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“Alright, Ford, we need to talk.”
Ford turned in his chair, annoyed at his twin for entering his study like it was nothing. This was the one place in his own home where he could still have complete solitude, and now he couldn’t even have that. “Stanley, you shouldn’t be down here.”
Stan didn’t answer. He simply held up a necktie, clenched tightly in his fist, the fabric already wrinkled. “I know about the magic ties, Ford.”
Ford stood up. “Stanley, you have to understand—”
“Oh, I understand perfectly,” Stan said, cutting him off. “I understand that you have no faith in the idea of me doing anything on my own. I understand that you think I have no chance of succeeding unless someone else pulls the strings!”
“Stanley, your ratings were dropping. You spoke your mind at the worst possible moments. I was trying to help you!”
“I don’t need your help, Sixer.”
Ford’s whole body turned cold. Years ago, his childhood nickname had turned to poison, all because he’d gifted the demon who’d tricked him the rights to call him that, thinking he was his friend. After Bill’s betrayal, just hearing the nickname made him feel sick. It took decades until he could hear it without breaking down.
But the way Stan was saying it…it wasn’t him. It wasn’t.
“Stanley, let me see your eyes.”
At this, Stan actually chuckled and slipped his glasses off. “If you insist.” And that’s when he saw them.
“No,” Ford said. “No!” Stan’s eyes glowed toxic yellow, the pupils slits. He grinned. “What have you done?!”
“You didn’t think old Fez here would take being controlled sitting down, did you? I know I didn’t, so I struck a deal with him that he couldn’t refuse! I get a new puppet, and he gets a little payback!”
“The ties were meant to help him!” Ford roared.
“Help him?” Stan scoffed. “Helping him would’ve meant letting him handle the election himself, but as always, you had to be the one in control! Always the golden sibling, even after your father is gone.”
That hit a little too close to home, but Ford refused to let his emotions regarding the matter distract him. Stan was in danger. “Let Stan go, Bill.”
“And rob him of this golden opportunity? Ha!” His possessed twin grinned wider and motioned for Ford to look down at himself, and when he did, his breath hitched.
He was wearing the matching tie. So, this was the plan. To make him the puppet. As if Bill hadn’t done that already. He felt his body jerk and spasm, each movement more absurd and humiliating than the last, until Bill finally stopped.
Ford doubled over, gasping, glaring daggers at the demon who’d tormented him for so long. “You’ve had your fun. Let Stan go.”
“Just like you wanted, all those years ago?” Suddenly, Ford’s hands shot out in front of him. To his horror, they curled around his brother’s throat and squeezed. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a triangular shadow rise up. Bill had left Stan’s body.
“Ford—what—” Stan coughed, trying desperately to pry his brother’s fingers from his throat. Ford was sobbing, trying to command his body to release Stan, but it wouldn’t listen.
“It’s not me, Stanley. Please, believe me, it’s not me.” Ford wasn’t even sure if Stan heard him. His eyes had gone glassy, his hands falling limply to his sides. The fight in him was gone. He was gone.
Like a switch being flipped, Ford could control himself once more. He wrenched his hands away from Stan, but it was too late. Stan collapsed to the floor, purplish black bruises forming on his neck.
He wanted so badly to blame Bill, but he knew he was to blame as well. Bill didn’t create the mind-controlling neckties. He’d simply used Ford’s own invention to taunt him, to torture him.
Slowly, Ford knelt down next to Stan, pulling his limp body close to him as he shook with sobs. He forgot about his anger towards Stan, forgot about the portal, forgot about the rift…none of it mattered in that moment.
He’d murdered his own twin brother. “Forgive me, brother.”
Ford woke with a start. He sat up, raking his fingers through his sweat-soaked hair. It wasn’t real, it wasn’t real, it wasn’t real.
“God, how could I do that to him?” It didn’t matter how angry he was with Stan. He didn’t want to hurt him, let alone kill him.
He couldn’t stop thinking about it. About Stan’s futile struggling as his hands tightened around his throat, about him going limp as his brain was starved of oxygen.
All because of his own invention, and his own carelessness.
He got up, uncaring of the time. It could’ve been four in the morning and it wouldn’t have mattered.
Numbly, he went to the kitchen.
As the coffee brewed, Ford leaned against the counter, thinking. Maybe he had been too harsh. He had a right to be angry. Stan had risked everyone’s lives, yes, but he wouldn’t do something this drastic without a reason.
Loathe as he was to admit it, he knew why Stan had done what he did. “Sixer?”
Ford flinched. He wasn’t sure he could hear that nickname without remembering what it had become. He looked up and saw Stan, dressed down in a pair of boxers and a tank top. “Stanley, what are you doing awake?”
Stan shrugged, pouring himself a cup before reaching into the fridge for a carton of milk. “Couldn’t sleep. What’s your excuse?”
Ford sniffed, a little irritated but not enough to start a fight. “The same as you, I suppose.” But his voice shook just a little, just enough for Stan to notice. Stan stirred his coffee and looked over at his twin. Neither one wanted to admit that they could read the other like a book, bad blood or no.
“Alright, Ford, I know we’re not on the best of terms, but I know you. What happened?”
Ford glared at his coffee. He wasn’t going to have a screaming match before the sun came up. What if the kids came downstairs and found them like that? He couldn’t imagine how much it would destroy them…
“It’s nothing, Stanley. Just a nightmare.”
“The portal?” Stan asked.
“No,” Ford replied. “Not this time.” He sighed. “I’m sure you remember the tie Dipper gave you for the election.”
“Hard to forget being turned into a puppet.” Stan’s voice was gruff. He was still angry, and honestly, he had every right to be.
“It was wrong of me to give Dipper those ties. I didn’t consider how dangerous they could be.”
Stan cocked an eyebrow. “Is that what you were dreamin’ about? Look, I’m not happy about it, and honestly, my head still hurts from it, but it shouldn’t keep you up at night.”
“That’s not all.” Ford looked up at Stan. “You wanted revenge, so you…you made a deal with Bill.”
Stan almost spit out his coffee. “Wait, wait, you don’t honestly think I’d do that, do you? Come on, Ford, I’m not that dumb.”
“Of course you aren’t,” Ford said, shaking his head. “But you have to understand—my trust was broken. After what he did to me…”
“He was the reason you pointed that crossbow at me,” Stan said, mostly to himself. “He was the reason you wanted me to take the journal. And here I thought that you didn’t care.”
Ford looked surprised. “Stan, I called you because you were the only one I could trust. After years of silence, there was no way you could’ve—” he choked on the end of the sentence.
“Could’ve what?” Stan asked gently. Ford shook his head, wishing he hadn’t said anything. “Ford, talk to me.”
“There was no way you could’ve known what he was planning. I had to seek help from someone nobody would’ve expected.”
Stan had to laugh. “Like, say, an estranged twin brother?”
“Precisely,” Ford answered. “Stanley, I spent so long ranting to that demon about how you ruined my life. You were the last person he’d have expected for me to ask of for help.” He sighed. “I only wish I hadn’t led you to believe that I wanted the same thing you did.”
“Yeah, that was a jerk move, not gonna lie,” Stan replied bluntly. Amazingly, they both laughed. Because, for once, they weren’t undermining what had happened. They were talking. Really talking.
Stan stood up. “Listen, Stanford, I know this doesn’t change how pissed off you are at me for bringing you back, but just know that I’d do it again. Even if it meant risking my own life.”
Ford nodded, not trusting himself to respond. Even trusting his own words was a luxury he no longer had.
THE END