It wasn't the first that Ford had lain in wait for a convoy.

He hadn't always been honest about the nature of his multiverse adventures while telling them to the children. Of course, Ford had his fair share of stories where he had helped plucky rebels fight against evil empires, cults, corporations or any combination of the former. His dear niece and nephew, however, didn't know he had sometimes assisted more… unsavoury characters. For one, he had run with a bunch of merry highway robbers some fifteen years ago. To Ford's defence, they had always stolen from morally reprehensible people, like post-apocalyptic warlords, greedy CEOs or dentists.

As they waited for their target from their vantage point on the cliff, Ford glanced at Stan, wondering if his brother had ever been involved in such an operation. Stan seemed bored out of his skull, as did Zuri. Only Yaspa and their last two accomplices looked remotely apprehensive.

The convoy they were hitting had raided a nearby town, carrying food and riches back to the Temple of Dawn. According to Yaspa, it was a common occurrence, and the villages that refused to offer tribute to the Eye of Dawn paid a heavy price. Yaspa's plan was to return the stolen goods to the townspeople. Stan had pointedly asked her what they would get in return, but Ford had silenced him with a glare. Stan had raised similar objections in all of their previous missions. Ford had explained they needed to build goodwill for the rebellion, and his brother had retorted, "Well, how much of a rebellion are we gonna be without any supplies or weapons?"

Ford had not answered. He didn't exactly want Yaspa to know that he agreed with Stan on that point.

"Gahhh," Stan said, rubbing his hands over his face. "How long are we gonna wait? Lady, you sure this is the right spot?"

Yaspa scowled at him, narrowing all five of her eyes. "Don't make me regret bringing you along. Kept your mouth shut and just do what you're told."

The moment she had her back turned, Stan mimed her peeved expression in an exaggerated manner, making Zuri snort.

"Stanley Pines, you've just turned sixty," Ford chided. "Act your age, for once."

"Ooh, act your age for once, Stanley," Stan repeated, in a shockingly good impression of his twin. Zuri laughed out loud. "You're an old man, Stanley, be mature and stuff."

Thankfully, Ford was saved from more of Stan's antics by the appearance of a dust cloud in the distance.

Ford strained to get a better look, dearly missing the pair of binoculars he'd left at the Shack. Four hovercraft formed a train, advancing toward the canyon where Ford and the others waited in ambush. Ford readied his gun, aiming at the pile of rocks they had placed on the opposite side of the cliff. The others tested the strength of their ropes, making sure they were properly secured. Ford raised his scarf over the lower part of his face. Stan did the same, muttering over and over, "This is crazy, this is stupid, we're all gonna die…"

The convoy entered the canyon, and Yaspa shouted, "Now!"

Ford pressed the trigger, and a blue flare burst out of the barrel. With a satisfying boom, rocks came crashing down in the valley below, stopping the convoy dead in its track.

"Oh god," Stan said, voice going slightly squeaky. "Nope, nope, nope…"

Still, when Ford jumped over the cliff, hands tightly wound around his rope, Stan was right behind him.

Ford landed in the hovercraft at the head of the convoy, letting go of the rope. The fall knocked the air out of his lungs, and pointedly reminded him that he did not have the knees of a twenty-year-old man anymore. Stan's landing wasn't as graceful, and Ford heard his brother letting out a string of curses. Yaspa, Zuri and their other companions jumped into the vehicle at the tail end of the train.

Four people were in the hovercraft with Ford and Stan—the pilot, and three guards armed with energy spears. The moment he'd regained his bearings, Ford shot the man closest to him with a stunning charge. Behind him came the sounds of a scuffle; Stan was grappling with the man who had steered the ship. Ford aimed at a second guardsman, preparing to pull the trigger.

There was a grunt of pain coming from behind, and Ford's focus wavered for all of one second as he recognized his brother's voice. It was all the guardsman in front of him needed to land a hit, grazing Ford on the shoulder. The energy weapon burned away the fabric of his coat and shirt, and Ford's skin sizzled, blinding him momentarily with pain.

