The Mystery And The Isosceles

The Mystery and The Isosceles

Ch 11: Tense Reunions

Also on AO3

Everyone agreed they couldn't stay at the manor any longer than they absolutely had to. Reunions and explanations had to wait. Getting away from the scene of the crime had to come first.

Thankfully, in the chaos of startled guests and confused investigation, slinking out unnoticed was not a difficult feat.

Stan had the tapestry folded up and hidden safely in one of the several hidden inner pockets he'd added to most of his clothes. They had what they'd come for, now all that was left was making a clean getaway from the port, and figuring out what the hell made some moth-eaten old wall decoration so important that three independent parties all wanted to get it. Three, including…

Including Ford.

Stan looked back at Ford, walking at the very back of the group a few feet behind everyone else and looking all around himself. His gaze was flitting erratically every which way. But he'd at least calmed down enough to follow them out.

The nervousness was just barely visible under the façade of calm and collected steely resolve. Stan was almost surprised—if infinitely relieved—that he could still tell what feelings Ford was hiding under the surface. It had been so long. He'd never thought he'd see him again, but now he was there, walking back to the ship with them.

It was a strange melancholy feeling. The confused mix of emotions from earlier had run its course. He saw the ship docked in port, and all he felt was a profound homesickness that it wasn't The Mystery. He would have loved to show off his actual ship to his brother after so many years.

The kids had reached the gangplank first, but been reluctantly stopped by Pacifica before they could move to board the ship. She looked at Mabel and Dipper with an expression of conflicted sadness.

"So… You're leaving already?" Pacifica asked.

Mabel and Dipper shared a glance, before nodding in unison.

"It's been a really fun night, despite everything." Mabel said sympathetically. She meant it too, even with the ghost and the fighting and the shocking revelation as to whom exactly her new friend was. She'd gotten to dress up and attend the kind of party she'd only been able to dream of back when they lived with their grandfather. "But…"

"But we can't stay." Dipper finished for her.

"Why not?" Pacifica said suddenly, crossing her hands over her chest and looking back towards the manor. "I could… I could make my parents hire you. You can get a room in the manor, isn't that better than living on a dingy boat with people constantly after you?"

"Ship." Dipper corrected automatically, but his thoughts were elsewhere.

Just a month ago he and Mabel had been homeless stowaways with nowhere to go and nothing but each other. A month ago, he would have absolutely jumped at the chance of an honest job and a comfortable room on a safe shore. But now…

"Thanks, but… I think we're exactly where we need to be." Dipper smiled at her apologetically.

"Yeah!" Mabel slung an arm over his shoulders. "Besides, grunkle Stan needs us."

Pacifica slumped, nodding glumly and taking a step back.

The rest of the crew boarded as she watched silently. Even Ford followed after, albeit with some hesitation. Pacifica chewed her lip and wrung a piece of her skirt tightly in her hands, until suddenly she blurted out:

"Let me come too!"

The people closest to the gangplank—Stan, Wendy, Dipper and Mabel—looked at her in unison. She crushed the fabric of her skirt even tighter between her hands, wavering on the spot.

Then, she let the fabric go, squared her shoulders, and marched up on deck.

"I'm enlisting in your ship-" She pointed at a very confused Stan with a scowl. "So- so you better deal with it!"

"I can say no to recruits, ya know." He looked at her sceptically, leaning back against the railing. He let his face fall into a stern mask.

"Yeah, well if those two are good enough for this floating tub then so am I!" She stood her ground.

"You're acting awfully entitled for someone with no nautical skills." Stan narrowed his eyes at her. "That attitude ain't helping yer case. Believe it or not, table manners and horse riding aren't useful skills on the ocean."

"But-"

"You won't last ten seconds scrubbing decks and hoisting sails in a ballgown. Go back home, kid."

" Please ." Her voice cracked, and he stopped. She no longer stood straight and confident, she was folded in on herself, looking between Dipper, Mabel, and Stan with pleading eyes.

"If I go home, my parents will-... I- I don't want to go back. Please , they'll be furious." She drew a shaky breath. "You're the first people to actually treat me like people . I mean, I got more genuine praise for helping peel potatoes yesterday than I've gotten from dad in- in ever !"

"Look, I know they're-" Stan barely had time to start talking.

" Please ." She begged. "Please don't send me back."

Stan hesitated. Pacifica was an entitled aristocrat brat. But her father was not a good man, and something in him just knew that-

Seventeen years old, watching Filbrick throw him to the wolves, nowhere to go, no one to turn to.

Stan snatched a hammock from the arms of a crewmember carrying fresh supplies and tossed it to the child. She yelped as she was buried in canvas.

"Pull yer own weight. Don't expect special treatment." He snapped as she extracted herself from underneath the fabric.

She stared at the hammock in her arms, the metaphorical extended hand, and the implicit new place for her to stay.

"Y-Yes sir!" She hugged the fabric close to her chest, nodding breathlessly.

"Yes 'Captain' . Go find Susan and ask where to hang that, you can help in the galley."

Further in on deck, Fiddleford had just walked out from the ship with a bundle of rolled up mechanical sketches in his hands. While the others had spent the evening at the party he'd been left with some much needed time to work on upgrades for the ship. When The Mystery went under, so did an alarming amount of his hard work. But as much as it hurt him to lose all that progress, there was no better cure than to start over. He'd rebuild. Bigger, better, and with maybe just a tad more destructive potential. They were in the thick of it now, after all.

There were some design ideas he needed to talk to Stan about. Fiddleford knew his craft, but if he wanted ship specifics there was no one better to ask. He approached the other man—still dressed in formal clothes with his gray hair tied back—from behind and drowsily tapped his shoulder.

Stan's shoulders shot up, he inhaled sharply and twisted around to face Fiddleford with his hands up as if ready to defend himself. Fiddleford was startled back by the abrupt movement, before the realization hit him like a cold wave.

That wasn't Stan.

Ford stared at the man who'd managed to sneak up behind him while he was distracted trying to build up the nerve to confront Stan. He couldn't keep losing focus like this, he needed to stay alert and ready for any threat. He was relatively confident Stan wasn't going to do anything to him, but he couldn't turn his back to the crew. Who knew what kind of immoral lowlifes his brother might have recruited? Stan had always had a knack for falling in with the wrong crowd. He needed to be ready to defend himself.

The bearded man was lanky, but hunched over enough that Ford still stood taller. A pair of odd green tinted glasses rested on his remarkably long nose. The surprised eyes behind the lenses were light blue, alert and intelligent.

He dropped the papers he was carrying in his arms, and as they fluttered down to the wooden deck Ford saw that they were blueprints. The neat, hauntingly familiar, signature in the corner caught his eye, and Ford's arms fell from their defensive posture.

"F-... Fiddleford?" His voice was faint and fragile, like it could shatter and fall into the sea at any moment.

Fiddleford didn't reply. He took Ford's arms in a vice grip and pulled him into a bone-crushing hug. 

Ford tensed up, but didn't try to get away. It was Fiddleford . Fiddleford wouldn't hurt him.

He'd barely finished that thought, before his friend pulled back and punched him square in the jaw.

" Thirty years, Stanferd! " He cried. "Thirty darn years! Why on God's green earth didn' cha come back!?"

Ford pressed the palm of his hand to his throbbing jaw, responding numbly. "I thought you were dead."

