Chapter Text
Ford held his arms out as he dropped through the water. Within seconds, it shifted and expanded away from him, encasing him in an airtight orb. He shook his hair out of his face as he slowly continued to descend. He was just wondering how deep the water was when his feet suddenly hit the sandy floor, causing him to land in a crouched pose.
Ford straightened up and looked around. The water was dark, but not so much that he couldn't see right in front of him. He glanced upward, and was relieved that he could still see the water's surface, although the distance looked further away than it had felt during his descent. He could just make out the underside of the ship floating above him. Ford looked down at the ocean floor around him, trying to decide where to even start.
Aside from a few underwater plants, there didn't seem to be anything down here, not even fish. Nor was there any indication of where the memory could be. How wonderful… Suddenly, a small light seemed to appear beside him. Ford looked down, and discovered that the light was coming from his pocket. He reached in, and was slightly surprised when he pulled out the golden monocle. Ford had previously assumed that it had disappeared or something once he had found Stan, but perhaps its purpose wasn't finished yet.
Ford held the monocle up to his eye and looked around. He could see through the water a bit more clearly, though nothing else seemed to stand out. Ford glanced all around until he looked down at the sea floor, and there it was: a surprisingly bright red dash just ahead of his feet. There was another dash in front of the first, then another and another, all in line with each other and stretching out to the left, like a path drawn on a child's treasure map. Of course.
Ford carefully took a few steps forward, watching to see how well his sphere of air would move with him. It shifted to cover him, slightly slower than his own pace. Ford straightened his shoulders as he held the monocle to his eye, and began to slowly follow the path before him.
The water remained relatively still and unchanged as he moved. More odd plantlife revealed itself, but the only consistent change was the direction the path would take. It turned left and right, over mounds of sand and through small drop-offs, even turning into a few pointless loops. Ford could feel the same anxiety he had experienced in the Diablo start to ease in, but he kept himself composed. At least he wasn't walking blind this time. He would periodically look up in an effort to keep the ship in sight, but he needn't have bothered. Despite how far he was walking, it didn't seem to be any further away, almost as if it was following him. Ford wasn't sure if Stan was doing that intentionally or subconsciously, but he was happy to see it regardless.
Ford felt as if he had followed the trail all over the area contained within the eye when he finally spotted something different. He craned his head up to try to see further ahead, and that's when he noticed something on the path. It didn't look like another dash, though it was the same color of red. Ford took a few steps closer, and the mark became clear: a giant red X.
Concern for the water surrounding him nearly disappeared as Ford quickly jogged along the path. When he finally stood on top of the giant red X, he placed the monocle in his pocket, and quickly summoned a large shovel. As he started to dig, a wave of curiosity and concern washed over him. How would the memory present itself? Would it be too difficult to lift or carry? Would there be any sort of security measures to ensure it couldn't be moved? What if it just… blew up?
Before he could convince himself to stop or slow down however, the head of the shovel suddenly made a loud and heavy thunk. Ford paused for a moment, and when no explosion happened, he tossed the shovel to the side and crouched to his knees. His hands dug through the remaining sand, and he felt his nails scrape against something solid.
Finally, the overarching top of an old pirate's chest revealed itself. Ford dusted off more sand before grabbing the handles on each side, and pulled. The chest was heavier than he had expected, but after a few good tugs, it eventually emerged. Ford set the chest down with a huff, and kneeled in front of it.
The chest seemed old, as if it had been buried for decades. The water damage was heavy, bits of wood and paint were chipped off in places, and sections were covered with growing coral and a few barnacles. Not only that, there was a large, rusted-gold clam shell lock in the center. Stan hadn't told Ford he might need a key, but perhaps he hadn't known that it was necessary. Stan had essentially been sailing blind before Ford had showed up, after all.
It didn't take long for Ford to realize that opening the chest would be difficult. He tried to imagine a key that could unlock it, but even after trying several different shapes, colors and even materials, it didn't budge. He imagined a lockpicking set, and spent a good five minutes trying that before the set snapped into pieces. He tried a simple paperclip– no luck there either. Ford was about to start kicking the damn thing when suddenly, his mind recalled something else he had seen in the previous memory.
“The Skeleton Key! A man could unlock the pearly gates themselves with this if he tried!”
Ford had heard young Stan's memory before, but he hadn't really minded it, too focused on producing the monocle and finding his own Stan at the time. Ford unclenched his fists as he closed his eyes, trying to imagine what the skeleton key had looked like. It would've been handmade of course, likely the same cardboard material that was used for their old treasure chest. Ford vaguely recalled Stan “borrowing” their father's gold paint for several craft projects, and of course a “skeleton key” would have to look like a skeleton.
Almost as soon as the image appeared in Ford's vision, he felt something solid drop into his lap. It was a large golden key– a real one, just like the monocle– with a skull-shaped handle and two tiny emeralds placed in the eyesockets. Ford quickly picked up the key and inserted it into the lock. He turned it, and finally heard the loud click of something unlatching. Ford paused, and he waited. He listened, glanced all around, and when nothing seemed amiss, he reached out to carefully open the chest.
Ford wasn't sure what he was expecting– a chest could be used to hold many things, and a chest in someone's mindscape could hold literally anything. Memories, secrets, intrusive thoughts. However, the only thing inside the chest was undamaged, soft red cushioning that filled each corner, and sitting in the center was a green glass bottle.
Ford hesitated before reaching out and carefully lifting the bottle from its cushion. It looked like a small wine bottle, and felt surprisingly sturdy. He turned the bottle in his hands, and saw a small, rolled up piece of paper sitting inside. That must be it. Ford felt a sense of relief as he reached for the cork, and began to pull.
The water shifted behind him, and Ford instantly whipped around. He couldn’t see anything out of place, just a small patch of seaweed growing just outside of his air bubble. The leaves were swaying harder than before though, as if something had swam through them very quickly. Ford turned his head slowly, his eyes snapping in every direction. He couldn't see anything– not a single fish, crab, or even a miscellaneous blob– but the water didn't feel nearly as empty as it had before. As Ford tried opening the bottle again, his eyes landed on his own shadow. It seemed to be growing taller, and the dim light from the water's surface seemed to be getting brighter, and brighter…
Ford quickly placed the bottle inside his inner coat pocket before slamming the chest shut. He pushed it down into the sand as much as he could, and then immediately began to rebury it. The light behind him intensified as he dug desperately into the sand, particles digging under his fingernails. Ford barely had time to cover the chest before the light was on him, nearly blinding him. He covered his eyes as he turned around, and the light slowly began to dim.