With dim awareness, he heard someone groaning and falling to the ground—was it Stanley or the man he had been fighting? Ford was in no position to check. The man with the spear was attacking him again, this time aided by the third guardsman. Ford evaded the first lunge, grabbing the spear with one hand to tug on it. He struck the man in the gut with one knee, but Ford could not evade the second spear as it swept in the air, hitting Ford on the head.

Ford dropped like a stone, his gun slipping from his grip. Immediately, someone seized him, putting him in a headlock. Ford felt the cold touch of his own gun over his temple.

Through blurred eyes, Ford saw his brother holding up his hands, the hovercraft driver unconscious at his feet. The scarf had slipped from his face, and there was a trail of blood trickling from his mouth. Stan grimaced, before steeling his gaze.

"Let him go," he said, "or else…"

The man who held Ford actually snorted. "Or what?"

"Wait…" said the other guardsman. "That face… isn't that…?"

Stan straightened his spine, his eyes hidden by a light reflecting over his glasses. Then, loudly, madly, he began to laugh.

Ford's blood turned ice-cold as all strength was sapped from his body. No. No, no, no, no…

The two grey-robed goons exchanged a look, clearly taken aback by this sudden change in demeanour. Stan threw them a face-splitting grin, head bowed slightly.

"I thought I asked you something!" he said in a shrill, singsong voice. "Let. Him. Go. Are you deaf or what?"

"B-But…" said the man holding Ford.

"W-Why should we listen to you?" the other said.

"Hah! You don't know who I am? I get it, this vessel doesn't exactly inspire awe, but I'd have figured you'd be smart enough to recognize your one true lord and master! To think you call yourselves followers of mine!"

Stan stalked closer, and his grin grew wider. One of the grey-robed men gave a yelp, stumbling backward.

"N-No," said the man holding the gun to Ford's head, "that doesn't make any sense, that's just—"

"You don't get it, do ya? One snap of the fingers and—" Stan made a popping sound with his mouth, "—gone! Nothing left but dust. Do you want to be just a pile of dust, buddy?"

The cultist dropped Ford, suddenly panicked. "M'lord, no, please don't kill me!"

And Stan punched him in the jaw.

The other grey-robed man watching his companion fall without budging an inch, struck dumb by this sudden turn of events. Before he could react, Stan whirled on him, knocking him out with another jab.

Stan panted, wiping the blood off his mouth. "Oh shit! Can't believe that worked! They're really that dumb!" He held out a hand to Ford. "You alright, Pointdexter?"

Ford recoiled from Stan's offered hand. His gaze snapped to his brother's face. Worried brown eyes peered back at him.

"Stanford?" Stan said. "C'mon, it's me! It was just a trick, nothing more!"

Ford did not break eye contact. Without saying anything—and without taking Stan's hand—he stood on wobbly feet. Slowly, the warmth was spreading back to his veins. Still, his hands kept shaking.

"Alright?" Stan said with a distraught smile. "We good to go?"

Ford simply looked at him, heart thumping in his ears. Brown eyes, without any trace of yellow. Brown eyes, familiar eyes. Eyes like his mother's, like Dipper's, like Mabel's. The same eyes he saw when staring in a mirror

"Stanford? C'mon, jus' say something, you're startin' to freak me out!"

In the distance, Ford heard Yaspa calling for a retreat. It seemed she and the others had managed to overpower the men guarding the other vehicles. Yaspa barked more orders, instructing them to load one hovercraft with all the supplies they could find.

Ford inhaled deeply. Brown eyes, not yellow. He breathed in and out. Brown eyes, Stan's eyes, his twin's eyes.

"Yes," he croaked, managing a nod. "Let's go."

Yaspa had hoped for a hero's , they only found empty-eyed survivors amidst smouldering ruins.

The villagers were still putting out fires when Ford steered the stolen hovercraft into town. Many screamed and ran away at the sight of the vehicle, while others remained rooted to their spot, as if quietly resigned to whatever horror the world was about to unleash on them. To Yaspa's credit, she had the situation under control in a matter of minutes. By the time the flames had died down, all of Ford's muscles were in agony from carrying rubble and unconscious bodies.

As Stan and Zuri loaded the last of the wounded on the hovercraft, Ford approached Yaspa. The grim line of her mouth grew thinner the moment she caught sight of him.

