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viceroywrites · 13 days ago

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deja vu - part eight (ford route)

planning out your road trip through the pacific northwest, you find yourself inexplicably drawn to the town of gravity falls.

little did you know that this town held more memories than you could have possibly imagined.

too bad you didn't remember any of them.

stan x fem!reader / ford x fem!reader

choose your own adventure / contains fluff and angst (w/ happy ending)

part seven | part nine

interested in the stan route? click here for masterlist.

a!n: i owe everyone the biggest apology for how long this chapter took me but it's finally here! thank you to everyone who waited so patiently for this chapter and is still reading this series. we've gotten most of the lore/memory heavy chapters done so hoping these next few chapters left will be easier to write! heads up for all my canon compliance peeps, there are parts of this chapter that veer off canon elements from book of bill but they're not too extreme. hope you all enjoy this chapter!

songs to listen to for this chapter from ford playlist:

headlock by imogen heap

ghosting by mother mother

doomsday

chemistry by gigi perez

sweet dreams by eurthymics

the funeral by band of horses

The dim porchlight flickers, illuminating Ford’s path as he paces back and forth with antsy. The porch underneath his boots creaks, the wood starting to wear down after years of being stepped all over as well as being pretty much torn apart when it served as a mech-robot during Weirdmageddon.

The sound of tires rolling over the gravel and grass covered path that led up to the Mystery Shack finally halted Ford’s movements. He looks up, seeing a beat-up pick up truck approaching. Once it stops, Fiddleford hops out of the passenger seat, waving at his son. “I’ll come pick ya up in the mornin’, dad. I’m goin’ back to bed.” Tate grumbles.

“You woke up your son to bring you here?” Ford questions Fiddleford as he walks up to the porch, giving Tate a nod before watching him drive off. Fiddleford looked his old friend dead in the eyes, “If I drove down that hill, you woulda seen a bunch of roadkill the next morning. I’d like to spare the little critters.”

“Point taken, follow me.” Ford says, opening the creaky screen door into the Mystery Shack. Fiddleford walks through, following Ford down into the basement, his heartbeat racing as they descend down the stairs. He could feel the tension radiating from Ford, his posture stiff and jaw clenched, making the cleft on his chin more prominent. Despite mending their friendship and putting the past behind them last summer, Fiddleford had to admit there was a part of him that still felt antsy when Ford seemed upset.

“Listen, S, I know you’re probably awfully mad at me right now-” Fiddleford decides to try and rip the bandaid off before Ford can say anything, but he’s quickly cut off. “F, I’m not mad at you. I’m just perplexed and honestly concerned.” Ford explains, glancing at the monitor, “Tell me, and be completely honest with me, Fiddleford. How many times did you wipe her memory?”

Fiddleford scratched his head, some of his older memories still foggy after years of memory gun usage. “Well, I reckon, it was maybe two times max. There was that one time… oh no, I erased my own memory that time, she was fine with keeping that one.” Ford let out a sigh, realizing that most likely was the best answer he could have heard from his friend. He walks over to the monitor, turning it on, “I have to show you what I witnessed… I didn’t realize… Bill was tormenting the two of you even after you both left.”

Ford winces, having to rewatch now for the third time Bill possessing his body and wrapping his own hands around your throat. The knot in his stomach grew tighter, averting his gaze to address Fiddleford who squirms at the sight, “You couldn’t have built a fast-forward function, Fiddleford?” Fiddleford simply shrugs, “I built this back in the 80s, Stanford. Plus I reckon I wasn’t planning on anyone actually watching their memories back considerin’ I was trying to erase every reminder of those anomalies.”

Ford picks up on how Fiddleford’s left leg thumps against the ground, and his thumbs twiddle together. A nervous tic his best friend had even before coming to Gravity Falls. He quickly swipes a Rubik’s cube off his desk, tossing it over to Fiddleford to fidget with, before pulling up a chair for him to sit down in, “Might as well get comfortable, old friend. We’re going to be here for a moment.”

Since the run-in with Bill, you had been avoiding Ford like the plague.

It had not gone unnoticed.

Any attempts to initiate any form of affection shot down, and Ford was starting to give up.

“Y/N, have I done something? If so, I cannot fix it unless you tell me what’s plaguing your mind.” Ford sighs, holding your cheeks in his palms, his thumb caressing your temple. You longed to lean into his touch, but feeling those fingertips inch towards the chin had you pulling back. “I’m alright, Ford… just a bit exhausted from today. I think I’m going to call it for the evening.”

