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Chapter Text

Within minutes of their arrival in New Jersey, a strange and unusual sound started to fill the RV that Stan and Ford rented for the weekend. For a second, Stan was worried that Ford may be crying, but he realized quickly that the truth was even weirder: his brother was laughing uncontrollably. 

“What?” Stan laughed along. He had no idea what was funny, but laughing with his brother was still an opportunity too rare to let pass. “Seriously, what?” 

“Look!” Ford pointed a finger at a billboard through the dashboard. 

Stan dissolved into laughter too. “Serves them right.” Sibling Bros Real Estate. “God, you do not let go of a grudge easily, huh?” 

He meant it as a joke, but Ford’s face fell slightly. “I think we both know that that’s something I need to work on.” 

Stan couldn’t deny it, and it was too early in the morning for him to fall on his sword and admit his own faults, so he said nothing. He just kept driving. 

The anxiety of the moment put lead in his foot and he sped back to the house, getting there a solid ten minutes before they told her they would. Still, their mother stood at the end of the driveway, waiting for them. 

“Don’t hit me!” she laughed as Stan hit the brakes, because today was a good day for laughing, apparently, “I’m just an old lady!” 

She was an old lady. Stan felt a beast clawing at his throat. All those invitations, all the birthday parties, all the Hanukkah cards addressed to Stanford Pines, and it had still been more than two decades since he saw his mother. Part of the avoidance was spite. His father told him not to come back, so he wouldn’t. But then his father died, and his mother kept sending letters (and emails, once she figured out how to use them a solid five years after the rest of the world), and Stan couldn’t pretend spite was the only thing keeping him away. 

The town of Gravity Falls didn’t know who Stanford Pines was – not the real one, at least. But their mother did. Stan had to put on some kind of performance to keep her from getting too suspicious, and every day that he lost, every day that he didn’t manage to bring Ford back, the ruse became less bearable. 

So he stayed away. And she got old. 

Her hands were curled around a walker and they kept their position as she moved them – arthritis. Her hair had gone white, and her nose had kept growing even after the rest of her shrank. She was smiling from ear to ear. And really, wasn’t that all that mattered? 

They explained everything to her through a letter. Ford nervously suggested just surprising her when they turned up together, and explaining the circumstances of Stan faking his own death as they went along, but Stan was legitimately terrified of giving her a heart attack if that was the path they chose, so they wrote her a letter. Mabel helped them draft it. She was significantly more graceful with words than either of her emotionally illiterate Grunkles. 

So, Caryn Pines already knew everything there was to know by the time her estranged sons rolled back into town. She knew everything about Stan’s lies and betrayals. 

Ford stepped out of the car. “Hi, Ma,” he murmured, sounding about fifty years younger than he was. 

Tears welled in their mother’s eyes. Stan remembered vividly how much he used to hate it as a little kid, when their parents would fight and Ma would cry. 

“My boys,” she wept, “Welcome home.” 

She knew everything about Stan’s lies and betrayals. And yet, she hugged him first. Ford wrapped his arms around Stan and their mother, Stan started crying like a baby, and for the first time in a long time, everything was okay again. 

That feeling lost its power once they walked into the house. It wasn’t the same house, not by a longshot; she’d sold their little apartment after their father had died. Sold the pawnshop, too. The new house was white inside and out, one of those gated communities for octogenarians who could still walk and stand and turn on their own TV. She had a decent amount of square footage to wander around in, a kitchen, a nice leather sofa, a reclining chair that was dangerously close to the glass case where she kept her favorite little trinkets, a nurse who visited her every day and enough Jeopardy reruns to fill an entire month. All in all, not the worst way to get old. Stan wouldn’t mind living like this in a couple of decades, if it wasn’t for all the wide open empty space. 

It wasn’t the house that haunted him. It was the change. He couldn’t stop thinking about that old apartment over the pawn shop with its dark corners and its polished wood. All those memories that he never got to revisit, and now never would. He should have been here with her when she moved to her new place. He should have gone back to the old house one last time before she sold it. Leave it to Stan Pines to feel guilty for things that weren’t his fault. 

“Stanley?” Ford’s spoon clinked against his teacup. “Are you alright?” 

He asked in a way that was so rhetorical that he may as well have never asked at all. But he was trying to keep up appearances with their mother, who, like everybody, had always been a bit of an outsider to the way that he and Ford could understand one another. 

Ford sat on the edge of the reclining chair, not fully settled in, his shoulders straight, his eyebrow slightly quirked. He wasn’t relaxed. Stan wondered if he’d ever really seen Ford fully relaxed like he deserved to be, but he didn’t remember. He wondered what else there was about Ford that he didn’t remember. 

“Yeah, I’m fine.” 

Stan noticed the framed photos on the mantle. One single wedding photo, a few pictures of Shermie, then pictures upon pictures of him and Ford together. Never just one of them. That was how it was. Stan wondered if she’d always had those photos on display, or if Dad had made her put them away after he threw Stan out. He didn’t remember seeing them at his own funeral, though, to be fair, he was pretty damn preoccupied. 

He picked the frame in the center. He and Ford – just babies, really – smiled straight into the camera. Little Stan had a goofy grin, a gap in his teeth, and a bandaid across his cheek. He caught sight of himself reflected in the glass. Stan hoped that his little self would be proud of him, if he knew where he’d ended up.

“Would you like some tea, Stanley?” their mother asked. 

“No thanks, Ma. I’m not a big tea drinker.” What he really wanted was whiskey, but, again, he wasn’t super psyched about the idea of Ma having a conniption fit. 

“Hot cocoa, then?” 

It was burning hot outside for New Jersey in September, but Stan still grinned from ear to ear like a little kid. 

“So, what’s new with you?” she asked once Stan had his hot cocoa, as if they were visiting for Thanksgiving and not for the first time in nearly thirty years. 

“Uh…” Ford stuttered, “Well…” 

Stan could see the ghosts of guilt in his brother’s face and took the reins. “Dipper and Mabel stayed at my place over the summer.” Dipper and Mabel were easy to talk about. 

“Shermie’s kids?” Her eyes lit up. 

“Grandkids, Ma.” 

“Oh, that’s right.”

“I know.” Stan laughed off her memory lapse. “We’re old.”

“If you’re old, what does that make me?” she asked, half-joking. “How are Dipper and Mabel?” 

“Geniuses,” said Ford without hesitation, “Both of them. Dipper has a true scientific mind. He’s curious, with survival skills to boot. I had some real adventures with that boy towards the end of the summer, and I think I learned a lot from him. I actually offered for him to move to Gravity Falls and become my apprentice.” 

Stan bristled. “You did?” 

“Yes,” said Ford, his voice even and measured, “And, in hindsight, I’m extraordinarily glad that he turned me down. It’s important for him to spend time with his family and build an identity outside of his work.” At this point, it became unclear whether Ford was still talking about Dipper or himself. “Though I am hoping that he’ll reconsider in a decade, when he’s graduated from college and we’re both too old to travel the world.” 

There was a time when the idea of retiring from his adventure with Ford after a decade would have made him want to disappear into himself. After everything, the concept of getting that long made his heart grow three sizes.

“Honestly, I can’t imagine the two of them being apart.” Yes, he could. He’d imagined it plenty of times in his nightmares. “Mabel is… oy .” 

“You mean that affectionately?” his mother asked. 

Stan laughed. “You have no idea. That kid has more energy in her pinkie finger than most people have in their entire bodies. She’s constantly throwing parties, coming up with projects and schemes–” 

“She sounds a lot like you,” she said. 

Stan gulped. He had been like Mabel at some point. He wasn’t sure how true that was these days. Detecting the silence, Ford offered, “Shortly after I met her, she screamed for five minutes straight then coughed glitter into my face.”

Stan was struck by how much their mother looked like Ford when she raised her eyebrow. “What was the context behind that?” 

“Don’t worry about it,” said Ford.

“Alright.” 

“She once beat a unicorn in a fight,” Ford continued, “Don’t worry about that, either.” 

“She drew my face on a cat,” said Stan.

Their mother pinched the bridge of her nose. “Gosh. And you took care of these two kids all summer?” 

“Uh-huh.” Stan nodded proudly. 

“Well, now you know how it felt to raise the two of you.” 

Stan and Ford met one another’s eyes from across the room. There were two thoughts warring in their minds. One, it was a bit ironic for their mother to pretend like she’d been as involved with them as they had been with Dipper and Mabel. Two, both Stan and Ford had had that thought before; that maybe, they would have turned out like the younger Pines twins, if things hadn’t gone so wrong. 

Ford cleared his throat. “Speaking of.” He put the newspaper clipping from the morning paper down on the table in front of her. “Do you happen to know anything about this?”

She only looked amused. “Some things never really do change, huh?” 

“Eh,” Stan shrugged, “Most things, I’d say.” 

—

“Stanley, parry left!” Ford shouted over the flapping of wings. 

“Why are you pretending like I know what parry means?” answered Stan, who had a vague idea of what parry meant and was now wondering if they had fencing lessons in one of those dimensions that Ford had tripped through, “Do you have a word-a-day calendar on the Stan-O–” 

Stan cut himself off as the air was knocked out of his lungs by the Jersey Devil ramming into him at full speed. He tried to think through the shock, and got his shit together long enough to maneuver onto the thing’s back instead of being in its clutches.

“Come on, you stubborn bastard,” he grumbled, holding onto the Jersey Devil’s back. He steered the Devil purposefully in circles, giving Ford time to set up the trap right by the question mark cliff that they’d wandered to fifty years ago. 

“Ford, I could use some hustle here!” he called as his stomach rose and fell again. 

“I’m moving as fast as I can!” 

Stan focused on the rocky question mark as he went around and around. It reminded him of Soos, and prevented him from being as dizzy as he could have been. 

Ford finally called, “Let’s go!” and, making sure that he was facing in the right direction, Stan stopped steering. The Jersey Devil, as disoriented as the man on its back, flew right into Ford’s net. 

Of course, they hadn’t quite thought through the part in the plan where Stan was stuck in a net with the Jersey Devil – mainly because Stan jumping on the monster’s back wasn’t part of the plan. 

“Avoid its mouth!” Ford shouted from the ground. 

“Damn,” said Stan, “There go my weekend plans.” 

Ford laughed and whipped his camera out. $1000 dollar reward for any photos of the Jersey Devil submitted to the Glass Shard Gazette. It was a nice little fund to get them started on their adventure. 

Once Ford had taken as many photos as his heart desired — of his brother in a net with the most famous cryptid in the state — he calmed down and got a little serious. “Alright. What do we do with it?”

Stan knew what he meant. “I mean, if we turn it into the local authorities, they may do experiments on it and start hunting down other cryptids.” 

“Right. And we can’t have them taking our jobs,” Ford joked. 

“And, I mean…” Stan sighed. “I mean, all the Jersey Devil really does is steal some gold and cause mischief. If that’s enough to deserve eternal imprisonment and experimentation by the New Jersey government, then I should have been locked up a long time ago.” 

Ford put his hand on Stan’s shoulder through the net. The Jersey Devil kicked and screamed. “Not on my watch,” he said, “Calm down, little guy,” he continued, now talking to the cryptid, “We’re letting you go.” 

It would be kind of difficult to explain to the authorities that they’d caught the Jersey Devil in a net long enough to take pictures and pose, but not long enough to hold onto it. But if there was one thing that Stan knew how to do, it was lie to cops. He would figure it out. 

Really, he should have known that Ford wasn’t going to turn the Jersey Devil in. This was the man who kept a shapeshifter as a pet. But neither of them would turn down the chance to have their pictures in the paper of their hometown. 

—

Stan and Ford wandered back to the Stan-O-War II, with Stan vacuuming up some cotton candy and Ford gnawing on a candy apple. Glass Shard Beach, at least, was frozen in time. The water was still lined with old circus tents and janky roller coasters that they really shouldn’t trust, but always would. Really, it wasn’t a good idea for Stan to be eating anything after his stomach got completely shredded by the Tilt-a-Whirl. He wasn’t as fortified against motion sickness as he had been when he was a little kid, dragging Ford from ride to ride until they both got so dizzy that they needed to sit down. 

Today, the more competitive bones in Stan’s body couldn’t stand that he was all green and turned around while Ford was perfectly fine. Adventuring through dimensions gave a man a stronger stomach, he supposed. He also supposed that he should probably ask about Ford’s time through the portal at some point, but the truth was that he didn’t want to. Now that was a thought that made his stomach turn. 

The boat approached in the distance, bobbing on the gentle Glass Shard waves. Stan’s feet felt heavier somehow, like there was something physical telling him that he hadn’t done everything he needed to do before leaving New Jersey. They’d said goodbye to their mother, and the only people that they would consider reuniting with had moved away long ago. Some of them had passed away, which was becoming more and more common with their age. Just like that, it hit Stan. He remembered what he still had to do. 

“Hey Ford, why don’t you get the boat started up?” he called to his brother, still striding a few feet in front of him with all the confidence of someone who wasn’t sick to his stomach, “I’ll catch up.” 

Ford turned around, his eyes wide and confused like an owl’s. “Where are you going?” 

“Don’t worry about it. And don’t follow me.” By the time Stan registered how suspicious that sounded, he was too far down the road to care. 

—

He picked flowers outside of the graveyard. That’s what you did for people who are gone; you left flowers because you couldn’t think of anything that would actually fix things. You left flowers for people who were gone, and didn’t deserve to be. 

                                  Stanley Pines 

              June 15th, 1950 - January 29th, 1982

                        Brother, Son, Friend

That was all their father could stand to put on his tombstone. By the time Stan flung that car off the cliff a few miles away from his childhood home and closed the book on himself, he wasn’t much of a brother, son, or friend anymore. Maybe he would have been, in another life. In this one, he set the flowers down by his own name. 

What did one say when sitting at their own grave? He remembered going to his own funeral. Having some rabbi that he hadn't spoken to since his and Ford’s b'nai mitzvot spin words about him that weren’t true, about how he was strong and honorable and protective. Crafty, that was one of them. Resourceful. Fancy words for what Dad called good-for-nothing. He stood there and listened, perfected his Ford impression, and pretended that they were talking about someone else. Someone far away from him and their ridiculous family. It wasn’t hard.

Shermie cried. Stan — Ford, maybe? –  didn’t. It may have been suspicious, but his thoughts were firmly split between concern for his not-dead brother and pure, undiluted rage. Now, though, couldn’t he think more clearly? Couldn’t he say something that mattered for once? Every time he opened his mouth, the lump in his throat threatened to come out in sobs. And Stan was, quite frankly, too tired for that shit. 

Before he had the chance, either to break down or get it together, he heard footsteps plodding behind him. Ford’s thick boots weren’t hard to track. 

“I told you not to follow me.” Stan’s voice came out angry. He hated being angry. He sounded like his father when he was angry.

“I know,” said Ford, “I’m sorry.” He laid his own bouquet of flowers at Stan’s grave. Ford’s bouquet wasn’t as disheveled as Stan’s was. No stems were broken, no flowers were slipping away from the whole. That could have been a testament to Ford’s attention to detail, or it could have demonstrated that Ford cared more about Stan than Stan himself ever had. 

“It’s okay.” In truth, Stan didn’t really want to be alone. Now or ever. And he was less likely to start crying if Ford was with him. “Wanna sit?” 

“Can I?” 

“Wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t want you here.” Stan took a deep breath and let it flow out like a balloon that someone had stabbed a hole in. “I just… need….” 

“Closure?” Ford finished. 

“Yeah.” 

Ford nodded. “Can I say some words?” 

“You can try,” said Stan, “I tried, and I almost cried doing it.” 

“I don’t cry easily. Sometimes I wish I could.” Ford cleared his throat. “Stanley Pines… was… the greatest person I’ve ever had the honor of meeting. I probably should have said all of this when I had a chance, but Stan was a wonderful brother and an even better friend. He kept me grounded, something that’s admittedly not an easy feat. There was never a dull moment with Stanley. He was fiercely protective, unfailingly loyal, supremely fun, and incomprehensibly kind. And you know something? He still is.” 

So much for not crying. Stan went from stoic to doubled over in seconds, and Ford rubbed his shoulders. Somehow, the bastard wasn’t done. 

“I don’t think I need to tell anyone that our relationship wasn’t perfect. Most of that was my fault, and I will spend the rest of my life working to fix it. I wasn’t always fair to my brother. But now, looking back, I can say with absolute certainty that the world would be a much kinder place if everyone were a little more like him.”  

Chapter Text

Stan woke up bathed in rays of sunlight from the window of the Mystery Shack. It would probably do him some good to fix that curtain, but on the inside, he loved that little bit of extra light. Whatever joy he took from it decreased when he sat up and stretched out his arms. His back let out the most egregious cracking noise he’s ever had the displeasure of hearing. Stan groaned. Over a decade of being achy all the time, and he still wasn’t used to it. Though, to be fair, it did provide him with some decent excuses not to do chores and other menial tasks, instead dispatching those to his underage employees, so maybe things weren’t so bad after all. 

