**UPDATE (July 3rd): Apologies, (again) but life has been insanely busy as of late. Just got back from a trip to NYC, and I've been swamped with work since I got home, and thus I am only now starting the next chapter. I KNOW, I'm sorry I pushed it again, but it IS coming, I haven't given up on this. I promise the fic will be completed, in probably about 3 more chapters. We're nearing the finale. I'll get the push on chapter 13 and get it up asap. Thanks for your patience! :)

*FORWARD*

Possible trigger warning for insinuated gun violence, strangling, and drugs, though not pertaining to our main characters! Just want to cover all bases, just in case!

Chapter 12

"I don't get it," Bill said bluntly as he looked up and down the winding line of travelers leading up to the Theta Airlines kiosks. Ford gave him a cautious side-glance as he looked up from the screen of his phone. "Why has no one started rioting yet?" Ford looked back to his phone, inspecting the contact-book icon and pressing it, a faint smile marking his lips.

"Is that a hint of impatience I hear?" Ford asked quietly as he started entering in the contact information for Fiddleford Hadron McGucket. Bill sputtered a bit in response and covered it with a quick laugh, crossing his arms.

"In your dreams," Bill boasted with false bravado. Ford's muscles tensed as he kept his gaze firmly locked on the phone's screen, unwanted memories of Bill's horror-filled dreams flashing through his mind at lightning speed. "Believe me, Sixer, I'm more than content to watch these suckers slowly lose their so-called sanity. I mean, I've seen my fair share of sheep-like obedience in my time, but this whole operation they have going here is hilariously inefficient! I mean, how long have we been waiting here now, an hour?!"

"Twenty minutes, by my count," Ford replied as he pressed save and started on creating Soos' contact page.

Bill sighed as he drummed his anxious fingers on Stan's suitcase. This was a nightmare, and not in the good way. The airport wasn't nearly as much fun as he'd thought it would be when they'd arrived, but he sure as hell wasn't going to let Ford catch onto that. Once the babies had stopped crying and the stressed out college students had logged onto the free wifi, everything had gotten very quiet and very boring. Compounded by the fact that he was locked in a vessel that was expected to behave in order to board the aircraft (which was so primitive it made him laugh), and that Ford was completely ignoring him, Bill was going out of his mind. He looked to Ford again, totally consumed by the device in his hand, the tunnel-vision insufferable. Time to get his attention.

Bill looked around at the people in the line. Standing a few groups behind them was a family of three - a young boy, a slightly older girl, and their frazzled mother who looked like she hadn't slept in a week. Something flickered in the demon's eyes as he bit his lip.

Bill started snickering under his breath, waiting until eventually Ford glanced over at him, the smile on Stan's stolen face eerily gleeful.

"What are you so happy about all of a sudden?" Ford asked, instantly suspicious as he narrowed his gaze. Bill smiled devilishly.

"You see that family behind us?" he asked, pointing back at the group with a thumb over his shoulder. Ford tried to be as inconspicuous as possible as he took a quick look at them. "Those guys used to be the stars of one of my personal soap operas." Ford's eyes went wide as he stole another glance in their direction. Bill bit his lip - this was gonna be fun.

"What are you talking about?" Ford asked hushedly in something of a demand, his eyebrows knit together in a nervous frown.

"Oh, where do I even start?" Bill drawled as the line moved forward by a few inches and everyone shuffled forward. "Well, for starters, those kids are little bastards."

"Bill!"

"No, seriously, they're bastards, the woman's husband isn't their father."

"There's a husband?" Ford asked dryly, humoring the demon who was no doubt trying to take him for a ride.

"Oh yeah, but I suppose you'd say it's a good thing the kids aren't related to him cause he is a piece of work, let me tell you. My kinda guy, total abusive wreck. Anyways! The husband was a goat farmer - the whole family lived in the northern region and raised goats. So one day the kids are playing out in the field with some of 'em, and the boy gets the bright idea to start riding one of the goats. Needless to say, it doesn't go well - kid gets bucked off, starts crying, the works. Sister doesn't like seeing her little brother cry, so she decides to train the goat to let her brother ride it. Mother starts to notice, but she would rather they ride the goats than be around the husband, and she drinks bottle after bottle of white wine while she holds the cool bottle against her swollen eye…"

"Bill, this is ridiculous, you can't actually expect me to believe this garbage?" Ford hissed under his breath as the line shuffled forward again. Bill shrugged.

"Fine, smart guy, I guess you don't want to know why they're here at the airport then... and I can assure you, it's not for a family holiday," he smirked. Ford grimaced as he took another quick peek at the family behind them, looking away before the young boy caught him in the act. Bill chuckled. "Real subtle."

