#And technically Bill never told Dipper either of those two and a half ways but you learn a lot from being married for a few years

[tswwwit]

Lol omg at your last ask because imagine dippers under some truth spell and ends up spilling a bunch of secrets that Bill already knew and had stashed to use for later

This is no longer 'last ask' relevant because I had this partially written in my drafts for like a million years - but a Truth spell on Dipper would be very interesting!

So I took this prompt and didn't really answer it except in some ways.

Here's a thing!

“You never bring me any souvenirs.” Bill complains. In an all-too-whiny tone, and an all-too-close lean into Dipper's personal space.

Plus, it's a blatant lie. One Dipper shouldn't respond to. 

He does anyway. “I literally brought you harpy feathers last week.” 

“Doesn’t count! That was for a ritual you wanted to pull off!” Bill sounds miffed, though he also plants a palm on Dipper’s head and starts ruffling hair. “Now where's the emerald from last March? Or like, the headdress from that cult with all the rabbit bones? The good stuff."

Dipper grunts. He focuses on navigating back out of the cave, turning the clay tablet over in his hands.

Figures Bill would remember all the times he did get something. His memory is excellent. And he’s greedy, because a new toy every time is a big ask. 

What does Bill expect, anyway. Not every situation Dipper gets into has something to bring back. What could he even offer? An ear taken off every monster he has to fight?

Wait, no. Bill would love that.

Dipper makes a face. “You've just proved that it's not ‘never’. With examples." 

"Sure, but when’s the last time it was cool?” 

Dipper sighs. No point in arguing. Bill could go on forever about how 'unfair' it is that he doesn't get trophies from every trip, or trinkets from conquered lands, or, again, ears from every enemy. When he’s decided to complain, no reasonable argument will shake him out of it.

“Too bad, then. You’re only getting some gifts.” Dipper shakes his head rapidly to dislodge Bill’s hand from his hair. "It’s hardly the worst thing that’s ever happened to you."

“Hey! I could argue that it’s related! In fact -”

Dipper tunes out the rest of Bill’s ramble, rolling his eyes. Listening with half an ear to Bill's ongoing tirade about being a poorly kept man, and unappreciated in his time. 

Despite how much he already has, Bill always wants more. Somehow he sniffed out Dipper’s latest excursion, showing up right at the end and looking for ‘loot’.

Which Dipper, by all rights, should prevent. 

 Anything magical falling into Bill's hands can cause chaos, no matter how innocuous it seems. The flower incident alone is reason not to hand Bill anything, ever, and the fact that Dipper still does sometimes should be appreciated, damn it.

Bill's complaining on and on, but whatever. Eventually he'll get bored.

 In the meantime, Dipper turns the clay tablet around again with a frown. He found something interesting, at least.

Whatever this is, it’s definitely not a language he recognizes. The script is strange, scrawled in different directions. For all he knows he’s holding it upside down. He hopes Bill doesn’t notice until he’s figured out - 

"Whatcha got there?" Just as expected - and right on time. 

Dipper feels the tablet yanked out of his grasp, unfazed. He doesn't break his stride.

"I found it in the lair, after... you know." Charred bones, explosions - Dipper wishes he could use, like water, or something, but mastery over even one element is powerful as is. "Anyway, that monster was collecting a lot of weird magic stuff, and this was the only interesting thing it had." He shrugs. Then, because Bill will like it, adds, "So... to the victor go the spoils?"

“Now that’s the spirit!” Bill gives him a grin, holding the tablet up to squint at it. Thankfully not turning it around. One point for Dipper, on not looking incompetent.

Still, if anyone can read it…

“What language is this?” Dipper not-so-subtly leans over, trying to peek around Bill’s arm.

"Old Draconic," Bill says, without missing a beat. Humming to himself as he apparently reads the text. Perking up a bit, smile widening. "Oh, hey! Iambic pentameter."

"What does that mean?"

"Nothing, sapling. I just wish when people did the whole 'ancient poetry curse' thing, they'd get a little more creative. You never see hexameter! Or tetrameter! Not even a tasteful use of spondee.” Bill sticks his tongue out.  "Come to think of it - I don’t think anyone’s done a prose epic that made the reader wanna tear their eyes out since Joyce."

Sometimes with Bill, you have to read between the lines. The long, irrelevant babbling lines.

"Just tell me if I need to get Ford or not." Dipper says, flat. He rubs at the bridge of his nose. 

Among all the other stuff, Bill said ‘curse’. Never, ever a good sign.

Though the monster he just took down wasn’t a dragon, and that wasn’t really a ‘horde’ so much as something resembling the contents of the Mystery Shack, there’s absolutely no good thing about a curse. If Dipper somehow triggered it - 

Great. As if hanging around Bill alone didn’t invite enough bad fortune, he’s picking up parts of his own stupid curiosity.

"Nah, don’t bother with the loser uncle!" Bill waves his concern away, amused. “This is just purple prose! Buncha  ‘oooh, bad things’ll happen if you mess with my stuff.’ Totally boilerplate spellcraft with some flowery wording.” 

With a shrug, Bill dismisses the whole thing. Which includes chucking the tablet over his shoulder, but Dipper manages to snag it before it falls and shatters into a million pieces.

“Typical dragon horde enchantment. All bluster, no burning.” Bill keeps walking without a care in the world. “They’re full of hot air!”

“So I’m not cursed,” Dipper prompts, catching up to him. “Aside from you, I mean.”

“Flatterer,” Bill says, slightly warmer. He continues, shrugging. “No reason you would be! No dragons in the area, and the warning sign there’s too old. By my guess, the original horde was raided centuries ago! Just another piece of random crap that got dragged into that junkyard." And he ruffles Dipper’s hair again, in the second-most annoying way. "You’re stuck with me, though.”

Dipper ducks and twists, thus freeing himself from the minor torment. “I think I can live with that.”

One would think that chatting with a demon - one as cryptic and ominous and aggravating as Bill - would only cause irritation, at best. 

It still does, of course. But when it comes to Dipper, Bill… sometimes lays things out straight. On occasion. Especially when he’s instructing, doubly when it comes to magic. Like he’s trying to pour all the facts he can into Dipper’s brain, overfilling the cup.

If his goal is to overload this one mortal mind, though, he'll have to work a lot harder. 

Dipper gets out his notebook, while Bill looks away, and pretends he didn’t see it. Yet another poorly-veiled lesson, with Bill obviously trying to plant seeds re: actually casting curses. Tough luck managing that. His subtle lean towards chaos might escape the unwary, but to Dipper? Bill’s way too transparent.

