#Fiddleford still hasn’t told her but she knows

[knockknockwhosthereartistism]

Homewrecker Halloween

[citricacidprince]

...Mable stuck with bill timestuck, you say? I wonder if that would go better or worse than dipper being alone with bill.

Here to mention that I somehow only noticed your signature when it was next to fiddleford, and thought you were (rightly) calling him a prince. It took an embarrassingly long time for me to connect the dots.

Haha you’re not the first person to mistake my signature for actual writing so dw you’re good lol!

And as for my thoughts of Mabel and Bill in a Timestuck AU,,,

I may or may not have written a drabble in a mutuals DMs a few years back about a confrontation between Mabel and Bill and the aftermath of it! I also may or may not have just fixed it up and straight up doubled the word count haha-

Since I’m feeling a tad bit brave I’m gonna post the drabble under the cut for anyone to read along with two doodles I’ve done for it, I only ask that yall be nice to me since I don’t write very often and know I ain’t that good at it hehe-

Also I’m not lying this is like,,, 4707 words… I got possessed to write this haha

Before I begin!!! Important!!!

Trigger Warnings: Choking/Asphyxiation, harm to children, minor descriptions of small cuts and minuscule amounts of blood, verbal planning of commiting a murder/killing

(if I missed any please tell me!)

With that out of the way here's my stupidly long Timestuck AU drabble that's been on my back burner for years! The only thing you really need to know is that the twins time-traveled back after Weirdmagenddon of their own volition. Dipper is with Stan and Mabel is with Ford and Fiddleford. Mabel has been staying with the two for almost a month now and Fiddleford is the only one who knows she's a time traveler.

With the stage set, please enjoy!

💫—————————————🚩

It’s late into the night, Mabel is tossing and turning and can't go to sleep. Her mind is spiraling as she overthinks and worries about Bill, her brother, her Grunkles, everything. So at about 1AM she decides that she’s not going to bed anytime soon and gets up off the living room couch which she has called her new bed while staying with her younger Grunkle Ford and Fiddleford.

Despite it being the dead of night Mabel thought it’d be a good idea to just make something food related in hopes it would tire her out. Also, she figured it would be a fun idea since she knows Stanford is most likely still awake and probably hasn’t eaten in a while. She could make him something easy and sweet, like a batch of cookies, and give them to him as a gift! Who doesn’t like 1AM cookies?! If she doesn’t have the stuff to make that, eh, she’ll figure it out and make something else!

A bonus to this is that if Ford says he’s not hungry, a bold faced lie, she’d use her sweetest and biggest puppy eyes until he ate some. Maybe she could even convince him to go to bed and not stay up till 4AM!

The brunette starts making a batch of cookies in the cover of night, making sure to have plenty enough for Fidd's in the morning, and putting her entire heart and all her worries into the mix in hopes the oven would ease away the stress weighing down her mind.

Sure it took a while, but it would totally be worth it to see her young Grunkle's face light up in shock at the sight of a warm batch of cookies shoved into his face and getting crumbs on his nerdy notes!

Right as she was finishing up wrapping up three separate plates worth of cookies in a napkin with a pretty little bow, for the ✨aesthetic✨ she happily told herself, she hears a pair of heavy boots walk into the kitchen.

The voice of her, now young, Grunkle Ford calls out her name in the quiet kitchen. Just as she had expected, he was awake.

Before the excited brunette could whirl around and surprise Ford with the 1-2 AM batch of cookies she lovingly went and made by hand, his low voice rumbled out, “Could you grab me a mug? One from the cabinet.”

He sounded a little funny, like he just woke up. Mabel smiled as she could already picture Stanford’s bleary and tired face as he goes to make a cup of coffee with the mug he’s asking for. She lets out a small sound of exertion as she pushes herself onto the counter since she’s too short to reach the cabinets otherwise and gingerly opens the cabinet so it doesn’t squeak and pulls out a mug. Based on the small cracks and worn paint on the ceramic it seemed a tad old, the faded words of ‘Backupsmore 1973’ barely legible.

Just as Mabel turns around, about to lightly scold her young Great Uncle for drinking coffee at 2 AM instead of getting some rest, a large hand wraps around her little neck. She didn’t even have a chance to scream as she’s suddenly slammed into the now closed cabinet, the air knocked out of her lungs and her head spinning from the impact, a loud sound of ceramic shattering on the wooden floor echoing through the kitchen and Mabel’s ringing ears

A fearful confusion consumes her mind as she, unsure of what’s happening in her dazed state until she catches a glimpse of Stanford. Gone were the warm brown eyes she’s grown accustomed to, in their place were the sickly yellow slit eyes of a monster she knew all to well.

Bill Cipher.

“Shooting Star, there you are! I think you're getting a tad too comfortable around here! Let's fix that!"

Malice built in her throat as she spat out, her brows furrowed and her brown eyes glaring down his yellow ones, “Bill! You-”

“Ah, so you do know me! I assumed so, but wasn’t quite sure!”

The six fingered hand around her neck pressed a tad harder against the wooden cabinet behind her, making her wince from the pressure.

“Here’s the deal, Shooting Star, you’re being a massive thorn in my side.”

Her back was already aching from the impact of her getting slammed against the cabinet.

“Making Sixer second guess his trust in me with your insufferable kindness and child-like whimsy.”

Her sock-covered feet were slipping and sliding on the wooden countertop, legs uncontrollably trembling as her fingers gripped at Stanford’s large forearm in hopes of steadying herself.

“It was amusing at first but now it’s just annoying. So I need you,”

His hand tightened even more, making Mabel let out a sharp hiss of pain.

“Out of the picture.”

Mabel’s feet no longer are touching the countertop as Bill suddenly pulls her away from the cabinet, easily dangling her little body in the air and effectively hanging her. Panic instantly shoots through her and tears well up in her eyes as her airway is suddenly completely cut off, her little hands grabbing and clawing at her possessed great uncle’s forearm while her legs wildly kick at the air, too short to even graze against Bill’s chest.

Bill’s free hand raises up and idly taps his chin, as his musing over something indecisively, an wide and uncanny grin stretched across the possessed scientist’s face as he loudly questions, “Hmmm… how about… throwing you in the lake! If the water doesn’t kill you the cold air will!”

Mabel started to thrash around even harder, her heart pounding in her chest as fear coursed through every nerve in her body, her flight response in full gear as she tried over and over again to get out of Bill’s grip with no avail.

“Oooh! Or I could just tie you up and bury you in the snow! I hear frostbite is real killer these days!”

Blood was rushing to her ears; she could barely hear a word he was saying. All she could focus on was the panic bubbling in her chest and adrenaline pumping in her veins, screaming at her that she didn’t want to die.

It didn’t take long before her vision began to blur, her clawing hands and kicking feet getting more and more numb and slow with each passing seconds. She could faintly hear Bill say something about ‘throwing’, ‘roof’, and ‘classic!’ before she could feel herself almost completely clock out, vision fluttering in and out as her hand weakly claws at his arm one last time.

Just as she was about to give up completely, the polydactyl hand around her neck suddenly let go, sending Mabel unceremoniously crashing to the floor. She let in a large gasp of air, coughing her lungs out as air desperately tried to fill them once more. The brunette doesn’t even care about the small shards of broken ceramic cutting into her hands or shins, she was trying to make sure she didn’t accidentally start hyperventilating as drool and tears drip from her face to the floor with every sharp breath.

Mabel, disoriented and dazed, manages to glance up through strands of her long and curly brunette hair to see Ford still standing there with those disgusting yellow eyes, which were now staring off to space with annoyance clearly visible in his gaze.

"Geez Sixer, you chose the worst time to want your body back to 'test a new theory' huh?" He quietly mumbles under his breath, looking upset that his fun was being rudely ripped away from him.

Suddenly he stares down at Mabel, who was clutching her throat and panting heavily, brown eyes unable to stop crying. Despite this, despite all the pain and numbness that ran through her, she still found it in her to glare at the dream demon with as much animosity as she could muster while surrounded by ceramic shards and small prickles of blood.

"Well… we’ll just have to pick this up another time, won't we Shooting Star?"

The possessed body of Stanford Pines strolls towards the archway leading out of the kitchen, however before he leaves completely, he stops and whirls around with that same twisted smile Mabel vividly remembers seeing on her possessed brother’s face just a few months ago. "Oh, Shooting Star? Would you be a doll and clean up this mess? Wouldn’t want anyone getting hurt now, would we?"

And with one final cackle he left, making his way back downstairs to Stanford’s study, presumably to make it appear like he never left in the eyes of the oblivious scientist, leaving the little brunet alone on the floor to lightly grip her neck, wincing at the bruise that's bound to appear the next day.

She stayed there silently for what felt like hours but was only just a couple minutes, the adrenaline coursing through her veins slowly but surely fading away as the feeling finally came back to her numb fingers and toes, relieved that she isn’t hyperventilating anymore and she can actually breathe.

She eased herself off the cold wooden floor, her little body trembling the entire time.

Despite the feeling of spite coursing through her veins for that awful dream demon, he was right…, she really didn’t want anyone to get hurt… So instead of immediately going to fix herself up she spent the next 10 minutes sweeping up the broken mug and getting all the broken shards of ceramic into the trash.

Curse her and her big heart…!

When she was done it was about 2 AM, and it was now officially time to check the damage.

Before she left the kitchen she made sure to put the plates of cookies into the fridge.

She didn’t really feel hungry anymore.

With a couple of winces and hisses of pain she managed to tip toe herself up the stairs and to the bathroom, making sure she didn’t accidentally wake up Fiddleford by stepping on a loose plank or opening the door too loud. Once inside she gingerly pulls out the old timey medkit from under the sink and sits on the floor.

Well, technically the medkit was modern since it was the 80s…

Wah, Mabel! Not the time!

With a deep breath she gingerly treats the tiny cuts gracing her hands and shins, trying not to cry as she disinfects each cut just like Grunkle Ford taught her to at the end of the summer, plucking out mini pieces of ceramic embedded in her skin with a pair of tweezer like how her Grunkle Stan had taught her at the beginning of the summer (note from her past self, splinters are never fun).

Cleaning and applying band-aids to the cuts was the easy part, most of the bandages would be hidden under her sweater and the winter pants Fiddleford had gifted her during her first couple days staying at the shack.

It was her neck that was going to be hard to hide.

Mabel stood up and got on a step stool to look into the minor, immediately wincing at the sight of her bare neck, dark purple was already creeping in and bruising every bit of her neck. The brunette leaned closer to get a better look and almost whispered out one of the many swears she had accidentally learned from Stanford while living here.

There was a hand bruised into her neck, and it encompassed her entire neck.

She gingerly touched her neck and winced at the dull pain. Guess she wasn’t going to take off her sweater for about 2 weeks now… just 1 week if she was lucky enough…

She tentatively took a step outside of the bathroom and tiptoed down the hallway again, trying to not make a single sound. Just when she got to the steps she heard a door open behind her, causing her to instantly crouch down and hope that she was far enough down the stairs that her body was hidden from sight.

She dared herself to peek just above the top step to see Fiddleford standing outside of his room, stretching and yawning before closing his door and walking towards the bathroom Mabel just left, making the 13-year-old let out a sigh of relief that he wasn’t going to see her like this.

She knew she should probably tell Fiddleford what happened, but she just couldn’t. Maybe it was that childish fear of getting in trouble over nothing getting to her, or maybe it was the fear that her young Grunkle would be blamed for what Bill did.

Regardless, despite her better judgment, she kept her mouth shut and decided to hide her bruises from everyone else in the house, silently thinking of a way she could somehow protect herself from Bill.

She could practically hear Dipper yelling at her about how bad of an idea this was, but she was too shaken up to think of anything else…

So, she kept with the plan even as she shakily slipped a sweater over her large t-shirt she wore as a night gown and fell asleep on the couch, huddled in the corner in a ball as vivid nightmares haunted her fitful sleep, showing flashes of a possessed Stanford Pines throwing her off either the house or a water tower.

She woke up the next day to the warm smell of breakfast and the soft tones of Fidd's humming a tune in the kitchen, her body absolutely aching and a tad sweaty from the combo of the sweater and the fireplace keeping the room warm.

Mabel winced as she got off the couch. Yep… her back is definitely bruised.

She tentatively walked towards the open archway leading into the kitchen, silently calming her nerves and trying to put a smile onto her face. It helped that Fiddleford is making breakfast, she loves his food.

The kicthen was so empty when she first arrived but the southern man immediately starting keeping the place stocked when it was clear that she was going to stay there for a while. He also insistent on making her a meal 3 times a day since she was a ‘growin’ lil’ girl’. Because of her memories of Fiddleford being ‘Old Man McGucket’ were much more prominent in her brain it was easy to forget that he was once a father, but in those domestic moments when he doted and fussed over her it was clear that he was a good one.

Well, when he was sane that is…

She quickly shook off the bleak memory.

Happy thoughts, happy thoughts, happy thoughts…

She let out a low breath as a wide smile covered her face, her round cheeks rosy as she happily skipped inside.

Fiddleford perked up at the sound of Mabel walking inside, smiling as immediately spoke with a fond voice, "Ey there sweetpea, sleep well?" He idly glanced behind to see Mabel in her baggy t-shirt/sleep gown as well as a sweater on top of that, making him raise an eyebrow as he playfully asks, "Did someone get' cold last night?"

"Just a little bit." Mabel playfully replied back, unable to stop the wince that crossed her face at the sound of her hoarse voice.

Fiddleford, who was already done making breakfast, immediately whipped his head around at the sound. "Honeybee, are ya' alright?"

She lightly coughs into her fist a couple times and passingly remarks, “I’m fine, it's just morning gunk! Just need some water, haha!” Trying to sound as nonchalant as possible.

Fiddleford still had a suspicious look in his eye as he looked over the little lady before deciding to let her off easy with this one, grabbing a rag and wiping his hands while replying with a quiet, “Alright, if ya say so, sunshine…”

He quickly pours Mabel a glass of water and then grabs a plate of bacon and pancakes. “Fer you, made just how you like it,” Mabel sits down in her chair as Fiddleford places the glass of water in front of her and a plate of pancakes and some bacon that is extremely burnt. “Burnt in a volcano.”

The brunette drinks some water first, happy to note that it actually does ease the pain in her throat! After that she eagerly grabs a burnt piece of bacon and shoves it into her mouth, loving the way flakey black residue smears onto her fingers and the overwhelming taste of what can only be described as ‘BURNT’ fills her mouth. She muffles out, “It’s perfect!” In between bites as Fiddleford chuckles at her antics and makes himself a plate. “Yer such an odd lil’ duck, honeydew! Only kid I’ve ever met who wanna me ta’ burn their meal!”

Mabel immediately shoots back, pointing at Fiddleford with a mouth full of bacon, “Tahts cause ohther peowple are COWERDS!!!”

The lanky man lets out a full on belly laugh as he grabs his plate and sits at the table, the two beginning to talk about anything that crosses their mind.

Stanford wasn’t going to join them for breakfast. He’s usually asleep at this time or buried in whatever notes he was currently writing.

…Mabel feels a little bad that she's kinda happy he wouldn’t join them… Her throat feels like it’s constricting all over again at the thought of those sickly yellow eyes and horrid laughter…

At some point while eating, Fiddleford makes a joke that makes Mabel loudly laugh, the sudden shout of laughter causing her to wince and try to grab at her throat. She stops herself a couple inches short of the grab and quickly puts her hand back down, but the damage was already done.

Fiddleford, concern coming back at full force, puts down his fork and immediately asks with a concerned tone, "Honey, is ‘ere somethin' wrong with ‘ur neck?"

Sweat began to bead on Mabel’s forehead and she tried to immediately brush off the concern with a not so convincing, "Whaaaaat, psh, nah!"

He raises an eyebrow at the clearly nervous little girl. "Mabel, if yer' hurt I'd like to know."

She starts to fidget in her seat, fingers wrapping together and her brown eyes darting away. "Look, it's not thaaaat bad you don't gotta worry about it-"

At the confirmation that she is indeed hurt makes him sit up and shoot back, "Well tha' just makes me MORE worried bout it!"

Unable to come up with anymore excuses Mabel plays with a fork in front of her, eyes locked with her plate. Fiddleford let out a soft sigh and leans closer to the brunette across the table and rests his hand on hers, a kind smile on his face as he gently adds on with that fatherly tone that immediately made Mabel feel better, "Darling, it ain't gonna get better if ya’ don't lemme help. I promise I ain’t gon’ get mad, ya hear?"

Mabel tentatively glanced up at the southern man’s soft green eyes and could tell he meant every kind word.

So, despite her promising to keep her injuries a secret, she takes a deep breath and nods her head, gingerly taking off the thick hand-made sweater to leave her neck and bandaged up arms exposed to the world. The lanky southern man’s eyes seem to grow more horrified every passing second.

"Jesus, Mary, and Joseph-"

Fiddleford jumps up from the table, almost making his plate fall off while doing so, quickly rounding the table and crouching in front of the brunette with green eyes filled with so much worry and horror.

He found himself fussing over the girl who had easily wormed herself into his and Ford's hearts and found himself growing even more sickened at every bruise and cut he found, though nothing could compare to that sinking feeling of dread he felt looking at Mabel's bruised neck.

He cupped the brunette’s face and could feel tears well up in his eyes as he stuttered out a confused, "W-wha'..., Mabel wha' on earth happened-" His heart breaking trying to even comprehend what could have happened to her.

On the opposite end, Mabel could feel her heart swell at Fidd's fatherly fussing, but tried to brush it off the best she could, not wanting him to worry about her.

"I'm fine really! I just, uh… tripped down the stairs…? …Yeah! Didn't want to worry you, haha!"

Fiddleford, who suddenly stopped paying attention to what Mabel was saying, let his eyes looking closer at the girl's neck before they widened in a horrifying realization.

"I… Is tha' a hand…?"

A rush of panic suddenly runs through Mabel as she tries to come up with some excuse to throw him off, something, anything!

"Fidd’s it's FINE! I just… uh… wore a sweater that was too tight…?” Goodness she’s screwed, even she was aware of how unsure she sounded.

Fiddleford still wasn’t paying attention. Instead one of his hands lowered from her rosy cheeks and ever so slightly touched her neck with the lightest of touches. His green gaze was analytical as finger traced down the bruised skin, talking to himself so quietly that even Mabel almost didn’t hear him as he quietly began to count.

“One, two, three, four, five, s-”

The blond cut himself off with a sharp inhale through his nose as the look of worry that had previously graced the southern man's face suddenly disappeared and was replaced with a look Mabel had never seen on his face before.

It was a quiet anger. The kind of anger that's terrifying to witness as it bubbles from deep inside but you refuse to let it show on your face, even as your hands begin to tremble and your vision goes red.

Without saying a word Fiddleford stood up and stayed completely silent, unable to say a word for about 10 seconds while his face was blank and unreadable. Finally, Fiddleford looked down at Mabel and gave a kind smile that didn't fully reach his eyes.

"Sweetie, could ya' stay here a sec? I have something importan' I need tha’… discuss… with Stanferd."

After finishing that statement he gently patted the top of her brunette head and walked out of the kitchen archway, turning the corner and heading up the stairs that lead to Stanford's room, walking with such silent intensity that it kinda frightened her.

After a couple moments of staying frozen in her chair she finally managed to shake off the feeling, realizing she had to stop Fiddleford! As scary as it would be seeing Stanford again after last night's… incident… she couldn't just let Fiddleford go confront Ford without the full story!

She sprang up from her chair and winced at the pain radiating from her back. Yep! Still definitely bruised!

Mabel rushed out of the kitchen and up the stairs. She stumbles to a stop at the end of the steps as she sees Fiddleford standing outside Ford's door, just as quiet as he was downstairs. He raises his hand and gives a firm echoing knock and she could faintly hear her young Grunkle respond with a strong, "Come in!"

She hates that she shivers a bit at his voice.

She hates that she's a little bit afraid of him.

Fiddleford doesn't respond and instead just opens the door and then quietly closes it behind him. The door doesn’t close all the way which makes a sliver of light from Ford's bedroom/study shine against the floor in the hallway.

Well... Fiddleford hadn't broken any windows or started yelling, so maybe, just maybe, he's going in there to calmly talk out the problem with Ford? Well, that was more wishful thinking on Mabel's part. She HOPES they will just, talk it out, and no one will get hurt...

A loud crash and shout echoed through the hallway.

A girl could dream can't she?

Mabel sprints to Stanford’s door, tripping over herself the whole way, and yanks open the heavy wooden door as quickly as she could.

When she finally pries it open she’s greeted with the sight of Fiddleford in the middle of trying to choke out Stanford, while Stanford is leaning against one of his smaller wooden cabinets, pushing Fidds away (to the best of his ability) with his foot, clutching his very bloody nose in confusion.

Mabel rushes in and pushes the southern man away from her bleeding Great Uncle to the best of her ability but Fiddleford upon seeing Mabel finally backs off from trying to murder Ford, but the look of pure anger firmly remains on his face.

Ford looks at Fiddleford with pure confusion as he pushes himself off the small wooden cabinet, clutching his bleeding nose all the while.

"F, what on earth has gotten into you!"

Fiddleford stared back with his mouth agape, absolutely gobsmacked, before finally yelling back, "Wha'- what's gotten into ME?! What's gotten into YOU Stanferd Pines!"

Fidds pushed past Mabel and jabbed his finger into the brunet’s chest.

"She's a lil girl?! How DARE you even lay a FINGER on her!"

"F what on earth are you talking about?!"

Fiddleford roughly grabs Ford's shoulders and pushes him to look towards Mabel with a surprising amount of force.

"SHE'S what I'm talkin' bout! Stanferd Filbrick Pines who gave you tha' idea ya' had tha' GODDAMN right to even lay a FINGER on her-"

Stanford couldn't focus on the rant Fiddleford poured into his ears instead his eyes state frozen on the disgusting purple mark staining Mabel's neck.

"Mabel… who-"

Stanford knelt next to the sweet girl who reminded him so much of Stanley in his youth and felt a familiar pang in his chest. That feeling he'd feel whenever Lee came home covered in bruises. That feeling to protect… and to hurt anyone who dares to hurt them.

"Sweetheart… who did this? What happened?"

Fiddleford scoffed. "Ya should know."

Ford shivered at how cold F had sounded. Out of all of his years of knowing him, Fidds had never sounded like this.

Then the meaning of those words finally hit him.

Stanford rushed to stand up and looked back to Fiddleford's furious eyes with his own look of disbelief.

"Y-... You think I did this?"

Fiddleford's eyes didn't change in the slightest.

"Ya'. Ya' I do."

"We've known each other for years, we went to college together, I went to your wedding, you are easily my best friend. Do you honestly think I'm capable of doing something like this?!"

"I used ta'," Fidds crossed his arms. "Now I ain't so sure."

Ford didn't know HOW to feel. This felt like a betrayal but not in the way Stanley's felt. He also felt offended. And hurt. And so many other emotions that were swirling in his chest.

"How? How did you even get it in your head that I had something to do with this!? How could you look at me and even IMAGINE me hurting her?! I can't even imagine myself hurting her! She's-"

"Hand."

Ford froze from his rant.

"What."

"Yer' tha' only one who coulda' done it. How do I know? Hand."

"Ya' always go on an' on about the statistics of someone' being polydactyly. About how different ya' are."

"I want ya' to look at how many fingers are on that handprint on 'er neck, look me in tha' eye, and tell me who's most likely tha' guilty party."

Stanford froze, his face turning white at the realization. He didn't need to turn around and investigate the bruise on Mabel's neck. He now knows it had 6 fingers. When you put all the facts together, one thing is clear.

He IS the most likely person to have done it.

But there's a problem with that.

He DEFINITELY didn't do it.

He glanced back at Mabel, who seemed to be nervously pulling at her nightgown the entire time. After a moment she finally glances up, but after looking into his brown eyes for less than a second she quickly looked back down.

He didn't do it. He knows he didn't.

But if he didn't, why did she look so scared of him?

He didn't do it…

…Didn’t he…?

❔—————————————❓

Now this is a bonus doodle based on an idea I had for the aftermath of this! Stanford is stuck mulling over this in his room and when he finally leaves he notes that Mabel isn't asleep on the couch like usual. So of course he freaks out and assumes she ran away, running all over the house in hopes of finding her. He runs upstairs to Fiddleford’s room and knocks frantically on his door to get him to help him find the missing girl.

Fiddleford opens the door looking annoyed and tired. When Stanford says he can’t find Mabel and that he’s looked everywhere the southern man cuts him off by instantly replying “I know where she is.” That instantly calms down Ford but he looks confused as he asks “You do?” To which Fidd’s opens the door a little bit more to show Mabel asleep on his bed.

Stanford lets out a soft ‘Oh.’ And just stands there, looking awkwardly at Fiddleford for a moment before trying to break the tension with a weak chuckle and asking “Did she want to have a sleepover?” The blond doesn’t even hesitate to reply back, “Yeah. Because she’s scared of you, Stanford.” And closing the door on the brunet’s face.

Stanford doesn’t move for what feels like forever before he heads back to his room, feeling a little sick.

Anywho, I’m done now!!!

I’m happy and sorry you read through all of that, you can leave now! 💥💥💥

[fallen-gravity]

Cheap Thrills and Expensive Snacks

Mabel grins. “Grunkle Ford, do you want to go on a road trip with us? One last adventure before we have to go home?”

Ford’s smile softens with sadness. He’d gotten so caught up in reveling in Bill’s defeat that he’d almost forgotten the kids were heading back to California at the end of the summer.

Ford shakes his head. “I would love to, but…” he frowns. “I’m not sure we have enough time”

The young twins exchange grins, like that’s exactly the response they were waiting for.

“I wouldn’t say that, Grunkle Ford” Dipper grins, looking like he’s struggling to suppress a fit of giggles.

“We have all time in the world” Mabel finishes Dipper’s sentence for him, and in perfect unison the twins pull out a roll of measuring tape from their pockets.

Notes: Here's my belated entry for Week 3 of Forduary: Road Trip!! I absolutely love the road trip trope, and highkey wish Ford could've gotten to see some of Stan's competitors just for the sake of how awful they were compared to the Mystery Shack. C'mon! Give Stan some credit.I also wanted an excuse for Ford to bond more with the kids before they went home, and what better way than through a never-ending roadtrip that somewhat breaks the laws of time and space?

@forduary

AO3

Ever since Ford heard the first bird chirping the morning after Weirdmageddon’s conclusion, he’s felt like a thirty-year old weight has finally been lifted from his shoulders. For the first time in decades, Ford has found himself able to sleep, able to eat, able to do and say anything he pleases without having to speak in hushed tones or cast a cautious glance behind his shoulders.

For the first time since his childhood, he truly feels like himself again, and no longer like a marionette whose strings are always on the brink of snapping under pressure.

It was that first morning after the war, upon waking up before others (out of habit, mostly), that he allowed himself to truly sit and ponder on everything he’s been missing since shutting himself out from the world in his early twenties. He quickly came to the conclusion that the things he missed most were always the things he’d always had just outside of arm’s length; He missed the thrill of discovery, of exploration,  the passion for his life’s work that had faded into thin air the moment that fateful first test run of the portal had failed.

Most of all, he missed companionship.

As much as he hated to admit it to himself, Ford needed other people in his life more than anything else, even more than Ivy League schools and research grants and all the knowledge in the universe.

He told Stan the reason he wanted to take a boat out to the Arctic was to track and contain the remnants of Weirdmageddon that had begun to spread outside of Gravity Falls. But truth be told, he would’ve asked Stan if he still wanted to travel world with him regardless, because Ford found himself wanting nothing more than to chase their childhood dream and never let it go again.

