A/N Hey, thanks for making it this far! Glad to have you here! Here are a couple of shout outs to my lovely reviewers:

Brenne: Thank you for reviewing every chapter so far. I'm really glad you're enjoying it. I hope you like this chapter!

kagome11: Thanks for the review! I'm glad you like it! I love a reformed villain as much as the next person, but Bill is too great as an evil chaotic villain to ever be redeemed.

Without further ado, here's the next chapter. Enjoy!

Part 4: Blackout

Stan woke up with a start, his heart pounding from the aftermath of a terrible nightmare, the kind where the memories of it are gone seconds after waking, but the feelings the dream left still lingered. It left him gripped with panic and a desperate need to protect the kids, but he had no idea why.

He blinked heavily and looked around at his surroundings in confusion. The fear from his forgotten nightmare shifting into something else to be afraid of, something real, when he looked around at his surroundings and realized he had no idea where he was or how he got there.

He clutched his chest with a wince, a sharp jolt of pain stealing his breath away. Was he having a heart attack? He took a strained but deep breath through his nose, forcing himself to breathe through the pain. It hurt to breathe. It felt like he had been stabbed but when he looked there was no sign of a wound that he could see, no blood. But there was a hole in his shirt, a hole he could not explain. Had it always been there?

"Where am I?" he groaned, looking around at the trees in confusion, breathing heavily to keep himself calm and cope with the agony in his chest. His head hurt too, and he could see that somehow, he had crashed into a tree. OK, so he had an accident, but how? Why couldn't he remember? Did he hit his head? Was the pain in his chest from the seatbelt? But as the question crossed his mind he could see he wasn't even wearing a seatbelt. That wasn't like him. So, what the heck happened?

"Stay calm and think, Stan, think!" he told himself as panic was quickly settling in. The last thing he could remember was deciding to have lunch at that diner that he and Ford ate at a few weeks ago but, looking at his watch, that was hours ago. How could he not remember beyond that? He wasn't even sure if he even ate. There was a gross, metallic taste in his mouth, almost like blood but not. His stomach was rumbling, but he couldn't tell if it was from hunger or from something he ate not agreeing with him. Maybe both? His head hurt too, but it didn't hurt badly enough to think he hit it hard enough to forget the last few hours.

It would be scary enough to forget the events leading up to an accident under normal circumstances, but in Stan's case, it wasn't a normal circumstance, it was much worse. Was he having a relapse from the memory gun? He'd had a few blackouts since having his memories erased, but they only lasted a few seconds or so, at worst a couple of minutes, but never like this. What if it meant his recovery was temporary? What if it meant he was sooner or later going to forget everything again?

"No, no," he shook his head in denial, still trying to still his panic, "you are not going to go back to that state," he said, remembering that surreal, empty feeling of remembering absolutely nothing, and that helplessness from seeing the people he cared about most mourning his loss and having no idea who they were. He never wanted to be like that again, never. "You are Stanley Pines you will not forget that!"

He reached out a shaking hand for the glove compartment to grab his phone, but as he suspected there was no service. The remote Oregon woods had terrible reception, especially with the cheap pay-as-you-go provider he had. Maybe he should have listened to the kids and forked over the money for a better provider, one who might have service in the area.

The thought of the kids brought back that lingering feeling from his nightmare. The one that filled him with an odd sense of urgency that he needed to protect them from some sort of looming threat. He couldn't shake the feeling that someone or something dangerous was after them. He wanted to brush it off as just a dream, but bearing in mind his amnesia, maybe they really were in danger from a threat he couldn't remember.

Considering their lives, and considering what sort of dangers he knew were out there, it was a very real possibility. Trouble seemed to follow them wherever they went, so his paranoia was grounded in reality.

"I gotta get home," he muttered, even though technically the Mystery Shack wasn't his home anymore. But it still felt like home, and Soos insisted that it would always be his home.

Confident that he wasn't having a heart attack after all, Stan forced himself to take action. With a groan, he climbed out of the car, hunched over, clutching his aching chest and went to inspect the damage to his car and get his bearings. Fortunately, there wasn't much damage, just a dented bumper but nothing serious that would require major repairs. He couldn't have been going very fast when he crashed, which wasn't his driving style, but he thought it was odd that there were no skid marks from slamming the breaks to avoid crashing. It was only giving him more questions than answers.

The road he was on was from what he gathered, one of the smaller, more remote roads, a route he wasn't familiar with but he knew the area enough to have a vague idea of where he was. He wasn't that far from home, maybe another hour of driving at most, depending on how long it took to get back on familiar ground. The road was quiet; he had yet to see another car pass by but it didn't seem like it would be so deserted that no one used the road at all. Sooner or later someone would come by and hopefully stop and help, because even though the car was mostly fine, he would need some help getting it back on the road.