The fact is, that Dipper absorbs things fast. Even Bill will admit it, sometimes without being prompted. 

That Includes stuff Bill doesn't even know he's teaching.

Bill’s also rambling on about historical curses, and how often these things backfire, or misfire. It’d almost sound like a series of unconnected, gossipy anecdotes, if it weren’t for the extra technical details. 

And Dipper’s not falling for it. As far as he's concerned, his first curse was his last one.

But then…

Even if he’s not going to use the knowledge, there's no reason not to learn it. Knowledge about making curses can also be used to break them, after all. Taking all the facts Bill smacked a ‘For Evil Purposes Only’ sticker on and using them to shatter an evil plan would be very satisfying.

They’re nearly out of the cave at this point, so Dipper figures it’s fine to let his guard down a bit. The monster's dead, all the traps were cleared out on the way in - everything should be fine.

He clicks his pen a couple times, and asks Bill to repeat that last thing, about the life drain. It gets a snort of amusement, but Bill’s more than happy to elaborate at length. Dipper struggles to keep up with Bill’s rapid-fire speech; he's trying to make this intentionally difficult, damn it.

Bill leads on with careless gestures and an uninterrupted stride. Getting ahead of Dipper by several meters, but Dipper’s got to note down what he says before he has to do something awful, like ask Bill to repeat himself.

Dipper is, in fact, so busy trying to write in shorthand, and walk, and not hit a stalactite with his face, all at the same time, that he sort of loses track of where he is.

And okay, maybe he trips over a rock slightly, and nearly faceplants, bonking against the sudden curve of a wall with a swear.

Dipper takes a step back, rubbing at his forehead. Annoying, but, whatever. There were a few traps around, but he pretty much cleared out the cave on the way in, so it’s probably - oh, hell.

Not fine, he dropped the stupid tablet.

Great. The only really interesting object, shattered into half a dozen pieces. So much from saving it from Bill; Dipper himself fumbled the bag.

He backs up to evaluate the damage -

The stone sinks under his foot, and something goes ‘click’.

With a start, Dipper raises a shield without thinking, arm jerking up as he wills his magic into the gesture. It's solid enough for something done on reflex, but an impact hits hard on his side, with sudden, stinging pain. 

And a pretty hard impact, at that. He didn’t get it solid enough, damn it, wasn’t expecting something physical -  

Dipper wheezes out a breath, slumping to the ground and clutching his stomach. 

Alright. So. He got most of the traps. 

He sits down, and lets his head thump back against the stone, teeth bared in a grimace. Stupid. Should have been paying attention. 

The commotion makes Bill turn his head, blinking at Dipper sitting on the ground. 

Then -  because he’s an asshole - he starts laughing. 

“I know I’m fascinating, sapling, but really?” He tuts, setting fists on his hips. “Not sure if I should be flattered that you’re obsessed with me, or disappointed that you’re dumb enough to walk right into a wall.”

Dipper sucks in a breath, gingerly touching his side. Doesn’t seem like - he glances down. Sure, it stings, and his shirt’s torn, a long, shallow cut on his stomach, just near the old scar. But that’s about it. Over to his side, an arrow rolls against the ground, stone head clicking against the ground.

Over by the cave mouth, Bill’s cackling. God, he’s a jerk sometimes. 

But he must not have seen the trap set off, too wrapped up in his own stupid bullshit, or he’d be less of one. Dipper knows that for a fact. Though he’d really, really prefer he’d never had that experience. 

“C’mon, kid. If you’re not even more brain damaged from your bump, let’s ditch this joint.” Bill jerks his head over his shoulder. 

Dipper hugs himself around the torso, grimacing. Not bothering to respond. His heart is still pounding, or he’d have a retort ready. Adrenaline’s helped him out in a lot of situations, but not with talking. He’ll get up when he’s ready.

“What, you smash your skull open or something?” Bill raises one arch eyebrow. 

Though Dipper knows why Bill’s like this, it’s still deeply annoying. He shakes his head in lieu of a reply. In a second, he’ll be calm enough to tell Bill exactly what he thinks of his incredibly poor bedside - and cave-side - manner. 

“Figures. Can’t leave you alone for five minutes without your guts spilling everywhere.” Bill clicks his tongue, folding his arms and stepping forward. “What’s the damage?”

“It hurts.” Dipper says, through gritted teeth. Then pauses. Wait, he meant to say - He shakes his head rapidly, only for more words to force themselves out, unbidden. “I got cut again.”

Again, not what he intended. Dipper lowers his chin, teeth clenched. What the hell, he shouldn’t have said that. Bill’s mocking aside, maybe he did hit his head a little too hard. Once Bill gets the mockery out of his system, he’s going to be a total pest about it, too.

With a huff, Dipper slumps. Settling in for a sulk, waiting for the next jab - But there’s no insult forthcoming. Or argument. 

In fact, Bill’s gone totally silent. Which is super weird. 

Dipper looks up at the cave entrance, expecting a comment or a question, or at least a huge grin. He tenses up, hunching over.

And meets a frozen, unsmiling face. 

Bill dropped his arms, they hang limp by his sides. His expression’s gone blank.

The next moment, he’s right in front of Dipper, kneeling and tugging at his arms with alarming urgency. 

“Alright, lemme see.” Bill’s face is very close. Though he’s trying to pull his arms away, Dipper resists out of sheer surprise. Bill growls, eye darting around until it lands on the arrow. “Oh for - Really can’t leave you alone for five minutes. Move.” 

Another pull, less hard this time. Like he’s trying to ease Dipper’s arms away.

“Wh- Hey!” Dipper plants a foot against Bill’s chest, but that hardly stops anything. He raises his arms. Holding them up, in fact, like he’s at gunpoint. Where’d this come from. “Don’t get upset, I’m fine.”

“Ha! Good one, sapling. Who’s upset, exactly?” Bill says, teeth bared, and in a deeply upset way. He tugs Dipper’s shirt, up, fingers tracing the cut before pressing into his stomach. “I’m just wondering if I need a replacement mortal this soon into your miserable existence. No big deal!”

Okay, this is too much. 

Dipper struggles up, despite Bill trying to shove him down again. Bracing himself on the cave wall, and glaring. “Calm down already.”

“I’m perfectly calm.” Bill says, through gritted teeth. At best he looks miffed, but he’s at least stopped trying to make Dipper lie down in the recovery position or whatever. With a glare, he tugs up Dipper’s shirt, prodding at the shallow cut. “What the hell, kid. I thought you said it hurt!”

“Ow.” Dipper’s stomach jumps at another poke. He smacks Bill’s hand away. “It does, alright? Quit poking.”

