#anyone notice that Stan called Fiddleford by his actual name

[tinfoil-jones]

Gravity Falls: For Your Own Good, Ch. 10

Summary: A few years after moving to Gravity Falls and having his lab built, Stanford Pines happens upon his estranged twin brother, Stanley. He mentally prepared himself to be suffocated by his brothers neediness all over again - what he wasn't prepared for was Stanley walking right past him like he didn't even notice him.

Rating: M for language, violence, and adult implications

Preface: Dialogue only, but some actions will be annotated for clarity. Cross-Posted on AO3 Here

WARNING: This is a long chapter

First - Prev - Next

Ch.10

“Do you remember how you came to Gravity Falls in the first place?”

“I was just passing by.”

“Yes, but this town is isolated, and you have no means of transportation.”

“Trainhopping, I was hiding on a train for two days I think, maybe three? Decided to jump off here.”

“Do you know why you decided to do that here, and not anywhere else?”

“...”

“Stan?”

“It’s funny, specs - a couple months back, I’d already been with my pal Rick for a while, right? Just one heist, escapade, or criminal venture after another, for seven months straight. And it was great while it lasted, but then he asked me if I wanted to stay with him in another dim- someplace far away. And I wanted to, ya know? There’s always been this itch in the back of my mind that I wanted to go around the world on some grand adventure, and he was offering that to me on a silver platter. But I told him no.”

“And why was that, Stan?”

“...It’s stupid.”

“I wouldn’t call any of your reasoning stupid, I’m not here to judge you.”

“...I always wanted to go on an adventure- but something was missing. It’s like- I dunno if it’s intuition or some spiritual mumbo jumbo, it’s like I’m looking for something. But I don’t know what I’m looking for.”

“Do you have an idea what it could be?”

“A part of… me? I’m missing something. Not just my memories- but something else. I think I might have made a promise, I just… don’t remember what it was, or who I promised to. I guess I’ve been drifting around trying to find it.”

“And you felt it was in Gravity Falls?”

“I don’t… I don’t know. There’s something weird here… I just wanted to check this place out, is all.”

“I see. What did you say your relationship with this Rick was like?”

“You don’t need to be jealous, F. We were just friends. Okay, maybe we were kind of an item for a week at most, but that guy isn’t just self-destructive; he’s like a train that wrecks onto a freeway, he can never just destroy himself, he has to wreck the people around him too and create an absolute shit show. Even I have a limit with that shit.”

“You really need to stop putting yourself down like that, Stan. You only ever seem to say negative things about yourself, it ain’t good for you.”

“There isn’t anything good to say, stretch.”

“Don’t sell yourself one egg short of a basket, now. Y’know, your-. Uh, Stanford was telling me that you’re quite clever. He used a trick to get you down here in the first place, but he also said that he wouldn’t be able to trick you again.”

“I should have seen his fake-out coming… I’ll give it to him, it was a good one. But I’m not going to underestimate him, because crazy like his should never be underestimated. What’s he up to anyways? He went to that room that’s always locked.”

“That’s his private study. I believe he goes there when he wants to be alone.”

“...Didn’t he live by himself? Why did he already have that?”

“Can’t say, maybe it’s a quiet and calm space for him.”

(...)

“HE HAS RISEN BABY GIRL.”

“Bill, please stop calling me that. It’s unprofessional.”

“Come on Sixer, at least let the Goo Goo Dolls soundtrack play.”

“The what?”

“Ooop! My bad, it’s not 1998 or 2024 yet. How can I help you today, Fordsy? You haven’t called me in a few weeks.”

“There’s a mindscape I need to access.”

“Oh boy, it’s not usually you who wants to poke around other humans' brains, always prattling on about ethics and consent. What’s the occasion?”

“...You know everything I know when we’re in the mindscape, you already know the answer.”

“Yes, but I still want you to say it out loud. Clearly and concisely, so your dialogue can be read on screen.”

“... I need to get into the mind of my brother, Stanley. He has amnesia, and our leading theory is that it’s due to psychological trauma. But he has been through so much trauma we’re having trouble isolating the definitive event that would have started this.”

“And why wouldn’t he just share that with his beloved twin brother?”

“He does not remember me.”

“Oooh, then he is just like you! Isn't it just precious when twins are twinning?”

“I never forgot about him.”

“Oh Sixer… You might as well have.”

“Just take me to his mind, Cipher… Please.”

“Anything for you, baby boy!”

SNAP

(...)

“So your memories are only clear to a certain point?”

“Yeah. Rick found me wandering around the woods in a ‘catatonic state’, and snapped me out of it. Everything before that… I can remember being on the street, I can remember all the stuff I did, maybe out to a decade? But there’s a lot of holes, lotsa different names I used. And before the streets? Nothing.”

“And when did Rick find you in the woods?”

“What month is it?”

“June.”

“Last May - so about 13 months?”

(...)

“Okay Fordsy he hasn’t made a deal with me so we can’t go too deep, or his mental defenses are just gonna shove us out.”

“Bill, I already know that, why are you explaining it to me?”

“You know; doesn’t mean they know. Unless this is a re-read. In which case; welcome back. Glad you loved or hated it the first time.”

“You are… Beyond comprehension, Bill Cipher.”

“That’s what you love about me though.”

“You have my begrudging, professional respect.”

“From your aspec ass, that’s practically love.”

“Aspe-”

“Oooh! Lookie here, a memory door opened up. He must be opening up to someone right now. Let's barge in haphazardly.”

(...)

“Okay Stan, this might be difficult. But if you ever feel distressed, let me know and we can try grounding techniques okay?’

“You got it, F.”

“Now close your eyes, think back to when you and Rick parted ways.”

(...)

“Sanchez?! How does Stan know-.”

“You know this hilarious crossover character? I already know the answer, but for no particular reason I need you to tell me out loud how you know him.”

“His wife Diane was part one of my PhD programs. She was always so bright and pleasant, but her husband was a nightmare when she brought him around. He was always saying that school wasn’t for smart people, and rubbed his inventions and intelligence in our face.”

“And how is she these days?”

“She passed away from a garage fire a few years ago, her and her little girl. I almost sent him a condolences, but he was such an unpleasant asshole I could not make myself do so.”

“Come on Stan- think about it! You, me, Bird Person, Squanchy-  sci-fi adventures, drugs, bitches. Whattaya say? Let’s ditch this dimension, there isn’t anything for us here anymore.”

“Dimension-?”

“Shh, Fordsy, just let it play out.”

“I… I can’t Rick.”

“Why not?”

“There’s… something here.”

“Did you remember something?”

“I don’t remember who, but I think I’m looking for someone.”

“Stanny-Boy, we’ve been through this before. No one knows you, everywhere we’ve been, ‘cept for the fake names. You should just cut your losses.”

“Wherever we go, we go together.”

“What was that-?”

“Just the distorted voice of his subconscious. It’s probably not important.”

“I’m sorry. But there’s a piece of me missing, and I think it’s still here in this dimension somewhere.”

“You know your credits don’t have monetary value here.”

“I know.”

“And I can’t leave you a space cruiser. You’ll have to walk or steal a car.”

“Either is fine. I’ve done it before.”

“Stan… Are you sure?”

“Here. Take all my credits, you’ll get more out of it than me.”

“You want your dusters back?”

“Trade me.”

“Wait, you don’t want your transdimensional watch anymore?”

“If the pigs catch me, I don’t need them asking too many questions.”

“You know that doesn’t just give you dimensional coordinates and time zones, right? There’s a pulse wave in it that can shatter force fields.”

“Pft, what are the chances I’d ever need that?”

“Ooof, he really fumbled the bag there.”

“My muse, please.”

*Rick takes the watch and gives Stan a pair of brass knuckles*

“Thanks Rick… Hey, it was nice while it lasted.”

“Hope you find what you’re looking for.”

“I hope you find that bastard, Prime. Give him the hell he deserves.”

“...Stan?”

“Yeah?”

“Fuck you.”

“I’ll miss you too, pal.”

(...)

“Alright, how are you feeling Stan?”

“So far so good.”

“Okay, now let’s go further back. You said your first clear memory is when you met him, let’s go back to that.”

“I was in the back of his shi- iiitty car, I felt like I’d just smoked an entire carton of cigarettes, but in a bad way..”

(...)

“It just- stopped?”

“He’s remembering something else. Just look for another door.”

“Here we go.”

“Wha- where…?”

“Oh hey you’re awake.”

“-’re, you?”

“You’re one tough son of a bitch, y’know? Most of the people I tase end up dead, but you just passed out.”

“You… tased me? Are you a cop?”

“Hell no. I tased you because you attacked me in the woods. Damn near ripped my head off.”

“The woods..?”

“You were wandering around in a catatonic state, can’t tell you how long.”

“A what state?”

“This isn’t going anywhere. Can you tell me your name?”

“It’s…? I... Malone. Wait. It’s- Stan.”

“Stan Malone huh? My name’s Rick Sanchez.”

(...)

“Stan keep your eyes closed. I want you to try to remember what happened before this.”

“Alright…”

“What’s something you can remember? Something you saw, felt, heard?”

“My chest felt really tight…”

(...)

“What is this?”

“Ahh. A pit memory. This is something his brain wants to forget, but can’t permanently delete.”

“So it is a repressed memory?”

“Yes. He’s trying to think about it… but unconsciously, he really doesn’t want to.”

“What happens if we jump in?”

“Sixer, where's your sense of adventure? If it gets too dangerous I’ll just pull us out.”

“Do you swear?”

“Just gimme the word.”

“Which word?”

“Let’s go with ‘defenestrate’ this time.”

‘W̷̷H̷̷Y̷ ̷I̷̷S̷̷N̷'̷T̷ ̷I̷̷T̷ ̷W̷̷O̷̷R̷̷K̷̷I̷̷N̷̷G̷?! ̷W̷̷H̷̷Y̷-?’

S̷̷C̷̷R̷̷E̷̷E̷̷C̷̷H̷

‘̷C̷̷a̷̷n̷’̷t̷-’  

‘̷t̷̷r̷̷a̷̷p̷̷p̷̷e̷̷d̷’  

‘̷c̷̷a̷̷n̷’̷t̷ ̷b̷̷r̷̷e̷̷a̷̷t̷̷h̷̷e̷-’

*brief flash of a pile of burnt paper ash in Stan’s hands, which are shaking*

“We can’t stay here Fordsy, he’s closing up again.”

“Just one more second-!”

“Might as well, it’s [--- ---- ------ - ---].”

“[--- ---] going to die here. Stan[--- -------- -----], if you don’t [---- - ---- ---- --] in the next minute you will die.”

“That voice-?”

“We’re leaving now, Sixer! DEFENESTRATE!”

SNAP

(...)

“Stan? Stan calm down-! It’s okay! Remember where you are.”

“C-Can’t breathe-”

“Yes you can, just breathe with me. In- out. In- out. Just like that. There we go.”

“I’m sorry Fiddleford, I can’t do it. I can’t. I can’t. ”

To be continued…

[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! 💥💥💥

[introvert-no-chameleon]

Of Monsters and McGuckets

Fiddleford just wanted to have his morning coffee in peace, but Gravity Falls and the Stan brothers had other plans.

AO3

Fiddleford Hardon McGucket considered himself to be a patient, level-headed individual. One had to be if they ever hoped to survive Gravity Falls, and, even more daunting, live with Stanford and Stanley Pines. Keeping them in line was an occupation in itself. His co-workers were two of the most chaotic and morally questionable people he’d ever met in his life. (Then again, as someone who had once made a giant robot to terrorize his ex-wife in an admittedly misguided attempt to get her back, maybe he shouldn’t be throwing stones in that last department).

The point is, when it came to dealing with uncommon and frustrating situations, he usually managed to keep a straight head. But on one deceivingly lovely morning, just when he’d went out to the porch to sit back with a nice cup of coffee and the sun had just begun to kiss the horizon, he saw two large monsters sprinting towards the shack, and. Well.

It was only reasonable that he’d react the way he did.

The first thing he did was spit out his early-morning coffee, ruining his only clean tie in the process. The second thing he did was dash into the shack like the Devil Himself was on his heels. Lastly, he slammed the door shut, locked it, and began combing the living room for the shotgun he knew for a fact Stanley kept around. He thanked the Lord Stanford wasn’t here, lest he’d be chastising Fiddleford for “harming” (defending himself against) a perfectly healthy specimen. Never mind the fact that half of these subjects of study had tried to eat him, no sir. Scientific discovery was always more important.

(Sometimes, Fiddleford wondered how on God’s green earth Stanford Pines hadn’t fallen to his death into a ravine or some other nonsense in pursuit of an anomaly. Heaven knows the man, while undeniably brilliant, was severely lacking when it came to common sense).

A bang rattled the wooden door of the shack. Fiddleford yelped, dropping the pile of books he’d been in the process of moving in his scramble to find the gun. He eyed the secret lab entrance and wondered if the door would hold them back long enough for him to make a dash for it.

“Fidds, we saw you run in, will ya just open the door?”

Fiddleford froze. That voice, while even more gravelly than usual (a thing he hadn’t thought possible) was definitely familiar.

“Well butter my butt and call me a biscuit,” he said, dazed, as he walked over to the door and unlocked it. “Stanley?”

Upon closer inspection, he couldn’t deny that the square-jawed face that peered down at him belonged to Stanley Pines. There were some…notable…differences, such as the fact that he had glowing orbs for eyes, all his featured seemed to be carved from stone, he had ridiculous pointy ears and fangs to boot. He’d be right at home next to the gargoyles from those pictures of cathedrals he’d studied for his History of Western Art course.

“Took ya long enough,” said Stanley, ducking his head under the doorway and lumbering inside. Each step made the floorboard groan loudly, and for a few seconds Fiddleford thought the man would break through the wood floor. “Thought we’d never get back.”

“Stanferd, do ya have…fur?” said Fiddleford, stepping away from the door to let the other man in.

Stanford—it couldn’t be anyone else, not with that straight-backed posture and furrowed brow peering over thick-rimmed glasses—walked in behind him, hands behind his back.

 Hearing the question, Stanford adjusted his glasses, with a large, six-fingered paw. His facial features were lion-esque, as was his entire body, save from the colorful green, blue and red feathered wings that trailed behind his body. He even had a cute little lion tail poking out from a hole in his pants. “It appears so, yes.” He cleared his throat. “We may have a…problem.”

Stanley, who had gone to the fridge to get a beer, came back glaring at Stanford with those bright yellow orbs. “No shit, Sixer. I hadn’t fucking noticed.”

Stanford’s ears flattened against his skull. Fiddleford would’ve found it amusing if Stanford wasn’t now 7 feet tall and didn’t have large, sharp teeth. “Language, Stanley.”

Fiddleford considered grabbing some alcohol as he took in the situation. After a few attempts at forming words, he finally settled for the question he found himself asking on a near-daily basis. “What in tarnation did ya two get yerselves mixed up in now?”

“Oi, don’t look at me,” said Stan. He jerked his clawed thumb at Stanford. “Mr. Science here was the one who just had to walk right into a mysterious, glowing lake that he almost drowned in.”

Stanford’s tail twitched, and he growled. “We almost drowned, Stanley, because you turned into 300 pounds of moving stone.”

“I was only in the lake because you started flailing around growing a tail and screamin’ for help!”

Ford sniffed, chin held up in that way it got whenever he’d start getting defensive. “Swimming with wings is incredibly difficult.”

“Yeah, I would know, I have them now.” Stanley stretched out his bat-like wings for emphasis.

Judging by Stanford’s bloodshot eyes and Stanley’s slouched posture, along with the fact that they seemed even more short with each other than usual, Fiddleford guessed that they’d been arguing on and off about this for a while. He rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Now see right here, the two of ya best calm down, you’ll tear the shack apart if you start fighting bein’ like this.”

The two of them, while far from calm, quieted down.

“Right,” said Fiddleford. “So ya discovered some magic water that turns folks into monsters?”

“Yup,” said Stanley. “We found it in some hidden path behind some bushes and a couple of boulders.”

It’s almost as if it was hidden away for a reason. “Did ya at least remember where the path is?”

“Of course,” said Stanford, having the audacity to look indignant. “What do you take me for?”

“An idiot who got us turned into two walking Summerween costumes because he couldn’t just collect the water in a cup and some gloves like a normal scientist?” said Stanley.

“As if you would know what a “normal” scientist does,” said Stanford, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Alright, fellas. Let me just get some food in me and then we can go back out and get some samples,” said Fiddleford. “I need me some caffeine to deal with this.”

Stanford opened his mouth but Fiddleford stopped him with the same withering glare he’d give his son whenever he tried to step out of line. “Stanferd Pines, if ya think I’m gonna run around the woods with the two of you, in this here state, on an empty stomach, yer sorely mistaken.”

“Fidds has got a point,” said Stan. “You probably haven’t had anything other than that piece of toast since you woke up.”

“I suppose some food wouldn’t hurt…” said Stanford. “I did have an incredibly strong urge to maul a deer we spotted on the way over.”

Fiddleford was getting some bacon out of the fridge when he heard the end of the sentence. He straightened up and slammed the door with more force than strictly necessary. “Y-ya did?”

Stanford seemed to come to the same conclusion Fiddleford had, because he raised his paws up. “Oh, n-no, rest assured. I don’t have any inclination to eat you.”

“Thank the Lord…”

“After all,” said Stanford, rubbing his chin. “According to mythology, sphinxes only consume humans if they are unfortunate enough not to know the answers to their riddles.”

“Don’t I feel better,” said Fiddleford, voice dripping with sarcasm. “Do ya reckon ya can still have some bacon and eggs?”

“Yes, that’ll do,” he said. “Oh! I must write down our findings in my journal. Now, where did I put it…” Stanford went up the stairs, muttering to himself the entire way.

“Ya know, he actually started running on all fours at least twice on the way over.” Stan grinned through another sip of beer. “was the funniest thing I’ve seen all week.”

Fiddleford sighed. That would explain the fighting. He rolled his eyes as he saw Stanley reach in the fridge for another can and shut it before he could. “Stanley Pines, it is 8 o’clock in the morning.”

“Ooh,” Stanley raised his eyebrows. “Two last names in less than five minutes, it’s a new record.”

“Stanley.”

Stanley pouted, and even with his new…physical features, Fiddleford still found it endearing. “Aw, come onnnn, Fids, I’m emotionally distressed!”

“Yer no such thing.” He smiled a soon as back turned to the other man. He took out their skillet and placed it on the stove.

“Y’know, I gotta hand it to ya. You’ve gotten a lot more assertive since we’ve met, it’s kinda hot.”

“Yer flattery will not sway me into lettin’ ya get another drink.”

Stanley laughed behind him. “Yeah, yeah. I’m still bein’ serious. Ford didn’t even try to fight you about getting breakfast. If it was me, he’d be yelling at me by now about how we were wastin’ time and crap.”

“It doesn’t take much for the two of ya to get at each other’s necks.” Fiddleford cracked an egg on the edge of the skillet. Anyhow, that’s because he’s hiding away scribblin’ field notes. The moment he’s done, he’ll be tryin’ to drag us on out of here.”

“Eh, true.”

For a moment, the eggs sizzling and snapping on the pan filled the warm silence. His stomach grumbled as the savory smell of cooking food reached him. “Stanley, can ya hand me the coffeepot?”

The floorboards creaked behind Fiddleford. A shadow loomed over him. “Stanley?”

“…You’re not, uh, scared of me or nothin’?” Stanley’s voice had gotten so quiet Fiddleford had hardly heard him.

Fiddleford glanced back at Stanley, who despite his size was hunched over, looking mighty small for someone who was now a literal boulder.

“Why on earth would I be?”

Stanley blinked meekly. He gestured towards his entire body. “Uh…’cause I look like this?”

Ah. He did try to threaten them with a shotgun. Some of the unease he’d gotten rid of returned, but he tried his best not to show it. He swallowed down his fear as best as he could. “Should I be?”

Stanley frowned. “Eh, I mean, I feel different, but not in a “eat somebody” kinda way. I do have a very strong urge to perch on the roof and attack pigeons.”

“Fascinating.” Even without his caffeine, his scientific curiosity was finally starting to get the best of him. “Well, gargoyles are known as guardians meant to ward against evil. Perhaps you’ve developed some sorta protective instinct…”

He stopped mid-ramble. Even without eyes to speak of, Fiddleford could tell Stanley was avoiding his gaze.  

Fiddleford brought his hand to Stanley’s cheek. It felt warm, to his surprise, like rock that had baked under the afternoon sun. Stanley peeked up at him. “Darlin’, the only thing I’m afraid of is the damage you’ll cause around the lab if we don’t turn ya back. Yer like a bull in a china closet as it is.”

Stanley chuckled, leaning into Fiddleford’s touch. “Somebody has ta make things interesting around here.”

Something crashed overhead, quickly followed by a string of curses. A series of heavy objects thumped against the wood overhead.

“I’m alright!” called Stanford’s voice. “I simply knocked a bookshelf over my person, but this new form is surprisingly durable!”

“Things are interestin’ enough as it is,” said Fiddleford, his brief moment of curiosity gone as soon as it came. “Where in tarnation is the coffeepot?”

“Relax, Fiddlenerd, I’ll make ya a fresh one.” He went over by his side, giving him a playful shove that sent Fiddleford to the ground. “…Oops. Sorry, uh, forgot about the whole…stone thing.”

Fiddleford glowered up at his boyfriend, taking his hand as he helped Fiddleford back up. “Yer lucky a got a soft spot fer ya, else I’d be mighty cross.”

Stanly gave him the gentlest peck on the top of Fiddleford’s head. “Once I have my human body back, I’ll make it up to ya.”

Stanley gave him a cup of his precious lifeblood, black with two sugars, just as he liked it. Smirking, Fiddleford took a sip, getting warmed by more than just the coffee. “I’ll hold ya to that.”

*

Somebody please give Fiddleford a raise. 

Comment on what monster you all think Fidds should be, and I may do a second part. I've read some people make him a scarecrow, and I considered making him a centaur.

[nataliedanovelist]

GF - Where the Crop Circles Grow ch.4

Summary: When things get out of hand at the Pines’ family farm, Ford asks an old college buddy to assist investigating anomalies and Stan hires a farmhand. Who knew asking for help would actually get you somewhere?

For @lemonfodrizzleart. Part of her Farmer AU and featuring her OC, Jackie Asante.

Special shout-out to Mystery Trio Animated’s old video for inspiring me on how to get the ball rolling. (I’m trying a healthy combination of Mystery Trio shit and canon shit.) Thank you so so much for reading and I hope you enjoy it!!!

