Archive of Our Own ^beta

Ford shifted uncomfortably on the toilet seat. He had taken his coat off, as Mabel asked, but he couldn't bring himself to place it on the hook on the back of the bathroom door. So it rested in his lap, his hands twisting it, wishing more than ever he could put it back on and wishing more than ever he hadn't lost that damn bet.

But perhaps it was his own fault for believing he could beat his brother at anything--including being his brother. It was his own pride that was his downfall when two days ago Stan closed the Shack down for the day, and had walked in griping about aches and pains and migraines.

"Oh please," Ford had scoffed, "All you do is walk people around my house and then cheat them out of their money."

"Hey, believe it or not what I do is damn hard!" Stan had retorted. Ford had simply rolled his eyes, and that's when Stan got that mischievous gleam in his eye.

"Don't believe me? You try it for a day." He said as he sat down in front of the TV.

"Are you kidding? I could probably make twice the amount you do!"

At this point, the twins had come in from playing outside.

"Hi Grunkles!" Mabel grinned. "Watchya talking about?"

"Poindexter here believes he can run the Shack better than I can." Stan sat back, crossing his arms, with a shit-eating grin that he knew was getting under Ford's skin. "Wanna make it a bet?"

Immediately the kids had jumped in between the two.

"Woah woah woah! Hold on a minute. Great Uncle Ford, this is a path we have walked before." Dipper said.

"Yeah! It is way crazy harder than you think! Believe us when we say we tried." Mabel followed. "Do not underestimate the challenge of running this place!"

"Yeah, Stanford. Listen to the kids ." That grin hadn't left Stan's face and Ford fell for the bait, hook line and sinker.

"Kids, there's no need to worry." He had waved them off. "My brother's not about to best me yet. You've got a bet."

"Oh boy." Dipper had breathed.

"This is gonna hurt to watch." Mabel sighed.

Ford hadn't really heard them over Stan's stakes.

"Alright! So you think you can make double what I make in a day. I think you can't. Tomorrow we'll see how it plays out. Loser," Stan paused for dramatic effect. "Has to let Mabel do something with his hair."

Mabel immediately perked up.

"Okay, it may hurt, but no matter what it's a win for me." She had grinned, clapping her hands together with glee. Dipper had only rolled his eyes.

And Ford hadn't really thought much of it, because after all, he wasn't going to lose.

You goddamn moron.

And what was worse, the kids had offered him some pointers (a part of Ford couldn't believe Stan left the Shack in the hands of Mabel for a whole weekend), but he had brushed them off because if those two could handle the Shack for two days, he could more than handle it for one.

Oh how wrong he was .

And now he was stuck here, on the toilet, waiting for Mabel to come in and do god knows what to his hair.

It's not like he was overly attached to his hair--honestly he didn't really care for it that much; hair care was not really a priority when hopping through dimensions trying to survive various hellscapes. But still, he liked what he had.

Ford wouldn't lie and say he didn't jump when Mabel kicked the door open.

"Alrighty, Grunkle Ford!" He couldn't even see her over all the things she was carrying. He could feel his heartbeat spike. Mabel had kicked the door shut behind her; no escape. Ford frantically looked around for a window he could possibly maybe jump out of (there was one but he doubted he could fit through it). "Are you ready to get your amazing hair makeover from Mabel Pines: Master Stylist?"

She set all her stuff down on a large stool in the corner, smiling happily. She was far more excited about this than Ford was. She was even wearing a sweater with a hairbrush on it (how she managed to have a sweater for every conceivable occasion Ford would never be able to fathom). It did nothing but strain Ford's nerves out even more.

Come on, you can do this , He told himself over and over again, you've gone through far worse than this. It's just Mabel, it's just Mabel, it's just Mabel--

"Hey, Grunkle Ford?" A small hand shook his arm gently, but he still jumped as if shocked.

"Are you okay?" Mabel was looking up at him with so much concern; did he really look that panicked?

He straightened and tried to appear confident--he wasn't sure if he succeeded or not considering he couldn't get his hands to unclench from his trench coat.

"I'm absolutely fine, Mabel," He said, closing his eyes, "I've been through much worse, I can handle this. I am resigned to my fate; you may have your way with my hair."

Mabel giggled, but it sounded a little forced. Her palms resting over his white knuckles made him open his eyes again. She was smiling, but there was much more sympathy in her gaze.

"You know, I am tempted to show you no mercy because, well, me and Dip did warn you about running the Shack." She began. "But this is really really uncomfortable for you, isn't it?"

Ford still tried to put on a brave face.

"I'm perfectly comfortable with...this..." He trailed off under her narrowed eyes and knowing grin.

"Please, Grunkle Ford. You're no Grunkle Stan, we found out that much yesterday. You won't be able to pull one over me like that."

The grin fell away to that sympathetic smile again.

"You're really nervous, huh?"

"I--I suppose, it’s just, just--” He fumbled, before sighing, resigned, “in the past thirty years, not many have touched my head without some...some form of malcontent. And, I guess, when you look in the mirror, you get attached to what you see there…”

Mabel patted his cheek.

“I totally get that--Dipper’s like that too. So I’m not going to force you to do anything you absolutely don’t want to do, okay?”

“R-really?” Ford’s eyes widened. Mabel nodded.

“Yep,” She said, “Remember, Grunkle Stan only said I get to do ‘something’ to your hair. That’s a very vague statement. He probably said that so I could use it to my twisted maniacal advantage, but I’m going to use it to your advantage.”

“Thank you, Mabel…” Ford murmured. Mabel only patted his cheek again and skipped to her mountain of supplies. She began taking out things and setting them on the sink counter, and, with disbelief, Ford found himself relaxing. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad after all.

“Okay, first things first: if you want to preserve that sweater, you’re going to want to take it off.” She told him over her shoulder.

Immediately he stiffened. His coat he had barely managed. How could he take off his sweater? It was like a second skin to him. After his old shirt and tie had been burned in dimension 78-Ω, this and his trench coat had become, essentially, his home . Not to mention that it was covering the litany of scars that decorated his skin--and it wouldn’t do good for Mabel to see those. Hell, it was hard for him to look at them, and he’d had many of them for years.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay.” Mabel taking his hands (shaking hands) again knocked him out of his train of thoughts. “You don’t have to change in front of me, you can just change behind the shower curtain.”

He realized she was placing something into his hands--a rain poncho.

“This is so anything I use doesn’t get all over your skin.” She explained gently. “You can hold onto your sweater, but with that turtleneck you should really take it off to avoid getting stuff on it.”

Well, that seemed manageable, right? He could do that. He could at least try it. Gripping the poncho in one hand and his coat in the other, he stiffly stood and walked into the shower, pulling the curtain behind him. He set both articles on the floor and set about the task of removing his sweater. On the other side of the curtain, Mabel hummed happily as she set more things out on the counter.

“It’s alright,” Ford whispered to himself, “It won’t be for too long. You can do this, Stanford.”

He bit his lip as he tugged his sweater over his head, but he still hissed at the feel of fabric dragging against his scars. Sweater off, he quickly tied the sleeves around his waist; he may have looked stupid, but it was a welcome comfort to still have his sweater somewhat on him. Then he slipped the poncho over his head. The material felt weird, almost unnatural, especially against his skin. And it didn’t cover his neck at all. Gingerly he ran his fingers across the jagged scar that ran all the way around. And then, on the back of his neck, that thing , he couldn't even bring himself to touch it even though he had carved it out of his skin ages ago; having it in open air sent shivers up and down his back.

