sculptures from his desk.

“Stanferd? What’s this?”

“What’s what?” Ford answered. When he turned around, he saw Fiddleford standing and staring at him, holding out a piece of paper that looked as if it had been crumbled. On it, a drawing of Fiddleford. Below the drawing, words.

SHIT.

Ford quickly snatched the paper from Fiddleford, holding it close to his chest as if doing so would erase his friend’s memory of reading its contents. “I–” He stammered. “I- I’m– How much did you–”

“I shouldn’t’ve read it. I’m sorry.” Fiddleford glanced down away from Ford, clearly avoiding his gaze. Ford pulled out the paper and scanned the words that had been crossed out- clearly not crossed out enough, as he could read it just fine.

I shouldn’t be feeling this way about ANYONE, let alone my lifelong friend! Certainly this is some sort of phase or I’m misinterpreting my emotions or something along those lines. What would THEY think if they found out about my love for a married man? They would all hate me. I must hide this.

Ford felt his heart sink. This wasn’t something he could spin into something less… Less whatever this was. He opened his mouth to speak but his throat was dry and words did not come.

“Listen, Stanferd.” Fiddleford muttered. “I… I kinda knew. After ya told me you were gay, I had… Started to realize. But after- after the fair, it was pretty obvious. At first I thought it’d be better if I didn’t tell you I knew, but I can tell it’s been weighin’ on ya, so…” He sighed.

“I’m so sorry. You… You must think I’m some sort of freak.” Ford choked out.

“What? No! No, no, I don’t think that at all.” Fiddleford shifted his weight from one foot to the other, looking back up at Ford with– what was that, pity? Grief? “I know you can’t control that sort of thing. It’s not your fault you…” He hesitated. “‘Sides, I think bein’ a little in love with yer friends is a good thing.”

Ford gazed into Fiddleford’s eyes for a second before replying. “You… You mean you don’t think I’m weird?”

“Sure you are, everybody’s weird. But certainly not for this.” Fiddleford held out his arms. “C’mere.”

Ford weakly smiled, wrapping his arms around Fiddleford’s torso, Fiddleford mirroring the action. They spun around at the impact for a bit before regaining balance, Ford pulling his face away from his friend’s shirt to look into his eyes once more.

“I love you.” He breathed, just to know how it felt, just to feel the words roll off his tongue, just to see Fiddleford’s gaze soften at the words.

“I know.” Fiddleford replied, almost instantaneously.

“I love you.” Ford repeated. “I love you so much- god, I love you. I’ll never bring any of this up ever again, but please– please just let me have this moment.”

“Mhm.” Fiddleford smiled down at Ford. “Take all the time ya need.”

“I’m so embarrassed.”

“I would say ‘don’t be’, but… I think I would be as well if I were you. So, um… It’s okay? I’ll- I’ll always be yer friend.”

“Mmh.”

The two stayed in their embrace for a while, neither speaking a word or daring to break the moment. Because for a moment, Ford could forget about everything and pretend that this had all worked out for him.

Because he knew that after this moment, he’d have to be back in reality- a reality that was better than it had been, but still a difficult one, still a nuanced one. For a moment, there was no nuance.

For a moment, everything was okay.

—--------------------------------------------------------------------------—

Stan scribbled away at his notepad– the story he had started writing when he was waiting at Ford’s door a week earlier had now reached twenty pages, and if he was honest, he couldn’t be prouder of himself.

“Stan! We need to talk.” Ford slammed Stan’s bedroom door open, frightening him so much his notepad slipped out of his hands and off his bed.

“Jesus– do you not know how to knock?” Stan hissed, sitting up.

Ford’s eyes widened as he glanced from the floor-notepad to Stan. “Right- sorry. Was I… Interrupting something?”

“Not really.” Stan sharply replied.

“Great, because we need to talk.” Ford repeated, the urgency of his voice actually beginning to worry Stan. His chest heaved- he was clearly out of breath. “Now.”

“Okay, okay. Hit me with it.” Stan beckoned his brother with a hand, scooting to make room on his bed for him.

Ford’s muscles tensed as he stormed forward and threw himself onto the open space on Stan’s bed. He groaned into the blanket before sighing and rolling over to look at the roof. “Fiddleford found out.” He muttered after a bit of silence.

