Archive of Our Own

Ford was fine. That was what Stan kept telling himself. Yeah, he’d gone and gotten himself captured by the evil triangle who had ended the world. That was just like his brother, playing hero in the stupidest possible way. But he would be fine. He had to be fine. It had been… well, time wasn’t exactly passing in a normal way anymore, with the sun rising and setting, but it couldn’t have been that long. His brother was fine.

They would break Ford out of this creepy-ass pyramid place, they would go back to the Shack, Ford would use that big brain of his and figure out some way to fix this, and everything would be fine. Stan’s family would be safe again. His brother would be fine. He had to be.

But then Ford wasn’t in the throne room with the rest of the townspeople for some reason.

“Grunkle Ford!” Mabel shouted. “Grunkle Ford!”

Dipper was looking around the throne room. “Great Uncle Ford! Where are you?”

Stan headed in the other direction while the rest of their raggedy band of survivors looked for his brother in the main room, trying to ignore the pit of dread that was forming in his stomach. Why would Ford have been separated from everyone else? Where was his brother?

Stan’d brought a small plastic package of blood. It was in his pocket now, just in case Ford needed it. But now, he was wondering if it was going to be enough. He’d been here, alone with that damn Dorito, for God knows how long…

Stan shook his head. He couldn’t think about it anymore. He needed to find his brother before Bill got back. Stan pushed a door open at random and called out, “Stanford!”

No response. So Stan took one last look at the kids, and he headed deeper into the pyramid.

The place reminded Stan of one of those weird paintings. Like the one with the melting clocks. It was like a waking nightmare. The perspective wasn’t quite right. Things were too big or too small, or the gravity of the room wasn’t quite right. Stan kept opening a door and finding that he was in the same room as he was before, or that he was in the same room, but now he was coming through a door that hadn’t been there before. He just kept going, though. No point in turning back before he found Ford.

Every time he opened up another door, he braced for what he was about to see. Every time, it was just more weird architecture and large, empty rooms. Every time, Ford still wasn’t there. Shit, maybe he should’ve stuck with the kids and everybody else. Maybe now he was stuck in some hellish trap devised by the damn triangle.

But if there was any chance Ford was here, then he couldn’t leave. Stan kept moving forward.

He hesitated before the next door he found. There was just something strange about it. Something a little bit larger and more ornate than the other doors had. And Stan could smell something in the air. It took him a moment to place it.

It smelled like burnt meat.

Stan swallowed, deliberately, and he pushed open the door.

It was like a miniature version of the throne room. The golden throne was slightly bigger than human sized, and chained to it was a man, curled in on himself, lying on the floor.

For a moment, Stan couldn’t breathe. “Ford?”

The man on the floor tensed immediately at the words. Faster than Stan’s brain could process, the man was up on his feet, and suddenly he was barely a couple of feet away from him, at the very edge of the chain’s give, and he actually snarled at him, and Stan instinctively flinched back.

It was Ford, of course. His eyes were so dark that Stan couldn’t see his pupils, just a reflective blackness that was pointed directly at Stan. His hair was a mess, gray curls unkept. Ford’s trenchcoat was in tatters. Like it had been clawed at by some animal. His red sweater was covered in some unidentifiable stain. There was a chain around his neck, which was attached to the bottom of the throne. The chain looked like a collar.

He was pale. He wasn’t breathing. He wasn’t moving. Ford was just there, at the farthest point the chain would let him go, staring unblinkingly at Stan.

“Ford?” Stan tried again. “H-hey buddy. It’s me. God, what happened to you?”

For a moment, Ford didn’t respond. He just strained against the chain, hard enough that it looked like it must hurt, like it must be choking him. Without warning, Ford suddenly reached a hand out as if he was trying to grab Stan, and Stan flinched back instinctively, even though the hand went nowhere near him.

“Stanford,” Stan said, trying to keep his voice as gentle as possible, like he was speaking to a frightened animal. “It’s okay. It’s me. It’s Stanley. We came here to rescue you. I-I don’t know what happened to you, but everything’s going to be alright now.”

There was no sign of understanding on Ford’s face. Just those dark, unblinking eyes, staring straight at him. Sweet Moses, he was gonna have nightmares about this. Stan could feel his heart pounding in his chest. How could this have happened? It hadn’t been that long. Ford couldn’t be this gone yet. What had Bill Cipher done to his brother?

Suddenly, Stan remembered the blood bag. “Oh! Hey, Sixer. I bet you’re hungry, right? Here you go. Fresh from Ricky, remember?”

Feeling vaguely like a tourist tossing a fish to a penguin at the zoo, Stan tossed the blood bag towards his brother. His aim was good, but Ford didn’t try to catch it. It landed on the ground a few inches away from Ford’s feet.

For a moment, Ford stared at the bag, and he didn’t move. Then he scrambled away from it, eyeing it suspiciously from about three feet away, crouched low. From this angle, Stan could see there was something kind of awful looking burn on the back of Ford’s right knee, going all the way down to his ankle. That must be what the smell was. Jesus fuck. What had happened to him?

Stan forced the thought away. He could figure that out later, Right now, Ford needed to eat. If he just got some food in him, he’d be fine.

“Hey, come on,” Stan said, trying to keep his tone positive in case it helped. “That’s the good stuff. You like it! It’s really top shelf stuff. I paid Ricky a lot for that.”

Ford glanced at him suspiciously, and then he returned to glaring at the bag of blood.

“C’mon. It’s really yummy, uh, blood. Drink it and I bet you start feeling a lot better, Six.” And maybe he’d start acting like he could understand English. And like he could recognize his own twin brother.

Ford was all coiled up energy and tension, but Stan was still surprised when he finally moved. After once last suspicious glance at Stan, Ford pounced on the blood bag, fast. He ripped the top off with his teeth, and blood went everywhere. Ford’s eyes dilated when he smelled it, and he began to drink, but he wasn’t quick enough. Most of it had already spilled, on the floor or on Ford.

“Uh,” Stan said, watching in horror as Ford attempted to get out the last drops of blood from the bottom of the plastic bag. Stan watched as he ripped the plastic into increasing smaller pieces with his teeth. His face and hands were covered in blood, as was the entire front of his sweater. “Good job, buddy. You… got some of it?”

