#stan squared

"No. No I don't understand what you're saying,"

"Mr. Mrand mur mall Muer mermurk"

"No. Just. Just stop. I don't understand what you're trying to tell me,"

"Merck mer. Mur meu murk merh meks muuur,"

"Ford. Ford. Help me out, his accent 's throwing me off,"

Ford dug the currency out of his pocked and shoved it into Stan's hand.

"R-right. It's the a-accent. Just grab the - the b-blue one," he murmured.

Stan handed over the money to the creature working the vendor.

"Here, take it. You can keep the change if you just give us a map or something and stop - ,"

"Meh meks mennn muurre mall moved meksl mons"

"I don't know what that means. I don't care. Here," Stan grabbed a blue looking fruit melon and held it up. "We're taking this one,"

The creature picked up a smaller purple fruit and held it out.

"Mrun mir maon moah mun,"

"Are you saying switch, or can we have both? You know what - I'm taking both," Stan snatched the purple melon from the creature's tentacle and turned to go.

"Mnn!"

Ford rolled his eyes and took the blue melon from Stan's hand. He replaced it on the vendor's cart before grabbing Stan's wrist and leading him away.

"This is so frustrating," Stan complained. "I can't understand what anyone 's saying!"

Ford thought he saw someone duck suspiciously behind a corner and turned the both of them towards the opposite direction. They stopped at a vendor in the market that looked a little less alien than the rest. It was more humanoid than anything they'd seen so far, and its sign had actual letters on it, not just foreign symbols. Ford gestured at it to Stan. His brother let out a sigh.

"Right ... here we go again," he stepped forward, but Ford held him back.

"W-we don't have to - to do anything else if -i f you d-d-don't feel like it," he mumbled.

Stan closed his eye, the eye-patch hiding the other one, his expression pained.

"Yes. We do. We gotta find someplace to stay the night, or we'll be wandering out here all day. You're already getting twitchy Ford - ,"

As if on cue Ford's eyes jerked to an image fading into a crowd. He could have sworn he'd seen ... if only for a second ...

"Ford,"

He glanced back at Stan, expression guilty.

"I - I - uh - ,"

Stan put a hand over his face.

"No. No, don't ... don't look like that. Just - it's fine alright? Let's just get this over with,"

Ford frowned, but he nodded. Stan was right. The sooner they finished, the sooner they could get a handle on things. He let his brother take the lead. Stan walked up to the creature manning the register, easy-going smile plastered onto his face.

Ford took one last look behind him.

Nothing.

He frowned and settled for making sure the cashier didn't have a gun.

***

Several blocks down, and a few pick-pocketing lessons later, the two brothers stood outside their motel door. Ford inserted their key while Stan continued what he was saying.

"It's all about the distraction really. A simple bump move is classic, but any sort of commotion will do. Something to let you get in close, but not let them think it means anything important,"

The locked clicked and Ford swung the door wide. Inside was mostly what you'd expect. Ford was a little surprised that alien creatures used similar facilities as humans.

A pair of beds. A small kitchen. Restroom.

Ford let his eyes do one last sweep before he took a small step inside. Behind him Stan leaned against the door frame.

"We good?"

Ford bit his lip. Everything seemed alright. For the most part at least. He shook himself and nodded for his brother to come in too. Stanley slid by and went straight for the bed. He fell down on the mattress and let out a sigh.

"Feet are killin' me. You know, it's weird picking alien's pockets. It's like rubbing up against an elephant with scales, or a snake with the mumps or something weird like that,"

Ford shut the door, then went over and set a bag of their new things on the small table provided.

"You performed a-a-admirably. I'm pretty sure I failed m-my first test,"

"Did you get booked?"

"What?"

"Jail, Ford. You didn't land yourself in jail. So already, you did better than I ever could've my first pocketing,"

Ford stared woefully at the ceiling.

"Stanley ... ,"

"Don't. I was just making a joke, it's whatever."

Ford frowned. He looked back at Stan, eyes locking with his brother.

"I had you."

