Chapter Text
“This isn’t your fault, baby. I love you,”
His wife’s last words ring in his head; a source of comfort whenever It forces him to watch one of It’s sick plays. He tried not to let her words be tainted. He really did. But it was kind of hard to remember his real family didn’t blame him for their deaths, wouldn’t ever have blamed him, when it’s twisted interpretations of them kept angrily demanding to know why he let them die.
“I didn’t! I tried my best, I promise!”
“You should’ve tried harder!”
“I couldn’t do anything!”
“Yes you could! You could’ve if you were smarter. Braver! But you’ve always been nothing but a screw-up, huh? A useless, talentless, retard. Completely worthless, the scum of society,”
“I’m sorry! I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to! I promise, I’m sorry!”
“Sorry won’t bring us back to life, you piece of shit! I regret ever loving a parasite like you,”
The memories are hard to shake off. They swirl around in his head whenever he closes his eyes. But he can’t open them either. A heavy force fights to keep his eyelids closed.
He saw his brother, running through the weightless void where they’d been imprisoned.
He saw a dark room, flashing with the occasional blue light. It looked familiar. There were so many voices; none of them he recognized.
Then there was white. And there was his son.
Stanford Exlotle-Pines. His little Junior. Standing right within his reach, looking more alive than ever. He couldn’t remember the last time his baby had looked so alive.
He had reached for him, only for Junior to back away.
He blamed him! He blamed him for everything. For his death. For the death of his wife, his mother, his sisters, his uncle, and his children. He blamed Stanley for it.
Please! I’m sorry!
I did my best!
Don’t leave me! Don’t leave me again! I can’t lose you!
And everything went black again.
Stanley finally opens his eyes with a newfound clarity. He looks around the best he can. He can feel his body. It feels numb. There’s a familiar sense to the numb. An IV cord is pierced in his arm. He’s being drugged.
It looked like he was in a hospital. What was It up to this time?
Stan slowly tries to sit himself up, but to no avail. His body isn’t feeling it. There’s a remote that controls the bed recline. That would do.
The moment he makes noise he can hear a familiar voice calling his name. Ford .
The last thing he remembers of his brother was Ford assuring him that they were about to get out. Another rescue attempt on his part. It wasn’t going to be pleased.
“Stan, you’re awake!” Ford cheers. He’s sitting in a hospital bed next to Stan's own, wearing a baby-blue hospital gown, bandages, and a cast around his elevated leg. His eyes aren't yellow slits. They’re the normal warm and faded brown. That barely meant a thing when it came to It’s games.
He laughed bitterly. “Alright, you one-eyed creep. What’s your angle this time?” His voice is weak, but he’s not surprised. He’s spent a lot of time screaming over the… how long had it been? Months? Years? He hadn’t been counting. Couldn’t find it in himself to count. Ford was the one who counted.
“Stanley, this isn’t Bill,” The Ford in the bed insists. Stan doesn’t believe it for a second.
There were no hospitals in the nightmare realm. Whenever It allowed Ford to patch him up, it was always in dirty prison cells, with unwashed fabrics. Never proper bandages. He can smell the hospital grade gauze wrapped around his body. They were never given such a luxury in the nightmare realm.
Either Ford had somehow managed to pull off that escape attempt, or It was up to something again.
“What game are we playing this time, you freak of nature?”
“Stanley,”
“Are you gonna make me think everything’s ok, only to have my own brother start torturing me again?” He laughs bitterly. “Cause I ain’t fallin’ for it this time,”
“Stan, this is real, I promise,” Ford slowly moves his way out of bed, using his IV drip for a balance. There’s some difficulty as Ford has to lift his cast-covered leg out of it’s elevation wrap, which seems like such a Ford thing to do, but Stan could never be sure, not when it came to It.
“My brother’s a good person! He’d never do something like that!,” Stan tries to push himself farther away from this Ford, preparing for the warm eyes to go cold and for this doppelgänger to pull out a knife. That’s all it is. Not the real Ford, not the real Ford, never the real Ford, the real Ford would never… “He wouldn’t torture anyone,” Stan insist, as the thing wearing his brother’s face slowly gets closer, struggling with it’s own apparent “injuries”. “Not even if they deserved it,”
“How could you let us die, Father? My children! Your grandchildren! You let them parish!”
“Stanley...” Ford repeats his name, a sadness running through his voice. Stan looks away. He can’t look at his brother; not when his brother looks so kind and loving. It would reveal itself any moment now, and having to watch his brother's expression twist in hatred would break his heart.
Not like there’s much left to break anyways.
“Stan, I promise you, this is real!” Ford insists. His voice cracked. A telltale sign that the real Ford would begin crying. And Stan wants to believe his brother; he really does. But that would be too good to be true.
“Stan, touch my hand,” His brother commands. “Touch my hand and tell me this isn’t real,”
Stan obeys, placing his palm into Fords. He can feel the crevices and the calluses. Every bump from every scar. The hands are cold, like always. Stan traces his brother’s wrinkled hand with his finger, counting the five fingers and one thumb, and finally looks his brother in the eyes.
This is real. It can’t fake these small, intimate details, no matter how hard it tries.
He tears up. “Holy moses, your real!” He sobs, gripping onto his brother’s hand like a lifeline.
Ford climbs into the bed and lays down next to him, holding Stanley close. Stan grips the fabric of his brother’s hospital gown with his one good arm (the other is in a cast), and lets his brother comfort him. These were the small moments; the reprieves. The little moments when Ford would come back from wherever It sent him, giving It whatever he was supposed to collect. Then It would let Ford near his brother, where he would do his best to clean and bandage the wounds. Then, they’d spend whatever leftover time that they had holding each other while they cried, because there wasn’t much else they could do. It was small, but it was something.
Stanford was all he had left. So Stan would love and cherish him, as he always had, and always would. He would make sure that if or when It decided to take Ford away from him, Ford would go out knowing that his brother loved him, and didn’t blame him for a single thing.
“Stanley, guess what?” Ford talks to him, his voice quiet and soothing. “We did it Stan. We got out of the nightmare realm. A portal had opened up to our world Stanley. Earth! Our original Earth. The one we were born in! Bill won’t be able to follow us here for a long time. We’re safe, for now,”
It suddenly feels as if time itself has stopped, and the only thing in the world that is moving is the rise and fall of his brother's chest. Safe . They were safe for now. They had somehow, against all odds, ended up in the one place Bill couldn’t follow them into. Their own Earth.
They made it. They survived.
“H-how!?” Stan finally gasps. It’s too good. It’s too good to be true. But if Ford is real, — and Stan knows for sure that Ford is real — and they're not both dead, which he’s a little less sure of, then that means that somehow, despite everything being against them, Ford managed to escape the Nightmare Realm with him.
That also meant that, despite all odds, someone had either turned on that portal in the basement that they had left many years ago, or someone had built their own. But then who?
