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Chapter Text

The StanOWar II rocked gently in silver-blue waves shot with crimson in the setting sun. After a long day of hunting krakens (“For the last time, Stanley, it’s pronounced ‘kraken’ not ‘krāken’!” “Hah! Your mind is crackin’ if you think that!”) Stanford Pines wanted a break. Alas, life was never that kind. 

With a sigh, he rose smoothly from the deck chair where he’d been watching three-eyed dolphins and headed below to the galley. Sleep would be nice, especially now that he’d mostly overcome his somniphobia, but they’d been putting off doing dishes for a week now and he was tired of eating off random surfaces of dubious sanitation.

As Ford settled into a rhythm of washing and drying, he began to hum absent-mindedly, a half-remembered song that had been stuck in his head all day. 

“I’m very good at calculus and physics, trigonometry 

I make up scientific names for creatures of anomaly 

In short, as well as chemist, statistician, and geologist 

I am the very model of-”

“A HUGE NERD!” came Stanley’s booming voice. “Whatcha singin’ Sixer?”

Ford yelped. He hadn’t realized he’d been singing aloud until Stan had appeared out of thin air. For all his usual lack of subtlety, Stanley could be dead sneaky when he wanted to.

“Oh, uh, nothing, Stanley. Just something I thought I remembered.”

“Did you do drama in college or something? That’s the nerdiest song I’ve ever heard, and I once watched a parody video about those lame Space Fights prequels!” Stan slapped his knee and guffawed at his own joke.

Ford almost took offense at the slight against “The Ghostly Danger” but managed to stay focused on the matter at hand. Barely.

“No, this was from one of my adventures in the multiverse. I think it was during the first decade, but 46’\ time was difficult to keep track of.” He frowned as he realized that sentence ended in a preposition, but it was too late to fix it. “It was in a dimension where most utterances had to be sung, which is how this particular song originated. Well, I say ‘most utterances,’ but actually the exact percentage varied depending on the specific area, with some locations reaching song percentages of 98.3% and others-”

Stan waved aside the technical details, leaning on the counter. “You gonna sing the rest?” he asked eagerly.

He was probably looking for blackmail material. “No, I was going to do the dishes,” Ford muttered, scrubbing a plate with more violence than strictly necessary. His face began to heat with embarrassment.

“Aw, c’mon, Sixer!” Stan mock-pleaded. His voice softened, sounding almost hurt. “You’re really gonna leave me hanging?” 

Very slowly, Ford turned to glare at his twin, who smiled innocently.

“This is manipulation and I refuse.”

“You’re no fun. At least tell me the story behind it.”

“No.” 

“You talk, I’ll wash.”

“Deal.” On second thought, what was a little manipulation between brothers?

Chapter Text

Somewhere in Dimension 44♭<

A traveler hurried up the long dreary road, heading for a distant castle. A warm light shone from its many windows, the lights glimmering like fireflies in the early evening. It promised safety and comfort to the traveler who had long gone with neither, and he hurried to reach it. But before he could attain the shelter of its walls, a pouring rain began that soon drenched him, trenchcoat to toes.

“Stanford.”

“What is it, Stanley?”

“You’re talkin’ like a novel again. Cut it out.”

“Apologies.”

Stanford Pines banged frantically on the gates as the rain pounded harder, and huddled into the meager shelter afforded by the overarching lintel. 

“Ford, what did I just say?”

“Fine. You win.”

The doors jerked open and only reflexes honed by years of life-or-death multidimensional parkour saved Ford from falling. Sherman Pines stood just inside wearing a military uniform and a confused expression.

“Stanford? What are you doing here? I thought you were at-”

Ford cut him off. Rude but necessary.

“I’m from a different dimension and I need help. Can I stay here for a few days until they stop chasing me?”

Without waiting for an answer, he ducked inside and scurried to the nearest fireplace to warm up. He stared hungrily at the flames and rubbed his hands inside worn gloves.

Shermie belatedly followed, avoiding the puddles left in Ford’s wake. He quietly instructed a nearby maid to have some food brought up for the guest, and the spare bedroom made ready. 

“Who is it then?” the maid asked. “Another of them travelers?” 

“Very likely an alternate of my brother, yes. Which reminds me, have there been any sightings of pirates lately?” The maid shook her head. 