“Thought you were going to help F and I do some welding tonight? The more hands we have working on the portal, the better.” Ford questions, head tilting in skepticism. You brush his hand away, and give him a tight-lipped smile, “I’ll have to take a rain check on that, maybe next week?” Ford puts his hands up in defeat, “Alright then, good night, my dear.”

Your shoulder bumps against Fiddleford, shooting him an apologetic smile before silently making your way up the stairs. Fiddleford glances back at you in confusion, pulling up his welding mask to quirk an eyebrow up at Ford.

“Ya’ll in another lovers’ quarrel? What’d you do this time?” Fiddleford asked. Ford promptly flicks his friend’s welding mask down over his face, placing a welder in his hand, “Less talk, more welding, F.”

Slipping into bed, sleep does not come as quickly as you had hoped, spending most of the evening tossing and turning beneath the sheets. Seeing nothing staring back at you but the neatly made side of the bed stings, a reminder of the gap that was starting to grow between you and Ford.

You could make the case that it was self-inflicted, but a hand on a throat by an interdimensional entity possessing your lover’s body was quite persuasive.

Growing restless, you decide to get some respite by swinging by the kitchen to grab a glass of water and stargazing on the roof. Rubbing your eyes, you glance at the clock at your bedside table.

1:00 AM.

You wonder if the pair were still in the basement, toiling away at the portal. There was some guilt about leaving Fiddleford hanging, knowing he had been restless himself about working on this portal and dealing with the anomalies of Gravity Falls.

As you rounded the corner and made your way to the kitchen, you passed by the living room. A sense of relief flooded you to see Fiddleford sleeping peacefully, but it was quickly replaced with sadness at what was in his hands.

The Memory Gun.

Fiddleford had used it every so often after a harrowing anomaly hunt, seeing disturbing creatures and not knowing how to compartmentalize it.

You gingerly maneuver Fiddleford’s fingers to loosen the grip on the device before taking it from his palms and placing it behind the chair.

“Man, I thought the hillbilly would never fall asleep, gemstone. Whatever that device was, it actually worked. I might have to try it out for a spin next time.” The sound of that voice has you almost dropping the Memory Gun, your blood running cold. You could almost feel the phantoms of those fingers around your neck, but try to push away the image, refusing to turn around to even look at Bill.

Rising up slowly, you attempt to walk past Ford’s body, hoping to continue your original plan. It was wishful thinking, a tight grasp enclosed around your wrist. “Oof, not the cold shoulder, gemstone. That may work on Sixer, but I much prefer direct communication.” Bill tugs you back with some force, your feet losing balance. The hands that you once found comfort in grip your forearms tightly to catch you.

“Listen, Cipher, I’ve stayed out of the way just like you wanted. I just want to get a glass of water and go back upstairs.” You sigh under your breath, refusing to give Bill the satisfaction he craves to see the pain in your eyes as you avert your gaze. His narrow pupils examine you, “Oh, I know you got my message loud and clear last time, gemstone. Unfortunately, I haven’t been able to give the same one to your hillbilly friend. Maybe we should wake him up and tell him.”

Your head finally snaps to meet Bill’s sadistic grin, opening Ford’s mouth wide about to yell. You wriggle your arm out of his hold, slapping a hand over his mouth, “Don’t you dare rope Fiddleford into this.” Bill pulls away, grinning down at you mockingly. He releases his grip on you, tapping his chin, “Hmm, I have a proposition for ya, gemstone.”

Your eyebrow raises, a pit in your stomach forming. Whatever his proposition is, it can’t be good.

Bill continues before you can begin to question him, “You keep Hillbilly from interfering with my work with Ford, and I’ll make sure Ford gets the rest you want him to.”

You whip your head up to meet his gaze incredulously, his proposition seemingly contradicting the message he had given you a few weeks ago, “I thought you wanted him focused on working on the portal. Why would you actually give him rest?”

Bill gives a shrug, “I forget you humans have these fleshy bodies that are dependent on things like sleep and food. As a result, Sixer’s work has gotten pretty sloppy. Maybe getting some sleep and an actual meal might do him some good.”

You scoff, “It’s almost like you actually care about him.”

