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femboyhorror · 28 days ago

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i saw myself inside my own life

【 sequel to my stangst fic i posted a while back. between lack of motivation and rewriting the beginning of this because ford knowing of stan's ex didn't make sense otherwise this took a while but here it is!

content warnings for internalized home of phobia, minor drug addiction reference, references to past abuse, (mainly filbrick and jimmy but some bill as well), one use of a homophobic slur and a minor reference to sex work. cross posted to ao3! 】

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WAKING UP in an place he didn't recognize was an experience Stanley wasn't all too unfamiliar with. But it still didn't make it any less anxiety inducing when it did happen. It usually didn't mean anything good.

Thankfully, he wasn't coming to inside of a bathtub full of ice. Rather, he's laying on a fairly comfortable couch with a blanket thrown over him. It seemed whoever had kidnapped him was at least polite about it.

Then, all at once, he remembers. He remembers driving out from the heat of New Mexico to the snowy hellscape of Oregon, getting greeted by his paranoia fueled brother holding a crossbow far too close to his throat for comfort, and then the portal and the fight and running into that… 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨… and being saved by Ford…

…𝘍𝘰𝘳𝘥!

Filled with a sudden panic, Stan tried to rise to his feet only to be hit by a wave of pain coming from his pounding head and his back that caused his knees to buck underneath him, sending him right back into the couch.

"Stan, you're awake!" And speak of the devil. Stan tries to open his mouth to respond in some way but all that he manages is a pained groan and moments later his brother is at his side.

"Wha… 'appened…?"

In lieu of any immediate answers, he feels Ford take his hand and place a few pills into his palm. He can hear his nerdy twin launch into a sciencey explaination of what the pills were only to trail off when Stanley throws the pills back without even asking for a glass of water.

( While his addictions hadn't been as bad since after Tijuana, he still was more keen on taken random pills than what was probably safe. )

Whatever it was Ford have given him was some strong stuff, and he could feel his pain fade from a stabbing pain to a dull ache and he speaks again, deliberately ignoring the stunned look Ford had.

"What happened, Ford? Don't remember stoppin' to nap on yer couch."

"Well, we were going to get some food, but you passed out almost as soon as we got inside." The response was calm, almost clinical in delivery, but Stan could see the worry that was plain on his twin's face and felt a wave of shame at knowing his brother had to take care of him as if he were a child.

"Shit, Ford, 'M sorry-"

"Don't." His brother cut in shortly, causing Stan to wince. Then, in a gentler voice, he added, "Just… no apologizing. We've had enough of that for one day."

And with that, the room became silent once again. Stan heard the sound of rummaging and turned to see Ford rifling through what seemed to be a quite large and well used first aid kid.

"Damn it. Why didn't I notice how low the disinfectant was? And the bandages, too, there's barely any left… This isn't anywhere near the amount of burn cream needed, how could I be so foolish…" A look of frustration came on his twin's face as he muttered to himself, seeming as if he wasn't aware that he was speaking out loud. Stan knew enough about his brother to know when the guy was about to spiral and he placed a hand on his shoulder.

"Hey, whatever we have is fine enough." He spoke, giving Ford what he hoped was a reassuring smile. "Trust me. Once I got shanked in my side an' had to sew the thing closed with dental floss an' I'm still alive.

Stanley realizes he screwed up when, instead of looking reassured, his brother pales and looks at him with an expression of silent horror.

'𝘋𝘢𝘮𝘯 𝘪𝘵, 𝘚𝘵𝘢𝘯, 𝘺𝘢 𝘯𝘦𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘯 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘵𝘢 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘱 𝘵𝘢𝘭𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨…' He thinks, wanting to slap himself.

"Don't worry 'bout it, alright, just focus on fixing what ya can." He quickly adds in before Ford can ask about the dental floss thing. A few different emotions passes by on his brother's face but he eventually lets out an exhausted sigh.

"You're right, Stan. But we 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭 be discussing that dental floss part." Ford added, fixing Stan with the sort of disapproving frown he'd expect from his mother after coming home with new set of bruises and scrapes after a long day of mischief. She's give a little tut as she pull out bandages and peroxide, chiding him for being so reckless. Until eventually his Pa had gotten on her for babying him.

( '𝘏𝘦'𝘭𝘭 𝘯𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘨𝘳𝘰𝘸 𝘶𝘱 𝘪𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘬𝘦𝘦𝘱 𝘵𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘯' 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘢 𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘵𝘭𝘦 𝘨𝘪𝘳𝘭.' )

After that, patch ups were mostly done by Ford in the flickering light of their old bathroom. Yet with a smiliar amount of disapproving frowns and tutting.

