#they think stan was afraid of ford moving on to bigger and better things

[beetlbi]

GF au where Stan died/disappeared under ~mysterious~ circumstances just before breaking Fords science project. The only thing left behind was a still running perpetual motion machine and an empty bag of toffee peanuts

[orangeoctopi7]

A Negligible Price

I guess it’s becoming a tradition for me to add another chapter to A Minor Inconvenience every year for @stanuary . I swear I didn’t mean for this to happen. It’s just that the prompt “Sacrifice” got me thinking about this story and where I thought it could go, and then I got writing and I started coming up with ideas for how I could actually put a finish to this story. So yeah, hopefully it won’t be another year before I post chapter 4, but not promises!

Also, first time I’ve had to do this, but:

CONTENT WARNING: DISCUSSION OF SUICIDE/MARTYR COMPLEX AND SUIDICE ADJACENT THEMES.

* * *

Bill rushes to gather himself together again. Now that Sixer and his idiot brother have caught on, he knows they’ll probably be making a move against him soon. The time for lying in wait and keeping a low profile has passed. He’s been getting faster, better at finding the tiny flecks of gold scattered into the dark abyss below. 

Unfortunately that also means that he’s noticed that some missing pieces just never turn up. As an interdimensional being who’s existed in countless dimensions across innumerable timelines, Bill likes to think he knows himself pretty well now. What he’s made of, how much power he’s accumulated, what he’s capable of. And if he had to estimate now, which he does, he’d say he’s been reduced to maybe a third of his power. Roughly two thirds of him are missing. 

What happened to those missing pieces? Were they simply deleted by that memory eraser? Did he leave some of himself behind in that physical form he left to enter Stan’s mind in the Fearamid? Bill can only guess, but really, in the grand scheme of things, it doesn’t matter. What matters is getting out of this moron’s brain and starting again on his path to a universe free of rules.

* * *

Stan recovered from his latest memory lapse quickly, despite the fact that it was the worst one he’d experienced since he sacrificed himself to the memory gun last summer. The experience had clearly put Ford on edge, and as much as he tried to bottle up his emotions and remain calm, Stan could practically feel the panic coming off him in waves. 

They were both relieved when they reached Spitsbergen. There was a hospital in Longyearbyen, where Ford insisted they stop to give Stan a check-up. Stan felt fine, but if it helped ease Ford’s nerves, then he could sit through a check-up.

Explaining Stan’s condition to the doctor was a struggle, considering English was not his strongest language. They definitely got across that Stan was experiencing memory problems, but the doctor seemed to be under the impression it had been caused by an injury to the head in an accident, rather than a purposeful exposure to a memory-erasing device. 

Eventually, Ford had lost his patience and just asked if they could use the CT or MRI machine themselves. The doctor spoke enough English to tell them that the nearest CT or MRI machine was in either Iceland or Russia.

The elder Pines twins left the hospital in low spirits. Ford kicked at little pebbles as they walked down the street.

“There’s a research facility in Ny-Ålesund. Perhaps we could sail up there and commandeer some equipment to rig up our own CT scan…”

“I think it’d be easier to just hop on a plane back to the States at this point.” Stan suggested.

“If we’re going to hop on a plane somewhere, it’ll be to Reykjavik, where we won’t have to pay an arm and a leg for any treatments.”

“Yeah, we’ll just have to wait half a year.” Stan rolled his eyes. “I don’t think they’re gonna take ‘revived demon in my head’ as an urgent need.”

“Probably not…” Ford admitted.

“And you’re sure you didn’t figure anything else out the last time you were pokin’ around in my head?”

Ford grit his teeth. The truth was, he was afraid what would happen if he tried to revisit that memory. The cold flames of the memory eraser had felt so real, even just revisiting it in Stan’s mind, and they seemed to be the trigger of his latest memory lapse. Would they have a similar effect within Ford’s own memory?

“Nothing I’ve been able to make sense of.”

Stan grit his teeth. “So what now? Just leave that jerk in my head?”

Ford sighed. “I want to do some more research into what we’ve learned so far. Perhaps a trip to the library will help me find some insight. But truthfully… I may have been too hasty with punching out Bill, when I encountered him. He’s a liar who can’t be trusted, but he’s also a braggart. If I’d just let him run his mouth a little longer, we may have learned something about what he’s up to.”

* * *

Longyearbyen’s library wasn’t any bigger than the public library in Gravity Falls, and had significantly fewer books relating to Bill and mind magic, but it did at least have access to several library databases that Ford couldn’t typically log into from the Stan’O’War II. (According to Fiddleford, these databases could be hacked into quite easily, but Ford didn’t have the time or the wherewithal to learn how) It would have to do for now. Ford took a seat at a computer, and with a little help from a librarian, he was soon scrolling through peer-reviewed articles from different archeologists and anthropologists and folklore experts and descendants of the Aztecs and Mayans debating who Xolotl was, what his role was in the Aztec religion, how much his lore changed from Pre- and Post- Colombian invasion, and so forth. 

What he’d learned so far was interesting, to say the least. The things that most people agreed upon was that Xolotl was a god of death, fire, and lightning. What caught Ford’s attention was the fact that they were also the god of twins and deformities. He glanced down at his twelve fingers, which rested awkwardly on the small keyboard meant for people with just ten. It seemed odd that Bill would call on this particular death god, when they seemed far more likely to be a patron to Stan and Ford. 

While Ford puzzled over this new information, Stan browsed the library, looking for something to entertain himself while he waited. Unsurprisingly, there weren’t a whole lot of English books in this Norwegian library. Luckily, it wasn’t long before he stumbled upon an extensive comics section. Even though he still couldn’t read most of them, the pictures were at least enough that he got the gist of what was going on.

 European comics were very different from American comics. They featured a lot less costumed superheroes punching bad guys and a lot more weird, quirky characters setting out on adventures and exploring the world. They also seemed to lean more heavily on comedy rather than drama. Stan decided he liked them.

He’d been looking at a story about some rich duck when he noticed he felt odd. He didn’t know how else to explain it other than to say that his brain felt itchy. The more he concentrated on it, the more it faded away, but when he went back to looking at the comic and got absorbed back into the story, it came back.

After almost an hour of the feeling coming and going, Stan decided he was not imagining the sensation. He stuffed a tissue into the comic as a bookmark and got up to see what Ford would have to say about it. Almost as soon as he laid eyes on his brother, a wave of anger washed over him. Just like the itchy brain feeling, it went away almost as soon as he stopped and thought about it, but it had been so strong, that he couldn’t deny it had happened.

“Hey.” Stan tapped his brother on the shoulder as the old researcher skimmed an article about why the Aztecs associated lightning with twins.

“Hmm?” Ford acknowledged him without looking away from the screen.

“Am I forgettin’ to be mad at you about somethin’?”

That got Ford to turn and look at him. “Are you having a memory lapse!?”

“I don’t think so, but just a second ago I looked over at you and I felt really mad all of a sudden. Can’t really think of a reason why, though. I’m just wondering if maybe the other day, when I had the big blank-out, maybe we missed somethin’?”

The old researcher’s face contorted with guilt. “You have ample reason to be mad at me. I didn’t stand up for you when dad kicked you out. I never reached out to you for over ten years. I expected you to drop everything and help me with my problems without any explanation. I refused to thank you for saving my life--”

“Yeah, no, none of that stuff.” Stan shook his head. “I remember all that stuff, and I’ve already forgiven you and junk. Mmmm… did you try to enchant the mop again and not let me remember it?” But even as he joked that the underlying reason must be the latest chapter in a minor argument, he knew that couldn’t be right. The sudden bloom of anger had been much more deep-seated and horrible than that. It had felt like… it had felt like Ford had ruined everything. 

To be fair, there had been a long period of Stan’s life when he had felt like Ford had ruined everything. But Stan was over that now, and this brief brush with anger had felt even more heated than that.

Ford gave him an appraising look. “Were there any other memories or emotions associated with this feeling?”

“Oh yeah, my brain was feelin’ itchy right before that.”

“Have… you been using shampoo?” Ford asked, unsure of what to do with this information.

“Not my scalp, genius, like the actual thinking part of my brain!”

“... I can’t even begin to guess what that means.”

“Ugh, I don’t know how else to describe it, ok? It’s like somethin’ was squirmin’ around in my mind!”

The brothers wore twin expressions of realization as the words left Stan’s mouth. 

“We need to get back to the boat.” Ford stood from the computer desk abruptly.

“Yep.” Stan set the comic he’d been reading down on the desk, not even bothering to remove his improvised bookmark. 

* * *

Bill throws his hands up and roars in frustration. He can’t seem to take control, even when the moron’s mind is zoning out, losing himself in some stupid comic book. He’s already in the mind! He’s been here for months! He knows his way around here. So why isn’t it working? Is it because he never made a deal with this guy? That shouldn’t matter! The last thing they did before the whole memory gun thing was shake hands! 

There's no time to waste complaining, though. Sixer will be poking around here any minute. Bill needs a plan. Before, he'd spent millions of years in the Nightmare Realm planning. Now he's making everything up as he goes.

It's clear that Bill can't just take control of Stan like he'd been counting on. But do the other two know that? He might still be able to use that to his advantage.

If Bill is going to trick these losers and get out of here, he needs to play his opponents right. Luckily, he's got years of experience fighting against Sixer. It's the Big Mackerel that he worries about. 

Before, Bill hadn't paid much attention to Stan. He thought he understood what made the simple con man tick. But then, in the end, he found he didn't understand at all. Even after months of being trapped in his mindscape, Stan is very much still a mystery to Bill.

But there is one thing about Stan that Bill does understand.

He’s willing to sacrifice himself for his family.

* * *

Once they were back aboard the Stan’O’War II, Stan allowed himself to relax, just a little. At least here his surroundings were familiar, and the only person he had to worry about was his own brother.

Under normal circumstances, “the only person he had to worry about” meant he didn’t have to look over his shoulder for law enforcement or old criminals who might recognize Stan from his drifter days. 

Today “the only person he had to worry about” meant the only person he could possibly endanger if Bill was able to take control of him. Ford was the last person Stan wanted to put in danger, but he also had to admit, his brother knew more about the demon than any other living being on the planet. 

Stan may have been able to relax a tiny fraction once they were back aboard their boat, but not Ford. Ford was in full-blown panic mode.

He frantically searched around the storage room for something, anything, that could help protect his brother from Bill. Unfortunately, they hadn’t thought to bring unicorn hair or moonstones on their voyage. He did have titanium, but he wasn’t confident enough in his emergency medical knowledge to perform cranial surgery on his own, and he doubted they’d be able to find a doctor crooked enough to do it for them. Currently, his best idea was to build an updated version of Project Mentem, but that would take time. Time he wasn’t sure Stan had.

