#c:stan

The paranoid scrawls of Ford’s handwriting across papers scattered both on the floor and his desks, none of any that made real sense. Most of his cursive had turned illegible with haphazard lines and out of what wasn’t it was mostly technical talk about machinery and electric waves that Stan didn’t understand the first thing about.

There was only one idea that Stan could get out of the writings, because Ford had written it over and over in different ways, and it was creepy as hell.

‘I’m being watched.’

The idea echoed throughout the entire house - into the excessive amount of locks on the front door, the extra nails in the thick boards pressed against the windows, the barbed wire strung out in the snow around the house.

It even followed Stan himself when he had gone outside to grab firewood from the stack of cut logs near the edge of the trees. He only felt it though because he’d been reading the idea over and over while in some kind of horror movie murder hut looking cabin out in the middle of the woods.

It somehow felt even colder inside even after he closed the door. The icy wind from outside whipping inside after him and scraping at his sides and around his shoulders persisting until he was halfway down the hallway. He supposed that’s what he got for breaking a window for all the wind to come in through.

Stan carried the logs to the fireplace and lit a fire there, settling down on the floor in front of it for the heat.

His gut insisted something was wrong, but Stan had already figured that when he’d gotten the letter. Only difference now was it was a lot harder to think that Ford had sent him the postcard so they could reconnect or- or something like that.

There was no denying something was wrong by this point. He just wished Ford would show up so he could ask him what that something was.

Stan waited by the fire, letting crackling heat fill the space and time with half thoughts flitting every which way.

One particular rabbit hole of thinking kept pulling him back down every time he tried to convince himself that Ford would be back any minute.

Where would his brother have gone out in the middle of a blizzard so bad it frosted over Stan’s car in five minutes? And why?

After a half hour, the question was too big to ignore.

“Dammit, Ford, where the hell are you?” He muttered absently. Another cold wind wound its way into the room.

Grimacing, Stan got up off the floor, leaving his duffel bag in the middle of the floor and went to the kitchen. The fridge wasn’t empty, but it was clear not everything in there was meant to be food so Stan turned towards the pantry instead. As he did though, his eyes caught onto the window and stared. Between the wooden boards, the view outside was darkening.

If Ford was still outside - what if he was stuck somewhere close? Just nearby, Stan could check that far. Ford himself couldn’t have gotten that far on foot himself, and if he was in a car then he at least had something to hide in to keep himself from turning into a popsicle.

Even if he didn’t find anything, Stan couldn’t stand just waiting around and doing nothing like this, not when something bad was looming over this whole situation.

Stan turned on his heel, out the kitchen and unlocking the back door before remembering to zip his jacket closed and pull up the hood. Stepping outside, he pulled on his gloves. He didn’t bother locking the door back.

The white expanse in front of his feet quickly led to the tall forest, and Stan walked forward, keeping his hands in his pockets for the time being, only pulling them out to mark snow against a tree side to help him keep track of where he was at or for balance going down a steep little hill.

“If you’re stuck in a damn ditch right now...” He swore aloud, nearly losing his balance and falling. With the light of the sun dying he couldn’t stay outside long, and he knew it and he knew walking into the woods when it was getting dark was stupid, but it was better than nothing.

As Stan turned right, walking in a large circle around where he knew the shack was, he shouted for Ford as he went. Nothing around him looked like a person and the only colors around were white and brown.

Stan got increasingly frustrated as the light dimmed to the point that he had even less of a chance of making anything important out.

Ford was supposed to be here. Not outside here, but- but when Stan had showed up! Instead Stan came up to an empty cabin. Something was wrong enough for him to call Stan and he couldn’t tell what because Ford couldn’t even just be here for when Stan showed up!!

He looked like he’d been the one needing help though. Maybe a gang was after Ford. He didn’t really think Ford would have gotten involved with a gang much less people at all looking at the state of his house, but it’d at least make sense.

All the little details inside the house screamed that Ford was scared of something or someone, and that wasn’t even bringing into the fact that Ford wrote like someone was after him, watching him.

Stan’s foot snagged onto a covered tree branch and he tipped forward with a curse - hands going out to catch himself. He hit the snowy floor on his gloved hands and then down the hill, sliding onto his side.

He stopped halfway down the hill, his entire right side covered with snow. He turned to a sitting position and carefully stood up, wobbling against the wind. He numbly wiped the snow off of himself before it all melted, gloves wet by the time he was done.

He sighed, biting down on his lip and taking in his dark surroundings. He wouldn’t be able to see Ford even if he was here.

Stan took in a deep breath, then cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted one last time. “Ford if you’re there then just say something!”

He waited in the dull hum of wind broken up by dense trees and softly shifting snow, straining his ears for a response.

Standing still like this and waiting for a noise only made him feel all the more alone.

He glanced down at his hands and took the wet gloves off to shove into his pockets up against the brass knuckles. Turning, he headed back up the hill towards the shack, pushing his hands into his pockets.

He started shivering after a couple minutes, clenching his jaw tight to stop his teeth from clacking.

Stan pressed his arms into his sides bracing himself as he made it back onto flat ground again. The wind has since started to die down, at the very least.

A little while later he finally saw the shape of the shack through the trees, and turned direction to make a beeline towards it.

His right arm and leg felt like they were overheating by this point, but he’d been around enough to know when he was actually in danger of frostbite. That being said, he needed to change and light that fire again because the house was cold enough he’d definitely catch frostbite if he didn’t do anything about it.

Still shaking, he started the fire again. It took a few minutes because his fingers weren’t exactly cooperating right now, but hey.

He went upstairs to swipe some clothes from Ford’s room. He snorted at seeing the few sweater vests hanging in the closet, instead going for a plain black shirt and some pants.