"What?"

"I had you. To s-show me. Teach me. To punch that thing that got upset when I tripped over - whatever body part that was," Ford gave Stan a small smile, trying to lift his brother's spirits. "Thanks Stanley. We'll be master criminals yet."

Stan stared back at him, a smirk twitching at his lips.

"Careful. I get the feeling that's a real possibility if things keep going the way they are,"

Ford shrugged and walked over to the other bed.

"Maybe,"

Stan put his hands behind his head.

"You'd think a master criminal would have better taste in music though - ,"

Ford's face turned pink. He shot Stan an annoyed smile.

"Come on Lee," he sat down.

Stan laughed. He was about to sling back another quip when he heard a click and the words died on his lips.

"Ford ... ,"  

Ford blinked, his eyes widened as panic set in. What? What was wrong? What had Stan noticed?

"Don't move," Stan slowly slid from his spot.

Ford froze, body tense, as his brother walked over, steps soft on the wooden floorboards. Carefully, Stan knelt down next to Ford's mattress. He closed his eye and Ford could his face screw up in concentration as he tried to listen. His brother reached underneath the bed and his hand stopped, engulfed by the springs up to his wrist. His eye flicked open and he held Ford's gaze.

A second later he yanked his hand out, tossing something into the kitchen area, and barreled Ford to the ground just as a bomb exploded.

***

A little over an hour later the two brothers stood in another motel room, in a different building, all the way on the other side of town. The two of them did a thorough search of the room before they deemed it safe and dropped onto their respective beds with a groan.

"What idiot puts bombs under someone's mattress."

Ford shook his head. He didn't know. He was tired, and they each had their own set of mild burns. They'd survived mostly unscathed and had hightailed it out of there before anyone could think to ask questions.

"Sleep now," he mumbled. "Questioning alien l-l-lunatic mindsets later,"

Stan groaned.

"I officially hate this planet,"

"S'not so bad," Ford slurred at he trailed off into unconsciousness. "You're okay. S'fine then. Otherwise ... otherwise I mighta ... ," Sleep washed over him.

"Yeah." Stan yawned. "Me too,"

***

Ford woke up in the middle of the night. Thankfully it wasn't a nightmare. Often times it was, but sometimes ... sometimes his mind was kind. Most times it wasn't.

He couldn't go back to sleep. The nightmare was reality. The eyes were gone, but he couldn't shake the feeling of being watched. His heart pounded in his chest as he stared into the darkness. Stan was taking in heavy breaths on the bed beside him. Ford sat up and put his face in his hands. He rubbed under his glasses, not having bothered to even take them off.

He tried to tell himself everything was fine. That the tense strain of his muscles was fatigue taking its toll. That if he just calmed down. If he closed his eyes and went back to bed.

The lies were too obvious.

He swung his legs to the floor and stood. Quietly he glided over to the cabinet. Ford needed a drink. Stan had said complimentary alcohol in a low end place like this was cause for suspicion, but Ford didn't care. He was thinking too much. He always thought far too much. He planned, and outlined, and worried. He needed something to dull his mind. Maybe then his heart would stop trying to pound it's way out of his chest.

Maybe he wouldn't glance at the window and feel like a prey under scrutiny of it's predator.

***

Stanley stayed close, but Ford still felt nervous. He cast quick glances over his shoulder every few minutes, but he couldn't see anything. Stanley elbowed him.

"Okay Ford. Enough. Are we being followed or what?"

Ford scanned the crowd.

"Y-y-you t--t-tell m-m-me,"  

They kept walking. A few minutes later Stan shook his head and shrugged.

"I don't know. I can't tell anything, but if you think otherwise ... ,"

Someone brushed past them in the crowd. Ford crossed his arms and moved closer to his brother, a shiver running down his spine at the contact. But then they were gone, and it was just Ford left alone with his paranoia. He hunched and kept moving.

Stanley knocked their shoulders.

"Don't be like that."

Ford let out a breath and uncrossed his arms. He cast another glance back and did a look around. He still couldn't see anything. Stanley put a hand on his back and they continued walking.