It won’t be for too long. You can do this, Stanford. He repeated to himself silently. He picked up his trench coat and simply held it, taking comfort in the weight in his hands. You can do this.

Quietly he stepped out of the shower; Mabel was waiting for him. She had the stool all set out in front of the bathroom mirror, the stuff previously piled on it now piled on the toilet seat. She patted it invitingly. If she noticed the scars around his neck, she didn’t comment on it, which Ford appreciated. He hung up his coat, fingers lingering along the fabric, before sat down, nigh on robotically.

“Okay,” She chirped, pulling up a small step-stool so she could be taller than him. “I’m going to have to touch your hair (duh). Is that okay?”

“Ah--uh--w-why?” He stammered. He tried not to stare at his own reflection too much. In it, the scars on his neck seemed to stand out far too starkly against his skin.

“Just to get a feel for it, ya know? Everyone’s got different hair. Also, I need to make sure your hair isn’t too damaged--can’t do anything crazy to it if it’s not healthy. And if you handle hair care like the rest of the boys in this house, it’s probably not.”

“Hey!” A small cry from the other side of the door made Ford jump. “I take care of my hair just fine!”

“Hold on a moment, please.” Mabel said politely, hopping off the stool and grabbing a broom tucked in the corner of the room. She swung the door open to a positively guilty-faced Dipper and Stan crouching in front of it. She batted at them with the broom, scattering them away.

“Shoo! Shoo! This calls for privacy! Get out of here! Shoo!” She yelled. Before slamming the door shut with finality, she called after Dipper:

“The only reason you take care of your hair ‘just fine’ now is because I trained you to! Now scram!”

Everyone else scared away, she set the broom back in the corner and dusted off her hands.

“There, that should do it.”

Ford eyed her curiously as she walked back to him.

“Trained?” He asked.

“Oh yeah,” Mabel nodded, “Dipper used to be really bad with his hair--like--he’d only rinse it, never actually wash it, ya know? So I started training him. Whenever he uses shampoo and conditioner, I play his favorite music. I’m almost to the point where I don’t have to play his music anymore for him to do it! Of course there’s a bit of a side effect--whenever his favorite music comes on the radio he starts playing with his hair, but it’s nothing serious--”

“Wait wait wait, are you saying you have used Pavlovian psychology to train your brother to have better hygiene!?” Ford interrupted, dumbstruck.

“Pavlo-what now?” Mabel tilted her head, utterly lost. Ford’s eyes widened.

“Um--uh--nothing. Nevermind.” He mumbled, trying to hide the shock in his features. Mabel’s unawareness of her own intelligence and power was sometimes more terrifying than anyone’d like to admit.

Mabel shrugged off Ford’s strange behavior.

“Anyway,” She continued, “at least Grunkle Stan isn’t so bad. I mean, what he uses smells bad, but at least he uses stuff.”

“Uses...stuff?” Ford asked. Mabel suddenly paused, narrowing her eyes.

“You know, shampoo...conditioner…” she said slowly. “You use that too, right ?”

Ford swallowed nervously. Since returning to his home dimension, he hadn’t really showered often, too focused on his work to really do anything more than rinse off.

“Oh boy.” Mabel sighed. “I’ve got my work cut out for me.”

She hopped back onto the stool and, after again asking Ford for permission (which he gave on the condition she didn’t yank anything), she began to run her fingers through his hair. It felt...weird. But not bad ( yet , his mind, paranoid at the worst of times, warned).

“Oh sweet baby unicorns,” She grimaced. “Grunkle Ford, your hair is greasy . Have you showered at all this week?”

“This--this week?” He repeated. “Um…”

“Oh jeez, you really are just as bad as Dipper! How come the only people with decent hygiene in this house is me and Grunkle Stan!?”

“Thank you Mabel!” The other side of the door said. Mabel growled.

“Do I need to use thE BROOM AGAIN !?” She roared. On the other side of the door was loud scrabbling, as well as a muffled “ Shit --take mushrooms! Run! Run run run run run!”.

“If I catch you one more time, you two are joining him!” Mabel added, which prompted even louder scrabbling and more panicked cries. Ford couldn’t help but chuckle at the situation.

“ Ugh .” She groaned exasperatedly, rolling her eyes. Suddenly hands were back in his hair, but they were still gentle, even if Mabel was scowling. Whenever she hit a knot in his hair she didn’t try to force her way through it, thankfully; she instead tried running through a different, untangled area. She was following his no-yanking rule to the T, which was much appreciated. The feel of her fingers was actually a little... soothing . That is, until she reached the back of his neck and started hitting snags. Lots of them.

“Yikes!” Mabel cried. “Did your sci-fi sideburn dimension not have combs ?”

“...No?”

“Grunkle Ford, some of this is matted . I don’t think even I could salvage this!” She went over to the counter and picked something up. When she turned to face Ford he blanched.

“The best option would be to just tri--”

“ No! ” Ford yelled, jumping off of the stool so haphazardly he threw himself off-balance and knocked the stool over. He ended up falling on his ass, but he still tried to scramble away from Mabel, because he couldn’t have those things, those silver things sharp like knives sharp like so many things , near his neck, where they could cut and scratch and wound and kill . His hands flew to his neck. “No no no no no no no no no!”

“Woah! Woah! Grunkle Ford, it’s okay! I’m not gonna hurt you!” Mabel tried to placate him, but she was still holding those weapons , she was brandishing them, she was coming for him she was going to hurt him (no, stop it) she’d cut at his neck, she’d kill him (no she wouldn’t it’s Mabel it’s just Mabel calm down! ). Ford only managed a strangled wail as he kicked himself away from her.

“Okay! It’s okay! The scissors are going away!” Mabel cried, tucking them back into their case and putting them all the way away in a box. “The scissors are gone! They’re gone! We don’t have to see them ever again!”

Ford curled in on himself then. God that was so close that was so fucking close oh god oh god.

He rubbed his temples and tried to slow down his breathing. You moron you goddamn moron getting scared over a pair of fucking scissors. You’ve probably scared Mabel to bits and now you’re just curled up on the ground like a pathetic coward.

“Grunkle Ford? Grunkle Ford?” Small hands wrapped around his own, warm and soft and not intending to hurt him, just trying to help. “Are you okay?”

“I’m--I’m, I’m s-sorry, M-m-mabel, I--I’m s-so s-sorry--” Ford couldn’t get his voice to steady.

“No, no!” Mabel wouldn’t let him speak. “No, it’s not your fault! I should have checked with you first! Grunkle Ford, it’s me who should be sorry.”

“N-no,” He shook his head, straightening a little. “You couldn’t have known. I don’t blame you, Mabel. I’m sorry I made you upset.”

“Upset? I’m not upset,” Mabel said, “I’m worried . I want you to be okay, Grunkle Ford.”

“I will b-be.” Ford reassured her, sitting up fully. He was still shaking though, which probably wasn’t reassuring. Mabel stood up, frowning with worry.

“I’m gonna go tell Grunkle Stan’s the bet’s off. You can put your sweater back--”

“What? No,” Ford said, holding onto her hands, “N-no, don’t. We can keep going. Y-you can do your ‘something’.”

“But I don’t want to hurt you. And I don’t want you to hurt yourself over a dumb bet.”

“No, that’s not it at all,” Ford insisted. “I...I want you to do your thing. From what you were s-saying, my hair could really use it. Just...uh...could we try doing it without s-scissors? Or...any sh-sharp objects, for that matter?”

Mabel stared at him for a moment, trying to gauge if he was telling the truth or not. Slowly she pulled her hands out of his.