Stan groaned and grumbled as he stomped down the stairs, the sweet smell of pancakes wafting up to his nose. Soos had become quite the breakfast-making machine since moving into the Shack with his girlfriend. Though, when exactly that move had happened, Stan wasn’t sure. Not that he would ever complain. He found them all at the breakfast table, laughing over some joke that he’d missed. Soos, Melody, Wendy, Mabel, Dipper – when had they gotten back in? Stan’s heart swelled to three times its normal size, like the Grinch. 

“Heh,” he laughed along, “What’s funny?”

Eyes snapped to him. Smiles died. “What are you doing here, Grunkle Stan?” Mabel asked. Her voice was sweet like usual, but something told him that it was a different kind of sweet. The way that someone would talk to a stray dog, instead of a family member.

“Uh. This is my house.” 

“Mr. Pines,” Wendy smiled at him. The exact same look. Like he was a charity case, a burden. “We’ve talked about this. This will always be your house, in your heart. But Soos has the deed now.” 

“I mean, I know that. I just thought–” I thought you would want me here. Stan couldn’t bear to finish the sentence. Was he wrong? 

Soos took a few steps toward him, carrying a folded orange jumpsuit and one of those pokers that the poor folks by the highway use to pick up trash for community service time. He couldn’t see them clearly, but Stan knew that that was exactly what they were. “You’d better get going, Mr. Pines,” said Soos cheerily. “You wouldn’t want to be late.” He swung the poker out and used it to stab through something on the ground — it was a newspaper, with his and Ford’s faces on the front. 

The door behind the vending machine swung open and Ford came marching into the room. Stan was stupid enough to hope that his brother would come to his defense, but instead, he only strode towards Stan. It was Ford who spoke, but it wasn’t his voice that came out. 

“Come back when you’ve made millions.”

Stan felt himself get shoved through the open door of the Mystery Shack, but instead of the familiarity of the front yard, he found only a deep blue abyss, and by the time he realized he’d fallen through the portal, he was– 

–sitting up in bed, screaming, Ford was shaking his shoulders and shouting for him to wake up, which was definitely not what you were supposed to do with someone who was having a nightmare, but he would let it slide… he was just so glad that it wasn't real, unless…

“I’m so sorry,” he heaved, “I’m so sorry, Ford, I didn’t mean to lose you millions or shove you through the portal or—” 

“Woah,” Ford held a six-fingered hand out in front of him, “Calm down, Stanley.” 

But Stan couldn’t be stopped. “Please don’t kick me out, I don’t want to leave. I want to sail the world with you and find treasure.” 

“And you will!” said Ford, “Stanley, I’m not kicking you out. I wouldn’t. I—” Stan could tell that he wanted to say something else, but he only sighed, making Stan wonder exactly what secret Ford was swallowing. “You had a nightmare?” Stan nodded. “Would you like to talk about it?” Stan shook his head so aggressively that the words threatened to come out anyway, even though his nightmare wasn’t done making him sick yet. “Okay,” said Ford. “Can I sit with you?” 

Stan nodded again, and they maneuvered themselves to fit, as best as they could, two grown men in one tiny, makeshift maritime bed. Ford sighed. “Stan, I’m sorry if I did anything to make you feel like I don’t want you here. It’s like I said at the… belated funeral yesterday. Or, today? What time is it?” 

“Ford.” 

“Right. Sorry. Not important. The point is,” Ford sighed, “I feel awful about how I’ve been making you feel. I know that I’ve hurt you in the past, and I want to do right by you moving forward. If you could just talk to me, and tell me how to do better…” 

“I hurt you too,” Stan argued, “I shoved you through the portal.” 

“And then you worked for thirty years to get me out of it. Besides, nothing to do with the portal was your fault. It was my fault and Bill’s, that’s all. You were in the wrong place at the wrong time. I shouldn’t have built the damn thing in the first place.” 

Stan pulled his blankets tighter around himself. That was one thing that was nice about his nightmare. At least it was warm. In the real world, they must have been rapidly approaching the Arctic. “What about West Coast Tech? I mean, that was an accident too, but I wrecked your project, and your future, and—” 

“I wrecked my own future, Stan. I would have been a backwards reclusive workaholic with a demon addiction whether I graduated from Backupsmore or West Coast Tech. I think we both know that. I am, as the humanities majors say, doomed by the narrative. Besides, you were young, you were upset, you did something brash, and…” Ford trailed off. “Wait. Stanley. Did you say it was an accident?” 

“What?” 

“The science project. You said it was an accident.” 

Confusion hit Stan squarely in the chest. “Well, yeah. Of course it was.” The two of them were silent for a few seconds, then Stan asked, “Ford, did you think I’d done it on purpose? I know I was upset, and I did something stupid, but I wouldn’t purposefully ruin your life.”

Ford buried his face in his hands. It was only then that Stan realized his brother was crying. “I’m sorry,” Ford sighed, “I’m sorry. I came over to comfort you and now look at me…” 

“It’s okay,” said Stan, because it was.

“No, it’s not!” Ford cried, “I spent forty years being angry at you for nothing!”

Stan wanted to pat Ford on the back and tell him that it was water under the bridge, that they could move forward without regret, but the truth was that there was some monster gnawing at his gut. “I can’t believe you actually thought…” He trailed off. 

“I thought what Dad told me to think,” Ford murmured, “I was upset, I felt lost… God, listen to me. Going on and on about feeling lost when you quite literally lost your home…” 

“You’re allowed to be upset, Ford. And if we’re being honest, I don’t think that place was ever my home.” Stan thought back to his dream, getting further and further away by the second. The idea of being thrown out by Soos, Wendy, the twins and Ford like he’d been thrown away by his father felt like a joke when he wasn’t completely consumed by the terror of it. “I can’t speak for you, but I don’t know if it was ever your home either.” 

Ford shook his head. “The closest thing I’ve ever had to a home is you. And Dad took that from both of us.” 

“Can I say something controversial?” Stan asked. When Ford nodded, he said, “I think I might be glad that he’s dead.” 

It felt awful to think and even worse to say about his own father, who he looked more and more like with each passing day, but he couldn’t in good conscience take it back. It was true. Ford didn’t scold him, but just continued sniffing. “I should have said something. I should have stopped him, or gone with you, or…” 

“You were a kid,” Stan suggested gently, “Sometimes it feels like we were both still kids when I sh– when you fell through the portal.” 

Ford hummed. “I wonder if in thirty years, we’re going to look back and reflect that we’re both kids right now.” 

“Probably not,” said Stan, “I mean, the difference is that we were idiots back then. We knew nothing. And now…” The words died in his throat. That was almost the most egregious lie he ever told. 

“ Now we do ? Is that what you were going to say? Because let me tell you, Stanley–” 

“I know. I know. It’s bullshit.” 

The two of them dissolved into laughter, something that still felt unfamiliar and new even though it was how they spent most of the first part of their lives. Stan cleared his throat. The weight on his chest felt significantly lighter, but not yet gone. “What was it like for you, Ford? Being in the portal?” 

“Weird,” said Ford, “Sometimes in the good way. Sometimes not. Pretty quickly, I found a group of refugees hiding from Bill and his cronies in the Nightmare Realm. They taught me how to travel between dimensions and gave me the weapon that I would have used to defeat Bill during Weirdmageddon, if he hadn’t… caught me. That ended up being largely useless, but still. It was nice to know I wasn’t alone in the universe.” 

“From there, I stumbled into all sorts of dimensions. I met the Oracle, who was the one who put the metal plate in my head. I entered a dimension in which everything was built in an M-shape. You can imagine how strange it’s been for me to come back to this dimension and see myriad McDonald’s logos floating on the horizon. I found…” Ford hesitated, “I found a parallel dimension where everything was alright. Where I had a massive lab in Gravity Falls, where Fiddleford and I never seperated… to think that it all could have been possible if I wasn’t patently naive.”

Ford turned toward Stan, his eyes wide and earnest. “Stanley, I want you to know. I used to blame you for what happened on that dark day. But it was only because I couldn’t handle the enormity of what it would mean to blame Bill, and blame myself. At the end of the day, I cursed myself. I flew too close to the sun, and the sun scorched me on purpose. I went too far, through no one’s fault but my own, and you pulled me back. This is…” Ford paused, then sighed. “I think you’re right. With… what you said about Dad.” 

“Yeah?” The first word that Stan said in easily five minutes scratched his throat on the way out. 

“Yeah. He was… somewhat evil. For pulling us apart. Because in those final days, when I was so dead set on building the portal, living on no sleep and spite, pushing Fiddleford away at every given opportunity… I wholeheartedly believe that the only person who could have pulled me back was you.” 

Stan dwelled on that for a moment, the fact that in his hour of need, when he was well and truly at rock bottom, Ford’s instinct was to write to him. “You know you can always do that, right? I mean, even when we were fighting. I’d always come out for you if you needed me.” 

“I know,” Ford nodded, “I know. And that's why I feel guilty. You were always there for me. And all I’ve ever done is push you away.” Stan wanted to argue, and he could have, but Ford buried his head in his hands again, in a way that didn’t allow much room for discussion. “I fucked up,” he muttered. 

Stan giggled a little bit at hearing his normally sophisticated brother swear so openly. “So did I.” 

“I forgive you,” said Ford. 

Stan laughed again, strangely light and giddy now. “What have I ever done to deserve you?’ 

“One day, I’ll make a list. It’ll be five pages, double-sided, and I’ll still have to cut some things for time.” As Stan was trying to process any of that, Ford sighed and kept talking, “Which reminds me. Since we’re here baring our souls, I may as well just take this opportunity to say two things that are much harder for me to say than they should be: Thank you. And I’m sorry.”

“I forgive you too,” said Stan. 

“Oh. And. I love you. That’s what I was going to say earlier. I haven’t said that in decades.” 

“Eh,” Stan shrugged because his throat felt too tight to express a single other emotion right now, “We have plenty of time to catch up.” 

“Hear, hear.” The air between them relaxed. “Will you go back to sleep now? I don’t want you to be exhausted tomorrow.” 

“What about you?” asked Stan. 

“I’ve trained myself to go days on end without sleep,” said Ford, “Don’t worry about me.” 

So have I. What do you think I was doing at night for thirty years? Getting my beauty sleep? Stan doesn’t say it. They’ve rehashed enough guilt for the night. “I’m going to worry about you, Ford. I think we’ve established that pretty well.” 

“Fine,” said Ford, “I’ll go to sleep when you do.” 

“I just need to call Soos and Wendy,” Stan answered, “Or maybe the twins.” His nightmare, as ridiculous as it was, still chewed at the back of his brain. 

“It’s 7 AM for all of them,” said Ford, “And it’s 3 AM here. Stan?” 

“Yeah.” 

“You have plenty of time to catch up.” 

Just like that, Stan deflated. Ford was, as much as it still pained him to say it, right. The people who loved him were still going to love him in the morning. Stan sighed. “Alright, Poindexter. I would say why do you always have to be right, but uh. You’re not always right.” 

Ford chuckled. “Fair enough. But I am right today.” 

“Yeah. Yeah, okay. Let’s get some shut-eye.” Ford leaned over and flipped the lightswitch, turning the lamp off, though Stan had never really realized it was on in the first place. He started moving back towards his own bed on the other side of the room. “Hey Ford?” 

“Yes, Stan?” 

“Could you stay for a bit? I don’t want to be alone right now.” 

Stan heard Ford sigh happily in the darkness. “Of course, Stan. I can stay.” 

Chapter Text

Time ticked by slowly at night. Ford was a deep sleeper, even in the cold. He told Stan that throughout his time gallivanting through other universes – his word – he picked up the skill of sleeping whenever he could, with very little concern for environment or time of day. Stan, meanwhile, through his time of reassembling the portal, learned to stay awake, even when his body was screaming for rest. Maybe they were both cursed. 

All this to say that it was Stan who saw the man floating out on the raft in the middle of freezing waters. It was Stan who shook Ford awake. 

“Ford!” His brother groaned. “Ford, wake up. Someone’s overboard.”

Ford’s eyes snapped open and he sat up faster than an old man should be capable of. “Wh– you’re not overboard.” 

“Not me , someone else!” 

“Oh.” Ford lumbered out of bed and to the bulwark with significantly less urgency.

Down in the water, waves lapped over a flimsy wooden raft. Someone was laying on it, and although Stan couldn’t get the clearest look, he didn’t look like an adult. Older than Dipper and Mabel, sure, but still scrawny and far from full grown. 

“The water’s freezing,” said Ford, “We need to pull him out!” 

With a saga of grunting and groaning, Stan and Ford managed to pull the raft out of the water and over the side of the Stan O’ War II. Stan collapsed to the deck with the effort of it, but there was a way for muscle burn to feel good. He panted and caught his breath while Ford patted his back. 

“Good work.” It was almost condescending, but Stan could live with that in certain contexts. 

“Thanks.” Ford wandered away. “Where are you going?” 

Ford was gone before he could answer, but he came back with hot water, a first aid kid, and some protein snacks. They hoisted the kid away from his raft and onto their breakfast table, one of the only pieces of furniture that the Stan O’ War II had. 

“What do you think happened to him?” asked Stan, “My bets are on pirates. I’ve seen a lot of movies, and with stuff like this, it’s almost always pirates.” 

“It could be some kind of sea monster,” Ford suggested, “Some cryptid from the ancient depths that tossed him off a yacht.” 

“I feel like your thing is much worse,” said Stan. 

“Not necessarily,” said Ford, “Most cryptids are puzzles, easy enough to crack. Humans can be harder to fool.”

“Still.” Stan surveyed their almost-drowning victim, with his torn parka and one knit glove just barely holding onto the fingers on his left hand. His glasses lay cracked and askew across his face. “Does he look like he fell off of someone’s yacht?” 

As if on cue, the kid sat up, gasping, expelling water from his lungs. “Shit,” he panted, “Oh my god.” 

“Woah!” Stan leaned forward, close to putting a hand on his shoulder but not quite there, “You’re okay.”

“No, I’m not.” His breathing stayed haggard and uneven. 

“Do you remember your name?” asked Ford, “How old are you? Do you remember your birthday? How many fingers am I holding up?” 

“My name is Will,” he said, almost in a whisper, “I’m nineteen, and you don’t need to know my birthday. And that’s three fingers.” He didn’t even look twice at Ford’s six fingers, which most people did. Maybe he didn’t notice, or maybe he’d seen enough to not care. “I don’t know where I am, but that’s just…” 

“You’re close to the Arctic in the Stan O’ War II. I’m Stanford Pines, this is my brother Stanley Pines.” 

“Did your parents hate you?” Will muttered. Then, he apologized, even as Stan laughed. 

“That’s beside the point,” said Ford, though he was also smiling, “The point is, you’re safe here. We’re… well, we’re professionals. Whoever’s hunting you, they won’t be able to get you here.” 

Will raised an eyebrow. “Who says someone’s hunting me?” 

“No offense, kid,” said Stan, “But you showed up on a raft in the Arctic with your clothes all destroyed and broken glass on your face. You’ve just been rescued and all you can do is glance around like a cornered raccoon. You’re not exactly subtle.”

“Stanley,” Ford scolded. 

“What? It’s true.” 

“Look,” Will sat up, groaning as he went, “I appreciate your help, and that you healed my hypothermia, but I really need to get going. Where are we, exactly?” 

“Middle of the ocean, just off the coast of the Arctic,” said Stan. He’d already mentioned the Arctic, which was slightly concerning, but he couldn’t blame the kid for being confused. 

“Shit,” he muttered, “I overshot.” 

“Where were you aiming for?” asked Ford. 

“A small deserted island that’s still technically in Canada.” 

“Why Canada?” asked Stan. 

“Why deserted?” asked Ford.

“Yeah, no, answer his thing,” said Stan, “His thing is much more important.” 

“It’s hard to explain.” Will shook his head. “But I need to get there, and to be alone when it happens.” 

Stan sighed. “Will, it’s the middle of the ocean in the middle of the night. We can take you wherever you’re going, but there’s not much you can do on your own here.” 

“Middle of the night…” Will muttered again. He glanced out the window, and his eyes widened in horror. “Oh, no! How long was I out?! Is that the full moon? It was still waxing when I left…” He looked down at his own arms, his hands, as if he expected to see something other than normal, human skin. “What day is it?” 

“It’s October 12th,” said Stan, the implications dawning on him. “The full moon isn’t until tomorrow,” he suggested quietly. 

“Oh, thank god.” 

Ford gasped. “You’re a werewolf. ” 

“Yeah,” Will said, exasperated with defeat. “Unfortunately.” 

“This is incredible!” Ford continued, “I have so many questions and theories. I’ve thought that werewolves existed for ages, but I’ve never had proof until now. How does the transformation work? What do you eat when you’re in wolf form? What does wolf form look like ?” 

“Ford. Jeez. You’re suffocating the kid.” 

Will pulled back. “I’m not your proof. You want to put me in that journal?” 

Ford had pulled out the new iteration of his journal, a sailboat etched in gold on the front. Tossing the first three journals in the Bottomless Pit was a decent symbol of starting over, but now that they were working together, Ford couldn’t resist the urge to start a new one, one for both of them, one for the journey. He wrote in the new journal so much that Stan barely even noticed it, but Will did. He hoisted himself off the table and stood. Even though he was unstable from exhaustion and the cold, he managed to stay upright, which was a good sign. It had better be a good sign, because they were about a hundred miles out from any licensed medical professional.  

