#would he get one maybe after the events of weirdmageddon? it's a possibility

[stcries]

my brain's on a roll with these headcanons, so here's another one folks.

stanley's always had a love for animals deep down. he was always the kid who approached wild animals even if they weren't exactly the most sanitary. he'll take the scratches and bites without hesitation if it meant meeting a new furry friend. the best example being his possum companion, shanklin. he literally found a wild possum and went "you're my friend now >:D"

but even if he brings multiple animals home to his parents, never has he been allowed to keep them, even if they were regular dogs or cats. this is mainly because of his family's financial situation during his childhood, which i imagine wasn't the greatest. they simply didn't have enough money to care for a pet. but i can also imagine his parents being a bit creeped out/disgusted at the sight of their son bringing home dirty, smelly, probably diseased animals, and they wouldn't want their home to end up smelling the same, so they declined each time. he more than likely heard "you can get a pet when you're older" more times than you can count.

but even when he got kicked out, stanley never got a pet of his own. on one hand, he was struggling so much financially, barely being able to provide for himself, so how on earth was he going to care for an animal? and two, with such dangerous methods he was using to obtain money during his drifter years, he'd only be putting the animal in danger being around him. so in the end, he simply couldn't take the risk.

waddles was probably stan's first experience of having a "pet" again, even if he technically belongs to mabel. even if that pig has gotten him and their family into so much trouble, deep down, he loves that little guy so much.

[odie-mel]

Imagine that Dipper manages to time travel back to the era where Ford and McGucket are still in full swing of their investigations of Gravity Falls.

Like maybe a time historian and a time agent are sent to document the happenings of Weirdmageddon (a la the same time agency as Blending) and after the historian is documenting things one of them drops a time measuring tape - whatever. However you need to make the time travel aspect work.

Maybe Dipper, as an adult down the road, is house-sitting the Mystery Shack for Soos and while he's looking after things he finds the time tape measure in the shack. He pulls out the tape of the measure without really thinking and then when he really looks at it, he realizes what it is and it startles him enough that he drops it. When it falls, the tape goes back into the tape measure, triggering the time travel mechanism, but because it was dropped it doesn't travel back in time with Dipper. Again, whatever makes this a feasible storyline.

Dipper ends up working with Ford and McGucket while they help him figure out how to get home (he showed up in the Mystery Shack, before their very eyes, and now they're fascinated to study him as another Gravity Falls anomaly).

The amount of awkwardness he would be made to endure. Not just the nerdy, subtle (as a hammer, but they're both dense idiots) flirting betwixt McGucket and his own uncle but also the horrible Trainwreck that would have been the early Ford/Bill partnership. Poor Dipper would end up as an impromptu relationship counselor in a mad attempt to prevent Bill from manipulating Ford, and maybe change the events that led to his uncle disappearing into a portal realm for decades. Someone please save Dipper from the awkward situationship that is Fiddauthor, and the weird triangle demon that wants his Uncle carnally.

Subplot where Dipper stashes notes all over the shack for Mabel to find when she inevitably notices he's missing and she finds the time tape measure on the floor where Dipper dropped it. The twins found most of these notes the first time they ever came to Gravity Falls, and she would remember them because they were so weird - they were signed Dipper, how was that possible when they'd never been here before?, etc... Of course Dipper also wrote a note, maybe even more than one, detailing the exact time he'd been sent back to, but of course those particular notes were all impossible to find because they were all destroyed in the most narratively frustrating ways possible.

(Cue flashbacks where Stan finds one and promptly disregards it as more Ford weirdness and tosses it without a second thought, where Soos vacuums one up without noticing while cleaning around the shack one day to be extra noticably helpful to Stan, and another where Dipper & Mabel accidentally destroy one during one of their wild summer adventures, etc...)

I'm very tired, so this is half baked and not very well thought out. Please enjoy. Interact, even. Love you all, and see you tomorrow morning friends.

[unculturedmamoswine]

Fiddauthor Recs

Ya want a Fiddauthor rec list??? You got it. This is just some fiddauthor I have in my bookmarks, in no particular order. I’m not adding warnings, so pay attention to the tags and such. If a fic is a WIP, I’ll let you know. And please DO add your own recs in comments or reblogs, especially if you know of fics that aren’t on AO3!

 If you read these fics, please consider leaving kudos and comments for the authors!

We’re Still Here by hellmandraws

Not fic, but a fan comic starting with college fiddauthor and going all the way through post-series. So great and really worth a read!

rumination: a guided tour by gesso (1.9k words)

Author’s summary: For all the words, expressions, languages he knows; for all the intelligence, experience -- sometimes it's just easier to show, rather than tell. And maybe that means using the mindscape to just pull up very specific memories in a certain order. Because Stanford Pines would much rather take the most convoluted route possible, especially if that means he can avoid plainly talking about his emotions (past and present). [Unlike the other drabbles in this series, this is not complete, and cuts off kind of abruptly at the end of the draft I have]

This fic is sooo worth a read. Technically a WIP, but don’t let that dissuade you.

Somnus Idigus by Abyssalzones (2k words)

Author’s summary: It's hard to sleep, still, nearly a full year after Bill's defeat. Ford manages to be coaxed to bed by kind words and gentle hands, and wonders just what he did to deserve this kind of understanding. (AKA: Ford has nightmares, keeps trying to put off sleep, Fiddleford manages to lovingly wrangle him to bed.)

Sooo sweet! The exact kind of post-canon snuggly Fiddauthor fic I need in this world!

Intricate Rituals by HazelnutofFortune (1.5k words)

Author’s summary: “Fiddleford,” Ford says. He hates asking for help. 

“Mmm?” Fiddleford asks, looking up, scalpel still raised. 

“ Um, could you show me how to get at that big clump next to the Aorta?” How humiliating. Why did he even ask. Except-

“Well, sure,” Fiddleford sets down the heart and takes Ford’s a little gingerly. My heart is in his hands, Ford thinks. Fuck. 

Extremely cute! A WIP! College Fiddauthor and Ford is soooo smitten.

Jersey Boy by Fordtato (110k words)

Author’s summary: Ford does not want to be at Backupsmore University. He should be in California, at West Coast Tech, showing the world that he's more than a freakish waste of space from Jersey; showing the world that he's more than the scrawny, brainy half of a dynamic duo. He's angry, sure, and he's sure-as-fuck tired of being just one-of-two-Stans.

But who isn't angry right now? The world is in turmoil, they're sending our boys to Vietnam and if it wasn't for this stupid school, Ford would have probably been sucked into the draft himself.

But then he meets Fiddleford Hadron McGucket, and everything is different now.

A slowburny fic that really digs into the historical side of college Fiddauthor. It doesn’t shrink away from the tougher, uglier stuff that being a poor, gay, Jewish college student in the seventies would mean for someone. Features an angry, confused Ford who is having a Hard Time. Also has a whole host of interesting OCs! Also a WIP. This fic takes a turn or two that I really didn’t expect and I’m very excited to see where it goes, as the author is on record saying that they WILL finish it.

if you love me, come clean by Athgalla (105k words)

Author’s summary: This is pretty much just a collection of various moments and possible events throughout Fiddleford and Stanford's relationship that I felt like exploring, starting with their first proper meeting in college on to post-Weirdmageddon events.

Without further ado, on to the tragically star-crossed nerds!

iylmcc spans Ford and Fidds’s first meeting through post-series. It’s so interesting, and so sweet, and has so many wonderful details! Just a great take on their relationship that you deserve to read, dear reader. Treat yourself!

Maybe It’s Not Too Late by GinAndShatteredDreams (main fic is 82k words, whole series is 110k)

Author’s summary of the main fic: Overall: A post-weirdmageddon asexual Fiddauthor fic in which revelations occur, a confession goes awry, some unfinished business reemerges in the form of a raging pterodactyl, and chaos ensues. (vaguely romantic - hugs/hand holding/cuddling/comfort, no kisses - just adding that so I don't disappoint anyone who's hoping for it - or maybe for the sake of people (like me) who sometimes like to read something without ;))

(Edit - No romantic kisses. There's a forehead kiss between family members at one point.)

*It would probably be good to mention that most of this was written before the journal came out and even after, I tried to keep true to the ideas formed before reading it with one exception that is noted later.

So as you can tell, I linked you the whole series. A both super angsty and very sweet fic with wonderful asexual post-series Fiddauthor! I’ve never read anything quite like it, totally check it out.

Romance is Overrated and Living Confusing by 3HobbitsInATrenchcoat (25k words)

Author’s summary: Stanford and Fiddleford started out as college roommates and over the years grew into something more than friends but just to the side of what others would consider a "normal relationship." But honestly, is it really anyone's business what they are as long as they care deeply for each other?

Scenes from Stanford's life as he tries to figure out where he fits in a world built for romance and traditional family dynamics.

This fic is restricted– you need an AO3 account to read it. Also, it’s part of a series, but the other fic is Stan-centric so it’s not a part of this rec list. Aaaand also it’s a WIP. Okay, with that out of the way, this is another Ace!Fiddauthor fic, which you know I’m all about! This fic is more about college and research-aged Fiddauthor, and it’s as delightfully fraught as you could hope. The author also does a cool thing regarding Fiddleford’s time in Oregon, while still keeping it canon-compliant. My hat is off to them.

To Struggle For Dreams And To Hunger For More by Voidfish (8k words)

Author’s summary: “Am I gay?” Ford reads the quiz out loud, before clicking to begin. To his frustration, most of the questions are simply asking him if he has had sex with men (he hasn’t), if he wants to (he isn’t quite sure), or if he ever will (the jury is still out). Nothing defines attraction, no one clarifies if the burn in his stomach is love or gastrointestinal issues, and nothing leaves him feeling any better on the subject.

