Chapter Text
~Glass Shard Beach - A lifetime ago~
Stan kicked his feet, sending his swing hurtling back and forth. The salty air had grown frigid with the falling leaves and he’d grown bored with waiting for his brother. He missed walking home with him everyday but now that they were freshmen, he found himself walking with Carla increasingly often as his brother remained behind for everything from piano practice to helping their science teacher grade papers. While it was to nice have more alone time with his girlfriend, it just wasn’t the same as having his twin along with them. And worse, he worried daily about Stanford walking home alone. There hadn’t been an incident since spring, but still… He was running awfully late…
Something rustled behind him. He dragged his sneakers through the sand, bringing his swing to a hault. "Hey there, sixer, about time you-“ His eyes widened as he turned to greet his brother. "Holy hot cakes, Stanford what happened to you?!”
His twin hobbled over to the swing beside him and flopped onto it. His head hung low, trying to hide his dirt streaked cheeks and black eye. The front of his shirt and pants were soaked in mud and filth and a matted patch of hair above his left eye dripped blood down his face. "I fought back this time…“ he muttered, "Like you and dad taught me.” He wiped his nose, trailing red smears across his fist. "I grabbed Crampelter’s shirt and punched him right in the face.“
"Whoa! Good for you! I wish I could have seen that.” He patted his brother’s back.
“No you don’t,” he sighed, staring at his red and brown smudged hands, “It just made things worse. I’m still not strong enough…”
“Hey, let’s get you home and patched up, huh?”
Ford nodded. Stan wrapped his twin’s arm over his shoulders to ease the weight on his twisted ankle and led him to the sidewalk. The streetlights flickered on as he helped him navigate the groups of pedestrians and traffic-heavy intersections. Honestly, he wondered how Ford had made it to the beach without getting run over in his compromised state. Once they reached the pawn shop’s facade, he glanced through the amber-lit window and spotted their dad behind the counter. His lips pressed together in a disinterested frown as he examined an ornate clock while an elderly woman awaited his assessment with fidgeting hands.
“Hmm. He’s got a customer. We should go around back,” Stan suggested.
“Mm,” Ford agreed.
Stan unlocked the door and held his brother’s elbow to help him up the stairs as quietly as possible. Their father’s devaluing appraisal funneled through to the back stairwell as they ascended. Stan peeked into their apartment. The door to their parents’ room was closed and he could hear their mother’s voice beyond it, weaving someone’s supposed future in an eerie cadence.
“Coast’s clear. Sounds like mom’s doing a reading,” Stan said, “At least we can get you fixed up before we have to try to explain things.” He motioned toward the bathroom.
Ford obeyed and limped through the door. "I wish we didn’t have to tell them,“ he muttered as he sat on the edge of the bathtub.
"Yeah. It always messes things up more,” Stan sighed, running cold water over a cloth.
“Can we just say I tripped or something?”
“Again? Are you kidding? They’re never going to believe you’re that clumsy.” Stan knelt in front of his brother, tipping his head to get a better view of the wound nestled in Ford’s hair. He blotted it with the cloth eliciting a wince from his twin. "I know it hurts and all but try to stay still, will ya? And look, I get that you don’t want mom calling their parents or nothin’-“
"No it’s not that.”
“Then what-” He swallowed his words as his brother raised his head to face him.
Ford’s lips trembled as he spoke, “I’m tired of being like this! I’m tired of not being strong enough! I’m tired of everyone hating me!”
“For what it’s worth, I don’t hate you…”
“Thank you.” He tried to smile. "But… you know what I mean, don’t you? Ever since you stood up to that mugger at the theater that night, people actually talk to you. You even have a girlfriend now.“
"Yeah. I guess I get it.”
“I just get made fun of and beat up because I’m a nerdy freak of nature.” Ford breathed heavily with closed eyes, trying to blink back the burning heat rising within them. It had always worked before. Why was it so difficult this time?
Stan sighed, “Oh, not this again. Stop trying to hold it all in all the time, you’re gonna give yourself an ulcer. You know you don’t have to keep up that emotionless robot thing with me, right?”