"You know what? It doesn't matter. I don't want anything to do with this nonsense," Ford snapped as he turned his phone back on.

"Great, I'll continue!" Bill smiled. "So the mother starts thinking they're not making enough money farming goats, so using her limited knowledge from high school chemistry and the popular cable show, Cracking Cool, she creates a full blown crystal meth lab in the family's basement…"

"What?!" Ford exclaimed, and a few people in the line looked towards him at the outburst. Bill snickered as Ford grew red, lowering his voice again. "Bill, you can't talk about stuff like this in an airport!"

"Flash forward seventeen days," Bill continued, paying no mind to Ford as the man pretended he wasn't hanging on the demon's every word. "Business is starting to boom for the mother, which she's able to keep secret from her husband because he's afraid of dark places, so he doesn't go in the basement. Also, and this is important, by now the boy's gotten pretty good at riding this one goat. Meanwhile, the husband's taking a break from polishing his rifles, and starts smacking around his wife again. She's through, though, so she finally tells him in a fit of rage about the affair with his best friend from college, and that the kids aren't even his. Suffice to say, the husband loses his mind, and that's when everything goes to hell." Ford looked about nervously to make sure no one else was listening in on Bill's insane shpiel, which he was actually starting to think might be true.

"Right at that moment, the husband looks out the window to the pasture where he sees the boy riding the goat like a wild mustang. The goat starts charging towards the gate, and the boy is screaming his head off cause they're gonna ram into it. So the girl opens the gate, the goat knocks the kid off its back, and the rest of the goats follow the leader out of the pasture and into the great beyond. And by great beyond, I mean traffic - those goats are history. The husband is seeing red and he picks up the gun he was polishing, and aims it right at the kids…"

Bill pauses dramatically, looking to Ford for a reaction, but the man is stone faced. Either he's not impressed because he can see the two kids alive and well behind them, or he's trying to ignore an unpleasant memory the two of them share.

Bill smiles as he continues, "when, suddenly, the wife jumps on his back and manages to wrestle away the gun, which clatters to the floor. She clenches her hands around her useless husband's neck while he stretches for the gun, and just as the kids walk into the house, he spins her around until he's got his hands around her throat. As her mother screams, the daughter slides across the ground and picks up the gun, closing her eyes as she pulls the trigger. The husband slides to the ground, dead as John F. Kennedy, nothing more than slowly rotting meat…"

"So you're telling me that this family is running from the law after after an assisted murder that would, in almost any circumstance, be deemed as self defense?" Ford asked, nonplussed. Bill shook his head, grinning as the line shuffled forward again. He hadn't noticed how close they were getting to the kiosk, the attendant's voice starting to cut through the murmur of the crowd.

"I guess you're forgetting, Fordsy, that this happy little family couldn't exactly let anyone examine the scene of the murder, since there was a full-blown meth lab in their basement! No, they had to run - somewhere where they could start fresh, and run a lucrative business. So they hid away for, apparently, about four months, upping their sales, telling neighbors that the husband was at a goat farming convention in Sweden, until they had enough to pay for a flight to Mexico City, and now, here they are! The mother hasn't gotten a wink of sleep since the incident, and the children are still numb to it, practicing their Spanish and rolling their R's. It's funny, you know, how easy it is to convince a kid to draw my image on the wall in permanent ink... Oh, and here's a fun fact - if you look closely enough at the girl's sweater, you can still see a spot of blood from when she shot him…"

"That's enough, Bill!" Ford suddenly exclaimed, trying to keep his voice hushed but failing spectacularly. Bill bit his lip and buckled up for the ride, Ford's eyes locked on the demon as they moved forward once again in the line. "I don't care if this is real or some ridiculous tale you stewed up to drive me to my wits end, but congratulations! It worked! After everything I told you not to do around airport officials, you've either gone and potentially exposed this poor, put upon family, or you've made the people watching all of this on the security system VERY suspicious, since you think it's fine to talk about murdering goat farmers and illegally making and distributing crystal meth! And don't get me started about that mystery stain on the girl's sweater because that is obviously JAM!"

"Sir, last time - may I see your passport or do I need to call security?" the tall female attendant at the kiosk asked. Stanford looked around, owl-eyed and red as a tomato, as he suddenly noticed they were at the front of the line. He took a cautious glance at the family behind them again, instantly regretting that decision, as the mother stared Ford down. Bill was tearing up as he tried not to burst out laughing, eventually caving to it as he put on Stan's throaty chuckle and turned to the attendant, resting his arm on the desk.

