#and stan dozes off at the table while ford is getting coffee

[phoenix-art-official]

woah guys look! its mister Deep Well of Sadness and his brother Golden Child Ego!

[avcdgrdn]

── .✦ [ FIC ]: coffee date with ford ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝

stanford pines x reader fluff // based off of this headcanon post.

˙✧˖° ༘ ⋆｡˚

you could tell that something was off as soon as you walked into the house.

the mystery (s)hack has officially run out of coffee beans ... and there's a grumpy grunkle to show for it.

"uuugh..."

six rough fingers moved to wearily rub the forehead of their owner: a sleep-deprived scientist who'd stayed up late last night working on a project. of course, whether the project was actually worth losing sleep over or not wasn't entirely relevant ... ford just didn't want to go to bed and deal with his thought-filled brain. despite his troubles with bill being behind him, there often are nights where he just can't fight the paranoia.

trudging out into the kitchen, the broad-built man leaned against a countertop with one arm, heaving a low and rumbling sigh.

"well, well. good morning, sunshine." a gruff voice called out from across the room, accompanied by the sound of cereal pouring into a bowl. stanley was ' making breakfast ' for dipper and mabel, who waited eagerly at the table. "didja get enough beauty sleep?"

"i'll answer that question after i have my coffee." ford huffed, eyes still half-shut and darkened with exhaustion. upon hearing those words, stan trailed out an 'uhhhh' and glanced towards the coffee machine.

"about that, sixer ... it's all gone. i was gonna grab another bag the last time i was out, but i got distracted."

if, by being distracted, he meant attempting to shoplift a twelve-pack of pitt cola and getting caught, he was technically telling the truth.

"what."

the corner of ford's left eye twitched. no coffee? how could he have overlooked such a possibility? great ... just great.

after a moment longer of taking in the unfolding scene from the open front door, you decided to speak up.

"uh, everything okay?"

everyone's attention shifted to you. you'd only been staying with the pines family for a few days as a temporary fix for your living situation, but somehow, it was beginning to feel like home. mabel grinned brightly upon seeing you, waving her small hands in the air.

"hiya, cutie !! back from your morning walk? how'd it go?"

you met her honey brown eyes, and a smile crept onto your expression.

"it was lovely, thanks." you made your way into the house, closing the front door behind you and promptly taking a seat beside the smaller twins at the table. the grunkles observed you, following suit and each coming over to fill the remaining empty seats.

"i hope ya like cereal, cause i can't cook for my life!" stan grinned, gave everyone a bowl of cereal, and the feasting began.

mabel scarfed down her bowl, akin to how waddles might eat his own breakfast. dipper and stan both ate slowly, while you were somewhere in the middle. the only odd one out was ford, who hadn't touched his spoon at all. his head was rested against one hand, and his eyes were shut, as if he were deep in thought or (more likely) dozing off. still, he looked like he should at least eat something ...

"ford?" you called from across the table, spoon in hand.

"i- wh- ... huh?"

he stammered, a faint shade of crimson tinting his cheeks as he snapped awake and stared at you like a deer in headlights. stan snickered.

"what's wrong?" your voice was concerned, with an undertone of amusement. it seemed unnatural for him to act so disheveled, considering how your first impression of him was extremely put-together and educated. although, you couldn't say you disliked this side of him.

he cleared his throat. "well, you see, we've ... run out of coffee. during days like these, i rely on the caffeine to keep me awake."

"i see." you crunched on another mouthful of cereal, swallowing with a thoughtful hum. "isn't there a good café somewhere near here?"

at that, ford raised his bushy brows. a café? that's a good point.

"it must be relatively new, because i can't say that i've ever been to such an establishment in town." he mused, stroking his chin stubble as he attempted to recall the various changes that had occurred in gravity falls since he'd returned after being gone for thirty years.

"i could take you, if you like."

"...what?"

and now, all eyes were on you.

blinking innocently, you restated your offer.

"i said, i could take you, if you like. i've been there a few times myself, and they've got a lot of good options."

"gasp !! like a date ??" mabel squealed, only to be elbowed by her twin brother. her comment earned a darker blush from ford and a choke from stan.

"u-um ... i wouldn't necessarily say a da-"

"ahem! i accept your offer. it would be good for me to get out of the house, anyway." ford hurriedly interrupted you, averting his gaze as he straightened his trench coat and adjusted his turtleneck. a stifled squeal of joy could be heard from the kids' end of the table.

and just like that, you found yourself strolling down the sidewalk, side by side with the tired scientist. he had freshened up somewhat, having taken the time to tame his bedhead hair and clean his dusty glasses. even while sleep deprived, he looked handsome in the warmth of the sunlight. catching yourself staring, you quickly averted your gaze to in front of you, focusing on where you were walking. ford had most definitely seen you looking, but chose not to say anything about it.

the silence wasn't uncomfortable, per se, but it certainly was not commonplace for either of you. you've been living on your own for a while now, so you're acquainted with silence, but not the kind shared with another person. on the flip side, ford has slowly been learning to cherish peace and quiet again after getting rid of bill's voice in his head.

upon arriving at the café, the two of you took in the inviting atmosphere, inhaling the scent of brewing coffee and sweet pastries as the little bell hanging from the door jingled to signal your appearance. ford visibly relaxed, already pleased.

"you know what you want?" you questioned with a smile, glancing up to meet his eyes.

"mm, i think i'll have the cold brew with vanilla cream." he replied, the corners of his mouth tugging up in a somewhat shy grin. you swore you could feel butterflies in your stomach.

"alright." making your way up to the cashier, you put in your order for two drinks, pulling out your wallet and selecting the appropriate bills to pay for the both of you. ford was somewhat shocked that you had made the move to pay for his drink, and his bashful smile grew as you found a table to sit down at.

"thank you, that was very generous of you." he adjusted his glasses, sitting across from you and giving you a brief once-over. "i could have covered it, you know."

"ah, don't worry about it." now that you thought about it, this was the first time that you were spending one-on-one time with him, apart from the rest of the family ... was this really a date, like mabel had said? your face began to heat up at the notion, but you quickly distracted yourself by looking down to fidget with the edge of your sleeve.

feeling the need to break the silence, the silver-streaked man shifted in his seat. "so ... tell me about yourself."

he was clearly showing interest in getting to know you, which was flattering, and somewhat endearing. given his quiet demeanor, it was obvious that socialization was not his strong suit. still, you couldn't deny that he had a certain rugged charm about him.

staring out the window, you thought for a moment, then spoke. "for starters, you know that i'm working on moving into a house." there was another pause as you mulled over your next words. "i'm interested in the strange phenomenons here in gravity falls. i was raised in another state, but my family relocated here while i was in high school. that's what got me curious about certain ... abnormalities." you smiled softly, fixing your gaze onto him. "i think unusual things are wonderful."

stanford was practically slack-jawed, his dark brown eyes shining with the wonder of a child in love. any previous hesitation was completely abandoned.

"why, that's what i've dedicated my life purpose to for years!" his wide shoulders leaned over the table, bringing his face closer to your own. "i've been keeping journals-"

he was interrupted by a barista calling out your name across the café. regretfully, you had to tear your attention from his enthusiasm, standing to go collect your drinks from the counter. for some reason, the thudding of your heart was very loud.

returning to your seat, you put ford's cold brew in front of him before taking a swig of your own drink. he carefully picked up the cup, observing it from a few different angles before raising it to his lips. he took a long sip, then made a low, content hum. "yes ... this is exactly what i needed." you could already see the caffeine revitalizing him. "now, where was i? ah, yes! the journals."

the next hour and a half consisted of him infodumping about the journals and all of the wonderful things he's seen and done. he earned quite a few reactions from you, each of which inflated his ego even further. by the end of his rant, he was on an energetic and emotional high.

the two of you were laughing at some corny one-liner he'd thrown in, and ford leaned back in his seat, crossing his arms over his broad chest as it heaved with deep chuckles.

"you know, i haven't talked with anyone like this in a while, besides stanley and the kids, of course." a warm smile graced his features. "i'm glad that you invited me here. and ..." he trailed off, his eyes narrowing. "... i think you're an interesting person. clearly, we share the same passion."

oh, crap. why was he looking at you like that? why was it hot? you could feel yourself slowly losing your composure. why did your type have to be nerds?

"t-thanks. i think you're interesting, too." you blushed, smiling and feeling giddy.

"we should do this again, yes?"

"i would love to."

end (˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶)

author's note:

expect more ford content from me (he's literally my pookie)

also if you give me feedback i love you

if you have any fic ideas, shoot me a request!

[ramblesanddragons]

Food Brings You Together...Probably.

@elisheva9467 asked for a little slice of story with Stan and Ford. Ended up being a little longer than I thought. I have a headcanon that Stan likes to cook and this happened. Thanks for waiting elisheva

Stan was going to have to swallow a bit of his pride but it would be worth it if his plan worked.

“Hey Ford, I’m headed to the store. Would ya mind coming with me?��

His twin perked his head up from designing something for the boat at the question. A soft and understanding smile crossed his face.

“Of course.”

Now Ford thought he was coming along on the rare chance  there was a memory incident. Ever since the not end of the world, Ford had been doing his best to help Stan out and he appreciated it, he really did. The real reason Stan was dragging him along though was to get his stubborn brother to eat a real meal. Ever since coming home Ford had consumed nothing but coffee and some sort of alien food pill. His hope was that Ford would eye something good and want to eat it. If not Stan had a few other ideas.

Three isles in and it was looking like the con man was going to have to appeal to his brother’s since of practicality. He started putting in every unhealthy food item he saw. He had cut out so many of his vices in his life that junk food had become one of the only ones Stan let himself indulge in but this was reaching ridiculous even for him. Ford finally noticed.

“Stan...do you really need 3 cartons of ice cream?”

“Eh, I’m old. I think I should eat what I want.”

