#stan being stan and of course being stubborn as a mule

[stcries]

are you okay?, accepting!

@pine-dexter wrote: ❤️‍🩹  to  find  my  muse  trying  to  hide  an  injury. (For Stan!)

perhaps he should've listened to sixer's warnings, the rain had been heavy last night, pelting atop the ship's roof showing no signs of relenting. but even with the sun rising over the horizon, the ship's deck remained slippery. stan figured he'd get up early, do a few little chores and check over the boat, but lost in thought, his feet quickly slipped out from underneath him, landing awkwardly upon his upper arm. thankfully nobody was around when it happened, he'd rather not live with that embarrassment. but as soon as his brother's familiar face arrived on deck, stanley simply played everything off as normal. the last thing he wanted right now was to listen to another one of ford's lectures, he'd suffered enough already today.

"what? ford, it's nothing to worry abou-OW!" in the middle of trying to once again swindle himself out of the confrontation, he's unable to escape his brother's grasp in time. eyes go wide as his twin's hand grabs onto his wrist, promptly yanking him close, only aggravating the thing he was so desperate to hide.

[hellsquills]

Do you think Ford knew how old he was when he came back? Because I don't think so.

He's been all around the multiverse, in places that definitely didn't follow the laws of physics of his home dimension. Time works differently depending on the place he lands on, and he never gets used to any of them because he knows he'll have to leave sooner or later.

So time passes. He can feel himself age, of course, but he doesn't know how long it's been since he fell through the portal. When he looks at himself in the mirror, he can see wrinkles paired with new scars, and his hair is getting grayer, but that could simply be a sign of stress. And sure, his body hurts when he wakes up, but he's constantly on the move and sleeping anywhere he can, obviously he's not going to be in the best shape! All things considered, he's a pretty fit man for any age, and whatever years he's been alive for is not his priority right now.

When he comes back home, after his first encounter with Stan, he finally gets a moment to think about his new and old family. His brother looks older, obviously, and certainly different from what he imagined (not that he thought about him often, of course not). His hair is whiter than his own, and he has even more wrinkles than him! Just how badly was he taking care of himself in the... how many years... wait, did he say 30?!

I don't think Ford was necessarily thinking of a higher or lower number. I don't think he expected anything more or less: the way he sees it, it could've been anywhere from 10 to 1000 years. Time was meaningless between dimensions. I think that the sole reminder that time still passed was what got to him.

That shock came full force after Weirdmageddon, when he realized that Stan was his same age, despite the differences in their physiques. It was the fact that they were both around 60 years old, and they had been apart for 40 years. Two whole thirds of their lives. They were supposed to grow old together, maybe not in the same house (or boat), but close to each other. That, paired with how old and worn down Stan looks, Ford can't help but feel like he's now years younger than him, and he hates thinking about it because with the way Stan had been living for the last 40 years, just how much longer- no, stop, don't think about it.

Ford's paranoia turns into hypochondria, but towards his brother. This translates as Ford desperately trying to cut Stan's bad habits (such as alcohol and smoking), making sure he eats well (Ford can't cook for shit) and semi-forcing him to do some exercise. Stan is not on board with these measures, and he lets his brother know just that because he's being bossy and annoying and he would like to enjoy his amnesia in peace please. Ford is as stubborn as a mule, but eventually he gives up and just begs Stan to please consider some of his suggestions because he wants him to be better. Stan still refuses, but every once in a while Ford catches him doing some exercise by himself or ordering a non alcoholic drink, and it makes him happy.

When they return to Gravity Falls, the twins look the most identical they've looked since they were like 10: Stan's eyes have a shine that Soos had never seen before, and his new and improved posture makes him look taller, like the weight of the world had been lifted off of him. Ford, on the other hand, has a fuller face and body, his expression is now softer and somewhat kinder, and he walks much more carelessly, like he's strolling instead of marching.

Ford doesn't care how old he is anymore, because now he's growing old next to his brother.

[otsalezu]

Dr. Pinington One Shot 2: Lobotomy Boogaloo

Credit to the amazing @babyblankyerror for the AU and the amazing @coniferouspines for the AU of the AU! I took some liberties with it but I hope you guys enjoy! Writing below the cut, as usual.

The living room was completely silent, save for the constant tapping of Stan’s finger on any nearby surface. The man’s fidgeting didn’t seem nervous, being almost subconscious if anything. In contrast, Ford sat uncomfortably still. He cursed himself for letting Fiddleford go out for groceries on his own. He’d simply been too awkward to join the man, and his research partner took no extra time escaping the strange faux doctor in the room. 

The awkward silence gave Ford some extra time to examine just how much his brother had changed. The clothes, for one, were definitely out of place. Slightly tattered and stained, draped in a long lab coat. The silliness of the name tag and various cartoony designs stitched across the lab coat reminded him more of something his brother would have done when they were little. His hair was long and matted, as if it hadn’t been brushed in a long time. The signature curls it had once sported were completely gone. Even more worrying were the long stitches that seemed to cover his hands. They seemed expertly done, but Ford had no doubt he had done them himself. Various smaller scars littered his visible skin, barely standing out unless he squinted. 

Most concerning was the eye. Pale blue, the pupil much too small. It stared ahead, as if looking past him. He tried not to say anything, but the gaze seemed to draw the question out of him. Before he could even think about what he was saying, he had blurted it out.

“What happened to your eye?” He quickly slapped a hand over his mouth, but the man didn’t seem offended. If anything, his grin widened.

“Oh, that’s right! You wouldn’t know! Hmm…where do I start? Oh! Okay, let’s start with my old boss!”

“Your old boss removed your…?”

“No, nothing as crude as that! Let me finish, okay? So! I was a good worker, very good if I say so myself! But! I had a problem. You know me, Six. Always rebellious! Stubborn as a mule, that’s what ma always said! So my boss did a little research.”

Stan laughed, a disjointed and wheezy sound. Then, after a few coughs, his face twisted into a thoughtful expression.

“Say, brainiac, you know what a topectomy is?”

“Ah, I can’t say I do.”

“Hmm, that’s what I thought. Okay, do you know what a transorbital lobotomy is?”

The world seemed to screech to a halt. Nothing about his brother’s demeanor had changed, still the same eerie cheeriness as before. To Ford, however, he felt like throwing up. As if not noticing his brother’s change in demeanor, the doctor continued.

“Well, they needed to do it through the eye.”

He tapped the blue iris, grinning as if he;d just told a great joke.

“Isn’t it wonderful? It was all very experimental, of course. I wish they’d filmed it! Of course, I made it a bit difficult. For some stupid reason, I went down kicking and screaming. Weird, isn’t it? Well! They tried their best, but sadly I woke up in the middle. The doctor they hired wasn't a professional, not like me! So he startled easily, and…squish!”

Ford jumped at the onomatopoeia, cringing. His vision blurred slightly, as he processed what had just been told to him.

“Stan…”

“Of course, I thanked them all after. They all got free procedures!”

“Stan, you…”

“I got to take over that old doctor’s office. Very unprofessional, he barely even sterilized his station! But I was so much better than him, really. It was no big loss! But I’m not ungrateful. As thanks for him fixing me with his procedure, I modeled my new eye after his! Pretty, isn’t it? Wanna see it closer?”

