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mysteryhackin · 4 days ago

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Stanuary Week 4: Healing

Gosh it's the end of Stanuary! It went by so quickly- there are so many stories I need to catch up on, and so many awesome pieces that were made! Thank you so much @stanuary for making the worst month of the year the best!

Without any further ado, here is Stanuary Week Four: Healing (just kidding; a little more ado- this one is slightly more violent than usual because, y’know, Stan gets hurt)

Stan has been through a lot in his life, and he has the injuries to show for it. Here are some stories about five of those injuries- and one about healing.

Glass Shard Beach, New Jersey; 1960-something

Ford whooped from the sand below. “That’s the highest you’ve climbed yet, Stanley!” he shouted excitedly. “I think you’re going to make it!” Stan grinned his gap-tooth grin despite the struggle he was facing to not slide down the mast of the old boat they were restoring. The brothers had been trying to get up to the crow’s nest for a month now, and after splinters and sunburn and sweat, it looked like Stan was finally going to reach it.

The encouraging cheers from his twin gave him the strength to keep shimmying up the mast, even though his arms were starting to feel like jello and the sun seemed to be the hottest it had ever been. But Ford thought he could do it, and he was never wrong.

His hands touched the top of the crow’s nest as Ford went wild below him, and with one last heave he hauled himself over the railing to stand and look at the view-

When the rotten wood below his feet gave way, sending him plummeting to the deck of the boat.

Pain shot through his right arm as he landed on his side, and he automatically clutched his right elbow to get it to stop. The sun was soon blocked out by his brother’s face hovering over him, and Stan realized Ford was saying his name over and over again.

“Cut it out, Sixer, I’m fine,” Stan said, but the tears coming out of his eyes made his voice crack, and he shut his mouth to keep from sobbing.

“Let me look at your arm,” Ford said, and even though he didn’t want to, Stan let go of his elbow so his brother could inspect it.

He yelped at the first touch of Ford’s hand, and turned away so his brother wouldn’t see him cry. “I think you broke your elbow,” Ford said, his voice drenched with worry. “You’ll have to wear a cast for the rest of the summer.”

Somehow the prospect of a summer immobilized by a cast seemed worse than the pain. “No...” he managed to squeak out, but he could no longer stop the sobs. “The Stan O’War can’t wait an entire summer!”

Ford helped his brother up, and wrapped his arms around Stan as he sobbed into Ford’s jacket.

“It will be fine Stanley. We have a long time to finish restoring the boat.” Ford said, and Stan was instantly comforted.

~*~*~*~*

Stan took the cast off a couple of weeks early because he was going to go crazy if he had to live one more day with that stupid thing preventing him from doing what he wanted to. Although Ford protested, his arm seemed to work just fine. “Knew it,” he muttered to Ford. “Doctors are all just a buncha quacks.”

But his right elbow would sometimes have a funny click when he moved it that never went away.

Glass Shard Beach, New Jersey; early 1970-something

Stan staggered into the bathroom he and Ford shared in their family apartment over the pawn shop, grateful for what seemed like the millionth time for the back entrance that allowed him to sneak in without having to walk past his dad in the shop.

He gripped the sink with his bruised and bloodied knuckles, trying to fight the dizziness and nausea that was threatening to either make him lose his lunch or black out. He closed his eyes and focused on the cool porcelain against his skin, and after a few seconds he hazarded moving one of his hands momentarily to turn on the cold water spigot. He nearly lost his balance, but the cold water sounded fresh and inviting, and after a small deliberation, he decided to slowly kneel down and rest his head against the sink so he could put his hands under the water. He sighed with relief as he felt less in danger of falling over, and let the cold water run over his stinging knuckles.

When he felt a little better after about half a minute, he moved his hot wrists under the cold, grateful his nausea was starting to dissipate. Of course, he still hadn’t opened his eyes again yet, and knew the moment he did the room would start spinning again...

“Stanley!” Ford shouted in shock.

“Keep... keep it down, will ya?” Stan mumbled. “I don’ want Ma to see.”

“Holy Moly, what happened to you?” Ford asked, still just as shocked, but at least his voice was in a quieter tone this time.

“You shoulda seen the other guy,” Stan muttered, hazarding a grin to where he thought Ford was. He still wasn’t ready to open his eyes.