“Okay, I believe you. We can keep going--no scissors. But if you want me to stop you just have to say, okay?” Mabel said. Ford nodded.

“Alrighty. I’m going to go out and get something, I won’t be long okay? Just, when you’re ready, you can get back on the stool.” She told him. Again he nodded.

With that, Mabel left. And Ford set about the task of slowly bringing himself to his feet and over to the stool. He paused when he was standing in front of the mirror again. He leaned on the sink, eyes drawn to the scar lacing around his neck. There was that scar, yes, but there were others, smaller ones underneath, ones made by sharp things, very sharp things, too dangerous --

Relax.

“It was really bad, huh?” Mabel came in slowly, so she didn’t make him jump this time. Ford sighed, letting his head drop.

“...Yes. Yes it was.” He shifted away from the sink and righted the stool before sitting back down on it.

“Here.” Mabel offered him a glass of something he didn’t recognize. “It’s chocolate milk. I didn’t know what makes you feel better when you’re nervous, so I just got you what makes me feel better when I’m nervous.”

Ford shifted his hands out from under the poncho and took the glass of milk. With a pang of discomfort he noticed that when he took the glass of milk, his bare arms were exposed--those were scarred even worse than his neck. But again, Mabel didn't seem to notice nor did she comment, so Ford elected not to as well.

“Thank you Mabel.”

“Um...I also asked Grunkle Stan what your favorite music was, uh, back in the 70s. He said you really liked Queen, so I found a playlist of their stuff online.” She set her phone on the sink, and softly music began to play from it. Ford’s heart jumped a little when he immediately recognized the song.

“ Tonight I’m gonna have myself a real good time

And the world, I’ll turn it inside out, yeah”

He...he hadn’t heard that song in years . He had been so busy working he hadn’t really focused on it but--he was home, but it didn’t feel like home. So many things were different, and new, and sometimes he saw things and panicked that he wasn’t home in the right dimension at all. But this , this was from his home . So many memories, of listening to this and any other songs from Queen, while he was studying at Backupsmore or having fun with his friends (few as they had been) or even when he was doing research in Gravity Falls. This is what told him he was home. Why hadn’t he listened to this sooner ?

“Cause I’m having a good time, having a good time”

“Grunkle Ford?”

Quietly he set the milk down on the counter and pulled Mabel into the biggest hug he could manage without squeezing her to death.

“Thank you, Mabel,” He sniffed. “Thank you so much.”

He pulled away to look at her. There was limited success--he couldn’t really see her, his eyes were blurry. He rested his hands on her shoulders.

“I’m serious, Mabel. You are such a kind, thoughtful young woman. Don’t let anyone change that.”

Again, he couldn’t really see Mabel’s reaction. He heard her gasp though. Oh dear, did he say something wrong?

“Mab--” He was cut off as the tween practically tackled him with another hug. He chuckled as he wrapped his arms around her.

“I love you, Grunkle Ford.” She whispered, and he bit his lip to keep from crying even harder. That was the first time she had ever said that to him, and he wasn’t expecting it to hit so hard but it did.

“I love you too, Mabel.” He said. She pulled away, and her eyes were watery too. She patted his cheek again.

“Let’s fix up your hair.” She grinned.

Once Ford was back on the stool, Mabel donned an apron and secured it at her waist. Even though she was still happy as a clam, her voice became a little more serious.

“So, if scissors are out I’m going to guess razors are out too.”

“Yes.” Ford deadpanned. “There’s a reason I shave using fire.”

“Got it. So,” Mabel said as she rummaged through a bag on the counter. “We gotta save your hair, without cutting it. As always, I will rise to the challenge, but this is going to be tricky. And it might take a while.”

She pulled out several bottles of random hair products and examined the labels. She muttered things to herself, throwing glances at Ford in the mirror before going back to her work. Besides recognizing a few chemical ingredients she said, he couldn’t make head nor tail of what she was saying. She pulled out a small bowl and began to mix different products together.

“Is that...is that safe?” Ford tried not to grimace as a very strange smell filled the air.

“Yep!” Mabel chirped as she stirred. “You have a lot going on in that hair of yours, so rather than treat it over and over again with different products--which would take forever --I'm just mixing what we need all together. I just need to make sure I don't combine stuff that will cancel each other out, because then what would the point of using it be?”

“How do you know so much about, well, all of this?”  Ford asked, gesturing to all the products on the table.

“Well, believe it or not, it's actually because of Dipper.” She hopped onto the sink counter so she was facing Ford.

“His hygiene was that horrendous?” Ford raised an eyebrow.

“No--well, yeah a little but that's not why.” Mabel paused, and afterwards she began to speak slowly, picking and choosing her words.

“When we were really little, Dipper hated his long hair. Absolutely hated it. But he was so so so scared of asking Mom and Dad to cut it. He was so scared of what they would say, or what they would think--he was really afraid to tell them that he hated being like me, with frills and long hair and girl stuff and all that. But he couldn't stand it anymore. So one day he asked me to cut his hair short for him. And of course, being me, I wasn't gonna say no , was I?” Mabel giggled, but she was a little nervous, Ford could tell.

“Of course we only found out after the fact that Mom and Dad were perfectly accepting and totally cool with it--they were more angry over the fact that, ya know, a six-year-old tried to give Dipper a haircut.”

“This happened when you were six ?” Ford gasped.

“Yeah. Dipper kind of figured out who he was pretty early on...you...you know?”

It took Ford a moment to realize that Mabel wasn't being rhetorical. Oh . That's why she was nervous: she didn't know if Ford knew about Dipper. And she didn't want to out her brother on accident.

“Oh--ah, yes, yes I do know. He told me.” Ford nodded. Mabel practically sagged with relief.

“Oh boy. That's good. You know, when we first found your study me and Dipdop fought over it and uh, accidentally switched bodies on that crazy carpet. And then--I dunno--stuff happened and Grunkle Stan tried to give me the boy talk , which, well, neither me or Dipper need. And Grunkle Stan didn't know, and I was just, so grossed out I had to tell him. And he was cool with it, duh, but, Dipper had been planning to tell him in his own time, and I ruined it. Dipper wasn't too upset, but I still feel really bad about it. I just…”

“You didn't want to repeat your mistake.” Ford supplied. Mabel nodded. She was kicking her feet back and forth and she stared down at her bowl of hair product.

“Everyone says I'm so nice and all, but I'm not perfect. I know I can be really insensitive sometimes.”

“Well you’re certainly not being insensitive now, I can tell you that much.” Ford reached out and patted her knee. She smiled up at him gratefully.

“You seem like nothing but a wonderfully supportive sister to me,” Ford added. “I mean, cutting your brother’s hair when you were six? That's amazing.”

“Yeah, I guess,” Mabel giggled. “It looked really bad. But--” she suddenly posed dramatically, fist in the air, “--after that day I vowed to become the best at hair I could be! So now I know all this cool stuff about hair, which helps me take care of mine and Dipper’s.”

“Really?”

“...Yeah,” Mabel’s fist dropped, and she had that nervous (modest, Ford realized) look about her again. “And it's worth it, because, you know, it helps me do cool stuff with my hair, but also for Dipper. Even now I'm the only one he trusts to cut his hair. He hates salons. He says it's because of the chatty, gossipy hair ladies, but I know that's a lie because Dipper likes dirty gossip just as much as I do. So...yeah. If I find something I like I tend to go all out for it.”