Ao3 link here.

ch.3 - ch.5

~~~~~~~~~~

“Are we there yet? Are we there yet?”

“Yes, son,” Fiddleford sighed with a smile. “As I’ve told you for the last fifteen minutes, we’re finally here.”

“Yay!” Tate cheered and grinned as the beautiful woods fell out of sight and the four-year-old’s hidden eyes widened at all the open space to play in. He grinned at the sheep and horse and cow and he saw that sign shaped like a pinetree that read “Pines’ Farm” and thought that was funny. The road was made of dirt and rocks and made weird noises under Daddy’s blue truck.

The road led up to a big house with a triangle roof and a porch. On the porch, two men Tate had never seen before sat in chairs and stood, waiting. Suddenly Tate was nervous and shrunk back into his car seat.

Fiddleford noticed this and smiled at his son. Tate was a kind and intelligent boy, but was often quiet, except when he was alone with Fiddleford. It was like he saved all of his words for him. Fiddleford parked and got out, deciding to let Tate move at his own space.

“Fiddleford, glad to see you’ve made it safely!”

“Howdy there, Stanford, good t’see ya!” What started as a handshake turned into a manly hug with smiles and pats on the back. When it was over, Stanford patted his old roommate’s shoulder and said, “Fiddleford, this is my twin brother, Stanley. Stanley, well, you already know who this is.”

It didn’t take a genius to know who Stanley was either, not just considering the fact he did in fact look like Ford’s twin without being identical, but Fiddleford had heard enough stories and seen enough pictures to recognize this guy from a mile away. “Pleased t’finally meet ya, Stanley.” And he held out a hand to shake.

Stan laughed, took it, and shook him possibly slightly too rough. “Ha! Just Stan’ll do, Fiddleford… Jeez, that’s a mouth full. Mind McGucket or Fiddler or Fidds.”

Fiddleford winced. “Anythang but Fiddler since I ain’t one.”

Stan snapped his fingers and said sarcastically. “Darn. N’ here I was thinkin’ we could put a band together, with Ford’s piano skills n’ my beautiful voice.”

Ford snorted while Fiddleford smiled unsurely. “Well, I do play the banjo…”

“Great! We’ll call ourselves the Three Cowboys! I’ll get to writin’ our first song later.” Stan peered over Fiddleford’s shoulder and at the truck. “But first, did you even brin’ the squirt with you?”

Fiddleford looked back at the trunk and could barely see the top of his son’s head in the front passenger’s seat. “Nah, he’s there. He’s just shy.”

“Ah, well he’ll join us when he’s ready.” Ford said and moved to the trunk. “Here, let me help you with your things and show you to your room, buddy.”

“Well, thank ya kindly, Stanford, I reckon you can get this one. Oh, here, I’ll take that one, it mighty heavy.”

Ford and Fiddleford were chatting away like a pair of school girls as they went into the house, arms full of luggage. The McGuckets sure did bring a lot of crap. Stan shook his head with a smile and moved to the trunk, but on the way he swore he saw a little boy with bangs over his eyes looking at him, but then ducking under the car’s window again. Stan smiled and softly knocked on the glass. “Y’ello?”

The boy didn’t appear, but he did crank the window down. “Hi.”

“I’m Stan.”

“Tate.”

“Nice to meet you.” Stan said. “You know, your daddy n’ my brother are close friends.”

“I know.” The boy said quietly. “Daddy says we’re gonna live here a bit.”

“Yup.” Stan said happily, and then asked, “You reckon you’re okay with that?”

“Uh, huh.”

Stan had no idea what it was like to be shy as a kid. Ford might have, which is why he was inclined to let the boy get out of the truck whenever he pleased, but Stan wondered if maybe all it took was someone to show that they were happy he was here and would be even happier to see him happy. He went to the trunk, grabbed a big suitcase with Tate’s name on the tag, and then went back to the window. “C’mon, kid. I got a surprise for you in your new room.”

That got the boy to perk up. He poked his little head up, just enough to look at Stan’s soft smile and outstretched hand, and Tate grinned. “Okay.” He hopped out and closed the door behind him and took Stan’s hand.

Stan squeezed his little hand reassuringly and led the boy into the house. They crossed the living room together to get to the back hallway and Stan led him to the other bedroom, the one connected to Jackie’s Jack and Jill bathroom. Tate gasped with joy to find a bunk bed by the door with a new knitted blanket at the foot. He climbed up the ladder and jumped into the fluffy feather-stuffed mattress and laughed. “Wowie, Zowie! I get a bunk bed?!”

Stan barked a laugh and sat his suitcase on the bottom bunk. As a kid he had no idea that a lot of other kids in the world thought this was the coolest thing to have in a bedroom, it was just convenient for the Pines twins, but now they were grown and perfectly happy with two full beds in their attic bedroom so Tate could have a twin-sized bed in his new room. “You sure do. Don’t tell Ford I told you this, but he knitted you that blanket and if you’ll look in that chest there’s some more surprises for you.”

Tate scurried down to the floor and t the toy chest under the window. He gasped as he found it half-full with brand new toys. There was a jump-rope, some chalk, a wooden train, complete with engine, cars, and a caboose, and a football and a baseball with a bat. Tate’s voice was caught in his throat, leaving his mouth to open and close like a fish. He knew he should say thank you, but he was left speechless due to all of the nice new things.

“So, whatcha think, squirt?” Stan asked, and when Tate looked at him the farmer knew what the boy was trying to say.

~~~~~~~~~~

In Ford’s favorite workspace, the thinking parlor, there was a desk that used to be filled to the brim with Pa’s work-papers, but with the deed tightly secure in the family’s safe and after a furlough cleansing, there was now only one drawer dedicated to important old documents and the rest of the ancient desk was free to use for Ford’s investigations and ideas. Ford and Fiddleford stood there now, the Southern engineer watching his best friend pull things out from here and there, as if preparing for a school presentation. Fiddleford smiled as he saw how little his friend had changed.

Ford had suggested to leave Fiddleford to unpack once he showed him his room, assuming he wanted to rest after the trip, but Fiddleford had insisted that Ford show him the plans and Ford understood on a personal level; he was sure Fiddleford wanted to forget his problems for a moment and be distracted with an issue he can actually solve. So Ford laid out a map of Gravity Falls with little red xs sprinkled here and there and he pulled out a red marker and uncapped it.

“Right,” Ford started as he smiled at his old roommate. “As I said over the phone, Gravity Falls is a friendly enough town, but it has got to be one of the strangest towns there are. I hadn’t realized how strange it was until leaving for Backupsmore and I realized that some things weren’t normal. Not to mention, if you look at the map, a lot of anomalies I’ve noticed occur away from our farm, so as children it’s not like we were fully exposed to them.”

Fiddleford did in fact notice that there were no red xs on the Pines’ farm, or close to the barrier. There were one or two in the actual town itself, but most of the xs were in the woods and in the mountains. Probably whatever creatures were out there purposely stayed in the woods, like any other wildlife, to avoid mankind. Fiddleford nodded and said, “Alright, but what sort of anomalies have ya noticed?”

Ford pulled out a journal with a golden six-fingered hand on it and opened it to showcase some very well drawn sketches. Fiddleford stared to find unicorns, eye bats, two-headed snakes, dark vague shadows, and possibly a werewolf? Fiddleford blinked and muttered, “Uh… ya… ya sure it’s…”

“I swear on my life,” Ford said seriously. “I’ve seen some strange things out there, Fiddleford. I haven’t had a chance to get a proper look at any of it, but I’m hoping with your help I may finally be able to catch something, or at least some solid evidence, that proves I’m not crazy.”

Fiddleford detected a hint of bitterness by the end of it. He wouldn’t be surprised if anyone else Ford had explained this to had written him off as a whack-job. Fiddleford smiled and patted his shoulder. “Hey, I believe ya. Reckon somebody’s gotta catalog these critters. Why not it be us, right? So, suppose tomorrow mornin’ we just get on out there n’ explore the woods for some weird critters?”

Ford smiled back with determination and excitement gleaming in his eyes. “That’s the idea.”

~~~~~~~~~~

Tate was watching TV in the living room while Jackie was in the kitchen with Stan by her side. Yes, Jackie did all the cooking and was good at it, but Stan knew how to make some stuff edible and it seemed like a fair trade; if Stan was going to teach Jackie how to run a farm, she might as well teach him a thing or two about cooking.

“So, what can you cook, Stanley?” Jackie asked while she seasoned some flour that was already in a big paper bag.

“Besides Stancakes?” He clarified. “Uh, I can do grits. That’s about it, missy.”

Jackie giggled good-naturedly and said, “Well, first thang you gotta know ‘bout cooking is this fellow right here.” And she held up a big container of Crisco. “The best thang they did since put mayonnaise in a jar.” Jackie spooned some of the thick white stuff out and put it on the hot skillet to melt like butter. “Gum in your hair? Squeaky door hinge? Crisco.”

When Jackie’s back was turned to work on the chicken, Stan stuck his finger in some of the Crisco; it looked pretty, almost like frosting for a cake. To hide what he did, Stan stuck his finger in his mouth; the taste wasn’t great.

“Bags under your eyes? Wanna soften some scaly feet? Crisco.” Jackie added as she dipped a breast in the egg wash then put it in the bag, then did the process again with another piece of chicken. “But it’s best for frying chicken. Mm! I love fried chicken! Gotta be my favorite! It takes a lot of work to make, but it tastes so good and it’s always worth it! Well, worth it to me, anyways.” Jackie rolled up the bag tight and held it out to Stan. “Shake that.”

“Oh, sure.” Stan took the bag filled with chicken and flour. He shook it and found that once he got a rhythm for it it was actually kind of fun. With a stupid grin on his face he rattled the bag really heavy, making Jackie laugh.

“Alright alright, Stan, the chicken’s already dead.” Jackie took the bag and opened it to see how well seasoned it was. “Yup, she dead. And well dressed for the funeral, too.”

Stan laughed and the timer dinged. “Oh, will you take out the cornbread, please?” Jackie asked as she stirred the green beans, the Crisco not quite fully melted yet, but almost.

“You got it.” Stan slipped on some oven mitts and opened the oven. There sat a beautiful skillet full of Mexican cornbread. This wasn’t just cornbread, this was cornbread with spices and bits of corn. The smell made Stan’s mouth water like a dog and he happily put it on a folded up towel on the table. “Sweet Lord!”

“Give it a minute to cool, Lee, geez!” Jackie said, able to read his mind and know he wanted to pick at it.

Stan stuck his tongue at the back of her head and watched her fry the chicken. The grease bubbled around the chicken and flew everywhere, like firecrackers. Stan took a step back as he got sprayed a little bit, meanwhile all Jackie did was flinch and asked, “Will you call the boys for dinner? It'll be ready by the time they get in here.”

“Sure.” Everyone was inside the house, so there was no sense in ringing the triangle; Stan poked his head in the living room to tell Tate dinner was ready and then knocked on the parlor door to tell the nerds that food was ready.

By the time Stan came back with Tate by his side, the table was set with pitchers of sweet tea and water on the table, big bowl of green beans, the skillet full of Mexican cornbread, and Jackie had just flipped the chicken. Stan licked his lips and playfully fought with Tate for space in the kitchen sink as they washed up.

Fiddleford followed Ford to the bathroom to wash and then to the kitchen. He stared happily at the set-up before him, and then his eyes widened at the stranger in the room. A dark-skinned woman used tongs to lift fried chicken out of a skillet and onto a tray lined with paper towels. She wore an apron over leans and a white t-shirt, her past-shoulder-length black hair tied in a loose, low ponytail to keep her hair away from her cooking. Fiddleford smiled; he had known the twins had hired help but he had no clue who that was; he had accidentally assumed it was another man.

The woman set the tray of steaming chicken on the table, wiped her forehead dry, and smiled at Fiddleford. “You must be Ford’s friend. I’m Jackie.” She introduced and held out her hand.

Fiddleford gently took it and shook her head with a smile. “Fiddleford H. McGucket, ma’am. It’s a pleasure t’meet ya.”

Jackie’s cheeks turned rosy at his politeness and invited him to sit. Soon they were all happily digging into the delicious dinner and enjoyed every bite.

Fiddleford was extremely impressed. The chicken crunched happily in his mouth and the chicken’s meat was soft and delicious. The green beans were flavored with bacon and onions, and the Mexican cornbread was very good. As Fiddleford munch on his bread while he listened to Stan tell a story, he couldn’t help but think how much better the cornbread would be with some butter. He checked the table for it, and perhaps he was overlooking it, but he didn’t see it.

“Jackie, may I have some butter, please.” Fiddleford asked politely when Stan was taking a break from his story to drink some water.

Jackie smiled and nodded. “Sure.” Let’s forget the fact that Ford was sitting next to Fiddleford and was the closest to the fridge. Jackie didn’t even notice, and she casually got the butter-dish out of the fridge, sat with it, and handed it to the southerner as he dipped his head and whispered “thank you” as to not interrupt Stan.

By the end of the meal, Stan was patting his gut happily and sighing heavily. “Yup. Jackie, I think you get better with every meal.”

While Jackie stood and took her dishes to the sink, her face grew warmer.

“Yes, that was delicious, Jackie, thank you.” Ford praised.

“Well,” Jackie opened the fridge and pulled something out. “I hope everyone left room for dessert.”

“Mm! Pie!” Stan gasped happily and rubbed his hands together; it didn’t matter if it killed him, he’d make room for Round 2.

“Lemon Meringue.” Jackie explained, sitting the pie down on the table as she took up the mostly-empty bowl of green beans and began to put the vegetables in a smaller container for the fridge; leftovers made for an excellent lunch.

Mouth watering and eyes as big as dinner plates, once Jackie sat down the small plates, forks, and pie knife on the table, Stan cut right into the beautiful dessert while Ford began to collect dishes.

Fiddleford, too full for pie at the moment, stood and stretched his arms over his head. “So, should we get back to work, Stanford?”

“Sorry, let me finish these dishes first.” Ford said as he began to clean. “Got to thank Jackie for the meal the best way I can.”

Jackie lightly shoved his shoulder as she brought over the skillet of cornbread and began to move it to a plastic container. “Hey, I don’t wanna eat canned meat or TV dinners any more than you do.”

“You know, Tate,” Stan mumbled with pie in his cheeks like a chipmunk. “If you’ll look in that cabinet there should be a jar with holes if you wanna catch some firefl-...”

“FIREFLIES?!” Tate excitedly interrupted, drained his cup of water, and dashed to where Stan said the jar would be. Lo and behold two jars with holes poked into the lids shined and Tate snatched one up. “Daddy, wanna catch some with me?” The boy pleaded.

“Sure, son,” Fiddleford said with a smile, playing with his boy sounding much better than returning to work that can be done another time, so they hurried out the kitchen door and were amazed to find dozens of blinking bugs out on the farm.

Tate grinned and ran with his father admiring the scene. Stan decided he could enjoy his pie just as much on the doorstep as he could at the table, and he took his dessert with him and sat with the door open to watch the McGuckets play. Jackie and Ford got a nice view of the scene from the sink and happily chatted away as they cleaned the kitchen.

~~~~~~~~~~

~~~~~~~~~~

Stan yawned into his hand and he hummed a little song to himself. “Doo, doo de, doo, doo… gettin’ a midnight snack, gonna eat some…”

Stan turned on the hall-light, his eyes still sensitive to bright lights, so he could see his way into the kitchen without bumping into the table or walking into the fridge. He gasped in horror and then growled like an angry bulldog at the open fridge and spilt content. “Pie!” He finished his song bitterly with one knee before the open fridge. “Oh, c’mon! I was gonna eat that! Actually, this part here still looks good…”

With no one to judge him, Stan scooped up some lemon-filling with two fingers and hummed with satisfaction as the delicious taste grazed his mouth. On his feet again, Stan was about to grab some paper towels to start cleaning up the mess when something ran across his foot.

Stan yelled and jumped about a foot in the air before grabbing a hanging pan from the wall and holding it as he would a weapon. He first thought that the pie fell off the cramped shelf in the fridge, opening the door, but now he wondered if they had a late-night visitor. Wouldn’t be the first time a raccoon got into the house.

Stan carefully moved to where he knew a light-switch for the oven’s light was and he braced himself for whatever was coming. He flicked it on and saw something out of the corner of his eye run into the hall. Did a chicken escape the coop? “C’mere you…” Stan growled and ran down the hall.

Nothing appeared on the stairs for the attic, or further down the hall for Jackie’s room, so maybe whatever it was went into the living room. Pan still at the ready for some whacking, Stan crept into the living room and relaxed his old boxing stance to find it empty. The farmer scratched at his mullet to try to think what could have slipped away from him and gotten into the fridge. Stan was in the hallway, going to put the pan away and clean up the pie, when he noticed a small draft and he checked the front door. Sure enough, something had broken the screen in the screen door.

Stan groaned and closed and locked the main door. Tate must have forgotten to close the door when he went to the truck to get something for bed. Well, after chores Stan would just have to repair the hole.

When Stan re-entered his attic bedroom, his eyes immediately caught his twin asleep on top of a book, a flashlight on the floor by his dangling arm. That nerd had a bad habit of never stopping until his body made him. Shaking his head with a smile, Stan slammed the door loudly on purpose, making Ford jump awake with a grunt. “Huh?! Wh… Stanley?”

“You know you’ll sleep better on your pillow, not a book, right?” Stan asked as he took off his robe and let it fall on the floor by his bed, leaving on his boxers and t-shirt.

Ford snorted and readjusted his lopsided glasses. “What were you doing up?” He yawned into his palm.

“Well I was gonna have some more pie,” Stan said as he sat on his bed. “But somethang raided our fridge n’ ruined my midnight snack.”

“Was it a raccoon again?” Ford asked as he folded his glasses and put them on his nightstand by his book.

“Maybe, but I got a glimpse of it before it ran off n’ the little bit I did see didn’t look nothin’ like a black n’ white thief.”

“Well…” Ford yawned again and said dozily, “It��s too early to think. Goodnight.” And he laid on his right side, his back to his brother, and quickly fell asleep.

Stan chuckled as he shook his head and laid down for some shut-eye.

~~~~~~~~~~

After morning chores, Jackie walked in through the kitchen-door to grab something when she thought she heard the sound of a hammer down the hall. She peeked and found Stan on one knee in front of the door, working on putting a new screen over the door. “Broken screen?” She clarified as she stood by his side, her hands behind her back.

“Yeah, something chewed through n’ got into the house.” Stan shivered as he recalled the foggy memory. “It ran across my foot. Ugh, I can still feel it’s little fingers.”

“Yikes.” Jackie said and looked into the living room to find Tate coloring at the card table. “Well, since that pie’s gone, I’m gonna pick some blackberries for a cobbler. Should I make Tate help me or you got him?”

“Nah, some of those berries aren’t ready, you better pick ‘em.” Stan said as he stood up straight and wiped his hands clean. “I’m gonna take him with me into town to get some stuff from the store. Any requests?”

“Oh! Can you get some hot chilis, please?” Jackie quickly remembered.

“Sure. OY! Squirt!” Stan called and leaned against the doorway. “Wanna go into town with me? You can ride shotgun in the Stanmobile if you want?”

Tate grinned like a Cheshire cat and yelped, “Okay!” and then scooped up his crayons and book to put them away in his room.

“Sure you don’t wanna take Truffles into town?” Jackie asked, remembering Stan’s comment that the horse needs to travel every so often.

“With Tate?” Stan snorted. “Nah, wild thing isn’t ready for a kid. Let me break him a bit more n’ then we’ll see. Maybe take him out in the woods tomorrow. Maybe take a gal with me.” He added with a wink, making Jackie smile like an idiot as she shoved him in a playful manner.

“Well then good luck finding a date in town.” And she went back into the kitchen to grab a basket to berry-pick with.

Meanwhile, while Jackie worked on blackberry cobbler and Stan took Tate into town, Ford and Fiddleford were in the woods, equipped with a compass, a map, Ford’s journal, and a backpack on Fiddleford. A few days before Fiddleford arrived, Ford had placed several cameras in a variety of areas to try to get some idea of what they’re dealing with, a lead of some kind or evidence that there was something out there.

“Okay, that’s 1A, 1B, and 1C.” Ford checked off the map, his journal under his arm. “2A, 2B, and 2C were well intact. We just need 3A, 3B, and 3C. This way.”

“Ya sure ya know where you’re goin’?” Fiddleford checked. No offense to his friend, but all these oaks and pines looked the same to him.

“Don’t worry, I know these woods like the back of my hand.” Ford eased. “I used to spend a lot of time here with Stanley as kids. The trees are a great hiding place from bullies.” He chuckled at a memory and decided to share. “One time, we climbed up a big pinetree to hide from a group of kids, when one of the branches broke off and landed right on one of the kid’s head. Stanley says Pines got to stick together.”

Fiddleford laughed at the little joke as he followed Ford along the woods. They came to a small clearing and Ford stopped. “Here we are. Okay, up there should be Camera 3B. If you’ll get 3A down there, I’ll get 3B.”

“Gotcha.” Fiddleford found Camera 3A tucked into some leaves. He looked around for a third camera, and again, maybe he was just needing new glasses, but he didn’t see one. “Uh, Stanford, where’d ya put 3C?”

Up on a branch and untying a camera, Ford called and pointed. “Down there, by the rock.”

Fiddleford shuffled his feet in case he were to step on the camera, but he looked around and even felt the brush with his hands was startled to turn up empty-handed. “Uh… I ain’t findin’ it.”

“That’s odd, hold on, buddy, I’ll help you look.” Ford said and hopped down with the camera to search for Camera 3C. It truly wasn’t where Ford had placed it and it was nowhere around the clearing.

“Maybe a deer or rabbit took it?” Fiddleford speculated.

“Or a unicorn! Or a gremlin! Or a goblin!” Ford gasped with wonder sparkling in his brown eyes. “Or both!”

“Calm down there, Dr. Crackpot.” Fiddleford chuckled and made Ford smile. “Let's just get this film developed before we get our hopes up higher than a Georgia pine.”

“Great, now you’re doing it, too.”

“No! No, I just… it was either that or higher than the Empire State buildin’, n’ we’re in the woods…”

“With a Pines.”

“... with a lot o’ pinetrees.” Fiddleford laughed at their fun babble and they followed the compass for the farm.

By the time Jackie was pulling a sweet-smelling cobbler out of the oven and about to go outside to check on the sheep, Tate and Stan came home with some groceries. Tate immediately dug around a bag once it was placed on the table, pulled out some Gummy Koalas, and ran off. Jackie gave Stan a skeptical look, to which the farmer just shrugged and pulled out a white paper bag full of hot red peppers.

“Oh, great, thanks.”

“No problem, missy.” Stan said as Jackie lunged a hand into the bag and he pulled out a box of freezy-pops to put in the freezer. “What, gonna make chili? Mexican food? Spicy fried chicken?”

“Nope.” And Jackie bit into a pepper and munched on it with a big smile.

Stan yelped in shock and quickly shut himself up, but that didn’t stop him from breaking a bead of sweat and his eye twitching at her. “What in Moses’s name are you doing?”

“Having a snack.” Jackie explained as she took a second bite, only leaving the stem. “It’ll be awhile ‘til dinner.”

“What, apples n’ bananas not good enough for you?”

“Nope.” Jackie repeated and bit into another one.

“Gah!” Stan yelled and grabbed his hair as he stared at her. “How do you do that?! Stop that!”

“Nope.” Jackie said a third time and happily finished her second chili.

With shivers on his back and an impressed smile that was impossible to miss, Stan left Jackie to shake her head and munch on her snack in peace.

Tate, at this time, was running into the living room, hoping to eat his candy in front of the TV, but his daddy and his daddy’s friend were in the living room already, stringing pictures up and they had a bunch of adult-looking equipment. “Daddy, whatcha doin’?” He asked.

“Hey there, sport.” Fiddleford said and took the time to give him a side hug as he watched a photo develop in the liquid-filled pan. “Just developin’ these photos here. They’ll help us figure out what we’re dealin’ with.”

“Oh. Can I help?” The boy asked hopefully.

“I don’t know if there anythang ya can do.” Fiddleford moved his back to his son and smiled. “Whatcha got there?”

Tate grinned and showed his daddy the gummies. “Uncle Stan gave ‘em t’me! He’s real nice.”

“He sure is. Did ya make sure t’tell him that n’ thank him.”

“Uh, huh.”

“Good.” And Fiddleford ruffled his hat to mess with his hair.

Ford smiled at the father and son duo and resumed his work, recording their findings. None of the pictures so far got a full image of anything, but glimpses here and there showed that something strange was out there. Ford stared at one picture that showed someone very short and what looked like the bottom of a beard. And in another photo, when Ford looked back on it, he realized that wasn’t a twig; it was a pointy hat. “Fiddleford, come look at this.”

Fiddleford moved away from his son and towards his friend and he stared at the image that had caught Ford’s attention. “Oh… oh my…”

“I know.”

“Whatcha reckon that there is?”

Tate looked at the picture and noticed the red circle on another one. He grinned and called out, “Gnomes!”

The three turned to look back at the doorway of the living room and they saw Stan laughing at them, shaking his head. “Gnomes?! Ma used to use ‘em for an excuse for when socks went missin’, remember Sixer? There ain’t no such thing as gnomes. Except the stone ones you get at the store.”

“Ya don’t believe in gnomes, Uncle Stan?” Tate asked.

“Stanley doesn’t believe in the supernatural.” Ford answered with a roll of his eyes and he tried to resume his work. “Even as kids you couldn’t spook him with stories about monsters or ghosts or anything like that. But show him a picture of a r-...”

“Alright, that’s enough outta you, Poindexter!” Stan scooped up Tate, making the boy giggle, and held him under his arm. “I ain’t gonna let you poison this poor kid’s brain with nerd talk. C’mon, I’ll show you how to rangle in sheep.”

“Be careful, son.” Fiddleford called after them. “N’ stay outta the stalls! Don’t mess with Truffles!”

“Okay.”