“Stanley!”

The doctor startled, confusion flashing on his usually jovial face. Ford took in a ragged breath, swallowing the bile in his throat.

“Are you telling me someone tried to lobotomize you?”

“Well, yes! That’s what I just told you about. Always so silly, Sixer. But don’t look so sad! My hands have been so much steadier ever since! I’m twice the surgeon I was before!”

“Before?”

Stan opened up his lab coat, fishing out a photograph from one of the many mismatched pockets inside.

“Here! Take a look!”

The photo of Stan had two brown eyes, and significantly less stitches. He was standing near a few unfamiliar men, in what seemed to be a dingey excuse for a doctor’s office. He had the same wobbly smile on his face, though every part of his face seemed laced with fear. His hands were slightly blurry, as if they had been shaking when the photo was taken. Stan quickly stuffed the picture back in the pocket.

“What a wreck, right? I was horrible at my job! Just horrible! But now, I don’t get all anxious and shaky. You can trust me to perform any operation!”

“I’m so sorry. Stanley, I’m so—”

“Don’t apologize! It’s a bad picture, I understand!��

“That’s not—”

“Hey, why are we talking about my dumb old past! I’m much better now, that’s all that matters!”

Ford stared at his twin’s expression. It seemed just as happy as ever, but something about it was different. It was as if looking at the old photograph made him uneasy, uncomfortable. Ford didn’t understand it, but he didn’t want Stanley to be upset. Not after all he’d talked about. A pang of guilt rang out through him as he thought about how terrified he’d been just moments ago.

“Alright, Lee. We can talk about something else.”

The old childhood nickname made Stan’s face split into that unsettling grin, though it didn’t disturb Ford half as much anymore. He smiled a faint smile in return, sitting back down.

“Well, let me tell you about my first day in Gravity Falls…”

[stromaenthe]

i know you said the therapy session's over, but i have another thing i'd like to discuss, and i feel like you're one of the few of my oomfs who won't jump me for it. what are we thinking about the possibility of minho being homophonic in their fetus days? not violently, but with a strong bias he couldn't shake. i recently watched that cheongdam kitchen thingy he did with key in 2018, and he mentioned key helping him change his way of thinking, because he was "stuck thinking in stereotypes" etc etc etc. could be multiple things, of course, but it would explain their animosity towards each other in the early days.

oh he probably was in that way that people are when they're not raised to view lgbt people positively? Like my parents weren't openly hateful but they didn't really view gay people positively either and I didn't figure out I was bisexual until my 20s bc of it. I don't think Minho's ever had a malicious bone in his body, but he probably just made assumptions and it's not exactly like Kibum was the easiest person to be around. It might have added a bit to it, but tbh i think they just had animosity because Kibum is a bossy bastard and Minho is a stubborn mule. Like two nags going at it. I really just think they didn't like each other because Minho is very prim and proper (and a prude!!!!!!! which is so funny to me he blushes so easy) and Kibum has been hustling to be an idol and loud and in your face since he was young and it probably pissed him off bad to see Minho get in based on his looks. I also don't think Minho would be the only member to feel this way either? Teenage boys in 2008?......I fear that dorm was nuclear sjsjsj. However, Shinee also did not fuck with anybody else and they were probably like yeah Kibum gay but he's OUR gay little Kibum and now he's been their princess for the past 16 years.

I also think it's really funny that people think minho the group homophobe just bc he's a jock?? (you will never find more gays than in a gym btw) when you have taemin's annoying middle schooler ass in that dorm, jjong committing gay on gay crime, and kibum (homophobic gay) out to establish dominance, and jinki asleep in the other room. quite frankly we should applaud minho for becoming the number one gay people stan despite this. He deserved to eat all the peaches he literally got everyone out of bed on time.

[burningfeathersx]

Gaslight. Gatekeep. Girlboss.

He felt fucking insane alright. Still deep in his delusions, clearly.

Always under his skin like an infected splinter. That was Stan.

Used to be he could hear that near apology and know that nearly hearing it was good as being told. Good as unpolished gold. He'd never seen Stan lose the wind in his sails before, either. Except--except when...

Lucifer started to question if he was here right now. Even if the cold hands on his face wasn't dispelling that. Stan always had a thread picker for his seams. He was probably in one of Stan's illusions. Just didn't want to give up the pistol and was watching him be a stupid, pathetic mess, just beyond the influence of it.

Or he'd fallen asleep at his desk. Still processing. Trying to make sense of that day.

Sure, sure, Stan was out of his mind that day in particular! Of course! Makes sense. You wore the Satan-Crown once, Lucifer! Remember? You weren't even yourself those days. Carrying it around to find it's new person for it. Crushed you out and rode you around like a stubborn fucking mule. So why not Stan?

Now the Stan he knew was back! To make it all better. Say the words and do the things to fix it all. They could go back to their fucked up version of playing house.

He didn't know what to do or believe or say. Probably the most he's visibly roiled with easy to read emotions than he had in a loooong while. Anger, hurt, shame, fear, hope, dashed hope, confusion. In a quick moving loop.

"Didn't have to kill me to put it on someone else." He would have stayed mortal and human, but he would have faded out of the cosmic stage--replaced and alive. Hands came up and wrapped around wrists for lack of knowing what to do.

Just as much of him lost an edge. There was...logic in the concept that Stan may have been ready to kill him just to spook him into putting the mantle back on. And it worked.

He stiffened as those teeth dug in deeper, something between a moan and a groan escaping him. That shit would make the whole side of his neck look molted and angry-purple for days--provided he stayed away from devouring any souls. The thought crossed his mind to go on a little diet for a while...

But then the sensation went from good and sharp to aching and dull as Lucifer unlatched and finally said what had been hanging between them like a rotten carcass on a meat hook for months. Stan could have just dismissed it or mocked it like he'd been mentally doing this whole time, but Lucifer had a little too much skill at speaking Truths. Dragging into the light what was hidden in the darkness. Understanding finally slid into place with that incredulous question; he HAD been ready to kill Lucifer. For good. For whatever reason his brain had kind of buried that fact but now it was brushed off and brought out; and it looked fucking ugly.

In all the times they'd fought, all the times they'd maimed each other... (But no, more like all the times Stan had gone super fucking insano mode on Lucifer and broke things on him and inside of him, all the times he'd threatened the fallen' life with the look in his eyes or the tone of his voice.) In all their fucked up dealing it had never gone that far. It had never gotten to the point that Stan actually considered--and here's the real rotten root dug up--actually considered--

Because he had. He'd been struck by some kind of madness that just wanted the Lucifer Crown filled, by someone, anyone. Even some TV headed fuck that Stan barely knew.

All of the flashed across his mind like a lightning strike as soon as Lucifer spoke those words. It took split second to See it all, get mad about, get sad about it, and then get really fucking mad about it again. Both hands were on Lucifer's face now, pulling it out from it's hiding place against his mangled throat and forcing the other to look at him.