Somehow, he had driven deep enough into the thick of trees to be pretty well hidden from the road. One would have to already know it was there and be looking for it to see it, which probably explained why no one stopped to help already. Surely someone would've driven by while he was passed out—the road was remote, but not that remote—though he had no sense of how long he was there.

The massive gap in his memory had him shaking. Whatever happened to him that he couldn't remember, it wasn't some boring mundane day that ended in a minor accident. Something definitely happened and not knowing what, terrified him beyond words.

"You are Stanley Pines," he said to himself, "you will not forget that. You're fine. This was just a minor…setback."

Drawing a shaky breath, he tried not to think of the implications of his blackout. He would just have to bite the bullet and let Ford know what was going on. Before he didn't want to say anything, he couldn't. He was afraid to. He told himself that a few seconds or minutes here and there weren't a big deal. It didn't happen frequently enough to be a problem, so why mention it? Why make Ford and the kids worry over nothing? He got most of his memories back, and that was all that really mattered.

Deep down though, the reason he never mentioned the blackouts was because he was afraid that Ford would worry, then he would dig and then figure out the root of the problem and Stan was afraid of the answer. If he was at risk of losing his memories again, if this was just temporary, maybe he was better off not knowing.

If only he could shake the feeling that the kids were in danger. He hoped that the dread in his gut was nothing more than paranoia. That this intangible threat he felt was after them was nothing more than a figment of his imagination brought on by some horrible nightmare. Given everything they had been through the past year, it wasn't like the forgotten nightmare was completely unusual. But why did it feel different this time?

Eventually a car passed and Stan managed to wave them down. A group of college kids on a road trip helped him get his car back on the road and then he was on his way. When he finally turned onto Gopher Road and saw the Mystery Shack, Stan finally felt the tension in his shoulders relax, he was finally home.

As he pulled into the driveway he saw Mabel emerge, a big smile on her face and Stan breathed a sigh of relief. They were fine. The kids were fine. He was just being understandably paranoid. Dipper and Ford stepped out a moment later and when Stan gingerly climbed out of the car Mabel ran up to him and gave him a huge hug.

"You're back! Where were you? I was so worried!" she exclaimed.

"You're late," Ford added, looking a little irritated, "What took you so long?"

"Sorry, I was… I stopped for lunch, lost track of time and then got into a little accident which held me up," Stan replied, and he had to inwardly laugh at just how true that statement was, even though saying it felt like a lie.

"I can see that," Ford frowned, inspecting the dent on his bumper, "is my package OK?"

Stan rolled his eyes, "Your stuff is fine," he snapped, though he actually didn't know, "and I'm fine too thanks for asking."

"Sorry," Ford said, and to his credit he was sincere, "it's just really expensive and delicate equipment. Are you OK?"

"Yeah."

"You sure?" Mabel asked, finally releasing him from the hug to look at him, "You seem…not fine."

"I'm a little stiff and sore, but nothing too serious that a hot shower can't fix it," Stan gave her an affectionate pat on the head, "everything is good, kiddo."

Mabel frowned and stepped back, eying him with scrutiny, "Did something else happen?"

Stan sighed. Mabel sure was perceptive these days, and the concern on her face was contagious because now Dipper and Ford seemed just as unsatisfied by his answer as she was.

But how could Stan tell them that something did happen, and for some reason he couldn't remember what it was? The kids had enough to worry about lately, he didn't want to burden them with this. He exchanged a glance with Ford, a pleading glance that told him: We'll talk later. Alone. He seemed to get the message and nodded.

"Don't worry," Ford said reassuringly, "If he says he's fine, he's fine. Come on kids, help me get my stuff inside, OK?"

"Sure," Dipper said, while Mabel just stared at Stan with a doubtful look for a moment before doing as she was told. Ford took the keys from Stan, the look in his eyes making it clear that they were going to have a talk, and there was no getting out of it. Stan nodded at him, grinning weakly as Ford opened the trunk and unpacked his things.

"Thanks again for picking this up," Ford said with a grunt as he lifted the heaviest box and set it on the ground.

"Yeah," Stan replied, glancing around with a strange feeling in his gut. The abstract yet very strong sense that the kids were in danger still hadn't ceased, even after seeing everyone was safe and sound. "No problem."

"Looking for something?" Ford asked, cocking his head as he tried to figure out what Stan was looking for.

"No, uh, nothing. Just…I don't know," he shrugged, "thought I saw something."

"This box is pretty heavy, kids, do you mind getting the dolly?" Ford motioned to the large box now on the ground, "That way we can get everything inside in one trip."

Dipper nodded obediently and trotted off but Mabel lingered.

"Go on, help you brother."

She glanced at Stan and then at Ford, "Getting the dolly is a one-person job."

