Ford was well-versed in sleeping with his eyes open. It was a necessity that came with dimension-hopping and keeping out of harm's way. Even so, it was much like zoning out when he was enthralled with his work, and much like being absorbed in his work, he jerked out of it violently when there was a loud pounding on the door.
He had his gun out and aimed in less than a second, taking a few moments to realize that he wasn't in a cave somewhere about to be eaten.
He was home.
Ford lowered the gun, running a shaking hand through his hair. "…Who…who's there?" he called out, hating how his voice was shaking.
"It's me, Stanford." Somehow, that it was Stanley answering didn't make Ford feel better. "Open the door."
Ford swallowed hard, standing slowly. "Back away from the door," he commanded. "And keep your hands where I can see them." He heard faint grumbling on the other side of the door as he slowly unlocked it and cracked it open.
Stanley was on the other side, looking completely normal. Clean skin, clean clothing. Maybe a bit more cologne than was necessary, but other than that…
Ford shook his head a little. Was all of yesterday a horrible nightmare? It would make sense. He's had worse nightmares before. He opened the door the rest of the way, discretely putting the gun back into his holster. "…What time is it?" he asked, just to break the awkward tension in the room.
Stan snorted. "Almost eleven," he replied, then reached into his pocket and took out a key. "Also, I could have come in at any time." He tossed the key to Ford. "But then I remembered you've become fond of guns over the past thirty years, and figured if I was going to check to see if you were dead or not, I wouldn't want a hole in my skull."
Ford felt his face heat up, and quickly pocketed the key. "…Locking doors is a habit now," he said. "I feel…safer."
"Figured. You want something to eat?" Stan's lips twitched when he heard Ford's stomach answer for him. "That's a yes. Come on." He turned and headed to the kitchen.
Ford followed, rubbing his temples, trying to get that horrible nightmare out of his head. It would figure his first night back home wouldn't be a pleasant one. He peered around the corner doorway and saw the kids—Dipper and Mabel, was it?—already sitting at the table.
Dipper was chewing on some cereal quietly, looking about as exhausted as Ford felt. Mabel was sitting opposite him, waiting patiently for Stan to fix her something to eat.
"Lucky we have that backup generator, or all our meat and eggs would've gone to waste," Stan said, taking out some eggs, bacon, and beef slices. Ford could have sworn Dipper paused his chewing to make a slightly disgusted face before continuing to eat. "You still take yours over medium, Stanford?"
"…Sure," Ford said, feeling like he was in an episode of The Twilight Zone as he sat down between the two children. Dipper was giving him slightly awed looks while Mabel kept her eyes pointedly on Stan.
"I'll have some beef slices today, Grunkle Stan," she said, and Ford swore he detected an encouraging tone in her voice. This time, he DEFINITELY saw Dipper's expression twist slightly.
"No problem, sweetie," Stan said, cutting through the bits, and—to Ford's horror—began eating raw bites of it. Ford felt a coldness run down his spine as his hand instinctively inched toward his gun. A soft, barely-audible intake of air beside him made him glance over at Mabel, and he saw her expression go from shocked to ANGRY.
She's protective of him.
Grunkle Stan's not the one you should worry about if you accidentally hurt him.
Dipper's words made his hand pause as he took in Mabel's look. Flashes of memories that he was now SURE were not just nightmares reminded him of how she pushed him away from Stan when he first came through the portal. How she clung to him protectively, so TRUSTINGLY.
He forced his hand back up to the table, swallowing hard. "…Yesterday wasn't a nightmare, was it?" he said, mostly to himself. A heavy silence rang through the room, interrupted only by Stan's cooking hissing on the stove.
"…No," Stan said, shifting the eggs and bacon from the skillet to a plate. "It wasn't." He set the plate down in front of Ford. "But you cant starve yourself thinking about it." He turned back to the stove, making up Mabel's plate. "Mabel, how many beef slices do you want?"
"Three is fine," Mabel replied, her voice chipper but her eyes hard in a silent warning to Ford. 'Don't upset him.'
Ford let out a shaky breath and began eating. At least dimension-hopping taught him to choke down any food while he could, no matter what he saw or where it came from. As he ate, he realized that he would have to get the full story from Stanley at SOME point, and try to piece together just what was going on here.
Dipper vanished as soon as breakfast was over. Ford couldn't blame him. He wouldn't want to be in this house after a massacre took place either. He sat back as Stan tidied up the kitchen and sent Mabel off so he could have a talk with his brother.
As soon as the house was quiet, Stan headed to the vending machine. "All the better down here," he said. "I wouldn't want Mabel crashing in and wrecking you." He led the way down the stairs and pressed in the code to go down to the basement, stepping into the elevator. Ford followed, keeping a healthy space between them, taking deep breaths to keep from panicking at this unknown situation.
Stan stepped out of the elevator and into the tech room, grabbing a chair and sitting down. "…It's a long story, Stanford," he said, crossing his arms quietly. "It's long, and it's…painful. And trust me, any weirdness YOU'RE feeling is nothing compared to what I'm currently living through."
Ford swallowed hard, sitting down across from him. "…how did it happen?" he asked quietly. Stan's jaw tightened, fingers flexing tightly into his jacket.
"…Dipper summoned the undead to prove what was in the journal was real," he said, his voice going flat. "They swarmed the Shack…they managed to get Soos first. I came up to get the kids, and wasn't a moment too soon. I managed to get them up to their room in the attic, but…" He reached up, touching his shoulder lightly. "One of the bastards got me. I ran up, made sure the kids were alright…then it…happened."
