*FORWARD*

I'M FINALLY BACK! Thanks so much guys for bearing with me during the wait. I'm back, and this is the longest chapter I've written yet for ya. Enjoy :)

CHAPTER 13

Yes!" Stan cheered as the golf ball fell swiftly into the ninth hole, sending spiralling fireworks into the air, exploding with a fanfare of gun powder and red and blue light. Dream-Ford golf-clapped politely as Stan broke into a wild victory dance, swinging the club over his shoulder as he eyed the next hole hungrily.

"Stan, you are aware that you're winning because this is your mindscape, right?" Ford asked with a smirk as he crossed his arms. "You know, I could probably make this course a bit harder for you if you'd like."

"Are you kiddin' me?! I'm never this good at golf! I'm taking all the help I can get!" Stan said as he practiced his swing a few times in the air, glancing over to the pirate-ship hole at the end of the course, complete with skeletons wearing feathered hats and peg legs. Stan whistled as he strolled towards the tee. "You wanna get in on this, Sixer? I promise I'll go easy on ya." Stan winked for effect and Ford chuckled, shaking his head.

"I'm good, Stanley, but thank you," he said as he looked up at the massive wall of flesh behind him. "I am supposed to be the lookout after all." Ford grew pensive as he stared up at the unmoving wall, glaring at the disturbingly large optic nerve.

"Can't argue with that," Stan muttered as he thought about the ramifications of getting caught by Bill with a twelve-hole minigolf course strewn about the room. "Besides, I'd just cream ya anyway. I mean, it's not like you'd been playing a lot of golf over on the other side of that portal… right?"

"I don't know," Ford replied with a shrug. "I'm just an amalgam of the physical and personality traits that make up your memories of the real Stanford. I only know as much as you do." Stan frowned at that.

"Huh… no fun playing minigolf against yourself," he sighed, waggling his hips as he lined up his club to the tee. He took a quick glance over at the imagined version of his twin before he struck the ball. Ford's eyes were glazed over, deep in thought. "Earth to 'Planet Nerd,' come in, Captain Dork!" Ford shook his head briefly before looking back over to Stan, flashing a quick smile.

"Sorry, Stan… just got something on the mind, so to speak," he responded, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. Stan turned his focus back to the game, sticking his tongue out a bit in concentration as he finally swung at the ball. He watched with glee as it ricocheted off the corners of the pathway and rolled to a stop a few inches short of a sand pit. Stan looked to Ford to take in his flawless execution, but Ford wasn't even looking at him. He was staring up at that stupid, big, ugly wall again. Stan frowned.

"Did I forget that you secretly hate golf or somethin'?" he asked. Ford shook his head, putting his hands on his hips as he stared up at the wall.

"Something's not right," Ford mumbled. Stan glanced over to Ford, leaning on his golf club.

"Wow, and they say you're a genius," Stan smirked. Ford rolled his eyes as he grumbled and turned around to face Stan again.

"That's not what I mean, Stanley. Think about it, you said it yourself earlier - why would Bill keep you from this? How do your actions in here affect him in any way?" Ford asked, his gaze suddenly quite intense. Stan backed up a bit, shrugging off the tension as a bag of cheese-puffs materialized in his hand with a snap. He let the club fall to the ground with a clatter.

"I dunno, seems like a pretty clear-cut revenge scheme to me," Stan replied lacklusterly as he popped open the bag.

"There's something more to this, Stanley," Ford said as he adjusted his glasses. Stan shrugged and looked towards the animatronic dragon swooping over the hole.

"And so what if there is?" Stan found himself saying as he walked away from the dream-version of his brother. He could hear Ford guffawing from behind him. "We've got a good thing goin' here! So what if I'm stuck in my mind for a bit longer? The real version a' you is probably busy building some kinda crazy invention to get me outta here any day now. Why not enjoy what I got here? What we got in here?!"

"Because it isn't real, Stan!" Ford implored of him, begging him to see reason. Stan hesitantly turned his head back towards him. "It's not real, and even if Bill really is just trying to keep you unhappy and bored out of your mind, there has to be another reason he was keeping you chained up like a rabid dog!" Stan sighed as he picked up his golf club again and lined up the shot.

"Just let me finish my game, okay, Stanford? I'm going for a record here," he said gruffly as he swung, the ball rolling towards the hole as Ford shook his head.