With the bag gone, there was nothing else to distract Ford from Stan. His brother’s eyes caught his again, and he didn’t blink.

“Hey, Ford,” Stan said, carefully. “You feeling any better?”

He had at least drank a little, right? Maybe that would be enough to at least get them out of there and back home.

But Ford’s eyes still carried no recognition. They just followed Stan as he carefully approached, making sure not to get closer than the chain would allow Ford to reach. Once Stan got within a foot of the chain’s limits, Ford began to growl, low. He dropped the last piece of the plastic bag and began stalking towards Stan.

Fuck. Stan should’ve brought another bag. What was he thinking? But he hadn’t realized his brother would be this hungry. In fact, he’d only brought the one bag thinking he probably wouldn’t use it. Ford didn’t like drinking in front of other people, especially the kids.

Ford didn’t try to pounce again, or to strain against the chain. Instead, once he was almost out of give, he simply paced back and forth, watching Stan with that unblinking stare. It was somehow even worse than before. The fresh blood on Ford’s face and hands and sweater made a frightening picture.

Ford barely looked like Stan’s brother at all anymore. There was no intelligence or warmth in his twin’s black eyes. There was just a growling, blood soaked creature.

He looked like a monster.

“Ford,” Stan said, and he could hear his own voice wavering. “C’mon. It’s me. It’s your brother. Please just say something. I-I can’t let you loose unless you say something…”

He couldn’t risk releasing Ford while he was like this, if Ford even let him get close enough to do it. He couldn’t put the kids at risk like that.

Stan forced himself to look away from the prowling creature in front of him. Then he looked down at his own unsteady hands. He could hear his heart pounding in his ears. He remembered the journal entry. Ford could surely hear it too.

Ford needed to eat. He knew that. Stan couldn’t start picking the lock to let him out until he ate. If his brother ate something, he’d be fine.

Stan glanced at the open door behind him. How long did he have until Bill returned? He had no idea. He closed the door with shaky hands. Flipped the lock, though he doubted that it would stop Bill. It didn’t matter. It wasn’t really Bill he wasn’t trying to keep out if this went badly.

Carefully, quickly, Stan took off his suit jacket, folded it, and then set it on the floor. He took off his fez and set it on top of the suit jacket. Then he rolled up his left sleeve. The wound from a few weeks ago was still there, though it had been healing well. Ford had given him some kind of cream to use so it wouldn’t scar, or at least wouldn’t scar as bad.

“You remember this?” Stan asked, showing Ford the mark. His brother’s face remained unchanged. “Just don’t take too much. Remember last time? You stopped. You—you’ve gotta remember to stop, okay, Six?”

Nothing. No response at all, except for the fact that Ford was no longer pacing, just staring at him, that awful blank expression on his face, with those awful black eyes. There was a particular silence that a creature who didn’t breathe or blink made. Ford looked more like one of those statues out in the throne room than a person. He was so pale.

Stan closed his eyes for a moment. This would be fine. It had to be. Ford would come back to himself, and he would stop, and they would walk out of here together. It would hurt, and it would be terrifying, but the only alternative was walking out of here alone and leaving Ford at Bill’s mercy.

And if it didn’t work out… well. Then it wasn’t really Stan’s problem anymore, was it?

Stan opened his eyes, and he took a step closer to his brother, and there was no warning growl. Just two black eyes watching him. He kept holding the arm out so Ford knew what part to go for, trying not to feel like he was about to stick his arm in a lion’s cage.

“You still hungry, buddy?” Stan said, somehow forcing calm into his voice. “Come and get it.”

Carefully, he stepped over the threshold of the chain’s limits. Ford still didn’t move. But Stan saw Ford wet his lips with his tongue. Stan shuddered and just stood there frozen for a moment. Then he forced himself to take another step.

Stan didn’t see the moment Ford moved. His brother was just there watching him carefully one moment, and then there was movement in front of him. Ford’s black eyes met his for a second, and somehow Stan was still surprised by how quick Ford was.

Then two six-fingered hands grabbed Stan by his shoulders and shoved him to the ground, hard.

It wasn’t a good fall. Stan hit his head first on the ground, hard, hard enough that his vision went black for a couple of seconds, and then his back cried out, and fuck, that was going to bruise. And then Stan was on the ground and there was someone on top of him, and his head was screaming at him and his ears were ringing, and his heart was pounding so hard that he couldn’t hear anything else, and he tried to say something, anything, but Stan was too frightened to even form the words. Stan tried to move, tried to push the weight on him away, but Ford was holding him down and Stan couldn’t move, and how the hell had he ever thought this was a good idea-

Ford ignored the arm, or forgot about it, or had never been considering the arm in the first place. Instead, after looking down at Stan for a moment, he leaned down and he bit Stan’s neck.

It hurt worse than the first time had. Of course it did. There were someone’s teeth in his neck, no, his brother’s teeth were in his neck, and Stan wanted to thrash, he wanted to scream, but he was frozen. It hurt so badly. That was all his brain was processing right now. There was someone pinning him down, and two hard points were in his neck, which definitely wasn’t supposed to have happened.

Stan let out something in between a groan of pain and a scream. Jesus fuck, hadn’t Ford said that he wasn’t supposed to go for the neck, weren’t there a bunch of arteries or something in the neck, Stan—fuck, Stan couldn’t breathe, there was someone on his chest and he could hear Ford swallowing now, he was right there and no matter what direction Stan looked he could still see his brother’s head, clamped onto his neck, and he still couldn’t breathe-

Stan had some truly terrible ideas in his life, but this one really had to take the cake. The last time he’d done this, sure, Ford had been a little crabby. But he’d been capable of speaking English. Hell, Ford had barely shut up for a moment, checking on him, asking if he was okay, being all gentle. He’d known who Stan was. He’d at least cared that he was drinking from his own brother. How had Stan ever thought that this was a good idea?

He was going to die. Stan was sure of it now. Everything hurt, and his own brother was going to rip his throat out, rip him apart like he’d just ripped up that plastic blood bag, and Stan couldn’t even move, couldn’t even make himself say a damn word about it.

(What the hell was Ford going to do with himself when he came back to himself and he was covered in his own brother’s blood, with Stan’s body right in front of him?)