“Here’s the situation. Three months ago, I was attacked on the street by a mugger. I thought I could just give him my wallet and be left alone, but right when he was heading away, he turned around and bit me. Last month, I terrorized my family and destroyed my apartment. I turned into this weird, humanoid wolf creature. So now I’m banishing myself to a lifetime of solitude to avoid hurting anyone else. And you could put me in that journal, turn me in to the government for them to do tests on me and keep me in prison for the rest of my life. Hell, maybe that would even be better for wider society. But I haven’t done anything to you yet, and as long as you let me go, I won’t, so turning on me hardly feels fair.” 

Silence reigned on the Stan O’ War II, and Stan couldn’t stop himself from thinking. It was something about the kid’s wrecked glasses and his tendency to rant. Stan wanted to wrap him in a blanket. He fidgeted uncomfortably with his fingers. Maybe Ford saw it too, because he cleared his throat, and when he spoke again, his voice was quieter. 

“I’m… sorry, Will. Sometimes my scientist brain takes over my human brain.” He took a few steps toward Will, who still watched him warily from the corner. “Uh. This is a bit personal, but… it’s relevant. When I was a young man, I made an ill-fated deal with a demon. Towards the end, once things went sour between us, he used to possess my body while I was unconscious and commit… anything ranging from shenanigans to crimes, honestly. So… I may not understand how you feel, but…” 

“It sounds like you do,” said Will, “That sounds horrible.”

Ford gulped. “It was.” 

“Did you beat him? The… demon guy?” 

Ford grinned. “Oh, yeah.” 

“Beat him right into the ground.” Stan picked up the slack from Ford, who had started staring into space. He was still trying to wrap his head around the fact that Ford had opened up to this virtual stranger. “Is there anyone who can help you, Will?”

He shook his head. “My brother called me after the mugging and told me that he would help me with whatever I needed. But if he knew, if he really knew what had happened, and what I become…”

“He would still help you,” Stan cut in, “Trust me.” Ford didn’t quite reach for Stan, but Stan could tell that he wanted to. 

Will sighed. “I can’t stand to think that I could hurt him.” 

“It’s a risk,” said Stan, “But sometimes, that’s what family is for. Sometimes you find someone who would walk into fire for you, and you just have to let them.” 

“The alternative is worse,” said Ford, “Believe me, you don’t want to isolate yourself until you die. I tried it. It isn’t fun.” 

Will dropped his head in his hands. “What if you’re wrong?” he said, “What if my family doesn’t want me anymore?” 

“Then find someone who does,” said Stan, as if it was the simplest thing in the world. 

After a few seconds, Will looked back up. “It can’t be that easy,” he said. 

“You’ll never know if you don’t try,” said Ford, who had tried, and who had gotten shoved through a portal as a reward for trying. Stan swallowed hard. 

“What about your parents?” Stan suggested. 

“They don’t know,” Will mumbled, “I know that I should have told them, but it was so awful last month. Even Jack wasn’t with me, like I said…” He shook his head. “I could just go back and tell them.” 

“You could,” said Ford, “And you should.”

Will took a deep breath in and let it out. “And if it doesn’t work?” 

Stan reached into the pocket of his thermal jacket and pulled out a business card. 618 Gopher Road, Gravity Falls, Oregon. “Then, you come to this address. That’s where you find us. Or, people who know us, at least.” 

Will considered the card. “I’ve never been to Oregon. Or, the United States at all.” 

“You should come visit someday after everything’s worked out for you,” said Ford, “You should just come down for fun someday. Bring your brother.” 

“I think I will,” said Will, “But how do I get back to Canada?” 

“We can take you back,” Ford rushed, “There have been a couple of anomalies spotted by the coast, which we can check out while we’re there.” 

Will’s face parted in a grateful smile. “Okay,” he said, “I can’t thank you enough.” 

“It’s our honor,” said Ford, “Get some rest for tonight. We’ll wake you up when you’re home.” 

With a few handshakes and mumbled words of thanks, Will wandered back to sleep, this time wrapped in blankets on the Stan O’ War II’s deck. He said that the cool air was refreshing to him. Ford took notes about the potential ramifications of lycanthropy on body temperature. 

When Will was well and truly out, Stan turned back towards his brother. “So…” 

“What?” 

“It sure is convenient that anomalies seem to pop up wherever our personal lives take us.”

Ford chuckled. “Someone needs to take care of the kid, Stan. Why can’t that someone be us? I think it’s as worthy a cause as any research.” 

“As worthy as research,” Stan teased, “I must say, I never thought I’d see the day. You do have a point, though.” 

“I know I do,” said Ford, “Besides.” He flexed his hands, six fingers waggling, and smiled. “Freaks of nature need to stick together, right?” 

Stan grinned. It felt good to have his brother treat his differences with pride, even after being torn down for them so much when they were kids. He clapped Ford on the shoulder, causing his brother to giggle and jump away slightly. “Damn right.” 

Chapter Text

There was a non-zero possibility that the sea monster the twins were chasing off the coast of Canada was nothing more than a legend. You never quite knew with these things. The conflicting stories that the townspeople told him sure weren’t doing him any favors.

“It’s just a legend,” said one man from behind a bar, “You want to talk about a monster? We can talk about the councilmen who raised taxes.” 

“How do I know it was a monster?” said a woman arguing with her husband on a frigid street corner, “Because its face opened up and it ate our cat, Dave.” 

Who could say? But Ford would never know if he didn’t try. So here he and Stan were, cameras and a journal in hand, on the Stan O’ War II, sitting on the quiet waves in peaceful silence. 

Peaceful silence, of course, was not Stanley’s modus operandi. “Hey, I, uh. I brought the joke book.” 

Ford felt himself grin, one of those subconscious smiles that you never quite know is coming until it washes over you like a wave. He could still remember the rare road trips and days on the schoolbus freed up by Stan’s joke book. Without it, they would have both lost their minds in the days after being grounded over the first Jersey Devil incident. Granted, it probably wasn’t the same physical joke book that Stan had coveted all those decades ago – in fact, Ford could see that it wasn’t – but he could pretend. For sentimentality purposes. “Tell me a couple?” Ford asked, and Stan smiled like Ford had just offered him a million dollars. 

He cleared his throat and cracked the book open. “Hey, Ford, how do you make an eggroll?” 

“I don’t know, Stan. How do you make an eggroll?”
Stan chuckled preemptively. “You push it!” 

Ford laughed. “Oh, I have one. What do you call a pile of cats?” 

“A safety hazard?” said Stan. 

“A meow-ntain!” 

They laughed together, but the mist that Ford blinked out of his eyes didn’t come from raucous laughter. “Where did you hear that?” asked Stan.

“I’ve been to a lot of places and dimensions. The one thing they all have in common is the begrudging love of puns.” Ford remembered how comforting it was to sit around bonfires and betting tables, feeling like his brother’s voice and sense of humor echoed all around him. 

 “Heh,” said Stan, “You know, this actually reminds me of a day I spent with Dipper and Mabel this summer.” 

“Oh?” asked Ford. 

“Yeah. I brought the joke book out on the lake for a day of fishing. But you know what kids are like, and what we were like at that age. Dipper and Mabel weren’t much different. Faced with the prospect of spending five hours in a tiny canoe with their old Grunkle, they ran off with Soos to go monster hunting.” Ford hummed, and it was like Stan could read his thoughts. “Eh, don’t feel too bad for me. They’re kids. They had a fun day. And then they came back, wore the custom hats I made them, and we went fishing. It was a good day.” 

Ford smiled to himself. “Did they find the Gobblewonker?”

“Oh, that’s a funny story, actually. Well–” Stan stopped. His smile dropped. “I guess it’s not so funny now. But there was no Gobblewonker. It was fake.” 

Ford frowned, unsure of which part of that was supposed to be funny. “But there really is a Gobblewonker in the lake. I saw it. It’s in Journal 3.” 

“Huh,” said Stan, “I’ll have to tell Soos. He’ll be thrilled. And the twins will be too, of course, but they’re not exactly near the lake right now, so…” 

It was still strange to think about Dipper and Mabel outside of Gravity Falls. And it was even stranger to try and fill in the blanks of Stan’s story, whatever parts he was keeping to himself. Yet right as he was about to ask, the water under the boat rippled, then returned to being still. 

“I think we have company,” said Ford.

The water parted, and from it came a giant head. It rose over them, climbing,  shaped and colored like an alligator’s skull with slitted red eyes in deep sockets. Ford could barely see the beast’s head as its long, scaly neck extended further and further over the Stan O’ War II. Beneath the water, its body lurched, causing artificial waves to wash onto deck. 

“Stanley,” said Ford, “Remember the plan.” Even as his voice came out shaking – instinct more than anything – he felt like a kid on Purim. Ecstatic. His fingers twitched toward the pen that lived in his pockets. 

The plan in question, of course, was to make for the deserted cave that they’d heard about from the tour guide at their shitty motel. Stan verged the Stan O’ War II on a hard left, sailing down the current with the wind in their backs. His map was made of flimsy, plastic hotel paper and it kept blowing shut, but if Stan had taken his hand off the wheel to adjust it, they could have sailed off course. 

It didn’t end up mattering whether or not they sailed off course. Stan’s severe lack of map led them to the wrong turn. All in all, not the most disastrous outcome – all roads led to the cave, but one road had one very noticeable difference. The waterfall.

“Shit,” Ford swore as they rocketed towards the steep drop, “Hold onto something.” Stan gripped the steering wheel. Ford kept one hand on the side of the ship and one hand on his journal, and the two of them went, down, down, stomach’s dropping. Someone screamed, though Ford couldn’t tell whose voice it was. He could feel his feet come out from under him, and at first he thought it was an illusion, but as they arrived with a jolt at the bottom of the falls, he landed hard – but still on his feet – and he realized that he’d been a solid foot or two in the air. 

Stan had tucked his feet under the bar beneath the steering wheel and had stayed relatively secure. The falls rushed behind them. “Well, that sounds like home,” Stan said. 

Ford pointed wildly. “Up ahead!” His hand was shaking too hard to maintain any kind of constant direction, but the cave was hard to miss. Ford could only hope that the rough estimate of the beast’s size provided by the townspeople and various stories matched the diameter of the cave’s mouth. 

Stan kept the speed up, but pulled the Stan O’ War II to a hard stop just before the back wall of the cave, just before the boat was smashed to smithereens. He hunched over the steering wheel, panting. 

“Bravo!” said Ford, “Stunning work, Stanley.” 

He was hopped up on adrenaline. Stan, who huffed out an exhausted, “thanks,” was very much not. 

Ford disembarked, marched over to the unnamed beast and began to take notes. It was bigger than the real world Gobblewonker, and, quite frankly, scarier. “Genuinely, Stan–” diameter, behavior, “That was–” behavior, perceived threat, “Masterful.” 

“What do we do with it?” asked Stan, his breath sufficiently caught, “Is this another Jersey Devil situation?” 

Ford hummed. “I mean, it is eating people’s cats, apparently.” 

“True.” 

“But… I don't know. I never feel good about killing things. Even when I… should.” He thought of the shapeshifter first, the portal second, and then he did his best to think of nothing at all. 

Stan cleared his throat awkwardly. “What if we gave our research to the townspeople? We could say that it got away, but give them the tools to prepare themselves against any future attacks or anything. I mean, you have to question why Dave’s cat was even by the water in the first place.” 

Ford chuckled. “I wasn’t going to say it, but… yeah.” 

“Hey, when you discover a new kind of cryptid… beast… weirdness, whatever, do the grateful townspeople name it after you?” 

“I’m not sure,” said Ford, “I’ve never actually presented my scientific findings to anyone before.” 

“Well, that’s a shame.” 

“There’s a first time for everything.” Ford shrugged as if he hadn’t been waiting for this moment for most of his life.

“How do you feel about the Pinesbeast?” Stan suggested. 

“Not a bad idea. Dipper and Mabel will be happy,” said Ford, “Scientific name: Stannus Fordus.” 

“Why is my name first?” asked Stan, “You’re the scientist.” 

“Yeah, but you drove the boat.”

By the time they were sailing North from the coast of Newfoundland, the Pinesbeast, scientific name Stannus Fordus, had a Wikipedia page. October was in solid dusk, and the world was colder than Ford was used to, though not as cold as some of the dimensions that he’d seen. Maybe it wasn’t the physical cold that was haunting him, but the mental cold. The chilling knowledge that there was something he didn’t know.

“Stanley?” he said to the stars.

“Yeah.” 

“What happened back at home? When Dipper and Mabel found the Gobblewonker?” 

“Oh.” Stan sounded defeated. “You sure you want to know?” 

“I think I need to.” 

A deep sigh. “Uh. It was a machine. An… attention seeking mechanism, an elaborate prank. Built by…” 

Certainty hit Ford before he wanted it to. “McGucket.” 

“Mhm,” Stan hummed, “He was the one who kept shouting about it being in the lake. People… people made fun of him.” 

Guilt wracked Ford until he felt the need to drop his head in the bent crooks of his elbows. To think of McGucket, a brilliant scientist… no. To think of McGucket, his closest friend and only confidante, wandering the streets of Gravity Falls mostly crazed from his own invention, because of the ways in which Ford hurt him… it was almost too much to bear. Someone he’d truly cared for, though never enough to protect. Never more than he cared about himself. 

“Don’t do that,” Stan cut in. 

“What?” said Ford. 

“Ford, I know you. You’re blaming yourself again.” 

“Who else am I supposed to blame, Stanley? It was my work on the portal that drove Fiddleford to the place where you found him.” He paused, fearing the worst once again. “Was he the town joke? Did people make fun of him?” 

Stan paused, then nodded, his identical eyes big and sad. Ford shivered and remembered his own hesitation to venture out into the real world of Gravity Falls, beyond the safe walls of his lab. His crushing loneliness coupled with his fear of mockery. Imagining his best friend being felled by the beast he’d once been afraid to face… well, it was enough to drive Ford mad. If that was a thought he was allowed to have.

“Did we not have this conversation already?” said Stan, “Have we not all made mistakes? I accidentally pushed you through the portal. You built the portal and summoned Bill. McGucket created the memory gun, scrambled his own mind and wiped the memories of countless others. At the end of the day, it all leads back to that evil tortilla chip.” 

“Who I unleashed on the world,” Ford murmured. 

“Because he got in your head with flattery. Which you needed, because you were isolated, because…” 

Ford finished for him, barely loud enough to be heard over the gentle waves. “Because of the expectations put on me since before I could walk. Because Dad threw you out.” 

“Exactly,” said Stan, “We could do this all day. We could trace it back for ages. So why don’t we just not?” 

Ford wiped away tears that he hadn’t even realized had begun flowing. “What am I supposed to do, Stan? I can’t just stop feeling guilty.” 

“You can’t go back, either,” said Stan, “So you’ll have to find something in the middle.” 

Ford took a second to think. He truly did admire Stan’s ability to dispense nuggets of wisdom at the most random of times. He was right, of course. There was nothing Ford could do to undo the damage done to his relationship with Fiddleford. But that didn’t mean that he had to leave the wound open. There had to be some middle ground between impossible to undo and impossible to fix. 

“Could we stop on land at some point?” Ford asked, “I think I’d like to find a postcard.” 

Stan grinned. “Of course.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dear Fiddleford, 

I hope you’re doing well and have found a decent way to keep yourself busy in the cavernous expanse of what was once Northwest Manor. Knowing you, you’ve likely built a lab beneath the house by now. I know what you’re thinking – what kind of lunatic would do such a thing? 

In all honesty, I’m a bit afraid that you may not want to hear from me. I wouldn’t blame you if that were the case. Our relationship fell apart in ways previously only imagined by Shakespeare himself, and I don’t pretend to be ignorant of that descent or of my own role in it.

In fact, that’s the very reason that I’ve decided to reach out. Traveling with Stanley has gotten me thinking about my first ever research partner. I’ve been thinking about all of the good times that we spent together, at Backupsmore and beyond. The late nights studying or working, the early mornings making coffee for one another – I still remember: cream and seven sugars for you. The occasional pre-planned, candlelit dinner. Do you remember when I convinced you that Greasy’s Diner was haunted? It seems I owe Lazy Susan an apology, too, for that nasty piece of handiwork. One of the only times I ever went into town, and it was to make a fool of myself. All things considered, you were very gracious towards my tomfoolery. 

Which leads me to my next point. The ways in which I did you wrong. I should have listened to you when you told me to dismantle the portal, but I was blinded by my own ambition and hubris. I know that I already apologized during Weirdmageddon, and although you said that you forgave me, I can’t shake the feeling that I haven’t done enough to earn it. 

Stan and I talk frequently about our next trip home to Gravity Falls. A holiday, a birthday. It’ll come sooner or later. When it does, would you maybe be amenable to having tea with me? I think we’ve both had enough coffee for ten lifetimes, but I’d love to see you. To talk about life. 

In the meantime, call me when you have a chance. I wish you the best, old friend. 

