Chapter Text
Ford's heart pounded in his ears as he raced across dimension after dimension, constantly chased by bounty hunters and unable to rest for a second. He could hear them behind him every step of the way, yelling for his surrender or death, and he couldn't feel his blaster on his side. He stumbled through alien crystal trees, a shallow red substance, jumped from cloud to cloud - dimensions blurred together in a way he subconsciously knew they shouldn't, but didn't have the presence of mind to think about. All he knew was that he had to run and not stop. That he couldn't stop. That he was all alone, running through the multiverse with Bill always at his heels and a gun trained on his head.
But that wasn't right.... He skidded to a stop behind some blue rocks, heaving in deep breaths as his blood rushed to his ears. Bill Cipher was dead. He was destroyed nearly a year ago, after Stanley made the ultimate sacrifice. His brother had gotten his memories back, the kids had gone home after that summer, and they were supposed to be...
A growling came from nearby and he jumped, trying to stand only to fall back on his knees, pain racing through his limbs. When did he get hurt? He wasn't- he didn't remember. A hulking figure materialized from the shadows a few yards away, a mix between a jaguar and some breed of giant, pounding its feet against the ground. He didn't know what it was. He hated not knowing.
Ford managed to get his feet back up under him and start sprinting, his lungs burning and his body shivering. His head was full of fog. He only knew that he had to keep going. Keep going until he could find Stanley- but Stan wasn't here. He was in another dimension that Ford could never go home to.
So why did he know about the fez? The kids? The Shack? Voices filled his ears, some familiar and friendly, others less so. He could hear Bill laughing in his mind and he gasped, stumbling to the ground as his heart tried to leap from his chest. How was he here? He's supposed to be dead. He-
'I'M HERE, IQ, AND I'M NEVER LEAVING. DO YOU REALLY THINK YOU GOT RID OF ME THAT EASILY?' Bill's nasally voice echoed through his mind, causing him to curl up on the ground in an almost fetal position, hands clasped over his ears and eyes tightly squeezed shut. He recognized the scene changing, a mushy ground being replaced by soft grass and a new sun shining on his skin, making him feel like he was burning up on the inside. Ford only opened his eyes when an unnatural force pushed him to. The monster was gone. Had there been a monster in the first place? Yes, yes there was, because Ford was a monster. He was the monster who started this whole mess. He would never be forgiven. He didn't deserve to be forgiven.
Distantly, he heard a shifting noise. A 'pop' that sounded like bones releasing air. Like the stretch of an old back. A small sound followed, drawn out like a yawn, and a distant voice came with it. The familiarity of it made him curl up tighter, eyes looking wildly around for the source.
'Hey Poindexter, time to wake up.' A vague poking sensation against his shoulder. 'I told you not to pull so many of those all nighters. I'm not letting you sleep till noon, y'know. You need to learn a lesson somehow.'
His heart still beat rapidly in his chest, but his fear was being drained away by confusion. Where was... why did that sound like... A sharp pain went through his head and Bill's voice echoed around him. 'IT'S RUDE NOT TO PAY ATTENTION, SIXER. LOOK AROUND YOU.' Bill cackled. Unwillingly, Ford pulled himself to sit up, hands remaining over his ears, and he gasped as he took in the scene before him. The grass seemed to be the only living thing here. The streets were barren, the sky was a kaleidoscope of unnaturally dark colors, he could see eye bats flying around, and the place was desolate. There was an open X in the sky, a telltale sign of a Weird-Apocalypse that was supposed to have already ended, and the Fearamid hovered just beneath it. None of that was as bad as what he saw when he looked to the right.
'C'mon Ford, I thought you went to bed early last night.' Another poking sensation. 'You better not be pretending. I'm not getting you any more jelly beans if you are.’
