Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

There was a loud bang on the front door. Ford sat at the kitchen table, staring at the door, not getting up. Who was it? He hasn’t ever been expecting any guests. It was far too dangerous to open.

The banging continued.

"Stanford! Stanford, open the door! It's Sherman!" He heard the shout from outside.

What the hell was his brother doing at his doorstep? What if it wasn't actually Shermie? He froze, hand already outstretched to the doorknob.

"Goddamn it, Stanford! I know you're home! I have kids with me, it's cold here!"

Ford opened, holding his crossbow close just in case.

At his doorstep was Shermie indeed. With two little kids.

Ford frowned, still blocking the entrance.

"Let us in, please, Stanford," Shermie asked without a greeting.

"Come. Why are you here, Sherman?"

They followed into the kitchen.

"Uh, it's kind of difficult to explain. We...I may have gotten myself into some real trouble. I will explain, but I need the kids to stay somewhere for awhile," he said, rubbing the back of his neck.

"What? Shermie, I can’t accommodate kids! I wasn’t even aware you had them! You are entirely too young to have children!"

Ford looked over two kids: a boy and a girl, both about five years of age. They kept their eyes fixed to the floor, seemingly afraid of what was going on.

"I know, that's why I ask. You see, I was just sixteen when I accidentally got one girl pregnant and she had twins. I didn't know until just a few weeks ago. I can’t accommodate kids right now, Ford, you have to understand! I...um...I'm married to another woman and she will kill me if I bring them home," he concluded.

The what?

"What? Shermie, they're your children! I...kids, could you please go to the living room and watch some TV or whatever. I need to talk to your father alone."

The twins looked at Shermie, questioning silently, and he nodded, letting them go. They could not seem to be happier than to flee the scene.

"I can't take them! Are you even hearing yourself? This is far too dangerous! I'm working with not exactly child-friendly things, they can easily get hurt. Besides, I have no time to care for two children."

Ford was furious. How could his brother just dump his kinds at his home without a warning? They were his children, his responsibility.

"I can't keep them either, Stanford. I understand it's a dick move, but I have no one else to go to. Please, it won't be forever!" he pleaded. That jerk.

"No. No, I can’t," Ford stated firmly.

"Do you want them to be orphans then?" Shermie dared to ask.

"What? No! They need to be with you!" Ford snapped.

"I told you I can't. Okay, now I'm going to be a total asshole," he stated and quickly walked to the door. Ford pointed a crossbow at him, but Shermie didn't pay any attention. "Father will disown me if I don’t get rid of these children," he admitted quietly, "and I can't allow myself that."

He exited, leaving Ford dumbfolded at the table. The car beside the window started. 

Okay. It was fine. Everything was fine. He just had two kids now. And Fiddleford was away with his family.

Putting the crossbow aside, he went to the living room, where the muffled sounds of TV were coming from. Two kids were sitting on an armchair, eyes fixed to the screen, arms wrapped around each other. Ford picked up the remote and turned the TV off.

“Alright, kids, my name is Stanford, but you can just call me Ford. I’m your uncle. And what are your names, little ones?” he asked, squatting beside the armchair to be able to look them in the eyes.

“I’m Mabel and my brother’s Mason,” answered the girl. Mason shoved her. “Oh, right, he prefers Dipper, actually,” she corrected.

“Nice to meet you, Mabel, Dipper. Interesting name, eh. Why Dipper, may I ask?” he smiled to the boy.

He just lifted his bangs silently.

“Oh. Well, it certainly suits you.” Ford wasn’t sure what else to say, he might easily offend these kids, he didn’t know the environment they’ve grown in.

“Dipper’s shy,” Mabel whispered to him, “but very, very smart. He can read and count to a hundred and he knows so much! Are you smart, Uncle Ford?” she asked tentatively. Dipper hid his face, looking down.

“I think I am,” answered Ford. “I’m a scientist.”

“Whoa, cool! He get to hang out with our mysterious scientist uncle!” she exclaimed happily. “Do you have, like, a lab?”

“I do. But you can’t go in there,” he stated.

“But why?!” It was Dipper who asked. He immediately regretted it, seemingly afraid by his daring behavior.

“Because,” Ford paused,” it’s too dangerous for little children. You can get hurt. But I can tell about what I’m studying and show some pictures,” he tried to compromise. Mabel seemed unimpressed, but Dipper’s face lit up.

“What are you studying?” he asked, gaining a little more confidence.

“Oh, you are invested, Dipper. That’s good. I’m studying anomalies.” He felt like he ought to praise the child to not let him lock up again.

“What’s anolamies?” Mabel asked, conflicted.

“They are called anomalies, Mabel. A-no-ma-lies. It’s about something strange, like…like,” Dipper stumbled. He really was smart for his age. What were those two, five?

“Like this,” Ford helped, showing his hand.

“Whoa, Uncle Ford! You have too many fingers!” Mabel whispered and touched his hand.

“Yes, six. On both hands. But people are supposed to have five fingers, right?” Children nodded. “Well, my hands are unique. It’s an anomaly,” he clarified.

“Is Dipper’s mark an anomaly?” Mabel asked.

“Um…I think so, yes. It’s quite strange to have the exact replica of a constellation on the forehead.”

“Dipper! You’re an anomaly! Just like Uncle Ford!” she claimed.

Dipper shied away, pulling his bangs down even more. Ford had to do something.

“Listen, Dipper, it’s nothing to be ashamed of. It makes you cooler, because there’s no one else just like you. Personally, I like your birthmark,” he said in the softest way possible.

“Really?” Dipper asked. “My friends made fun of me for it,” he admitted, still holding down his hair.

“Then they are no friends to you,” he stated. “Real friends wouldn’t have done so.”

Dipper lightened up a bit at his words.

“How old are you, children?” Ford asked.

“We’re five and a half! We’ll be six in the summer,” Mabel answered, puffing her chest.

“Oh, so you’re all grown up already. I’m twenty six, and my birthday is also in summer,” he informed.

“Wow, you’re old! You’re older than mom!”

Oh, yes, those kids were children of a teenager.

“And how old is your mother?”

“She’s twenty…twenty one?” Mabel wasn’t sure. Dipper nodded, confirming. Jesus, Shermie and his date were both sixteen.

“I miss my mom,” Mabel sadly remarked. “She made us cookies sometimes.”

Damn you, Shermie.

“I know. Maybe we can get you back to her.” Ford wasn’t sure he could or should do this. “Now, how about we go grab something to eat?”

He stood up, leading the children to the kitchen. There was a lone bag of instant noodles in the fridge.

“Um, are you hungry?” he asked tentatively. Children nodded. “Sorry, kids, but I don’t have much food. I think we have to go to the grocery shop first,” he suggested.

“Yay, a trip! I love shopping!” Mabel jumped up.

“Right. Do you have any warmer clothes?”

The children were dressed inappropriately for the weather. You cannot go into the snow wearing a sweater or a hoodie.

“Dad had our bags in the car. Didn’t he give them to you?” Dipper helped.

“Uh, no. I suppose he left them at the porch, I’ll go check.”

The bags were by the door indeed. Two small bags, too small to contain their every possession.

“Alright, here are your things. I, um, weren’t expecting guests, but I have an attic where you two would fit nicely, and a spare room closer to mine, but it’s gonna be a little cramped. Which do you choose?”

“The attic!” Mabel yelled.

“The room,” Dipper disagreed.

Ford rubbed the bridge his nose.

“I guess it can wait. Now, fish up your coats and we’ll head to the store. We’re going to have to go on foot though, I don’t have a car.”

Children ran excitedly to their bags and started shuffling through them, throwing clothes on the floor.

“Uncle Ford! I found my sketchbook! I forgot I packed it, can I show my pictures?” Mabel ran to him, a small notebook in hand. “Please, Uncle Ford?”

“Yes, sure. But we have to get something to eat first, Mabel, then I’ll be pleased to see your drawings,” he answered, patting her on the head.

What a sweet kid she was. How will he leave them alone in the house when he had to get back to work?

The children put on their coats, much loo light for this weather, Ford noticed, and stood at the door.

“We’re ready to conquer the grocery store!” Mabel cheered, opening the door. The cold wind blew in, bringing a couple of snowflakes into the cabin.

Ford had no fucking idea what children needed. Well, they did need some warmer clothes. Mabel picked a bright-pink puffy jacket, Dipper settled on the mat blue one. Good. Now, winter boots. It turned out to be far more difficult, since some were too big, others too small, in ones the toes were too cramped, in others the heel was rubbing too hard. After half an hour of pain and suffering, they managed to get a nice pair for both the children.

Good. Now actual food.

"Hey! Is that that mad scientist?" a woman asked, pointing at him.

"I s'pose," the other answered. "What was his name? Stanford Spruce or something?"

"This is my Uncle Ford," Mabel introduced him to the women. "And I'm Mabel, his niece. And that's Dipper, my brother," she explained.

"Oh, aren't you a little cutie potato?" The lady pinched her cheek. "You can call me Susan."

"Okay, Ms. Susan!"

"You've never told you had niblings, Mr. ...?" Susan turned to him, smiling compassionately.

"Pines. Stanford Pines. I...um...I wasn't exactly aware..." he admitted.

"Come on, Uncle Ford, can we have cereal? Please, please, please?" Mabel begged. He couldn’t be more thankful.

"Sure, sweetie. Dipper, do you want anything in particular?" he asked.

Dipper frowned for a second, considering his odds.

"Mm, could you please get my some toffee peanuts?" he asked carefully. Ford winced, but Dipper didn’t seem to notice.

"He loves those! Mom never used to buy us anything tasty though," Mabel remarked, her expression dropping again.

"Oh, you cute adorable little poor babies!" Susan interrupted. "I'll ask the shop owners to give you snacks for free, 'cause you are too adorable to pay!" She laughed and left.

"You...you don't have to, it's fine," Ford tried to stop her, but she waved him off.

Ford was not the best cook, but he received no complaints at his horrendous parody of pancakes.

“Thanks, Uncle Ford.” Dipper pushed his empty plate away. “Um, can I ask you something?”

“Of course. What is it?”

Caring for children was stressful. Yes, he only was with them for less than a day, but he couldn’t bring himself to think of the potential expenses. They children were needy, they were expensive, and he had work to do. He hasn’t touched his research for an entire day, Bill will probably be mad at him for that.

“How long are we staying here?” asked Dipper.

“Um, I am not exactly sure. I…I will figure it out and tell you tomorrow, okay?”

“Okay. But, Uncle Ford, I have to talk to you alone,” he glanced at Mabel, who was pretending not to listen.

“Of course, how about we go to the living room for a moment? Mabel, we’ll be back soon.”

She solemnly nodded.

“Uncle Ford, you can’t call our mother. I…We love her, but she’s not good. Mabel won’t agree, but…”

Dipper was exceptionally smart for his age.

“Why can’t I call her? Did she hurt you?”

“No, no, but she doesn’t have money. I…I don’t know, but she said something that we couldn’t live in our apartment and she needed to call our dad, but dad also can’t keep us,” he explained.

“Does she have a job?”

“I…yes, but she works at night, she said she was…something about helping men overcome their problems, I don’t really remember,” he stumbled.

Oh. Oh. Yes, he wasn’t going to call their mother.

Ford sighed, “I see. Okay, I’m not going to call her. Now, let’s go back and get your sister. It’s already late, you should probably go to bed.”

“I’m going to be working during the night, in the basement. If you need me, you should go through this door, but don’t come down the stairs. I repeat, don’t come down the stairs,” he made his voice stern. “Just shout if you need something.”

The children nodded. Now they needed to choose the room. He was going to need help. With his work, there was no time for two children, and he didn’t want them to be neglected either. The choice of who to call was scarce. Fiddleford already had a family, a toddler of his own, he couldn’t burden him with another pair; Ma was living with Pa, who didn’t approve of the children, and Pa wasn’t the right choice. After all, he…Well, it left him with Stanley. God knew where that bastard was, but he, perhaps, could spare some time for his newfound niblings.

Whoever was coming, they would need a room.

“I think you can stay in the attic for now, because the spare room will be hopefully occupied soon,” he told the kids.

“Who’s coming?” Mabel asked, intrigued.

“That’s a secret. Now, upstairs we go!”

He put on his collected expression as he started up the stairs dramatically. Ford felt like he was leading a mission.

“Uncle Ford, you promised to tell about your work,” Dipper reminded as Ford set up their beds.

“Oh, yes, yes, would you like me to read out from my journal to you? I keep my experiences documented.”

“Yes! Please, Uncle Ford!” Dipper was clearly very excited.

Ford took out the journal from his pocket and started reading. The twins crawled to him from both sides to see the pictures better.

“Wow, Uncle Ford, you’re really good at drawing! Can you teach me?” Mabel asked.

“I think I can show you some, sweetie, but I haven’t taught anyone how to draw,” he hesitated.

“I think you’ll be a great teacher! I really, really like your pictures! The gnomes are so-o-o cute,” she cooed.

“Does this actually exist?” Dipper pointed at the gremloblin picture.

“Yes, of course it does. But it’s quite dangerous,” Ford remarked earnestly.

He continued reading for twenty more minutes, until Mabel was sound asleep and Dipper was getting drowsy too.

Chapter Text

Ford was nervously fiddling with the phone cord. Who was he to call? He didn’t have Stanley’s number.

"Look out, citizens of Gravity Falls!" said the radio, "There is a big storm-blizzard coming our way. Shut your doors and wait it out inside!"

Oh, cool. He needed to decide, and fast. Fingers began to dial Ma's number on their own.

"Hello. Who is this?"

He hasn't heard her voice in so long.

"Ma, hello. This is Ford." He found his voice trembling a little.

"Ford? Oh my god, Ford! I haven't heard from you in so long, baby! How are you? Has something happened?"

"No, Ma, I'm fine. I was just wondering...Well, first, how are you? And Pa? I know I haven't called in a while, sorry."

How long has it been, a year?

"Oh, we're fine. Filbrick still runs his business. Just like before, but...me miss you too. Shermie still lives here with his wife, but it's really not the same without you two around," she said longingly.

"I'm sorry, Ma. I will try to make some time to visit you when it's a bit warmer, I promise. I've been meaning to ask you something, actually."

He knew that was the one promise he likely couldn't keep.

"What was it, Ford?"

"Do you, by any chance, have Stan's number? Do you know where he is?"

"He called me just a few days ago from California. I have a phone number from the motel he's been staying at, but I'm not sure if he's still there. You need that number?"

Oh, thank God.

"Yes! Yes, I do. Thank you, Ma."

Why the hell was Stan staying in a motel? Well, that didn’t matter.

Ma was sad to say goodbye so soon, but he needed to get to Stan before it was too late. Ford waited anxiously as the beeps were coming from the phone, yet no one was picking up.

"Hello, this is Canto Motel. How may I help you?" Finally, the young woman answered the phone.

"Hello!" Ford didn’t expect his voice to be so harsh. "Do you have a guest under the name of Stanley Pines?"

"Mm...let me check," she said, ruffling some papers. "I'm afraid not. Only Stan Pinnacle."

Dang. Was that another person? Has Stanley already left? Or did he change his name?

"Oh, I must have it misspelled. Sorry, could you get him for me?"

The woman agreed and left Ford hanging for a few long, long minutes.

"Hello? Who is this?"

He knew that voice. Oh, he knew that voice.

"Stanley..." he managed. It had been nine long years, but he remembered that voice.

"Who..Who is that?" he asked, clearly not thrilled to hear his real name.

"It's Ford." He heard Stan draw in a loud breath. "Can you, please, come? It's a very urgent matter. I know we separated not on the best terms, but I don’t know who else to call, and I..."

"Where are you?" Stan interrupted.

"Gravity Falls, Oregon."

"Oregon...I'll be there in six hours."

"Could you, please, grab some groceries for us?" He asked, rushing, but Stan has already hung up.

So, it went well.

At least, Stan was coming. He was coming to his home after nine years of holding grudges. He didn’t argue or question; he just agreed. And he was in another state. So he immediately agreed to drop everything and rush to him at his first call. Ford couldn't say he would have done the same for Stanley, but he decided not to think about this peculiar conversation too much. He had work to do. His greatest invention was almost ready.

"Uncle Ford! Uncle Ford! Wake up!"

What? How was screaming in his ears at this ungodly hour? Who let children into his lab?

"Wha-who?" he stirred, rubbing his eyes.

"There’s someone at the door. A man. He’s been calling for you for like half an hour!" Dipper took his hands and tried to pull him upwards.

"What time is it?" He stood, straightening his coat.

"I don’t know! It’s still dark," he informed, tugging his sleeve nervously.

He must have fallen asleep at his desk. Why didn’t Bill show up?

"Okay, calm down. Whoever it is, I can handle them," he reassured.

Grabbing his crossbow and placing Dipper behind him, he walked upstairs.

It was silent. No one was banging on the door. Only the wind swished outside furiously. Relief washed over him this instant.

"It must have been a dream, Dipper; there’s no one at the door," Ford sighed. Well, at least the boy woke him. He didn’t have the luxury of sleeping for so long.

"But there was! I’m sure there was! Please, check the porch!" the boy insisted.

"Okay." Ford unlocked the door and reached for the doorknob. "See, no one there," he pointed to the open door, sure of his statement.

Dipper screamed.

"Hey, hey, calm down, kid, I’m not gonna hurt ya. Am I at the wrong house or what?" Stanley threw his arms up as he rose to his feet. "No, I’m not. Ford!"

Oh. He had completely forgotten about that.

"Stanley! You came!" Ford exclaimed happily, but the smile fell from his face immediately. Right, he shouldn’t be thrilled. He called Stan only because he couldn’t possibly handle two kids alone.

"Yeah, of course I did. Now let me in, it’s cold," he shoved his brother to the side, entering the shack. Well, there was a blizzard starting outside. "Nice place ya got here, Sixer. An entire house for yerself. And a child, apparently."

"That’s what I needed you for. Dipper, don’t worry about this man," Ford reached down to the boy, "he’s my brother, Stanley."

"You have a twin too?" Dipper inquired.

"There’s two kids?!" Stan exclaimed.

"Yes, Dipper. Yes, Stan. I think we can sort everything out in the morning, it’s still late, Dipper, why don’t you go back to bed? I’ll organize a proper introduction in the morning."

Dipper silently retreated to the stairs, glancing cautiously at Stan.

"I think ya have some explaining to do, Poindexter," Stan turned to him, frowning.

"I understand. It was abrupt when I called you. Just a day ago, Shermie came here without a warning." Ford saw Stan’s eyes widen, but he didn’t interrupt. "He had two children with him, Dipper, whom you just saw, and Mabel. I reckon you’ve figured they’re twins. Shermie’s children."

"What? But they’re like six or somethin’."

"Five and a half, actually. They have been living with their mother, which I figured wasn’t the best place for them to stay. Their mother is a twenty-one year old prostitute, and Shermie refuses to keep them," he sighed.

"But why? I don’t remember that he had a particular attitude. But it was a long time ago…"

"He said something about his wife being jealous, but then admitted that Pa will kick him out if he doesn’t get rid of the kids."

Stan winced hard.

"Pa has gone crazy. So the kids are with you now?"

"I’m afraid so. They are very likeable, but I don’t quite have the time to care for them. That’s why I called you. I have to continue my work, and it’s time-consuming, thus I need your help." Ford looked hopefully at his brother.

"I…I’m an uncle? Wow. That’s news. But, Ford, I don’t," he rubbed the back of his neck, looking away, "I don’t really have anywhere to stay," he admitted.

"I figured you wouldn’t own any property here. I have a spare room, but if you don’t want to live with me, you can rent something in town. I will understand if you don’t want to stay, but I don’t have anyone else I can trust."

"Oh, thanks, Poinexter. I’ll go with the room. Gotta keep an eye on the kids at night while you’re working, right? You look like hell, by the way," Stan pointed out. He was his usual annoying self. Oh, how Ford wished Fiddleford would have been available.

"Thank you. As you’ve mentioned, I have to get back to work. Suit yourself, Stanley."

"Really, Sixer? You call me after nine years of separation, and you’re just going to leave like that?" Stan stood up.

"What else do you want, a kiss on the cheek? I’ve called you just to help with the children. Preferredably, I would want you to take them to your place, but I see it’s not an option," he replied, keeping his tone cold.

Stan winced again, but regained his confidence quickly.

"Give me a chance to speak then," he demanded.

"No. Listen, I need to get back to work. We’ll talk later. And don’t mess with the kids, please, call me when they’re up."

Whatever it was, it had to wait. No more delays.

"Right. I’ve brought you groceries since you asked. They’re in the bag," he kicked a rather huge bundle at his feet and turned to walk away.

"Thank you," Ford deadpanned. He didn’t expect Stan to hear his request or bother fulfilling it. "How much do I owe you?"