Bill doesn’t seem impressed. His fingers trail over the larger, older scar on Dipper’s left side, then glares at Dipper’s stomach like it’s insulted him. A beat, then - “You don’t usually complain.”

“I-” Okay, true. Dipper glares anyway. “Shut up.” 

He doesn’t complain because it’s the only option. For all that Bill whines and teases and taunts Dipper, all the time, about being some ‘fragile mortal meatsack’, already rotting before his eyes, he really doesn’t like it when it’s brought forcefully to his attention. 

God, he shouldn't have said anything. Ninety-five percent of the time, there isn’t any harm to mention. But when Dipper does ends up showing he is kind of… mortal, and it’s small, he just. Doesn’t bring it up. For all that they bicker all the time, he doesn’t like to make Bill upset.

Bill grunts, mouth turned down at the corners. He stands up quickly, folding his arms. His lip curls up in a sneer. “If you wanted attention, kid, there are way better ways to-”

Oh, fuck that. Dipper flips him off, and starts storming off. 

God, this is stupid. Whenever Dipper ever breaks a bone or something, he gets teased about being so weak and vulnerable. Which he is, but neither of them like the reminder. 

These days, it also comes with some weirdly maybe-sincere ‘kiss it better’ thing that Dipper then has to disinfect. A lot of hovering, and rambling commentary. Sometimes creative descriptions of how much worse it could have been, and Dipper never needed those, at any time. Bill gets oddly fixated on such random little moments, and it’s just -

Dipper doesn’t like it, is all. Bill gets the way he gets, it’s a lot, and it’s easier just to avoid it. If he were a different guy - a human guy, or even mostly-human monster- Dipper might try to talk to him about it.

But Bill’s a demon. Not normal, barely sane even on his best days, and worse, he’s Bill, so. That conversation would go precisely nowhere.

Behind him, he hears said demon approaching, fast. Stupid jerk. He should be as tall as his real form. That’d be fair. More accurate, too, and then Dipper could properly stomp off without Bill catching up so easily.

Already the bastard is by Dipper’s side. A tall, irritating presence. Hovering close without grabbing on, which adds to said irritation. 

Dipper leans away, but Bill catches him around the waist and drags him in.

“Don’t get so grumpy, sapling, you’re fine! A little nick in the outer layer rarely killed anyone since they invented antibiotics.” Though he pinches Dipper’s cheek, he yanks his head away with a grunt. Bill sighs. “Everything’s a-okay here! Looks like I don't have to find a replacement just yet.”

Bill’s an idiot. Dipper scoffs, though an unpleasant feeling crawls in his gut. “Oh yeah? Who would you replace me with?”

“Eh, not like I got anyone specific in mind.” Bill waves that off, nonchalant. “But I have options! Lots of options.” He bumps a hip against Dipper. “Keep that in mind before you go charging off into obvious traps.”

This goddamn liar. Dipper  elbows him in the side, because the asshole deserves it. 

Not that Dipper’s worried, or anything. From what little he’s heard of Bill’s exes in the demonic rumor mill - Bill’s been, as they say, less than successful. Already Dipper’s outstripped his longest by years.. Bill can lie day in and day out about his options, put on a brave face - but they both know he’s not going to find this again. Not easily. 

“Good luck finding another husband, asshole.” Dipper says with appropriate derision. It’s annoying that Bill even brought it up. There’s a good riposte in there, somewhere - but while his brain is coming up with an insult, his mouth runs on automatic. “But I was really worried that you would last week. I couldn’t stop thinking about it all day until you sent a dick pic. It was weirdly comforting.”

Bill turns toward him with genuine surprise. He even blinks a few times, no retort emerging, and Dipper looks back at him with equal surprise. 

Until his mind catches up with what he just said. 

Dipper digs his heels in the ground, slamming to a halt. Clapping both hands to his mouth, eyes wide.

Beside him Bill nearly trips at the sudden stop, flailing for balance with a swear.

Shit, shit shit. Dipper really didn’t mean to say that. He knows Bill’s not looking around, that he’s not interested. Cynically, that he couldn’t manage it if he was. Last week was just a one-off anxiety, like all the others Dipper’s brain comes up with when it gets too much free time. Totally irrational, and really hard to stop fixating on.

Bill keeps staring. Not angry, just confused, for long enough that Dipper wants to shrink into the ground and melt into nothingness. 

Then he asks, “What the hell, Pine Tree?” 

“I don’t know! I don’t know why I thought that. I don’t know why I said that.” Dipper cringes into himself, grimacing and ducking his head. He runs a hand over his slightly sweaty face. “I didn't even want you to know I got hurt.” 

At that, Bill snorts. “Oh, please. I’d have seen that first time I got your shirt off. You can’t keep secrets from me!” 

Dipper folds his arms, internally seething - and his stupid mouth moves to say,  “I’ve done it before.” 

This time, the silence is tense.

Dipper wipes his sweating forehead again, not daring to meet Bill’s eye. God he shouldn't have -

Before he can think, he blurts out, “I think something’s wrong.” 

“Probably!” Bill agrees, with a smile just a little too sharp. He takes Dipper’s face in both hands, eye narrowed. “Hold still a sec.”

As Bill’s eye flickers blue, and the magic between them surges -  Dipper squirms a bit, but. Well. If anything’s wrong with him - magically, anyway - Bill’s the best one to diagnose it..

Bill tilts his head to one side, then the other. After a moment, his mouth twists up into something unpleasant, eye glowing slightly brighter for an instant.

Then he sighs, and lets Dipper go. His expression is neutral, except for the slightest downturn of his mouth. His lips part like he’s about to speak, then twist up into a grimace.

Uh oh.

Whatever Bill saw, he didn’t like it.

“What?” Dipper pats his head, then his chest. If there was something weird, magically about him, he - wouldn’t be able to tell, actually. He’s too close to get a good look. Oh god, what if he did hit his head too hard, and something in his brain is bleeding, or worse. “Wait. Am I dying?”

“Worse! You’re telling the truth.” Bill claps his hands together. Though he’s smiling again, it’s brittle and annoyed. “Don’t suppose you know any curse breakers that aren’t your great-uncle?”

“Not really,” Dipper admits. Bill's words catch up to him, and he bites his lip. Then, because the situation deserves it, “Fuck.”

Protection curse. The tablet.

Damn it.

A part of a horde, from a long time ago. Messed with. It should have been something less awful. Like warts, or sprouting plants from his skin, or a big fireball. Pretty much anything else would be less awful.

Truth curses are rare, they’re difficult as hell - but judging by the words spilling out of Dipper, he’s caught a pretty strong variant.

