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Oct 15, 2025

I didn't think I'd write another follow-up, but it somehow worked out? Just some whump.

It might be late at night, but Stanford is awake - so what is he up to?

Characters: Stanford, Stanley, Bill (by association?), Fidds. AO3 (For more context I recommend reading the D10/D11 entries) Prompt: “You can take a break, if you just tell me that it hurts.” Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Mentions of past violence (Lips Sewn Shut), Torture (Knife wounds);

Day 15 - Long Nights

The clock had long since passed midnight and the residents of the wooden house at the edge of the forest had all decided to get some rest at some earlier point that day. All the lights had gone out, which meant that the sole light illuminating the place was the soft light of the moon.

Even though there had been no outward influence, one figure had startled awake rather suddenly. Stanford Pines had opened his eyes quickly, and for a moment, tried to reorient himself. He kept observing the ceiling above his bed, as if was hiding the secrets of the world to him, before he turned his head slightly towards something else that was unseen.

He could feel a soft chuckle leave his lips, as well as a quick upturn of his lips, but then his expression turned serious. There wasn’t that much time to spare, thus, he’d better get going. The blanket he’d been under was thrown to the ground without a care. It’d be picked up later anyway and he had far more important things to do. On the night-stand were the glasses, which he took with a quick grab. He might have accidentally touched the glass, but that didn’t matter much for what he’d had in mind. The move out of bed was quick and succinct, but with his attempt to move quickly he misjudged the distance between the furniture and managed to stumble into the corner of his desk, which caused a sudden influx of sensation and an exhilarated exhale of breath.

Ford couldn’t help himself but paused his other actions to focus on the place he’d hit the desk; He could feel the sensations on his upper thigh, and as he puts a hand on the spot he wonders if it might bruise. He doesn’t even think about it, before he presses the potential spot and he could feel his body react to the influx of sensation. He let out a content sigh. It would have been so much fun to do more, but everyone had its limits – so for now he should probably focus on the things that really mattered and not any more potential bruises or cuts on his body (even if they would look great, wouldn’t they?)

Time to go!

A few more steps and he was out of the room and in the hallway of the house. Not too far from this door was the door to Spec’s room. He’d have to be quiet, the other guy had been slowly losing it; Which while fun to watch also meant that the other had started to sleep very lightly. Really, one couldn’t do anything any more while that guy was rocking back and forth in his own bed thinking about blasting his brains away.

A small smirk appeared on his face, he couldn’t quite hide his mirth at the thought; But now wasn’t the time to get distracted. There was something else that he wanted to do, and so he made his way to the kitchen. He’d done this part a few times already, so he knew how to keep his steps light and not to accidentally trip.

The moment he’d reached the kitchen, his focus turned to the many potential implements he could use. There was the serrated bread knife, which looked like a fun experience, but there was also the paring knife. Ford wondered how that tiny thing would feel across the skin, and if it could be used to skin someone…

But then his eyes locked onto good old reliable: a chef’s knife. THAT was a classic, wasn’t it? And it was a classic for a reason. Maybe he should go for familiarity today, all those other tools could still be used on another day, but the chef’s knife offered utility.

A giggle escaped his mouth as he moved his hand toward the chef’s knife. It felt just as nice as he’d remembered and he used this moment to further inspected it. When had the last time been that they’ve sharpened it? Maybe he should actually just spend a few more minutes ensuring that the thing would actually do its job.

Ford hated it when things were not acting like they were supposed to. They had ONE job, and they still mess it up. Well that’s why they’d just had to learn that they should have listened to him. He rolled his eyes as he used the sharpener and began the process of sharpening the knife. That’s at least five minutes lost for this night, but he had to remind himself that’d be worth it.

The noise wasn’t loud enough to alert anyone else, which was good. That would have ruined everything else, wouldn’t it?

The knife looked far better than it had before and he had to stop the urge to give it a little test whirl right here in this kitchen. This would just lead to other questions that he didn’t feel like answering at all.

Ford looked up in frustration, already mourning that missed opportunity, before he shrugged and moved on. He did actually have a plan to execute still!