“These two childre–, er, young adults , somehow got the portal I built in the basement operational,” Ford almost laughs. “I don’t know how anyone could’ve pulled it off, especially two nineteen-year-olds,”
“Hey,” Stan jokes, burying his head in his brother’s chest. The hospital lights are very bright. It’s bothering him. The hospital gown his brother wears smells like laundry detergent, though Ford himself smells like a corpse. Stan can only guess that he doesn’t smell much better. “It’s a big universe. There’s bound to be someone out there who can match your genius,”
He could feel his brothers smile as Ford rested his head atop of Stans own. “You're in a good mood it seems,” Ford laughs.
“How can I not be?” Stan hums, “You’re real,”
He can feel his brother’s grip on him tighten. He was never letting go. A sense of peace flows into his body. We’re safe! We’re safe! Holy shit, I can’t believe it, we’re safe!
Stanley sobs into his brother’s shirt. “I can’t believe it! This is all real. We really did it. We’re really safe,”
His hair feels wet. Ford is crying too, but how can he not? The relief washes in and out in waves, like a beach, cleaning the sand of the broken glass and bottle caps, so that the small feet that run along it won’t get sliced.
“There is a small matter, however,” Ford brings up. “The two children who opened the portal; we do not know them, nor do we know their motives. Even more suspicious, they claim to be Sherman’s grandchildren,”
Shermie . His beloved big brother. That’s right. They’re on earth. They can see their brother again.
“Holy shit!” Stan gasps happily. “Sherm had grandkids?”
“They could be lying,” Ford mentions.
“Don’t worry, I know they could,” Stan assures his brother. “But ain’t it a nice thought? To have been rescued by family?”
“They do look like Pines,” Ford laughs. “They both have Sherman’s nose. And the boy, at least, is practically the spitting image of Junior!”
There’s an ache at the mention of his son. But there’s also hope. He can barely remember his son’s smile. His head is full of the contortions of pain and betrayal and disgust. Sadistic looks from It’s plays. Bitter memories from the deaths themselves. But maybe, by seeing Junior’s apparent doppelgänger, maybe he can pull up the happier moments from the back of his head. Maybe it can clean the images, and he could remember his family as they should be; happy. Full of life and full of love.
He’d give anything to once again hold those untainted memories.
A loud ringing vibrated through the prison, waking Stan up from his restless sleep. He didn’t know if that was a relief or not; nightmares were never fun, but the real environment wasn’t much better.
His shoulder was in pain. He felt some sort of liquid dripping down his back. Most likely either blood, puss, or some of that gross liquid stuff that isn’t quite puss or blood but definitely isn’t normal liquid either. His skin felt clammy and cold, but his head was on fire.
Fever. Infection. Of course.
“Stan,” A deep voice called out to him, and he felt a strangely smooth hand on his shoulder. It felt like the fish parts of sushi were touching him, except not as wet. It was hard to explain.
“Stan, you need to get up,” The voice tried again.
“Gimme a minute,” He grumbled, pushing through the stifling fog in his head. This wasn’t the first time he’s had to walk a fever off.
He remembered plucking the bullet out of his shoulder with a pair of pliers he shoplifted from a craft store. The pliers were not sterile, and neither was his car, nor his hands, or the needle and thread he used to stitch the wound shut. The wound was closed, but it was infected.
He remembered driving away from Angelo’s thugs, desperately trying not to pass out. He had to focus through the haze, or he’d be caught, and killed. He remembered one thought going through his head. I can’t die!
He couldn’t die. He wasn’t supposed to die like that. He and Ford were supposed to grow old together, then die of duel heart attacks at the age of a hundred and three. If he was to die by a bullet, it was supposed to be taking one for his brother as they fought pirates on the seas.
He was supposed to be by Stanford’s side. He was supposed to be with Ford.
“Stan,” The voice came again. “If you do not get up right now, you will be killed. I’m not sure what’s wrong with you, but—”
“It’s just a fever, Lehoi, don’t get your panties in a twist,” Stan grumbled, finally sitting up, and pushing the Ax-Tel’s hand off of his shoulder. He wondered, if Lehoi were to turn on him right now, if he’d be able to fight the giant creature off, or at least be able to run away.
He’s not gonna kill you now. He needs you to help find his sister, Stan reminds himself.
“A fever !” Lehoi shouts with an uncharacteristic amount of panic. “Stan, do you know what that means!?”
“Yeah, a fever is when—” Stan growled out, but was interrupted by Lehoi’s continued panic.
“We have to get you to a doctor right away! Before your skin dries out!” He fretted. “Stay here, I’ll get water… Oh, but I can’t leave you here, you'll be killed if you’re still in your cell by the time the second bell rings! But if I don’t get you water, you’ll bake into a shriveled ponrp-rxbwzn, and then you’ll be lost!”
“Jeez, calm down,” Stan laughed, slightly amused and a tad bit flattered that someone was actually worried about his life for once. “I’m not sure what a fever means to your species, but us humans can survive these things easily. All I need is hydration, and a little bit of rest,”
“Oh, but today is game day!” Lehoi stated, putting his fingers to his mouth and chewing on his claws. It was weird to see this huge man so nervous. “You won’t be getting rest, you’ll be fighting for your life! What could’ve caused the fever anyways? You’re not in any—”
“It’s this thing,” Stan shrugged off his coat, and unwrapped the makeshift bandage Ford had given him only a day or two ago, trying to ignore how cold it was, or the sweat all over his body. Wait, it was freezing? Why was he sweating?
Lehoi stared at his burn with wide eyes. “That mark. That is the mark that demon’s often give their mortal slaves. And it’s fresh,”
Great, I’ve got a demon slave mark burned into my back, how fucking wonderful . Stan thinks bitterly. And Ford had just so casually welded the mark into the side of a console where it could grow red-hot and potentially instantly burn anyone who was so unfortunate enough to so much as touch it.
Jeez, his brother had to go and get into a fucking mess, didn’t he? Stan leaves him alone for a few years, and—
Who’s fault was that?
His headache was growing worse. It was too damned cold, and he was too damned sweaty.
“I’m sorry. You said you ended up in the Nightmare Realm,” Lehoi said sadly. “Whichever vile creature did this to you must’ve had horrible intentions,”
“Uh, yeah, something like that,” Stan mutters awkwardly. He doesn’t want to say it to his brother who’d done that. The memory seemed surreal at this point. The white noise of TV static played along with it, though that may have just been the fever. And Ford hadn’t even bent down to help him; he just clutched his journal and backed away. It was an accident. Ford hadn’t been in a proper state of mind. His brother cared about him. Ford had apologized. That had to mean something, right?
I bet he’s not even looking for you. I bet he thought “good riddance” the moment you fell through that wormhole.
“Can it, you stupid think hole,” Stan mumbled to his brain.
“What was that?” Lehoi asked.
“Nothing,”
The Ax-Tel turned his focus to the burn. “The moment I get my hands on better equipment, I’ll help to fix the wound. I don’t think I’ll be able to help you with your fever though,”
Stan frowned. Lehoi was being nice to him. Nearly too nice. Nobody was nice to him, save for maybe a few children or nurses who pitied him when he was on the streets. Definitely not normal strangers.
“Why are you helping me?” He demands from Lehoi.
“A human would not survive here on their own,” Lehoi began.
“Well, I don’t need your pity,” Stan growls darkly.