“There's nothing wrong with that.” Ford grinned. “Lord knows I do it too. I went all out with this anomaly stuff, didn't I?” He pulled his hands out from under the poncho and wiggled his fingers for emphasis.

“Yeah.” Mabel giggled again. It made Ford happy, for some reason, to make her smile.

“And...you know, I did something like that for Stan too, once.” He added, as an afterthought.

“Really?” Mabel’s eyes lit up. She always loved hearing about Stan and Ford when they were younger and...together. Not that they weren't reconciled now, but there was still a distance between them they hadn't managed to patch yet.

“Yes. When we got a little older, Stan started getting into fights almost constantly. He could never stand by and watch someone else get beat on, so he often threw himself in the middle of things that weren't his business.”

“Really? I always figured Grunkle Stan would be starting fights. He likes watching people fight. Sometimes he encourages me and Dipper to compete against each other...that's actually part of the reason the whole carpet body-switch mess happened.” Mabel said. Ford frowned at that, but decided to address it to Stan later.

“Well, I'm not saying Stanley didn't start fights. And watch fights. But if there’s anything Stan hates, it's an unevenly matched fight. That's more than enough motivation for him to get himself involved. And get himself hurt, in the process.”

“But he’s really strong! I honestly can't see Grunkle Stan losing to anyone in a fight. Well, except against you now, I guess.”

“Oh believe me, I used to be no match for him.” Ford nodded. “But out on the streets? There was almost always someone stronger, someone better. So Stanley used to come home a complete mess. Lord knows how many nights I stayed up worrying half to death! And he had to sneak back in too--if our Pa found out he’d have Lee’s hide. We didn't have much money back then, so we sure as he--heck couldn't afford the hospital visits Stan would get himself hurt enough to need.” He hadn’t noticed, but a small trace of Jersey accent was slipping through (not that he’d ever had much of one to begin with).

“Oh wow,” Mabel’s eyes widened. “What happened? Did you get Grunkle Stan to stop fighting?”

“No,” Ford sighed. “Very little seemed to ever get him to stop that. I used to think it was because he was a rash knucklehead...but, now I see it was…” Oh dear. This was deep territory that Mabel probably wasn't old enough for. “...something else. No, that wasn't the solution.”

“What was then?” Mabel pressed, reaching for a bottle--without even looking she was so enraptured--and adding its contents to the bowl.

“Well, one night Stan came home far more hurt than usual. I use the term ‘mess’ to avoid scaring you, but that word was a vast understatement to the state he was in that night. I was afraid we wouldn't be able to avoid a hospital visit, or our parents finding out.”

“Jeez,” Mabel breathed. “What did you do?”

“Well, we didn't have computers really, back then, nor the Internet, so I couldn't look anything up really quick, like you’d be able to do in that situation. But I did have a few books on medicine and anatomy I had borrowed from the library. I was always looking for more answers to my own condition,” Ford waggled his fingers again for emphasis. “And, using those, as well as some supplies around the house, I managed to patch Lee up. We couldn't avoid our parents noticing, but we avoided a hospital visit. Which is really all Pa cared about, sadly. But Ma chewed us both out pretty well…” He trailed off with a chuckle at the memory. It wasn't really a happy memory, but he supposed he was looking at it through rose-tinted glasses now.

“Anyway,” Ford continued, “from that day on I decided I was going to learn everything I could about first-aid. Not only for Stan, but for myself as well--even when I was young some of my experiments could be a little dangerous. So I did what I do best: I studied. I learned. I became me and Stan’s own personal EMT, in my own right.”

“Aw, that's so cool!” Mabel said. “That's so much cooler than hair stuff! I bet it helped you in the portal too!”

“...Yes, yes it did,” Ford allowed. “More times than I can count. But…” He reached out to pat Mabel’s knee again, “that doesn't mean your cosmetic knowledge isn't cool, Mabel. People go to school for years to know what you know. That's impressive. And, to be honest, I'd rather you know about shampoos and conditioners for Dipper’s hair than stitches and antiseptics for his wounds. Because that would mean he’s getting into fights, and as a protective Grea--Grunkle, that I cannot stand for.”

Mabel giggled at him, clearly amused by the way he said the word ‘Grunkle’ (it always felt weird in his mouth, improper, but Mabel always loved using it, and Stan was the one who insisted on it for some inane reason). But she also looked grateful, for his kind words.

“Hey uh, this is probably as mixed as it’s gonna get, we should put it in your hair now.” Mabel hopped off of the counter. Oh. Right. Ford had practically forgotten why they were here in the first place.

“Of course, of course.” He said, adjusting himself on the stool so he was comfortable.

“Alright I put a bit on my hand to see if it burns and it doesn't, buuut the nerves in my hand are slightly shot from too many hot glue burns. So if at any point at all you feel your scalp burning, let me know. Oh, but if you feel tingling, that should be fine.”

“Tingling? Burning? Uh, aren't those two...similar?” Ford asked, a little more nervous. Mabel appeared from over his shoulder.

“Believe me. You’ll feel the difference.” She said, completely deadpan. Ford couldn't help but swallow nervously. Again.

“But don't worry, the worst thing that could happen is all your hair falls out. And that solves the problem anyway right?” She patted his shoulder, although that didn't do much to soothe him. For a sudden moment he wondered if he was this bad at reassuring people sometimes. He knew he wasn't always too great at picking up on what made people nervous.

Well, maybe it runs in the family.

He started a little as coolness began to spread through his scalp.

“This feels...weird.” He commented as the coolness (and wetness) spread. Mabel made sure the goop she had concocted was coated on every inch of his hair, all the way through to his scalp.

“Yeah, most hair stuff does.” Mabel agreed. After that, the two fell into comfortable silence. Ford realized he was tapping out to the beat of the song that was playing. Such a classic beat, he couldn't believe he had practically forgotten it.

“Buddy you're a boy make a big noise
Playing in the street gonna be a big man some day”

“Heyyyy, I know this song!” Mabel gasped.

“Really?”

“Yeah! It's like, a really popular fight song! They use it in movies and they play it at football games and stuff.” Mabel said.

“Well, it was really popular when it was released.” Ford smiled at the memory. “I'm glad it's survived through the years.”

“You know, I think I remember when me and Fidds first heard this song.” He said suddenly, the memory hitting like a freight train.

“Fidds? Oh, you mean Mr. McGucket?”

“Yes! If I recall...1970...1977, I think? I was neck deep in research for my grant, and I had already made great progress in Gravity Falls. Before I asked him to work with me, Fiddleford came up to visit from Palo Alto sometimes--I...I think it was because he was worried I was going to work myself to death! Hehe...His first night up that year he insisted I get out of the house. He dragged me out to a hockey game. I was aggravated that he had dragged me away, but...in the end, I don't think I've ever shown more spirit for any kind of sport ever. Me and Fidds sang this at the top of our lungs, with the rest of the stadium!” Ford laughed. “Afterwards, I was on such an adrenaline rush I kept singing even as we walked out of the stadium. People thought I was drunk! I almost got cops called on us! Fiddleford vowed never to take me to a game when I was sleep-deprived ever again!”

By this point he was laughing so hard his shoulders shook. The memory was shockingly clear in his mind’s eye. Perhaps it was some of that stereotypical Jersey aggressiveness shining through, but watching those men on the ice had riled him up so much. He felt almost euphoric when the Gravity Falls team had won and it was almost like a release. As if he was letting go of everything, to just... feel . Be. Live. And he can remember Fiddleford, bundled up against the cold of Oregon, round nose peeking out over his scarf, cheeks red and eyes sparkling.