"Now this is what I'm talking about!" Bill said with a wide grin as he and Ford stood in the doorway of the first class lounge. "It's about time someone started treating me with the respect a demon of my class deserves!" The carry-on bag promptly dropped from Bill's hand to the floor as he raced towards one of the plush leather recliners and jumped onto it, settling with one leg crossed over the other as he rested his hands behind his head. Ford cringed - it looked eerily reminiscent of when he'd first found Bill in his brother's body reclining in the hot spring. It was strange to think that had only been a day ago. It felt like an eternity since his brother had been stolen from him and Ford had been forced to deal with an, impossibly, even more irritating Bill Cipher than he'd remembered.

It won't be long, now, Ford thought to himself with a razor thin smile as he picked up the bag Bill had dropped and started making his way towards a chair of his own. Bill's not even going to get the luxury of going to hell.

As Ford lowered himself onto one of the plush, leather seats, he glanced up at the bright screen up on the wall. He squinted as he finally made out the text - flight numbers, and their expected arrival times. Flight number TA2045 to Seattle would be arriving in about twenty minutes. Ford let out a sigh of relief. Now all he had to do was send off the texts to Soos, and make sure Bill...

"Great Axolotl, they have everything here, Sixer!" Bill suddenly called out from across the room. Ford whipped his head towards the sound of his 'brother's' voice, and noticed a few other people in the lounge looking up curiously from their phones and newspapers. Ford grumbled as he stood up wearily and made his way over to where Bill was standing, when his eyes widened at the sight of trays and trays and trays of food. Ford's stomach growled ravenously as he grabbed a plate from the nearby stack without a second thought and started piling.

"Don't say I never did anything for you, Fordsy!" Bill grinned. Ford narrowed his eyes at Bill as he set down the metal tongs from the tray of crustless sandwiches and made his way over to the drink counter where Bill stood. The demon had filled his plate with mostly deserts and, for one odd reason or another, a large pile of mustard. Ford almost choked as Bill dipped a chocolate chip cookie into it and took a bite, licking his lips. "You know, if there's one thing I appreciate about you meatbags, it's your ability to take wheat stalks, congealed cow lactate and beans, and somehow make this delectable creation. And this yellow stuff? Perfection."

"You're not supposed to… ughh, nevermind," Ford said as he tried not to gag. He looked to the drink counter with relief as he spotted a bottle of whisky. This was perfect - he could start his plan even earlier than expected, albeit in a different fashion... Plus, he really need a strong drink for himself right about now.

"Ooh, good idea, Sixer!" Bill hushedly exclaimed. Ford bit his tongue as he planned his next words carefully, so as not to betray his intentions. "I haven't experienced human inebriation in so long! There a mechanical bull in this airport?"

"Uhh… no, but, uh, here! Let me pour you a glass. You ever, uh, tried whiskey before?" Ford asked as he reached for the bottle, feeling a drop of sweat threatening to fall from his forehead.

"I've tried something similar in the G-2F6 dimension about three hundred years ago, so technically, no," Bill replied as he took the tumbler from Ford's hand. It was shaking a bit. Bill looked at Ford quizzically. "Ha… you're not trying to get me drunk, are you, Fordsy?" Stanford gulped.

"Haha, oh, fine, you caught me," Ford replied with an uneasy chuckle as he poured himself a glass, willing himself to calm down. "I just thought it'd, you know, make the flight a little more, uh, relaxing. Less stressful. You've never been in one of these things before… it can get a bit nerve wracking," Ford replied calmly as he put the stopper back on the bottle. Bill didn't look so sure.

"Buddy, if I wanted to relax, I'd pull out a couple of Stan's molars for fun!" Bill responded as he set down the glass. Ford's jaw clenched as Bill laughed. "Manner of speaking, of course! You know what? I think I'm gonna try some of this coffee instead…"

"No!" Ford suddenly squeaked as Bill gave him a dangerous glance. "I mean, let me pour it for you! How do you take it? Cream? Sugar? Uh… ugh, mustard?"

"Just sugar, and lots of it," Bill instructed as Ford reached for the sugar container. "I wanna make sure I'm wide awake for all… how many hours is the flight?"

"Eight."

"All eight hours of the flight home!"

"Not home… we have a stopover in Seattle first."

