Chapter Text
1982
Looking back, Ford wasn't sure when exactly things had started going completely, horribly wrong.
His English classes back in college had taught him to look at the root causes of problems, the core motivations of people. If he really wanted to put that hat back on again, write a comprehensive yet efficient thesis or two… he could make a very decent argument that everything began not the day his dreams of academia had whirred to a stop prematurely (not unlike his sabotaged perpetual motion machine) but long, long before. With his six-fingered hands, with the cruelty of the children at school, with the almost obsessive way he and his brother stuck entirely together against the world.
But only one-twelfth of Ford was an English major, and so he had some other hypotheses to toss forward as well. Perhaps it was when their father had kicked Stanley out of house and home, with nothing more than an already-packed bag and a used car. When Ford had watched him drive away, a thousand brimming thoughts that refused to translate into words. The many, many occasions when Ford had said to himself, "It's been daysweeksmonthsyears, Ma would know where he is, what if I -?" and thought better worse of it.
When he had sold his soul to a demon. When he had called on his estranged brother after a decade of silence to help him stop said demon from ending the world.
When he and said estranged brother had the bright idea to physically brawl within vicinity of a doomsday device.
But if Ford had to bet, really had to pin it down on one moment… the choice was easy: the exact moment he pushed his brother into range of an activated interdimensional portal.
Stan had threatened to burn his journal, his life's work (and yes, it had the plans for the portal, contained several dozen curses and spells, and just generally world-ending information, but -) and Ford… just wasn't thinking.
He had tackled him, they had fought, and - there must have been some kind of exposed internal machinery somewhere, because Ford had pushed his brother onto the side of a console and Stan had screamed (and Ford had been taken aback for a moment, because when they were kids Stan never seemed to feel pain, he just took everything he got and kept hitting back -)
That was when Stan swung at him blindly, and it came as pure instinct to grab turn push the blow.
Except.
His brother stumbled an additional few steps backwards than he should, from the sheer force and surprise of it. His next step met thin air.
Ford stared on with horror and realization as his brother floated upwards, slowly at first, then increasingly faster when Stan finally registered his predicament and began to flail wildly.
"F-Ford, what's going on?" His brother shouted then, somewhat hysterically. "What is this thing? Oh shit, oh shit -"
"It's the portal, but - I don't understand, it's not supposed to be on!" Ford stammered, mind blank and unresponsive with shock and terror.
"Then turn it off!" Stan clutched a single hand to his injured shoulder. His other was outspread, still clenched the journal Ford had shoved into his hands minutes earlier. The combination of this unequal distribution of weight and the force of his thrashing spun him completely around in mid-air.
"I'm trying!"
The problem was, the portal was never meant to have turned on like this - all the measures for activation were still incomplete, which meant that there was no way for Ford to turn off the portal the regular way. He would have to -
"Sixer," his brother stammered, eyes wide with fear and betra - and something that Ford could not read, did not want to read. "I'm - I'm sorry for everything, just please help me -"
His mouth felt dry. "Stan - Stanley, I know, I am, just - you have to calm down, you're making things worse -" Ford babbled as he went through the control panel looking for a manual override, but no no no that had been the three-person operation, hadn't it?
But if he couldn't do it all at once, then he would have to take baby steps. The first thing he had to do was cut off the transdimensional operation of the portal -
"Calm down?" Stan - shrieked, for lack of a better word. The light from the portal was growing blinding, but Ford could still see his brother's struggling form - close, too close to the portal's entrance. "I'M making things worse?"
"Stan, you're moving too much, if you hit anything -" Ford grimaced as he flipped a switch, then two, and it should work at least a little - but the portal had not dimmed in any way. In fact, it seemed to have gotten even stronger. He gritted his teeth. "You could damage the machinery and hurt yourself, and then I won't be able to -"
"Damage the machinery? Is that what you're so worried about?"
"No, Stan, I just meant -"
Several things happened in quick succession.
One, the control panel of the portal blinked a single warning of 'Anomalous Gravity Event: 0:02.' Before he could shout, yell, warn his brother in any way, the timer hit zero and gravity jerked Ford upwards, slightly but violently, into the air.
Two, out of the corner of his eyes, Ford saw Stanley's thrashing form careen dangerously upwards.
"Stanley!"
He saw Stan look up slightly, just in time for the back of his head to connect with the metal surface of the portal.
There was a loud crack. His brother went suddenly, terrifyingly limp.
Three, the brightness of the portal became overwhelmingly intense. It was through squinted, bleary eyes that Ford saw his brother - his brother's body - pass through the surface of the dimensional gate. Another flash forced his eyes shut and the loud sounds of twisting metal made Ford cower underneath whatever shelter he could reach.
It seemed like forever before the light died down and silence settled back over the empty laboratory.
When Ford opened his eyes, the portal was off - completely and utterly broken for the time being, it seemed, if the exposed and ripped cables were any indication. And Stanley...
Stanley was gone, without a trace.
Or rather, Ford thought with a sinking feeling in his stomach, staring up at the red that dripped from a delicate little dent on the inner edge of the portal and pooled slowly on the ground, with several traces.
