Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Twist burst out of the portal with a strangled yelp, skidding through the grass before crashing into the base of a tree. The portal snapped shut with a flick of his tail, leaving him gasping on the ground. He pressed his teeth together, forcing himself to breathe, the ache in his body humming beneath his fur.

“Bill? You with me?” he called, half-expecting the familiar, grating voice to answer with some snide remark.

Silence.

Twist lifted his head, scanning the trees. His ears flicked back when there was no trace of the triangle anywhere. “Great. Just great!” He raked his claws into the dirt, tail lashing. “First that ridiculous Ford in his stupid cape trying to study me, then that ghost Stanley wouldn’t stop hovering around, and now this?”

His fur bristled, every hair standing on end. He circled the tree he’d slammed into, a low growl rumbling in his throat before it broke into a frustrated huff.

Closing his eyes, Twist tried to summon another portal, focusing hard, reaching for the shimmer of purple energy. Nothing. Just a dull, empty ache where the magic should’ve been.

He let out a long, guttural groan and flopped down in the grass.

-

Ford pushed his way through the dense forest, scribbling notes into his journal without ever really lifting his head. He hummed a low whistle, half-distracted, his focus split between the trail and the page.

Bill had sent them all off in different directions to gather materials for the portal, and though Ford intended to pull his weight, it seemed harmless to slip in a bit of field research. After all, no one would ever need to know.

His pen paused at the sight of a flower, its rose-like petals shimmering faintly in the sunlight, casting off a soft glow. Fascinated, he crouched to sketch its shape and markings, lips quirking as he worked.

He straightened slowly, still jotting down notes as he walked—and promptly stumbled over something warm and furry. With a startled yelp, Ford flailed, barely catching himself before he hit the ground.

“Hey! Watch where you’re going!” snapped a voice from behind him, sharp with irritation.

Ford froze. Carefully, he turned to find a tabby cat glaring up at him, ears pinned back, fangs bared in a snarl.

“Uh…” Ford blinked, tightening his grip on the journal. “My apologies. I wasn’t watching where I was stepping.” He hesitated only a moment before adding, “…Though I admit, I wasn’t expecting a talking cat.”

The tabby rolled his eyes with theatrical disdain. “Yeah, obviously. Try paying attention next time, cape boy.” He flicked his tail and began pacing in quick, impatient strides, fur still bristling.

“Cape boy?” Ford frowned, tilting his head. “I’m afraid you must be mistaken. I don’t own a cape.”

The cat gave him a flat, unamused stare for several seconds—then suddenly barked out a sharp laugh.

Ford chuckled weakly in response, adjusting his glasses as though that might steady him. He opened his journal, fished a fresh pen from his coat, and tried to look composed. “I must ask,” he blurted, flipping to a blank page. “How is it that you can talk?”

“I’m not letting another Ford study me,” the cat snapped, tail lashing as he turned to stalk away.

Ford froze, then blinked hard, the words catching up with him. “Another Ford?” His voice pitched higher with excitement. “Are you implying—are you confirming—that there is a multiverse?”

The tabby didn’t even look back, striding off through the underbrush with his tail flicking in obvious irritation.

“Yes, there’s a multiverse,” he muttered. “And that’s all you’re getting out of me.”

Ford hurried forward, blocking the cat’s path with an eager shuffle. “How do you feel about making a deal?”

The cat stopped short, blinking at him before letting out a sharp, derisive snort. “That’s not usually your thing. Leave the deals to homicidal-maniac triangles.”

Ford’s brow furrowed, confusion flickering across his face. The cat shifted uncomfortably under the look, whiskers twitching as if he regretted saying too much.

“Well then…” Ford cleared his throat, smoothing his coat as he tried to recover. “Let’s start simpler. Introductions. I’m Stanford Pines, as you may have guessed.”

The tabby sat back on his haunches, tail flicking in restless arcs. “Twist,” he replied curtly.