There was something wet on his face, and he was still hyperventilating. Oh. He was crying, Stan realized. And his ears were still ringing. He felt very lightheaded. He was pretty sure that was a bad sign.

How long had it been? Ford was still swallowing. He couldn’t see his brother’s face from this angle, just the top of his head. Stan didn’t really want to see the look on Ford’s face right now. His neck felt a little less like it was being ripped apart—that must be the numbing agent in the venom, which took effect after… Stan couldn’t remember how long. Ford seemed to be swallowing really quickly. Stan felt very cold. His breathing had slowed, not because the panic was any less, but because he was feeling suddenly sluggish.

He wondered much longer he had. He wondered if his brother had hit an artery.

If his brother had hit an artery, he was really done for. Stan had seen someone bleed out from a neck wound once. It had happened in a prison he’d been in, decades ago. Someone had shived a guy in the neck. Some twenty year old kid, a few years younger than Stan had been. No one Stan had known, but it had been the first time Stan had ever seen someone die. The blood was under so much pressure it had been like a fountain burst. There had been blood all over the walls. Stan and a cafeteria guy full of guys had watched him bleed out before the COs could even make it out there. No one had gone to help him. They’d all already known he was dead.

The kid had bled out in minutes. Stan could still remember how scared he looked

Stan was scared now.

He couldn’t move. He couldn’t do anything. Even if he somehow found the strength to push Ford away, he’d risk tearing open an artery and bleeding out in seconds.

Stan wanted… Stan wanted his brother. If he was going to die now, he wanted Ford. Not the thing that was killing him. He wanted his brother.

His tongue felt like it weighed a ton, but still, Stan managed to finally say something. “Ford.” His voice sounded wrecked. He could barely hear himself over the sound of his own heart desperately beating. He tried to push against his brother—not to throw him off, but just to get his attention. Half his body felt numb, but he managed to nudge him with his left arm.

“Ford, please.” Stan felt himself sob again.

His brother didn’t move. The pain of everything was feeling more and more distant now, but that wasn’t exactly a good sign. Stan closed his eyes. He tried to imagine something nice. When they were kids, playing on the beach, and there was nothing else in the world except for the two of them.

At least they were on good terms now. Stan had fixed the portal. He’d gotten his brother back. They had sort of talked things out. They’d had a few pretty good weeks together. Not enough, not nearly enough, but at least they hadn’t ended things on another stupid argument. He hoped Ford didn’t beat himself up too much for this whenever he came back from wherever he was right now.

It had been a good last summer, all things considered. He’d had a good time with the kids. He was glad he’d gotten to know them. Stan was feeling very tired now. He couldn’t feel anything on his neck now. He could barely feel anything at all.

“S-Stanley?”

Stan opened his eyes.

Ford looked awful. He was no longer holding Stan down. Instead, at some point, he had started to kneel beside him. His eyes were a little closer to normal—he could see the brown in them now, but for some reason his brother looked close to tears. He was shaking, his hands putting pressure on the wound on Stan’s neck, looking at Stan like he couldn’t quite understand how he was here. Ford’s mouth was covered in blood. In fact, the entire lower half of his face and neck were wet with some mixture of Stan’s blood and the blood bag from before.

Stan took in the scene and laughed in pure relief—a weak, breathy thing, but he laughed anyway. “Took you long enough.” His voice was barely above a whisper.

“Stanley,” Ford said again, and his voice sounded confused. “I-I don’t—why are you here?”

“Y’didn’t think we were just going to leave you here?” Stan said, his voice weak.

Ford said nothing at all. His eyes were wide with surprise and confusion. So. That was a yes, then.

“I don’t…” Ford began. “Stan… you’re bleeding. Why are you bleeding?”

Oh, shit, Ford was still really out of it.

“Uh. Yeah. It’s fine.” Stan looked up at his brother, at the genuine bewilderment on his face.

“You’re already hurt,” Ford said, something painful in his voice, still not moving his hands from where they were holding something—a torn off piece of his coat, maybe—against the side of Stan’s neck. “You shouldn’t have come. It’s far too dangerous. Bill could…” Ford suddenly stiffened. “Where is Bill?”

“Not here now, buddy,” Stan said, feeling another wave of bone deep exhaustion. “We got some time.” He had no idea how long.

“Do you have a bandage?” Ford asked, his voice still a little distant. “You’re bleeding through the…”

Ford stopped. He looked at Stan’s neck. Lifted up the makeshift fabric bandage. He wetted his lips, carefully. Tasted the blood on them. Then his face shuttered. He put the makeshift bandage back, but his hands were less than steady.

“S-Stan,” Ford said, as his hands started to shake again. “I-I’m so sorry—I didn’t—I didn’t mean to—Stanley, are you okay-”

“Hey,” Stan said, trying to inject some strength into his weak voice “Hey. It’s okay. I’m fine.”

The thing is, Stan wasn’t entirely sure that was true. Stan was feeling really bad. A hell of a lot worse than he had the first time. He wasn’t even sure if getting up off the floor was something he could do right now. His head was pounding. His ears were still ringing. Half his body felt numb, and the other half hurt like he’d been run over.

He wanted to sleep, to just curl up and let his brother take care of him, because Ford was back, and he would do that now, but Stan knew that was a very bad idea.

“You’re not fine. You were crying,” Ford said, and his eyes were very wide. “I-I heard you crying.”

Gently, with one hand, the other still holding the bandage, Ford used his thumb to brush away the tears that were still on Stan’s face.

The gesture was so unexpected and so tender that for a moment, Stan couldn’t say or do anything. Ford looked so frightened. He was still so unsteady. They had to… Stan’s mind felt sluggish. They had to get up. Someone was coming, and they needed to move.

“Buddy,” Stan said after a few moments. Every word was slow and difficult. “I need you to stay with me, okay? I’ll be fine. Am I still bleeding?”

Ford blinked. “I—yes. I mean,” Ford said, looking at the bandage again. “You need a new bandage.”

With one hand, Ford ripped another strip off his tattered coat, tossed the blood-soaked bandage aside and replaced it. “You’re still bleeding. I-I don’t think I hit an artery… you wouldn’t be conscious if I had…” Ford’s voice was getting distant again, like he couldn’t quite believe what he was saying.

“Okay,” Stan said. “I—that’s good to hear.” If Ford had hit an artery, Stan would be dead now. It was good that he hadn’t.

