Archive of Our Own ^beta

"Why don't we play some music?"

Ford's question was met with enthusiastic yells from the twins, who immediately spouted off possible songs they could play first, most being ones Ford had never heard of, while Stan grew oddly pensive. It was the day before the twins were due to leave for their home, a mere few days after that terrifying apocalypse that scourged this town ended, which was certainly a good reason for music in Ford's opinion. But Stan was still recovering from losing his memories, leading to moments where he simply stared into space while trying to force himself to remember things. At least, that was what Ford assumed he was doing, he was usually quiet about those. Stan cleared his throat, jostling Ford out of his thoughts.

"I just remembered something!" Stan's voice was joyful at whatever the memory was, putting a small smile on Ford's lips. Anything he remembered that made him happy was good progress. Ford watched Stan frantically look through records next to the record player, practically tossing the ones he wasn't looking for to the ground. Ford moved to help as the pile was in disarray, asking what song he wanted to play, but Stan merely waved him away and told him it was a surprise. Ford saw Dipper and Mabel shrug at each other out of the corner of his eye, about as confused as he was.

"Aha! I've found it!" Stan held up a record but immediately hid it from Ford's view when he looked over, "Ah-ah-ah, no spoilers! Now sit in that armchair and listen to this!"

"Whatever you say, Stan," Ford said lightheartedly while he complied. He sat back, content to listen to whatever song Stan remembered and just revel in the fact that the horror that had happened a few days ago wasn't coming back. The scratching noises of the old record just before the song played gave him a jolt of sudden peaceful nostalgia. They had a record player back at home with Ma and Pa when he and Stan were kids. A brand new one that gave plenty of joyful times in that small household, one of the only things they owned that wasn’t a hand-me-down. Joyful times that were swallowed up in sorrow soon after…

Soon the room was filled with sounds of a beautiful instrumental Ford couldn't quite place just yet. A woman's voice soon rang out into the living room with an aged but still gorgeous voice. The twins were entranced and Stan was simply listening with a content look on his face. But... Ford found himself involuntarily squeezing the armchair's armrest and his breaths grow quick and tight as he recognized the song. Time seemed to slow down to a crawl and Ford was whisked away with a gasp.

We'll meet again

He was back in that horrible penthouse, jolted awake as if his happy ending was just a daydream. No... Bill was at the piano, roughly tapping the keys like he didn't care how he butchered the song. Ford blinked, watching the triangle float over to him and gloat with a strange sense of deja vu. But Ford couldn't concentrate on Bill's words, his vision swimming and his whole body filled with paralyzing fear. Was Bill's defeat all a lie, waiting to be discovered by the trigger of a song? Ford couldn't think of this being anything else, it was too real. Neither he nor Stan had defeated Bill, they had only imagined it.

Don't know where don't know when

Ford blinked and felt those cold shackles bracing his neck and limbs once more. The electricity struck him before he even had a chance to look at his new surroundings, burned flesh smoldering in his nostrils. Ford cried out, his imaginings of the first torture couldn't possibly compare to the real deal. Bill kept at it, not even stopping to ask about the equation, just pumping him full of electricity while laughing maniacally.

Ford was in total agony that wouldn't stop and he didn't know if he could last any longer than the moments he was aware of it. Ford paid no heed to the distant and incoherent yells of someone far away, assuming it was merely far away townsfolk crying out in fear before being turned to stone. There was nothing left for him. He was going to be tortured to the end of his days, which was looking to be pretty soon. Ford felt himself begin to give in.

But I know we'll meet again some sunny day

The song Bill sang was right. No matter how much he tried, he'll always come back to this moment. This horrible, darkest moment. Even if he defeated him, he'd lose once more. Ford was eternally stuck in a loop. Bill won. He cried as the electricity amped up to higher and higher intensities, to the point Ford knew he should already be dead. But he wasn’t. Whether that was due to Bill’s control over matter or Ford was stronger than he thought himself to be, Ford wouldn’t know. Bill's shrieks of delight at his pain sharply stabbed his ears right as everything began to blur.

"Ford!" Stan's voice was as clear as a bell. Ford felt arms embracing him so tight it made him feel slightly claustrophobic. He was on the ground with Stan, tears streaming down his face. What happened...? Ford looked around and saw that the kids were staring at him with terribly concerned expressions on their faces.

"You're safe, Sixer, you’re safe,” Stan reassured, but Ford pulled away, realizing exactly what was going on with the supposed Stan’s use of that horrible nickname. An equilateral shadow faded into view behind Stan’s head like a corrupted halo, confirming his suspicions. He’s tricking me, trying to get at me with visions of family and happy endings! Ford wouldn’t let Bill win. Before he even realized what he was doing, he was shooting up straight and dashing through the imagined house the moment he freed himself from the fake Stan.

Everything hurt all over, and he heard the sound of raucous laughter echoing in his ears. Ford tried to ignore the sounds of chase behind him, already turning the knob of the nearest room and bolting inside. The lock turned and a chair braced against the door, Ford panted and squeezed himself into a private corner of the room’s closet, coats and shoes pressing up against his aching body. He had to find a way to wake up from this dream, no, nightmare. But all he could do was hyperventilate and cry.

This wouldn’t do. Perhaps Bill would leave him alone if he hid in a closet, but what if he didn’t? What if he tore this fake dream away to show him the real world, before torturing him until his light grew dim? He had to logic his way out of this. But something was keeping him from doing so, he could hardly even think straight. Ford tugged at his hair roughly, tearing a few out at their roots painfully, fearful tears slipping from his eyes as he remembered the promise that song taunted him with. Bill would never leave, he’d always be back again no matter what.

His breaths became more like gulps and he couldn’t even feel the individual beats of his heart for how fast it was beating. Almost like he was having a heart attack. Maybe he was. Maybe this was Bill’s plan. To kill him from the inside. That didn’t make sense. But what about Bill made sense anyway?

Ford broke down. He was supposed to be celebrating the defeat of Bill with his twin and niblings. But that was entirely a lie, he knew it now. Bill had simply let him think he’d won so he’d give up that stupid equation! Ford squeezed his eyes shut as whispers grew to impossible volumes all around him and shadows of triangles danced over his head. Hands covering his ears, he didn’t even notice as the sound of thumping started.

Until a loud yell broke into his head. It wasn’t Stan, yet, it sounded like him. But it wasn’t him. Ford whimpered, praying the door chair would hold. The thumping stopped a few moments later like the impostor was giving up. So soon? Ford was suspicious. The room outside the closet felt uncomfortably quiet. He tucked himself even tighter into the closet, in hopes that he wouldn’t be found. It was a few minutes before he heard ‘Stan’ talking.

“...you okay?” Ford quivered. He held his mouth with a hand and hid ever further into the closet. The sound of the song rang in his ears. “Look, I’m sorry I played that song. I’m not sure what-”

“Go away, Bill! I’m not telling you the equation!” Ford yelled, then bit his tongue. Crap. He shouldn’t have given away his position, but the thought that Bill would use his twin to get through to him made him angry. The voice went silent for several moments as if stunned to have his cover blown. When it started again, it sounded confused.

“Eh, what? I’m not…” ‘Stan’s’ voice grew quiet, almost too quiet to hear through the doors, “It’s me, Ford. Your twin. Stanley.”

“...no, no you’re not. You’re not real, you can’t be,” Ford mumbled mostly to himself, before speaking up, “Don’t you see? Weirdmaggedon hasn’t ended, Bill isn’t dead, and you’re just a puppet to get me to talk!

“I need to wake up! This will all fade away and show just how fake this all is…” Ford faded into silence, feeling his tears stream down his face. He had a feeling that this was him hiding in his own head to resist the pain of the torture that was surely happening right now. If he thought any harder, he could still feel the burning and smell the smoke. I need to wake up! He repeated in his head, taking his hands and scratching his arms with all twelve fingers in an attempt to do so. Wake up, wake up, wake up, wake up! If he stayed in this dreamland any longer, he’d surely give in and give the fake Stan the equation and he couldn’t do that!

“What makes you think it’s all fake, Ford?” Stan took on what was surely a false concern in his question, but Ford didn’t know how to answer, “Do you want me to come in?”

“No!” Ford snapped, squeezing himself even harder into the closet. His joints ached at the tightness, the only sign he had that he wasn’t anywhere but the penthouse in the pyramid. Everywhere else was numb. That song kept running in his mind, pinning him in the closet with its false dulcet tones. He didn’t hear Stan, wondering if he’d given up his purpose in getting to him. Images flashed once more in his head of the terrible things Bill had done to him and was currently doing to him, his breath catching so hard it felt like he couldn’t breathe.

“I don’t know how to help you Ford, but I want to,” Stan was apparently not done with him. Ford rested against the closet wall, barely able to keep his breathing steady. He wanted to believe Stan so much, but his eyes wouldn’t deceive him, right? He saw the shadow of Bill over him. He heard the voices in his ears. “You said Bill wanted to get the equation out of you?”

“I-I-I-I’m not saying anything!” Ford snapped, his voice strained and broken. He stayed true to his word, falling completely silent. Except for his traitorous heart and lungs, which pounded and gasped in painfully loud fear. The fake Stan followed him in silence, almost as if he was trying to get him to lower his guard. Ford sucked in the tears that decided it was time to run down his face, he knew that anything of the sort would only prove how weak he was. You’re pathetic, Sixer. Face it, you’re never going to escape me. Might as well give yourself up to me.

The Bill in his head was right. The fake Stan would never leave until he got the equation no matter what. But that was it, wasn’t it? Ford was to play the long game and prove that this wasn’t real, that Bill was still torturing him while he screamed but ultimately took it all. How long has he got me in pain? How long until my mind syncs up with reality and Bill stops the illusion? Ford couldn’t answer his own questions, which really proved that there was something wrong here. He could answer anything he wanted in real life. But how true was that really? He’d needed that wretched triangle to answer his biggest question regardless of his intelligence, an intelligence he was beginning to believe wasn’t as strong as he used to perceive it to be.

“Is Grunkle Ford okay?” Another pretend voice spoke up outside the room. It was almost lifelike, but Ford refused to consciously identify the voice out of fear that it would make him lower his guard more than the fake Stan had tried to moments ago. Bill was evil. This was relentlessly cruel. Pretending to be one of them (It’s not Mabel or Dipper, it’s a fake), one of his beloved niblings was going too far. Ford couldn’t handle them being used in such a way.

Maybe that was what Bill was up to, forcing his family into becoming puppets in his faux fantasy. If that was the case, shouldn’t he try to free them? Ford found himself frozen in place at the thought, the walls of the small closet already closing in on him. You’re not brave enough to take that risk. What’s the use? Ford let out a whimper, knowing within himself that that was his entire personality in a nutshell. A coward. He can’t face his mistakes, his family, or even his worst enemy without something he could put between them and his fragile heart. He was useless when it came to that. You got Stan hurt in the fake reality, any attempt to save your family from this trick will only make things worse.

