Archive of Our Own ^beta

Stanford Pines’ sense of time was so beyond fucked.

He had no idea how long it had been since he had fallen through the portal into the wider multiverse, and probably couldn’t answer even if he had a blaster pressed against his temple. Time didn’t move the same way between dimensions–first from the obvious reasons, such as planets having different revolutions and orbits, but in the little research he could do, he found that there were significant temporal differences between dimensions.

He had no idea how long he had been out here. Maybe a few weeks. Maybe a few years. Maybe a millennium had already passed back home and the Earth was populated by terrestrial squid now.

In any case, he knew one thing. Stanford Pines should have been out here long enough to know better than to listen to the people leading this goddamn heist.

He tried to avoid heists in general; least of all because they were much less fun than the movies would have him believe. Most of it was boring planning, and the rest was stomach-sickening anxiety over every minute detail. And no one was as talented at their jobs as they were in the movies. At minimum, half the team were total idiots who wouldn’t know know a quark-powered engine if it hit them in the fucking face.

And on a personal level, they made Ford uncomfortable. Everyone had a part to play, and he could admit (at least privately to himself) that there were some skills he simply didn’t know how to do. So he either learned them the best he could or moved on. But in a heist, he was reliant on other people. It was terrible. Especially with the aforementioned idiots.

And some asshole had already tripped the guard alarm, so now Ford’s plans to grab the power cells and book it before anyone else had noticed he had double crossed them was in serious jeopardy.

“In and out,” Ford mumbled, cramped under the engines like he was under the belly of a car. “In and out, no one’ll notice a thing, split the profits, make you all rich…fuck that. Fuck this. Fuck all of you.”

The blaring alarm made it hard to focus. He had two minutes before he was toast. He grinned when the final cell popped out, and he slid out from under the engines, slipping all six into his bag. He desperately needed them. Not for money–for building a weapon capable of destroying Bill Cipher, once and for all.

And, also, he only needed four. But money for security was nice.

“Thank God,” Ford muttered, standing up.

He froze when he felt something cold and circular pressed against the back of his head. “I wouldn’t.”

Ford felt adrenaline race through his body, and his fingers twitched for his own blaster. “Don’t,” the voice behind him warned, and Ford couldn’t stop himself from groaning when he recognized the voice.

Reaver, last name unknown, stepped in front of Ford, the eye that wasn’t packed with old gauze glaring at him. Reaver was a species called a Xenali, but Ford thought he rather looked like a tiefling from Dungeons, Dungeons, & More Dungeons. His skin was a dull green, and curling horns poked up from his head, bald except for a thin black peach fuzz. His ears were long and batlike, filled with holes from piercings long forgotten. His remaining eye was catlike, uncomfortably like Bill’s, except for an orange hue instead of a yellow one. It was hard to approximate ages on alien species, but Ford would have maybe pegged Reaver as in his early twenties.

“What are you doing?” Reaver asked, his words hissing.

“Nothing,” Ford lied.

Reaver scoffed.

“I’ll cut you in,” Ford said, and then immediately worried if he ruined his chances.

This wasn’t Reaver’s first rodeo with this group, apparently. He was a demolitions expert, and despite having only three clawed fingers on each hand, he handled the explosives with such grace and expertise Ford could have believed he was born doing this. The ringleader (Ford couldn’t be bothered to remember his name) had slapped Reaver on the back and said: “You all have a lot to live up to! This boy’s been at my side for at least six of these go-rounds!”

And Reaver hadn’t smiled, merely stared dispassionately ahead.

“...I know you’re loyal-” Ford started, remembering he was on the business end of a blaster, and Reaver scoffed.

“You don’t know anything about me,” he said, and his ears twitched when he heard footsteps down the hall.

“Then I’ll cut you in,” Ford said, his heart hammering. “I stole the power cells.”

“You-?!” Reaver blinked. “How?! The electric current running through those is enough to kill-”

“I turned it off. I’ll explain later, but really,” Ford said. “If you want in, we should go. Someone tripped the alarm-”

“Goddamn Bobby,” Reaver growled.

“His-” Ford blinked. “His name is Bobby?”

Someone was trying to open the door. They needed a keycard. Ford had disabled such necessities already, but it was only a matter of seconds before they realized that and started busting down doors.

Reaver grinned, his mouth full of razor-sharp teeth. Everything in the multiverse seemed better equipped for killing than Ford was. He supposed he would just have to adapt.

“Let’s go,” Reaver said, lowering his gun. “We can discuss my payment when we’re far, far away from here. And if you even reach for the gun, I’ll put so many holes in your head it’ll look like a fucking smoothie. Understood?”

“Try it and I’ll turn you into atoms,” Ford snarled.

Somehow, this only made Reaver laugh.

“I had you all wrong, Pines,” he said, and jerked his head towards an empty hall. “Hope you’re faster than you look.”

At some point, Mabel was going to have to face reality and accept that her sweater was a lost cause.

It had been dirtied when she first burst through the portal, in a startled shriek that seemed to reverberate around the Nightmare Realm, sending her tumbling into something resembling the ground, or at least as close you could get to the ground in a place like this. Ford, admittedly, had only made it worse, grabbing her and dragging her on instinct away from Bill, already cursing a missed opportunity to finally kill the monster that had plagued him for so long.

He had no idea when he could get back to the Nightmare Realm, if ever. And even worse, the quantum destabilizer had been damaged in the tussle.

It had taken several hours to unravel the full scope of what had happened; it necessitated an uncomfortable backstory from Ford, another backstory from Mabel that took enough detours to make his head spin, and then a short break to flee when the cave Ford thought they were safe in was, in fact, quite occupied by some kind of big hairy creature that very much did not appreciate their company.

(“Wait, Grunkle Stanford!” Mabel said as he dragged her out. “Maybe it’s friendly!”

The creature’s face split open, fleshy tendrils waving wildly as it shrieked at their retreating figures.

Mabel looked ill. “Oh. Nevermind, maybe.”

“What the hell is a grunkle?” Ford panted, fiddling with his dimensional jump device. It was already straining to take him from one place to the other. Taking two people was a huge risk, but whatever that monster intended to do was much riskier.

“Bad word!” Mabel crowed.)

Since then, Mabel’s sweater–a rather cozy-looking pink thing, decorated with a key–had taken all kinds of abuse. Mud, wear and tear, and on one memorable occasion they were both trying to forget, bug juice.

But Mabel refused to change. She had accepted the new shoes Ford had found her (“The ones you have now are hardly suited for running and such.”) the coat, (“Some dimensions are colder than others. It pays to be prepared.”) and even the switchblade. (“No, no-no, I know you don’t want it. But you’ll need it. No, no, I mean–you won’t need it, I’m sorry, just…just take it. You don’t have to use it. It’s for my own peace of mind. Please.”)

She had been slightly horrified when she realized most of it was stolen, but all the same. She couldn’t keep wearing that sweater. It was about to fall off.

“No, it’s fine!” Mabel protested, pressed against Ford as they wandered through a crowded street market. “The second I get a chance, I can patch these holes up easy-peasy-lemon-squeezy. Maybe I can get some fun alien yarn!”

“Hm,” Ford said, too focused on not spacing out to argue.

The street market was intense; wherever they had ended up, it appeared to be some kind of feeder dimension, the kind that meant there were all shapes and sizes of beings on account of so many wormholes forming around the edges of reality. Usually stable, if extremely chaotic. The conversations of the market, mostly shouted, echoed across the small space in a way that made Ford’s ears ring. He couldn’t imagine what it was like for Mabel; he had a translator implant. It sounded like English to him. He hadn’t had a chance to get anything that might help in translation for her. It must have all sounded like incredibly overwhelming noise.

But Mabel took it in stride, like she always seemed to do. She was a good companion for dimensional travel, all things considered. She was optimistic to a fault, always up for a new experience, even if Ford warned the experience would be largely unpleasant. She listened to him when he gave directions, helped out in any way she could, and was overall pleasant in a way Ford didn’t even know children her age could be. He hadn’t realized how much he had craved human company until he had it, even though she did, objectively, put more pressure on him.

It was impossible not to like her, and nearly as difficult not to love her. He failed both within the first few days. It felt incredibly dangerous.

“I just think it’s important,” Mabel said, grabbing the edge of Ford’s shirt in order not to become swallowed by the crowd. She had learned her lesson about trying to grab Ford’s hand–he tended to react badly to unexpected touches.

“Sorry?” Ford said, getting the sense he had missed something.

“You know, to have something from home,” Mabel said, in a way that sounded too forced to be casual. “We might need it as, like…a trail back or something, you know?”

(“And that’s why I’ve been gone,” Ford finished in the cave.

Mabel stared at him, her mind visibly spinning. “And you…did you ever try to come home?”

Ford said nothing. There were a lot of things he could say, but most of it boiled down to one thing: the possibility of stumbling home was so infinitesimal, it might as well not exist.

Mabel set her jaw, looking determined. “We’re going to get home,” she said, in a voice that was meant to sound determined, but came out more as a question.

Ford was never good at knowing what to say.

“Of course,” he said instead, because lying just felt easier. “Of course.”)

“Hm,” Ford said again, trying to ignore the pit of hunger in his stomach. It had been a few days since he last ate anything of note; nutrient pills, precious as they were, were a hard to come by resource. And taking chances with unfamiliar food could be incredibly dangerous. There were beings who drank bleach instead of juice, and would offer it, not knowing any better.

Mabel was feeling it too, especially since she outright refused to eat if she suspected Ford was going hungry. It was sweet, if somewhat counterproductive. He was bigger and more experienced with hunger. She was a child, and furthermore, at the age where children tended to turn into voracious eaters. She was slower now, visibly tired and struggling to stay bubbly.

Mabel tripped over nothing, and Ford sighed, deciding he didn’t want to watch her struggle anymore.

“Would it be easier if I helped you along?” He asked, pulling her to the side and out of the crowd’s flow. “You’re clearly quite tired.”

Mabel blinked. “...nuh uh.”

“Yes, you are,” Ford said, adjusting his glasses. “I suspect it has to do with your lack of nutrition. And an inadequate sleep schedule. And the constant stress. All things I hope we can remedy soon, but in the meantime, it would probably be helpful for you to get off your feet for a bit. I could carry you.”

“And…get a piggyback ride?” Mabel asked, excitement leaking into her expression.

“That’s the best way for me to carry you and still keep my hands somewhat free,” Ford agreed.

Mabel grinned, a little bit more energy in her expression. “I’d never say no to a piggyback!”

“Good to hear,” Ford said, managing a small smile back.

He knelt down, managing to maneuver his knees into a position where they didn’t hurt when Mabel climbed on. Her arms hung loosely across his chest, and he had to remind himself that she wasn’t going to attempt to choke him as he stood up.

“Woah,” Mabel said. “You did that way easier than Grunkle Stan.”

The mentions of Stanley always took him by shock, even though Mabel spoke of her family back home almost constantly. It was like hearing a show you had long forgotten about was suddenly back on the air. And you didn’t particularly like the finale to begin with.

“Stanley gives you piggy back rides?” Ford asked.

“Usually he just puts us on his shoulders. Me and Dipper, I mean,” Mabel said, leaning her head against Ford’s back. “But it sounds like stepping on dry pasta when he grabs us.”

Ford barked out a laugh before he could stop himself. “Well, I lead an active lifestyle.”

“Uh huh,” Mabel said. “And I bet you have cyber knees.”

“I do not.”

“I bet you do.”

“Sorry to disappoint,” Ford said, and then smiled slightly to himself. “My spine is made of titanium, though.”

There was a moment of silence. “...that was a joke, right?”

“Yes, Mabel,” Ford chuckled. “It was a joke.”

“Oh, yeah. Ha!” She perked up. “It’s hard to tell sometimes. Hey, what’s everyone saying? It just sounds like gibberish to me.”

“I’m not focused on them,” Ford said. “There’s too much going on to concentrate on one conversation. Try to block them out, if you can. Take a nap, maybe. It might make you feel better.”

