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Pines Birthday today

Stan sighed as he stood in front of the payphone. The change in his hand was clammy and warm from how long he'd been holding it, and the warm humid air wasn't helping.

He really needed to stop doing this.

But today was a special day, he was feeling warm and buzzed from the half empty bottle he'd managed to scrounge up, and he just-

Just wanted-

It was a special day. He could just look at this as a messed up present to himself, instead of the waste of money it was. Besides, a few spare coins weren't gonna make or break his savings. Be could afford to do this every once in a while.

With that pep talk out of the way, Stan grabbed the phone, shoved the coins into the slot, and dialed the number he'd memorized the first time ma had given to him. His fingers tapped his leg as it rang, and he jumped when the sound stopped.

"Hello? Stanford Pines speaking?"

The phone was back on the hook before Stan could even process the jolt of anxiety that shot down his spine. He stared at it, hand sweaty and shaking slightly, then groaned and leaned forwards to rest his head on the top of the box.

"Couldn't even handle that much, huh?" He grumbled. The warm night air didn't respond with anything other than a few bugs and a distant hoot, driving in the fact that he was standing under a single street light, way past when any decent person would be asleep in front of a closed gas station.

With a sigh he pushed away, then stumbled over to his car.

It was still their birthday after all, hopefully he could find another bottle before it was over. The stars overhead, those he could see, twinkled sadly as he walked over, cold and distant.

Stan sighed as he stood in front of the payphone. The change in his hand was clammy and warm from how long he'd been holding it, and the warm humid air wasn't helping.

He really needed to stop doing this.

But today was a special day, he was feeling warm and buzzed from the half empty bottle he'd managed to scrounge up, and he just-

Just wanted-

It was a special day. He could just look at this as a messed up present to himself, instead of the waste of money it was. Besides, a few spare coins weren't gonna make or break his savings. Be could afford to do this every once in a while.

With that pep talk out of the way, Stan grabbed the phone, shoved the coins into the slot, and dialed the number he'd memorized the first time ma had given to him. It rang a few times, not enough for him to prepare for... whatever he was doing.

"Hellos?" Fords voice came through, slightly confused, "Stanford Pines speaking? Can I-"

The phone was back on the hook before Stan even realized he was moving. Anxity buzzed along with the alchohal, and he groaned and put his forehead on the top of the pay phone box.

"Idiot," he muttered, "why do I always do this to myself."

With a sigh he pushed away, then shuffled over to his car. Hopefully he could find another bottle somewhere in there, before the clock struck midnight and the day was over.

Stan sighed as he stood in front of the payphone. The change in his hand was clammy and warm from how long he'd been holding it, and the warm humid air wasn't helping.

He really needed to stop doing this.

But today was a special day, he was feeling warm and buzzed from the half empty bottle he'd managed to scrounge up, and he just-

Just wanted-

It was a special day. He could just look at this as a messed up present to himself, instead of the waste of money it was. Besides, a few spare coins weren't gonna make or break his savings. Be could afford to do this every once in a while.

With that pep talk out of the way, Stan grabbed the phone, shoved the coins into the slot, and dialed the number he'd memorized the first time ma had given to him. It barely started to ring before Ford picked up, voice irritated.

"Hello? Who is this? If this is a prank, then-"

Stan slammed the phone back down on the hook, breathing heavy. It was always worse when Ford picked up already in some kind of mood, and now all his darker thoughts were crawling up from under the not really pleasant buzz and his skin was crawling from a combination of sweat and nerves.

He really needed to stop doing this. It never really helped (it was the only thing that kept him going some days).

With a sigh he pushed himself away from the phone booth and stumbled back to his car, the night air silent and still around him.

Hopefully he'd find another bottle somewhere in there, could drink away his rattled nerves and pass out.

Stan sighed as he stood in front of the payphone. The change in his hand was clammy and warm from how long he'd been holding it, and the warm humid air wasn't helping.

He really needed to stop doing this.

