#I need both but evil ford aus make me bark

[even-more-crescents-blog]

Fight or Flight

fandom: Gravity Falls

word count: 2.317

characters: Dipper x2 (grownup AU versions), Evil!Stan (belongs to @ahkaraii), Bill

relationships: Dipper selfcest, Evil!Stan / Dipper, past Ford / Dipper

summary: While those around him would maybe prefer to have escaped their past by not being mentally present throughout it, this Dipper’s experiences of being nothing but an empty shell during the most traumatizing events of his life have left him desperately envious, wondering, struggling for agency, for personhood.

warning: internalized victim-blaming, past child abuse, blood, gore, assault, sexual assault

“What were you wearing”, Dipper repeats, his eyes fixed to the ceiling above them. An intoxicating rush of numbness overcomes him.

“When I accepted the apprenticeship?”, Tyrone asks, obviously trying to ignore where this is going.

No dice. “When he fucked you.”

If Dipper had a dollar for every Mason trying to escape their Ford throughout the multiverse and looking for his help in this endeavour, he’d have… about five dollar by now. Which isn’t much. But it’s something, he tells himself, breathing heavily, his head resting on the naked thigh of his newest acquaintance, Tyrone.

Tyrone is a pretty peculiar Dipper indeed. He likes neither of the two names Dippers usually go by. He also isn’t a mess like most other Dippers stranded between the dimensions, quite the opposite. Tyrone might very well be the most composed version of himself Dipper has ever seen. He’s well-groomed, his toned arms speak of weekly work-outs, and then there’s the polo and the penny loafers. Sometimes Dipper wonders whether this really is a version of himself at all.

Right now Tyrone is not wearing either though, or much else for that matter.

They’ve been doing this a lot lately, and Dipper is not entirely sure what Tyrone is getting out of it. Surely he could do better than a grubby alternate self. But Dipper sure as fuck isn’t complaining. Tyrone is good company, and as if being ridiculously handsome wasn’t already enough, he’s also witty and charming.

Dipper reaches over his head to touch the abs he still can’t believe any Mason throughout the galaxy has actually managed to obtain. There’s something filthy slithering through Dipper’s stomach. Just as filthy as himself.

“So”, Dipper says, and he knows he should stop talking the moment he opens his mouth. “You accepted his idiotic apprenticeship too?”

Tyrone doesn’t answer at first. It’s been barely a week ago that Dipper has blasted a hole through his Ford’s skull (and ignored his other request). Tyrone preferred not to see the body.

“I suppose”, he says eventually and shifts a bit. He obviously doesn’t want to talk about it.

Dipper couldn’t care less. It’s hard to imagine a thirteen years old Tyrone. Did he look exactly like every other Dipper? Like himself? Or did he already have a hint of the fine, grown up features that seem to be completely absent from Dipper’s own face?

“What do you think he wanted from you?”, Dipper asks before he can keep himself from it.

“Fuck if I know”, Tyrone spits out under his breath. “I don’t think it was about me. I think he just wanted anyone who would go along with whatever he said. And when I became too inconvenient for him… he left.”

There’s a short moment of silence. “What were you wearing”, Dipper murmurs, barely audible.

Tyrone stiffens underneath him. “What?”

There are strangely lucid impressions of Stanford and a different version of his thirteen years old self flashing before Dipper’s eyes, like right out of an ancient Greek tale - the boy’s face mature beyond his years, lips and legs parted invitingly, his moans soft, his deep breathing even as Ford grabs him and scratches and bites and tears bloody pieces out of him. No panic, only serene acceptance, and Ford wants him so much it makes Dipper’s insides churn.

“What were you wearing”, Dipper repeats, his eyes fixed to the ceiling above them. An intoxicating rush of numbness overcomes him.

“When I accepted the apprenticeship?”, Tyrone asks, obviously trying to ignore where this is going.

No dice. “When he fucked you.”

Dipper can feel every muscle in Tyrone’s body tensing up. “Excuse me?”