"What?? Are you fucking stupid? ARE YOU OKAY??? NO, I didn't want you dead! No, I didn't want you gone! I wanted YOU and you were being a fucking PUSSY about it! SOMEBODY HAD TO TAKE THAT THING, AND IF IT WASN'T YOU THEN--"

The end of that thought stopped him in his tracks. Then, what? Another split second and his face fell. His shoulders fell and a lot of the nastiness in his tone deflated away.

"Look. I'm s--" He stopped again. Hands on Lucifer's face with fingers twitching a little as the words struggled to get out. He wanted to say them, actually wanted to, but by now they were too big to get out.

"Somebody had to take that thing."

All that could make it's way out. For now. All the explanation he could give, despite the obvious pain in the face before him.

[beiingalive]

* ⌞ʾ⁎ ⊰ adria arjona, cis female, she/her ⊱ i think i just saw ANITA MORENO walk across trafalgar square, singing to YO PERREO SOLA ( BAD BUNNY ). you know, the TWENTY-FIVE year old SEAMSTRESS? people claim that they are just like ANITA from WEST SIDE STORY. it must be because they are LOYAL and OUTSPOKEN as well… though i could be wrong. all i know for sure is that they live at PETERSBURG apartment.⌝

               ❝ how can i hear what goes on twelve feet above my head ? ❞

name: ana josefina del carmen moreno rivera. nicknames: anita, nita. age: 25. date of birth: may 6th, 1995. hometown: san juan, puerto rico. current location: london, england. apartment: petersburg. occupation: seamstress.

pinterest: xx. playlist: xx.

→ 𝕙𝕚𝕤𝕥𝕠𝕣𝕪.

[ tw: sexual assault ]

✂ anita was born in san juan, puerto rico, to arturo moreno and dolores rivera. they lived in santurce, near the theatre district — this was convenient, as dolores was a seamstress who was often tasked with making the costumes for local productions, and arturo was a carpenter who dreamed of being a painter — the perfect combination to work in scenic design. they had a nice little home that had just enough space for their growing family ; after anita, they had three more kids — guillermo, esteban, and luis.

✂ being the oldest, anita always knew it was her job to help out around the house. she often took care of her brothers, making sure they were well fed, clean, and out of danger. she would walk them home from school, make them hold hands and look both sides before crossing the street. she would help them with their homework before doing her own. she practically raised those boys — and still checks up on them like they’re her kids.

✂ when anita was eleven, a workplace injury put her father out of a job. the morenos never had a lot of money, but now they struggled even more to make ends meet. dolores became the primary breadwinner, and her income just wasn’t enough. just a year later, they were forced to relocate to new york city, which promised more jobs and better salaries. a friend of dolores’ got her a job at a costume shop ; arturo worked as a handyman.

✂ at first, anita was optimistic about her new life in the big apple. she was bored with life in her little island ; she wanted so much more than what puerto rico could offer. anita wanted to travel, to see the world. she wanted to study art and fashion, to become a fashion designer herself. like other puerto ricans, she saw america as the land of opportunity. she quickly realized just how wrong she was.

✂ things weren’t as easy as she thought they would be. she quickly became disenchanted with the american dream and grew up angry and resentful as she watched her parents work their asses off for a salary that was a small fraction of what their white coworkers got. she got sick of getting taunted for having an accent, for being too loud, or having a name that wasn’t easy to pronounce ( “ ah - nee - tah ” , not “ uh - nee - duh ” ). she realized that in order to fit in, she would have to lose her accent and change her name. she would have to change who she was.

✂ but anita has never been the kind of person who would make herself small to make other comfortable. at her young age, she decided she wouldn’t go out of her way to fit in. she would not change who she was just to appease those around her. anita made the choice to be unapologetically herself, and she hasn’t looked back since.

✂ she met the sharks in her early teens, and she’s forever grateful for them. she finally had a group of people that made her feel like she belonged. most of the time, she was an outsider. she was the “ other ”. with the sharks, she felt like she was one of them ( even technically she wasn’t ). she didn’t care that they were a gang, she had no qualms about that. it would be naive to think they weren’t a target. they had to protect themselves by any means necessary. it also didn’t hurt that their leader, bernardo, was so easy on the eyes. anita fell in love with bernardo, despite all the warning signs.

✂ once she was old enough, she went to work. her family’s financial situation was better in new york, but she still wanted to help her parents any way she could. she was a maid, a waitress, a babysitter, an usher. she handed out flyers at the park. she answered phones at a call center. during the weekends, she helped her mom at the costume shop — anita was already making clothes for herself, so she might as well put those skills to good use. she did anything to lessen her parents’ burden.

✂ tw sexual assault: her connection to the sharks made her feel safe, but at 16 it became clear to her that she needed to protect herself as well. she was walking home late one night after the restaurant where she was working had closed, when three boys surrounded her and cornered her in an alley. she knew what they had in mind, but she just froze. her body couldn’t react to what was happening until the very last minute, when it was almost too late. she made enough of a racket to scare them off. she ran back home. she vowed never to depend on anyone else to save her.

✂ once she graduated high school and started working full time at the shop, practically running it. she would have liked to study fashion, but she knew it wasn’t a possibility — college was expensive and not for people like her. she had some money saved up, sure, but the applications alone would have created a pretty big dent in her savings. she didn’t even bother asking her parents — college was out of the question. she focused all of her energy into the shop.

✂ about a year ago, she heard through one of the shop’s clients about a shop that was hiring in london — anita grabbed maría and jumped at the opportunity. the fact that the boys had moved relocated to london a few years before was a decent incentive, but not a reason. anita had outgrown new york. plus, she’d always wanted to travel. so anita took her savings and hopped across the pond.

→ 𝕡𝕖𝕣𝕤𝕠𝕟𝕒𝕝𝕚𝕥𝕪.

zodiac sign: taurus. personality type: estp — the entrepreneur. enneagram: type 1 — the reformer. temperament: choleric. moral alignment: chaotic neutral. primary vice: envy. primary virtue: diligence. element: earth.

✂ anita is feisty. she’s passionate and intense. she’s loud, she’s bold, she has strong opinions and is not afraid to share them. she might seem like she’s all over the place, but her feet are firmly planted on the ground. she knows who she is, and won’t let anybody tell her otherwise. she knows what she wants, and she won’t let anyone get in her way.

✂ i mentioned she has strong opinions, right ? well, to her, they’re the only valid opinions. she's not afraid to tell someone when they’re wrong ( or when she thinks they’re wrong, which to her, is the same thing ). go forbid anyone ever tell her she’s wrong — heaven help that poor soul. once she’s made up her mind up her mind about something, no one can tell her otherwise. she’s stubborn as a mule.

✂ she’s everyone’s mom friend. she’s the tough love mom friend. she’ll nag her friends and force them to eat their vegetables, drink water, and moisturize. this isn’t just because she cares ( although she does, deeply ) , she also just loves telling people what to do.

✂ she’s a hard worker ; it’s not rare to find her still working at the shop way past closing time — but she knows how to let loose. anita loves to go out dancing and will constantly beg her friends ( especially maría ) to go out with her. she’s convinced there’s nothing that can’t be fixed by a night out on the dance floor.