“I can re-enter your mindscape and shatter him again.” Ford decided, pulling out the candles again. “That should at least buy you a few days.”

“Ok.” Stan nodded. He’d definitely prefer to know Bill was shattered again, and not moving around in his brain. “But it’s not like he’s doing anything right now.”

“He’s probably trying to get us to lower our guard.” Ford assumed. “I’ll need to tie you up. He usually makes his move while his victim is asleep.”

“If I need to fall asleep for your spell while tied up, we’re gonna be waitin’ a long time.” Stan warned. “I dunno if I could even fall asleep right now if I had the world’s most comfortable bed.”

“Fair point.” Ford nodded. “I may have to drug you.”

“You gotta be kidding me!” It was abundantly clear that Ford was not kidding in the slightest.

“Would you rather be used as his puppet!?” The old researcher shouted. The outburst rang in the air for a few seconds while Ford tried to steady his breathing. “Stan I… I’m sorry, I just--”

“It’s ok.” Stan pulled him into a hug and tried his best to calm his brother down. “I know you’re just scared.”

“I’m not scared for myself.” Ford explained in a small voice. “I’m scared for you. Waking up to find that you’ve hurt someone, it’s-- I wouldn’t wish that on anyone, least of all you--”

“Stanford, look at me. We’re not gonna let that happen. What if we do it while I’m awake, like we did with the memory before?”

Ford nodded meekly. “That… that could work.”

“You can still tie me up if that makes you feel better.”

The old researcher bit his lip. “...It shouldn't be necessary...”

“Ford.”

“...But it probably would ease some of my fears, yes.” he admitted.

“That’s what I thought. I’ll go get the rope.”

Still unwilling to let his brother out of his sight, Ford followed Stan up to the deck while he retrieved said rope. Once they were back below deck, he wrapped Stan tightly in a large blanket before sitting him down on a chair and tying him up, to ensure he was as comfortable as possible while still restricting his movement.

“How do you feel?” Ford asked as he lit the candles.

“Like I’m about to be shipped back to Oregon in the mail.”

“And Bill…?”

“I haven’t felt anything else from him since we left the library.”

The lack of activity should have reassured Ford, but instead it just added to his general unease. At least he was able to compose himself enough to perform the incantation.

Just as last time, after a flash of light, he found himself on the deck of Stan’s mindscape, with Stan himself standing beside him. This time, though, Bill was floating there, waiting for them.

“I KNEW YOU’D BE BACK HERE AFTER I GOT YOUR ATTENTION IN THE LIBRARY!” The demon taunted. “OH, AND LOOK. STANO HERE EVEN MADE A MENTAL CONSTRUCT OF HIMSELF WITHIN HIS OWN MIND JUST SO YOU WOULDN’T HAVE TO FACE ME ALONE! HOW CUTE!” He prodded Stan in the stomach like he was the Pillsbury Doughboy.

“Back off, bucko!” Stan threatened. “We’re here to break your whole face!”

“WHAT, YOU COULDN’T WAIT UNTIL TONIGHT TO DO IT IN YOUR DREAMS LIKE YOU ALWAYS DO?” Bill asked, voice dripping with false innocence. 

“We’re not able to risk the chance of you parading about in Stanley’s body.” Ford growled.

“HA! YOU SHOULD KNOW BETTER THAN ANYONE, FORDSY, I ONLY DO THAT TO STUBBORN KNOW-IT-ALLS WHO WON’T WORK WITH ME WILLINGLY.”

“If you think I’m gonna work with you willingly, then you’re an even bigger idiot than I thought.” Stan grunted.

“HEAR ME OUT, MAC! WE BOTH WANT THE SAME THING HERE! ME, OUT OF YOUR SAD PATHETIC MIND!”

“You can’t leave!?” Ford asked in surprise.

“WHAT, YOU THINK I ENJOY SPENDING TIME IN THIS BOZO’S MIND? YOU THINK I WAS PLOTTING MY REVENGE?”

“Honestly, yes.”

Bill gave a long, mocking laugh. “AHAHAHAHAHA! YOU REALLY THINK I CARE ABOUT A COUPLE OF INSIGNIFICANT FLESH SACKS LIKE YOU?”

“We’re the insignificant flesh sacks who killed you!” Stan reminded him.

“WELL, YOU KNOW WHAT THEY SAY. THE BEST REVENGE IS LIVING WELL.”

The brothers exchanged a suspicious glance. They highly doubted Bill actually believed that adage.

“BUT I CAN’T EXACTLY LIVE WELL TRAPPED IN YOUR MINDSCAPE. I MIGHT GET BORED AND DECIDE THE BEST REVENGE IS KILLING YOUR ENTIRE FAMILY WITH YOUR OWN HANDS.”

Ah yes, that was more along the lines of what they expected from Bill.

“So you’re saying you’ll just let bygones be bygones if I cooperate with you?” Stan asked skeptically. 

“WE’LL GO OUR SEPARATE WAYS, NEVER TO MEET AGAIN!”

“And what are you planning on doing once you’re free?” Ford asked coldly.

“NONE OF YOUR BUSINESS, SIXER.” The demon waved him off. “NOW ARE YOU GONNA HELP ME OUT OF HERE OR NOT? THE SOONER THE BETTER. YOU TWO AREN’T GETTING ANY FURTHER AWAY FROM THE AVERAGE LIFE EXPECTANCY OF A HUMAN MALE, AND FISH FACE HERE DOESN'T EXACTLY TAKE GOOD CARE OF HIS BODY.”

“Hey!” Stan shouted indignantly.

“Why should Stan’s life expectancy factor into this?” Ford asked.

“HMMM? OH, NO REASON.” Bill said evasively. “I’M JUST, Y’KNOW, IN A HURRY.”

“You’re an immortal, extradimensional being. You’ve been trying to find a way out of the nightmare realm since before multicellular life developed on this planet. If you’re so sure we’re close to the end of our lives, why not wait until we’re out of the way? You must realize we’ll try and stop you from starting Weirdmaggedon again!” Ford reasoned.

“WHO SAID ANYTHING ABOUT STARTING WEIRDMAGGEDON AGAIN?” Bill denied. “AND MAYBE AFTER A BILLION YEARS, I’M TIRED OF WAITING!”

“Unless you aren’t immortal any more.” the old researcher concluded.

“YOU’VE SEEN FOR YOURSELF, FORDSY, EVERY TIME YOU OR YOUR IDIOT BROTHER SHATTER ME, I PULL MYSELF BACK TOGETHER.”

“Immortal in the mind, perhaps. But what happens when the mind you’re occupying finally dies?”

“ALRIGHT, YOU FIGURED IT OUT!” Bill sneered. “I SHOULD HAVE KNOWN A GENIUS LIKE YOU WOULD. YEAH, MY LIFE’S TIED TO THE BIG MACKEREL’S NOW. SO WHAT? YOU GONNA KILL YOUR BROTHER JUST TO GET RID OF ME?”

“Of course not!” Ford barked.

“Hey, I’d be more than happy to take you down with me if it meant making sure you never hurt anyone else ever again!” Stan challenged the demon.

Ford stared at his brother with wide eyes. “Stanley, no!”

“Hey, relax, I’m not talkin’ suicide or anything.” Stan assured him. “But he’s right about one thing. I’m not gonna live forever.”

I’ll only do it if I have to. A stray thought cawed overhead.

Stan cussed under his breath as Ford gaped at him with a mix of alarm and pity.

“I’m not gonna take it back.” Stan insisted after a moment. “If that’s what it comes down to, to keep him from hurtin’ you or the kids, then I’m taking him down with me.”

Ford placed his hands firmly on Stan’s shoulders and looked him straight in the eye with all the intensity he could muster. “We won’t let that happen!” 

Bill laughed at them cruelly. “RIGHT, CUZ YOU’VE HAD SO MUCH SUCCESS STOPPING ME IN THE PAST.”

“I’ll find some other way!” Ford insisted.

“I’M SURE YOU COULD, WITH TIME.” Bill agreed. “BUT I’M GONNA STRANGLE YOU IN YOUR SLEEP BEFORE THEN!”

Not if I strangle myself first! Another one of Stan’s stray thoughts called.

Ford gave his brother a frustrated shake. “No! Stanley, I swear to you, that won’t be necessary!”

“Alright, that’s it. We’re not havin’ this conversation in my brain, where you can hear all my unprocessed thoughts.” Stan decided.

Suddenly, Ford’s form and everything around them flickered and began to fade to white. Stan and Bill were the only ones who remained solid and whole. Stan was waking up? But he’d never been asleep before the spell in the first place!

“Don’t you try any funny business!” Stan pointed an accusing finger at Bill. “I’m coming back to shatter you into a million smaller pieces as soon as I fall asleep tonight!”

[thepeanutbutterwizard]

Precipice Chapter 6: Stood on a Hill

Chapter 5       Chapter 7

Whew!  This is the longest chapter yet, and it was a doozy to write.  I wasn’t intending for it to be this long, or end where it does.  But I got to a good stopping place for it.

Enjoy!

The first thing Ford noticed was the unusual cold.  Physical sensations didn’t technically exist in the Mindscape, they were all imagined, for lack of a better term.  It should be impossible for Ford to feel...anything like a physical climate.  It greatly unnerved Ford.

The next thing that set Ford’s nerves on end was the haziness of everything in Stanley’s mindscape.  Everything was draped in a thick fog, thicker in some spots than in others.  The thinnest patches only revealed blurry half images of what was in Stanley’s Mindscape, like Ford wasn’t wearing his glasses.  It made his eyes ache.

Ford peered through the fog, catching sight of a looming object in the distance.  It seemed like as good a place as any to start searching for Bill.  Ford moved forward, keeping his eyes fixed on the structure ahead of him in the swirling fog.  He couldn’t tell what it was, but in the pulsating blur Ford was afraid he would lose sight of it.

There was a muffled clang as Fords head collided with something metal.  With a grunt he reeled back, whipping his attention in the direction of the object his head had just become acquainted with. Ford reached out blindly into the fog, and his knuckles brushed the object.  He grabbed it, and a small patch of fog cleared around Ford and the object as he focused on it. 

A swing set, both foreign and familiar to Ford, sat derelict in Stanley’s Mindscape.  The metal frame was rusted and twisted, bent as if a large weight had been trying to topple it.  One of the wooden seats was hanging by one rope, and even that one was worn and fraying. The wood was split and rotting, eaten away by insects and the elements.  But even more jarring was the other seat.  It was in pristine condition; the ropes were strong and stiff, and the seat looked like it had a fresh coat of paint on it.

