#vampire!gideon

Al knelt so that she was eye-level with Mabel, and bit her lip as she looked at Dipper. Mabel couldn’t help but notice that the dryad’s even, white teeth were marked with wood grain, and her lip seemed hard, and didn’t indent like skin would under the pressure of a bite. She seemed entirely made of wood (except for her awesome long green hair, and Mabel had a brief fantasy about dryad hair make-overs) but she moved with a strange, fluid grace.

“This is going to be a little trickier than I thought it would be,” Al said. “When Mother sent me here, I assumed I would be bringing back one human boy. Not a human girl and a boy enchanted into the form of a newborn fawn.”

Mabel frowned. “I can carry Dipper, if that’s what you’re worried about. He’s not heavy at all.”

“It’s not that,” Al said. “It took me a little over ten hours to hike here from Mother’s grove. I wasn’t going slow, but I was just, you know, taking my time.” She gave a sheepish shrug. “I’ve never been out this way before, and I was kind of… taking in the sights, I guess. I figured I’d get here, find the kid, and run back with him in less than half the time.”

“Run back with him, how?” Mabel asked, scrunching up her nose. Running over rugged forest terrain that took a dryad ten hours to hike, and in half the time? “Even if Dipper was still human, there’s no way he’d be able to keep up, and I’m pretty sure I can’t either, even after a whole glass of Mabel-juice. Come to think of it, drinking too much Mabel-juice would only slow us down more… I don’t suppose there are pit stops on the way to your mom? Hm, I bet she’s waaaaay off in the wilderness, where no human has ever set foot, so I’m ruling out restrooms and port-o-potties. Maybe I should bring snacks. You told Wendy you have a magic DVD player. Do you have a magic vending machine too? Does it carry Pitt Cola?”

Al blinked at her for a moment, then shook her head. “Uh… no magic vending machines, sorry. And no pit stops either. As for travelling…” She shrugged again. “Piggy-back?” she said. “That was my plan, anyway. Dryads don’t get tired running, the way humans do, even carrying heavy loads. That’s not the problem.” She frowned as she reached out and gently laid her hand on Dipper’s side. His flank shivered under her touch, and she withdrew. “Fawns this young are delicate and easily stressed, and that could make him sick. We need to figure out how to make you both comfortable, and still be able to get back to Mother as soon as possible.”

Mabel’s mind was racing, and she had already worked most of it out. “Okay,” she said. “I can wrap Dipper in a blanket. He can ride in my backpack, and you can carry me piggy-back, and then I’ll need--” She broke off as a familiar bauble on the dryad’s wrist caught her eye. “Hey, you’ve got an anti-Bill bracelet too!” she said, delighted that such a magical creature was wearing a fashion accessory that she helped design. “How did you get one?”

Al grinned, lifting her arm to show off the bracelet. “From Lazy Susan at Greasy’s Diner,” she said. “She was very insistent that I not be susceptible to demonic possession.”

Mabel raised an eyebrow. “Are dryads susceptible to demonic possession?”

“Heck if I know,” Al said. “It’s never really come up as an issue.”

“Well, if you are, you’re protected now,” Mabel said. “So, we’ve both got anti-Bill bracelets, so he won’t be a problem. I can wear a belt for my grappling hook and holy-water super-soaker, in case Gideon tries anything… Can you run carrying a cross-bow?”

Al gave her a bemused look. “I don’t think so. Not if I’m holding your legs and your arms are wrapped around my neck.”

“Hm, so the crossbow is probably a no-go, then.” Mabel’s eyes narrowed in thought. “And from what you said, it sounds like you wouldn’t have any problems out-running Gideon’s human goon squad. How long do you think it will take us to get to your mom, exactly?”

“At a full run?” Al smiled. “Four hours tops.”

“That’s great!” Mabel said. She looked out the gift shop window, where the last bright sliver of the sun was slipping over the horizon. “That means Dipper can be back to normal by tomorrow!”