“Found out?” Stan raised an eyebrow at his brother. “About?”

“About… You know.” Ford’s voice lowered to a hushed tone. “My…” He cleared his throat. “My liking. Of him.”

“Oh.” Stan replied. “That’s… How’d he find out?”

Ford put his palms on his face. “When we were cleaning up the basement, he found a page I had written about him. About this.” He dragged his eyelids down as he slowly returned his hands to his side. “It was– ugh.”

“Oh. Yeesh.” Stan grimaced, the secondhand embarrassment of such a thing happening creeping into his stomach. At the same time, he was sort of glad that Fiddleford hadn’t snitched on him. “Uh… Based on your reaction, I’m assuming he didn’t take it well?”

“Well, no. He actually took it pretty well, all things considered.” Ford muttered. “But still. I was hoping he would leave tomorrow and he’d never find out and by the time he’d come to visit again, I’d have this all figured out or I’d have gotten over it or…” He gasped for air. “It just sucks, is my point.”

Stan nodded. “No, I get it. That is like… A 6/10 in suckage.”

“7/10.”

“Fine. A 7/10 in suckage.” Stan conceded. “But it could’ve been worse. You said he took it well, but obviously he doesn’t like you back ‘cuz of the wife. So… He’s still your friend, right? I don’t- I don’t take him to be a cheater.”

Ford very quickly nodded. “You would be correct. He… He said he’d always be my friend.”

“So then everything turned out alright in the end.” Stan concluded.

“I suppose you could say that.” Ford turned over to face Stan, giving him a half-smile. As Stan scratched at his upper back beneath his hair, he added, “Is your hair still bothering you?”

Stan shrugged, not too sure of how he was meant to reply. “Sorta. It’s a bit more bearable, but… It’d still be nice if it was a bit shorter.” He frowned. “I can’t go to a hairdresser, though. I don’t trust strangers with scissors near my neck, y’know?”

“That makes sense.” His brother agreed. “Why don’t I cut it, then?”

“No. Hell no. The last time you tried to give me a haircut I ended up with a bald spot on the back of my head.” Stan shook his head as hard as he could without snapping his neck. “I’d rather just deal with it like this.”

Ford made his coming-up-with-a-decent-idea face, furrowing his brow in thought. After a few seconds, his eyes lit up with an idea. “Why don’t we get Fiddleford to cut it? With his hands, I’m sure he’d do a good job at it.”

“Someone say my name?” Fiddleford seemingly magically appeared at Stan’s doorway. “What would I do a good job at?”

“Where on earth did you come from?” Stan jumped a little bit in surprise- he hoped nobody noticed.

Fiddleford grinned at Stan. “Well, I was comin’ to ask where Stanferd was, but he’s right there, so…”

“Do you think you could give Stan a haircut?” Ford interjected. “He doesn’t trust me to do so.”

“Good on him- I wouldn’t either.” Fiddleford teased, leaning against Stan’s doorway. “Yeah, I could do that. I’ve cut Tate’s hair plenty o’ times, and it looks just fine every time.”

“Perfect.” Ford smiled. “Say, what did you need me for?”

Fiddleford snapped, clearly remembering why he was here in the first place. “Oh, I was just comin’ to tell ya that the gnomes are back in the woods.”

Gnomes?

“Really?” Ford’s eyes lit up with excitement– he jumped up off Stan’s bed, running out the door and down the stairs.

“Someone’s eager.” Fiddleford remarked. “So… Whaddaya think? Y’alright with me doin’ yer hair?”

“Sure, I guess.” Stan bit at the inside of his mouth with the teeth he had left. “It’d have to be today though, ‘cuz you’re leaving tomorrow.”

Fiddleford nodded. “We could do it now if yer free!”

“I guess I am.”

And so, Stan found himself in a horrifically squeaky chair in Fiddleford’s horrifically cluttered room, the taller man holding a cold pair of scissors uncomfortably close to his neck, snipping away at his hair. He couldn’t help but wonder how he constantly managed to get himself into this shit. Still, it wasn’t as bad as getting his hair cut by a trained professional, as if that made any sense.