“Ah, there you are!”
Ford lowered his hand, and scowled as he saw Bill floating in front of him, his large eye shining like a searchlight. He looked just as well as he had the last time Ford had seen him; bright, energetic, and clearly pleased with himself. Ford could already feel his blood beginning to boil.
“Hey there, Fordsy!” Bill blinked, and though the light left his eye, Ford's bubble remained fully illuminated. “I had a feeling I might run into you.”
Ford didn't respond as glared up at his former muse. So much for keeping his presence a secret. He didn't know how Bill managed to find them, but as far as Ford knew, Bill didn't know that he had found the memory. That was enough to keep Ford's mouth shut, for now.
“Aw, c’mon. Not even a ‘hello’?”
Ford had much more to say than just a simple ‘hello’, but he remained silent.
“Hey, it’s fine, I get it. You’re upset that I knocked you out,” Bill shrugged, floating up to hover just outside the bubble. “But trust me, it was for the best. That twin of yours is a real chatterbox.”
Ford gritted his teeth as he watched Bill float around. He was as moving as easy and carefree as he usually did, but his calm demeanor only put Ford more on edge.
“Gotta admit, I wasn’t expecting to have any trouble with his head.” Bill rolled his eye as he observed the ocean floor. “I mean, using his own confusion about the mindscape to make the path even more complicated? Pretty risky move, I can respect that.”
Ford felt the tension in his face falter. So, it was Stan who had vandalized those street signs. A small part of his brain reminded him to ask Stan what he could consciously remember about this experience once all of this was over.
“But, I’ve had my fun,” Bill adjusted his hat as he turned to face him. “So, why don’t you toss me that memory, and we can get back to work.”
Ford felt his throat tighten as he clenched his fists. If Bill truly knew that he already had the memory, then there was no point in focusing his energy on trying to deny it. Ford needed to get away– now. Was the ship still above him? Would he be fast enough to reach it? I need more time…
“Seriously?” Ford spat, taking a step back. “After everything you’ve done, you’re still asking for my help? You’re still pretending that you need me?”
“Oh, now’s not the time to be pointing fingers, Stanford,” Bill warned sweetly, waving a finger back at him. “After all, you’re the one that agreed to help me build the portal. You practically begged me to enter your mind when I offered. You’re the one who summoned me in the first place.”
“I–”
“And for the record, I don’t need anything from you.”
Bill looked down at him, and Ford felt sick under his condescending gaze.
“But, considering how hard you’ve worked for me, I’m more than happy to overlook the whole arrow-in-the-shoulder bit. Ouch, by the way.” Bill deadpanned, then he laughed. “But, it’s not like you actually hurt me. Hell, you couldn’t even if you tried!”
The mere idea must have been hilarious; Bill sounded as if he couldn't resist laughing a little more. Ford ignored the mixture of shame and anger building in his gut as he risked a glance above him. He could make out the ship hovering on the water's surface, still much further away than anticipated– probably another obstacle intended to protect the memory.
“Hey, don’t stress, IQ. Partners fight all the time, it happens.”
Ford wasn’t sure if the pounding in his chest was his actual heartbeat or the thundering of his own subconscious, acutely aware of the danger it was in. His eyes locked onto Bill, who was beaming at him from the other side of the bubble. He raised his hand, and plunged it straight through. Water splashed at Ford's feet, the air turned still, cold.
“Just hand over the memory, and we can finally put this little “rough patch” behind us!”
Ford already had his answer prepared. It was voicing it that felt the most difficult.
“No.”
Huh. Not as difficult as he thought. That didn’t stop the hairs on the back of his neck from standing up as Bill blinked at him once, twice, then…
“I’m sorry,” Bill chuckled as he rubbed his brow, and the extended hand formed a tight fist. “I think my hearing is off, ‘cause it almost sounded like–”
“Then read my lips,” Ford angrily cut across him. “NO!”
Ford jumped, and suddenly the bubble was propelling him up, up, up towards the surface. He was closing in now, he could just make out the dim light from above. Ford was able to make out the details of the ship's bow when the bubble suddenly stopped. He paused, and tried to propel himself again. Nothing moved.
Ford looked up at the ship above him, and suddenly the world around him began to dim. The light faded rapidly until he was left suspended in darkness. He couldn't even see the outline of the bubble anymore.
“Oh Fordsy, my sweet, naive little brainiac,” Bill's voice reprimanded within Ford's ears and all around him. “I think you’re forgetting one teeny tiny, very important detail…”
Something large reached out from the darkness, and the bubble popped. Ford barely had the chance to gasp before he was enveloped by the water, and the large shape that turned out to be a hand grabbed him. Ford resisted the urge to gasp as he struggled against the hold. You can breathe underwater, you can breathe underwater! he screamed to himself.
Ford took a deep breath, and felt no liquid fill his lungs. He had no time to feel relieved before the large hand pulled him forward. Bill was massive, far larger than he had ever appeared in Ford's head before, glowing red as anger flared in his single large eye.
“Ĩ̷̺̩̖͜͜ ̴̛̩̣̣̯͙͊͋̔̿O̵̡̗̖̤̠̭̽W̶̪͔̼̦̥̎̌͐̒͠Ņ̸̩̝̤̭̟̈̐͌̍͆ ̷̫̖̺̠͇͐̏̋͝Y̸̙̯̱̏̓̀̎͛Ō̵͇̠̗̐̔̃̽̏U̵̻̫̻̗̒̿̾̔͜.̸̛̩̳͉͊̂̇̔.̷̡̋̐̆̉̚.̴̧̺̲͖̈́̈́̀̕͘!̷̛̟̼̜̻̗̓̊̏͝”
The words held enough force to throw Ford back in Bill's grip. Before he could even squirm he felt something pull at the back of his neck, and he was engulfed in a wave of white hot pain.
His body felt miles away, and yet the agony seemed to fill every pore. Ford could feel something pull at his limbs, something painful pop between his sockets– then it was gone, as if it never occurred. Ford didn’t have time to catch his breath before his vision blurred and shifted in color, and his head suddenly became too heavy.
“Do you really think I need your permission to do anything?” Bill’s taunting voice echoed in his ears. “Oh, Stanford… you’re a little out of your element, I’m afraid. Don’t you realize the kind of power I hold having access to your mind?”
