Ex Undis Ad Perpetuam Memoriam

by FemaleMarauder7

Summary:

From the waves (of the sea) to the perpetual memory

-

Ford, paranoid and exhausted, looks for a way to keep Bill out of his head. After accidentally breaking a unicorn relic he'd forgotten about, he wakes up in a tub of ice water miles away from home.

Now he is forced to face the truth of his twin's life as he races to return to Gravity Falls before something bad happens to Stan.

Chapter 1: “Stanley.”

Ford slammed his front door closed and hastily went down the line of locks. His eyes darted to the boarded up windows then around the room. He quickly backpedaled further into his home, knocking into some haphazardly stacked boxes, ignoring the cold bite on his hands and damp clothing from where he'd slipped and fallen into the snow.

The trip into town to get more supplies was a disaster. 

Bill was everywhere. Bill had eyes everywhere.

His eyes, his eyes, his eyes.

It was unseen.

Bill is going to steal his eyes.

He can never escape. 

Trapped.

The portal.

He had to make sure the portal was safe.

No.

He can't go down.

Might pass out.

Have to protect the portal.

Ford jumped when a gust of wind hit his house, his breath leaving small clouds in the air. Wrapping his trench coat closer around him he turned and hurried into the kitchen.

He needed to protect his mind. He couldn't think straight. Couldn't recall the last time he'd actually slept. Passing out didn't count. 

He needed coffee. He needed to stay awake. Keep Bill out of his mind.

He was-

Trapped.

Useless.

Jealous of Stanley.

 A coward.

Foolish.

Conceited.

A sea otter.

Missing Stanley.

Unforgiving.

Ford jumped at his shadow, knocking an empty mug off the counter. He just stared at the shattered ceramic. Eyes blinking slowly, the pot brewing barely registering in his mind.

After a moment he forced his attention away and shoved a few coffee beans into his mouth, grabbing a new mug to fill.

He downed one cup, cringing at the bitter taste, then again with a second. The liquid hot against his tongue and warmed him slightly. Not particularly good, but it would stave off the sleepiness that came with the cold.

Tossing a couple more beans into his mouth he held them under his tongue as he ran up the stairs two at a time.

The wind continued to howl as the snowstorm outside picked up.

Compulsively he filled pages of loose paper (journals two and three were hidden and journal one was in the basement) with drawings of Bill quickly scribbled out and blocky warnings against him. Using anything within reach as a writing tool. Sticks of charcoal. When those ran out, switching to pens. When those snapped, dipping his finger directly into the ink. Even blood from his reopened hand wound, leaking through the reused bandages, smudged across the pages.

Paper fluttered to the ground as he swiped his hand across the desk, his fingers hitting against a glorified paper weight. He picked up the carved crystal and turned it over in his hand.

The so-called ‘naturally occurring’ crystal shaped like a unicorn mocked him. He vaguely remembered that Celeste had given it to him to convince him to leave the glen. Couldn't remember what they said it was supposed to do.

Unicorn hair can protect against evil forces. 

He could go back and get some.

He first needed journal two though.

Needed to remember the chant.

Ford tripped over a box. One hand catching the door frame to keep him from falling while the other pressed against his head. The crystal unicorn lay cracked on the ground.

His eyesight blurred and he wobbled trying to take another step. Biting down on one of the beans, he shook his head to try to clear it.

He couldn't afford to pass out now. Couldn't let Bill in. He needed…

He needed-

He…

Ford's eyes shot open as he gasped for air. His chest rising and falling in the cold water made his numb body shiver involuntarily. His gaze scanned the fuzzy room to try to gain some grounding.

The overhead light buzzed brightly, not helping as the peeling yellow and brown argyle wallpaper assaulted his eyes. The toilet next to the tub stained an off white. Door wide open, leading into a room he also didn't recognize.

The quick look around told him his glasses weren't nearby.

He braced himself against the sides of the tub and lifted himself, immediately lowering back into the ice water with a pained hiss. He stared at the submerged wound on his side, his fingers lightly hovering over the poorly done stitching.

Nausea passed through him as he tried to level his breathing. Just how long was he out for?

Bill took something from him. Or added something.

He couldn't decide which was worse.

He was still alive, which meant if he took something then it wasn't important. A kidney, maybe, given the spot. If something had been added it could be any number of things.

He looked around the room again, his mind a little clearer, not as paranoid.

There was some blood, but not a lot which meant it hadn't happened in the bathroom. He was carried here. Which also meant it couldn't have been Bill. It was too kind. Bill wouldn't have stitched him up and put him in an ice bath.

He braced himself again and held his breath as he stepped out of the tub. Leaning against the sink he closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths, letting the air dry his naked body.

After a moment he looked at his reflection. Haunted tired eyes stared back, dark bags as he remembered. He squinted and leaned closer. Pale fading scars painted sections of his face that he didn't remember.

He brought up a hand and traced over a scar on his upper lip, fingers stalling. Pulling away he stared at his hand, turning it this way and that.

Slowly he closed his fist one finger at a time then reopened it, counting slowly. He brought up his other hand and did the same a second time.

A third time. Then a fourth.

He turned his hands and traced the outside, searching for a scar or fresh wound like the one on his side. Nothing.

He counted again to be sure.

Then he noticed the missing hole in the middle of his palm.

He quickly ran his hands over his body, searching and finding scars. Not the ones he knew of. New ones. Different ones. 

Knife scars. Dark and ugly bruising. Cigarette burns. Broken and reset nose. Anchor tattoo on his forearm. Bullet scars.

His heart raced as his head snapped back to the mirror. He leaned forward again, long damp hair falling over his shoulder. He ran a finger along his hairline, stopping as he came across a small scar he did know but wasn't his.

Ford stared at his the reflection of his twin and let out a small whispered breath. “Stanley.”

Chapter 2: “Stanford.”

Notes:

*holds all the comments in my cheeks like a chipmunk and reaches out with grabby hands* More please.

I'm happy you guys are already enjoying the story :D

Stan woke up coughing, deeply. Rolling over he spat out the source of the bitter taste in his mouth. Moaning softly as he focused on the drug.

It was too dark and the wrong shape to be any bitter tasting drug he’d had before. Didn't matter.

He closed his eyes and groaned as he heaved himself to his feet, using the doorframe to steady himself. Slowly he looked around as his eyes adjusted.

The building Rico had brought him to was dark and cold. Way colder than it should be for New Mexico. The closest room looked like a hoarder’s paradise with tall stacked boxes, papers scattering the floor, and random broken gizmos on shelves.

Broken like the science project.

Boarded up windows that allowed the barest of light gave him the sense it had been abandoned. And it was quiet. Too quiet for one of the gang's hideouts.

A dull ache in the back of his mind kept making him look over his shoulder as he made his way down a hallway. Paranoid that he was being watched.

All the unlocked rooms were the same mess. Some had books, while others were stuffed full with boxes. All with boarded windows. (He didn't have the energy to try to break into the locked rooms.)

What he didn't find was other people.

Part of him expected to round a corner and find a puppet with Rico's voice asking if he wanted to play a game.

His body lagged with exhaustion he hadn't felt in a very long time. Everything hurt. A shiver ran down his spine as he pulled the coat tighter around himself and paused.

Had Rico dressed him in different clothes? He definitely wasn't wearing any of this before he was caught. Was this part of the game?

Whatever. He'd figure it out later.

With a sigh he walked down some stairs to more of the same. He eventually found a kitchen, ceramic crunching under his shoes as he opened a cabinet.

Relief rushing through him seeing cans of beans and brown meat. There wasn't much, and it was probably expired, but it was more than he'd eaten in a while. Reaching with his left hand for a can he froze.

He waved his hand in front of his face a few times, watching it intently. The blood soaked bandage wasn't a new sight (setting aside the fact he hadn't had one on his hands before). 

He slowly wiggled each finger, counting as he went. Then he lifted his other hand and did it again.

Stan shot out of the kitchen and into the first bathroom he found, ignoring the horror amount of blood everywhere.

His heart beat fast as he stared into the mirror. His face looked gaunt and haunted with its bloodshot eyes, one more than the other. His once fluffy hair was shorter and stuck up in random places held by unwashed oils. He choked back a sob as he looked down at his the hands of his twin gripping the counter. “Stanford.”

Somehow this made more sense than Rico dumping him here. Ford had found some freaky magic mind switching device and thought it was a good idea to use it.

He wasn't sure who Ford was trying to switch minds with, he hadn't found anyone else in the house, but he could take a pretty good guess that it wasn't him.

The idea of Ford piloting his body made him nauseous. Rico had definitely caught up to him, and the thought of putting his brother through whatever hell wasn't a particularly happy one.

He took off Ford's glasses and tried rubbing the pain out of his right eye before begrudgingly put them back on. His twin really did have the worst eyesight.

Returning to the kitchen he grabbed a can of meat and rummaged around the drawers for a can opener and a (semi-clean) spoon. He was still hungry after all, and it didn't seem like his brother had been eating much given the lack of food.

Now equipped with substance and the new knowledge he gave the building, what he only could assume was Ford's house, another search.

Poindexter surely put the mad into mad scientist.

The few papers Stan picked up were filled with either complex equations he didn't understand or insane ramblings he also didn't understand.

A strange smell of death permeated every room. If it wasn't coming from the blood smeared on the walls, it came from some broken specimen jar or probably a dead rat in the vents.

There was no power, he'd attempted to flick every switch he came across even though his eyes had adjusted to the dim light. There was bound to be a generator somewhere.

Just something for him to check out once the storm outside died down. He had quickly changed his mind seeing the white out conditions and relocked all the locks to the front door once he had found it. (This also helped further confirm that he was alone in the house.)

He vaguely recalled that his Ma had mentioned Ford lived in Oregon now. He hated the snow. It was cold and miserable and the reason he stuck to the warmer states.

Still ignoring any internal locked doors, including the one that simply required an eye scan to unlock. Even if he was curious, if they remained locked then there was less he could break. He made his way back to his starting room.

Scooping up the bean he spat out earlier he turned it over between five fingers, before sighing and dropping it into the now empty meat can. Part of him was relieved that it looked like a normal coffee bean, but he couldn't completely discount if it had been laced with something still.

Stan toed a box out of the pathway and started to pick up items off the ground. If this was where Ford last was then there had to be some clue as to what device he used.

He set down his empty can onto the desk and tossed both halves of a broken crystal horse and a few other knick knacks he'd picked up next to it. Then he started sorting through the paper, slowing down to read the warnings in handwriting that screamed a panicked Ford.

“Bill lied to me. Can't sleep. Always watching.” Stan murmured to himself, his eyes pinching together. “Is this why you're so paranoid, Six?”

If he wasn't sleeping that would explain the ungodly amount of coffee stained mugs in the kitchen and straight up eating the beans (whether dosed with other drugs or not).

“Well.” He dropped the pile of papers onto the desk. “Dunno who this Bill guy is, and I'm no closer to finding what you used to switch us, but you need sleep.”

“And a shower.” He pulled the collar of the button up shirt out and sniffed it, his nose scrunching. “You smell worse than I do on a bad day.”

Stan pondered for a moment before turning to find a room with a bed or a couch to crash on. “Sleep first. The rest can come later. Not like we're going anywhere any time soon.”

Chapter 3: “Sorry about the mess.”

Notes:

Happy pride!!

A loud rapped knocking startled Ford out of his thoughts. Peeking out of the bathroom he waited until it happened again.

“Mr. Pinington! I know you're in there. Please answer the door.”

“Pinington?” Ford whispered as he quickly grabbed the first article of clothing he saw to try to preserve what modesty Stan might have still had. Making his way across the one bedroom apartment (right?), he cracked open the door.

He squinted in the bright light of the sun and gave the woman an over once. 

She fidgeted with a name tag and surprise crossed her features when he answered before she quickly tried to look in charge. “Mr. Pinington! Thank you. I have just come by to remind you that you need to either pay for another night or check out.”

Hotel then.

“Uh. Sure. I'm not exactly decent at the moment. Is it okay if I come down to the lobby in a bit?” Ford's face flinched slightly as he shifted to make sure his wounded side stayed hidden behind the door. 

Last thing he needed was her calling the cops before he even had a chance to figure out what was going on.

Her eyes flicked down to where he'd been holding the fabric in front of him then quickly looked back up, face heating up. “Ah. Right. You have an hour.”

He watched her fidget a little more before she turned ninety degrees and awkwardly walked away. He probably should be more concerned how relieved she looked when he answered, but it wasn't important.

He had an hour to figure out where his brother was staying and what he was going to do.

The door closed with a click and he noticed it didn't have a proper lock. That was unfortunate. With a sigh he turned and scanned the room.

Stan's hotel room was a mess (not that he could judge given the current state of his cabin). Food wrappers and to-go containers littered every surface. Clothes thrown haphazardly in a corner on top of an old familiar duffle bag. Blood stained the bed sheets.

Ah. Must have been the makeshift operating table.

Where Stan was cut into.

Where Stan had his kidney stolen. (Surely he didn't let it happen willingly... Right?)

Where Stanley, his little brother of fifteen minutes, could have very well died.

And he would have never known .

Ford looked down at the fabric in his hand and paled as nausea washed over him. The white tank top had been reduced to a bloodied rag. (Probably what he was wearing when his kidney was taken.)