The broken down remains of the Mystery Shack were not far away from him, overgrown with weeds and looking long since abandoned. A part of his mind screamed that something wasn't right, that the Shack isn't this close to the town, but the rest of it was in chaos. Tears blurred his vision and the brief pain in his head turned to a constant throb. Stan, Mabel, Dipper, Soos, Wendy, Melody... He hauled himself to his feet and ran over, every bone aching but his mind refusing to give in until he found someone. Anyone.
A phantom touch crossed his forehead and there was a muffled curse. 'Dang it, poindexter, you're burning up. I told you to switch clothes after the storm. C'mon, wake up. I think we have some cold meds-’
He was just about to give up when he saw a lone figure, sitting on their knees in the woods. Stumbling, sweating, and full of adrenaline, he ran toward it, a call of something, anything, ready to spring from his lips, only for him to stop a few feet short, body frozen in shock and fear. Dressed in Ford's trench coat and sweater, was his brother, Stanley. His eyes were closed, his mouth slightly open, and his entire body pale.
No. No. No. This wasn't happening. Not again. Not ever. They defeated Bill. Why was the break still in the sky? Why was Stanley like this?
'Ford, Ford…Stanford... you need to wake up, bud. You're really freaking me out now.' A nervous chuckle. Another phantom touch, this time across the pulse point of his neck. His heart thudded against it in a panic. 'Holy Moses, okay, Ford - whatever you're dreaming, it's not real, okay? Do you hear me? It's not real. I promise.'
Stanford dropped down to kneel in front of his brother, tears making their way down his cheeks without him noticing. His hand shook as he rested it on Stan's shoulder. "Lee?" He whispered, the foreign, long lost nickname not feeling weird on his tongue. It felt right, but too late to say. He should've made up earlier. He shouldn't have been so stubborn. It was an accident. It was a mistake. Everything was a mistake. Stan messed up once. Ford messed up more times than he had fingers. He made the deal with Bill. Stan was the hero. Ford was the villain. It shouldn't end like this. Their comic books as kids always ended with the hero winning the fight. This shouldn't be any different.
Bill's voice came from everywhere and nowhere. 'THIS IS REAL LIFE, FORDSY. I THOUGHT YOU WERE OLD ENOUGH TO KNOW THAT COMICS AND LIFE AREN'T THE SAME. FIFTY-SEVEN YEARS OLD AND STILL STUCK IN CHILDISH WAYS. YOU'RE A USELESS FREAK TO BELIEVE THAT, SIXER. ALWAYS WERE. YOU FELL FOR MY TRICKS, AND NOW LOOK WHAT HAPPENED TO THE BROTHER WHO SACRIFICED EVERYTHING TO BRING YOU BACK." That laugh came again, evil and chaotic in a way that sent a shiver up Ford's spine. "HOW DID YOU REPAY HIM? A PUNCH TO THE FACE? ARGUMENTS? THREATENING TO KICK HIM OUT LIKE YOUR DAD DID ALL THOSE YEARS AGO? GETTING HIS MEMORY ERASED? SOME BROTHER YOU ARE."
"I don't deserve you, Stanley," he whispered, salty tears falling to the ground. "I don't and I never will, but I need you. I didn't realize it before, and I was a fool, but I can't... I can't lose you again. Please. Wake up. I need my brother. I can't..." His free hand ran across his right eye. It came back bloody. "I can't go on without you. Four decades alone. I want you back."
To his surprise, those brown eyes opened. His heart moved from his stomach to his throat. "Stanley?" He asked hopefully, watching his brother glance around them. They could find everyone, beat this together like last time, be a family-
"I'm sorry," the man said, looking entirely too nervous and confused to be the confident, overarching presence known as Stan Pines. The man with all the jokes. A gruff exterior and a fluffy inside. A man willing to fight first and ask questions later. Someone who is fiercely protective of his family and friends. "Who are you?"
His world came crumbling down all over again.
'C'mon, Ford, you gotta wake up. It's a nightmare and I know those suck, but they only get better when you wake up. You said so.' The voice was getting faster, holding up a facade of calm that was undermined by a small, wavering tremble. It was louder than before, less of an echo and more like someone was whispering by his ear. He couldn't focus on it.