Of all the curses that could hit him. Why this one.

Hell, maybe it’s intended to be the worst curse possible for the ‘thief’. That would explain how targeted this feels. 

And knowing Dipper’s luck, that part was explained on, like, the back of the tablet.

“Welp! Good thing I’m not short on contacts, kid.” Bill grapes his shoulder, shaking him a bit, before he trails an arm over Dipper’s shoulders. “Who wants some fumbling idiot uncle to fix this kinda spell, anyway?”

Dipper would! If it was feasible. He makes a brief attempt at shrugging Bill’s arm up before letting his shoulders slump.

The idea of Ford hearing about this is….

Dipper sucks in a breath through his teeth.

Ford really would have a way around this. He'd certainly have the best intentions, Dipper’s certain. He'd...

Also not have the best sense of boundaries.

Though he'd be doing it for the right reasons, he'd ask the wrong questions. Out of concern, and arguably valid worry; he's never fully believed that Bill can't influence him. Despite how many times Dipper’s tried to explain it to him, Ford just can’t wrap his mind around certain truths.

With this curse, though. Between poor social sense, the Pines curiosity, and what Dipper might blurt out, while compelled to answer - 

On this, Dipper agrees with Bill. They’ll have to find something else to break this.

In the meantime, he’ll manage, like he has all the other times his life has sucked. Hardly the worst case scenario. If Bill had been cursed - someone who lies like he breathes -  Who knows? Give it a few days, and he might just explode from all the backed up bullshit.

“Wait.” A horrible thought strikes. Dipper reels on his husband, eyes wide. “Are you okay?”

“What, me? I’m a perfectly moral human man,” Bill says, resting a hand on his chest, lifting his chin with pride. “A boring sentient mammal who’s never found curses entertaining.” 

Yep, Bill’s fine. As always, it’s Dipper who gets the short end of the stick. 

He breathes in slowly, and lets it out. 

Yeah. Still sucks. He’ll deal. Cursed, but not dead. In danger, but not the worst - and his husband’s being annoying, which means he’s perfectly fine. There’s a solution too - it’s just going to be a huge, annoying process getting to it. 

“So,” Bill says, slowly. Drawing the word out in a long string, while he finger-walks his arm up around Dipper’s shoulder.

Uh oh.

Speaking of annoying…

“Watch it,” Dipper hunches his shoulders, not daring to look his idiot husband in the eye. “You’re this close to sleeping on the couch for a month.” Not a big enough threat, Bill’s still thinking- “Or for a year.”

“Oh, sure,” Bill says, in a distracted tone. His fingers pause on their walk, one ‘leg’ poised on Dipper’s clavicle. They hold the position for a long moment, tapping out a little marching step - and seconds later, his palm slaps down on Dipper’s shoulder. “So, Pine Tree! How do you feel about this ‘Bill Cipher’ guy?”

Though Dipper resists, and he really tries to, the words slip out past his teeth, his lips form the sounds -

“I love you.” God. Damnit. He clenches his fists, as Bill’s sheer smugness radiates from him like heat. “And I’m thinking about shoving you off a cliff right now.”

When Bill paused, Dipper thought he might have fended this off. Wishful thinking, really, Bill’s almost impossible to stop. Dipper used what leverage he had, but all he’s managed to avoid are the worst, most invasive questions.

When it comes to Bill, that’s pretty close to a win.

Not that it’s going to feel like one.

Bill has, in fact, been encouraged. Now that he’s heard something he likes, he leans in like a weird creep. Dipper can practically hear the leer in his voice. “And on a scale of one to ten, how handsome am I?

“Ten point five,” Dipper needs to loosen his jaw or he might break a filling. Being pumped for information is bad enough without pumping up Bill’s already ridiculous ego. “You bastard.” 

Bill’s chest puffs out, there’s a strut in his stride. The grin is so wide now Dipper’s pretty sure it should hurt- and if he dares to pucker up, he’s not getting lips on his awful face.  “And am I the most clever and sexually amazing guy in the universe or what?

This time, Dipper snorts. 

“Definitely not.” He ignores the sharp, indignant sound next to him, tilting his head in thought. “For one, there’s succubi and incubi, so. Sexually, you’re not even on top amongst demons.” He glances over at the offended ‘o’ of Bill’s mouth. “And I know you’re not the most clever, because I win our debates nearly half the time. Maybe you’re up there, but not the most. And that’s just the surface level stuff.”

Dipper doesn’t have a complete cosmological view of the multiverse, but he has learned a lot. Mostly stuff he picked up from his husband, and demonic gossip. It’s absolutely enough to go on a long, long ramble about how Bill most likely doesn’t rank number one in anything. If Dipper avoids the topics where he actually is.

He’s barely fifteen seconds in before Bill starts scowling, with a grumpy hunch to his shoulders - But screw him. 

Dipper starts smiling, just a bit. Then, to be a dick, he adds, 

“The ten and a half is just me, anyway. To the average human, you’re maybe an eight..” Dipper continues, over another spluttered protest. Again, true; not everyone likes the slightly inhuman maniac cyclops look. “Six with your personality.” 

Bill groans. “Ugh, you pedant.” He squeezes Dipper’s shoulder, jostling him slightly. “C’mon, you know what I meant! What’s the real - “

“Don’t ask questions if you can’t handle the answers,” Dipper warns, jabbing Bill in the chest. So far it hasn’t been too much, but it could be. Time to draw a line. “I will suck so much fun out of this for you.” 

Bill Cipher, unintentional teacher once more. Now Dipper knows the curse isn’t about perfect truth. When he can deliberately misinterpret a question’s intent, and can go on tangents  - that means he has loopholes. There might even be more, if he tries.

And if they can’t get this settled soon, he’ll need every one of those he can find.

“Clever brat.” Bill’s frowning, but he can’t disguise the amusement in his voice. His eyebrows wiggle, his arm hauling him close -  "Go ahead, then. Anything else you wanna share?"

"I know two and half ways to kill you, Bill Cipher." Dipper gets right up in his face. He won’t let Bill push this any further. "Don't tempt me to use them."

Being face to face like this, Dipper watches Bill’s eye go wide - ha, didn’t expect that, did he. With that threat, he’ll - 

Start cackling. And weirdly, turn a little pink. Dipper feels all the momentum he had whoosh out of him like sad balloon animal. 

“Boy, you are a saucy one!” Bill whistles, low. He places his hands demurely on his cheeks, fluttering his eye at Dipper with amusement. “Oh, yeah. Talk deadly to me.”

