It was only eight o' clock, yet Soos already wanted to go to sleep.
Melody had gone to bed; she'd spent the whole day—and part of the previous night—working on some paperwork her lawyer mother had sent to help their cause. Soos had tried to assist her as much as he could, but all that legal lingo just made his head hurt. Sometimes, he felt bummed out that he was so useless with that kind of stuff. If he'd been smart, like Dipper or Dr. Pines, maybe those government people wouldn't have stolen the Shack from right under his nose. Melody kept saying he was being too hard on himself, but Soos wasn't entirely convinced.
Soos stared at his laptop screen without much energy. Melody had said doing a few raids on World of Warcraft would cheer him up, but Soos was so tired he'd jumped three times off a cliff to his doom. He was about to shut the computer and call it a day when a notification popped on his screen.
heyy dude, Wendy was writing. ur holding up in there?
Soos sighed. Im okay, he replied. What bout u?
feeling shiiiity man. been wrackin my brain tyring to find a way toi get thos bstards out of the shack. But im fckin useless at this big brain bsiness.
Ur telling me, Soos said. Im not doin so much better, tbh.
There was a pause, then Wendy wrote, im like, so angry all the time? usually its good, cause I jst go around bashin stuff an breakin heads. Again, she was silent for a while. Cept its not helping this time. Cause you know man, those assholes jus rigged the system. hhell i might have made things wrse bby punchin that guy when I stole those barrels!
Don't say that! Soos replied, trying to cheer her up. Ur always so badass, its just so cool!
yeah? well, s not helpin much here, is it? I survived the gdammed apocalypse an now all I can do is sit on my ass and twiddle my thumbs.
Soos was about to write another reply when he heard a commotion in the distance. Sorry, dood. Brb, sumthin's happening.
He left his room in a hurry. Someone was shouting—McGucket?—but Soos could not make out the words. Baby Harper was crying, and Tate was speaking too, in a lower, but still strained voice.
Soos irrupted into the entrance hall. Sherry turned to face him, holding Harper in her arms. Her brown eyes were red-rimmed and puffy. Next to her were McGucket and Tate; the old man was tearing at what little hair he had left, while Tate was holding his hands up in a soothing manner. Pacifica's little alien buddy was clawing at the door, making strangely squeaky noises.
"Calm down, Dad," Tate said. "Freaking out won't help—"
"It's mah fault, mah fault," McGucket interrupted him. "Another kid under mah care, another kid that might get hurt 'cause I was too busy obsessin' with work—"
"Wait, wait, wait," said Soos. "What's happening? What kid?"
"It's Pacifica," Sherry said, between hiccups. "I asked her to go to the drugstore two hours ago, a-and... a-and…"
"Found her bike on the way home," Tate added, grimly. "It was just lying there. Doesn't look like she crashed it."
"I called those girlfriends of hers," Sherry said, "but they said she's not with them. Oh, what could have happened to her? I knew I shouldn't have asked her to run errands, she's too young!"
"It's alright, Sherry," Tate said, rubbing Harper's back. The poor baby hadn't stopped crying. "I called the police, they'll find her."
Meanwhile, McGucket was facing away from them, still muttering, "Failed again, couldn't keep the kid safe, shouldn't have thought Ah deserved a second—"
"Dad!" Tate said, grabbing his father by the shoulders. "It's not your fault! You did nothing wrong."
McGucket was startled into silence. For a moment, all they could hear was the llamasaur yelping and scratching at the door.
Soos' head was swimming. "It just doesn't make any sense. Who in town would ever want to hurt—oh." He and McGucket exchanged the same look of horror.
"The agents," the old man said, sounding unusually serious.
"Could they have…?" Soos began.
"I've gone to the Shack after filing a report with the police," said Tate. "That lady there said she didn't see her. They probably don't have a thing to do with this."
"They might be lying!" Soos exclaimed.
"They might," McGucket said, tugging at his beard. "What are they playin' at? Their fancy doodad shoulda found the underground lab by now. And what would they gain by kidnappin' the poor child?"
There was a high-pitched yelp near Soos. The llamasaur was tugging at his suit, eyes wide and pleading.
"Don't worry, little guy," Soos told him. "We'll find her, you'll see!"