There’s a light knock on his study door as he’s scribbling down navigation notes and he’s half-expecting to see Stan when he turns to the noise. He’s instead met with Dipper and Mabel, standing side by side in his doorway.

“Got a minute?” Dipper asks.

“We have something super important to ask you!” Mabel beams.

Ford places his pen down on his desk, and smiles. “I’m listening”

“Well,” Dipper starts. “We’ve been thinking about how we didn’t get to spend a whole lot of time with you this summer because...” he shrugs. “Well, because we didn’t know you existed until a few weeks ago”

“And that’s totally unfair to you!” Mabel throws her arms up in the air. “It’s not your fault you missed out on all the fun because you were trapped in another dimension”

Dipper nods. “And that got us thinking of all the time we spent with Grunkle Stan, and the road trip he took us on a few weeks ago without you. I don’t know if that was because he asked you and you said no, or if he left without telling you out of spite, or something”

“And that’s when a super genius idea came to us!” Mabel grins. “Grunkle Ford, do you want to go on a road trip with us? One last adventure before we have to go home?”

Ford’s smile softens with sadness. He’d gotten so caught up in reveling in Bill’s defeat that he’d almost forgotten the kids were heading back to California at the end of the summer.

But…a glance to the calendar hanging by the doorway tells him it’s August 29th, and the twins are set to leave after their birthday party ends on the 31st.

Ford shakes his head. “I would love to, but…” he frowns. “I’m not sure we have enough time”

The young twins exchange grins, like that’s exactly the response they were waiting for.

“I wouldn’t say that, Grunkle Ford” Dipper grins, looking like he’s struggling to suppress a fit of giggles.

“We have all time in the world” Mabel finishes Dipper’s sentence for him, and in perfect unison the twins pull out a roll of measuring tape from their pockets. Before Ford has even a moment to wonder what they could mean, they each pull on their tape, high five each other, and disappear into thin air.

Ford stumbles to his feet, nearly knocking his chair to the ground. Between one blink and the next the kids reappear, both of them wearing period piece costumes. The measuring tapes in their hand crackle with blue lightning.

Ford gasps. “Time tapes! Of course!” He approaches the twins in the doorway. “How did you two get ahold of these?”

“Let’s just say we have an inside to these sorts of things” Mabel replies, kicking her costume off and placing her time tape back into her sweater pocket.

“So what do you say?” Dipper steps forward. “Do you want to come with us on a road trip? We can literally go whenever we want”

“You mean when--” Mabel pauses, backtracking. “Oh, wait, you did say that”

“So what do you say, Grunkle Ford? One more adventure for the road?”

Ford’s chest fills with warmth. He’d love to; he really would, but…

“What about Stan?”

“Y’gotta give me some credit, poindexter” Stan’s voice rings from behind the corner. If Ford had to guess, it’s probably because he was waiting for his response. “Someone’s gotta tag along to babysit you three”

Ford wants to glare at his brother at the insult, but his excitement overtakes it and a grin spreads to his face instead.

“Let’s go,” he says, with all the wonder in his tone that he’d been missing for years.

Dipper and Mabel exchange nods, and take each other’s hands. With their free hands, they stretch their measuring tapes out the same length.  Stan grabs on to Mabel’s shoulder, and after he and Dipper share a silent, knowing glance, Ford places his hand on Dipper’s shoulder.

Dipper and Mabel release their tape in unison, and a large flash of white light overwhelms Ford’s vision. When it finally fades, the four of them are still standing exactly where they’d been a moment ago, the only indication that anything changed being the sparks of blue lightning crackling from their clothes.

Dipper’s the first to step away from the huddle. “See?” He gestures at Ford’s wall calendar, which now displays June instead of August. “It’s practically the beginning of the summer all over again!”

Mabel breaks away to stand beside Dipper. “Now we can go anywhere we want! We could go to Portland, or Vegas, or the lost city of Atlantis, or anywhere in the world, because this bad boy prevents us from missing our bus ride home for as long as we want!”

Stan chuckles, shaking his head. “Not so fast, Mabel. I love the enthusiasm, but I’m not sure my old RV can handle driving into the ocean. Not unless Brainiac over here is willing to do some modifications on it” Stan throws an arm around Ford’s shoulder, squeezing it tightly. “Besides, I’ve already got a plan!” Stan’s gaze shifts to Ford, and the grin on his face could split it in two. “If you think my attractions look fake, just wait ‘til you see how bad my competitors look compared to me!”

“I dunno,” Dipper frowns, scratching at his chin. “Don’t you think going back to the place where you were almost eaten by a giant spider lady is a bad idea?”

“Hey, time travel rules mean that I never met her in the first place, right?” Stan crosses his arms. “Besides, it’s not like I’m gonna fall for her tricks all over again just because she offers me discounted tickets, or something”

Dipper and Mabel exchange worried glances.

“Mmm, okay,” Dipper says. “But we’re keeping an eye on you”

“That’s the spirit!” Stan exclaims, and slaps Ford on the back as he backs out of the room. “I’m gonna go pack. I doubt you have anything to pack, Sixer, but we’re reconvening in the gift shop in an hour. Go…take a shower or something. I don’t wanna spend next twelve hours driving with someone smelling like that.”

Ford glares at him, but before he has time to respond Stan’s already gone. The kids must’ve slipped out close on Stan’s heels, because when Ford turns he’s alone in his room. Rolling his eyes, he walks to his couch and kneels on the ground, reaching underneath for his emergency exploration pack. It’s a backpack torn and worn from age, and comes already packed with water bottles, nutrient bars, sunscreen, and just about every brand of monster repellent known to mankind.

A nostalgic sort of smile threatens to tug at his lips. He hasn’t seen this bag since his early research days with Fiddleford. He slings it over his shoulders, and pats at his trench coat pocket to make sure his journal is still safely tucked inside. He doesn’t necessarily plan on making any more additions, but he supposes that old habits die hard.

~~

It’s a very bulky RV, much bigger than Ford was expecting. He’d assumed that Stan calling it an RV was just an exaggeration, and that the four of them would just be piling into the Stanleymobile as they tugged some tiny trailer along that they would only would only step foot in for sleeping. But as Ford approaches, he can see Dipper and Mabel chatting at a small table through the window, and Stan rummaging through a cupboard above them, and it looks as though there’s still plenty of room to walk between them.

Mabel taps on Dipper’s shoulder, points in Ford’s direction, and both of them wave frantically out the window at him.

“Took you long enough,” Stan suddenly appears in the doorway of the camper. “Now get in. The last thing we need is to run into the past versions of those two and get bombarded with questions” He gestures with his thumb towards Dipper. “Especially him.  He sees that journal sticking out of your pocket and we’re done for”

Ford chuckles. “I can only imagine,” he says, and climbs aboard behind Stan. He’s about to take the passenger side seat besides Stan when the kids frantically wave him over.

“Grunkle Ford, over here!” Mabel beams, and hops down from her seat across from Dipper. “Come sit with us!”

“This is a road trip about spending more time with you, after all” Dipper nods. “What good will it do for us if you’re sitting way up front with Stan?”

“Yeah! No good interrogation ever happens from across the room!” Mabel exclaims.

Ford raises an eyebrow, but smiles at the pair as he takes a seat across from them. “Interrogation?”

“Yep!” Dipper grins. “We already know all of the heroic scientist stuff about you…”

“But we want to know the fun Grunkle stuff about you!” Mabel finishes his sentence for him. “You favorite ice cream flavor, your first kiss, the most illegal thing you’ve ever gotten away with…you know, just the basics!”

Ford blushes. “Well, I don’t know about that…”

“Aww, I’m sure it’s not that bad! Dipper’s first kiss was with a merman he had to give reverse CPR to!”

“Mabel!”  Dipper squeaks, his whole a dark shade of red. “That’s not fair! You know I didn’t have a choice!”

Ford can’t help the fond smile that spreads to his face. It’s moments like these that he’s going to miss the most. Sure, he’ll have anomalies, and treasure, and the whole world to explore, but he just knows that none of that is ever going to compare to time alone with the kids.

Once Stan gets the RV up and running, Ford knows there’s no going back. He and the kids swap childhood stories for hours, only pausing when Stan pulls off the side of the road to fuel up on gas and snacks. Dipper tells him of the time him and Mabel shaved their heads after a bully stuck gum in Mabel’s hair on photo day, and Ford tells them of the time that he and Stan swapped clothes on photo day just to see if they could get away with it. (They could, and Ford still has the yearbook where their photos are mislabeled as each other hidden away in his study to this day).

It’s eye opening, honestly. The young twins really are a mirror image to himself and Stan when they were kids.

“We’re here!” Stan grins, screeching the RV to a sudden halt. Upon looking out the window, the only thing Ford can see is a gift shop about the size of an outhouse and a ball of yarn about three sizes bigger than the RV.  Stan stands from the driver’s seat, stretching. “You think I overcharge for my tours, Sixer? This woman charges double the price of my admission just to take a picture of this fuzz ball” He reaches underneath the driver’s seat, pulling out a large hook attached to a thick rope. “We’re only doing her a favor by stealing it! Starting from scratch with a new attraction could do her some good”

“Hmm, I dunno” Dipper shrugs. “Don’t you think that doing the exact same prank on all of your competitors in the exact same order is just gonna result in them, I dunno, pranking you again in the exact same way?”

“Nonsense!” Stan brings his hand to his chest like Dipper had offended him. “The only reason they got away with it last time is because we left poindexter here home alone in the basement. There’ll be dozens of tour groups coming through the shack today with my past self taking care of the place for me.”  He taps at his forehead. “Besides, wasn’t this whole road trip your idea in the first place?” He smirks. “Are you telling me that your own idea is dumb?”

Dipper opens his mouth to argue back, realizes he has nothing, and pouts grumpily as he hops out of the RV. Stan cackles, and hops out of the RV after him. Ford rolls his eyes, and hops out after them to take a look at his surroundings. Stan really wasn’t kidding; everything really is contained to the one parking lot with nothing to show for it but the giant ball of yarn and a converted outhouse with tie-dye tee shirts hanging from its roof.

“Don’t just stand there gawking at it!” Stan slaps him on the shoulder, grinning. “Either help the kids out or talk the old woman’s ear off long enough to distract her” he gestures with a thumb towards Dipper and Mabel, giggling and poking at each other as they tie the rope end of the hook to the RV. As Mabel walks to attach the hook to the large yarn ball, she notices Ford watching her and waves hello.

“Hey Grunkle Ford!” she shouts. “If there’s enough left over from this mound after we drag it home, I’ll knit you a sweater with it!”

Ford laughs as he approaches to help her. “I’m counting on it.”

As it turns out, she wasn’t joking. As soon as they’ve all piled back into the RV to head to the next tourist trapped, Mabel already has her sewing needles in hand and a tangled ball of multicolored yarn sitting on the table in front of her. It’s amazing watching her work, clicking the needles together so quickly yet delicately, not missing a single fold. Ford’s never seen someone pour so much love into something so particular since the early days of his research.

Ford doesn’t want to interrupt her focus, so he turns to Dipper instead.

“How long has she been able to do that?”

Dipper glances at his sister beside him. “Oh, you mean sewing? Our grandma from our mom’s side of the family taught her when she was about six.” He rolls his eyes. “Our parents tried to buy her an electronic sewing machine for our eighth birthday, but she flat out rejected it because she insisted there wouldn’t be enough love in her creations if she didn’t make them by hand”

“It’s true!” Mabel exclaims, not looking up from her sewing job. “I’m not gonna sit around and let some machine do all the work for me! How are my friends and family supposed to know I made them their sweaters with love if I didn’t sew my blood and sweat into the threads myself?”

Ford hopes she’s being metaphorical, but the sentiment is still there. “So you’re telling me that every sweater you’ve worn this summer is homemade?”

“Yep!” she beams. “All the way down to the embroidery.” She holds up the skeleton of the sweater she’s working on into the light. “You’re real lucky, Grunkle Ford. This’ll be my first sweater I’ve ever made out of stolen materials!”

Her use of the term first rather than only makes Ford laugh.  The more time he spends with them, the less he wants to say goodbye to them. Stan must be the bravest man alive, being willing to send these kids home after three months with them, because if it were up to him he’d already be signing adoption papers to make them legally his.

“Stop two!” Stan yells from the front of the RV, and hops out as soon as they’re parked. Mabel places her work gently on the table, and follows Stan out without any effort. Dipper, on the other hand, takes one look out the window at where they’ve stopped and pales.

“Oh no”

Ford follows his gaze. It’s just a single story home turned on its head, absolutely nothing about it giving Ford the impression that there’s anything scary about it.

“What’s wrong?” Ford asks. “Do you get motion sickness? I learned quite a few tricks on how to deal with just the thing in the Spinning Top Dimension! You’re going to need a few things first, but I’m sure we’ll be able to find them around here somewhere-”

“N-no, it’s not that” Dipper cuts him off, face turning a dark shade of red. “The last time we were here I tried asking Grunkle Stan if he had any advice on how to talk to girls. And there was this one really cute girl, and we hit it off, but…” he rubs at his arm. “I acted like a total jerk. I treated her like she was just a number and I feel awful about it”

Ford frowns, getting down on one knee. “You’re not worried you’re going to run into her again, are you? This time loop should be stable enough to prevent her from showing up early”

Dipper’s gaze falls to the floor. “No, it’s more like…I’m so afraid of being myself that I feel like the only way I can fit in is to act like something I’m not. I just wish I could figure out a way to talk to girls without forcing myself to act like I’m better than them or something”

Ford smiles. “Dipper, I may not have any sound advice when it comes to girls,  but I’ve only known you for a number of weeks, and I think anyone would be lucky to have you. You’re kind and caring and so brilliant for your age” Dipper opens his mouth to protest, but Ford shakes his head. “Some of the most brilliant minds in the world suffered from anxiety and depression, my boy, and look where they are now. I have the upmost confidence that the same thing is bound to happen to you”.

Dipper’s eyes are big and wide, like he’s about to cry, but the waterworks never come. Dipper throws his arms around Ford’s neck in a hug, and Ford hugs him back. Once they pull away, they hop out of the van to join Stan and Mabel outside to prevent Stan from coming back in to yell at them. This stop is a bit less complicated, just a simple walkthrough to make sure there isn’t a hoard of tourists inside before running back out to tip the whole house right side up. It’s a lot of laughing from Stan and sprinting back to the van, and once they’re out of the parking lot and back on the highway it’s as if they never stopped at all. Mabel gets right back to working on her sweater, and Dipper gets right back to chatting up Ford for life stories.

A good portion of their stops go equally as smooth. The kids convince Ford to go on the log flume at Log Land with them which he absolutely does not throw up on, thank you very much, and Mabel nearly gets lost in a corn maze, but otherwise there’s nothing much of interest. Ford’s starting to suspect that Stan must be right, that the Mystery Shack really is the most interesting tourist trap in the entire state, until a giant mountain looms over the horizon.

“There she is,” Stan says, as if he could read his brother’s thoughts. “Her first year of opening I lost over half my usual revenue and I’ve sworn revenge on her ever since” He balls his hand into a fist and smacks the top of the steering wheel. “Our biggest mistake last time was getting too attached. I say this time we run in, grab as many mummies as we can get our hands on, and book it back to the shack before Darlene notices.”

“Don’t you mean that was your biggest mistake?” Dipper quips. “Besides, didn’t we find out last time that those mummies are real dead bodies?” He shivers. “I’m not sure how comfortable I’d feel about stealing them”

From the rearview mirror, Stan raises an eyebrow at Dipper. “What, you afraid their souls are gonna follow us home and haunt us? Work on your moral compass later, kid, this is about revenge” He adjusts the mirror. “Besides! What’s the chance we rescue someone who isn’t dead yet, just slowly suffocating in that nasty tasting web?”

Dipper opens his mouth to say one thing, pauses, and starts again. “Grunkle Stan, are you telling me you tried to eat the web you were trapped in?”

Stan shrugs. “Hey, I’m no stranger to chewing my way out of things. I’m just lucky I didn’t break any teeth on it, like I did with that car trunk”

As if that doesn’t raise more questions than it does answers, Stan drops the conversation entirely and doesn’t say another word until the RV pulls into the parking lot. Ford can’t even see the mountain peak when he hops out, it’s so obscured by fog that he knows wasn’t there ten minutes ago. Fog is the number one trap produced by anomalies to hunt their pray, so it’s no wonder this place gives Stan the creeps. Ford can’t even begin to imagine the size of the spider monsters the others described to him.

A shriek nearly escapes him at the feeling of something spindly crawling up his arm, but when he whips around he sees it’s just Stan running his fingers along his shoulder in a quick, scattered pattern. When he catches Ford’s eyes, he laughs so hard that tears pour down his cheeks.

“You should’ve seen the look on your face!” Stan wheezes. “You were all oh no, mister spider half the size of my hand, don’t eat me!” he cackles, wiping at his eyes with his wrist. “C’mon, time is money, and we don’t have any to waste” he gestures to the kids, already waiting at the information booth. “If we don’t hurry the kids are gonna get on the sky tram without us”

Ford raises an eyebrow. “You? On a sky tram?”

“Dipper didn’t tell you?” Stan’s raised eyebrow matches Ford’s. “Mabel helped me conquer my fear of heights! Now I’m untouchable!”

Seventeen years of the boardwalk and all the cotton candy as bribe in the world couldn’t fix Stan’s fear of heights. Dipper and Mabel really do continue to amaze him the more Stan tells him about them.

“Right,” Ford shakes his head, smiling fondly. “Of course.”

~~

It’s really no wonder this place boasts having the world’s slowest sky tram, because if it weren’t for the moving tree line Ford would almost think they weren’t moving at all. The bored expression on everyone else’s faces, a massive shift from the mischievous grins they’d been wearing before they got on has Ford choking down laughter. It’s about five minutes before there’s any sight of anything but tree bark, and the sun beaming directly into the glass car makes the whole thing feel like a sauna.

Still, it’s a dramatic shift in pace, and not one that Ford rejects. It’s really forcing him to slow down and think about his own feelings for once, a privilege he hasn’t had since he was in high school. Maybe it’s a little selfish of him to cherish the times he just gets to lose himself in his own head, rather than to spend so much of his time calculating plans to rescue others from danger, but-

“Whaddya think, poindexter?” Stan’s voice suddenly breaks through Ford’s thoughts, startling him.

Ford blushes. “What do I think of what?”

“The new plan!” Stan gestures to Dipper with his thumb. “Since this buzzkill is so against stealing ‘real dead bodies’,” he emphasizes with air quotes, “and since we probably couldn’t shove them all in this car anyway, we’re gonna go ahead with Plan B instead; Burning down Widow’s Peak!” Stan throws his hands in the air dramatically.

Dipper beams. “That way, they can’t make any more mummies for their mummy museum, and we might be able to save a few people from suffocating to death!” Stan and Dipper high five.

“It’s a brilliant plan, but…” Ford taps at his chin. “Where do you suppose we’re going to find the fire to burn it down?”

Stan cocks an eyebrow at him. “You tell me, mister ‘setting my face on fire is faster than shaving’. I wouldn’t be surprised if you had a lighter in your pocket right now. They have a bunch of prop torches in the caves, but if we pop the lightbulbs out of them and light them they should work good as usual” Stan’s mischievous grin is back on his face, a perfect reflection of when he was thirteen and pickpocketing a dollar from people’s wallets on the boardwalk to buy a box of saltwater taffy.

Turns out, it’s just as contagious now as it was back then. Ford reaches into the front pocket of his trench coat, and sure enough, comes up with a lighter. Stan erupts in laughter at the sight of it, and soon enough the entire car is infected with it. The rest of the ride up the mountain is much bubblier after that, with everyone swapping overdramatic stories of how the plan is going to go.

~~

Widow’s Peak is much bigger than Ford was expecting. It’s a whole cave that looks like it stretches for miles, and there really are rotting skeletons hanging upside down from the cave walls and ceilings.

Ford shudders.

“Aww, c’mon, Sixer! I know for a fact this isn’t half as bad as the stuff in your journals” Stan jabs at his shoulder with his unlit torch. “Besides, didn’t you say in your own journal that most ghosts come from their old bodies not having a proper burial? He gestures at a skeleton hanging upside down from the ceiling, its left hand barely hanging on by a thread. “You think any of these guys look like their spirits were able to move on peacefully, or however it goes?” Stan shakes his head matter of-factly. “You really want some poor unsuspecting tourist to bump into a hoard of angry ghosts? Tsk tsk”

“Alright, alright” Ford raises his hands in self-defense. “I suppose you’re right”. He takes his lighter out of his pocket and tosses it to Stan. Stan lights up his own torch, helps Dipper and Mabel with theirs, and then he turns back to help light Ford’s.

“Alright,” Stan rubs his hands together the best he can with a lit torch tucked under his arms. “Everyone knows the plan. Burn as many mummies as you can find, rescue the poor suckers who are still alive, and signal if you hear Darlene coming. Since I don’t trust Sixer over here not to try and interview her and get himself in trouble again, I say I’m in charge of lookout duty.” He adjusts his collar and flattens down the wrinkles of his suits with a quick pat down. “I flirt with her just long enough to distract her, I throw my torch in her face, and then we book it out of here as fast as our legs can carry us”

Dipper still doesn’t look convinced. “I don’t know, isn’t that exactly how you got yourself tangled up in a web last time?”

“Oh please,” Stan scoffs, waving a dismissive hand. “The only reason that worked last time is ‘cause she cornered me when we were alone. Besides, where’s she gonna take me if she catches me that you can’t just throw a torch and rescue me five minutes after it happens?”

Dipper’s face darkens. “True,” he mumbles under his breath, which makes Stan laugh. Stan slaps him on the shoulder, and Dipper glares at him, but there doesn’t seem to be any malice in it.

It’s one final glance between the four of them, and they’re all running off in different directions of the cave. It’s not long before the stench of burning silk fills the air, mixed with the stench of something Ford doesn’t want to think too much about. The webs burn relatively quickly, and together they burn through half of the cave in a much faster time than Ford would’ve expected. He’s about to light up one that looks like it was left here fairly recently, until something inside it starts wiggling.  Startled, Ford steps backwards until his back hits the cave wall, a soft oof escaping him.

“S’matter, poindexter?” Stan looks up from the fire he’s stomping out with his foot. “You see a widdle baby spider that freaked you out?”

Ford tries to glare at him, but the fear stabbing him in the chest doesn’t let it stick. He swallows hard, and points towards the wiggling cocoon with his torch.

“I think we have a live one” he whispers, stepping to stand beside Stan. Once Stan follows Ford’s torch with his eyes, something inside him tenses up.

“Ah, wh-what’d I tell you?” Stan’s voice shakes. “It’s probably just some poor sucker who fell for Darlene’s charms. Definitely not a gross sack of baby spider people or anything”

“R-right,” Ford swallows hard, and inches back towards the cocoon, rapidly waving his torch back and forth to potentially scare off whatever could be inside trying to break out.  But the longer he waves the torch in front of the web, the more he can make out the silhouette of a regular human being.

Throwing all caution to the wind, Ford rushes forward and begins tearing at the web with his bare hands, just enough so that the man is free from the chest up. He takes large gasps of air, and upon realizing that his hands are free he begins tearing at the web himself.  Once his feet are free and hit the ground, he takes one look at the Pines family, mumbles a startled thank you, and runs for his life out of the cave.

After that, the rest of the burnings go pretty smoothly. There’s significantly less living tourists in the cave than Ford would’ve expected from such a large tourist trap, and Ford’s not entirely sure whether he should find that reassuring or downright terrifying.  He’s almost surprised everything went so well, until the four of them nearly collide with a woman on their way out of the cave.

She looks just as baffled to see them as Ford feels to see her.

“Can I…help you?” She asks in a thick Jersey-esque accent. The name tag pinned to her shirt reads DARLENE in large brick letters.

“No!” Dipper cuts in before neither Ford nor Stan can respond to her. He clears his throat. “I mean, uh, no. Uh, apologies if this is a restricted area, but we got lost trying to find our way back to the sky tram” he shrugs overdramatically, no doubt in attempt to show Darlene that his hands are empty. She squints at him, and for a moment Ford could swear he just saw her blink horizontally. The silence that follows, though it probably doesn’t last for more than a few seconds, feels like it drags on for ages.

Suddenly, she’s donning an overly sweet smile. “Well, why didn’t you just say so? Let me walk you back. We’ve gotten more than our fair share of tourists who’ve gone missing from wandering too far into our caves, and I’d hate to have that happen to such a nice looking family like yours” She grins, flashing her unusually sharp teeth.  The four of them stay quiet until they’re all packed into their tram car, and Darlene is waving sweetly at them from behind.

They each collectively sigh. “Woof, that was a close one” Stan says, wiping the sweat from his forehead with his wrist. In a sudden shift of mood, he reaches over next to him and pulls Dipper into a headlock. “How’s about it for this guy’s quick thinking, huh?” he grins, and the four of them laugh until they hear a horrifying screech that makes their tram car rumble. They turn, and see Darlene emerging from the cave, the bottom half of her body replaced by that of a giant spider.

“My food!” she screams, shaking her first at the tram cars. “You burned all my food! Mark my words, I may not have gotten your names but I don’t forget faces very easily, you hear? If you ever show your face here again you’re dead meat!” She screams, yanking on her hair to reveal the rest of her spider-like body under her human disguise.

Stan simply cackles. “Yeah, we’ll see about that!” he mocks, knowing well enough that she can’t hear them from inside the car. He turns his attention back to the rest of the family. “Maybe we should go and warn our past selves to bring bug spray!” He exclaims, laughing himself to near tears.

Ford only rolls his eyes, but can’t help the smile on his face.

If only he’d known what he’d be missing when he turned down Stan’s offer to take this road trip with him and the kids the first time around.

The tram ride back to the parking lot is even more relaxing than the ride up. The sun is setting this time around, and even if the wind can’t really reach inside the car the whole thing just feels cooler. Most of all, he finds that the sound of the Stan and the kids’ laughter is far more welcome than any old conversation he could have in his own head.

When everyone piles back into the RV, they do not drive away immediately like they had at all the other stops. Instead, Stan turns around to face the three of them. “Well, that’s the end of that. That’s all I had planned, and we still have…” he pauses to count on his finger. “Two more months ‘til the kids have to go back home, technically. I’m all out of ideas, and I’m sure the kids have seen enough of the Gravity Falls weirdness for one summer”

He smiles to the kids, who nod and in turn smile at Ford.

“So where do you want to go now, Grunkle Ford?” Mabel says, with stars shining in her eyes. The grin spreading on Dipper’s face matches hers like two peas in a pod.

“Any place in the world. Wherever you want to go…” He pulls the time tape out of his pocket. “…For however long you want”

[thelastspeecher]

A Case of Mistaken Identity - Chapter 4: Fear No Weather

Chapter 1   Chapter 2   Chapter 3   Chapter 4   AO3

I don’t often just sort of, discretely, without warning, update a multichap.  I usually mention ahead of time that I’m working on the next chapter and it’s getting close, maybe I even post a small screenshot.  But this time, I was so focused on getting the next chapter of this fic up that I forewent that.

Anyways, this chapter has Stan being a cynic and Mabel being a delight and Fiddleford being suspicious of what exactly Ford is up to when he’s not around.  Enjoy.

———————————————————————————————————–

              Ford gaped at Stan.

              “What do you mean, ‘who are they’?  They’re your children!” Ford protested.  “I told you that-”

              “Yeah, you said that I had two kids that showed up at your place,” Stan said.  He crossed his arms.  “I was an idiot to believe you.”

              “They are your-”

              “Hey, kids,” Stan barked.

              “Yes?” Dipper squeaked.

              “You twins?” Stan asked.  Dipper and Mabel nodded.  “How old are the two of you?”

              “Twelve,” Mabel replied.