( '𝘞𝘩𝘺 𝘤𝘢𝘯'𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘪𝘨𝘯𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘮? 𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥𝘯'𝘵 𝘬𝘦𝘦𝘱 𝘨𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧 𝘩𝘶𝘳𝘵 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘣𝘦𝘤𝘢𝘶𝘴𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝘮𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘧𝘶𝘯 𝘰𝘧 𝘶𝘴.' )

Stan had to resist the urge to reply with a sarcastic 'Yeah, Ma' as he always had. As it were he settled for a roll of the eyes as he sat up straighter and shrugged off his old reliable red jacket.

He pauses just before removing the white shirt underneath.

He knows that his brother won't be able to properly tend to the burn with the ratty old shirt in the way. And yet the idea of taking it off - of letting Ford see the full extent of just how badly his homeless life had treated him - it made Stan's mouth dry up. Made his legs itch with a strong urge to get up and run like hell.

"Stan…" He hears Ford say after a long moment, sounding worried. '𝘏𝘦'𝘴 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘣𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘺 𝘸𝘰𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘯' 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘴𝘵𝘶𝘱𝘪𝘥 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘣𝘳𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘢𝘯'𝘵 𝘳𝘦𝘮𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘳𝘵 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘭𝘺…' The self loathing thought comes to his mind and Stan tells it to shove it.

"I know, just…" He takes a breath, trying to will away the tremors that come to his hands. "…promise me you won't ask."

He didn't have to look up from the floor below to know that his brother had one of his trademarked Confused Owl™ expressions.

"What do you… why…-"

"Please." The one word, spoken with such raw emotion that Stan was so rarely keen on showing nowadays, cuts through whatever Ford had intended on asking.

"Fine." Stan knew well enough to know that his twin would no doubt have dozens of questions going around his head regardless. But the fact that he didn't voice them ( 𝘺𝘦𝘵 ) was good enough for Stan. Steeling himself with a deep breath, Stanley yanked off his shirt, trying to ignore the way the cold air of his brother's cabin made him shiver as well as the sharp intake of breath that he knew came from his brother.

"Lee…" Ford murmurs in a voice filled with too many emotions for Stan's taste. The grifter hunches his shoulders, expecting an incoming slew of questions from his chronically curious brother, ranging from 'how did this happen?' to 'who did this?' and 'how could you get yourself hurt like this?' but no such questions come and after a moment he felt the cold sting of peroxide on his back.

"S-sorry, I should have warned you, first." Ford quietly says at Stan's hiss of breath. The next few minutes go by in a tense near silence only broken by the little sounds of Ford's work with the first aid kit. And as much as Stan knows he should just be thankful he isn't being asked difficult questions about his scarred body, the pregnant silence between them thick with unspoken words wasn't much better.

Stanley Pines didn't do well with silence. Growing up, it was in his nature to want to be loud and talkative and chatty, a trait which would get him into trouble as often as it helped. And years on the streets taught him to associate silence with danger. People yelling at him was one thing, but silence usually accompanied moments where he made one two many mistakes. Where a attempt to lighten the mood fell flat.

Where people stopped seeing him as a useful tool and started seeing him as a parasite. A burden.

Something to dispose of.

Worse yet, silence meant nothing to stop his mind from wandering to bad places. Dark places. From thinking things like…

'𝘞𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘪𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘪𝘴 𝘩𝘰𝘱𝘦𝘭𝘦𝘴𝘴? 𝘞𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘪𝘧 𝘐 𝘤𝘢𝘯'𝘵 𝘮𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘴𝘦 𝘮𝘪𝘭𝘭𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴?'

'𝘞𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘗𝘢 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘮𝘦 𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬? 𝘋𝘪𝘥 𝘩𝘦 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘮𝘦 𝘢𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘢𝘵 𝘢𝘭𝘭?'

'𝘐𝘧 𝘐 𝘤𝘢𝘮𝘦 𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘩𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘢 𝘮𝘪𝘭𝘭𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘢𝘪𝘳𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘦𝘭𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘮𝘦 𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬? 𝘞𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘦 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘥?'

'𝘖𝘳 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘩𝘦 𝘭𝘢𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘦𝘭𝘭 𝘮𝘦 𝘰𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘢 𝘭𝘰𝘴𝘦𝘳 𝘢𝘭𝘸𝘢𝘺𝘴 𝘢 𝘭𝘰𝘴𝘦𝘳?'