"C'mon, Dad," Tate said, leading him by the arm. "Go get some sleep. I'll search the spot around her bike while you rest."
"I'll do it!" said Soos. "You and Sherry have Harper to take care of!"
"Tha's true," added McGucket. He patted his granddaughter's head with a sad little smile. The kid was still bawling her eyes out. "Take the lil' one to bed. Me an' Soos, we'll take care of things."
"Okay," Tate said. "But the moment you need anything, just gimme a call, alright?"
"Sure thing, Taters," McGucket answered.
Tate escorted his wife and daughter out of the hall, leaving Soos and McGucket with the llamasaur. Soos scratched the critter's woollen neck in an absentminded manner, while the old man paced the room, still apparently lost in thought. Something buzzed in Soos' pocket; Wendy had sent him a text message.
evrythin ok dude? she wrote. whats goin on?
pacifica's missing, Soos texted back, biting his lower lip. she went on for an errand and didnt come back. tate found her bike on the side of the road.
what?! tf is going on?!
I don't know, Soos replied. I just hope no one hurt her.
There was silence from Wendy's part, then she wrote, u dont mean… those sumbitches agents coulda kidnapped pacifica?
Its just a theory mind you, Soos replied. I hpe shes okay.
those assholes! lying shitfucks! avtin all high n mighty and pullin this crap on us?
McGucket was reading over Soos' shoulder, his thick eyebrows furrowed. Soos pondered over his next words, heart pounding.
u know, he wrote, eventually, when u said we didnt need ur anger anymore…
There was another pause, and Soos knew Wendy was grinning as she wrote, yeah no, eff that noise! seems like sum anger's alywas warranted!
Despite the severity of the situation, Soos found himself snorting out a laugh. It earned himself another tug from the llamasaur. The little guy emitted a low whine, then a growl.
"Wait," said Soos, finally realizing. "You can find her, can you?"
The llamasaur ran back to the door, clawing at it with his paws. McGucket and Soos exchanged the same look of triumph.
Wendy! Soos typed so fast he was amazed he didn't butcher her name. get the girls! i think i know how to find her!
Ford and the children were swarmed with curious onlookers as they returned to the resistance base.
His translator could barely keep up with the rapid-fire exchanges between Kyan and the rebels that served as their welcoming committee. Ford understood well enough that the boy was telling everyone what had happened in the temple. He had no idea, however, why everyone was now speaking in awed whispers as he and the children made their way into the base.
The crowd followed them to a great, hollowed space, where they found Yaspa leaning over a table, papers spilled out in front of her. Around her, people busied themselves, stockpiling supplies, repairing stolen weapons, running various errands. Despite this chaos, Yaspa took notice of Ford and the children immediately.
"You're back," she said, and a hint of a smile showed on her lips. "All of you… you're alright!"
"Of course we are," Zuri said, sounding dumbfounded. "Don't tell me you were worried for us!"
Yaspa's features regained their usual harshness. "Flippant, as always, child. From your tone, I expect things have gone well."
"Yep!" Mabel said. "Grunkle Ford met that Axolotl guy and he said that Oracle lady might still be alive and—"
Her words prompted murmurs and gasps from the people inside the room. Even Yaspa's face went slack.
"The Oracle?" she murmured. "She's still alive?"
"I think she might be held beneath the Temple of Dawn," Ford said. He was uneasy being the subject of such scrutiny. "I think I saw a lot of people being captive there, in fact. We could free them as well."
Immediately, the crowd seemed seized with excitement and—it was a bit cheesy to admit –hope. Even Yaspa's face lit up with uncharacteristic enthusiasm.
She walked up to Ford, giving him a genuine grin. "Tell me everything."
After what seemed like hours of debriefing, Ford returned to his quarters, exhausted beyond belief. Still, he ignored the sweet calling of sleep. His brother was out there, stuck in the clutches of a mad cult. There was still so much Ford needed to do before they could attempt a rescue.
For a while, Ford sat alone on his cot as he tinkered on a few projects, including a spare gun he was making out of scrap parts he'd scavenged from unusable energy weapons. The work kept his mind and hands occupied, which was a blessing. He'd left the Axolotl's abode clutching a vow to his heart—that he would save Stan and prevent the return of Bill Cipher. Still, from the depths of his mind, an insidious little voice kept repeating, but they're one and the same, remember? Ford tried to muffle it, to no avail. Thirty years of paranoia and resentment were not so easily washed away, after all.