Ford crumpled into the shoes jabbing him in the side with little more than a grunt and waited for his fate to rear its ugly head, no longer hearing the voices outside the closet that were taunting him with pretend safety.

“I dunno, sweetie…” Stan spoke at the door, though he was unsure Ford was even listening anymore. It was… strange and more than a little frightening to watch Ford bolt for the closet of a guest room while screaming bloody murder after hearing a song Stan thought he remembered was his favorite. Mabel was staring at him and the door, concern washing her face in a profoundly sad expression that Stan wished he could’ve made better with a comforting word or two but knew he couldn’t. Not because he was just recovering his memories, but because she was worried about Ford and that took precedence over a false word of cheering up. “Ford’s just… a little freaked out… I dunno why, but he is.”

“Can we go calm him down?” Mabel’s question was one born of the kindness of her heart but Stan felt his gut twist, “I got plushies and stickers and all sorts of supplies for comforting! It’s my specialty! Dipper can talk him up with his silly nerd stuff as a pick-me-up!”

“Mabel…” Stan sighed, wishing her optimism was enough to melt the trepidation he felt at that actually working, “This isn’t something you can just comfort package away… trust me, I know.”

“What do you mean?” Mabel’s voice warbled slightly. Stan looked into her saddened eyes and back to the door. If Stan was honest with himself, Ford’s reaction was familiar. The memories were still fuzzy, but Stan remembered feeling like that sometimes out on the streets. Even after he began living in this house. He hadn’t known the term back when it was happening to him or had even considered it, but this was some kind of PTSD attack, triggered by the sound of that song. Seeing as Ford believed he was still at the Fearamid; flashbacks and delusions were likely involved as well.

Stan didn’t understand why, even knowing that triggers could be anything from his spattering of knowledge on the subject. What was so traumatizing about Vera Lynn’s most well-known song? The song Ford professed was his favorite as a teen? If Stan was truly remembering correctly. Maybe the memory was supposed to be how Ford was somehow traumatized by it and absolutely hated it and Stan screwed up to the highest order… No, that didn’t feel right, even through the hazy memories. There must be something more that he wasn’t seeing.

“Uhh, it’s complicated…” Stan immediately stated when he realized he hadn’t said anything for several minutes. Mabel gave him a concerned stare, one that said his answer wasn’t sufficient. “I have a feeling I know what’s going on with him. If it is what I think it is, we are going to have a hell of a time getting him out of this funk.”

“Yeah, but what is it? You still haven’t answered my question!” Mabel adamantly tugged his sleeve, worry twisting her eyebrows into a furrow. Stan scratched his neck awkwardly, thinking of how to relay the information in a way that Mabel would understand. And it wasn’t like Stan was all that good with words; that went to Ford, though he was currently out of commission.

“If what my gut is telling me is right, Ford is reliving his worst nightmare in that closet,” Stan stated, rather bluntly for what the situation was, and Mabel’s eyes widened. She tried to rush the door, but Stan caught her before she could even make a knock. “It’s not literal. He’s having a bit of a panic attack, and what I assume is a flashback to the Fearamid. I-I don’t know if I can convince him that he’s not back at that horrible place without making him more distressed. He thinks I’m trying to get that equation for Bill, or something…”

“That’s awful! Is there anything I can do to help?” Mabel was eager and worried, practically begging Stan to let her in on this conundrum. Stan admired her tenacity to help, though he was unsure anybody could break through Ford’s delusions at the moment. His silence was enough of an answer, but Mabel wasn’t having it. “Come oooon, there must be something I can do!”

“Trust me, if I knew exactly how to help him, I’d let you know right away sweetheart,” Stan tried on a reassuring grin, ignoring the intimidating prospect of trying to free Ford from his mind’s paralyzing fear. It didn’t help that he just underwent the large task of remembering his entire life in the last few days, his mind was still floaty in some areas. “I just don’t know. I feel helpless…”

Mabel was unusually silent for a concerning amount of time. Stan looked down at her to discover that she was wearing a thinking face not unlike Dipper’s. Before she went back to trying the door, her attempt frustrated by something propping the door closed on the other side. Stan scowled lightly. Ford just had to make things that much harder to get to him. That was just great. He didn’t blame him for that necessarily, considering how freaked out Ford was, but couldn’t he have left a way to get to him in an emergency?

He’s not thinking straight, that’s why. He’s got a runaway mind terrorizing him. The thought made him feel awfully strong empathy for the poor guy like he had experience in that regard, though his memories of any such thing were fuzzy. Stan ran his hand over his face and sighed, knowing he wasn’t just about to leave Ford to panic himself to death. It was at that moment that he knew what he was about to do, ignoring the part of him that tried to convince him to leave Ford alone entirely.

“Ay-ay-ay, what am I getting myself into…” Stan muttered under his breath as he gripped the doorknob and prepared to throw himself at the door. A few rams with his body weight were all it really took. Good thing Ford didn’t lodge the chair under the handle very well under his panic, otherwise there would be more than a broken chair on their hands and Stan was NOT looking to pay for a replacement door if he could help it. Though perhaps he’d need to get a new door jamb, seeing as the wood splintered with a crack.

None of that was his biggest concern as he stumbled into the guest room though, the chair snapping and scattering on the hardwood surface of the floor. Not even his aching arm. What was his concern was the terrified but slightly muffled yell from the small closet. A yell that was not only full of fear but also the slightest of warbles. Was Ford crying? Stan gulped as he approached the door. He spotted Ford’s boots poking out from under the door until they were retracted with a whimper; his face softened from the previous consternation.

“Ford?” Stan kept his tone as soft as he could, the rough and admittedly grating quality of his voice dialed back just for this. Just for his attempt at comforting and calming Ford. It only just occurred to him that perhaps breaking into the room like he just had would only scare Ford further, but it was too late to worry about that. Ford needed to know that he wasn't in danger. That Stan was here for him. Right? Isn't that how this works?

"Go… go away, Bill… I'm not talking to you," Ford sounded awfully small. Like he was a little kid being bullied in grade school all over again. Stan could not help the fury in his chest at the unadulterated fear in his twin's voice. Bill traumatized him. If Bill hadn't already gotten the right hook of Stan's righteous fury almost a week ago, Stan would've pummelled him even harder now. If only he knew that song would do this to him, then he would've banned the song a long time ago. Right… that's where this started. It still didn't make that much sense to him, but Stan decided it didn't matter how sensical it was to be scared of a song that used to be one’s favorite. All that mattered was Ford's well-being.

"I'm not Bill. I'm not a puppet. I'm-" Stan swallowed tightly at the sharp gasp from the other side of the door, his hand locked in place from trying to knock. Maybe he should take this slow. Who knew what a terrified and cornered Ford would do if Stan just opened the door? Stan shook his head and tried to continue his thought. "I'm your brother. Stanley. For real. In the flesh, heh."

Uncomfortable silence stretched like a waking cat.

"If… if that’s the case, then why… Why did I see Bill behind you?” Ford immediately broke his promise to not talk to him, a hint that he was so incredibly scared he fell into a nervous habit. Stan was at a loss for words, his throat drying up at the apparent hallucination Ford was believing. Unless it wasn’t a hallucination… No, stop that, Bill is gone, and Ford is not thinking right. He firmly told himself, knowing he couldn’t go off the deep end with conspiracy theories about their worst enemy while Ford was having an episode he could hardly think his way out of.

“You didn’t… musta been a rogue shadow or somethin’,” Stan tried reasoning with the only explanation that made any sort of sense. Though he didn’t know if any hallucinations Ford was having would cause some sort of cognitive dissonance with the information Stan had just offered, which would only cause more distress, wouldn’t it? Ugh, he was so out of his league with this. Stan may have vague memories of experiencing panic attacks, but that didn’t really help him think of how to help someone else with the same, plus a few more… complications… Stan didn’t know if he should open the door or not, but it felt like a way to get punched in the high-strung state his twin was in.

“I-I-I-I know… I know what I saw… Stan…” At least Ford was now calling him by his name instead of Bill’s, even though there was a hesitance to it that conveyed distrust in even that being true. Stan tried to ignore the sting of being distrusted again, reminding himself that Ford did trust him and was just in a bad head space right now. It was hard, regardless. Stan heard rustling in the closet, but none of it was for opening the closet as he’d vainly hoped. Actually, Ford seemed to shrink back in the small space, if that was even possible.

“Everything’s alright, Grunkle Ford! We’re all safe!” Mabel yelled at the door, startling Stan into recognizing that she had followed him inside the room without a sound. Stan shushed her, hearing Ford’s breath catch at her voice. "Oh… I'm sorry, was I too loud? I'll… I'll be quieter then. I love you, Grunkle Ford."

"...I don't understand…" Ford was breathing heavily through the wood of the door like he had a weight on his chest. Mabel glanced back at Stan to see his disconcerted expression, her eyebrows scrunching at her grunkle’s words. “No, this is still not real… It can’t be.”

Ford was muttering more to himself than the ones outside the door. Stan pinched the bridge of his nose. Mabel was looking at the door, her perplexed hums echoing in the room. She placed a floppy sweater sleeve in Stan’s hand not massaging his nose, seemingly noticing the chill running through him at the disbelief in Ford’s mannerisms through the door. Stan didn’t know… He didn’t know anything about this… He didn’t know anything… Stan felt helpless. Mabel tugged his arm, something that wouldn’t be that weird if it weren’t for the direction she was tugging. The Door. Stan sighed, not understanding why she still wanted to reach him when Ford was dismissing her realness.

“Grunkle Stan, what can we really do to help without opening the door?” Mabel whispered as she led his hand to touch the doorknob. Stan gulped, feeling the fear washing off of Ford’s very presence of fast breaths and small whimpers through the thin wood of the door. Mabel was right, but Stan really didn’t want another fist in his face. Or to stress Ford out even more. Before Mabel could force him to open it anyway, he decided to at least try asking for permission before daring to turn the knob. Promising himself not to force Ford into a terrifying situation without warning.

“Ford? Can I come in? Prove I’m real?” Stan offered lightly, waiting patiently after Mabel stood back to see how this was gonna go down, probably. Ford didn’t respond. Is asking to come in too strong? Should I have said it some other way? “I-I mean, if it’s not too big of a deal. I could just open the door a tad, and see your nerdy face again? If that’s not too much. I hardly know why you’re so scared, but I… I wanna help.

“But, uh, don’t keep me waiting, I might just open it anyway, Poindexter,” Stan chuckled in a try at levity, though he was feeling anything but light right now, “Whaddya say, yes or no? I won’t force ya to do something you’re too scared of, but you can’t hide in there forever!”

“...how do I know you’re not trying to lure me out? This… this feels like something Bill would do…” Ford warily stated with that familiar tremble, and Stan felt his heart drop. How could he convince Ford to trust him? Maybe he should actually leave him until he calms down like his instincts were telling him to. No, they were trying to be better at talking, and Stan couldn’t forgive himself if he didn’t try to be there for Ford. Now how to convey that to Ford?