"Whatever. It's - it's just whatever. Come on - I think I smell something tasty over there somewhere. You hungry yet?"

Ford looked across the street. He pointed to a place selling food. Stan nodded, pointing too, and they headed towards it.

***

He couldn't find Stanley. His shoulders tensed and he whirled around, but his brother was nowhere to be seen. Ford took a few steps forward then stopped. The crowd flowed past him and he shrank away. His eyes jerked from face to face, but his brother was gone.

His heartbeat picked up. He strode forward, searching the area. Ford took in deep breaths, trying to stay calm and keep his fear under control. His breath caught in his throat. He couldn't see Stanley. He clenched his jaw and spun on his heel as he looked in the other direction.

Ford stood in the middle of a sea of bodies. He was surrounded. He was alone.

He couldn't find Stan.

***

The creature shoved him against the wall. It held out a knife and motioned for Stanley to hand something over. Stan tried to glance past it, outside the alley. He couldn't see Ford from where he was.

The creature gave him another rough shove, his movements turning more demanding. Stanley looked it up and down, body rigid against the attack. It's build felt slight, it's structured tentacle of an arm brittle and tense. It was tall and thin, towering over him, but it came off as more scared than anything else. Maybe it was the stench. Stanley raised a brow, finding the smell of fear to be a little strange.

A growl rumbled from its throat, the language-less noise a clear sign of its intentions. Stanley narrowed his eyes. He grabbed the knife and tugged. The creature took a step back at his boldness. In a single glance everything became clear. The creature had  been expecting an easy victim in the human. But Stanley was no easy target. He darted forward, not with any particular speed, but fast enough for the sluggish creature. His fist landed at the base of its skull, the sound of its brain producing an unearthly ring as it crumpled to the ground.

When it woke up, it would find itself robbed blind, and would have learned a thing or two about the art of mugging aliens. But at the moment Stanley finished putting the last of its possessions in his pockets and stepped into the street to look for Ford.

He was surrounded by beings, tall, short, dark, colorful, slimy, rough. Everyone. So many faces - so many types of faces. His eye jumped from image to image, one at a time. The very thought of trying to look at the wider picture simply overwhelming him.

He put his face in his hand and let out a groan.

He'd never find Ford like this.

***

Rounding a corner, Ford knocked straight into his brother. Stanley reached out and hooked his shirt, even as Ford fell back, nearly landing him on his rear. He was yanked up, landing them inches apart. Closing his eyes, Ford let out a sigh of relief, his breath easing as he took comfort in his brother's presence. He looked up at Stanley and saw him smirking.

"You okay there?"

Ford nodded, swallowing back the anxiety that had been threatening to overwhelm him. He blinked then looked down at Stan's arm still fisted in his collar. Stan's grin grew wider.

Ford looked at Stan's face. The eye patch. The smile. The clothes ...

Red flags went of in Ford's mind. A slew of physical features all different than Ford remembered. He tried to push it down and ignore it. But when Stan raised a brow and a silent understanding passed between them, Ford knew he wasn't wrong.

Stan looked around, then leaned close in a conspiratorial way. He paused a moment. Then -

" ... Run." His hand released Ford's shirt.

Heart racing fast, Ford turned around and sprinted.

***

Ford dashed past vendors, rounding corners and trying to skirt away. He glanced over his shoulder, but couldn't see Stan anywhere. Pausing to take a breath, he swallowed hard. Looking forward again, Ford froze.

Stan stood, leaning against a wall, arms crossed. He waved with a smile. Ford turned and sped the other way. He passed several buildings, taking a few uncharted turns, before stopping to look around. There, walking up at his leisure, was Stan. His smug grin and careless saunter was enough to send Ford off again.

He was playing with him. Of course he was. Everything was a game to Stanley. But this? This was something else. He stopped, only to regain his bearings, then took off again. He didn't know what to do, and only had a vague idea of what was going on. But one thing was clear. Whoever was chasing him wasn't Stanley. Some sort of doppelganger, shape-shifting telepathic alien, or maybe - another Stan? But his brother was still around here somewhere and Ford had to find him.

