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gosecretscribbles · 5 years

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Stanuary 2019 Week 3 Dreams

Smoll Stan gets an ear infection. Smoll Ford tries to help him out, but a much more sinister danger is coming for them from the very depths of the ocean...

“Did you hear that?”

“What?”

“That noise! It's like...a flute, or something?”

Stanley opened an eye. Ford was hanging over the top bunk, the rims of his glasses silvered with moonlight. Normally Stan would love literally any excuse to get out of bed and check out weird noises that might possibly lead to finding buried treasure on the beach. But he'd had an ear infection for the last few days, they didn't sell medicine for that in the drugstore, and sleep was the only time it didn't hurt.

“Well?” Ford prompted.

Stan closed his eye. His head hurt all over and it felt like he was sleeping on a rock, not a semi-fluffy pillow. “Dude, I can barely hear you through this ear stuff. Just pretend I don't exist until morning, alright?”

“But I can hear it!”

“If you don't let me sleep I will Q-tip my ear and stick it in yours the first chance I get.”

Ford groaned and flopped back into bed. Stan was pretty sure he was mumbling under his breath, although he couldn't hear it. So he kicked the bottom of Ford's bed for good measure, heard a faint yelp, and rolled over, burying his face in his rock-pillow.

He was in the ocean.

The water was warm. Not pee-in-the-water warm, but warm like a balm, like the summer sun on his face.

His shoulders were cold. He moved deeper into the water. The sand was soft under his bare feet, and the sky was a soft blue, so it didn't hurt his eyes. The water was wide and rippled like a million silver coins. Except for that one part, a shadow under the waves. It broke the surface –

“OW!”

He jerked awake when something sharp and painful jabbed him in the gut. He heard a shout and a thump. He rolled over and threw off the covers. Ford was sprawled on the floor.

“Did you just jump on my guts?” Stan demanded.

“No I didn't!” Ford protested, sitting up. “I just – what – where are my glasses?”

“KIDS!” their mom bellowed. “GET YOUR BUTTS DOWN HERE AND EAT! IF YOU'RE STILL HERE WHEN I START WORK I'LL MAKE YOU BE THE SPIRITS AGAIN!”

Ford leaped to his feet. “No-no-no, I am not participating in a mockery of science!”

His brother rushed around the room. Stan tried to join him, struggling to sit up, but for some reason his head was magnetically drawn to the sharp corner of the nightstand next to his bed. The impact sent a sharp pain ricocheting through his skull and he fell with a shout, face-planting in the carpet.

“Ow, ow, ow, lots of ows...”

A hand pressed on his back. “Stan? Are you okay? It looks like the ear infection is causing either inflammation of or pressure on the inner ear –”

“Foooord...”

“Lost your balance.”

His brother propped him up against the bottom bunk. His whole head felt like it was spinning.

“Ford, do something science-y to make it stop.”

“I can't, I don't know how. I can look it up at the library and go to the drugstore for ingredients, but it's gotta wait until after school.” He felt Ford's fingertips barely brush his hair. “Oh, man, it looks really red.”

“FIVE SECONDS UNTIL CHILD LABOR LAWS ARE BROKEN!” Ma shouted.

“Don't wanna go to school,” Stan mumbled, his eyes closed.

“I – I've gotta go, or I can't research how to cure you. You sure you want to stay? I can just –”

“THREE SECONDS! I'M EATING YOUR BREAKFAST!”

Stan waved Ford off without opening his eyes. He felt a gentle pressure on his forehead – Ford was pressing his forehead to his – and then the pressure went away and he nearly fell right over. His brother threw a blanket at him and then he heard their bedroom door open and shut. He'd barely pulled the blanket over himself before the door opened again and high-heeled footsteps clicked in.

“Ah-HA! Sleeping on the job, eh? Got me a good little ghostie for creepy sound effects!”

Stan let out a groan.

“Perfect!”

She took him to the living room and sat him on the couch, still wrapped in a blanket, then got him his pillow from upstairs. She kept him at a 10-foot distance (for contagion reasons) and basically told him to moan as much as he wanted. So he moaned whenever it hurt, which was a lot. Ma was practically beside herself with glee – all her customers stayed on the phone twice as long as usual, and she racked up over fifty dollars in the first three hours.