'𝘋𝘰𝘦𝘴 𝘔𝘢 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘮𝘦? 𝘖𝘳 𝘥𝘰𝘦𝘴 𝘴𝘩𝘦 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘭 𝘣𝘢𝘥 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘰𝘰𝘳 𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘥 𝘸𝘩𝘰 - 𝘶𝘯𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘍𝘰𝘳𝘥 - 𝘯𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘮𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘺𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘪𝘮𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧?'

'𝘞𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘢𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘯𝘰𝘸? 𝘍𝘰𝘳𝘥 𝘴𝘦𝘦𝘮𝘴 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘴 𝘢𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘮𝘦 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘥𝘰𝘦𝘴 𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺? 𝘖𝘳 𝘥𝘰𝘦𝘴 𝘩𝘦 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘭 𝘨𝘶𝘪𝘭𝘵𝘺 𝘣𝘦𝘤𝘢𝘶𝘴𝘦 𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘳𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘥 𝘮𝘦?'

Stan frowned at this. Ford… cares about him… right?

'𝘏𝘦 𝘴𝘢𝘺𝘴 𝘢𝘴 𝘮𝘶𝘤𝘩 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘥𝘰𝘦𝘴 𝘩𝘦? 𝘖𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘪𝘴𝘩𝘦𝘴 𝘣𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘢𝘨𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘶𝘱, 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘪𝘯 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘭𝘪𝘧𝘦? 𝘖𝘳 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘦𝘭𝘭 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘰 𝘨𝘦𝘵 𝘭𝘰𝘴𝘵?'

"Stan?" The grifter is pulled out of his thoughts by the sound of his twin's voice, and for a moment he thinks that this is it. His brother is going to tell him that he's all patched up now and can go ahead and leave now. Just go on and drive away before you break something important just like before. "Who is Jimmy?"

That… wasn't what he expected. His surprise must show on his face because Ford speaks again.

"You said his name while you were unconscious…"

"S'nobody." He tries to sound casual but his reply comes too quickly and there's a defensive hunch in his shoulders and for as easily as Stan can pull the wool over the eyes of any old schmuck off the street, lying to Ford was different.

"Stanley…" His brother was looking at him with an expression somewhere between frustration and genuine worry and Stan knows he needs to bury this topic immediately. Couldn't let his brother know that he was a fag as well as a grifter.

"L-look, me an' Jimmy were just pals, 'lright? Tha's all! Just cause a guy rides on the back of another guy's motorcycle don't mean he's gay!"

"Stanley, that's not what I-" His brother tries to cut in but Stanley was panicking and when Stanley Pines starts to panic his first instinct is to ramble.

"Okay, fine! So maybe me an' Jimmy had sort of a fling for a while. A guy can date another guy sometimes! It doesn't mean anythin'!" '𝘚𝘩𝘶𝘵 𝘶𝘱, 𝘴𝘩𝘶𝘵 𝘶𝘱, 𝘴𝘩𝘶𝘵 𝘶𝘱' a voice in the back of his head told him, but as per usual Stanley was never the best at knowing when to stop talking. "And- and maybe once I was in a drag show and- and I thought I looked pretty hot with a dress on and a guy called me a pretty boy an' I actually like it! So what! I needed the money and it was a hell of a lot better than workin' the street! And maybe there was that- that one time when a dude was getting handsy with me and then-"

"Stanley, stop!" Ford's outburst makes Stan shut his mouth with a snap, suddenly feeling like he was 10 years old standing beneath the disapproving gaze of his Pa.

"I'm sorry, Ford, I didn't-"

"Stan, do you really think I care if you're attracted to men or not?!" It takes an embarrassingly long time for Stan to register his brother's words. Did… did Ford really not care if he was gay or not…?

"…You don't…?" He asks, hating how small he sounds.

"Wha- no! Why would I?" Something about the way Ford asked - the genuine incredulous look on his face at the mere idea that he would be bothered by his brother's sexual preferences - was just so uniquely Ford that Stan couldn't help but let out a sudden and slightly hysterical bout of laughter. Seeing his brother break out into fits of laughter only seems to confuse Ford more, and he looks even a little concerned.

"Sorry, Ford, it's just- hahaha! The look on your face right now!" It took a few moments for Stan to quell his laughter before he continued. "Why are ya asking about my ex anyway?"

"Stanley, you said his name during a 𝘯𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘦. It sounded like you were struggling… Did he… did this Jimmy person 𝘩𝘶𝘳𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶?"

Stanley wished he could say no. That he could say that he had been strong enough to stand up for himself the second Jimmy started calling him names. Calling him a dumb slut, a whore, a dirty stray nobody wanted. That it hadn't taken countless bruises and threats and even a thrown beer bottle or two before he had wised up enough to get in his car and leave.