"Ahaha, oh, I'm sorry, ma'am - my crazy brother over here has the wildest imagination! Over in America, this guy's a famous fiction writer! Maybe you've heard of him? Ford, tell her all about your novel! You know, the one you were just talking about! It's got a great titled too, ma'am - A Goat Bleats at Midnight!" Bill said, looking to Ford with a wide smile. Ford stammered as he quickly explained to the attendant that the novel was still in the works, while his mind chanted a single phrase over and over again.

I'M GOING TO KILL THAT TRIANGLE.

"Okay, Stan, relax - this isn't gonna kill ya!" Stan assured himself, grabbing onto the bars at the edge of the cage with white knuckles. Behind him was the gaping hole he'd just created, which he refused to look down through or he'd be sick all over the mattress lying below him. "Just gotta hold onto the bars, ease my way out butt-first, and let go! Easy peasy…" Stan gulped. He took a deep breath, trying to psyche himself up as he slowly leaned backwards, tilting the whole cage along with his weight. He squeezed his eyes closed as he gritted his teeth.

"Come on, Stan! You own this place! You can do this!" he yelped as he let his grip slip the tiniest bit, and instantly cursed gravity itself as it started to pull him down.

That's when his eyes shot open again.

"Wait a second… if chains can't hold me down in here, gravity sure as hell shouldn't be able to!" Stan exclaimed, and at that, he grinned ear to ear as the pull on his body subsided completely. The feeling was familiar, and he laughed as he let go of the cage bars and sat suspended in the air, pounding his balled fists up in victory.

"PINES! PINES! PINES!"

"Stanford and… Stanley Pines," the attendant confirmed as she compared the passport photos to the twins' nervous, smiling faces. Something seemed… off about the Stanley fellow, though - something she couldn't quite put her finger on. There was no denying they were identical twins, however, and travelling scientists at that…

The Stanley one was probably just sick or something.

"You can go ahead and put your checked luggage on the scale now," she instructed, pointing to the large metal scale beside the desk. Ford let out a small sigh of relief as he picked up his suitcase, grunting in discomfort as his weary, bruised muscles protested.

"Here, let me help you with that, bro," Bill said, trying not to seem too happy as he took the suitcase from Ford, who had the most interesting look of seething rage hiding behind a calm smile.

"Here are your boarding passes, gentlemen. Security is to your right," the kiosk woman instructed, motioning towards another long line. Bill smiled as Ford's head tilted all the way back with an exasperated groan. "NEXT!"

"You're listening to Stan Radio! All of Stan's favourite songs on one rockin' station! Coming up next: Those Songs From The 80s That You Say You Hate, But Secretly Sing in the Shower!"

Stan sighed peacefully, midair, as he slowly sank to the ground, his hands interwoven behind his head as he reclined in an invisible chair. He snapped his fingers, and a cold can of Pitt Cola appeared in his right hand. He popped the tab and took a sip - just like the real stuff.

"You know, I could get used to this… maybe this whole 'imprisoned in my own mind' thing isn't so bad after all," Stan mused as he slowly sank to the ground. "Got more control in here than I do in my real life. I can definitely see the attraction of 'Mabel Land'… minus the blinding colors and radical teenage hunks, of course."

Stan's feet brushed the ground as he finally made contact with the cold, stone floor, and suddenly the gravity snapped back to normal as he felt his gut sag down again. He groaned a bit at that.

"Ugh, I am fat."

Stan took a quick look around the barren space, the cold air raising goosebumps on his wrinkled skin. He whipped his head back towards the flesh wall, checking to make sure nothing was moving, and assured himself that he was alone as the ground remained steady below him. He remembered the way this place had shaken when Bill had payed him his little visits.

"So that's the plan then," he murmured to himself, shuddering as he turned away from the wall, not wanting to look at his own body's flesh anymore than he absolutely had to. "First sign of movement and I'll reverse the gravity in here, throw myself back in the cage and seal up the hole! So long as I don't screw it up, Bill shouldn't notice anything's wrong, and I get to keep full rein of this place under his nonexistent nose!"

With a snap of his fingers, Stan's favourite armchair materialized behind him as he sunk down into it, the soft, worn leather giving under his weight as Stan let out a satisfied exhale. Another snap and a television appeared before him, along with a remote that fell into Stan's outstretched hand. He smirked as he grabbed it and turned on the TV, flipping channels until he finally found the one he was looking for. He grinned as a bowl of cheese puffs appeared in his lap, and he set down the remote before taking a handful and stuffing them into his mouth, his eyes glued to the screen.