His chest hurts as he sits up and grabs Tyrone’s wrists, right as the other was about to try and move away. No work-out in the world holds up against a body infused with the powers of a demi-god, and so Tyrone struggles in vain against Dipper’s grip, still astonishingly calm, everything considered.

“What did it feel like”, Dipper breathes into Tyrone’s ear, and he needs to know so badly it almost strangles him.

That apparently does it for Tyrone. He manages to free one hand from Dipper’s vice grip and punches him in the ear, quick and hard.

A flash of pain and a sudden ringing noise make Dipper flinch back. He rips both his hands up to his ear with a yelp. That’s all the chance Tyrone needs. He shoves Dipper on his back, and now the tables have turned and Dipper is the one being held down.

“You tell me, what DID it feel like?”, Tyrone hisses between bared teeth, all the admirable poise drained from his face.

“I don’t know!”, Dipper whispers desperately. His entire body breaks into cold sweat. He could fight back, but he feels paralyzed. Insignificant.

“What were YOU wearing, huh?”, Tyrone barks.

“I don’t know!”, Dipper cries out, icy shivers running up and down his back. “I wasn’t there!”

For a moment, Tyrone’s grip loosens. His eyes are wide. Now he almost does look like a child. He doesn’t seem to understand, but he doesn’t need to. A cold snort escapes him. “Wish I hadn’t been there.”

The filthy, slithering thing in Dipper’s stomach is back, and it’s bubbling up searing hot. He’s on Tyrone before he knows it, hands tightly wrapped around Tyrone’s neck, wringing until even the chokes and gargled noises subside. “You… fucking... bastards!”, Dipper manages to get out between frantically drawn breaths while Tyrone claws at his hands. Their skin has gotten so hot it’s impossible to hold onto them, let alone tear them away. “None of you! None of you deserve it!”

-

His mind must’ve gone dark for a moment. Dipper doesn’t know when he’s let go of Tyrone, but the other is up and dressed now, burn marks all around his neck. How he even manages to stand up straight is a mystery to Dipper. Every mortal being should be half dead.

“You are the worst fucking Dipper”, Tyrone gasps, trying to adjust his collar around the fleshy, glistening burned skin covering his neck.

“Tyrone”, Dipper says halfheartedly, and Tyrone stops just before the door. He waits a moment. When nothing happens, he croaks: “Stop fucking with yourself”, and leaves.

Dipper laughs. At least he thinks that’s what he’s doing.

-

Stan halts so quickly, Dipper immediately knows he’s done something wrong. His sex-addled mind struggles to remember. The heavy scent of sweat and Stan’s body is strong in his nose, making it even harder to think. His head is spinning and every inch of his skin is tingling. He’s been hyperventilating again. He wraps his legs even harder around Stan’s back. He shifts and moans, and then it hits him.

“Ford”, is what he’s just said. It feels like Dipper’s stomach turns.

Slowly, he opens his eyes and looks up at Stan.

There’s something cold in Stan’s gaze, and also Dipper feels like throwing up. He doesn’t get the chance though, as he can practically see behind Stan’s forehead, and the thoughts that have just come to an abrupt halt there can’t be pretty.

Suddenly, he grabs Dipper by the hips and flings him onto his belly like a rag doll. The movement is enough to make Dipper hurl. He tries to prop himself up on his elbows, but Stan seizes him by the hair and pushes his face right into the vomit.

The cutting stench fills Dipper’s lungs and he needs to get away, needs to push himself upward, but his hands slip on the wet sheets and Stan is holding him down with an iron grip.

“That what you want”, Stan growls as he enters Dipper from behind. Stan fucks hard even when he isn’t livid, and right at this moment he is blind with rage. Dipper feels like his spine is going to crack every second now as he’s being held down with one big, coarse hand dug deep into his hair and the other pressing down between his shoulder blades, his ass bent upwards in what has got to be a perfect 90° angle, and Stan violently plowing into him with all the mercy and forgiveness of a steam hammer.