But he couldn't lie to Ford. Not when his twin looked at him with an expression that showed more worry and care for him that anyone had shown him in a long time.

All he could do was look down, letting his silence answer for itself.

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If you were to have asked Stanford back then if there was anyone he hated, he would have scoffed and said hatred was a waste of time.

Sure, he could be angry at all the people over the years who had called him a freak and reduced him down to his six fingers, but he figured that his time and energy were better spent proving himself more than that. One day, his name would go down with the greatest minds in history and then all the names thrown at him wouldn't matter.

But then his dream to prove himself went up in smoke just like the smoke that came out of his broken perpetual motion machine. And as if that weren't bad enough he sees a familiar bag of toffee peanuts and his disappointment blooms into anger.

And yet, as much as he wanted to hate Stanley, all he felt was hurt. Hurt over the opporutunity he lost. Hurt over the betrayal. But most of all, hurt over the Stan shaped hole in his life left behind after it all.

And then there was Bill. His muse. His closest confidant. Someone who understood him more than anyone else. A liar. A monster. A shadow in the corner of the room, nails in the palm of his hands, spiders in his throat, blood pooling out of his eye and laughter that just. 𝘞𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥. 𝘕𝘰𝘵. 𝙎𝙩𝙤𝙥.

Ford thought that nothing would ever compare to the sorts of evils that Bill had tortured him with.

But now, being confronted with the reality that someone had hurt - no, 𝘢𝘣𝘶𝘴𝘦𝘥 - Stan, suddenly everything happening with Bill Cipher seemed so very distant.

It didn't even matter that he didn't know this Jimmy person, that he never met the man before in his life. All that mattered is that he hurt Stan, had hurt his baby brother. Enough to make his usually confident and self assured brother look so ashamed and small. Enough that he was having 𝘯𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘴 about it.

"Ford?" The sound of Stan's voice brings him back to the present and he realizes he had been digging his fingernails into his legs, knuckles white with anger.

"And this Jimmy fellow… where is he now?" He managed out, voice tight with barely restrained fury.

"Ford, no, yer not going to hunt down my shitty ex." Stan replied flatly.

"𝘚𝘵𝘢𝘯𝘭𝘦𝘺…"

"It doesn't matter anyway…"

"Yes it fucking does matter, 𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘶𝘳𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶!" Ford knew it wasn't fair to get angry with Stan, but something about the look of resignation on his brother's face was frustrating in how utterly wrong it was. The whole situation was a surreal reversal of the sort of arguments they had not so long ago.

( '𝘚𝘵𝘢𝘯, 𝘸𝘩𝘺 𝘥𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘬𝘦𝘦𝘱 𝘨𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘧𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘴 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘊𝘳𝘢𝘮𝘱𝘵𝘭𝘦𝘳?!' '𝘉𝘦𝘤𝘢𝘶𝘴𝘦 𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘶𝘳𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶, 𝘍𝘰𝘳𝘥!' )

"I'm not letting you go track down my ex when you look like yer barely standing!" Stanley snaps back, gesturing towards Ford's exhausted state. "When's the last time ya ate? Or slept? Hell, when's the last time ya showered?!"

"I showered… a few weeks ago…" Ford protests, because even as he knows his brother has a point, he has to defend his pride a little damn it.

"You aimed a crossbow at me first thing after openin' the door. People don't do that shit unless there's something - or someone - that's got them scared shitless."

For a lack of any real counter argument, Ford simply curled in on himself and looked away, nearly pulling away when he felt Stan lay a comforting hand on his shoulder. Just as he had done earlier that day.

"Ford," He says, in a gentle voice that Ford recognized at the tone of a protective brother. "I came out here because you needed me help. And I wanna help ya, but I can't unless ya tell me what's going on."

'𝙏𝙍𝙐𝙎𝙏 𝙉𝙊 𝙊𝙉𝙀' The familiar words of his old muse came to his mind, sending shivers down his spine. Although the struggle of who he could trust was something Ford had felt long before Bill had gave it a three word phrase to lach onto. Ever since the incident with the perpetual motion machine, he had decided trust was something he had to give out sparingly.

Yet even as he repeated those three words like a cornerstone of truth, there was no denying the fact that once everything had come apart and he needed someone to turn to, it had been his twin brother that he send that post card to.

Because even after everything that had happened, even with all the paranoia in him telling him otherwise, it has been and always was second nature to turn to his twin brother to protect him.

And so Ford told his brother everything. From Backupsmore to Gravity Falls. About the stars that were in his eyes when he encountered his 'muse' to the way it all came crashing down once he learned the truth and all the horrors that followed.