"Don’t bother," his brother replied flatly, heading into the house with the bag, which, Ford guessed, contained his belongings.

Stanley, apparently, has bought some beer, snacks—oh, typical—and a lot of food that doesn’t spoil quickly: dry pasta, grains, canned meat. That was considerate of him, at least. With the storm coming, they could use some stock.

A tiny flake of guilt pierced him. Stan clearly didn’t want to fight, but he hadn’t given him the chance to speak. No, no, it wasn’t important, Bill was important right now.

He headed into the basement.

When he came up from the lab in the early morning, the wind had only gotten stronger. The blizzard was full-blown outside the window, but it was still warm in the house. It usually felt cold and unwelcoming during those dark, snowy days with no lights on and no heating. But the yellow kitchen light, a lone lightbulb hanging from the ceiling, was burning brightly, giving the room a warm stint.

"Hi, Uncle Ford! Did you sleep alright?" The twins sitting at the table together greeted him. Mabel had sheets of paper and a couple of crayons before her, and Dipper was flicking through…his journal? He must have forgotten it in the attic. Wait, what were the children doing up? They didn’t call him.

"Good morning, kids. I slept alright, what about you? How do you like the attic?"

"It’s great! Wait until I put up my pictures, and it’s gonna be sooo cozy there," Mabel cheered. "Can I put up my pictures?"

"Of course, Mabel." She screamed excitedly. "What would you two like for breakfast?" Children shrugged. "How about fried eggs?"

Receiving an affirmation. Ford got to the stove. Eggs, eggs. How to fry them? Get a pan first. Did he have a pan? There, in the cabinet. Maybe it was a little rusty, but it was a pan. Definitely a pan. Now, eggs. Two? Three? Three will be enough for two kids. Okay, now crack the eggs into a pan. Or preheat a pan? Why was this so complicated?

"Do you know how to fry eggs, Uncle Ford?" Mabel asked, peeking from behind him.

"I…have never done it before, but I can manage," he admitted.

"Oooh, Uncle Ford, you’re old and you don’t know how to fry eggs? You first put a pan on the heat. Then you take the eggs and crack them onto a hot pan. You add salt and enjoy!" She explained. The kid, the five-year-old, knew how to fry eggs. "Hey, three eggs are not enough for four people! At least take six."

"Four people? You sure have the appetite."

"I thought you were smart, Uncle Ford," Mabel said, disappointed. "There’s me - it’s one, there’s Dipper - it’s two, there’s you – it’s three, there’s Uncle Stanley – it’s four," she counted.

Oh, right. He needed to eat too. And where the hell was Stanley?

"Oh, I suppose you’re right, smart girl. Okay, I’ll take six. Thank you for helping, Mabel."

He did as instructed. His first ever fried eggs turned out to be a little burnt, but nonetheless edible.

"Anytime, Uncle Ford. Where is Uncle Stanley? Is he going to eat with us?"

He did not know. Well, it was still pretty early, he might be sleeping. He told the children to remain in the kitchen and went to fetch his brother. If he had called for him, he had to face him, no matter how he felt about it. After receiving no response upon knocking on the door, he entered the room he had left spare. Sure, Stanley was there, snoring on the bunk. The insanely dirty clothes were scattered across the floor, and the bag lay open. The very same bag Pa had given him nine years ago. No, nope, no dwelling. Stan decided not to return. Period. Full stop. Time for breakfast.

"Stan! Wake up!" He called loudly, but no response came. Ford shook his shoulder. "Stanley! Breakfast is ready!"

Stan grumbled and stirred.

"Sixer? The hell?"

"Get dressed. We’re in the kitchen; there’s breakfast," he spat and walked away, leaving Stan confused.

Stan emerged from the hall when Ford was discussing the Journal with Dipper quietly, and Mabel resorted back to her drawings.

"Good morning, kids, Ford. Where’s the promised breakfast?" He asked cheerfully.

Ford gestured to the stove without lifting his head.

"Oh, thanks, Sixer. Burnt cold eggs, yum," he rubbed his hands together in anticipation.

After inhaling his eggs, Stan turned to the kids, who politely hadn’t paid any attention to him before.

"Young lady, good sir, name’s Stan, not Stanley, please. And yours are... Dipper and Mabel?" he remembered.

"Actually," Mabel remarked, "Dipper’s name is Mason, but we call him Dipper ‘cause he has Big Dipper on his forehead."

"Oh, really? Let me see, kid!" Stan reached out for Dipper’s hair.

The boy hissed and pulled back.

"Sorry, sorry," Stan threw up his arms, "I get it; you don’t wanna show me. You know, I have quite an unusual mark too," he tried to lighten the mood.

"Are you also an anomaly?" Mabel asked, putting her crayons away.

"Huh? Nah, it’s Ford who is an anomalistic nerd. I got it in a really cool fight," he pulled up his shirt, showing a huge scar going from the base of his spine to the shoulder blade.

"Wow, you’re badass, Uncle Stan! Who were you fighting?" Mabel reached out to touch his scar, and Dipper seemed interested too.

"Once, a long time ago, I was traveling through a dark, huge forest," he began, putting on a mysterious expression. "I stopped at night to stretch and sleep, but as soon as I got out of the car," he paused dramatically, "the huge werewolf jumped out of the woods!" The children gasped, now both invested in a story. "He was enormous and very angry! He clawed at my back, but your Uncle Stan isn’t some wuss! I got my brass knuckles and a bat and began hitting him on the head until he ran back to the forest like a coward!"

"Is that true?" Dipper asked skeptically.

"Of course it is! Do you not believe in werewolves? You can ask Ford; he knows everything about this kind of stuff," Stan huffed.

The children turned to Ford.

"Yes, the werewolves exist," he sighed, "but…"

Stan didn’t give him a chance to continue. "See? I’m telling the truth!"

"You’re cool! I’ll draw you fighting that werewolf!" Mabel practically yelled.

"You can draw? I’m impressed, kid," he patted her on the head. "Can I see your pictures?"

Mabel beamed and ran to the attic to fetch her sketchbook.

"Stan, can we talk for a minute?" Ford turned to him, stone-faced.

"Sure thing, Sixer. What is it?"

Ford led him to the living room, away from Dipper.

"Stanley, you can’t just show children scars," he pinched his eyebrows, "they come from a very unhealthy family; what if you trigger something? And a werewolf? Seriously?"

"Whoa, bro, it’s not like I did any harm! They enjoyed the story; I distracted Dipper from his acne or whatever." Stan backed away.

"Why did you try to touch him in the first place? It was very reckless of you," Ford scolded.

"Listen, I didn’t know! I apologized, I won’t do it again, I’m not some kind of abusive jerk!" he defended.

"Okay, just be careful, please. Where did you really get that scar?"

"I told you it was a fight. Mabel’s probably waiting for me with her pictures, can’t ignore the kid. Cheers, Ford," he saluted and left back to the kitchen.

He promised Mabel he would look at her drawings yesterday but never did. Granted, Mabel didn’t remind him, but he should have remembered himself. Ford cradled his head, huffing tiredly, and returned to the kitchen.

Chapter Text

Stan sat between the children, flipping through the pages of Mabel’s sketchbook. "Whoa, what’s that? A giant squirrel?" he asked, pointing at one page. Dipper giggled, and Mabel explained, in righteous frustration, that no, it was a lion with a fox tail.

"Can I see your pictures too?" Ford tried to join in.

"Absolutely!" Mabel chimed. "Here is a picture of a giant shark destroying the ship," she pointed at something that looked like a shark only if you squint your eyes, jump, and shake your head at the same time. But she’s a child, and she’s trying.

They looked at the pictures for a solid half an hour, laughing occasionally, when Mabel described a particularly silly one. At the last page, Ford found himself with a hand on Stan’s shoulder for support as he crouched down to see the drawing of a woodpecker closer. He lingered for a second, exhausting everything he could from this contact, and stepped away.

"Mabel, you’re a genius. I have never seen someone with an imagination so rich as yours!" Stan pulled her into a tight hug, and Mabel laughed.

"Thanks, Uncle Stan! Uncle Ford," she turned to him, "you promised you would teach me to draw better. Will you? Please, please, please!" She tugged at his sleeve.

"Yes, of course I can show you some things. Come, I can show you how to draw…hm, an owl, perhaps?" he suggested.

"Yes! You kind of look like an owl yourself," she remarked. "I can draw you as an owl!"

Mabel rushed off to fetch some more paper. Ford shot a warning look to Stan – what was he warning him of? – and turned to the table.

"So, Dipper, what are you good at?" Stan asked, stretching his arms.

"I…I don’t know," the boy hesitated. "I can count well."

"Math, um. Could be real helpful, you know. Come on, what’s two plus three?"

"Five! Uncle Stan, this is easy." Dipper looked a bit smug.

"Oh, so you’re very smart, huh? At your age, I couldn’t even count properly! But if you’re so smart... what’s five times three?"

"Fifteen. This is also easy." Dipper’s grin grew wider.

"Dang, kid, you’re brilliant!" Stan patted his shoulder. "But I bet you can’t solve this one. What’s four divided by eight?"

"One half. Come on, uncle, give something harder!"

"Since you’re so eager to prove that you’re a nerd…what’s two eighths plus one sixth?" he said mischievously. Stan was absolutely sure Dipper could solve that question, maybe with a piece of paper, but the kid seemed to take after Ford big time. Dipper sat quietly for a while, his eyes focused on something within.

"Five over twelve. Is that right?" he finally gave an answer.

"Wow, kid!" Stan pretended to fall out of the chair. "I’m really impressed. I don’t know if that’s true, you should go ask Ford, he knows Math. But I have a feeling you’re correct."

Dipper couldn’t seem to be happier.

"I also know how to read!" he announced proudly.

"Damn, we have another nerd in the family," Stan reached out to shuffle his hair, but hesitated and threw an arm around Dipper’s shoulders instead. "Ford was like that too. Knew a lo-o-ot of Math before school, even some things that you’ll learn in high school. Used to help me with everything. Ah, good times," Stan reminisced longingly. Ford was usually the one to do homework for both of them during ground school, middle school, part of…The principal’s been right. He couldn’t finish high school without Ford. Maybe for different reasons to be exact, but still.

"Where do you live now?" Dipper asked, dragging him out of his thoughts.

"I’m a nomad, kid. The whole world’s my home." Where did he live? His car? Or Ford’s house now?

"You’re a nomad? Can you tell some cool nomad stories?"

He sure could. Living on the streets and changing his identity every couple of months made him really good at inventing stuff.

"Alright, listen. One time I was at the beach, just laying in the sun and relaxing," he began, "but then one beautiful lady came to me and said ‘Hello, stranger! I was wondering if you’re free tonight so we could hit the bar’," he said in a high-pitched voice. "Of course I was free, and the lady really was stunning, so I agreed. She had beautiful long blonde hair and really big gold earrings. She also had a black umbrella, which I thought was funny, but who knows, maybe she didn’t wanna get tanned or something. We went to the bar for a couple of drinks, and she offered me to go for a walk. It was already dark outside, but still warm, so why not? As we were walkin’ down some lane, she stopped and pulled something out of her pocket. This something reflected the moonlight, so I recognized a knife! Can you believe it, she was about to stab me just out of the blue! I was kinda confused, and she was fast, so she attacked me, and the blade cut my neck a bit. But I quickly found my feet and yanked the knife from her! I expected her to run away, but she came closer and just pressed her mouth to the cut on my neck and began sucking my blood. Yup, turns out she was a vampire! I don’t really remember how I got away, but good thing I had a silver pocket knife with me. So, that’s that, don’t trust women."

"Wow, I’ve seen something about vampires in Uncle Ford’s journals! But they don’t look like beautiful women, they are scary!" Dipper shivered.

"Maybe it was another kind of a vampire. I don’t know, kid; you should ask Ford about it."

"But you didn’t kill her, did you? Silver kills vampires."

"Don’t worry, Dipper; she’s fine. I just scared her off."

"You tell great stories, Uncle Stan! You’re brave," Dipper concluded, staring at him in admiration.

"Yeah, yeah, that’s just my life," Stan waved him off. "Now, go check on your sister and that owl, won’t you?"

Dipper ran off, and Stan sighed, sinking back into the chair. He could hear a quiet conversation from the living room: Dipper asking about vampires and Maths, and Mabel consulting Ford about her owl. This place felt like home, it truly did. With two little monsters around and his brother being all soft with them, there was only Ford alone with him, who felt distant and indifferent. Did he really not care for what Stan’s been up to for those nine long years? He didn’t even let him speak. Ford had called him to take care of the children, but with such protectiveness, Stan was a bit useless here. How long would he be allowed to stay? It might be just several days, or it might be a week, or a month, or a year, or forever…But, knowing his luck, it would probably be a few hours. He really needed to use the time he had to re-establish their relationship. He apologized to Ford so many times in his head, but never got a chance to actually do it. Well, whatever, just the apology wasn’t going to cut it. It’s not like Ford was going to just forgive him for ruining his life in an instant. But, hey, what did he have to lose? It will be lonelier than before without the kids, who, he had to admit, were indeed loveable, but he’ll manage. He managed before, and he will again.

"Yes, like that, those would be the wings," Ford instructed quietly, guiding Mabel through her work. Dipper sat nearby, his nose buried in some red book with a six-fingered hand on it. Must be that journal he mentioned. As much as Stan needed to talk to Ford, his brother was clearly busy, and Stan couldn’t do this to Mabel. Besides, he noticed the kitchen was super dusty, so it would be best to clean it a bit to avoid yuck in the children’s food. This conversation could wait until another time, yes. Definitely.

While Mabel was enchanting and Dipper was certainly interesting to talk to, Ford had other things to do. He didn’t call Stanley for nothing, after all. Dipper seemed okay with Stan, and Mabel loved everyone, so maybe he could head back to the basement. He excused himself, took his journal—earning a pleading expression from Dipper, which was extremely hard to ignore—clutched the owl picture Mabel gave him, and left the room.

The lab welcomed him with the gentle hum of the devices. Ford pinned the picture near his desk, sat down, and closed his eyes.

Long time no see, Fordsy! What have you been up to?

"Ugh, Bill, family matters. Figured out I had a niece and a nephew. Sorry, I was a bit busy with them, but no more delays, I promise."

That’s good, for I’m patient, but not that patient. The kids and your brother are holding you back, Sixer.

"Yeah, I guess so…Wait, you know about my brother?"

Of course I do. I know everything, haven’t you noticed? Your brother is far…less smart than you, to put it mildly. He has already ruined your life once, and he’d do it again. And the kids…What were you thinking, Fordsy? You’re putting them in great danger.

"You’re right as always. I can’t endanger the children. And about Stanley…yes, yes, you’re right. But what should I do? They have nowhere to go."

Are you a mother-hen? Since when has your house become a foster home? Just put the children up for adoption or return them to your father, and Stanley will be fine on his own!

"WHAT? No. I can’t do that to the kids, I can’t. They are my family."

Okay, okay, gotcha. Sorry, Sixer, didn’t realize you care about them so much. Well, let’s get to work, shall we?

"Yes. Don’t suggest something like this again, Bill. You are my friend, but they are my family. You don’t get it."

Alright, alright, can it already. Now, about this formula…

Chapter Text

"Uncle Stan, what are you doing?" Mabel peered from behind his leg. Ford must have run off to do his sciency things, leaving the children on him. Well, Stan didn’t mind, not at all. It was far better than being alone.

"Cleaning the gross kitchen, pumpkin. Looks like Ford is some kind of nerd-vampire; he only eats Math of whatever," he sighed, drawing the kids’ attention to all of the mess in a broad gesture.

"We’re hungry," she complained. "Can you make us something?"

"Sure, whatcha want? Gotta warn ya, I’m not the best cook."

"Whatever we have, but, please, please, not fish! I hate fish!" Mabel wrinkled her nose.

"I don’t even think we have any fish. You two, wanna help me with cooking?" Occupy the kids. Occupy yourself. Don’t think.

"Sure! Dipper, come here!"

"Alrighty, what do we have in the fridge…Milk, cheese, canned meat, – why are instant noodles in the fridge? – bread…Looks like we can go with grilled cheese, whatcha say?" Stan suggested inspecting the contents of the refrigerator. Good thing he stole bought all of that, with the storm outside, venturing out was a no-no.

"Dipper! Get the grater! Mabel! Slap the cheese on the bread!" he ordered, throwing the bread, pre-packaged slices, and a block of cheese on the table. They got to work. Stan put the pan on the stovetop, sliced the bread, Mabel unpacked the cheese, and Dipper grated the solid block, sticking his tongue out a bit, hence his determination. It took them just a few minutes to put together the whole eight sandwiches, which now crackled on the heat, while the crew relaxed, each with a soda in hand.

It has just been a few hours since they ate, but Stan could not look at food remaining untouched, no matter how hungry—or not hungry—he was. God knows when’s the next time he’ll eat, might as well stock up just in case.

"Uncle Stan, aren’t we going to leave some for Uncle Ford?" Dipper asked tentatively.

"Oh, right, got a little distracted. We have made grilled cheese so delicious that it’s hard not to eat it all at once! There, why don’t you give this to Ford?" He showed a plate with one and a half sandwiches remaining in Dipper’s hands.

"He’s in the basement, and he doesn’t let us come down there," Dipper resisted.

"Ugh, what a nerd. Alright, kids, Imma go give that knucklehead some food and you two try not to burn the house down. I’ll be back in a minute." He needed that grilled cheese eaten. Out of sight, out of mind. Ford has enough food and money, – probably – he’s not going to be starving, it’s better not to overeat.

"Ford! Sixer! We made lunch, come out of your ca- WHAT THE FUCK?!"

Ford stood there, writing something on the whiteboard, talking to himself. No, not to himself, it was someone who looked like Ford talking to Ford, who himself was nowhere to be seen. Another Ford turned to him and stared for a second. His eyes were yellow. It looked like Ford was either jaundiced and off the rails or… possessed.

"Come on, what’s going on? Snap out of it!" Stan snapped his fingers a couple of times in front of Ford’s nose.

Oh, you must be Stanley. Name’s Bill Cipher. You see, there’s nothing to be alarmed about; I’m just helping your brother with his studies, ‘s all.

It was fucking terrifying to see Ford opening his mouth, but another person speaking. And this person didn’t sound like an honest one.

"Bill Cipher…Are you a demon or something?"

Hey, rude. I’m a muse.

The hell he was.

"Strange name for a muse ya got. Whatever, muse, I’m not interfering with your science stuff, but why are you helping my brother?"

He’s just my friend, that’s all. Besides, he’s smart and keen, so why not help the bright mind a bit?

"Look, I may look dumb, but I’ve read some Greek mythology, and I’m pretty sure everyone’s the bad guy there. You aren’t helping him just because you’re kind, or…you just aren’t a muse."

Well, I didn’t say I was a Greek muse. No ill intentions here, Stanley, let us finish our work. Trust me, you don’t wanna be in our way.

Ford-Bill turned around to the whiteboard, blocking Stan off. Bill…he changed his nature halfway through. Muses don’t possess people; demons do. And demons aren’t the kindest. Since when does he think that demons are just a casual thing casually existing?

"Sure, sure, but I don’t see something like this everyday; you've gotta understand. Ford is truly smart, I’ll give you that, but really, what benefits does it give you to help him with his complicated biology?"

This isn't some biology, Stanley. It’s going to be the greatest of all humanity—something huge, something that will change the science forever! You don't understand.

Well, he got enough.

"Tell Ford I left grilled cheese here and tell him to be upstairs for dinner, Cipher. You’re weird."

He knows a conman when he sees one. Bill is definitely one of them. Greatest achievement of humanity? Bill clearly wasn't a human. No way had he cared about humanity's achievements. Whatever was going on with Ford, he had to find out as soon as he could.

The twins were playing some weird board game they found tucked away in the corner of the attic. Something like snakes and ladders, but weirder.

"Who do you like more?" Mabel asked. "Uncle Ford or Uncle Stan?"

"I don’t know. I mean, Uncle Ford showed me the most amazing things! I can’t wait to see them in person. Can you believe it, there are gnomes, and zombies, and vampires, and pumpkins that are alive! But Stan is also cool, he has fought a vampire and a werewolf."

"Yeah…I also don’t know. I mean, Uncle Ford is nice, but he’s always in the lab, and now Uncle Stan has gone there too…Do you think he’s also a scientist?" Mabel rolled the dice. "Ugh, I miss a move. Stupid game."

"No, he told me he was a nomad. I hope he stays here though." Dipper sighed. "This place is weird. But nice." He took his turn with the dice. "Ha! Yes! I win!"

"Not fair!" Mabel exclaimed.

"Fair. This is just luck!"

"Not fair! You cheated!"

"What? I didn’t cheat! How do you even cheat at this?" Dipper huffed.