“How did you get here?” Ford asked, his voice calm but probing, as he adjusted his glasses and leaned slightly forward. “Assuming, of course, that you’re not native to this universe.”

Twist’s ears twitched, and he narrowed his eyes, sizing Ford up before answering. “I make portals,” he said carefully, his tail flicking back and forth. “That’s how I got here. Not that it matters.”

Ford raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Not that it matters? On the contrary, it matters very much. But—” he waved his hands in a gesture of both explanation and persuasion “—you can’t leave. And, to be frank, it seems like you don’t want to be here. If you could leave, you would have already. Am I correct?”

The tabby gave a low, almost imperceptible hiss, whiskers twitching as he sniffed the air around them. “What do you think, genius?” he said, his tone dripping with irritation. He circled a few steps, brushing past ferns and broken branches, tail stiff and twitching with restrained energy.

Ford followed, hands still raised, careful not to startle him further. “I could help you,” he said earnestly, “if that’s what you want. And then… perhaps you could tell me about the multiverse. I mean, for research purposes, naturally. Your knowledge could be invaluable—and you could finally get out of this… situation.”

Twist paused mid-step, ears flicking back as he regarded Ford with a mixture of suspicion and mild curiosity. “Research, huh?” he muttered, flicking a paw through the grass. “You humans and your experiments. Always poking at things that don’t concern you.”

“I assure you,” Ford said, leaning a bit closer, “this isn’t just idle curiosity. This is… scientific necessity. Understanding the multiverse could prevent untold disasters. And if you’ve been jumping between universes on your own, imagine what you could teach me.”

Twist let out a soft, derisive snort but didn’t walk away. Instead, he circled back slightly, ears still pinned, eyes narrowing. “Teach you, huh?” His tail flicked once sharply. “Just don’t expect me to play nice.”

Ford smiled, undeterred. “I wouldn’t dream of it. But… think about it. I can help you get back where you belong—or at least get closer. You’re clearly capable, but there are limits to… well, everything.”

Twist stared at him for a long moment, his gaze sharp and assessing. Then, with a small twitch of his ears, he finally said, “Maybe. But I make my own rules. Don’t expect me to follow yours.”

Ford nodded, barely hiding the spark of excitement in his eyes. “Fair enough. Follow me then-we’ll head back to my home, where my lab is.”

-

Ford turned on his heel and began heading toward where Twist assumed the shack must be, notebook tucked securely under one arm. His eyes flicked around the forest, scanning each shadow with careful precision.

He sniffed the air, wrinkling his nose. Something was… wrong. There was a presence here—a Bill—but not a triangle this time. Human. And judging by the scent and the energy rolling off him, probably not the cooperative kind.

Twist’s tail flicked nervously as he slowed, ears flattening slightly. “Perfect,” he muttered under his breath. “Just perfect.”

When they finally arrived back at the shack, Fiddleford was already there, leaning nervously against the doorway with his coffee mug in hand. His eyes widened the moment he saw Twist.

“Uh… Ford,” he stammered, glancing between the tabby and his friend. “I don’t really think we should be taking in strays.” His voice wavered as he took a small step back, as if expecting the cat to leap at him.

“I’m not a stray,” Twist hissed, ears flattening and tail flicking sharply. Fiddleford nearly dropped his mug in surprise, his mouth opening and closing like a goldfish for a moment before he managed a shaky, “R-right…”

Fiddleford swallowed hard, blinking rapidly, clearly struggling to process the situation. “I-I mean… I just… cats don’t usually, you know… talk. At least, not like this.” His voice cracked at the end of the sentence, and he took a tentative step backward, coffee mug raised protectively.

Twist’s tail lashed once in irritation. “Well, welcome to Gravity Falls. Weirder things happen all the time.” He flicked a paw toward the doorway as if to suggest Fiddleford should get used to it.