A few hours later, he was taken out of his thoughts by familiar footsteps. Dipper and Mabel were exchanging a few words in hushed tones as they entered their shared room. Ford's niece actually quirked a brow as she spied her uncle sitting in bed with his tools.
"You should be sleeping, Mr. Old Man," she said, loftily.
"I should say the same, Miss Young Lady," Ford replied with matching gravitas.
She grinned. "Alright, alright, you got me. Whatcha working on?"
Ford twirled his new gun in his hands, earning himself 'oooh's and 'aaah's from his niece and nephew.
"I've been working on these as well," Ford said, gesturing at his feet. "Rocket-powered boots. I wish I could have had more time to test them, but…"
"Oh em gee," Mabel said, hopping excitedly on her spot, while her brother simply stared with his mouth hung open. Ford made a note to build him a pair when the dust would finally settle.
"Lastly, I've also managed to put the finishing touch on this." Ford could barely stop himself from grinning as he handed a certain something over to his niece. "A little gift, just for you, my dear."
Mabel seemed to be locked in a silent scream as she took the item from his hands. Finally, she let out, in a voice so high-pitched Ford was surprised he could hear it, "Is that, is that, is that, oh my god, oh my god, oh my GOD!"
"A grappling hook, yes," Ford said, somewhat sheepishly. "Made out of spare parts of those energy weapons we've recovered. I know it cannot ever replace the one Stanley gave you, but—"
Ford never had the time to finish his sentence, as Mabel leaped to embrace him. Behind her, Dipper was snorting.
"Thank you, thank you, thank you!" Mabel said, crushing Ford's midsection a little more with every word.
"You're welcome," Ford wheezed in response.
Finally, Mabel let him go. "Look what we've been working on!" She showed him a few rectangular pieces of cloth. Various symbols were sown on the fabric. "Ta-dah! Kyan and Dipper drew the sigils, and I did the stitches! They're super handy if you wanna cast a spell on the go!"
Ford inspected her work with a grin. As always, Mabel's craftsmanship was unparalleled. "Amazing work, sweetheart! I know I can always count on you both."
Mabel giggled as he patted her head. Dipper—much as Ford expected—mumbled something along the lines of, "S'no big deal, anyone could have done it…"
"Alright, you two," Ford said. "Let's get some rest. We have a big day ahead of us tomorrow."
The atmosphere grew heavy, and Mabel's smile dissipated. Her brother was sporting a serious, sombre expression no thirteen-year-old should ever have to wear.
"We'll save him," Mabel said. To her credit, her voice did not even waver. "We'll beat those jerks, and we'll save him. Just like we saved you last year."
"If anyone can pull off such a miracle, it's you two," Ford told her.
"Having you storming the place all guns blazing won't hurt either," Dipper added, sounding a bit sheepish.
Ford allowed himself a slight grin. "I can't say I'm not looking forward to that part, at least just a little bit." Soon, however, his smile was gone. The twins frowned, exchanging worried looks.
"What's wrong, Grunkle Ford?" Mabel said. "If there's anything, you know you can tell us."
"I know," Ford said, throat tightening. He looked at his hands, noting how they were slightly trembling.
"You know you can trust us," her brother added.
Ford's gaze snapped upward. Trust. Thirty years he'd spent refusing to put any faith in that concept. Yet those two had torn down his flawed rhetoric in a manner of minutes last summer.
They had taken one look at him, and that meant they trusted him, because he was family—because they loved him. They didn't need any other reason.
"You're right, my boy," Ford said, taking in a deep breath. "I promised you something when we first arrived in this dimension, didn't I? I should be honouring that promise."
Dipper nodded slowly. "If you say so…"
"Remember when I said Bill had been reincarnated?"
Dipper and Mabel shared a look of confusion.
"Yeah," said Mabel. "You said you didn't know who he was now, though."
"I'm sorry, children," Ford said. "I lied. I… I know who it is. It's… someone we know…"
"When you say someone we know," Mabel said, sounding uneasy, "I bet you don't mean that jerk teacher we had in fifth grade who wouldn't shut up about how bad I was at maths, right?"