The evening that came was cool and pleasant, perfect porch-sitting weather. Stan finished his freezy-pop first and read the joke that was now revealed to him for finishing his treat. “Okay okay, what is a ghost’s favorite ice-cream flavor?”

“Oh!” Tate gasped with his hand in the air, sitting on the steps with a banana-flavored pop in his hand. “Oh! Boo-berry!”

“It’s definitely Boo-berry.” Fiddleford said, sitting next to his son.

“How about cookies and scream?” Ford guessed.

Stan chuckled as he rocked in his chair. “I’m gonna say Corpse-mellon. N’ it… huh.” Stan looked all over the stick, but there was no answer to the joke. “It’s blank.”

“Blank stick?” Ford paraphrased. “That’s a bad omen, Stanley. Be careful, something terrible might happen.”

“Yeah,” Stan said slowly and shook his head. “You’re off your rocker, Sixer.”

“I am not!”

Jackie, who had been standing as she ate, sneakily pushed her foot down on the back of Ford’s rocker. On reflex, he leaned forward and Jackie released just in time for the six-fingered nerd to lose his balance and fall forward and on his face. The whole gang laughed while Ford got up red-faced. Stan patted Jackie’s back and howled with laughter, “I love this gal!”

~~~~~~~~~~

~~~~~~~~~~

Jackie was checking the cornfields to make sure everything was in order when she could hear some familiar sheep sounds. She stretched her neck to look past some corn and she saw little Dot wiggling past the short fence and skip into the woods. Jackie yelled in shock and ran after the lamb, grateful that this time it wasn't storming and the sun was shining brightly. “Gosh darn it, Dot! Your ma sucks at keeping an eye on you!”

Because Jackie was so close this time and not blinded by rain, she actually managed to scoop up the lamb quickly. She smacked the lamb a little bit, Stan giving her permission to spank any naughty animals, and she hugged Dot so she would know she was forgiven. A snap of a twig made Jackie jerk her head upward and she listened and kept her eyes sharp. Now she knew Ford and Fiddleford were out in the woods again, close to a breakthrough according to the nerds, so she was sure it was one of them heading home or passing by. How funny it would be to come across each other. So you can imagine how shocked Jackie was to find a little bearded man standing on a rock and looking up at her.

Jackie bit her lip to keep from yelling; she wouldn’t like it if someone yelled at her due to the shock of her appearance, and she didn’t want to scare this weird creature away. The pointy hat and beard told Jackie that this was definitely a gnome. It’s beard was all over the place and gray and the gnome had a big-ish nose and a bit of an overbite with some misshapen teeth, but his eyes, though lopsided and slightly cross eyed, were warm and this creature gave off a kind atmosphere.

Jackie smiled and got on one knee with the lamb in her arms. “Hello.”

The gnome lifted a little arm and wiggled his fingers at her politely. Jackie freed a hand and held it out to him to either shake or hop on. Whichever he wanted. The gnome smiled at her and hopped up on her palm, sitting with his hands prompting him up from behind.

“What a nice lil’ guy.” Jackie complimented. “What’s your name?”

“Shmebulock. Senior.” The gnome croaked.

“I’m Jackie, nice to meet you.” The human smiled while the lamb sniffed the air around Shmebulock. “Wow, a real gnome. I’ve got a friend who’d love to meet you.”

“Shmebulock.”

Jackie raised an eyebrow, but decided to let it go. Maybe gnomes were limited in speech. Before she could ask another question, Shmebulock whistled loudly. Jackie barely had time to register that she was faced with dozens of other gnomes and she screamed in horror when they leaped from the trees for her and Dot.

Jackie’s scream was heard by Ford and Fiddleford, who were currently setting up the cameras again, dropped everything, no questions asked, and ran as fast as they could for Fiddleford’s truck and drove in the direction they feared Jackie was in danger. There was a thick dirt road leading deeper into the woods the men ran on and they saw a truly unusual sight at the edge of the trees.

Jackie was running for her life with a lamb in her arms, a crowd of gnomes behind her. Fiddleford stopped the car and Jackie hopped in the truck before it sped off to try to lose the gnomes. She huffed and puffed, her heart going as fast as the truck, and Ford opened the back window to check on her from the passenger’s seat. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah, we’re fine.” Jackie breathed and Dot “bah”ed happily.

Ford smiled at them and gasped with amazement and wonder as one huge gnome, made out of dozens of small gnomes, ran after them, looking like Santa Clause on his period, red all over with sharp teeth and hat and a big beard. “Wow.” He awed and pulled out his journal to begin sketching.

“DRIVE, FIDDS!” Jackie yelled.

The giant threw gnomes like darts and some of them landed in the truck. While Jackie kicked one off the car, Shmebulock Senior was being slammed against the steering wheel by Fiddleford’s hand, but then one leaped on his face, building him and veering the truck off course. Ford punched the gnome off of his friend, only leaving behind a black eye on the driver.

“Thanks, Ford.” Fidds groaned.

“Don’t mention it. Hey, what’s that?” Ford asked and pointed ahead.

The three humans screamed as the truck ran right into an oak tree. They then held their heads and groaned as they stumbled out of the truck. Poor Fiddleford was a nervous wreck over the wreck. “My truck!”

“Don’t worry, I can fix it.” Ford tried to comfort his friend, ignoring the tire that just popped and the bumper that just fell off. “Probably.”

“At least we lost… oh, no we didn’t.” Jackie held Dot closer to her chest as the giant gnome was before them.

Ford stood in front of Jackie, Fiddleford, and Dot protectively, his arms outstretched, as the gnomes broke away to better surround them and insure there was no way out. The little men of the forest growled and snarled like animals, until a loud voice commanded silence. “ENOUGH!”

Slithering out from the shadows like a snake, but rather on a long white beard than a scaly body, came a gnome much older looking and much different from the other gnomes. This gnome carried a staff with a mushroom on top, wore purple instead of red, had a crown and a red cape, and his voice was as sour as lemons and his eyes were green with envy. Those green, empty, creepy eyes were on Jackie, and while all the gnomes bowed to their king, this guy dipped his head respectively to her.

“My Queen!” He cheered happily. “The time has come to fulfill your destiny!”

“EW, WHAT?!” Jackie yelled. “Nu, huh! No way!”

“Leave her alone!” Ford demanded.

“As it is written, in the Prophecy of Shmizzledorph…”

“Go away!” Fiddleford interrupted.

“... the Prophecy…!” But Ford threw one of his boots at the gnome and the king yelped out a sharp, “Ouch! Alright, fine! You want her back? There’s only one way…”

The gnomes around them giggled, anticipating that they would walk away with a new queen tonight. Jackie stuck out his tongue at them.

“You must answer… A RIDDLE!”

Ford, Fiddleford, and Jackie all blinked at the over-exaggerating king. Ford shrugged and said, “Fine, I like a good riddle.”

“What… IS A GHOST’S FAVORITE ICE-CREAM FLAVOR?!”

Now the humans were nervous. Nervous, surprised, and maybe a little bit impressed. The three huddled like they were about to play football and rambled off ideas.

“Boo-berry!” Fiddleford whispered.

“Cookies and scream!” Ford hissed.

“Stanford, go with Fidds’ answer.” Jackie voted quietly.

“But what if it’s not boo-berry?” Ford asked nervously. “Then you’ll have to be that creep’s queen.”

“But what if it’s not cookies and scream?” Jackie returned.

With a squeeze on his old roommate’s shoulder, Fiddleford gave Ford that softer facial expression and whispered, “Stanford, trust me.”

Ford thought for a moment, took in a deep breath, and nodded. The team broke away and Ford faced the king who was elevated by his own beard. “Boo-berry?”

The gnome was silent. Ford feared he was wrong, but then, “IMPOSSIBAAAAAAAAAAAAALE!”

The humans held each other as the gnomes were then all turned into stone, the little statues they were destined to become. With Fiddleford sandwiched between Ford and Jackie, they watched as the king turned to stone and a little bird landed peacefully on his outstretched hand.

“Huh,” Fiddleford quipped when their protective hug was loosening. “I didn’t actually think that would work.”

The trio worked together to push Fiddleford’s truck back home, but not without a souvenir. As Ford placed a gnome on the porch step, Jackie sat Dot down and let the lamb skip off to join the other sheep. “Thanks for saving my butt back there, guys.”

“Hey, we wouldn’t let you get dragged off into the woods to marry that creep.” Fiddleford reassured her teasingly with a light shove on the shoulder.

“And really, we should be thanking you.” Ford gently corrected. “Thanks to you we finally got what was on our cameras! And I have plenty to write about in the journal! Thank you, Jackie.”

The only lady on the farm couldn’t keep the smile off her face until Stan slammed the door open with Tate by his side. “Whoa, what happened to you three?” He asked, noting the scrapes, Fiddleford’s black eye, and the leaves in Jackie’s hair. “You get hit by a bus or something?”

“If we told you, you wouldn’t believe us, Stanley.” Ford said daringly, his eyes sparkling with mischief and a prideful smirk on his smug face.

Stan grinned and crossed his arms over his chest while Tate ran into Fiddleford’s arms for a hug. “Try me.”

~~~~~~~~~~

~~~~~~~~~~

Ford yawned into his six-fingered hand as he ruffled his brown hair and wandered towards the kitchen. “Mm, thank Moses Stan didn’t eat all the strawberry cobbler.”

He turned on the light and gasped to find a gnome standing by the open fridge, helping himself to the cobbler, which was lying on the floor. The gnome screeched and scampered past his feet and Ford ran after it to see it run through a hole in the screendoor. The young scientist hurried out the door and watched the gnome run off into the woods. The stone-gnome on the step was gone.

“This is bad.”

[detectivejigsawpines]

Twinpathy (Pain)

Based on the lovely work of Artsymeeshee and RenConnor; little snippets of life indicating that even when they were apart (physically or emotionally), the boys were still connected without realizing.

The night he was banished from his home and told not to come back without a fortune, Stanley Pines went down to the beach with a can of gasoline that he “liberated” from a nearby station and his trusty lighter, and he set the almost-completed Stan O’War on fire.

There was no way he could take it with him, and he sure as h_ll wasn’t leaving it for that traitor to use.

Besides, it wasn’t like there was anyone who would care.

It took hours for the flames to finish consuming it; he stood there the whole time, hands clenched in trembling fists at his sides, and forced himself to watch no matter how much it hurt.  He barely even flinched when he got hit by stray sparks that burned his skin and made his damp eyes sting, as he watched all his dreams literally go up in smoke.

By the time it was reduced to dying embers it was almost dawn; Stan walked away to his car and curled up in the back seat, feeling more alone than he had in his entire life.

********

Ford barely slept.

For some reason he was just too hot; even if he kicked off all the blankets and sheets, he felt like he was burning up.

Even if he hadn’t been experiencing an odd temperature problem, there was no way he could sleep with the cocktail of rage, betrayal, uncertainty and not-very-well-suppressed guilt brewing in his skull.

His room had never felt so empty before, or been so quiet during the night.

Parts of his skin were actually stinging a little; if he was having a fever, it was like nothing he’d ever had before.  Not even cold water seemed to help much, but somehow he couldn’t work up the will to wake up his parents.  Not after they’d-

He shoved the thought away.

It wasn’t until dawn that the heat rushing through his system finally died down a little, but even then Ford couldn’t relax enough to sleep.  He went to school looking and feeling like hell, and passed it in a dull haze.

A week later, when he went to the beach (he hadn’t meant to go near the boat, he’d told himself that he wouldn’t, that there was no reason to go near it, but somehow his footsteps took him there anyways), all he found was an enormous chunk of ash.

And his gut churned with that cocktail again, as he realized his brother really wasn’t coming back anytime soon.

****************

Stan was beginning to realize that making that deal with Archer had been a mistake.

Namely because he was chained up and dangling by his ankles in a slaughterhouse, and one of Archer’s goons was approaching him with a cleaver in one hand and a meat hook in the other, and it wasn’t because he was planning on giving him a fancy haircut.

“It’s nothing personal, Pinowski,” Archer said solemnly, staring down at him.  “I like your moxie; really I do. But it’s bad business if I don’t make an example of you to anyone else with dumb ideas.”

“Yikes,” Stan grunted, face red from all the blood rushing to it, “you always talk like you’re Edward G. Robinson or something?”

Archer smiled thinly, and nodded to the guy who looked a little too enthusiastic about his grisly task.

By now, though, Stan had managed to put the paperclip he’d been using as a substitute cufflink to good use, and when the thug got close he swung his fist, with the chain wrapped around it.  It hurt, but it was worth it to knock him into Archer, sending them both to the floor like ninepins. Frantically Stanley began wriggling like a worm on a hook, trying to reach his ankles before they could get up.  Instead he found himself sliding backwards, his body thudding into one of the dead cattle dangling behind him like one of those stupid balls on strings that you can smack two together and the ones at the other end will move-Newton’s cradle, that’s what Ford had said it was called.  Ugh, of all the times for him to be remembering his brother-

He barely managed to dodge the cleaver, which was swung with a vengeance at his neck, and almost on reflex his arms flew up, catching the thug’s other wrist.  Despite his efforts, the hook pressed stubbornly forward, catching into the flesh of his stomach and digging in. On the bright side, it brought the thug close enough for Stan to pound an unexpected fist into his gut.

Eventually, of course, Stan managed to get away.  But not without a somewhat-gaping hole in his stomach, and a need to run quickly before the police and the fire department showed up at the slaughterhouse to find out what the heck was going on.  Together, these were not the most pleasant combination in the world.

********

Far away at a second-rate college, Ford nearly fell out of his desk with a gasp of agony, clutching at his stomach.

At once Fiddleford was at his side, asking frantically what was the matter.

“I-I dunno-something hurts-”

“Have y’got yer appendix removed?”

“No-never had to.”

“C’mon, let’s get ya to the doctor.  Maybe it became inflamed or somethin’.”  Fiddleford pulled his friend to his feet and slung his free arm over his shoulder, shepherding him out the door.

Surprisingly, the doctor found nothing wrong with his appendix.  Nothing seemed to be wrong period, except for the unexplained throbbing sensation.  Eventually he just gave Ford some painkillers and sent him back to the dorm to get some rest.  Ford speculated on the possibility of it being pain for an injury that he hadn’t received yet or something else supernatural like that, and gulped down some of the medicine with water so he could get back to work.

(Far away, in a remote field where he’d managed to hide his car until the heat died down, Stan felt the burning ache in his clumsily-stitched gut miraculously recede a little, even though he hadn’t managed to steal painkillers yet.  Maybe life was giving him a break from being its chew toy for a while.)

****************

It had been a long week, and the coming one wasn’t looking any better due to impending finals.

Ford couldn’t remember the last time he’d slept instead of either studying or drinking copious amounts of coffee.  Of course, sleep was a terrible waste of time that he avoided whenever possible anyway, but he had to admit that sometimes it was a necessary evil.  If nothing else, because it helped get rid of throbbing headaches like the one filling his skull right now. But dang it, this was important! The sooner he graduated, the sooner he could get into the important research he wanted to study.  And he wouldn’t be able to live with himself if he got anything but the best possible grades.

Rubbing his gritty eyes under his glasses, Ford made some fresh coffee and forced himself to focus on his notes.

********

It was the worst hangover Stan could remember having in years.  He slumped back against the brick wall behind him, eyes closed, wishing he was dead.

...Which happened more often than he wanted to admit, even without hangovers.  But at least this time he had a semi-decent excuse.

He didn’t even think he’d drunk that much; certainly not enough to make his skull feel like rocks were rolling around inside it and banging together.  Geez, it felt like he hadn’t slept in a week.

With a groan, he finally got up, grabbing the hat containing the few coins a few people had dropped in it (he was sure close to making those millions now, ha ha ha), and staggered to his car, collapsing in the back seat.  To his relief, he managed to fall into a dreamless sleep fairly quickly.

(Ford began, after a few hours, to feel strangely refreshed; he chalked it up to his body adjusting to an alternative sleep schedule and double-checked his term paper.)

****************

As Stan got older, he noticed that his body would develop odd aches and pains, especially in his joints, and sometimes he would wake up feeling utterly exhausted, like he’d been boxing in his sleep.  It wasn’t too surprising, since he hadn’t exactly had a peaceful lifestyle in his youth and he was probably paying for it now. He just learned to deal with it all when he got up in the morning, and focused on the important things: fleecing the hides off customers, and trying to figure out that stupid portal.

Nothing else mattered.

********

Ford didn’t have many opportunities to wash properly while traveling through the multiverse, what with constantly hopping dimensions and fighting for his life here and there, but if he’d had a chance to look at his right shoulder, he would have seen that for weeks after he first arrived the skin was bright red, like he’d gotten a bad sunburn.  Of course, this being Ford he might have just dismissed it as an allergic reaction to something in his clothes or whatever.

****************

The Stan O’War II needed fresh supplies.  Again.

The Pineses went their separate ways in the busy port marketplace-Ford to pick up scientific gear, and Stan to get food and fishing tackle.

Ford was just fishing his wallet out of his pocket (and really missing the dimensions where currency had been rendered unnecessary), when he gasped and doubled over against the counter, clutching a hand to his cheek.

“Sir?” the shopkeeper asked, looking at him with concern, “Are you alright?”

He managed to nod and straighten up, handing him the cash.  “Yes, I’m fine, sorry. Just...a muscle spasm or something.”

That...was odd, even by my standards, he thought as he gathered up his things and headed for the boat.  It was almost like someone had up and punched him (and believe me, by now he knew what that felt like).

Stanley was not back yet, so Ford was about to make himself busy putting things away, when the sensation came again, except it was in his ribs.

And this time, he had an odd feeling that it had something to do with his twin.

It defied all the logic his mind prided so highly, but then again, things like the M Dimension and leprecorns defied logic and they still existed, so he just tucked his gun into its holster and hurried back onto shore.

The throbbing in his side became almost a pulse; like a dark version of “Hot and Cold,” it grew stronger as he turned certain directions, leading him to a remote corner of town with a big white van parked nearby-never a good sign.

An even worse sign was the group of men trying to force Stanley into the truck.

To be fair, Stanley appeared to be handling it reasonably well-several of them were lying on the ground, clutching themselves in various areas and groaning, while the ones still standing were sporting a lovely assortment of black eyes and bloody lips, among other injuries.  And while he was suffering some wear and tear himself, Stan was still weaving back and forth, using his feet and hands and fingers in ways that were not strictly fighting fair, but were doing the more important job of defending himself and not allowing them to move him any closer to the van.

And then one of them pulled a knife out of his belt.

Ford didn’t think twice.

There was a loud fizzing sound, a brief agonized squeal, and then the smell of charred flesh filled the air.

The group of thugs froze, and turned to see Ford marching towards them, outstretched gun still with a puff of smoke at the end just like in the movies.

“What the bleep-” one of them began to ask.

“Leave.  Now.”

None of the six men left standing needed to be told again.

To Ford’s slight relief, Stan looked surprised at his vicious conduct, but not appalled by it.  He just shook himself, adjusted his glasses and made his way over to his twin, “accidentally” stepping on a few of the people he’d brought down.

“Good timing,” he said.  “Sorry, I kind of lost the stuff.”

“That doesn’t matter; we’ll get it in another port.  Come on.”

“Just a sec.”  Stan turned back to the thugs lying on the ground, and began rifling through their pockets.

Ford rolled his eyes, but trained his gun on any of them who looked like they might be thinking about moving.

Once they were back on the boat, Stan happily counted their newly-acquired wealth, and began calculating how much they would need to use to restock their lost supplies.  Ford put away his gun and then busied himself with setting up what he’d managed to acquire.

“Who were those men?” he finally asked.

Stan shrugged.  “They said their boss wanted to see me, but I can’t remember who he is.  Probably just another in a long list of people I p_ssed off once upon a time.”  Then he added, “Thanks, by the way.” He still didn’t seem bothered by what his brother had done.

Ford gave him a small nod.  Then he said, “You’d better let me take a look at your ribs.”

Stan blinked.  “How did you know they’re hurt?”

It was Ford’s turn to blink.  “I-it’s how I found you. I...it sounds crazy, but I felt it.”

“...You felt my pain.”

“Yes, I suppose I did.”  Ford gestured for him to take his coat off; Stan sighed, but complied and perched on the edge of the table, hiking up his shirt.  His entire left side was almost a completely solid bruise, with a few scratches where one of the thugs must have been wearing a ring or something.

“Pretty sure nothing’s broken,” he said.  “It’s just gonna hurt like h_ll for a while.”

Ford tested the sore places anyway to verify this for himself, as gently as he could get away with, before getting some disinfectant and bandages for the scratches.

He was almost done, when Stanley suddenly reached his hand over and flicked him hard on the ear.

“Ouch!” Ford squawked, ducking his head away.  “What was that for?!”

“I wanted to see if it worked both ways,” Stan said in a ‘duh’ tone.  He tilted his head, probably waiting for his ear to start hurting too.

“I don’t think it works like that,” the older twin scolded, rubbing his head.

“How d’you know?”

“I’m just guessing, okay?  Now hold still.”

“Bossy, bossy.”

Just then Ford’s eyes fell on a long, pale scar going down the right side of Stan’s stomach.

“What’s that?”

Stanley glanced at it, and after a long moment he managed to pull some of the memory together, prompted by the sight of the injury.  “I...I think I got that a long time ago when...when some guy tried to kill me with a meat hook.”

Ford was nursing a memory of his own, of having sudden unexpected pain but the doctor not seeing anything wrong.

Interesting...

[orangeoctopi7]

Responsibility

What am I doing? Stan asked himself for the umpteenth time that morning. He was sitting in the parking lot beside the hotel Ford was staying in, fidgeting restlessly as he waited for them. He’d gotten impatient and just drove over at 10 am, even though he knew they probably wouldn’t be leaving for another hour.

Maybe he’d come here because being so close made it just a little harder to run away. And there was a big part of him that wanted to run away. Who was he fooling? Things were never going to be the same between him and Ford. He was just setting himself up for disappointment, he should know better by now.

But Ford asked me to come. He reminded himself. He asked me. He's a straight-forward guy, he wouldn't ask me to come if he didn't actually want me around… Still, the doubts in his mind persisted. If I bail on him now, after he asked me to come with him and I said yes, that'll just give him one more reason to hate me. The second he doesn't want me around, then I can leave. That was reasoning both his hopes and his fears could get behind.

Finally, just ten minutes before check-out time, Ford and his assistant, Mc-Whats-his-name, rolled into the parking lot with their luggage. They loaded it into a small pickup truck parked just a few spaces away from Stan's car. The assistant got into the driver's seat, and Ford walked over to Stan’s already rolled-down window.

“Gravity Falls is pretty far out into the backwoods. It’s hard to find if you don’t know where to go, so follow Fiddleford closely.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know how to find my way around.” Stan schooled his expression to be as disinterested as possible. The last thing he wanted was to seem desperate.

Stan followed the little truck out of the parking lot and onto the interstate. With every exit they passed, that rebellious fear inside him whispered: You could just turn off here, and by the time they notice you’ll be long gone. Each time Stan shook his head and pushed a little harder on the accelerator. I’m not turning back now. These nerds need someone with sense to look after them.

And gradually, as he passed by more and more exits, his fears quieted and his hopes grew. Here he was, going on a road trip with his brother! Sure, they were in separate cars, but still! They’d be living together for the first time since the science fair incident. Maybe this was exactly what they needed to finally make things right between them.

He clamped down on the growing hope just like he’d clamped down on the whispering fears. Don’t get your hopes up. No matter what I hope might happen, the only reason I’m being invited out here it to be a glorified science experiment.

-_-_-

After a couple of hours on the interstate, they finally reached the exit that would take them to Gravity Falls. Of course, there was still a good hour of driving down the winding timber roads of Roadkill County before they reached the cabin. Ford glanced into the rearview mirror to make sure Stan was still following them. Yes, there was the STNLYMBL license plate, right on their tail.

“You been checkin’ that rearview mirror so much, you might as well’ve sat backwards the whole trip.” Fiddleford joked.

“Just… making sure he made the exit.” Ford said stiffly.

“Don’t worry, if’n he makes a break for it, I’ll let you know.”

“Do you really think he’d do that?” the researcher asked his friend worriedly.

“I dunno, he’s your brother.” McGucket shrugged. “But we are bringin’ him out to a cabin in the middle of nowhere to do experiments on him. If’n it were me, I’d run, even if it were my kin doin’ it.”