He dropped to the floor and dry heaved into a trashcan, a pitiful whine escaping with a quiet sob. Stomach constricting as he failed to vomit what wasn't there to begin with.

Sitting against the wall he glanced around the room again. Maybe this was a solitary incident, he was just an unfortunate victim chosen at random. 

He reached up and grabbed a piece of paper on the cabinet (that he thought possibly held a tv at one point in time) next to him. Squinting, he held it closer to his face to read what it said.

He figured his own eyesight was worse, but how had Stan gone so long without glasses was beyond him.

“This is your last warning, Alcatraz. Get me the money you owe me or I'll take more than just the kidney.” Ford read aloud then lowered his hand and stared ahead blankly. The note was signed ‘Rico.’

Another fake name.

He wasn't a random victim then.

If Stan was in trouble and owed this guy money, then why didn't he reach out?

He would have helped.

He wouldn't have gotten annoyed and hung up the phone. Just like with that prank caller.

He wasn't still angry about the perpetual motion machine.

He wasn't still hurt that Stan sabotaged his future.  

He let Stan get kicked out in the first place.

It happened so fast. He couldn't have stopped it even if he wanted to at the time.

It's his fault Stanley, his little brother of fifteen minutes, was being threatened.

Ford couldn't stay. He felt the need to run and start over someplace new. If it had been something like Bill he could find a place to hunker down and try to handle it. But Rico was his own separate entity. Ford didn't know how to handle a physical threat like another human.

He forced himself back to his feet, ignoring the pull in his side, and shifted through Stan's clothing in the duffle bag.

None of it was clean, all had a stain of something or other on it, but he managed to find the least dirty items and quickly dressed.

The jeans felt a little tight so he left them unbuttoned and hoped the plain black t-shirt was long enough for it not to matter. 

He'd need to take a better look at the wound later. Possibly fix the stitching and put proper dressings on it.

He'd take care of Stan's body until they could switch back. He wasn't going to let him get hurt any more.

He also needed to feed Stan's body, but for now he needed to run. To get as far away from Rico as he could.

Gravity Falls would be ideal, but he didn't know where he was, or if Stan still even had a car.

He stuffed anything in the room that could belong to Stan into the duffle bag and pulled on a thin red jacket. It wasn't the best option for winter, no matter where he was, but it was better than nothing.

Digging through the pockets he found a pair of brass knuckles, some spare change, a pack of cigarettes, a lighter, and car keys.

Trying to focus on the relief of having transportation, he ignored the weight on his heart when he glanced at the keychain attached. 

An eyelet was forcibly screwed into the little Jersey Devil figure. A figure that they had made together modeled after the real anomaly and had gone missing after that night .

He sniffed and found his way to the lobby, dragging the duffle bag behind him on his good side.

“Sorry about the mess. Didn't give me much time to clean up.” Ford mumbled as he handed the room key over to the same woman from earlier. “Uhm. Do you happen to have a local paper? And a payphone?”

“Newspapers are located just outside the front door, and there's a payphone at the edge of the building.”

“Thanks.”

He didn't wait for her to reply again, wanting to try to leave before they went to clean the room. He really didn't want to still be around for that.

Stopping at the newspapers just long enough to find out he was in New Mexico, he quickly found the payphone and stuffed himself and Stan's bag inside the vandalized half frosted glass box. 

Digging into the jacket pockets again for the change he fumbled and dropped a couple coins, forgetting he no longer had the extra finger he was so used to. He managed to stick a quarter into the machine and punched in his home number.

He pressed the phone to his ear and stared down at his hand as he tried to think of what he was even going to say.

Hey Lee. How have you been? So crazy story. Whatever you do, don't fall asleep or a demon from another dimension will possess you. Also you are down a kidney and your good friend Rico threatened to kill you if you don't pay up. Fun right! Do I know how to fix this you ask? Not a clue. I know! And I'm supposed to be the smart twin. But don't worry. Everything will be okay.

He closed his eyes and lightly tapped his forehead with the thumb side of a closed fist. His nose scrunching up as he sighed. 

He was so fucked. 

Ford's face dropped as he heard the line click before it even had a chance to ring.

“The number you have dialed is not in service. Please hang up and try again.”

Chapter 4: “On the house.”

Notes:

Special thanks to my friend for helping me with the Spanish in this chapter (and future ones)! <3 (She has also been my backboard for a lot of my idea rants. Not sure how she puts up with me. lol)

Direct translations are supplied at the end :D

Stan didn't even bother taking off Ford's boots as he collapsed onto the couch in a room that could pass as a study. Making an offended sound and removing the glasses only after the bridge stabbed into his nose.

His breathing slowed the moment he buried his face into his arm again and closed his eyes.

After a moment of trying to sleep he cracked an eye open then squeezed them shut. When that didn't work he shifted slightly with a huff.

Eventually giving up, his eyes snapped open and he pushed himself off the couch with an annoyed growl. Sending himself spiraling through the air.

“Son of a… What the fuck?” Stan stabilized himself and looked down at Ford's body still laying on its stomach, an arm hanging over the edge and loosely holding his glasses. Looking very much asleep.

He looked down at himself, still wearing Ford's clothing but somewhat relieved to see he was back to having five fingers. He'd be more so relieved if he also wasn't a translucent blueish color and floating a few feet off the ground.

“Okay new theory. I'm dead. Rico caught up to me and finally killed me. And now I'm haunting my twin and possessing his body.” Stan rambled as he stared at Ford through his hand.

Of course this would happen to him of all people.

“Wow. I knew you were dumb, but that's just sad.”

His head jerked as he quickly looked around the room, his eyes falling on a yellow triangle that stood out in the monotoned filter that had fallen over the room as if time stood still.

It was perched on the back of the couch above Ford's head. A tongue appeared and it licked its own eyeball as it stared at Ford. (Stan really didn't like how it looked at his brother as if he was food.)

The eye pinched into a grin as its gaze went up to Stan. One arm stretching out to run its hand through Ford's hair. 

“Hey! Keep your slimy hands off him!” Stan tried to shoot through the air, but just ended up rolling a couple times in the same spot.

“Now now. No need to be so hostile to your roommate.” The triangle laughed and lowered itself to sit on Ford's back, further wrapping its arms around his body. “We should be getting along.”

“Roommate?” Stan crossed his arms as he floated upside down and narrowed his eyes at it. “You just look like an ugly parasitic chip to me.”

“I for one was invited until the end of time.” The triangle's eye flashed red for a moment before it visibly calmed itself and continued. “I can't say the same about you.”

“I don't wanna be here any more than you seem to want me here. Can't very well decide to go haunt somewhere else though.” His eye twitched as a feeling he couldn't describe settled into his gut. He didn't trust this thing, and he definitely wasn't going to leave Ford's body alone with it either.

“Again with the being dead. If only I was so lucky.” The triangle hummed as its arms snaked under Ford's clothing. “No. IQ surprised me with this development. Didn't think he'd do it.”

Watching this thing touch Ford like that made him sick. He launched himself at Ford's body more successfully and felt relieved as the creature disappeared and popped up on the other side of the room.

“You're no fun.” It pouted, crossed its arms, then grinned. “Unfortunately you're not dead. Ol’ Sixer here decided it was a good idea to swap bodies with ya. Too bad for him you're too stupid not to follow his warnings. Left his beautiful mind wide open.”

“You're Bill.” Stan blurted out, finally connecting the dots. Anger coursing through him. “You're the jackass that he is so afraid of! Sounds like I'm more welcome here than you are at the moment.”

“Oh Mack was able to piece it together. Huh. How about that.” It muttered for a moment before popping right in front of Stan's face. “Name's Bill Cipher. Resident muse and Sixer’s best friend.”

Stan flinched back slightly, but held his ground (air?) above Ford's body, refusing to move. He really despised that Bill was using his childhood nickname for Ford. He smirked, trying to put on some bravado. “You must have had one bad falling out then.”

“Ah. Doesn't matter. We'll make up soon.” Bill held his hands behind his back and slowly circled Stan. “Better yet though. I know of a way to get you two to switch back. That's what you want right?”

“Sure.” Stan answered hesitantly.

“How about we make a deal then. All you have to do is get Ford's body down to the basement then I'll take over from there and it'll be like you never even switched places.” Bill stopped in front of Stan again and held out his hand engulfed in a blue flame.

Stan looked to the blue flame, down at Ford, then back at Bill. “You can't possess him right now can you?”

The flame flickering out told Stan all he needed to know. It had been a shot in the dark, but his idiot brother really made a deal with this Bill and allowed it to possess him. ‘Until the end of time’ it had said. 

Since Ford was staying awake then it wasn't too hard to guess that Bill could only take over if Ford was asleep. But Bill hadn't even attempted to take over since Stan closed his eyes.

So it was probably safe to assume that since Ford's consciousness wasn't present then neither was the deal for the body. He didn't want to think about whether Bill was able to possess his own body while Ford had it, but that was something they could deal with if it came to it.

Bill narrowed his eye for a quick moment then snapped his fingers and the room melted away, leaving them in a void of stars.

A chair scooped up Stan and stopped in front of a table with a chess board. Bill settled himself into the chair across from him.

The demon seemed unnervingly calm as he waved the chess board away and a small box tv appeared in its place.

Stan couldn't see the picture as Bill flipped through the channels, so he continued to look around. Books, complex equations, and other sciencey experiments floated around them, stuff that Stan recognized as things that he'd found during his extended self guided tour of the house.

Was this where Ford and Bill hung out before his brother went insane?

Somehow it didn't seem too far-fetched. Ford had always been intrigued with the supernatural, and if Bill had pretended to be his friend then he wouldn't have any reason to doubt it. 

Ford never could read people like Stan could.

“And I once saw a dead rat floatin’ in a bucket.”

His gaze snapped back to Bill as the demon changed the channel with a bored click of a remote.

“Left hook!”

Click.

“Hey, what's the word, Sixer?”

Click.

“Jorge, Rico, you're the two best Colombian prison friends a fellah could make.”

Click.

“Rico! Uh hey. Let's just talk this out yeah?”

“Ah. There you are.” Bill leaned forward, his eye curled up with a smug smile, apparently finding what he was looking for. “Listen Mack. I'm sure you're a swell understanding guy. You're going to make that deal with me eventually. It'll just be better if you do it sooner rather than later. But let me give you a taste of what kind of power I have if you don't. On the house.”

Chains wrapped around Stan and the chair, effectively restraining him better than anything he'd been strapped to in the past. He pushed down the rising fear he felt as Bill floated over to him and spun the tv around.

Bill reached his hand into the screen, pulling out the memory in the form of a small light orb.

Stan's eyes followed the orb then widened as he pressed his lips tightly together. Struggling in vain as Bill forced open his mouth and pushed the orb down his throat.

His breath sucked between his teeth as he swallowed. His mind plunging into the memory.

The door to his motel room burst open and he quickly scrambled off the bed, hand held out in front of him as he pressed against the back wall.

“Rico! Uh hey. Let's just talk this out yeah?”

“Hemos terminado de hablar, Gringo. Me llevo lo que me debes.” 

Rico motioned behind him and a few other guys stepped into the room followed by a man wearing a lab coat.

Stan's heart beat rapidly and his eyes followed Lab coat as the man set down a small cooler and a bag on top of the empty tv cabinet. His gaze flicked back to Rico as he closed the door with a quiet click.

“Atrápenlo”

At Rico's command the goons advanced. Stan was able to fight back and get a couple punches in before a needle was stuck into his neck and his body slumped.

They dragged him back to the bed and stuck a rag between his teeth. Lab coat didn't waste any time cutting his tank top open and finding the spot to insert his scalpel.

Stan's scream was muffled by the fabric. 

He knew he had to have lost consciousness shortly after, but reliving the memory forced him to feel every step.

The back alley doctor slicing into his skin. The blood running down his side, staining the ruined shirt and bed sheets. The doctor poking around inside of him and stealing his kidney. The doctor shitily stitching him up. Rico's men dropping him into an ice bath. 

Deep inside the mindscape — the demon in an imposing dark pyramid form of nightmares, deep red color pulsating the space between black bricks, eye watching intently from its place behind rows of teeth inside a salivating maw, and drinking in the intoxicating fear — Stan felt everything.

Notes:

Direct Spanish translations:

"Hemos terminado de hablar, Gringo. Me llevo lo que me debes." - "We're done talking, Gringo. I'll take what you owe me."

"Atrápenlo" - "Catch him."

Chapter 5: “Ay, qué lindo.”

Notes:

What's this? An early chapter? I'm like 6 chapters ahead in my writing and I was having a hard time waiting to share this one.

Enjoy!! :D

Spanish translation supplied at the end <3

Ford almost cried when he found the El Diablo. It had been parked around the corner, out of sight of Stan's room.

Once Stan's pride and joy that he had worked on fixing up in high school, whenever Ford had came up with excuses on not joining him to the Stan O’ War, the car now looked like it had seen better days.

Fumbling with the keys, he shoved the duffel bag into the back and clambered into the driver's seat. Hugging the steering wheel, he murmured to the car as she refused to turn on.

“Come on, come on, come on.”

He sighed as the engine turned over, threw the car into reverse then into drive, and peeled out of the Dead End Flats motel's parking lot.

His eyes kept flicking to the rear view mirror as he tried not to swerve. It had been a while since he had borrowed Urwwovuliw'h that truck once for spaceship parts and even longer before that when Steve had taken his car.