But today was a special day, he was feeling warm and buzzed from the half empty bottle he'd managed to scrounge up, and he just-

Just wanted-

It was a special day. He could just look at this as a messed up present to himself, instead of the waste of money it was. Besides, a few spare coins weren't gonna make or break his savings. Be could afford to do this every once in a while.

With that pep talk out of the way, Stan grabbed the phone, shoved the coins into the slot, and dialed the number he'd memorized the first time ma had given to him. It rang once, then Fords voice cut through the silence, furious.

"Enough! If this is-"

Stan hung up, rattled. Must have caught him at a bad time. He sighed, rubbing his face, before turning to walk back to his car.

There had to be a bottle in there somewhere, something to take the edge off.

Stan sighed as he stood in front of the payphone. The change in his hand was clammy and warm from how long he'd been holding it, and the warm humid air wasn't helping.

He really needed to stop doing this.

But today was a special day, he was feeling warm and buzzed from the half empty bottle he'd managed to scrounge up, and he just-

Just wanted-

It was a special day. He could just look at this as a messed up present to himself, instead of the waste of money it was. Besides, a few spare coins weren't gonna make or break his savings. Be could afford to do this every once in a while.

With that pep talk out of the way, Stan grabbed the phone, shoved the coins into the slot, and dialed the number he'd memorized the first time ma had given to him. His fingers tapped his leg as it rang, beating out a rhythm.

It continued to ring, filling the silence around him. Eventually the ringing stopped, and the sound of Fords answering machine made his slump in... feelings.

"You've reached Dr. Stanford Pines. Unfortunately I'm not at home, or busy with world shattering research. Leave a message, and I'll call back as soon as I'm able. Probably."

Stan sighed, then hung up. In a way he'd gotten what he'd wanted, heard his brothers voice, on the other...

He shoved himself away before he could spiral into thinking what Ford might be doing on their birthday. The nerd was probably doing some crazy research, curing cancer or whatever he got up to.

No need to pester him.

Stan sighed as he stood in front of the payphone. The change in his hand was clammy and warm from how long he'd been holding it, and the warm humid air wasn't helping.

He really needed to stop doing this.

But today was a special day, he was feeling warm and buzzed from the half empty bottle he'd managed to scrounge up, and he just-

Just wanted-

It was a special day. He could just look at this as a messed up present to himself, instead of the waste of money it was. Besides, a few spare coins weren't gonna make or break his savings. Be could afford to do this every once in a while.

With that pep talk out of the way, Stan grabbed the phone, shoved the coins into the slot, and dialed the number he'd memorized the first time ma had given to him. It rang once, and he jumped at the sound of Fords voice, then paled at what he said.

"Don't hang up," Ford said, low and quiet, "Or I'll hunt you down and carve out your organs."

Stan froze, looking down at his stomach, some combination of confused and terrified. Was- Did Ford finally figure him out? Was he waiting at the phone for the next time Stan called? How willing was his brother to go through with that threat, because Stan already lost on organ, he really didn't need to lose anymore.

After a moment Ford let out a sharp exhale and muttered something under his breath.

"That finally got you, huh? Listen here, I don't know who you are, but-"

Stan hung up, slumping over in relief. Ford didn't know, Stan had just caught him in some kind of mood, where he was threatening people who called him.

For some reason?

"Lucky I called you and not ma, Pointdexter," Stan muttered with a smirk, thinking about how their ma'd tear into Ford for his weird phone mannerisms.

Feeling a little better, and somewhat unnerved, Stan pushed himself away and strolled over to his car. There might be another bottle in there somewhere, might be worth rummaging around to look for.

Or he could drive outside of the small town he was in, far away from civilization. Sit on the hood of his car, look up at the stars.

Yeah, that sounded nice.

Stan sighed as he stood in front of the payphone. The change in his hand was clammy and warm from how long he'd been holding it, and the warm humid air wasn't helping.

He really needed to stop doing this.

But today was a special day, he was feeling warm and buzzed from the half empty bottle he'd managed to scrounge up, and he just-

Just wanted-

It was a special day. He could just look at this as a messed up present to himself, instead of the waste of money it was. Besides, a few spare coins weren't gonna make or break his savings. Be could afford to do this every once in a while.

