Lizz-the-box - Hello!

When you're writing and you suddenly realize you don't know what happens next

Hey so i got brain worms for a bit with this prompt and started working on it....... but unfortunately the worms have left the station and so i have this sorry for it being unfinished :(

hope you like it anyways :D

Pain

A pain that was progressively getting more noticeable and this all encompassing pressure along his neck, mouth, hands, legs and shoulders were the first things Stan notices when he finally becomes aware of himself after being knocked out. The second thing he notices is that it’s starting to feel quite hot…or it's always hot, he doesn’t know; but what he does know is that opening his eyes does jack shit for helping him get his bearings in order. Though after shifting (read: flailing) around a bit Stan comes to the conclusion that he’s in the trunk of either one of Rico’s cars or some random car. Speaking of the fact that Stan left his car in an alleyway in some backwater town before Rico’s men found him. 

You should of just skipped town instead of staying for an extra day you knew Rico was still after you yet you stayed for what, a few hours of sentimental wallowing at the beach thinking about hi–

Stan shifted about some more; rubbing the rope that was around his wrists and ankles a lot in the process, trying to find where the trunk latch was. After a bit more shimmying and trying desperately to control his breathing he found where the latch was. 

The thing was though it was locked and unfortunately kicking it like stan had been doing for however many minutes… or has it been hours or days or wee– had done nothing but make his already ear splitting headache even worse as stan now starts to panic.

brea–

Fuckshitfuck Im fucking stuck in here they fucking locked me in here to die! Theyleftmetodieinhere to die in here either from starvation, dehydration or from boiling alive inthisfuckingcar

Breath–

He’s shifting more wildly now. Trying to yell, scream anything but it’s all muffled behind the cloth wrapped around his mouth digging into his cheeks.

Desperation in every movement as Stan trys and trys and trysandtrysandtrysandtrysan–

Breathe–

I gave them the fucking money i owed and it was stillnotENOUGH

The muscles in Stan’s legs grow more stiff the more he kicks.

I'm going to die here without those millions, i'm going to die proving pa right, that he was right that all i'm good for is ridding off of other people BETTER people’s coattails and bringing them down

BREATHE–

What would ma think? 

BREATHE–

Would she care? 

BREATHE–

What would Ford think?

BREATHE–

Would he be glad to not have the screw-up to think about when he’s DEAD

BREATHE–

Would he even care?

BREA–

THUMP

That’s when he hit something softer than the rest of this godforsaken car. Just behind where Stan hit his head in a blind panic was the backend of the backseat. It might be his only way out Stan thought numbly; his teeth already feeling phantom pain of what was about to come. 

The next however long was spent in a fog of numbness and all encompassing determination as he wraps his teeth around the looser piece of fabric on the backseat and yanks; choking on his gag in the process, but that didn’t stop him as he keeps yanking and yanking. Stan starts to feel copper in his mouth as the fabric rips off. A small victory as Stan continued this rhythm the whole way through the backseat. Find the weak spot. Tear. Find the weak spot. Tear. As Stan goes along, the cloth around his jaw starts to cut more and more into his cheek, digging further and cutting the edges of his mouth. Fortunately wareing down the cloth more as his teeth grind against the fibers of both the cloth and the backseat and allows Stan to be free from the gag. Not that he notices as he keeps going little by little chewing his way through the backseat of the car. The copper taste gets increasingly more potent and the smell of sweat, grime, and flesh make itself more known as Stan continues his onslaught, feeling chunks of something fall with the fabric and cotton he’s tearing out. 

There are no thoughts and no overwhelming feeling as Stan starts seeing more and more light while ripping through the seat. Just a need to keep going. To keep ripping and he’ll be free. 

For now at least.

When the hole to the backseat is bigger than his head; Stan uses his upper body strength to force himself through the newly made hole. Not caring how he got out, just that he did; cramming his shoulder the metal bits inside the seat scraping down his shoulder blades possibly  dislocating his right shoulder in the process, though Stan’s not entirely sure about it as he doesn't feel a thing; the numbness encircling his mind makes it quite hard to think or feel anything. 

Once out, the first thing Stan does is wrap his tied hands to the headrest of the driver’s seat back as flush as he can get before thrusting his body away from the headrest snapping rope around his in a violent manner taking a bit of skin off his wrists with the rope. Next was rope around Stan’s legs, this being a lot easier to get done as his hands were now free from the rope. Once done freeing his legs, Stan climbed over the center console and over to the driver's seat; stumbling as he went, then shoving his entire body weight into the driver’s side door, the door swinging out as if its owner didn’t care whether or not it was open or shut. Unfortunately that meant that Stan went flying out the door onto the hard dry ground. 

