There was an awkward lull in conversation as Stan and the other humans stared at the demons. Stan pinched the bridge of his nose. "Alright. Like I said, you two talk about all this junk, and then come talk to me about it before ya go off doin' anything about it. --That includes Miz not feelin' pain from that karma penalty thing, if that's what it is." He figured the kid would double-check that one on his own, no questions asked. "--You two need to figure out if numbing that out is gonna cause worse problems," Stan told them, "More than her feeling hungry, and what happens if she's too 'full' or too 'empty' on her energy 'gas tank' stomach thing, or whatever."
"She could balance herself by doing something 'bad'," Bill said with a shrug, but… yeah, even the kid didn't seem to like that idea. "...And expend far more energy than she needs to in doing so. …...And then eat more again. ...And then expend more again." Stan grimaced. --Yeah, that was the problem.
"Kid, do you think your sister wants to do something 'bad'?" Because that was the gist of it that Stan understood. Miz wanted to be good, but doing so made her literally feel terrible. And apparently her 'energy levels' being high -- not feeling like she was half-starving, apparently -- was what was making the feeling even worse for her, that was what Stan was getting here. The more energy she had the stronger those feelings became. ...and then Stan grimaced again as he realized that 'making herself bleed' probably counted as one of those 'bad' things. ...Except she was doing it to herself, so if she counted as a 'bad' person… except the kid said 'bad' people didn't get 'bonuses' for anything, though that didn't necessarily mean they got nothing, right?… but the way the kid had talked had made it sound like 'good' didn't need to be offset by… except then he'd said that thing about equalizers and loops and… oh hell, this was givin' him a headache already.
"Just, figure it out," Stan told the demon-kids a little grumpily. "You ain't gettin' any worse right now, at least?" Stan asked Miz. "It's not getting worse every time, this cycling thing? Or is it?"
"No. It comes and it goes. It hasn't really gotten worse? Just annoying."
"Okay," said Stan, letting out a breath. He knew what a runaway feedback loop was. "We'll keep doin' what we're doin' for now, then. --You can keep eatin' and usin' up energy," Stan told her, "And me and the kid can talk you through tryin' different things; see what makes you itch more or less or not. Whatever. --You two can keep on talkin' in the meantime, try to figure out something more permanent that's better. Right now, we'll stick with what works, that isn't hurtin' nobody. Including you," he ended on, giving Miz a look.
"Once I get a better fix on the ratios in this dimensional set, I should be fine on the hungry and full levels." Miz told him. "That would help a lot."
"Yeah, sure," Stan told her. "Just, don't go bumpin' yourself too far out of whack when you're figuring this stuff out," he warned her. "You change too much too quick… that's a problem you might not be able to get back from." Runaway loops and spirals.
Miz nodded at that. Bill nodded at him as well.
Ford wanted to change the subject again, though he also wanted to know more about this 'karma system' -- Bill had said it applied to everyone… and had also implied that it was not standard that Miz was feeling the 'karmic' consequences of her actions as a direct penalty to her -- meaning that other people would experience it indirectly. Which… based on what Ford knew about the definition of 'karma', indirect consequences seemed more in line with his understanding of the idea. That good and bad things he did would affect someone's future and the events therein. ...But the idea that, perhaps, these effects were not simply the natural consequences of his own choices and their casual impact rippling through the universe and people around him, but also weighed somehow by the whims of what the 'majority' might think of his actions, were they ever asked, and that somehow having some odd (probabilistic?) impact as well...
...if that was, in fact, the case, then what did that mean for demons like this Miz-'Bill' Cipher? Why did her own actions towards him seem to go largely unpunished by this system?
Not to mention... what did that mean, in how much of his own life had been affected by karma over the years, over the course of the outcomes of all of what he considered to be major life events for him, and--
--What sort of awful thing could he have possibly done in this life, or the last, that would have resulted in him being stuck with Bill for more than thirty years, if indeed Ford's suffering at the hands of the demon were potentially some form of karmic retribution?
Or would Bill himself simply call what he had done to him 'inevitable' -- with Bill being outside of the system himself and apparently able to do as he pleased with no consequences but those that other people directly applied in an attempt to directly combat his madness?! -- and his own karmic balance merely tipping the scales only slightly, one way or the other? And, if this was truly the case...
--Could he have been stuck with Bill playing with him and watching his every step for thirty-four years, instead? Forty years? --Fifty?
Ford stifled a shiver. And he tried very hard not to think about the fact that Bill had said not more than a few days ago that he could bring them all back to life and de-age them, if he so chose, and that meant--
Stan sighed pushed himself up from the table, clearing the table and starting the dishes. "Alright," Stan said. "Now that we're past the first of the things-first," he said, half tongue-in-cheek for the kid's benefit, "Let's talk about…"
And with that, he moved on to the next topic -- the main topic of the night's discussion, really -- which he was pretty sure Ford wasn't gonna like any better than the last two: an overview of the 'big plan' for tomorrow.
The younger twins both perked up at this over by the bunks, much more interested in this discussion -- which was one that they could actually both follow.
And after the initial query from Ford as to what this was all about -- and then the initial protest -- Stan actually got Ford settled out a lot faster than he'd thought he would. (Stan guessed it helped that his brother was getting tired.) It didn't take very long to convince Ford that (1) he (Stan) would be watching Miz and their younger set as they were doing the whole 'act' for everybody, and would jump in and handle things if need be, (2) the kid would not be taking part in any of this thing at all, and (3) -- which Stan had thought would be the kicker -- neither would Ford.
As it turned out, Stan didn't even need to make a bunch of arguments there to get his brother on-board with that last one, or anything. Because after he'd said that he wanted the kid away from it all, Ford had practically volunteered to be the one watching the kid for him, making sure he was staying out of trouble and keeping away from everything.
And the really weird thing was… after Ford said he was going to do that? Watch the kid himself, and not be there for any of the whole thing? --The kid stopped objecting to not being there himself; he just 'settled' for getting to have final say on everything that they were going to finish working out that night, beforehand.
(...Had the kid really been that worried about Ford trying to shoot his sister? Stan didn't think that the act going wrong was what did it for the kid -- because Ford losing his shit and waving the gun around without firing it would be more than enough to have Miz 'breaking character' and hiding behind one of the younger twins, probably Lee and not Sixer, after what had happened with Sixer earlier that day, even if Ford didn't actually fire it off at anything or anyone.)
After Stan had shooed Ford back out to the deck again, to do more work on the roof of the cabin and the deck (to try and keep interruptions to a minimum), Stan had Miz and the twins fill the kid in on how things stood so far, as he washed up the dishes after dinner.
The three of them got the kid up to speed pretty quickly, and they all planned at things for the 'capture' for the next few hours, talking things out until Bill wasn't vetoing the entire thing anymore, and (eventually) wasn't even offering more than 'suggestions' on 'flair' (after a hell of a lot of middling complaints of 'this won't work because--' and 'what are you going to do if--', along with what was basically a pretty hefty list of 'demands' before he'd okay his little sister putting herself in any 'danger', supposedly-real or otherwise)...