"I don’t know, you stuck a piece of gum on your dice or whatever! Nerd!" She poked him.

"Hey! I’m not a nerd!" He threw a die at Mabel.

"Yes, you are! Even Uncle Stan says so!" Mabel threw the die back.

The rest of the day passed fairly peacefully, with the twins playing together in the attic, Ford in the basement, and Stanley in the house. Stan was determined to get this place into a reasonable condition; with all that dust lying around, it was no place for children. Only sweeping the floor took a whole hour; just one round wasn’t going to cut it. There was also dinner to make, dishes to wash, and a shitload of papers, books, chewed pens, and notepads to sort out. By the end of the day, Stan felt unimaginably sorry for women. Granted, the whole house was a bigger mess than the average house with a normal family in it, but still, ow, his back hurt.

He and the kids bullied Ford into coming upstairs for dinner. He didn’t seem pleased, but nonetheless obeyed, pushing some peculiar piece of metal he’s been working on aside. Dipper flooded Ford with questions, though the majority of those Ford dodged, but, apart from that, they ate their mashed potatoes in silence. Tense silence. As soon as the children were out of the door for the evening cartoon episode on the TV, Ford turned to Stan with an annoyed expression.

"What is it, Stanley? You keep giving me that side-eye."

Ugh, is he just going to deny that he was being possessed?

"Take a guess, Sixer. What the actual fuck?"

"I’m afraid I don’t understand what you are talking about." Yup, denial.

"You were possessed. That’s what I’m talking about." Ford opened his mouth to protest or come up with an excuse, but Stan interrupted him, "Yes, you were. Who is Bill Cipher? What is he doing with your body?"

"Why won’t you stay out of my business? Bill is my friend, we’re working together."

"He has also told me so, but that’s not true, and you know it, Sixer."

"I have no idea what you mean. He helps me with research, and I provide him with a body in return. I don’t think that’s any of your concern."

"Of course it is! You know who possesses bodies?! Demons! This is not good, Sixer; I don’t trust the guy!" Stan snapped. So, there were conditions involved, just as he suspected. And not very good conditions.

"Just because you don’t trust him, doesn’t mean I shouldn’t either! You stay out of this! Stay out of my life!" Ford rose to his feet. Stan flinched.

"I know I’ve made mistakes, but I have a bad feeling about this; you have to listen! Who do you trust more; that random demon possessing you or your brother?!"

"It’s ‘whom’. Give me a reason to trust you. Bill has given me plenty."

Ford walked out of the kitchen. Like that. How unbelievably stupid Stan was. To think that Ford will listen to him. That he trusted him. That he called him because he wanted to mend their relationship. Yeah, right, he had just wanted someone to babysit kids. At least Ford hadn’t thrown them out on the street.

Didn’t Sixer have anyone besides him to care for children? He probably assumed Stan had a house to host the kids, but alas. If Ford wanted him out of his life, Stan could do it, but what would happen to the little gremlins? Mother was still alive and well; the kids could stay with her. Though father…was not the best choice, but definitely better than him and Ford. Ford and him. Whatever. It was a huge mistake to come here in the first place.

The storm was still raging outside the window.

Chapter Text

"Uncle Ford, where’s Stan?" Mabel asked at the table in the morning.

"I don’t know, Mabel, maybe you should go check his room? He has never been a morning person," Ford replied and shoved more cereal into his mouth. Damn, he hadn’t felt that great in a long time, eating three times a day could do wonders.

Mabel hopped off a chair and ran to Stan’s room. To the guest room. Yup, guest room. Dipper stirred his cereal sleepily.

"He’s not there! Uncle Ford, he’s not there!"  Mabel came running back. "UNCLE STAN!" she shouted.

"Hey, don’t panic, sweetie, I’m sure he’s either somewhere in the house or has gone for a walk," Ford reassured, shoving his thoughts away. He did tell Stan he wanted him to stay out of his life yesterday.

"But there’s a blizzard! Who goes for a walk in the blizzard?" She cocked her head.

"Fair point. Still, he’s a grown man, I’m sure he’s fine. Now, finish your cereal. I… have to go work some more, please, tell me, if Stan doesn’t show up in an hour." Ford retrieved, leaving children to their own devices. It was probably a mistake, but he had to consult Bill about the matter. It was very unthoughtful of him to call for Stan; he saw that he couldn’t just live with him after everything. But the question remained: who was to take care of the kids? Stan was good with them; he had to give him that; he had also cleaned the whole house, which was also considerable. Still, the sheer presence of Stanley disturbed him greatly, the mix of anger and guilt poking at him every time he looked at his brother.

"Did you hear the yelling yesterday? Between Uncles?" Mabel asked quietly, pushing her cereal aside.

"Yes. But I didn’t really understand what they were arguing about." Dipper continued to stir the milk.

"Me neither, but I heard something about demons and that Ford wants Stan out of here. I… do you think Stan left?" Mabel sniffed a bit.

"No, no, I don’t think so. I’m sure he’ll be back," Dipper shifted closer to her.

"The cereal is soggy," Mabel complained. There was an extra bowl they prepared for Stan, which remained untouched. "Is it going to be like with mom? Like when she argued and we left?"

"I’m sure not. I mean, Uncle Stan isn’t Ford’s boyfriend," Dipper shrugged.

"Ew, Dipper!" she laughed through the unreleased tears.

"Look, let’s go search the house for Stan if you’ll feel better when we find him," he suggested.

While the cabin looked fairly small from the outside, it was ginormous on the inside. The twins inspected the living room carefully, occasionally shouting for Stan, but he wasn’t there, so they moved on to Ford’s bedroom. Unsure of whether they were prohibited from there, they quickly searched the room. It was filled to the brim with books and some devices, and a huge painting of the ship was hung up on the wall. Basically dragging Dipper out, away from the nerd stuff, Mabel sprinted to Stan’s corner. He wasn’t there either. Or in the bathroom, or in the storage room, or in the attic. He wasn’t in the house.

"Let’s call Uncle Ford," Dipper agreed. Mabel’s anxiety passed to him as they searched with no luck. Mabel had always had a gut feeling, while he had the logic. And by logic, this wasn’t good either. When a person disappears after an argument and when it’s a blizzard, there is nothing good, even if they are an adult. Dipper remembered the time their mother argued with her boyfriend like that in the winter. Even if New Jersey wasn’t as cold as Oregon, it still wasn’t pleasant, to spend a whole day on the street, in the snow. The cuddle pile in a hotel room was nice, but he remembered the biting pain in his fingers and face.

Even if Stanley has left, it was his choice and none of Ford’s concern. He asked Stan to look after the children; he refused; end of story. His brother has always been a selfish jerk, so that’s of no surprise. Not that he felt bad for Stan leaving, he felt bad for Stan leaving children. Ford could put up with his brother’s egoism, but the fact that he had just decided to give up on the kids, that he wouldn’t tolerate. Stan was no person to look after children; if it had taken just a petty fight for him to leave without a warning.

Even when the kids asked him to search for Stan with full-blown puppy-eyes. Bill was right, he was always right, they all have been dragging him down. On the brink of an invention of the millennium, he just could not keep three extra residents around.

Now he had to tell the kids something. Well, firstly, figure something out. Perhaps, Fiddleford could keep them for a while, only for the time he worked things out with Shermie. The children need to live with their parents, not with him.

"Don’t worry, please, kids, we’ll figure something out. I will call my old friend; he’ll help us," he managed.

Fiddleford was always good with those kinds of situations, he would pity the kids. That was sure a dick move, but there was no other way out of this. Surely, no other way. Su-re-ly.

Having sent the children upstairs, he turned to the phone once more. It took just a few seconds for Fidds to pick up.

"Fiddleford, hi! How’s it going?" He pretended to sound cheerful.

"What happened, Stanford?"

Welp, he was no good at pretending.

"Ugh, you got me. This is a very difficult situation, but can you, by any chance, come to Gravity Falls?"

"Is it something with the portal?"

"I wish. I…well, I discovered I was an uncle, and now I have two five-year-olds with me. I need help. They can’t just stay here, Fidds, you know it’s dangerous!"

"Oh my god, Stanford! Of course I will come. Why am I even yer friend?"

"Thank you, thank you! I’m sorry to call so unexpectedly. What would I have done without you? Thank you."

"Probably die. And it wasn’t unexpected, ye’r always in some kind of trouble. I’ll see ye in a day."

Fiddleford hung up.

Great. Now, to distract the kids.

"Can you tell a story?" Mabel asked. Yeah, Stan was better with kids than he was. All he could do was walk into the attic and stare at the twins awkwardly. What did children like doing? Stan and he always ventured out looking for trouble, but that was not an option, so he had no idea what to occupy them with.

"Um, sure. Let me think." Well, this was an option. He had many strange stories up his sleeve, but most of them were too disturbing for children. He should pick the most family-friendly thing he encountered. "So, when I moved here, I witnessed a lot of strange things, but one of the strangest were…the butterflies. Yes, you heard me right, the butterflies. They looked just like normal insects at the first sight, but as I watched them, I noticed a specific pattern. They were forming some kind of symbol, a symbol familiar to many. A pentagram!"

"What’s a pentagram?" Mabel frowned.

"Oh, it’s like a star, but it has lines within. It is believed to be a symbol of a demon," Ford clarified.

"So... they were summoning the demon?" Dipper questioned doubtfully.

"Or! They just wanted to make a star!" Mabel objected. "That is a boring story, Uncle Ford, butterflies in the shape of a star? I’m sure there were no demons."

"Oh, really? I’m not finished yet." Save the situation, save the situation. Make something up. This story wasn’t his best choice. A demon, really, Stanford? Yeah, just tell the kids how you tried to conduct an exorcism and it went horribly wrong, so wrong that your head almost got torn off. "Then…"

Well, I don’t care!" Mabel interrupted. "I want Uncle Stan to tell stories, they’re fun!"

Ford sighed. It was normal for five-year-olds to throw tantrums, but he had no idea how to deal with them. "Hey, it’s alright, Mabel, he’ll come back. Maybe," he tried.

Mabel stomped. "Why did you yell at each other yesterday?! Now he’s left! Thanks to you!" She pointed her finger at him angrily.

"Mabel, please, calm down. Our arguments are none of your concern. In fact, Stan didn’t promise he would stay forever, he doesn’t live here."

The reasoning has only made matters worse. Well, you are both stupid!" She screamed. "Why don’t you live together anyways, you’re twins! And Uncle Stan said he was going to stay!" At this point, there were tears streaming down her cheeks.

Stanley.

"Uncle Ford, that was not very smart of you or Stan," Dipper judged. He wrapped his hand around Mabel’s shoulders, leading her away, whispering something in her ear.

Yeah, it wasn’t. He was called out by a child, and the child was right. The disagreements between him and his twin should have in no way interfered with the kids. Ford was terrible with children, terrible with humans as it is. The only remaining hope was Fiddleford.

Bang. Bang. Bang!

It couldn’t possibly be Fidds, it was too early for him to come. He opened the door a crack. A figure stormed inside and blocked the door with their body.

"Stanley! What happened?"

"You…you got a couple of bucks for..-for gas?"

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

Ford tried desperately to keep his anger going, but it mercilessly subsided. Stan did sound genuine, and the picture of him taking his dentures out was still vivid. Never, never had he wished for something like this, but it was Lee’s fault, only his, he broke the project. Maybe their father wasn’t the most compassionate man ever, but this was a mistake so big it called for punishment. But not this much. Never this much.

Still, there was no way Filbrick could see how much it would wreck Stan’s life.

He kicked a teenager, his son, out, and you’ve turned away from him. A voice in his head nudged him. There was more guilt than anger now.

It was too much to deal with. Some other time. He lit the circle of candles in the middle of the room.

Haya, Sixer, what’s up?

"Not much. Well, no, a lot of stuff," Ford sighed. Bill had always had a logical solution, maybe he could help.

Your family again, eh?

"Yeah. Stan told me a little about his life. It was horrible, Bill."

Well, you said yourself that he deserved it. He’s a selfish jerk, and those aren’t my words.

"I don’t remember saying that. But I don’t stand by those words anyway, I can’t throw him out into that hell again!"

A word spoken is past recalling, Brainiac. If he wanted to, he could have managed. Quit being so dumb, we have work to do!

"Bill…you probably don’t understand human emotions. Do you have a family?"

Not anymore. But I’m above that, and so are you.

This wasn’t right. It was more practical to put the research above family, but it felt unnatural. Despite that, Ford did exactly so for nine years without realizing it. Bill wasn’t right. Bill wasn’t right.

"Whatever, you will not tell me what to do on this matter. Let’s get to work."

Bill seemed annoyed, angry almost, but dropped the topic.

Multiverse to Sixer! Hey, focus!

Ford found his mind wandering away to the upstairs again. To the children, who were seriously freaked out by Stanley’s short disappearance, and to Stan, probably staying in the real house for the first time in years.

"Sorry, sorry, I can’t seem to follow you today. So, again, this…ugh, what’s the derivative?"

Braniac, this is just calculus. What is with you today? Since when don’t you remember it?

"I’ve told you, family matters. Sorry, maybe we could continue tomorrow night? Fidds is coming soon, I’ll be a bit occupied."

No, you have work. I can feel it; we’re this close! Bill showed a tiny gap between his fingers. You can’t leave!

"It’s not like we have a deadline. Why are you so rushed?" Ford frowned. Stanley’s voice reminded him not to trust Bill, and he was determined to prove his brother wrong.

BECAUSE I NEED THE PORTAL! WE! WE NEED THE PORTAL! Bill lost his patience. YOU’VE BARELY TOUCHED THE RESEARCH IN THE PAST FEW DAYS! I WILL HAVE TO TURN TO SOMEONE ELSE IF YOU CONTINUE LIKE THIS!

Nooope, Ford couldn’t allow it. If this would take sleepless nights, so be it, but he couldn’t construct the portal alone. Maybe Bill didn’t have the perfect grasp on human emotions, but he did help a great deal. Just don’t bring family up, that’s all.

"Ugh, Bill, I’m sorry, I really can’t seem to focus! This is hopeless."

No matter how much Ford tried, his mind refused to direct the thoughts to the blueprint.

Damn, Sixer. It’s not really the time. Well, alright, I agree that this is hopeless, but you better be ready tomorrow or…

"Are you…threatening me?"

Nah, I’m just messing with you. You up for a game of chess?

It still sounded like a threat. Bill was…daring, but he wouldn’t do anything besides talk for just one night. Just sort your feelings out, Ford, and it will be alright.

"No, sorry, I have to go to sleep for a bit; maybe later. Really, Bill, it won’t be a pattern, I promise."

‘Promise’ is a strong word, and you know it. But yeah, whatever it takes to get you back on track. Your human bodies are so weak.

With that, Bill left. How much time has passed, an hour? Nope, it was well into the evening.

Bill seemed a bit different than usual. More rushed, more straightforward, like they had a deadline. Which they didn’t. They had ‘until the end of time’.

The children and Stan sat at the table in the living room, some kind of card game spread out before them. Dipper seemed to be completely consumed by the process, carefully inspecting the two cards in his hands. Stan had a can of soda and a large sandwich on a disgustingly dirty plate near him.

"I bet fifteen! You’ll never guess my cards!" Mabel snickered and slammed down a piece of paper. "Oh, hi, Uncle Ford! You want to join?" She proposed cheerfully.

"Hi everyone. What are you playing?"

Ford didn’t recognize the game. It looked faintly like poker, but there were no chips, only colourful pieces of paper.

"Uncle Stan taught us to play poker! It’s fun, you should try too."

"You taught five-year-olds to gamble?" He frowned, turning to Stan, who hadn’t said a word yet.

"It’s not like real poker, we don’t bet money. Mabel drew us the "Mabel bucks" and we use them," his brother explained, as if it made the game less of a gamble. "Nice move, sweetie. I bet fifty! Dipper, show the next card."

Dipper laid an ace on the table next to a ten and a knave. He couldn’t hold off a smile even if he tried his best to keep a straight face. Stan grunted exaggeratedly. Ford took a look at Dipper’s cards. With an ace and a ten, the kid had at least two pairs.

"I’ll pass." Stan put down his cards and picked up a sandwich instead. "Uh-uh, you don’t look at my cards," he warned Mabel, when she tried to peek. Ford took Stan’s card. Two tens.

"I bet one hundred!" Mabel slapped another piece of paper, pink this time.

"I also bet!" Dipper put down the same piece of paper.

"Anyone want to raise the stakes?" Stan asked, putting on a serious expression. The children shook their heads. "Okay, the last card then."

Dipper pulled out a king and sighed disappointedly. Mabel was fiddling around with her "Mabel bucks" and biting her lip impatiently.

"Okay, the last round of bets. Mabel?"

"I bet two hundred!" Two pink pieces joined the pile in the centre.

"I’ll pass," Dipper frowned.

"Hey, kid, not an option. You clearly have something, try, and if Mabel wins, I’ll let you keep those two hundred," Stan mumbled, his mouth still full of bread.

"But that’s not fair!" Dipper objected.

"You’re still learning, so I’ll let it slide. Besides, there is this option in grown-up poker." Stan winked.

"What kind of poker were you playing?" Ford interrupted. Even if he wasn’t interested in gambling, he was familiar with the classic rules, and a ton of those were being mercilessly broken.

"Eh, Sixer, you don’t know what’s happening with it in Ohio. Join in the next round, will ya?"

"No, thank you. I don’t support this kind of games."

"It’s not like we’re betting real money!" Hell if it made a difference. "Okay, reveal your cards!"

Dipper put his two tens up. Mabel showed a king and a queen.

"Dipper, ya got a three. Mabel! Do my eyes deceive me? It’s a straight!" Stan clasped his arms together. "What can I say, kiddos, it’s a tie! We’ll divide the papers equally."

The twins high-fived each other. Ford noticed that they had pretty much the same amount of papers, while Stan had significantly less.

"But it’s…" he began, because it wasn’t a tie, Mabel had won, there are no ties in poker. Stan glanced at him as he was the stupidest person in human history. Ford shut up.

"So, ya want to join? We’ll probably play a few more rounds," Stan nodded towards a forth chair at the table.

"Yeah, Uncle Ford, we know not to bet money. It’s just like any other game, come on," Dipper joined Stan. Traitor.

"Are you afraid you’re gonna lose?" Mabel asked compassionately. "Don’t worry, you can play with me, and I have a lot of Mabel bucks!"

"Hey, not fair, Uncle Ford is smart!" Dipper objected.

"Yeah? Well, you’re smart too," she crossed her arms.

"Come on, Six, kids want you to join. You know the rules?" Stan nudged.

"Not your rules, probably."

"I can explain!" Dipper offered. "I’m the dealer, I give you two cards, and you place a bet; then I show one card to everyone, and we bet again; and like that until there are four cards on the table," he gibbered loudly. "Then we show our cards, and whoever has a good combination wins! Simple!"

"And what’s a good combination?" He squinted at Stanley.

"Two pairs and above. And a royal flush is the best combination; it guarantees a total win," he explained.

"But nobody had a royal flush yet. Uncle Stan says it’s super rare," Mabel added.

"It is. I’d be surprised if someone had it." Ford agreed.

"So you know the rules? Great. Pumpkin, you’re the dealer; go!"

Ford sat down, defeated. He couldn’t seem to remember to agree to the round, but, eh, one round couldn’t hurt that bad.

Mabel shuffled the cards messily, dropping a couple in the process, and gave everyone two, finishing with a flick on everyone’s noses. Ford checked his cards. A six and a queen. Not too good.

"Okay, Dipper, place a bet." Stan took another huge bite of his sandwich.

"Fifteen," Dipper claimed and placed a green piece of paper.

"Wait, we didn’t give Uncle Ford any Mabel bucks!" Mabel exclaimed and took a handful of spare pieces, placing them in front of him. "There. You have to bet too."

"Okay, can I also bet fifteen?" Mabel nodded, and he added his green Mabel buck to the bank.

"’Kay, I support." Stan placed his bet, and she joined in silently.

"Anyone wanna raise? No? Deal the cards then."

The four cards were dealt. A nine, a queen, a king, and a seven, all hearts. Ford had a chance of winning if no one else had a pair of bigger worth. He decided to wing it, betting two hundred. It didn’t work.

"Bam!" Dipper slammed his cards down. "A flush!"

"Ooh, Dipper, you won," Mabel whined a bit. She had only one pair.

"Yeah, kid, you did. I have two pairs, but they suck." Stan showed two sevens and two fives.

"Uncle Ford, what do you have?" Mabel peered at his cards over his shoulder.

"A pair. But St-" Ford felt Stan hit his leg under the table. "Congrats, Dipper, well done!" Ford patted him on the shoulder, as Dipper grabbed his winnings.

