Stan wasn't wild about setting the spell up in the basement; he had enough not-so-great memories of night after night spent in it.

But he reluctantly admitted to himself that it was also probably the safest place for it, especially since Mabel didn't seem to know the meaning of the words "don't touch," and so he didn't argue when Ford suggested conducting the spell there.

Soon enough two (relatively short, at least) purple candles and lapis lazuli stones had been gathered and set up in a neat little circle on the floor, close to the scattered remains of the portal.

"Now, for the DNA sample, I do have a scalpel lying around somewhere-" Ford began.

Stan immediately stepped out of reach. "Not gonna happen. I've spilled enough blood for you down here."

A muscle in his brother's cheek twitched, and he took a deep breath before saying, "I was going to suggest just using some of your hair."

"...Sure you were." But a quick run of his fingers over his scalp later, and Stan had managed to pull out a few loose strands.

Ford accepted them, and then used a mini laser knife thing to slice through a few of his own curls, apparently oblivious to how nasty the smell of burnt hair was afterwards. The samples were set down in the middle of the circle, and weighted down with some pieces of metal from the portal to keep them in place. Then Ford flipped to the right page in the journal with 2 written on it, and began reciting the incantation aloud.

"R JOHDW VSLULWV,

WKHVH VWXEERUQ IRROV KDYH VRPH LWXHV WR ZRUN RXW.

L RIIHU WKHH WKHLU HVVHQFHV.

IRU DV ORQJ DV WKHVH FDQGOHV EXUQ,

PDNH WKHLU ZRUGV WR HDFK RWKHU QDXJKW EXW WUXWK!"

A few times Stan wondered if he was actually saying words, or if he was just trying to hack a loogie.

But when he finished, there was a soft chiming sound, like far-off bells, followed by a whisper of voices that swirled around them, making chills run down Stan's back and arms, and the candles flared, before relaxing back into their soft golden glow.

"...So now what?" Stan asked, trying to figure out if he felt any different. Nothing seemed to have changed.

Ford shut his journal, and pulled out the one Dipper had found, flipping to a blank page with pen poised. "Now we have what will most likely be a brutally honest conversation."

…Easier said than done, apparently.

It had been at least three minutes since Ford said that, and neither of them had said a word. They just stood on opposite ends of the circle, staring at each other, kinda like gunslingers having a standoff.

Stan sure as heck wasn't gonna be the one to make the first move: this whole thing was Ford's idea (and his fa-), so if he really wanted this he was gonna have to-

"You don't have to leave."

Ford's voice breaking the silence actually made Stan jump a little. He quickly composed himself, pretended he was just adjusting the lapels of his jacket, and glanced at Ford, who made an attempt at a smile.

"I never intended to suggest that, not consciously. I just…when we had that conversation, I was trying to process multiple unexpected changes and unfortunate circumstances at once-"

Stan's gut clenched.

"-and wanted to return my living situation-and to be frank, my life-as near to normal as I could remember, while at the same time figure out a possible contingency plan for if and when Bill decided to show himself."

Ford's eyes widened in horror as he started saying the last part, but his mouth didn't even slow down until he clamped a hand over it.

Bill…oh, right. That guy.

Stan tilted his head.

"Ya mean the little yellow freak with one eye and a top hat?"

Ford actually turned pale. "How do you-"

"I flipped through your journal a bit before I gave it back to Dipper; despite what you think, I do know how ta read."

Huh; this 'spell' doesn't feel like much of a spell at all. I probably would've said that anyway-

"Also, he broke into my mindscape earlier this summer tryna steal the combination to my safe for Gideon, and the kids had ta come in and scare him off while I pretended not ta know what was going on."

…I take it back.

It was almost exactly like the truth teeth.

The freakiest part was that even as the words felt like they were being physically pulled out of him, his mouth was moving perfectly normally, and his tone of voice was as normal-sounding as it would have been if he'd been lying to a tourist, or even a tax collector.

Ugh, this was why he kept away from magic. While it had its uses, you were always in for a world of hurt sooner or later.