“I’m not going to treat my own brother like a lab rat!” Ford bristled. “I know ethics isn’t a strength for either of us, but I do have some morals. Stan underwent a major postnatal genetic mutation that completely altered his senses and physical abilities. He seems to be stable now, but from the sound of it I don’t think he’s had so much as a checkup since then. What if that rapid mutation had a negative impact on his health? I know he seems fine, but what if it weakened his immune system? What if it accelerated his cellular degeneration? What if the mutation is continuing, but it hasn’t physically manifested yet? What if it’s shortened his lifespan? What if-- ”

“Stanford, calm down! I get it, you just wanna make sure yer brother’s ok. But does he know that?” Fiddleford jerked a thumb back at the red car following them.

“I highly doubt Stanley would have agreed to come if he didn’t.”

“I dunno… back in Portland you were just goin’ on and on about helpin’ him develop his powers and be a better crime fighter. Seemed like you were less concerned about yer brother and more concerned about the Spider Man.”

“Well I don’t want to alarm him! My fears about heretofore unseen effects of the mutation are currently just that, fears. I don’t see any reason to worry him with them until we have evidence that he might be in danger.”

Fiddleford nodded. “Makes sense, I guess. It’s just, I know things between you and yer brother are strained.”

“That’s a gross understatement.”

“I’m just sayin’, it’d probably do you some good to extend an olive branch, so to speak. He probably won’t wanna stay long if’n he feels like you only brought him here because of his powers.”

“I doubt Stan will want to stay long regardless. He has his own life to get back to, being the Spider Man. I suspect he only agreed to come in the first place out of some sort of familial obligation.”

“Maybe.” McGucket didn’t sound convinced.

-_-_-

It was late afternoon when they finally reached the cabin. Stan gave a low whistle as he got out and stretched. He’d always stuck to the cities after he left home; it was easier to pickpocket on a crowded urban street than some podunk town. This was the first time he’d ever been in a densely wooded area like this. It was beautiful.

“D’you need help unpacking?” Mc-Whats-his-name asked.

“Nah.” Stan shook his head and grabbed his pillow and an armful of clothes. As he looked up at the cabin, with its peaked roof and many triangular windows, he began to feel uneasy. His fears were getting the better of him. Better not unpack too much. I’ll be lucky if he lets me stay more than one night.

“Come on, Stanley, I’ll show you where you can stay, then I want to get started right away.” Ford called from the porch, already carrying his luggage into the house.

Stan followed his brother inside and up the stairs. He paused on the landing when his eye caught the strange design on the rug beneath his feet. It was a gold triangle on a red background, with a single piercing eye in the center and lines radiating out from it. He felt his spider-sense twinge. That was weird. His spider-sense had always been a full-on warning of oncoming danger, like all his nerves were yelling “Watch Out!” at once. This was different. He felt the same way looking at this image that he used to feel whenever he was up someplace high. Like an alarm bell was going off in his head saying “This is Dangerous!”

“What’s this?” He asked Ford, who had noticed him stop and look down at the floor.

Ford’s eyes grew wide with surprise for a moment, but then he grinned like Stan had just asked him to brag about one of his experiments.

“Oh yes! That! It’s a, uh, cryptid I’m personally very interested in. This image is found all over the world, in countless times and cultures, but the, um, creature itself only seems to, ah, show up for one particular person, once a generation. I’ve seen it depicted in some cave paintings not far from here. Beautiful, isn’t it?”

“More like creepy.” Stan shuddered.

Ford’s grin flipped to an annoyed frown. “Well, I suppose there’s no accounting for taste.” He sniffed.

“I think that thing’s creepy too.” Fiddleford whispered to Stan as Ford continued up the stairs. “He’s got ‘em all over the house, gives me the heebie-jeebies.”

“Yeah, well, Ford always loved his creepy junk.” Stan shrugged and followed after his brother.

They reached the attic and what was clearly meant to be a storage room, although there was a full-size mattress sitting under yet another triangular window.

“Here were are.” Stanford spread his arms wide, “Sorry it’s such a mess, obviously I wasn’t expecting to bring anyone else back with me from Portland. You can just shove everything into that corner behind the door. I’ll find some sheets for you before you go to bed.”

Stan took it all in as he plopped his pillow and the few clothes he’d brought in with him on the mattress. “Still nicer than most of the motels I’ve stayed in.”

Ford frowned again and exited the room. “Well, like I said, I want to get started right away. I think we’ll just start with some bloodwork and a basic checkup.”

“Bloodwork?” Stan grimaced.

“Don’t be such a baby, Stanley, it’s just a finger-prick.”

So Stan followed his brother back down the stairs and into what appeared to be a library. There were bookshelves everywhere, but there were also quite a few experiments in various stages of completion set out on some tables, so it was really hard to tell the purpose of the room.

“We’re gonna do blood work in here?” Stan asked.

“Of course not, it’s not sanitary! We’re going down to the lab.” Ford stepped over to the bookshelf sitting closest to the door into the hallway and pushed aside a few books on the top shelf, revealing a hidden panel in the wood. He pushed it aside, pressed a series of buttons, and the bookshelf swung open like a doorway.

“...Ford, do you have a freakin’ secret lair under your house?”

“Yep!”

-_-_-

Stanford drifted off to sleep quickly that night. It had been a long day, what with the three-hour drive and trying to make his previously estranged brother feel at home up in the attic, all the while taking blood samples and running tests on said brother to make sure his superhuman mutation wasn’t slowly killing him. So far everything looked fine, but the results of the blood samples wouldn’t be done until tomorrow night.

Ford was a bit surprised when Bill appeared to him that night. Usually the muse’s visits were few and far between, a rare, privileged occasion. But ever since work on the portal began, these dream-visions were becoming more and more regular.

“GOOD, YOU’RE FINALLY BACK! BUT IT SEEMS LIKE YOU’VE BROUGHT ANOTHER DISTRACTION BACK WITH YOU!”

“I know I said I’d get right back to work on the portal when I returned,” Ford said sheepishly, “But I didn’t expect to actually meet the Spider Man, and I certainly didn’t expect him to be Stanley, of all people!”

“YEAH, CRAZY COINCIDENCE. I’M JUST HAVING A HARD TIME UNDERSTANDING WHY YOU’D BRING HIM BACK WITH YOU TO STUDY WHEN YOU’VE ALREADY GOT YOUR HANDS FULL WITH THE PORTAL PROJECT.”

“I didn’t bring Stanley back just to study!” Ford insisted. “Why does everyone have such a hard time seeing that? Undergoing a major genetic mutation like that could have some serious consequences on his body systems. I just want to make sure there aren’t any hidden side-effects.”

“SO YOU’VE GOTTA PUT YOUR WORLD-CHANGING MAGNUM OPUS ON HOLD FOR YOUR DEADBEAT BROTHER.” Bill sighed in irritation. “THIS IS WHY I CUT TIES WITH MY FAMILY A LOOOOONG TIME AGO.”

“I-I’ve cut ties with my family, for the most part….” the researcher stammered. He didn’t want his muse to think he was weak. “But I’m largely responsible for Stan undergoing these mutations, and as such it’s my responsibility to ensure they won’t have any negative long-term effects on him!”

“SURE. RESPONSIBILITY. I’M SURE THE IRRESPONSIBLE LOSER WHO USES HIS INCREDIBLE POWERS TO PICKPOCKET AND GET HIMSELF OUT OF JAIL FREE WILL APPRECIATE THAT. I DON’T BLAME YOU FOR BEING JEALOUS.”

“What? I’m not jealous of Stan! Far from it!” The thought had never even crossed Ford’s mind.

“C’MON SIXER, LET’S BE REAL HERE. YOU DID ALL THE WORK OF RESEARCHING THE EFFECTS OF RADIATION ON SPIDERS, OF RAISING THEM, OF STUDYING THEM. AND THEN YOUR BUFFOON OF A BROTHER TIPS OVER THEIR CAGE AND HE GETS ALL THE POWERS AND THE FAME OF BEING THE SPIDER MAN. AND WHAT DO YOU GET IN RETURN? SHUT OUT OF YOUR DREAM SCHOOL! WHO WOULDN’T BE JEALOUS?”

Ford hadn’t even connected these dots, but now that Bill mentioned it, the muse made some very good points.

“YOU WISH IT WAS YOU.” Bill said in a sing-song voice.

“Yes.” Ford heard himself say, although he hadn’t consciously thought that. “I mean, no!” He corrected quickly. “It seems that Stan’s suffered quite a bit despite his powers. Maybe even because of them. And without either of us realizing it, his role as the Spider Man helped my thesis that led to my research grant. I might not be here today if it wasn’t for him.”

“OH, I THINK YOU’D STILL BE HERE.” Bill assured him, “FATE BROUGHT YOU TO ME. IT’S YOUR DESTINY TO OPEN THE GATEWAY. I’M JUST WORRIED YOUR BROTHER BEING HERE WILL LEAD TO TROUBLE.”

“He won’t.” Stanford assured the muse.

“YOU’RE SURE YOU WON’T GET DISTRACTED AND LOSE YOUR RESOLVE?”

“Absolutely. I’ll make time to work on the Portal, don’t worry.”

“OK, BUT REMEMBER, I’M DOING THIS FOR YOU. IF YOU WANT YOUR GRAND UNIFYING THEORY OF WEIRDNESS, YOU’RE GONNA NEED ME AND THAT PORTAL.”

“I know, I know, and I’m very grateful. I just need to take care of Stan first.”

“WELL, I SUPPOSE THAT’S THE MOST I CAN ASK OF A MORTAL LIKE YOU.” Bill said with a long-suffering sigh. Ford frowned like a kicked puppy. The last thing he wanted to do was disappoint his muse. “BUT HEY, JUST TO SHOW THERE’S NO HARD FEELINGS, HOW ABOUT A GAME OF INTERDIMENSIONAL CHESS BEFORE I GO?”

“Yes! I’d love that!” the researcher agreed eagerly.

-_-_-

Stan woke with a start in the middle of the night when his spider-sense went off. It was yet another strange twinge like earlier in the day when he’d seen the rug. But this one was ten times stronger. He jumped out of bed and looked around wildly, but he couldn’t find anything that could be setting off his internal alarm.

What was going on? Normally his spider sense let him know exactly where the danger was coming from before any normal person even realized there was something wrong. Then Stan would jump out of the way and the indescribable sensation would pass. But this weird twinging spider-sense wasn’t going away, and he couldn’t seem to find what was making him feel so twitchy.

Maybe it was coming from outside? Stan cracked the window open and crawled out onto the exterior wall. He didn’t see anything, even after he climbed up onto the roof for a better view. And it wasn’t like much could hide in the bright light of the nearly-full moon.

“What the heck is going on?” Stan whined to himself. The continuous tingling of his spider-sense was really starting to grate on him. It was making him want to scream, but he didn’t want to accidentally wake up Ford, or his assistant.

Wait, that was it! The whole reason Ford had brought him up here was to study the Spider Man’s powers, maybe Ford could figure out what was wrong! Stan climbed back in his window and snuck down the stairs, trying to remember where his brother’s room was.

Ford was clearly dreaming when Stan found him, but the prolonged spider-sense ringing in Stan’s head made it a bit harder to care. The con man not-so-gently shook his brother awake.

Stan gasped when his brother’s eyes snapped open. For just a split second, they glowed a sickly yellow. But it must have been a trick of the moonlight, because he blinked and Ford’s eyes were their normal earthy brown, and blinking blearily awake.

“What… why…?” The researcher blinked a few times as he tried to figure out what had woken him. He frowned in annoyance when he realized it was his brother. “Stanley what do you think you’re doing? Why did you wake me up?” He demanded.

“Y’know how I said I can just sense danger some times? Well I’m sensing it now!” Stan explained, “I’ve been feeling weird ever since I got here, and just a few minutes ago it woke me up when it got worse. I tried to look around to see what was causing it but I can’t find anything! And…” He trailed off.

“What?”

“It stopped.” Stan said in confusion. “Just about when you woke up, it stopped.”

“Great, then go back to bed. And don’t ever wake me up unless there’s an emergency, I need my sleep.”

“This is an emergency! Or it was! I dunno, this has never happened before!”

Stanford yawned dismissively. “I have a theory that this danger sense of yours actually detects weirdness. It’s acting up now because you’ve never been in a place with such a high concentration of weirdness before. I promise I’ll look into it later, just let me go back to sleep.”

Stan wanted to argue that his spider-sense had never acted as a weirdness detector before, but he could also see that he wasn’t going to get any more out of Ford until morning. And the sensation had passed. Maybe he would be better off waiting until daylight to try and figure out what happened.

20-8-1-20 20-9-20-12-5 23-15-21-12-4 13-1-11-5 7-15-15-4 11-5-25, 23-15-21-12-4-14'20 9-20?

Klw hsrva pn oqlafrltbg szf azeg. Fftwuiydg owh qy Fvvg Qcl uiuksml me, cgj kbf'b mqdbxl ks zxa.

Nfl smltew? Tyl iwrk ejbs ghsi jsbwyq? Lpv'e utiv qw aohyp.

[babybluebanshee]

Seared With Scars - Epilouge (Mystery Nerds AU)

And here we are at the end, my friends. I'd like to thank everyone who's stuck with me through the frankly insane and arduous undertaking. I keep every single comment that people leave on my stories, and reading yours on this one is what eventually inspired me to get back in the saddle and pick it up again after two years. You guys are pretty damn awesome. I'm probably not gonna do something this ambitious again for a good, long while, but the Mystery Nerds series is far from over. So enjoy the ending, and hopefully we can all venture into the unknown once more very soon.

--

“Although the world is full of suffering, it is also full of overcoming it.” - Helen Keller

---

Helen hesitated only a moment as she slid her key into her front door. She knew, logically, that there couldn’t be anyone from the Society on the other side, waiting for her. There was no Society left. There was nothing to be afraid of in her home. And besides, she had to go in. Her spare pair of glasses were in her nightstand. She needed them. Darryl had graciously driven her all the way back to her house, when he had a family of his own to get back to, just so she could get them and Stan wouldn’t have to leave Ford’s side.

Plus it couldn’t be more than thirty degrees out here and she was freezing.

She had to go inside.

The sight of her keys, still stained slightly with Louise’s blood, made her gut feel things differently.

Darryl spoke up from behind her. “Want me to go in first?” he asked, his voice gentle.

“Thanks,” she muttered. Hot shame pooled in her cheeks for a moment as he walked past her and turned the key, but she stamped it down. Even though she knew that there would not be anyone in her house, she had every reason to be anxious. She wasn’t going to let shame keep her from trying to get better anymore.

And the first step towards healing was admitting that the trauma was there.

Darryl swung the door open and walked in, looking from side to side as he went. He motioned to her, an indication that he saw nothing out of the ordinary. She pooled all her courage and followed him inside, holding her head high.

The house was very much the same as she and Stan had left it. She noticed, with a wry sense of annoyance, that Stan hadn’t even pushed in the dining room chair he’d been sitting in while Darryl patched up his bleeding head.

“You need me to check your bedroom too?” Darryl asked. His tone was one hundred percent serious. Helen had no doubt in her mind that he’d search the entire house, top to bottom, if she’d asked.

“No, that’s okay,” she said. “Go ahead and have a seat. I won’t be too long.”

She started down the hall, her hand trailing down the wall to keep her steady, and immediately, a flash of memory popped into her head, of turning around and finding a stranger in a red hood staring back at her. It was followed by a stab of fear because where was Stan, what had they done to him! She felt Darryl’s presence at her side. She looked over at him and he smiled sweetly at her. He was going with her now, and it seemed like there was no arguing it.

She found that now, she didn’t mind.

There was no one in her bedroom.

There was no one in her house.

She was safe.

She had a friend.

They walked down the hallway together, and Darryl said, as casually as if they did this all the time, “I thought you might like to know the status of our friends, the former cultists. I didn’t want to say anything while we were at the hospital. Didn’t want to be overheard and stir any memories, ya know?”

“Give me details, man,” she said, leaning towards him exaggeratedly. She felt a bit silly, but she needed some silliness right now.

“Well, for starters, Louise is going on extended leave. Absolutely no word was mentioned about her coming back.”

“I would say that I’m sad we’re gonna be stuck with sourpuss Sharon for a while, but Louise did break into my house and punch me in the face.”

“Maybe they’ll actually hire some who doesn’t have staggering emotional issues to replace Louise,” Darryl said.

They reached her bedroom door, and Helen peered in. The only evidence of what had happened to her was a small brown stain on the carpet, less than a foot from where she stood at the door frame.

She had expected seeing that stain would have been what made her crumble. Miraculously, she found it elicited no thought other than she was going to have to call a carpet cleaning service on top of her optometrist and goddammit did Louise have to make her life harder?

And that thought just made her laugh quietly to herself as she crossed the door frame and walked to her nightstand.

“Also Matthews is in talks for his retirement.”

“I knew he and Andrea had been talking about that for a while before she died.”

“Yeah, everything just kinda fell through after that. But apparently his daughters have been pretty insistent. I think what happened kinda brought it all to a head. Liz has got Meg on a flight up right now.”

“Damn. I don’t think Ed’s getting out of it this time if she’s flying up here all the way from New Mexico.”

She pulled open the drawer and there, sitting on top of a pile of dried out pens and pocket change and spare tampons was her spare pair of glasses, slightly dusty with disuse, but at least in one piece. And with a relatively recent prescription.

“Right? But even they’re not playing as dirty as Ruth is right now with Muggins.”

“Oh, Leroy’s in trouble.”

Darryl laughed. “Yep. Ruth was giving him an earful right before I got to Ford’s room. Something about this job of his prematurely aging her.”

“Funny, I thought that was because she drinks grain alcohol out of a measuring cup.”

“Semantics. Point is, they’re leaving. I heard the words ‘timeshare’ and ‘Fort Lauderdale’ right before I got to Ford’s door.”

“Sounds utterly heinous.”

She slid her glasses on, and the first thing that came into view was the phone. Not for the first time since things had died down, she thought of calling the kids. She wouldn’t dream of it right now. A glance at her tableside clock told her it was barely six, and Michael would scream her deaf if she woke him up this early on a Sunday. Maybe later, after she’d gotten back to the hospital and slept a bit more. Had some more time to get her thoughts together.

She still had no idea what she was going to tell them about her battered face. It wasn’t exactly something she could explain away with a tired excuse of “I tripped and landed on my face”. Not even Amanda would buy that.

But really, why did she need an excuse?

She thought back to her conversation with Daisy the night before, the shame she’d felt at causing her daughter to worry for her, over something she’d been certain that she could handle.

She still didn’t want her children to have to worry for her. They didn’t need that kind of burden in their young lives. They needed to worry about school and friends and their hobbies, not if their mother was going to have an emotional breakdown or get into a fistfight with crazy cultists.

But, perhaps, she thought now, that worrying about someone you loved was inevitable. She’d been doing it for almost twenty-four hours now - not just about her biological kids, but about Stan and Ford and Fiddleford. No matter how old they were, she didn’t think she’d ever stop seeing them as more children for her to look after. It was just her nature.

She didn’t want her children to worry about her, but she also didn’t want to lie to them. Her lies about being okay had done everyone more harm than good, even though they’d proven somewhat useful in the end. She still smirked a bit as she thought of Blind Ivan falling for her distressed mother act hook, line, and sinker.

But now she didn’t need to lie anymore. She didn’t need to keep her pain locked up so she didn’t make other people worry for her. She didn’t need to be concerned that everyone would look at her differently. Everyone that she respected and cared about already knew, and they still treated her the same as they always had.

And if Daisy, Scott, and Amanda could be okay after what had happened to them on that awful night almost two years ago, they could handle their mom explaining why she looked like she’s lost a fight with a two-by-four.

She closed the drawer on her nightstand and turned. Darryl was leaning against the doorjamb, turning over a dog tag in his hand. His face was unreadable.

“You okay?” she asked.

He looked up at her like he’d forgotten he was in her house, and quickly said, “Yeah, I’m alright. Just thinking.”

“What about?” She came over slowly, stopping a few feet from him.

“‘Bout what you said to Matthews,” he replied, looking back down at the dog tag. “‘Bout getting help.”

“Yeah?”

“Listening to him, talking about Andrea, not being able to sleep...not being able to do anything…” He gulped heavily. “I don’t want that to be me one day, Doc.”

“It won’t be. Not after all you’ve done. You fought it when no one else would.”

“Well, I wanna make sure. And I’m gonna start by delivering this to Hank’s little brother, first thing tomorrow.” He held the dog tag out to her.

She took it, and read the words punched into the metal.

BLUBS HENRY J. A POS 91-470-441 LUTHERAN

“You might have met Little Daryl,” he said. “He works over at the Dusk 2 Dawn right now, but he’s training for the police academy.”

“His name is Daryl too?”

He gave her a wistful smile and nodded. “Hank always thought it was a riot that his best friend and his baby brother had the same name. So he called us Darryl Little and Little Daryl.” For a moment, he focused on the dog tag, and seemed to be a million miles away from her. It only briefly reminded her of Ed, but she very quickly noted a key difference.

Darryl was still smiling.

When he came back to her, he added, “Hank’s family got the tag he wore around his neck. They let me keep the one from his boot. Been carrying it with me ever since I got home. Twelve years, I been carrying that thing around my neck like a weight. I thought it was good to have, to keep him close.” Darryl paused for a moment, taking in a deep breath, then releasing it slowly. “But maybe it’s become more of a penance than a memorial.”

Helen didn’t reply. She simply handed the tag back to him.

He quickly tucked it away in his pocket. “Little Daryl will definitely get more comfort from it than I ever did,” he said.

“I think that’s a great idea,” Helen replied. “I can give you the names of a few good therapists when you’ve finished that. Especially since I’m looking up mine again come Tuesday.”

“I’d appreciate that.” He sighed heavily. “Stan was right. We are a bunch of sad idiots.”

“At least we know what we’re about.” Helen gave him a warm smile. “Now come on, I told Stan we’d swing by his house to take care of the dog, if that’s okay with you.”

“You had me at dog,” Darryl replied. He jammed his hands in his pockets and followed her down the hallway, to the front door, and out into the sunlight. ---

“So what are we gonna do with all that stuff under the history museum?” Stan asked before he tore off a hunk of sausage with his teeth. It wasn’t Greasy’s, but it would do. He’d never felt more ravenous in his life.

Fiddleford swallowed a mouthful of apple and replied, “I don’t rightly know. We definitely can’t just leave them there, but I don’t feel right watching any of them. Now that I know what the others were using them for, I’d feel...I dunno, like it was a violation of trust or something.”

“Honestly, after the hell they put up through, I think they all kind of deserve a violation of trust,” Stan replied with him mouth full.

“Well, I think I’ve had enough traumatic events to last a lifetime,” Ford said, setting his carton of orange juice back on his tray. “Maybe we could store them somewhere else. Somewhere more safe. The bunker might work, once it gets a bit warmer and all the snow melts.”

“Is the Shapeshifter still down there?” Fiddleford asked, narrowing his eyes in Ford’s direction.

“You remember the Shapeshifter?”

“You guys had a shapeshifter?” Stan said. Just when he thought these two nerds’ adventures couldn’t get any more bizarre.

“I asked you first, Ford,” Fiddleford said. He took another bit of his apple, almost menacingly.

Ford looked downright sheepish as he muttered, “Last I checked.”

“Then we’re not using the bunker, Fiddleford replied, his mouth still full.

“Fiiine,” Ford said dramatically, flopping back against his pillows, the smile was evident in his voice.

Fiddleford’s only reply was to stick his tongue out at him. Stan couldn’t help but chuckle. These two dopes were made for each other.

Then he had an idea. “What about the basement? There should be plenty of room down there once you guys get the portal squared away.”

Ford considered for a moment, and then said, “That sounds plausible.”

“It might not even take that many trips if we take multiple cars,” Fiddleford added.

“Sounds like we got ourselves a plan,” Stan said. He raised his paper cup of coffee to his lips, but at that moment, the swinging door in the hallway was flung open, and another draft barreled down the hall. It’d been happening all morning, a savage draft from the rain-chilled morning practically lowering the temperature of the entire wing. Stan set his breakfast tray off to the side, and reached for his jacket, slung over the back of his chair. “As if this hospital wasn’t cold enough,” he grumbled. “What, do they turn off the heat to make people leave faster?”