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Stanford Pines has never loved a woman but, he realizes with a painful jolt, he can’t say with certainty he’s never loved a man.

Aaaaaa I love this fic. I love it sooo much. Post-series and Ford is trying to figure out his sexuality and his feelings for Fidds. Plus a scene where he comes out to Stan! Just a delight.

And Shifty Makes Three by Sarelle (13k words)

Author’s summary: Ford Pines and Fiddleford McGucket deal with the ups and downs of relationships and parenthood in 1970s Oregon. A task not much aided by the fact they have to keep secret the true identity of their shapeshifting alien grub son, from friends, family and the Feds.

Based on WDW's Shiftyverse, can be read as a standalone.

I fucking LOVE this fic!! Aaaaa the little details about Ford and Fidds and their relationship! Their alien son!! This fic is so up my alley it’s bonkers.

queer clan in the middle of the woods by toosolidcuuj (series is 23k words)

Author’s summary of the series: *to the tune of "our house" by madness* queer clan in the middle of the woods, queer clan in the middle of the

Canon-divergent AU in which Stan and Ford make up, adopt an alien, and gradually amass an extended queer family.

This is ALSO a Shifty-adopting fic! With Fiddauthor! This one also has Stan, and focuses a lot on Stan and Ford fixing up their fraternal relationship in addition to the Fiddauthory bits. I haven’t reread it in a hot second but I remember it being very fun but also taking Shifty’s trauma quite seriously, which I thought was interesting and cool to read.

(There's a) Half moon rising in southeastern skies by orphan_account (17k words)

Author’s summary: A series of memories, all compiled in convenient cinema-reel format. It’s all here, folks, the good, the bad, the sexy, the emotionally distressing. Next to nothing left out.

Sad that this fic was orphaned– I love it. It’s in second person, and I’m all about that! Fiddleford looking back at his fractured memories post-series and also reconnecting with Ford. Absolutely wonderful characterization. Author, if you’re out there, I love this fic!! I hope you are happy with it in your heart!!

Syncing Phases by toosolidcuuj (5k words)

Author’s summary: Stan has gone his whole life never imagining he had a twin, let alone an android twin who can shoot cannons out his hands, makes money appear out of thin air, and has a close relationship with a werewolf named Fiddleford McGucket. Even more surprisingly, FORD needs Stan's help erasing a world-ending computer virus. But BILL has allies in many places, leaving the Stans uncertain who they can trust.

WIP. This fic is SUCH a fun and interesting concept!! Only child!Stan, Werewolf!Fidds, Robot!Ford??? Yes, please! A totally unique fic that is so fun to read!

[invisibletinkerer]

Fic: In Our Bedroom After the War

When Weirdmageddon fades, Stanley isn’t the only one who emerges broken.

Size: ~6500 words.

AO3: archiveofourown.org/works/18856615

The world was back.

The forest was back. The singing birds, the summer breeze, the sunlight trickling through the canopy of leaves. The sky was a brilliant blue, as if it had never cracked open and spewed nightmares over the valley of Gravity Falls.

The demon was dead.

Stanford Pines was trembling.

By all rights, this should have been a triumph. The threat to all reality posed by the demon – enabled by Stanford himself so many years ago – was gone. Ended at the very moment when all seemed lost. No, when all would have been lost, if it hadn’t been for—

If his brother hadn’t—

Ford clenched the hands that had held the gun, unable to completely stop the shivers, but at least rendering them less noticeable. The children would be looking to him for guidance. It wouldn’t do to break down now, when it was all over.

In fact, he realized with a deep shudder, he was safe. He was bathed in the sunlight of a morning that would never have come, wearing an ill-fitting suit, toes crammed into too small shoes, and for the first time in over three decades there was no demon breathing down his neck. It should have been a triumph, and yet he felt numb.

“Grunkle Sta—Grunkle Ford!” Mabel’s voice from somewhere behind him startled him more than it should have. “You did it! Everything is back to normal! I don’t even understand what happened but you saved us!”

“Mabel, wait!” Dipper’s warning came a little too late, as his sister had already thrown her arms around Ford’s waist, squeezing him painfully. Ford’s fists clenched harder at his sides, but it was just Mabel. She wasn’t going to break his bones or—He wasn’t thinking about that.

“Mabel,” he said instead, as calmly as possible, maneuvering himself and her around to face each other. She was wearing Stanley’s red fez. “I’m afraid you’re mistaken.”

She tensed. “What do you mean? Bill is gone, isn’t he?”

Ford nodded. “Bill is gone, and he’s not coming back. But I’m not the one who saved us.” All he had done was to pull the trigger on his own brother, the brother he’s kept underestimating and writing off until the moment it was too late to make amends. He took a deep breath. “Stanley did.”

“Is he okay?” Dipper had stopped a bit off to the side, arms folded like he was hugging himself, and glancing around as if trying to locate Stanley. “The memory gun – I mean – you erased Bill, didn’t you? Is Grunkle Stan okay?”

Ford sighed and squeezed his eyes shut for a moment. “No.” There was no point trying to hide the truth from the children, not after everything they’d been through. “The only way to be sure to erase Bill was to wipe Stan’s entire mind. He—” Ford’s voice broke, and he had to swallow to compose himself. “He sacrificed himself for us.”

Mabel stared at him, wide-eyed, but Dipper eyes narrowed, like an accusation. It was well deserved.

“It should have been me.” That was no defense. It should have been Ford, but it wasn’t. He’d been willing to—he’d wanted to die defeating Bill for so many years, but when the moment came his own desperate means of protection against the demon’s mental intrusions was exactly what had rendered him incapable of the deed.

There had been a moment when he’d lost all hope. When the choice had seemed to be between surrendering the world to Bill’s chaotic destruction and watching the children he’d come to know and love suffer and die in Bill’s hands. He knew what Bill was capable of. The thought of Bill turning his energies on the intelligent, curious boy or the bright, creative girl before him made him want to scream again, even knowing that they were safe now.

Ford had been ready to give in, and afterwards no one would have ever been safe.

“Stanley took my place because the memory gun wouldn’t have worked on me,” he explained, keeping his voice steady. “I have a metal plate installed in my head that makes me immune.” Dipper already knew this, but Mabel deserved to understand, too. She was still staring blankly at him.

Dipper took a few steps closer and put his arms around his sister, unclear whether to comfort her or himself. “Are you saying he’s—he’s dead?”

Ford licked his lips. “He should be physically fine. But the man he was – everything he knew and cared about – it’s gone. He’s gone. I’m sorry, but you need to be ready for that.”

Mabel finally blinked. “No,” she said.

“What?”

“No, he’s not gone. I’m not gonna accept that and neither will he!”

“Mabel, that’s not how it—”

“La-la-la, I can’t hear you!” Mabel papped her hands over her ears, then smiled brightly. “You’ll see, Grunkle Ford! He’ll be fine! He’s a hero! Come on, Dipper, let’s go find him!” She grabbed her brother’s hand and dragged him off in a random direction, not waiting for Ford to follow.

Ford pushed down a spell of dizziness. His heart was beating too fast, his vision swaying as he followed the children at a slower pace. They did have to find Stanley. They had to take care of him somehow. But Mabel was wrong – she was a child. She didn’t understand that sometimes the hero is the one who is not left standing in the end.

It was expected, but still agonizing to see the light die in Mabel’s eyes when they reached him. He was sitting in the grass in a small clearing, his face dazed and empty, looking at the restored world with no indication of understanding it. The contrast was profound between this shell of a man and the focused, determined, clever brother who had convinced Ford to switch clothes and pull a final desperate con in the few minutes of time the children’s actions had bought them. The brother who had wordlessly squeezed Ford’s six-fingered hand and looked at him like he wished he could pour a lifetime’s worth of missed companionship into a single gaze.

“I’m sorry,” Ford mouthed even as Mabel ran up to the shell, putting the fez back on his head, hugging him and thanking him for saving them all. The man that used to be Stanley blinked and managed to talk, but all that came out was confused politeness.

She was openly weeping, begging for her Grunkle to recognize her, when Ford and Dipper dragged her away.

“He doesn’t remember,” Ford said softly. Subtle tremors ran through him again, but he made himself look at Stanley’s blank expression. “He saved the world today, and he doesn’t even know.”

A few steps forward, and Ford was close enough to touch him. The eyes that looked up at him were open, innocent, confused but accepting. “He saved us. He saved me.” He wasn’t sure who he was talking to anymore, but he felt the full weight of his own words like a sledgehammer to the chest, ripping his heart out. It wasn’t just the world – he was saved. Stanley had saved him. And it was too late to thank him for it.

Ford’s legs folded beneath him, and before he knew it he pulled Stanley’s empty shell into a tight embrace. “You’re our hero, Stanley.” His voice broke into a sob, and then the tears came.

Stanford knew all too well that men shouldn’t cry, and he didn’t mean to, not now, not in front of the upset children. Perhaps it was fatigue that did it. The events of the past however-long-it-had-been in the pseudo-time of Weirdmageddon was an agonizing blur, but he was free, and alive, and safe – it was all over, all thanks to Stanley, but Stanley didn’t even know it.

Stanley didn’t move, didn’t hug him back, just sat there awkwardly. Enduring the embrace, but not reciprocating. It was too late. Stanley wasn’t there. Stanley was gone, and it had been Ford’s hand on the trigger. Ford’s own foolishness that had led them to that moment. If he’d talked to Stanley just once – trusted him like he deserved to be trusted—

Emotions that he’d kept bottled up for decades threatened to drown him. It hurt, though he doubted much of the pain was physical at this point. He was a fool. He’d known he was a fool ever since Bill’s betrayal became clear, but this was different. He’d missed Stanley. He’d missed him for all those years, but hanging on to the anger made the loss easier to bear, until he hadn’t even made an attempt to reconnect when he’d had the chance. He’d ignored Stanley, dismissed him, taken him for granted. He’d understood nothing, and now it was too late – now he never would.

