I've had this idea for many years and if you were on my Discord server you may have heard me talk about it before! But I was never able to write it until now! My friend Lotl Helped me write this amazing work! And we are so excited about it! This took so long to write and plan but now we are excited to post! Hope you all enjoy it!
Also, I can see some things already coming up! If you think Ford is your little babygirl and don't want to see him painted in a bad light... Mayyyybe don't read this fic. There will be quite a bit of Ford slander and comments about him being an "Evil scientist."
I do like Ford as a character in the show but if he came across a ghost that he thought was not sentient and evil he would totally experiment on him. In the show, he literally found a shapeshifter egg, hatched it, took the baby, and experimented on him for years until the shapeshifter resented him so much that he tried to kill Ford's family. And the shapeshifter in those episodes was definitely shown to display emotions and feel pain. So I have no doubt that Ford would do the same to a ghost.
TW: Starvation, child abuse, neglect, experimentation (only mentioned so far), and PTSD.
Stan stood motionless, the deafening hum of the portal dying away until the only thing left was an eerie silence that echoed in the room. His heart pounded hard in his ears, adrenaline once burning in his veins now turning to ice.
What the hell just happened?
His eyes flicked around, searching for any button or switch that could turn the damn thing back on. Ford had called it a... what? A trans-universal gateway? Stan's hands fumbled as he rifled through the scattered papers, skimming over glowing screens filled with data he couldn't hope to understand. His brother had to have left instructions somewhere, right? But all Stan had was the journal still clutched in his hand, and the portal built into the wall—its once bright, terrifying energy was now nothing but a lifeless ring.
"I didn't mean it," Stan whispered to himself His throat tightened. The journal slipped from his grasp, falling to the floor with a muted thud. Desperate, Stan lunged for the first lever he saw. His hands shook violently as he yanked the controls, muscles straining, but nothing happened. The portal remained cold and dark. He then ran to a console and started pressing buttons—anything that might bring Ford back
"Come on, you piece of junk!" He shouted, pulling another random lever again. "Work! Dammit, work!"
Nothing. No spark, no hum, no flicker of life. The machine was dead.
"I can't lose him again!" Stan's yelled angrily as he slammed his fists against the control panel, the cold metal biting into his skin. Then he hit it again, and again, over and over, until the sound of his fists slamming into steel was all that filled the room. Blood trickled down his knuckles, but he didn't stop.
He just got him back…
Eventually, Stan's strength gave out, and he slumped against the panel, forehead pressed against the cold metal. The weight of everything came crashing down on him. The last thing he had said to Ford... All that anger, all that resentment, all those years of feeling abandoned... it had all poured out. And now that was the last moment they would ever have. His brother was sucked into some interdimensional void because Stan couldn't control his anger.
"Some brother I turned out to be," he muttered bitterly.
His eyes landed on the journal lying crumpled on the floor. He hesitantly pushed himself up using the panel he had been hitting for support. He walked over to it reached down and picked it up, hands trembling as he flipped through the pages. Drawings about plants and creatures filled the pages, entries paragraphs long that Stan didn't have the time to start reading in the slightest. He had no idea what any of this was.
"Stanley... help me!" Ford's voice rang in his head, and Stan squeezed his eyes shut, but he could still see Ford's terrified face, his hand reaching out as the portal pulled him in.
Stan gripped the journal tighter. He hadn't meant to shove Ford into the portal. He hadn't meant for any of this.
He slammed the book shut, fighting the urge to hurl it across the room. What the hell was he supposed to do now? Call the cops? How could he explain any of this?
Tears stung his eyes, and he angrily wiped them away. He couldn't break down now. He had to do something. He had always found a way out before—with scams, with fists, with his quick thinking—but none of that could fix this. For the first time in his life, Stan Pines felt utterly helpless.
A soft sound reached his ears.
Stan froze, his body tense, straining to listen. The sound came again—a whimper, almost too soft to hear. He blinked, glancing around the room. His eyes landed on the far side of the lab, where the glow of strange green light illuminated the walls.
He took a step closer to it. The light flickered behind the bars of a cage that Stan hadn't noticed before. Inside was a figure, huddled against the back wall, barely visible through the eerily green glowing bars.