He'd thought Fiddleford was dead, that practically everyone he'd known in Gravity Falls was gone. Bill had attacked, and hundreds had died. They were dead, Bill said so. They were dead, and it was Ford's fault, because he led Bill to them.

"So!?" Fiddleford yelled at him in disbelief, and Ford winced. "Ah thought you were dead!"

"I'm sorry, Fiddleford, I just… I couldn't go back."

" Why ?" He countered. Exhausted. Pleading.

Why? Because Ford was to blame. It was that simple. Because he was scared. Because he was a coward, who couldn't face what he'd done.

Because death followed him, and he couldn't risk bringing it back.

"It was my fault. If I hadn't-"

"Will ya quit it with t' martyr complex already?" Fiddleford scolded him. He grabbed his upper arms again, shaking him lightly. "None of what he did was your fault."

Fiddleford was wrong, Ford was telling the truth. But he didn't have it in him to argue. Maybe it was cowardice again, but he didn't want to explain. Didn't want to watch those kind empathetic eyes fill with hate. Instead he just nodded meekly, and removed the hand from his arm.

He'd thought Fiddleford was dead. 

He'd thought Stan was dead too.

Filbrick had told everyone Stan had gone after Ford and died trying. Apparently, he really had gone after Ford—or more accurately Bill, in revenge for Ford—but he was still alive. Had Pa known that? Did Ma know, or did he keep the truth from her as well? Why? Because the truth might hurt their reputation?

The truth.

Stan was a pirate Captain . Justifying it as some necessary evil, he'd gone down the exact same path as Bill. Ford couldn't even trust Stan anymore. He had to talk to him, set things straight.

"Stanley!"

Ford walked away from Fiddleford without another word. For a second he looked upset, before sighing deeply and kneeling down to pick up his scattered blueprints again. He supposed some things would never change.

"Stanley, we need to talk." Ford declared sternly, walking across deck to where his brother stood speaking to the children. 

There were children on board, what was he thinking?

 Holding a hand out to halt Ford, Stan spoke.

"We need to get underway first. I know there's a lot of shit to explain, but wait until I've gotten them raising the anchor and dropping the sails." He said. "If Pyronica and Kryptos—the two from the party, they're Bill's first and second mate—were at the manor then The Isosceles can't be far behind. It's better we get a head start, and lead Bill away from the island."

Ford reluctantly agreed that Stan's thinking was reasonable, and let him walk off to oversee the crew. With that Ford was left standing alone with the children, watching the deck buzz to life with activity. Seagull-Stan—that was going to get confusing, he really should have picked a less idiotically sentimental name—surveyed the scene from high in the rigging. Keeping watch for potential threats to his human.

"Sooo…" The little girl he'd met before scooted up beside him. "Um, sorry for biting you. My name's Mabel."

Ford nodded once at her. "And I assume this is the twin brother you told me about?"

"Told him about?" The boy turned to look at his sister questioningly.

"Yeah, he was kind of stowing away in the cargo hold since the fight with Bill." Mabel laughed nervously. The boy looked incredulous, but somehow not surprised. "Anyways, this is Dipper."

"Greetings." Ford replied simply.

Dipper stared at his hands. Ford tried not to acknowledge it, people always stared. But the scrutiny really wasn't what he needed right now.

"So… You're Ford." Dipper said, more a statement than a question. "You're Stan's twin."

"Yes."

"I guess that makes you our uncle too, then." The boy nodded to himself, slotting that piece of information neatly into place. At first, Ford was too distracted to realize the implications of what he'd said. But then the realization came to him and his attention snapped back to the children.

" Uncle ?" He said in disbelief. "Stanley is-...?"

"No! No, no no, he's our great uncle!" Mabel was quick to clarify.

"Oh thank God." Ford muttered, leaning back against the taffrail. "So, Sherman, then?"

"Yeah." Mabel answered. "He's our grandpa."

"Then why are you here ?"

The three went quiet. Around themselves the space filled with the noise of people hurrying every which way untying ropes and pulling chains and checking rudders. All without ever once acknowledging them. The children shared a glance that looked hauntingly familiar from his own childhood, a sibling bond so close that words weren't necessary.

"Grandpa died last winter." Dipper said sadly as the two children stepped closer to each other for comfort. "Mom and dad have been gone a long time."

Ford's heart sank. He'd never really thought he'd see Sherman again. Family was something he's consciously given up when he went after Bill. But to hear that not only had his older brother passed away, but he'd also had at least one child who'd lived and died without Ford ever knowing… It stung.

"Ah, I see." Ford said. "So that's how you ended up with Stanley then."

What was Stan thinking, dragging children into this mess? Mabel and Dipper didn't look like they could be older than eleven or so, and here they were, chasing a man who wouldn't hesitate to kill them horrifically and running from the law. Was there really no other guardian Sherman could have found for them? Was there really nobody more responsible than Stan ?

Come to think of it, how had Sherman even known Stan was still alive?

"Are you two okay?" Ford asked the children. "Is he treating you well?"

"Yes." Mabel said resolutely, like she was getting tired of answering the same question. "I told you already, this is our family, they're good people. We trust Stan."

"Family and good don't have to be synonyms."

"Well they are here." Dipper shot back defensively. "Look man, you want to know how we ended up here?"

The boy looked at Ford with a fierce expression, and he found himself nodding.

"After grandpa died, we were in a rough place." Dipper explained, crossing his arms and glaring at Ford." Orphans are supposed to be looked after by the parish, but surprise, surprise, they didn't want us. We ran away and snuck onboard a trading ship docked in our port, just sort of hoping it'd take us someplace better. But they found us."

Mabel put a hand on Dipper's shoulder and took a step past him towards Ford.

"They kidnapped me." She continued, looking ahead with determination. "And left Dipper all alone on an island."

"That was the island I found this on." Dipper took something out from the now rumpled formal jacket he was still wearing. Ford made a small gasp, as he recognised the red leather and brass details of his own research journal.

"Stan and the others saved me. They didn't know who I was, they had nothing to gain from it. They just did it because it would have been wrong to leave me. They helped me save Mabel from those merchants too." Dipper hugged the journal to his chest. "I know you probably have a hard time trusting them after what you went through. I didn't trust them at first either. I-I mean, I was honestly kind of a jerk. But they saved us. So don't go after grunkle Stan when you never came to help us either."

Ford hardly heard what the boy was saying. All his mind was completely consumed by the sight of that old journal, and the thought that his idiot brother had let children read it. That Stan had somehow thought it was a good idea to let two small children read a first hand account of exactly the kind of ordeal that awaited them all should this endeavour to find Bill end up for the worse.

He felt furious, but mixed with that fury, was a gross sticky feeling of shame clinging to his entire person. Those memories had been buried for a reason. His most intimate thoughts, his most painful and vulnerable moments had been laid bare in front of what little family he hadn't even known he had.

Nauseous fear was fluttering around his head. There was no way these children would ever see him as anything short of pathetic after reading all of that.

Dipper finished his speech, before drawing back suddenly. His stern expression and impassioned voice faltered, he looked at Ford with worry.

"I-... I'm sorry, t-that was harsh! Are you okay, you look really-"

"I'm fine." Ford said through his teeth. He pushed himself away from the taffrail he'd suddenly found himself steadying against. He didn't have to make even more of a spectacle of himself in front of them.