“Aw, that sounds like so much fun!”

“Yes...I think, I think Queen was the only music we could ever agree on.”

“Ohhhh, he liked country, didn’t he?”

“First day on campus, finally ready to embark on the next chapter of my education, ready to study and work in peace, and quiet and...I walk into my dorm...and there is my roommate, playing the banjo incessantly .”

“Oh my god ! That’s hilarious!” Mabel cackled. “Wait, are you saying you two didn’t get along at first?”

“Oh gods no.” Ford shook his head, accidentally flicking hair product. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay--keep going!” Mabel encouraged.

“Keep--keep going?” He felt his cheeks flush. “There’s not really, ah, much to tell. At first we were at each other’s throats, then...we were inseparable.”

“Oh come on,” Mabel bounced off the step stool and went over to the sink to wash her hands, “There had to have been a turning point! You couldn’t have just-- poof! --friends. Like me and Pacifica! At first we hated each other, but then, ya know, we saved each other from living golf balls and now we’re pals!”

“Well, uh, I suppose there was--wait, living golf balls ?” Ford raised an eyebrow with curiosity.

“Ah-ah,” Mabel shook her head, “I’ll tell you mine if you tell me yours.”

Stanford grumbled under his breath, prompting Mabel to giggle.

“I just don’t understand why you’re so interested in my past with McGucket!” He exclaimed. “What’s the point of rehashing old memories? It’s not like they matter anymore…”

He trailed off bitterly, crossing his arms under the poncho.

Mabel frowned as she turned off the sink, climbing onto the counter to once again face him. It took her a moment, but finally she asked:

“Have you...have you talked to him? Since Weirdmageddon?”

Ford couldn’t hide the hurt that passed over his features. Fiddleford’s deteriorated mental state was his fault, and the guilt had weighed on him for thirty years. When he had found out what the once brilliant mechanic had become, the guilt weighed down even heavier and it felt like his heart had broken. Yet, at the time, they had all been too busy taking down Bill. Besides, the man didn’t seem to recognize him at all, although he had commented on his hands being familiar, as well as the way they fought together. After the battle, Fiddleford’s son had taken him back in, so he wasn’t living in the junkyard anymore ( Thank God , Ford had thought). And no, Ford hadn’t talked to him. While the twins told him that Fiddleford had been working on slowly restoring his memories and his sanity, Ford thought it best to avoid dragging up the worst memories of his life.

“You haven’t…” Mabel sighed. “You know, he asks about you, whenever we run into him in town.”

Ford didn’t respond.

“I think he wants to see you, at least. He said he remembers you had something to do with him creating the Society of the Blind Eye. But, he doesn’t seem angry. Just...curious. And sad. Even if he doesn’t remember specifics, I think he remembers you two used to be close.”

“He shouldn’t. He doesn’t deserve that.” Ford shook his head. “He shouldn’t have to remember the pain I caused him. I am single-handedly responsible for the worst times of his life.”

“Yeah, but it also looks like you also gave him some of the best times of his life.” Mabel pointed out. “…Like when you two became friends. What about that?”

“Oh please, that wasn’t a good time…” Ford didn’t mean to end sounding unsure, but the damage had been done. Mabel was eyeing him pushily. He sighed.

“It wasn’t a good time for me, really. Not at--first…” He hadn’t meant to admit that, but dammit if his mouth wasn’t running of its own accord now. “It was--hmm...it was the first college party I had ever been invited to. A holiday party. Christmas party. I went, although it’s not really our thing, because, well, I wanted to try to fit in. A little.”

“I get what you mean. I did that once. It was weird.” Mabel nodded.

“I totally agree. Mostly because I was only minimally aware of Christmas customs at the time. I kind of knew from other kids during high school, but it was never something I was really interested in. And, as the night went on, I suppose more and more people started catching on that I wasn’t...I didn’t celebrate Christmas. In the 70s, people still tended to be...intolerant. Or at the very least ignorant. I don’t think I’ve ever heard the word k...it’s best if I don’t say it.” Ford frowned. “But I don’t think I’ve ever had that insult thrown in my face so many times. There were just...it was awful. That combined with the endless comments on my fingers I...I should have walked away. I should have left. But I was so angry . I lashed out. Not violently, mind you, not that it mattered. You shouldn’t draw negative attention to yourself when others are intoxicated…” Ford paused, fingers digging into his arms. “I don’t know if I should continue this. I’m not sure if it’s appropriate for you to hear.”

“Awww please?” Mabel pressed. “You can’t just end there!”

“No, I suppose I can’t.” Ford caved, but he did his best to censor events. “Ah...well, one thing led to another, a beer bottle was involved, and...I ended up in the middle of the front yard with a head wound and three very large frat boys approaching, with several people cheering for…” He swallowed. Why did this memory have to be so fresh? He closed his eyes, trying to block out the image. “...for the ‘Jew to get gassed’.”

“Oh my gosh.” Mabel breathed. When Ford opened his eyes, he saw that she had blanched, and she looked downright horrified. Immediately Ford regretted saying anything. Mentally he slapped himself. You call that censoring? Jeez!

“No, no, I’m not saying anything else. I’ve said too much.”

“No!” Mabel shook her head, although she still look upset. “You can’t end here either! Where does Mr. McGucket fit in? He--oh no! He wasn’t one of the people at the party, was he?”

“Well, yes, actually,” Ford said quietly. “We had avoided each other like the plague the whole night, of course.” He could remember the deep curling fear in his gut as he crawled back on his hands and knees, away from his oncoming attackers, fearing that, of all people, his roommate would be among those cheering, saying those awful things. “But he wasn’t one of the ones cheering. He was nowhere to be seen--I thought I was in for a beating and...suddenly he was in front of me, shielding me.”

He could remember Fiddleford’s words exactly, after those frat boys had accused him of being Jewish as well (like it was evil, like it was a crime ).

“No I ain’t, but I sure as hell ain’t a fucking Nazi either! Fuck off !”

“He threw snowballs at them, which of course only made him a target as well. Two against three isn’t fair to begin with, but us two twigs against three beefy frat boys? No chance. Fidds got me to my feet and we bolted .”

“So he saved you!”

“Yes. We managed to get to his motorcycle and...I remember being so bewildered at the fact that he was saving my ass--sorry, don’t repeat that--that I was just standing there. He...he said ‘Don’t just stand there like a scarecrow! Unless you want the crows to come peckin’’,” Ford chuckled, both at the memory and his poor imitation of Fiddleford’s accent. “I climbed onto the back of his motorcycle and--and I noticed some of his, ah, modifications . ‘Are those legal!?’ I asked. ‘You bet yer fluffy hair they ain’t!’ I think I was hit in the head too hard, because all I remember saying after that is ‘You think my hair is fluffy?’” Ford couldn’t help but chuckle again. Mabel giggled too.

“Oh, that’s so cute!”

“I wouldn’t call nearly having a heart attack at nineteen cute.” Ford scoffed, but he was grinning. “I don’t think I’ve ever been on anything faster in my life--and I’ve ridden some fast things in the past thirty years. It was terrifying! I couldn’t see anything! All I could feel was Fiddleford in front of me, hooting like a maniac, and the wind in my hair, and...my heart beating too fast. I remember feeling so... exhilarated . It was like a live wire, the danger and the thrill! Of course as soon as I stepped off the bike I fell flat on my a--butt, and Fiddleford had a good long laugh at my expense. But he helped me inside...he helped clean me up. And...we talked. Probably the first friendly conversation we’d ever had. After that, we just...clicked.”