              “Twelve.”  Stan narrowed his eyes at Ford.  “If they were mine, I woulda had to knock up some poor girl while I still lived at home. I know you don’t think much of me, but do you really think I’d be a teen dad?  After everything Pops pounded into our skulls?”

              “I wouldn’t put it past you,” Ford said shortly. Stan huffed impatiently.  He began to walk away.  Ford raised his voice.  “After all, you seem perfectly fine abandoning your children!”  Stan rounded on Ford, his face beet red.

              “Fuck off, you prick!” he snarled.  Fiddleford let out a yelp.

              “Stanley, please, there are children here!” Fiddleford protested.  Stan didn’t even look over at Fiddleford, instead continuing to glare at Ford.

              “Shut up, Ford’s ‘partner’,” he ground out, etching air quotes around the word “partner”.  Fiddleford flushed.  “First off, kids should learn swears.  Second, I don’t give a damn about keeping a clean mouth when Ford’s telling me I’m a deadbeat dad and fine with it.  He knows that I always swore I wouldn’t do that.”

              “You also swore you’d stand by me, only to sabotage-” Ford started.  Stan threw his hands into the air.

              “Wow, it only took you five minutes to bring that up, huh?  I went outta my way to come see you ‘cause you insisted-”

              “As if you were doing anything of note-” Ford scoffed.

              “For all you know, I was solving cancer!”

              “You were either dumpster diving or being thrown out of a casino!”

              “Like you’re doing something more important, holed up in a romantic cabin-”

              “Gentlemen!” Fiddleford said loudly.

              “You’re not involved, hayseed.  And trust me, you don’t want to be,” Stan snarled.

              “Don’t call Fiddleford-”

              “I’ll call him whatever the damn well I want to!” Stan’s voice was now a low roar. Ford raised his to match.

              “Oh, Lord,” Fiddleford muttered, kneading his forehead.

              “Just let them tire themselves out,” Mabel said. Fiddleford shook his head.

              “Sweetling, I grew up with five siblin’s.  I know when an argument will turn into a fist fight,” he said tiredly.  Dipper and Mabel exchanged a look.

              “Should we spill the beans?” Mabel whispered.

              “They’ll figure it out eventually.  We might as well tell them before they bring the house down,” Dipper hissed back.  Mabel nodded. She hopped off her chair and walked over to the brothers, who had progressed to screaming at each other.

              “Stan’s right,” she called over the noise.  Stan gestured at her.

              “See, Sixer?  I told you I didn’t have any kids.”

              “What?  But…” Ford seemed heartbroken.  “I don’t-”

              “Stan isn’t our dad.  He’s our great-uncle.  And as far as we can tell, so are you, Ford.”

              “Great, huh?” Stan snorted.  He crossed his arms.  “Kid, we haven’t known each other long enough for you to know what I’m like as an uncle.”

              “Not great as in like, good.  Great as in…”  Mabel looked at Dipper, who got down from his chair and joined her.

              “Great as in two generations removed,” he explained. Ford frowned.

              “A great-uncle is the brother of a grandparent. Are you saying that Shermie is your grandfather?”  Dipper and Mabel nodded.  “That’s impossible.  Shermie’s children aren’t old enough to have children your age.  Not to mention, Shermie’s too young to be a grandfather.”

              “Right now, he’s too young,” Dipper agreed. Ford’s eyes widened.  He crouched down to the twins’ eye-height.

              “Are you suggesting you are from the future?” he asked breathlessly.  Dipper and Mabel nodded again.  Ford’s eyes, brown like theirs, sparkled behind his glasses.  “Remarkable.”

              “Really?  You believe them?” Stan demanded.  “You’re not even gonna ask for proof?”

              “I’ve seen far stranger things in Gravity Falls than time travelers,” Ford said.  He raised an eyebrow.  “Though maybe Stanley has a point.  Do you two have any proof to offer?”  Wordlessly, Dipper drew the journal from his jacket.  Ford’s jaw dropped.  “My journal!”

              “Don’t read anything in it,” Dipper said quickly. Ford nodded.

              “I won’t even open it, my dear boy.  Just seeing the outside is enough to fully sway my opinion.”  Ford looked the journal over a few times, then handed it back, despite clearly wanting to hold on to it longer.  Stan scoffed.

              “He shows you some book and you’re convinced, huh? Y’know, pulling a prank doesn’t have to be this damn complicated,” Stan said snidely.  Ford stood.  He frowned at Stan.

              “This is no prank.”

              “If you want me to believe you, I’m gonna need some proof.”  Stan stared directly at Dipper and Mabel.  “Tell me tomorrow’s lotto numbers.”

              “We don’t know those,” Dipper said.  Mabel shook her head.

              “If you’re really from the future, you’d have some fancy future tech,” Stan said.  Dipper and Mabel shook their heads.  Stan’s face hardened.  “Yeah. Figured.”

              “Uh, give us a moment,” Dipper said.  He pulled Mabel over to the side to whisper to her.  “How are we supposed to convince Stan?  He’s a notorious cynic!  I mean, he lived in Gravity Falls for years, but refused to acknowledge the existence of the supernatural!”

              “Well, we don’t have any technology that is future-y enough,” Mabel said slowly.  “Maybe we let him know something that we know about him?”

              “That would only work if Ford didn’t know it, either. If it’s something Ford would know, then Stan will just think Ford told us.”

              “So it has to be something that happened after Stan left home,” Mabel said.  Dipper nodded.  “Hmm…” Her eyes brightened.  “Oh!  I’ve got it!”

              “Really?”

              “Yeah!”

----- 

              A couple weeks into their stay in Gravity Falls, Mabel woke up before Dipper.  Knowing how late her brother tended to stay up, she decided to let him sleep in, and happily traipsed downstairs for some breakfast.  Her bubbly mood was slightly stifled by the sight of Stan in just his boxers and undershirt, cooking at the stove, looking more ogrish than usual.

              He probably just hasn’t had a chance to freshen up yet.

              “You’re up early,” Stan grunted.  Using a large wooden spoon, he poked whatever was cooking in the skillet.

              “I don’t need much beauty sleep,” Mabel replied. To her delight, the comment elicited a small smile from Stan.  She bounded to his side.  “What’s for breakfast?”

              “I went classic today.  Bacon and eggs.”

              “…Bacon?”

              “Yeah.  You heard of it, right?  It’s the best dam- darn food in the world, kid.”

              “No, I’ve heard of it.  I’ve even had it.  But Dad told us that you keep kosher, like Grampie Shermie.”

              “Heh.  He probably thinks that ‘cause Shermie told him we kept kosher as kids.  But the day I left home, I said ‘screw it’ and tried bacon. Never looked back.  Best decision I ever made.”

              “Really?  You haven’t done anything else in your entire life that was better than deciding to eat bacon?” Mabel asked doubtfully.  A sudden somber fell over her grunkle.

              “…No,” he said.

              “Oh.”  It was as though Stan’s mood was contagious.  Mabel could feel herself getting more serious as well.  “That’s kinda sad, though.”

              “Eating bacon is the best thing I’ve done so far,” Stan said brightly.  His mood switch was so abrupt that Mabel doubted it was genuine.  “I might be old, but I’ve still got some time to do something even better than eat bacon.”

              “Like what?” Mabel asked.  Stan raised an eyebrow at her.

              “Whattaya think?”

              “Hmm…”  Mabel frowned thoughtfully.  She beamed. “Oh!  You could write a series of mystery novels called Crime Grandpa!” Stan snorted.  Mabel took this as a sign to continue.  “You could teach a bear how to drive!”

              “That’s actually not half bad,” Stan said.

              “You could save Dipper from magical math!”

              “Magical math, huh?” Stan asked.  Mabel nodded.  “How would I do that?”

              “You’re the one that saves him, not me.”

              “Heh.”  Stan ruffled Mabel’s hair.  “Guess I’ll have to work on that one, then.  Now, stop bugging me, or I’ll burn breakfast.”

              Mabel went over to the kitchen table.  She sat in her chair, kicking her legs idly.  As she waited for food, she could barely make out Stan muttering to himself.

              “I bet Dan could find some bear I could use…”

----- 

              “What did you think of?” Dipper asked, dragging Mabel out of the memory.  Mabel grinned and trotted over to Stan.  She leaned her head back to look into his face.

              “Grunkle Stan, your favorite food is bacon!” she said. Stan’s face went slack.

              “No, it’s toffee peanuts,” Ford said.  “Stan’s never even had bacon.”

              “The day after he left home, he tried bacon,” Mabel said, “and he never looked back.”  Stan swore softly under his breath.  “Do you believe us now, Grunkle Stan?”

              “I don’t think I fully believe you, squirt,” Stan said after a moment.  “But you’ve got my attention at least.  I’ll hear you out.”  Mabel’s grin broadened.  Stan looked over at Fiddleford.  “Why are you so quiet, hayseed?  No comment?”

              “I already said my comments when they told me the truth the other day,” Fiddleford said with a shrug.  Ford’s jaw dropped again.  “Stanley, since yer willin’ to at least listen now, would ya mind joinin’ us fer breakfast?”

              “A free meal?”  Stan marched over to the table, grabbed a chair, pulled it out, and sat. He put his feet up on the table. “Like I’d turn that down.”

----- 

              While Dipper and Mabel told their great-uncles how they wound up in the past, Stan practically inhaled multiple bowls of breakfast scramble doused in sausage gravy.  The kids watched in almost awe as their grunkle put away food at an unnervingly fast pace.  The speed was actually concerning to Dipper, who began to wonder if there was a nefarious reason for Stan’s appetite.

              It’s like he hasn’t had anything to eat in days. A strange sensation squeezed Dipper’s gut.  That might actually be the case.  Who knows what he’s been up to?  Judging by Fiddleford’s concerned expression, he was thinking along similar lines.

              “Where is this time travel device?” Ford asked, once they had finished their story.

              “We gave it to Mr. McGucket,” Mabel said. Wordlessly, Fiddleford drew the tape measure out of his back pocket.  He placed it on the table.  Ford picked it up.  He let out a long breath of astonishment.

              “This is incredible.”

              “Looks like something you could get at the hardware store for two bucks,” Stan said in between mouthfuls of food.  “Why are you believing these kids?”

              “Do you still doubt they’re from the future?”

              “Yes.  I already said that,” Stan said impatiently.  “I’m just hearing them out so that I can decide whether I actually believe ‘em or not.  So far, I’m leaning towards thinking they’re pulling some sort of weird con.”

              “How else can they convince you?” Ford asked. Stan shrugged.  “If you can’t provide an example of the evidence needed, how-”  Ford was interrupted by a beeping sound.  “What is that?”

              “Hell if I know,” Stan muttered.  He began shoveling food into his mouth again. “Some sorta weird, nerdy, mad science thing?”

              “If it was something Fiddleford or I made, I would recognize the noise it makes,” Ford said irritably.

              “Maybe it started working right while you weren’t looking,” Stan said.  Ford glared.

              “You-”

              “It’s my watch,” Dipper said quickly.  He shut off the alarm on his digital watch. “It’s letting me know the battery’s getting low, that’s all.”

              “That’s yer watch?” Fiddleford asked.  Dipper nodded.  “I’ve never heard a watch make that sort of sound.  What kind is it?”

              “Uh…a digital electronic wristwatch?” Dipper said warily.  Ford and Fiddleford’s eyes widened.  Stan, however, held out a hand.

              “Show me,” he instructed.  Dipper hesitated.  “I won’t steal it from you.  I know better than to pocket something people are looking at.”  Dipper reluctantly removed his watch and handed it over.  Stan held the watch up to his eyes, squinting.

              Why is he holding it so close?  Dipper abruptly remembered how blind Stan was in the future.  Does he need glasses?  Ford does.  Finally, Stan set the watch down on the table.  He slid it back to Dipper, who put it on his wrist again.

              “Why didn’t you show me that from the beginning?” he asked.  Dipper and Mabel’s jaws dropped.

              “Wait, you believe us now?” Dipper asked.  Stan nodded.

              “But…it’s just a watch,” Mabel said.

              “It’s a watch I’ve only ever seen in movies. There’s no reason someone like you would have one.  So I’ll ask again.  Do you kids know any future lotto numbers?” he asked.  The twins shook their heads.  “Dammit,” he muttered.  “Coulda used the dough.”

              “Even if we knew, we wouldn’t tell you,” Mabel said. “We can’t change the future too much.” Stan smiled, but the expression seemed more sad than amused.

              “Kiddo, you two definitely already screwed things up.”

              “But-” Mabel started.  Ford held up a hand.  She fell silent.

              “Stanley is right,” he said solemnly.  “You two have, undoubtedly, altered the future from the one you came from.”

              “So…we won’t be able to get back home?”

              “Not by using the device that took you here alone. You’ll need to also utilize a tool allowing you to travel between realities, as you now come from an alternate universe, as well as the future.”

              “How are we supposed to find something like that?” Dipper asked.  “We stole the tape measure and wound up breaking it!  We have no idea how to go to a different reality.”  A smile spread across Ford’s face.

              “Luckily, I happen to know someone who has much expertise in other realms.”  That got Fiddleford’s attention.  He watched Ford warily.  “I will go consult him.”  Without another word, he got up from his chair and left the kitchen.

              “Great, just great,” Fiddleford muttered under his breath.  He began to clear the table.  “He’s gettin’ his lil friend involved.”

              “You seem peeved, Fiddlesticks,” Stan commented. Fiddleford sighed.

              “I ain’t met this person he said he’ll talk to, which ain’t a crime in and of itself.  But I get a bad feelin’ ‘bout it.”

              “You gotta trust your gut,” Stan said softly. He eyed Dipper and Mabel.  “And my gut says that there’s something big that you two are either leaving out or just flat-out don’t know about.”

              “Why?” Dipper asked.  Stan raised an eyebrow.

              “You guys only think Ford’s your great-uncle. Which to me, makes it sound like you two didn’t even know Ford existed before you came here.”

              “I mean…sort of,” Dipper said, rubbing the back of his neck.  Mabel looked at him questioningly.  “We might as well tell him, Mabel.  You heard Ford.  We already messed up the future.”

              “Yeah,” Mabel said.  She took over for Dipper.  “We knew you, but we thought your name was Stanford.  We didn’t know you, or Ford, or, uh, both of you, had a twin.” Stan swore.  “What?  What’s wrong?”

              “How long was I going by Ford’s name?” Stan asked.

              “You didn’t go by Ford, you still went by Stan,” Dipper said.  “You just said it was short for Stanford.”

              “That’s a bit better, but still not great. Answer the question, kid.”

              “I don’t know how long you went by Stanford. But as far as we knew, our dad thought that was your name, and so did Grampie Shermie.”  Fiddleford, who had progressed from clearing the dishes from the table to washing them, froze.  “We were really confused when we got here.”

              “Yeah.  Yeah, I can see why,” Stan mumbled.  He closed his eyes.  “Shit.”

              “You need to explain yer sudden concern, Stanley,” Fiddleford said, propping a sudsy hand on one hip.  “We can’t read yer mind.”

              “Like you’re not concerned about this new information,” Stan snapped.

              “Oh, believe me, I am.  But yer clearly comin’ to some conclusions that ya need to share with the rest of us.”

              “Fine.”  Stan paused. “I don’t always like my life, but I wouldn’t try to take over Ford’s.  Sure, we pretended to be each other to confuse people when we were kids. But this isn’t tricking our mom. This is…this is something serious. I mean, what happened to Stanley? Ford wouldn’t be me, so what did I do with my real identity?”  Stan was silent for a moment.  “There’s only one circumstance I can think of, where I would pretend to be Ford for years and act like the real me didn’t even exist anymore.  Ford isn’t around.”

              “You think he’s passed, by Dipper ‘n Mabel’s time?” Fiddleford asked softly.  Stan shook his head.

              “I wouldn’t take over Ford’s life if he was dead. That’s wrong on more levels than I can count.  No, Ford’s alive.  Or at least, future me thinks he’s alive.  But he’s missing, in some sort of trouble, and I decided the easiest way to help would be to pretend to be him.”

              “Would you try to help him?” Dipper asked quietly.

              “Am I pissed at Ford?  Yes.  Do I hate his guts?  Yes.  But would I do everything I could to help him?” Stan asked.  He paused. “Yes,” he said.  “We might not be friends anymore, but we’re still brothers. We’re still twins.  I wouldn’t turn my back on him if I thought he was in danger.”

              “Maybe right now, that’s yer reaction, but there’s always the chance that you change,” Fiddleford said.  Stan nodded.

              “Yeah, hayseed, that’s possible.  Maybe I’m a different person in the future.  But at least right now, I can only think of one way to wind up in the situation these kids are describing.  Ford’s in trouble.”

              “What kind of trouble?” Mabel asked.  Stan let out a bark of laughter.

              “If I had any idea, little gremlin, I’d tell you.”

----- 

              Glad to have a reason to leave his twin’s presence, Ford entered his study.  He closed the door behind him, then sat cross-legged on the floor.  Excitement filled him at having such an excellently unique circumstance to consult his muse for.

              I highly doubt, even in his millennia of existence, he’s come across a situation like this.  Ford closed his eyes and began to empty his mind of thoughts.  His excitement made the simple act difficult; it took much longer than usual.  But finally, his head had been cleared.  And in the darkness and silence, his muse came.

              “Well, well, well,” sounded the familiar and welcome voice.

              Ford smiled.

              “Hello, Bill.”

[nikxation]

If You Give a Mothman a Loan

Huge thank you to @birdgirlamp for commissioning me to write a fic by donating to WHO (if you want more information, see this post). Sorry it took so long to get this out, but here it is! Hope you enjoy!

Word count: 2359

Characters: Stanford Pines (pre- and post-portal), Fiddleford McGucket (pre-portal), Wendy Corduroy (post-portal... obviously)

~ ~ ~

It’s three months into Fiddleford’s stay in Gravity Falls, and the skeleton in the closet (or the portal in the basement) is slowly looking less and less like just a bundle of messy wires and half-finished structural supports and more like the behemoth of a machine it’s meant to be. The raw stock for the exterior plating should be here any day now, the first of the two power transfer beams is online, and every day is another day closer to their end-goal.

He’ll hand it to Stanford Pines, this is some of their best work yet.

He still remembers the day he arrived and Ford showed him the initial drafts. He’d thought the size was overkill, that the hollowed-out basement beneath the house would just become a room with decent acoustics for him to practice his banjo playing away from his old college roommate while the real machine was built somewhere less cold and damp.

Boy howdy was he wrong.

Now, every time he walks in the room, he feels the thing like the presence it is, towering stories tall, looming over him in a way that he would almost consider menacing if it weren’t for the fact that it’s just a machine.

He’s got blueprints and prototyped miniatures of literal death bots.

So why would the interdimensional portal in the basement put him on edge?

It shouldn’t.

So he shakes the thought away and gets back to work.

An unsuccessful system test led to the time-shift circuit on motherboard seven incinerating again. If he were the kind of man to actually keep count (which he certainly is), he’d know it’s the fourth time in the past week this same part has crapped out on them.

It’s also the reason he’s gonna finally stop out-sourcing these parts and just start making them in-house from now on. He’s about sick of replacing them every five minutes.

That’s what brings Fiddleford to where he is now, with his upper body shoved halfway inside the portal’s support structure and crammed between God knows how many electrical components. His arms have just started to cramp in their rather unnatural position as he pries at the burnt-out part to replace it with a newer one that will hopefully hold out against the power output better than its predecessor.

Ford’s sitting in the control room, supposedly running through some of the math again to double-check that they didn’t miss anything.

The “supposedly” is only because, for the past twenty minutes, the man has been prattling on like Fiddleford’s grandma at Sunday family brunch. He can only hear the occasional snippet from his position (quite literally) inside the portal, and as far as he can tell, he thinks he’s talking about either his most recent research outing, or something about preacher scouting. He wants to lean towards the former, but with the new stories he’s found about a so-called “velocipastor”, he can’t rule out the latter. Either way, the man hasn’t stopped talking long enough to breathe, let alone re-run equations that use relative space-time physics with integrated fourth dimensional calculus.

Fiddleford just doesn’t have the heart to tell him that he really can’t hear him.

He snaps the ribbon cable off the still-smoking component (after the first time it blew, he learned to bring heat-resistant gloves in here with him) and is rather glad to see it’s still intact. Rewiring is a day-long project he’s glad to not have to do again. He maneuvers his hand back out into open air and tosses the old piece somewhere into the room before getting to work mounting the new one.

Ford’s voice echoes from the next room over.

“… extra funds… exploring… investing for…”

Bolting the circuit down turns out to be easier the fifth time he has to do it, and he’s about to start running a simple, probably non-exploding test to make sure the new part is integrated correctly when he hears—

“… so I gave Mothman a thousand dollars…”

And that, of all things, stops Fiddleford in his tracks.

“Come again?” he yells. He had to have misheard because he swears he just heard the man say—

“I ran into Mothman in the woods yesterday,” Ford says, all too nonchalantly, “and they told me they were starting up a small business and needed an investment, so I gave them a thousand dollars from my excess funds with a verbal agreement that they would pay me back within the year.”

… So he didn’t mishear him, that’s for darn sure.

The fact that the Mothman is real is surely weird enough. But he’s lived in Gravity Falls (and known Stanford Pines) for long enough that it doesn’t really surprise him too much. No, that’s not the part that brings him to wiggle himself out of his position inside the portal’s underbelly just enough so that he can meet Ford’s eyes in the other room.

“You gave Mothman… a thousand dollars…” Fiddleford says slowly.

“To help kickstart their new business, yes.” It’s so casual, like he doesn’t even register the inherent absurdity in what he’s saying.

“And that business is?”

“Mothballs.”

“Stanford!”

“What?”

“That’s the stupidest scam I’ve ever heard.”

Ford sputters, his face aghast for a moment. “I did not get scammed by Mothman!”

“You did.”

“Did not.”

“Do you even know what mothballs are for?”

He pauses, his mouth snapping shut, his face turning the slightest shade of red. Fiddleford can see it from the next room over. “No. I always assumed they were some biproduct created by moths during reproduction or something.” Fiddleford lets his head fall back, bonking on a bar of the steel framework behind him.

“Stanford, they repel moths,” he says. “You just let a bunch of moths convince you they’re starting a business making the thing they hate. That’s stupider than the time my neighbor tried to convince me his cat could see God. And you have three PhDs!”

“Four now,” he says quietly, and Fiddleford levels him with a single raised eyebrow.

“You’re gonna go back, find that over-glorified insect, and get our money back. Or so help me, I will never do another grocery run for as long as I live here.”

“Oh come now, that’s hardly fair. You know I hate going into town.”

“Then you better hurry along and find him.”

“You honestly believe the actual Mothman is pulling a con.”

“People lie, Stanford,” he says, finally ducking himself back into the machine to finally run the diagnostic on the new circuit. “Even cryptids and aliens probably from another dimension.”

There’s a moment of silence, but it’s broken a few moments later by the sound of a chair scuffing on the floor and footsteps ascending the wooden stairs out of the basement.

Fiddleford snorts, shaking his head and getting back to work.

~ ~ ~

“So, like, the Mothman,” Wendy says, keeping pace next to him as they make their way back into the woods, the sun’s last rays just starting to slip behind the trees. “The actual Mothman. He’s real?”

“As real as any of the other anomalies in this town,” Ford says, adjusting the strap of the bag slung over his shoulder. He’d heard the cryptid had come back into town again shortly after Wierdmageddon, and after his first attempt at getting his money back a few weeks back (second if you count that time over three decades ago) went sour, he decided to bring back-up this time. But with Stan still out of commission and the kids rightly wanting to stay with him, he was hard-pressed for options. That is until the cashier girl piped up and said she’d do it for ten percent of whatever they recovered.

Ford negotiated her down to eight and a half. She drives a hard bargain; he can see why Stan hired her.

“Dude, that’s sick,” she says.

“I mean, I hardly think they’re ill or anything,” Ford says. “As fast as their moths die off, they re-introduce new ones to the population through some sort of reproductive mitosis—”

“Nah dude, it’s a phrase,” she cuts him off. “Means, like, ‘that’s awesome’.”

“Ah, alright.” Ford pauses to check the anomaly scanner on his watch, the little white blip flashing on the screen. “I’ve never been exceptionally ‘with it’ when it comes to slang, so you’ll have to pardon my misunderstanding.”

“You’re fine, Dr. Pines,” she says. She kicks a loose rock off into the brush. “I’m pretty sure Stan doesn’t understand half of what I say either.” Ford hums an affirmative, intently watching the small blip on his watch, confirming that it is, in fact, slowly moving in their direction. After a few seconds, he drops the bag he’s been carrying with a thwump, a bit of dust swirling up from the dirt.

“We’re going to set up the trap right here,” he says. “We have probably ten minutes until the Mothman comes through here, so we’ll need to act quickly.”

“You got it boss-man.”

It’s a fairly simple net trap, one that they make short work of assembling. Ford had already built the majority of it to bring out here, including a magic-imbued mosquito net that should contain the Mothman’s consciousness so long as they catch the majority of their moths.

He made that mistake last time, the Mothman managing to escape in the couple moths that his trap missed.

“So, you really were in, like, a different dimension for a bunch of years, right?” Wendy asks as she spreads some leaves and twigs over the net.

“Multiple dimensions,” he says as he carefully sets the trap’s trigger pole. “I travelled through thousands of them in my thirty years away from this one.”

“Dude, that’s nuts.”

“It was… pretty sick,” he says, shooting her a wry grin. Wendy groans.

“Well,” she says, “you just confirmed for me that I was right to never teach Stan slang, so thanks for that I guess.”

“Glad to help.” With the trap finally set and ready to go, he pulls the last item out of the bag: the bait, which he flicks on and gently sets down against the trigger.

“That’s a flashlight,” Wendy says, the statement almost a question.

“Indeed, it is.”

“Is it, like,” she says, waving her hands slightly, “I don’t know, magic or something?”

“Nope,” he says, backing off and giving the trap one last look-over. He has to hand it to the girl, she knew what she was doing.

“You’re serious?”

“Entirely,” he says. “It doesn’t take much to attract them. Back in the eighties, they used to hang around streetlamps and windows all the time. It’s a wonder they’re still considered a cryptid considering how blatantly out in the open they—”

He hears the tell-tale sound of fluttering insect wings, not too far off, but loud enough to make him pause. He glances in the direction and then down at his watch, the blip on the screen almost on top of them. Quickly, he motions to Wendy to hide and then does the same himself, crouching behind the nearest tree and peering around the side to watch.

It’s rather quiet for a few moments, the darkness starting to settle into the pines, the lit flashlight a lone beacon, just the sound of the pine needles whistling in the breeze and the far-off humming of the approaching cryptid. But that low hum gradually gets louder, turning to a white drone of hundreds of small wings beating in tandem.

A familiar dark shape emerges from the underbrush. Humanoid, but just barely. Ten-feet tall with two enormous wings sprouting from its back, two large yellow eyes reflecting the scattered light of the flashlight in the clearing. Their entire shape feels blurred at the edges, like someone drew a line of charcoal and smudged it, the hundreds of moths that make up their body shifting and moving amongst each other in a din of small beating wings.

The Mothman.

Ford hates to admit that the thought still sends an excited shiver up his spine.

They emerge into the clearing, glancing around and taking an immediate interest in the flashlight lying on the ground. They approach it slowly, cautiously, glancing around as if waiting for the ambush, eventually making it onto the net before moving to bend down to pick up the flashlight.

They stop.

Ford holds his breath.