"Please, Mabel?" Stan sighed, "I appreciate the concern but I'm fine. It was only a minor accident, OK? Just a fender-bender, really."

"A minor fender-bender would not get you this shaken."

"Yeah well, you haven't seen the bill," he joked, but his choice of words left him with a strange feeling, one that he couldn't understand and that truly frightened him. Bill… he was suddenly reminded of that stupid triangle demon that nearly ended the world last year, the reason he had lost his memories in the first place. It was the only way to defeat him.

The entity was gone, erased from existence and yet… saying his name, even though that wasn't what he was trying to say, was…well, for lack of a better word, triggering. He couldn't refer to the demon by name to the point of absurd superstition, and maybe on a different day, where most of it wasn't a complete blank, an innocuous mention of the word that just so happens to also be his name wouldn't have even registered. But Stan inwardly cringed, the pain in his chest flaring. The triangle demon was gone, yet it still frightened him to think about him and the pain he caused his family.

"Fixing that bumper is going to be expensive!" he added with a forced laugh, desperate to put an end to the panic brewing up inside him. It wasn't working though, but he did his best to keep a calm front, so hopefully no one would notice.

"Can I talk to Stan for a moment, sweetie?" Ford asked.

"Yeah," she replied, "but next time, just say that's what you want. No need to patronize us, you know." She seemed annoyed, but then she smiled, the concern in her eyes never leaving her, and left them alone, glancing over her shoulder as she headed inside.

"OK, what's wrong?" Ford asked, though it came out more like a demand.

"Nothing I…"

"Bullshit."

"I just…had a weird day."

"Yeah? You seem a little jumpy," Ford told him, "paranoid even."

"I don't know, I just…I had a feeling like the kids are in danger," he said.

"Why would you think that?" Ford asked, though he too became more alert, glancing around for any potential threat.

Stan doesn't know how to answer, because he doesn't know. At a loss for a plausible response that would make any lick of sense, because somehow, he doubted that Ford would be satisfied with I had a feeling, Stan answered, "Well, in case you haven't noticed, those kids are trouble magnets."

"Yeah, I think that runs in the family. What really happened today, Stanley?"

He hesitated, feeling sweat forming on his brow, both hot and cold at the same time as his breath hitched and the pain in his chest screamed at him. He didn't know. He had no idea and how was he going to explain that? And that dread that the kids were in trouble wasn't leaving him, and images of that one-eyed triangle demon flashed through his brain and he couldn't shake it. He couldn't make sense of it.

"Stanley?"

He felt Ford's large hand rest on his shoulder, but he barely noticed it. His vision was getting cloudy, the panic was only growing.

"Hey, are you OK?"

He nodded, but he couldn't speak, he didn't have it in him to say a word because if he did it would be the wrong thing. He might accidentally tell him about the blackout, and all the other mini-blackouts he's had since he got his memories back. He wanted to tell Ford, because Ford might know what to do about it, but he was also incredibly terrified of what would happen if Ford found out. If he found out, everything would change and they would see him as the vulnerable old man he was afraid of becoming. But the fear came from something else, something almost outside of himself that warned him that saying something would be a bad idea.

"Stanley, breathe, you need to breathe," Ford soothed as he put his other hand on Stan's forehead. "Take a deep breath."

Stan did as he was told, not knowing what else to do. He was growing weak in the knees; the parking lot was spinning and the pain in his chest was becoming unbearable. He took a deep breath in, and then out, in and then out, squeezing his eyes shut, trying to will away the pain and the panic.

"Come on," Ford said, putting his arm across Stan's shoulders and gently guiding him inside, "you've clearly had a long day."

"Grunkle Stan?" Mabel's voice prompted him to open his eyes to see the kids watching him with worried frowns on their faces.

"I'm fine, pumpkin," Stan said with a forced smile.

"He just hit his head harder than he originally thought," Ford added, giving Stan an out, "I don't think it's serious, but I'm going to just have a look. Make sure he's not concussed."

"Will he be OK?" Dipper asked.

"Of course, I will," Stan choked out, trying to sound as normal as possible.

"He might just need to take it easy the next day or so," Ford added. "Can you kids take the dolly to the car and I'll meet you there in a moment?"

"Sure," Dipper replied, sounding uncertain, but he did as he was told anyway, pausing when Mabel didn't follow him and he added, "Come on, he's in good hands."

Ford guided Stan inside and sat him on his chair in the living room, "Stanley, talk to me what's going on?" he asked, as he pressed two fingers to Stan's wrist, checking his pulse.

"I…I don't know," he muttered, his voice strained, "m-my chest hurts."

"Hurts how?"

"Like I got s-sucker-punched by a sledgehammer. Am I having a h-heart attack?"