“Ah ‘uck” Stan groaned out as his face hit the ground.

Stan layed there for what felt like an eternity but was really only about 5 minutes; just lying there soaking up the feeling of the dirt beneath him. He needed to move, to figure out what was wrong, he needed to get help, there was so much blood he needed to move, but he couldn’t for the life of him get his body to listen. It was as if he was a guest to his own body barely feeling much, just an overwhelming feeling of numbness. Sure he felt that something was off with his body, the lack of teeth when he wrung his tongue against his gums and felt just that; gums, and his –what he’s pretty sure is very much dislocated– arm. He just can’t seem to get his body to operate the way he wants right now. 

Get up dumbass you got this far now just get up and keep moving  it’s not like anyone is going to come help you and if someone does come it definitely will not be anyone who would help you so. Get. Up.

Stan just couldn’t get himself to move even with his thoughts arguing about getting up he can’t seem to move.

Get up if you don’t know Rico’s buddies will most likely come back to see if their job was successful and if they see you out they will just shoot then and there GET. UP.

And by some outward force of will or just the thought of Rico’s men coming back at all seems to be the motivation his body apparently needed to start moving. Slowly, like an ancient mechanical robot Stan slowly got up from the ground, feeling a little–…or a lot Stan didn’t know– light headed he started moving in a direction not caring where he was going just that he was and maybe if he was lucky– like lucks been of his side so far –he would find a phone box to call someone to help him.

What was about and hour of hobbling in one direction, not including the times he took a break to go and spit out a wad of blood out of his mouth; he’s pretty sure he also spat out a few more teeth as well but that was neither his problem nor did he care right then and there. Stan found a small gas station, just a dingy looking thing not that Stan can complain at all given the life he lives or he guesses barely lives Ha.Ha. Anyways the gas station was nothing much just a two way pump spot for two cars use which was situated right next to the road and a corner store just a little ways away from the pump spots. Right next the corner store was the phone box he was looking for.

Huh guess my luck hasn’t run out yet… yippee..

Stan didn't even realize he even moved until he’s already at the phone box and the phone– now in his hand –was ringing.

*Hello this is 911 speaking what’s the emergency* 

Stan takes a breath before he tries to explain that he needed help. It took a couple tries as he was stuttering so much. As he is trying to explain he gets interrupted

*Sorry what was that i couldn’t quite hear you*

Stan blinks at that.

Of course they can’t hear you dumbass, you don’t have any teeth to help you speak properly

So instead of trying to talk again –because trying to talk the first time took a lot out of them just for the person on the other side to not understand was draining him– he tried tapping morse code. It was not one of the many skills he picked up on in his life as a ‘traveling salesman’ but one he picked up back when he was still someone to somebody even if it was just the lesser, dumber, version of them. Back when the better him; his brother even bothered to teach him stuff, though granted when they decided to learn it they mostly used it to cheat on tests, but it was the fun of it that mattered and honestly still helps him to this day like this call… which he should probably be paying attention to what they were saying shouldn’t he.

*Listen sir if you aren’t going to be taking this seriously then i will have to end this call*

Nonononononono was all stan thought as he frantically taped and scraped the mic portion of the phone trying pleading silently that they would know what he was desperately trying to say. He was so absorbed in trying to get this person to hear him, to understand him, to help that he didn’t notice the person on the other side of the phone disconnected until about two minutes later. Stan slumped, feeling ready to fall over at any moment but he had one other person to call. Stan fished into his threadbear hoodie looking to see if there was any change in it that Rico’s guys didn’t grab, to find just enough money left to call one other person.

Should he call ma? no..no he didn’t wanna give her anymore of a reason to think lowly of him or worse get worried….maybe sher–

Why don’t you stop being a pussy and call HIM you know he can help

No he can’t do that to him, besides who’s today he will call this time?

You know that’s a bullshit answer he always answers

Was he really sure of it or was it delirium talking, he has been losing a fair bit of blood

Just call him, what's the worst that can happen? He just confirms all your fears? Just. call.

It seems that Stan just loves making his own life worse as he begins to call a number he’s put in multiple times throughout his time as a grifter. He just hopes this time he’ll have the courage to talk this time.