When Stan had taken of his jacket as to not get hair on it, Fiddleford just had to go and point out his scar-littered arms, which lead to a nearly ten minute conversation about Stan’s past and how he swore he didn’t do it to himself and rather it was the gangs he’d gotten involved in, which only seemed to further worry Fiddleford. But now Stan was finally actually getting his hair cut after what felt like an eternity. Still, he could feel a slight tension in the air, Fiddleford clearly unsure of what to say.

“So, uh. Are you excited to go home?” Stan prompted.

Clearly it didn’t take much to get Fiddleford talking again, as Stan could practically feel the warmth of him glowing at the question. “I’m mighty excited! It’s only been a few weeks since I’ve come here, and I’ve missed them loads. I called Emma-May just now an’ she’s real excited to have me back as well… If not a bit peeved I hadn’t called in a hot minute. I deserved that, though.”

“Mhm.” Stan almost nodded before remembering there were scissors to his hair and doing so may lead to his neck being sliced, so he stopped himself. “I’m surprised you haven’t called her. She’s, like, all you talk about.”

“Yeah, I just haven’t really found the time amidst all the chaos, y’know?” Fiddleford replied. Stan felt a chunk of hair slide down his shirt onto his back- a shiver ran down him at the itchiness of it. “I’m… I’m assumin’ yer stayin’ here with Stanferd.”

“We haven’t talked about that yet.” Stan grumbled. “Do you think he’ll let me? I haven’t really been pulling my weight.”

“Lee, if it weren’t for you, Bill would still be terrorizin’ us– or worse, he’d still have Stanferd wrapped around his finger, then we’d have ended up finishing the portal, and… Y’know. Point is, you’ve ‘carried your weight’ plenty. I’m sure Stanferd’ll be happy to have ya here.”

“Really?” Stan asked.

“Really.” Fiddleford reassured.

Trying to veer the conversation somewhere less thought-provoking, Stan cleared his throat. “By the way, remember the thing I was writing last week?”

“Remind me?”

“The story about the girl who could leave her body. But she couldn’t find a balance between the outside world and herself– I was trying to think of a good solution, but I just couldn’t. Cuz, like, is there a balance?” Stan shrugged. “I don’t think there is. I’m gonna have her realize that there’s no such thing as knowing everything about everyone, nor is there such a thing as knowing yourself fully. And she just has to… Learn to be okay with that, I guess. It’s not a good ending. But it’s realistic.”

Fiddleford hummed in thought. “I don’t think it’s not good. I think everyone needs to realize that life isn’t something you need to complete. You just gotta live it.”

“Yeah, exactly!” Stan smiled. “Like… One day she might figure it out but it’s okay if that day is next week or thirty years from now, y’know? I would write more, but I ran outta space in my notepad.”

“Sounds like yer projectin’.”

“Maybe I am.”

Fiddleford paused, the only sound filling the room being the snipping of his scissors. “Hm. Well, I’d say it’s perfectly reasonable to not have things sorted out after what’s happened.”

Stan chuckled. “Yeah. I just… Does it ever get better?” Somehow, in the two minutes since he’d changed the conversation to ‘something lighter’, it had managed to get more existential. Oh well. Maybe the two were just an existential pair of people.

“Sure it does.” Fiddleford assured. “One day, yer gonna lay in yer warm laundry after takin’ it out the dryer and things won’t feel so bad.”

“That’s… Oddly specific.” Stan raised an eyebrow despite Fiddleford not being able to see his face.

“No it ain’t. Have you ever snuggled up in warm laundry? It’s the best.” Stan could practically feel Fiddleford’s smile radiating onto him. “It’s the little things, Lee.”

“Like warm laundry?”

“Like warm laundry.” Fiddleford half-said, half-laughed.

A few more minutes of comfortable silence passed between the two, Fiddleford now combing Stan’s hair. It was nice, the feeling of the comb on his scalp… If not proof of how pathetically touch-starved Stan was.

“We should smash the memory gun.” Stan blurted. He wasn’t sure where the words had come from- he ended up just as surprised as Fiddleford seemed to be as he immediately pulled the comb away from Stan’s hair.

“Wh- I– hm.” Fiddleford paused. “I… I s’pose I don’t see a problem with that. We could do it at the campfire tonight.”

“Wow, I thought you’d be against it.” Stan said.