Al leaned back on her haunches, frowning slightly. “I’m still worried about your brother. Traveling so fast, and in a backpack… that could spark his fight-or-flight instinct. Even if we made sure he couldn’t escape and run off, too much stress could really hurt him before we reach Mother.” She gave Mabel a searching, hesitant look. “I... I can communicate with animals. It’s a dryad thing, like spirit touching spirit, mind touching mind. If it’s okay with you… can I try to see how he’s doing?”

Mabel gaped. “You can talk to Dipper?!” she shrieked, and Dipper’s ears lowered and pressed back at the loud noise. Sheepishly, Mabel lowered her voice. “Why didn’t you say so before? Yes, yes, please! Ask him how he’s doing, if he’s okay, if there’s anything I can do for him—“

“Whoa.” Al held up her hands in surrender. “I said I’d try. I’ve never communicated with a human who has been turned into an animal, so I’m not sure if this will work.”

“Oh,” Mabel said, deflating slightly. “Well, please try anyway.” She shifted her grip on Dipper, gently pulling his head from where he’d tucked it against her side, under her hair. She felt him stiffen slightly as she pointed him toward the dryad. “Hey, Dip-dop,” she said softly, watching as he sniffed cautiously. “This is Al, and she’s going to try to talk to you, okay? So don’t be nervous. She’s here to help.” She knew he didn’t understand her, but he did seem to relax slightly as she whispered to him, and his ears perked back up.

Al closed her eyes, her brow creased in concentration. Mabel found herself leaning forward eagerly, watching Dipper closely. The fawn stopped sniffing, blinked, then tilted his head quizzically.

After a moment, Al chuckled and opened her eyes. “He’s hungry,” she said, and Mabel inhaled sharply.

“Oh my gosh, I forgot,” she said in a loud stage whisper, now mindful of Dipper’s sensitive ears. “I was just about to feed him when you busted in here! Soos made a bottle and everything!” She looked down at Dipper, who was still blinking at Al. “I’m so sorry, bro-bro, let’s get you fed. Follow me, Al,” she told the dryad, heading through the open door to the TV room. “You need to tell me what else Dipper is thinking!”

The bottle was right on the t-rex skull where she’d left it. Carefully, she lowered Dipper to the floor, helping him unfold his long, thin legs so that he was standing, and held him steady while he shifted on his hooves for better balance.

This was the first time she had seen him standing, and even with his neck craning up at her so he could see her face, he still barely came up to her waist. She had to bite her lower lip to keep her squeals of glee from escaping her mouth. Dipper was just so freaking tiny and adorable, she couldn’t stand it! She’d call for Wendy and have her take a picture if she didn’t think Dipper would destroy it at the first opportunity once he was back to normal. This moment would just have to go in her mental scrapbook.

The bottle held about four ounces of the infant fawn formula that Soos had mixed up. He’d told her that Dipper would need to be fed every four hours or so, but if they left immediately when they were done, this might be the only chance she would have to feed him before he was human again, so she was going to enjoy this moment while it lasted.

Al stood in the gift shop doorway, leaning against the door jam, watching with interest as Mabel held the bottle’s nipple to Dipper. A drop of milk leaked from the tip, and Dipper sniffed at it before it dropped and splashed on his nose. His little pink tongue licked his nose clean, and then, before Mabel could blink, he latched on and began suckling with enthusiasm.

Mabel found herself surprised when she had to tighten her grip on the bottle, or Dipper would have pulled it right out of her hand. She couldn’t help giggling as his little tail swished back and forth as he fed. Augh, so cute!

She looked over at Al with her peripheral vision, not wanting to take her eyes off Dipper. “Can you tell what he’s thinking now?” she asked.

Al didn’t close her eyes this time, but her brow furrowed. “Mostly he’s just happy to be eating.”

“Mostly?”