The water around him was thick as Ford felt a hot pressure around his head, both pressing and pushing from inside his skull. The nausea building in his gut was overwhelming, he couldn't think. He barely managed to scramble with his hands before something forced them behind his back. Ford tried to kick with his feet, and something tight and solid latched onto his ankles.
“I was just trying to give you an easy option.” Bill’s disappointed tone was more clear as the pressure from Ford’s head faded. “Having you work for me willingly is so much easier than trying to force you… even if it is less fun.”
The force around his ankles constricts, and one of them twists. Ford snaps up as he yells in pain, the water in his mouth feeling more present than it should be. You can breathe underwater, you can breathe underwater, don’t forget that you can breathe!
“But, I’ve been waiting for this moment for far too long,” Ford blinked up to see Bill’s angry eye less than a foot away from him. “And I’m not about to lose it just because you can’t keep your shit together.”
Ford could feel the force around his body constricting tighter and tighter, grinding his bones and squeezing the air from his lungs. Ford gasped for breath as he tried to move, to fight, to pull away, anything…
Make it stop, a childish voice in the back of his mind pleaded. Please, make it stop…
The pressure around him suddenly pulled back, and Ford’s gasp was drowned by Bill’s sudden yell. His eye reared back and turned, and Ford craned his neck to see what had happened. A massive harpoon was embedded in the side of one of Bill’s angles.
“Huh?! What the–”
Another harpoon suddenly shot down, but Bill was ready this time. He shifted to the side, and the harpoon shot down before embedding into the sea floor. Bill turned fully to face his attacker, and Ford could finally see who it was.
Stan was floating just a few yards away from them, already holding another harpoon in his hands. Ford felt a mix of relief and worry fill his gut as Bill glowered irritability.
“Agh, you little–!”
Stan quickly adjusted his grip before throwing the harpoon. It sped through the water surprisingly fast, and pierced right through Bill's eye. Bill screamed and whined as he squirmed, the rest of his many hands coming up to cover his face and pull at the harpoon. The hand holding Ford loosened its grip, and Ford finally managed to kick himself free.
“HEY!”
Ford didn't give Bill time to recover before he kicked his feet again, reimagining his shoes as rocket boots. He shot through the water, right towards his brother, and Ford quickly reached out for him. He managed to grab Stan by the arm before they sped upward, and finally broke through the water's surface.
Ford felt a wave of ice hit his body as he fell and tumbled onto the deck of the ship. He lost his grip on Stan, but he heard him grunt as he hit the deck beside him. Ford quickly pushed himself up and whipped around. Bill hadn't followed them up yet, but the water around them was turning fiercely, dangerous and angry.
“Stan!”
“I'm on it!”
Stan scrambled for a moment before running for the cockpit. Ford pushed himself to his feet, and nearly fell over again as the ship turned sharply. They headed for the stormy wall of the eye, the winds picking up as they neared. Ford could feel his heart hammering as he grabbed the left side of his coat, where the bottle remained safe in his pocket. Nearly there, just a little further…
Ford was suddenly knocked off his feet as the bow swerved, coming to a kidding halt. Water splashed and flooded the deck, and Ford looked up to see giant black fingers clenched around both sides of the ship. Stan burst through the door of the cockpit.
“Ford, give me the memory!”
Ford flinched as he heard a sudden loud crash, and he turned to see something large emerging from the water.
Bill’s eye still had an almost glitching slash across it, still slowly healing over as he glared down at them. Ford felt frozen, like a deer caught in the headlights. His grip on his coat tightened.
“S̷̡̨̢͉̣͖̞̾̅Ḯ̸̙̲͙̱̼́͜X̸̣̣̺̰̂̎̿̄̾͠͝E̶̡͖̝͎̘̤̍̈̅́̎̀͊ͅR̶̞̝̰̿.̴̢̞̬͖̣̥̹͛͛.̸͖͔̥̯͓͝.̷͎̘͉̭͚̏̀̂̈͋͘͝ͅͅ!̷̤͎̗͎̮͇͋̌”
Ford barely had time to register the angry cry when another large hand extended and reached for him. He was about to kick off his rocket boots again when something– or rather, someone– shoved him aside. Ford fell to his knees again, and quickly scrambled to look up.
Bill's massive form was hovering above the ship, and held tightly in his grasp was Stan. He kicked and struggled against the hold, but Ford knew it was no use. He quickly pushed himself to his feet as Bill sneered down at Stan.
“You don't know when to quit, do you?” he glowered as he raised another hand, clenching and unclenching as it reached for Stan. “That's fine, I can deal with you myself now.”
“HEY!”
Bill stopped to look down at Ford, and his eye widened. Ford stood tall in the center of the deck, one hand on his jacket, and the other holding up the bottled memory.
“It's over, Bill,” Ford called out, sounding much braver than he felt. “The race is won, you've lost. Put him down– now!”
For a brief moment, time seemed to stand still, the only movement coming from the storm outside of the eye. Then, Bill’s face contorted as he let out a small huff that slowly turned into a chuckle. He reared back as he started to laugh, wringing his other hands and kicking his feet like a manic jester.
“Ah, you really are adorable…”
Ford felt his blood go cold, his grip on the bottle tightening. “I- Did you hear me? I said put him down–”
“No can do, IQ,” Bill stated calmly. “The game’s still on.”
“What do you–”
“Your brother made a deal with me,” Bill pointed a thumb at himself, then down at Ford. “And you weren’t a part of it. If he wants to beat me, he has to finish this race himself.”
Bill leered sweetly as the hand holding Stan suddenly tossed him up in the air. Stan yelled as he was caught by his ankles, dangling like a tempting treat for some animal.
“You fuckin’– P-put me down!” Stan demanded even as his voice trembled.
“You really thought you had me with that little spiel about rules, huh? But, your rules didn’t say anything about cheating, did they?” Bill grabbed Stan’s head and turned it to face him. “Not the worst strategy, I’ll admit. Unfortunately, you gave us both an advantage with that one.”
Stan glared, but as Bill continued to dangle him in the air, whatever retort he might’ve thrown was swallowed by a fearful yelp. The fact that Stan still seemed to have a problem with heights didn’t surprise Ford, but it didn't help to see his brother look and sound so terrified.
“Oh, don’t feel bad for him, Sixer. The mind is my domain, he was never gonna beat me… and neither were you.” Though he technically lacked a mouth, Ford could feel the smirk as Bill held Stan’s head between his finger and thumb. “Now, you just hand over that bottle, and I promise not to pop him like a zit!”