He sat down - slumped really, all energy and adrenaline draining out of his form to be replaced by cold, numb realization. His exhale of breath came out as a sob.
Minutes passed. The portal remained dark. The room was silent, but for the dull ringing in his ears and the jarring rasps of his own heavy breathing.
Ford had to fix the portal. He couldn't fix the portal. His brother was on the other side of that thing, trapped with whatever monstrosities had driven Fiddleford insane on sight. If he opened the portal again, Bill would win. The world would end. Stanley had been injured several times over when he went through. He needed medical help. He couldn't survive in the condition he was in, especially in some kind of alien dimension -
No, he couldn't.
He didn't.
Reality hit.
Fixing the portal, opening it back up - that meant putting his brother above the fate of the entire world and everyone who lived in it. Not to mention, given the damage done to the portal, given the fact that Stanley had taken a third of the plans with him, it was an endeavor that would take him days, weeks. Possibly even more. Possibly never.
Too long. Too la -
Despite himself, Ford remembered the final discordant crunch of bone against metal. The unnatural limpness of Stan's body during those last few seconds of terror.
He shuddered.
No, it was already too late.
(oh fordsy, enough about that. admit it: cracked skull or not, he was beyond saving the moment you pushed him into the portal.
he didn't know it
but you did)
The moment every power source to the portal is destroyed and he is sure that it will never be activated again, Ford sits down and cries. He cries for a very long time.
???
Awareness returned to him slowly.
He was surrounded by softness and warmth. The room he was in was dimly lighted, enough that he could see hazily, but not so much that it became piercing. There was something wrapped tightly around his head.
He hurt. He hurt in a lot of places, actually. Maybe everywhere, but he wasn't sure what 'everywhere' meant.
There was a loud gasp from somewhere to his left. "Mister, you're awake!"
He blinked slowly, blearily, and turned his head as much as he could.
It was a kid - short and chubby, mouth wide open with such intense excitement and joy that he felt slightly uncomfortable. He held a toy car in one hand and a screwdriver in the other, as if interrupted in the middle of his work. A green cone hat balanced precariously on top of his round head.
"Abuelita said you might never wake up, but you did!" The kid's eyes were practically sparkling. "I mean, you did look pretty bad when I found you at first, Mister. And no one would tell me how long you were out there in the snow. Even the reindeer just stared at me!"
He stared at him blankly. Something in his brain had automatically spouted 'grandmother in Spanish' or 'cold white stuff on the ground sometimes.' But none of those words made any real sense to him, not put together like that.
The kid blinked, and scratched his hair in embarrassment. "Heh, oops. Sorry, Mister. Abuelita always scolds me for this, but I keep on forgetting anyways. My name's Soos. What's yours, Mister?"
He thought as hard as he could. There was nothing there. There was nothing anywhere.
"I, uh," he said slowly under Soos' expectant gaze. His voice was hoarse, as if he had been using it a lot recently. "I... don't know."
Soos opened his mouth in an 'o' of surprise. "I'll help you figure out your name, Mister!" He furrowed his eyebrows in thought. "Oh! You had this weird-looking book with you when you showed up. No one knew what it was, so Abuelita let me keep it. Maybe you wrote your name in here when you remembered it!"
"Um," he said weakly. He didn't remember a book. But then again, he didn't remember much of anything. "Sure, uh. Kid."
Soos jolted in surprise and opened his mouth as if he was going to say something, but thought better of it. Not that it was really necessary. The bright smile spreading across his face spoke volumes.
The kid cracked open something just out of view, and he distantly heard the sound of flipping pages.
"Huh, this is some fancy handwriting. But it says…" Soos squinted. "It says this book belongs to 'Stanford Pines.' Are you 'Stanford Pines,' Mister?"
"Stanford…" It sounded familiar, which was more than he could say for anything else he had heard in the past five minutes. "I - I could be. I don't know. Maybe."
"Mr. Stanford?"
He choked. Maybe not. "Uh. Just Stan is fine."
Soos nodded sagely. "Got it, Mr. Stan!"
There was a brief silence. Something about the situation felt uncomfortably familiar, in a way that he did not like at all.
"W-What happens now?" The newly dubbed 'Stan' asked quietly. The next words came easily, as if he had had the same conversation many times before. "I - I don't have anything I can pay with. And I don't - have anywhere to go."
Soos beamed. "I don't know what 'pay' means, Mr. Stan, but you can come stay with me and my Abuelita! We got a whole cottage on the outskirts of town, near the big toy factory. Abuelita won't mind - she always says it feels too empty sometimes, after..." He trailed off awkwardly.
...Huh. He blinked. There was something strange and nagging about the statement, but he didn't remember enough to know exactly what was off.
For the first time, he looked hard at Soos - and specifically, what the kid was wearing.
Whole lot of green, whole lot of yellow. And those shoes... were they supposed to be curved up like that?
Even without a real idea of what normal fashion was... Stan couldn't help but think that this wasn't it.
"Uh, kid," he said slowly, "where exactly is here?"