“You… you don’t, b-but that’s it, isn’t it, Ford?” Stan asked, his hands pretending to be cupping Ford’s face in them despite the fact he was hidden in a cramped closet, “You’ve been spendin’ your life thinking everyone was out for ya, and sometimes that was true, right? I’m pretty sure I relate to that mindset, somewhat. If my shaky memory serves me right.

“But it will be different from now on, I promise. I just need you to trust me this once,” Stan let the words spill out of his chest, trying to ignore how quiet Ford had grown in the seconds since he’d started talking about this, “Can you do that for me? Give me the smallest degree of trust? It doesn’t have to be big, just enough to let me see your face?”

There was a pause, where Stan could hear Ford’s breathing, heavy and rough with old tears, where he was unsure Ford would even say a word anymore. Mabel gave him a look that said ‘If he doesn’t say anything, I’m opening the door anyway.’ Stan merely had to squeeze her hand to tell her not to do that. This was going to be slow going if he didn’t want to make Ford more distressed. In fact, he didn’t know if she should be here if Ford let him open the door. Goodness knew Stan didn’t want to overwhelm him and Mabel was plenty overwhelming on her own. But maybe that was shortsighted, seeing as she was plenty subdued now compared to her baseline. I’ll play it by ear, then.

“...alright. Just… just a crack, though…” Ford allowed after a long pause. It was more than Stan was expecting if he was honest. He felt a surge of gratitude at the progress, no matter how little it appeared. Stan felt his heart race as his hand turned the doorknob ever slowly. The man inside involuntarily gasped before trying and failing to calm himself as Stan peered inside with the little amount of light that snuck through to hit Ford’s face in an equal line of yellow.

Stan frowned at the harrowed expression Ford was wearing. Like he’d aged another thirty years in the course of the fifteen minutes this ordeal had been. At the same time, he seemed small and vulnerable like the kid he'd already compared him to earlier. Ford was looking at Stan with a panicked paranoia like he was already regretting his decision to let him open the door.

“Ford? You alright, buddy?” Stan asked the second Ford focused on Stan’s face with a less scattered gaze. Ford looked like he didn’t know how to respond, his mouth opening and closing. His chest rose and fell worryingly quickly before something was considered behind his eyes. Stan didn’t know what it was until a quick movement suddenly slammed the door shut again and it was definitely not Mabel. He stood there, stunned and blinking wildly. Guess he wasn’t actually ready… Back to square one…

His heart. His heart was pounding. It was going to break free of its cage of bone and leave his chest any second now. His breaths weren’t any different, but at least they weren’t hurting like a jackhammer.

Ford held a hand to his chest trying to calm his vital functions to a regular pace, but soon gave up at the impossible task it was. Two members of the family he’d been so desperate to see were outside the closet door now, but Ford couldn’t swallow the panic he was experiencing at their presence. One of them, probably Stan, had broken into his safe room and scared him half to death. Ford couldn’t erase the feeling that it really was Bill deciding to pull all the stops, though it was just the supposed fakes of his family. Ford squeezed his eyes shut.

He almost trusted Bill’s ruse! That’s all this was, he had to remind himself constantly. Ford couldn’t shake off the kindness in Stan’s voice, something he’d be willing to bet was part of Bill’s plan to get the equation. Stan was still mad at him, he had to be. Bill had let him think he’d begun to fix his relationship with Stan, but he hadn’t, not really. Ford had learned something in the fake reality about himself, and he was willing to change how things went this time around. If he was ever going to escape this, of course. That was a given.

Ford saw the door buckle backward slightly and the light filtering through the gap under the door dim. He tried to keep his mind from flying into another panic, though that was rather hard when he was already running a marathon in his head. Stan was sitting against the door now. What is he playing at? Ford didn’t like the constant questioning he felt compelled to ask in his head, but he couldn’t let his guard down. He was just being cautious. That was all. The question still stood. Was he trying to trap him here after his attempt to get him to trust him didn’t work? Did he give up and was simply resting against the door in case he changed his mind? Ford didn’t know.

“Don’t take this as pressuring ya, but… do you mind filling me in on what you think this all is?” Stan’s question was stumping. Surely he knew what was going on. Maybe Bill didn’t tell his puppets what was going down, but that didn’t make much sense. More likely, he was playing dumb. Might as well humor him, right? What can you really do in this situation, anyway? You’re stuck and it’s all your fault for thinking a closet was a good place to get away. Ford sighed his haltering sigh, he did have to admit that that was true. “Maybe I can help you get out of it… just a thought.”

“If… if that’ll get you to leave me alone, then I guess I will,” Ford resigned himself to the task of bringing word to his fears. He gulped with a pained lump in his throat, feeling like he was talking to the beast directly. Just let it out, then he'll be satisfied. The truth to that was shaky at best, but Ford decided he wasn't going to fret about that now. Ignoring how he was feeling like he was about to vomit, Ford began his little explanation to the fake Stan, pretending he was real for the effect.

"The… the last thing I remember before all this was…" Ford shuddered involuntarily just recalling the scene, "hearing that awful… awful song. Then, I-I remembered Bill singing that at me…

"Then I woke up," Ford tried to stall the moistening of his eyes, the pain he still felt strangely distantly echoing in his muscles, "This isn't… this isn't real. Bill is keeping me satisfied with a happy ending so I give him the equation… So he can destroy the world…

"I think you're a puppet trying to get my guard down… Well it's not going to… not going to work," Ford covered his face in shame, he should be braver about facing Bill, "T-Tell your boss I'm not budging. Leave me… leave me alone.

"I can't help you… I won't," Ford squeezed himself tighter, half expecting the fake Stan to get angry and rip him out of his safe spot, "The real Stan… he must hate me... All I did was hurt him! Just… let me rot in here. It's what I deserve."

Ford had been talking the longest he'd ever done in a while before he realized the fake Stan had stopped responding to what he was saying. He didn't even know why he said the last part, was he giving up? Ford shook his head, he couldn't! But there was no hope for him if he couldn't even leave this stupid closet for fear of being attacked by Bill's machinations. That was more than obvious. He held his head between his knees and cried. You are as weak as Pa said you were, all those years ago. Why are you crying?

“I’m sorry.” The words whipped him with a strange tingle. Ford didn’t feel like replying, sniffling the proof of his weakness with a downturned nose. The darkness of this closet was more comforting than he’d expected, he could’ve fallen asleep if he wasn’t now panicking at the idea of Bill lulling him into a false sense of security. No, he couldn’t let the comforting closeness and tightness of the closet put his guard down. Actually, if he thought about it, it was feeling claustrophobic more than anything remotely calming. Ford could hardly hear Stan’s words as he flew into another panic yet again at the walls closing in.

Bill must’ve recognized that Ford had discovered the trap in the closet and was now using the closet against him, that was it! Ford felt his tired heart racing harder, if it was any faster he’d be having a heart attack. He couldn’t breathe anymore, his lungs gasping for breath as he just knew he’d be crushed in this closet if he stayed here. But Stan was blocking his exit! Maybe he could negotiate with him. That must be Bill’s angle! Force him to talk with the puppet keeping him here or die to the crushing of the closet! But do I have a choice? Ford could feel the wall pressing against his back now and he knew he didn’t, hearing a scream somewhere far away accentuating his fear.

“Ford! What’s going on?!” The fake Stan shouted, and Ford didn’t understand why until he felt how frayed his throat was after that strange scream ended. The distant scream was his own, a horrifying realization. Ford could no longer catch his breath, that time with the song felt like it had occurred years ago now. It could have, Bill and time was a fickle thing. The closet was still threatening the crushing of his mortal body, he couldn’t dwell on anything except getting out of there. Ford reached for the knob, trying to stop his violent trembling with his other arm but merely slapped his hand on the knob in a way that ran a shock through his body.

“Say somethin’, Sixer!” Ford looked down, knowing he was forced to ask for help from the false Stan, lest he hurt his hand more with his trembling that was more of a quaking earthquake running through his body. At least Stan had stood up, letting some more light in from that little gap of hope. Though the movements dancing in shadow weren’t very reassuring. “If you don’t say something, I’m coming in!”

“W-wait…” Ford feebly managed through the panic he was suffering through. Stan stopped the frightening movements on the other side of the door to let him speak his piece. Ford closed his eyes and squeezed the words out like he was trying to stop them from leaving his mouth at the same time he knew he should speak them. If this was him leaping into the fire from the pan, then so be it. The closet was crushing him enough. “Y-you can open the… closet… I… I won’t fight you… Just… don’t touch me.”

“Okay, Ford…” Stan sounded cautious, maybe he was worried Ford had a plan to escape this dream. Ford didn’t know if he did, but he’d figure it out, surely. He just needed to leave the trap of a closet. “I’m… I’m approaching the door…

“I got my hand on the doorknob…” Ford heard the creak and saw the slight shift on the knob corroborating with his statement, preparing himself for the door to open the moment Stan said the word, “...and I’m opening the door, slowly. Don’t freak out.”

Ford wasn’t able to say that he wasn’t freaking out, he was being the right amount of cautious for the situation he was in, when the light slowly filtered in and practically blinded him. The man peering in with the concerned expression he was wearing suddenly didn’t seem as scary as the closet he was holed in. Don’t let your guard down, just get out of here. Ford was paralyzed under Stan’s gaze, ignoring his every attempt to move from his spot in the closet. If Stan looked worried the last time he’d opened the door, he was positively dismayed this time around. He appeared like he wanted to rush him in a hug (‘Why?’ he thought to himself), but was holding himself back.

“Ford… you look awful. I…” Stan looked somewhere out of view from the closet, only making Ford more nervous than he already was, “Aren’t you gonna leave that stuffy closet? Do you need help?”

“Don’t touch me!” Ford yelled in reflex, pressing himself against the wall, though he realized soon that Stan hadn’t made a single move toward him. “I’ll just… I’ll just… I’ll just get up myself, th-thanks.”

“I’m sorry. I’m just worried for you. I hope you know that somewhere in that head of yours,” Stan was speaking softly again, and Ford didn’t know how much longer he could resist the comfort he offered. Maybe the end of the world wasn’t as big of a deal if he had his twin with him, right? That thought didn’t erase the fact that he was still stuck on the ground by his own fear, however. Ford broke his eyes away from Stan’s scrutinizing gaze, Bill must be sticking him to the ground or something. Can you even blame everything on Bill? Ford didn’t know anymore.

“You sure you don’t need my help?” Stan asked, but Ford wasn’t really listening anymore. Stan had his hand on his shoulder, even though Ford told him not to touch him. Ford couldn’t move. Stan looked into his fearful eyes and let go with a frown. But there was something in that touch that didn’t actually hurt. Actually, it felt nicer than he feared. Nicer than the fear of this being a trick. Ford looked into Stan’s familiar brown eyes and something about them not being the tell-tale yellow with cat-eye slits of a Bill-possessed Stan relieved him ever so slightly. Perhaps he was being too hasty about the bounds of this dream.