"How many casualties do we have?" Ford asked. "There's quite a lot of wounded, but I've seen no bodies…"

"The Eye of Dawn don't kill people," Yaspa answered. "Wanton destruction isn't their usual way to operate. Wouldn't want to murder any potential convert, you see…"

"That's… something of a relief," said Ford. Still, her words brought no true comfort, only a dull pang in his chest. "Should we get going, then?"

Yaspa's face showed a rare hint of sadness. "Yes. Let's go."

The children were asleep when Ford and the others came back to the base. Stan immediately went to bed, saying, "Welp, I'm getting too old for that shit."

Ford was relieved to see the children sleeping so peacefully; he was in no state to be bombarded by their questions. He treated his wound, lost in thought. Stan hadn't exactly apologized for his little stunt, though he certainly seemed regretful. Still, Ford remained awake, keeping a close eye on him throughout the night.

Much like he had done the previous night, and the one that had come before, and so on and so forth.

Not for the first time, Ford cursed his old age. As a young man, he'd endured many sleepless nights with barely—well, with acceptable consequences. Now every part of his body protested being treated that way.

There was also this sense of shame lurking in the pit of his stomach. Neither Stan nor the twins knew he forced himself awake while they slept. They would probably find his behaviour a bit unsettling. Crazy, even. Then again, Ford had been naïve to think there was a better word to describe him.

Crazy Uncle Ford, who stayed up all night to watch over his family like a creep. Crazy Uncle Ford, who had caused all that mess in the first place because he'd been so eager to believe he was better than everyone else.

Crazy Uncle Ford, who had worked out a dozen strategies in the event his brother was being possessed by a demon.

Ford let out a joyless chuckle. How would he answer if Stan were to wake up seeing him with his gun within reach? 'Oh, hello, dear brother, I just want to be sure you don't murder us all in our sleep if my worst enemy ever takes over your body' just wouldn't cut it.

Thankfully, Stan slept soundly every night.

The children rarely woke up, and that was another blessing. Dipper had told Ford that he was free to read or use his journal whenever he felt like it. Ford spent the long hours of the night catching up with what the boy had written so far. As always, his nephew was a keen observer, and it was apparent that he had spent a fair amount of time questioning Yaspa's people about a variety of subjects.

For one, the inhabitants of Dimension 52 had no name for their species, simply calling themselves the 'people' or jemtlacal in their language. They gained more eyes as they aged, most adults having five of them; Ford supposed it was an adaptation to the low light environment in which they had evolved. Magic could be used by anyone, but few bothered to learn the necessary spells. Dimensional travel had once been common; the practice had stopped when the Eye of Dawn had seized control of the capital and destroyed Jheselbraum's temple.

Ford kept reading, fascinated by Dipper's observations. Apparently, mated pairs in Mictlan rarely had more than one child. Their language had words for brother, sister or sibling, but those terms were so scarcely used that many people had never even heard them spoken aloud. Multiple births were considered to be biologically impossible for their species. Mabel had been horrified by this discovery, writing, No twins! And no uncles or aunties either! That's so sad! She had punctuated her addition with several frowning faces.

Leafing through the journal, Ford found a drawing he'd made of the alpaca-like animal they had seen in the market; Mabel had added several little hearts pointing to Ford's sketch, writing, Sooo cute! Next to his illustration of the valley, Dipper had noted several theories pertaining to the fluorescent nature of Mictlan plant life. Last of all, he came upon a portrait of Jheselbraum—or rather, what little he remembered of her face. Mabel had left several enthusiastic comments, some of which made him raise an eyebrow. She seemed to believe the Oracle had been his 'space girlfriend', which was… both disconcerting and amusing. Ford had always wondered why people were so invested in the love lives of others, but in Mabel's case it was particularly baffling.

It got harder and harder to stay awake as the hours went by. Without meaning to, Ford dozed off, lulled to sleep by the children's charming commentary. When he finally startled awake, he found the others up and about as well.

Stan was talking to the twins in low tones. It took Ford some time to understand that he was telling them about the events of the previous day. The children were silent, uncharacteristically so. Ford didn't move from his cot, simply listening.

Eventually, a young, blue-skinned face peered into their room. "Oh," said Kyan. "You're all awake. H-How are you feeling?"