Stanley's blank eyes speared into his soul and sent him falling, falling, falling. He was cast through dimension after dimension like there was a hand holding his trench coat by the collar, dragging him along through memories long past. Memories? How was he back in the multiverse? What was going on? His brain was whirling with information and thoughts, failing to put together something cohesive. He couldn't get his feet back on the ground. He didn't have anything to hold onto. Everything was slipping through his fingers.
He felt like he was shaking. Correction, the phantom touches were back and moving his shoulders in a frantic motion. The voice was lost in the warble of dimensional languages, confusion, and fear. He wanted the voice back. It made him sound crazy, but it was his only constant. He was going to lose his mind if he stayed like this. He wanted his sanity for just a little longer. Bill could write in his blood, deprive him of sleep, and possess him but as long as he kept going....
Those thoughts were old. They were from a long time ago. Why were they coming back now? Where was he? The world was only a swirl of color now. He felt paralyzed.
'Wake up, Ford! Please!'
Please....
He knew that voice.
That was Stanley.
Stanley didn't say please unless it was sarcastic or important. Was he in trouble? Did he need Ford? The color ebbed into total darkness. He was cold and hot all at once. His body shuddered without his command and he thought his eyes might be closed. They felt wired shut. Stan needed him. Stan needed him, but Stan was... he lost his memories... he wasn't... He managed to move his face to express his confusion and the shaking stopped.
Stanley's voice came again, this time like he was only a foot away and talking normally, no longer in his head. "That's it, buddy, wake on up. It's alright." The words were followed by a sigh. He thought it should be filled with agitation, frustration, or possibly fondness, but it only sounded relieved. Ford registered the feeling of lying on something soft, an even softer thing draped over his body up to his waist, and something fluffy under his head. His skin felt weird, like he was sweating, and his body couldn't decide between being hot or cold. It was... very unpleasant, and very confusing. "You're okay. Try to open your eyes for me."
He did, only because he trusted Stan. It was easier than he thought it would be to pull his eyes halfway open, letting his pupils roam about until they settled on the slightly blurry form of his twin brother. He was still dressed in his white tank top and shorts that he wore for bed, a concerned expression written across his face despite the small smile there. His hand ran through Ford's hair, grounding him further, and his other hand carefully put his glasses on his face, bringing things into visual clarity. "That's it, bro. You with me?"
The past aligned itself with the present. He'd left the portal nearly a year ago. They defeated Bill and ended Weirdmageddon. Stan lost his memories, but he got them back. They were on the Stan O' War II now, living out the dreams of the old days. They were going to get a bunk bed soon, but currently had two beds sitting on opposite sides of their shared room. Everything was well and good for the most part, outside of the anomalies that attacked them on a weekly basis and strange weather patterns at sea. They were dealing with one of those yesterday, weren't they? He could remember the monitors going red and walls of water rising off the sea, threatening to capsize their boat. There was something else, too, something…
"Ford?" Stan's voice brought him back to the present again as a strong hand rested on his shoulder, concerned brown eyes trained on him. "Are you here?" That was what they said after the other had a nightmare, panic attack, or flashback because nothing was ever truly okay during or after those, but when you knew where you were, it made it a lot easier. Ford swallowed around the lump that had formed in his throat, managing to nod slightly as he tried to process everything with a brain that didn't want to work.
"Okay, that's good," Stan breathed, nodding to himself. His hand moved from his shoulder to Ford's forehead again. "You're running a bad fever, by the feel of it. You must've caught it when you got drenched yesterday."
Drenched? He concentrated, recalling how his clothes had been five pounds heavier as they dropped saltwater onto the cabin floor. He could remember his journal becoming damp as his pen flew across paper, detailing the three-eyed, red scaled sea monster they had seen at the end of the storm. He remembered how Stan badgered him to change, his words falling on deaf ears as Ford waved him off, insisting on one more minute that turned into twelve. He knew very well the danger of staying in his rapidly chilling clothes, but the monster had been so fascinating and he wouldn't allow himself to miss a single detail. Who knew when they would come in contact with it again? He’d stayed in wet clothes before and nothing had happened. Why did something have to happen this time?