A small, sad sigh snuck its way out of Ford. The noise was muffled, reaching Fords ears like it was coming to him underwater.  Nostalgia and sorrow nipped at him, but he pushed the distracting feelings away.  He had to find Bill, and time was wasting.  Ford walked briskly away from the swings, not looking back as the fog almost immediately swallowed them up again.  He concentrated for a moment and felt a weight form in his hand as an industrial flashlight appeared in it.

He turned it on, and although the flashlight did little to cut through the fog, Ford caught sight of something reflecting the light.  He moved toward it, and it wasn’t long before the toes of his boots collided with something. The fog cleared around the structure, and Ford gaped at what he saw.  A twisted, grayscale version of the Mystery Shack.  The letters on the roof were hanging precariously, and as Ford watched one fell, crashing to the ground.  A large crack formed on the ground under it, and to Fords horror the crack crept up the wall of the Mystery Shack.  Bright light and muffled sound eked out of the crack for a moment, before fading away.  Ford caught sight of many other cracks, large and small, covering the walls and roof of the building.

His brothers Mindscape was barely holding itself together.  A burst of fear propelled Ford up the porch steps.  He had to hurry, before Bill followed through with his threat.  He hesitated briefly before shouldering through the front door, and Ford was taken aback by the confusing mess of doors, hallways, and staircases that filled the building.  More cracks lined the walls, and many of the staircases looked like they could come crashing down at any moment.  The inside was bigger than the outside, and Ford felt despair well up inside of him.  “How am I going to search this whole place?”  He murmured.  Ford took a breath and turned dashing up the nearest staircase.  Best to start from the top.  I’ll improvise as I go.

The staircase was a dead end, leading out to empty air.  Ford bit back a curse as he spun on his heel, looking around for anywhere he could go. A nearby staircase to his right caught his attention.  It led to a landing high above Fords head, with something glowing with a soft golden light at the top.  Ford briefly eyed the distance between where he stood and the other staircase, before climbing over the banister.  He jumped, keeping his eyes fixed on his chosen landing spot.

Ford crashed through the banister on the other stairs, the wood rotten and crumbling beneath him.  The whole staircase groaned and swayed, and Ford held his breath until it settled.  He didn’t know what would happen to him if he were to become injured in the Mindscape, but he intended to avoid finding out.  He scrambled up the stairs as soon as he was sure they were no longer in danger of collapsing.

With a groan, Ford sat next to the door at the top of the landing.  The banister had caught him in the stomach when he jumped, leaving a sore spot and winding him slightly.  He rested just a few seconds before pulling himself to his feet, turning his attention to the mysterious door.  The warm light gave off a wave of comfort, contrasting with the rest of Stanley’s Mindscape.  A sign above the door had the word HOPES painted on it.  This would be an ideal target for Bill Ford thought, but he still hesitated before opening the door.  He was invading his brother’s privacy, looking into his thoughts like this.  But he had no other choice, so he quietly opened the door, holding his breath as to what he would see.

The Portal room, exactly as it was the night Ford returned to his home dimension, except this time Ford was an observer, the door he was watching through tucked over in the shadows by the emergency shut off keys.  The kids and Soos were standing in the corner, watching as Stanley picked himself up off the floor and moved toward the Ford that had just came out of the Portal.

“Finally! After all these long years of waiting, you're actually here! Brother!”  Stan’s arms were open wide, and this time Ford could hear the joy in his voice.  His stomach dropped when he thought of what happened next; the punch that would wipe the smile off of his brothers face, the arguing, the-

“You did it Stanley!”  The Ford in the false Portal room called out, and the smile on his face rivaled Stanley’s.  “I knew you could.”  The two brothers embraced, clinging tightly to each other.

“Stanford, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry fer everything.”  There was a crack in the false Stanley’s voice as he started to pull out of the hug, only for his brother to tighten his grip and pull him back.

“I know Stanley, I forgive you.”  The false Ford said.  “Thank you for bringing me ba-” Heart pounding in his throat, Ford slammed the door shut, then turned and dashed down the rotting staircase, leaving the reunion and the hug that had never happened behind him.  At least, he tried to.  The image of the heartfelt hug seemed to have burned itself into Fords mind, like the after image from a cameras flash.  One of the steps split under Fords boot, and he tumbled down the rest of the stairs.

Thirty years of instinct had Ford curling into a ball and rolling down the steps before his mind could even register what had happened.  The stairs ended and Ford skidded across the floor, crashing to a stop into a wall. He lay there, stunned, his whole body starting to throb, but he barely felt it.  Ford clamped one hand over his eyes, scrubbing at them furiously.  All he wanted was a little gratitude.  Ford thought as his stomach started to churn.  If I had just done that, we wouldn’t be in this mess in the first place.

”OH MAN FORDSY, THAT WAS ENTERTAINING!  QUITE THE FALL.”  Fords blood ran cold at the voice.  He sprang to his feet despite his bodies protests.  Bill was hovering over Fords head, glowing a sickening yellow in the shadows cast by the twisting labyrinth of Stanley’s Mindscape.

“Bill!”  Ford’s pulse pounded in his ears.  His voice still sounded muffled and warped, but Bills was as loud and clear as always.

”YEP, IT’S ME.”  The demon swung his cane around one wrist.  “GOTTA SAY, I DIDN’T EXPECT TO SEE THE REAL YOU IN HERE SMART GUY.  BUT HEY, IF YOU THINK THIS CHUMP IS WORTH ALL THIS EFFORT, THAT’S YOUR PROBLEM BUDDY.”

“Leave my-” Ford started to say.

“LEAVE MY BROTHER ALONE.” Bill mocked, rolling his eye.  “GET OUT OF HIS HEAD.  BLAH, BLAH, BLAH.  SERIOUSLY SIXER, YOU’RE STARTING TO SOUND LIKE A BROKEN RECORD.”  He straightened his bow tie.  “IT’S REALLY STARTING TO GET BORING.  AND ANYWAYS, I REALLY CAN’T HAVE YOU MESSING WITH ANYTHING IN HERE, SO,” The demon snapped his fingers, and the floor beneath Fords feet vanished.  “SEE YA ‘ROUND SIXER!”

Ford shouted in distress as he fell, trying to find something to cling to, when he crashed through something solid and slammed into the hard ground.  The wind was knocked out of his lungs, and for a moment he lay in a puddle of dingy light, his lungs clenched tight.  With a small cough, air rushed back into him, and Ford got an elbow underneath him.  He propped himself up, looking at the hallway he was in as best he could.

The whole hall was shrouded in shadows, making it look longer than was.  Doors lined both sides, some with light peeking out from under them, some with windows in them. Ford saw more cracks lining the walls, with grey light eking out and giving the whole hall a sick feeling.  He pushed himself to his feet, and one ankle almost buckled under him.  It didn’t feel like a break, just a sprain.  A bad one, but he could still walk.

“HAVE FUN IN THERE STANFORD!”  Bill’s voice echoed from everywhere, making Ford jump. The hole above him closed, plunging the hall into darkness.  The wavering light coming from some of the doors wasn’t enough for Ford to see by. He limped forward, reaching out for one of the walls and running his hand along it to guide himself.  His hand ran over a doorjamb, and Ford stopped, turning toward the door he couldn’t see.

Ford’s hand curled into a fist, and dread curdled in his gut.  As much as he didn’t want to, Ford knew he had to open it.  He had to find Bill, and throw him out of Stanley’s mind.  Even though Ford had no clear plan on how he would do that at the moment.  He grit his teeth and pulled the door open.

Ford saw a tiny road-side diner, not one anywhere near Gravity Falls or anywhere Ford could recognize.  Two cars were parked outside, dirty little non-descript things, and the whole thing had a grainy filter over it.  As Ford watched one of the cars shook, violently.  It gave another lurch, and then one more before the trunk popped open and someone rolled out landing on his hands and knees, coughing and hacking.

Even through the stringy hair and the blood running down his chin, Ford could see it was a young Stanley, maybe twenty-five years old.  He spat, and in the light coming from the diner windows Ford saw two, maybe three bloody teeth bounce against the blacktop.  ‘-I had to chew my way out of the trunk of a car-’

Stanley shot up on his knees, chest heaving, gaze darting around like a startled animal.  He reached up, shutting the trunk as quietly as he could and using it to pull himself to his feet.  Stanley stumbled into the woods, dropping to his knees twice and spitting blood as he went. The scene went still for a moment, before the car shook and the scene restarted.  Ford shut the door before he could see anything more.

Ford went through every door in the hall, but he didn’t stay around long enough to watch every scene play out anymore. He held the doors open just long enough to look for Bill before slamming them closed and moving on; but that didn’t stop Ford from seeing more than he wanted to.  Every scene behind every door had a corrupted look to them; like looking through dirty glass, or like there with almost invisible hairline fractures on Fords glasses.

It didn’t take long for Ford to realize that this hall didn’t hold Stanley’s memories.  One door had a scene with Ford and the kids sailing on Gravity Falls Lake while Stanley slowly sank in a tiny rowboat.  Another door led to a windy cliff, high above some lake.  One door sent chills up Fords spine; an image of Filbrick Pines, arms crossed disapprovingly and the light glinting off of his sunglasses.  As Ford limped out of the hallway and into the relatively brighter parts of Stanley’s Mindscape, he could see the sign over the doorway.  It had one word on it: FEARS.

Ford leaned over the railing in front of him, and caught sight of another hallway a few staircases down.  The sign above this hall read MEMORIES.  Scowling, Ford limped towards the nearest staircase leading down.  He hit three dead-ends and something wrapped around his ankles and tripped him half a dozen times, but eventually Ford stumbled into the memory hallway, sore and on-edge, but determined.  He fell into a routine after that, limping through each hall, poking his head into any door he found to look for Bill, and closing them as quickly as he could.

He could barely look at some memories he found, of Stan in prison, or trying to stay warm in his car on snowy nights, or lying sick on the floor in the Portal room with a fever, struggling to keep his eyes open.  But every now and then, Ford found a good memory, one that made a tiny seed of something warm grow in Fords stomach.  Stan singing karaoke with the kids, or taking a young Soos to get ice cream, or even just a few times when Stan fell asleep watching the T.V. with the kids curled up on either side of him.  Ford had to force himself to move along when he saw one of the happy memories.