“I’m all about efficiency. I mean some of those formulas were rough, you should’ve seen them.” Bill brushes off the notion, circling you almost like a predator circles its prey before extending his hand out with a wide grin that’s almost cartoon-like as Ford’s gums are clearly visible.

“So do we have a deal, Gemstone?”

You glance at the extended hand with hesitation.

There has to be a catch to this… but isn’t this what you wanted this whole time?

Looking past the entity possessing his body, you see how dark the circles are underneath Ford’s eyes, his chin dotted with stubble, and his skin stripped of any glow.

Your hand reaches to shake Bill’s hand, “You got yourself a deal, Cipher.”

Ford’s expression turns sour, seeing you fall into the same trap he found himself in when he first met Bill. A false hope that the deal would be honored and everyone would get what they wanted. That’s what Bill preyed on.

Humanity’s inner wishes, desires, hopes and dreams for the future.

“Ah jeez that means…” Fiddleford’s foot began tapping against the ground, that old feeling of paranoia seeping back in.

“Bill was able to access her mindscape..” Ford finishes his thought. He reaches over to tap Fiddleford’s hand, reminding him to focus on solving the Rubik’s cube. “Say F, did you ever have dreams like Y/N?”

Fiddleford blinked, shaking his head and causing his long beard to shake about, “Nope, but I used that memory gun till the cows came home, Ford.”

Ford hummed, “Stanley would have them occasionally… vague details but certain faces and parts were just blank or he woke up before he could make them out.” He glances over at his friend cautiously, “Shall we forge on?”

Fiddleford takes a deep breath before nodding, giving Ford the green light to pick up where they left off.

You glance over your shoulder, hearing Fiddleford’s feet pacing around the kitchen.

Ford had just left to get some fresh air after spending another night cooped up in the basement and catching up with his journal entries, stopping by a local diner. This left you alone with Fiddleford for once, his anxieties finally tumbling out.

“And this muse of his gives me the heebie jeebies. Whenever he takes over Ford’s body, it’s straight from Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, Y/N, I tell ya.” Fiddleford rambles, “Maybe we should put a stop to all this research, I feel like we’re dipping into territory I’d rather not touch. Ya gotta talk some sense into him, Y/N.”

Your eyes meet, your gaze sympathetic as you place the dishes you were cleaning down and wipe your hands off with a rag. Every fiber in your being wants to tell your friend that you agree, that you two should both confront Ford together, and perhaps the concern of the two people he is closest to would sway his desire for answers and to prove his worth.

However, the deal you made with Bill echoes through your head when you see concern etched across Fiddleford’s expression.

“Listen, Fidds, I know things have been tough…” You begin, the words struggling to come out. Your brain echoes the word ‘Liar’ over and over again as you attempt to assuage Fiddleford’s concerns, “But we have to trust Ford. He’s so close to accomplishing his life’s work, and he needs our support.”

“I dunno, Y/N, I have a bad feeling about this portal. Like what if this unleashes some cosmic horror or tears us apart atom by atom?” Fiddleford sighs, sharing the doomsday scenarios that were constantly circling his brain.

You place your hands on his shoulders, shaking him from his thoughts. “Fidds, this is Ford we’re talking about. The man is the embodiment of pure logic. If the portal had any hint of that, he would have caught it by now.” You say, a taste of your own hope on your tongue when you say that. “He needs us… but I get you need a break. The holidays are right around the corner, how about you go and visit Emma May? I can hold down the fort.”

Fiddleford gazes back at you, seeing the desperation in your eyes and lets out a heavy sigh. He gives a wary smile, placing a hand atop yours, “A break sounds like a good idea. Maybe it’ll give me a fresh set of eyes with this project.”

Your shoulders relax at Fiddleford’s response, but you still feel the heaviness on your tongue from the words that felt like lies.

‘I’m so sorry, Fidds… I have to make sure Ford gets some rest.’ You think.

Bill kept up his end of the bargain.

Winter came and went without a trace of his presence. Fiddleford left to be with his family during the holidays. You and Ford spent some quality time together, huddled by the fireplace and reading together in silence, before Fiddleford inevitably returned.

Watching Ford and Fiddleford put up lights to hang onto the portal with a mug of eggnog in hand, it felt symbolic of what you had hoped were new beginnings and putting the past few months of building this portal behind you.