"No," Ford managed. "Definitely someone closer. Someone I—well, someone we all care about. And someone who cares about us. I'm telling the both of you because…" The words died in his throat, and Ford passed a hand through his hair. "Well, I've kept things from you before, and we all saw where it got us. You both deserve the truth."
The twins exchanged another glance. For a moment, they were both silent. Was it Ford's imagination or did he see a hint of realization in their eyes? Or maybe it was confusion. Maybe it was disbelief, maybe it was horror, maybe it was—
"It's okay, Grunkle Ford," Mabel said, taking Ford out of his anxious loop. "You don't have to tell us who it is if you don't want to."
Ford shook his head, bewildered. "But… I promised the two of you that I would—"
"He—I mean, that person probably doesn't even remember being Bill," Mabel said, giving a nervous laugh. "Right? It's in the past, they didn't choose to do all those horrible things Bill did…"
Dipper was paler than his sister. The boy looked like he was going to be sick, in fact. Still, he managed to summon enough composure to say, "Would you say that he's—I mean, they're a bad person?"
"No," Ford said, without hesitation.
Mabel put her hand over his. "Then, I trust him—them, whoever they are. 'Cause I trust you, Grunkle Ford."
"I…" Dipper clutched his journal tighter against his chest. "I think I'm gonna need some more time to think about… well, all of that. But that's not important for now. Our priority should be to…" He stopped, nervously swallowing in an attempt to steady his voice. "To rescue Grunkle Stan. Yeah. Saving him comes first, figuring out the rest will come after."
The boy's words seemed half a lie he was telling himself. Ford smiled at him, touched by his courage and loyalty. Dipper wouldn't even meet his eyes.
Eventually, Ford nodded. "Alright. Sleep well, you two."
Mabel gave him another quick hug. "G'night, Grunkle Ford."
"Yeah," her brother added. "Good night. And, uh… thanks for being honest with us..."
Even after everyone was tucked in for the night, Ford could still hear the children speaking in hushed tones. There was something soothing about the sound of their voices. Ford remembered the time he'd asked Stan how the twins pulled their little miracles so effortlessly. His brother's answer had been so simple, and yet so wise.
"Easy, they're kids. They don't know any better."
They simply trusted in Stan because he was family—because they loved him. They didn't need any other reason.
Smiling to himself, Ford fell into a deep, pleasant slumber.
The demon Bill Cipher loomed over a world of ruins and flame, laughing at the opponent that had come forward to challenge him.
"Well, well, well," Bill said, from the comfort of his twisted throne. "You're stupider than I thought, 'Stanley Pines'!"
The way Bill Cipher had said Stan's name sent chills down his spine. It was the tone Stan had used to spew shit about the attractions of the Mystery Shack. A tone full of deceit and derision.
To Bill Cipher, Stanley Pines was as fake and cheap as the crap he once sold to gullible tourists.
"Yeah, yeah," Stan said, feigning indifference, "now that we've established that, can we skip to the part where I kick your lousy ass? Ain't got all day, y'know."
"You've just realized that?" Bill said with a leer. "'Cause it's true. That worshipper of mine, whatsherface, she's hard at work trying to bring me back. Which means she's hard at work killin' you right now."
"You don't know her name?" Stan said.
"Of course I don't!" Bill said, laughing. "What, like I'm s'posed to remember the name of all the idiots worshipping me?"
It was stupid to feel infuriated on the behalf of someone who'd gouged out your damn eye, but Stan found himself gritting his teeth.
"Oh, wait, I remember now!" Bill said. "It's good ol' Green Gem, isn't it? She was a boring one, I tell ya. Right until I forced her to claw her eye out. Then, she was more fun! Even Sixer wouldn't let me do that. He woke up before I managed to do the deed, which is a shame if you ask me."
Stan took a step back, stomach churning. "Shut up. Shut the hell up."
"Aw, man," Bill said. "You're so thin-skinned, Mackerel. Hey, did I ever tell you about the time I tried to kill your nephew and make it look like he'd committed suicide—"
"SHUT UP!" Stan roared.
Bill blew a raspberry. "Meh. Like I said, you're too sensitive."