Ford didn’t cry for long. He had to pull himself together. With a shaking breath and a quick wipe of his eyes with a hand, he let the man who should have been his brother go, unable to look at his face. “I’m sorry,” he said, both to the Stanley that had been and the remains of Stanley that was.

“It’s fine,” Stanley said. “I suppose.” He hesitated, as if too confused to know what questions to ask, instead opting to ask nothing.

“Mr Pines!” a new voice exclaimed, interrupting the sudden silence. Stan’s handyman – Soos? – landed on the ground next to the brothers and started shaking Stanley’s shoulders. “Is it true? Like you not being you anymore and you can’t remember my name? Please tell me you remember my name, dude!” There were tears in his eyes, too. Apparently, Stanley had been dearly beloved by more than his immediate family.

Stanley’s face frowned slightly, as if trying to remember the correct emotions to respond to people wanting something from him that he couldn’t give. “I’m sorry, sir,” he said, which was clearly the wrong thing to say. Soos bawled.

Ford forced himself back to his feet, leaning against a tree. He was going to have to take charge of this somehow, but he didn’t know what to do. He was the most competent adult person in the vicinity, and yet he had no idea how to proceed. Was his house—was the Mystery Shack still standing? Maybe not – the barrier spell around the house would have negated the effects of Weirdmageddon’s reversal, too. But the town might be alright. The children would need some food and a place to rest, surely. They’d need to get back to their parents as soon as possible. California, was it? Did anyone have a car that was still running?

And Stanley. Would need someone to help him for a while. Perhaps for the rest of his life. It was the least Ford could do.

It hurt to move, but Ford pulled himself upright and cleared his throat, steeling himself to get things done.

“Grunkle Ford?” Mabel interrupted him. She had wiped her eyes about as well as Ford himself had, now standing with her arms crossed and her hands hidden in the sleeves of her sweater. “We’re going to fix this.”

Ford slowly shook his head. “Mabel. I know that you—”

“We’re going to fix this!” Mabel repeated, loud and confident enough that everyone in the clearing looked up. “Grunkle Stan, you’re gonna be okay!” She pointed energetically at the confused man with the crooked fez, then at Ford. “Grunkle Ford, you swap your clothes back with him! He’ll feel more like himself in his own clothes! And then we’re going back to the Mystery Shack. It’s your home, Grunkle Stan – there has to be something there that can make you remember!”

Her tone was far too authoritative for a barely thirteen-year-old human, reminding Ford of that one nation of hunnerbaphs where the adolescents were the undisputed leaders – perhaps there was something to that idea after all – but he listened up. He knew for a fact that her plans wouldn’t help Stanley, but going back to the Shack was fine. He couldn’t bring himself to contradict her.

Stanley stumbled to his feet with Soos’ assistance, then tilted his head at Ford. “Do we change clothes?” he asked, too softly.

 * * *

 Against all odds or reason, it worked.

Mabel’s desperate hope, her refusal to accept tragedy, shone so brightly that Ford was tempted to believe she was rewriting the very laws of reality. When the amnesiac’s soft tone changed – just for a moment – into Stanley’s grumpy affection, Ford thought his heart was actually about to stop. The hard knots in his soul that had kept him going suddenly loosened, and he found himself gripping the back of Stanley’s chair, willing his knees not to buckle until he was breathing normally again. His chest ached and his fingertips tingled painfully, but he was witnessing a miracle.

Stanley wasn’t completely gone. There was still something of his brother there, something that could be saved. Tears threatened to well up in his eyes again, but not from despair this time.

He still didn’t speak while Illustrated tales of a summer’s worth of shenanigans poured forth from the children and the handyman. He knew nothing about these tales, stories about a Stanley he’d never bothered to get to know, but he listened, smiling incredulously. Stanley’s polite confusion turned into eager activity, and each scrap of memory he dragged up was celebrated and cheered by the family.

Stanley wasn’t a blank slate, like Ford had assumed. He was like a sheet of pencil scribblings that had been imperfectly rubbed out by an eraser, many of the writings recoverable with some effort.

Stanley was still there.

That didn’t mean anything about Bill.

There was no guarantee Stanley would be able to remember Ford. Or if he did, that he’d ever be able to forgive him. Maybe he shouldn’t. But Ford hadn’t erased him, hadn’t killed him utterly, and Stanley was going to be alright. That much, Ford allowed himself to hope.

The room seemed to be spinning around him. The pictures in Mabel’s scrapbook was drifting in and out of focus, and the children’s words – something about petting zoos and mutant cows – seemed to be coming to him through water. It occurred to him that if he hadn’t been leaning heavily against the back of the chair, he might have already fallen over.

Vaguely, he supposed he should have anticipated this. Adrenalin will only take you so far. His whole body ached, and he didn’t want to acknowledge why, but if Stanley was going to be alright, maybe it would be acceptable for Ford to rest. He wondered briefly how long it had been since he slept, then shied away from the thought. It was over. Bill was gone.

Ford forced a deep breath and made a decision. Collapsing here and now would be irresponsible. The children were helping Stanley recover parts of himself – who knew what damage it would do to interrupt that? He needed to get himself out of the way before he became a distraction.

He gave Stanley’s shoulder a pat that he hoped was reassuring. “Keep going,” he said. “I’ll be back.” Somehow he managed to keep his voice steady.

“Where are you going?” Mabel looked up from the scrapbook and looked at him with a hint of worry in her eyes.

“Are you okay?” Dipper added.

“Yes, I—” Ford made a vague gesture with a hand he hoped wasn’t shaking visibly. “There’s something I need to do.” Lie down, preferably. “I’ll be back.”

“Wait,” Stanley said, head tilted in that heart-breakingly confused manner. “You haven’t told me who you are yet. You some kinda relative?”

Something cold clenched in Ford’s stomach. He wanted to answer the question. He wanted to let Stanley know that he’d missed him. But no words came to him, and his legs wouldn’t hold him for much longer. “Later, Stanley,” he managed. “I promise.”

 * * *

 Ford made it to the old study, closing the carved door behind him. Only then, out of his family’s view, did he allow himself to crumble on the couch. Letting himself settle against the cushions was a relief, body limp other than a few slight, irregular twitches. Unconsciousness beckoned temptingly.

When he closed his eyes, the room around him shifted into red and black and gleaming yellow. He was still there, filled with helpless dread and single-minded determination, anticipating excruciating pain that would—

No.

He drew a sharp breath and tore his eyes open. The wooden ceiling was cracked, but familiar.

It was over.

Bill was dead.

Wasn’t he?

His racing heart refused to acknowledge reason. The recent past played on the inside of his eyelids, beneath his skin.

“Your choice, Sixer! I could find out how to out of this pesky barrier, or I could find out how long it takes for all of your clothes to burn off your body!”

Breathing exercises. In. Then out.

For a moment he almost regretted removing himself from the grounding presence of other people. But no, he would only be impeding Stanley’s recovery, and he was fine. Even if he wasn’t, the mere idea of getting back to his feet and walking seemed currently impossible. He assumed he could do it if his life depended on it, but it didn’t.

“You know how many bones are in a six-fingered hand? There’s twenty-three, if you don’t count the wrist! I’m gonna see if I can snap all of them without tearing anything off!”

Slowly, with great effort, Ford pushed himself up to sit on the couch. He leaned forward and studied his own hands. Twelve fingers. White palms. Smooth. No callouses. No burns. He flexed one finger at a time, confirming that they worked. Stiff and somewhat tingling, but they all moved fine. No broken bones.

“What’dya think? Should we do that again, from the beginning? Or do you wanna let me into your head already?”

He’d been incredibly lucky, all things considered. If the kids and Stanley had arrived at the wrong time – maybe just an hour earlier – they would have found a bloody, broken wreck he wouldn’t have been able to stand, much less draw a circle. One hand half-consciously touched a kneecap, whole and in place. The fact that Bill had healed him in order to inflict more pain didn’t change that fact that Bill had healed him. He was fine.

“Remember that time is dead, Fordsy. We could do this for all of eternity! And I mean, as long as I’m stuck in this tiny bubble, it’s not like I have anything better to do!”

Drawing a shuddering breath and putting his glasses away on the drawer, Ford rubbed his eyes. He briefly considered getting a pot of coffee, but that would also involve moving, and he didn’t seem to have any reserves left.

Breathing. In, then out.

Eventually he clutched a pillow in his lap, curling up with his arms around it, his side against the backrest. Bill hadn’t even allowed him the comfort folding up on himself. He’d been kept in suspended gravity, defenseless, exposed, limbs held out by chains. Making himself smaller should prove, even to his exhausted mind, that he was no longer there.

It was over. Stanley had saved him in the end, whether he deserved to be saved it or not.

Stanley had sacrificed himself. But he would be alright. The children were bringing him back.

In, and out.

There were still yellow shapes moving behind his eyelids when he closed his eyes, but Bill was dead. Ford clenched his fists and pressed the pillow against his chest. For once, he was in no danger whatsoever.

 * * *

 Bill was laughing. Ford tried to scream, but he had no voice. He stared at the blackened remains of his hands, but no, they were fine, all fingers accounted for. Stanley was staring at him from below with blank, empty eyes. Ford tried to reach him, but his knees were bent the wrong way, blood pooling through his pants, and he couldn’t even breathe. Bill towered over him, and in his hand was Mabel and Dipper, faces twisted in terror, and Ford had to do something, but Bill snapped his fingers. The world exploded into brilliant lighting, searing him from the inside, and finally a sound emerged from Ford’s mouth—

—but it was more a strangled croak than a scream, a pathetic sound that startled him awake. He panted, still feeling sparks ripping through him, the burns on his wrists throbbing with every heartbeat.