With that pep talk out of the way, Stan grabbed the phone, shoved the coins into the slot, and dialed the number he'd memorized the first time ma had given to him. Ford Picked up at the first ring, cutting through the silence.

"Don't hang up," He said, irritated, "or I'll hunt you down and carve out your organs."

Stan froze, looking down at his stomach. What on- who answered phones like this?

Why did it sound vaguely familiar?

Ford muttered something on the other side, then "Ok, so that worked, now, who is this? Because this is-"

Stan hung up, somewhat rattled and confused. Not only was that the weirdest way to answer a phone when you didn't know who was calling, it sounded way too familiar coming out of Ford's mouth. Like he'd heard it before.

Weird.

Stan shook it off, then grumbled as he made his way back to his car. There was probably another bottle under all that mess, might be worth rummaging around to see what he could find.

He'd also have to take off a few layers. It was way hotter than earlier, sweat making his clothes and hair stick to him uncomfortably.

Stan sighed as he stood in front of the payphone. The change in his hand was clammy and warm from how long he'd been holding it, and the warm humid air wasn't helping.

He really needed to stop doing this.

But today was a special day, he was feeling warm and buzzed from the half empty bottle he'd managed to scrounge up, and he just-

Just wanted-

It was a special day. He could just look at this as a messed up present to himself, instead of the waste of money it was. Besides, a few spare coins weren't gonna make or break his savings. Be could afford to do this every once in a while.

With that pep talk out of the way, Stan grabbed the phone, shoved the coins into the slot, and dialed the number he'd memorized the first time ma had given to him. Ford Picked up at the first ring, cutting through the silence.

"Don't hang up," He said, irritated, "or I'll hunt you down and carve out your organs."

Stan froze, looked down at his stomach, then paused.

That felt weird. Like deja-vu or something. Ford grumbled, then said, slowly and with confidence, "I know exactly who you are."

Stan opened his mouth, closed it, then opened it again. Before he could question how on earth Ford had finally figured him out all these years, another voice muttered something in the background, voice pitched like they were asking a question.

"Trying to figure out the identity of a prank caller, now if you'll excuse me, I-"

Stan hung up, slumping over in relief. Ford didn't actually know, he was just talking big talk and hoping Stan would out himself.

It had almost worked too.

Stan shook his head and ran his fingers through his hair, settling himself as his stomach rolled and he...

Felt less buzzed than before? At some point the slight feeling of alcohol in his system had vanished, leaving him feeling shaky and tired.

And sweaty. It was really hot out here, too hot for it being the middle of the night. He squinted up at the dark sky, grimacing at the lack of stars and the dead silence all around him.

Whatever. He shoved himself away from the payphone and-

Stan sighed as he stood in front of the payphone. The change in his hand was clammy and warm from how long he'd been holding it, and the warm humid air wasn't helping.

He really needed to stop doing this.

But today was a special day, he was feeling warm and buzzed from the half empty bottle he'd managed to scrounge up, and he just-

Just wanted-

Before Stan could get around to talking himself into shoving the money in and dialing the familiar number, the payphone in front of him rang. He stared at it for a moment, confused, before tentatively grabbing the phone and holding it up to his ear.

"Hello?" Stan asked, feeling lost and unbalanced, like some fundamental truth of the universe had shattered.

"Ha! It worked!" came Ford's voice, full of glee and a little manic, "Didn't think I'd call you first, did you!"

"No? I- what's happening here?"

"Whats happening is I finally got you this time!" Ford yelled into the phone, "Thought you'd get away without consequence, didn't you? That you could call non-stop for six hours straight and not face any kind of repercussions for depriving me of my sleep and ruining my night? Well listen here-"

"Wait, hold up," Stan interrupted, a little lost and a lot irritated at the fury Ford was directing his way, "You called me. I haven't called anyone yet. I just got here."

Ford went silent, then the dial tone hit his ear as he hung up. Stan looked at the phone, then set it back onto the hook, bewildered. Less than a minute later it rang again, and Stan picked it up.