"Don’t worry, Uncle Ford, we’ll have a rematch! Rematch! Rematch!" Mabel chanted, assuming he was disappointed about his loss.

"Yeah! Beware, Dipper, I’m the dealer now!" Stan downed the rest of his soda and scooped the cards. "Watch a pro shuffle the cards!"

It turned out that Stan knew a lot of card tricks. The kids watched his hands work around the deck perfectly smoothly, and Ford found himself staring as well. He had to admit, those tricks looked pretty cool. Mabel clapped enthusiastically when he was finished, and both Dipper and Ford joined in. Stan bowed jokingly and dealt the cards.

Ford ended up sticking around for two more rounds, and then the kids started to complain about hunger, so the game was wrapped up. Stan has proven to be a professional gambler; he directed the game as a movie, but without the children noticing. In the end, the younger twins had a significant pile of papers each, Ford had a bit less, and Stan was left with just a couple of Mabel bucks.

The whole family moved into the kitchen. Stan, complaining dramatically about his loss, made another set of sandwiches. Maybe it wasn’t the best option for dinner, but it was still better than any of Ford’s attempts.

"Ya reckon it’s late for coffee?" Stan shoved him as Ford was pouring himself a mug.

"Never too late. I have work, Stanley," he sighed. As nice as it was to relax a bit, he couldn’t keep coming up with excuses.

"Eh, it’s already like ten p.m. By the way, kids, aren’t you supposed to be in bed already?"

Both the kids shook their heads, stuffing their mouths with the last pieces of dinner.

"Yeah, you are. Finish up here and go get ready."

"But, Uncle Stan-" Mabel began.

"Nope, no buts. It’s already past your bedtime. And it’s like two days past your bedtime, Sixer."

"Can you at least tell us a story?" Mabel bargained.

"Can do. But only if Ford goes to bed too." Stan smirked. Fucking manipulators.

"Please, Uncle Ford! We want a story!"

"Can’t let the kids down, Poindexter."

"Alright, alright, I’ll go with you! Come on, kids, the bathroom awaits."

He pushed the twins to the exit and groaned, frustrated. It seemed like everything was against him today.

Chapter Text

“So, you want a story, huh? I’ll give you a story.” Stan gestured widely, getting comfortable on Dipper’s bed. The kids both sat on Mabel’s and Ford settled on the floor. “It’s called… “The Jersey Devil”!”

Ford perked up, reminiscence sparking in his eyes.

“Hey, we lived in Jersey!” Mabel gasped.

“So did we. Imagine: me and Uncle Ford as twelve-year-old kids…” Stan dove into a story. The kids were immediately mesmerized by his way of storytelling. Stan kept up the intrigue, making dramatic pauses at the right moments. His descriptions were vivid, not too detailed, but enough to picture the scenes perfectly. “And then Sixer got in front of the crowd and showed them his hands. They loved it! Hey, Ford, will you continue?” he asked.

“I’d rather listen. It’s your prerogative to tell stories.”

“At least get on the bed, it must be real uncomfortable on the floor.” Stan patted the place near him.

While it was strange to just sit next to Stanley on the same bed, in the same room, in the same house, in the same town, in the same state, the floor was indeed uncomfortable. He moved.

Stan talked, and talked, and talked. He got to the resolution of the story, conveniently forgetting to mention their father’s reaction. Ford thought about it, and though, and thought, and thought. He could see all the underlying motives now. It all made sense, and he didn’t like that sense.

“And what happened to the demon?” Dipper asked.

“Oh, I don’t know. He flew away, some folks say he was seen around…”

“Okay, did ya like the story?” Stan clasped his hands, cutting the discussion on the demon’s whereabouts off.

“Yes! Was there really a demon in Jersey?” Dipper seemed stoked about the idea of the supernatural in their home state.

“Sure was. Ask Ford about it, he’ll confirm.”

“Uncle Ford? Is it true?”

Ford didn’t answer. He sat cross-legged on the bed, his head resting on the sloped wall, his eyes closed.

“Huh. Seems like the nerd fell asleep. What can I say, kids, you should follow his example.” Stan poked at Ford slightly, but with no success.

“It’s okay, we can sleep on Mabel’s bed together,” Dipper suggested and Mabel nodded along.

“You think so? ‘K, I won’t have to carry this body. You settle then.”

The kids both climbed under the blanket, looking at Stan, who tried to get Ford to lie down properly.

“Fucking nerd, thinks he’s a vampire,” he muttered under his breath, hoping that the twins wouldn’t hear him. “G’night everyone, I’ll be in my room if ya need anything.”

Stan gave up on making his brother sleep like a human and retreated.

“Sweet dreams, Uncle Stan! Sweet dreams, Uncle Ford!” Mabel wished as he closed the door to the attic.

Well, well, well, well look who I’m left alone with

***
Mabel woke up because someone was staring at her. Dipper still lay next to her, facing the wall, so it couldn’t be him. She looked up and saw Uncle Ford standing right before her bed, looking her directly in the eye.

“Mabel, hi. Why are you up?” Ford asked. His voice was harsh and almost robot-like, different from usual.

“Um, hi, Uncle Ford. Because you’re staring at me?” She tried. Uncle Ford seemed colder and just…off.

“You’re such a smart little girl, Mabel.” He ruffled her hair, and Mabel flinched away. “You know that you shouldn’t be here, don’t you?”

“Wha-what? Why?” She stuttered. Ford inched closer, his eyes looking directly at hers. And they were not Uncle Ford’s eyes. They were not.

“Because you aren’t welcome here. I don’t love you, nor does Stan. You should leave,” he whispered. His pupils were like the pupils of a snake. Uncle Ford was good, he was soft and warm, he worked a lot, but he joined them for the game. This wasn’t Ford.

Mabel shrieked.

“AH- Mabel! What?” Dipper startled awake.

She pointed at not-Ford.

“Uncle Ford? What happened?” He asked, rubbing his eyes.

“IT’S NOT UNCLE FORD!” Mabel yelled. “Look into his eyes!”

“Oh-oh,” not-Ford simply said and collapsed on the floor.

The door swung open, and Stan came in running. He had clearly just woken up, probably by Mabel’s screams, his hair was as messy as it could get, he was wearing just an undershirt and some kind of disgusting pants of undetermined purpose.

“Kids? What happened, are you okay?” He checked the twins over before kneeling before Ford.

“Uncle Stan! There- there…” Mabel gulped, “Uncle Ford…”

“Hey, hey, kid, it’s okay. Everyone’s okay,” he tried to put a hand on her shoulder, but she curled away. “Dipper, could you tell me what happened here?”

“I…I don’t know. Mabel screamed; there was Uncle Ford, and he was not Uncle Ford, and then he fell… I don’t know.” His voice quivered as he stared at Ford in horror.

“Oh God, Sixer, you idiot!” Stan hissed, checking Ford’s pulse and shaking him awake.

Ford opened his eyes. Mabel shuddered.

“Ford! You hear me? Ford! Sixer!” Stan grabbed him by the shoulders.

“Stan? Kids? Ow, why am I on the floor?” He frowned, rubbing his ribs.

“I expected an explanation from you, actually, but shut up for now and listen. Mabel, sweetie, look at me, please,” he moved onto the bed. “Look into my eyes. They are normal, aren’t they?” He nudged. Mabel hesitated, but lifted her head, just to take a quick look and hide again.

“Yes,” she whispered, her breath hitching.

“And Ford’s eyes were yellow, weren’t they? Like goat’s eyes?”

She nodded. Ford stared at her, confused.

“Mabel, I need you to look at me. Can you do that?” Stan asked quietly. She peered up, wiping the tears off her cheeks. “Whatever the yellow-eyed Ford said to you, do not believe it, because it’s not Ford. Your Uncle Ford isn’t going to hurt you, and neither am I, okay? What did he say?” He hovered an arm palm up near her, making sure he wouldn’t startle the girl again.

“He- he said…” Mabel sobbed. “He said you didn’t love me. And that we should leave.”

SIXER, WHAT THE FUCK?!

“Hey, hey, sweetie, it’s not true, not at all. I love you, and I love Dipper, so does Ford. It’s okay, those were lies.” Stan reassured her, and Mabel finally threw herself onto his chest. He pulled her closer, shielding her, and glared at his brother.

Ford sat on the floor, dumbfolded. He looked utterly defeated, staring at the scene in shock. So, he seriously had no idea what Bill really had in mind.

“Do…do you?” Mabel whispered through tears.

“Of course, how can we not love you? You’re adorable, sweet, and kind little girl. Right, Ford?” Stan stroked her hair absently, keeping his tone sweet, but his look made Ford shudder.

“Y-Yes, Mabel, I do love you, I do. I’m sorry you had to witness…such a thing. Stan is right; those were lies,” he confirmed in a small voice. Ford looked so lost.

“You mean it?” Mabel squirmed out of Stan’s hands and turned to him. Her lip quivered, her eyes were bloodshot, and the tears were still running down her cheeks.

“Of course. I’m sorry, children. If you ever see yellow eyes again…scream for Stan, please,” he choked out and made a twitchy movement towards Mabel, but drew his hand back in and quickly left the attic.

“Uncle Stan,” Dipper called, “I’m scared. I don’t understand.”

Stan sighed and pulled him close as well. “Kids, I have to tell you something very important and serious. You both are very smart for your age, so try to understand.” The children nodded, going quiet. “Ford isn’t dangerous. He loves you both dearly. Remember when he played with us in the evening? He wouldn’t have if he didn’t love you. But…there is one really-really bad guy, I didn’t realize how bad until now myself. He looks just like Ford, but he has yellow eyes and a strange voice. It was him, wasn’t it? I thought so. He isn’t Ford. You must not listen to anything he says. Close your ears and shout for me if you see him. I’ll talk to Ford, and we’ll take care of him together, but until then, look you have to look out. I promise he won’t hurt you, though. Do you understand?”

The kids nodded silently once again. If he was told something like that at the age of five, he would have freaked out big time and probably never get close to Ford ever again. “Please don’t be afraid of Ford. He won’t hurt you, and the bad guy won’t show up during the day. Besides, I’m always around, so you have nothing to be afraid of, okay?”

Mabel snuggled closer and Dipper nodded firmly again.

“Uncle Stan…What if he hurts you?” Mabel asked.

“Don’t worry about me, I can punch him in the face, and he’ll run away in fear. I fought a werewolf, remember?”

“Okay…okay. Don’t listen to not-Ford with yellow eyes, right?” Dipper double-checked.

“Ya got it, kiddo. Do you think you can go back to sleep? I’ll stay here and watch out.”

It was still pitch-black outside, probably about four in the morning. It’s best if the kids sleep for a bit longer, so he could deal with the phenomenal idiot downstairs.

“Uncle Stan?” Mabel caught his sleeve. “Please, don’t leave. I love you too.” She wrapped a blanket around herself, and Stan sat down beside the bed, leaning on it, so the kids wouldn't see his tears.

“Oh, Fo-o-ord!” Stan called, walking down the stairs. “Come out, motherfucker!”

No Ford in the kitchen. No Ford in his room. Ah, there he is, of course, pacing to and fro in the lab.

“Ford!” Stan called, staying at the door. Not that he was afraid, but rather…cautious.

“Stanley! Stanley, I’m so sorry! I didn’t know, I didn’t…Stanley, oh dear!” He stopped, rubbing his temples.

“You should be! I’ve told ya, Sixer, Bill’s no good! You better say you were fooled, otherwise I’m gonna beat your sorry ass up,” Stan approached him, poking a finger at his chest.

“I was! I…Bill was acting strange lately, but Stan…I have something to show you. Something you won’t believe.”

Ford looked terrible. He was shaking, his expression terrified and breaths shallow. Not that Stan has ever doubted his brother, but what a dumb, naïve decision it was to trust a fucking demon.

Ford led him deeper into the lab. Only the faint light of the nerd boxes provided an outline of the pathway, but the darkness had been thick as ice otherwise. The doors opened, and Stan found himself in a rather spacious room, facing a giant upside-down triangle. His brother started explaining what that was for, and he couldn’t take his eyes off the giant machine. It was so eerie, seeing almost a doomsday device in the basement of Ford’s house, and the faint blue glow surrounding it made the picture even more unsettling.

“Sixer, we have to dismantle this. I don’t understand what you’re saying, but I got that it’s fucking dangerous.”

“What? No, no, no, I can’t! Stan, this is my life’s work!” Ford threw up his arms.

Stan growled. “You,” he took a step closer, “don’t. put. the.” he grabbed Ford’s shoulders, “kids. in. danger! You don’t put the whole world in danger! Sixer, you have a whole life ahead of you, we’re not that old yet! You’ll have a chance to prove yourself or whatever you need to do, but you don’t get to keep the apocalypse machine in your fucking basement!”

“I…I…It can’t be opened without my…my journals,” Ford objected weakly.

“Your journals?! Ford, remind me, whom does Bill possess?” Stan shouted directly into his face, shaking Ford violently. “Believe me, I’m gonna break another one of your inventions, and this time, completely intentionally!”

Ford froze. “Stan...Don’t do that. Please.”

“Why shouldn’t I? I can’t let you keep it!”

“Because…because…” he stuttered and inhaled sharply, shaking his head. He didn’t try to continue.

“Hey, you okay?” Ford shook his head. Stan backed away, rubbing his eyes. “Dumb question. Right. It’s fine, we just have to keep Bill out of here. Do you give him permission to- to take over your body every time?”

Ford nodded and added shakily, “Not if I sleep, though.”

“Alright, alright. But you can’t just not sleep, can you?” Ford opened his mouth, but Stan cut him off, “You can’t. Is there any way to keep him out?”

Ford nodded again, like a tumbler toy of a lunatic.

“So? What’s the way?”

“It’s a simple plan, creating a protective field within an area defined by the stings of unicorn’s hair and some other ingredients, but, well,” he swallowed, “unicorns won’t give anyone their hair. I’ve tried. They need someone with a pure heart.”

“Pure heart? Wow, those are jerks. You may be a bit arrogant, but I can’t say you’re evil. There’s gotta be a way to get that hair, hm-m,” Stan rubbed his chin in concentration. “How many unicorns are there?”

“Just one, I believe. But don’t you dare-“

“One?! Really, Sixer, you couldn’t punch one unicorn? Looks like a job for me. Where is that horny horse?”

Stan wasn’t really surprised anymore. Unicorns were probably one of the most expected things at this point. Fighting just one horse should be a problem.

“What? No, I’m not letting you! Besides, you can’t leave the kids here either with me or alone. Turns out, I’m dangerous, so that’s that.” Ford sighed, sitting down on the floor.

Stan sat near him, placing an arm on his shoulders. “Yeah, that was kinda dumb of you, but hey, we at least figured out what we need to look out for and how to get rid of Bill, right? It’s gonna be fine; you’ve called your friend, didn’t you? He’ll help with the kids, and we’ll go bargain with the unicorns tomorrow. Create that field, Bill will be gone from here, and we’ll live happily ever after. How do you like the plan?”

“It’s unlikely that it’ll come true, but there’s no harm trying,” he mumbled, looking at the portal. It was almost complete, and he couldn’t let Bill finish it. He contacted the demon as soon as he got here, and…Stan was right all along. And he didn’t trust him.

The machine glimmered dimly above them.

Chapter Text

The morning was awkward, to say the least. Stan sat between the twins and Ford at the table, staring sleepily at the bowl of oatmeal. Ford was also a bit out of it; he glanced at the kids occasionally with an ocean of worry and guilt in his eyes but didn’t try to say anything. As for the kids, they sat together, stuffing their mouths as quickly as they could without lifting their eyes.

Stan went back to them after sitting with Ford for a solid two hours last night. He had promised them not to leave and had taken it quite literally, staying in the attic for the rest of the night, thus, he didn’t get much sleep that night, just like everyone else.

The phone rang, and Ford sprinted to it, happy to leave. The kids visibly relaxed.

"Um, everyone, attention, please." He came back a couple of minutes later. "I’ve told you that my friend is coming; he has just called me and said he would be here in half an hour. His name is Fiddleford; we met in college. He’ll be staying with us for a while," he blurted out.

"Is he smart or strong?" Dipper asked, gaining the courage to talk to Ford.

"You can be both smart and strong, my boy," Ford smiled gently. "But he’s only smart."

"You can be both? But you’re smart, and Uncle Stan is strong," Mabel raised an eyebrow.

Both adults chuckled humorlessly. "Ya got us good, kiddo," Stan huffed. "I’ve heard there’s a cool new adventure movie on the TV now; anyone wanna watch it while we wait?"

The kids, overjoyed to escape the tension and the porridge, ran to the living room.

"Stanley," Ford stopped him, "what do I do? The twins are afraid of me."

He looked absolutely miserable, with ever-growing dark circles under his eyes, twitchy hands, and half-bleeding lips.

"Eh, Sixer," Stan shoved him compassionately, "you talk to them. Try watching a movie with us, making jokes…forget that, just come to the living room. Maybe they will be unsettled at first, but it’ll get better. And stop staring at them like you’re the world’s worst person."

He dragged Ford to the TV despite his weak protests, where the kids had already settled. They were sitting on the floor beside the armchair, staring at the screen, where the opening credits of a film were rolling.

Sure enough, the children tensed when Ford came in, and climbed on the chair with Stan, so Ford sat on the floor, leaning on the armrest, but as the movie proceeded, the kids seemed to forget about his presence, being completely consumed in the plot. They occasionally asked Stan questions like ‘What’s going to happen next?’ or ‘Who is this?’, to which he shrugged and told them to keep watching. The movie was about time- travel, and Ford was interested in watching it himself, even though there were some plotholes.

"Uncle Ford?" Dipper suddenly called during the ad break. Ford didn’t expect kids to pay any attention to him. "Is time-travel possible?"

"Um, I can’t give a definite answer to that. I haven’t seen anything like it yet, but it may as well be," he answered, choosing his words carefully.

"Laaame!" Mabel whined. "It would be so cool to go to the future! Maybe there are flying cars, and robots, and talking puppies!"

"I don’t know about talking puppies, but there will certainly be robots," Ford assured, chuckling softly.

Dipper interrupted the conversation before she could answer, "I think someone’s knocking," he frowned, pointing at the door. "Is it your friend?"

"I think so. You have a sharp ear; I didn’t hear anything, huh. Thanks." Ford stood up, groaning quietly. He was only twenty-six, why did his back give him so much discomfort?

"Stanford!" Fiddleford called, spreading his arms.

"Hi, Fidds. So good to see you." Ford hugged him. F was a kind soul, always hugging everyone as a greeting. "Come in, come in."

"You too," Fidds agreed, dragging his bag behind him with a horrible scratching sound. "Dear God, what happened? Are the kids that difficult?" He turned to take a proper look at Ford, assessing his appearance and cringing at his state.

They entered the living room, Fiddleford dragging his bag after him with a horrible scratching noise. Three heads snapped to them.

"Hi!" Mabel claimed. "I’m Mabel, this is my twin brother Dipper, this is Uncle Stan. You’re Fiddleford, right?" She grinned widely.

"I am, indeed. Nice to meet you all," he returned the smile. "Ford, you’ve been right, the kids are adorable. And you haven’t mentioned you had a brother." He dropped his bag in the corner and extended a hand for Stan to shake. "I’m Fiddleford McGucket, we met with Stanford in college, and I’ve been helping with the research. And you’re…?"

"Stanley Pines, but, please, call me Stan." He shook the hand.

"Oh, you have a crushing handshake," Fiddleford hissed. "How come Ford has never mentioned you?" Both Stans shot a look at him.

"Fiddle..Fid- argh, your name is difficult!" Mabel complained, breaking the silence. "Are you smart like Uncle Ford?"

"Yup, my name’s kinda hard, so ya can call me Fidds or just F. I believe yer Uncle’s smarter, but I’m still not dumb." He squatted beside the kids, who both hopped off the armchair.

"You speak funny," Mabel giggled. "Uncle Stan also speaks funny."

"It’s called ‘accent’, Mabel," Dipper mumbled, inching closer to her ear. "It’s rude to point it out."

"Doncha worry, Dipper, it’s quite alright," Fiddleford waved dismissively. "Yeah, I do have an accent. Ye’r real clever, how old are ya?"

The conversation between these three continued on, flowing naturally, while the older twins watched it side by side. Mabel loved Fiddleford, Dipper opened up a tad, telling him about his favorite meal.

Ford touched his shoulder, nodding to the kitchen as an invitation.

"Alright, kiddos, let us steal Fidds from you for a bit," Stan caught a break in the conversation and interrupted it. "Gotta discuss some boring adult stuff, but we’ll be right back in a few minutes, okay?"

The twins looked disappointed, but nodded. Stan turned the volume on the TV back on and threw the remote to Dipper.

"You what? Stanford! I- I can’t even find words!" Fiddleford bit his fingers, and a hysterical laugh escaped him.

