Too Many Triangles Two Times Two
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AN: Based off some awesome art by @swiftboone and the following conversation between them and @gravity-what. (Which I highly recommend you look at before reading.) They inspired this, and I really do love the idea. It falls under the one of us, demon/corrupted Ford AU, but that’s not the focus here at all. Just a backdrop for the premise.
Rating: T (For you know, the unhealthy relationship, general demon-y stuff. There’s more physical violence and slight gore in this chapter, more than the others.)
The swarm had learned how to configure themselves into words. Bill wasn't sure if it was another party trick that Stanford had taught them, or if they had figured it out themselves, but it was annoying. Not as bothersome as when they tried to speak with their nonsensical baby-language at least. Instead of trying to destroy the swarm for irritating him, he remained perfectly still. He observed them out of the corner of his eye, but pretended to watch his friends.
The partying had toned down a bit since the last fire-related disaster. The group almost seemed, nervous. Heck, they probably were, but didn't want him to see. So they continued to dance and play games, only less energetically than before. The swarm clearly wanted his attention, but he wasn't going to give it to them. They were constantly configuring in to new insults. It was difficult to keep his temper in check, especially with all his friends watching him take the insults. At least, for now.
As time went on they grew brasher, and felt safer wandering away from Stanford. A stupid mistake, but they wouldn't realize that until it was much too late. He took particular interest every time they changed shape. It was not difficult to weed out which members were slower-moving than the rest.
One in particular always fell further behind than the swarm. He knew it was the same one because it was much smaller than the rest, and slightly bent. Apparently that one had been crushed too many times for Stanford to flatten it out again. The irregular shape caused it to fly out of control, making sudden twists by accident.
Finding the weak link was easy, waiting for the chance to nab it was more difficult.
The swarm would zip by, just out of his reach. Once or twice he had risen his hand, thinking that he might catch it that time. The swarm would squeal with fear and move away, and he was forced to pass it off as a stretch. They would settle down again, and proceed to come up with creative insults to call him. Apparently there was some merit behind that "not swearing at the children" (not that they were his children) idea of Ford's. But only because they were using all of their new vocabulary back at him.
Speak of the devil, he arrived. The swarm flocked to Stanford, and five hundred separate greetings were given. The man was lifted off the ground as they enveloped him in a many-armed hug. He rolled his eye at the display of affection. Seeing how close the swarm stuck to Ford was starting to creep him out. However, he had a bone to pick with the guy. And not just because he had left his little triangle brats behind. Bill rose from his seat, and interrupted their reunion.
"Taking another nap?"
Stanford defensively crossed his arms. The swarm mimicked this. Not wanting to look like the odd one out, he folded his arms too.
"As a matter of fact, I was."
"Why can't you keep them with you?"
"Have you ever tried to sleep when one thousand cold feet are touching you?" He asked. "It's already bad enough with just one person hogging the blankets and not wanting to stop talking."
Bill wrapped an arm around the man's shoulders.
"Well, now that you're all rested up, you can come be social with everyone else!"
"Err, actually-"
Leave it to Ford to be uncooperative in the wrong place at the wrong time. Another fight in semi-public was something he wanted to avoid. It was already bad enough they had argued before, and he had been forced to deal with the swarm and their pyromania. He wanted to keep his friends out of this, otherwise they were going to start getting ideas. The wrong, reputation-damaging type.
Wanting to avoid all that, he was quick to shut him down.
"I wasn't asking."
"But I-"
"Ford." He lowered his voice to a quiet growl. "We're either going to hang out, or I'm going to flay you alive with a butter knife and eat your skin for the party's next form of entertainment."
He slinked backwards in fear. It was impossible to see what his eyes looked like with the light reflecting off his glasses. His eyebrows rose though, and he could imagine that the man's eyes were wide. Ford did not seem to know how to respond back properly. Of course Ford was too stubborn to take the easy way out and say yes. He had to keep trying to change his mind, when it was already set at this point.
"I just want to be alone." He sighed.