Fiddleford’s hands shook slightly as he muttered, “I… I’m gonna go work on the portal,” and, not waiting for a response, he shuffled toward the door, mug clutched tightly. “You… have fun with that,” he mumbled, avoiding eye contact with the cat entirely, as if it might suddenly attack.

The quiet of the shack shattered as the door swung open with a loud creak. Bill stepped inside, hands tucked into the pockets of his coat, a smirk playing across his face.

“Woah, look what the cat dragged in,” he drawled, eyes glinting with amusement. “Sixer, why’d you bring a cat in here? We’re supposed to be focusing on the portal.”

Twist’s fur bristled immediately, ears flattening against his head. He crouched low, tail twitching in sharp, annoyed arcs. “The sooner he gets me home, the sooner you can get back to working on that stupid portal,” he hissed, voice low and dangerous, eyes locked on Bill.

Bill blinked once, slow and deliberate, then raised a brow. “Of course the cat talks,” he said, smirk widening. “Why wouldn’t it?”

Twist let out a low growl, teeth bared slightly. “I’m not here to amuse you,” he spat.

Bill leaned casually against the doorway, gaze scanning him with curiosity. “What kind of cat are you, anyway?” he asked, smirking. “The inter-dimensional kind?”

“Twist here,” Ford interjected quickly, stepping forward with notebook in hand, “offered information about the multiverse in exchange for a way to figure out how to stabilize his portals.”

The atmosphere shifted instantly. Bill’s eyes snapped from Ford’s to Twist’s, and in that moment, raw, barely contained fear and fury flashed across his face. He took a single step forward, jaw tightening, and for the first time, the playful smirk faltered.

Twist’s hackles remained raised, ears pinned, as he let out a sharp hiss. “Stay back,” he warned, tail flicking with warning. Every muscle in his body tensed, ready to leap or strike at the first sign of aggression.

Ford adjusted his glasses, unconsciously jotting down notes even as the tension filled the room. “I—uh—perhaps we should all… remain calm,” he suggested, though his voice betrayed his fascination with the unfolding dynamic.

Bill’s smirk returned, but it was tighter now, more controlled, dangerous. “Calm?” he said, voice low, almost a growl. “You have no idea, cat. You really have no idea.”

Twist’s eyes narrowed, tail swishing, muscles coiled. “Try me,” he said, his voice a hiss, every word loaded with defiance.

Bill leaned back suddenly, the fury in his eyes gone as quickly as it had appeared. His face settled into a mask of perfect calm, smooth and charming. “Listen, Fordsy,” he said, voice slick as honey, “how about I help you out with this? I don’t want some other interdimensional being crawling all over you. You’re a hot commodity, Sixer. Gotta keep you close.”

Ford flushed, ducking his head as he adjusted his glasses. “If… if that’s what you think is best, Muse.” His voice was soft, deferential, betraying the sway Bill held over him.

Twist gave a long, exaggerated eye-roll and plopped down on his haunches, tail thumping against the floorboards. “Unbelievable,” he muttered.

Ford, regaining some of his focus, tapped his pen against his journal and turned to Bill. “Do you know how to help with the portals?” he asked. Absentmindedly, he reached down and poked at the fur on Twist’s pelt, as if testing its texture.

“Sure do!” Bill said cheerfully, his grin stretching wide. “You need a special kind of essence from a flower.”

“Oh!” Ford’s eyes lit up. He fumbled with his journal, flipping to the page he’d sketched earlier. “Would it be this flower? It gives off a faint glow in sunlight.”

Bill laughed, the sound rich and easy, and his gaze softened as it lingered on Ford. “That’s the one. Bright boy, aren’t you?” He smiled, sharp but fond, and Twist wrinkled his nose at the display, whiskers twitching in disgust. “How about you go fetch it, and I’ll stay here with the cat.”

Ford hesitated, glancing between the two of them, already halfway to the door with his satchel slung over his shoulder. “Are you sure?” he asked.

