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infriga · 2 years

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Oh, I'm glad you reblogged the WIP tag game because I don't think I saw this post until now! I'm very curious to hear any tidbits you'd be willing to share about Murky Waters. :D

(WIP tag game here, I'm still willing to elaborate on any others I haven't answered yet as well!)

Oh man this one is a bit of a doozy. It was a GF fic that I'd wanted to write back in the midst of my GF days, and I actually started writing it before I wrote 1 Step Forward, 20 Steps Back, but I managed to get a more cohesive outline made for 1 Step Forward Etc that compelled me too much to ignore, and was sucked into writing that instead.

Murky Waters was supposed to be about the younger twins going to stay with the grunks on their boat for the first half of the following summer, to see what kind of stuff they'd been doing out in the Arctic. But then part way through the trip they get involved in some supernatural hijinks which results in them being trapped in an underground labyrinth that they found on a mysteriously appearing sheet of ice that started following them around in the middle of the ocean (yes I know it doesn't make sense for an underground labyrinth to be below a sheet of ice on the ocean, that discrepancy was intentional lol). The idea was that the labyrinth was the prison for some sort of ancient evil entity, and the reason why it trapped the Pines there was because the stuff that went down with Stan in Weirdmageddon sorta made him a magnet for demons. There's a lot more to it, but if I ever decide to get back into writing it if I get into GF as a main interest again then there are some things I don't want to spoil much. Let's just say it was supposed to be a sort of creepy horror/thriller fic about the Pines stuck in a labyrinth while a demon is trying to possess Stan. Might as well make it an annual tradition, right? lol. There was also a prophecy sorta thing involved, because I was trying to work in a bunch of interesting and mysterious foreshadowy symbolism into the mix lol, but that gets a bit complicated and spoilery.

There were a few things it was meant to explore, one was the potential lingering effects of the whole killing a demon in Stan's mind thing, either positive or negative. And I don't just mean like, how it still affected Stan mentally or physically, but in particular how it affected him like, metaphysically. Like maybe it makes him more appealing to other demons, or even attracts them, because Bill sort of carved an easier path in his wake, so to speak, especially with how destructive the method of purging him was. And maybe it also gives Stan some advantages in other ways regarding the supernatural. Stuff like that.

Another thing I'd intended to go into was some of the ways Ford has grown, and maybe a bit of role reversal with him being the one choosing family (specifically Stan) over the greater good. Basically they weren't going to be alone in the labyrinth, and I don't just mean the demon, the person who created the prison would also be there to provide some exposition as a sort of eternal warden, meaning they were stuck there for a long-ass time (kept alive by magic) to power the magic keeping the demon sealed away. Their role would also be to sort of try and convince Ford to agree to a plan that would result in needing to sacrifice Stan to save the world (since Stan would act as a method for the demon to escape and this demon wouldn't be any nicer about it than Bill was, but they could theoretically use the same method they used to get rid of bill, only this time they'd have to kill Stan for it to work because of the nature of the type of demon it is and type of possession and stuff), but Ford would be like "you know what, fuck you and fuck the world, I'm saving Stan. Don't talk to me or my brother ever again"

The other main thing I wanted to explore was the younger twins wanting to help and be involved, but unlike in GF instead of them dealing with a bunch of shit on their own and separately from the grunkles, they actually have to deal with the Grunkles trying to keep them safe and even being overprotective in a lot of ways. The 4 of them would end up having to balance the fact that the twins are children who need to be protected with the fact that the twins also don't want to be useless and sidelined and treated like they're incapable. In the show the younger twins often ended up doing a lot of stuff on their own without the Grunkles being involved, so that conflict didn't come up as much, but I thought it'd be fun to actually see them doing more things together and figuring out how that works when one half is old and experienced and super defensive of their family, and the other half is very young but also very eager to be involved and included and are also going to be super defensive of their family. And of course both sides are equally stubborn. Plus I also wanted to take that chance to do more stuff to develop the relationships between Ford and Mabel, and Stan and Dipper.

A lot of the plot related stuff makes more sense in context, but it was one of the few ideas that I actually wrote something for. I managed to bang out a bit over 10k words of a draft, which I'll include a snippet of under a readmore for anyone who's curious. Keep in mind that this is like 4 or 5 years old, and isn't fully fleshed out or edited, so any mistakes or confusing bits can be blamed on that lol. Fun fact I basically narrated my idea for the entire fic plot to @ancientouroboros at one point on discord, so even though I lost my original notes/outline file, if I ever want to get back to writing it I can always just use that as a reference lmao.

Anyway, here's the snippet from what I'd managed to write before being dragged into writing a different fic:

Their flashlights reflected off of smooth, caramel-coloured walls. The material wasn't something any of them recognized, somewhere between stone and marble, and it extended down in a straight line on either side. The roof however was roughly textured stone. Stan wondered if there was actual earth under the ice or if it was just a design choice. He would probably never know.

He kept expecting to hear water dripping, or the scurrying of whatever small pests might have found their way in. But the tunnel was dry and silent, defying his expectations of creepy underground lairs. The only sound was their echoing footsteps. After a while, the angle of the stairs evened out until they disappeared entirely, and the path came to an end at a T shaped junction. Two separate paths branched off to the sides in either direction, and on the wall directly across from them was a mural.

Fish of all sizes were rendered in intricate detail across the entire section of tunnel, extending endlessly into the dark. The black substance they were painted from gave an almost iridescent sheen to their scales, making them appear so alive that whenever Stan wasn't looking directly at them, he swore he could see them moving in his peripheral vision.

"Great, so is this thing going to be a maze or something?" He grumbled “which way do we go?”

"Okay," Ford said, taking charge for the moment, "we need to be smart about this. If this really is a maze then we absolutely cannot split up, so we have to figure out what sort of method we'll use to get through here and find whatever it is that we're looking for."

"What if we followed one of the walls the whole way through?" Dipper suggested, but Ford shook his head.

"While that is a good suggestion, unfortunately it won't work if any section of this place is detached. When a maze has islands that method is no longer applicable, and we have no way of knowing what this one looks like or where our goal will be situated within it."

"What about that guy who used a ball of string?" Stan asked, which earned him a surprised look. He refrained from explaining that he’d seen it in a movie once.

"You mean Theseus?" Ford asked, "Well it could work theoretically, Mabel even brought her yarn on the trip, but without knowing how big this place is we could run out part way through. An easier option would be to simply draw out numbered markers along our path, but that method could take a very long time depending on the size of this place. There would be a lot of backtracking."

"What if we followed the fish?" Mabel piped up. She pointed cheerfully to the mural, and now that Stan thought about it, they were all facing the same direction, as if they were all heading to the same destination.

Ford hummed, his six fingers drumming on his chin as he considered the wall. "Is it really that simple?" He murmured.

"We could do both." Stan added, "Follow the fish and leave markers. If it doesn't work, we can just backtrack and find another way."

After a moment of deliberation Ford nodded. "Good idea Stanley. If that's the consensus then I suppose it doesn't hurt to try. Without more information we can't really come up with a better idea anyways."

Once Dipper had dug out a piece of chalk from his vest (seriously he was becoming a hoarder just like Ford), they took the right passage, following the lead of the paintings. Every 30 feet or so Dipper used the chalk to write a number on the wall, counting up from one. To find their way back all they'd have to do was follow the numbers down to zero.

For a long time, the path continued uninterrupted, long enough that Stan began to wonder if they'd been wrong about it being a maze, but eventually they spotted another split in the hall. One opening continued straight ahead of them, the other branched off to their right. The mural again decided their path, flowing around the corner to the right, and they followed after it.

More and more alternate paths opened up before them, until it was obvious that they were indeed inside some massive labyrinth. Stan had lost track of how many twists and turns they'd taken up to that point, so instead he chose to trust that Dipper’s markers would be able to lead them back out.

It wasn’t until they were a few hours into the maze that he started to notice that something was off.

"It really is remarkable." Ford was saying, as they made their way through a four-way intersection, gesturing at a device in his hand which he’d pulled out of his pack at some point. "This place looks untouched, as if it's brand new. No dust, no moisture or mold, no fungi, not even any insects or animal droppings, yet it has to be several thousand years old!"

"How do you know that Grunkle Ford?" Dipper asked.

"Well my boy, many ancient cultures have been known to use pictograms when developing their writing. These murals are unfamiliar to me, but the door itself was done in a style that I recognise. I also scanned some of the gold at the entrance, using rhenium-osmium dating to determine its age, and the results confirmed my suspicions!"

"Don't you think you should have brought that up when we opened it?" Stan grumbled. He'd been feeling more and more agitated as the minutes passed by, and every now and then the hairs on the back of his neck would prickle uncomfortably.

"Ah well," Ford sighed, "I only just got the results of my scan a moment ago, and while I recognised the pictograms as very old, to tell you the truth I haven't pinpointed exactly where I recognise them from. So, it’s not very useful information I'm afraid. Honestly, I have no idea how it's managed to stay in this condition.”

"Maybe it's magic!" Mabel chirped. She'd been looking bored for a while and was eager to join the conversation now that something interesting had been brought up. "It appeared like magic, and it kept us here with magic, so can't magic keep it clean?"

"That's an astute observation my dear," Ford replied, "But magic isn't very self-sustaining. A spell usually needs a caster to keep it active for long periods of time, otherwise it will fail shortly after. I can't imagine anyone around here has kept it going for millennia." He frowned, "At least, I hope there isn't anyone still here."

The thought of someone else being down there with them gave Stan the willies, and the strange feeling that had been plaguing him seemed suddenly obvious; he felt like he was being watched.

"Well, if there are people here, maybe they're nice?" Mabel said, ever the optimist.

"I do hope that's the case." Ford replied, his smile kind, but not entirely convinced. Like Stan he was a bit more of a realist, but also like Stan, he couldn't bring himself to discourage Mabel's idealism.

"Hey Stanford." Stan interrupted, "How much longer are we gonna keep walking? We can't exactly go on forever."

"Tired already? I thought your stamina had improved since last summer.” Ford teased, but he did take a moment to consider the question.

"Aww come on!" Mabel let her entire body slump over dramatically as she whined, "It's way too early to stop now!"

"Yeah!" Dipper, agreed. "We haven't found anything cool yet!"

With his nerves already strung tight, for reasons he didn't understand, Stan couldn’t bring himself to be amused by their enthusiasm like he would usually be. "We're not here looking for anything cool!" He barked, and the kids went quiet, looking guilty. Stan sighed. "Look, I get that we haven't gone that far, but it's already evening. When it starts to get late, we'll have to figure something out. We can't march through here all night."

Ford gave him a concerned glance, then looked back at their surroundings, conflicted. "Of course, of course. But we really do seem to be making consistent forward progress. To give that up now and turn back would be..." He snapped his fingers in sudden revelation, "We brought all of our supplies, couldn't we simply make camp down here? The temperature has warmed considerably, so I don't think we'll have too many issues with the cold."

Stan really, really didn't want to make camp down here. The cramped halls, the piercing beams of their flashlights, the oozing flow of the fish in the murals as they gained in size and number further into the maze, it was all giving him the worst kind of vibes. But even if he said something, did they really have a choice? What else could they do? The phones had been useless, the GPS had gone crazy, and even if they managed to fix the boat, there was a good chance they'd wreck it completely by running aground again.

So, he shook off the bad feeling and reluctantly agreed. "But at the first sign of anything funny we're heading back, alright?"

Ford nodded, and his gaze was understanding. They were taking a lot of risks here, especially with the kids, but their options weren't exactly numerous. Stan was usually pretty gung-ho about forging ahead into the unknown, but with Dipper and Mabel here he knew he had to be a lot more cautious.

They continued for a while longer, going further and further into the tunnels. Ford’s tracker gave them a good indication of what direction they were going in at least. Their watches had gone funky too, but Stan had always had a good sense of time (he hadn't always been able to afford watches back in the day, and even when he could they got broken more often than not). It wasn't long before he announced that it was time to set up camp and go to sleep, no if ands or buts.

The younger twins gave their customary groans, even as they pulled out their stored blankets and made pillows out of their packs. The grunkles followed suit, and though they had no way of starting a fire (it would be bad idea to light one in a subterranean tunnel anyways), they made do by setting the flashlights up in pairs on both sides of their makeshift sleeping arrangement.

Dipper and Mabel were tucked firmly in between Stan and Ford, who laid facing outwards, alert to any dangers that might approach in the night. "I'll take first watch" Stan offered, and Ford agreed.

"I can take second watch!" Mabel volunteered, her voice already heavy with sleep.

"No need." Ford replied, "I can take second watch. You two need to rest."

“Well then, I can take third watch...” She mumbled.

“Alright, I’ll wake you up when my watch is over.” He conceded. She didn’t need to know that there were only two watches. The kids closed their eyes, satisfied.

With a customary “goodnight”, Ford wrapped himself up in a blanket, boots and all, and soon all three were snoring away.

Stan was left staring into the darkness. The black substance that had been used to paint the mural glinted as it reflected the glare from their flashlights, even further down the hall where everything else was in shadow. If he shifted his head too much, they looked like blinking eyes. He laid as stiff as a board, refusing to move and give his growing anxiety more fuel. They’d been here for hours without encountering anything, not so much as the whisper of bugs crawling across the floor, or the squeaks of bats nestled somewhere out of sight. The silence was one of the most oppressive things he'd ever felt. Even in the deepest, darkest caverns he'd traversed in the past, he'd never encountered a place so eerily empty. And yet, the feeling of someone or something watching him persisted. He got goosebumps every time his body twitched in discomfort from being tense and still too long, making the schools of hidden fish wink at him in the void.

Even after he'd woken Ford to pass off watch in the middle of the night, he found himself unable to sleep. For a long time, he stared at those dots of reflected light, willing his eyelids to stay peeled open, for his ears to remain alert to any sound beyond their huddled group. But eventually his exhaustion took over, and he fell into a blissfully dreamless sleep.

#ask #reply #Gravity Falls #WIP #writing #myfic #ask meme #tag meme

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katsrnerstories · 4 years

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BillDip SlowBurn FanFic Chap. 1

Bill had destroyed Dipper's mind.

It has been a few years since weirdmageddon. Since Dipper and Mabel defeated demons from hellish planes of existence and saved the world and their friends from soul and mind crushing madness.

Dippers a freshman in college now. It was a moment that he had wished for for years. Highschool had been…

Well it wasn't the worst it could have been. Dipper hit a major glow up around the beginning of junior year (with Mabel's help of course) and life was a little easier. He was asked out on dates, went to a few parties here and there that people dragged him to, had some typical highschool fun in the city...

Until around that same time he started getting replies from colleges his senior year, he started to see Bill again. Every once in a while his mind would wander back to that summer, but it was always the good things or nightmares of the horrors they saw.

It started with just a little glimpse here and there. An eye in the back corner of his periphery, some yellow glimpse in a dark room.

A ghostly hand on his shoulder.

But these things were nothing to the first time Dipper realized something was wrong.

Dipper saw Bill in his dreams. And those dreams were beyond nightmares.

He had had nightmares before. Nightmares of weirdmageddon were common for both dipper and Mabel. But these… these were real; as much as a dream could be.

Because of Gravity Falls, Dipper really wasn't afraid of a lot of things that would have scared him. The unknown was comforting to him. Maybe because it wasn't too unknown to him and Mabel.

But bill. During those nightmares, brought everything he feared to the frontlines.

It had been a while since Mabel and him shared a room, so Mabel really didn't know about the fear Dipper experienced those nights.

She was more focused on getting to LA.

She wants to be a criminal psychoanalyst. To look at the minds of people and figure how they tick. Criminals especially.

Dipper could swear that Bill had done something to her to make her go down such a dark career path, but he couldn't say anything; he neither had a psychology degree nor was untouched by Bill himself.

Who really knows, it could have been anything else that happened to her in those hellish four years of highschool.

She had moved away quickly after highschool ended to learn in LA. Of course they facetime and text all the time, but the separation was still felt by both of them.

Everyone missed her presence. Her positivity, her unique personality.

That had transformed into something much darker come junior and senior year. She found out after a few failed boyfriends that she was not only Asexual, but that guys and even girls, can’t seem to give that part of a relationship up. Some even found it offensive that she felt that way.

Dipper went back to oregon. Of course he was in the city, but on weekends he would visit the Mystery Shack and Gravity Falls.

Soos was happy to give him one of the rooms in the basement. Sometimes even Grunkle Stan or Grunkle Ford would visit.

They decided shortly after Dipper and Mabel left that they would travel. Of course Ford's labs still sit under the mystery shack, but when Mabel and Dipper visited Soos the summer of their junior year Ford gave them full control of the labs (as long as Dipper kept everyone safe. Which he did too much annoyance of Mabel)

Soos and his wife at that time had just had a little baby boy, and now have a comfortable four kids, two boys and two girls (three of them were triplets) and run the shack not to much better than Stan did, with the same soul in the campy attractions and overpriced merchandise.

Wendy is in her senior year at a community college in Oregon city, right around the same place Dipper decided to go to school. They hang out pretty regularly, just around weekly.

Robby left gravity falls as soon as he got his GED. Went for New York, looking for a punk career. He sends Wendy emails every once in a while about his music and where he's at.

Shockingly, Pacifica stayed in Oregon, going to the same college Dipper goes to. They see each other, and after leaving her family, she found a lot out about herself and became a much better person.

She found she loved a good smoke and art. Apparently, something she hid from the world was that she loved art. She was probably one of the best artists Dipper had seen. After she left the hell hole of her family, she became really chill. Calm. even nice.

Her and Dipper have coffee pretty much every day. She was one of the only people who also knew what he had gone through.

And she was the only person who noticed as Dipper got worse and worse for wear.

Bill had been particularly evil the past few weeks, taking much more joy in Dippers struggle. Long ago Dipper had just sort of given up on screaming for Bill to stop. But he always refused to make a deal with him to stop the fear. Not again.

“Another nightmare again?” Pacifica asks, as Dipper requests 5 shots of caffeine in his already bitter caffeinated black coffee.

“Yeah. it's getting harder and harder to say no every night. And honestly the empty dorm isn't helping.”

“Why don't you just move in with me? I've got an extra room that's got your name written on the door if you want it.”

Dipper almost accepted, but decided against it. It was kind of weird, no matter how good of friends they were, to live with the ex that made you realized you were gay.

It wasn't her fault, it was just…

He liked a different kind of ass, as Mabel had said when he came out.

No, the daily overpriced coffee meetup was enough.

“Have you talked about it to Ford? Hes got to know something about it if he went through the same thing?”

“I don't want to bother them with it. They thought they got rid of Bill that summer, we all did. Bills my problem now.”

Pacifica gives him a knowing look. She knew that he was breaking, but couldn't figure out how to help him.

“Hows journalism?” Pacifica takes her coffee as she changes the subject.

“As boring as it ever is. Graphic design?”

“As confusing as ever.” Dipper takes a big sip from his steaming coffee. It's a briskly cold morning, enough he brought out his knit set Mabel had made for him on their 18th birthday. He had no shame in wearing it, and it in fact felt comforting today, to know that she was still with him in heart at least.

She never grew out of her sweater thing. She still makes sweaters, using it to get her to the next rent payment sometimes. Everyone can count on a big box with sweaters from her every Christmas here in Oregon.

With their coffees in hand, Dipper and Mabel head off to campus. And once they made it there they said their goodbyes with a hug and went their separate ways to start the day.

Dipper wanders into the lecture hall for his advanced maths class. People filter in as he types away on his computer.

The students around him wanted to be scientists, economists, etc. everyone found it weird that a creative writing major was not only taking advanced maths, this early in the morning, but was killing it. His grades spoke for themselves.

The class starts and Dipper still types away on his computer. He had been bored the night before as he was staving off sleeping and had read a chapter ahead in their textbook. He taught himself the three hour lesson that day in an hour.

It was no doubt that Dipper took after his great uncle Stanford. Grunkle Ford told him at one point that Dipper reminded him of a young Dr. Fiddleford. Dipper didn't really like being compared to the scientist that started a whole cult under Gravity Falls before going batshit crazy himself for a very long time.

He only hoped that he wouldn't end up like him. He didn't want to be some crazy man who roams the town.

Dipper had a story that he needed to finish for his next class. He had started to wear away the stories of Gravity Falls with his creative writing classes that he now had to actually think about what story to write. Mabel helped him out with the premise of the story last night. So he spent that class writing a simple flash fiction of one roaming the backrooms. (an urban legend Mabel had read about in an article somewhere.)

He found comfort in knowing that one thing did not exist to him. That one thing did not sit in the pits of Gravity Falls waiting for Dipper or one of them to unearth it.

The story reminded Dipper of falling through the endless pit just outside the Mystery Shack. A hole where they reminisced on days of the summer as they spent the day, or who knows how long, falling. they were all lucky that it was not, truly, endless.

And quickly the story was finished and the class closed early.

Dipper went for an early lunch. He scrolls through his phone, seeing Mabels three new instagram posts and all the other people she introduced him to.

After Mabel found out Dipper was gay, she went on a mission to hook him up with some LA guy. Oregons not terrible with their acceptance, but it's not something to be very open about. Plus Dipper wasn't the kind to walk pride without someone like Mabel hyping the both of them up. Because god knows that she needs just as much hyping up with who she is as Dipper.

When he walks into his empty apartment, anxiety wells up in Dippers chest. Quickly he turns on the TV, letting it run as white noise as he makes his lunch. The apartment had been empty since his recent relationship ended. Dipper is glad it ended, as the abuse just got too much; yet it was bad for Dipper to be left alone with his thoughts. Especially in an apartment that seemed to hold so much sadness and bad memories.

Mabel, after helping Dippers style, had made him a whole cookbook for him. It had all different kinds of foods, but the main dishes all were healthy. She had gone on a fitness rampage her sophomore year and had never truly grown out of it. It was from a bad place, but she turned it to a positive. As she always does.

She had told him that it was the first thing other than sleep to keep alive longer. She had made him promise that he would try to stay alive.

At this point it was the only thing keeping Dipper alive.

Bill had taxed his mind so much it was rare to find him not paranoid. Bill made Dippers anxiety beyond chronic, and the lack of sleep did not help his depression.

That had developed after Pacifica. It wasn't because of the break up, more at the fact that she had helped him so much.

She had accepted him being gay. She had helped him gain friends during their relationship, and she even helped him when money wasn't the best.

All this caused his anxiety to get to his head.

What if they think I’m evil for breaking it off with her? What if she'll never want to see me again? What if, what if, what if…

His depression had just gotten worse after the breakup and dealing with being alone again. It was the reason Dipper stayed with someone like that for so long.

All of the depression and anxiety ended up crashing down at the same time Bill Cypher ended up crashing into the picture.

At that point Bill only came to terrorise Dipper a few nights a month. It was easier to deal with. Now it's every night.

Dipper finishes making his food, sitting down in front of the TV to watch a show on Netflix.

He had been getting through the true crime shows. He swore that eventually he'd eventually either run a show like it with Mabel or be one of the cold cases lost to the world.

Yet within only a few minutes Dipper not only found himself asleep, but stuck in the mindscape.

“Been trying to avoid me, Pine Tree?”

Dipper no longer was shocked by Bill's voice. In fact the more and more he heard his voice, the more and more it began to sound almost human.

#billdip #gravity falls #whump writing #slow burn #fanfiction #writers #fandom #fanfic #bill x dipper #dipper pines #bill cipher #mabel pines #gravity falls pacifica #adult dipper pines #powerless bill cipher

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youngdumbamericanteen · 4 years

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Mabel bad?

Oof sorry for never answering you nonnie! I’ve been pretty busy lately haha. But the post you’re responding to is a bit...old. I now understand Mabel a bit more now as a person, however I do still dislike her as a character because her flaws I was talking about in that post are never meaningfully addressed.

This might get a wee bit long, oops. Click for a big Gravity Falls writing analysis/essay/thingy.

It’s good for characters to have flaws. Flaws that actually affect them and have consequences. Otherwise you have something of a Mary Sue that isn’t relatable and has a story that’s too easy and boring for the audience. The narrative punishes or addresses those flaws and they present a challenge for the character.

But at the opposite end, you have characters who have flaws that the narrative never addresses, which means the characters never have to grow. There’s two reasons this is bad. One, that you can have the same issue where they don’t face any struggle or grow as characters and it’s a boring story, or two, people don’t generally like to root for characters who they’d want to punch if they ever met them irl. You can have a story with main characters who are bad people, but you have to either make the character likable in other ways, present the situation so that the audience can gather that they’re in the wrong and either be rooting for their downfall or their growth, or have their actual story be compelling enough that the need to know what happens next outweighs dislike for the character. (And all of these things often require the story to be told from said bad character’s point of view.) Gravity Falls doesn't really do any of these things. Or rather, it tries but is ineffective for around 50% of the viewers.

Mabel is often presented as a pure soul, good of heart and just overall a good person. But she’s got flaws. She��s selfish and a bit inconsiderate, which is normal and not an unforgivably terrible thing, especially for a 13 year old girl figuring out her place in the world. All the Pines are a bit selfish, I think it runs in their genes. But the thing is, the show will treat her selfishness as perfectly fair and normal, with anyone her selfishness affects being shown as in the wrong. She often guilts people, mainly Dipper, into sacrificing things for her while rarely making any sacrifices of her own. She does it to other characters as well, but here’s a brief list of times Dipper has sacrificed something for Mabel (which I compiled with the help of this post on Quora):

Tourist Trapped: Dipper spends almost the entire time worried about Mabel’s safety and trying to protect her, while she just brushes him off and laughs at him.

The Hand that Rocks the Mabel: Dipper agrees to break up with Gideon for her.

Time Traveler’s Pig: Mabel insists that Dipper give up the reality that doesn't break his heart so that she can adopt Waddles, and when he initially refuses she purposely endangers the space-time continuum as retaliation.

Little Dipper: Mabel is very angry about Dipper making himself taller, even though Dipper would not have resorted to it if now for her teasing. She immediately demands and fights for the magic flashlight, causing it to fall into Gideon’s hands.

Summerween: Mabel drags Dipper out to go trick-or-treating in a costume he dislikes because she’d planned on them having a duo costume.

Boss Mabel: I shouldn’t even really have to explain this one, the whole episode is about her going on a power trip.

The Deep End: Mabel embarks on a rescue mission for Mermando, doing and using things that would lead to Dipper being fired from the pool job he loves, without consulting him at all. She hears his concerns and instead of just explaining she’s saving Mermando the first time, she completely ignores him and speeds off, destroying more pool property and ensuring he’ll be fired.

Carpet Diem: Dipper informs her of the the issues he has with her roommate habits, and she completely denies any fault, even though she and her friends had legitimately destroyed the room and the mini-golf course the twins had built. The two of them both overreact, and act selfishly throughout the entire episode, but she absolutely refuses to listen to him.

Boyz Crazy: This one isn’t Dipper but I still wanted to mention it because she is so ridiculously selfish throughout the whole episode, to the point where it’s to her and the people she loves’ detriment.

Dreamscapers: Again not Dipper or a sacrifice, but her worst nightmare is apparently losing her cuteness and becoming ugly. I dunno if that’s exactly selfish or anything but God did it make me wrinkle my nose in distaste.

Sock Opera: After promising to help Dipper with the laptop, she almost immediately abandons him for her crush of the week, then proceeds to ignore him for, and inconvenience him with, her puppet show, taking his things without asking and expecting him to be completely cool with all her actions. Bill literally mentions her selfishness to manipulate Dipper and it completely works.

The Love God: Dipper leaves Wendy and her friends in chaos to help fix Mabel’s mess.

Dungeons, Dungeons, and More Dungeons: Mabel, her friends, and Stan all make fun of Dipper and Ford and insist they should have full use of the living room.

Dipper and Mable vs the Future: This is one of the big ones that people talk about. Mable finds out that Dipper might want to stay as Ford’s apprentice and becomes incredibly upset because she dreamed of the two of them having fun in high school together. She sees Dipper and immediately makes it about her and her feelings, treating something he’d been dreaming of all summer (being The Author’s apprentice) as some direct attack on her happiness. She proceeds to literally give Bill the ability to start the apocalypse to avoid being separated from Dipper, all without having any sort of meaningful conversation with Dipper or considering his feelings.

Weirdmageddon Part 2: Escape From Reality: Out of all of these, this might be the one that gets to me the most. Mabel, seemingly knowing full well that she’s trapped by Bill, creates an imaginary fantasy land and refuses to leave just to spite Dipper for considering taking the apprenticeship. And despite doing all this, and attempting to convince him to stay with her, she creates an alternate “better” version of Dipper who’s “cool” and supportive and very, very, different from the real Dipper.