Your hopes were dashed after waking up the following morning, your bare feet barely avoiding the glass from the snowglobe Fiddleford had gifted Ford that laid shattered on the floor. You had woken up to an empty bed, and Ford was nowhere to be found.

“Well, well, well, look who’s finally up!”

Your blood ran cold at the sound of that mocking voice that you had hoped you would never hear again. You glance over your shoulder, looking for Ford’s form first. Instead, everything around you is tinted in gray, the world around you eerily still. A low whistle comes from above you, and your eyes lock with the yellow triangle that sits atop the bookshelf, his eye squinting almost with glee.

“... Bill? Where the hell is Ford?” You ask, a bit surprised to finally see him in his true form that you’d seen in tapestries that lined Ford’s office in the basement. Your mind goes to potential worst case scenarios, which Bill almost laughs at, now having access to your thoughts and mindscape.

“Whoa, whoa, quite the active brain you’ve got there, gemstone! Lucky for you this isn’t a Mayan human sacrifice situation, Sixer’s in the basement working on the portal.” Bill says mockingly, circling around you.

“I thought we had a deal…” You mutter, wincing at Bill’s cackle.

“We did, and did I not hold up my end of the bargain, gemstone?” Bill says, flicking you in the nose, “Sixer got a whole month off like you wanted, and now he’s ready to start working on the portal again! Besides, I don’t need you to keep the hillbilly away anymore, turns out a more direct approach worked on Sixer.”

You feel frozen in place, the walls caving in on you as any hopes of being rid of Bill are completely shattered. You can practically envision the massive grin across Bill’s features if he had a mouth as your face deflates into defeat.

“Now don’t be so down in the dumps, gemstone!” Bill says with a light hearted tone, “We’re this close to the finish line,” emphasizing it by squeezing his fingers together, “and you wouldn’t want to pull Sixer away from it when he can just taste it, right?”

Your blood boils as Bill continues to the charade of acting like he’s some benevolent being assisting Ford in his research, that pushing Ford to the brink of exhaustion was somehow benefitting him, “You can’t convince me that you don’t have an ulterior motive to this portal, Bill…”

Bill’s eye narrows at you, his light-hearted facade cracking briefly, and he floats close to your face, “Oh, I don’t have to convince you. I’ve already got Sixer convinced, but go ahead and try to stop me, gemstone.” He cackles and begins to float away, disappearing from your sight and the hues of the room around you finally coming back.

You jump at the sudden sound of Fiddleford calling out your name for a third time. He had stumbled upon you on the way to the kitchen staring down at the snowglobe that was shattered on the floor, almost as if you were fixed in a trance.

“Everything alright? Ya look like you’ve seen a ghost.” Fiddleford asks, bending down to pick up the glass shards that were dangerously close to your feet.

Paranoia seeps through your veins, feeling as if Bill is watching you through every damn triangular shaped window in the shack. You gulp, the truth getting stuck in your throat before letting out a shaky, “Y-Yeah… let me help you.”

The two men watch helplessly as Bill makes it his personal mission over the following weeks to get rid of any fight that was left in you to raise your concerns to Ford. Bill had full reign to your mindscape after the deal, giving him access to the darkest depths of your psyche - your fears, your hopes, your insecurities. All of which he used to concoct pure nightmare fuel, night after night. Your evenings were spent tossing and turning in your sheets, haunted by unsettling visions of your worst fears.

The only respite at this point was forcing yourself to stay up as late as possible, sitting on the roof of the cabin. The night sky being the only thing you could rely on as Fiddleford’s anxiety grew worse, and the gap between you and Ford continued to widen, his own paranoia growing.

“All this time, I thought I was the only one Bill had subjected this torture too… if only I had known… if only I hadn’t pushed her away, maybe we could’ve gotten through this together.” Ford reflects out loud, feelings of regret bubbling to the surface, “She had to go through this all alone, no wonder she wanted nothing to do with me at the end of it all.”

“Can’t beat yourself up over the past, S… you couldn’t have known..” Fiddleford attempts to provide Ford comfort before being cut off, “You knew, she knew! Everyone has been able to see through Bill’s sweet talk and deception except for me… all it took was a couple boosts of my ego and he played me like a sucker.” Ford sighs, running his hands through his gray locks.