Perhaps Stan was as trapped as he was, in this labyrinthine dreamland Bill had gotten set up for him. The thought led him to reach for Stan more than he ever thought he could. Stan appeared shocked that Ford was asking for more contact. Ford didn’t even know how he was allowing this, his mind still telling him Stan was a potential threat. But… Ford felt a seed of trust stick itself deep in his heart. Stan could’ve done numerous things while Ford was closed in the closet. But he didn’t, his only concern was worry for him. Logically, that meant Stan really was on his side, even though Ford felt everything screaming that he shouldn’t trust him on a feeling.

Stan took his hand after a moment of apprehension and helped him up. Now to figure out how to get out of this mess. Ford slipped past Stan and began to pace the room, half expecting Bill to strike him down. When those visions of his torture that was certainly still happening ran over his eyes and felt time run past as fast as the apocalypse had started an indeterminate amount of time ago. How were they going to pull this off? Ford kept pacing, ignoring Stan’s pleas to stop. He needed to wake up. How to do that? An idea burst in his head and he couldn’t help but smile as he turned to Stan.

Stan should be happy that Ford was finally out of the closet. Well, not in that way, but being holed up in the cramped space must have been painful regardless. Stan shook his head. But Ford was still as anxious as he’d been inside the small space, like getting out of the closet was more of a change of scenery than mindset. He was pacing the room, leaving heavy footsteps that reverberated through the hardwood of the floor. Stan had been trying to calm him down, to stop stomping through the room like he was a bull in a china shop when Ford had said it. His idea.

“Punch me. As hard as you can. Preferably strong enough to knock me out.”

“What?” Stan blinked rapidly, not quite processing just what it was that Ford was asking him to do with his eyes crazed and his entire body trembling like a friggin leaf. The words had come out so nonchalantly, but Ford’s body language was anything but. It was scarily dissonant and disconcerting to witness. He was grateful for the mind he had to send Mabel out of the room despite her small protests. Stan could not stop himself from rushing over and draping his arms over Ford like it would stop the delusions with the force of his love. “No, I’m not going to do that, Ford… What makes you think it’ll help?”

“I need to wake up from this dream… If I… If I stay here, everyone will die,” Ford began, his voice shuddering more than it had been earlier, “If you punch me, I believe I can wake up, but it needs to be hard enough to do so!”

“Are… are you even listening to yourself, Ford? Something about that doesn’t add up, right?” Stan tried to reason with him, placing both hands on Ford’s shoulders in a grounding gesture, “Feel my hands on your shoulders, the ground under your feet, your lungs breathing in and out. You are awake. You are not dreaming.”

“But I-”

“Shh, don’t speak,” Stan placed a finger on Ford’s lips in order to shush him, not missing the way Ford’s pupils dilated at the touch and his breathing became hyperventilated, “Breathe. Don’t worry about anything else, brother.”

Stan modeled a calm breathing cycle, slowly inhaling and exhaling in a regular rhythm which was much slower than how Ford was breathing. Ford stared at him blankly, before trying to imitate him with much less success. For he could hardly keep a calm pace without choking and gulping on his every breath. Stan made an executive decision to lead him to the spare bed. Ford was obeying his every word and movement now, paralyzed when it came to making his own decisions but asking questions at every step.

“Aren’t you scared of Bill? Where is he? Why hasn’t he attacked us yet?” The three questions Stan didn’t know Ford would believe the answer to just yet. He was kneading his thighs with his fingers, leaning against Stan with his terrified demeanor diffused in the air like a cloud. It took a lot of willpower not to fall into the fear, but Stan would resist it for years in order to talk Ford down from his mind’s trickery. There was something he felt like he needed to clear up before anything in that regard, now that Ford seemed to believe he was real now.

“I’ll answer those when I think you can handle it, Ford,” Stan started, his mind sobering at the memories of what Ford had said in the closet before he’d begun screaming like he was being torn to shreds (That terrified the crap out of Stan, but they were past that now), about rotting in the closet, “Right now I want to know somethin’.”

“Wh-what is it?” Ford was squeezing Stan’s hand, his eyes wide and worried, “Did I… Did I say something that upset you?”

"Not in the way you're probably assuming, Ford," Stan gulped. What Ford had said about how he felt Stan thought of him rang in his ear. It did upset him to hear that. But he didn't want Ford to think it was something he'd fault him for either. He just wanted to know why he thought that after everything that happened proved otherwise. “All I wanna know is… what makes you think I hate you?”

"Why wouldn't you?" Ford didn't hesitate to shoot an emotional bullet through Stan's heart, leaving him opening and closing his mouth. Maybe Stan had been upset with Ford for constantly pushing him away and all, but he could never muster the strength to actually hate him despite many a meager attempt… Stan was so preoccupied with similar thoughts, he didn't recognize when Ford continued until the sound reached his ears. "Th-the happy ending Bill let me think I reached ended with you loving me enough to sacrifice yourself, but I… I can't help but think it was the most unrealistic part, now that I know th-the truth…"

"Ford…" Stan's voice was thin and cracking; he no longer wanted to hear the reasons Ford said what he did in the closet, "You really believe that this happy ending wasn't, no, isn't real? That Bill is still here? That I hate you?"

Ford did not say a word. He was still hyperventilating, staring at a point in space that Stan couldn't interpret. His eyes were in a frenzy even when being fixed on something, like he wasn't even listening and was only spiraling deeper and deeper. Stan kept an arm around him, tracing his back with comforting swirls. Maybe he shouldn't be too direct about things. It only made him distressed and Stan didn't want that. It might be a good idea to try questioning his logic, once he's more receptive. Ford's normally logical, of course he'll snap out of it, right?

The face Ford was wearing did not leave much room for optimism. Stan was stumped. But getting him to come out of the closet was progress. Much more progress than he thought he would have achieved. Even though it didn’t seem to budge his mindset that everything was a machination of Bill’s design. At least Ford was now letting him hold his hand and be this close, regardless of the fact his hand was now crushing Stan’s in a death grip. Man, twelve fingers and his hand is like a vice… Stan made a little involuntary squeak at the pressure and Ford let go like he had touched a hot oven. There goes that.

“Don’t ya think Bill woulda attacked by now?” The question only seemed to increase the number of stress lines on Ford’s forehead, hopefully thinking in the direction he was hoping, “Assuming he’s got you trapped in this world, why’s he not here?”

“H-he is, actually.”

“What do you mean? I don’t see no triangle crap anywhere,” Stan looked around the room for the effect, more for Ford’s comfort than any real purpose, “He’s kinda hard to miss you know.”

“It’s hard to explain…” Ford stared at the floor, the first tangible thing Stan could trace his gaze to, “I-I-I don’t even want to…”

“Can you try?” Stan hoped he wasn’t being too pushy, “I promise I won’t judge, whatever it is.”

“Promise?” Ford asked, having gone back to holding Stan’s hand, though an effort was made to not squeeze too hard on his part.

“Promise, Poindexter. Would I lie to you?” Stan chuckled briefly, but Ford didn’t seem to find it as amusing, already pulling away slightly with an uncomfortable grimace, “Sorry. Can’t help it when I’m stressed. Gotta lighten the mood somehow, y’know.”

“I guess…” Ford wasn’t convinced. Dang it, why’d he have to make such a careless comment right now? Ford looked into his eyes and Stan could’ve sworn that he could see exactly what he was thinking, as his tight expression of fear and anxiety loosened somewhat. “Now that I think about it… it was… it was funny.”

“It was?” Stan wasn’t particularly trying to be funny, just ironic in a kind of sad way. Which could be stretched as being funny in some circles, but Ford thinking such a thing of his dumb comment felt surreal in the best way. Stan broke into a small grin and lightly tapped Ford on the shoulder in a playful fake punch.

It was like a light had been switched, once more. Ford jerked back, staring at Stan’s hand like he’d given him a fully charged punch and not the light tap it had been in reality. Stan felt his heart skip a beat as Ford jolted to his feet and began his frustrating pacing once more, in the direction of the blasted closet. Stan kicked himself. You knew he was sensitive to that sort of stuff right now and you blew it! He genuinely thought Ford would understand it as harmless, while he was still moderately high-strung! Stan held his face in his hands, expecting Ford to hide himself in the closet again, berating himself for his stupidity.

“I’m sorry, Ford! Please don’t hide in the closet again, I wasn’t tryin’ to scare ya!” Stan exclaimed despite himself, a desperation in his voice that sounded awfully pathetic. Like a crying kitten to its mom. Ford froze halfway through his pacing, before simply standing there and trying to breathe deeply through his nose, if the struggling sniffling was proof enough. Stan rose from the bed just as Ford fell to his knees without warning, the silence broken with the sobs of a terrified and trembling man. Stan sped over to him, his need to comfort after his slipup driving him forward.

“Hey, you alright?” Ford didn’t look alright, but Stan wasn’t about to assume things. Stan had only just knelt and put his arm around Ford again when he felt the weight of his twin's upper half suddenly pressed against his shoulder. Violent shaking reverberated through him as Ford turned and gripped Stan in a tight hug like being apart would kill him. Stan reciprocated with a squeeze of solidarity, feeling the wet of Ford's tears grace his suit without so much as a complaint. "I'm here, buddy, I'm here."

"...I don't know what to do, Stanley…" Ford spoke into his shoulder, muffled in the folds of the fabric and involuntary sobs, "Everyone is going to die and I can't… I can't do anything about it! I'm so weak!"

"Let's get one thing straight, ok?" Ford lifted his head to give Stan a perplexed frown, but eventually focused on his mouth like a lifeline, "You are not weak, you hear me?"

"But-"

"No buts," Stan tapped Ford on the nose in light chastisement, breaking into a gentle grin at Ford's perplexed furrowing of eyebrows, "I don't think I need to tell ya that surviving the torments of that triangle is a tall order, and yet you managed it."

"So far…" Ford looked at the hardwood ground, pulling away to tap it idly with a finger, "He's going to break me eventually… this place isn't real. Maybe you're nicer than I thought you'd be, but…

"...this is just my mind distracting me from the pain, if it isn't Bill's plan entirely," Ford squeezed his eyes shut, shuddering at some unknowable thought, "That's what I… what I meant to explain earlier. I still have to face him."

"Is that why… why you asked me to-" Stan recalled Ford's bizarre request to be punched with more than a little concern, "-to hurt ya? Isn't there another way?"

"There's no other way to wake someone from inside their head… actually, wait…" Ford stared into the distance in concentration, something practically whirring behind his eyes, "...did you enter my mindscape? Whatever for?"

"...huh?" Stan stumbled on his breathing at the strange accusation, knowing no such thing had occurred, but unsure he should be so blunt as to say he didn't, “Wh-what makes you say that?”