“No sir. They’ve seen nowt for weeks.”

Shermie harrumphed. “Very good. Let’s all hope they stay away from here.” The maid bobbed her head and hurried off to the kitchens as Shermie stepped over to Ford. He was still crouching by the fire, absorbed in watching the glowing flames and probably relishing the feeling of being warm and dry.

“Considering that you will be staying with us, might I ask which dimension you are from and what exactly is chasing you?” Shermie assumed a stiff military posture to better intimidate his prodigal younger brother. He was usually perfectly willing to house alternates, but this one seemed more of a trouble magnet than most.

At the sudden noise, Ford startled and jerked around to stare at his brother. He abruptly stood, hands tucked formally behind his back and faced Shermie. A rattling melody began to play in his head, earworm material for sure, though he couldn’t tell where he’d first heard the song. Ford cleared his throat and prepared to explain himself.

“I am the very model of a fine cryptozoologist

I’ve earned twelve Phds from ‘undecided’ to ‘biologist’

I studied gnomes and unicorns and wrote of fights nefarious

Against a demon known as Bill who thought it was hilarious.”

Ford’s eyes bugged in shock as he began singing aloud instead of speaking. Somehow, everything coming out of his mouth rhymed and fit a bouncy rhythm. Shermie watched with a slight smile, gesturing to him to continue. Good thing, too; Ford wasn’t sure he could stop.

“I’m very well acquainted too with things multidimensional

Though coming here myself was not entirely intentional

I built a portal with my muse, a maniac isosceles

To catalogue new worlds in chronological appendices.

“In truth the portal led to an anomalous apocalypse

Which I now strive to thwart with multitudinous professorships

Because, besides a botanist, logician, archaeologist

I am the very model of a fine cryptozoologist!”

Ford inwardly cringed at his repeated claims of scientific prowess. It had to be the mysterious rules of this dimension making him spout self-centered nonsense, right? He wasn’t that narcissistic.

“I know the hidden history of Oregon’s anomalies

I memorized a podcast full of Fr. Schmitz’s homilies

In paranoia I exceed the record set by any man

And jellybeans in coffee is my preferential diet plan.

“Now stranded in the multiverse I scavenge through the scenery

In hopes of building Bill-destroying pieces of machinery

My knowledge of robotics and artillery is so immense

It compensates for lacking all emotional intelligence.”

At the last line, Ford almost choked. Where had that come from? Shermie’s expression remained steady, only the slightest twitch of his eyebrows revealing his surprise and amusement.

“I’m very good at calculus, and physics, trigonometry

I make up scientific names for creatures of anomaly

In short, as well as chemist, statistician, and geologist

I am the very model of a fine cryptozoologist!”

“ENCORE!”

“Can it.”

Ford fell silent, his face like a confused tomato. For a moment he stared at Shermie in shock before gathering his wits enough to speak.

“WHAT THE-”

Shermie slapped his hand over Ford’s mouth before anything else could escape. 

“Stanford!” he scolded. “There are children in the house!” Ford blinked owlishly, then nodded and Shermie removed his hand.

“the HECK was that? Where am I?”

Shermie began to explain, a script polished by frequent repetition. 

“This is Dimension 44♭<, a place where music sometimes takes the place of speech. We’re in the Musical Plains, where singing is only occasional. As you go farther west, songs make up more and more of what is said, until you get all the way to the Opera Mountains where you’ll have to sing everything.”

Ford nodded thoughtfully, scientific curiosity replacing his previous surprise. 

“Is there any pattern to which verbalizations must be sung?” he asked, pulling out a battered journal with the number 4 on the cover and scribbling notes with a chewed pencil.

“Not that I’ve noticed, but you’ll know the singing is about to start when music begins inexplicably in the background.”

Excitement spread across Ford’s face. Finally, a chance to uncover a mystery with no life-or-death consequences. It was almost like being back in Gravity Falls.

Chapter Text

Just off the shore of Penzance Falls

“Oh, better far to live and die under the brave black flag I fly,”

Stanley Pines, terror of the Singing Seas, leaped from the spar and caught a sheet, swinging across the deck of the StanOWar and over the heads of his cheering crew. 

“Than play a sanctimonious part with a pirate head and a pirate heart!”