He had to find his Stanley, his brother - Lee. And this ... Stan. He had to get rid of him, and quick.

Ford rounded the corner and ran straight into Stan. Again. And again Stan caught him by the shirt and yanked him close to keep him from falling. Ford looked at the cool gaze, mind going blank.

Fingers wrapped around his throat and he jumped for his gun. Stan caught his wrist, stopping him cold. The fingers squeezed on his neck and he gasped. Wrapping his other hand around the arm choking him, Ford tried to pull it off. His lungs struggled to take in air. Under Stan's strong grip, he was raised off the ground, his feet brushing the concrete paved floor. His vision narrowed, and he stared at the black tinted image of his brother smirking up at him. Ford closed his eyes, his chest burning.

***

He woke up to a foggy brain, and a growing pressure behind his eyes. It got worse when he blinked them open. The world was hazy. He realized he didn't have his glasses on, but looking around he saw the blurry outline of an empty room. In it stood a figure - Stanley - ? No. Just Stan. He stepped over and knelt down next to his face. He looked upside down - no wait ...

"Rise and shine sleepin' beauty." He gave Ford's face a quick double patted slap and stood.

Ford shook his head, mind clearing. He realized he was hanging upside down by a set of chains around his ankles. He leaned up, confused, but was stopped by another set around his wrists, chaining him to the floor. With his new awareness, fear sparked in his gut. He wheezed, then sputtered out a cough. His throat ached with each intake of air.

"Careful there,"

Ford glanced up, chest sore. He heard the flow of water through pipes. Stan stood over a sink and was filling a tall glass.

"You might hurt yourself." Stan chuckled. He turned off the sink and took a sip. Glancing towards Ford he lowered the cup. He gestured to his drink. "You want some?" He came over and looked down at him with a grin.

Ford looked into the face of his brother, hoping to find something - anything to help him figure the situation out. If not sympathy, then at least a sign of telepathic weakness activated by specific frequency of sounds for optimum vulnerability.

Stan tipped the cup. Water trickled down onto Ford's face. It leaked into his nose and cut off breathing. Ford sputtered and coughed, but it only eased the liquid's passage into his lungs. Stan laughed as Ford gagged through the stream of water he was being drowned in.

***

Stanley wandered around - nigh aimlessly - for about an hour. To say he was getting worried was an understatement. And to be honest, he wasn't enjoying the various bruises he was acquiring. Depth perception was as annoying as it was necessary. And to top it all off, he barely made it past that - thing - that he had bumped into. Guy had a temper. Or at least. He was pretty sure it was a guy. Now that he thought about it though ...

Whatever the case, he kept imagining Ford wandering around on his own, and his right eye twitched. He'd have to find his brother soon. At the very least for his own sanity's sake.

He didn't even want to think about how Ford might be faring.

***

The bat came down again and another shout ripped through Ford's throat. Searing fire burned through his chest, it was so hard to breath. Every intake of air brought another swell of pain. He choked on blood and coughed. The red trickled past his chin and up his cheek till it dripped to the floor.

Stan jabbed him with the club and more fire welled against his ribs. He cried out, then quieted as the heat subsided. A throbbing pressure pulsed through his side and he couldn't keep back his moans.

"I'm just saying Sixer. It's not like they have noses. What's to smell?"

By now Ford could tell this was another Stanley. The biggest giveaway was he wouldn't shut-up.

"How 'bout you Poindexter? What do you think would hurt more? A skinned reptillian? Or a senseless fur monster?"

But also the nicknames, the taunting, the general understanding of Ford's apparent nerdy behavior.  

Ford coughed again, a groan escaping him. Stan leaned on him, his elbow digging into his side. Ford's breath caught in his throat and then gave way to sounds of pain.

"You know. I was thinking about it yesterday. Maybe fire. But then I realized - nah. Too lazy to get creative with that. So I'll just keep swinging at you for a while." He pulled back and took his bat with both hands.