“Stanford Pines,” a voice says, the sound a high whine broken up and mixed with soft clicking. The Mothman stands back upright, snapping its eyes right in his direction. Immediately, Ford’s mind starts swirling with potential fallback options to try to turn this in their favor. “Surprised you’re still alive after last week. Really think we’re stupid enough to fall for—”

“Suck mothballs, lamp licker!” Wendy screams from across the clearing, the Mothman whipping around just as a projectile of some sort (is that an axe?) flies out of the underbrush and hits the trap’s trigger dead-on, sending the net shooting upwards and capturing almost all of the moths above it. A shrill screech fills the air from the now-dangling mass of moths, but Ford is too busy gaping at the cashier girl as she emerges from her hiding spot.

“Nice shot, Wendy!” he beams, shaking off the shock and coming out to join her on either side of the now-enraged Mothman. She shrugs, retrieving the axe from off the ground and sliding it back into her belt loop behind her back.

“No biggie. My dad enters me into the annual axe-throwing competition every year. I’ve won the last 5 in a row.” Ford, having not known anything about this girl before today, is rather stunned. He certainly was not expecting that from the teen, let alone the nonchalance over it. “But anywho,” she says, turning her attention to the writhing mass in front of them. “About that money…”

~ ~ ~

About two hours after they left, Ford and Wendy arrive back at the Mystery Shack, Ford heading to the back of the house to find Stan and the kids, Wendy collecting her things and heading back out to go home, a crisp one-hundred dollar bill tucked into her pocket.

[ramblesanddragons]

When Someone Has Your Back

(I thought I posted this last night but apparently not.)

Here’s my entry for @forduary based on Week 2: Trust/Paranoia.

Summary: Life on the sea has done wonders for Stan and Ford Pines but a stop in New Orleans brings an unwanted, surprising, and dangerous guest.

Word Count: 4417

Warnings: There is fighting in this (this was good practice for me since I've never written a fight scene before) but no mentions of blood. I did not want this to be considered graphic. 

Ao3 Link for those who prefer!

“Ford for Pete’s sake I can handle myself. You want to do your nerd thing and I want to go hang out at a bar. It’s okay,” Stan said slightly exasperated.

Close to a year at sea had done wonders for the old Pines twins. Stan hadn’t felt so at peace for a long time. Sure, that fact that some of his rougher memories had been AWOL for most of the year helped but being with Ford at sea, doing what they always dreamed of doing? Well it was a dream. Even dreams have rough patches though.

Ever since Stan had been erased to defeat some sort of dream demon his brother had been perhaps a little too protective of him. It was an improvement from the sad sap that Ford had become after the erasing. That had really pissed Stan off as more memories of who his brother was came back. He wanted to sail with his brother not this sad, sullen nerd that was holding his tongue so much that Stan was sure it had bled a few times. Stan put his foot down before they sailed out.  

“Ford if you don’t stop being so down and start being yourself, I’m not going out with you. I’ll probably throw you overboard within a week.”

That had worked more or less. For the first time in years they talked their problems out. It was a good start and within a day Ford had been back to bantering with Stan like they had never been apart. Of course, that hadn’t stopped the other issue Stan was having. Ford had become incredibly protective of him. Sure, that had been a thing in a way when they were young. Stan handled the bullies and Ford covered for him with the one he couldn’t deal with, their dad. He would stick up for Stan and help him when homework got too hard. Once he had even stayed up all night to talk Stan through his whining when Carla McCorkle had broken up with him.

Now it was different. More...intense. Stan knew it was a strange mix of Ford’s caring for him, wanting to make up for his so-called sacrifice, and his paranoia. Boy howdy was Ford paranoid. Not that Stan blamed him. Whenever the subject of his time traveling the multiverse was brought up his brother would only speak of the good but there had been bad as well. Stan hadn’t told Ford but the memory of the quick change in the fearimaid had come back a few months ago. Stan remembered the scars that told a horrific story across his brother’s body.  

So, Ford had every right to be paranoid and Stan would let him have that. He could understand this at least. He let his brother be the odd boy guard he really didn’t need and went along with whatever protective measure his brother saw fit to take. He would deal with his brother being uptight in crowed places and seeing danger everywhere. He was there with his favorite tea when the nightmares would wake him in a fit of crying. Just like Ford was there for him when nightmares wrecked his own sleep.  

But Stan was also a grown 58-year-old man and had most of his memories back and he just wanted to go get a damn drink.  

“The tour is fascinating though. I thought it would be a good place to start for ghost hunting,” Ford reply looking like a slightly hurt puppy.

“We can go ghost hunting later. I promise but it’s hot as hell here and I don’t feel like going.”

“Then I’ll go get a drink with you.”

“Ford. I know you feel like you need to like watch over me or somethin’ but I promise you, I will be okay. Okay? Look if we don’t do some things apart, you’re gonna get sick of me.”

“Stan, I have told you over and over again I will never, ever, get sick of you.” Ford said standing to grip Stan on the shoulders.

“Yes, and I believe that now...mostly,” Stan ignored the frustrated look in his brother’s eyes, “But everyone needs space now and again. I’ve been to New Orleans before I know where I’m going. While we’re here I can show you all the good places to eat. Look how about I go get a drink, you go look at tombstones or whatever and we’ll meet back here to find a place to eat. We got these cell phones for a reason you know.”

The kids had insisted that they get phones if they were going travel like they were. McGucket had even decked them out so they would work wherever. Ford and Stan, with lots of help from the kids, had even figured out texting.  His twin sighed and let go of his shoulders.

“Very well. But keep that ringer of yours on okay?”

“Yeah, yeah.”

So, they parted ways. Ford seemed hesitant to keep walking down his street but eventually kept walking. Stan found the place he was looking for and took a seat. Jazz wasn’t his favorite thing in the world but nothing beat a good live band and a fruity drink that he wouldn’t be caught dead drinking any other time. The afternoon passed in piece and as the sun started to get lower in the sky Stan made his way back to the boat. It was a good afternoon and Stan had even scored a date for tomorrow, which meant some working around his brother but the boat had separate rooms for them for a reason. All and all a good time. He walked lazily back to where the boat was docked when the sound of a dinosaur roar made him jump. Mabel thought it was a good text tone for his brother and, while she wasn’t wrong, it still made him jump from time to time.  

I need to get her to tell me how to change it.  

Stanley. I will be back at the boat in 10 minutes time.

Ok Ford. ‘Bout to walk on.  

…

Please remember to turn off the alarm!

Stan rolled his eyes. Ford had installed some sort of proximity alarm and he had to turn it on and off as he came and went but it eased his brother’s mind so whatever.  

Stan had only managed to take a single step on the deck of the ship when a cold feeling went up his spine. Someone was watching him. Before he could react, there was the thundering footsteps behind him and the feeling of something blunt on the back of his head. He fell onto his knees and yelled out in pain. Looking through blurred vision he turned to face his attacker. Stan almost screamed again. A dark green creature was glowering down at him. It vaguely reminded him of a snake if a snake had grown arms and legs and had been on a steady steroid regiment. This had to be an alien of some sort, right? Despite what Ford thought Stan did pay attention to his nerdy rants. This didn’t match any of those cryptids he was looking for around here unless a snake man was an option, he wasn’t aware of. Well it was Louisiana.  

“Stanford Pines,” it hissed, “it had been too long.”

An alien that’s looking for my brother. Wonderful.  

He will be fine. Everything will be fine.  

What if he had a memory lapse?  

He hasn’t had one in 6 months. If he does, he keeps his facilities on him enough to ask for help. Your number is his emergency contact.  

What if he gets hurt?  

He’s right he’s an old man who can care for himself!  

This internal argument had been on repeat in Ford’s head for about two blocks now. He forced his feet forward anyway. He did it for Stan’s sake. He needed space and Ford needed space even if he would never voice that to his twin. Stan was right, not about Ford getting sick of him no. Ford was determined to use his last 30 years or so to make up for lost time. Traveling with his brother brought about a pure joy that he didn’t think was possible for him to feel again and he would never want it to end. But they were still very different people and being stuck on a small boat for months, even with separate rooms, had frayed a few nerves. Yes, this was healthy and needed.

But Ford’s damn brain would not shut up.  

By the time Ford reached the tour Stan had already been mentally kidnapped by swamp creatures 3 times. Maybe just texting his brother would help, or would that annoy Stan too much? Ford had been trying very hard to be considerate of Stan’s feeling since he had spent so much time frankly not doing just that. Part of his worry was that Stan would maybe get tired of him and want to stop, go back to Gravity Falls with the treasures they found and get Ford to leave him alone. The old scientist knew he was hard to deal with at times but Stan seemed to take most of it stride. What was worrying was his twin brother seemed to really understand what he was going through. Why would Stan know about the need to watch his back almost constantly? Why did he insist on having his own pistol under his bed and brass knuckles on him at all times? Both of them hadn’t been very forthcoming with bits and pieces of their past but at least Stan had an excuse up until now. He claimed he had most of his memories back so he was just choosing not to share at this point.

“Sir?” Ford jumped and his hand flew to his concealed weapon before he focused on the young man that looked wide eyed and concerned.  

“Sorry I didn’t mean to scare you it’s just the tour is about to start are you joining us?” In his thoughts Ford had paused to think and the tour group had started moving without him.

“Ah sorry just didn’t see you there. Yes, I’m coming.” Ford said awkwardly shoving his hands behind his back. The young man gave him a thumbs up and started the tour with an explanation of the above ground graves they were walking by. The guys’ voice reminded him of Fiddleford a bit but there was a difference in the drawl, it lacked that mountain twang. He found himself thinking that he should give his old friend a call tonight after dinner. Ford followed at the back, away from the crowd. It was an ideal position; he could watch the people in the front and look out for things behind him. The crowd was bothering him no matter how hard he tried to shake it.  

That was another reason he had wanted his brother along for this. Ford had gotten used to Stan’s presence in his life. Knowing he wasn’t alone all the time anymore had been a Godsend for his mental health if he was being honest. Paranoia is easier to deal with when you know someone has your back. Standford Pines could trust his twin brother and it made a world of difference.  

The tour was informative and it led to a good place to start for some ghost hunting. The watch Ford had modified had picked up on several ectoplasmic disturbances and he was pleased with the adventure he had planned out with Stan. Ford finally allowed himself to text his brother. He had managed to only text him two times before now in an attempt to show some restraint with his worries. Hopefully Stan would turn off the alarm as it made a very annoying buzzing noise come from his watch. The alarm annoyed Stan, especially when he had a guy or girl over and he had to fiddle with it before getting to whatever business they were doing for the night, but he never told Ford to get rid of it.  

There was a sigh as the alarm went off and Ford put it to snooze. A minute later it went off again and it sent a worried ringing up the old man’s arm. Ford texted Stan.

Please turn off the alarm.

Another minute passed. The alarm buzzed some more.

Stan?

A knot began to form in Ford’s stomach. He gave up texting and called.

“Hey uh this is Stan Pines. Leave some info unless you’re the IRS.” Straight to voicemail. Stan had promised to answer it and keep it on him. Something was wrong. Ford immediately began to run the remaining distance between himself and the boat. 5 minutes of straight running was making his lungs burn but he didn’t care, he had to find his brother. The docks were empty as he finally caught sight of the Stan of War.  

Not good no one around to see if he got dragged off dammit Stanley you had better be okay!  

The running stopped as his trained eye spotted something shine on the deck. It was Stan’s phone. He had made it to the deck of the ship at least.  

Focus. Look for clues and calm down. You’re no good like this. What’s your big brain good for if you can’t find and follow clues? Use your logic. Okay he made it to deck that’s for certain maybe...is that...my voice?  

Ford’s head snapped to the cabin. Muffled voices were coming from behind the door. With more stealth than an owl hunting in the moonlight Ford made his way to the door. Inside it was indeed his voice coming through the wall as well as another that sounded so familiar, his mind raced to place it. It had to be one of the bounty hunters that had been after him in the multiverse he knew that but which one? The unknown hunter and his brother were in the middle of a conversation.

Good Stan keep it talking I need to think of a plan!  

“And what about those extra digits?” The unknown voice questioned.

“Had them cut off. They were a very identifiable mark. You’re not the only person after me after all. Perhaps it would be best to not to deal with me so hastily. Don’t want to have any other bounty hunters jealous of you, do you?” Stan said imitating Ford’s voice.

“Your time here has made you forget. The multiverse fears me. No one would dare challenge me. Prepare yourself, your head is now mine.”

“Very well. If last wishes are something you care about just leave this dimension when you are done.” Stan again said in his impression of Ford.

The impression was flawless, just like it had been in the fearimaid. Ford finally put two and two together. A cold feeling enveloped his body as thoughts of a memory gun in his hand and his brother at his mercy swam to the top of his consciousness. This was worse.  

Oh, sweet Moses.  

He’s pretending to be me again.  

He’s about the take the fall for me again.  

Stan’s about to get his head chopped off by a blood thirsty inter-dimensional bounty hunter to protect me.  

No. No, no, no, no, no, no, no, NO, NO!  

In a rare moment all logic left the mind of Stanford Pines.

“GET THE HELL AWAY FROM MY BROTHER!” Ford screamed bursting through the cabin door and tackling the killer into the other side of the cabin, causing it to drop the razor-sharp blade it was holding. Ford began to punch it in the face with all of his might.  

“Oh, hey Ford there you are.” Stan quipped in his normal voice. Ford could barely hear him over the roaring of blood in his ears.  

The hunter was thrown off by the sudden appearance of another Stanford Pines and Ford wasn’t going to waste the opening. He tugged at the hitman’s blaster, wresting it free from its holster. The hunter gave him a powerful kick to the chest that sent Ford halfway across the cabin.

“Hey Ford I know you’re a little busy but if you get something sharp my way, I can cut myself out!” Stan shouted.  

“Shut UP! I don’t know what sort of magic this is but I’ll kill you both for good measure!” The creature hissed and lunged for the gun. Ford’s chest was aching but he didn’t pay it any attention as he pulled his own gun.

“GET AWAY FROM HIM!” Ford roared and fired. The shot hit square in the chest but the monster’s hide was too thick. With a cold jolt in his being Ford now fully recognized the bounty hunter. They had clashed more than a few times over the years and every time Ford barely managed to escape with his life. The last time had been 6 years ago. That encounter ended with Ford jumping into a rushing river as a last stitch effort of escape.  Its species was tough and blaster fire barely did a thing to them. The scientist in him often wondered if more traditional firearms would work better but the pistol was under Stan’s cot, there was no way to get to it. Ford kept firing desperately.

A part of Ford was sure he wasn’t going to survive this encounter with the hunter and it didn’t matter to him if he did in the long run, as long as he brought the monster down with him. He would not let him hurt his brother. If he died and the hunter was still alive Stanley would have to face it alone. So, Ford couldn’t die just yet and if he did, he’d just have to get back up again until Stanley was safe. The hunter picked up its own blaster and aimed for Ford’s head when Stan crashed into the creature chair and all. The blaster went sliding again across the cabin.

“Hey dumb-ass you kind of suck at this if you can’t tell two targets apart!” Stan heckled the thing from his now prone position. The creature hissed again and lunged at Stan’s neck but Ford was faster. He took the thing by its neck and slammed it into the floor and struggled to put his own gun to the creature's head.

“Let’s see if you can shrug off point blank ARGGGGG!” Sharp claws ripped into Ford’s shoulder and peeled him off. The hunter sprung to its feet and gave Ford a kick, and then another. Somewhere in the chaos Ford’s gun flew from his hands and landed under a desk. There was a crack of something in his chest and face but Ford didn’t care. On the third kick he grabbed the boot of the killer and tossed it off balance enough to give Ford time to stand.

Get it away from Stan! Get it away! Repeated in his head.

Taking out his knife Ford slashed at it wildly. Each step towards it brought claws closer to his face but he didn’t care. Seeing an opening Ford got in close and with all of his might he shoved the hunter through the door of the cabin earning him a clawing to the chest in the process.  

Ford had exactly one idea but he needed to reach the stern of the ship. He managed to make it half way there when the killer caught up to him, using its claws to try and bring Ford down again. He stumbled but stayed uptight turning to face his attacker. It had managed to pull another blade and swung, missing Ford by a hair. He took the chance to kick it back away from him but it had less of an impact that he hoped. Sharp black claws ripped into his sweater and it held the blade at Ford’s throat.

“30 years of chasing you and this is how it ends? How pathetic!” It rose its arm to swing when another pair of arms appeared underneath the creature’s elbows. Stan had gotten free and with all his might pulled it away from Ford. Stan threw it into the wall of the cabin and started to go at it with his knuckles covered in brass.

“30 years huh? Well you’re never fucking with my brother EVER AGAIN!” Stan thundered.

Ford saw his chance. Pushing back the sickness in his stomach at the thought of pointing another gun at Stan he reached the harpoon at the stern. “STAN MOVE!”  

His brother didn’t even need to look back to tell what he was doing, with a leap the way was clear and Ford fired, hitting his mark. There was a loud crack as the harpoon broke the cabin wall. Then silence.  

Ford collapsed onto the deck of the boat.

“S-Stanley,” he croaked, “are you okay?”

Stanley stood and ran over to him wincing at the sight of the damage. To Ford’s relief his brother only seemed to have a minor injury or two.

“AM I OKAY!? Ford, we need to get you to a hospital!” Stanley began to try and lift Ford who responded with a hiss.

“No, no we can’t leave that here like that. What if someone comes by.”  

“Ford it’s 5:30 on a Friday night no one’s gonna see this.”  

Ford began to try and stand on his own. “Really Stan I’ve had worse. I’ll sail us out to open water, deal with him, and then maybe rest.” Try and he might his ribs wouldn’t let him stand.  

“FORD SIT THE FUCK DOWN!!!” Stanley screamed. Ford finally obeyed and gave his brother an owlish look in surprise.

“You’re worried that much about people finding it? Fine I’ll sail us out a bit, deal with it then I’m getting your ass to a hospital.” Stan stood and within a moment or two had the boat pulling out of the dock. Ford was quiet for a moment, observing his brother and making sure no underlying injuries were causing problems. Five full minutes of silence passed before Stan spoke again.

“He was looking for you. I guess I don’t blame ya for being so paranoid,” he muttered.

“Yes. Stan...Stan I’m so sorry.” With the adrenaline wearing off all Ford could feel was the pain and the fear. Fear that his brother almost died again.

“I-I should have warned you this could happen...I know I haven’t been very forthcoming about my time away but I’ll tell you now and, and...” Tears were building in Ford’s eyes. Stan turned from the wheel for a moment to look at him.

“Ford you don’t have to tell me anything okay? And stop apologizing.”

“YOU ALMOST DIED BECAUSE OF ME!” Ford’s voice cracked with the stress. Stan flipped on the auto pilot Ford had built and sat next to his now sobbing brother.  

“Ford...”

“Stan, I heard you. You were pretending to be me again. Why? You were going to let him kill you t-to protect me? Why?”

Stan opened his mouth.

“And don’t you dare say better you than me!”

Stan coughed to perhaps give himself a moment to course correct and spoke. “Meh I was okay...”

“Okay? How...how are you so calm with this...how did you know t-that?” Ford was sure he had taken too hard of a hit there was no way Stan was okay with this.

“If ya let me finish Ford. I was saying I knew I was going to be okay because I know you’ve got my back.”

Stan, to Ford’s utter shock, was smiling.  

“You know the more I remember about my past the happier I am to be here. I mean that in all senses of that statement too. Like to be alive. People have tried to kill me before too and I was all alone then. Just like you were. And it’s awful.” Ford wanted to hug his brother and simultaneously find whoever had dared to go after him. That’s why he understood so well.  

“But I think I’ve finally managed to hang on to the idea that you’ve got my back and I’ve got yours. Hell, even if you woke up hating me again tomorrow, I’d still have your back.”

“ I never hated you and I never will,” Ford whispered quietly.  

“Meh I think it might have been touch and go there a minute.”

“...I will always be there for you Stan and not because of what you did either, I know you think that’s the only reason I’m here sometimes no matter how hard you hide it. I will always be there for you because you are my brother.”

“Thanks. You know I should probably tell you the people who might have me on their kill list...I just need to remember their names first.” Stan rubbed his sore head.

“Don’t freak out things just get a little jumbled after crazy stuff like that.” He pointed to the hunter.

“I’m not,” he was, “but just so you know if anyone so much as touches you wrong, I’m going to kill them.”

“Yeah I got that point. Guess this isn’t going to exactly ease those nerves of yours huh?”

“I’m sorry I’m so...”

“Ford if you apologize one more damn time, I’m gonna...I don’t know...toss one of your nerd books overboard with that guy.”

Ford closed his mouth.  

“I can handle you dealing with whatever your time is space sideburns land did to you in your own way. I just hope I can get you to relax and enjoy life a little more ya know?”

“I am. With you around watching my back I have been able to relax a bit. Thank you, Stanley, for understanding.”  

20 minutes was all Stan was willing to spend on the job. Stan patched Ford up as much as he could in the meantime. He also started to do the math on the repairs then decided to say fuck it to that for the night. Before disposing of whatever this guy was, Stan pocketed some of his fancier looking stuff to Ford’s amusement.

“What Fiddlenerd might like to look this over.” Was Stan’s only argument.

Once docked he called an ambulance (“This crazy huge dog came out of nowhere and attacked us!”) and they were on the way.

“Once you’re healed up Ford, I’m going to show you the time of your life and some of the best damn food in the world.”

Ford smiled, “Looking forward to it.”

[a-mad-scientist-approaches]

The Cipher Conspiracy (13)

*wheezing* *panting* *crying* *insert GIF of Squidward, with bloodshot eyes and a distressingly run-down appearance, kissing a manuscript brokenly* I’M BACK

Listen. Listen. I could talk about all the stuff that’s been going on and wave all my excuses in the air like a white flag while shouting “Don’t shoot! Don’t shoot!” but we all know what’s really important. So without further ado :D

AO3

1  2  3  4  5  6  7  8  9  10  11  12  13  14

Chapter 13: The Plan

Sacramento, California (USA)    ∆

The gunshots were so loud Addi and Fiddleford heard them through two floors. Without another word, Addi sprinted for the door, drawing her weapon. With a brief gesture she signalled to Fiddleford to remain where he was. Anyone trying to get to Ivan would meet a drawn-taut Southerner who was grimly determined to survive whatever the world threw at him for the next three months he was still employed as a spy.

She took the stairs.

The corridor to the SAIC’s office was jam-packed with FBI agents. Addi barged through, the fact that the shots had stopped doing nothing but increasing the number of worst-case scenarios parading through her head. There was no silence. People were on the phone, people were demanding answers as to what the hell was going on, and no one was stupid enough to go near the danger zone.

Except me of course, Addi reflected.

“Wait, you can’t go in there-!”

She shoved the last person out of her way, her speed not slowing in the slightest, slid around the tiled floor of the corner on her knees, head ducked, gun up, shoulders and body crouched small to minimise the target she was presenting herself as. Her eyes flicked from point to point, analysing the windowless scene, well-lit, receptionist’s door open, room clear, office beyond, closed door, bullet-holes, no Carla-

BANG.

Another – solitary - gunshot burst the lock, making a brief spark against the metal, propelling the door open and Carla dived out of the dust-filled, shadowy room beyond. She rolled when she hit the floor, sprang up, and shoved the door closed again, coughing, and moved out of the reception so fast she blurred-

“Oof!”

- and suddenly Addi was flat on her back, ribs and chest aching, staring at the ceiling while Carla groaned from wherever she was sprawled.

“Ouch,” said Addi. Then-

“You’re alive!” She burst out, scrambling up. Carla hacked out a dusty cough.

“What happened? Those were gunshots!”

“Rea- eally? I didn’t notice,” wheezed Carla, rolling onto her side and pushing herself up. Addi allowed her a second to breathe – she wasn’t unreasonable – and then got all up in her business.

“Were you hit? Where does it hurt? Did you see who was shooting? Are they still in there? Did you get them? What-”

“Can you – wait – a – second-” Managing to fend off Addi’s frantic check that she still had all her major body parts, Carla straightened up, inhaled steadily, and answered briskly, “I sustained a gunshot wound to the nowhere, I hurt everywhere you crashed into me, whoever it was was in the building opposite – I couldn’t see them, and-” an expression of distaste – “no, I didn’t get them. Okay?” She looked back at the office she’d just burst out of. “Looks like the secretary took off as soon as he heard me laying down cover fire, so he shouldn’t be hurt. The assassination was like your assignment, right? So the Special Agent-in-Charge was the only target and now that he’s been seen to no one else should be in danger-”

“He’s dead?”

“As a doornail.” Carla answered shortly and then steamrolled on as if there had been no interruption. “Whoever it was is probably long gone by now, if they’re smart.”

“Actually-”

“The secretary must have alerted the building to what was happening, so we should expect an influx of agents soon, which on the upside means that people are finally going to start listening to me about the Cipher Conspiracy and we can get all that – that – stuff sorted out – by the way, what did Wexler say after I left? Addi? Addi, hellooo, are you okay?”

Addi surveyed her. Carla raised her eyebrows defiantly back, looking for all the world like she was utterly unmoved by someone being killed right in front of her. That is, if the shaking hands, or the pupils blown a little to wide to be normal, or the way her mouth was motoring away but her voice was monotonous like she wasn’t really paying attention to what she was saying all weren’t taken into account.

Addi’s silence propagated.

Carla slowly closed her mouth, but almost immediately began tapping her foot, clearly still needing an outlet to burn off adrenaline. She broke the locked gaze she’d been holding with Addi.

“Carla, if you need to take a moment-” she began gently.

“No.” Carla shook her head immediately. “What I need is to stop the Cipher Wheel. Now. Before any more people . . . or Stan, or Ford . . .”

“Or you,”

“What?”

Addi took a breath. She would love to allow Carla a moment to process, to calm down, but at the moment that wasn’t possible. Carla was right. Their first concern was to stop the Cipher Wheel.  

“That assassin hasn’t gone anywhere. Wexler said that Cipher’s still trying to stop your Cipher Wheel investigation, which means he takes out the SAIC to frame Oracle Division . . . and you, to stop the investigation. You’re being targeted.”

Carla was frozen to the spot. Addi started forward to reassure her that there was no way she was going to allow anything to happen, when instead Carla’s dark eyes narrowed and she started pacing.

“That’s a stupid plan.” She degraded. “Assassinating me when I’ve been claiming for so long that there’s a conspiracy out to get us all? That’s the perfect way to convince everyone I’m right! At least try to make it look like an accident. Come on, Cipher, you can do better than that!” She said in vicious triumph.

“Uh . . . well, I don’t think you should be so happy about this, but alright. Whatever gets this guy caught. But actually . . .” Something clicked in Addi’s head. “But I don’t think it matters at this point whether people know about the Cipher Conspiracy – he has the memory gun, he can do what he likes.”

“Which means he wants me dead because I’ve been a pain in the ass,”

“Basically,” agreed Addi.

Carla laughed victoriously. “He’s getting cocky. He thinks he can’t be touched now – which means he’s coming after all of us now, not just me.” She looked at Addi, a spark of a plan in her eyes. “Those agents who attacked you – and Stan!”

“And Ford!” Addi realised suddenly. “Cipher wanted to take out Ford himself – and Oracle Division’s been after Cipher so long that I bet that’s the case for Fiddleford and me as well.”

Carla was nodding, and Addi felt a grin grow on her face to match hers.

“We can set a trap,” They said together.

And that’s when the crowd of FBI agents around the corner managed to gather their courage and flood the corridor with chaos.

“FREEZE!” Yelled approximately fifty people, weapons drawn (which would make for an interesting firefight, given that half of them were pointing guns at the backs of the other half, Addi noted).

She faced them with a disapproving expression, feeling Carla step up authoritatively beside her.

A whistle so piercing it could have cleaned glass sliced through the noise. Carla held up her badge and spoke rapidly.