His nerves slowly easing as he found a highway to jump onto, though he still stole glances behind him.

He should have remembered that his phone line had been cut and calling his house wouldn't have done anything. It had been one of Bill's early actions before he got more violent to start isolating him.

Not that he needed the help. He was self isolating for half a decade already in the cabin by himself.

All it had done was waste money.

Money he probably would need to drive from New Mexico to Oregon.

Or for food.

Eventually he was forced to stop as the gas light pinged, lucky that the truck stop he pulled into also serviced normal vehicles.

Ford stopped at one of the many open pumps and turned off the car. Resting his head against the headrest he stared at the ceiling and took a deep breath as the adrenaline faded.

His entire body ached, and between the headache and hunger it was getting harder to think straight.

He flipped down the visor as the corner of a photo caught his attention, a bell stitched onto the visor's fabric softly rang at the movement.

Looking at the photo of him and Stan standing in a boxing ring made his heart hurt. He missed Stanley.

Shoving the photo back into place he climbed out of the car, the white paint on the hood flaking off as he ran his fingers over it.

Now that he got a better chance to actually look at the car, she was in terrible shape. 

Peeling paint, dents in the bumpers, duct tape keeping a rear light in place. She looked like one pothole away from being totaled.

Ford took the time to unhook the bungee cable that kept the trunk tightly closed and lifted it. Inside he was surprised to see that it was relatively empty. He recognized a few of the items from when Stan did commercials and there were some typical tools. Tire iron, wrench, some frayed rope.

Other than that it looked like an animal had gotten stuck, hurt itself, and panicked.

He traced his fingers along a set of long scratches on the underside of the lid. Unease settled through him when the blood accompanying them matched the spread of his hand. 

Turning his attention back to the contents he picked up a tooth and turned it over between his fingers. His tongue subconsciously running along the ones in his mouth. Finding a gap he dropped the tooth back into the trunk and slammed it closed. Throat tightening and tears pricking his eyes as he quickly hooked the bungee cord back into place.

Stan… He was…

“Fuck.” Ford hissed and slammed his fists on the closed trunk then ran his fingers through his hair.

It was just one thing after another. 

Why didn't Stan just ask for help? 

Why didn't he just come home after one night?

Ford opened the door to the back and started sorting through Stan meager items. All the clothes were in the bag, which meant he was already wearing the cleanest articles. He folded a blanket and tossed it into the front seat along with a flat pillow. Surely Stan wasn't living in his car.

He took a few trips to a trash can before he started noticing how shakey his hands were getting. He hadn't found any money so buying food and gas were starting to look unattainable. And his headache had slowly gotten worse.

Tucked under a seat he found a first aid kit, but it had been so poorly stocked that all he'd be able to do is put a few bandaids on. So that's what he found himself doing.

He stood in front of a bathroom sink and carefully cleaned his side before covering what he could of the wound. Then he stuck his shirt under the running water and disassociated for a moment.

After Stan's commercials stopped airing, Ford always assumed that Stan had just found a job and settled down somewhere. 

But the more he found the more he realized that wasn't the case. 

His baby brother was in danger, and he had no idea what to do to help.

Until Urwwovuliw uvoo gsilfts the failed test with the portal and Bill revealed the truth behind his plans, his life was pretty good. Sure he didn't go to West Coast Tech, but he'd been investigating the unknown. He was on the edge of getting everything he wanted.

But Stan?

Stan owed some guy money. Stan had been locked inside the trunk of his own car that he lived in for the last ten years. Stan had his kidney stolen. 

Stan had a mullet for fucks sake.

Ford's breath hitched and he wiped the tears off his cheeks before turning off the water with more force than necessary and wringing the shirt out.

He slid the still damp shirt back over his head and pulled the jacket on before pushing open the door and strode out of the bathroom.

He spared a glance at a biker parked next to the amenities. The guy gave him a mock salute to which Ford responded with a weak smile and stuffed his hands into his pockets as he hurried back to the car.

Tucking what was left of the first aid kit back under the seat he returned the blanket and pillow to the back. Sliding into the passenger side he set his focus on the glove box.

He really needed to find any money Stan might have hidden away otherwise he wasn't going anywhere and would be fixing nothing.

What would happen if he died in Stanley's body?

Clenching and unclenching his hands to try to stop the tremors, he took a few deep breaths. He couldn't afford to start getting paranoid now. 

Ford reached toward the glove box and jumped as something hit the top of the car with a thud. He turned to squint at the man that appeared at his side. 

The man filled the space, cutting off any way for Ford to get out. With one arm resting on the open door and his other hand holding onto the roof he leaned forward and tilted his head a tic. “¿Pensaste que te podrías escapar de nuevo?”

“Uh. Sorry. Don't think I can help you.” Ford turned away then let out a cry as he was pulled out by his collar and shoved against the car. He held up his hands in surrender. “Hey, easy! I'm sorry but I don't speak Spanish. I'm sure there is someone inside the gas station that could help.”

“¿Me crees tonto? Yo te lo advertí y trataste de engañarme. ¿De verdad creíste que no tenía a nadie vigilándote?”

“Still don’t understand what you’re saying.” Ford’s hands continued to tremble, but he didn’t dare move them. His eyes flicked between the man that held him to the couple guys behind him and back. “Look, I don’t know you and I don’t want any trouble. So how about you let go of my shirt and I won’t get the police involved.” 

“¿Policía? De verdad está amenazando de involucrar a los puercos.” The man laughed darkly as he looked behind him and spoke to his buddies. They snickered in return. 

Ford let out an awkward laugh as he glanced between the men again, confusion written all over his expression. He fell silent as the man turned back to him.

His eyes bore into Ford as his mouth turned up in a smirk. “Alcatraz has jokes.”

All color drained from Ford's face. “You're Rico.”

“Awe. He does remember. Ay, qué lindo.” Rico let go of Ford's shirt and flattened down the wrinkles he'd created in it. Then he decked Ford in the jaw, sending him sprawling on the ground next to the El Diablo’s rear tire.

Ford quickly rolled over and held one hand against his side where he'd felt stitches pop, blood seeping into the black t-shirt. He used his other hand to try to scoot backwards and away from Rico. “I think there's been a misunderstanding here. You've got the wrong man.”

His voice wobbled as fear blanked his body like muscle memory. Fear that had settled in the far back reaches of Stan’s brain mixed with Ford’s recent memories of Bill’s torture.

He had to get up.

He had to run.

Get as far from Rico as he could.

Protect Stanley.

He couldn’t die. Not now.

Not in Stan’s body.

“I don't make mistakes.” Rico, unperturbed towards Ford's panic, removed a handkerchief from the breast pocket of his suit and cleaned the blood off his knuckles.

Ford scrambled to his feet and turned to run only for his vision to go dark as a bag was shoved over his head.

Notes:

Direct Spanish translations:

“¿Pensaste que te podrías escapar de nuevo?” - “Did you think you could escape again?”

“¿Me crees tonto? Yo te lo advertí y trataste de engañarme. ¿De verdad creíste que no tenía a nadie vigilándote?” - “Do you think I’m stupid? I warned you, and you tried to trick me. Did you really think I didn’t have anyone watching you?”

“¿Policía? De verdad está amenazando de involucrar a los puercos.” - “Police? He’s really threatening to involve the pigs.”

"Ay, qué lindo.” - “Oh, how cute.”

Chapter 6: “Please Come.”

Notes:

Happy birthday to the twins!! Unluckily for Stan, this isn't Behind The Screen so he doesn't get Fidds buying him chocolate chip pancakes. Instead he gets angst :D

Stan yelled as he pushed himself off the couch and fell onto the floor. He laid on his back and stared at the ceiling, forcing his breathing to calm.

Lifting the hand not pressed into his side, he counted the fingers and let out a sigh letting the hand fall to his chest.

Bill was definitely a problem. One that he didn't trust, but one he also shouldn't be taking lightly. He knew from experience how con men worked when they thread truth into their lies.

They're so sure of themselves and bask in the pain they dish out like hungry hyenas. Like Rico.

He was pretty sure the demon had amplified the pain from the memory somehow. But regardless, he wasn't the one that was currently dealing with the real after effects.

Stanford was.

Maybe Ford would be smarter and go to a hospital. 

If he was still alive.

Or maybe not given his body needed one too.

Would Ford even realize that he was going through withdrawals on top of it?

Probably not.

The nerd had always gotten on him for smoking cigarettes in high school, so he kind of doubted Ford had done any kind of drug willingly.

Much less stripped for it.

Stan wiped the wetness off his face and sat up. His mind was still exhausted, but at least Ford's body was able to rest. 

Light still streamed through the boarded windows, so he wasn't sure how long he was out for, but he'd take as much as he could. Small victories.

Rummaging for clean clothes he returned to the bathroom on the ground floor and wrinkled his nose at all the blood. 

There was a lot of it. 

Whether his brother Bill murdered someone or the vaguely slightly better option of it all belonging to Ford. He couldn't decide which was worse, and both made him nauseous.

Shaking the thoughts from his head before he could go off on what ifs that wouldn't do anyone good, he turned on the shower and let out a breath of relief. He might be freezing his ass off with no electricity or heat, but at least Ford still had running water.

He found a used, but stocked, first aid kit under the sink and set it on the counter before starting to remove his clothes.

Tossing the coat over the door he put everything else into a pile on the floor to deal with later. Then he stared at himself in the mirror.

Ford's body had so many more scars than he would have thought. Most of them looked like stab wounds or lacerations. Some bite marks too, probably from whatever he was out here researching. His fingernails were jacked up as well. Like his own were after the trunk.

The wrap on his left hand continued to just below the elbow, most of the soaked through blood came from both sides of his hand. His upper right arm was also bandaged.

Stan started with the right arm, slowly unraveling the gauze wrap and throwing it in the bin. Flinching slightly seeing six almost healed but deep scratches as if Ford had dug into his own arm. 

Taking a deep breath he started on the other side. Tears pricking at his eyes the more he revealed. The patchwork cuts spaced evenly alongside rows of four puncture holes looked like it had been repeatedly done once the ones before had healed.

His throat dropped into his stomach as he unraveled his hand and dropped the soiled bandage into the bin. His fingers shook as he lightly felt around the hole through Ford's palm, the heat of an infection obvious.

He was going to murder that damn triangle.

Turning to step into the shower, something else caught his eye in the mirror. Eyes furrowed as he twisted to look at Ford's back.

Down his spine was black script in a language he didn't recognize and at the bottom a secondary tattoo that looked freshly healed.

“Flirty gal, huh? My tattoo is better. Though you probably have Bill to thank for these too, right Poindexter?” Stan muttered angrily then turned back to the shower and stepped under the still chilly water.

---

He padded into the kitchen, shaking a towel over his freshly washed hair. He felt fantastic being clean and wearing fresh clothes. So much so he'd forgotten he wasn't in his own body and almost poked himself in the eye with Ford's extra fingers during the process. Multiple times.

He'd thoroughly cleaned all of Ford's wounds and wrapped them in fresh gauze. His hand hurt like a bitch but was no longer bleeding. Hopefully whatever weird cream he put on it along with the anti-inflammatory medicine he’d found would help with the infection.

He also hadn't realized how itchy he'd been wearing the other clothes until he put on a fluffy red turtleneck and jeans that weren't stiff with grime. Maybe he'd make the executive decision and just throw out the other set. Ford probably wouldn't even notice.

Stan opened a can of beans and poured some directly into his mouth. Looking around the kitchen again he decided that he might as well start his cleaning here.

He would have just started with the bathroom, but he didn’t think he'd be able to handle cleaning all that blood at the moment.

Quickly downing the rest of the beans he started going through and organizing cabinets. There weren't any clean dishes, but he consolidated what little food he had left to half a shelf.

He moved any cleaning supplies to the kitchen table (after piling any papers and books into a single stack and out of the way). Then took a hammer he found and pulled the boards off the window, letting more light into the room. 

He was glad to see the blizzard seemed to be slowly letting up.

With the new light he spotted a phone hung on the wall and slowly made his way over to it. Hesitantly he picked it up then frowned at the receiver. 

Who would he call?

Stan didn't know the motel's number he was staying at. He wasn't even sure Ford was still there.

Maybe Ford called their parents.

He put the phone to his ear and reached to input his Ma's psychic number just to sigh and hang the phone back on the wall when he didn't hear a dial tone. Of course Ford's phone wouldn't be working.

Grumbling, he dragged the trash bin over to the fridge and rolled up his sleeves as he opened the door. He went to toss a carton of milk with suspicious solid purple liquid but paused as he looked into the trash.

Stan pinched his brows together as he switched out the milk for a postcard that sat in the bin. He sat down in a chair and looked at the words ‘Gravity Falls’ printed over top a photo of a forest of pine trees. Flipping it over he instantly recognized Ford's handwriting. It wasn't his nice cursive he preferred, but instead the blocky print he used when he needed to be noticed by an adult for some reason.

When he was asking for genuine help.

It was addressed to him, minus a physical address. His fingers traced the message etched into the card.

“Please come.” Tossing his glasses onto the table he leaned back in the chair and ran his hand over his face. “Fuck Ford. You should have just sent the postcard if you wanted to see me so badly.”

Chapter 7: “Leave him alone.”