After he changed, he raided through closets until he finally found one with a blanket inside and wrapped it around himself before going back down and sitting in front of the fire to warm up. He was still hungry, but he could deal with that later.

The more he warmed up the more bone tired he felt.

Stan tried to let himself fall asleep, and he was well beyond the point of being tired enough for it, but it took a while. He knew he’d wake up if Ford did come back in the middle of the night, he was a light sleeper. Not knowing what was going on though wasn’t helping.

Eventually though Stan fell asleep.

______

When Stan woke up the fire in front of him had burnt out and the cold was creeping in at him where he wasn’t covered.

He sat up, rubbing his eyes and blearily staring at the burn out embers turned black and gray now.

After a while he finally got up and changed into his dry clothes, calling a couple times into the empty house for Ford. It was worth a shot, even if Ford was nowhere to be seen, of course.

Stomach growling and rolling in on itself, he went to the kitchen and pulled a sleeve of crackers out from the pantry to eat on at the small kitchen table and sitting near the window so he could look out between the wooden boards.

Finding Ford was- hell Ford was the only reason he was here in the first place, he had to find him. And if he hadn’t showed up by now he wasn’t coming back here.

Stan sighed heavily. It was either finding him or figuring out what happened so he could find him. Neither one was going well right now though.

“Okay,” he said to himself. “Okay.”

“So-” he ran his hand through his hair and sighed again. “So, what do I got? He thought someone was watching him, built this place up like he was expecting a raid or something, and now he’s not here.” Stan tapped his finger on the table and chewed on another cracker.

Both doors were locked too so it didn’t look like he was dragged out. Even if someone did drag him out of here, locking the door wouldn’t have made a difference and would have been more work than it was worth.

Stan pulled the postcard Ford had sent him out of his pocket now, looking at it and flipping it over. It had gotten crumpled and the texture had changed from where it had gotten wet last night, but everything was still readable.

He frowned. No send date stamped on it, so that didn’t help him. It could have taken the mail system anywhere from a few days to a few weeks for the post card to reach Stan from Oregon.

So... why would Ford have left this place after he’d fortified it this much. He couldn’t have had somewhere more secure than this, right? Not unless there was secretly a castle in the woods he could hold up inside. Did being watched matter so much that he had to get out of here?

Stan was still looking down at the postcard, thumb tracing over the bent corner that was close to falling off.

Where would he go if he thought this place wasn’t safe?

“Who’d even be watching you out here...?” Stan muttered, tucking the card away and getting up.

Stan went back through the rooms, grabbing any scrap of paper he saw with writing on it and dumped it all onto the desk in a relatively empty study.

He turned the lamp overhead on and started going through the papers for any information, quickly slapping all the stuff that only had equations on it into one pile to look if he got desperate.

What he was left with was - still hard to read just like yesterday, but this time he took the time to try and figure out the actual messy scrawls where they happened and find anything that could help point to what was going on.

The most legible stuff was full of technical jargon and Stan had to focus hard to not read the same sentence over and over again or look at the occasional doodled triangle.

It seemed to be about some machine to do with... electric omega waves? Some kind of waves. The more Stan read the more he picked up on the less scientific stuff inside. Supernatural barriers and rituals that definitely hadn’t come out of a physics textbook.

There was a room here that had been half filled with photos and samples of supernatural things, like mushrooms three times as tall as Ford himself and the needles of whatever a gremloblin was. It was a nice reminder that even if he hadn’t seen Ford yet, his brother still hadn’t changed that much.

After reading through most of the boring stuff Stan was able to piece together at least something. Ford had made two machines.

The first one, which Stan was going to call the problem machine, had made some kind of problem that Ford was trying to fix. He kept briefly mentioning this problem - a hole, a rift, a breach, never anything specific enough to know what it actually was though. No matter what though it always sounded like something about it was a problem or had made a problem.

The second machine was supposed to fix that. Stan didn’t really know how, kinda didn’t look like Ford had figured that out either, but it had something to do with waves and something supernatural.

Going from knowing zilch to knowing something was great, really it was better than the absolute jack all he had yesterday, but he still didn’t know what these machines were actually for.

If he was trying to use the supernatural with the fixer machine though maybe the problem also had something supernatural to it. And whatever the problem was, it was definitely big. Big enough that someone was after him.

Stan nearly gave up on the really illegible stuff, but half way through one page he realized that for several lines Ford was writing the same thing over and over ‘can’t sleep.’

Stan felt a pit drop into his stomach, looking for the very worst writing he could find across the pages and nearly every sentence he managed to trudge through sounded like that. Over and over again, Ford kept talking like even a nap like it was the end of the world.

Finally- god damn finally- Ford mentioned someone.

‘I have to stay awake. I can’t let Him win.’

“Come on, give me a name or something here." It was like the most annoying game of 'Guess Who' but from a vague piece of paper that nobody else besides Stan probably would have bothered to read through considering it was torn nearly in half and smudged in dirt.

Tapping his foot, Stan tried to quickly read and just winded up getting frustrated when he couldn’t, before he finally tossed the paper away from him.

His imagination got away from him, seeing Rico’s guys coming after Ford - except as soon as he imagined them creeping up to where Ford was tucked into the cabin it stopped making sense and the picture in his head fell away.

There were no bullet holes anywhere around the house, not even any forced signs of entry besides the one Stan made himself. So what had been going on when Ford had been here?

He wasn’t sure if he’d prefer if it was like the people he’d dealt with before, it’d be bad, but at least Stan knew how to work with that. This guy? Stan didn’t know what this guy had been doing or what he’d been planning to do that had Ford this scared.