It was a calm night in Gravity Falls. The sky was clear, the moon was at its fullest allowing moonlight to shine wonderfully down onto the foliage surrounding the sleepy little backwater town. Well mostly sleepy, as the lowly scientist was still sitting at his desk writing in his journal his seventh cup of coffee of the night, sitting getting cold as he absorbed himself in his work. For the past four ish years he’s been working as a field researcher trying to find why Gravity Falls is such a hot spot for the weird and unusual. 

Which is what he was working on, he recently talked to some of the locals about anything that could lead him to the answer that he was looking for. One of the locals said that he was talking about a cave system that may or may not have ancient writings in them. Ford was writing down what they had told him when he got interrupted by his phone ringing. 

He was half attempted to just ignore it.

If it’s important they will have to leave a message

He went back to writing thinking about possibly going to go check the cave out tomorrow if the weather was still nice tomorrow. But his mind kept going back to the phone and about halfway into the third ring Stanford picked up the phone.

“Hello this is Stanford pines.”

….

….

…..

He didn’t hear anything on the other side of the phone, just breathing and the low rustling of the wind in the background.

“Ok i’ve about had enough with your prank calls! If you don’t have anything to say then I firmly demand that you lose this number. I have important work that needs to be done and can’t be here wasting my time on someone who won’t even respond back. Good day or night in this case–”

It was then, when he was about to hang up that he heard it. Tapping. Tapping and scraping in a pattern that felt familiar to him. It’s morse code.

Tap tap tap tap – tap tap scrape – tap scrape tap – scrape

The pattern was heard repeatedly through the phone as Ford scrambles to grab a piece of paper and starts writing down each letter to the corresponding rhythm.

Tap tap tap tap – tap tap scrape – tap scrape tap – scrape

H-U-R-T

Okay okay so the person on the other side of the phone is injured in some way. How much Ford didn’t know, he also didn’t know why they didn’t just call the authorities but that was a question he could ask after he finds out first; where they were hurt, where they were so that he could get a hold of some who could potentially help. Hopefully. 

Ford repositioned his phone so it was more comfortable for him as he wrote the person's answers to his questions.

“Okay, so you say you’re hurt, could you tell me where it hurts?”

….

….

There was a bit of shuffling that was picked up through the phone like the person on the other side was weighing something before an onslaught of tapping and scraping was heard.

Scrape scrape – scrape scrape scrape – tap tap scrape – scrape – tap tap tap tap

M-O-U-T-H

….

Tap tap tap – tap tap tap tap – scrape scrape scrape – tap tap scrape –

S-H-O-U-

A pause, a hum before…

Tap – tap tap tap scrape – tap – tap scrape tap – scrape tap scrape scrape – scrape – tap tap tap tap – tap tap – scrape tap – scrape scrape tap

E-V-E-R-Y-T-H-I-N-G

GO MY PIGEONS, DELIVERY MY IDEAS

GUYS. GUYS. GUYS. OKAY.

What if, and stick with me, WHAT IF

Ford, in one of the many “prank” calls he gets, he hears something this time. Not just anything, tapping.

At first he’s like “bruh” and goes to hang up the phone, but his naturally curious mind stops him. This tapping feels too organized, too put together.

It’s Morse code.

Ford grabs a piece of paper and a pen and stars scribbling out letter after letter.

It’s just the word ‘hurt’ over and over again.

Ford gets a bit freaked out, but he starts talking, asking what happened, WHO this is. The who and what happened doesn’t get answered immediately, he finds out it’s Stanley of course.

This all just takes place after Stan chewed his way out of the trunk of a car and his mouth is fucked up seven ways to Sunday and can’t communicate besides tapping. The police hung up pretty much immediately, Stanford was the only one he knew of that would understand Morse code.

Blah, blah, blah, hurt/comfort for both my blorbos.

Stanley Pines is dying.

A good samaritan on the street found his unconscious body and decided to call an ambulance for him. Stan doesn’t remember everything that happened. He just knows that a few days and a multitude of tests later, he was unceremoniously diagnosed with a terminal illness in a random hospital in the middle of Oklahoma. Emphasis on terminal. The doctors tell him that without treatment, he has maybe two weeks to live.

Stan can’t afford treatment, nor the hospital bill he’s sure to be slapped with from his current stay. He sneaks out during the night shift and disappears. It’s one more debt added to the list but it’s not like it’s going to matter once he’s dead anyway. He finds the last place he left his car and spends the rest of the night awake in the backseat, wondering what he should do.