Dipper pressed the book close to his chest. Mabel came forward slightly with a hand reaching out, but Ford ignored it. After a moment, Dipper suddenly relinquished his hold and instead offered the journal forth.

"Here. It's yours, so, if you want it back…"

Ford considered, but he didn't even want to touch that damnable book. The damage was already done anyway.

"Keep it." He said after a few steadying breaths. "It's just bad memories."

The younger twins shared another glance, but didn't press the subject. Dipper returned the book to his jacket, secretly relieved to have been allowed to keep it. The research was fascinating, even if he still struggled to read most of it. Even if the tale it told was an unhappy one, it left him feeling nothing short of awe for the man before them who'd persevered through all of it.

Mabel and Dipper continued to talk, with Ford only occasionally contributing to the conversation. Once the ship was out on open water, Stan reappeared.

He placed one hand on each of the two childrens' shoulders, smiling at them as they turned to look.

"Great job tonight kids, I couldn't be prouder." His voice was warm, and they beamed at him. "Still, all this junk kept us up way later than usual. I'm beat, and so should you be."

"Well, you are an old man." Mabel replied, and Stan ruffled her hair.

"Yeah, whatever. The 'old men' need to talk, so run off ta bed ya gremlins."

The kids did as they were asked, walking back into the ship after brief 'good-nights'. The two men were left behind alone in their little corner of the mostly abandoned deck.

As soon as the kids were out of sight, Stan's easy smile fell. His shoulder slumped and he went to lean over the taffrail, staring out across the pitch black ocean.

"Thirty fucking years, Ford?" Stan looked back at him, eyes sincere and teeth chattering faintly against each other. His shoulders were trembling, and his hands held the railing so tightly his knuckles were turning white.

"Fiddleford has already scolded me, thank you." Ford replied, taking position next to his own twin. Through the black, he could just barely see their faces reflecting back up at them from the dark water. He would almost rather sink through the deck and down into the depths than have this conversation, but it needed to be done.

"The children told me how you met them." He jumped to the first at least somewhat non-confrontational topic he could think of. He had to build up his resolve before asking the really uncomfortable questions. "I take it the merchants they stowed away with are no longer amongst the living?"

Stan looked at him, wrinkling his nose like Ford's statement was distasteful. Even though he'd done his best to keep his tone level, and his choice of words neutral. Just because it was an accusation didn't mean it had to sound like one.

"For your information, yes they are." Stan said. "Reason we're one lifeboat short is cause we didn't leave 'em to drown after The Isosceles attacked them."

"Humph."

"Ford, what the hell is up with you? We don't see eachother for forty years and when I finally have you back you act like I'm not worth the time of day!"

"Well, I'm sorry." Ford huffed, his grip on the railing becoming equally forceful. "Excuse me if I'm having some difficulty in looking past the fact that you decided the best way to fight Bill was to become Bill."

Stan just blinked at him without comprehending, before his face went red. His hands left the taffrail and he turned on Ford with clenched fists and a furious expression.

"How the FUCK am I Bill!? I spent thirty years trying to kill him for the sake of your ungrateful ass!"

"He who fights monsters, Stanley." Ford muttered back at him. "You tried to combat a pirate by becoming a pirate."

"No, okay, you know what? Fuck that." Stan breathed heavily. "Do you have any idea why I did that? 'Honorable ships' and 'honourable people' are all shams, I spent ten years practically a slave for those people just to have a roof over my head and something to eat. We had crewmates whipped for backtalk and die from the food. There were six year olds getting their hands blown off carrying gunpowder, just so the Captain could win some meaningless title from a king he'd never meet. I tried to do things the 'good way' and that achieved jack!"

Stan stopped, breathing hard just to steady himself, before slumping back again and running a hand across his suddenly very old looking face.

"The rules were all made for and by the people on the top. Nobody came to help us when Gravity Falls was burned to the ground. Nobody gave a shit about taking down a monster like Bill. Nothing got done until I stopped playing by the rules."

Ford was stunned briefly. He wasn't scared of Stan, even with them having changed so much, he'd never be scared of him. But seeing him so worked up, shouting and fuming, it was… Disquieting.

"Have you ever killed someone?" Ford asked sternly. Stan looked back over the top of his hand and twisted the piercing question back around.

"Have you ?"

Ford found himself unwilling to answer, falling silent again. Stan stood back up straight after another few moments of silence.

"We’re thieves , not monsters. We do as little harm as possible." When Ford didn't answer this time either, Stan tried to take his arm but Ford pulled away from the touch. "Let me show you something."

With a bit of reluctance, Ford followed Stan across the deck to a chest resting by the base of the mast. He undid the locks and opened it. It was full of neatly folded flags.

"These are our old signal flags, Soos managed to save them when our ship sank fighting Bill." Stan selected a red flag folded in the corner and pulled it out. He shook it, and a cloud of dust formed thick enough that it made Ford sneeze.

" This , is a no quarter flag." Stan pressed the blood red fabric into Ford's hand. "There's only one person I plan on raising that for, and it's Bill. Because Bill hurt you . He hurt Fiddleford, he hurt Soos, he hurt Wendy… He hurt my family . That's what I've been trying to avenge for thirty years."

"Ford…" Stan's voice shook with emotion. "Where were you?"

Ford looked at the thin red fabric hanging innocently in his grip, moving slightly with the warm seabreeze.

"There's something wrong with Bill." Ford stated simply. "And I mean beyond the obvious."

"Like what?"

"You can't be dumb enough to seriously think Bill still looks that young by coincidence." Ford looked at him tiredly. Stan shrugged.

"Some people age well."

"Maybe." Ford admitted. That was the easy explanation, but he swore there was more to it. He'd seen Bill thirty years ago, and he'd seen Bill just days ago. He looked far too similar, like he'd been completely untouched by the passage of time, but there was definitely something that had changed. Something was different, but it had been so long that Ford couldn't tell for sure. It was like returning to your childhood home and being absolutely certain the walls had been a different colour, or that your bed had been on the other side of the room, but with nothing indicating anything had changed. There was nothing to go on but memories, and memories were unreliable.

Especially traumatic ones.

"I've been travelling all over the world, trying to find anything at all that might explain what's going on. Whether it's natural or not. I've been everywhere, in libraries and archives and temples in all the corners of the world. But still… Nothing. No answers."

"You could have come back before you set off. We could have helped."

"I tried to go back. I sailed all the way home to Glass Shard Harbor. You weren't there ." His heart sank at the admission, scratching old wounds back open. The part of him that was old and jaded felt resentful. Betrayed.

The part that remained from before everything broke quietly inside, scared and pleading: 'Why weren't you there?' .

"Why didn't you go back to Gravity Falls, then?"

Ford didn't want to go into that again, trying to explain to Fiddleford had been painful enough. He knew it was his fault, he didn't need everyone knowing it.

"Gravity Falls was destroyed." He replied instead.

"I repaired it."

Without thinking, Ford slammed the red flag down against the chest lid. Anger flared up in him.

"You corrupted it."

Stan had found Ford's safe place, his refuge, the first home he'd had aside from his twin. And he'd destroyed it. Not in the same way Bill had, but in another way. Stan had twisted the sanctity of what Ford loved, and turned it into a safe haven for everything that hurt.