By the time he had finished explaining his folly he had tears in his eyes and a deep ache in his chest from the shame of it all. He expected Stan to tell him what an arrogant fool he had been, to condemn him for his mistakes and leave him to deal with his demon alone. Any reasonable person would. But instead he was pulled into a tight and protective hug.

"We'll stop him." He had said in a firm voice that left no room for argument. "That triangular bastard won't ever hurt ya again. Not as long as I'm here."

And in a cold cabin in the middle of the woods, Ford finally let himself break down.

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#gravity falls #stanley pines #stanford pines #stangst #gravity falls fanfiction #hurt stanley pines #stanuary 2025 #mutt's written word #mutt's writing

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femboyhorror · 5 months ago

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sometimes things can seem like an eternity

【 my humblest of offerings to this year's stanuary. decided to do week three: supernatural with the ghosts prompt and manage to finish this just as we get into the last week of stanuary!

content warnings ahead for allusions to abuse, (both parental and relationship wise) brief suicidal ideation, minor and brief body horror of the nightmarish horror type and in general tackling stan's self worth issues. stay safe everyone! cross-posted to ao3! 】

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AFTER YEARS of surviving alone on the streets, Stanley thought things truly couldn't get worse for him. It all began with the moment his own twin shut the curtains on him and only spiralled from there. He was yelled at, stabbed, shot at, burned with cigarettes, shoved into a hot car trunk and left to die and even worse things he didn't even want to recall.

Point was, he thought he'd gone through it all.

How naive he still was.

He can still remember that scream. A scream so raw, so gutteral he barely could believe it came out of his throat. He can still feel the pain radiating from his back where the white hot metal had seared straight through his trusty old jacket and into his skin below, branding him like some common cattle.

All because he thought his brother wanted him in his life after all these years. What a joke!

But the cherry on top of it all was what Ford said to him. '𝘐'𝘮 𝘨𝘪𝘷𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘥𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘪𝘳𝘴𝘵 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘵𝘩𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘭𝘪𝘧𝘦.' Of course Stanford didn't want him in his life. He was a complete idiot to ever thing otherwise.

And so he fell back on what he did best: He ran.

He ignored his twin panicked apologies - too little, too late - as he turned tail back to the elevator that lead him down to this horror movie set of a basement. Ford's pleas for him to come back fell on deaf ears as the elevator door shut. Next thing he knows he's running out the door and into the snow covered woods, too lost in anger and pain to care about where his feet were taking him.

It wasn't long until his steps became slower and clumsier, and before long the pain of his new burn and his overall exhaustion had him leaning against a nearby tree for support, pulling his old coat against him to protect from the cold.

He could see his car - his beloved reliable El Diablo - in the distance. He knows he could just get into it right now and put this whole damned town in his rearview mirror. Yet even as he considers doing so, all he can see is his brother. The look of terror in his eyes and the desperation in his voice. But even as he can't bring himself to leave his twin, neither can he bring himself to go back inside.

He had just been trying to come up with some sort of plan when a familiar voice makes his stomach drop in fear.

"Ol' 8-ball, didn't expect to see you here…"

He knows that voice all too well. Once upon a time, hearing that voice would make him swoon and sigh like he was a schoolgirl. Now it's like he's been doused with ice water.

"Jimmy…" He doesn't want to look up but he has to. Jimmy never liked it when it seemed like he was being ignored. And even when he knows who was waiting for him, he has to surpress a flinch when he sees his old flame.

"I'm flattered, Andy. Guess ya remember me, after all…" The biker's reply was light and conversational, but Stanley saw the tells that showed how pissed the man truly was. Jimmy always had a way of hiding his anger behind a charming smile, luring you closer before striking. And Stan as ashamed to say that he had let Jimmy take his bad moods out on him for too long until he finally wised up. Waiting until the biker was old cold after one too many drinks to pack his bags up and disappeared into the night.

He hoped that he had finally escaped Jimmy's wrath, but it seemed he couldn't even manage running away correctly.

"And to think that after everything I've done for ya…" Jimmy continues, circling around him like a blood-thirsty predator circling his prey. "I took you in. Kept you safe, fed you… and you end up leaving me without even saying goodbye."

Stan knows what's going to happen. He knows what happens to people that leave their abusive exes. But despite the fear that wraps itself around his throat like an angry cobra, Stanley manages to find his voice.

"You fucking threatened to shank me! And that was when ya weren't too busy slapping me around cos' some other guy was lookin' at me!" Almost as soon as those words left his mouth, he's being grabbed and pushed against the tree by his ex. A situation that's all too familiar.