Nightmares. A counterproductive but natural attempt by the human mind to deal with stress.

Bill was dead.

He let his head fall forward into the pillow in his lap with a quiet groan. His face was damp with sweat. Other than the hot burns on his wrists, his skin felt numb and stiff, but something on the inside stabbed at him when he shifted. Damage from the tail end of the torture. It’d heal. It seemed petty to worry about a mere couple of high-voltage shocks, when by rights he would have been crippled and broken for life.

“Whoa,” a gravelly voice said, too close. Ford flinched, scrambling for a weapon that wasn’t there. A moment later he froze, recognizing the shape of the man standing in the doorway.

“Stanley?”

Stanley – or to what degree was it Stanley? To what degree was it an amnesiac stranger with Stanley’s face? – was looking at Ford with an expression that could only be described as ‘sheepish’. “Yeah,” he said. “Well, I kinda prefer ‘Stan’.” He scratched the back of his head. “Although ‘Mr Mystery’ seems appropriate at this point.”

Ford drew a deep breath. “Yes, of course. Stan.” He straightened his back, put his glasses back on his face and fidgeted with his fingers on the pillow, hesitating. How long had he slept? How much of Stanley had Mabel managed to drag back, and how much of him was still an empty void? He seemed hesitant, but no longer empty, not like he had been. Ford had wanted nothing more than to talk to his brother, but now – still trying to hold back shudders, facing a man that was part Stanley, part no one, he didn’t know what to say. Where would he start? Did he apologize? Did he try to explain? Did he acknowledge nothing until he knew exactly how much Stanley remembered?

“How do you feel?” he managed.

Stanley shrugged with affected nonchalance. “Pretty good, considering. Also, I’m not the one who practically woke up screaming from a midday nap a moment ago.”

Ford tensed. He would have preferred it if Stanley hadn’t seen that. “Just a nightmare.”

“Mh-hm.”

This was awkward. “Where are the kids?”

“Looking for something edible. Told them I’d go check on you.” He grimaced slightly, eyes flicking to the side. “Look, I—”

Ford steeled himself. “You don’t remember me at all, do you?” Expected. Painful, like yet another knife in his guts, but expected.

Stanley looked down at his shoes. “No. Tell ya the truth, I mostly remember the kids, and a bit of my job. You could be the man in the moon for all I know.”

Ford could only nod. The children could only do so much, only inspire Stanley to remember them, but if he remembered his business, he’d most likely be able to resume his life. His brother may still be lost to Ford, but maybe that was for the better. He pulled a hand through his hair, trying to think of words to say, but all of them stuck in his throat. He was no Mabel. How hard would it be to just tell Stanley he was his twin, that he wanted to help, that he didn’t want to lose him again? Evidently, very hard. He couldn’t assume Stanley would be able to remember him. He couldn’t even assume he’d want to.

Stanley continued. “They said you’re my brother.”

“That’s right,” Ford said. That much, at least, was a biological fact, and it was something that could be easily shown if Stanley wasn’t clear on the matter. He abruptly put the pillow aside and stood up, ignoring the way the movement made something sharper than pins and needles tear into him. “Come here.” The large mirror was still covered by a sheet, so he pulled it off and gestured for Stan to join him. “See for yourself.”

It was just as uncomfortable than the last time they’d been standing together in front of a mirror, but for entirely different reasons. Stanley didn’t look much like their father after all. He was too soft, too casual, too much emotion in his eyes even now. It was Ford that looked like Filbrick, ramrod straight and clench-jawed. The realization stung, but he wished he could have seen it sooner.

Stanley put a hand on his chin, studying their faces. “We’re twins, aren’t we?” he concluded. “Like the kids.”

Ford nodded, trying not to be too disappointed that the sight of their faces next to each other hadn’t made Stanley remember anything. Of course it wouldn’t. If it was even possible, it would take more, and could Ford even justify dragging up decades-old wounds just because he wanted his brother back?

“Huh.” Stanley paused. “Is that why we’d swapped clothes before? I was wearing your clothes and pretending to be you for some reason?”

“Yes.” Deduction, not recollection. At least it seemed like Stanley’s cognitive functions hadn’t been damaged, and he should be grateful of that. With a sigh, Ford sat back on the couch, rubbing his eyes under his glasses. “I take it that didn’t stir any memories.”

“Sorry,” Stanley said, as if that was something he should apologize for. Sitting down next to Ford on the couch, he folded a leg beneath him and half-turned in Ford’s direction.

“Don’t be,” Ford said, leaning against the backrest and looking at the ceiling, not at his brother. “It’s frankly a miracle that you can remember anything at all. There’s no reason for you to—"

“Hey,” Stanley interrupted. “Your hands.”

Ford winced. He could take other people mocking his hands. He’d been a freak since birth, he knew that as well as—as Bill did. But Stanley had been the one person who’d never—

But he didn’t mock them. Instead, Stanley gently braided the fingers of his left hand in the spaces between the fingers on Ford’s right, holding up their clasped hands. “Sixer,” he said quietly, almost reverently.

Ford’s breath caught in his lungs. “You remember?”

“We used to do this when we were small.” Stanley said, staring at their hands with wide eyes. “I used to think my hands fitted much better with yours than with people with five fingers.”

Ford’s shoulders started to tremble. Blinking away tears, he stared at their joined hands, too. “Yes. Yes – you did say that.” His hands, of all the things to remember. Not the fights or the dismissals, not working for thirty years and being punched for the trouble. No, just the fact that their hands fitted well together when they were children.

Like a snapshot in Mabel’s scrapbook. He wasn’t going to cry.

Stanley smiled wistfully. “Oh, good. I do have a past after all.”

Ford wiped his eyes with his free hand, refusing to acknowledge the tears. Voiceless, he nodded.

“I want to say your name is Stanford,” Stan continued, eyes unfocused like he was trying to see through the fog in his mind. “It’s weird, but I also want to say my name is Stanford. But that can’t be right. I mean, you called me Stanley just now.”

Ford made an undefinable sound, neither a sob nor a chuckle, clenching his hand tighter around Stanley’s. He really should have seen that one coming. “You’re right, I’m Stanford. Your name is Stanley. Our father was uncreative, but not that uncreative.”

Stanley leaned back a bit and huffed. “That, I want to believe.” He grimaced. “I prefer ‘Stan’ anyway. And you go by ‘Ford’, right? That’s what the kids used.”

Ford nodded, silently glad that Stanley didn’t decide to pursue the topic further. He knew that the years of using Stanford’s name would have to come out into the open at some point, but not right now. “I prefer ‘Ford’, yes.”

“Alright, so I remember your excellent hands, that’s something.” Stanley said, as if trying to summarize to himself, disentangling his hand from Ford’s. Ford’s hand fell into his lap, strangely empty. “I kinda want to ask if we’ve got any old childhood photo albums or something—”

Ford perked at that. “We might, in fact, have that!” The idea was so obvious he hadn’t even thought of it – their childhood together in New Jersey. The good times. He knew their mother had sent him a box of old memorabilia, including school yearbooks and childhood photo albums, back when he first moved to Gravity Falls, and Stanley surely wouldn’t have thrown such things away, so it was only a matter of finding them.

“—but there’s something else I need to ask you about first.”

“And what would that be?” Ford bit his lip, bracing himself for anything Stanley might have remembered without context.

Stanley leaned forward, away from Ford, supporting his arms on his thighs and looking down at his own knees. “I didn’t want to ask the kids. Maybe I shouldn’t ask you either, but—” He sighed. “Look, I’m amnesiac, not dumb. I didn’t lose my memories by some random fluke. Something went down here. The kids are battered – Dipper has a bump the size of my thumb on his head! The Shack is thrashed. I’m bruised, too. As for you, you look dead on your feet and have nightmares in the middle of the day.”

“I’m not—”

“And unless I was hallucinating while I was still trying to remember how to wear a dress shirt, you’ve got some weird-looking burns under than sweater.”

Ford sighed and leaned forward too, mirroring his brother’s pose without looking at him.

“I just wanna know what the hell happened!” Stanley finished with some heat.

“You saved us,” Ford said softly.

“Yeah, and then there’s that. Apparently I’m some kind of hero for – I dunno – not saving my family from getting injured?”

Ford spluttered, taken aback by that. “You saved us from far worse!”

“Sure, and I’d take credit for it too, if I could remember any of it. But since I don’t, how about you tell me.”

Ford drew a deep breath, straightening his back again. He could understand why Stanley wanted to know. The memory wipe would be confusing enough in itself, but with no reference points other than the obvious fact that something deeply unsettling had happened, it would be unbearable. At the same time, it was the equivalent of starting a story at the end. “You want me to tell you about Weirdmageddon.”

“Weirdma-what?”

“It’s what we called it.” Ford fidgeted with the sleeve of his coat. “It was very nearly the end of the world. If not for you, it would have been.”

“Okay. I saved the world.” Stanley’s tone was only slightly skeptical.

“It’s a very long story.” It was long, and Ford wasn’t sure how to tell it.

“Then tell me the short version. What happened to you and the kids, why can’t I remember anything, and are we still in any kind of danger?”

“I—” Ford hesitated. “I need you to know something first. In case it triggers memories, or for when or if your memories return later. I need you to know that I’m sorry.” He wanted Stanley to understand, but at the same time he knew he wouldn’t, not now, perhaps never.

Stanley looked back at Ford. “For what?”

Ford didn’t meet his eyes. “Ford many things. I’ve made mistakes. We both did, but I—I haven’t been a very good brother.” He swallowed. This was probably incoherent for Stanley at the moment. “Maybe that’s for a later time. I just need you to know that I’m sorry.”

“That’s not ominous at all,” Stanley said with a raised eyebrow.