✂ she’s a highly skilled seamstress. she can recreate any article of clothing by just looking at it ; no pattern necessary. most of her clothes are handmade, and she loves making garments for her friends. you see a dress you like at some shop? can’t afford it? anita will make it for you.

✂ she’s always on / off with bernardo. she loves him, and she’s sure that will never change. still, they’re both passionate, volatile people. they clash constantly, breaking up and getting back together. she adores him, but she also wants to hit him with a chair sometimes.

✂ her apartment is full of plants. all kinds. she’s a certified green thumb and will yell at anyone who thinks succulents are easy to take care of.

✂ she has a small shoplifting problem. it’s nothing major. no need to worry.

✂ she has a cat named gasolina by daddy yankee. gaz for short.

✂ she’s a huge bad bunny stan. this may not seem relevant, but it’s important for me to tell you.

→ 𝕔𝕠𝕟𝕟𝕖𝕔𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟𝕤.

✂ FRIENDS: i always have to start out with this one. anita’s a tough cookie to crack, but once she’s your friend, she’s loyal. she’s a ride or die kinda lady. your muse will not regret taking the time to get to know anita and earn her trust. they will have a friend for life.

✂ FRIENDS FROM NEW YORK: like i said, friend for life. your muse could have met anita when they were in high school, but this girl is not the kind of person to just let a friendship die because it’s been a long time.

✂ FIRST FRIENDS IN LONDON: she had the sharks, of course. but moving halfway around the world is scary and anita would’ve accepted any help she could get. these are the friends that helped her settle in and get used to all the cultural differences.

✂ PARTY PALS: anita loves to go out, so clearly she needs a little squad she hits up whenever she wants to hit the dance floor.

✂ FRENEMIES: anita’s a good friend, but she’s not everyone’s cup of tea. your muse might not like her. anita might not like them. anita might talk shit behind their back. anita might tell them to their face they that they suck, and might list the reasons why. anything’s possible.

✂ NEIGHBORS: could be friendly, could be not so friendly ! she plays a lot of loud music and doesn’t really have an inside voice. anita lives in the petersburg building, so if your muse lives there and you wanna say they live right next door, hit me up !

✂ COWORKERS: self-explanatory ! anita works at a shop that makes costumes for some west end shows, but they also take on a variety of clients ! they make clothes, they repair clothes, anything goes.

✂ CLIENTS: anita works at the shop, but will also take jobs on the side — she’ll take commissions, she’ll upcycle that oversized shirt you thrifted, of maybe just mend a torn-up skirt. anita is here for any of your seamstress / aspiring designer needs.

✂ FLINGS / FWB / HOOKUPS: like i said...on / off with bernardo. she’s not the kind of girl who’ll just wait around for him, so she will absolutely go out with other people ( and do other stuff with other people, winkwonk ) while she’s single.

✂ EXES: give me someone anita dated other than bernardo, please, i am begging you. give me someone she almost fell for before falling back into her old habits. i am on my knEES.

[pengychan]

The Mind Cage, Ch. 13

Title: The Mind Cage Summary: In another world, Stanford Pines places a metal plate in his skull far too soon. In another world, Bill Cipher is in the wrong place at the wrong time. Characters: Bill Cipher, Ford Pines, Stan Pines, Fiddleford McGucket Rating: T Click here for the first chapter, warnings and links to all chapters up so far. 

A/N: welp, this is almost over. There is another chapter left - and epilogue of sorts - and I’ll do my best to finish it soon, so that I can update next Friday and wrap this up. 

***

Bill’s mind burned, and so did Stanford.

He was aware, dimly, of what was happening around him. Of the boat sailing through the air, flames at their heels, hot wind filling its sails and blowing through his hair. He was aware of arms around him, a shoulder against his cheek, Stanley’s voice, telling him to hold on, we’re almost out, stay with me, don’t you dare, stay with me.

I’ll be the one to take you down with me!

“Stanford, please…!”

He tried to reply - tried to speak to Stanley, tried to scream against Bill, but could do neither. His jaw wouldn’t move, his eyes wouldn’t open. He could only tremble in the grasp of that unnatural fever, the heat unbearable, eating at him from the inside out. It burned. He burned.

And, beneath his closed eyelids, he saw things he was not supposed to see - disjointed images there one moment and gone the next, like a tape on fast-forward.

Things belonging to other dimensions. Other timelines. Other realities. Bill’s memories, and his own - flashing before his eyes and then gone, photographs thrown in the fire and forgotten, burned away from his memory.

A world burning with blue fire A closed door leading to an empty room The pull of the portal dragging him in The look on Stan’s face one moment before he fell through A being with seven eyes towering over him Fighting for his life in a nonsensical world and that pull, taking him back Stan’s face, much older, smiling at him Children, there were children, who were they, why would children be there-- Just like me just like I was at his age A rift no no there shouldn’t be a rift there couldn’t be one If he gains physical form all is lost ALL IS LOST, oh God, a wound bleeding in the sky No don’t do this where are they are they safe Madness this is madness I brought about the end of the world my fault all my fault No the kids where are the kids LEAVE THEM, LEAVE THEM ALO-- I’ll give you anything! Fame! Money! Riches! Your own galaxy! Please! STANLEY!

“STANFORD!”

Bill’s scream pierced through his mind, like a spear of ice, and for a moment the heat almost died down. For a moment he felt almost cold, and he clung to that one moment of clarity. When Bill screamed again, Stanford could make out words. No - only one word.

“AAAAAGH! A-AH… AXOLOTL!”

Praise the Axolotl, someone had told him in another reality. Or had they? He didn’t remem--

That thought was cut short by another scream - louder, longer, wordless. And he knew, with utmost certainty, that it was to be the last.

There was light, blinding, even through his closed eyelids. The flames enveloping Bill Cipher’s mindscape flared brightly one more time, and then… then…

A crack like thunder echoed all around them, painfully loud, and the shockwave came moments afterwards, hitting them with unspeakable force. The boat was thrown across the thin line between mindscapes, crashing on the non-existent ground, only one instant before Bill Cipher’s mind imploded in a bright flash of light. Then, nothingness. For a time.

When Stanford Pines opened his eyes again, he found himself looking at the stars.

***

“Hot. Belgian. Waffles.”

“Owww, that hurt.”

“I can’t find my glasses…”

“Wait, I think I’ve seen ‘em…”

With a groan, Stan pushed a piece of what had been the boat’s mast off himself and sat up. He was really, really happy that he wasn’t physically there, or else he’d have felt that for weeks to come. He rubbed his head, glanced around to find Stanford… and stilled, mouth hanging open.

They were in space.

“What the…?” he muttered, standing up on… on nothing, it seemed. It was like walking on a thin sheet of glass: stars and galaxies were below him, above him, all around him. Pieces of wood were scattered around, some still and some floating in the air. Behind him, young Stanford was putting his glasses back on while young Stanley pushed a few planks of wood off him; Stan was about to call out when a scroll floated past him, and he reached for it out of instinct - only to still when a voice rang out. A wonderfully familiar voice, calm and yet full of something not too far away from wonder.