"We have two flights?" Bill gaped, and rubbed his hands together giddily, his eyes shining as he looked towards the windows at the other end of the room facing the tarmac. Ford quickly swapped the canister of coffee with the nearly identical decaf one and poured the coffee as quickly as he could before Bill turned back towards him. Bill grabbed the mug off the counter and took a cautious sip, before spitting it out all over Ford's jacket. Ford stood there slack jawed as he clamoured for the stack of paper napkins.

"Ugh, I meant salt, not sugar! Gross," Bill gagged, disgustedly wiping off Stan's tongue with his grimy fingers. Ford pursed his lips into a tight line as he reached for the tumbler of whisky he'd poured for himself and downed the glass in one gulp. "Anyway, I gotta use the, uhh, what do you call it... toilet-room! Where would I find one?"

"There's one around the corner," Ford murmured as he pointed to it. "Five minutes, or I'm calling security." Ford reached for the glass of whiskey he'd poured for Bill - he was still feeling far too sober for his liking...

"Yeah, yeah, five minutes, you got it," Bill waved off as he strolled towards the men's room. "Hmm, haven't checked in on Stanley for a while. I think it's time I payed him a visit…"

"This is it," Stan said to himself as he steadied his grip, looking up at the pirate ship towering over him, the skull-and-crossbones flag billowing in a non-present wind. If he made this hole, he'd finish the game eight above par, and in record time… just a gentle tap was all he needed.

"Uh, STAN?" Ford suddenly exclaimed, looking up at the quivering wall of flesh.

"Just a second, Ford! Steady… stead-AGH!" Stan yelped as he wobbled on his feet and the ball went flying, the ground suddenly shaking beneath him. He groaned as the ball flew straight into the pirate ship, crashing through the wood. "Oh, come on!"

"Stan, you have to get up there NOW!" Ford cried as the eyes started to shake in their sockets. Stan's shoulders slumped and he sighed as he snapped his fingers. With a *pop*, the golf course disappeared in a puff of smoke.

"Damnit, Bill! Why do you have to destroy everything I love?!" he shouted as gravity reversed and he floated up towards the ceiling. He hesitantly snuck a glance over his shoulder at the eyeballs, slowly rolling forward in their sockets...

"Ten seconds!" Ford cried as he floated up towards the cage with him, giving Stan a hard shove into the cage. Stan let out a gruff oomph as his back hit the metal ceiling, and clawed onto the bars near the back of the cage as Ford sealed up the broken bars at the front.

"Stay close to me, and don't make a sound," Stan instructed as Ford nodded, and with a snap, Ford's skin began to resemble that of a chameleon, blending into the background until only the whites of his eyes were visible. He shut them as he clung to the bars, bracing himself for the gravity shift.

Gravity snapped back to normal as Stan fell down to the floor of the cage with a clatter and pulled his knees in towards his body, trying to look like he'd fallen asleep. As Bill rolled in, he shut his eyes and slowed his breathing, trying to stiffen the smug smirk on his face.

"Hey, wake up, Stanley! STANLEY!" Bill shouted as the room shook. Stan feigned a yawn as he sat up, rubbing his eyes blearily. "Boy, you sure do sleep a lot."

"Ugh, well a man's gotta get his beauty sleep when he's so busy doin' nothing," Stan said as he propped himself up on one elbow.

"Not so fun, is it?" Bill taunted, narrowing his yellow eyes. "I had to endure this for months. You've only been in here for a day."

"It's only been one day?" Stan exclaimed as he sat up. "So then… wait, are we in the air right now?"

"Geez, calm down, Stanley. Someone might get the idea you're afraid of heights or something," he said with a chuckle, his eyes gleaming as Stan gritted his teeth. "Relax, old-timer, we're still at the airport. We're boarding one of those tin cans your species passes off as an aircraft in about ten minutes though, so I don't exactly have a lotta time to chit-chat."

"Aw shucks, Bill, having a heart-to-heart is all I've been dreaming of while I've been stuck in here! Having a long, chummy conversation with the demon that tried to destroy my town and my whole family!" Stan replied with a cheery smile. Bill rolled his eyes. "At least by tomorrow we'll both be back home. I get my body and my comfy chair back, and you get to go home to nightmare-land." Bill chuckled awkwardly.

"Yeah, heh… go home," Bill muttered. Stan looked curiously to the eyeballs as Bill was silent for a moment. Something seemed… off.