The hand holding the memory shook as Ford stood there, unable to speak, unable to move. Of course the rules would be that technical. He should’ve given Stan the memory when he had the chance. What should he do? What could he do?!
“Come on, Sixer…” Bill’s voice was growing dangerous as another hand began to reach out. “I’ve already lost enough of my patience today, don’t make me–”
There was a sudden loud crunch, and Bill reared back as he yelped. Ford stared as his twin latched his teeth onto one of the fingers wrapped around him. Bill swore as he suddenly flicked Stan away like an annoying bug. Ford had just enough time to kick off his rocket boots and shoot into the air before his brother collided with him. The force was enough to bring them both down, and they landed hard on the deck again.
Ford mentally cursed himself for not manifesting a mattress or something as he felt the air leave his lungs. His head spun slightly as he readjusted his glasses, and realized he could still feel something pressed against his right side. Stan was on his knees now, his hands gripping the sleeve of Ford's coat. His eyes were wide and fearful as he stared down, his body trembling.
“Stan,” Ford moved to sit up, and he reached for his brother’s arm. “Stan, come on! Stay with me here!”
Stan blinked up at him, as if he just realized Ford was still there. Before Ford could say anything else, Stan turned his head and suddenly sprang to his feet. Ford looked over to see that Bill had shrunk slightly and was now hovering just above them. He tried to stand up, and had to lean against the cockpit doorway as he felt something pinch in his ankle.
“You’re a slippery piece of trash, aren’t you?” Bill snarled at Stan as he lowered himself closer to the deck. “It’s bad enough you’ve got Sixer brainwashed against me, but you’re seriously starting to piss–”
“SHUT UP!”
The volume and sharpness in Stan’s voice was enough to shock both Bill and Ford. Bill blinked down at Stan, clearly dumbfounded, and Ford was left in awe as he watched his brother move to stand in front of him, his knuckles white as his fists clenched.
“Wow. Really?” Bill remarked, unimpressed.
“I said shut up!” Stan yelled with fury as he pointed a threatening finger up at him. “You… don't get to call him that! I call him that!”
Despite the severity of their situation, Ford felt something oddly comforting swell in his chest at his brother's words. Bill looked genuinely surprised for a moment, then turned away as he snorted. As his snorts turned into laughter, Ford took the opportunity to look around the ship, to see if there was anything he could use to their advantage. He looked back inside the cockpit, at the stirring wheel and the throttle…
“AHAHAHAHA…! Oh, ho-ho, oh man…!” Bill sniffed as he wiped a tear from his eye. “You… you humans are so fucking funny! I'm about to destroy your mind from the inside, and you're worried about a stupid nickname–”
But Bill’s voice was cut off by the ship’s engine as Ford pushed the throttle all the way up. He heard a loud thud as Stan hit the deck again, and a second later heard Bill’s distant scream of disapproval. The ship was nearing the wall of the eye, and at the last second, Ford turned the stirring wheel sharply and began shooting straight for the center of the eye again. He heard an almost cartoonish skidding sound from behind them, and Bill began cursing after them again.
“What're you doing?!” Stan shouted as he entered the cockpit.
“The storms outside are too chaotic,” Ford answered quickly. “We can't risk facing him outside of the eye, we need him in a more controlled area.”
Stan grunted. “Well, what do we do?”
What could they do? Bill was too close; it wasn't enough to just give Stan the memory anymore. No, Ford needed to get them far enough away that Bill wouldn't be able to use either of them as leverage.
“Take the wheel.”
Stan looked confused, but he didn’t hesitate to grab the stirring wheel as Ford stepped aside. He reached into his jacket with both hands, his fingers scrambling as he tried to keep his thoughts clear, precise, intended.
“And how’s running in circles supposed to help?” Stan asked urgently. “He’s gonna catch up eventually.”
Ford doesn’t answer as he grips the glass bottle, making sure the cork is secure. Give him the bottle, give him the bottle… his thoughts chant loudly, and for the first time in nearly two days, Ford actually hopes that Bill can hear them. He doublechecked his pockets just to be safe before holding the bottle out for his brother.
“Here, take this.”
Stan looked at the bottle in his hand, and his confused expression hardened. “Ford, this isn’t–”
“Trust me.”
“But–”
“Just trust me!”
There was a horrible screeching sound above them, and Ford looked up to see the roof of the cockpit being peeled open. Bill hovered just above, and before Ford could move, and hand reached down and grabbed him again. Within moments, he was pulled out of the cockpit and lifted into the air. Multiple hands grabbed at him, pulling at his jacket and rummaging through his pockets.
“I need that memory, Stanford,” Bill glowered angrily. “And I will have it, one way or another…!”
“Hey, jackass!”
Bill’s eye snapped down at Stan's voice, and widened when he saw the bottle in Stan's hand.
“You want this?” Stan shouted from the cockpit. “Come and get it then!”
He pushed the throttle up, and the ship started shooting through the water with surprising speed. Bill let out an irate scream before angrily throwing Ford away. Ford yelped as he fell towards the water, but he managed to kick out one of his feet and activate the rocket boots. He spun in the air for a moment before he managed to activate the other, and quickly found his balance. Ford looked out to see Bill chasing after the ship, which was rapidly twisting and turning in an effort to avoid him. Ford kicked out his feet, and he shot like a bullet towards them.
He was only a few yards away when Bill suddenly shot down towards the ship, and there was a loud crash followed by a huge wave. Ford skidded to a halt just above the crash, and as the water turned and dissipated, he saw the bow of the ship slowly tilting upward as the backend began to sink.
Before Ford could even think about charging in, there was another huge crash as something burst from the water. Bill emerged from the waves, holding Stan in his grasp once again as his other hands dug and rummaged through his jacket.
“Ah-HA!”
Bill looked triumphant as one of his hands pulled away, and the one holding Stan dropped him like a piece of litter.
Ford was moving before he even heard Stan screaming. His glasses shifted on his nose as he shot through the air, his eyes never leaving the falling form of his brother. You can reach him, you're fast enough, don't stop moving–
The moment he could see the white of Stan’s eyes, Ford immediately reached out for him. Desperate hands grasped his own, and Ford kicked his legs down, igniting his boots to prevent them from dropping any further. Stan didn't seem any less panicked, and was breathing heavily as he kicked out his feet like a spooked animal. It took Ford a moment to realize just how high up they still were.
“Stan, it's okay! I've got you!”
Stan didn't respond, and his arms trembled in Ford's grasp as his panting intensified. Ford tried to concentrate on placing a raft beneath them, but it was difficult to do while trying not to let his brother slip.
