Ford had to twist his head at a very uncomfortable angle to see what his brother was doing-and when he saw what he was doing, it was like all the blood in his veins had been replaced with snow. His vision swam with colored spots for a second, and his ears rang, before he practically forced himself to stay conscious. No way was he going to black out now, not when Stan was about to-

Bill was far less numb in his reaction.

"Whoa whoa whoa, hold up there! What do you think you're-"

"It's simple logic, Bill." Stan's voice was completely, terrifyingly calm. "You can't make my brother do anything if you ain't got leverage on him. And right now, I'm the only leverage you got." He put his thumb on the hammer, slowly pulling it back.

"Stan!" Ford whispered, struggling against his bonds.

Stan didn't even look at him, gaze fixed on Bill. "Time for you ta get outta Dodge, ya one-eyed jerk. You lose."

"...How do I know there's actually bullets in that gun?" Bill demanded, using Dan's face to glare at him skeptically. "I know you're a poker man, Stanley, and this sounds like a-"

Stan pulled the trigger.

Click.

It was a soft sound, compared to Bill's high, shrill voice, but both he and Ford still jumped in alarm.

"Got five more tries," Stan said, tilting his head and raising a challenging eyebrow. "Ya really think it's worth it?"

Ford's eyes were fixed on his brother's finger, as it settled on the trigger again.

He barely had time to whisper a frantic "No!" before it pulled.

Click.

With a strangled snarl, Bill lunged for him, but Stan stepped out of reach, holding the gun tight against his head. He was more in Ford's line of vision now, so he got a clear view of him pulling back the hammer again, tightening his finger on the trigger-

"AAAAAAAGGGGGGHHHHH!"

Both of them jumped (for one heart-stopping second Ford thought Stan would pull the trigger again in his surprise) and stared at Bill.

He snarled incoherently, pointing a shaking finger at Stan.

"YOU JUST HAVE TO MESS EVERYTHING UP, DON'T YOU?! I had everything just how I wanted it, but noooo, you had to come in and take it all away!"

Ford's gut twisted in a mixture of disgust and horror. That sounded so much like-like him.

Stan gave a sardonic shrug. "Apparently that's what I'm good at."

For a moment it looked like Bill was going to make Dan's body explode with sheer rage-but then he threw up his hands in exasperation. "You know what, forget it! You losers aren't worth my time-I'm just gonna look for a dimension where Stanley Pines is not in Gravity Falls. Bye-bye, chumps!"

A few seconds later, Dan's body collapsed to the floor.

Stan lowered the gun, shoving it back into his pocket with a shaking hand, and rushed to the big man's side, where he knelt and checked his pulse.

After a second he let out a relieved sigh, and then returned to Ford, untying him as quickly as possible.

"You're gonna be okay, Sixer. I'm gonna drive you ta the hospital and get ya checked out, and you're gonna be-"

As soon as he was free enough, Ford punched him.

Considering the fact that he'd just recently been stabbed, it hurt-in fact, it probably hurt him a lot more than it did Stanley. But he didn't let that stop him from doing it again.

For a minute Stan just stood there and took it, only staggering a little; then, when he realized Ford wasn't ready to stop attacking him, he grabbed his wrists in an attempt to hold him off without hurting him.

"HOW COULD YOU DO THAT?!" Ford screamed at him, squirming in his grasp. "How could you make me watch you do that?! You selfish-"

He released a stream of foul language to which all previous censored moments in this story were "Gosh dang it to heck!" by comparison.

Stan looked impressed; he probably didn't think Ford had ever even heard such language, let alone possessed the willingness to use it.

Eventually, though, Ford ran out of steam-in part because the amount of pain he was in was making it hard to keep up the onslaught.

"You could have-I would've had to see-"

His breaths began hitching, and he could suddenly feel "cave water" gathering in his eyes again. He tried to stop it. Ineffectually.

Stan's face softened, as best Ford could see through his blurred vision. Cautiously he stretched out his arm, using his hand to cup the back of Ford's neck, looking like he expected to be thrown off.

But Ford staggered into him, burying his face in his shoulder and his hands in the back of his jacket. Stan held him back, squeezing as gently as he could without jostling his injuries.

"Huh," he whispered at last, "It's been five years and you're still pretty hug-shaped."

Ford squeezed his ribs.

They only let go when they heard a groan from behind them.

Dan sat up, rubbing his head. To Ford's relief, when he opened his eyes again they appeared to be their normal green color.

When he saw the two intruders in his cabin, he let out a startled growl, and lunged to his feet with meaty fists clenched-but then he appeared to recognize Ford.

"Pines! What are you doing here?! What-" some of his boisterousness vanished. "What the heck happened to you? And who's that? What's goin' on?"

With a small feeling of deja vu, Ford asked tiredly, "Can we explain on the way to the hospital?"

...Am I wrong?