To Stan’s frustration Ford didn’t argue. Alright time to pull out the big guns. He casually walked over to the stakes and started picking out nice ones. (Two of which went into his jacket pocket because good meat is too damn expensive)

“Besides everyone knows I’m the better cook in the family.”

“Now who says that?”

Bingo

“I might get a lot of take out but I also learned how to cook pretty good. I was always the one helping Ma out in the kitchen. You couldn’t make cereal without burning it.” Stan chortled.

“It’s cook pretty wel...I mean. I can cook just fine thank you.”

“Okay then, prove it. You cook dinner tonight and I’ll cook it tomorrow. Who ever makes the better meal is the better cook.”

“We both know we’ll pick our own meals Stan.”

“So we get Soos and his abuelita to be the judges. Don’t let them know who cooked what.”

Ford pondered for a moment then smiled. “Very well. If you’ll excuse me I have a few things to go get.”

While Ford was distracted Stan returned the ridiculous amount of junk food and got what he needed for his dinner. A few times Ford came up to Stan asking for a few weird things (”Does this store carry Ignatriumsis?” “Ford that’s not a real word in this dimension.”) they checked out and headed home.

Having grown used to cooking over an open fire Stan helped Ford pull out the old grill and then settled into his seat to watch TV. The shack was oddly quiet. Soos was finishing packing up his stuff in his old place and his abuelita was at bingo night. He missed the noise of the kids but a chance to relax was nice too. The old man began comfortably dozing.

Until there was the sound of a large fire roaring to life.

Stan scrambled to the kitchen to grab the fire extinguisher and ran outside to quell whatever mishap his brother had created. Running outside there was a thin column of fire rising out of the grill at least 15 feet into the air but thankfully dying down. Behind the grill was Ford, smiling wide. If anyone were to summon hell fire to cook it would be Ford.

“What the actual fuck Sixer?”

“The coals refused to light so I did a little improvising.”

Stan threw the extinguisher at Ford who caught and went back inside to get his heart to stop racing a mile a minute.

Dinner was served around six. The four of them sat comfortably around the table. Still a little quiet without the kids but still pleasant. On their plates was grilled chicken, corn covered in Mexican crema and cotija (Stan knew what Ford was up to. Playing up to the old ladies’ nostalgia. Clever.) and green beans. It honestly did look very good. Ford had marinated the chicken in something zesty which was delicious but the chicken was a tad bit burnt. Soos’ Abuelita hummed in pleasure eating the corn and which lead to a few stories of her childhood. After dinner the twins did the dishes while the other two went to watch TV.

“Alright. I can admit when I enjoy a meal,” Stan said.

“Why thank you Stanley.”

“But I’m going to blow you out of the water tomorrow.”

The next day Stan found himself itching to get to dinner time. In all honesty he liked to cook, was decent at it too if you asked him. One of the few things he let himself enjoy after being financially stable enough was good food. Nothing fancy really (unless he could sneak it out of the store) but it was nice to have three square meals a day after going so long wondering where his next meal was coming from. The only reason he ate out with the kids so much this summer is those little gremlins took up a lot of energy. Between that and the portal he was wiped most days. It was nice to be cooking again.

Stan seasoned the steaks and let them sit a bit while he got the baked potatoes ready. There was even going to be a fancy cesar salad with shaved parmesan. Salad was normally classified as ‘rabbit food’ but Ford would like it.

Stan downed each of the stakes in butter and garlic careful to make it how he knew everyone liked it. This wasn’t the first time he had made dinner for Soos and his abuelita and maybe that was slightly cheating but he didn’t really care. Let’s see...he liked his rare, Abuelita liked hers closer to well, Soos liked a nice medium, and he figured Ford would like it that was as well.

Dinner was once again nice and pleasant. Stan had finally gotten used to having people constantly joining him for dinner. It was weird at first but he found that he rather enjoyed it. Soos was almost done with moving and the boys shared their plans to go to the coast tomorrow. They would be getting home late but the perfect Stan of War II was waiting to be bought.  Before after dinner clean up Stan cleared his throat.

“Okay before we head off for the night we got something to ask you two. Which dinner did you like better?”

Their judges pondered for a moment.

“I liked tonight’s the best. Love me some steak,” Soos said.

“I actually liked last night’s dinner better. Not that tonight wasn’t delicious as well.”

Ford chuckled, “Perhaps we needed a third judge.”

“Meh doesn’t matter. Got you to do what I wanted so I’ll call that a win.”

Ford shot him a confused look. “Was this a...what exactly was your goal here?”

“To get ya to eat a real damn meal.”

“Oh.”

Soos and his abuelita quietly left the kitchen although Stan was certain they were still listening.

“Look I know I don’t eat that well but living off alien pills and coffee can’t be much better for ya. Besides I’ve learned to be a pretty good cook. ‘Bout the only thing I’ve gotten good at. You’re going to be doin’ all the science stuff on this trip the least I can do it cook shit but that doesn’t help if ya don’t eat.” Stan stood and began aggressively scrubbing at the dishes.

“Stan you’re not just along to be the cook or to be some sort of help. I want to go on an adventure with my brother. We could go anywhere really as long as we’re having fun.”

The old man turned “Can that include a warm place or two? Maybe pick up some babes?”

“I will schedule babes into the itinerary. With three...or at least one square meal a day.”

Stan barked out a laugh, “Only one?”

“I’m trying to be realistic.”

The next night the boys got home very late but with a new boat to make their own in tow. Stan had planned on just hitting the hey when they got in but the twins were met with the most heavenly smell when they opened the door. They found Soos in the den already in a food coma and his abuelita setting out two plates with some of the most mouth watering food they had ever seen. Beef tamales with a slight bit of steam rising off of them and cilantro rice.

“You were so nice to cook dinner the past two nights I figured it was my turn.” She chirped happily.

Ford and Stan dug in and Stan was pretty sure he ascended to heaven for a moment. Everything was melt in your mouth good. He looked his twin in the eye.

“She wins.” They said at the same time.

[snekatiegf]

The McGucket Residence

Ford, Fiddleford, and Tate interactions with a little Fiddauthor

Summary: The Pines family is back for the Summer, but with the Mystery Shack being occupied, they need a new place to stay, so Ford makes a visit to McGucket.

Pairings: A little bit of Fiddauthor- as a treat

Warnings: A confrontation of sorts

Characters: Ford, Tate, Fiddleford

Ford rang the doorbell, and could hear the faint jingle from inside the house, as well as the whirring of mechanical workings from whatever modifications Fiddleford had added to the bell. Ford visited this place once before but he still feels quite inadequate next to the doors of the mansion. The house was huge. He had no idea how the Northwests could have been at all happy here. Now Fiddleford owns the place and Ford hears it's a much warmer, happier spot. He rents out rooms for cheap and he has many people coming and going at nearly all times of the day- humans and creatures alike.

It was Tate who opened the doors and he was already talking, as if he was tired of repeating this same thing for visitors. "No need to ring, you can come in anytime-" he faltered when he realised who was standing in front of him. "Oh, you're back. I'm guessin' you're here for my dad? Also, for future reference, Dr. Pines, you can just come right in."

"Right, of course," Ford replied. Tate stepped back and Ford walked into the house. Tate closed the door behind him and began to lead him to the main room. "Also, you know you can call me Ford, Tate."

"I know, it's just…"

"It's been a long time, I know."

Tate said nothing, and instead stopped by the entrance of a large room.

"You can wait here for dad," he said, motioning inside. The room held several couches and chairs, and a coffee table, a large tv screen, and several beanbags. There was a fireplace built into one wall but was currently unlit, and on the mantle were a whole lot of photo frames.

Around the room lounged a variety of the manor's other residents. A couple of gnomes lounged on the beanbags, watching some movie on the tv. A lone manotaur was dozing on a chair, and abandoned magazine on his lap. A couple of fairies flitted up by the ceiling, casting colorful light on everyone below. Wax Larry King's head sat on the coffee table with a bowl of M&M's beside him. The Multibear lay curled up and half asleep in the corner of the room. Ford was quite impressed with the lineup of creatures in here.

"Jeff, do you think you can get my dad?" The gnome frowned but nodded, standing up and jogging out of the room. Ford called a quick thank you to the small man before turning to examine the photographs above the fireplace.

In each one was Fiddleford with at least one other person, Tate mostly, but there were a couple of him with a variety of mythical creatures, a group photo of the twins' thirteenth birthday, and two that Ford noticed was with him.

One was from last year before he and Stan had left for the arctic, taken at the birthday party. Ford had been talking to Dan Corduroy- he hadn't seen the man in years and although he knew that he didn't remember him (Fiddleford and his Blind Eye had seen to that), it was still nice to catch up on what the lumberjack had been doing for the past thirty or so years. Fiddleford had unexpectedly leapt onto him and Ford had barely managed to catch him, but they had both gone tumbling to the ground. Mabel had managed to capture the moment. In the photo, Ford, looking shocked, was on the ground with both arms wrapped around Fiddleford, who had a huge grin on his face.

Ford had to smile once he saw the photo, but the next one just made him feel a bit sad. It was an old Polaroid from college. Fiddleford had taken it- it was a picture of him with his arm slung over Ford's shoulder. Ford had a book in front of him and a frustrated look, proving that this photo had been taken against his will. He wasn't sure when exactly this was taken, but it was amazing that Fiddleford had it still, especially after everything that had happened to him.

"Stan gave him that one, right before you two left," Tate explained from behind him. "He said he found it and a couple others when he was clearing out the Shack."

Ford nodded. He knew what Tate was talking about- he had been there helping when Stan had recovered a box of old photographs from the lab. He had given the box to Ford, but Ford wasn't aware that he had passed some to Fiddleford as well. He grabbed the frame and held it closer, examine it with a small smile. How long ago this had been. He turned when he felt a hand on his shoulder.