Love, 

Stanford Pines

Chapter Text

Ford was suspicious from the moment that Stanley skipped and hopped back onto the Stan O’ War II after their lunch break. He knew that his brother was happy that their investigation of a haunted mansion had brought them to Louisiana, but this felt a bit overzealous as a reaction to the weather. 

Ford, meanwhile, was trying not to overheat.The ghosts made the air thicker and harder to breathe before he managed to exorcize them, but even when that was over, his turtleneck and trench coat combo weren’t doing him any favors. Granted, he could just take them off. Trade them for a Hawaiian shirt like Stanley had, or a more sensible choice. But the layers had multiple purposes. The unfortunate truth of the matter was that Ford had never been particularly comfortable with physical contact, except with a select few people. Most of the time, when strangers hovered near him, he felt a sort of chill that could only be counteracted by putting barriers of fabric between himself and them. This was a phenomena that he’d experienced throughout most of his life, but that had only gotten worse since he’d partnered up with Bill and lost complete control over his own body. 

The second reason was the scars. Stan would ask about them, if he saw them. Ford knew that he would. And how could he tell his brother that most of his burns and tears weren’t from traveling through other dimensions, but from the mistakes that he made right here, in this one?

“Hey, Ford, lookit what I got!” Stan broke Ford from his downward spiral by waving a piece of parchment in front of his face. “Anyone up for some treasure hunting?” 

Ford raised a single eyebrow. “You found a… treasure map?” 

“No,” said Stan, “I stole a treasure map.”

“Ah.” 

“Yeah. An old lady by the docks tried to sell this thing to me for the equivalent of twenty dollars, so I distracted her and ran.” 

“So, just to recap,” said Ford, “You stole a map from the docks – which, for the record, has clearly been charred at the edges to give the effect of it being older than it is — and now you’re wanting to go treasure hunting.” 

“Hell yeah.” 

“And coming from the scam connoisseur himself?” Ford teased. 

“I didn’t pay for it, so it doesn’t count.” 

“So you acknowledge that this is probably not legitimate?” 

Stan rolled his eyes. “Well, of course I do, Ford. I’m not an idiot. I just think it could be fun to look. Beaches, babes and buried treasure. We haven’t changed that much.” 

Ford smiled slightly. “For what it’s worth, I was never into babes.”

“I know.” 

“But everything else sounds wonderful, Stanley. Let’s go for a nature walk.”

Ford and Stan were the adventuring types when they were children. Even before the invention of the Stan O’ War II, they’d make games out of everything and embark on adventures. Telling stories by vaguely illegal bonfires. How many times had they gotten lost in those woods nearly two miles away from Glass Shard Beach? 

Those woods weren’t too different from these, Ford realized. He tuned back into Stan’s words, having lost himself briefly in the past. 

“-- At home. And I wander through the woods with Mabel and Grenda, looking for you two nerds. Grenda totally knocked out that goblin guy. He may have been dead, I’m not sure.” 

“You’re telling me that Mabel’s twelve year old friend killed a mythical being brought to life by a device that’s outlawed in 9,000 dimensions?” Ford chuckled. 

“Let me tell you, Ford,” said Stan, “You haven’t been on an adventure until you’ve been adventuring with Mabel and her friends.” 

Ford laughed, remembering how unhinged Stanley was as a child. His head was full of creativity and schemes that bordered on crimes even then. Now, in the present day, Stan was like a dog with his nose pressed to the ground, sniffing out treasure that they’d both agreed probably wasn’t there. 

“This thing says it’s at the base of a tree by a river.” Stan squinted at the base of each tree as if well-buried treasure would be protruding from the dirt.
“I don’t see a river, Stanley,” said Ford. Something perched on one of the branches caught his eye and he gasped. It was a flurry of orange and black. “But what I do see is some interesting wildlife!” Stan grunted. When Ford extended a finger, the creature came to perch on its tip. 

“Look, Stanley! A Danaus Plexippus.” 

Stan finally glanced up. “That’s a butterfly, Ford.” 

“Yes, a monarch butterfly. A Danaus Plexippus. That’s what I said. Careful not to kill any rare plants,” said Ford as Stan went rifling around in the dirt, “Or any of the common ones.” 

“Does grass count?” Stan asked. 

Ford took a moment to think. “Yes.” 

Stan groaned, sat back on his heels, and rested his head in his hands. “Can we have lunch?” 

“Getting hangry?” Ford’s tone was teasing, but in honesty, he was worried that he was annoying his brother.

“Not necessarily,” said Stan, which was the nice way of saying yes, “But those ham sandwiches I packed for us are calling.” 

Ford smiled. “You packed ham sandwiches? With gruyere and mustard?” 

“Are they still your favorite?” Stan asked. 

“I haven’t changed that much,” said Ford.

“If I’m being honest, Sixer, I don’t think you’ve changed at all.” That wasn’t the kind of thing that Ford expected anyone to say affectionately, but Stan did. Stan always did. 

It was too hot for a bonfire, but they sat together like there was one still between them as they chowed down on their sandwiches. “You know,” said Stan, “I actually did learn a decent amount about wildlife through the Mystery Shack. Do you have any idea the levels of innovation required to create the Turtleduck?” 

“Please tell me that those various animals were already dead by the time you stitched them together,” said Ford. 

Stan shrugged. “To tell you the truth, most of the animal parts were fake anyway.” 

“That is a relief,” said Ford.

“I don’t like to kill things,” said Stan. 

Ford smiled to himself. “Well, I think that really depends on the things.”

“Your little triangle man wasn’t a thing, he was a nuisance. Besides, he hurt my family. All bets were off after that.” 

 They let silence fall for a moment, but it felt wrong to leave things on such a note, so Ford cleared his throat again. “You know, Stanley, I don’t think I’ve ever told you how impressed I am by the Mystery Shack. You created something that meant something to the town and the people in it. I mean, gosh. To think that it was just some secluded scientist’s lab when I lived there… the setting of some weird horror movie.” 

Stan grinned. “You know, one day, you’re going to be able to say something nice about me without tearing yourself down. But thank you. That means a lot. It feels good, you know? To do something with my life that… matters.” 

Ford took a deep breath and let it out. He covered Stan’s hand with his own, six fingers over five. “Stan, you mean so much to so many people. I want you to know that.” He considered following it up with that’s the thing I envy most about you, but he kept Stan’s note in mind and kept it to himself. 

Ford could swear that he saw Stan tear up. He didn’t remember how long it had been since he’d seen his brother cry. Decades, certainly. Ford had cried on the first night after Weirdmageddon, but Stan had stayed strong throughout it all. He went to say something, anything, to brighten his spirits, but Stan glanced down instead. 

“Oh, shit,” he said, “Shit, shit, shit.” The map was covered in mustard dripping from Stan’s sandwich, covering what seemed to be every important inch of the drawing of the beach. “No! We’ll never find the treasure now.” Stan looked forlornly down at his shoes. 

Ford considered telling Stan that it didn’t matter, that they had about as much chance at finding treasure with the map as they did without it. He decided against that upon seeing the legitimately crestfallen look on his brother’s face. “It’s all ruined,” he said quietly.

“No it’s not.” Ford knelt beside his brother in the dirt. He picked the map up and out of Stanley’s hand and tried to wipe some of the mustard away, which really only smeared it further. Ford fought the urge to swear under his breath. “Okay, so some of the landmarks are covered in mustard. But… look. The X is right by the curve of this river here. If we can find the stream, then…” 

Stan perked up and turned to Ford, then to a group of fellow tourists sharing their lunch. “Excuse me!” 

“Oh, Stan–” 

“Have you seen a river anywhere near here?” 

One of the diners, a woman a few decades younger than them, furrowed her brow. “A river? Uh–” 

“I think there’s one a mile or so North,” said the man dining with her, presumably her husband, while their son shoved seven carrot sticks into his mouth at once.

“Thank you!” said Stan. He marched off, and Ford course corrected. 

“North,” he suggested gently.

“I got excited,” said Stan, who usually knew where North was. 

As they continued walking, the twins both became concerned that they’d been turned around, and that they weren’t heading to the river at all. Stan hopped from unsuspecting family to unsuspecting family, asking for directions that they were not at all qualified to give, while Ford stifled giggles behind his palm. 

Eventually, they found a park ranger. They also found a cloud of smoke surrounding that park ranger, but that was hardly any of Ford’s business. “Brother, I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he slurred when Stan asked him about the river. 

“We met a family earlier who told us that there was a river somewhere near here,” said Ford. 

The ranger shrugged. “Only body of water in this park is the lead-in to the ocean.” Ford cursed under his breath. Of course they were headed towards the ocean. This was the path they’d taken into town after disembarking from the Stan O’ War II. How could he have missed it?

“But there’s a river on this map,” said Stan, showing his map to the ranger, who, Ford noted, was not wearing a name tag. 

The ranger peered at Stan’s map. “You mean this obviously fake tourist trap that some old lady burned the edges of to make it look old?” 

Stan’s face fell. Ford took him by the elbow and oriented him away. No one was allowed to put sense in his brother’s head except him. “Okay, thank you for your help,” said Ford, “Have a nice rest of your day.” He didn’t really mean it. 

As they wandered back towards the ocean, closer and closer to the Stan O’ War II, Stan didn’t perk back up. “I’m sorry, Stanley,” Ford tried, “I know this day didn’t turn out how you wanted it to.” 

Stan shrugged. “It’s okay. Mostly I just feel stupid.” 

“How so?” Ford frowned. 

“I mean, I knew that the map was probably bullshit. I just didn’t want it to be. Because even though I don’t really fall for those whimsical little scams anymore, I would have. When we were kids. And we’ve grown up a lot since then, but I just wanted some of the things that we believed in to be real. Just for old times sake. I got lost in the sentiment of it all, I guess.” 

Ford noticed that Stan’s had sounded more giddy and excitable – almost childlike – all day. It was the kind of thing that you didn’t miss until it was gone. “Not everything has changed, Stanley. It’s still just the two of us, despite everything, looking for beaches and buried treasure. And babes, allegedly.” 

Stan snorted. “I think the ghosts and demons may be your babes.” 

Ford cringed. “I fear that may be true.”

“I need to buy another metal detector,” said Stan, “There must be treasure buried somewhere. The stories didn’t just make that up out of thin air. Hey, maybe we should go to the Caribbean! I’ve heard that there are pirates there.” 

“Or,” said Ford, “Maybe the real treasure was the day we spent together.” 

Stan smiled and patted Ford on the shoulder. “No. I want my fucking gold.”

Chapter Text

It was a quiet night on the Stan O’ War II, which was how Ford liked it. Stanley had his head buried in a cabinet, rifling through games and running them by Ford one by one. “Boggle.”

Ford cringed. “Too noisy. What about Scrabble?” 

Now, it was Stan’s turn to cringe. “You’re going to leave me so far in the dust, there’s no point in me even playing.” 

Ford hummed. “Do we have time for a game of Monopoly?” 

Stan grinned. “There is always time for Monopoly.” 

As hopeful as Stan was, it turned out that there wasn’t really any time for Monopoly. The Stan O’ War II shook with a mighty force. At first, Ford was afraid that they’d found themselves in the middle of an earthquake, but tectonic plates didn’t behave this way underwater, so his next reflex became that they’d have to trick yet another sea monster. That was, until Stanley started levitating. 

“Ford!” Stan called. 

“Stan!” Ford grasped onto his brother’s hand and pulled him back down to the deck. Still holding on, Ford surveyed their surroundings. “Okay,” he said, “So, that’s a ghost.” 

“It’s just Category One though, right?” Stan panted, “I mean, if all it’s doing is making things float…”

“You’re not a thing , Stanley. Category Ones can’t impact humans in any tangible way. This is past a Category One. I’d put it at either Five or Nine.” 

Stan’s eyebrows flew up. “Aren’t Nines the one who can haunt your dreams? Can this one do that?” 

“You want to stick around and find out?” 

The boat shook again, nearly bouncing off the waves. Ford shouted outwardly, and wondered inwardly if it was perhaps a good idea to bring the Stan O’ War II in for maintenance. “Okay. Here’s what we’re going to do. We need to research anything that’s happened in this area. Any shipwreckings, piracy, privateering, drowning. Anyone  who may have died and gotten angry about it.” 

“With what, Ford?” asked Stan, “You got a research library hidden around here that I don’t know about?” 

“Why don’t you just use your computer?” Ford shouted. The waves that had been so silent mere minutes ago were now rumbling beneath the ship. Maybe it wasn’t a ghost after all, but an underwater volcano. 

“That’s going to be a bit hard without any kind of service or connection,” said Stan. 

“Gosh, you haven’t fixed the tech reliance issue yet? I’ll address that in my next letter to Fiddleford. I’m sure he’ll have a solution.”

“That’s great, Ford,” said Stan, “Is there any way that he can fix our current problem?” 

Suddenly, the waters parted, and a silvery, shivering mass erupted from their depths. The ghost seemed to be easily ten or twenty feet tall, a distortion of a once living being, but then, the mass split apart. There were easily a hundred human souls hanging over them amongst the dark gray clouds. Ford felt his hand shake and struggled to correct himself. 

“We come in peace,” said Stan. That was for aliens, but he was close enough.

NO YOU DON’T. The words were not said; it was as if they appeared in Ford’s mind of their own volition. One spirit floated forward. He looked like an elderly man, dressed in clothes from… the 1800s? Ford was hardly a fashion expert. 

Stan leaned towards him. “Ford, are we in the spot where the Titanic sank?” 

“Not even close,” Ford whispered back.

The ghost roared, and his ability to turn red when angry sparked something deep and horrified in Ford, but when he spoke, his voice came out more conventionally. “The Titanic! Do you have any idea how often we get asked that question? It’s as if those ragamuffins from the modern age are all that matter to you people?” 

“But he was close?” Ford suggested, “You… died in a shipwreck?” 

“We died,” the ghost whispered, “Of our own stupidity. My name is Edgar. My fellows and I were passengers on the RMS Randolph.”
Stan glanced at Ford, who shrugged. “Never heard of it.”

“That’s what stings most of all. No history books.” The ghost shook his head, as if he were trying to clear the thoughts out of it. Ford fought the urge to say really? That’s what hurts? Not drowning? It wasn’t like he couldn’t relate to craving recognition. Edgar continued. “They warned us all. Shark infested waters, unreasonably freezing for this time of year. But, no! We just had to go explore the New World. ” The ghost said those two words with a seething type of fury that Ford felt resonate in his stomach. 

Stan was not having the same problem. “Colonialism? That kind of sounds like a you problem, man.” 

“And how are you any better?” the ghost muttered, voice low, “Disturbing our grave sight for your own silly adventures, poking around in things that do not belong to you?” 

“We’re scientists,” Ford tried to explain, “We’re only passing through.”

Edgar said nothing, but now, it was Ford’s turn to hover several feet off the ground. He began to shout and reach for his brother, but doing so brought back such strong memories of the portal that he bit his tongue. Quite literally, he tasted blood in his mouth. 

All bets were off once he started floating, almost gently, away from Stan and away from the ship. The ghosts made no move to hurt him yet, but he felt unmoored without the solid ground of the Stan O’ War II providing him assurance. 

He tried to wiggle out of the spirit’s grasp, but he found that his limbs wouldn’t obey him, no matter how hard he tried to move away. And that, he really hated. The vulnerability, the lack of control. He felt the phantom sensation of his extremities turning to gold. 

Ford attempted to say something menacing, but all that came out was a half-hearted please. And that was wrong. He hadn’t been this strong for this long just to be broken by someone who was already dead.Whether his shortness of breath was due to the ghost or due to the strengthening pressure on his chest, stifling him, brought on by his terror, he wasn’t sure. All that he knew was that he knew nothing. He was utterly helpless. 

Then, something yanked him back. The hood of his jacket tore as it was pulled, but didn’t rip off, and Ford crashed back to deck. Stan grabbed him as he struggled to catch his breath, one hand on each shoulder. “Take cover!” 

The two of them ran to the covered spot of the Stan O’ War II, with the table, the beds and the control panel, though running was perhaps a generous word for the drunken stumbling that Ford attempted. Stan bolted the door. 

“Okay, this feels like a higher category of ghost to me,” he muttered to himself, “Did you recopy any of the important pages of Journal 3? We could probably use those right now.”
Ford had, in fact, made copies of the pages of Journal 3. Throwing them into the Bottomless Pit was more symbolic than anything. Who knew when his old research would come in handy in his new life? But Ford couldn’t say that. Ford couldn’t say anything, really. He only clutched his chest and tried to slow his pounding heart. 

“Ford?” Stan checked, “Ford, look at me. It’s okay. You’re safe.” It was not okay, and they were not safe, but in a different situation, Ford could imagine that those would have been the right thing to say.

There was only so much that Stan could do with the spirits ramming into their ship. The Stan O’ War II swerved off course. When Stan reached for the steering wheel, the engine revved briefly, then fell silent. Their boat, their second chance, was severely damaged, so much so that they might die, right here in the middle of the ocean.

“Oh, this is bullshit,” Stan muttered, “All of that. All of those nights working to get you back, sleeping in my car, digging on beaches for gold, beating a fucking demon, and I’m going to go out to a bunch of fancy ghosts with a grudge?” 