Technically it was Mando’s party, but Stan had no compunctions about stealing the spotlight. Because, well. Pirate. Speaking of the kid, he was still waiting in the dinghy. Perfect: another prop for this little show. Stan dropped gracefully into the small boat. 

Mando stared, still not used to the dramatics after five years of apprenticeship. He was a little naive, but he was a good kid….merman…mer-kid? Whatever.

“Away to the cheating world go you,”

The kid probably knew to avoid the bloodsucking money-leeches that called themselves ‘doctors’ but it couldn’t hurt to give him one last warning.

“Where pirates all are well-to-do…”

Might as well try to guilt-trip him into staying, too. Stan struck a pose and let the wind ruffle his gray hair.

“But I’ll be true to the song I sing, and live and die a pirate king!”

Time for the real dramatics to start. Stan snatched a line and swung himself into the rigging.

“OHHHHHH I AM A PIRATE KING!” 

The crew clapped and shouted as he slid down the mast fireman-style and drew his cutlass, balancing on the boom. Even at sixty-never-you-mind years old, he was still the fiercest, fittest fighter in the whole band. At least, according to him.

“And it is, it is a glorious thing to be a pirate king!” 

The second mate, a large young man with a tricorn hat, drew his own sword and led a chorus. 

“IT IS! Hurrah for the pirate king, hurrah for the PIRATE KING!”

Stan mock-fought a few men, putting on a good show for Mando’s last day with the crew. At last, though, it was time for the goodbyes. He tried to send Susan with him, but the kid (yes, he was sixteen now, but that was still a kid) was determined to go it alone. 

As he watched the dinghy pull for shore, Stan resolved to stick around for a bit in case Mando ran into any trouble. Plus, he hadn’t raided this town in a while and was getting behind on his five random acts of piracy per week. 

Mind made up, Stan shouted garbled orders through a megaphone and as usual, the crew ignored him and did their actual tasks. The anchor chain grumbled, the mainsail flapped then snapped taut, and the ship started moving. Stan stood in the bow, aloof from the chaos as he thumbed through a well-worn book. He squinted at a hand-drawn map inside and marked an X on the nearest town, then snapped the book shut.

“Soos!” he called. “Tack right. I mean starboard!”

“Aye aye dude!” the stocky helmsman replied, swinging the tiller to the right. The ship obediently turned to port and Stan clutched a nearby piece of wood as she began to tilt sideways.

“SOOS! OTHER RIGHT!” 

“Sorry dude, I always forget which way it goes!” The ship turned to starboard. Stan sighed, then went back to barking orders.

“Trim the mainsail! Stow the anchor! Make fast the sheets! Fetch the rum!”

XXX

Shermie’s Castle

Ford cracked open one eye, blearily taking in curtains, window, and ceiling. He stared blankly for a second, then snapped wide awake with a surge of adrenaline. Where was he? Leaping out of bed, Ford flickered his eyes around the room, his limbs tense.

Door, window, wardrobe, bed, no visible threats. He relaxed, remembering this was Shermie’s guest room. Safe. Once dressed, Ford prowled downstairs looking for Shermie and breakfast, not necessarily in that order. 

Reaching the dining room, he found two small children scarfing down eggs and bacon. The boy looked to be in his early teens, with a scruffy mop of hair spilling out from beneath a Greek fisherman’s cap. The girl (his twin?) looked the same age and wore a bright pink glitter-covered sweater.

Ford started creeping slowly backward, trying to leave before he was pulled into a social interaction. Maybe they hadn’t seen him.

The girl glanced up and waved. The boy turned around and raised an eyebrow.

They’d seen him and there was nowhere to hide. Ford stopped creeping and cleared his throat, desperately hoping he wouldn’t be forced to sing this time.

“Um, greetings…” he trailed off, fighting the urge to fidget. He tucked his hands behind his back again instead.

“Hi!” the girl shouted. “I’m Mabel! I’m fourteen and own a pig! What’s your name?” She was loud, dramatic, and enthusiastic. He’d never known anyone with that kind of energy. Ford managed a smile.

“Greetings. My name is Stanford Pines.” Why did he say ‘greetings’ twice? “Is, uh, is Sherman around anywhere?”

“Grandpa Shermie’s in the garden,” said the boy, speaking around a mouthful of eggs. He tipped his head toward the door.