...and Stan finally decided they'd talked just about everything to death, it was all gonna be fine, and it was time for bed.
So Stan sent the kids off, down to their sleeping bags belowdecks, as he opened up the porthole above what was going to be 'his' bunk, just for that night.
He looked out of it, to see Miz moving blankets and pillows out of the sandcastle to set up a bedding area out on the deck. Stan wasn't too surprised; he'd literally heard the kid announce, as he'd strode out the open doorway, that he had decided he would sleep next to Ford that night (so that his brother wouldn't have any more 'annoying and incorrect' nightmares -- at least, not ones that he could remember...), and where the hell was he-- NO he was NOT sleeping UP THERE on top of the roof where he was right now, get DOWN here on deck, look Stanley is RIGHT THERE with the window open if Miz tries to eat you, stop being so STUPID, etc. etc. -- seriously, the kid and his brother had issues.
Miz had blushed and looked oddly excited at the idea of Bill and Ford sleeping together. Bill wasn't sure what that was about, but he wasn't worried about it. When he'd asked her, his sister had told him it wasn't anything important. Just something about boats.
Ford protested the sleeping arrangement again, but Bill leveled a glare at him and said, "I am NOT handling you having STUPID dreams with not-me IN them, and COMING UP or OUT HERE tomorrow morning and GRABBING at me. AGAIN! --You are sleeping UP here, NEXT to me, there IS no OR ELSE, you are just going to DO it, I am NOT breaking the agreement because of YOU. --Stanley, tell him to do the thing," Bill complained out at Stan next, directing it back towards the porthole.
"I don't need--" Ford stopped for a moment and reevaluated his argument quickly at the look he was getting from his brother through the window. "--I fell asleep next to you in the basement on that couch, without issue!" he tried next.
"Ford, when you fall asleep next to the kid, you sleep like the dead. It ain't gonna kill you to try it out one more time, and figure out if this is really a thing or not."
"Stanley, you can't possibly think--"
"Look, the kid's offering to help, and the dragon lady don't like eatin' heads. You got a metal plate in there that'll keep just about anybody out," if the kid didn't kill them first for the offense. "Pretty sure you're as safe out there as I am in here," Stan told him, then sighed and said, "But I'm right here, and I'll grab a chair and come out there to watch you both sleep again if I have to, until morning. And, y'know, make sure the scary dragon lady stays in her sandcastle lair. If you want me to." Not like he couldn't sleep through 'til the afternoon when the school let out, if he had to, once Ford was awake again.
"She's not staying in her 'sandcastle lair'," Ford began, because from the looks of things, she was planning on sleeping right at Bill's other side. Then Ford shook himself, trying to refocus on what was important, because, "That isn't the issue, here--" Ford began.
"Ford, you said you couldn't breathe last night, because you had some kinda nightmare, that you needed the kid to help you wake up out of," Stan said. "Were you lyin' to me about that?" ...Yeah, no. No, he wasn't. Not from the look Ford was avoiding giving him, he wasn't. Damnit. He'd really been hoping he'd misunderstood him before. "--Kid, is this gonna help him?" Stan asked the older demon next.
"It will help... you. Because it will keep him from having nightmares that have him thinking that he can't breathe," the kid said to Stan shortly, even though he didn't sound too pleased at any of that.
--Yeah, no. Stan wasn't risking his brother passing out -- or worse -- if whatever this thing was happened again, and his brother couldn't get to the kid in time this time. So Stan decided that he was gonna out-stubborn his brother on this one, and he stubbornly stood his ground. "--Ford, if this is gonna help you, then just do it."
Ford clenched his jaw and his fists and looked away. --That wasn't the point, or the problem. This hadn't been an issue before. Something had changed, and now Bill was taking advantage of the situation, to-- to--
...Ford wasn't quite sure how this might be advantageous to Bill yet, but the point still stood. He had no reason to be having these kinds of nightmares; certainly, not to this degree. He hadn't had nightmares this bad since--
"I'll be fine--" Ford began.
"It's all ready, now!" Miz chirped out, of the blanket- and pillow-pile nest that she'd finished setting up for the three of them.
Ford turned around and glared at Miz, not trusting her nearby while he was sleeping.
The younger demon sighed and scooted over a little, still close enough to be within sight but far enough that she wasn't anywhere close to touching Ford. She was snuggling Iseblonker to her chest, pouting. She flopped down on the fluffy blankets, looking like she wanted to complain at Ford's hostile look, but held herself back and just crawled under the pillows, sliding most of herself under a large pillow with an image of some anime character on it, with just part of her leg sticking out from beneath the pile.
Stan noted her avoidant behavior, and tried to remind himself to give her a headpat for that tomorrow morning -- not engaging the fight Ford was trying to pull, probably as an excuse to get out of not suffocating in his sleep. (...Stan also recognized that the pillow she'd just tunneled under was one of those 'anime' style ones, though didn't know what show it was from. And… Stan blinked. Was the image printed on the pillow a half-naked man? He shook his head and turned away from the porthole. Yeah, no. Not gonna ask.)
"I'm goin' to bed," Stan told them all. "Either fall asleep out there with the kid, or give up and come in here and take the other bunk," Stan told his brother.
"...That's an option?" Stan heard Ford say, in tones of confusion -- like he couldn't understand why no-one had told him this before. Stan also heard Bill say next, "I am NOT putting up with you mentally attacking yourself AGAIN and blaming it on me. AGAIN. SO LIE DOWN ALREADY."
...Ford ended up in the cabin. (Stan rolled his eyes at this.)
"If you die from not-breathing from this, I am tellin' the kids I said 'I told you so'," Stan told him grumpily, as he pulled up the covers, and settled himself into his own bunk bed.
Ford grumbled wordlessly at him, taking off his glasses to set them down on the nearby table, and rolling over in his bunk. --It was likely situational, Ford told himself, A one-time thing. They were in another dimension, in unfamiliar surroundings, and he'd been having to interact with both Bill and another highly-dangerous demon on a regular basis -- neither of which he could shoot at in self-defense without risking the safety of the niblings' lives, being held hostage. --In a more familiar boat-like setting, with only the one demon nearby, or the better air from being up on deck, with at least one porthole window open… surely this would not be a problem tonight.
And even if it was…
Ford was left blinking as the lights went out suddenly, and he realized how dark it was out just then -- both inside, and outside, of the cabin.
"Stan…" Ford said quietly.
"Go to sleep, Ford," was what he heard back, and a rolling-away and shifting of covers.
Ford forced himself to pull in a slow breath, as he tried to settle down in place. ...It was difficult, because he still felt keyed up and very much on a hair-trigger, after everything that had happened that day. The sounds weren't quite right, as a start, not what he was used to hearing, since they weren't actually out at sea or at a proper port. And it didn't help either, that his mind was still going in circles after what had happened earlier, when...