By this time, Dipper figures he should be used to stumbling into demonic flirtation. Only it turns out it’s basically fractal in nature, and he keeps running into new and newer edge cases.

“Fun as this is - we gotta get you cleared up, and no time like the present!” Bill’s calmed down enough to scoop an arm around his waist, leading Dipper onward. “Can’t have you babbling everything to everyone, y’know?”

“What, you don’t want me telling you everything?” Total bullshit. Dipper elbows him in the side. “I thought you wanted to get in my head.”

“Hey! I didn’t ask for our game to be set on ‘beginner’ mode. That’s boring.” Bill flicks his fingers - but he’s got his ‘evading questions’ look on. “You’re lucky I’m so- oof.”

Another elbow, harder this time. Bill grunts, but capitulates. Rubbing at his eye briefly, he sighs.

“So! How many of my secrets would you say you know, Pine Tree?” Bill tightens his grip on Dipper’s waist, tugging him closer. “And I’m talking about the ones that I wouldn’t enjoy getting out in the world.”

“More than I can count.” Dipper says without thinking. Then, with thinking -  “Oh.”

Dipper hadn’t considered how much Bill’s taught him, before this exact moment. How much he’s learned. Even unintentionally. Especially unintentionally. 

Crap, even his threat before was kind of - 

Shit. There’s definitely, absolutely, no way can they go to Ford about this. Total recipe for disaster.

“See? We both got liabilities in play here.” Bill moves easily as Dipper picks up the pace. If anything he’s amused, and not feeling nearly as urgent. Another reason he’s an idiot. “All we gotta do is get you patched up quick, and no more loose lips sinking ships! Easy-peasy.”

“It better be,” Dipper mutters. Nothing ever goes right for him. And by extension, them.

“Trust me, kid! I got this handled!” Bill snaps his fingers - and smacks Dipper’s butt with a wink. “I know some guys!”

[nyroom]

The Ghosts of Childhood - Chapter 2

The Pines family adapts to this new change with mixed results. 

[AO3 Link] [Part 1]

All things considered, Stan took the news remarkably well. 

“So you’re sayin’ something came around and turned me into a kid?” He had echoed, scrunching up his face in thought for a moment. “Eh. I guess it could be worse.” 

To be fair, Ford had kept it simple and brief. There was no sense in telling Stan the reason he had gone out in the first place, just as there’d be no sense in explaining every shred of bitterness that had built up over the years. Stan was old, went out, and then wasn’t anymore. Anyone could understand. 

“And we’re your great-niece and nephew!” Mabel piped up, grabbing her brother in a side hug. “Your favourite great-niece and nephew, by the way.”

Ford almost corrected her that they were their only great-niece and nephew (unless there were more descendants of Shermy? Ford would need to investigate that once he was settled), but bit his tongue. For once, it wasn’t the time to play perfectionist. 

“Great-niece and nephew, eh?” Stan tapped his chin, a slow grin spreading across his face. “So that makes me the boss of you!” 

“Well, you’re younger than us right now.” Dipper corrected, straightening out his clothes from his sister’s hug/chokehold. From what Ford could tell, Mabel didn’t do her hugs by half measures.

Stan ignored this point, nodding to himself. “I’m the boss of people… Cool!” 

“Let’s not forget who the older twin is here, technically and literally.” Ford cut in next, shooting his brother a stern look. “So I’m the one in charge right now.” 

That made Stan deflate a little, crossing his arms and huffing defiantly. “Only by fifteen minutes!” He shot back, but kept it at that. For as stubborn as Stan was, that was certainly remarkable. Maybe now that they were farther apart in age, he would finally listen to Ford. 

Ha.

The annoyance passed quickly, Stan’s face brightening with realization. “So if Sixer’s an old man, then I’m an old man too, right?” He immediately rounded on Ford, leaning forward excitedly. “Did we fix the Stan O’War and go treasure hunting?”

Ford’s mouth shut with an audible clack. He had already told himself he wasn’t going to bring up the years of bitterness, but how was he supposed to answer that question without lying? ‘For unspecific reasons, we actually haven’t spoken in 40 years.’ That would never work.

He may be upset with Stanley right now, but he couldn’t bring himself to crush this child’s innocent naivety.  

“You run a business!” Mabel volunteered, saving Ford from having to answer. He wondered if she did that intentionally or not. “And you do have some employees, so you’re basically still a boss anyways!”

Stan’s eyes widened with wonder, childhood dream momentarily forgotten. “No foolin’? Wow! I bet Pa was real proud of me!” 

And here Ford thought it was impossible for this to get worse. 

The excitement in Stan’s expression crumbled a little at his audience’s stony faces, uncertainty creeping back into his features. He looked right at Ford, searching. “...He was proud of me, right? Stanford?”

The scene was so heart-wrenchingly familiar that, for a second, Ford wasn’t an old man with the threat of the world on his shoulders. He was a child, just like Stan, standing in a cave, hiding in a theme park attraction. His twin was so open and vulnerable, looking at Ford like he had all the answers in the world, pleading to tell him he was wrong. 

‘Do you really think I’m a bad kid?’

‘It just sometimes feels like Pa hates me.’

‘Do you know what it’s like being the stupid twin?’

‘I wish just once Pa would look at me the way he looks at you. Like he actually likes me.’

Truth be told, Ford had spent so long trying to bury Stan in his memories that he had forgotten all about his twin’s insecurities. His stomach twisted at the reminder. How long ago had those memories happened for Stan? How long had he felt like that in general? Probably longer than you’d care to admit.

Ford hadn’t wanted to lie to Stan if he could help it. Lies had never been Ford’s strong suit, not like they were Stan’s. Lies were liabilities, a misstep waiting to happen. They were messy and risky and something Ford would rather avoid altogether. Yet looking into Stan’s eyes, he knew he had no choice.

“Not just proud, Stanley. He was impressed.” He said, and his voice didn’t even shake. “You really beat him at his own game.” 

If at all possible, Stan looked even more starstruck than before. He looked back in the direction of the Gift Shop, blinking hard. Ford didn’t need to see his brother’s eyes to know they were damp.

It’s just a white lie. He told himself when Stan turned back to him with a thousand-watt smile. There’s no harm in a white lie or two. When Stan is back to his proper age, he’ll understand.

After that, the questions came at Ford rapid-fire. Really, he should have expected as much.

“So did we really go treasure hunting after all?”

“Yes.”

“Did we find lots of treasure and get all the girls?”

“Yes.”

“Did I open the business before or after we went sailing?”

“After.”

“Where’s all the treasure now?”

“Hidden away to protect it from pirates.” 