"I know," Ford sighed heavily, "and I have to fix it, but I have no idea how. We’re going to the unicorns with Stan again, but even if we get their hair, it’s not going to keep Bill out forever." He groaned and dropped his head onto his hands. "Can you, please, watch the kids while we’re gone?"

"Sure thing, Ford. Jeez, ya got into real mess." Fiddleford patted his shoulder. "Wadda I need to do with the little ones?"

"Heya, kiddos, wanna play a game?" Fidds turned the TV off; the twins seemed to be paying little attention to the screen and preferred eavesdropping.

"What game?" Dipper asked, snapping back to the reality of the living room.

"It’s called 'The ship was stocked with…' Ever heard of it?" The children shook their heads. "I give you a letter and a color, and ya suggest things beginning with that letter and of that color that can be stocked," he explained, settling on the floor. "How about the letter ‘p’ and the color red?"

"I suggest…peaches!" Mabel proposed.

"Very good, Mabel, peaches can indeed be red. Dipper, what about you?"

"I suggest…um…pomegranates?" he hesitated.

"Yup, pomegranates work." Fidds clapped. "Okay, I suggest patties. They are red if uncooked."

"Poodles!" Mabel exclaimed, throwing her arms up.

"But poodles aren’t red," Dipper objected.

"They can be if I dye them," Mabel insisted.

"The kid’s got a point," Fiddleford huffed. "I guess poodles dyed red could work."

They ran out of words fairly quickly, and Mabel suggested showing him her drawing. Dipper whispered, exasperated, that she was always showing them to everyone, but Fiddleford didn’t mind looking at them. The kid got a ton of imagination, coming up with the craziest stuff. Fidds told them about some projects he built that somewhat resembled Mabel’s ideas. There were surprisingly many of them: an automatic beaver working like a saw, the messenger-bird, far faster than regular mail. At the end of Mabel’s sketchbook were a couple of sheets with undefined scribbles.

"And what’s that?" Fiddleford asked, pointing at them.

"Ah, I tried to draw an owl like Uncle Ford told me, but I messed it up. And there’s a picture of Uncle Stan fighting a werewolf, but I don’t like how it turned out," she explained, grinning widely. "Oh no!" She clasped her hands over her mouth. "You aren’t gonna tell Uncle Stan, are you? I’m drawing it as a gift, and I don’t want him to see yet!"

"Chill, Mabel, I won’t tell a soul. I actually think this is pretty good. Especially the werewolf, he sure looks menacin’." He studied the picture closer. Even though the poses were a tad unnatural, Mabel was very good at drawing. Well, at least she didn’t do stick figures like other children her age.

"What’s ‘menacin’?" She asked.

"It means scary as a person or an animal, like wolves, bears, eagles are menacing," he explained. "Your werewolf has spiky fur and big, sharp teeth, so he’s menacin’."

"Yeah! I wanted it to be scary! Did you know that Uncle Stan has really fought a werewolf?"

"And Uncle Ford has fought a ghost," Dipper added.

"How can you fight ghosts? You can’t touch them," Mabel doubted, tilting her head.

"There are spells against ghosts; I’ve seen them in the journal. Where is it?" Dipper looked around, but the book was nowhere to be seen. "Where are our uncles?" He asked, his face falling suddenly.

The kids took off without a waning.

Chapter Text

"Before we go to the unicorns," Ford stopped, turning to Stan, who was following him, sharply, "I want us to go to the mailbox. It might give us some answers." Before Stan could ask anything, he raised his hand. "Do not touch anything, interact with anything, or go off track without my order. The forest, as you may have noticed already, is very dangerous. Keep your gun at the ready."

Ford had his crossbow already set up, and Stan rummaged through his stuff and found a revolver, still with a couple of bullets inside, before they set off. Ford insisted they bring weapons, which wasn’t unreasonable. Even in a normal forest, you would want to have something to fight the possible animals with.

"Sure, boss. What’s with the mailbox? We have one right near the cabin, and why would ya wanna ask it anything? Not like it’s all-knowing, am I right?" He huffed.

"As per usual, you’re wrong. It is all-knowing. Follow me," Ford answered coldly and continued deeper into the woods.

Egh, why so serious? Stan began whistling a song he had once heard in some bar that had been stuck in his head for over a month for some reason now, but Ford shushed him. Only the creaking of snow beneath their feet could be heard as they walked in silence.Stan’s thoughts wandered back to the shack, to the enormous sci-fi machine, to the kids left alone with Fiddleford. Yes, he was a friend, but life had taught him not to trust strangers. However, Fiddls wasn’t a stranger to his brother, Ford seemed to trust him, and Stan trusted Ford. He still couldn’t shoo away the concern for the kids.

"Hey, Sixer!" He called.

"Yes, Stan?"

"You told the kids we were out, didn’cha?" He quickened his steps and overtook him.

"I thought you had told them." Ford raised an eyebrow.

"Well, I hadn’t! Moses, Ford, you know they have issues, and now we’re both gone without an explanation!" Stan growled, slapping his forehead in frustration.

"I assumed you would tell them, for I wasn’t…in an appropriate state, per se," Ford returned the scowl. "We’re too deep into the forest now, though. I’m sure Fiddleford will manage."

"Ugh, gotta make it snappy, Sixer!"

"Shut it, we’re here." He gestured at the lone mailbox in the middle of the woods. Taking out a notebook and a pen, seemingly out of nowhere, Ford scribbled down ‘Hello’, tore the page out, and put it in the mailbox. It began gritting and shaking, but the handle snapped up. Stan stared at the box in shock as Ford took a different paper out and read ‘Hello, Stanley and Stanford Pines’. He handed the message to him to stare at some more and began writing something else down. Upon receiving an answer for the second note, Ford frowned and bit his lip.

The note said,
‘Recite the simple Aztec rhyme,
That buried was in space and time,
But for it to succeed
A sacrifice you need.’

"That’s some fucked-up poetry," Stan concluded, looking the paper over. "Aztec rhyme? A sacrifice? What didja ask?"

"I asked how to get Bill away from our dimension. I don’t know what rhyme it is talking about, though." He inspected the paper again, shining some kind of UV light on it. "Ugh, nothing!"

"Why don’t you ask it for clarification? I mean, it’s all-knowing and shit," Stan suggested.

"That actually might work. Huh, I didn’t even think about it." Ford began to write another question.

This time, the note said,
‘If you look within yourselves,
You may find to whom it prays.
For a sacrifice you want
Someone just like you as goes.’

"It doesn’t make any sense!" Stan groaned. "This mailbox sucks at poetry, what the fuck was ‘as goes’ supposed to mean?"

"I’m sure it means something. Well, we get that it’s a prayer to someone, who has similar features as us. Us as humans or us as us in particular is the question," Ford tucked the two papers into his pocket.

"Whatever it means, you kinda missed the sacrifice part. We are not sacrificing humans, Sixer," he stated.

"But…yes. We aren’t. We should ask for some other way."

The third message showed the wheel with a triangle in a top hat and a bow tie in the middle. There were symbols surrounding it, but Stan recognized only one of them. A six-fingered hand.

"Who is this Mr. Monopoly triangle?"

"Wait, you don’t know?" Ford’s eyebrows flew up.

"No, why would I? I haven’t played monopoly once."

"Stan, it’s Bill." Ford said.

"IT’S BILL? HAHAHAAH, SIXER, THAT IS BILL?" Stan burst out laughing.

"Yes, it is," he answered flatly.

"Mother my, Sixer! A triangle has been torturing you. A triangle! I’ve told you math is evil!"

"This is a serious matter, Stanley! Quit that nonsense, please!" Ford sighed heavily, letting a cloud of steam escape his mouth, and rubbed the bridge of his nose. He looked immensely tired. Stan shut up.

"So, this isn’t taking us anywhere, is it?" He asked, and Ford only shook his head in response. "’K, great. How about we ask it about the future? It should see the future, right? Something like, ‘will we be able to defeat Bill?’"

"Good option, actually," Ford hummed, writing down an inquiry once more. Stan read ‘When is the end of the world?’ in awfully loopy cursive.

"Three thousand and thirteen," Stanford read a response aloud and sagged to the ground in relief. "Thank God, thank God. It’s more than a thousand years away."

"Yeah, we’ve got time. So, that’s good news. Now, how about we go raid the unicorns, and then you can tackle those godawful poems? It’s getting kinda chilly here."

"True. Let’s go, we need to walk for another half an hour or so." Ford stood up, putting the notebook back into the coat, and set off from the weird mailbox.

Celestabellebethabelle was just as frustrating as Ford had described. With her high-pitched voice, constant neigh, and sparkly hair, she looked like the horse replica of one of his worst exes. Cheating, lying, dumb, and glamorous woman with a god complex.

"Please, we just need one tiny lock," Ford begged, ready to drop to his knees.

"No-o-o!" She responded, purposefully flexing her rainbow mane. "Not pure of hea-a-art!"

"Enough is enough, Celesta-what-bath-or-boat!" Stan hissed, putting on his brass knuckles. "I’m not buying your pure-of-heart business!"

"That’s not my na-ame!" She belted. "You won’t get any of my ha-air!"

"Stanley, what are you doing?" Ford whispered to him. "Are you seriously going to fight her?"

"You finally got it, Brainiac? I thought we established it back at home," he muttered back.

"No, we didn’t! I never thought you were serious!" Ford raised his voice, forgetting about the irritated unicorn.

"I’m still he-e-re! Leave immediately!" She shouted, bringing them back to reality.
"Not without your hair!" Stan yelled and attacked.
Turned out there were three of them. Welp, he could still manage. Maybe. If Ford would help. Which he didn’t. Ford stood there, stricken, and didn’t move.

"Ford! Use your bow!" Stan called, delivering another punch to the Celestabellebethabelle’s nose.

"I can’t! They are almost extinct!" He shouted back.

"Ugh, Ford, it’s not the time!" Stan groaned when a hoof hit his shin.

He had to give it to the unicorns; they were pretty good at fighting. But he was still better. The head horse neighed in pain when he grabbed her mane and yanked it forward, bringing out a pocketknife. Before he could cut a lock out, another unicorn smashed into him, bringing Stan to the ground, and put a hoof on his chest to keep him in place. Stan cut the horse’s leg in one swift motion.

The silver shining blood poured onto the ground, killing the grass immediately, and onto his hand. It fucking burned. He cried out for Ford again, looking at his skin starting to bubble. Ford was there in an instant. He didn’t shoot the unicorn, he just ran into him full-on. They both stumbled to the ground, and Stan was free. With a quick hit on the distracted unicorn’s head, he took out the one who was fighting with Ford.

The second wasn’t as graceful, and it didn’t take as much effort to knock him out. Despite Ford’s protests, he took out the revolver, aimed carefully, and shot the unicorn in the leg. He’ll be fine, it was just needed for extra scare. He pointed a gun at Celestabellebethabelle, trying to calm the shaking in his burned hands.

"I won’t hesitate, bitch," he warned, aiming directly at her forehead. "I don’t mind shaving some hair off a corpse."

"Stanley!" Ford yelled, "Don’t do that! You-"

"Ford, it’s not the time! Shut the fuck up!" He hissed, not taking his eyes off the unicorn.

"Fine, fine, I’ll give you my hair!" She surrendered, looking cautiously at the gun. "Just leave!"

"That’s what I’m talking about," Stan cooed, and cut a thick lock from her mane. And another one, and another. If he couldn’t kill her, he would at least get his revenge. "Hey, you’ve mentioned something like treasure, right?" He smirked.

"No-o-o, I didn’t!" She replied, exasperated.

"I’m pretty sure you did. I’ve got all the hair I needed," he showed her a fistful, "now give us money and we’ll leave."

"Stanley," Ford began, slow and threatening, but Stan stubbornly shushed him.

"It wasn’t part of the de-e-al!" Celestabellebethabelle objected.

"Remind me, when did we make a deal? Right, we didn’t," Stan shrugged and moved the gun to one of the knocked out unicorns, holding it firmly. "Go get the treasure, and if you aren’t back with it in five minutes, you’re going to be the last living unicorn."

Stan tried to make his voice sound as threatening as he could, speaking slowly and calmly, with a smirk, while the pain in his hands became more and more unbearable. Celestabellebethabelle seemed to believe him. She ran off to the waterfall, and Stan exhaled in relief, letting his hands fall down.

"Stanley! Why did you shoot the unicorn? You knocked it out already, was it really necessary?!" Ford immediately approached him and began his scolding.

"For reassurance, Sixer, he’ll be fine, I aimed not to tear any major blood vessels," he assured, gesturing at the lying horse.

He wasn’t bleeding as much indeed, so his estimation of the unicorns' physiology was correct. Ford only sighed, and pointed at the waterfall. Celestabellebethabelle emerged from behind it, a small creature that distantly looked like a satyr, following her with a large chest, even bigger than himself.

"Thake it and le-e-ave!" She cried, rainbow tears escaping her eyes and killing the daisies. Stan felt like puking.

Ford took the chest, grunting at its weight, and started towards the exit, Stan backwards following him with a gun at the ready.

When the gate closed and the stones sunk back into the ground, they both groaned in relief. Ford dropped the chest to the ground and sat on the snow. Stan buried his hands in it. While being in the ever-warm unicorns’ corner felt pretty nice after a long walk in the freezing cold, it was immensely better to cool the burns.

"What’s with your hands?" Ford asked, lying down. The snowflakes got into his hair immediately, making him look like he was graying.

"Apparently, the unicorns’ blood burns everything it touches," he croaked. The cold settled into his hands quickly, now giving an unpleasant stinging sensation.

"Fascinating! Do you have any of their blood left on you?" Ford perked up.

"Sixer, show a little compassion, huh? I’m, like, third-degree burned. You alright, by the way?"

"Yes, yes, I’m fine. It’s your own fault you got burned," Ford dismissed him, but Stan could see his concerned frown.

"You know, I could accuse you of it too," he huffed, and Ford flinched. "Nah, not your fault," he contemplated, "but you could have helped me a little earlier. What’s in the chest anyway?"

Ford opened the lid wordlessly, and it revealed heaps, heaps of gold. Both stared at it in silence.

"SIXER!" Stan yelled, delayed, and pulled Ford into a hug, drawing away immediately and hissing at the pain, when he caught himself. "Do you think it’s all worth a million?"

"I…I think it’s over a million," Ford confirmed, twisting a coin in his fingers.

"I’ve made us millions?" He whispered, his wide eyes darting between Ford and the chest.
 Ford’s face dropped, and he turned away quickly. "Let’s go home. We need to clean your hands, and it’s getting rather late already. I bet the kids are worried."

"Yeah, home." Stan still couldn’t find his voice.

Chapter Text

Ford’s arms were about to fall right off when the shack finally came into sight. Stan has been so overjoyed their entire walk back that it started to drive him a little bit mad with this constant whistling. Stan has offered to carry the chest a couple of times, but Ford stood strong and did not let his brother injure his hand even further, despite him being unaccustomed to holding things so heavy as the chest, which weighed over thirty pounds and was of inconvenient shape.

Stan pushed the door wide open, shouting for children as soon as he stepped onto the porch. There was shuffling and rattling, the sound of rushed steps, and two tiny hurricanes stormed into the hallway, sticking to Stan’s legs immediately.

"UNCLES!" Mabel yelled, "Where have you been? You promised not to leave!"

"We didn’t, sweetie, we just had to run some errands. You know, boring adult stuff," he huffed, trying to shake the kids off.

"Stanford Pines!" Fiddleford called, putting his hands on his hips. "You’re going to explain yourself as to why you haven’t told the children you were out," he stated, and Ford gulped. Not that Fidds was scary, but he didn’t exactly have a valid defense.

"What’s in the chest, Uncle Ford?" Dipper asked, glancing at the wooden box Ford had put down by the door.

"And why are you so rainbowy?" Mabel touched the stain on Stan’s jacket and licked her finger. "Mm, strawberry. Did you get any for us?"

"Sorry, kiddo, but it’s not candy," Stan chuckled. "It’s fairy dust, and you shouldn’t eat it." He ruffled her hair, forgetting about the burns, and regretted it immediately. Ford could tell he was trying to suppress a hiss. "Why doncha take a look into the chest? Ya’ll never guess what’s inside," he winked.

The kids released his legs and ran to the door, trying to push the lid open together. Ford decided not to interfere; it wasn’t as heavy, and they could manage perfectly fine on their own. They indeed managed.

"Whoa, shiny things!" Mabel gasped at the coins and gemstones. "What is this? Can I take some?"

"’Course ya can," Stan chimed, standing by Ford’s side.

"Shaven male horses magazine? What is this?" Dipper held out a small book.

"No! Ew, give me that," Ford yanked the magazine from his hands, rolling it in a tube. Stan laughed wholeheartedly.

"With all this gold, we can buy ya whatever ya want!" he proudly announced.

"Even puppies with hats? And ponies?" Mabel stared at him in disbelief.

"Whatever ya want, kiddo," Stan confirmed.

They beamed and started to list things they wanted. Dipper requested a board game, notebooks, and even remembered a project of a mini-volcano he had seen somewhere, Mabel chattered about various animals, new clothes, drawing and crafting supplies, and on and on and on. Stan whewed, but a huge smug smile had never left his face.

"Are there really fairies, Uncle Ford?" Dipper asked, cutting Mabel off.

"Yes, there are. I can show you some pictures, and we can even go see them in person when it’s warmer," he assured, watching Dipper squeak in excitement. "They look just like they are portrayed in the fairy tales: little, sparkly, with winds like a dragonfly," he described, as Dipper’s smile grew wider and wider.

The kids didn’t last long. They played with the gemstones for a bit, Dipper requested all the information about fairies and frowned in confusion when Ford took it literally and started describing their physique. Stan asked if he ever dissected a fairy, to which Ford laughed and excused himself.

Exhausted after a long day of (probably) distress and joy, the children began nodding off after a couple of hours.

"So you got the hair?" Fidds asked right after they put them to bed.

"Oh boy, we did!" Stan beamed and displayed a large bundle of tangled hair from his pockets. "You shoulda seen the unicorns!"

"He shot one of them," Ford clarified.

"You shot the unicorn? Like, dead?" F’s eyes widened in horror as he poked the hair on the table.

"What am I, a jerk? Nah, he’ll live, that pretentious motherfucker," he assured. "I just returned the favor."

"The unicorn’s blood burns the skin," Ford jumped in once again. "And you’ve cut his leg first."

"How was I supposed to know?" Stan argued. "Ya didn’t give me a warning!"

"I’ve told you not to jump into action without my command," Ford objected.

"I am not your puppet, Sixer."

"You got your hands burned because you didn’t listen to me!"

"Ooh, are ya concerned? How nice! I’ve gotten us the hair and the money, mind you, and you would only stand there and plead to that perverted horse!"

"Stanley, it-"

"Stop it, you two!" Fiddleford interrupted firmly. "If you got yer hands burned," he pointed at Stan, "you should clean and bandage them. If it’s bad, ye’r gonna need proper medical care, but since ye’r not screaming in pain, it should be fine."

Stan scoffed, hiding his hands. Yeah, proper care? Who needs it, he would be fine. Clean water is enough.

"You," Fidds turned to Ford, "are you injured?" He shook his head. "Good. Stop your bickering and let’s do the thing we need to do."

F could be intimidating when he dealt with stupidity. It was a rare sight, though.

"How were the kids?" Stan asked from the sink, where he was keeping his hand under running water.

"Oh, they’re lovely. We discussed Mabel’s drawings, Dipper took an interest in my projects, but then they found out you were gone. You probably shouldn’t leave them like this again," Fiddleford shook his head, huffing tiredly. "They searched the whole house, talking about some bad guy who came at night and their mother. And since I barely know Stan, I’m blamin’ you." He poked a finger at Ford, who threw his hands up in defense. Stan snorted.

Stanford bit his lip but did not try to object. As his brother had pointed out earlier, the reason they had to interrogate the unicorns was on his shoulders in the first place, so it did really come down to him. But he didn’t confirm it either, partially out of shame, partially out of fear of Stan’s mockery.

"Hey, Six!" Stan called, "Were do you keep bandages? Preferably clean."

He might have something in the bathroom. Not that Ford was concerned about having anything clean, the minor cuts and scratches healed fine on their own, but he was fairly certain he stocked up on emergency supplies.

"Ya know, I’m really glad you came to your senses," Fidds put a hand on his shoulder after Stan had left. "With that hair, we’ll be able to keep Bill out of the house, but what are you going to do next?"

"I’m not quite sure yet. We had asked the mailbox, and it gave us this." Ford showed the three pieces of paper to Fiddleford to inspect.

"Those poems are terrible," he commented after a moment. "But full of information. We can narrow it down easily."