“Senior Special Agent Carla McCorkle. I just witnessed the successful assassination of the SAIC, which was brought on by events connected to my current major investigation into the Cipher Wheel. The gunshots you heard were mine, fired from my Bureau-issued regulation weapon to cover my own escape from the assassin, and you can be assured the assassin was not me – inspection of the body will show the murder weapon as a high-calibre sniper-rifle, of which my associate here will be able to give a far more detailed account of.”

The agents stood silently, open-mouthed and staring as a good percentage of their questions were systematically answered.

She must have some kind of super-hearing, to decipher all that yelling, Addi decided.

Carla waited expectantly. When no one moved, she said pointedly, “Maybe you’d like to inspect the body to make sure I’m not lying?”

Five agents hurriedly peeled off to do their jobs, then stopped outside the door to the office, one opening his mouth.

“Yes, it’s safe. The assassin will have relocated to another vantage point to wait for me, their next target, and NO, I did not see what they looked like!” Carla raised her voice to drown out the rising hubbub that greeted that statement. “Questions one at a time, please!”

One person actually raised a hand in response to that school-teacherly statement.

“The- the Cipher Wheel investigation? But that’s not a real-”

“At this point I’m not even going to dignify that with an answer. Next!”

“Who the heck is she?” A man pointed at Addi.

“Adeline Marks, Oracle Division,” Addi answered, the sheer Federal-ness of the situation having her halfway through reaching for a badge that wasn’t there before she stopped herself.

“What the heck is Oracle Division?”

“All you need to know is that we didn’t black out Manhattan, which we may or may not be in the midst of being framed for - it's a little unclear,” Adeline told him.

“So who the heck blacked out Manhattan?!”

“The Cipher Wheel! Haven’t you been listening?” said Carla impatiently. “Now, I have a lot of things on my to-do list today, including but not limited to: an agent of the Bill Cipher himself in a holding cell who I need to finish interrogating; an assassin after me who I need to stop from killing me; a fiancé I need to find; and an anarchist organisation of spies to take down. So, now that the man in charge of this field office is dead: who’s in command?”

Everyone went back to staring at Carla open-mouthed.

She clapped her hands sharply, the sound cracking in everyone’s ears.

“Come on, come on, we’ve got to get a move on! Who’s in charge?”

The agents looked at the dust-covered, blood-speckled, tense and fiery-eyed apparition of a woman in front of them, of whom many even outranked.

“Um . . . you?” someone ventured.

And she replied, after a moment, “That’s right,”

∆

“You see, no matter how hard you try, Agent McGucket, nothing you do will ever be enough to stop us,”

Fiddleford stared absently into the distance, ruminating.

Jheselbraum’s been outta contact for over twenty-four hours now. Granted, the whole a’ Manhattan bein’ pretty effectively taken to ground was not something we ever counted on happening, but even still . . .

“-the Cipher Wheel will not be stopped. We will tear down your-”

She’s the head of one a’ the most secret organisations in the world. She wouldn’t let a little th- a thing like an island bein’ blacked out stop her from doin’ her job.

“-about it. Even if you multiply every iota of your power exponentially, it would not come close-”

If she’s out of contact, it’s because she wants to be. She’s setting something up. And with any luck, her absence is foolin’ Cipher into disregarding the threat of Oracle Division. So all we need to do is be prepared for when she surfaces. What do I need? Phone on, obviously, ready to leave at any moment . . .

He frowned. For some reason, he was finding it hard to think.

“-burn to the gr-"

“Would ya shut up?” He snapped at Wexler. “Some of us are still workin’!”

The enemy agent, still cuffed to the interrogation room’s table, looked startled.

“But . . . this field office is in ruins! Multiple assassinations have been carried out, your agency is in shambles, McCorkle is dea-”

“Negative on all o’ that. It’s been done and sorted for twenty minutes now,” Fiddleford said impatiently.

“Wha- but no one’s come in to tell you that!”

Fiddleford huffed out a sigh, pushed himself off the wall he was leaning on, and dug his phone out of his pocket, waggling it at Wexler. “The text function is mighty useful,” he said dryly.

Before Wexler could respond, his triumphant monologue having been severely derailed, Fiddleford rapped his knuckles sharply on the two-way mirror.

“Done in there yet?”

A muffled “Yes!” answered.

Nodding to Wexler, Fiddleford finally left the room, turned right, waited for the stream of slightly baffled-looking senior federal agents to exit the monitoring station next door, and rejoined Addi and Carla inside. A junior agent replaced him in the duty of standing guard over Wexler.

“All sorted?” asked Fiddleford.

Carla nodded, stretching out some of the tension in her arms. “Everyone’s up to date on the situation and, for now at least, listening to me. Is it bad that I want them to stay unbalanced so I can stay in charge?” she added with a reckless grin.

“Eh. I think you’re doing good,” shrugged Addi. At some point she’d seated herself cross-legged on top of a table. In the interrogation room, apparently not wanting to waste a perfectly good evil monologue and keen to take advantage of a new listener, Wexler was continuing with his misplaced dramatic gloating to the junior agent: a listener who did not appear to be as inconsiderately inattentive as Fiddleford.

“What about the assassin?” he said.

“At the moment the general consensus is that I should stay away from windows. Anyway! Let’s figure out our next move,”

Not missing the sudden subject-change, Fiddleford didn’t press it. There were more urgent things at hand, after all, and if his friend thought she was fine for now, he was going to trust her.

“We’ve thought of something,” said Addi, glancing at Carla.

“Yeah?” he said.

“Yep. We think Cipher might be after us personally,” she gestured between him and herself. “Although not Carla, evidently. Ford, however, got his own special visit from the guy, and after the way Stan interrupted it, I’ll bet it’s the same case for him. When I think back to the way those agents cornered me in the elevator, their tactics weren’t lethal, and since you’re Oracle Division as well . . .”

Fiddleford nodded his understanding, feeling more upbeat with every word. “So we’ve got a line-a’-sight right to Cipher. We can get close to him-”

“-somehow-”

“-and we can be sure he’s not goin’ ta off us immediately,”

“The bad news is that Stan and Ford are still out of contact,” Carla said soberly, tapping her fingers on her folded arms. “That’s three hours and thirty-eight minutes since Stan left for the forest, and he still hasn’t come back with Ford. And it’s not like we can just send out a search party; that area is huge, and just about the whole field office is busy notifying every branch and division that will listen about the Cipher Conspiracy,” she seemed to cut herself off, but she didn’t need to say anything more anyway.

Cipher couldn’t have gotten to them already, could he?

No one wanted to say it.

“Fer now let’s just focus on Wexler,” Fiddleford said eventually. “When he cracks, he should get us some more Cipher Wheel operatives, and we can start pushing back for real,”

“Right,” Addi said quietly. Carla nodded shortly, twisting her shirt sleeves.

If Cipher does have them . . . what must they be goin’ through?

The manically cheerful and heady jangle of a banjo cut through the sombre silence.

“Sorry, tha’s me,” muttered Fiddleford, pulling his phone out of his pocket again. And stared in disbelief at the screen.

“What is it?” asked Addi.

“Well . . . Jheselbraum’s back.” He grinned. “And she’s got a new mission for us,”

A string of coordinates from an unidentified number graced the screen. Below it was a photo, showing a very startled looking Stanford Pines, eyes wide open and pupils contracted to the size of pinheads, and an equally surprised Stanley Pines, who, in contrast, had his hands half raised to shield himself from something, his eyes shut tight, and his mouth open in a silent yell. An accompanying text said:

(I forgot the flash was on)

El Dorado National Forest, California (USA)    ∆

“You don’t trust her, do you?”

Ford jumped a little as Stan came up to stand next to him. He glanced at the view Ford had been surveying, apparently deep enough in thought that he hadn’t noticed Stan crunching over all the leaves and twigs between the house and Ford’s position in his approach. There was nothing to see really. Just trees.

Staring at his thoughts then.

Ford frowned. “Of course I do. We went over it, didn’t we? Addi and Fiddleford work for her, they trust her, they’re well-treated, they’re happy, and you gave your personal vote of confidence. See? No reason not to trust her.” He turned back to the forest as though the matter was settled.

Yeah, not in Stan’s book.

“For a lot of people it would be,” agreed Stan with just enough emphasis on “a lot of people” to make Ford frown at him again.

“You’re insinuating that I’m not a lot of people,”

Perfect!

“Well yeah, you’re just one person. Haha!” Stan beamed broadly, hands spread apart to invite the whole forest to applaud his conversational and comedic mastery.

Ford crossed his arms. “You’re insinuating that I’m a paranoid mess who’s suspicious of anyone and everyone and who refuses to place the slightest reliance on another person in defence of the moment they don’t, won’t, or can’t, do what needs to be done, invariably bringing chaos and ruin down on whatever we had achieved, and hurting me again in the process,” he rephrased.

Stan dropped his arms and put his hands in his jacket pockets.

“Yeah,” he admitted. “That’s pretty . . . well . . . spot on.” Ford nodded shortly and turned back to the forest.

“Except for the part that you’re only doing that ‘cause you’ve been lied to and psychologically scarred for the better part of five years and you’re only now just realising it and you’ve got no way of dealing with it. Which means all this is pretty reasonable,”

When Ford remained motionless, he nudged him and said quietly, “Just so you know, I’ve been in similar places. Not exactly the same, because, I mean, what are the chances of that? . . . But, yeah, similar. Which means I know how to help you outta them, too,”

Ford didn’t do anything much at that either, but he did uncross his arms. And Stan wasn’t sure if he imagined it or not, it was so slight, but he might have nodded as well.

“So, y’know, I’m not blaming you for not trusting her.” He waited to see if Ford would respond.

“I do trust her,” his brother muttered, a little petulantly.

After some consideration, Stan said, “No you don’t,”

“Everyone I trust trusts her. Ergo, I trust her,”

“Not really,”

“Stan, she has a plan for taking down Cipher. I’ll trust anyone who says they can do that,”

“Doubt it,”

“I trust her!”

“Ehh,”

“I do.” A pause. “But . . . alright, I may have some . . . small . . . reservations. Although they are quite persistent,”

Stan nudged him encouragingly again. “I’d be worried if you didn’t, Ford. I mean, I’m worried anyway, but I’d be checking to see if you ran on batteries and had circuitry under your skin by now if you were fine,”

Ford huffed out what may have been a weak laugh, meeting Stan’s eyes for a brief moment before looking away again.

They looked at the trees suffusing the space around them.

“Do you trust me?” Stan asked suddenly, figuring it was best just to get it over with quickly.

Ford stared at him in surprise. “Why do you ask that?”

“Well, what with the whole dragging-me-around-the-world-without-telling-me-why-and-not-knowing-when-or-if-I’ll-ever-see-you-again thing. And you also drugged me rather than let me come with you out here. And I’m not blaming you if you don’t!” Stan amended quickly. “I just – I dunno, I wanted to know,”

A quizzical expression came over Ford’s face.

“Forget it,” Stan said hurriedly, backtracking as fast as he could. “Stupid question. You don’t need to say it. And don’t worry about it, either. I mean, it’s not like I’ve done anything to-”

“Of course I do, Stan,” Ford said loudly over him. “Out of everyone, you are the person who should have the least doubt about that,”

There was something really warm and buoyant in Stan’s chest, like his own personal hot air balloon, complete with cheering passengers and a bright, primary-coloured theme.

“Really?” He asked.

“Really,” And Ford actually laughed. “I trust you, Stan. No reservations.” He slung his arm around Stan’s shoulders as easy as anything. “Knucklehead,” he added.

“You’re the knucklehead,” Stan muttered. He put his own arm around Ford’s shoulders all the same, and they went back to watching the trees.

That is, until Stan noticed that he’d put his arm right across the partially-wet blood stains down Ford’s back, which was sufficient enough to ruin the warm moment.

“You need new clothes,” he said, wiping his hand on his pants.

“Well, the only ones around are yours, so unless you want to swa-”

“See anything interesting?” asked Jheselbraum, approximately two inches behind them.

“AHH!”

Stan was pretty sure every critter in a hundred metre radius must have been frightened off by his and Ford’s combined yell, but on the upside, he took the agility of Ford’s reflexive response to mean that he was recovering well.

“I’m off back to the city,” Jheselbraum continued pleasantly, as if the two of them hadn’t just made a standing leap to about six feet away from her. “Agent McGucket and Agent Marks should arrive soon, however there’s apparently a situation back in Sacramento that I should be able to provide some order to.” She rolled her eyes. “The FBI is not handling the revelation about the Cipher Conspiracy well. Good luck, Stanford, Stanley.” She shook both their hands and strode confidently off through the undergrowth towards where her car was concealed. Stan felt a brief pang that it didn’t look like he was going to get to see Carla as soon as he would’ve liked. But it wouldn’t be too much longer, he hoped – steadfastly ignoring the fact that the last time he’d thought that he’d embarked on a covert spy operation around the world for two straight weeks. He’d see her soon enough, and they had a plan to take down Cipher, and he’d make sure it hurt the guy, and all this craziness would be over, and he could go back to cooking dinner for his girlfri- fiancée (fiancée!) on weeknights. She’d be fine in the meantime. It wasn’t like an assassin was after her.

“Well. I guess we just have to wait now,” said Ford, heading back towards the safe-house.

“What’s new?” Stan shrugged, following. “Don’t know why she stuck around this long, to be honest. It’s not like we’re going to get into trouble the second we’re alone,”

He ducked down to scratch his knee, which probably saved his life.

A brief whistle heralded the passage of a dart as it flew over his head. It struck the door right beside Ford’s hand, and vibrated.

Stan stared at it.

Ford stared at it.

They looked at each other.

And then they threw themselves behind whatever could even vaguely serve as cover, just in time for the hail of darts.

“Should I just-” Stan ducked back as another passed through the leaves of the shrub he was shielding himself with – “not say anything?! Ever?!”

“Maybe! Yes!” came Ford’s muffled shout from where he was tightly sandwiched between the wall of the hut and the door.

∆

Addi wasn’t able to stop smiling, she found.

The reasons, as she listed to keep herself occupied on the drive, were thus:

1.       They had a vague idea – no, a plan, definitely a plan – for how to maybe get an opportunity where they could possibly take out Cipher. Perhaps.

2.       Stan had found Ford.

3.       Jheselbraum had found Stan and Ford.

4.       Ford was safe.

5.       Didn’t the director say somethin’ about stitches? And mind-control? And trauma?

6.       . . . Ford was mostly safe.

7.       Jheselbraum was back in contact, and according to her, Oracle Division was still very much operational, despite Cipher’s attempt to knock them out of the game with the Manhattan blackout.

8.       The FBI had been calming down by the time they had left.

9.       Ah’d say they were still a little strung out, Addi.

10.      Yes, well . . .

11.      Carla had had a wicked grin on her face which probably meant Wexler wasn’t going to stand a chance. Agreed?

12.      Agreed. Despite still havin’ an assassin after her.

13.      Meh, she can take him.

14.      And once Wexler’s cracked, then the rest a’ the Cipher Wheel’ll be toast too.

15.     Yes.

16.      And finally, they were going to meet Ford right now! And Stan as well. What? What is it? Why are you grinning at me?

17.      Oh, shut up.

18.      She had a good feeling about this.

Fiddleford’s car ran over a tree root, causing the whole vehicle to jolt.

“How close are we to the coordinates, anyway?” Fiddleford asked, wrestling with the steering.

Addi checked her phone, the FINDURLOSTAGENT app struggling with the weak signal in the middle of the forest, but coping.

“We should be right on top o-”

Fiddleford hit a man.

The seatbelt across her chest yanked her back into the seat and the whole world seemed to jolt as Fiddleford slammed on the brakes. She was staring at her knees and the belt was cutting into her neck, and her heart was pounding. The next course of action was obvious.

“You hit someone?!” She yelled at her partner.

“No!” He said indignantly. “He ran out in front’a me!”

“I can’t believe you hit someone!”

“Neither can I! This entire sector’s s’posed ta be closed off!”

Addi fumbled with her seatbelt and lurched out, wincing at the dent in the bonnet.

“Oh my gosh, are you oka-” She froze at the sight of the prone, groaning man on the ground.

“What’s wrong?” Fiddleford had followed her out. His face went slack. “Is he dead?”

There was another pained groan.

“Oh thank God,” Fiddleford sighed.

“He’s . . . got a tranq gun,” Addi said in puzzlement. She looked closely at the clothes he was wearing. Black was a theme. So was Kevlar.

A fourth person came onto the scene, dressed in the same tactical gear, and observed the situation. His buddy, on the ground, with two people standing over him, in front of a scraped-up car that had clearly been forcing its way through the denseness of the surrounding no-access-allowed foliage and which also had a large, person-shaped fold in the hood.

“You okay, Rob?” He asked cautiously.

“They hit me with their car, man . . .” Rob moaned.

“But he’s not dead, and that’s what counts!” Fiddleford interrupted quickly.

The newcomer didn’t seem too bothered one way or the other, which was the next red flag in Addi’s head.

“Possible hostiles have entered the area,” he said into his mike. “Two of them,”

Fiddleford tensed. Addi surreptitiously reached for the gun in her jacket.

“. . . who even drives out here . . .”

“Shut up, Rob.” The man levelled his tranquiliser at them.

“Uhhh . . . we’re with the FBI?” Fiddleford tried vainly.

Addi tackled him, rolled, came up on one knee, and heard a plink as the dart collided with the car, closely followed by the much louder explosion of her gun as she sighted at Rob's friend. He grunted and stumbled backwards.

Kevlar vest.

She re-aimed, fired, and he dropped. She whipped around for Fiddleford.

“You okay?”

He ignored her, already up and pulling back one of the unconscious Rob's sleeves, under which the edge of a tattoo was visible. It seemed that the dart had ricocheted off the metal of the car and hit Rob instead, tying things up rather nicely in Addi’s opinion.

Fiddleford looked up at her.

“Cipher Wheel.” He held up Rob's arm. A heart with an arrow through it was inked there, an exact match to one of the symbols in Oracle Division’s database. “They’re here for Stan and Ford,”

The dead agent’s mike crackled.

“. . . sending reinforcements . . .”

∆

“Two new targets incoming, sir. First strike team down,”

"Huh. Looks like Jezzy’s up and about then, and she’s sent in her mutts. Well, what are you waiting for? Send in the rest, same orders for those pesky agents from that stupidly named division (whichhasn’tevenbeenabletopredictanythingsince1981justasidenoteforya). Ha! What am I saying? You know how to do your job! DON’T YOU?”

∆

Addi rounded a thicket and found a small clearing with a decrepit old hut in the centre. There was no one in sight, but signs of conflict covered the area: tranquiliser darts were present on just about every surface.

She and Fiddleford looked at each other.

“Think they’re still here, or . . .” He muttered lowly to her.

Before she could respond, a bush groaned.

“Is it over?” It said.

“Well, they’re not firing anymore. I don’t know about over,” replied the swung-wide door of the hut. It sounded a lot like-

“Ford?”

There was silence. Then Stan’s head peeked over the top of a shrub and the door/shield swung closed as Ford released his grip on it.

“You made it!” Stan exclaimed pushing himself to his feet with obvious relief on his face. “I thought we were toast. Please tell me you parked close by,”

“Just a few minutes away,” Fiddleford reassured him. “We should hurry, though. Ah’m pretty sure we met your strike team just as they were circlin’ around to another vantage point, since this one was clearly doing nothin’. They have back-up on the way,”

“So we should get away from here as fast as possible,” nodded Stan. “Alright, let’s go. Addi?”

She registered that he’d tapped her shoulder, but she didn’t look away from Ford and he hadn’t looked away from her either. She took him in. He looked tired, and far gaunter than he should, and there was bl- there was an uncomfortable amount of blood on his shirt. She couldn’t believe it hadn’t even been a full day since she’d last seen him. She didn’t know if it was possible to feel homesickness for a time, but there wasn’t a lot she wouldn’t have given to go back to that morning and redo everything, make sure that whatever had happened to him was null and void and ensure that he was safe.

“Oh boy. Guys?”

There was a sigh and Fiddleford pushed her in the back in a manner that suggested she should hurry up. She didn’t care.

Ford seemed to find his voice.

“Adeline, I am so s-” was as far as he got before she cannoned into him and hugged him as tightly as she could.

“Don’t be,” she told him, shaking her head firmly and trying to let go of a sudden, slightly irrational surge of anxiety that was rearing its head now that she finally had him back. He’s not going to disappear again, he’s not going to disappear again.

“Ford, you’ve got nothing to be sorry for, it’s not your fault, none of this is your fault. I’m just glad you’re safe,”

She felt his fingers dig into her back a little. “I’m- I’m glad you’re safe too,” he said into her shoulder, and she definitely noticed his silence on the other things she’d said and she really wanted to hurt Bill Cipher.

Ford lost his struggle to keep quiet.

“I’ve made huge mistakes-”

“So?” She pulled back slightly from the embrace to glare fiercely at him. “Fiddleford just hit someone with a car and I killed his friend in front of him. Do I look like I care?”

His mouth dropped open a little. “Wh- you- Uh, no, but-”

“No. I am so far from bothered by the things you’ve been manipulated into, Stanford.” She took his hands, made sure she had his full attention, and said firmly and with as much determination as she’d ever possessed, “I don’t care what you’ve done. It doesn’t matter to me. What matters is that you want to fix it now.”

“I don’t care either Stanford, just so’s yer know,” came Fiddleford’s voice from behind them.

Ford blinked, looking between her and Fiddleford for a moment. And then he smiled with only a hint of hesitancy and kissed her cheek, hugging her again which she was all too willing to return.

“We really should leave before we’re assassinated, though,” he said seriously.

∆

In fairness, Stan thought, we did make it.

Reunite with Addi and Fiddleford, cue sappy stuff from the lovebirds (and more reinforcement that Ford’s not to blame). Check.

Creep through the forest on high alert so we aren’t surprised by the incoming Cipher Wheel back-up (which was just great, by the way). Check.

Get to Fiddleford’s car because it’s closer than the Stanleymobile, still on the look-out for bad guys. Check.

Get shot at anyway. Check.

But as far as Stan was concerned, they did get within spitting distance of the car, so, even if it wasn’t really a win, they hadn’t lost yet, and therefore they tied. And considering that Carla had captured one of the Cipher Wheel agents, but the Cipher Wheel agents hadn’t captured any of them, his side was still winning overall.

The positives just stacked up, and yet for some reason Stan wasn’t feeling that lucky as he dove behind a shrub and ate dirt for the second time in twenty minutes.

He really didn’t feel the love of the universe as it turned out an enemy agent was already behind it, taking potshots at the others. He punched Stan in the face.

The world rocked forwards overhead ninety degrees and suddenly the ground was flat against Stan’s back while he stared at the sky.

He wasn’t so stunned that he didn’t realise what the consequences would be if he let the guy stab him with the tranquiliser in his hand that he had been in the middle of loading into the gun.

Stan caught his wrist in both hands and shoved him back, pushing himself up to his elbows, into a sitting position, onto his knees, then flung himself forwards and brought the guy to the ground. The gun went spinning away. They landed awkwardly, Stan in a far less secure position than was good for his health and future liveliness – with his shoulder below him and one arm trapped under the guy, who immediately took the advantage and twisted, forcing Stan onto his back again, catching Stan’s suddenly free and punching arm in a tight hold, but he overbalanced, and now they were turning again, and Stan pressed as much of his weight downwards as possible, trying to get his opponent in a choke hold and then something under them shifted-

“WHOA!"

- and in Stan’s defence he was a bit busy to have realised that the tree roots they were grappling on top of had made a precipice of soil and rock, over which he was now tumbling –

The other guy was underneath Stan when they landed and with a pained choking noise all the breath went out of him and his torso seized in response. Stan took a second orient himself, sighted, and dealt a blow that knocked the man out cold. He scrambled up, breathing hard, and a dart whispered past his elbow away to his two o’clock so he turned into the trajectory and luckily the sniper wasn’t too far away, in fact, they were almost unreasonably close to be using the ranged weapon they were.

He ducked, rolled, saw the barrel training his movements, dodged the other way as it fired, leapt forwards into their agent’s space where the gun would be next to useless except as a club and shoved the shooter back into a tree. Their head cracked against it and they dropped at his feet, and a sharp knee put them out of action completely. He stayed in place for a count of two, listening for anything and everything around him, heard a distant gun go off, a proper firearm, not a tranquiliser, then turned in that direction and sped off, keeping his path as close to the trees as possible until he ran into a doubled-over Fiddleford-

They bounced off each other like billiard balls, but managed to stay on their feet.

“Stan! Y’alright?” Fiddleford said, fighting for breath. Stan nodded but made frantic shushing noises and dragged him down behind a suitably dense thicket. They had no idea where the Cipher Wheel agents were, or how many of them were in the forest with them. No need to give them a sound to pinpoint their position – like that gunshot had done.

On one hand Fiddleford had a bloody nose and looked a little out of it, but on the other there were two motionless agents on the ground from the direction he’d come running from. On the . . . third mutant hand that had probably sprung out of the metaphorical guy’s chest, Fiddleford, based on his lonesomeness, didn’t know where Addi or Ford were either.

“Please tell me you have a gun,” Stan said.

Fiddleford held one up.

“Oh thank- aaand it’s empty. Why do you have an empty gun?”

“Well it’s not like I knew it wasn’t stocked when Ah picked it up!” Fiddleford said, affronted. “It’s whoever was th’last agent to use the car’s fault! Ah used the last bullet just a’fore ya got here,”

So the shot he’d heard hadn’t been Addi or Ford. Which meant they had no direction to go in to find either of them. And finding them would be hard enough anyway, in this Cipher Wheel-infested forest.

“We need to get back to the Stanleymobile. It’s a bit far but I think me and Ford did a good enough job hiding it that they won’t have found it yet. Ford’ll be heading for it if he’s got any sense-” which was another point entirely, but Stan was going to ignore it for now – “and hopefully Addi’s with him,”

“Lead the way,” Fiddleford motioned, but he must have definitely been more dazed than he was letting on because he stood up without any thought as to what his cover would be if he did.

A dart promptly sprouted from his shoulder.

“Move!”

Stan barrelled into him, taking it as a good sign that Fiddleford was at least alert enough to pull the dart out as soon as possible, and trying to ignore the pretty bad signs of him starting to stumble and drop back after a mere forty feet of sprinting through the trees and trying desperately not to trip.

An agent appeared in front of them and they swerved around her. In opposite directions.

Doesn’t matter doesn’t matter he was still on his feet and going we’ll just regroup right after you get past this thicket –

He got past the thicket and immediately looked to his left for Fiddleford. He wasn’t there. Stan skidded to a stop and listened to the thundering of his heart and the panting of his breath and the noises all around him. The agent wasn’t following him. No footsteps came from the direction Fiddleford should have taken. No one was to be seen at all.

There was no sound but the rustle of the forest.

∆

There was someone right on the other side of the tree. Ford didn’t dare breathe. Beside him, Addi’s fingers were going white as they tightened on her gun – their only weapon, since Ford’s had been kicked out of his grip six minutes ago. Addi had only just managed to keep hers, and she had a jagged tear in her jeans with a long but thankfully shallow knife cut underneath to show for it.

Slowly, he tugged on her hand, drawing her forward and away. They took care with their steps. One snapped twig, one crunched leaf, and it would be over.

Another agent came into view ahead, and only the random chance that she happened to be looking the other way at the time saved them from discovery. Addi led them urgently to the right.

Over a small stony outcrop, zig zag through more trees, and two more agents were methodically sweeping the area.

Addi bit down on a curse and they backtracked again. Ford pulled her down behind a hillock. Ears straining, he waited for the agents to pass out of range once again, but unlike all the other times they had ducked out of view, he didn’t immediately resume their motion. This wasn’t working. The forest was too densely populated with enemy agents for their strategy so far to be feasible, and he wasn’t going to risk yet another all-to-close encounter.