"I don't think so," Ford replied, though he sounded worried, "Just focus on your breathing, OK? We'll see if that helps."

Stan nodded quickly, doing as he was told, choking out, "It k-kinda hurts to b-breathe." That was a lie though, because it really hurt to breathe. Like his lungs were being skewered by a long thin knife every time he drew a deep breath. He clutched at his chest, bunching his t-shirt into a knot as he grabbed at it.

Ford pulled Stan's hand away and tugged at the collar of his shirt to get a look, "There's bruising here. It's possible you cracked or bruised your ribs with your seatbelt when you crashed."

"Maybe," Stan replied, not wanting to tell him that he wasn't wearing his seatbelt so how the heck did he get a bruise on his chest? And even if he was, there was no way he was going fast enough to cause that kind of damage, considering the minor damage to his car. What the heck was that all about? What the hell happened to him?

"You're starting to look better," Ford said after a few moments of nothing but Stan focusing on his breathing, "Are you feeling any better?"

"A little," Stan lied, because he was still terrified, he was still in pain but he was managing to get control of his breathing again and was slowly beginning to relax. If only he could get rid of that intangible sense of danger, and the images of that triangle demon out of his mind. He could almost hear the demon in the back of his mind, laughing. Almost. He reminded himself that the thing was gone, erased from existence thanks to his sacrifice.

"I think you were having a panic attack," Ford explained.

Stan scoffed, "Me? A panic attack? Never."

"No need to act all macho, Stanley," Ford said, "considering everything you've been through? Everything we've been dealing with? A panic attack is nothing to be ashamed of."

"You've been through more than any of us," Stan argued, "and I've never seen you have a friggin' panic attack."

"No, you haven't," Ford agreed, "but…"

"In fact, you're surprisingly well adjusted, considering you spent thirty years in another dimension," Stan confessed.

Ford cringed, "Yeah well, it was terrifying at times, especially at first, but it wasn't all bad. The multiverse can be frightening, but also quite beautiful and amazing. It took a while, but I learned to cope, focusing on my energy on research and discovery until I could fully accept and even embrace my new reality."

"You didn't think you'd ever come home, did you?"

"No, because I knew how dangerous trying would be. I had no choice but to accept it as my home," Ford admitted, "But I never stopped hoping that maybe, someday. I had my fair share of panic attacks too."

"I'm sorry," Stan said, "for sending you there and all the trouble I caused getting you back."

"I know," Ford replied, "we've been over this. What happened wasn't your fault alone, we both played a part in that and…despite Weirdmageddon being the ultimate consequence of getting me home, I'm glad you did. I'm glad to be home and to have you back in my life, Stanley."

Stan smiled, but he didn't know how to feel about that. In a roundabout way, trying to get his brother back caused the Weirdmageddon that hurt so many people, including his family. Especially, his family. They were all still haunted by the aftermath, and while Stan was terrified about how his memory loss and blackouts affected him, he was suddenly struck with the guilt for ultimately causing it by rebuilding the Portal.

"Likewise, Ford," Stan grinned, hoping Ford couldn't see that while the sentiment was genuine, the smile was forced.

"Feeling better?"

"Yeah, I'm good," Stan lied, rubbing his aching chest, "must've been something I ate, you know? Because I don't have panic attacks."

"If you say so," Ford sighed with a knowing grin, patting him on the back, "I'm going to help the kids get my equipment inside. You had a long day, maybe you should just…relax, watch TV or something, OK? You earned it. Soos and Melody are off on a grocery run, but I was thinking maybe when they get back I whip us all up an amazing dinner. And maybe later when you're more like yourself, we can continue our talk?"

"OK," Stan chuckled, watching his brother go. Once he was left alone Stan's smile faltered.

He didn't exactly blame himself for Weirdmageddon, because doing so would mean he would also have to blame Ford and Mabel for the parts they played, and he couldn't do that. They were all victims of being pawns in that stupid one-eyed triangle's twisted game. And yet, if he could go back and do it all over again, knowing the outcome, he still would've stopped at nothing to get Ford back. So, maybe his blackouts and memory problems were consequences he could deal with after all. He just wished his family didn't have to suffer for his mistakes.

Exhausted he leaned back in his chair, putting his feet up and closing his eyes. He released a deep sigh. He did feel better, now that he was home and got that…whatever it was out of his system because he refused to call it a panic attack. The feeling that the kids were in trouble had even eased up to the point Stan knew he was just being paranoid. The kids were trouble magnets, so it wasn't completely out there to imagine some vague threat.

Or that was what he told himself. Problem was, his inner monologue of 'stop being paranoid, everything is OK' wasn't very convincing.

What happened to me today? He wondered, terrified.

A/N Thanks for reading! Please let me know what you think, good or bad. Have an awesome day!