Dipper’s probably screaming, he doesn’t know, he can’t hear himself anymore, his vision goes white, but still he can hear Stan’s words.

“That’s what you wanted, wasn’t it. To be his little boy toy.”

Out of all the gifts that Bill has given him, Dipper appreciates none more than the side-effect of his pyrokinesis. He has no control over when it kicks in, it seems to be a decision solely reserved for his body and his body alone. In a matter of seconds, his skin is hot like a branding iron. Stan gives a furious grunt as he jerks away. Dipper throws one hand back, finding Stan’s arm and biting into it with one of the teeth rimmed mouths in his palm. This gives him enough room to turn around and punch Stan square in the jaw. A mistake, as it turns out, since Stan’s jaw is about as massive as a shark’s.

Stan rubs the bruise while his mouth slowly contorts into a grin. “Feisty. I like it.” He lunges forward and digs his sharp teeth into the soft part between Dipper’s shoulder and neck, drawing a scream from Dipper. In turn, Dipper buries his fanged palms into the back of Stan’s neck and upper arm.

They scratch and bite each other like animals, all teeth and claws and growls. While Stan may have the upper hand when it comes to physical strength, Dipper’s searing hot skin and complete lack of consideration for his own safety make him a force to be reckoned with. It takes until Stan finally gets an angle on him and rips open the skin over his chest with a greedy bite that he manages to overwhelm Dipper. He spits the torn out piece of flesh into Dipper’s face and shoves one hand between his legs, making Dipper try and squirm away.

“That’s what I thought”, Stan grunts as he finds Dipper hot and dripping wet. He holds Dipper down and rubs him painfully hard a couple of times, making Dipper mewl and bite back tears, pulls up his fingers again and smears them over Dipper’s mouth.

As if the dingy mattress itself has suddenly become scorching hot, Stan pushes himself off the dirty thing and gets up.

“Yeah, you better fuck off before I burn you to a crisp!”, Dipper snarls, but it’s an empty threat, his legs trembling and his battered and bruised body barely being able to move on its own volition.

Without a further word, Stan leaves Dipper behind, picking at the bite wounds Dipper’s various mouths have left all over his body.

-

“OH BOYS”, Bill says later while helping Dipper regenerate the skin over his rib cage. Bill is floating above Dipper, his numerous tiny black hands leaving impossibly light touches wherever they go. He ignores the dried trails of various bodily fluids on Dipper’s face, and Dipper is thankful for it.

Stan is still gone, who knows were.

“CAN’T LEAVE YOU ALONE FOR TWO MINUTES.”

“I’m not the worst fucking Dipper”, he murmurs defiantly and leans into Bill’s touch.

“NOOOO, NO NO NO NO. YOU’RE MY FAVORITE DIPPER!” 

“Yeah, cuz I’m the only Dipper who puts up with you.”

“HERE I AM, HEALING YOUR WOUNDS, AND THIS IS THE THANKS I GET?” Bill lays one miniature finger over Dipper’s lips. “COME ON, GIVE YOURSELF SOME CREDIT. YOU’RE NOT JUST EXERTING PETTY REVENGE HERE OR SOMETHING BANAL LIKE THAT. KILLING ALL THESE FORDSIES, YOU’RE SAVING ALL THEIR LITTLE PINE TREES!”

Dipper stays quiet for a while. “That’s right. Even the Fords who haven’t come across their Dipper yet... they will never get to meet them.”

“AND HONESTLY NOW. PIRAÑA PANTS HAS GOT SOME NERVE JUDGING YOU. BOY TOY, HAHA! LOOK WHO’S TALKING.”

Dipper lifts his head reluctantly.

“BIG GUY’S GOT BIG ISSUES.” That seems to be all that Bill is willing to say about that. “THOUGH TO BE FAIR, YOU GAVE HIM THE PERMISSION TO DO WHATEVER HE WANTS WITH YOU.”

Dipper makes a noncommittal noise.