“It isn’t pity,” Lehoi stated. “I know for a fact that humans are smaller and not as physically strong as many of the creatures here. The odds are against your kind. You're a good man, Stan. It’d go against everything I stand for if I were to leave a good man to die,”
Stan almost laughed, but caught himself. If he were to laugh, surely it would’ve been a dark, hollow sound. “What the fucking hell makes you think I’m a good man,”
“You remind me of my sister,” Lehoi said simply. “And anyone like her is unquestionably good,”
Stan allowed himself to smile. It was a wishful thought; the concept that someone was helping him just for kindness sakes, and the concept that someone thought he was good , was a warm little fantasy, and a small part of him wanted to hope that this was genuine, and that Lehoi really did want to be his friend, and wasn’t after anything else.
Don’t be stupid, Stan. He growled at himself. Don’t let another person screw you over .
“Come, the next bell will ring soon, and we need to be out of this cell,” Lehoi commanded, grabbing Stan by the arm to help him up.
“Get off, I can walk by myself,” He growled, before standing up.
The room spun for a good ten seconds, and before he was aware of what was happening, Lehoi had to grab him to stop him from falling.
“Would you like some help, now, Mister Stubborn ,” Lehoi teased, glancing down at the much shorter man with a smug look that Stan wished he could punch right off.
“Fine, get me out of this damned cell,” He grumbled, refusing to give the Ax-Tel the satisfaction of gratitude.
“I know where we can get some fresh bandages, but we’ll have to skip breakfast,” Lehoi offered, walking Stan out of their jail cell, and off in the direction where most of the other aliens had gone. Just in time for the second bell to ring, and for the jail doors to close, and the cell rooms to fill up with dangerous-looking yellow electricity.
“Nothing I haven’t done before,” Stan muttered, choosing to abandon his dignity and lean into the perfect stranger who decided to help him. It was freezing and boiling at the same time, and his throat felt dry. His head hurt badly. The being next to him was solid and comforting, but it was too tall to be Ford. But who else would it be? Ford was the only person who cared for him anymore. Did Ford care for him? Why was that a question? Why did he think he’d done anything to earn his brother’s love?
“Hey Stanford,” He muttered, wondering why he could barely see. It was small and blurry and everything was in double. “Where are we?”
A deep, panicking voice was heard, but it sounded miles away. Something was picking him up. He felt heavy and light at the same time. He wanted to fall asleep. Something told him he shouldn’t, but something else, something stronger, demanded otherwise.
Dipper stares into the swirling vortex of color. The only thing sitting between him, and a rip in the universe, was a strange snow-globe like contraption made by Fiddleford McGucket.
“And you're positive that this is somehow gonna hold it,” Dipper asks him. He doesn’t mean to sound so incredulous, but it’s frankly unbelievable.
“‘Course it gonna hold ‘em!” Fiddleford chimed confidently. The fact that he was trying to pull his stuck beard out of a crevice was not helping his case. “That thing-a-ma-jigger I made could hold a collapsing star and a black hole at the same time, or I ain’t Ol’Man McGucket!”
Dipper rolls his eyes, though smiles. The old man was, admittedly, kind of enduring, in a way. He was eccentric, and definitely what one could describe as a mad genius. It was a far cry from the somewhat crazy old man he’d been when Dipper and Mabel had first met him; who’d been a danger to both himself and others, what with his crazy schemes that held the energy of a Scooby Doo villain. Though, once Dipper and Mabel had solved their, um… problem with the Society of the Blind Eye, and the old man’s mind began to recover, he’d become a great ally to them.
“So… How’s Stanford doin’ anyways?” McGucket asks.
“He’s suspicious of us,” Dipper tells him. “I mean, if someone came up to me, claimed to be their brother’s grandchildren, and said that they operated a fucking doomsday device for no other reason than to find a pair of long lost strangers, I’d be suspicious of me too,” It sounds absolutely crazy now that he says it out loud, but its somehow exactly what happened.
Fiddleford lets out a wild laugh. “Ya sound’ like an absolute nutcase when ya say it like that!” He finally managed to pull his beard out from where it was stuck. “Not like I’m one to talk, but—”
“Hey, we love you because you're a nutcase,” Chimes another voice.
Mabel enters the room, balancing on her crutches. Her eyes are puffy and bloodshot. She’s been crying. But she smiles the moment she lays eyes on her friends.
“Mabel!” Dipper nearly drops the snow globe as he runs to hug her, but he quickly catches it, puts it on the desk, then runs to his sister and wraps his arms around her. “Are you ok? Did Bill hurt you?”
“You’d been talkin’ to Bill?” Fiddleford asks accusingly. “Missy, ya know I love ya, but that was a stupid idea,”
“We didn’t have a better one at the time,” Dipper quickly defends her. But, he did agree it was incredibly dangerous. Either way, there were more pressing matters. “Mabel, did he hurt you?”
“No, no, I’m fine,” She shakes her brother off, and approaches the desk. “So that’s the rip, huh?” It’s smaller than she would’ve expected it to be, but still gives her a haunting feeling when she looks at it.
“We really should’ve prepared better for this,” Dipper groans.
They were in over their heads. They made a rip in the universe, and Bill apparently had a device that would let him get his hands on it no matter what they did to seal it. If they could seal it.
“I’ve got no idea what to do,” Dipper laughs. “We’re about to face an apocalypse and I have no idea what to do,”
“Well, we could always ask Stanford,” Fidds suggest. “He always knew what to do, well, up until he didn’t,” He laughs a little at the end of that. “How’d that yeller freak manage to get an invention that can procure a rift anyhow?”
“He forced our Grunkle Ford to build it,” Mabel spits out. “Using his brother as a hostage,”
Dipper can feel his stomach lurching. Stan has so many open wounds that his body appears to be more exposed flesh than actual skin. It’s absolutely horrifying. But not surprising for Bill.
“And what about Stan's family?” Dipper asks. “He didn’t show you anything, did he?”
Mabel shrinks into herself, and that’s all Dipper needs.
“Aw, Mabel,” He sighs, throwing an arm around her and tugging her close. “You didn’t have to do this,”
“It’s ok. We got our information,” Mabel hums. “It was worth it,”
Dipper doesn’t argue with her, but still feels sick.
“Wait, what happened to Stanley’s family?” McGucket asks. “Did he have kids or somethin’?”
Mabel closes her eyes, the images of Bill killing the three young adults that were Stan’s kids coming back to haunt her with a vengeance. He was very creative with his ways of murder.
“Three kids,” Mabel says. “Three kids, and the oldest had kids too,”
“Stan had grandkids?” Dipper asks tentatively. “How many?”
“Two I think?” Mabel can’t quite remember. “They were really young,”
“They ain’t—” Fiddleford hesitates. “They ain’t dead, are they?”
The kid’s silence confirms it.
“It was that damned triangle guy, wasn’ it?” He spits. “Takin’ away Stanford niblings, torturing his brother,”
“Now he’s gonna cause the end of the world,” Mabel growls, glaring at the rift, as if she could scare it into submission.