As if on cue, Stan and both twins turned to Ford. He looked away, uncomfortable with the scrutiny.

"I'm as fine as the circumstances will allow," Ford said. "What about the townspeople we rescued? Are they…?"

"W-We've stabilized the wounded, at least. The others, well… everyone's in shock, I'd say."

"Yeah, no shit," Stan said. "This, uh, happens often? Those Eye of Dawn guys torching towns, I mean?"

Kyan shook his head. "No… but it's been happening more frequently…"

"An' people stand for this shit?"

"I don't think their followers are aware of what's going on," Kyan answered, somewhat dully.

"Or maybe it's jus' nicer shoving your head in the sand," Stan muttered, sounding disgusted.

A faint sound was coming from out of the room, like people singing. Mabel hopped over to Kyan, brightly asking him, "What's that? Is there like, a choir meeting every week and no one told us?"

"Oh, that's just a prayer for the lost," Kyan said. "Y-You guys can come join us, if you want. T-That's why I came to see you, actually…"

"A religious ceremony, you say?" Ford said. Despite the severity of the situation, his curiosity was piqued. "It's kind of you to invite us. I'd be honoured to attend."

They followed Kyan outside. The tunnels were unusually empty; Ford figured their companions-in-misfortune were probably participating in the ritual Kyan had mentioned.

"Wait, is there something special we need to do at this ceremony?" Dipper said. "I don't want us to ruin everything 'cause we don't know how it's supposed to go."

"Not really," Kyan said. "It's not really a ritual... it's more like, a moment of contemplation or something. Yaspa wanted to do a little something to help those villagers. To get them some comfort."

Dipper and Mabel's faces crumpled. Even Stan appeared grim.

Finally, Kyan led them to a large, cavernous room. Stalactites and stalagmites cast long shadows everywhere, hinting that this part of the tunnel complex had not been hollowed out like the rest of the rebels' hideout. Across from Ford and the others, there was a slightly elevated part; Yaspa stood at its centre, flanked by two great torches. A few dozen people stood before this altar of sort, eyes closed, heads bowed. Kyan went to join them, taking place next to his sister.

"Sheesh, this is cheerful," Stan said. "Almost like a funeral." He frowned. "Huh. When was the last time I've ever been to a funeral?"

"When Bubbe Rachel died, probably," Ford mused. "We were twelve, I think?"

Stan scratched the back of his head, somewhat sheepishly. "Not for me… I remember going to Ma's funeral like, twenty, twenty-five years ago? And Shermie died when the kids were five. Heart attack, if I recall right."

"Oh," Ford said, feeling a dull pang. Sometimes he forgot his parents and elder brother had died in the thirty-year span he'd been lost in the multiverse. He had been all but estranged from his family when the portal incident had happened, yet Ford was saddened that he had not properly said goodbye to his mother and brother. As for his father… it was petty to admit, but Ford was glad the old man had kicked the bucket. If he ever visited his tomb, it would be to get roaringly drunk and shout curses in its general vicinity. Both Pines brothers were nothing like the sons Filbrick Pines wanted, and they were better men for it.

"Is his tongue supposed to stick out like that?" Mabel whispered.

Ford looked at what she was pointing. There was a large tapestry behind Yaspa, depicting a pink-skinned salamander with frilly gills. Strange symbols were arrayed around him…

"Wait, didn't you used to have one of these back at the Shack?" Dipper asked Stan in low tones.

Stan rubbed at his jaw. "Yeah… now that you mention it, I did…"

"I remember!" Mabel said. "He was my pet lobster's tank mate!"

"You had a pet lobster?" Ford asked, slightly dumbfounded.

"Not for long," Mabel said. "Just had him for a couple of days, and then, poof! He just plain disappeared!"

"Listen, muffin," Stan said, "not sure how to break it to ya, but… your lobster died."

Mabel gasped. "No way! And you never told me?"

"You can put a saltwater animal in a freshwater tank," Ford muttered.

Stan was sweating bullets now. "It gets worse. Remember when I made that seafood pasta...?"

"OH! Grunkle Stan, you monster!"

"Where did you get an axolotl anyway?" Ford asked.