Notes:

Spanish translation supplied at the end <3

Ford's hands flexed in the rope binding his wrists behind him, flinching as shadows passed his obscured vision. Trying his best not to let the dark settle panic through him.

He couldn't be sure how many of Rico's people were in the room, but he'd heard four or five distinct voices speaking rapidly in Spanish (Rico being the only one he recognized).

His body ached sitting in the chair for however long it had been. Hours? Minutes? And he was sweating despite the cold room. The smell was also getting to him, dredging up memories of Urwwovuliw'h livestock and hay that made his head feel like an icepick was being hammered into his skull.

The bag was pulled off his head causing him to shrink back and blink away the stars with a quiet groan. Squinting he looked around.

He sat in the middle of a barn underneath a single light. A fresh layer of hay covered the ground. Men were stationed against the walls on either side of him, and he assumed there were more behind him.

The El Diablo sat just inside the closed large double barn doors. Doors and trunk wide open, all of Stan's things pulled out haphazardly on the ground or sorted on a table.

“Deberías buscar un mejor escondite para tu dinero, Alcatraz.” Rico leaned against the hood of the red car, flipping through a wad of bills. “Oh wait, that's right. You're pretending not to understand now.”

He tucked the cash into his breast pocket and pushed off the car. Making his way over to the table he slowly picked through the items as he spoke. “You're hiding spots were shit, but I found quite a few interesting things. Want to take a guess at what?”

Ford remained silent as he watched as Rico pocketed Stan's brass knuckles, lit a cigarette, and picked up a small pile of cards.

“No guesses, Andrew Alcatraz? How about Steve Pinington? Hal Forrester? Stetson Pinefield? Or maybe Panley Stines will jog your memory.” Rico stopped right in front of him and tossed the fake IDs on the ground as he said the names. Then he held up the last ID, the only real one, toward the light for a moment before dropping it onto the pile. “Where is the rest of my money, Pines?”

“I don't know what you're talking about.” Ford hissed out as he stared at the expired New Jersey drivers license. Sixteen year old Stanley grinned back at him.

Stan looked so young. Had they really only been a year older when he was kicked out left?

His baby brother.

“No?” Rico blew out smoke causing Ford to start coughing as it lingered in his face. “That's too bad, Stanley. And here I thought we were friends.”

In one quick movement Rico slipped on the brass knuckles and punched Ford in the stomach.

Spots filled his vision as Ford hunched forward as far as his bindings allowed. The pain pulling moans out of his throat and making his head swim.

“Your kidney didn't net as much as projected, but maybe your other organs will make up for it.” Rico yanked Ford's head back up by his hair, holding it still as he inspected his face and tapped a finger against his cheek. “Blue has always been a preferred color, but I know a few buyers who would like to add this shade of brown to their collections.”

Ford hissed between his teeth and tried to pull away from the heat put off from the cigarette’s cherry so close to his eye.

He needed to get out.

He couldn't let Rico do any more damage to Stan's body.

He couldn't die here.

“Tsk. If it wouldn't cost me more I'd just ship you back to Tijuana and let them have you. I hear they miss their favorite toy.” He let go of Ford's hair and punched him in the jaw. Rico put out the cigarette on a spot of exposed skin along Ford's arm, causing him to swallow back a scream, and dropped the bud on the ground.

Taking a step back he held out his hand and one of his men handed him a photo that he then looked at. “Though maybe with what you make me I'll send him over instead. Dope him up on enough coke that he'd strip as fast as you did for more. It's not like they'd be able to tell the difference.”

Rico dropped the boxing photo onto the pile of IDs, and smirked as Ford paled. “I'll be sure to tell your brother hi for you.”

“Leave him alone.” Ford murmured quietly as he stared at the photo. He pushed down Stan's fear and let his own anger bubble up.

He didn't want to believe a word that came out of Rico's mouth but the way Stan's body reacted to every word as if it were muscle memory made Ford's blood boil.

He was going to make Rico wish he'd never even met Stan. Then he was going to murder him.

Glaring up at Rico he spat out blood pooling in his mouth and struggled against the binds. “I won't let you hurt him!”

Rico laughed darkly and punched Ford like his personal punching bag between every word. “You think that you can tell me what to do?”

Ford breathed heavily and flinched away as Rico's fist came down to hit his face again when a barn door slammed open.

Annoyance flickered across Rico's face, but he didn't look away from Ford as he spoke. “¿Que te dije sobre interrumpirme?”

“Hay algo afuera, jefe.”

“Entonces ve y encárgate.”

“No le podemos disparar. Es demasiado rápido.”

“¿No puedes ver que estoy ocupado?”

A goat's bleat was cut short in a high pitched wounded scream quickly followed by more goats bleating as they presumably ran away.

A murmur echoed through the barn as Rico's men all took steps away from the walls and drew their guns.

“El Chupacabra…”

“Es una leyenda. Yo no contrate idiotas supersticiosos.” Rico grabbed Ford's face between his fingers and growled. “We aren't finished.”

Ford's head rolled forward as Rico pushed it away and let go. His vision blurry as he tried to watch Rico's footsteps withdraw.

He coughed and groaned in pain as blood and spit splattered his jeans and the items on the ground.

He needed to get home.

He needed to protect Stanley.

He needed…

His head pounded so hard he couldn't think straight. Couldn't focus on what happened around him.

The loss of blood making him delirious.

His body flinched at each gunshot and the alarmed yelling, but he couldn't make sense of any of it.

The light overhead started flickering, plunging the barn into occasional darkness.

The fear that had been buried deep inside his head rose to the surface.

He couldn't go back into the trunk.

He couldn't let Bill open the portal.

He couldn't die before making millions.

He couldn't die before apologizing to Urwwovuliw Stanley.

He had to get out.

He had to…

Ford let out a strangled yell as a body fell in front of him, blank eyes staring at nothing. His shoes pushed dirt and hay as he tried to scoot the chair away. The light flickered off and he heard the lifeless body get dragged away before it flickered on again.

He sobbed as he struggled against his binds. His wrists burned as the rope dug into his skin. There was something inside the barn with him. Something other than Rico and his now dead men.

Weak.

He was going to let Stan's body get mauled by an anomaly because he was weak.

The light flickered off and he froze. His breathing loud and quick as he failed to calm his rapid heartbeat. He blinked and sniffed and shook his head to try to clear his bleary vision and the static in his mind.

He looked up when the light flickered back on, tears ran down his face when he saw the creature.

A large dog stepped closer to him. The patchy coarse fur that ran down its spine hackled as it emitted a low growl.

Ford closed his eyes and shrunk into himself as the creature advanced, anticipating the attack.

Maybe he deserved to die like this.

He hoped Stan would still be okay.

He only wished he could apologize.

He was sorry. For everything.

The rope holding him to the chair loosened and his wrists were released. He lunged for the photo and New Jersey license, both splattered with his Stan's blood, and rolled onto his back as he held them close to his chest.

Someone stood over him, their mouth moved and they looked angry or annoyed. Ford didn't care. He couldn't focus on their words anyway as his eyes slid closed.

Notes:

Direct Spanish translations:

“Deberías buscar un mejor escondite para tu dinero, Alcatraz.” - “You should find a better hiding place for your cash, Alcatraz.”

“¿Que te dije sobre interrumpirme?” - “What did I tell you about interrupting me?”

“Hay algo afuera, jefe.” - “There’s something out there, boss.”

“Entonces ve y encárgate.” - “Then go and take care of it.”

“No le podemos disparar. Es demasiado rápido.” - “We can't shoot him. He’s too fast.”

“¿No puedes ver que estoy ocupado?” - “Can't you see I'm busy?”

“Es una leyenda. Yo no contrate idiotas supersticiosos.” - “Is a legend. I didn't hire superstitious idiots.”

Chapter 8: “Do you remember me?”

Stan pulled on Ford's trench coat as he worked his way down the line of locks on the front door.

The kitchen was… cleaner…

He hadn't known what to do with all of Ford's books and papers so they remained in stacks on the table. But he'd scrubbed every inch of the fridge, stove, counter tops, and floor. Even the last few dishes were currently air drying so that he could put them away.

Logically the next step would be to restock the kitchen. 

He just needed to find the store. 

Or even a town in general.

He wasn't using going into town as an excuse to not go back to the bathroom.

The twenty he found in Ford's wallet wouldn't get him much (only reason he was even thinking about using it was because he reasoned it was for Ford's wellbeing and not himself), but the coat had a lot of hidden pockets. They were deep too, so it wouldn't be difficult to steal most of what he might need.

Stepping out onto the deck he blinked in the sun that bounced off the fresh snow. Stan frowned as he looked around Ford's yard.

Flakes continued to lazily fall from the sky, landing on a large satellite and various empty barrels sporting biohazard symbols.

Snow crunched under his boots as he approached the tall chain link fence and ‘keep out’ signs. Grumbling about Ford's paranoia and Bill being the center of it all. And how Ford apparently didn't have a car?

He better not wreck the Stanmobile.

Ice fell off the gate as he kicked at the metal, unfreezing it from the rest of the fence, and squeezed through the small opening he was able to create. Grumbling about the cold snow and how it seeped into his pants. 

He better be enjoying the New Mexico sun.

Stan stuffed his hands into his pockets and tried to huddle further into the coat. Deciding to take a tree cleared path through the forest and just hoped it was a driveway of some kind.

His walk was quiet and calming (if one could call trudging through snow drifts as calming), reminding him of the times he'd just wander around whatever city at night and just listen to the sounds of the life around him.

He wasn't banned from Oregon yet. Maybe after Ford figured out their situation he'd stick around for a bit.

Despite the cold, he could see himself living here.

As long as he ignored the little man in a red hat watching him from a tree branch.

And the small flames that followed him and scattered whenever he glanced at them.

And the birds with a plume in the shape of a question mark.

And the shadow he could only see out of the corner of his eyes.

Stan walked faster after that and was extremely relieved to stumble into town.

He tapped his boots against the side of the building and shook the snow out of his hair as he entered the Dusk 2 Dawn. Giving a half hearted wave to acknowledge the couple behind the register as they welcomed him.

Pretending to browse the slim produce section he pinpointed two security cameras. One by the register and the other in the opposite corner near the refrigerated alcohol.

He could work with that. As long as the owners stopped staring at him anyway.

He slipped down the canned food aisle and stopped in front of the soup. He hadn't exactly cooked for himself in a while, but it shouldn't be too difficult to make a batch of stew or something he could live off of for a few days.

Just had to throw everything into a pot and hope for the best right?

Tucking a can of tomato away he reached to do the same with a second and instead brought it up to his face to read the label as another customer joined him in the aisle.

Stan watched in his peripheral as they stopped short upon seeing him and just stared.

The guy was well dressed, even if he looked just as disheveled as Ford had. His tie was loose and the jacket clearly had seen better days, crumpled like he’d been sleeping in the same clothes. 

The way his hands twitched made Stan nervous.

“Got a staring problem?” Stan asked and cleared his throat as he turned to face the guy.

“Stanford? Do you… uh.” His eyes flitted across Stan's face and hands. A strong southern drawl coated the words. “Do you remember me?”

Stan narrowed his eyes and gave the guy another glance over. He almost pretended to know him, but he decided against it only on the basis of Ford's paranoia. “Should I?”

“No.” The guy visibly sighed in relief before his nervous twitching quickly returned. “No. I suppose not.”

“Will you get out of the way then? I need to get to the cans behind you.” Stan hummed and pointed at the shelf behind the man.

The guy flinched and stepped out of the way.

In practiced movement he slipped the second tomato can into a pocket as he grabbed a can of chopped carrots. When he looked around again the guy was gone.

Stan frowned but shook his head and continued to wander through the aisles. Depending on how long Stanford had lived here it wasn't all too strange to think people knew him.

He already had Bill to worry about. He couldn't add another random person to the list.

Doubling back through the produce he picked up a small bag of potatoes and made his way to the front counter. He used the twenty to pay for the potatoes, a loaf of bread, and some jellybeans.

Once back outside he moved the few canned goods he'd stolen into the bag for easier transport.

“Why… Why won't it work?”

Stan paused at the edge of the building hearing the southern voice again. Furrowing his brows he peeked around the corner to see the guy huddled next to a trash bin.

He was holding something in his hands and muttering to himself. 

“It worked on him, so why does it all keep coming back to me?” The guy pulled at his hair, a starburst like scar now visible on his temple. He stilled as if getting a realization and started fiddling with the object. “I just need to get rid of Stanford and everything will go back to normal.”

Dread rushed through Stan's body.

Who the hell did this guy think he was?

Get rid of Stanford?

Like fuck he will.

“Hey!” Stan yelled as he stepped around the corner and dropped his bags. “Who the hell are you?!”

The guy jumped to his feet and pointed the object directly at Stan. His eyes wide and his hands trembled as his breathing sped up. “St- Stanford! I- You have to understand!”

Stan's gaze locked on the gun and his face screwed up as anger quickly replaced the dread. “I understand well enough!”

This guy wanted to kill Stanford.

That's all he needed to understand.

He stalked up to the guy, grabbed the gun by the barrel, and ripped it from his hands. He barely got a chance to register that it wasn't any kind of weapon he'd seen before the guy pounced at him.

“No!” The guy yelled and knocked Stan to the ground, making a grab for the gun. “I need it!”