“It’ll be fine,” Twist cut in, giving Bill a sidelong glare. “Just get me out of here.” His tail flicked once, a signal of restrained irritation, though his eyes never left Bill’s.

The screen door creaked shut behind Ford, and the muffled sound of his footsteps faded into the forest. The shack settled into uneasy silence.

Bill’s head turned immediately, his playful mask gone in an instant. His gaze locked onto Twist, sharp and predatory, and he took a slow step closer.

“You’re not going to tell him anything about the multiverse,” Bill hissed, his voice low and venomous. “You’ll lie to him. You’ll keep your mouth shut. Got it?”

Twist’s fur bristled, ears flattening tight against his skull. He rose onto his paws, tail lashing like a whip. “I’ll do what I want,” he shot back, voice a sharp growl that rumbled in his throat.

Bill leaned down, bending just enough so his face hovered close to Twist’s, his smile stretched thin and dangerous. “Careful, furball. You don’t know what you’re dealing with here. You think you’re clever—skipping between worlds, dragging your problems into universes that don’t need ’em. But me? I’ve lived this game.”

Twist narrowed his eyes, unflinching. “Funny. Where I’m from, my Bill used to say the same thing. And he wasn’t half as scary as he thought he was, either.”

For a split second, something flickered across Bill’s face—fear, rage, recognition—but it was gone just as quickly, buried under a smirk that didn’t quite reach his eyes. He straightened up, hands sliding back into his coat pockets.

“Cute,” he said, his tone mocking. “Real cute. But let’s get one thing straight: you breathe a word to Ford about what’s out there—about what’s waiting—and you won’t be around long enough to regret it.”

Twist flexed his claws against the wooden floorboards, his whiskers twitching. “Try me, two-legs. You don’t scare me.”

The air between them crackled with quiet hostility, two predators locked in a silent standoff.

Bill’s hands slid back into his coat pockets, his posture loose, but his eyes sharp. “Your Bill,” he started slowly, voice carefully even. “What happened to him? What went down in his universe?”

Twist’s ears twitched back. For a long moment he said nothing, just stared at Bill with narrowed eyes, tail swishing in restless arcs. Finally, he spoke, his voice flat. “Weirdmageddon,” he said simply. “He tried to tear the whole dimension apart. Got punched out of existence by Stanley Pines. After that? They threw him into the Theraprism as punishment.”

The words hung in the air like heavy smoke.

Bill grunted, the sound low and terse. His jaw tightened, but he said nothing at first. He turned his head slightly, gaze sliding toward the wall as though he couldn’t bear to meet Twist’s eyes. For a fleeting second, the smirk he usually wore had vanished, leaving something harder, darker, and far more human behind.

Twist watched him closely, whiskers twitching. “Guess you don’t like hearing that story,” he said, not quite a taunt, but close.

Bill’s eyes narrowed, and he gave a sharp exhale through his nose. “Not exactly bedtime material, furball.” His tone was casual again, but the edge underneath betrayed him.

Twist sat back on his haunches, licking a paw with deliberate nonchalance before glancing up at Bill. His whiskers twitched, a smirk curling at the edge of his muzzle. “You don’t like that story,” he said. “Because deep down, you know it’s yours too.”

Bill’s eyes snapped to him, sharp and dangerous, but Twist only stretched, claws raking the floorboards. “Doesn’t matter what shape you’re wearing, triangle or human. You’re always going to fail. Every time.”

Bill’s jaw tightened, his smirk pulling tight and brittle. “You’ve got a big mouth for something I could punt across the room.”

“Uh-huh.” Twist’s tail flicked lazily, but his eyes glowed with defiance. “Threats, deflection, the whole routine. You hear your future laid out in black and white, and suddenly you’re not laughing anymore.” He leaned forward slightly, ears pinned, his voice dropping to a hiss. “Because you know you’ll lose. You’ll always lose.”