"I dunno. He was there when I moved in. I always thought he was one of your weird pets."

Ford frowned. "Stanley, that's ludicrous. An axolotl can't live up to thirty years."

"How did he die, anyway?" Dipper asked. "He wasn't around anymore when we left Gravity Falls, was he?"

"Huh," said Stan. "That's weird. Can't remember what happened to 'im."

Ford must have made what Mabel called his 'sad owl face' since she immediately chose to change the subject. "What are those weird symbols around him?"

"Who knows?" Ford said. "If only I could get a chance to work out their meaning…"

"I'll copy them in my journal after the ceremony," said Dipper. "Maybe Kyan can tell us what they mean."

Mabel snorted, as if she was laughing at some inside joke. Dipper just rolled his eyes, heading toward Kyan and Zuri. Ford and Stan followed the children, keeping apart from the crowd.

Ford's translator could not pick up what Yaspa and the others were singing. It was a low, mournful wail; Ford suspected it might just have no lyrics. Still, the meaning of their lament remained clear. Kyan had the truth of it when he'd described it as a prayer for the lost.

Finally, Yaspa spoke, "For those who have begun the great journey."

"For those who have begun the great journey," the crowd repeated.

"In a different form, we will meet again," Yaspa continued.

"In a different time, one knows not when," the crowd added. "In a different world, one knows not where."

"We will meet again," Yaspa repeated, more firmly.

"…some sunny day," someone hummed to Ford's right. Stan was staring ahead, his gaze strangely blank.

Ford let out a choked sound, putting a hand over his mouth.

"Grunkle Ford?" said Mabel. "What's wrong? You look like you're going to be sick…"

To his great horror, everyone turned to look at him. Some people seemed confused, others regarded him with concern. Stan, for his part, only gazed back with an empty expression.

Ford rushed out of the room.

He ran and ran, not looking behind him, not caring where his legs were taking him. Discordant notes of piano rang in his mind, accompanied by a voice as charming as nails on a chalkboard. He could still picture the nightmare that had haunted him some nights past, could still see Stan standing at the bow of their ship, could still hear him singing that song.

Ford had rationalized it as the delusion of a stressed mind, as the manifestation of all his fears. Bill could not still live in Stan's brain, he just couldn't.

And yet…

Why else would Stan sing that song? The song Bill Cipher had sung before he'd tortured Ford, the song he'd sung before he'd tried to murder all of his family?

The song that seemed like a secret promise to torment Ford until the end of his days?

Ford came to a sudden halt. A gust of wind whipped at his face, startling him to a stop. Unknowingly, he had run to the secret spot the children had shown him. The valley unfurled in front of his eyes, peaceful and still. Ford inhaled deeply, relishing in the fresh crispness of the mountain air.

If he closed his eyes, he could almost believe he was hiking in the woods back home. It was childish to play pretend, but Ford did it anyway, taking comfort in the sounds and smells of the outdoors. After a while, his crazed heartbeat slowed down.

From behind him came the sounds of footsteps.

Ford whirled on his feet, gun at the ready.

"Whoa!" said a familiar voice. Stan had put his hands in the air. "Easy there! Didn't mean to startle ya!"

Without a word, Ford stalked closer, forcing his gaze into Stan's eyes. His brother grimaced, but otherwise did not look away. Brown eyes, without a trace of yellow. Ford relaxed, ever so slightly.

"You okay?" Stan said. "What happened back there?"

"I'm fine," Ford said.

Stan crossed his arms, one of his eyes twitching. "Oy. That was bad. Even Soos coulda told you were lying. Really, what's wrong?"

It was childish to let Stan have a taste of his own medicine, but Ford was sleep-deprived; he'd earned the right to be a little petty. "I said I'm fine. You don't need to worry about me."

"'kay," said Stan. "No need to get uppity with me."

"Hmph." Ford moved away, hoping to go back to his silent contemplation of the valley, but he froze in his tracks. A part of him wondered—no, feared—what would happen if he turned his back to Stan.

His brother didn't seem to note Ford's unease. Instead, Stan put his hands into his pockets, almost nonchalantly. "Hey, bro," he asked. "You know what dumb thing still gets me? What makes me really, really mad?"