“It’s way too loud to take a nap, Grunkle Ford,” Mabel said. “I’ll try, though. Tell me if someone says something funny.”

“I will,” Ford assured her, squeezing his way back into the crowd, telling himself repeatedly that his hands were free if he needed them, that Mabel’s weight wouldn’t spell doom for him, and he was completely in control at the moment.

It wasn’t so bad. Mabel was laying against his back, hopefully comfortable enough to at least doze. Maybe the market cacophony would feel like white noise to her, and she could relax just a little. The dark circles under her eyes were getting worrisome.

He scanned the market idly, looking for something edible. Or better yet, nutrient pills. Mabel complained they tasted horrible, and she wasn’t wrong, but they were deeply reliable, and reliability always outweighed enjoyment in life.

Mabel suddenly stiffened, and Ford had to fight the urge to throw her off when her hands grabbed his shoulders. “What?!” He asked.

“I think…” her voice became muffled, shoving her face against his back. “I think there’s someone following us.”

Ford’s blood ran cold, but he didn’t break his stride. “...don’t look at them directly. Describe them the best you can without it being obvious you’re looking.”

“Um, um,” Mabel said, openly afraid. “Um, I don’t know, they’re just wearing boring old clothes. I think they have horns? I can’t see. They have curly hair. I think they’re green.”

“Fuck,” Ford said.

“Bad word,” Mabel whispered without much scolding behind it.

“I don’t know of anyone off the top of my head with that description,” Ford said, his eyes scanning for an escape. “Can you be more specific?”

“Um-ah!” Mabel suddenly flinched. “Grunkle Ford, they saw me looking, they definitely saw me looking–they’re coming over faster!”

“Hey!” Someone called out, and that was enough.

Ford clutched Mabel as close as he could and took off, shoving people out of the way in his escape. Mabel yelped, nearly tumbling off at the lurch, but managed to hold on.

“HEY!” Someone called again, and Ford ignored them, desperately trying to fire up his jump device. It sparked weakly, still exhausted from their last jaunt. They needed a few more hours.

The jump device couldn’t create portals, not really. It drew upon energy in the atmosphere, wayward quarks and particles that were already itching to disobey the laws of physics. It was far easier than searching for tears in the fabric of reality, which were unreliable and far less stable. But it was still a random jump each time. Ford never knew where he would end up. And the device needed time to cool down and recharge–especially if two people went through a portal.

They were trapped.

“Fuck!” Ford said, and Mabel didn’t scold him.

He turned a corner abruptly, and bit back another swear when he only met a dead end, littered with trash and graffiti. He slung Mabel off his shoulder, pushing her behind him. In one deft move, he shoved the jump device in her hand and drew his blaster. “Try to fire that up,” he said, hoping his voice didn’t betray his fear.

She pressed it several times, and it only sputtered weakly. No dice, no nearby portals they could hitch a ride on. Mabel’s face had gone pale, and she grabbed his coat. “Grunkle Ford-!”

Someone peeked their head around the corner of the alley-

Ford primed his blaster, and it gave a warning whine of powering up. The head immediately disappeared. “Hey, hey, woah!” someone shouted, a masculine voice. “I don’t want trouble!”

“If you don’t want trouble, you’ll move along,” Ford growled, his hands remarkably steady. His finger twitched over the trigger.

“I know you,” the voice confessed.

“I don’t care,” Ford said.

“What’re they saying?” Mabel asked, tugging on Ford’s coat.

“We’re…” the voice paused. “Not friends. Friendly acquaintances, but that doesn’t feel right either. Not sure. Listen, if I put my hands up, can you not blow my face off?”

“No,” Ford snapped.

There was a beat of silence.

“...okay,” the voice sounded unsure. “Not sure where to go from here, then.”

“You go home,” Ford snarled. “Before I decide this conversation has gone on long enough-”

“Stanford Pines,” the voice said. “I’m pronouncing that right, yeah?”

Mabel tugged at Ford’s coat again, her eyes wide. She recognized his name, if nothing else.

Ford didn’t allow his body to untense. “...so what?”

“I told you, we know each other,” the voice said. “I almost didn’t recognize you, actually. You’re older. Guess we both are.”

“Tell me who you are, and what you want,” Ford said calmly. “Or I swear to whatever god you pray to that I’ll reduce you to atoms.”

The voice laughed, and someone just barely peeked around the corner. Mabel was right; he was sporting a head of thick, curly black hair, and horns spiraling above him. His skin was a vibrant green, and one eye was a bright orange, while the other was gone entirely–just a pocket of skin over a long-healed, empty socket.

Ford paused, familiarity tickling at the back of his skull. It was a Xenali, he knew that, but besides that, the name was coming up empty.

The Xenali glanced at Mabel. “Who’s that?”

Ford stepped in front of her again, the blaster still raised. “Tell me your name. Or else I’ll-”

“Yeah, yeah,” the Xenali stepped out fully, to Ford’s surprise. “I wouldn’t say I know everything about you, but I know that if you were going to shoot me, you would have done it by now. You’re hesitating, huh?”

“You have three seconds-” Ford said, and the Xenali sighed.

“Okay, okay, sorry, it’s Reaver,” he said.

All of a sudden, it all came flooding back to Ford, and his eyes widened in surprise. “...Reaver? You’re alive?”

“What’s going on?!” Mabel demanded, panicked.

“Why do you have a little girl with you?” Reaver asked.

“She’s, um,” Ford said, too frazzled to come up with a lie, or even decide if he needed to lie. “She’s my grand-niece, it’s a long story, she just–Mabel, please stop pulling on my arm–”

“Hi, honey,” Reaver said, his voice kind. Mabel couldn’t understand what he was saying, but her panic lessened a little at the sound of his voice. “I’m not going to hurt you, I promise. Doesn’t she have a translator?”

“No time to find one,” Ford said. “I’ve been translating myself for her where I can, but–”

“I have an extra bracelet,” Reaver said, and Ford tensed, not sure what to do with what was surely an upcoming invitation. “I’d be more than happy to donate it to her. Maybe offer you two some food and rest at my house.”

“You live here?” Ford asked, and Reaver nodded.

“Grunkle Ford?” Mabel asked, tugging on his sleeve. “Grunkle Ford, please, what’s happening?”

Ford figured that Mabel deserved to know what was happening. “...his name’s Reaver,” he said slowly. “I know him. We…worked together, on some things, a long time ago.”

“He’s nice?”

“...he’s not…evil,” Ford said slowly, and Reaver frowned. Ford lowered his voice, pulling Mabel closer to himself. “I don’t explicitly trust him, but he never tried to hurt me. He’s offered to take us to his house, give us food and shelter, and gift you a translation device.”

Mabel pursed her lips, thinking. “...do you think he’ll try to hurt us?”

“...I don’t know,” Ford said honestly. “It’s been a long time.”

“Okay,” Mabel said, nodding. “On a scale of ‘wants to give us a cake and throw us a party’, to ‘has an army waiting around the corner to jump us’, how trustworthy is Reaver?”

“What?” Ford asked. “Why are–why are those the stakes?”

Mabel said nothing, waiting for his answer.

“...seven and a half out of ten for trustworthiness,” Ford whispered. “No–six and a half.”

“Hm,” Mabel said seriously. “Well, those aren’t exactly the parameters I used.”

“I’m asking you,” Ford said. “Because it’s important that you become discerning about who you can trust. I know you want to see the best in people. I wish I could too. But out here, you hope for the best, and expect and prepare for the worst. Or else you can get very hurt, very fast.”

Some of the color drained from Mabel’s face, but she straightened, looking more serious than he had ever seen her as the weight of the decision fell on her.

“...I’m hungry,” she said quietly. “And…you’re tired. I think…I think we can risk it. For a six and a half.”

Ford nodded once. “Good choice.”

“Stanford?” Reaver called.

“Yes!” Ford said, refusing to allow Mabel to stray from him. He flicked on the safety of his blaster, but didn’t sheath it. “Yes, we’ll come. We’ll follow.”

Reaver smiled, and for a moment, they looked so alien from the Reaver that Ford had known years ago that it was concerning. “Glad to hear it. Come on, it’s not far on foot.”

Instantly, Ford wondered if it was some sort of trap when an orange cat trotted up to meet them with an insistent meow when Reaver opened the door to a shockingly normal house, chain-link fence and all.

Mabel’s eyes widened, her trepidation forgotten as she was faced with a friendly animal. She split into a smile so big it almost looked painful. “A kitty!”

Ford stepped back, a little more wary. “What exactly is that thing?”

“It’s an ulthar,” Reaver said, shrugging off his jacket. “His name is Jonesy. He’s harmless.”

“Looks just like a cat,” Ford said, fascinated.

“What’s a cat?” Reaver asked.

Mabel ignored them both, dropping to her knees and making kissy noises at Jonesy. He looked perturbed for a moment, and then curiously sniffed Mabel’s hand before rubbing his face against her fingers.

Mabel glanced back at Ford, her face filled with awe. “Oh my god, Grunkle Ford, he loves me.”

Ford frowned, skeptical. “Cats in your home dimension do that solely to mark something as their property.”

“Well I’m fine with that!” Mabel grinned, giving him a sideways look. “And what do you mean ‘your’ home? It’s both of our’s, silly!”

‘Home’ had not felt like home for some time. Ford had gone to great lengths to rid the word of all sentimental meaning for himself, lest he be consumed by an ache in his chest so strong that it throbbed like an open wound.

He shrugged stiffly. “I suppose you’re right.”

Mabel was trying to pick Jonesy up (he was a wriggly little thing), when a young girl’s voice started calling from the upstairs part of the house. “Dad? Is that you?”

Ford stiffened when another being appeared at the top of the steps, and she paused when she noticed Mabel and Ford. She looked similar to Reaver, save for deep blue skin instead of green, and her eyes looked remarkably human, so dark they were nearly black, the same color as her short hair. She had four fingers on each hand in contrast to Reaver’s three. “Dad?” She called out again, this time a little nervous.

“Oh, sorry,” Reaver reappeared, offering a reassuring smile to the girl at the top of the steps. “Last minute company. Didn’t have time to call ahead. This is Stanford and Mabel.” He nodded at them respectively. “And this is my daughter, Sarradine.”

Ford forced himself not to look startled. Fatherhood had been the last thing he had expected for Reaver.

“What’d he say?” Mabel asked, breaking Ford out of his surprise.

Ford glanced at Mabel. “He said that’s his daughter, Sarradine. The ulthar–it’s not a cat–is Jonesy.”

“I like your cat,” Mabel said, holding onto Jonesy tightly. “Um. Ulthar. Sorry.”

“Oh, one second,” Reaver said, yanking open a cabinet and digging through an overcrowded junk drawer. “I have it in here somewhere…here!”

He withdrew a metal bracelet, clunky and covered in rust, offering it to Mabel. She frowned, casting an unsure look at Ford. He nodded at her. “It’s quite alright. It’s a universal translator.”

She looked confused. “I thought you said it was like a brain implant for something.”

“The better ones are,” Ford agreed. “Mine is. But they make bracelets and such too. They’re not as good, but it works. And also, no procedures.”

“Oh, I like not doing procedures,” Mabel said, taking the bracelet from Reaver with a grateful smile and slipping it on. She looked relieved, and Ford hadn’t realized she had been fully expecting an invasive operation. “Oh, uh, how do I-”

The bracelet buzzed, and Mabel yelped, dropping Jonesy. The latter darted under the couch.

“...did it work?” Sarradine asked, and Mabel grinned.

“Hey!” She looked back at Ford. “It sounds just like English!”

She grinned, bubblier than ever now that she could understand people. “Hi! I’m Mabel!”

Reaver smiled, kneeling down to her height. It was strange to see Reaver like this–a full head of hair, no filthy bandages, and his ears were even filled with jewelry again. He looked relaxed in a way Ford had never seen him, practically glowing with the domestic life he had found himself in.

“Then it’s time we get properly introduced,” Reaver said, his voice warm in a way that Ford couldn’t make his own anymore. “I’m Reaver. Your uncle’s an old friend of mine. How do your people say hello where you’re from?”

