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The footsteps thundered ominously through the castle, violent screaming and cursing echoing across the walls.
The twins shook in fear as they hastily changed out of their own clothes.
Stan unbuttoned his vest and shrugged out of it, dropping it on the floor beside his brother's feet. Ford did the same with his tan, tattered trench coat.
As Stan took off his pants and shoes, he looked at Ford through the corner of his eye. Ford had his sweater off and his back was to him. Stan paused for a moment and was almost entranced by the sight.
Ford's back and shoulders were marred and his skin was discoloured in many places. Blisters from old burns left faded black streaks across his spine. One scar on his back stood raised, ripping across the lower right side of his back to the top of his left shoulder. Smaller scars crawled across his back like cobwebs and it made Stan shudder.
The new wounds were even more daunting. Deep, fleshy burns sunk deep inside his muscle, the skin dark and dead. Freshly clotted wounds crossed painfully across his neck and spine. His pigment of skin was much darker with char and ash. His body quivered weakly as he stood and his breath was audible and hard. Stan noticed that his fingers twitched violently as he tried to take his muddy boots off.
Stan felt a pang of anger pulse through him. He didn’t know what had happened to Ford and he wasn’t sure he really wanted to find out. Something inside his gut told him that the stupid triangle had something to do with this. Whatever torture his brother had endured had to be because of that demon; the burns, the cuts; the abated breath and redness around his neck and wrists. The hatred boiled inside his stomach, an involuntary growl raising his in chest. He was going to kill that triangle.
Stan didn’t realize he was biting his lip until he tasted blood. He quickly struggled to compose himself, clenching his fists. He released short, tense breaths, the edges of his vision dark in anger. Despite his intense fury, reason started to seep into his mind, calming him down slightly. He was finally able to release a sigh, his body relaxing a little. In the small moment of peace, Stan finally found his mind to thank whatever god was watching them. Whatever force was keeping Ford alive was a strong one but Stan wasn't sure how long it would stay that way.
His brother’s body seemed to be rotting away. With every breath he took, it seemed harder for him to take another one. His chest heaved unnaturally and the scars on his back stretched across his skin. Pain laced his shuddering air and his legs shook from where he stood.
Ford suddenly paused and turned to him slightly, seeming to sense Stan's silence. Stanley reverted his eyes back to his task, but the image of Ford's back wouldn't leave his mind.
He'd hate to see what the rest of his body looked like.
After a few more minutes, they had finally managed to switch their clothing and Stan adjusted the fez on Ford's head in the perfect position.
It was surreal to Stan, almost terrifying, to see himself standing before him in flesh and blood. What was even more terrifying was to see himself in a way he had never seen himself before, or at least in a way he hadn't seen in a long time. His eyes were fuzzy and bloodshot, dark, tired circles encasing the space around them. His cheekbones peeked from his skin and his jawline seemed thin, probably from starvation. His brows were knit in pain and his mouth was curled in a grimace. His shoulders sagged and the angry red wounds across his neck spread up and into his chin.
Stan made a small sound deep inside his throat, a mix between the words he wanted to say and a whine of pain for his brother. Ford's eyes focused at the sound and he looked painfully at Stan. He gave a weak, saddened smile and he straightened the trench coat on his brother's shoulders. His fingers trembled as he did so.
Stan breathed out and Ford's hands paused on his shoulders and his face became dark again. "It's not worth it." He said quietly in a voice softer than a whisper. The tone was hoarse and dry, but the words were clear.
"Ford, I don't wanna hear it." Stan said in response, his voice soft but also chiding. "If this will save you and the kids, I’m willing to make that sacrifice.”
"It should be me, Stan." Ford looked down, his hands dropping to Stan’s elbows.
Stan became aggravated and shrugged out of Ford's hands. "Stop it. Stop trying to be the hero. This is not about you anymore. Wait, no. It was never about you. This is about the kids; the world."
Stan couldn’t believe it. This plan could work. This plan could save the world and all Ford was concerned about was who was going to be on the other end of the gun. Ford knew that this plan was better than what he had come up with. Begging to buy time and then give the demon what he wanted on a silver platter. Stan knew his brother had good intentions- he wanted to save his family, but he wanted to die a hero. If Ford knew anything about his brother, he would know that Stan would not lose him a second time.
Ford wanted to give in. He wanted to cower at the hands of defeat and let the world be torn apart underneath his feet.
Stan wanted to try and give that demon a piece of his mind for messing with his family. Stan wanted to fight and die trying.
Ford's eyes hardened. "Do you think I'd want to do this? No, of course not, but you know what? I deserve it."
Ford looked down and Stan blinked, his body sagging suddenly.
Ford sniffed and his eyes glossed behind his bloodshot stare. "I deserve it because of the way I treated you. I deserve it because I fell for Bill's flattery-" It seemed like he wanted to say more, but his mouth refused to move through his clenched jaw. Stan felt Ford’s hands grasp for his arms again and when they came in contact, they squeezed them hard.
