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Everything is dark.
He can feel his sockets start to tear. Any second now, and he'll pop like a balloon. His stomach is rolling.
He hears maniacal, horrible laughter all around him, echoing and reverberating in his bones.
I CAN DELETE MEMORIES RANDOMLY, JUST FOR FUN. MAYBE I ALREADY HAVE. WHAT DO YOU WANT TO REMEMBER? YOUR MOTHERS FACE? YOUR OWN NAME? WHO ARE YOU ANYWAY?
He doesn't know. He can't remember. “I'm–”
He's blank. It's too much.
Oh, god–
He (She? It?) can't think.
A flip of ■■■■ fingers, and it's back to him in an instant. “I'm Stanf–”
Flipped again. He falls to his knees, and his stomach sinks deeper and deeper.
YOU'RE MY PROPERTY. DON'T FORGET IT.
‘I won't’, he wants to say. He wants to beg and plead for forgiveness. He wants to die. He wants his brother. He can't open his eyes, like they're glued shut. He can't open his mouth, teeth clenching so hard he thinks they should have cracked by now.
Until a much too cold hand forces his jaw open, too forcefully, and he hears a sick CRACK as his jaw is stretched beyond human capability. Ripples of pain shoot through his skull.
OH, WHAT'S THIS? A PRESENT JUST FOR ME?
And suddenly a hand is slithering down his throat, arm impossibly long as he gags and chokes as his jaw stretches even wider to accommodate the horrible thickness. He feels a sick crunch in his sternum, followed by blinding, unimaginable pain.
■■■■ grips, and pulls, blood rushing through his mouth as his own human, beating heart is dragged out through his mouth into the empty mindscape.
AWW, YOU GAVE ME YOUR HEART! I WOULD HAVE GONE TO PROM ANYWAYS WITH YOU, SIXER, BUT I APPRECIATE THE SENTIMENT!
Illogically, he can still feel it beating, he can still breathe, until Bill squeezes as hard as possible and he's dying. He's dying– Oh god–
He's–
He can't—
DON'T CROSS ME AGAIN.
Stanford Pines screams.
—--------------------------------
Stanley Pines woke up to the sound of vomiting.
His first thought was that it was only Mabel's second day back in Gravity Falls and she had already managed to gorge herself on gummy bears, but then he realized the sound was much too close and Mabel wouldn't travel all the way to her grunkles room to empty her stomach.
Stan turned over to the mattress on the other side of the room, and found it empty. Not long after, another retch sounded from the closed bathroom door. The clock read 1:03 am.
Ah, shit.
It's not like his twin was immune to getting sick (he actually used to be quite a sickly kid back in New Jersey), but Stanley would have hoped his travels across the multiverse would have built up his immune system a little bit.
With a groan he sat up, and his bones gave a screech of I'm too damn old for this , as he slid on his slippers and meandered his way over to the bathroom door.
With a knock, he called, “Even you ain't immune to sickness, eh, Sixer?”
What he was expecting was a groan and a curse to the gods, because Ford was always a little wimp when he got sick.
What he wasn't expecting was a hard gasp and a scream that sounded like it was wrenched out of his twin, half terror and half sob, followed by the quick sounds of Ford presumably crawling across the floor.
Stanley jumped, and instincts he learned both on the streets and over the past months on a boat kicked in and he busted into the room, expecting to see anything ranging from Bill being back to the ghost of their father standing over Ford.
He saw none of that.
Instead he saw Ford pressed up against the bathtub, eyes wild, unfocused and glassy, tears streaming down his cheeks and reaching for a weapon he didn't have. He was making little gasps of terror, and Stanley's heart sank.
Fuck.
Stanford had warned this could have happened, back when they first got on the Stan o'War II. That sometimes when he awoke he couldn't distinguish between reality and memory. Stan understood; it had been like that for years after Rico and his gang. Thankfully, it never really happened on the boat aside from Stan needing to tell Ford what year it was.
Telling his heart to calm down before he has a heart attack, Stan tries to make his way across the room. “Hey, Stanford, it's okay! Hey–”
His hand got close to Ford's foot, and Ford screamed , kicking and flailing. “Don't touch me!” His voice rang out, raw and broken. “I won't let you into my mind, you son of a bitch!”
Stan reared back and distantly heard Mabel and Dipper pounding on the door, asking what was going on and if he was okay. Fuck! He needs to get this under control, now, or there will be two more bodies in here for Ford to not recognize and see as threats.
“Okay, Poindexter, just sit tight for a second, okay?” Not like Ford was even aware of what was going on, head between his knees and wheezing horrible sobs. Stan's pretty sure he heard Mom in between his cries and his chest ached something fierce.
With a sigh, Stan stepped out of the bathroom, and barely closed the door just in time for Mabel and Dipper to tumble into his room, crawling on top of eachother.
“What's going on?!”
“We heard screaming–”
“Are we getting attacked?!”
“I'll get my grappling gun!”
“Is it Bi–”
Stan slammed his hand over Dipper's mouth before he could get the sentence out and grabbed Mabel by the back of her nightgown. Sheesh.
