Chapter Text
He felt as though he was floating under the ocean waves. Sinking with nothing to give him direction.
Silence.
His pounding heart was deafening in the unwavering silence.
Darkness.
The consuming darkness devouring his very being.
Nothing.
The vast nothing depriving him of everything.
Who was he?
His sense of self splintered.
For who was he without Hgzmuliw?
Drifter.
Steve.
Conman.
Stetson.
Criminal.
Hal.
Whore.
Andrew.
A light appeared-
Above?
Below?
He watched the light-
In its decent?
As it rose?
He watched with feigned indifference as it approached him.
The distorted orb stopped in front of him. A black ink bled through the static contents.
He reached out, fingers wrapping around the orb. It felt solid and cold and it tried to spill between his fingers like sand.
His brain itched.
Voices buzzed.
Hungry. Something said.
It's wrong. Another said.
Need it. Something said.
Movement leaden, he pressed the orb onto his tongue and swallowed.
Gasping in pain with relief as he's plunged into the memory.
A low fog hung around him. Science projects appearing and disappearing as he marched through the maze of tables inside the gymnasium, hands stuffed into his pockets.
He was pissed. Who gave them the right to say he wouldn't amount to anything. They were right. What did they know.
They praised a monster.
He stopped in front of his foot-bot. He just had to prove them all wrong.
“Stanley.”
He froze.
The fog swirling as he- as it stepped from the shadows. “What are you doing here?”
“Why do you care? Haven't you done enough?”
He watched warily as his imperfect copy grinned and approached. It moved in a way not natural to a human, and he still couldn't figure out how it had everyone tricked.
Had their his parents impressed. How it had isolated him from their his peers.
He couldn't figure out what it wanted. Why it targeted him.
It held its unnatural hands behind its back, tilting its head as it stared at him. “You will never be enough Stanley. You know that right.”
“I know you won't win.”
“Oh?” It slowly dragged its finger across the table with that stupid, impossible, perpetual motion machine. “Want to make a bet?”
He eyed the machine as the arms slowly circled continuously then cried out as his supposed twin hit the table, jostling its own creation.
The arms fell and smoke rose from the base. He quickly poked a piece back into place and tried to get it moving again.
It leaned in closer behind him and whispered into his ear. “No one will believe you.”
Ford scavenged his house, adding any book that even mentioned souls to the growing stack in his arms. The carpet helped rule out that the switch was merely at mind level, so it had to go deeper.
He also needed to ask Fiddleford if there was a way to easily spark memories to return—besides repeated use of the gun apparently. He'd prefer not to wipe more of his brother's mind just to get it to come back.
Perhaps it was finally time to dig through the boxes he stuffed in the attic.
“STANFORD! HE'S AWAKE!”
He almost tripped over the mess he called a hallway as he rushed back to the study, slowing before he entered so that he didn't seem so anxious.
Fiddleford sat on the couch, his fingers messing with the gauze on his hand as he tried to ignore Stanley's intense stare.
“Stop picking at that, Fidds.” Ford chided as he strode past his brother and set the pile of books down onto the desk.
He mumbled, but stopped as Stan found a new target to stare at.
Stan used his legs, exaggerating his kicks, to spin in the chair he was tied to. A scowl formed as he looked at Ford. “The fuck are you wearing on my face?”
“They're called glasses.” He said as he leaned against the desk and started flipping through the first book. “I found one of my old pairs from before my prescription changed. Not perfect, but I can at least see again. Would you like me to read the definition of blindness to you?”
“How about you untie me and read my fist in your face.” Stan struggled against his binds and tried to scoot closer, going nowhere with the carpet fibers getting stuck in the casters.
“That doesn't make any sense, Stanley.”
“Your face doesn't make sense!”
“It's your face!”
“Exactly! Give it back to me!”
“I’m trying!” Ford sighed and pressed his fingers to his temple, setting the book aside. “Look. I'll untie you, but you need to tell me what kind of deal you made with Bill first.”
Stan froze and cleared his throat as he sat straighter. “I'm not sure what you mean.”
“Don't lie to me Stanley! I talked to him!” He cursed under his breath as Stan's face hardened. Yelling wouldn't get them anywhere. “Please Lee. Bill's not to be trusted.”
Stan snorted in a short laugh. “Funny. He said the same thing about you.”
“He is a dream demon that's a master of manipulation. He's using you so he can try to open the portal in the basement and gain access to our dimension.”
“Gravity falls… Fear the beast with one eye…” Fiddleford muttered, having curled into himself and started to quietly repeat the same phrase.
“I for one don't trust him as far as I can throw his scrawny ass. He's crazy.” Stan glanced at Fiddleford warily before turning his attention back to Ford. “As for you, you've manipulated everyone in my life. You won. I don't know what about me is so interesting for you to keep coming back and dragging me through the mud.”
“Wha–”
“That said. I don't trust Bill either. I'm the one using him to get what I want.” He narrowed his eyes, gauging Ford's reaction. “As long as I keep getting my memories back until I return to my own body, I saw no issue giving him access to a body that's not even mine while I'm not using it.”