“The fuck you do! There's no way in hell am I letting you kill my brother!” Stan yelled back as he tried to keep the gun out of the guy’s reach.

He greatly underestimated the lanky man's strength as they wrestled and at some point they both had hands on the gun. It was then that Stan recognized the look in the guy's eyes.

The need for the next fix.

This guy was crazy and on drugs. Not a great combo.

Stan let go of the gun as the man elbowed his face. His eyes going wide as the barrel was pointed at him again.

He was then blinded by a flash.

Notes:

:)

Chapter 9: “You can drop the act.”

The first time Ford woke up he was being lifted into a car. He was just conscious enough to keep Stan's license and photo in a death grip as he fought to keep someone from taking them. He won.

The second time Ford woke up his side was in immeasurable pain. Like he was on fire. He was too weak to move and felt tears wet his face until he passed out again.

The third time Ford woke up he was drenched in sweat and shivering. It was dark and his entire body trembled as he tried his best to focus on the sleeping body next to him. He didn’t recognize the man.

The fourth time Ford woke up he shot up so quickly his hands reached out to steady himself as a bout of the vertigo passed over him. He groaned and pressed a hand to his head as he looked around.

He was alone on the passenger side of the El Diablo. Both it and the driver's side were reclined as far as they would go.

On the dash sat Stan's license, placed upside-down, and the photo. He picked them up and let out a quiet breath as he ran his thumb over the picture.

He was still alive.

Stanley's body was still alive.

How-

Ford furrowed his brows as he looked around again.

He was wearing a short-sleeved mushroom patterned button up and green basketball shorts. Neither of which had been in Stan's duffle.

The car was parked in a mostly empty lot under the blazing sun, making the inside of it a little stifling. A Harley was parked directly next to the driver's side.

He tucked the license and photo into his breast pocket and felt along his side, flinching preemptively expecting it to hurt.

His face dropped into confusion when he registered no pain.

Lifting up the shirt his fingers trailed over healed scar tissue. The wound he knew should have been there was just another pale line marking Stan's skin.

Ford threw open the door and stumbled to the ground as he lost his footing getting out of the car. He stared at the slight road rash on his hands and watched as the superficial wounds healed, making his head dizzy.

“Easy Lee. Between all the exterior injuries and the withdrawal you've used up a lot of energy. My magic can only help so much.” A gruff voice said as the person helped Ford back to his feet. “I'd be surprised you're not still knocked out if I didn't already know how stubborn that body of yours is.”

Leaning against the car for support, he squinted at the man and curiously looked him over.

He looked… Well he looked like a biker.

Green and black plaid flannel worn under a jean battle vest. Various patches were hand stitched onto the vest, including two snakes that curled over the shoulders. Piercings lined the tips of his slightly pointed ears with one on his right eyebrow.

Long blonde hair was pulled back by a navy blue bandana (a second bandana colored gray was tucked into the left pocket of his jeans). Matching blonde handlebar mustache twitched as his lips pulled into a smirk.

The only thing remotely magical that Ford could see about the guy was his purple eyes.

“That's a look I haven't seen on your face before.” He laughed as he closed the passenger door and motioned for Ford to follow. “Let's go over to a table and talk. You must have a lot of questions.”

Curiosity getting the better of him, Ford followed the man to a nearby picnic table and sat across from him. His face twitching slightly as a prepackaged sandwich cut diagonally was pushed closer.

Bill quickly forgotten however as his stomach twisted and growled. He ripped open the package and shoveled half the sandwich into his mouth.

The guy laughed again causing Ford to pause and heat up in embarrassment. He slowed down his chewing and carefully swallowed. “I'm sorry. My memory seems to still be a bit fuzzy. Do I know you?”

“You don't, no. You can call me Jimmy.” Jimmy leaned forward and rested his head in his palm, smiling as he watched Ford's expressions.

“Are you a chupacabra? Or a werewolf of some kind?” Ford fidgeted with the other half of the sandwich as a million different questions crossed his mind. “Were you the one to save me from… Uh… that guy? Why?”

“You summoned me and I owed that body a favor.”

“Summoned? How? Why would you owe St-”

Jimmy held out a hand to interrupt Ford then pulled a small bell out of a pocket and set it on the table between them. “Do you know what this is?”

Ford leaned forward and examined the bell. A snake twisted in an infinity symbol decorated the bell. It was the same one that Stan had stitched to his visor. “Well the ouroboros-”

“I'll stop you right there. The image doesn't matter. I'm talking about the bell itself.”

Ford sat back again and shook his head. “Then no.”

“It's a guardian bell. They are commonly given as a gift to bikers by someone who wants them to return home safely.” Jimmy tucked the bell away again and scratched at his chin. “Lee helped me secure something quite a few years ago. Gave him the bell as payment. Told him all he had to do was ring it and I'd be there to help.”

“Of course.” Jimmy continued as he tilted his head, his eyes snapping to Ford's. The air around them getting slightly colder. “This now begs the question on where Lee is.”

“What…” Ford paled and felt himself shrink away. The hair on his arms stood on end due to the sudden magic surrounding them. He cleared his throat. “What do you mean?”

The magic wasn't anything he'd felt before. The pressure that radiated off the biker felt suffocating.

Almost reminiscent of Bill's presence now.

“You can drop the act. I've known you aren't Lee from the moment I saw you leave the bathroom at the truck stop.” Jimmy smiled as he drummed his fingers against the table and let the magic dissipate. “Plus you've given yourself away so many times asking for more details.”

Ford took a gasping breath as the magic disappeared, entangling his fingers into his hair and stared at the table. “What are you?”

“Gremlin variation from what you humans call the fae world.”

Ford's head snapped up, eyes wide as he looked between the sandwich and back to the biker.

“Chill. I got it from the gas station over there.” Jimmy motioned toward said station and laughed so hard he wiped a tear out of his eye. “You must be Sixer, right?”

Ford flinched at the nickname and mumbled quietly. “Poindexter would be preferable.”

“Poindexter then. So, let me ask again. Where is Lee?”

“Oregon. I hope.”

Chapter 10: “Can I come inside now?”

Notes:

For those of you who seemed to really enjoy Fae Jimmy, I have started writing a couple side stories from his POV. One will be when he and Stan first met, and the other will be his POV of saving Ford from Rico. Not sure when I'll get around to posting them, but I'll connect it to this one as part of a series when I do. It's something for you guys to look forward to <3

Anyway. Enjoy the chapter. Stan's having fun :)

The air buzzed as Stan pressed the ball of his palm against his temple and kept his eyes screwed shut. He groaned as the flash dissipated.

He wasn't a stranger to bad hangovers, but his memory seemed to be more fuzzy than it normally would be.

What was he…

What had he been doing?

Rico.

Abandoned murder cabin.

Blood.

Snow.

Store.

Food.

Gun.

Stan's eyes snapped open and he scrambled backwards until his back hit the side of the building and he only kicked slush away from him.

The guy was still nearby, pacing and talking to himself as he wildly gestured with his hands. Finger still poised on the trigger of the weird gun. “You done messed up, Fiddleford. You've wiped him completely. What are you going to do now?”

He tapped the barrel against his head as his free hand pulled at his hair. His eyes unseeing and breath labored as he worked his way through some kind of mental break.

Stan slowly rose to his feet and inched his way along the building, gaze never leaving sight of the kook. Once he reached the corner he picked up his bags and turned tail down the road.

Away from the crazy person with a gun.

“Stanford!”

He glanced behind him, scowled, and walked faster. “Leave me alone! I don't know you and nothing happened.”

Nothing happened.

He'd just ignore the problem and it'll go away.

The guy continued to run after him, the gun now tucked away inside his jacket. “Where are you going?”

“Like hell I'd tell you!” He yelled as he glared back at the guy. Without knowing where exactly he was, and without his car, the cabin was the only place he could go. But he sure as hell wasn't going to tell Lunatic that.

He didn't know what that gun did to him, but he knew he needed to lose this guy somehow.

Kilgvxg Hgzmuliw.

Feeling a hand on his shoulder, Stan dropped the bags, spun, and landed a punch. “Don't fucking touch me.”

Lunatic held his hand to his face as blood ran out of his nose. His expression flashing between confusion, hurt, and concern. “Stanford. Please let me fix this.”

“Stop calling me that. That's not my name.” His headache throbbed and he took off his glasses to press against the bridge of his nose. Freezing for a moment before flinging the glasses away and stared at the extra fingers. “What the fuck did you do to me?”

“I'm trying to help. If you'd just let me expl-”

“There's nothing to fix and I definitely don't need help.” Stan took a step back when Lunatic tried to get closer. “Just… Just leave me alone.”

Turning he took off into the dense forest. Lunatic yelled after him again, but didn't seem to follow so he slowed down to a walk.

He stuck his hands under his armpits as he trudged through the snow. It felt strange feeling the six fingers fist at the sides of the sweater. Like a knot in his chest that won't go away.

He felt like a monster.

A six fingered freak.

His vision swam and blurred worse than normal. Maybe he shouldn't have tossed the glasses. Too late now. He wasn't going back for them.

Tears pricked the corners of his eyes.

He felt sorry.

Why was he sorry?

Hgzmuliw.

What reason would he be sorry?

Hrcvi.

Klrmwvcgvi.

Hgzmuliw!

Why couldn't he remember?

ULIW.

Ma maybe. He hadn't called her in a while afterall.

By the time he found his way back to the cabin his socks were uncomfortably wet, nose was frozen, and his entire body was shivering.

Stan sniffed in the cold weather and teeth chattered as he scowled, approaching the cabin.

Lunatic had beat him there and was sitting on the stairs, Stan's grocery bags on the porch behind him.

Of course the crazy dude knew where he was going. Why not. His life wasn't bad enough.

Maybe if he just ignored him, the man would just leave on his own.

“Are you Sherman or Stanley?” Lunatic asked as Stan passed him, not bothering to look up from where his thumb grazed the frame of the glasses.

Stan stalled as his fingers gripped the doorknob tightly, his voice dangerously low. “Don't ask questions you know nothing about.”

“You thought I was going to kill your brother. If I had to venture a guess I'd probably say Stanley. Shermie wasn't so rough around the edges when I met him.” He sighed and pushed himself to his feet, taking the few steps to stand on the porch. Holding out the glasses he added. “Sorry. They cracked a bit. Look. I just want to explain myself. Please. Maybe I can also answer any other questions you may have.”

“I didn't…” Stan narrowed his eyes before swiping the glasses and quickly stepped inside the cabin. He slammed the door closed before Lunatic could even move.

He locked a few of the locks and sat on the ground in front of the door. Looking at the crack in the lense he grumbled to himself before begrudgingly putting them back on.

He hadn't said anything about his brother to this guy. He hadn't even seen Shermie in years. Dude didn't know what he was talking about.

He certainly wasn't going to think too hard about how this guy even knew their names.

“Stanley please. I know you can hear me.” 

Stan remained quiet and let out a breath when he heard Lunatic sigh again before walking away. 

Good riddance.

A moment later he startled when there was a roar from outside and the lights flickered on in the room. 

The generator. 

Lunatic turned on the fucking generator.

He flinched when there was a knock at the door. Standing up he undid the locks and opened the door a smidgen.

Lunatic held up the grocery bags with a small smile. “Can I come inside now?”

“I'm not letting an addict in with that weird gun. I'm not crazy. I don't need to grow an extra arm if you use it on me again.” Stan's eyes flicked down to the bags as his stomach rumbled. “Dismantle it or something. Or you can stay out there and freeze for all I care.”

“That's not-”

Stan slammed the door again, but peeked out the diamond window to watch. He couldn't believe that he was even giving it thought to letting the guy inside, but hunger was a powerful motivator and he had electricity now thanks to him.

He could actually cook that stew.

He could take care of Uliw’h ylwb himself better.

He dipped out of sight when Lunatic pulled out the gun, but continued to watch the pained longing in the guy's eyes.

Disappointment he didn't know was there filled his chest as Lunatic's hand twitched and he put a finger on the trigger. It quickly switched to surprise when he threw the gun on the ground and stomped his foot on it.

Stan cracked the door, his gaze going down to the broken glass around the gun then up to Lunatic's face. There was a forced smile on the guy's lips.

“Well?”

He sighed and stepped back to invite Lunatic inside.

Notes:

Decided to go the route of Ford talked about his entire family to Fiddleford. So Fidds knows all about Stan (Ford ranted a lot in college).

Chapter 11: “Wait for me.”

Fae.

Stan's buddy was Fae. 

Could one even be friends with the Fae?

Why didn't Stan tell him?

Knowledge of the Fae realm brought so many questions about the Natural Law of Weirdness Magnetism.

Was their realm actually just another dimension that ran parallel to their own?

Could the anomalies all be Fae stuck inside the bubble?

If so, why aren't any of them more human like Jimmy?

Could it be a generational thing?

Sighing, he ran his hands over his face. He couldn't continue down that line of thought. His research had to wait. He had to focus on Stanley. “If you knew I wasn't Lee, then why save me?”

“Just because he isn't in control, doesn't mean it isn't still his body.” Jimmy shrugged and pulled out a cigarette that seemingly lit on its own once it touched his lips.

“How? I mean I vaguely remember seeing a giant dog-like anomaly.”