"Let’s just hope that the Aztec prayers are documented and do not require human sacrifices," Ford scoffed, taking the papers back and folding them carefully. "I’ll go get some mercury and moonstones."

With that, he disappeared into the basement.

"Ford! A little help here?" Stan called, emerging from the hallway just a moment after Ford had left.

"He went to get the other stuff for the shield, whaddaya need help with?" Fidds asked, standing amidst the stained with rainbows kitchen.

"I just cleaned it a couple of days ago!" Stan groaned, looking at the mess. "Um, could you help me wrap my hands? It’s kinda hard to do on my own because I only have one hand availa-"

"Sure, no problem," Fiddleford cut off his rushed mumbling, heading to the bathroom.

The burns were not as bad as F had imagined. Second-degree, maybe, but they would heal fine, if not infected. Stan didn’t flinch a single time as he was bandaging them.

"So, when did you come here? I was here last time about a month ago, and you were nowhere to be seen." He asked, getting the small talk started.

"Only couple days ago. My existence might come as a surprise, huh?" He smirked dismissively.

"It sure did. Now that the kids aren’t here, how come Ford has never mentioned you?"

Fiddleford mentally facepalmed, when Stan winced a bit. Not the best choice of topic, for sure.

"Uh, we parted ways some time ago. Ford needed help with the kids, that’s why he called," he explained, choosing words carefully.

"Wait, he called me for the same reason. I thought you were here because of the Bill situation," Fidds frowned, trying to connect the pieces.

"Nah, that unraveled later. Ask Ford about it, I dunno what’s going on in his nerd brain," Stan shrugged, declaring the topic closed.

"Ya know, I’ve got a toddler of my own," Fiddleford directed the conversation away from the clearly personal stuff.

"Yeah? Tell me about it." Stan was happy to switch the dialogue around, for F to answer his questions.

"So we’re going to place the moonstones here, here, and here," Ford pointed to the places on the floorplan of the cabin, "sprinkle some mercury, glue the hair, and we’re done!" He clasped his hands together.

"Wait," Stan interrupted, "what are the rules of the stones' placement?"

"Um, they have to be at equal distances from the hair circle; why?" Ford raised an eyebrow.

"And the mercury?"

"It just has to be within the circle. What’s your point?"

"All that I’m saying is why Bill-proof the house, when we can Bill-proof the entire world, save for one small circle? Just place all of the shit outside and boom! No Bill anywhere." Stan shrugged as if it were obvious. "You’re not gonna tell me that the Earth is flat, are you?"

"Stanley, you’re a genius!" Ford exclaimed, burying his hands in his hair. "How did we not think of it?! Hang on, we make a circle on top of the hill, we put the moonstones…yes, yes, that will work, that has to work!"

Stan looked undeniably smug as Ford freaked out.

"Come on, let’s go!" He called, putting his coat on. "We need to try as soon as possible!"

"But it’s already almost nighttime," Fiddleford objected. "We can go in the morning."

"No! No, we can’t! What if he possesses me in front of the kids again? What if he possesses you? I can’t let that happen, I need to keep him away, I can’t sleep, I-!" Ford cut himself off, breathing heavily and glaring wildly at Fidds and Stan, who were still sitting at the table.

"Okay, okay, bro, let’s go. It shouldn’t take long. Come on, Fidds, vamos!" He called, grabbing the hair.

Fiddleford sighed but didn’t argue. Ford did look like he hadn’t slept for at least a couple of days, if not more. He did have a nasty habit of burying himself in the research and forgetting about the food and the sleep, and now the whole Bill problem had brought even more difficulty in maintaining a normal sleeping pattern.

Having the Stanleymobile would have helped a lot, but it was still parked somewhere in town and completely out of gas. They walked in the cold darkness, Ford visibly resisting the urge to run. It normally took about half an hour to get to the hill, but they managed to reach it in half the time.

They found a ravine where no animal would ruin the placement. Ford immediately got to work, his hands trembling violently, Stan carved out the small circle from a tree branch and started gluing the hair. His fingers were stiff from the cold and the burns, but he had managed a somewhat straight line going around the edges of the wooden piece.

They half-buried the piece, leaving just a small bit with the hair sticking out.

Ford placed the moonstones around it, measuring the distance carefully. As soon as the first bit of mercury hit the ground, a bright glow emerged from the hair circle, rising up and spreading over their heads.

The three men stared in awe at the glow fly higher and further, passing over the hill, over the woods, and over the town.

"It worked! It worked!" Ford breathed out, collapsing on the snow, mesmerized by the magical light.

But as it reached the borders of the town, it bounced off them and sank to the ground, as if a dome was spread over Gravity Falls, containing the light inside. It was still glowing over them, but it could not break the invisible border.

"What the…" Fiddleford frowned. "Did we do something wrong?"

"Oh no," Ford gasped, "I’ve been right."

"About what, Sixer? Why isn’t it spreading?" Stan looked at him, confused.

"The weirdness is contained inside Gravity Falls. I haven’t found a way for the border to be broken, and I hope so haven’t Bill. I think it worked within Gravity Falls, save for that small circle. I think we succeeded for the time Bill doesn’t know how to break out," he explained, still looking up at the pink sky.

The glow was slowly fading, giving the night sky its darkness back.

"But that’s good, right? If Bill cannot escape the town, the whole world should be safe," Stan double-checked.

"Temporarily, yes. But I’m not sure for how long."

They sat there for God-knows-how-long, until the cold got to them, staring at the stars. The calm, light wind weakly swirled with the snow, lifting it up a little and throwing it back on the ground. The forest was still and silent, not a bird would tweet, not a bear would growl in its sleep.

Chapter Text

"Ugh, Imma sleep for a week," Stan growled, finally opening the door of the shack. "Haven’t gotten a nice night in ages."

"Then go. Fidds, could you check on the kids with me?" Ford asked, yawning. Stan opened his mouth to argue, no, Ford could check on kids himself, he could not be possessed again, but Fiddleford shook his head, and he refrained from the comment.

They disappeared into the attic, discussing something in muffled voices. The house was eerily still and dark, not a window frame or a floorboard creaking, not a lightbulb on, not a candle alight. Stan looked around, noticing the chest still ajar by the door. He took a coin out, twisted it in his fingers. The coin shone dimly in the moonlight. Stan smiled. He could return to Jersey and throw it in his face. Even if Ford wanted a percentage, it would still be enough. However, it didn’t really feel like his own accomplishment. Ford took him to the unicorns, without his help, he would not have just stumbled upon their land, and he would not have defeated three unicorns on his own. Well, he probably would if he just shot them.

Despite everything, it counted as money. He could get a headstart when Ford recovered from his Bill problem and threw him out. It was going to happen eventually, they were grown men; they didn't need each other like in childhood; he couldn’t stay here for long. Ford wanted him to rent a place of his own to begin with, so Stan should probably do that.

But it’s the next day’s problems. For now, he would get a long, long sleep. Stan threw a coin back and turned around to leave, but something urged him to stay. He squinted at the treasure. It glimmered back at him in the moonlight. Stan picked up a coin again and tasted it.

The tiredness was gone immediately. His teeth scratched at the metal surface, and he felt little crumbs in his mouth. There were black lines on the coin when he looked again.

The kids were, thankfully, sound asleep. They didn’t exactly think about what could happen if they woke up while all the adults were gone, but it seemed they had gotten away with it.

Ford was so fucking tired.

They still had a few hours of the night left, and the kids were early risers: eight in the morning, and they’re up. Though Stan and Fidds could take care of them. As much as he hated it, he needed to sleep.

Fiddleford had no choice but to sleep on the couch since the room he had been previously staying in was occupied.

It all changed so quickly. One moment, he was alone with the blueprints, the portal, and Bill. The next, the house was full and loud, with tiny legs running around, his brother running after them, and Fiddleford observing with a quiet smile.

As surreal as it was, it was true. Though he tried to keep up the irritation with them as they constantly distracted him from work, he had to admit that it was nice to have the house clean, to have someone human to talk to, and to have someone make food and make him eat that food.

He probably wouldn’t last long; he hadn’t gone for longer than three days without the constant research. It had already been…five? Four? Something like that. Wow, that was quick.

Stan was nowhere to be seen. He had probably already gone to sleep. Well, that was wise of him. Ford really should follow his example.

Groaning, he flopped onto his bed face-first. His clothes could probably survive the night without being taken off; they have gone longer.

The clock was ticking loudly in the silence of the room. Too loudly. He could hear the wheels in the mechanism turning, dragging the other wheels with them, dragging the hand, the hand snapping into the next place, and a second later the wheels were turning, dragging the other wheels with them, dragging the hand, dragging, turning, snapping, turning, dragging, snapping, turning-

He threw a miscellaneous book at the clock. The book missed, hitting the wall with a loud thump. It slid off the wall, the pages shuffling, and the hard cover scratching the wood. It landed with a quieter thump.

The more he listened, the more sounds he could hear. The wind was blowing gently outside the window, whispering something to the trees. The pines answering it. The clock ticking, ticking, ticking…

He pushed a pillow over his ears, muffling all of the sounds. It helped a little: the wind was gone, the pines were gone, and the clock was almost gone. The relative silence got his mind off the sounds of the external and turned to the internal.

Look who finally got smart.

I’m surprised it tool you so long to realize it, IQ!

You think you can stop me just with this unicorn bullshit?

You can’t stop me. 

You are under my complete control.

Your family is under my complete control. 

And soon, your whole world will be!

Ford stood up jerkily. He couldn’t let himself sleep while everyone else was. They couldn’t know for sure if the barrier could hold Bill, and he had no intention of checking it now.

He stood up, steadying himself with a hand on the desk. His body could not give up that quickly; it had gotten him through college, where he had to stay up for days on end. Now, he had gotten the brief moments of rest, couple of hours at his desk. Should have been enough.

Besides, he couldn’t fall asleep immediately. That was a sign he wasn’t completely exhausted.

Maybe a little teeny-tiny bucket of coffee could help. Perhaps with an additive of whiskey.

But his plans were not meant to come true, apparently. The kitchen wasn’t empty.

Fiddleford was sitting at the table, scribbling something violently and cursing under his breath. Hoping his friend was so absorbed in whatever he was doing, Ford sneaked to the cupboards, ruffling for coffee. An empty jar—did he use to keep some spice there?—fell. Ford tried to catch it, but his hand moved slower than he intended, and the glass jar fell on the floor tile and shattered with a loud crack. Fiddleford snapped out of his paper and sharply turned around.

"Ford? Why aren’t ye sleeping?" He asked, rubbing his eyes.

"Why aren’t you?" Ford scowled and bent down to pick up the shards.

"Fair point, but I’ve been sleeping regularly before," F frowned, folding the paper. He tried to help with the glass, but Ford managed to pick up all of the large pieces quickly. He squeezed his hand around one, not sure of the purpose, but it did exactly what he had imagined: cut his hand slightly. Irritating, but not enough to be painful.

"Stanford, you should sleep," Fiddleford sighed, getting the broom to sweep all the little shards away. "We could brainstorm the messages in the morning; how about that?"

"You’ve been brainstorming the messages?" So those were the papers.

"Yeah, but I’m not familiar with the Aztec culture, and the wheel does not look familiar. I recognize yer hand and that’s kinda it," Fidds jumped into the explanation, ready to unfold the notes again, but caught himself. "Anyway, that could wait until the morning."

"Sure, go rest," Ford waved off, opening the cupboard again.

"Er, nah, not withoucha," Fiddleford stood stubborn.

"I appreciate the concern, but I will manage, thank you. Aha!" He took out the bag of grounded beans.

"Stanford, you look like death. Come on," F urged.

Ford did not respond, only popped the kettle onto the stove.

Fiddleford turned it off.

"Ford, what’s the matter? You supported your brother’s complaints about being tired," he asked, blocking the doorway out of the kitchen.

"I just don’t feel like it," Ford shrugged, turning the stove back on and trying desperately not to let his annoyance show.

"Sure thing, pal, but you know that you can’t function without sleep, doncha?"

"Fidds, just leave me alone, alright? I’ll be perfectly fine," he replied in a measured voice.

"It’s not like there’s anythin’ urgent," F insisted, turning the stove off again.

"Just lay it off, Fiddleford!" Ford snapped. "That’s none of your concern."

"It kinda is. Yer my friend, after all," Fiddleford’s voice sounded much less annoyed.

"I don’t want to sleep, I can’t sleep, F. Just drop it, please," Ford sighed, making no move to turn the heat on.

"Oh, Stanford, you know he can’t reach you," Fidds put a hand on his shoulder, why did everyone feel the need to put a hand on his shoulder- "Would you go to sleep if I kept watch?"

"I’m not sure what he’s capable of, but I know it’s a lot. And I do not know for sure that he can’t reach me," Ford tried to reason.

"Welp, ye can’t just not sleep forever. Come on, I’ll look out, though I’m sure nothing will happen," Fidds urged him to the room.

"But what about yourself? You should sleep too," Ford resisted with the last of his reserves.

"Ye need it more than me," F claimed in a tone that suggested this was undebatable.

Even if Ford was tired—okay,  he was exhausted—his vision swam just a little bit, and it was a tad difficult to gather thoughts, he still could not fall asleep. Fiddleford settled at the desk, unfolding his papers again, and ordered Stanford to "pass out", but it didn’t come as easily. A pencil scribbling was added to the sound of the clock, to the wind, to the trees, and to his head, and it was just as irritating.

Fidds started to hum something under his breath. And it clicked. The humming overpowered all the other noises, and he could suddenly only hear the quiet, unfamiliar tune interrupted with an occasional swear. Ford also had the habit of expressing his thoughts during work; it always annoyed Stan when he was trying to sleep, but, well, birds of a feather. The voice took the only place available in his mind, a place for which the clock, the wind, and the trees were fighting. When Ford tried to listen to the clock, his ears couldn’t pick up anything. When he tried to stay awake and think of the dangers of falling asleep, nothing came to mind. The hum, the whispering had firmly locked in and didn’t let anything else interrupt.

The repetitive sounds quieted and quieted the concerns, and soon there were none left. He still had at least four hours to sleep.

Chapter Text

It was just barely eight in the morning when the kids tentatively opened the door to Ford’s bedroom. Fiddleford was still sitting at the desk, dozing off before a pile of scribbles. Ford himself was still sleeping. Good.

He rushed the children out, shutting the door as quietly as he could.

"Uncle Stan is at the store," Dipper informed, keeping his voice to a whisper. "He left a note. " He shoved a scrawny piece of paper that read, ‘at the store. ‘ll be back at 9 or so. Stan.’

Only for an hour, but he was left with two kids alone, and not his kids. Not that Fiddleford was unexperienced, but it was still a responsibility not to get them hurt, scared or something.

"Alright, I suppose we could use a little bit more groceries. You can run out pretty fast with four people in the house."

"Hey, it’s five!" Mabel whisper-shouted.

"You two count as one. Speaking of food, we should eat somethin’."

Fidds ruffled through the fridge in an attempt to find something quick and edible. Milk, beer?, cheese, instant noodles—who put the instant noodles in the fringe and why? – cereal – this household thought all the foods belong in the fridge, or what?

Cereal would do it.

"Ooh, Rice Rainbows, my favorite." Mabel rubbed her palms.

"Good choice, kiddo, my son loves them too, but he’s too young to eat them often. That upsets him greatly," Fiddleford chimed, preparing the bowls. "Didja dream this night?"

"I did!" She proclaimed. "It was about the penguins who decided they could fly, and they took me with them. Did you know that the ocean is green right at the North Pole?"

"No, I did not. Interesting concept, though. How did you end up at the North Pole?"

"The penguins live there, don’t they?" Mabel asked, confused.

"No, honey, the penguins live at the South Pole. But it’s just as cold there, so many people confuse the places," he clarified and put the bowls before the children. Mabel immediately dumped a whole lot of glitter in hers.

"How is it cold there if it’s the South Pole?" She doubted.

"Dipper, do you know why?" Fidds sat down with them, starting his cereal.

"The poles are the furthest away from the sun, so little light and warmth reaches them," Dipper explained.

"Correct! Mabel, did you get it?" Mabel shook her head, abashed. "Ye see, the Earth is round, right? Like this…um…there are no apples in winter." Fidds hesitated for a moment, but then searched through the fridge once again, fetching an onion. "Like this onion. And there are the Poles." He pointed at the edges and brought the onion close to the lightbulb. "The lightbulb is the Sun. And it shines almost directly at the middle of the Earth. Ye see that the poles get less light?" The kids nodded. "Because the sunlight is hot, the middle of the Earth surface is also hot, fer it gets a lot more sunlight than the poles." Get it now?"

Mabel nodded silently, her lips perking up a little.

"Do you know when you learn this in school?" Fiddleford asked them, smiling proudly. "In the second or even the third grade! And you know it already! You both are very smart."

"Yeah, we are!" Mabel cheered. "Smart! Smart! Smart! Smart!" She chanted, and Dipper joined in.

"Yeesh, keep it down, will ye? Stanford’s still asleep, and he’s really tired. Try not to wake him up for at least a couple of hours more, alright?" Fidds reasoned.

"Sorry," Dipper said, bringing his voice down. "You know what I’ve noticed? Uncle Stan’s name is Stan-ley, your name is Fiddleford, and if you combine Stan’s first part with your second part, you get Stanford! Uncle Ford’s name." He grinned, proud of his discovery.

"That is correct. Though it’s probably better not to combine our parts," Fiddleford smiled.

They finished their cereal in relative silence (until Mabel decided to play with the soggy pieces by throwing them in Dipper’s face, and the boy did not hesitate to strike back), and the kids started to beg for Fidds to go outside. The sun was just rising, and it seemingly lit up the snow to the point that it was painful to look out the window. Fiddleford stubbornly resisted. Not that he was against the idea of the kids playing outside, but he couldn’t let them out without any adult supervision, and he knew that if Ford woke up to the empty house, he would freak out. Best to wait for Stanley to return.  

So they settled for eye-spy to pass the remaining half an hour until Stan showed up at the doorstep, covered with snow and heaving.

"Stanley! What’s the matter? We thought ye were at the store," Fiddleford stood up and went to the hallway, the kids trailing behind.

"Yup, I was there. It was cold outside, and the car was empty, so running it was. Healthy, isn’t it?" He managed, dropping the bag that he apparently brought with him.

"What did you buy? Anything tasty?" Mabel peeked into the bag, looking for sweets.

"Ya bet, kid. Ya may scavenge all ya want. But I've got somethin’ for you both," he grinned widely. "Dipper! C’mere!"

Dipper was there immediately, trying his best to hide his curiosity.

"Look, I’ve gotcha two cool hats." Stan took out a blue baseball cap. "That’s for when it’s warmer, but I saw a pine tree on it and I knew I had to…get it. Try it on!" He handed him the cap.

"Try it on! Try it on!" Mabel chanted, and Stan supported her.

Dipper put the hat on, not looking too sure of it, but when he looked into the mirror, his face lit up.

"A bit big, but your head’s only goin’ to get bigger," Stan commented, satisfied with his…purchase. Fiddleford took a look at the cap and gulped. Two symbols. And one was on the five-year-old boy’s head. Great.

"Okay, so the second one is for now," Stan shuffled through the bag and fetched a deep-blue knit hat that looked remotely like a beanie but with earflaps. "I think this colour suits ya."

Dipper wordlessly tried the hat on. His face did not show the same excitement, but he didn’t pout. Stan could take it. Besides, Dipper looked unbearably cute in that hat.

"So, waddaya say?"

"Thanks, Uncle Stan!" He smiled genuinely. "I really, really like the cap."

"Huh, you’r welcome, kid. Now, Mabel, I have somethin’ for ya too." He pulled out a rather large, brightly colored box. "It’s crafting supplies and guides. I think it’s about drawing, papier-mache, knitting, and…eh, see for yourself." He handed her the box.

Mabel yelled. Very loudly.

"UNCLE STAN! Thank you, thank you, thank you! It has knitting guides?! I always wanted to learn to knit! It’s sooo cool!"

She immediately tore the tape holding the box together and started looking through the contents, babbling happily.

"How little is needed for happiness," Stan mused, looking over the two kids sorting out the supplies and examining them.

"Indeed," Fiddleford agreed.

"Where’s Ford?" Stan asked, not even trying to wipe the gentle smile off. He normally would, for a man could only laugh wholeheartedly or smirk looking down, and he was a man, but the twins were such a heartwarming sight.

"Sleeping, I hope. If Mabel didn’t wake him up just now."

She, apparently, did not. Ford was still out when Fidds returned to the bedroom and looked through the pages again. They had two symbols on the wheel, and the fact that they ‘belonged’ to two of the Pines was bothering him. Is that a coincidence, or is it destiny?

