Chapter Text
The mist was so thick it felt like it could choke the life out of you.
Stanford could hear his brother shuffling around on the deck. The eerie, dead silence amplified all the sounds, up to the point where his own heartbeat sounded like a steady hum in his ears, especially now that they’d turned off the ship’s engine. He stared into the white emptiness, stared until his eyes hurt, but the boat swayed gently on the still water, and everything remained unchanged.
Stanley plopped down next to him.
“So,” his brother drawled, too loud, in Stanford’s ears.
“I don’t know,” Stanford answered, tensely. “It could just be a weather thing.”
“Sixer, it’s never the weather thing.”
The silence was really – too much silence. Granted, they were somewhere in the Southern Ocean, no land in sight for miles, but still. It was intuition – the kind Stanford had developed on the Other Side, the kind that made his heart beat funny, and the tips of his fingers itch. Something was off.
“It’s just mist,” he said. “And we’re not moving, so there’s not much chance we’re going to hit anything. Let’s just – let’s just lay low and wait. It can’t last forever.”
“I’m not worried about forever, I’m worried about getting back in time,” Stanley grunted. “The kids, Ford – they’ll be coming in three weeks. Ya sure we got enough time to get back?”
“If my calculations are correct –“
“If my calculations are correct,” Stanley mimicked, mockingly. “Just say yes, Sixer.”
Stanford reached out, blindly, for Stanley’s vague shape and found his shoulder, squeezed lightly. “Yes, Sixer,” he said, and then, “god, you’re insufferable.”
Stanley barked out a laugh. “You know you love me.”
Stanford smiled, vaguely, because he did, and Stanley didn’t, or at least, he didn’t used to.
But things were different now. It had been months – and he was finally starting to get used to the idea. Everything was different and it was good.
They fell silent for a moment, companionable, and Stanford listened as his brother’s breathing matched his, as the waves brushed, whispering, against the sides of the ship, and stared into the white mist once again. Trying to focus on nothing hurt his eyes, but he couldn’t help himself – he felt like an old guard dog, standing in attention against invisible burglars. It just felt – off. It was too silent. Too empty. It was like they were the only two people left on Earth.
Not a bad thought, exactly, but unsettling.
“So, hey,” Stanley breathed out, because he felt it too, and he reacted impulsively, trying to fill the void. “We’ve seen plenty of beaches, right?”
“Right,” Stanford said, warily, because Stanley could spring a dirty joke on you even while pelting a sixty-foot squid with canned beans, let alone while sitting and at ease.
“And that time in Hawaii – we did technically find a sunken ship and a treasure. I mean, it was in a chest. A real old-timey chest. With like – lil barnacles stuck to it.”
“It was shoes, Stanley. It was more perplexing than grandiose.”
“Well, I mailed one to Mabel and she bedazzled it – never mind. What I’m saying is – what I’m getting at here is, we’ve done the beaches, we’ve done the treasures, and what’s left is – “
“Oh no –“
“The babes, Sixer!”
Stanford huffed, turning to squint at his brother’s vague shape, and even then, even then, he could tell Stanley was smirking like an idiot. “Really, Ley? What are you expecting, mermaids? Sirens? The real ones would try to eat you!”
He immediately regretted his choice of words.
Stanley paused for a moment.
“Well then,” he said, practically purring.
“We’re sixty-two!” Stanford exclaimed indignantly, over Stanley’s raucous laughter, their voices echoing around them and filling the silence, and for a moment he felt warm and distracted, grinning despite himself –
- and in the corner of his eye, he saw it, the glowing golden eye, coming at him straight out of his nightmares before it disappeared and the whole thing loomed above them, a vague, enormous shape so close as if it had suddenly materialized out of thin air. Stanley had better reflexes as he sprung up to his feet – Stanford was still frozen at the sight of what now felt like a hallucination, before his mind snapped back to present.