“We can stop him,” Dipper claims, resolute. He’s not sure how much he believes his own words, but he can't stand his sister looking down anymore. “Ford built whatever the thing was. He should be able to figure out exactly what it is, what it will do, and how to counter it,”
“Anything he can’t figure out I can,” Fiddleford states. “Once I know which thingamajiggers he’s been handling, I should be able to put together a full schematic of what he was makin’,”
“That’s a plan then,” Dipper confirms. “We can do this. We rebuilt this portal with nothing but our bare hands and the help of everyone in the Falls, and we’ll defeat Bill the same way,”
“You make it sound so easy,” Mabel laughs. “But I’m in. Let’s go talk to our grunkles, and then we can rip that fucker a new one!”
Dipper rolls his eyes playfully at his sister. “‘Grunkle’ is never gonna catch on, Mabes,”
“You underestimate my power Dipper!” She declares. “It will catch on and it will spread! Like a disease!”
“Ok, either this pill is going to make everything better, or it will blow him up like a balloon ,” Lehoi mumbled to himself in his home language.
His sister had always teased him about getting attached to others too easily. When he was a little under 192 Moon Cycles, he had “befriended” a delivery man, and then had later cried when the man never responded to his pen pal letter. But not even getting stuck in one of the most life-threatening situations he’d ever been placed in had deterred him from his quick attachment.
He tried his best not to make friends. His first priority was his sister, after all. If he got swept up in everyone else (other’s he couldn’t save from this rotten place), then Zeena could be lost to him.
But those Buggi had intended to violate the human in a sadistic process that would’ve ended his life. It would’ve been a horrible way to go; torn from the inside, and burned by the Buggi’s acidic features. There was no way a human would have fought off a Buggi’s advancements. That was entirely why those bigger creatures had decided to pick on the physically weaker one
It was a cruel thing to do to anyone. But Lehoi had tried to ignore them. His sister’s life was on the line. An ally would be a detriment; watching his own back during the Games was already hard enough, but looking out for someone else; a human especially…
Lehoi had tried to ignore it. But he couldn’t. And he couldn’t resist promising the human he’d protect him. Because he had already gotten attached and desired a friendship from the man after two seconds of talking to him.
God, he hadn’t changed a bit, hadn’t he?
And now, here he was, skipping the only meal he’d get before the games started, risking everything by sneaking into the medical bay to steal supplies, and trying to help a fevered human survive. A human he’d only met yesterday, no less.
His father had always said he had a small brain, but a big heart.
Lehoi pulled off Stan's jacket, and lifted his shirt to see his back. The brand mark wasn’t the only scar this human had; his back could’ve been a horrifying tapestry. Skin was torn on the shoulders from what looked disgustingly like whipping. There were copious amounts of small holes, random burns, and bad stitch-jobs. Someone had carved words into his skin; twice. There was a second brand on the right hip; an R and an M. Lehoi didn’t know of any demon or monster who used those letters in their markings, but he hated them already. And those were just the scars on Stan’s back.
Obviously the human had been through a lot. It was obvious why Stan didn’t trust him (Lehoi wasn’t blind; he could tell when someone was suspicious of him). He would find his sister and get out of this rotten place along with her and this new friend of his. Then he’d take care of this human, and make sure he would make sure that nobody would ever hurt him again.
He applied burn cream to the brand mark, and used some disinfectant to clean the other wounds that had yet to scar. He sat Stan up, noticing the man was rather heavy for a human (though it still took no effort to move him), and cleaned the horrible stitching job on his stomach that seemed to tear with every little movement. The threads used were too weak, he noticed. It was a wonder that wound hadn’t come infected yet.
He added fresh gauze (being careful not to take too much, less the creatures that owned this disgusting place would notice) as bandages to everything, poked Stan awake.
Stan let out a tired moan. “Wassup?” He asked groggily, his voice slurring.
“It’s me, Lehoi,” The Ax-Tel spoke, fully aware that Stan was probably delirious. “I need you to drink some water. You have a fever, and the games are going to begin soon. You need to be able to stand,”
“Whatta ya’ talkin’ about, Stanford,” The human slurred. His eyes were glassy. Lehoi tried his best not to panic. “We can’t play games, we’re sick. We gotta stay in bed…”
“Stanford is your brother, right?” Lehoi asked. “And you want to see him again, right?”
Stan’s eyes went wide, but they still didn’t seem to register the world around him. “See him… See… No I can’t see ‘im. I still haven’t made up for…”
Lehoi gave up. “Whatever,” He said, filling a glass of water, and holding it to the human’s lips. “Drink this please,” Stan obeyed, much to his relief. “Now put this in your mouth,” He decided to chance it on the pills. They didn’t have many other options. He could hear the noise of chatter and footsteps not far off. The games were going to begin soon. If the two of them didn’t get to the arena in time, they’d be killed.
The first bell went off.
“Hurry! Drink this down!” Lehoi babbled. They had to leave, they had to leave, they had to leave…
Stan took the pill. The moment he swallowed, Lehoi grabbed him by the legs and carried him over his shoulder. He hoped that Stan would be aware enough to at least hold onto his back by the time they got to the arena. Lehoi would need both his hands for the games, and he suspected Stan wouldn’t appreciate being flipped upside down for too long, considering that humans didn’t take kindly to blood rushing to their heads (or was that Cormins? Zeena had always been better at interspecies biology than he was).
Lehoi ran out of the medical room, and quickly caught up to the other prisoners, and began walking with them. He caught the eye of one of the Buggi’s who had attacked Stan; the one he didn’t squish. The creature glared at him. Lehoi prayed that this creature wouldn’t draw one of the good cards today.
Stan mumbled something.
“Stan, what is it?” Lehoi stopped running moving instantly, allowing his friend a break from the movement. “Are you ok?”
“It’s cold,”
“But you're sweating and it’s probably 9.64 Watt out here!” Lehoi replied. Was feeling cold a part of a human fever? Ax-Tels never had that symptom. (Granted, Ax-Tels rarely survived fever’s long enough to have much of any symptoms, but then again, human’s where different)
Stan was shaking. “It’s so cold. I wanna go home now. I wanna see mom,”
There’s a desperation in this man’s voice. Lehoi can tell that wherever Stan came from, he hadn’t seen his mother in a very long time. And if he had come from one of the inaccessible dimensions or planets, it was unlikely he would ever see his mother again.
“I’m sorry, Stan,” Lehoi murmured quietly. “Just try to stay alive. We can get out of here as soon as I find my sister. Then the two of us will help you find your home, and your brother. I promise. I’ll even make sure you get to see your mother again,”
Lehoi never did keep that promise.
Someone is entering the hospital room. Ford can tell from the sound of footsteps.
Stan had fallen back to sleep a little while ago. Ford continues to hold his brother close, listening to his breath. It sounded more even and relaxed then it had in years. It was a relief.
Nobody will hurt his brother again, if Ford has anything to say about it.
He sits up, despite his muscle’s protesting, and comes face to face with a tall young woman with a pixie-cut bob of red hair, dressed in flannel. She looks muscular; strong. Threatening.
“Stay back!” Ford threatens. “I know of several ways to kill you instantly and I will not hesitate to use all of them!”
“Whoa, dude! Calm down!” The woman holds up her hands in mock surrender. “I’m friends with Dipper and Mabel. They asked me to keep an eye on you,”
Stan reaches out to the vacant spot Ford just left, whimpering. He’s still asleep, but it’s obvious that Ford’s lack of presence is distressing him.
