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After weeks of toiling away, studying magics and practices he'd never really seriously considered using before, and after going to any length to get all the ingredients he needed, Stanford finally stood over his brother, ready for the nightmare to be over.
It had been so stupid, really, that a split-second reaction could topple a mountain. But the proof was in the pudding, and Ford prided himself on building anything from the ground up- his life, his career, his friendships, his house- and now, this. He'd taken the broken pieces and replaced them, sewing up his mistakes into something better.
He took in a breath, giving the body one more look-over, before his face hardened with resolve.
"This is it," he murmured to him. "Just hang on, Stanley. I'm almost done."
He strode over to the lever mounted on the wall of his study, and heaved it downward.
Electricity crackled through the air, and Ford watched with detached fascination as the body spasmed. His hairs stood on end, fingers twitching.
After approximately ten seconds, Ford pushed the lever back up, halting the flow, and waited.
The body remained still.
Ford felt his body loosen, eyeing his brother with a half-lidded gaze. "C'mon, Stanley," he grumbled, "now's not the time. You-" he swallowed, "you gotta get up."
He stepped closer, and could swear he heard the faint traces of breathing. But as he closed in, there was no such thing.
His fingers felt for a pulse. He felt the very last beat of a weak heart before it stilled again.
His breath caught in his throat. "NO!" He darted over to the medical shelves he'd brought in, ransacked from a hospital a ways away, and grabbed defibrillators. He rushed back, flicking them on and rubbing them together, not caring about any of the other steps involved. He only heard the hum of electricity before he slammed them down on Stan's chest, watching his body twitch violently.
But he still remained as he was.
Ford shook his head, then did it again, shouting "COME ON!" as cold metal met cold flesh.
Still, nothing.
Ford panted, shaking away tears as he did it one more time. He raised his arms up, taking a deep breath. "I don't care what I have to do," he growled, "just GIVE HIM BACK TO ME!"
He slammed the controllers down one last time, and a bright flash of white enveloped the room.
Ford raised his hands up to block it, but it remained. The world had gone quiet. Eerily so. It reminded him of when Bill would visit, how their surroundings would go greyscale as he sped up his thoughts- or as he slowed down time.
Floating above his brother was a large, pink salamander.
Ford took a step back, then hardened his resolve. "Where is he?" he demanded.
The creature tilted its head at him, making a soft noise of pity. "He is in my care," it responded, voice soft and ethereal- an opposite to the shrill sound of Cipher's voice.
Ford shook his head. "Well, release him! He's not yours to own!"
It tutted, swimming through the air a bit towards him. "I do not own him," it stated plainly.
"Then you should have no qualms giving him to me!"
"You do not own him, either."
Ford sputtered. "I never said I did!"
It gazed at him sadly, then swam upwards in the opposite direction. "Stanley Pines lived a hard life," it said, softly. "He is now resting. He is more at peace now than he was before."
Ford felt something pulling at his heart at that, but he shook his head, trying to dislodge the feeling. "I can give him that. His death was an accident, I do not wish for him to- to go away, just yet."
The salamander shook its head, frills swaying gently. "You cannot even speak the word."
"What does that matter?" Ford grumbled towards the ground. "I'm making it up to him, aren't I?"
"That is not your decision to make."
"Then whose is it?" Ford's head snapped back up. He crossed his arms, glaring. "Is it yours?"
"It is his."
Ford paused, letting his arms drop. "He's here? Can he hear me?"
The god of death shook its head. "He may return if he wishes. But I do not give up those in my care often." It swam closer, just in front of Ford's face. "Stanford Pines, if I return him, you must look after him. I do not wish him to return to the life he had before. He shall not return to needless suffering."
Ford paused, brows creasing. "Needless suffering?"
"He shall tell you," its wispy voice said, "it time. Should he choose."
Ford swallowed. He took a step forward, lifting his eyes to meet the creature's. "He won't suffer anymore," he declared, making sure his voice was loud and clear. "I'll take care of him. And if we…" he glanced away for just a moment, "if we drift apart, or separate, he'll always be welcome in my home again."
The beast paused, then nodded. It turned away from him, swimming up towards the sky and disappearing behind the light.
A moment later, it swam back down, carrying a familiar face in its small arms. He was limp, eyes closed.
Peaceful.
"He is ready," the axolotl said. "He shall see you soon."
As it began to carefully place the spirit down on the table, Ford felt his heart lurch in hope.
Time began to resume, the light disappearing as the defibrillators went off. The force of them knocked Ford back a bit, stumbling as he reached out for any surface to catch himself on.
From the table, Stanley gasped.
Ford's head snapped up, his eyes taking in every detail. Stan was breathing, face twitching in discomfort while his hands flexed and bent, likely stiff.
Ford dropped the equipment, startling Stan into opening his eyes.
Ford took a small step forward. "…Stanley?"
Stan didn't react immediately. He instead let his eyes roam across Ford for a moment, taking in how battered and tired he must look.
But then he smiled, letting his head fall back onto the table. "Hey, Poindexter."