He heard Ford sigh, a little too exasperatedly. “Stanley,” he started. “You need to stop getting-”

“Couldja get me a cloth, Sixer?” Stan interrupted grumpily. “The blood from my nose is startin’ to itch.”

“I’ll be right back,” Ford said, resigned. A few seconds later, the water over Stan’s hands was interrupted as Ford put a cloth under the stream to get it wet. “Can you sit down and lean against the wall?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Stan answered. “Leaning against a wall sounds good,” he said, and slowly shifted backwards so he was no longer kneeling but putting all his weight against the nice, solid, wall, allowing his muscles to relax.

“Here,” Ford said, pressing the now wet cloth into Stan’s hand. Stan took it, but instead of using the cloth to start to clean up his face, he gingerly moved to put the cold rag at the nape of his neck, feeling himself relax a little more as the nausea all but disappeared.

“I’ll go get another rag,” Ford said, but this time sounded a little softer. Stan heard him leave, come back, put the rag under the water, and shut the water off. Then a cloth was once more pressed into Stan’s hands, and as Stan carefully brought it up to where he felt the blood begin to dry below his nose, he heard Ford sit down on the edge of the tub. “What was this one about?” he asked, not in a condemning manner, but sincerely wanting to know.

Stan paused, then said, “I found the guy who started all those rumors about you.”

“Oh.” Ford said, and even in that one syllable Stan heard the devasting hurt that Ford had felt this whole past week. He regretted bringing it up, but before he could say anything to change the subject, Ford said, “I thought you said I should just ignore them.”

Stan risked a smile, then winced. “I said you should ignore them, Sixer. I didn’t say I should.”

Ford snorted, then Stan heard him swallow. “Stanley, I have to tell you, that left eye doesn’t look good,” Stan heard him stand up from the edge of the tub. “Hang on.”

He once more left, and when he returned, Stan suddenly felt a shock of cold cover his left eye and yelped, causing everything to flare up in pain. The cold thing dropped to his lap, and he heard Ford stumble backward.

“I’m sorry!” Ford said, mortified, then the cold thing was picked up off of Stan. “It’s just frozen peas.”

“A little warning would be nice next time.” Stan grumbled, and he held out his hand for the peas, putting them over his left eye.

“Sorry,” Ford said again. Then after a pause, said, “Who was it?”

“Paul Cole,” Stan said, and removed the peas to finally open his eyes to give a wicked smile to his brother. The vision in his left eye was a lot blurrier than he remembered, but he ignored it. “He won’t be starting rumors about you again.”

“You didn’t kill him, did you?” Ford asked in horrified fascination.

“No you knucklehead,” Stan said, once more closing his eyes and applying the peas. “But he knows what happens if he messes with you again.”

“You shouldn’t have to fight my battles, Stan.” Ford said.

Stan shrugged, causing him to wince. “’Course I do.” he said. “You mess with one of us, you mess with both of us.” He shifted against the wall, trying to get more comfortable. “’Sides, you’d do the same for me.”

“You know I would.” Ford promised earnestly with steel in his voice, and Stan smiled.

The left eye would always take slightly longer to focus every time he woke up.

Cartagena, Colombia, mid 1970-something

Stan only got a few steps down the road after his release from that jail in Colombia when a car screeched to a stop in front of him, and four goons rushed out, instantly restraining each of his arms and putting a bag over his head. After about an hour’s drive, Stan was pulled out of the car, marched somewhere inside, and shoved onto a hard chair before the hood was taken off of him. “Thanks,” he said in English, the only petty thing he could think of doing. The goons grunted and left, locking the door behind them.

Stan took in his surroundings and recognized them immediately. The room had dark wood paneling, dark green carpet, and several rare paintings and rare antiquities on pedestals, some of which Stan recognized as items he himself had helped steal. His chair was in front of a dark mahogany desk with a leather upholstered chair behind it, which was- for now- empty. Yes, Stan was in the office of Carlos Aguilar, one of the most powerful crime lords in the country- the man Stan had been working for during the heist that had put him in jail.

He fought the panic rising in his throat by reminding himself there was no reason for Aguilar to think poorly of him- he never did anything wrong on his heists before, it wasn’t his fault the crew was caught during the last one, and he didn’t say a peep during his time in jail, not during the countless hours of interrogation by the authorities and not to any other men he was imprisoned with (a relatively easy feat after he convinced them all he didn’t speak Spanish). He should be fine. Aguilar probably just wanted to offer him another job, right?