“My Mindscape is back to normal.”

Stanford was standing only a few feet from him, a hand to his head where the surgery scar had to be, head tilted back and gaze fixed on the stars. Then he turned and stared at Stan in quiet wonder; he looked well again, healthy, and not at all like the wreck Stan had held only minutes - moments? - earlier, feverish and hot as embers. Under Stan’s stunned gaze, his face opened in a smile.

“He’s gone. He’s really gone, and I’m still here. You… we have won.”

Damn right we have won, Stan wanted to say. Don’t you dare give me another scare like that ever again, he wanted to add. He wanted to grab him and shake him so hard his stupid teeth would chatter. He wanted to punch him and hold him, and laugh and cry and scream all at once - and maybe he would have done just that if given only one more instant.

But then another voice rose, high and panicked, and the moment was gone.

“Bill? Where are you? Billy? BILL!”

The triangle kid - the other one, the one with tilted and uneven sides Billy had called Liam - was standing among the wreckage of the boat, looking incredibly tiny in all that vastness. His eye was wide, but he didn’t spare a glance to the wonders around them: he just looked at them and, despite the incredibly limited features he had to convey any expression at all, there was no mistaking what kind of look that was. The kid was terrified.

“Have you… have you seen my brother?” he asked, his voice thin as paper.

“I, uh…” Stan began, but fell quiet, at a loss for words. Stanford seemed just as surprised, and then suddenly thoughtful at seeing the kid again; he seemed about to speak, but someone else did first. Young Stanley.

“He’s here! He’s got to be here!” he exclaimed, and ran back to the wreckage. He lifted a plank, then another, throwing them aside and calling out. “Billy! Hey, c’mon! Get outta there! Where are you?”

There was no answer, but the boy didn’t let it stop him - stubborn, he’d always been stubborn as a damn mule - and young Stanford was by his side the next moment, helping him move the wrecked wood.

Maybe he’s gone as well, Stan thought, and he could see that same thought mirrored in Ford’s expression, but then his gaze moved on to Liam, who stood miserably and full of confusion.

Have you seen my brother?

To hell with it, he wasn’t gone. If that Liam was still there - a tiny part of Cipher, a memory that belonged to him - then Billy should be, too. Stan took a few steps forward to help, more out of instinct than anything else, and that was when he heard it. They all heard it.

“Oow, my eye…!”

“Billy!”

Liam darted towards the source of the voice right away, almost stumbling forward, just as little Stanford pulled away a broken piece of what used to be the hull. Billy sat up, groaning and rubbing his eye. “Uuugh. Did someone see the license plate of the truck that--”

“BILL!”

“Whoa! Hey! Easy!”

But of course his brother didn’t go easy at all: he clung to him, blabbered, cried, asked a million questions and then if he was really all right, all in the same breath. He hardly seemed to notice when Ford walked up to them, knelt and, calmly, took them both in his hands. Only then Liam turned up to look at him, registered anyone else’s presence.

“It seems some explanations are in order,” Stanford said quietly, then, “I am sorry, Billy. For not telling you everything.”

Still caught in his older brother’s grasp, and clearly not really eager to be freed from it to begin with, Bill frowned for just a moment. “He lied to you, didn’t he?”

“He did,” Ford admitted. “Trusting him was a mistake. Holding you accountable was another.”

Billy seemed to think about it just for a moment before shrugging. “Take us back to the beach,” he said. “I want to show him the sand and the sea and everything. Then we’ll be even. Deal?”

Stanford’s lips quirked in a smile. “It’s a deal,” he said, and looked at Liam. “Don’t worry, young man. You and your brother are safe as you can be.”

*** 

“... And that’s the ocean! That’s where the whales live! And that’s the sun and we shouldn’t stare at it, but I do it anyway! This color is called ‘blue’, that one’s yellow and it’s my favorite! And there is a thing called ice cream you’ve got to try! Stanley, get us ice cream!”

To his credit, young Stanley did seem to remember what Ford had told him about never giving Bill anything with even the slightest amount of caffeine, because he paused and turned to glance at him as though to ask for permission. Ford nodded, mouthing ‘strawberry’ - better than chocolate, all in all - and smiled faintly when Stanley made a bucket’s worth of ice cream appear out of thin air. Within moments all four kids were sitting in the sand, eating spoonfuls of it, Billy’s voice still going on and on through mouthfuls to explain Liam everything he could see. Ford’s smile widened for a moment, and then he turned his gaze back down on the notebook.

“You’re such a nerd, you know? What’s the point taking notes in your mind?” Stanley asked. He was sitting next to him on the old swing set, basking in the sun that warmed the beach, making its sand shimmer. It hadn’t been much of a beach in the real world - hence its name - but there, in the mindscape, through the filter of fond childhood memories, it seemed the best possible place on Earth.

“I have been on the receiving end of that accusation a fair amount of times,” he conceded, and finished the last sentence before putting the pen back in his pocket, gaze lingering on his notes. While it was true that upon awakening he would find himself without any actual notes, the act of writing itself helped him memorize a great deal. If he wrote something in his mind, he’d be certain he’d remember it all down to the last word when he woke up.

Not that there had been that much for him to write.

*** 

Billy’s knowledge is limited, only spacing from his very first memories up to the moment the memory of him, as he is, was created; Bill showed him his world going up in flames, but gave him no hindsight as to why or how he did it.

This means he could shed no light on Bill’s rise to power; how he acquired his powers in the first place, and the destruction that followed, will remain a tale untold. Perhaps it is for the best. I shudder at the thought of what must have transpired and, for what is perhaps the first time in my life, I do not wish to know.

What he could give me was a clearer picture of what Bill’s dimension of origin was like. He described a world devoid of color, inhabited by Lines - female - and Shapes - male. A strict class system was in place, one’s lot in life depending on the number of their sides. Women were not considered creatures of much intellect, if any at all, regardless their class. Among males, the Isosceles Triangles were at the very bottom of the social scale; Equilaterals followed, as the merchant class, then Squares, going higher in importance as their sides rose in number. According to Bill, who’s the perfect definition of an Equilateral, he was born from Isosceles parents - a rare occurrence, it seems - and then adopted by Regular parents, Liam’s own. How much of it is true and how much is simple boasting is something I have yet to establish.

Triangles begeting Squares wasn’t unusual, but not very common either: it usually took at least three generations of Equilaterals and very careful breeding to produce one. Every shape from the Square upwards would gain a side with each generation; when a Polygon had such a high number of sides to be considered circular, then he was a Circle - the highest class, and rulers of the Second Dimension.

But perhaps what I wrote is untrue. It was not the Isosceles who were at the very bottom, nor the Lines: it was the Irregulars, of which Liam is an example. Bill’s description of Irregulars in their society gave me the impression they were not quite a class: too low to be considered one. They were mishaps: their world praised Regularity, and their mismatched sides made them pariah. My own experiences as a boy due to my extra finger quite simply pale in comparison of their treatment.

Irregular children were allowed to grow to the age of fifteen, giving them a chance for their Irregularity to fix itself at least to a degree. If it did, then they would pass an inspection and deemed fit to live, if always at the very outskirts of society. If they did not, they would be taken away to be terminated.