"I will never love you, Count Lionel! My true love may be gone from this world, but he'll always live on in my heart!"

"Wait, what?! Richard Von Fraffleshire is DEAD?!" Stanley exclaimed as he sat up sharply in the chair, knocking over the bowl of cheese puffs. "But now she can never be queen!"

"But Duchess, surely you understand that if you do not take my hand in marriage, you may never take your rightful place as queen!"

"That's what I'm sayin'!" Stan screamed.

"...and then you take off anything with metal in it, like a belt or shoes, and put it all in one of the bins… Bill, are you even listening to what I'm saying?" Ford whispered, turning to Bill with pursed lips as they stood in the line for security, the sound of bleeping metal detectors ringing through the air.

"Huh? Oh, no, not a bit, Sixer," Bill replied nonchalantly, staring at the signage to the side of the line, indicating which items weren't allowed on the aircraft. "These rules have got a lot of blind spots… I mean, just off the top of my head, I could sharpen one of Stan's finger nails to a sharp point and…"

"I don't want to know!" Ford replied through his teeth. Bill pouted, denied the opportunity to elaborate. "Look, I know this dimension hasn't exactly caught up to the standards of some of the other, more advanced screening methods that exist out there..."

"Pfft, you're not kidding!" Bill snorted. "I mean, that whole walk-in screening device over there that they keep parading these meatsacks through wouldn't do a thing to stop something like me! Actually, now that I think about it, I wonder if any other demons have thought about possessing a passenger, or even better, a pilot, and causing mayhem over international waters…" Ford promptly cleared his throat and looked to Bill with a raised eyebrow, his nostrils flaring. "Theoretically speaking, of course!"

"Just follow my lead," Ford uttered with an annoyed glance to the demon as they approached one of the conveyor belts, the security officials ahead of them stone faced as they pushed other bins through the scanner. Bill watched as Ford grabbed a bin and started taking off his belt. Bill quickly followed suit and grabbed his own bin, undoing his own belt and placing it in the bin. Ford took off his shoes, and Bill took off his shoes. The demon could get the gist of what the next step would be, and started undoing his trousers...

"B...STAN!" Ford squeaked as Bill looked to Ford innocently. Ford still had his pants on - what was he waiting for?

"Stan, you only need to take off metal-containing objects!" Ford sighed as he squeezed his eyes shut in frustration. Bill really hadn't listened to a word he had said.

"These buttons are metal, though," Bill responded deadpanned, his pants around his ankles. A young woman in a security uniform stepped up behind the demon, patting him on the shoulder comfortingly. Bill practically jumped as he spun around to face her, sizing her up immediately. Kind, upturned eyes behind cat-rimmed glasses, long hair held in a messy bun, fingernails painted turquoise. Smart, but naive - just how he liked 'em.

"It's alright, sir - I know these rules can be a bit confusing for an old timer such as yourself," she said with an understanding smile. Ford looked on from a distance, beads of nervous sweat forming on his forehead as Bill grinned.

"Well, I'm sure a young, single-lifespa… I mean, uh, beautiful lady such as yourself could help someone as ancient as myself get through this process unscathed. My nerdy brother over there certainly isn't as understanding and kind as yourself," he responded with a flashy smile, bending down to yank up his trousers. Ford groaned.

"I'm more than happy to help, sir. In fact, I think we can wave you straight through security! Why don't you follow me and I'll wait with you for your brother on the other side?" she replied with a sweet smile. Ford's jaw dropped.

"On the other side? Don't mind if I do!" Bill replied cheerfully, taking her arm as he walked away, shooting a sly grin back Fordsy's way as the man stood there fuming. A machine beside Ford started beeping furiously.

"Uh, sir? I'm going to need to examine your bag," one of the TSA officers behind the conveyor belt said as he showed Ford a 3D scan of the carry-on bag, filled with all of Ford's inventions that he'd be dismantling for parts. Ford nodded for the man to proceed as he zipped open the carry-on. Ford couldn't let them confiscate anything, or he wouldn't have enough parts to build the small components for the artificial gateway. Time to start thinking like Stan and con his way out of this...

Stan wiped away a single tear as the credits rolled, the score of sweeping orchestral music playing over the fading names.

"I still can't believe that the power of the Duchess' love brought Von Fraffleshire back from the grave! Best movie ever!" Stan applauded, before his eyes widened at a sudden realization. "Wait a second... was that movie even real? Did I make that up?! Was that like one of those, what's it… fan-fiction things Soos was always goin' on about?"