Stan jabbed a finger at him. His fury was so great he could barely manage to form words. "Get the fuck over here. Now."
Immediately, Bill Cipher erupted into mad laughter. "Well, then!" he said, white fissuring the darkness of his face in an eerie grin. "Since you've asked so nicely…"
He jumped out of his seat, holding one hand over his cane. Before Stan could do anything, Bill snapped his fingers, and everything turned dark. A trumpeting noise rang in the air, and Stan put his hands over his ears, gritting his teeth. Flashing neon lights appeared above Bill Cipher's throne, forming the demon's name in a gaudy display. A few spotlights illuminated Stan; he realized he was now standing the middle of a gigantic boxing ring. Bleachers surrounded the ring, filled with figures screaming and jeering. Their dark, formless features seemed a crude mirror of Bill's current face.
There was a loud snapping noise, and another spotlight was directed at the top of Bill's throne. The demon was holding a pose, one hand placed over the rim of his hat, the other over his cane.
"…seriously?" Stan said, deadpan. "You know something is tacky when Stan Pines says it so. Maybe you shoulda made it less of a monument to your ego, pal."
The demon did not answer, only snapping his fingers again as he struck another pose. Music—much like the kind you'd find at one of those stupid clubs kids liked nowadays—blared out of nowhere. Bill Cipher began to make his descent, timing each of his step to the beat.
"Oh, come on." Stan groaned, looking heavenward. "I'm dead, right? I'm dead, and this is hell."
"What do you say, folks?" Bill exclaimed, to the joy of the crowd. "Who d'you think will win—the superior, original version, or the shoddy knockoff?"
Thousands of eerily distorted voices shrieked, "BILL! BILL! BILL!"
Bill's head tilted at an odd angle as he set his sight on Stan. "Hear that, Mackerel? Even the figments of your mind are betting on me. Ya sure you even want to bother?"
Stan refused to answer. Instead, he dropped into a boxer's stance, hoping the bastard would get the message.
"Woof," Bill said, making a big show of rolling his only eye. "No sense of showmanship, am I right, guys?" The crowd erupted into laughter. "If it's a fight you want, Stanley Pines… then who am I to deny your wish? D'you want to see him get his ass handed over to him, people?!"
The shadowed figures roared in response, some screaming Bill Cipher's name, others shouting for Stan's demise. Stan winced; he knew perfectly well that these wazoos weren't real, but still…
Bill stopped, right in the middle of the steps leading to his throne. "Alright!" he crowed, spreading his arms wide. "It's SHOWTIME!"
"What?" said Stan. "What are ya talkin' ab—"
Before he could finish, something swooped at him, knocking the air out of his lungs. Stan was thrown halfway across the ring, and he hit the ropes with a wheeze. Eyesight blurred by pain, he spied four gigantic figures facing him: a four-legged purple monster with no face, a pink one-eyed demoness, a grey-skinned, baby-faced freak and a long-limbed green goblin with protruding teeth.
Stan grimaced, tasting blood on his tongue. "You… you yellow-bellied bastard! Getting' others to fight your fights…"
"What can I say?" Bill said, cackling. "I thought it'd be more fun that way!"
The crowd went wild as the monsters charged at Stan. He raised his arms in an attempt at a block, only to have the pink demoness grabbing him by the wrists, long nails digging into his skin. Her face split into a freakish grin, and she threw Stan aside as if he weighed nothing.
He fell into the awaiting arms of the green freak, who clamped them around Stan's torso. With a roar, the grey baby-shaped monstrosity aimed a jab at Stan's stomach.
"Shit, shit, shit!" Stan exclaimed, uselessly kicking at the creature.
He let out a triumphant 'hah!' as he felt the pudgy nose breaking under the sole of his boot. Not one to squander such an opportunity, Stan headbutted the monster holding him to slip out of his grasp.
The moment he regained his footing, Stan took a swing at the closest opponent. The grey-skinned freak showed surprising agility, evading Stan's jab. Stan was not so lucky, and the world went white as the monster's fist collided with his stomach. Stan stumbled back, out of breath, barely able to stay on his feet. Before he could move, the purple monster slammed into him, sending him flying again.
