Ford laid in the grass, looking up into the sky, Mabel and Dipper resting on either side of him. Stan had gone back inside a while ago to get some lunch and the twins fell asleep beside him, leaving Ford to his own thoughts.

It still looked so alien to Ford, the green grass and the pine trees and the blue sky. No strange hues of pink or blue to break up the earthy tones or terrains. He'd seen forests like this in alternate dimensions of his home, but in none had he felt so… at peace. Something about the air here simply fit into his lungs and the birdsong could have been his mother's lullaby.

His old sweater felt itchy against his skin, stifling as it was in the August heat. He wasn't used to it like he'd become with his black one, and the heat of the day only made it worse.

But that would change.

He knew from experience that some things needed only a bit of time to feel invisible. He would come to take this place for granted again, this sense of security.

As it was, his fingers still twitched, ever ready for the sudden intrusion of an angry flesh-eater or a gold-hungry bounty hunter. He kept his gun inside his coat as always, ever ready even though he could still remember watching Bill enter Stan's mind. He remembered the feel of Stan's suit, worn and thin. He could smell the cheap cologne and hear the distant cackle before Bill realized what had happened.

He could see Stanley's empty eyes and feel the heat in his own eyes as his fingers pressed against the trigger.

He could feel the resistance before it gave way and the ray of blue hit his brother.

And he lost Stanley.

Panic hit him. What if Mabel's scrapbook hadn't worked? He wouldn't have thought to try to jog Stanley's memory like that. What if he didn't figure it out within an hour of erasure?

What if he lost his brother forever?

What if he never got to say, "thank you?"

What if…

Ford heaved a deep breath, forcing himself to return to the present. He knew these moments like he knew his name, and he knew them to be baseless fears.

Well. Not baseless.

But it didn't matter anymore because now Bill was dead and Mabel did use her scrapbook. Even those galactic bounty hunters knew better than to keep looking for a galaxy from a dead being. There wasn't a thing left in the world to threaten Ford and his family.

The concept felt so foreign to him – he still couldn't quite believe it. He woke every hour, every night, in a pattern he'd established shortly after his first trip to the Nightmare Realm, and he still couldn't bring himself to quit it. No matter how many times Mabel reassured him he was on Earth, no matter how many times Stan punched him in the arm, no matter how many times Dipper whispered about him when he thought his uncle couldn't hear…

It still didn't feel real.

Ford honestly doubted it would ever sink in.

Mabel twitched beside him and curled in closer. The sound of her and Dipper breathing proved even more relaxing than the birds.

He still couldn't believe it.

But he could pretend.