Stan put his hands on his brother's neck and put his thumbs on his jawline. Ford winced at the contact, but Stan didn't notice.
"Maybe." Stan said softly, feeling Ford swallow under his hands. "But that doesn't matter now. I love the kids. I love y-you and if destroying my mind will get you your freedom back, your world back-“ Stan laughed a little, the sound broken and airy. “-then so be it.”
Stan brought his forehead to his brother's and they both closed their eyes, trying to concentrate on each other rather than the loud crashing inside the Fearamid. Stan took in a shuddering breath, feeling tears start to brim his squeezed shut eyes. “Please just let me do this.”
Ford sniffed and breathed out.
"I’m so sorry.”
Stan looked back up and readjusted the fez on his twin's head again. He offered his twin a faded smile, his heart stuttering at the way Ford looked at him. What was once glowed in his face as fiery persistence and controlled anger was now a mix of horror and defeat, darkening his features as much as the night sky on a winter twilight.
Stan swallowed and shook his head, biting his cut lip again.
“I know.”
----
Suddenly, the crashing became footsteps and the brothers broke apart, rushing to the bright blue bars of their cage. Ford tried to hide one of his fingers beneath the others and Stan tried to keep himself sane. He was terrified out of his mind as he realized the magnetism of his decision; the realization that he was going to get the bullet; the realization that he would not know who he was when he woke up- if he woke up.
He was going to forget.
This was going to be so much harder than he thought.
"Alright, Ford!" A voice hissed loudly, a large foot entering the doorway. The yellow triangle stepped through the door, his eye wild with insanity. His yellow colour flickered with anger and madness and he held a closed fist up in the air.
"Time's up!"
Stan's heart dropped like dead weight when he saw two small humans closed in the demon's fist. They were struggling and kicking, trying to escape the monster's clawed hand. Stan heard Ford choke up and his hands tightened around the bars. Stan tried not to scream out in fear- he couldn't afford to blow their cover this early on.
Hell, he couldn't blow it at all.
This had to work.
If it didn't, they were all dead.
"I've got the kids!" The demon declared, staring deadpan at Stan, malice and giddiness swarming his entire being like a horde of bees. Suddenly, his eye reverted to the kids and the edge of his eye bloomed red like roses.
"I think I'm gonna kill one of them now, just for the hell of it!"
Stan bit his tongue as a small sound of terror escaped his lips. He wanted to just surrender and reveal their ploy to Bill. He so badly just wanted to take the kids and run away, hide in the shack forever as Bill played with his new universe.
Suddenly Ford’s plan seemed enticing. Suddenly the thought of just running, taking the kids and running as fast and as far as they could seemed better-easier. Stan had no idea if Bill would even care after he got what he wanted; if he would even care about what remained of the Pines. Stan wondered for a moment, a quick, but harrowing moment if he should just collapse to his knees and expose them. Ford would be furious and thankful all at the same time. The kids would look down at them shocked. Bill would’ve laughed, knowing that he had finally won because of Stan’s idiocy. Stan only thought that because just the thought of living without the kids wasn't a life worth living. If Stan lost the kids, he would never forgive himself. He would never forget.
After all, who would want to live with a weight like that?
But Bill was just taunting them; begging for Stan to screw up. Bill was just egging them on, trying their patience and persistence. He wouldn’t actually hurt the kids-right?
"Eenie!" Bill cried, the room illuminating in a red wash. A bright red pine tree projected into Bill's eye as he stared down at the twins. The monster blinked again and the image changed to a star with a trail behind it. "Meenie!"
He was bluffing, Stan told himself, keeping his mouth shut. Ford was quaking with terror and Stan feared he would pass out. Stan wasn't doing any better- in fact, the terror was worse.
His vision was going dark and he couldn't feel his legs. His mind felt distant and displaced and he couldn't make his tongue form words. His knuckles were white as he clutched the bars of his cage. The strain of everything was tearing him down so quickly and so forcefully he couldn’t comprehend anything other than the overwhelming sense of terror.
Bill blinked and the image reverted back to the pine tree. The kids had stopped fighting and they were staring at Bill, their little bodies petrified with terror.
"Miene!"
Bill suddenly raised his second hand, his forefinger pressed against his thumb.
The image changed again.
The shooting star.
Stan's heart stopped.
He wasn't bluffing.
"YOU!" Bill ripped, his hand quivering.
Ford opened his mouth, but before any sound came out Stan screamed at Bill.
"Wait!" Stan yelled, his voice pounding against the walls, his brother's voice escaping his lips.
There was a loud popping sound and the air around Bill went quiet.
His second hand was opened.
The air was still as Bill's eye looked dead at Stan, his eye squinting in a stupid, sneering curl. Laughter escaped his body and his pupil quivered in exhilaration. It was a drunken, slurred, ecstatic laugh yet airy and whimsical.