Fiddleford went back to brushing Stan’s hair as he spoke. “No. I’ve seen what it’s done to Stanferd– I can tell it’s bad. And… I can tell I was startin’ to get addicted, admittedly. I’ve gone down that route before, I’m not very eager to do it again.”

“That’s the spirit.” Stan replied. “I’m surprised you didn’t realize sooner. That this was becoming a problem. I mean, when I found you that night…”

“Let’s talk about somethin’ else.” Fiddleford murmured.

“... Yeah, okay.”

About half an hour later, Fiddleford finally let Stan look into a mirror to see how badly he’d butchered his hair- to Stan’s surprise, it was not at all butchered. Quite the opposite actually. It hung just above his shoulders in a sort of half-mullet. He had to admit, it looked… Nice. Fiddleford had insisted that long hair looked good on him, it just had to be a bit shorter, and wow, was he right.

… Things were actually starting to go his way.

—--------------------------------------------------------------------------—

“And so now that Martha is dead, the gnome kingdom needs a new gnome queen. Which sucks, because nobody can agree on how we’re gonna find one!” The gnome in front of Ford put his hands up in exasperation.

Ford wasn’t too sure how he’d found himself sitting on a log in a forest clearing having a conversation with a gnome about the gnome kingdom and its culture, but it was a welcome occurrence. He was getting plenty of information that he usually wouldn’t be able to get from the frightened gnomes he had tried to capture over the years.

How many times could he hear the word ‘gnome’ before it became a meaningless word? Ford felt like he was reaching that limit.

“That’s… Fascinating.” Ford replied. “And how exactly do you choose a new gnome queen?”

“Well, the gnome queen isn’t actually a gnome, despite the name. Usually it’ll be a deer or a human, but–” The gnome abruptly ended his sentence, snapping his head up to look at something in the sky. “Gnomeshit. Gotta go!” He got up and scrambled off into the woods on all fours.

Gnomeshit?

Ford glanced up to see whatever it was the gnome was in such a rush to scurry away from, but all he saw were the leaves above him. (Or lack thereof, autumn had finally stripped nearly half the trees of its leaves.)

He nearly jumped out of his skin, however, when he looked back in front of him and saw an owl in the clearing ahead just… Staring at him. Ford slowly blinked at it, and, to his surprise, it blinked back. Had this been the owl that had come to visit him a few days prior?

“... Greetings.” Ford said after a beat of silence. He wasn’t sure why he was trying to speak to the owl– perhaps it understood English? After all, it had warned him of the danger that was to befall him in their first encounter. At least, that’s what he’d interpreted of it- he had no solid evidence to actually prove that this owl wasn’t simply just a regular owl.

The owl, after nearly a minute of remaining entirely still, nodded at Ford. Then, with a beat of its wings, it flew off in the direction opposite to the way home, behind Ford and deep into the woods.

In the direction of the cave.

He had completely forgotten about the cave. Ford quickly turned and followed in the direction the owl had gone, in the direction of the cave, in the direction of what could provide him just a few more answers.

He wasn’t sure what there was to answer, but still. Perhaps the true origin of Gravity Falls’ weirdness, now that he was aware that the ‘weirdness dimension’ theory was just a ploy to get a portal built.

But, strangely enough, when he arrived at the location from which he had first summoned Bill, from which the cave should have been… There was no cave. Rather, a pile of rocks against the cliffside where there should have been a hole. Perhaps the storm from the night he had first encountered the owl had caused a rockslide? Or the storm from when Stan had first arrived? Regardless of when it had happened, the cave had been covered.

Ford supposed he’d just have to find his answers himself.

With nothing left to really do in the woods, he turned around and began to make his way home. Now that the cave was gone, nobody else could stumble upon the instructions to summon Bill. Maybe the owl just wanted to tell him that, to provide him with a bit more comfort in the fact that the demon was truly dead.

Bill was dead. The thought still felt foreign in Ford’s mind. Two trillion years of deception, two trillion years of pure evil, gone. All that was left of him was the lingering headache Ford felt at the thought of him.

And Ford had won, truly won. Bill’s lack of existence was not given the pleasure of knowing he had taken Ford down with him, because he hadn’t. Ford was alive, so alive, for the first time in the years since he had met the demon.