Fiddleford reaches up to grab Ford’s forearms, “Listen, S, we can’t change what happened back then, but trying to forget and pointing fingers didn’t get us nowhere. All we can do now is learn from our mistakes, and move forward.”

Fiddleford’s rational words calm Ford down for a moment, and he lets out a sigh, “You’re right… I’m honestly surprised after everything, she didn’t ask you to wipe her memories sooner.”

“Even up till the end, she was trying her darndest not to… everything that happened with Bill was what spooked her into considering it in the first place.” Fiddleford sighs, knowing that he’ll have to relive the moment you came to him in tears, begging to have your memories erased.

“Did Bill ever try to enter your mind, Fiddleford? He doesn’t always have to make a deal with you in order to gain access to your mindspace.” Ford asked, mostly out of concern that yet another person close to him was plagued by Bill. Fiddleford shook his head vehemently, “Nope, and I didn’t need no metal plate in my head either like you,” he knocked on his head, “Guess my brain was a bit too scrambled for him.”

Ford lets out a chuckle, “I will admit perhaps the metal plate was a bit overkill.”

The levity is suddenly sucked out of the room when the static clears, Ford’s voice echoing through the room.

“Fine, I don’t need anyone! I don’t need Fiddleford, and I don’t need you! All you’ve ever done is hold me back!”

Ford winces at the bite behind his words. He acknowledged the impact his words had back then, how hurtful they were, but he hadn’t realized how harsh the sting behind them was until now hearing it. He glances to his right, seeing Fiddleford’s expression drop.

You pack up every single remnant of your existence that was in the Mystery Shack, tears streaming down your face. Your hands stuffing clothes into your suitcase without a semblance of care, your vision blurring to the point where you can barely make out what you’re putting in the bag.

You reach aimlessly into your bedside drawer to grab as much of your belongings as possible, the wood jostling around before the frame that sits atop of it topples over and falls to the floor. The glass shatters, and yet you don’t waste any time trying to pick it up and salvage it, leaving it behind much like you and Ford’s relationship.

Your feet carry you out the door, giving one last glance at the Mystery Shack. You stood there for a moment, a part of you perhaps hoping that Ford would come running through the door. That he would chase after you, pull you into his arms and apologize for the painful words that were now carved into your psyche. That he would shut down the portal that evening, and leave this whole ordeal and his so-called muse behind.

The wind howled around you as the last ounce of hope within you died when he didn’t come out.

“You win, Bill!” You yell out at the night sky, “If Ford is what you wanted, then enjoy your fucking prize!”

You could practically hear his sadistic laughter through the wind, watching as you pathetically make your way into town to search for a place to stay.

The screen abruptly cuts to a more serene image of you wearing what looked like Fiddleford’s gray Backupsmore sweater and a pair of pajama pants, walking over to a ringing telephone.

Fiddleford was out for the evening, having left right after dinner to attend a ‘ town meeting’.

You let out a yawn, having been woken up from your nap on the cozy rocking chair to the sound of his phone ringing, the sound piercing through the air.

Your hand picks the phone up off the receiver, pressing it against your ear. Your voice is clearly groggy to the person on the other end, “Hello?”

There’s a pause before the voice lets out an amused chuckle, “Ya know, I was hoping for the hillbilly, but this is even better.”

You blink, pulling the phone away from your face and staring at it in confusion. The voice feels familiar… and not in a comforting way. Is this some sort of practical joke?

“Listen, Fiddleford isn’t here at the moment. I can take a message if-” The voice cuts you off, “No, no, since you’re here, I want to talk to you. See, I’m going to let you decide what I do with Sixer at the end of the night.”

Your eyebrow furrows, feeling a sudden pain in your temple. Why does that sound vaguely familiar? “I’m sorry, but… I’m confused. Who’s Sixer?”

There’s a longer pause. It feels like eternally before the voice on the other end erupts into hysterical laughter, the sound sending chills down your spine. “Oh this is rich… come on, gemstone, I know you’re mad at Fordsy, but that’s just cruel.”

The nickname and the mention of Ford causes the phone to slip from your grasp, the memories flooding back in an instant.

The sunstone sitting on your chest feeling like a slab of concrete, the feeling of hands wrapping around your neck, the same hands that once cradled you tightly underneath the trees.