In the end, the conclusion is obvious: he wants to see his family. To say his final goodbyes to them in person. However, this brings a new dilemma. Stan’s family are all in different places. His parents in New Jersey, Shermie in California, and Stanford in Oregon. Stan, currently in Oklahoma, is stuck in the middle and with a decision to make.

He can’t visit them all. As much as he’d like to, Stan has neither the money, the gas, or the time to do so. He’d probably die before he could see all of them. He only has enough energy and resources to make it to one of them; he’ll have to be content with phone calls to the others to say his goodbyes.

When the morning comes, Stan gets into the driver’s seat and starts the engine of the car. He sits there for a moment, just breathing deeply. He has to pick a family member to see in person before he dies, and he doesn’t have a lot time, so he has to choose quickly.

It was never really a question.

He chooses Ford.

AKA a terminally ill Stanley makes his way up to Gravity Falls, Oregon to reunite with his brother. He wants to say his goodbyes and apologies in person before he dies. He’s not happy about dying, but he doesn’t think he has much to live for anyway, so he accepts it. He just wants to make things right between himself and Ford before it happens so he can go without regrets.

Stanford is not expecting his estranged twin to randomly show up looking like he’s literally on death’s door. Nor is he approving of Stanley’s plan to seemingly just lay down and die. Good thing Stan came to him. Now he’s given Ford a chance to do something about it.

All current research and projects get shoved aside as Ford focuses everything he has on a new, single task: take care of Stanley and save his life.

J.K. Simmons returns as Stanford Pines!!!

Ford reads thirsty comments!

Through the years ⛵️

Even in Lawless Lands We Still Have Faith: Prologue

I have been wanting to make my own rendition of the 'Blind Faith Au' i had posted a small thought about it in an earlier post i made and wanted to give it a shot! :D

this is inspired by 'Who needs trust when you have faith' by ItsBasilnotBasil on ao3 it's amazing you should go check it out if you've never read it before :)

“NO! You don’t understand!”

Ford frantically grabbed onto the journal, trying to snatch back his journal from the hold that Stan had on it as he clearly was too immature to have his life’s work in his possession. Especially since he seems to be so hung up by Stanford’s simple request.

“You said you wanted me to have it, so I'll do what I want with it!”

Stan wrenches the book away from Ford as he says this. He doesn’t get it, he doesn’t get any of this (not that he’d tell Ford that), Ford calls him up here to buttfuck nowhere, which he used the last of his money to even get up here to begin with. Just to tell him to go fuck off with his dumb fucking book and never come back. Well fuck that if Ford is going to give him this book he’s going burn it, if he’s so hell bent on no one else getting this book. 

“MY RESEARCH!”

Ford launches himself at his brother, throwing Stan and himself to the ground close to the switch, the journal flying across the room. Stan lies prone for a sec feeling his stitches on his side pull uncomfortably, before hastily getting up when he watches Ford scramble to get the journal. Stan shoves his brother into the ground as he runs past and snatches the journal off the ground. It was then he turned to say something, maybe say something witty or snarky or maybe to tell Ford that ‘fine he would leave’; Stan unfortunately wouldn’t know because as soon as he does turns he gets body slammed into the door behind him and onto a very sharp desk-consol-thing. On top of him was Ford’s anger consuming his face as he tried to wrench the book away from Stan.

“Want it back you’re going to have to try harder than that!”

Stan shoves all his body weight into his brother landing them both onto the floor. An electrifying whirl begins; crackling and sparking, the machine rising in pitch and frequency as the two brothers shove each other around the room not noticing the noise at all. 

Stan and Ford are now back at the entrance of the control room both tugging at the journal. From an outsider's perspective one could almost mistake the two for dogs fighting over leftover scraps; bearing their teeth and barking hoping with some vindication that their words would hurt the other.

“YOU LEFT ME BEHIND YOU JERK, IT WAS SUPPOSED TO BE US FOREVER YOU RUINED MY LIFE!”

“YOU RUINED YOUR OWN LIFE!”

THUMP

CKSSSSSHH

“AAAAAAAAAAAHHHH!”

“STANLEY!”

Ford watches as his brother slumps over, much like when a puppet's strings are cut. The fresh smell of burning flesh permeates through the air encircling around Stanford; reminiscent of a boa constrictor suffocating him. Ford stares at the now bright almost luminescent brand, no burn that he put on Stanley as Ford stumbles to get up he frantically utters an, “Oh my gosh imsosorryareyouo- OW”

He was then interrupted by a hard punch to the face causing Stanford to flail backwards onto the lever in front of the portal. The sounds of its whirling, crackling and high pitched humming expand and crescendo filling the basement with its music. The sound once again, going unnoticed by the two. 