"....Hello?" he asked, already cringing at Ford's low voice.

"So it wasn't the wrong number," He said, and Stan could feel the way he was gripping his phone just by the sound of his voice, "I don't know... Wait a second. Stanley?"

Stan hung up, then turned and ran to his car. He could hear the phone ring again behind him, but he was already panicking and throwing himself into his car, keys-

Stan sighed as he stood in front of the payphone. The change in his hand was clammy and warm from how long he'd been holding it, and the warm humid air wasn't helping.

He really needed to stop doing this.

But today was a special day, he was feeling warm and buzzed from the half empty bottle he'd managed to scrounge up, and he just-

Just wanted-

Before Stan could get around to talking himself into shoving the money in and dialing the familar number, the payphone in front of him rang. He stared at it for a moment, confused, before tentativly grabbing the phone and holding it up to his ear.

"Hello?" Stan asked, feeling lost and unbalanced, like some fundamental truth of the universe had shattered.

Again?

"Stanley!" Ford yelled at him, making him jump, "What- No. I don't care about the reason. Stop calling me like this! I'm not sure what made you think calling me over and over would do anything but infuriate me, but it stops now!"

"What," Stan asked, confused and slightly panicked, "What are you talking about, I just got here? How did you know it was me?"

Silence, then "What? What are you talking about. You didn't just get here, we just talked, less than a minute ago."

"No we didn't?" Stan said, brow furrowing in confusion, "This is the first- uh. I mean. Happy Birthday? Moses this got away from me. What even is this."

"... Happy Birthday? Stanley, our birthday ended five hours ago. Its June sixteenth now. That happens when you spend six hours calling someone over and over."

"No, that can't be right," Stan muttered, looking around at the pitch black surroundings and dead silence all around him. His car was barely visible on the edge of the street light above him, everything else was nothing but darkness. If he'd been sitting here for six hours, he'd notice.

Wouldn't he?

"No, its still the fifteenth," Stan said, somewhat shaky, "I- I just got here? You called me before i could- uh. Call someone else. Not you."

Silence, then a burst of sound, and muffled voices. Stan stood there, pulling at his collar and trying to cool himself down. It was really hot out here actually, way hotter than it was a moment ago. He wiped his brow, then grimaced at the change still clutched in his hands.

"Stanley," Ford said, making him jump. His voice lacked the anger from a moment ago, instead deadly serious, "How long have you been standing there."

"Uh.. I don't know, less than-"

Stan sighed as he stood in front of the payphone. The change in his hand was clammy and warm from how long he'd been holding it, and the warm humid air wasn't helping.

He really needed to stop doing this.

But today was a special day, he was feeling warm and buzzed from the half empty bottle he'd managed to scrounge up, and he just-

Just wanted-

Before Stan could get around to talking himself into shoving the money in and dialing the familiar number, the payphone in front of him rang. He stared at it for a moment, confused, before tentatively grabbing the phone and holding it up to his ear.

"Hello?" Stan asked, feeling strange. This felt both like something he'd done before, and like he was suddenly stepping right out of reality. It wasn't right, but the wrongness of it wasn't odd.

"Stanley!" Stan jumped at the sound of Ford's voice. It sounded relieved, and he continued speaking before Stan could ask him how he knew it was him, "Stanley listen, I need to know, how long have you been standing there?"

"uh," Stan looked around in confusion, sweat beading on his forehead as the darkness around him seemed to deepen and the silence around him made the noise on the other side of the phone seem louder, "I don't know, a minute? I just got here? How did-"

"OK, don't hang up! I need you to promise me you won't hang up!" Ford's voice sounded strange, rough like he was on the edge of tears.

Or he'd been screaming.

"Alright? I promise? Whats-"

"Good, good. Now where are you."

Stan pushed down the spike of irritation and confusion, leaning against the pay phone instead. It was getting hot out here, the darkness of the night and the awful light overhead making it seem like there was nothing out here but him and the pay phone. He couldn't even see his car from where he was standing, the Stanley Mobile parked just outside of the ring of light.