At some point, he had this big ball of life and light and truth that he wanted so desperately to show to the world. And at another point, he had lost that. And now, despite everything, he had gotten it back. Not to the extent it had once been, sure. But in a sense, that was a good thing, because perhaps in the past, it had been too bright. Too eager.

Now, Ford didn’t feel this great big need to prove his worth to the world, to find his place, because he had proven his worth to himself and he had found his place. And his place was in Gravity Falls with his brother, learning of the town’s anomalies and perhaps one day of their origin.

And that was enough for him.

Upon his arrival back at the cabin, Ford was met with his brother sitting at the edge of the porch, kicking his feet and humming that same song that Fiddleford had been humming the last week or so. Ford silently told himself that he would not be catching the seemingly contagious earworm.

“Hey, Sixer!” Stan called as soon as Ford entered the clearing in front of the cabin. Ford noticed that his hair was… Not short, but certainly shorter. It was nice.

“Looking good!” Ford called back, walking up to Stan. “F did a good job.”

“I know, right? Great timing, by the way- we were just about to start setting up the campfire.”

“Really?” Ford jumped up and sat down next to his twin, staring down at the dusty floor below his feet.

“Yeah, it’s almost dark.” Stan replied. Ford glanced up and to his surprise, the sky was a pale purple as opposed to the bright blue it had been when he’d left. It was getting dark. How long had he been engrossed in learning of the mechanisms of the gnome kingdom and its culture?

“Oh, it is.” Ford nodded, looking back at Stan. “Let’s get this campfire started, then, shall we?”

—--------------------------------------------------------------------------—

“Come on, you can do it. Just throw it.” Stan lightly slapped his brother’s back– Ford remained completely still, hovering over the campfire the three had set up just outside the cabin. Just beside the campfire was a pile of all the supplies needed to make s’mores- a bag of marshmallows, a box of graham crackers, three sticks, and a few possibly-expired chocolate bars they had found in the pantry. “It can’t be this hard.”

“Well, it is.” Ford choked out. “It’s like… It’s like when you had that shoebox of stuff your ex-girlfriend gave you that you refused to throw away.” Wow, was he bad at stalling.

Stan chuckled. “That’s– I forgot about that. This is different though. He’s an evil demon, not your ex.” Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a movement from Fiddleford, who sat on a log across the campfire from the brothers. Stan glanced over at Fiddleford, who was grimacing and making a slicing motion with his hand. “I mean– he’s an evil demon. Throw him in the campfire.” Stan quickly corrected.

“I… Okay. You’re right.” Arms full of Bill memorabilia he had brought up from the basement, Ford took a deep breath. “I’m gonna do it.”

“Burn the demon! Burn the demon!” Fiddleford began to chant. Assuming this was some peer-pressure esque method to try and get Ford to let go of the damn things already, Stan enthusiastically joined in.

The chanting seemed to work, as after a few seconds of hesitation, Ford opened his arms, allowing the pile of flammable objects to crash down onto the campfire. At first, the flame dimmed under the weight, but within a minute it had risen up higher than it had previously been.

“Ya did it!” Fiddleford cheered, pushing himself up off the log. “See, doesn’t that feel good?”

“... Admittedly, yes. It feels… Empowering. It’s all gone.” Ford huffed, smiling down at the burning mess below the group.

“Good on you!” Fiddleford replied, reaching behind the log. “We forgot somethin’, though…” After a brief moment of mildly awkward silence, Fiddleford pulled out the memory gun. Stan hadn’t even noticed it was there. Without a word, Fiddleford lifted the gun over the campfire, then smashed it down– it shattered as it made contact with the flames. “There. Now it’s all gone.”

“Great. Let’s make s’mores now, I’m hungry.” Stan walked around to the other side of the campfire, sitting down on the other side of the log to Fiddleford. Ford joined the two, sitting between them.

The fire in front of the three crackled and burned as it ate up what it had just been fed. Above the three, the stars in the night sky shone brighter than they ever would in any of the cities Stan had previously been to. This felt like a fitting conclusion to this chapter of Stan’s life, doing a stereotypically forest-y activity with the two people he cared about the most, all three holding marshmallows on sticks out to the campfire.