“But I- I’m not a little kid anymore and dad always says…”
“Ugh. He’s really gotten to you hasn’t he? You know, not everything he says is right. It’s OK to let it out sometimes. It’s just me here. I ain’t gonna judge you and I certainly ain’t gonna tell anyone if you’re that embarrassed by it.”
He shook his head, biting his lip, his eyes still tightly shut.
Stan sighed and uncapped a bottle of rubbing alcohol. "This is gonna sting but it’s all I could find in the cabinet right now.“ He held the cloth to Ford’s forehead, just below the oozing wound. He tipped the bottle, dribbling the burning fluid over the gash.
"Mmmph!” Ford pursed his lips over the involuntary grunt his throat produced. When the burning eased up, he realized his clenched eyelids had failed him. His barriers were decimated by a single escaped tear. In an instant, they flowed freely down his cheeks. His hand clamped over his mouth to muffle his sobs and gasps for air. Stan unrolled a wad of toilet paper and stuffed it into his brother’s scraped up hand. He simply squished it between his palms, holding his head down, his shoulders hunched in humiliation.
“Hey… It’s OK, Sixer. You don’t gotta be ashamed.”
Ford lifted his head. His emotional eruption had eroded streaks through the dirt and blood smudged on his cheeks, like rills carved by rain in a dirt mound. Despite it, he managed a weak smile.
As much as Stan knew his brother’s pent-up breakdown had been stifled for far too long; as much as he wanted him to finally let go and let it out, he did not expect it to to affect him so profoundly. His temper flared. He wanted nothing more than to strangle his brother’s tormentors himself. He shook his head, trying to focus on the moment. A deep breath untangled the knots of rage in his chest. He unfurled another bundle of toilet paper and pressed it to Ford’s bloodied cheek, wiping away a portion of the grime.
“Thanks, Stanley,” he said before tackling his brother playfully, leaving grimy six-fingered prints on the back of his shirt. Stan let out a chuckle and hugged him back.
“Heh, now we’re gonna have to wash both of our shirts before mom sees what a mess we’ve made,” he joked, patting his brother’s back.
~Weirdmageddon - Day…? Time is dead and meaning has no meaning.~
Stan grunted at the memory. “When dad found out what happened he really threw him into the ring,” he thought, “Still can’t believe poindexter got better than me even at fighting! Jerk never thanked me for anything ever again after that. Guess he never had any reason to. Never came home bloodied up anymore. Never had a breakdown like that again. Kids were downright scared of him after he knocked out Crampelter’s gang that one day. But the teachers loved him. ”‘Oh Stanley, why can’t you be more like your brother and not steal letters from the school sign so reads ass hard High?’ Bah. That was genius and they know it. Getting up there to do that wasn’t easy!“
Stan sat with his back to everyone, staring at the tarp which covered the newly completed Shacktron. He glanced at what was once his home and business. Despite his protests, it had been transformed into a shielded weapon thanks to his brother’s apocalyptic mistake. He snorted. "Why should things be any different now? He doesn’t need me. Doesn’t want me. He can take care of himself and his own mess from now on for all I care. I did my part and what thanks do I get? My house is ruined. The kids are putting themselves on the line for him. And everybody thinks he’s the hero. But the kids… what am I going to do? They can’t fight this thing.” He glanced over his shoulder at the group.
Dipper and Mabel huddled together, staring at McGucket’s masterpiece. They surveyed the others as they prepared themselves for the coming fight. Pacifica studied a fashion magazine she’d found under Mabel’s bed, her twitching legs betraying her indifferent expression. Sheriff Blubs nursed a cracked mug of weak coffee, staring absently through a part in the tarp. McGucket checked various bolts and seams, assuring the construction was secure.
Stan turned back to his inner grumbling, his shoulders hunched. He nearly tipped out of his chair when Grenda and Candy ducked under the tarp beside him, breathlessly rushing over to the group.
“You guys! Bill and his weirdo friends just went off into the woods!” Grenda huffed.
“Now is the perfect time to do a reconnaissance mission,” Candy suggested.
“Oh man, I didn’t think he’d just leave like that,” Dipper said, tapping his chin and considering their new found options.
“You say they all left?“ Mabel pondered. "That seems er…”
“Negligent? Reckless?” Dipper offered.