Jimmy exhaled the smoke with a laugh. “I'd be a pretty piss poor gremlin if I couldn't conjure an illusion and kill them while they were distracted.”

“Ah… Illusion… Suppose that makes sense.” Ford's fingers twitched, itching to write down notes. He chewed the inside of his cheek as he glanced over at the El Diablo. “I need to get to Oregon. If we simply traded bodies then Lee could be in danger.”

The biker motioned toward the untouched half of the sandwich and stood. “Then eat. You're going to need the energy to drive that far.”

“Wait!” He rose quickly, fingers spread on the table as he opened and closed his mouth in an attempt at words. 

He had more questions.

How had Stan met Jimmy? What did Stan do to get a fae creature to owe him a favor? Did Stan know about Jimmy's fae origins? How much did Jimmy know about him and Stan?

Instead he lamely asked. “Are you not going to help?”

“You seem like a decent dude, even if a little reckless perhaps. However, I have fulfilled my debt plus some. I saved you and sped up the healing on Lee's body.” Jimmy stomped out the cigarette and quirked an eyebrow up. “The car's tank is full and any money I took off that Rico Alvarez is in the glovebox, so you should have plenty to make it just fine.”

“But.” Ford furrowed his brows and curled his fingers.

Everything was his fault and he didn't know how to fix it. 

He kept making mistakes at every turn. 

Bill.

Urwwovuliw.

The portal.

He couldn't even protect Stanley's body without help.

So how was he going to fix this and fight off Bill by himself?

“I may not have spoken to Lee in years, but from how he spoke about you, I could tell that your brother loves you, Poindexter. As long as you have each other you'll figure it out.”

Ford swiped at his wet cheek and sat back down. He stared at a spot on the table as he bit into the rest of his sandwich, barely registering that Jimmy had walked away.

Hearing the bike roar to life he looked up and his eyes followed as Stan's friend (he was still unsure if that was the right term) drove away.

He let out a shaky breath and pulled out the photo from his pocket, absentmindedly scratching the blood away with his thumbnail.

Jimmy was right.

He wasn't alone in this.

He had Stanley.

With his newfound determination he tucked the photo away again and finished the sandwich. It was the best tasting sandwich he'd had in a while.

Pushing away from the table, Ford beelined back to the car to retake account of Stan's items. That gang who had kidnapped him had pulled everything out.

Stan had so little to his name. The least he could do was make sure his brother got everything back.

Or at least some of it.

Whatever Jimmy happened to have grabbed.

With the seats still reclined, the cab seemed empty, so Ford opened the trunk with some hesitancy. The blanket and pillow was folded and tucked into one side. Duffle bag stuffed with clothes on the other.

Ford let out a relieved sigh and closed the trunk. Moving to the passenger side, he returned the seat upright and looked around nervously worried he was going to get jumped again before sliding onto it.

Opening up the glovebox he slowly ruffled through the contents.

He put the blood stained fake IDs in issued by date order and looked at each photo intently. Wishing if he stared hard enough he could watch Stan grow.

From the mustache on Steve that made him look like their father (he didn't have it in the photo after). To the most recent of Andrew with a soul patch and fake scar (Ford turned the rear view mirror to make sure he hadn't missed it).

So many different aliases with a wide range of appearances. Some were better than others.

Would he have even recognized Stanley if he'd walked by him on the street?

He would have.

Ten years wasn't that long.

Stanley wasn't a stranger.

He shoved the licenses back into the glove box and pulled out the cash also stored there.

He'd received a hundred thousand in his grant from BMU, but counting out the two thousand in small bills in his hands felt like priceless gold. He couldn't be sure how much was originally Stan's.

But it didn't matter. It all belonged to Stan now.

Ford frantically looked around before digging under the seat and pulling out the first aid kit. He hid away half of the cash along the few items and stuffed it back under him.

Counting out about a hundred from the second half he tucked it away in his shirt pocket then returned the rest back into the glove box.

He wanted to save all of it for Stan, but he couldn't risk getting caught if he attempted to shoplift instead.

Retrieving the last two items from the glove box, his fingers absentmindedly fiddled with the Jersey Devil attached to the car key. Unfolding a road map he immediately noticed a city just inside the Arizona state line circled in red with ‘You are here’ written underneath.

A small smile formed on his lips and his eyes traced out the best route to Oregon.

“I'm coming Stanley. Wait for me.”

Notes:

Jimmy isn't a fan of humans, but he's got a soft spot for Stanley so he was nice enough to include some add-ons for free. If it had been anyone else then Jimmy would have simply left them there with nothing after saving them.

But also unfortunately for Ford that he isn't Stan so he doesn't get the extra buddy to travel with.

Chapter 12: "That's not your body."

Lunatic pushed past Stan and weaved through the mess of the house like he knew the layout, muttering about the clutter being worse than it had been.

“Have you been here before?” Stan asked as he followed the man into the kitchen. He watched as Lunatic stopped short, surprised to see that it was clean, before dropping the grocery bags onto the table and sorting through what Stan had procured.

“I was your brother's assistant for a few years before…” He paused, eyes glossing over for a moment then shook his head, and turned to dig around the cupboards for a pot. “We had a falling out not long ago.”

“Shermie's assistant? Last I heard he was down in Cali. Is this supposed to be some vacation home?” Stan scrunched his nose as he lingered in the doorway.

It was a poorly upkept vacation home if so.

“Not Shermie. Stanford.” His eyes flicked up to gauge Stan's response and frowned when he was met with confusion. Continuing to mutter to himself as he slid the pot on the stove and combined the tomato soup with water.

“You keep saying that name like it's supposed to do something.” He laughed at the joke that popped into his head. “He must be some kind of nerd to be named after a fancy pants college. Am I right?”

“He did get twelve doctorates, so you're not far off.” He turned the stove on low before pulling out a cutting board.

Stan glanced behind him at all the junk in the entry room, pain flashed across his head. Turning back he closed his eyes for a moment and crossed his arms as he leaned against the door frame.

As long as he had a headache he resolved that he wasn't going to get much more cleaning done. Couldn't even look at the random science doohickeys without making it worse.

Plus he didn't think it was a good idea to leave whatever his name alone.

“Say. Since you apparently know my name, why don't you tell me yours.”

Lunatic looked up from where he had been cutting up potatoes and canned meat into cubes. “Fiddleford Hadron McGucket.”

Snickering, Stan grinned. “Stannerd and Fiddlenerd Hardon McSucket. What a duo.”

“It's-” Fiddleford started to correct him but stopped and narrowed his eyes before sighing and going back to his cutting. “You're insufferable and entirely unoriginal. I see why Ford couldn't stop ranting about you now.”

His grin faltered before he forced it back, his chest tightening.

He'd run into a lot of people who would probably want to do worse than just rant about him.

So why did that small off comment bother him so much?

Klrmwvcgvi hzrw rg.

Well whatever.

“Okay then Fiddlesticks. What were you and the nerd working on then?”

Fiddleford's fingers twitched and he took a focused deep breath while adding the potatoes, meat, and drained carrots into the pot. He plopped on a lid before turning around. “It'd be easier to just show you.”

Stan stepped aside before Fiddleford could push past him. His brows furrowed as he stared at the back of the man's head. “I've been over every part of this murder hut, what could you possibly show me that I haven't already seen?”

He watched as Fiddleford glanced around the room for a moment before walking over to a bookshelf and pushing his weight against it. Sliding it out of the way to fully reveal the door.

Oh.

He'd forgotten about that door.

He vaguely recalled dream Dill, or whatever the creeps name was, did mention something about a basement.

“Hm. Seems he upped the security since I left.” Fiddleford looked over the eye scanner before stepping back and waving a hand at it. “You're up.”

“Aren't those programmed to certain eyes? Mine won't do shit for it.” Stan's eyes roamed over the scratches that went down the door, just another surface that had dried blood. All twelve of his fingers dug into his arms through the fabric of his sweater.

“Just…” He pinched the bridge of his nose and let out an exasperated sigh. “Humor me, Stanley.”

Stan reluctantly stepped closer and leaned down, letting the device scan his eye. A moment later he jumped back as the door unlatched and swung open with an almost ominous squeak.

He grumbled as he inched his way down the stairwell, dimly lit with dying bulbs, one stair at a time. Avoiding the well worn path down the middle that Fiddleford followed.

“Sure Stanley. Follow the freaky crazy person down into a dark possible murder basement.” He mumbled quietly to himself. “Surely nothing bad will happen. You'll definitely live unlike all those side characters in those horror flicks.”

Stepping over a broken step at the bottom, he looked up to see Fiddleford standing in an elevator looking rather annoyed.

Color drained out of Stan's face as his eyes flitted over the rickety box that certainly couldn't possibly be considered an elevator. The rusted manual gate, the flickering light that illuminated mystery stains.

He started back up the stairs. “Nope! If you need me I'll be in the kitchen drinking the weird glowing gloop in the fridge.”

“Stanley Caryn Pines. Get in the fucking elevator.”

Stan spun on his toes and marched into the box, tucking himself into one of the corners and gripped the rails until his knuckles turned white.

The metal gates clanked as Fiddleford closed both rows and jabbed a button with a finger.

The elevator jolted and groaned as it started its descent. Stan felt himself slide down the wall with each of the struggled sounds made by the pulley system.

“Ford hasn't upkept anything has he…” Fiddleford mused as he looked at the ceiling as if he could see the gears that were needing to be replaced or greased.

After what felt like a lifetime, the elevator shuttered to a stop. A whimper was quickly covered up by the clearing of the throat as Stan stood and dusted himself off, pretending like he hadn't curled himself into a ball.

He pushed past Fiddleford once the doors were opened and allowed himself a moment to breathe in the stale basement air.

A light flickered on and he looked around the room he'd been brought to.

Large pieces of machinery, alien and nothing he'd ever seen before, sat against one wall, displaying running numbers and sequences he couldn't even begin to comprehend. Stuffed into the corner was a cot, mattress stripped bare except for a thin sheet. A metal desk, cleared of everything apart from a red leather bound book, sat bolted to the wall under a window, a strange rune warmly glowed on the side.

Stan spread his fingers across the cover of the book, matching the gold hand on the journal perfectly. His brows furrowed as he leafed through the pages.

Eye-bats, vampires, the fountain of youth, cycloptopus, black market crawlspaces. Fancy cursive writing that pulled at something in the back of his mind.

Corner of a triangle connected by other lines to a circle containing weird symbols, everything written in code that didn't make sense.

“I don't understand.” Stan wet his lips as a dryness set in his mouth. “First my eye opened the door, now my hands match the cover of some fantasy book I've never seen before. Just what did that gun do to me?”

“I tried to tell you before. The gun doesn't make you grow limbs. It only removed memories.” Fiddleford stared at something through an open doorway. His hands had pulled the tie off his neck to keep his fingers busy. His body buzzed with nerves and he jolted with each page turn. “That's not your body.”

“... What?”

“That's not your body.” He repeated, closing his eyes and tried to keep his breathing from getting heavier. “I dunno what Stanford did, but I suspect you and him switched bodies.”

“Uh huh. Sure.”

Stan's eyes flicked up to the glass and he stilled. Staring at the glimpses of a reflection that stared back. The tired eyes, short fluffy hair, cleft chin that wasn't his. Everything that made up a face that seemed like it was trying too hard to look like his.

He blinked and the room beyond came into focus. His breath hitched as he took in the looming structure. “What… The fuck is that?”

“A portal that will cause gravity to fall and the earth to become sky. A portal that will bring about the end of the world.”

Notes:

The unicorns and the cycloptopus switched locations in the journals cause I realized I mentioned in ch 1 that Ford needed journal 2 to remember the chant and it's way too late now to fix it.

Chapter 13: “Frozen… Peas?”

Notes:

It's been a couple weeks, but I'm still here! I had ran out of finished chapters to post and the worms are fighting me when I try to write more. They have other stuff they want me to work on instead lol

I do have one more chapter written at the moment, any more after that may come slowly though. We'll see. But! In the meantime I have posted the first one shot from Fae Jimmy's POV so feel free to give that a read if you're interested in how he and Stan met. (I'm about half way through the second one).

Enjoy :D

Stacked washing machines and dryers hummed in use under the bright fluorescent lighting of the laundromat.

Ford blinked slowly at the window of a washing machine, his eyes watching the occasional flash of a white sock mixed in with the dark colors of Stan's other clothing. His head nodded tiredly, the spinning lulling him into a sense of peace.

Someone brushed past him, bringing him back to his senses. With a quick inhaled breath his hand scrubbed over his face with a sigh. Looking around he scooped up the empty duffle bag that sat at his feet and made his way over to a vending machine in the corner.

Inserting a couple dollars he punched in a code and banged on the glass as the granola bar got stuck. He pressed his forehead against the glass and inhaled a frustrated breath before exhaling it calmly and used the change it had given him to also buy a bag of toffee peanuts. 

Scooping both items out he then repeated the process, luckily only once, in the Pitt machine for a bottle of water.

He would need coffee if he didn't want to pass out later, but it would have to wait for when he got gas.

Clean clothes were on the top of his priority list of taking care of Stan's body at the moment.

He was somewhere in either Utah or Nevada, and still wearing the clothes Jimmy had put him into. He wasn't about to show up to Gravity Falls in the dead of winter in basketball shorts, so he'd made a pit stop.

One load.