He heard the tube hit the linoleum before he ever saw it.

He’d actually forgotten the thing was in his pocket until now, as it rolled across the floor and into his foot.

“What’s that?” Ford asked, attempting to lean forward in his bed for a better look, but grimacing when he put pressure on some broken thing inside him.

“That’s a memory tube,” Fiddleford replied, straightening up in his chair. “They’re what the memories the gun erased are recorded on. Where did you get that, Stan?”

“Ivan dropped it, out at the cliffs,” he replied. “I only noticed it after he went over. Must have had it in his sleeves or something.”

“Who’s it for?”

“Some guy named Preston Northwest.”

“Wait,” Ford said. “The Preston Northwest?”

“I don’t even know how to respond to that,” Stan replied.

“The Northwest family founded Gravity Falls,” Ford said. “They’re the richest family in town, possibly in the state of Oregon. There’s hardly a thing here that they don’t have their hands in.”

“So, what, you think this Preston guy is a member of the Society that we just didn’t catch?”

“I mean, I doubt it, since he’s only about fifteen years old.”

“Why would Ivan want the memories of a teenage boy with him while he escaped?” Fiddleford pondered aloud.

Stan studied the tube a bit more, as it caught the light of the morning beaming through the windows. Despite that, it felt cold in his hand. That familiar, primal repulsion was back. He wanted to throw it out the window, let it smash against the pavement in the parking lot below.

Instead, he held the tube out to Fiddleford and said, “I guess it doesn’t matter. The only person that memory is really gonna be of any used to is currently having his body dredged out of the lake.”

“I suppose,” Fiddleford said as he took the tube. “It’s just strange.”

“Well, we’ll have plenty of time to find out later,” Ford said. “I don’t know about the two of you, but I’m pretty adventured out for a while.”

“That is an amazing point,” Stan said. “It’s been a rough night. I vote this is one mystery that can wait its turn. Whatdya say, Fidds?”

Stan saw the uncertainty pass over Fiddleford’s face as he studied the tube in his hands. A familiar look of concentration was there, signifying that he was trying hard to conjure forth any member associated with the tube, try to unlock whatever it may be hiding from him.

But it was gone in moments as Fiddleford let out a mighty yawn.

“I reckon you’re right,” he said. His eyes reminded Stan of a tired puppy, fighting sleep every moment it could. “These memories aren’t going anywhere for the time being. We can get to the bottom of them another time.”

“That’s the spirit,” Stan said. “Right now, the only thing I wanna get to the bottom of this cup of coffee, and then nap for about six months.”

“Coffee is supposed to do the opposite of making you want to nap, Stan,” Ford chuckled.

“I watched a man jump to his death, Ford. Don’t underestimate my desire to nap right now.”

Ford chewed his lip for a moment, as if he were giving the matter serious thought. “Alright,” he said. “Fair enough.”

---

In the depths of the forest, there was a river. The river fed usually fed directly in the falls, but a small tributary had branched off it over the centuries, and it gathered in a small lake. When it was first formed, it was mostly used by animals as a watering hole. But that was before the town, before people, before time had shrunk it to nearly nothing. Now, it was too shallow for anything, even for winter’s bitterness to freeze it over. It stood stagnant and brown and cold, and not even the most desperate beast touched it.

So there was nothing around for miles when Ivan finally broke the surface with a loud, gulping gasp.

He dragged himself to the bank, ignoring the burning in his arms and legs, from weary muscles that had spent an hour keeping his head above the water before giving out completely. Fortunately for him, he’d lost his strength at the mouth of this lake. He’d simply gone limp and let its current carry him here.

As soon as he felt the dry, frozen earth under his hands, he collapsed, face down in the dirt. He didn’t care that he looked horrendously undignified. There was no one around to see him, and besides, he’d earned a moment of exhausted self-pity. His plans - the Society, the gun, his army - all lay in ruination at his feet. Four months of tireless work and it’d all be destroyed by a gaggle of prying, headstrong fools.

He let an angry fire blaze through him for a minute. It gave him something to focus on that wasn’t his aching face, where he’d been headbutted and punched. Something that wasn’t his wet robe, making his internal temperature drop even faster than if he’d been wearing nothing at all. The rage that boiling in his blood made him forget all that for just a moment.

But it couldn’t last forever. He couldn’t stay out here in these wet clothes and find somewhere out of the cold, or he’d freeze.

This was, after all, only a momentary setback. He wouldn’t be thwarted. Not until he finished what he needed to do.

He rallied all the strength he had left in his body, and pushed himself onto his hands and knees. A powerful shiver nearly knocked him back down, but he ignored it. He wouldn’t be out here for a much longer. From watching McGucket’s memories, he knew that, not far from here, was a system of caves, all connected under the waterfall near Gravity Falls Lake. Inside were tiny little creatures that could make fire if they were struck together. That would suit Ivan’s needs just fine, for the time being.

With a grunt of effort, he pushed himself up farther, going slowly, until he’d gotten back to his feet. He stumbled a bit, his limbs still heavy from the time he’d spent underwater, but he caught himself before he fell. Then he pulled his heavy, wet robe over his head and shucked it off. He tossed it to the ground. Wearing it while it was soaking wet like that would only put him at greater risk for hypothermia. It wasn’t as though he needed it anymore anyway.

As he turned, he saw, over the treeline, a great manor, looming over him, perched high on the hills. It seemed to be looking down upon the humble town beneath it, proud and arrogant and fully prepared to rub the townfolks’ collective noses in its decadence. It made Ivan sick to look at, but he also knew that, with any luck, it wouldn’t be there for much longer.

He began walking into the forest, making sure the manor never left his sight. It was his beacon as he sought his shelter.

The Northwest family had so much to answer for. Not just the ones currently living, but the generations that had come before them. One-hundred and forty years of Northwest blood, building their legacy on lies and deceit and fear, reaping the benefits of their treachery and leaving the weak to wallow in whatever meager fate the accursed family had left them to.

He was going to burn it all to the ground.

---

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[friendlycybird]

1X11 - Little Dipper - Rewatch

Yes, I’m still doing these. I’m sorry it’s been so long.

I don’t have much preamble to this one. Let’s just get started, shall we?

Hang on, I need to listen to the things Gideon lists from Journal 2 again real quick... Zombie attack, Blood rain, and Demon Caterpillars. Ford devotes a decent amount of Journal 3 to The Undead, were those pages a redundancy from Journal 2? I’d think it was just additional information but it all seemed pretty fundamental... regardless, I’m a lot more curious then I should be about Blood Rain and Demon Caterpillars.

Stan’s first reaction to someone who *might* be from the IRS showing up on his doorstep is to vanish in a puff of smoke and try to escape with his money stash. ...I’m probably overthinking this, but it seems there’s some stuff to unpack there. I won’t waste any more time on it for now. Moving on.

So not only did Stan instantly figure out it was a con, he figured out Gideon was behind the con. I’d love to know how. Is it just that he doesn’t currently have any other enemies? Or does he think so little of the scheme he assumes it could only have been thought up by a ten-year-old? I mean, it’s obvious why he didn’t fall for it, he never entered any sweepstakes and he’s not an idiot. But how did he know who was behind it? And he had to have known who was behind it otherwise he’d have left it at “suck a lemon”.

Ah, right back into form. I’m only to the themesong and I already have three paragraphs. Nice.

Okay but. How did Soos notice a literal millimeter? That’s totally impossible. One millimeter apart they look the exact same height, how did he just...know...that Mabel was taller?

Stan waking up super excited to make fun of someone is funny. Also, paused to type this and I’m loving their expressions. Mabel is just grinning, Dipper’s fuming, Stan is excited and Soos...well...Soos just looks...slightly concerned. I love Soos. And of course he goes on to recommend against giving Dipper TOO hard of a time. I kinda doubt Stan actually misinterpreted it as Soos joining in picking on Dipper since like...he’s known Soos for years... but more like he just saw an opening Soos left and took it.

Also I COMPLETELY forgot that Mabel high-fives hard enough to hurt Stan. People high-fiving hard enough to hurt others always makes me think of Miles Luna from Rooster Teeth? But also I desperately need a fic now where Ford and Mabel high-six, and then Mabel leaves the room and Ford kinda shakes his hand out a bit and Stan just like...smirks ‘cause he saw that coming.

Literally a foot to the left and Dipper would have been in so much trouble with that Mountain Lion...

Fic Fuel moment of the day: The giant butterfly. ...how many other animals do you think wander through those enlarging beams? How many of them do you think suddenly get a lot more dangerous when they do? ...Just in case anyone needs a random threat in the woods to send people running from for plot reasons. I’m sure I’m not the first to think of it but I still thought of it!

There Soos is, noticing millimeters again. I think it might be a thing. Your average Gravity Falls character has one borderline paranormal ability. Mabel can knit sweaters superhumanly fast, and Soos can see individual millimeters.

Paused again for a bit, and look at Soos’ face! He’s so happy for Dipper!

How does Mabel jump from “Magic thing” to “Wizard in the closet” and then remain CONVINCED there is a Wizard in the closet?

Y’know...that distracting Gideon bit was kinda a risk? Like it paid off and the termites totally backfired on Gideon but like. The jar coming open could STILL have set those things lose on the shack. The only way I could imagine Stan knew how that would play out is if Journal 1 had a more detailed entry on those things then Journal 2 so Stan knew they’d turn on Gideon? Otherwise...pure luck.

...does the whole bit where they’re fighting and randomly re-sizing parts of each other’s bodies remind anyone else of the episode of Rick and Morty where Summer uses that re-sizing machine and ends up...y’know. Like that.

I kinda love Dipper’s flat “really?” when Mabel accadently tells Gideon what the flashlight does.

Say, where’d Fiddleford get the money he shoved at Bud?

Gideon is creepy, full stop.

Mabel getting distracted by gummy koalas that are literally almost her size while Gideon interrogates Dipper is...one thing.

The thing that strikes me though...is that...Dipper has known this whole time that there were other journals. He has Journal 3, after all. But there’s never been any indication he’s so much as tried to go looking for the others? Gideon, on the other hand, gets one whiff of Journal 1, having no clue that Journal 3 even exists, and starts interrogating Dipper about it.

It occurs to me to be SO grateful that Gideon never realized he could just kill Dipper, thereby proving his violent intent to Stan, and STILL ransom Mabel for the shack.

Also, I really should’ve known what kind of visual to expect from the near end of this episode the minute I saw Soos in the room of mirrors.

It’s come to my attention that I overanalyize every goddamn word that comes out of Stan’s mouth. Emphasis on Over. Because like, a glance in the mirror and wondering about a random physical feature isn’t that...like it doesn’t actually merit much if any consideration. But I’ve been stuck for much longer then I’m going to admit to trying to form the question... was the complete thought behind “Were my ears always this big?” more in the direction of “have I changed that much in the last thirty years” or more “were my ears always noticeably different then Fords?” ...or was it, as I genuinely think is most likely, just a passing thought without a connection to anything and my brain just really needs to get its breaks checked?

And can’t let Soos trying on the Fez go without mention. Not much to say about it, except that it makes me kinda warm and fuzzy to know that when he says “One Day” he’s right.

Gideon also really should have opened with something a bit more convincing then a phone call? Like...he’s a fucking creep but he’s also kinda bad at being a fucking creep? Which. Is technically a huge relief but it sorta fucks with my villain brain.

...I want to be mad at Dipper and Mabel for getting distracted by the height thing, but they’re twelve. I can forgive them. I love Mabel trying to ride the hamster to freedom though. 

Gideons family has a doggie door but there’s no sign they have a dog. 

Hey, why was Susan at the bus stop if she wasn’t gonna get on the bus? 

Yet again my villain brain scolds Gideon some. Not for not having a better plan this time, but just for his obvious flaw of vanity. Getting a gummy koala in your hair shouldn’t delay your plot, it should speed it up because you know someone is trying to stop you. 

Gideons observation that they would have defeated him if not for their bickering seems a little...I think the phrase is On the Nose? But. Kids show, it’s allowed lines like that. That said, Dipper. If she brings you back to unequal heights you can take the flashlight back and FIX IT. It’s not that big of a deal. 

Hi. Soos uses his own name as a verb for messing up. I’m okay. It’s funny. ...it also hurts. 

Soos is ADORABLE. I can’t get distracted by that though. This is about important stuff about the episode. Stuff that at least pretends to be worth over-thinking. Which means I really need to focus on Mabel and Dipper making up. Mabel doing something that makes Dipper upset, but she does it explicitly as a reaction to Dipper’s behavior is...well it has some rather more lighthearted parallels to some of the elder Pines twins drama, doesn’t it? 

Stan in the mirror maze just makes me happy though. I can’t help but feel like some part of him was going “I’ve always wanted to do this” the whole time. 

So, I pause the episode to ponder if I want to make a big deal out of Soos’ reaction to falling off of Gideon being to shout “Tell my story!” because, y’know, there’s something to talk about there...and my partner decides to fill the silence making a joke about it. She starts singing “Who lives, who dies, who tells your story” from Hamilton, and I crack up laughing. Had to pass that along. I really do think there’s something to be said about Soos as a person from that reaction though. Hell if I can identify exactly what, but there’s something. 

...villain brain is scolding Gideon again. If he hadn’t stopped to monologue, he would have succeeded. It took a minute for Dipper and Mabel to get into position for tickling, and in that minute he could’ve taken the time to shrink Stan...but for some reason he wanted to make threats and back him literally against a wall first. 

I love Stan’s awkwardness when Gideon devolves into hysterics. I love even more that he actually tried to comfort Gideon a little before physically rolling him out of the shop. 

I felt really bad for Soos here, being forgotten like that. I still do, honestly. I love him so much. Of course...that was also their first confirmation that Soos was okay after that fall. ...Which also feels bad ‘cause for all they knew at that point Soos was dead. Yikes. Also, I wonder if they ended up just somehow gluing that crystal back together, or if they went out into the woods for another one. 

The scene at the end with the grand-prize check showing up at the door...did Stan actually not play a sweepstakes like I thought above and this new thing is somehow a mistake, or does he just...not for one second consider he’s lucky enough to have actually won? Fidds being the runner-up is also interesting, he’s just...not ready for that kind of money yet. 

I always feel like I need a better way to wrap these up then just my reaction to the ending, but I pretty much never have one. Sorry. 

[a-mad-scientist-approaches]

The Cipher Conspiracy (1)

Another fic! What is this! 

I had a massive brainwave some time ago, and this is what happened. A Gravity Falls Spy AU. 

I don’t know if the Spy AU in general belongs to anyone, let me know if it does, but this was kickstarted by @hntrgurl13‘s version (with a few changes, sorry, sorry) and that one story anon. My imagination was CAPTURED, I tell you.

Adeline Marks is @hntrgurl13‘s marvellous OC, and the Addiford ship belongs to @scipunk63.

AO3  1  2  3  4  5  6  7  8  9  10  11  12  13  14

Chapter 1: Numero Uno

Sacramento, California (USA)    ∆

Stanley Pines knocked briefly on the office door before making his way inside and sitting familiarly in a chair. Not the comfy swivel chair behind the desk. That hadn’t been appreciated when he’d tried it.

“I’m finished for the day,” he said, stretching his arms out behind his head.

“Must be nice,” huffed Senior Special Agent Carla McCorkle of the FBI from over at her filing cabinet.

Oh. One of those days.

“Case not going well?”

“It would be, if one of these idiots could get me the right information, and not lead me on a wild goose chase TO THE PIZZA PARLOUR!” she finished in a shout, turning to direct it across the hall at the office opposite hers. A muffled (and maybe English-accented?) yell answered her, but the words couldn’t be discerned. Although Stan was pretty sure they weren’t polite.

He frowned. “You need me to teach that guy a lesson?”

“Believe me, I already did,” Carla flashed a malevolent grin and walked past him back to her desk.

“That’s my girl!” He took the opportunity to pat her butt. Instantly, she whipped around and gave him a death glare that made him quail. “Okay! Okay! Sorry!”

Not the time. Got it.

A tower of files was dumped on the desk, enough to obscure Carla when she sat down in the coveted swivel chair. Not for the first time, Stan was immensely glad that he had never completed the FBI training course. Best to leave the paperwork to people who actually had the patience to get through it, like Carla, or Fo-

“Y’know, we were getting so close. What the hell happened? Suddenly we can’t gain an inch on these guys!”

“These guys being the-” Stan stood up and looked at the name on the topmost file – “Cipher Wheel?”

“Yep. Whoever’s running the show goes by Bill Cipher, according to rumour. We don’t have anything concrete to back that up, though,”

“Well, I’m sure you’ll figure it out,” Stan said easily. Carla grunted unhappily.

Time to break out the big guns, he decided.

He stepped between Carla and the desk, the chair rolling backwards. She didn’t look happy to have her work interrupted, but Stan was confident that that would change soon.

“I have a present for you,” he told her, putting his hands on the chair’s armrests.

“Pines,” she warned.

“You’ll enjoy it, I promise,”

“We’re at the FBI!”

He leaned closer. Before she could threaten to eject him from the building, he shoved a hand in his jacket pocket and brought out a white-petalled flower. While she stared at it, he tried to keep the smugness off his face.

“You lost your other one,” he shrugged, by way of explanation.

For the first time since she’d gotten to work, Carla laughed slightly.

Mission accomplished.

She took the flower and kissed him gently. “See you back home?”

“You know it, babe,”

As he was leaving, Stan gave a mock salute and said, “Until tomorrow, Special Agent McCorkle,”

“That’s Senior Special Agent McCorkle, Mr Pines,”

When Carla made it back to their apartment (a full three hours later than himself), she had the flower tucked behind her ear.

Manhattan, New York (USA)    ∆

“Fidds, what the hell happened?” Agent Adeline Marks stared in shock at her partner, who was covered from head to toe in muck. His normally green suit was completely brown and black.

With as much dignity as he could muster, Agent Fiddleford McGucket took off his glasses and wiped them clean, then placed them back on his long nose. “I’ve just crawled through five hundred heckin’ metres of basement to fix our gosh-darn processin’ system, and I don’t think it was worth it,”

Addi stared at him pityingly for a moment. “You could have waited for the clean-up crew to get rid of the mess down there,”

“I was getting frustrated, and I wasn’t sure they weren’t goin’ to reschedule again.” He sighed. “They wouldn’t keep doin’ that if they knew what our building was a cover for.”

Addi nodded, and Fiddleford knew she was wistfully reminiscing of the prioritisation they had had before their branch was supposedly shut down.

“Well anyway, you know we’ve got a meeting now? I think it’s a new assignment,” she said.

Fiddleford groaned as he looked down at himself, and then back at the mud trail he had left coming through the elevator doors. It had definitely not been worth it. A passing agent slipped in the tracks, papers flying everywhere.

“Alrighty, let’s get this over with,” Quickly, so I can have a shower.

They headed up to their boss’s floor.

Sacramento, California (USA)    ∆

“Hope you like fish! It’s all we had,” called Stan from the stove as Carla dumped her bag on the couch.

“Smells great,” she said in relief, wrapping her arms around him from behind and burying her head in the crook of his neck.

“Geez, you really need a holiday,” said Stan, knowing what the answer would be.

“Not until the case is done,” she mumbled.

“And then you gotta promise you’ll give it a rest for a while,”

“You betcha. I am so sick of these hours,”

They stayed like that for a little while, until Stan noticed the fish was burning. As he hurriedly took it off the heat and waved away the smoke, Carla sat down at the kitchen table and examined their mail.

“Bills, neighbours having a party tomorrow, more bills – huh. A postcard,”

“Well, I don’t have any friends – any who want to contact me anyway – and all yours live around here. So who’s it from?” Stan set a plate down in front of her.

“Doesn’t say, exactly.” She looked up at him curiously. “Take a look.” She passed it over as he sat down on the opposite side of the table.

The postcard showed a forest and a cliff-face with a waterfall running down it. In big orange and green block letters, the words ‘Gravity Falls’ were emblazoned across it.

“Never heard of it,” said Stan, and turned it over. He almost dropped it in shock. As Carla had said, there was no address, no message, not even a name. There was a drawing. A hand. A six-fingered hand.

He looked up at Carla. “Ford?”

“It looks like it,” she nodded, clasping her hands in front of her face. “It’s been, what, five years?”

Stan took a deep breath. “I – I’ve gotta-” He stood up and ran his hands through his hair, staring between her and the postcard helplessly.

“Yeah I know! Go!” Carla said, smiling widely and standing up as well. “Come on, you have to pack!”

Stan laughed incredulously as they raced to the bedroom. He was feeling simultaneously scared and overjoyed. Before Carla could extract his suitcase, he pulled her in for a hard kiss and hugged her tightly.

“I’ll be back as soon as I can,”

“No, it’s okay, take your time. I think you’ll need to. He wouldn’t have contacted you unless he needed something,”

Well, that hurt. But she was right. It wasn’t Ford’s fault, not really, and truth be told they hadn’t exactly parted on the best of terms. He should be glad he was getting to see his brother at all.

“I should probably bring some cereal,”

“Good idea,”

Manhattan, New York (USA)    ∆

The Oracle Division had been created for the sole purpose of finding and eliminating the worldwide threat posed by an organisation known as the Cipher Wheel. The only problem was, as they soon found, no one had ever knowingly encountered an agent of this organisation. No one had ever admitted to having dealings with the organisation, even through a middle-man. There wasn’t even any evidence to back up the rumour that the head of the organisation’s name was Bill Cipher. So far, the only thing that the agency had managed to collect was a wide variety of symbols that the criminal underground had used in connection with the Cipher Wheel. Of course, they had so far led nowhere. Still, the government maintained that it existed.

So, due to the extreme lack of work available for the Oracle Division, it was a very small agency, and until anything to do with the Cipher Wheel was brought to their attention it was assigned other cases for efficiency purposes. Furthermore, as the Oracle Division was classified in an ultra-top-secret manner, it had to be hidden. Thus, why it had recently been relocated to a tiny five-storey building in Manhattan.

Adeline reflected on this as Fiddleford knocked on their director’s door. It was still surreal knowing they were the only field operatives in the whole agency.

“Come in,”

They entered.

“Well, agents, I’m sure you know – Fiddleford, are you okay?”

Fiddleford dripped onto the carpet. “Sorry ma’am, I was seein’ to the processing system,”

“Well, you have my thanks. It really did need something done for it. You’ll be hailed as a hero tomorrow.” The director smiled. “I’ll make this quick so you can go clean yourself up.”

“Thank you,” Fiddleford sighed.

“As I was saying, I’m sure you’ve guessed why you’re here,”

“You have a mission for us,” Addi said.

“Correct.” The tall, dark-skinned woman stood up from behind her desk and turned on a projector. An image of a bemused-looking woman appeared on the blank stretch of wall.

“This is Dr Jane Hansen. She is a chemist who has developed a new material with extraordinary refractive, reflective, and focal properties, called shimmern. This could be used to revolutionise the technological industry, for instance providing greater laser capabilities, enhancing computer operations, and creating a far cheaper way to manufacture stealth products.” The director nodded approvingly at Addi and Fiddleford’s raised eyebrows.

“Dr Hansen, however, is a very gentle soul who has insisted on using the only existing sample to create a fabulous piece of jewellery for her wife, which made our superiors rather frustrated,” the director said with a small smile.

The image changed to show a photo of Dr Hansen in her house, presenting a glittery, tear-shaped pendant on a silver chain to another woman. The picture was taken through the leaves of a bush.

“Aww,” said Addi. It was a very sweet scene, captured forever in an ethically questionable manner. “So, you want us to obtain that necklace?” she asked, switching back to professionalism.

“Of course. As well as the method she used to create it. We’ve been asked to hold onto it until our superiors have had a chance to study, and presumably replicate, it – as Dr Hansen has made it clear she has no interest allowing it to be used for weapons or stealth technology,” the director said with only the vaguest hint of approval.

“I assume the plans’re all stored electronically?” asked Fiddleford.

“Yes, Agent McGucket,”

“Then it’ll be an easy workday, ma’am,”

“Good to hear. Dr Hansen is planning on unveiling her creation at the Centro Congressi Giovanni XXIII Convention Centre in Italy five days from now. It will be a very classy event, so, Agent Marks, I assume you have some very classy clothes?”