Oh, so he didn't want to be around his friends, because he was jealous? Bill's mood went from frustrated to smug in an instant. He could see where this was all going! Ford was trying to make him jealous with that fake army of five hundred! He couldn't really blame the guy for trying. Especially since he was so amazing and funny to be around all the time. It was only logical that he would want to hog all the attention! That changed everything!
"WOO!" He grabbed Ford by the wrist, and held him in the air. "Hey everyone! We're heading out for some alone time! Hold the fort down while I'm gone!"
There were several wolf-whistles amongst the crowd. Bill smirked as a faint blush coloured his cheeks. It only lasted a moment before he shook his head, feebly attempting to regain some dignity. The swarm didn't dare follow while he was holding on to Stanford, so they remained. They were crying in protest true, but they did not trail after them.
Finally, they could be alone together, for real! That was even better of a result than he had been hoping for! He practically dragged Stanford out of the place. The man had to be reminded to float again, but not before his shoulder was dislocated. Being held up by the arm could do that to a person, even if he wasn't really one of those anymore. Stanford cradled his hurt arm, a grimace of pain set on his face, but he wouldn't let that spoil the fun. Not when there was one more arm they could shift out of place before he had to fix the guy up again.
They stopped in the smoldering ruins of town. What few buildings that remained were still on fire. He relit the single one that wasn't, wanting to keep morality low and the destruction high. There were no people in sight, he had probably gotten most of them by now. It was a shame really, it could've promised plenty of potential fun for the two of them.
"Sooo, what do you wanna' dooo?"
"I…"
He trailed off, seemingly at a loss for words.
"Hm, I guess there isn't a lot to work with around here. 'Specially with everything being mostly ashes… You like diamonds at all?"
"I-"
Before he could answer, Bill had already scooped up a handful of the ash. It was soft, and he could feel the fragments sticking into his fingers, but he didn't mind. It tingled! He squished his hands together, pretending that he was crushing the swarm. Maybe that was too much pressure and it would be ruined. Yet without enough and nothing would come of it.
Luckily, his guesses were pretty good, and he wound up with a brand-new diamond in the rough. It was no larger than the width of his pinkie finger. He flicked it up in the air, and let Ford catch it. Or rather, hit him in the head. He was holding one dislocated arm with the other, and had no more to spare for catching diamonds. He laughed, and wiped the blood away from the resulting injury.
"Blood diamonds! Get it?"
"Err, yes."
He tucked the diamond in to his coat pocket.
"There. You're rich and powerful now. That's a lot more than you were originally promised."
"Thank…" His disoriented voice faded out again.
"Come on! Let's go find some more stuff to ruin outside of this boring old town!"
"If you insi-"
Bill threw him towards the tree line. Hopefully Ford would remember that he could float along the way. It seemed to be an instinctive thing. Like when one threw a baby in water, and it started to swim. Or maybe it was the money and the typewriter? Or did old people know how to swim if thrown into something unexpectedly? Huh, he'd probably have to test it and find out. But, he was confident that Ford would remember that he could-
THWACK!
Oh boy.
There was a loud crunch which followed Ford's fall to Earth. The man's pained cries began seconds later. He rushed over to him. Stanford was lying in a puddle of his own blood, and did not seem capable of getting back up to his feet. The blood was dribbling from his mouth, and his head wound had split open further. Whatever he had hit, he had done it head-first, for his nose was out of place, and his glasses were cracked.
"Didja' seriously forget about the whole floating thing again?"
"H-hurts." He mumbled.
"What? Come on Ford! Walk it off! It's just a little blood."
"I c-can't-"
"Jeeze you're needy." He picked Ford up. "We're going to spend some quality time destroying things outside of this-"
Bill smacked face-first into the barrier. A scream of rage followed the discovery. Stanford winced as the crushing grip around his mid-section grew tighter. Everything hurt… All over. He felt close to blacking out. Little dark spots were appearing around the corners of his vision, and his world was awash with red.