That didn't seem right, but Stan shoved the feeling down and focused on the conversation.

"New Mexico. Why does-"

Ford interrupted with a curse, and he could hear more paper shuffling around and a muffled voice.

"Too far, that's too far. And I've just been- ARGH! Stanley! Stanley, I need you to tell me whats around you, what do you see."

"Nothing? Its the middle of the night, and kinda overcast? I can barely see my car."

He squinted in the direction he'd parked it. From here he could just make out the deeper shadows of where it was parked.

That-

That seemed wrong.

Weren't there stars before?

"Stanley listen to me," Fords voice pulled him out of his spiraling panic as he realized he could barely see anything out here, even the sidewalk. The only things that weren't covered in shadows were himself and the pay phone, standing out like a beacon in the dark.

"I need you to run." Ford said, "Doesn't matter where, just pick a direction and go. This is important!"

"Run?" Stan asked, the silence around him pressing in like a physical weight, "Why? Whats-"

"RUN!"

Stan dropped the phone and sprinted down the sidewalk, away from the pay phone and into the dark. He breathed heavily the moment his feet left the small circle of light and-

Stan sighed as he stood in front of the payphone. The change in his hand was clammy and warm from how long he'd been holding it, and the warm humid air wasn't helping.

He really needed to stop doing this.

But today was a special day, he was feeling warm and buzzed from the half empty bottle he'd managed to scrounge up, and he just-

Just wanted-

Before Stan could get around to talking himself into shoving the money in and dialing the familiar number, the payphone in front of him rang. He stared at it for a moment, confused, before tentatively grabbing the phone and holding it up to his ear.

"Hello?" Stan asked, feeling...

Terrified. Something wasn't right, hadn't been right. He was off kilter and lost, like a sailor who realized he was sailing a boat in an open field. On the other side of the phone a familiar voice cursed, and something else slammed.

"Stanley!" Ford yelled, making his shoulders tense at the tone and the way Ford knew it was him, "Stanley don't hang up! I'm- I'm going to figure this out, alright! Tell me what you see!"

"Ford?" Stan asked, shaking slightly and breaths coming in short gasps, "Ford, whats- how did you know-"

"Focus!" Ford snapped, "What do you see?!"

Stan looked around, and froze.

There wasn't anything around him. Nothing but pitch blackness, the small ring of sidewalk around the pay phone, and the pay phone itself, bright and vibrant.

"Nothing," Stan muttered, clutching the phone tighter and taking a step closer, "There- there's nothing here. Why's it so dark? And- and when did it get so hot?"

It was sweltering, the humid air pressing against him and making everything worse as the feeling of his soaked clothes sticking to his skin made him feel like he'd been dunked.

On the other side of the phone Ford cursed again, and Stan clung to it like a life line. Out here there was nothing but dead silence, even his gasping breathes barely reaching his ears.

"Stanley listen," Ford said, and Stan pressed the phone to his ear, like each word Ford said was the only thing stopping the darkness from consuming him too.

Maybe it was.

"You've been eaten by an entity that feeds on high concentrations of negative energy. Its stuck you in a loop, and its too late to try and escape physically. I'm going to try and- I'm going to try something, just- just hang on, and- and you'll be OK."

Stan gaped at the phone booth. He hadn't seriously thought the darkness was going to eat him, and now it turned out that he already had been. Eaten. Something had eaten him while he'd been trying to call his brother in a glum mood.

Suddenly the heat felt far more threatening, the darkness physical, and the phone booth the only thing between him and loosing it completely.

"Alright." Stan choked out, huddling closer to the phone booth, "What- what's the plan Sixer?"

Ford didn't answer, but he could hear his brother yelling something over the phone, distantly. It was a small comfort, but Stan clung to it regardless.

Ford would figure it out, he always-

Stan sighed as he stood in front of the payphone. The change in his hand was clammy and warm from how long he'd been holding it, and the warm humid air wasn't helping.

He really needed to stop doing this.