As if she had read his mind, Addi whispered, “This isn’t working,”

But there was a solution. He didn’t like it at all, and he knew it wasn’t going to go down well with Addi, and knew that it wouldn’t have a good ending at all. He’d do it anyway.

“I’ll distract them while you keep going,” Addi said. His head snapped around, a fierce and hopefully also forbidding expression leaping to his aid – anything to reinforce the sheer terror that had just plummeted its way into his stomach.

“What?!” He hissed. “No. Absolutely not. That’s practically a guaranteed prelude to your capture, torture, and murder. If anyone is going out there, it’s me,”

If anything, she seemed even more motivated than before. The expression did not seem to have worked.

“Stanford, I have the only gun. I’m going,”

He snatched it swiftly out of her hand. “Not anymore,”

Her expression was outraged enough to make him regret the action. She flicked him hard on the nose and snatched it back.

“Yes, anymore. Besides, I don’t know the way back to Stan’s car. You do. Therefore,” She made a shooing motion.

“Nonsense. You’ll find it easily,” Ford said, but he was grasping at straws and she knew it.

“In this forest crawling with people who want us dead. Sure.” She stopped him before he could retaliate. “Ford.” He looked at her. She let some of her guard drop, and he was struck silent by the pleading in her eyes.

“Have you seen yourself lately? There is no way I am letting Cipher anywhere near you. Not again,”

She really wasn’t going to budge on this. He’d be frustrated as all hell with her if there wasn’t a warm, touched feeling curling its way around his chest and settling in below his heart.

This way was going to be so much harder.

“Adeline . . .” He shook his head, then gave in and kissed her. After a moment, he let his hand drop onto the knife-wound on her leg. She broke away with a pained gasp and a flinch and he apologised frantically and then reached into his pocket and drew out the tablets; one was already gone from when Stan had taken it.

Addi stared and slowly went still as he offered it to her.

“For the pain,”

She didn’t move.

“Addi, please,”

“Are you trying to drug me?” She said suspiciously.

Well. Good one, Stanford.

She was glaring at him now.

“I- well, yes, but that doesn’t mean it won’t help with the pain-” He shut up. Clearly, words weren’t going to work, so he instead he tried taking her hands - which meant she hardly had to move at all in order to sink the tranquiliser dart she’d found on the ground into his skin.

“That’s how you drug someone,” she told him and he still heard her over the roaring in his ears and the feeling of something new flowing up his arm and fear in his throat and God he loved her but he was also too panicked and angry and there were more important things at the moment so he couldn’t tell her right then-

Was the world going dark? No. Just for him.

They’d been crouched for too long for there to be any hope of adrenaline keeping him awake.

This couldn’t be happening.

He tipped over and Addi grabbed his shoulders, lowering him gently to the ground. Her voice was far away and distorted, like he was underwater, but he still heard, “You’ve been the idiot enough. Now it’s my turn. We have a plan, I hope . . .” and he was still awake enough for the note of fear in her voice to mean something. He wasn’t awake enough to do anything about it though. The next time he saw her, he would. He would see her again, and he would keep her safe. Despite her having more of a track record with that than him at the moment. He’d have to even that up. He would, when he saw her again . . .

Gravity Falls, Oregon (USA)    ∆

The man on the wall – Bill consulted the Journal – Fiddleford McGucket, his name was, previously referred to as “F” until sentimentality had gotten the better of Pines and his resolve to seem all secretive and clandestine had crumbled like a castle on the beach, the absolute clod. Anyway, the guy – Fidds – managed to raise his head despite how much he was shaking and sweating, blinked, and looked around, not that he was able to see much. No lights were on. Bill grinned in the dark.

He – the guy – Fiddlesticks – looked uncomprehendingly at his hands, one after the other. Bill looked too, still unnoticed where he was sitting with his feet up on one of the workbenches. Pretty basic. Not that interesting. Four fingers and a thumb. Manacles holding him to the wall. Guy was pretty distressed for such an obvious situation. It wasn’t like there was any misconceptions to be had, so that at least eliminated the element of the unknown from the situation, which Bill had gathered was one of the usual terrors people had. McGucket didn’t seem to care, becoming frantic as he tugged uselessly at the iron.

“Oh Fiddleford, Fiddleford, Fiddleford. What to do with you?” he drawled – Bill, not Fiddy McGiddy, who had frozen and finally realised he wasn’t alone. Pretty rude, since Bill’d been there for about an hour already.

“I’ve been having fun, I have to say. An actual Oracle Division agent right here in front of me! How often does that happen? A criminally low amount, Fiddleford. Criminally. And it’s especially nice this time, because you-” he gestured at him with the memory gun, grinning all the wider when McGucket’s eyes widened and he (somewhat inconceivably) stiffened even more – “Farm Boy, are a friend to one Stanf-”

“Whatever yer goin’ to do ta me, just do it,” snapped McGucket, attempting to bore holes into Bill with his suddenly rock-steady gaze. “I don’t care in the slightest what you’ve got ta say, Cipher,”

“Likewise, Widdleford. Props for the ‘brave show of defiance’,” Here Bill rolled his eyes and added air quotes with his fingers to match the hot air that that phrase was. “But I’ve seen it before, and I’m getting bored of it. Which is not good news for you, Southern Boy!”

The elevator trundled down as Bill swung to his feet in one gleeful movement, making McGucket flinch. Bill laughed.

“Well, I’d say don’t worry,” he told him, “but you’d . . . y’know.” He gave the memory gun a little shake, McGucket’s eyes following it, transfixed.

“Now where have YOU been?” He thundered in the direction of the elevator.

“She woke up in transit, sir. Had trouble putting her out again,” said Whocaredwhathisnamewas. Good guy, though. Reliable. Or maybe that was his friend? Ah, what did it matter. They both stepped into the basement, struggling a little with their package.

“Looks like she’s waking up now. Hi Blondie!” Marks shifted a little and shook her head, feet scrambling a little to try and take her weight. She was waking up more with every second, thankfully. Torturing an unconscious person? What a mood-killer. With a nod, he indicated for Whocaredwhathisnamewas and What’shisface to shackle her beside her partner.

“Any sign of Pines and Pines 2.0?”

“No sir. It’s likely they’ve escaped: half our people were taken out by the time we captured these two,”

Well that was annoying.

Although . . . he did have the perfect incentives to get them back here . . .

By the time those other two had taken the elevator up again, Marks was fully conscious and probably regretting that fact. Bill enjoyed the fear on her face for a moment, then paced sedately around back to the workbench, twirling the memory gun casually on a finger and hearing her intake of breath as he did.

“Now, I know a bit – well, I say a bit - about Mister Wacko here,” he said loudly over Marks’ frantic whispering to McGucket. “But you, little miss, I have pages about you.”

He held up Pines’ journal in the silence, the gold six-fingered hand gleaming in what light there was.

“Don’t know what this is, huh? No wonder. It’s not like you’re his girlfriend or something, right?” He laughed again, and flipped it open to show her the writing.

“It’s-”

“Encoded. How unfortunate. Why, you’d probably have to know Stanford himself really well to work this out – probably need to have at least, oh, five years of friendship with him, plus the knowledge of all his deepest darkest secrets, wouldn’t you think? What a pity that I don’t have anyone like that.” He tossed the book over his shoulder carelessly, hearing it split open to a random page as it landed on the bench, and leaned in close. “Oh wait – I do. ME. And boy, does that thing have a lot to say.” He tapped the memory gun softly against her forehead.

He heard her stop breathing for a second, but like her good ol’ buddy next to her, she was a tough one. She wouldn’t be cowed by a not-so-idle threat in the darkened basement of a place she had no idea the location of where no one was coming to save her. Nope, more than that was necessary for her.

“If you hurt us there won’t be a power on earth that will stop Oracle Division and Jheselbraum from coming down on you like a ton of bricks,” said Tough Gal, and congrats to her, for there was barely a tremor in her voice.

“Heard it all before, lovely. Mostly from your friend! What’s his name again? Nevermind, it won’t matter soon anyway. So, you sit tight and I’ll be with you in just a second.” He hummed idly and spun the dial on the memory gun, basking in the feel of it in his hand and the atmosphere of the room, and especially the way McGucket was pressing himself back into the wall in a useless attempt to escape and the way Marks was intent on throwing herself forward in a useless attempt to attack him.

“Hmm, what to type, what to type . . .” Bill looked at the open journal, and brightened. “Well, how about that! Let’s go with your wife’s name for now, Fiddsy-pie. We’ll get to the other memories of her later, but for now, how about we just drive you a little insane over the fact that you can’t even place a name to that face? Let’s see: M-A-D-E-L-I-”

“If you touch him, I swear I’ll-”

“Oh, shut up Blondie, there’s a good victim. Besides, not much you can do at this point is there? Ha! I’ve been frying his brain for the past hour and he can’t even remember it! Alright buddy, ready for the next round? Three, two, one, GO!”

[minijenn]

Bot Battle Preview 3

aslkdjasldkjsaldjas ok so again I am SO sorry this chapter is taking SO goddamn long but yeah chances of me getting it out before kh3 comes out tomorrow are pretty much zero but whatever I’m still gonna pound away at it until then anyway alskdjalskdjsld again SORRY I REALLY AM BUT AHHHHHH IM AN ABSOLUTE EXCITED MESS RIGHT NOW FORGIVE ME 

“I-I… I can’t believe it…” Ford shook his head, the shame in his tone unmistakable as they all stood before the entrance to Gravity Falls’ dump. Pearl and the kids had spent the entire trip there explaining McGucket’s rather disheartening story to the author, who could only really react to it with shock and guilt that he was far too ashamed to hide. “I… I knew that Fiddleford had taken his… horrific experience with the portal harshly, but I could have never imagined he would have used that infernal memory gun to…” Ford trailed off, letting out a sad sigh as he shook his head and looked back to the ramshackle shack Pearl and the kids had told him McGucket now called home. “If what you all have told me really is true… then this is all my fault…”

“Oh, Stanford…” Pearl frowned, placing a sympathetic hand on his shoulder. “This isn’t your fault. There’s no way you could have known; there’s no way any of us could have known… Because believe me, if Rose and Garnet and Amethyst and myself had known, then we certainly would have done everything in our power to help him…”

The most Ford could offer in response to such a solemn sentiment was a small, but weary smile. However, upon noticing the palpable remorse between the pair, Steven was quick to step in to try and alleviate it. “Maybe you guys weren’t able to help Mr. McGucket back then…” he began with a frown that soon turned into a reassuring smile. “But the good news is you can still help him now! Heck, we already have by helping him get back his memories!”

“Yeah!” Mabel chimed in enthusiastically. “Which is why I’m sure he’ll totally down to help you guys out with building your super-cool giant robot!”

“Wait, that’s why you clods dragged us all the way out here to this disastrous waste depository?” Peridot asked, baffled as she finally tuned into the conversation. Since the green Gem still needed to be watched carefully lest she run off on her own again, Ford and Pearl agreed that they had to bring her along with them to the junkyard so they could keep an eye on her. Of course, the green Gem had protested, especially when they more or less forced a leash on her to keep her from escaping. Still, she ultimately had no choice in coming along, and was clearly appalled upon learning exactly what the point of this outing really was. “I can’t believe you’re wasting my valuable time that I could be using to build my machine that will no doubt pummel yours into the ground just so you can find this ‘McGucket’ creature! This is completely asinine!”

“Well, its not any more ‘asinine’ than you thinking you can actually take Pearl and Great Uncle Ford on in an inventing battle and win,” Dipper remarked with a rather sarcastic smirk that succeeded in eliciting a frustrated growl from Peridot.

“Well… I suppose we should head inside…” Pearl said with a hint of apprehension in her tone. Without any further deliberation, the group approached the hillbilly’s shack as Mabel went on ahead to knock on the door.

“Old Man McGucket! You in there?” she called. “We have something we need to…. Ask you…?” she trailed off as the brittle wooden door slowly creaked open on its own accord, allowing everyone to peak in to see the rather ruinous state the shack had been left in.

McGucket’s home wasn’t usually the cleanest, given its spot right in the heart of the junkyard, but now it certainly seemed to even more of a wreck than it usually was. What few actual possessions the hillbilly had were strewn and scattered all over the tiny shack in a chaotic, disorganized mess. And even more mysterious than the hectic state before them was the fact that McGucket himself was seemingly nowhere to be found within it.

“Whoa, it like a hurricane blew through here…” Dipper noted with a worried frown.  “I wonder what could have happened?”

“Its strange…” Pearl nodded fretfully. “It almost seems like the place has been entirely abandoned, and in quite a frantic rush at that… But if Fiddleford isn’t here, then were could he-”

The white Gem cut herself off as a sudden clamor sounded from the small window on the far side of the shack. Startled, everyone tucked away behind a rather large pile of garbage to see exactly who was apparently breaking into the shack for some unknown reason. Though, ironically enough, said perpetrator just so happened to be the very hillbilly that called it home.

McGucket let out a loud cry of alarm as he haphazardly slipped in through the open window, landing hard on the other side of it into a pile of miscellaneous scraps. “Aw, conswarnit!” the hillbilly huffed, clearly exasperated as he picked himself up off the ground and began hurriedly picking through his scattered possessions. “Now where’d I put those darn things? They’ve gotta be around here somewhere! I can’t spend all day ‘round here lookin’ for ‘em! I gotta skedaddle outta here again before that confounded portal blows this whole town sky high!”

“The portal?” Ford whispered with a concerned gasp as he leaned out from behind their hiding spot a bit. However, in doing so, he accidentally happened to knock over a stray empty can from the pile, which of course, garnished McGucket’s attention the instant it hit the ground.

“Whazzit?! Who’s there?!” the hillbilly exclaimed fearfully, swiping up a nearby frying pan off the ground and brandishing it as threateningly as he could. “I got me a cast iron skillet here, and I ain’t ‘fraid to use it! I’m warnin’ ya!”

“Whoa, hey, its ok!” Steven assured as him, Dipper, Mabel, and Pearl stepped out first. Ford nearly joined them, but decided to hang back at the last second, both to make sure Peridot was restrained and out of fear as to how McGucket might react to him after so many years. “Its just us! L-long time no see, huh, Mr. McGucket?”

“Oh!” McGucket gasped with apt relief as he lowered his pan. “W-well howdy, kids! A-and howdy to you too, Miss Pearl…” he said, inclining his head in respect for the white Gem.

“H-hello again, Fiddleford,” Pearl greeted somewhat awkwardly, mostly since she know fully remembered the rapport herself and the other Gems used to have with him. “How have you been since… well, since your memories were returned to you?”

“I… gotta admit I’ve seen better days…” McGucket frowned, scratching the back of his neck as he looked down fretfully. “B-but I’m afraid I don’t got time to stand around here and catch up. I only came back here to get my handy dandy whittlin’ spoon,” he said, holding said very old, very bent up spoon up. “I gotta hightail it back to the bunker, and I reckon ya’ll do the same! It’s the only place where any of us has a chance at bein’ safe once that darn portal opens up and-”

“Uh… actually… the portal sort of… already opened,” Dipper pointed out.

“…W-what?” McGucket asked, his eyes wide with growing fear. “B-but… but that’s impossible! If that confangled portal opened up, t-then none of us would even be standin’ here right now! It would have blown us, this town, maybe even the whole entire world to smithereens! It would have started the end times, the apocalypse! And worst of all, it would have let that… darn, dastardly demon out to terrorize us all!”

“W-well, then, we certainly were lucky. It didn’t destroy everything and it didn’t let him out, thank goodness,” Pearl clarified with a sigh of relief. “But… it did bring someone else back instead…” At this, the white Gem glanced over at Ford, who still really had no idea how exactly he intended on facing his old partner, much less what to even say to him. Still, the author knew that it was either now or never, which was why he took in a deep breath to steady himself before finally stepping out of hiding to face his former friend for the first time in over 30 years.

“H-hello… Fiddleford,” Ford said with a small, bittersweet smile as he took in just how hard the passage of time had apparently been on the once youthful inventor before him. “It… certainly has been a long time… hasn’t it?”

[portalford]

If You Get Lost (You Can Always Be Found)

AO3

Stanford Pines is six years old and lost.

This wouldn’t have happened if Stanley had listened to him and taken the roundabout path instead of trying to cut through the boardwalk, but he hadn’t, and they had, and now Stanley is nowhere to be seen.

He doesn't cry.  Crying attracts attention, and attention leads to bad things, so he doesn’t cry.  He's sure Stanley is looking for him just as hard as he is looking for Stanley.

“Hello there.  Are you lost?”

A grey-haired woman is walking towards him.  Several pearl necklaces (probably fake) clack against each other as she leans down to see him better.

Stanford shoves his hands in his pockets and stands to his (admittedly unimpressive) full height.  “Yes,” he says.  He speaks clearly and makes eye contact, because adults like when he does that.  “I’m looking for my brother.  He looks like me, but without glasses.  Have you seen him?”

“I can’t say that I have,” the woman says.  “What’s your brother’s name?”

“Stanley Pines.”

“And what’s your name?”

“Stanford Pines.”

“Oh, are you twins?”

“Yes.”

“Aw, how wonderful.”  She's looking at him the way old people sometimes look at their fluffy lap dogs or a particularly cute baby.  He wants to scowl or use a really big and impressive word or something because he's six, almost six and two-thirds and definitely not a baby, but he doesn't.  This woman is only trying to help.  “My cousins are twins,” she continues.  “Inseparable, the two of them.”

“I wish I could say the same for my brother and me.”

The woman laughs.  Her left canine is gold.  “Yes, that would–“

“STANFORD!”

The unhappy-sick feeling that Stanford has been trying to ignore for the past five minutes vanishes so fast it’s almost like it had never been there at all.

“Is that your brother?” the woman asks.

“Yeah, that’s–“

“STANFORD, WHERE YA AT?”

“Stanley!  I’m at the edge of the boardwalk.”  Stanford stretches up on his toes, trying to see over the milling pedestrians.  

The woman squeals as something barrels past her, slamming into Stanford and going down in a heap.

“Stanford!”  Stanley grins, showing off a missing tooth.  “I told ya to keep up!”

“I was keeping up,”  Stanford complains, fixing his glasses.  “You told me we were going straight through to the beach.”

“Yeah, well, there was this huge guy with really cool tattoos I wanted to see,” Stanley says, unrepentant.  “Shoulda been paying more attention, Poindexter.”  He pulls Stanford to his feet.

“I’m glad you’ve found each other.”

Stanford glances back at the woman.  He’d practically forgotten about her.  “Me too. Thanks for your help.”

“I hardly did anything, but you’re welcome.”  She fixes Stanley with a stern look over her glasses.  “You look after your brother now, young man.”

(Stanford doesn’t know why she’s acting like he can’t look after Stanley just as well.  After all, he’s not the one who ran off).

Stanley is puffing out his chest, unintimidated.  “That’s my job, lady.”

“Then keep doing it.”  With that, she turns on her high-heeled boot and is soon lost in the crowd.

Stanford suddenly finds himself the recipient of a rough and comprehensive dust-off.  He slaps at his brother’s hands.  “I can brush myself off, Stanley!”

“Yeah, yeah.”  Stanley ruffles his hair, sneezing as some of the sand flies into his face.  “F’real tho, Stanford, I’m sorry I lost you.  I think I shoulda paid more attention, too.”

Stanford smiles.  “That’s okay.  You found me again.”

Stanley slings an arm around his shoulders and pulls him close.  The last of the unhappy-sick feeling goes away.  “I always will, buddy."

                                                      *****

Stanford Pines is seventeen years old and lost.

He doesn’t know how to feel

(angry, betrayed)

or what to do

(move on you have to move on)

or why he wants to cry so much

(you’re sad).

He’s not sad.  He’s not.

His brother (twin, protector, best friend only friend) ruined his dreams to try and save his own and that’s all there is to it.

It’s out of his (both of their) hands now.  

Things were said, choices were made, and all they can do is move on.

He crawls into bed, shuts his eyes, and recites pi backwards from the 300th digit so that he won’t (can’t) think about anything else.

It still feels like something’s been ripped out of his chest and thrown away, and he’s not sure he’ll ever get it back.

                                                       *****

Stanford Pines is twenty-eight years old and lost.

He’s been lied to so many times that he doesn’t even know where to start.  Fiddleford is gone, his plans are gone, and his sanity seems well on its way to following the rest.

The only thing that isn’t gone is Bill.

Bill is always there, always watching (can’t sleep can’t sleep) always waiting (trust no one) always ten steps ahead and waiting for him to slip up.

He doesn’t know what to do.

He knows what he has to do

(stop Bill stop the portal stop the madness stop stop stop)

is save the world, but he doesn’t know (anything) how to go about it.

He’s in so far over his head he feels like he’s drowning and he wants to cry, but he can’t because

(tears feel too much like blood)

there’s too much to do.

He wakes up with bruised ribs and scraped knuckles and he looks at the blood and ink and tears in his journal and he flips back, way back to before everything went wrong, back

(when he was seventeen, because maybe things have been going wrong ever since he lost the one person who truly looked out for him and oh god was he only ever meant for this?)

to the start.  He sees what’s left of the sketch he made of a boat, months (years?) ago.

He remembers a photograph.

He remembers what it felt like to trust someone.

He finds a postcard, and he writes a note.

                                                        *****

Stanford Pines is twenty-nine years old and lost.

He’s kept track of the days since he fell (was pushed) through the portal, and he’s terrified of forgetting where he’s been, what he’s done, who he is.

(He remembers Fiddleford with his memory gun, steadily erasing piece after piece of himself and what’s left of a person when their entire history is gone?)

He thinks he might know the answer to that question, and he thinks he doesn’t want to.

He has no history here, after all.  He’s a drifter, a vagrant (an outlaw).  He has no name, no title, no… anything.  

Nothing.  He’s nothing.

The universe is enormous, he used to tell Fiddleford.  We’re all just specks, really.

If only he’d known.

                                                       *****

Stanford Pines is older than he was yesterday and lost.

That’s how he keeps score now – in days, hours, minutes.  I survived.  He lost track of the weeks/months/years a long time ago, and they aren’t important anymore.

He’s not important.  He never was.  He understands that now.

The only thing that matters is killing Bill, saving the universe.

(If the screams and nightmares and laughter bouncing around inside his skull stop as a side effect, well, that’s just a bonus)

(He’s pretty sure he’ll die with Bill anyway, and that’s certainly effective, if unfortunately extreme).

It’s hard to know for sure where you’re going in the multiverse.  Ford hasn’t really known where he’s been for… some time.

He’ll find his way eventually.  He has to.

                                                        *****

Stanford Pines is fifty-eight years old and lost.

This dimension is his home, and it’s the most unfamiliar place he’s ever been.  Everything is just slightly left of familiar, minus his house, which is so changed he barely recognizes it as his at all.  It’s even worse than the Uncanny Valley Dimension, because at least that place was supposed to be that way.

This place feels like it should be home, but it’s not.  He doesn’t feel at home, not at all, and it hurts more than he wants to admit.

(Maybe he’s just forgotten what home is supposed to feel like.  Maybe he lost himself in the universe after all).

And as if that isn’t enough, he has family he never knew about, never even imagined.  It’s been years since he's interacted with children, and longer still since he’s had family.  He doesn’t know what to do.  What do they expect of him?  How should he act?

They’re twelve, almost thirteen, and he doesn’t let himself think about how he never got to see their formative years, never got to watch them learn and grow almost to their teens.  In the grand scheme of things, he’s lost far more than the early years of two short lives, but this loss seems heavier somehow.

They help him find where his brother keeps the coffee (two cabinets away and a shelf above where he used to keep it) and teach him about smartphones and music and movies and it all really just makes his head hurt, so he hides in the basement whenever he remembers to do so.

(He tells himself it’s because he has more important things to do than watch a musical with a twelve-year-old, and not because those “important things" feel tired and worn and more like a weight than a vocation).

                                                         *****

Stanford Pines is fifty-eight years old and he’s lost everything.

He’s been tortured and terrified and today he cried for the first time in years because the world ended, and then it didn’t, but it might as well have because his brother is gone.

Stanley took the fall for his mistakes, and there’s nothing Ford can do to help him in return.

He can’t even thank him for anything (everything), because Stan won’t know what it’s for.

He remembers being six years old and lost in a crowd, being twenty-eight and lost in his own head, being thirty-forty-fifty and lost in the multiverse, and how Stanley never hesitated to come and find him and try to bring him home.

He remembers how no matter how frightened and adrift he felt, Stan was always there to ground him.

(Even when he was wandering the multiverse, he had an old photograph and old memories and the fragile hope that Stan had moved on, found a place and a life for himself and was happy somewhere back on Earth.

That hope was all he had some days, because he lost assurance for himself a long time ago, but he never quite lost it for his brother).

(You found me / I always will).

Now Stan is gone, and there’s nothing to stop him from falling apart.

                                                      *****

Stanford Pines is fifty-eight years old and he thinks he’s finally found his place.

He’s sitting upright against the chair in front of the television.  It’s still on, but no one is watching it.  His brother is slumped against his shoulder and his niece and nephew are sprawled out across their laps.  Stanley is snoring and probably drooling on his sweater and he can’t feel most of his left leg where Dipper’s head is resting and he doesn’t remember ever caring less about physical discomfort in his life.

He shifts to prop Stan’s head up a little more, so that his brother’s neck won’t hurt as much when he wakes up (the logical thing, of course, would be to wake Stan and the kids so that they can go sleep in their own beds but Ford is definitely not going to do that), and he’s pretty sure he just waved goodbye to feeling the entire left side of his body for the next few hours, but that can’t be helped.

For the first time in

(thirty years?  Forty?  There’s no calculation for human experience, he knows that, but he still feels the need to quantify, to assess, to put a name and number on the past however long it’s been and file it somewhere he’ll never have to look at again.

He knows it doesn’t work like that, but he thinks about it a lot)

a long time, he doesn’t feel like he’s searching, chasing something.  

For the first time in a long time, he doesn’t feel like he has to.

He’s been given a second chance, a place to belong, and that’s all he ever really wanted anyway.

He’ll stay here as long as they let him.