Ford tried to relax enough that he could drift off to sleep, while his mind kept crunching away at all the things that had been bothering him. He couldn't help it, as his mind kept circling around the problem of the demons, of three days and their younger selves and everything else that had been going on and going so horribly wrong ever since they'd arrived here. And what one particular triangle demon had done today -- or rather, yesterday...
---
"I can make time not a problem. It's fine. He doesn't have to rush…?" Bill said.
"But… But how?" the teacher asked next, like a supplicant asking for-- and Ford felt his hackles rise because that was the next thing that went wrong ....
Bill was still looking over at Stan. "I can control time," he said simply which just had Ford fighting down a shudder, because in the Fearamid--. Stan was staring back at Bill intensely, in a way that wasn't exactly leaving Ford feeling any better about--
Mr. Harman looked very confused, and also awed. "Y-you can--" There was a pause, and Ford realized that the man was looking down at his six-fingered hands. And when the teacher's eyes went wide and he said, "You're from--"
"--an alternate dimension's future, not the future of this one," Ford told the man quickly. He only realized how he may have just traded one problem for another far worse one, only after he saw the man's head lift. And at the new intensity of the feverish gleam in the man's eyes, the grin that got just a bit wider...
Ford fought the urge to take a step backwards.
"Time isn't a problem…" the man said in wonder, staring at Ford. But then he slowly began to frown. "...But you're old." He said it almost dejectedly, and with an undercurrent of stress in his tone that...
Ford heard his brother let out a snort, and Ford couldn't help but give him a glare. --This was a serious situation! Did Stan not realize that--
"Kid," Stan said next, "There's no way the teach here is gonna be able to teach class today. You got any time-related ideas for how to handle that?" Stan said, clearly playing off of what Bill had just said. But before Bill could actually say anything one way or the other, his brother added, "Other than doing the day over again?"
"Not with two demons here," Ford informed him tersely. "Not easily." Ford severely doubted that rolling back time would do them any good here; the other demon would hardly want to go along with it, herself.
"I can handle nonlinear time loops," Bill said to Stan, while sending Ford a glare. "My sister hasn't Looked yet, so it's more than doable."
"--Yes," the teacher said quickly, swiveling his head between them. "Do the day over again -- I'll get it right this time, I swear!" he said desperately to the demon next, straining to lean forward towards him, despite Stan's hold. "I know I will! I just--"
"Okay, no," said Stan, still holding onto the knowledge-addicted teacher, but without trying to physically pull him back away from Bill again. "Not a straight-up redo. We aren't doing the exact same thing again," Stan said next to the man, almost soothingly, "Because that'd have those blackboards all erased on you again. Right? --Kid, what's your idea," Stan said next. "This is your screw-up, gettin' this guy all wound up this far. I'm open to ideas from you on how to fix this one yourself."
Bill grimaced. (He didn't protest; he grimaced.) "He needs more time, yes? There are several ways to do it," Bill said next, then paused. "What is the thing that you would have wanted him to do yesterday, that he did not do?" Bill… asked Stanley.
Ford stared.
"Go home, see his family, eat dinner, and get a decent night's sleep, so that he can teach his classes today," was what Stan said to the demon promptly.
Bill turned away from Stan, and turned to face the teacher instead.
"Did you fall asleep yesterday, after Stanley left?" Bill asked him.
"--I'm sorry," the teacher said immediately.
Ford watched as Bill grimaced slightly in pure irritation, then smoothed it away. "Don't be sorry. Just ANSWER THE QUESTION."
"I-- I--" the teacher stammered, and Ford grimaced and started to move forward.
"Ford," Stan said quietly, and he stopped for a moment, to stare at Stan. Because why--
"WHEN did you fall asleep, and WHEN did you wake up," Bill said again, with a terrible intensity, staring the man right in the eyes.
"--I don't know when I fell asleep," the man said to Bill, "I only know when I woke up." He looked and sounded almost mesmerized, as Bill stared slitted cat-eyes at him, and he stared at Bill right back.
"WHEN did you wake up," Bill repeated, the exact same way as he had said it before. Ford shivered.
"Seven-forty-nine P.M.," the man said distantly. "I saw the clock in the teacher's lounge when I woke up…"
Bill leaned back away from him, breaking eye contact, and the man drooped slightly in place for a moment.
"Got a plan?" Stan said next. "Talk me through it, first."
"Stan--"
"--I want to hear what the kid's got to say, Ford," Stan interrupted him, sending him a look. "Let the kid talk."
Ford gritted his teeth. This was not--
But Ford saw the look his brother was giving him. And he kept quiet (for the moment).
And the silence drew out for almost a minute.
"--We leave the school grounds," Bill said, finally. Abruptly. Quickly. "You give me permission to toss up a 'perception filter' so that no-one stops us leaving. We walk someplace out of the way, out of sight. I cancel the 'filter' and jump us back in time, to seven-p.m yesterday, local-time. I put up a new 'perception filter'. We walk back to his house," Bill pointed at the teacher. "And we go inside and do all--"
"--No, no, that won't work," the teacher said, shaking his head back and forth, and Ford startled and stared at him, stunned. "That won't--"
"Hey, HEY!!" Bill said, refocusing on the teacher and snapping his fingers several times in his face, rather rudely. "Look at me! HEY! --LOOK AT ME," Bill intoned, finally getting the teacher's attention back on him again -- but only after physically grabbing his chin and--
Ford winced, feeling alarmed. --Was the man stupid?! Why wasn't he listening to--
And then Ford tensed in place as he realized what he'd just been thinking.
And when he glanced over at Stan, feeling a bit paranoid at his thoughts potentially having been heard by Bill guilty that he'd fallen so completely and abruptly into old and terrible habits, he realized that his brother wasn't looking at Bill, or even the teacher, as Bill more or less berated him and otherwise talked down to the grown man like a child. No, Stan was watching him. What he was doing. And...
Ford pulled in a slow breath, and looked away. He hoped that his thoughts hadn't been visible on his face. ...At least Stanley didn't say anything. At least he didn't seem to understand it all yet, even being visibly confronted with... Well, of course he wouldn't, couldn't understand it. Of course not. (Not yet.)
"--then you can ARGUE with me about it all AFTER we're all running on spare time, instead," Bill told him, "Unless you WANT me to NOT HELP YOU again." ...Ah, yes. And now came the threats. 'Do what I want, or else.' Classic Bill, with all the subtlety of an already-swinging sledgehammer.
"No! No! I--" the teacher said, rather predictably.
"--Then DON'T ARGUE WITH ME when I TELL you that I WILL do something to FIX whatever little 'time problem' that you THINK you have," Bill ended, then looked up to Stan. "We need to go NOW. Before first class; I DON'T want to have to overlap things too much."
What happened next left Ford feeling very off-balance and wrong.