There was an iceberg floating in an almost unnaturally speedy manner towards their boat, and Stanley was trying to start the engine to get them out of the way. Stanford grabbed one of the oars, and made a desperate dash to the side of the boat – the giant block of ice was moving, so it wasn’t completely out of the bounds of reality to at least slow it down before it barrelled into them.
Stanley shouted something that sounded like expletives, and Stanford propped himself desperately against the side, held the oar like a knight facing a challenger, and then thrusted it forward – it connected with something heavy, big enough to knock him flat on his back on the deck, and he heard a loud, crackling bang.
The world felt strange again – it was like tingling, from his eye sockets to his gums, and for a moment he couldn’t breathe, like there was no air for his lungs. He closed his eyes.
Stanford was prepared for the rush of icy water: but the engine hummed to life, and he felt them moving. He sat up, panting quietly, adjusted his glasses, and touched the arm that was definitely bruising, the oar lying next to him.
He stood up, slowly.
The mist was evaporating quickly, and he could see Stanley, coming over, blinking just as owlishly as Stanford.
The water was flat and still all around them, horizon empty wherever they turned. No icebergs in sight. But Stanford’s arm ached – there was a definite crack on the oar.
“That’s it,” Stanley said. “The babes have had their last chance. I’m hauling our equally attractive asses back home.”
*
The sun was barely up, filtering past the trees, creating little pockets of shadows and light. Stanley navigated the uneven road between the trees with ease, humming under his breath. The car was packed so full that Stanford was hunching on the passenger seat with his laptop bag, practically hugging it against his chest.
“Are you sure we have enough presents for everyone?” he asked sarcastically, shifting as a bulging back-bag tried to creep on his territory from the backseat. He knew for a fact that it was full of candy, and he was planning to hide it before Stanley could just throw it at the twins.
“Ha ha, laugh it up, pointdexter,” Stanley said, keeping his eyes on the road. “Just ya wait and see who’s gonna be the favourite grunkle. We’ll see who makes snide lil comments then!” He paused. “Probably you. Alone. In the corner.”
Stanford considered pointing out they’d bought most of their souvenirs with his money – but then again, he would’ve been completely at loss as to what to buy if it weren’t for Stanley. The past year had been the strongest memory left in Stanley’s head, so he’d accounted for every detail with loving attention, down to Mabel’s shoe size and Dipper’s ice cream preferences. He didn’t mind Stanley taking the credit for finding the perfect snow-globe.
They drove past a figure walking away from the Shack – for a moment, Stanford made uncomfortable eye-contact with sunken, benevolent eyes. He thought he could see tattoos criss-crossing all over the man’s bare scalp.
“Was that a banjo?” Stanley said. “Ugh. Soos better not be attracting some weirdoes to my Shack –“
“His Shack,” Stanford reminded gently. “And, uh. I’m really not sure your clientele consisted of anything else, Ley, you were showing off taxidermied animals glued together.“
“Is that a new sign?” Stanley demanded, slowing down.
It was, indeed, a new sign, standing out mostly because it was clean and not weathered by time – and it had clearly been put together by someone with some artistic talent, considering the craftsmanship on the lettering. It was also suspiciously glittery.
“I think Mabel is already here,” Stanford said optimistically.
Stanley squinted. “’Welcome… to the Mystery Shack’. Hah! Beginner tactics!”
“Welcoming people?”
“It’s too eager,” Stanley sneered, tilting his chin proudly. “You gotta make ‘em feel like – like they’re coming to visit just to spite you!”
“You know,” Stanford looked at his brother. “This explains so much about you.”
“And then there’s some nonsense letters! What’s that supposed to even be? A code?”
Stanford leaned against the dashboard, squinting to take a look – but Stanley started driving again, so all he caught was the glimpse of smaller letters carved to the bottom of the sign, jumbled up in a way that felt like a strange, familiar tug in the pit of his stomach.