Stan’s head was pounding again. He winced. The lights in here were too bright.

Ford was still holding the bandage carefully. He frowned at him. “Stanley, are you in pain?”

“A little,” Stan said. “It’s okay.”

“It shouldn’t still hurt,” Ford said, sounding confused. “The venom should have set in. Are… did you get hurt somewhere else?”

“I hit my head a little,” Stan said. “It’s fine. I’ll be fine in a minute.”

Ford looked at him for a long moment. “You…” Ford said slowly, painfully. “You’re… you’re on the ground. Someone… pushed you?” He was silent for a long moment. “Did I…?”

“You didn’t mean to,” Stan said, quickly. “Look, you weren’t thinking. I know that. It’s fine.”

“Stanley,” Ford said, unsteadily. He looked near tears again. “It’s not fine. I threw you on the ground. That wasn’t necessary. I didn’t need to—you hit your head. You could have a concussion. You could have a brain injury. Are you hurt anywhere else?”

“Not really,” Stan said.

“Not really?” Ford’s voice was getting louder. “Stanley, you need to tell me everything that happened.”

Stan sighed. God, he was tired. Ford’s voice was hurting his head now. “I got pushed. I landed badly. I hit my head. You know the rest.”

Stan closed his eyes. He wanted to sleep. He wanted to let his brother take care of him. Ford was a smart guy. He’d figure it out. He just needed to rest for a moment…

“Stanley!” Ford said, loudly. “You can’t sleep. We—God, where is Bill? What did you do? We need to get out of here.” He shook his head. “I can’t—I’m still chained—but you can’t make it out of here on your own...”

The chains. Stan had completely forgotten, and they’d still be clinking around this entire time. “Oh. I can pick those,” Stan said. “I got a lock pick. I always make sure to keep one on me, in my line of work.”

Luckily, Stan could pick a lock in his sleep, because he was pretty sure he was about to keel over any minute now.

Ford blinked. “In your line of work? Stanley, you manage a tourist shop.”

“Didn’t always.”

“You’ve managed a tourist shop for thirty years.”

Stan tried to shrug, and then quickly regretted it as the pain in his shoulder began to make itself known.

Ford winced in sympathy. “Stanley, please don’t move your neck unnecessarily." He checked his bandage again. “Alright. I-I don’t think you’re bleeding anymore. God, if I’d gone a centimeter to the right…” He shook his head. He took off his tattered trenchcoat and began tearing it up further. “I can bandage you with this.”

“Okay. You bandage, I’ll pick.”

And for a few minutes, that’s what they did. Ford wrapped the bandage on the right side of Stan’s neck, wrapping under Stan’s arm on the other side and tying it around his front, while Stan worked on the collar bolted around his brother’s neck. Luckily, he didn’t need to stand up for it. Or really even look at it. It was mostly feeling around and instinct. The neck bolt required Ford to lean down at an odd angle, but Stan managed to get it off pretty quick.

“Do you think you can stand up now?” Ford said, rubbing his neck. “I’ll help you.”

Stan blinked. He was still so tired. “Maybe. I dunno. I guess if I have to.”

Ford looked unhappy. But all he said was, “Lean on me, Stanley.”

Stan did not enjoy being made vertical. The entire world seemed to tilt in a way that was pretty disturbing. The nausea was sudden, and bad. For a moment, Stan felt so lightheaded and so nauseous that he was sure he was going to faint right there in Ford’s arms.

“It’s okay,” Ford said, his voice very soft. “It’s okay, Lee. I’ve got you. We need to go, alright? Keep leaning on me.”

Ford was basically carrying him after that. Stan was still pretty dizzy, and his head was killing him, but he saw the moment Ford noticed the remnants of the blood bag on the floor. It had left a stain. Ford looked at it for a moment, but he didn’t say anything, and then they kept walking.

“Wait, wait,” Stan said suddenly.

Ford stopped. “What is it, Stanley?”

“No,” Stan said. His brain was foggy, but this thought was coming through. “Your face. You’ve got blood all over your face. You’re gonna scare the kids. You gotta clean it off.”

“The kids are here?” Ford nearly shouted.

“Yeah,” Stan said, too tired to argue. “This was all their plan. They got Bill to leave. They’re in the main room now, I think.”

“Why would you ever let the children-” Ford began, and then he shook his head. “Okay. Okay. I’m not really sure how I’m supposed to do anything about the blood, Stanley. I hate to tell you this, but we’re both currently quite covered in it.”

Stan paused for a moment. “Guess the triangle guy wouldn’t need to have a bathroom in here, huh?”

“I seriously doubt it.”

“Alright,” Stan said. “Set me against the wall for a sec, okay?”

“Stanley-”

“C'mon, Six, just do it.”

Ford did it, looking unhappy, but Stan didn’t immediately keel over, which he had sort of been worried about.

“We really don’t have time for this, Stanley.”

“Go get my jacket,” Stan said, his voice strained. “It’s on the ground over there. There should be some tissues in the pockets.”

Ford did what he said. He cleaned his own face off with directions from Stan—which wasn’t the most effective thing ever with a crumpled up dry tissue, but he looked slightly less like a horror movie. Then, gently, quickly, Ford wiped off Stan’s face. Then he helped Stan put the suit jacket back on, and placed the fez on Stan’s head.

“They’ll be less alarmed if you still look like yourself,” Ford explained. “I still can’t believe you kept Pa’s old hat.”

Stan closed his eyes for a moment. “Hey. The tourists love the hat.”

“I’m sure they do,” Ford said.

Stan felt himself drift a little after that. He kept his eyes closed. God, he was so tired—and then there was a sudden sharp spike of pain. Stan’s eyes flew back open, his heart started racing again, and he cried out in pain. It took a moment for him to realize what was happening. Ford was squeezing his shoulder, hard, though he stopped as soon as Stan looked up at him, his eyes wide with hurt.

“Stanley,” Ford said, loudly. “You need to stay awake. If you pass out, you might not wake up again.”

“You didn’t have to do that,” Stan said resentfully, but he did feel significantly more awake. “Jesus, Ford.”

Ford didn’t look sorry at all.

“We need to leave. Come here.” But Ford’s voice was slightly more gentle, and he put his arm around Stan again to help him up.