Pines Luck strikes again, he supposed.
“Maybe next time you'll listen when I tell you to change.” Stan said, giving him a pointed look that was undermined by the shakiness of his voice. To anyone else, that fear wouldn't have been noticeable. To Ford, it was all he could hear. Stan was scared. Stan had been scared for him. Ford had scared Stan.
His twin sighed, dropping his hand from Ford's forehead. He wanted to follow it, the sudden absence leaving him colder, but he couldn't bring himself to move or even speak. Why couldn't he talk? Should he talk? Would that bring the hand back? Would it get that terrible fear out of his brother's eyes? "I'm gonna go get ya some medicine and breakfast." He stood straight and Ford's heart jumped to his throat instantly. "You stay here-"
Ford did the exact opposite of that. With adrenaline and renewed fear coursing through him, he moved, wrapping Stan up in the tightest hug he could manage in his weakened state. He pressed his face into his technically younger brother's chest, feeling tears well up in his eyes and panic swell through his chest at the thought of him leaving.
"Woah, Ford," his brother's arms returned the hug, if confused. They'd missed out on too many hugs to ever question them. Stan lowered them both down to the bed, sitting on it as Ford curled himself closer, fearing Stanley would disappear or have that blank look in his eyes return if he let go. "What's wrong?"
He sniffed, feeling like a little kid again who needed his brother to comfort him, to protect him. He didn't want Stanley to leave. If he left, then Ford might not see him again. "Stay," he managed through his tight throat, his panicked breaths hitching up with the word. His voice was muffled, pressed against his brother's shirt, but Stan still heard it, judging by how he held onto him tighter. "I don't..." He hiccuped, all his fear coming back to him at once and sending his heart into a frenzy. Stan's eyes. The dimensions. Being hunted. Bill. Stan's eyes. Stan lost. Stan gone. "I don't... want you to..." His lungs felt incredibly constricted and he started coughing, deep, hacking coughs that shook his lungs painfully.
"Okay, okay, shh," Stan held him, rocking back and forth a little. They did that when they were kids. When the other needed comfort, no matter if it was after an ugly meet up with Crampelter or a bad boxing match, hugs and rocking was the best thing to do. "I won't leave. I'm never going to leave you. It's alright, just breathe. In and out, poindexter, follow me."
The familiar nickname, soothing movement, and the heartbeat under his ear calmed Ford enough to focus again. He followed Stan's breath with his own stuttering ones, a few coughs sprinkled between. Even after he managed to get his breathing even, he didn't let go, holding tight to the twin he thought he lost so many times. Ford may have been the older twin, but he always looked up to Stan. He admired his strength and confidence. Sure, he could be brash at the wrong times, but everything always turned out okay in the end, even if they were running away from bullies or the latest sea monster who didn't realize that the Pines twins didn't do deals.
"I was scared." The words slipped out of him in a whisper. "I..."
"It's the fever, Ford. You've got a serious one." It made sense. Fevers made nightmares so much worse. Sickness helped blur the lines between dreams and reality. "I shoulda seen it last night. You never go to bed early. I woulda woken you up sooner if I knew you were having a nightmare, but you're so... still when you have one."
"Survival skill," he muttered. Training himself to stay completely still and aware when he slept was a big part of how he survived running through multiple dimensions with people who wanted your head or extra finger as a prize. What little sleep he did get, he could never relax, or he just might wake up with a gun to his head. The only time his mental training seemed to fail was when Bill personally decided to enter his dreams.
"Right," Stan grunted, obviously not liking it. They'd had quite a few conversations about his lack of movement during nightmares. It didn't change anything. The habit was ingrained into his brain. "Whatever you saw wasn't real. There's no need to be scared. It was only a nightmare and we both know what a pain those little buggers can be."