With the knife in hand he made his way through the house once more, he picked up a few more items he could use on the way – and the closer he got to the room, the more giddy he became. There was no reason to knock, if Ford had learned one thing throughout this whole ANNOYING mess it would be that he had to actually try and surprise his victim to get any sort of initial reaction of him. Really, you knock once and the guy’s far too alert already. What a bore.

He moved to grab the door knob and rolled his eyes simultaneously. Someone should really stop the guy from ruining his fun – and tonight that someone would be him!

The door opened without too much of a noise, and Ford let himself in. Then he closed it – and locked it – just as silently, before he actually surveilled the room.

For one, the room was far too nice for its occupant – there was another chair and a table with a few random objects and notes lying around. A few colourful pens, as well as some random plant as if that would help livening up the place. There was also the same ugly carpet and couch, that was too soft for the guy lying on top of it.

As Ford walked closer, he could see that the figure was already awake. Ford’s face fell and his he felt his body sag in frustration.

“Really? And here I thought I might catch you unaware for once.”

There wasn’t much of a reaction to that announcement either, which frustrated Ford quite a bit actually. He much preferred it when people showed some healthy signs of fear. There was a quick noise, and the room brightened up a bit.

Ford watched as the other moved to sit up further but made no attempt to flee. With the additional light, Stanford was actually able to see the sunken eyes and the tired gaze of the guy. The man was clearly exhausted; Which caused a quick thrill to run through him. This was all his fault. He smiled.

And then he couldn’t help but look at some of his best work. The stitching looked just as good as he’d remembered. It was clear that the small wounds weren’t really able to heal – and the obvious discomfort when Keeps noticed his gaze was just another bonus.

He hated this man’s composure with a passion, but not everything was bad. There was always a bright side to consider – and this was just one of them.

“Still no attempts at keeping me out?” he laughed at his choice of words. Ford’s always been a funny guy – and the fact that he was giving away his best material on a guy like that was sort of a shame; But even a stupid audience was better than no audience; He’ll take what he can get.

The man shrugged, which was just rude in Ford’s opinion.

“You know, I thought dreams were your thing, so why aren’t you doing that stick of yours so that I get to actually surprise you?”

The man pointed at Ford and raised an eyebrow. Really, Ford realises that Keeps still is far too articulate overall – maybe he should remove the man’s eyes next? Or something else? – But he hated the thought of having to listen to more yapping and whining about the “poor condition” this man’s in.

He could kill him, but that too seemed too risky – the fact that they were all in the same darn household made things a lot harder for Ford.

“Alright. Alright. You got me. My thing is dreams too and yet here we are both up and ready to seize the night, aren’t we a nice group of pals?”

Ford turned his head. “And we’re both fond of that silly suit I’m wearing, right? So here’s my deal: You let me play around for a bit, just so that I can get some of my frustrations out – and I won’t have to use this guy as my anger outlet.”

Neither of them said a thing for a bit; Ford also already knew the answer, so it wasn’t like he was on the edge of his seat or anything. However, he did know how he could add just a bit more malice into this situation – and he was never one to hold back when he had the material at hand.

“Isn’t that what you’re here for anyway. Extra Stan? Spare parts, and frustration extraordinaire?”

At least by now, the guy had started to take his threats more seriously. Though, today he really didn’t want to play nice at all.

Ford casually sat himself next to the Keeper and put an arm around his neck. The other still made no move to leave, but Ford felt the way he’d gone rigid. Perfect.

“I’ve got so many fun ideas for tonight.” and, yes. The guy was certainly looking at the knife. That’s good. Always nice to see some interest!

“Yes, that too. But first, really. I’d just like to further inspect my handy-work, you know? You can’t fault a guy for being interested in a check-in, right?”

There was another tiny movement in reaction to his declaration. That was so much better than that boring attitude from before. He dropped the knife to the side, but not before giving his victim a quick glare as a warning. Then he turned Stanley’s face so that he’d have a better view of those lovely stitches. He could see how the man took a deep breath the moment his six-fingered hand had moved closer to the mouth. The touch across the thread was light, but it must have been enough to flare up some of the human body’s nerves.

Fascinating, really; And oh, how rigid the man was. His own smile grew as he kept touching the stitches.

“He’s so confused by them.” Ford cackled. “I might hate how much he wants to solve the issue, but the way he keeps running in circles trying to understand has a certain appeal.” he continued.