"You corrupt everything ." Ford snapped. "You corrupted Gravity Falls, and now you're turning our only remaining relatives into something twisted too."

Stan stepped back at the sudden outburst, looking stricken, before his face turned back to anger.

"I saved them! I'm protecting them."

"If you're so concerned with looking out for them, why did you let them read my journal !?" He wasn't sure which slight hurt the most, which wound felt the most raw, but that one was definitely the most personal. "They're children! The things I wrote in that— they shouldn't have to know."

"There's a difference between protecting and patronising! Also, Dipper doesn't know Latin worth shit."

"He'll learn, he's the studious type."

"By then he'll be old enough to know." Stan insisted, apparently completely oblivious to the fact that that wasn't his call to make. He dug through his coat again, pulling out neatly folded sheets of paper and offering them to Ford. "'Sides, I tore out the worst pages."

Ford snatched the pages from Stan's hand, crumpling the parchment and throwing it over the side of the ship furiously. It didn't do much to relieve the anger.

"I never meant for that book to be found. I buried it for a reason."

"And Dipper dug it up like the good little grave robber he is. He did offer to give you it back."

"Whatever!" Ford finally landed on, shouting breathlessly before the energy left him, and he repeated bitterly. "Whatever."

Ford looked at his twin. It was terrifying how after thirty years, they somehow looked both so different but so alike. Ford continued speaking.

"This life you've dragged them into is at best going to end with them killed in some naval battle, and at worst hung at the gallows." He tried not to dwell to long on the mental image the dire warning conjured. Tried not to feel sick at the fact that in the nightmare scenario, Stan was right there beside them.

Everything was changed, and everything was continuing to change, and somehow, Stan being back just made those changes so much more real. Everything had changed, and Ford had absolutely no say in it. He'd been powerless to stop the world he'd felt safe in from turning on him with claws and teeth. He'd been powerless.

He was so tired of feeling powerless.

Someone had to take the blame. He needed to grab and hold onto the shreds of control that remained, even if it meant ripping them away from someone else, because without them to hang onto like a lifeline he was going to drown.

"Listen." Ford said. "This is no way for two children to live. As soon as this is all over… As soon as Bill is finally dead… Mabel and Dipper are going to come with me, and I'll move them back to the mainland where they can be safe ."

Without another word, Ford pushed past Stan and walked into the ship.

Also these jerks, but at least they look fancy this time

The Mystery and The Isosceles

Ch 10: Northwest Mansion Masquerade

<Prev

Also on AO3

"I'm not going to sleep, I need to be alert in case someone comes down here." Ford glared at the seagull perched high up on a cargo crate, eyeing him disapprovingly as he paced around the hold. It cawed mutinously.

"You know very well that I've gone longer without sleeping than this." He snapped back.

No, sleeping was absolutely out of the question. He didn't think he could even if he wanted to. He was in enemy territory, hiding in the damp dark depths of a stranger's ship. Not just strangers; pirates. Pirates that he'd helped steal a ship from its legitimate owners. But no, it was for the greater good. He had to get back to Gravity Falls before Bill could send someone to steal the relic he was after. Or worse, launch an all out attack to do it himself. If the ship's original owners had known his reasons, they would have thanked him.

He kept pacing, nerves winding themselves tighter and tighter until it felt like something in him was going to snap and break.

Any minute someone could enter the cargo hold. There had been people down once already, but they'd only checked the items closest to the door and Ford had stayed deathly silent in the far back and mercifully avoided detection.

Rationally, he knew that this wasn't Bill's ship. He also knew that he was a lot more capable of defending himself than he'd been thirty years ago. But he was still trapped in a dingy pirate ship. Outnumbered and alone and…

Scared.

His nerves were eating him alive. Despite his best attempts and despite the passage of days, he still couldn't shake the sight of Bill down on that empty stretch of beach.

The man's crew had changed, but eerily, Bill himself didn't seem to. He was still the same brown-haired, shark toothed, monster. He hadn't aged a day. But there was something about him that didn't line up. Except, Ford couldn't pinpoint it. Because the second Bill turned and by a fluke passed his eyes over the patch of trees where Ford was hidden, everything had suddenly started going dark. He should have shot the bastard and ended everything once and for all. Bill never even saw him. But Ford hadn't.

Because Bill unknowingly looked at him, and suddenly Ford was twenty again: Disheveled and curled up on his side, whimpering against the filthy floor of The Isosceles' captain's cabin surrounded by gold and expensive fabrics and blood.

Bill looked away, completely oblivious. But Bill was also right there beside him. Above him. Towering overhead, circling his prone body, hissing and screaming and whispering threats smooth as silk. Like the silk curtains framing the burning port outside the windows.

'You sold yourself.'

Bill sneered at him.

'You sold yourself to me for the safety of your friends. I own you.'

The present and past were mixing together into a disorienting blur. He trembled through the darkness, grasping with shaky hands for the logic that had abandoned him at the mercy of memories.

'You did this.'

The door to the hold opened, unexpectedly halting Ford's spiraling tirade. It wasn't opened abruptly or loudly. It was so quiet in fact that it seemed like whoever did it was trying to get in undetected. But Ford was too skittishly vigilant not to notice. He turned around, ready to fight if hiding failed. But it was just the little girl from before.

"Hello?" She whispered into the silence. Ford considered staying quiet and hoping for her to leave. But she already knew he was there. Better to see what she wanted and send her on her way again.

"Yes?" Ford stepped into the light.

The girl smiled at him, relieved. In her hands she carried a small square tray with a plate of food on it. She walked up to him with a slight bit of hesitation, before holding it out.

"I convinced Susan to give me seconds." She smiled at him with a bit of trepidation. "Cause, uh, I figured there wasn't much for you to eat down here."

Ford eyed the food skeptically and considered turning it down; it was probably safe to eat, he doubted the child would seriously try to poison him, but it didn't exactly look appetizing. Not that ships food usually was. But his stomach gurgled demonstratively and he relented, accepting with a curt nod and seating himself on a crate. The girl didn't leave, instead settling in front of him.

There was some kind of meat—most likely dried and salted and stored for who knows how long—cooked with potatoes and something orange. A piece of hardtack lay under it all to soak up the congealed animal fat and hopefully turn soggy enough to eat without breaking the teeth. He grimaced at the unappealing food, but he'd had worse.

"There wasn't any fresh food in storage. You might not want to touch the bread, there were beetles in mine." The girl shuddered. "Soos said it was still okay to eat, but I gave it to Waddles."

"Duly noted." He picked up the offending food item and inspected it. He could just barely see something moving. Biscuit weevils, probably. Well, his gull had never objected to eating bugs. Or anything for that matter. "Stan?"

The bird jumped down next to him, taking the food offered and making short work of swallowing it clumsily. Good, if he was fed then Ford wouldn't have to worry about letting him out of their hiding place to scrounge up his own food. And right now, he didn't want to go without the reassurance of a familiar presence.

"I like your bird." The child said. "Can I pet him?"

"That's up to him."

The seagull tilted his head, looking at her, before clumsily flying over to land on her shoulder. With the old bullet injury, he couldn't stay airborne for long. But his wings could carry him for a bit at least. He croaked quietly—Ford was very glad that Stan seemed smart enough to know when they needed to stay quiet—and ran his beak through her long brown hair.