“What was this guy watching you for anyway?” He asked the paper, the only damn thing around here that could even answer his questions.

The lamp light flickered three times before returning to normal. “Better not be cameras in here.” Stan muttered, before picking up a new page to read.

The lamp, however, started going in and out, electricity failing for long enough that it got distracting.

Stan stood up and unplugged the lamp from the wall then securely plugged it back in, looking back at the light a moment to make sure it wasn’t about to go on the fritz again before sitting back down.

He didn’t get far though because the light flickering again, stopping when Stan turned his head to watch it for a moment. He leaned back in his chair, tipping it back onto two legs and letting his eyes glaze over in the direction of all the paper piled up in front of him.

Maybe the guy had nabbed Ford while he was out of the house. It made enough sense. It’d explain why everything had still been locked up when Stan got here and why Ford wouldn’t have come back to his fortress of solitude.

If he was watching Ford then sure he’d know when he left the house and Ford couldn’t stay inside forever if he ran out of food.

The only other option Stan could really think of was that Ford decided this shack wasn’t safe anymore, but again - Stan had no idea where Ford could have gone.

Technically, he also had no idea where anything in town was or where someone could be trapping Ford, but finding a shady place sounded a lot easier than finding whatever Ford would consider safe from this guy’s eyes when a remote cabin out in the woods wasn’t. If Ford left for a new hideout, paranoid that he was being watched, then chances were he made sure he wasn’t seen and left no traces behind.

Stan started to feel grounded, with some options finally sliding into place.

Ford was either being held captive somewhere or he had hidden himself somewhere nobody would find him. So all Stan had to do was look around until he found someone that fit the bill, or if Ford was hiding out somewhere then for him to notice Stan running around and eventually leave him some kind of sign.

Stan's eyes focused as the light from the lamp started to quietly buzz, darkening to a low light before it began flickering.

Stan tipped his chair back to the ground, and reached inside to twist the bulb in tighter.

He watched the lamp expectantly and for a solid couple seconds it seemed like it had done the trick.

Then the light began to flicker on repeatedly, flashing three times and after a pause the light held on for a moment before the bulb darkened again.

Stan watched the faulty light flicker along for a few seconds before he finally stood up and just unplugged it from the wall entirely. He was done reading anyway.

Plus he could eat pretty much anything he wanted when Ford wasn’t here. Even if Ford wanted to get mad at him about it later, he’d just say he couldn’t get to the store for food anyway. Not that Stan had any money to buy food even if he went to town.

Stan went downstairs and into the kitchen, ready to rummage something more than crackers this time.

When he flipped the light switch on though it started flickering and Stan groaned. “You gotta be kidding me.”

He flipped the switch back off. Then on. “Work.”

The light turned on and Stan stayed poised with his finger at the switch and waited. When nothing happened he finally went over to the pantry. “That’s what I thought.”

He pushed aside the box of crackers and started to inspect the cans for soup or something good when the light started slowly flickering again. He ignored it for the first couple seconds, but it kept going.

After a dozen seconds he finally shot a scowl at the still flickering light before walking back towards the switch. The instant he took a step, the light started going completely haywire and he swore he could hear the electricity from it buzzing.

“Alright, yeah that’s-”

Stan took a few steps back, dropping his duffel bag onto the wooden porch then body slammed the front door. And immediately regretted thinking of this place as some rickety cabin in the middle of the woods because that door was not rickety in the slightest.

On the second shove, he heard the clinks and scraping of metal, but- more than one. There had to be at least two or three metal locks on the other side of this thing, which either meant Ford was inside or went out another way. 

“Ford?” He called out again, a last ditch effort. “You in there?”

Nothing.

Grimly, Stan picked up his bag and braced himself going back into the cold and around the house for another door or window. 

At the side door there was a window beside it, it was almost too easy, until Stan saw the window was boarded up.

He jabbed an elbow into the pane of the window closest to the door handle, the sound of the relatively dull crack of the thick glass getting swept away by the wind. After clearing the glass away, he started hitting at the board of wood in his way. After a few minutes of artful property damage, he reached an arm inside and unlocked the door. 

The air inside was almost as cold as it was outside and there were no lights on. The only light was the light gray outside from behind him, casting his shadow down the hallway.

Stan shivered and closed the door beside himself, haphazardly hitting the board back in place enough for it to go back in place enough to cover up what he’d done.

“Ford?” He called out loudly, not waiting or expecting a response as he started to walk into the house. 

The very first room he passed made him stop because there was a damn dinosaur skull in a tank, a tall metal tower with subtle blinking lights, and within seconds Stan was catching more of the odd items inside the room. 

After he was over the small shock of seeing a living room covered with stuff like this, which honestly made sense for Ford, he realized that it was... kinda disorganized. Not messy. As much as he didn’t really like thinking about the room they used to live in together, because how did he think about the room without thinking about everything else, he remembered it and how Ford had been. 

Ford could be messy and hell they both had been, but there was a difference between a mess and the disorganized chaos of jars tipped over and spreads of paper that looked as though they had been stepped on and kicked. 

So- So, it was disorganized, so what.

Stan quickly moved through the rest of the house, flicking on lights as he went. 

Living spaces were all about the same as what he’d seen. Kitchen was a mess and reeked of burnt coffee.

The longer Stan went without seeing Ford the more worried, and at the same time at ease he got. On the one hand, the longer he went without seeing him was the longer he didn’t know what was going on and the way this place looked wasn’t helping with where his thoughts ran. On the other, not seeing Ford meant not finding his body lying on the ground or anything like that.