“What about the Stan O’War?”

“In a museum. We are world-famous adventurers, after all.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the younger twins exchanging a grimace and pretended he didn’t notice. The children just didn’t understand. It was easier to do things this way. If Stan knew the harsh reality their lives had taken, he may not be so quick to trust Ford and allow him to reverse whatever had done this to him in the first place. Stan didn’t have the emotional capability to handle the truth. This was for his own good.

He also pretended that the giddy smile Stan wore didn’t warm something within him, buried after so many years. 

Just because Stan is this way right now doesn’t mean I’ve forgiven him. I’m still justified to feel angry with him. When he’s his proper age, we’re going to have a very long discussion. 

“I told you it’d happen!” Stan proudly declared, reaching across the table to affectionately punch Ford in the arm. Ford pointedly ignored the memory of the last time Stan had punched him 30 years ago. 

Before Stan could launch into more questions, Dipper awkwardly cleared his throat. “Hey, uh, Great Uncle Ford? Do you think we could have some dinner?”

Right, Ford should have realized. Stan had left around midday and, apparently, hadn’t been back until just now. The children must be starving. That realization was followed by another, more daunting one: Ford would have to cook for them. 

Ford hadn’t cooked for anyone since he lived with Fiddleford, and even then that had been sparingly. Fiddleford had dubbed him a “fire hazard” when he accidentally added vinegar instead of pasta sauce; a clear overreaction. It wasn’t like he had done it intentionally, he had just been sleep-deprived! It could happen to anyone! 

“Of course, Dipper.” He responded, spite burgeoning him with confidence. He could cook just fine, thank you very much, Fiddleford. “You’re actually in luck, I was in the middle of cooking for myself when you all arrived. It shouldn’t be too much to whip up a bit extra.”

If he could survive the multiverse for 30 years, he could handle cooking for 3 children. It was just cooking more, after all. It wasn’t rocket science. What could go wrong? 

----------------------

Evidently, a lot could go wrong. 

As it turned out, leaving food unattended in this house was a bad idea. Apparently, a pig - Mabel’s pet Waddles, Ford learned later - had taken the opportunity to indulge in the unguarded delicacies and left nothing to salvage when Ford returned. Never one to accept a setback, he had merely taken it as a sign that he needed to make something a bit more extravagant than plain old eggs for a family dinner.

After liberally covering the kitchen in food matter, utensils, and soot from a spontaneous fire, the family had made the decision to give the kitchen a much-needed break. This was what had lead to them piling into Greasy’s Diner, tucked into a booth near the end of the restaurant. Mabel tried to assure him that Stan had done much, much worse in the beginning. Ford got the impression she was just saying that to make him feel better.

Truth be told, the idea of being in town set Ford’s teeth on edge. While the Rift may be contained, it was in no way safe. Until Bill was defeated once and for all, he would never stop trying to get it. This made every citizen not only a target, but a suspect as well. They couldn’t afford to trust anyone. 

Ford had almost turned the idea down when it was suggested, but a look at the kitchen reminded him that he wouldn’t be able to provide the proper meal growing children needed. Instead, he settled on lecturing them at length about keeping on guard, making sure to keep it specific enough to dissuade questions and vague enough not to keep Bill’s name out of their mouths.  Worryingly, the children barely seemed fazed. 

Now, sitting in the diner as the group looked over the menu, Ford was struck with another troubling realization. While people were going to address him by his actual name, they were still going to think he was his brother. With Stanley right there, he couldn’t very well correct them, either. Not only that, but he’d need to think of a good excuse for why “Mr. Pines” suddenly had another child. 

Frustration surged through him at the thought and he found himself remembering the resentment he felt earlier today. Damnit Stanley, why do you need to make everything so hard?

Before Ford could entertain that thought further, he caught sight of an older woman in waitressing attire approaching their table. She had a lazy eye, but the eye that remained open was a perfectly boring hazel. Not Bill. Ford could relax a little.

“Stan!” She greeted, smiling brightly at him. “Did you get dressed up just for me?” 

Ford looked down at his clothes and inwardly cursed. If he had had the forethought, he would have taken the time to dress like Stan to compl-- wait a second. 

As he finished processing the woman’s words, he felt his cheeks heat up with embarrassment. Of all the people in Stan’s life that Ford could have met first, why did it have to be someone he had been or was currently romantically involved with? He could barely woo his own partners when he bothered with romance, let alone his estranged twin’s. 

Luckily (or unluckily, in hindsight) for Ford, the woman soon shifted her attention to Stan and brightened even more. “And who’s this cutiepie?” Damnit, Ford hadn’t thought up a decent cover story for the town yet.

“My name’s Stanley!” Stan chirped, puffing out his chest at the compliment. He had always been more receptive to people’s praise, soaking it up like a sponge while Ford shied away from it. Ford supposed it was natural, considering how they were raised. 

 “He’s our younger brother who just got back from a trip to New Jersey!” Dipper cut in quickly, drawing the attention of four sets of confused eyes. He seemed to quail a little under the scrutiny, rubbing the back of his neck. “Uhh… Our parents decided to just send him here too.” 

There was a moment of silence, but only for a moment before Stan answered confidently, “Sure am! I can’t let my big siblings hog all the fun of camping up here.” Ford had forgotten how honed his brother’s lying was, even at such a young age. He hadn’t even stuttered. 

The waitress laughed and, thankfully, took their orders without pressing the issue further. Once she was gone, he smiled gratefully at Dipper. “Nice thinking, Dipper. Great work.” 

The boy flushed at the praise, eyes darting down to the menu as the hand rubbing his neck increased in pace. “Oh, uh! It was nothing… I just figured we probably should keep this under wraps until we get Stan back to normal.” 

Stan nodded his agreement, much more cooperative than Ford thought he’d be. “Makes sense to me, but won’t people wonder where I am? I mean, if I’m a world-famous adventurer and successful business guy an’ all…”

Right then. It would probably be best to get their stories straight before anyone else happened by. Though Ford wasn’t much good at this lying business, he knew the logic behind it. If they were all in agreement, that lessened the chances of conflicting lies, which lessened the chance of confrontation. Confrontation was certainly not something Ford’s skittish heart needed right now. 

“Simple: you’re an adventurer. Though the lull of running a business was a nice reprieve, the calls of the sea were not so easy to dismiss. You set out in search of wonder and new exhibits for your business, ready to fight any who opposed you.” 

Ford expected Stan’s eyes to light up at the very idea. It played into his dream quite handily, harkening back to days spent weaving tales on the beach. He even pitched his voice dramatically for the effect. Instead, Ford was met with a stormy expression, Stan’s lips pressed into a thin line. Ford didn’t understand. 

