Stan Pines was afraid. There was no dancing around it. He thought he'd come to understand fear living on his own. He thought that what he'd endured - facing criminals, doing hard time, fearing what would happen if you shut your eyes - those were the sorts of things that were the things to really be afraid of.

Now he knew there was nothing more terrifying than waiting for someone else to tell you whether you are going to live or die.

Ford sat by his side, in his usual chair at the edge of his hospital bed, holding on to Stan's hand. He knew Ford was afraid too. His grip was so tight it was almost uncomfortable. But Stan was grateful for it.

The last twenty-four hours had been rough for them both. They'd tried to pass the time by talking again, but it wasn't as easy as it had been the last time. The ever-present fog of uncertainty lingered between them. Helen had talked to them both about options if Stan needed further treatment. She assured Stan that it was all hypothetical at this point, but, as the hour of judgment crept ever closer, he couldn't help but lose what little faith he had. Ford had tried to distract him as best as he could, but nothing seemed to help. He just couldn't relax.

"Ya know," Stan said, surprised by how even his tone was, "it's funny. Yesterday, I wanted this moment to come more than anything, just so I'd finally be able to stop wondering. Now that it's actually here…I kinda want some of it back."

Ford only responded by squeezing his hand a little tighter.

"Any minute, she's gonna come in here and tell me what my future's gonna be, Ford," Stan said quietly. "The rest of my life depends on whether she says yes or no.'

Ford looks down at him, and Stan saw his eyes were watery. His brother swallowed thickly, and said, "No matter what she says, Stan, whatever the outcome, I'm going to be right here. No matter what we need to do, I'm going to help you through it. Alright?"

Stan nodded, feeling himself smile a bit. A small spot of comfort managed to wriggle its way past the terror. His brother was here. His brother cared.

"I just want you to promise me one thing," Ford said. He shoved his free hand up under his glasses, scrubbing away the tears that threatened to fall. When that was done, he looked down at Stan, his face serious. "I want you to promise me that you won't give up. If she comes in here and tells you…bad news…I…I don't want…you can't…you have to fight, okay? You just…you have to…I can't…"

Ford didn't bother to wipe away the tears that fell now. Reaching up with his free hand, Stan cupped his brother's cheek and gently wiped them away with his thumb. He didn't need to press his brother to continue to know what he'd been trying to say. "I won't, Sixer," he said softly. "I promise you, I won't."

Ford seemed to deflate with those words. He gave Stan a small smile back, leaning into palm still resting on his face. Stan knew it must be calloused and rough, but Ford didn't seem to mind. It was like he was trying to revive a connection that had withered slightly, but remained despite ten years of neglect.

Someone cleared their throat. It pulled both brothers back into reality. Dr. Bergstrum stood in the doorway, her face unreadable. Stan removed his hand from Ford's face, but held fast to Ford's hand. He figured they both needed it now.

Dr. Bergstrum came in the rest of the way, and met their eyes. The room was totally silent, not even the sound of their breathing permeating the thickness of it. For a moment, the entire world stood still.

Finally, Dr. Bergstrum took a deep breath, and said, "Your test results were fine."

Stan felt something break in him, a floodgate of pure joy surging through him. He wanted to burst into tears and whoop with happiness all at once. He didn't know what to do with himself. He just felt his eyes go wide, and he couldn't stop himself from staring at her in disbelief.

Beside him, Ford was having the opposite reaction. He had stood up from his chair, beaming from ear to ear, muttering, "This is wonderful. Stan, you're okay! You're okay!"

And suddenly Ford's arms were around him, nearly knocking Stan back. At last, Ford's own excited happiness seemed to trickle through to Stan, and he flung his arms around his brother. He wanted to hug Ford until his arms were jellied with exhaustion.

He was okay. He wasn't going to die.

Well, he was, but not for a long, long time.

"Oh my God," he breathed. "I…oh God, I can't believe this."

"Believe it, mister," Dr. Bergstrum said. She too had broken into the biggest smile Stan had ever seen. "You're totally clean." Her smile wavered a little as she added, "I really thought you'd be a little more enthusiastic about this."

Ford let Stan go from his hug, and Stan took the opportunity to run a hand through his hair, still trying to let all this sink in. He turned his attention to Dr. Bergstrum, and said, "I'm sorry, I'm just…I'm still trying to wrap my head around it. I've been sitting here for an entire day, resigning myself to the fact that I would have it. And just like that…I don't. It's crazy, ya know?."

Dr. Bergstrum's face softened and she replied, "Yeah. It might not mean much, but I do know what you mean." She let that hang between the three of them for a few seconds before clearing her throat again, and adding, "Now, just because you're AIDS free doesn't mean you're off the hook. You're still recovering from pneumonia, and you're still going on that antibiotics regime I mentioned, not to mention I want you to get so much bed rest, you'll practically be glued to it. But the good part about that is you get to go home."

Stan felt a twinge of doubt at the mention of home. He wasn't sure where that was going to be after he left this hospital. Vegas, obviously, was out of the question now. No matter how good he'd been at turning tricks, he wasn't going to risk his health again for a few bucks. But where else was there?

Then he felt Ford's hand on his shoulder. He looked up, and saw his brother smiling down at him. He knew then where home was going to be for him now. He reached up his own hand and put it on Ford's.

Dr. Bergstrum did not miss it, and smiled wider. "Normally, even people who test negative require more counseling," she said. "But it seems to me like you've got a pretty good support system right here. Still, if you ever feel like you need someone to talk to, don't hesitate to ask me. I can refer you, and get you any kind of help you need."