"What do you know about this?!"
"A-about?"
He was slammed face first into the barrier again. His glasses shattered, and he felt shards of glass scrape against his skin. Warm streams of blood trickled down his face, and another dizzying sensation came over him. Before he could recover from the first shock, he was shaken back and forth again. It merely stirred up the stars that danced across his line of sight.
"What. Is. This?!"
"I-I-"
"ANSWER ME! Is there a way around it?! Who put this up?! What do you know?!"
"H-hurting-"
"I don't have time for this! So if you keep this up, I'm just gonna' take a stroll through your mind and we'll see what you-"
A million traitorous thoughts occurred to him when he heard this. He needed some way to hide them all before it was too late! But if Bill was going to look then nothing in his head was safe. No memory would go untouched, and he knew that whatever came after he got out would be much more painful than what he was going through now. He could already picture some of the consequences now. His throat tightened painfully, and he fought back the urge to sob. Now was not the time, it would give him away.
"I'm going to count to one. And if I don't like what I'm hearing-"
"Bill!"
With a roll of his eye and a sigh of disgust, they turned around to face the unfortunate interrupter. Stanford inwardly sighed in relief, even though the grip around him was constricting even tighter than before. His ribs weren't quite bruised yet though. Probably because he didn't have them anymore. Just empty space, and a few trailing bits of what had once been the lower half of his sweater. It still felt as if they were being squeezed however, and he feared they might snap.
"Do you mind? Can't you see we're in the middle of something here?"
"Mabel Land gone!"
… He never had told Bill about that, had he?
"WHAT?!"
His non-existent ribs finally burst when Bill heard the news. Another whimper of pain escaped him.
"Oh stop whining you."
It was only a miracle that he was set on the ground gently. He curled up, and lay there with his eyes shut tight.
"What should we do?"
"Poke around the place a bit, see what's going on. Oh-" He snapped his fingers. "And bring in the kid. I've got to deal with him."
"W-will do!"
"Now, you." He was jabbed in the middle. "Look at me while I'm speaking."
He did as he was told. Bill was still orange in places, but had clearly reigned in his temper a little more. Not that it made any difference. He was in pain, and Bill was still going to get exactly what he wanted: an answer. He had to fight to keep his eyes open, a stinging mixture of blood and ashes was causing them to water.
"Don't think I've forgotten about you. Once I'm finished dealing with everything else, you're next."
He shrunk down to his size, and his arms wrapped around his curled up form, almost, a hug. But his entire body was already aching, and just being touched spread fresh waves of pain throughout him. He did his best to repress a shudder when fingers raked through his hair, and the tears were wiped from his eyes.
"Stanford? Aw, don't be like that." He softly soothed, stroking his hair. "I really don't want to have to tear your head apart in front of everyone."
Lies. The fingers pressed deeper into his skull.
"But so long as you pull it together by the time I get back, you don't have to worry about that happening! You tell me every scrap of information, and then I'll let you go back to horsing around with those stupid time-consuming parasites of yours."
"I-I can't-"
"Whelp, I'm off! Be ready for our daaate!"
Left alone now, he openly started to cry. Burning tears mixed in with the dust and the blood he was laying in. The fiery combination dripped down his face and spread the stinging to his cuts. He felt as if he would continue to unravel, until there was nothing left of his body. Everything on the inside was so hollow, numb to the world and his feelings. Yet on the outside, everything hurt, and he desired nothing more for than it all to end.
He was going to be shredded apart when he got back. It was impossible for him to "pull it together." His arm was dislocated and there was blood leaking from what felt like every part of his body. Not only that, he couldn't see well without his glasses, and it felt as if he was still being squished around the middle. His decision to only interrogate if he became coherent was deliberate. He wanted to go through his mind. Probably for his own perverse enjoyment more than anything serious. He knew it would be impossible for him to simply "walk off" the pain.