For just a heartbeat, Bill’s façade cracked. The fury flashing in his eyes was raw and unguarded, born not from pride but from fear.

Twist caught it, and a low, satisfied purr rumbled in his chest. “Thought so.”

“Ford better come back soon,” Bill muttered under his breath, pacing once before dropping into a chair.

The shack fell into a strained, awkward silence. Twist crouched low in a corner, glaring at Bill, while Bill stared right back, perfectly calm, like they were daring each other to blink first. The minutes dragged, thick and heavy, broken only by the faint creak of wood and the ticking of a clock.

At last, the door burst open and Ford tumbled inside, clutching a bundle of glowing flowers in his arms. His cheeks were flushed, glasses askew, and his grin was boyish, triumphant.

“I got it!” he exclaimed, dropping the shimmering flowers onto the table as if they were treasure.

Twist immediately slinked forward, eyes gleaming. “So how do we do this?” he asked, stalking up to the flowers, his nose twitching with curiosity.

“You just sniff ’em,” Bill said far too casually. Before Twist could react, Bill’s hand darted out, grabbing the cat firmly by the scruff. With a wicked grin, he shoved Twist’s face straight into the blossoms.

“Hey—!” Twist yowled, but the protest was cut off as a violent sneeze tore out of him. The air shimmered, and in an instant, a swirling purple portal yawned open behind him. With a startled hiss, Twist was yanked backwards, vanishing into the vortex as it snapped shut with a thunderclap.

“Bill!” Ford shouted, whirling on him, anger flashing in his eyes. “I was going to ask him questions about the multiverse!”

“Don’t worry about it, Sixer,” Bill replied smoothly, brushing his hands together as though nothing had happened. He reached out, curling his fingers around Ford’s hand with disarming ease. “I’ve got all the answers you’ll ever need.”

Bill didn’t notice the figure lurking in the shadows just beyond the doorway. Fiddleford, half-hidden, peered from behind the frame. His expression was tight, grim. He’d been listening the whole time—and the look on his face carried none of Ford’s naive trust.

It was dangerous.

It was a warning.

And it was directed squarely at Bill.

Chapter Text

Twist hit the ground hard, rolling through brittle grass and cracked earth before landing squarely on his paws. The portal behind him snapped shut with a sharp crack, leaving only a faint ripple of violet light that quickly bled into the darkness. For a few seconds, he just stood there, sides heaving, whiskers twitching, trying to get a sense of where—or when—he’d ended up this time.

The air was different. Thinner. Cold in a way that clung to his fur and carried the faint rot of something that used to be sweet. When he glanced up, the sky was a pale gray-purple, the kind of half-light that came before dawn or after disaster. The ground was littered with soggy, half-rotted pumpkins and deflated decorations—paper ghosts sagging from branches, streamers fluttering like limp cobwebs. It was the sort of aftermath that reeked of nostalgia and neglect, the kind of quiet that came only when the party had gone too long and everyone had left.

“Perfect,” Twist muttered under his breath. His voice came out rough, low. “Didn’t even stick the landing this time.”

He stretched, shaking dust from his fur. His limbs still buzzed faintly with the ache of transit, that half-magic static that meant his body hadn’t entirely caught up with itself. He reached for the pulse of power in his chest, testing it, but it felt thin—strained. His portals always left him drained, but this was worse. The magic here didn’t flow the same way; it felt sluggish, muffled, as if the world itself were pressing a hand over his mouth.

He scanned the empty field. The remnants of Summerween lay scattered around him like evidence of a ritual gone stale: cracked candy wrappers, the faint smell of smoke from long-dead lanterns, footprints half-filled with rainwater. The edges of the forest loomed close, heavy and dark.

Something in the air hummed—low, faint, but familiar. Twist’s ears flicked toward it before he could stop himself. A trace of energy, sharp and angular, rippled at the edge of perception. He knew that signature anywhere. “There you are,” he muttered, tail flicking once. 