Ford lays down and holds his brother close, glaring at the woman every so often. He wraps protective arms around his brother, almost daring her to try something.
He'll kill her if she tries to hurt Stanley. He’ll kill anyone who tries to hurt him.
“I’m Wendy,” The woman introduces herself, sitting in one of the chairs next to the bed. She then looks at Ford’s casted foot with a raised eyebrow. “Shouldn’t you be elevating that?”
When Ford didn’t respond, the woman– Wendy– gets out of her chair, and unhooks the sling at Ford’s original bed from the ceiling, and brings it over to where he is now. She hooks it back up, and reaches for his leg.
Ford kicks at her with the non-broken one, causing Wendy to back up. “Dude, settle down!” She demanded. “I’m just gonna elevate your leg. Nothing else. I won’t touch you or your brother. I’m just elevating the leg,”
Ford watches her every move, suspiciously. But she’s true to her word. She simply puts his leg in the sling, and then sits back down.
“Where’s my stuff?” Ford asked her.
“It’s in a lock-box,” Wendy assures him. “You’ll get it back the moment your released from in here,”
Ford squints at her. She was one of the people who were in the basement when he stepped out of the portal. She was involved.
“What did you do?” He demands from her.
“Uh… Come again?”
“The Portal! How did you activate it?” Ford snapped, keeping his glare. “Why? What do you know about the Pines twins? Who else knows about it?!” He wants answers. He needs information. Only then can he keep Stanley safe. It does occur to him that this Wendy girl can easily lie to him about everything, but he’d rather have something than nothing.
“Ok, chill,” She laughs, sounding patient. “One question at a time, dude. What do you want to know first?”
Though this woman seemed honest enough, one couldn’t be too sure. He gives her a scrutinizing look that would often intimidate all he used it on. She didn’t seem phased.
She could easily lie to him. She could easily give Ford false answers, hiding the true motives of the ones who opened the portal. But, as always, he’d rather have vague lies that could possibly hold some information in them, than nothing to go on, and therefore no information at all.
“How did you activate the portal?” He asks her, deciding that would be the first important question.
Wendy gives him a nonchalant shrug and answers. “We read your crazy books, cracked all your codes, talked to cryptids, put in some elbow grease, and stole a bunch of radioactive waste from the government. You know, normal kid stuff,” She jokes.
Ford narrows his eyes. The woman’s tone seems honest and genuine, though she could just be a good liar. But that wasn’t what bothered him. What bothered him was how casual she seemed about the entire portal business.
“You do realize what you did was very dangerous, right?” Ford questions. Wendy’s only response is a shrug, much to Ford’s confusion. “What you did could’ve ended the world. I wrote warnings in my journals, please tell me you where at least somewhat aware of that,”
Wendy just shrugs again, and Ford can feel impatience creeping in on him. “Dude, you wrote your warnings in invisible ink. We didn’t see them until like, a few years ago, at which point we were way past the point of giving up,”
“But you did see them,” He scowls.
“Yeah, but who cares!” Wendy brushes him off. “We met a nice old guy who wanted to see his bro’s again, and two awesome kids who just wanted to make their grandpa happy. How could we have not finished the project,”
So, either this group of people are masterminds working for Bill, or they are all incredibly irresponsible idiots , Ford concludes to himself, taking extra care not to say that out loud this time.
“How many people know about this?” Ford demands. Motivations and irresponsibility aside, it would be good to know how wide these people’s circle, and perhaps, consequently, Bill’s circle, was.
Wendy shrugs again. Ford is starting to get very tired of that movement. “The whole town,” She eventually says, casually, as if he should’ve expected it.
And honestly, Ford thinks, he should have. Mistrust aside, it was becoming clear that the group of technically-adults-but-still-definitely-children who opened his portal were all very poor decision-makers. They ignored countless warnings, somehow alerted the government, and apparently only got the government to go away because of a law created after an incident involving the dangerous side of supernatural running around ramped thanks to them. Of course they wouldn’t keep such dangerous matters private. It would’ve been ideal to keep the portal project a secret so the wrong hands wouldn’t get to them, and of course , nobody kept it secret.
“WHAT?!” Ford eventually shouts out.
Wendy seemed unfazed by his volume. “Yeah, pretty much everyone got in on this project. My dad and his friends did some heavy lifting, I got my friends to help me steal the shit we needed, we bargained with gnomes, Multi-bear was a great help, Lazy Susan would bring us snacks…”
“Listen,” Ford breathed out. “It’s not like I’m not grateful for what you’ve done. Thanks to your actions, my brother is finally safe,” He turns his gaze to his younger twin, who’s still sound asleep. Every so often, Stan’s face scrunches up into a grimace, and he whimpers out sounds of distress. A sure sign of a nightmare crawling into him. But whenever this would happen, Ford lightly strokes his hair and whispers words of comfort, and Stanley’s face would turn back to one of a peaceful, hopefully deep sleep.
“His safety and happiness is the most important thing to me, so yes, thank you for assuring it, or at least some of it,” Ford sighs, eyeing the bandages and the cast on his brother. Bill’s plays come to the forefront of his mind. The ones he had to sit through plagued his vision whenever he closed his eyes. He couldn’t imagine what it would’ve been like for Stanley, who would be subjected to those plays for days on end, depending on how long Ford’s fetch-quest trips ended up being. Not to mention those plays would be personally tailored to torment his brother in all the worst ways.
The real Zeena Exlotle would’ve never looked at Stanley with such hatred.
“But,” Ford continues, giving his attention to Wendy. “The consequences of the actions you took could be dire. There’s are great evils beyond your imagination that are desperate to get their hands on—”
“You mean Bill?”
Her interruption takes him by surprise. “What?”
“Dorito in a top hat,” Wendy elaborates. “That asshole has been harassing us since we started this project. Been trying to make deals with us and shit,”
“So you know him,” Ford growls.
“He’s been in my dreams more than once, but I’ve never seen him in person,” Wendy shrugs, though her eyes hold worry. “He kept messing with my friends though. If I ever really meet him, I’m gonna punch him in the eye,”
“Did anyone you know make a deal with him?” Ford demands. “Did anyone shake his hand?”
Wendy laughs. “A lot of people actually. The bastard is pretty good at what he does,” A dark look suddenly falls onto her face. “He came to my dad in a dream, and said he could bring our mom back if he shook his hand. It took us a month to get the creep out,”
Ford’s gut churns in anxiety. There's genuine hatred in Wendy’s voice, and he’s sure that she is at least not an ally of Bills. But her words bring little comfort. This place; Gravity Falls, was not safe from his influence. It hadn’t been thirty years ago when he left it, and it wasn’t now. There wasn’t any way to get away from Bill. The demon would haunt him forever.
He’d think he’d learn better than to have hope of escaping Bill’s shadow after the last time he’d assumed himself free.
Before he can say anything, he can feel his brother stir.
“Ford, you’re back,” Stan hums, seeming a bit delirious. “W-where are we?”