Then Stan got to the upstairs. The upstairs bathroom had a crack in the mirror, and a lump of white cotton that was covered in distinct, dark burgundy stains. A lot of stains. Not enough to make him think too much though, but enough that it didn’t look like a small accident.

The last room Stan went into was the attic with a grim anticipation only for it to turn out... to really just look like any other attic with boxes stacked inside and covering most of the walls.

Stan slowly breathed out, lingering around the room and gradually relaxing. He still had no idea where Ford was at, but nothing looked like a crime scene here besides maybe where Stan had broken in and ‘technically’ committed a crime.

He passed back around the house again, slow and actually taking in the rooms this time around. Turned on the heating too, though he probably would have been better just looking for wood to put in the fireplace and holing up in there. 

Hell, maybe Ford went out for groceries. His kitchen looked like he lived solely off of coffee right now. 

For now, Stan would just look around while he had the chance.

“Look, calm down,” Stan said, pulling the folder over the counter and flipping through it himself. “Doctors aren’t going to bust through the door with a gun, Ford.”

“I’m calm.” Ford said, skimming the pages as Stan flipped through them.

“You’ve been shaking ever since you started getting examined on the table.” Stan pointed out, much to Ford’s own chagrin.

“I am calm.” He insisted, truthfully. “A little nervous, sure, but I’m not feeling this.” He said, letting the shaking hands hover over the table for a moment. “I don’t know why my body started doing this.”

Stan didn’t say anything to that, and they skimmed through the file quickly and in silence to the end of the files with the most recent visits that stopped a few months back with a broken arm.

“Alright,” Stan said, pushing the folder closed, “so what’s next? Breaking into this guy’s house?”

Ford laughed, lightly, pulling the folder back and opening it to the first page again to stare at the information page. “If he’s not there, I don’t know.”

Stan snorted in surprise. “Wow impersonation and planned breaking and entering.” He teased. 

Ford smiled, still looking at the stranger’s information typed neatly across the page. “Oh please, like this is the worst I have done.”

Blonde hair. Blue eyes. VOTMZRIG IVSKRX OORY

Ford stopped, staring through the paper, remembering horrified, unseeing blue eyes and a sheen of sweat over a familiar face, a cool blue light washed over the memory.

He couldn’t remember any words that weren’t gibberish, but when he tried to pull on the memory more all he could see were angry or disgusted expressions from that same face and him pulling away from Ford, and a prevailing sense of guilt.

“What did I..?” He asked, out loud, a new fear starting to hit him. A new sense of the story with a turn that scared him.

“Ford?”

Ford pulled his hands away from the folder, feeling the tears spring suddenly from his eyes when he looked to Stan. “What if-” The hypothetical turned into such certainty that he didn’t even finish it, feeling tears fall. “This was my fault.” He said. 

Stan paused, looking caught off guard at the sudden change, but Ford couldn’t stop himself. “This was my fault.” He said again.

“You- No. We don’t even know what’s going on.” Stan said. “And- and why would you be so scared if this was-! No.” He finished firmly. “No, it wasn’t you.”

“You don’t even know me. What I was like before this.” Why was a dangerous machine in his basement? Why did the first person he remembered look so traumatized? Why had he tried to kill his own brother in his sleep? 

Stan pulled him into a tight hug that broke through his thoughts. 

Ford reached up to hold onto Stan’s shoulders, needing the contact even if he didn’t deserve the comfort.

“Hey genius, you wouldn’t be freaking out about it if whatever happened was what you wanted to happen.” Stan told him, half sarcastic. “Didn’t you go to school for a friggin’ extra decade?"

Ford hiccuped a laugh, the logic taking apart the building worries in his head, bringing him back down into a grounded reality. “Don’t ask me,” he said. “I don’t even remember my middle name.”

“Heh, It’s Filbrick.” 

“Filbrick? What an awful name. Couldn’t I have gotten something better?” 

His rough reunion with the ground, and safety, was enough to pull his mind back out of the panic it had set into when he’d initially started floating backwards. Now the two of them were slowly getting up from the ground, catching their breath from the dangerous experience that was gone just as suddenly as it had arrived. Really, it had been their own fault, fighting in the control room, but he had missed the portal activating and he could only guess Stan had as well. At the very least, even if he noticed it turning on, he didn’t think it was dangerous until Ford was floating midair.

Regardless, the only reason Ford had that thought now was because of the current awkward situation, set between the situation that had scared both of them and the argument that hadn’t been resolved. 

He could just as easily thank Stan as he could jump back into the bickering from before as if nothing had happened. Stan calling him the selfish one, blaming him for what happened to his life, ‘some brother you turned out to be...’ 

“What the Hell was that?!” Stan said, before gesturing back to where the dormant portal was now sitting, perfectly quiet.

“That’s-!” Ford snapped at him without thinking, but stopped as he could now see the glowing red outline scorched into Stan’s back, burnt completely through the hoodie and shirt he was wearing.

Stan had his other hand going over to hold onto his shoulder above the injury, and now he crossly looked back at him. “What?” He said, quickly getting upset. “No, come on, what is it, huh?”

“Your back, it’s-”

Stan cut him off dryly. “Yeah, I’m aware. Your point?”

Ford simmered, but did his best to let the tone agitate him. Ford had been the one to accidentally burn him, he wasn’t going to very well yell at Stan for his attitude on the no doubt intense burn.

“What were you going to say, cause I know that wasn’t it.” Stan’s voice jabbed through the air, on the brink of returning to yelling again. “Come on, I wanna know. I wanna hear it, Ford.” 

It was frustrating and Ford just wanted to yell it at him. Get it through his head why hiding the research was so important, why he’d needed Stan’s help, why-

Why this was all on the edge of disaster and on top of everything else the last thing he needed was another fight.