"Kid, tell the guy that I know what I'm talking about," Stan said.
Bill gave Stan a long unreadable look.
"Go on," Stan said. "Tell him that he should listen to me."
And Bill slowly turned back towards the teacher.
And Bill said, "You should listen to Stanley. He knows what he's talking about…... when he says things about food and sleep." Bill said it slowly, and he said it while looking at Stanley, instead of the teacher.
"And…" Stan prompted Bill, and Ford looked between the two of them in growing worry.
"And…" Bill began, "He… is going to take you home. And... then--"
"--No," said the teacher, interrupting Bill again. "I need to--"
Bill gripped the teacher's chin even more tightly and looked him in the eyes. "Stanley knows what he is talking about when he says things like 'you need food' and 'you need sleep'," Bill repeated, in a more normal speech pattern for him.
"I tell the kid when he needs a break, and he listens to me," Stan said next.
"He-- you do?" the teacher said, going from protesting to confused in the blink of an eye.
"Stanley makes sure I know when it is mealtime, to eat at mealtimes. ...because eating is a necessary thing for human bodies to function properly ...with the way this dimension is currently set up." (Ford winced at everything that Bill could have been saying, but was leaving out there -- and the demon was clearly holding back hard on not including any of what Ford knew Bill wanted to say, for some reason, which was… highly unusual for him, especially given the circumstances.) "Sleep is also important."
"Tell him I'll make sure he gets what he wants here, kid," Stan said next, to Ford's utter dismay.
"You will do what Stanley tells you to do," Bill said. "He will give you what you want."
And hearing that made Ford sick, and not just because of what it implied.
It made him feel sick, because Bill clearly did not think that was the case.
And yet when Bill said it, it almost didn't sound like a lie.
---
What happened next left Ford feeling even more off-balance and wrong.
Stan had not-quite dragged a worried and frazzled looking Mr. Harman out of the school, around the corner, and into a dark alleyway. Bill and Ford had followed them.
No-one had seen them leave. They'd made eye-contact with no-one in the school. The students had all seemed to turn away from them as they went -- not looking through them, but their gazes and bodies literally turning away from them -- the student populace parting in front of them like the Red Sea as their little group moved down the hallway, straight-on through them.
And, once they were in that alleyway, out of the way of everything and everyone, Bill had simply stood there and cast some sort of spell. He'd just…. braced his feet slightly farther apart than he usually stood, lifted his hands up and moved his fingers into a triangular formation in front of his chest, closed his eyes, and...
Bill had muttered under his breath for almost an entire minute, nearly subaudally. Nothing that Ford had been able to quite catch -- which was likely rather the point.
And then the sun went out.
...Not quite that literally. But one moment the sun had been shining overhead, and the next… it was rather dark outside.
Bill had slumped a little in place after that, looking abruptly tired. And then, as Ford had watched, the triangle demon had waved a hand overhead almost irritably, making some sort of clicking noise as he did so, and then started striding forward, almost stiff-legged, out of the alleyway.
"Try and keep up," Bill had said, not looking back at any of them as he went. (And from the line of Bill's shoulders, he was irritated in the extreme.)
Ford almost protested Bill's 'order', but he held back after he glanced at his brother, quite ready to castigate him for letting the demon take the lead… and saw how very angry Stan looked.
Ford's breath caught.
It was gone in the next moment -- that steely-eyed glare, that clenched jaw -- but Ford saw it.
Stan wasn't… nearly as okay with the situation as he'd been acting.
And Ford hadn't realized this. Not really. Not until now. But… that didn't quite make any sense either. Because why hadn't Stan said--
"Kid, slow down," Stan called out, startling Ford out of his thoughts because Stan was not sounding angry, and not trying to hurry, either. Stan was just walking forward at a normal pace as he helped the teacher along. "We've got time. Yeah?"
Ford followed after Stan, and watched what happened next, and... he realized something: Stan hadn't let Bill hurry him along. He hadn't let Bill set the pace.
Stan had outright ordered Bill to slow down, and Bill? --Bill had looked over his shoulder at Stan when Stan had complained at him about his set pace, and… slowed down. He'd slowed down his pace. And come to almost a complete stop. Waiting for Stan to catch up to him.
Ford watched this, as he followed the three of them, at not two short paces behind, as they all continued walking on down the street, towards Mr. Harman's house.
...This wasn't just about Bill listening to Stanley or not. Not anymore. (If it ever had been.) There was something more going on here that Ford simply didn't understand.
Stan was planning something. Some sort of… scheme?... having to do with Bill. And Ford was completely lost now, not just at a loss at his brother's ongoing nonsensical behavior. Because this clearly wasn't just about getting Bill to not kill the kids, if it ever had been. Not anymore. --Not from what he'd seen out of the roof a few short nights ago. Not with what had happened out on the boardwalk. And not from what he'd just seen here. --Had Stan been lying to him, this entire time? ...Did Bill know what Stanley was trying to do? Or had even Bill been completely fooled somehow. Ford shuddered at the very thought. --What was his brother planning? He'd talked of… twisting Bill up inside, of Bill not telling him 'no', but… this was a far cry from simply a lack of 'no'. This looked far more like a 'yes', to him. And not just one 'yes'; this looked far more like… it was almost...
--How had Stan managed this? They were in another dimension, for Axolotl's sake! They were divorced from the rest of the Zodiac, they had no fallbacks or safety net to speak of, they were completely at Bill's mercy, subject to his every whim in order to get back home again -- if Bill would even let them do so, when he had every reason in the world not to -- and yet… Stan wasn't worried. And while Bill might not be following along at Stan's heels, he was taking outright orders and commands from him. --And not just listening to them and then laughing them off and… letting Stan get away with having said it to him by not killing him. Oh, no. Bill was actually doing what Stan explicitly told him he wanted him to do. --And not just that, but even largely without complaint. The former was mind-blowing enough, but the latter? Ludicrous! Did Stan have ANY idea--?!
No. No, Stan couldn't possibly. If he had, he would be being far more careful about it. That he wasn't being more careful about any of this spoke volumes, and all the bad kind. Ford almost wanted to grab his brother, tell him to stop-- but he couldn't.
Because if Bill didn't know what Stan was trying to do… if he didn't actually realize… If there was even some small chance that whatever Stan was trying to do to keep Bill in line and from killing or torturing them all for all eternity was actually working, even in some small mean respect… then Ford wasn't about to say anything that might clue Bill in to that possibility.
Ford still couldn't believe that this was truly what was happening, though. He couldn't imagine Bill taking commands, even though he'd seen it happening, right in front of him... but that didn't mean that Bill wouldn't, in order to continue playing along to some long game he had going.
...After all, Stan (and Bill) had indicated on multiple occasions now that Bill had only taken the Deal he'd had with him in order to get out of the Nightmare Realm eventually. If Bill had been willing to do something he considered so objectionable then, to, in essence, give up his own free will for an unspecified period of time in order to get something that he wanted...