Ford closed his eyes, body tension for the blow. Stan swung. The wood connected and Ford held back a yell. Stan swung his weapon around, once, twice, then took another wack, sending shock waves up Ford's spine. Stan pulled away, knocking the wood on the ground as if he was up to pitch, then swung again. Each blow gouged deep into Ford's chest and side. He gritted his teeth as the pain rocked his body, shouting when it became to much. Stan eased his grip on the bat and leaned into Ford again.

"You see, I was just thinking about that explosion at that motel last night. I was thinking 'you know I should try that sometime.' And I thought - yeah, that sounds like fun. Whoever thought it up - them. They've got it. They know what they're doing." He poked Ford again, eliciting more moans. "Kinda nuts, of course." He shrugged. "But fun."

***

He stabbed at his portal watch for a few minutes, hoping that maybe it could track Ford's. Ten minutes later and Stanley was about ready to throw it on the ground. He leaned against a wall with a huff and stared into the abyss of city.

He stayed there and fumed for a good while, before pushing off and getting to work. He walked all over, talking to anything that moved. Half the time he got weird noises, up until a few sort of handish gestures had him pointed somewhere. Soon Stanley found someone worth talking to. But the problem was - they didn't want to talk to him.

His right eye twitched.

He stepped out of the last building, wiping a bit of blood off his knuckles and onto his pants. He turned and gave a smug smile as he saluted them.

"Nice doing business - jerks." Stanley rolled his eyes and headed another direction, rubbing the new bruises on his arm. He could already hear his brother getting on his case about the fight.

He reached the building he wanted, only for tall yellow creature with a bulbous head to step out and greet him. Stanley walked over.

"Lookin' for ... ," he made a wiggling motion with his fingers, hoping he wasn't being played.

The creature - she? He was pretty sure it was a she. He could almost feel the 'she'ness. Until he noticed that he could feel a lot more than just that. She craned her neck and glared down. Some sort of strange - telepathic understanding passed between them. She reached into her pocket and showed Stanley a map of instructions written on a napkin from some pizza place. He raised a brow.

"Classy."

She held out a hand. Stanley stared at it for a moment. She leaned closer and he was overwhelmed with a feeling. Payment First.

He swallowed back that strange invasion of his mind, and scowled at her formal tone.

"Yeah, yeah. Here, just give me a sec - ," he dug around in his pockets, hoping to still have something weird from another dimension. He struck gold. Pulling out a strange shaped thing, they exchanged goods. He hoped Ford didn't want it.  

Stanley stepped back, eye focused on the directions. Behind him the creature turned, but not before tossing one last impression over her shoulder and into his mind. An instruction to be quick and hurry it up.

Stanley shot her a look.

"What do you care?"

But as he walked through the streets, heading towards the location he'd been giving, a feeling of dread began to work its way through his chest. One thing was for sure - the 'map' she'd drawn up? Was made specifically to torment him - he couldn't navigate a thing on the messy scrawled picture!

As if on cue, he could feel her dark chuckle work its way through the telepathic void and he scowled.

He looked down at the images again and tried to decipher their meaning in the real world. His foot caught on some edge and he stumbled forward, face landing on a pole as he fell to the ground. He let out a moan and put his head in his hands.

He needed to find Ford. He didn't know how much longer he could last like this.

***

Each inhale was a struggle. His chest shook as air crawled to his lungs, but the rest of his body screamed in protest. He glanced across the room to Stan sitting backwards in a chair flipping through his newest Journal. Something in his throat dripped down the wrong pipe and Ford coughed, hacking up more blood. It ran down his face and caught in his eye, making him squint against the salty sweat and redness.

"Dumb." Stan flicked the page. He read what was written there, then flicked it again. "Boring." He kept going through it. "Junk. Nerdy. Lame." Stan shook his head and glanced up. "Why do you even bother?" His eye trailed back to the page.