Ford waited a bit. As Stan gave no response, he asked, "No. What is it?"

"I'm still mad those assholes crashed our party. I mean, the first birthday cake I've had in more than forty years, and I can't even have a bite?" There was a silence, and then Stan added, "I didn't even get to give you your birthday present."

"My what?" His brother would have admitted to taking Hula-Hoop classes, and Ford wouldn't have been as surprised. "You bought a birthday present for me?"

"Yep. Paid Soos to have him order something on the Internet. So you could have it by the time we'd arrive at the Shack, y'know." Stan kicked at the ground. "Might as well tell you what it is, huh?"

"You really don't need to," Ford said, a bit precipitately, "I'll find out when we get back—"

"A new fishing rod," Stan said, completely ignoring Ford's interruption. "A fancy one, mind you. So you could come with us on family fishing trips. Even made you a stupid little hat, like the ones I gave the kids last summer. With your name stitched on it an' all." He coughed, evading Ford's gaze. "Y'know, just so your dumb face could look even dumber."

And just like that, something heavy seemed to have been lifted from Ford's heart. "Well, I'm not saying what I bought for you," he said, almost petulantly. "It'll be a surprise for when we get home."

"You got me something?" Stan said, grinning. "I mean, what am I going to do with another material possession?"

Ford shot him a dumbfounded look, and Stan chuckled in response.

"Alright, alright, that one was bad," Stan said. "Still, I've been thinking lately…"

"Setting a new precedent," Ford said, managing half a smile.

"Shut up, nerd. What I meant is… I've been thinking back on moments like, the twins being born or me handing the Shack over to Soos. My memory's a mess, sure, but those moments just stick with me, y'know? It makes me realize that I want to go on 'cause I want to see more of these, well, you'd call them milestones, I guess." Stan's eyes grew wistful. "The kids graduating. Them gettin' married, maybe having kids of their own. That sort of thing."

There was another uncomfortable silence. Stan's eyes were fixed on the unfamiliar stars above.

"Makes me realize the difference between livin' and survivin', y'know? I was fine with just the latter for so long, I didn't even think the former was even an option."

"I'll get you home," Ford said, without hesitation. "I swear it, Stan. You'll see those moments. You'll make those memories."

"Yeah?" Stan turned to look at him. "C'mon, Sixer, no need to sound so dramatic. This is just me being a sap in my old age."

"No. I think you're being very wise cherishing those moments."

After all, Ford thought with a dull pang, who knew how long Stan would be able to hang on to those memories?

Of course he did not say this aloud to Stan. Instead, he stood up, walking to his brother's side. "We'll both get home. And I'll put on that stupid fishing hat as much as you want if that's what you need to be happy."

"You really don't have any self-respect, do ya?"

"That's a bit 'pot calls kettle'."

"Walked into that one, huh? Man, what a pair we are."

Ford smiled. "What a pair indeed." He moved his hand to put it on Stan's shoulder.

"Say, you think he's still there? Somewhere in my brain, ready to take over?"

Ford froze, hand still hovering in the air.

He found himself staring into a face that very much resembled his own. Yet, suddenly all he could see was the grinning, golden-eyed demon from his nightmares.

(See? Think of all the trouble you could have avoided with just one well-placed bullet!)

Without realizing, Ford had retracted his hand. Stan seemed to note his hesitation, and his brow furrowed. Ford felt a burst of shame at the hint of disappointment showing on his face.

"Ford?" Stan muttered. "C'mon, be honest with me…"

Ford opened his mouth to answer, and suddenly the lie caught in his throat before he could say it. It would have been so easy to feign certitude to put Stan's worries at ease.

But Stan had gathered enough courage to reach out to him, showing the soft, vulnerable heart hiding behind all that bluster. If Stan could be that brave, then so could Ford.

"I don't know," he said. "I don't know, Stan. I want to believe he's gone, but…"

"Okay," Stan said, in a slightly choked voice. "You're really freaking out, aren'tcha? You don't want to show it in front of the kids, but you are."

Ford took a deep breath. "Yes. I'm terrified, Stan. I nearly killed you once, I don't think I can do it again."

"Yeah. That's what I figured." Stan cleared his throat. "How do we make sure he doesn't come back then?"