Al sighed. “It’s… hard to describe. Trying to communicate with him is mostly just like talking to a regular fawn – just pure animal instinct. But there are…” She frowned, looking around the room as if seeking inspiration when words failed her. Her gaze landed on a stack of colored construction paper on the table in the alcove, where Mabel had left her scrapbooking and knitting stuff earlier. Mabel tore her eyes away from Dipper and watched as Al walked over and picked up a sheet of green paper.

“Here,” Al said, holding up the paper. “Think of this as Dipper’s thoughts. Mostly, it’s animal instinct, just kind of flat and green. But then…” She picked up one of Mabel’s knitting needles and started poking tiny holes into the paper. When she was done, she held it up to the hanging light fixture. Light shone through the tiny pin-prick holes, reminding Mabel of stars.

“The light shining through these holes,” Al said. “They are his human thoughts. They’re very small, kind of incoherent, and…” She winced. “And they hurt. They keep appearing and disappearing like bright flashes amidst his deer instinct, but they aren’t having very much impact.”

Mabel looked down at her brother, who was seconds away from finishing off the bottle. “So… he is in there, somewhere.”

Al nodded. “Most definitely. To extend the metaphor a bit…” She held the paper back up to the light. “If these tiny pin-pricks of light are your brother’s human thoughts, and the paper is animal instinct, then all the light behind the paper is where the rest of your brother is.”

Dipper drank the last of the milk, but didn’t want to stop suckling, so Mabel had to force the bottle out of his mouth before he started drinking air. “There,” she said, stroking his soft head. “All done.”

Dipper plainly disagreed, because he let out a small, irritated bleat. Mabel sucked in her breath and grit her teeth, biting back a squeal. “You’re getting back at me by trying to kill me with cuteness, aren’t you?” She reached down and picked him up, carefully folding his legs under him so she could cradle him in her arms. “Well, it won’t work, because there is no limit to the amount of cuteness I can handle, little bro.”

With Dipper settled in her arms again, she looked back at Al. “So,” she said. “If all the light behind the paper is Dipper, can you talk to him?”

“I’ve been trying,” Al said. “But the paper is like a barrier. It’s trapping him behind all this instinct, but it’s protecting him too, because even the little bit of him that’s leaking through causes him pain. I don’t know why.”

Mabel scowled darkly. “It’s probably part of the curse,” she said. “It just figures that Bill and Gideon would do something so mean.” She looked down at Dipper and stroked his velvet-soft ears, wondering just how much pain he was in right now. He pressed his head into her palm, and as sweet as it was, she couldn’t help but wonder now if he was only doing it to ease his aching head.

“And speaking of,” she said, looking up at the dryad, “let’s go break that curse.”

Al smiled. “Yes, lets.”

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Gideon, sheltered in the shade of the trees less than a stone’s throw away from the Shack, waited for the sun to finally dip below the horizon with a strange mix of anticipation and dread.

The anticipation he understood. When the sun went down, he came fully into his vampiric power. Stronger, faster, his senses of sight, hearing and smell magnified far beyond human. His ability to completely disregard gravity was an utter delight.

The dread… he didn’t really understand.

Tonight would be his third night as a vampire. The initial rush of being something powerful and inhuman was fading, leaving him with more time to actually think about what he was feeling about the whole situation. Bill had left him behind to sit a spell, guard the Shack and make sure Stan…ley didn’t leave while the demon was off hunting the real Stanford. So far, the only interesting occurrence was that a strange green-haired girl had gone into the Shack, but as far as he was concerned, she was just another life for Bill to use as a hostage in exchange for the rift.

So Gideon had a couple of hours with nothing to do except think.

Being a vampire wasn’t working out to be all he thought it would be. Yes, the power was sweeter than peach pie, no doubt about that. His new diet was regrettable, but nothing he couldn’t live with.

But he had made this deal for the sole purpose to win Mabel’s heart, and so far that plan had been as successful as a screen door on a submarine, all because Dipper Pines was too big for his britches.

Was being the important qualifier.