...then the question still remained: what was it that Bill wanted so very badly now, that he would not only put up with this behavior from Stan, but actively play along with it?
That was hardly the worst of it, though. The real problem was, when Ford saw Bill defer to Stanley, looking to him for an opinion and actively asking for one… it wasn't a lie. Ford was sure of that, now. After what had just happened, it was clear now that...
...Bill had actually wanted to know. He'd wanted to know what Stan thought, and he'd wanted to take that into account, to run with it. And it hadn't been the first time this had happened, either. And that was--
Ford shook himself and felt a chill go down his spine as they came up on Mr. Harman's home. Because...
They didn't stop. They just walked up to the door.
And they all went inside.
And they more or less tried to hand the man over to his wife and very young son, and the man didn't want to--
And then Bill talked to him for awhile, and talked him down.
For the moment, at least, by explaining what he planned on doing.
--except then Stan got his two cents in and corrected him next.
At which point, Ford couldn't take it anymore.
"--The problem he's worried about isn't time to work, it's aging," Ford ground out at them all, because neither Bill nor Stan seemed to be getting the point, here! "Giving him some sort of workspace to work within for however many additional hours a day, the way you are talking about it, will simply age him prematurely. --He won't get any more done," Ford told them all. "He'll simply die a few years earlier, relative to the rest of the people in this dimension!"
Stan gave him a long look. "...Okay." He turned to Mr. Harman and then glanced at Bill. The demon rolled his eyes, looking exasperated. "I can make it so he doesn't age while he's in there," Bill said. "And--"
"--that still doesn't solve anything!" Ford protested angrily, because had his brother really missed the point of this whole excursion that completely?! "That won't stop him from working and working until he drops, or--"
"--Have any of you had dinner yet?" Mrs. Harman interrupted casually, bouncing her child on her hip. And Ford stopped in the middle of his tirade to look at her, blinking, rather derailed by her question.
"Ford," Stan said, "We can talk out the details downstairs later. --Teach," Stan said next, clapping a hand on his shoulder, "Ford's worked with the kid before. You can trust him to come up with a really good workspace for you, no time problems or nothin'. And the kid will toss up a copy of those equations again before we go; no worries," Stan said, as Ford clenched his jaw at that one. "Kid's got a great memory. You can pick up on that stuff again later." Ford nearly protested again, but stopped at the warning glare he received from his brother, though only barely.
"I…" Mr. Harman began.
"--And no, we haven't had dinner yet," Stan flat-out lied told Mrs. Harman with a smile, "And neither has this guy." Ford looked on as he clapped that hand on the man's shoulder again, then pushed him forward towards his wife and kid. "Maybe ask him about his day? He's had a doozy," Stan said with a grin.
"But…" Mr. Harman said.
"Me, my brother, and the kid'll go down to the basement and handle things for ya there, don't you worry," Stan told the Harmans. "You go off and get some food in you, spend some time with your family. Talk with your wife, and get a good night's sleep," Stan said like he had a right to be ordering a grown man around like a child. "You do all that? And everything will be all ready for you down there in the morning." (And Ford wasn't the only one who caught the warning there.)
Mrs. Harman smiled and took her husband's hand. "Come on, John. I made lamb roast tonight. Your favorite!"
"I… well…" Mr. Harman looked to Bill, who crossed his arms and gave him an unreadable look.
"Bill, tell him to do what I just said, or else," Stan said without looking over at the demon or away from Mr. Harman, just as good-naturedly as before.
"Do what he just said or else," Bill repeated verbatim, not changing his tone, look, or stance.
"Ah…" The teacher glanced around at them all one more time, looking a bit lost, then (quite meekly) said, "Yes, dear," to his wife, and followed her into the kitchen.
As soon as they'd left the room, Stan dropped the smile.
"Basement. Now." was all Stan said, as he turned and glared down at the kid.
Ford blinked.
...And that was how they all ended up down in the basement of Mr. Harman's house.
And then… Then, Stan actually listened to him for once.
Though, oddly, Stan insisted that Bill eat some crackers and get some sleep for a few hours before starting work on 'fixing up' that basement space to his (read: Ford's) specifications.
...Which was how Ford found himself -- after a quick 'early lunch' of crackers and more canned beans (also pulled from Bill's hat) -- sitting next to his brother on an old ratty couch in their old physics teacher's dimensional counterpart's basement, while watching the triangle demon sleeping on the floor and his brother dozing off on his shoulder.
Stuck in a 'nonlinear time loop'.
While himself, Stan, Bill, were also on the boat, and Mr. Harman was also still at school...
....completely violating everything that Ford knew about time travel from the niblings talk of the time-tape they'd used. It wasn't consistent with anything Ford knew from his own time in the Do-Over Dimension, either.
They hadn't 'replaced' their earlier selves along the same portion of their timeline, and Bill hadn't completely rolled back time in this dimension. He'd quite literally jumped them all back in time, to exist at the same time as their earlier selves, with their earlier selves being none the wiser.
It was more like their travel to this dimension had been, except without the glowing portal to fall through, and Ford had a terrible urge to attempt to leave the premises and try to create some sort of time paradox.
...except of course he couldn't, because Stan had, had Bill put up some sort of rather unobtrusive (to the demons 'in the past') and not easily Seen 'safety net', to keep himself and the Harmans in the house for the next several hours, until they were all past the 'time of overlap', as it were.
Bill and Stan were apparently the exception to that 'rule', but neither of them were planning on going anywhere.
It left Ford's head spinning, regardless.
Because it was impossible. Bill couldn't do this. It was impossible.
...if Bill was actually a demon.
A 'demon from the outside' couldn't have time loop back on them. They wouldn't be able to respond to their past and future selves in any coherent way. Not as far as Ford had ever heard. From what he'd heard, anyone who had ever tried to do something like that to one of them...
....well, it just didn't work. There was only one of any demon, ever. Their names were unique, and never used by others, and there was only one consistent, personal timeline for each of them. Summoning a demon across dimensions simply wouldn't work, otherwise. And once a demon was summoned into a dimension, at a point along that particular timeline… forward in that dimension's timeline meant summoning that demon when they were 'older'. Demons didn't, couldn't simply 'bounce around' a timeline in any order that they pleased. From what he knew from his time with Jheselbraum, the Axolotl kept that from happening, kept them from doing so. (It was one of the reasons Ford had thought that all dimensions had had their time synchronized to each other before their trip to this one in order to rescue the kids; why Bill saying that he could select any time at their point of entry had been so unexpected to hear.)
So if, after they were past that overlap in time again and past any possibility of causing any paradoxes by potentially running into their past selves, Ford saw this dimension's set of their younger counterparts and 'Sixer' and 'Lee' weren't aware of their having been gone… if the two of them remembered the very same events as they did, as had occurred earlier that morning... and if they didn't wonder outright where the three of them -- Ford, Stan, and Bill -- had been upon their waking, because they'd not been missing from the boat and Bill had been talking and acting as if that was going to be the case...