Ford kept looking around the room, but he still couldn't see anything helpful. He gave the chain at his wrist another experimental tug and only succeeded in sending a jolt down side. His body tensed and he squeezed his eyes shut, riding out the wave of pain.

"Pfft. That is not what that's for."

Ford dragged his gaze to Stan and saw his brow raised at whatever was in the book. Ford let his head drop and closed his eyes. Everything hurt. The pressure at his temples was getting worse, and he could feel his mind's computing power deteriorate as he continued to hang upside down. Some part of him was reasoning how much time he had before the capillaries in his brain expanded enough to hinder the operation of his heart. The other was thinking about his brother.

Not the twisted version sitting across the room, but his Stanley. He wasn't even sure how they had gotten separated. His mind conjured images of Stan snatching Lee from his side. Attacking his other self. Shooting him down, or leaving him bloody and battered in some alleyway. The idea made something beneath his ribs constrict and Ford coughed again, wheezing as he struggled to take in air. It hurt and he moaned.

Stan glanced up at him with traces of a smile, then went back to looking through the Journal.

Ford needed his brother. More than anything he needed Lee, but he had no idea where he was or if he was even okay. Not like Ford was doing so well exactly, but at least Stan had put aside the bat and taken a reprieve to mock Ford's documentation of the universe.

It hit Ford, just then, how dire his situation really was. He tried to shift his legs and found he couldn't feel his feet. There was a constant ache pulsing through him, his joints were being pulled, and he still didn't have anyway out. He had no idea what to do, and could barely think past the growing sound of his own heartbeat pounding away in his head.

He breathing picked up. Air was thrust through his lungs, causing him to cough and make his injuries throb, but he couldn't help it. He was panicking. Despite every rational argument he tried to tell himself, he couldn't make himself calm down and landed himself in a sputtering mess of rasping gasps.

Across from him Stan lowered the book and stared at him. Ford groaned, tearing at his throat, and coughing all the harder. A shiver ran past his neck and Ford didn't have the presence of mind to decide whether it was from fear, or the loss of blood. He jerked on his restraints, the obvious jolts of pain following, but he couldn't help it. He needed out. He needed down, and free, and to find his brother before his mind ran out of control. He glared at Stan's cheeky smile, and wondered what could possibly make any version of Stanley enjoy watching him struggle as much he did.

And then he thought of dozens of answers to that very question and let out another sound of pain because the possibilities his imagination conjured - many grounded in very real events of their past - hurt him almost as much as the raging bruises and most likely broken ribs all across his side. His perception was all twisted around, spiraling out of control, and all the while Stan sat in front of him with a grin.

Ford gave another tug on his chains, and he cried out at the shock that pulsed across his bones.

***

"Oh, I know all about you and your 'muse', so don't give me that look. It's - ," Stan shook his head. "It's funny how pathetic you are." He knelt down closer to his face and put on a look of mock sympathy. "You twusted him?"

Ford grimaced and turned away. Stan straightened with a laugh.

"Stanford Pines. Most Gullible Nerd. You know, I should get that framed." He gave Ford a sharp prod, making him grit his teeth in pain. "I bet you haven't even told that other me about him have you? Too afraid. Wouldn't wanna tarnish that ego of yours, now would you?" He raised a brow.

Ford glared at him and held his gaze. A moment passed before Stan cocked his head.

"Really?" He took a step back. "Huh." His eye drifted across the room and he stepped over to the bat. "Well bully for you." He picked it up and gave it a twirl, his smile falling back into place. "Still gonna wail on you some more."

He swung, the wood sailing for another blow. Ford flinched, body tense, and the stick stopped, inches from making contact. A moment passed. Ford looked up and Stan pulled back, grinning.

"I could do this forever. You're such a laugh Sixer."

Ford swallowed and began to tremble, nerves betraying his apprehension. Stan snorted.

"Don't get your hopes up too much. Depends how long you last." He shrugged. "We're just waiting to see what gives first." He tossed him a wicked grin.