“We’re in a hospital, remember Stanley?” Ford reminds his brother gently, keeping his voice soft. “We got away from Bill. We’re on our original Earth”
“Right, right,” Stan chuckles softly. “Right, we’re safe,”
Ford grimaces, knowing that, sure, things may be alright for the moment, but they’re definitely not safe.
But they’re ok for now. He’d take that.
“Hey, he’s awake!” Wendy cheers. “Dude, you alright? Dipper and Mabel are worried sick about you,”
Stan lifts an eyebrow. “And you are?”
“Wendy,” She says. “I’m part of the team that helped to rescue you guys,”
Stan nods his head, and stares her down for a few seconds. Ford can tell he’s analyzing her.
Eventually, his brother shrugs, before hissing out in pain. “Damn it, everything hurts,” He grumbles. Ford carefully pulls Stan closer to him, rubbing circles on his back.
“If you don’t mind me asking,” Wendy chimes in from where she’s sitting, “What the hell happened to you two?”
Stan and Ford share a look, silently communicating.
Can we trust her?
I don’t know .
Stan responds first. “A demon kidnapped and tortured us. Not much too it,”
“It was Bill, wasn’t it?” Wendy questions.
Ford can feel his brother shiver. He kept a steady grip on Stan, making sure to keep him grounded to reality. “It’s ok,” He whispers to him. “We’re going to be ok. I won’t let anything hurt you again,”
Wendy’s face twisted into something bitter. “As if he already hasn’t given me enough reason to kick his ass,” She spat. “Don’t worry. We’ll kill him,”
She says it with enough conviction that Ford wants to believe her, but even if she was trustworthy, the likelihood that some young woman in her twenties would be enough to kill Bill was slim.
Ford had been trying to do that for thirty years, and he failed spectacularly.
“But enough about that, anyways,” Wendy pushes the subject away, for which Ford is grateful. No need to dwell on his failures, or to terrify his brother. Ford would figure out what to do about Bill later. Alone. Away from his brother.
He was done dragging Stanley into his mess. His brother had paid for his mistakes enough. He wouldn’t let his demons hurt Stan again.
“I heard from the twins that you had a family. You wanna talk about them?” She asks.
Stan looks heartbroken, and Ford glares at her.
“Or not, I guess,” Wendy laughs nervously. “If it’s still a sore spot for you, then—”
“No,” Stan interrupts, grunting out in pain. Whether the pain is from the injuries or the other thing is up for debate. “It’s alright. I can talk about ‘em,”
Wendy gives him a sympathetic smile. “I’m serious, if you’d rather not talk about it, that’s fine. Just do whatever your most comfortable with, man,”
Ford turns away from the girl, looking at his brother. His twin’s broken expression kills him.
Ford remembered meeting his nephew for the first time like it was yesterday. A cute little boy with curly brown hair and pink-ish frills growing where a human’s ears would have been. Little chocolate colored orbs for eyes, and a small, frilled tail. The boy had been two years old at the time. He’d never seen his brother so happy as when he held the little kid out to Ford for admiration. Stan and Ford had both done some messed up things in their lives, but the existence of that little boy, and eventually his younger sisters, and the boy’s own children, made up for everything. Stan’s smile had been brighter than a thousand suns.
The moment the Ax-Tel genocide had started, Ford knew he would never see his brother smile like that again.
“I guess I just miss ‘em,” Stan eventually whispers out, sadly.
Wendy nods. “Yeah, I get that,” She hums. “It sucks to lose someone”
That, both twins can agree on. They fall into a silence.
Zeena and Lehoi had quickly become some of Ford’s best friends. And Zeena had been such a good match for Stanley. They held the same energy, both wild in their dreams and passions, but were still enough to drag the other back down to earth if needed. Ford had seen his brother in love before; heck, when Stan was young, the kid was quite girl-crazy and a little bit boy-crazy too, if he really thought about it. But the difference between crushes and girlfriends and a wife was significant. There was so much joy in his brother’s eyes. Ford held fond memories of Stan dancing with her, scooping his wife into his arms bridal style, and spinning around with her, before smushing his face into hers and kissing her in a gross yet wholesome display of affection. It was a heartwarming thing to watch.
Then, of course, there were the children. Meeting Stanford Jr. had been one of the best days of Ford’s life. He had finally been able to understand emotions that had never made sense to him before, such as unconditional adoration and love at first sight. Junior was kind and intelligent, with a curious mind and a thirst for knowledge. He was an artist, much like Stan had been when he was younger. And most admirably, Junior was fiercely protective of his family. The boy had grown into an amazing young man, with his own wife, and a pair of twins to prove it. Watching Stan hold his son’s kids was amazing. It was as if his brother had been made to be a grandfather. And Stanford playful fighting Lehoi over which great uncle would hold the twins first had been a precious memory of its own.
Sarmin, Stan’s oldest daughter, and the second child, was goofy, wholesome, and a whole lot smarter than she gave herself credit for. She was fiercely loyal, and despite being one of the kindest people Ford had ever met, she wouldn’t hesitate to break the nose of someone who threatened or talked shit about her family. She was strong enough to fight through her numerous self-esteem issues, and brave enough to continue being herself no matter how much shit she was given for it. Ford had wished that he’d been more like her when he was a kid.
Last but not least of the children had been Caryn; named after their mother. She was bouncy and bubbly; a colorful kid with an unbreakable energy, who craved adventure more than anything. Between the three of Stan’s kids, Caryn had been the one Ford was closest with. She was the one who begged to go on adventures with her uncle as he did his best to take down Bill Cipher. When she turned 15, Stan had deemed her old enough to follow Ford on some of his less dangerous missions, and she had been phenomenal. Always offering her creative insight, courage, and raw determination. She had been clinging to her uncle’s back, cheering Ford on as he shot Bill straight in the eye with his quantum destabilizer, thinking he had finally gotten rid of his enemy for good, and Caryn Exlotle-Pines had been right besides him, celebrating his victory.
Then Bill came back two years later and took that little ball of spirit away from him. He would make the demon regret that. He’d make Bill regret everything he had ever done to him, his brother, and his brother’s family.
“Hey, Ford,” Stan suddenly says, disrupting the quiet. “Do you still have the picture?”
Ford instinctually reaches for the chest pocket of his coat, only to remember he’s wearing a hospital gown. “Ah! Where is it?” He almost panics.
That picture was the most precious item he and Stan had. If it was lost—,
“Is the thing you want with your clothing? ‘Cause it’s probably in the lock-box, then,” Wendy tells them. “It’s a picture, right? I can go grab it for you if you need me too,” She stands up, pausing in wait for them to give her permission.
Ford buries his suspicion. He couldn’t imagine what she would want with a photograph, and he didn’t think she was cruel enough to destroy a man’s sacred picture.
“Yes, please,” Ford answers. “That would be great,”
“Thanks” Stan offers. “It’d be really nice to have that right now,”
Wendy nods, and leaves the room, leaving the brothers in quiet once again.
“You should probably get some more sleep,” Ford suggests.
Stan just laughs, “Jeez, like your one to talk, Sixer. Besides, I’ve been sleeping for a while now. I’m not tired,” He lets out a yawn.
