Ford hadn't meant to leave the castle grounds when he first stormed outside.

Really.

He'd gone out there because he couldn't spend one more second in the same castle with that obnoxious furry monstrosity, and wound up just stomping up and down the unkempt lawns and overgrown paths, crushing plants under his boots, and just expressing his general frustration and displeasure with the world through aggressive pacing.

Unfortunately, he could see no real loopholes in the deal he'd made: he and the children were to stay with Soledad and do chores (Ugh, which was a whole new level of petty, by the way! Why couldn't the beast do his own cleaning?!) until he decided to set them free because their so-called "debt" was paid off. There were no clauses indicating that they could back out of whatever chores were assigned to them, or promises that if they disobeyed or argued with him he wouldn't-

Ford paused, and considered.

...No, actually.

Based on his previous behavior, it didn't seem like Soledad would do anything to genuinely hurt them. Even when he was angry at the children for trespassing, all he'd done was lock them in a room, and supplied them with a fire and (somewhat minimal) comfort. And after the deal was struck, he'd given them a room, clothes, food. And sure, he seemed to have no problem with picking Ford up and threatening him face to face, but even then he'd never even used his claws on him. He just threw him around a little. That wasn't consistent with the behavior of someone intending to harm you, right?

...Then again, what did Ford know about whether or not people were going to hurt you or not? The last time he'd trusted someone besides Fiddleford or Tate, and believed his intentions were good, it had resulted in-

Wait.

Ford struggled to grab onto this memory before it could slip away again. He knew this, this was important, it was the-the thing he kept needing to remember! Something terrible had happened to him once, because he'd trusted the wrong person, and then it led to him losing-

He realized too late how close he was to the still open gateway, and that he had absentmindedly wandered right through it into the forest.

Ford had gone almost a full day without experiencing a headache; the one that jumped on him now caught him completely off guard. He put a hand to his forehead, staggering like a baby deer as he tried to keep from falling from the strength of the sudden, stabbing pain, like shards of glass being driven through his skull, please anybody make it STOP-

When he opened his eyes again, he was leaning against a tree.

His bangs were damp with sweat, and his palms were throbbing; a glance made him realize that he'd been digging his nails into them, hard enough to leave five crescent-shaped marks.

What-what had just happened? And-where was he?

Ford looked around, realizing that he was surrounded by trees, with no path in sight.

For a moment his chest seized up with irrational panic, before he clenched his jaw and straightened his spine.

Get ahold of yourself, Stanford. You probably just went for a walk in the woods and got lost-or fell asleep in a fairy ring again. It's not the first time you've been alone out here, and it probably won't be the last.

...Tate and Fiddleford are not going to be pleased if I stayed out all night. Maybe I ought to stay home for a day or so to appease them. I could take the time to tidy up some of my papers.

...Wait, didn't-someone else already do that?

Ford tried to remember-and his head shrieked with pain again, sending him stumbling further into the trees while clutching his skull.

He saw the figures in the shadows, and heard the beginning chords of a bluegrass song being played, far too late.

"Grunkle Ford!" Dipper started to run for the door-but a heavy gray paw caught him in the chest, shoving him back.

"Stay here," Soledad growled. "I'll go get him."

"But-"

The beast rounded on him with such an intense glare it was a wonder his legs didn't turn to stone right then and there. "Stay. Here." He put two claws in his mouth, and whistled; a minute later Soos came bounding up the stairs.

"Watch them," Soledad ordered, indicating the kids. "I gotta go save their idiot uncle." And then, with a crack of his neck, he went bounding away down the stairs.

This time, there was a whole pack of KillBillies that surrounded Ford. All in the same kind of ill-fitting, bloodstained overalls and wide, floppy hats. He hadn't been able to ascertain if there were KillMillies, or if they reproduced asexually or something, but he definitely wasn't seeing any evidence of them here. Just a cluster of hungry, vicious hill men, all watching him with wide, glowing eyes.

For the moment, at least, they seemed to be more curious than anything else, probably wondering why their potential prey was staggering about so strangely.

Ford felt terror threatening to choke him, and stubbornly forced it back down. Since his behavior seemed to be keeping them at bay for the time being, he continued staggering and moaning; maybe they'd think he was diseased or something, and choose to leave him be. In case they didn't, though, his eyes frantically scanned the surrounding area for a potential weapon.

One of the KillBillies let out a curious grunt, and crab-walked closer to him; it raised a long, unwashed arm, and plucked at the back of his trenchcoat.

Despite his resolve to stay calm, Ford pulled away quickly, and let out a disgusted noise.

The KillBilly's lips curled upwards, giving him a good view of its many (many) teeth, and it hooted to its fellows, before hamboning against its knees.

...Ford wished he'd taken more time to learn about that from hearing Fiddleford and Tate secretly talking to each other from a collection of seemingly-random slaps against different parts of their body; for all he knew, the creature could have just said, "Coyotes are coming for our sweetbreads." Though under the circumstances, it was probably something far more sinister.

The rest of the pack responded with a chorus of grunting and hamboning, and began to surge closer as well, all wearing wide, hungry grins.

Clearly the time for playing "wounded deer" was over.

Without hesitation, Ford lunged, snatching up a large fallen branch, and whirled with it, catching one of the KillBillies in the teeth. Then he broke into a run.