The Shack finally came in sight, and they drove up to the yard, a few cars and a bus already parked there, small groups of tourists standing around. Soos had obviously taken down a couple of trees to make more room for a bigger parking space. It appeared that business was, despite Stanley’s raised eyebrows, booming.
They got (or in Stanford’s case, fell alongside three bags of souvenirs) out of the car. Stanley inhaled the air like he’d never breathed before in his life, stretching out, and despite his grumbling, his face practically lit up as they examined the surroundings: the newly renovated Shack, the good old totem pole, the bottomless pit, the two thirteen-year-olds approaching them fast, one of them emanating an exponentially rising high-pitched noise.
“Grunkle Stan!” Mabel screeched, taking a running leap and apparently putting all her faith in Stanley, who caught her, and then Dipper, who’d tried to go for his shins – for a moment Stanford was left standing there awkwardly before the spinning and laughing generational Pines tornado came his way, Mabel’s arm wrapping around his neck, Dipper’s laughing face muffled by his midsection.
“You’re back!” Mabel exclaimed with breathless, bouncy glee, squeezing Stanford’s head tightly. “You’re back, you’re back, you’re back! Dipper, they’re –“
“Back?” Dipper suggested, grinning, and Stanley tousled his hair roughly.
“Grunkle Stan, you have a beard!” Mabel squeaked. “So rakish! And you fixed your glasses, Grunkle Ford!”
“Well, they fell into the sea, so –“ Stanford started, muffled by her sweater as Stanley preened.
“Oh, oh, oh!” Dipper perked up, dragging a whole bunch of paper from his pocket. “I solved your puzzles, Grunkle Ford, every single one of them, thanks for the postcards – any chance you could take a look at them –“
“I joined the cheer squad!” Mabel called out over him. “And it’s been great, we got a special mention in the tournament –“
“She’s been campaigning for them all to wear mascot suits,” Dipper said. “Our school mascot’s a raccoon.”
“Just twelve raccoons in a perfectly executed pyramid formation!” Mabel interrupted, eyes shining with unholy determination of a girl on a mission. “Imagine!”
“I am,” Stanley said, grinning, and then picked her up on his shoulder. “You give ‘em hell until they do that in high school as well, sweetie.”
“I would love to take a look at how you did,” Stanford said to Dipper, warmly. “But I think we should probably unpack the car first and get settled in. Stanley, will you –“ He looked up. His brother was already wandering off with their great-niece, apparently starting up a story of such great heroics that Stanford must’ve slept right through those events.
“You should come and say hi to Soos,” Dipper said, smiling up at him. “He’s been doing great – I mean, you have to see it yourself.”
Stanford hesitated. “Well – Soos seems more like Stanley’s friend, so –“ He was startled, only briefly, when Dipper took his hand, pulling him along insistently.
“Trust me. You need to get to know Soos,” Dipper said firmly. “He’s like an experience.”
“Well,” Stanford said, the corners of his mouth tugging upwards helplessly, hunching down a little – curling his fingers against Dipper’s smaller, warmer hand, letting his grand-nephew lead him towards the Shack. “If you say so.”
*
The Shack was subtly, but undeniably different. Stanford couldn’t quite put his finger on it – oh, he could spot the differences, such as the different carpets, the new merchandise in the shop section, or the fact that they were playing actual music. Nice music, even – the kind that made you feel at ease, invaded your ears and convinced you to stick around. But there was something more about the way it had changed, just a tiny bit, like a shift in the atmosphere.
“Hmph,” Stanley said, standing around with his arms crossed over his chest, eyeing the counter critically: there was a bowl of candy next to the cash register. He seemed personally offended.
“Ahah,” said Soos, nervously, standing next to a young woman with a round face and braided hair. “So yeah. Um. We’ve been doing pretty well – we’ve mostly kept everything just the way you left it, Mister Pines. Except. For a few things. A few tiny things.”
“We’ve started tours outside,” the young woman piped up eagerly. “Just in the surroundings and the town – it’s sort of like a treasure hunt, except with like – clues, codes and such. People love it!”
