The gargoyle turned his head, and let out an alarmed gasp.

"You gotta get back ta your room! You're not strong enough ta be out here-"

"It's okay, buddy. I wanna talk to him."

"That's not a good idea! You know what happened last time-what's happened every time!"

"He won't hurt me. Trust me."

Ford took advantage of the gargoyle's distraction to squirm out from under his foot, rolled into a crouch-and stared in astonishment at the new figure.

It was a boy, about ten or eleven years old, with a large black pirate hat perched on top of his fluffy brown curls. It wasn't the only piratical part of his attire, either: the rest of him was clothed in an outfit that sort of resembled Stan's suit, except that the coat was a long swashbuckler's overcoat with red lining, and his little feet were tucked into knee-length brown boots.

And he had large gold-framed glasses, and his hands both appeared to have an extra finger.

As Ford tried to process what this development could possibly mean, why Stan would have a younger version of himself in his subconscious, he registered two more things: one, that the boy was surrounded by a soft golden glow, and two, he looked very unwell.

He smiled at Ford, but it was word and drawn around the edges, and there were dark shadows under his eyes, and he was leaning heavily on the 8-ball cane like he'd topple right over if he didn't have it.

"Who-who are you?" Ford asked, slowly getting to his feet.

The boy gave a wan smile, and shook his head. "Depending who you ask, I'm either the smartest or the dumbest one here."

"I'm the one who still believes that things can get better, even when everything seems to point to it being impossible. I help us to keep moving forward and come up with new ideas for how to change our future."

"He spends a lotta time hangin' out with Fantasy," the gargoyle muttered dryly.

The boy rolled his eyes at him, and turned his gaze back on Ford. "Some people think I'm too delusional, but whether I am or not, I'm the one who keeps us going when even he wants to give up and die." He pointed at the gargoyle, who growled in annoyance but didn't argue the point.

"...So are you the anthropomorphic personification of Stanley's hope?" Ford asked cautiously.

The boy considered, then shrugged. "Sure. Seems like as good a description as any."

He looked back at the gargoyle. "So who are you?"

"What's it ta you?" he snarled, baring his fangs.

"He's the one who keeps us going if I'm too weak to be in charge," Hope said quickly. "He knows that things probably will and often do get worse, but is willing to stand up and try again anyway-if nothing else, because he doesn't want to give people the satisfaction of seeing us lose."

"...So stubbornness?"

Hope laughed; the gargoyle looked far less amused. "Or determination."

...Ford felt like stubbornness fit better.

"We're the ones who work together to make sure Stan stays strong and determined no matter what life throws at us, and if one of us is unable to step up, the other takes over." Hope took a small step forward-and then staggered, while the golden light that surrounded him flickered like the neon sign over a cheap bar. In a bound Stubbornness was by his side, gripping his elbow gently in one claw. Hope's legs trembled, but he managed to raise his eyes and say in a soft tone, "...But we're both so tired, Ford."

"Why?" Ford asked after a moment, in a quivering voice. "You've been able to handle so much for so long. Why are you tired now?"

Stubbornness made a disgusted, guttural noise. "Seriously, do we have to explain everything ta you?!"

"Easy." Hope patted his shoulder, and looked back at Ford. "Do you know what it's like ta dedicate yourself ta somethin' heart and soul, and have it all be for nothing?"

Ford flinched. Immediately his thoughts flickered to the portal. To spending days upon weeks upon months learning about it, constructing it, planning to use it to unlock the secrets of the universe-and then learning it was all a lie to use him for another being's own selfish, vicious desires.

"...Yes," he said hoarsely. "But-but Stan succeeded in his goal. He fixed the portal, and brought me back." He shouldn't have, but he still succeeded.

Hope's patience seemed to die a little, replaced by irritation. "And what's his reward? Being punched in the face, and told that as soon as summer ends, he's being thrown out like a sack of garbage."

The floorboards they were on trembled, and for a moment the gray atmosphere of the mindscape became tinged by a dull red glow. Stubbornness glared daggers at Ford, whose mouth had dropped open wordlessly as the emotions behind the words smashed into him. After a moment of trying not to be overwhelmed by them, he managed to stammer, "That-I wasn't-I didn't mean it like that-"

"Oh, how did you mean it, then?" Hope demanded. "Is there a nice way of sayin' that ya think everything Stan's done in the name of gettin' you back is worthless? That you want him ta get rid of the one accomplishment that he's actually proud of, and that you don't care what happens to him afterwards?!"

This time the entire mindscape shook with the force of Stan's anger, as the red returned, seeping through the gray and growing brighter as it gained strength.

"We knew there was a risk," Stubbornness growled, scooping up Hope and cradling him protectively in his arms. "We read your entries about the triangle jerk and the dangerous crap, we're not stupid. As far as we were concerned, it was all worth it if it meant finding you again. But noooo, far as you're concerned it was just dumb ol' Stanley messin' up again, and it wasn't enough for you ta take away his home once, you gotta do it again-"

"I WASN'T THINKING ABOUT IT LIKE THAT!"