...then Bill wasn't actually a 'demon from the outside'. Not a real demon. Not like the rest of them.
And Ford didn't know what to do with that knowledge.
He'd largely been bluffing on the deck of the boat, when he'd said what he'd said to Bill before. About it perhaps being just a title. Challenging Bill on it. He'd been trying to act and react a little differently, as he'd told Stan he would, trying to put Bill even a little off-balance...
...But if Bill wasn't really a demon, then what did that mean?
And what was he, really?
(...A person?)
(...A person like them? --Hardly.)
(And if Bill wasn't a demon, what did that make his so-called 'sister', as well?)
And what did it mean that Bill had just helped get Stanley everything that he'd asked for?
Stan had said that he'd wanted Mr. Harman to leave the school last night, go home, see his family, eat dinner, get a good night's sleep, and (presumably) make it back to the school tomorrow in time to teach all of his classes.
And Bill had outright delivered on the first three of those things, strictly enabled the fourth and fifth, and was presumably going to help Stan make certain that he got back to school the next day on time and without issue for the sixth of those to occur.
And that was simply...
Ford stared at the ceiling, feeling tired as anything. He scrubbed a hand over his face, and tried to tell himself that, at least in some small measure, perhaps everything would be all right.
Because Stan had listened to him, for once, for the first time since Bill had been back. Stan was going to have Bill outfit the basement with a magical device that would act as both a time accelerator and a time freeze, in a sense. When it was activated, one second would stretch out to an eight-hour period, though it could be deactivated early. It could only be used twice in one twenty-four hour period -- as in, taking into account the last two times it was activated prior. The magic spell would encompass the entire basement; the device itself would not be able to be moved, and would be made as tamper-proof as possible, but any tampering with the device (to try and see how it worked or to attempt to reproduce it) would break it. The device would only work if activated by Mr. or Mrs. Harman, and the device would only work if Bill, Stanley, Stanford, Mr. Harman, Mrs. Harman, or any children the Harmans might have, were the only ones in the room; if anyone else was in the room, it wouldn't set off the spell.
Ford had wanted it not to be misused or over-used. Stan had wanted it to be a one-off, and something that couldn't be used by other people, because then the time could be 'sold off' or somebody might have a reason to steal it. But he'd also made it clear that he didn't want the teacher to be working down here alone; he'd wanted his family to be able to be down here with him.
Another limiting factor -- which Bill had brought up -- was food, drink, and the like. Bill was planning on building in a few localized 'rules' that the spell would enact, that would keep anyone down there from aging, needing to use the facilities, and needing to breathe, and the air mix would be refreshed right before the spell came down so that they wouldn't immediately suffocate on carbon dioxide. However, anyone down there would still need to eat and drink to keep their energy levels up; that had been something that Stan had pushed for, and somehow managed to convince Bill was necessary, too.
...And the part that Ford was hoping to convince his brother out of following through with, was Bill making a copy of all the prior equations into a notebook for the teacher; and Bill giving the man a way to contact him across dimensions, in case something happened and either the spell in the basement stopped working, or he thought he needed to ask Bill questions about something.
And the reason Stan had gone with both of those? Was that once Bill had seemed to understand what Stan was saying about having a 'release valve, just in case', Bill had been (thoroughly annoyed but) adamant that that meant having to give the man some way to contact him, in case he had questions or if something went wrong.
Stan was sure that the man was never going to get over what he'd thought he'd lost on those blackboards, unless they gave him a straight-up copy of what had actually been there -- that he'd just build it up into some great thing inside his head that would drive him crazy forever. Ford had a sinking feeling that his brother was right in some respect -- that it could become some sort of white whale for him -- but that there had to be a better way, even if he himself couldn't think of an alternative. Ford had seen what that knowledge had done to the man, and so had Stan, and yet...
Bill had offered to give the man something completely different to think about instead, but Stan had shot down that idea so fast that it had made Ford's head spin. Stan had stated that doing that would just make things worse, because then the guy would just have two things to maybe go a little crazy over, and that 'the kid' had already done enough damage to the guy for one day. (And Ford could hardly disagree.)
The possibility of more contact with Bill, though… Ford hadn't liked that idea at all. And Stan clearly did not know what he was talking about, because his reasoning had been… 'C'mon, Ford. He won't actually call the kid that much. Just knowing he can is gonna be enough. Knowing he can't, or thinkin' that he's gotta prove something to the kid to keep talking to him, is just gonna drive him crazy too. He'll practically kidnap the kid while he's here, and go crazy again once we all leave. It's gotta be 'no strings attached', or it just won't work.'
Stan had used similar reasoning for his open-ended idea of telling the teacher that he could talk to Bill about life extending ideas. Potentially moving to other dimensions or other planets, where he could keep on working after being or becoming younger again; medical treatments; getting de-aged completely -- Stan was planning on tossing several Bill-originated ideas at the man's head, and letting it go at that. 'Taking the pressure completely off.' Because Ford had been fool enough to explain that half the problem was dying before everything he might want to understand and know and work out the math and theory for was done.
The worst part was, Ford couldn't put into words why he thought it wouldn't be enough. It didn't seem right, and yet… Stan had put significant thought into it, he'd gotten Bill on board with everything -- grudgingly, in many instances -- and he'd argued Ford to a standstill. He'd listened to him. He'd included everything Ford could possibly think of, even if Ford didn't agree or believe that what Stan thought was a solution was actually going to work to solve what he thought it was going to solve.
Ford couldn't say his brother wasn't trying. But he was leaning far, far too heavily on Bill for all of this. And none of it was any real solution; it was just a stopgap measure at best.
And the saddest part of the whole thing was… the man was already better off than any other individual that Ford had seen have an encounter with Bill like that, and… well, they never survived unscathed by any means of the word. But this John Harman was at present, doing far better than...
It was a depressing thought.
And Ford really did not want to see Stanley fail at this.
...Really, Ford couldn't believe he'd been forced to be a part of this. To be a part and party to this.
He also worried about how the younger him was doing, left alone with the other demon…
...twelve hours later in time.
---
...No, Ford did not like any part of what had been happening here. Not in this dimension. And certainly not in the last one.
Bill had woken up later, and put in a solid eight hours of work, doing what he'd said he was going to do. And Stan had done what he'd said he was going to do. And they'd gotten a dead-tired Bill, and a still-frazzled (but fed and watered with two meals in him) physics teacher back to the school again -- after said teacher had immediately taken two of those one-second shifts in the basement that morning right after finishing breakfast.
...with no-one on the room with him for that first-shift, and his wife in the room with him for the second-shift. Because Stan had apparently saw fit to tell the husband that he was required to spend the second eight-hours sleeping with his wife in there, if he spent the first eight hours looking over those equations in the notebook Bill had oh-so-helpfully provided.