“An adventure without you sounds like a pretty dumb adventure,” Stan grumbled, picking at the edge of his menu. He refused to meet Ford’s eyes. “Are people really gonna buy that?”

Of course. Sailing away hadn’t just been Stan’s dream, it had been Ford’s once as well. Wherever we go, we go together. He swallowed uncomfortably. 

“Well, of course they will.” Ford reasoned, wracking his brain for a believable lie. “One of us needed to stay back and keep running the Mystery Shack. No good business can just close down, you know.” 

Stan’s scowl deepened, unconvinced and stubborn as ever. Ford found himself sighing in response. “It’s just a lie, Stanley. It doesn’t need to be realistic.”

“If anyone can make something unbelievable believable, it’s you Grunkle Stan.” Mabel pointed out, smiling. “And this time, it’s for a good cause!” 

Stan’s expression wavered at that. “I guess so. And it’s not like it’s gonna last forever…” He nodded to himself, tension easing. “It can’t be any harder than that time I convinced Mr. Carter that I ate roasted seagull for lunch every day. The look on his face was priceless!” 

The air at the table lightened some as Stan began to re-tell tales from their youth. Another forgotten aspect of his brother’s personality came to surface as he watched him, gesturing and speaking with the flair of a showman. Truly, Stan had a knack for public speaking. Ford wondered what else he had forcibly repressed about his brother. 

He might have been able to make something of himself if he wasn’t so insistent on suffocating me. A dark voice murmured in his mind. Ford dismissed it, forcing himself to focus on the present. There would be time to stew in bitter thoughts later. 

Though the children were listening with rapt attention, they were not content to play captive audiences for long. As their food arrived and the group dug in, they repaid Stan with stories of their own from their summer in Gravity Falls. It didn’t escape Ford that plenty of their tales centred around anomalies that he had recorded in his journal, nor did he miss the side glances Dipper cast his way anytime one was brought up. 

He thought back to the first time he had opened his third journal upon his return, flipping through the carefully scrawled blue words. The twins - Dipper mostly, judging on the writing - had certainly been busy this summer. The solutions they posited seemed so obvious when spelled out, how hadn’t he thought of it? 

Stan had been firm in keeping Ford away from the children for their own safety. At first, he could see the logic behind that assertion. While Gravity Falls was a wonderfully weird place, it was also dangerous to those who were unprepared. Yet the more Ford read the journal, the more capable the children became in his eyes. Hearing the stories firsthand merely solidified the notion in his mind. Stan was just being overprotective. 

If they were going to turn Stan back to his proper age, then he was going to need to work with the children, deal be damned. If he happened to get closer to and bond with them along the way, then that was just a logical and inescapable outcome. Stan couldn’t fault him for that, not when it was for his own good. 

Besides, these children were his family too. Stan had no right to hold them hostage from him. 

---------------------------------------------

The past few hours had been such a whirlwind, Stanley was having trouble processing. To start the day on the beach and finish it in a small town smack dab in the middle of a forest? It didn’t feel real. More than once, Stan would dig his fingernails into his arm when he felt like no one was paying attention, just to see if he was dreaming after all. No luck. 

Don’t get him wrong, he was interested in this new life he seemed to have made for himself! His great-niece and nephew seemed really nice (even if it was weird to think that kids around his age were actually younger than him?), and the fact he was a businessman now was an unexpected delight. But it just wasn’t the same without Ford here by his side to experience it with him. 

Ford may be around, but he wasn’t really around. He was older and wiser and sure, he was still the same old Pointdexter, but it just wasn’t the same. Experiencing this sudden environment shift on his own, after doing everything with his twin before, was a change Stan wasn’t ready to face. Beneath the bravado and excitement, Stan couldn’t stop himself from feeling terribly anxious. 

Riding in the backseat of an admittedly neat looking car (“It’s your car, Grunkle Stan!”), wedged between unfamiliar family, Stan could feel those anxieties creeping back up to the forefront once more. He had been to the woods before on a school trip, but never at night. The trees looming through the windows looked dark and foreboding without the sun, like they could swallow you up and no one would hear from you again. He had to resist the urge to shrink back into Dipper’s side. 

Ugh, what kind of wimp was he? Pa would likely scold him if he knew. ‘Belt up, boy. A Pines man doesn’t hide from danger.’ Of course, that thought just made him homesick. What he wouldn’t give to tuck himself into Ma’s arms right about now. 

But Pa was right. He was a Pines man, and a Pines man didn’t hide. He pointedly squashed down his fears and, instead, asked about the pig Mabel had called Waddles. The girl lit up with a dazzling smile and spoke at length about how wonderful he was, showing him picture after picture that she had saved in the pockets of her sweater. Dipper assured him this was only a fraction of the pictures she had, the rest having found a home in her scrapbook. Stan believed him.

Maybe Stan didn’t have Ford here to face this unknown situation with, but Dipper and Mabel made good company. Though he wouldn’t trade Ford for the world, it was nice to have other people to call friends for once. He closed his eyes as he listened to the two talk, allowing himself to be soothed by their voices. 

If they and Ford weren’t afraid right now, then he had no reason to be either.

He hadn’t realized he had dozed off until he heard the sounds of car doors opening. He opened his eyes, blinking blearily and scrambling to get out of the car. Looks like they were back at the Mystery Shack (his business, wasn’t that so neat?). Man, how long had he been out? Hopefully, the others hadn’t noticed.

As they made their way into the house - coming in through a different door this time, though Stan guessed that wasn’t really important - Ford clapped his hands together. “Alright then, Stanley. Let’s get you situated and off to bed.”

Darn. He must have noticed.

“What? But it’s only -” Stan paused, looking over at the clock on the wall “- 8! It’s not even close to bedtime, and I’m not even tired!”

Ford shot him a stern look, looking much more like Pa than Ford. Stan felt himself instinctually straighten. “Let’s say, for the sake of argument, I believe that you aren’t tired. That doesn’t change the fact that you’ve been through quite an ordeal, mentally and physically. Your body and mind need time to recharge. You don’t want to get sick, do you?”

As usual, Ford was making a good point. That didn’t stop Stan from crossing his arms and scuffing the floor with his shoe, most assuredly not pouting. Stan didn’t pout. Pouting was for babies. 

Apparently satisfied with Stan’s silence, Ford turned his attention to the other two. “While I’m attending to that, do you two mind fetching me my remaining two journals? They should be down in the lab.” 