“Oh, we do all sorts of fun stuff,” Mabel said. “Handshakes, high-fives, fist bumps, but I’m a fan of hugs! Do you guys do hugs?”

“We do indeed,” Reaver said, and leaned in like he was sharing a secret. “Between you and me, that’s my favorite way to say hello too.”

“Aw, bring it in!” Mabel said, opening her arms.

Ford stiffened, still a little nervous, but Reaver hugged Mabel with no fear and no bad intentions, like he had done this a million times. He probably had, if the little girl coming down the stairs was anything to go by.

“Sarra, come introduce yourself,” Reaver said, and Sarradine waved, a little less shy.

“Hi,” she said. “I can get Jonesy out if you wanna play with him. He likes these little running animals that my dad made for him.”

“I would love nothing more than to play with your cat,” Mabel said, following Sarradine to the room where Jonesy was watching them curiously now.

“What’s a cat?” Sarradine asked, and the two disappeared from view.

“I should follow her-” Ford said anxiously, and Reaver clicked his tongue.

“She’s fine, Sarra loves making new friends,” he said. “Do you want food? You look terrible.”

“I don’t look terrible,” Ford said, offended. “I’m just older.”

“You still look terrible,” Reaver said. “Please let me make you two food, I know you’re still using those terrible nutrient pills-”

“They’re reliable!”

“-and if my spouse found out that I let you two in without serving you food, xe’d divorce me.”

Ford blinked. “You’re married?”

Reaver grinned. “Mhm. Sa’vi. That’s Sarra’s other parent. My better half.”

“I wasn’t aware your culture observed marital rites,” Ford said.

“More or less,” Reaver shrugged.

“Hm,” Ford started, because that felt like a can of worms he half wanted to investigate, but the idea of a meal that wasn’t nutrient pills was already making him salivate. He reasoned that if Reaver wanted to hurt him or Mabel, he would have tried something by now. And there was certainly no reason to involve a little girl in any potential scheme.

“Is there anything in particular you want?” Reaver asked, going into another room that closely resembled a kitchen.

“Nothing that I think can be replicated out here, unfortunately,” Ford said. “I’m not picky. I’m sure Mabel won’t be either. And I have a scanner that checks to see if food is safe for my body to consume. Mabel and I are both humans, it shouldn’t be any different.”

“Sounds good,” Reaver said, starting to sort through pots and pans, in motions that gave the impression that whatever he was about to make, he was very good at it.

“So, this…” he gestured vaguely around the kitchen, and the house at large. “This is…a development.”

Reaver chuckled. “People in our profession didn’t last very long, I’m sure you remember. You retire or die. I retired. What have you been up to?”

Ford stiffened slightly. He was sitting in a quaint home, that could only be described as ‘suburban’, something that had been alien to him for his entire life, and never something he particularly wanted. Reaver had a spouse, daughter, and more than likely a stable and non-deadly job. Hell, he even had neighbors. Nice, respectable looking ones too.

Somehow, someway, Reaver had built a life for himself without death, crime, and panic. Ford couldn’t even imagine it now. But he could imagine what Reaver might do if he knew that he had invited a wanted criminal into his home.

“...not so much adventure and illegal activity now,” Ford said, forcing the lie to come easy. “Just wandering from place to place, I’m afraid. Doing odd jobs to survive and such.”

Reaver looked surprised. “You cleared your name off wanted lists too?”

“Essentially,” Ford said. “They got tired of chasing me. It’s been a long time.”

“You aimed a gun at me.”

Ford smiled, trying his best to look sheepish instead of slightly panicked. “Apologies. Humans are an oddity in most places–it’s hard to know who wants to speak to you and who just wants to add you to some kind of bizarre menagerie.”

Reaver looked like he had a million more questions, but focused on pouring a flour-like substance into a mixing bowl. “I mean…you must have found your family, right? If you found your niece.”

“...not exactly,” Ford said, unsure how many details he wanted to give, if any. “She…there was an accident in her home dimension. She fell through a portal. Luckily, I found her before any serious harm could come to her.”

“That’s lucky,” Reaver said, in a voice that made it very clear that he didn’t think this was as serendipitous as Ford was implying. “And you’ve, what, been exploring the cosmos with her and such?”

“Something like that,” Ford said weakly.

“Why don’t you just take her home?” Reaver asked.

“...I can’t,” Ford said, his heart sinking. “I…my jump device works at random. The chances of ending up back home are so low they’re essentially zero. Frankly, I’m just relieved we’ve had the luck to not run into a dimension where the air is poisonous. I only have one mask.”

“Surely there’s a way to get home,” Reaver said, looking back at him with a frown.

“...what’ve you been up to?” Ford said, making a point to look around the kitchen, desperate for a subject change. “This is…I’ll admit, this is not where I’d imagined you would have ended up.”

Reaver paused, noticing the shift, but didn’t say anything. “...ended up in the city a while back. Not long after we said our goodbyes. Not that we were a team very long, but…anyway, I started working odd jobs, doing this, that, or the other. Eventually got a job repairing flight vehicles. Only problem was, I was terrible at it because I lied about my skills. Sa’vi worked there too. Xe thought I was slacking to get out of work, and took it upon xemselves to make sure I got the job done. Anyway, xe figured out I sucked at it, but…”

Reaver smiled, looking a little dreamy. “...I guess xe decided xe liked me. Or something.”

“Or something,” Ford repeated, amused.

“Shut up,” Reaver said with no bite, pouring a green and blue mixture into a pan. It began to sizzle, and a sweet, cake-like smell filled the room. Ford’s mouth watered, and he hoped it was edible for humans. “We…well. Started talking. Xe helped me get a better job, one I was slightly better at. We stayed together, and eventually…”

He motioned around in the same way Ford did. “Ta-da.”

“That’s…” Ford looked around again, unsure what to say. “That’s wonderful. Congratulations. Truly, I’m sure Sa’vi is very lucky to have you. Sarradine too.”

Reaver looked thoughtful for a moment. “Did you ever have that?”

“Have what?”

“Someone,” Reaver said. “Someone like I have Sa’vi.”

“...no, not really. Not like that,” Ford said quietly, and then unexpectedly, Fiddleford’s face flashed in his mind, accompanied by the usual tidal wave of guilt and regret. He dropped his gaze to the table. “I think I almost did, though.”

“What happened?” Reaver asked.

Ford would have rather talked about anything else, and tried to think of something. Unfortunately, his gaze settled on Reaver’s face.

“What happened to your eye?” He blurted out.

Instantly, Reaver stiffened, and for a second, Ford thought he saw the Reaver he had known all those years ago. The scowling, quick-fingered Xenali criminal with a sharp tongue and a sharper knife, who looked at Ford like he was deciding how best to kill him.

“I-I’m sorry,” Ford said, cringing at himself. “I don’t…I don’t know where that came from.”

Reaver remained quiet for a moment, looking vaguely haunted. “...you can sell anything,” they finally said. “If you know where to go. If you’re hungry enough.”

Ford went quiet, entirely unsure how to respond. Reaver shrugged, poking at the rapidly firming object in the pan. “...it’s fine. I wasn’t much more than a stupid kid then. And anyway, it healed. We’re saving for a prosthetic now, but I’m so used to it I have half a mind to spend it on a vacation instead.”

Ford still said nothing, and Reaver took a breath, forcing his shoulder to relax. “Can you grab the girls in the other room? Lunch is almost done.”

Jonsey’s eyes went big, and he crouched low to the ground, wiggling his butt before he lunged at the ribbon toy Mabel was holding. She giggled, jerking it out of the way before he could snatch it. Sarradine giggled too.

“Aw, he’s adorable!” Mabel cooed, this time letting Jonsey succeed in grabbing the ribbon.

“My parents got him for me on my birthday,” Sarradine said. “He’s great. Even though he runs around at night a lot.”

“Our cat back home did that too,” Mabel said. “Uh, we call ulthars ‘cats’ where I’m from. She’s kinda old now, though, so she doesn’t do it much anymore. I also have a pig named Waddles! He’s basically my son!”

“What’s a pig?”

“Uh, don’t worry about it, it takes too long to explain.”

Mabel liked Sarradine. At the nickname ‘Sarra’ that Reaver used for her, she had expected Sarradine to remind her of Sarah Hwung back home in Piedmont, one of her friends from science class. But Sarradine, for better or worse, reminded her far more of Dipper.

Sarradine was a little quieter, reacting to Mabel with a little more trepidation than Mabel had met her with. But she had warmed up quickly, especially around a common interest–this one being Jonesy.

“What’s wrong?” Sarradine asked. “Your face looks all screwy.”

“Nothing,” Mabel said, disguising a sniffle by wiping her nose. “I think I might be slightly allergic to ulthar fur.”

“Hm,” Sarradine said, reaching out to scratch Jonsey’s ears. He purred, leaning into her fingers. “So where are you from? And um, don’t take this the wrong way, but, uh…what are you?”

“What?”

“Like, you know,” Sarradine said, gesturing vaguely. “My dad’s a Xenali, and my other parent is a Telrog.”

“Oh!” Mabel grinned. “Human! On both sides. I’m from earth, me and Grunkle Ford both are.”

“Oh, okay,” Sarradine nodded. “I’ve never seen a human before. Why aren’t you on earth? Are you guys explorers?”

Mabel’s smile stiffened, and she stared at the ground. “Um, uh, not…not exactly–”

“Excuse me?” Ford poked his head in, and Mabel had never felt more grateful. “Ah, hello. Reaver says that lunch is nearly ready.”

The weakness, brain fog, and pain of not eating for some time seemed to intensify so suddenly that Mabel felt like she might collapse from it. Instead, she clambered to her feet, hoping the relief didn’t show on her face as deeply as she felt it. Ford had looked so worried and guilty when they first ran out of food that it felt nearly as bad as the hunger itself.

“What is it?” Mabel asked.

“I haven’t the slightest idea,” Ford said, reaching his arm out to draw Mabel close to him, and she hugged him eagerly. It looked like he hadn’t been expecting the hug, but he didn’t move away. Progress. “But I scanned it, and it’s safe for us to eat.”

“Yay,” Mabel said, her voice a little thin.

Sarradine, none the wiser, immediately went to the kitchen, and Ford leaned down to Mabel. “I know you’re hungry,” he said in a whisper. “But don’t eat too fast. You’ll make yourself ill. Alright?”

“Don’t stuff my face,” Mabel said, and it sounded like a monumental task. “No prob, Bob.”

“My name is Ford,” Ford said. “Are you feeling well?”

“No, I’m hungry.”

“Okay, okay,” Ford smiled slightly, and let her go.

The smell of cinnamon instantly made Mabel salivate, and she took a big sip from the water glass Reaver offered her to try and offset it. Sitting on the table was what looked like several extremely thick pancakes, with swirling blue and green colors. The blue and green gave it the vague impression of mold, but the good smell offset any visual disgust, and Mabel was certain that at this point she would take her chances with some mold anyway.

“Here you go, Mabel,” Reaver said, plating one of the pancakes and handing it to her. “Eat up, you look pale.”

“Thanks, Mr. Reaver,” Mabel said, immediately reaching for an ornate fork sitting next to her plate. She took a bite, and had to force herself not to sigh in relief. The cinnamon scent did not disappoint–it was light and sweet, with hints of orange and something similar to vanilla.

“S’ good,” Mabel said, her voice muffled. She resisted the urge to stuff another bite in her mouth before she swallowed her first. It was harder than she had imagined.

“I’m glad,” Reaver said. “Sarra, don’t feed the ulthar.”

Sarradine frowned, reaching under the table to give a piece of food to Jonsey. “He’s hungry.”

“How do you know my grunkle, Mr. Reaver?” Mabel asked around a mouthful of foodstuff.

Reaver paused, just for a moment. “Ah…we briefly met many years ago. I’m surprised I remember him. Then again, I haven’t met many humans, and he’s probably met many Xenalis.”

Sarradine poked at her food, and Mabel was about to say she would eat it if Sarradine didn’t want it before the latter spoke. “How…did you meet, dad?”