“Yeah that. Why would they do that?”
“Does it matter? It’s is a great opportunity and I think we should take advantage of it. Maybe a few of us should go ahead and scout it out while we can. How long will it take to get the Shacktron up and running, McGucket?” Dipper asked.
“Should take about a half-hour or so tops. The engines’ll need to warm up and the crew will need to do equipment and safety checks.”
“Ok yeah that’s great and all but,” Mabel said, her hand on Dipper’s shoulder, “How are we going to get up there? We planned on using the launching tube thingys we built once we get close enough…”
“I don’t see why we couldn’t use them now… Er, can we?” Dipper shrugged to McGucket.
“Should work. I just have to recalcumalate the trajectory and tweak the settings a bit. Gimme three minutes.”
“See, problem solved. So who’s going with us?” Dipper asked, scanning the room for volunteers.
“You ain’t goin’ no where without me,” McGucket said, glancing up from his calculations and waving a wrench, “You two can handle starting up and piloting this without me, right?” He peered over his glasses at Grenda and Candy.
“Sure thing!” Grenda nodded.
“And you guys,” he spoke to Shmebulock and the gnomes, “You can take over for me in good old Gobblewonker, right?”
“You got it.”
“Shmebulock.”
Sheriff Blubs burst into the conversation. “I’m going whether you like it or not! I want my Durland back!”
“Dudes, you can count me in,” Soos said with a raised hand.
“Me too. I’ll tear that triangle’s dumb eye out if he comes back while we’re there!” Wendy snarled.
“Great! There’s room for two more. Anyone else?” Dipper asked.
“Ugh fine. I can’t let you twerps go it alone. But I’ll have you know that if I die, I’m suing you all,” Pacifica said with a swish of her hand.
“Ok then… that was unexpected,” Mabel said, “One more space to fill. Grunkle Stan…?” she tugged at his sleeve.
He turned further away from the group with a humph.
Mabel’s hand withdrew. Stan’s shoulders hunched forward.
“Argh! I can’t let you do this without me!” Grenda shouted, colliding with Mabel and nearly knocking her off of her feet as her arms squeezed her.
“Me neither,” Candy sniffled, joining in on the hug. “Maybe someone else could run the controls so one of us can-”
“Alright fine!” Stan stood and faced them. “I’ll go on your dumb mission but it’s only ‘cause I don’t want you kids gettin’ hurt.”
“Great! Let’s go before it’s too late!” Mabel tugged at Stan’s hand, pulling him inside the altered and armed Mystery Shack.
Each team member fastened their parachute buckles with nervous hands.
“Alrighty!” McGucket announced, “Everything’s been recalibrated. We’re clear for launch. Candy, Grenda, I’m countin’ on ya’ll to hold down the fort and get'er up and running as soon as that power gauge is lit up. You’re gonna have to be alert in case Bill shows up while we’re in there. If he does, you gotta create a distraction so we can get out.”
“You can count on us, Old Man McGucket!” Grenda crowed proudly as she and Candy saluted.
The reconnaissance and rescue team stepped into the the tubes lining the walls of the launch room and braced themselves.
McGucket counted down, “Three… Two…”
“Are you sure we have to do this now?” Stan grunted, “Can’t we wait until this thing is mobile? Or maybe we could, you know, come up with a plan that doesn’t involve us plummeting to our-”
“One…”
“Now!” Wendy shouted and slammed her hand over the launch button.
The team shot through the open mouth of the Gobblewonker, hurtling through the air toward a triangular opening in the side of the fearamid.
“Oh man Oh man,” Dipper chanted, his voice nearly drowned out by the constant yell of his great-uncle.
“Woo-hoo!” Mabel hollered happily, clearly having the time of her life despite the danger as she somersaulted through the air.
Dipper, Mabel, Soos, and Wendy landed nimbly within the Fearamid. Blubs, McGucket, and Pacifica experienced less than graceful landings but jumped to their feet with ease. Stan, however, faceplanted on the black stone.
“Ugh,” he rubbed his head and struggled to his feet. He joined the team in staring at the throne of human suffering in awe.
“Oh man it looks even worse close up…” Dipper muttered.