On a whim, Bill suddenly digs long black claws into the not entirely healed skin on Dipper’s shoulder, making him wince. “I GET IT”, he says and his eye curls into a smirk. “YOU’RE LIKE ME! YOU’D RATHER HAVE THE PAIN THAN ALL THAT OTHER BORING STUFF.”

Dipper bats his little hands away.

“KID, I DON’T CARE. YOU DO YOU. JUST BE CAREFUL YOU DON’T KICK THE BUCKET. AGAIN. I GOT OTHER THINGS TO DO THAN DEAL WITH ALL YOUR BOO-BOOS.”

Bill vanishes with a laugh and a comical plop.

-

A couple days later Bill gives them a target, leaving it for them to decide whether they want to go after it as a team. It’s the same evening that Stan pulls up in front of Dipper’s hideout, an abandoned intergalactic gas station.

“I was just gonna hit the bar”, Stan says without looking up, as Dipper steps outside and holds up a hand to keep the setting suns from blinding him.

Dipper leans against the eye strainingly multi-colored convertible truck, courtesy of their boss. “Look, I’m sorry”, he says. He doesn’t really know what he’s apologizing for, but he’d rather just forget about all of this.

“I don’t want your fucking sorry”, Stan says, still without looking at him, and takes a deep drag from his cigar.

Dipper huffs and leans into the car a bit further. “Alright then I’m not sorry. And also fuck you.”

Stan grins and finally peeks up at Dipper over the rim of his aviators. “That’s more like it.”

“Fuck you and your shitty attitude towards me. Always hated that about every incarnation of you I met.” Dipper sighs and reaches under his cap to scratch the back of his head as he notices that… is there something approving about the way Stan looks at him? The rage recedes as quickly as it boiled up. “Whatever. Let’s just get smashed.”

“Sounds like a plan”, Stan says and hands him the cigar.

[crossroadsdimension]

Puppet AU Chapter 11

Season 3 of Twin Peaks may be starting today, but I don’t have cable. Phoo. :( But that doesn’t mean I have to keep back my angst. Heh heh.

Thanks to @howtotrainyournana for beta-reading this. We’re sitting in two separate states cursing Bill to the high heavens for what he’s done to poor Ford, and that’s not gonna stop for a long time.

In fact, it only gets worse for the Multiverse from here.

Cipher’s Messenger

Ford had been deep in sleep when he was suddenly yanked up into the air and forced into a completely upright position. His eyes snapped open in surprise as he was jarred awake.

“I SAW THAT LITTLE SPARK OF SOMETHING FROM YOU,” the Master growled in a warning tone, his eye flickering red as he glared at Ford. “I KNOW I TOOK EVERY OUNCE OF IT FROM YOU – DO YOU WANT ME TO TAKE YOUR EMOTIONS FROM YOU TOO AND LEAVE YOU A COLD HUSK? BECAUSE I CAN DO THAT, FORDSY.”

Ford swallowed at the implications of that.

The Master eyed him for a moment longer, as though expecting an answer, then left Ford drop almost to the floor before snatching him up again – in a hand this time, rather than holding Ford up using his telekinetic power. “YOU’RE NOTHING TO ME. LESS THAN NOTHING, EVEN. I WOULD HAVE THOUGHT THAT HAD ALREADY GOTTEN INTO YOUR HEAD, FORD, CONSIDERING HOW YOU’VE BEEN ACTING.”

The Master squeezed, causing Ford to wince as his ribs ached in response to the tightness of the Master’s fingers. His ears flicked back against his head as he gritted his teeth.

The Master squeezed a little more tightly. “HAVE YOU EVER MET ANY OF YOUR COUNTERPARTS, STANFORD?”

“S-some, Master.” Ford gasped for air.

“HOW MANY? AND DON’T COUNT THE TWO WHO WERE IN HERE EARLIER.”

“Three. W-we separated as soon as we caught sight of each other.”

Ford didn’t see the need to say why. He was sure the Master already knew of the reason.