“Thank you,” said Ford, and made his escape.

Shermie was indeed in the garden, sitting by a fountain. He looked up when Ford came down the path, boots crunching on the gravel.

“Did Mabel and Dipper ask for me? I promised to take them to the beach today.” Ford shook his head. 

“Actually I was wondering about the pirates you mentioned last night.” 

Shermie laughed. “I forgot you alternates usually have sharper hearing. Here, there’s so much noise that we learn to ignore most of it.” He sighed and stood up. “There’s a band of pirates that roams these parts and sometimes causes trouble when alternate Fords show up. Try to avoid anyone with a sword and brightly-colored clothing.”

A flash of pink glitter caught their eyes as Mabel rushed past with a wooden sword. Ford raised an eyebrow.

“Obviously, aside from my grandchildren.” Shermie said flatly. “If you do run into them, try not to reveal your identity.” Ford nodded and turned to go, trench coat swishing behind him. He planned to spend the day exploring the nearby town and testing the limits of the singing requirement.

“Just a minute, Ford.” Shermie’s voice was quiet but authoritative. “You never said what you were running from last night.”

Ford stopped, reluctantly turning around. He really didn’t want to explain this one. “It won’t be a problem; it’s not very dangerous outside its own dimension,” he tried to assure his brother, hoping that would be good enough.

He should have known better. 

“My groundskeepers found six-inch purple feathers scattered outside and claw marks on the door. I think I’ll be the judge of whether it’s safe.”

“Fine,” Ford sighed. “It was a dododog from TSV-4.”

“Does it have anything to do with why they also found this? ” Shermie asked, pulling a battered rubber chicken out of his jacket. Ford’s jaw tightened at the reminder.

“I tried telling them it was some kind of trick! But no, they wanted the human to make the chicken sing like in their little video. Said it was a ‘prophecy’ or some other nonsense. I was lucky to escape without being tarred and feathered!” 

Shermie tried unsuccessfully to hide a smile as Ford paced back and forth, gesturing frustratedly.

“IN MINIATURE RUBBER CHICKENS!” Ford realized his fists were clenched and he was shouting. He forced himself to relax. “Anyway, I lost most of the dododogs before the portal opened, but one got through with me. He should leave soon enough.”

“Good. In that case, I’d like to ask a favor.” Shermie hesitated. “I promised the kids I’d take them to the beach, but I have a lot of work to catch up on. Would you be willing to take them? It’s not far and they’re no trouble to watch.”

Ford considered the idea. A chance to relax with nothing on his tail and enjoy a day at the beach.

“All right. If you insist.” 

Shermie grinned. “Excellent! KIDS!” The twins came running over. “This is an alternate of your Great-Uncle Stanford. He’s going to the beach with you and Grandpa’s going to stay home this time.”

Mabel squealed in excitement and ran circles around Ford while Dipper looked at him thoughtfully, taking in the worn trench coat, muddy boots, and multitude of pockets.

“You travel across dimensions, right? What’s the weirdest thing you’ve seen so far?” the boy asked, pulling a notebook and pen out of his vest. 

Easy question. Ford launched into a description of the sentient waffle dimension, enjoying Dipper’s rapt attention. After three years of adventuring alone, it was nice to finally meet another human who shared his interests.

Ford’s reminisces were abruptly interrupted by Mabel poking him in the head. “Grandpa, look! This one isn’t metal yet!” Mabel shouted enthusiastically. “And his hair is so soft…” she cooed, petting the curly mop on Ford’s head. Mabel turned to Shermie with big starry eyes. “Can we keep him?”

Shermie chuckled. “He’s not a pet, Mabel.”

Ford rubbed his head, irritated at being discussed this way, then switched his focus back to Dipper. The boy was scribbling intently in his notebook and somehow had gotten ink in his mouth. He perked up when he noticed Ford’s attention. 

“Ah, Grunkle Ford…” he flipped a few pages “number seventeen.” Ford’s surprise must have shown because the boy explained. “We get a lot of dimensional travelers. I’ve actually been taking a survey of alternate family members, and so far I’ve gotten sixteen other Fords, twelve Shermies, four Dads, twenty-nine Mabels, three…well anyway, do you have time to answer several billion questions for me?” He smiled hopefully, rapidly clicking the pen.