Stanley raised his eyebrow, not saying anything, and gave a critical squint to a couple of customers chatting in the corner.
“We haven’t been introduced,” Stanford put in, awkwardly, when his brother continued to be the social equivalent of a rock. He hesitated, and then held his hand out for the young woman fidgeting next to Soos.
“Oh, hi!” she exclaimed, clearly relieved, taking his hand without even taking a good look at it. “I’m –“
“She’s – “ Soos said at the same time, anxiously.
“I’m – I’m the girlfriend. The, uh, datemate. The partner in crime – no, not that, that’s dumb, ignore that, I’m –“
“The Melody!” Soos finished for her, and then blushed furiously. The two exchanged looks, grinning helplessly. Stanford sort of felt like he was interrupting in the middle of his own introduction.
“I’m the Melody,” she said, then, to Stanford, shaking his hand properly. “Nice to meet you. I’ve been helping Soos run the Shack too. I’ve heard – so much about you two.”
“Nice to meet you, Melody.” Stanford got the distinct impression she wasn’t kidding. He glanced at Stanley, rolled his eyes, and then elbowed him.
“What – oh!” Stanley grunted, looking sort of begrudging. “What’s with the clientele, Soos?”
“What do you mean, Mister Pines?” Soos asked, blinking.
“The –“ Stanley jerked his thumb at the young women standing by the t-shirt racks. “The customers. They look normal – no, they look hip! How did you – I mean, what happened to the usual sorry sacks and lost tourists?”
“Oh, they’re still here!” Soos said eagerly. “Y’know, around. We haven’t given up on the traditional stuff, we’ve just added a few extra things me and Melody thought up, y’know, to try things out, and, uh, turns out Melody is really good at marketing and making web-sites – “
“And Soos appears to be some kind of a folk legend,” Melody added fondly. "They build a statue."
“So uh, we’re like. An internet sensation or something. Go figure, am I right?” Soos said, shrugging his shoulders good-naturedly.
“Well,” Stanley grunted, and then relented, his scowl clearing out. “It’s not exactly what I used to do – “
“My shoes don’t stick to the floor anymore,” Stanford muttered under his breath.
“But I think you’ve done real well here, Soos,” Stanley continued primly, disregarding his brother. “Real well – look at ya, racking up those visitors! And you didn’t get any trouble from the other tourist traps?”
“Nope!” Soos declared proudly. “They did come over one day, with like, a bunch of gasoline, but we all had a nice chat –“
“What,” Stanley said blankly.
“ – had some Pitt-Cola, threw some darts –“
“No,” Stanley said, sounding betrayed.
“- I friended them on Facebook – anyway, we’re all good now! Oh, and this lady said to tell you hi, Mister Pines.” Soos winked. “She said she can’t wait to hang you up again.”
“I think she meant hang out,” Melody said, thoughtfully.
“Ahahaha,” Stanley said.
Stanford opened his mouth to ask more – because so far in their travels Stanley had attracted two werewolves and what he suspected had been a 400-year-old poltergeist in a wig – when his brother was saved by the noise as two pre-teens pounded down the stairs.
“Oh my gosh – Soos, Soos!” Mabel barely skidded to halt, and Dipper didn’t even manage that much as he ran into her, sending them both barrelling into Soos who barely budged.
“Hey dudes!” Soos said, perking up noticeably as he steadied the twins. “You got a look at your new digs yet?”
“Yes,” Mabel said, her eyes shining with blissful glee, barely coherent. “It’s so good – Soos, I mean – it’s so beautiful – a craft table – “
“You got me my own blackboard!” Dipper piped in, sounding a little choked up.
“Grunkle Stan, he put our names on the beds!”
“He got us actual mattresses!”