It sent violent shivers through the twins. It twisted deep inside Stan’s ears and wormed its way into his skull, a painful headache curling its nasty claws across his temples.
Bill kept laughing as his fist opened, dropping the children to the floor with a thud. Bill rose into the air, trying to compose himself, but his horrible voice continued to tear apart Stan's ears.
His eyes were locked on the kids and he pushed past Ford who was clutching the cage so hard his knuckles were bone white. His breathing was raspy and heavy, but no longer because of the pain.
Dipper released a groan and brought himself to his knees, blood dripping from his nose and mouth. He glanced up at Stan, revealing dark and still, terrified eyes. Shakily, in trance-like movements, the boy crawled over to his sister, who was still, lying on her back on the floor.
"Mabel." The boy whispered in a monotone voice. He sounded like he was about to lose consciousness.
He placed a hand on her shoulder and paused. Very quickly, the exhaustion in his eyes was replaced with a look of panic so strong, it made Stan go rigid. Ford gasped beside him.
"Mabel. Mabel." The boy pressed again, shaking her shoulder. He started to splutter as he kept saying her name. His movements became shaky and he started to shake her more violently, desperately trying to get her to respond.
"Ah, that was the most fun I've had all day!" The demon above the twins said, remnants of laughter still trailing his voice. He pretended to wipe a tear from his eye and sunk down next to Dipper who was sobbing uncontrollably now, gathering his sister in his arms and burying his head into her hair.
"Shooting stars sure look pretty when they fall." Bill growled, his eye wide with ecstasy.
Dipper shrieked out in agony, the torture of everything too much for his mind to handle.
Bill scoffed and his eye landed on Stan who was petrified.
He stood there, staring dead at his niece and crying nephew.
His mind felt like it had already been erased. There was no sense of emotion swirling inside his head. There was nothing to feel, nothing to see. The only thing he felt was a deep, swirling pit forming deep inside his chest.
"One second too late, Sixer." Bill slurred darkly, looming over the Stan twins.
Stan tried to talk, but his tongue couldn't form words. Bill blocked his view from the young twins and forced Stan to look up at him.
It was a sight that made him want to pass out.
The creature's eye was a swirl of disgusting emotions. The pupil quivered in drunken exhilaration and his veins were bloodshot, pulsing and blood pooled in his tear ducts. His lashes were torn and rugged and the wrinkles around his eye created a single emotion of intense joy as he stared down on his prisoners.
"I am still open to deals, IQ." Bill sneered, grasping the bars of the cage. "The equation for your niece."
Bill shifted slightly to the side, just barely revealing Dipper. He was hunched over his sister's body, no longer making sound. He made no movements either. He was crumpled, almost broken, over his sister’s body; his cheeks flushed red and tear stains streaking across his entire face. He was unconscious.
Stan finally felt his stomach twinge past his veil of blank terror.
She was dead.
Stan shook and he saw Ford collapse from the corner of his eye, shaking and panting heavily. He felt tears prick at his eyes and his knees buckled.
She was dead.
Those three words had a difficult time getting through his head. His mind was telling him it was impossible; impossible that his great niece was lying breathless before him. His eyes told him a completely different tale- an opposite tale.
His throat closed as a sob tried to escape him. To never hear her voice again; to never hear her jokes, her laughter. To never see those bright brown eyes or her jubilant, ecstatic smile.
Just moments ago, Stan feared of losing his memory and never remembering that he had seen all of that. Now, as the seconds ticked past like minutes, he was horrified at the thought that he would never see that again.
Her happy laughter rang in his head he tried his hardest not to break in front of the dream demon.
"C'mon, Sixer." Bill purred, the cage vanishing into the floor with a harsh, grating scream.
Ford gave a gasp as red tendrils wrapped like pythons around his chest. He didn’t even struggle he was so weak. He tried to appear strong in Stan’s persona, but it was next to impossible. His breathing was tight and his eyes were shut tightly in his quiet pain.
Stan bit his quivering lip and stood straight. He took a deep breath and tried to shove the images of Mabel out of his mind. He stared straight at Bill, trying to avoid looking at the crumpled bodies of the kids.
"Deal." Stan finally said, his voice cracking as he spoke in Ford's tone. Tears finally reached his eyes and he wanted to collapse so badly.
He just wanted it to be over. It didn’t matter anymore. It didn’t matter if Bill won. It didn’t matter if Stan lost his memory. It didn’t matter because one way or another, they lost.
Bill had already won a long time ago- they were just in denial; they were just prolonging the inevitable.
Bill shrank and extended his hand, blue tongues of fire licking his exposed palm. His voice was high and he was shaking like a giddy child. His legs were stiff and his eye was impossibly wide.
Bill knew he had won too.
"It's a deal!"