[enigmatist17]

Rescued (Stan and Ford Pines) (2)

Here is chapter 2 finally, with Stan and Ford fluff. They should enjoy it while they have time, something is coming for Ford and they’ll be there sooner than you think 

I got Ford back! This was the first thought Stan had when he opened his eyes, the man smiling to himself as he sat up and stretched, back popping a bit as he got to his feet and shuffled downstairs. The door to Ford’s room was wide open, Stanley instantly feeling dread in the pit of his stomach when he saw that the bed was empty and the jacket he had given Ford was gone. “Ford? Stanford?” He called throughout the house, the feeling worsening when he got no reply, nearly going for the crossbow he had for security when he heard some faint talking coming from outside. “Ford?” “…fetch! Good boy…” Opening the front door Stan peered outside, just in time to catch Bill prance over to Ford with a stick in his mouth, the dog wagging its mechanical tail happily as he got a pet from Ford. “You’re such a good boy.” Ford cooed, laughing a bit when Bill jumped up and began licking Ford’s face, the two falling back in a heap as Ford continued to laugh. Stan chuckled as he watched them for a few seconds, then went inside to start breakfast, as he knew the smell of food and coffee was the only thing to wake Fiddleford up in the morning. He would glance out and check up on his brother every now and then, pleased to see Bill was keeping Ford quite entertained until the food was ready, though this prompted some concern in Stan. Ford had been six when he was taken, and as far as Stan knew, he never went to school as they hadn’t started first grade yet. Ford seemed to be able to read to some extent, the couple of books he had bought for Ford evident of that, but upon closer inspection they were books meant for a third-grade reading level, a level Ford shouldn’t be at the age of 25. Did Ford know how to write? Did Ford know any sort of school-level knowledge? Stan frowned as these thoughts filled his head, not even noticing Fiddleford entering the room until he saved Stan’s hand from being burnt by the hot coffee he was pouring for himself, the younger twin blinking when the coffee pot was taken from him. “Almost burned yerself there, lost in the clouds?” Fiddleford teased lightly, his gaze turning to concern when he noticed Stan’s frown. “What?” “I don’t think Ford ever went to school, or had anyone teach him.” “I wouldn’t be too surprised.” Fiddleford frowned, taking a sip of his coffee as the two watched Ford run after Bill, whom had taken his coat and was now playing keep away. “He was taken as a child; his captor would have most likely hidden him from view until he was old enough to be ‘hired’ into the carnival.” “I swear to god Fidd’s…I shoulda killed the guy, he was right there but I didn’t…” “It was wise, murder would have gotten you into serious trouble.” Fiddleford chided, watching as Ford ended up pouncing on top Bill, taking his coat away in victory with a laugh. “Look, you have him back now, I would take that and be done with it.” “I know Fidd’s…but it isn’t fair. Ford shoulda been through school, he always talked about going to college and he’s so smart. The fact he hasn’t been allowed to show just how smart he is just hurts…Ford shouldn’t have been taken like that…” “I’m sorry, but there’s nothing you could have done.” Fiddleford lay a comforting hand on Stan’s shoulder, a comforting smile on his face as he adjusted his glasses. “Don’t beat yourself up over what happened, there is nothing you could have done.” “Doesn’t make me feel better.” Stan groused, drinking some coffee before walking past Fiddleford to the back door. “Ford! Come on in for some breakfast!” “Breakfast?” Stan watched as Ford and Bill stopped what seemed to be a tug-of-war with a stick, fluffy brown hair sticking up in all directions. “Are there pancakes?” “Better than Ma’s, but don’t tell her I said that.” He chuckled, Ford grinning as he and Bill jogged over to the door, brown coat fastened on him incase Bill went for it again. “She would kill you if she heard that, even now.” Ford chuckled, Stan rolling his eyes as the trio gathered around the kitchen table. “Fiddleford, your creation out there is just like an actual dog!” “I hope so, took me forever to get the AI right.” Fiddleford chuckled at Ford’s enthusiasm, he and Stan listening to Ford tell them about what he had done with Bill when he had woken early. “You got up at 5?” Stan questioned, remembering when they had been little they hated waking up in the morning. “I’m just used to getting up early for each show is all…” Ford shrugged, poking at his eggs with a frown. “I always had to help rig the main tent among other things…” Stan didn’t pry when Ford went silent, the elder twin silent for a while as Fiddleford and Stan chatted about what to do for the day. He didn’t even realize that Fiddleford had left until Stan gently shook him, Ford nearly falling off his seat when he jerked away from the touch. “O-Oh, sorry.” “No no, it’s my fault.” Stan shook his head, smiling softly at his brother who returned the gesture hesitantly. “So look, I don’t know if you heard us but I have to run to town for some groceries, and I figure I’ll just have you stay here for now. Is that alright?” “Of course. I would like to read my books, so I guess I’ll just do that while you’re gone?” “You can do whatever you want, this is your home now too.” Stan couldn’t help but smile when Ford perked up, the thought of finally having a home something he never thought would ever be a reality. “I’ll be back in an hour, I promise. If you need anything Fiddleford is in the basement, and I’m sure Bill will keep you company.” “Is it alright if I call Bill something else? It’s…not a good name.” Ford said uncomfortably, Stan nodding as he clenched his hand into a fist. “You can call him whatever you want, ok?” Stan felt a bit better at the smile Ford gave him, Stan eventually parting for town after Ford promised to stay near the house. The elder twin didn’t want to disturb the other male in the home, so he set up in the living room, pulling out a small and ratty journal from his messenger bag along with a pencil that didn’t have much of a life left. Opening the book, he selected a blank page the top of which had the alphabet printed out neatly, along with its cursive counterparts’ underneath, picking up the pencil with a slight frown. Stan found him sitting in the same position when he returned an hour later, quietly approaching Ford as he didn’t want to startle his brother. The letters on the page were shaky and poorly written, Ford grumbling as he placed the pencil down. “Why can’t I do this? They made it look so easy…I bet even Lee can write like they can…” Ford muttered to himself, slamming the book shut when he realized he was being watched. “Oh Stanley, you’re home!” “Hey Ford…watcha got there?” He questioned, Ford’s face going red as he looked at the book. “Nothing much…” He muttered in response, Stan giving Ford a sympathetic look as he walked into the next room to deposit the groceries. “Hey Ford….I can help ya, if you want.” Stan offered after some silence, Ford glancing up from his book as his brother poked his head from the kitchen. “I mean, the writing and all that…” “You must think I’m stupid.” Stan shook his head as he joined Ford on the couch, the elder’s face in his hands. “I’m 25 and I can’t even write…” “It’s not your fault Ford.” Stan slowly placed a hand on his brother’s shoulder, offering a smile when Ford glanced at him from the corner of his eyes. “You are still the smart older brother I’ve always known, and you just need a bit of a helping hand is all. Lucky for you not only am I here to help, but so is Fidds.” Ford slowly lowered his hands from his face, Stan’s heart almost jumping out his chest at the misty eyes his brother had, but his fear soon vanished as Ford hugged him tightly. “Thank you so much Lee…” Stan wrapped his arms around Ford, wanting so much to kill Ford’s former ‘owner’ at making his brother doubt himself so much, but knew right now Sixer needed him, and by god he was gonna help him. “It’s going to be alright Ford…I’m gonna make sure.” He murmured comfortingly, the two hugging until Ford pulled away, opening his book with a sheepish expression. “Let’s get you a new pencil and start simple.” Stan grinned, Ford’s eyes lighting up as Stan grabbed a new pencil and sat on the couch beside Ford, Stan more than happy to spend his day teaching Ford how to write. It didn’t take his brother long to get down printing letters, but he was a bit disgruntled that cursive was not so easy. “See, I told ya you could do it.” Stan grinned, lightly punching Ford’s arm with a laugh. “It’s all thanks to you.” Ford smiled sheepishly, gazing over the pages filled with readable print. “I wish I knew how to do cursive.” “Cursive is hard for anybody, took me a long time to get it down.” Stan commented, Ford shrugging as he closed his note book with a soft smile. “I’m sure I’ll get it down eventually, with your help of course.” “Of course you will Sixer, you’re the smarter one of us ya know.” Stan chuckled, Ford frowning as he glanced at his twin. “Stanley you’ve always been smart, I mean you’ve been through school and college. I would say that makes someone pretty smart.” Stan shrugged, pausing at the insistent look on his brothers face. “It’s true.” “If ya say so, you sound a lot like Fidds.” He chuckled, ruffling Ford’s hair with a grin. “Let’s get some lunch, I’m starving.” “Me too.” Ford laughed, fixing his hair as they stood and made their way to the kitchen, the conversation lively and full of laughs. They were unaware that something was coming for Ford, someone angry his prize had gotten away from him.

[ramblesanddragons]

I Want To Learn To Fight

Needed a small break from A Man Made of Stone and here’s a little late entry or week four of @stanuary while I play with writing style. The theme was fight.

Warnings: Some violence but nothing graphic.

AO3 link!!

“Grunkle Stan, will you teach me how to box?” Dipper says after a few days back in the shack.

“I mean I can sure but why do you want to?” Stan peers over his paper at the kid, he’s grown since last summer but he’s still not built like a fighter. Of course, Ford wasn’t either.

“It looked like good exercise?”

“Nah, if I’m doing it, I need to know why,” Stan folds the paper and looks the kid in the eye, “I’m not gonna judge you. What’s up?”  

“You’re not going to judge me huh?”  

“With this? Nah.”

“Okay fine,” Dipper gets closer to whisper to his grunkle, “It’s my noodle arms. I’m just tired of being so I don’t know...noodley.”  

Okay Stan can buy that. He stands and heads upstairs. “Is that a yes?”

“Come on kid we’re headed to the mall.”

Stan knows that his gloves are still way too big for the kid so he buys him some gloves (and pockets a bit of new tape for their hands.) When they get back home, they find some sort of decent space to learn. Between the elder twins, the younger twins, Soos, Melody, and Soos’ Abuelita the shack was pretty full. Soos’ renovations have done a great job of giving everyone a space (and got rid of a lot of the triangles) but they end up having to set up shop in a part of the lab. If Ford minds, he doesn’t say and goes upstairs to find Mabel with a pat on Dipper’s head.

Dipper pulls on the gloves and swings wildly. “Alright I’m ready!”

“No, you’re not. Come here and I’ll teach you to wrap your hands.” Stan starts by doing his own and then has Dipper try and copy. The kid is sharp and has it right by his second hand.  

“When you get into a random fight you don’t have time to wrap your hands. What’s the point of it now?” Dipper asks trying to get used to the feel of the wraps.

“To make sure your hands are in one piece when you don’t have the time. You mess up your hands and wrists here you’re screwed out there. Why are you worried about random fights anyway?”

“Just an observation. Anyway, I’m ready to hit things!” He says with a fire behind his eyes.

Stan laughs, “Not the way you’re standing.”  

A gentle shove immediately puts Dipper off balance so they start with lessons on a grounded fighting stance and footwork. As to not disappoint the boy too much Stan does let him take swings at his gloved hands before they call it a night. Dipper’s out of breath by the end.

“Look kid, I know this isn’t what you were expecting but I’m tryin’ to teach ya right. If you want to stop, I’ll understand. If you want to keep going though, I think you could throw a decent punch.” Stan expects Dipper to be frustrated, which he is, but is surprised by the boy’s smile.

“I should have figured I need to know the basics first. It’s okay I want to keep going. This was fun and I want to learn.”

Stan smiles back.  

Over the next few weeks, the lessons continue. Foot drills, hand drills, basic punches. The kid has always been bright and he may not get the practice of it right at first, he gets the theory down. Stan changes up his teaching a bit, does some reading and tries things out with the kid. What worked for him doesn’t always work for Dipper and he tries to figure out a way that does. Dipper really starts to shine when Stan starts talking about reading a situation and analyzing an opponent.  

One day after a good session the boys head back upstairs to find kitchen the same way it has been during these sessions, covered in papers of art. Ford and Mabel spend most boxing times drawing together. Dipper talks about the lesson while she shows off her art (Dipper and Stan fighting a giant robot) and they head to bed.

“Sounds like it’s going well.” Ford’s smile is soft. He’s adding details to his drawing (Him and Mabel as cats per her request) and stops to observe his twin.

“It is. He’s good. He’s ready to start sparing but I’ve got 200 pounds and a couple of feet on the kid. I know how to pull my punches but I don’t want to hurt him by accident. By the way I’ve been meaning to ask ya if you ever figured what got this boxing thing in his head?” Stan unwraps his hands and leans back in the chair.  

“Well he does admire you and I believe he wishes to strengthen his body for his own reasons.” Ford starts to talk while beginning a new sketch as Stan starts snoozing, missing most of what his brother says. Ford manages to talk his brother into actually going to bed and, afterwards, walks down to the lab inspired.  

“What the hell is this Sixer?” Stan gawks the next morning while Dipper laughs at it. In the lab is a 13-year-old sized robot made of gears and pillows.

“I made Dipper an adequate sparring partner. Programed with what I recall from our boxing lessons and it has an interface you can run much like one of Soos’ video games. After calling up Fiddleford for some input it should be ready.”

“AWESOME!” Dipper immediately goes to wrap his hands.  

“Heh. Thanks Ford.”

“You’re welcome.” Ford begins to walk up the stairs and chuckles as he hears Dipper say, “Hey, not the first time I’m fought a robot!”  

A few more weeks go by. Its Gravity Falls so the supernatural is everywhere and the Pines family is right there in it all. There hasn’t been that many repeats of last summer’s nightmares and Stan is thankful for that. With his brother around it’s easy to keep the kids out of trouble or at least help fight it off. Of course, one night everything goes to hell and it had to be Pioneer day.

Stan and Ford find themselves at one end of the town square when the screaming starts. People run off or jump into their covered wagons. A horde of shambling zombies our pouring out of the graveyard.  

“Ahh Dipper I hope this one ain’t on you.” Stan mumbles as he pulls on the familiar brass knuckles. Ford pulls out his pistol.

“I don’t believe he would do this twice, he told me how badly things went last year. Something else is wrong.” Ford fires and takes the heads off of three zombies while Stan crushes a fourth.

(They’d later discover that a small rift had opened in the grave yard and was leaking out necrotic energy from a dying dimension. Rifts that came out of nowhere were as annoying and common place in Gravity Falls as deer causing problems in the roads after the events of the summer before. Easly fixed but annoying as hell.)

“It’s fine,” Stan says as he bashes two zombie heads together, “We’ll just sing them dead again although you’re singing this time. I hope you still have that zombie bite cure somewhere Sixer!”

“I do but the victims of the bites still need to be in one piece for it to work Stanley. We must find the kids before they’re torn apart!” Stan’s punching becomes a little more desperate and wilder as they make their way through the town. Ford has a theory and Stan thanks God his brother is right as they round a corner and see that all of the kids made their way to the local karaoke bar.  

It’s a hell of a site. Melody and Soos are trying to break down the door, Pacifica is trying to break a window with her heels while Mabel uses a knitting needle, Wendy has he axe to keep one half of the zombies away, and (to Stan’s utter horror and pride) Dipper is holding the other half off on his own. His stance is flawless and he’s using his smaller, quicker size to his advantage. The elder Pines twins reach the kids just as Dipper knocks the jaw off of one of the monsters. These things are mindless though and it’s hard to read an opponent that doesn’t think. Dipper almost takes a bite to the ear as a zombie lunges low but Stan catches it and tosses the thing across the road. Dipper and Stan stand back to back as Ford ushers Pacifica out of the way and blasts the window open with his fancy space gun. He crawls in with Mabel and pulls Pacifica in too. Soos halfway tosses Melody in the window screaming, “Sing for our lives my songbird!”

“Okay?!” Melody yells back.  

It takes agonizing seconds for Ford to get the power to the bar going as the rest fight off the zombies. Stan’s about to toss the rest of the kids into the window and block the way before one gets on his back.

“Get off my Grunkle!” Dipper screams and drags it off of Stan. He tosses the thing and manages to get it almost as far as Stan’s zombie.  

Suddenly the music starts behind the fighters and it takes a few verses for Stan to recognize it. “Big boat keep on burnin’! Proud Cary keep on turnin! Swimming! Swimming! Swimming down the river!” Melody, Mabel, and Ford are having the most terrifyingly fun time of their lives as the zombies start to explode.

By sunset the town is doing clean up and the “Never Mind All That” law will be in full effect by tomorrow. The Pines have found themselves back home. Everyone else gets cleaned up while Ford orders a ton of pizza. Dipper makes as far as the porch before flopping onto the couch. Stan joins him.

“Look Grunkle Stan it wasn’t me this time,” Dipper starts.  

“Yeah I know,” Stan pats Dipper’s head, “You were incredible out there today by the way. I know I’m still tough on ya...”

“You’ve taught me how to fight back,” Dipper says as he pulls himself to a sitting position.

“Last summer after the first zombie attack, I wanted to learn how to do what you did but I was so caught up in... well a lot of things and I kept meaning to ask you but things kept getting crazier.”  

Dipper kind of smiles and looks at his slime covered hands, “I realized that maybe I could be smart and strong and if anything bad like last summer happened ever again I wanted to be able to fight it.”  

“It’s best to out think than outfight most of the time kid if you can but I get that. But why me? Ford’s become some sort of nerd outlaw in the past 30 years. You could learn from him?” Stan knows the kids love him. (That was one of the first facts he knew after waking up from the memory wipe.) He doesn’t know if he deserves it but he’s happy that they do. Oh, he knows that Dipper relates more to his nerdy brother, which doesn’t hurt Stan’s feeling. It’s important for kids to have someone to relate too doesn’t matter who. He loves Dipper always.  

Dipper lets out a small tired laugh, “I’ve always admired how hard you fight for us and I want to be like that. To be able to fight for my family.”

Stan beams.  

“It’s totally not because I want to spend time with you too. No not at all,” Dipper finishes with a study but not hurtful jab to Stan’s stomach.  

“Yeah, yeah. Sure. I just figure I can teach ya something useful while I’m stuck with you little gremlins. Now come on get cleaned up. You gotta eat and then get some rest. You’ve proven you’re past all the baby stuff. Lessons are about to get a whole lot harder starting tomorrow. Ya up for it?”  

“Bring it on.”  

[thelastspeecher]

King Stansort AU - The Queen

I’ve had part of the scene where Ford meets his new sister-in-law (aka the queen of a small European country) written out for a while, but last night I finally finished it up.  So here, enjoy Ford making a fool of himself in front of royalty he is now related to.

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

              “Unkel Ford!” Danny chirped excitedly.  Ford smiled at her.

              “Yes, dear?”

              “Spect!  Spect!”  Danny held up a completed coloring page.

              “I see it.  It’s very pretty.  Good job,” Ford said kindly.  Danny beamed. “Daisy, are you done yet?”

              “Non,” Daisy said, shaking her head.  She said something in Lironian.  Ford frowned.

              “What?”

              “She said that she wants to make sure it’s perfect,” Fiddleford translated.

              “Ah.  Okay.” Ford and Fiddleford were supervising Danny and Daisy for a few hours while Stan ran an errand he had been incredibly vague about.  At the moment, they were watching the girls color in the dining room.  Ford relished the opportunity to spend time with his nieces.

              Particularly time that won’t involve Stan scowling at me.  Fiddleford said something in Lironian to Daisy, pointing at her coloring page. Daisy pushed his hand away. Fiddleford chuckled.  A door opened.

              “Okay, take another step,” Stan’s voice said.  Someone laughed.  Danny and Daisy’s heads shot up.

              “You’re being even more fussy than when I was pregnant, dear,” a female voice said.  “I didn’t think that was possible.”  Danny and Daisy leapt to their feet and ran out of the room.

              “Mámá!” the girls screeched at the top of their lungs. Ford looked at Fiddleford.

              “Is that…”

              “Yep.”  Fiddleford got up.  “Sounds like the queen is home.”  Ford’s mouth went dry.  “Come on. You need to meet your sister-in-law.”

              Ford followed Fiddleford through the halls to the main entrance of the castle. When they arrived, Stan was frantically trying to keep his daughters from swarming the woman next to him.  He seemed to be attempting to pick up Daisy, but she evaded his grasp.  Danny, who was already in his arms, was squirming to break loose.  The woman let out a laugh.

              “Stanley, it’s fine.  I haven’t seen my babies in ages.  They can hug me,” she said cheerfully.  Stan looked at her with a strained expression.

              “The doc said to reduce excitement.  I’m not completely sure what that means, but you probably shouldn’t get tackled by two hyperactive toddlers.”

              “There’s no need to fuss so much,” the woman said.  Stan’s gaze traveled to her right arm, which was in a sling.  “I’m fine.”

              “Angie…”

              “Do you want me to pull rank on you, dear?” the woman – Angie – threatened. Stan managed a weak smile.

              “…Fine.”  He set Danny down on the ground and gave her and Daisy a short command in Lironian. Danny and Daisy nodded.  Daisy lunged forward to wrap her small arms around Angie’s legs.  Angie chuckled.  She crouched down and began to coo at her daughters in Lironian.  Stan ran a hand through his hair anxiously.  “By the way, I know you said you wanted to meet my brother, but-”

              “No buts about it,” Angie said.  She looked up.  Her eyes met Ford’s.  She stood. “Looks like he found us, anyways.”  Stan’s face soured.

              “Great,” he muttered.  Ford stood stock still, uncertain of how to behave around a queen.  Fiddleford grabbed his hand and dragged him over.

              “Angie, this is my research partner, Stanford Filbrick Pines, PhD,” Fiddleford said.  “Stanford, this is my younger sister, Queen Angie the First, Ruler of the State of Lirone, Ambassador to the Deep Forests-”

              “Fidds, he doesn’t need to hear my long list of titles,” Angie said, waving a hand airily.  “He’s probably heard Stan’s a million times, and I don’t want to subject him to any more.”

              “Can you blame me for showing off?” Stan asked.  “Or for showing off the girls?”  Angie frowned at him.

              “Wait, did you insist on rattling off Danny and Daisy’s list of titles, too?”

              “…Yeah.”

              “Pfft.”  Angie snorted in amusement.  “Bet you had quite the dry mouth after that.”

              “It was worth it,” Stan replied.  Fiddleford elbowed Ford.

              Right!  I’m supposed to bow.  Ford swallowed nervously and bowed to his sister-in-law.

              “Your highness,” he said solemnly.  To his surprise, Angie laughed.  Ford straightened.  Angie’s eyes twinkled with merriment.

              She and Fiddleford have the same lovely blue eyes.

              “At least you got the bow right,” she said jovially. Ford opened and closed his mouth.  “You got the wrong form of address, though.”

              “…Oh.  I did?”

              “Yes.  A monarch should be referred to as ‘your majesty’, not ‘your highness’.”  Angie gestured to her daughters, who were still embracing her legs.  “Danny and Daisy are princesses, so they are called ‘your highness’.  Stan and myself are monarchs, so ‘your majesty’.”

              “Ah.”

              “I told you to call us ‘your majesty’,” Stan grunted.

              “I thought you were pulling my leg,” Ford said.  “I mean, you told me to address everyone as ‘your majesty’.” Angie gave Stan a weary look.

              “Stanley…”

              “He was being a…”  Stan looked down at his young daughters embracing Angie tightly.  “D-I-C-K.  I was just treating him the way a D-I-C-K should be treated.”  Ford raised an eyebrow.

              “Whatever happened to ‘I’ll teach my kids swears when they’re young, it’ll prepare them for the real world’?”

              “Yeah, when I said that, I wasn’t planning on my kids being literal royalty,” Stan snapped.  “If I swear and they repeat it, we could cause an international incident.”

              “I feel like the royal family is overly concerned about international incidents,” Ford remarked.  “I mean, I’ve been told I could cause one.”

              “Stanford,” Angie said in a clear, carrying voice, “don’t speak ‘bout things you don’t fully understand.”  Ford blinked.  He opened his mouth.  “You might have a PhD in physics, but I have multiple degrees from the finest schools in Europe, one of which is a political science degree, another of which is in international relations.  I also know intimately how politicking between heads of nations works, and am one of the very, very few royal monarchs to currently be running a country.” Angie leaned in.  Her voice went deathly quiet.  “Stan was right when he said you could learn how to keep your mouth shut.”  Stan laughed. Angie frowned at him.  “Don’t act all high and mighty, my love.  You had to learn how to do that, too.”  She straightened.  “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have some work I need to do.”  She walked away regally, her daughters trailing after her.

              “Angie,” Stan said, frustrated, “the doc said…”  He got too far away for Ford to make out the rest of his sentence. Ford turned to Fiddleford. Fiddleford shook his head.

              “She’s right, you know.  You’re not an expert in this, so keep your mouth shut.”

              “I may not be an expert, but even I know that a young child mindlessly saying an improper word without knowing what it means won’t result in World War III,” Ford snapped impatiently.  Fiddleford nodded.

              “You’re right about that.  But…” Fiddleford sighed.  “Look.  The politics of Lirone are complicated and private.  We keep to ourselves, we always have.  That’s how our unique culture has survived this long.  We keep our people safe.

              “My pa and Angie, they’ve started opening up the country more.  It’s a risky move for our more…vulnerable residents, so they have to play their cards exactly right to ensure our country doesn’t tear itself apart.”  Fiddleford looked away.  “Or get torn apart by others.”  He stuffed his hands in his pockets.  “I should go help Stan keep Angie from doing work.  She needs her rest.  You know your way back to your room by now, right?”  Ford nodded.  “Good. See you later.”  He walked away.  Ford frowned at him as he left.

              That was…odd.  Even for Fiddleford, who is an admittedly odd individual.  What did he mean by “vulnerable residents”?  And who would tear apart a small country that hasn’t gotten involved in any international conflicts? Ford rubbed his chin.  Something’s not right here.  I need to figure out what it is.  He turned around and began to make his way to the room he had been staying in.  A flash of light in the corner of his eye caught his attention.  He looked down.

              “What is this?” he mumbled to himself, kneeling to inspect it further. He cautiously poked at the pile of sparkles resting on the carpet.

              If I didn’t know any better, I’d think this was fairy dust.  Ford looked at the sparkles for a brief second before shaking his head.  No. I’m much too far from Gravity Falls for that to be the case.  He stood to his full height again and continued on his way.

              Once his footsteps had faded, a small, winged figure poked its head around a potted plant in the part of the hallway Ford had just vacated.  The fairy’s wings fluttered in an agitated manner and it spoke angrily in Lironian, before flying off in the opposite direction.

[thelastspeecher]

I just had a sudden idea. Let me know what you think. What if after Stan was kicked out, during his grifting years, he ends up in Egypt or Saudi Arabia and found a magic lamp, and when he rubbed it, Angie The Genie appeared. When Stan finds out she's a prisoner in the lamp, he wishes for her freedom. So as a thank you, Angie offers Stan two more wishes she will grant. How do you think a story like that will go?

okay I’ll admit, at first, I didn’t read more than like, the first half of the ask, bc my brain went ANGENIE and then I couldn’t focus on the rest of the ask.

but I’ve read it more thoroughly now.

and holy shit???? HOLY SHIT????? WHAT AN IDEA.  WHAT AN IDEA.

needless to say, I am a fan of this.

I mean, I feel like Stan might wish for money first, and then right after that, wish for her freedom.  gotta be smart about this; he knows he has more than one wish available, after all.  and that way, the bonus third wish he wasn’t expecting to get is a nice surprise.  but that third wish, he keeps for just in case.  he doesn’t use it yet.

now that he’s got all the money Filbrick told him to get, Stan goes back to Glass Shard Beach.  not to beg for his dad to take him back, but to shove it in his face that he’s rich now.  and if Filbrick tries to start any shit, Stan’s new magic friend is more than happy to intervene by turning Filbrick into like.  a bird.

even tho Angie has her freedom now, she still spends some of her time in the lamp, bc she’s gotten used to it, and honestly probably gets a bit wigged out by wide spaces by now.  she might be a tad claustrophobic.  Stan doesn’t mind.  he’s just happy that Angie decided to stick around with him instead of leaving once he freed her.  he’s not used to people staying after they’ve gotten something they want from him.

um idk what exactly Stan is doing with his life after he becomes rich.  he might still just constantly travel, bc he hasn’t decided where or even whether to settle down yet.  but he travels in style now, of course.  five star hotels, classy restaurants, first class plane tickets.  and he takes Angie with him.

Ford still reaches out to him in 1982.  Stan still goes to Gravity Falls, but this time, he’s got a genie’s lamp in his bag.  and the second Ford goes through the portal, Stan screams for Angie to come out of the lamp, he needs to use his last wish RIGHT NOW.  but even tho Stan wishes for Ford back, Angie can’t make it happen.  she doesn’t know why it doesn’t work, but theorizes he may have traveled outside of her range of effect.  which she didn’t think was possible, since literally the whole universe is in her range of effect.  Stan’s a complete mess, so Angie takes him to the closest surface she can find for him to sleep on, grabs her fluffiest, warmest, comfiest blanket from her lamp to tuck around him, and then uses a minor charm to give him some dreamless sleep.

when Stan wakes up, he’s pissed that Angie magicked him into sleeping, but Angie tells him he was a wreck and needed to calm down.  and anyways, Stan sleeping gave her some extra time to figure out what went wrong when Stan made his wish.  she explains that there might be a way to work around the apparent limitations.  she might not be able to summon Ford back, but Stan might be able to use her wish to set into motion the series of events that will allow Ford to come back.  of course, she won’t know for sure whether it will work or not until he makes the wish, but it’s worth a shot, right?

so Stan makes the wish to be able to bring Ford back.  and then, in the middle of the room, appears a strange, bedraggled man named Fiddleford McGucket.