"But it was real."
"Hm?"
"Everything I saw was real." His hand gripped the fabric of Stan's shirt tightly. "I... could remember those dimensions. I'd been in them before." He felt his brother stiffen up. Anytime they talked about the portal, it was either joking about some crazy dimension he'd been in or reminding them both about the three decades they spent universes apart. "It was all a blur. I was being chased. I kept falling. I somehow ended up in Gravity Falls. The rift was broken, the Fearmid was there, Bill was in my head, and you were...." his voice caught. "...your mind was still gone. You didn't remember me. Nothing made sense, but it was terrifying."
Stan gently pulled him back by the shoulders so their eyes could meet. Ford could still feel the tears on his cheeks. "One," Stan began, "you're on our glorious Stan O'War, not fighting for your life in a dimension full of, I don't know, people with hands for feet and gills instead of noses." That drew a small chuckle out of Ford because he had been to a dimension like that - it wasn't scary. The people were friendly. He'd told Stan that. Was that why he picked it? Stan's face turned more serious. "Two, Bill is gone. He can't bother you ever again, or anyone else. He's toast. I right hooked him to be sure."
He took a deep breath for the next one. "Thirdly, I'm here, Ford. Mentally and physically. I remember everything and yeah, I do have the occasional lapses-" Ford flinched a little, "- but I'm here and not going anywhere. You're stuck with me. Remember that." He sighed. "I'm sorry I didn't wake you-"
"Stop." The word came out with more strength than he thought he had at the moment. Stan apparently thought the same as his jaw clicked shut, eyes widened in surprise. "Stop apologizing. You have nothing to apologize for. I'm the one who made all the mistakes. You picked up after them. I did everything wrong-" He broke off into a fit of coughing that hurt his already dry throat.
"Hey, hey, hey," Stan pulled him into a hug again. Ford welcomed it. "It's alright. We both made mistakes, Ford. I'm not innocent. We're brothers. We fight. We make up. We help each other. That's how it goes. You need to stop blaming yourself for everything because you've been forgiven. Anyone could have been tricked by Bill and if someone else had, they probably wouldn't have tried to fix their mess either. You did. You made up for it."
Ford stayed quiet, not trusting his voice and not entirely believing the words. He did so much bad. He blamed Stan for years about the science project, but it had only been an accident. He'd pinned too much on that one thing because their Pa wanted him to be their 'ticket out of this dump.' Ford wanted to get out of Glass Shard Beach and away from him, but live up to the expectations at the same time. He hadn't realized what he was doing to his twin at the time.
Stan seemed to sense his hesitation. "Tell ya what," he said, shaking him gently, "I'll quit apologizing if you quit blaming yourself, deal?"
Ford knew that wouldn't work. They would always harbor guilt, scars, and trauma from their lives. They would both apologize and blame themselves. It was a loop that would take a lot of work to get out of, if they ever did, but this was a start. The word 'deal' usually sent a shudder through the genius, bringing back images of the mindscape and blue fire, but with Stan, it was safe. Stan would never betray him. He wouldn't twist his words with Ford.
"Deal."
"Good." He hugged him one more time before pulling away. "Now, I'm going to go and get you some medicine. I want to bring down that fever as soon as possible. I'll just be a minute. Not going anywhere." Ford nodded and Stan left, sending him a reassuring grin over his shoulder as he stepped through the threshold of their bedroom. Ford pulled up the sleeve of his sweater and wiped at his eyes, only now realizing the extent of how horrible he felt. The conversation had taken what little strength he had and he slumped down into the pillows, burying himself in his blankets to try and ward off the chills. He raised a hand and felt his own burning forehead with a wince. It hadn't been that bad last night, he was sure of it.
He eventually drifted off a bit, eyes closed as he dozed but still aware of his surroundings. A few minutes later, he heard footsteps enter the room and there was a solid finger pressed against his pulse point. He opened his eyes blearily to see Stan standing over him with a worried expression, eyebrows furrowed together. In his other hand was a silver tray. Ford could see a glass of water, a bottle of cold medicine, inhaler, and a plate of toast on it. He sat it down on the bedside table and reached out, helping Ford to sit up against the wall.