“What? Now, you’re going to clam up?” Stan scoffed derisively.

“That...” Ford started, quick to interrupt before Stan could say something that would no doubt have launched his last bit of patience into space, renewing the fight. He avoided looking at Stan to concentrate on his own words. “That’s why I wrote you for help.” 

“Ford, you know that’s not what I meant.”

He glanced back at him, “It’s an inter-dimensional gateway. I- I thought I told you that.” 

Stan visibly slouched. “Why’d that happen, Ford? I meant why’d that happen.”

“Oh, right.” Ford looked around briefly for the journal and went to pick it up as he explained, hiding it into his coat pocket for safe keeping. He didn’t know what to do about it right now, but he didn’t want Stan to immediately take it back only to resume trying to burn it again. “Well, we must have knocked enough controls around to activate it again. When it’s on, gravity reverses in close proximity to the portal.” He nodded to the caution line. “Anything past that gets caught in its pull.”

Stan glanced back to the portal. “... So you really would have got shot out into the middle of space.”

“Well, into a different dimension, but close enough.”His brother hadn’t quite pulled his gaze off of the portal yet, and Ford continued hoping he wouldn’t ask anything else about the destination. “That has to be a third degree burn on your shoulder.”

Stan’s shoulder stiffened slightly, as if mentioning it was enough to make it hurt more. “Yeah, what about it?”

Ford sighed. “Stanley, I’m sorry. Just... please let me patch it before the debris from down here can cause an infection or worse.”

“Wait. What do you mean ‘worse?’” He questioned, finally looking back at him again.

“Well, there is a lot of radioactive materials down here.”

“Jesus Christ, of course there is.” Stan laughed for a moment, running a hand over his face.

“Although, that wouldn’t really make much of a difference with or without a wound.” He continued reassuringly.

A crooked smile briefly flashed across Stan’s face. “Well... that sounds great.”

“I’m more worried about debris.” In regards to the burn, at the very least. “I should have a first aid kid upstairs.” He said, moving back towards the elevator.

After they went downstairs and Ford handed him a painkiller medicine, he expected them to break out of the silence immediately. They didn’t. Though it was only a matter of time.

Ford realized why Stan avoided talking for just a few moments, probably stalling on time for the stinging pain from the medicine on his shoulder to die down before another fight potentially flared up with more injuries or going out into the cold that could feel good, but most likely would be an unpleasant minute until his car warmed up.

Why Ford himself didn’t just get it out of the way though, especially when he didn’t have the time? ... What was he doing? Maybe it was some belated hope that Stan might change his mind about taking his research to hide it, except nothing had changed so there was no reason for him to think that might happen.

He heard a distant hum like the portal that he was sure he was imagining again, because it couldn’t be active and it was just his mind replaying what had happened downstairs. That could have done something. He should be checking on that instead of just sitting idly by-

Light flashed and Ford’s eyes shot open, first recognizing that they had been slipping closed which was always a bad sign, then noticing the kitchen lit up with dim yellowing light from above the kitchen sink then dark with a triangular shape of moonlight from the small window falling onto the floor in front of him. 

Finally, he noticed Stan, who was beside the light switch flicking it back and forth, leaving it on when Ford looked at him. He raised an eyebrow at him and let his hand fall back down again.

Ford quickly felt his breathing returning to normal. “Why did you do that?” He asked tiredly.

“Well, saying hey wasn’t waking you up and I was already over here.” He said with an unbalanced shrug. 

“...I was asleep?”

“Looked like you were getting there.” Stan answered nonchalantly, crossing his arms in front of his chest. 

Ford straightened up, and ran his hands through his hair, harsher than necessary for some painful stimulation to confirm that he was really awake right now. Everything since Stan had arrived had left him with far less mental energy than normal to manage any nightmare scenarios, which was really saying something considering his average mental energy these days.

The words came out of Ford’s mouth as soon as he thought them. “You need to go.” 

Stan stopped breathing for a moment, and after a beat his breath came out with a word. “What?”

Ford tried to think of a million explanations and his thoughts crumbled onto one another uselessly. “I have to work and you don’t want to be here.” 

“Who said-” but as soon as Stan started, he just as quickly stopped himself and shifted, his stance widening as he pointed at Ford. “You know what, you’re the one that asked me to come here and one minute later you ask me to leave. You didn’t want me here, I don’t care. I don’t-” He took a step forward, and harshly repeated himself. “I don’t care, Ford! Hell, I couldn’t care less even, but you don’t call me here then send me away because you suddenly don’t even want me here at all!”

“How could you-” Ford grumbled before matching Stan’s level of noise. “I didn’t change my mind! I needed you here to take the journal and hide it! How is that- How-?” He laughed in disbelief at Stan, at this entire situation, at how he was having this argument in a series of events that shouldn’t have ever happened. “Why are you-?”

“Because I came all the way out here, and now all you want is to never see me again!!”

“I didn’t say that!!”

“You told me to go as far away as possible!”

“I wanted you to take my RESEARCH as far away as possible!”

“Then hire a fucking mailman!!” Stan shouted, swinging his arms out wide, a restrained cringe in his expression.

Ford put his hands against his head that was mere seconds from bursting and his surroundings swinging back and forth, glaring down at the floor.

Stan audibly sighed, taking quick steps to his left then back again to his right back in front of Ford, breaking where the moonlight fell onto the ground. 

Ford couldn’t help but notice how Stan was faced towards the hall though, ready to walk away, ready to leave, ready to- “You don’t want to help me, that’s fine.” He should have known. He should have- Ford continued, refusing to look up. “I don’t need you to take the journal.” 