“I didn’t mean—”

“Just tell me about Weirdma-whatnot.”

Ford took a deep breath to collect himself. “A demon called Bill Cipher broke through to our dimension.” He glanced at Stanley, but to his relief his brother didn’t seem disinclined to believe in the existence of demons. “Ultimately,” he continued, “the blame for this lies on me. Many years ago, Bill manipulated me into creating the means to make this invasion possible.” This was still hard to say out loud, but it felt necessary.

Stanley said nothing, so Ford went on. “Bill immediately started to remake this world in his chaotic image, which is what we referred to as Weirdmageddon. But because of a naturally occurring barrier around this area, he was unable to take it beyond the valley of Gravity Falls.” Ford’s hand clenched around the fabric of his coat. “I went to confront Bill on my own. I believed I’d be able to defeat him alone, but I was wrong, and he captured me.”

Stanley’s eyes narrowed. “So what did I do?”

“Frankly, I don’t know the details. I don’t even know how long Weirdmageddon lasted. Normal time was out of order, and in any case I wasn’t—” He bit his lip. Don’t think about it. “I think it was a few days. A week, maybe.” At least if he included whatever time he’d spent encased in gold. “Eventually you, the kids and some other survivors arrived with some kind of giant robot that distracted Bill while you freed me, as well as the townspeople Bill had petrified.”

Ford barely noticed that he’d hunched his shoulders, looking down at his hands again. He skipped the next part. “Bill wasn’t distracted for long. He recaptured all of us and threatened Mabel and Dipper.”

Stanley’s face hardened visibly at that.

“I was ready to give in and give him what he wanted for the chance that they’d be safe.” The memory tasted like ash in his mouth. “But the children bought us a few minutes of time and you came up with a plan to kill Bill, using a weapon that erases memories. If we could use it to erase a person’s entire mind while Bill was projecting into it—” He trailed off.

“And that’s why I can’t remember stuff?”

“It should have been me!” Ford turned to finally look straight at Stanley. “But I have a metal plate installed in my head that would have protected both me and Bill from the effects, so I couldn’t.” He needed Stanley to see that. “So you took my place, tricking Bill to go into your mind instead of mine, and I wiped your memories to destroy him.” I did this to you. “Once he was dead, Weirdmageddon was reversed. We’re safe now, thanks to you.”

“Huh.” Stanley leaned back, relaxing slightly. “Makes as much sense as anything.”

“I didn’t think it would be possible for you to regain your memories,” Ford admitted, “but Mabel refused to believe that.”

Stanley smiled fondly. “She’s something else, isn’t she?”

“She really is.”

Shifting to face Ford again, Stanley adjusted his fez, frowning. “Let me get this straight, though. Am I getting it right? This guy held you captive for several days while you had something he wanted, and you wouldn’t give it to him until he threatened the kids?”

Ford winced, but nodded. He might have said too much, but at the same time, not enough. “I knew how to break the barrier around Gravity Falls and take Weirdmageddon worldwide,” he admitted, quietly. “And I would have told him, if you hadn’t found another way.”

“I get that, and I can hardly blame you.” Stanley’s face darkened. “But before that, you refused.”

Ford didn’t reply, but he didn’t have to.

“And he hurt you.” That wasn’t a question either.

Ford looked away. “Yes, but it could have been much worse. He was able to reverse the damage he inflicted, so most of it may as well never have happened.”

“Great Moses.” Stanley fell silent for a few seconds. “Do the kids know?”

“I believe they’re under the impression I was turned into a gold statue for the whole duration.”

“Good.” He seemed to hesitate, and but before the silence could become too awkward, he continued. “Look, Sixer. I barely remember you. For all I know, you’re really a horrible jerk of a brother. But—” He paused again, then shook his head and made a strange, lop-sided grin. “It sounds to me like we make a hell of a team in a crisis.”

Conflicting emotions roiled in Ford’s stomach. Stanley had no idea how wrong he was. But he was also right. In the end, he was right, and maybe that’s what mattered.

“Can I—” Stanley paused. “Oh, of course I can.” Without further warning, he wrapped his arms around Ford and pulled him into a tight hug.

For a moment Ford was too startled to move. Startled, but strangely without fear. On the contrary, he felt safe. Stanley might not know, but he cared, and wasn’t that such a Stanley response to the situation? He shouldn’t be worrying about Ford. He’d lost objectively far more than Ford had. Nevertheless, it was warm, and somehow, Ford needed this. He put his arms around Stanley’s back, returning the embrace, and buried his face in his brother’s shoulder.

“I used to stand between you and the bullies, didn’t I? When we were kids.”

Ford hugged him tighter. “You did,” he said, voice muffled by Stanley’s suit. “You remember that?”

“Very vaguely. I bet you’re the little brother.”

Ford raised his head with a small huff. “I’m fifteen minutes older than you.”

“I find that hard to believe.” He grinned.

They disengaged from the hug, but stayed together in silence for a while longer, leaning against each other’s shoulders. It was comfortable, to the point that things seemed to be almost well. It wasn’t, not really, and Ford knew he didn’t deserve this. If Stanley remembered him properly, he would hardly be so comfortable with him. For Stanley’s sake, he finally stirred. “We should—”

Stanley spoke simultaneously. “Do you—”

Both fell silent. Finally, Ford gestured for Stanley to go first.

“I was gonna ask if you need any first aid or something. Or if you took care of that.”

Ford’s slight grimace must have said enough. Come to think of it, it would be a good idea to clean and disinfect the surface burns, at least.

“We should do that, then.” Stanley shifted and stretched his arms. “What were you gonna say?”

“I was going to suggest that we find those photo albums. It would be a place to start.”

Somehow, amnesia and all, Stanley looked happy. “Right,” he said. “Sounds like we’ve got a plan.”

[thelastspeecher]

Angiewolf AU - The Morning After

So I know I said last week that I was going to be taking a break from writing so I could focus on my thesis.  But I also said that I might randomly post ficlets if I get struck by inspiration for something.  And this is one of those times.

This is a long overdue scene, taking place after the events of Weirdmageddon in my Angiewolf AU.  As for what all happened during Weirdmageddon in this AU, read to find out.  Or go back into my blog and find the posts I made about it last year.  Whichever floats your boat.

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              Ford looked up from his mug of coffee as Stan walked into the kitchen.

              “Your footsteps are incredibly loud,” he informed Stan.  Stan froze.  He slowly turned his head to stare at Ford.  “I could hear you the moment you stepped outside of your bedroom.”  It had been one of the many things Ford could hear from his seat at the kitchen table.  He wondered if the walls were thing or the high ceilings, built with werewolves’ large stature in mind, amplified noises.  No matter the cause, the house hadn’t seemed half as quiet as Ford expected it to be this early in the morning.

              “You- Ford- you’re-” Stan stammered, running a hand through his hair.

              “I have two questions I would greatly appreciate an answer for,” Ford interjected.  Stan blinked. He seemed taken aback.  At what, Ford wasn’t sure.

              “Uh.  Shoot.”

              “First, why did I wake up in your guest room, on one of your spare werewolf-sized dog beds?  Second, why was I nude?” Ford asked.  Stan opened and closed his mouth silently.  “I realize you may not know the answers to those questions, but I thought it couldn’t hurt to ask.”

              “No, Ford, it’s-”  Stan swallowed.  “I can answer your questions.  But before I do, you need to answer one from me.”  Ford waved a hand, indicating he was willing to hear Stan’s question. Stan strode over to the table and sat next to him.  “What’s the last thing you remember?” he asked in a low voice.

              “I…”  Ford furrowed his brow, thinking furiously.  “I think the last thing I remember is that we were both being held hostage by Bill.”  Stan nodded. “You were in wolf form, as Weirdmageddon began during a full moon and time was frozen during the entirety of the event. And you were…”  A snippet of a memory flashed through Ford’s mind.  Animal eyes narrowed, a vicious snarl of teeth as long as his arm, immense pain.  Ford swallowed.  “Did you attack me?”

              “No, I-”  Stan chewed on his lip.  “It’s complicated, what happened.”  He frowned at Ford.  “You really don’t remember?”

              “No, I don’t,” Ford said defensively.  “And frankly, your body odor isn’t helping me to focus.”

              “My body odor?”

              “Yes!  When was the last time you showered?”

              “Last night.”

              “Before or after you smoked a cigar, drank an entire bottle of whiskey, and worked on your car’s engine?” Ford snapped.  Stan leaned back in his chair.  He was watching Ford with an expression that took him a moment to recognize.

              It’s the same expression he used to have when he did his best to help his children figure something out themselves.  

              “I didn’t do any of that, Sixer.  Especially not the cigar thing.  I gave up smoking decades ago when Angie got pregnant.”  Stan’s tone matched his face.  He was holding back the entirety of what he knew, providing as few crumbs as possible so that Ford could come to a conclusion on his own.  “And I sure as hell ain’t gonna pick it up again.  I like being able to breathe.”

              “But you smell like-”

              “Like what?” Stan prompted.

              “Cigar smoke, whiskey, and motor oil,” Ford said firmly.  Stan raised an eyebrow at him.  “What?!”

              “C’mon.  I know you’ve heard that phrase before.”

              “I-”  Another memory floated to the surface, from decades ago.  Angie explaining how she could tell who entered a room just by their smell.  “That’s- I’m smelling your- your scent?”  Stan nodded. “The scent that only werewolves can detect?”

              “Stanford,” Stan said seriously, “you really want that title of ‘World’s Dumbest Genius’, don’t you?”  Ford slumped against the back of his chair.  “The dots are starting to connect now.”

              “Yes,” Ford croaked.  “Yes, they are.  You’re not loud or smelly-”

              “Okay, that’s not true,” Stan interrupted.  “Don’t slander me like that.  I’m just not as loud and smelly as you think I am.”