The man had seemed so focused on the notebook, that apparently it hadn't even occurred to him to ask to drag Bill into the room with him for that first-shift. It certainly hadn't occurred to him after the second, as they both came out and Stan handed the lady's child back to her almost immediately, with the door to the basement closing and then reopening again within seconds.
They'd all said good-bye to a smiling wife and her half-asleep child, and escorted that harried-looking teacher back to the school, along with Bill...
...and Stan had then turned around and immediately carted Ford off to go run errands and the like, despite the fact that, unlike his brother, Ford had barely gotten any sleep at all down in the basement during that entire unholy Bill-instigated mess.
Frankly, Ford was starting to think there was something wrong with this dimension. He hadn't felt this tired on this much sleep since he could remember. --Really, he had never felt this tired, period. The last few nights, he felt barely capable of staying up for more than eighteen hours straight without practically collapsing, and he was starting to worry if there was more wrong in this dimension here than potentially something drastically deficient in his diet despite Stan and the niblings seeming to, by all accounts, have suffered no issues with own their general health and liveliness themselves.
Something wrong like his other, younger self.
--Yes, they were in another dimension. Yes, this was one that had apparently been created without any influence by Bill. ...And, yes, Bill himself had stated that the dimension was all but the same as their own, the one they'd just left to come there.
Stan seemed completely at ease, and was fitting right in.
Ford felt like someone had dropped him down a rabbit hole at some point, and then tied it into the bottomless pit, with no light at the end of the beginning of the tunnel and no apparent escape.
He didn't understand what was happening here, and Stanley simply didn't seem to care. And the hits just kept on coming, and Ford didn't have the time or space or room to breathe to deal with any of them.
--Things didn't feel right, at all. Nothing made sense. He knew… just, knew… that there was something desperately wrong with this place, with this dimension. But he couldn't explain any of it; Ford simply couldn't find the words for it. Things just weren't matching up to the childhood that Ford remembered. Ford couldn't believe that, that other self who was supposed to be him was actually acting anything like him at all. But Stan didn't seem to find anything odd with it. None of it. None.
And Ford couldn't help but wonder if maybe he was slowly going insane.
Stan had been the one with memory problems, not him.
And the one thing -- the one thing -- that was just screaming for some sort of answer, was the one thing that Stan seemed completely resolute in out-and-out ignoring to the very best of his ability.
The science fair project.
It had broken, that younger Stan apparently hadn't been a part of it, and… Ford just couldn't understand why Stanley wasn't out and out screaming that from the rooftops. Some kind of 'I told you so!' nonsense that would have him grinding his teeth and taking it.
It should have been a vindication for him. Stan had said he hadn't broken the project, and that whatever he had done had been an accident. And if what had happened here was in any way reflected in what had happened back in their own dimension, then...
Ford pulled in a deep breath and rolled over onto his other side in his bunk, putting his back to Stanley.
But Stan… Stan was refusing to talk about it. He wasn't looking into it; he didn't seem at all concerned about what had happened, beyond making sure that neither of the younger thems went hungry or were too cold or too warm or doing badly at school...
...His own younger self had been the one to be kicked out of the house here, instead, and Stan had said and done absolutely nothing to address that, other than to say that the two of them should stick together, and then follow through on making that a reality.
And when that young Stan 'Lee' had talked about -- and kept on talking about -- dropping out of school and picking up extra jobs to be able to take care of his brother?
It made Ford's heart sick.
"It's better this way." Ford shuddered when he remembered the words he'd said. Remembered the look on Stan's face when he'd said it. Was… was that why Stan wasn't talking about it? Because he thought...
Ford hadn't meant it like that. He hadn't known… hadn't realized… --He'd just thought...
Stan knew that he hadn't meant it like that... didn't he?
...Was this really what Bill had wanted? What he'd wanted to see? What he'd wanted Stan to see? ...No. No, it couldn't be. Bill had outright expected him to go through the portal, leaving Stanley behind. Bill couldn't have expected any of this...
...but Bill had expected something. And they were in short order reaching the end of Bill's 'three days'. And…
Ford pressed a hand against his mouth to muffle any disgraceful noises he might make, as all of these thoughts spun around in his head, and something very fragile and sickening now occurred to him. Because now he was thinking, thinking about what Stan had gone through. He'd gotten kicked out, over a broken project that he hadn't been responsible for… and he hadn't had anyone stepping in to take care of him. And that younger Stan, would have gladly dropped out of school to work for the sake of his brother, if Stan hadn't been here to do what he was doing for them. It had, quite literally, been the very first thing on his mind, that that younger Stanley Pines had thought of. And that meant that Stan… that Stan... if that had happened to him, would he have…?
The first thing that Ford had thought, standing down in that hold and listening to them all talk, when he'd heard that that other, younger version of himself had been kicked out of the house… hadn't been a thought at all. It had been outrage, and disbelief. It had been a mix of emotions that Ford could only, shallowly describe as a 'how could he? How could this have happened?'
And it had all culminated in one single, solitary, and now truly terrifying thought: that it wasn't fair.
He'd never thought that for Stan. The thought had never occurred to him.
And Ford was realizing, only now, that it should have.
Because he'd thought 'that isn't fair, that isn't right, to get kicked out of the house like that, just for that'. For something that had felt like no real reason at all. ...for the younger him.
But not for Stan. Ford had never even contemplated what life might be like, out on the streets for his brother. He'd certainly never thought about how unfair it must have actually been for Stan to be kicked out of the house at age seventeen. He'd… he'd thought that Stan had deserved it for… for ruining his life...
...for seeming so unconcerned about what he'd done that was so very wrong...
...for not even seeming to care in the slightest that...
Ford pulled in another deep breath, and let it out slowly. His eyes burned, and he grimaced at himself angrily.
...it was still unfair. Stan hadn't deserved to be kicked out of the house for that. Not for that. Not for...
Ford hadn't even gotten a straight answer out of him for it. He'd barely been yelling at talking to him for two minutes before their pa had…
And it had left Ford without the means to seek any real answers, or closure to the situation. And, by the very nature of that, Stan himself had had no real chance to answer for any of it. To see, or to understand exactly what he'd done to him, for any possible remorse to set in. No chance to have Ford explain to him what Stan had done so very very wrong. No chance to even apologize properly for it, once Ford knew that he truly understood. No chance to make up for it--
Ford's eyes shot open in the dark of the cabin. And he felt as though he'd just been doused with cold water from his head right down to his feet.
No chance to make up for it. No chance to--
Ford's mind raced, as he struggled to understand -- not why he hadn't thought that might even be possible before, because ruining someone's life wasn't something one could simply 'make up for' somehow -- why had the thought even occurred to him in the first place, without any sort of sarcasm at all? It absolutely wasn't a viable option -- it couldn't be, if the situation had been what he'd thought it originally was before, because ruining someone's life that thoroughly was effectively the future death of whoever that person was truly meant to be, as surely as someone drawing a knife across that future person's throat -- but...