He started walking, paws silent against the wet ground. The energy trail wasn’t strong—flickering in and out, like static in a bad transmission—but it was unmistakable. He followed it past the remnants of a bonfire pit, the charred ring of stones glowing faintly with residual warmth. A crushed plastic mask stared up at him from the mud: a crude, smiling triangle with one big eye drawn in black marker. He snorted.

“Cute,” he said flatly, stepping over it.

The deeper he went, the quieter the world became. Even the wind seemed to hold its breath. There were no distant shouts, no laughter from lingering stragglers—just the steady rhythm of his own paws and the soft creak of branches. The faint hum of Bill’s energy grew stronger, more erratic, as though it were tied to something unstable, something flickering between here and not-here.

Twist stopped in a small clearing, the grass flattened in a perfect circle. The center shimmered faintly with leftover magic, pulsing once, twice, like the last heartbeat of a dying machine. He crouched low, sniffing the air. It stung with ozone and fear.

“Come on,” he said softly, almost coaxing. “You’ve never been shy before.”

For a long moment, nothing happened. Then the air split with a high, electric crackle. The light that bled through wasn’t purple this time but a sharp, angry yellow, flaring too bright to be natural. Twist squinted as the shape began to form—triangular, glowing, familiar.

The triangle flickered once, twice, before stabilizing into something solid enough to cast a shadow. One big eye blinked open, wild and darting, and when it landed on Twist, the figure seemed to freeze.

“Twist?” the voice came out cracked, thin around the edges. Not the smug, echoing confidence Twist remembered. There was something else in it this time—something dangerously close to panic.

Twist tilted his head, unimpressed. “You look like hell.”

Bill didn’t answer right away. His glow sputtered once, dimmed, then flared again, too bright, like a candle burning itself out.

“I was starting to think you didn’t make it,” Bill said finally, his tone forced into a semblance of its usual swagger. “You were gone longer than expected.”

“Guess I hit traffic,” Twist said dryly. His tail flicked once, and he watched as Bill’s projection wavered, sharp edges trembling. The triangle looked unstable, glitched at the corners. Not good.

Bill’s eye darted around the clearing, scanning the trees, the horizon. His voice came out tighter this time. “We need to leave. Now.”

Twist arched a brow, fur bristling in mild amusement. “Why? Afraid of the dark?”

Bill’s form rippled, flickered, and when he spoke again, the old arrogance was back—but only barely. “No,” he snapped. “Because I’m here.”

Twist’s grin was slow and sharp. “You mean, he’s here.” Bill didn’t deny it. He didn’t have to. The silence that followed said enough.

Twist sat back on his haunches, the faint purple shimmer of his own magic beginning to gather lazily around his paws. “Guess I missed more than I thought.”

The triangle flared brighter, jittering like a faulty lightbulb. “You don’t understand,” Bill said, his voice rising with something almost like fear. “He’s not safe to be around.”

Twist’s smile widened, toothy and mean. “You mean he’s not safe for you.”

Bill hesitated, then gave a tight, nervous laugh. “Same thing, furball.”

Twist’s tail lashed once. “Sure it is,” he murmured. “Lead the way, then. Let’s go see what kind of mess you’ve made this time.”

And together, they disappeared into the darkening woods, leaving the ghost of–seemingly disastrous– Summerween celebrations behind.

The forest seemed quieter than it should have been. The muffled crunch of their steps on wet leaves was the only sound, and even that felt amplified in the oppressive half-light. Twist moved with slow, deliberate ease, tail swishing behind him. Bill flared and dimmed like a broken signal, jittering with every shadow and stray gust of wind, his triangular form stretching and compressing unnaturally as he walked.

“You’re nervous,” Twist said, voice low, amused. “Can’t help it, huh?”

Bill snapped his head toward him, glowing unevenly. “I’m not nervous.” His eye pulsed bright red for a half-second, betraying him. “I’m cautious.”

