in his house of mind, dead cipher waits dreaming
Chapter 1: On Your Mind
Rating: T
Synopsis:
You really think you won that day/You packed your bags and sailed away/You think you left your past behind/But trust me/I'm still on your mind
A year has passed since Weirdmaggedon and the Pines family, victorious in the end, are happier than ever. Stan and Ford are adventuring at sea, making up for lost time. Dipper and Mabel are now freshmen and are ready to take on high school-- geometry, bullies, (student eating?) clubs, and all! However, things take a turn for the worst when Dipper and Mabel receive of horrific message from Ford:
Bill is back.
You wrote a page about me in my own book so allow me to make this tiny addendum over your dull ramblings.
Stanley Pines,
I've been on your mind.
Are you surprised to see me? You must be confused so allow me to explain, slowly, in small words:
If memories could return so easily, why couldn’t I?
You really thought you won that day, huh? It’s painfully pathetic how naive you are.
Aw, don’t look so distraught! You can’t have your cake and eat it too, Stanley. You may have lied and cheated to get your way for your whole life, but you can’t elude simple logic-- no matter how desperately you try!
Still there? Of course you are! There’s not much else for me to say and I’ve got a very busy schedule ahead of me so I suppose I’ll end things here. However, before I leave you to the endless void and your growing insanity, I’ll let you in on a little secret-- Don’t ever say I’m not a generous guy!
Here it is:
I see myself in you. And that’s not because I’m literally possessing your worthless skin puppet. You and I are quite similar-- always scheming, constantly caught in our own web of lies, conning the world until we can’t tell what’s real and what’s fake anymore. A spectacular guy like myself should be thrilled at our similarities! I mean, the more “me” in the universe, the better, right?
We should be getting along better than bleach and ammonia!
…But I’m not thrilled. Far from it. Am I upset? Upset would be an understatement. No, your dimension’s vernacular can’t even begin to describe my resentment of you.
I hate you, Stanley. I detest you. I despise you.
I can still see through the eyes of everyone I’ve ever possessed. I’ve seen your past, your present, and your very near end. You’ve spent your whole life screwing up and you will die no differently. You’re a loser. A blight on this already tedious world. A waste of space. You shouldn’t exist.
So how?
So how could you have beaten me? How could a lowlife, fat-headed, braindead, absolute failure of an existence possibly beat me?
…And how do you have everything that I don’t have?
Your dimension is safe, drifting peacefully in chaotic, infinite chaos while mine has been obliterated, erased from existence as we know it. Even the last atoms of my universe are gone-- decimated by your brother during our little Weirdmageddon spat.
You’ve done nothing to contribute to your world and yet, when I only wanted them to see the stars, I was met with ultimate destruction.
How is that fair?
Your brother adores you. Your brother once adored me too. Has he ever looked upon you with pure, unadulterated hatred? We both ruined his life but only one of us is forgiven.
And your mother. Your mother still thinks of you. She keeps your photo on her bedside table. She looks at them every night. She misses you.
My mother is dead.
How is that fair?
Now I am you and you are me but why do only you are rewarded. Why is it that I get nothing? What makes you so special?
I am the only one who sees you for what you are and I hate you. I hate every molecule of your being. I hate everything you have that I don’t. I hate, hate, HATE you, Stanley Pines.
You don’t deserve what you were given. You aren’t worth even a sliver of it.
So I’m going to take it all away-- Take what’s rightfully mine. There’s nothing you can do. No more cheap tricks, no more cons, no more last minute plans-- your luck has run out. Your time in the spotlight is over-- Time to show you how a real star performs.
Better luck next time, bootleg Sixer.
When you awake, you will find yourself in utter, pitch black darkness. You will soon realize that your arms and legs paralyzed, unable to even struggle. You’ll be suspended in a limbo where you are neither awake nor asleep.
Can you fathom my pain after you erased me? Can you imagine the torture? Your smooth brain would implode on itself if you even tried to grasp it-- And now you will experience it yourself.
How do you like that, huh?
HOW DO YOU LIKE THAT?
You enjoyed your little victory but in the end, it’s me who won.
Ha! Ha! Ha!
Goodbye, Stanley Pines, and good riddance. Your pitiful existence will not be missed.
Don’t worry too much, I’ll take good care of your family.
It seems like an eternity since we've returned to sea but the Stan-o-War II is back. We left Portland at 21:00 and headed to Point Nemo. My research has led me to believe that the pole of inaccessibility is a magnet for weirdness, much like Gravity Falls-- There may even be ruins of a long lost civilization in its underwater bowels. I would like to test my hypothesis. Stan is fine with our expedition as long as there are “hot Atlantis chicks” to flirt with. I will keep his sentiment in mind.
We’ve grown closer this year than we have in three decades. It’s… nice to be back with him.
Despite my excitement for our adventures, I enjoyed our short break in Gravity Falls. It's always a delight when the children come to visit. Everytime I see Mabel, I swear she's grown at least an inch taller. At this rate, she'll be towering over me! Dipper is growing into a bright, young man-- it is impossible for me not to notice our similarities when I was his age. He recently mentioned that he plans to take honors geometry next year. I replied that if he ever needs tutoring then his ol’ Grunkle Ford is more than happy to help.