He watched as Ford let out a sigh, interrupted by a fit of coughs, but let his head fall back as he closed his eyes. His discomfort was obvious in the pulsing vein bulging against his neck, his skin flush and red, face slick with sweat.

Stan adjusted his hold on the bat.

"Buckle in. We're going for another round." He threw a few trial swings, as if gauging his aim, then pulled back, ready to strike.

Ford shivered, tensing for the blow. Stan grinned at his unease, and went for the hit.

The sound of a door opening somewhere in the building reached Stan's ears. He stopped short, pulling back on his swing. The wood landed with nothing more than a dull tap before Stan straightened, but Ford hissed as it connected with his bruised and tender side.

Stan stood a moment, ears angled to listen out for another noise. It came in the form of heavy feet wandering the halls above them. They sat in silence as someone traveled around in the upper level. Another moment passed before Stan moved towards the door, replacing the bat against the wall and making his way to leave. He pulled open the door and cast a look back, putting a finger to his lips in a playful gesture to keep quiet, before stepping out.

Stan moved down the hall, listening as the figure headed for the stairs. Going near the exit, he peered around the corner. The intruder came into view. Stan's nostrils flared. Standing there, taking a sweeping gaze around the room, was another Stanley.

Stan slunk away, and headed for the circuit breaker. In a single flip of a switch, the lights went out.

He moved back towards his counterpart, eyes adjusting to the gloom as his night-vision kicked in. The other Stanley - Lee - was standing tense and alert in the dark. Stan stepped forward, staring at the man, a scowl planted on his features. He'd left him alone for a reason. It wasn't his fault the fool came to find him.

He went to his holster and unclicked his gun.

To his surprise he was tackled to the ground, weapon flying out his hand. Stan threw out a punch, landing it in Lee's chest. He heard a grunt, but was caught by a fist slamming into his jaw. He pushed Lee off him, but they rolled, each trying to hit the other.

They grappled, till Stan broke away. He slid to the edge of the room, aiming to use the lack of light to his advantage. They were both breathing heavy, but it only took a moment for Lee to catch his breath, turn on his heel, and head straight for him. Stan growled, and swerved to the side, but it didn't matter. Lee found him with a sharp punch under his chin that sent him sprawling.

Stan crumpled the floor, head spinning. He looked up to see Lee step away, then race down the corridor, hand running across the wall as he left. Stan got to his knees then shook himself. He ground his teeth, heart pounding in his ears. He seethed and moved to make that idiot regret coming.

He stood and felt his limbs fill with a empowering flow of energy. His hands clenched into fists and he strode back the room, murder in his eyes. The door stood ajar, but when he tried to enter a blast sailed past his head. He jerked back, taking cover behind the frame of the entrance. He poked his head in and saw through the dark, his counterpart shooting away at the chains with Stan's own forgotten weapon.

He moved to enter, only for Lee to turn at his presence and fire off another discharge, forcing Stan to retreat. Stan narrowed his eyes, but stepped away. He moved to the circuit board and turned the lights back on.

Going to the room, he went inside. Ford was laying passed out on the ground, the blood rush from his head seeping down again. Lee turned as he entered and stopped cold.

The two Stanleys stared at each other. Stan shot his counterpart a morbid grin. Lee's lip curled in a snarl and he took aim with the gun.

Stan moved out of the way and surged forward, catching Lee with a shot to the chest. His counterpart stumbled, back catching against the wall. Stan moved to get in another hit, only for Lee to box him across the head. They fought, each landing a series of blows. Stan's punches hard and fast, his strength and speed amplified by his anger and the power he was drawing from. He gave his counterpart a powerful kick that sent him sailing across the room.

Lee crawled to his feet on trembling legs, but his face was twisted in an expression of furry. Stan broke into a smile at his frustration. He planned to show his counter just where exactly helping Ford got you.

They came at each other again. Lee landed several solid punches that had Stan's head spinning. Stan shook himself, fighting back the growing buzz in his ears. He hit Lee in the gut, only to be kicked in the shin. Stan took a knee, lungs working hard. He glared up at Lee, and his counterpart glared right back before punching him to the ground. He laid there for a moment, his breathing ragged.