“Yes, very much not tired,” Ford laughs, rolling his eyes. “Sleep helps to heal injuries, you know,”
“This isn’t D,D, & more D, Ford,” Stan quips, his voice light. “You can’t magically sleep off the injuries,”
“Yes, but it does help. I’ve done the science,”
Stan quirks an eyebrow. “If you’ve done the science why is it still a pain in the ass to get you to sleep?”
“Who needs sleep when there’s coffee?” Ford jokes, knowing very well that he should not be lecturing his brother about sleeping.
“Does coffee heal injuries?” Stan laughs along with him, before closing his eyes, and taking Ford's advice. “Mmm, ‘night Poindexter,”
“It’s actually around four o’clock in the afternoon,” Ford corrects.
“I said goodnight, Poindexter ,”
Ford chuckles, holding his brother close, and closing his eyes himself. It was peaceful and quiet. Maybe sleep was a good idea.
The door suddenly slams open, and the twins who were supposedly Pines (It seemed unlikely that they weren’t at this point, but he still had to look into that) came bursting into the room rather loudly.
“Grunkle Ford! Grunkle Ford! Grunkle Ford!” The girl, Mabel, he remembers her name was, shouts. What the hell is a Grunkle? “Grunkle Ford, wereallyreallyreallyneedyoutotellussomething right now. That demon guy, Bill, theonewhokeepsmessingwithyoutwo, madeyoubuildsomesortofmachine, andhe’sgonnatrytoendtheworldusingitsodoyouthinkyoucanfigureoutwhatitisfromthepartshehadyoucollect?”
“What?” Ford questioned. Her words were fast and somewhat hard to understand, but he did know she was asking something about Bill, and a machine.
“Bill made you build something,” Dipper speaks, slower than his sister. “He sent you to collect parts, and then build something. What do you think it was?”
“How did you know that?!” Ford snaps, once again, laying a protective arm over Stan, despite his brother’s tired protest. Nobody had told those two that specific kind of information. Sure, it may be easy to see that they’d recently escaped Bills torture, what with his signature on them and all, and according to Wendy, Bill had been messing with the town and these two kids for all eight years of the two of them working on their project. But how did they know why Bill had been holding his brother hostage?
“Not important right now,” Mabel said quickly. Dipper gave her a perplexed look. “But we need to know what you were building or the world might end!”
“What do you mean that’s not important!?” Ford demands.
“Yeah, Mabel,” Dipper questions his sister, his voice much softer than Fords. “Why don’t you wanna tell them?”
“Because I just don’t!” Mabel snaps. “Besides, it’s not necessary information at the moment. What is necessary is that—”
“Why would I tell you anything?” Ford interrupts her. “I don’t trust either of you,”
“Maybe not them,” Chimes a third voice. “But you trust me, don’t cha?”
Ford’s eyes widen. His posture is horrible, making him look short and hunched over, and he has a white beard and the demeanor of a hillbilly. But the southern accent, the long nose, and rain-colored eyes are unmistakable.
“Fiddleford McGucket,” Ford gasps out softly. “Well, I’ll be damned,”
“That’s my line,” His old friend chimes with a smile. “It’s good to finally see ya again, Stanf’rd,”
Ford can only stare at the man in amazement, too shocked to say anything. After all these years. He honestly thought he would’ve never seen his friend again.
Stan sits up slowly, a teasing smile on his face. “Aw, Sixer, is that the 'cute farm boy' you were always going on abou…” His voice stops in its tracks. He’s staring at Dipper with wide eyes.
Stanley suddenly starts to tear up.
“Goddamn, you were right, Ford. He looks jus’ like my son,”
There was a blackness, and Ford fretted for a moment that the wormhole he had jumped into was going to kill him. He was falling towards a bright light, and he didn’t know what was going to happen.
Suddenly, he exited the wormhole, and fell down into what seemed to be a pile of garbage.
All around him was the most random of shit. A few broken toilets, a mattress or two, food, what seemed to be an exoskeleton, papers, books, toys, clothes, forks, blenders, and a plumbus. The waste was surrounded by liquid that might have been water, but Ford wasn’t sure. The sky around him was grey, and filled to the brim with hundreds upon thousands of wormholes, each dumping out something arbitrary every few seconds.
There was a city on the horizon, past the field of junk. Ford slid off the pile, cringing as he landed in the dirty water that soaked into his socks and his perfectly clean pants goddamn it he just washed those fuckers two days ago, what the hell!? He started heading towards it, trying his best not to breathe through his nose. The entire place smelled like old socks.
Stan was still alive, that Ford was sure of. He didn’t know where Stan was, what was happening to him, if he was safe or not, if he was in pain, or…
Ford stopped walking, giving him a proper second to think. His brother was still alive. He’d know if Stanley was dead; the alien refugees had said so. Unless their faith in the power of twins was nothing but some pseudo-religious nonsense that had no science behind it but he couldn’t think about that now. He had twin powers, and his twin power would tell him.
If Stan was alive, he could be saved, and he could be found. Ford just had to figure out a way to do it.
Ford pressed his fingers to his temples, and concentrated really hard, screwing his eyes shut and scrunching his face for added effect. “Twin powers, ACTIVATE!!” He shouted, throwing his fingers into the sky, hoping to unlock whatever dormant power lied in there.
Nothing happened. He figured as much. “Well, it was worth a shot,” Ford muttered in disappointment.
He continued his trek to the city.
It looked to be futuristic; straight out of a sci-fi movie. The closer he got, the more details he could see: the metal was shiny and reflective, the buildings were tall and covered in bright lights, and the skyline was filled with hovercrafts of some kind floating around. He would’ve been absolutely delighted to be in a place like this if he was in any other circumstance.
He had no idea how he was going to find his brother, or how he was going to destroy Bill Cipher. He knew Stanley had to take priority. He wasn’t sure what his brother had gotten into; he could be in any kind of danger, life threatening or otherwise. Time was limited, and Stan’s life was on the line. He had to put his brother first.
Ford took a moment to laugh at himself. Here he was, yelling at his brother for putting his safety first, yet he was doing the same thing.
Maybe he wasn’t as cruel as he thought he would be. The thought gave him little comfort. He still had said terrible things to his real friends. He still made a mistake that almost cost everything. He still abandoned his family. He still dragged his brother into his mess.
Maybe not flapping hard enough wasn’t Icarus's problem.
The walk to the city is long and boring, but it gives him time to think. He regretted dragging Stanley into his mess, but he wonders what would’ve happened to his brother if he didn’t. Would he have ever called his brother? Would his brother have called him? They were both stubborn; he didn’t believe Stan would go to him for help. Why would Stan want to drag Ford into his mess if Ford wished he had never dragged Stan into his. He had always resented having to clean up after his brother when he was younger, but now that he thought about it, it’d always been the other way around. Whenever Stan was in trouble, he kept it secret from Ford.
When they were eight years old, Stan had fallen asleep in the class of a teacher that didn’t like him, and was sent to the principal's office. Stan had been freaked out about getting in trouble with his father. So, Ford played a prank on the same teacher, getting himself in trouble as well, so that Stan wouldn’t have to face the consequences alone.
They’re dad had growled at Stan something fierce after that.