He grinned, fangs poking over his bottom lip, as he wondered how Dipper was enjoying being a helpless baby deer and dumber than a box of rocks. Bill told him that when Dipper was asleep, he would regain his faculties and remember everything from being awake. The prospect of Dipper knowing he was no more than a powerless, stupid animal was just so delightful, Gideon had daydreamed more than once about being a fly on the wall in Dipper’s mindscape just to watch him react. Maybe, once this whole unpleasant rift business was over, Bill would take him into Dipper’s mind so he could do a bit of in-person gloating.

Gideon gasped, his eyes glowing briefly, as he felt the sun vanish behind the horizon. And this time he paid careful attention to the difference between his pre- and post-sunset self.

As soon as the light vanished, it was as though darkest shadows of night coalesced around him, seeping into him, filling him with cold power that seemed borne from a void. An antithesis of life. This moment, more than any other, made him hyper-aware of how his heart was still and dead within him.

It wasn’t scary. Really, it wasn’t.

And if it brought back the sensation of being four years old, cowering in his bed under his blanket, terrified of looking at his closet door that was at least an inch more open than it was the last time he looked… well, that was just downright silly, wasn’t it. Because, if anything, he was something that should be feared. He had nothing to be afraid of any more! Eternity stretched before him, full of potential.

And he wouldn’t be alone. One way or another, Mabel would be by his side as his vampire queen.  And even if she rebuffed him at first, well, he could literally wait forever for her to come around. Immortals had to stick together, after all, since all their mortal relations would return to the dust. When that happened, and she realized that he could understand her the way no one else could, she would come to him, and together they would never have to be lonely ever again.

Granted, he didn’t want to have to wait that long for them to be together, but he would if he had to. He still had hope that Mabel would come to recognize and appreciate his affection and devotion much sooner than that.

A light in the attic bedroom of the Shack switched on and, curious, Gideon moved closer, wrapping himself in shadows so that he could remain unseen. He finally got close enough to look inside, but instead of seeing Mabel like he expected, Stanley Pines came to the window. He had a dangerous scowl on his face, and for a moment Gideon wondered if the man could tell he was there.

But Stanley didn’t do anything other than glare aimlessly at the grounds surrounding the Shack. Then, to Gideon’s surprise, he picked up a large sheet of plywood and placed it over the window, completely blocking Gideon’s view. A moment later, Gideon could hear the sound of hammering.

What in the world?

Suddenly he could hear hammering coming from the other side of the Shack as well. Swiftly, he flew around, staying within the tree line, and saw, to his astonishment, that the Corduroy girl and that strange gopher man were boarding up the windows on the main floor.

They were preparing for a siege, he realized. Oh my. Bill was not going to like this, not at all.

He was wondering what, if anything, he should do about it, when who should come out the back door of the Shack but the weird green-haired girl and Mabel herself.

He cringed a little as he saw that Mabel had a belt looped around her waist, from which hung her grappling hook and a super-soaker, no doubt filled with that horrid, face-melting holy water. She was holding a backpack filled with none other than Dipper, the stupid baby fawn, his wee little head sticking out of the top.

Gideon couldn’t help the throaty, low growl of amusement that escaped him at the sight of his nemesis-brought-low.

Immediately, Dipper began to jerk around inside the backpack, bleating in panic. Well, that was interesting. Apparently Dipper could hear him, or smell him, or something. It was pleasing to know that, even as a dumb animal, Dipper was appropriately terrified of him now.

Mabel lowered the backpack to the old wooden deck, wrapping her arms around the struggling form, whispering to the fawn, obviously hoping to calm him down.

The green-haired girl shook her head. “I was afraid of this,” she said. “We’ll never get him to Mother if any little thing sparks his fight-or flight instinct.” She sighed. “I was hoping I wouldn’t have to do this, but… I can make him sleep. Only if that’s okay with you, Mabel. I can wake him up again when we reach Mother.”