Stanley remained silent.

“The fact that he even cared at all was a bit of a surprise, especially since you’re so boring to have around anyway!” At those words he used some more force to press into the sutures.

Ford watched with glee as the other struggled to stay in place, and then still made the tiniest noise of pain. What a beautiful sound, and the night was still so young.

“You’re such a mess. You’ve already accepted that this will be a repeating occurrence… and to add to all of this you’re already slowly dying… thanks to these.”

It was impossible to stop that wide smile from spreading. There were too many positive emotions flooding through him.

His smile fell, when he felt the Keeper shrug in response. The guy’s the most annoying spoilsport. Ford hated him. Immense hatred. This man should not be here, and simply because he now was – he had to suffer.

The next few words were hissed. His anger having replaced his previous playful mood.

“And isn’t that just what you deserve? To suffer slowly? To be in constant pain? To be unable to UTTER a word, because you dared to get onto MY turf?!”

He took a deep breath, to remind himself that he’s not supposed to kill the guy yet, no matter how much he wanted to do so.

“But at least, we have these nights. It’s fine. You’re still alive because you somehow manage to water yourself – good job.”

Ford let go of the man’s face and finally went to get his knife back. The other didn’t move. Good. The threat was still in Keeps’ mind. The thought of what was about to happen returning some of that previous euphoria to him.

“But really, every horrible thing has its good side too! So now we get to have some fun, isn’t that neat?”

Ford’s hand grabbed Stanley’s arm, where he pulled up the long sleeved shirts. He could see a few faint lines, scars from previous nights, and he couldn’t help but marvel at his work.

“We’ll start here.” was all he said, before one hand kept his arm in place, while the other used the chef’s knife to cut into the flesh.

Ford loved to start with a few minor cuts, to watch as just a bit of blood would leave a wound before it stopped. A hint of what’s to come. Moreover, it also put his victim on edge. Another fun reason to keep himself in check. However, he had to admit, it was hard. He’d often slip and the cut would be deeper. Never quite to the bone, but certainly deep enough to cause even more scaring. He watched the blood flow and grinned.

Five cuts. Three minor ones with two slip-ups. Not too bad. He’d felt the arm move in reflex as he’d started, but not enough to actually worsen his work. Another disappointment.

Luckily, he had just the thing that he’d also brought from the kitchen, to make this whole thing a bit more interesting. He’d let go of the arm, and grabbed the shaker from his pocket, which he then unceremoniously emptied over the cuts.

THAT caused a reaction. A fun fact about salt was that it was sodium chloride and since a human’s nerve cells do signal to each other using sodium as well… Well, the additional sodium then causes the nerve cells to flare up and cause more pain for the recipient.

And to watch this realisation in real time was hilarious. The widening of the eyes, the realisation what just happened, more small noises of pain and a body that was trembling already. Ford loved every second of it.

The fact that Keeps ended up half-heartedly glaring at him just had him cackle harder. “That’s just salt. Not my fault your body doesn’t know how to handle it.”

Salt placed to the side, he grabbed the other arm and kept it in place just as before. One hand ensuring that he couldn’t get out of it, the other holding the knife.

He was about to start another cut, when he lifted his head – his gaze locking with Stanley’s.

Ford kept giggling as he offered the other: “Hmm… you know, you can take a break, if you just tell me that it hurts…”

There was a moment of quiet, as nobody said a word. Ford kept laughing. “That’s what I thought.”

And then he started to cut anew. A few cuts into the biceps (those might have been a bit too deep as well, but who cared really? Ford didn’t!); With each drag of the knife, the arm turned redder and redder. So many lines where the blood kept going and dripping. It was mesmerising to look at. His next few cuts were on the forearm – and he couldn’t help but trace a few cuts and scratches across the man’s wrist.

Another chuckle left Ford.

“You’d let me do that. HOW stupid are you for just…”

He was about to grab the salt for another round, when a sudden kick caused the shaker to fall and empty itself beside the couch. Ford’s head turned to Stanley, who’d started to move as if to shrug before he had to stop due to the pain in his arms.

“You… you… YOU DID THAT ON PURPOSE.”

Oh, now Ford was pissed again. So much anger, because how dare this man ruin HIS fun?! He took the knife and pushed the man back forcefully.