“Stan, look at me,” Ford pleaded with him. “Please, look at me!”
He must have hit some sort of nerve, or maybe he sounded more scared than he intended; either way, it was enough for Stan to snap his head up, his eyes wide as he looked at Ford. His gaze shifted as their eyes met, and his breathing faltered slightly. Ford took the opportunity to imagine a large, yellow life raft, and it splashed as it appeared beneath them.
“It's alright, just breathe,” Ford encouraged as they began to lower. “I've got us.”
Stan looked unable to respond as he was lowered towards the raft. His legs wobbled before buckling beneath him, and he placed his hands on the floor of the raft as Ford kneeled beside him. They had no time to celebrate as Bill’s cruel chuckle cut through the air. Ford looked up, and saw that Bill was holding the bottle up in the air, twirling it around his fingers mockingly.
“Gosh, it’s adorable to see you try so hard,” Bill teased sweetly as he finally uncorked the bottle. “Honesty though, I expected better from you, Ford. Even you should’ve known better than to cross me…”
Ford’s eyes narrowed as they watched Bill tip the bottle, as he shook it out to empty it. But, nothing fell into his palm. Bill shook the bottle a little more vigorously, but still, nothing came out. He seemed to frown as he raised the little bottle even closer to his eye, which widened as he saw what Ford knew he would see: the bottle was empty.
“What the-?” Bill groaned angrily before throwing the bottle away, causing a huge wave that rocked the raft violently. “Where is it?!”
Ford felt a bit of pride fill his chest as he reached into his back pocket, and pulled out the tiny rolled up slip of paper. “Looking for this?”
Bill’s eye twitched as Ford grabbed Stan’s wrist, and placed the little roll in his hand. Stan stared back at him with shock and awe, almost lost for words. Then, his mouth curled into a smirk as he turned to look up at Bill, who had started to shake with fury.
“Heh, would you look at that,” Stan waved the memory in front of him. “Guess you're not as quick as you said you– ARGH!”
Stan was cut off as a bright blue light engulfed his hand. The memory had burst into flame, and Stan instinctively leaned back as he dropped the memory. It burned as it fell to the floor of the raft, and crumbled to ashes as the fire flickered out.
“No no no, NO…!”
Bill was red with rage as he kicked his feet and balled his fists. He started to fly down towards them, but before Ford could even think to be scared, Bill suddenly stopped in mid air. He tried kicking off his feet, but nothing happened.
“Huh? What the–?” Bill twisted and squirmed as he fought to move forward. “What’s happening? What’re you doing?!”
“I’m not doing anything,” Ford muttered as he glanced at his brother. “Are you?”
Stan didn't answer at first, his brows furrowed in– confusion? No, the thought behind his eyes was too clear to be unaware.
Before Ford could question anything, the winds suddenly picked up around them, turning the water and causing the raft to sway. Stan wobbled and Ford instinctually reached for his shoulder to steady them both. He looked back up at Bill, and Ford’s eyes widened as he saw something hovering behind Bill in the sky.
It looked similar to the twisted portals that Bill would conjure every time he showed Ford a terrible memory or an out-of-reach promise. Only, Bill didn't seem to be the one conjuring it. In fact, when his large eye landed on the steadily growing hole behind him, he gasped and started to kick and scramble, trying to run through the air.
“NO! No, no, no, don’t you dare–!”
“Our deal…” Stan muttered. “He… he said if he lost, he’d let you go, and… he’d fuck off to another universe or something.”
Ford didn't have time to wrap his head around that statement as he finally spotted something beyond the portal; A large, distant structure, pink and reflective, and a bright neon sign he couldn’t quite read. The wind was picking up more now, and Bill screamed as he was slowly pulled back towards the portal.
“He wasn’t exactly specific either.”
“NO!!!” Bill screamed. “You– Ŷ̷̮̯̘͖̱̳̒͂̿̉̀Ó̴̪̥̄̍̐͛͆Ų̷̖̹͇͉̹͂͂͊̄͝͠ͅ ̶̻͙̩̥̤̃͒̿́̉̌S̵̩̠̭̠̣͊͐T̶̡̡̮̺̹͇̑̄̉U̸̧̮͕̻̪̮͐̈́̈́̒͝P̶̹̪̓̾̂̿I̵̙̮͓̹͔̼̪͒D̴̗̺̯̺̞͖̖̂̈́ ̸̝̞̮̆̊͜L̷̦͙̩̳̇͆͂̇̾̽I̶͍̙͈͛̊̐T̷̲̘̜͎̈̅T̴̳̤͚͉̍ͅL̶̟͖͖͈̣̺̈́̐͗͝Ě̴̮͐–̷͍̰͎̾͆̂̑͝!̸̳̼̼͊̇͊̔”
But Bill was cut off as he was pulled back sharply, as if the wind itself had solidified and grabbed him. He slammed against the edge and flipped over, nearly falling through the portal. His hands managed to latch onto the edge, gripping it as if he were hanging over a cliff. The combined force was enough to turn waves in the ocean, rocking the raft and nearly causing them to tip over. Stan grabbed onto Ford’s arm to keep his balance, and Ford watched in awe and horror as Bill desperately clung to the edges of the portal with several pairs of hands.
A single finger lost its grip, then another, and another. Bill grunted as he tried to heave himself out, but it was clear that whatever was dragging him in was not going to let up. Bill slowly burned red again as his large eye narrowed down on them.
“You’re not… getting away… T̵̢̲͔͕̮͋͊͛͘̚ͅH̶̫̓̈́̈́̈́́͠Ā̸͓͍̥̰̘̜̖̐̌͘͝T̷͓̕ ̵̹͓̾̅̓͊̇E̶̪̯̜͙̼̪͊̔͘̚͝A̵͙̙̘͍̫̠̔̇̈́͝S̶͇̦̙̙͔͊̎I̷͉̞͙͓͚͕͐̐̑̿̕ͅL̸͚͚̞̘͌̈͂̂̆͝Y̶̩̎́̿͐.̶̤̹̼̩̙̓̈̈́.̴̼͚͈̂̀́͒.̴̟͛̋̾́͠ͅ!̵̦̭̳̘̭͎͋̈͋̓͘͝”
Bill raised one of his arms and reached out towards them. Instead of grabbing anything or conjuring something up, he curled in his fingers, and snapped– louder than a firework, more force than a bomb. A wave of wind flew through them, knocking both Ford and Stan onto their backs as the raft tipped threateningly.