A door to the side of the desk opened, and Aguilar walked into the room, followed by one of the bodyguards Stan only knew as “Lobo”. Aguilar had a shark smile on his face, and Stan knew this was not a good sign. Well, time to diffuse the situation with the ol’ Pines Charm.

“Hey, Mr. Aguilar, how’s it going?” he asked cheerfully in Spanish, standing up in respect. “Long time no see, am I right? You look great! Did you start a new workout routine?”

“Shut up, Pino,” Aguilar said as sat down.

“No problem,” Stan gulped, still standing.

Aguilar looked up at Lobo, who, quick as a snake, suddenly hit Stan’s left kneecap with a baseball bat, causing Stan to yelp and collapse to the ground. Despite the pain he somehow managed to have the sense to roll away, but another strike of the bat didn’t come. He stayed on the ground, taking deep, quick breaths, determined not to show weakness in front of these very dangerous men.

“That is for your failure in the last heist, Pino,” Aguilar said from his desk. Stan couldn’t see him, but he sounded bored. “And I am aware the contributing elements of it going wrong were not your doing, but you still failed.” Stan heard him stand up and was soon looking up at the crime lord. “Rest assured those at fault are no longer with us. And it is only because of your loyalty during your incarceration that you are not joining them.” He nodded at Stan, then walked back to his desk. “Lobo,” he said, and suddenly Stan felt himself being roughly hauled up to his feet and dragged out of the room, gritting his teeth and biting his tongue to prevent another yell.

After his knee started working again, Stan went back to the Aguilar compound one last time to plant evidence of the man’s crimes, and stole a suitcase full of cash on his way out to pay for the plane back to the US. He was done with Colombia, and the knee that twinged every time a storm was coming always reminded him to never go back.

Gravity Falls, Oregon, 1981

The brand from the burn that Stan got during his fight with Ford stung for weeks, just like Stan’s shock about what just happened. It had been over 10 years since he saw his brother, only for their reunion to end in Ford disappearing through a transdimensional gateway that promptly stopped working, and all Stan could think about was getting him back. Finally, after waking up in the cold basement room, disoriented from working for- he didn’t even know how many hours- straight, he realized he had better start handling getting Ford back in a little smarter way.

Stan never understood how he somehow managed to get back to the semblance of living a life after he lost his brother. But day by day, even though the dark room in the basement always occupied a place in his mind, he found himself going outside, putting more creativity and fun into the newly christened Mystery Shack, and actually talking to people even when they weren’t paying him to. He had started a poker group with Steve the town mechanic, checked out the Lodge of the Royal Order of the Holy Mackerel, and began Phase One of flirting with one of the waitresses down at the Triple Digit Truck Stop just at the edge of town by asking to borrow money. He almost felt like a normal person...

Until one day he caught his reflection in the mirror in the bathroom to see the brand on his back was no longer bright red, but beginning to fade. The surprise made him also realize he hadn’t been downstairs to work on the portal in almost two weeks.

He barely had the foresight to put on clothes before he rushed out of the house down to the Skull Fracture bar in town. He burst through the door, not even giving his eyes time to adjust before he breathlessly asked, “Which one of you knuckleheads does tattoos?”

The men in the bar looked at each other, then looked back at Stan. One very large, very scary bald man in a leather vest and combat boots stood up and loomed over Stan. “You got money, knucklehead?”

Stan gulped. “I’ll do ya one better. You get one favor from me, no questions asked.”

The whole bar started laughing, but Stan didn’t budge, and the laughter slowly died down. The bald man looked at Stan and raised an eyebrow. “You got a car?”

~*~*~*~*

Stan nearly burst out laughing when the man mentioned pug smuggling, but one look at the bald man’s face told him it wasn’t a joke, and he managed to choke down and turn the laughter into a cough before he could offend the man. He agreed to assist in the next shipment in a couple of days in exchange for a tattoo following the lines of the brand on his back.

“Buddy, you know if I do this, the scar ain’t gonna go away,” the tattoo artist said. “It’s not gonna let the skin heal all the way-”

“That’s the point of a tattoo, isn’t it?” Stan asked tensely. “So it lasts forever?”

“Guess so,” the tattoo artist said, and began to put on his gloves. “Just so you know, it’s going to hurt. A lot.”