Guilt ripped through Ford like a wave of its own. Stan wouldn’t even be here if Ford hadn’t cornered him after Dipper and Mabel’s going-away party. His brother was going to perish in frozen waters and it was his fault. As if he hadn’t already broken enough. As if he wasn’t already broken enough. 

The first word he managed to squeeze out of the lump in his throat was “Stanley.” Then, “I’m sorry.” 

Stan whipped his head to look at Ford. “Don’t be. This isn’t your fault.” Ford whimpered, and Stan knelt down. Ford didn’t even remember sinking to the floor, but apparently he had, and here was Stan, beside him. “Hey. I have had the time of my life finding monsters with you, okay? Ford. I love you.” 

Tears sprang to Ford’s eyes, and it became a bit easier to think. “I love you too, Stan.” 

For a moment, they let the cold air linger. Outside, the ghosts continued slamming into the ship. Ford could see them through the dashboard, all teeth and silver claws, barely human anymore. Would Stan and Ford join them once this was all over? 

Right when Ford was about to close his eyes, he saw Stan grit his teeth. “Fuck this,” he muttered to himself, “I’ve spent my whole life imagining my death. And you know what? For a good solid chunk of that, I didn’t even mind the idea. But it’s not happening. Not now.” 

He got back to his feet and stumbled, but managed to lead himself over to the control panel. He pressed on the brake hard enough that it looked like it hurt. Nothing. “Come on,” Stan muttered to himself, “Come on. ” By some miracle, the Stan O’ War II began to move again. 

Something was watching over them that night. Maybe it was the Oracle, or the God that Ford had long ceased to believe it, but it was something. Maybe it was just Stan. 

In hindsight, Ford wasn’t sure if he even felt the crash. He may have lost consciousness by then, through terror, which had never happened to him before. All he knew was that as the world got darker, and as Stan screamed at the steering wheel, he felt nothing but safe. 

Chapter Text

The world came back to Stan in pieces, sense by sense. He noticed heavy fur blankets and the salty smell of preserved meat first, along with a pounding feeling in his left temple. When he opened his eyes, he wasn't any less confused. 

He was wearing the same clothes that he was when they… crashed into an island. They crashed into an island. Which meant that he’d pulled it off. He’d gotten the Stan O’ War II out of the ghost storm and onto land, where someone had wrapped him in heavy fur blankets. Stan didn’t quite feel relieved about this, for three reasons. 

Number one, the clothes that he’d crashed in had been completely soaking wet, and now they were dry. He had no idea what day it was, but it wasn’t the same day of the crash. Two, he had no idea where Ford was. He looked around the room — which appeared to be a one room hut with a fireplace in the corner and sunlight streaming through the places where the door didn’t quite meet the wall. Ford was nowhere to be seen. The third reason was perhaps the worst. He studied the maps every single day before he set off on another leg of his journey with Ford. There was no island in the area of the ocean where they crashed. So where the hell was he? 

Stan tried to get out of bed, but found that his legs had all but turned to jelly. He flexed his hands, just to make sure that he still could, and was relieved to do it without difficulty, but his legs were thoroughly asleep from disuse. Still, he had to try. He had to find Ford. 

He managed a few stumbling steps around the stone floor of his hut. The floor was covered in a rug that may have been an animal pelt at some point – he couldn’t quite tell. There was a pot of stew boiling on an ancient, Middle-Ages-esque stove, and three more strips of meat suspended over that stove. He was so incredibly tempted to stop and snack, considering how his stomach howled, but he had priorities. Find Ford, then find breakfast. 

As Stan was considering whether or not leaning on a rocking chair was a good sense of stability, the plywood door swung open. He was hoping to see Ford framed against the golden firelight, but instead, an extraordinarily tall woman looked around the room. A grin spread across her face when she saw him. He couldn’t quite decide if it was the nice kind of grin or the malicious, scheming kind. 

“Oh, thank Odin, you’re awake.” 

Thank Odin ? Stan had no time to dwell on that. “Where is my brother?” he asked. 

“He’s fine.” As she stepped out of the light, he could see better what she looked like. She had a long, graying-red braid slung over her shoulder and was dressed in full armor, with a sword strapped at her waist, which wasn’t intimidating at all. “Honestly, we were more worried about you. You’ve been unconscious for so long, your boat’s almost fixed!” She laughed, and although Stan did feel the slightest bit of relief, he wasn’t going to let up until he knew that Ford was safe. 

“You didn’t answer my question,” he said. 

She smiled. “Your brother is outside, likely in the training center, getting acquainted with our pets.” 

Now, Stan was just confused. “Pets?” 

“Let me show you what I mean.” 

The world outside of the hut was a rolling expanse of green. Bonfire smoke rose to the sky, and although it was disorienting to wake up at night, Stan was glad that he got to see the stars as clearly as he would if he were still on the ship. Outside of huts almost identical to the one that he’d walked out of – brick and beautifully tiled roof — villagers in ancient clothing chased their children around the wide open space. Stan got a calming feeling between his ribs and he knew, somehow, that this place did not want to hurt him. He breathed in, took note of the homey smell, and let it go. Stan had had too much of a life to take that feeling for granted.

“What is this place?” he asked, more to himself than to her. 

“This,” she spread her arms apart, “is Frankenheim. And I am Hilda, since you were nice enough to ask.” 

Stan kicked himself. He’d never been good with women, especially the tall and beautiful ones. “Sorry. Hi. I’m Stan Pines.” 

“I know,” she said. When he raised his eyebrows at her, she continued, “Your brother gave us quite the expositional dump when he woke up. Mystical adventurers from the distant land of New Jersey,” she said, making them sound a lot cooler than they were, “Sounds like quite the story.” 

Stan chuckled. “Ford has been all over, and he’s seen almost everything. Still, his favorite topic is himself.” He refocused, remembering all the questions he’d had so coherently in his head before Hilda started talking to him. “I’m a little confused.” 

“You may have a mild head injury,” she pointed out. 

“It’s not that. It’s just… where are we? I mean, I know it’s Frankenheim, but this place isn’t on any maps.” 

“That’s because of our secret,” she said, “We wouldn’t want any foreign powers intervening in our affairs, or theirs.” 

“What secret?” Stan asked, imagining the worst. Bodies under the dirt, some kind of zombie virus or unique mutation. Maybe Ford’s paranoia was rubbing off on him. 

Just then, a roar echoed across the sky. Stan ducked instinctively, taking shelter beneath his own useless arms as two giant beasts flew over his head. Peering through his fingers, Stan saw wings and enormous, lizard-like bodies, yellow eyes with slits. As the bigger one roared, a cloud of flames blew up out of seemingly nowhere. Stan prepared to dive for Hilda, to stop her from getting charred, but she didn’t seem to have the same concern. 

“Klaus! Do not spit fire at your brother! And Deggo, do not steal your brother’s food. My goodness.” The dragons — those were dragons, weren’t they? – settled down, landing on their side of Hilda, who scratched their scaly heads. She turned back to Stan. “I’m so sorry,” she said, “You’d think they were raised by wolves. I mean, they were raised by me. I suppose that’s close enough.” She turned to coo at the dragon that she’d called Klaus, and as Stan’s terror died, he was able to notice the gorgeous sunset colored pattern across his scales. “Silly Klaus. Always looking for attention. How many times do I have to say that I love you both equally?” 

“Sick.” Stan took a couple of cautious steps forward. “Are they… your pets? Your kids? I mean…” 

“Little bit of both,” Hilda shrugged, “Come on. I’ll show you something that’s really sick.” 

Stan questioned slightly what on earth could possibly be sicker than what he was already looking at. Then, Hilda brought him to the training center. 

The training center was a wide open space covered in a metal net that somehow didn’t feel suffocating. There were weapons lining the walls, though no one was using them, except for two identical boys laughing and sparring in the corner. That was like looking in a mirror. On the stadium-esque lamps that lit up the center, tiny beasts with pointy horns on their heads perched, looking down at Stan with a curiosity that made them look like kittens. 

Klaus, the sunset dragon, had followed them, and Hilda swung to sit on his back, petting behind the… ears? Were those ears? 

Finally, he spotted Ford, who was locked in a very passionate discussion with a large, bearded man wearing armor and a blue cloth around his waist. Seeing the man made Stan wonder how Manly Dan was doing. Meanwhile, Ford couldn’t see him, because he had his head in the mouth of one of the dragons. One of two mouths, really. The dragon had two heads. At this point, Stan wasn’t sure anything could surprise him anymore. 

“Fascinating…” said Ford, “So do they work in tandem, or do they fight? And do both heads get sick at the same time? My brother and I used to get allergies at the same time, which I know isn’t an accurate comparison, considering that Stan and I have two separate bodies, but…” 

At that, the man working with Ford noticed Stan and nodded towards him, prompting Ford to pull his head out of the dragon’s mouth and towards Stan. Immediately, the mythical beast was forgotten. 

“Stanley!” Ford ran towards him and crushed him in a bear hug. “I’m so glad you’re alright.” 

“Me too,” said Stan, “I was so worried about you.” 

“ You were worried about me? ” Ford repeated, “Stan, I was sheltered inside the Stan O’ War II while you took the brunt of the attack. You saved us. Again. How can I ever repay you for–” 

“You don’t have to repay me, Poindexter. Of course I was going to save you.” Ford pulled away, and Stan was surprised to see him wipe at his eyes. “You were really worried for me, huh?” 

“We all were,” said Ford, “Oh.” He turned back towards the man. “This is Henrik. Resident dragon man.” 

“This is Hilda,” said Stan. Hilda waved. “Resident dragon lady.” This was the only place on earth where he could say that and not have it be intended or interpreted as an insult. 

“Hi!” Hilda chirped. 

“Ford, this place is incredible. Did you know about any of this?” Stan asked. 

“I had no idea! Honestly, I’m not going to say that I’m happy about the accident, but…”

“I am,” Stan laughed. 

Ford laughed with him. “Okay, I definitely am. Especially since Fjord said that he could get the Stan O’ War II back up and running by tomorrow morning.” 

“Ford and Fjord, huh? You two should have matching T-shirts.” Stan fell quiet for a second, wondering if he should ask the next question, wondering why it mattered. “So, do we have to leave tomorrow morning, then?” 

Ford smiled, but his eyes looked sad. “Well, I’m not even close to finished with all of the research that I want to do. And… it looks like you may have found yourself a project of your own?” Ford’s eyes slid over to Hilda, who, luckily, had started swinging an ax into wood and was not paying attention.

“I’m not going to deny that,” said Stan. 

“Besides, I… I think we could both use a break after what happened on the ship. At least, I could.” 

Stan took another deep breath. “Yeah, you had kind of a moment back there, didn’t you? You were out of commission for a few minutes.” 

“A few crucial minutes.” Ford cringed. “I’m sorry, Stanley. It won’t happen again.” 

“Ford, I don’t need you to apologize,” Stan said, shaking his head, “I’m just worried about you, that’s all. Do you want to talk about it?” 

“No,” said Ford, “But what I do want to talk about is these incredible creatures.” 

Stan sighed, and decided to let it go. Inevitably, whatever had happened to Ford would come back to haunt him, and they would have to talk about it eventually, but that was Ford’s decision to make. And if what his brother wanted was to talk about dragons and ignore his problems, that was what they would do. 

Not that Stan minded the dragon-talk. If anything, the dragons held his attention more than anything they’d discovered together thus far. He could lie and say that it was because of their cool horns and shiny scales, but really, he was just happy that between this and the unicorns that Mabel had beat up, the magic he’d believed in as a kid was coming back to him.

Part of that magic was sitting around a midnight bonfire with his brother, telling stories and eating salty bacon (they didn’t call it bacon around these parts, but it was bacon.) The atmosphere of the fire and its golden hues reminded Stan of Shabbat dinners from when he was a kid, the one night a week when he knew that his family would be together and open to him. 

They stayed for an extra night. On the first night, Henrik and Hilda told them stories about the island, how it had emerged from a volcano millions of years ago and only been discovered slightly BCE by a race of dragon hunters, turned dragon riders, who were looking for a home for their winged friends. The island remained largely deserted and well-defended, but every few years, victims of the band of ghosts would crash onto the shore and need to be brought back to health. The riders were always happy to oblige.

On the second night, Stan put on what was basically a performance of the path they took to get there; through Glass Shard Beach and Gravity Falls and everywhere else between. He gave Ford space to tell his side of the story, but Ford elected not to. His face fell every time it became necessary to even mention Bill. Again, something that they would have to address. Stan got the feeling that they would have to address it soon. 

On the third day, Stan started to miss the Stan O’ War II, and they got ready to go back to their adventure. 

“Back to the distant land of New Jersey with you, then?” said Hilda, presenting him with his travel bag. The contents of the bag had been thoroughly soaked, but were otherwise fine. 

“Not even close,” said Stan, “We have a whole world to explore. Lots of weirdness.” 

“Are we weirdness?” she teased. 

“Yes.” He looked over at Ford, who was letting one of the little kitten dragons gnaw on his pointer finger. “That’s not always a bad thing, though.” 

Hilda smiled. “Good to know.” 

“Quick question. Can I have a dragon?” That was not the question that Stan wanted to ask, but the other one got stuck. 

Hilda made a face like she was actually considering it, which he knew she wasn’t. “That depends. Do you want to move here, take training lessons, learn physical combat, become a skilled dragon warrior, raise a dragon from birth, take the vows, and swear to defend Frankenheim until your demise?” 

Stan sucked in air. “See, I totally would, but you guys don’t have pancakes here, so…” 

“What is pan… cakes?” asked Hilda. 

“Oh, that’s so sad,” said Stan. 

Hilda raised an eyebrow. “Does your society have dragons?” 

“No, but at least we have pancakes. They’re like little cakes… that you make in a pan.” 

She laughed. “You’ll have to send me some.” 

Stan’s heart jumped in his chest. This was the chance to ask the real question. “Respectfully, mailed pancakes sound horrible. They’re best when they’re fresh.” 

“Then I guess you’ll just have to come back and make some for me,” she said, “Preferably without almost drowning this time.”

“That sounds great,” said Stan, “How do I… uh… get in contact with you.” 

“Carrier pigeon,” said Hilda. Stan chuckled, but she stayed perfectly straight-faced. “They’ll know where to go. The birds are smarter than you give them credit for.” Oh, she was weird weird. Perfect. Stan’s favorite kind of person.

“Alright, I’ll keep that in mind.” Stan knew that it was probably time to go, but the thought made his chest ache, just slightly. “You know, I would invite you to come with me, but,” he put on a dramatic voice and tried his best to look cool, probably failing miserably, “I work alone.” 

“I’m sorry, you what ?” 

Ford’s voice made Stan almost jump out of his skin. “Oy! How long have you been standing there?” 

“Long enough,” said Ford. 

“Easily three minutes,” said Hilda. 

“Alright, well.” Stan ran a hand through his hair. That did nothing to stave off embarrassment. “That’s all, folks. Ford?” 

“Yeah. Nice to meet you, Hilda,” he said, waving. 

“You too!” 

As they strolled back to the newly refurbished Stan O’ War II, Ford wouldn’t stop glancing at Stan. As embarrassing as it was, Stan was just happy to see his brother happy. He heaved a sigh. “Alright. Let it out.” Ford immediately started to laugh. “Yeah, yeah.” 

“That was just like high school,” he said, “Worse. Some things never change, do they?” 

“No, they don’t,” said Stan, “I don’t know how to talk to women, you don’t know how to talk to anyone. We’re both cursed.” 

Ford was laughing so hard that he seemed to miss Stan’s little dig at him. After a few seconds, he calmed down, wiping tears out of his eyes. Good tears this time. “So. Beaches, babes and buried treasure. Are you satisfied?” 

Stan smiled. His cheeks were still slightly warm, and he found himself noticing every pigeon in the trees. “You bet I am.”

Chapter Text

A scream ripped through Ford’s throat, leaving him hoarse and gasping, as his tight chains lowered him back down to the ground. He coughed, spewing blood across his lips. A single snap of smooth, black fingers lowered him back to the ground. 

“You know how this ends, Fordsy,” came a high, shrill voice, “Don’t make it harder than it has to be.” 

Ford reeled with confusion. During the brief respite that Bill had given him, he must have drifted off. He could have sworn that he was with his brother, being beaten at Monopoly. It must have been a dream, but that didn’t matter. He wanted to go back. He wanted to go back. He wanted to go back.

“I’ll never give you the equation.” He tried to sound steadfast, but it came out more as a pained groan than anything, “You’ll have to kill me first.” 

Bill wouldn’t kill him. He knew that, at least. Not until he’d resigned himself to never having the equation, which the stubborn bastard never would. There were plenty of other things that he could do, though, as a being who controlled time and the speed of one’s healing. In the past hour — not that it was exactly possible to feel time passing in the Fearamid — he’d been shocked, beaten, broken, and on one memorable occasion, turned inside out. All of which Bill could fix, would fix,  and would gladly do again, had they not proven ineffective. He kept on nursing Ford back to health with words that were almost gentle, teasing, as if the two of them were playing a game. Ford tried not to think of everything else Bill could do. Not in front of the mind reader. He wouldn’t provide inspiration for his own pain.

