PART 1

Chapter 1

The waves rocked and crashed against the sides of the Stan O' War II as Stanley and Stanford Pines slept in their rickety below-deck bunk beds. It'd been so long since the brothers had spent any time together that Stanley had forgotten that his brother was an obnoxious snorer. He grumbled as he rolled over to face the wall, pulling the other half of his pillow over his head to block out the noise. With the door to their small cabin bedroom closed, not even the moonlight penetrated the darkness. With all of Stan's senses heightened from the lack of light, it made the snoring even worse. The damned pillow wasn't thick enough to block out anything more than the distant sound of the waves.

There was a simple answer as to why Stanley Pines was still awake - he was afraid to fall asleep. He'd been on this rickety old boat with his brother for nearly three months, but it was only recently that the nightmares had started. He knew there was no reason for him to be afraid anymore - Bill was long gone, and in every port they stopped in they were met with letters from their niece and nephew. There was usually at least one letter from Dipper to Ford, fervently documenting his research on urban legends for extra credit assignments, to which Ford would usually go on for a good half hour about to Stan's uninterested ears. Mabel would write about school and new friends, and of course, about the special outdoor home she was making for Waddles in their backyard. Stan chuckled to himself as he considered how much yarn it was probably covered in.

But between the reassuring letters and day to day banter and adventure with his brother, he'd somehow find himself back in the triangular cage he and Ford had been trapped in, reliving the same moments over and over again in his dreams. The kids running away from them, baiting a monstrous, livid Bill Cipher through the corridors of his nightmarish palace while Ford banged on the walls of their prison. Rapidly switching clothes with his twin, hoping and praying that the kids could keep Bill on the run for just a few minutes longer. Bill, two stories tall, clutching the kids in one oversized hand, threatening to kill one of them 'just for the heck of it' as Dipper and Mabel desperately struggled to break free from his grasp. The moment when Bill entered his mind.

Stan stopped himself, gripping the railing of his bed with white knuckles. It was over, it had been over for months. He was becoming overcome by his exhaustion now as his eyelids drooped, begging for sleep. He tried to clear his mind, like Ford had hurriedly told him to do on that day. It was the only way to ensure Bill would be fooled and to trap him permanently. Stan had to empty every fear, every thought, and focus only on his mission - to distract Bill long enough for Ford to shoot the memory gun. Stan wasn't afraid of what would happen to himself - only what would happen to his family if he failed.

Once again he stopped himself, again getting trapped in his own painful memories of that day - memories he wished he hadn't regained. He cleared his mind the best he could and closed his eyes, the sound of his brother's snoring slowly fading away as he drifted off.

The room was on fire. Hungry blue flames licked the edges of Stan's mind, the shack paraphernalia on the walls becoming faded and dim against the light. Stan looked around, and suddenly realized that he was not the Stan that stood in the center of the burning room. He waswatching the scene from the corner, watching as his past self punched the one eyed demon square in the face, when something changed. The tiny pieces of Bill's destroyed form slowly began to flow in the opposite direction, and Stan's punch seemed to reverse itself, pulling back into his body as Bill's form was rebuilt from thousands of broken shards.

Stan's eyes widened as he realized he was watching the same scene, but in reverse. Words became garbled and nonsensical, and Bill's pleading, outstretched hand drew inwards. His manic changing of shapes and sizes began to play in reverse order, but something seemed… wrong. As if on cue, the garbled backwards gibberish of the dream suddenly became desperate, screaming words.

"A-X-O-L-O-T-L MY TIME HAS COME TO BURN, I INVOKE THE ANCIENT POWER THAT I MAY RETURN!"

And everything disappeared into a white void. Stan stood on an invisible floor as an enormous shadow fell over his frame. An ice cold chill swept through the air, and he looked up. The sky was black, and the darkness crept down into the whiteness, consuming it until everything was dark. Whispered voices rung out through the darkness, some far away and others close enough to make Stan jump, as if whatever it was was right next to him. The whispered voices began to giggle, growing hysterical. Panic was beginning to overtake him, his skin crawling from whatever unknown force was at work.

The voices stopped, and then a singular, booming voice rang out, forcing Stan to fall to his knees, his hands clamped over his ears.

"HEY, STANLEY..."

The sky opened up into a giant red eye, and laughed.

"STANLEY, WAKE UP!"

Stan's eyes snapped open, his twin brother staring down at him in concern, his six-fingered hands shaking his brother's shoulders. Stan broke free from his brother's grasp and sat up, beads of sweat barely concealed on his aged face, his breathing ragged. He was quiet as his brother sat there in stunned silence.

"What? What do you want?" he grumbled, trying to hide the fear that leaked into his voice. Ford sat there, his eyes cast downwards, before turning to his brother.

"Stanley, you looked like you were having convulsions," Ford said worriedly, resting his hand on his brother's skinny leg. Stan grumbled and stood up, stretching out a bit before slipping his feet into his comfy slippers and moving towards the door.

"I'm fine," he muttered. "Just a bad dream…" Ford moved in front of the door, blocking his path.

"Stan, that's not all. You were… you were saying his name. Over and over again…"

Stanley was silent as he looked to his brother, filled with dread. He didn't even have to ask who he was talking about.

"Ford, I'm fine. Just a bad dream, I can handle it," he said as he moved around his brother to open the door. "I have to use the john, do you mind?" His brother nodded and moved aside, watching his brother as he walked down the small hallway to the bathroom.

"If you need anything, just…"

"Say the word, I know. I'm fine. Really," Stan said as he closed the door, but even he didn't believe it. He wasn't okay, not by a longshot. The tough old man looked at his reflection in the mirror, furrowing his brow as he gripped the sink with both hands.

"What has gotten into me…" he murmured as he turned on the sink, splashing himself with a few liberal handfuls of cold water. He leaned in closely, inspecting his own eyes, looking for the telltale slitted pupils, but his eyes looked normal aside from the massive purple bags beneath them. He sighed. It was bad enough that he was making Ford worry about him like this. He was a grown man - he could deal with a couple nightmares on his own.

The door creaked obnoxiously as Stan slipped back into the room, trying to quietly shut the door behind him. The bed let out a squeak as Ford sat up a bit from the top bunk.

"Stanley, I know you said you were fine but… are you sure you're okay?" he asked with concern. Stan nodded, using a smirk to cover his own uncertainty.

"Don't worry 'bout me, Fordsey, I'll be fine," he answered as he sat down onto the bed, the mattress creaking loudly beneath him. He could hear his brother lie back down and the rustle of blankets above him.

"Okay…" Ford said, putting the event aside, at least for the night. "Goodnight, Stanley."

"Night, Ford," Stan murmured as he rolled over and pulled the covers over his shaking body, even though he knew it wasn't cold. He sighed and rolled over a few times before finding a comfortable position. It was quiet when he heard it. A small voice, so quiet that he might not have noticed if it wasn't for the way the hairs on the back of his neck shot up as the words rang out in the dark.

"GOODNIGHT, STANLEY."