"I treated ya better than anyone else would, kitten." Jimmy spits out the nickname with venom. "Ya think anyone else was going to care about some street tramp like you?"

"Fuck you…" But as much as he tries, he can't deny that what Jimmy's words weren't true. His fight with Ford mere minutes ago and the subsequent burn he gotten from it was proof of that. If not even his own brother wanted him around, who would?

But then he blinks and in an instant the face of his ex boyfriend is replaced by the same unimpressed look of the man he's tried so hard to prove himself to his whole life. And though he should be questioning how and why his old man is out in the middle of the icy cold winter of Oregon wearing just his usual mustard-yellow suit, all Stan can focus on is the words that come out of his mouth.

"You're nothing but a low life screw up. Everyone knows it."

And just like that, Stanley feels as if he were 12 years old again. Pinned down by the disappointed gaze of the father he so desperately wanted the approval of. The approval that had always been given so freely to Ford.

"'M sorry… I've been trying to make those millions, though! I really have! I just… I just need more time…" He begs despite knowing full well his pleas will mean nothing to Filbrick.

All he gets for his trouble is a hard backhand that sends him onto the snow covered dirt.

"I've given you more than 'nough time. All you've shown me was that you are and always will be worthless." His father barks at him. And between the stinging of his cheek to the pain his father's words bring, all Stan can do is curl up like a wounded animal.

"M'sorry… I tried… m'sorry, m'sorry…"

"You're sorry? Is that all you have to say for yourself?"

Stanley immediately recognizes the angry voice as belonging to his brother, but the sight that greets him when he struggles to look up is so horrible and utterly wrong that he nearly loses his lunch into the snow.

It was indeed his twin standing across from him, replacing where his father was moments earlier. But what makes Stanley's blood turn to ice is the wound he saw on his brother's neck. A deep slash dried with blood dried so dark it nearly looked black against his twin's deathly pale skin. Adding to it were various other stab wounds across his chest that were all the same dark, dark red in color.

He looked like a walking corpse.

Stanley has to rub his eyes and blink, trying desperately to blink away the horrific sight that couldn't possibly be real when he had just seen his brother minutes ago and he was very much alive, if exhausted and terrified out of his mind. Then the corpse speaks, voice filled with pain and anger.

"I needed your help, Lee… I needed you to take that journal and you just ran away…!" When Ford speaks again, his words hit Stanley like a knife to the heart.

"You left me to die, Lee…"

Then, in the blink of an eye, Ford is right in front of him. Holding him up by his neck, close enough that the smell of rotting flesh nearly makes him gag.

"Dad was right. You're worthless. A waste of oxygen. All you've ever done is hold me back."

Stan tries to fight back, wriggle himself free, but with his zombie brother's hands at his throat he can feel his fight draining out of him like sand falling from between his fingers. As the air is pulled from his lungs, he can see the angry cadaver of his twin warp in front of his eyes. Eyes darkening until they were pure black, limbs lengthening, grin widening…

As dark spots start to fill his vision, he wonders if this is how he dies. Stanley Romanoff Pines, having managed to survive to the ripe old age of 27 only to die to some fucked up manifestation of his worst nightmares.

'𝘔𝘢𝘺𝘣𝘦 𝘪𝘵'𝘴 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘦𝘴𝘵? 𝘞𝘰𝘯'𝘵 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 '𝘵𝘢 𝘧𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘢𝘯𝘺𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦…'

Then, with the sound of an arrow firing, he falls gracelessly into the snow and gasps for air.

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Stanford was pissed.

Despite what he was up against, the despite the very fate of the multiverse being in jeapardy and - most frustrating of all - despite the fact that he trusted him enough to ask him for help his brother refused. And then to have the gall to call 𝘍𝘰𝘳𝘥 selfish?

Even after all these years Stanley knew how to push his buttons.

It was that anger that makes him argue with Stan. Shouting words that he knows he'll come to regret later but is too tired and frustrated to care about now.

And it was that anger that fuels him into fighting Stan when the latter holds his lighter dangerously close to his journal. Threatening to engulf his years of work studying the strange and wonderful anomalies of Gravity Falls and reduce it all to ash.

He hits Stan and Stan hits him back and the two go on this way until a shove of his is followed by a pain filled scream from his twin and suddenly all the anger he felt vanishes, leaving in it's wake the sudden realization that his brother is well and truly hurt.

"Stanley! Oh my gosh, I'm so sorry, are you-" But his hasty apologies are cut off by a shove that pushes him onto the floor. By the time he looks up his twin has already turned and is running to the elevator. The fresh brand on his back - 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘳𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘍𝘰𝘳𝘥 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘨𝘪𝘷𝘦𝘯 𝘩𝘪𝘮 - still smoking.