Twist arched a brow, unimpressed. “Cautious. Right. And why exactly are you cautious? Scared to see a better you?”

Bill muttered under his breath, almost to himself: “You always make it worse.”

“You know me too well.” Twist’s grin was sharp, predatory, but there was a faint trace of something softer—amusement, maybe even affection, buried deep under his jagged sarcasm.

Bill’s form shivered again. His voice was a hiss now, frantic but restrained. “We need to leave. This place—this timeline… it’s unstable. If he sees me—”

Twist tilted his head. “If he sees you? Oh, you mean him, don’t you?”

“Same difference,” Bill said sharply. His projection pulsed, flickered, and then stabilized—only barely. “You don’t get it.”

Twist stepped closer, sniffing the thin, residual magic in the air. “Try me.”

Bill’s glowing form jerked backward, twitching. “He’s different. He’s not me anymore. Not… what I should be.”

“Ah,” Twist said, pacing around him slowly, claws clicking softly against broken twigs. “You’re scared of the past. Always running from the past. Funny, I never thought I’d see you human enough to do that.”

Bill flared violently, energy surging outward. “Watch it,” he snapped. “I’m not as weak as you idiot Theraprism quacks think I am. You don’t understand, so don’t push it.”

Twist’s tail flicked once, sharp and precise. “I understand perfectly. You’re afraid of seeing yourself too clearly. You could have had everything you wanted, but you threw it away because you were scared of someone getting too close.”

Bill flinched. His projection dimmed, trembling like a faulty projector bulb. “Don’t—don’t say it like that.”

Twist leaned forward, voice low, amused, teasing: “Say what? That you’re scared of you? That you don’t want to meet the version of you who actually got what he really wanted?”

Bill’s glow flickered, pulsing erratically. “I—” He stopped, jaw clenching. His single, glaring eye flicked toward the faint silhouette of the Shack in the distance, half-hidden in fog and debris. “Forget it. Let’s just get there and get this over with so we can go home.”

Twist straightened, ears twitching. “The Shack. You need Ford’s tech to recalibrate your little powers, huh?”

Bill’s triangular form flared red with agitation. “We need to do it before he notices me. Before anything else happens.”

Twist snorted softly. “Ah, the old ‘don’t let yourself be seen by your past self’ trick. Classic.” He flicked his tail in a slow, deliberate swish. “Lead on, then. Let’s see if your Ford is still as distracted as you say.”

They moved through the underbrush, Twist flowing effortlessly between shadows, while Bill’s projection flared and dimmed with every step. Branches snagged at him, sending him briefly glitching in and out of sync, and each time he stumbled, Twist’s grin widened.

“You’re jittery,” Twist remarked, circling him like a predator. “Flickering, unstable. You’re worried what you’ll see. Admit it.”

“I’m not worried!” Bill protested. His energy licked outward, glowing hot and unstable. “Even if I was–which I’m NOT–that doesn’t matter. What matters is—”

“—getting there before the other one sees you,” Twist finished for him, tone light but sharp.

Bill exhaled sharply, flaring red again. “Exactly.”

Twist’s grin softened, just a fraction. “Good. I like it when you admit the truth. Makes things easier.”

The door to the Shack creaked open, revealing the dim interior: scattered tools, the faint hum of leftover machinery, and a thin, lingering pulse of magic clinging to the walls. Bill’s eye darted nervously, catching every corner, every shadow.

The Shack smelled of oil, dust, and faint ozone—residual traces of the portal experiment. Twist’s claws clicked against the worn floorboards as he followed Bill deeper inside, ears twitching. Every tool left mid-project, every coil of wire, every scribbled note seemed charged with energy that hummed softly in the air, like the heartbeat of the room itself.

Bill’s projection flickered violently as he stepped past a workbench cluttered with spare parts. His triangular form stretched and pulsed, uneven and anxious, reacting to the space around him. Twist noticed it immediately, a shiver of amusement and something softer—something close to fondness—running through him.