"He's gotten much better, you know," Tate told him. Ford tilted his head quizzically. "I mean, I know you've been callin' and sendin' your letters back and forth, and you saw him at New Years, but I thought you might want to hear from another source."

"Thank you, Tate," Ford said, smiling at the young man. Tate nodded but his face shifted into something much more serious.

"You're lucky he forgave you so easily. If it were me, I doubt I would have done the same," he said. "Now, I'm willin' to give you another chance, especially after all you've done to save the town, and I can tell you really do feel bad about what happened. But you better watch your back if anything goes wrong while you're here. You and your family are good at meddlin'- I've seen your folks get into a whole lotta dangerous situations in this town."

"Of course, Tate," Ford said. "I care about Fiddleford deeply. I don't know what I'd do with myself if I ever ended up hurting him again. He deserves the best in the world."

Tate gave him a small smile, lifting his hat slightly in a rare show of his eyes. "You better be the best in the world then, because he cares a lot about you, too." He pushed his hat back down and stepped back. "Seriously, though, keep an eye on those kids of yours. They're good at gettin' into trouble. They had a run-in with that island beast last summer, even though I warned them not to go."

Ford sighed, picking at the friendship bracelet on his wrist, a gift from Mabel. "That is true. Unfortunately, I can't always be there for them. But they lasted most of the summer on their own before I returned. I trust they can take care of themselves." He turned back towards the photos, eyes landing on the group photo at last year's party. Ford and Stan stood in the back with their arms around each others shoulders. "Plus, they've got Stan too. He's been keeping them closer, when he can. He's worried he might lose them again."

"I can tell you missed him," Tate said. "I only saw you once and twice before you two left, but I can tell you're much more content. And I've read some of your letters to dad- you guys seem to be having the time of your lives."

"Yeah, well, nothing is perfect," Ford replied. "There's still the nightmares, and Stan's memory lapses occasionally. A lot less often than before, though. And I keep hearing Bill's laughter in my head at times, but I can tune it out. Most of the time, at least. But it's so great to have Stan back, no matter what. Although, there is one thing that concerns me…"

"What is that?"

Ford glanced at the other occupants of the room. None of them seemed to be paying much attention to the pair, but he lowered his voice anyways. "A lot of the mystical beasts we've encountered seem almost… afraid of Stan, and they don't react the same way to me. It's as if they can sense something inside of him. And I don't like to think about what it might be."

"I'm sure it's fine, Dr. Pines. Besides, you've got some strong and smart people on your side. If anything happens to your brother, I don't doubt you'll be able to help him."

"Thank you, Tate."

Tate nodded. He sat on one of the empty couches and Ford moved to follow him, but then Jeff reentered with Fiddleford and he was back on his feet immediately. Ignoring the amused sound from Tate, he was by Fiddleford's side in the span of about half a second, wrapping his arms around the other man in a hug.

"Well if it ain't Stanford Pines," Fiddleford said. He pulled back and gave Ford a big grin that covered his whole face, and Ford was almost thrown off by how much the old man had changed since last year.

He bad definitely been a little different when Ford had seen him last in December. Then, he had had his beard trimmed and was wearing nicer clothes, and his face had filled out more. Now, nearly half a year later, he looked even better than before. He stood up straighter, he had gained weight, he seemed to be almost shining.

"It's been a while, hasn't it?" Ford asked.

"Well, shucks, after thirty years, six months is nothin'. How's your adventurin' been?"

"As well as chasing after dangerous monsters can go. It's good to finally be with Stan again."

"That's good to hear!" Fiddleford replied. He turned to his son. "All good Tater? I'll take it from here."

Tate nodded and stood up. He gave his dad a quick pat on the arm as he left the room.

"Now, tell me why you're visitin' my shed today," Fiddleford said. "And have you got the others with you?"

"It's just me today, the others are lodged up at the Shack. That's why I'm here, actually," Ford said. "Soos and Melody are more than happy to let us stay there for the summer, but there's not nearly enough room for all of us. I was wondering if we can spend the summer here."

"Of course! You don't even hafta ask! I'm sure I've got four open rooms."

"Well, Dipper and Mabel will want to share, so make that three."

"Even better! Bring your folks right now and I can get 'em settled in."

"Thank you, Fiddleford."

[as-be-low]

Time Has Changed Me, Chapter 9

I Never Really Knew What to Do

And I’m a goddamn fool, but then again so are you And the lion’s roar, the lion’s roar Has me seeking out and searching for you And I never really knew what to do

The Lion’s Roar—First Aid Kit

He hoped it would be a walk in the park.

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8

The morning was quiet.

Stanford crouched down to sit on the porch and watched the rimy dew glitter across the glass. His fingers tapped a lazy rhythm against his steaming mug. The abominable leprecorn was still present and was asleep on the porch, off to the side, but Ford chose to ignore it. Let sleeping dogs lie. He wished it were something as plain as a stupid dog. He and Stanley had always wanted a dog, growing up. There hadn’t been any room for pets in their small apartment. Pa would’ve said no, regardless. He hunkered down, letting his first two fingers tap a lazy rhythm against his mug. Yesterday had been a bust.

He refused to dwell on it.

But those scars. His mind kept lingering on those scars. They were etched into his mind, much like they were into Stan’s skin. He’d never be able to pick them away.

Neither of them would.

Ford heaved a heavy sigh as his fingers tapped a lazy rhythm against his mug. He’d apologized, on pain of a child’s tears, but he knew that wasn’t enough. He just didn’t know what else to do. He’d folded his brother’s clothing, sparse though they were, along with his niece’s belongings. She had more than Stanley, which gave him some comfort, but without the blanket Stan so often wrapped her in, the entirety hardly filled a diaper bag. Stanley had shoved their belongings into the worn, multicolored bag and dumped it all into the washer barrel before Ford could get a good look at anything. He’d done that on purpose, and Stanford knew it. Ford had stared at the caricature of a smiling lion on the bottom of the bag while it was upended. The baby giraffes and bears and elephants dancing around the big cat came in as a close second for visual interest.

His mouth contorted up and to the side in a pucker while his eyebrows furrowed. It had taken him a while to fold the child’s clothes. The tags said the majority were sized for a two-year-old. He wasn’t sure if he should have found that concerning. Who knew how fiddly such small garments could be? A small smile tickled the corner of his mouth. He knew his niece was tiny, but her shirts were downright miniscule. They looked like an oversized doll’s clothes. Is that why Ma used to call them and any child she came across “little dolls?” Stanford could see the similarities. He’d left her tiny socks in a pile. Half of them seemed to be missing mates, and socks were fiddly enough as they were.

He’d made a child cry yesterday.

It wasn’t as though he’d done it all by himself; Stanley certainly hadn’t helped the situation.

He couldn’t blame this all on Stanley. In no way was that reasonable. The man couldn’t fight himself, and as such, he’d done his part to make the little girl cry. Stanford let a hand slip away from his mug to rub at his face, his fingers lingering across his stubble. She’d forgiven him, though. Just like that, she’d said “okay” and had forgiven him. How had it been so simple? Clearly the child didn’t know any better. Stanford swore to himself not to take her kindness for granted, however long it lasted.

Ford had fought with his brother. Again. He’d fought with him and hurt him and burned him and fought with him again.

He’d never learn.

He set the mug down, careful not to disturb the sleeping beast. It was too early for bagpipe music. That damned thing was infuriating and bizarre, even by his standards, but the thought of running it off was beginning to form a twinge of guilt in the pit of his stomach. He’d try moving it in its sleep. That was much more subtle.

Twenty minutes and a full sweat later, the leprecorn dozed near the treeline with an old towel draped across its back to ward off the morning chill. Ford wasn’t a complete animal. By the time Stanley finally came down the stairs with his bleary-eyed child on his hip, the stupid creature had gone from quietly sleeping to snoring with the intensity of two grown men. He was glad he’d moved it.

Stanley gave the girl on his hip a slight bounce as she rubbed her eye. “Can you say g’morning, sweetie?” he earned a whine for his troubles. “I guess not.” Stella buried her head against his collarbone. “Alright. I guess we’re gonna be cranky this mornin’.”

Ford squinted. “Actually, no, I think she’s grinning at me?”

“Figures.”

Stanford straightened back up. “I, uh. I folded the both of your clothes and placed them back in your bag. Except for the socks. They’re… They’re in the bag, though. Just not folded.” He watched Stan’s jaw tighten.

“You what?”

Oh, here we go. “I folded your laundry, Stanley. I hope that’s not too concerning.” He tried to keep the drawl out of his voice.

Stanley was silent for a moment and shifted from foot to foot. “But why?”

“ ‘Why?’ Why not? It wouldn’t make sense for me to separate mine out and just leave your belongings in a pile.”

Stanley didn’t seem mollified. “I was gonna do it, Ford—”

“And now you don’t have to. It isn’t as though I was doing anything productive at the time—”

“Tch.”

Ford chose to ignore that. “Anyway, I placed it all back in your, uh, diaper bag. It’s all upstairs, near your door.” He grumbled. Stanley made a noise, deep in the back of his throat. Stanford scowled before his attention shifted to the way Stella wiggled in his brother’s arms, her eyes darting back and forth between two matching frowns. Stop it. The last thing anyone needed was a repeat of the previous day’s excitement. He reached up to grab her tiny foot, giving it a gentle squeeze. Six little toes wiggled against his palm. “Good morning, Stella.” He forced a brighter tone. A tense little moment passed before she gave him a small smile. There it is. His own smile widened in earnest. His eyes flickered back to Stanley. “There’s… There’s still coffee, if you’d like.”

Stanley nodded, the edge wearing off of his scowl. “…Thanks.”

“I want some.”

Stanford cocked an eyebrow. “My dear, I don’t know if that’s—”

“We’ll get you some, too, sweetie. Don’t worry.” Stanley kissed her crown.