“Oh, how romantic.” Mabel sighed dreamily. Ford immediately blushed.

“Wha-- what ? No! No no no no no! That’s--I mean--” He stammered, “--It wasn’t--not at--and then--no!”

He wasn’t doing a very good job: Mabel just continued to give him a knowing look. It reminded him of Stan whenever he had found out about one of Ford’s crushes when they were kids.

“Look, we--it’s--there was--okay if there was anything between us--and I’m not saying there was--it’s definitely not your business, young lady!”

Mabel raised her hands in surrender, although she was trying (and failing) to suppress a laugh.

“Okay! Okay! I’ll leave you alone!” She cackled. “Still, that’s really great!”

“Yes...yes, I suppose it was.” Ford smiled, but he felt...sad. Like he had said before, it was all in the past now. It didn’t matter anymore.

“Hey, I know you don’t want him to remember the bad stuff, but...I think you should give it a chance.” Mabel suggested quietly.

“You think I should talk to him?”

“Yeah. I don’t think anything, good or bad, should be forgotten. After all, how are you gonna learn from the bad and change for the better if you don’t remember it? And...if you hash it all out, maybe you won’t be friends anymore, but at least you’ll have some closure, right? Doesn’t Mr. McGucket deserve that? Don’t you deserve that?”

Ford was taken aback by the wisdom in Mabel’s words. There was an uncomfortable twist in his heart as he considered it. It was just...so... complicated .

“I...I’ll have to think about it, Mabel.” He said finally. He inhaled, shaking his head as if to dispel the heaviness in the room. He slapped his palms on his knees, leaning forward with curiosity. “Alright, your turn. Living golf balls? ”

Mabel gladly complied, expounding in great detail the war of the Lilliputtians, and how she and Dipper got tangled up in it when Mabel tried to use them to cheat in a golf game against her then-nemesis Pacifica Northwest. Ford wished he had something to write it all down--a lot of his work now was spent recreating the journals with Dipper and (sometimes) Mabel. Although Dipper had his own journal now (now that Ford’s originals were destroyed), and may have already added this adventure. Still, Ford made a mental note to visit the mini golf course in order to see if the Lilliputtians were still living there (a lot of supernatural flora and fauna had fled or been destroyed during Weirdmageddon, tragically), and if he could possibly study them.

Now that he kept hearing Mabel say the name over and over again, he realized he recognized it. Northwest: richest family in Gravity Falls. He had never interacted with them during his time there, but he knew of their tendency to be cruel to anyone not as wealthy as they were. Ford could see how Mabel could be enemies with the youngest member. Yet, Mabel had said that they were friends now, and maybe he wasn’t an expert when it came to romance, but he was observant enough to notice the way Mabel gushed about this ‘friend’ of hers.

“Have you talked to Pacifica since Weirdmageddon?” Ford raised an eyebrow skeptically. Now it was Mabel’s turn to blush.

“Well--uh-- yeah , duh . I called the other day to make sure her and her family was doing okay…” Her expression fell, “...their house got destroyed, and...and her dad’s still having some tough times. What Bill did to him was kinda awful, so they’re all trying to help him through it. They’re all kind of...humbled now, but I still think it’s awful that it took that much traumatizing stuff to change their ways. Sometimes I think it’d be better if her parents were still the way they were before, and had never gone through all that.”

Ford’s eyes widened. He hadn’t even considered the possibility of the Northwests being greatly affected by Weirdmageddon, but he supposed that made sense.

“So you’re trying to support your friend.”

“Yeah. I mean, I know what you were trying to get at, mister,” Ford immediately looked away and tried to pretend he had no idea what Mabel was talking about (and failed miserably), “And yeah, maybe there is something there, but I don’t think either of us is ready for that yet, so I’m putting it on a back-burner for now. We’re friends first.”

“...That’s incredibly mature of you, Mabel.” Ford commented. Mabel grinned smugly and leaned back on her hands.

“I know, right? I’m just, like, the Queen of Maturity over here.”

Ford rolled his eyes, but couldn’t help huffing a laugh.

“Okay!” Mabel clapped her hands together. “Queen of Maturity declares hair-washing time!”

Ford kept getting so wrapped up in these conversations with Mabel he was constantly forgetting why he was in here. Or that his hair was covered in goop. He chanced a glance at himself in the mirror. Mabel laughed at the face he pulled in reaction.

“Don’t worry, we’re about to rinse it all out. And hopefully it’ll have worked! Now come on!” She grabbed his hand and pulled him off the stool towards the shower. Ford imagined this was another reason the poncho was useful.

“Alright, so, I’m gonna trust you on this,” Mabel told him as she turned on the water and stuck her hand underneath to check the temperature. “Stick your head in and rinse all that stuff out.”

“Okay.” Ford leaned forward and--

“Grunkle Ford!” Mabel tugged him back before he could get wet.

“Huh?”

“Your glasses.” She pointed, giggling. Oh, right.

“Ah, yes!” He quickly took them off and handed them to her, world becoming blurry. “I should have taken those off earlier, do you think you could clean off the temples?”

“Temples? Oh, you mean the leg things?”

“Yes. Those.” Ford nodded, ducking his head back into the shower. Behind him he could hear Mabel turn the sink on.

“Didn’t know they were called temples. Cool.” Mabel commented.

“Learn something new everyday, that’s what I always go by.” Ford said over his shoulder. He kept his eyes closed as he ran his hands through his hair. He had a feeling Mabel’s hair concoction worked, because at no point did his fingers hit any snags. He was amazed: Mabel had managed to cure his bad hair. Ford wondered if she remembered what she had mixed together, so she could recreate it in the future. He imagined it could help other people who had hair as bad as his. Hell, it could even be lucrative. Mabel could make millions off of it.

You sound like Dad.

Ford immediately flinched, and he couldn’t suppress the disgusted sound he made.

“Grunkle Ford? Everything okay in there?” Mabel called.

“Y-yes!” Ford fumbled. “Uh, a bit of this stuff got in my mouth!” He mimicked coughing and spitting noises.

“Oh jeez! Don’t swallow any of it!” She cried. Ford hacked for a few more seconds to appear convincing.

“I’m fine! I don't think I swallowed any of it.” He said. He shook his head and sighed. After running his fingers through his hair a few more times, mostly out of fascination (he couldn’t remember a time when his hair felt this nice), he turned the water off and stepped out of the shower.

“I think this really worked, Mabel.” He grinned at her.

“Here, let me see.” She beckoned him, and he knelt down in front of her. She ran her hands through his hair, checking for snags and for any remains of hair product.

“It did!” She gasped happily. “Your hair is tangle-free and soft! Perfect!”

“Thank you Mabel,” Ford said as she let go of him. “I really appreciate this--no offense, but I really was expecting something worse and more...tortuous. So thank you.”

Mabel laid her hands on his shoulders with mock seriousness--although what she said was completely genuine.

“Grunkle Ford, it was my pleasure .” She paused for a moment. “Now, technically this counts as our ‘something’ and you can go free now, but ....”

“But?” Ford raised an eyebrow curiously. Mabel giggled and gestured to the mountain of cosmetic supplies on the table and toilet seat.

“Weeeellll,” She drew out the word, “there’s lots of other things we could do, if you wanted. No razors or scissors involved.”

She ran over to the toilet and out of the precarious pile she pulled several hair rollers.

“I could perm your hair, for instance!”

“My hair is curly enough, thanks.” Ford chuckled, rising to his feet.

“Ooh, how about a victory curl! Like Rosie the Riveter!”