Stan got a look at Ford's expression, and winced; his pupils had dilated, and he could see sweat droplets breaking out on his forehead, and his hands had clenched around his book until the knuckles turned white. It took him a couple seconds to visibly collect himself.

"...I see. That's…marginally better than what I feared had happened."

"Gimme some credit, Poindexter. I know a scam artist when I see one, it happens every time I look in the mirror. If I ever let him into my mind, it'd haveta be cuz I was pulling one on him, not the other way around."

Ford flinched. "You're more sensible than I was, at least when it comes to Bill."

Again, Stan was thrown off by Ford saying something that came dangerously close to a compliment. He changed the subject.

"...Any chance of him trying that again?"

Ford cleared his throat. "I haven't seen any signs of him so far, but knowing him, he could just be planning his next move. The metal plate in my head protects me from further invasion for the most part, but unless I can gather materials to perform the same procedure on you and the children-"

"Don't even think about it."

"-it's likely that I will need to encrypt all of your minds against him. Or set up a protection spell that uses-" he pulled out Journal 2 again, flipped through it, and made a face- "ugh, unicorn hair."

Huh; so unicorns were real too.

Stan wasn't even surprised anymore.

Before he could think about that too long, though, Ford started talking again.

"Dipper was right, by the way," he said, slowly closing the journal. "I do miss you. I've missed you ever since the night you drove away, and just forced myself to stay angry with you all this time because being angry felt better than feeling hurt and confused and lost." He fiddled with his hands, the way he always had when he was trying to say something and having trouble spitting it out. "But that's how I felt whenever I stopped to think about the fact that our relationship had fallen apart, and you were gone, and that I might never see you again: lost. At college, and here…and even in the multiverse." Slowly he lifted his eyes to meet Stan's. "And I know I was abysmal about expressing it when I first arrived, but I am glad to be home."

Stan swallowed, hard, trying to stop the lump threatening to rise in his throat.

It should have felt like a relief to hear Ford say that, especially knowing that both of them were under a truth spell so it couldn't be a lie or an(other) attempt to trick him. He should've been happy to hear it. Heck, it should've been enough for him to immediately walk over and gather Ford up into that bear hug he'd wanted to give him the moment he stepped out of the portal.

…So why wasn't it?

But all it took was a moment of thought for him to know why.

Something in his eyes must have confirmed his thoughts, because Ford's hopeful expression fell, replaced with a combination of confusion, hurt and a touch of frustration.

"Why is this so hard for you to believe, Stanley?" he demanded, marching around the circle of stones. "This spell is affecting me just as strongly as it is you. I don't think the plate is capable of repelling it, and frankly I would have nothing to gain and everything to lose by-"

"'Ironically, the only other person left that I can trust is the least trustworthy person I know.'"

The words, which had seared themselves into Stan's brain during his cursory scan before returning the journal to Dipper, burned his mouth on the way out.

From the way Ford screeched to a halt mid-stride, they might as well have been knives through the heart.

It physically hurt to see him like that, but Stan felt the rest of the words come rolling out with equal mercilessness.

"'He is a thief and a charlatan-but a well-traveled one. I have no doubt that he is familiar with mob hangouts and back alleys the wide world over. He will find somewhere to hide Journal 1. I have sent word to him and now must await his arrival.'"

He knew he should probably stop now; he'd made his point.

"'Perhaps he can yet prove his worth to me. Perhaps the mistakes of the past can be undone.'"

Ford flinched, and his shoulders rose almost to his ears as he looked down at his boots.

"...Yeah," Stan whispered bitterly. "You're gonna haveta excuse me, Stanford, if I have a little trouble believing you really miss me, when you made it pretty clear a long time ago that you don't see me as a brother anymore. Or a friend. Or a person. Or anything besides a potential pawn in your stupid little game with Bill."

He turned away, and ran his hand over his face.

Yes, I know Stan has a lot to own up to and apologize for too, and Ford's problems with Bill are more than just a "stupid little game." I'm getting there; hold your horses.