And this isn’t even mentioning all the times she just assumed she was completely in the right about something or had the moral high ground. Mabel frequently makes rush decisions because she thinks everything should be her way or how she thinks is right.

And I want to say again, none of these things are unforgivable. Honestly, a lot of the things on the list are pretty standard sibling things, and like she isn’t even always in the wrong. The issue is that I’m naming at least 15 times where Mabel has been selfish or forced someone to give something up for her, and she almost never learns her lesson or is punished by the narrative. There are also only 2 or 3 times I can think of where Mabel sacrificed anything for Dipper, and they were all times he was in actual danger or someone had to talk to her and say she messed up and needed to fix her mistake.

Dipper, on the other hand, sacrifices things for Mabel, faces consequences for his mistakes and his flaws, learns substantial lessons, apologizes, and rarely, if ever, repeats said mistakes. Now, this doesn’t mean that Mabel is awful and Dipper isn’t. I mean, Dipper does some pretty crumby things and has to be told he’s in the wrong or to apologize. And Mabel isn’t a bad person. Like legitimately, that is not what I want anyone to take away from this. She does genuinely love her brother and care about his wellbeing. She’s just a little selfish and unthinking sometimes, like anyone else.

Like I said, my issue is that it goes unpunished, and she repeats the same type of offense wayyy more than any other character. She’ll disappoint Dipper enough that he’d make a deal with Bill and then everyone will still say she’s the best and most caring person ever. That’s just annoying, honestly, or it is to me at least.

This isn’t dunking on her, this is dunking on the writers. And they aren’t unforgivable either, I mean Gravity Falls was a masterful web of foreshadowing, character building, lore, plot work, and incredibly intelligent humor mixed with jokes kids would love too. I don’t blame them for dropping the ball on Mabel, and I don’t hate her or the show or anything because of it. I just want us to acknowledge this flaw of the show, and also have people get it when Mabel gets on my nerves a little bit.

#ask b #i adore mabel as a character/person #but as an example of writing? she's not so hot #gravity falls #gf #mabel #mabel pines #mabel salt #anti mabel #<< those are just in case

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cloveroctobers · 4 years

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HENRIK LILJENQUIST—

IG info/Bio: @/adventuresbyhenrik | 53.1k followers — “imma wild boi🌿🌏🧗 | happily taken👩‍❤️‍💋‍👨

23 (24) years old

Parents are both Swedish and only speak Swedish, leaving henrik to also become fluent

His father Halvi is a pilot

His mother Lova is a race car driver

Siblings? Probably a brother, named Jahan & younger by two or three years + they get along quite well

Born & raised in Isle of Wight, England + loves it there & thinks it’s the best place for him to live, it’s his own private island in his mind plus he’s always finding something to do. He stays active

Climbing & wilderness survival instructor, he gets to talk as much as he wants while also teaching people AND all while being active! Sounds like the perfect job for him

Probably developed ADHD around his pre-teen age, leaving his parents to find him something he enjoys + can slow down and focus on

used to be on meds for it

Was well-known in high school, probably in the yearbook club since he was able to run around & get to know people but was kinda shit at knowing the functions of a camera

His selfie game has gotten a lot better now but he mostly posts anything but his face. You’ll see more of his face on his stories & location shots on his feed

Feels his hair is his best physical feature & his prized possession, would never THINK about cutting it. Even just a trim is a bit much for him

Always tries to be positive but at the same time can be condescending since he sometimes won’t pick his words wisely ex.) when he gave MC a backhanded “compliment” about makeup, being active, + wanting them to “think of others ” feelings — just because someone is opposite from you doesn’t mean you have to shit on the way they carry themselves...that’s my issue with him

maybe he’s a Taurus?

Loves fall & spring, more so fall since that’s when the weather feels nicest to him plus allergy season is a REAL bitch

The guy’s real Adventurous & always managing to find something to do. If you’re ever bored just hit him up, he has plenty of recommendations

Family owns a cottage & he’s the one who goes out there more than his own family does! “You should just sell it to me at this point!” He tells his parents over dinner often & it is strongly considered

Has five birds & a husky, when he goes on road trips they’re always with him. Which can get a little hectic at times but they’re his family, he’s a, “birdog dad”

BLAKE secretly dislikes them all, feeling like they take up space sometimes (especially when she wants to cuddle) but she deals with it since she cares for the guy — yes, they’re still dating

She’s been convincing him to cut a few inches off of his hair which he took like a slap in the face, “that’s like me asking you to quit speaking up for humans!” “No, no it’s not.”

They’re polar opposites with flaws which causes disagreements between the two of them by putting each other in their places but they learn to compromise? (*insert eartha Kitt gif laughing here*] if they want this to work

His mother seems to be the only one who dislikes blake (she strongly feels he should have bought MC back home...that’s right she watched the show from time to time. Not always since she doesn’t care for reality tv but her friends encouraged her to watch bits and pieces) while his dad and brother approve

It is tense when Blake and his mom are in the same room which makes Henrik sad since he believes Blake deserves a chance. He took a chance on her and it seems to be going pretty well so why couldn’t his mother just be happy for him like the rest of the family is?

Henrik loves his low-maintenance girls who are open to trying new things with him, Blake is usually down most of the time but she likes her personal space too..which henrik struggles to understand

He wants her to live with him, he’s sure his parents will let him have the cottage if Blake decides to live with him but Blake loves her freedom in Kingston

It’s hidden but I feel like he might be one of those guys that feels like “a woman should follow a man” since that’s what his father installed into his boys— which failed because his wife isn’t just a housewife, she has goals and went after them

I feel like Blake turns to social media almost always to post about her feelings (I can’t remember what I picked the first time around as my occupation but as I’m currently playing I picked human rights campaigner so) but it’s mostly subtle shade & it always goes recognized by fans which brings drama between her, mc x Bobby

Henrik jumps in because what kind of guy would he be if he didn’t have his gf’s back? Doesn’t care for the drama but he & Bobby usually said slick shit to each other in the villa, it’s safe to say they’re not really friends but they’re not enemies either that’s mostly between their gf/wife

Henrik doesn’t care enough about Bobby to dislike him but he won’t put up with his shit any longer and what easier way to do that than online? He feels like they can settle this with a phone call but Blake & MC aren’t with the shits and don’t want their men speaking to each other

Henrik & Bobby eventually have a chat in secret anyways

Henrik warns Blake that this can effect her job status if she doesn’t calm down since she uses social media for her cause

She usually knows when to stop but can’t help it if it slips out sometimes

They talk it out and move on usually with whatever fun idea henrik may have

Owns a ford bronco from the 90’s that used to be his uncle’s who builds tree houses for a living and is still running, a jeep gladitor, or some sort of pickup truck

Knows how to make the best apricot jam

All about saving the bees

Loves animals, probably on his journey to veganism if he’s not already there

We all know this fucking guy likes eating M0sS

“Embarrassing fact” but uh big fan of twilight, feels like Seth Clearwater and him are meant to be best buds but he also stans the Volturi 😷

Him and Lucas of course remained the best of mates, since they live 2 hrs away from each other and are always busy living their lives they always have to plan out when they can hangout but that fails 60% of the time when henrik pops up at Lucas’ job or at his flat not giving him a choice but to hang out

They’re always vacationing together too? Sure Henrik is his own version of low-key while Lucas likes a bit of luxury...they still find a balance to just have a good time regardless if they live different lifestyles...they’re basically married

Always texting if they’re not hanging out, henrik with his memes that Lucas doesn’t understand & Lucas just checking in on henrik’s well being which leads the conversation to many topics

He’s actually cool with Gary now? They like/comment on each other’s posts & even text here and there

Even ran into Rocco once on a road trip, that was interesting but when life gives you lemons...we’ll just say that

Even him and Ibrahim share recommendations through text or DM’s which is nice! Henrik is always down for friends even tho they’re not like his personal friends (except for Lucas, he fits into his criteria)

Most of his work is physical and talking but he goes the extra mile by hiking every Sunday either with his friends, Blake, or family — he’s genuinely likes being one with nature

If he’s at the cottage, he’s always outside, chopping extra wood, making sure the yard looks like it belongs on a magazine, or takes the boat out on lake to nap since he doesn’t like to fish as much anymore

Currently trying to grow strawberries but some animal keeps eating them :/

Adores adventure time, the x-files, bobs burgers + animal planet, and travel channels—like he’s a real dad

If he could shower outside everyday, he would, it’s such a freeing experience to him

His outings consist of being in the woods 24/7 so in his mind when he brings Blake out there with him, it’s a version of a date, whenever they spend time together is a date to him, which she has to remind him that she wants to do something different like getting dressed up every now and then + go out to dinner which he HATES but he’ll do his best to please her, as long as the restaurant is more earthy than snobby he’s okay

100% would survive the apocalypse, he knows how to make due with what he’s got, he’s always been that way

Enjoys rom-com’s so he’ll laugh at how cringe they are but still enjoy it, indie films, ALITA was the best film of 2019 to him & currently his fav film is, “the call of the wild” with Harrison Ford

His favorite films ever are Indiana Jones, Lara Coft: Tomb raider, Terminator, and I am legend

Aliens ARE real, they’re out there and he’ll be part of the reason they’ve been exposed

I feel like he wanted to be an astronaut growing up but then realized he’d be a confined space for long periods of time and said cancel that shit lol + he isn’t the greatest at science. History? He did real well in that subject

I think he loves Lorde, listens to Bon Iver—especially on early morning commutes to work, Rex Orange County, Omar Apollo, Joji, the nbhd, the driver era, kid cudi...yktfv

Celeb crushes?/types: The main girls from Charlie’s angels 2019, Alexa PenaVega... “you know Carmen from spy kids?” Diana silvers, Dove Cameron, JAMIE CHUNG, & VANESSA HUDGENS

Anthem = Wallows, “OK”

#litg #litg2 #litg s2 #litg henrik #litg au #litg headcanon #litg headcanons #litg Blake #litg Lucas #litg bobby #litg mc #edited cause I wasn’t aware the mans was actually Swedish oops

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anistarrose · 5 years

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Some Sunny Day - Chapter 10: Happy to Know (Gravity Falls - Same Coin Theory)

Summary: It’ll all out in the open now.

Warnings: Suicidal ideation (no one dies)

Previous / Next

The Beginning (see here for AO3 link)

Just a quick foreword for this chapter and the next one: now that the main cast members are all realizing the truth, they’re going to be expressing some opinions on the situation (interpretations of the theory) that are not necessarily my own, and may not reflect the overall direction this fic is taking. The truth is out, but there’s still a lot that needs to be worked through, so if this chapter feels like a downer, don’t worry — this fic is tagged Hurt/Comfort for a reason that will (eventually) become apparent.

(The Same Coin Theory is by @dubsdeedubs and @renmorris!)

Stanley’s mindscape was changing.

Ford somehow remained blind to it until he tried to stand up, only to fall back down to his hands and knees as the floorboards shuddered and swayed beneath his feet. All around him, walls buckled and planks were torn out of place, rearranging themselves to craft new hallways, new connections between memories.

Hissing geysers erupted from cracks in the floor, the scalding-hot plumes weaving deftly around him as their steam escaped through the holes in the roof. Some of the clouds took longer to drift out of sight, and as they hung lazily in the air, Ford could make out images in them — a rift, a shooting star. A fire, a fist. A statue.

The steam even seemed to seep out of the walls and floor themselves, sapping the darkness from the wood as it grew lighter and lighter, brighter and brighter until it burned Ford’s eyes just to look at. The grain patterns in the planks shifted and flickered like waves of fire, taking on a blue hue as they leapt out of the wood and into the air, chasing away the last wisps of darkness to render Stan’s mind in all white and light gray, accented by the yellow gleam of the knots in the walls as they all shifted to fixate their gaze on Ford, unblinking.

He covered his eyes, but the images stayed seared in his memory.

***

Stanley laughed — a long, hearty laugh that would have brought tears to his eyes and a sore sensation to his gut, had he not been immaterial and invulnerable, free from the oppressive laws of physics as the undisputed master of the mindscape.

Oh, it had been so long — so long since he’d last looked beyond where his cataract-ridden human eyes could see, since he’d last snapped his fingers and rewritten the rules of the universe however he deemed fit, so long since he’d last consciously thought about how ancient and how powerful he was, how much he was truly capable of when he set his mind to it…

He didn’t know whether to call it ten months or sixty-two years, but it had been so long, too long.

So long since he’d last cheated someone out of some precious time in possession of their own body, so long since he’d razed a dimension from the inside out and danced as it went up in flames, so long since he’d —

So long since he’d tortured his former pawn (his future brother) to give up the equation confining his reign of terror to a single town, so long since he’d left it up to chance which child (which nibling) he’d kill in cold blood, to convince Ford that he meant what he said about hurting those kids —

Fuck, fuck, fuck —

More and more memories kept rushing back, some already remembered from a different perspective, but many worse than anything a still-amnesiac-Stanley would have ever dreamed of. Dimensions burnt to the ground, deals struck and puppets claimed, eyes dripping blood and cutlery jabbed into arms —

He had always known on some level, he realized.

(No, not realized. Admitted.)

He had known since the blue flames first flickered up around his fingers that morning, and he had known since he first found the prisms in Ford’s house and been struck by a wave of déjà vu, as long-slumbering memories grew restless in their sleep. He had known since he’d swung back and forth on a rusty swingset on a beach, staring at the six-fingered hands gripping the chains of the other swing, and addressed their owner by a nickname from a prophecy written centuries ago, in a cave two thousand miles away. He’d known ever since the blue fire of the burning mindscape had faded away, and he’d opened two eyes in a hospital in New Jersey, mind blank but not truly empty.

He just couldn’t admit it to himself and stay sane. He didn’t dare risk reawakening the demon that lurked in his memories, bound in place by the flimsy chain that was his newly acquired conscience — but it hadn’t just been about self-preservation, or even the preservation of the rest of the world, had it? He hadn’t been able find the courage to admit it to his family, either, to tell them who he was — and then, even worse, to explain how he’d known and lied about it for so long, for as long as he’d known them. How he’d lied until he couldn’t remember what was a lie and what wasn’t.

And he didn’t know how to tell them that all the lying been futile, in the end, because denial could erase memories but not actions. Not who, not what he was. His very identity as the others saw it — as even he had been foolish enough to see it, for sixty-two years — was nothing more than just another con. Just another fake name.

All belief of being Stanley Pines abandoned, Bill Cipher raised a hand to cover his mouth and screamed.

***

The one remaining column of steam in the room exploded just as Ford pulled himself to his feet, and winds tore across the room, howling in agony but miraculously not knocking him down. On unsteady feet, a figure with disheveled hair but an impeccable suit and tie walked falteringly forwards, away from the site of detonation — and despite himself, Ford stepped towards him.

“Stanley? Are you —”

Stan’s head jerked up, and he stared at Ford like a deer in the headlights. “No! No, don’t come any closer, I —”

His feet lifted off the floor, and waves of pixels and static rippled up his body as he gritted his teeth, form flickering back and forth between human and —

And something Ford couldn’t quite make out, human and —

Human and —

A sickly yellow triangle materialized out of the static, single eye unblinking as thin black limbs dangled limply towards the ground.

“Well,” he said, in the quietest voice Ford had ever heard emanate from Bill Cipher, “you probably see why you shouldn’t come near me.”

Ford’s stomach churned like it had been thrown into perpetual free fall, and his eyes unfocused.

“What did you do to him?!” he howled. “WHAT DID YOU DO TO MY BROTHER?!”

“Nothing,” Bill said, hands curling into tiny black fists as his appearance flickered and morphed into Stan once again. “I got some bad news, Sixer.”

“Stop pretending to be him!” Ford snarled. “I know you’re really Cipher, so stop — stop making a mockery of him like that! Stop pretending!”

“I have stopped.” The being that took on Stan’s appearance looked genuinely upset, shaking his head slowly and refusing to make eye contact for more than a fraction of a second. “I was — I was pretending for a really long time, but —”

“You’re not making any sense, St—” Ford barely caught himself, and corrected frantically. “No, I mean — fuck. What do you fucking want from me, Bill, that —”

Stan took a shaky breath — the type that often comes when tears are starting to dampen one’s eyes, and they’re trying not to let them creep into their voice. “I really had you convinced, didn’t I?”

He closed his two eyes, after another burst of static, Bill opened his one. “Sixer, I… I was always Stan.”

“What?! No, of all the bullshit — is this some reincarnation angle you’re going for? Because you clearly died long after Stan was —”

“Time doesn’t work like that, Ford! You went rooting through my memories, you saw me invoke the Axolotl — that big frilly know-it-all exists way outside of any backwards and forwards or cause and effect, you must have figured that out by now! I invoked it back when I was burning in my own damn mindscape, when I didn’t actually want to die, and you know what it thought? It thought I was worth saving — oh, and not just saving, but worth shoving me back into your lives like I hadn’t ruined them enough yet!”

“Don’t talk like that about him! Don’t talk like you are him! I won’t fall for your tricks, Cipher, I —”

“I don’t want it to be true either!” Bill wailed, and a fiery blue tear fell from his eye, continuing to roll down his cheek as he turned back into Stan. “You have no idea, I — I want more than anything to to go back to just a couple days ago, to being able to pretend everything is normal and only thinking about spending the summer with you all! But — but it’s not — I can’t pretend anymore! I’m too dangerous to all of you!”

His hoarse voice broke every few words, so full of anguish and so unmistakably Stan. So far beyond anything Bill would ever have the capability to fake.

“There’s — there’s got to be memories getting mixed up in here somehow,” Ford whispered, and though he tried to sound comforting it ended up sounding more like a desperate prayer. “We’ll get this all sorted out, Stanley, don’t worry —”

“You can’t sort out what was never mixed up in the first place!” Bill yelled. “Why won’t you just listen to me, Ford? What about — what if I show you something you remember too?”

The Shack shuddered, planks groaning as they moved to make way for a new door that was dragged out from the hallway by an unseen force. Blue flames ignited around the knob as it twisted open on its own, letting the door swing open to reveal —

Earlier this June, about two weeks ago. Ford shuffled cards as Dipper and Mabel pulled chairs up to a table, and Stan carried in a bowl of fresh popcorn.

“Alright, what are we doin’ for teams?” he asked, setting down the bowl. “Ford and I are obviously unstoppable together, so it’s only fair if we both team up with one of you kiddos…”

“Yeah, ‘cause you both count cards…” Dipper muttered under his breath.

Stan ignored him and folded his hands together, making a point with his index fingers as he gestured between Mabel and Dipper. “Eenie meenie miney… you.”

Dipper flinched as Stan landed on him, staring at his pointed fingers with horror for a moment before taking a few hurried steps backward. “I, uh…”

Stan frowned. “Something wrong?”

“Oh, no,” Mabel murmured. “It’s a Bill thing, isn’t it, Dipper?”

Dipper started to shake his head, but then sighed and pulled down his hat. “Yeah. He… he said that to me a couple times, and now I just…”

“Shit, I’m sorry,” Stan said. “Tell me right away if I ever use a bad phrase like that again, okay?”

Dipper nodded, and Ford put a hand on his shoulder. To Stan, he whispered: “I think I remember hearing Bill use that phrase once, but… aside from that, I don’t think I’ve ever heard it from anyone but you. Did he — did he steal your catchphrase?”

Stan shrugged. “I dunno, but I hope he didn’t steal anything else. Dipper — or any of you, actually — are there any other words you guys want me to avoid?”

The other three Pines shook their heads, and Stan smiled, passing the bowl of popcorn in Dipper’s direction. “Well then, let’s play some euchre before the popcorn gets cold. I got fancy with this batch and made it on the stove, ya know.”

The door to the memory slammed shut, and Ford bit his lip. His hands were trembling at his sides, fingers curled so tightly that they ached like hell, and he couldn’t bear to look down at them in fear he might find them bleeding.

“Coincidence,” he choked out. “It has to be.”

“What will make you believe it, Sixer?” Stan asked. “Fuck, even that nickname should clue you in! Did you ever think it was weird that the two of us both called you Sixer, and just the two of us?”

“Bill must have stolen it from you. Like he stole —”

“That nickname came from the zodiac and you know it! I know you know it, so why can’t you just — just — just look at yourself, Stanford!”

The air shimmered between them, forming a surface so pristine and perfectly reflective that Ford almost thought he was still looking at his twin, view unobstructed — but Stan had been silhouetted in blue flames just a moment ago, while Ford’s reflection was awash with darkness. Clouds circled him slowly, not a single spark of lightning seen in the air between them, and they blurred together with his trenchcoat as it flowed in the gentle wind, disintegrating into tiny gray droplets at the hem. Dark paths traced from the corners of his eyes down his cheeks, running off his chin and down his neck towards his sweater, where they bled into the wool and stained it black.

And the hands, unmistakably six-fingered and undeniably his own, were dripping dark liquid too — not the blood he thought he’d felt, but relentless cascades of black, feeding rivers that hissed and steamed as they ran across the floor’s glowing planks.

“Don’t you see? You’re drawing all the darkness left in my mind towards you because you’re the one in the deepest denial now — but trust me, Ford, it’s not gonna last forever. Something’s gonna snap you out of it sooner or later, so it — it might as well be now. Just accept that I’m not who you thought I was.”

“Fuck,” Ford whispered. “Stanley, you — you’re — you really —”

Stan rose above the mirror, still cloaked in flames as his body convulsed into the form of Bill once more.

“You said no one is allowed to say Stanley is worthless, but guess what? ‘Stanley’ isn’t real. He was just another lie, invented by an amnesiac dream demon who almost managed to convince even himself that he deserved to have a family.”

His voice broke again, but he looked at Ford in the eye as he continued:

“Face it, Sixer — you never had a twin.”

“No!” The dark clouds and blue fire both blew back from Ford as he yelled, voice echoing in his own ears like a grenade going off. “Reincarnation is one thing, but — but there are some things that I’ll never — that can’t —”

He lunged at (Stan? Bill? His brother? He didn’t know) but his hands and then arms passed harmlessly through the triangle, flickering and fading to white — and then Bill’s body turned transparent too, seeming to almost catch him off guard.

“Oh,” he whispered, and transformed back to a faint, quickly fading outline of Stan. “Guess it’s time. See you on the other side, Sixer.”

And then Ford couldn’t see anything anymore, but he could hear a high, echoing voice call out once again as if from far away:

Remember, a deal’s a deal.

***

“Alright, that should be it for the barrier,” Fiddleford announced as he stood up from his kneeling position and watched a glowing blue dome briefly flicker into existence around the sleeping Pines. “Remind me not to leave these mercury vials here on the floor after this has all blown over.”

“How will we know if it works?” Melody asked.

“Great question! I have no idea, an’ hopefully we’ll never hafta find out.”

“Real reassuring,” Wendy muttered under her breath. “Hey, how long do you think it’ll be before —”

Ford leapt bolt upright and tossed the pillow he’d been clutching halfway across the room. “Bill, what do you —”

He locked eyes with Fiddleford. “Fidds? Oh no, Stanley, where’s Stanley —”

He whirled around and saw Soos and the kids beginning to stir, but only Stan opened his eyes — regular and brown, no sign of possession to be found.

“Shoot me, Ford,” he whispered.

Ford froze. “No!! Why would you think I would ever do that?!”

Slowly, as if still feeling the effects of the sedative, Stan pulled himself out of his chair. “Because you promised?”

“When did I ever promise I would shoot you?”

Stan shook his head and sighed, nervously glancing at the kids and Soos and taking a few quick steps away from them while they opened their eyes and rubbed their ears. “Look, Ford, I know it’s been… a long day, but you’ve gotta remember. You promised you’d kill me if Bill took control, and I’m feeling — I’m feeling pretty in-control of myself right now, so —”

“What?” Soos jumped to his feet and grabbed ahold of Stan’s arm. “Mr. Pines, what are you saying? You can’t — you can’t leave us, you’re —”

Stan tore himself out of Soos’s grip and rushed to Ford’s side. “Just get it over with! Please!”

He ran both hands over his skull, yanking on fistfuls of his own hair. “You have to, before I end up hurting someone! Please, I — I — I fuckin’ killed you enough times in Weirdmageddon, I deserve this! Don’t you want to get revenge on me?! Don’t you want to protect your family?!”

“You what?! Grunkle Stan, what do you mean?!” Mabel grabbed ahold Ford’s trenchcoat, voice rising as she clasped handfuls of the brown fabric in trembling, balled-up fists. “What does he mean?!”

“Don’t say that, Stanley,” Ford breathed. “For the kids’ sake, I can’t —”

Stan’s gaze drifted towards a spot the floor a few feet away, fixating on a pale blue chunk of moonstone. He’d noticed the barrier, Ford realized a second too late.

“Fine,” Stan whispered as he stepped backwards. “Then I guess I’ll just have to… take care of it myself.”

“No! Don’t go! Don’t you dare leave us like —”

Ford lunged after him, but Stan backed out of the barrier too quickly, and Ford’s hand passed right through Stan’s shoulder as he disintegrated like smoke in a gust of wind. A single tear fell from where Stan’s face had just been, striking the floor without a sound.

“Grunkle Ford, what happened?” Dipper’s voice cracked. “We found Bill’s memories, and then he — Bill glitched out, and it felt like the whole mindscape was gonna get torn apart —”

“I don’t know what’s happening,” Ford said. “I — I don’t know what to believe.”

“Stan’s not — that wasn’t Bill just now, was it?”

“I don’t know.”

Dipper went silent, leaving the quiet sobs from behind him as the loudest sound remaining in the room.

“He’s really gone,” Soos wept. “After everything, he’s just — he’s just gone —”

Ford took a few steps backward and slowly laid an arm over Soos’s broad shoulders, eyes still fixed on the damp spot where Stan’s tear had struck the floor.

“He’s still out there somewhere,” he insisted, “he has to be. I would know if he wasn’t. I’m sure I would.”

He wasn’t sure. That — that entity, with Stan’s eyes and Bill’s memories, almost certainly had the power to destroy its own self in an instant, and Ford had no reason to believe that it hadn’t just done so. (It might not even matter, if Stan wasn’t even in there anymore. Or if he’d never been in there in the first place —)

But baseless hope had pulled through for Ford countless times before, and once again, it was all he had to go on now.

“Stanley is still out there,” he repeated, “and we need to find him.”

***

End notes:

I chose Ford’s POV for this chapter because it made certain scenes a lot more horrifying/impactful, especially the part with the mirror, but I realized while editing that the result is a bit of a trade-off in which Stan’s motivations become a little less clear, so I’d like to clarify: the reason Stan doesn’t immediately leave the new unicorn hair barrier is because he doesn’t trust himself to end his own life, and in fact doesn’t really trust anyone besides Ford to do so. It’s only when Ford shows he’s clearly not willing to cooperate that Stan leaves, realizing that taking it into his own hands is the best option he has left. (Also, as much as he’s convinced he has to die… it’s still terrifying to him, and he doesn’t want to leave the world all alone. It’s not his main motivation for his actions at the end, but it definitely plays a role.)

Anyways, feedback/reblogs are appreciated as always! Next update should stick to the every other Monday schedule that I’ve been attempting!

#gravity falls #same coin theory #stanley pines #bill cipher #stanford pines #dipper pines #mabel pines #soos ramirez #fic: some sunny day #rosalia writes fic

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invisibletinkerer · 5 years

Text

Fic: 30 Seconds Later (chapter 17)

Chapter 1 – Chapter 2 – Chapter 3 – Chapter 4 – Chapter 5 – Chapter 6 – Chapter 7 – Chapter 8 – Chapter 9 - Chapter 10 - Chapter 11 - Chapter 12 - Chapter 13 - Chapter 14 - Chapter 15 - Chapter 16 - Chapter 17 - Chapter 18 - Chapter 19

Length: ~5000 words

AO3: archiveofourown.org/works/13715520/chapters/43355552

The brightly pink futuristic communicator probably wasn’t controlled by a sapient artificial intelligence or captured fairy, despite Stanley’s disingenuous claims to the contrary. It did, however, seem to involve a magical force field that created buttons based on the symbols that appeared on the screen. The screen – which, unlike any TV or computer screen Stanford had ever laid his eyes on, didn’t seem to have any raster whatsoever. Or any CRT depth requirements.

There were also purple kittens and little hearts everywhere.

It was mesmerizing, but also vexing. He had more of an idea how the alien drones worked than this thing. Perhaps Fiddleford would—no. He shut that thought down.

Stanley was no help either – his reaction to Ford’s wide-eyed quizzical stare was an amused smile and a shrug. “Beats me,” he said. “I could make something up about it if ya like.”

“No, thank you.” Ford sighed and handed the device back to his brother.

