You're just too tired to stop, you old pine box | Closed

[charlastan]

Who: Stanley Pines (charlastan), Mirror Ford (orzinlmhgvi), Stanford Pines (mviw), Dipper Pines (krmvgivv), and Mabel Pines (powerofmabel)
Where: Stan's Room (Third Floor, Room 17)
When: Wednesday 5/17 - Midway through the event, then 5/19 for the revival, then whenever the kids come visit their Grunkle after that.
Rating: R for muRdeR
Summary: Stan and Ford bunker away from the Mirror Mess currently going on, and this proves to not be such a great plan. Ford gets stuck on Mirrorside for a bit and Stan winds up very dead at the hands of Mirror Ford.
The Story:

[OOC: Everything's happening in top levels, so we can make more as needed! <3 If anyone wants/needs anything added relating to Stan's death, let me know and we can make a thread for that!]

Comments

[orzinlmhgvi]

[He could waste time and stand over this pathetic, sad old Real, but he won't.

It's tempting, though. But if he missed an opportunity to steal the Journals for the Queen, he'd have more to worry about than his own ego.

Stanford seeks out Stan's hiding spot for the journals--not clever at all, honestly--and quickly snatches them all, hiding them in the confines of his coat.]

Not anymore! [He gives a triumphant laugh. H a h .] It's nothing personal, of course. The Queen wanted us to take what was most precious to you ungrateful Real Things, so I'm taking your life because he's weak, and you mean more to him than these books. [Oh, oh he can't resist it any longer. He walks over to where Stan is struggling and adjusts his own glasses.]

Your death won't be permanent though, so I'm taking the Journals anyway. She wouldn't be happy if I came back empty-handed.

[He casually steps over his brother's Real.]

Good-bye, Stanley.

[charlastan]

[The journals in question are hidden behind a painting of a sailboat with a secret compartment behind it - the sort of thing a normal person wouldn't even think to look for. How many times has this jerk watched him open it? Did his own Mirror rat him out?

The room sways dangerously even from the ground. He's nauseous. Still, with a shaking hand he reaches to try and grab Mirror Ford by the ankle.

He misses by a lot, but he reaches again.]

Y--!

[The word doesn't come. It's just a strangled noise in his throat, an odd jerk of syllables. He breathes and breathes but no matter how much air he takes in, it's never enough. Stan can feel his hear pounding in his ears, in every inch of his body as his heart tries harder and harder with less and less.

Stan trembles, though not from fear.

And he reaches.

He can't get up. He can barely move but he stretches his arm out anyway. He can't just let Mirror Ford walk away with the Journals, not after how hard they worked to get them all. The absolute last of his energy goes towards glaring with every bit of fury he can summon up.]

Y-You son of a bitch, you...you hurt any of them and I'll kill you...!

[An empty promise from a dying man. He couldn't hurt anyone if he tried right now, though he looks like he'd love to get to his feet and wrap his hands around this guy's neck.

He said it himself after all - he did this to hurt Ford. He's already hurt Ford.]

I'll kill you, I'll kill you...I'll kill you...I'll kill you...I-I'll...

1/2

[orzinlmhgvi]

[It would be a lie if Stanford didn't feel pity for this Stanley, maybe even a little seedling of remorse. He doesn't actually hate him--he hates the Real Stanford Pines. Too late, a little sprout of doubt takes root in him.

He ignores Stan's threats and climbs back through the bathroom mirror behind which the other Stanford is surely waiting. It doesn't matter though, because once he's through, his Real will instantly swap places. All Stanford has to do is find Lee and they can go to the Queen in triumph.]

2/3

[mviw]

[Ford had been minding his business, innocently washing his hands, when that damned excuse for a scientist, mockery of intellectuals, joke of a shadow of an imitation of himself, that bastard oozed out of the bathroom mirror, shoved him away from the sink, and abruptly swapped places.

Through the bathroom mirror on Mirrorside, Ford watched in horror as his Mirror clone shot his brother. With a strangled cry he began to scramble about in vain, trying desperately to get through. Mirror Stanley's room seemed to be unoccupied at the moment making Ford's pacing feel all the more futile. He slammed a fist on the wall when his efforts appeared to be entirely fruitless.