“Just let me...” Stan’s hand started to lift from his side, and Ford saw it- Stan taking the journal and burning it, just to get back at him, burning away years of his life, the only years worth anything.

Ford interrupted before he could finish the sentence, finally looking up with a venomous glare. “No, and that’s final.”

Stan withdrew his hand, eyes wide, and took a short step back. A brief silence before he would no doubt snap at him about his ‘dumb mysteries’ again. 

Except that never came because within that short second the glow off of Stan’s shoulder shined bright enough that Ford could see the orange light mingling with the moonlight, and Stan’s legs apparently giving out underneath him as gravity suddenly pulled him straight down.

“Oh, so much for being captured, let me guess you already made it out, huh. This was exactly why I tried telling everyone to not even bother.” Stan gestured at him. “Congratulations on rescuing yourself.”

Ford’s face turned a bit sad, but there was no bitter or angry expression. “Stanley, listen I-”

“Wait a damn second, you’re from this bubble, aren’t you?” Stan interrupted.

Ford paused, shrugging. “Well- yes, but I-”

“Oh, isn’t that just great.” He crossed his arms over each other. “Gotta deal with an apocalypse and another version of you.”

Ford frowned, walking over to him and putting a hand on his shoulder. “Please, give me a chance.”

“For what?” Whatever it was, he wasn’t looking forward to it.

“To tell you I was wrong.” Ford said.

“...what?” Stan blinked at him.

“Yes.” Ford took a breath. “You were right, Stanley, and I should have realized that beforehand. I never even thanked you for saving me.”

“Ya still haven’t actually.” Stan couldn’t help pointing out, and as soon as it slipped out he was ready for the jaded reply.

Instead, Ford half laughed, smiling. “An accurate assessment... Thank you, Stanley. I wouldn’t have ever gotten back home if it wasn’t for you.”

Stan’s chest felt a bit lighter, but not by much. “That’s great and all, but it’s a load of bull.” He said crossing his arms. “That punch in the face is a good enough reminder here that the great Stanford Pines isn’t grateful for me rescuing his butt.”

“That was wrong of me. There was a lot going on why I acted that way, but that’s no excuse... Not after you spent the past thirty years working every night to get me back.”

“Talking like you’re supposed to be him, huh.”

“Well, technically speaking, I am. Just a different version, like you said.”

Stan’s face pulled into a deep frown, and he didn’t say anything to that.

The silence held for a few seconds, then Ford continued, changing the subject. “Are you looking for Wendy and Soos?”

He shrugged. “Finding Soos is easy enough, just gonna go and grab Wendy. Convincing them to come along won’t be hard. Just gotta tell them to get off their butts and stop playing around.”

“That makes sense, they’ll listen to you, I’m sure.”

“Yeah,” Stan’s voice started to rise, sarcasm quickly filtering in until it was dripping from every word, “that’s the easy part. The hard part is trying and talking to Mabel, you know. Thanks to that oh so great and generous apprenticeship you offered Dipper!” He finally shot a scathing look at Ford.

When he didn’t say anything, just looking back at him with a slight look of guilt on his face - Stan continued.

“Thanks for that, by the way. I asked you to do ONE thing.” He held up a finger. “Just one- stay away from the kids, and look what you’ve done! I’ve never seen a pair of siblings get along like that before, but lo and behold you’re around one of ‘em for what? A couple weeks - and just look!” Stan let his frustration build, gesturing around roughly before jabbing a finger at Ford’s chest. It wasn’t really Ford so he didn’t have to hold back a single bit.

Everything poured out of him like the toxic waste stewing away in containers of the basement. “Of course, you’d split them up, Ford. You probably don’t even see what’s wrong with it. I should never have let Dipper hang around you.”

“I figured, hey - what’s the worst that could happen? You’d keep him safe at least, right? Kid’s been around enough spookums, he at least knows when something’s too dangerous. You cared enough about the kids, didn’t you? Enough that they’d be fine for a couple weeks, but no.”

“This is why I didn’t want you anywhere near the kids. I knew if it wasn’t one thing, it’d be another.”

“It wasn’t my intention, I’m sorry.” Ford told him genuinely.

Stan scoffed, contempt freely bubbling up his throat. “Because of you Mabel would rather live here than go out in the real world without a brother. She didn’t deserve this, you hear me.” His voice had been simmering, but like a switch had been flipped he started yelling in Ford’s face again - anger boiling over.

“She’s TWELVE years old, and she’s already losing her brother- because of you, Stanford!” He jabbed a finger at him again, walking towards him and making Ford take a couple steps back as he shouted. “This is all your fault! You’re ruining their lives! I should never have brought you back, damn it!” At that he roughly shoved him so hard, that it was a miracle he didn’t actually fall over.

Ford stumbled backwards, managing to catch his footing before outright falling. He took in a breath, his chest rising, and falling back down - simply just taking the words without so much as a flicker of anger across his face.

Stan breathed heavily for a few moments, all the boiling anger so high it felt like it was he was wading in a thick liquid that was all the way up against his throat. It felt like the liquid was draining away, falling lower, and then Stan realized through the haze what he’d just said.

Even worse though, he still felt it, and honestly? Maybe it wouldn’t have been better... at least Mabel and Dipper would have been fine...

Ford wouldn’t have though... so he probably would have done it again anyways... even if it was stupid. That’s just what he was though, wasn’t he...

“You were right to try and keep the kids away from me... I should have been more aware of what I was doing.” Ford said, calmly apologetic. “I’ll rescind the apprenticeship offer. A kid such as Dipper should be playing and in school, not doing some research away from everyone.”

“He’s still gonna want to go off with you.” Stan said, jaded.