“This is nice.” Stan said, looking up into the night sky. “All of this– getting to stay here, hanging out with you two… I don’t deserve it, really.” He punctuated his sentence with a small laugh to try and make it slightly less pathetic of him.

Ford scoffed. “Whether you deserve it is irrelevant and subjective. Do you want this?”

“... Yeah.”

“Then that’s all that matters.” Ford plainly replied.

“And for the record,” Fiddleford chimed in. “You most certainly do deserve this. You’re one of the coolest people I’ve met… By the way, yer marshmallow’s burnin’.”

“My– huh?” Stan glanced back down to see that his marshmallow was, in fact, burning. He pulled his stick back, but the marshmallow on the end of it was still very much on fire despite no longer being in the campfire. “Shit.” He hissed, drawing the end of the stick to his mouth and blowing the fire out. The marshmallow was black and charred, and it glowed a little bit like there was still a fire in its core… Somehow.

“Hah! Nice marshmallow, Lee.” Fiddleford teased, nudging Stan. He had already prepared his s’more, and wow did it look perfect.

Stan pulled the marshmallow off his stick, leaving behind a small amount of golden residue from its core. “Well… Jokes on you, cuz I like it burnt.” As he grabbed the rest of the supplies needed to turn the ugly marshmallow into a slightly less ugly s’more, Stan thought to himself that he most certainly did not like it burnt.

“At least yours cooked at all.” Ford spoke up from the other side of Stan. He still held his marshmallow to the fire, but it was fully raw. “I’m… Not sure what I’m doing wrong.”

After the twins had received a sufficient amount of teasing from Fiddleford for the trio’s goldilocks-like set of s’mores, they had finally gotten to eating the s’mores, and to Stan’s surprise, his actually… Yeah, no, it sucked.

After swallowing down the hot mess that was his s’more, Stan had to resist all urges to cough it back up. “It tastes like an ashtray.” He growled.

“Well, mine tastes delightful.” Fiddleford replied in a horrifically annoying sing-songy voice.

“Good for you.” Stan deadpanned. After a beat of silence, all three men smiled at each other, then laughed like a burnt s’more was the funniest thing on the goddamn planet.

Seemingly out of nowhere, Ford stopped laughing, wiped his eyes, and began to speak in a serious voice that stood out like a sore thumb amongst the overall light vibe of the moment. “... Do you guys think your soulmates can be your friends?”

“Where on earth did that come from?” Stan raised an eyebrow at his brother.

“I don’t know. I was just thinking about it.” Ford shrugged. “Do you?”

“Sure, why not.” Stan replied, reaching down to grab another marshmallow.

“Well, I’ll be damned if you two ain’t my soulmates.” Fiddleford spoke up from the other side of the log.

“What about your wife?” Stan countered.

Fiddleford grinned back at Stan. “Eh, her too.” Stan chuckled in response.

Ford cleared his throat. “... Thank you. Both of you.”

“Huh?” Stan turned his attention back to his brother.

“I just wanted to say thank you.” Ford repeated. “Despite everything, you two have made these last few weeks the least lonely weeks of my life. And… If it weren’t for everything else that happened, I’d say they’ve been my happiest as well. So… Thank you.”

“Oh, Stanferd…” Fiddleford said softly. “I really appreciate that.”

“Yeah, that was… Actually pretty nice of you.” Stan grinned at his brother, who smiled back, nudging him.

“C’mere, you two.” Fiddleford leaned forward, pulling Ford into a hug. “Lee, you too.”

Stan rolled his eyes at Fiddleford. “Alright, alright.” He replied, reluctantly joining the embrace- he wasn’t sure he’d ever been in two hugs in one day. He supposed there was a first for everything.

“Thank you.” Ford whispered.

“Yer welcome.” Fiddleford replied.

“... Yeah, it’s no problem.” Stan muttered.

—--------------------------------------------------------------------------—

Ford slowly woke up in the familiar astral plane he had grown to hate. His own mindscape- once a place for him to get his best ideas- now only served as a reminder of what it had become over the years, a place that repeated his worst memories to him over and over, regardless of what he did to stop it. It was terribly frustrating.

“I’M BAAAACK!” A shrill, terrible sing-songy voice boomed in Ford’s ears, and he turned to see a familiar glowing triangle, the same way he had nearly every night since… Since what had happened. “You better not have been plotting against me! That would be SUCH A SHAME!” It cackled.