Stanford slowly gets up from where he fell; eyes never leaving Stan's lurking form as he stalks closer to Ford hand gripping onto his shoulder. Looking eerily close to that of a predator cornering its prey.

“Some brother you turned out to be…”

He steps closer

“You care more about your dumb mysteries than your family…”

There’s a pause. They stare at each other and for that one moment, it seemed that Stan was trying to search for something in his brother's eyes. What he was searching for, Stan wasn’t too sure, sadness? A look that told Stan, Ford didn’t hate him? Again he didn’t know, but whatever he was trying to find in those all too sharp eyes was not there, only a burning hatred and anger was found. So in his own unfiltered anger Stan moved…

“WELL THEN YOU CAN HAVE THEM”

And made the biggest mistake in his life.

Stanley pushes his brother…

It feels as though time was both moving all too fast but also excruciatingly slow, like time itself was playing an awful game of tug-of-war as Stan watches his twin float up and into the portal. He’s saying something but he can’t hear it nor whatever Ford was yelling, over his own head buzzing so loud.

I need to move, i need to save him, i don’t know how but I need to move NOW

But his body seemed to be against him as it just. Won’t. MOVE. It was as if something was blocking him from making that leap, that jump to help his brother get away from that damn portal.

I can’t just stand here,

I need to move,

I NEED TO SAVE HIM

As Stan forced his foot to step forward, it was then whatever was keeping him there dissipated. Like a barrier was broken. Not that he was all too concerned on what that meant as his first and only priority was getting Ford away and safe from the portal currently trying to suck him in. 

Determination rushed into every fibre of his being as he ran past the caution line and jumped, gravity sliping immediately allowing Stan to float towards his brother. Luck seemed to finally be on his side as fords body hadn't gone through the swirling vortex of light yet; though he was getting dangerously close, he wasn’t too late. Stan was moving quite fast thanks to the jump he made earlier and he was able to grab onto his brother’s outstretched hand gripping for dear life. 

Unfortunately that’s when Stan’s luck dies off, because although Stan was able to grab onto his brother’s hand, he was a little late to try to wrench his twin out and onto the ground away from the portal. Ford’s body had started to be consumed by the portal. Not that Stan seemed to notice nor did he care as he holds tight onto Stanfords hand and uses his lower body to propel against the portal frame so that he can reef Ford out of the portal.

Come on come on come on please work pleasepleaseplease

Ford’s yelling something, he should really be paying attention but he can’t seem to focus. Stan’s pretty sure he says something back; maybe to yell at him back, to tell him to fuck off and let him help him, or maybe to say that he was sorry? It didn’t matter though, none of it did, all that mattered was fixing his mistake and getting his brother safe.

The buzzing in his head is getting louder.

Come on body work for me here, I need this to work please just let me fix it, 

Let me fix my mistake PLEASE

But it was no use, the gravitational pull was too much, at this point ¾ of Ford’s body has been consumed by the portal and was progressively more pulled in as Stan tries desperately to pullpullpullwhyisntthisworkingpleaseicantloosehimagagainbecauseofmymistakes–

But it was no use as more and more of Ford's body was slowly getting consumed by the swirling vortex that made up the inside of the portal. There was a look that will haunt Stan in his sleep as he watches the last bit of Stanford's face was swallowed into the jaws of the machine.

Before he could even attempt to mourn, Stan, whose hand had been holding onto Ford’s hand orwhatwasleft was fastly getting consumed as well by the portal. 

In the matter of seconds to the world but hours to Stan, he too was consumed by the portal.

Mere milliseconds after the last of stan is in the portal, a bright blinding burst of energy dispersed outwards evaporating the portal. Leaving the basement with an empty space where the structure should have been. As if it never existed in the first place.

The only trace that anything happened down there was a blindingly white crack on the ground in the center of it all.

Slowly growing in size as it consumes

And consumes

The Martian Stan AU - The Beginning

“Is that it?” Stan asked, his voice burning and rising like the coming tide, vicious and overwhelming and inevitable. Ford’s shoulders tightened involuntarily, and he threw his brother as scathing of a glare as he could manage. Couldn’t Stan see that this, Ford’s problems, were important? “You call me all the way here after ten years, just to tell me to get as far away from you as possible?!”