"So…" The child began, scratching the feathers on the bird's head. "Where are you going once we get to Gravity Falls?"

"It's probably for the better that I don't talk about that." Ford answered. "What about you, though? Once you've returned the governor's daughter, what will you do?"

She shrugged.

"Don't know, but that's okay. The Captain has a plan." She said. "I trust him."

Ford's teeth grinded against each other and his shoulders tensed.

"You don't seem like a bad child. Don't you have anywhere else you can go than… This?" He closed his eyes. "These are not good people."

"You don't know that, you haven't met them." She fired back. "You refuse to meet them."

Ford huffed irritably. "Oh yes, of course, do forgive me for not presenting myself on a silver platter to a band of thieves and deviants." 'Again' he thought grimly. No, he'd learnt his lesson from Bill. "What makes you so sure they're good people when all signs point to the contrary?"

He was speaking faster, his voice rising. The gull left the girl and returned to land in his hair, pecking the top of his head once. The weight was grounding, and his voice fell into a more measured tone again.

"You should go back home. Don't you miss it?" He continued.

She fell quiet, looking down on the floor sadly. "I miss our room." She conceded.

"With your parents back on shore?"

"On our old ship." She answered firmly. "The one we lost fighting Bill, because we're not the bad guys."

How could one child be so stubborn?

"Your parents are probably worried sick."

"No." She said, looking up with hard and determined eyes. Her gaze was so fierce it had him taken aback. "No, they're not. This is the only family we have."

"'We'. You keep saying 'we'."

This time it was the child who paused before nodding slowly.

"My brother." She said. "I have a twin brother."

Ford paused. That plain and simple revelation sent him reeling. There wasn't just one child, there were two. Twins. Twins in danger of being hurt, or killed, or separated by a few bad mistakes and a naive decision to trust the word of a pirate. Twins just like-...

It changed nothing and everything.

"You… Even if you don't have parents to go back to, there has to be some other option." Ford argued breathlessly, almost desperately. There was another peck against his temple, but he ignored it. "There has to be."

She looked at him questioningly, raising her hands in a placating gesture.

"It's okay. Really." She assured. "I'm protecting him.

No. No, no, this was all wrong. She was going to get herself hurt. She was a child, she couldn't even protect herself, let alone her twin brother. She was too small, too trusting, too-

Too much like Stanley.

"I-..." There had to be something he could do. There had to, he couldn't just watch fate repeat itself cruelly. "I have a friend back in Gravity Falls-"

No, Fiddleford was dead. Everyone was dead, Bill killed them, Bill killed everyone, Bill was going to kill this child.

He was pecked again, harder, but paid no mind. The bird hopped down to his shoulder, mumbling worriedly as it began preening the strands of his unkempt fringe.

"It's okay." She said, getting down from the barrel on which she'd been seated. She reached out a hand, but stopped herself and drew it back. Instead she just did her best to smile reassuringly.

Half drowned out by his own buzzing head, Ford heard someone shout from upstairs. The child who suddenly looked uncannily similar to a young Stanley threw a glance behind herself and yelled back.

"We're here." Her voice sounded distorted. "I have to go."

She turned and left. 

Ford's head was full of molten gold and high pitched laughter.

Stan sighed, securing the gaudy fish-shaped mask over his eyes and adding the last detail to his uncomfortable formal getup. Of course a pair of upper class twats would think the best way to celebrate getting their daughter back safely from a murderous maniac was hosting a damn ball. No concern for the kid's feelings, no wanting to reunite quietly and privately. No, just get her back home and immediately use the occasion to doll her up and show her off. Preston was almost worse than Filbrick had been.

A masquerade ball. As if the aristocracy's dresses and suits weren't ostentatious enough without frilly masks.

At least it did present them with a golden opportunity.

If Bill was dead set enough on getting some crumbling old relic from the Northwests that he was willing to kidnap and hold off on killing a little girl to get it, then it had to be important. More importantly, Bill could not be allowed to get it. Even if it meant Stan and his crew would just have to steal it first.

Stan wished he could ditch their attempts at going after Bill and just focus on finding Ford. The idea of finally taking Bill down felt less like glorious revenge, and more like one big red herring he'd wasted thirty years on, in the light of Ford having survived. But the painful truth was that they had no other leads. All they knew was that Ford had meant to go after Bill. The only option was to follow Bill's trail and hope to anything and everything that might be watching that their paths would intertwine.

Somewhere along the way, the terrifying idea that Ford might be dead after all had struck him. Even with Bill failing to kill Ford, there were thousands of things that could have done it in the thirty years he'd been gone. If nothing else, getting to Stan's age was far from a guarantee. But something told him Ford was still alive, and Stan would search for the rest of his life if he had to.

"Oh come on, do I really have to wear this frilly-... Whatever it is!?" The voice of a very markedly annoyed boy groaned. Stan turned to watch his niblings with amused fondness.

"My thoughts exactly kid." He replied, watching Mabel help her brother tie the cravat around his neck.

"Pppft, you two are no fun!" Mabel fired back. She looked absolutely giddy with excited energy, hopping up and down in a large pink poofy dress covered in frills and fake flowers. He wasn't sure if the tailor had done an excellent job, because of how very Mabel the dress looked, or a terrible job, because of how eye-hurtingly pink it was.

"This dumb collar is choking me." Dipper muttered, pulling at the fabric in question. He wore a prim and proper vest with a jacket so dark blue it almost looked black. The crows nest on his head—Stan chuckled sadly, he must have gotten that from Sherman—was slightly tamed down with a tuft tied behind his head in similarly dark ribbon. "Why do we need all this junk? I liked my normal clothes."

"Sure." Wendy rolled her eyes. "Show up at the governor's place dressed like that, and maybe we can convince him we found you in the weird part of the woods. Nah, but I feel ya. This blows."

"The weird part of the woods?" Dipper asked, temporarily distracted from the physical discomfort.

"Eh, not important right now." She dismissed.

"Get your masks kids, and let's get going." Stan said with finality. No use stalling.

Dipper's mask was made out of polished wood with edges like gnarled branches reaching for the ceiling. Mabel's was bright and covered in little stones like sparkling stars. Soos and Wendy were coming too as backup, so they needed to fit in. The girl looked miserable with a large cumbersome dress weighing her down, but the mask hid it somewhat under more wood and clear glass details like frost staining the surface. Soos didn't seem to mind, dutifully following the others with a smile and bright eyes behind a softly curving mask.

He wasn't sure where exactly the Northwest's had gotten the masks from, but Pacifica digging some old antiques out from the attic at least meant they wouldn't have to go through the hassle of finding their own.

She hadn't exactly been happy about the idea of helping them steal from her own parents. If Stan didn't know better, he'd said she was scared of them. But the memory of that first raid three decades ago was pressing enough—even in the minds of those who hadn't been alive to see it—that any sacrifice that might keep Bill from coming back was a worthy one.

So that brought them to the crowded grand ballroom of the Northwest mansion. The grandest house on the island, overlooking the falls and the deep dark forest. The night sky hung silently above even as the party began.

There were so many people. Gravity falls wasn't a terribly small port, but it wasn't by any means a wealthy one. Save for a few landowners and captains, almost everyone present had to be off-islanders. There just weren't that many upper crust residents. Unfortunately but predictably, Preston and his wife were right there centre stage and dressed—ironically—in all white with pale masks like angels or saints. Preston saw them coming in, and Stan cursed quietly as he walked over.