After that, though, Stan fell asleep.

The ocean was so warm. It was so warm and every part of him that was in the water didn't hurt at all. He bent his knees and plunged into it. It shlooped over his head and he nearly cried with relief, his ears didn't hurt at all anymore. They felt good. Better than good. In fact, even though he was underwater, he could hear everything. The cry of the gulls, the squeak-chirp of dolphins somewhere on his left, and someone singing.

Wait, someone singing?

He swam out deeper into the water, holding his breath. (It was a dream, but still, he didn't want it to turn into one of those drowning nightmares.) There really was someone singing, and it sounded so beautiful, like eating toffee peanuts but for his ears. He swam harder. There was a shape up ahead in the water. He was close – if he could just hear the words –

“Stan.”

Something was poking his face.

“Stan, wake up.”

“Mmmmf.” Maybe if he ignored them, they'd go away.

Then something grabbed his head, turned it sideways and poured ice in his ear.

“OW! OW OW OW FORD STOP IT OW!”

“Hold STILL!”

“KEEP IT DOWN,” roared their father.

Instantly both boys fell silent, but Stan kicked out and nailed his brother in the gut. He sat up, grabbing at his left ear. Liquid slid out from between his fingers and he pressed around his ear, sure his brain was coming out.

“What the heck, Sixer?! That hurt so bad!”

“This hurt worse,” Ford groaned, grabbing the coffee table with one hand to help him stand and holding his stomach with the other. “Geez, just take up kickboxing already. Look, I'm sorry, but I've been trying to wake you up for half an hour.” He took a pitcher off the coffee table and held it up. “Apple cider and warm water. For your ears.”

“Apple what now?!”

“It's perfectly safe! It's got acetic acid in it!”

“Acid is bad, Sixer! And it's frigging ice water!”

“I promise it's not.” Ford took a step closer, looking wary but worried. “I heated it and checked it on my wrist like Ma showed me and everything. I even put a drop on my own ear with the baby syringe, just to triple-check. I gotta clean it off before I do your other ear, though.”

Stan tried to wipe his face off on his sleeve, but tilting his head made the whole world slant. Ford took a towel off the coffee table and handed it to him.

“Just rest, okay? I'll be back as soon as I clean this off.”

Ford scooped something off the carpet and hustled to the bathroom.

Stan leaned back and stared at the ceiling. Now both ears hurt and his left ear was waterlogged. It was like getting swimmer's ear, but with pain. Hey, maybe that's why he'd been dreaming about the ocean lately. 'Cuz with the swimmer's ear and the infection...they both...a-sock-ated? Assur...assim...whatever. One of Ford's words. It a-sucked either way, though.

“Stan.”

He jolted awake, one hand automatically clapped to his left ear.

Ford immediately jumped back with both hands over his stomach. “Easy! You just fell asleep again.”

Stan smirked. “You may approach, minion.”

“Ha, ha. Look, I have something to take your mind off it while I do the other ear.” Ford grinned, reached into Stan's pillowcase, and pulled out –

“DUDE! Where did you find –”

“I SAID KEEP IT DOWN!”

He dropped to a whisper. “Where did you find a message in a bottle?! What's it say, is it a treasure map?!”

Ford grinned and handed it over. The glass was all clouded and smooth, probably from being thrown around for a long time in a bunch of sand. There was a cork jammed in the top and sealed with something black and shiny, like hardened tree sap.

“Cool, right?” Ford whispered. “I don't know what's in it – I found it the day before your ear infection started hurting, and kind of forgot about it. I was going to show you, though! I even put it under your pillow. But I haven't opened it yet. The glass is really tough, I tried banging bricks on it and it didn't even crack, and the stopper's sealed up tight.”

“Pfft. Your arms are like cooked spaghetti. Betcha I can get this open.”

“Definitely! Also –”

He squirted stuff straight into Stan's right ear. Stan yelped and nearly dropped the bottle.