“I’ll make it sound reasonable. A high school degree is necessary for any good college. I’ll just tell him it’ll have to wait until after high school. He’ll forget about it by the time he graduates. Him and Mabel will go back to how they were before I stepped in.” Ford assured him. “They’ll stick together.”

Stan didn’t say anything to that. It would have been a lot better if it’d been coming from the real Ford. “Whatever. I’m going to look for Wendy,” he eventually said, “group of teenagers shouldn’t be that hard to find.”

“Can I help?”

“I don’t care what you do.” Stan replied. As he started walking, Ford went along with him without hesitating.

-----

Ford brought it up again later, as though trying to make him feel better.

Stan leaned his head against his hands. “It’s just not gonna work, Sixer...”

“Why not?”

He sighed. “You came from here - Dipper won’t listen to you.” As much as he wish it could work...

“He doesn’t have to know that.”

Stan was taken back, and lifted his head to look over at Ford. “What?”

“Well, I’m the only version that can talk to him.” He glanced away briefly. “That other one - is just some frozen statue. He’s not doing anything.” He explained easily. “All you have to do is tell him you found me, and saved me. I’ll tell him the apprenticeship is over, and Dipper and Mabel can reconnect inside this bubble. It’s the perfect place for them.”

“What about when the kids want to go out and stop Bill?” Stan asked, something uneasy sliding into his stomach at the way Ford was talking.

“We just tell them it’s too dangerous. Time is at a standstill after all, so there’s no rush, is there? We can even tell them we’re going off to look for a solution.” Ford continued.

“Not sure about all that.” Stan said slowly. It was a good plan though. It could definitely work. Between a life-like image of his brother and himself both telling the kids to stay put, it’d work. Dipper would trust Ford that they were working on something to stop Bill, and Mabel didn’t even want to leave, of course. It was full-proof.

Ford frowned slightly. “We would finally get to go sailing, Stan...”

Stan had to retrace his thoughts, his heart leaping up at that before he drudged it back down again. “We would?” He asked hesitantly.

He started to smile, face lighting up as he talked. “Yes. Yes, we would! There’s a sea out there, Mabeland can make it as big as we want - with whatever islands we could ever want to explore. Come on, just think about it, Stan!” He encouraged him, a hand on his shoulder. “This is finally our chance to go sailing and treasure hunting. Let’s take it.”

It was smooth and warm and as tempting to swallow down as a cup of hot cocoa, just sitting right there for him. Stan blinked back tears at his brother’s face so earnestly excited and actually wanting to go sailing with him, like they were both a couple of kids again - but this time they could actually do it. There was already a boat and everything.

“We won’t have this chance outside the bubble, Stanley. This is the only way we can do it.” Limited time offer. Buy now.

He had to take a moment, bite back on what he wanted to say, then pull himself through to actually talk. “Nice pitch.” Stan finally said. “I’m not buying it though.”

As Stan went to brush its hand off of him, its other intervened and grabbed onto his shoulder to be directly facing him. “Tell me why not.” It asked in earnest.

“Because you’re not him.” The words came out all on their own.

“After everything, you deserve to go treasure hunting with a brother who wants to go with you.” It said. “Even if you fix everything, he won’t want to go sailing with you.”

One Time Only Deal! Get it before it’s g o n e

Stan wound his fist back and punched it right in the face, the thing spilling backwards. “Yeah, well you know what - maybe I never had a brother that actually wanted to go treasure hunting with me. Guess what though - I also don’t want a fake one who does.”

It sat up from the ground, glasses oddly reflecting to hide the eyes. “...What about Mabel and Dipper?”

“They’re better than we were. Plus, they’re smart kids. They’d figure out you’re not real pretty quick, pal.”

Just like that its skin turned to dark crawling bugs and the atmosphere changed around him, turning dark.

Stan shouted at the sudden change, whipping his head from the figure crumpling into a pile of twenty different kinds of bugs in front of him to literal blood red sand.

A cheerful noise caught his attention and he checked behind himself to see a distant small horse with wings singing and when he glanced back again, just like that - everything was back to what he guessed counted as normal here.

She beamed then held out her hand to Grunke Ford who clapped his hand against hers with small smile. “Congratulations. It sounds like it went very well.”

She nodded. “Oh yeah, it went great-!!” Mabel leaned over on the table and talked with quiet glee. “Date number three.”

Ford squinted, thinking. “Is that... chocolates here?” He tried

“You’ve been back on Earth for four years, poindexter, you don’t get to use the ‘what is it in this dimension again?’ excuse anymore when you don’t know something.” Stan said, using air quotes.

Ford shrugged innocently. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Stan rolled his eyes when Ford quickly evaded. “So what does a third date mean, Mabel?”

“It means you can go to the next level. I’m going to ask her to be girlfriend and girlfriend!” She pronounced proudly. “Girlfriend squared.”

“That’s great, pumpkin! Go get her, yeah!” Stan said, slapping the table.

“Yeah!!” Mabel resounded back, swinging an arm with a smile on her face, looking out into the hallway. Then... stayed like that. The expression on her face stuck on the smile, but it looked... off and nervous now.

Stan glanced over making sure she wasn’t looking at nothing and when he looked back she still hadn’t moved. “Uh, pumpkin?”

In the same cheerful upbeat voice that had a clear anxious undertone, she finally looked back at the pair of them. “How do I ask someone to be my girlfriend?!”

Out of the corner of his eye he saw Ford looking over at him already. Good thing one of them had some experience at least. “Okay, okay,” Stan said waving a hand, “calm down sweetie, it’s a lot easier than it looks! I mean heh, I had a girlfriend, you know.”

“What’d you do?” Mabel asked, letting the forced smile go.