“S̷̛̥̯̞̠̰͋̉͜T̴̙̙̹̝̽̉Ȃ̶̡̛̈́͌̿́N̸̡̦͉͍͓̂̑̆̾͑͆F̶̢̺̞̝͍̳͆̿͌̓̋͜O̵̪͎̥̯͍̰͊̄͊̽̽R̴̘͖̈́͑̋͑́̀D̶̩̗̙̗̫̬͛̉̑̈́͒͝.̵͉̻̝͚́͋̂̂̌͘͝.̸̯̊.̷͉̹͉̋̊̏̕!̶̝̰̳͆̈́”
Ford blinked up in time to see Bill’s arms scramble like a bug as he was finally pulled through, and the portal swiftly closed.
The calm wasn't instant; the surrounding water shifted the raft until it melted to a gentle rock, the howling wind slowly lowered to a whisper, and even the walls of the storm’s eye began to drift and expand, as if the weather was finally starting to dissipate. Ford sat up slowly, adjusting his lopsided glasses. Stan sat up beside him, propping himself up on his palms.
“Is… is that it?” he asked hesitantly. “Is it over?”
Ford swallowed. “I… believe so.”
Silence fell over them for a moment; a tense, exhausted silence. Stan sat up a little more, then reached up to place a hand on Ford’s shoulder.
“You alright?”
“I…” Ford took a deep breath. “I think so. Are you?”
“I’m fine.”
Ford wasn’t sure if he fully believed that, but he nodded regardless. Stan’s hand fell from his shoulder, then sighed as he leaned forward, crossing his legs in front of him. Ford watched his brother for a moment, unsure of what to say or do.
“Thanks,” Stan muttered breathlessly. “You know, for coming in after me. I dunno if I would’ve… but, thanks.”
Ford blinked, and felt a mix of warmth and indignation in his stomach.
“You shouldn’t have made that deal.” He began. “It was too dangerous, too reckless. If you hadn’t gotten as far as you did, if I hadn’t managed to find you…”
Stan gave him a neutral expression. He didn’t argue with Ford, but he didn’t seem to regret his decision either. Ford didn’t expect him to.
“But… You were very brave to do so.” Ford admitted. “I'm not sure what else we could’ve done. Thank you…”
Stan’s mouth twitched, as if he wanted to smile, and he gave a small shrug. The silence passed over them for a moment longer, broken only by the sounds of the water barely stirring around them.
“So… what do we do now?” Stan asked.
Ford wasn’t entirely sure. With Bill out of the way, the only other task to worry about was getting the boys home, and Fiddleford definitely would’ve done so by this point. He figured the best they could do was to wait for Stan to wake up, and then they would help Fiddleford with whatever was left. Tracking down the shapeshifter would have to come first; that creature was too dangerous to be left unattended in the woods. Ford wasn’t entirely sure what they were gonna do with Sergei’s unconscious form, but they could sort that out once they were awake.
The mere thought of Sergei was enough to bring up the memory of Stan in that trunk, and Ford felt his stomach twist. He hadn’t thought about what Bill’s journey through Stan’s mind must have been like. He had mentioned getting lost for a bit before, so he must have come across a few winding paths and distracting memories. Ford wondered what sort of memories Bill had to wander through, what kind of things he saw, if Stan had seen or felt anything.
Ford opened his mouth to say something– he wasn’t even sure what– when Stan suddenly yelled, hunching over as if he had been hit. His hands reached for his stomach, and he grunted painfully.
“Stan?” Ford could feel a lump forming in his throat. “What’s wrong?”
“I don't– ARG!”
Stan’s hands scrambled at his sides, as if he were trying to rip something away. Ford shook off whatever was keeping him frozen and quickly grabbed his brother’s shoulders.
“Stan, what is it? Talk to me!”
Stan didn’t answer, or maybe he couldn’t. His arms hugged his stomach as he keeled over until his head pressed into the floor of the raft.
“Stan!”
Ford could feel the panic rising in his chest as he crouched beside his brother, trying to get a better look even as Stan curled in on himself. What the hell even happened? Everything was fine a moment ago! They had won, hadn’t they?
Ford noticed movement out on the water– on the horizon, passed where the wall of the storm had disappeared. The night sky was fading away, but not due to sunlight. A dense white fog was stretching across the water all around them, and it was slowly getting closer and closer.
Stan was waking up. Why was Stan waking up?
“Stan, talk to me!” Ford urged desperately. “What do you feel?”
“Like someone just fuckin’ stabbed me!” Stan yelled through gritted teeth.
Ford nearly stopped breathing as his hands constricted on Stan’s shoulders. His brain buzzed for answers too vague to describe, until he could only focus on a single thought: you won’t get away that easily.
Nothing had happened when Bill had snapped his fingers. Ford had assumed that he had simply tried and failed to use his powers to save himself. Now however, he wasn’t so sure. The fact that Stan was waking up now couldn’t be a coincidence. Something must have happened when Bill snapped his fingers, even if they hadn’t seen it. Something that would have affected them outside of the mindscape, something that would have–
And then a thought crossed his mind– a horrible, bone-chilling realization that shook Ford to his core. A thought that left him breathless as he held onto his brother, who was still groaning in pain as the white fog slowly engulfed their raft.
Ford hadn’t been the only one under Bill's control.
The first thing Stan felt when he opened his eyes was a searing hot pain on his left side. The second thing he felt was something warm coating his hand as he reached for the source of his agony. He blinked, and the pain intensified as the basement ceiling slowly blurred into view. Before he could sit up to look at his injury, Stan heard heavy footsteps followed by a loud yell, and immediately turned his head.
His vision was still blurry, but he could see someone standing several feet away, and they seemed to be struggling with something large on their back. Stan blinked again, and felt his blood go cold when he realized it was Sergei. Before he could even think about panicking, Stan saw that the thing Sergei was fighting to get off his back was a person.
Fidds had Sergei’s arms pulled back in a full nelson, eyes wide and teeth bared as he fought to hold him. Stan glanced up, and felt his heart sink as he saw his own red pocketknife clutched in one of Sergei’s fists. The blade was red and wet under the basement lights.
Fuck…
“Stan?!”
Stan blinked as another figure leaned over him, and he quickly realized that it was Ford, eyes shocked and panicked as they stared down at him. Stan immediately moved to sit up, only to lean down on his elbow as the pain stabbed through every nerve in his body. His hand clutched his side, and warmth seeped through his fingers. Damn it, this was bad.