So no, Bill wouldn’t kill him. But that thought provided Ford with little comfort.  

Ford screamed again, but the final shock seemed mostly to be for garnish, because Bill didn’t ask for the equation again. “Alright,” he said instead, “Time to change my tune. Your brother is still sheltering in his unicorn fort – for now – but there’s nothing stopping me from plucking that precocious niece of yours out of her bubble and making her pay for your disobedience.” 

The pain from his final round of shocks had faded surprisingly quickly, yet still he screamed. He screamed and screamed and—

~~~~

Screamed. Because Ford was still shouting when he woke, it took him a moment to realize that his dream was just that; a dream. He’d had dreams of Bill before, of course, most of which were legitimate. Still, Ford could at least realize that he wasn’t suspended and being tortured in the Fearamid, and that Bill wasn’t actively coming for his family. Unless he was. Ford’s breathing picked back up. 

“Hey,” Stan knelt down next to him, his voice much quieter than Ford was used to, “It’s okay, Ford. I’m here.” He slid a mug onto Ford’s bedside table. “That’s for you. Whenever you want it.” 

Ford sniffed. “Wh– what is it?” 

“Hot cocoa,” Stan squinted as if thinking, “with cinnamon, a bit of cayenne, some marshmallows… Mabel made some hot chocolate for me after I had a nightmare over the summer. She kinda put everything in it — every appropriate ingredient in our kitchen — so I figured I would try the same thing.” 

Ford hesitantly reached towards the mug with a shaking hand, lifted it to his lips, and drank. Sweetness, spice, chocolate, sugar and perhaps a dash of star anise flooded his senses. He groaned with happiness. There was, of course, a problem with this, because nothing Ford had could ever just be nice and unbothered in that niceness. Whatever dam he’d managed to build up was breaking, and fast. The gesture of his brother making a sweet treat to aid his recovery took away whatever was left of it. 

“Can I sit?” asked Stan, gesturing to the empty side of Ford’s bed. 

Ford didn’t answer, not because he didn’t want to, but because he was blinking furiously, fighting against the stinging in his eyes. “I– Stan,” he choked out, “Please.” 

“Okay.” Stan didn’t need elaboration; he understood. “Okay. I’m here.” He climbed into the bed next to Ford and pulled Ford into his arms. He took off his thermal jacket and wrapped it around his brother, who was already wearing a jacket, and didn’t really need another one. Still, he appreciated the extra weight.

“Are– are you warm enough?” Ford blubbered. 

“Don’t worry about me. I’m fine.” 

Stan kept Ford close as he cried his eyes out, periodically soothing him with kind murmurs. “It’s okay, Ford. You’re safe now. Bill can’t hurt you anymore.” Ford didn’t know how Stan knew that he was dreaming about Bill. Maybe it was an educated guess, maybe he talked in his sleep. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know. “Do you want to talk about anything?” Stan’s voice, while gentle, sent Ford further into his spiral. 

The tears bloomed anew. “I’m so sorry, Stanley,” he wept, “I’ve kept it together for so long, and now I just feel like I’m losing my sanity…” 

Stan shushed him again. “That’s nothing to apologize for, Ford. You don’t have to be strong all the time. You’re healing.” 

Ford sniffed. “I feel like I’m healing all wrong. Like a bone that’s technically not injured anymore, but knit back together at a bend and can’t be walked on anymore.” 

Stan ran his hand over Ford’s shoulder blades and sighed. “Can I ask what set you off?”

“What do you mean?” Ford asked. 

“You had that panic attack on the night that we almost got shipwrecked.” Stan said it like it was something straightforward. Panic attack. Could there be such a simple explanation for Ford’s strangling terror? “Did something happen that scared you?” Ford nodded, but said nothing else. “What was it?” Stan prodded. “Whatever it is, you can tell me. I promise, I won’t judge you.” 

Stan somehow touched on Ford’s greatest weakness. It wasn’t the fear that kept him caged, but the shame of it all. If he couldn’t move past it with Ford, then he couldn’t move past it with anyone. And if he couldn’t move past it at all, he would never heal from it. Ford still wasn’t entirely sure that he could heal, but Stan, at least, was making him want to try. He cleared his throat. 

“When I was working with Bill, he used to possess me. That was the deal we made; he could possess me while I slept and continue working on the portal. I suppose he had my consent at first, but he didn’t stop after our collaboration ended. That’s why I got the metal plate in my head — in addition to stopping him from infiltrating my dreams, I wanted to stop him from possessing my body. On the ship…” Ford’s words got choked in his throat, but he forced them free. “On the ship, when the ghosts lifted me… it reminded me of that loss of control.”

Stan hummed his understanding. Ford wished he understood. “It just doesn’t make sense. Things like this didn’t always…” He trailed off. Didn’t always bother him, didn’t always set him off, as Stan put it, didn’t always reduce him to a gasping mess on the floor like some undisciplined child.

“So you’re a little fragile right now,” said Stan, “That’s fine, Ford. That’s normal. You got betrayed by someone you trusted in the worst way possible. That hurts. You don’t have to just shake it off.”

It felt strange for Stan to give a voice to the voiceless, acknowledge the elephant in the room. But now that he had, secrets were clawing their way out of Ford’s chest. “I did trust him,” he murmured, “but it was more than that. He was… Bill was my best friend.” The sour taste that the words left in his mouth didn’t make them any less true. Stan kept his expression impressively neutral. “He made his way into my heart. He lied to me, flattered me, told me everything I wanted to hear and had wanted to hear for my entire life and I…”  Stan squeezed Ford’s hand. The words came out a whisper. “Stanley, I think I loved him.” 

Stan was clearly trying his best to keep his expression neutral, but he struggled. “Like… in what way?” 

Ford shook his head. “It’s never been that simple for me. Not with Fiddleford, not with Bill, not with… anyone.” He trailed off, of course, because there were no other examples. Just his college partner and the demon who ruined his life. “But Bill and I… we weren’t friends, and we weren’t lovers. We were some secret, worse third thing.” 

Stan’s surprise was becoming more and more obvious by the second. He exhaled deeply. “I mean, I had my suspicions.” 

“Did you?” asked Ford. 

“You called him your Muse, Ford. Not to mention that he was wayyyy too desperate to work with you in particular. I mean, I know he said that you were an exceptional human mind, or whatever, but I always felt like it was something… weirder.” 

“Weird in the bad way,” said Ford. 

“Definitely in the bad way.” Stan looked up, and then back at his brother. “I mean, out of all the guys in the world? There was no one else at college? I mean, McGucket was right there, the whole time…” 

“Stan.” 

“And you go for the evil tortilla chip?” 

“Stanley.” 

“Sorry.” 

“I told you that it wasn’t that simple.” 

“Right.”

Ford cleared his throat and found himself lighter, like he was on the verge of a laugh. “He went for me. If that makes it any better. I mean, I didn’t exactly resist him, but he went for me.” 

“You know,” said Stan, “This only makes it more impressive that you got away from him.” 

Ford shrugged. “I couldn’t have done it without you and the kids.” 

“Well, then, I guess it’s a good thing that you didn’t have to,” said Stan, “And you don’t have to deal with the aftermath of it all alone either.” 

Ford glanced down at his half-finished hot cocoa, and thought about Stan spending his worst nights with Mabel. “You wake up in the middle of the night, too?” 

“Oh, yeah,” said Stan, “Especially before I got you back. When Mabel was awake – which was more often than it should have been, with all that Mabel juice – she would come sit with me. She’d make snacks and we’d just talk until I felt ready to go back to sleep. Usually, I could persuade her to get some rest too, though I wasn’t always successful on that front.” 

“You told Mabel about your nightmares?” Ford asked. 

“Oh, god, no,” Stan chuckled, “Partly because I didn’t want to and partly because I couldn’t without opening one hell of a closet full of skeletons. But it was nice not to be alone.”

Ford nestled his head on Stan’s shoulder. “I miss those kids dearly.” He remembered the back half of his dream with a shiver, Bill threatening Mabel, Dipper and Stan. He pushed the thought back to the recesses of his mind, from which they would inevitably return. “What do you dream about, Stanley?” 

“Oh, you know,” Stanley shrugged, “Being thrown out, being responsible for the portal, never doing enough, being worth nothing. I think that’s what pushed me to help fix the boat that night, actually. My worst fear is something happening to my family on my watch.”

“None of that is true,” Ford rushed. 

“I know that,” said Stan, “At least, logically, I know it. You helped me know it, when I had my nightmare a few weeks ago. And now I’m going to help you.” He turned to the side, making eye contact with Ford. “But Ford, it can’t just be me. I can’t read your mind.” 

“I don’t want you to read my mind,” said Ford. 

“I know. But I need you to talk to me, okay? Next time something happens that scares you, or makes you feel like that again, I want to hear about it.” 

Ford flushed. “Even if it feels stupid?” 

“ Especially if it feels stupid,” said Stan, “I don’t want you to have to go through this alone, okay?” 

With that, Stan extended a single steady hand. Ford just looked at it, five fingers in the air, innocuous to anyone who wasn’t as broken as Ford was. Ford, however, felt his heart flutter, stuck somewhere between true terror and joy. 

One of the first things that made him trust Bill was his insistence on a handshake. In hindsight, Ford realized that the handshake was necessary to seal Bill’s dangerous deals, and that as a demon, he wouldn’t care much about an extra finger, but Bill was the first person to shake Ford’s hand without hesitation. Ford had assumed, for a long, long time, that he would also be the last. Yet, here Stan was. No lies, no blue flame, no regret.

After the long pause, Stan’s expression changed to one of confusion, which morphed to horror when he glanced down at his extended hand. “Oh. Oh. Shit. I’m so sorry, Ford, I didn’t mean to remind you of… shit, I need to get better at this.” 

“No,” said Ford, “You don’t. This is good.” 

Ford’s hand shook, but he made himself reach out anyway. He’d started this chapter with a deal. Maybe he could close it with a deal, too. 

Chapter Text

Stan and Ford sat on the grass outside of the Stan O’ War II, a mug in each hand and one between them. Up above their heads, shooting stars made their way across the early morning sky. The pine trees on the horizon blew in the gentle breeze. The third mug, the unused one, was printed with the seal of Backupsmore. Stan picked it up, just to look, but Ford took it out of his hand. 

“Careful, Stanley. That mug is cursed. That’s why I brought it outside – I need to burn it once we’re done with our coffee.”

Stan scoffed. “Is everything you own cursed?” 

“No,” said Ford, “This jacket seems to be holding strong.” 

And thank goodness for that. Mabel had made them both matching jackets before they set off on their adventure. She’d sewn a heart patch on one shoulder and a six-fingered hand on the other, just like on the front of the journals. Not to mention that it was deeply functional; thermal, reinforced, at least twelve pockets. He would be heartbroken if it ever got cursed.

It was the perfect jacket for adventures, which was good, because judging by the beam in the sky, Ford was about to have one. 

“You seeing this, Sixer?” Stan stood up, reaching for his pocket knife. “Get behind me.” 

A silver saucer-shaped ship with purple lights lining the edges floated about a hundred feet above the ground. It would have fit flawlessly in the chasm between the cliffs in Gravity Falls. Either by intuition or pure invention, Ford knew that the craft was there for him. He stepped in front of Stan. 

“Sixer!” 

“It’s okay, Stanley. I’ll be alright.” Ford could talk all he wanted, but the bottom line was that the now-familiar panic seized his heart as soon as the beam edged close to him on the grass. Ford reached for the magnet gun that he hadn’t carried in months. There had to be some other solution, though. As scared as Ford was, he did want to find out exactly what these aliens wanted. If they were even aliens. Though, the cold metal of the ship reminded him so much of the one he’d sourced for his lab, he’d be shocked if they were anything else. 

“Wait!” he called up. A large box was deployed from the side of the ship, riddled with holes. It looked like some kind of speaker. “You don’t need to take me. I’ll go with you of my own volition.”

Silence, for a moment. Then, a distorted, metallic voice came from the speaker. “Alright. Give us a moment while we deploy the rope ladder.”

A rope ladder? Perhaps alien societies were less high-tech than Ford had assumed. What emerged from the ship, however, was not a rope ladder, but rather a staircase with the letters ROPE printed on the side. Retractable Overpowered Personal Elevator. Huh. 

“What are you doing ?” Stan demanded. 

Ford shrugged. “I want to learn about their culture.” 

“Are you insane?” Stan hissed. 

“Yeah.” 

Stan stared at him for a moment. When it became clear that Ford was not going to relent, it became Stanley’s turn to shrug. “Alright. Then, I’m coming with you.” 

“You don’t have to,” said Ford, even though the prospect of going alone made his stomach churn. 

“I know,” said Stan, “That’s what makes me so nice.”

~~~~~~

“Stanford Pines.” Ford stated his name into a small, circular camera. To his surprise, the camera nodded and thanked him. 

Then, Stan stepped up to the camera. “You gonna give me a number? A mugshot?” 

“Stanley.” 

“Sorry. This just feels incredibly familiar is all.” 

Stan cooperated and allowed the aliens to take his picture, but he was grumbling and grimacing the whole time. Ford couldn’t necessarily blame him. He didn’t enjoy being dragged around with little explanation of why. As much as the metallic walls and steady beeping of machines reminded him of the ship from home and his lab, he couldn’t make himself feel at ease. The thing under his skin was squirming.

Ford cleared his throat. “Does anyone care to explain exactly what we’re doing here?” 

“Certainly.” A sliding double door opened from the seemingly flat wall. Stan jumped back, but Ford planted his feet firmly on the ground. The entity that strode towards them was taller than both of the twins, which was not an easy feat. Eight feet with the floral headdress, seven without. Their skin was light blue and thinner than human skin, nearly translucent in places, revealing a seemingly yellow skull. They were dressed in a long, white, toga-like garment. The alien extended a hand with long, spindly fingers, but dropped it back to their side when Ford didn’t reciprocate. 

“My name is Ahndshae,” they said, “And you, I suppose, are Dr. Pines?” They turned to Stan. “Mr. Pines?” 

“Mr. Pines was my father,” said Stan, “I’m just Stan. Mister Mystery if you’re feeling fancy.”

Ahndshae did not have eyebrows above their pupil-less black eyes, but they moved their forehead as if they did. “I’ve heard that you two saved the world,” they said, “That’s quite a fancy feat.” 

“You know all that from us stating our names to the camera?” asked Ford. 

“No,” said Ahndshae, “I know it from the Gravity Falls footage.” At Stan and Ford’s shocked faces, they continued. “I come from the remains of the Drolemit society. There are very few of us left, but our ancestors were the ones who crashed the ship into your village. Recently, a small team was put on the task of tracing back to the extinction of our society, which included the day that you set off the security systems at Crash Site Omega.” 

“You did what?” asked Stan. 

“It was an accident,” Ford defended, “I didn’t mean to disrupt your society in any way. I thought you were all gone.” He could feel the ship moving, although he didn’t know where, and he trembled at the thought of standing trial in front of an unknown society, floating far above his home. Hadn’t he already come close to doing just that? From his memory, and the memory of the burn scars lining his wrists and neck, confining him to a turtleneck, it didn’t end too well. 

“Relax,” said Ahndshae, “No one is in trouble. Our society admires a curious mind. You are both equals to us. We’re simply interested in what you were doing on the ship, for documentation of whatever is left over there, and what can be done about it.” 

“Oh,” said Ford, “Well… I brought my journal, but…” 

Stan, sensing his brother’s discomfort, finished his thought. “But why should my brother give you his research while you haven’t told us anything about who you are or what you want?” 

“That… is fair. Why don’t you pop open the window?” They did it for him, sliding open a circular patch of metal above the ship's control panel – a control panel which bore the same lettering as the one at Crash Site Omega. 

Outside of the bulletproof reinforced window, a thick haze of orange fog floated over the sandy surface of a planet. They couldn’t have been that far up, because Ford could see extraterrestrials milling about on the surface from the ship. What really stunned him was how similar it all seemed. Two larger extraterrestrials walked in a line, one on each side of a smaller one who kept bouncing off the ground and swinging. Across their paths, a smaller extraterrestrial kicked a bouncing square up and down. Ford had made the mistake of assuming that the blue skin was universal across the Drolemit species, some kind of adaptation brought about by a lack of oxygen or a different source of hydration, but from outside, he could see skin of green, yellow and orange as well. 

From the horizon, he could tell that the Drolemit planet was much, much closer to the sun that the Earth was. He tried to keep his eyes on the ground, lest the light and heat burn him. Still, on that same horizon, he could see translucent squares looming in the distance. At first, he thought they may be some sort of monolith, perhaps a defensive measure against the sun or a religious display. When he saw little brightly colored specks milling about inside of the apparent monoliths, he began to suspect that they may have been more comparable to Earth’s skyscrapers. 

“This is incredible,” Ford said in a hushed tone, “This is… what I became a scientist for. I mean, not exactly. Not at all, really. But to see this… to see something that I would never be able to see otherwise…” Ford trailed off, breathless, and Stan had his face pressed up against the glass. Somehow, his heavy breathing was leaving fog. “Can we step outside?” Ford asked. 

