Chapter Text
"So we meet again, SIX FINGERS!"
Stanford Pines stood in a desolate wheat field streaked with gray skies, the bellowing voice sending chills down his spine. The field seemed to stretch on for infinity, the wind whisking the plants around gently. Ford quickly recognized this place as his mindscape (or was it dreamscape?). The mindscape was empty save for three monuments, all grayed and faded: a swingset for two, a sailboat worn by time, and a decrepit portal. The hairs on the back of Stanford's neck stood on end; every visit to this place was a fresh nightmare. What a shame he hated his own mind.
Anxiety brewed in the man's stomach as he balled his fists, ready for whatever disaster would occur this time. He knew Bill Cipher was there, watching him. He knew the demon was just dying to unleash a new terror on Stanford, he knew it, knew it, knew it. He supposed Bill was wreaking revenge on the one who'd figured out a way to destroy him.
The triangular demon's sharp laugh rang out across the mindscape suddenly, causing Ford to tense. All at once, the air filled with the smell of smoke and charred grass, and large electric blue lines suddenly traced their way through the wheat fields. Bill was most probably waving his finger around somewhere above Stanford's head, drawing on the canvas that was his mind. He spun around, dizzying himself, in an attempt to wrap his head around what Bill was creating.
Once Bill was finished burning the ground at Ford's feet, he exclaimed sardonically, "Take a good look, Fordsie!"
With those words, Ford felt his feet lifting off the ground. His stomach dropped as he ascended, forced upwards by the demon. After just a second he was halted, frozen several miles above the ground. Mind whirring, he cast his glance downwards.
Stanford's face twisted in horror as he saw Bill's writings: the fez symbol, the pine tree, and the shooting star. All drawn to perfection. All with angry red Xs slashed through them.
Ford became even dizzier then; his heart dropped and his arms trembled with fury and revulsion. He whipped around to confront the conjurer of the images.
"Stop this right now, Cipher! T-they're alive; you're dead! You can't hurt them!" Stanford yelled, voice not as steady as he would've liked it to be. Surely Bill could sense Ford's fear, no matter how far inside his core he tried to stow away the feeling.
Bill laughed a cold, chilling laugh. "That's what you think, buddy! You have no idea what I've got planned for you and your weak family!" He snapped his fingers and in an instant, Ford's feet were back on the ground.
Stan, Dipper, and Mabel suddenly appeared in place of their respective symbols. Their expressions were absolutely blank.
They looked disturbingly real.
One after the other, they all called out Ford's name, starting with Mabel.
"Grunkle Ford."
She stated his name simply.
Then, Dipper.
"Great-uncle Ford!" he called, with noticeable emotion. It seemed as if Ford's great-nephew was reaching out towards him, trying to grasp at him without moving.
Ford twitched, but then he turned to Stan. His brother, his twin, his counterpart.
"Stanford?" Stanley asked, the one-word inquiry loaded with a mixture of desperation, confusion, and sorrow. It reminded him of a lifetime ago, when they were both standing in that portal room, just twenty-eight with no knowledge about what would happen next.
Was that really thirty years ago?
Stanford could feel something drop in his chest- it was the feeling of his heart breaking. What had he done this time? What had made Stan feel so sorrowful?
"Aaw, look at Fordsie getting all emotional," Bill mocked. Ford mentally cursed himself for poorly hiding his emotions.
"I know what'll make this even more fun," the demon said, and on that last word, his eye turned completely red. A sick, pulsing blood red.
"You wouldn't--" Ford mumbled in horror, his already broken heart sinking to his feet.
"Oh, but I would!" Bill interjected loudly. He shrieked with laughter as he obliterated Ford's family members, one by one. They were each reduced to dust, each echoing Ford's name as they disappeared:
"Ford!"
"Ford!"
Stan's voice sent chills down his spine.
"Stanford!"
Ford jerked awake, heart pounding loudly in his ears, his head, his hands. He'd toppled off the couch he slept on in the spare room, the blankets in a tangled heap around him. The maroon sweater and simple black pants he wore seemed sticky with cold sweat. He grasped at his mouth, throat raw as if he'd been screaming. His other hand flew to his heart, like it might burst. His once stiff posture shuddered into a slump as dry sobs began to wrack his throat. Never had a dream been this fear-invoking. Never in his life had he felt so scared of losing his family.
"Jeez, Ford, you could've been a little quieter getting your midnight snack," came Stanley's gruff morning voice from down the hall. Ford froze in his fetal position, not daring to breathe.
"Well, you managed to wake me up- luckily the kids are still asleep. I swear, nothing gets them up before morning."