"Uh huh…" Stan replied slowly. "You need to rub your possession of me in my face again or are we done?"

"Uh, right… just thought I'd provide you with some in-flight entertainment, since I'm not exactly gonna be able to check in all that often with the flights and all," Bill replied, shaking off whatever moment of weirdness had just taken place. "So, since you've been 'good,' here it is! A pack of crayons, a coloring book depicting the 79 hells in excruciating detail, some stale peanuts, and the movie adaptation of a Clockwork Orange!" Bill said as the items materialized inside the cage and skidded across the metal. Stan covered his ears as the deafeningly loud opening music of the film reverberated off the walls, and the opening red screen of the movie projected over one of the metal walls of the Fearamid. "Thought you'd appreciate the works of another Stanley who had the honor of knowing me. We were good friends, Kubrick and I. Those were the days… oh, and I hope you don't mind if this movie loops for the next twenty-hour hours or so! Anyway, Stan, I gotta fly, hehehe… see ya in Seattle!"

And with that, Bill's eyes rolled forward again as Stan could faintly hear Bill yelling "I'm coming, I'm coming!" All that remained was the opening monologue of the movie booming throughout the room.

"...we sat in the Korova milkbar trying to make up our rassoodocks what to do with the evening…"

Dream-Ford tentatively opened one eye, scanning the area before he opened the other, and Stan let out a long, relieved sigh. With a faint *pop,* a remote appeared in Stan's hand and he promptly clicked the mute button.

"Ugh, current slang's hard enough to keep up with at my age, but this movie brings it to a whole new level," Stan said as the cage started lowering to the ground like an elevator and the camouflage effect on Ford wore off. "Now to finish my game and put this one down in the history books!"

"Stan, hang on a second," Ford said as the cage made contact with the ground with a light thud. The cage bars slid open like automatic doors as Stan strolled out onto the ground, the mini-putt course forming around him as Ford hurried after his brother. "Stan, wait up!"

Bill was practically bouncing in his seat from the excitement. Ford shut the overhead bin with force as he finally got the thing to shut, and settled into his seat. Even he was a bit excited, as drained, sore, utterly sober, and irritated as he was. After all, he'd never flown first class before, and they were finally going home.

The seats were more like individual pods, boxed off to the world, except for the aisle seats (which they had been placed in) which were open in the middle so their occupants could still see each other. As annoying a prospect as that seemed, it was necessary so that Ford could keep an eye on Bill, who's eyes were wide with child-like wonder as he examined his surroundings with glee.

"I can see why you meatbags pay extra for this, those saps back there are packed in like cargo! And look at all this! Big-ish screen TV, slippers, minibar!" Bill admired as he dangled a tiny bottle of vodka in the air.

"I'll admit, it is pretty impressive," Ford said as he looked about the cabin. People were beginning to settle down by now. "The sliding desk will be helpful for drawing the blueprints."

"Yeah, about that…" Bill started off. Ford's fingers immediately clenched over the ends of the armrests, his knuckles turning white. "Seeing as I helped you with some pretty impressive blueprints back in the day, I was hoping you could…"

"You led me to create one of the most unstable, dangerous creations ever known to man!" Ford exploded, his face reddening as he tried to keep his voice down amongst the hum of the cabin.

"Ugh, such a downer. Not my point, Sixer. What I'm trying to say is that I hope there won't be any secrets between us! I might even be able to help…"

"You will not be involved in these plans," Ford said harshly, his glasses reflecting nothing but the sheen of light from the nearby windows. Bill frowned. "I know your little games well enough by now, Cipher. The second I look away, you'll make some kind of minor adjustment that makes the entire machine blow up!"

"You know, if I were you, I wouldn't be talking about things blowing up on a plane," Bill replied snidely. Ford grumbled in response as he dropped the subject. A tall, dark skinned flight attendant stopped next to them, motioning to their seat belts.

"We'll be taking off in just a minute, so if you'll please fasten your seat belts and adjust your seats upright, gentlemen," he said as he shut one of the overhead bins above them.

"Of course, sir," Bill replied with the most charming of smiles, and leaned on his armrest as he raised his eyebrows. "I already feel safer with such a competent young man such as yourself on board." Ford rolled his eyes as he buried his mortified face in his palm. The steward smiled back politely, a small blush staining his cheeks.