“But—”

“We’ll get you some.” He repeated, sending Ford an even glare. Damn. Well, fine, then. “Hey, how’s about after you finish your coffee, we find somethin’ fun for you to do?” Stanley hummed into the child’s hair, swaying her from side to side as he stared off, anywhere but at Ford himself. Ford’s face fell. Stan was still eager to avoid him. Of course he was. He’d made his daughter cry. Who wouldn’t want to avoid that?

“Yeah, yeah, yeah!” Stella began to chant, letting her little legs flail against Stanley’s back and stomach.

“Ow! Ow, ow, hey, ey, ey! Jesus, sweetie, don’t kick a man while he’s down!” Stan grumbled with a wince carting her off towards the kitchen. Despite himself, Ford couldn’t mask his chuckle. He inched behind Stanley into the kitchen, trying to hide his look of disappointment. Stanley busied himself with settling Stella into a chair before reaching for two mugs. Ford inched closer and grabbed the coffee pot, eyeing it with unease. Why was he giving a small child coffee? Didn’t that stunt growth?

He leaned in. “Stanley, isn’t that bad for—”

“Hush, Ford. Where’s your milk?”

Ford was silent as he trudged towards the refrigerator, returning with a can of evaporated milk and the gallon jug for good measure. Stanley filled one mug with sweet milk and splashed a bit of coffee in, just enough to discolor the milk.

“Baby coffee.” He mumbled.

“Oh.” Oh. It was a means of placating her. He should’ve known. Ford watched Stanley hand Stella her mug before fixing his own. He shuffled back over to the child and used his free arm to scoop the girl up and sit down, placing her in his lap in one practiced movement. He brought the warm mug to his lips and glanced down to watch Stella fumble with both hands around her own. The broad hand around her middle came up to steady hers, guiding the milk as she lifted it. Ford watched him help her set it down.

“There we go. Like it?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m glad.”

Stanford pressed a hip against the counter as he leaned back to watch the two sip from their respective mugs, though sip may not have been the best word to describe it. Stan nursed his mug, while Stella had hers upturned in both hands, and chugged it dry. She slammed it back onto the table with the weak force only a child could take pride in. Stanley looked down at her with eyebrows raised, his hand creeping away from his mouth.

“Okay. I’d like to think I have no idea where you got that from, but that’s probably considered lying to us both.” Neither Stella nor her milk moustache seemed to understand.

“What?”

“Nothin’, sweetie.” Stan pressed another kiss to the top of her head.

Baby coffee sufficiently drained, Stella switched to playing with her father’s fingers as he balanced her on his leg. He gave her tummy the occasional pat as she wiggled, earning himself a small coo here and there as he gave his leg a lazy, rhythmic bounce. Stella leaned forward to reach for his mug. He snatched it out of reach.

“No, sweetie. This is grownup coffee. It’s hot, see?” He eased the mug down for her to give it a gentle prod. “We might burn ourselves, so let’s not, okay?”

Stella squinted at the offending mug. “Ow.”

“Hurt your finger?”

“No.”

Stanley kissed the little digit anyway. Ford found himself smiling. Stanley nudged both mugs out of her reach and placed both hands across her stomach, patting lightly as she giggled. “Tummy bongos. Tum-my. Bon-gos.” He began to chant, before ducking his head to blow a raspberry against her cheek. Ford winced at the shriek the child unleashed and watched as a pudgy little hand shoved at Stanley’s face. She dissolved into peals of laughter and leaned against his chest with a whump. “…Ow. That had to hurt. That hurt me.” Stella didn’t look too concerned. It took her a moment to calm back down once Stanley straightened back up.

Ford opened his mouth to speak, then snapped it shut. He was at a loss. Again. He pursed his lips for a moment. “Stella?”

“Yes?”

A smile crept back to his face. “What’s your favorite game?”

She threw her little hands in the air. “All the games!”

Ford let his eyebrows shoot upwards. “All of them?”

“Yeah!”

“Even…” he paused to think for a moment. What had he and Stanley played as children? “Even pick-up-sticks?”

“Yeah!” she chirped. “I like sticks.”

“That’s not the same, sweetie, but I’m glad you like pickin’ up sticks.” Stanley chuckled and pressed another kiss to the child’s crown. She looked put-out.

“Is too! You pick up sticks ‘n you wave ‘em ‘n the best stick is the winner ‘cause it’s the best one.”

“Sounds concernin’.”

Stella twisted to frown at her father. “You find sticks ‘n you pick them up ‘n then you win.”

“Ohhh. That’s right, that’s how you win. Silly me went ‘n forgot how to play. Think you can forgive me?”

She squinted up at him for a long moment. “Yeah.”

“Thank you. You’re too kind.”

“Yeah.” Stanford lost his composure and doubled forward, choking on his own saliva.

“You okay? You’re not s’posed t’ make that noise.” She cautioned, and made his laughter come out as a hard wheeze.

“He’s fine, sweetie, he’s just laughin’.”

“Why?”

“He thinks you’re funny.”

“But I am funny.”

“You really are, though.” Stan lifted the child and turned her to face him, placing a kiss on the bridge of her nose. She grabbed his face. “Stella, ow!”

“Sorry! Sorry, Daddy!”

“S’alright, honey. We gotta be careful messin’ with people’s faces, though, okay?”

“Okay.” She pouted.

“You’re not in trouble, sweetie. Just… Just be careful, okay? You ‘n those lil’ razor-sharp nails.” She stared at him for a moment longer before she stuck her arm out to reach for him. He pulled the child in for a hug, his smile parting his face. The little girl threw her stubby little arms around Stanley’s neck. “Oh, sweetie pie…” Stanley cooed.

She wiggled to place a quick peck against the cheek she scratched. “Better.”

“Mmm hmm. Much better.” Stanley agreed, swallowing the hoarseness out of his voice. The room was silent for a moment. “I love you, Stella.” He mumbled into her hair. Ford blinked. Four little words had thrown him for a complete loop. Though they weren’t directed at him, Ford couldn’t remember the last time he’d heard that phrase. It must have been years.

No, that wasn’t true. He’d spoken to Ma nearly a week ago. He’d used it then.

Twice in however many years most likely fell well into the pathetic category.

He watched the child smash her cheek against her father’s bruised, stubbled one. “I love me, too.” She cooed.

Stanley turned his head to get a good look at her and let out a bark of laughter. Stanford himself wasn’t far behind. He watched as Stan rocked her from side to side and patted her small back as she draped herself over his shoulder. This was absolutely Stan’s child, no doubt about it.

“Oh, sweetie.” Stanley hummed. “You are somethin’ else, you know that?” She stuck a finger in her mouth as response. She certainly had moxie; it was easy for Ford to admit. “You lil’ gremlin.” Warmth colored Stanley’s tone. Ford wondered when he’d ever heard such affection in his brother’s voice. Certainly not when they were young and foolish and still thick as thieves. That tone of voice was better reserved for their ma some thirty-odd years ago.

He furrowed his brow. Ma didn’t know about Stanley’s child. She had a granddaughter she didn’t know existed. He himself had a niece he hadn’t known existed until three days prior. Stanley had planned on never having contact with his family ever again, and the thought sent pulses of dread trickling down Ford’s neck. He had to open his mouth.

“And what’s your favorite thing?”

She lifted her head an inch. “Ever?”

“Your favorite thing ever? Well, I don’t see why not.”

She wrinkled her little face in thought. “Daddy! Daddy’s the bestest thing!” she beamed.

Stanford’s eyes shot up. This child was going to break his heart, and Stanley’s, too, if the way his battered arms tightened around her and his face sank into her fuzzy head were any indication. He watched Stanley rock his baby, though it seemed like an excuse to hide the way his shoulders trembled and shook. Stella looked a bit put-out and squirmed in his tight grip, twisting her body so that she faced Ford instead of her possibly crying father. Ford must have been giving her an odd look, judging from the confused look she shot up at him.

“Hi.”

“Hello, sweetling.” He found himself murmuring back. Stanley coughed behind her. “It appears you…surprised your father with your favorite thing. Quite thoroughly.” He amended.

“Okay.” She busied herself with playing with her fingers. Ford watched her tiny little joints articulate. Is that what others saw when he moved? He couldn’t bring himself to look away. It baffled him. How small they were, and yet they flexed and straightened so well. It bordered on surreal. Why was he so fascinated by what he saw past the end of his own nose? He’d seen six digits every day of his life. What made her smaller hands so intriguing?

The child continued to wiggle her little fingers at herself. The twelve little digits were in need of a wipe-down. Surely Stanley would notice, he hoped sooner rather than later. She really was sticky, and Stanford wasn’t even sure when the stickiness had occurred.

She started to babble a little song of her own making. “Now you’re just tryin’ t’be cute.” Stan grumbled, his voice hoarse and gravelly. “It’s workin’.” Indeed it was. Stella turned her head to grin up at him.

“I take it she does that a lot?”

Stanley looked down. “What, the baby songs?” he shrugged. “Whenever she feels like it. It’s usually just noises.” Stan was silent for a moment while Stella continued. “Like that.”

The child’s eyes darted back and forth between the two men while she babbled her tune. She let out another shriek of a giggle as the hand across her tummy switched from patting to tickling for a brief moment. It took a while for the residual giggles to die down.

Ford swallowed. “I… So, did you sleep well?” His lips pursed together as Stanley sent him a slight frown.

“Yeah. Slept fine.” Stan mumbled. Ford wasn’t so convinced.

“…Right. You don’t… You don’t need any more blankets or anything, do you? Pillows?” Ford winced at the words even as they left his mouth. Stanley sighed.

“No, Ford, we’re good. Really.”

Ford nodded. “Okay.” There was a lull.

“Thanks, though.”