Stan leaned against his brother again. Ford was still supporting most of his weight. Things got kind of fuzzy after that. Ford led him through the freaky pyramid again. He kept up a monologue of what he was doing as they moved forward, probably just to keep Stan awake. Stan wasn’t really listening to the words, but it was nice that his brother’s voice was there. Ford seemed to find a way through faster than Stan did, but admittedly Stan was mostly just focused on staying upright, occasionally ducking or turning when Ford directed him to.

The next thing Stan really processed was the kids. Dipper and Mabel were there, suddenly, looking up at him with wide eyes. Soos was right behind them.

“Grunkle Stan! Are you okay?” Mabel asked.

“You don’t look too good,” Dipper said, looking between him and Ford.

“I’ve never been better, kids,” Stan said, forcing as much strength as he could into his voice. “Don’t worry about me.”

The kids didn’t look convinced, but after giving Mabel a significant look, Dipper spoke again.

“Grunkle Ford,” Dipper said. “We don’t have a lot of time. Do you really know another way to defeat Bill?”

“Uh,” Ford looked a little overwhelmed by the crowd of townspeople that had gathered. “Yes. There’s still a way. Soos, could you help Stan?”

“Right on it,” Soos said, and Ford carefully deposited Stan into Soos’s arms. “I got you, Mr. Pines.”

“Ugh,” Stan said, feeling another wave of dizziness. “Whatever, kid.”

Stan closed his eyes and leaned into Soos despite that. He was a good kid. Ford was saying something about a secret cave and some symbols and a prophecy. Which sounded like a lot of mystical woo-woo, but whatever. Stan wasn’t really listening. He was feeling increasingly certain that he was going to pass out, but he couldn’t do that in front of the kids.

His heart was pounding like a jackrabbit, though. It took everything he had just to stay upright.

“Stanley?” Ford said, suddenly. “We need you for this part.”

“Sure,” Stan said, beyond exhaustion. “Whatever. Just tell me where to stand.”

Stan was handed off between Soos and Ford again. Geez, he felt like a sack of potatoes or something. He could barely keep his eyes open now, leaning into his brother. There were a bunch of random symbols on the ground. The kids and their friends were all holding hands in a circle for some reason. This still seemed like bullshit, but whatever. Stan hoped that there wasn’t a chant or something they were supposed to say that he’d missed.

Ford led him to the spot with the fish on the ground, and Ford stood on the spot with the six-fingered handprint.

“Now, everyone needs to hold hands for the duration of the spell,” Ford said. “Don’t stop until I tell you to.” A little quieter, Ford said to Stan, “It’s alright. You can still lean on me. I think any kind of physical contact will work.”

“Uh-huh,” Stan said. He tried to nod, but it just made his head hurt more.

After that, there were a bunch of lights and sounds and someone who wasn’t Ford holding his hand on his left side, but Stan wasn’t really paying attention to any of that. He leaned against his brother. Ford was cold, and he didn’t breathe, but Stan was used to that by now. It just felt like Ford. At some point, the triangle came back, and there was more yelling, and maybe an explosion? But Stan couldn’t really process any of it. He could barely keep his eyes open.

He felt really dizzy now. The world was getting really… blurry. Was that the triangle getting sucked into a black hole or something, or was Stan losing it? The kids were saying something. Ford was saying something, but Stan’s mind was still drifting. When he looked back up again, they were in the woods outside of the Shack, and he had absolutely no idea how they’d gotten there.

They had won, Stan supposed. Ford’s weird hopscotch thing must have worked. The world was still kind of blurry around the edges. Sweet Moses, he needed to go lie down.

…he could smell something. Something burning. Burning toast? Was he having a stroke? Jesus, that was just what he needed right now.

“Stanley,” Ford said, and there was panic in his voice. “I need to go inside. The sun is out.”

Stan suddenly felt very awake. He looked at his brother, who was… smoking? There was smoke coming from his hair?

“What’s wrong with you?” Stan said. “Get inside!”

“I-I need to help you inside first,” Ford said.

“And I need you not to burn to death right in front of me,” Stan said, desperately trying to disentangle himself from his brother. “I’m fine! Get inside, you idiot!”

Soos appeared behind Stan suddenly. Or maybe he’d been standing there the whole time. Stan wasn’t really following things like the location of other people around him anymore. “I got him. Get inside, Mr. Dr. Pines!”

Ford looked reluctant, but he ran back inside the Shack, fast. Good. Although, geez. Everything was looking very blurry once again. When did the Shack get so tall?

The kids were saying something, and the rest of the gathered townspeople were too, something about the spell, something about if Bill was really gone, but Stan wasn’t paying attention. He really needed to lie down.

“Mr. Pines,” Soos said, carefully. “Is your brother a vampire?”

“Vampires aren’t real, Soos,” Stan said, easily, because he was not having this conversation right now. “Make yourself useful and help me inside, would you?”

“Uh,” Soos said. “Are you sure about that? Why do you have a bandage on your neck?” Soos paused. “Mr. Pines, if you need my help with something…”

“I don’t need help with anything,” Stan said, irritated. “Except getting back in my damn house.”

Soos helped him back inside and set Stan back down in a chair in the kitchen. God, it was nice to sit down. He felt a strange sense of deja vu. Ford was back by his side as soon as Stan was back in the house, holding a glass of orange juice with one of Mabel’s silly straws in it. “Drink this.”

Stan drank it. He felt a little better afterwards, but his head was still pounding. He felt like he’d just ran a marathon, not barely been on his feet, constantly supported by either Soos or his brother.

Of course, this time was different from that night all those weeks ago. Mostly because the kids had gathered around him at some point, asking nervous questions and generally not leaving him the hell alone.

“Grunkle Stan,” Mabel said, her voice concerned. “What happened to you?”

“What’s that bandage on your neck for?” Dipper asked.

“Why don’t you two go play outside or something?” Stan said tiredly. “I just need to take a nap.”

Mabel and Dipper exchanged a concerned look. They did not go outside and play. Instead, the two blurry figures in front of him just continued to pester him with questions that Stan didn’t want to answer.

“Stan is just a little tired,” Ford said, appearing at Stan’s side again. “Why don’t you two let him rest for a while? I’m sure the townspeople want to talk to someone about what just happened. You two can help with that.”