When he had dreamed about power, and recognition, it had never been anything like this. He missed his home. He missed his research, and the simple comforts of humanity. Eating and sleeping were impossible now. He had lied about sleeping to get him off his back. So long as the excuse worked, he would use it. That didn't make sleep feel any more possible. Whenever he closed his eyes, all he saw was the children's faces, the destruction he had helped cause…
Something stirred in his chest. Muffled squeaks followed after, and he realized that one of the swarm had been in his pocket the entire time. Not only had it been flung through the air, and no doubt crushed by the diamond, he was laying on the poor thing now! Stanford was quick to sit up, a choice his body regretted. But he didn't care, not if he was hurting the little one.
The triangle emerged from his pocket. He recognized the overly creased, extra-small child right away. It was Tredecim. Stanford could have laughed when he noticed this. If course it was unlucky number thirteen that wound up stuck with him. Tredecim stretched, clearly relieved to be free, and far away from his creator. Ford could lay back down now, knowing that he was not squishing any more of the poor things.
Tredecim saw how he was bleeding, and made a quick, looping circle around his body, surveying the damage.
"I'm fine." He waved off. "You go… Play with the others."
Tredecim fluttered off. Not that he could really blame the child. They probably missed their siblings, and he never had apologized for squishing him. Another groan of agony escaped him. He needed to come up with a plan to hide the information. He had to. He couldn't let others feel what he was going through right now.
…But what was the use? Everything was hopeless. Nothing would change, no matter what he did. There was no way for him to escape. He would find him, wherever he went. He always got what he wanted. And Ford knew that it would only end in his suffering. The entire world's suffering. He just wanted to rip the bandage off and get it over with at this point. The torment was too much, and he knew that his mind was slipping.
All of a sudden, he was surrounded by the swarm. They were crying, wringing their wrists and hugging him. One thousand tiny hands were poking his wounds and inspecting his body, and the pain flared up again. He rose his uninjured arm, trying to push them away from his body, but they refused to let go. Their high-pitched voices made his sore head feel like it was going to explode. They stridently wailed on about how he was "injured" and they "should have been there to protect him."
"Stop that! It's not like any of you could have-" He sharply inhaled, only to get a mouthful of ashes by accident. "I- I said stop-"
"Stanford?"
"S-Stanley?"
He must have been delusional. The pain was causing him hallucinations, he had been losing much if his blood. How else could it be that his brother's feet were there, just beyond a blackened tree? He closed his eyes, hoping that it would make whatever false image that was go away. He didn't want this right now. It was too painful.
"Stanford is that really-"
When he looked up at the man, he backed away in horror. Stanford could see the disgust, and the anger on his brother's face. He held a baseball bat in one hand, there were brass knuckles resting on the other. From behind him, more strange figures emerged: people and native monsters to Gravity Falls alike. They were all starting down at him, the same looks of contempt on their faces.
Stanford knew that this wasn't a warm welcoming, and the group was less than thrilled to see him there. They were going to take him prisoner, or worse. And then Bill would come along and think he had been betrayed and there would be more torture. He couldn't… He couldn't go through with that again. Not again! He already hurt so much! He had to get away from them! He could arrive at any moment, and then…
"G-get- get away from m-m-" The dust had choked up his throat and seized his lungs. Hacking coughs wracked his body.
"What happened to you?"
They didn't know what he had done then. They had no idea he was a traitor.
"S-stay away!" He managed to roll slightly further from the group. "I'm warning you!"
The swarm, sensing a threat, took on a hostile, arrow-shaped formation. He hadn't taught them that…
"Yeesh what are those things, his kids?"
"Yes."
"Well a threatening triangle made out of tiny triangles isn't going to threaten us, right fellas?" A man asked.
"Yeah! Get your own trademark attack you good-for-nothing shapes!" A gnome snarled.
"Shmebulock!"
The group advanced menacingly.
"Get b-back! I won't hesitate to-"
"What? Yell at us?" Stanley stepped forwards.