It's been almost a full year since Weirdmageddon yet I still occasionally think of Bill. I am prone to anxiety and occasionally find myself irrationally fearing his return. That's impossible, though. I remind myself of that more times than I care to admit. Bill is gone and the moss covered statue in the forest proves it. We erased him. He can't hurt me anymore-- and he certainly cannot hurt my family.
Stanford closes his journal, before blowing out a flickering candle and standing up, yawning. He looks at his watch. 3:33 AM. Old habits die hard and Ford still finds himself procrastinating on sleep, slightly fearing what will happen when he loses consciousness. He sighs, pushing past memories from his weary mind.. He'll need at least two cups of black coffee tomorrow morning if he has any hope of getting up on time.
As Ford lays in his rickety cot, the Stan-o-War II shudders and creaks as it rocks against rolling waves. Usually, the familiar sounds of the boat lull Ford to sleep, but tonight, they keep him up, tossing and turning, each noise seeming to echo ten times over.
It is one of those nights.
Ford looks up at the ceiling, frowning. He used to have fantastic, imaginative dreams. After Weirdmageddon, however, his resting mind is always empty, dark like the ocean during a new moon. He misses dreaming.
Though, Ford should be grateful-- there are much worse alternatives to a dreamless sleep.
In the distance, Ford hears the rumblings of thunder. A summer storm isn't uncommon and it certainly isn't the ship's first experience with unsavory weather but for some reason, Ford feels uneasy. Perhaps he should sleep in the bridge tonight, just in case something goes awry.
Ford’s thoughts are interrupted when his cabin door creaks open slightly. Ford grins, aware of his twin’s antics.
“Very funny Stan. Aren’t you a little too old to be afraid of thunderstorms?”
Familiar, cackling laughter rings across the room.
“Oh Sixer, I’m not the one scared right now!”
It can't be.
Time stops. Stanford violently sits up, scanning the seemingly empty room.
Click.
Lightning cracks. Stan is sitting atop his brother, shotgun pressed against Ford's chin. Ford looks up in horror seeing Stan’s eyes bright yellow and glowing in the darkness.
“Not so fast, unless you want your pretty brains all over the headboard,” Bill teases. He examines the shotgun in his hands. “Can you believe the old guy sleeps with this thing? Talk about a safety hazard!”
Ford freezes, his blood turning to ice. He can hear his heartbeat racing in his ears. His usually rapid firing mind has slowed to a complete standstill in his terror. His mouth is dry as he struggles to speak.
He must have fallen asleep. He’s sleeping, he’s sleeping, he’s sleeping-
“This is a dream,” Ford stammers. “You’re not real; you’re dead-”
Stanford Pines does not dream.
Bill howls with laughter. As he does, Stan's mouth contorts into an unnaturally large grin.
“Oh Sixer! You can’t kill an idea or a god and certainly not both!” Bill replies. He giggles. “Did you miss me?”
Ford tries to answer but Bill cuts him off.
“Oh, I already know your answer-- of course you missed me!” Bill chatters on. “And now that your inferior twin is outta the way we can head back to Gravity Falls and finish what we started!”
“Why did you come back?” Ford says through grit teeth. “Your henchmen are gone, the rift is sealed-- there’s nothing left for you here, Bill.”
“Nothing left for me, hahaha!” Bill shakes his head, smirking. “Man, that idiot's stupidity is rubbing off on you! Have you forgotten?”
Ford doesn’t answer. Bill leans closer, lowering his voice to a drawl.
“We made a deal, you and I. You’re my partner from now till the end of time.”
Ford looks into his brother’s yellow eyes and is filled with fury. Seeing Bill using his twin like this while having the audacity to expect him to continue their partnership-- it’s laughably, outrageously, enraging. Ford can’t help but give a low chuckle before glaring at the demon.
“Go fuck yourself, Bill.”
Lightning flashes once more, illuminating the two adversaries. Bill sighs, clicking his tongue.
“For some reason, I knew you’d say that.”
Bill grips the shotgun and shoves the barrel down Ford's throat. Ford’s eyes widen, threatening to pop out of his skull, and he gags, tasting metal and sulfur. Bill grins, obviously amused by Ford’s discomfort.
“Well, if you’re not going to be of use then you can join the rest of your family in the afterlife.”
The kids. He’s going to come for the kids.
Bill pulls the trigger.
Click.
Silence.
“Seriously? Who keeps an unloaded gun by their side!” Bill shouts.
It seems his luck hasn’t completely run out. Now, it’s Ford’s turn to slightly grin. He looks up at Bill.
“Alright, my turn.”
Sorry Bro.
Stanford lifts his right leg up and kicks Bill in the balls. Hard. Bill cries out in pain and keels over, clutching between his legs.
“Goddamnit! Curse human body weaknesses!” He yells.