"You better get well in a few days, Ford," Stan said. "The kids are coming back for the summer and Shermie's paying us a visit. Said he can't wait to see us both, so you better not be sick and spreading your nerd germs all over the place."
Ah, the kids, Shermie, Soos, Wendy, Gravity Falls itself - he couldn't wait to see everyone. Especially their older brother. They'd done a full explanation of what happened over a Skype call (his universe was finally beginning to catch up to the multiverse, he thought with a chuckle) that nearly ended with Shermie having a heart attack when he saw his two younger brothers on screen - he had asked for it, not believing Stan. The kids were there with their grandfather, affirming every detail, and by the end, Sherm had believed them and made his brothers promise to see him soon so he could bear hug them. It was an emotional moment for everyone involved.
They hadn't meant for it to take almost seven months to return from the arctic, but the anomalies just kept growing. Technically, they still weren't done, but for their family, they would cut any mission short. The only reason they hadn't returned for Christmas to have a giant family reunion was due to a sea anomaly keeping them going in circles. It had taken more than a week to break out of it and by then, the opportunity for a giant reunion had passed with the new year.
"I'll be fine by then," Ford assured, even if a forming pit in his stomach said otherwise. He ignored it. Paranoia. It had to be paranoia. He would be fine. If anything in their lives ever went completely right, it would be this. Stan gave him a smile, said "That's the Pines spirit!" and pushed a glass of water into his hands that Ford shakily drank.
The cold beverage was a blessing on his dry throat. He swallowed down the medicine and managed a few bites of the toast as Stan talked about everything under the sun - from the Shack, to Ducktective, to Melody and Soos (Soos Pines, now) planning to adopt a pet. They didn't say what kind of pet, so naturally, the twins started betting on what sort of pet. "I think I'm right when I say it's going to be a dog. Soos adores dogs. Petted every single one of the strays that showed up. Fed ‘em my good apocalypse food."
"Well," Ford said, flipping his half eaten toast around his fingers methodically. He really should eat more. He already had a broken food and sleep schedule that Stanley had drastically improved by picking him up and carrying him to the kitchen or the couch, depending on what was needed, but he still didn't eat enough. He was on a far more consistent schedule than back in the multiverse though, so that was a start. "I think they'll be getting a cat. Melody once said she had a pet tabby growing up."
"Nope! It will be a dog. My gut tells me so."
"Oh, really?" He asked, amused. He sat the toast back down on the plate, rubbing at his eyes as they began to droop. Stan was already lost in a speech, listing off all the more recent times his gut instinct or impulsiveness had been right.
"Once, I looked at a bear and thought 'I can teach that bear to drive me around.' And hey, it worked!"
"What'd the cops say?" Ford asked. Blubbs and Durling weren't the strictest or... brightest cops sometimes, but they could see something as intense as that. They should, anyway. They were small town people with great, fun personalities, but they weren't complete idiots. (At least, he hoped so.) Stan dove into a tale that would have been extremely outlandish if not for Gravity Falls being, well, Gravity Falls and Ford found himself leaning further over, unable to keep his head up. Soon, his head rested on his brother's shoulder, eyes closed.
Stan stopped for a moment in his story, then kept going, putting his arm around Ford's shoulders to pull him more securely to his side. It was like old times, when they were kids watching a movie or sitting on the beach, talking about how they would explore the open waters someday. They were living the dream now. His glasses were removed from his face, followed by a hair ruffle as the story continued.
Ford slipped into sleep not long after that, dreaming of beaches, anomalies, and going back to the Mystery Shack - his second home. The boat was his first home, with his brother snoring, places to explore, and jellybeans in the cabinet. As long as his brother was with him, anywhere could be home to him. He was never going to lose him again.
Wherever they go, they go together.