“If this is in my mind, and you’re here, that must mean you entered my mind through a spell…” Ford mused out loud, a hand brushing his chin like Stan vaguely recalled him doing whenever he had a hard puzzle to crack as a kid, “But you’d know if you did something like that, wouldn’t you? Unless you’re lying to me…”

“I’m not lyin’! I don’t know what you’re talking about, entering your dreamscape or whatever you just said,” Stan was exasperated and more than a little hurt that Ford could believe he was lying after everything. Your fault for being a little liar, how can he trust you? Stan shook his head with a growl, Ford wasn’t thinking right, remember? “I never did any spell before talking to ya, please at least trust me when I say that. Don’t ya think this would be rather borin’ for something in your head, anyway?”

“Boring is keeping me from going insane. That’s why it looks normal. At least…” Ford furrowed his brow, like something was stumping him. He looked awfully anxious about the answer from Stan’s perspective on the floor. “At least I think so. It wouldn’t make sense… otherwise.”

“I dunno, Sixer, how am I here in your mind if I didn’t do any spell thingy? Is there something you haven’t considered?” Stan prodded lightly, hoping the question was enough to lure Ford into logic-ing himself into the truth, Of course there was the chance that Ford would find a way to answer it in a way that didn’t match reality, but Stan wanted him to get the gears running in a different direction regardless. Ford looked at him with a long-suffering frown. “What? Just asking about how this coulda happened, don’t look at me like that!”

“...Are you telling me you’re a figment of my imagination?” Ford asked without a drip of sarcasm, the sincerity of the question wrenching Stan’s heart from his chest, “I wouldn’t be surprised… I knew Stan wouldn’t treat me so kindly after everything. It begs the question of why my mind conjured you to trick me into thinking everything is alright. Why not the kids?”

“Ford… that’s not…” Stan could feel his heart doing palpitations in his chest, before dropping as it had jumped off a skyscraper, “...what I meant…”

“What did you mean then, Stanley?” Ford stood up without warning, though he was awfully unstable on his feet. Stan rose to help him walk to the bed once more, trying to forget how everything was spiraling out of his control. “Nothing about all this-” He gestured at everything around him dramatically, before holding his head in his hands as he plopped onto the bed, “-feels like it’s actually happening. My head is all floaty and I don’t know what is real anymore!”

“Ford.”

“Yes?”

“Let’s take a breather, okay? You’re choking on your own breaths,” Stan couldn’t ignore the rapid hyperventilation now, not anymore. Ford was practically gasping for air after his latest outburst, shaky and rattley. “Everything is okay, Ford. Just breathe.”

“But…” Ford stared at Stan, shrinking under the anxious apprehension drawn on Stan’s face. Stan placed a finger over his lips in an act of silencing him before his lungs burst, a gentle ‘shhhhh’ whistling through his teeth. Ford obeyed, relaxing his position on the bed, but his eyes betrayed his lingering fear. Stan tried to model calm breathing once again, but Ford wasn’t paying attention, fixated on the floor. This was an entire mess and Stan didn’t know how to get Ford out of it. He didn’t particularly want to leave Ford alone like this, he could only imagine how scared he would become if he didn’t have someone trying to ground him nearby.

Stan hated this. He hated watching Ford suffer through his mind’s trickery, how terrified he was at every sudden movement, how he couldn’t stop believing that their happy ending wasn’t real, everything. This is your fault for playing a song you barely had any context for remembering. You’re a big screw-up, you know that. Stan fought away the thoughts, he couldn’t have known how Ford would react to it. It was just a song. Who could’ve known unless Ford disclosed his discomfort? Then you shouldn’t have kept it secret, let him know what song you were going to play so he could’ve told you no! Stan grunted, his mind was an expert at placing the blame on himself, even when the situation was nobody’s fault except Bill’s.

Right. Bill. The mastermind behind Ford’s apparent trauma. Stan felt that previous fury grow into a wildfire, Bill should be very glad he was already burned in a fire by now. If only Ford believed his demon was dead like he had this morning. Defeating Bill seemed more like a mental battle now. Not like it wasn’t enough of a mental battle before, but now Bill wasn’t even in the picture and Ford was still fighting him. Stan grew tense without even considering how Ford would take such a state. Ford tensed up just as much.

“...do you know if Bill is about to wake me up?” Ford asked between gritted teeth. Stan didn’t know how to answer him. He didn’t want to say that he wasn’t, because Ford had already proven that he wasn’t going to believe that. But he didn’t want to lie at the same time. Something in-between? “I’ll take your silence as a no…”

“I’ve got another question for ya; if you’ll hear it, Ford,” Stan took a deep breath, the words were already sticking in his throat. It didn’t feel right, but it was the only idea he had to help Ford begin to get out of this. Ford took a sharp breath in-between all his choking-up ones but eventually calmed enough to nod. Stan followed his head in nodding, preparing himself for the question. “What is so bad about this world, if it's indeed in your head? Can’t you… I dunno, pretend it’s real for a bit?”

Ford looked scandalized, scooting away from Stan as if he’d suggested he burn down the house with the kids inside or something. Stan shrugged as Ford let his mouth hang open in his shock for longer than one would normally make such an expression. Okay, now that was a little melodramatic, even for Ford. It was for so long Stan had to seriously resist the urge to laugh out loud at the absurdity. He sobered up as Ford let his expression grow into a disgruntled one Stan could recall only for how it made him feel awful every time Ford made it.

“What? No, I’m not going to sit back and relax as the world gets destroyed out there!” Ford adamantly burst out, his tone aggressive and slightly accusatory, Stan’s worst nightmare, “I can’t just… give up, I have to think of how I’m gonna wake up! I can’t… I can’t pretend I’m not being tortured!”

“Jeez, I’m not saying to give up or anything, just think of it as…” Stan paused to think of an equivalent that wouldn’t get Ford’s knickers in a twist even more than they already were, smiling wide for a perfect one that crossed his mind, “Regrouping. You’d just be stepping back until you’re in a better mental position to face your demons, yeah?”

“I… I dunno,” Ford scratched the back of his neck, his anxiety weighing on his face, “...what if Bill makes his moves while I’m not paying attention?”

“You won’t have to worry about that, Poindexter. I got it covered,” Stan winked, putting on a winning smile and pretending he didn’t feel like a horrible person for playing into Ford’s mindset in such a way, “You won’t be hurt by that demon while you take a break, I won’t let that happen.”

“How are you meant to do that from in here?” Ford was such a worry wort. Stan wrapped him up with a comforting arm but Ford pushed it away with a fearful glint in his eyes. Stan didn’t know how to spin his plan positively from that. But this was his only idea to try and help him… What was he to do otherwise?

“Ford, you can’t keep stressing over something you can’t control. Live a little, while we’re here, right?” Stan couldn’t help but notice how the doorknob shook and the door creak open slightly. Didn’t I tell Mabel to leave us alone while we figured things out? Ford was staring intently in that direction like some kind of pointer dog, his eyes wide like an owl’s. Stan tried to shoo whichever twin was on the other side before Ford freaked out again, but it was no use. It opened all the way to show both twins eavesdropping. While Ford was cringing back into Stan’s shoulder and clinging to his arms like a little kid. “Mabel, I thought I made myself clear that you two should let me comfort Ford alone… what happened to that?”

“I’m sorry, Grunkle Stan, we didn't mean to intrude," Dipper interrupted before Mabel could even open her mouth, tugging on his vest and reaching for the knob to close it, "We'll just leave you guys to it. Right, Mabel?"

"Dipper…" Mabel protested before the door was shut once more. Stan shook his head, a hand already squeezing his temples. But when he turned to monitor Ford's reaction to the encounter from his shoulder, he saw a small smile. Even though Stan wanted to see him happy, it still made him confused. Ford relaxed ever so slightly. Stan followed him into smiling, not about to look a gift horse in the mouth. Ford stood up with a determined expression on his face.

“M-maybe you’re right, Stan… I can’t… I can’t fight Bill if I’m not mentally up for it,” It was such a change of mind, Stan was feeling a little loopy from the whiplash. Stan looked to his feet, feeling uneasy about how he’d convinced Ford to calm down a little. It felt like a betrayal, like a lie he’d discover to rage at him for. But what choice did he have, if he wanted his twin to be able to function if he wasn’t going to believe the truth? Stan sighed, never in his life did he have such moral dilemmas over lying about something. Especially when he didn’t have a real choice. Ford couldn’t live in this room forever. And if playing into it was the only thing that worked right now, that was okay, right? He hoped he could break the delusion completely, but that was something Stan didn’t feel particularly equipped to handle. “I-I’m willing to try… pretending this is all real if it will make you happy. At least until I think of a solution, then all bets are off.”

“...was worried you were gonna say something like that…” Stan mumbled under his breath, already raising his metaphorical leg to kick himself again. Of course Ford wouldn’t permanently listen to such an instruction to ignore the danger in his mind. Who was he kidding? Not himself, surely.

“What?” Ford stared at him and Stan panicked more than he thought he would.

“Nothing, I was just clearing my face, I mean, throat,” Stan laughed awkwardly, sweat beading on his forehead. Man, was he running out of practice already? Maybe his stint with the memory gun took more than just his memories… Ford gave him a suspicious squint, but Stan cleared his throat in an attempt to seem truthful. “...aaanyway, if you’re plannin’ on leaving this room, I don’t wanna hear ya talking like this is all fake to the kids, you hear me?”

“Right, yes, I don’t want to freak them out,” Ford immediately replied, his eyes wandering to the door as if he saw something Stan didn’t. It wouldn’t be surprising if the kids were eavesdropping again anyway, but Stan didn’t feel like making the kids try to push Ford into something that would only freak him out again. Ford sat back down on the bed, his mood souring. “How am I supposed to act like this isn’t play pretend? I’ll feel like a crazy person…”

You kinda already are, Stan half wanted to say, but that was not something he should say to a Ford suffering from delusions. Even he knew that. He was tempted though. He settled on a simple “You’ll just have to get used to it,” which didn’t quell the nervousness in his eyes but at least he nodded somewhat positively. Ford looked full to the brim of anxious energy, looking to Stan as if to seek approval to do something about the excess. Stan decided it best to start slow with any kind of reassimilation to the family, finding a good excuse in the approaching lunchtime. His stomach had been complaining of its emptiness for a while, but Stan hadn’t been listening over his worry for Ford.

“Hey, we don’t have to take it too fast. Let’s go see what the kitchen has in store for lunch, you must be hungry. I know I am!” Stan chuckled right as Ford’s gut made a surprisingly strong rumble in agreement, “I told ya! Should be some fixings for a sandwich if you don’t mind slightly stale bread. Lemme go rustle up the kids, first, alright?”

“Okay,” Ford smiled softly, wider than he had the entire time since his last big smile this morning before everything fell apart, while Stan left to hopefully prepare the kids to how they were to act around Ford while he recovered his senses (eventually, Stan was sure). If only I could fully reassure Ford that nothing was out to get him anymore. I can’t live a lie with him any more than I have to. This is just temporary until he can think his way out of it, hopefully. Gives me time to think.