His old brother. Because this was the future. His old twin brother, whom, as it happened, he didn’t actually resent. Maybe he’d only ever wanted to resent him, as if that would make their estrangement easier to bear. Stanley was far from the only one with a tendency to make bad life choices.

Maybe Bill wouldn’t be able to destroy the world. Maybe Bill wouldn’t even be able to kill him. Perhaps Stanford Pines was stuck in the future and there was nothing about that he could understand.

It was too much – right now it was just too much. He’d figure it all out later.

If the sealed briefcase containing the rift bought him enough time.

Another deep sigh and he forced himself to his feet, one hand on the pillar for support. “I’m well enough to walk,” he told Stanley. “Let’s go home.”

* * *

Stan groaned involuntarily when he got back to his feet, the throbbing headache in the back of his head returning with some revenge for being ignored for so long, but he didn’t care. He still felt kinda drunk on the sort of relief that nerdy types like Poindexter here would probably call by some fancy name in Latin.

Ford didn’t hate him. Ford forgave him.

Ford was alive, the demon had scuttered off to wherever demons go, and Stan felt like there had been a weight around his neck that he’d been so used to carrying around that he’d hardly even noticed it until it was gone. Or at least it was eased to the point that he felt lightheaded. There might be a bit of a smile on his face that he just couldn’t get rid of, so nevermind if his head hurt a bit.

He kept close to his brother, ready to support him if he’d need it, but he seemed to be steady enough. The tranquilizer thing was probably wearing off completely as they walked. He barely seemed any worse off that he’d been this morning – not saying a lot, sure, except that that demon had been an outrageous liar.

And – praise the ancient alien overlords – Ford set a slow pace, hopefully actually thinking about conserving his strength for once.

It felt surreal that this whole thing had happened in a spaceship. The reflections from the flashlight in in Ford’s hand created moving, unreal shapes on the walls, blurring in and out of focus as his thoughts drifted. Stan hated those aliens. Buncha jerks, trying to arrest people for what? Post-mortem trespassing? Or would that would count as graverobbing? Nah, could hardly be robbing if you didn’t steal anything. Well. Didn’t steal much. This time.

It took a few moments before he noticed that Ford wasn’t at his side anymore, but a few steps ahead. Dammit, he was supposed to make sure his brother didn’t overexert himself before he was properly recovered. “Hey.”

Stanford stopped and turned around. “Stanley?”

“Don’t run off.”

“I wasn’t—” Ford paused. “I wasn’t running,” he repeated with a slight frown. “In fact, I was walking slower than I could have.” He raised his arms and flexed the fingers on his left hand to demonstrate. “The effect of the sedative has worn off almost completely.”

Stan scoffed at that. “Yeah, well, you’re still weak, and also hurt. So take it easy.”

Ford pulled his coat tighter around himself and gave Stan a strange look while he caught up. Hardly the wild-eyed paranoid stare of last night over tacos, but still suspicious.

“Stanley,” he said eventually. “There’s blood on your head.”

Stan reflexively put up a hand to the offending spot. The bump he’d gotten from crashlanding in that bubble prison thing protested the touch with another sting of pain, and Ford was right, there might be a bit of crusted blood in his hair. Crap.

“So I might be a tiny bit concussed,” he blurted. “No big deal, just a little headache. I’ve been through a lot worse in the boxing ring.”

Ford looked at him.

Stan looked back.

“That’s—”

“I’m not—”

Stan broke first. He burst out laughing. He’d all but forgotten about that head injury in his worry about Ford – and it really wasn’t a big deal, he knew what a serious concussion felt like, but yes, it was slowing him down – and now Ford was worrying about him. It was—it was stupid, and also, somehow, hilarious.

Ford cracked a smile, then finally chuckled drily, shoulders shaking. After a long moment where neither of them could get a word out, Ford finally pulled himself together. “Have I ever told you that you’re a knucklehead?”

“Careful, Poindexter,” Stan said, wiping his eyes with one hand and rubbing the bump on his head with the other. “You could almost start to think we’re related.”

“That would be a disaster.”

“You’re right about that one.” It was so easy. They were together again, after everything. Something in Stan’s stomach clenched, like he still couldn’t believe this was real, he’d done it and Ford was going to be okay. “I guess I could take a painkiller,” he added, putting the bad down. “Water would be nice, but we don’t have any left.”

Ford blinked. “What happened to it?”

“Used it up for—” Stan nodded towards what was under Ford’s shirt.

Ford’s expression closed up for a moment. “Ah.”

Stan found a pill in the rapidly emptying first-aid kit, swallowing it dry and hoping it would help. He offered a second pill to Ford, who took it after some hesitation.

Before he could pick up the bag, Ford grabbed the strap. “I’ll carry the bag the rest of the way,” he announced.

Stan put his hands over Ford’s and stopped him. “I have a bump and a headache – I’m not dying.”

“Neither am I, and you’ve been carrying it all day.”

Stan huffed. “You mean other than the hours I spent waiting for your unconscious butt to come back to the land of the living?”

“Yes. That—”

“Forget about it,” Stan said, taking the bag from Ford. “I’m still in better shape than you are.”

Ford threw his hands up with a frustrated grimace. “I was just trying to—”

“It’s not that heavy,” Stan said, pulling the strap over his shoulder. “But thanks for the offer, I guess?”

Ford’s shoulders slumped slightly. “You’re sixty, you have a concussion, and you’re still in better shape than me.” He folded his arms over his chest, clenching his fingers in the fabric of his coat.

“Yeah, well, you’re gonna recover and get as strong as you like, and I’m only gonna get older, so don’t be too jealous.” Stan grimaced and patted Ford on the back, earning him a slight twitch and then a sigh. “Come on, Sixer. Let’s get out of here.”

Of course, the problem with that plan was that ‘out’ also meant ‘up’. Stan didn’t say anything when they reached the first ladder – the one in the elevator shaft – but he stopped and gave a low whistle. He might have misremembered just how far down they had climbed, but better to be impressed than intimidated. He could do it – going up couldn’t be any worse than going down, a little bruising never stopped him before, and he was over his fear of heights anyway. But Ford had strained himself just walking too fast through the forest this morning, and being shot, possessed, and then unconscious for a few hours wasn’t the kinda thing that made people stronger. Maybe they should try to—

Ford was already squaring his shoulders, starting the climb before Stan had finished the thought. To be sure, it wasn’t like he could think of any realistic alternative, so Stan followed and hoped for the best. Maybe he just wanted to get it over with.

It wasn’t fun. It didn’t take long for Ford’s breathing to become audibly labored above him, and Stan could feel the strain in his own legs. At one point he accidentally looked down, and he wasn’t sure if that’s what triggered the nausea or if the concussion had something to do with it, but he hated the whole situation with a passion. His headache only grew worse and his fingers cramped around the rungs, eyes staring at the wall inches from his face.

His head bumped into something.

Seconds later, when Stan’s heartbeat and the throbbing in his head had both calmed down to the point where he could hear himself think, he realized that it had been Ford’s shoes. Ford had stopped right above him and wasn’t moving.

“Sixer?” Stan’s knuckles were white on the rung before his eyes. “You okay?”

“I made a mistake.” Ford’s voice was breathless, trembling with exhaustion.

Stan bit back an angry retort. He kind of felt like this climb was a mistake himself, but if Ford felt that way—He wouldn’t admit that if it wasn’t bad. Stan’s shoulders cramped even tighter than they had been. “Right,” was all he said.

Ford said nothing for several moments.

“You’re not allowed to fall,” Stan managed. He wouldn’t be able to catch him. More like they’d both be done for.

Maybe that would serve them right, but it didn’t make him feel any less sick.

“I don’t intend to,” Ford said. “I just—just need to rest for a bit.”

Stan stared at his own hands, for a moment completely unable to get his eyes to focus. “Sure. I can wait.” He sure couldn’t help. He could barely help himself, hanging above a void that would crush both of them to bloody pulps if they didn’t hold on.

It took the better part of an eternity, but they did finally reach the end of the ladder and the higher level of the spaceship. Ford crumbled against a piece of broken machinery, panting and trembling, and Stan found himself lying on the floor and trying to unclench his cramping hands after all that clinging to flimsy pieces of metal and trying not to fall to a very bloody death. He was mostly unsuccessful.

“You know,” he said hoarsely, “I told Mabel a while ago that ladders cause more deaths than guns. I mean—I made that statistic up, but I’ve decided I believe it.”

“That’s—not very scientific of you.”

“Still not a scientist, Poindexter.”

Ford breathed a quiet chuckle, then stayed silent for a while. Eventually, he said, “Do you remember that time when we went into that condemned office building on Gasoline Street? I think we were thirteen.”

“Yeah.” He could kinda see why Ford would think of that one. “I picked the lock, and you were really disappointed when it was already emptied out.”

“You were disappointed too.”

“Sad but true. No treasure that day.”

“So we decided to go to the top floor—”

Stan groaned. “Don’t remind me.”

They’d went up a rickety old staircase for five or so floors before a section of the support decided that the weight of two stomping boys was too much to bear. A whole section of the stairs had basically crumbled, leaving a gap of ten or fifteen feet right where Stan and Ford had been walking seconds ago. Stan had been in shock and refused to move a muscle for several minutes, though he distinctly remembered Ford snapping his fingers and saying something like “So that’s why the building was condemned!”

Getting back down had been the challenge, that time.

“Besides,” Stan added, “that wasn’t even a ladder.”

“No, it was just a broken staircase. But you hated that, too.”

Stan sighed and rolled over on his back, finally able to uncramp his arms and relax. “Yeah, I hated it.” And despite all that, it was a fond memory.

Ford took a deep breath. “Stanley—” He seemed to be hesitating.

“Yeah?”

“The ladder to the surface is even longer than this one. I might be able to make it if I have to, but—”

Stan hid his face under his hands. “—but that’s a big maybe,” he finished. “Yeah.” He took a deep breath of his own. “But we do have to get up there somehow, unless we wanna go without food and camp here tonight.”

“Not an option,” Ford said sharply.

“Yeah, agreed.” Stan sat up, slowly, supporting his arms on his knees. Maybe he could get Soos to— “—wait, what did you say?”

“I said there’s an alternative to climbing. And at this point I believe it would be easier on both of us.” He raised a hand slightly, watching it tremble, and sighed. “Relatively, of course, but I’ve done it before.”

Stan would definitely prefer not to bet both of their lives on that Ford could make another climb. He raised an eyebrow. “You saying we fly?”

“Correct.” Ford smiled slightly.

“Hate to break it to ya, Sixer, but we’re still people, not birds.”

“Well,” Ford said, patting down his trenchcoat like he was double-checking something. “I assume you still have the second magnet gun?”

“It’s in the bag.” A heartbeat. “Oh.”

Yeah, that thing Ford had done when he came after the prison bubble Stan was pretty much flying, wasn’t it? Not like either of them had been in a state to look for that gun afterwards, either, and he half expected Ford to blame him for it being lost.

“Good,” was all Ford said. “We’ll use that to pull ourselves up.”

Stan was totally comfortable with that. Not the slightest bit worried that it might be like falling upwards and splattering yourself against a distant ceiling instead of a distant floor.

Ford rubbed his arm and continued. “It’s not overly difficult. The critical part is to aim it right, and then to brace properly for impact.” He gestured vaguely for emphasis. “And of course, not to lose your grip on the gun.”

“So...” Stan tried to work around his gut feeling that said nope and think of what it actually meant. “Sounds like it takes a bit of strength.” Also like there’d be no second chances if you failed. “If you’re not strong enough to climb, are you sure ya—”

“Strength and stamina are different things,” Ford said in that familiarly annoying way that he’d always used to point out people’s small errors. “But,” he relented, “I admit I’m low on both.” He met Stan’s eyes for a moment. “Which is why I believe—I hope that we can do it together.”

It was somewhat terrifying, but in the end, Stan had to agree that climbing at this point wouldn’t be any less life-threatening, it would just drag it out for longer. And there was only one magnet gun, and like hell he would let Ford do it alone when even Ford himself admitted he might not make it.

Besides, Ford’s determination to do this thing was actually contagious. It would be a lot less grueling than another climb, and it would definitely get them up faster than any other possible plan.

Ford had to be the one to aim since he had some experience with doing this, but Stan was stronger, so he’d hold the gun’s handle, with Ford using his free hand to point it right. Ford’s right arm went over Stan’s shoulders and Stan used his left to hold onto Ford around the waist, trying but probably not succeeding in avoiding at least the alien blaster wound if not the infected cuts. Ford didn’t complain, though.

Stan might be clinging a little too hard as they raised the magnet gun.

“There,” Ford said, keeping Stan’s hand somewhat steady.

Stan pressed the trigger. He had exactly enough time to realize that he now knew what it felt like to be a bullet before they both slammed into the wall right below the ceiling and Stan’s headache jolted into a minor explosion that made him regret every single decision that took him to this point. That only lasted for the fraction of a moment it took before he realized that they were an absolutely ridiculous distance from the floor and that Ford’s full weight together with his own was too much for one sweaty hand on the handle of a science gizmo to hold up. Any other thought was replaced by a panicked scramble for foothold to support them.

Ford had aimed true. The ladder rungs were right there.

A second later Ford’s feet had found the ladder as well, and Stan could breathe again. Nevermind that they were packed together on the same part of the ladder, hanging right below the where the wall met the ceiling and the ladder entered the narrower chute – way too high to think about, and still a bit to go before the safety above.

“Whoa,” was all he could say.

“That’s—accurate.”

“You okay?”

“Yes. Are you?”

“Never better.”

“There seem to be—” Ford looked up. “Six rungs to go to get us up into the shaft.”

“And then we’ll zap to the top.”

Ford nodded seriously.

“This is gonna be awkward,” Stan muttered. Of course, that might have been a feature. The fact that it was awkward did distract a bit from the fact that it was dizzyingly high. And it was only six steps. Somehow they climbed them without losing track of either the ladder, the magnet gun or each other. Ford’s eyes were half-closed, focused on the task, and Stan could feel his own muscles stiffening again, but it just a little bit.

Once they were inside the chute it might not actually be safer, but it sure felt that way. Between the two of them and the duffelbag sitting on Stan’s back, it was cramped enough to almost seem snug.

Ford leaned his forehead against the wall for a moment while Stan looked up. The square of summer sky above was a warm blue, and not that far away now.

“I’m ready to get out of this dump,” he said and gave Ford a tired smile.

“It’s not a dump,” Ford said. “It’s a wreck.”

“Uh-huh.”

“But—Good.” Ford wrapped one arm around Stan’s back again, supporting himself partly on the chute wall and readying the magnet gun. “I’m ready to get out, too.”

The second jump felt less violent – maybe because it was shorter, or maybe the cramped space made them go slower, but in any case it didn’t hurt much at all. Stan pulled himself up onto the ground, then turned to give Ford a hand.

They both stumbled several steps away from the hole before promptly sitting down on the grass next to each other. Stan found himself chuckling softly. “There we go,” he said. “Ain’t no stopping the Pines.”

“Heh,” Ford said, then fell silent. He seemed to want to say something more, but it didn’t come out, so he closed his mouth again.

The silence was companionable, and Stan didn’t mind. The afternoon sunshine felt nice on his bare arms, even if it did outline a couple of new bruises very clearly.

“The rift is sealed,” Ford said eventually. “You’d need power tools to break it now.” He almost sounded like he was trying to convince himself.

“Yeah,” Stan agreed.

“Bill is going to be enraged.”

“Meh. What can he do about it?”

“I don’t know.” Ford shuddered, looking at his hands in his lap. “No doubt we’re going to find out.”

Stan shrugged it off. “You know,” he said, “We still need to get back home before we can eat.”

“Eat?” Ford blinked like he had forgotten that food was a thing. “Right. Yes.”

Ford insisted on covering up the entrance to the UFO again before they could leave, and once they were off, it was slower going than it had been in the morning. It was one thing to hike when you had slept and eaten and your stupid genius of a young twin brother was insisting that he was fine and even enjoying himself – but a bit different when you were tired and hungry and Ford’s face was carefully neutral even when he stopped again and again to lean against a tree, glaring warily at the eye-like marks on the birches and ashes.

Neither of them noticed that they were no longer alone until someone cleared their throat.

Stan practically jumped, and he could feel more than see Ford’s head whip to the side in a movement mirroring his own. A burly, bearded, red-haired man in a flannel shirt stared at the from between a few ashen trees.

“Stanford Pines!”

“Yeah, what’s—” Stan started, while Ford spoke at the exact same time, “Yes, I—”

Stan and Ford glanced at each other, then back at the lumberjack. Stan suppressed a groan.

“Is that—Boyish Dan Corduroy?” Ford whispered. He was tense, but there was some incredulousness in his voice, too.

“Don’t call him ‘boyish’ unless you want an axe through your head,” Stan mumbled back. “But yeah.” Not the most unlikely person to run into in the woods, but it still took some bad luck to cross paths with anyone out here. He’d hoped to put off explaining Ford’s presence to the townspeople at least until after he’d talked about it with Ford, which he’d been putting off because there were bigger fish in the barrel. Like demonic possession and rifts in reality. Right now, Stan’s headache was still going strong in the back of his head, and Ford was staring at the man like he half expected him to turn into a monster any second. Not the best of moments for introductions.

Without warning, Dan raised two overly muscular arms and roared. “I’m a prophet!”

Ford took two steps backwards, but Stan reflexively put a hand on his arm, stopping him from bolting. Turning his attention to Dan, Stan sighed theatrically and crossed his arms. “You’re a what now.”

“A prophet.” Dan grinned with a lot of teeth. “There was two of you in my dream, and now here you are!”

“That’s great,” Stan said, “But there’s still only one of me.” He flicked his head at Ford. “He’s my nephew.” The lie was natural, easy, but something inside his chest still ached when he didn’t say brother.

Ford twitched. His hands were hidden behind his back, and he still looked ready to run. “Ah,” he said. “Yes. Nephew.”

“I see.” Dan held out his hand, and Ford predictably refused to take it. Stan had started to realize that was a pattern with him now. Defusing it before Dan would take offence, Stan gestured smoothly at Ford and Dan. “Dan Corduroy – this is Stanford Pines. The younger,” he added with a small grin that he really didn’t feel. “Ford – this is Manly Dan Corduroy.”

“Nice to meetcha. I see your family has no imagination for names.”

“They really don’t,” Ford said weakly. “Just call me Ford.”

“So you’re the dad of those runts running around in the Mystery Shack this year?”

“What? No, I’m—”

“Different nephew,” Stan said. “Son of a different brother, too. You know how it is with family – one moment there’s none, and the next they’re crawling out of the woodwork.”

Dan laughed. “I sure do! Well—” He started to turn as if to leave, but then he stopped. “Hey, Junior.” He glanced at the hole in the side of Ford’s coat, and the bandages barely visible underneath. “You get bit by something? If there’s a critter out there attacking people, I need to know so I can wrestle it.”

“No! No, that’s fine. It’s not that bad.” Ford shook his head, but Dan had already turned to stare at Stan’s bump and the dried blood.

He punched his hand with a fist. “Alright, accidents happen and it’s no other man’s business to ask about it, but you two ain’t gonna drive yourselves home looking like that. You’re coming with me, Pines.”

Ford glanced at Stan, wide-eyed and looking very uncomfortable. “Come on, we might as well,” Stan muttered, pulling at Ford’s elbow to follow Dan. “I’d rather get a free ride than stand around arguing.”

Dan seemed to be leading them a slightly different path than they’d been taking. Ford hesitated, but Stan pulled him along.

“Are you sure it’s—” Ford’s mumble was barely audible.

“Safe?”

“He’s not possessed, but—”

“He’s Dan flipping Corduroy. Not his style to consort with demons. You knew him, didn’t ya?”

“A bit. But he was younger then.”

Stan pinched the bridge of his nose. “Look. If he wanted to hurt us, he’d do it right here, not go back to the road first.” He got where Ford’s paranoia was coming from, sure, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t annoying.

“What’re ya mumbling about?” Dan interrupted. “Speak up like a man, Stanford!”

Stan snorted. “I was just telling Ford that sometimes people in a small town help each other out.” He gave Dan a meaningful look. “Cause I’m not gonna pay ya for this.”

Ford flinched like he thought Stan was poking a dragon, but Dan just rubbed his beard. “Wouldn’t dream of charging. Still want that free pizza, though!”

“Eh. It might happen someday.” Stan turned to Ford. “See?” To Dan, he added, “He’s from New Jersey.”

Dan laughed. “Welcome to Gravity Falls, then!”

Dan’s old Jeep was parked at a tiny unpaved road that Stan hadn’t even been aware of, actually closer than where he’d left the Stanleymobile. Ford got into the front passenger seat with some clear reluctance, but Stan figured there was no helping that. It was just a short ride, and as far as Stan was concerned, not having to drive was a luxury. He climbed into the back seat and rubbed the bump on his head while Dan started up the car.

“Y’know,” Dan said, looking sideways at Ford. “The more I look at ya, the more ya give me a bad case of déjà vu.”

“Is that so?”

“Yeah, I think your uncle even used to wear that same kinda coat way back before he even started doing the Mystery Shack business. Isn’t that right, Pines?”

“Could be.” Stan tried to be noncommittal. He didn’t like that topic of conversation, not for his own sake and even less for Ford’s.

“Wish I had some picture of him back then. Would be something to compare!”

“Yes,” Ford said steely. “We do look a lot alike.”

It was a relief when Dan just grunted and stopped talking for a while, not least because Dan’s voice was on the loud side of roaring, which didn’t help Stan’s headache any. Also because he was not up to explaining a highly incriminating backstory or bullshitting a family background that Ford might or might not take offence at. Not if he didn’t have to.

Ford drummed his fingers on the car window, then stopped with a cringe and hid his hand in his pocket again. It reminded Stan of how he’d acted back when he’d found himself among strangers when they were kids. Being worried about his hands couldn’t help his paranoia any, and Stan wished he’d stop, but he wasn’t going to bring attention to it right in front of Dan, either.

They were turning on the intersection of Gopher Road when Ford spoke up. “You said you had a dream about two Stanford Pineses. What kind of a dream?”

“Funny thing!” Dan replied, his voice filling the car again. “I was having a nap, and then I started feeling like someone was watching me. So I looked up, and I saw old Mister Mystery here. Except there were two of him. And it could be that they were both a bit younger, but I’m not sure. Anyway, then I guess I went up to ‘em and beat them up.” He laughed at that, but Stan started to listen more carefully. Maybe Ford shouldn’t have asked that question.

Dan rubbed his beard with a wry grin. “That’s the weirdest part. In the dream, it seemed like a good idea to rob you and run off with the bag you were carrying.”

Stan made himself laugh. “That’s hilarious,” he said, completely aware that Ford was stiffening in the seat in front of him.

“And then I looked up at the sky,” Dan continued, “And instead of the sun there was a big yellow triangle with an eyeball in the middle, like—”

Ford threw the passenger side door open, making Dan screech the car to a halt.

“What the hell, Junior!?”

“You’re going to let us off, now,” Ford intoned.

“We’ve got 200 yards to the Mystery Shack,” Dan said, confused, but Ford was already scrambling out of the car, pulling open the door next to Stan.

Stan wouldn’t have minded riding the last 200 yards as well, but that wasn’t an option anymore. Dammit, but Ford was in a panic and if there was actually some reason for it it would have been a lot safer to just not let it on, but it was too late for that. He scooped up the bag and got down to Ford, who ripped the bag from him and went off into the forest before Stan could even turn back to the puzzled lumberjack.

“Sorry,” he said, “But I guess my br—my nephew wants to walk the rest of the way. We’ll be fine, thanks for the ride.”

Dan frowned. “What’s in that bag?”

“A well-used first aid kit,” Stan said with a grimace as if the whole thing confused him too, then glanced after Ford. “I’m gonna go see to him. See ya later.”

#gravity falls #fanfic #stanford pines #stanley pines #it writes #30 seconds later #featuring some recklessness and an encounter

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portalford · 6 years

Text

Suffice to Say that You’re Still Here

AO3

Being shot is not an experience that improves with repetition.

Ford wraps his singed arm with a strip torn from the bottom of his coat and catches the knot between his teeth, pulling it tight. Crude, but serviceable.

Besides, it's only a graze from one of those laser-type guns that fire an energy packet and cauterize the wound on impact. Certainly lethal if you hit the right spot, but much less effective if you’re hoping your target will leave a blood trail or get an infection.

A ridiculous design, really, but it looks cool when you fire it.

Ford draws his own equally cool, much more effective shock blaster from its holster at his hip. It fires electric pulses at varying strengths, neutralizing a target’s entire body and eliminating the whole lethal bleeding-and-screaming interlude you’d get with a laser gun.

He didn’t wake up this morning expecting to hide away in a supply closet while a horde of angry reptilians tears their own ship apart looking for him, but then he doesn’t really expect much of anything at this point.

It’s easier that way. Less disappointment, and less general confusion when Things (capital T; lowercase things are much easier to deal with) happen.

Judging from the volume and rapidity of the hissing, there’s a very heated argument going on right outside the door. Their language is simple enough that he hardly needs his translator to follow it anymore. Speaking it is a different story, but none of the beings he’s encountered on this ship seem especially interested in talking to him. They’re much more invested in eating him.

He tried explaining to one particularly tenacious group that he’s old and stringy and overall not good for eating, but they didn’t listen.

He wishes he could say that this will teach him to think before accepting a free ride off-planet, but it’s unlikely.

Of course, if he gets eaten he’ll stop taking poorly-intentioned handouts, but he won’t be around to learn from it, which is unacceptable. He has to learn one of these days, and he’d like to be alive to see it.

The hissing quiets and eventually stops altogether as his pursuers leave to search other areas of the ship. Ford counts to a hundred, then to the equivalent of a hundred on Kesslia 5 before daring to open the door and poke his head out.

He’s met with scaly grey skin and long sharp teeth, because this is one of those days that is determined not to improve no matter what he does.

“Kss ss,” the lizard says. Female, judging by the short cranial spines, and one of the largest he’s seen yet. She flicks her forked tongue over her lipless mouth. “Rest easy. I am help.”

She’s speaking a rough version of Kesslia 5′s common language – obviously not her native tongue – in what’s probably an attempt to soothe, and it just makes Ford more suspicious. He keeps the heavy metal door between his body and the potential threat and his gun in his hand.

“Yes, well, you’ll forgive me if I don’t thank you. I’ve already been tricked once by your shipmates today.”

His shoulder throbs. He ignores it.

The lizard hisses. She sounds irritated. “Young ones, always hungry. Wasting energy on hard prey, kss. They act like I don’t feed them at all.”

“You’re the cook?” Even less reason to trust her.

“I am. But not here to cook you.”

“Why not?”

A toss of her head that he suspects is the equivalent of a shrug. “Waste of energy, like I said. Not enough meat on you. Not worth the time it would take to kill you. You fight hard to live, and that’s admire-worthy."

Ford’s not entirely sure whether or not he’s just been complimented or insulted, but it doesn’t look like she’s going to eat him the moment he steps outside, so he does.

She doesn’t eat him. Progress.

“Come. I will hide you until we make port. They will not enter my cook-room while I am there.”

Ford trots at her heels, keeping an eye on the huge tail brushing a little too close to his ankles. “If we’re going to be spending time together, I don’t suppose I could get your name?”

“Bold, little drifter. You speak well, though. I am S’ves”

“S’ves.” Ford shakes his head; not sibilant enough. He licks his lips and tries again. “S’ves.”

Her hiss sounds amused, but not entirely condescending. “Not bad, for flat-tooth. What do you call yourself?”

A lot of things, actually, but now is not the time or place to be funny. “Ford.”

“Fford.” She somehow manages to pronounce his name like there are two F’s instead of one, but he’s heard worse. “Odd name. It suits you.”

“Thank you.”

She leads him into a tiny room made entirely of black chrome and points to a storage area hollowed out under the main counter, pushing various bins and bags out of the way. “Sit here. They will not see you when they come, and I will not tell.”

Ford does as she says, tucking his legs up underneath him. These beings are much taller than he is, averaging about seven feet when standing upright (not including the tail), so it’s actually quite comfortable, if he ignores the fact that he’s basically been in a sauna for the past four hours. Reptilian ships tend to be uncomfortable for warm-blooded species.

His rescuer (?) bustles around, pulling out what looks like several bins of dried insects and picking through them.

“Do you need any help with that?”

The noise she makes this time is definitely a laugh. “You? No, you sit still. Out of my way.”

“If you insist.” The best policy for being helped is simply to shut up and listen to every fickle whim your savior might have.

He hasn’t really learned to do that either, but lately he’s shown promise.