And that is the fate that befell Liam. It is one of the very last things Billy remembers, along with finding books speaking of the Third Dimension - our own dimension - hidden away in Liam’s room after he was taken away. I can only begin to guess the reasons Bill may have had to lock away all memories of Liam. I wonder what Stanley would have done if I were in Liam’s place. I wonder what I would have

As much as I wished to ask Liam about those books, where he found them and what his knowledge of our dimension was, I refrained. He seems an intelligent boy, but he is overwhelmed as things are, unaware of being a memory himself - the real Liam long gone - until only hours ago; perhaps my younger self will be able to get more information out of him in time, in a less traumatic fashion. For time being, I’ll leave him to enjoy what this version of our dimension has to offer.

One of the things that surprised me is how both of these memories are still here while, I am certain, the mind where they were created is gone - every connection with mine severed. I will need to think about it, but at the moment I can hazard a guess: after I met them, they became my memories as well. This allows them to exist, as their own individuals, within my Mindscape - just like the memories of myself and Stanely do.

This opens up quite a few exciting possibilities about the nature of memories, and I shall look into it. Not just yet, though.

First, a vacation.

*** 

“I never said I was sorry.”

Stan’s sudden statement caused Ford to look up from his notes, blinking. Stanley making the seat swing slowly, feet still touching the ground, and kept his eyes fixed on the Stan O’ War - the version of it that was still at the very start of its repairs. “Sorry for what?”

“Your perpetual motion machine. You know I didn’t mean to break it, right?”

He did. Ford could tell now that, deep down, he’d always known. “The fault was mine. I came to the worst possible conclusion without even listening to you, and--”

“Our old man didn’t really give me a chance to speak, anyway,” Stan cut him off with a shrug, and looked down. He shuffled his feet on the sand. “But I had the time to say something, and it was all the wrong stuff. I should have said I was sorry. It was your dream, I took it from you, and then I acted like all was well. Like it didn’t matter at all.”

Ford sighed. “It certainly doesn’t matter at all now, Stanley.”

“I held you back--”

“All you held me back from was throwing myself from the water tower last week.”

The remark caused Stan to turn to look at him, eyes wide. He stared for a few moments, then he let out a long breath. The swing stilled. “Holy Moses. It was that close, wasn’t it?”

There was a knot somewhere in his throat, and keeping his voice firm took Ford a valiant effort. “Yes. But you came for me and then just refused to leave. You took on a demon for me while I didn’t even try to stop dad from throwing you out.”

Stan gave a barking laugh. “Hah! Really now, you make it sound like out old man ain’t the biggest threat out of the two! But I’m totally gonna drop by now, whether he wants it or not.”

His lips curling in a smile against his own will, Ford allowed himself a chuckle before readying himself to tell Stan about their father. There had been no time to speak of it, but now he should at least tell him. “... About our father, there is something you should know,” he said. He stared at the sea, but he could feel his brother’s gaze on him. “He… Well. First of all, the night he threw you out… what he said about you making millions--”

“He never thought I’d be back with any money,” Stan cut him off, his voice sounding far too casual to be genuine. “Let alone with millions. He thought I was gonna come back with my tail between my legs in a few weeks tops.”

“You knew…?”

“I guessed.”

“He would have taken you back in--”

“And never let me hear the end of it,” Stanley cut him off, and shrugged. “So, I had to at least try. And I tried, really, but… yeah. Didn’t work out too well - all I got was a crime record a mile long, while you were busy making deals with three-sided Beelzebub or something.”

“We’re a disaster,” Ford sighed, and Stan laughed.

“Yep, true. But hey, on the bright side, we just destroyed a demon and averted a much bigger disaster. Not bad for a nerd and a dork, all things considered. After this, I think the world can make an effort and deal with us two. Not that bad of a ego boost, really. I had hit rock bottom not too long ago. The place I was in when I got your postcard--” he trailed off, and blinked. “Wait a minute. Ford, how did you know where I was?”

“Your crime record,” Ford said. “Law enforcement across the country is relying more and more on the Internet to exchange information. Fiddleford built something that… allows me to access to some of it, if I want to.”

Stanley blinked. “What, seriously? You can get that kind of info and didn’t use it to get rich off it?” he asked, sounding nothing short of incredulous. This time, it was Ford to laugh: the thought of selling information for cash was as plain on Stan’s face as the glasses on his own.

“Well. I’d say I put it to a better use than that.”

“And what would that be?”

“Finding you.”

There was a moment of silence, then Stan turned away abruptly. “Not fair. That was a low blow,” he mumbled, reaching up to quickly wipe his eyes with a sleeve. “Geez, if dad could see me now…”

Something about that off-hand comment truly hurt, because it reminded Ford that he hadn’t yet gotten to tell him about their father, and it was about time he did. “He… Stanley, our father is not quite the same as--” he began, but it soon became clear that would have to wait: before his eyes, Stan’s form began flickering.

“What the heck…?”

“It seems that your body is about to awaken. You have been in here for a long time.”

“Why aren’t you waking up?”

“I was given a powerful sedative. I will awaken in due time, do not worry,” Ford said, promising himself he and Stanley would talk more about their family - about their father’s condition and what that had meant to all of them - in due time. Perhaps it was for the best he didn’t get to mention it now: the least he could do was letting him enjoy that victory in peace. “I’ll see you on the other side.”

Stanley nodded with a grin. “Aye aye, captain,” he muttered, and stood. As his form flickered again, he brought his hands to his mouth and called out. “HEY! KIDS! Don’t give Ford too much of a headache, promise?”

Of course neither of their younger selves was willing to let him leave without one more high five or six, although young Stanley had to try twice due to the fact his hand became incorporeal for a few moments - and of course it was a noisy goodbye. Nestled in his hair, Billy - once again a bright yellow, not thanks to paint but because of his newfound knowledge he could will himself to be any color he wanted - reached up to shake his finger.

“You’re gonna drop by again, right?” he asked, and Stan grinned down at him.

“You bet - all I need to do is saying some Latin crap anyhow,” he said, and glanced at Liam. Now a greenish cyan rather than gray, he sat on young Stanford’s shoulder; he seemed still unsure of what he should make of his current situation, but far less scared than he’d been at first. “Hey, kiddo. Don’t think we really had the time to talk, with Sixer givin’ you the third degree. Next time, huh? Enjoy the place meanwhile. And make him try toffee peanuts, Little Stan! Don’t let your brother just feed them jelly beans! Toffee peanuts are the best thing since--”

They never got to find out what he had been about to compare it to: he flickered one last time and then he was just gone in a flash of faint blue light. Liam blinked at the spot where he had been standing moments before, bewildered, then turned his eye to Billy.

“... What’s a toffee? What’s a peanut?”

Billy shrugged, still sitting on young Stanley’s head. “Beats me. Hey, Stan! What’s a toffee peanut?”

The boy’s face lit up in delight, and he reached to take Liam from his brother’s shoulder, his grin wide enough to split his face, and walked back towards the boat. “It’s the food of the gods, that’s what! Let me show you…!”