Ford didn’t know what came over him. Stan’s plan for him to ignore his fears and pretend he wasn’t living in his mind’s fantasy was something he was not feeling up for following, even when Stan gave decent reasons to do so. It wasn’t until he saw the kids just outside the door did he feel like giving up his worries (no matter how Stan spun it as ‘regrouping’, Ford couldn’t shake the feeling that he was doing the wrong thing). There was no satisfactory explanation for his relaxing in front of great danger just because he saw the kids acting like little knuckleheads outside the room. Maybe a part of him wanted to protect them more efficiently, not holed up in the closet panicking himself to death. Or maybe he was already beginning to fall into the actual trap that was believing this was real.

No, you’re just going to panic again, just… dive into this world, Ford took a grounding breath, trying his hardest to immerse himself in the happiness he should be feeling. It was… surprisingly easy when he thought in that direction. The feeling that he was physically here was helpful, letting his breaths calm down and his tense muscles relax. Stan had just returned with the kids in tow, ready for lunch. Dipper and Mabel were excited, practically rushing to him. Ford tried to swallow his sharp spike of fear as they held his hands and talked at him like little chatterboxes.

“Are you ready for the lunch of your life, Grunkle Ford?” Mabel bore her brace-laden teeth at him in a toothy smile, tugging him out of the room with a familiar energy that almost knocked the anxiety out of him with how pure and carefree she was. Ford had to fight himself from fully believing it, he was only pretending after all, right? But this felt… weirdly real. More real than whatever Stan was rambling at him about. Perhaps this was to make it easier to help himself rest from all the stress before he had to go after Bill out of this dream. Or maybe… No, that can’t be.

“You okay?” Dipper was noticeably less enthusiastic than Mabel, looking over Ford with a worried furrow of his brow, “Y’know, we heard some of what you were talking about… I hope you’re doing alright.”

“I’m… I’m doing just fine, Dipper,” Ford managed, albeit stiffly. Stan gave Dipper a warning look and Ford sighed as Dipper recoiled into the side of his trench coat with a contrite frown and glance at the floor. Stan didn’t have to protect the kids from him. It was obvious what Stan was going at by talking to the kids first, but he didn’t feel like wording it out loud. Surely the kids now thought he was even more of a freak for knowing the reality of this place, this pretend fantasy, and Stan didn’t want them to freak out the instant Ford slipped up his pretending. That’s all it was. Better get used to it, you need to relax.

Ford didn’t know how to truly relax, even when his initial panic had died down enough so that his heart wasn’t constantly on the verge of a heart attack. Nor when he sat down at the dinky kitchen table to wait for whatever Mabel had cooking for him. Probably something loaded with enough sugar to kill a man and a gallon of glitter. Ford was game for anything, his stomach complaining with another loud grumble everyone heard and chuckled at. It wasn’t like he hadn’t eaten anything weirder. There wasn’t a lot of choice to be had in the food department when you’re on the run from interdimensional law enforcement after all. A picky eater was as good as dead in those conditions.

That happy thought aside, Ford was flabbergasted at the meal now placed in front of him. It was a simple sandwich with turkey, lettuce, tomato, and a small slathering of mayo. Stan shrugged at him and began to explain that they hadn’t really gone to the grocery store since before Weirdmaggedon so it was just what they had on hand, but Ford was fixated on the second thing on the menu more than anything else. A whole pitcher of pinkish liquid, and what could only be plastic-shaped dinosaurs and the expected load of glitter mixed within. Ford touched the glass with an exploratory finger, watching the little toys and glitter dance in the liquid before facing the culprit with a killer grin on her face.

“It’s Mabel Juice! Try it! Maybe it could…” Mabel paused, her jubilant expression dimming slightly as she glanced at Stan for silent approval, who just harrumphed, “...I dunno, help you get out of your funk or something… Just… do… do you really think I'm not real?"

"Uhh…" Ford backed off slightly, gripping the table perhaps a little too tightly. Her suddenly saddened voice broke his heart, he couldn't break the news to her if he wanted to. Or even if he needed to, for whatever reason. Stan cleared his throat.

"Mabel!" Dipper took Mabel by the hand and led her away with an apologetic and awkward smile directed at Ford, and then Stan "Sorry for that, Mabel's just-" Ford had to strain to hear his next, hushed, words, "-forgetting what we promised Stan."

"Hold on, what promise?" Ford immediately asked, making Dipper sheepish, and earning an aggravated facepalm from Stan. Ford pointedly stared Stan down, trying to calm his own heart from its rush of panic. "Stanley… What promise?"

"It's not a big one if that's what you're worried about," Stan relaxed his shoulders reluctantly, "Just didn't want them making things difficult for ya. Not in the state you're in. That's all. Isn't that helpful?"

"I suppose…" Ford didn't know how to react, pouring himself a drink of the Mabel Juice regardless of Mabel's motivation for making it. He took a small sip that turned into a gulp before too long. It was strange, but also quite pleasant. "What's in this, Mabel? I… I love it."

Ford smiled at Mabel's squeal, ignoring the little show of disgust Stan gave as he continued to chug the stuff. He may have accidentally swallowed one or two of the dinosaurs in his sudden fervor to drink it all, but he wasn't worried. If this was a dream, it wouldn't affect him, right? Also, he considered himself to have quite the iron stomach from previously remembered food adventures in the multiverse if this was real. If this was real. What a concept.

A concept he was going to be forced to accept wasn't real any day now. He would wake up and find his happy ending was just as much a lie as being forgiven by Stan and everyone else. Ford sighed, placing the pitcher on the table for his last cup of Mabel Juice with a clink. Stan put a hand on his shoulder in support. Or was he trying to keep him from running back to that closet? Ford couldn't tell. He was already beginning to hyperventilate again regardless of his attempts to pretend nothing here was a façade for Bill's torture.

Ford wasn't already dead, at least. That should count for something, even though the distant feeling that he was being tortured didn't seem to leave his consciousness. Though chances were Bill was just bringing him back every time Ford died. That made more sense. More sense than this being real at least. Ford couldn’t look at his niblings without feeling the wrongness in it. Who knew where the real ones were at this point? Fighting for their lives, most likely. Ford felt a stab of guilt. He’d screwed up everything trying to stop the thing that was happening right now. His family, his real family, certainly hated him. Bill’s little fantasy for him was unrealistic, he couldn’t just think this was real.

“Earth to Sixer, are you going to eat your sandwich?” Stan was snapping his fingers in front of his face, startling Ford out of his spiraling thoughts. Ford absentmindedly took the sandwich and took small bites, trying not to dwell on how stupid he’d feel if it turned out Stan was right and this was reality. Potential humiliation aside, I can’t take that as fact, not when the world is potentially still at stake. Though he had to admit that it was rather draining to constantly be on the alert, regardless of the reality of this place, a yawn giving its leave as if on cue. “How are you holding up? Do you…?”

“If this exhaustion permeating my every thought is me ‘holding up’, then yes, I’m holding up, as you say,” Ford stated, suddenly drowsy. He did have to give it to Stan, he did know when he needed a break. An actual break. The stress from this morning and now, but mostly this morning, was energy-draining like a giant vampire bat if they weren’t actually fruit bats. Stan was now crowding him like a doting mother, urging him to get a nice afternoon nap with only tired protests from him. “I’m… I’m fine… you don’t need to get me to bed…”

Ford didn’t know what happened after that, passing out at the table with little intervention. If he hadn’t, he’d be aware of how Stan took him up in his arms and carried him upstairs to Stan’s bedroom, the kids asking worried and slightly confused questions. Or how Dipper whispered his hopes that his Great Uncle Ford’s mind would stop tricking him at his unconscious form on the bed. Or even how Mabel laid a knit blanket over the regular ratty one and patted his hand comfortingly. But what Ford did know was fire and pain.

He’d woken up from his fantasy, finally.

“OH, DID LITTLE FORDSY FINALLY FIND OUT WHAT I’VE BEEN DOING?” Bill’s voice was the least of Ford’s worries as all he felt was pain. Finally, Ford broke free of the stupid fantasy. Part of him felt dim sadness that that wasn’t actually real like the fake Stan had tried to convince him to believe. “OH THIS IS INTERESTING…”

“What is interesting?” Ford spat out, trying to ignore the coughed-up blood that snuck its way out with the gesture. Something about this made him grateful. He wasn’t crazy like the ones in his head made him feel. He felt validated. Of course, it wasn’t like he wanted to be under Bill’s thumb, but it was the only thing that made sense. Not since that horrible song crashed his perception of reality. He couldn’t imagine having that one as a favorite, even though his memory didn’t lie. Bill ruined it.

“I GUESS YOU DO KNOW WHAT I’VE BEEN DOING!” Bill answered as boastfully as was normal for the demon, “I GUESS I SHOULD’VE BEEN MORE CAREFUL WITH YOUR CONSCIOUS SELF.”

“What do you mean?” Ford didn’t have as much of a head start on what Bill knew he knew than he thought. How much of an effect did Bill have on his consciousness? The thought frightened him.

“I HAD THAT OAF YOU CALL A BROTHER PLAY THAT ONE SONG YOU USED TO LOVE!” Bill spread his noodle limbs out in emphasis, before folding his arms in frustration, ignoring the scowl Ford was wearing at his insult aimed at Stan, “WHY DO YOU THINK HE ‘SUDDENLY REMEMBERED IT’?”

“Oh…” Ford hated how much sense that made. Everything was clicking and Ford wished that somehow it had been real, but he now had proof that it wasn’t. Bill wasn’t so stupid as to fall for a dumb twin swap, he should’ve been suspicious when the triangle didn’t show any sign of suspicion. Ford thought back then that Bill was simply falling to his arrogance, but he was smarter than that, of course. He should’ve known. He was acting within Ford’s head.

“WELL, NOW THAT THE GIG IS UP, I OUGHTA CONTINUE OUR LITTLE ‘DISCUSSION’,” Bill snapped his fingers and his hand crackled with electricity. Ford cringed, feeling the torture from the cozy depths of his mind was nothing compared to the real deal. Though he shouldn’t be so cowardly, he’d gone through it completely consciously before. But now he had the memories of feeling safe from Bill to consider, a horrifying bath in ice water after baking in an oven. “WHAT DO YOU SAY? READY TO GIVE UP THE EQUATION?”

“...no,” Ford couldn’t raise his voice as much as it had been before the illusion, his spirit already broken. But not enough to let Bill have his way with the world, nothing would be enough to make him do that. Ford at least tried to repeat himself with more conviction, even though he was sure Bill didn’t care. “No, I won’t give that equation to you. You can’t make me. Not after everything.”

“YOUR LOSS,” Bill blasted him with the pent-up electricity, and Ford’s vision grew white while his entire body burned as he’d been preparing for. Though… the pain ended faster than he was expecting, weirdly. Bill was laughing at Ford’s confusion, gesturing with his eye at something beside him where he had redirected his electricity. Ford looked over and his heart just about stopped then and there. Stan. The kids. They were shackled just like him and were now suffering the torture Ford knew he himself alone deserved. No!