Stan would take shortcuts as a little kid. He’d get by by lying and cheating, and everyone Ford knew would always ask him why he stuck around his brother. Everyone had always told him his brother was leeching off of him. He was ashamed to have believed it.
He wished he’d called his mother a little more. He wished he actually took the time to visit Shermie’s family in California. He wished he bothered to try and contact Stan before this whole mess started. He had access to an all-knowing mailbox. Finding his brother would’ve been easy if he had just bothered to try.
He hoped Fiddleford was doing good. He prayed to god that the memory gun had been destroyed, but a small part of him said it wasn’t. That Fiddleford was still using it.
If only he’d just listened . If only he quit while he was ahead. His twin was gone, his friend was gone, he’d probably never be able to contact the other members of his family again…
He finally arrived at a barb-wire gate that separated the junk field from the city. Climbing over it was easy enough.
He trailed through under-ways, avoiding the looks of shady and large aliens that constantly stared. The neighborhoods that sat at the border between the city and the junk pile reminded him of those “bad parts of town” in New Jersey that their mom never let them go into.
Probably because they weren’t allowed to go into there, Stan took Ford to explore that neighborhood when they were twelve. An older, scary looking man ended up leading them away from even scarier people who seemed ready for a fight. It occurred to Ford now that the two of them might have walked into a gang fight.
Had Stan been into a gang fight during his travels? Ford didn’t mention it, but he hadn’t missed the scars hidden under chest hair and belly fat. Where had Stan possibly gotten those.
He didn’t want to take off his shirt, even to let Ford treat his wound. What had been under there that Stan didn’t want his brother to see?
He hoped his brother was ok. He had two open wounds, one from the brand on his back, and another from the torn stitches in his stomach. He also had a few other recent stitch jobs that may not have torn, but they weren’t that good. The wounds could have possibly been infected by now. If Stan was lucky, whatever place he ended up may have had a hospital, and people kind enough to treat a sick human.
He didn’t want to think about what would happen if Stan hadn't been lucky.
“Whatcha got there, human?” A grumbled voice sounds behind him. Ford whips around, pulling out the taser-like weapon that the refugee’s in the nightmare realm had packed for him. He kept it in his head that he’d have to come back for those four at some point.
The creature was a giant, frog-looking thing. Ford only came up to its belly.
“If you try to attack me, you’ll regret it!” Ford declared, knowing full well that the thing would be able to kick his ass easily.
The man laughed. “Listen, human, I know your species doesn't really get out much, but here’s some advice,” The man grabbed Ford by his shirt color and lifted him up to his face. The movement was so sudden and jarring that Ford dropped the taser. “You’re at the Dumping Grounds kid. Everyone here is gonna be bigger and tougher than you, a human, can ever be, so don’t provoke us,”
The frog man threw Ford onto the ground. He landed roughly, letting out a yelp. He scrambled to grab his weapon, but his opponent easily crushed it under his foot. “Just give me your shit, and I won’t have to pull it off your corpse,” He bargained.
Fighting was obviously the stupid option. So, Ford got up and ran.
He sprinted quickly as he could, adrenaline pumping into his legs as the alien shouted at him. He heard the sound of a heavy feat chasing him.
Don’t look back, don’t look back, don’t look back, don’t look back!!!
There was a crowded street one ally away. He made a break for it. He’d blend in with the crowd, and the mugger couldn’t do much against him without making a scene. He’d just shuffle through, until he could find a decent enough samaritan to tell him where he was, what was going on, and how to get access to other dimensions. Each alien in the crowd was a different shape, size, and color, from each other. This “Dumping Ground”, as the mugger had called it, was obviously some inter-dimensional drop-off point.
A big fist grabbed him by the head and he was shoved to the ground. Everything went black.
When Ford woke up, his coat, and all his stuff were gone. The only thing he had left on him was his torn-up button-up, his T-shirt, and his pants. The mugger even took his shoes. Ford looked at his wrist, hoping that the guy at least let him keep his interdimensional translator.
“Oh, thank heavens, I still have it!” Ford cried joyously upon seeing the watch-like contraption still attached to his wrist. If he didn’t have that, he wasn’t sure how he’d possibly get bye. As much as he succeeded in math, science, literature, art, and history, his extra language tended to elude him. He managed to crawl through Latin holding a B, and his Greek was still messy. Stanley had always been much better at learning foreign languages.
Stan had told him that he was easily able to pick up on the lessons in his German classes because language was something you learned by listening, which had always been much easier for Stan than learning from books. His twin was more of a hands-on kind of person; a creative type, their mother had said. Plus, Stan had always told him that the words on a page always looked floaty and mixed up. Reading had never come easy for his brother.
Ford took a brief moment to wonder if Stan’s reading trouble was something to do with his eyes, or his cognitive abilities. Maybe both. Maybe there was a way to help him.
Maybe he should’ve been more patient with his brother when they were young. Maybe they could’ve stuck together, and none of this would’ve ever happened. If anyone could’ve stuck it to Bill before he had even tried anything, it would’ve been his brother.
Ford walked out into the crowd. He still had his translator on hand, thank heavens, but he had no other resource. No weapons, no food, no water, no money (Had the refugees even given him any money? Would this place have accepted his currency?)
The city was crowded, and each intake of air Ford breathed felt as if it was full of smoke. He took his tie and tied it around his mouth and nose to limit the dust, though it was arguable whether or not that made breathing easier or harder, or if it even had any effect.
Silver buildings reached into the air, each one covered at every angle with neon signs flashing advertisements for various things, both recognizable, and unrecognizable. Two aliens that looked like cows sat on one screen in what appeared to be a news broadcast. A troupe of overly peppy alien girls who’s skin where each different colors of the rainbow, danced happily on a commercial for some sort of drink. It reminded Ford very much of a futuristic version of what he heard New York City to be like, though he never had visited the place, despite it being so close to home.
The screens all suddenly changed to a “special announcement”, from the one’s displaying advertisements to the ones with tv shows. The purple title card faded away to a picture of a humanoid woman with a large amount of curly blue hair, and tattoos all over her face and body. She was dressed in an overly-elegant ball gown, with gems of all kinds adorning every inch of her outfit. She wore a glittering crown atop her head, clearly marking her as some sort of monarch of this place.
“You poor dears of the Dumping Grounds, who have been displaced from their homes. You may be lost, unwanted, and forgotten. But I assure you, that I, your Queen, have found you. If you are unwanted, I will want you. If you are forgotten, then I will remember you. As long as you continue to serve your queen, I will continue to serve you. There is no way off of this place, but I assure you, you will never need to be anywhere else.
You may have heard words of a rebellion stirring in the Clocks District. These rumors are unfortunately true; there are many horrible and ungrateful people in this world that hope to disturb the peace. So, would you, my sweet, and loyal citizens, do a kind favor for the queen that took you in so lovingly? Would you kindly do your best to help me quench this rebellion,”
Ford tuned out the rest of this “Queen’s” speech, but glared up at her image on screen. She was a manipulator; he could tell that instantly. Now that he knew what signs to look for, he could easily spot them.
He mulled over her speech, going over her words in his head with suspicion. She claimed that there was no way off the Dumping Ground. He supposed he’d just have to ask her personally if her claim was true.