“Don’t move,” Ford sounded breathless as he put his hands on Stan’s shoulders. “Just stay down–”
“Stanford!”
Stan turned his head to see Sergei finally throw Fidds off his shoulders. His back hit the ground, and Sergei immediately turned, fist tightening around the knife. Before Stan could open his mouth, Ford sprung to his feet, and within seconds he had thrown himself onto Sergei’s back. They fell into a heap on the ground, and as they began to struggle Fidds quickly leapt to his feet to assist.
Stan attempted to sit up more, and the throbbing in his side raged against him. This was bad– this was worse-case-scenario-bad. Just having Sergei in the same building as them was dangerous enough. Now, Ford and Fidds were struggling to hold him off, and Stan could barely do anything about it.
Stan bundled as much of his shirt as he could, and hissed through his teeth as he pressed it against his bleeding side. Don't look at it, don't look at it… He pressed his free hand to the ground, and managed to force himself onto his knees. He was bleeding and defenseless on the ground and fuck this hurts. Okay, he needed to breathe, he needed to think. He couldn’t do anything about his injury right now. Being empty-handed though, he could do something about that. Grab something, anything.
Stan was eyeing the bits of rubble on the ground around him when he heard Sergei yell. He looked up to see Fidds fall to the floor again, only this time he didn’t get back up. Ford held onto Sergei’s arms to keep him subdued, only for Sergei to throw his head back and hit Ford in the face. He lost his grip, and Sergei whipped around to punch him square in the jaw. Ford spun around before falling onto the floor.
Stan stilled for a moment, waiting to see what Sergei would do. Instead of turning back to Stan, Sergei held the pocketknife tightly as he started to slowly advance on Ford. Stan moved to get to his feet, but his body protested more, leaving him grounded. Dammit, come on! Think! Stan’s gaze drifted, and that’s when he saw it: Ford's crossbow was laying on the ground like a tantalizing promise, just a few feet away from Ford’s fingers.
Without hesitation, Stan picked up a piece of rubble the size of his fist, and threw it at Sergei’s head. It hit its mark with a sharp thunk, and Sergei howled as he hunched over. Stan quickly looked down at Ford, who was now sitting up, holding his forehead as if it weighed too much for his neck. He glanced at Stan, who immediately turned and nodded at the crossbow. Ford turned his head, but Stan had no time to make sure he understood before Sergei rounded on him.
“You…” Blood trailed from one nostril as Sergei snarled. “You sneaky, stubborn little shit stain.”
Stan slowly, deliberately, picked up another piece of rubble as he kept his eyes on Sergei. He couldn’t afford to let Sergei spot Ford now. He could only hope Ford would be fast enough to react.
The arm keeping Stan upright shook as the other raised the rubble, ready to throw. But as Sergei approached, he stopped just outside of the unicorn circle and picked something off the ground. Stan could feel color drain from his face as Sergei gripped the pistol in his hand.
Bill holding a gun was unpredictable, but at least Stan knew he had a chance to get around him. Sergei only had one use in mind for it, and Stan knew he could never talk his way out of it.
“I thought it was cute when you begged for mercy in that trunk,” Sergei reminisced angrily as he cocked the pistol. “I thought it was funny when you ran from Santa Fe. Now, you’ve just become another thorn in my ass, and I’ve lost my patience trying to pull you out.”
Stan raised the rock as Sergei raised his foot, and a solid boot kicked him in the chest. He fell onto his back, and his side roared with agony. Stan propped himself on his elbows as Sergei’s tall form loomed over him, and he barely managed to shoot a glare before he was staring down the barrel of the pistol.
“You've run out of holes to crawl back to, amigo,” Sergei said darkly. “And I’m tired of chasing you everywhere.”
Stan could almost feel the finger start to squeeze the trigger when a loud, almost crunching squelch echoed through the room. He blinked, and the barrel aimed at his face started to tremble. Stan looked up, and felt his jaw drop.
Sergei’s eyes were wide with shock, his mouth hanging open as he reached towards his neck with his free hand. The sharp head of an arrow was protruding through his Adams apple, which was already starting to pour red. Sergei attempted to speak, but could barely splutter as blood spat from his lips. His legs shook as he coughed and choked, hand desperately grasping at his throat. Stan could only watch as a red stain started to pour and grow down the man’s shirt. The hand holding the pistol trembled until it lowered, and Sergei gagged as his knees buckled beneath him.
Ford stood just a few feet behind Sergei, crossbow aimed firmly, his chest rising and falling rapidly. His brows unfurrowed, and his angry huffing turned into breathless pants as he slowly lowered the bow. For a single moment, everything felt painfully still. Fidds began to stir from his spot on the floor. Sergie choked softly before falling silent once more. Stan thought he could hear someone crying from behind the glass of the next room. Kids…
Stan tried to sit up again, and this time his body screamed in protest. He felt a rush of agony flow through his side, and his head spun as he fell onto his back.
Ford snapped out of it first. He dropped his crossbow before running forward, jumping over Sergei’s motionless form to reach Stan. Ford crouched beside him, one hand reaching for Stan’s arm as the other carefully held his face.
“Let me see.”
Stan didn’t have the strength to argue as he let his hand fall from his stomach. He hissed as the fabric of his shirt was lifted for a moment, then Ford suddenly scrambled to take off his own trench coat. He didn’t even bother folding it, just bundled it tightly before pressing it against the bleeding wound.
“Ford?” Fidds’ voice called from beyond Stan’s vision.
“Fiddleford, grab the med kit!”
Stan heard footsteps running, but he didn’t bother trying to look. He didn’t resist as Ford shifted his knees under his shoulders, helping him sit up a little. Whatever adrenaline Stan had was fading rapidly now, and his lungs were definitely struggling more than they should. Dammit…
“Stan, look at me,” Ford said urgently, one hand keeping pressure on the wound as the other cradled the back of Stan’s head. “Keep your eyes open, alright? I need you to stay awake.”
Stan couldn't believe the tremble in his brother’s voice, the crack in his normally-stiff expression, the barely contained terror beneath his eyes.
“You… actually followed me.”
Ford blinked down at him.“What?”
“You came after me,” Stan craned his neck to look at his twin directly. “You helped me… after everything…”
“What do you– Of course, I helped you! Do you really think I’d just let him–” But Ford stopped, and he adjusted his hand against Stan’s injured side. “This is all my fault. If I had just found you sooner, if I hadn’t made that foolish deal in the first place…”
“It wasn’t your fault…” Stan managed. “You… said it yourself; he used to you. You didn’t know…”
Ford didn’t look convinced as he gently held Stan’s head up. Stan glanced down his feet, at the now motionless body that was losing warmth slightly faster than he was now.