Soos felt ill. He couldn’t stomach looking at so many familiar faces frozen in varying expressions of shock, fear, and agony. The handyman turned away but something else caught his eye. In a far corner of the fearamid, a blue light glowed. His eyes focused in it. "Is somebody lying there?“ He thought, eyes squinting, "Is that blood? And that coat, it’s so familiar… Waitaminute…” Soos’s nausea increased tenfold as his mind put two and two together. “Uh, Mr. Pines,” he whispered, tugging at Stan’s sleeve. “It’s gonna be OK Soos. The boss will know what to do!” He repeated to himself.
“What? Sheesh, leave me alone, Soos,” Stan huffed and turned his back to the group, his arms crossed. “It’s you guys’ fault I’m even here in the first place instead of safe back home. Yeesh, this place gives me the willies…”
Soos frowned. If Stan wasn’t going to cooperate, he had to figure out something else and fast. He reached out with an unsteady hand and tapped Wendy’s shoulder. She turned to find an inexplicable look of worry and grief in his eyes. He discretely tipped his head toward the distant corner of the throne room.
Her green eyes widened in horror as she caught sight of what had him so upset. “Oh no… Oh man…” Wendy murmured, the color draining from her face. “Soos.” She edged closer to him and motioned to Dipper, Mabel and Pacifica, who were glancing around the eldritch structure in equal parts horror and fascination. “The kids… We can’t let them see. Not until we know what shape he’s in.”
Soos nodded solemnly, glad that her train of thought had followed his.
“I’ll tell McGucket,” he replied, in a voice little more than a whisper. “You tell Blubs.”
Soos placed a hand on McGucket’s shoulder and pointed to the figure lying in the corner of the Fearamid. McGucket’s eyes filled with worry at the sight. He stared, frozen in place for a moment before edging toward his old friend, his feet scraping and dragging across the stone.
Wendy turned to the short policeman whose eyes were still frantically scanning the throne, searching for his deputy. She tapped his shoulder. At first he didn’t respond. She tried again. He jumped, startled out of his focused search, and turned his attention to her. She jerked her head toward the corner. It took him a moment to register what she was pointing out. His hands clamped over his mouth when he did. Wendy pointed to Pacifica and mouthed, “We have to get them out of here.” Sheriff Blubs nodded to her and she nodded to Soos, ready to put their plan into action.
Soos made a sudden move for Dipper, scooping him up in his arms, clapping a hand over his eyes, and speeding toward an alley behind the behemoth throne.
“Whoa, Soos! What the heck?” Dipper sputtered and clawed at the hand covering his eyes.
Wendy grabbed Mabel’s wrist and instructed, “Don’t look back, just trust me!” as she pulled the younger girl behind her.
Mabel couldn’t help herself. Even as her feet followed Wendy, Soos, and her brother, she had to at least peek to see what had suddenly gotten them all so riled up. In a split second glance over her shoulder, all she spotted was Sheriff Blubs running behind them with a thrashing and protesting Pacifica tucked securely under his arm.
Once behind the throne, Dipper yelled, “Soos! What the heck’s going on? What was that all about?”
“Yeah, what gives, people?” Pacifica huffed, straightening her yellow sweater as Blubs gently set her down beside Mabel.
“Sorry, dudes, but we had to get you out of there,” Soos said apologetically, still holding an annoyed and confused Dipper in the crook of one arm.
“Why, is Bill back? Wait, where’s Grunkle Stan and McGucket?!” In a blind panic, Mabel tried to run past Wendy only to be swept off her feet by the taller girl.
“They’re okay, man.” Wendy set Mabel back down in front of her and bent to her level, her fingers clutching the shoulders of her pink sweater. She spoke in an uncharacteristically grim tone, “Just… please trust us and stay here with us for right now.” Wendy’s voice trailed off at the distant sound of McGucket’s, calling out to Stan.
“Will you stop bein’ a stubborn old cactus for just one minute an’ git over here, Stanley Pines!” Fiddleford’s hysterical command hitched. It seemed as though he was about to lose any semblance of composure.