All of Stanley's clothing had fit into a single load of laundry.

Normally when he'd wash his clothes at home he would separate it by color like how their Ma had shown them him before he went off to college.

Not that he could remember the last time he even did laundry was, but that was besides the point.

He hadn't seen a reason doing it with Stan's however. It had just been another reminder of how bad his twin's life really was.

Ford collapsed on a free bench, kicking the duffle bag under him and twisting open the water. The sound he let out when the liquid touched his tongue turned heads, but he ignored them.

Sue him, he was thirsty.

Setting the empty bottle on the bench next to him, he opened the granola bar and broke off sections to eat it slowly.

He stuck a piece in his mouth and looked down at his hand, knuckles cracking as he flexed the fingers.

For the first time in his life he was what people saw as normal, and he only found that he missed his own hands. 

Stan's hands weren't as wide and the joints moved differently. Even just holding items had been difficult without the extra support he was used to.

With a sigh he stuffed the wrapper into the bottle and stood with a groan, stretching out his back. He tucked the peanuts out of sight in some side pocket of the duffle bag and tossed his trash.

Making his way back to the washing machine he switched the clothes over to a free dryer, sticking in a quarter to start it.

Ford then turned another quarter between his fingers, tossing a glance outside to the phone booth.

There'd be no point in trying his house again, but there was a very slim chance that Stanley could have gone into town and called their parents from there.

Hesitating only slightly he found himself standing in front of the phone, the winter wind biting at his skin.

He tapped the coin next to the slot a few times in thought. Calling the main house line probably wouldn't be the best, their dad most likely wouldn't be happy to hear from Stanley. The psychic number would be the safer option, but would cost him more since the line charges the caller.

He shivered, reminding him it didn't matter. Sliding the coin in, he dialed and pressed the phone to his ear.

It rang three times before clicking as the line was picked up on the other end.

“Pines Psychic, you're getting charged five cents per minute. What aspect of your future would you like to know?” There was a beat of silence before his mother followed up with a different, softer, question. “Stanley? Is everything alright honey?”

Ford swallowed and cleared his throat. “How'd you know it was me?”

“I'm a psychic. You know this.”

“Right. Yeah.” He glanced down and tapped the toe of his shoe against the ground. He felt bad lying to her, but the situation would be far too difficult to explain.

Caryn hummed as if something had been confirmed. “Are you sure you're okay?”

“Uh yeah. I, um, was calling to check up on you and see if you've heard from Stan-” He cleared his throat again. “Stanford… If you've heard from Stanford.”

“Not for a few weeks now.” She answered, sounding distracted by something. Probably messing with her tarot cards. “I could give you his last known number if you'd like.”

“No, it's alright. I'm heading up to his house now, I'd just wanted to let him know how far out I was.” He slotted in a couple more coins into the payphone and shuffled around it to get out of the wind some. “How are you doing Ma?”

“Oh you know me, never better. I just wish you boys would call more. Your brother's always been a free spirit, but I worry about both of you.”

“Yeah… Sorry. I'll try to be better.” He promised.

He meant it too. After they fixed everything and he figured out a way to get rid of Bill and dismantle the portal safely, he would convince Stan to stay with him and they could call her every week.

“I've gotta let you go. Your Pa is complainin’ that dinner hasn't been started. Take care of yourself, okay?” She let out a breath that told him she was smiling softly. “And honey. Be sure to pick up a bag of frozen peas.”

“Frozen… Peas?” Ford questioned, but she had already hung up.

He stared at the phone quizzically for a moment before returning it to the hook with a sigh.

Out of all the strange things his mother says, that was definitely near the top of the list. Sitting right between eating brussel sprouts at dinner or get hurt the following day (Stanley had gotten a splinter at the Stan O’ War after refusing to eat them) and babysit their nephew or fail a test (he studied while Stan looked after the baby and ended up with the lowest score in PE).

Still, he kept the advice in mind as he made his way back into the warmth of the laundromat.

Chapter 14: “The last time we spoke.”

Stan heard the quiet crashing of water and felt the cold foam against his ankles as the waves answered the call of return to the ocean. He opened his eyes and his gaze shifted from the red and white striped shirt he wore to the unfinished ship that bobbed under the night sky.

The name ‘Stan O’ War’ came to mind as he tried to squint at the blurry shape. Giving up to shake his head as his temples continued to throb.

A small light entered his vision and he stared at it. The bubble floated past him toward the ocean, gray static swirled inside like smoke.

The beach slowly lit up behind him as more bubbles passed him and lifted into the sky.

He turned around and marveled at all the orbs. Glass shards mixed with sand stuck to his bare feet as he walked through the field of light.

Murmurs, incoherent voices overlapping over each other, quietly filtered through the static.

Reaching out a small hand, Stan frowned as the bubbles were repelled from his fingers.

“Specs really did a number on you, didn't he pipsqueak?”

Stan scowled and glared up at the demon. Bill was sitting on one of the orbs, his eye concentrated on another as he shook it like a kid would with a birthday present. “What do you want now?”

“Believe it or not, kid. I just want to help ya out.” Bill tossed the bubble behind him and popped over to a different one. Tapping it as he spoke. “Your new friend is working with your body snatcher.”

“Why should I believe anything you say?” His eyes followed Bill as the demon popped around to the different bubbles.

“Why do you think you are presenting as a kid inside your own mind?” Bill shot back his own question without missing a beat.

“I don't typically question what happens in my dreams.”

“The mind is a fragile thing, Mack. Humor me for a moment will you?” Bill held out a bubble, inside was a glimpse of a box tv and a shadow of legs that stepped in front of the news anchor. “Tell me what you remember of the night you were kicked out.”

Stan frowned and crossed his arms, eyeing Bill suspiciously. “My Pa found out that I had ruined a chance for him. It was an accident but he didn't want to hear me out. Tossed me to the curb that night.”

“What was it that you ruined?”

“I broke-” Stan hummed with uncertainty and furrowed his brows. “It was over a decade ago. You think I should remember every little detail?”

Bill tossed the bubble to the side and grabbed another, in it was a glimpse of two blonde kids. “How about the Jersey Devil?”

Stan barked out a laugh. “I was what ten? Twelve? I had an active imagination as a kid. It's quite common for children to play pretend with their friends.”

“Friends huh? Interesting.” Bill leaned against the orb and watched Stan with interest. “You've compartmentalized and altered how you see your own memories.”

“You saying all this-” Stan waved his hand around at the bubbles. “Are my memories?”

“Yep.” He exaggerated the ‘p’ with a pop sound. “Every single one of these are connected to what Specs erased from your mind.”

“And what would that be?”

“Something that's common place all throughout your childhood. It's why you're so small right now. It's your mind's way of trying to protect you.”

Stan eyed the demon warily and flinched back when Bill reached out to flick his forehead. He rubbed the spot with a scowl. “Sure. Say I even believe you. What would he have to gain for doing so? I don't even know the guy.”

“I told you he is working with your body snatcher.” Bill tossed an orb in the air and caught it as if it fell. “My bet is he has hopes of luring you into a false sense of security so that they can carry out some plan. Probably with that portal.”

Gazing out at the ocean, the orbs refracting light off the water, Stan frowned in thought.

The portal. That ominous looming structure that prickled his skin and caused his hairs to stand on end like the ugly feeling of being watched.

He recalled Fiddleford mentioning the end of the world, but hadn't heard much more of the man's muttering while he did something with the numbers on the machines.

There'd been a mention about a beast, but Stan had focused more on how twitchy and paranoid his new companion had been to pay attention to his words. 

They hadn't stayed very long before Fiddleford had shoved him back into the elevator and sat him down to eat.

He didn't want to think about why he felt bad for using cash he'd gotten after pickpocketing the wallet off whatever poor shmuck.  

“You mentioned the basement before. The last time we spoke.” Stan started carefully, biting the inside of his cheek as he thought how to continue. Bits of that conversation didn't come to mind, but he remembered that Bill wanted access. “How do you play into their plan?”

Stan missed the flash of triumph flicker across Bill's face before the demon settled onto his shoulder, fingers tangling into his hair for purchase. Bill let out a sigh. “I was just like you. Naive, trusting the wrong people. I worked with the two of them on that project, and then they tricked me. They stole my body and forced what was left of me into the portal.”

He paused, his hand raking through Stan's hair almost possessively. His mouth grinned behind his eye, his gaze looking pensive as he watched the ship in the distance.

“I know I'd never be able to return to how I was before.” Bill floated in front of Stan and squished the boy’s cheeks together. “But with your help I can stop it from happening again. From happening to you.”

Squirming under Bill's touch, feeling like he'd been dipped into tar, he made no move to get him to stop. “How exactly would you achieve that?”

“Give me access to your less than adequate mind. I will be able to put a stop to their plan once I get into the basement.” His eye stared into Stan's intently. “As an added bonus I'll also be able to help you remember these memories. With access to your mind, while you are awake I can release these back into your unconscious memories then you'll relive them while you sleep and that's when I can work my magic in that body of mine.”

Stan hesitated and averted his gaze uncomfortably, his eyes flicking around the vast amount of bubbles. The feeling of offense for his smarts was smothered into nothing under the feeling of dread of not knowing.

Not knowing so much of his childhood, if Bill was to be believed.

Not knowing Hgzmuliw.

He tasted bile and scowled.

On the streets, not knowing something was a death wish. A ticking timebomb put into a fancy box and tied with a pretty bow. A car parked in the hot desert and a locked trunk. 

“Okay.” Stan let out a slow breath. “You can have access to my mind and the body while I sleep until I get my own back.”

“It's a deal.” Bill floated back enough to hold out his hand, engulfed in blue flame. His eye curling into a grin as Stan shook on their agreement.

He popped out of existence, laughter echoing across the beach.

“Pleasure doing business with you, Mack.”

---

Stan shot up and gasped for air. Six fingered hand grasping at the front of his sweater, warm from the lick of a phantom fire.

His heartbeat slowed as he wiped the wetness off his cheek and fell back against the couch again. Curling into a ball he hugged his legs tight and hid his face in his knees.

A foreboding unease settling into his bones.

Outside, tires crunched against the packed snow.

Notes:

:)

Chapter 15: “It's nice to see you too.”

Ford let out a breath as his cabin breached through the trees.

Parking the El Diablo along his driveway, the snow drifts becoming too tall to drive through, he cut the engine and stepped out. 

Hiking up the dufflebag onto his shoulder, he looked toward the faded wind blown foot prints. One set leading away from the cabin he recognized as his own boot prints. The slightly smaller set leading toward the house however caused a prickle to spark in the back of his mind.

Urddovulid.

He looked back toward town for a moment.

Had he missed Stanley when he made a pitstop at the store for the frozen peas?

Brows furrowing, he looked back at the prints. Neither set was fresh, which meant whoever the second set belonged to could still be nearby waiting for Stanley to return.

If he wasn't dead in a ditch already.

Slowly making his way toward his house he was relieved to see a set of his boot prints made their way from the forest, but it was quickly replaced with worry. 

Why had Stan walked back through the forest? Did Bill do something? Why did both sets lead up to the front door?

Ford struggled to snake through the gate when the hardened snow wouldn't allow it to swing open very far and the fence rattled as he pulled the dufflebag in after him. 

The cold permeated through the thin red jacket. His breath turning into ice crystals as he let out an exhausted huff. Fingers tightened the ponytail he'd put Stan's hair up into and he turned as the front door opened.

A grin formed on his lips when he saw his body brother. Relief returning when he didn't spot any new injuries.

Stanley was alive.

He was safe.

Despite the still healing injurys Ford knew hid under the clothes, his brother looked good. All things considered. He looked rested and clean.

Pride filled his chest knowing that his twin was able to take care of his body like he'd been trying to do with Stan's. That Bill didn't seem to have intervened.

As Stanley started down the steps, Ford's eyes flicked to the man that appeared in the doorway.

Urwwlefliw.

The stranger man stared at him, a flash of fear, guilt, and regret crossing his features. He hugged his arms to himself and nervously shifted his weight.

Fiwwovuorw.

Ford frowned as he glanced over the man. A pounding started in his head as memories of college, anomalies, and the portal surfaced to the front of his mind.

Uiwdlvulrd.

The man scratched at his temple in a nervous tick. Adjusting the green spectacles that sat perched on his nose. Wrinkles in his outfit were poorly pressed out by hand. 

His face dropped as realization fell over him.

Fiddleford.

He didn't have any time to process the information that flooded back—that his friend had wiped his mind of his existence—before he found a new pain blossoming.

Wet snow seeped into the back of his jacket. He sucked in the breath that had been knocked out of him, blinking slowly at the blue sky.

“Wha-?” He struggled as he tried to sit up and looked to see Stanley standing over him, fists clenched. “Stanley?”

His hand twitched as he gently brushed the bruise forming along his jaw. He shook his head and blinked a few more times.

Did Stanley just… Punch him?

“Stanley… Why-”

“Get off me.”

Ford looked back up at his brother in time to see him growl and shrug Fiddleford's hand off his shoulder. He was then yanked back to his feet by his collar.

Stanley's hands tightened around the fabric of the jacket as he shook Ford and got in his face, teeth bared. “I don't know what you're playing at, but you better fucking switch us back right now.”

“I don't-” He started, cutting himself off seeing just how pissed off Stanley was. It was terrifying seeing that much anger on his own face.