After far too long spent searching, countless memories looked through, Ford was losing his patients.  With a growl, he punched the door he had just closed; a memory of Stanley getting paid for a tour with a goat kid of all things.  Pain bloomed in his knuckles.  This isn’t working!  He thought, crushing his rising panic with anger.  Ford needed something specific to look for, some idea of a memory Bill would- That’s it!  Ford snapped his fingers and set off down the hall as fast as he could.  If he could just find it, Ford knew what memory Bill was in: more likely than not, it would be the same memory where Bill had made his first deal with Stanley. The night that Stanley was kicked out.

But Ford hadn’t seen any sign of that memory, or any memories from Glass Shard Beach for that matter.  Lying about his identity for thirty years must have caused Stanley to subconsciously hide those memories somewhere.  Perhaps there’s a hidden Portal room in here.  Ford believed he had seen a vending machine towards the beginning of Stanley’s Mindscape.

Ford limped to the exit of the Memory hall as fast as he could, but a crackling noise from behind caught his attention.  Ford whirled to see cracks spreading down the floor toward him, yellow light and chilling laughter leaking out.  His heart jumped into his throat as he lunged forward, diving out of the hall.  There was a loud crunch as the MEMORIES sign was sent crashing down.  The laughter rose to deafening levels, before fading.  The crack stopped just outside of the memory hall, and the yellow light faded.  Ford looked around, and to his horror he saw more large cracks had formed all throughout Stanley’s Mindscape.

“No...”  Ford breathed out, his heart catching in his throat.  He stood frozen for a moment, before pivoting and dashing towards the front of the building- and twisting his bad ankle further.  His leg collapsed under him, sending Ford tumbling to the ground.  He skidded and his sight was swallowed by darkness as his head and one of his arms were sent dangling into the crack in the floor.  The sound of something whispery barely reached Fords ears from somewhere far below him.  Ford scrabbled, grabbing onto the edge of the crevice and pulling himself out.

He rolled over and tried to push himself to his feet, but pain shot up his ankle like a knife and Ford dropped back to the floor with a frustrated curse.  “No no no no no no no!”  He couldn’t walk, he couldn’t move, he had to move, had to get down to the Portal room, had to- had to head down...Ford turned his attention back to the crevice he had almost fallen down, and stuck his head back into it, straining his ears for- there!  Just barely, Ford could make out faint voices.  He couldn’t tell who they were or what they were saying, but who else could it be?

Without a second thought, Ford dove headfirst into the crevice, his whole world swallowed by the yawning darkness. As he fell, Ford clenched his eyes shut, focusing.  A weight appeared on Fords back, and he snapped his eyes open.  Everything was still dark, and for a moment Ford was afraid he had made a mistake, misjudged where the crevice lead, when light from below filled his sight and Ford saw the Portal room.  Ford reached up to the item he had imagined and pulled a cord.  The parachute opened, and Ford’s plunge was slowed. He could see the Portal rising up to meet him, and Ford yanked on the cords, trying to steer away from the looming structure.

Ford crashed into the Portal, bouncing off of it and spiraling to the ground.  He hit the ground hard, his head cracking on it.  Ford lay stunned, everything spinning around him.  He dimly felt the parachute vanish as he lost focus on it.  Ford tried to rise, but he couldn’t see straight, his limbs didn’t want to work, his ears were ringing, and his head was pounding right along with his ankle, in time with his heartbeat.

Ford blinked rapidly, his sight starting to clear, and he looked around the Portal room.  Doors lined the wall, replacing most of the machinery that was normally there.  A shine of yellow and the murmur of voices caught his attention, and Ford tried again to stand.  He could barely make it to his knees, so Ford crawled slowly toward the light.  He could finally see straight again as he made it to the light source: a small door built into the side of the control console, where Stanley had been branded by Ford years ago.  It was barely cracked open, letting the light spill out.

Ford banged on the door, knocking it open. The ringing in his ears had subsided enough for Ford to clearly hear the voices within.

”C’MON KID, I’M JUST TRYING TO HELP YOU OUT!”  Bills voice stabbed at Fords ears.

“I, uh, I dunno...”  A small, childish voice responded.

Ford’s stomach dropped as he looked around. It was a memory of the beach, but this one was different than all of the other memories he had found.  The colors were brighter, the sounds were crisper, and there wasn’t a sign of fog or corruption anywhere.  There was a gentle creaking coming from the swings as a young boy with a mop of brown hair and a red and white striped t-shirt gently swung back and forth.  Bill hovered a few feet over the swings, casting a sickening yellow light over everything.  Ford scrambled into the memory, hands and knees getting buried in sand as he tried and failed to push himself to his feet again.  Sand filled Fords mouth as he fell.

”DON’T YOU WANT TO MAKE YOUR BROTHER HAPPY?”  Bill said, holding his hand out.  Blue flames ignited with a soft fwoom.  “JUST SHAKE MY HAND STANLEY, AND I CAN MAKE YOU THE PERFECT BROTHER.  STANFORD’LL NEVER WANT TO GET RID OF YOU AGAIN!”

The boy stood, kicking at the sand.  “You sure tha-”

“STOP!”  Ford coughed out, spitting sand and gagging.  “Stan-stanley. Don’t listen to him!“  Ford scrambled across the beach clumsily, moving in starts and stops and flops, like a starfish with two legs missing.

“Stanford?”  Stanley squeaked, turning to look at Ford.  “What’r you doin’ here?”

”GREAT, LOOK WHO SHOWED UP.”  Bill rolled his eye.  The flames around his fist fizzled out. “CAPTAIN BUZZKILL.  FORGET HIM KID, WE’VE GOT A DEAL TO-”

“Yer hurt!”  Stanley ducked around the swing and dashed toward Ford, kicking up wings of sand under his sneakers.  “What happened to ya Sixer?”  Stanley had almost reached Ford when the sand between the brothers exploded upwards and Bill rose out of the crater that had formed.

”WHOA THERE STANNY, LETS NOT BE HASTY HERE.”  Bill hovered close to Stanley, looping a thin arm over his shoulders.  “WE WERE IN THE MIDDLE OF-HEY!”  Stanley tore himself away from the demon, skidding around the crater precariously and dropping to his knees in front of Ford.

“Stanley!”  Ford gasped, grabbing his brother’s small shoulders and pulling him to his chest in a tight hug.  Stanley gave a small squeak.  Ford held him out at arm’s length to look him in the eye.  “Did you shake his hand?  Did you make a deal?  Did-”

“No!  No, I didn’t, I- Ford your bleeding!”  Stanley pulled the hem of his shirt up and tore a long strip off of it with his teeth.  He reached up and tied it around Fords forehead with the practiced ease of someone much older than twelve.

“Stanley, listen to me, listen-” Ford wrapped his hands around Stanley’s.  “You can’t trust Bill, don’t shake his hand, don’t make any deals, we have to make him lea-” a grainy tentacle of sand wrapped around Ford’s mouth and yanked him up into the air.

“Stanford!”  Stanley cried out, jumping and reaching for his brother, his fingertips barely smacking the bottoms of Fords boots.  Ford clawed at the sand, but it just flowed around his fingers.  He struggled to breathe as the sand wrapped around the lower half of his head and shoulders.  Ford tried to yell at Stanley to run, but the sand filled his mouth, and Ford gagged on it.

”HEY, I DON’T LIKE BEING I G N O R E D!”  Bill shouted, briefly lighting up red as his voice warped.

Stanley whirled to face him, shifting into a boxing stance and placing himself squarely between Bill and Ford. “Let my brother go, ya geometric nightmare!”

Ford felt panic spark in him.  ‘Don’t fight him!  Please Stanley don’t try to fight Bill!  Just run! Run!’ Ford thought, trying to scream at his brother but just choking on more sand.

Bill straightened his hat, scowling, and faded back to yellow.  “C’MON STAN, YOU ARENT GONNA FALL FOR THIS AGAIN, ARE YOU?  YOUR BROTHER SHOWS UP AND YOU JUST BLINDLY GO ALONG WITH EVERY LITTLE THING HE SAYS?”  Bill scoffed disgustedly.  “I’VE BEEN IN YOUR BROTHERS HEAD.  HE DOESN’T WANT YOU AROUND.  ISN’T HE KICKING YOU OUT AFTER ALL YOU’VE DONE FOR HIM?”  Stanley deflated a little at Bills words, his shoulders drooping and his gaze falling to the ground.  “BUT I CAN MAKE YOU INTO SOMEONE HE WANTS AROUND STANLEY.”  Bills voice turned almost soothing, but with a sly bite to it.

Ford grunted, kicking his legs and trying to get his brothers attention.  Stanley turned, looking between Ford and Bill.  His face was screwed up tight, a look Ford recognized as his brother struggling to hold back tears.  Fords heart dropped at the sight.  “Yeah, ya said-said that already.”  Stanley’s voice wavered.

”WELL THEN, WHATS THE PROBLEM?”  Bill said, barely holding back the annoyance in his voice.  He held out a hand drenched in blue flame.  “SHAKE MY HAND AND LET’S START REMODELING!”

Stanley eyed Bills hand, silently staring at the flickering blue flames. Then, slowly, his hand moved from his side.

Ford tried to scream around the sand again, and he was able to get a strangled moan out.  Stanley looked over his shoulder up at Ford with a sad, pained look on his face.  He turned back to Bill, and Ford’s struggles increased as Stanley moved his hand to shake Bills.  He had to stop this, he had to do something, anything, he had to-to-

There was nothing Ford could do.  His pulse thundered in his ears, and the sand squeezed his head.  A pained groan escaped him, and Stanley froze, his hand mere inches away from Bills. His hand drifted down slightly, and Bill snapped at him, “WHAT NOW?”

“I just-just-”  Stanley stuttered, before throwing his shoulders back defiantly. “What do you get outta all this?”

”WHAT DO YOU MEAN?”  Bill said, his voice taking on a more reserved, neutral tone. The sand loosened around Fords face slightly, but he was still struggling to breathe through all the sand, and the lack of oxygen was starting to make Ford feel lightheaded.  If he passed out in the Mindscape, would he be ejected out into the real world?

“I mean,” Stanley took a small step back, lowering his hand back to his side. “What do you get if I shake yer hand?  Ya want me to make this deal so that you can get somethin’.  What is it?”

”WHY DO YOU CARE?  I’M TRYING TO GIVE YOU EVERYTHING YOU WANT IN LIFE!”  Bill threw his arms wide in exasperation.  “YOU CAN FINALLY BE SOMEONE THAT’S WORTH SOMETHING, INSTEAD OF JUST BEING THE FAMILY SCREW-UP! YOU COULD BE SUCCESSFUL, RICH, FAMOUS!  I COULD EVEN MAKE YOU THE SMARTER TWIN!”  Bill twirled his cane, and shrewd light coming to his eye.  “ISN’T THAT WHAT YOU WANT?”