“Better not,” said Ahndshae, “Our breathing and immune systems evolved over eons to accommodate the unique atmosphere. You two would shrivel on impact.” 

“So this isn’t your home planet?” Ford asked. 

They giggled. “No, not at all. Our home planet is on the other side of the universe. Nesor.” 

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard of that one,” Ford admitted. 

“It isn’t in your Milky Way,” they explained, “No one on Earth would have any reason to recognize it. We were heading past Earth on our way here when Ship Omega crashed. That was millions of years ago.” 

“Be honest with me,” said Stan, “Are we on Mars right now?” 

Ford would have put money on them not being on Mars, but he should have known to never enter a bet against Stanley. Ahndshae laughed. “Yep. The dark side of it. No one can see us, on footage or projections or otherwise. We give the Rover snacks and erase its footage every few days.” 

“But Curiosity is a robot,” said Stan, “An inanimate object.” 

“Its love of cookies overtakes its status as an inanimate object,” Ahndshae shrugged. 

“This would make one hell of a public report if my passion as a scientist was still collaboration with the United States government,” said Ford. 

“What are you going to do with all of your research once we’ve tracked down all of the anomalies on your chart?” asked Stan. 

“The United States government?” said Ahndshae. 

“I was young and clueless,” Ford confessed, “In terms of what I want to do now, I’m not sure. At this point, I’m old and significantly humbled. Mainly, I just want to satisfy our own curiosity and eliminate all possibility of Bill’s remaining influence.” 

Ahndshae’s eyes went wide. “Bill?”

Ford’s heart dropped. “You’re familiar.”

“Unfortunately. One of our leaders made a deal with that demon while attempting to find us a new home planet. He then completely dropped off the grid.”

“He’s either dead, taken hostage in the nightmare realm, or aiding the devil himself in some scheme,” said Ford.

“I don’t think the devil is out there scheming anymore,” said Stan, the ghost of a smile on his lips.

“I know,” said Ahndshae, “I’m glad.” Still, their features were heavy. When they perked up, it didn’t seem entirely genuine. “But enough about us. What did you use Crash Site Omega for?” 

“Oh,” said Ford, “Uh. I raided it for parts to build a transuniversal gateway. It’s… what Bill told me to do.” And I didn’t question him until it was too late. “But,” Ford continued, “I then used the powerful adhesive from the site to seal the rift shut. Even though… that didn’t last. It was a decent effort.” 

“Bill is gone,” said Ahndshae, “That’s what matters. And whatever you two did to bring that about, the world will be eternally grateful. Even if the world doesn’t know it.” 

Going over his history with Bill in front of a virtual stranger made Ford feel untethered, and it made him realize just how far away from home he really was. He tried to breathe evenly, like Stan had taught him shortly after his nightmare, but the air in his lungs seemed to be stuck in the past, along with his mind. 

“You know,” said Ahndshae, “Our people spent such a short time on Earth, I don’t think we’re very knowledgeable about the human species. How about this? We could enter a mutual research partnership, for the time being. You can stay here on the ship – not on Mars, but close enough — and we can discuss the history of humanity. Of course if you’re willing, I’d love to run blood tests, cellular analysis, perhaps a bit of sleep therapy…” 

Ford began to feel lighthearted. The mention of sleep therapy was what sent him over the edge and rendered his regulatory breathing largely useless. To this day, he still felt terrified at the prospect of falling asleep in the presence of anyone other than Stan. He related to Ahndshae’s curiosity and tried to get a polite word in edgewise, but trying to get his voice to work felt like maneuvering a ship out of a bottle.

“So, what do you think, Dr. Pines?” Ahndshae asked, “Do we have a deal?” They extended a hand, and Ford’s blood ran cold.

“Uh… with all due respect…” Stan started, his own voice shaking. 

“Stanley,” Ford muttered, “I need to do this myself.” 

Stan smiled. “Okay.” 

Deep breath in, deep breath out. “I appreciate everything that you’ve done for us, directly and indirectly. But I’m not interested in being a test subject again, and as glad as I am that I got to see this, I’m not interested in being a science experiment. Quite frankly, I think I’ve had enough experimentation in my past to last a lifetime. What I want now is to return to my home planet with my brother and keep living my life.” 

Letting the words go was the sweetest relief. It was, fundamentally, what he should have said to a certain somebody thirty years back. Not that it would have been accepted with that particular audience, but still. It felt good. 

Even when Ahndshae hesitated, and for a terrifying moment, Ford was afraid that they wouldn’t let him go, it felt good. “Ahndshae?” he asked. 

They snapped out of their suspicious silence. “Right. Of course. That’s… perfectly understandable. I only ask…” They glanced outside of the window, and Ford could fill in the blanks. 

“We’ll keep your people’s secret. Right, Stan?” 

“Of course,” said Stan. 

“You protect our peace and we’ll protect yours,” said Ford. 

“Well, in that case.” Ahndshae strode back towards the control panel. “It’s been lovely doing business with you both.” 

A mere few minutes and a couple of subtle jumps through hyperspace later, Ford and Stan disembarked from the ship and stumbled down the ROWP ladder – which did, in fact, stand for something, just in a ciphered alien language that Ford didn’t speak yet — with their hands full of notes and their pockets full of various rocks from the surface of Mars. It was, to keep it simple, a good day.

“Hey,” said Stan, elbowing Ford, “You stuck up for yourself pretty well back there. I’m proud of you.”

Ford grinned. “Thank you. I’m proud, too.” 

~~~~~~

When they got back to the Stan O’ War II — left right on the beach where they’d disembarked, thank goodness — Stan made another iteration of Mabel’s famous hot chocolate. This time, it was really just sugar milk, because they’d run out of cocoa, but Ford was sure Mabel would still approve. After adding two pages to his journal detailing their adventures with the Drolemit, Ford excused himself to go take a long, necessary shower. He couldn’t tell how much time passed as he hummed David Bowie’s tunes to himself under the hot water. He only returned to the land of the living once the hot water ran out and the air surrounding him smelled thoroughly of strawberries. 

Of course, after so long being exposed to the heat, and on this particularly mild day in the Pacific, Ford wasn’t exactly excited to put a turtleneck and trench coat on. Instead, he went through Stanley’s stack of dresser drawers and picked out one of his more sensible Hawaiian shirts, a white one with a sort of navy blue fern pattern. It left his neck and wrists exposed, his extremities circled by slightly raised, flaming red skin. That was without mentioning the burns and lacerations, the white lines across his knuckles from when Bill tried to punch his way through a wooden door in Ford’s body. Permanent splinters. 

Ford swallowed. It didn’t matter. Here, on the ship, alone with the person he trusted more than anyone, he could make it not matter. 

When he heard Stan’s voice coming from the dining area, though, he faltered, and peered around the wall before entering the room, just to see who his brother was talking to.

“And then, this nice alien brought us to Mars and gave me a bunch of space rocks. How would you kids feel about some new paperweights?” 

“That’s incredible,” said Dipper. 

“SPACE ROCKS!!!” Mabel screamed.

Even through the screen of a computer the thickness of a cinder block, Dipper was too perceptive to fall for Ford’s sneaking.

“Great Uncle Ford!” he called, “Hi!” 

“Hello, Dipper! Hello, Mabel! How is California treating you both?” 

Ford considered scrambling for his trenchcoat in the presence of the kids, but he figured that there was no point. As much as he hated it, they had been through similar enough things that they were beyond being horrified. Neither Dipper or Mabel seemed even disturbed at the sight of his scars. Maybe they couldn’t see clearly, or maybe they were just wiser at thirteen than he’d been in his entire life. He pulled up a seat next to Stan.

“You know, that’s uh… actually what we called about.” Dipper wrung his hands together. 

“I called you,” said Stan. Ford stifled a giggle. He should have known that Stan’s promise to tell no one about the colony on Mars meant no one, plus Dipper and Mabel. 

“We meant to call you, though,” said Mabel. 

“Is everything alright?” asked Ford. 

“Yeah,” said Dipper, “Yeah. It’s just… Grunkle Stan, you know how our parents only sent us to live with you over the summer because they were fighting all of the time?” 

Ford was not aware of this, but Stan said, “Uh. Yeah. I didn’t know that you knew that, though.” 

“We’re not completely oblivious,” said Dipper. Then, he said nothing else, looking down at his hands instead.

“Anyway,” said Mabel, “Things… haven’t really gotten better.”

“I’m so sorry to hear that,” said Ford. He remembered the feeling of going to bed accompanied by the sound of his father screaming through the door; at his mother, at his brother, but never at him. The hopelessness, the helplessness, the guilt. “Is there anything we can do?” 

Dipper nodded. “Yeah, actually. School has been taking the edge off since we left Gravity Falls. Most of the time, we’re not even around our parents. But Thanksgiving has been rough so far, and Winter Break is only going to be worse. We could use somewhere to go.” 

“Kids, you know you’re always welcome in Gravity Falls any time,” said Stan, taking the words out of Ford’s mouth. 

“Thank you so much,” said Mabel, “We’ll call Soos next, but…” 

“But?” asked Stan. 

“Well, it’s not Gravity Falls without the two of you, is it?” 

Ford glanced at Stan, who smiled knowingly. “Well, there’s no need to twist my arm,” Stan said, “What do you think, Mr. Research?”

Ford chuckled. “Don’t misrepresent me, Stanley. There’s always time for family. Besides, I can’t speak for you, but I could definitely use some rest.”

“Alrighty then,” Stan clapped his hands, “Then I think that is a solid yes for Hanukkah in Gravity Falls.” 

The kids cheered. “I’ll make us all sweaters,” said Mabel, “And I’ll bring the gelt suitcase.” 

“The… gelt suitcase?” Ford double-checked. 

“It’s an entire suitcase full of gelt ,” said Mabel, “Grunkle Stan, I am going to beat you so intensely at dreidel, you have no idea what’s coming to you.” 

Stan let out a genuine belly laugh, the kind that he reserved for a very small group of people that Ford was proud to be a part of. “No one’s ever beat me at dreidel, kid, and no one ever will. But every other part of your plan sounds perfect.”

Chapter Text

They docked the Stan O’ War II at Lake Gravity Falls. As Stan disembarked from the ship, he saw familiar face after familiar face at the dock. The cops were parked by the entrance to the fishing site. They whooped their sirens a couple of times. Stan had never considered himself to be any friend of the police, even Blubs and Durland, who were largely harmless but just annoying enough to keep him on his toes. Still, as he made eye contact with them through their car window, Blubs raised his coffee cup in acknowledgement, and Durland made the siren yell one more time. 

Mayor Cutebiker approached Stan, still wearing his mayoral jorts even in the December Oregon snow. Lazy Susan followed close behind. He went for a firm handshake, but Stan misinterpreted and offered him a fist bump instead. The mayor fist bumped Stan back, laughing cutely. 

“Welcome back, Mr. Pines,” he said, “How’s your journey been so far?” 

“Pretty incredible,” said Stan, “Especially spending time with this guy.” He elbowed Ford, who hovered a few feet behind the rest of the group. 

“Did you go to Mars?” Lazy Susan asked. 

He couldn’t quite tell if she was joking or not, but at the end of the day, it didn’t matter. “Believe it or not, we did.” 

The two of them oohed in unison, and Stan could see Durland rushing to get out of the cop car. As happy as he was to regale the entire town with his stories, the twins were scheduled to get into Gravity Falls just a half an hour after Stan and Ford did, and he wanted to be there to greet them. Besides, his hands were getting cold. He was sure that Ford’s were, too. He’d picked an interesting time to stop hiding his hands in gloves 24/7. 

Stan waved his arms as Susan and the mayor began babbling over one another. 

“Guys, guys,” said Stan, “Why don’t you all come to the Mystery Shack tomorrow night? We’re having a little Pines Family Hanukkah blowout. I know it’s almost Christmas, and you all have families of your own, but we’d be happy to have you, and I’m sure Soos and Melody feel the same.” 

“Oh, I’m sure,” said Lazy Susan, “They’ve never turned any of us away before.” 

“In that case, we’ll see you tomorrow night,” said Mayor Cutebiker. 

“Lookin’ forward to it,” said Stan.

Together, the twins walked away from the near-frozen lake and towards Stan’s car, which Soos had driven out to the lake for them. 

“Stan, do you have any idea what just happened?” asked Ford.

“Yeah. I just invited the entire town to my house. Yeesh.” 

Ford laughed. “Yes, there is that. But Stanley, it’s freezing out here. We don’t notice it as acutely, because we’ve spent months floating around in the Arctic, but it’s zero degrees and actively snowing.” 

“What’s your point?” asked Stan, though Ford’s point was starting to dawn on him. 

“Stan, no one was hanging out by the lake today. They came down here for you.” 

“For us,” said Stan. 

“No, Stanley. For you.” 

Stan fell quiet, and thought about how far he’d come since that day he fished alone. But Ford didn’t go unappreciated for long. 

“Stanford!” Both twins looked up, since Stan was still semi-used to answering to Ford’s name. McGucket, though, was very much headed for Ford. 

“Fidds!” 

The two crashed into each other like teenage girls in an unbearable sitcom. One of them – McGucket, probably – slipped on a patch of ice. Somehow, McGucket, tiny as he was, pushed Ford backward until they were both lying on the asphalt, cackling like the happiest people in the world. McGucket scrambled to his feet. 

“You okay?” he asked Ford, “Did I knock you down?” He extended a hand to help Ford back up, and Ford took it. “Hi, Stanley.” 

“Hey, Fiddleford,” said Stan. McGucket hardly looked like the same man they’d left behind. He still wore his bright green goggles, though now, they almost matched with a green cable knit sweater. His hair was cut to a regular length and looked thicker, and the beard was fully gone. He may have been the oldest person in the entire hemisphere to wear bell bottom jeans. 

“How are you?” said Ford once he was vertical, “I haven’t gotten one of your letters in a while. I thought that it may be the post system, but I wasn’t sure.” 

“Worse,” said McGucket, “Carpal tunnel syndrome. Haven’t been writing easily this month. It’s a good thing the sickness didn’t take away my ability to smack things with a hammer, otherwise who knows what I would have come up with to fill my time? You two want to start moseying back to the shack? It is mighty cold out here.” 

“You’ll come with us?” asked Ford. 

“Of course I will,” said McGucket, “You owe me a cup of tea.” 

Ford grinned from ear to ear. “I didn’t know you had carpal tunnel,” he said, concern in his voice. 

McGucket shrugged. “Neither did I. It was diagnosed recently. All things considered, it’s not the worst medical affliction that I could be dealing with.” Ford winced, but McGucket soldiered on. “I got your letters, though. Please tell me you brought me a dragon scale, or a space rock.” 

“I brought both,” said Ford. Out of the pocket of his trench coat, he pulled a small gold cuff, which he’d attached a dragon’s scale to. 

“Did you weld that?” asked Stan. 

“I have hobbies,” said Ford with the edge of defensiveness.

Your hobby is making pretty pretty bracelets for your college roommate? Stan thought, but didn’t say. 

“Oh, Stanford, it’s beautiful,” said McGucket, “Thank you.”

“You’re wel–” Ford cut himself off with an oof as McGucket threw himself into his arms. Stan watched as a shy smile made its way across his brother’s face. 

Should I give you two some space ? Stan mouthed. 

Shut up, Ford mouthed back. 

The question was not entirely rhetorical, and Stan whistled to himself, watching the wind blow through the trees as his brother wrapped his arms around McGucket. 

“Are you wearing a back brace?” Ford asked. 

“It’s for balance,” said McGucket into the hug, “It helps.” 

“I’m glad to hear it,” said Ford, “Oh, I’m so stupid. I meant to give this to you for Christmas, but I’m several days early and I have nothing else.” 

“You don’t celebrate Christmas, Ford,” said McGucket, pulling away slightly. 

“No, but you do. I wanted to get you a gift.” 

“That’s very sweet,” said McGucket, “But your presence is present enough.” Stan suppressed a groan. “And tea, as well. I’ll accept tea as a present.” 

Ford laughed. “You’re very fixated on that tea.” 

“Yes, well, I’m very cold.” 

Stan half expected Ford to offer McGucket his trenchcoat, or something else mushy and gross like that, but instead, he just gestured towards the car. “Let’s go, then.” 

Stan had only asked Soos to drive the car up to the lake and leave it parked there, but when he opened the driver’s seat, there was another surprise waiting. “Soos!” 

“‘Sup, Mr. Pines?” 

Soos’ hugs were world famous. Like lying on a bean bag chair. Specifically a bean bag chair that smelled like cheese sticks and was capable of love. Stan hadn’t realized how much he’d missed his favorite handyman until he had him back. 

“What are you doing here?” Stan asked. 

“Sorry to keep you waiting, Soos,” said Ford. 

“No problemo, Pines squared. I wanted to surprise you guys. Besides, Melody doesn’t like having me in the kitchen when she’s making dinner.” 

The twins and McGucket piled into the backseat. “You’re not culinarily gifted, then?” asked Ford. 

“Aside from the occasional Sooscakes, nah. Besides, Melody says that I make her laugh too hard and that adds a half an hour to the cooking time.” 

“What are Sooscakes?” asked Stan, the inventor of Stancakes. 

“They’re what I call pancakes when I stick my fingers in the batter to taste it every two seconds,” said Soos. 

“Fair enough.” 

The car started after some difficulty, at first grumbling down the road then moving smoothly after four months with no one driving it. Soos must have done some maintenance on it in his spare time. “Ah, we’re almost out of gas. Gotta take care of that later,” said Soos. 

“Don’t worry about it, I can go get gas,” said Stan. 

“Oh, thank goodness,” said Soos, “You have no idea how much money I’ve spent this month, dude. Between the Christmas gifts, the tree and the ring, I’m way over budget.” 

Stan startled. “The ring? Did you ask Melody to marry you?” 

“Not yet, but I’m going to. I was thinking around New Years.” 

“That’s wonderful news, Soos,” said Ford, “Congratulations!” 

“Don’t congratulate me yet,” said Soos, “She still needs to say yes before we celebrate anything.” 

“Eh, she will,” said McGucket, “She really loves you. Anyone with eyes can see that.” He was sandwiched up against the side of the car, going over Polaroids that Ford had apparently also hidden in his trench coat for this specific purpose. Every now and then, he would glance up at Ford and giggle. 

“I hope you’re right, dude.” 

Just then, a giant truck passed the car and pulled to a sudden stop. Stan was down to keep driving until he saw Wendy jump out of the passenger’s seat. Her flannel shirt actually seemed weather appropriate, for once. “Mr. Pines!” Stan jumped out of the car and gave Wendy one of those cool kid handshakes, the one where you slap someone’s back at the end of it.

“How are you doing, kiddo? How’s school?” 

“Ugh,” Wendy scoffed, “Let’s not. My family and I are headed out to the woods to chop down our own Christmas tree.” 

“That’s a nice tradition,” said Stan. 

“Yeah, we’re going to get one tree each. And then we’re going to bury them in our yard back home, and we’re going to have a race to chop them down all over again. Whoever both gets the best tree and chops it down the fastest gets to sit on the couch while everyone else cleans up after dinner.” 

“... Okay,” said Stan, “Still nice, I guess.” 

“Uh huh.” Wendy’s eyes were big. She looked vaguely like she was on the verge of losing her mind. 

“Wendy!” called Manly Dan from the car, “These trees aren’t going to chop themselves!” 

“Well, hey.” Stan leaned closer to her and dropped his voice to a near-whisper. “If you want somewhere else to crash, the family and I are celebrating Hanukkah in a few days. The rest of the town will also probably be there, and you are more than welcome.”
Wendy grinned. “Aw, sick! Are you guys making those potato things?” 

“I’ll be cooking them all day tomorrow,” said Stan, “Are you an applesauce or sour cream enthusiast?” 

“Both. At the same time.” Wendy hadn’t stopped smiling. “Oh, you will so see me there.”

“Hell yeah,” said Stan. Did hell count as swearing in front of kids when the kid in question was fifteen? “Can’t wait.” 

Stan and Ford got back to the shack, hugged Melody, and tasted some of her matzo ball soup. 

“Is it good?” she asked, “I picked up a recipe last week after looking for Hanukkah Recipes on the first page of Google, so…” 

“It’s perfect,” said Ford. He spoke as best as he could with his mouth full of soup. Off to the side, McGucket was locked in an intense solo debate about which tea he’d rather brew. 

Stan shlorped the last of his soup into his mouth by picking up the bowl. “Sorry, Melody,” he said, “I don’t mean to rush through lunch, but I need to turn down the attic and make it a decent living space again before the twins get here.”

“Uh, Mr. Pines, I think you might be a little too late for that one,” said Soos. 

Stan glanced out the window. Dipper and Mabel were disembarking from the bus that took people to Gravity Falls from the cross-country train station and back. Stan, of course, had offered to pick them up from the station himself, but since the turn-around was so tight, they elected to take the bus by themselves. 

Mabel only managed to knock once before Stan flung the door open. “Kids!” He wrapped them in a big bear hug, one arm each, leaning down to be at eye-level with them, and dragged them inside. “It’s so nice to see you two. We missed you so much.” 

Dipper squeezed back with all the strength in his skinny arms. “Grunkle Stan, you have no idea.” 

Chapter Text

Stan tried not to mourn too much when the hug ended. Dipper pulled away, but was interrupted by Ford giving him a much quicker, less intense hug. He cleared his throat. “Anyway. Welcome back, kids.” After the initial surprise wore off, Dipper basically jumped from one uncle to the other, pulling Ford into an honest-to-goodness hug. 

“I made you both Hanukkah sweaters,” said Mabel. Stan remembered the Hanukkah sweaters that their mother made them. Or, just one sweater, really, since they were so short on funds. He hadn’t minded sharing a sweater with his brother back then, and to be honest, he might not mind it now, but it was still nice to have his own. 

Mabel handed Stan a folded up black sweater. When he unfolded it, he saw a blue checked pattern and a dreidel with incredibly detailed lettering, considering that it was woven. The letters on the sweater read that’s just how I roll. 

Ford was handed his own sweater, which he unfolded. He laughed and showed the front to Stan. It was a print of a dinosaur with candles up it’s back, labeled menorahsaurus. Stan laughed, too. He didn’t know much about dinosaurs, but he could appreciate a good pun. 

“Thank you, Mabel,” said Ford, while Stan was busy giving Mabel noogies, “This is the perfect Hanukkah gift.” 

“Oh, this is not your Hanukkah gift.” Mabel’s voice came out slightly garbled from the ongoing noogies. “It’s not even Hanukkah yet, silly. There are eight more gifts for each of you in my suitcase. And you too, Soos. And Melody. And McGucket. Eight gifts for each of you.” 

“But we’re not Jewish, and Christmas isn’t an eight day holiday,” Melody reasoned. 

“No, it’s not,” said Mabel, “But it could be, if you made it one.” 

“Grunkle Ford, have I ever told you that there are dinosaurs under Gravity Falls?” asked Dipper, his eyes on Ford’s sweatshirt. 

“I don’t believe you ever told me directly, but I remember reading about it in your comprehensive additions to Journal 3,” said Ford. Dipper smiled at the word comprehensive, making him perhaps the first to ever do so. “Which reminds me. We need to debrief about the adventures of the Stan O’ War II.” 

“Give me the highlights,” said Dipper.

Ford grinned. “Werewolf. Ghost ship. Hidden dragon society. Trip to Mars.” 

With every point, Dipper’s eyebrows raised a little bit higher. “Okay. Yeah. We definitely need to hear all of that.” 

“Dang,” said Mabel, “I’d love to participate in Nerd Time, but I promised Grunkle Stan that I would absolutely trounce him in a game of dreidel, so I’m afraid I’ll have to pass.” 

Stan laughed. “You know, you’re both going to be here for a whole week. Dreidel with me can wait.”

“What’s wrong?” said Mabel, “You scared?”

“Oh, I take it back. It is so on. Right after I put on this lovely sweater you made me.” 

“I should do the same,” said Ford, “Fiddleford, would you want to join Dipper and I for some Nerd Time?” 

“Just as soon as I finish pickin’ between chamomile and peppermint tea,” said McGucket. 

“You should add jasmine to that lineup,” said Ford. 

McGucket gasped. “I should. Oh, well, now look at what you’ve done. That adds another twenty minutes to the decision makin’ process!” 