Ford sighed quietly and nodded.

Maybe this dimension wouldn’t be the relaxing break he’d started to envision.

Chapter Text

Penzance Beach

The dinghy scraped the shore and Mermando jumped out and pulled it farther up the beach. How long do I have? The keel dug into the sand and he pulled harder, trying to tell if breathing was harder. He said the spell might take some time to wear off after it’s broken. How long? Hours? Days? Weeks?

He lingered by the boat for a few more minutes before tentatively exploring further along the shore. If he felt himself turning back into a merman, he could just run for the water, so he might as well enjoy the last…however long it would be…on land. Growing bolder the longer he walked, Mermando decided to head along the coast until he reached the town.

As he neared the smooth sand of a swimming beach, Mermando noticed small figures frolicking by the waves. Out of habit, he skirted around the trees to stay hidden and avoid trouble. He still looked the part of a pirate even if he technically wasn’t one anymore. He kept an eye on the figures as he worked his way around back to the shore, then noticed something.

One of the figures was a girl.

She wore a bright pink sweater and her long brown hair floated behind her like a cape. The air was filled with her enchanting laughter. She was the most beautiful girl he’d ever seen. To be fair, the only other girl he’d ever seen was the ship’s middle-aged cook, Susan, but that had nothing to do with his judgment.

Mermando stopped by a pile of rocks at the water’s edge and noticed his reflection. Grimacing at his unkempt appearance, he straightened his coat and fluffed his hair. For no reason. He was just being tidy-

“HELLO!”

Mermando yelped in surprise and slipped on the wet rocks. He flailed his arms, trying to keep his balance, then tumbled into the water with a splash.

The girl leaned over to see if he was alright as a few bubbles gurgled to the surface. He didn’t re-emerge. She bent closer, searching the murky water for any sign of life.

Then he surged out of the water and sprayed a lungful of water all over them both.

They blinked at each other for a moment.

“Sorry! Sorry! I forgot I cannot breathe underwater…um…who are you?” Mermando asked. The girl grinned abruptly, showing dazzling white teeth.

“My name’s Mabel. But you can call me the girl of your dreams!” She batted her eyelashes at him as Mermando stared, bemused. Mabel laughed, the same musical sound from earlier.

“Joking!” She shoved his shoulder playfully with a surprising amount of strength.

Sending Mermando straight back into the water.

He bobbed right to the surface this time, hair dripping into his eyes. Mabel pulled him toward her group as he tried to restore order to his soaked outfit.

“Come dry off and meet Dipper and Grunkle Ford! Dipper’s my twin and he’s super nerdy, do you have a twin? I have a pig too! His name is Waffles because he eats so many, do you like waffles? What’s your favorite color? Mine is glitter but Dip says that’s not a color so my real favorite color is pink. I’m fourteen by the way! How old are you?”

Mermando tried to absorb the rapid-fire stream of information and questions as Mabel dragged him over to an umbrella and threw a towel at him. He took it gratefully and was methodically wiping down his rapier when the boy (Bipper? Diller?) came over to see what was going on.

“Mabel, who is this and why does he have a sword?” he asked flatly.

“I don’t know. I pushed him in the water sorta by accident and we’re friends now!” Mabel answered breezily. Mermando hastily introduced himself.

“My name is Mermando. I’m a pirate-” he cut himself off as the boy pulled his sister behind him and yelled to the adult on the beach.

“GRUNKLE FORD!”

The man (Ford) abandoned his historically accurate motte-and-bailey sandcastle and rushed over to the group, his trench coat flapping behind him.

“What? What’s going on, Dipper?” He caught sight of Mermando and frowned. “Who is he?”

Mermando stepped forward and opened his mouth to explain, but when the man’s hand drifted toward an alien-looking gun in his coat, his five years of training took over. His rapier automatically came up into a guard position and he started weaving back and forth, muscles ready for action. Ford whipped his gun out of its holster and stood not quite pointing it at Mermando. He maneuvered himself in front of the kids, standing guard as though he thought Mermando was a threat. 

If he wasn’t in imminent danger, he would be tempted to laugh at the absurdity. He wasn’t bad with a sword, but any of his former crewmates could best him easily. Even Susan, much to his shame. The woman was a menace with a serving spoon.