“THAT’S NOT AS MANY AS I WOULD HAVE LIKED TO HEAR. WELL, EITHER WAY, YOU’RE GOING TO BE MEETING A LOT MORE!” The Master loosened his grip on Ford, causing him to hack and cough as he desperately tried to get some air back into his lungs. “BEFORE I CAN SEND YOU OUT THOUGH, MY LITTLE MESSENGER, THERE’S A FEW THINGS THAT I NEED TO MAKE SURE YOU REMEMBER BEFORE YOU COULD END UP MESSING THIS UP. FIRST OFF, THE ONLY THING YOU’RE GOING TO BE DOING IS GOING IN THERE, TAKING YOUR COUNTERPART FROM THE BOUNTY HUNTERS, AND GETTING BACK HERE. MINIMAL TALKING, JUST CONFIRM THAT YOUR COUNTERPART IS THE GUY YOU’RE SUPPOSED TO BE PICKING UP, WHAT DIMENSION HE’S FROM, AND WHAT THE ME WHO WANTS HIM IS OFFERING AS A REWARD. WITH ME SO FAR?”

Ford nodded.

“GOOD. AND MAKE SURE THAT YOU DON’T TRY TO QUESTION MY ORDERS, FORDSY. I CAN LET YOU GO BRAIN DEAD AGAIN FOR A WHILE IF THAT DOESN’T SINK IN.” The Master eyed Ford for a moment before continuing, “AND DON’T TELL YOUR COUNTERPARTS ANYTHING. I DON’T WANT THEM GETTING ANY IDEAS AND THINKING THEY CAN GET OUT OF HERE.”

Ford bowed his head in response to that. “Yes, Master. Understood.”

“EXCELLENT.” The Master’s eye crinkled in approval. “THE BOUNTY HUNTERS HAVE ALREADY COME UP WITH SOMETHING. YOU’RE GOING TO GO GET YOUR COUNTERPART AND COME BACK. REMEMBER WHAT I TOLD YOU!”

The Master raised another hand and snapped his fingers, and instantly Ford’s vision swirled as the Master’s other hand let him go. In seconds, he felt and heard the crunch of rocky soil under his feet. His ribs still ached a little, but that wasn’t the focus of Ford’s attention.

“What the he—“

The blue troll standing next to the stocky, red-faced pig-creature knocked his companion over the head. “Don’t swear in front of this guy! He’s from Cipher directly!”

The pig-faced male alien rubbed the top of his head between a pair of horn-like ears and glared at the troll. “I’ll swear if I like! I don’t care if this guy works for that triangle!” He looked back at Ford. “You’re here to pick him up?”

“I am,” Ford replied with a curt nod.

The pig-faced alien nodded. “He’s over here with the rest of the caravan. I‘ve had ‘im in my line-up for the last couple of days. Don’t know what dimension he belongs in, though, so I can’t tell what kinda reward I’m getting’ fer him.” He motioned for Ford to follow him, and he started towards a low, temporary structure that looked like a tarp being held up by thick sticks of something similar to bamboo. Sitting under it to protect themselves from the hot sun that was beating down on the desert landscape were men, women, and children, all chained together in a long line.

Ford knew what that meant.

Slavers.

Under normal circumstances, he was sure that his counterpart would have managed to find a way to get away eventually – though it depended on his age and experience, not to mention how much sanity he may have managed to hold onto between dimensions and mental attacks.

A twinge of sorrow rose up for a moment, but Ford pushed it back down. The Master probably wouldn’t approve of any emotional turmoil.

“There he is. He’s been giving me trouble for the last couple of days, so I’ve been cuttin’ back on his rations.” The pig-faced alien motioned to a figure curled up on the ground at the back of the chained slaves, using a ragged, torn trench coat that clearly looked like it had seen better days as a blanket. “Have ‘ta hide sleeping drugs in his water ta get him ta sleep; he figured out that I’m doin’ it, so I’ve been forcin’ it down his throat.”

The curled form shifted slightly, deep breathing growing ragged suddenly. Then the figure uncurled suddenly and sat upright, bloodshot eyes wide and looking around quickly before focusing on Ford.