If Ford was any less exhausted, if the hole in his left hand and the hole in his heart  were any less gaping, and the fresh scrapes and cracked fingernails ached any less, he might’ve taken a step back to apologize. To explain that it wasn’t about what Ford wanted, or what Stan wanted. It was about stopping Bill, and saving the world.

If Ford were a different man, he’d reconsider his approach and find a way to fix the chasm that seemed to yawn wider with every word that came out of each of their mouths. But as it was, Ford was not a different man. He couldn’t even fix himself.

So Ford instead felt indignation sting like hot coals in his gut and urge him to step forward, closer to Stanley. His brother took an involuntary half-step back. “Stanley, you don’t understand what I’ve been through!”

“What you’ve been through!” Stan kept talking even as Ford pushed past him, fury etched onto every word like a brand. “No, no, you don’t understand what I’ve been through! I’ve been to prison in three countries, and I once had to chew my way out of the trunk of a car!”

He got up in Fords face when Ford turned back, his brows drawn low and finger jabbing into Ford’s abdomen. He didn’t realize it, because of course he didn’t, but he’d pressed right into one of the bruises on Fords ribcage from his trip down the stairs earlier that day. Ford grit his teeth and glared back.

“You think you’ve got problems? I’ve got a mullet Stanford!”

Why couldn’t Stan take Fords problems seriously? Was he really cracking jokes at a time like this? 

Ford couldn’t take it anymore. 

Oblivious to the dangerous precipice Fords stability had drawn close to,  Stan got bitterly sarcastic. “Meanwhile where have you been? Holed up in your fancy house in the woods and living it up, selfishly hoarding all—“

Ford went still. If he’d been a slightly different man, a slightly more composed man, perhaps, he’d have fired back another jab at his twin, because how could the man that ruined Fords life and betrayed his complete and total trust call him selfish?

There was a different voice, at a different time altogether too recent and a lifetime ago. His monstrous Muse, his most trusted friend, taking his body on a fucking joyride and then having the gall to look him in the eyes and say “YOU’RE PRETTY SELFISH IQ”. 

Ford had just kept on weeping blood. 

As it was, Stan didn’t get a chance to finish his rant. He was much too busy receiving a solid punch to the face and staggering back against the force of it. For a moment, all was quiet. Ford was shaking, he realized distantly, staring blankly at his brother. His knuckles stung from the impact.

Stan took more time to recover than Ford would’ve thought, but when he finally did, it was with a new layer of dark fury that Ford hadn’t ever seen from him before. Stan lowered the book from where he’d clenched it to his chest, and pulled out a lighter. “Fine.” He whispered roughly, though it echoed in the cavernous room anyway. Louder, then, “Fine! You want me to get rid of it so bad? I’ll get rid of it right now!”

A challenging fire burned in Stan’s eyes, and with a flick, it burned in his right hand too. Ford’s journal dangled above the hungry, all consuming light. 

Ford couldn’t breathe. Every piece of himself he’d had to let go of, that he’d lost to Bill and all that he was giving up to rectify his own mistakes, all to see Stan get rid of part of his life’s work right before his eyes. 

How dare he.

Ford let out a guttural shout and lunged for the book. Stanley, evidently not expecting this, stumbled back and tried to move the lighter before Ford and him could get burned from it in the tussle.

He only partly succeeded. Ford hissed at the momentary new pain shooting up the underside of his hand as he tried to grab for the book and Stan flat out dropped the lighter in response. His brother faltered for a split second, his brow creasing. 

“Sixer, I—“

Ford didn’t let him finish. The second he heard the nickname, some part of him blanked out entirely, and the buzzing in his ears sounded like an angry hornet in his skull. “Don’t,” he grit out, and he’s sure his voice was much too thick and angry and he wasn’t being rational but he couldn’t bring himself to care. “Call me that!” 

When Ford lunged for the journal anew, he tackled Stan to the ground as his brother instinctively tightened his own grip on the book. Ford’s book.

“Why not?!” Stan cried out, trying to pry Ford off of him and only succeeding in rolling the two on the ground away from the portal. Ford couldn’t figure out if he sounded more hurt or concerned. The hurricane in his chest kept him from thinking on it too much.

Ford let out a wordless grunt in response, as the two of them, having grappled up to stand, slammed straight through the door and Stan tried to pin him down onto one of the control panels, before Ford managed to gain enough momentum to roll Stan off of him. They were throwing punches and shouting insults they probably didn’t mean, and after a minute long struggle where they surely broke every damn thing in that control room —and good riddance, Ford tried to think but he was too tired to think much at all— Stan had shouted with all the ferocious desperation of a drowning man, “why can’t you listen to me, damnit! You ruined my life!”