Addi grinned at the director. She was looking forward to this assignment. “Of course, Jheselbraum,”

Gravity Falls, Oregon (USA)    ∆

Stan walked cautiously up the stairs to the porch of 618 Gopher Road. It was a very isolated house, nestled in a forest, and yet Stan couldn’t help but feel watched. Like there were eyes pointed at him from all directions. Considering this was apparently where Ford lived, though, that wasn’t exactly surprising. He’d probably been scanned no less than eighteen times since stepping out of the car.

Trying to convince himself that everything was fine, is fine, would be fine, he knocked on the door. It was flung open instantly, and he looked down the barrel of a gun.

His hand was coming up almost as soon as the door started opening. Stan slapped it away from his face and into his other hand where he flipped it around and caught it in a two-handed grip pointing at his opponent.

Ford beamed and said, “Well done, Stanley. It’s good to see you haven’t lost your skills.” Then he stood aside as though it was perfectly normal to brandish weapons at your family members.

“I’m fine, by the way.” Stan muttered as he stepped inside. “Might’ve pissed myself, but I’m fine.”

“I assume you found my message?” asked Ford, holding out his hand for the gun, which Stan wasn’t exactly eager to return.

“You mean the one written in invisible ink on the mysterious postcard with a cryptic drawing?”

“Yes, that one,”

“Yeah Ford, I found it. Been doing that since we were kids.” Stan rolled his eyes. “But an address and ‘Please come’? You had me worried, bro.”

“I’m sorry, but there wasn’t much else I could say. I didn’t want to risk it falling into the wrong hands. By the way, you burnt that, didn’t you?”

Stan nodded. As they spoke, his eyes roamed around, taking in everything they could. Ford didn’t look like he was in any trouble. He seemed completely normal, if a bit manic, but he had been that way forever. At least he wasn’t in some deep danger like Stan had been had been fearing. Five years of silence, and then ‘Please come’? Worried was an understatement: he had almost had a heart failure.

The large room they were standing in was absolutely covered in things with Ford written all over them. Maybe even literally, if he had been indulging in the invisible ink. Technology, gadgets, weird substances in science beakers, it was all there.

Ford was looking at him oddly, with an awkward half-grin on his face like he wasn’t sure what else to say. Guess it was up to Stan to make the next move.

Crap.

He didn’t know what to do either. It was getting weird now. Should he try for a hug? No, that would make it even worse. Ford was still standing there, and now they were staring at each other. Just when Stan was on the verge of yelling “NON-SPECIFIC EXCUSE!” and making a break for it, his brother spoke up.

“So . . . you’re working for the FBI now?”

“Oh, er, you know about that?” Of course he does, it’s Ford. “And it’s more like with, not for. I’ve got connections and such, I know people. Useful for them, and I get paid when they need me, so I’m not complaining,”

Ford nodded, like this was exactly what he had wanted to hear. This is getting stranger by the minute.

“How did that happen?” This time, the question was genuinely curious, not prying for information, or confirmation, or whatever.

“Heh, well, remember Carla, from back in Glass Shard Beach? She works for ‘em now. Found me in California about four years ago, arrested me on a case, I put the moves on her,” he waggled his eyebrows and Ford snorted disbelievingly, “she couldn’t resist, and the rest is history.” Not exactly true. He’d completely fallen for her all over again as soon as she had laughed in recognition while handcuffing him. Then he’d bargained for a job and sold out his co-conspirators.

“It was surprising to learn you went back into law enforcement, or some semblance of it,” said Ford.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, I just never would have expected it of you, especially after the way you gave up your training when we were both at the FBI,”

Stan frowned. “The way I gave it up?”

Ford tilted his head. “Well you didn’t exactly quit in a regular fashion,”

“I didn’t quit, they ran me off the property!”

“Yes, because you were idiot enough to accept a drunken bet and try to steal secure files! That practically sealed your life as a criminal!”

“Well let me remind you why I was off getting drunk that night. A certain high-paying job offer from a shady government agency ring a bell?”

“Stanley, we have had this conversation before. They offered you the exact same deal!”

“Which you were all too eager to accept! A deal, by the way, which included completely cutting off all ties with family and friends,”

They were glaring at each other now, and were unconsciously tensing for a fight. Things had gotten heated even more rapidly than Stan had expected.

“That was not a permanent arrangement, Stanley, as is clear from your presence here right now,”

“It’s the principle of the thing that matters, Ford! You just upped and ditched me, like you couldn’t wait to get rid of me!”

“You’re talking to me about principles and ditching? The last time I saw you was five years ago, when you led the FBI to my apartment after attempting to steal from them, broke in, yelled at me while grabbing all my cereal, and then climbed out the window! I am assuming that was all deliberate, as when the FBI kicked down my door they thought I was you and arrested me!”

“Well, in your words, that wasn’t a ‘permanent arrangement’ and they sorted it out eventually,”

They lapsed into silence, the air between them practically sizzling. Stan had said enough, had had enough. He’d come here to help Ford if he could, and he’d hoped to maybe patch things up, but it didn’t look as though Ford was all that inclined t-

“I didn’t mean to abandon you, Stan,” Ford admitted, frowning angrily at him. Stan blinked. Carla’s words immediately came to him: he wouldn’t have contacted you unless he needed something. However, if this was a ploy to get his help, it was pretty sincere.

“Although your actions didn’t make it easy to apologise. Furthermore, taking my cereal was incredibly petty.” Ford waited, looking closely at him, seeing how he would respond. Stan was tempted to start up another argument over Ford’s hypocrisy in calling him petty – he wasn’t the one still sore about cereal. Instead, he was reminded forcefully of his brother as a kid, and what one of his first thoughts had been to do when he thought he’d gotten a chance to see Ford again. He’d been half-convinced he never would, what with the super-secret job Ford had taken.

Stan pulled a box of cereal out of his bag and handed it mutely to his brother, who stared.

And stared some more.

And laughed. And pulled him into a hug.

“It’s good to see you again,”

“Yeah, you too bro,”

Well that was easy.

Ford gave him a tour of the house. As he memorised the layout of it, Stan noticed that Ford didn’t seem able to confine his inventions to the main workroom – and they were Ford’s inventions. Stan guessed his brother’s brain was the main reason he had attracted attention from the government.

“Ford, not that I’m complaining, but why am I really here?”

Ford grinned and stepped back into the workroom. He picked a thick, red-bound book off a bench. “For this,”

Stan took the book. It had a gold, six-fingered hand emblazoned on it, similar to the one on the post-card. He opened it to where it was bookmarked.

All the words were in code, but it was a code he and Ford had used since they were kids. It was like a second language to Stan, and he read it easily.

“What’s shimmern?” he asked, looking at a hand-drawn picture of a pendant on a chain.

“A new kind of material.” Ford had an excited look in his eyes. “There’s only one sample in existence, in fact. My assignment is to appropriate, and eventually replicate, it. You’re here because I want your help,”

Stan noticed with some elation that Ford had specifically said “want” not “need”.

“This would be much easier with you, Stan. Like you already said, you have contacts. You’re good with people, not to mention you haven’t lost the skills you had five years ago,”

“I’m in,” said Stan without hesitation. “but don’t you have a partner to help you out? Pretty sure that’s what’s supposed to happen when you work for the government.”

Ford cleared his throat. “That’s not how we do things. Our missions are carried out entirely without assistance from other agents. There’s less chance of a leak that way,”

No matter what his brother’s test scores said, to Stan, Ford was as easy to read as a child’s book.

“Ford . . . you do work for the government, don’t you?”

His brother shifted now, not even attempting to lie under Stan’s scrutiny. “You don’t have to worry, we aren’t working against anyone. We’re primarily research-based,”

“What kind of research needs highly-trained field agents with no connections?”

“I’ve told you all I can,” Ford said firmly, with a hint of apology.

Ever since he and Ford had both been made an offer during the training course for the FBI, Stan had assumed it had been some sort of government branch, the CIA or something. However, the more he thought about, there was absolutely nothing to support this assumption. In short, Ford had him worried. Again.

Even more reason to stick close to him then.

“Okay, I’m still on board. How do we get this thing?”

“Italy, five days from now. We have a party to attend,” Ford said mischievously, and again Stan was reminded of the plans they’d come up with as kids, specifically the more notorious ones.

“I’m gonna need my fake IDs again,”

∆

“Hey Fordsy, how’d it go?” Bill Cipher said, sitting ramrod straight in Ford’s desk chair and swivelling around in it as the elevator doors opened to the basement.

“Good,” Ford replied. “We’re ready for the assignment. Or we will be soon. Stan has to sort a few things out first,”

When he’d first met his employer, Ford had been slightly disturbed by his too-wide smile, eyes that blinked less than a person’s normally would, and far more familiar demeanour than befitted the director of a shadow organisation. Now, he knew it was just one of Bill’s quirks.

“I hope you understand how lenient I’m being, letting your brother in on this. Not that I have anything against him, swell guy I’m sure, but of all the people to choose . . . I mean, really? Didn’t he used to be a bit – what’s the word? Oh yeah. Impulsive. Reckless. Untrustworthy. Take your pick. From what I’ve seen, smart guy, you are far more capable on your own. I don’t want him dragging you down or anything, numero uno,”

“Stan was just angry before. I promise that he will be more focused on this, and he will be a valuable asset,” Ford assured him quickly. It had taken over a year for Bill to come around to the idea of letting Stan meet up with him, and Ford was sure he had only agreed because he knew how ridiculously stubborn Ford could be.

Or because it was affecting your work.

The thought was immediately brushed away. Bill was right to be concerned about Stan. The organisation he had built was founded on levels of secrecy unlike any Ford had previously encountered. Any breach of that could bring it all crashing down. So yes, allowing Ford to bring someone in was a risk, he understood that. And so what if Bill had only agreed because their argument five years ago was eating away at Ford enough to disturb his performance in the field and the lab? That just proved how much Bill trusted, valued,and even cared, about him.

“Alright Sixer, we’ll try this your way. Just keep the objective in sight, you know what I mean?”

If there was one thing Ford was certain about in his line of work, it was that Bill Cipher was a good guy.

“Yes sir,”

[badonkodank]

A Simple Word So Heavy

ao3

Chapter Two: I Continue To Make Them

The second time he says it, he wishes he hadn't. He hates the way it comes out, the way it makes him sound so bitter and resentful, but he can't seem to find a reason to think himself wrong for it.

Stanley tried with all his might to keep them from kicking him out, he really had. He'd hidden in the bathroom, he'd stolen extra money in an attempt to pay them off, and had even offered to do things he didn't want to, or know how to, do. All of it ended up in vain, though, and they had thrown back onto the streets with little sympathy.

The people of Pennsylvania sure were tough. Not as tough as the New Jersey natives, but still harsh enough to have no problem with making an eighteen-year-old sleep in his car in the middle of a particularly chilly September.

Gathering his bag from where it'd been thrown to the ground, Stanley huffed and made his way back to the StanleyMobile. He ignored the fact that he could almost see each puff of breath that came from his mouth, but couldn't so easily brush aside the cold that had already begun seeping into his skin like a poison, leaching away the last reserves of warmth he'd managed to find himself. Not even the jacket he'd recently acquired could protect him at that point, which added the promise of a harsh winter to his growing "reasons staying in Pennsylvania is a bad idea" list.

He knew he just needed to toughen up, get used to it because with colder weather coming down the pike he would be getting a lot more miserable; if he still had nowhere to stay the car would be the warmest place for him.

He knew he was being wimpy- a drama queen, really, when he thought about it. After all, there were people who had to deal with the same crap he did. Some of them even had it worse. Probably. Yeah, there were people who didn't have cars.

Still, how many of those people had been kicked out of their house and then banned from their home state in less than a year? He'd yet to run into any with that issue. But then, he did try to avoid anyone who looked remotely homeless. The last thing he needed was someone even more desperate than he was threatening to gut him if he didn't give them the few possessions he had.

Thankfully, it wasn't hard; all he had to do was keep away from anyone that looked anything like him.

Yet the fact that he even had to worry about stuff like that was almost as pathetic as his upset over being cold. At his age he should've been having to worry about so much less- like what college, if any, he was going to, or something equally mundane. But nope, instead he was stuck out here, having to deal with the type of crap he wouldn't have had to if he was still at home.

He wished that just once he could find a place to spend the night that was comfier than the small confines of his vehicle; that just once he could sleep properly because he felt safe. But no, that was never in the cards for him. Why would someone like him ever be allowed to have the smallest amounts of comfort- wasn't like he deserved even one night's rest. That was just the price to pay for what he'd done.

Though, how much was he supposed to expect to pay? And for how long?

Stanley would bet the last five dollars he had in his pocket that Stanford wasn't experiencing any sort of discomfort similar to his. In fact, he was sure his brother was settled into his bed wherever he was, not even thinking about whether or not he was okay. He bet Ford wasn't worried about him in the slightest.

He'd thought for the first two weeks that it would blow over, that his twin would realize letting Filbrick kick him out had been a mistake, that maybe he'd reach out, encourage him to come home, because nothing as silly as a fight over an accident could destroy their bond. Then he hadn't, and Stanley had realized just how serious it had all been for Stanford. After that he had hoped that Ford would perhaps see him on one of his ads for the Shammies and contact him through that… he hadn't. And once he'd been run out of New Jersey without a word from his brother he'd started losing hope that Ford would ever contact him.

He'd called Ma the month before and asked about how things were going. She'd told him that Ford had graduated. He'd been valedictorian. Stan hadn't been surprised to hear that. He'd gone off to college, but when he'd asked, she hadn't said which one. He could understand that decision; if he'd known where his brother was, Stanley couldn't be certain he'd have been able to stay away.

Not that he should've been eager to run to Stanford's side. Because… it wasn't like his brother was making any attempts to go after him. Ford had abandoned him. He'd completely cut him off from his life over one stupid accident that cost him a school. A fucking school. Honestly, the more he thought about it, the more ridiculous it sounded and the angrier he got.

He was out on his own, miserable, lonely, and having to fight for scraps of food in order to survive, and where was Ford? Worrying about him? Feeling bad for letting Filbrick get rid of him? Looking for him? Nope! He was off at some other college enjoying himself and working towards making his life better, because of course he'd had other options lined up. He was Stanford Pines, genius extraordinaire!

Ford's life hadn't changed in the slightest, meanwhile his had turned to shit. Because of his brother. His brother, who still had family, still had a home to go back to if things didn't work out for him -which, yeah right- and who more than likely had other friends by now. He still had things to look forward to, and live for.

The only thing Stan ever had to look forward to was a decent meal. And money was all he could really afford to live for; if he didn't have money, he was no better than the rest of the scum of the streets.

It was hard to feel bad for messing up when he knew his brother was still alright. It was hard to feel remorse when Ford was still continuing on as if nothing wrong had happened, while Stanley couldn't get a room for one night in the crappiest motel because he was broke.

He threw his bag into the passenger seat and locked the car doors as he sat, reclining the seat back as far as it would go. He wasn't even certain he'd be allowed to stay in the lot for the night, but he'd take what he could get, and if the staff didn't notice and left him be, that was just fine too.

Sure, his situation could have been worse, but it also sure as hell could have been better. So when the brunet settled in the seat, curling in on himself to preserve body heat, he found himself glaring at the roof, his bitter mumble going unheard by everyone save himself.

"Goodnight, Stanford."

The second time he says it, it's an accident, a slip of the tongue, and it shouldn't be a big deal. He wants to punch himself in the face for it.

Stanford had been at Backupsmore for a week, getting used to the routines of the school and throwing himself into his classwork. He'd been so focused for many reasons, the main being his desire to graduate as soon as possible. The less time he spent there, the better.

"Mostly bug-free dorms" his ass.

Although, while the dorms themselves were less than desirable, the company was quite a bit nicer: Fiddleford Hadron Mcgucket. The name was a mouthful so he'd let Ford know it was alright to call him whatever he saw fit. Ford had decided upon just calling him by his full first name; he could struggle to the end, it wasn't an issue.

Upon first introduction, Ford had seen Fiddleford as one of the strangest people he'd ever met. The interesting accent and ability to talk a mile a minute about nothing much at all had been the more prominent of features Ford had taken note of -excluding the nose, of course… not that he was one to talk. To say the least, the first few days around the young man had been awkward.

He'd acknowledged the other's existence, he'd been polite and he'd made it clear that he wasn't really looking for friendship, but it seemed the southerner hadn't gotten the clue. Every time he'd walked into the room Fiddleford had readily offered a smile and asked him how things were going. He was so damn nice, and Ford had found himself quickly relaxing around him despite his best efforts to keep a distance.

For some reason he felt at ease around the other man. It was as if they'd known each other for years instead of less than a month. He didn't know why that was, and he refused to give the voice in his head that told him exactly why it was so easy the satisfaction of listening.

Because Fiddleford was nothing like Stanley.

Fiddleford was kind, and caring, and he actually gave a damn about what he had to say. He didn't call him a "nerd-robot" when Ford went on his long tirades about specific, less-than-normal interests, and he certainly didn't interrupt him when he was talking. Fiddleford was a kindred spirit; he understood what it was like to be the smartest person in the room. He understood how lonely that could be. He understood that it made making friends difficult as a child, which contributed to why he acted the way he did around people now. He just… he understood in ways Stanley never had.

So no, Fiddleford was nothing like Stanley.

Fiddleford wasn't selfish and he didn't wreck things.

"Ya alright there, buddy?"

Ford looked up from the textbook he'd had his nose stuck in, tilting his head when he looked at Fiddleford. "Huh?"

"Well, ya just looked upset there. Was just wonderin' what's on yur mind." The southerner shrugged, his blue eyes flashing with concern that, for once, Ford didn't appreciate.

He sighed heavily and shook his head in response. "It's nothing. I think I might be tired."

"Makes sense," Fiddleford chuckled, "ya'll've been readin' for three hours straight."

"Mm," Ford hummed in agreement but made no move to get up. In fact, he went back to his book. He could see the disapproving look his friend was sending him out of the corner of his eye but feigned ignorance, because while it was true he'd grown tired, he didn't want to sleep just yet. He hadn't managed to cover nearly as much material as he'd meant to; his jumbled Stanley-centric thoughts had distracted him.

Stupid Stanley. Even when he wasn't near he was making life difficult for him.

"Stanford?"

Ford ignored the hesitant prod, frowning as he tried harder to focus on the words on the paper. It proved difficult when his eyes started burning as the fatigue truly set in, but he refused to just give in to something so simple as mild ocular discomfort.

However, it seemed he wasn't having any of it, because a moment later Ford had to jerk his head back to avoid the hand that shot into his line of sight in order to snap the book shut.

"Bed, Stanford. Now."

He could've laughed at his friend's attempt to sound forceful, but knew that would do more harm than good. Even if he couldn't sound very intimidating, he had a way of making Ford feel bad about not doing things in the same way Ma could, with a small disapproving glance and the slightest chide in the tone of voice.

Well, seeing as there would be no use arguing, he supposed if he wouldn't be allowed to study bed did sound like a good idea.

Ford didn't bother changing into his pajamas before flopping into bed. It would take too long to do so when it was already so late, and he didn't have class until closer to the evening hours the next day so appearance during the day wouldn't matter. Besides, he'd already pulled too many all-nighters.

Fiddleford laughed at him and muttered about how he was a lovable dork or something equally as fond and insulting, and proceeded to flip the light off and get into his own bed.

"G'night, Stanford."

"Goodnight, Stanley."

There was a beat of silence as Ford laid there, frozen in shock over what he'd said. He definitely had not meant to say that. It had only come out as a mumble, though, so maybe Fiddleford hadn't heard?

The silence was broken a second later by his roommate's soft voice. Ford wanted to curl up and die.

"Who?"

The question hung in the air like smoke, thick and heavy. The unsaid answer left a brackish taste in Ford's mouth and he felt as if he would choke on it. He hadn't meant to say that. He hadn't meant to ever mention Stanley's name around Fiddleford. He was supposed to remain a secret- a nothing in the back of the mind where he belonged.

Suddenly, he no longer felt tired, but suffocated.

He had to get out- get some fresh air before the bile in the back of his throat could make any attempts at freeing itself.

Ford got up abruptly, groping in the darkness a moment before swiping his room key from where he'd remembered leaving it on their shared desk. He didn't bother with grabbing his shoes only because he knew finding them in the dark would not be an easy task and he didn't want to turn on the light and bother his friend.

"Ford?"

Oh, right, he hadn't said anything.

"It's, ah, it's nothing," he stammered as he found his way through the black and gripped the doorknob. "I'm going, uh, for a walk. Don't wait up for me."

"Wait, Stanfo-"

He closed the door behind him a bit harder than necessary, not wanting to hear the apologetic tone his friend's voice had taken. It wasn't Fiddleford's fault, so he shouldn't have felt the need to give an apology. He hadn't known. He still didn't know. He never would know, because he wasn't supposed to. Nobody was supposed to.

Stanley's name was a stain on their family. All he'd ever been was a lazy cheat who used people to get places. Nobody outside of their town needed to know about him. Nobody.

The likelihood of Fiddleford letting it go, though, was slim to none. He knew he would have to come up with a convincing lie to tell for when the man asked again. Either that, or he'd have tell the truth…

Yeah right. Oh, if Filbrick could only hear that thought. As if he'd ever want anyone telling the truth about Stanley. It was funny, he acted as if doing so would paint a negative light on him as the parent, when it was easy to see how Stanley had brought it upon himself.

Still, Fiddleford would ask. He'd asked because Ford screwed up. Big time.

Stanford leaned back against the wall of the hallway while releasing a heavy sigh. He was aware of the reasons he'd said Stanley's name instead of Fiddleford's, but it was still… frustrating. He knew it had only been a slip-up, a mistake born of the repetition over the length of his childhood. After all, he has never said goodnight to his roommate before and the only other person he'd said it to up to that point had been Stanley, so it wasn't a huge surprise that that's the name that had come out. It had been nothing more than a habitual accident and nothing more. It hadn't meant anything.

He released a shaky breath, relaxing his neck back until his skull thudded dully against the spackled drywall. It was interesting how, even knowing all of that, it still felt as if a rusty rail spike had been shoved between his ribs.

[tinfoil-jones]

Gravity Falls: A Few Minutes Won't Hurt

Summary: Alternative Title: Repressed Baptist Seduces Menace to Society. I said I would post the smut chapter in CH.13 of For Your Own Good if that chapter got 10 reviews, and I got those within like 2 hours. Well, I'm an author of my word(s), so here's your NSFW Fiddlestan content. Cross-posted on AO3 Here.

One shot from my other work, "For Your Own Good", but you don't necessarily need to read it first to read this.

Rating: E for language and sexual content. Also this whole thing is just smut with some plot and feelings.

WARNING: TW/ Mentioned past sexual abuse.

Of all the things Fiddleford thought he was willing to do to help his dear friend and colleague Stanford, seducing his identical twin brother to buy time while he fixed the houses power grid was not one of them.

While Stanford didn't ask him to do this specifically, he had asked him to distract Stan just long enough for him to get the power back up. And what else was he to do?

Drugging him was an option, but keeping him here against his will was already morally objectionable, he didn't want to add drugging him against his will (again) too. He had at least some standards here compared to Ford. Plus, Stan had an alarmingly high tolerance to substances anyways. He still shivered in remembrance of the crushed Ambien incident.

Brute force was also an option, but Fiddleford had no weapons on him. Hand-to-hand combat? Fiddleford was a lot stronger than his willowy build would lead others to believe. He grew up on a farm with hogs, and he had the strength to back it up. But Stan was a fighter - not just a fighter, but someone who's lived the past decade having to fight to survive. Fiddleford has personally seen what a rat in a corner can turn into, and he wasn't going to see what happened when the same thing happened with an adult man who was bigger than him. Not to mention, on the way downstairs, Fiddleford saw the man had already grabbed the items Ford had confiscated from him when he was brought in the first time, which included a switchblade and pair of knuckle dusters. It didn’t matter how strong Fiddleford was, when he was completely unarmed and Stan was most definitely not.

Reasoning with him?

There was no reasoning with him - and what could Fiddleford possibly tell him? That he needed to be held captive against his will in some mad scientist's basement in the middle of the woods? Stan couldn't even be convinced Stanford was really his twin and they looked almost exactly the same.