~~~~~~~~~~

They chose not to go down to the lab. Fiddleford expressed that he felt uncomfortable in the lab, and Ford, ignoring his gnawing guilt, decided to hold official Nerd Time on the porch, gazing out at the snow. 

“So then,” he explained, sipping his peppermint tea, “We convinced William to go home to his family and work things out with them instead of running away.” 

“That’s good,” said Fiddleford, “Sometimes… most of the time, actually, the best thing you can do is go back to the people who love you.” 

Considering the circumstances, it was obvious to Ford that Fiddleford was not referring to himself or his long-lost family, though whether he was talking about Ford or Dipper, Ford wasn’t sure. 

The people who love you. Ford took another sip of his tea. 

“Speaking of research,” said Dipper, “I recently discovered that one of our classmates at home is a vampire.” He pulled a leather-bound book out of his jacket, and Ford’s heart nearly stopped. The book was a dark navy blue, the symbol on the cover was silver, and it was a pine tree, rather than a six-fingered hand, but other than that, the resemblances were striking. Ford and Fiddleford met one another’s eyes, and Ford could tell that they were having the same thought. 

Dipper opened the book and flipped through its pages. Ford could see that page after page was filled to the brim with text. He handed the book to Ford on a page titled Vampires! The associated drawing was line art of a nondescript preteen boy. 

“That’s our classmate Alex,” Dipper explained, “I’m not as good of an artist as you are.” 

“Oh, I think this is perfectly… adequate,” said Ford.

“Mabel and I had conflicting hypotheses about him. She thought he was a vampire, I thought he was just emo. I mean, he listens to a lot of My Chemical Romance. Like, a lot.” 

“I have no idea what that means,” said Ford. 

“It’s a band,” said Fiddleford, “They’re good.” 

Dipper continued, “Turns out, we were both right. He’s never killed anyone, though. He just goes around robbing blood banks. He’s a really good guy, and Mabel kind of likes him, so we didn’t report him or anything.” 

“Smart,” said Ford, “The only thing better than studying the supernatural is allying with it.” His blood ran cold when his own words reached his ears. He could feel Fiddleford’s eyes on him, felt himself shrivel under the shame of it all. There was one piece of history in this town that he couldn’t bear to address. 

“Well,” Ford corrected, “I think we both know that it depends on the circumstance.” 

“Of course,” said Dipper quietly. 

“And I want you to be careful, Dipper. I mean, all of this is incredible. The notes, the hypotheses, the detail, the calculations, the experiments… you don’t even have the makings of a true scientist, you are a true scientist. I know that you chose to continue your education and stay with your sister over being my apprentice, which, in hindsight, was the right decision. But if you ever feel like you’re in the right place to accept the offer, know that it still stands.” Dipper beamed. 

“But listen to me, Dipper,” Ford continued, “I don’t want you to let this consume you, alright? You may want to do dangerous things to complete your experiments. You may find yourself being more dedicated to your craft than to your family. But you need to know where to draw that line. And let me tell you, if a smart, accomplished being ever approaches you and offers you all the answers in exchange for control over your free will, run in the other direction.” 

Dipper nodded. “Don’t worry, Great Uncle Ford. I’ll pay attention. I mean, I think we both know that I learned from the best.” 

~~~~~~ 

“Gimmel!” Mabel announced, as the dreidel landed on the little Hebrew character once again. 

“Shi–itake mushrooms!” Stan yelled, sending his niece into a fit of giggles. She scooped the golden coins into her folded up sweatshirt, and Stan replenished the pile from Mabel’s promised gelt suitcase. Mabel had brought four suitcases to Gravity Falls for a six day vacation.

 “How the heck are you doing this?” Stan’s question went unanswered for a few seconds too many, and he looked at Mabel’s face as if it were a mirror. 

Stan grunted and picked up the dreidel. On the opposing side from the gimmel, there was a tiny little patch of gum. Mabel stared up at Stan, waiting for his reaction. He, of course, started noogieing her again. “I am so crazy proud of you, kid! You’re just like your Grunkle Stan!” 

Mabel cackled. “Yes!” Stan tried to think back. Had he ever compared someone to himself before? Had he ever meant it is a compliment? Had the person in question ever taken it as a compliment? It didn’t matter now. 

“You know what, you can take all the candy, just for that.” Stan pushed the entire wheelbarrow full of gelt towards Mabel.  

“I hope you know that I am going to eat all of this today.” 

“I’d be worried about you if you didn’t,” said Stan.

Suddenly, Mabel’s expression became more serious. “You know, the last time I tried cheating during a board game, Mom thought it was funny and Dad didn’t. They got into this big blowout argument that lasted all night and took detours through like seven different topics, none of which were related to my mad bamboozling skills.” 

The heavy feeling in Stan’s chest did not mesh well with his niece’s use of the phrase mad bamboozling skills. He cleared his throat. “You know you can always call me, right? Whether you want to play a game, or if you just want someone to talk to. I’m always here for you.” 

Of course, Mabel had Dipper, in the same way that Stan had had Ford, way back in those days when they kept waiting for their parents’ marriage to fall apart and it never did. But Stan knew better than anyone that a kid needed at least one guardian figure to look out for them. He’d tried his best to do just that for the kids over the summer, and despite the bumps in the road, he thought he did a pretty damn good job. Stan had no problems with keeping it up. 

Mabel sighed. “I keep trying to be all optimistic for Dipper, but even I’m running out of silver linings here.” 

God, she really was a mirror. So was Dipper, in a way. A mirror to the past. “It can’t all be about him, you know. I mean, you two love each other, in a way that people have killed for. But you need to look out for yourself t—” 

The air was knocked out of Stan’s lungs when Mabel wrapped her arms around him, burying her face in the sweater she’d made and crushing his ribs. “I love you, Grunkle Stan.” 

Stan hugged her right back. “Right back atcha, kid. I love you too.”

~~~~~~~~~

After a dinner that made his stomach grow three sizes like the Grinch, and a late night showing of the Grinch, Stan lay in bed thinking. Most of the town was scheduled to come by the Hanukkah celebration tomorrow – or today, he supposed. It was past midnight. This included people that Stan thought hated him, and people that Stan himself didn’t feel very fond of, like Bud Gleeful and the Northwest kid. None of that seemed to matter anymore, though. Whether or not they’d gotten along with him in the past, they were all coming to his house tomorrow. 

He should make some kind of toast at dinner. Something about family and recovery and home, about making mistakes and growing past them. Something about love. Granted, that kind of stuff usually made him want to vomit, but he could make an exception, just this—

“YEESH!” Stan shouted when the lights all went on at once. Ford stood in the doorway, dark against the darkness. “YOU,” Stan pointed at him, “are lucky that I don’t sleep with a gun next to my bed anymore.” 

“Yes, I suppose I am,” said Ford, “Stanley, could you do me a favor?” 

“What is it?” Stan asked. 

“Could we go on an adventure together?” 

“Now?” Stan checked the digital clock on his nightstand. “Stanford. It’s three in the morning.” 

“Right. And I can tell how deeply you were sleeping by the way that you screamed at the slightest disturbance.” Ford rubbed the back of his neck. “Sorry. Uh.”

“It’s okay,” said Stan. 

“I know that it’s late, but it’s just… I feel like I need to do something. Or, visit someone, I suppose. And I just got up the motivation to do it. I’m afraid that if I let that motivation go…” 

Stan didn’t ask who it was that Ford wanted to visit, because he didn’t have to. He sighed. If Ford wanted company, he would have it. “Yeah, okay. Let me get my boots.” 

~~~~~~~~~

Here, at three in the morning, standing by the half-submerged statue of Bill in the forest, Ford was beginning to understand why Stan wanted to visit his own grave. He needed to confront the part of his life that had been taken from him, and he needed to confront the force that took it.

“Huh,” said Stan, “He’s not so scary now, is he?” 

Meanwhile, Ford’s hands were trembling. It wasn’t as if he was scared of Bill jumping out at him from the trees; he was paranoid, but within reason. Besides, some part of him, the part that was just like Bill and knew it, also knew that the demon wasn’t going to make an appearance.

Still, it was a lot to wrap his head around. He’d lost friends and one hell of a brother to the life that Bill made him live. He’d gained scars across his skin and a terror monster that squirmed beneath it, nightmares that followed him even when it wasn’t night. He’d made mistakes, and been a fool. And somehow, it wasn’t all his fault. He could still be forgiven. He could still live. 

He would never know the man that he could have been if it weren’t for the hubris that had led him straight to Bill. But he could learn from it. He could get up and move on. He had to. There was no other choice, not because anyone was counting on him, but because he deserved to live.

And yet, it could never be that easy. He could repeat it time and time again and never quite get it through his head. Ford was starting to realize that for a scientific, textbook-definition genius, he was, in fact, quite the idiot. He was an idiot who felt like he was being watched.

Maybe it was a trick of the light, maybe it was a trick of his heart, or maybe it was good old post traumatic stress disorder, but Ford could swear that for just a second, he saw Bill’s big, singular eye glinting in the moonlight, as if it was lit up by some joke, something that he knew and that Ford wasn’t privy to. As if he wasn’t fully gone. Bill came to Ford like an echo.

We’ll meet again, don’t know where, don’t know when. Oh I know we’ll meet again some sunny day. 

Then, Ford felt a hand on his shoulder, a careful squeeze. Stan said nothing, but he didn’t have to. It was enough to remember that he wasn’t alone. He looked back at the statue of his old nemesis. The sparkle was gone.

So, yes. Bill had terrorized Ford day and night for years. He’d isolated Ford and torn his life to shreds in a way that he never expected to recover from. And yet, here they were, the two of them. Ford was dressed in a warm coat with his brother by his side, sitting comfortably in a world that had welcomed him back with open arms. And Bill was a rock. That was all, really. Just stone, stretched out and dead, begging someone to take his hand. Stan was right. He wasn’t so scary.

Ford cleared his throat and moved to stand. Stan steadied him as his legs shook. “Old friend,” he said. He turned back towards the Shack and gave the statue one last glance over his shoulder. “Goodbye and good riddance.”