“Not them! Anyone but them!” Ford cried, wishing he was back in his dreamland right about now. At least there, his family was safe. His heart was pounding and sinking as his family screamed and cried for the torture to stop. Who knew how much they could handle before their hearts gave out? Ford screamed with them, before feeling the weight of letting them die for the world just about crush him. He had no more choice. “I give! I promise, I give! You can have the equation, just let them go!”

“THAT WASN’T SO HARD, WAS IT?” Bill ceased the torture of Ford’s family as fast as he’d started, but Ford gulped at the writhing and groans that echoed in the throne room. Ford felt how wet his face was, realizing the ordeal had made him cry harder than he’d ever done in his entire life. Enough to fill several buckets at least, if the henchmaniacs were kind enough to catch the tears, which they obviously weren’t. Ford felt himself lowering to the arm of the throne, the shackles around his wrists and ankles loosening until he was standing on the stone townsfolk making it up. “NOW FOR YOUR END OF THE DEAL, FORD!”

“No, don’t do it, Great Uncle Ford!”

“You can’t trust him!”

“I’m sorry children, I have to,” Ford sucked in a pained breath before holding his hand out for the eager demon shrinking in front of him, “I can’t let you die for me.”

“EUGH, ENOUGH WITH THE SICKENINGLY SWEET TALK, ON WITH THE DEAL!” Bill held his hand of flaming fire for Ford to shake, an immortal impatience etched in every movement, “OR ARE YOU STALLING FOR SOMETHING?”

“I’ll make the deal, just… leave my brother and the kids alone…” Ford felt everything inside of him wane at the pure look of fear on the kids’ faces and the pure heartwrenching glare of hurt in Stan’s eyes. Ford turned away from them, glaring at the evil shape in front of him with a fury that wouldn’t rest. “Promise. Or it’s not a deal.”

“YEAH, YEAH, I KNOW, JEEZ,” Bill rolled his eye in annoyance like he didn’t want to believe the human he’d captured would want his family to be safe for the apocalypse, “IT’S A DEAL!”

Ford swallowed thickly and took the demon’s flaming hand, shivering at the fire that didn’t burn but tickled instead. Bill laughed as everything became monochrome and his physical form was left behind to enter Ford’s head. His real head, and not Stan’s, this time. Ford tried to ignore the lump of guilt in his throat as Bill entered his mind completely, screaming internally the entire time.

It was truly the end of the world, and no mental escape would save him from it.

“Ford! Wake up!”

Huh? Ford opened his eyes, wondering if Bill had let them free only for Stan to wake him from the stupor he was put in after Bill entered his mind, to find that he was in a familiar bed, or rather, next to the bed and on the ground. Stan was shaking him by the shoulder, but he quickly stopped the moment Ford’s eyes opened. There was something so… cognitively dissonant about the sight of Stan safe and happy after Ford swore he was being tortured mere seconds ago, it made Ford want to recoil and run into the closet again.

“Hey, you’re okay, you just took a nap,” Stan kept a hand in Ford’s trembling one, his words forcing Ford to hang on them as a lifeline, “I heard a crash and found you lying on the ground and screaming your lungs out… did you have a nightmare?”

“It… it wasn’t a nightmare, it was my reality,” Ford spoke softly, trying to keep his fear from overwhelming him but failing miserably. Stan’s face fell and Ford sighed. “I’m just… confused that I’m back here… I guess.”

“Do… do you want to talk about it?” Stan rose to his feet and offered a hand to Ford for him to follow. Ford took a moment to consider while he took the proffered hand and grunted as he got onto his knees. Stan pulled him to his feet fully and sat on the bed, patting a space next to him. Ford felt himself deflate as he rested his somehow more exhausted body on the bedside with Stan. It was then that his tears were finally noticed, running in tracks across his face. He blinked away the new tears as they left his eyes, feeling like a weak little kid again. He just wanted to shrink into himself and cease existing.

“I was… being tortured… again, like I thought I would be… but…” Ford shuddered, resting himself against Stan’s shoulder and gratefully accepting the arm now wrapping him in its protective strength and warmth, “...But then Bill was… he was… torturing…”

“He was torturing… what?” Stan prompted gently, with no urgency or pressure to answer right away in his voice. it was mercy enough to make him cry some more, but he tried not to. A sniffle was the only evidence of his internal battle to be stoic.

“He was torturing you, and the kids,” Ford spit out like it was poison of the highest degree, watching Stan’s eyes widen at that but soon translate into fussing over his mental wellbeing. Ford shushed him because he wasn’t done. “Then I had no choice but to make a deal with Bill to stop the screaming from innocent members of my family who didn’t deserve it, who I… who I loved so much…

“I ended the world for you, and I can’t believe it…” Ford felt the beginnings of his eyes watering some more, but he couldn’t stop himself from breaking down, “I… I… know now how you felt when you saved me over the world… I’m sorry for not thanking you… I’m sorry…”

“You’re forgiven,” Stan said the words so easily Ford was unsure this wasn’t just part of the trick. Ford didn’t care if this was real or not, knowing whatever reality he’d be going back to was ruined by Bill. “‘sides, it’s not like I was actin’ like I deserved it, y’know.”

“Wh-what do you mean?” Ford was confused enough to raise his head to look Stan in the eye to find a twinge of regret in it, “Of course you deserved the thanks, I was just… living with a stick up my rear end…”

“That’s a… weird way to put that, Sixer,” Stan stated drily, putting him at arm's length before breaking into a smile and holding him closer, only sobering when he needed to respond to the question, “But I wasn’t sayin’ I didn’t, ‘course I did, just… maybe I should’ve given you a chance to adjust to being home before beggin’ for it.”

“...don’t say that. You’re just going to make me feel even worse…” Ford shrunk into himself, not wanting to revisit those moments of hostility and resentment even in memory, “... I don’t even know if that would have helped… I was so… furious back then. Still, I’m sorry. Even if all this is just me coping with the end of the world…”

“What will it take for you to believe that this is all real, Ford?” Stan asked, only a little under his breath, “If this is the end of the world out in the ‘real world’, as you’re saying, why are you back here? Why’d you wake up screaming?”

“I-I don’t know,” Ford’s eyebrows furrowed, “Maybe this is my punishment.”

“Punishment…?” Stan stared at him, visibly forcing something hard down his throat, “H-how is defeating Bill and ending Weirdmaggedon a punishment? How is me getting most of my memories back a punishment?”

“N-not like that, I swear I didn’t mean it like that,” Ford immediately remediated, putting his hands up in surrender, “Just… knowing outside is the end of the world while in here is just… peaceful, it… it screws with me.

“How can I pretend everything is ‘hunky dory’ while all I can think is that everyone I love is dying out there in the real world because of me?” Ford finished with a long drawn-out sigh that felt more like his life force leaving him for good than a simple exhale of the excess carbon dioxide in his lungs. Stan looked like he’d been struck in the heart, his one-arm hug upgrading to a two-arm protective squeeze. Ford felt himself crumple into his shoulder and everything he’d been holding back spilled out of him like a dam had burst. I am pathetic.

It was hard to tell if Stan was getting anywhere with helping Ford see that he wasn’t dreaming and this was the real world, but he was going to be there for him as much as he possibly can. Especially since he was currently an impromptu water fountain. This gave Stan the realization that he hadn’t really seen Ford cry this hard in a… a long time. The last time his twin really made the waterworks jealous of his tear ducts, instead of a stoic sniffle that could be played up, they were kids.

Memories broke open in his head as little bubbles fit to burst, of Ford crying his lungs out after a really bad encounter with Crampelter and his cronies when Stan wasn’t around to help, which had ended in Ford being in a cast for a month. That had been one of the last straws before Pa decided to get them into boxing. Stan hadn’t really noticed how Ford just… began sucking it up just as much as Stan had been forced to. Not until now. When this was the strongest he’d let his emotions show that wasn’t anger.

“You know,” Stan began, trying to suck his fear back as Ford’s only response was an unsteady whimper, “...I don’t know how to help you… I thought I could help you calm down if I played into what you think’s going on, but I can’t.

“I don’t know how to prove to you that this reality is the only one you have to worry about, or that me and the kids are safe, or… or that your mind is playing tricks on you, I just…” Stan felt his chest heave as a shuddering sob ran through his body, “I just want you back… I want the nerd who can’t stop playing that board game with too many words as a title, I want the grunkle who loves his niblings so much he’s willing to end the world for their safety, I… I want my brother back.

“I’ve just been watching you suffer so much with this invisible enemy that I can’t protect you from, I’ve heard everything you said about how I’m not real because you can’t stop listening to your paranoid little brain, and I’m sad, Ford, I’m real sad,” Now Stan was crying almost as much as Ford was, “I’m probably bein’ real stupid with talkin’ to ya about this but what else is new? I can’t even dream of convincing you to believe me… you have to do that yourself. I can’t do it.”

“I’m sorry,” Ford wore such a guilty expression on his face, Stan couldn’t help but feel his heart begin to break at the idea that his twin could think it was his fault he was traumatized.

“Don’t be, it isn’t your fault,” Stan ruffled Ford’s hair, trying to reassure him of that truth at the very least, “I’m just… having a hard time knowing I can’t really help you get out of this rut. At least not directly.”

Ford turned away from him, facing the darkness of the room. Stan felt his heart drop yet again. He wanted to yell and scream that this was real, make it a battle cry that Ford couldn’t live to ignore. But he didn’t. He kept his cool despite how much he wanted to tear Bill a new one for tricking Ford so thoroughly even past his triangular grave. Bill was dead and gone and Ford couldn’t even have the peace of knowing that to be true! If only there was a way to truly assist Ford in believing everything was okay for real… Something occurred to him.

"Say, Ford… I dunno if you noticed, but there’s something contradictory I can’t help but recognize in your story…” Stan stated with a small smile, watching as Ford turned his head to him in confusion for a few moments, before looking away again, “Is this world something Bill created to keep you happy or is this completely in your head? I’ve been gettin’ mixed signals on that front, just wanted some clarification, y’know.”

“I-I don’t know,” Ford reluctantly turned all the way back to facing Stan, his face furrowed in concentration, “B-Bill created this world in my mind… That must be it.”

“Is that so? I thought Bill couldn’t enter your mind without shaking your hand? Why we had to use me for that memory gun thing?” Stan put on a thoughtful expression, slyly watching Ford consider something behind his eyes, “You’ve always had that darn plate, since before all that apocalypse biz you’re so fixated on, right?”

“I… I had it installed near the end of my journey on the other side of the portal… that’s correct…” Ford shook his head like he was still struggling to believe the words, despite the logical nature of them, “But Bill could still enter my dreamscape… just… couldn’t access my thoughts or possess me… huh…”

“One other thing, you know Bill more than I do, why would he let you essentially live in peace while he tortures you?” Stan felt the fervor of finding logical inconsistencies rush him into challenging each and every one of them, “That guy was sadistic the last I saw of him, why would he sacrifice the chance to watch you suffer it consciously?

