Though he was well aware of his brother's apparent hostility, Stanley still didn't hesitate to speak his mind.

"So, what's the deal with all this, Sixer?"

The instant he said Ford's childhood nickname- one used affectionately when they'd grown up together, one that he had thought would put his brother at ease- Stanley saw Ford's shoulders tense up, and his eyes remained as cold and dark as ever.

Ford pointed a finger up at Stan, who was floating a few inches above the ground, the unnatural gap masking how the two should have stood at equal height. "Why are you here?"

Stan shrugged. "Your guess is as good as mine- I don't really get it, not that I'm complaining about sticking around of course-"

"Don't play games with me. Why. Are. You. Here?" Ford punctuated the final word by poking him in the chest. It tickled a little, Ford's finger brushing against his suit, and even though the gesture was not meant as a reassuring one, Stan still found comfort in that fleeting moment of physical contact, in the knowledge that his brother could still touch him.

Stan crossed his arms, pulling them tightly into his chest. "I think you mean 'Good to see you, Stanley. Thanks for saving the world, Stanley. You're a real pal, Stanley.'"

"Stop saying that!"

"Saying what? Saying that I could use a little appreciation right about now? Saying that maybe, just maybe, you could consider thanking me for saving the world, saving you?"

"No, not- are you seriously claiming that you helped me?"

Stan rolled his eyes, careful to not meet his brother's pointed gaze. "Oh boy, not this again. Look, I get it, ya still hate my guts. But I think we've got bigger problems right about now."

"Fine. Fine." Ford flung his hands into the air. "What do you want to talk about, then?"

"Gee, I dunno, how about-" Stanley pointed down at the body- his body- sprawled out on the floor between them. "-what the hell this is all about? You're the one who knows all about these messed-up creatures, if there's anybody here who knows ghost stuff I-"

"Ghost stuff? You're not a ghost, I know that much!"

Stan sighed, rubbing one hand against his temple. "Finally we're getting somewhere. So if I'm not a ghost, then what am I?"

"You're a monster." Ford spat the last word out, and it echoed through the basement cavern, then through Stanley's mind as the outside world quieted. Stan's face fell as he scrambled to think of a rebuttal, but Ford spoke up as Stan's mind was still drawing a blank. "And I don't know why you're pretending otherwise."

"Stanford, I…"

Ford turned away from his brother and clasped his hands behind his back, gazing at what remained of the portal, where scattered pieces of debris still smoked and hissed. "I suppose it was foolish of me to think this would end any other way. But why are you still following me around? The portal's gone, your precious rift is gone, and if you think I'm going to be the one to change that-"

"Why would I want that? The only reason I used the damn thing is to get you back- and a lot of good that did me…"

"Like hell you cared about getting me back!" Ford faced Stan again and took a large step forward, pointing up at Stan's face. "I was only ever a- a pawn to you, I know that now. Just part of your mad scheme for power. But it's over with, you hear me? You lost! We're done!"

"What the hell are you-"

And then, all at once, the real meaning of Ford's words came rushing at him.

"You think I'm Bill?"

Ford sighed, and his stare seemed to go right past Stan's face to the wall beyond, his unfocused gaze looking not at him but almost through him. "Don't play dumb with me, Bill. I'm not an idiot."

"Ford, that's- that's ridiculous!"

"Your impression's not bad, I'll give you that… but you never can get the eyes right, can you? Fool me once, shame on you…" Ford shook his head slowly, the rest of the idiom unstated but its meaning all too clear.

"The hell do you mean I 'didn't get the eyes right'? Something's up with my eyes?"

Ford dug around in the pockets of his coat for several seconds before finally retrieving a worn, grimy hand mirror and wordlessly holding it up in front of Stan's face.

The mirror was covered in a thin layer of dust and filth, so what Stan could see of himself was blurred and muddled, but the details mattered less to him than the big picture. From what he could make out, he looked like himself, solid as ever rather than the see-through he'd half-imagined, the spitting image of the body below. But his eyes… his eyes were black where they should be white, gold where they should be dark.

Stan winked at his reflection, and it winked back. The image in there was him, alright, and the eyes…

Well, Ford was right about one thing, anyway. Something was definitely up with his eyes.

Because obviously this whole situation hadn't been strange enough before.

"Okay, that's… that's weird, I'll give you that, but there must be some logical explanation-"

"I know the logical explanation!" Ford took a deep breath, and when he continued speaking, his voice was softer, with the slightest hint of a tremor sneaking through. "So just… give up this facade already. Because I know better than to think you're really my brother. My brother…" Ford pointed to Stanley's body, still splayed out lifeless on the ground, at the glossy white eyes pointed towards the ceiling. "…is… there. Not…" He waved his hand in the floating Stan's general direction. "Not here. Not you."

Stan shrugged. "Listen, I dunno what to tell ya, but… I'll prove myself to you, I swear. I'll do anything. There has to be something I can do, right?"

Ford's silence was enough of a response.

"Hey, what about… uh… that day when we were eight and you learned the word 'polydactyl', and I thought it sounded like pterodactyl, and for the rest of the day whenever you started talking I'd make a pterodactyl screech!" Stanley gave his brother a triumphant grin. "Would Bill know about that?"

"Yes." Ford shot back.

Stan's grin faded, his expression growing somber once more.

"Well, then, uh-"

"You really want to prove that you mean well?" Before Stanley could reply, could so much as nod to show his assent, Ford kept speaking. "Then leave. Leave me alone, leave my house alone, leave my family alone, and go terrorize someone else for a change. You've done enough damage already."

"…I can't do that, Stanford. You know I can't."

"Well, then it seems we're at an impasse. But if I were you, I'd go somewhere else, find a different set of pawns to play with, because there's nothing left for you here."

And Stanley Pines, expert con artist, master manipulator, whose livelihood depended on always knowing the right thing to say, was left at a loss for words.

Ford broke his gaze, turned away, and walked briskly towards the elevator. As he walked, he muttered one last retort under his breath, just loud enough for Stan to hear.

"We may have lost one Pines to you, but I'll be damned if I let you take another."

As Ford entered the elevator, he looked back once more, his gaze meandering between Stan, Stan's body, and the remnants of the portal for a good long moment before a shaking finger pressed the button to go up.

Then the door closed, the elevator hummed and shot upwards, and Stanley was all alone.