“I knew they were trouble– all of them– but I thought I could handle it…” Stan grunted angrily. “I dragged my mess here to you… I-I’m sorry–”
“Don’t talk like that,” Ford’s tone softened as he kept a steady pressure against Stan’s side. “You– You’ll be alright. You’re here, I’m here, everything will be fine…”
Stan knew he must have lost a lot of blood, because he almost believed his brother’s words. Almost believed that he was still concerned, still ready to patch up Stan’s bloody scrapes like he did when they were kids.
Fidds suddenly appeared on Stan’s other side. He watched through blinking eyes as their hands reached for him, as they applied burning liquid and tight bandages. Stan appreciated that his injury wasn’t exposed to the air, but that didn’t stop the energy seeping from his body.
“Hey, look at me!” Ford held Stan’s face, urging him to look up. “You have to stay awake, just keep your eyes on us.”
Stan was struggling against the pull on his eyelids, and the air thinning in his lunges. All he wanted to do was sleep…
“I can’t…”
“Yes, you can!”
Stan’s vision was blurry as he watched Fidds reach over him towards his twin. “Ford–”
“We have to work quickly, I can’t keep pressure forever.”
“Ford, he ain’t gonna make it here.” Fidds’ worried voice was growing steadily more distant in Stan’s ears. “We can’t give him what he needs with what we got. We gotta get him to the hospital, now.”
“We can’t wait for an ambulance–”
“We can take my car. I’ll help get him upstairs, and I can drive us.
“The boys are still–”
“Ford, we don’t have time!” Fidd’s voice cracked, shocking Stan enough to blink up at him. “Stan needs help, and he needs it now!”
They both were silent for a few seconds. Stan felt the hand around his injury constrict briefly.
“...Do you remember where you put your keys?”
“By the front door,” Fidds answered immediately.
“Let’s hope they're still there.” Ford leaned down as he slid his arm around Stan’s back. “We need you on your feet, just hold onto us.”
“C’mon, up ya get,” Fidds gently placed Stan’s other arm around his shoulders, and they both slowly started to rise. “We gotcha. Easy now…”
Stan was clinging to consciousness by a thread, but he couldn’t afford to pass out yet. If they wanted to waste their efforts on helping him, the least he could do was try to make it easier for them.
Stan grabbed whatever parts of their shoulders he could reach, and he pushed as much force as he could into legs until he was trembling on his feet. Ford used his free hand to keep a steady pressure to Stan’s side, and he and Fidds began carefully but quickly moving towards the basement door. Stan didn’t want to think about the look on Stanford’s face once he saw him like this, and was secretly glad he was too messed up to worry about coming up with an explanation.
They had only managed to make it halfway to the door when there was a strange, sharp sound, and a bright green light illuminated from behind them. They all turned their heads, and Stan saw a tall hourglass-shaped screen standing just a few feet behind them. He realized a few seconds too late that the ‘screen’ was actually a doorway as three large figures suddenly marched through. They were armed from head to toe like extras from a sci-fi action movie, their faces hidden behind armored masks with ominous, green circular lenses, and their chest plates were etched with green hourglass emblems.
Stan and the others were frozen, dumbfounded, and the armed man in the front held a hand up to the side of his head.
“Suspects found! I repeat, suspects found!” his voice thundered roughly from beneath his mask. “Squad A proceeding with containment.”
The leading man reached for his waist, and pulled what looked like a long baton from his belt. He pressed a button on the handle, and the baton whirred loudly as the end glowed green. Stan didn’t know who these guys were, or what that stick was supposed to do, but he didn’t have the strength to find out.
Stan nearly lost his balance as Fidds suddenly pulled away from his right side. He bent down to pick up a splintered wooden handle, his left arm shaking visibly as he held it firmly.
“Go on!” Fidds urged as he ran forward. “Get ‘im outta here!”
Ford didn’t hesitate to hold Stan tighter as he continued leading him forward, moving faster now. Even as he pants, Stan can’t help but look back as Fidds stood before the strange figures, brandishing the broken handle like a baseball bat.
There was a flash of green, a spark of electricity, and Fidd yelped as he crumpled to the floor, the handle falling from his grasp. He twitched and struggled on the ground, as if he was trying to move, but couldn’t.
“Shit!” Ford gasped as reached out for the basement door.
Stan could already tell it was pointless. They were all injured, exhausted, and now they were being jumped by a new enemy that clearly outmatched them. Stan couldn’t help but feel like it was somehow his fault– him and his stupid, infectious bad luck. All you do is lie, cheat, and ride your brother’s coattails.
They didn’t even make it past the doorway before there was another flash of green. Stan didn’t feel nearly as surprised as he should have as an odd electricity erupted over his body, only the crushing guilt as Ford fell with him. He didn’t feel scared as he heard heavy boots approach, only sadness as he heard Stanford’s terrified cry from far away– probably by the elevator, trying to escape. All you do is hurt everyone around you.
Stan felt the weight beside him move away, and heard his brother swear as the green light flashed again. Another thump, and Ford’s body hit the floor beside him once more. Stan couldn’t even move his head to look at him properly.
“Stan,” Ford’s voice echoed as it struggled to reach Stan’s ears. “Stan, i-it’s okay, just try to breathe.”
“Squad B, secure the basement stairs,” The leader spoke even as the elevator rumbled. “Younger suspects are making a break for it.”
No.
More sets of footsteps echoed in Stan’s ears, and Ford grunted and struggled beside him. A pair of boots appeared in Stan’s vision, and the air beside him turned cold as his brother was suddenly pulled away.
“Get your hands off me– No! Stan! Stanley…!”
No!
Stan tried to move his arms, but they refused. He tried to lift his head, and little stars appeared in his vision. Someone grabbed his shoulders, and he was turned onto his non-injured side surprisingly gently. The voices and sounds of the room were far away now, becoming more fractured by the second.
“Squad L… -o Headquarters, we’re… hover gurney on stand… -spect S-82 is losing…”
No…
Stan could feel his body struggling to twitch and shake under his paralyzed condition. His vision was fading rapidly now, his pulse pounding loudly in his ears. He could barely feel a cool pressure being applied to his now burning left side.
Stanford…
Something cold was pressed to his arm, followed by a sharp, needle-like sting, and everything faded until it was gone.