“As cute as I’m sure that would be, it would likely suit you far more than it would suit me.” He also waved off. Mabel tapped her chin for a moment, before snatching up a small box.

“We could dye your hair!”

“Dye my hair?” Ford repeated. “Like...a color?”

“Yeah! Look, I could dye your hair back to its original color!” Mabel handed him the box so he could read it properly. It advertised dark brown hair. Ford glanced at himself in the mirror; his hair was dark and slicked back (slightly, his hair always curled at the ends when wet) from the shower, but still definably gray. He remembered when his hair had grayed completely--it had been gradual, of course, but in twenty years of survival, he hadn’t noticed until the day he looked in a mirror and didn’t see a single trace of brown. It had been a bit of a shock, a harsh reminder of how old he was getting, even though he didn’t feel it. At the time, it served as an indicator that life was only going to get harder.

If he went back to brown, it would feel like he was trying to go back to the way things were before the portal; like he was trying to pretend the last thirty years of his life hadn’t happened--which they had , and they made him who he was now (whether that was good or bad, he often couldn’t tell anymore). And in the end, his original hair color would just clash with the wrinkles and age in his features. He was an old man now, there was no changing that.

“No thanks. I’m not going through a mid-life crisis right now.”

He noticed a box with an impossibly bright green hue advertised on it. He picked it up and eyed it curiously.

“I didn’t know you could color your hair this bright. Or this color at all. Not in this universe at least.”

“Oh yeah,” Mabel grinned. “You can dye your hair any color under the rainbow now. I could dye your hair to look like a rainbow.”

“Ah, thanks Mabel, but I’ll pass on that one.” He handed the neon green dye to her, but curiously picked up another color.

“I like this one…” He commented.

“Electric! I like it.” She said. “We can dye your hair that color if you want.”

“Oh, no, no--not--not my whole--”

“We can just do highlights, Grunkle Ford. Cool streaks and stuff. Or I could dye just that streak.” She pointed to the white streak in his hair. Again he looked at the mirror, glancing between his reflection and the box of hair dye in his hand. A tentative smile crept onto his face.

“Maybe not that, exactly...but I like that idea.”

“Sweet!” She snatched the box out of his hand. “I’ll prepare the dye while you sit.”

Ford was about to, but then he recognized the song that began to play and gasped.

“Is this the real life?

Is this just fantasy?”

“Caught in a landslide,” He sang along immediately, “No escape from reality.”

Mabel giggled behind him.

“You like this one, I take it?”

“ Like it?” Ford whirled on her, feeling like 50 pounds had been lifted from his shoulders. “Mabel, this is my favorite song of all time.”

“Really? Cool! I had no idea Queen sang this one too.” Mabel said, before singing along as well: “I’m just a poor boy, I need no sympathy.”

“You know this song too?” Ford gasped. Mabel laughed.

“Grunkle Ford, you have no idea. It’s like you’re not an American citizen if you don’t know this song! It’s such a classic!”

She tore open the box of dye as she sang.

“Mama, just killed a man. Put a gun against his head, pulled the trigger, now he’s dead.”

“Mama, life had just begun,” Ford joined in. He didn’t give a damn how good or bad he sounded, throwing his dignity to the wind because dammit he hadn’t heard this song in years. “But now I’ve gone and thrown it all away!”

“Mama! Ooh,” They sang together, “Didn’t mean to make you cry! If I’m not back again this time tomorrow, carry on! Carry on, as if nothing really matters…”

They sang through the whole next verse. As the first guitar solo began to play, Mabel set out a bottle and the dye mix.

“This is the song that made me want to learn how to play the guitar!” Ford told her excitedly as she prepped. “Never did, but it was honest to God the first and only time I had ever shown interest in learning a musical instrument!”

“O-m-g-o-s-h! You totally should learn! It would be the coolest thing ever!” She cried, hopping onto the sink counter.

“Maybe,” Ford shrugged, but grinned knowingly at Mabel as the--arguably--best part of the song came up. “Buuut--I see a little silhouetto of a man!”

“Scaramouche! Scaramouche!” Mabel threw her hands up in the hair, grinning. “Can you do the fandango!”

“Thunderbolt and lightning, very very frightening me!”

“Galileo!”

“Galileo!”

“Galileo!”

“Galileo!”

“Galileo figaro! Magnifico-o-o-o!” They sang together.

“I’m just a poor boy, nobody loves me.” Ford sang, folding his hands together, making a pleading expression. Mabel gestured to him widely, stance dramatic.

“He’s just a poor boy from a poor family! Spare him his life from this monstrosity!”

It was easy to say they were both carried away from the song now. Ford even got on his knees.

“Easy come, easy go, will you let me go?”

“Bismillah!” Mabel stomped on the counter. “No, we will not let you go!”

“Let me go!”

“Bismillah! No, we will not let you go!”

“Let me go!”

“Bismillah! No, we will not let you go!”

“Let me go!”

“Will not let you go!”

“Let me go!”

“Will not let you go!”

“Let me go-o-o-o!”

“No no no no no no no!” Ford rose to his feet, Mabel singing with him. “Oh mama mia mama mia, mama mia let me go. Beelzebub has a devil put aside for me, for me, for me! ”

Ford still had enough dignity to not even try to attempt the high note he knew he could never reach, but Mabel did, and as she sang she leapt into his arms. He barely caught her in time, but laughed as they spun around, rocking out to the guitar solo.

“So you think you can stone me and spit in my eye?” Mabel jumped out of his arms and whirled on him, pointing eagerly.

“So you think you can love me and leave me to die?” Ford sang back as they danced.

“Ohh, baby, can’t do this to me baby,” Ford twirled Mabel around, “I just gotta get out, I just gotta get right out of here.”

Screw dying his hair to make himself look younger! Ford felt like he was in his twenties again already! Dancing and signing to his favorite song, with Mabel right along side him and no shame at all to be had, it felt so youthful . And fun . Maturity was overrated compared to sharing an air guitar session with his grand-niece.

“Nothing really matters.” Ford sang as the song petered to its close.

“Anyone can see.” Mabel sang, smile bright as a ray of sunshine.

“Nothing really matters.”

“Nothing really matters.”

“To me.” They finished together, arms wide. The room went quiet for a hardly a moment before the two of them were laughing uproariously.

“Grunkle Ford,” Mabel cried through her mirth. “I didn’t know you could be that fun!”

“Me neither!” He replied. “I haven’t done anything like that in--in decades !”

“That means we have to do it more, to make up for it!”

“Only with my favorite grand-niece!” Ford scooped her up into a big hug. Mabel laughed, even though she protested.

“Stop, ah! You’re getting me all wet! And I’m your only grand-niece!”

“It still counts!” Ford pressed a loving kiss to her cheek. Mabel giggled and shoved at him.

“Who are you and what happened to Grunkle Ford?”

“I am Grunkle Ford! And you happened!” He poked her, prompting another round of giggles. “Mabel, you remind me what it’s like to, to be a kid again! I’ve never felt younger.”

Before Mabel could reply, there was a sharp knocking on the door.

“Hey, Mabel! Can you quit torturing my brother with karaoke? You’re scaring away the customers!” Stan called through the door. “And are you gonna take all day in there? Me and Dipper are getting tired of using the museum bathroom.”

Mabel and Ford shared a look before quietly snickering.

“Beauty takes time, Grunkle Stan!” She yelled out. “Don’t get your panties in a wad!”

“Yeah! Shove it, Lee!” Ford yelled after her. Both of them struggled to keep their laughter quiet.

