#welp time to blow up bill cipher

[stump-not-found]

old man gets bullied the series

[pengychan]

The Mind Cage, Ch. 13

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

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

***

Bill’s mind burned, and so did Stanford.

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

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

“Stanford, please…!”

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

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

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

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

“STANFORD!”

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

“AAAAAGH! A-AH… AXOLOTL!”

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

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

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

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

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

***

“Hot. Belgian. Waffles.”

“Owww, that hurt.”

“I can’t find my glasses…”

“Wait, I think I’ve seen ‘em…”

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

They were in space.

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

“My Mindscape is back to normal.”

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

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

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

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

“Bill? Where are you? Billy? BILL!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Have you seen my brother?

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

“Oow, my eye…!”

“Billy!”

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

“BILL!”

“Whoa! Hey! Easy!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

*** 

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

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

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

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

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

*** 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

First, a vacation.

*** 

“I never said I was sorry.”

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

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

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

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

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

“I held you back--”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You knew…?”

“I guessed.”

“He would have taken you back in--”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And what would that be?”

“Finding you.”

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

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

“What the heck…?”

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

“Why aren’t you waking up?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*** 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

“... Car accident?”

“Car accident,” Ford echoed.

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

It was.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*** 

“So… It is a goodbye, then.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fiddleford--”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Of course.”

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

“Who do you take me fo--”

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

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

Trust no one.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh, for heaven’s--!

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

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

“That’s not relevant--”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I… honestly don’t know.”

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

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

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

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

Home.

***

[Back to Chapter 12]

[On to Chapter 14]