"Stanley, wait! Let me help you!" '𝘓𝘦𝘵 𝘮𝘦 𝘧𝘪𝘹 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴!'

If his twin heard his plea, he doesn't listen. And before Ford can make it to the elevator doors they shut with a resounding thunk.

Ford lets out a string of curses under his breath, running a hand through his already ragged and messy hair. Damn it, why didn't he think to install some sort of emergency stop button for the thing? As he's thinking this, he notices the light of the portal from the corner of his eyes. The portal that should have been off.

With some more curses muttered, he rushes over to shut off the portal, feeling no sense of relief as the portal deactivated because all he could think was that Stanley was 𝘩𝘶𝘳𝘵. Stanley was hurt 𝘣𝘦𝘤𝘢𝘶𝘴𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘪𝘮 and he needed to find him and help him.

As soon as he's out of the dank darkness of his lab he's grabbing his trusty crossbow - he considered leaving it behind but the idea of leaving his house without it made him feel exposed - and stepping into the snow with the goal of finding his brother.

'𝘏𝘦'𝘴 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘣𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘺 𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨 𝘨𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘣𝘺 𝘯𝘰𝘸, 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘧𝘰𝘰𝘭.'

The stray thought makes Ford halt for a moment with a feeling of sadness that he can't explain. That was, after all, the plan. For his brother to take that cursed journal, get on a boat and leave to hide it. And yet now that he was alone it truly dawned on him what his brother leaving him would mean.

Before the scientist can ponder on what he was feeling he catches sight of the red hunk of metal that was Stanley's beloved Stanleymobile.

The sight tells him that his brother was still here. A fact that would have comforted him if it didn't come with another, more worrying idea that something else might have gotten to his brother first.

The thought pushes Ford to move faster, trying very hard not to picture Stanley bloodied, mangled, 𝘬𝘪𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘺 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘮𝘰𝘯𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘰𝘥𝘴 𝘣𝘦𝘤𝘢𝘶𝘴𝘦 𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘪𝘥𝘯'𝘵 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘴𝘰𝘰𝘯 𝘦𝘯𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩.

His thoughts grind to a half when he hears it. A sound so soft he almost misses it above the howling of the wind but he recognizes it immedately. 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘣𝘳𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳'𝘴 𝘤𝘳𝘺𝘪𝘯𝘨.

With a flare of protective anger at whoever - or whatever - had dared to hurt his baby brother, Ford starts running. And he doesn't have to run too far before he sees Stanley, gasping for air and beind held up by some twisted parody of himself.

'𝘈 𝘸𝘳𝘢𝘪𝘵𝘩.' He thinks to himself. He's heard the stories of them. Some sub species of ghosts. They rarely showed up and when they did it was almost always at night and attracted by intense negative emotions.

Any other day he's be estatic to see one at all - let alone in daylight - but right now all he wants to do is tear it apart for hurting Stan.

His chest twists as he hears the words the monster was saying to his brother.

"Dad was right. You're worthless. A waste of oxygen. All you've ever done is hold me back."

'𝘞𝘰𝘳𝘵𝘩𝘭𝘦𝘴𝘴.'

Stanley didn't really believe that, did he…?

'𝘐'𝘮 𝘨𝘪𝘷𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘥𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘪𝘳𝘴𝘵 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘵𝘩𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘭𝘪𝘧𝘦!'

His twin knew he didn't mean it, right?

( '𝘈 𝘸𝘳𝘢𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘥𝘳𝘢𝘸𝘴 𝘪𝘵𝘴 𝘱𝘰𝘸𝘦𝘳 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘷𝘪𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘮'𝘴 𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘧𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘴, 𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘮 𝘰𝘧 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝘥𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘶𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘮 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘬 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘷𝘪𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘮 𝘥𝘰𝘸𝘯. 𝘛𝘩𝘢𝘵'𝘴 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘳𝘢𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘥𝘴 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘮.' )

No. He wouldn't let that happen. Any ghost that wanted his brother for a meal would have to get through him first.

Taking a deep breath, Ford forced his frustratingly shaky hands to still as best he could. Taking cover behind some bushes, he lined up his crossbow, said a prayer to a god he didn't believe in and pulled the trigger.

As the arrow flew and hit it's target, Ford let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. With a scream the monster disappeared in a puff of dark smoke, dropping his twin as it vanished and in a second Ford was at his brother's side.

"Stanley, are you alright?" He asked, mentally kicking himself for asking such a stupid question when it was so obvious his brother wasn't alright. He was barely conscious, shaking from the cold with a bruised cheek and a burn that desperately needed tending to. But when Ford reaches out to help him up he's met with a violent flinch.