You hear Bill’s voice mockingly calling for you, stuck in shell-shock to pick the phone back up. You barely pick up what he says last, “Well, I guess that’s my answer, it’s awfully cold tonight, hopefully Sixer doesn’t freeze to death.” The line suddenly goes dead, the dial tone piercing your ears.

Your teeth grit together, knowing that Ford’s fate is now in your hands. Going against your brain’s wishes, your heart propels your body to move. You scramble to grab your winter coat that’s hung up by the door, and make your way through the snow-coated terrain.

The wind pricks your skin, your feet acting off muscle memory back to where you and Ford started this life in Gravity Falls together a few years ago. There’s a brief doubt that maybe it was too easy to assume that Bill would leave Ford out near the shack, but knowing the dream demon’s sick sense of humor, you figured he wouldn’t pass up on the opportunity to taunt you.

As you approach the shack, you see a figure standing on top of the roof. Your eyes widen, the flurries of snow and the dark sky making it difficult to make out if it was Ford or Bill. Walking up to the steps, you hope for the former. To your surprise, it only takes a push of your hand against the door to give you access to the place that was once your home.

The sound of “Sweet Dreams” by Eurythmics immediately graces your ears as you pass the living room to ascend up the staircase to make it to the roof. You pay it no mind for now, the only thought in your head is to make sure Ford was safe. Your feet carry you up the steps, finally making your way to the top and pushing the stubborn piece of wood that stood between you and the rooftop.

Your face is immediately met with a cold gust of wind and a smattering of snow hitting your cheeks. Brushing the snowflakes off your skin, you pop your head through the opening, seeing Ford’s body rigid, icicles dangling from his nose and his skin blue in hue. God, he must’ve been out here for hours before Bill even made the phone call to you.

You make your way back down the ladder, grabbing a pair of gloves out of Ford’s room that was in disarray since you had departed. An extra appendage of cloth dangles from the side as you slide them on, taking a deep breath before making your way back up the roof. You drag Ford’s almost lifeless body down with you, almost worried that if you were to drop him, he would shatter into fragments.

Your initial thought was to bring him to his room, but you knew that he needed heat - immediately. Deciding to brave whatever Bill had prepared for Ford, you make your way to the living room. Ignoring the polaroids scattered all over the floor and the cassette tape that is set on the floor, you place Ford in the chair in front of the TV, and make your way to the fireplace. You almost roll your eyes at how a set of matches and fuel for the fire were conveniently left out.

Could this be a rare act of kindness by Bill? Perhaps.

You knew in reality, it was similar to a predator playing with its prey before it went in for the kill.

You strike the match, watching the flames engulf the wood. Pulling your gloves off, you pour the fuel on top to keep the flame going for a few hours at least before Ford becomes conscious. You finally take a look back at Ford, seeing the ice begin to melt and his skin start to become more pink.

There was a part of you that wished you could be here when he woke. Part of you wished you had a fight left in you, and that you could stand beside Ford to face Bill. Finally taking in the surroundings and seeing the twisted game that Bill had in store for Ford, you also knew that you couldn’t have any part of this anymore.

You couldn’t put your sanity, your peace on the line once more.

The taste on your mouth is bittersweet as you walk back out the door, closing it and the life you had with Ford behind you. Your body feels heavy, and yet your feet practically sprint back to the comfort of Fiddleford’s cozy hut. You’re greeted to the sight of Fiddleford still wearing his Society of the Blind Eye cape, his hair askew and his gaze panicked as you burst through the door.

“Sweet sarsaparilla, Y/N! At least leave a note if you’re leaving, you worried me sick! I thought-” Fiddleford is suddenly cut off, letting out a yelp as you run into his arms, tears soaking his maroon cloak. “H-Hey now, what happened?” He stutters, grasping your chin and pulling it up to gaze back at him. You look a mess - tears streaming down your face, and your cheeks and nose bright red from the wind and your sniffles.

You finally let everything out, your sobs echoing through the small space and your body shaking as you recount the last few hours.

The two of you sit in silence as your sobs slowly soften. Fiddleford rubs your back soothingly, his brow furrowing at the mention of Bill and his eyes unbeknownst to you flitting around the hut out of paranoia. He knows the solution that he’s presented to others to forget but he’s reluctant to offer yet again to use the memory gun on you.