Stanley eventually shrugged before stretching out a bit, reaching for the remote on the floor and pressing the off button, the screen flickering out and as he was met with the black screen. There was no reflection in it - Stan shuddered. Some things about this place were still a bit… off.

"Now what?" he asked himself quietly, looking around at the eerie space from the chair. He was still pretty tuckered out from his escape, but he didn't want to watch any more TV… He stretched out a bit before standing up slowly, accidentally knocking over the empty can of cola by his feet. He flinched at the sound of the can rolling across the floor, echoing throughout the room. Not Bill… just the can. Stanley was still alone… for now. With a faint *snap*, the can disappeared, along with the clatter of aluminum against stone.

"If only I had a lookout… then I could do whatever I wanted in here without worrying about Bill," Stan murmured, before laughing. "Wait a second, I can have a lookout! If Bill could create lackeys than I can make my own too! And I know just the genius to do the job," Stan grinned as he snapped his fingers.

In the distance, a figure appeared in a cloud of smoke. As they stepped forward, the smoke cleared, and they cleared their throat with a six fingered hand.

"Took you long enough, Stanley," the mindscape version of Ford spoke with an easy smile.

Ford smiled nervously as the TSA officer rifled through the carry-on bag with gloved fingers. Ford was lucky he'd had thirty years worth of experience of thinking on his toes. Meanwhile, Bill was over on the other side of the room being babysat by that sweet security woman, who obviously had no idea that she was speaking to a trillion year old chaos demon and not a senile old man. Ford just prayed that Bill was behaving himself…

"Here was the object that tipped off the system," the officer said as he pulled out the item, Ford hoping that it wasn't one of the inventions containing Gandorfian steel… "What is this supposed to be?" Ford raised an eyebrow as the officer held up the incriminating object.

"That? Uh, that's a What-The-Heck-Ahedron…" Ford answered as the officer began to inspect the toy. "It's a brain game from America? Very popular with childr-"

"We're going to need to confiscate this and examine it before we can clear you through security," the officer answered bluntly as another officer picked up the toy with a large pair of tongs, placing it in a plastic bag. Ford looked on incredulously as the officer spoke again, "We're also going to need you to submit to a physical pat-down, sir. If you'll follow me over here, we can begin." Ford groaned wearily as he followed the officer over to the side of the room. Ford spread his arms and legs as the officer started waving a metal detector over his body, starting at his feet and working his way up. Ford sighed as the sound of his brother's amused laughter cut through the crowd like a knife.

"Uh, you should know I have a metal plate in my head…serious head trauma from when I was in my thirties," Ford informed the officer, who simply nodded as he continued, the machine beeping promptly as it went past Ford's head. The officer set down the metal detector and started the pat down. "You should also know that I'm ahaHAHA!… uhh, fairly ticklish…"

"Mr. Pines is clear!" one of the TSA officers yelled out. Ford sighed as the officer who'd been inspecting Ford stepped back as the other officer continued to speak, yelling over the crowd. "Apologies, Mr. Pines! Funny story - it turns out my daughter actually has one of these! Totally forgot about it… as an apology on our behalf, we've upgraded you and your brother to first class! Sven will hand you the slip - just give it to an attendant at the gate!"

The officer who'd given Ford the pat down, apparently named Sven, walked away annoyedly as he swore under his breath in Icelandic, grabbing Ford's bag and the slip of paper from the other officers and shoved them into the scientist's arms before heading back to his station. Ford quickly looked over the slip, shoving it into his pants pocket, before rifling through his bag to make sure nothing was missing. Bill suddenly sprang up beside him, Ford jolting a bit as Bill nudged Ford with his elbow, waggling his eyebrows.

"Wow, that pat-down sure looked steamy, Sixer. Too bad I couldn't talk to Vanessa over there any longer. I was just about to tell her the exact time and date of her death! What a shame…" Bill trailed off, shaking his head as the two of them started walking towards the gate, Ford absolutely exhausted as Bill continued to prattle on. "Now tell me about this first class business, I like the sound of that…"

*AUTHOR'S NOTE*

Once again, I've become carried away with a concept and it's taking quite a bit longer than I thought to get someone from point A to point B! Damn my imagination! :P Bill WILL eventually board this plane, though, and in first-class no less! Our favourite dream demon deserves no less than the finest treatment, after all ;)

These last two weeks have been insane and I expect that will continue for the foreseeable future, so I'll be sticking with the bi-weekly schedule for updates. Until next time, peeps! (the marshmallow kind, obviously)

P.S. Oh, and by the way, I'm not revealing whether or not Bill was telling the truth about that family... guess we'll never know :))