“You’re dead, Cipher. I’m not– I know you’re not real.” Ford looked down at his feet, away from the demon that his own mind had used to tease him.

“Doesn’t that make this worse?” Bill moved closer to Ford, the slight glow in Ford’s vision getting brighter as he did.. “I’m DEAD, and yet you STILL dream of me! PATHETIC.” It grabbed his chin with a claw, tilting his face up to meet its eye. “I wonder why! Maybe you still care about me.” It smirked as much as a mouthless creature could smirk, moving its claws to brush his cheek. “Maybe you still love me.”

Ford grabbed Bill’s hand, peeling it off his face. The moment their fingers touched, Ford found himself dangling between his mindscape and the abyss below, only hanging on by Bill’s hand, as he had been in their last encounter.

“You’re not gonna achieve anything down there, kid. You’re just gonna leave your body vacant, and I’m gonna take it and use it to finish the portal, then NOBODY wins! Except me, of course.” Bill’s eye curved into a smile.

“Let go.” Ford hissed, honestly just wanting to get the memory over with.

Bill cackled its horrible cackle once more. “Did you not hear what I said!? You’re not–”

“Let go.” Ford repeated.

At the words, Bill’s eye flickered with a look of genuine gut-wrenching sadness, as if it truly cared. Its grip on Ford’s hand tightened, just for a moment, then loosened, then let go.

Ford gasped as he awoke, quickly sitting up in his bed. His lungs burned with every breath he took. His fingers gripped onto his sheets. Crickets chirped in the distance.

It was just a nightmare. Just another nightmare.

He allowed himself to loosen his muscles, to slow his breaths. Eventually, he rolled out of bed, turning on the lamp on his bedside table and blinking away the burning that came with the sudden light. He buried his feet into the carpet below him, trying to remind himself that he was safe, that Bill was gone.

Slowly, he crept out of his room and towards the kitchen. In the hallway, he heard Fiddleford’s loud snoring through his door- in a strange sense, it was calming. Upon turning them on, the kitchen lights flickered a few times before illuminating the room. Ford approached the fridge– when he opened it and found nothing appetising, he closed it and opened it again as if to magically summon better food. When he realized how brain-dead an act he had just performed, he tried to slap a bit more consciousness into himself.

“Sixer?” Stan’s voice came from behind Ford. When he turned around, he saw his brother standing at the doorway, wearing nothing but an oversized t-shirt and boxers, hair horrifically dishevelled. He slowly frog-blinked at Ford. “What are you doing awake?”

“I could say the same to you.” Ford replied, raising an eyebrow at his twin.

“Mhh. I guess… I had a shitty dream, and now I’m hungry.” Stan grumbled. He took a few steps towards the fridge, rubbing his eyes.

Ford took a step to the side to allow his brother to investigate the contents of the fridge. “Er… Same here.” He glanced out the window by the kitchen counter, out into the dark woods. “What was yours about?”

“Jimmy. You?”

“Bill.” The word came out of Ford’s mouth like sickness. He scrunched his face at the feeling.

As Stan closed the fridge, he turned to stare at Ford for a few seconds, his expression unreadable. “Did… I hate to ask, but I was just– were you and Bill dating or what?”

Ford recoiled at the question- it was one of the last things he would have expected to come out of Stan’s mouth, and it took him a moment to recalibrate his mind after the shock of hearing such a thing. “I… Er… We never– He didn’t bring it up, so I didn’t either.” He started, drawing out each word. “But… We did all the things that couples stereotypically do, so…”

“Yeah, I get that.” Stan nodded, leaning against the fridge. “Same here, to be honest. With Jimmy, that is.”

“I suppose we aren’t too different after all, then. Even after all the time we spent apart.” Ford concluded, repeatedly shifting his weight from one foot to the other.

“... After Fidds leaves, are you gonna still let me stay here?” Stan said, voice barely a whisper.

Ford blinked a few times at his brother, eyes widening. “Wh- of course I will. Now that I’m back to square one when it comes to learning of the origins of the anomalies here, I could use some help.” He shook his head. “And even if I wished to work alone, I wouldn’t just send you back out to the streets, or wherever it was you were. I care about you, Stan. Why- why would you ask such a thing? Have I given the impression that…”

“No, no, you haven’t. I just needed the reassurance, I guess.” Stan shrugged. When a minute passed without a word from either brother, he continued. “I- I’m gonna go back to bed now. See you in the morning.”