Ford had retorted, because of course he did, with “You ruined your own life!” as he finally got a good grip on the book and kicked Stan away with enough force to shove him against the side of one of the control panels. 

Stan’s scream was abrupt and guttural and horrifying. It cut through the haze in Fords mind with all the precision of a scalpel, dropping a rock of dread into his gut. Ford backed away as quickly as he could, and didn’t even register his journal slipping through his slack fingers to land facedown on the ground. He felt sick.

“Stanley! Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry!” 

For a few, horrible, horrible seconds, Stan laid there, slumped and unmoving from where he’d hunched onto the floor. The burn— the brand on his shoulder looked angry and hot against his skin. It had burned clean through his coat and shirt.

Ford took a few hurried steps closer, shaking so hard he could barely walk, when Stan groaned. “Stanley…” he started, but trailed off as Stan pulled himself to his feet. His eyes were darker than Ford had ever seen them before. Stan was shaking too.

“You really want your dumb mysteries that bad?”

And Ford wanted to say, no, no he didn’t, because Stan still held his shoulder stiff as he could and his grip was knuckle-white where he’d used it to brace his arm against his side, because Ford had branded his own twin.

But the words stuck in his throat, because he realized with a start that Stan and him weren’t the ones shaking. The room was. His eyes shot to the portal.

His magnum opus and his curse, his Dadaleus’s Labyrinth, was activating. 

A sudden movement from Stan snapped Fords attention back to his injured, angry brother. Ford took a few cautious steps out of the control room and held up his hands placatingly as Stan advanced. His brother was blocking the doorway, but Ford needed to get in there, he needed to activate the shutdown procedure. “Stan, please,” he said weakly, not sure what exactly he meant. Let me through? Wait? Let me help you?

He didn’t get the chance to find out, though, because Stan continued talking, hefting up the journal he’d evidently picked up from the floor while Ford was distracted. “Well you can have ‘em” Stan said viciously, and Ford could hear the pain in it clear as day as he moved to shove the book into Ford’s hands.

Ford dodged Stan attempt, careful to not touch Stan’s injured shoulder, and weaved around him. “Stan, please, wait.”

Stan laughed, turning around. His grin looked painful. “I’m tired of waiting, Si— Stanford. I really am.”

Ford didn’t have time for this. His heart ached in ways Ford didn’t have the time to decipher as the humming in the room got louder, and he turned to move back to the control room. “Just a moment, Stanley, I just need—“

When Stan latched onto his arm and tried to whirl Ford back around, Ford reacted on pure instinct and deep seated paranoia, that kind that can only be born from aftermath of pure devastation. He followed the momentum and shoved Stan back as hard as he could, turning and sprinting to the control room before Stan could recover and try to stop him again.

“Stanford?”

He never got there. Stan’s voice, suddenly small and scared, ground Ford’s pace to a halt. The humming was louder now, reverberating through his chest. 

“Ford, what’s happening?”

For a terrible moment, Ford didn’t turn around. He just stared at the door of the control room as if he could stop time if he tried hard enough. He didn’t want to see. Seeing made it real. It meant his worst fears had become true, it justified the cold sinking in his chest. 

“Ford!”

Ford whirled around and let out a hoarse cry. There Stanley was, greasy hair floating in a halo around his face, one hand outstretched and the other holding Ford’s journal tight to his chest. Ford had pushed him over the danger line.

The look on his twins face was worse than Ford could’ve ever imagined. 

The anger had drained out of him, the closer he floated to the all consuming blue light of the portal. The was naked terror in his eyes, and he cried out for Ford again.

“Stanley! Hold on, please!” Ford said, before making another break for the control room.

He needed to shut it off right this instant.

“Hold onto what, brainiac!?”

“I don’t know, Stanley! Anything within reach, just don’t let yourself go through the portal.”

Ford input the shut down code. He input it again. He then realized that they’d knocked the cords out of alignment and frantically began adjusting them from where they were wired into the top of the control panel. Shit, they really broke everything in this room, didn’t they?

The third time he input the code, the light flashed green, and the keys made themselves known on a panel adjacent to Ford’s position by the window.

Three keys. Of course. Why did he have to make it three keys, all turned simultaneously?

Metal screeched in the portal room, and when Ford dared to glance up between trying to maneuver himself to turn all three keys, a jolt of horror swept through him and nearly knocked him off his feet. 