              “…because I was turned and now have a werewolf’s heightened senses,” Ford said. Stan nodded again.  Ford covered his face with his hands.  “How?  When?”

              “The last thing you remember was right before you asked me to turn you. You had this…completely stupid idea to trick Bill into your mind and then erase your memory so that he’d be gone forever.”  Stan scoffed. “Somehow, it fucking worked.”

              “That’s right,” Ford said slowly.  “Bill realized that you had the information he sought, not me.”

              “Yeah, well, being the mate of a pack leader has its benefits.”  Stan stretched.  “All sortsa magical weird things talk to me and tell me shit.  I probably – no, definitely – know more about Gravity Falls’ weirdness than you do now.”

              “You turned me so that I could take your place,” Ford said.  Stan’s face hardened.

              “You literally put your arm in my mouth.  I didn’t wanna do it, but I- you insisted.”  Stan looked down at the table and rubbed his thumb against a bright red stain.  “Now I know why Angie hated turning me so much.  It fucking sucks.”

              “And then I shifted.”  Ford frowned. “I don’t remember anything after the bite.  How did you manage to pull off the switch?  It was a permanent full moon.”

              “Well…”  Stan sighed. “Being a werewolf for almost thirty years has its benefits.  In some cases, I can force a shift back to human.  It doesn’t last long, but that’s what I did.  Bill was fooled into thinking you were me, since you were the one that was the wolf, and you know how the rest goes.”  Silence fell.

              Or at least as silent as things will be now that I have a wolf’s hearing.  Ford tried to ignore the faint sounds of someone getting out of bed somewhere in the house.  He cracked a weak smile in an attempt to alleviate the somber mood.

              “It was a very complicated plan,” he said.  Stan let out a half-hearted laugh.

              “No shit.”

              “Some would say overly complicated.”

              “Again.  No shit, Poindexter.”

              “How the hell did it work?”

              “I have no fucking clue,” Stan said, exasperated.  He dragged his hands down his face.  “But it did.  And you were a werewolf who didn’t have any memory.  Luckily, since Angie’s the Mother Wolf and I’m her mate, you listened to me when I told you what to do.  So we managed to get you back here, set you up in the guest room, and just sorta worked on trying to get you to remember things.  You were stuck as a wolf, but since we could still communicate, you were remembering things bit by bit.  Yesterday, it seemed like you finally got all your memory back.”  Stan rested his elbows on the table and put his head in his hands.  “And now you’re back to square one.”

              “I don’t have amnesia,” Ford said.

              “You don’t fucking remember-”

              “I don’t remember the time I was a werewolf,” Ford said, talking over Stan. “I remember everything else.”

              “You-”  Stan groaned. “Oh, fucking hell.  It’s that amnesia that happens when you first shift, isn’t it?”  He looked at Ford.  “We went through all that trouble to get you to remember shit and it woulda come back once you turned human again.”  He slapped the table in frustration.  There was a rustle from upstairs, like someone was startled awake by the noise. “God fucking dammit.”

              “I’m not quite sure that’s accurate,” Ford said softly.  “Angie went into a fugue state when she first shifted.  She couldn’t remember who she was and was stuck in wolf form as a result.  I think that restoring my memory was crucial to allowing me to return to human form. Once I was human again, the memory loss was no longer a concern.”

              “I don’t think I’d say that,” Stan said.  “I mean, you can’t remember any of the last like…month.”

              “Month?”  Ford gaped. “I was a wolf for a month?”

              “Give or take a few days, yeah.”

              “Holy Moses,” Ford muttered.  He rubbed his forehead.  “That’s…unfortunate.”  Stan snorted.

              “Understatement of the year.”

              “Heh.  I suppose.” Ford furrowed his brow.

              “What?”

              “Did something happen with Fiddleford while I was a wolf?  I think I remember…well, not any specific events.  Just that I had very strong emotions regarding him-”

              “Pfft, like that’s news.”

              “-and maybe his son?” Ford finished, ignoring Stan.  Stan’s eyes widened.  “I’m right, aren’t I?”

              “I…”  Stan grimaced.  “You found something out, yeah.  It kinda sucks you forgot it, but you’ll figure it out again pretty fast.  All you gotta do is track down Fidds and Tate.”

              “That will jog my memory?”

              “It’ll do somethin’.”

              “Could you be more explicit?” Ford asked.  Stan shook his head.  “Stanley, I’m not in the mood for one of your games-”

              “It’s not a game.  It’s- well, you’ll know what I mean when you see Tate again.”

              “Stanley.”

              “I can’t say anything about it, Ford,” Stan said in a tight voice.  “I promised I wouldn’t.  And honestly, being a werewolf has made me a lot more serious about promises.”  Stan shook his head.  “Man, wolves don’t fuck around with that shit.”

              “…Very well,” Ford said after a moment.  He sighed.  “I’ll figure it out on my own.”

              “That’s what you did last time.  You can do it again.”

              “I’m going to have to.”

              “Yep,” Stan said cheerfully.  He got up from the table.  “Before you head out, though, want some breakfast?”  Ford’s stomach rumbled.  Stan grinned. “I’ll take that as a yes.  I’ll serve you up the Werewolf Special.  It’s all meat.”  Ford smiled back.

              “That sounds both delicious and appropriate.”  The scent of sweet peas and rainwater suddenly filled the room. Ford looked over at the kitchen entryway.  “Hello, Angie.”  Angie smiled at him.

              “Hello, Stanford.  I see yer back to yer old self.”

              “As much as I can be.”

              “I got to admit,” she sighed, “I’ll miss havin’ a big ole wolf kowtowing to me all the time.  Not goin’ to lie, it was a good boost fer my self-esteem.”

              “What do you mean?” Ford asked.  Angie grinned crookedly.

              “Hon, you were a wolf ruled by wolf instincts.  And all of those instincts told ya to practic’ly walk on eggshells ‘round the head of yer pack.”  She pointed at herself.  “Me.” Ford chuckled softly.  “D’ya think you’ll whip up a cure fer yourself?”

              “Honestly?  I’m not sure at this point.  Having heightened senses might come in handy.  But the shedding…”

              “Yeah, vacuuming’s a daily chore,” Stan said.  Voices carried from upstairs.

              “Sounds like you should make up more than just one serving of breakfast,” Ford said.  Stan nodded.

              “Yep.  Ang?”

              “On it, darlin’.”  Angie joined Stan in digging through the fridge and rifling through the cabinets, pulling out cookware.

              “Stan?” Ford said.  Stan looked up from a bowl of eggs.

              “Yeah?”

              “I’m very glad that you didn’t turn me until after we began the process of burying the hatchet.  That’s not something I’d like to have forgotten.”  Stan grinned.

              “Duh.  If you were still as pissed at me now as you were before everything went to shit, when you woke up naked in my house you’d probably think…I have no clue what you’d think, actually.”

              “Me neither.  So it’s just as well that I didn’t.”

              “If yer goin’ to yap ‘n distract Stan, ya have to at least help cook,” Angie said, putting a hand on her hip.  “We have a lot of werewolves to feed, not to mention Fidds, who’s comin’ over with Tate.”

              “I’ll be quiet,” Ford said.  Angie shook her head.

              “Nope.  Get up. Yer helpin’.”

              “I’m not-” Ford started.  Angie frowned at him.  Some part of Ford urged him to do what she said.  He stood.  “You weren’t joking about how influential the pack leader is.”

              “Nah, that part was just me bein’ a mom.”  Angie beckoned him over.  “C’mon. Help Stan crack some eggs.”

              “Are you going to make pancakes?” Ford asked.  Angie raised an eyebrow.

              “If I am, they’ll be human-exclusive,” she replied.

              “That’s something else to put in the downsides of being a werewolf,” Ford mumbled.  Angie snickered.  “What?”

              “I’m very glad my pancakes are in such high demand, that’s all.  Now, wash yer hands and get crackin’.”

[fifiliphaser]

Fixing Mistakes

[AO3 Version]

Relationships: Mabel Pines & Grunkle Stan | Stanley "Stanford" Pines, Mabel Pines & The Author | Original Stanford Pines, Stanford Pines & Stanley Pines

Characters: Mabel Pines, Grunkle Stan | Stanley "Stanford" Pines, The Author | Original Stanford Pines

Words: 3059

Summary: Everything was fine now. Bill had been defeated, Gravity Falls saved, and the Pines’ summer holidays were coming to an end. The latter wasn’t something to be happy about, though. Especially after everything that had happened and everyone Dipper and Mabel had met. And for Mabel it was even more difficult as she began to remember more and more details about an encounter she had taken part in just before the Weirdmageddon…

(Or, in other words, some Mabel positivity and a chance for her to redeem herself, at least to some extent.)

I know, I know—similar tags. But somehow this story actually resembles the previous one, so sorry not sorry.

Anyway, I present you this humble continuation of Restoring a Family. I hope you'll like it and—once again—I hope everyone is bearably in character.

Let me know what you think and I'll appreciate if you tell me about any possible mistakes. Because, I must admit, I was in a bit of a hurry to finish it for My Dearest Friend's birthday today, as this story is dedicated to her. I wish you all the best!

Enjoy! c:

There would be a content silence in the kitchen if it wasn’t for quiet scorching of pancake batter on a pan. The last stancakes this summer, Mabel thought fondly, sighing slightly.

She knew it meant the end of summer vacation. She still hadn’t come to terms with leaving Gravity Falls and all of her new friends—family, in fact—behind, even though there were loads of friends waiting for her back in California, as well as her parents, of course. In fact, three months ago she hadn’t been willing to go anywhere else, she loved her home.

She couldn’t have expected that that little town, with its bizarre mysteries and strangely ignorant inhabitants, would ever find a place in her heart, and yet it actually had. The truth was she felt even better, more right here, in these woods, than in so familiar sunny California.

