Ford dreamed often as a boy, but rarely did those dreams take a vicious, unhappy turn. He remembers how, on the odd occasion that they did, Stanley was always there to comfort him. Even though he was terrified of heights, he would climb up into the top bunk and tell some stupid joke to get him laughing, or simply sit there on top of the covers and just be there for him, like he always was. Like they promised they would always be.

Stanley is here for him now, just like he was back then, but his presence is anything but comforting. The sound of his voice, the feeling of his hands on Ford's shoulders - they send him jerking backwards, his shoulders slamming hard against the wall as he shoves blindly at his brother in an effort to push himself away from him.

Ford recalls seeing once, when he was young, a raccoon being struck by a car. The poor thing had survived the initial impact, but it had gone into shock. It simply laid there by the side of the road, eyes blown up wide as it panted rapidly through its teeth until finally its breathing slowed and it went still. Ford never thought he would find himself in the same sort of state - shaking down to his very bones, terror in his eyes as he struggles for air and chokes on the all-encompassing feeling of dread that accompanies knowing you're about to die.

It's a dream. It's a dream, It's a dream, It's a dream - He can't die here. He's going to be fine. He's going to wake up and be fine - He keeps telling himself this. He keeps saying this over and over in his head, keeps saying it because maybe if he says it enough he'll be able to believe it.

Bill can only kill him so many times with his own brother's hands before he eventually wakes up. He just has to hold out until then.