But today was a special day, he was feeling warm and buzzed from the half empty bottle he'd managed to scrounge up, and he just-

Just wanted-

It was a special day. He could just look at this as a messed up present to himself, instead of the waste of money it was. Besides, a few spare coins weren't gonna make or break his savings. Be could afford to do this every once in a while.

With that pep talk out of the way, Stan grabbed the phone, shoved the coins into the slot, and dialed the number he'd memorized the first time ma had given to him. His fingers tapped his leg as it rang, beating out a rhythm.

It continued to ring, filling the silence around him. Eventually the ringing stopped, and the sound of Fords answering machine made his slump in... feelings.

"You've reached Dr. Stanford Pines. Unfortunately I'm not at home, or busy with world shattering research. Leave a message, and I'll call back as soon as I'm able. Probably."

Stan sighed, then hung up. In a way he'd gotten what he'd wanted, heard his brothers voice, on the other...

A part of him wanted to go back to his car and mope, the other, larger part, urged him to sit at the base of the phone booth.

So he did.

He huddled at the small ball, bringing his legs up to grab his knees and stare out at the darkness around him. A small thought in the back of his mind told him he needed to be worried about how still the night are around him was, how the dark shadows pressing in were caressing his feet, how the heavy, humid air was starting to sound like something breathing down his neck.

How the thick heat wasn't normal for so late at night, especially in a desert.

He pushed the thought away, sighing and looking down at his feet.

Ford was probably asleep. The nerd had a full life now, studying bugs or curing cancer or whatever it was he was doing up in the woods. Probably had a private birthday party, got some presents, celebrated properly.

Moved on.

What did Ford need with a guy like Stan anyway. Stan had left, and Ford had excelled without him, gone farther and higher then anyone in their family ever had. Who knows how much further and higher he could have gotten if Stan had never been there in the first place, dragging him down.

The darkness was closer, crawling up his ratty shoes, and he watched them disappear, apathy overtaking any worry.

What was the point.

It didn't hurt, didn't feel like anything. The light overhead flickered, and he sighed, dropping his head onto his knees as the air got hotter, he got sweater, and the ground blinked in and out of existence.

His legs tingled as the shadows crept up them, before he lost feeling completely.

It was nice, sorta.

Well no, it actually sucked and was terrifying, but the part of him yelling to move, that he didn't want to die, that if this was it he needed to go down fighting, was crushed under the weight of...

Everything.

He dragged his eyes up to see the shadows crawling up his knees, then grunted as something tugged at his chest and-

P U L L E D

A strangled sound came out of him as something yanked at him, until he was stuck floating in some kind of warped, dark and blinding void. Lights whizzed past him, in thousands of different colors and patterns, and he could feel and see some kind of glowing, ghostly hand grabbing his chest and tugging him up, while the shadows clutching his legs tried to drag him back down.

They pulled him in both directions, leaving him stuck somewhere he was pretty sure people weren't meant to be. The numbness in his legs vanished, replaced with a thousand tiny needles digging in and making him writhe, while the hand's grip started slipping. Stan grabbed at it, terror hitting him full force as he watched what he was pretty sure galaxies explode or something or maybe all of existence at once?

Whatever it was, it seared itself into his brain and tore apart the apathy that had been settling over him. He had no idea what the hand was or where it came from, or anything at all anymore, but he was pretty sure it was better than the darkness trying to bite his legs off.

The giant hand tightened its grip and pulled harder, ripping Stan out of the shadows. Without them Stan hurtled up towards wherever, and he cried out as he was blinded by light and-

Slammed into the ground. Stan wheezed at the noise that assaulted his ears and the light piercing his eyes. After so long in the dead silence of the night it was agonizing, and he groaned, breathing heavily and legs back to being numb.

"Stanley!" came Fords voice, and Stan forced his eyes open to see his twins face, looking down at him upside-down and with heavy bags under his eyes. His face was slightly scruffy and his clothes were rumpled, but his smile was huge and he looked relieved

"Ford?" Stan muttered, confused, "What- what happened?"