“Well, I mean –“ And Soos scratched the back of his head, looking torn between pleased and awkward. “Listen, it’s like, totally up to you and all, but I’m planning to let Mr. Pines and, uh – Mr. Pines bunk here wherever they like, so like – it’d be totally cool with me if you kept on visiting. I mean. You dudes totally have a place to stay here. Always.” He glanced at Melody, furtively, and she reached out, taking the hand that Mabel wasn’t hanging onto.
The whole shop exploded with noise as the twins started talking simultaneously, swearing up and down how they were going to visit every summer and steal away in the dead of night if they had to. Soos looked beside himself with emotions, scooping the kids up in a hug, and Stanford caught his brother trying to wipe his eyes furtively.
“Dagnabit,” Stanley muttered roughly. “Doesn’t anyone dust around here anymore?”
Stanford smiled, put his arm around Stanley’s shoulders and fished out a handkerchief. “It’s spring,” he said. “Could be the allergies.”
“What’re ya lookin’ at?” Stanley glowered at a teenager who’d stopped to stare what all the noise was about.
“Uh, a gross sobbing old man?”
Stanford smiled, feeling the kind of zen-like peace he hadn’t felt in years, as he held onto Stanley’s shoulders tightly, and flashed the knife tucked into his belt, making the kid scamper away hastily. He really felt like he’d finally come back home.
“Soos?” he said, over the noise. “Please call me Stanford.”
*
It was actually hours later, when Stanford finally managed to get back outside and to the car. The tourist bus was gone – it had been replaced by three other cars, and Stanford couldn’t help but admire the traffic Soos was generating. The place actually looked half-respectable.
He watched two young boys cross the lawn, and for a moment he was unwittingly reminded of the time it had been covered in deep, scorched claw marks, when the sky curving above their heads had been a bleeding red, not blue. Like a snowball gaining momentum, his mind flashed back to that nauseating second at the sea, when he thought he’d seen the eye again, and he took a deep breath, closed his eyes, hands on the car, and focused to steady himself.
Stanford knew this’d keep happening, because it had happened, over the past year – in some distant location, while lying in his bunk in the boat, even in the middle of a storm– and sometimes he’d fought through it and sometimes he’d been so convinced, so sure of himself, that it had taken everything in Stanley’s arsenal to calm him down again. All he could do was breathe, listen to the murmur of conversation, the trees rustling above his head and the birds chirping, and remember that Bill was dead.
He opened his eyes to a bright, sunny day in Oregon, forced himself to smile because it made him aware of his body, and opened the car door.
“- no, it’s my turn to hold it!”
He glanced in the direction of the two kids who’d wandered to the edge of the woods, disinterested. The boys, perhaps nine or ten, were huddling together, arguing loudly, one of them holding something between his hands. He turned to haul their laundry bag out of the backseat. Marinating in a hot car for a couple of hours, it had started to develop an interesting aroma.
“You’re just gonna bury it,” one of the boys said accusingly. “You always bury everything. Let me have it first, I wanna show it to Suzy –“
“No way! This is our secret!”
It occurred to Stanford that they might have caught a gnome, or a fairy. He frowned – on the other hand, it’d serve the two rascals right if they got bitten, but fairies produced a fairly strange toxin that could raise some questions. Perhaps even hinder Soos’ budding enterprise.
He sighed, dropped the bag onto the lawn, and turned to march over to the boys.
“What have we got here, chaps?” he asked briskly, clasping his hands behind his back, as he got closer. One of the boys – a baseball cap turned aside, completely defeating its purpose – looked guilty, while the other, missing two of his front teeth, merely scowled.
“None of your business!” he challenged, clutching something tightly between his hands. Stanford could barely make out something brown and shapeless.
“We found it,” the baseball cap put in, nervously. “In the woods, not here – it’s like – it’s like a new species or something!”
“Really now,” Stanford asked, arching his eyebrow gamely. “Well – lucky for you, I happen to have a PhD in Biology. How about you two let me have a look, and be the judge of this – new species.”
The gap-tooth hesitated, but his friend nudged him, turning to clasp his wrists. “C’mon – show him. Maybe we get to name it!”