Ford’s ear twitched when he saw the panicked look in his counterpart’s eyes, the unkempt look of his hair, his clothes. Vaguely, he remembered that he had once been in that state himself.

Right when he had been spat out of his portal and into the Nightmare Realm.

“Wh-what—“ Stanford stared at Ford as he stumbled over his words.

“So yer gonna take this guy and bring me back my reward, right?” the pig-alien asked. He snorted through his nose at the cloud of dust that Stanford had kicked up as a result of his sudden movement.

Ford nodded. “If you’re not sure of what dimension he came from, it will take some time.”

“So long as I get what I deserve for giving you this guy, that’s fine,” the pig-alien grunted in reply. “If ya need it, tell Cipher that he can find me – Baron – in Dimension 64+.”

“If the Master asks for it, I’ll be sure to inform him,” Ford replied.

Stanford blinked blankly at that as Baron grabbed the chain that connected him to the other captives and worked at the lock that was connected to his manacles. His eyes widened further in the moments following as both Ford’s and Baron’s words settled into his head. “W-wait – no! You don’t know what you’re doing! He’s evil! He’s going to destroy the universe! He could destroy your own universe if you let him!”

Ford didn’t answer as he grabbed the chain that connected the manacles on Stanford’s wrists in one hand and grabbed his left arm in another, digging his claw-like nails into the worn material of the trench coat.

He half-expected the universe to collapse right then and there, but everything remained constant and moving. Either he had been misinformed about the state a universe would be in when two counterparts came into contact with each other, or Cipher had done something to him to prevent that from occurring.

Baron let out a bark of laughter. “Like I could care less if it’s your universe! It’s good money!”

The troll, who had been sourly watching from nearby, joined in with the laughter. “Yeah! If it puts food on the table and lets you live comfortably, who cares what he does with you?” He grinned at Ford, showing off his shark teeth. “Pleasure doin’ business with ya.”

Ford gave a curt nod in response, then started half-leading, half-dragging his counterpart back to the point that he had arrived in this dimension, Stanford digging his heels into the rocky dirt and screaming at him to come to his senses.

“Stop this!” Stanford begged as they reached a circular spot of scorched earth. “Working with Cipher will only bring you ill will! He will tear you apart if he hasn’t already! Let me go! Let me find a way to stop him! Please!”

Ford’s ears flicked back at Stanford’s screaming, desperate voice, muffling his counterpart’s voice. Hearing his ranting was making him think back to when he had been this desperate and goddamn it, it certainly wasn’t helping when he already knew he had no choice.

As soon as Ford stepped onto the charred circle of earth, his vision shifted again, momentarily shimmering with a multitude of colors before fading back to the dark, dark black bricks that made up the walls and floor of the Fearamid.

Stanford trembled under Ford’s hand as he looked around the Fearamid with wide eyes, face paling. “Wh-where – n-n-no! No no no no no!”

“OH HO, THEY FOUND AN EARLY ONE! IMPRESSIVE!”

Ford stood at attention as the Master rose from his throne and approached them. His counterpart stopped yelling and stared in horror at the triangle, his eyes quickly moving – no doubt trying to find a way out of his present situation.

“SO, WHERE’S THIS ONE FROM?” The Master asked, shrinking down and looking close at Stanford, who glared back and gritted his teeth in defiance. There was still a spark of fear dancing in his eyes.

“The one who found him wasn’t sure of my counterpart’s native dimension,” Ford replied evenly.

“HMPH. WELL, THAT’S A SHAME – WOULD HAVE MADE MY JOB OF FINDING THE RIGHT ME EASIER. NO IDEA WHAT THE AWARD IS, EITHER?”

“No, Master.”

The Master folded his arms in front of himself and shook back and forth, miming the shake of a head. “WELL, AT LEAST I HAVE A TIME PERIOD TO WORK WITH. HOW’D THEY FIND HIM?”

“The one who found him is a slaver; he had no doubt captured my counterpart with the initial intent to sell him.”