"If there's, uh, anything I can do for you during the flight, just, uh, press the button above you and I'll be right over to help you out," he said, a bit flustered as he straightened his jacket and smiled. Bill nodded back with a crooked grin as the man moved onto the next passenger.

"How is it that you manage to charm every person you meet without question?" Ford asked, incredulous. Bill shrugged.

"I'm a demon, it comes with the gig," he responded, startling a bit as the captain's voice cracked over the P.A. again.

"Kkkkkkchh - We will be departing shortly. It is currently a chilly 32 degrees Fahrenheit in Seattle, and our estimated arrival time should be around 3:00 am. Our crew members will now perform the safety demonstration, please pay attention and refer to your safety manuals for any further questions. Once we take off, our complimentary drink service will commence. Please make sure your seats are upright, tray tables stowed, and your seat belts fastened. Thank you for flying Theta Airlines - kkkkkkchh."

"Oooh, look who's performing our safety show," Bill whispered as he bit his lip, watching as his favourite steward stood before the group with a seat belt in hand, acting along while music and instructions carried over the P.A. Bill smirked as he caught the man's eye. The attendant's gaze darted away as he tried to stay focused. Ford groaned as he leaned back in his stiff, upright chair.

He just had to put up with this nonsense for a little while longer. Drink service couldn't come fast enough...

Stan sat triumphantly on the plank of the pirate ship, beer in hand as he adjusted his captain's hat he'd acquired from one the skeletons. Below, Ford lied glumly on the green, his eyes creased in concentration as he stared up at the flesh wall behind them. Stan called down from the plank.

"You want a cold one, Sixer? It's your favourite…" Stan tempted him, another can popping into existence in his free hand. Ford shook his head. "It's the same kind we used to steal from dad's stash back in the day!"

"I know, Stan, I'm literally a part of your mental process, remember?" he responded dryly.

"Geez, what's eatin' you?" Stan said as the extra can disappeared from his hand and he took another sip from his own open one. Ford hesitated before he answered.

"Where's your sense of adventure, Stanley?" he asked as he sat up, cross-legged. Stan raised an eyebrow, dangling his legs over the plank. "I know you've been wondering what Bill's up to, what he's planning, what that thing he said meant… Before you created me, I was part of your own thoughts. I still am, Stan. I know that you think there's something Bill's hiding from you, something he's trying to keep you from finding out, but rather than figuring out what that is, all you seem to want to do in here is squander your time and act even lazier than you usually do!"

"Hey! I'm sitting on the plank of a freaking pirate ship drinking a cold one! This ain't squanderin'!" Stan retorted. Ford started marching towards him. "Hey, w-what are you doing?"

"I'm dragging you back down to Earth!" Ford declared as he grabbed a hold of Stan's feet and pulled. Stan shrieked as he lost his balance and slid off the beam, grabbing onto the plank with both hands at the last moment and holding on for dear life, while his imaginary brother pulled at both of Stan's feet which he now had in his possession. "You're playing right into his hands if you do nothing, Stan, and you know it!"

"Oh yeah?" Stan growled as his grip on the board started to slip. "Well, what happens if I do find something and Bill finds out, huh? What if he never lets me out of here?! What if I never get to see the real version of you or the kids ever again?!"

Stan's fingers finally slid off the board as the two brothers tumbled to the ground. Stan dizzily sat up, spitting out a mouthful of grass and dirt as he looked to Ford, who stared back at him with concern. The two of them mirrored each other as they fixed their askew pairs of glasses.

"Stan, I know you're scared," Ford said, looking his brother in the eye. "But Bill doesn't play nice. Whether you do something or not, Bill's going to find some way to use you to hurt the real version of me." Stan went to argue back, but he hesitated. "Fight back or not, Bill's still going to take advantage of your situation in whatever way he can. So either you pull a move… or standby and watch the same outcome occur in the end." Stan furrowed his brow as he mulled it over.

"So, what you're saying is… I don't have to go quietly," Stan grinned. Ford smiled back, relieved, as he nodded. "Alright, fine, Poindexter - what's your big idea?"

"It's to do with that wall," Ford said as he slowly stood up, looking towards the towering wall of flesh before them. Ford reached out a hand as he helped his brother/creator up. Stan shuddered at the sight of it, feeling his stomach turn.