Stan has nearly entirely consumed by the light now, clawing at the edge of the portal he’d managed to reach. Ford cursed himself when he realized that the metal plate Stan was holding, as well as  over a dozen others, were loosening to the point of nearly falling off entirely from the main frame. The other objects he’d scattered across the floor of his lab, everything from basic tools like screwdrivers to bigger machine parts floated through the portal at increasingly high speeds.

Ford wouldn’t need to do anything, he realized, and it wasn’t the comfort he wished it was. The portal was destabilizing. Judging by the erratic pulsing the portal light was doing, it’d be closing soon.

Ford ran out of the control room and stopped short just as Stan locked eyes with him again. 

“Stanley!” he called, another desperate idea beginning to form in his panic addled mind as he scanned the room for spare rope and found none. The spare rope from the first portal test must’ve gotten caught in the portals expanding gravitational pull. His brother was barely a shadow in the light now, but Ford knew Stanley had heard him. “If you toss me the journal, I can—“

“The journal?” Stan gasped out, frenzied. “Is that still all you care about!?”

“No, no, if I just had the instructions, I could fix—“ this, fix everything. 

The screeching of metal and thundering of the portal reached a deafening crescendo, and Ford could see Stan open his mouth to interrupt, to say something, assent or argument or—

But Ford didn’t get to find out what Stan would’ve said. A particularly violent jolt shook the metal frame of the portal, and Stan, with a wide-eyed final look that Ford didn’t know how to decipher, slipped.

His brother disappeared into the light just as the portal collapsed in on itself with enough concussive force to send Ford crashing to the ground. He slammed onto his back hard enough to knock the air from his lungs.

Silence fell over the room. It was dark.

Ford stared at the ceiling above him, then dragged his eyes, slowly, painfully, to the portal. 

The deactivated, half missing and half obliterated portal.

For a long, long time, Ford sat in the dark under the full weight of every bruise and scratch and burn he’d sustained, and it was like he was underwater, head swimming with nausea and pain and bewilderment. He was numb. 

A faint plip-plop sound echoed suddenly through the deathly silent basement, and Ford squinted at the sound through his crooked glasses, trying to identify the source. 

A dark substance stained the edge of the portal, right where Stan had been holding on. Ford watched blankly as the liquid slowly rolled along the curve of the portal entrance, before reached a jagged gap in the perfect circle and slipping through. It slid down the jagged and crumpled panels, weaving until it gathered at the tip of a particularly jutting sheet of metal. 

Another drip.

Another.

Ford shifted closer, simply trying to breathe. He pointedly didn’t think about how the other side of the portal had driven Fiddleford to seemingly the brink of madness in moments, he didn’t think about the glimpse into the Nightmare Realm Bill had given him when he first revealed his true hand, and he certainly didn’t think about the final look Stanley had given him, grief and rage and betrayal all rolled into one.

He finally got close enough to see the liquid for what it was. It wasn’t oil, like he’d figured, like he’d hoped and prayed with every inhale and exhale to the gods he didn’t believe in. It was too thick, congealing with familiar splatters on the floor. It was a deep crimson.

Stan must have cut his hand on the metal with how hard he’d been holding it, Ford realized, and the thoughts were the first crack in the dam Ford had buried himself beneath. This was Stan’s blood.

Stan was in the Nightmare Realm, bleeding from one hand and burned on the other shoulder and begging for Ford to do something, asking Ford what was happening because he didn’t know, because Ford didn’t tell him, and—  

It was all Fords fault.

All of it.

Oh Moses.

The dam creaked with warning, a death rattle and a laugh rolled into one, before Ford was swept into the undertow.

Ford had killed his own brother.

All alone in the dark basement with the machine he’d turned into his brother’s grave, Ford buried his burnt, bloody hands in his hair and bowed his head until it hit his knees. All alone, Stanford Pines cried for the first time in years.

Alternate Titles: The Worst Conversation Ever

Or: Ford started disassembling the portal early and everything went to shit accordingly.

Tags! @aroace-get-out-of-my-face @pleasantartisanhottea @empressofsamoyeds @littlelilliana15 @pinefamilycatsau @thejaxindianrizzler (I saw your comment in the og post and it made me laugh cause I was in the middle of working on this when I noticed it) (I hope you don’t mind the tag :))

if I missed anyone I’m sorry about that! The tag is always a fair option to follow too (#martian Stan au)

ENA-FIDDLESTAN