Stan crossed his arms easily and shook his head almost fondly at the question. “Ha, ‘what did I do?’” Hell, what did he do? He stalled as he ransacked his brain. “Well, course I started talking to her, like you’ve been doing. We went on a couple dates...” (Wait, did he ask her out or did Carla ask him out? Either way, he was pretty sure it was just a real simple question.)

Stan shook his head. “Anyways, all you gotta do is just outright ask her if she’d like to, boom easy. If she says yes, great, and if she says no then you never gotta see her again!”  

Mabel sighed, half relieved. “Okay, piece of cake! That’s not too hard, and then we can do after third date couple things!”

“What after third date couple things?” Stan asked.

“You know, Matching outfits-” Thank Christ, just the dorky stuff.  Stan missed a couple points, but quickly tuned back in to Mabel still listing more out on her fingers, “-sending each other lovey dovey messages, romantic walks at night whenever we want, sharing jackets, super romantic stuff!”

“Sharing jackets?” Stan asked.

“Yeah, you know where someone else is wearing your jacket and you get all warm inside seeing them in it!”

“How’s that one romantic?”

Mabel seemed stumped for a second, “because- when you see them wearing your jacket it makes your heart all warm and it’s just really nice.”

Stan still didn’t get it, but before he could say anything about it Mabel was looking over at Ford, “you know?”

“Ah, yes- ah, well,” he cleared his throat, caught off guard, “Well, I remember Carla wearing Stanley’s jacket quite a few times.” He said gesturing back over to Stan.

“Ha, yeah she did.” Stan said. “You know she always just stole it when I wasn’t paying attention? Already had her own jacket and everything! If I was her I would have stolen a better jacket from someone else.”

“Yeah!” Mabel perked up. “But wasn’t it really romantic and sweet when she borrowed your jacket?”

“I mean borrowing something’s just stealing without following through.” Stan said. “It’s not really something ‘sweet’ or ‘romantic’ just because she’s wearing it around me.”

Stan was surprised to see Mabel’s eyes shift back over to his brother. “Grunkle Ford?”

“I’m sorry. I can’t really say, Mabel. I’ve long since stopped trying to understand romance, frankly.”

Stan scoffed. “Spoken like a true nerd.”

Ford shrugged his shoulders in defeat. “It’s a thoroughly confusing subject matter.”

He was just to make another nerd joke when Mabel drew back his attention. “Hey, Grunkle Stan, can I ask you something?”

“Yeah, ‘course you can. What is it?”

Her face was scrunched together, like she was trying to really hard to understand something. “You’ve gone out with a lot of girls, right?”

“Yeah, I have. I was the good-looking casanova type.” He told her with a smile.

“Did you like any of them romantically? Different from you would a friend?”

He laughed a little. “‘Course I did. I kissed them and everything.”

“No, not just kissing. Like all the feelings and junk.” She explained.

“... Like when you kiss them?” Stan asked. “What are you talking about, sweetie?”

“Like yeah, when you kiss them, but how you feel even before you kiss them!”

“Wanting to kiss them?”

Mabel groaned, pulling her hands down her face. “No, not the kissing. Just forget about the kissing!”

“What can I say? Kissing’s the best part about having a girlfriend.” Stan said. “That’s what dating is for!”

Mabel spun around and started walking in a circle, hands clapped near her serious face.

“Pumpkin-?”

“A-buh-buh-buh!” She hushed him, waving a hand his way, soon stopping and taking in a deep breath.

Stan waiting, going to take a drink from his soda when Mabel boisterously turned back to him suddenly.

“Okay!!” Mabel walked back over. “Grunkle Stan, what’s the difference between a girlfriend and a girl you’re friends with that you kiss and stuff?”

“Uh, they’re the same thing. What is this, a trick question?”

A gleam of understanding flashed in Mabel’s eyes as though she had just solved some grand mystery.

“Kid, you know that’s what makes a girlfriend a girlfriend, right? The whole kissing thing.” Stan tried telling her.

“What if you had a girlfriend you didn’t kiss? They were still your girlfriend but they didn’t like to kiss.” She asked him.

“That’s just a friend.”

“But they’re still your girlfriend!”

Stan just took a breath. “Sweetie, that doesn’t make any sense.”

“Grunkle Stan, romance isn’t just kissing or wanting to kiss or even the stuff later on!” Mabel said.

“Alright, then what is it?”

Mabel thought. “Well it’s uh.... Hm, you kinda just-..” she made a face, “you kinda just know?” She shook her head. “Look, Grunkle Stan I’ve got to talk to Candy or Grenda, but just think about it for now okay!” She said, already leaving the kitchen.

“Wait, kid-!” Stan sighed and sat back in his seat as he heard a door swing open. “That kid don’t make any sense sometimes.”

Instead of a response from his brother though, he only got silence. Stan glanced over to find Ford thoughtfully staring at him. “Hey, I just got that look from Mabel, I don’t need it again from you this, you know.”

Ford glanced down at his coffee. “Sorry, I was just thinking.”

Stan waited for a good second or two before just asking. “About what?”

He was quiet for a beat. “Just trying to remember back when you and Carla were dating, I suppose. Along with what Mabel was talking about... I don’t know.” Ford frowned.

“Beep Boop. Dating does not compute.” Stan moved his arms out and turned like a robot before dropping the act to jab an elbow at Ford’s side, smiling at him. “Heh, don’t fry out your nerd brain there, poindexter.”

Ford briefly glanced over at him then back down again to drink his coffee. “Right...”

“Hey, remember when you made a kissing machine?”

“Dear Tesla-” Ford put his cup down and fully looked over at him. “Why is that the one thing you always remember from our teenage years?”