“No!”  Stanley cried, his voice cracking.  “I don’t want any’a that stuff!  I just want my brother back!  That’s all I’ve wanted fer forty years!”  Ford could hear the pain in Stanley’s voice.  “Jus’ let’m go.”

”IS THAT ALL YOU PINSES TALK ABOUT?”  Bill groaned, rolling his eye.  Then, he got a sly look to him, side-eyeing Stanley.  “TELL YOU WHAT STAN.  I’LL CUT YOU A NEW DEAL,” Bill floated over to Ford, wrapped an arm around his shoulders and flicked his nose.  “I’LL LET SIXER HERE GO, AND YOU GIVE ME A LITTLE SOMETHING.”  If Bill had a mouth he would be grinning.

Stanley’s gaze darted over to Ford. Ford shook his head, trying to push the message to Stanley with his eyes ‘Don’t do it!  Don’t sacrifice yourself for me, I’ll be fine! Please!’  Ford couldn’t read the look his brother gave him back.

“What would I be giving you?”

Bill drifted closer to Stanley.  “THE PERFECT HOST.”  He poked Stanley’s nose.  “SOMEONE COMPLETELY OBEDIENT, ALWAYS READY TO BE A VESSEL FOR ME, SOMEONE WHO WILL GO ANYWHERE, DO ANYTHING I SAY, EVEN WHEN I”M NOT DRIVING YOUR MEATSACK AROUND.”

Terror shot through Ford, and he saw the same emotion contort Stanley’s features as he took a skittish step away from the demon, and got just a bit too close to the crater in the sand.  “That’s what you were going to do the whole time.” Stanley quietly stated.  Ford thrashed violently against the sand restraining him.

”SO I WASN’T EXACTLY GOING TO MAKE YOU THE PERFECT BROTHER.”  Bill shrugged.  “BUT TELL ME HONESTLY, DO YOU REALLY THINK THAT FORD EVEN DESERVES A BROTHER WHO’D DO ANYTHING FOR HIM AFTER EVERYTHING HE’S PUT YOU THROUGH?  AFTER ALL THE TIMES HE’S TREATED YOU LIKE DIRT?”  Bill snapped his fingers and the beach vanished.

Ford dropped to the ground as the sand vanished, landing on his hands and knees on hard linoleum.  He tried to stand, but his hands had into the floor, halfway to his wrists, holding him down.  His whole mouth and throat felt numb; Ford couldn’t as much as grunt.  The two brothers looked around the room they were now in; it was just outside the principal’s office at Glass Shard Beach High School, but it was hazy and grayscale.  The clearest part of the memory was another version of Stanley, a teenager with his ear pressed to the office door.

”That clown? At this rate he'll be lucky to graduate high school.”  The principal’s voice came through the old door loud and clear.  “Look, there's a saltwater taffy store on the dock. And somebody's gotta get paid to scrape the barnacles off of it.”  The child Stanley tried to look away from the memory, but Bill held him by his shoulders.  “Stanford's goin' places. But hey, look on the bright side: at least you'll have one son here in New Jersey forever.”  The teenaged Stanley slid down the door, knees curled to his chest and a scrunched look on his face like he was holding back tears.

”YOU STUCK UP FOR HIM YOUR ENTIRE LIVES, BUT WHEN YOU NEEDED IT-” Bill snapped his fingers, the memory shifted again, and the demon and the brothers were in the road in front of Pines Pawns.

Everything but the building, the road in front of it, and Stanley’s car were fractured, like the world was being viewed through a shattered, dirty window.  ‘High six?’  The forlorn plea echoed through the memory.  Ford was struck by just how painfully young Stanley was that night.  He was just a child then.

Bill snapped again.  A terrified Stanley ran out of a grocery store being chased by security, dropping shoplifted food behind him and leaping into his car empty handed.

”HE-”

Snap. A fistfight in a prison yard, five convicts ganging up on Stanley as the guards pretended not to see anything.

”WASN’T-”

Snap.  Snow falling thick and fast in an alley where Stanley was hunched over a meager trashcan fire, his car nowhere in sight.

”THERE-”

Snap. Men shoving a bound Stanley into a trunk as he yelled in Spanish.  The trunk slammed shut with the finality of a tomb.

”FOR-”

Snap. Ford saw himself slam his foot into Stanley’s stomach, pushing him into the burning hot brand.

”YOU!”

Snap. Two old men stood in front of a mirror.  “You give me my house back, you give me my name back, and this Mystery Shack junk is over forever. You got it?”

”STOP IT!!!”  Stanley screamed, knotting his fists into his hair and pulling at it.  As he spoke there was a shift and the beach reappeared. Stanley collapsed to his knees, tears flowing down his cheeks in streams.  To Ford’s horror, small cracks were forming on Stanley’s scalp under his fingers and creeping out from his hairline, spreading down his forehead.

With a jolt, Ford realized that he was free to move and speak again.  “Stanley...” He wheezed, reaching a hand out to his brother.  Over Stanley’s shoulder, Ford saw Bill point in his direction.  Every part of his body froze and lost feeling; Ford couldn’t even move his eyes.  On the fringes of his vision Ford could see that his outstretched arm had taken on a metallic texture with a golden sheen.

Bill drifted closer to Stanley and started to gently stroke the crying child’s hair.  “IT HURTS, DOESN’T IT STANLEY?  ALL THE REJECTION, ALL OF THE HEARTACHE.  FORTY YEARS OF YOUR LIFE WASTED ON A FAMILY THAT DOESN’T CARE AND A BROTHER THAT DOESN’T WANT YOU.”  Bill rests his hand on Stanley’s head, one finger poking at on of the cracks at his hairline, making it grow.  “IT MAKES YOU WANT TO DIE, DOESN’T IT?”

Ford wanted to scream as Stanley gave an almost unperceivable nod.

”BUT Y’KNOW STANLEY, I CAN HELP WITH THAT.”  Bill drifted lower, almost touching the sand. “IF YOU TAKE MY DEAL, BECOME MY SERVANT, LET ME REMAKE YOU, YOU’LL NEVER BE HURT AGAIN.  YOU’LL NEVER FEEL ANYTHING EVER AGAIN.”  Stanley scrubbed at his damp cheeks and looked at Bill with wide red eyes.  “JUST SHAKE MY HAND KID.”  Bill held his burning hand out to Stanley, the flames almost licking at the boy’s tangled bangs.

“I-I don’t wanna hurt anymore.” Stanley whimpered, staring transfixed at the blue fire.  “I’m just...tired.  I wanna rest.”  He sounded so old, and Ford remembered that despite his appearance his brother wasn’t actually twelve.  Stanley rubbed his hands together, a tick Ford remembered from their childhood that meant he was about shoplift or pickpocket and was psyching himself up for the task.

Ford felt all of his feelings whither inside of him.  Stanley was going to do it.  He was going to take Bills deal.  And Ford was an immobile metal shell. There had to be something Ford could do.  Just because Bill was the master of the Mindscape didn’t mean that a person couldn’t fight his power.  Ford let his sight unfocus, the closest he could come to closing his eyes in his frozen state.  He missed the agonized look Stanley sent him as Ford focused every ounce of his energy.

There was a sound like a thin icy skin on top of a puddle being stomped on as the gold around him cracked and fell off.  “St-stop!  Stanley, please, don’t do this.”  Ford pleaded with his brother.

Bill shot a dirty look at Ford, and with a snap of his fingers Ford started to sink into the sand.  In less than three seconds the sand was past Ford’s waist and rising.

“Sixer?”  Stanley tore his gaze away from the blue flames in Bills hand.

Ford clawed at the sand.  “Stanley, don’t listen to Bill!  Please, please don’t shake his hand!”  He had sunk to his armpits.  “I know you’ve been hurt, but you can’t just throw yourself away! I can’t lose you again!”  Fords head slid below the sand, he couldn’t breathe, he was being crushed from everywhere all at once.  ‘If I die here, what happens to me?  What will happen to Stanley?’  Ford weakly clawed at the surface with the one hand that was still above ground, in a last desperate attempt to free himself.

Two hands wrapped around Fords and pulled, dragging him to the surface with more strength than their small size could possibly have.  Ford retched, spraying sand as his head broke free into the air.  He reached under his glasses and scrubbed the grainy particles out of his eyes with his free hand.

“I gotcha Sixer!  Yer gonna be fine, just breathe, alright?”  Stanley panted, teeth grit as he pulled Ford to safety.

”YOU LITTLE BRAT!”  Bill was lit up red, and his eye blazed black.  He rose up into the air, red lighting sparking out of his hands and blasting the memory apart.  Ford pulled Stanley close to him as the ground disintegrated under them, and Stanley clung to his sweater like a burr as the two brothers found themselves floating in a blue-grey void.  Bits of Stanley’s memories and Mindscape floated around them, and there were cracks torn in the empty space, spilling yellow light everywhere.

Bill hovered above the brothers in front of the two largest cracks. They formed a pulsing yellow ’X’ behind the enraged demon. “YOU THINK YOU CAN DEFY ME STANLEY PINES?!  I AM A BEING OF POWER THAT YOU CAN’T BEGIN TO COMPREHEND!”  Bill gestured, and the floating debris started to swirl around Ford and Stanley in a vortex.  Wind tore at the brother’s clothes and hair, and small bits of debris started to pelt them from every side.  Something slammed into Ford from behind, sending him spinning.  Stanley slipped out of his brother’s grasp with a small scream.

“Stanford!”  Stanley’s panicked cry rang throughout the storm as he kicked his legs and reached for his brother, his fingers just barely brushing the cuff of Fords coat sleeve.  A part of one of the letters from the Mystery Shack sign spiraled out of nowhere and crashed into Stanley’s head.  The boy went limp.

”Stanley!”  Ford stretched out, just barely managing to snag his brothers wrist when something from behind knocked him closer.  He cupped his brother’s face in one hand, while the other held a tight grip on Stanley’s arm.  “Stan-oh, oh no.”  One of the cracks on Stanley’s head had grown from a small thing peeking out from under his bangs to a large, jagged scar, branching across his forehead, down the bridge of his nose, and slicing down his temple, surrounding his right eye.  A soft, pale blue light pulsed out of the crack in time with Stanley’s heartbeat.