His heart pounded in his ears. This Stanley came here, looking for Ford. Even after Stan had given him the perfect opportunity to just walk away, and he didn't take it. Instead he came, interrupting Stan's job. A job he liked - oh so much. And he had the nerve to be angry? Stan would give him something to be upset about.

He stood to his feet. Lee swung, but Stan swerved with inhuman speed. He came behind his counter part and struck behind his knee. Lee tripped to the floor and Stan back-handed him to the ground. Stan kicked him and Lee rolled.

Lee struggled to his feet and Stan kicked him again. And then again. And then again. His counterpart gritted his teeth and let out a cough. Blood dripped from his lip and he spit. Stan snatched him by the shirt and shoved him into the wall. With a grin, he beat his fist across his face again, and again, and again. On the fourth time, Lee caught it, so Stan threw him across the room.

Lee tried to rise, and Stan walked over. He grabbed him by the hair and yanked Lee's head up. Lee glowered at him, one hand deep in his coat, clutching whatever pain might've hurt there. Stan smirked down at him and raised his arm, taking aim for another strike.

Something plunged deep into Stan's side and he doubled over in pain. Lee staggered back, hand covered in red as Stan grasped at the knife digging between his ribs. He growled, and lurched forward, hand out stretched to snatched his counterpart. But Lee stumbled away, his expression bitter, but wary.

Before Stan could get far, Lee turned and rushed to the sink, slamming against the counter. He scooped up as many of the objects there as he could. Stan swallowed back blood, and moved to catch him, but Lee raced towards Ford and skidded to a stop by his side, fumbling with a watch.

Lee cast one last hateful glance over his shoulder, and before Stan could reach them, the two Pines Twins were gone in a flash of inter-dimensional light.

Stan growled and fell back, leaning against a wall and sliding down. He took a shaking hand and pulled the knife out of his side, gasping against the pain. It dropped to the floor with a clatter and Stan let his head fall back, breathing heavy.

He gritted his teeth and slammed his fist against the ground.

***

Stanley closed his eyes against the crossing between dimensions. When he felt land reassert itself under him, he dropped, exhaustion overtaking him for a moment. He took in deep breaths, body aching from the fight. And then he opened his eyes, mind alert. He looked over at his brother and dragged himself up.

"Ford. Ford are you okay?" He looked him up and down and grimaced at what he saw. "No. Dumb question. Ford?" He gave his brother's shoulder a light shake.

Ford moaned. He turned his head, then blinking his eyes open, stared up at Stanley with a confused expression. It was replaced by a flinch and a hiss, his arms immediately wrapping around his injuries. Stanley jumped to pacify him.

"It's alright. It's okay, I've got you." Stanley moved his gaze to look where they were, and dragged a rough hand through his hair. "It's alright. We'll get you all patched up." He glanced back at his brother and put a hand on his arm.

Ford stiffened, making Stanley pull back with a frown.

"Ford?" A thought popped into his head. "That - that wasn't me." He squeezed his eyes shut, anger welling inside. "It wasn't me - I wouldn't - you gotta know I wouldn't ever - ,"

A hand landed on his arm and gave him a reassuring squeeze. Stanley look up and the two brothers shared a look. Stanley bit his lip, but nodded.

"Okay." He nodded again. "Alright. We're good." He glanced around again. "Just peachy." He stood to his feet, hissing at his bruises. "Come on." He swallowed. "Let's get you patched up."

Ford moaned again, and turned his head away. Stanley let out a sigh.

"I know. I know, I'm sorry." He reached down. "But we gotta move. Come on." He tried to get a grip under him.

Ford moaned again and waved him off with a weak arm. Stanley tried to readjust his hold.

"I know, I'm sorry. But Ford, seriously." He went to pull him up.

Ford tried to shove him away, and Stanley stopped moving. Ford closed his eyes. Stanley frowned.

"Alright, well now you're just being difficult."