"…M'sorry, it's all my fault…" The sound of his brother - his strong and self-assured brother - whimpering out apologies is so very wrong.

"Stanley, you don't have anything to apologize for…" Ford's voice shakes, trying so very hard not to break down himself, but his brother only shrinks in on himself.

"Pops was right… m'worthless… should've just blew my own brains out back in Nevada…"

"No!" Ford choked out, resisting the urge to reach out and shake his brother as if he could physically shake away the terrible things he was saying about himself. "Don't say that - don't ever say that! You're not worthless, no matter what any of those idiots at home said."

Stanley finally looks up at him and it's with a look of disbelief.

"Ya said it yerself. The chance to do the first worthwhile thing in my life." Ford can't help but flinch back at the reminder of his own cruel words.

"I didn't- I didn't mean it…" But Stanley continued speaking.

"No, you were right. All I've ever done was follow you. And once pops threw me to the curb I did whatever I could to survive… I- I did things 'm not proud of, Sixer. I thought maybe I could prove to pops I was worth somethin'… but I couldn't…"

"Stanley, no…!"

"I don't blame you for hatin' me, Sixer… I'll take that journal and leave, just like you wanted me to…"

"I can't lose you again, Lee!"

Ford's declaration surprises both brothers into silence. Ford takes the chance and continues speaking.

"For years I forced myself to be angry at you. Repeated the same bullshit lies our father said about you. I told myself that you deserved what happened. That, out of jealously, you intentionally sabotaged my machine. That I was better off without you. I told myself so many lies that I started to believe them myself…"

He thought back to the numbness he felt after his brother was gone. Moving through life like a ghost, only half aware of everything around him from his parents arguing vehemontly to the bullies at school. And after the numbness came the anger. How he focused on how unfair it was that he lost out on the scholarship to West Coast because being mad was easier than thinking about the all-consuming sense of loss that lingered inside him. In the missing laughter and jokes to the empty spot in the bunk bed beneath his own.

But as much as it hurt him to confront all those feelings. To finally set free the pain he kept bottled up all those years, he knew that if he let himself stop then he just might lose his twin for good.

"…I did it because it was easier than knowing that my brother - the person that had protected me all those years. Who would laugh with me and tell me that one day we'll sail the ocean together. - was just gone." The tears he tried to hold back were now streaming down his face and he can see Stanley tearing up himself.

"…Sixer…" He murmurs, but there's more Ford needs to say.

"I was wrong. And so was our father. You're strong and smart and worthwhile and I should have stood up for you that night." Stan frowns.

"Pops probably would've just thrown us both out." He says.

"Still. Maybe if I had managed to calm him down…"

"He already had my bags packed. Just needed an excuse." The knowledge hits Ford like a ton of bricks. Knowing that Filbrick had been planning on throwing out his brother the whole time made a protective sort of anger rise in him.

"I'm going to punch our dad." He says.

"He's on the other side of the country, Sixer."

"I'll take a plane, then. Or maybe a train. Go up to him and punch those stupid sunglasses off." Stanley is looking at him like he's lost his mind - and maybe he has - before letting out a snicker.

"Yer gonna take a train to New Jersey fueled by coffee and looking like yer gonna drop any second to punch our dad in the face? Sounds like a good plan, but in the meantime can we go inside? Freezing my ass off out here."

Ford wants to argue that it was a great plan and he didn't appreciate the sarcasm but he has to concede that his brother had a point. Not to mention…

"Stanley, your back…"

"Eh, I've been hurt worse." But as he stands up, Ford can see him wince and runs to help him.

"Yeesh, can stand on my own." Stan grumbles, but rather than teasing back Ford just looks guilty.

"I'm so sorry, Stan." Stan opens his mouth to respond. "Don't, Stan… just… please don't try and tell me it's alright." Stan sighs.

"Yer right, things kinda went to shit. And that was before I ran into whatever that thing was -"

"A wraith." Ford adds in.

"- that thing, yeah. Look, how about we get something to eat and call it even. You got any food in that creepy cabin of yours?" Ford thought about it and realized he wasn't sure. There was some moldy bread, some ketchup packets from the diner…

"I think I have some cans of soup." He finally replied.

"Wow, canned soup. Eating fine tonight." Stanley teases, and to Ford's surprise he finds himself laughing.

Maybe things just might be alright?

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#stanuary 2025 #stanuary week 3 #gravity falls fanfiction #stangst #stan pines angst #stan pines #ford pines #mutt's written word

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