“Shut your traps, will ya!? Everything's fine. The nerd just got sick to his stomach in the bathroom after a nightmare.”
Mabel stopped trying to run from him and turned around, while Stan watched all the tension fade from Dipper's shoulders. Now that he knew they weren't under attack, he licked Stan's hand to get it off his mouth (gross).
“Is he okay???” Mabel asked, eyes bright and worried while Stan rubbed his now spit wet hand on Dipper's hair.
“He's– He'll be fine. This happens sometimes.”
Mabel and Dipper didn't look convinced. Mabel toyed with the end of her nightgown and Dipper bit his lip.
He sighed. These fucking kids, man.
“Hey, you know what will make him feel better? Breakfast at midnight.”
As predicted, Mabel lit up. Dipper still looked worried, but now he at least had something productive to do.
“He's right! Come on, Dipper, let's make Great Uncle Ford the best nightmare breakfast ever!”
“Yeah, yeah, you go do that. Now vamanos , gremlins.” With a pat on the back (that was more like a gentle shove), Mabel and Dipper left the room, and Stan overheard her saying they should add some of the leftover unicorn hair from last summer to Ford's pancakes.
Stan shook his head and pretended the feeling in his heart wasn't overwhelming love for those almost 14 year olds, took a deep breath, and went back into the bathroom.
As expected, Ford was still on the ground and shaking, hand with the nail scar pressed to his chest, but he looked up when Stan walked in. Stan frowned at how glassy his eyes still were.
“Stanley!” Ford exclaimed, “You have to get out of here! He's– he's going to–”
“Hey, hey, Stanford, breathe. He's not gonna do nothing. He's gone, nerd.”
Stanford shook his head, and a deep part of Stan that sounded like his father went smack some sense into him. He shoved it down, like he always did. He's done punching Ford.
“He's coming, and he's going to kill you– he's gonna kill Mom, too, Stanley, you need to run!”
Fuck, that triangle bitch brought their mom into this? Not for the first time, Stan wished that he had done more to Bill than just punch him out of existence.
He made his way to the ground next to his brother, ignoring the way his bones ached and cried about it. Ford looked terrified, latching onto his arm the second he was close enough, and his bones could deal.
“Stanford, I need you to listen to me carefully. He's gone, remember? I punched him out of existence myself. Remember, the whole amnesiac thing?”
Ford still looked out of it, clutching Stan's arm so tightly he might draw blood.
“He– He can't–”
“Ford, I need you to breathe. Cmon, like me.” He took deep, continuous breaths, even when Ford shook his head and insisted he couldn't.
“Yes, you can, come on.”
Ford started to try copying his breathing, and after what felt like forever but was only about 10 minutes, his breathing had evened out and his eyes, while still glassy, were a lot more focused. Stan would consider it a win.
“You okay?”
Ford held up a hand, shaking his head, and continued to just breathe. Stanley got the hint; at least Ford wasn't grasping onto his arm so hard anymore.
They sat in silence for another 5 minutes maybe, during which Ford rubbed his chest, his hand scar and his eyes to get rid of remaining tears. The bathroom stunk like sick, but Stanley has stayed in worse bathrooms for longer.
Finally, after the silence, Ford cleared his throat. “I'm alright.”
“Yeah?” Stan narrowed his eyes.
“Yes… I'm aware of my surroundings. I… didn't know where I was. I'm sorry.” Ford sounded almost ashamed , and nope, Stan was not having that.
“Nope, don't even try that. You think I haven't had a flashback before? You've seen some shit, Stanford, you're allowed to be messed up about it.”
Ford didn't catch his eye. Stan felt the awkwardness that, since reuniting and sailing around the world with his twin had been going away, but sometimes still showed up.
“You, uh… you wanna talk about it?”
Ford shook his head ‘no’ immediately, and Stan let out a sigh of relief.
“Good, cause I don't either.” Ford cracked a smile at that, and Stanley felt something warm in his chest.
Suddenly, Ford sat up a little straighter, “Oh goodness, the children. Did I wake them?”
“Don't worry about it. They're downstairs putting together a snack for you right now. Between you and me, I think Mabel's trying to put unicorn hair in it.”
Ford chuckled, settling back against the tub. “She knows I’d still eat it, if she made it.” They fell into amicable silence, something that always makes Stanley feel like a kid again.
Soon, the stench of sickness in the bowl proved to be too much for Stanley, and he stretched and hauled himself up to his feet. “Alright, cmon, Poindexter, we're too old to be sitting on the ground like this.”
He held out a hand towards Ford, who eyed him, and a very old, insecure feeling rose up that his brother wasn't going to take his hand. But Ford did, hauling himself up to his feet and grimacing at his own reflection.
“I look horrible.”
“Yeah, is that news?”
Ford shoved him in the arm, and Stan cackled, flushing the sick in the toilet down.
“Stanley?”
“Huh?”
Ford still looked pale and sweaty, but present, and sincere. “Thank you.”
It's not the first time Ford has said that to him, but it doesn't fail to heal an old piece of him every time he does.
He would gladly deal with Ford's issues again, and again, and again.
“It's no problem, nerd. Anytime.”