Heart pounding in his chest as he approached the cage. He could barely make out the figure inside. It looked like a boy, surrounding him was a faintly eerie green hue that almost glowed. He was curled up tightly against the far wall.
Stan's mind raced, confusion mixing with anger. What the hell is a kid doing locked up down here? He stopped a few feet from the cage, hands twitching at his sides. The kid flinched when their eyes met. Wide, glowing green eyes filled with fear. Fear of Stan.
Stan took a breath and raised his hands in surrender. "Hey, hey—it's okay, kid. I'm not gonna hurt ya," he said, trying to keep his voice soft. The boy stared at him for a long moment, body tense like he was expecting Stan to try and hurt him.
Stan's chest tightened pulling himself away from the cage as he started frantically, looking for something to open this damn thing—keys, a latch, some kind of release lever—just anything!
"I—just stay there for a sec. I'll get you out of this," Stan said, more to himself than to the boy. Not like the kid could go anywhere anyway, he thought bitterly as his hands fumbled as he searched the workbench nearby, pushing aside papers and strange gadgets Ford had left scattered everywhere. Come on, come on... There! A key, hanging from a hook, labeled with an old piece of tape that read 'Phantom Cage' in fancy cursive lettering.
He rushed back to the cage, the key biting into his hand as he raised it to the lock. The metal clicked, and the door creaked open, swinging wide. Stan stepped back, hoping the kid would take the invitation to leave.
But the boy only shrank further into the corner.
Stan frowned, his brow furrowing. The kid's eyes were glued to him, full of distrust and fear.
"Hey, look—I'm not Ford, alright?" Stan said gently, squatting down to get at eye level with the boy. The kid just hugged his knees to his chest, curling in on himself as far as he could. "I'm not gonna hurt you. I just wanna help."
The boy's gaze flickered briefly to the open door, and he shifted to the side a bit, but he didn't make any move to leave. But the shift in movement towards more light finally allowed Stan to look over the rest of him, his eyes widening in shock as he locked onto something he didn't notice before—a muzzle clamped around the boy's mouth, and the faint glow of a shock collar around his neck.
Stan felt a rush of anger surge through him. What the hell was Ford doing?
He kept his voice steady, hiding the rage that boiled beneath the surface, he didn't want to scare the kid more. "Let's get this thing off, alright?" He moved slowly, reaching out to undo the muzzle. The boy flinched again, his breath quickening, he couldn't pull away any further. The kid's eyes snapped shut and waited with his head turned to the side. Like he was waiting for Stan to strike him.
Stan hesitated, his hand hovering near the strap. "I'm just gonna take it off, okay? You don't need this."
Carefully, Stan unclasped the buckle against the boy's ckeek, pulling the strap free. The kid would have been able to take that thing off on his own, Stan had no idea why he didn't before. But even with the muzzle off the kid didn't try and speak, only watching Stan with wide eyes.
"See? That's better," Stan murmured, setting the muzzle aside. His gaze shifted to the collar next. The thing was covered in wires and small blinking lights. Ford's handiwork, no doubt.
Stan shook his head, disgusted. "What the hell were you doing, Ford?" He muttered under his breath before turning his attention back to the boy. Staring at the tech, Stan had no idea where to even start with a piece of tech like that. "I don't know if I can get that collar off. I'll need a closer look."
He reached for the collar, but the boy recoiled sharply his whole body shook as if he expected Stan to hurt him. His glowing eyes flickered with panic, his hands trembling as they came up to his neck, shielding the collar from Stan's touch.
Stan froze. "Hey, easy. I'm not gonna hurt you," he said softly for what felt like the hundredth time. But the boy wasn't listening. He was too scared, reminded of whatever nightmare Ford had put him through. If it even was Ford.
Stan's heart clenched. He hadn't signed up for this. This wasn't supposed to happen. Ford was the one who did all the weird science stuff. He was supposed to be the smart one. But this? This wasn't smart—it was cruel.
Taking a deep breath, Stan crouched down even lower, making himself as non-threatening as possible. "Kid, I don't know what he did to you, but I swear, I'm not him. I'm not gonna hurt ya," tried to reassure again. "You're safe now. Just... let me help you."
The boy's eyes stared into Stan's, hesitant, almost confused. There was a long, silence. Finally, after what felt like forever, the boy lowered his hands just a little. His whole body still trembled, but his gaze softened a fraction.