“Talk,” S’ves orders, testing him on the whim thing. “Where do you go?”

“This ship is going to Lottocron 9, so I suppose that’s where I’m going.”

S’ves hisses, head spines rattling. “Lottocron, gamblers and no-goods all. You sure you want to go there?”

“I don’t have much of a choice. Mostly I just go wherever I can.”

She stops her bug-sorting to look at him consideringly. “You look like a drifter, but you have manners. Were you person of consequence before you run?”

Now isn’t that a loaded question.

“…not really.” It’s not a lie, not in the context that she’s asking. “I wound up here on accident.” It was an accident, it was, Stan–

it was an accident.

“Hss, accident. Maybe one day you accident yourself back home.”

Ford squashes the little thing in his chest that hopes for that exact occurrence every day and changes the subject. “What about you? Why are you here?”

“Work. My hatchlings are grown and these young ones onboard need to feed and be guided. I help them.” She bares her teeth at him in what might be a smile. “I help you, too.”

Ford smiles back. It feels a little stiff around the edges, but that might just be from lack of practice. “And you have my thanks for that.”

The kitchen door slams open in a way that can mean nothing good, and Ford’s hand flies to his gun.

He’d really rather not destroy S’ves’ little sanctuary and workplace, but he will if he has to.

S’ves beats him to it, lashing tail upending her bin of bugs.

“What are you doing in my cook-room,” she snaps. Ford’s translator buzzes as she switches to the local vernacular. “I’ve told you all this is off limits! Get out!”

“We’re looking for a human,” one of the search party replies. He sounds cocky in the way people do when they’re bluffing. “It's wearing black clothes and carries a gun. It got away when we tried to catch it to eat. We were going to bring it to you, S’ves. A gift.”

“A gift? You were going to bring me one skinny human and call it a gift?” She sounds genuinely insulted. Ford is more worried about getting his neck broken by her tail, now swinging dangerously close to his head. “Do I not work hard enough for you? Slave away in here to make good food so you can live? Maybe not, because your brains seemed to have been starved right out of your thick skulls! I don’t want your human and I don’t want you in here distracting me. Get out!”

A minute more of mumbled hissing, some of it distinctly apologetic, and the search party flees through the kitchen door.

“Kss hss-ss. Ingrates, all of them.” S’ves' angular face suddenly blocks out the bright overhead light as she ducks down to look at him. “Good hatchlings, though,” she says, once again speaking the planet-wide language. “Just rough edges.”

“Most young people have them,” he offers. “Old ones, too.”

“True,” she says, starting to gather up her spilled insects. She stops, abrupt, and turns to him. “I have forgot to offer you food or drink, kss. And I say I take care of others.”

Ford folds his hands in his lap. “I’m fine, thank you.”

His shoulder is still aching. He’s still ignoring it.

He does end up accepting a glass of water before he leaves, but only because he’s lost a lot of fluid to the overly-warm temperature and it’s best to hydrate where he can. Certainly not because her repeated offers were making him feel guilty.

S’ves makes him wait a good hour after the crew disembarks before she escorts him off the ship.

“The dock will be empty now. Less security.”

“Less security is often a good thing where I’m concerned.”

“Yes.”

The station is indeed mostly empty. It seems to be night.

S’ves walks with him to the edge of the loading bay, then stops. “I will return to my cook-room now. There is a sleep-house nearby that ask no questions.” She presses a bag into his hands. It’s full of dried insects covered in some sort of spice.

“I don’t–”

“Take it,” she insists. “You eat. Stay alive.”

That is what he wants, right? “I will.” He tucks the bag into one of his pockets and folds his hands behind his back, taking a deep breath and mentally running through the words before he says them aloud. “S’ves, you have done me great service and will live in my memory forever.”

The words of her people’s formal acknowledgement are a little trickier in her native tongue, but he felt he had to try.

She laughs, but it sounds warmer than the ones he’s heard from her before. She reaches down to ruffle his hair, blunt claws scratching his scalp.

“Keep running, Fford. Don’t get eaten.”

He wants to fix his hair, but it’s a losing battle at the best of times and right now it just seems rude. “I’ll do my best.”

She bares her teeth in one last smile before turning to go.

Ford looks up at the deep purple sky of Lottocron 9 and slips under the shadow of an awning.

He’ll have to run eventually, but it’s safe to walk tonight.

#gravity falls #gravity falls fanfiction #stanford pines #my writing #ur local space disaster man #i have not been feelin Anything i write recently but apparently that's not enough to stop me

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dubsdeedubs · 6 years

Text

A Thousand Natural Shocks [16/16]

[AO3]

[A/N: I don’t even know what to say. I... wrote up a lot more on AO3, and I recommend that you read this there because this is 10,405 words (!!!)

Thank you all, and I hope you enjoy the ride for one last time.]

Summary: Thirty years ago, Stanley Pines made a deal. Now, in the wake of Bill’s defeat and his brother’s disappearance, Ford begins to unravel Stan’s dark secrets

With each passing minute, Ford sunk further into the gaping maw of the beast.

It was entirely too late to escape, he realized with quiet resignation. There was simply no fight in him anymore. He had been foolish enough to lower his guard in the monster's presence, and now he was paying for it with his life.

That, and there was some deep, dark part of him that very much welcomed the knowledge that he had no options left - that, after everything, there was nothing he could do to save himself this time.

Ford closed his eyes, and waited for the end to come.

There was the heavy sound of approaching footsteps.

"Huh," he heard, and, "...You look comfy."

"Hrmg," Ford said eloquently, and pressed his face into the plush armrest. Even without the benefit of sight, he could feel the look his brother gave him like a physical thing.

Stanley leaned heavily on the back of the armchair, and the cushion sagged obligingly. "...Don't have a lot of chairs as nice as this out there in the multiverse, huh?" He asked casually.

Familiar, immature annoyance flickered back into life for a brief moment. "No, Stanley. In fact, I haven't had much comfort in general for the past thirty years," he said crossly.

...The effect of his words was somewhat undercut by how the majority of his lower body was currently propped up above his head and his voice was muffled behind his sweater neck, which was a full inch of unwashed alien wool.

His brother looked distinctly unimpressed.

"I suppose," Ford muttered after a moment, and slid down another humiliating inch.

And, alright. If he had to be honest, and he supposed he should be in the sanctity of his own thoughts, it really was a fine couch. Certainly not just because the only other in recent memory had been constructed by Bill Cipher from an unholy combination of human flesh and demonic magic.

In a moment of sudden clarity, he could understand perfectly why and how his brother could spend the majority of his free time reclining here, watching a nice, mindless cartoon duck series or two.

It was a tempting thought, and certainly, there were worse sins than sloth to add to his own budding collection.

...Ford wondered fleetingly if this truly was some kind of human flesh eating cryptid, ready to ensnare any victim foolish enough to take a seat. Stranger things had happened in this house, and it would explain a great deal indeed.

"Got it for ten bucks at a garage sale," Stan muttered nostalgically. "Well, I would've gotten it for ten bucks if I didn't steal it right out of the guy's house. Found a big ol' tomato sauce stain right under the cushion afterwards, though. Serves me right, I guess."

He paused thoughtfully. "...Least, I hope it was tomato sauce. I dunno. Guess that would explain why this thing was so cheap."

Ford winced, feeling a lot less comfortable pressing his face into the armrest than he did just thirty seconds earlier - but still not nearly enough to move. "That's horrifying," he muttered, voice muffled.

"Well I mean, not anymore. I've gotten much worse stains than that out of stuff with a whole lot less, y'know." Stan crossed his legs nonchalantly, and grimaced. "Paul Bunyan, these pants are tryin' to kill me," he announced. "Can you believe I used to fit in these, no problem?"

Ford... really, really could not believe they were having this conversation.

The universe had nearly ended. They had nearly died (or something very much worse that he really would like not to think about, thank you very much.) By any sensible standards, the past fifteen minutes of mindless chatter was entirely pointless and an obvious waste of time.

Surely, after everything they had gone through, with everything that still needed to be said, shouldn't he and his brother have more to say to each other than some truly ridiculous small-talk?

Stan poked him in the side. "...You fallin' asleep on me, Sixer?"

"It would be a miracle if I was," Ford retorted immediately, turning his face just enough to give his brother a well-deserved glare with one eye. "Considering those tights you're wearing must have the same blinding intensity of a supernova seen from its closest galaxy."

"Uh."

"Why do you even own those?"

"Yeah, well, Soos convinced me to do a special holiday version of the Mystery Shack tour awhiles back, before I got immunity to those puppy dog eyes of his. Long story."

Stan cleared his throat. "So, you done making fun of my fashion choices or what?"

It was nonsense, but the easy back-and-forth of conversation was familiar in a warm sort of way - the kind that sapped the weary tension from his aching muscles and tugged at the edge of his lips until his expression softened.

Yes, Ford decided, allowing himself a particularly helpless smile. This was entirely ridiculous, illogical, and immature - and that was exactly why he would not trade it for anything.

"I can't say about the tights. Ma did always say you had chicken legs," he said lightly.

"Oh, fuck off," his brother replied with a roll of his eyes, but there was no real heat in his words. "Ma was just teasin', and you know it. I've got perfectly normal legs for my body type. And y'know, it's really all about the tailoring of the thing."

Ford raised an eyebrow. That... sounded suspiciously familiar.

"Ma told you that, didn't she?"

Stan's expression softened for just a moment in fond memory as he looked down in his lap, before settling down into a blank poker face. "Yeah, well. Ma did tell us a whole lot of stuff, Sixer."

He nodded slightly in agreement and had just opened his mouth, a particularly ridiculous anecdote already on his tongue, when Stan spoke again.

"Sometimes, I uh. Well. I still get myself thinking about what she'd say about things." His brother's words came halting at first and then all at once, as if Stan couldn't believe that he was saying them out loud either. "...Even if it's been thirty years since she -"

He went abruptly quiet, his expression stiffening in realization of what he had almost just said.

Ford blinked, a cold pit forming in his gut.

There it was.

"Stanley," he began, slowly and carefully, entirely aware of the stakes at hand.

It was something he didn't need to bring up, he tried to tell himself even as he dug his nails painfully into the new skin of his hands. A topic that was obviously impossibly difficult for both of them to talk about. He could forget about it, move on, enjoy the rest of his life in a dimension that wasn't (usually) actively attempting to kill him with his family.

(What was left of it.)

But despite himself, despite the fact that he had been waiting for decades and certainly could wait longer, despite his own pragmatic certainty that the answer would only come painfully -

- he had to know.

Because they couldn't move on without talking about this. Not really. Not in any way that mattered.

"...Yeah?" Stan muttered tensely.

"What happened with Ma?" The words flowed out all in a rush, coming much harsher than he wanted. Ford regrouped. "With... with the both of them," he finished his sentence awkwardly, words clumsy and inelegant around the one topic, one person he could not bring himself to mention out loud.

His brother wouldn't meet his eyes.

"Look, Stanley. It's - it's alright." There was a strange kind of desperation in Ford's voice, one that he didn't want to think about too hard. "I... It has been three long decades. I am fully aware of the most likely answer to my question. And to tell you the truth..."

He swallowed. "I haven't held any real hopes for any kind of reunion with them for years. I've always assumed that they had - already passed, but I would just like to -"

"They're gone," Stan said shortly, cutting off his ramblings like a knife through hot butter. Ford went abruptly silent, not necessarily out of surprise but... really, because of how bluntly his brother had put it.

Neither spoke for a long moment before Stan winced and said, "Sorry. I shouldn't have told you like that." He let out a ragged breath. "You were right. They... got old. Got sick."

Ford nodded slowly, with a touch of bewilderedness. Like a dog chasing after a car, now that he had gotten what he had wanted for so long, he wasn't quite sure what to do with it. He had not lying at all about the fact that this was the answer he had entirely expected. And yet, it still sent a familiar pang of loss through him.

Hearing it from his brother made it... real, concrete somehow. Concrete in a way it never felt when he was hundreds, thousands of light-years away from Earth.

"It was cancer with Ma," Stan continued, without any real prompting. He kept his eyes fixed on some distant thing, carefully not meeting Ford's gaze. "Years and years ago, at this point. But it - took its time with her. Turns out her pack a day habit was no good for anybody, but uh. You don't needa be a fake psychic to know that, do ya?"

"Stanley..."

"...Dad went a few days after," he said finally, his expression suddenly, carefully blank. "And who knows what it was with him?"

Ford went quiet, though not for lack of desire to speak. There was, well.

He had always wondered, in the way humans instinctively sought resolution, if their father had ever... well, change was a strong word, stronger than Filbrick Pines - for all his demeanor and his bluster - could ever be. But if he ever understood what he had done all those years ago. If he realized even a bit of what Ford had understood over all these years, if he had caught a glimpse of what Ford saw now in the brutal clarity of hindsight.

He knew better than to ask.

His brother grimaced. "Rabbi waxed poetic about broken hearts, but I've always figured that Pa's more - like a golem, or somethin'." He spoke with a strange. uncertain softness in his eyes. Something that could be, in a far kinder world, be called fondness. "Like the stories Ma used to tell us. Keeps chugging as long as he's got that little scroll in his head, take that away and."

He cleared his throat. "Y'know."

"...Yes." Ford said roughly. He wasn't sure why it was so difficult to speak. "Yes, I remember those stories."

Stan let out a low chuckle, one without much humor. "Yeah, I know. You were there for them too, I know. It - was a weird thought. But somehow... I knew you were the one person I wouldn't hafta explain it to."

Ford didn't know how to reply to that. All he knew was that the warm rush that washed over him upon hearing those words and left him breathless... that was a feeling he wanted to keep forever.

"...Did you - did you go?" he asked hesitantly. "To their funerals, I mean."

Stanley looked at him for a moment, as if in surprise.

"I - yeah," he said haltingly. "Actually, I - I was still decidin' whether I could risk goin' to Ma's funeral when I got the second call from Shermie about Dad. Tellin' me to get my ass over there in the next twenty-four hours if I wanted to keep it."

"That sounds like her," Ford noted, smiling despite himself at the thought of the little girl he had last saw decades ago yelling into a phone with Ma's Jersey accent. "Maybe not the - profanity - but -"

His brother lets out a bark of laughter. "Sixer, you have no idea."

They're both quiet for a companionable moment, and oh, oh, Ford had missed this. He had missed this more than words could say.

There was something - had always been something deeply heartening about being able to talk to someone who could understand. Especially given Ford's own experiences with fitting in, or rather, the lack thereof.

Relaxing in this way, soaking in the easy silence that only came from the knowledge that he did not need to speak to be understood... it was something he had not felt for a long, long time.

Maybe, time had not changed them as much as Ford had feared.

"...Ma had called a coupla times before," Stanley said slowly, clearly reluctant to break the moment of calm. "She sent me some money before when things were really down, but… first time I had actually seen either of 'em for a decade was at - well, my own burial."

He winced. "And that had been risky enough already, even with my corpse lying there in a box several yards away. Guess that was for the best. With Shermie the only one hanging around, I didn't have much of an excuse not to go and ah, see 'em off."

"I wish..." Ford said slowly, without knowing exactly how to end the sentence. I wish I had been there. I wish I had seen them one last time. I wish, I wish, I wish.

Judging from the look his brother gave him, he didn't need to.

"I'm sorry," Stan said roughly, a new tenseness in his body language that made his movements frantic, jerky. "I'm sorry ya couldn't be there."

Ford didn't reply for a long minute. This was one of those points, he knew, that the two of them could never completely forgive and get over. It had to be - doing otherwise would be a lie, a disservice for both of them. It hurt beyond words that he had lost everything he could call his own for thirty long years, that he had missed the funeral of his parents, that he did not get to watch his younger sister growing up.

But it had not been a one-sided hurt. It had never been a one-sided hurt when the two of them were involved, not even at the very beginning.

Blind forgiveness had never been the answer, Ford thought to himself with a strange calm. The problems that had stolen most of their lives from both of them would have lingered on, simmering until the moment they could not be ignored again.

He didn't know if it was possible to move on and forwards without forgetting the past. Ford certainly had not succeeded before.

But then, he had never really wanted to try, before.

"I am sorry as well," Ford said quietly. "I am sorry that you could not attend as yourself. That you - lost them so early."

They both knew well that he wasn't talking about their parents' passings.

"...Don't apologize for that, Sixer," Stan muttered. "It was my own stupid mistakes."

"I could have said something."

"No, ya couldn't." His brother said flatly. "...You saw the look on Pa's face. It wasn't some… spur of the moment kinda thing. I'd been packin' my bags for weeks up till that point, just waitin' for the last straw or until I turned eighteen, whichever came first. Nothin' you coulda said woulda changed his mind."

He grimaced. "He already knew I was a loser, Sixer."

"Then he should have learned that he was wrong!" Ford exclaimed, a familiar indignant anger rising in him - the same kind he felt at Crampelter and the bully's ugly laughter, at the recruiters from West Coast Tech and their cruel, calm rationality, at Bill grinning and cackling in laughter and saying, Fordsy, did you really think I would have chosen you if I wanted someone significant?

Stan winced. "Be honest with yourself, Sixer. Was he really? Just - look at what I ended up doin' after that. I just - I just kept runnin' cons. Sold cheap shit to people who were too dumb to know any better. Made deals with some - some real horrible people to keep myself going."

He sighed. "...Tell ya the truth - if you hadn't called me up here, I would've ended up dead young."

"You still did," Ford said steadily.

His brother refused to look him in the eyes. "You know what I mean. Worse than what happened here. I'd be in some - some shallow grave that no one would've even tried to look for. Moses knows I had gotten close to it before."

"Stanley..."

"You don't get it, do ya? Only good I've ever done in my life has been right here." Stan hesitated, as if he was gearing himself to say something he had wanted to say for a very long time. "...Only good I've ever done in my life wasn't even as myself."

"Don't say that," Ford retorted immediately, with an urgency that surprised even himself.

"Dunno, Sixer," Stan shrugged, not meeting his eyes. "Figured I should tell the truth. For once in my life."

Ford opened his mouth, then shut it. Took a long, slow breath, and let it all out.

He said, his voice only slightly wavering, "When I told Shermaine the truth about what had happened between the two of us, she told me how you died."

His brother went still. Clearly, this was not what Stan expected to hear. "I, uh," he mumbled, eyes wide. "I... still really wish you hadn't done that."

"Apparently," Ford continued vehemently, " 'I' had been instrumental in the destruction of some cross-border drug operation that had orchestrated your -" He hesitated. It was real. It was exactly what happened. Why was it so hard to say? "Your murder," he said at last, mouth uncomfortably dry. "Shermaine had an idea or two on how you had gotten - involved in it."

He swallowed. "Is... is that where your scars came from?"

His brother's silence was particularly telling. "Some of them," Stan said at last, voice gruff.

They eyed each other, quietly willing the other to speak first.

Ford relented. "...I haven't said much to you and the twins about my years on the other side of the portal," he said haltingly, unsure of what he was getting at himself but hoping with everything he had that he would figure it out along the way. "They were not - the best."

"Well, yeah," Stan said, matter-of-fact. He flushed at the look Ford gave him. "Not like that. I meant... You startle easily."

"I what," Ford said flatly.

He had heard many descriptors applied to him in his life, everything from 'eccentric' and 'brilliant' to 'neurotic' and - in one not particularly fond memory - 'batshit insane.' 'Easily startled' was not one of them. Perhaps at the very beginning of his career in studying the paranormal, but even that was a stretch, considering that getting one of Mothman's composite moths in his mouth was obviously enough reason to -

"Fucking - not like that, sorry. Look, I just meant -" Stan took a deep breath. "Whenever I get up close to you without warning, you tense up. Hands twitch a bit, like you want to make a grab for something. It's not that hard to tell if you know what you're lookin' for, and I - uh."

He grimaced. "I knew what to look for. I dunno. I just - kinda always figured you weren't havin' the time of your life out there."

Ford... didn't know how to feel about that, that his trauma had become something entirely readable from the way he moved and lived.

"It wasn't the individual incidents that got to me, Stanley," he said instead, refusing to let the topic change. "Certainly there were many of them, over my three long decades of living life on the run. But no. It... was the constancy of it all."

He wasn't in danger all the time, of course. A month or two holed up in a safe haven, his time recovering and learning from Jheselbraum, the very few times he had genuinely thought his journey may have come to an end - that he had come to a place in which he could live instead of just survive, at least up until he had prepared enough to face Bill for the last time.

And that was it, wasn't it? "I realized eventually that there were two ways my journey would end," Ford said flatly. "Either I would die taking Bill with me, or I would die having failed in my mission. There were no other options to speak of. I... had no hope for myself in regards to that."

"Ford," Stan said, and there was something stunned, something entirely horrified in the blankness of his expression. "How could you just - decide that for yourself?".

That made him stop in his tracks, just a bit. "I didn't decide that for myself," Ford said, almost annoyed, because how was it that his brother didn't understand? Because it wasn't a decision, not in any way that mattered.

"Really, Stanley. It wasn't as if I had simply - sat down one day and decided that I had no direction in life other than one that culminated in death. "

Stan flinched. "But -"

"There was never a choice," he said matter-of-fact. "All I was doing was to accept the cards already dealt to me. It was all I... was..."

Worth.

Ford trailed off, the ending of the thought making him stop in his mental tracks. It was - a familiar thought, that there was no doubt about.

already knew I was a loser, sixer.

But now it was familiar in an entirely different kind of way.

His brother was looking at him, he realized, in concern. There was something suddenly, inexplicably hilarious about that, considering the entire unspoken conversation of worth and sacrifice and unnecessary martyrdom that had led up to this moment.

The smallest hint of a hysterical laugh bubbled up within him.

"...Sixer?"

"But I was wrong," Ford said breathlessly. He knew what he wanted to say now. What he had to say. To his brother - and to himself. "I'm alive, and I was wrong."

Stan grinned uneasily, unsurely. "That's - great, Sixer, don't get me wrong. But uh, I'm honestly kinda lost abo -"

"And so are you."

His brother stared at him like he had gone off the deep end.

"I had been wandering the dimensions for three decades by the time you fixed the portal," Ford said, buoyed by a heady combination of adrenaline and certainty, and it felt like shrugging off weights, opening the curtains, seeing and feeling something that had been there all along. "I had been hungry, I had been cold, and I was always afraid. By that time, I... had done many things I regret."

He hesitated. "But I won't say anymore on that because I don't need to explain all of that to you. Our circumstances were different, certainly. And any comparison of suffering is inherently wrongheaded. But... something tells me that you understand my experience more so than anyone else on this planet."

"Well, perfect," Stan said after a moment of stunned silence, his voice dull. "What I've always wanted. My brother to live like a criminal on-the-run for three decades."

"But it goes both ways, don't you see?" Ford interrupted, eyes wide. "I don't know everything that happened to you, that you went through, but trust me when I say that I understand much more than you might realize."

"I'm not sayin' you don't, but -"

"The reason I was so - determined to sacrifice myself for the sake of the universe," he said, voice clear, "was because I believed that my greatest worth was to others, and not to myself. I had made so many mistakes and let so many people down in my life, that this was the only way I could make up for them."

His brother looked deeply uncomfortable. "Ford..."

"I thought that because I had already given up all hope for myself," Ford said steadily. "But Stanley, you believed I was worth more than that. And you gave - so, so much of your life to give me another chance."

He hesitated. "I suppose... I just wish I could have done the same, when it was you who needed me."

It was all too easy to think back to a much younger Stanley, newly homeless, newly brother-less, and see their parallels. Even easier to put himself into the shoes of the familiar-unfamiliar man who had showed up at his door all those years ago, stinking of exhaustion and defeat, a strange desperation in his eyes when he asked Ford why he had finally asked him to come back. What he could do so he didn't have to go away again.

And instead...

take this book, get on a boat, and sail as far away as you can!

Ford's expression tightened. "I should have," he said, voice rough, "and I am sorry I didn't."

"You couldn't have known," his brother said automatically.

"I shouldn't have needed to," he snapped with a ferocity that surprised even himself. "I - Listen to me,. You might have never wanted me to give up so much for you, but - I never wanted you to give up so much for me either."

Stan sucked in a breath. "But - Ford -"

"Stanley," Ford said, slowly, steadily, "if we want to make this work, we have to be worth just as much to ourselves as we do to each other."

His brother stared at him for a long, frozen moment.

Then, as if waking from a dream, Stan opened his mouth. Maybe to protest, maybe to agree, maybe to throw out some terrible unfitting joke that only related tangentially to the situation like he always did whenever the circumstances became emotionally dire.

Ford didn't know, but what he could be certain about was that this time, he would not let his brother shrug off his words with false nonchalance, that this time they could finally -

And, of course, it was at that very moment that the doorbell rang.

Both brothers froze at the sound, faces gone slack in the exact same blank expression of disbelief and confusion.

As if in reply to their unvoiced question, the bell rang yet again, almost plaintively.

It felt as if a spell had been broken. "Who the hell…?" Stan trailed off, patting at his wrists as if looking for a watch that was no longer there. "It's dark outside, but - shit, what time is it?"

"It's - late," Ford replied blankly, mind too fuzzy to be at all helpful. There was something nagging at the edge of his consciousness, something important that he had forgotten. What was it?

"...Y'know what," his brother said decisively, and stood straight. "I'll go and tell 'em to fuck off. How do I look, Sixer? Decent?"

He looked at Stanley's wildly mismatching, garishly colored outfit cobbled together from the tourist shop lost and found and Ford's wardrobe from when he was 28, which could only be described as "hopelessly tweed." Certain pieces somehow, against all laws of physics, managed to be at once too tight and too loose.

"You look absolutely terrible," Ford said bluntly.

"Perfect." Stan adjusted his three overlapping collars. "Then maybe I don't even have to say anythin' for them to run."

Ford bit back an exasperated sigh. "Stan, would you just wait a moment? There's something about this that's -"

The doorbell rang again. It was clear that their visitor had no intentions of leaving without an answer.

Stan gave him a Look. Ford relented, an entirely terrible decision he would later chalk up to a combination of sleep deprivation and the multiversal destabilization all the molecules in his body had gone through not even an hour before.

Decision made, his brother limped over to the door and fumbled momentarily with the inner locks. There was a satisfying click as the door unlatched and he turned the handle.

And, of course, it was at that very moment that Stanford remembered exactly what was so significant about having a stubborn visitor to the Mystery Shack so late at night.

"Stanley, wait!" He exclaimed, jumping to his feet, watching the door open in slow-motion. "It's Sher -"

"MISTER PINES!"

Ford blinked. The voice was - a familiar one, undoubtedly. Just... not even remotely close to what he was expecting to hear.

A quick, stunned glance confirmed his initial suspicions. The late night visitor to the Mystery Shack was Soos the handyman, the rather gopher-ish man who had become close friends with the niblings over the summer. And, he remembered with a twinge of sheepishness, the same person who had accompanied him on his trip into the woods and experienced with him the aftermath of his brother's ridiculous plan.

Without warning, the handyman in the doorway rushed forwards to enclose Stan tightly with two pudgy arms.

"I'm so glad you're okay, Mr. Pines!" He wailed, eyes moist. "After everythin' that was going on and all the stuff that other Mr. Pines told me, I was so worried that somethin' had -"

"...Soos?" Stan said slowly, clearly lost. Just slightly more so than Ford felt, a fact that gave him some reluctant pleasure. "Uh, Soos, what the heck are you doing here?" A moment passed, and then he added, completely unconvincingly, "Oi, leggo of me, ya big lug. Yer getting sweat all over me. And - " He squinted. "Is that my fez?"

Soos loosened his grip reluctantly and wiped at his gushing tears - not an exaggeration, Ford watched on with awe, despite possibly being not humanly possible. "I just wanted to see if you were alright, sir. And, oh yeah! Your fez!" His eyes widened. "I was gonna return it, Mr. Pines, I swear!"

"Yeah, I don't doubt that," Stan muttered, and squinted. "Uh, what are ya doing here anyways?" His eyes widened as the realization hit. "Wait, Soos, how did ya even know I was here?'

Soos paused, a sheepish expression on his face. "Oh, uh, about that, Mr. Pines -"

A familiar-unfamiliar figure stepped into view in the doorway. "Ford," it said dangerously, eyes glinting behind thick glasses, "you scared the shit outta me."

Stan blinked, entirely bewildered. "...Shermy? What the hell are you doin' here?"

She punched him directly in the jaw.

The next few seconds of movement passed too quickly for Ford to intervene.

His brother staggered backwards with (no, not a squeak, because Ford will give his brother that little bit of dignity even in the sanctity of his mental narration) an 'oof' of some pain and mostly surprise. "What the fu - hot Belgian Waffles was that?" He groaned, raising one hand to rub at his sore cheek.