He looked so much like their father.

He didn't know what he'd expected when he arrived and saw his brother again.

But it was not this.

“Its nice to see you too.” He tried to joke, his laugh tapering off when Stan only narrowed his eyes. His gaze flicked over to Fiddleford for help. “Fidds? What's going on?”

Fiddleford paled slightly and swallowed before he spoke, putting a hand on Stanley's arm. “Maybe we should all go inside and talk.”

Ford slipped and fell back into the snow caused by the shove Stan added when he let go.

Propping himself up, he watched Stan walk back into the cabin. Fiddleford mumbled an apology and quickly followed.

What exactly had he missed?

He pushed himself back to his feet again, brushing off the snow that stuck to his clothes, and grabbed the forgotten dufflebag. Slowly following after his brother and friend.

Closing the front door he let himself soak in the warmth. He closed his eyes for a moment, hearing the hum of the generator that powered the house. Distantly he made note to get more gas for it—paying bills to get power back could wait a bit longer.

His eyes opened and glanced around the entry room. It was still as messy as he'd remembered and he sighed seeing that the bookshelf that was supposed to be hiding the basement door had been slid to the side.

He could ask about it later.

One problem at a time.

Leaving the bag by the door, he grabbed two items from it and walked into the lit kitchen.

The room had been scrubbed clean, the planks he'd nailed over the window to keep Bill's zombies out were removed, and all his notes and books were in a neat pile on the table.

Stanley sat at the table, arms crossed as he leaned back in his chair. His eyes instantly snapped to Ford's and darkened.

Fiddleford was busying himself with the kettle and making all of them tea. Muttering to himself quietly as he did.

Ford tossed the bag of toffee peanuts he'd gotten from the laundromat onto the table in front of Stan. Then plopped down in the chair across from him and leaned forward on his elbows, holding the frozen peas to the bruise on his face.

The tension in the room was thick enough to cut with a knife. 

His brother's brows had pinched together seeing the peanuts but made no movement to accept them, instead returning his gaze to glare at him.

“So…” Ford fidgeted in his seat and cleared his throat. “How has it been here?”

“Stop. Just stop with the niceties and tell me what you want.” Stan leaned forward with a tilt of his head. “The gang I ran with never dealt in magic so you're not with them, and seeing as you know my name that tells me you're not Fae.”

“Gang? Fae?” Fiddleford interrupted, eyes wide as he stood frozen with two mugs in hand.

Stan sent a glare over in Fiddleford's direction, but otherwise just ignored him as he continued. “I haven't gone by Stanley since I was seventeen. How do you know who I am?”

“Lee...” Ford lowered the peas as he sat straighter, hurt in his eyes as he searched for any recognition in Stan's. “It's Stanford. I'm your twin.”

Chapter 16: “I can fix my own problems.”

“I don't have a twin. How many times do I have to say that?”

“Don't have a…”

Stan watched as expressions he'd pushed so far down over the last decade crossed over his own face before settling first on realization then anger.

“Fiddleford.” The man, Stanford, said harshly then turned toward the man who had quietly set the mugs down and was trying to sneak away.

Fiddleford froze in the doorway, shoulders hunching to his ears as he realized he'd been caught. Slowly he turned back around. His fingers twitching and eyes staring at the ceiling. “Ah. Uhm… What can I do for ya?”

“Perhaps you could enlighten me on why my brother doesn't know who I am?” Stanford put a hand on the back of his chair as he pushed himself out of it, knuckles turning white as his fingers tightened.

“I-I don't know what you mean.”

“Don't bullshit me, F. You told me you destroyed the gun. Where is it?”

“Gone for real this time. You can ask Stanley.” He backtracked as Ford stalked up to him, stopping when his back hit a wall in the hallway.

“Why should I believe you? You've wiped my memory multiple times.” His brows pinched together, breath hissing out his clenched jaw. “You made me forget about you! You made Stanley forget about me! Tell me why Fiddleford!”

“The more I used it the faster the memories would return. I just want it to stop!” He yelled then curled into himself again, fingernails digging into his arm. “Last time I saw you in town you were acting unusual and you grinned after your gaze locked onto me. I didn't want to return. So I went the next day and took myself from your memories.”

Fiddleford swallowed then pointed at Stanley. “Then I saw him at the store and thought if it worked for you, then I would just erase you from my mind and all of it would finally be gone! It was an accident. He attacked me. I panicked and acted in self defense.”

Ford gaped at his friend. Watching as Fiddleford sank to the floor, body trembling and eyes staring at a spot in the distance.

“I just wanted everything to be gone for me. I thought he was you. I thought I'd killed your personality Stanford.” His hands snaked into his hair and tugged as he spoke in a repeated whisper. “I'm sorry. I'm sorry. Sorrysorrysorry.”

“The gun part is true, wouldn't let him inside the house if he still had it. Same with the scuttle, though I don't remember why it happened. Dunno about the rest.” Stanley spoke up from where he'd been watching them from the table, though he was unsure why. He scratched at the bridge of his nose and adjusted the glasses. “Didn't see it outside earlier so he must have picked up the frame. Check his pockets.”

“No!” Fiddleford panicked as Ford started patting him down, holding the gun close to his chest when it was found. “I can fix it! I'll fix everything and then forget it all! Everything will be okay then!”

Ford wrestled the broken frame away from Fiddleford, stepping back as his friend crumpled into a crying heap at his feet.

The bulb and red shield were gone, leaving just the main body and a damaged memory capsule. His name still spelled out in green letters, bright and jarring.

“You know. As entertaining as this all is. Why don't you just use whatever black magic you have and switch us back.” Stan remained in the seat, looking awkwardly between the two of them. “I can get out of your hair after and you two can continue whatever domestic spat y'all have going on. Plus I'm sure you're tired of dealing with the pain from the wound in my body's side right?”

Ford grimaced slightly before his features softened. He cleared out the gun's screen and handed it back to Fiddleford who quickly hugged it to his chest. “Even if I knew how to switch us back, you're not leaving until we can fix your memories. And your… surgery… wound is already healed.”

“I can fix my own problems. You can't keep me trapped here.” He growled standing in a fluid motion. “You're lying. There is no way a wound like that could be healed over the course of a few days.”

Stan faltered as Ford unzipped the jacket and lifted up the shirt to show off the newest scar. Completely healed to match the rest.

“How…”

Ford let the shirt fall back over the scar and stared at his brother. “Jimmy. The gang that did it is also dead.”

“Jim- You used the bell?!”

“It was an accident, but I wouldn't be here if it wasn't for him.”

“Accident. Those seem to be going around here like candy, huh?” Stan scowled and averted his gaze.

He felt conflicted.

He was pissed that he'd lost the bell. Even though he didn't even want the thing to begin with and planned on never calling the gremlin for help. But knowing Jimmy repaid the debt and let the man inhabiting his body go.

He wasn't sure what to make of it if he was honest.

Still, the small amount of trust he had for the Fae creature he considered a friend could possibly be extended toward this Stanford.

Then there was his deal with Bill. What the triangle had told him still itched the back of his mind and he didn't plan on falling into the same fate. Stan was quite attached to his human form. Geometry didn't suit him.

“Fine. I'll stay. For now.” Jabbing a finger into Stanford's the chest of his own body (Moses that was hard to wrap his head around) he narrowed his eyes once more. “But the moment this is over I'm out of here.”

“If that's what you want I won't stop you” Ford looked at his brother with sadness, hugging his arms to himself. “But you are welcome to stay.”

“Fat chance.” He tucked the peanuts under his arm and grabbed a mug before heading back to the front door.

“Where are you going?”

“Far away from the lunatic.”

The door slammed shut and Ford looked back down to Fiddleford. His friend was fiddling with the gun's dial, inputting nonsense words, pointing it at the floor, and pulling the trigger. 

It did nothing.

He sighed and pulled Fiddleford back to his feet, guiding him into a kitchen chair. Carefully he switched the gun's base out of the engineer's fingers for a mug of tea, releasing a breath as Fiddleford started to visibly calm down.

Sinking in a chair, he tilted his head back and held the thawing peas to his face again. “What a mess.”

Chapter 17: “Guess that didn't work, did it Sixer?”

“You've got to be kidding me.”

Stanley stood in the doorway of the room he'd been sleeping in, arms crossed as he looked from Stanford down to the gaudy carpet.

He hadn't really given the carpet a second glance before, but the blue and yellow thing really was a poor choice of decor. And what was with the arrows? Absolutely terrible.

Ford paced the length of the rug in his socks, static sparking with each turn. “Oh please, Stanley. You woke up in a different body and you won't believe there's an electron carpet that can switch bodies?”

“I know you said that you didn't have a way to change us back.” He looked back at him with a look of incredulity. “So why would I believe you magically have a way all of a sudden?”

“Yes, well. I clearly had other things on my mind at the time. I've got a lot of experiments laying around to remember what they all do.” Pausing, he sighed and pressed a hand against his temple. “Please Stanley. If for some reason this doesn't work then it will give me the chance to focus on finding a different way.”

“Sure. What's one more person to humor in this house? Guess that's what I do now.” He scoffed and mumbled to himself, but met Stanford in the middle of the carpet anyway.

The static charge flashed when they made contact, repelling them away from the other.

Ford groaned, holding his head as he used the desk as leverage to stand back up. Squinting he counted his fingers and sighed seeing that he still had five.

It didn't work.

He hoped it would have.

Frustrated, he looked over at Stan. Worry overtaking him as he ran across the room and knelt next to where his brother slumped, unmoving, against the wall.

“Nononono… Stan! Wake up!” He shook his shoulders, letting out a breath as Stan stirred. “Oh thank Moses.”

Stan covered his face with a hand and grumbled. “Guess that didn't work, did it Sixer?”

“No guess not.” He let out a breathy laugh as he sat back, scrubbing a hand over his face. “But now I can look into other options.”

Freezing, Ford slowly glanced back toward his twin. His face paled as he caught the wide grin and yellow eye peering back between fingers. An expression he'd only seen in photographs.

Scrambling away from his body he watched as Bill stood with stiff movements.

Bill jerked his head to the side, the bones in his neck cracking, and rolled his shoulders with an exaggerated sigh. “Ah. It's been too long.”

“Why are you here, Cipher?” Ford made it to his feet, forcing anger into his voice and hoping Bill wouldn't catch on to his fear.

He'd hoped since Stanley seemed to be unhurt that Bill wasn't able to possess his body after the switch. Something changed after he arrived.

Was it the proximity? Now that he was back in Gravity Falls, Bill could interact with him again no matter the body?

Or did Stanley…

“Leave my brother out of this. Your deal is with me, not him.”

“That's where you're wrong, IQ. My deal with you will stand until the end of time, but what use do I have for that body? It's spare parts. Now this one.” His grin widened as he wiggled his fingers then giggled when he used his hands to push the skin around on his face. “Why would I ever give this one up?”

“You don't have a deal with him.”

“Don't I? Don't see you trying to get his memories back. Are you scared Sixer?” Bill tilted his head and lowered his hands back to his side. “Scared that if he remembers you then he will hate you?”

Ford's hand clenched, his eyes not leaving the demon possessing his brother.

Of course he wasn't scared. He chose to focus on the body switch prior to getting Stan's memory back because it was the easiest route.

Right?

He swallowed and wet his lips nervously. “What did you offer him?”

“I’m helping. Giving him back his memories. It's not my fault that they are all so delicious that I also can't help but stick my fingers into them before I hand them over.” He mimed poking his finger into a pie and licked the pretend filling off with a sigh. “It's awfully boring in Mack's mind otherwise.”

Cursing, Ford stalked up to him and grabbed a hold of the lapel of the sweater. “What did you change?!”

“Just something small for now.” Bill laughed in his face before his expression darkened and he growled, eyes flashing red. “But the longer you put off opening the portal, the worse the memories become. You only saw a glimpse of what his life was like. You don't want to know what your brother will do once he feels trapped and becomes desperate.”

“What in tarnation are you two doing in here!” Fiddleford's voice called down the hall before he stopped short just inside the room.

Bill's grin reappeared as he pried Ford's hand off him. Turning he spread his arms out and took a few steps closer to Fiddleford. “Specks! The man who made this all possible! I should seriously than-”

Fiddleford screamed, kicked Stanford's body between the legs, and punched him in the face. Bending over in pain as he held his hand close to his chest. “Jesus Christ!”

Ford instantly knelt down next to where his body crumpled, pulling open the eye not bleeding to make sure the demon was gone. “F, go grab some rope and the first aid kit from the second floor bathroom. We need to get Stan tied up in case Bill comes back. I'll take a look at your hand after.”

“Fuck you Ford!” He hissed, face flinching as he tried to uncurl the already bruising fingers. “Who the hell was that? It sure wasn't your brother.”

“Fiddleford, please… I promise I'll explain everything.” Ford pressed two fingers against his body's wrists to make sure Stan was still alive as he looked over to his friend, pleading.

“Fine.” Fiddleford growled as he stepped back into the hallway.

Ford let out a ragged breath and curled over Stan, grasping a six fingered hand tightly between his own and resting his forehead on the slow rising chest. “I never meant for you to get hurt due to my mistakes… I'm sorry Stanley.”

Series this work belongs to:

• Part 1 of Alea Iacta Est (The Die Has Been Cast)