"Ah, Stanley, good to see you." He smiled insincerely, snatching a wine glass from the tray of a passing waiter. "A shame you couldn't think of a costume."

He flicked Stan's fish shaped mask, and turned to share in his dumb pompous laugh with some other nearby guests.

"Well, what're you gonna do? Seemed only right to leave the masks to the ones who need them." Preston's expression soured immediately. Stan wanted to break his nose, but just smiled a conman's smile instead. Wide and disarming and not in the least bit sincere.

Preston never liked him. Ever since turning the port's fortunes around, Stan had had influence with the people. But it wasn't like the governor could do anything. An insult towards The Captain of The Mystery would be an insult towards the peasants, and he couldn't risk a revolt. The port was lawless enough that nobody would come to his aid, no matter nobility or connections. 

But Stan couldn't act out either, or it might be the straw that finally broke the camel's back and brought the wrath of king and country down on them.

All they could do was make jabs under the faintest veneer of polite conversation.

"So-" Stan jerked his head, motioning for the others to follow him as he and Preston walked towards one of the tables laid out with drinks and food. Dipper could barely stop Mabel from picking up more fancy pastries than she could carry. They were supposed to be on a mission. "-did your kid not feel like socializing, or has she already been snatched out from under ya again?" He asked pointedly.

Preston grit his teeth through the smile, procuring a bell from a pocket and ringing it. Pacifica appeared within seconds.

"Yes father?" She gulped.

"Don't run, it's unladylike." He snapped. "Anyways. Stanley here was just-"

Preston said his name like it was something gross he wanted out of his mouth, but before he could finish his sentence a crash interrupted them and someone screamed.

Further down the table, the pristine white cloth was on fire. A lady in a deep pink layered dress was leaning over the table stiffly. Stan took a step forward instinctively to help, and Soos did the same at his side. But before either could act a man standing beside the woman shrugged off his long teal jacket and smothered the flames.

The woman turned her head, looking at Stan with wide startled eyes under a now slightly askew horned mask. She opened her mouth as if to say something, before the same man who'd put out the fire she'd seemingly started grabbed her upper arm and maneuvered her behind him.

He looked flustered, almost cornered, before draping the now charred jacket over his arm and fluidly righting himself again with the practiced poise of an aristocrat. He smiled apologetically, and bowed at the sudden audience.

"I'm terribly sorry gentlemen." He shook his head, righting and placing a hand on the shoulder of the lady in pink. She looked like she wanted to snap his wrist. "My dear sister must have taken fright at your mask and knocked over the candlestick. The poor woman was always so very frail."

"Ah, of course." Preston said distastefully, but nonetheless nodded. "I suppose it's only natural for a woman's heart."

Stan snorted, turning to look behind himself where Wendy was currently engaged in a competition with Mabel over who could fit the most puff pastries in their mouths. Dipper had apparently given up on protesting and was cheering them on.

"Sure, something like that." He added. "Speaking of, Mabel, sweetie? Don't you and Pacifica want to—uh—go find someone to dance with?"

Mabel lit up like the sun. Dipper looked at him incredulously.

"Dipper, chaperone your sister." He waved them off, and understanding registered on the kid's face.

"On it."

"I'll go with them." Wendy said, subtly putting her hand on the axe he knew was more likely than not hidden in her heavy skirts.

"Now hold on." Preston stepped up. "Who is she?"

Stan met Wendy's foreboding stare, grinned and turned back to Preston with an excuse he knew the stuck-up twat would accept.

"She's the nanny." He said innocently.

Wendy muttered at him, but with that said, followed the kids until soon enough they were lost in the crowd. Leaving Stan with Soos as backup.

"This way." Pacifica said quickly, as soon as all eyes were off them. She brushed away the strands of her fringe caught on the wrong side of her llama mask. "If I'm thinking about the same tapestry you are, it should be up the stairs in the library."

The hallways of the manor stretched on forever and seemed to all look the same. Even with someone who knew the building intimately, it took an uncomfortably long time to reach the door. The ornate walls and polished wooden floors seemed colder the further away from the light and noise of the party they went. The single candle they'd taken with them seemed to cast less and less light the further they went. The floor was cold. Somewhere along the way, Wendy had taken her axe at the ready, walking at the back of the group and watching vigilantly over the heads of the children.

They finally stopped at a large looming oak door. Wendy walked past them, going first this time, to push open the door and risk venturing inside.

Dipper couldn't place the strange foreboding feeling that was pressing down on them, until they entered the library proper and it hit him so hard it made him nauseous. It was the same feeling he'd gotten that day they first saw The Isosceles. The same oppressive dread as when they fished that mutilated body out of the sea.

"Here it is." Pacifica shuddered, gesturing to a tapestry hanging alone on a naked wall.

A large red eye on a dark triangle looked down from the woven fabric, as if surveying both the room itself and the scene depicted by threads and paint. Two people were depicted underneath in a field full of dead trees and swallowed by fire. The ground under them was covered in skeletal remains. It was framed by lighter brown borders, and tassels hung down from the bottom edge.

Just looking at it made Dipper's thoughts wriggle like a nest of worms, squirming around each other and eating his brain until nothing remained but a lone burning red eye.

"Yeah, that definitely feels like Bill." Wendy said. She looked tense, not uncomfortable to the same degree as Dipper and Mabel, but very much on edge.

"Can't exactly say I'll be sad to see it go." Pacifica continued.

Wendy was the first to build up the courage to approach and take the tapestry off the wall. But the second she touched the frayed old threads, something happened.

The door slammed shut as if pushed by strong winds. Pacifica yelled, dropping the candle she was carrying to light their way. In the second before it hit the floor and went out, Dipper saw the flame flare up fiercely and burn blue. Then they were completely in the dark.

"Oh what the hell!?" Wendy shouted. "Who's there?"

Dipper reached out blindly, finding Mabel reaching back much the same. She grasped his hand and pulled him close.

"Show yourself!" Dipper yelled, voice squeaky and high, but emboldened by Wendy's.

The pattern of fire embroidered into the tapestry shifted in the darkness. It had to be a trick of the light, the fire seemed to turn from red to blue, and it almost looked like the silently staring eye closed.

The formerly placid water far beneath the mansion was suddenly turning tumultuous, waves reaching high enough to slam against the windows like an angry beast trying to smash them in.

This time there was no writing it off, the tapestry was changing. The two people stood, joined by others behind them in the fire's glow. The empty eye sockets of the buried skulls flickered alight with blue. Pacifica backed into Dipper and Mabel. Wendy got between them and the relic, axe raised.

"What do you want from us!?" She yelled into the empty room.

The skulls' eyes glowed. From somewhere, there was chanting.

Flesh and bone and earthly chains

Keep him bound till none remains

"What is this?" Mabel asked worriedly. Dipper thought back desperately.

"I- I think I read about stuff like this in Ford's journal!"

"Then what do we do!?" Pacifica screamed at him, grabbing his collar.

"I don't know! I've barely translated half of it!" He defended. "I… I think it might be a-"

"Ghost." Wendy finished.

The others looked up, finally seeing what they'd been too distracted to notice. Hovering in front of them, glowing blue, was the figure of a transparent man.