"Ugh, I'd rather it didn't - that thing creeps me out," Stan said as he looked away. Ford shook his head, though.

"It's disturbing to say the least, but think about it for a second, Stan - why would you be able to see your own flesh inside your mind? Does that make any sense to you?"

"Well, we're in my head, right? I mean, I know your thoughts are in your brain and all, but… huh… s'not like my thoughts are all just floatin' around in empty space, right?" Stan pondered, his head starting to hurt.

"Right," Ford answered with a reassuring nod, and the two of them walked closer to the wall. "The subconscious and the mindscape are, well, in the the mind. AKA, part of your brain. No walls of flesh or giant eyeballs in there."

"So… you think this thing's some kinda ruse?" Stan asked. Ford nodded.

"Precisely - something to make you repulsed and disgusted by. Something to avoid. Bill doesn't want you to go near it, because something about it is bad news for him. And what's the creepiest, most disturbing part of the wall?" Ford asked. Stan smiled mischievously as he glanced up at the wall.

"The eyes…"

"That pain was… not hilarious," Bill groaned as the plane finally reached cruising altitude. "Ugh, these stupid human ears feel like they're being drilled into with a medieval torture device, and not the fun kind!"

"I told you pop your ears and equalize," Ford said with a shake of his head as he opened his complimentary newspaper.

"Pop my... I don't even know what that means!" Bill complained. Ford sighed as he reached over and pinched Bill's nose. "Hey, what do you think you're doing?"

"Close your mouth and try to push out air through your nose," Ford instructed. Bill's eyes crossed as he concentrated, and a look a joy suddenly blossomed on his face.

"Ahhh, that's better! Wow, you meatbags sure have efficient sinus cavities!" Bill marveled as he suddenly noticed a cart wheeling down the aisle towards them. "Hey, drinks! Ooh, and my favorite tall glass of water too…" Ford groaned at that as the young man approached them, parking the trolley.

"What would you two gentlemen like from the cart?" he asked brightly, and a bit nervously, as Bill practically stared a hole through him.

"Just some tea for myself, thanks," Ford replied as he unfolded the scarcely drawn blueprints atop his slide-out desk. The steward nodded as he poured him a cup.

"I'll take a Pitt Cola," Bill said in his most authentic Stan-grumble. Trying to keep up appearances at a time like this seemed odd, but Ford didn't question it. "A drink to match my new friend - sweet, dark and bubbly." Ford groaned - that was why.

"Uhh, yes, sir... c-coming right up," the man replied with a stammered chuckle as he fumbled with the drawer on the cart and pulled out a cold can, handing it awkwardly to Bill, who grabbed it with gusto. The attendant moved onto the next people behind them, but not without a quick smile to Bill, who returned it in full.

"You are unbelievable," Ford murmured as he stirred a packet of milk into his tea. Bill, meanwhile, was fumbling with the can like an idiot. "What in the hell are you doing?"

"I can't get this... stupid thing open!" Bill said as he bit at the pull tab like a wolf. Ford's eyes lit up as he seized the opportunity he'd suddenly been given.

"Uh, here, let me do that," Ford replied quickly as his hand slipped nonchalantly in his pocket, his fingers concealing the capsule that had been hiding in there for several hours as he opened the can and looked down the aisle. "Hey, did I just see the steward wink at you?"

"Ooh, what?!" Bill exclaimed hushedly as he turned his head to gaze down the aisle. With sweating fingers Ford opened the capsule and dumped the crushed powder inside it into the can, giving it a quick swirl to combine the powder with the soda.

"Oh, my mistake... I think he just had something in his eye," Ford said quickly as he passed the can back to the demon, trying to slow his fast-beating heart. Bill sighed as he grabbed the can and took a long swig from it. Ford smiled.

The Fearamid plunged into darkness.

Stan and his version of Ford both jumped as they glanced around the darkened space. It was like someone had cut the power…

"What's goin' on?" Stan asked bewilderingly as, with a snap, torches suddenly lined the walls.

"I don't know," Ford said, his eyes sparkling under the torch lights, "but I think this just might be the chance we've been looking for."