"Thanks," Stan replied. "For everything."

Dr. Bergstrum nodded, and said, "Any time." She turned to go. "I better let you guys start packing up. You're probably anxious to get out of here. A nurse will be by soon to get the IV out, and then you're a free man, Stanley Pines." Before she walked out the door, she looked over her shoulder at them and said, "And don't ever let me catch you in my hospital again for anything other than check-ups, got it.? Just because we're friendly doesn't exempt you from those glares I warned you about."

"Yes, ma'am," Stan said, giving her a two-fingered salute.

And with a wave, Dr. Bergstrum was gone.

For a moment, Ford and Stan just sat there, neither of them willing to make a move. Stan was worried that, if they did, this would all turn out to be some kind of crazy mistake.

But then Ford stood up, exhaling in a way that seemed to imply he'd been holding his breath. "Well…" he began, but trailed off. What could you say in a moment like this?

For a moment, Ford just stood there, his hands hanging limply by his side. Then, he blurted out, "I guess this means we'll have to invest in another bed."

Stan couldn't help himself. He started to laugh. He reached out and grabbed his brother's arm, and said, between giggles, "C'mere, ya nerd." Then he practically crushed Ford in a giant hug. Ford returned it without a sound.

This was a good day.

Ford added a finishing touch to his sketch of Bill. A fire crackled away in the nearby hearth. The room felt downright cozy. He looked up for a brief moment and saw that the sky was dark, nary a star to be seen. He could see the moon from his chair at his desk, though, and it was full. It lit up the remaining snow on the ground, turning the world luminescent and otherworldly. Just like when he was a child, the sight filled him with wonder and a strange calm. It was the first time he'd felt calm in his own home in months, even with this small reminder of his tormentor right in front of him. He reveled in that fact.

He and Stan had gotten home no later than noon earlier that day. Although Stan had tried to keep up his happiness about being AIDS-free, eventually, the fact he was supposed to be recuperating caught up with him. He'd been napping on and off all day, upstairs in Ford's bed. Until they could get another bed for him, Ford surrendered it. He could sleep on the couch that lined his bedroom wall. It was more than roomy enough for him.

Sometimes, Ford would go up and talk with him, just light chatting to see how he was doing. He'd even dug up his well-worn copy of Treasure Island and read to Stan while the latter ate a small lunch. Even after he'd finished, Stan stayed awake to listen. He didn't make it past the part where Jim first met John Silver, but that was alright. Ford just stuck a scrap of paper in to mark his place and left the book on the bedside table. They could finish it later.

But, any time Stan had been asleep throughout the day, Ford had been at his desk, working tirelessly on his new journal. He'd been intending to use the fourth leather bound book when he finally ran out of space in his third. That was before he'd decided to bury it deep in the forest, unfinished, but away from where those who might use it for evil could find it.

The more Ford had thought about that idea, the more he realized that his plan hadn't exactly been that well thought out. Sure, the journals were well-hidden, but they could still be found. And when they were, they still had the information about Bill and the portal in them. They could still be used for nefarious purposes, if someone were so inclined to it. And this wasn't even factoring Bill into things. The demon was crafty, and could very well find another unwitting pawn to find the journals and start this madness all over again.

So, Ford decided he'd take away one of the enablers. He'd spent hours meticulously recreating the notes, sketches, and codes he'd put in his old journals. He even fished out the remainder of his invisible ink, so when the time came, he'd be able to use it to recreate everything he'd learned.

He only left out two things - any information about the portal, and anything good about Bill. He had dedicated the last page in this new book to that triangle bastard, and would make sure that no one who ever saw these books would dream of summoning him ever again. He'd line the margins with warnings, write plain as day that Bill was not to be trifled with. If he thought leaving Bill out completely would help. But in his experience, naivety was not a good tool for fighting against the darker side of the world. People needed knowledge, and even if it meant admitting that you'd been an idiot and taken advantage of, at least someone else could learn from you and not repeat the mistake.

Ford shaded in the last bit of Bill's hat. That slit pupil stared up at him, but for Ford, it held no more sway. He wasn't going to let Bill win this. He was going to fight in any way he could.

Beside him was a list, scribbled hastily in his own hand. It was his to-do list. On it were four simple things: dismantle the portal, find Fiddleford, call Mom and Dad, recreate the journals.

And now, at least part of his mission had been complete.

First, he closed the new journal. It didn't have the gold foil handprint on it yet. He'd add that in the morning. Then, he closed the old one. He took it in his hand and stood up from his chair. It felt cold and heavy in his hands. The book was part of his life's work, but it also contained six years of his suffering. At the hands of Bill and from his own stupid pride.

It was time to go about this the way Stan had originally intended to - cleansing by fire.

He reached the hearth, and before he had time to stop himself, Ford threw the journal into the flames. It was consumed almost instantly. The smell of burning paper and ink filled his nostrils. As the edges curled and bits of the cover crumbled away into ash, Ford felt something lift off him. He felt absolutely weightless. He thought it would be sad to watch the journal that had started it all be destroyed like this. But it was amazingly cathartic.

There were more important things in this world than research. Research could be replicated, rewritten, redone. Some things did not have that luxury.

From the living room, he heard his cuckoo clock striking ten. He turned away from the hearth. He needed to wake Stan for his medicine.

Outside, the woods of Gravity Falls slept in the chilly winter night. All was peaceful.