So that left, as Stan so eloquently put it, a 'honey trap'. Stan had been flirting with him relentlessly since they met and Fiddleford had to bet all of his chips on the chance that Stan was actually attracted to him, and not just doing it to mess with him. Although not a betting man, Fiddleford must have made the right bet because now he was pinned against the wall, chest-to-chest with one wrist being held over his head, and a chapped pair of lips against his own.

Maybe, just maybe, Fiddleford was just looking for an excuse…

Given Stan's initial aggression, Fiddleford had fully expected the vagabond to go all-in on this encounter - with tongue, teeth, groping, and all. Yet, Stan was only kissing him - firm, but not rough, and no tongue. The grip on his wrist wasn't even hard, almost like it was a suggestion or invitation. With the power out, most of the lights in the basement laboratory were also out, but there were just enough autonomously-powered machines down there to keep them out of the pitch dark.

Stan put his remaining hand on Fiddlefords shoulder and lightly pushed it down, exposing more of his neck. He withdrew from the kiss and started instead planting butterfly kisses on the engineer's neck and throat. Just enough pressure to make Fiddleford feel hot under the collar, but not enough to leave marks.

Flustered at this almost romantic treatment, Fiddleford wrapped his free arm around Stan's waist, pulling him closer- close enough to rub their crotches together. Fiddleford had already undone his belt and zipper, leaving his trousers halfway down his thighs with only his briefs covering him, while Stan was still fully dressed save for his hoodie which he'd slid off earlier.

He noted Stan stiffened up for a second, but then relaxed again. Curious. He was so eager about this, and yet he was showing some signs of what seemed to be apprehension. Fiddleford would have to keep an eye on that, he wasn't going to do this if Stan actually didn't want to.

Stan nuzzled his chin and then moved onto trailing kisses along his jaw.

Fiddleford chuckled and turned his head to peck his lips "Stan," he teased with a heavy breath "I didn't realize you were such a gentleman."

Stan didn't respond, instead letting go of Fiddlefords wrist, which quickly moved down to hold the other man's hip.

"May I?" Fiddleford asked, thumbing the hem of his jeans - Stan didn't wear a belt, likely because of his thicker gut. Stan nodded, and took a step back.

Fiddleford turned them around so Stan's back was against the wall instead, and he was in front of him. Licking his lips a bit, Fiddleford undid the button and zipper of Stan's jeans before kneeling down and yanking both his jeans and boxers down to his knees.

A slight, full-body tremour ran through Stan's body and he almost seemed to back up even more against the wall as he was exposed. He wasn't completely hard yet, but his tip had a generous bead of precum already forming.

Fiddleford licked his lips again- usually this wasn't something he did, because his throat was sensitive, but given Stan's other actions so far he doubted he was going to try to face fuck him like so many other guys tended to do.

Fiddleford licked him from base to tip, before eagerly engulfing just the head. He didn't want to start off with too much all at once, he wanted to savour this a little bit. He heard Stan gasp aloud but abruptly stop.

He looked up as he slowly took in more of his length- he was surprised to see Stan had slapped his hand over his mouth, presumably to keep quiet. He was looking down at Fiddleford however, and when their eyes met his face turned an interesting shade of red and his eyes rounded out just slightly, almost like he didn't expect Fiddleford to look at him at all.

Fiddleford took in about half of him - that was enough to ease his throat for a moment, and he could feel the appendage swell and stiffen under his ministrations, giving him a perverted sense of pride.

He felt Stan place a hand on top of his head, and he quickly exhaled through his nose as he mentally prepared himself to be fucked in the throat and his hair to be yanked. Which was always fun, but he preferred taking his time.

However, that isn't what happened. Thick, calloused fingers tangled into his sandy blond locks, but not enough to pull at his scalp, and instead began stroking his hair back. Hesitant at first, before finding a clear rhythm to follow.

It was Fiddlefords turn to blush. All of this gentleness was the exact opposite of what he expected from Stan and he almost felt guilty for even assuming the vagabond would be rough or demanding. Fiddleford shoved his free hand down his briefs and gripped his own member, palming himself best he could in his current position.

Humming, he started to bob his head - slowly at first, but picking up pace after a few tests on his throat. He internally pouted that the only response he was receiving was well-muffled noises he had to strain to hear.

Fiddleford pulled his mouth off of Stan's dick, leaving an obscene string of saliva between himself and the weeping tip. "Stan," he said, looking up at the other man, who seemed confused, "I want to hear you." When a look of uncertainty crossed the vagabond's eyes, he added "There isn't anyone down here besides you and me, and the cameras don’t work right now, it's okay."

Stan slowly removed his hand from covering his mouth, and Fiddleford flashed him a small approving smile before quickly swallowing down most of his length in one movement.

"Fuck-!" Stan gasped, his tone so surprised and lewd it made it worth Fiddlefords now stimulated gag reflex. Fiddleford felt himself harden up even more and he jerked himself with even more vigor. It'd be a good time now to switch to the main act, but it sure would be a shame if he didn't get a taste... especially with that deep, pretty moaning egging him on like this.

Though his hand movements stayed light and affectionate, Stan began to shake and stutter "-F, g-gonna-... I-Im close."

Fiddleford used the hand on Stan's hip to press him against the wall as far as he could, while taking his entire member, gag reflex be damned. Stan practically cried out as he cummed, and Fiddleford swallowed it all eagerly even if he had to cough a bit because of his now angry throat. It took a few strokes for Fiddleford to follow him in release, and his hand was cramping because he hadn't pulled himself out of his underwear to do so but he couldn't force himself to care about that right now.

Fiddleford slowly pulled off, feeling Stan's fingers continue to stroke his hair, albeit a bit clumsily with the aftershocks still wracking his body. "Y-You're pretty good at that, stretch." The brunet chuckled breathily, and Fiddleford felt his own face go hot "What else are you good at?"

Swiftly wiping his mouth with his lab coat sleeve, Fiddleford stood up again and cupped Stan's cheek with his hand, lightly rubbing his jaw with his thumb, which Stan leaned into almost unconsciously, his pupils dilating even further.

Fiddleford brought his face close to Stan's, close enough to feel each other's heavy breaths. "You're just the sweetest thing - like a summer peach. How about I show what else I can do?"  He offered, boldly moving his hand from Stan's hip down to his ass.

Stan breathed out a small laugh "Think you could handle me?"

"Only if you want me to."

Stan relaxed a bit more at that "All yours, specs... You got a condom?"

"Yes-" Fiddleford hastily felt around his jeans for his wallet, and after fumbling a moment Stan got a thoughtful look in his eye before reaching down to his own discarded jeans and sheepishly handing the engineer the wallet. "You stole my wallet while I was-"

"Force of habit. Sorry." Stan apologized, though Fiddleford doubted this would hinder him from doing it again in the future.

Rolling his eyes, Fiddleford rifled through it for a condom, which he quickly produced "Do you have lube?" He asked thoughtfully, though he doubted it. He personally wasn't against using spit but he knew it wasn't that effective.

"Don't need it." Stan answered a bit too quickly. When Fiddleford gave him a curious look, he added "I had some fun in the bathroom while you guys were gone."

"Is that all you do when you're left to your devices?" Fiddleford teased, even as felt his lower regions twitch back to life at the implication. "I must say I'm almost intimidated to be entertaining someone so... voracious."

"Did you eat a dictionary for breakfast this morning, specs?" Stan teased back, rolling his eyes "I don't exactly have a lot of stuff I can do down here… bathroom’s the only private place."

Fiddleford leaned his head against Stan's shoulder and gave himself a few tugs to harden up again- just enough to properly apply the condom. Through the contact he could feel and hear the other man's breath hitch, and his heart rate increasing further. But he also started to... shiver? Just a little, subtle enough Fiddleford wouldn't have been able to see it, but enough he could feel it while being so physically close.

"Wait." Stan said as he abruptly put his hands on Fiddlefords shoulders just as Fiddleford finished applying the condom, not to push him away, just to get his attention. Fiddleford glanced back up at him to see his eyebrows knitted together in concern.

"What's wrong darlin?" He asked.

"Nothings 'wrong'," Stan insisted, but paused "you... You're nice, right? You'll be nice?"

"Nice...?" Fiddleford blinked in confusion.

"You're not going to try to fuck me so hard I'll bleed?" Stan clarified, and there was a grim edge to his tone, like asking Fiddleford to not hurt him was an exception and not a rule "You'll... stop if I asked you to?" There was hesitation when he asked, as if he was overstepping and asking for a favour.

Fiddlefords eyes widened "Of course- Stan of course I would stop if you wanted to stop! Why would you think..." He trailed off when Stan's eyes almost seemed to dull, and grew a bit shiny, a hint of tears.

"I was in prison, Fiddleford." He explained, slowly, strained, "The guys there aren't like you... they don't ask. They're not nice."

"..." In spite of the compromising position and state of undress they were in, Fiddleford straightened up and pulled Stan into a tight hug, which surprised Stan but he didn't push him away "Oh Stan," he said, kissing his cheek lightly "I'm so sorry. You didn't deserve that. No one deserves that."

Breath slightly shaky, Stan didn’t return the embrace, but hid his face against Fiddlefords hair. Considering Stan’s tendency to talk about various traumatic experiances as if it were a joke or a point of pride, this must have been the first true moment of vulnerability the vagabond had allowed himself in who knows how long. At least, the first one that Fiddleford had seen himself.

"We don't have to do this, we can stop here." Fiddleford assured him, but Stan shook his head.

"I want to- I want you. I like you a lot. I just... I don't want it to be like the other times..."

Fiddleford nodded and pecked his cheek again. "Okay... I'm going to pick you up and we can do this against the wall, is that alright with you?"

Stan quirked a brow "I'm fine with that position, but are you sure? I'm not light." True, not only was Fiddleford considerably thinner, but despite one of Stan's nicknames for him being ‘stretch’, he was also a touch shorter than both of the Stan twins.

“Saddle up, city boy.” Fiddleford said with a wink, before abruptly grabbing Stan by the hips and lifting him straight off of his feet, balancing him between the leaning forward of his own hips and the wall.

“Woah- ah.” Stan briefly gasped in surprise before quickly throwing his arms over Fiddlefords neck, and his legs around his hips, clinging for what he perceived to be dear life. But Fiddleford didn’t seem to struggle holding him up at all, as though he were as light as a feather. “I-if you fucking drop me…”

“I won’t, don’t you worry none.” Fiddleford assured. When he was sure Stan was holding onto him tightly enough, and leaned forward so he could have him more properly pinned between himself and a wall, he let go of him with one hand - pausing to make sure Stan wasn’t unbalanced - and reached down to grasp onto his own cock. He was still a bit sensitive and flaccid from his recent orgasm, but that was going to change very soon. “Are you ready? This might sting a little.”

Stan just nodded, still keeping his arms over Fiddlefords neck but leaning back slightly, trying to keep his body as slack as possible, allowing the engineer to slip inside of him with little resistance, though Stan did still hiss slightly through his teeth.

“Lord have- mphh.” Fiddleford moaned as he pushed up, pulling Stan down enough to where he could be fully hilted. He felt very soft inside- and so, so warm. He could tell from the few times they’d physically interacted before this that Stan ran a bit hot, but nothing like this. It was enough to make his head dizzy, enough for a rare swear word to slip out of him “Fuck, you feel good.”

“You too.” Stan muttered next to his ear, before burying his face into Fiddlefords neck. For a moment they both just stayed like that so Stan could adjust to the intrusion properly. After a few moments, Fiddleford rolled his hips upward, softly, experimentally, and when Stan gave him a slight hum of approval, he continued to do so with more vigor.

Gravity did most of the work for him, he could push Stan upward as softly as he wanted but he always came down much harder and that was the friction that was driving the engineer insane. It didn’t take long for Fiddleford to start snapping his hips up in tandem with the other man coming down on him. He would have started pulling him down if he didn’t remember Stan’s anxiety about being treated rough.

Stan shifted his arms from over Fiddlefords neck so he could cup his face with his hands- his eyes were still as impish as ever, but they were hazed over, Fiddleford could only register that fog as lust before Stan pulled his face in so they could kiss again. Fiddleford fluttered his eyes closed and breathed heavily through his nose as he daringly introduced tongue- something which Stan allowed this time around.

As sweet as Stan;s more romantic inclinations were, Fiddleford was honestly very pent up. Yes, he’ll admit privately to himself at this moment - might as well, he was balls deep in the other man - that yes, he had been using the honey trap as an excuse. Stan had been so relentless with his attention and flirting that it’d been increasingly difficult to not feel a certain way about it in these past weeks.

Stan was crude and used dark humour to cover his multitude of trauma’s, and he made it no secret he was an unabashed scoundrel who would jump right back into criminal mischief the minute he could. And his uncanny resemblance to Stanford had made Fiddleford a bit uneasy at first - how could he possibly be attracted to someone who looked exactly like his best friend? What did that say about Fiddleford? And there was the most glaring issue of Fiddleford being an accomplice to Stanford holding Stan prisoner against his will.

Wanting to have sex with your best friends identical twin? That was bad enough. Wanting to have sex with someone you were holding captive in a basement in the middle of the woods? That was just immoral, unethical, and illegal. 

Those issues didn’t go away, per se, with this encounter. But there wasn’t anything Fiddleford could do to physically keep Stan from tossing him aside like a tumbleweed and just leaving, so Stan had only agreed to a quickie because he wanted to. If that really wasn’t the case, Fiddleford didn’t think he could forgive himself.

But it was really difficult for the sinner to hate the sin when said sin was this tight and hot around his dick, stimulating the nerves in his groin so much that shocks of pleasure shot up and clouded any thoughts Fiddleford had involving logic and ethics.

“Hey, you.” A flick against his temple brought him back out of his head, he could see that Stan had separated from the kiss and they were just panting each others hot breaths again “Pay attention to me, won’t cha?”

When all Fiddleford could do was nod dumbly and snap his hips up and not respond with actual words because absolutely no blood was going to his brain, Stan let out a shaky laugh - pretty close to a yelp given its timing with a particularly steep thrust - before grabbing his shoulders and pushing at them slightly to get his attention.

“Y-You’re pretty tightly wound, huh? Lemme do some of the work here.” Stan offered, and motioned behind both of them “Sit in that chair and I’ll ride you.” Fiddleford nodded and made sure he had a tight grip over him before walking a few feet backwards - Stan was not a fan of this - until he was seated in the chair.

“You coulda just put me down…” Stan huffed, although this didn’t deter him from scooting up a bit before sinking back down, letting out a pleased sigh as he took in all of Fiddleford, and pausing. Fiddleford gripped Stan’s hips with both of his hands, tempted to start moving him himself but deciding to instead watch what the other man would do. 

Stan at first grinded his hips down in a small, circular motion, before beginning to lift himself up, and then dropping back down while tightening around him, making them both moan in unison. Keeping one hand on Fiddlefords shoulder, he moved his other hand down to stroke himself in time with his movements.

“Was this- hhah- what you were thinkin’ bout earlier?” Fiddleford began, voice straining to stay even “When you were diddlin yourself?”

Stan paused abruptly and really seemed to consider stopping entirely before continuing his current movements, jolting slightly in pleasure when Fiddleford thrusted upward into him just as he was moving down “Th-that country accent is cute and all, but if you say that word again I’m out.” He chided gruffly, still actively palming his wet and swollen member.

“Not answering my question, darlin.” Fiddleford teased a bit, though he knew he was pushing his luck against Stan’s patience, so he didn’t tease any further when Stan didn’t answer. Maybe after the fact.

Pressure built up in his lower abdomen, good pressure, and Fiddleford felt like a knot being pulled as taut as possible, about to snap-

“Oh f-fuck I’m gonna fucking cum.” Stan practically whined out, unknowingly voicing his partners thoughts. His movements on Fiddleford became uneven and frantic and as did his hand around his dick, his eyes rounding out but his pupils constricting as he became wholly focused on reaching that peak. Tightening his non dominant hand on Stan’s hip. Fiddleford reached over with his other hand to replace Stan’s, taking over his rough jerking with a firm but more delicate touch, much easier with all of the precum he was leaking out.

“Loooord, Stan-. L-like that, just like that-.” Fiddleford rambled, his entire body and especially his face burning “You’re doin so good- you feel so good, I don’t wanna stop-.” If he weren’t so busy pitching woo, Fiddleford might have noted how strange it was that Stan had dug his hands into his hoodie pockets and taking them out just as quickly, but it was so quick he might not have noticed anyways. 

Fiddleford was the first to cum this time, causing him to tighten his grip over Stan's length as he impulsively rolled his hips for friction to ride out his orgasm, it sent Stan down the same cascade of release; Fiddleford coming with almost a shout, and Stan with a moan similar to a deep sigh.

Fiddleford hadn’t even started coming down from the high of peaking before Stan abruptly shoved his mouth against him, while also grabbing his wrists and pinning them down on the armrests on either side of the chair. The roughness surprised Fiddleford, but maybe this is just how Stan got right before the afterglow? Regardless, Fiddleford wasn’t complaining, he simply fluttered his eyelids closed and returned the kiss; despite the aggressive entrance, the kiss itself was as gentle and almost chaste as the ones they’d started with. 

Riiip

"Uh-? Huh?” Fiddleford broke away from the kiss at the strange, sharp sound he heard to his left; he looked over to his left to see that his hand on that side was now zip-tied to the armrest, before he could react properly he heard the same ripping sound as before and looked over bewildered to see Stan had just finished securing another ziptie on his other wrist, rending Fiddleford stuck to the chair and unable to free either of his wrists.

“I’m really sorry about this.” Stan muttered as he pulled off of him; he kneeled down to reach over to tuck Fiddleford’s now flaccid cock back into his pants, and quickly re-doing his fly and belt for him. Once he finished with that, he walked over to his own discarded pair of boxers and jeans and yanked them both back onto himself.

“Wait.” Fiddleford almost stammered “Did you just-? Why?”

“I gotta say, I didn’t think you had it in you specs.” Stan said as he dressed himself again, and in spite of what they’d just been doing less than a minute before, Fiddleford felt himself flush. “You’re more devious than I thought you were. Unfortunately, you weren’t going to out-scheme me.” With the nearby sink, Stan quickly washed his hands and wetted some paper towels, and briskly walked back to wipe up the cum he’d practically sprayed onto Fiddlefords chest. 

��“Did you plan this?”

“I probably woulda fought you if you tried stopping me in other ways.” Stan admitted “But I told ya, honey traps are one of the oldest tricks in the book. A reverse honey trap? People don't see that one coming, not even smart ones like you.”

Fiddleford huffed to himself - on one hand, he did feel some humiliation for his own plan backfiring against him; on the other hand, it was Stan's cleverness and gile that had endeared him to the vagabond in the first place. “So what was that to you, then?”

Stan was still kneeling in front of him, pausing right after he tossed the dirty paper towels into the nearby wastebasket. For his part, he did look conflicted. “I meant what I said earlier, Fiddleford.” He told him, standing up just enough to lean over and kiss his cheek “I like you a lot. And I had a great time with you just now. But I didn’t break out of five prisons just to rot in some mad scientist's basement, no matter how hot his assistant is.”

Fiddleford felt his heart skip a beat. The whole time Stan had been down here, he went out of his way to not use his or Stanford’s names, he went out of his way to exclusively refer to them by nicknames. But one particular behavioral quirk Fiddleford noticed in Stan was that he did know their names, but he would only use them if he was being sincere. Given his unscrupulous disposition, that wasn’t often. 

“I like you too, Stan. I’m not saying that to trick you or keep you here.” Fiddleford replied, Stan nodded and briefly pecked his temple before standing fully upright and taking a few steps back.

“I wish we coulda met some other way, but I’m glad I did meet you. In the future, if you ever make friends who aren’t insane, and I’m not dead in a ditch somewhere, we should meet up again. If you want to.” Stan turned heel and started his way up the stairs and out of the basement.

Fiddleford didn’t have a response; what could he possibly say? He’d played a game and lost because he underestimated the other player. 

He waited for Stan to be out of earshot, before muttering out loud to himself. “Stanford owes me after this… He owes me big time.”

Just as he finished that sentiment, all of the lights flickered on, and many machines whirred back to life. The power was restored.

The End… Go Home.

[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.

[tinfoil-jones]

Gravity Falls: For Your Own Good, Ch. 7

Summary: A few years after moving to Gravity Falls and having his lab built, Stanford Pines happens upon his estranged twin brother, Stanley. He mentally prepared himself to be suffocated by his brothers neediness all over again - what he wasn't prepared for was Stanley walking right past him like he didn't even notice him.

Rating: M for language, violence, and adult implications

Preface: Dialogue only, but some actions will be annotated for clarity. Cross-Posted on AO3 Here

WARNING: TW/ the topic of suicide.

First - Prev - Next

CH.7

“You really need to tidy this place up, Stanford. I know you live by yourself, but that’s no excuse to have papers and books scattered around like a dust devil came through.”

“It’s organized chaos, Fiddleford. I know where everything is.”

“And this pile of unwashed laundry?”

“I’ll get to it. Washing clothes is a waste of time, and I’m a busy man.”

“Uh huh, and this pile of unopened letters on your counter? What are all of these, Stanford?”

“Several of our colleagues started sending me letters en masse.”

“And you didn’t open or read them?”

“I received so many at once, it must have been an invitation for a convention. I wasn't interested in attending one at the time. I’ll get to them eventually.”

“These are dated over a year-.”

“Eventually.”

“You’re stubborn as a mule. At least wash your dishes. You’ve been categorizing your notes for the past hour - what are you trying to do?”

“I’m trying to find the definitive event.”

“For Stan?”

“Yes. You said that something extremely traumatic caused the memory loss; if I can identify what event exactly caused this, maybe I can fix this. The problem is, however…”

“Is that you’ve handled the situation in the most extreme way you could think of?”

“No. That isn’t it- and that isn’t true.”

“Mhmmm.”

“The problem is there’s too much.”

“Too much?”

“Trauma. He’s offhandedly mentioned terrible things- even when I met him in town, he had three stab wounds and acted like it was no big deal. And the more we ask, the more we prod, there’s more. The ones we heard were just the ones he was comfortable enough to mention, there has to be worse things he will not or can not speak of. And that thought… scares me, Fiddleford. I knew he wasn’t doing fantastic, but it wasn’t… It wasn’t supposed to be this bad.”

“That’s not your fault Stanford - didn’t you say he left home? It is sad he was too stubborn to ask you or anyone else in your family for help, but I suppose you two have that in common yeah?”

“...”

“I’ll admit that might have been tactless of me- Stanford? What’s- Hey! Hey now, it’s okay! It’s okay- I’m here for you.”

“...Five.”

“What’re you whimpering into your hands, now?”

“Five times. He wrote me a list of people who have tried to kill him in the past. There were thirty names.”

“That’s terrible, but not entirely surprising from what he’s-.”

“He listed himself five times.”

(...)

“How could you be so selfish?”

“I’m a selfish guy, I dunno what you want me to say.”

“Why do you only ever think of yourself?”

“Can’t afford not to. It’s dog eat dog out there, you know.”

“Will you take this seriously?”

“Will you tell me what you’re upset about this time? I can’t read minds, and I’ve known you for four days! Throw me a bone here, PhD.”

“You tried to- to take your own life?”

“Yeah. A couple times. Never succeeded, but that’s the story of my life.”

“Why would you do that? Why would you try something like-”

“Okay I’ve had enough of your judgemental bullshit. I’ve been playing along with your ‘missing twin’ narrative, the least you could do is not fucking go there. I’m a homeless criminal on the run all the time. You tell me why you think I’d want to die sometimes.

Use that big fucking brain of yours for two seconds and think statistics - homeless people kill themselves more than ‘regular’ people, so do prisoners and convicts. You’re both? Oooh boy you’re in for a time. You have to fight to survive all of the time, and sometimes… sometimes you just get so tired, you want to stop fighting you… you just want a break from it all. You want it to just end.”

“Stanley…”

“...”

“...Talk to me. Please. I’m not trying to judge you, I just want to understand.”

"...Let's say I am this mystery twin-"

"You are."

"I'm being hypothetical here, listen. Let's say I am this mystery twin of yours. Specs was saying he didn't even know you had a twin."

"How did-."

"You pressed the mute button, not deafen; I could still hear you. Anyways, your best friend didn't know you had a twin. So to your own best friend you never mentioned 'me' over what, at least 4 years or however long it took you to get a degree? Or in the years that followed? Not even once?