“If you don’t let me carve your back in retaliation, I’ll use this knife on my arm.”

He watched as the other seemed to consider how his actions were, before moving to remove the shirt. At least Ford got to watch how much it pained the man to remove the shirt. It’s previous light blue colour having turned quite red during the whole ordeal.

Keeps then turned away from him, offering his back to Ford. He couldn’t help but be surprised to see that there already were a few scars. Those hadn’t been his doing.

“Oh, so you were never liked? Should have suspected that.”

There was no outward reaction, though, the other man was still clearly agitated and rigid. He missed those previous noises of pain – he hated that Keeps was doing his hardest to ruin his fun. To just take all of it.

“I guess, I’ll just have to leave a different mark then. More than just a few cuts.”

Ford listened, and he could hear the rapid intake of breaths. Yes. Finally. They were getting back to their little game.

“I’ve got a few ideas actually. Are you ready?”

He felt the body stiffen in anticipation, and Ford simply waited. There was no reason to worry; They still had time.

Ford watched as Stanley struggled to remain attentive, waiting for the blow to come… Well, Ford thought, they might have the time; but – really – he didn’t have the patience.

And with one quick motion Ford stabbed Stanley into the shoulder. The reaction was instant. Stanley’s back arched, there was an exhale through the man’s nose and a shortness of breath, and Ford felt powerful.

He laughed again, slowly forgetting that he’d initially tried to keep the whole thing silent. Ford moved the knife down, to cut further, before removing it and starting a new incision. He repeated the process until he carved the triangle onto the man’s shoulder. It really improved the other’s look – a fact that Ford had to tell his buddy too.

“Actually, a very nice improvement. But you know what would be better? Just a few more!”

That was how they spent the next thirty minutes. The man barely moving as Ford cut into his back again and again. One triangle was followed up by another, then another, until there were nine triangles. He used one of his ciphers too, trying to make the circles pop as much as he could as he wrote across the man’s back. He watches as the lines of blood started to resemble ink, and couldn’t help but be amazed by his result. The word covered most of Keeps’ back. Was it a bit much? Maybe, but did it also summarise all of Ford’s frustrations? YES, IT DID!

For good measure, he leaned over the couch – to where the salt had been spilt before coating his six-fingered hand in it. “If it gets infected, it’s your fault -you know? It wouldn’t have been dusty if not for you.”

And then he put his hand onto his masterpiece. He could hear the silent screams, could feel how the pain was going through the man’s body – and then he watched as the man had finally lost consciousness.

He couldn’t help but laugh more. All of this was Keeps fault. He’d long since have had his portal if not for that nuisance. The guy should be glad that he hadn’t killed him yet, but that was only because there was still a chance that Sixer would listen to him. Yes, Ford thought. There still was a chance, and now after having been able to let go for a bit – it would probably be best to return to his own rooms. Ford made his way to the door, he’d left the knife and salt with the guy, not like it mattered. The other wasn’t a tattle-tale any longer. It’d be fine. He’d simply needed to wash his hands and nobody would ever know.

Ford unlocked the door, let himself out, and then closed it before happily washing up and then returning to his bed. He couldn't help but marvel at how fun this night had turned out to be!

---

Ford opened his eyes and he could feel a panic attack coming. “Stanley?!” He shouted eyes wide as he tried to get out of wherever he was.

There was a small noise, and Ford realised that he was stuck. They’d carefully bound him to the bed, and there was an aluminium hat on his head. It didn’t matter. He had to…

“STANLEY?!”

The door opened.

It wasn’t Stanley that had entered his room, though.

It was Fiddleford.

Ford felt like he was about to be sick.

“Stanford? You’re up already? I thought we’d said you’d try to rest for more than jus-”

“Where is Stanley, is he alright?!” His eyes were wide. He remembered the knife, the cuts – how much fun the whole ordeal had been. How much glee and thrill he’d felt when he’d… when he’d…

It must have shown on his face, because Fiddleford had already freed one hand and handed Ford a bucket that had actually been already placed close by.

Ford held onto it for death life, but no matter how much he tried to get rid of it the feeling remained. He felt it in his stomach, the thought of what had happened without-

Fiddleford pushed Ford further into the bucket, their make-shift aluminium hat just jostling Stanford’s hair further.