“Explain yourself, young man,” growled Ford. “Who are you and what do you want with my niece?”

Mermando took a deep breath and lowered his blade. For the third time he started, “I am Mermando. I used to sail with the StanOWar as a pirate-” Ford’s expression turned thunderous. “-but now that my apprenticeship is over I have renounced that life,” he finished in a rush. “I was just talking to Mabel, nothing more.”

For an eternal moment they stood frozen, then Ford re-holstered his gun. “My apologies,” he said curtly. Mermando sighed in relief and put away his sword.

Mabel pulled him aside again. “Sooo…your name’s Mermando, right?” she asked.

“Yes,” he replied. “But you can just call me Mando if you prefer.”

Mabel squished her cheeks between her hands. “OHMYGOSH!” she squeaked. “Are you…” She gasped loudly and her eyes turned huge and starry. “...a vampire? ”

Mermando frowned in confusion. “What? No.”

The disappointment on Mabel’s face was heart-wrenching. 

“I am a merman,” he clarified.

There were the stars again. “Really?” she said breathlessly. “Wait…why do you have legs if you’re…”

“I made a deal with a magical creature to give me human form so I could learn a trade. It should wear off soon, so…I will stay near the water, if that is alright with you?” Mermando chuckled nervously. First conversation with a real girl, don’t blow it!

“Oh, sure!” Mabel agreed. “The ocean is awesome. I love swimming, jet skiing, teaching my pig underwater gymnastics…”

“Me too!” Mermando said happily. “I once taught my pet crab to sing Spanish opera.”

“I’m not sure how that would work but it sounds awesome!” Mabel declared. The pair walked along the shoreline hand-in-hand, talking and laughing, until they were interrupted by a bellow of “PIRATES!”

Ford raced across the beach, shouting and waving frantically. At sea, a ship was visible, moving swiftly toward the shore. Mermando squinted and recognized the flag: the StanOWar had come to raid the town. He turned to Mabel to warn her of the danger.

“Stay, we must not lose our senses,

Men who stick at no offenses

Will anon be here!

“Piracy their dreadful trade is;

Pray you, get you hence young lady,

While the coast is clear!”

Mabel nodded firmly and Mando started up the hill. Then he abruptly spun around as she started her own verse.

“No, we must not lose our senses

If they stick at no offenses

We should not be here!”

Mando blinked at her. 

“Your singing is beautiful but…we should really get out of here,” he said, waving awkwardly at the approaching pirate ship.

“I’m just messing with you!” Mabel laughed. She followed him up the beach into the shelter of the trees, Dipper and Ford close behind.

“The pirates will most likely head to the town, so we’ll hide here until they leave, then go back to Shermie’s place,” Ford muttered as he herded the twins around a clump of bushes. “If we try to leave now they’ll see us.”

Dipper frowned as he was pushed behind a tree. “But what if-”

“No talking!” Ford settled behind a log with his gun at the ready, waving Mabel back into her hiding place. Mermando had already taken cover in a patch of brush. They waited tensely for the pirates to appear.

A minute later, the pirate ship ran aground with a loud crunch. 

“SOOS!”

“Sorry, dude. Forgot to slow down.”

A rollicking band of pirates spilled out over the shore, looking for something to steal. Ford and the kids held their breaths as the scoundrels meandered up the hill toward their hiding spots. At least, Dipper and Mermando did. Mabel was busy disentangling her hot pink sweater from a bramble.

“Mabel! Leave it! They’ll see you,” Dipper whispered.

“I just made this sweater! I will not ruin it for anything less than mortal peril,” Mabel hissed back.

“It might be mortal peril if you don’t hide now!”

Mabel pulled hard and her sweater came loose from the thorny branch. She breathed a sigh of relief that turned into a gasp as the pirates looked in her direction.

“What was that?”

“Did you hear something?”

Mabel shrunk back against her tree and hoped they hadn’t seen her. After a moment, she dared another look around the trunk.

“Surprise!”

Mabel shrieked and spun around as an extremely ugly man appeared behind her, holding a…

“Is that a pool noodle?” she asked, tilting her head to one side. The man looked shamefaced and hid it behind his back.

“I just want to be a part of things,” he warbled pathetically.

“CHARGE, MEN!” shouted the leader of the pirates.