Soos held Dipper in a bear hug until his panicked wriggling ceased. Wendy pulled Mabel close, wiped away the tears welling up in her eyes, and wrapped her arms tightly around the small girl. Blubs held Pacifica, surprisingly compliant or perhaps frozen in fear, close to him, uncertain if it was for her comfort or his own. The adults and teen each covered the ears of the child for whom they’d claimed responsibility. Even though the preteens were confused and frightened, they all sensed the severity of the situation and stayed quiet, trading worried glances with each other.
“What?!“ Stan shouted at the hillbilly genius. "What is it, you crazy-” He turned to find McGucket standing near a corner to the left of the fearamid’s triangular entry. The inventor held his hat over his chest as he gazed sadly down at… “Stanford!” The word ripped itself from Stan’s throat before he even registered it had left. His heart felt like it had stopped inside his chest as he stared wide-eyed at the prone body lying in a heap on the floor.
The moment of stunned paralysis washed away and he rushed to the corner, his breath barely able to squeeze through to his tightened lungs. Halfway there he could see ethereal blue manacles wrapped around his brother’s wrists and ankles and a collar clamped around his neck, each tethering him to the wall with a glowing chain as if he was a cruel man’s dog. A few steps short, he slipped and nearly fell flat on his back, barely catching himself.
“What the-” He looked down. Blood streaked the floor, leading to where his brother lay curled on his side, his face obscured by his matted, scarlet stained hair. Stan’s mind raced. Ford hadn’t simply collapsed there. He’d been either dragged or thrown across the floor with violent force. Stan struggled against his own throat for breath as he approached McGucket and knelt beside his motionless twin. His hand trembled as he reached for his shoulder.
“Stanford… Stanford, it’s me … Come on, wake up…” He rocked Ford’s shoulder gently. No response. He reached for his brother’s hand, heart sinking at the absence of the familiar warmth he remembered from their childhood high-sixes as his fingers curled around Ford’s limp, unresponsive ones. His jaw clenched tightly at the sight of the red streams trickling over Ford’s palm from beneath the manacle. He tried to check for a pulse. “OW!” He jerked away as his fingers brushed against the cuff encircling his brother’s wrist. It’s fiery glow burned at the slightest touch and Ford could not escape its bite. Stan’s arms shook, this time with fury rather than fear.
Stan tried to breathe, to calm down enough to continue searching for any sign of life. He held his hand close to his twin’s face hoping for some sign of breath. Nothing. Just more dark lines of crimson trickling from his mouth and nose. As delicately as he could, he tilted Ford’s head to the side. His stomach twisted as he caught a glimpse of the burns and bruises streaking his brother’s throat beneath his frayed turtleneck. He pressed two fingers against the side of his neck right under his jaw, searching for any flutter of a heartbeat. Still nothing. Stan’s fingers brushed against Ford’s bruised, ashen cheek, finding it as cold as his hand had been. A familiar rage flared at a sight he hadn’t beheld since his brother’s breakdown all those years ago. Streaks, eroded like rills trailing from his eyes, cut through the dirt and blood smeared down his cheeks. Tears. What had that monster done to him before he…
And then it hit him. There was no bringing him back this time. Stanford… his twin… his brother… was dead. Bill had tormented and killed him while he’d stubbornly refused to offer any help. He’d screwed up again. He’d let everyone down and lost his brother again. This time, forever. He felt a hand on his shoulder. Fiddleford. He tried to speak but all he could manage was a choked, strangled sob that felt as if it was torn from his throat by an exterior force. The weight of it all crashed down on him. Ford was their last hope. He was the only one who knew how to defeat the demon who had left him like this. The kids would never forgive him for being so stubborn- The kids!
He leapt to his feet, searching for the others but they were nowhere in sight. “Kids!”
“S’ok,” McGucket assured him, sniffling, “Soos and the others’re taking care of them so they didn’t have to see anything in case…” his voice trailed off miserably, leaving the implicit meaning in his words unspoken.
“What… what are we going to do now?” Stan asked brokenly. His shoulders sagged as he gazed at his brother’s lifeless body through the tears blurring his sight. He tugged at his sleeve with the intent of removing his coat and using it to at least partially cover Ford so the kids wouldn’t have to see him like this; so they could remember the smiling man who took joy in jumping around in giggle time bouncy boots, playing dumb nerd games with Dipper, and learning to knit with Mabel. So they could remember him as the hero who helped them protect the Mystery Shack and, by extension, everyone in the resistance from Bill’s terror.