"What the hell do you think I'm doing here, Ford?" Shermaine demanded, her left fist still clenched pale and bloodless against her side.

"I... don't know?"

She faltered. Her anger seemed to dissipate, replaced by something much more real.

"Why did you call me?" She asked, voice ragged. "What were you - what have you been thinking?"

Stan took a step backwards, confusion written clearly across his face. He glanced quickly at where Ford was standing, just slightly out of sight, in an obvious plea for help. "I... don't remember calling you? I mean," he added, in what seemed like a futile attempt to hold up his false identity, "not saying I didn't call you, but uh -"

For just a moment, her face fell - no masks, no guards, no performative fury to cover up the raw grief in her expression. "...What happened to you?"

Ford took in a deep breath and takes a - the single step forward.

"He didn't call you up here, Shermaine," he said, speaking to his younger sister face-to-face for the first time in three decades. It took every bit of self-control he had just to stop his voice from shaking.

"I did."

Shermy turned around slowly, face pale.

She looked at him like she had just seen a ghost, a dead man risen, like if she blinked even once he would disappear back into the realm of her imagination. Which, if she was anything like the rest of her family, were all entirely accurate descriptors of what she must have immediately - and understandably, he supposed, given the circumstances - concluded.

A long moment passed and gone. Ford just stood there, a small, sad smile on his face. He said, as gently as he could, "It's really me, Shermaine."

She looked at Stan, then back at him, then back at his - at their brother again.

"The two of you," Shermaine said thickly, a single hand held shakily to her mouth.

"You're both - both -"

To Ford's confusion, she fumbled in her purse for what he only barely recognizes from Dipper and Mabel's brief show-and-tell as a modern phone. Shermaine held it up, her arm visibly shaking, and looked at him through its screen.

"Um," he said.

"You can't take a picture of a hallucination, Sixer," Stan explained quietly. He looked on calmly, like he had seen the process many times before. More likely than not, he had, Ford realized, reminding himself of the many years of shared life between the two that he had missed out on.

Shermaine made a small, broken sound. The phone slipped from her slack grip and smacked loudly on the ground.

The handyman reached out a hand as if in pain.

"Don't worry 'bout it, Jesús," she said distantly, slowly putting her arm down to dangle limply at her side. "I got an Otterbox. That thing can survive a nuclear meltdown."

There was a brief moment of silence as the three Pines siblings stared at each other, none of them particularly willing to be the first one to speak. Just when it got to the point of becoming truly uncomfortable, Shermaine sighed.

"Do me a favor, will ya, sweetheart?" She said to the handyman with easy familiarity. "I'm gonna have a talk with my idiot brother." A hesitation. "Brothers. Fuck. ...You might want to come back in a bit."

The handyman fidgeted, sneaking a look at Stanley. "Well -"

"Probably a good idea," his brother sighed. "Sorry about gettin' you involved in all of this, kid. We'll talk later, yeah?"

That got Soos in motion. "Sure thing, Mr. Pines!" He saluted. "By the way, Mrs. Pines! Abuelita told me to tell you, uh, felicidades!"

"On winning the 9th annual Pines-Ramirez pickle-eating contest, or on the Pulitzer?" Shermaine asked after a moment of thought. Ford gave Stan an incredulous look.

The handyman paused in contemplation. "Sorry Mrs. Pines," he said apologetically. "I think Abuelita only follows the pickles."

Then he was gone, and it was just the three of them. The silence in the house felt suddenly, uncomfortably oppressive.

"So," Shermaine said. She looked between the two of them like she wasn't sure whether she wanted to hug them or kill them.

Ford tried his best not to seem apprehensive. "Yes?"

"You're both alive." She hesitated. "You're both - here."

"Yeah," Stan said awkwardly. "Well. We've got a, uh, whole lot of explaining to do, I know, and we can definitely -"

"Are you kidding me?" Shermaine exclaimed, clearly caught between exasperation and astonishment. "Do - do I look like that's what I want from you two right now?"

"Er -" Stan said, but whatever he wanted to say after that was forgotten as he was promptly yanked into a bone-crushing embrace.

"Thank God I didn't lose you too," she muttered, voice muffled against the scratchy cloth of his shirt. Stan let out a pained wheeze when she squeezed.

After a long moment, Shermaine loosened her grip. She turned and shot Ford a look of pure disbelief. "What are ya doing still standin' there?"

"Er," Ford said unsurely, "I -"

She groaned. "Get over here and let me hug you, ya dingus."

He approached them slowly, carefully. But really, it was all over the moment he got into grabbing range.

Ford and Stan stood tense and breathless for a long moment as Shermaine held them tight and pressed her face into both of their shoulders, at the space where the two met.

After a long, frozen moment, she let out a long, ragged breath. Her grip slackened, and let go. "You assholes," Shermaine announced, voice low. If there was a moistness in her eyes, no one was idiotic enough to mention it. "I can't believe you two. Fuck."

"Shermaine -"

"You - absolute - fucking - assholes."

Stan winced. "Fair enough."

All three of them were quiet for a long moment.

"How long?" Shermaine asked finally, voice choked.

"Just a couple weeks, Sherm." Stan said tentatively. "Ford hasn't been back for long at all."

Shermaine blinked slowly. "'Ford,' you said," she intoned flatly.

He coughed, alarm written bright and clear across his face as Stan realized the mistake of what he had said. "Um, yeah, about that -"

"Either you've picked up the habit of referrin' to yourself in third person in the past week, or -" Her eyes glinted. "I've been missing the wrong brother for the past thirty years."

Stan hung his head.

"I'm Stanford," Ford said, cutting in hurriedly because clearly Stan needed some help sorting out the hurt his - at the time - convenient lies had dished out to everyone involved. "He's Stanley. I was the one who called you, but..." He hesitated. "He was the one you've known for all of these years."

Shermaine stared at him for a long moment, as if she hadn't been expecting him to talk at all. Considering he - or at least, 'Stanley' - had been some sort of cautionary tale for their family for decades, he supposed that was more or less understandable.

"Oh," she said finally. "Alright. Okay."

There was a beat. "No, actually, that's not okay. Ford - Stanley - whoever you are," Shermaine brandished a finger furiously at Stanley, who winced at the sudden attention. "You've had thirty years to tell me all of this. Any of this. And now it turns out you're our long-dead brother that you've been - pretending to grieve for all this time and -"

Her voice cracked.

"Sherm," Stan said slowly, "I can explain."

"Can you explain why you lied to me for all these years?" Shermaine snapped immediately. Then she paused, her eyes widening in slow, horrified realization. "...No, not just to me. Our whole family." Her expression hardened. "Our parents died thinking you were gone."

"I know. I know, Sherm." He took a long, ragged breath. "There's nothin' I can say that can fix things, but I... gotta explain. Maybe it won't make up for any of what happened, but just - gimme a chance, alright? To tell ya everything I couldn't during all these years."

Shermaine looked at him quietly for a long moment. "...This is a lot," she said, voice low. "You know that. This is a fucking lot."

"Yeah, Sherm," Stan said hollowly. "It - really is."

She sighed and massaged the bridge of her nose with two fingers.

"I need a fucking drink."

"So," Shermaine said, an hour and an impromptu scavenger hunt in the Mystery Shack later. She nursed a small but very dangerous amount of whiskey from Ford's - or possibly Fiddleford's, which was even more alarming - thirty-year-old stash. "Armageddon."

"We've been referring to it as Weirdmageddon, actually," Ford ventured. "But in hindsight, 'Oddcapalypse' certainly has a ring to it -"

"Ford, shut up." He flinched. She went quiet. "...Sorry. I didn't mean that. I just. God."

"I know it's a lot to take in," Ford said tentatively. "And certainly very difficult to believe. But I swear to you, this is the truth."

"Demons, dimensional portals and coming back from the fucking dead," Shermaine said dully. "No, actually, I got that part just fine. Honestly, Ford - fuck, it feels weird to even call you that - I've seen enough weird shit in my life and especially as part of this family that I really have no place to say what's make-believe in this world and what's not."

"Oh."

He... had no idea what to say to that. There should be some sort of relief, shouldn't there? Ford knew better than most how entirely unwilling to believe people could be when it came to the strange and abnormal. "That's - wonderful, Shermaine, I'm glad you're taking this so well -"

He realized almost immediately that that was the wrong thing to say.

"The only reason I seem to be taking this so well," Shermaine said calmly, dangerously, as she set down her cup, "is because seein' the two of ya here, even if I don't have a goddamn clue how this is happenin', is infinitely better than what I was afraid I was gonna find once I made it up here. Which, just so you know, is that the only brother I've got left had lost his goddamn mind on me - and had brought my grandkids along for the ride."

"That's -"

"Here's a secret, Stanford. I'm not takin' this well at all. Because what I don't get," she continued, a promise in her words as she turned to stare down Stanley, "is exactly what part of that was stopping me from getting told the truth for thirty goddamn years?"

Stan had been quiet for awhile now - a particularly guilty silence, Ford saw with the clarity of hindsight. "I was gonna tell you all of this once I got Ford back, Sherm," he said gruffly, not meeting Shermaine's angry look.

(No, he wasn't, Ford realized with a burst of horrified understanding. Because he had never expected to survive long enough to tell the truth, and he had thought Ford would have been perfectly fine with stepping into the hole he left behind.

...After this, after all of this, he was going to give his brother a good talking-to.)

"So in the meantime, you decided to impersonate him and let us all go on believin' you were dead?" She asked disbelievingly.

"Sherm, I wasn't even sure if I was myself -"

"I coulda told you that, you knucklehead!"

Stan stared at her with wide eyes. "Uh -"

"We both remember what you did for me, Fo - Stan," Shermaine said through gritted teeth. Ford watched on in confusion.

He winced. "That doesn't have anythin' to do with this, Sherm -"

"Yes it does," she bit out. "Because decades ago I was a scared kid because I was gonna have a kid, and I didn't think there was a single person in the whole world who wouldn't flip their lid on me if they knew. You were holed up north so you didn't have to risk giving yourself away, but you still picked up when I called. And you said yes and cleared out the spare room in the Shack, and -"

"What the hell are you talkin' about, Sherm?" Stan exclaimed, disbelief written large across his face. "Of course I did, what kind of brother would've left you hanging? Hot Belgian waffles, what kind of monster would've..."

He trailed off in slow realization.

"Exactly!" Shermaine shouted, eyes wild. He stared at her as if she had yanked a rabbit out of a hat and promptly threw it at his face. "So Stan, how the fuck did it take you three whole decades and the almost end of the world to figure this out yourself?"

Ford looked between the two of them in a strange mixture of morbid curiosity and a sensation of inexplicable loss. Inexplicable, because it was entirely illogical to expect to understand, to feel as if he had lost something he had never had, to -

To feel like an outsider looking in.

(Thirty years was a very long time, he felt - really felt - for the first time since returning to this dimension.)

"I - look. Stan. I get why you didn't want to tell Dad. Even Ma." Shermaine took a long, deep breath, her grip tightening on the glass in her hand.. "But, at the very least... why couldn't you tell me?"

Stan flinched, and looked away.

"Did ya really think I would've ratted you out if you told me what really happened between you an' Ford?" She demanded thickly. "Or did ya think I wouldn't believe you? Because I would've believed you, seeing how for some reason, I trust you!"

"I know, Sherm," he said roughly.

"So why?"

They looked at each other for a long moment. "I dunno," Stan said at last, each individual word coming out slow and reluctant. "I was stupid, I dunno. I don't have a real good answer for you."

"Well, ya better think of one, or -"

"I guess." He swallowed. "I guess, I just didn't wanna disappoint you."

Shermaine stared at him. "No," she said tonelessly. "No."

Stan's expression didn't change.

She exploded. "You knucklehead, what the hell made you think I would be disappointed if I knew you were actually you?"

He didn't meet her eyes, and that was answer enough.

Shermaine let out a long, deep breath. "Do I - do I look like Dad to you?" She demanded, eyes wild and just slightly moist. "Because I'm not him. Lord knows I've tried my best not to be, all of these years. You know that."

"I'm sorry, Sherm," Stan said roughly.

The silence hovered around them for a long moment.

"I still can't believe you're him," she said at last, voice blank. "That - you're you. Everything I heard growing up, all those files I searched up, those fucking pictures - that was you. This whole fucking time."

"That - doesn't change anything, Sherm," he tried.

"No, Stanley. It changes everything." Shermaine sighed. "I - can't talk about this anymore. I need time," she said roughly. "Enough time to sort out this clusterfuck that's in my head right now."

She glanced over at Ford, who had been sitting rather stiffly to the side during the whole exchange, unsure of how - or even if he should - add anything to the conversation.

"Hi, Stanford," Shermaine said slowly, deliberately.

He fidgeted slightly under the weight of her gaze. "Hello, Shermaine," Ford replied rather awkwardly.

"I wanna apologize to you right now," she said, matter-of-fact. "Because now that I think about it, I don't remember much about you at all, and you deserve a whole lot more than that. Just that..."

Shermaine trailed off in thought. "That your hands always smelled like chemicals, and you dropped an apple on my head once, so you could tell me about Newton."

He remembered that too, in some distant part of his brain he had thought lost to time and hurt. It suddenly became very difficult to speak. "You don't need to apologize to me, Shermaine," Ford said gently.

"Yep, I do," she said, just as calmly. "Someone does, because you've missed out on a whole lot all these years, Ford. You've missed out on meeting two whole generations of Pineses because you had to go all - Stargate-y."

Ford's expression tightened at the reminder of what he had lost. "I'm well aware," he said stiffly.

"Might not be anyone's fault," Shermaine said contemplatively. "But as far as I'm concerned, someone's gotta fix it."

She paused. "And that someone's me."

Ford blinked. Shermaine downed the rest of her drink in one go, and began to get up shakily.

"Sherm -" Stan - tried - to interrupt, a look of concern on his face.

"Stanford," she announced, voise rising in volume as she stood, "consider yourself back in school. You are officially enrolled in a little crash course I like to call, 'Pines Family 101: A Drunk History,' starting..."

Shermaine checked her watch, only swaying slightly. "Right fucking now. Who's gonna help me grab my bags from the trunk?"

"Hell, Sherm, you brought the family photo albums?" Stan asked, pained.

"Every volume," she said cheerfully, and Ford could not miss the resemblance to a certain glitter-loving nibling. "And we're going through all of them. Together."

Life moved very quickly after that.

Maybe it was making up for lost time. There had been, after all, many, many photos to be seen. It was a pleasant surprise to realize that blood relation was quite possibly the least important factor of what it meant to be part of the Pines family as it existed now. Ford blinked blearily as he was introduced to second cousins and adopted aunts and more in-laws than he could count on both hands.

At one point, he thought he had seen a man with his niblings' wide grin, his arms around a woman with their curious eyes.

By the time he had 'graduated' from Shermaine's crash course, dazed and overwhelmed but full with emotion in a way he could not put into coherent words, Ford had been told the date of the next big family reunion and been made very aware of the fact that a great number of people attending would Very Much like to meet Great-Uncle Ford-But-Not-The-Other-Great-Uncle-Ford-Who-Was-Actually-Great-Uncle-Stanley-This-Whole-Time.

("But you should definitely ease yourself into it," Shermaine had said sheepishly, upon catching the expression of pure panic on Ford's face. "We're a bunch of weirdos and I love them to pieces, but I'd be the first to admit that we are a whole lot. So take your time, y'know? They'll understand.")

And then Shermaine was gone, because apparently - to his entire lack of surprise - she hadn't said much at all to anyone else when she started on her cross-country drive over to Gravity Falls. Now that she was satisfied that neither of her brothers was dead or dying or would be in the foreseeable future, she had a great deal of explanations to give herself, back home in California.

The Shack was very quiet after that.

But even so, between giving more-or-less adequate explanations to everyone who had a right to know (which was quite a bit more than Ford had expected, even knowing how deep his brother's connections ran in this town) and dealing with the constant crowd of townspeople clamoring for a reopening of the Mystery Shack, a few long days had passed before Stan and Ford got a moment to themselves to just... pick up their pieces.

It finally happened on a particularly nice summer evening, the kind with just enough of the occasional breeze to have a comfortable chill to it. The two of them sat perched on the back porch of the Shack, looking up at the many brilliant stars that hung distantly in the sky.

Ford could never say what triggered the thought in his mind, or if there even was a trigger at all. Maybe it had been there all along, just waiting to be spoken into existence.

There was something about the heavy darkness of the sky that made him contemplative and thoughtful. After that, it was just a matter of time before it slipped out.

"Stanley?" He spoke, his voice uncomfortably loud in the ambient noise of the Pacific Northwest woods.

His brother shifted next to him. "Yeah?"

"What happened to Six-Sights, in the end?"

Ford's words came out all in a rush, and he wanted to take them back the moment he realized he had spoken them out loud.

Stan was still, and for a long moment, it felt as if the entire world was holding its breath.

"I figured this was coming," his brother said finally, but there was no fear in his voice, no surprise. He leaned back, propped himself up with his own arms. "So. There's a long answer, and there's a short answer. Which one you wanna hear first?"

"...Maybe for once the universe will allow me to take the simpler path," Ford mused to himself, and found it entirely impossible to believe. Still... "The short answer, if you would?"

"They're still here."

Ford blinked. Opened his mouth, closed it again. "...I see," he said at long last, mind racing through more doomsday scenarios than he wanted to count. "Stanley, I mean this in the best possible way, but that particular answer brings me a great deal of fear and anxiety for the immediate future of the world."

"Not like that, geez." His brother rolled his eyes. "I meant, still here." He patted himself on the chest.

For a moment, it felt as if there was no more breath in his lungs. "But you're - you're human now," Ford said faintly, and it sounded more like a question than a statement.

"'Course I am, Sixer. I wouldn't have lied to you about that, geez. I'm just sayin'..." Stan was quiet for a moment. "The deal that we had going on. You remember that it goes both ways, right?"

"Yes," he said slowly, unsure of what his brother was getting at.

"So I get what I want. And they get what they want. You already know what I wanted, and it was easy enough when all they wanted was whatever Cipher told them to want." Stan hesitated. "Things... got a lot more complicated once they got a taste for what consciousness was like."

"They began to want something different," Ford said with no small amount of trepidation. He had trusted an eldritch being knowing that it was mostly his brother holding the reigns, but the thought of an existence beyond all human comprehension given access to whatever they wanted was entirely - and understandably - terrifying.

A particularly upsetting question popped into his head. "But - what could something like them want?"

Stan snorted in laughter. "Sorry," he muttered when Ford turned to stare, a strange smile still on his face. "It's just. I remember asking that too, way back when. Exact same question. Fiddleford had been giving me the whole spiel about eldritch whatchamacallits, and this was the only one he couldn't answer. Didn't want to answer, more like."

He grinned to himself. "But I figured it out, in the end. Figured it out before you two, even."

"I believe you've had," Ford said delicately, "what most would call an unfair advantage."

Stan shrugged. "Point taken. But just think about it, Ford. People can't make sense of them, but... we couldn't make sense of people either, y'know? Humanity was a whole - way of existing we'd never even considered. It was ridiculous, it was overwhelming, and y'know what?" He grinned, only slightly maniacally. "It was addicting."

He blinked, unsure if he had heard wrong. "I'm not quite sure what you're -"

"See, you've got some - ageless, all-knowing fact of the universe, and they've got everything that anyone could possible want." A strange, distant expression passed over his brother's face. "But what the hell is any of that good for if you're not living?"

For a moment, it felt as if the night got just that much darker.

"Of course we wanted more," Stanley said, voice rough. "After the deal, we never could've gone back to the way we were before."

"Um," said Ford.

His brother blinked, and grinned a bit sheepishly. When he spoke again, the strange tone in his voice was gone. "Sorry. It's, uh, a bit... hard to separate things out nice and clean after all of that, y'know?"

"But what you are now is human," he said searchingly. "Entirely, completely, human."

"That was the deal, wasn't it?" Stan said, matter-of-fact. "I get my brother back. And we get to be human."

...Ford could not help but notice that he hadn't actually answered the question. Somehow, he couldn't bring himself to be concerned.

They sat in companionable silence for a while, occasionally slapping at the mosquitos that had begun to emerge from the nearby lake.

"So you're okay with that?' Stan asked suddenly.

The question was so ridiculous Ford had to fight the urge to laugh out loud. "I - Stanley, did you forget every single word I said to you while you were having your world-ending identity crisis?"

"No! I just - this is different, Ford." He fidgeted. "And it was the end of the world back then, I figure maybe you had -"

"Yes, Stanley, I'm okay with that," Ford said, and could not keep the exasperation from his voice. "It really isn't as entirely offputting as you seem to think. It's not as if you're not you." He paused. "They're just - you, too."

A thought popped into his head at that, and he found himself looking up at the dark sky. The entirety of the existence that Bill called 'Six-Sights' must have spanned - planets, galaxies, even, perhaps even outside of the human perception of physical size.

"...But you're not all of them, are you?"

"Yeah, I mean," his brother shrugged. "We never were. There was a lot of - us. The bit of us that got let onto Earth by Cipher was, uh, just one part in a billion billions. Maybe more."

"And the rest of them is - still out there, in whatever corner of the universe they existed in before Bill prodded them awake," Ford muttered out loud. "Doing whatever they've always done."

It was a strange thought. He had been vaguely aware of the entity's existence in his years traveling across the multiverse, but with the revelations of the past few days, he could not help but - perhaps wrongly - think of them with some degree of sympathy.

A strange expression flickered over Stan's face. "...Yeah."

Ford blinked. For a moment, he could have sworn - "You know something," he accused.

"What? No!" His brother hesitated. "...Maybe. It's nothin', honestly."

"Then it shouldn't be any issue for you to catch me on what exactly it is that I don't know. Right, Stanley?"

"Alright, alright. Just, uh." Stan paused, cleared his throat. "We were part of the same them for thirty years. Everything we saw, and felt, and got... they did too."

Ford didn't get the significance of that for a long moment. When the realization finally hit, it hit like a battering ram.

"What you're saying," he said slowly, "is that there is - at least some part of them remembers being you. Being my brother."

Ford tensed, his thoughts barreling towards a conclusion he did not want to accept. "And... it knows full well that they can never come home."

His brother's silence spoke volumes.

Cold horror flashed through him. "That's -"

"Ford, we don't know that," Stan said quickly. "You're overthinking it, honestly. This is thirty years of living compared to what, eternity?" He sighed. "See, what I think is, all of that was probably just one long blink for Six-Sights. Then it's all back to status quo."

"You don't actually think that," Ford accused.

"Sure I do," his brother lied, and let out a sigh. "C'mon, Sixer. Don't do this. Even if you're right about that, what can ya do about it?"

He didn't know, and that was bothered him the most. Ford felt a chill that did not come from the summer breeze.

A hand landed heavily on his shoulder and almost sheepishly, patted him sympathetically.

"Hey," Stanley said awkwardly. "Don't worry about them, alright? If they're anything like me, they'll figure something out. They'll - make it work for them."

Ford swallowed, hard. "...I suppose," he allowed.

They sat in silence together for a moment. When Ford looked at the night sky again, the darkness was almost solid.

For a long moment, he felt surrounded, from every side, every angle. He was within, somewhere deep inside the innards of some colossal existence, part of the bigger whole, and -

...There was something deeply familiar about the blackness of the night, the faint glint of stars that he could have sworn he had seen somewhere before, in a memory of green so deep in his mind that he could not be sure if it existed.

For a reason that he could never put into words or explain, not even to himself, he knew he was protected here.

...Maybe his brother was right, after all.

Ford thought about how Stanley had managed to repair the portal with a few dozen textbooks and pure tenacity, had subsumed an eternity-old fact of the universe out of sheer willpower, had out-manuevered a demonic con-man purely on the basis of his love for his family.

If there was anyone who could make the most out of being an age-old eldritch abomination suddenly given human consciousness, it was him.

"Ford," Stan said suddenly, his voice crashing through Ford's thoughts like a bull in a china shop. "I've been thinking about what you said."

"Hmrg?" He managed.

"Y'know. Before Shermy knocked on the door."

Oh. His mouth suddenly felt very, very dry. "Have you."

Stan didn't speak for a moment. Then, with no small amount of panic, blurted, "We need to make it work, don't we?"

"Er."

"Shermy knows there's two of us now. So does the rest of - well, everyone else." His brother fidgeted. "And they're not gonna settle down for any less than that, huh?"

With a burst of clarity, Ford saw exactly where this was going, and almost couldn't keep the relief off his face. "No, I daresay they won't," he said lightly.

They sat there, a silence stretching out into eternity.

"I can't promise anything," Stan said suddenly. "I just - can't, Sixer. I care about you and the kids too much to put myself above you all, and it ever comes down to it, then -"

"I'm not asking you to do that, Ley," he said gently. "Just to not put yourself below us."

A moment passed and gone. "I'll try," Stan said, voice hoarse.

Ford let out a breath, long and slow.

"That's enough for me," he said, and meant it.

And, despite himself, his thoughts began to drift, far, far away from the little town of Gravity Falls and the patch of Oregon forest that surrounded it.

Shermaine must have made it home by now, to Dipper and Mabel, and to a Pines family that Ford - should - have found strange and terrifying, because there was no one left that he knew.

And no one left that knew him.

But... what had surprised him was that when he had looked through those albums, learning a history he had thought lost to him with Stan and Shermaine throwing out embarrassing stories over his shoulder, he had not seen strangers. Ford had seen people he knew in parts, again and again - in bright grins and expressions of wonderment, to - a distinctive raised arch of an eyebrow that was all Ma.

...All the parts that made a family when shared.

Ford did some calculations in his head.

If this year's reunion was in Piedmont, Northern California, then - that was near the ocean, wasn't it?

And that really wasn't too far from Gravity Falls, geographically speaking, though one should - theoretically, completely theoretically - have some degree of nautical experience before attempting the journey.

Which, as far as he was concerned, just meant that they needed to get right on it.

"Stanley," Ford said, "how do you feel about buying a boat?"

#gravity falls #gravity falls fic #stanley pines #stanford pines #gf #gf fic #lmao it's been so long i don't even remember what to tag anymore #a thousand natural shocks #atns #my fic #wow i cry

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minijenn · 6 years

Text

Royal Stedip AU

Oh shit time for one of those AU HC dumps, one that I’ve been fucking meaning to type out for a damn long time, ever since I came up with ideas for it on the UF Discord ages ago (I swear we spend 99% of our time talking about Stedip over there). Anyway, I came up with a fun lil idea to make a royal/medieval AU based around our favorite ship between our two favorite boys, hence this bundle of cuteness right here. Its mostly fluffy adorable junk for a change which is surprising given my usual penchant for angst, but i can’t resist when it comes to Stedip. So here we go:

Basic gist of this AU is that its more or less the same only everything’s set in a fantasy/medieval/fairy tale sort of setting, with royalty, knights, magic, all that good stuff

So we have our main kingdom, Gravity Falls, which, in an interesting twist of things (because I wanted a prince/knight dynamic for this AU) is well ruled by the Pines family

More specifically its gonna be ruled by Dipper when he comes of age (the parents are dead, cause idk they gotta be for this to work, Mabel is still the oldest twin, but the kingdom’s got this “firstborn son” ruler rule so yeah, and Stan and Ford are sorta more in a supervisory role (basically taking care of things until Dipper’s old enough (which will probs be like 16, but in this AU everyone’s still the same age as usual so he’s 12)

So Dipper and Mabel are prince and princess of the kingdom respectively, but their personalities are more or less the same (Dipper’s still a fuckin nerd who would rather spend his time investigating all the weird magical shit around the kingdom than carrying out any sort of royal duty while Mabel is all about the glitz and glamor and fancy balls and dresses that come with being a princess lol)

Before moving on, one more quick thing on the Pines: Ford’s like... the court magician/researcher (co intrium ruler with Stan too) and Stan’s still kinda like a showman in dealing with the people of the kingdom lol

So the Crystal Gems here are basically the same as usual, still magical aliens and whatnot who have basically lived in the kingdom for ages and have vowed to protect it (and its royal family) from harm

So of course, they’re on great terms with the Pines and Rose usually acts as their head knight for the king or whatever, but since she gave up her form to have a kid with Greg (who here is like, a court minstrel/musician or something), that role is to fall to Steven instead

So the Gems train Steven and Connie to both serve as knights to the royal family (Connie’s parents have some apprehension about this, but imo the girl is way too headstrong to not train to be a knight lol)

When the pair is finally deemed “ready” enough, the CGs present them to the royal family so they can properly serve the prince and princess; of course Mabel’s excited about having what she initially thinks will be a ‘strong handsome knight” all her own, but Dipper, being eternally stubborn, doesn’t think he needs a knight to watch over him all the time

Of course he quickly changes his tune when he meets Steven (whose assigned to him) for the first time and its like... goddamn love and first sight on both ends and these boys are bashful and blushy as hell and its CUTE and GAY

At the same time, Connie’s assigned to serve as Mabel’s knight and Mabel is fucking HYPE when she meets Connie, cause like??? A guy knight is one thing, but a girl knight is even COOLER! So they hit it off just as well lol (did I mention there’s Conbel in here too? Cause there is ;P)

So yeah the twins both immediately love their new knights and spend a ton of time with them and imo what else happens when you get all four Mystery Kids together than they get themselves into fucking trouble

Instead of attending to any sort of royal duties, they basically go hang out in the woods, finding magical creatures and stuff and being kids and having fun and falling in love and stuff

Of course, they kinda do catch some flack from the adults from this, for a number of reasons (mainly the twins gotta do royal stuff and not fool around with their knights while Steven and Connie gotta actually, ya know, be knights and not friends/lovers to the twins lol)

Still, that doesn’t fucking stop them

See, Steven’s great at the “protect” part of being a knight, but not so great at the “attack” part so when Dipper notices this he’s like “well why don’t I learn how to fight so we can protect each other?” and he basically has Connie teach him how to swordfight (without Stan or Ford or any of the Gems finding out lol)

On the other end of things, Mabel probably teaches Connie (who’s kinda a little uptight in this AU because of her strict training) how to cut loose and have fun lol (Steven basically does the same thing for Dipper, who’s all beleaguered thanks to being a prince and whatnot)

So its all cute and good and gay and eventually Stan, Ford, and the Gems come around and let the kids have their fun and relationships just as long as they attend to their responsibilities and stuff

As for other stuff in this AU, I suppose Bill and Homeworld would still be threats, probably in not too dissimilar of a way as they are in UF itself

And imo that’s about all I got in mind for this one at the moment but I kinda wanna write or draw somethin for it eventually cause I’m garbage for this ship and can’t resist it

If you have something you wanna add onto this one, feel free to ^_^

#jen writes #universe falls #aus #royal stedip au #stedip #conbel #shipping #gravity falls #steven universe #crossover #au

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cubot · 6 years

Text

I’m feeling sad in that weird way, so I’m gonna talk about reasons why I may be sad.