The kids argued for a little while longer, but eventually Ford managed to shoo them away, and then he was alone with his brother in the kitchen. Ford got him another orange juice and sat down across from him. Stan drank the juice, somehow managing to resist the urge to set his head on the table and just go to sleep right there.

“I honestly can’t believe you’re still conscious,” Ford said. “You need to go to the hospital, Stanley.”

Stan blinked. Ford was looking kind of blurry too now. “M’fine. I just need a nap or something. I’ll be fine tomorrow.”

“You have at least a moderate concussion. I can’t even guess how much blood you lost. You weren’t even fully recovered from the last time… a man of your age should’ve waited at least 10 weeks to be safe.” Ford shook his head. “You need a blood transfusion. And you need a head CT.”

“Hey,” Stan said, waving his hand dismissively, even though his hand felt kind of heavy as he did it. “I don’t need any of those things. You can’t take down a fighter like me that easily.”

Ford stared at him in disbelief.

“Why am I even talking to you?” Ford said, standing up suddenly. “Stanley, you have a brain injury. You’re slurring your words and you can’t focus your eyes. You’ve suffered massive blood loss. You are in no position to be arguing with me about this. You're barely conscious. I’m taking you to the hospital.”

“How are you gonna do that, smart guy?” Stan said, and geez, his voice was kind of slurring. “The sun’s still out.”

Ford froze. He just stood there for a moment. He looked out the kitchen window, and something like genuine grief flashed across his face. Then his brother turned and walked towards the front door, and opened it. “Soos!”

Soos came back almost immediately. “What do you need, Mr. Dr. Pines?”

“You need to drive Stan to the nearest hospital. He’s suffered massive blood loss and he has a concussion. Don’t let him leave before the doctors say he can go. Don’t let him leave without having the doctors check for a brain bleed. Tell them that, specifically, okay?”

Ford then made Soos repeat the instructions back to him.

“You can count on me, Mr. Dr. Pines,” Soos said afterwards, and then for some reason he saluted.

Ford still looked unsure. He was pacing by the door as Soos went to bring the Stanmobile around. Apparently, neither of them wanted Stan driving.

When Soos came back in and Stan tried to go for the keys, Ford had just looked at him and said, “I cannot begin to tell you all the reasons you shouldn't be driving right now. If Soos wasn't here, I would've already called you an ambulance.”

“I’ve driven in a worse state before,” Stan said.

“That is not at all comforting.”

“Alright, alright,” Stan said. He wasn’t entirely sure he wasn’t going to nod off during the drive, so that was probably a good idea.

“Stanley,” Ford said, carefully. “Please listen to the doctors.”

“I always listen to doctors,” Stan lied, easily.

“No, you don’t,” Ford said with a sigh. “Okay. Promise me you'll listen to Soos then?”

“Alright,” Stan said, easily. “See you soon. Maybe go wash up, huh? You still look pretty terrible.”

Ford blinked. “...See you soon, Stanley.”

Soos helped him out to the car. As they drove off, Stan watched Ford watch them leave from the window. Jesus, he looked like a sad dog watching its owner leave or something.

The drive to the hospital was about 30 minutes. Soos was talking about the zodiac and whatever he had been doing during the apocalypse, but Stan wasn’t really listening. He kind of wished that Ford was still here. Maybe they could’ve snuck him out under a blanket or something.

Stan fell asleep at some point during the drive. When Soos woke him up, Stan felt somehow even worse than before. He blinked up at Soos, who was standing over him. The kid looked genuinely frightened and pale, his hand on Stan’s shoulder.

“Mr Pines!” Soos said, sounding both relieved and a little frightened. “You weren’t waking up. I was about to go inside and get help.”

“M’fine, kid,” Stan managed to say. “Just help me up.”

Whatever little boost the orange juice had given Stan was gone. He had to lean on Soos heavily just to get inside the hospital.

The hospital was the hospital. It was loud, and there were more than a few troubled looking residents of Gravity Falls that he recognized in the ER waiting room, probably also dealing with apocalypse-related injuries. Stan knew he must look pretty bad, because they brought him back pretty quickly. The doctor didn’t ask too many questions about the bite mark on his neck. They were probably close enough to Gravity Falls that they didn’t need to. They just cleaned it and dressed it properly, and finally gave Stan a bed he could lie in.

Soos kept saying things to the doctors, but Stan wasn’t really listening anymore. Then there were needles poking him, tests, and drugs, and waiting for tests, and at some point, despite the noise, Stan fell asleep.

It was dark when he woke up, and Stan felt a lot better. Heh. They must have given him the good stuff. Stan glanced to the side, where there were various machines beeping. It also looked like he was being given another blood transfusion.

Maybe he could snag a few extra blood bags for Ford on the way out. Ricky charged way too much.

“Stanley? How are you feeling?” Ford asked. His brother was sitting in the uncomfortable hospital chair, pushed as far up to Stan’s bed as he could be. And, uh. He was, for some reason, also holding Stan’s hand, the one that didn’t have the IV in it. Stan glanced down at their clasped hands for a moment, but he didn’t try to move away.

“I’m fine,” Stan said with a shrug, and then he immediately regretted the motion. His neck still hurt. His head still hurt, but it was more of a normal headache than the pounding pain of before. Everything was still a little too bright. “A little thirsty.”

Ford let go of Stan’s hand to silently hand him one of those little hospital juice cups with the lid peeled back. Stan drank it gratefully.

Also, huh, wait a minute. Ford was here now. He looked better than before. At least it looked like he'd washed off a bit, and he was wearing a non-bloodstained sweater. But when did he get to the hospital? These things seemed to keep happening. People kept coming and going without Stan really understanding how or why.

…that was a concussion symptom, he was pretty sure. The doctors had said something about that. Probably. Stan’s memory was still feeling a little foggy.

“Hey, how’d you get here?” Stan asked.

“Soos came back to get me after the sun went down,” Ford said. “The children wanted to come too, but I told them to go to bed. I’m not sure if I’ll be forgiven for that.”

“Eh,” Stan said. “Hospitals are boring. The kids don’t need to be there. They’ll let me out of here soon.”

“Yes,” Ford said, carefully. “I’m sure they’ll let you out as soon as they can. But the doctors wanted to monitor your symptoms, at least for tonight. You know, Stanley, concussions are very serious. You need to rest. No television, no reading. You need to rest your mind if you want to recover.”