“If you were just hiding in your head, wouldn’t he try to snap you out of it so you can actually feel the pain?” Stan asked right as Ford shrunk into himself, pausing his pointing out flaws in Ford’s worldview to ensure he was alright, “Hey, you okay there? I-I’m sorry if I was too much…”

“No, no, you’re good, I…” Ford turned his eyes to look directly into Stan’s, a whisper of shame in them, “Thank you for that… pep talk. I think I’m ready to start believing you… Just…”

“What is it?”

“...I think I must be stupid, that’s… that’s what,” Ford let the words out with a pained release of breath, not even looking at Stan to see his saddened frown, “Your logic… it’s… helping me begin to see that my mind is just a stupid liar… I don’t know if I’ll ever fully grasp how much of it is lying to me… and that’s just it, isn’t it?

“How can I think so illogically about everything and think I’m smart?” Ford’s voice came out warbly, and Stan prepared to comfort him, “I don’t know if I can trust you, but what you just said makes so much more sense… I… I’m at a loss.

“Part of me is… admittedly still scared that this is all an illusion, but…” Ford looked at the floor, shame plastered on his face, “...being duped by my rebellious mind is… frighteningly easy for me… so I suppose it makes more sense I got dumb again, huh?

“Maybe part of it being so hard to accept that this is real has to do with denial,” Ford continued, his voice cracking, a haunted look in his eyes like he’d received the most existential answers to his questions, “...denial that I could be so stupid as to believe that saving the world and being forgiven was impossible… I dunno…”

“Ford…” Stan kept a hand on Ford’s back, running it in comforting swirls until Ford leaned into him again, “...you’re not stupid for havin’ delusions. That’s all this was, if my memory of bein’ in and out of mental asylums serves me right. Probably need an actual diagnosis though, now that I think of it, but you’re gonna need therapy either way, so…”

“You’ve been in mental asylums?!” Ford jolted, and Stan worried he might enter another panic attack on that alone for only a second, before nodding positively, “...I’m sorry.”

“For what? Me getting clocked as being a ‘little’ coo-coo by random officers? ‘S not your fault I’m not all in the head… neither are you, if I recall, no big deal.” Stan was perplexed at Ford’s tenacity to focus on all the wrong things.

“But it’s my fault you were even ‘not all in the head’ in the first place… I abandoned you… I should’ve done more for you… I… I don’t deserve everything you’ve been doing for me…” Ford sure loved to beat himself up for everything, didn’t he? Well, Stan didn’t like it. He clamped Ford’s mouth shut with a hand before he could self-flagellate any more. Ford pushed his hand away with a frustrated grunt. “What was that for? I was trying to apologize!”

“Well I’m gonna need you to stop sayin’ sorry every time I say something less than favorable about what happened to me, okay?” Stan wasn’t really mad, just exasperated at Ford’s eagerness to justify being punished, to justify his previous mindset that this was all a dream covering a world of pain. “This ain’t about me. This is about you, remember? We can talk about me sometime that isn’t now; if you’re still so concerned that you haven’t said sorry a million times.”

“...A million times wouldn’t cover it…” Ford mumbled under his breath, but Stan decided not to get on his case about it. Instead, he pulled Ford close in a hug, whispering forgiveness in his ear in an attempt to quell the thoughts that Stan hated him, which he still couldn’t forget hearing from him this morning. It took a moment, but Ford reciprocated softly, leaving a wet patch of salty tears on Stan’s suit where he’d previously remained dry.

“I love you,” Stan squeezed him close as he said it, as if to prove them true, “I hope you know that.”

“...love you too…” Ford was muffled in the folds of Stan’s suit, but the meaning still came through. Stan felt a twinge of his own tears leave the comfort of his eyes at the genuine way Ford said that. “...will you help me think my way out of my ‘delusions’ if they happen again…?”

“Of course I will, Poindexter, what am I helpin’ ya here for?” Stan chuckled lightly, absorbing the shudders quaking from Ford’s body as he broke the waterworks again. Stan didn’t know whether or not to be surprised Ford still had tears to cry at this point, but however many he cried, he knew he’d try to be there for him. “...soon as those niblings of ours leave, I’mma look for therapy to sign you up for, if you want it of course. Do ya?”

“I… yes, I suppose therapy would be a… a good idea…” Ford managed through his tears, burying himself into Stan’s shoulder soon after, “...thank you.”

“Don’t mention it,” Stan patted his head softly, thanking his lucky stars that he was able to talk Ford down from his mind’s fears and suddenly remembering the cause of such a disaster with an angry glare at nothing, already making another one of his executive decisions in regards to Ford, “How’s about I ban that song from the house? The one that triggered this terror? So you don’t have ta worry about being sent back into that awful headspace again, yeah?”

“Yeah… that seems prudent in this case… it’s just…” Ford seemed hesitant, something that didn’t occur to Stan when he suggested it, “...it used to be my favorite… before Bill ruined it so that I can’t listen without having a stupid panic attack or even worse, falling into my apparent delusions…”

“I know, Poindexter, I wish you wouldn’t have to toss it aside, but some things are just better for your mind to give up, you know…” Stan joined Ford in looking at the carpet, noticing just how dirty it was before Ford removed himself from his arms. A contemplative expression weathered his face as he placed a hand on his chin.

“I… what if I don’t want it to be permanently banned? What if I tried to retake it from the association with Bill?” Ford suggested with a fervor in his voice and movements that suggested he’d been dwelling on the idea for longer than just now, “...then I would have won, wouldn’t I? Completely and utterly!”

“...I-I dunno, Sixer…”

“What? You think I can’t get exposure therapy to work?” Ford seemed positively annoyed that Stan could be unsure about what he wanted, “I could bring up that I’m wanting to work at listening to that song again someday at this therapy that you suggested earlier!”

“It’s not gonna be that simple, Ford.”

“I know that. Can’t I have goals?” Ford asked with a quirk of his eyebrows. Stan did have to admit that he made more sense than before this little talk. He did have a point. If learning to listen to that song without panicking is what he wants to work on while going to therapy, who am I to stop him from trying? Ford sobered up at Stan’s face, sighing for approximately the millionth time. “...Bill took so much from me… I can’t let him take my favorite song as well. I want to take it back, like I want to take my entire life back from him. It’ll be… it’s the only way I think I’ll stop being so back and forth about the reality of this world… you understand, don’t you?”

“I think I do…” Stan hesitantly spoke into the expectant listening ears of his brother, “Y’know what, if eventually listening to that song again without panicking is your goal, I won’t get in the way. Just… just let me help you control your exposure to it, so you’re not caught off guard, okay?”

“I can agree to that,” Ford replied, a smile finally cresting his cheeks like a beam of sunshine, just as the kids burst into the room. He shrank back only slightly, as it didn’t take long to realize that they were happy and not scared. “Kids! What are you two doing coming in here, you little knuckleheads?”

“We’re just so happy for you, Grunkle Ford! You got over your fears!” Mabel jumped into his lap, and Ford laughed at her certainty, “Now Dipper and I can have a good birthday tomorrow! It wouldn’t be fun without you there!”

“Haha, I’m not so sure about that, but I thank you for your confidence, Mabel,” Ford booped her on the nose with a finger and smiled at her, “...I’ve got more to work on when it comes to my fears, but I’m trying. That’s what’s most important. That I’m trying.”

“We love you, Grunkle Ford,” Mabel beamed at Ford while Dipper nervously touched Ford’s hand, which had been resting on his lap since Stan had suggested therapy. Ford took his nephew’s hand in his with a gentle smile, before what could only be happy tears sprinkled down his cheeks. The twins looked a little worried before Ford smiled at them.

“I love you two so much, you know that?” Ford gestured for a hug from the two, receiving them with such gracefulness it was like he was actually practiced at getting hugged, though Stan knew how not true that was with a light snicker. “Can’t leave you out of it, Stanley, c’mere!”

“No, wait!” Stan laughed as Ford included him in the group hug with such ease one would think they’d never been at odds in their entire life, before devolving into a tickle fight started by none other than Stan himself. Ford won by a landslide. Who knew having an extra finger was an advantage in tickle fights? Stan felt his chest spasm from all the laughter, before calming down enough for a quick clearing of his throat that garnered the attention of the others with ease. “Let’s get these lil boogers’ birthday planned before sunset, yeah?”

Three cheers rang out in that small bedroom as the current terror in Ford’s mind faded away.

Ford smiled. It had been quite a ride since that terrifying morning a few months ago, but he wasn’t about to count the days. Right now, he was standing on the starboard side of his and Stan’s age-old dream boat, the Stan O’ War II, watching the sunrise. Stan was right next to him, laughing about something hilarious he’d discovered about their latest adventure, not even worrying if Ford was listening or not because he knew he was, even if just in spirit. Ford would never admit how his mind wandered sometimes during the stories. Not like he wasn’t trying to listen or anything, just… everything about this felt unreal.

He still had his lingering doubts about the realness of this place, the ocean, this boat, and his brother beside him, but hopefully, with the help of the therapist Stan had found for them that was willing to do remote sessions while they journeyed, he’d have less of those stupid things, none if he could help it. Ford was simply happy that Stan was willing to put up with every panic attack and bout of delusion he’d had after the initial one. That he still wanted him to be part of his future despite every fumble and painful mistake he made. Yes, yes, Stan also wasn’t perfect in their relationship, but it was frankly easier to blame himself for the brunt of everything. That’s something you’re working on with your therapist, remember?

Speaking of, his therapist was very supportive of his desire to listen to that Vera Lynn song again, if cautious to remind him to take things slow. Ford had just started being able to call it by the singer’s name without spiraling, which had taken most of the month to do. Ford was hopeful after that small win that he’d be able to listen to it from start to finish without breaking a sweat someday. That was still an ongoing battle he would be fighting for a while, but Ford wasn’t planning on giving up on it, despite how many times he’d flown into a panic at the test listens. Bill couldn’t have tarnished it forever, Ford wouldn’t let him. Even though he had to ban it entirely on missions due to the safety risk of going into a panic attack when in an dangerous anomaly’s territory. Not even then.

Ford was happy, overall. Sometimes he felt like Bill hadn’t been destroyed and was still haunting him, that he’d wake up one day to find himself and his family dying in the apocalypse, but none of that mattered when Stan was by his side to guide him, considering all it took was a good talking to from Stan for him to come back to equilibrium. Maybe some days he was more inclined to trust the itch in the back of his mind that liked to lie about the reality of this world, but as time went on it became harder to hear that evil part of his mind that wanted so badly to tear him from reality. Stan had asked for some hints of trust from Ford, with no undercurrent of ulterior motive in his loving voice, and he gave it and more. Stan had even told him to pretend this world was real that day. And you know what? If that was his long con, Stan had thoroughly tricked him into accepting a happy ending and he didn’t even mind.

For Ford had finally begun to believe it.