1) Japan! Last night I fell asleep with dread in my chest. I said aloud while rolling around in my blankets, “I don’t want to go.” And it’s not that I don’t want to go. I do. It’s just a lot of work and I’m confused and what if I don’t like the job and and and..... a lot of worry about. I need to get my butt working and turn in the visa paperwork and then buy a lot of crap (luggage, new computer, doctors appointments, stuff)

2) I had to go dumpster diving today at work because when cleaning a lady’s room, there was some denim thing in her trashcan and I was like “okay, she must be spring cleaning.” because like.... it was IN her trash, not like lying on top of it or anything. But then it turns out it was her purse, so I had to go find it. I didn’t mind that. It was an adventure. People were making a light deal about that and how they felt bad for me, but I don’t care? What I do care about is that this lady and I don’t like each other. She’s one of those controlling freaks who will act sugary towards you to get what she wants. But like....... she gets mean sometimes. It makes me anxious. And it seems like any interaction we have is either neutral or BAD like this. So I don’t want to deal with her. At least I’m quitting soon.

3) The Gravity Falls Grunkle dating sim! I completed it to the best of my knowledge. It was cute and full of love and in character and fun! Great experience. But then with all these sorts, I end up feeling empty. While I’m not interested in dating in real life, dating sims give me joy. They give a good honeymooning feeling while no worries about commitment or stuff. BUT WHEN I SAY HONEYMOONING..... I do actually fall for the characters sometimes. And this isn’t just for dating sims, it can be from anything + my imagination. Anyways, so the interactions with both Stan and Ford were so good! Stan isn’t even my type and I’m loving everything about him.

So I lay in bed thinking about them. I work absentmindedly because I think about them. I think about how it would be great if they were real and I had them in my life.

I get attached to the player character. I want to be them. It’d still be human and Josie, but maybe more confident, happy, and living fully. Able to love and be loved.

I’m very selfish in real life. I wouldn’t change myself for anyone and I don’t find myself easy to care about others’ lives.

Lately I’ve been very introspective about any humans I spend time with for awhile. They have their own life, wishes, habits, friends, enemies. Of course, I knew this before and will know it in the future. But I keep making a point to think about it. We are sentient and full of self.

I have friends. Is it destiny that we met, a couple of coincidences that were meant to be, or would this happen in any which way? If I didn’t go to college, would I have close friends from another event?

I keep affecting other lives. I can’t say that it is a good thing.

We just keep going?

Anyways, that was off topic.

Oh! I was thinking about “my type”. I like a lot of different types, actually. I should go back to my favorite characters and try to see if there is a pattern?

Several things in life have been pointing me towards my interest in cryptids again. I imagine a future where I’m a monster hunter and road trip and make friends and discoveries and find me.

Partially thinking about it because of Gravity Falls, partially due to posts on tumblr. Uh, all I know..... is that I don’t know what I want? I want something until I get it. I don’t know I don’t want it until it’s already in the works. Is this detailing me as an impulsive person? Even if I stew on it for days until deciding action? It’s a quite unfortunate personality trait.

But I guess staying the same isn’t healthy. A fear of change can be normal.

Uh..... that’s all I got now. Who knows why I’m sad.

#ramblings #long #just feeling bleary and off

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rmjagonshi · 6 years

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Whole Again - Chapter 7

Whole Again on AO3

Stanford had been wandering back and forth between the main cabin and the engine room for nearly half the day. He’d heard some rifling of papers and the soft ‘thump’ of books being shifted and re-shelved. He also suspected Sixer had send a few texts out to Dipper; the telltale clicks of Ford’s untrimmed nails on the touch screen and quiet cursing as he struggled with the device. His Sixer would always be more comfortable with analogue medium, but Stan figured that slow adjustment to recent technology was due to Ford’s experience with alien technology. It was like trying to get a teen from today with smartphones and the internet to work and program an IBM 7030 supercomputer. Heck, he and Sixer had grown up during the golden age of super computers the size of whole rooms and he doubted either one of them could program one. Although, Ford had built an interdimensional gateway and Stan had built and programed an interdimensional biomolecular scanner, but…eh, it didn’t matter if the analogy worked exactly. Sixer would get the hang of texting eventually.

What bothered Stan now was the fact that Ford had been, not avoiding him exactly, but rather making an effort to be elsewhere. Stan wanted to head back into town and get the twins some presents, maybe even send them out if they could, but Sixer was too wrapped up in his current project. He was trying very, very hard not to let his worry tap into Sixer’s mind, and he was letting paranoia set in over Stanford’s knowledge of his ‘condition’. Sixer was fine. He hadn’t noticed anything. Stan had come up with reasonably credible excuses for his slip-ups. He was in the clear…right? Stanford was even warm and open that morning and showed no signs that he thought that an evil demonic dream triangle had been reborn as his brother and said brother had regained all his memories. If Stanford was acting normal, then it was all good…maybe. Stan knew he should have left well enough alone.

Sixer had had another nightmare. Stan had woken up to a damp shirt collar and Sixer reaching across the center table to wring his hands in Stan’s shirt. They’d been at sea for months, and sure Sixer had been struck by nightmares before, but he’d not actively reached out to Stan before. Stan was usually the one to initiate comfort. What had gotten Sixer worked up this time?

Stan had run his fingers over Ford’s, slowly urging him to let go so Stan could roll over. His eyes were met with Ford’s brow, beaded with cold sweat and eye’s clenched tight. He really shouldn’t risk it so soon, influencing his brother’s dreams, but his heart ached and Ford was unconsciously seeking comfort. He raised his hand, thumb faintly flickering blue and rubbed tiny circles beside Ford’s eye. Stan felt his eyes shift before being pulled into Ford’ dreams.

Bill…again. It usually was when Ford divulged the topic of his night terrors to Stan. Before it was reasonable, expected, and matched Stan’s own concerns. Now it was just wearisome and a bit annoying, if not troublesome now that Stan remembered. Now that he was slowly regaining his abilities. For now, he would deal with Ford’s fears and deal with the rest when it came; it really was physically taxing to do this in human form.

He Bill was again taunting Ford, reminding him of their deal, of how it had never been officially severed. It had as soon as Ford had stopped work-…wait. Had it? To break a deal, either partner had to retract their promise; He had supplied Stanford with the knowledge his brother craved and in return, Sixer had tried to build a portal. Succeeded in building. Sixer had succeeded and only after he realized where the portal opened to (after it was open) did he shut it down and make efforts to keep Stan Bill from entering his mind. Their deal, their bond, had never been revoked. Well, Shit. This put a wrench in the cogs. Damnit.

Stan let his dreamscape projection shift into the younger image that Ford’s mind designated and wandered into the wheat field. By the time he got to Sixer’s side, dreamBill had taken on his Bipper form (He didn’t care what Shooting Star said, it was a terrible name. It made it sound like they were a Power Couple), and Ford was in pleading and desperate tears. Now Ford’s actions made sense. Stan used his power to dispel Bipper the same way he had lost control before, by pulling Ford’s mental Mabel out and having her tickle the fiend into submitting. Looking back on it now, it was ingenious to use Dipper’s weakness against him, if a bit humiliating. The Bipper manifestation laughed himself into a puff of smoke and Stan drew out Ford’s inner Dipper to take his place.

Ford was exuberant. “KIDS!” He embraced the two siblings in a bone crushing embrace. “Oh, God, Thank you. Shhhh, it’s ok. I’ve got you. He’s gone now.” Ford rocked the two back and forth and the dream siblings responded the way Ford expected them to; they cried and clung back. Stan took the last few steps to reach them and laid a hand down on Sixer’s head, ruffling his hair. “You alright there, Poindexter?”

Sixer turned his head up to look at Stan, face still mended from the last time he was here, and took a sigh of relief. When Sixer didn’t say anything, just held the kids and smiled up at Stan. “You wanna take the kids and play on the swings, or give’em a tour o’ the Stan O’War?” He really didn’t know what to do here. Ford let go of the kids and stood, turning to face Stan. The siblings took each of Ford’s hands in theirs. “I think….that’s a great idea.” Ford’s face seemed to melt and lose all trace of fear or worry. “Well, let’s get to it.”

Stan stayed in Ford’s dream so long, he himself fell asleep, consciousness pulling back into his body just before falling into REM sleep. He’d woken up to a cup of coffee being held under his nose and Sixer smirking at him.

They’d gone through the treasure haul after a few more cups of coffee each to help an embarrassing set of hangovers. The coins were sorted into piles based on metal type and likely country of origin; Stan had pulled up a book on Ford’s tablet on old coins that had helped and subtly showed Ford how to use the app. A number of coins were set in a bowl of distilled vinegar to get them clean. The gems were sorted by type, size and cut ; Stan kept some gems for himself and the kids: a pink rough stone that Ford identified as Tugtupite for Mable, a light blue and white swirl stone that reminded Stan of the color of the ocean near shore for Dipper (Ford called it Larimar), and a piece of ‘Fool’s Gold” for himself (he was all too familiar with it, having sold it in the Mystery Shack as real gold a few times). He urged Sixer to pick one out, finally choosing a piece of snowflake obsidian that had been shaped into a blade point. Stan also snagged a piece of rhodonite while Ford wasn’t looking. The rest were put in a pile to be dealt with in experimentation, gifts or be sold. Stan swiped a ring with two interlocking triangles. He also pretended not to see Ford wrap a leather band with a compass (Vegvisir, a symbol to provide guidance to wayward souls, Stan’s inner Nerd provided) around his left wrist and conveniently forget to take it off. There were a few other pendants with various symbols that Ford didn’t recognize and Stan refused to recognize and were set aside for later study. The scrolls were gathered and quickly brought to the top cabin with the rest of Stanford’s research material. And that was the last Stan saw of Ford, except for the occasional trip down to the engine room where Ford stored his more volatile experiments.

And that was it. Now here Stan was, sitting in the galley texting back and forth with Mabel about what they wanted for Christmas and assuring her that he and his brother didn’t need presents (and not being able to give her an address to send it to anyway). And Ford was furtively zipping back and forth between the cabin and the engine room, trailing papers, and rank odors with him.

Stanford’s actions were normal, (well normal for Stanford, they were bordering on unhinged for other people) so everything was fine. He just need to play the part of lovable and eccentric con man until he could adjust to his new memories. He could do that. He’d been a con man his whole existence, it was his bread and butter. However, he had never had to beat down an oncoming existential crisis that he could not deal with in present company.

What was even more alarming, was Mable had picked up on his suspicious knowledge. Mabel had been working on some holiday chemistry homework and was having difficulty figuring out how to balance chemical equations and Dipper was texting Ford.

I wanna ask Grunkle Ford how to do it, but Dipper has been texting him for like 10 whole hours about science.

Maybe I could help.

No offense Grunkle Stan, but you’re not all that sciencey.

Try me.

She sent over a picture of her homework and Stan worked it out on a napkin. It really was simple,

6 CO2 + 6 H2O → C6H12O6 + 6 O2

He took a picture of his work and sent it back to her with a brief explanation.

You have to remember to count your elements. See how there are 18 O’s on the left, you have to keep the same amount on the right. Take a look at your next problem and work it through with me.

Wow Grunkle Stan! I just checked with Dipper and it was right! Did Grunkle Ford help you?

Crap.

Hey, I know some science too, I fixed the portal remember.

True. Ok, the next one has a lot of B’s in it.

They worked through the second problem together and he instructed her to try the next few on her own. He needed to be more careful.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

It was two hours until dinner when Ford came down and approached Stan. Stan, meanwhile, had kept himself busy by flipping through several different online articles on dream psychology and mental manipulation while having an Arctic Fishing article open in case Ford walked too close.

Ford looked exhausted, and a bit crazed, like he’d been obsessing over something. However, as soon as he noticed Stan looking, his demeanor changed, perked, and nearly split his face with a disingenuous grin. Stan did his best not to be offended by his brother hiding things. Ford was an inherently closeted person; wasn’t the whole reason everything came crashing down around them was Stanford’s inability to place his trust in others? He’d been trying, so, so hard, Stan wasn’t expecting Ford to share everything.

And, he would be a hypocrite if he said there should be no secrets between them. Ford wasn’t the only one hiding behind a veil of charm.

“How are you feeling about heading out for dinner tonight? We’ve got a few more days before we need to renew our tourist visas.” Stan blinked at his own choice of words. He had become acutely aware that his inner voice and speaking voice no longer mimicked one another. He had tried to continue his habit of running words together and using slang; He’d let his accent slip. Stan wanted to blame it on the fact that he hadn’t spoken much that day. It sounded like he was trying to convince himself. The truth was, it was exhausting, needing to be careful about his pronunciations, how much knowledge he had (he’d already let some things slip), and how much he was aware of the things around him.

Ford, however, didn’t respond, either waving it off or just not taking the time to care. All he did was collect the envelope of local currency from the drawer by the stairs, and smiled at Stan. “Bistro?” Stan nodded, “Sure.”

Ford looked…soft. Just…soft. Stan was overwhelmed by the desire to hug his brother, to bury his face in the crook of Sixer’s neck and…and what? His gums tingled. He wished he still had real teeth.

Stan blinked his mind clear and watched Ford take the steps to the main cabin. He joined Ford on deck not to long after, choosing to throw on his red and gold leaf Hawaiian shirt under his trench coat as an excuse for dawdling. It was happening again.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

An hour and a half later they were walking along the boardwalk, a bit reminiscent of the one in Glass Shard Beach, although the chill November air and soft snow meant everything was closed for the season. They’d eaten at a tiny little diner about a seven-minute taxi ride from the docks. The interior had been done up in brick and arches and looked like and old subway tunnel system. They served soul food, and Stan felt his mouth water at the broasted chicken while Ford hummed with delight at baked ziti. Greasy though his meal was, Stan liked at every morsel. They had shared a fudge lava cake for desert. No alcohol this time; they’d learned their lesson.

Ford had suggested they walk back to the docks, ‘to work-off their dinner’ as the saying goes, but Stan could sense Ford was trying to ease back into walking. They were both still sore from overexerting themselves; part of the reason they’d indulged the night before, to numb the pain. Ford had developed a multicolored bruise on his abdomen, but the swelling in his hand had gone down enough that he could use it, albeit still weak. Stan hesitated only a few moments before interlacing his fingers with Ford’s, protecting it, keeping it.

Damnit! It was starting again. He was losing control of his thoughts; impulses creeping in to take over his mind and his new mental state not being one that complied with ignoring those impulses. Not that he ever had it easy denying his impulses, but when he had been just half of who he is, it had been somewhat easier. There had also been consequences then; not so much in the Nightmare Realm.

They walked hand in hand, slowly, taking their time and easing their muscles back into working normally. Stan supporting his brother only occasionally on the way back, prompting them to take it slower, take in the sights, and just be for a bit. It seemed to do them both good. They laughed and pointed at things, snapping pictures, and purchasing some souvenirs for the kids; a book on Nordic culture for Dipper (Ford had decided to add his own notes before sending it off), and a stuffed Puffin for Mabel (Stan thought the blue bow tied around its neck added to its appeal).

When they reached the boardwalk, it had started to snow. Soft, tiny flakes floating down and catching the light from the streetlights and the setting sun. The sky was sparkling. Ford had let go of his hand and before he had even fully turned to see why, Ford had hurled some snow that had collected on the dock railing at his face. It wasn’t much, the fresh stuff had only just started to fall and anything older having frozen solid and made for dangerous horseplay. It was still enough for Stan to reach out and snag Ford by his hood and yank him into a noogie. Not a hard one, just a hard ruffling of his hair and trapping Ford’s head under his arm. “Ow, hey! Stan, let go!”

Stan ran his fingers through Ford’s hair and over his scalp a few more times before letting go, chuckling though a playful sneer. Ford rubbed his head softly, mouth twisted between a frown and a smirk. Ford lightly pushed at his shoulder before taking his hand again.

Stan missed this. He’d missed his brother, of course, but these simple little things, these happy moments where nothing was wrong, nothing was worrying them, he’d missed these the most. Just sharing time, sharing space. They were bother here, both happy, healthy, and doing wat they always dreamed. Stan felt the need to hug his brother once again, to feel Ford’s body pressed against his, feel the pulse under his fingers and just know that Ford was there. But he resisted, mind churning at the very idea that he would ignore an impulse again.

They stopped in front of a close skeet ball game, teasing each other about playing it for hours and competing for the high score. Stan had gifted a red frog (he thought) with a black bowtie and grey shorts to Ford that had sat at the food of the top bunk for a few years (until it got pushed off by Ford’s ginormous pile of books, then it sat on the floor as a guard for Fort Stan).

Ford just laughed at remembering the hideous thing, reveling that it had given him nightmares and that was why he kicked the damn thing off. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner, I would’a won you something else!” Stan gasped though laughter. Ford smiled sadly, “I didn’t want to hurt your feelings. You were so excited the day you brought it home.”

Stan just punched Ford’s arm, playfully, and leaned against the railing, back to the water and facing his brother. Ford mimicked him, arms crossed over the rail, to watch the waves crash against the frozen beach. The snow had picked up some and fat snowflake clusters tangled in Ford’s hair, making him look mystical…otherworldly.

He loved his brother’s face. He was acutely cognizant that they, as twins, had similar facial features. But they were fraternal twins, not identical, and Stanford just…wore it better. Stan played it like he was the better-looking twin, but he knew it was just show; Ford could look marvelous without even trying. It really hadn’t helped that Ford could kill the ‘sexy librarian’ look with his sweater vests and open collar button-downs. His brother always assumed that he was stigmatized by his abnormality in high school. Stan was reluctant to say the opposite was true. Ford was a magnet for people, he was just too oblivious when people flirted with him that he’d never noticed. His obsession with Cathy Crenshaw had acted against him, making him blind to all other offers; including mine.

Stan was willing to admit that he had flirted with his brother, at first inadvertently as he was a natural flirt and did it without thinking, but then he’d done it with intention. Ford looked good. Even when he was covered in sweat and sand from the beach and sunburnt in mismatched splotches. Even when sleep deprived and had avoided showering for days. Even when he had drunk way too much coffee and was bleeding from his right eye. Even when he had been filled with rage and fear, and helpless and even when the electricity had made him lose control of his bowels (Stan Bill had taken care of that though).

Ford’s face was bright, reflecting the last of the sun’s rays. Being outdoors had done wonders for his complexion. His face was full of color, his cheeks soft, and his chin only slightly dark with hair beneath the skin. Stan wanted to bite him. Bite that smooth and baby soft beside his eye. He wanted to pinch Fords ears, to tug on the lobes and stretch them out. He wanted needed to leave bite marks all along Ford’s face and body. To grab at Ford’s hips and tear into his abdomen, Stan was certain he could extend his jaw far enough to get it in one bite. He needed to rip off Sixer’s extra finger’s and string them around his neck to wear as a keepsake. He wanted to rip IQ’s head off and just nuzzle at his cute brother’s face.

Stan could feel the wood fracturing under his hand with how tight he had been gripping the railing. His mind baulked and he tried desperately to not choke on a rush of bile. He failed. He leaned far over and away from Ford while he coughed up stomach acid and a bit of dinner. NO!

Ford was at his side in an instant, hand rubbing his back and trying to shush Stan’s pained groans, saying “I told you to eat something light. Grease increases the production of stomach acid and without the proper amount of…” Stan sopped listening. He knew that. Just like he knew that the chicken hadn’t done this to him. No, it was your own fucked up head that made you up-chuck. He should be lucky it was just acid reflux and not his whole dinner. That would be embarrassing; stupid American tourist blows chunks off Reykjavik boardwalk, yeah that would go well.

His throat burned and he felt himself wheezing when he tried to catch his breath. He’d inhaled some. Though the pain was distracting him from the…thoughts he’d had. It seared, but he’d take it over the alternative. He was done with that! No more violent thoughts. No more freakish clinginess. No more biting fantasies. It didn’t matter if it was the brain’s way of dealing with over affection (human brains were fucked up and inefficient at storing and processing data anyway).

Ford rubbed at his back again, frowning, and taking Stan by the hand again. “Let’s head back, it’s late. And we can get these presents wrapped and in the mail tomorrow afternoon.” Ford readjusted the backpack that contained the niblings’ presents. Stan just followed, grumbling about being old to keep his brain occupied.

It wasn’t far from the boardwalk to the fishing dock, maybe twenty minutes’ walk at a brisk pace, thirty-five at their pace. They made it just as the last rays of sunlight melted away below the horizon.

Stan pulled out a bottle of water to ease the pain in his throat as Ford unpacked, placing the book upstairs to add to later. He entered the galley as Stan started convulsing, coughing and shaking to pull in a breath. Ford just smacked Stan on the back several times as Stan leaned over the sink.

“You really need to start thinking about your health. I’ve seen you eat, Stan. No amount of exercise on a boat is going to magically make up for a lifetime of poor eating habits.” Stan just groused. He knew he wasn’t ‘healthy’ by any doctor’s standards, but he was far healthier than he had been in years, both physically and mentally. Well sorta. So what if he indulged in fried foods when they made port. And ate brown meat…and…fine.

Stan felt another rise of bile, but kept it down with a groan.

“Alight, Sixer, but I’m gonna make you a deal. I start eating healthy and stop eating that ‘disgusting brown meat’ if you,” he jabbed at Ford’s chest with a finger, “start being more careful when we go out. That side of yours is still bruised and you still can’t grip anything with your hand.”

Ford looked annoyed and weary. But after a moment, he sighed and nodded. “Fine.” Stan grinned.

Stan reached out, palm open and fingers splayed to shake Ford’s hand. The universal gesture for making a deal. His hand wreathed in blue flame

His grin dropped from his face, replaced with horror as he pulled his hand away and shook it rapidly, putting the fire seal out. He turned to Ford, trepidation marring his face, his eyes wide, mouth slightly agape, a nervous laugh escaping his throat.

Ford looked shell shocked.

Fuck.

Chapter 1

#stancest #stanley pines #Stanford pines #stanowar #stanisbill #gravity falls #bill cipher #sea grunks #whole again

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thelastspeecher · 7 years

Text

NaNoWriMo ‘17 Day 15 - Party Crashers

Day 01 Day 02 Day 03 Day 04 Day 05 Day 06 Day 07 Day 08 Day 09 Day 10 Day 11 Day 12 Day 13 Day 14 Day 15 Day 16 Day 17 Day 18 Day 19 Day 20 Day 21 Day 22 Day 23 Day 24 Day 25 Day 26 Day 27 Day 28 Day 29 Day 30

Summary: Three children far too young to go to a party go anyways. [Magical Kids AU] Word count: 1294

“There ya are!” Theresa shouted, seeing Violynn. Violynn smiled at her friend.

“Howdy, ‘Resa,” she replied. “Did I miss anything?”

“Nope. Yer on time, as per usual.” Theresa frowned for a moment. “Actually, no. Ya did miss somethin’.”

“Oh?”

“Some strangers showed up a lil bit ago.”

“Strangers?” Violynn asked, interested.

“They’re over there,” Theresa said. She pointed. Violynn craned her neck to look. She gasped.

Oh, no!

“They’ve been stickin’ to themselves, sadly,” Theresa continued, not noticing Violynn’s distress. “It’s a shame. We don’t get many out-of-towners at parties here in Gumption. Not to mention, the boy with the long hair is cuter ‘n a bug in a rug.” Violynn grimaced. “Oh, that’s right, he wouldn’t be yer type.” Theresa patted Violynn’s shoulder. “Darlin’, ya need to branch out with yer datin’ pool.”

“Not with them,” Violynn muttered darkly. She cleared her throat. “Mind fetchin’ me a drink?”

“You betcha.” Theresa looked past Violynn. “Say, yer brother didn’t happen to come with ya, did he?”

“Harper? Yeah, he’s here. Prob’ly in the kitchen.”

“Great! I’ll see ya in a bit then!” Theresa darted off. Violynn sighed and made her way over to the “strangers”.

“What are you doin’ here?” she hissed. Stan, Ford, and Banjey looked over at her.

“Hey, ‘Lynn,” Stan said, raising his cup of root beer at her. Violynn scowled and crossed her arms. “What?”

“Ma ‘n Pa specifically told y’all not to turn teenager, just so’s ya can get in somewhere ya couldn’t otherwise,” Violynn whispered fiercely.

“We’re not!” Ford protested.

“Uh-huh. And I’m a monkey’s uncle.”

“You are?” Banjey and Ford asked together. Violynn groaned.

“It’s a sayin’! Lordy, this is why, under normal circumstances, two five-year-olds and a toddler wouldn’t get even close to a teen party.”

“We don’t even want to be here,” Banjey grumbled, playing with her hair. She huffed. “I was takin’ a nice lil nap.”

“Yeah, and I was plain’ with Joel,” Stan added. He nudged Ford. “He was readin’ a book, like a nerd.”

“If you’d rather be doin’ other things, why are ya here?” Violynn asked.

“We’re working,” Stan said. “Apparently there’s someone here’s who possessed or somethin’. Same old, same old.”

“And yer goin’ to…”

“De-possess ‘em,” Banjey said. She frowned. “Un-possess?” She looked askance at Ford, who shrugged wordlessly. “Well, whatever ya call it when ya remove a spirit from a person.”

“An exorcism,” Violynn said. Stan, Ford, and Banjey cocked their heads curiously. “Really? None of ya have ever heard that word ‘fore?”

“Sis, I’m three,” Banjey pointed out. “Don’t know what their excuses are, though.”

“Being five is a perfectly fine excuse for not knowing…what was the word?” Ford said.

“Exorcism.”

“Right. That,” Ford said with a nod. Violynn groaned.

How these three ever pass fer teenagers, I have no clue.

“Even when we are the right age, I don’t think I’ll be a regular at parties like this,” Banjey said idly. “Folks keep askin’ us weird questions.”

Oh, Lord. That don’t bode well.

“What sort of weird questions?” Violynn asked, already dreading the answer.

“Mostly ‘Do you come here often’,” Ford said. He rolled his eyes. “It’s so pointless! I mean, if we came here often, they would know us, and they would know that we did! They’re answering their own question just by asking it!”

“Yeah, and they always say ‘Hey stranger’ before they ask the question,” Stan jumped in. He threw his hands in the air, spilling some of his root beer. “Seriously! If we came here often, we wouldn’t be strangers!” Violynn rubbed her forehead.