“It’s certainly not a problem.” Ford watched as Stella pressed her lips together to make another little noise, then began to wiggle in Stan’s grip. Cute. “What about…” he trailed off. “What about—”

“It’s fine, Ford. Don’t worry about it.” Stan grumbled, shifting the wiggling toddler. He bounced his knee, which seemed to appease her for a few moments while he scowled somewhere past Stanford’s head.

And there she goes. Ford hummed to himself as she wiggled her way out of Stanley’s lap and to her feet. She gave his leg a quick pat before toddling off. Ford bit back a chuckle. Stan didn’t seem bothered by it. He watched the man’s countenance unfurl, choosing to remain still himself until Stanley’s gaze settled on him.

“Stan, I—” He cut himself off with a huff, dragging a hand down the length of his face. “I find myself…compelled to apologize for my behavior yesterday.” Stanley sighed. Did he just roll his eyes? Oh, honestly, the nerve of him. “Our fighting was highly inappropriate, innocent company notwithstanding.” His brother let out another huff, the line of his body elongating only to crumple and collapse back down like an accordion with the accompanying, tuneless wheeze.

“Ford’ we’ve been in one prolong fight for, what? Twenty? Thirty years? Fightin’ might as well be the baseline standard at this point.”

Ford hated that he found himself agreeing. “It shouldn’t be the standard, though.”

“There’s a lotta stuff that shouldn’t be, but it is.” Stan shrugged.

“That’s not… That’s a… less-than-optimistic mindset to hold.”

“A realistic one, though.”

Ford let out a long sigh. “Stanley. Just… Just let me apologize, okay?”

The man seemed uncomfortable with the mere concept. “What’s the point?” Stanley sent him a stare so even it unnerved Stanford. He deflated.

“The point is, just because this is the way things have been doesn’t mean it should remain that way.” Stanley shrugged. It was a start, maybe. That was better than nothing, Ford supposed. There had to be a way to alleviate the sheer unease that hung heavy between them like an illness. The silence stretched between them, long and disjoining. The longer he held it, the further away conversation slipped from his reach. Stanford opened his mouth with a gasp of air, words tumbling out. “Are you still planning on leaving? Because—It’s not that I want you to leave, in fact, I’d like quite the opposite—I mean—I just… You should stay.”

Stanley squinted as he sorted through the jumble of words. He huffed. “Fuck’s sake, Stanford.” He grumbled. “You gotta… You gotta let go of that idea.”

That hurt.

“I’ve been in your hair plenty long as it is.”

“You’ve been here for two days.”

“I know. I’ve been counting, too.”

“That’s not… That’s not what I meant in the slightest.”

“I still got a point.” Stan grumbled.

Like hell he did.

“Stan, I’m asking you to stay. Literally asking. Look. Look at me asking, because this is a request.” Ford ran a hand through his hair, making the loopy curls stand on end. “This is me, requesting the honor of your presence, here, now, and with no strings attached. Is that acceptable?” The shuffling scowl the man sent him before hiding his face behind his neglected coffee—eyes pointedly elsewhere—screamed hell no, but Ford had no qualms pushing the subject. “Well?”

“Damnit, Ford.” The stiff silence range in Stanford’s ears. “You can’t… I can’t just answer that.” The answer should have been a plain yes, as simple as that.

But when had anything been simple between the two of them?

Ford pressed his lips together in a firm line. Was it worth it just to rile Stanley up again? “You’ve got to stay somewhere.” Apparently it was. The glare Stanley sent him was venomous.

“That is not your problem to worry about, Ford. I can handle it myself.”

“I mean, Stella should be starting school soon, should she not? And—”

“What the fuck, Ford? That’s—and no, since you’re asking, she doesn’t start school ‘til she’s five. I already told you she’s too young for school.” His snarl was impressive, Ford had to admit. “I’ll… It’s not your problem to worry about.” Stan looked like he wanted to say something, but instead propped his elbow on the table and pressed his face into his palm, his spare hand stretching out to drift through the air beside him. His hand stilled, then swiped through the empty space once more before he twisted in his chair. “Where’s Stella?” the chair scraped backwards along the kitchen floor, nearly tipping over in Stanley’s haste.

Had he truly not noticed? “She toddled off a few minutes ago.”

“And you saw her? ‘N you didn’t say anything?” Ford pushed out his own chair. When he put it that way, he made it soundas though he’d idly watched as the little girl wandered into a den of wolves. He’d cleared away every potentially dangerous experiment and tucked them all out of reach.

“Oh, honestly, Stanley. You make it sound as though she didn’t just go off to color.”

Stanley huffed. “Ford, she’s three. She’s a baby. They like gettin’ into stuff. It’s one of the main things they’re good at.” Ford’s mouth puckered and he drew it off to the side. Well, if you put it that way… No. It still wasn’t an issue. The worst she could do was scribble across his rough drafts.

“Stanley, I’m sure its fine.”

She wasn’t in the living room.

Ford had to admit he might have been wrong. He might’ve even admitted it out loud, if Stanley hadn’t been on the verge of hysteria, poised to crawl underneath the worktable to check for his child.

“Stanley. She couldn’t have gone outside. She has to be in the house.” She couldn’t open doors. Could she open doors? Ford doubted it. She hadn’t managed the task yesterday.

Stanley bumped his head on the table edge on his way up. “Yeah, that doesn’t make me feel any better, just so you know.” Well, damn. His voice was stiff was he brushed past Stanford. Ford remained still for a moment before trailing his brother. Stanley had darted into his storage room, which only fed his frenzy before he took the stairs two at a time. Ford lagged behind him and watched the line of Stanley’s shoulders pull taut, then hunch forward. “Stella?” he drawled, coiled like a spring.

“Yeah?” Stanley bolted towards the little voice, muffled slightly by running water.

“Sweetie, what’re you—” he slumped against the doorframe. “Oh, sweetie.”

“What?” Her tone was too flat to be an actual question. Stan ran a hand across his face.

“Oh, sweetheart.”

“What?” It was Ford’s turn to ask. He sidled his way behind Stanley and peered over his shoulder. “Oh.” That was quite the mess. Stella had lowered the toilet lid and climbed on top to reach the sink. She had to strain and stretch to reach the faucet while soapsuds and water dripped down her elbows across her borrowed shirt and pooled on the floor. At least her laundry’s done. Her front was completely soaked.

“Oh, Stella.” Stanley repeated. Ford didn’t have to see his face to know that his brother was already exhausted. His wavering voice said enough. He inched his way into the bathroom, careful to avoid the larger puddles where possible, and sat the little girl on the toilet lid. He crouched down in front of her.

“Sweetie pie, we can’t just go ’n make a big mess in someone’s house. They’ll get mad ’n then we have t’ leave. It’s not nice, okay? How did you even get upstairs?”

“I know how to do it!” she protested.

“Don’t go up stairs by yourself, sweetie. You could fall ‘n hurt yourself, okay?” Stan moved to scoop her into his arms and sighed into her hair. “Guess I shoulda been watching’ you, huh?” He finally turned towards Stanford, his body tense and eyes withdrawn. He never quite met Ford’s eye. “I’ll be right back to get this up. I just… Just let me put her down ‘n get her settled, okay? I’ll be right back.” He patted the child’s back as he slipped past Ford, who strained to hear him mumble under his breath. “Let’s get you outta your uncle’s hair ‘n lay low for a while, I guess. I’ll find you a park or somethin’. Let you run off that energy you clearly got built up.”

Stanford frowned as he watched his brother and his soggy child make their retreat. It was just water. Was he really that worked up by a few puddles? Ford was certain he’d made a similar mess while shaving some mornings. Did Stanley truly expect him to be that upset over such an inconsequential accident? Ford swallowed. Of course he did. Stan had been sent away from home over what he called an accident. Of course he expected it to be a recurring thing.

But to kick him out over the actions of a child? He had been a child as well.

It was different. They were seventeen then. Stella was three. Three was a far cry away from knowing any better. She’d just splashed water. She hadn’t broken anything.

Even if she had, it would have been an accident. She hadn’t meant to do anything. Ford doubted the thought would have even occurred to her.

Had it even occurred to Stanley?

Ford sighed and glanced around, grabbing a towel to drop over a puddle. Stanley had been kicked out over what he swore was an accident before; Ford wouldn’t be surprised if he expected the same now. He mentioned taking her to lie low. Of course that’s what he expects. “Damnit.” The thought sent a flush of shame across Stanford’s face as he shoved the towel around with the toe of his shoe. There was no way he could send Stanley away over something so trivial, and the realization that his brother thought that he might hurt. It hurt more than he’d care to admit, even to himself.

What a mess they’d made of things.

Not Stella, though. This was just a baby mess. Ford continued to drag the towel along the floor. He’d fix it up. He and Stanley both would. They had to.

Stanley slunk back to the bathroom, face downcast, and froze in front of Ford. “Stanford, what the fuck? You didn’t have to—I was gonna—I was gonna do that.” He stammered.

“Stanley, it’s fine, really. I was just standing here, so I might as well have done something.”

“I just needed to sit her down ‘n get her settled ‘n stuff, I wasn’t gone that long, you didn’t have to—”

“Stan. Listen to me.” Stanley looked a little bit affronted. “It’s fine. Why won’t you listen to me when I say it’s fine?” Stanley turned away from Ford and shifted from foot to foot, his broad chin jutting forward. “Stan.” He looked back up. “I mean it.” Ford reached forward to place a hand on Stanley’s shoulder. He tensed underneath his palm and gave a slight nod. He didn’t seem convinced. “It’s fine. It was rather cute, besides.” Ford gave his brother’s shoulder a quick squeeze. Stanley shifted as though he wanted to shrug the offending hand off, but at the last minute decided to do his damnedest to keep himself in check.

Ford continued. “You said it yourself. She’s only three. And how many times did we play in the sink when we were younger? We did it all the time. I mean…” he trailed off, running a hand through his hair, making it flip upright. “Isn’t that what they’re supposed to do? Get into things? You said that yourself.”

“S’not the same.”

