Fire emanates from Bill's hand as it shakes Stan's, and the deal is sealed.
In a swift motion, the demon leaves behind a stone corpse, and its conscience shoots into Stan's mind. The man drops to his knees, eyes closed, unresponsive.
Ford doesn't have it in him to keep wearing his twin's fez, so he takes it off as he walks up to him.
On with the plan. Ford turns the wheel on the gun until it spells his brother's name— his real, full name, not the one he had apparently been using for 30 years.
He lifts his eyes to meet the figure in front of him. Stan's body stays rigid, even in such an uncomfortable position. It seems like it's somehow staring right at Ford, despite having his eyes closed.
Stanford can feel two pairs of eyes staring daggers into his back. The kids he's known for barely a few days, his actual family, the ones he's come to love so quickly and irrationally that it honestly scared him. He didn't know he was capable of feeling such emotions anymore, after everything.
Had Stan felt like that when he first met them? By the way he looked at them, the way he screamed and thrashed when Bill went after them and how he had threatened Ford himself about not putting them in danger, it was obvious that they were incredibly important to him.
"As far as I'm concerned, they're the only family I have left!"
Those words had stung, even if he had been too proud to admit it. Maybe he had tried to toss that comment aside because, at the end of the day, it was Ford who punched him after thirty years.
Thirty years of trying to save him by any means necessary.
It really isn't the moment to have such realizations, but they come to him nonetheless. Thirty years of reclusion, death-faking and tireless work to save Ford— nay, for the negligible chance that Ford was even alive at all. Thirty years of studying physics and engineering, without help from an all-knowing beast, without any help, without anyone.
The loneliness is all too familiar. Ford shudders.
All that knowledge and determination, all that hope and loyalty is about to get erased. Everything that makes Stan Stan, down to the very essence of the unruly kid with a tooth-gaped smile and a knack for petty theft and violence he used to know.
Ford points the gun at Stan's forehead, the metal now heavier than the fez felt, and tries unsuccessfully to keep his arms from shaking.
His brother waits none the wiser. Just like they planned.
The two pairs of eyes behind his back send arrows straight through his heart. They don't even know what's going to happen.
Stan's head is slightly tilted upwards, his glasses reflecting the cross-shaped tear in the sky.
Ford looks away as his finger rests over the trigger.
His hands won't stop shaking. He needs to keep them steady and not miss, especially since he isn't looking.
Stanford lowers the gun slowly, the trigger untouched. He dares look back at his brother, who's still resting on his knees, and braces himself for the consequences of his cowardice.
Possession —especially the Bill kind— happens almost immediately. He remembers seeing Bill playing around with the townsfolk and the undead's brains (or lack thereof), and neither of them remained themselves for more than a few second after he entered their minds. Bigger mindscapes took longer, logically, which usually meant older people with larger quantities of life and memories. But even the eldest would quickly succumb to Bill's influence, their smiles growing unnaturally big and their eyes turning yellow in barely 20 seconds.
The silent image before him can only mean one thing: Stan is giving Bill hell.
Ford smiles at the realization. Bill might be an all-powerful monster, but no one will pull up an uneven fight like Stanley Pines. Maybe his brother won't raise victorious this battle, but he's buying them time. Enough to deal with Bill from the outside, where he's the most vulnerable, while he's still busy trying (and failing, Ford reminds himself) to take a hold of Stan.
Stanford looks around. They need something to tie Stan's body for now, to make sure that he can't hurt anyone until they find a definite solution, one that doesn't involve opening his twin's scalp to insert a metal plate. There's no rope or tape laying around but... Ford's eyes land on the discarded chains that had been wrapped around his neck and wrists a few hours prior. Now that Bill is gone, they're no longer glowing, seemingly—
A hand shoots up and wraps around his neck. Ford hisses at the contact with the still recent burn marks, but that's all he can do before his whole body gives up on him.
"WOAH, THAT WAS A STUPID IDEA EVEN FOR YOU, BRAINIAC," Stan's distorted voice snickers. "DO YOU LIKE THE NEW OUTFIT?"
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