“Stop!” The voice was distant, barely audible.
Stan and Fiddleford searched for the source. Finally Fiddleford pointed to a cage hanging by Bill’s throne.
“I’ve been…” the voice huffed, becoming more distinct as the two ran closer, “trying to… get your attention…”
“Gideon?!” Stan squinted at the boy, panting and wheezing from exhaustion as he danced in his cage.
“If he’s dead… leave… leave him be. Go… and hide…”
“What?” Stan demanded, suddenly furious that this little brat that had tried to steal his home and threatened his family would dare to presume to tell him what to do with his brother’s body. “Why?”
“Please…!” Gideon gasped, his expression open and raw, his eyes pleading with the two men to listen to him. “Just trust me! Hurry! He’s coming back now!”
McGucket grabbed Stan’s wrist and pulled him toward the alley behind the monolithic throne. They barely ducked behind it as Bill and his henchmaniacs floated inside.
"Oh man. Man I needed that.” Bill laughed, “Did you guys see the look on that bear’s face when we poofed it up into that tree? Hilarious!”
“Yeah but I still liked when you suspended the water from that pond in mid-air. The… what are they called again?” Teeth tapped his lower gum trying to recall the name.
“I think the humans call them fish,” Paci-Fire’s demonic growl echoed.
“Yeah. Fish. They were practically swimming into each other!”
“Yeah, Xanthar nearly flattened a mountain when he rolled over laughing. Good call on taking a break, Pyronica. But I guess we should get back to business. Aw who am I kidding, this is going to be fun now. I’ve got all kinds of new ideas.” Bill floated to the corner.
Kryptos snickered under his breath both amused and somewhat nervous. What if Bill guessed he was responsible for breaking his current favorite toy?
“He’s gonna take my deal before you know it,” Bill’s eye squinted merrily as he pulled on the chain attached to Ford’s collar, lifting his head and shoulders from the ground. "Right Sixer?“
Stan squinted but he could barely tell what was happening in the corner. Part of him strained to hear. Part of him wanted to cover his ears to block out the muffled sniffles from the terrified kids. He hadn’t told them yet. He hadn’t had a chance. Even so, he guessed they knew something was horribly wrong. They probably feared the worst and he was going to have to tell them their fears had come true.
"Hey. Sixer.” Bill’s eye narrowed as he shook the chain. Ford’s head and arms hung limply from the collar. "Ugh! You have got to be kidding me! What the heck, Fordsy? You used to be so much more durable than this.“
Stan’s fists clenched, his nails digging into his palms. Bill hadn’t killed him. He’d left him alone to suffer, fully expecting he’d still be alive when he returned.
Kryptos fought to hide a smile as Bill let out a tantrum-worthy, "Arrgh!” Aside from the chain in Bill’s hand, the others binding Ford dissolved. Bill whipped the collar’s chain, sending Ford sliding across the floor in front of the mammoth throne.
Stan stepped back, his eyes slammed shut and hand covering his mouth. He leaned against the throne’s base, clutching his chest. McGucket had collapsed to his knees, his head cradled in his hands. Soos and the others remained behind the throne, unaware of the details of the horror story unfolding around them.
“Seriously, Ford? Now I have to waste good time and energy on you again!”
Stan’s eyes widened. "Again?“ He thought. "What is he talking about?” He steadied himself and peeked around the throne.
Bill hovered above his brother’s broken form. He grabbed his shoulders, flipped him over, and slammed him onto his back. Stan winced at the sight. He watched in horror and awe as Bill pressed one hand to Ford’s chest. Blue light engulfed him. His wounds sealed. His bruises faded. The blood vaporized. Even some of the more severe tears in his coat mended themselves. As the light faded, Stan could see the healing was imperfect. Bill had left a few scattered wounds intact.
The demon’s hand withdrew. He floated back a foot or so and waited with crossed arms and legs.
Stan’s mouth hung open. He thought it was a hallucination when his brother’s fingers moved. His heart skipped a beat as Ford’s eyes flew open, his chest heaving as he gasped for air.