Tredecim picked that moment of all to steal the photograph from his coat. They carried it over to the others, who then proceeded to do a double take. They looked at Stanley, and then back at himself. The swarm chirped two syllables, which he could have sworn meant "uncle." Or perhaps "Stanley." They repeated it between themselves a few times, and then an excited squeal began.
They surrounded Stanley, becoming a whirlwind of excitement. Alarmed, the man tried to swing at him with his bat, but they were much too quick for the swings to land. The swarm was too happy to care that they were being attacked by Stanley, who was quickly turning angry with them.
"Gah! Call 'em off!"
He tried to whistle the command, but his mouth was too dry. Stanford found himself dropping his head back to the ground instead.
"T-they're harmless. Just excited."
Some of the swarm returned to him, and started to ask questions.
"Yes, he… Is… And he needs to leave now, before-"
Their happiness faded when he told them this. The swarm quickly came to the same understanding all at once. He couldn't be around Stanley, so long as he was with him. It was clear to him that they did not like this information very much, and they did not return back to Stanley. His brother looked glad, but he only felt worse.
"Y-you need to leave."
"But you're a mess! The least we could do is drag you back to the Shack and-"
"Hey, hey! Who's in charge here?" Stanley asked, pushing the speaker to the side. "If Ford wants to go with us, he's gonna' have to-"
"This is a search party, Stan." A woman reminded him. "We're supposed to be finding resources and helping others."
"I, can't accept. He would-"
"What you're worried about that looser getting you?" Stanley cut in. "Well it turns out the Shack is completely protected from-"
The shield! Yes, he had all but forgotten about it. That meant there was a little hope. If he could reach the house, escape long enough to make it there, he just might be able to hide… No, he would never be able to escape. He would find a way around the shield if he put two and two together. It wasn't worth it, not when he would be found out no matter what. What little hope he had before faded, he knew that there was no point in trying. Besides, he was a bad guy now, he had switched sides. His family was out there, in need of help, while he was being offered an easy (albeit temporary) way out.
"I c-can't." He repeated, more softly this time. "D-Dipper and Mabel, I-I-"
Stanley's stoic expression instantly crumbled when he heard this.
"The kids? What do you know about them?!"
"ANSWER ME! Is there a way around it?! Who put this up?!"
"I-I don't know anything!"
His voice lost some of its harshness, and he bent over, reaching for his shoulder.
"Stanford?"
"Stanford? Aw, don't be like that. I really don't want to have to tear your head apart in front of everyone."
"J-just, l-leave me alone!"
"Stop talking like that?! Don't you understand the concept of being rescued? Oh wait, that's a dumb question to ask. Especially seeing as you-"
The swarm had developed a sixth sense when it came to anticipating their creator's return. They gave one chirp of warning before soaring off to hide. Their concern for his wellbeing only extended so far. It wasn't like he was the greatest parent out there for them. How was he supposed to protect them when he couldn't even stand up for himself at this point? He was weak, just pathetically weak. It was hard to imagine a time when he didn't feel worried, or threatened. Where had his Pines family stubbornness, his pride gone? Right, he supposed it didn't make sense to call himself a member of the family when he had betrayed them…
The others picked up what the swarm had already sensed. Most of the group bolted. Stanley and a select few remained behind, still trying to persist with him. Didn't they get it? Things were hopeless. He was hopeless, and unsaveable. Stanford thought his brother would have picked that up after thirty years. But apparently, he was wrong.
"Uh oh. Trouble's coming our way."
"We'd better skedaddle."
"Wait! We can't just leave-"
"I'll be fine." He choked. "You… Go."
The group disappeared back into the twisted remains of the forest, as if they had never been there to begin with. For a brief second, the world seemed entirely silent. The crackling of fires and distance screams seemed to have ceased. There was no blaring music, or constant chattering from the beings that surrounded him. He was absolutely alone. It was intruded quickly though. He was lifted from the ground once more.
"Well I just made a decoration out of a nine-year old!" His voice turned deeper. "Are you going to be next?"
"N-no."
"Then you'll start by telling me everything you know about this barrier."