Stan frowned. “Jesus. I just need some sleep, alright? Don’t you start with your fussing.”

“I’m not fussing,” Ford said. “I’m simply concerned about my brother’s health. The doctors said that you need to-”

“Why are you talking to my doctors anyway?” Stan said. “What about, uh, medical privacy and all that?”

“Stanley,” Ford said slowly. “I’m your next of kin. Of course I can talk to your doctors. Who else would they be talking to?”

Stan looked at his brother. He blinked. “I guess you are.”

The last time Stan had gone to the hospital was about 5 years ago. He tried to avoid it when he could. He had pretty bad health insurance, perks of being self-employed, and hospitals were expensive. And also, he just didn’t like them very much. But then he’d gotten injured while he was working on the portal, just a small cut on his arm, not even that deep. He had bandaged it and kept working. He’d driven himself to the ER after the wound started looking really nasty a few days later.

Turned out, he’d had a minor case of, uh, sepsis. He was in the hospital for a week. He had been by himself the whole time, except when Soos came by to visit. There’d been no one else for the doctors to talk to. Just him, like it had been ever since he was 17.

Anyway, Stan was pretty sure that Shermie was still down as his emergency contact. Maybe he’d have to update that. (Actually, he was still using the name Stanford Pines in the hospital records, so he would have to somehow get that fixed first now that Ford was back.) Probably better to have the brother he lived with as his emergency contact. Not like Sherman could do that much from California.

…shit, maybe someone should call Shermie, and at least let him know that his grandkids were okay. And if someone called Shermie, someone should call Stan’s nephew and his wife too, and also let them know their children were okay. Stan knew immediately that someone would have to be him. He loved that kid, but he didn’t trust Soos not to call and somehow make the situation worse. And Ford calling would just raise a lot of questions that Stan wasn’t up to dealing with right now.

Ugh. He’d deal with it later.

“What do you mean, you guess I am?” Ford said, but his tone was light. “Who else would your next of kin be? Do you have another twin brother I don’t know about?”

“Well,” Stan said. “I was married a few times. They’d be my next of kin, I guess.”

Ford looked at him. “What?”

“I’m pretty sure the divorces all went through, though,” Stan said. “Don’t worry. Most of them were under my name.”

“...most of them?” Ford sounded very pained.

“Gee,” Stan said. “I think this concussion’s making me a little loopy, huh?” And way too honest. He was lucky that Ford was probably still feeling way too guilty to yell at him right now.

Ford was silent for a long moment. “It must be,” Ford said, leaning back into his chair.

That was when a doctor came in to check on him. Stan listened as the guy introduced himself as the night shift doctor.

“Now, Mr. Pines, I’d like to ask how you got the injury on your neck. It says here in your file that it was an accident, but I was wondering how exactly it happened? Two identical puncture wounds on your neck is a little… unusual.”

Stan did his best to keep a frown off of his face. He’d liked the first doctor better. She didn’t ask too many follow-up questions. Still, Stan put his best Mr. Mystery smile on. “Oh, it’s not that interesting. Just a little accident I had outside.”

“I’d like to know the details, if you wouldn’t mind, Mr. Pines.”

Good thing Stan could tell a coherent lie in his sleep.

"Well, Doc,” Stan began. “It's really the silliest thing. My great niece and nephew have been staying with me for the summer, and I’ve been trying to give them lots of, y’know, happy family memories and all that. I was about to start roasting some marshmallows outside with the kids, but then I tripped over a rock and dropped the stick, and, uh, as I was falling, the marshmallow stick went exactly where a marshmallow stick shouldn't go. Just bad luck, really. And I hit my head on the ground too. My brother here saw the whole thing. Right, Ford?”

Ford looked perhaps a little paler than usual, and he was visibly nervous. “Erm. Exactly right, Stan. That’s what happened.”

Sweet Moses, why was his brother such a terrible liar?

“Anyway, I thought I was fine at first,” Stan continued. “But then my neck kept bleeding, and my employee Soos insisted on driving me to the hospital. And here we are.”

“...that’s very unfortunate, Mr. Pines,” the doctor said after a moment.

“You’re telling me,” Stan said.

“Well. I’m very glad you weren’t more seriously injured,” the doctor said. “Try to be more careful next time, sir.”

“Oh, I will. No more marshmallows for me or the kids, Doc.”

After the doctor left, Ford turned to Stan, very slowly. “...a marshmallow stick?”

“You know,” Stan said. “Those pokey things you use to roast marshmallows over a fire.”

“...I know what a marshmallow stick is, Stanley.”

“Well,” Stan said. “You got a better idea?”

“I-I don’t know,” Ford said, and he sounded very tired. “You could have said it was an animal bite?”

“An animal bite on the neck?” Stan replied in disbelief. “How are they going to believe that? And even if they do, then I have to answer a million follow up questions about what kind of animal it was and when and where it happened. C’mon, Stanford, you gotta think about these things. An animal attack has to get reported. An animal attack means follow-up from the game warden. And probably a rabies shot too. You have rabies, Ford?”

Ford looked very pained. “No.”

“Hey,” Stan said, remembering something. “Did you ever get that burn checked out?”

Ford paused, his expression deliberately neutral. “You saw that?”

“Of course I saw it. I smelled it too. What—what happened with that?”

“It’s not important.” Ford looked away. “I bandaged myself up at home while I was waiting for the sun to set. It’s not anything to worry about. It’ll heal in a few days, now that I’ve eaten.”

Wow, that answered absolutely nothing.

“Well,” Stan said. “Now that you’re here, maybe you should get it checked out. Just in case.”

“Stanley,” Ford said carefully. “I don’t have a pulse. I can’t get any kind of medical treatment at any hospital without raising a lot of questions I can’t answer.”

That… that was maybe a good point. “...you’re really doing better, though, right?”

“Yes,” Ford said. “I heal faster than you do. You really don’t need to worry about it. It’ll be completely healed in a few days. Most likely, it won’t even scar.”

Ford glanced at the bandage on Stan’s neck as he said that, and then he quickly looked away.

“So,” Stan said. “How does that work? The vampire healing thing?”