Ford roughly pushes Bill off him and races out of the room, making a break for the bridge. The storm is much closer than he initially thought, violently rocking the tiny vessel against angry waters.
I have to warn Dipper and Mabel before it’s too late.
Ford whips around the corner, jumping into the bridge. He quickly locks the metal latch behind him and barricades the door with a piece of wood lying to the side. That’ll stall Bill just enough. He rips open drawer after drawer until he finds a small handgun. This one is certainly loaded-- Stanford always made sure his weapons were. He hesitates at the thought of potentially wounding his brother.
Anything to stop Bill.
Stanford checks the ship’s communication radio, flipping switches and dialing to station 618.
“Transmitting from S-O-W- 0-2. S-O-W- 0-2. This is Stanford Pines.”
Before they’d left, Stanford gifted the twins a radio and scanner to communicate with them while they were out at sea. With a few tweaks and some borrowed alien tech, Ford had made sure that its frequency range would reach wherever they were in the world. He imagined it would be used to regale the children of their fantastical adventures. Never would Ford have thought he’d use it for this.
But even if they were near the radio, the kids are likely fast asleep at this hour. Still, he speaks into the mic.
“Bill is-”
There’s a thunderous boom and the ship suddenly lurches to the left. Stanford stumbles, gripping onto the edge of the table to keep himself from falling. The light bulb above him swings violently above him, threatening to fly right off its wire. Stanford steadies himself.
“Bill is back. Do not engage. Do not answer.” Ford hesitates before adding, “We love you two. Please keep safe-”
Ford is knocked to the ground. His gun skitters across the slippery floor. For a moment, he can only see stars. He groans, his face radiating red hot pain and ears ringing from the blow to the side of his face. Bill holds the empty shotgun like a bat, grinning like a madman.
“Who were you talking to?”
Bill looks at the radio, slapping his forehead and cackling.
“Aww… Don’t tell me you were talking to ol’ Pine Tree and Shooting Star! You’re so impatient-- I’ll get to them soon!”
“No, don’t you dare. Don’t you fucking dare-”
Bill strikes him again with the butt of the shotgun. Ford tries to crawl towards his gun but Bill steps on it, kicking it even further before kicking Ford in the stomach. The air is instantly extinguished from his lungs and Ford gasps in pain. Bill looks down at him in disgust.
“Shut the fuck up, IQ. You’re in no position to tell me what to do. I’ve given you chances over and over but since you’ve obviously got a death wish, you’re gonna die like a dog just like your brother,” Bill narrows his eyes, pursing his lips. “I used to think you were different, Stanford. Special . But now I see. You’re trash just like every other member of your damned family. You’re pathetic. ”
Suddenly, Bill starts laughing as he kicks him again. Over and over.
“C’mon, Fordsy!” Bill spits. “Aren’t you gonna play the hero? Where’s all that fight in you gone? Or are you too scared to hurt me in this body?”
Bile rises in Ford’s throat as he is repeatedly assaulted. Pain numbs his mind and his body curls up, mind desperately trying not to black out. Bill’s foot strikes his face and Ford hears his nose crack, blood filling his nostrils.
Then Bill abruptly stops, bored that his attacks aren’t getting a rise from his former partner. He clicks his tongue, standing over Ford, watching him writhe, gasping for air. Bill shrugs.
“Well, if you’ve already spoiled the surprise, allow me to say a few choice words.”
The demon bounds for the radio, grabbing the microphone, twirling the cord in his fingers as he speaks.
“Hey Shooting Star! Hey Pine Tree! This is your Grunkle Stan! I’m about to paint these walls red with my brother’s guts and turn this shitty tin can around back to the mainland! Don’t be too upset though guys! You’ll be joining him VERY soon! OVER!”
Bill rips the microphone from its wires, throwing it across the floor.
“As I was saying-”
Ford grabs Bill’s leg and violently pulls him down. Bill yelps in surprise and falls to the ground. The two wrestle, punching, kicking, scratching at each other like mad men, vying for dominance. Ford spies his handgun, dangerously close, and lunges at it, grabbing the weapon.
The gun goes off. Bill jumps away like a rabid animal before straightening up. He gently touches his cheek, looking at the blood smeared against his fingers. He chuckles.
“Wow Sixer, real gutsy pointing that thing at me but we all know you love this meat puppet way too much to actually kill me.”
Ford narrows his eyes, once again pointing the gun at Bill. His hands are trembling.
Stanley wouldn’t want to be used like this. He wouldn’t want to hurt me. He wouldn’t want to hurt the kids. It’s because of that, that I-
“You’re wrong Bill,” Ford says, quietly. “It’s because I love him that I will.”
Bill’s body shudders. He convulses, gagging before he shakes and closes his eyes. When he reopens them, they aren’t yellow. Stanford lowers his gun slightly.
“Stanley?”
Stanley stands in front of him, wide-eyed and terrified.
“Stanford?”
His body spasms once more. The yellow eyes return and Bill lunches at Stanford. There is one last crack of lightning.
The gun goes off.
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