“What doesn’t?” Stan asked, flashing the man a grin. He deserved it for forgetting to work on the portal. But with the brand permanently inked into his skin, he wouldn’t ever forget again.

Gravity Falls, Oregon, 2012

Stan heard the cheers of Soos, Dipper, and Mabel as he flew through the air on the back of the pterodactyl. Pride bubbled up inside of him with the realization that he had made the right decision, as stupid as it was to put his life in danger to rescue a pig.

The pterodactyl began to gain altitude, which was the exact opposite direction Stan wanted to go. He was mostly over his fear of heights thanks to Mabel and her crazy therapy a few weeks ago, but he needed to get back to the kids and get out of there.

The adrenaline from the speed and flight was making him giddy, and the admiration of his great niece and nephew made him want to do something really cool, like from the movies. He clasped his hands together and held them above his head as if he were holding a sword, and thought of a really great line from one of his favorite gladiator movies to shout, and thought he had better edit the language for the kids, just in case...

The combination of less than 100% focus, an unexpected movement of the pig strapped to the front of his chest, and the bumpy turbulence of riding on a pterodactyl meant that the when Stan brought his fists down on the pterodactyl’s head and shouted “From heck’s heart I stab at thee!”, the angle of the blow was slightly off-

breaking Stan’s right pinky finger.

He didn’t notice until after he and the kids were safe at home and all of the adrenaline had worn off that his finger was hurting. But truth be told, every inch of him hurt after the fight with the dinosaur, so he didn’t bother to splint it. By the time it stopped hurting, it had healed crooked, and the pinky finger couldn’t straighten out with the others.

But every time he saw it he remembered the look on Mabel’s face when he landed from off the pterodactyl, holding her pet pig safely against his chest, and knew that a crooked finger was absolutely worth it.

Somewhere in the Arctic Circle, sometime in the 2010s.

Stan roared with laughter, the sound matched by Ford as Dipper finished telling a crazy story over video call of a revenge prank that he and Mabel had pulled on the school bully.

“Kid! I’m so proud of you!” Stan chuckled to his great nephew.

“We’re so proud of you,” his brother corrected with a smile. “That was indeed a brilliant way to prevent future interference from that degenerate.”

“See Dip, I told you we could tell them,” Mabel cut in. “They’re our Funkles!”

“That’s right!” Stan laughed again. Then he stopped abruptly and stared right at the camera, pointing a finger at them. “But don’t get caught.”

Mabel scoffed. “As if.”

“Good girl,” Stan grinned.

“Stanley, I think we’ll soon have some competition for best Pines twins ever,” Ford said with a small smile on his face.

“Not a chance, Sixer,” Stan answered casually.

“Is that a challenge?” Dipper asked on the other end of the line. “We’re going to see you guys in a few months; I’d get ready!”

Stan and Ford laughed together. “Fat chance, kid!” Stan said. “But still, we can’t wait to see you.”

“Be sure you’re still making time to study in between your pranks,” Ford cut in, and Stan rolled his eyes for comedic effect.

“No worries Grunkle Ford!” Mabel answered. “We love you!”

“Love you!” Dipper echoed.

“Love you too,” Stan and Ford said at the same time, and they turned off the video call.

Stan took a deep breath of the cold salt air on the deck of The Stan O’War II, completely unable to keep the giant grin off of his face.

“They are really great kids, aren’t they?” Ford commented with his own smile.

“Yeah,” Stan said. “Just like us.”

Ford put a hand on his brother’s shoulder. “Just like us.” he answered. Then he started walking to the other side of the deck. “Set up the deck chairs for some fishing- there’s supposed to be some excellent cod around here.”

“Bet you five bucks I make the first catch of the day,” Stan said with a wicked smile, and was met with the reflection in Ford’s face.

“Make it ten,” his brother said happily, and he went to go grab the fishing poles.

Stan took another deep breath and felt contentment, love, trust, worth, and safety. And the hole that had been in his life for 40 years was now filled.

And his heart was completely healed.

#gravity falls #stanuary #stan pines #stanley pines #stanuary 2025 #stan #ford #mabel #dipper #fanfic #mine #look it's a couple of days late but it was still stanuary when I started writing it so it counts ok?#stan pines logic right there bam #thank you again stanuary I adore you!

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