Ford scowled. Not this again. “How is that—you know what, I suppose you’re right.” He chewed on his lip for a moment. “She’s cuter than the two of us ever were, combined.” he smirked at the startled hiccough that left Stan. There it is. A genuine smile. Ford gave Stanley a playful nudge. He didn’t reciprocate. Okay. That’s fine, too. It’s fine.

Ford fidgeted through another small lull. “…Look. I know you mentioned finding a park. I don’t want you to think I want you two to leave, or… or to ‘get out of my hair.’” Ford sighed. “That’s not what I want, okay? It isn’t.”

Stanley was quiet for a long, stilted moment. “I promised her the park.”

“…Right. Right.” Stanford took a full step back as he withdrew. “I’ll just… I’ll leave you to it, then.” His attention shifted closer to the floor. Out traipsed Stella, her head bobbing from side to side as she bebopped her way towards the two. “Hello again, little Miss.” Ford chuckled.

Stanley turned from side to side as he twisted to spot the child. “Wh—Stel-la,” Stanley sighed, “I very clearly remember askin’ you to stay in the room.”

“But I don’t wanna.” She was still dancing, Ford noticed. Stanley’s head lolled back as he let out a faint, guttural groan. “I wanna be with you.” Her little voice bordered on petulant as she frowned, staring up at Stan. Were those puppy dog eyes?

Stanley softened. “Oh, pumpkin. How could I say no to that? C’mere.” He scooped her up onto his hip and she used her new vantage point to giggle at Stanford. Unsure of what else to do, Ford gave her a meek little wave while Stanley leaned forward to swipe at the last trail of water with the discarded towel. “Yeah, yeah. It’s funny for you.” He grumbled. “Maybe you can run off whatever’s gotten into you in the park.”

So he was serious about the park. Ford worried his lip between his teeth once again before opening his mouth. “There’s a park on the other side of town, near the town square. Just past the courthouse.” Fiddleford had dragged him to it ages ago, when Tate was still small. He wasn’t sure how he felt about the long, inscrutable gaze Stanley fixed him with.

Finally, the man spoke. “Alright.” He pushed himself upright with a huff of effort, careful not to displace the child on his hip. “Let’s get you ready, sweetie.” That’s it? Ford watched his brother cart Stella off once again before opening his mouth.

“Wait!” he blurted. Stanley turned. “You…You saw your bag, correct?”

Stan wouldn’t meet his eye, and that bothered him. “Yeah, Ford. I got it. Thanks.” He mumbled.

They’ll be back, Stanford swore to himself, it’s just the park. They were going to the park for a short while and they’d return. They weren’t leaving for good. It wasn’t permanent. Just a temporary excursion. He’d be able to get some writing done while they were gone. It would be productive for all parties involved. No matter how much he wanted them to remain, playing host was not an easy task for Stanford Pines. He shuffled his way back down the stairs. It would be fine. They’d come back, just as he hoped knew, and then wouldn’t he feel foolish?

He settled himself down to work and pulled a stack of notebooks closer. Productivity is the best distraction. He knew this well.

If only he could stop staring somewhere past the words on the page.

He wasn’t sure how much time had passed, but when Stanford looked up, Stella was swishing her way into the room while Stanley struggled to squat walk and work her little arm into a coat at the same time. “Sweetie, be still for a moment. Please.”

“Park?”

“Yes, sweetie. We’ll get you to the park, but we gotta get you dressed first. S’cold outside.” He held her little hand in his and tugged the coat in place with the other. He’d layered the coat over a thinner jacket, Ford noted. Stan took the small scarf he’d draped over his forearm and placed it around her neck. Next came a fuzzy, pilled pair of mittens from his pocket. “Hand, please.” She stuck it in the air.

Mittens.

Ford remembered them with little fondness. He hated mittens. They were childish. They were goofy. He couldn’t hold anything or use his hands with any semblance of dexterity while wearing mittens. He had to remove them to do just about anything, which thoroughly defeated the purpose.

Stanley had always gotten a pair of gloves, while Ford had gotten mittens. Ford still treasured the first pair of gloves he’d had made, worn-out though they were. He’d always envied Stanley and his gloves.

He was distinctly bereft of gloves now.

The tables had turned. Now Ford was the twin with gloves. Ford didn’t know whether to laugh or to cry at the thought.

He caught himself staring and shook himself out of his stupor, clearing his throat in the process. Surely he looked foolish.

“Right. The park. It’s… If you head straight past the old convenience store, it’ll take you towards the town square. Turn right at the monument, which will wind past—”

Stanley shuffled his feet. “Aren’t you gonna come show us, since you seem t’ know where this park is?” Stella’s face once again brightened at the magic word. Was that a little hop just now? The child had hopped. She was smiling at him, of all people. There was no way he could object. Not now. His eyes trailed over Stanley briefly, and judged his uneasy expression before trailing down to his jacket. Fleece-hooded or not, it wouldn’t keep him warm.

“I…Right. I’ll be right back. Just give me a moment, I’ll…” He trailed off, pointing a vague finger towards his room. “I’ll be right back.” Ford scurried off and pulled open his closet, yanking out his coat. He shrugged it over his shoulders before rifling deeper through, ignoring the thin metallic scrape of the hangers against the rod. Here it was. He pulled out a duplicate coat and tossed it over his arm before stalking back down the hallway, visibly pleased with himself.

“Here.”

“What’s this supposed to be?”

“It’s a coat Stanley. You’ve seen one before.” Ford gave the garment a gentle shake for good measure.

Stan eyed it warily. “Nah, I’m good, thanks.”

Stanford frowned. “Stanley. You put two coats on Stella. It follows that you would wear two yourself.”

“That’s different. She’s little. They get cold easy.”

“Everyone gets cold, Stan.”

“I don’t see your two coats.”

“Underneath this coat, I’ve got on a sweater and long sleeves besides. That’s roughly the equivalent of two coats.”

Stanley squinted at him before taking the proffered coat. Ford didn’t bother to contain his grin.

“Yeah, yeah. Laugh it up, I guess.” Stan grumbled as he shrugged into the coat. It didn’t fit him as poorly as it should have. Once they hit adolescence, Stanley could never fit into anything other than Ford’s T-shirts, and he stretched those out woefully when he did. His coat was just slightly snug through the shoulders and biceps. That was it. It wasn’t how it should have been.

Perhaps he should have been thankful for that, in a backhanded sort of way.

“Alright, kiddo, let’s get you to the park.”

“Can Lucky come too?”

“Uhh, Lucky’s… Lucky’s on house arrest. For his own safety. Yeah. He can’t leave this general area or else he could get in trouble with the, uh, the magic animal police.”

“Why?”

“Because…” Stanley’s eyes darted around as if looking for straws to grasp at. “Because if too many people see ‘im, he gets in trouble ‘cause he’s not a secret anymore. Magic things’ve gotta stay secret.”

“But we can see him.”

“Yeah, but you’re in the special magic no-secret zone, so it’s different. If you weren’t in the magic zone, you wouldn’t be allowed t’ see ‘im, ‘n then he’d be in trouble.”

“Oh.”

“You don’t wanna get Lucky in trouble, do ya?”

“No.”

“Alright. Then Lucky’s gotta stay here.”

“Okay.”

It was bullshit he’d pulled out of thin air, but Ford was still unnerved by its vague similarities to some of his earlier theories. He wondered how many of his other theories, ones he’d spent years researching, could be similarly pulled from nowhere by Stan. What a fool I must be, to place such import on what must be so readily known. How many of his ideas had been spoon-fed lies? How had he been fool enough not to see?

What else wasn’t he seeing?

This took roughly 25 years, I’m aware, but the chapter draft was on page 23 I before broke down and realized this was pure nonsense and broke it down into more easily digestible bites. I’m gonna go hide in a shame corner now.

[returntothefalls]

Prologue

Return to the Falls, a Gravity Falls fanfiction

Before heading back to Gravity Falls for the summer, Stan and Ford make a quick stop at an old haunt.  However, they are surprised to also find a familiar face waiting for them.

(Chapter 1 of “Return to the Falls”, a Gravity Falls fanfiction.  The up-to-date entirety can be found here.)

A.

The old man opened his eyes and blinked, confused.  He was in the living room, in the old recliner, the best seat in the house.  He must have dozed off while watching “Duck-tective,” but that didn’t seem right.  That show engrossed him far too much to put him to sleep, even if he’d seen the episode a hundred times.

X.

The TV was turned off, but that in itself wasn’t odd.  If he’d fallen asleep with it on, his brother would have shut it off.  That old nerd hated wasting energy and had gone on a big power-saving kick after getting the house back in working order, insisting that the rest of the family keep their lights off and devices unplugged when not necessary.  Of course, that all seemed pretty rich coming from the guy who built a giant universe portal that ran exclusively on raw nuclear waste.  It was a miracle the thing hadn’t rendered the whole town uninhabitable when it went to pieces.

O.

Stan looked around, frowning.  Had he imagined that sound?  Maybe his hearing aid was on the fritz.  The house seemed to be quiet, after all.  The kids must have been outside.  Or … what time was it?  Afternoon?  Night?  The fact that he’d dozed off didn’t help him much; he could fall asleep in the armchair no matter the hour.  Oh well, he felt no need to worry.  Right now, all he wanted was a nice cool drink to counteract the heavy summer air.

L.

A slight noise drew his attention and he glanced to his right.  A pink aluminum can sat on the dinosaur skull end table.  Had that been there before?  He grabbed it and nearly dropped it in surprise; it was ice cold.  Maybe Mabel had left it.  She knew how much he loved his Pitt Cola, especially on a hot day like this.  Without further question, he popped the tab.

O.