“Oh, you know,” Reaver said vaguely. “Work.”

Ford stiffened, focusing very intently on his food. Mabel was pretty sure what that meant. She knew that Ford had engaged in a lot of criminal activity to survive while he was wandering the multiverse, and she couldn’t say she held it against him. It was understandable, and if anything, it made her homesick for Stan. She wasn’t thrilled to be a bystander in his various forms of thievery, especially when he gave her stolen goods, but it wasn’t like he was hurting anyone, really. She kept a mental list of everyone they had stolen from, so one day when they got home, they could work together to create a more accurate and stable portal device so they could go and pay everyone back. She was certain they would understand if they knew the dire circumstances they faced.

But Sarradine frowned, looking suspicious, and Mabel got the sense that Reaver might not have been as open as Ford was. Especially since it looked like Reaver didn’t need to steal anymore.

“I’m not that hungry,” Sarradine decided, and Reaver’s frown deepened.

“I’ll eat it if you don’t want it,” Mabel volunteered eagerly.

Sarradine pushed the plate towards Mabel, and hopped off her chair, going back upstairs with a distinctly irritated air that felt so immensely Dipper that Mabel nearly choked on grief–he got the exact same way when he thought someone was hiding something from him. He hated being lied to more than anything.

Jonsey chirrupped, following Sarradine up the stairs. Reaver looked incredibly uncomfortable. “Could you two…um…” they gestured vaguely. “...I’m going to call my spouse, let xem know we’ll have some guests for dinner.”

“You don’t have to–” Ford started, but Reaver was already out of the room.

Ford sighed, looking incredibly exhausted. He looked out of place in the clean dining room, dirty, sleep-deprived, and his cheeks gaunt and ashen from lack of food. “...you should probably eat too,” Mabel said quietly, tapping Ford’s plate with her fork. “You didn’t have anything either.”

Wordlessly, Ford picked up his own fork, dispassionately taking a few bites of food. After a moment of incredibly terrible silence, he sighed, rubbing his eyes so hard it almost looked like it hurt.

“Are you okay?” Mabel asked in a small voice.

“Yes, dear,” Ford said, and he didn’t even sound a little okay. “I’m alright. Thank you.”

Mabel paused, even though her body was still screaming to eat until there was nothing left. “...maybe we can stay here for a bit. In this dimension.”

Ford peeked at her, a little surprised. “Mabel, I told you, we can’t stay in one place for too long, we have to keep–”

“I know, I know,” Mabel said, lowering her voice. “But…no one’s tried to arrest us. Maybe we’re not wanted here.”

“I’m wanted,” Ford said. “You didn’t do anything.”

Mabel didn’t see much of a difference. “Still. I haven’t seen any posters of you or anything. It’s nice here. Maybe Reaver can help us find a cool sci-fi apartment or something until we can get home. It’ll probably be a lot easier to figure it out if we’re not moving around all the time, too!”

Ford stared at her, silent. His face was completely neutral, but she could see his eyes flickering slightly, the wheels in his head turning at near lightspeed.

“...Grunkle Ford?” Mabel asked. “It’s a good idea, right?”

“I–” Ford winced, the wheels suddenly coming to an abrupt and almost painful stop. He sighed, deeply, like he was about to tell someone their condition was terminal. “...I’ll think about it.”

“Really?” Mabel asked, a little nervous. “‘Cause, um. You’re making that face you make when you’re not happy about something.”

Ford forced a grin, and somehow it was even worse. “I’m fine. I’ll think about it, I promise.”

Mabel held out her hand, extending her pinky. “Pinky promise.”

Ford looked surprised, but after a moment, held out his own hand, extending his extra pinky and hooking it around Mabel’s. His fingers seemed impossibly long, callused and rough. He shook Mabel’s hand. “Pinky promise,” he agreed quietly.

Mabel nodded once, satisfied, and shoveled a few bites into her mouth.

“Slower,” Ford said, and then glanced into the other room. “...why don’t you go hang out with Sarradine? She seems to like you.”

“So does Jonesy," Mabel said. “I’m lovable like that. Are you gonna talk to Reaver about staying here?”

“Sort of,” Ford said, standing up. “I’d like to convince him not to keep us for dinner, see if there’s a cheap hotel or something in the area we can sleep at while we plan our next move.”

“We don’t have any money,” Mabel said.

“We’ll figure it out,” Ford said. “Go on, I won’t be long.”

Mabel paused, suddenly certain that her attendance was absolutely imperative. “...I can help,” she offered.

“That won’t be necessary,” Ford said. “Thank you, though. Go have fun. I’m sure you and Sarradine can find something interesting to do.”

Mabel frowned, but Ford looked genuine, if somehow even more exhausted. With no speed, Mabel slowly picked up her plate. “Is…it okay if I take food upstairs?”

“I’m sure it’s fine,” Ford said. “If Reaver’s not happy with it, I’ll take the blame.”

“Okay,” Mabel said, her mouth dry. A strange sense of doom settled over her, blossoming in her belly like a weed.

Ford seemed to sense her unease, and reached out and squeezed her shoulder gently, a little awkward about it. “It’ll be alright, Mabel. I’ll figure this out.”

He had assured of this seemingly countless times since this whole misadventure had begun. And he always did figure it out, to be fair. It was just that he didn’t normally look so calm, like he’d already made up his mind about something.

“...okay,” Mabel said again, finally standing up. “I trust you.”

Ford smiled, and it looked like he was in pain when he did it. Still, Mabel picked up her plate, starting the careful journey upwards, balancing the food.

When she made it to the top, she paused, dread threatening to overwhelm her. It wasn’t the first time this had happened–fear and anxiety were constant companions since she left home, and for good reason. It was a dangerous multiverse, and Mabel had a bad feeling that she had had an easy time of it so far in comparison to what might have been. It seemed only a matter of time

Her breathing stuttered, and she forced herself to take a long slow inhale, followed by an exhale, copying the breathing exercise her mother had taught her. It had mostly been meant for Dipper, who had been nine at the time and was certain that the world was out to get him. He was right, as it turned out. He just wasn’t thinking big enough at the time.

Mabel had lost track of how many times she had awkwardly excused herself to hide in an alley or behind a rock until she could get her breathing under control, her head spinning with a million worst case scenarios that were perfectly plausible.

Grunkle Ford will figure it out, she told herself, fighting herself to keep from wheezing. Grunkle Ford will figure it out. Whether we stay here or not, it’ll be fine. We’ll get home. I just have to be patient.

“I’m fine,” she said, and made herself smile. Her teeth were starting to hurt. Stan had taken her to an out-of-town orthodontist once at her parents’ orders during the summer to get her braces adjusted, and when he started shrugging and letting her go after she complained, seeming to relish a small act of rebellion. Now, they were starting to hurt. Maybe the stupid orthodontist actually did something besides make her teeth sore for a few days after the brackets were tightened.

She wondered if she might have to keep them on for extra time after she got back home, and her mind latched onto the fear, finding it much easier to obsess over than the unfeeling cosmos before her. It was strange to think that the Mabel from a couple weeks ago would have been absolutely horrified at the idea of an extra year of braces–it seemed so ridiculous to worry about now.

“I’m fine,” she whispered again. “I’m a-okay.”

Jonsey peeked out at her from a door ajar at the end of the hall, and Mabel assumed Sarradine was there. She gave herself one more breath, and marched forward, bubbly once more.

Reaver was already placing a strangely shaped wallphone back in the receiver when Ford entered the room, quietly, like he was expecting to be attacked.

Reaver glanced back. “...Sa’vi won’t get home until tomorrow. I think I’ll order out.”

“You don’t have to do that,” Ford insisted.

“I’m going to,” Reaver said. “I don’t feel like cooking myself anyway. Sarradine will like it, I’m sure you and Mabel will too.”

“Does Sarradine not…” Ford frowned. “Does Sarradine not know? About, ah. Your past?”

Reaver pursed his lips. “...no. Not…not yet. I’ll tell her, I will, Sa’vi and I agreed that we will when she’s older, just…not yet. She suspects something isn’t right. And…honestly, I just don’t really want to tell her.”

“What does she think happened to your eye?” Ford asked.

“Childhood accident,” Reaver said. “Which…not the worst lie I’ve told. What did you tell Mabel, if anything?”

Ford’s mouth went dry for a moment. “...she asked what I’ve been doing out here all these years,” Ford said, and shrugged. “I…I was as honest as I could be without scaring her.”

Reaver grinned with no humor. “You’re a better man than me, then.”

Ford had the absurd urge to laugh. Here he was, standing in Reaver’s lovely home with his wonderful daughter just upstairs, staining their nice carpets. He was filthy, from countless days of wandering through the dust and grime of the multiverse, and from life. Reaver had given up his sordid past. Ford was still wading in it, six-fingered hands soaked with so much blood he had given up on trying to wash it out. But he could still feel it, stuck under his nailbeds and caking on his palm.

He had let Mabel entertain a fantasy, just for a moment, of settling down here. At least for a while. Somewhere where he could sleep in a real bed, warm and dry. Somewhere where he could eat safely. Somewhere where he could walk down the street without hackles raised, one hand on his blaster and the other on his jump device.

He didn’t belong here. He didn’t deserve to be here. He probably never did. Eventually, the monsters on his tail would come knocking, and everything good in this place would be swept away in the tsunami that was Stanford Pines.

Including Mabel.

His heart twisted, but he steeled himself anyway.

“...I wasn’t entirely honest with you, either,” Ford said quietly.

Reaver stiffened, glancing over at him cautiously, and he supposed Reaver was right to do that. “I’ve…had a purpose in my multiversal wandering. It hasn’t just been bad fortune. Well, a lot of it was that, but…” he took a breath. “Do you know the name Bill Cipher?”

Reaver stiffened further, and shushed Ford sharply. “Are you dumb?!” They demanded. “He can listen just by saying his name, idiot–”

“He can’t,” Ford said quickly. “He can watch and listen if we draw him, yes, but just saying his name doesn’t do anything unless you’ve already made a deal.”

Reaver paused, staring at Ford with open suspicion now. “...and…and how do you know that?”

“I’m not with him,” Ford said quickly. “I…I’ve been working to kill him.”

Reaver blinked, staring at Ford for so long that he felt oddly like a child again, waiting for his father to speak first and dole out a punishment. “...you can’t kill him,” Reaver finally said. “He’s a god.”

“He’s not,” Ford insisted. “I…I created a quantum destabilizer–”

“Wha–what the fuck?!” Reaver hissed, and Ford was pretty sure that was the first time he had sworn since they had crossed paths again. “That’s a theoretical weapon!”

“Well,” Ford shrugged. “Not anymore. I made it. It went through some damage, so I need to fix it, but…”

“Where is it?!”

“I stashed it on the outskirts of the city,” Ford said. “It’s booby-trapped and hidden exceptionally well. Anyone who somehow manages to find it will be painfully electrocuted–not killed, don’t look at me like that!”

“This is…!” Reaver shook their head. “Oh my god, oh my god, all this time I thought you were just some weirdo.”

“Thanks,” Ford said.

“No offense, just…” Reaver shook their head. “This is…I didn’t expect that. Why you? Why are you so set on it?”

“...we have a history,” Ford said quietly, feeling old scars on his hands itch and burn with phantom agony. “It’s…not something I would like to discuss. Please.”

Reaver frowned. “But what will you do when you’re done? When you kill him?”

Ford almost laughed. There was no world where one of them walked away from that fight. If Bill was going down, there was no way he wasn’t taking Ford with him. And that was more than fine. He had made his peace with that a long time ago. Maybe even before he fell in the portal.

That was hardly a suitable thing to tell Reaver, though.

“...I don’t know,” Ford said. “And I…I don’t know how I’ll find him again. I will, I have to, I know I will, but…”

His stomach twisted, and he gritted his teeth, painfully nauseous. Reaver took a step back, looking concerned. “Are you alright?”

“...I have a favor to ask you,” Ford said, his voice hoarse. “It’s…it’s a big one. I know…I know we’re mostly friendly acquaintances and little else, but…but I have nowhere else to go.”

