Stan didn't know what to expect when (if) he woke up. This had been one hell of a night, and given all the tough nights he'd had over the years, that was saying something. At this point, all he knew for sure was that he needed to expect the unexpected.

But as he returned to consciousness, the world seemed… surprisingly normal. Calm, even. He couldn't feel anything anymore, not even his usual aches and pains. His vision had returned to some semblance of normalcy, though it was still vaguely wonky in some way Stan couldn't quite put his finger on. And from what he could see of his surroundings, he was no longer in that freaky monochrome mess from his fight with Bill, but in the basement of the Shack, where it had all started. The walls were a little dirty, sure, but they weren't falling down or fading away or changing colors or anything. Same old, same old.

When Stan glanced to his side and spotted what remained of his brother's lab equipment, the lab was farther away than it had been before- no, not farther away, lower, closer to the ground… well, it wasn't the first time this place had been hit by gravity weirdness, and come to think of it, he couldn't even feel his feet against the ground, so…

He looked straight down, past his feet to the ground below. It did look to be a ways below him, several feet down if he had to guess- so he was floating. But that wasn't so weird. Must be some after-effect of the rift closing, the kind of thing that Ford could probably yammer on about for hours.

The weird part was that, sprawled out upon that distant ground, there was something that looked an awful lot like Stan himself.

Stan floated down- he wasn't sure how he did that, exactly, except that it'd come naturally when he'd thought to do it- to examine this other self. It didn't just look a tad bit like him, it was damn near identical to him; he might as well have been looking in a mirror. Same big nose, same bushy eyebrows… same everything. The double's brown eyes showed no signs of Bill's influence, either, though they were glazed over and lifeless, and the glasses that should have stood between them and the rest of the world lay on the ground, shattered into tiny shards.

Was that… was he…?

His half-formed speculations were disrupted by the sound of approaching footsteps.

He looked up, and even before he could make out the face and limbs of the one who was approaching, the sheer colorthat stood out from the dark basement walls was enough to make it obvious who was coming his way.

"Mabel!"

"Grunkle Stan?" Her voice was too soft for one always loud, too somber for one always cheerful. The sheer incongruity of it started Stan's contemplation anew. It wasn't that bad, was it? Whatever was going on- whatever had led to him floating mid-air above a creepy doppelganger of himself- it couldn't be worse than what they'd just gone through. If they had proven anything that night, it was that by working together, them Pines could make it through anything, even the goddamn end of the world.

"Good to see you, sweetie! Now, what's wrong? Someone get hurt?"

As Mabel's walk slowed, Stan slowly drew closer to her, unsure of what to say, what to do, what action he could take that could fix the hurt in his niece's eyes. She didn't respond to his questions, just stared at the floor and trudged ahead step by step. Whatever had made her look so downcast must be something big, much bigger than the peripheral strangeness that he was dealing with.

Had- had Ford… had Dipper…?

"Talk to me, will ya? You're acting like you're the one with the hearing aid!" He let out a bark of a laugh that was hollow and gruff and would fool absolutely no one, least of all himself.

Mabel walked up to him, and he reached out his arm to rest his hand on her shoulder, in the hopes of that gesture of connection helping to ground her- to ground both of them, really.

But his hand passed right through her, and all that Stan felt when it happened was a slight tingle, a shiver of the spine that had nothing to do with the temperature- someone stepping on your grave, Ma had always called it. And she just kept going until she stood next to the other him, the doppelganger… the body.

Because that was what it was, wasn't it? It was a body- his body- that was sprawled out on the floor there. No use in denying it now. The signs all added up, and in hindsight it made perfect sense- how foolish was he to think that he'd made it out of that battle with Bill okay, made it out alive… And he'd heard the kids say something or other about ghosts haunting the town before; Stan had just never thought he would be one of them.

Mabel crouched down, leaning over his face- or, not his face now, but what… had been his face? all this was going to make his head hurt- before bellowing out, "GUYS, SOMETHING'S WRONG WITH STAN!"

Guys. Stan's mind clung to the word. Guys meant she was talking to both Ford and Dipper, rather than only one of the two. That meant they were both okay, both in good enough shape to come over, right? It was just him, then, only him fallen while all the others were unscathed.

Maybe that was for the best. Better him than anyone else.

Sneakers squeaked against stone as Dipper rushed to join his sister at Stan's side.

"Dipper! Over here, kid!"

Dipper crouched down next to Stan's body and rested his hand on Stan's wrist, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath as Mabel watched her great-uncle's face for any movement. The two whispered a few words to one another, and though Stan didn't get too close, he could overhear enough to understand the gist of the conversation. Not breathing- no pulse- can't be- how- no- why?

Stan stood in Dipper's line of sight, waving his hands around and making exaggerated silly faces, then sighed, his shoulders slumping as he got no response from the boy. "Oh for two, then. Doesn't that just figure."

Finally, as the children gave up their efforts and just stared blankly at Stan's body, their eyes filling with tears, Ford appeared on the scene. When Dipper and Mabel noticed his arrival, their words filled the void that had threatened to engulf them, the two spitting out half-formed explanations about what had befallen Stanley.

"Grunkle Ford, I don't know what happened-"

"Bill must have done something, but I don't understand-"

"I got here and he was just like this-"

"And he didn't respond to anything, and he's not breathing or moving or-"

"I don't know if I could have done anything-"

"I'm so sorry, Great-uncle Ford, I wish-"

Ford took a step forward, holding his palms out to quiet the twins' frantic speech. "Just calm down, children. Calm down."

Stanley took the momentary pause in the conversation as his opportunity to speak up once more. The kids couldn't see him, but maybe Ford could, maybe he was different- maybe because they were twins, or because of his time spent in other dimensions, or… or… It was worth a shot, anyway. It was all he had left to hope for at this point.

"Hey, poindexter. C'mon. Don't tell me you can't see me."

…and, miracle of miracles, Ford looked his way. His eyes widened as the two made eye contact, though Stanley couldn't quite make out his brother's expression.

"Oh, thank God, Ford, I-"

"Whatcha looking at?" Mabel, evidently having noticed Ford's errant gaze, was now looking in Stan's general direction, holding one hand above her eyes and squinting to see if she could spot anything out of the ordinary.

"You…?" Ford looked back down at the kids, whose gaze had settled somewhere around Stan's floating feet.

Stanley shook his head sadly. "They can't see me. Just you and me, I guess. Like old times."

Ford looked back at Mabel and Dipper and placed a hand on each twin's shoulder, clearing his throat before addressing them again. "Never mind that. Kids, I know this has to be hard on you, and we'll talk later. But right now, I want you two to go upstairs, see if my hou- if the Shack is still intact, and wait for me up there." He dropped his hands back to his side and sighed, staring back at Stan's body before adding, "Your uncle Ford needs some time alone."

The children hesitated for a moment, then nodded in unison, their eyes still damp as they headed to the elevator.

"You're not alone." Stanley muttered. "You know that, right?"

"I know." The response was curt, flat, the sort of tone used to end a conversation rather than to start one.

"Ford, I think we need to talk about…" Stan pointed at his body on the ground, then at himself, before ending the gesture with a vague wiggling of the hand. "…this."

"Yes." There was an edge to Ford's voice, one Stanley had never had directed his way before, not even when he'd reactivated the portal and risked the world's destruction in the process. This was different, not fiery anger but a cold, alien disdain bordering on downright loathing, and while Stan was acutely aware of his litany of failures, none of them seemed capable of prompting such hatred. "Yes, we do need to talk."