The frosty beverage fizzed delightfully in his mouth.  He took a long, refreshing drink and sighed in contentment.  Now this was more like it.  If the kids were out, he might as well just kick back and enjoy some alone time.  He took another swig of his soda and picked up the remote.  With the house to himself, this would be the perfect time to check out the Black and White Period Piece Old Lady Boring Movie Channel.  The Shack was usually too busy for him to have a private moment to sit down and enjoy his guilty pleasure in peace.  He pressed the power button.

T.

There was a soft sound, like the gentle whisper of a breeze, but the television did not come on.  He frowned and jabbed the button again.  Still, there was no reaction.  The batteries must have been dead.  Of course this couldn’t be easy.  He flopped back in the chair and groaned, even though no one was around to appreciate his dramatics.  Why couldn’t Ford have invented a lifelong remote battery, or a robot butler to fetch new batteries, or something useful of that nature.  Surely he and the hillbilly could have put something together.  Sighing, Stan stood up, resigning himself to the fact that he’d have to move from his seat in order to change the batteries.

L.

The TV flashed on, startling him with the sudden burst of color and sound.  A young man with brown hair and an open-collared shirt danced onto the screen.  “Hi, I’m Stan Pines of Stan Co. Enterprises!”  Stan recoiled in shock from the face.  His face.

A.

It was a voice, fully audible now, emanating from everywhere and nowhere.  This time, Stan heard it clearly over the commercial.  The TV screen buzzed with static and the image changed.  It was the younger Stan again, now sporting a bushy mustache.  “Hi, I’m Steve Pinington!”  Stan backed away further, sweat running down his back.  Was it getting hotter?  Was the TV possessed?  Weirder things had happened in the Shack.  Steam rose from the aquarium tank and, judging by the smell, Mabel’s lobster had been boiled to delicious perfection.

X.

Stan’s hair stood on end.  The room felt charged by the voice, like lightning was about to strike.  The TV flickered again.  “Hi, I’m Stetson Pinefield!  Are you tired of piles of owls constantly blocking your driveway?”

O.

The images flew by faster and faster.  Stan’s skin was like wax, melting and dripping to the floor, but he felt no pain.

L.

“I’m Hal Forrester!”

O.

“They call me 8-Ball Alcatraz!”

T.

“Hi, I’m Mr. Mystery!”

L.

An exterior shot of the Mystery Shack remained on the screen, but its surroundings changed.  The sign fell away, the decorations disappeared.  Snow blanketed the house.  The man of many names was still there, standing on the front porch, staring longingly at the door.

A.    X.  O.  L.  O.  T.  L.

The voice droned on with greater intensity.  Stan sank to his knees, which squished sickeningly into the carpet.  The picture darkened and the Shack faded away, but a strange orange symbol still glowed in the blackness.  Without warning, Stan’s back seared with pain and he screamed as blue fire erupted from his scar.

A X O L O T L.

The screen changed one more time.  Another man appeared, almost identical to the young Stan, but wilder, a manic glint in his unblinking eyes.  A tattered red book was clutched in his six-fingered hands.  He stared into Stan’s eyes as though he were there in the room, not merely an image on a screen.  And perhaps he was.

The Journal floated out of his hand, pages flipping wildly in an unfelt gale.  Azure flames licked at Stan’s legs and he struggled to stand back up, but he slumped forward again, his decaying body unable to handle the effort.  A long, merciless laugh rang out, coming from the flames, from the Journal, from the doppelganger in the television.

A X O L O T L A X O L O T L A X O L O T L.

The fire loomed over Stan, twisting and writhing like an entity in itself.  From within the chaotic mass, a familiar shape began to emerge.

“Stanley?”

The man from the TV was looking up at the fire, panic in his eyes.  He lifted up into the air, his arms flailing, as he was drawn through the screen and toward the hellish triangle.  Stan lunged forward, mustering all his energy, but he still could not reach.  “St-Stanford!”  He gritted his teeth, ignoring the flesh-colored drops that fell from his fingertips.

“Stanley?”  The young Stanford was frantic, kicking and screaming in a vain attempt to distance himself from the fire.  A white light glowed in the center of the triangle, shining like a beacon amidst the scorching sapphire.  The mocking laughter shook the earth.

Stan tried to lift his arms, but his energy was gone.  He fell to his side, could feel his cheeks sticking in the carpet, but his eyes were still locked on his brother.  The words came unbidden to his lips.  “I just got him back, I can’t lose him again!”

But he did not stop.  With one final scream, Stanford disappeared into the light and the triangle, still laughing hysterically, crashed down onto Stan, consuming him in fire.

“Stanley!!!”

Stan sat straight up, gasping for breath.  He spun around, but the flames were gone.  The entire room had changed.  He was sitting in a bed, a rather small one.  His bed.  He grabbed his glasses from the small bedside table and slipped them on, blinking as the world came into focus.  The small cabin rose and fell in the gentle rhythm of the sea that he had grown so accustomed to.  A figure stooped by the bed, gripping Stan’s arm with both hands.  It was his brother – the grizzled old adventurer, not his crazy-eyed younger counterpart, driven half-insane by nightmares and paranoia.

Ford smiled, apparently relieved.  “Thank goodness, you’re awake.”

“Yeah, thanks for that,” Stan grumbled, wiping the sleep from his eyes.  “I’m an old man, sleepin’ is one o’ the few pleasures left in life.”

“Sorry, but you were mumbling and thrashing around,” Ford said.  “Seemed like you were having a nightmare.  Everything okay?”

Stan swallowed hard, the image of the younger Ford covered in blue flames flashing through his mind again.  “Of course I’m fine,” he said, keeping his voice steady.  “I met the king o’ nightmares once, and I smashed his two-dimensional keister into a million pieces.  There’s no nightmare left that can get the jump on ole Stanley Pines.”

Ford gave a short laugh.  “Alright, fair point.  But don’t hesitate if there’s anything you need to talk about.  I promise, I’ll listen.”

“Don’t get all mushy on me yet,” Stan said, lightly shoving his brother aside as he climbed out of bed.  “I haven’t even had my coffee.”

“Already poured you a mug,” Ford said, moving to the door.  “Drink it fast and get ready.  We arrived while you were sleeping.”

Stan froze halfway through pulling on his pants.  “Here?  Already?”  He pushed past Ford and stepped out of the cabin.  The ocean breeze tousled his shaggy hair as he crossed the deck, inhaling a deep lungful of tasty sea air.  He leaned over the rail and gazed across the gray water to the dingy shore beyond.

Ford appeared next to him, coffee in hand.  “I honestly never thought I’d see this place again.”  He paused, watching a seagull as it drifted in lazy circles overhead.  “I wasn’t sure I wanted to see this place again.”

“I know the feeling,” Stan said.  “Technically speaking, I shouldn’t even set foot in the state.  But hey, it’s been forty some years, no one’s gonna remember my ugly mug.”

Ford smirked.  “Well, let’s get this over with.  You get dressed and I’ll take us in.”

Stan turned back to the cabin, then glanced over his shoulder again at the city awaiting him.  “I’m finally back,” he murmured, feeling almost dreamlike as he looked across the misty bay to the small wooden sign standing at the water’s edge, too far away to read but familiar nonetheless.  “Glass Shard Beach.”

***

Strange as it was to return to Glass Shard Beach after so many decades, their entry had been quick and easy.  Ford got them a good price for docking – and Stan continued haggling with the dockworker until the poor sap settled for $5 and an “ancient Antarctic artifact” made of paperclips, chewed gum, and some soon-to-be melted ice cubes.  From there, they set out on foot, visiting a few familiar haunts.  For a silent thirty minutes, they sat in the sand beneath a dilapidated old swingset, its seats long ago rotted away, and watched calm foamy waves lap at the shore.  They explored the cave that had seemed like a whole new world to two adventurous New Jersey preteens; now, it was small and empty, offering nothing more than hollow nostalgia.  The old pawn shop had been converted into a tattoo parlor.  Stan joked that they ought to get matching tattoos, but Ford just pulled his coat a little more tightly around his neck and kept walking.  And now, after a hearty breakfast at Hot Belgian Waffles, they reached their final destination.

Raindrops began to fall, slowly at first.  Ford opened his umbrella and held it over Stan and himself.  The brothers stood before three weathered stones.  They were alone in the cemetery with nothing but unvoiced thoughts and unseen ghosts.  Stan’s eyes ran over each of the graves, waiting for some kind of emotion to stir up inside him:  sadness, regret, satisfaction?  But he felt only emptiness as he read the three names again and again:  his father’s, his mother’s, and his own.

Ford was the first to break the silence.  “It was three days before I thought of them.”  Stan kept his eyes locked on Filbrick’s name.  “I’d been back in Gravity Falls for three days,” Ford continued.  “I was in the basement, dismantling the Portal.  Much easier to take apart than it was to build.  But I guess that’s true for most things.”  He chuckled quietly, but his smile faded as he looked at Stan.  “Things had calmed down a bit by then, and I found myself thinking about all that I’d missed in the thirty years I was gone.  And I thought about Ma, and Dad, and … well, I knew there was no way they’d still be around.  So I never bothered to ask.  And I thought a hundred times about coming back here to see them, but …”  He trailed off.

Stan put a hand on Ford’s shoulder.  “I would never’ve come back here without you either, Sixer.”

Ford smiled.  “Thank you, Stanley.”

Stan gently elbowed his brother in the ribs.  “That wasn’t so hard to say now, was it?”  The two laughed, and Stan marveled at how far they’d come in the last nine months.  That which had once divided them now brought them together.

“I’m glad we could do this,” Ford said.  He frowned, gesturing to the third gravestone.  “But we should probably tell somebody that you’re not actually dead.”

“Eh, the less people who know that, the better,” Stan said, waving his hand dismissively.  “And, uh, ya should probably check with me before ya make any out-o’-state trips in the future.  There may or may not be a few outstanding warrants in your name in the Northwest.  And the Southwest.  And the Midwest, the South, pretty much all your contiguous United States.  And, uh, you’re not sittin’ too hot south of the border either.  Basically, just stick to Oregon, Canada, and international waters, and even then I can’t make any promises.”

