Chapter Text
Art by stemm
Something a lot of people didn't know about Caryn Romanoff Pines was that she enjoyed horror stories. Things that were meant to scare you, like the supernatural, monsters, myths and legends that had a sinister warning. It turned out she didn't only choose to be a medium so she could easily scam vulnerable people. She really was charmed by the concept of the unknown, the invisible. What people considered frightening (or ridiculous, depending who you asked), she thought of it as entertainment. Caryn wasn't afraid, not really. She was thrilled.
And during the time where she was the most involved in her boys' childhood, she infected them with her fascination. It had been easy. Stan and Ford already liked the concept of monsters, of living beings beyond their plane of existence. They believed most of them were real, like children of their age. They knew (hoped) some were truly part of the realm of the imagination, too horrifying in Ford's taste. Though he would never admit it. Not even to himself.
Because he should like everything. Everything that was weird, mysterious, should be something he'd want to study even if it were frightening. Being scared didn't usually stop him from being curious. It actually motivated to dig further.
So he didn't understand why he was tense when their mom told them about the Boogeyman. Ford had heard of it before: it was the concept of a monster that would punish children if they didn't go to bed early, if they misbehaved instead of listening to their parents. He read about it a year ago, when they all went to the public library of their city during the summer break.
Maybe it was the way ma talked about it, maybe it was the setting, the conditions in which the story was being told to them. It was right before their bedtime, the sun long gone due to the fall season, bathing the three of them in (almost) complete darkness. Ma liked telling them scary stories when the lights were off, one lamp serving as the only light source.
It wasn't much. It made the shadows on their faces more pronounced, made them look like they had sunken eyes. Looking like the Dead. Actually terrifying. Even Stan looked alarming despite his goofy smile.
Or perhaps what really affected Ford was the way she approached the subject, her European influence shining through. She really had a way when she shared folklore stories with them, her Russian heritage bringing an energy that was unlike the American touch his twin and him were used to. So even if Ford knew of the Boogeyman, it was like he was relearning everything because of the way she talked about it, because she called it Babai.
When she spoke of Babai, she didn't give the boys a lot of descriptions, if any. All they knew was that he had masculine pronouns, that he was pitch-black like the night and he abucted children who did not go to bed when they were told. The lack of description was purposeful. Mystery was always more terrifying than knowing all the answers.
The story was a short one, too. Yet Ford had his knees pressed up to his chest, Stanley and him occupying each of their mother's side, sitting on the lower bunkbed. Caryn used her long nails to cast spider-like shadows against the nearest wall, telling them of two siblings who made the mistake of playing past their bed time. She told them of clawed-like fingers, reaching for the sister's ankles from under the bed. She said they grabbed the little girl-- ma closing her hand into a fist, startling both boys, then yanked it so its shadow would vanish-- and the girl disappeared under the bed, ma told them. Never to return. The kid in the story had to lose his sister to learn his lesson.
Such a simple story, so ridiculous and not real at all, yet Ford was chilled to the bone. Even when their ma wrapped both arms around them to tickle them and kiss their cheeks. But it did make him smile, especially when hearing Stan laughing and acting like he was fighting for his life. He had always been the most ticklish of the two (but Stan didn't want anyone to know, especially not their pa).
"I'll let you two get some sleep," she said after releasing them, getting off the bed, "We don't want Mr. Babai to have any reasons to come for a visit!"
"I'm not scared!" Stan said bravely, while Ford got off the mattress, "If he ever comes near me and Ford, I'll eat him!"
Caryn laughed, stopping herself from turning off the lamp. She looked at her son, mirth still present in her eyes even if she were a tad confused, "You'll eat Babai?"
Ford was about to climb the wooden stairs of his bunkbed when he heard her question. He paused, looking over at them.
The light was still casting shadows over his twin's face. They made the grin sinister, made something churn in his stomach. It was a trick of the light, Ford reasoned quickly, but unsettling all the same. It looked like Stan had a sharp canine, like his teeth weren't human.
"Yeah," Stan responded, "I'll eat 'im up."
Ford wasn't wearing his glasses, but he didn't need to see the time on the clock to know he had been awake for far too long. Maybe more than an hour. It certainly felt like more than one. Like two, maybe three.