“Okay, here’s what ya do when folks ask ya those weird question in those weird tones.”

“How’d ya know their voices get all weird when they ask the questions?” Banjey asked.

“A hunch.”

Objectively speakin’, my lil siblin’s are lookers when they get older. I s’ppose it makes sense fer folks to…go after ‘em. But it’s so wrong! They’re just lil kidlets!

“What ya do, is ya either walk away, or ya answer the question, but in a normal voice. Not a weird one like they’re usin’.”

“That’s what we’ve been doin’ anyways,” Banjey said. Violynn sighed in relief.

“Good.”

“Why do they talk like that, though?” Stan asked.

“I don’t want to get into it. But if they knew yer proper ages, they definitely wouldn’t be doin’ it. Or at least, I certainly hope they wouldn’t be.”

“But why?” Ford probed. Violynn groaned again, but was saved from answering by the arrival of Harper and Theresa.

“Hey ‘Lynn, I see yer chattin’ with the strangers,” Theresa said cheerfully. She handed a cup of fruit punch to Violynn. “Don’t tell yer folks, ‘cause they’ll flip, but Marty spiked the punch.”

“Just the punch, right?” Violynn asked, suddenly very worried.

“Yeah.”

“Oh. Okay.” Violynn glanced at her younger siblings. Stan seemed like he was thinking very hard about what “spiked” meant. He opened his mouth to ask. “So, uh, Harper, what sort of hors d'oeuvres do they have here?”

“Nothin’ special,” Harper said with a shrug. He squinted at Stan, Ford, and Banjey. “Hmm, y’all look familiar…holy cheese!”

“What?” Theresa asked. Harper rubbed the back of his neck.

“Oh, uh, nothin’, I just- I, uh- I realized I forgot to grab some of the punch. Accidentally grabbed the cream soda. ‘Resa, would ya mind…?��

“On it!” Theresa chirped. She disappeared into the slightly dispersed crowd. Harper rounded on Stan, Ford, and Banjey.

“What on Earth are y’all doin’ here?” Harper demanded. “Yer lil kids! Ya shouldn’t be here!”

“That’s what I was tellin’ ‘em!” Violynn said passionately. “But they won’t leave, they keep insistin’ they’re on the clock right now.”

“On the clock?” Banjey murmured.

“Workin’,” Harper supplied. Banjey nodded. “Is that true?”

“Yeah, we’re lookin’ fer someone who’s possessed,” Banjey said.

“So we can exercise ‘em,” Stan finished. Harper frowned, confused.

“Do ya mean exorcise?”

“Isn’t that what I said?”

“Not quite.” Harper ran a hand through his hair. “Okay, okay, no need to panic. All’s we got to do is find whoever it is ya have to exorcise, we get ya to exorcise ‘em, and then ya head home! Easy-peasy.”

“Especially since the person is that girl,” Ford said.

“Wh- do ya mean Theresa?” Violynn asked. The three kids nodded. “That’s ridiculous! Ya have to make deals with demons, to need exorcism from ‘em, and ‘Resa is a good altar girl.”

“She was drinkin’ somethin’ what’s been boozed up,” Banjey said shortly. Violynn and Harper stared at her. Banjey jutted her chin out proudly. “I ain’t quite sure what ‘spiked’ means, but I overheard some boys sayin’ that other phrase, and I know enough to be sure that drinkin’ alcohols ‘fore yer twenty-one is illegal.”

“Everyone’s doin’ it,” Harper said. Ford crossed his arms.

“So, you and Violynn are drinking alcohol before you’re old enough, too?” Ford asked coldly.

“…No,” Harper said. Stan rolled his eyes. “Don’t tell Ma ‘n Pa.”

“We have an obligation to-” Ford started. Banjey cut him off.

“Hold on, Ford. What if we make a deal?” Banjey suggested.

“What sort of deal?” Violynn asked.

“First off, ya help us get Theresa outside, so’s we can exercise her.”

“Exorcise,” Violynn and Harper said together. Banjey scowled.

“That’s what I said. Second, um, buy us ice cream tomorrow.”

“Ooh, yeah!” Stan said enthusiastically. Ford nodded.

“That sounds good to me,” Ford said. The three watched Violynn and Harper. After a moment, Violynn sighed.

“Fine. It’s a deal. Let’s go handle ‘Resa, so’s ya can go home and stop crashin’ Marty’s party.” Banjey giggled. “What?”

“It rhymed,” Banjey said. Violynn shook her head.

“Why did a supernatural bein’ grant magical abilities to a toddler?”

“If ya figure it out,” Banjey said cheerfully, “let me know.”

#some of you may vaguely recall this AU #where Ma and Pa McGucket adopt the Stan twins #and the Stans turn out to have magical Shazam-esque abilities #I stumbled across it again the other day and decided one of my prompts should be for that AU #Magical Kids AU #Angie McGucket #Violynn McGucket #Harper McGucket #Stanley Pines #Stanford Pines #ficlet #NaFicWriMo #my writing #speecher speaks

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marypsue · 7 years

Text

Death of the Author 2 / 3

I am, as ever, guilty of story bloat. My planned last chapter of this fic has had to be split into two. Hey, on the bright side: more fic!

I forgot to add a warning the first time around, but this chapter contains some prime examples of Gideon being his particular brand of awful towards Mabel. Tread carefully if that’ll affect you. Also, I owe all credit to @seiya234 for the golf cart.

Part One // Part Two // Part Three

I’m also on AO3 as MaryPSue!

...

"Look at us. When'd we get so old?"

Ford looked over, meeting her brother's eyes in the mirror. "You look like Dad."

"Eugh, don't say that," Stan said, with an exaggerated shudder.

There was a moment of silence, peaceful, almost companionable. Ford was just beginning to wonder if this was the time to break it when Stan said, awkwardly, holding his own gaze in the mirror as he reached up to scratch the back of his neck; "So, you're a woman now."

"Actually -" It was probably the best she was going to get, Ford decided, biting back the words that gathered at the back of her throat. "Yes." There was nothing to be ashamed of, she knew, but her borrowed turtleneck still felt suddenly too large and filled with prickly heat.

Stan nodded, still not meeting Ford's eyes. "Gotta say, I wouldn'ta seen that one coming."

"And just what is that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing! Nothing, I just -" Stan raised both hands defensively, still not looking Ford in the eye. "Knew some girls like that, back when I was living rough. Hell, I woulda died outside a bar in New Orleans in '76 if it weren't for a couple queens in evening gloves and tiaras. Just...never woulda pegged you as the type. I still gotta wrap my head around it. How'd you end up figuring that one out, anyway? I woulda thought after seventeen years living with Dad -"

"You don't need to understand, Stanley." Maybe it was unnecessarily rude, but then, her brother never had been one for subtleties, and Ford just needed him to stop before he strayed too close to the truth and the bitter memories she'd rather try to forget. "You just need to accept that this is the way things are. The way I am." So that we can all move on to more important things, Ford's brain supplied, the memory of the dollop of starry spacetime slowly undulating in a glass containment device in the basement below them rising once again to the forefront of her thoughts.

The last thing Ford expected Stan to do was give a sheepish chuckle. "You know, that's almost exactly what Mabel said?"

"What? When -"

"Night the kids got here. I mean, the parents explained a bit when they asked me to take 'em, but Mabel was the one to sit me down and give me the crash course." Stan huffed out a laugh. “Lotta things changed since the seventies.”

Ford's mind whirled, playing back all the many, many changes to her home dimension that she'd been forced to process immediately upon arrival. "Mabel? But I thought Dipper said he -"

"Yeah, yeah, Dip's the one who's transgender or whatever they're calling it now, but..." Stan fixed Ford with a look that made her feel not unlike the first time she'd stood up in front of the grant committee. "That kid's not usually as outgoing as he was with you, you know."

"Me? Why me? He doesn't know me from a - a hole in the ground."

"That's where you're wrong, poindexter. That kid's been hero-worshipping that damn journal of yours all summer." Stan's stare softened, almost imperceptibly, before it turned into a glare. "You're his hero. And so help me, if you let him down, if you hurt those kids, I'll break your stupid glasses. And your nose with 'em."

“What? You can’t honestly think I would ever -”

Stan crossed his arms over his chest, staring in the general direction of the mirror instead of turning to face Ford. “I’m just sayin’, last time I tried to help you we nearly both got sucked into that portal of yours. Just stay away from those kids. I don’t want them in danger.”

With great effort of will – and, she thought, impressive restraint – Ford managed to bite back the selection of choice words that threatened to slip from her lips. “Fine,” she snapped, instead, turning her back on her brother. “Then you’ll ensure that they stay out of my way.”

It might have been pure spite that made her turn back when she heard the shuffle of Stanley starting to move. “And Stanley? When the summer ends, so does this Mystery Shack nonsense. You give me my house back, you give me my life back -”

“Thought you didn’t want it anymore,” Stan said, coldly, and there was something wrong with his voice. It was just slightly...off, as though Ford had tried to reconstruct his tone and cadence from –

...memory...

“Stanley?” Ford asked, but her brother only went on, as though his voice was playing from a pre-recorded script.

“You’re not Stanford Pines anymore. I’m Stanford Pines! I’ve been Stanford Pines the last thirty years! And I’ve done a better job of it than you ever did. What’d you accomplish, anyway? Causin’ the end of the world?”

“Stop it,” Ford said shortly, and Stan gave a sort of half-laugh, half-snort that had no humour in it.

“Stop what? Telling the truth? You don’t belong here anymore. There’s no place for you to fill. Stanley Pines is dead, Stanford Pines is right here. And he sure as hell never had a sister.”

Something was wrong. Something was very wrong. This wasn’t – wasn’t how this conversation –

For the first time, Ford looked, not at her brother’s reflection in the glass, but at his face.

Yellow eyes glowed above a massive, wicked grin that looked much too much like the smile that Stanley wore as Mr. Mystery for comfort. Ford took a step back as the imposter turned to face her, still grinning, shoulders back, posture triumphant. Gloating.

“Bill,” Ford hissed, reaching into her coat for a weapon, only to come up empty-handed.

The imposter in front of her winked one slit-pupiled eye, pointing an index finger at her. “GOT IT IN ONE, KID! GOTTA SAY, YOU SURE DO TAKE A WHILE TO CATCH ON!”

“What are you doing here? This isn’t what -” Ford glanced around, a sudden uncertainty trailing chilly fingers up the back of her neck. “Isn’t how I remember it...”

“ISN’T IT, NOW?” Bill said, his voice dripping with mocking sympathy. “WOW, CAN’T IMAGINE WHY THAT MIGHT BE!”

“You. You did this, somehow you tampered with my memory -”

“OH, SIXER, I’M FLATTERED! BUT YOU’RE GIVING ME TOO MUCH CREDIT.” Bill waved one of Stanley’s hands dismissively, before snapping his fingers. The room around Ford suddenly burst into flame, a ring of yellow fire trapping her in close with Bill and the mirror. “NOPE, THAT PESKY BARRIER OF YOURS IS STILL DOING ITS JOB! FOR NOW.”

Ford tried to ignore the way Bill’s voice dropped into a register almost too low for human hearing to detect, the way it rumbled up her legs and thrummed in her lungs. She drew in a deep breath, trying to centre herself, control her fear. “So you’re just doing what you always do. Plaguing me with your ridiculous, pointless nightmares because there’s nothing you can do to touch me.”

Bill shrugged Stan’s shoulders, rolling his eyes towards the ceiling with a mocking grin. Ford glanced up as well, and immediately wished she hadn’t. The twisted, howling faces that emerged from the woodwork would be etched on her imagination for weeks. “HEY, YOU SAY NIGHTMARE, I SAY SNEAK PREVIEW!”

“Sneak...”

Bill’s gaze snapped back onto Ford, like a laser, focused and intent on burning a hole right through her. “REMEMBER HOW I GENEROUSLY WARNED YOU I WAS HAVING SOME FRIENDS OVER?”

Ford shook her head. The memory of the nightmare that had driven her to reveal the rift to Dipper and started this whole blasted chain of events in motion jumped immediately to mind, but she couldn’t quite string it together with what was happening around her now. “You got what you wanted. The rift is open, the world is your plaything, everything we know has changed - what could you possibly be warning me about?”

Bill’s smile, if it were possible, grew even wider, stretching Stan’s face in a way that Ford knew from painful personal experience would leave his jaw aching for days afterwards. She winced in sympathy, and that was when it struck her, like a thunderbolt.

“No,” she snapped, pointing an accusatory finger at Bill. “Stanley would never, he’s - he’d see right through you! You have nothing to offer him! He’d never make a deal with you -”

“OH, IS THAT SO?” Bill let out an enormous belly laugh, and the faces on the ceiling howled in an unholy harmony. “IT’S BEEN THIRTY YEARS, SIXER! AND YOU’RE WALKING, TALKING PROOF THAT PEOPLE CHANGE.”

Ford swallowed, hard, past the lump that had appeared, unbidden, in her throat. “You keep your filthy two-dimensional hands off of my brother, or -”

“OR YOU’LL WHAT?” Bill took two steps forward, leering into Ford’s face. She tried to step back, but the ring of flames nipped at her heels, pushing her forward into Bill. “FACE IT, FORDSY, YOU’VE ALREADY LOST! THIS WORLD IS MINE NOW! I CALL THE SHOTS! AND IF I WANT YOUR BROTHER - AND, YANNO, I THINK I DO WANT YOUR BROTHER, HE SEEMS LIKE A FUN GUY! - THEN IT’S ONLY A MATTER OF TIME!”

Both of his slit-pupiled, yellow eyes suddenly turned to little clock faces, hands frantically whirring around the hours as he pressed even closer into Ford’s personal space.

“TICK TOCK, SIXER!” Bill shouted, brightly, with far too much glee.

Ford –

...

Ford jolted awake.

For a long moment, it felt like an impossible weight was pressing down on her chest, crushing the breath out of her. She clawed at her constricting turtleneck with one hand, pressing the other to her mouth even as she tried to drag in a lungful of air, as though she could physically stuff down the cry that was climbing up her throat.

Darkness had gathered around the Shack so gradually that Ford had barely noticed the red light draining from the sky. Now, it seemed as though night had fallen all at once, a blanket of pure dark dropped over the Shack, muffling the distant shrieks and roars from the town. The living room had, she realised, fallen almost silent, the warm dark full of the sounds of soft snores and sleepy mumbles. Nearly every person Dipper had spent the afternoon enthusiastically introducing her to as ‘the author of the Journals, my great-aunt!’ had either trickled out or found bedding somewhere and hunkered down to sleep. Even Dipper's head was bobbing forward, the bottom of his shirt falling out of his slack mouth, and Mabel was curled up wrapped in the STAN SAVIOUR SQUAD banner, passed out across her pig.

Ford’s lungs finally inflated, and she gasped in a huge gulp of air. She felt nearly boneless with relief, and yet, the darkness still pressed in on her. She could still see Bill’s clock-face eyes set in Stanley’s familiar face hovering before her, the hands racing. Could still hear his jeering voice promising - no. It wasn’t true. It couldn’t be true. Bill might be clever, and devious, and capable of slipping poisoned-honey words into a willing ear like no one Ford had ever met, but still, surely Stanley would never -

Tick tock.

Ford forced herself to take one long, deep breath, to let it out slowly, listening to her heart gradually calming from its frantic pace. It wasn’t true. It couldn’t be true. Bill was only trying to get to her again, get inside her head. If he’d really been able to get Stanley to join him, he wouldn’t be wasting time on dreams and visions. He would’ve just dragged Stan’s body back to the Shack to gloat. Stan would never fall for Bill’s lies, Stan was - was better than that, was smarter -

She must not have shouted in her sleep, if she hadn't woken the children. Either that, or they were so exhausted that they'd slept right through it.

Regardless, it was well past time they were in bed. Ford took a few more deep breaths before pushing herself to her feet, wincing at the sudden rush of blood from her head. The living room wobbled and flashed bright black and white at the corners of her vision for a moment before everything settled again.

Dipper shook awake the moment Ford put a hand on his shoulder, head snapping up and looking around like a startled deer. "I wasn't asleep!" he protested, dropping the volume of his voice when Mabel sighed and rolled over in her sleep. "I was...contemplating."

Ford couldn't help the smile that stole across her face. "Do you think you could contemplate better from the comfort of your own bed?"

"No, I can do this, I can -" Dipper stopped when Ford gave his shoulder a gentle squeeze, sighing and looking down at the carpet by his feet. "I blew it, didn't I." It didn't come out as a question.

"What do you mean, my boy?"

"I don't know, I just -" Dipper threw his hands out helplessly. "It feels like there's something more I should be doing, but I just don't know what, or how, and now you're putting me to bed like a little kid."

Ford bit down on her lower lip, unsure of what to say. She knew exactly what Dipper meant - every second they spent not finding a way to get Stanley back felt like a second wasted. There had to be something that would make Dipper feel less like he was failing, but she couldn’t even begin to imagine what that might be.

If she could, perhaps she’d be feeling a little more hopeful herself.

Finally, she let out a sigh, and lowered herself to sit on the floor beside Dipper, groaning at the stiffness in her knees. “Everyone else is already asleep, we won’t accomplish much by staying up and draining ourselves further. We’ll all need to be at our best to face Bill and whatever surprises he might throw at us tomorrow.” She did her best to swallow down the bitter, sick taste that rose in the back of her mouth at the thought of what those surprises might include.

“I know,” Dipper said dejectedly, rubbing his upper arm and staring down at the floor.

Ford looked down herself, her eyes wandering until they came to rest on the gentle rise and fall of Mabel’s chest under the banner she’d wrapped herself in.

“Why don’t you come help me get Mabel to bed,” she said, and Dipper seemed to perk up, just a little. “If you’re still not feeling like sleeping afterwards, we can reconvene here and see if we can find any flaw in the plan that we might have overlooked.”

“Okay,” Dipper conceded, and Ford noticed a small smile had stolen across his face as he watched Mabel and Waddles snoring, though there was still a little wrinkle of worry in his brow. Ford didn’t blame him - the last time they’d watched Mabel sleeping this peacefully, they hadn’t known whether she would ever wake up.

Bill. It all came back to him. Every single person in the Shack, from Fiddleford passed out with his blowtorch in hand over the giant robotic leg he was welding right on down to the plaidypus curled up with the cross-eyed gnome in the corner had lost something - if not everything - to Bill. If it weren’t for Bill, Mabel would never have been forced to see a world where everyone seemed happier without her. If it weren’t for Bill, Dipper wouldn’t have been made to doubt himself like this, wouldn’t be shouldering this burden of responsibility that should never have been his in the first place. (Not when it had been all Ford’s fault, right from the beginning, her folly and her arrogance and her pride -)

If it weren’t for Bill, Stanley would be here with them right now, probably cracking some awful joke and then laughing at his own lack of wit when no one else did. Stanley would be here, aggravating everyone as usual, putting on that showman’s smile to make the children feel better, treating the whole thing like one big joke. Stanley would be safe, and he wouldn’t be - and he would know what to say to make Dipper feel better, and -

None of this would be happening if it weren’t for Bill Cipher.

Ford’s hands clenched into fists without her input, nails digging into the heels of her hands. She tried not to listen to the traitorous little voice in the back of her mind that whispered none of this would be happening if you hadn’t let him in.

“We’re not going to defeat Bill tomorrow,” Ford said, slow, turning her gaze back to Mabel.

There was a quaver in Dipper’s voice. “We’re, uh, we’re not?”

“No.” Ford slammed one fist into the palm of her other hand. It felt like a river of lava was rising slow through her veins, the heat pulsing in time with her heartbeat. “We’re going to destroy him.”

...

Mabel woke up briefly as Ford carried her up the stairs, her enormous yawn audible even though her face was pressed against Ford’s shoulder. At twelve years old, the twins were almost too tall to comfortably carry, but Ford hadn’t wanted to wake the girl, not when she seemed to be sleeping peacefully. If Ford herself had been able to steal a fraction of that peace in the middle of Weirdmageddon, she wouldn’t have wanted it disturbed.

“Whzfl?” Mabel asked, sleepily, and Dipper piped up before Ford could say anything.

“It’s okay, Mabel, we’re just going up to bed. You fell asleep on Waddles.”

Mabel let out a sigh, her head falling back against Ford’s shoulder. “How late is it?” she asked, sounding a little more awake, though not much.

“Well, according to Bill, time is dead and meaning has no meaning, but I’d say it’s definitely past your bedtime,” Ford answered, drawing a little snort of laughter out of Mabel.

“That means you too, Dipper,” Mabel said, her voice muffled in Ford’s sweater. “I saw you gnawing your shirt.”

“Aw, Mabel,” Dipper protested, but he didn’t try to deny it.

And he didn’t try to resist when they made it up to the attic and Mabel slipped down out of Ford’s arms and pointed...well, pointedly at the bed across the attic from hers. “Bedtime, mister,” she said, and Dipper shook his head, but he was smiling.

“And that goes for you too!” Mabel added, rounding on Ford. “We’ve got an awesome giant robot house to pilot and an evil geometrical guy to fight tomorrow! You don’t wanna fall asleep in the middle of it! You’ll miss all the fun parts!”

Ford, despite herself, couldn’t help a soft laugh. “You’re right,” she said, nodding in Mabel’s direction. “I’ll leave you two to it, then. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight!” Mabel echoed, Dipper giving a sheepish wave as Ford stepped out of the attic room and pulled the door closed behind her, careful not to let it slam.

The Shack was eerily still as Ford made her way down the attic stairs. It was strange. She’d lived here, alone, for nearly a decade, and yet, after only a couple of months, it already felt wrong for the place to be so silent.

Ford paused on the second-floor landing, glancing down the hall towards her room before turning towards the stairs down to the main floor. She’d meant what she’d told Dipper. They all needed to be at their best tomorrow. Bill was cunning and vicious - he’d give no quarter, and they wouldn’t get any second chances. Ford knew she ought to try to get some sleep, to make sure that she herself was alert and sharp when their long-delayed confrontation finally came.

That, too, was strange. For years - thirty of them, to be exact - that thought had been Ford’s sole comfort. One day, she would come face-to-face with Bill Cipher for the last time. One day, she would put an end to this game of cat and mouse that they had played for so long, lay all her mistakes to rest, wipe her ledger clean. Even if it meant the end of her as well as Bill.

But now, for the first time, the thought of finally facing Bill filled Ford not with comfort, but with a sick, sinking dread.

All of her long, hard years of preparation, all of her plans, all of her strategy, it had all come to nothing in a snap of Bill’s fingers. Ford was running blind, while Bill held the upper hand - as, Ford now saw, he always had. The last time she’d prepared herself to face him, she’d been calm, confident. Certain. Now, all she could feel was jittery, buzzing with a nervous energy that bordered on frantic, a need to do something more, something better, something.

Ford knew why. Last time, she’d had a plan. Last time, she’d known what she was doing, what needed to be done. Last time, she’d known - she’d thought - she was equal to the task.

And the last time she’d prepared herself to face Bill, hers had been the only life on the line.

The silent dark of the Shack pressed in on Ford as she stared down the stairs towards the living room, like a smothering, heavy blanket. She tried not to see monsters rising out of the well of shadow at the foot of the stairs, not to hear sinister whispers in the soft snores from the living room. The unicorn-hair barrier should keep them safe, here. Unlike Stanley, who might - who must be facing unimaginable horrors even as Ford tucked the children safely into bed and settled down for the night herself.

The worst part was not knowing. Not knowing what awful things Bill might be doing to Stanley, yes, not knowing what Bill’s game was, why he might be taunting her with the threat of turning Stan against them, but worse, not knowing what to do. Mobilizing the Shack and its protective barrier had been a stroke of genius on Fiddleford's part, an ingenious solution to the problem of how to get to Bill’s pyramid, but what would they do if - when they got there? Ford still hadn’t been able to identify all the members of the prophecy wheel, and the news that Bill’s eyebats had been kidnapping people and turning them to stone meant that she could be missing vital pieces. She didn’t have enough information, didn’t know anything about the people of this town or how to go about learning enough about them to successfully place them on the wheel - if only Stanley were here, he could have sorted this out in a matter of hours, maybe only minutes, but he wasn’t and anything at all could be happening to him while Ford was busy battering her head against a problem that she had no idea how to even begin to think about solving, but which she still somehow had to solve, or else -

A vision of Stan’s face when Ford had stepped out of the portal, the shocked, disbelieving smile that had spread across it in the seconds before she’d punched him, floated to the surface of Ford’s memory. Her grip on the railing tightened, until she feared she’d give herself splinters.

No. She wouldn’t be sleeping tonight.

...

Ford was digging through the hall closet, looking for blankets or pillows or some kind of bedding (and not for illegal fireworks, or a crate of Cuban cigars that, judging from the labels, had been there since the early eighties at the latest, or a painting of a sad clown on black velvet, honestly, Stan) when she heard the front door creak open.

It felt like someone had threaded a live wire down her spine. Ford was instantly awake, alert, listening hard for the slightest sound. The cold stillness of the closet suddenly seemed deathly, every shadow heavy with menace.

Heavy footsteps made the elderly boards of the porch complain softly, and Ford could hear lowered voices, murmuring in thrumming bass tones. She couldn't make out the words, but she hardly needed to. Anyone trying to sneak into the Shack undetected, at this hour, after everyone else was already asleep, couldn't be up to anything good.

Ford tried to ignore the jackhammer beat of her heart, keep her breathing quiet, slow, steady. She took a careful step closer to the door of the closet, scanning the hall before her before reaching up to tug the string to shut off the light.

It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the sudden darkness, a moment that Ford spent watching, tense, for monsters to lunge out of the dark at her, watching afterimages swim in front of her eyes and trying not to mistake them for actual movement. The low mumble of voices from the entryway, thankfully, didn't so much as falter. They must not have noticed the light from the hall, then, to not have been concerned about its disappearance. That was good. That meant Ford still had the element of surprise on her side.

She crept forward, peering out around the closet door. Her night vision was slowly returning, enough so that she could catch a glimpse of movement in the entryway at the end of the hall. Ford sucked in a breath and ducked back behind the door, listening hard for footsteps stomping down the hall towards her hiding place.

Instead of the expected footsteps, though, Ford heard a voice that, despite the fact that she'd only known the speaker for a day, was instantly recognisable.

"And careful with Mabel! I don't want a hair on my marshmalla's head outta place!" Gideon's halfhearted attempt at a whisper turned dismissive as he added, "But if something were to...happen...to that meddlesome twin o' hers, why, well now, wouldn't that just be a shame." His tone made it very clear that he did not, in fact, think this was the case.

Ford bit back the curse she wanted to hurl. Dipper had been right. It had been a trap. And she'd walked right into it, as Bill must have known she'd do, unable to resist playing the hero.

This was no time for self-recriminations, though. The children were in danger. Ford drew her blaster as quickly as she dared, trying not to make a sound, and stepped quietly and deliberately out into the hall.

Every step she took felt like an eternity, every one of her senses screaming as she drew closer and closer to the entryway. The voices fell silent when she was about halfway there, replaced by the creaks and thumps of someone heavy trying to move quietly over the aging floorboards. Ford held her breath, pressing herself against the wall and edging closer to the corner that would let her out into the entry and finally bring her face to face with the intruders.

The thump of heavy footsteps took on a hollow quality, rising up the stairs towards the attic. Ford squeezed the handle of her blaster tight enough to make her knuckles ache, to keep her index finger from tightening on the trigger, and dared to steal a glimpse around the corner.

The entryway was thronged with - well, Ford hadn’t been in her home dimension for quite some time, but goons were pretty much the same the multiverse over. At least they all appeared to be human, though they also all seemed to be hanging on Gideon’s every word. That couldn’t bode well. It was difficult to tell in the low light just how many there were, but Ford was sure she was badly outnumbered, and, as she’d learned from long experience, charging in now with guns blazing would only take away the one advantage she still had.

“An’ Fishbait?” Gideon called down the stairs, and Ford had to remind herself to breathe quiet, slow, steady. She hadn’t been spotted yet. She wouldn’t let her emotions get the better of her, give away her element of surprise. But - if that little cretin so much as laid a hand on either Dipper or Mabel -

Breathe. Quiet. Slow. Steady.

“Yeah, boss?” a nasal voice from the foot of the stairs echoed back, and Ford froze, holding her breath. Whoever was talking was just around the corner she’d just peered around.

“Don’t you waste too much time on the townies. Just find that unicorn-hair barrier Bill told us about an’ take out a piece, he’ll take care of the rest.”

“Yeah, boss,” the voice agreed, and there was a soft shuffling. The door creaked open, then closed again. Heavy footsteps continued up the stairs, fading as they rose towards the second floor.