[thelastspeecher]

u have a couple fics with stan having heart to hearts with his kids in cars in the reverse portal stan mcguck au, does emily come out to him and/or angie in a car? thats a fun real life trope for a bunch of lgbt+ ppl (including me!)

OOOOH

...Yes

Emily comes out to Stan and Angie as trans while they’re in the car.  It’s shortly after they pick up Emily and Emmett from camp, so it’s just them in the car with Stan and Angie.  Emmett is a bit unsure about Emily doing this with Stan, since he’s still nervous about Stan.  But Emily knows that Stan will accept it, bc she was told by Fiddleford how accepting Stan was of him being a trans man.  And she also knows that Angie won’t be thrilled about keeping it from Stan.

So, Angie parks the car at the ice cream shop they were going to go to as a treat for Emily and Emmett coming back from camp.  And before anyone can get out, Emily pipes up, saying she has something to tell Angie and Stan (she phrases it as “Ma and Stan”).  And she tells them that she’s actually a girl.  She’s known for a while, she told Emmett a couple months ago, and now she wants them to know.  And she’d like to start transitioning so that she can present fully as a girl when the school year starts.

Angie and Stan share a look, and then they nod.  Angie tells Emily that they understand, and from now on, they’ll do whatever they can to make sure Emily lives as her truest self.  And she asks what Emily would like to be called by from now on.

Emily doesn’t have an answer; she hasn’t actually thought this far ahead (the Pines family isn’t exactly known for its forethought).  But then Stan mentions that when they first came up with names, the one they planned on for a girl was Emily.  And Emily grins real big and says she loves it.

[thelastspeecher]

Spy AU - Unexpected Developments

Hey, I finally finished writing all the scenes I wanted to post in one thing.  Both of them involve “Mission: White Picket Fence” in the Spy AU, and have to do with some complications to an already thoroughly complicated mission.  Oh, and Ma McGucket, the BAMF to end all BAMFs, shows up.  Enjoy.

              Ford tugged on his uncomfortable polo shirt as he waited for Fiddleford.

              You’d think that a fancy, rich school would have more comfortable uniforms.  I’ve been undercover for a little over two weeks and I’m still not used to these clothes.

              “Hey, Nicky.”  Ford looked up.  It was one of his classmates.

              “Oh, hi, Clark,” Ford said.  Clark nodded at the bench Ford was sitting on.

              “Mind if I join you?”

              “Go ahead.”  Clark sat down next to Ford.  “Are you waiting for your mom?”

              “She’s my step-mom,” Clark corrected, “but, yeah, I’m waiting for her. She always takes a long time to get here.”  Ford nodded silently.  “What about you?”

              “My dad’s already here, but I’m supposed to wait for my little brother before I go to the car.  Mom and Dad don’t like Ryan being on his own.”

              “Yeesh, it must suck having a little brother.”

              “Well, Ryan’s nice.  It’s just annoying that I have to walk with him whenever we go places.”

              “Are your parents gonna be this weird during trick-or-treating?” Clark asked. “‘Cause I know some people whose parents ruin Halloween from being overprotective like yours.”  Ford nodded silently before remembering that Nicholas Young wouldn’t know about American Halloween traditions.

              “Trick-or-treating?” Ford asked.  Clark clapped a hand to his forehead.

              “Oh, duh!  You didn’t grow up here.  Do they even have trick-or-treating where you’re from?” Clark asked.  Ford shook his head.  “Trick-or-treating is when you dress up in costumes on Halloween, and you go knock on people’s doors and they give you candy.”

              “That sounds fake,” Ford said decisively.  Clark shook his head.

              “Nuh-uh, it isn’t!  It’s real! And sometimes you go with your family, but sometimes you go with your friends.”  Clark’s eyes widened.

              Oh, no.  He’s going to ask me to-

              “Do you wanna go trick-or-treating together?” Clark asked eagerly.  

              Dammit.

              “Um, I guess,” Ford said reluctantly.  “But I’ll have to ask my mom and dad, and like you said, they get a bit weird about things, so I don’t know-”

              “I’ll have my dad call.  Your dad really likes mine,” Clark said.  Ford swallowed nervously.  “It’s gonna be great, trust me.”

              “Nicky!” a voice called.  Ford looked around.  Fiddleford had finally peeled off from the mass exodus of students leaving school. Ford got to his feet.

              “What took you so long?” Ford asked.

              “Anna was telling me about trick-or-treating,” Fiddleford said.

              “Heh, that’s funny, I was telling Nicky about that, too,” Clark said.  Ford took a hold of one of Fiddleford’s hands.

              “We’ve gotta get going before Dad freaks out,” Ford said.  “I’ll…ask my parents about trick-or-treating.”  Clark grinned.

              “Awesome!  See you tomorrow!”

              “Yep.  Bye, Clark.” Ford and Fiddleford headed towards the parking lot.  “Did your classmate invite you to go trick-or-treating like mine did?” Ford asked Fiddleford quietly.

              “No.  Anna doesn’t like me.  She was teasing me because Ryan doesn’t know what trick-or-treating is,” Fiddleford answered.  Ford sighed.

              “You might be able to get out of doing it, then.  But Clark is really persistent.  Don’t forget to tell Stan and Angie about this kid teasing you, by the way.”

              “I know, I know.  Conner and Laura won’t let anyone mess with their kids, and their kids tell them everything.”  They arrived at the parking lot and began to look for the silver minivan.  “Oh, he’s over there,” Fiddleford said, pointing. Stan was standing outside the car, a deviation from how he normally sat inside, waiting for Ford and Fiddleford. As Ford and Fiddleford approached, they could make out a drawn, nervous expression on Stan’s face.

              “Hey, boys!” Stan said cheerfully, barely managing to mask the distress they had just seen.  “Did either of you learn anything interesting today?”

              “No, not really,” Ford said.  Stan nodded silently.

              “Do you think you will soon?”

              “In a couple days, yeah.”

              “Good.”  Stan clicked the car keys, opening the doors.  Ford let go of Fiddleford’s hand and climbed inside.  Fiddleford looked expectantly at Stan.  Stan didn’t seem to notice, instead staring off into the distance, worry evident on his face again.

              “Uh, Dad?” Fiddleford prompted.  Stan looked over at him.

              “Yeah?”

              “You’re supposed to help me get in.”

              “Huh?  Oh! Yeah.”  Stan picked Fiddleford up and buckled him into the safety seat. “Sorry, kiddo, I’ve got a lot on my mind.”  He clicked the car keys to close the door, then got into the driver’s seat.

              “Stan,” Ford said.  Stan looked at him.

              “Yeah?”

              “It reeks in here.”

              “Sorry.  I, uh, I got stressed and needed a cigarette.”

              “It smells more like ya had a whole pack,” Fiddleford said, wrinkling his nose.

              “Okay, maybe I had more than one.”

              “Conner Young hasn’t touched a cigarette in his entire life,” Ford said. Stan drummed his fingers on the steering wheel, now staring straight ahead.  

              “Yeah.”

              “There’s no reason for his car to smell like this.”

              “I know.”

              “If one of Nicholas and Ryan’s friends had gotten in, the cover could have been blown.”

              “I know,” Stan repeated softly.  Ford scowled.

              “What was so important that you risked the mission to-”

              “Angie’s pregnant,” Stan blurted out.

              “I thought that Laura and Conner were waiting,” Fiddleford said.  Stan gripped the steering wheel tightly.

              “I didn’t say that Laura’s pregnant,” Stan said in a tight voice.  “I said that Angie’s pregnant.”

              “Wait, she’s really pregnant?” Ford asked.  “As in, in nine months, I’ll have a new niece or nephew?”  Stan nodded.  “Oh.”

              “Now you understand why I’m stressed,” Stan said quietly.  Ford and Fiddleford nodded silently.  “Angie’s about a month and a half along, so she- she was pregnant when the mission started, but didn’t know.  And before you say anything, we hadn’t started trying yet, okay?  We were just talking about it.”

              “Are they going to bring in an alternate handler?” Ford asked.

              “Huh?”

              “If Angie’s pregnant, they’re going to pull her out of the mission, but this mission wouldn’t work very well with just one handler.”

              “They’re not,” Stan said.

              “Yer goin’ to be our only handler?” Fiddleford asked.  Stan squeezed his eyes shut.

              “No, I won’t.  I meant that- that they aren’t gonna pull her out.  HQ says that Angie has to stay in the field.  The mission could get compromised if Laura, a dedicated mom trying to get her sons settled into their new life, just up and left.  And it’s not out of character for Laura to be pregnant, since she and Conner were gonna have another kid.  So… Angie stays.”

              “That’s- they never have pregnant agents out in the field,” Fiddleford said.

              “I know.  We- we were surprised by HQ’s decision.”  Stan took a steadying breath.  “We were told to work it into our covers.  In a couple days, Laura Young is gonna find out that she’s pregnant with her third child and tell her husband and sons.  Conner, Nicholas, and Ryan are all gonna be excited about the baby, and despite being asked to not say anything, Ryan will tell all his friends at school that he’s gonna be a big brother.  Think you can handle that?”

              “Of course,” Fiddleford said.  Stan nodded and started the car.

              “Good.  And while Conner Young hopes that he’s finally gonna get a daughter, Stan Pines is gonna hope that the mission ends before his first kid is born.”

-----

              Sally walked up to the door of the Spanish-style house and knocked politely. There were some muffled sounds from inside.  

              “Coming!” a voice called.  Sally’s heart began to race.  The voice lacked a southern accent and was a pitch lower than usual, but she would recognize it anywhere.  The door opened.  Angie smiled at Sally for a brief moment before recognizing her mother.  Her smile disappeared, replaced by surprise.  “…Ma?” Angie whispered in shock.  Sally’s plan to remain calm despite the stressful situation vanished.

              “Oh, my baby!”  Sally flung her arms around her daughter.  “My baby girl!”

              “Ma, what-” Angie started.

              “I’m so sorry, junebug.  So sorry,” Sally whispered.  Angie’s eyes widened.

              “What for?” Angie asked quietly.  Sally broke off the hug.  “Ma, what’s going on?  How did you-”

              “Maybe that conversation should wait for inside,” Sally replied.  Angie nodded and stood to the side.  Sally stepped in.  “You ‘n Stan really made this place yours fast.”

              “Um, yeah, I, uh, I s’ppose,” Angie said, closing the door.  “We can’t do much, but what we can-”

              “Who was at the door?” Stan asked.  He poked his head out of the nearby kitchen.  His jaw dropped. “Wh- Sally?”

              “Nice to see ya wearin’ yer glasses fer once,” Sally said.  Stan turned slightly red and adjusted his glasses in a self-conscious manner.  “Aw, no need to get shy.  Where are Stanford and Fiddleford?”

              “Either still sleeping or pretending to be asleep,” Stan answered.  He shook his head.  “Wait, no, we should definitely be asking the questions.  How did you find us?”

              “I was the one who picked out this house fer the mission.”

              “You picked the house?” Stan asked.

              “You know we’re on a mission?” Angie asked at the same time.  

              “Yes, I picked the house, and yes, I know yer on a mission.”  Stan and Angie’s jaws dropped.  “Oh, sweethearts, don’t be so shocked.  Both of those things ‘re my job.”

              “Wait, wait, are you our boss?” Stan interjected.  Sally nodded.  “Since when?”

              “I’ve been the head of HAF since before either of ya were even born.”

              “Damn,” Stan said quietly.  Angie crossed her arms.

              “Ma, I get why ya kept it a secret, but why are ya tellin’ us now?” Angie asked.  Sally smiled sadly at Angie.

              “I had to apologize fer keepin’ ya in the field, sugar-cube.”

              “You made that call?” Stan rumbled. He walked over to Sally and Angie. “What the hell?  She’s your daughter!”

              “She’s also my employee,” Sally said firmly.  “I had to do what was right fer the mission and the organization, not what would make me feel better.  That bein’ said, it was one of the most difficult decisions I’ve ever made.  I wanted nothin’ more ‘n to send my baby home.” Sally stroked Angie’s cheek.  “It was a decision that I only feel better about ‘cause I know if there’s anyone who could handle this sit’ation, it’s my daughter and her husband.”  Stan and Angie exchanged a fond look.  “Congratulations, by the way.  I know the circumstances ain’t the best, but I’m so happy the two of ya are bringin’ a child into this world together.”

              “Thanks, Ma,” Angie said softly.  Stan nodded and put an arm around Angie’s shoulders.

              “Ditto,” Stan said.  He eyed the bag Sally was carrying.  “Uh, whattaya have there?”

              “I’m a mom, of course I’m goin’ to bring some gifts with me when I visit,” Sally said.  “I’ve got some homecooked food ‘n Laura’s old maternity clothes.”  Sally chuckled at the disgruntled expression on Angie’s face. “Don’t worry, Laura’s got a sense of style closer to yours than to mine, sweetie.  You’ll like these clothes.  They’re new and fashionable.”  The sound of small footsteps came from the second floor.  “Oh, sounds like someone’s up.”  Stan glanced at his watch.

              “It’s eight, so, yeah, that’s the earliest they’re allowed to leave their rooms,” he said.  “Man, it’s weird doing all this stuff even when no one’s around, just in case someone stops by.”

              “The folks ‘round here do drop by without notice, though,” Angie pointed out.  Stan shrugged.  The small footsteps pattered down the stairs and Ford appeared, still wearing his astronaut pajamas and his hair a complete mess.  “Good morning,” Angie said cheerfully.  Ford nodded silently at her.  His gaze slid over to Sally.  He paled.

              “M-Mrs. McGucket?” Ford squeaked out.  Sally sighed.

              “Stanford, how many times do I have to tell ya, call me Sally.”

              “Sorry, I just- wait, how’d you recognize me?”

              “Turns out she’s our boss,” Stan said.  Ford’s jaw dropped open.  “That was our reaction, too.”  Another pair of small footsteps made their way down the stairs.

              “What ‘re we havin’ fer breakfast?” Fiddleford asked, rubbing his eyes tiredly as he joined the group gathered in the hallway.  Sally crouched down to his eye-height.

              “My, my, those folk in R&D really know what they’re doin’, don’t they?” she remarked, staring at her son.  Fiddleford gaped.  “It’s like I’m lookin’ at a picture in a fam’ly album.”

              “Ma?” Fiddleford asked.  Sally ruffled his hair playfully.

              “You betcha.”

              “What- how-”

              “As I was tellin’ Stan ‘n Angie, I was the one what made the call to keep Angie in the field.”

              “Why?” Fiddleford asked.  Sally stood to her full height.  

              “Well-” she started.  Something dinged in the kitchen.  “Is somethin’ bein’ cooked?”

              “Shit, the muffins,” Stan said.  He rushed back into the kitchen.

              “Did they burn?” Angie called.  There was a clatter as Stan opened the oven.

              “Uh, doesn’t look like it.”

              “Are we havin’ muffins fer breakfast again?” Fiddleford asked.  

              “Hey, I gotta practice,” Stan shouted.  “Conner’s a really good baker.”

              “Oh, that’s right,” Sally said.  “I forgot.  I’d hate to delay two growin’ boys from eatin’ their meals, so how ‘bout we have this conversation in the kitchen over some tasty food?”

              “Tasty is not how I would describe those muffins,” Ford muttered.

              “I heard that!” Stan said loudly.

              “Ma, was it really necessary to refer to Ford and me as ‘growin’ boys’?” Fiddleford asked as he followed Sally and Angie into the kitchen, Ford close behind. Sally smiled down at him.

              “Of course it was.  Ya may mentally be adults, but yer in the bodies of kidlets right now, and kidlets yer ages are always growin’.  Growin’, needin’ naps, learnin’ constantly.”

              “The serum does counteract some of the downsides of our current biological ages,” Ford said.  He took a seat at the kitchen table.  “For instance, Fiddleford doesn’t need to take naps.”

              “I pretend, so’s I can keep up appearances,” Fiddleford said.  He climbed onto a chair next to Ford with some difficulty. “Ma, how are ya here?  And why are ya here?”

              “Well, honey, as the head of HAF, I was, unfortunately, the one what had to make the call ‘bout yer sister stayin’ in the field.”  Sally sat down across from Fiddleford.  “I put my feelin’s aside and realized that, fer the mission and the greater good, Angie couldn’t come home yet.  It hurt every bone in my body to do it, but I had no choice.  So I decided to come here with both apologies and congratulations.  Congratulations ‘cause I’m ecstatic two wonderful folk are havin’ a baby, and apologies ‘cause, well, Angie’s stuck actin’ like her first pregnancy is her third one.”

              “Yer the head?” Fiddleford asked.  Sally nodded. “Yer our boss.”

              “Yessir.”

              “Hires go through you, don’t they?” Ford asked.  “You’re the one that hired all of us.”

              “Yes, I make the final decision on who we take on as new agents.  I must admit, I was quite startled to see my son and daughter’s applications, back when ya first applied. Like with the decision to keep Angie undercover, I put aside my personal emotions and did what was best.”

              “Wait, did you not want us to be agents?” Angie asked, helping Stan check the muffins, which were cooling on the counter.

              “Of course not!  It’s a dangerous, complicated life!  I don’t want my babies to deal with that nonsense.  But I understood that the two of ya were perfect candidates, and it didn’t make sense to reject ya fer my feelin’s.  So I hired ya.”

              “Wow, Angie, if your mom had decided that it was too dangerous for you to be an agent, we wouldn’t have met,” Stan said quietly.  Angie smiled at him.

              “I doubt that.  Ford ‘n Fidds went to college together.  We could’ve met eventually.”

              “Yeah, but would we be having a kid?” Stan asked.  He put one of his hands on Angie’s stomach.  “Our baby might only exist ‘cause your mom hired you.”

              “Yer such a sap,” Angie said.  She stroked Stan’s cheek.  “Let’s not focus on what could’ve happened.  Instead, focus on what is happenin’.”

              “What’s happening is that I might throw up,” Ford muttered.  Stan glared at him.  “Give me all the vicious looks you want.  The fact remains, ever since you two found out about the pregnancy, you’ve been all over each other.  More than usual.”

              “Aw, I remember that,” Sally said fondly.  “Each time Mearl ‘n I found out we were havin’ a baby, there was a lovely lil honeymoon phase, where we couldn’t get enough of each other.  We were just so happy to be bringin’ life into the world. We felt blessed.”  Sally shrugged.  “‘Course, once the symptoms really hit, it feels less like a blessin’ ‘n more like a curse.”  Angie grimaced.

              “Great.  I have that to look forward to.”

              “You’ll be fine, honey,” Sally said in a reassuring tone.  “There’s no need to be nervous or scared.”

              “Yeah, Laura won’t be.  She’s done this twice.  Angie’s…” Angie trailed off, worry etched on her face.

              “Listen to your mom, babe,” Stan said firmly.  “She knows what she’s talking about.”

              “Yeah, yer- yer right,” Angie said softly.  She swallowed.  “Ma, what- what ‘ll happen if- if the baby comes ‘fore the mission ends?”  Sally leaned forward and clasped her hands together with a somber expression.

              “Banjolina, this mission is high priority, and ya agreed to the responsibility when ya agreed to be Ford ‘n Fidds’ handler.  If the mission ain’t done, then I don’t think it’ll be Angie McGucket-Pines givin’ birth in that hospital room.  It’ll be Laura Young.”  Angie nodded woodenly, her eyes beginning to fill with tears.  Sally made a small smile.  “But Stanford and Fiddleford ‘re top-notch agents.  I know fer a fact that they’ll do what they can to end the mission in time.”

              “She’s right,” Ford said.  “Fiddleford and I don’t want the two of you to deal with your child being born while undercover.  We don’t want that for you nor our future niece or nephew.”

              “Thank you,” Angie said in a choked-up voice.  The doorbell rang.

              “Aw, shit, who is it?” Stan muttered.  He kissed Angie on the cheek.  “I’ll go check, babe, you try to perk yourself back up for whatever weird neighbor it is this time.”

              “Mmkay,” Angie mumbled.  Stan exited the kitchen.  Sally got up from the table.

              “If you have guests, that’s prob’ly my cue to leave.”

              “No, Ma, please stay,” Angie begged.  “I miss the fam’ly so much.”

              “The longer I stay, the greater chance cover gets blown,” Sally said.  “We don’t have a detailed backstory fer me.”

              “But Ma-”

              “No buts,” Sally said firmly.  They heard the door open.

              “Hey, Lisa,” Stan said, using Conner Young’s voice instead of his own. “You’re here bright and early, eh?”

              “Sorry, Conner.  But Huron and Itasca wanted to play with Nicky and Ryan.  And I wanted to talk to you and Laura.  Apparently you two are expecting again?”

              “Wh- how’d you know?” Stan asked, feigning ignorance.  

              “Ryan told his class.  Was he not supposed to?”

              “No, he wasn’t.”  Stan let out a dramatic sigh.  “But I’m not even mad.  I love that little guy too much, and how can I be angry when Laura’s carrying our third child?  It’s impossible to be anything less than happy.”

              “Aw, you two are just the cutest.”

              “Laura, it’s Lisa and her kids,” Stan called.

              “Let them in!” Angie replied.  “Mom’s about to head out anyway.”

              “Oh, is your mother-in-law here?” Lisa asked.  

              “Yep,” Stan answered.  “But not for long.  She’s got to catch her plane.  She just stopped by to chat with Laura and congratulate us on our currently unborn bundle of joy.  But seriously, come on in!  Shoes off, kiddos.”  Sally walked over to Angie and hugged her tightly.

              “Stay in touch?” Angie whispered.  Sally tucked a strand of Angie’s hair behind one of her ears.

              “Oh, sweetie, I can’t promise that.  But I’ll do what I can, okay?” Sally said.  Angie nodded.  “Now, remind me where Laura grew up?”

              “Boston.”

              “Boston?  Good, I can handle that.”  Sally cleared her throat.  “Laura, ya best keep me in the loop, okay?” Sally said in a carrying voice that now had a Boston accent.  Angie’s eyes widened slightly.  Sally allowed herself to revel for a moment in her daughter’s impressed surprise.  “The minute ya know the sex, tell me.  I wanna know if I’m gettin’ a granddaughta or anotha grandson.”  Sally put her hands on her hips and looked at Ford and Fiddleford.  “Now, am I gonna get a hug from my grandsons before I leave or what?”

              “Say bye to your gramma, boys,” Angie said, changing her voice to match her cover like Stan.  Ford and Fiddleford exchanged a look before getting out of their chairs to hug Sally.

              “That’s mah like it.”  Sally ruffled Ford’s hair and kissed the top of Fiddleford’s head.  “Be good to ya motha.”

              “Yes, gramma,” Ford said quietly.  Sally winked at Angie.  She exited the kitchen.

              “Connah, watch ovah Laura like a hawk.  Ya hear me?  Like a hawk,” Sally said loudly.

              “Of course, Julie.”  

              “Good.  Love ya. Gotta go.”  Sally opened the front door, nodded at Lisa, and exited the house. She listened for a moment to the muffled sounds of continuing conversations.  Satisfied that she wasn’t needed anymore, she walked to her car. Her phone buzzed.  She looked down.  It was a text from her husband.

              “How did the visit to Stan and Angie go?”  Sally frowned, trying to decide how to phrase her response.  Before leaving, she’d told Mearl that she was checking on Stan and Angie, who were on a work trip.  It was difficult to keep the details as vague as she’d needed, but she managed.  Barely.

              “How do you think it went?  Our daughter picked a great husband.  They’ve got some exciting news that they said I could share.”

              “Exciting?  I think I might know what it is.”

              “Oh, really?”

              “This is about the point in a marriage that the Famous McGucket Fertility starts to act up…”  Sally chuckled and got into the car.  “Any word from Fiddleford and Stanford?”

              “Not yet.  But those two are always elbows-deep in research.  No more texts; I’ve got to get on the road.”

              “Love you, honey-bun.”  Sally smiled.

              “Love you, too.”  She looked up at the house for a moment, biting her lip nervously.

              I don’t like leavin’ ‘em alone like this.  Someone pulled apart the curtains of the kitchen window, revealing Ford, Fiddleford, and the neighbor’s two children devouring muffins.  Sally nodded, resolute.  They’ve been through worse.  They can handle it.  She started the car.  They have to.

[thelastspeecher]

@eregyrn-falls, I answered the first part of your comment, about Stangie, here.

as for the rest of this...

Fiddauthor happens, but it’s a slow burn.  they don’t get together until like, a couple years after the main event where the two of them get held hostage by Bill and Stan and Angie have to rescue them.  relationships between demigods and normal mortals are perfectly fine, as long as the mortal is okay with being a target of monsters, since demigods sort of attract monsters.  maybe Fiddauthor doesn’t happen until after Stan and/or Angie tells them to stop being obtuse and go for it.  that, or they see how annoyingly happy and cute Stangie is, and decide they want that.

and Angie’s relationship with her family...

it doesn’t change much with her parents and Fiddleford.  Fiddleford has the Sight, so he can see monsters and shit when normal mortals can’t.  he inherited the Sight from Ma McGucket, which was what attracted a god to her.  that’s besides the point.  the point is that Fiddleford knew from the start that something was odd about his baby sister, and gets told the truth when Ma and Pa Guck find out the truth about Angie’s parentage.  so bc her parents and Fidds knew, things don’t change for Angie’s relationships with them.  Angie gets spoiled a bit extra whenever she comes home from Camp Half-Blood, or right before she leaves, but that’s the only way things change.  and honestly, Ma and Pa would spoil her even if she wasn’t leaving for a camp where she learned how to control her divine powers and fight monsters.

the rest of her older siblings are blindsided and shocked about the whole thing.  Angie didn’t have much of an intense relationship with Violynn, Harper, and Basstian, bc there’s a big age difference between them, so the change isn’t as obvious as it is with Lute.  basically, Violynn, Harper, and Basstian all call Angie to tell her that they love her, and she’ll always be their little sister, and this doesn’t change anything.  they do act a bit weird around her the next time they see her, tho.  they’re still coming to terms with the fact that the girl that ran around on the farm with them, and they watched take her first steps and talk for the first time, and they remember their ma being pregnant with and then coming home from the hospital with.  that little girl wasn’t their full sister.  it’s strange for them.

the biggest issue that Angie has with her family and the revelation that she’s only half-Guck, comes from Lute, aka the sibling she is closest to.  Lute gets ridiculously jealous.  he’s pissed.  first, he finds out that his baby sister is the reason they have monsters all the time on the farm, then he finds out that she’s the daughter of the freaking god of the sea and can breathe underwater and is naturally athletic.  he’s the swimmer.  he’s the athlete.  why does Angie get all of these things that he deserves?  Lute doesn’t back off until the family gets a phone call from Angie while she’s at camp, and she starts crying about how she hasn’t made any friends except for Stan and Ford, and they started acting weird after she got claimed.  Lute’s still jealous, but more importantly, he’s a big brother, and he cares about his baby sister.  his jealousy doesn’t vanish, and it takes a while for Angie and Lute to get as close as they were (when you’re that close, and there’s a big secret one person doesn’t know about; it’s difficult to repair that trust), but Lute decides to stop being openly frustrated with Angie for her parentage.

the Gucks that are at least 21 all have a nice drink of alcohol after the Revelation, and the ones that aren’t at least 21 also have a nice drink of alcohol.

I think that answered your quesiton?