He kept tossing and turning, unable to calm his mind. Falling asleep wasn't usually a problem for him, but tonight of all nights, seemed to be the exception. And it wasn't because of the story Babai story, he kept telling himself. No, certainly not. H̶e̶ ̶w̶a̶s̶n̶'̶t̶ ̶i̶n̶t̶i̶m̶i̶d̶a̶t̶e̶d̶ ̶b̶y̶ ̶t̶h̶e̶ ̶c̶o̶n̶c̶e̶p̶t̶ ̶o̶f̶ ̶a̶ ̶c̶r̶e̶e̶p̶y̶ ̶c̶l̶o̶a̶k̶e̶d̶ ̶f̶i̶g̶u̶r̶e̶ ̶w̶i̶t̶h̶ ̶s̶p̶i̶d̶e̶r̶ ̶l̶e̶g̶s̶ ̶f̶o̶r̶ ̶f̶i̶n̶g̶e̶r̶s̶ ̶a̶n̶d̶ ̶a̶ ̶l̶a̶r̶g̶e̶ ̶s̶m̶i̶l̶e̶,̶ ̶p̶r̶i̶s̶t̶i̶n̶e̶ ̶w̶h̶i̶t̶e̶,̶ ̶p̶r̶a̶t̶i̶c̶a̶l̶l̶y̶ ̶g̶l̶o̶w̶i̶n̶g̶ ̶i̶n̶ ̶t̶h̶e̶ ̶d̶a̶r̶k̶.̶ ̶N̶o̶,̶ ̶h̶i̶s̶ ̶i̶n̶s̶o̶m̶n̶i̶a̶ ̶h̶a̶d̶ ̶n̶o̶t̶h̶i̶n̶g̶ ̶t̶o̶ ̶d̶o̶ ̶w̶i̶t̶h̶ ̶a̶l̶l̶ ̶o̶f̶ ̶t̶h̶i̶s̶.̶ ̶I̶t̶ ̶s̶i̶m̶p̶l̶y̶ ̶w̶a̶s̶ ̶a̶ ̶c̶o̶i̶n̶c̶i̶d̶e̶n̶c̶e̶.̶ ̶T̶h̶e̶ ̶t̶i̶m̶i̶n̶g̶ ̶o̶f̶ ̶i̶t̶ ̶a̶l̶l̶.̶
"Sixer?"
He froze, feeling his heart nearly leaping out of his throat. It took him a few seconds to calm down. No Stanley didn't scare him, he was just surprised. That was all.
"Yeah?" Ford asked in a hush tone, similar to his brother.
"You're thinking about the boogey guy, aren't cha?"
Ford scoffed, resting his chin on top of his pillow. No, he wasn't pouting. He was offended by the audacity of it all. How dare his bro made such an assumption? Just because he kept moving in his bed didn't it was because he was thinking of their ma's story. It didn't mean he was thinking of the monster at all.
Stanley had simply asked a question, yet Ford made the assumption he was being teased. Mocked.
"No, why would I?" Ford replied, sounding harsher than he intended, "It's just a story for babies."
And Ford Pines was no baby.
He didn't know what he expected from Stanley, but it wasn't the silence that followed. It stretched long enough for him to prop himself up on his elbows, to look towards the edge of his bed, the one that wasn't pressed against the wall.
"Lee?" he called, keeping his voice down in fear to wake their pa. Fillbrick wasn't fun like their mom could sometimes be: he had zero tolerance for disobedience, often targeting Stanley with his anger.
Ford couldn't even hear his brother breathing. He would have assumed he fell right back asleep, if it weren't for the eerie silence that invaded their bedroom.
After a long hesitation, Ford moved closer to the edge of his bed. He ignored the loud beating of his heart, of how difficult it was to breath. Because he was a man, not a wuss. And so he took a peek under his bed, expecting to see Stanley in the lower bunk bellow.
Nothing.
The bed was made, bedsheets tossed, a chaotic mess. All the signs that he once had a brother sleeping underneath him, and now he was gone.
Ford quickly sat up, feeling the hair on his neck standing up. Like he was being watched, like something terrible was currently happening. He quickly turned around, expecting something-- or someone-- to be there. Like Babai, maybe his own brother doing a prank.
No one.
Ford was all alone.
And no matter how many times he called for Stanley, for Lee, no one answered him. Not his brother, even not their father telling him to shut up and stay quiet.
The monster took my brother.
When Stanford Pines woke up in a start, he wasn't in New Jersey, in the apartment of his parents.
He was far, far away from home, away from Dimension 46 and he wasn't a kid anymore. He was sixty years old, a wanted criminal across the multiverse who had long lost the spark children carried with themselves.
And he didn't recognize the walls that were surrounding him.