Stanford tried to pull away from Ford suddenly, digging his feet into the floor as best he could in an attempt to try to get some traction and run like heck. Ford’s grip on his arm only tightened in retaliation, drawing blood and causing Stanford to cry out in pain.

“EASY THERE, FORDSY.” The Master wagged a finger. “DON’T WANT TO DAMAGE THE MERCHANDISE TOO MUCH.”

Stanford froze at that, and he turned sharply to look at Ford with a wide-eyed expression as Ford’s grip relaxed slightly. “What—“

“TAKE HIM TO ONE OF THE CELLS AND KEEP AN EYE ON HIM. TAKE FEZ WITH YOU. TALK IF YOU FEEL LIKE IT, BUT WATCH HOW YOU WORD THINGS – CAN’T HAVE YOU GIVING AWAY TOO MUCH OF WHAT COULD HAVE BEEN HIS FUTURE, SO KEEP IT VAGUE. I’M GOING TO FIND WHERE THIS GUY CAME FROM.” The Master tapped Stanford’s forehead with a finger, then moved back and vanished in a bright flash of power.

Ford looked around as Stanford continued to stare at him with a horrified expression. He spotted Stan rising to his feet from where he sat at the foot of the Master’s throne and nodded slightly as Stan started towards them.

“You know where he wants ‘im?” Stan asked, eyeing Stanford as he got close.

Ford nodded curtly in response, then turned and started out of the throne room without another word.

Stan moved up to fall into step with Ford on his left side, as Ford’s grip on Stanford had forced him to Ford’s right. “He gives ya permission ta talk and ya don’t give me a verbal answer?”

“I don’t feel as though it is required,” Ford replied.

“Yeah, well, that’s you.” Stan snorted.

Stanford turned his head to looked over at Stan, eyes wide. “St-Stanley?” He tried to stop, but Ford pushed him in the back and caused Stanford to stumble forward and keep moving along with them.

Stan looked over at Stanford, mulling the younger version of his brother over. His mouth twitched, almost as though he was going to smile, only to decide against it. “Yeah.”

Stanford shook his head slowly, taking in the gray hair, the triangle tattoos that circled Stan’s neck, his wrists. “Why are you doing this? You should have seen Cipher for the liar he is, even if I couldn’t!” He tried to motion to Ford as he said this, but his wrists were still chained together by the chain in Ford’s grip, so he ended up making a half-shrugging motion instead.

Stan shook his head. “Can’t tell ya.”

“Why not?!”

“Three-angled an’ yellow zipped our mouths shut on that. Can’t say anythin’ more on the subject.”

Stanford’s head jerked back at that as he paled abruptly. “You mean you – you’re taking orders from him?! He is going to destroy your universe as you know it!”

Stan’s expression darkened. “Where do you think we are?”

Stanford opened his mouth to respond to that, staring at Stan with wide eyes. Then he looked around at the long, black hallway that they were walking through, catching sight of a window that opened out to the red sky outside and the multicolored “X” that tore straight through it. “Oh no…no no no no no!” He tried to dig his heels into the smooth stone floor, twisting his body in an attempt to get out of Ford’s grip, but Ford wasn’t about to let go so easily. “You may have given up on saving your universe, but I still can save mine and prevent this from happening to any other universe! Let me go!”

Ford said nothing in response, instead shifting his grip from Stanford’s arm to his shoulder and pushing even harder in order to keep Stanford moving in the direction of the prison cells in the Fearamid.

“Why won’t you let me face our common enemy?!” Stanford roared. His voice broke a little, which was the only hint at the fact that Stanford was probably more terrified than anything else at the moment. “You tried to beat him before, didn’t you?! You have to know of a way that could possibly—“

“Enough,” Ford growled, kicking his counterpart in the backs of his knees and sending him crashing to the floor before planting a foot on his back to keep Stanford from getting up. “Stanley, we’re here.”

“Yeah, I could have guessed,” Stan grumbled as he looked at the black steel bars that made up the doors of the cells that lined the hall. “Does it matter which one we put him in?”