There was a flash out of the corner of Fords eye; a large terrarium flying towards them.  Ford curled himself around his brother tightly, shielding him as it clipped his feet, spinning him again and sending a burning, jagged lance up his hurt ankle, eliciting a curse.  Ford felt Stanley squirm slightly in his arms as their spinning slowed.  “Stanley?”  Ford gasped, leaning his brother’s head back far enough to look at his face.  “Stan, can you hear me?!”  He shouted hysterically.

One of Stanley’s eyes dazedly blinked open, “...stanford...’r ya okay?”

Ford gaped “Am I okay?”

“Yeah,” Stanley somehow managed to crack a smile, and opened both of his eyes.  The right one had turned a pale blue color. “Tha’s what I ju- LOOK OUT!”

Ford looked over his shoulder to see the Stanleymobile hurtling towards them.  He tucked Stanley close to his chest, closing his eyes and bracing for the moment the car would slam into him.

Silence abruptly fell as the vortex vanished and everything froze where it was.  Ford uncoiled slightly in shock, and he released a breath he hadn’t noticed he was holding when he turned his head and saw the El Diablo frozen less than a foot away from him.  “What?” Stanley was looking around in awe at the sight.

”WHAT?”  Bill screamed piercingly.  “WHY YOU LITTLE-” He snapped his fingers and Ford felt his stomach fly up into his throat as gravity suddenly took hold of the two brothers and they plunged down into the void.  Ford clamped his eyes shut, trying to bring another parachute into existence.  He felt Stanley tighten his grip on the front of his sweater briefly before one hand let go.

They stopped falling.  Ford opened his eyes, and saw that everything had stilled once again.  Stanley was curled tightly against Ford, eyes screwed shut, with one arm held out, fingers splayed.  He uncurled, looked around at everything frozen around them, and to Fords confusion Stanley gives him an excited gap-toothed smile.

Bill drifted over to the brothers, blowing debris out of his way.  “YOU REALLY THINK THAT YOU CAN FIGHT ME OFF?  JUST LIKE THAT?”

Ford wrapped his arms tighter around Stanley, ignoring his protesting moans.  “What are you talking about Cipher?”

”NOT YOU SMART GUY.  YOUR DUMB BROTHER!”  Bill jabbed at Stanley with his cane, barely missing hitting him in the head.  “DO YOU REALLY THINK YOU CAN BEAT ME?  HERE?  I’M THE MASTER OF THE MINDSCAPE!”

Ford was about to snap at the demon when Stanley spoke.  “Oh yeah? Well this is my mind buddy!”  He made a punching motion, and a huge boxing glove materialized and careened into Bills eye like a rocket.  The demon was knocked backwards, tumbling through the void and toward one of the pulsing yellow cracks.  It flared brighter, and Bills form seemed to warp, bending towards it.

“Stanley, hit him again!”

“You got it brother!”  He pulled his arm back and swung it again. “Left hook!” The glove reappeared, streaking towards Bill.

”NO!”  Bill screamed as the light burned almost white and pulled him into the crack. He planted his arms and legs and resisted the pull, his thin body bending and pointing into the light.  “IF I’M GOING OUT THEN YOU’RE COMING WITH ME!”  Two more arms sprouted from Bills sides and shot towards the brothers.

Stanley wound up another punch, but Ford could see Bill’s arms were moving too fast.  Ford tossed his brother upward as he swung, and Stanley gave a small startled shriek.  Bills thin arms wrapped tight around Fords waist just as Stanley’s third punch broke the demons grip and sent him careening through the crack, screaming in rage and dragging Ford along with him.  He pried at the arms but they were like steel cables.

”STANFORD!”  Ford looked over his shoulder as he was pulled through the void and saw Stanley drifting upwards, spinning slightly.  He was reaching for Ford, kicking his legs and trying to swim to him through the empty space.

Ford reached back with one arm, still trying to pry Bills arms off of him with the other.  “STANL-”

He was swallowed by the yellow light.

[gaypasta]

do you want fries with that?

Chapter 3/ ? Read on Ao3 Previous Chapter First Chapter

Richie’s house was neater than he expected. He was aware that Richie’s parents weren’t home a lot, so with Richie being the only head of house for the majority of the time, he had expected the place to be a mess. Instead of tripping over piles of shoes and discarded coats at the front entrance, he stepped cautiously onto a clean rug and past a pair of converse neatly lined beside each other.  They were white and black respectively. The carpet was slightly damp in some places and smelt of a sterile hospital softly masked by a mix of citrus fruits and … Stan sniffed again, he had definitely smelt this smell before. He stood there for a moment, wracking his brain before moving off again picturing how strange it would look if Richie had walked in to see him sniffing his hallway. He was carrying a large mixing bowl his arms, the bike ride over had been tedious as the bowl was too big to fit into his backpack alone, nevermind with everything else he had to bring with him. The clinking of the glass tupperware Stan had in his back clinked as Stan walked. The sound must’ve alerted Richie of his presence, as his goggle-eyed head peered through what Stan assumed was the entrance to the kitchen. Stan had knocked, but perhaps knocking by belting his elbow into the door because he couldn’t free a hand while carrying all this stuff was either too quiet for Richie to hear, or was mistaken for the house settling. To be fair, Stan had called Richie to let him know he was on his way and Richie told him to let himself in while Richie took a nap and would wake up to a gorgeous three tiered cake. Stan told him to get fucked.

“Roll up ladies and gentleman, next up into the kitchen is a Mister Stanley Uris!” Richie mock-presented. He cupped his hands around his mouth and made a whisper-shout to imitate a booming crowd. “Standing at five foot ten, weighing a whopping ninety-nine pounds, eyes as steely blue and dreamy as Harrison Ford our hero is up against the one, the only…” Richie paused for suspense. Stan was not suspenseful. “Richie Tozier’s kitchen!”

“Meh, that one needs work. Hold the door open for me so I can set this down. It’s heavier than it looks.” Stan took steps towards the double glass doors, Richie opened the door from inside and held it open, giving an exaggerated bow and curtsy.

“Anything for you, oh master Chef.” His tone then fell back to normal. “Put the bag wherever. I would say sorry about the mess, but I’m not really.”

Stan stepped past Richie, keeping an eye on his hands as he passed through the threshold. The last time Richie held a door open for him he had smacked Stan’s ass. Hard. Stan dropped the mop bucket he was carrying in surprise and he made Richie clean it up. He winced thinking about it, he had eggs in this bag.

Thankfully Richie’s hands didn’t wander any farther than to close the door behind them and Stan was left without sexual assault. For now. For now? Stan was worried what kind of torture Richie would later impose upon him, he was in Richie’s domain after all. Stan was doing him a favour, though. If Richie got too overbearing or he got to eat too much cake batter that it went to his head, Stan could just stop making the cake which he was so gracious enough to bake for Richie. And by that he means help Richie bake. Yes, it will be a joint effort.

Richie’s kitchen was fairly messy. There were cups and plates piled up into the sink - some looked as though they had been sitting there for a while. Is that porridge or mashed potatoes? A few cupboard doors lay open, threatening to clip the side of Stan’s head, he closed them as he walked past them. A few tell-tale jars of Richie’s breakfasts and late night lunches sat beside a chopping board covered in crumbs. Stan noted that  unlike the front entrance, a dirty pair of black slip-ons lay haphazardly beside the table along with a crinkled pair of shorts. Did Richie really just come home and strip while making a sandwich? I guess when you basically live alone there’s no one to witness your indecency. Stan set the large mixing bowl on a clutter-free section of the small kitchen and began unloading the Tupperware filled with preciously measured ingredients from his backpack. He had considered not pre-measuring the ingredient, but figured it would be more straightforward if he did. Imagining Richie with a bag of icing sugar could have gave Stan nightmares, so that may have been a contributing factor.

Richie stalked over and stood, as usual, slightly too close to Stan. Maybe Stan had a bigger area of personal space than what Richie was used to, or maybe Richie did it to annoy him. Either way, Stan shifted slightly to be a more socially acceptable distance from his friend. His nose had caught a quick whiff of that smell from the hallway again. It smelt too strong to be  body-spray, but not as perfumed as cologne.

“So, what are you making my wonderful Mommy for her birthday?” Richie peered into the boxes, as if a tub of flour would be a clue.

“ We are making Victoria sponge cake, since when I rang to ask you what she liked, you didn’t answer.”

“I did answer!”

“Roast beef Sunday dinner isn’t a flavour combination I could work into a cake.”

“That’s quittin’ talk, Uris. Slap some gravy into a muffin and there you have it. Happy Birthday, Maggie!”

Stan rolled his eyes. “Here, put this in the freezer, it’s too soft.” Stan handed Richie over a stick of butter, cut into the weight that they would need.

“I can think of better ways to get it up than that, Frosty. But whatever floats your goats I guess.” Richie grabbed the butter and threw it into the freezer, mimicking playing basketball.

“Boats, you mean. Why would goats float?”

“Well, look what happened to the Titanic. Boats aren’t too great either.”

Stan rolled his eyes and pre-heated the oven. He shifted his bag off his shoulders and moved it to Richie’s kitchen table. He began adding ingredients into the bowl, while Richie’s eyes lazily followed his hands. Somehow, Richie already had flour on his gaudy Hawaiian shirt. The sight of the floury patch pressured Stan into get his apron from his bag, Richie’s eyes stalked him, like he was calculating Stan’s every move.

“I’m putting on my apron.” Stan felt the need to justify his actions.

“And where’s mine?”

Stan raised an eyebrow. “I know for a fact you have plenty of aprons. I’ve given you three new ones this month alone. I doubt you’ve lost them.”

Richie looked at him as if he had just said the most ridiculous thing. “If I didn’t lose them, how come I can’t find them?”

“Have you cleaned your room at all in the past month?”

“I call it organized chaos. Sorry we can’t all be OCD, Mr.Perfect.”

Stan rolled his eyes as he raised the neck of the apron over his head, using his left hand to keep his yarmulke in place.

“Crack four eggs into an empty bowl and don’t get any shells in.” Stan commanded.

Richie did just that, after searching around in a dusty cupboard for a bowl. “Now what Captain?”

Stan tied the back of his apron in a perfected bow. “Beat the eggs, I doubt you have a whisk, just use a fork.”

“I don’t normally use a fork to beat eggs, if you know what I mean.”

Stan stared blankly.

“You know, like eggs .”

“You’re thinking of the hymen. You need to whisk harder, you’re not getting enough air in.”

Richie looked at him through the side of his glasses, a strange look that made Stan feel slightly intrusive.

“How would you know?”

“I’ve been making this cake since I was nine. The eggs should be a pale yellow and fro-”

“About the hymen. Didn’t take you as a womanizer, Stanny boy. But who can resist those curly locks, am I right ladies?” Richie made a high five motion to the empty space to his right.