A look between Ford and his younger self was enough to tell that they were both wondering how could anybody enjoy eating that garbage, but they had enough sense not to say anything - or almost. “I’ll fight it with jelly beans,” young Stanford whispered before running after them.

Ford chuckled, then sat on the swing set again and watched them from a distance. He would probably awaken any moment, but until then he may as well relax and enjoy watching his childhood right before him, frozen in time.

*** 

“THE HELL DOES IT MEAN, YOU HAD TO FREEZE HIM?”

“Weren’t you listening? That thing took hold of his body, and I had to contain--”

“Well, now the thing is gone! So GET MY BROTHER OUTTA THERE, or so help me-- whoa!” Stan trailed off with a yelp when McGucket suddenly ducked to grab something and then that something - a freakin’ iron bar - suddenly hit the wall just beside his head. Stan took a few steps aside, startled, and McGucket pointed the bar at him like a sword.

“Look, fella. I’ve had a bad day,” he said, his voice dangerously even, and Stan realized just then how reddened his eyes were. He paused and swallowed. All right, maybe he shouldn’t have just snapped and started screaming, but what the hell. He’d left his brother looking healthy and happy, and awoke to find him frozen in some tube, features twisted in the horrified expression of a caged animal desperate to claw its way out. Of course he knew it hadn’t been Stanford to make that face, but still…!

“Huh. Yeah, I can see that now that you mention--”

“A very bad day. I’m going to get Ford outta there with or without you yelling at me. But if you do yell again, then you said it yourself - so help you.”

Stan threw up his hands. “Right! Okay! Sorry,” he said quickly. “I… just got worried. Sorry. Gonna pay for a drink later, what do you think?” he added, fully knowing he had no money and that therefore he’d have to use Stanford’s to begin with. “I mean, Cipher is gone for good. Gotta go celebrate, right?”

With a long sigh, McGucket lowered the iron bar and then let it fall on the floor with a clatter. His shoulders slumped for a moment, but when he straightened himself it was as though a terrible weight had been lifted from them. He met Stan’s gaze and even gave something remarkably similar to a smile. “... Yes. A drink would be nice. It… it’s over, isn’t it?”

Stan smiled back. “Yes. It’s over,” he said, and kicked the iron bar away. It rolled across the floor with more clattering and ended up in some dark corner. “Now let’s thaw Poindexter and go celebrate.”

***

“Boys, you look terrible. What has happened to you?”

For a few moments, none of them said anything to answer Susan’s question: they just exchanged a silent look. Out of the three of them, only Stan was in a reasonably good shape, if rather scruffy-looking. Stanford was on the mend, but he was still paler and skinnier than he had any right to be, his growing hair barely hiding the surgery scar on his head. McGucket had his wrist in a cast, dark shadows under still reddened eyes. In the end, it was him to speak.

“... Car accident?”

“Car accident,” Ford echoed.

“Totally a car accident,” Stan confirmed, and turned back to Susan with a grin. “You see, Mr. Mysterious Science Guy in the Woods totally forgot that triangular road signs stand for danger, and got us in a ditch. The car caught fire and all but hey, good thing I was there to pull them both out! All by myself,” he added, leaning on the counter and entirely missing the unimpressed look his brother and McGucket exchanged. All he paid attention to was Susan’s obvious swooning, which he hoped would be followed by free food to go with their drinks.

It was.

“Did I just watch you seduce the Greasy’s waitress to get free food?”

“Yep. You’re welcome,” Stan said through a mouthful of meatloaf. They didn’t bother keeping their voices too low: Susan was in the back, and the only person in the Diner aside from them was a red-headed teen - Boyish Dan, Stanford had called him - struggling to get the jukebox at the far end of the room working.

“You do realize I could have paid for it, right?”

“Hey, free food is the best food. Free everything is the best,” Stan pointed out, then grabbed his drink. “So. Ding-Dong! The witch is dead. Burned to a crisp. Wanna toast to that? Hah, get it? ‘Cause he’s toast!”

McGucket gave what was probably the only genuine laugh Stan had heard from him until that moment, and raised the glass as well. “You bet,” he said, then glanced at Stanford. “He’s really gone, isn’t he? Gone for good?”

For the briefest of moments, Stanford’s gaze met Stan’s own. It was barely a glance, but more than enough for him to guess precisely what - or rather who - his brother was thinking off: a tiny shred of Bill who still existed within his mind, the memory of what he’d been at some point a long time ago. But that was what he was: a memory. Bill Cipher himself was gone, burned away from existence. So, in the end, Stanford replied with no hint of hesitation.

“Yes. He is gone,” he said, and raised his glass as well.

At the far end of the room, the red-headed teen finally succeeded in getting the jukebox to work - but, taken as they were with their toast, none of them paid any attention to the music.

We’ll meet again Don’t know where, don’t know when But I know we’ll meet again Some sunny day…

*** 

“So… It is a goodbye, then.”

Stanford’s voice was quiet and, despite his best efforts, he couldn’t keep sadness entirely out of it. He remembered how happy he’d been when Fiddleford had joined him there - he hadn’t know how lonely he had truly felt, despite Bill’s presence, until then - and seeing him go left a sour taste in his mouth. He knew it wouldn’t the happiest of homecomings, with divorce papers awaiting him in California, and he couldn’t shake off the thought it had been his fault.

If only I hadn’t involved him, if only I listened to him, if only I trusted him, if only--

“I’d prefer to call it ‘until next time’,” Fiddleford said, interrupting his thoughts. He had his coat draped over his shoulders, a suitcase in his good hand and another at his feet. He was so eager to return home and see his son again that he had no intention to wait until his wrist had healed enough for him to drive to return home - hence why they were all standing at the only bus stop in town, waiting for Fiddleford’s ride to come. “Don’t look at me like that, buddy. I’ll be fine. She said she wants things to stay civil and all we both want is for Tate to be happy, so it’s gonna work out. Somehow. At least I’m going to be there, and that’s something, right?”

All too aware of Stanley’s steady presence behind him, Ford smiled. “Yes. It’s what matters the most,” he said, and held out his hand. He expected Fiddleford to take it, but instead he suddenly ducked down to put one of his suitcases down and open it.

“Before I forget…” he mumbled, reaching into it, and pulled out something - a thesis paper of all things - and put it in Ford’s outstretched hand. He took a look at the front page, and his heart seemed to skip a beat.

The Astonishing Anomalies of Gravity Falls, by Stanford Pines, PhD.

It was the paper Fiddleford had written for him in secret, categorizing his discoveries for him  to publish, and all to try getting his mind off the portal, away from his obsession. The paper he had written and offered to him without asking for anything in return, not even credit.

There are enough discoveries here to make you a multimillionaire. Forget about the portal and the Grand Unified Theory of Weirdness! Publish this, get your life back, and move on!

But he had done none of those things. As a thank you for so much work, for so much selflessness, all that Ford had done was mistrusting him - believing Bill’s words over his friend’s only because that monster said what he wanted, and not what he needed, to hear. He had thought he had wanted to stop him from changing history, to take the merit for himself, while all he had wanted to do all along was to help him. He hadn’t let him, and still he had kept trying; he had been there for a test he was terrified about, standing by his side, and nearly paid for Ford’s own folly with his sanity.