For a moment, all he was aware was the sound of their laughter and the demented cheers of the audience. Stan pushed himself off the floor with trembling arms. Sweat and blood pooled under him. In the distance, Bill seemed to be smirking. He was lounging in his throne like it was a fancy sofa. Was that popcorn he was eating?
It's weird, said a familiar voice next to Stan, and his gaze snapped upward. A freakin' lizard was floating around his head. It was bright-ass pink. What the everlasting hell? I thought you'd be putting more of a fight…
Stan blinked. "Frills? S'that you? What's with the sudden makeover?"
We're in the mindscape! Why are you acting like you're limited by what your meatsack can do?
Stan opened his mouth, then closed it with a noticeable 'pop!'
"Huh," he said. "The mindscape." He almost laughed. "My mindscape. Shit, you're right!"
Of course I am, Frills said as Stan stood up on wobbly legs. It's just strange that I need to remind you…
Stan spat on the floor, offering his opponents a bloody grin. "Hey, freaks! You wanted a show? How 'bout we do things my way for once? I promise it'll be entertaining!"
As if on cue, the atrocious music stopped, replaced by heavy guitar riffs and a bangin' drumline. Stan let out a bark of laughter. Good ol' 80s-style hard rock. The kind that drove Ford utterly nuts whenever they were stuck together in the car. Stan kept telling him, "Well, I'm the one drivin', I get to choose the soundtrack, numbnut."
It was the same here, really. Stan ought to be the one drivin' that useless sack of bones after all.
The crowd responded with more boos and death threats, but Stan was past caring. When Bill's Henchmaniacs rushed at him, all teeth and claws, he stood his ground, simply aiming his index finger at the purple monstrosity.
"Psh-ew!" he said, in his best impression of Ford's laser gun.
And the monster exploded into scattered confetti. Mabel would have been delighted.
The other three freaks skidded to a halt, their faces showing varying shades of horror. Stan bolted toward them with a greater speed than his old man legs could have ever allowed, aiming a punch at Greenie's ugly mug. His fist connected with the creature's jaw with a satisfying crunch; this time, the monster blew into hundreds, no, thousands of dollar bills. Stan cackled like a little kid who'd just broken in a candy store.
Keeping momentum, Stan swung on his heel, raising one leg in the air. He kicked the pink demoness right in the teeth, in a perfect recreation of a move he'd seen in one of the martial arts movies Soos loved so much. The creature screeched, popping into thousands of soapy bubbles.
There was only one enemy remaining. The ugly baby tried to back away from Stan, but the latter only snapped his fingers, making an axe appear in his hand. The monster squealed and scampered. In a throw that would have made Wendy green with envy, Stan sent the axe right into the creature's skull. Instead of blood, coins poured out. Soon the last of Bill's Henchmaniacs was nothing but a pile of hard cold cash lying on the ground.
For a while, there was only silence as the music sputtered and stopped. Then, predictably, came the chorus of jeers and bellows. Some of the freaks in the audience even threw cans and rotten fruits in Stan's direction.
"Yeah, you jerkwads!" Stan shouted, making rude hand gestures at them. "Boo all you want! I can do this all night! Woo!"
With the most madcap grin he could muster, Stan turned to face Bill. The demon was now sitting properly in his seat, single eye fixed on Stan. There were no tantrums, no petulant scowls, only… pure, utter boredom.
"Oh, gee, folks," Bill commented, inspecting his nails. "Is there anything more boring than an invisible hero or what? Where's the drama if there's no struggle? If there's no anguish?"
"If there's no what now?" Stan muttered, suddenly apprehensive.
His heart leaped into his throat when five figures formed out of condensing mist in front of him. Out of instinct, Stan dropped into a boxing stance, only to feel the fight going out of his body as he recognized his new opponents.
Their colours were more muted than in reality, and their eyes flared like the headlights of a car, giving them an eerie, inhuman look. There was a tall, chubby young man who was trying to shield two kids. The brown-haired children seemed to be holding on to each other for support. Another youth—a red-haired girl with a fierce scowl—stood in front of them, twirling an axe in her hands. The fifth figure was a barrel-chested man in a long coat. Stan could only stare back, helplessly, as the man fixed on him eyes burning with hatred.
Ford's doppelganger aimed his gun at Stan and snarled, "Get away from these children, demon!"