Ford drew in another long, steadying breath, clicked her blaster to ‘stun’, and stepped out around the corner.

The two thugs Gideon had left standing in the foyer, one hanging around by the door, one by the staircase, both jumped at Ford’s appearance. The reedier one by the door reached for something at his hip, and Ford lined up, squeezed her eyes shut, and fired a stunning bolt directly into the man’s chest. She opened her eyes just in time to see her target slumped against the wall and the man who had been standing by the stairs staggering backwards, a hand over his eyes, clearly blinded by afterimages from the flash of the stun bolt. Ford fired off another shot in his direction, then hesitated. She wanted nothing more than to charge straight up the stairs after Gideon and his cronies, but - if she let the barrier be broken, then there would be nowhere safe left in Gravity Falls.

Ford muttered a curse that maybe seven other people in this dimension had ever heard uttered aloud, and sprinted for the door.

...

The stairs felt a million miles high. Ford took them two at a time, even though her breath was starting to come hard and her legs burned with every step. Any thought she might have had of stealth or strategy had vanished, reduced to a single, overwhelming focus. All she could think, all she could see, were the terrible possibilities unspooling through her mind. Perhaps she’d stopped the objectively greater threat, for the moment, but she couldn’t tell that to the lump in her throat or the frantic thump of her heart.

She hadn’t made it to the top of the attic stairs before every last one of her fears burst to technicolour life at the sound of Mabel’s shout.

“Let go of me, you - you - you big gorilla!”

“You won’t get away with this, Gideon!” Dipper yelled, from somewhere at the top of the attic stairs. Ford hit the landing at a dead run, crossing it in two steps.

“Oh, but that’s where you’re wrong, Dipper Pines,” Gideon’s smarmy voice echoed down the stairs that Ford was climbing, smug and triumphant. “I already have! Turns out that li’l ol’ barrier y’all were so proud of sure don’t work so well on humanfolk, does it? All I have to do is give the signal, and Bill’s eyebats’ll be all over this ol’ place like flies on a cowpat. And my oh my, but unicorn hair’s such a fragile material. Don’t you agree? Why, anythin’ could just...happen...to it.”

“You monster!” Mabel gasped, her voice muffled by the attic door.

“Scream all you want, sugarplum,” Gideon giggled. “Nobody’s comin’ to help you -”

“Wrong,” Ford said, flinging the attic door wide. Her head felt curiously light, but at least her aim was steady as she stepped into the room, pointing her blaster directly at the dead centre of Gideon’s head. “Put the children down. Carefully,” she added, when the pale-eyed goon carrying Dipper under one arm and Mabel under the other looked suspiciously like he was about to drop them both unceremoniously to the floor.

“Well, well,” Gideon said, turning slowly in place to face Ford. “Seems I spoke too soon. Evenin’, Stanford.”

“Just Ford,” Ford snapped. “I said, let Dipper and Mabel go.”

Gideon tapped a fat finger against his chin, his smile growing as he pantomimed thought. “Hm, no, I’m thinkin’ not.” He held up both hands and clapped them, twice, and Dipper’s shout came just a moment too late.

“Great-aunt Ford, look out -”

The blow collided with the back of Ford's head like a thunderclap. She barely had time to wonder which of Gideon’s cronies had snuck up behind her, and how, before the world went dark.

...

A low rumble was the first thing Ford was aware of, a deep bass buzz vibrating up through her bones and rattling her teeth. Slowly, the rumble solidified into engine roar and the rattle of wheels over gravel. The floor jolted and shivered underneath her, nearly knocking the air out of her lungs more than once.

Ford opened her eyes.

The sky overhead was reddening with early dawn light. Ford had seen some truly spectacular skies in her thirty years of wandering, but none quite like this. It looked like some particularly deranged - and tasteless - set designer had slapped it together for a Grand Guignol opera. The whole thing seemed awash in blood, save for the eye-searing pus-yellow shimmer of the rift hovering above the black pyramid. The whole sky glared like a gaping wound.

It was a little difficult to see properly, however, because of the bars and the roof of the cage obscuring her vision.

“A cage?” Ford sputtered, pushing herself up off of the bouncing metal floor to grab at the bars, in the faint hope that she might find one loose, or illusory, or discover some other means of escape. She had no such luck. All she got was a clear view of the rough ground bumping away behind her. Apparently the floor was rattling because it was, in fact, the bed of a heavily-modified pickup truck. A cage! There were many things Ford could name that would be more humiliating and demeaning, but with solid metal bars between her and the outside world, none sprang to mind.

“Yeah. I tried to tell Gideon it was kind of overkill,” Dipper’s voice said, and Ford let go of the bars to spin around. Her great-nephew was sitting slumped against the bars at the back of the cage, his hat tipped down to cover his eyes. “In case you haven’t noticed, he’s...kind of a drama queen.”

So Gideon had them. Which meant that they were being delivered, gift-wrapped, to Bill Cipher.

Ford gripped the bars behind her for support, suddenly feeling as though all of her strength had bled right out of her in between breaths. For a moment, everything seemed to settle down on her, like layers of sediment, leaving her immobile, fossilised.

Ford reached down to draw her coat tighter around herself, only to discover that it wasn't there. A frantic search revealed that her weapons had been taken as well, even the small laser knife she kept strapped to her ankle. Certainly, it didn't actually leave her defenceless - she was perfectly capable of killing another being in hand-to-hand combat, if it came to it - but that didn't stop the firework-bursts of panic that slashed between her ribs and splashed against the back of her skull. Her own movements felt strange, disconnected, as though she'd been divorced from her body. As though she'd been forced out of it -

She drew in another breath, as long and deep as she dared with the thick dust and wafts of sulphur and cotton candy on the wind, feeling the roughness of the bars digging into her palms.

When she trusted her voice again, she asked, “Are you all right?”

Dipper shrugged one shoulder. He didn’t look up.

“Mabel...?” Ford asked, looking around the small enclosure, though she already knew what she’d find.

“She’s up front with him,” Dipper spat, raising his head for the first time as he jerked a thumb towards the narrow window a little ways above his head. “Gideon didn’t wanna let her out of his sight.”

Ford nodded. It felt like all she could do. She didn’t want to voice what she knew they both must be thinking.

The weight of their situation, the true depths of her failure, still threatened to fall on Ford, crushing her utterly, but just as she had so many times before, she managed to force it aside. No one else was coming to save them. There was no one to rely on but herself. She couldn’t let Dipper down. She couldn’t afford to break.

“All right,” Ford said, the gears of her mind slowly, ponderously grinding back into motion. “We need to get out of here, find some way to liberate Mabel -” A thought struck her, and she paused, before crossing the bed of the truck in two strides to peer in through its narrow back window. “Gideon mentioned something about Bill wanting us. It would only make sense that that would be where he’s delivering us. If we can take control of this vehicle, perhaps we can use it to enter Bill’s lair undetected.”

“That’s a great idea!” Dipper said, pushing back his hat as he looked up, the ghost of a smile slipping across his face. It vanished as he went on, though, along with the note of hope that had momentarily lit up his voice. “But I don’t know how we’re going to get out of here. I had a look around while you were unconscious, and this thing is locked up pretty tight. I think they welded these bars straight into the frame of the truck.”

Ford gave the back window a cautious push with the pads of her fingers. It felt as thick as it looked, solid, difficult to shatter without being able to get a good wind-up for fear of hitting the bars instead. There was no give in it to suggest that it might be, if not shattered, then popped out of its setting by a well-thrust elbow. And even if she could damage or remove the window somehow, she wouldn't be able to reach far enough across the back seat to get at the driver or Gideon in the front seat. If she only had some kind of weapon - !

“Ugh! Why can’t you just leave us alone!” Mabel’s voice rose, and Ford shifted her attention to the glowing purple thing in the backseat. She’d overlooked it before because it didn’t seem like anything that might help them escape, but now that she saw what it was, it took everything in her not to punch the glass despite knowing how little good it was likely to do.

Mabel was caged, too, locked up in an elegant, scrollwork birdcage just barely big enough for her to sit up in, a huge, triangular padlock marked with a shooting star sealing it closed. She was hugging her knees, her sweater stretched out over them. Ford couldn’t see her face, but she was certain it was a picture of misery.

Gideon spun as best he could in his carseat, pressing a hand against the lapel of his powder-blue suit with a look of put-upon patience. “Mabel, dumplin’, I’m doin’ this for us -”

“There is no us!” Mabel exploded, waving both arms through the bars of the cage so violently that it nearly slid off the backseat. “Gideon, I liked being your friend, but I don’t even want to be that anymore! This is, like, the third time you’ve tried to kill my whole entire family!”

“Fourth,” Dipper muttered, pushing himself to his feet and walking over to where Ford was standing, pulling himself up on tiptoes to peer into the cab of the truck.

Mabel plunged onwards, clearly unable to hear Dipper’s addition. “What made you think that hurting the people I care about would ever make me like you more?”

Gideon looked stunned, like Mabel had hit him across the face rather than just shouted at him. “They - they were comin’ between us -”

“The only thing ‘coming between us’ is you being a big, creepy jerk!” Mabel took a deep breath, her voice lowering in volume enough that Ford had to strain to hear her next words over the rumble of the truck’s engine and the rattle of the gravel underneath its wheel. What she lacked in volume, however, Mabel more than made up for in intensity. “And if you turn us over to Bill and stop us from rescuing Grunkle Stan - I will never stop hating you! Ever ever ever!”

“Mabel -”

“Ever!”

“Wow, go Mabel!” Dipper said, softly, and Ford looked down to see him beaming from ear to ear.

Gideon, for his part, looked almost at a loss for words. He reached carefully out towards Mabel, only for her to cross her arms over her chest and toss her head, turning away from him.

“Well...well,” Gideon started, weakly, sounding a little rattled, but growing in confidence with each word. “I’m certain we can do somethin’ about that. Bill is the master of the mind, after all.”

“What, so your response to her saying she doesn’t want anything to do with you because you’re a creepy jerk is to double down on being a creepy jerk?” Dipper spat, in apparent disbelief. “Cause, no offense, but that hasn’t exactly been a winning strategy for you so far.” He let out an enormous sigh, spinning to lean against the back wall of the truck and pressing the heels of both hands against his eyes. “Okay. We gotta do something, we gotta get Mabel out of there before -”

He cut his own sentence short. Ford looked up, peering past the bars. The floating black pyramid seemed closer, now, looming huge and menacing in the sky ahead.

For the first time, she turned her attention to their surroundings beyond the bars that held them in. Ford didn’t recognise the land they were driving through as part of the town or the surrounding forests - they seemed to have been abruptly transplanted to a red-dust desert scattered with the occasional ruins scrawled with ominous graffiti featuring Bill's single, watchful eye, the heat rising off of the barren ground stifling even from her position above it. Clouds of dust kicked up by the vehicles that flanked them made it difficult to see much, but it appeared that they were in the middle of a convoy of heavily-modified cars and trucks, covered in spikes and graffiti and a truly improbable array of weaponry. Ford thought she caught a glimpse of the water tower stalking on stilt-legs off to their left, but through the dust and the huge, multicoloured bubbles that hung heavy in the air, she couldn’t quite be sure.

The shattered, elliptical dome of a long building rose out of the dust on their right, and Dipper perked up, crossing the cage to look out between the bars at it. "Hey, that's the mall! Oh man, I didn't even recognise this part of town, Bill really did a number on -"

He stopped, mid-sentence, and nearly shoved his face in between the bars. "Did you see that?!"

Ford hurried over to Dipper's side, staring intently out at the wasteland. She didn't see anything beyond the clouds of dust, the slow roll of the giant bubbles, the single Jeep bristling, hedgehog-like, with spikes flanking them -

Ford blinked.

“Wasn’t there another vehicle -” she started, just as a slender, dark shape flew straight out of one of the enormous bubbles and landed in a crouch on top of the spiny Jeep. Ford watched in amazement as the figure grabbed the frame of the Jeep, kicked up into a handstand, spun 180 degrees, and swung down feet-first through the window, their feet colliding with the driver’s head. The Jeep swerved violently, veered right, then left, then -

“Look out!” Ford shouted, grabbing Dipper and dropping into a crouch just as the Jeep collided, heavily, with the side of the truck they were in. Long, wicked black spikes shot between the bars of the cage, one slicing through the air where, just seconds before, Dipper’s head had been. The truck shuddered at the impact, knocking Ford off her feet and onto the floor of the truckbed. She managed to pick herself back up just as the Jeep slammed into the truck again.

This time, she didn’t try to get back up.

Shouts from the cab and from the vehicles on their left told Ford that she and Dipper weren’t the only ones who’d noticed the strange figure that had hijacked the Jeep. There was a rumble and a squeal, and the truck slowed, the Jeep and the two flanking vehicles speeding past it as the driver braked, hard.

“Get us outta here!” Gideon squawked, from the front seat, his voice piercing even over the screech of tires and the shouts coming from the other vehicles. “We gotta get these three to Bill by any means necessary -”

“Way ahead of you, boss,” the driver rumbled, and the truck spun back in the direction it had come, throwing Ford and Dipper both up against the bars. The back of Ford’s head cracked against the metal, causing both to ring and stars to splash in front of her eyes for a second, the sharp smell of copper filling the back of her nose and mouth. She gingerly raised a hand to touch the back of her head, but there was thankfully no blood.

The truck shot back down the street the way it had come, thumping and rattling over the rough ground. Behind them, Ford watched, with a sinking feeling, as the two other vehicles from their little convoy - a police car with a sheriff’s star inscribed with Bill’s eye spray-painted over the legend on its side and a motorcycle with, somehow, seven wheels - boxed in the spiny Jeep. Whoever their strange assailant was, there seemed to be little doubt that Gideon’s henchmen would make short work of them.

She was just testing the bars that the Jeep had slammed up against for any sign of weakness when the truck suddenly jerked to a halt, right in the middle of the road. Dipper gasped, and then, did the last thing Ford would have expected.

He burst out laughing.

Ford straightened up, peering through the back window of the truck to look out the windshield and see what had forced them to stop. She had to blink several times, trying to make sure there wasn’t simply something in her eye. Even in an apocalyptic wildnerness of Bill’s creation, it still strained credulity to look up and see an enormous set of four wheels, taller than a man (had those come off a tractor?), and, perched on top of an equally hulking chassis like a tiara on the head of a Xenophorian thunderbeast, the body of a golf cart.

“What...?” she asked, and Dipper, beaming from ear to ear, jabbed a finger at the driver of the golf cart, a squat figure also all in black. As Ford watched, the figure unwrapped a scarf from around their face -

- and waved.

It wasn’t just any golf cart, Ford realised, belatedly. The red-and-yellow flags dangling from the roof and the huge, red question mark painted across the nose clearly marked it as the golf cart from the Mystery Shack.

“Soos?” she asked, at the same time as Gideon, from the front seat, let out a petulant whine.

“Am I supposed t’know who that is?”

“Soos!” Dipper yelled, jumping up and down and waving his arms, even though Ford doubted the handyman could see him from the angle he was looking down at the truck from. “We’re down here!”

There was no way that Soos could have heard them from all the way up in the golf cart, perched so high above the street, over the rumble and roar of engines, but still, Ford felt inexplicably warmed when he reached out and gave them a thumbs-up.

The golf cart started to roll, ponderously, forwards.

The truck lurched back into motion, screeching backwards away from the approaching golf cart, and executed a neat three-point turn before squealing away down the street. Or rather, it started to - but the street was barricaded by the cop car, flipped up onto its side to expose its undercarriage.

"Just go over it!" Gideon shouted, from the cab of the truck. "What's the use of havin' a monster truck if ya don't crush anythin' with it?!"

The driver didn’t move. A second later, Ford could see why.

The slim black figure that she’d seen take over the Jeep straightened up, balancing precariously on the upturned edge of the cop car. They planted their feet shoulder-width apart and their hands on their hips, head thrown back in obvious defiance, their whole being the physical embodiment of a challenge.

Behind them, the golf cart’s horn tooted, a sound that was honestly much more ominous than it had any right to be.

The truck’s engine growled, low and throaty, the floor under Ford’s feet thrumming like some great, caged beast eager to be set loose on some unsuspecting small herbivore. The dark figure stood still atop the cop car, unmoving. Apparently unafraid.

“Ghost Eyes!” Gideon snapped, and the truck roared to life, leaping forward.

The spiked grate on the front of the truck rammed into the cop car’s exposed undercarriage just as the figure in black jumped. They somersaulted in midair, landing with knees bent on the hood of the truck as it started to climb up and over the toppled cop car. One hand went to its waist, and pulled free a short-handled axe.

The figure in black gave the axe a quick spin in one hand before slamming it down on the windshield. The instant the axe struck against it, the windshield splintered, spiderweb cracks shooting crazily outwards from the point of impact. The driver jerked the wheel hard to the left, but the cop car underneath the truck kept it stuck in place.

Another blow, and the windshield shattered.

Gideon’s scream, Ford reflected, sounded remarkably like a stuck pig.

“Wendy!” Mabel yelled, throwing herself at the front of her cage, and the figure in black glanced up, waving through the windshield. The moment of distraction seemed to be enough, though, for the driver of the truck to reach through the windshield and punch the dark-clad figure in the side of the head. She toppled off the hood of the truck, vanishing behind the cop car.

“Go go go go go!” Gideon urged, and the driver obliged, stepping on the gas. The truck gave a furious whine, and Ford could feel the wheels spinning under her, but it didn’t move. Part of the cop car must have been wedged underneath it. "Get us outta here, before -"

A shadow fell over the back of the truck, blotting out the eerie red light, and Ford spun to see the golf cart, towering on its absurdly large wheels, bearing steadily down on them. She grabbed the bars of the cage behind her, shouting at Dipper, “Brace yourself!”

The crunch as the golf cart rammed into the back of the truck was nearly deafening. Ford could feel its reverberations through the soles of her feet, traveling up the bars she gripped. The whole truck rocked, wobbling precariously on its perch atop the upturned cop car.

“Soos! What’re you doing?!” Dipper yelled, waving his arms, as the golf cart drew back.

“Hang in there, doods,” Soos called back, over the rumble of engines and the grinding squeal of metal against metal, his rodent-like face set in an expression of grim determination as he revved the engine for another run up on the truck. “I’m gettin’ you outta there!”

Screaming from the cab behind her told Ford that Wendy had most likely gotten back up. Ford paid the sounds no attention.

“Hit it again!” she called up to Soos, who saluted and stomped on the gas. The golf cart jerked forward, bumping into the cage at the very back of the truck, and there was another screech of metal on metal as the bars visibly bowed inwards. One more blow, and one of the bars shot free with a distressing little metallic sigh.

It wasn’t the only thing dislodged by the golf cart, though. With one final, drawn-out scream of metal, the truck slid forward off of the cop car’s undercarriage, teetering for a moment before its front wheels touched ground. The truck shot forward like a bolt from a crossbow, only to lurch to a stop again a moment later, bouncing forward in fits and starts. Ford realised she’d lost track of how many times now she’d been knocked off her feet.

“Give - me - that - key!” Wendy yelled from the cab, punctuated by soft percussive sounds rather like a gloved hand hitting a sack full of water. Gideon’s shrieks sounded remarkably like Mabel’s pig when someone stepped on its tail, Ford reflected, as she helped Dipper out through the hole Soos had made in the cage and down off the bed of the truck.

“Wendy! Dood, we got ‘em!” Soos called, as Ford climbed down off the truck bed herself. She had to stop and cling onto the bars with all her might as the truck gave one last aborted leap forward, then ground to a stop, the engine chugging down. Ford cautiously lowered a foot to the asphalt below her, and then, when the truck didn’t drag her forwards again, hopped all the way down.

“Not yet!” Wendy shouted back, frustration clear in her voice. “Gideon’s got Mabel in an evil glowing birdcage, and he’s got the key somewhere.” Her voice dropped, and Ford assumed she was talking to the two in the front seat as she continued, “And this little creep is gonna tell me where it is. Right. Now.”

“No!” Gideon screeched, and Ford finally gave in to the temptation to circle around to the front of the truck, hoping for a better view of what was going on inside. The driver appeared to be out cold, probably felled by the blunt end of Wendy’s axe. Wendy herself had pulled off the dark hood she’d been wearing, revealing her face and her ginger hair, and was in the middle of - Ford blinked - giving Gideon a noogie. “I won this time! I won! Bill promised me -”

“Did he promise you Mabel’s heart?” Ford interjected, unable to help herself. “Because you should know that if he said that, he intends to drop the bloody organ in your hands after he removes it from her still-living body.”

Six pairs of eyes all fixed in Ford’s direction, identical perturbed expressions on each face. Ford managed, under the scrutiny, to shrug. “It’s his idea of a pun.”

She assumed the retching noise from the backseat of the truck was coming from Mabel.

Gideon struggled in Wendy’s grip, held as he was under one of her arms with her fist squashing his magnificent pompadour. “You’re a fool, Ford Pines,” he spat, pointing one finger like a brimstone-and-hellfire preacher passing judgement, though the effect was slightly spoiled by the fact that he was under four feet tall and currently being held like a small lapdog. “Bill Cipher coulda been a powerful friend to ya! But instead, you’ve made an even more powerful enemy.”

“What, you?” Dipper asked, sauntering over to Ford’s side. “Cause, uh, full offense, I saw you get taken down by a swarm of termites once.”

“Cursed termites!” Gideon wailed. “An’ I’ll unleash ‘em to plague you and your family even unto the seventh generation if you don’t tell this woman to get her hands off my hair!”

“Yeah, no such luck,” Wendy said, giving Gideon’s pompadour another vicious punch. It made a sad squeaking sound, and then slowly started to deflate, like a popped balloon. “Hand over that key!”

“No!” Gideon protested, kicking his little legs petulantly. “Mabel’s finally mine! You’re not takin’ her away from me again!”

“What? Nobody’s ‘taking’ me anywhere!” Mabel protested, from the back seat. “Ugh! As soon as I get out of this dum-dum cage, you’re in for a world of hurt, Gideon! And that’s a promise!”

“Yep,” Dipper said, stuffing his hands in the pockets of his puffy vest and giving Gideon a look that was entirely too pleased with itself. “It definitely sounds like she’s madly in love with you."

“She’ll learn to love me!” Gideon yowled, and Wendy had to let go of the remnants of his pompadour to pin him with both arms so he couldn’t wriggle free. “She’ll have an eternity of captivity to come to her senses and see we’re meant to be -”

“It won’t be eternity,” Ford interjected, over the sharp inhale from Mabel and Dipper’s almost audible fuming. “This dimension has been doomed from the moment Bill Cipher opened that rift. I give it maybe a week - less if Bill keeps warping things, dragging things through from the Nightmare Realm, and widening the rift - before it grows too unstable to sustain its own existence and collapses, taking everyone and everything inside of it with it.”

There was a moment of silence, broken only by a distant, inhuman screech.

“Bill didn’t mention that,” Gideon muttered.

“That’s because he’s a lying dirtbag who just says what he thinks you want to hear to get you to do stuff for him.” Dipper said. “Kinda like a dude on a dating website.”

“And it doesn’t matter anyway!” Mabel piped up, her voice high with righteous fury. “Because I don’t care how long you keep me stuck in a stupid cage, or a stupid dream, or a stupid fancy restaurant where they kill the lobsters in front of you, I am never ever ever gonna date you! I don’t know what part of this is so hard for you! Do I have to do an educational and inspiring musical number?”

“What do I have ta do!?” Gideon exploded right back at her, waving a fist. Wendy scowled halfway between annoyance and discomfort, trying to hold him in place. “I tried bein’ a gentleman! I courted you proper! I removed the obstacles your family placed in our path -”

“You mean you tried to steal my grunkle’s house and kill my brother!” Mabel shouted back.

Gideon ignored her, raising his own voice slightly as he ploughed onwards. “Why won’t you give me just one more chance? Mabel, I promise I’d be good ta you -”

“You put me in a cage! And not the cool kind you can dance in!”

“Just for now!” Gideon protested. “Just until ya love me!”

“I already told you, that is never happening!”

“What d’you want from me? I’ve tried everything!”

“You haven’t tried being a decent guy!” Ford had known Mabel long enough, now, to recognise the crack running through her anger, the dangerous wobble that meant she was close to tears. “You haven’t tried listening to me. I just want you to leave us alone! I just want you to leave me alone!”

The silence that followed felt like a shoe on the wrong foot, or a sixth finger squeezed into a five-fingered glove - awkward, uncomfortable, and only growing worse with time.

“Dude,” Wendy said, to Gideon, finally. “Key or no key, I am so tempted to just drop-kick you right now.”

“Mabel’s right,” Dipper said, and Ford noticed that the smug look had disappeared from his face, probably the moment Mabel’s voice had started to wobble. “Look. Gideon. You’ve tried everything you can think of to force Mabel to like you, and it’s always backfired. What’ve you got to lose by listening to her for once?”

“Wh- she wanted us to just be friends!” Gideon protested, and perhaps only Ford caught the way Dipper’s stare went hard.

“What, being Mabel’s friend is a bad thing?”

Gideon seemed to struggle for words for a moment, his face growing redder and redder. “Well...no, but -”

“I think Mabel’s a pretty good friend.” Dipper glanced up at Mabel’s cage, and smiled. “Scratch that. Mabel’s an awesome friend. You’d be lucky to have a friend like her. And if someday she decides she likes you as more than a friend?” He shrugged, with both hands still in his vest pocket. “That’s up to her, not you. If there’s one thing I’ve learned this summer, it’s that you can’t make somebody love you.”

Ford got the strangest impression that Dipper was looking a little over Gideon’s head, closer to Wendy’s face, when he said, “All you can do is try to be somebody worth loving.”

In the ensuing silence, the driver of the truck let out a soft grunt and twitched. Ford held her breath until the man stopped moving again.

“Well, my my, what a touchin’ speech,” Gideon said, but his usual sickly-sweet sarcasm seemed as deflated as his hair. His gaze turned in Mabel’s direction, and Mabel sighed heavily, rolling her eyes.

“I’m not going to start being your friend again just because you stop trying to murder my family and make me your queen or whatever. You were a major jerky-jerk-jerkface to me, and Grunkle Stan, and Dipper, and - and everybody!” She gave another deep, heavy sigh. “But, if you really do start listening to me, and treating people better, and stop being such a mean jerk...I guess maybe then I could reconsider.”

She raised a hand, one finger extended, like a judge passing down a very important sentencing, and the stars swimming in Gideon’s eyes abruptly shrank. “But! You better show me some rehabilitation first, mister!”

“So wait, am I drop-kicking this dude or what?” Wendy asked. “Cause it’s getting super weird to keep holding him like this.”

Dipper’s gaze flicked over to Gideon, as did Mabel’s. Ford could see sweat beginning to bead on Gideon’s forehead.

“I -” he started, and then hung his head, dangling limply from Wendy’s grip. His voice dropped in volume until it was nearly inaudible. “I’m in it deep with Bill. You don’t know what he’d do ta me -”

“Actually, we do,” Ford spoke up, and Gideon started, like he’d almost forgotten she was there. “Or at least, I do. I know how much this is to ask of you - I’ve been fighting Bill for the last thirty years.” She gestured ruefully at the wasteland around them, trying to tamp down the burn of the embarrassed flush that started to creep its way up her neck. “You can see how that turned out. But - it’s not too late. Help us send Bill back to his own forsaken realm, reverse the damage he’s done, and save our world.”

Gideon took another long, lingering look in Mabel’s direction.

“Also,” Ford added, folding her hands behind her back, unable to keep the echo of a smile from her face, “I have it on good authority that chicks dig heroes.”

Gideon didn’t look away from Mabel, until Mabel, visibly uncomfortable, tugged the turtleneck of her sweater up over her face.

“Y’all really think it’s not too late?” he asked, sounding, for the first time, like the child he was.

“To stop Bill? Not as long as I live and breathe,” Ford said, curling the fingers of her right hand so tightly into a fist that her nails bit painfully into the heel of her hand.

“No, I mean -” Gideon gave his head a little shake. “Well, for me. To change.”

Dipper shuffled his feet in the dirt, glancing up at Ford.

“If there’s one thing I’ve learned,” Ford said, shooting her great-nephew a smile before turning back to Gideon, “it’s that it’s never too late to change.”

Gideon drew in a long, deep breath, and let it out slowly, staring at the ground.

“All right,” he said, finally, thrusting his chin defiantly forwards. “Let’s go save the world!”

“Great,” Wendy said. “Now can I put him down?”

#gravity falls #grauntie ford #trans ford #this is mary's fic tag #in this chapter: the shit and the fan go on a nice blind date #long fic post

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