“Alright, alright, jeesh!” Stan backed off. He grumbled as he walked away, but whatever he was griping about was inaudible through the door. After a few more conspiratorial giggles, Mable spoke again.

“He is right, ya know. If we are going to dye your hair, it’s going take a while. Are you okay with that?”

“Yes, yes I am.” Ford nodded, setting his grand-niece down. Mabel grinned and clapped her hands together.

“Okie-dokie! Then we should get started so we can be done in time for dinner.” She grabbed the bottle of mixed dye and shook it vigorously. Ford sat back down on the stool, smiling patiently.

“You know…” Mabel stared at the bottle curiously, “I really like this color. I know! I’ll color my hair with it too!”

“What? No, you don’t have to--”

“Grunkle Ford, I want to.” She interrupted him. “Have you seen this color? It looks awesome! I’ve been itching for a change anyway. And then we’ll match!”

“Are you sure?” Ford asked.

“Yes! Yes yes yes yes yes!” Mabel hopped onto the step-stool. “Now tell me where you want this stuff.”

“Ah, okay, well…” Ford stared at mirror. “I was thinking along here. Not too much, just a little bit…”

“Okay, okay, I think I get what you’re trying to do here…” Mabel grinned. “And I know the perfect way to match mine!”

“Again, you don’t have to do that for me--I mean, are you sure--”

“Grunkle Ford, if you ask me again, I will dump this entire bottle of dye on my hair and leave none left for you.”

Ford’s mouth snapped shut. Although it opened again when the stench of the dye filled the air.

“My goodness, this smells awful! I don’t think I can even breathe!”

“Yeahhh…” Mabel shrugged. “Has anyone ever told you beauty is pain?”

“Yes.” Ford sighed. Mabel’s eyes widened.

“Wait really? Who?”

“...Fiddleford.” Ford admitted after a moment.

“Okay, so you have to tell me the story behind that one.” Mabel said.

“Simple. Fiddleford’s sisters used to tell him that when they were kids and were, ah, rather fond of subjecting their only brother to makeovers.” Ford explained. Mabel giggled.

“Oh that’s hilarious! Poor guy. Knowing how much I used to torture Dipper like that, gosh, he must have gone through a lot.”

“I’m honestly not sure he minded all that much. Fiddleford loved his family, now matter how much they tried his patience...I remember being envious of it.” Ford trailed off quietly. Dysfunctional as they were, the McGucket clan members (at least, those that he had met) were absolutely devoted to each other, and helped each other through thick and thin, and were endlessly forgiving and loving and...Ford wished he could say the same of his own family. Of himself.

“Hey,” Mabel patted his shoulder, seemingly reading his train of thought, “You’ve got us now. If we can’t try your patience, then nothing can.”

Ford let out a weak chuckle. “Thank you, Mabel.”

“Alright, now do you want any along here?” She said, going right back to business.

“Hmm...no, not there. More like this…”

“Got it. So, we should start planning our grand entrance.”

“Grand entrance?”

“To debut our new looks!”

“Ah, I see. What do you have in mind?”

“Well, it’s definitely gotta be dramatic…”

An hour or two, a long discussion on the effect of fog machines on hair, with a few sing-along-to-Queens, and some dance breaks later, Ford was standing at the top of the stairs, happy to be back in his sweater and trench coat. And also mildly panicking.

I can't believe I'm actually doing this .

The sound of thumping footsteps made him tense, but it was only Mabel. She was wearing a new sweater, one that matched her new hair more accordingly.

“Alright! Just like we talked about. Are you ready to wow the audience?” She crowed confidently. Ford wished he shared her enthusiasm. Well, he had...at first. From singing “We Are The Champions” until stopping dead at the top of the stairs.

“The audience? It’s just Dipper...and Stan.”

“And Soos and Wendy!” Mabel added, which did nothing to soothe Ford’s nerves. “That reminds me--”

She pulled out a walkie talkie.

“Thunderstorm to Thunderbird, we set?”

Soos’s voice crackled through the walkie talkie. Even though they could faintly hear his actual voice downstairs anyway.

“Thunderbird to Thunderstorm, we are ok to launch.”

“Launch?” Ford echoed. He didn’t recall them planning on launching anything.

“Just lingo.” Mabel clarified, taking her finger off the button to cut off Soos’s excited rant. “Do you have your gloves?”

Ford took them out of his coat pocket (it was so rare he went anywhere without them nowadays) and donned them. A press of a button and they crackled to life. Blue electricity danced over his fingertips and around his hand.

“You have got to let me try those one day.” Mabel sighed dreamily. Ford frowned; he may have given her a crossbow, but these had the potential to be more deadly than that.

“Maybe when you’re older, young lady.” He said sternly. As he spoke, fog began to roll past their feet and down the stairs. Ford swallowed.

“Grunkle Ford, we are going to blow their minds ,” Mabel tugged his coat, making sure to stay clear of his gloves. She seemed to have picked up on his nervousness. “You look amazing, I look amazing, and we are about to make the most kickbutt entrance ever. Grunkle Ford, look at me.”

He actually met her gaze this time. She had her grappling hook in hand, and she was smiling encouragingly.

“We are the champions .”

And he couldn’t help but smile at that. Mabel had a way of soothing his nerves like no one else. And, the more he thought about it...they were going to look pretty wicked.

“I suppose we are.” He nodded.

“High six?” Mabel asked, holding her hand out. Ford started to reciprocate but quickly drew back--the high six would become a high voltage electrocution if he did that. Mabel realized and giggled.

“Right,” She said, holding out her elbows, “High elbow?”

Ford laughed and bumped their elbows together. “High elbow.”

What was possibly the most synthesized music Ford had ever heard began to trickle up the steps. Mabel bounced on her heels.

“That’s our cue!” She cried, firing her grappling hook into a rafter of the house. Just before it pulled her away she grinned wildly at Ford. “Cowabunga!”

Her enthusiasm easily infected him, and he laughed as he slid down the banister.

I don’t think I even lost this bet at all!

~

“Now presenting the supercool and super-dangerous, Pines Electric !” Soos announced over the bass of a techno song.

Mabel flew out of the smoke, twirling gracefully in the air and landing on her feet. Her lightning bolt sweater had been rigged to shine a bright electric blue, which matched the new electric blue streaks along the edges of her hair. Right on her heels came Ford, leaping off the banister with smoke billowing behind him. He wore his gloves and they sparked with electricity and, true to form, they matched the electric blue streaks along the edges of his bangs (although his hair also seemed notably fluffier, shinier...generally nicer overall). He and Mabel wore identical grins as they posed dramatically, flipping their hair to show off the new color.

Stan, Dipper, and Wendy sat around the kitchen table, eyes wide and, in Dipper’s case, jaw dropped. Soos stood to the side by his boombox, grinning proudly at the show.

“I thought Ford lost the bet.” Stan grumbled under his breath.

Wendy leaned in to Dipper.

“I never thought a guy that old could be a scene kid.”

Dipper didn’t even tear his eyes away from the scene.

“He looks awesome .” The boy breathed. Wendy’s jaw snapped shut at that.

Oh my god he doesn’t know what a scene kid is. She opened it again to explain, but she thought better of it. No no, no, let him be impressed. Let him have this. He’s thirteen he’ll learn about it soon enough.

Scene phases are kind of inevitable , She added to herself, straightening in her seat as Mabel and Ford continued posing, while Mabel ranted about how cool they were and Ford stared at his brother daringly. No matter what time period you’re from, apparently.