“We sit together in Biology. You copied my homework on female anatomy last week because you were too busy cramming for Chem to spend five minutes labelling a diagram.”

Richie stopped staring and stared at the wall opposite in deep thought, hopefully not thinking that deeply about female anatomy. Richie barked a laugh. “Oh yeah. Who can forget the vulva?!”

Stan grimaced. “Please stop talking.”

Stan added the now perfectly beat eggs into the large bowl, instructing Richie to mix it gently until it’s just mixed. Not too much or the cake will go tough because the gluten will have been worked to much. He started to explain to Richie the importance of properly mixing the cake in great detail as he got the now less-melted butter from the freezer.

Richie pretended to listen, nodding his head while watching Stan lean into the freezer. Stan smiled, he was happy that Richie was listening one of his ‘boring science’ speeches. He didn’t think it was very boring, Stan actually thought it was really interesting the difference that simply adding in an ingredient slightly too quick or too warm could make.

As soon as Stan instructed Richie to mix, it became apparent that Richie was overestimating how much force was required, as almost instantly he was greeted with a huge blob of batter on his flowery shirt. He promptly dropped the fork and stepped back, afraid that the bowl might decide to spit at him again.

“Stan… this is my favourite shirt…” Richie frowned, almost comically.

“Is it ruined?”

“Not if i wash it before it dries.” He pulled at the shirt, assessing it for any further damage.

“Damn.”

Richie shot him the finger before swiftly jogging out the door, pulling the shirt off before he even exited the kitchen. Stan’s eyes lingered where Richie’s bare shoulders were. It reminded him of when they used to go swimming in the quarry. He remembers holding those freckled shoulders, water droplets cascading from Richie’s hair into the crevices between Stan’s fingers, while attempting to drown Richie for pulling his underwear down while he was swimming. Richie had soft shoulders.

Stan began cleaning up globs of batter with a roll of kitchen roll which was sitting beside the sink. He wished he could disinfect the area, it involved raw eggs. Not that Richie would really care. He wound up the dirty sheet into a ball and placed it inside the egg carton, which Richie had put the egg shells back into. Stan didn’t want raw egg sitting out for long, too much risk of cross-contamination. He reached under the sink to where he assumed the bin would be, and opened the cupboard door.

The kitchen rang out with the sound of maybe a dozen or two glass bottles clanging against the harsh linoleum floor. Stan initially panicked, thinking that a bottle had smashed, but he mistook the sound of  a bottle breaking into pieces and the shards cascading to the floor with the small landslide of bottles. Stan dropped to his knees to begin picking them up, before stopping as his eyes skimmed the labels. They were mostly beer. All the same brand. Two bottles of what was once whiskey had fell too. Stan lowered himself to peer into the cupboard and sure enough, there sat at least 5 large empty bottles of whiskey, which had been pushed to the back. Underneath several bottles which hadn’t spilled out, Stan could make out some dishcloths and washing up liquid. Stan frowned. Why the hell was there so much alcohol in this cupboard? He picked up a stray whiskey bottle and began to read it. Fifty-five percentage. From what Stan remembers from Bill’s last birthday party (they were all wasted after four beers) that’s hell of a lot. Were these Richie’s? Surely if Richie drank this much, Stan would know by know. Right? He’d have hangovers in school or when they were in work. Besides, Richie could barely hold back a beer, nevermind all this.

“Hey good lookin’ what you got c-” Richie, who had barged through the door, had fell silent for a split second upon his eyes meeting the mess. Stan met his eyes and barely had time to blink before Richie shot over and began stuffing the bottles back in. He looked angry, as he threw the beer bottles back into the cupboard with too much force. Stan thought he heard one break, actually break this time. Stan gently placed the bottle he had been examining back in, before Richie had a chance to grab it from him. Richie glared angrily at the bottle Stan had placed back, as though they had an unwritten term of agreement and the bottle had just broke it. Stan’s heart didn’t know if it should beat too fast, or slow down, so it settled for both and Stan felt like his heart was gonna fall out of his chest.

Richie closed the cupboard and just stared at it for a moment, Stan noticed Richie was sitting barely an inch away from the cracked eggs and batter-covered towel. If Richie chose to sit down from sitting on his knees, he’d surely sit on it. Stan gingerly leaned over, pushing the carton away from Richie’s possible line of movement. This had meant leaning over Richie, and he could feel his messy black hair tickling his neck. He retreated slightly, but not completely, he could feel his own curls fall against Richie’s hair as he moved. His eyes darted to Richie’s as soon as he knew he could’ve seen the boys face. Stan knew what had happened. He wasn’t one to make assumptions, but he read the situation enough to know he shouldn’t ask. As he moved further back, perhaps only a foot away from the other boy’s face he could feel a force make him pause. He wouldn’t have paused of his own accord, he’s too close. This is his personal space and Richie is sitting in it, looking almost frightened in anger. Like when you finally stand up for yourself against your parent, knowing you’ll get in trouble, but you’re too angry to stop yourself. Stan had never seen these emotions painted on his face, he admits, regrettably, that he never really thought of Richie as someone who could feel such a complex tide of emotions. There was an unspoken silence between them for several moments. Neither of them moving, Stan continued to watch Richie like a hawk, looking for any sign that he could move away, or speak.

Richie had made several noises over the course of a minute or two, which sounded like the start of a sentence which he hadn’t thought to finish. Richie rubbed his eyes in frustration, displacing his glasses. Stan moved back, and let out a breath that he had been holding, in fear that even something small like breathing too loudly would interrupt what Richie was trying to say.

“Do I really need to go into it?” Richie asked to the ceiling, he moved to sit against the cupboard that had betrayed him.

Stan looked at the cupboard, then to Richie. “I mean, kinda. A brewery's worth of alcohol just came out from underneath your kitchen sink.”

Richie sighed, to the ceiling again. “Can’t you just put two and two together then we can leave this conversation.”

“If your sink has a drinking problem you should probably address it.”

Richie let out a breath of air, the ghosts of laughter. Stan smirked as Richie shot him a look, followed by a thumbs up. “Good one, Stan the man.”

The kitchen fell back into silence. Stan moved to lean his back against the cupboard beside Richie. Their two postures were so different, they almost looked comical. Stan’s head rested on his knees, his brown loafers pointing straight forward while Richie sagged beside him, his legs apart and dirty socks pointing to the Gods. He looked like a wax figure who’d been left in the sun slightly too long.

“My mom’s not home much.” Stan nodded, he knew this, but he could tell this was the start of a conversation . “Neither is Dad either, not that I give a shit.” Richie seethed his words, Stan didn’t know much about his family life, but he had always read between the lines of Richie avoiding any mention of family that it wasn’t great. “Mom just...drinks a lot. All the time, Stan. She’s not always drunk or anything, well she’s gotten worse lately but… fuck, she always had a drink in her hand, but she could put herself to bed and remember how to lock the doors and she’d be up in time to get me up for school and go to work. It worked, I mean she wasn’t a great mother, when she was far gone she’d …” Richie picked at the skin at the side of his nails, watching his own fingers with intent. “She’d not be great. When I was in second grade I drew our family portrait with her holding a bottle of beer instead of my hand, for fuck’s sake.”

Stan was watching Richie’s face carefully. Taking in this moment as if it would be a moment which would grant him life or death. He stored every word Richie said into his head. Richie started to jiggle his leg, Stan knew he was craving a cigarette. Stan didn’t like it when Richie smoked around him, so Richie usually didn’t.

“I’m sorry, this is stupid. I sound like such a faggot crying about my Mommy issues.” Richie wiped at his eyes again, Stan didn’t notice any wetness, and suspected Richie was trying to wipe away moisture as it came.

“So you wanting to fuck Eddie’s Mom is all just a big roundabout Oedipus complex?” Stan was so used to Richie providing comedic commentary, Richie being down isn’t something he’s ever considered happening. He figured the situation needed lightening up though, before one of them takes the smashed bottle from the cupboards and slits their wrists with it.

Richie let out a shallow but honest laugh. “Probably, but me and your Mom? Pure fiery unhinged passion.”

Stan knocked shoulders with him, and Richie retorted as well. He reached into his jeans and pulled out a pack of cigarettes, taking one into his mouth directly from the packet. He gave Stan a look to ask if it was alright, and Stan nodded. Richie needed this right now. He can figure out how to get the smell of smoke out of his shirt later. Richie hopped up and lit his cigarette on the gas-fired hob.

“I know I don’t need to say it, but this is between us, ok?”

Stan nodded. “You didn’t need to say it, Richie.”

Richie sucked on the cigarette, letting the smoke flow out of his words as he spoke. “It wouldn’t be fair not telling you after telling Bill. I’d feel guilty for feeling like I had to ask Bill not to speak if I didn’t have to ask you.”

Stan blinked, partly because Richie accidentally blew smoke into his eye. “You… you told Bill?” A part of him feels upset that he wasn’t the only one Richie had told, he felt cheated that Richie would disclose such a personal secret to their other friend. Stan felt bad, he shouldn’t feel special, he shouldn’t feel as though he and only he should be privy to Richie’s personal tragic backstory. Yet, he did.

Richie took a long drag, letting the smoke sit in his lungs a few moments longer than normal before he blew out, watching the smoke disappear into the air. “Yeah, It’s Big Bill y’know. You feel bad keeping anything for him.” Stan nodded, he understood, Bill had a way about him, that by keeping a secret from him, no matter how little involvement is on Bill’s behalf, you’re still riddled with guilt for not telling him. “I didn’t get much of a choice. In case you couldn’t tell - I don’t exactly boast about this shit. He was staying over for the first time since we were probably…” Richie trailed off and tapped his finger against his thigh. “About nine? Eight or nine. It was two years ago, after your thirteenth birthday party, I told Bill he could stay at mine because I live closer and it was getting dark. And right as we were about to fall asleep, Mom falls into my room, thinking it was hers.” He let out a sad laugh. “Bill was scared shitless because Mom was yelling at us to get out of her room, it took a while, but I got her to bed. It killed me because afterwards Bill would barely look at me. I don’t know if he was embarrassed, or guilty or pitied me or whatever. But it fucking hurt.” Richie tapped off the ash onto the floor. “I liked Bill, a lot, I was head over heels infatuated with him, and the first night we’d have a sleepover in ages without having Georgie creep in at midnight, I had all these moments planned out in my head. We’d kiss, maybe we’d confess our feelings, maybe I’d give him a blowjob. Then turn of a coin, he wouldn't look at me for a week.”