Reaver said nothing, something like understanding beginning to fall across his face.

“...it’s dangerous to want Cipher gone,” Ford said, his voice trembling. “It’s…it’s downright deadly. Stronger people than me have failed. I hope I’m the smartest of them, the most well prepared but I…I can’t be certain. And I can’t be certain that it’ll…it’ll be a clear battlefield. And I…I’ve made my peace with what that might mean for me, but…but Mabel isn’t…she…she can’t–”

“No,” Reaver shook his head. “Absolutely not.”

“Reaver,” Ford said softly. “Please.”

“You’re insane,” Reaver said, his voice low and angry. “I thought you were insane back then, and you’ve only gotten worse with age.”

“I wouldn’t be asking if there was anything else I could do,” Ford said. “Reaver, I know it’s a lot to ask–”

“You can’t even say it,” Reaver snapped. “Go on. Tell me what you want me to do. Use your fucking words.”

Ford swallowed, slightly dizzy. “Go on!” Reaver snapped.

“...I want you to take Mabel in,” Ford said quietly. “Please.”

“You want me to help you abandon your niece,” Reaver snarled. “You want me to tell you it’s fine to walk out and leave her behind, the only family she has now, and you know full well that if you use that jumper, you’ll never see her again, and you’re fine with that–”

“I’m not fine!” Ford said. “I’m not fine at all! Reaver, I–if there was any way to take her home, if there was any chance that I could make a portal that wouldn’t destroy the very fabric of the multiverse, or instantly call Cipher to us, I would make it in a heartbeat. But I can’t. It’s impossible. Or so improbable it might as well be impossible. She hasn’t accepted that this is her life now. She had a family back home, two parents that love her, a twin brother that adores her, and it’s…you don’t know what it’s like, hearing her talk about it like it’s just around the corner, knowing she’ll never see them again.”

“That’s not my fault that you’re not being honest with her,” Reaver said.

“I know,” Ford said, and couldn’t even bring himself to be mortified when he felt tears welling to his eyes. “I know, I know, I know. There’s nothing you can say to me that I haven’t already said to myself. But Reaver–I’m going to fuck it up. And not in the way that all family fucks each other up. I’m going to really fuck up. I-I’ve seen it happen already, I see it every time I close my eyes, all the ways I’m going to fail her. That’s what I do, I fail people. And I’m only going to fail her once out here. That’ll be all it takes. And she’ll–” Ford nearly gagged. “And she’ll die knowing it was me who couldn’t save her, and–”

Ford took a harsh, stuttering breath, covering his face. “I can’t live with that. I’ve learned to live with so much. But not that, never that.”

He took a breath, and then another because the first felt shallow. Reaver was staring at him, his expression stony and unreadable, his tail twitching. After what was surely an eternity and a half, he sighed, covering his remaining eye, looking like he was wiping something away.

And then he nodded once.

“Okay,” he said, as though he was condemning someone to death. “Okay.”

Ford nearly sobbed. “Thank you Reaver, thank you, thank you so much. I-I can pay you everything I have. I don’t have much, but–”

“I don’t want your money,” Reaver snapped. “You’re not…this isn’t a transaction, god, just–” he sighed again, trying to calm down. “When…when do you plan to leave?”

“...I wasn’t planning on sticking around,” Ford said hoarsely. “She’ll…she’ll know something’s wrong when she sees me, and hanging around will just…make it worse.”

“So that’s it,” Reaver said dully. “You eat my food and fuck off.”

“...I’m sorry,” Ford said, in a whisper.

“I don’t care,” Reaver said, and jerked his head upstairs. “You’re telling her. Not me.”

“What?” Ford blinked. “Reaver, she’ll be crushed, I can’t–”

“You think it’ll be any easier if you just cut and run with no explanation?” Reaver shook his head. “Explain it to her. Take as long as she needs. Or it’s a no.”

Ford swallowed, and found his throat was bone dry. His nausea returned tenfold, and he had half a mind to shout April Fools! Boy, I really had you going there, pal!

But that wasn’t the reality he lived in. Not anymore.

“...okay,” he said, and Reaver looked slightly surprised. “I…okay.”

Ford had to stop outside of Sarradine’s room, psyching himself up to speak to Mabel for longer than he wanted to. He kept trying to formulate a script in his mind, something that might impart some wisdom and keep her from despising him for this, maybe even lessen the soon-to-come trauma, but it felt ridiculous even trying. There was no universe in which this went smoothly, no universe where this didn’t feel like a scalpel in the chest.

This is important, he told himself. It feels terrible, but you cannot allow your emotions to rule you. This is about what’s best for Mabel. What’s best isn’t always easy. It rarely is.

He took one more breath, and knocked softly on the door.

“Come on!” Sarradine called.

Ford pushed open the door and paused.

Sarradine was sitting in a plush chair in the corner of the room, reading a book. Two empty plates sat on her desk. In her bed, Mabel was dead asleep, curled up under soft blankets and hugging a pillow like a pseudo-stuffed animal.

“She’s okay,” Sarradine said in a whisper, catching Ford’s surprised look. “She asked if she could sit on my bed while we chatted or whatever after she finished eating, and then she was just out like a light. I figured I should leave her be. Were you guys up all night or something?”

“Sort of,” Ford said. “Um, Sarradine, I would…I would like to talk to Mabel alone, please. I think…I think your father needs to speak to you as well.”

Sarradine frowned. “Am I in trouble?”

“No,” Ford said. “Just…he needs to speak with you.”

Sarradine looked suspiciously, but carefully marked a page in her book, slowly walking out. Jonsey followed her, apparently content to follow her from room to room.

Ford took another steadying breath, and knelt down next to Mabel. His knees creaked, and he winced. “...Mabel,” he said, but his voice cracked. He cleared his throat. “Mabel?”

Mabel frowned, and slowly peeled one of her eyes open before rubbing her face. “Hi, Grunkle Ford,” she looked embarrassed. “Oh, shoot, did I fall asleep?”

“...yes,” Ford said, fighting to keep his voice steady. “Yes, but Sarradine said it’s alright. I know our accommodations haven’t exactly been comfortable recently–”

“It’s alright,” Mabel said. “It’s like camping. It’s kinda fun. We should make s’mores.”

“Maybe,” Ford said, and then nearly winced. There would be no s’mores. Not with him around, anyway. “Mabel, I…I need to talk to you about something.”

Mabel looked at him expectantly, and Ford took another moment, words bouncing around in his head, all of them useless. “I was…I was thinking about what you said. About staying here.”

Mabel’s eyes widened, and she grinned, her mouth filled with metal. “Really?! We can stay?!”

Ford opened his mouth to correct her use of ‘we’, and found that no words came out.

Ford had never been good at saying goodbye. He shouted curses at the only person who had ever understood him when he had tried to warn him of his own impending destruction. He closed the curtain on his pleading brother. It was done in anger, done in an explosion of bottled emotions, but more than anything, it was cowardly. Cowardice so he wouldn’t have to sit with what he was doing, the choices he so callously made to destroy people and distance himself from them again, and again, and again.

There would be no explosions of anger here, though. Somehow that made it worse.

“Grunkle Ford?” Mabel asked, and he couldn’t do it, still cowardly.

“...yes,” he said, nodding hollowly. “I think…I think it’s a good idea to stay here. It’ll…we’ll need to be cautious of course, but–”

Mabel lunged at him, and Ford started to jerk back, the part of his brain that had been running for thirty years convinced that she was about to sock him. But she wrapped her arms around him, hugging tightly.

“Thank you thank you thank you!” She squealed. “Oh, this is going to be so nice, this dimension is cool! Sarradine and I can be gal pals until you figure out the portal!”

Ford stood completely still for a moment, half-convinced everything was about to shatter like glass, before he hugged Mabel back, burying his face into her ruined sweater and fighting like hell not to break down. One last hug, one he categorically didn’t deserve.

“Grunkle Ford?” Mabel asked. “Are you okay? You almost never hug me back.”

“I-I’m alright,” Ford said, pleased with how his voice sounded calm. “I…you can go back to sleep if you want, Mabel, I need to–” he hesitated for a split second. “-I plan to scout the area, make sure there’s no issues.”

“Oh, right, smart,” Mabel nodded. “And then you’ll be back?”

No, something desperate and lonely in his chest screamed, raging. No, I’m about to ruin your life all over again. And I can’t even look you in the eyes when I do it.

“I’ll be right back,” Ford said, forcing himself to pull away from Mabel, trying not to think about it. If he started thinking, he would never leave. “Just sleep for a few hours, alright? It’ll…it’ll be fine.”

“You figured it out?” Mabel asked.

Ford nodded. This, at least, he could be honest about. “I figured it out. I’m sorry I woke you. Finish your nap.”

Mabel grinned, absolute relief coloring her expression. “Okay. Okay. Um, can you look for some yarn to fix my sweater while you're out? Pink if you can, but it’s okay if you can get any at all.”

Ford nodded immediately, and then felt so horrible for it he nearly flinched. “I…I will do my best.”

Mabel beamed again. “Thanks, Grunkle Ford. I’ll see you in a few hours?”

“...I’ll see you in a few hours,” Ford said, reluctantly standing up.

Mabel hopped back into the bed, more eager than ever to sleep. “Tell Sarradine I said thank you for letting me use her bed!”

“I will,” Ford said, and was suddenly struck by the notion that if he didn’t make his feet move now, he never would.

“Bye–” Mabel said, but it was cut off by Ford abruptly turning, leaving the room with his shoulders hunched. Mabel didn’t call after him.

The second Ford was out of the room, he leaned against the wall, trembling. He covered his mouth in something like horror, revulsion curdling like spoiled milk in his gut.

He had never hated himself more than in that moment. He didn’t think it was physically possible to do so.

“This is for the best,” he whispered to himself, so quiet he couldn’t even hear his own voice. “She’ll hate you forever. A lot of people will and do. But she’ll be alive. Live with it.”

The guilt gnawed on him like a starving dog on a bone, but there was nothing to be done for it. There never was.

Ford walked downstairs in a haze, feeling vaguely dizzy. Reaver was sitting on the couch, speaking to Sarradine softly and stroking her hair in a comforting manner. Ford had never thought to do that. He had never thought to make his body relaxed when he talked to Mabel, use a tone of voice that was gentle yet self-assured, hold her hand except for when he was worried the crowd would swallow her.

Maybe those sorts of things came naturally when you were a real parent or guardian, and not just filling in as the understudy’s understudy.

Sarradine looked surprised and vaguely horrified as Reaver spoke to her, and jumped slightly when she spotted Ford. Reaver turned around, his eye meeting Ford’s.

Ford opened his mouth, closed it, and took a breath.

“...so that’s it?” Reaver asked. “You told her?”

“She’s…” Ford paused. “She’s in shock, I don’t expect she’ll emerge for a good long while.”

“Why are you…” Sarradine started, the beginning of a question, one he didn’t want to answer. Luckily for him, she trailed off, still overwhelmed with the idea of a new member of her household. At least she didn’t seem angry about it.

“...thank you, Reaver,” Ford said softly. “I cant…I can never repay you.”

Reaver’s expression turned inscrutable, and he looked away. “...good luck,” he finally said. “Take care of yourself.”

“I’ll try,” Ford said, because that was all he could promise now.

And before he did any mental gymnastics to convince himself to abandon this plan, he grabbed his bag, and walked out the door.

His cheeks were soaked with silent tears by the time he crossed over to the next block.

Mabel woke far more slowly this time, much less willing to return to the land of the living now that she was sleeping in a bed. She had never thought she would consider a bed a luxury, but the ‘camping’ idea had gotten old pretty fast. And Sarradine’s bed was extremely comfortable, even if she felt a little embarrassed about the whole ordeal now.

She felt something shift under her arm, and saw that Jonsey had made himself at home, curled up beside her and purring. Mabel barely resisted from squealing, kissing his little head. “Good kitty,” she whispered. “Or ulthar. Good ulthar-y.”

Jonsey blinked slowly, purring.