It was one thing to erase the memory of the anomalies from his own brain and the brains of several Gravity Falls residents, but asking him to relieve you of every single memory you had of the man you both cared deeply about, he was conflicted. Your time with Ford encompassed most of your adult life, and he would be taking away essentially years of your life. He had attempted to talk you out of it, but when he saw how all sense of joy had been sucked out of you and your eyes puffy from all the tears you had shed, he caved, wanting to take away the pain.

“Fidds, I can’t stay here… I need to go back home.” You finally let out a sigh, “Everything about this place is a potential reminder of Ford… I just want to put this all behind me.” Fiddleford nods, “I understand… do you wanna..” he trails off, getting choked up over the thought of erasing your memories again.

“Yes… and I’m going to need you to erase my memories of Bill too.” You say, “I don’t want him to have any more power over me…”

Fiddleford glances back down at you, uncertainty swimming through his pupils, “And you’re sure about this?”

You nod vehemently, and he lets out a soft sigh, “Alright, let’s get you a ticket back home and then we can do it tonight."

“Hey Fidds…”

“Yeah…”

“Thank you, I know this hasn’t been easy for you either.”

After booking your one-way ticket back home, Fiddleford finally stands up, grabbing the Memory Gun. It feels heavy in his hands despite just spending the evening using it on the residents of Gravity Falls. He first types out Bill’s name before looking back at you sitting on the floor, “Are you sure you want this, Y/N?”

You nod, “I’m sure, Fidds. I spent so many years of my life revolving around Ford… I want to do the things I put on hold, and I know if I still have his memory lingering in my mind, I’ll be stuck for a long time.”

Fiddleford gives one final nod before suddenly hugging you tightly, “Don’t be a stranger now. I expect a letter about your adventures when ya get the time.”

You chuckle sadly, returning the embrace, “I won’t be, Fidds.”

Feeling the cool bulb pressed against your forehead, you close your eyes, envisioning your last conversation you had with Ford, the man that you still had so much love for, getting everything off your chest without a rebuttal, before leaving the Mystery Shack.

“I can’t believe we’re here, Ford. Never thought that when I turned down that job at the National Parks and followed you out here this is where we’d be.” You reach out to brush your fingers over his ice cold ones, “I loved being your number one supporter, encouraging you any time you had your doubts, I loved seeing you blossom… but I didn’t realize I was wilting and I have to put myself first finally, Ford.”

Your voice becomes shaky as tears begin to stream down your face, but your statement is said with conviction, “I’m going to live out my dreams like we talked about… I’m going to get that job at the National Parks, spend my days cataloguing all the marvelous gems and stones that nature creates and my nights gazing up at the stars… and even though I won’t remember you, just know I’ll be thinking of you when I look up at them. Ad astra per aspera, right?” You let out a sad chuckle before you lean forward to press one final kiss against Ford’s lips.

“I hope you’ll think of me when you look up at them, too. Goodbye, Ford.”

The duo were so immersed in what was happening on the screen before them that they hadn’t heard you descending the staircase. Searching for Ford to continue watching your memories, Stanley had told you that Ford wasn’t in his room, and made a passing comment that Fiddleford’s son was out front waiting for him. You came down just in time to witness the last memory laid out in front of you.

Your hold on your journal in hand slips from your grasp, the sudden thud against the cold concrete of the basement causes Ford and Fiddleford to whip their heads to look back at where the sound came from.

Ford’s eyes lock with yours, and before his body can move, yours goes straight into autopilot, unable to sit with these emotions that run wild in the pit of your stomach. Your head reeling, the images of Bill plaguing your mindscape after years of peace from his taunting voice.

“Y/N wait-!” Ford yells out, watching you flee back up the stairs. His body feels stuck in freeze, the antithesis to your flight.

His friend shakes him out of his stupor, “What’re you waiting for, S? Go after ‘er!”

Ford digs his heels into the concrete, reluctant to follow his friend’s suggestion, “What if my presence makes things worse, F? Maybe I should give her some space.”

“Well, ya did that forty years ago and look what happened!” Fiddleford says in exasperation.

Fiddleford’s words ring through Ford’s brain, and the image of you walking up those stairs and out of his life once again pains him more than he can describe. He made this mistake already, he can’t afford to make it again.

Stanford Pines is a man of logic, decisions carefully crafted after running every variable and probability through to the last decimal.

And yet he decides for once to use his heart, and not his mind to make this decision.

His feet finally move, chasing after you like he should have forty years ago.

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