Mabel looked up at the strange girl, and Gideon could see tears gathering in the corners of her eyes as she held on to her thrashing, transformed twin. “Yes, please,” she said. “I can’t get him to calm down.”

Gideon’s eyes narrowed as the girl knelt and placed her hand on Dipper’s head. The fawn immediately relaxed, eyes closing in sleep, and Mabel sighed, hugging him close. “Hang in there, bro-bro. We’re gonna get you turned back to normal before you know it.”

Wait, what?

Gideon held back a snarl as he turned his attention to the green-haired girl, and for the first time he noticed her pale, wooden skin. He inhaled through his nose, and while he could smell the sweet scent of blood coursing through the veins of Mable and Dipper, the only scents he caught from the girl were of bark and tree sap.

So, she was some kind of forest nymph, was she? And she thought this Mother of hers could undo Dipper’s curse?

Not if he had anything to say about it. No indeed.

Mabel shrugged on the backpack with a peacefully slumbering Dipper inside. The nymph sat on her haunches. Mabel climbed on her back, piggy-back style, and the nymph straightened, holding on to Mabel’s legs. “You ready for this?” she asked Mabel.

“You better believe it,” Mabel said, and pointed into the forest. “Onward, to the Mother of the Wood!”

The nymph laughed, and turned slightly. “She’s that way.”

“Onward!” Mabel exclaimed, pointing the direction the nymph indicated. “To the Mother of the Wood!”

The nymph sprinted with inhuman speed, causing Mabel to whoop in delight, and within moments, they had vanished into the dark forest.

Scowling, Gideon followed silently.

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Ford felt a strange sense of unease from the moment he lifted the hatch and started descending the long ladder into the bowels of the buried spaceship. The familiar cold, stale air smelled faintly reminiscent of the reptile house at the zoo – a scent that had yet to dissipate after millennia underground.

He couldn’t seem to shake the low-level feeling of dread – not even during the thrilling plummet-via-magnet gun to the bottom of the ship. It was only as he started searching the endless corridors for parts, and that elusive adhesive, that he realized why he was feeling so unsettled.

This was the first time he had ever been in the ship alone.

When he first discovered the ship, Fiddleford had always accompanied him, helping him scavenge parts for the portal. And when Fiddleford deserted him, it was Bill who went with him, sitting in his mind, providing company and giving instruction.

Well, now that he understood what was bothering him, he could easily dismiss it. During his thirty years traversing dimensions, he had dealt with things, people and places far more horrifying than an ancient abandoned spaceship. And he had done it alone.

Not so easily dismissed, however, were Mabel’s words from earlier. And here in the depths of an alien construct with only himself for company, he had plenty of time to ponder them.

(He knew this place like the back of his hand. This corridor to the right would lead him to engineering, where he would find replacements for the burnt-out dimensional displacer connections.)

It was so easy for Mabel to place all the blame on Bill for the disastrous events of the past thirty years. But Ford could not so easily put all the culpability on the demon. He had been so foolish, playing with powers he didn’t understand; putting his trust in a being simply because it knew just how to flatter his ego.

And when he finally understood the reality of his situation and Bill’s true nature, he knew that they only way to keep anyone else from repeating his mistakes was to destroy the journals. No one else could find out how to build the interdimensional portal. He could not allow Bill to have access to this dimension.

(Dimensional displacer connections found, he put them in his satchel, along with several other pieces of tech that looked promising.)

And… he had tried. He tried to destroy the journals. How many days and nights had he spent, staring at the three books lined up on the portal room floor, flicking his lighter on and off in his hand? How many times had he almost had the will to set fire to those dangerous pages?

(Now for the adhesive, which would be in the destroyed mess of the bio-lab.)

But in the end… he was weak. He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t destroy the journals. They were the results of a lifetime of hard work. Hard work had been what had pulled him from the mediocrity of Backupsmore University and into the limelight of the scientific community. Hard work had resulted in twelve doctorate degrees and a grant to pursue his dream. Hard work had led him to Gravity Falls and all its amazing mystery. He had spent years researching and documenting the anomalies of this weirdness magnet, and most of it was good. Most of it was safe. Most of it… made him proud.