Dipper’s eyes widened at Ford’s request, looking like a kid on Christmas. Were Ford’s nerd scribbles really that interesting? “O-Okay!” He stammered out before turning on his heel, racing out of the room. Mabel was hot on his heels, calling after him to slow down and wait for her. 

Stan watched the two until they disappeared down the hall. “Journals, huh? Isn’t that kinda like a diary?” He asked, turning to where Ford was standing. Keyword: was. Turns out, his brother was already halfway up the stairs. Looks like he had decided to take a leaf out of Dipper’s book. Stan frowned at that and hastened to follow.

Ford stayed quiet as they journeyed through the house, scarcely seeming to notice that Stan was following at all. He looked lost in thought, which Stan supposed wasn’t all that out of place. Ford was usually thinking about something, and sometimes he’d get so lost in that big brain of his that he stopped noticing his surroundings. Usually, that only happened when he was faced with a really hard problem. 

Maybe Stan’s situation was hard too? It seemed hard to Stan, but Stan was never all that bright to begin with. For Ford’s sake, he stayed quiet too.

Eventually, the pair stopped outside a door. Luckily, Ford seemed to snap out of whatever daze he had been in. “Ah, yes, here we are,” He said, opening the door and gesturing inside. “This is your room. You can sleep here while I work on getting you back to normal.”

The first thing that Stan noticed was that it was dark. Maybe it was just because the lights were off, but the dark felt different somehow; suffocating, almost. The curtains on the window were drawn tight, preventing any moonlight from brightening the room. The light that did spill in from the hallway illuminated the dusty air and the general state of disarray the room was in. 

If Stan had to describe it, it seemed sad. Was this really the room he slept in as an adult?

Ford continued talking, sounding way too casual after revealing such a dim place. “Now I doubt you have any children clothes here, but I don’t anticipate Dipper having an issue with you borrowing some of his. If everything goes well, I should have you back to normal in a few days, so it won’t be an issue for long. The children sleep in the attic and I’ll be sleeping in the room down the hall, so we won’t be far if you need anyth--”

“Wait.” Stan cut in, realization dawning. No wonder there’s only one bed. “You’re not sleeping with me?”  

He turned to look straight up at Ford, watching as his brother’s eyes immediately looked off to the side. He had that sad look on his face again, a look that Stan was starting to realize showed up quite frequently now. It made him wonder if he was the one causing that look. 

“No, Stanley.” He eventually said, reaching up to push his glasses further up his face. It was a nervous habit, one Stan could easily recognize. “We haven’t slept in the same room for a very long time. Adults need their own space.” 

Stan wanted to argue that. Ma and Pa shared a room - heck, they shared a bed! - why couldn’t he and Ford? Yet taking another look at his brother, Stan once again remembered that this Ford wasn’t really his. This Ford was basically a stranger to him, and Stan hated it. Sharing a room would probably just make the strangeness even more apparent.

It was Stan’s turn to avoid eye contact, staring into the room instead. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Ford’s features softening a little. Soon enough, the familiar six-fingered weight was settling on Stan’s shoulder. The fingers were bigger and rougher now, but the gesture was still the same. It felt like Ford was drawing out the tension through touch alone. 

“I know it’s new and frightening, but I promise you’ll get used to it.” He said, stooping down so he was level with Stan. His lips twitched up into a slight smile. “As I said, I’m not far away, okay? If something happens, you can still come to me. Just because we don’t share a room anymore doesn’t mean I won’t be there for you.” 

Of course, what was he thinking? Ford might be old and strange right now, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t still his brother. He really shouldn’t be expecting so little of him. Just because he was sleeping here alone didn’t mean Ford didn’t have his back. 

It’s just temporary. The room is weird but you can do this. You’ve taken on worse. 

Stan took a breath and let the weight on his shoulder strengthen him. It was hard to feel afraid when he had someone at his side and a slow, shy smile spread across his face. He turned to face his twin, holding up his hand in mutual solidarity. No matter how many years separated them now, surely this was universal. This couldn’t be tainted by the strangeness. 

“High-six?” 

Instead of immediately raising his hand and completing the gesture, Ford just stared blankly at it. One moment passed, then another, and Stan’s smile began to flicker. Ford had that look in his eye again, that sad, far-away look. Stan decided he hated it more than he hated the room. 

Subconscious now, Stan lowered his hand. Maybe he had been wrong after all. Stan couldn’t imagine it; in what reality could he achieve his dream while everything he shared with his brother was suddenly different? Was it just inevitable? 

“I-I’m sorry, Stanley.” Ford finally stammered, removing his hand from his shoulder to card anxiously through his hair. “It’s been… A trying day for me, too. I hope you can understand.”

Stanley didn’t, not entirely. 

Maybe… Things were just different because Ford had lost someone, too. Maybe he felt this same strangeness in reverse, looking for the adult version of his missing half. Stan didn’t really know how he’d feel in Ford’s shoes, so it seemed probable to him.

Either way, he put on a smile and reached over to put a hand on Ford’s shoulder too. His hand was much smaller and probably lacked the same satisfying, grounding weight to it, but he hoped it helped anyways. “Course I do, Pointdexter,” He lied. “But it’s okay. We can be here for each other, just like always.” 

Ford inhaled softly at the touch, but didn’t immediately move away. Stan took that as a good sign and remained there, allowing the silence to stretch for as long as Ford needed it. 

The moment passed soon after and Ford straightened once more, letting Stan’s hand fall away. Stan understood; Pines men didn’t just sit there and whimper. If you had time to cry, you had time to fight. That was what Pa had always said. 

Feeling lighter, Stan dutifully crawled into the too-big bed without any further complaint. For the time being, he didn’t even notice the heaviness. Now that he was really laying down, the exhaustion that he had been fighting since the diner was returning with a vengeance. He had just enough energy to turn onto his side, looking at where Ford stood in the doorway. 

“G’night, Ford.” He murmured, eyes already closing. 

Whatever Ford’s response was, if there was any at all, fell on deaf ears. Stan was fast asleep before he knew what hit him. 

--------------------------

Far away from the odd little family, in a dimension nothing like theirs, a being contemplates the scene he has just witnessed. The little display was disgustingly saccharine, almost making him sick to his proverbial stomach.

Still, the advantage that had just been handed to him was well worth enduring that little sob fest. He leans away from his handy eavesdropping orb, hands clasped at his back. 

“And here I thought my conquest was going to be difficult.” He thought aloud, unable to stop himself from cackling. After enduring those embarrassing defeats at the hands of those meddlesome twins, this break was exactly what he was looking for. 

It was time to exploit that six-fingered freak’s kryptonite: Stanley Pines.