One of the other symbols was a pair of glasses that looked very similar to Ford’s. F was always jealous of Ford’s glasses, they looked too nice on him, whereas his gave him a ratty look. He had tried Ford’s on, but they didn’t suit him and threatened to fall off his nose constantly, so he settled with his own. Could those glasses be Ford again? Rather strange.

Mabel was stoked about the kit. It had so many little things - and she loved little things—like some stickers, some sequins carefully put in a little plastic bag, a glue gun—a real glue gun—some yarn and the needles, six bottles of paint, brushes, books with colorful pictures on how to use all that stuff—so many great things! She received a gift far better than Dipper, but he seemed content with his new cap.

Uncle Stan was sooo nice. He made them food, played with them, told stories, and now he got them gifts! Uncle Ford was nice too, but he was serious. He spoke those fancy-shmancy words, so Mabel didn’t understand him at times, and he scared her once with that bad yellow-eyed guy, but Dipper liked Uncle Ford, and so did Stan.

"Heya, kiddos, Fidds told me ya wanted outside, how about we go play there now?" Uncle Stan proposed. He spoke funny, like Fidds but differently, but he didn’t use smart words, so she understood him. He used some cool exclamations, though, like ‘heya’, or ‘oi’, or ‘kapeesh’. Mabel liked those strange words.

She didn’t want to leave the kit, but she wanted to go play with Dipper and Uncle Stan. Noticing her hesitation, Stan assured they could get into the kit as soon as they got home, and it was probably better to go outside not to wake Ford up.

So they went outside. Stan made sure they were both bundled up. Mabel didn’t have a hat, so he put his own on her head. It was too large and got over the eyes, but it was cold outside. Stan himself just threw his shaggy coat on. Mabel wondered if he would be cold but didn’t comment because Dipper was already dragging her out of the door.

"Hey, Dip-dop, let go!" She complained, rubbing her arm as he did so. Not that it hurt; she just wanted to distract him.

"Sorry, Mabel, did I hurt you?" He asked, inching closer. Just what she needed. She grabbed a handful of snow and shoved it right into Dipper’s face. "Hey, unfair!" He shouted and threw a handful back. Stan laughed, still standing on the porch.

With this, the great battle unfolded. They tried to form proper snowballs, but the snow wasn’t sticky, so they fell apart halfway through the throw, and only a bunch of snowflakes reached the opponent, so they got into hand combat, shoving the snow directly at each other.

"Uncle Stan!" Mabel shouted. "Catch!"

She threw the largest pile she could at him. It hit him directly in the chest.

"Ugh, kiddo, you don’t know what you’ve gotten yourself into!" He growled, launching at her. Mabel backed away, startled by the sudden movement, but Stan landed just before her and pushed her into the snow. It didn’t hurt, but it was cold. Mabel shrieked and thrashed, trying to throw more snow at Stan. The screams quickly turned into laughs as Dipper joined in, and they managed to throw Stan himself into the snow.

"Can we make a snowman?" Dipper asked as they all got up, still breathless from the fight.

"I don’t think so. It’s too cold, the snow won’t hold the shape," Stan explained, demonstrating the falling apart snowball.

"Ugh, stupid cold!" Mabel complained and kicked the ground.

"Hey, who’s that?" Dipper pointed at the figure they hadn’t noticed before standing on the road and watching them.

"I dunno. Stay here, I’m gonna go ask," Stan instructed and strode to the person.

The twins shrugged, standing there awkwardly. To break the silence, Dipper bent down and picked something up. Mabel peeked at what he was holding, and boy was she wrong to do so.

Dipper just shoved more snow into her face.

"Revenge!" He hollered, and the fight began once again.

"Hey, kiddos!" Stan called, returning to them. Both raised their heads in the middle of the heated moment: Dipper had Mabel in a headlock, and she was struggling to get out. "I’ve gotcha someone else to play with!"

"Hi, dudes," the figure, who turned out to be a boy a lot older than them, spoke. He was rather large, a lot bigger than the twins, and looked between ten and twenty. "I’m Soos."

"Hi, Soos!" Mabel greeted him. "I’m Mabel, and that’s Dipper," she introduced.

"Nice to meet you, dudes. I was just walking, and I stumbled upon this cabin, and you were here, so I just…" he jumped into an explanation, but Stan interrupted him.

"Yeah, yeah, we get it; you couldn’t resist joining us. Come on, let’s get those little gremlins!" He exclaimed, already bending down to get some snow.

Soos turned out to be a really nice guy. He was no older than twelve, by the looks of it. The kids crammed into one big pile together, and Stan stepped out shortly after. It looked like they were having the time of their lives, rolling around in the snow and getting all wet.

The chills started to get to him after just half an hour. By the time the game died off, he was shivering violently, but didn’t go inside. If the forest was as dangerous as Ford had said, it was better to have the children supervised.

They returned to the house with soaked clothes and huge smiles. Soos was invited too, Stan couldn’t leave a child to go home like this; it was easy to catch a cold.

It turned out Soos was thirteen, but behaved as if he were eight. He wasn’t stupid, just naïve as hell. He lived with his grandmother, whom he called abuelita. Mexican, huh?

He told the stories about the shows he’d watched and his dreams about making those shows interactive. Given Fiddleford’s passion for computers, he would find this guy interesting.

Apparently, he was also great at fixing stuff. "Hey, dudes, your coffee machine looks broken. You got a screwdriver?" He said, and just fixed the machine that Stan didn’t even know was broken in a few swift moves. Fiddleford is definitely going to like the guy.

Speak of the devil. Both nerds showed up unannounced as Stan and the kids were drinking tea and trying to warm up.

"Good…what time is it?" Ford rubbed his eyes sleepily.

"It’s noon," Stan informed, amused.

"Good afternoon, then. Who is that?" He pointed at Soos, still half out of it.

"It’s Soos!" Dipper answered. "He’s our new friend, we played together today."

Ford eyed the company, his eyes stopping at Dipper’s cap and then darting to Soos. Ford shuddered. Soos wore a shirt with dinosaurs and question marks on it.

"Fiddleford…" he called quietly, staring at Soos.

Chapter Text

They couldn’t figure it out. They went over countless theories and hypotheses, but none made sense. The main theory was that the symbols on a wheel were a prophecy (which they didn’t like), each representing a person. But glasses? Ford had two symbols.

Besides, none of the others looked familiar, except one. The weird symbol that didn’t resemble anything, a dot with something that looked remotely like a fish eating that dot. Ford was sure he had seen it, but he couldn’t remember where or when.

They didn’t make a lot of progress on the other riddle either. Fiddleford had found a book on Aztec mythology, and they were not pleased at the dark imagery there. Regarding Bill’s insanity, they narrowed it down to the deities of Death. There was one who demanded a human sacrifice: the ruler of the underworld. Cannibalism was practiced at his temple.

They brushed the ancient gods off and continued on the prophecy wheel.

Unfortunately, to no avail. For two weeks, two whole weeks they were spending hours and hours every day, burying themselves in research, but they seemed to hit a dead end. Fiddleford kept suggesting they took a break, but Ford remained stubborn. Bill was nowhere to be seen for the entire fortnight, and while it was a blessing, they did not know for how long it would last. Could be years, could be hours. No time for breaks.

Eventually, Fiddleford gave up. He just threw the papers at Ford and stormed out of the lab. Later, Ford found him playing a stupid, mindless board game with the kids. Fidds did not leave, at least not yet, but he didn’t help him either. Well, no, he did help, around the house, Stan and he took pretty good care of it and the kids. Ford wasn’t seeing them often, only for meals when they managed to bully him upstairs or when Stan went down to the basement, exhausted after a long day of being the entertainer for the five-year-olds, and all but begged him to get some sleep.

Ford refused every time, and Stan would get mad every time, and say something like ‘why am I even bothering?’, and Ford would reply something like ‘it’s none of your concern.’ It seemed to upset Stan for whatever reason, and he usually glanced at the curtain hiding the portal uneasily and left after that, but Ford had some more important stuff to deal with. Like, you know, getting rid of the demon that could possess him at any given moment.

So, their Bill problem had been solved, right? Everything would be alright now, the demon is gone, right? Ford will be able to finally clear his mind, right?

Wrong. Ford, for whatever reason, was hiding in the basement. All the time. With Fiddleford. Which left the kids entirely with Stan. Not that he was complaining, no, the kids were fucking adorable and fun; he finally had a roof over his head, and it seemed like no one was going to take it from him anytime soon. Even with the unicorns’ money, Ford still allowed him into the house.

Well, given he was that busy with his nerd shit, Stan had to stay for the sake of the younger twins, but life was becoming more and more unbearable by the day. The only relief was Soos, who came around every other day to play with the twins, so Stan could get a couple of hours of sleep. Still, that wasn’t enough.

Once, he fell asleep on Dipper and the boy was struggling to get out for an hour. The other time, he went down to the basement to make Ford eat something, and Ford pointed a fucking gun at him. To be fair, he did apologize, but the aftertaste was nasty. Stan had burned his hands again a ton while he was cooking, but it all reached its limit when he lost touch with reality while pouring boiling water into Mabel’s mug. He burned her. He scared her.

Even though the situation resolved rather quickly, and the burn wasn’t bad (Mabel bravely didn’t shed a tear), she flinched when he tried to fill her mug once again. Of course she did. That’s out of instinct or whatever. Avoid the hazards and stuff. He tried not to take it personally, but it still stung to have her back away.

Stan decided the kids would be fine on their own for a short while. He could only make the situation worse if he interfered more, given his tiredness and dizziness. The cold, fresh air made it far easier to breathe and cooled off his skin. Stan shivered and lit a cigarette. He wasn’t a frequent smoker; he allowed himself to buy only one pack a month, but he usually wasn’t even reaching the set limit, only pulling out a fag when it all became too much or, on rare occasions, to look cooler.

The smoke burned in his lungs, and his throat stung from the oily residue of the cheap cigs. Stan shivered more violently. He should have probably put the coat on, but, whatever, what’s done is done. The cold was getting into his fingers, making them harder to bend, then into his wrists and feet, making them ache. Even if unpleasant, it was grounding. The cig burned itself out quicker than he had expected, so Stan pulled out another one, struggled with the lighter – his fingers refused to move according to his brain’s orders, - and lit the second cigarette.

But then someone was banging at the window from the inside. He turned around to see the kids smiling at him and waving their hands from behind the glass. He waved at them too, and Mabel said something he couldn’t hear, but it caused Dipper to shove her. Both the kids laughed, poking at each other, and hopped it, running further inside the house and out of Stan’s sight.

Seeing all those innocent games made pictures from their childhood spark into his mind. The twins demeanor reminded him so heavily of his and Ford’s own from years ago. They were the inseparable team of non-stop fun, and look at them now. One hasn’t slept properly in days because of the demons—literal demons—and the other is fucking homeless. Ford was going to make him rent his own place eventually or, which was more likely, order him to get out of his sight, but, for now, Stan was content with not reminding him.

The door opened slightly, and Dipper poked his head through.

"Uncle Stan?" He called. "Can I come out there?"

"Sure, kid, if you don’t mind that I’m puffin’," Stan shrugged, breathing in the bitter smoke.

"No, mom smokes, and we’re used to it. It’s bad for you, you know?" Dipper wriggled through the tiny gap. He was wearing his cap and just a warm jumper, not a full coat.

"And ya know that it’s freezin’ and ya shouldn’t be outside dressed like that?" Stan replied, breathing out over his shoulder.

Dipper just eyed him. Fair point. Stan also shouldn’t smoke in front of kids. What kind of example was he? Well, even without smoking, still a bad one. He pressed the cigarette into the snow anyway.

They stood there in silence for several minutes, but it seemed that at least half an hour had passed. The nature was gravely still, keeping the silence with them. Everyone was thinking their own thing, but with another person around, it was hard to keep the train of not-so-pleasant thoughts going. Stan kept glancing at Dipper. The boy clearly had something on his mind, but Stan wasn’t going to interrogate him unless the kid wanted so. Everyone should have some time to themselves, so he just watched the calm forest and the cloudless sky.

Until he heard a quiet sniff.

"Hey, Dipper, what’s up?" He asked, crouching down to see the boy trying desperately to hold back tears. Well, that was out of the blue.

Dipper just shook his head and sniffed again. Stan plopped on the porch full-on, turning to the boy. He did not touch him, partially because Dipper didn’t like being touched and because Stan probably smelled horribly. The boy took another minute to gather himself and spoke quietly, almost indecipherably, "I just miss mom. Mabel’s talking about her like we’re going to see her again, but I know we aren’t."

Stan only sighed. He could not give the kid any sort of encouragement that wouldn’t be plain lying. Besides, he was in that situation. He still is. No home to come to, no parents, no brother, no nothing. And how did he cope? Oh, that’s right, he didn’t.

"Like I know we can, you probably aren’t going to refuse us a trip home, but we shouldn’t," Dipper told. No five-year-old should speak like this. Five-year-olds should cry about spilled juice and watch dumb cartoons, not contemplate morality.

"Dipper, as I’ve already mentioned, you’re very smart for your age. Maybe a little too smart," Stan replied, staring in the distance. "You’re right, we’re not gonna prohibit seeing your mom, but we’re not gonna let you two live with her as it were before. As for ‘shouldn’t’ crap…Look, I haven’t seen my mom in years. For a different reason, but still. I, however, have money to call her, but it’s not the same. I get it. If you feel like you really should see her or call her, I’m not gonna stop ya."

Dipper sniffed once more and leaned to his side. Stan felt the boy shiver.

"Come on, let’s go inside; it’s cold. We don’t wanna get sick," he urged.

The boy nodded and got up, but then turned around and pointed to something black and alive.

"Look, it’s a cat! What’s it doing out here?"

Stan squinted. His eyesight wasn’t as bad as Ford’s, but he still could see shit.

"Gonna take your word for it. Doesn’t really matter; cats are free-spirited animals. Let it mind its business," he waved off and opened the door.

He heard a shriek from behind him.

When Stan turned around, he saw two figures in a flying mortar disappearing into the forest. One of them was undeniably Dipper.

Ford was just shamelessly procrastinating. Well, not exactly shamelessly, but he’s been going over and over the same thing and still finding nothing. The situation seemed hopeless. If only he had some more resources, but he was limited to his, Fiddleford’s and the public library. It would be extremely helpful to have some original Aztec manuscripts for the messages. He dropped his head on the table and groaned in frustration. During the whole two weeks, he had gotten no closer to the answer.

He realized he had missed the unlimited knowledge Bill possessed (ha!). Now that he did not have anything to draw information from, he was helpless.

"Stanford! STANFORD!" Someone shouted from the stairs to the basement.

The distressed voice undeniably belonged to Stan. Ford startled. Whatever happened, it must have been something serious.

Stan burst inside his lab, panting like he was running from…eh, Ford was no good at comparisons.

"Ford, this is fucking urgent! Dipper’s been kidnapped by someone in a mortar, they flew to the forest, I don’t know what to do! Ford!" He gibbered, throwing his arms over his head. Ford only frowned, confused. The present moment felt almost unreal.

"Ford, I’m serious! We were sitting on a porch, and then there was a cat, and then Dipper was gone! You have to help me, you know about the things in the forest!"

Something clicked. Dipper was kidnapped. How was he so slow to react?

Ford jumped to his feet, not saying anything, grabbed his journal and a crossbow, and sprinted up the stairs. Stan shouted something, but he ignored it.

Stanley caught him by the arm once he was upstairs.

"You cannot go alone. I’m coming with you," he stated firmly.

"Where are you two goin’?" Fiddleford emerged from the living room, hands crossed. Mabel trailed behind him.

"F, listen. Keep an eye on Mabel. We’re going to be gone for awhile," Ford replied, shaking Stan’s hand off.

"Where? And where’s Dipper?" Mabel frowned, stepping from behind Fiddleford.

Stan crouched down and patted her on the back. "We are going to get Dipper. He wandered off a little. We’ll be back soon, I promise."

"NO!" She yelled. "I’m going with you! You said it yourself that the forest is dangerous! Dipper could be…he could…" The words died on her lips, as she swept at her eyes furiously.

"Absolutely not," Ford stated.

"I am!" Mabel denied.

"You’re not!"

"Am too!"

"No."

"Yes!"

"No!"

"YES!"

"N-"

"Enough!" Fiddleford snapped. "Quit that! We’re all going together! Get your coats, get weapons, hurry up!"

"But Fidds, she’s a child!" Ford reasoned.

"She knows Dipper far better than any of us. Besides, he’s her brother. Wouldn’t you be eager to save yours too?"

Ford snapped his mouth shut and looked at Fiddleford with a pained expression.

"We’re heading off together," Fidds assured once more as he put on his coat.

Chapter Text

They hurried into the forest, Mabel clinging to Stan’s coat for dear life. She refused to be picked up and struggled to meet the adults’ pace, but she didn’t complain. As soon as the woods became thicker, they stopped at once. No one knew where to go. The mortar was flying, after all. Flying left no trail, everyone knew that. Ford looked around desperately but did not see anything he could use to track Dipper.

"Look!" Fiddleford pointed at the trees above. "Some branches are broken."

"A lot of branches are broken in the forest," Stan argued, gesturing around. There are indeed a lot of broken branches, but the ones that F pointed to looked intentionally destroyed.

"It’s a path! Quick!" Ford yelled, moving forward without looking back. Everyone hurried after him.

The broken branches did form a path. A very straight path. Stan dropped his hesitation and picked Mabel up, unhearing of her complaints. Time is money. In this circumstance, time could mean life.

The deep forest began to clear after just fifteen minutes of chase. The group found themselves in front of a strange little cabin on stilts. No, not on stilts, on…chicken legs? Those were undeniably chicken legs. The trail stopped here, and a realization struck Stan. A black cat. A flying mortar. A cabin on chicken legs. The time he had stent in Eastern Europe finally paid off.

"What in the world…" Ford whispered, squinting at the house.

"I know what that is," Stanley said, putting Mabel, who went quiet a long time ago and just observed, down. "You’re not gonna like it."

"Spill the beans already," Fidds jumped in.

"It’s eerm…I can’t remember what it’s called, but I know who lives here. There’s a Slavic myth about an old crone named Baba Yaga. She lives in the house on two chicken legs, flies in a mortar with a broom, and has a black cat. Some sort of witch," he described, counting on his fingers.

"Fascinating! What is it doing here?" Ford shuffled his hair, and Stan shrugged.

 "Oh, forgot one thing! She eats children. And I think she has a fence with human skulls, but I don’t see it. Weird." He waved his hand as if he were talking about the weather.

"Mother my…" Fiddleford whispered, but he was cut off by Stanford.

"We need to get in! Stanley, do you know how to?" He grabbed Stan’s arms and shook him.

"Oi, get off, Six! You don’t know how to get into a cabin? Ya live in one!"

"It’s on fucking legs, Stanley! It’ll just run off!" Ford swore, and clasped a hand over his mouth, remembering about Mabel.

"I bet ya it wouldn’t. Observe."

Stan approached the cabin, and it made no movement. He tried to look for the door, but the wall they were facing was blank. So he moved around it. The cabin did too. Stan circled the cabin. It kept him facing the back of itself.

"How did it go, smart guy?" Ford teased. Stan scowled at him.

"I’ll get it. If we rounded it up, it would be perfect."

"No, wait! It can still run off, and Dipper’s inside!" Mabel screamed suddenly. They seemed to completely forget about her with their bickering, and she was standing there, closer to Fidds now, who kept a protective hand on her shoulder. Stan saw the trails of tears on her cheeks as she approached. "I know the trick. Our mother told us the story where a brave man said, ‘Cabin, little cabin, turn your back to the forest, turn your front to me,’ and it let him in."

Stan repeated the words, smiling at her, and…

Nothing happened. The cabin stayed where it had been.

"Ugh, really? Well, we might resort to using some brute force," Ford groaned, loading his crossbow, but Stan interrupted him with a sharp gesture.

"I’ll try to say it in Russian. I remember now, there were those words. If I don’t get it, we’ll have to risk it." He concentrated for a second, forming the sentence, and spoke what seemed to be complete gibberish. Everyone waited. Mabel tried to stop crying so as not to disturb the adults, but Stan said the witch ate children, and they were children, and if Stan wouldn’t be able to translate the phrase, Dipper might be eaten by the crazy old witch.

But the cabin moved. It turned around, revealing a small beat-up door, and crouched down for them to get in easily.

"Yes! I’m rusty, but I still remember!" Stan hollered and approached the door, but Ford grabbed him by the jacket.

"We do not know if she’s hostile. I’ll go with Fiddleford, you stay here with Mabel," he instructed.

"Dear brother, remind me, please, since when do you speak any Slavic language," Stan protested.

"He’s got a point," Fiddleford commented. "I’ll stay with Mabel, and you two can go."

"But-" the girl tried to act and was quickly cut off with ‘no buts’ from everyone. Stan crouched down next to her, patting her head.

