Burning...

Everything was burning...

Blue flames surrounded him, enveloped him, his body falling to their assault...

Somebody was screaming...

A giant red monster, covered with teeth, the kids running, he can't reach them, he can't save them...

High-pitched, echoing laughter...

The kids in danger, his brother in danger, everyone in danger...

The world about to end, and it was all his fault...

Stan woke with a start, his breaths quick and heavy as his mind readjusted to the waking world. It was dark, and his body ached, and his mind was still fogged with the haze of sleep. He bumped his head against the top bunk as he stood up, rubbing the back of his head to relieve the pain as he plodded towards the bathroom.

He ran through the mental checklist that he'd developed after one too many... incidents. His name was Stanley Pines. He was living on a boat with his brother, Stanford Pines. They were currently... right, in some godforsaken spot in the ocean due east of Greenland, investigating those anomalies that Ford kept yammering on about.

And the kids- Dipper and Mabel- they were doing okay, they were back with their parents in Piedmont, they'd talked just last week. (Though maybe he'd try to get in touch with them again... just in case.) He was doing fine- an occasional slip of the memory, a few cuts and bruises from fighting off sea monsters, but nothing too major.

And the world was not ending. Probably. No reason to think it was, at any rate.

Stan flipped on the light in the bathroom, looked at his reflection in the mirror, and yawned. Man, he had a lot of stubble- but then, shaving was overrated, and who was going to judge him for forgoing it out here, anyway? There were bags under his eyes; he really needed to get a good night's sleep, but it didn't seem to be happening any time soon, so those bags under his eyes were probably just gonna keep growing...

His eyes. His eyes didn't look right. The part that should have been white was yellow- jaundice could do that, but could it really have gotten that bad that quickly? What did you even do for jaundice- where was the nearest hospital- how sick was he- would they make it to shore in time? And that wasn't all; his pupils had turned to slits now, almost like cat's eyes, and Stan had no idea what that could be but it definitely wasn't right and the mere thought of it gave him a queasy feeling deep in his gut and made the hair on the back of his neck stand up straight.

Stan closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and shook his head blearily before re-examining his reflection.

Now his eyes looked fine again. The whites were, well, white, and his pupils were circular, and it was normal, everything was normal, he was fine...

He must have imagined it. A trick of the light, perhaps, or the lingering after-effects of his dream. That had to be it, he knew that, and yet he still felt queasy and off-kilter and wrong.

"Stanley?" Stan heard Ford climbing down quickly from the top bunk. "Are you okay?"

"Y-yeah. Jus' a bad dream. Don't worry 'bout it, Sixer, I'm fine."

He could hear Ford's relieved sigh clearly, though it came from the far side of the other room. "Good. You should get some sleep."

"Sure, sure."

But Stan's hands trembled as he made his way further into the bathroom, one hand tightly grasping the edge of the sink the whole way, and the knot in his stomach just grew tighter.

He was fine.

He had to be.