And people she had met during the last few weeks had become so close to her the thought of going back home without them was heart-breaking. Even excitement caused by Dipper’s and her birthday couldn’t overcome heartache of leaving Gravity Falls.

After the family hug that could have lasted few seconds, as well as few hours—she wasn’t sure—they had parted at last. Ford had sit beside the table again, reaching for his book, while Stan had decided to make his beloved niece something to eat. Mabel agreed a bit hesitantly, remnants of sleep still lingering in her body. She wasn't even hungry, occupied with thoughts of everything today brought, as well as going back home the next day that made her heart ache a little. Despite that, she couldn't turn down her grunkle's offer, even if it meant she would only nibble her pancakes.

The strange feeling of longing already lingered in her mind, and yet she couldn’t be happier right now. Despite her sheer hope for it, she hadn’t really expected to see her beloved grunkles making up with each other. Even after the events of the last few days it had still come as a bit of a surprise to her. She was so happy for them both, after all they’d been through they undoubtedly deserved it.

But there was something else. Something that bothered her so much, that even though a smile wasn’t leaving her face, she couldn’t sit still, constantly playing with a strand of her hair, still a bit messy from sleep. Even her current happiness couldn’t help her to push away one thought, which was incessantly racing through her mind, unable to let her go.

 It’s all your fault.

“Hope we didn't wake you,” Stan chimed in, interrupting Mabel's thoughts. He glanced in her direction, with tender expression on his face.

He smiled encouragingly, seeing the girl's quizzical look. It took her a moment to gather her thoughts and answer.

“No,” she denied, her voice soft. “No, it's not that. I… I just couldn't sleep,” she explained, shrugging. She wanted to add something more, to explain that her inability to go back to sleep at the moment was caused by her excitement, the sun shining too brightly through the window, or Dipper's snoring. She opened her mouth, but no words came out—her thoughts were constantly coming back to the sense of guilt that had been slowly building inside of her chest for a few days now.

Luckily, Stan refrained from further questioning her, most likely blaming her silence on the grogginess. However, it wasn't the case. Well, maybe to some degree it was, although she would lie had she said that that was all. She had come downstairs, because she couldn’t sleep, that was true. It hadn’t been due to the birthday though, or even because of holidays ending.

The nightmares were just unbearable. Closing her eyes, she was instantly hearing that eerie ironic laughter, that teasing comments of his, and the one eye which saw right through her. She could feel with her all senses the chaos everywhere and anywhere, panic, madness, death…

At least it all had started sometime after the Weirdmageddon. She had no idea what she would have done if she had realized the truth earlier. She would’ve not been able to find strength, knowing that she had started that whole hell. She probably couldn’t even look in Dipper’s eyes; in everyone’s eyes.

For last few days she had tried to hide it from everyone. She couldn’t force herself to talk about it, ashamed and afraid of consequences. After all, how could she be irresponsible and stupid enough to give that strange thing to the guy she barely knew? She gritted her teeth—she couldn't stand it any longer, feeling the sudden urge to just scream it all already.

She shot her eyes closed, trying to collect her thoughts and find the best way to start. “Uhm… There… There’s something I need to tell you,” she finally mumbled, doing her best to avoid the worried gazes both men immediately sent in her direction.

“What is it, my dear?” Ford put his book away, concentrating his whole attention on the girl.

“It’s… I mean the Weirdmageddon…” Mabel swallowed a gulp, forming in her throat. Though she knew they wouldn’t be mad at her, she still had some doubts if they really needed to know about it. Eventually, she inhaled slowly, deciding to spill the beans. “It’s all my fault,” she admitted weakly, bowing her head.

“Don’t be silly, pumpkin,” Stan answered incredously, placing a plate of steaming pancakes and a bottle of maple syrup in front of her.

“But it was me who gave Bill-Blendin that weird glowy thingy from Dipper’s backpack!” She raised her head only to reveal the tears, welling in her eyes.

Both brothers were taken aback by her reaction. Stan instantly rushed in her direction, sitting on a chair next to her, while his brother only stared at her disbelievingly.

“The rift,” Ford gasped in horror after a moment, realizing in a flash what she meant. “It didn’t cracked, it…”

“Wait, what?,” Stan interrupted him abruptly and looked in his direction questioningly, frowning.

Ford shifted uncomfortably. “Presumably I should have told you about it…” He bit his lip, looking away. “The truth is… only Dipper knew. The portal was very dangerous for our world itself, and therefore I was so mad at you, Stanley,” he declared pointedly. “While you used it to save me, the instability of the machine created the interdimensional rift, which was de facto even more serious threat to this dimension. Beyond any control, it could be easily used to create a crack in the structure of our dimension big enough for Bill and his minions to come through,” he explained tranquilly, ignoring the uncertain looks both Stan and Mabel gave him. “I thought I had contained it, and it was better for you not to even know about its existence, but… It appears that my decision only made things worse,” he sighed, boring his eyes into the floor.

“So what you’re tryin’ to say is that this pointy jerk wanted to get his hands on it ‘cause it’d let him get here? And that whole unicorn voodoo you did was because of it?” Stan frowned, looking at his twin expectantly.

Ford nodded a bit sheepishly.

“And you thought we didn’t need to know about it ‘cause we wouldn’t understand it, didn’t ya?” Stan crossed his arms, raising eyebrows in question. The little twitch of his lips clearly indicated that he was a bit annoyed. “Like a hero that saves world totally on their own?” Stan's remark wasn’t sharp, or even ironic, he just calmly stated the fact.

Ford locked his gaze on his six-fingered hands. “It was foolish, I’m aware of that,” he sighed. “I’m so sorry that I underestimated you so much, while I should have sought your help instead. Have I done it, we wouldn’t probably have faced that whole situation.” He rubbed his temples, shielding himself from Stan and Mabel, as if he couldn’t look them in the eyes. It took him awhile before he spoke again, this time to Mabel. “So you gave it to him. But tell me, what did he promise to you?” There was no strain of accusation in his voice, only genuine concern.

“I… I sort of had a fight with Dipper about that… apprenticeship thing,” she admitted uncertainly, clearly ashamed of letting her emotions take control over her to such extent that she made so stupid a mistake. “I didn’t wanna summer to end. I wasn’t ready for that, and honestly… I’m still not.” She let her head drop, hiding behind her messy hear. “And… it was a bad day for me. I learned that high school isn’t as great as I thought and… Back then it seemed it’s better not to grow up at all. I felt… betrayed, forced to go back to California all alone, without the only person I can always count on,” she murmured quietly. The memories of that day were quick to fill her mind; the images of thrilling party preparations quickly ruined, with all excitement-turned-to-anxiety, disappointment, and then anger.

She blinked away the tears that slowly started to gather under her eyelids. “So I ran off into the woods,” she continued, doing her best to keep her voice from trembling. “I thought I could escape from the future, staying in Sweater Town forever. And then he went out of the bushes. He told me about a… time bubble, I guess. Like, it would let me stay in Gravity Falls and summer could last forever. I…” she stopped short, taking a sharp breath. She was afraid that her voice would crack any second now. She fidgeted her fingers, trying to collect herself, hoping her grunkles wouldn’t push her, and luckily they didn’t.

A few minutes of strangely uncomfortable silence passed and she finally found strength to speak again. “I’m sorry. I didn’t expect him to turn out to be Bill,” she breathed and the Stans could hardly hear her. Ford looked at her sympathetically. “I was so stupid to trust him!” The bitter tone of her voice was enough for Stan; he couldn’t stand his beloved niece saying such things about herself.

He reached for her gently, though his grip was firm when he pulled her on his lap, wrapping his arms around her petite body. “Don’t blame yourself, pumpkin,” he soothed her, stroking her hair affectionately. He started to rock her delicately. “You weren’t the only one to be naïve. And yet look—we’re all here, safe and sound.” He let a warm smile to spread on his lips, trying to find her gaze, but Mabel still stubbornly refused to look at him. He sighed, desperate to find a way to convince her she hadn’t really done anything that much wrong—or rather that she wasn't the only one to do so—and to lighten her mood a bit. “Besides, we all messed up, sweetie,” he added eventually, observing his brother’s concerned expression out of the corner of his eye.

Mabel remained silent for a few minutes, staring at her little hands. Stan was more and more worried, however, before he had a chance to inquire, she opened her mouth and a tearful whisper came out. “But what if it’s not a reality?” She wrapped arms around herself, hunching down. “What if we’re still in that bubble… and the-ere’s hell out there? What if I’ll never get out of that sick trap?,” she sobbed powerlessly, completely numb with her fear.

Stan’s hold tightened a bit, though he said nothing. Well, he had no idea what to say; he hadn’t been expecting such a confession. He hadn’t known entirely what she had been through. He guessed he hadn’t even wanted to know, so he hadn’t asked. Now it turned out that he should have.

Ford, seeing his brother’s hesitancy, decided to respond. “You got out. Your brother and your friends helped you,” he stated reassuringly, smiling faintly at his niece.

She nodded slightly, but her eyes were distant, as if her mind was somewhere else. “It could have been just my imagination,” she suggested stiffly, with her voice startlingly calm. “I was able to create everything I wished for in Mabeland, so why wouldn’t I imagine the rescue team as well?,” she wondered aloud.

Ford grimaced a bit. “That is certainly a logical conclusion, but if we were merely products of your imagination, don’t you think we would behave in a way you’d like us to?” He tilted his head slightly, gazing intensely at her face. She had a feeling that he tried to study her expression to see if his words had any impact on her. “Besides, I believe it would be a very happy reality,” he added with a small reassuring smile.

Mabel frowned, her eyes puffy, but no longer wet. “But you just did what I wished for,” she argued weakly, desperately wanting to believe in what her grunkles were saying, however, a small voice in the back of her mind wouldn’t let her.