“Fiddleford--”

“I still think you should publish it, you know,” Fiddleford was saying. “It’s huge, Stanford, and it can make you rich.”

After all that happened, he truly would let me publish this with my name alone on it?

“Hey, what’s that?” Stanley was asking behind him. “What’s this about getting rich?”

“It may need a bit of proofreading and a few tweaks - I was rather tired when I worked on it - but other than that--” Fiddleford trailed off with a surprised noise when Ford reached out suddenly to pull him close in a tight hug.

Perhaps too tight, as he had forgotten, for a moment, of his broken wrist. “Yowch!”

“Sorry! Sorry!” Stanford said quickly, letting him go and choosing to ignore Stan’s mumbled suggestion to ‘get a room’. “Fiddleford, this is… I have done nothing to deserve--”

A honking noise caused him to trail off as the bus to California pulled to a stop beside them, the door opening. As the driver got off the bus to pick up Fiddleford’s suitcases, clearly having spotted the cast on his arm, Stanford’s old friend smiled. “Think nothing of it, buddy.”

“If I do publish this, your name will be on it right alongside mine,” Stanford said. “Actually, your name should be there first.”

“Nah, don’t do it,” Stan said, crossing his arms. “His ex would take half his slice of cake. Just give him part of the money in cash after meeting in a shady motel, so that no one knows, or… what? What’s so funny?” he protested when both Ford and Fiddleford laughed.

His chuckle dying down, Fiddleford held out his good hand. “Can we do this without breaking my other wrist?” he asked, causing Stan to roll his eyes.

“Look, your started it, okay?” he said, but he was grinning when he reached out to shake his hand. “You know, you’re not half bad for a nerd. Have a nice trip back. So, you’re leaving your car here for good, or…?”

“I’ll return to pick it up when I’m fit to drive,” Fiddleford replied. “I’d appreciate finding it again.”

“Of course.”

“With the engine still in place and all of the tires on.

“Who do you take me fo--”

“And with gas in it. I know there is some left.”

“Fine, fine!” Stanley muttered, rolling his eyes. “Sheesh! How about a little trust here?”

Trust no one.

Fiddleford laughed. “I guess I can try. I assume you’re not off to… wherever you were before, right?”

“Nope,” Stanley smirked, reaching to put a hand on Ford’s shoulder. “I ain’t going nowhere.”

There had been a time when that statement would have made Stanford feel like he was suffocating, and then guilty for feeling that way. But now, standing in the sun as his best friend climbed on his bus home and with his brother’s hand on his shoulder, his mind once again entirely his own, he felt neither. He only felt free.

“So,” Stanley finally spoke up once the bus disappeared from sight. “When are we going home? Can’t wait to see Ma again, but maybe it would be best to wait until you’ve got more hair back and look a bit less like a scarecrow, huh? Just to avoid givin’ her the scare of her life. No worries, I’m sure I can get more than enough pies out of Swooning Susan to put some meat on those bones, and… is something wrong?”

Inwardly cursing himself for the frown he had allowed to show on his face, Ford shook his head. “No, no. It’s all right. It’s just… well…” he struggled to find words, and the next moment Stan was looking at him closely, clearly worried.

“Is it about the stuff you saw? From other realities? ‘Cause look, I can tell you that this is real, that you’re safe and all. Want me to take my shirt off again? ‘Cause I’ll do that in a sec if--”

“No, not at all!” Ford said quickly. “It’s not that. Whatever glimpses I got of other realities, they’re gone now. And I hardly remember anything of what I saw,” he added. That was true: he remember bits and pieces if he tried - kids, in one reality there were kids and I didn’t want Bill to hurt them - but he had little doubt they would fade soon. Even now, the more he tried to cling to details, the more they seemed to elude him, like water running through his fingers. It was a relief, for the most part, but there was a part of him that almost mourned for that loss, for the wealth of knowledge now gone, for the worlds he would never get to see for real.

The portal is still there, and now that Bill is gone… with the proper modifications...

Ford forced himself to ignore the thought, holding the thesis paper against his chest instead, and decided it would be best to change subject - just one moment before Stanley took it upon himself to do just that.

“Oh, good. Sorry, can’t help but worry. Must be a big brother thing.”

Oh, for heaven’s--!

“Stanley, you are not the big brother. We’re twins to begin with, and I either way I was the first to be bor--”

“Yeah, by ten minutes. Shame that you were frozen solid for a couple of hours. Can you age while frozen? Nope, didn’t think so! Which makes me about a hour and fifty minutes older now!”

“That’s not relevant--”

“Suck it up! Alpha twin! Alpha twin!” Stanley chanted, improvising a little dance. “Man, I wish I could tell the old man about all this! But it would mean having to explain a lot of crap we better keep secret, huh?”

The mention of their father caused all amusement - and a small measure of childish annoyance; truth was that Stanley had a point, technically, and Ford had enjoyed being the older twin - to fade suddenly, replaced by something that weighed like a rock in his chest. It was about time he and Stanley spoke of their family. It couldn’t be delayed any further.

“When we return home,” he finally forced himself to say, “you’ll find our father is not quite the same anymore.”

Stanley’s smug expression immediately turned to confusion, then into alarm. “What do you mean? Did he shave his mustache? Take off his shades and get blinded by the sun?” he asked, his smile not at all believable. Ford couldn’t bring himself to smile at the half-hearted joke, either, so he just kept talking.

“He began showing signs of dementia four years ago. Nothing too noticeable at first, but he’s been steadily getting worse ever since,” Ford said, trying to keep his voice gentle, and Stanley reared back as though struck.

“What-- you’re kidding, right? I mean, he ain’t that old! He’s like, what, sixty-five?”

“It’s early onset dementia. It does happen, and… it happened to him.”

For a few moments, Stanley said nothing. The he dug his hands into his coat’s pockets, lowered his gaze and set his jaw. He seemed lost in thought for a few more instants, then,  “Does he remember kickin’ me out?”

“I… honestly don’t know.”

“Does he remember me at all?” his brother pressed on. His tone was casual, but his body language was that of someone bracing for a blow, and Ford was immensely relieved he wouldn’t have to deal it.

“Yes,” Ford said quickly, and held up his hands when Stanley shot him a look at was in equal parts hopeful and doubtful. “Honest! He remembers you for sure. He did last time - he asked where you were, a few times. No, several times. There was one time, I… I pretended to be you, to make him stop,” Stanford admitted, looking away. Switching places was something they had done often as children, always worth a laugh, but when he’d done it for their father he hadn’t felt like laughing at all. It had been horrible, almost as hard as watching their mother make plans, against all hope, of what they would do together as a family when Stan came back. At least now that dream was about to come true.

More silence, then, finally, Stanley turned to leave. “I don’t know where I was when he asked,” he finally said, his voice low. “But I know where I’m gonna be in two weeks’ time.”

He said nothing more, but of course Ford didn’t need him to specify. They both knew where they were going next.

Home.

***

[Back to Chapter 12]

[On to Chapter 14]