Ford inhaled and exhaled again, trying to get his brain to settle down. Rational thought and deep, calming breaths. Once, he'd told Fiddleford that these two things were the greatest enemies of an anxious mind. Clearly, he needed to apply this lesson to himself.

He frowned, running a hand along his jaw. "The Eye of Dawn thinks they need to do something to bring him back, it's plain to see. Some procedure, maybe, or even a ritual. If they believed he could come back without their help, then they would have simply let things run their course."

Stan shuddered. "Let things run their course. That's a nice way of sayin' he would have made me his meat puppet."

"If he is still in your mind, then something is clearly stopping him from doing so," Ford added, in sudden realization. "He wouldn't have just waited nicely for your permission."

"If he is in my mind. You think he might not be there? You think he might be really dead?"

"I hope so. I would certainly sleep better at night if he was truly gone."

"But you're not sure. You think he might be still in there… just waitin'…"

Ford forced down a bout of nausea, suddenly unable to look Stan in the eye. "I'm sorry, it's just… sometimes, you just act like him. Your mannerisms. The way you speak. Hell, even the nicknames you use. You remind me of him, Stanley. And he reminded me of you."

Stan looked as if Ford had just slapped him. "Really…? I'm like him…?"

"I think it must be one of the reasons why I trusted him so easily." A sour taste invaded Ford's mouth as he recalled a disturbing possibility. "Or maybe he acted that way to earn my trust. He had access to all of my memories, after all. He certainly knew just how lonely I was without you. Just how I missed you."

"Holy hell…" Stan had gone white as a sheet. "You… you never told me that…"

"Would you intentionally admit someone took advantage of you in such an obvious manner?" Ford said, slightly irked. "Especially if it took you a ridiculous amount of time to realize you were being deceived?"

"Dammit, Ford!" Stan exclaimed. "Do you even hear what you're sayin'? How is any of this your fault? He tricked you! Shit, he did worse than that! No wonder you acted the way you did thirty years ago!"

You don't know what I'm up against! Ford remembered screaming at him. What I've been through!

Of course Stan hadn't known. It would have been so easy to grab his journal and show Stan the blood-splattered pages Ford had written about Bill. It would have been so easy to drag Stan back to town and show him the raving madman who once had been Ford's best friend.

It would have been so easy to lift his sleeves and show Stan the fresh scars and bruises left by the demon every time he had come for a 'visit'.

"Shit," Stan said. "If only I'd known back then…"

"Water under the bridge," Ford said. "Don't beat yourself over what-ifs."

"Same goes for you, pal," Stan said with a snort.

They were silent for a while. Ford closed his eyes, taking comfort in the feeling of the wind over his face. It wasn't quite like the soothing breeze of the sea, but for now it would have to do.

Eventually, he said, "Thank you, Stan. For listening. And for not running away screaming."

"What do you take me for?" Stan said, in a show of gruffness. "I've faced worse, believe me."

Ford snorted. It wasn't exactly a laugh, but it was getting there. Something resembling hope had sprouted in his heart; yes, maybe Bill was stuck somewhere in Stan's mind, yes, maybe Ford's lifelong enemy could end up possessing his only twin brother.

And yet, he hadn't.

It wasn't much, but Ford had spent thirty years working with less.

"Anyway, guy sounds like a right bastard," Stan said. "I'm glad I erased him from existence then."

Ford found himself smiling. "Erased him from existence. That's oddly poetic coming from you."

Stan shrugged. "I dunno. For some reason, it just feels… right, putting it that way. Which is weird, 'cause I don't even remember how I pulled it off in the first place."

Ford put a hand on his shoulder. "Just trust in your gut feeling, then. I've ignored intuition in favour of pure intellect for most of my life, and it cost me dearly."

"You're tellin' the guy who never plans for anythin' and who's been through all kinds of shit as a result, y'know." Still, Stan said it with a wry grin.

"Maybe we should combine our two approaches," Ford said, slightly tongue-in-cheek. "It would certainly lead to fewer bad life choices on both of our parts."

Stan cocked his head, looking utterly bewildered. Ford stared back with the most serious expression he could muster. Not a second later, they were both laughing out loud, tears forming in the creak of their eyes.