He was large with arms like tree trunks and a thick burning beard providing the only light in the room. Despite the fire, he seemed to be dripping wet. A small puddle was forming under him, phantom footprints leading from the tapestry to where he stood.

There was the hilt of a cutlass buried in his stomach. His eyes narrowed as he regarded the four still living people.

"Go." His voice boomed, and the doors flew open again. "There's nothing for you here."

"But we-" Mabel began to take a step forward, before being stopped by Wendy's hand pushing her back.

"You two go find The Captain." She told them without taking her eyes off of the spectre. "Hurry."

"But-" Dipper was about to protest, but Mabel grabbed his hand and rushed out the door.

'The Captain', not Stan. Wendy always called him 'Stan'.

They ran back through the corridor as fast as possible. Arriving back in the main room completely out of breath after what still felt painfully too long.

Stan was still engaged in a painfully slow conversation with Preston, faux politely trading blows. Soos spotted the kids first, rushing over to see what was wrong. They spoke hurriedly, but stopped the second Stan was within earshot. Preston had followed. Of course, it wasn't like they could discuss stealing in front of him.

"What's going on here?" Preston demanded to know. "Where is my daughter?"

"That's-... I-..." Dipper wheezed out between pants.

Mabel looked up suddenly, her eyes widening at something behind them. Stan and Preston both turned to follow her gaze.

There was a seagull perched in the rafters.

"Ugh, disgusting pest!" Preston scrunched his nose, pulling an ornate pistol from his jacket.

"Wait!" Mabel cried. But before Preston could fire on the offending bird, a new stranger appeared at their side, kicking the inside of his knee and sending him crumpling onto the floor.

"Damn, I've wanted to do that all evening." Stan breathed.

The stranger pulled a sword, and any remaining threads of composure were severed. The party erupted into chaos. The second weapons were drawn, all bets were off.

"You!" Mabel cried at the stranger. He looked back at her, eyes surprised behind his mask. It was a strange mask, like a pair of gilded hands clasped over his eyes, but with the fingers parted just enough for him to see through.

Apparently deciding any attempts to keep a low profile were futile at this point, Dipper grabbed Stan's jacket.

"We found the tapestry!" He pointed in the direction of the library. Stan and the stranger both snapped to attention, their poses almost mirroring each other. "But there's- There's a problem-!"

Before Dipper could elaborate, the stranger took off down the way he'd pointed. The seagull in the rafters flew down, gliding to land on his shoulder.

"Shit, looks like we're not the only thieves out tonight." Stan pulled his cutlass as well, and with Soos and the kids hot on his heels he ran after the other man.

Racing through the hallways once again, Stan soon noticed Dipper starting to fall behind. Mabel was keeping up okay, but Dipper was scrawnier and already beat from the earlier sprint. Without hesitation, Soos scooped him up and kept running. 

Stan nodded back at him, looking forward again in the direction they were going just in time to see the stranger reach out and tip over a pedestal with a large vase placed precariously on top. It splintered against the floor and Stan tripped, swearing loudly. Mabel vaulted over the downed pillar and kept running.

"Not cool!" She shouted angrily after him. "I gave you lunch!"

What the hell was she on about? Stan pushed himself up, his hands slick and red with cuts from the broken china. Alright, fine. If the stranger drew first blood it was only fair he give back in kind. Especially with one of his kids dangerously close to the man.

"Mabel, get back here!" He commanded. Instead, she threw herself at the stranger's legs tripping him up. Just the same as she'd done against Bill. Just as brainlessly reckless.

The other went down, spinning onto his back and raising a leg as if to kick the child off. Before thinking different of it at the last second and instead shoving her firmly. Mabel bit his hand.

Good girl.

"Okay." Stan grabbed Mabel by the bow on her dress, pulling her back and safely behind himself before aiming the point of his sword at the other man. "Who the hell are you? Did Bill send you?"

The man practically growled at Stan, baring his teeth in reply. Before he could continue the interrogation, something flew into the back of his skull.

A large bird pulled his hair hard, letting out ear-splitting screeches. He waved blindly, trying to get the animal away from himself.

"No, bad gull!" Mabel jumped to reach the feathered rat. It took off, landing on the stranger's shoulder just as he got up and kept running. They kept running after him, but as it turned out, they ran straight into a dead end.

Mabel's dress shoes squeaked against the floor as she came to an abrupt halt and clasped her hands over her mouth.

"Wrong direction! Wrong direction! Shoot, I was so distracted I didn't even think to-"

"Don't worry sis." From behind them, Dipper appeared triumphantly with Soos behind him. Neatly folded in his hands was the creepy tapestry from the library. "We weren't."

"Atta boy!" Stan beamed at them. "That just leaves him."

Stan turned back to the masked stranger. He snarled at them, pressed into the corner like a trapped animal: Ready to lash out the second anyone approached.

Stan recognized the look in his eyes. The man was terrified.

"Woah, who's that?" Soos asked.

"Beats me." Stan shrugged. "But I have a feeling Mabel has something she'd like to share with us."

She took a step back, crossing her hands behind her back and fidgeting on the spot.

"He's… He… Uh… He was sort of stowing away on our ship?"

"What!?" Stan snapped at her. "You should have said something, he could have hurt you!"

Mabel slunk back, before bolting over to in front of the masked man. He froze.

"Mabel-!"

"No! He's not a bad guy, I promise!"

Stan's breathing picked up. These kids were going to be the death of him. He walked forward very slowly, trying not to set the man off but needing to snatch Mabel back before she got hurt.

"Mabel, you have no idea who that even is…"

"Well, then he can take off his mask!"

At that, the man looked like he stopped breathing. If possible, he pushed himself even further against the wall. Somehow, something in Stan hurt at the sight.

"If we just all calm down I'm sure we can-"

"Hey!" Dipper shouted suddenly. Stan turned just in time to see an unknown tall man rip the folded fabric from his arms and take off running.

"Seriously!?" Stan shouted. He wanted to punch something. "How many fucking people are after that dumb thing? After him!"

Soos recovered first, taking off down a new set of corridors. But Stan was quickly catching up beside him.

His knees were definitely going to complain tomorrow.

The stranger with the hand shaped mask soon overtook them. His hair was grey, he had to be old, but he was running faster and lighter than Stan. He threw himself on the man like an animal pouncing, knocking him to the ground. The tapestry flew. Soos dove for it, but before he could get it someone else snatched it up.

It was the woman from the start of the evening. The one dressed in pink with a devil mask.

The grey haired man tore the mask from the face of her companion—the man who'd claimed to be her brother, Stan realized—despite his best attempts to throw him off.

Kryptos.

It was Kryptos. Bill's second mate. Of course Bill would send someone, and if that was Kryptos than the woman could only be-

"Pyronica!" Stan roared.

She grinned at him, baring her misaligned teeth and ripping the mask off.

"Sorry, but I'm afraid me and my 'poor woman's heart' isn't up for a fight right now."

She pulled something that looked like an incendiary out from her dress. But this time, Dipper got there first. Picking up the closest object from one of the accent tables, an ornate little sculpture, he threw it straight at Pyronica's hand making her drop the relic.

His aim was improving, Stan noted proudly. Judging by the new notches in the ship's mast, he was pretty sure Wendy had been giving him pointers on axe throwing.

Stan grabbed the tapestry, and with that suddenly it was everyone against him.