“Dude!” Stan hissed, without any real heat in it. Except that he couldn't hear his own voice; it was like everything was underwater. (Well, his ears were, anyway.) Ford grinned, shrugged, and said something, tapping the bottle. “IIIII caaaannn't heeeeaarrrr yyooouuu,” Stan said slowly.

Ford rolled his eyes. He tapped both ears and then did a thumbs-up with his eyebrows raised.

Stan huffed but did a thumbs-up back. Then he settled down again while Ford went to the kitchen, probably to eat dinner with Ma and Pa. Stan wasn't really hungry. Thirsty, though. But he didn't want to get up to get some water. The way his head was feeling, he'd practically have to crawl to the kitchen, which was only fun to do when you were trying to be annoying. It felt a little different when you had to do it. And in front of Pa, too.

Instead he went to work on the bottle, working his fingers around the cork, trying to bite the hardened sap off. (Ow – biting sent more pain straight through his ears like hot pokers. Maybe not the biting.) Maybe he could melt it off? Or get a crowbar! One of those little prong thingies would fit, right? But that would also involve getting up. Okay, maybe if he just tried twisting it. Or wiggling it. What if he tried to jam the cork in? Like so far in that it popped down into the body of the bottle? That would work. Or maybe...

Stan was definitely close to the shape now, but the singing was still hard to hear. How did that work? Did his dream count the apple vinegar or something? That was so not fair. And it was really pretty.

Closer. The shape was getting clearer all the time. Wait – he'd thought it was in front of him, but now it was a little below. An optical illusion? He kicked and dove down, stroking hard. It was like the shape was always several yards in front of him. But he was gaining on it now. He could make out a wavy thing on top, like hair, and a pair of arms. But instead of legs –

A mermaid! It was totally a mermaid!

The sea babe drifted up to meet him, smiling, as if she knew that he'd finally figured it out. He grinned and waved at her. He opened his mouth to toss out a killer pick-up line, but cold water rushed in – shockingly cold, even though all the water around him was warm.

She laughed. At least he thought she did. It was muffled and hard to hear, even though they were only a few feet apart. Aw, c'mooon, why do ear infections count even in dreams?!

She took his hand and drew him down, her fin flicking gently against his own legs. Her mouth was moving. He could sort of hear her singing. He moved a little closer, like he was trying to wrap himself up in the song. He'd never heard anything that sounded like that, anything that made him feel so good. It was like being wrapped up in love.

Except for the ear part. The farther down they went, the more his ears were really hurting. He tugged at his hand. He wanted to stop for a second, maybe go back up, but he couldn't stand it if she stopped singing.

She pouted, then gestured with her free hand at the darkness below. Stan's eyes went wide. It wasn't darkness! There was a whole kingdom of glittering gold down there, full of sunken pirate ships and gold coins and towers of coral and gold coins and little darty fish and gold coins!

He grinned and she seemed to laugh again, but her laughter was part of the song. It was making him sleepy and he had to remember to hold his breath, to keep his eyes open.

She led him down, down, into the underwater El Dorado. Stan's head was really hurting now and he could barely hear her song, but no way was he going to miss this!

They swam past a column of coral, loaded with treasures that had drifted down from the pirate ships. He passed a polished golden plate and turned to grin at his reflection. But instead of himself, he saw –

“Sixer, NO!”

He fell out of bed, fingers scrabbling at the carpet. Bed? Bedroom?! What – no wait – what...?

It took him a second to orient himself. The room was dark, the moon was out, and the house was quiet - had to be midnight, maybe even the next morning. His heart was still pounding. It was probably just a dream, but he had to check. He did he scrambled up the ladder to the top bunk.

Ford was gone.

Stan jumped from the top of the ladder, hit the floor with a thud and took off at a run. He slid down the banister and dashed to the kitchen. The back door was open and he sprinted through it, heading straight for the beach. The dream was real, somehow it was horribly real and he had to get there before –

“Sixer! SIXER, COME BACK!”