Mabel hopped out of bed, finding herself a little bit hungry again. Maybe she and Ford could go find food somewhere, a sort of celebration for figuring things out. She half-skipped down the stairs, Jonsey beating her to the bottom.

“Hi!” She said cheerfully, skipping the last two steps in exchange for jumping to the bottom. Her feet thudded loudly on the floor, and Jonsey scampered underneath the couch, startled.

Sarradine was sitting on the same couch, and she looked at Mabel with the same expression that Mabel imagined one might wear before they were shot. Something between dread, terror, and a deep, deep sadness.

Reaver poked his head out of the kitchen, immediately making a beeline for Mabel, kneeling in front of her. “Hi, honey,” he said softly, like he was calming a spooked horse. “Did you have a good nap? Are you feeling alright?”

Mabel took a tiny step back, a little disconcerted. “Um…yeah? Sorry for falling asleep in your bed, Sarradine, it’s been a crazy time.”

“That’s okay,” Sarradine said in a small voice.

“Sweetheart, I…” Reaver’s hands went up and down, as if he wasn’t sure where to put them. “I know this…this must all be very scary for you, yes?”

Mabel’s mind flashed to crowded dimensions filled with unrecognizable languages and empty ones filled with monsters. “...sometimes.”

“I just…” Reaver took a breath. “I know that you must be in a lot of pain and shock right now, but…I just want you to know that you can talk to me about anything. Whenever you want. I’m here, okay?”

“...okay,” Mabel said, more uncomfortable than ever. “...thank you.”

Reaver nodded, and Sarradine looked like she was about to cry. “We can…we can order something, I don’t know what you’d like, but you can describe something–”

“Um,” Mabel said. “I think I’d rather find Grunkle Ford. Is he back yet?”

Both Reaver and Sarradine looked shocked. “Is he…not back?” Mabel asked weakly. “Did he say when he would be?”

Reaver and Sarradine stared at her like she had grown a second head, and the dread creeping in the back of Mabel’s mind returned with all the gentleness of a slap to the face. She felt nauseous out of nowhere, and her cinnamon-y lunch threatened to make a reappearance.

“That fucker!” Reaver snapped out of nowhere, looking furious.

“Dad!” Sarradine looked amazed by his language.

“I…I really want to know where Grunkle Ford is, please,” Mabel said, feeling faint.

“Goddammit–” Reaver looked almost panicked. “Mabel, listen, there’s no easy way to say this–MABEL!”

Mabel had had enough. Whatever Reaver wanted to say to her wasn’t important, she refused to let it be, even as inferences and assumptions swarmed her mind. She sprinted, like she was being pursued, making a beeline for the door. She just needed to find Ford. He was probably already on his way back, looking a little sheepish for taking so long, but Mabel wouldn’t be mad. She would just be relieved that one part of the nightmare was over, and all she had to do now was slowly wake up from the rest of it.

She flung the door open and froze.

Two people stood on the doorstep, and neither of them were Ford.

A tall R'lyehian stood with their fist closed, hanging in the air, as if they were just about to knock before Mabel opened the door. Mabel recognized R'lyehians–she had met one a few dimensions ago in a crowded market, where Ford stole her boots. He hadn’t stolen from the R'lyehian, but she heard them make several strange clicking and squelching sounds, and Ford told her that the R'lyehian had said she had lovely hair, which was both kind. R'lyehians were dull greens and blues, completely bald and a little slimy, with a mass of tentacles where their mouth should be, bulbous eyes unblinking.

The other was a being that Mabel couldn’t see at all–their face was covered by a scarf and goggles, making it impossible to even take a guess at what they might look like. In contrast to the R'lyehian’s slick clothes, and heavy boots and coat, this one wore flowy gray rags that swayed around their body with even the slightest movement, concealing their shape.

They both looked at Mabel, and the R'lyehian looked surprised. Mabel could only assume the other one was too.

They both carried several guns.

The R'lyehian’s face stretched into what Mabel assumed was a smile, though she couldn’t see his mouth. “Hello, little lady,” he said, his voice masculine and deep, and inexplicably Texan. “I don’t suppose you happen to live here.”

All thoughts of Ford put on the backburner, Mabel froze. “Um…”

“Mabel!” Reaver followed her. “Don’t–”

Reaver froze when he saw the strangers at his door, his entire body tensing. The R'lyehian was still smiling. “Why, hello, sir. Good evening. Is this your lovely home?”

Reaver said nothing, but gave Mabel a look that her own parents and Grunkle Stan had given her many times: Get over here now. Don’t you dare argue.

Mabel was all too eager to obey, taking several steps back, only just stopping herself from actively hiding behind Reaver. The R'lyehian’s smile never faltered. “I don’t suppose we could come in, have a civilized chat?”

“No,” Reaver said firmly.

The R'lyehian tsked. “That’s a shame. I wasn’t asking.”

He stepped inside, followed by his shapeless companion. The other being silently closed the door, standing in front of it with a stance that suggested that they had done this many times.

“Dad?” Sarradine poked her head in. “Who’s–”

“Sarra,” Reaver hissed. “Go upstairs–”

“No, no,” the R'lyehian said. “I’m afraid this is a household affair. Everyone in this room, please. Is there anyone else in the house, sir?”

Reaver said nothing, scowling furiously.

“Hm,” the R'lyehian said, and turned to the other being. “Tiwa, if you don’t mind…?”

The other being–Tiwa–wordlessly left the door, pulling out a thick gun and venturing upstairs. The R'lyehian moved in front of the door, watching all of them with practiced ease. “Go on to your daddy, sweetheart,” he told Sarradine. “Hopefully we ain’t gonna be too long, but…”

“It’s okay, sweetie,” Reaver said in a low voice, reaching out to Sarradine. He didn’t look like he knew if it would be okay at all, but Sarradine immediately grabbed his hand anyway, and he pulled her close. Mabel inched closer, not entirely sure where she should go.

“I’ll ask again,” the R'lyehian said. “Is there anyone else in the house? Because my friend’s a good finder, and I hate being lied to.”

“My spouse will be home soon,” Reaver hissed.

“We better make this quick then,” the R'lyehian said. Tiwa came downstairs and shook their head once, and then began searching the downstairs.

“I suppose we might as well do introductions,” the R'lyehian said. “My name is Bisbee, and the stoic fellow in your kitchen is my friend and colleague, Tiwa. We’re something of a pair of fugitive recovery agents–”

“Bounty hunters,” Sarradine said in a small voice, and Reaver flinched.

Bisbee chuckled. “I suppose we are. We prefer the longer titles. Makes us seem more professional, ain’t that right, Tiwa?”

Tiwa did not respond, but Mabel heard dishes clattering.

“Yeah, she agrees,” Bisbee chuckled. “Now, let’s all just agree to be honest with each other, yeah? Tiwa and I aren’t out to hurt nobody. Just looking for some money. That’s the job. We don’t even bring ‘em in dead. Well, unless they get too wiggly.”

He chuckled, and Mabel was certain she was about to throw up.

“So I’m gonna ask this one time, and one time only,” Bisbee said. “Where is Stanford Pines?”

Reaver sucked in a sharp breath. “...what?”

Bisbee pulled out a wanted poster from within his coat, yanking a slender knife out of his pocket and using it to hang the poster on the wall. Ford’s face scowled at them, and the writing below was illegible to Mabel, but she knew what it said regardless. “This fella.”

Reaver opened his mouth and closed it, looking shocked. Mabel could see the wheels turning in his head, but Mabel had already arrived at one horrible, all-consuming conclusion.

“He left me.”

It took her a moment to realize she had spoken, but Bisbee was staring at her expectantly. Her mouth felt dry.

“He left and he’s never coming back,” Mabel said, not sure if she was gaining any sick satisfaction from it or not. “You missed him.”

“...Mabel–” Reaver said.

“He left me,” she said, feeling oddly numb. She turned back to Reaver, suddenly far too exhausted to cry. “Didn’t he?”

Reaver’s mouth opened and closed uselessly.

Tiwa emerged from the kitchen, and shook her head. “Looks like you passed the home inspection,” Bisbee said. “So I can only assume that Miss Mabel here is telling the truth. For what it’s worth, ma’am, I apologize for his actions. His kind ain’t much for loyalty, I’m afraid.”

Mabel said nothing, staring at the ground. She thought she might pass out.

“So that’s it?” Sarradine said hopefully. “You…you can go. He’s not here.”

“Well,” Bisbee smiled. “We wouldn’t be much good at our jobs if we just left it at that, now, would we?”

Silence.

“No, we wouldn’t,” Bisbee chuckled, and turned to Reaver. “Now, sir, I don’t suppose you have any way to contact Mr. Pines?”

Reaver said nothing, staring daggers.

Bisbee tsked. “Perhaps I wasn’t clear.”

He nodded at Tiwa, and she lunged forward. Before anyone could react, she ripped Sarradine away from Reaver. Sarradine shrieked, and Reaver’s face blanched, but before he could do anything Tiwa had her blaster pressed to the side of Sarradine’s forehead.

“NO–!” Mabel tried to lunge forward, but Bisbee already had two blasters out, one aimed at Reaver, and one aimed at Mabel.

“Please,” Reaver said, trembling. “Let her go, she isn’t part of this, she doesn’t–”

“I suggest,” Bisbee said. “That you think about your next words very quickly, sir. Allow me to ask again: do you have a way to contact Mr. Pines? And remember how I feel about liars.”

Mabel expected Reaver to falter, but he blinked, deflated, and stared at the ground, in such quick succession that it was barely a moment. “...I put a tab on his communicator, before he left when he wasn’t looking,” he said, showing his belly the second Sarradine was in danger. Mabel couldn’t blame him, even though it made her stomach drop. “I-it might not work if he’s left the dimension already, but–”

“Then you better hope he hasn’t left,” Bisbee said. “Your daughter’s counting on it.”

“You can’t–” Reaver pleaded, but Bisbee shrugged.

“You are wasting precious time, sir,” Bisbee said. “Call Mr. Pines. Pray that he answers.”

“Fifty credits is highway robbery,” Ford argued, huddled miserably in front of the only stall in this godforsaken bazaar that sold nutrient pills. Unfortunately, Ford had looked slightly too eager to buy, and the seller immediately jacked the price.

“Keep up the attitude and it’ll be sixty,” the seller warned.

Ford grumbled, hefting the quantum destabilizer on his back. He had retrieved it almost immediately, paranoid that someone was going to snatch it, but found it undisturbed in its hiding place. It was mostly hidden under an extra cloak he had elected to wear, making it look like he merely had a bulky pack.

He was stalling now, he knew that, dragging his feet to leave the dimension and lose any chance of seeing Mabel again. He should have disappeared the second he left the house, but his hand trembled over the jump device, and no matter what he told himself, he couldn’t force himself to push the button.

“Fine,” Ford huffed, exhaustion seeping into his voice, reaching into his coat. “Sure, whatever, I don’t even care–”

He paused, feeling a buzzing in the same pocket.

He had a communicator–mostly in case of rare moments of collaboration. It wasn’t all that useful as a frequent dimensional traveller, but it was small and easy to carry, so he didn’t see a purpose in throwing it away. And now, it was buzzing, alerting him of a call.

“Hello?” The seller snapped their fingers, and Ford wordlessly handed over the credits, snatching up the nutrient pills in the same moment he pressed to accept the communication line.

“...who is this?” He asked cautiously.

“Ford!” Reaver’s voice echoed through the speaker, tinny, and he sounded beyond panicked. “Oh god, I thought you had left–”

“What is it?” Ford asked. “What’s wrong?”

“I-it’s–” he stuttered for a moment. “It’s Mabel, it’s…it’s Mabel. She’s having some kind of delayed reaction to the food, I think. She might be allergic.”

Ford stopped walking instantly. The entire world seemed to stop. “What?”

“I don’t know, I don’t know,” he had never heard Reaver this frantic before, and somehow, that was the scariest thing of all.