“The Master simply said to put him in one and keep an eye on him; he didn’t specify as to where.”

Stan grunted, then grabbed the door on his left and pulled it open all the way. “Stick him in this one, then.”

Ford reached down and pulled Stanford to his feet again, noting that his counterpart was still struggling, but his movements were weaker and more sluggish than they had been. Obviously, Stanford’s exhaustion was catching up with him.

As a result, Ford was forced to drag Stanford into his cell, where Stanley grabbed the chain that connected the manacles on Stanford’s wrists and hung them up on a hook that happened to be conveniently sticking out of the wall, high enough above Stanford’s head that he wouldn’t be able to unhook the chain so easily.

Stan ended up taking it a step further by bending the hook into a near ring-like shape. He then stepped back and looked down at where Stanford was slumped on the floor.

“So, this is what we’re reduced to, huh?” Stan looked at Ford as he motioned to the slightly-dazed Stanford in front of them. “Letting other Ciphers do who knows what to other yous?”

Ford’s ears drooped a little at that, but it was a hardly noticeable movement. “Certainly seems that way.”

Stan scowled. “’Seems’ nothing. We’re bein’ turned inta a glorified delivery service and you know it.”

“And do you really expect me to question that?” Ford’s eyes narrowed as his twin tails lashed behind him. “After what the Master last ordered me?”

“Question him aloud, no. In your head, maybe.” Stan walked over and poked Ford in the chest, his scowl turning into more of a glare. “Aren’t science-y types like you supposed to question everything?”

Ford pushed his brother’s hand away. “Not anymore. The Master isn’t making use of me for science, I’m sure you’ve noticed that. And if that’s what he intends to do with me, then that’s it.”

“That’s it?” Stan repeated, balking. “Yer jus’ givin’ up? Just like that?”

Ford’s ears flicked back a little. “I’d like to see you try to come up with other options.” He moved outside of the cell and took up a position next to the door, moving his hands behind his back and clasping his elbows.

Stan followed him out and shut the door of the cell behind them. “You could hold onto yer anger at ‘im.”

“And what would the point of that be?” Ford frowned at Stan, irritated.

“Well, it shows ya don’ like yer situation, fer one thing. An’ fer another it’ll keep yer head on straight an’ help ya hold onta the fact that yer still human—“

“But we’re not.”

Stan frowned at Ford. “So?”

Ford sighed and shook his head, then turned his attention to the empty cell on the other side of the hall. “The Master said we’re less than nothing to him. He even changed us so that we can’t claim to still be human. We may still appear that way, but we’re not. You eat those you would have once called your ‘fellow man’.”

Stan shifted uncomfortably at that, but he said nothing.

Ford sighed again and bowed his head, shaking it slightly. “All we can do is obey the Master’s orders. There’s nothing else for us.”

Stan opened his mouth to respond to that, then paused. His brow furrowed. Then he shook his head and leaned back against the wall on the other side of the cell door, folding his arms across his chest. “Well, if that’s how you wanna deal with it, then fine. I’m not plannin’ on lettin’ go, though.”

Ford didn’t answer. He didn’t even so much as flinch when his counterpart started yelling at him again through the cell door.

“Coward!” Stanford yelled. “Where’s your conviction to defeat him? Where’s your sense of humanity?!”

Gone, Ford could have said. Along with my willpower and any choice I might have had in my fate.

Instead, he said nothing, simply closing his eyes and taking the verbal barrage, letting it slide over him and drudge up memories of his own time in the portal. Something in him tried to cause his eyes to water in response to his memories of his stubbornness, his determination.

In response, Ford only pushed them down, deeper into himself, mentally locking them away and leaving him feeling cold, hollow, and empty.

Stan saw the emotion drain from Ford’s face, eyes widening, and he quickly turned to look away from him and glared at the wall on the opposite side of the hallway, thoughts burning with fury.

This guy’s gonna get what he deserves for doing this to us. I’m sure of it.