“Wait. Could… Could I sleep in your room tonight?” Ford squeaked, pushing himself up off the counter.

Stan visibly hesitated before scoffing. “Yeah, sure. Go get your blankets ‘n stuff.” He smiled at Ford, who quickly nodded back, then trudged out the kitchen and out of sight.

It wasn’t long before Ford had settled down in a pile of blankets in his brother’s room. It ended up raining for the rest of the night– autumn rain. It kept him awake for a while, but eventually he fell back asleep.

He was so very grateful to have survived.

—--------------------------------------------------------------------------—

Stan threw the last of Fiddleford’s bags into his trunk. With a content sigh, he wiped a bead of sweat off his forehead, looking at Fiddleford with a smile.

“I appreciate the help, Lee.” Fiddleford smiled back at Stan, eyes shimmering with a bittersweet gratitude. “Oh– I forgot! I got you a gift.”

As Fiddleford rummaged through his trunk, Stan looked beyond his car and beyond the clearing in front of the cabin into the woods. Most of the deciduous birch trees were now stripped of their leaves, the only ones that stood tall being the pines. The rising sun peeked over the horizon, shining warmth onto an otherwise cold Stan. The surrounding plants shimmered with dew from the previous night’s rain.

Weather-wise, it was quite a nice morning.

“Here ya go.” Stan focused his attention back to Fiddleford, who held out a spiral notebook- larger than his previous one. Stan took it in his hands, feeling the smooth new cover. “I remember ya tellin’ me that yer old one was full, so I went out this mornin’ and got you a new one!”

“Thanks.” Stan hugged the notebook to his chest, mind already racing with ideas on what to fill it with. Maybe he could add on to the story he’d believed to be over when his notepad had run out of room?

“By the way…” Fiddleford said, snapping Stan out of his thoughts. “I’m expectin’ ya to take good care of Stanferd. He’s not very good at carin’ for himself, if ya haven’t noticed.”

Stan softly chuckled. “Oh, I have. Don’t worry about us, Fidds. We’ll be fine.”

“If ya say so.” Fiddleford put a hand on Stan’s shoulder, slowly moving it down and patting his back. “But–”

“He survived six years here without either of us. He was fine then, and now that I’m here, he’s double fine… Or maybe I’m a bad influence.” Stan shrugged. “Point is, we’re fine.”

Fiddleford jokingly stuck his tongue out at Stan. “I’m sure you will be. I just get nervous.”

“F! Don’t think you can go without saying goodbye to me!” Ford ran out of the house and down the driveway, throwing himself into a hug with Fiddleford.

Fiddleford rolled his eyes, pushing Ford away. “I was gonna get Lee to fetch ya. I would never.”

“Don’t forget to call us, even if it’s from a telephone booth.” Ford continued, speaking with an unneeded urgency. “And remember that you can come visit whenever. Literally whenever. You’re always welcome.”

“I know, I know.” Fiddleford ruffled Ford’s hair. “I will. You two best call me as well, though.”

“We will.” Stan nodded.

Fiddleford huffed, nodding back. “I s’pose it’s about time I get goin’, then.” He walked around to the other side of the car, opening the door and beginning to climb in. “Take care!”

“Bye, Fidds!” Stan called as the car began to start up. The engine sputtered for a moment, then came to life, and the car began to move away from the two. Stan heard Fiddleford say something back, but whatever it was was muffled through the closed windows and the sound of the rumbling engine.

“Goodbye, F!” Ford waved at the car as it made its way down the driveway and towards the run-down road through the forest. Stan mirrored the action, the brothers waving and calling until the car was out of sight.

The two stood at the driveway for a moment, both looking into the same spot in the woods where the road turned behind the trees. Stan wanted to hold onto the peaceful moment so much that he could taste it.

“... I’m hungry.” Stan remarked, breaking the tranquil silence.

“Me too.” Ford replied, turning to meet eyes with Stan. “There’s nothing good in the fridge, though… Why don’t we go to the diner?”

“Yeah, sure.”