Stan sat in shock at what he was hearing. Richie liked Bill? Stan was replaying every interaction he watched Bill and Richie have over the past few years. He felt like he’d been hit with a concussion. What the hell was going on? Did Bill know? Were they secretly dating? Are they secretly dating?

Richie stubbed out the butt of his cigarette on the floor, leaving a faint black mark. “It’s okay though, he knows. He’s cool with it. It was a while ago.”

Stan shot him a look, Stan had no idea what kind of look it was, but apparently Richie did, he laughed and patted his shoulder. “Don’t worry Stanny boy. I like my dick uncut, so you don’t have to worry.”

Stan elbowed him in the stomach, making Richie cough. “Don’t be such a dick.” Richie laughed as he rubbed where Stan’s elbow had been. “Wait, you’re gay? The man who talks about fucking all the chicks and their mothers, is a homosexual?” Stan wasn’t shocked, it was Richie Tozier they were talking about - who knows what curveball that boy is gonna throw next.

“Don’t worry, there’s enough of the Tozier Train to go around. Now stopping at both male and female stations, buy your ticket early though - the waiting list is almost as long as my dick!”

Stan rolled his eyes so hard he felt his optic nerve burn. “I’m not bringing up the urinal again.”

Stan got off the dirty floor and held a hand out to Richie. “Let’s finish this cake before any more secrets get exposed.”

Richie smirked and jumped up, looking brighter in the eyes. “Hold onto your yahtzee, it’s gonna be intense.”

Stan hit Richie with a wooden spoon. “It’s a yarmulke, you dick.”

It took thirty-five more minutes, and by the time they were done curfew had long been in place, but they had finished it. It was a work of art. Perfectly golden and spongy, with silky cream and some of Mike’s mother’s homemade jam she had given out to all of the group. It was sweet, the jam gave it just the right amount of bitter to compliment the sweet. Not that the boys knew, they couldn’t have any. Richie was overjoyed, jumping up and down like a child in victory, “I’m a better cook than Bill!” Stan decided not to point out that it was his recipe and the only thing Richie did was mix the ingredients - and lick the spoon, to Stan’s horror.

Stan placed the cake delicately in a decorative box, so it wouldn’t take in any weird tastes and smells that are more than likely making home in Richie’s fridge. Richie smiled at Stan when all is done, and all is left to do is give it to his Mom when she gets home from work the next day.

Richie wrapped his arm around Stan’s shoulder, and Stan lets him. “We did good. But I am fucking starving.”

“I’m not making you food, Richie.”

Richie threw his hands up in the air. “Then what kind of wife are you?!”

Stan rolled his eyes and began to pack his things into his bag, ready to head home. He had work in the morning and it was already - Stan checked his watch - 21:04.  Fuck. Stan picked up the pace, not even bothering to put the lids on his Tupperware before placing it in his bag. His Mom’s gonna freak if he’s not home soon, he was meant to be home two hours ago. Richie sashayed over to the table, where Stan was having a small freak-out. He rest his head on his hands and bent over.

“Where you goin’ in such a rush, sweet-pea?” Richie drawled in his Southern Belle voice - Richie had began to recognize it as Stan’s favourite, a more accurate wording would probably be least-hated.

“I have to get home, it’s late. My parents are gonna freak.” Stan suddenly smelt the smoke from Richie’s earlier cigarette on his collar. “Richie, I smell like smoke! What gets out smoke?” He began to lift his shirt, smelling it all over.

“You can borrow some of my clothes, it’s no big deal.” Richie was staring absentmindedly at his exposed stomach, zoning out again more than likely. Stan almost died at the vision of him walking around in one of Richie’s ugly Hawaiian shirts. He pulled his longest curl down to his nose and gave it a sniff, he recalls Beverly complaining that smoke sticks to your hair, especially if it’s thick - and she was right. “Fuck - it’s in my hair too.”

Richie shrugged. “Just stay over, we’ve shared a bed before.”

Stan recalled back to one of their many sleepovers. Stan had got the short straw and Richie had got kicked onto the floor not even an hour after lights out. The smell of smoke attacked his senses again. Stan looked over to see Richie lighting another cigarette.

“Dude what the fuck?!”

Richie gave him an almost cheshire cat-like smile. “Well you just have to stay now, no chance of getting smoke out of your hair.” He blew smoke into Stan’s face and Stan swatted the cigarette out of Richie’s hand.

“You’re a premium-level dick, do you know that?”

Richie grinned as he pulled Stan out of the kitchen, cigarette bouncing softly between his lips. “Yeah I know. But a slumber party, Stan!"

And with that, Stan had laughed a genuine laugh. Not that Richie had said anything particularly funny or got seriously injured in anyway. But he was having fun, genuine boyish fun, clambering up the stairs, fighting each other on who gets to shower first and Richie attempting to give Stan the ugliest pajamas he could find. Stan was having so much fun, he forgot to call his Mother until 22:35. He laughed at his own forgetfulness and hung up the phone after calming his mother, going back to trying to wrestle his yarmulke out of Richie’s hands.

Next Chapter

[midnightquillart-blog]

Fangs N’ Fur AU- Story and Notes

Here’s how the events of the main story would probably go.

I am not ever going to write a full fledged fanfiction, although I might write scenes from time to time, or write more head-cannons for it. So if anyone wants to write any fanfiction (or draw art) feel free, just credit me for the idea at least. 

Dipper and Mabel arrive in Gravity Falls and start preparing themselves to be distant from everyone and to find a good place to be during the full moon. They stay quiet and almost never separate from each other. One day while they are exploring the woods they come across the journal. After reading the journal they go searching for other werewolves or supernatural creatures hoping to learn more about how to try and live a normal life as werewolves. It’s during this time that Stan starts to figure out that they are werewolves, and he decides to try and help them more with their problems. This eventually leads them to find out that he is a vampire, and they pester him with questions. After finally being more comfortable in Gravity Falls the twins start to separate from each other a little, Dipper exploring more on his own and developing a crush on Wendy, while Mabel makes some friends and tries to get a boyfriend.They start to feel normal, and nearly forget about the 3 nights of a full moon that they have to deal with. They are both out and about during the day of the first full-moon, and they start to act more feral, it isn’t until later that night that they realize what was going on. They then try to distance themselves from everyone but Stan, again.  The story comes to ahead when Stan almost gets arrested and the twins find out more secrets about Stan, the portal is then finally opened, and Ford comes out from the other side. At first Stan is afraid of his brother, but also desperate to be friends with him again. Ford is just angry at his brother and punches him, although Stan deflects the blow and goes to make sure that the twins are alright.

After a bit of explaining and they get rid of the Government agents, things are extra tense in the mystery Shack, with Stan pretending as though everything is fine, although the twins can tell that it’s not. While Ford stays in the basement to try and fix the rift. Ford and Dipper still bond a bit, both being supernatural creatures and dorky nerds. Dipper and Mabel learn a lot more from Ford about the supernatural and from this knowledge they finally start to feel more normal again. One-night Stan and Ford get into a small argument that escalates into a bigger one and Stan finally reveals how he became a vampire. Everyone is shocked and Stan runs into the woods, not wanting to be in the shack any longer.

The twins want to go after Stan to help him, but Ford tells them to stay behind and he goes after Stan himself. On his way he starts to reflect over his choices and how he has been treating his brother. When Ford eventually finds him they have a heart to heart, and start to sort everything between them out. It’s not entirely fixed, but they are headed in the right direction.

The main story would probably end here, since not too much would end up changing in the finale, they would still defeat Bill.

These are the head-cannons so far that I have come up with this Au.

Again feel free to ask me any questions about this Au. 

The vampire transformation is a bit slow, usually taking a full 24 hours to kick in, and another 24 to actually turn the victim into a full vampire. It starts with a throbbing pain in the area where the victim was bit, and spreads through the body, creating a weird throbbing pain, that seems to throb with each heart beat. The throbbing then starts to slow down and the victim starts to get really tired. Each beat and flow of their blood gets slower, but even more painful. Most victims pass out before their heart finally stops. After the hearts stops, the body remains in a comatose state for a few more hours, before a strange magic allows the victim to get up and move again. Their body is now dead, and the only way they keep from permanently dying is by consuming life, and the magic that life possesses.

Werewolves have a bit of a defense state if they ever feel threatened, scared or are feeling any other high emotions. Their claws appear, they grow fangs, their ears become more wolfish, allowing them to hear better and their eyes glow yellow, to scare off any potential threats.

Vampire’s need to feed at least once a week, everyday is preferable, but they can last about a week without fresh blood. If they go without blood for too long then they usually start to go a bit insane and a bit feral, attacking any living thing for sustenance.

They can live off of any type of blood, but human blood tastes the best, and has the best nutritious qualities.

 Werewolves need fresh meat at least every full moon, they are similar to vampires in the fact that it can be any type of meat, but human is preferable.

In this Au Mabel is quite protective of Dipper, and will always defend him if she feels like someone is trying to hurt him, either physically or emotionally. So in pack dynamics, she is the Alpha, and Dipper is a Beta.

Dipper is usually fine with Mabel being the more assertive one, and is glad to have someone defending him, and he is quite loyal to her, but as time goes on, he wants to try and be more assertive himself, to prove that he doesn’t always need help.

After growing close to Stan both of the Twins are very loyal to him, and are ready to jump to his defense if anyone says or does anything nasty to him.

Stan has a bit of self image issues, he still feels like he is worthless, and being undead makes it even worse, he feels like he is a monster, and a freak. He has gotten a bit better over the years, but the feeling is always residing in the back of his mind.

He also has a subconscious fear of his brother, and in turn himself. After his brother attacked him and turned him into a vampire, Stan has always had a bit of trouble looking in the mirror and thinking about Ford, without thinking about how feral his brother looked, and how terrified he had been when Ford had bit him. After the twinge of fear he usually starts to feel the guilt and worthlessness at letting his brother get sucked into the portal.

Vampire’s can still see their reflection, but it’s usually murky, like the mirror has been fogged over, and they can make out basic shapes and such, but they can’t really see the fine details of their face.

Vampires are pretty durable, and can take quite a bit of damage before they actually get hurt, after getting hurt it takes them a while to heal, unless they get fresh blood right after getting injured.

Werewolves are a bit different, they are also durable, but can easily take damage from most things, but their wounds heal almost right away, it can take longer if the damage is quite severe, but it’s still usually quick compared to human’s rate of healing. Only silver items cause more permanent damage, if the weapon is silver, then the wound can take a lot longer to heal.

Stan only ever killed and drained a human once, it was during one of his first years as a vampire, an intruder got into the mystery shack while Stan was sleeping, and Stan killed him.

There is no waddles in this story.