"Could very well be possible," Stanford lied, graciously. The gap-tooth seemed to warm up a little, nevertheless.
The boy brought his hands up, gingerly, and then opened them, revealing a shapeless, brown block of Play-Doh, and stuck in it was –
Stanford reared his head back, sharply, actually staggering away a couple of steps. On the boy’s hand, Bill Cipher blinked at him once, and then wriggled his teeny-tiny limbs, inside the play-clay.
“Mister?” one of the boys asked – but his voice sounded like it was coming somewhere far away, and Stanford’s heart was beating so hard in his chest that it hurt, and he didn’t have his gun, he didn’t even remember where he’d put his gun. He realized he was panting, his fingers curled tightly around the handle of his knife, as he came to, the two boys looking genuinely alarmed by now, wide-eyed, one of them still holding the small, docile triangle on his hand as if he was harmless.
“Give him to me!” Stanford snapped, holding out his hand – and he must have sounded pretty serious, because the gap-tooth deposited Bill and the Play-Doh on his palm hastily and without argument, backing away.
“Never mention this to anyone,” Stanford managed to say, and he couldn’t help the hint of growl in his voice – he turned around, his mind buzzing with questions, his legs starting to shake as the tension he hadn’t felt in months suddenly returned, and stalked towards the house without a second glance.
*
He didn’t know what to do. Upon entering the house, he heard Soos and Stanley and the twins in the kitchen, their voices bright and homely, and he shied away, like a wild animal: finally making his way to the upstairs bathroom, holding Bill between his cupped hands.
He could feel a sharp edge poking his palm, the soft thrum of power through the Play-Doh, and he didn’t know what to do.
Sitting on the edge of the bathtub, Stanford took a deep breath, and then another, and then slowly, reluctantly, opened his hands again.
Bill – smaller than the width of his palm – peered up at him with a bright, curious look.
“What are you doing here?” Stanford asked, hoarsely, trying to keep his voice down. “Why are you here? You’re a sore loser – you’re pathetic, if you think you can intimidate us.” He paused, swallowing. “We got rid of you before, we can do it again.”
Bill paused, and then squirmed – with an obvious struggle, he pulled an arm free, and waved up at Stanford.
Stanford stared.
“Bill?” he asked, uncertainly.
A knock on the door startled him so that he nearly dropped Bill, and Stanford sprung up to his feet.
“Sixer?” Stanley called out. “You in there? The kids are about to go see McGucket.”
“I’m –“ cradling my arch-nemesis in my palms. Stanford swallowed, looking around wildly, trying to decide what to do. He squeezed Bill tightly, and the triangle made a sound suspiciously similar to a squeaky toy. “I’m coming, give me just a – just a – “
For one, wild second, Stanford considered simply flushing Bill down the toilet.
He paused, taking a deep breath, standing in the middle of the familiar bathroom, trying to clear his thoughts. There were new shower curtains, pastel green, and Soos had an electric toothbrush, with a little superhero figurine holding it upright.
Everything was fine. He was being silly. Things were different now. He wasn’t on the Other Side, trying desperately to survive: he had family now. He had his brother. They would deal with this, together. Why was he hiding?
Stanley pushed the door open, abruptly, nearly knocking into Stanford, who reacted by flinching – and promptly dropping Bill into the open toilet bowl with an audible splash and a little squeak, cut off abruptly.
“It’s Bill!” he blurted out intelligently, eyes wide, wheeling around to face his brother.
Stanley stared at him for a moment, and then peered into the toilet.
“Please tell me that didn’t come out of you,” he said, his voice hollow.
“Oh god, we need a plunger,” Stanford said.
*
Stanford locked the door of his old office, after some inner debate. He didn’t think he could explain this to Soos, let alone the twins, if they were to barge in. He could only thank himself for the fact that his office was windowless.