"Sweetie, you can’t risk going in there. We’ll be fine; we’ll get Dipper as soon as possible, and then we'll all go get something tasty at the diner. You’ve helped us to find a great way to get in, so you’ll get the biggest portion of pancakes, okay?"

"I’ll give them to Dipper," she stated, but nodded and hugged Fiddleford’s leg.

The cabin shook its entire frame in impatience.

"Catch!" Stan threw a loaded gun at Fidds and dragged Ford towards the entrance.

"Jesus! Stan, don’t throw guns like that!" F shouted, but the men had already disappeared inside.

"Anyone here? Hello?" Stan called loudly as they walked into the cabin. Ford hit his arm in an attempt to get his brother to shut up.

Even though the cabin looked ridiculously tiny from the outside, it was surprisingly spacious inside. As soon as they stepped inside, they felt the house stand up and turn around, blocking Fiddleford and Mabel from entering. Stan dimply wondered how sickening it would be to live here, as the cabin did not seem to be prone to standing still for a long time.

"Who’s there?" The cranky voice with a heavy accent replied, and a moment later an ancient woman showed up from the door to, as Stan guessed, the main room.

She held onto a huge wooden stick that resembled a cane to support her weight, as her crooked spine couldn’t serve its purpose anymore. Awfully tangled white hair hung down in messy icicles. Some of it had already fallen out, and the porcelain scalp began to show. She blew away a strip of hair, revealing a huge wart on her respectively large nose. Stan whistled quietly: she was a sight.

"What do you need, young travelers?" She asked, eyeing them suspiciously.

"Good afternoon, miss," Stanford greeted her, and Stan barely resisted the urge to slap him. "We-"

"We were lost in the forest and saw your lovely home. Do you mind getting us something to drink? We’re, like, super tired," he grinned, using his wide, honest-salesman smile. Ford scowled but didn’t say anything.

"Oh, of course! Come, come, I have guests now, but I think you won’t mind," she replied, smiling back.

Ford whispered something about grammar and politeness, and Stan shoved him immediately. ‘Guests’ could mean Dipper.

They entered the main room: there was a large furnace in the corner, a wooden table, and a huge, disgustingly dirty cauldron. The black cat jumped up on the table, drawing attention to itself. At the table, in the corner, Dipper sat. He was undoubtedly terrified but remained quiet. While the witch fiddled with the glasses she took off the top of the furnace, Stan brought a finger to his lips, signing the boy to keep silent. Ford got the same gesture.

"Here, have this water." The witch handed them two glasses filled to the brim. Ford brought his to his lips, earning yet another punch from Stan.

"Poison," he whispered barely audibly.

"So, what brought you here?" The woman asked, clasping her hands together.

"Eh, we’re just tourists. Wandered off a bit and got lost," Stan answered immediately. "What an interesting house you have, by the way! How did you get it to work like that?"

"Isn’t it the kind of question your brother would ask?" The witch replied, sneering a little.

The three of the Pines froze. Shit.

"I know who you are, Pines. You can drop the act."

"I’m so sorry!" Ford exclaimed. "But can you, please, explain what’s going on?"

The witch giggled. Dipper crept closer to Stan, keeping himself as quiet as ever.

"All in time, Stanford. Firstly, I have to apologize for my house; she refuses to speak English. I try to teach her over and over, but it’s pointless!" She threw her hands up in frustration. "But she’s old, I get it. Please forgive her." She patted the walls in a loving manner.

Ford didn’t say anything, just nodded a few times, staring at the place she had touched.

"Now, I imagine why you two are here," she giggled again. The twins nodded. "It’s just hard to come and talk to people, you know? Some strange force brought me here just about two weeks ago, and I have not yet adapted to the environment. So I just did it the old way, kidnapping children and stuff. Ah, I miss the old days," she mused, "when we got to eat something nice for once. What a lovely fence I used to have! But times change…How did they say it, Stanford? Oh tempera oh mores?"

"O tempora, o mores," Ford corrected automatically.

"So you won’t eat Dipper?" Stan gaped.

"What? No, I won’t! The boy’s um…I can’t remember the word. I’m not well versed in English myself yet. Takes a long time when you’re this old," she sighed, annoyed with herself.

"You speak very well," Stan commented, amused. "What’s the word you’re looking for? Describe it."

"Well, it’s like…he has noodle-arms, he’s all…unappetizing," she tried, a frown forming on her forehead.

"You mean he’s scrawny? Yeah, good point," Stan agreed. Dipper looked relieved and, at the same time, mortified.

"Yes, yes, thank you!" She clapped. "So, yeah, I won’t eat him. The girl looks kind of nice, though. But that’s not why I’ve called you." She stood up from the bench beside the table and went to mix a liquid inside her cauldron.

"Then why?" Ford perked up.

"Impatient," she huffed, looking at the surface closely. "Come here."

Ford stood up, and signaled to Stan and Dipper to keep sitting but move closer to the edge so it would be easier to flee if needed.

"Watch," she ordered, and Ford took a look inside the potion. It showed the scene he had experienced two weeks ago. Stan and him here standing in the middle of the forest near the mailbox. Past-Ford had just unfolded the paper, and Stan read the rhyme aloud. Ford shuddered.

"You can see the past with this?" He asked tentatively.

"Not just the past," the witch replied, "but also the present and the future. Here." She mixed the liquid a bit more, and the picture changed. It now showed them, at the exact same moment, with him and the witch standing beside the cauldron, Stan and Dipper sitting at the table. She stirred it once again, and it showed the whole family and Fiddleford walking away into the forest.

"Fascinating! Would you mind telling me the recipe?"

"Of course I would! This is ancient magic, it’s not for mortals like you! Anyways, I’ve heard this rhyme. It’s terrible, I must admit, but I know what it’s talking about."

Ford’s eyes widened. This could be the answer to all of his problems—the way to get Bill out of this world, the way to sleep when so desired, without the constant sense of dread looming over him.

"So? Tell me!" The witch seemed to be enjoying taunting him, holding off on the answers for as long as possible.

"Fine, Devil! It prays to Xolotl, the ancient Aztec god. I happen to know him, actually. We met very briefly. Xolotl is a god of many things, but what’s important for you, is that he’s the god of twins. The note is talking about a sacrifice. The prayer can be found just…hold on a second," she stepped away and ruffled through all the clutter on her furnace. "There. Wrote it down for you. Take this, grab your twins, conduct your ritual, and get me out of here. I do not know what force has brought us to Gravity Falls and isn’t letting us out, but I want to go home!" She snapped.

"Ford," Stan whispered, pulling Dipper closer as Stanford’s hand grabbed the paper.

"What’s taking them so long?" Mabel whined, beating the snow with her foot.

"I don’t know, honey," Fiddleford sighed.

"What are they doing there?" She nagged.

"I don’t know," he repeated. F could understand her anxiety, but it quickly became frustrating as hell. Five more minutes, and he would be going in. Everything had been eerily quiet, the cabin turned around once again, away from them, once Stan and Ford entered. There were no sings of struggle, no noise whatsoever. It could mean that everything was fine, but it could also point towards the opposite.

The poor girl sat down in the snow, not taking her eyes off the house. Fiddleford stood behind her, a gun in his hand, which he had barely managed to catch. The minutes dragged unbearably slowly, and when he checked his watch, only about fifteen minutes had passed since the twins’ departure.

Suddenly, the cabin began to shift. Mabel scampered back to Fiddleford, hiding behind his legs. Fidds set the gun at the ready.

The cabin turned slowly, revealing its front once more, and the door opened. F placed his finger on a trigger, ready to shoot.

But there was no need. The twins stepped outside, Stan bumping his head against the doorframe and cursing loudly. Dipper followed them closely. The three Pines got down from the cabin, hopping into the snow, seemingly unharmed.

Mabel shrieked. She pulled herself away from Fiddleford’s legs and sprinted towards her family.

"DIPPER!" She called, running as fast as she could. The root bumping out underneath the snow caught her foot, and she toppled over. While she was trying to stand up, she got tangled in her scarf, and by the time she managed to stand, Dipper was already standing right next to her. "Bro! She didn’t eat you!" She screamed right into his face and hugged him with as much force as she could.

"Ah, Mabel, let go!" The boy complained but wrapped his arms around her too.

"So it didn’t go as bad?" Fiddleford asked, smiling at both pairs of twins.

"Depends," answered Ford, his expression grave.

Chapter Text

The five of them stayed at the diner until it was getting dark outside. The kids shared their experiences, and Mabel let Dipper eat the biggest portion of pancakes as she promised, ordering only a couple for herself. Dipper recovered rather quickly, and they were now making fun of the witch’s bizarre appearance. The adults remained quiet throughout the entire ordeal, Ford was still clutching the paper in his hand and glancing around cautiously, and Stan was obviously trying his hardest to stay awake. When the kids started to get dozy and only weakly dragged their forks on the plates, making the most irritating sound to ever exist, they paid—Fiddleford did; neither Stan nor Ford had any money, but they kept promising they would pay it back—and headed home.

Mabel started complaining about her legs being tired after the long day of walking around the forest, and Stan picked her up. Dipper stood (or walked?) strong, but Ford had to carry him too because it was taking far too long to move at such a slow pace. The adults looked even more tired than the children, Stanley managed to almost drop Mabel, who dozed off in his hands, which resulted in Fiddleford carrying her instead.

The walk was tedious and nerve-racking. Ford didn’t elaborate on what he had meant by ‘depends’, and when the topic of Stan speaking Russian was brought up, he just waved it off and pointed at the kids. They fell into silence, each lost in their own thoughts.

As soon as the kids were sleeping properly, the adults gathered in the kitchen. That kitchen had never seen so many talks happen in a long time. It hadn’t seen anything happen in a long time, to be honest.

"So? What did you mean?" Fiddleford asked as soon as they all sat down. Stan put his head on his arms and sank into the table.

"It’s hard to explain," Ford sighed. "The good thing is that Dipper has not hurt, save for some minor scratches, and we managed to get out alive just fine. With some extremely useful information, actually. The bad thing is that information. The witch seemed unfamiliar with the place; she said some strange force brought her here a fortnight ago. I’m assuming that has something to do with the boundary that we have created, though I am not entirely sure. I asked her about that, but she didn’t know. Though she seemed quite mad about it… The question is why it brought her here exactly and where from. She’s Russian, isn’t she? The house understood Russian."

Stan shrugged as best he could without raising his head, as he felt that the question was directed at him.

"Why do you even know Russian, Stanley?" Ford poked at him.

"Why does it matter, Sixer? Don’t go off topic," Stan poked him back.

"We’ll get back to it," he promised. "Anyway, Baba Yaga turned out to be far nicer that anyone had expected. She told us about her life, which is engaging and honestly a little terrifying, but she also knew who we were and what we needed. Could see the past, the present and the future. We might experiment with that a bit, F, it’s breathtaking!"

"Your adjectives will never fail to amaze me," Fiddleford mumbled.

"So, she told us about…well, it’s the part where the bad news come in. To put it simply, we know how to get rid of Bill for eternity, but it also requires a human sacrifice. And it’s not just a human sacrifice, it has to be twins. She suggested Dipper and Mabel, but I guess the answer to that is obvious."

For the longest time, no one was talking. Fiddleford shook down his tiredness, and stared at Ford wide-eyed, and Stan was…was he sleeping? Ford grew more and more anxious by the second. What did he say wrong? The fact that the need for human sacrifice was confirmed, but they…

"We knew so already, so what’s the fuss ‘bout?" Stan mumbled. "We will not be sacrificing humans. You still have that wheel, right?"

"Yes, we do, but…"

"Well, figure it out! The ancient gods one is not an option," Stan straightened in his chair, rubbing his eyes.

"You are right, it isn’t. But we’re nowhere near figuring out the Zodiac."

"The what?"

"The wheel."

"Ya’ve got time. I mean, what’s gonna burst that bubble? We’re safe as long as it’s present, and if it’s not, we can just, you know, move."

"That is definitely not an option. Unlike you, I have a house, for which I’m paying the mortgage, by the way! And if Bill possesses somebody else and breaks in, he can activate the portal, and the whole world will be doomed!" Ford spit out, not really considering his words.

"I would have started an argument, were I not so tired." Stan dropped his head once again. Fiddleford gave his friend a judging look.

"What?" Ford questioned, exasperated. "Stanley has the unicorn gold, nobody holds him off from buying a house. What’s he so tired about, anyway? Are the kids that difficult? I’ve been researching on and on, I’ve found nothing, and now there’s a big break handed directly into my hands – literally, – and it just made the situation worse! If anyone should be complaining, it should be me!"

"Your big brain isn’t as big after all," Stan huffed, seemingly unaffected by his brother’s rant. "Surprise! The gold is fake! Unfortunately for you, I can’t exactly buy anything, and it takes a lot of work to steal a house. So shut the fuck up, I’m helping you with this mess, and I don’t think things would be as good if you just kept working with this demon guy," he hissed, shaking the drowsiness away.

"Good!? This is not ‘good’, Stanley! This is horrible! And remind me, when did I ask for your help?" Ford scowled, standing up.

"You need it, you fucking idiot! When was the last time you ate without me reminding you?!"

"When was the last time you slept properly?! Why do you know Russian?!"

"Are you two fifteen?!" Fiddleford shouted suddenly. Both the twins snapped their jaws shut. "You are the perfect resemblance of the most annoyin’ teenagers I’ve ever seen!" F threw his hands up in frustration. "This conversation isn’t taking us anywhere, we’re all too tired. Let’s head to bed, and then you two will sort your matters out," he suggested.

"But the Zodiac!" Ford tried to protest.

"What’s with the Zodiac? It’s not like you’re going to make progress if you’re that tired and frustrated. It can wait for one night," Fidds reasoned.

"But I need-" Stan began, but…

"Don’t think I’m above tying ye both to yer beds," Fiddleford said calmly, with a hint of steel in his voice. The twins angrily glared at him, but didn’t protest anymore.

Fidds felt like a true parent as he escorted the twins to their bedrooms. They kept staring at each other intensely, and Stan even did the fingers-from-eyes thing as Ford slammed his door shut.

Even though their behavior was childish, the matters they were dealing with were not childish whatsoever. The threat was real, and Fiddleford could understand Ford’s jumpiness and anxiety, he remained unreasonably mean towards his brother, who didn’t really give him a reason to since F’s arrival. He, however, couldn’t tell whether Ford’s attitude was a cover or not.

Sighing, he returned to the kitchen to clean it up, and head to bed too, but decided to check on both the twins last minute. The younger pair were deeply asleep, huddled in the same bed beneath both blankets. Even though the attic had proper heating, the holes between the logs weren’t clogged properly, and some of the cold air managed to get in. F cranked the radiator up and left, trying to stay as quiet as possible.

When he went to check on Ford, his door appeared to be locked. Not surprising. Well, he was a grown man, so Fiddleford wouldn’t bang on his door and demand something. Was he sleeping, it would wake him, was he not, it wouldn’t do any good.

Stan’s door, however, wasn’t even closed, remaining slightly ajar. F dared to peek in, and saw Stanley, fully clothed, with a bag in one hand and a gun in the other, staring motionless in the mirror.

"Are you leaving?" Fidds asked without warning. Stan jumped, tearing his eyes off the mirror.

"What? Uh, Fidds, hi! No, no, I’m not, how could I leave now? Go back to sleep," he assured, scratching his scalp with a gun barrel. F absently noticed that his hair used to be as long as Stan’s in college.

"I wasn’t sleeping. Would you put down the gun, please? It’s quite unnerving." He shivered a little. Stan wordlessly put the gun on the desk and stood there, waiting for either questions or F to allow him to do whatever he was going to do. Fiddleford decided on the former. "So where were you headed then?"

"Um, I…well, look, it’s not important, okay? Just…go back to sleep and don’t tell anyone. I’ll be back by morning." He picked up a gun once again and took a step towards the door.

"I won’t tell Ford if you tell me," Fiddleford answered, blocking the exit.

"Why does it matter?" Stan stepped closer.

"Because ye were falling asleep on the go, and now ye’r headed somewhere in the middle of the night. That’s concerning." F stepped back, closer to the door.

"Why is it concerning?"

"Because we care."

Stanley stopped edging closer and refrained from asking further questions. He just stood in the middle of the room, staring at Fiddleford. The hand holding the gun was shaking slightly.

"Ye have no need to go somewhere in the middle of the night," F sighed. "Go rest, seriously."

Stan did not move awhile, considering something, and sighed back but did nothing.

"I’ll leave you to it," F turned around, deciding he had had enough with those children. He would just go, lie down, and let all the thoughts simmer overnight.

"Wait!" Stan suddenly called, and Fiddleford stopped dead in his tracks. "Please, don’t tell anyone!"

"I wasn’t goin’ ta-"

"I need money-"

They spoke at the same time.

"Um, yeah, g’night." Stan awkwardly waved at him, still holding onto a gun.

"Pal, ya can do as ye wish, but why do you need money? We have more than enough." F raised an eyebrow, questioning.

"Long story," Stan dismissed.

"All right, but I don’t think Ford would appreciate it if the authorities showed up, since ye’r clearly doin’ somethin’ illegal."

"It’s not like I can do anything legal," Stan huffed, but he finally put the gun down and sat down on the bed, cradling his head. Fiddleford dropped on the floor, sensing a real conversation. For all the time they’ve spent together, he thought he would know Stan better, but he refrained from talking about anything related to his past. Ford also wasn’t eager to elaborate on the situation; the relationship between the brothers was a ticking time bomb. Fidds got that they had a major falling out, and Stan was either kicked out of the family or left on his own, and the bonds were not mended yet.

"What do you mean you can’t do anything legal?" He asked, deciding not to jump into it right away, but Stan had other intentions.

"Ford was asking me why I know Russian, so let me tell you a wonderful story about it. The kids say I’m great at storytelling, so yeah…I was like twenty when I got myself into some real mess with drug trafficking and had a bounty over my head in multiple states, so to flee seemed like the safest option. Got tired of hopping from state to state, y’know. So I went to Poland, and since it was close to the Soviet Union, I was found by a Russian gang. Maybe they were Belorussian, I don’t quite remember. They offered me a pretty harmless job, actually. The USSR didn’t communicate with other countries, and they lived in isolation, so I had to sneak in the American stuff, like jeans or coke. It went pretty well at first, I got paid decently while operating this weird system. Once I had enough money and a year had gone by, I decided to get back to the states, for I had enough to buy a shitty house in like Wyoming or something, but things didn’t go as planned. The communists lost their power, and the stuff I was sneaking in became widely accessible, so I had no use. Fine by me, but they wanted me to escalate to drug trafficking. It wasn’t new, and I didn’t wanna indulge in that again."

"But they’ve convinced me to try, saying it was safer and the police didn’t care too much, which was believable. Turned out, I had to steal the drugs from another huge gang with who they were in some kind of rivalry. I got caught. Won’t go into detail, but the way to the Soviet Union is closed for me now. Not that I’d want to return, but eh…It was a dark time, in some kind of basement in the middle of nowhere. Did you know that in some places the temperatures fall below negative twenty? That sucked. That was my last time doing any kind of trafficking. Learned my lesson, eh. I picked up some Russian during that time. In that basement where I’ve been locked in for a couple of months, there was a cellmate with me, he was also dumb enough to get caught in the same hole. Barely an adult, just like me. He used to tell the fairy tales from his childhood, that’s why I know about Baba Yaga, and Koshey, and Zmiy Gorinich…They sold him as a sex slave after a month of our time together, I don’t know where he is now. The same fate was awaiting me, but I managed to get out."

They stayed silent for a minute, Fiddleford ensuring that Stanley wasn’t going to continue and also gathering words to respond. What could he say? ‘That sucks’ wasn’t going to cut it. He had predicted that the ‘nomad’ thing Stan told the kids was a cover-up for ‘a criminal on the run’, but he hadn’t told anything substantial about it until now.

"Should’ve held my tongue," Stan muttered, interpreting the silence as a lack of desire to continue the talk.

"No, I’m glad you told me, even though it’s not pretty," F quickly assured him. "So you can’t get a job because you have a record?"

"Partially, yes. But I need to get the money somehow, so…" Stan exhaled shakily.

"I’m sure we could clear yer name in time, but now you don’t need to worry ‘bout it. It’s not exactly high time you brought the police to our house," F pointed out, which turned out to be a wrong move.

"I’ll leave as soon as we’re done with the demon, okay?" Stanley gained his voice back. "I can’t leave Ford like this, I know he doesn’t want me here, but…And the kids? I can’t leave them in danger, and I can’t take them with me. I assure ya nobody’s goin’ to break into the house. Now, can you leave? You’re not helping."

Fiddleford opened his mouth to apologize, but he didn’t get the chance to.

A loud high-pitched scream cut through the air. It was definitely coming from Stanford’s room.