Ford's shoulders twitched. Stop that, he snapped at himself; no way was he going to let Stanley see him in his state. He tensed his muscles, but it was uncontrollable- one, two, three twitches.
Stan shuffled down the stairs. "Sounds like you dropped a pot or somethin'; really, Ford, didja have to scream when you dropped it? Jeez--"
He froze as he was just about to pass by the room Ford slept in. He flicked on the hallway light, catching sight of his brother on the ground. All he could see was the top of Ford's bent-over head and his twitching shoulders.
Ford desperately tried to steel himself, but to no avail.
He could almost hear his brother's heart sinking, realizing then that he'd never cried in front of his brother.
..When was the last time he'd cried?
"Ford!" Stan whisper-cried, racing into the room and over to the couch. "Oh my god, Ford, are you okay?"
Ford looked up with glassy eyes to face his twin brother, who stood over him with genuine concern. Pure embarrassment burned on his face as he shook his head, burying it in his hands. Every inch of his body trembled with an irrational fear of the nightmare he'd just lived through.
Stanford's face flared. He knew he looked so helpless, so terrified. And he knew that he was scaring his brother half to death, he knew that there was nothing he could do about it, he knew that his twin's head was probably racing, struggling to grasp at an explanation for Ford's unnatural behavior.
"...was it a dream?" Stan asked, barely audible.
Ford's train of thought halted. Oh, his brother knew him well. He nodded wordlessly, wiping his face and letting his hands drop. His gaze fixated on the floor.
He could feel Stanley flinch. "Do you... want to tell me what it was about?"
No, said Stanford to himself, no way was he going to tell him what he had just witnessed. It would only strike more fear into Stanley, and that was the absolute last thing he wanted right then.
But he had to.
Ford inhaled, making a choking gasp of a noise before whispering, "B-..Bill. And.. a-and the kids. You. H-he.." Stop stuttering, it's doing you no good.
"Goddammit, Stanley, it was Bill!" he cried out suddenly. And the fuse had been lit; he was rambling now with no sign of stopping. "He came back, he tortured you, he tortured the kids, and oh god, I witnessed it all, h-he burned you and Dipper and Mabel to the ground, and you all cried out my name and he literally burned you, he--" Stanford was promptly cut off by a tight embrace from Stanley. His voice trailed off, his eyes widened. A wave of coolness washed over Ford, relieving the feverish feeling that stung his skin.
Ford tensed for just a second before returning the hug, leaning his head into Stan's shoulder.
"Ford, I want you to repeat after me," Stan mumbled, voice low yet stern. "Bill - is - gone."
"Bill," Ford said, voice shaking, "i-is gone."
"Alright. Why is he gone?"
It felt like routine, the way his brother drilled him. "I... I killed him," Ford said, voice more solid this time. But then his voice broke. "I... but I erased your memory, oh my god, Stanley, I erased your memory to kill him." A fresh wave of sobs came back, violently shaking Ford's shoulders.
"Hey, my memory's back now, thanks to those kids. It's not your fault, Stanford," Stan said, patting his brother's back. "Can you repeat after me? Not your fault."
"It's not my fault," Ford murmured. "Not my fault, not my fault, not my fault."
"Repeat after me again: Bill is gone," Stan said again.
"Bill is gone," Ford said. And then he said it again and again and again. "Bill is gone, Bill is gone, Bill is gone."
He repeated that mantra over and over until he drifted off into a half-sleep, letting himself surrender to a fuzzy blackness. How peaceful the blackness was. How empty it was, devoid of any disturbances.
"I've got you," Stan whispered, almost absentmindedly, sensing his brother was about to doze off. "I'm right here, Stanford. Don't worry. Just rest your head, I've got you, it's okay."
In that moment, Stanford felt more secure than he had ever felt before. He let himself succumb to the darkness at last. Fragmented thoughts swam across his mind: too bad I'm not more awake to savor my brother's company.
Ford's muscles relaxed at last, his tight grip on his brother releasing. An easy smile fell on Stan's face then. Ford was sleeping now, and from the looks of it, he was having a pleasantly dreamless slumber.
Stanley carefully removed himself from the embrace, slightly cold from lacking the warmth his brother radiated. He yawned silently, stretching out his arms, feeling his joints crack in various places. Stan could feel his eyelids drooping suddenly, black velvet creeping into the corners of his vision.
He reached down to his brother, plucked Ford's glasses from his face, and draped the blankets back over him. He half sat, half fell on the couch, angling Ford's glasses back and forth, admiring the way they caught the light from the hall.
Stan placed the glasses on the couch cushion next to Ford's head before reaching over and gently tousling his brother's hair. Before falling asleep beside his brother, he whispered:
"'Night, Ford."