There was nothing that Ford could get rid of. He was feeling sick, yes. But…

“Where is Stanley?” he managed to mumble, while Fiddleford was looking him up and down.

“He’s probably busy, there’s a lot to do and -” the other man sighed. There was a knocking on the door and Ford looked up.

Stanley.

He was wearing a long sleeved shirt (like he’d often been wearing) and even through the sutures that were keeping his mouth shut, he saw the expression shift slightly. A small frown, even if barely notable.

“STANLEY!” Ford’s eyes widened; And the man seemed to have taken pity on him, as he quickly entered the room and joined Stanford’s side.

Stanford didn’t even know what to say. It’s been days since that initial confrontation – and while they managed to find a few short-term solutions in regard to Ford’s current situation; He’d also been plagued by the memories of the past; The last and final ‘gift’ he’d been given by his Mu… by Bill.

“I’m so sorry” he uttered. His voice hitching, and his eyes stinging because he couldn’t ignore what he’d – what Bill had done to his brother’s body while in Ford’s body.

Ford let go of the empty bucket, his hands slowly reaching out to Stan’s arms. They’d found those scars weeks ago; they’d found the knife. They’d worried about Stanley’s mental health… they hadn’t even considered…

Ford’s eyes welled up with tears. It’d been going on for far too long, and Stanley had never tried to communicate this with them.

“You never mentioned”, he paused as he felt too overwhelmed with everything; So many positive emotions based on Bill’s emotions during these events against his own horror at these actions and the pain of betrayal and that feeling of having been violated. (How dare he think about his own pain, when his hands had been the ones to hurt his brother?)

There was a hand on his shoulder, which was offering him comfort as if he was deserving of it. Stanford felt even worse.

“...your back”, he finally managed to utter. Fiddleford who had been slowly checking on Ford and everything else in the room had looked up at that, while Stanley’s expression had taken on a sheepish look.

Fiddleford groaned. “I can’t with you two. One has a demon in his head that has a vendetta about a guy, and the other refuses to talk about his injuries.”

Ford glared at Fiddleford. Just because he couldn’t see the sutures, didn’t mean they weren’t there!

Stanley simply shrugged.

“So what’s this about a back-injury that you’ve been hiding?” asked Fiddleford, and Ford could see the reluctance in his brother’s face. Stanford felt even worse about what he had to say next.

“Please, Stanley. I’m… I’m so sorry, but it’s.. it just happened and I need to see, I need to know that you’re ok. That it healed. The way I cut it-” there was a soft jab from Stanley, as gentle reminder, and Ford tried again.

“The way Bill had cut you it looked bad… and… and”, he could feel the tears run down his face, but he didn’t care. “Please. I need to see that you’re ok.”

Nobody said anything else, but – after a short moment – Stanley seemed to have decided to indulge Ford. He carefully removed his shirt, and turned so that they could see.

For the first time, Ford realised that Stanley favoured one shoulder over the other. Had… Had he ruined his brother’s shoulder? How deep had that initial stab been?

Stanley moved carefully but sat himself in front of Ford, so that the other could actually see his brother’s back. It looked… gnarly. Not everything had healed nicely, and he could see the hypertrophic scars; They were thick and slightly raised – most of them in those horrible triangle shapes that Ford had -

...that Bill had carved.

He couldn’t look away from it. It hit him once again that his brother’s body had simply been a canvas of Ford’s many failures. The lettering being in symbols that Stanford hadn’t known their alphabet of, but now knowing their meaning without having to second guess. Always the same stupid joke that no one but Bill would have found funny; And yet Ford remembered laughing while having carved it.

“Secret Keeper”

Stanford made a noise, and Stanley had quickly moved away. Fiddleford meanwhile simply put the bucket back into Stanford’s free hand and neither of his of them mentioned when Ford started retching. Stan, who'd placed himself once again next to Ford, had started to make gentle and soothing movements to console Ford, while the man himself couldn’t stop his sobs and tremors.

Stanford still remembered how nice it had felt to hold the knife. He couldn’t shake those leftover emotions – the thrill, the excitement and euphoria of having had the power to do this; And the fact that those emotions still managed to surpass Ford’s own horror and disgust at these actions only worsened his guilt.

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