A cold, tight feeling seeped up through and seized his chest. He felt his hands go numb as he had to watch his brother bleed out while that smug, sick bastard stole the journals and stepped over Stan.

Ford curled his hands into fists so tight they shook, and he was never filled with murderous intent so much except for on his quest to annihilate Bill.

The Mirror Stanford approached and climbed back onto the sink. Ford stood, ready to fight him, not thinking that he was suddenly about to be--]

3/3

[mviw]

[--back on the other side.

It takes only a split second for Ford to get his bearings again before he rushes to his dying twin.

Mirror Stanford doesn't matter. The Journals don't matter.

He knows death isn't permanent here, but that knowledge is no match for pure, visceral instinct.

Ford falls to his knees by his brother, tears off his coat, and starts trying to stem the flow of blood. His vision blurs as tears well up, and the sting of a painful lump in his throat has to be choked back before he can even say anything.]

--Oh God. Oh God, Stanley, hang in there!

[It's too late.]

Stan, Stanley I'm so sorry. We'll--we'll get you patched up! It'll be okay, I've got you...

[He's going to die and there's not a damn thing you can do about it.]

...oh God...

[Ford's shoulders are tight and tears start to roll down his face.]

[charlastan]

[It's far too late.

Stan is already pale and clammy, and he's slipping. A blink, and Ford's Mirror is gone. There's nothing to reach for anymore. It takes Stan a moment to process that he didn't just disappear.

He doesn't have the strength to prop himself up anymore. Even with the blood pooling beneath him, laying his head down is the only thing he can do. There is no comfort in it - his heart is still pounding and fighting but he's so tired.

Then, someone's moving him, flipping him over. Pressing hard against the burnt entry wound. Stan lurches like he's going to hurl but manages to hold himself together by some miracle.

He looks up at Ford, eyes unfocused. He tries to move and the whole world tilts.

He feels like he's on a boat, swaying with passing waves.

His limbs are heavy, but he lifts one shaking hand...and very weakly swats at Ford's arm. Stan's barely conscious, delirious and not present, but for just a second he feels victorious.

Ha. He finally landed a hit.]

[mviw]

[Ford desperately gathers Stan into his arms as best he can, and instead of pressing on the wound with his coat he tried to drape it around his brother's shoulders before he just held onto him tightly.

Maybe if I hold tight enough--

Stan is going to die.

Stan is going to die and he swatted Ford. It's the weakest of resistance and although Ford is certain Stan must be delirious, the lightest of touches lands like a heavy blow.]

Stanley--it's me--it's Stanford! Your Stanford... I'm your brother... Come on Knucklehead! Come on... Stay with me!

[Shooting Stan once at home was bad enough. He can't keep doing this. It's too much. Ford doesn't even really realize it, but as he clutches his twin he chokes out an ugly sob.]

[charlastan]

[He's just conscious enough to look up at the sound of a voice, but not enough to absorb the words. He got his shot in, so there goes his reason to try so hard.

Everything hurts and he's fucking exhausted. He can't keep his eyes open.

He mutters something, but it's incomprehensible - just a quiet murmur to himself between harsh, struggling breaths. It barely registers that someone else is there, or that he's being held so gently.

His whole body tries and tries and tries--

--and then, it gives out.

Stan's chest falls one last time, and he goes limp in Ford's arms.]

[mviw]

[He adjusts Stan's glasses with the back of his hand (his hands are bloodied now).] -Stan? Stan, I... [...couldn't catch what you said. And then there's the hideous tension in Stan's body when it gives that last ditch effort to stay alive, and then...

... and then... Stan's life slips away. Ford feels and sees it leave his brother.

A heavy, painful silence lingers for a moment... and another sob escapes him.]

--NO! Don't-- don't do this--you can't! I... I'm supposed to protect you! I promised! [He shakes his head and checks Stan's pulse, but it just isn't there. He scrubs at his nose with the back of his hand and sniffs.]

Stanley please. [Ford curls around Stan protectively, because he certainly failed at protecting him before.] I'm sorry, I--

I'm sorry. Just come back again this time, okay...? I don't know what I'd do if... if you didn't...

[charlastan]

[He can't. At least, not yet - not for two days.

There's no reaction. No movement. Nothing.

He's really gone, for now. No one's home.]