“That’s…that can’t be possible,” Ford breathed. “I scanned it, it’s fine, I’m fine, I–”

“She could have different allergies than you!” Reaver snapped, and Ford cursed himself for the oversight. “Please, hurry, just—oh my god–”

“Okay, okay,” Ford said, picking up almost immediately into a sprint. He wasn’t even sure what he could do; he didn’t have any medication, or even an M.D, which felt incredibly foolish. Twelve PHDs, and they were all in shit that felt incredibly useless now. He could fix a wound, but an allergic reaction? And he didn’t even know the allergen? He didn’t know where to begin.

“Reaver,” he said into the comm desperately. “Reaver, what are her symptoms–”

Crackling static met him. Reaver had hung up.

Ford ran faster.

It was a good thing Reaver left his door unblocked, because otherwise Ford would have busted it down.

“REAVER! I’M HERE–!”

He burst through the door, and before he could even see what was happening, something hit him in the back of his head.

Ford, as a whole, didn’t regret the metal plate in his head. It had been an extremely drastic measure, but his whole life since entering the portal had been drastic. It gave him much-needed peace of mind. Bill could haunt him, populate his nightmares every night until he died, cajole and threaten and beg until his voice gave out (if that could even happen) but the fact remained: Bill and his cronies were banned from Ford’s mind unless he allowed them in. And there was no pain or fear that could ever convince him otherwise.

There were a few drawbacks, though. His hair never grew back quite right after being shaved, especially over the scar. He had vertigo spells on particularly intense dimensional jumps, and flashing lights were a potential inducer of seizures. His head ached horribly in the cold.

Overall, manageable. He took deep breaths to work through the dizziness, looked away from flashing lights, and wore a hat if it was cold. And he never really cared about his appearance.

The one weakness, though, that he could never quite overcome, was getting hit.

It didn’t take much in the way of a head injury to throw him off. Knocking his head against a table by accident as he stood up made a spike of pain rattle through his skull, and dizziness would swallow him up for a few moments before it passed, his head throbbing horribly. And that was a light tap.

This, decidedly, was not a light tap.

Ford literally felt himself fly across the room, stars exploding in front of his eyes. For one terrible, unending moment, nothing in the world existed except the pain in his head, his vision going dark, white, and then red in rapid succession. He tried to rise to his feet, the rest of his body numb in comparison, but something shoved him, and he went down easily, lost in a sea of dizzying pain.

“Damn,” he heard someone say as if they were underwater. He felt the weight of the quantum destabilizer leave him, as well as his blaster, but he was too disoriented to panic about it. “You go down easier than I thought.”

Fuck you, Ford tried to say, but it came out as: “Ga-ah.”

The world spun again, and Ford felt his pupils vibrate in his skull. Don’t seize, don’t start seizing–

“Stanford Pines,” a deep, accented voice said, and Ford felt himself dragged across the floor, the world still too hazy to make out. “By the power vested in me by the Klorian governmental authorities, I am detaining you for terrosim, battery and assault on a secure area officer, grand larceny, and…ah, damn, what’s the last one? It’s something dumb. Oh, right, disturbing the peace.”

Ford blinked several times, his vision clearing just enough to see a R'lyehian staring at him, grinning. Ford scowled back. “You don’t have authority,” he said, his speech slightly slurred. “You’re…you’re a bounty hunter–”

There was blurry movement in the corner of Ford’s vision, and he jerked his head, still half-expecting to see Mabel in some sort of severe anaphylactic shock. The movement made him nauseous and his vision swim, but he blinked it away.

Reaver was staring at Ford with muted fury, his eyes darting between him and Sarradine. Sarradine herself wasn’t faring much better–another bounty hunter must have followed this one, and they were aiming a thick gun at Sarradine’s head.

Mabel stood a little away from them, staring at the ground, oddly unguarded. Ford opened his mouth, and then closed it. What could he even say?

“Well, I’m Bisbee, and that there’s Tiwa,” the R'lyehian said, hauling Ford to his feet. “We ain’t gonna get too familiar. We got some heavier cages waiting to take you downtown.”

“Wait, don’t–!” Ford twisted, trying to get away, but Bisbee’s grip held firm. “You can’t–!”

“Watch it, Pines,” Bisbee said calmly, and Ford winced when he felt the muzzle of a blaster dig into his back. “You’re worth the same to us whether you’re alive or dead. We’re merely taking you in alive out of politeness. Don’t test my mood.”

“Hang on, hang on!” Ford said, his head reeling and still out of order from the blow. “I have to–I just–let me talk to Mabel–”

“Let me get my daughter,” Reaver said, in a forced calm voice that sounded like he was struggling not to flip out.

Bisbee sighed, and nodded at Tiwa. But instead of silently obeying his commands, she shook her head once.

Reaver’s breathing picked up, on the edge of panic. “Let her go. You heard him–”

“Sh,” Bisbee said, looking interested. “You see something, Tiwa?”

Never lowering her gun enough to make anyone feel safe, Tiwa held out her wrist. Her hands were concealed by gloves, five-fingered, but a database watch lit up on her wrist, flickering blue.

After a moment, Reaver’s holographic face appeared, labeled as ‘WANTED’.

He looked exactly as Ford remembered him here–buzzcut, scowling, and his missing eye packed with gauze.

“Dad?” Sarradine asked, looking more frightened than ever.

“No, that’s–” Reaver choked, looking horrified. “That’s not me.”

Bisbee raised his eyebrow, amused. “That’s not you?”

“No,” Reaver shook his head. “No, not–not anymore, that was decades ago, you can’t–”

“It does look like the statute of limitations on your charges expired,” Bisbee mused. “But you know, I hear the Klorians ain’t too picky about things like dates. Nice catch, Tiwa. Two for one special.”

“What?” Mabel seemed to snap back to awareness out of nowhere. “You can’t–you can’t take them–”

“Hurry on now,” Bisbee said, and Tiwa moved, shoving Reaver towards Bisbee, gun pressed to his back.

“DAD!” Sarradine looked horrified. “Wait, you can’t–you can’t! That’s my dad!”

“And a right shame that is, really,” Bisbee said.

“Mabel,” Ford said, suddenly certain he had hours to live, maybe less. “Mabel, I’m–”

There was a startled yowl from beneath the couch, and Jonsey streaked upstairs, an orange blur. Tiwa jumped, firing a singular, rattling shot, missing the ulthar but putting a hole in the wall.

Hell broke loose.

Reaver took advantage of the distraction, snatching a metal tray off the coffee table, swinging it around and hitting Tiwa in the head as hard as he could. Tiwa went down instantly.

“HEY!” Bisbee’s blaster shifted aim to Reaver, but Reaver held up the tray as a shield right as he fired. The laser ricocheted, and broke a window. Ford lunged, tackling Bisbee, but he merely stumbled, throwing Ford off.

“Dead it is!” Bisbee roared, turning to face Ford, but he grabbed the R'lyehian’s arm, twisting it to try and get him to drop the blaster. Bisbee shouted, dropping the pistol, but pushing Ford back roughly.

“I gave you a chance,” Bisbee snarled, pulling out his other blaster. “And you chose to waste it–”

BAM!

Bisbee’s eyes went wide, staring at Ford with what could only be described as naked shock. He opened his mouth, but no sound came out. His knees gave up on him, and with only the sound of the impact he made as he fell, he went down.

Reaver stood behind him, gripping Tiwa’s smoking gun so tightly it made the joints of his three fingers turn white.

Ford stood completely still, nauseous and still dizzy, his head throbbing.

“Dad?” Sarradine said in a tiny voice. “That wasn’t…that wasn’t true what he said, right? About you being wanted?”

“I-I–” Reaver stammered, his hands shaking. “Sarra, it’s…it’s complicated–”

“You killed him,” Sarradine whispered, staring at Bisbee’s body, the gunshot wound smoking.

“Mabel,” Ford said, finally remembering how to speak. He reached out to her, unsure what else to do. “Mabel, are you hurt–”

“Don’t touch me,” Mabel said, pulling away, her voice wobbly. “Leave me alone–”

“Mabel, it’s…” Ford took a short and unsatisfying breath. “There wasn’t…there were no other options–”

“Yes there was!” Mabel said. “Yes there was, you left me and you didn’t even say goodbye?! What did I do?!”

“You didn’t–” Ford shook his head and nearly gagged at the wave of dizziness. “You didn’t do anything, it’s not about that–”

“FORD LOOK OUT!”

Ford whirled around to see that Tiwa was up, looking at them with hatred and tension. Her goggles were askew and cracked, and Ford could see a hint of bright blue skin under her layers, and a blood-red eye staring with fury.

Reaver lunged forward, grabbing Tiwa from behind to try and stop her. But Tiwa merely reached behind herself, grabbing Reaver by the shoulders, and in a show of terrifying strength, threw him against the wall so hard he cracked it. Reaver fell to the ground, dazed. Sarradine screamed.

Ford tried to lunge for his blaster, discarded in the corner, but Tiwa was faster, snatching a knife off the wall where it had previously been holding up his own wanted poster, going after Ford with it. He dodged the first few swipes, but grabbed her wrist when his back hit the wall, trying to twist her wrist to get her to drop the knife. She did immediately–only to catch it in her other hand.

Before Ford could react, Tiwa dropped to the ground and drove the knife deep into the meat of Ford’s left calf.

Distantly, he heard Mabel scream.

Pain exploded in his leg, and he felt his pants instantly become soaked with blood. Ford didn’t even have time to shout before he fell, trying to scramble away from Tiwa, to try and find respite for only a moment.

But Tiwa was quick. She yanked the knife out of Ford’s leg, and lunged for his throat.

Ford blocked the best he could, using his arms to hold her off, but she was on top of him now, using her entire body weight to lean on the knife, pointed straight at Ford’s throat. His arms shook, and he gasped, watching the blade creep closer and closer to his jugular, still covered in his own blood.

Tiwa stared at him, her one visible pupil a tiny black pinprick in a sea of red, refusing to break eye contact. She was trying to conceal it, but Ford knew that look–she hated him. She hated him so much. And he could barely even blame her now.

The knife grazed his throat, just lightly pushing as Ford rapidly lost the battle of strength, feeling blood pool around his calf–

And then he heard it; the soft whir of his own blaster firing up.

Tiwa must have heard it too, because her eyes widened, and she scrambling to stand up so she could dodge–

BAM!

Tiwa didn’t go down slowly. The blast hit her square in the chest as she was standing, and she spun in the air, her strange clothes flowing out around her. For one strange, surreal moment, Ford thought she looked like she was dancing, and imagined that she might keep on spinning, to music only she could hear.

But she didn’t, and collapsed to the floor like a marionette with her strings cut.

Ford sat up with a gasp, his heart pounding and wound screaming for attention. “Reaver?” He asked hoarsely, twisting around to see who had fired.

Mabel was holding his blaster, the muzzle still smoking, her eyes wide and her face the color of ash. She dropped the blaster like it had burned her, and it clattered harmlessly to the ground. “I-I didn’t mean to.”

Tiwa gasped, her breaths short and shallow, blood filling up in places it shouldn’t be and exiting places where it needed to stay. Her scarf and goggles had fallen off, and Ford could see her face now.

She was a Draag, completely hairless with fish-like fins where her ears would have been, her skin bright blue and big eyes red. The Draag were notoriously large, the average height being about ten feet, but Tiwa was only a little shorter than Ford and Bisbee. He saw why in a second, his heart skipping a beat.

Her face was round, baby fat still clinging to her cheeks, her eyes openly terrified. She was a child. Probably about the same age as Mabel.

Maybe Bisbee didn’t know she was a child. Maybe she and him really were friends, and he was trying to look after her in the most fucked up way imaginable. Maybe he manipulated her to be a killer. Maybe it was a million other explanations.

It didn’t really matter. It wasn’t the first soon-to-be-dead kid he had seen, anyway.

Tiwa gasped, blue blood spurting out her mouth, writhing weakly. “Grunkle Ford,” Mabel said, her voice high and thin. “Grunkle Ford, we have to do something, she’s–she’s–”

Tiwa wheezed, making a strange clicking sound as the air exited her lungs. Mabel’s face somehow turned even grayer, and Tiwa’s head flopped to stare at her. Mabel froze, unable to tear her eyes away.