That was how he justified himself. And instead of destroying the journals like he knew he should, he hid them. One in a hidden chamber near the secret bunker. Another near the elementary school, because what kid would be smart enough to find it, let alone understand what he was looking at?

(He’d always hated searching the bio-lab, because the faint reptilian scent present throughout the rest of the ship was joined with an acrid, citrusy smell that made his eyes sting. The lab seemed to have taken the brunt of the damage from the crash, and everything was crumpled metal, loose cables, dead connections, and scattered, crushed sample containers. But it was also the only place he had ever found the adhesive.)

The first journal. His favorite. His records of Gravity Falls before everything started falling apart. Probably the purest research he had ever done.

He couldn’t think of any place good enough to hide it.

And then, after nearly ten years of deliberate avoidance… he thought about Stanley.

And, after nearly ten years of deliberate avoidance… Stanley came when he asked.

Stanley could have refused. He could have ignored the request. But he came, and deep down, Ford knew he would, because that was just… Stanley.

(And there it was, a thin, non-sticky residue, purple and glowing and seeping through the bottom of one of the hexagonal bio-containers – a telltale sign of the adhesive within. He picked it up with a sigh, and carefully placed it into his satchel. Time to head back.)

By the time Stanley arrived, Ford was paranoid and half-mad with sleep deprivation because Bill was not happy with his switch of loyalties and was playing merry hell with any attempt he made at getting rest.

He had tried to explain the situation to Stanley. But he was rambling and incoherent, and why couldn’t Stanley just understand that he needed to take his best journal and get as far away from him as possible?

But Stanley understood far more than Ford was able to at that moment, because he pulled out his lighter, flicked it open, lit the flame, and held it up to the journal. Stanley could do what Ford couldn’t.

Ford had snapped. The rest was history.

Mabel was right. He was the one who had given Bill his first chance, and now his second chance to destroy the world. He and his blasted, stubborn pride.

Yes, Stanley had ruined his science fair project forty years ago. But Ford had succeeded beyond all expectations in spite of that. Or… perhaps because of that.

(Back to the entrance. It was simple to use the magnet gun to pull himself from one platform to another until he reached the ladder. He started climbing.)

Stanley came when he called, even after ten years. Stanley tried to do what Ford, in his madness and pride, couldn’t bring himself to do. And when Ford had been sucked through the portal, Stanley had not once considered abandoning him. Stanley, who always hated school, had studied his journals until he was able to repair an interdimensional portal, just to get him back.

Ford didn’t understand.

Why? Why?

What had he ever done to deserve such unwavering loyalty?

(The hatch opening came into view. The sky was purpling with dusk, and he knew he wouldn’t be getting home until well after dark.)

Mabel’s words resonated within him.

Doesn’t that tell you something? Doesn’t that mean anything to you? And when he finally does it, do you have one kind word for him?

No, Ford admitted to himself. Because giving Stanley that kind word he so desperately wanted would be acknowledging just how wrong he had been. About everything.

Wasn’t he supposed to be the smart one?

Reaching the top of the hatch, he heaved one arm over the side, only to have his wrist captured in an iron-tight grip. Before he could even gasp, he found himself yanked into the air by his arm, dangling face-to-face with Bill. Or rather, the very strong body he was currently inhabiting.

“Well, well, well, Sixer! Fancy meeting you here!”

Ford reacted instinctively, twisting in the air and reaching with his free hand into the folds of his coat for his disrupter rifle, but he was quickly grabbed, subdued and pinned to the ground by the six other men Bill had with him. Ford found himself flat on his stomach, face in the thick, long grass, with a heavy knee in his back.

“Now, now,” Bill chided the men. “Be gentle! Who knows what tricks ol’ Sixer has up his sleeves! Hey, why don’t we find out? Take his coat and satchel, boys!”