“Déjà vu,” Twist muttered, tail curling slowly around his feet. “Same place, different mistakes.”

Bill flared a warning. “Don’t—don’t start with that. Not here.”

Twist ignored him, eyes sweeping the room. Sparks of faint energy clung to every corner, traces of magic lingering like fingerprints on glass. The portal project had left its mark. He could feel it, resonating, almost calling to him. Almost… familiar.

Bill’s voice wavered. “We shouldn’t be here. You know what could happen.”

Twist hummed in response as they moved cautiously through the cluttered interior, Twist flowing with feline grace while Bill stumbled and flickered, tense. Every movement seemed amplified in the stillness; every stray shadow set Bill’s form quivering.

A soft, flickering shimmer hovered just beyond, like heat rising from a summer road. Twist’s ears pricked, tail swishing slowly, alert. Through the magical haze, shapes became clearer: the faint outlines of two figures bathed in golden light, laughing softly, unguarded.

They were real. Or as real as time allowed them to be. Ford’s hand brushed lightly against Bill’s sleeve, sending the other man into quiet laughter. Bill—the human version—looked open, bright, and alive in a way that the Bill who failed never allowed himself to be.

The triangle froze. His form pulsed, flickered, and for a moment, the glow dimmed to almost nothing. His voice was barely a whisper. “We shouldn’t be here.”

Twist’s eyes glimmered with sharp amusement. “And yet… here we are.”

Bill trembled, muttering under his breath, struggling to hold his projection steady. “It’s not me…”

Twist leaned back, tail curling lazily around his feet. “Looks pretty real to me,” he said, voice smooth, almost gentle. “Guess even nightmares start somewhere nice. That could’ve been you, you know.”

The triangle’s form pulsed rapidly, frantic energy boiling over. He bounced slightly, a jittering, unstable figure in the dim Shack light. “Well, it’s not,”

Twist chuckled softly, a low, dangerous sound that filled the room. “You always run when you see yourself too clearly,” he murmured.

Bill’s projection flared, flickered, and then dimmed slightly, panic radiating outward. He looked toward the shimmer again, trembling. “Let’s get out of here,” he muttered, voice desperate, almost pleading.

Twist tilted his head, eyes glinting in the soft, residual magic. He took a deliberate step back toward the portal he was beginning to weave, shadows curling around him like dark ribbons. “Maybe this Bill won’t self-sabotage himself. Wouldn’t that be nice. I doubt it though.,” he mumbled to himself softly, amusement laced with something unreadable.

The faint light behind them—the Ford and Bill of this reality—began to fade, shimmer dissolving into static. Bill’s glow dimmed in tandem, flickering violently as if losing a tether to reality itself.

Twist paused, one last glance over his shoulder at the scene, then at the anxious triangle clinging to him. He let out a soft, satisfied chuckle. “Time to leave.”

And with that, the portal opened, wide and humming with restrained energy, the faint smell of ozone thick in the air.

Bill’s projection pressed closer, desperate, jittering, almost incoherent. “You… you better not—”

Twist only laughed, a sharp, musical sound that echoed off the Shack walls. Then he stepped through, Bill following, the portal swallowing them in a pulse of blue light and soft, humming magic.

The world snapped back into color with a pulse of blue light, portal magic curling and fading around them like smoke in the wind. Twist emerged first, claws clicking against the forest floor of a different reality, tail swishing in a slow, lazy arc. Bill tumbled out after him, jittering and unstable, sparks of energy flashing along the edges of his form.

Behind them, the remnants of the Shack and the fading echo of laughter lingered for a heartbeat, then nothing. Silence reclaimed the space, the afterglow of Summerween and the shimmer of what was never meant to exist settling into stillness.

And somewhere, just out of reach, Twist let out a quiet, satisfied chuckle, the sound lost in the pulse of the portal as they vanished from that world for good.