Carla McCorkle had never felt such a strong rush of emotions in her life.

Her head felt like it was spinning. Her lungs were screaming for air, though she was fairly sure she was breathing. She was angry as hell and scared out of her mind and suddenly the whole world had gone off its hinges. Everything was quiet, save for the pounding of her heart, and she didn't even hear Stanley's half-assed fumble for an excuse at first. All she could really process was that her dead ex-boyfriend was standing in front of her with that stupid apologetic look on his face, and there was a scream bubbling in her chest. She inhaled sharply to let it out, and Stanley slapped his hand over her mouth.

"No, no, don't do that! Listen, I know this looks real bad, but I promise you it's not what it looks like."

Carla, never having liked being silenced, especially by force, bit his hand as hard as she could. He yelped and drew it away, shaking it. She took a few horrified steps away from him, looking like a deer in the headlights.

"I'm giving you one minute to explain before I call the police."

"What?! Police?! One minute?! That's not fair!"

"Fifty-five seconds."

"Okay okay, look, it's a really long story that I can't possibly fit in a minute, but you gotta trust me, Carla, I—"

"If you're alive, where's Ford?"

"There was this, uh…accident, and, uh—"

"Oh my god."

"I didn't do anything!"

"You're pretending to be him! Do you know how bad that looks?!"

"I, uh…"

"It makes it seem like you killed your brother and took his name!"

Carla was beginning to panic again. "Stanley, please, please tell me you didn't—"

"I would never kill my brother!"

"THEN WHERE IS HE?!"

"I WISH I KNEW!"

The shop's bell let out a pleasant ring, and a frizzy-haired woman with large glasses walked in. She took a step back when she regarded Stanley, looking desperate and red in the face, and Carla, with her wild-looking eyes puffy from crying. "I'll, uh…I'll leave you two to…whatever this is…" And she backed out.

The interruption caused both Stanley and Carla to cool down slightly. Stanley walked over to the door and turned the sign from 'open' to 'closed'.

"Carla, please, just…let me show you somethin', okay? I ain't gonna force you. You don't have to stay. You can…you can run out that door if you want, and call the cops, but I'm begging ya. Please." He held his hand out, giving her a small smile. Then his smile faltered. "Actually, I-I take that back, please don't call the cops. I'd appreciate if you didn't call the cops, even if you do choose to not hear me out."

Carla felt a rush of affection, against her will. She was still confused. And angry. And terrified. But at the same time…this was Stanley. This was the boy who used to bring her flowers when she was feeling down, and even if they were just weeds he'd pulled out of the ground on the way home, they were beautiful to her. The boy who would sing to her so off-key that she was sure some poor dog nearby was scratching at its ear in pain, but he was trying, and that's what mattered. The boy she used to love so much she'd be willing to put everything on the line for him. And he'd loved her just as much in return. She let out a shaky breath, and slowly took a step towards him.

"Fine. Let's go." She eyed his outstretched hand. "I'm not holding your hand, though."

Stanley quickly put his hand back by his side. "Right. Uh. C'mon, then."

If Carla hadn't thought Stanley had lost his marbles before, she certainly did when he started punching numbers into the shop's vending machine.

When the machine slid open, she began to debate whether or not she'd lost her marbles, too.

The vending machine secret entrance was nothing, however, in comparison to the giant portal.

"There is nothing about this I understand."

"From what I can gather from Ford's writing, it's some sort of…portal to another dimension. He and some other guy built it to 'enlighten mankind' or some crap like that."

"What other guy?"

"God, I wish I knew. He might be able to help. But Ford just calls him "F" in his journal."

"So…how did he disappear into this?"

Stanley's expression instantly hardened, and Carla's heart dropped. Oh god, do I really want to know? …yes, I really want to know. "Stanley?"

"He…that accident I mentioned earlier, uh…"

"Oh, Jesus…did he fall in?"

Stanley stared at her for what felt like an eternity, his face full of conflicting emotions. Finally, he took a deep breath.

"Yeah. The thing sucked him in."

He looked so…broken. Carla could feel that familiar ache in her chest for him that she'd felt so many times before. If she wasn't still so furious with him for faking his death, she'd reach out to comfort him. She held herself back, though, just as she'd held herself back from slapping him earlier.

"Stanley, I…I'm really sorry. That's…really not something you hear every day, but it's awful." It was funny, really; she'd come to comfort Stanford over the loss of Stanley, and here she was comforting Stanley for the loss of Stanford. Life was funny that way.

"So you believe me?" God, he sounded so hopeful.

"Well, I am staring at a giant portal three levels under your house, so…"

"Carla, Christ, I can't thank you enough for believing m—"

"Hey, don't thank me yet, buster. You're still not off the hook for faking a tragic, flaming car accident."

"Woah, hey, that was—"

"Could you explain your faked death to me upstairs? I don't really like being this far underground."

"Oh, uh, yeah, sure."

"Thank you."

The entire elevator ride back up, Carla kept side-eying Stanley.