Stanley sat, massaging the bridge of his nose, at Stanford’s old desk, which had been cleared of papers and books ages ago. Bill was on the table – Stanley had painstakingly freed him from the Play-Doh after they’d fished him out of the toilet bowl, and right now, he just – sat there. Occasionally Bill would look up, and blink at Stanley slowly, with that same, bright-eyed wonder he was regarding everything. Stanford was unnerved.
“What do you think is wrong with him?” Stanley asked. “Why isn’t he talking?”
“He could be faking it,” Stanford said distractedly. He was rummaging through a pile of books Soos had simply left in the corner of the room, stacked on top of each other. He’d intended to spend weeks sorting through all of them, slowly and meticulously separating what to keep and what to throw away – now he was just tossing them over his shoulder, one after another, after flipping through them. “He was always a good actor. What I don’t understand is – how he would’ve managed to come back at all, let alone in a physical body –“
“It’s a real small body,” Stanley said, frowning thoughtfully. “Must’ve not taken as much effort.” He paused, and then started digging through his pockets.
“That’s not the point!” Stanford snapped. “It’s – it should be impossible! He shouldn’t be here at all!”
“Hey, Ford,” Stanley said. “Check this out.”
Stanford wheeled around, clutching an old tome against his chest: Stanley put a single gold coin on the table carefully, a few inches away from Bill.
Bill looked at Stanley, and then at the coin, and then shuffled onto his feet, padding unsteadily to it. As they watched, the tiny triangle bent down, and managed to hoist the coin up, holding it over his body triumphantly.
Then the weight of it seemed to get too much, and Bill fell slowly backwards onto the table. Stanley chortled.
“Dumbass,” he said, almost fondly. “Get it? The coin’s too heavy for him –“
“This isn’t a joke!” Stanford snapped. He was starting to feel like he was going to vibrate out of his skin. “Ley – I’m serious. This is bad, he shouldn’t be here, we got rid of him –“
“Okay, okay,” Stanley said, standing up, holding his hands up, palms bared. “Let’s settle down, bro – deep breaths for me, all right? Listen, it’s fine, look at him –“
Stanford opened his mouth again indignantly.
“Even if he’s faking it, you think he’d actually show up like that if he had a choice?” Stanley asked, a steely glint in his eyes. “He’d come back, and, I don’t know, I don’t remember what he did –“
“What didn’t he do,” Stanford mumbled. Stanley held his hands up again, soothingly.
“What I’m getting here is, if this is a scam, the size has nothing to do with it.” He paused. “Although I think he’s genuine.”
“But it’s not possible,” Stanford repeated, for what felt like the hundredth time, wishing against all odds that his words could alter reality.
“You know what else wasn’t possible?” Stanley asked. “Me getting my memories back. Listen – if some of them came back, who’s to say – some of him didn’t come back as well?”
On the table, Bill stood up again, stayed still for a moment, and then apparently lost his balance, arms windmilling, before he flopped back down again.
“So what you’re suggesting here,” Stanford said slowly. “Is some kind of – amnesia. For Bill Cipher. A creature older than our galaxy. That’s a lot to forget.”
Stanley shrugged. “Hey, I don’t know how these things work – but to me he doesn’t really seem like himself, does he?”
Stanford looked down at Bill again. The little triangle was now playing with the leftover Play-Doh, patting a tiny chunk of it into a ball.
“I’m going to bind him anyway,” he said. “Once I find the right book. I’m not taking any chances.”
Stanley shrugged, and sat back down. “Fair enough, too. I’ll keep an eye on the lil critter, while you do that.” He paused, looking thoughtful. “Ya think he’d eat a Tic-Tac?”
“Don’t feed him,” Stanford said sternly.
“What, is this like, a gremlin thing?”
“A what now?” Stanford blinked.
“The – wait, never mind, it’s a pop culture reference. Surprised I remember it myself,” Stanley grunted, and then dug into his pocket again. “I’m going to give him a Tic-Tac.”
Bill looked up, and then held out his tiny hands, holding the Play-Doh ball out to Stanford. He looked expectant - eager, even.