“Let me go, Bill,” Ford said, snarling as Bill’s lackeys manhandled him, stripping him of his belongings. “You don’t think I’d be foolish enough to leave home with the rift on me with you prowling around?”

“But Sixer!” Bill said, bending over to sneer in his face, yellow eyes glinting. “You’ve been so foolish about so many other things in the past, it couldn’t hurt to check!”

Ford found himself once again shoved to the ground, this time with his arms pinned behind his back. He watched helplessly as Bill sat cross-legged on the ground in front of him, took his coat and rummaged through it, humming tunelessly.

“Hm hm hmm, let’s see, magnet gun? Boring!” Bill tossed the gun down the open hatch. “Disruptor rifle from Dimension 6-3/a? Talk about outdated!” The rifle followed the magnet gun. Finding nothing else of interest, Bill finally dropped the coat down the hatch as well. “Now, let’s see what’s in this satchel that is so important, you felt you had to make a trip down there to get it!”

Ford grit his teeth as the first thing Bill pulled out was the hexagonal adhesive container. “Ooh! I know what this is,” Bill said in a sing-song voice. “What could you possibly need this for? Maybe to seal up an interdimensional rift?” Bill looked him directly in the eyes, grinning manically, as he dropped the container down the hole. Ford bit back the urge to curse at him, knowing it would only make Bill laugh.

Bill dumped the rest of the satchel’s contents onto the ground and started going through them, looking at each piece of tech with a bored expression before tossing it down the hatch. “What did you think you were going to use all this junk for, Sixer?”

Ford glared and didn’t answer.

“Oh, don’t tell me!” Bill said. “You were planning on trying to build some kind of tech to turn Pine Tree back to normal! Ha! That’s funny!”

“I don’t care how humorous you think it is,” Ford said, with all the dignity he could manage in his current prone position. “I will find a way to undo the curse you put on Dipper.”

Bill shoved the satchel and the rest of his salvage into the hatch. “Well, good luck with that, because the curse was made with a black Orb of Olgathag! I’m sure you’ve heard of it, what with it being one of the most powerful artifacts across the dimensions!”

Ford had heard of it, and he felt his heart stutter in his chest.

“It’s Pine Tree’s own fault I had to resort to using an Orb. If he had never invented those stupid bracelets, I could have just used my own power! You might have had a chance then! I could have reversed the curse with a deal.” Bill shrugged, that maddening, inhuman grin still stretching his face. “Oh well, it’s out of my hands now!”

Ford did curse at him then, and, as expected, Bill just laughed as he got to his feet.

“I think we’re done here, boys,” Bill said, looking around at Gideon’s thugs.  “Tie him up nice and tight, and let’s get him back to the Shack. I’m sure his brother is anxious to have him back safe and sound!”

Ford felt his eyes widen as it suddenly dawned on him what Bill had planned, and silently berated himself for his lack of foresight. Bill knew that he was prepared to die before giving up the rift… but Stanley?

In spite of all the soul-aching regret Ford had been feeling just minutes before, because of realizing how he had wronged Stanley in so many ways, he felt sudden, wild hope that Stanley was still angry with him for his coldness. He hoped that Stanley was still resentful that he said he was planning to kick him out of his house at the end of summer. He hoped that Stanley hated him for ignoring thirty years of work and sacrifice.

He hoped that Stanley would rather let him die than hand over the rift.

But this was Stanley, and all of Ford’s hopes felt hollow.

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AN: Sorry that it’s been a month and a half since the last chapter. The offspring and I have been sick with colds, and never at the same time. I’ve also been dealing with some creativity-crippling anxiety, but I’m doing my best to fight through it. (At least it’s not the double-whammy of anxiety and depression, because that really sucks.)

I wasn’t planning on ending the chapter here, but since it’s already creeping up on 6,000 words, and it’s been a while since the last chapter, I figured it would be better to post this now.