A pair of KillBillies came at him from either side, letting out high, enraged screeches; he just dived, allowing them to crash face-first into each other, and then scrambled to his feet again to try and regain his lost ground.

Every time one of the awful beasts got close, he would lash out with his makeshift club, or a couple of times even with his fists if they were close enough. He tried to ignore the voice in the back of his head warning him that he was an old man who couldn't keep this up forever, and just tried to focus on finding some high ground, or a convenient shop (they couldn't go into places like that, because they respected the rules of no shirt, no shoes, no service), or anything that would save him.

Everything was chaos and panic; Ford could see the KillBillies leaping and scrambling through the trees on either side of him, trying to get in front of him so they could cut him off. He just ignored the rapidly-growing stitch in his side and picked up speed to prevent that from happening. If he could even find a path-

There! He barely managed to make out a streak of brown laid out between the trees over to his left!

Ford swung the branch with reckless abandon at the KillBilly closest to him, and then began to charge in that direction-

A heavy weight slammed into him from above, knocking him onto his back.

For a moment Ford saw stars, as the back of his head slammed into something hard, like rock or a hunk of wood; when his vision cleared, he saw that there was a KillBilly crouched over him, with its knees being used to pin down his arms.

No. No no no, it can't end like this! Please!

Ford struggled, kicking out with his legs and thrashing like a rabbit caught in a trap; the KillBilly just smiled, showing off its dripping fangs, and began prodding at his chest and neck, as if trying to choose where to take the first bite.

The others clustered around, uttering little howls of triumph (or perhaps disappointment that they weren't the ones to catch him). Then the one pinning him seemed to make up its mind, rearing back its head with mouth opened wide-

-and a large blur of gray slammed into it, knocking it off of Ford.

He sat up in shock, in time to see what looked like some kind of exceptionally large tiger dropping the crushed remains of the KillBilly from its jaws, before letting out an earth-shattering roar.

Ford's head throbbed again, even as his heart clenched in terror that some new eldritch abomination had decided it wanted the privilege of finishing him off-but then a name flittered across his mind.

...Soledad?

The rest of them all decided to attack the beast at once, shrieking with rage over the demise of their packmate; he showed no mercy in return. Ones that fell under his feet were kicked and stomped on, any that came into contact with his jaws received bites that they'd be lucky to live through, his claws raked through flesh like knives through butter, and blood was flying everywhere.

The KillBillies gave as good as they got. They climbed onto his back, pounding at him with heavy fists and scratching him with equal vengeance; a few even managed to get bites in, which were accompanied by the greedy sucking sound of them beginning to feast. Soledad fell over backwards and crushed them under his weight before throwing them off.

All the same, there were at least ten of them, and only one of him...and somehow, those odds just didn't sit right with Ford.

He snatched up his club again, and charged back into the fray with an enraged holler.

It could have been minutes or hours, Ford couldn't tell which, before the battle ended; it was mostly a blurry haze of smashing and clubbing, all the while trying to avoid fangs and long-nailed fingers.

But at last, the KillBillies still standing offered anxious hoots to each other, before retreating into the trees.

Ford's arms throbbed as he let the branch drop, and stood there trembling. It took him a moment to realize that at some point, he and Soledad had ended up back to back, and that he could feel the beast's heavy form pressed against him.

Slowly he turned to face him-and saw that he was bent over, with his paws pressed against his knees, and taking deep, heaving breaths.

"Um-"

Soledad jerked his head up and snarled at him, revealing that his jaws were caked with gore. "What?!"

Ford pulled out of biting distance, just in case, and tried to remember how he knew the creature's name. It had something to do with-

"The kids! Where are the kids?!"

Soledad groaned, and tried to straighten up. "Hopefully...back at the castle where I left 'em."

...Castle?

Wait, yes! Yes, I remember now! The children found it, and we were staying there because-

It was becoming harder to remember by the second, even when he concentrated; he gripped his hair, and forced himself to focus on the main anchor that was available to him: I need to get back to the kids.

To his equal parts annoyance and relief, Soledad snatched him up and slung him over his shoulder before he began trudging away; as long as he was willing to do all the walking, that would make it easier for Ford to focus.

For the third time Dipper and Mabel tried unsuccessfully to run for the gate, only to get knocked back by Soos.

"C'mon, man!" Dipper pleaded. "We gotta go out there-Grunkle Ford needs us!"

Soos shook his head firmly, and gave them as stern a look as he was capable of.

Dipper felt his frustration rising, along with something deeper and far more visceral. "You don't understand!" He couldn't even be embarrassed over how his voice cracked. "He's all we have! We-I can't-"

He could feel his chest growing tight, as horrifying images swam through his mind, of his uncle lying all pale and still, just like his mother and father and grandfather-

"Look!"

Soos, who they had already managed to fool once with the old "Look behind you!" gag, did not appear impressed.

Mabel just pointed more emphatically. "They're back! They're coming down the path!"

Soos still wouldn't turn around-not until he heard the labored breathing from behind him-and, presumably, smelled the sharp tang of blood in the air.

Soledad barely took the time to lower Grunkle Ford, who was clutching his head and moaning, off his shoulder and onto the grass at his side, before collapsing face-first into a patch of wild marigolds.