Stan's life had been ruined too, hadn't it? Whether he'd ruined it himself or not, for never coming home again after that -- for refusing to for whatever pride-filled reason, as far as Ford had been able to read between the lines from what both his ma and pa had said, from time to time -- being kicked out at the age of seventeen… never graduating high school… either living out on the streets, or in a half-repaired half-broken-down and unlivable boat that was barely a step above such...
But had it all been pride? Ford just wasn't all that sure anymore. And he'd never asked Stan about it directly. He'd been too upset about it all, again-and-still, and he'd not wanted to dredge up all that old anger and pain, to have it all bubbling up to the surface all over again. To say things they shouldn't, and hurt each other all over again, stabbing again at all those old wounds. They'd barely exchanged a handful of words about it, when Stan had finally remembered what had happened to have them each 'going their separate ways' and not talking to each other for years -- a full decade, in fact. Neither of them had wanted to talk about it, and not talking about it had seemed fine to Ford. He'd just been relieved that he'd had his brother back -- quite literally, back from the dead again after he'd pulled the trigger at his own bequest and killed him.
Neither of them had wanted to talk about it, and there had been plenty of other things that had needed attention and fixing far more than that, to fill up all of their time besides: the rest of Stan's memory, the house and the Mystery Shack itself, the fault line and dimensional tears in the forest--
And Ford pulled in a sharp breath.
--Stan had consistently talked about fixing things with Bill since he'd been back. About making up for unthinkable things. Fixing things. Making things better. --Penalties and learning-lessons. 'You fix it at least partway, and the penalty gets to be less.'
The implication there was: some things you can't make up for completely, but you can do something about it to make things better.
Stan never talked about forgiveness, when he talked about that.
He just went ahead and did things, and didn't ask for anybody else to say or do anything...
He'd only brought up 'forgiveness' once, and it hadn't been forgiveness, not really. He'd asked Ford what Bill could do to make it up to him.
At the time, Ford had thought Stan had meant forgiving Bill, to give the demon a chance to stab him in the back all over again, but-- that hadn't been what Stan had meant at all, Ford was now realizing.
All along, Stan had been trying to give Bill some of the very most basic things that he hadn't had after losing his home: food, clothing, shelter, schooling. Ford had drawn the first parallel to Stanley, but he hadn't drawn the second. Because Bill didn't want to be forgiven for anything that he had done, and that was that.
But Stanley… didn't want to be forgiven, either. --Not because he didn't care about it or was absolutely uninterested in it, but rather because in all likelihood, it was occuring to Ford now that it likely hadn't even seemed like an option to Stan. It probably didn't even occur to him that he might ask for it, and...
...and what? Ford shivered. Because if his brother had asked him to forgive him for breaking his science fair project one week ago, would he have done it? Would he have done it two weeks ago?
Three?
When they'd been out on the boat together?
...Ever?
Because Ford wouldn't have. He could not conceive of a situation in which Stan could have said something that would have had him letting go of that dull, old and painful anger. Of not caring that Stan had ruined his life, anymore. --On purpose, and with malice aforethought, Ford had thought.
...And Ford couldn't conceive of forgiving Stan, even now. But now, it was because he simply had no idea what to think about it all let alone what to feel.
Because, quite frankly, he'd just been confronted with the idea that Stan's idea of trying to 'make up for' something that wasn't even his fault would be to give up his own life to go out and try and work three jobs or more to try and take care of a him that was homeless at age seventeen. --Either of them. Both of them. Because what Stan had been doing these last few days? Acting as a guardian - boat repairman - carpenter - cook - money-making con-man and breadwinner for all four of them, plus two demons?
Ford couldn't even begin to comprehend what Stan would have considered doing for him, to try and make up for him not getting into West Coast Tech, if he'd had the chance, if he hadn't been kicked out of the house for… for whatever had happened with that project, with them.
...The project that he had damn near stepped forward and broken himself, staring down at it on that table in this dimension.
Everything, absolutely everything, about this was wrong. All of it. Every last piece and bit of it was wrong.
It hurt his head. It hurt his heart.
It made him want to punch and kick and scream vile profanity at the sky, that these versions of themselves got to have what he had not. What he had been denied, through-- through what? Fate? Destiny? --His own, stupid pride?
...Karma?
...or maybe Bill himself, somehow?
Ford tried to switch to a different topic. A different thought. Because this train of thought was making him hurt. But he couldn't. He simply couldn't. The things he had said, and what he had thought… how wrong had he been to say them? To think them? How wrong had he been then, and was he wrong now, about what he knew about everything?
...And now Ford was thinking about what his younger self must have thought he'd meant, when he'd said what he'd said out on that beach. 'It's better this way.'
...And now he was thinking what Stan must have heard when he'd said what he had out there, on that beach, too. What he must've thought, when he'd heard...
And it all made Ford feel even worse. Twisted up inside, painful and heavy and--
He shook and suppressed the sob building in his throat. Suddenly, he wanted to go back outside and punish himself by... if he was lying down and sleeping next to Bill, then Stanley wouldn't hear him, would he? Because Ford absolutely did not want Stanley to hear him right now-- they were in the same room, Stan would definitely--
Ford shoved his face under the pillow and breathed, hot tears streaming down his face, trying as hard as he could to calm down. He couldn't let Stan see him break down like this, he just couldn't. He couldn't, wouldn't be able to take--
Ford curled in around himself and held in his distressed sobs, and, eventually, after much careful breathing, he managed to get his shoulders to stop shaking.
He slowly and carefully wiped the remnants of the tears away from his face, and tried not to think about anything too hard for awhile, except...
...Three days. Bill had said three days.
Tomorrow was going to be beyond the third day.
And Ford had absolutely no idea what to do. About anything.
And somehow, it was worse -- not better -- that Stan was there with him. Because that just meant that his brother was going to be hurt somehow, too. When Bill did whatever he was planning on doing...
Ford wasn't ready for him. And Ford was now starting to fear that he never had been.
And Ford wondered, as he drifted off to sleep, exhausted from his surge of emotions, if it had occurred to Stan that the niblings were actually safer, with Bill not in the same dimension as them anymore. He wondered if Stan realized that, the longer they could keep Bill away from their home dimension, the more chance they might have for Ford to find a working solution to their problem. Ford had made that quantum destabilizer before; he could do so again. It wasn't as though he'd forgotten how to make it. He'd even spent the last several weeks before this trying to figure out ways to create more of them, not just alternate power sources that could effectively power it to the level that they needed. If Stan would just listen to him for once, when it came down to killing Bill...
But then, if Stan had been willing to do that, he would have performed the circle with them long-since, and Bill would have been taken care of weeks ago.
Ford slowly, in fits and starts, relaxed and tensed, and relaxed and tensed, and...
...eventually, Stanford Pines fell asleep.
---