Ford looked up slowly, hands clenched into fists at his sides, with moisture rising in his eyes.

"I didn't think I was ever going to return home-I had resigned myself to the possibility that I was doomed to either kill Bill or die trying! And then, when I actually came back, I still wasn't home-because home didn't exist anymore!"

"We literally paid your mortgage so the house'd still be here for you, you ungrateful little bas-!"

Hope put a calming hand on Stubbornness's shoulder; he growled, but fell silent so Ford could continue pouring out his heart.

"In my mind, I always imagined this house being the same way I remembered it, because Stanley would've just left afterwards-" which, in hindsight, was a highly unrealistic thing to expect from his brother- "and it was how things were before Bill: back when I was happily researching the unknown, doing the work I loved! It was a perfect fantasy of back when times were better, and everything was right, but when I returned-" two damp trails began sliding down his cheeks- "it was all gone! Everything I knew had changed!"

Ford sobbed for a moment, before whispering hoarsely, "I don't want Stan gone...I just want my life from before back."

When he looked up again, the red light had faded, returning the mindscape to its former gray. Hope and Stubbornness's respective anger seemed to have dissipated along with it, and now they just looked uncertain more than anything.

Ford looked at Hope. "You can understand that, right? Wanting to go back to before everything went wrong?"

His chin dipped in a tiny nod. "...But I know that we can't. He's always reminding us about that."

He pointed over Ford's shoulder; when Ford turned, it was to see yet another Stanley standing behind them.

He looked like the version of Stan Ford had seen in his memory, the one who'd been lying in a pool of his own blood. Like he'd been beaten to within an inch of his life.

There was a hollow look in his shadowed eyes, and the darkness of the mindscape seemed to cling on around him and take on a life of its own. Just looking at him made Ford's eyes fill with tears again.

"We try not ta let Despair take control too often, cuz he's kinda a major buzzkill," Hope said softly. "But he's always lurking around here somewhere, waitin' for the chance to move in and remind us how much he thinks life sucks."

"...We oughta continue this somewhere else," Stubbornness added, gesturing with his shoulder towards the stairs.

Ford flinched, and followed them away from the despondent form. He gave no kind of reaction one way or another, just continued staring at them with his dull, empty eyes.

"...I've made him stronger, haven't I?" Ford asked as they made their way upstairs, back in the direction of the "Hopes" door.

Hope and Stubbornness looked at each other again, and visibly refrained from answering, which was answer enough.

"What happens if I can't fix this?"

"...You really don't wanna know," Stubbornness said at last. Next to him, a door with "Dark Fantasies" written on it began to creak open; he quickly kicked it shut with his heel and kept making his way to Hope's room. The implications were not lost.

"What's in there?" Ford asked once they reached their destination. He took a step towards the door-immediately a set of thick chains wrapped themselves around it, and a "NO TRESPASSING" sign appeared over them.

Ford made a frustrated sound. "How can I help Stanley if I don't know what he wants?"

Stubbornness rolled his eyes. "Well, it's a kinda crazy idea, but maybe you can try just asking him."

Ford flinched, and looked down at his shoes. "He wouldn't tell me even if I asked."

"Maybe he would if you stopped treatin' him like an afterthought or a nuisance all the time. Ya ever think of that?"

He turned away and set the boy back on the ground; he wobbled a little bit, but managed to remain standing, leaning on his cane. As he reached for the door, making the chains dissipate as he did, Ford realized he could faintly make out waves splashing on the other side, along with the sounds of laughter; if he listened closely enough, he even thought he could hear what sounded like a fishing line being reeled in.

Before he could think of a suitable reply, he realized that white cracks were starting to appear in the walls and growing with increasing intensity.

"Uh-oh-looks like he's waking up." Hope adjusted his hat, and gave Ford a grin that, despite being on his own face, looked very much like Stan's.

"Looks like you're gonna have some explaining ta do if ya don't think fast, Poindexter."

A moment later Ford's vision flooded with white-

-and he was back in Stan's room, sprawled on the floor next to the burnt-out remains of candles, with Stan sitting up in the bed and glaring down at him.

"I don't remember givin' ya permission ta go in my head," he growled irritably, glancing at the circle Ford had set up around him.

Ford gulped, and after a moment of stammering he admitted, "...I was worried that you were under some kind of enchantment-"

"Well, I'm not." Stan looked like he wanted to yell at him to clean up the mess he'd made...but then he glanced at the clock (which pointed out that it was almost one in the morning-Ford must have been in the mindscape for longer than he thought), and sighed tiredly. "Just get outta my room."

Ford got up and left without protest, heading towards the basement.

He had a lot of thinking to do.