He reached the shore and scanned to his right, then left. Clouds covered the sky. Too dark to see, but the sand was unbroken. No, no, he knew Ford had come out here, even if the tide washed the footprints away. Had to be out in the water. Had to look for a dark shape. He'd find him, he'd find him in time, he just had to –

The clouds parted and a sliver of moonlight shown through, right onto a dark shape flickering through the water.

THERE!

He plunged into the ocean.

It was freezing cold and seemed to cut at his skin like razors, drilling into his ears like serrated ice. He ignored it and stroked as hard as he could. When he thought he reached where the dark shape had been he plunged down.

For some reason he could see better down here than he could above the water. Then he realized why. Ford's glow-in-the-dark star pajamas were lighting up the water around him, and there was something with him, lurking at the edge of the circle of light, slowly dragging him down.

Stan dove, spreading his fingers like fins and pumping his legs. The merjerk must've seen him coming because suddenly Ford dove down – she was dragging him down! Stan tried to follow but the pressure was screaming in his head, he was running out of air, and the water was forcing him back up!

He bellowed with rage, stuffed his hand into his pocket and reared back, taking aim. The slingshot zinged right passed the siren's head, missing her by inches. She shrieked, baring a mouth loaded with sharp teeth – he didn't remember those in the dream – and grabbed Ford's stupid grinning face. It looked like she was going to kiss him, suck out his soul and drown him, or both.

Stan kicked down and fired again, and again. The second time he nailed her in the cheek, then the eye. He snarled with satisfaction as inky blood filled the water.

She clapped a hand to her face, shrieking with rage. Stan cried out. Her scream was like knives in his head, in his lungs, all the pain he'd ever felt at boxing all rolled into one. Water rushed into his lungs and he convulsed.

Agh! Sixer! Get Sixer, get Sixer!

He forced himself to look around in time to see the siren kick Ford with her fin as she fled into the depths. Ford was already writhing and choking, disoriented. Stan coughed – couldn't help it – but Ford was slowly floating up and Stan grabbed his wrist before swimming as hard as he could to the surface.

It seemed to take forever. A forever of his lungs full of ice and death. But they broke through into the sweet night air and coughed and coughed until it felt like their throats had been raked with nails.

“You – you idiot,” Stan finally said, when he could talk. His voice came out all hoarse like an old man's. “That bottle – was curse – was cursed – I'm gonna kill you.”

Ford was coughing so hard his eyes were watering. “Wouldn't that – defeat the – purpose of saving –”

“Fine but I'ma dunk you if you don't shut up!”

They made it back to the shore and crawled out of the water, shivering. The currents had carried them a solid mile to the south, so they had some walking to do. In the cold. While wet. And barefoot.

“If y-you catch a c-c-cold from this I'm going to s-sit there on your b-bed and laugh at you,” Stan grumbled. “F-for an hour. Straight. W-without pausing.”

“Y-y-your-r e-e-ears,” Ford chattered. His teeth were clicking together so hard Stan could hear them. “Are-are y-you ok-k-k –”

Stan winced. “Well they weren't hurting until you said something. Thanks a lot.” They did actually feel better, though. Maybe the acid really did do the trick. At the moment pouring water into his head didn't sound so bad.

“It t-t-tricked m-me,” Ford said. Stan glanced over. Ford looked equal parts fascinated and betrayed. “I d-don't unders-s-stand. Is it b-b-because I f-found the b-b-b-bottle? B-but you had it, t-too. W-why was I th-the only –”

“Ear inf-fection,” Stan said. “I c-couldn't h-hear it as w-well, even in my s-sleep.”

“You d-d-dreamed it?!” Ford's whole face lit up. “Wh-wh-wh-what ex-ex-actly d-d-d-d–”

“Nuh-uh.” Stan bumped his brother with his hip. “I j-just saved your sorry b-butt. Your sorry, very soggy butt. No weirdness interviews unt-until tomorrow. And if you p-put anything in my head to experiment with my ear infection I will wield Q-tips in a most nefarious way.”

This is definitely my favorite Stanuary piece so far! ^,^

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#stanuary 2019 #stanuary #week 3 #dreams #stanford pines #smoll ford #stanley pines #smoll stan #message in a bottle #ear infection #gravity falls

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