"Stanley," Ford said again, collapsing next to him and pulling him up into a bone crushing hug. Stan pat his back, then grimaced at his soaking wet hand and drenched sleeve. Now that he was out of wherever he was before, he realized not all of the wetness was his gross sweat. There was some kind of grey liquid sticking to him, sticky and numbing his fingers.

"Stanford, let go of your brother," came an unfamiliar voice, "We need to take a look at him, and who knows what all... that. Is."

"Right, right, of course." Ford said, leaning back and still smiling. Stan grimaced at the thick strings of grey stuff connecting them, and Ford looked down, finally realizing he'd covered his whole front in whatever it was when he'd hugged Stan.

"Interesting," Ford muttered, grabbing a vial from his pocket and scooping some of it up. Stan watched him, suddenly exhausted, until Ford capped the vial, grabbed another one, and scooped some more goop off of Stan's face.

"Hey," Stan grumbled, waving a hand at him with a scowl, "stop that. What is this, what- didn't I- huh?"

Stan blinked at Ford as his brain started becoming mush, and he looked down to see his pants shredded up to his knees and his most of his shoes missing. Tiny scratches covered both of them, sluggishly bleeding and numb. The bottom of his feet, where he could see them, were red and irritated, but still as numb as they'd been before.

"Didn't I call you?" Stan muttered, as some other, non-Ford person sat down next to them with a giant first aid kit and wearing a pair of rubber gloves, "Its our birthday."

"No, it isn't." Ford said, and Stan slowly turned to see him taking his shirt off and shoving it in a plastic bag, "Our birthday ended five hours ago."

That.. sounded right? Stan bleary remembered.... way too many short phone calls, with Ford's voice getting more and more angry, then stretches of him not answering at all, before Ford would pick up again, furious.

Except for the last few, where Ford finally started calling him, asking more and more desperate questions about where he was or what he saw.

"Hot Belgian Waffles," Stan said, watching Ford strip everything covered in goo off while this other guy started prodding his legs, "Something tried to eat me."

"Ah, but it didn't!" Ford said, stripped down to his underwear and wandering off with the bag, "Our DNA is close enough to use as a focus for a summoning spell, and we managed to pull you straight out of its pocket dimensional stomach! Its probably furious!"

Ford sounded way too giddy about pissing off some kind of shadow monster that ate people. More importantly,

"My car." Stan said, watching Not-Ford use a pair of scissors to cut his ruined pants off, "Its still in there."

"No, I don't think so!" Ford called out, "The small area you found yourself was most likely a constructed replica of the area. Creatures like that don't have the ability to pull full sections of our dimension away. More than likely your car is right where you left it."

"Maybe." Stan muttered. There was a chance Ford was wrong after all, or that his car had been stolen when he'd gotten snatched. Ford wandered back into view, wearing a pair of pajamas and rubber gloves, and holding another plastic bag and a tub. He set the bag next to Stan, and Not-Ford started putting his shredded pants into it.

His legs didn't look too bad, just covered in long scratches and still numb. They weren't even really bleeding much. If he hadn't seen the shadows clutching his legs he would have thought he'd been attacked by a swarm of cats.

Again.

Something touched his face, and he flinched. Ford was holding a washcloth, and the tub was full of bubbly water.

"Sorry Stanley," Ford said, going back to wiping Stan's face, "But we need to get this off as quickly as possible. I don't know if its digestive fluids, a numbing agent, or something to amplify your negative mood. Best to be cautious and study it later."

Stan nodded, then blinked slowly as Ford started wiping his face again. He looked around the room, taking in the shoved aside couch, the giant, red circle (and that better not be blood) with various symbols around it, the TV, and bunches of electronic do dads and gizmos.

This was Fords house, probably his living room. And Stan was sitting here, on the floor, at five in the morning.

Whatever goop was covering him must have been numbing his feelings (that or the exhastion of being awake so long without realizing) becaue he couldn't muster up the energy to feel anything about it.

"Happy Birthday," Stan muttered, before he closed his eyes let himself fall back onto the hard floor. Ford said something, but he was too tired to try and decipher the words.

They could always talk later.