If I'm your twin, I can't have been that important for you to do all of this. I screwed something up, and you don't want me in your life."

"..."

"I don’t know what you're trying to prove here- if you’re going through some guilt or pity or whatever. I'm just some drifter! I don’t have anything, and I don’t have anyone. You shouldn't be wasting your time like this. I'm not worth any of the time or effort you’ve put into this. Even if I was who you think I am. Because that guy? That guy fucked up so badly you didn't think about him for ten years. And I'm just as big of a fuck up."

"Is that... is that what you think about yourself?"

"Stanford, that's all that I know about myself."

*Ford abruptly opens the barred door and walks through the forcefield into the cell*

"Woah woah, I'm not looking for a fight-."

*Ford hugs him, Stan just stands there*

"I wish you called, reached out to me, I-. I wish I reached out."

“...He probably wishes he reached out, too.”

To be continued...

[tinfoil-jones]

Gravity Falls: For Your Own Good, Ch. 19

Summary: A few years after moving to Gravity Falls and having his lab built, Stanford Pines happens upon his estranged twin brother, Stanley. He mentally prepared himself to be suffocated by his brothers neediness all over again - what he wasn't prepared for was Stanley walking right past him like he didn't even notice him.

Rating: M for language, violence, and adult implications

Preface: Dialogue only, but some actions will be annotated for clarity. Cross-Posted on AO3 Here.

When Bill and Ford are in the dreamscape together, their dialogue is written normally. But if Bill and Ford are communicating in Fords head without the mindscape, Bills dialogue is in "italics", and Fords dialogue is in 'apostrophes and italics'.

WARNING: T/W Implications of past child abuse

First - Prev - Next

CH.19

“I buy all of my guns from a guy named T-Rex.”

“Good lord…”

“He’s a small arms dealer.”

*Fiddleford groans aloud and facepalms. Ford is ahead of them and doesn’t turn back, but there are muffled snickers from him*

“A thief stole the wheels off my car last night.”

“Sweet Mary, mother of-”

“I’m working tirelessly to catch him.”

“It’s not that I don’t ‘preciate your efforts to lighten the mood, Stan. But why do you gotta load us up on puns this early?”

“Early? It’s twelve in the after-.‘

“It’s always too early.”

“Sheesh, break my heart why doncha.”

*Stan looks ahead at Ford walking ahead of them and lowers his voice so only Fiddleford can hear him*

“Between you ‘n me, I think somethings up with him.”

“With Stanford?”

“Yeah. He’s been kinda… I dunno, down? It’s like someone broke his fancy chemistry set up or something. Hell, this morning he ate an entire bowl of unfrosted corn flakes. Without any milk.”

“Mhmmm…”

“Do you think something happened on Summerween? That’s when he started acting weird.”

“He ain’t said nothing about it.”

“I don’t like the way he looks at me… Like I’m a ghost or something.”

“Gentlemen! We found it.”

“What’d we find, Stanford?”

“The tracks of, what I have termed, the ‘Gremloblin’. Based on my intel, this footprint matches the description of the creature.”

“And where did your intel come from this time, Doc?”

“The fairies. It was all they would talk about at their nail salon.”

“...You go to a Fairy Nail Salon?”

“Yes. Twice a month in fact.”

“It’s a fight to get you to shower at least once a week but you’ll let magical creatures-.”

“Stanley, you are bringing us off topic. As I was saying, these tracks should lead us to the Gremloblin.”

“We’re just studying it from yonder, right? You’re not trying to fight, capture, interview, or gamble with it?”

“Yes, this is purely a research expedition.”

(...)

“Man you just had to jinx it didn’t you, PhD?”

“The fairies never told me looking into its eyes caused others to visualize their worst nightmare.”

“Specs isn’t handling it great-.”

“NOT THE SWITCH PAPPY! NOT THE SWITCH!!”

“-and the screaming is gonna attract the monster. What are we gonna do?”

“I am going to use my crossbow to scare it away, I need you to take Fiddleford and get far away from here.”

“What about you?”

“I am armed Stanley, I’ll only be a few minutes behind you.”

“If you say so.”

(...)

“You’re okay! It’s okay- I’m here just-.

“AHHHH!”

“C’mon F, you have to get outta your head! Whatever you’re seeing isn’t real.”

“Not the birch branch, not the bir- NOT THE TELEPHONE CABLES!”

“I’ve tried reassurance, I’ve tried the sternal rub, I’ve tried logic- what else do ya want, a kiss on the cheek?! …Actually-.”

*Stan grabs him by the collar and pulls him up to kiss him on the lips. And then suddenly dropping him to gag*

“Wha- who..? Stan-?”

“Holy shit, gross. You had a dip in when the monster got you?! How did you not choke on that while you were screaming?”

“Was I having a nightmare?”

“Kinda. Listen - I need to make sure your friend is okay, he’s still back there with that big green guy.”

“You can call him by his name, you know. You know what it is.”

“Nah, I don’t wanna get too attached. Now, you wait here while I go and risk my life for him.”

*Stan runs off and Fiddleford stays in place leaned up against a tree, before sighing and reaching into his lab coat to pull out a cigarette and a lighter*

“Sure is a good thing he’s cute…”

(...)

“Sixer, I’m ending your hallucinations as fast as I can, but your adrenal system is going to take a few minutes to catch up.”

‘I have only one bolt left, Cipher. Can you at least steady the nerves in my hands?’

“Gotcha baby girl”

‘Please for the love of - you - stop calling me that. I need to make this shot worth it-.’

THWIP

“Oof, you missed.”

‘YES CIPHER, I MISSED; I CAN SEE THAT BUT THANK YOU FOR THE RECAPITULATION.’

“You saw, they didn’t.”

‘What are-. Bill you said you ended the nightmare hallucinations.’

“I did.”

‘Then why am I seeing Stanley standing between me and the Gremloblin?’

“Oh that’s actually happening.”

“Back off, ugly! Damn it, this guys crazy but I’m not letting you hurt him!”

“St-Stanley just leave-.”

“Oh shut your yap, you’re the dumbest genius I ever met if you think I’m gonna let this thing eat ya. You got a word of advice when facing these things?”

“When fighting a Gremloblin, use water-.”

*Stan opens his canteen and throws water at the Gremloblin, which becomes much scarier and grows wings upon contact*

“-only as a last resort.”

“Why would you say it like that-?! Ouch!”

“No, don’t look it in the-.”

WACK

“You still wanna piece?!”

‘This doesn’t make sense, why isn’t it-?’

“Hey pipe your thoughts down Fordsy I’m trying to watch the fight scene.”

“What, you’re supposed to scare me or something? Like you’re dangerous? Danger’s my middle name-.”

“Your middle name is Romanoff.”

“Really killing the intimidation factor here, PhD.”

“¿noʎ uo ʞɹoʍ ǝɹɐʇs ʎɯ ʇ,usǝop ʎɥM”

“So you can talk? I only got every other word of what you just said, but I’m guessing you’re wondering why your nightmare eyes don’t work on me?”

“˙ǝɹɐɯʇɥƃᴉu ʇsɹoʍ ɹnoʎ ǝɔɐɟ oʇ noʎ ǝɔɹoɟ plnoɥs ǝɹɐʇs ʎW ˙ssǝupɹᴉǝM ɟo ǝɹnʇɐǝɹɔ ɐ ʇou ǝɹɐ no⅄”

“Buddy, you have no idea what I’ve gone through. Fuck, I don’t know what I’ve gone through.”

WACK

“You think you can give me my worst nightmares? I have nightmares every single night.”

WACK

“And the funny part, the really funny part? I don’t even know why.”

WACK

“I’m half of a person missing huge chunks of who I’m supposed to be, and you- you think you can conjure something worse than that?”

WACK

WACK

“Don’t make me fucking laugh.”

“St-Stanley, I think you got him.”

“Because all I can fucking do about it is laugh.”

WACK

WACK

WACK

“Because I can’t do anything else about it! It’s either I laugh, or I fucking cry. Like a two year old who doesn’t even know what he’s wailing about anymore!”

“Stanley- Stanley! Enough… Please.”

“I am my worst nightmare-!”

*Ford puts his hand on his shoulder, and Stan stops punching the Gremloblin, who is already bloodied and unconscious*

“Let’s leave… Let’s just leave, come on. We’ll leave together.”

“...Stanford?”

“Yes, Stanley?”

“...I wish I wasn’t like this. I-It’s not that I don’t want to believe you when you say I’m your brother. But what kind of brother am I if I can’t even remember why you care this much? … I don’t remember the person I’m supposed to be.”

“So it’s him, huh? I was betting on you.”

‘Betting on what?’

“On who would have a mental breakdown first - doncha remember what the hick said, IQ? One of you was bound to have one.”

“...When we get back to the cabin, there’s something I need to tell you.”

“Aw, you’re finally going to be truthful? I was enjoying the drama.”

“Sure… Hey? It’s raining, right?”

“....Yes. It’s raining, Stanley.”

To be continued…

[tinfoil-jones]

Gravity Falls: For Your Own Good, Ch. 16

Summary: A few years after moving to Gravity Falls and having his lab built, Stanford Pines happens upon his estranged twin brother, Stanley. He mentally prepared himself to be suffocated by his brothers neediness all over again - what he wasn't prepared for was Stanley walking right past him like he didn't even notice him.

Rating: M for language, violence, and adult implications

Preface: Dialogue only, but some actions will be annotated for clarity. Cross-Posted on AO3 Here.

When Bill and Ford are in the dreamscape together, their dialogue is written normally. But if Bill and Ford are communicating in Fords head without the mindscape, Bills dialogue is in "italics", and Fords dialogue is in 'apostrophes and italics'.

First - Prev - Next

CH.16

“Stan?”

“What’s up, stretch?”

“To my understanding, you’re familiar with a… sizable number of illicit substances?”

“Why, you looking for a plug?”

“A… plug?”

“Ya know, a guy who can hook you up with stuff.”

“...Stan, I’m not looking for a drug dealer.”

“Good, because all of the ones I know hate my guts.”

“Are you familiar with a substance called Ketamine?”

“Special K? Haven’t used it, but I’ve heard of it. I heard it kinda does what magic mushrooms do, but without all the visions.”

“It’s a dissociative non-opioid, anesthetic, and analgesic.”

“So it’s like heroine, but it isn’t heroine?”

“Ain’t exactly like that, but you can think about it that way.”

“What about it?”

“I’ve reached out to a colleague in psychology about your case - don’t worry none, I didn’t use names or details - she told me about a hypnotherapy that’s assisted by ketamine.”

“Hypnosis? Like, mind control?”

“That’s a popular misconception - hypnotherapy has been called hypnotic suggestion, but the goal is to bring the patient in question into a greater state of focus with less peripheral awareness, so they may relax and turn their attention inward. Are you following me, Stan?”

“It… blocks out background noise?”

“In a way, yes, just with thoughts. I don’t believe your memories are gone, they’re just buried under a lot of mental clutter and distractions.”

“And ketamine helps with that?”

“It’s a dissociative drug, it’s meant to help with trauma by approaching it without connecting to it. Would you be interested in something like that?”

“I thought you said you weren’t an actual therapist, where would you even get-.”

“I’m not going to be conducting the session, it’s going to be that colleague I just mentioned.”

“... I dunno F, I don’t have the greatest history with shrinks.”

“You’ve seen therapists before?”

“Seen is…a word.”

“What happened?”

“Do the words ‘padded room’, ‘cozy jacket’, and ‘solitary confinement’ mean anything to you?”

“... Institutions don’t do sol-.”

“That’s what they want you to think. Anyways, half of the therapists I ever had quit because of me.”

“What about the other half?”

“Ended up in the same looney bin.”

“That can’t be true.”

“Your friend turned crazy as soon as we met.”

“Stanford is not crazy.”

“Can you say that with a straight face?”

“He’s eccentric.”

“Wait, he's gay? I thought he wasn’t anything.”

“That isn’t what eccentric means. And- back to topic, please. What if myself or Stanford were there with you and we didn’t leave you alone with the therapist? Would you agree then?”

“...Alright, if you really think it’ll help.”

“Excellent! Thank you, Stan; we’ll get you right as rain before you know it.”

“...Did we really need to talk about this in the afterglow?”

“Yeah we did.”

(...)

“You guys are on your own, I’m not getting in that thing.”

“Stanley, it is just a boat.”

“So was the Titanic, and it disappeared forever.”

“There have been talks about another expedition to find it.”

“Fiddleford, please. Stanley, this isn’t the ocean, this is a mere lake. Scuttlebutt Island is only accessible by boat.”

“I told you I’d help you on your monster hunting bullshit, but you didn’t mention we’d have to get on the water to do it.”

“Come on, at least get closer than the tree line.”

“No!”

“You are being ridiculous right now. You have faced drug lords, Mothman, loan sharks, and the actual Jersey Devil, and this is where you draw the-.”

“I wouldn’t make you do something if you didn’t want to, PhD.”

“...Fine. Stay here and watch over our campsite at least. If we’re not back by tonight-.”

“Yeah, yeah start arranging your funerals, got it.”

(...)

“What are your theories so far on this cryptid, Stanford?”

“Based on descriptions I’ve gathered from local reports, and limited sonar exploration, I believe the description most closely matches a marine reptile that disappeared in the Cretaceous–Paleogene extinction event; a plesiosaur. Or, at the very least, a distant descendant.”

“Sounds less like cryptozoology and more like paleontology. Maybe we should call it something else.”

“Such as?”

“How about Oddopoddo?”

“No.”

“Scuttlebdis?”

“A mouthful, really.”

“The Gobblewonker.”

“We’ll workshop it.”

“Well kettle my corn, it looks like we’re close to the shore; sure are a lot of big muskrats here.”

“Fiddleford, we both know those are beavers and not nutria.”

“Wait- Stanford, stop. Is that big rock formation over there… moving?”

(...)

“Heya Fordsy! You’re invoking Think Fast?”

“Think Fast?”

“You know, when you meditate into the Dreamscape so you can think faster than the time around you. What you’re doing right now.”

“You’ve never called it that before, my muse.”

“I know but for exposition purposes I need to call it something. Whattaya need to Think Fast for?”

“The cryptid we’ve termed “The Gobblewonker” chased us on our boat and trapped us in the islands cove. In an attempt to catch us, the creature slammed itself into the cave wall and triggered a rock slide. We’re trapped in a cavern and it is filling up with water, and the entrance was the only exit we knew of. Fiddleford is also unconscious, and cannot assist me.”

“Ooh, how dangerous. So, what are you going to do about it?”

“I need to be out-of-body while my perception is sped up so I can check for more exits without worrying about water or gravity. 

“Out-of-body experience coming right up, IQ!”

(...)

‘Man, those guys have been gone for a while. They shoulda been back at least an hour ago.’

‘Whatever, PhD’s the monster hunter here, whatever trouble they get into he can probably handle it.’

‘...’

‘And even if he couldn’t, it’s not my problem. I’m only staying with him so I have a bed to sleep in and a roof over my head. It’s not like I actually care.’

‘He did kidnap me and stick me in his basement after all. And sure his friend is hot and gives great benefits, but it's not like he tried to free me even when he knew it was wrong.’

‘...’

‘So what if they might be in danger?'

'It doesn't bother me.’  

‘It doesn't bother me.’

‘It bothers me!’

‘IT BOTHERS ME A LOT!’

(...)

“Fiddleford! Fiddleford, wake up!”

“Ow… my achin’ noggin-. Wha happened?”

“You saw the cryptid and fainted.”

“Where are we? Why’re we all wet?”

“We are trapped in a cavern that the Gobblewonker chased us into. There’s only one exit left - there’s a tunnel through and up this ridge, but it tapers off from loose rocks from a rockslide. You might be thin and flexible enough to squeeze through the hole that remains.”

“What about you?”

“On the other side I’d need you to manually move enough of these rocks so I can slide through as well. We can’t waste any time - the cavern is filling up with water faster than the exit could drain it.”

“Okay, I’ll get through slicker than owl sh-.”

“Fiddleford, this is no time for Southernisms.’

“Right, right. Yeeow, that’s smarts- I got most of both shoulders through Stanford but I’m gonna need a boost.”

“Alright, I‘ll push you on your count of three.”

“Gotcha. One, two, thre-! SWEET BABY JESUS-!”

“Are you okay?”

“I-. I think I w-wrenched out my damn shoulder…”

“Can you relocate it?”

“L-lemme try- HRK! No, not by myself. I’ll try to clear out the rubble with my good arm.”

“Alright but please, with the best of your ability, be quick.”

“Just keep talking to me, friend, I need to know that you’re still breathing back there.”

“It is not getting easier.”

“I’m moving, I’m moving. Just stay with me. We can do this.”

“I’m running out of headspace…”

“Come on- just a few more more rocks to go, I- Stanford? Stanford!”

“Sixer, I’m going to put your body in hibernation, it’s the only way you can preserve oxygen. It’s not cold enough for you to go into that state naturally.”

‘How much time does that buy me, Cipher?’

“About five more lines.”

‘Lines of what?’

“You’re about to find out.”

*water suddenly starts rushing out much faster, and a hand grabs Ford by the collar, dragging him out of the tunnel forcefully*

“-ay? Can you hear me, Stanford?”

“S… Stanley..?”

“Oh good, you came to on your own. I wasn’t gonna ‘kiss of life’ you.”

“Lord have mercy, you gave us a real fright there! You’re still shaking like a leaf on a tree, though.”

“Can you stand, Doc?”

“Y-yes, yes of course. Just- just help me up, please.”

“Yeah yeah, I gotcha.”

“It’s a good thing you came when you did, Stan, I wasn’t getting those rocks cleared fast enough.”

“What’s up with your arm, specs?”

“I dislocated my shoulder going through the tunnel.”

“Need help putting that back? It’s happened to me a couple times.”

“Actually, I think I’d rather- Stan?! Stan no-!”

POP

“There you go, good as new.”

“Ow…”

“Stanley?”

“What’s up?”

“Why’d you come here?”

“You guys were taking too long, figured something was up.”

“But… we are on an island, how did you get here?”

“Details ain’t important.”

“You’re also soaking wet.”

“Can it, PhD. I said details ain’t important.”

To be continued…

[tinfoil-jones]

Gravity Falls: For Your Own Good, Ch. 13

Summary: A few years after moving to Gravity Falls and having his lab built, Stanford Pines happens upon his estranged twin brother, Stanley. He mentally prepared himself to be suffocated by his brothers neediness all over again - what he wasn't prepared for was Stanley walking right past him like he didn't even notice him.

Rating: M for language, violence, and adult implications

Preface: Dialogue only, but some actions will be annotated for clarity. Cross-Posted on AO3 Here

WARNING: Some suggestive material but nothing graphic.

First - Prev - Next

CH.13

“...You didn’t go into town and pay the bill a week ago when I told you to, did you?”

“I cannot believe this happened!”

“You ‘cannot’ believe it, really? You couldn’t have ever considered that this would happen?”

“I thought I had more time.”

“Stanford, you haven’t paid the electricity bill in six months! How they ain’t shut off the power sooner-.”

“We have bigger problems, Fiddleford- if the power in the house is out, that means the power in the lab is out. And the forcefield is down. We have a limited amount of time to get it back up before Stanley escapes.”

“Even without the forcefield, he’s still in a cell made of concrete and steel.”

“You’re right; we need to hurry, it won’t hold him for long.”

“Could you hold your horses? A cell should hold him just fine, he’s been to prison three times-.”

“He’s broken out of five of them.”

“...That math doesn’t-.”

“I understand that my brother has changed in the ten years we’ve been apart. But trust me when I tell you he cannot be underestimated.”

“Well, what can we rightly do? Even if you go into town right now and pay off the utilities, it’d take-.”

“I have an emergency generator, but it’s going to take approximately 20 minutes to activate - once he realizes the grid is down, it’ll take less time than that for him to break out of the cell.”

“What do we do, then?”

“I can get it up and running again- do not give me that look, Fiddleford. This is my own programming. I need you to distract him long enough that he doesn’t leave the lab.”

“How in tarnation am I gonna do that?”

“You are a genius Fiddleford- figure it out. I believe in you, you got this.”

*Fiddleford goes back downstairs to the lab. Ford waits for him to be out of earshot before speaking*

“... Stanley likes him, he shouldn’t hurt him too much.”

(...)

"Stan, I know what you’re thinking right now; but you need to stay."

*Fiddleford stops near the bottom of the stairs, Stan is already out of his cell and has taken his brass knuckles from Fords desk*

"Oh, and are you going to stop me? Nothing you do or say is going to keep me down here."

“Uhh- Uhh. What if I-?!”

*Fiddleford unbuttons the first two buttons of his shirt*

"Really, F? You're going to try to honey trap me? That's one of the oldest tricks in the book. I know you're only doing it to buy t-"

*Fiddleford undoes his belt and zipper in a quick movement*

*Stan flicks his eyes down, and then up, and then down slightly longer, and then back up.*

"...a few minutes won’t hurt."

(...)

“Lights- check. Locks - check. Thermostat - check. Everything is in working order, and I haven’t heard anything from downstairs. Nothing should be out of- you are standing right behind me aren’t you?”

“Yeah.”

“Fiddleford’s been impeded?”

“Dunno what the word means but your friend is fine, just zip tied to a chair.”

“And you’re angry?”

“Totally pissed.”

“And you’re here for vengeance?”

“I wouldn't say vengeance… I’d say-.”

*Stan grabs Ford by the back of his collar and  wrenches him back, before grabbing the front of his collar to slam him against a wall and off of the ground*

“Ack-!”

“This is just self-preservation. I told you before, I’m not gonna hold a grudge against you; cause you got issues man. But you made a mistake thinking I was going to take imprisonment lying down.”

“Reconconsi-.”

“I’ll make this quick- I think you’re a nice guy, really. This is the nicest anyone has ever been to me, and wow I realize that's pretty sad now that I've said it. But I’ve been imprisoned enough times, and I don’t need a maniac like you to chase after me.”

“Wait-.”

“I’m sorry about this, I'll make this one hit. Just one hit, and you’ll be knocked out; that’s it, nothing permanent.”

*Stan reels a fist back to punch him in the face*

“Ha ha! Good thing you've got your smarts, Poindexter. I've got the other thing. What is it called? Oh, right, punching!”

“No matter what anyone says, you’re a good kid, Stanley.”

*Stan abruptly stops before his fist can land, shaking slightly*

“St… Stanley?”

“...I’ve hurt people. I‘ve hurt lots of people. Even people who didn’t deserve it. After what you did, I shouldn’t…”

*Ford is gently lowered back onto the ground, and Stan lets his collar go*

“I can’t hurt you. I can’t make myself hurt you. Why can’t I?”

“You know why…”

“I-... I don’t. I’m sorry, but I don’t.”

“Stanley-.”

“I’ll stay.”

“... What?”

“I’ll stay, Stanford. If you’re so convinced I’m your estranged twin and you’ll get even more crazy if I leave, I won’t. I’ll be here and play along with your delusions, however long it takes you to work out your issues.”

“You… You will?”

“Yeah, I will. Just stop keeping me in a damn cell, I’ll sleep on a freaking couch for all I care, just… not in that cell anymore. I’ve served my time already.”

“Of course, of course-. And you will really stay? You are not going to run off into the night when I least expect it?”

“Doc, it’s not like I have anywhere else to go. Besides, eventually you’ll get sick of my BS, and tell me to take a hike.”

“No. Not this time.”

"What was that last thing that you just whispered to yourself?”

“Don't worry about it. Somehow, some way, I promise we will get your memories back.”

“...We should uh, probably go free specs now.”

“Of course-. You didn’t hurt him too badly, did you?”

“Hurt? Like… physically?”

“...Yes?”

“He’s fine. But I owe him an apology… and a cigarette, and a drink.”

(...)

“Oh Fiddleford, I am so glad you’re alright. Let me cut those zip ties for you.”

“...Stanford?”

“Yes?”

“Are you listening to me right now?”

“Yes?”

“Are. You. Listening!?”

“I am listening to you, Fiddleford.”

“If you ever - and I mean ever - so much as imply I’ve never done anything for you, I am going to smack your shit so hard you’ll think the ground flew up and hit you.”

“...”

“Understand?!”

“Y-Yes, yes of course.” 

To be continued…