The twins exchanged looks, mutely, before Stanford approached the table gingerly: Stanley picked Bill up, holding him out to Stanford. He reached out, and plucked the ball out of Bill’s hands.
Stanford swallowed – he really didn’t know how to deal with this.
“…Thank you?” he said hesitantly.
“Yer welcome!” Bill piped up brightly.
The simultaneous alarmed yelps that escaped from the twins would have probably alerted rest of the household, if Stanford’s office wasn’t soundproofed.
“Ah!” Bill yelped and wrapped his arms around Stanley’s thumb to stay put.
“All right –“ Stanley snapped, colour rising to his cheek, snatching Bill up by his little top hat. “What’s going on here? What do you remember?”
“Remember?” Bill squeaked, his little legs pumping the air. “Who’re you?”
“You –“ Stanford hesitated. “What’s your name?”
“I dunno!” Bill said brightly. “Is it Eewwhat’sthat?”
“…No,” Stanley said. He looked strangely uncomfortable, glancing at Stanford. “It’s – uh – “
Stanford shook his head hastily – who knew what would happen if Bill got into possession of his true name? Stanley grimaced at him, and for a moment they engaged in silent conversation.
“B- no, uh – it’s –“ Stanley seemed to come into a decision, putting Bill back down onto his palm. “It’s Will. And we’re – buddies.”
“Oh boy!” Bill’s singular eye grew, if possible, even wider – he was practically bouncing up and down on Stanley’s palm. “Will! I like it!”
“And we’re international treasure hunters called Stan and Ford,” Stanley said, apparently warming up to the topic. Stanford stared at him incredulously and Stanley shrugged.
“Yes,” Stanford said, between his teeth. “Treasure hunters. Oh, the babes and beaches that we’ve seen.” He opened the book he’d been holding, flipping it through hastily. “Stan, we need daylight, and I don’t have any chalk up in here anymore –“
He paused. Bill was staring at him – with such intensity it made his skin crawl.
“Am I –“ Bill started, slowly, and Stanford tensed, “am I… a treasure?”
Stanford squeezed the tiny Play-Doh ball inside his fist, and stared at Bill. Stanley, next to him, cleared his throat, his expression briefly pained, before he spoke, gamely – Stanford recognized the conman stance at once.
“Sure are,” Stanley said. “And because of that, we need to keep ya safe and sound. That’s why we need to do a lil spell – isn’t that right, Ford? Like – with chanting and whatnot? How do those things usually work?”
“There’s usually a little chanting, yes,” Stanford said carefully, his mouth dry. “And you need to – you need to cooperate with us, Will.”
“Okay!” Bill said brightly, and then sat down slowly, rubbing his eye. “Can I take a nap first?”
“You need to rest?” Stanford asked incredulously. Stanley glared at him, for some reason – and then lifted Bill up carefully, and took off his cap.
“How’sabout you climb up there, hide out under my hat for now?” he asked. “You’ll be safe and sound there.”
“I take lots of naps,” Bill mumbled, apparently getting rapidly sleepier, and shuffled from Stanley’s palm into his hair, flopping in the midst of his grey locks contently.
“See, he takes lots of naps,” Stanley said. He put his cap back on.
“Wow, it’s thinning up here!” Bill called out muffledly.
“Get some sleep!” Stanley ordered. “And it’s not what you think, it’s from mermaids pulling my hair.”
“I didn’t know you met any mermaids,” Stanford said. He felt like he was rapidly losing the plot altogether.
“I don’t tell you everything,” Stanley said haughtily.
Stanford rubbed the bridge of his nose, took a deep breath, and then squared his shoulders. Stanley’s cap wasn’t moving, but he could hear the tiniest, strangest little noise emanating underneath it. Bill was snoring.
“Right,” he said. “Well then. I can’t believe we’re doing this again, but - let’s go defeat Bill Cipher.”
"After he wakes up from his nap," Stanley said.