Tiwa twitched once, twice, and then her body relaxed. She didn’t move again.

Sarradine was kneeling next to Reaver, helping him stand again, staring at Mabel with horror. Ford found he was rooted to the spot, leaning heavily on his right leg.

“I-I didn’t–” Mabel shook her head. “I wasn’t…I didn’t mean to do that. I just…I just wanted her to get off you. I didn’t want her too–”

A low, gravely laugh came from the floor, and Ford nearly jumped when he saw Bisbee grinning, not quite dead, but rapidly becoming so. “Don’t worry–” he gasped for air. “Don’t worry, little lady. First one’s always the h-hardest. Eventually it won’t…” he winced. “Eventually, it won’t eat you alive no more.”

Ford recoiled like the words burned, and without another word, Bisbee exhaled, his eyes going blank.

But his smile never disappeared.

Ford said nothing, breathing heavily, completely unsure where to go from here. Everything hurt, and he knew he should say something to Mabel, but he didn’t have the slightest idea what.

“You,” Reaver said, tearing his gaze away from the two dead bodies to look at Ford. “You.”

“Reaver–” But it was far too late.

“YOU PIECE OF SHIT!” Reaver screamed, loud enough that everyone who was still alive flinched. “YOU PIECE OF FUCKING SHIT! YOU SAID THEY WEREN’T AFTER YOU ANYMORE! I THOUGHT YOU WERE SAFE!”

“Reaver, I-I-” Ford limped towards Mabel, and she didn’t even shy away from him this time, staring at Tiwa.

“Fuck you!” Reaver shouted. “Fuck you! Look what you fucking did! Look what you almost did! How could you lie to me?! What the fuck is wrong with you?!”

“I don’t know,” Ford said honestly. “I don’t know, I don’t know, I never meant for this–”

“Get out,” Reaver snarled. “Both of you.”

“Wha–both of us?” Ford shook his head wildly, even when Mabel looked at him with betrayal all over again. “Reaver, please, I know you’re angry at me, but don’t take it out on Mabel.”

“You’re still trying to leave me?” Mabel asked in a whisper.

“I don’t care, I don’t fucking care,” Reaver said. “You put Sarra in danger with your idiocy. Get out of my house. Get out before I make you.”

“The bodies–” Ford tried weakly.

“Out,” Reaver said. “And if I ever see you around my family again, I will fucking kill you.”

Reaver never made threats like that unless he meant it.

“...okay,” Ford whispered, defeated in a way he hadn’t been since Bill betrayed him. “Okay.”

Wordlessly, he gathered his weapons, trying not to show any emotion when his blaster was still warm to the touch. Reaver said nothing, staring with absolute hatred.

Mabel still hadn’t looked away from Tiwa. Ford touched her shoulder gently, and she flinched like she had been stabbed before shrugging off his hand, finally looking away from Tiwa. She whispered something to the dead girl, but Ford couldn’t make it out.

“...goodbye,” Ford said quietly. “And…thank you. I…I’m sorry.”

Reaver said nothing, waiting for them to leave. And without another word, Ford and Mabel walked out the door, Ford still dripping blood.

He had failed Mabel then, just like he had feared. And the worst part was that now, he had a million more opportunities to do so. Countless dangers to face, and he had proven himself incompetent on every front.

Mabel rushed down the porch and down the sidewalk, and Ford limped after her, wincing. “Mabel, stop–”

“HEY!”

Ford whirled around, seeing several heavily armed men, mantis-like in their appearance. Klorians, maybe tired of waiting around for Bisbee and Tiwa to return. “THERE HE IS!”

There was no time to plan, no time to hesitate. Only impulsive action, which had only brought them grief.

Ford lunged at Mabel, grabbing her arm and activating the jump device.

A moment later, they fell through a portal.

The rift sealed behind them, and Reaver, Sarradine, and the hope of peace were gone.

Ford took a breath in a new dimension, and inhaled saltwater.

Instantly, he panicked, the water freezing cold and shocking enough to trick his body into trying to breathe it in again. Ford thrashed wildly, his feet touching the sandy bottom of an ocean, and he pushed off, breaching the surface less than a second later. The water was turbulent, and trying to pull him out to sea like grabbing hands around his legs, but it was only up to his waist. His wound burned like fire at the salt, and he resisted the urge to cry out. It wouldn’t do him any good.

He gagged, coughing harshly when a considerable amount of silt and seawater expelled itself from his mouth, his eyes streaming. Somehow, he hadn’t lost his glasses.

He was several yards from the shoreline, and a cresting wave tried to push him under again, but he withstood it, shivering. The water was freezing, and the sky was an ugly gray. The sea churned, white foam all around him and moving quickly, trying to capture anything foolish enough to wade through the ocean.

“Mabel,” Ford wheezed, realizing she wasn’t at his side anymore. He didn’t see her, just angry waves and riptides. “MABEL!”

He gagged, spitting up a little more saltwater. “MABEL! MABEL, WHERE ARE YOU?!”

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a mess of brown hair bob to the surface, and then immediately disappear. Mabel was shorter than him, much smaller, more sensitive the cold temperatures, more liable to be swept away by currents, and the ocean would have a much easier time holding her down–

In a panic, Ford reached into the bubbling water, grabbed the first things his fingers brushed against, and hauled it out.

Mabel emerged, soaking wet and choking. He was holding her arm at a strange angle, causing her shoulder to bend back in a way it wasn’t supposed to. He pulled her close, adjusting his grip. Mabel scrabbled frantically, still heaving for air, trying to hold onto him. A wave crashed over them, dunking her once more.

“It’s okay,” Ford said, though it wasn’t. “It’s okay, I’ve got you, I’ve got you.”

Mabel wheezed in response, coughing harshly as Ford began to walk towards the shore. He stumbled as a wave nearly knocked him down, but by then Mabel had had enough, thrashing away from him and making her way to the shore herself.

“Mabel–!” Ford said, collapsing onto the beach, wincing at jagged pieces of shells under his palms. He winced, seeing blood trail into the water, and he pulled his pant leg up to finally examine the wound.

It was deep, and jagged, leaking blood with each moment. His head and leg throbbed in irregular rhythms, and it made the pain all the worse. He would need stitches, certainly. Another scar to add to the collection. He dug into his bag, retrieving a long piece of gauze. He squeezed out the saltwater the best he could, and tied it tightly around the wound. Spots danced in his eyes from the pain, but he gritted his teeth, refusing to make a sound.

It wasn’t the best first aid he’d ever performed on himself, but it would have to do for now.

He heard a strange noise, and turned to see Mabel. She was sobbing, curled up into a ball, her arms wrapped around herself so tightly it looked like it hurt. “I didn’t mean to kill her,” she gasped between cries. “I didn’t–I didn’t–really, I swear, I would never–”

“I know,” Ford said, desperately trying to crawl to her. “I know, Mabel–”

“Why did you leave me?!” She demanded, tears and sand streaming down her face. “Why?! How could you do that to me?! How long were you planning on getting rid of me?! I thought you liked me!”

“Of course I like you, I-I–” something twisted in his chest, and very suddenly, he couldn’t keep up the facade anymore. He dropped his head, pinching his brow. “Mabel, you’re not going home.”

He heard her draw a sharp breath. “W-what?”

“I tried to figure out a way for ten years,” Ford shook his head. “It’s impossible. Forcing your way into a dimension destabilizes it, and invites others to slip through the cracks. Terrible beings. Monsters. If I did somehow manage to make a working portal out of scraps, both sides of the door would be doomed.”

“No,” Mabel sobbed. “No, no no, you said–”

Mabel’s cries were harsh and hacking now, but Ford couldn’t stop. “I thought…I thought that if you could stay with Reaver, you might…have a chance to find a more peaceful life than mine. Mabel, I’m not…I’m not a safe person to be around. I knew you would hate it, and it killed me to do it, but…” he shook his head. “I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry. We aren’t…we aren’t going home.”

Mabel buried her face in her hands, unable to stop crying. Ford pulled himself into a slightly more comfortable sitting position, forcing himself to sit quietly in her grief.

The ocean roared.

“...you’re going to make the portal,” Mabel said, still crying, but her expression was more determined. “Y-you’re gonna figure out a way to make it safe. You’re smart. You have too.”

Ford shook his head. “It’s impossible–”

“No!” Mabel shook her head wildly, and Ford looked around nervously, scared she might attract something big and hungry. He didn’t know what was in this dimension, after all. “No, that’s not good enough! You’re going to get us home, because Dipper needs me, and Grunkle Stan needs you!”

“Mabel,” Ford said. “Stanley hasn’t needed me for a long time.”

“Of course he does!” Mabel said. “Why do you think he worked so hard to fix the portal?”

Ford blinked, finding himself speechless. “Mabel–”

“New rule,” she announced, and wiped her face. She mostly only succeeded in wiping sand around her face, but it felt important. She stood on shaking legs, still leaking tears, but no longer wildly sobbing.

“New rule,” she said. “Stop…no more lying to me. About this kind of stuff. Don’t try to trick me or anything. I’m not stupid. I’m not.”

Suddenly, she sounded so much like Stanley did at her age that it was damn near jarring. “We’re gonna figure this out,” Mabel said. “We have too. We will. And…and I’m mad at you. And sad at you. And…GAH!”

She stomped her foot, sniffling for a moment, and Ford worried that she was going to break down again. “But you’re all I got right now!” She half-shouted. “A-and I’m all you got right now! So we have to stick together! We don’t have a choice!”

She hiccupped, scrubbing at her face hard enough that the sand on her cheeks was scratching her skin. She let out one more, broken sob, and then took a shuddering breath. “...d-deal?”

The word sent a shiver down Ford’s spine, but he kept his face neutral. “...okay,” he said softly after a moment. “Deal.”

She didn’t offer to make it a pinky promise. The waves crashed on the shore, endless and eternal, uncaring of the tiny, miniscule human drama playing out on its shores.

Ford took a deep breath, and after a short struggle, managed to haul himself to his feet. He gritted his teeth hard enough that it hurt, and felt blood swell against the bandages. Mabel didn’t offer to help him, watching dispassionately.

“I’m alright,” Ford said, taking a stuttering breath. “I’ve had worse.”

He glanced around, and perked up when he saw a tiny village down the coast, mostly swallowed up by the fog. “...I see a town. We might…we might be able to get some help before my leg gets infected.”

“...how far is it?” Mabel asked.

“About a three hour walk, give or take,” Ford said.

Mabel looked off into the mist, back at Ford, and then nodded once, more or less set on a goal. “I think we can manage that.”

“...Mabel–” Ford started, trying to reach out to her, but she backed away, dropping her gaze to the ground. Ford felt something in his chest curl up and die. He had been absolutely sure this couldn’t hurt anymore, and he kept proving himself wrong.

“...let’s start walking,” he said softly. “The sooner we get there, the sooner we can find some rest and medicine.”

Mabel nodded once, hoisting her backpack higher. One of the straps caught on her sweater, yanking several pink threads loose, and the sleeve came undone.

That was the last straw. Mabel’s face turned beet red, and threw her backpack off. Before Ford could protest, she yanked the sweater off like it burned, hurling it into the sand like it was the cause of all her woes. She was left in a soft pink t-shirt, shivering in the cold air.

Ford’s mouth fell open. “Mabel–”

“Let’s go,” she said quickly, and new tears might have been sparkling in her eyes, but she turned away too quickly to tell. She started marching down the beach, refusing to look back to see if Ford was following.

Ford hobbled forward, staring at the sweater. The key design was gone entirely, and now, it looked like little more than a filthy pile of faded pink yarn. If he buried it, it may never see the sky again.

And for some inexplicable reason, he picked it up.

The seawater made it heavy, and the sand rubbed against his fingers. It was a mess, unsalvageable as a sweater. But maybe, down the line, he could find a use for it.

Maybe something that would make Mabel smile.

Without a word, he stuffed the sweater corpse in his bag, and limped after Mabel, leaving a trail of blood droplets as he walked.