Stan released a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding. "There we go. Let's get you out of here."
He took a slow step back, putting more distance between himself and the cage, giving the boy space.
But the boy didn't budge. Glowing eyes flickered between Stan and the open door. The kid looked like a cornered animal, unsure whether to flee or hide.
Stan swallowed, keeping his movements deliberate, slow. "It's okay. You can go. I'm not Ford," he repeated, his voice gentle but firm. He stepped back even further, almost pressing himself against the far wall of the lab, far from the cage.
The boy's gaze darted toward the open door, his fingers twitching like he was considering moving. Stan held his breath, watching, waiting.
After a painfully long moment, the kid finally shifted. Slowly, cautiously, he pushed his legs away from his chest and pushed himself up, his hands going to grip the metal bars for support only to wince away as if they burned him. He managed to stand without the support of the bars and slowly walked towards the door, his eyes snapping to Stan repeatedly to see if he had moved or not.
In the dim light of the lab, Stan could see just how bad things were. The kid looked like he hadn't eaten in weeks, his cheekbones were sharp and ribs were visible beneath his ragged hazmat suit that looked like it had been put through a shredder.
Stan's stomach twisted with disgust. When the hell was the last time this kid ate? And worse— Did Ford even feed him? A wave of anger flared in Stan's chest, but he swallowed it down. Now wasn't the time for that. The kid needed help, not more yelling.
"You're doin' good, kid. You're almost there," Stan tried to encourage. The boy paused for a second, as if debating whether or not to continue, but he kept moving, inching his way closer to the exit of the lab. But when he reached the elevator, he stopped. His hands hovered uncertainly over the buttons, and he glanced back at Stan, confusion and fear flickering in his gaze.
Stan's brow furrowed. Does he not know how to get out of here?
Before Stan could offer to help, the kid's legs buckled. With a soft gasp, the boy collapsed onto the cold floor.
"Kid!" Stan ran forward, panic rising in his chest. He reached out instinctively, but the boy flinched away, pressing against the wall, his entire body trembling.
Stan froze, pulling his hands back. "Okay, okay—I won't touch ya. But you gotta let me help." Stan tried. The kid didn't have the strength to stand, let alone escape.
The boy struggled, trying to push himself up again, his thin arms shaking under his own weight. But he couldn't do it. His body gave out, and he collapsed again.
Stan gritted his teeth, feeling utterly helpless. "Look, kid, I know you don't trust me. And I get it. You got no reason to. But you can't just stay on the floor. You're gonna hurt yourself."
The boy, again, didn't respond. Stan sighed, running a hand through his hair, taking a deep breath. Stan knelt down a few feet from the boy. "You're not gonna make it outta here without some help, alright? I'm not asking you to trust me, but just let me get you on your feet."
The boy's breathing hitched, but he didn't move.
Stan shifted his weight, his heart pounding. "I won't hurt ya, I swear. I just wanna help."
There was a long, tense pause. The boy stayed still, and for a moment, Stan thought he would be met with the same scared silence as all of his other questions. But with what looked like every ounce of energy the kid had left he gave Stan a short nod.
Stan breathed a sigh of relief and moved carefully, not wanting to scare him off again. He knelt beside the boy and gently slid an arm under his shoulders, lifting him just enough to get him off the ground. The boy flinched at the contact, but this time, he didn't pull away.
"You're alright," Stan reassured, his voice soft. "I've got ya."
With a grunt of effort, Stan managed to lift the boy to his feet. The kid was practically weightless—nothing but skin and bones. He swayed dangerously, his legs barely holding him up, and Stan had to tighten his grip to keep him from falling again.
Supporting the boy as they took slow, shaky steps toward the elevator. The kid's breathing was shallow, his body trembling with exhaustion, but he didn't resist.
When they reached the elevator, Stan hit the button, and the doors slid open with a soft whoosh. He guided the boy inside, leaning him gently against the wall.
Stan stepped back, giving him space, his heart still pounding. "You're safe now, kid. I'll get you outta here."
But the boy didn't respond. He just stared at the floor, his body sagging against the wall. Stan clenched his fists, a surge of protectiveness rising in his chest. Ford might've done this, but he was gonna fix it.