Ford swallowed thickly as Stan's hand moved from his shoulder to his chest, gripping at the clothing tightly. "…I could feel…like everything inside was dying…and I just felt HUNGRY. Can you comprehend that, Stanford?" His eyes flicked up, and Ford nearly reeled back when he saw the 'dead glow' inside of them.
"Can you comprehend seeing the people you love the most and feeling nothing but hunger? For even one moment, Stanford? That's what I felt. For one moment, I was completely dead inside. And then I heard them screaming. And I came back. I don't know how, but something was going to hurt them, and the hunger turned into just…..PROTECTING them."
His shoulders slumped, the light in his eyes dying out. "…Soos would do anything for those kids, but…even he tried to eat Mabel after they got rid of all the others. I kept him pinned down while they made the cure…which fuckin' HURTS by the way, write THAT in your journal." His hand shook for a moment before he slowly undid his jacket and took it off, loosening his shirt collar and tugging it to the side.
Ford cringed when he saw a patch of skin on Stan's shoulder that looked like someone melted the flesh, let it boil, and then let it cool like hot wax, nothing like a bite mark at all.
Stan shifting his collar back up. "Soos was fine in just two hours. I was out for the rest of the day…my body just…" He looked at his hands. "I felt like I was dead with a heartbeat. That's…just the best way I can describe it. I went to sleep and didn't expect to wake back up." He rubbed his face, sighing.
"…Then I woke up, and…I just felt no pain. My back, my joints, my knees….nothing hurt. Oh, they still crack like a whip…" He flexed his hands and Ford definitely heard soft cracking. "…but nothing hurt anymore. And I was hungry. But nothing I ate felt right." He pinched the bridge of his nose, looking pained.
"…god, it….it just HIT me. I was outside…and there was a rabbit…and I just…"
"…You ate it," Ford finished, recalling Dipper's writing in the journal.
Stan nodded. "…I ate it," he confirmed. "And worse…Dipper saw. Shit, that…that look he gave me…" He pressed a hand to his mouth. Ford paused, then reached into his jacket and took out his journal.
"…Dipper's…been writing it down," he said, holding the journal in his hands. "…shorthand about the rabbit…some other animal…a…a construction worker—"
A sharp swear from Stan made him flinch. "God, that guy…" Stan muttered, holding a hand to his face. "…animals had been keeping that…HUNGER feeling down…but when I saw him turn to Mabel…!" An inhuman growl left his throat, and Ford's hand pressed against the gun on his thigh.
There was a moment of heavy silence before Stan settled back down. "…I don't know what I would do without those kids, Stanford…" Stan said quietly. "Dipper…he's trying so hard to find a way to 'cure' me…and Mabel…" A sad smile twitched at his lips. "…god, she's such a saint…she's not afraid of me…and she's…she's so afraid someone will find out and take me away from her…"
He hastily wiped at his eyes, sighing. "…I guess she figures if she drives people away before they can make me upset, it'll be better…but I miss her running around with her friends, and having fun without having to worry about me….I miss Dipper not being afraid to just be an annoying kid, walking around on eggshells around me like he's afraid I'll just…snap!"
"…Aren't you afraid you will?" Ford asked. "I mean…how can you be so certain you wont hurt them?" He almost tipped back in the chair when Stan snarled at him, the dead lights flickering back on in his eyes.
"I WILL NEVER HARM MY KIDS!" Stan snapped, his expression wrathful for a moment before it melted into discomfort and pain, his hands clutching at his abdomen. "Ugh…..shit…..not now….!"
"S…Stanley…?" Ford stammered, shifting back. He clambered off of the chair and backed away, his hands shaking in terror as he heard the inhuman growls and groans that were coming from his brother. "Stanley—"
Stan held up a hand in the universal 'shut up' gesture, taking several deep breaths, the gravely rasping subsiding with each one taken until his body relaxed slightly. After a few long, tense moments, Stan sat up, wiping saliva from his chin, only a dim glimmer of the dead light in his eyes.
"…I'm fine," he said, sounding more tired than anything. "…I'm fine, Stanford…you can put that gun away."
Ford looked down at his hand, seeing that he indeed had his gun in his hand. He swallowed hard, putting it back into the holster. "…How often does this happen?" he asked slowly.
"…Whenever I'm stressed," Stan replied. "I usually solve it by eating something…this was minor, considering the insult you just flung my way."
Ford scowled. "It wasn't an INSULT, Stanley," he replied, his voice tight. "It was a legitimate concern. YOU might think you'd never do anything unthinkable to those kids…but there are too many unknown variables here—"
"Not everything is a goddamn science thing for you to analyze, Stanford!" Stan retorted, standing up, his joints audibly cracking. "There are some things I just KNOW! I was a ZOMBIE back that day! SAME as Soos! But my desire to PROTECT those kids was stronger than the urge to EAT them! And no matter how far gone I am, Mabel is able to bring me out of it!" He ignored Ford paling as he stalked past him and toward the elevator. He paused, his hand poised over the control button.
"…I trust myself not to hurt them, as much as Mabel trusts me not to hurt her. And that's a hellova lot more trust than you can even imagine. So get it through your skull. I. Will NEVER. Hurt those kids. You understand me?" He didn't wait for an answer, and pushed the button to open the doors, not looking back as they shut behind him.
Ford sat down hard, the whirring of the elevator fading out and leaving him to his heavy, silent thoughts.