Ford sighed, massaging his temple and smiling in spite of himself.  “I’ll try to keep that in mind.  Now come on, we’d better get moving if we’re hoping to get home on time.”

Stan nodded.  “Nothin’ left for us in this town anyway.”  Together, he and Ford turned away from the graves, ready to leave, but they immediately stopped in their tracks.

Another figure was strolling down the path toward them, shielded from the rain by a purple umbrella spotted with a white floral design.  It was an old woman, her face wrinkled and her shoulder-length hair white, but her stride was long and confident, undeterred by her onset age.  Stan squinted at her, his brow furrowed in concentration.  Even after his time spent with Ford and the kids, there were still little gaps in his memory that plagued him from time to time.  And now something was setting off bells in his head, an image fighting to resurface at the edge of his consciousness.

The woman paused mid-step as she saw the two men in front of her, then continued toward them, flashing a friendly smile.  “And here I thought I’d be the only one out here on a gloomy day like this,” she said.

Ford waited for Stan to speak – normally he was the one to take charge in social situations – but Stan’s mouth remained set in a grim line.  “We were just in town for the day,” Ford said quickly.  “Just leaving now, if you’ll excuse us.”

“Oh, of course,” the woman said, stepping aside.  She glanced at the three gravestones as Ford moved past her, dragging Stan alongside him.  “Did you know the Pines family?” she asked.

Ford didn’t look back.  “Yes, we knew them.”

The woman nodded.  “I did too, a long time ago.  I thought I’d come see them one more time before I moved on to greener pastures.”  She stared at the third tombstone for a moment before looking back to the brothers.  “They suffered so much.  But I’m sure you knew that already.”  She smiled sadly.  “I had just left town before it all started falling apart.  Maybe if I’d stuck around, I could have done something to help.”

Stan gave a harsh laugh and finally met her gaze.  “Lady, lemme tell ya, there’s nothin’ you or anyone else coulda done to help that mess of a family.”

The woman locked eyes with Stan, her expression mournful yet curious.  Stan simply shrugged and turned away, nudging Ford to start moving.  However, before he could take a step, the quiet voice behind him spoke once more.

“Stanley?”

He froze.  Slowly he turned back.  A single word popped into his head; it was strange, nonsensical, but it felt right.  He was on the cusp of remembering, he just had to let that one word loose in the air.

“Hotpants?”

The woman laughed, even as her eyes brimmed with tears.  “No one’s called me that in a long time.”  She ran forward, dropping her umbrella in the dirt and throwing her arms around Stan.  A rush of warmth ran through him as the bubbles of memory burst in his brain.  He’d felt these arms wrapped around his neck before.

Ford’s eyes widened as he came to the same realization.  “Carla?  Carla McCorkle?”

“It’s good to see you, Stanford,” she said, pulling back from Stan and bending down to retrieve her discarded umbrella.  She looked between the two brothers and laughed again.  “I can’t believe I’m standing here with you two.”  She glanced back at gravestones.  “You know, I always wondered about you, Stanley.  Seemed to me that a crazy guy like you would never kick the bucket so easily.  But to think that I’d find you here now…”  She wiped away a few stray tears.  “Well, I never dared to hope for that.”

“I never thought I’d see you again either,” Stan said.  “I’ve, uh, had a lot on my plate for the last few decades.”

“I can imagine,” Carla said.  “Wow, I just … wow.  You’re alive.  Stanley Filbrick Pines is alive and standing right in front of me.”  She looked to Ford.  “There’s a story here.”

“A long one,” Ford said.

Stan scoffed.  “My brother got too deep into sciency stuff and I had to fake my death and pretend to be him for thirty years while I tried to save his life.”  He shrugged.  “Pretty simple, if ya ask me.”

Carla raised an eyebrow.  “Sounds like you’ve come a long ways from driving my boyfriend’s van off a cliff.”

“That hippie jerk was hypnotizin’ ya with his trash flower music!” Stan said.  “I stand by what I did!”  His voice softened.  “But y’know, I’m, uh, sorry for all that.  My nephew tells me that mighta been a bit much.”

“I appreciate the apology,” Carla said.  “But don’t worry about it.  I’m sure you’ve grown a lot since then.”

“Less than you probably think,” Ford muttered, earning a jab in the ribs from his brother.

Carla was unable to hide her smile.  “So, you say you have a nephew?  Do you two have families?”

Stan grinned sheepishly.  “Eh, we have our niece and nephew, Shermie’s grandkids.  But that’s it.  I dated around, but I never found anyone worth settlin’ down with.  And my nerd brother ain’t exactly the marryin’ type.”  He leaned in closer, glancing conspiratorially back at Ford.  “Though if ya ask me, there’s a hillbilly back home he’d make a cute couple with.”

“Stan, I can hear you.”

Stan ignored Ford and winked at Carla.  “And what about you?  Live happily ever after with your granola-munchin’ Prince Charming?”

Carla snorted derisively.  “No, Thistle Downe went out with disco.  Dark times, those 70’s.”  She shuddered.  “But your story sounds a lot like mine.  There were a few guys who came and went, but none of them were right for me.”

“Shame, they all missed out,” Stan said.  “You’ve aged phenomenally.”  He blushed.  “Er, y’know, for an old broad.”

“How flattering,” Carla said dryly.  “You’ve not done too bad yourself, Stan Pines.”  Stan’s face grew redder and Carla laughed.

Ford cleared his throat.  “Not to intrude on this happy reunion, but we do have places to be.  The kids will be coming to town in a week and we hope to be there when they arrive.”

“Geez, Poindexter, sounds like you’re in a hurry to get rid of me,” Carla said, her tone playful.

Stan sighed.  “Much of a buzzkill as he may be, my brother’s right.”

“I understand completely,” Carla said.  She smiled.  “It sounds like everything has turned out pretty well for you guys.  I’m really happy for you.  After everything that went down back in high school, I was afraid of where you would end up.”

“We went through a lotta bad stuff,” Stan said.  “And it took us a long time to get past it.  But we made it.”  He grinned.  “Maybe I’ll tell ya the whole story sometime.”

“I’d love to talk again,” Carla said.  “Can I have your cell number?”

Stan scowled.  “Hey, I’ll have you know I haven’t been to jail since … er, if ya don’t count that night for the Madame Ben Franklin dollars, or that whole nuclear waste thing that I was completely innocent of, then I guess it would be –”

Carla smirked.  “Stan, I mean your cell phone number.”

Stan’s face flushed red again.  “Er, yeah, of course.  Uh, Ford, do we have one of those doohickeys?”

“Fiddleford fixed up this old laptop to give us direct video connection to Dipper, Mabel, and Soos’s devices,” Ford said.  “And he also gave me this long-range walkie talkie for whenever we need tech support, like when Stan tries using the computer to check his cash-for-gold sites and crashes it with pop-up advertisements.”

“It’s important business!” Stan said indignantly.  He leaned closer to Carla again.  “Y’see, there’s change comin’.  People say gold’s on the rise, but the real money’s in turquoise.  Little pro-tip for ya.”

Ford sighed.  “So to answer your question, no, we don’t have a cell phone.”

Carla laughed.  “No worries.  I’m sure we’ll get something worked out.  Ask your niece and nephew to look me up on the Internet, they can hook us up.”

“It’s a deal,” Stan said.  “If you’re ever in the neighborhood, just drop on by.  That’s Gravity Falls, Oregon, by the way.  Come to the Mystery Shack, buy some keychains, and ask for the original Mr. Mystery.”  He gave a thumbs up and winked.  “That’s me.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Carla said, smiling.  She extended a hand, blinking in confusion as both brothers flinched back in response.  But they recovered quickly, and Ford and Stan each shook her hand in turn.  Stan’s fingers locked through hers, lingering in her grasp for a few extra seconds before he drew his hand back.

Ford coughed awkwardly.  “Uh, Stan?”

“Yeah yeah, I’m comin’,” Stan grumbled.  He made finger guns with both hands and pointed to Carla.  “You stay frosty, puddin’ … uh, puddin’ pie, dessert cream, uh, creamy cat.”  He covered his face with his hand.  “Er, bye.”

Carla laughed and gave him another short hug.  “Goodbye, Stan.  I’m glad you’re alive.”  She turned to Ford.  “Make sure that doesn’t change.”

“It’s a struggle, but I’ve managed so far,” Ford said.  He put an arm around Stan and turned him around.  “Come on, Stan.  Back to the ship.”

“A good brother wouldn’t let me make an idiot of myself like that,” Stan muttered.

“When have I ever been a good brother?”

Carla watched as the two old men walked away, bickering good-naturedly like they had as kids.  Whatever had happened to them in the interim, some things never truly changed.  It was a comforting realization.

She stared down at the gravestone before her and shook her head in disbelief.  She had seen a lot of extraordinary things in her life, but Stanley Pines certainly took the cake.  She still remembered the sparsely-attended funeral, where Ma Pines had stood up and given a short speech about her “free spirit” who had left too soon.  Shermie stuttered through a generic speech about brotherly love.  Filbrick remained stony-faced, never speaking a word through the whole event.  And Ford didn’t even bother to show up – though now she knew why.  Otherwise, there was nothing more than a smattering of townspeople, several of whom were simply looking for a refund on their Stan-Vacs or Shammies.  Carla wasn’t sure why she attended, but she was glad she did.  She’d seen firsthand how the world treated Stanley Pines, and she respected him all the more for his ability to keep standing under all that abuse.  There was something to be appreciated in a man like that.

A coy smile played at the edges of her lips.  She’d spent the last few years with no real aim in life anyway.  But now she knew where she could find a little fun.  She pulled her cell phone from her pocket and ran a quick search for maps, transportation, lodging.

Everything she needed to know about Gravity Falls.

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