Ford looked back at Stan. “Oh. Um, it functions the same as normal human healing, just better and faster, as long as I’ve fed recently. It has something to do with the particular mechanisms of undeath. Blood is a vampire’s lifeforce, and as long as one has enough of it, a vampire can survive almost anything. Not a direct attack on the brain or the heart, not direct sunlight for over a minute, but nearly anything else. It’s been very useful over the years.”

Well, that wasn’t exactly really a reassuring sentence.

“You, uh, have to use it a lot?” Stan asked.

“The multiverse is a dangerous place,” Ford said, very matter of factly.

Stan sighed. “Well. I guess it's good you had it, then.”

They lapsed into silence for a few moments. God, Stan was still pretty tired. And he’d kill for some real food now. Stan was just about to ask Ford about getting him something that wasn’t hospital food when the door to his room opened.

“Look what I found!” Soos said, suddenly bursting into the room. “Burger King!”

“Soos, this is why you’re employee of the year,” Stan said, gratefully. “No. Employee of the decade. You earned it, buddy.”

Soos’ eyes lit up. “Thank you, Mr. Pines!”

Stan, with a little help, managed to sit up in bed without straining his neck wound. They ate quietly. Well, Stan and Soos ate, and Ford politely said that he wasn’t hungry, and Soos gave his brother another suspicious look.

Stan would have to deal with the fact that Soos apparently thought his brother was a vampire who had almost drained him of his blood. Which was, in the strictest sense, true, but he didn’t want Soos to have the wrong impression about things between him and his brother. Which were both none of Soos’ business, and also not really like that.

Stan felt significantly better after eating food that wasn’t apocalypse rations or hospital food. Soos had to leave to check on his Abuelita after they finished. He gave Stan another meaningful look, which Stan responded to with a glare. “Go check on your grandma. I’m fine, kid.”

The world's clingiest vampire, of course, did not want to leave with Soos.

“Have you slept any?” Stan asked Ford when they were alone again.

Ford blinked. “I don’t need to sleep. You’re the one who should be resting, Stanley.”

“Ford,” Stan said. “You were just at the mercy of that goddamn triangle for God knows how long. I don’t know what happened, and you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to, but you do need to sleep.” Stan glanced at the door. “You can probably still catch Soos before he heads out if you leave now.”

“Stan,” Ford said, gently. “I don’t want to leave. Someone needs to be here with you. I’m fine.”

“If you stay here, you’re stuck lurking around the hospital until the next sunset, you know.”

“I know,” Ford said, and he smiled, just a bit. “I have been dealing with this for nearly a decade.” Then he went quiet for a moment, and the smile vanished. “I mean. If you don’t feel comfortable with my being here, I can go. I wouldn’t want to, erm, disrupt your rest.”

“That’s not what I said,” Stan said. “If you don’t have anything better to do, of course you can stay here. If you want.” Stan yawned. “Just gonna be a lot of me napping, probably.”

“Stan,” Ford said. “There is genuinely no place in the universe I would rather be right now. I am incredibly grateful that you’re well. I know there’s no excuse for what I did, but I want to assure you I will make every effort to make sure nothing like that ever happens again.”

“Uh, Ford-” Stan could see where this was going, and he wanted to cut it off, but Ford barreled ahead with his little guilt speech, which he had probably been rehearsing in his head for hours.

“I know you may not forgive me, and that’s your right, but I want you to know how sorry I am.” Ford was still trying to go through his speech, but looked near tears. “I never wanted to hurt you. I-I care for you a great deal. God, Stanley, you risked your life to help me and I nearly killed you. And I know I might never be able to make it up to you-”

“Yeah, yeah,” Stan interrupted. “That’s enough beating yourself up for one day.” He yawned again. “Geez, of course I forgive you, you moron. You were starving, and I knew what I was getting into. It wasn't like I was getting my neck gnawed on just for the fun of it.”

Ford was struck silent.

“I don’t know about you, but I need to sleep for a week,” Stan said. “You wanna lie down? I got room here.” It was actually on the nicer side, for a hospital room. He got his own private room, and the bed wasn’t that small. Perks of looking old as fuck, probably.

“No,” Ford said. “I wouldn’t want to get in the way of anything…”

“C’mon, I know you didn’t get that much sleep while in that damn pyramid,” Stan said. “I look old as hell. I don’t think anyone’ll say anything. Nurses probably think I’m dying.”

“You have a moderate concussion and blood loss,” Ford said flatly. “You are not dying.”

“I know that,” Stan said. “I was just sayin’ that the nurses don’t. C’mon. I don’t want you watching me like a creep from the chair all night again.”

Ford glanced at the door. “...okay.”

Stan moved over. “Get over here, then.”

Ford laid down carefully, as close to the edge of the bed as he could make it while still technically being on the bed. Stan sighed. Yawned again. Adjusted the thin hospital blanket to toss it over his dumb vampire brother.

At some point while they were adjusting themselves, Ford had taken Stan’s hand again, the one without the IV in it, and clasped it gently.

Stan gave his brother a look, but Ford wasn’t looking at him. “So I can monitor your pulse better,” Ford said.

Stan looked at the heart monitor sitting right next to him. Then he looked back at Ford.

“Those can be inaccurate.”

“Okay,” Stan said. He was too tired to deal with this. “G’night, Sixer.”

“Goodnight, Stanley.” Ford said, softly.

His brother was still as cold and dead as ever. His hands were too cold. He didn’t breathe. But that was hard to notice under the beeping of all the machines, and Stan was really tired. And besides, it was almost like when they were kids again before they got the bunk beds. That time in their childhood where every night, there was another person by Stan’s side.

Stan fell asleep quickly.

But Ford didn’t sleep.

Ford watched his brother.

He got up to close the curtains at one point, so they could avoid having an unpleasant experience when the sun came up, but otherwise he didn’t leave his brother’s side.

Ford spent most of the night monitoring Stan's condition. He listened to his brother breathe, listened to his heartbeat. He held Stan’s too-warm hand in his and felt his brother's pulse. He thought about what had almost happened, about what he almost did. He remembered everything now. The nurses came by once every hour. They didn’t seem to notice him, as silent as still as he was. Or perhaps, if they did, they didn't say anything about it.

They just looked like two old brothers sharing a bed, Ford supposed. Which, of course, was what they were.