He'd definitely changed, but of course, almost ten years will do that to you. He was wearing more layers than she was used to seeing him in, and the mullet was…interesting. Not bad, just…interesting. She kinda wanted to braid it. Can you braid mullets? Is that a thing you can do?

The elevator dinged open, interrupting her train of thought. As they exited and began their ascent up the stairs, she sighed.

"So, it was absolutely necessary to fake your death because…?"

"Look, Stanley Pines was banned in over half of the U.S.'s states, had several various gangs out for his head, and had the cops on his tail most of the time. It would've only been a matter of time before something caught up to me. I mean, you caught up to me, didn't you?"

Carla felt her lips quirk upwards again. He had a point there.

"Besides," he continued. "Stanford Pines is the one who signed the deed to this house, not Stanley Pines."

He swung the vending machine open, and they stepped back out into the shop, into daylight. Carla sighed and brushed her hands down her skirt, a nervous habit she'd never quite gotten rid of.

"This is a really complicated situation."

"You're telling me." He said it in a griping tone, but Carla could read on his face that he was still just so relieved to have someone know the truth and not run away. More importantly, not call the police. He also looked a little anxious, like he wanted to say something.

"Something on your mind, Stan?"

"I, uh…I just wanted to ask if, uh, if you're still with that Thistle guy."

Carla's stomach twisted sharply and uncomfortably.

"We actually split up not too long ago."

"Oh. You end it, or…?"

"You could say that, yeah. I got sick of the lifestyle, y'know? It was a bit too much, even for me, the free love, the drugs—"

"Holy crap, you were doing drugs?!"

Carla smiled sheepishly. "Just a little Mary Jane here and there, nothing life-ruining. What, you think I've been smoking meth in the ladies' room since we split up?"

"I dunno, I just—whatever."

"I just…it was fun. For a while. Then one night, I sorta felt like I woke up. Like I'd been only half awake that whole time and it was time to wake up and hit the road. So, I did."

Stanley sniffed and nodded. "So. Is that how it was with me?"

Carla felt like the floor had fallen out beneath her suddenly. "…what?"

"Did you 'wake up' one day and say 'Huh. I just realized I don't love Stan!'" That growing anger was back in his voice.

"Stanley, c'mon, do we really have to—"

"Carla, you up and left me right outta the blue! You barely even gave me any warning!"

"I gave you plenty of warning, Stanley Filbrick Pines." After all these years, Carla still couldn't believe that Mr. and Mrs. Pines had given both their twin sons the middle name "Filbrick". Sure, it was their old man's name, but you'd think their parents would've varied it at least a little.

"No, you didn't give me any warning! We had one blow-up fight that we were on our way to fixing, then you up and left! How the hell is that fair?!"

"It was my decision, you should respect it!"

"Was it your decision? Was it really?"

"Stan, if you try to tell me that Thistle hypnotized me one more time, I swear to God-"

"I'm just sayin', that 'dimensional healing' crap was pretty suspicious."

"He's a hippie! What do you expect?!"

Sure, his music had been beautiful. Enchanting, even. It was nothing like anything she'd ever heard, and it swept her off her feet. And he'd been so kind to her every time he came to the Juke Joint to perform while she was working there. Her falling for him wasn't hypnosis! Hypnosis was not a thing that happened to people! Okay, maybe in stage shows for short amounts of time, but not actual magic-y hypnosis in real life.

Stanley sighed and rubbed at the bridge of his nose.

"Fine. Whatever. Let's just say for now that he didn't force you or manipulate you into leaving—"

"Because he didn't—"

"—if you really wanted an out from our relationship, why did you stick around so long?"

The flood of emotions that swept through her wasn't pretty, nor was it easy to figure out. She wasn't quite sure what she was feeling as countless memories of their good times together flew through her mind like a slideshow on speed.

"Because I thought we could make it work. I kept—"

"We could make it work."

"Let me finish. I kept telling myself that we would both get better jobs soon, that we would stumble across opportunity, that we would be able to buy a house instead of rent crappy apartment after apartment, that we wouldn't have to worry about where our next meal was coming from in the near future. I kept telling myself that, and working so hard to make it true, but…God, I was so tired, Stanley. So tired of that life."

Stanley looked heartbroken. She couldn't blame him. He looked imploringly at her with his dark, coffee-brown eyes.

"Tired of me?"

Carla felt a stab of guilt and regret pierce her heart. She looked up at this man, this scrappy, funny, loving man who punched the teeth out of a mugger for her, before he even knew her. The dorky teenager she'd fallen in love with, who was now a man with so much behind him and so much ahead of him, and she felt herself melt like she had when she was fifteen.

An hour ago, he'd been dead. And here he was, standing in front of her, waiting sadly for an answer, and…God, she could never be tired of him. Her mouth moved without her mind telling it to.

"God, Stanley, never."

Then, allowing herself to act impulsively for the first time in ages, she grabbed him by the front of the shirt and kissed him hard, aware she was sending mixed messages, but not really caring in the heat of the moment, because she wanted this.

Behind her closed eyelids, she saw stars.