The grey haired man slashed at him with his cutlass, but Stan just barely dodged out of the way. Somewhere in the mad sprint, he'd lost his own sword. Instead he pulled the curtains down from the window and pulled it over the other's face. He flailed and shouted, but without his sight Stan managed to disarm him as well before being thrown off. The other threw himself over him, holding him down and desperately trying to pull the tapestry from Stan's grip.

Stan pressed his knees to the other man's chest, kicking him away. He'd been quicker and more agile, but Stan seemed to have more brute strength. The man fell against the wall, Stan wasted no time, pressing him against the expensive paneling as he snarled and scratched, ripping the mask off of his face and-

And Stan's world screeched to a halt.

Staring back at him as if through a warped mirror was a copy of his own face.

Ford.

It was Ford.

He was old and grey, fighting to break loose like a wild thing, but it was him.

His eyes were completely devoid of recognition. He looked at Stan with wide panicked eyes disguised by his furious features, as if Stan was a complete stranger. As if he was a threat.

"F-... Ford?"

He reacted at hearing the name, only confirming what Stan already realized. His eyes fell on the hands trying desperately to push him away. One, two, three four five-

Six.

He had six fingers.

Stan's mind suddenly shifted gears. From thinking a mile an hour, to grinding to a halt almost completely. He just sat there. It was like the storm of his confused emotions had blown past by half, leaving him numb and startled in the eye of the storm staring into a pair of eyes that were almost the exact same as his. There was so much to say, so much to feel, so many things he'd wanted to be able to do for thirty years. But all possibilities spun around him in the screaming wind, so quickly and so erratically there was no way to catch and hold onto a single one.

Joy—it was Ford, Ford was there, Ford was alive—anger—Ford was scarred and terrified and acting like a feral cat held down by a predator—hurt—Ford wasn't recognising him—but no single feeling stayed concrete for more than a second.

The shock was enough to distract him, enough that he didn't even realize he was being snuck up on before he was hit over the head with a gold candle holder. The blow sent him onto the floor, his head swimming and screaming at him even louder. Before he could recover and get back up Pyronica grabbed the tapestry again, taking off with Kryptos behind her.

"Captain Pines!" Soos got up beside him, helping him onto his feet. "I'm so sorry dude, I couldn't fight both-"

Stan didn't stay to listen. Before he'd even completely regained his balance, he took off after the other two. Ford was still on the ground, breathing hard and staring into nothing with that bird frantically cawing at him. He should stay, but he couldn't let Bill win.

"Soos, keep an eye on him." He snapped, beginning to stumble down the hall. He'd have no chance against two people unarmed and disoriented, but he had to try.

Pyronica stopped as she saw him catching up to them.

"You really are a stubborn old goat, huh?" Kryptos asked, annoyed.

Stan didn't answer, just did his best to right himself and glare at them with fierce determination. Kryptos held the tapestry, and Pyronica began to step forward. She procured another explosive from somewhere, but then something happened that none of them saw coming.

The window they'd been attempting to escape through slammed shut. She dropped the explosive, and it went off on its own, filling the hallway with a strange cold blue fire that had all three drawing back.

Inside of his own head, Stan heard chanting.

Between the three combatants, a puddle of water started to grow from nothing, dripping upwards against gravity. In the middle of it, the figure of a man rose from the floor.

He glared at Pyronica and Kryptos disapprovingly, closing his eyes and breathing deeply.

When his eyes snapped open again, they glowed bright blue like the flames licking the walls. His face erupted into fire, and with that, so did the tapestry.

Kryptos gasped and dropped it.

"Do you have any idea what you just cost us!?" Pyronica screamed at the spectre, stepping forward and drawing her blade. The ghost simply looked at them angrily.

"You can't kill what isn't alive." He told them plainly.

Kryptos approached more carefully than Pyronica had done. He was less likely to lash out without thinking, and put a restraining hand on her shoulder.

"We know." He stared the ghost down. Pyronica's hand trembled on the hilt of her sword, clearly wanting to take out her anger. But with another firm gesture, she relented and put the weapon away.

The two turned, running down the corridor.

Stan breathed hard. Stumbling back and almost falling over. The adrenaline had run out, he just felt exhausted and confused.

Someone caught his arm, steadying him.

"Don't worry, sir." Wendy. It was Wendy. "We've got ya."

He turned to look at her, pulling his hand down his face tiredly but accepting the shoulder to lean on.

"The hell is going on, kid?"

The fire faded away leaving no damage behind. Even the tapestry lay unburnt where it had been dropped. Stan saw Pacifica pick it up, warily watching the ghost all the while. She swathed the troublesome fabric in paper.

"He's my grandpa." Wendy explained, watching the transparent figure. "He died in the raid thirty years ago, keeping mom and dad safe from Bill's crew."

Stan looked back at the spirit, watching them warily.

That explained the sword in his gut.

"The tapestry?" Stan asked.

"He can't be allowed to have it." The ghost said tiredly. "If Cipher has it, my fate will befall far more than just I."

"How?"

"I don't know." The ghost looked away. "They told me, and so I defended it."

"Who?"

"I don't know." He sighed. "I'm tired. My granddaughter told me you could be trusted, that you wanted to stop Cipher as well, so… So, I'll entrust you with it."

Pacifica carefully handed the paper-wrapped bundle to Stan. He took it without leaving the spectre with his eyes 

"I'm tired." The ghost repeated.

"It's okay." Wendy said. "It's okay, we'll take it from here. I promise."

The man looked at them, nodding one last time slowly and deliberately. The fire decorating his face dampened down and died. The sharp blue light illuminating the hall faded, leaving a calm darkness.

As their eyes again adjusted to the gloom, all that was left in the middle of the room was an ornate sword laying in a puddle.

Wendy carefully walked over, bowed her head, and picked the weapon up.

"We need to go." Stan said carefully.

She looked at him solemnly.

"Okay."

Ford—it was Ford, it really was—was still sitting against the wall once they came back, curled up tight, hugging himself and holding onto his own jacket in a vice grip. Soos and Dipper both stood at a distance, watching concerned and confused. But Mabel sat down right next to him, pressed side to side.

Stan got onto his knees in front of him, hesitantly putting a hand on his brother's arm for the first time in decades. Ford flinched, looking up.

The thought finally hit Stan to remove his own mask. In the struggle, he'd forgotten he even had it on.

Ford's eyes widened. His lips trembled, but no sound came through.

Stan turned back to the others.

"Kids… Meet Ford."

The chicken has turned to bill

I made this lil Bill Cypher owo gotta let it dry then I'll paint it. I actually started it cuz I was trying to sculpt a chicken.... but .... somehow I ended up with him so yeehaw I guess

Thanks for the tag! (and thanks for tagging me too @elishevart!) ^^

Right now I've been playing 'Santiana' on loop since Yonathan Young just came out with a metal sea shanty version.

Shoot, so many people have already been tagged! @novelistservant and @mysteryhackin maybe?

Song you’re vibing to right know. I’ll go first.

Rolling in the deep (Adele)

Tagging: @chupkaryashi @nokhushionlygam @baarisheinmp3 @fictionaloverreall @asextasis

They're connected!

Tagging @jacky-rubou and @mysteryhackin if either of you want to do this!

yes i made this because I didn’t want to work on a WIP