Ford held his breath as he waved a hand over Bill's closed eyes, and breathed a sigh of relief, slumping back in his chair as the stress he'd been carrying all day was finally relieved from his aching shoulders. He'd been lucky that Bill hadn't managed to get much caffeine, or any alcohol, into his system. Too much caffeine, and the pills wouldn't work for long enough. Any alcohol combined with the drug could prove too much for his brother's heart. Somehow, Ford had pulled it off. Bill was fast asleep, and Ford was finally, finally alone.

With Bill unconscious, Ford flipped over his page of blueprints to reveal the true ones on the other side, currently consisting only of the bare bones of the project that were too big to build on-route. Bill's bathroom break right before boarding had been just enough time to snap a picture and send it over to Soos, as he and McGucket had been instructed a few hours ago to start on the project asap. By the time Ford and Bill arrived in Gravity Falls, the at-home component of the machine would be completed. Then Ford could clip on the smaller extension he'd build on board the flights (made from an ingenious type of off-planet metallic plastic that hadn't been snatched by security, thankfully), and they'd be ready to go. Now Ford just had to sketch in the rest of the blueprints - the part he was building. Piece of cake.

Ford bit his lip as he stared as Stan's unconscious, slumped over body in the seat beside him. The pills would wear off in about eight hours, from what he recalled about the dosage. Eight hours to finish the blueprints and get a few hours of sleep himself. This wasn't all just to conceal blueprints and get some Z's though. There was invisible ink and energy drinks for that...

Gardenia's words weighed heavily on Ford's memory as he stared at the snoring body beside him. She'd told him that Stan needed an opportunity, a window of sorts, to learn of his own potential… whatever that meant. Since the drugs took a physical toll on the body, Stan had a pretty wide window of eight-ish hours to figure something out. Hopefully it would be enough...

Stan hesitantly snapped his fingers and a rickety wooden staircase appeared before him, stopping at the large pair of eyes halfway up the wall, the whites of them tangled in nerves and muscle fibers. Ford patted him on the back as Stan took a deep breath, and started the climb.

"You're sure about this, Sixer?" Stan called down as he slowly ascended the steps.

"I can't be sure about anything, Stan. But I know you are," Dream-Ford replied with a nod. Stan gave a nervous nod back as he took the last step on the staircase, face to face with one of the UFO-sized spheres looming over him.

"Okay… now what?" Stan yelled down to his imagined brother. Ford shrugged.

"Just follow your instincts!" he yelled back up to Stan, who grinned mischievously as a thought came to him.

"Well… I always did say I had that other thing you didn't have, Poindexter," Stan said with a smirk as he drew back his fist and squeezed his eyes closed, preparing for the worst. "PUNCHING!"

He barely felt it as the skin of his knuckles made contact with the sinewy nerves of the eye, and everything went black.

Stan blinked wearily as he sat up, dim lights shining through the darkness. The air was dry. The most annoying sound was humming through the air, like a powerful fan or a distant vacuum… and something smelled faintly of microwaved chicken parm…

His vision hazed in and out as he tried to get his bearings. It felt like someone had just whomped him on the side of the head. He couldn't even remember how he'd gotten there… wherever he was. He tried to move, and felt himself held in place by some kind of restraint. A seat belt? Whatever he was seated in was soft and spacious, but still strangely rigid. He looked ahead of him… a tray with an empty can of Pitt Cola, and a small, askew stack of papers and books.

Stanley lifted his heavy eyelids with more success as he slowly looked to his right. Someone was asleep beside him, papers sprawled out on a pull-out tray before him, and something paused on a small television screen in front of him - some kind of sci-fi nonsense, and a raccoon holding some kinda laser gun? Whoever this dork was, he looked a whole lot like Stan, especially while he was wearing Stan's red beanie… his red beanie… FORD.

And suddenly it all came back to him in a flash.

NIGHTMARES. ICELAND.

BILL.

MINDSCAPE. CHAINS.

BILL.

ESCAPE. FORD.

BILL!

EYES… BIG EYES... HIS EYES!

...

...

Stan looked down at his own shaking palms.

And he SCREAMED.

*AUTHOR'S NOTES*

*sigh* Finally... I've been looking forward to that moment since I started Act II. So satisfying to bring these old men some joy finally :)

We're looking at maybe about three more chapters of this story before it draws to a close. We're getting close guys, and the finale's gonna knock your socks off. 2 weeks till the next chapter. Get ready for the homecoming, and the terror that accompanies it *cackles* See you then!