Ford sighed, resigned. He pondered what he could add to make her feel better and at that moment Stan suddenly cut in. “Doubt that in your imagination I’d have to lose my mind to save you.” His statement was calm, humorous even, and with a little smile playing on his lips he didn't look like he was reffering to almost losing all that made him him.

She looked up at him, surprised. “I…” Her mouth remained slightly opened, even though no more words came out. She froze for a few seconds before she regained control of her voice. “That-that’s true,” she admitted sheepishly. “I’d rather imagine a giant dinasourobear that would came and eat Bill like a nacho,” she guessed, trying to lighten her own mood, but with little result.

Nevertheless, Stan chuckled softly, squeezing slightly her tiny shoulders. “It’s over, sweetie. It’s over and he ain’t here anymore. And he’ll never come back,” he assured Mabel with enough certainty to make a little shy smile appear on her lips.

She nodded once again, this time with a tad bit more energy. She wanted to add something, but a long yawn cut her short. She felt her eyelids growing heavier and heavier—somehow the conversation with her grunkles managed to calm her down enough that she was able to relax a bit.

Mabel snuggled close against her grunkle, her head resting on his chest. Stan seemed not to mind it at all as he started to stroke her back in a soothing manner. Soon her breath evened and she was fast asleep, a plate of stancakes left on the table forgotten.

Stan smiled fondly, glad that his beloved niece seemed to be more at peace than just a few minutes ago. She still needed her sleep and it was too early for her to start a day. And he had nothing against being a pillow for her. “She’s so small…,” he mumbled, gently rubbing her arm.

It took a few seconds for the next thought to strike him. He furrowed his eyebrows, and his smile slowly faded. “We were runnin' back and forth along the beach, foolin' around at her—their age,” he recalled wistfully, memories of their carefree childhood flooding his mind.

Ford looked at him and a sad smile appeared on his lips. “You wish they hadn't gone through all of this…,” he muttered, apparently more to himself than his brother.

Stan slowly noded, his eyes fixed on Mabel. He couldn't get over the fact that he had to say goodbye to her within the next few hours. His heart ached as soon as a thought of a bus pulling over to pick his niece and nephew up appeared in his mind. He was surprised that those two months had passed so quickly—that the arrival of the kids that, he had to admit, he had dreaded even more than just a bit, afraid that he would've ended up with an annoying and troublesome set of twins, turned out to be completely life-changing for him and helped him get back his happiness. And, truth to be told, it was so much more than he could've ever imagined.

A few long minutes later, with Mabel still cradled on his lap, Stan began to look around the kitchen. It hadn't been altered too much after the Weirdmageddon and he caught himself remembering more and more details that the rest of his family somehow managed to restore in that not-too-big room.

Eventually, his eyes landed on his brother, still sitting silently at the table. Ford's frown caught Stan's attention as he seemed to be wholly lost in his own thoughts. “What’s on your mind, Sixer?,” Stan asked quietly, not wanting to disturb his niece's sleep.

At first, Ford remained silent, as if he ignored his brother question. However, without looking at Stan, he finally inquired: “What is that ‘Sweater Town’?”

“Mabel’s hiding in her sweaters when somethin’ distresses her and it’s the way she calls that place,” Stan responded, gazing at Mabel once again with that fond smile of his. “Guess, though it ain’t much helpin’, it’s her way of copin’ with problems,” he explained.

“By hiding from them,” Ford pointed out matter-of-factly.

Stan shrugged. “She's not the only one to run from her mistakes,” he stated casually, though were one to look closely, they could see a shadow in his eyes.

And then the kitchen was silent again, with only their breaths creating some noise. This time, however, the silence didn't last so long.

“I'd better get her to her bed. She still can get a few hours of sleep and I'd rather have her sleepin' in a bit more comfortable conditions,��� Stan stated softly, wrapping his arms around Mabel in a way that could help him to pick her up.

But before he had a chance to stand up, he looked at his brother one more time, tilting his head. “We need to talk more often now, y'know?” he offered, smirking slightly. “To avoid something like that happenin' again. No more secrets from now on. Deal?”

“Deal.” Ford couldn't help but smile at his brother.

It was so good to finally have him back, Stan realised. Guess, it was worth fixing the old mistakes, even if it almost cost him his memory.

[badonkodank]

A Simple Word So Heavy

ao3

Chapter Six: I Continue to Face Them

A/N: Okay, this is the last chapter in this little adventure. Thanks to everyone who followed along and encouraged me, it really means a lot! You guys keep me going. ;) OH! The some of you might have noticed (or you may have not) that each chapter is a line from the song "I Have Made Mistakes by the Oh Hellos"- give it a listen if you want more feels!

When they say it then, they're content and know it's time to stop keeping count. There will be so many more instances in which it's said in the future, so there's no need to cling to the moments. They both know the other feels the same way.

Weirdmageddon had come and gone, and with it, had left the anger, the resentment, the petty grudges. All of it seemed to have been sucked into the rift along with the horrors that had never belonged in their world. And as if making up for him missing out on the the twisted, perplexing events of Weirdmageddon, Ford's emotional state had been thrown through the wringer and spit back out within the space of a few hours.

He'd dreamed of the moment Bill Cipher was vanquished so many times in his life, imagined the relief that would wash over him as he and millions across the multiverse rejoiced, for the triangle's reign of terror had ended. After his meeting with Jheselbraum, it had become a cemented into his mind that not only would it come to pass, but it would be him to do it.

Never once had he considered an alternative to the prophecy. Never had he wondered if Cipher's defeat would come by someone else. Never had he considered that the circumstances resulting in the defeat of the demon would be devastating.

Because it hasn't been he to save the universe, but Stanley.

Stanley had saved everyone.

And he wasn't able to remember.

No longer had there been a Stanley around to remember, just an empty shell, blinking slowly as if dazed, the look on his face not unlike that of a child discovering the world for the first time.

Ford hadn't been able to completely identify the feeling tightening his chest, but he hadn't bothered to truly make an effort. He knew enough to be aware that the his inability to breath had nothing to do with a physical problem. He wanted to be numb, to push everything he felt into a box for later review, but the plethora of emotions rushing through him wouldn't allow him to do even that. Instead he was left with an ache in his bones that resulted from far more than just residual soreness of the battle, which had ended minutes ago. He wanted to ignore that, too, just like he wanted to ignore pressure behind his eyes as he knelt down and bit back the urge to scream at the man in his arms to just hug him back already!

He didn't allow himself to break down just then. As he stepped away from the man on the ground, he forced himself to get pulled together. He knew he had to keep a hold of himself if he ever planned to get through the rest of the day. And he had to get through the day, if not for any other reason than the fact that he needed to be there for the kids. Dipper and Mabel, who were so broken up over the events that they remained huddled together, staring at him with their grief on display for all to see. It broke Ford's heart even more.

Yet he knew he couldn't allow them to become swallowed by their pain either; if they did, they might never recover- especially Mabel. She and Stanley had had such a special bond, that he had known after seeing them interact for only a few minutes. If she was allowed to wallow in her sadness, she could be hard pressed to ever come back to them.

Perhaps the same thoughts had gone through her twin's mind, because Dipper grabbed his sister's hand and dragged her to her feet to envelope her in a tight hug that seemed to calm her. Ford hated the way his heart clenched painfully at the sight, less for the reason that it was gut wrenching to see the two hurting so badly, and more because he wished more than anything that he had his sibling to help him get through this.

He cast his attention back to Stanley and saw he'd gotten to his feet and looked around with eyes still so curiously wide. He hadn't bothered to right the fez, which still sat crooked atop his head, and Ford swallowed the lump in his throat. It wasn't right. Nothing about it was.

Stanley was a hero, and he didn't even look like himself.

Ford wanted to grab the man by his shoulders and shake him, scream at him to cut it out and complain that he still hadn't gotten a thank you, that the sweater he wore wasn't comfortable when compared to the crisp dress shirt he was used to. He knew it would do nothing, because there was no Stanley in there to remember. He of all people knew how well the memory gun worked, and how useless it was to try and bring lost memories back. Still, Ford couldn't stand seeing his brother not looking like his brother.

Soos helped him assist Stan in changing back into his suit, and the entire time Ford felt like he should've said something to the handyman, something to comfort him. He'd seen how much the man cared for his brother, and he hadn't missed the affectionate looks Stanley had shot him when he thought nobody was looking. The two clearly had some form of bond between them that went beyond just a boss and employee, and Ford wanted to say something to him, though he couldn't think of what.

After that, Ford handed Stanley off to the kids. They needed him, even if it wasn't him. He could see it in their eyes, their body language, that they still didn't understand, and Ford was reminded of just how young they were. It was easy to forget that they were only children on the cusp of teenhood. He watched as the children and Soos led the man who was and yet wasn't theirs with varying expressions of worry and sadness. They would refuse to believe Stanley was gone until they'd exhausted all their options, Ford knew, because that was who they were. They were the kids who had endured the horrors of Weirdmageddon and come out possibly stronger because of it; the kids who, instead of running away from the strangeness of Gravity Falls, tried to understand and help it. They were amazing kids.

He wished they wouldn't try. He already struggled with figuring out how to deal with the overwhelming guilt of taking away their uncle, and the sorrow of losing his brother, he had no idea how he would be able to handle the grief stricken children when they finally came to terms with the fact that their uncle's mind was gone, and with it, him.

When Mabel brought out the scrapbook, Ford almost left the room. He didn't think he'd be able to bear to watch, knowing how devastated she would be once she allowed herself to give up when she realized Stanley wasn't going to remember anything. He'd almost allowed his own selfishness to pull him away from the kids instead of help them, even when he knew it was a lost cause- he could see that much in the confusion on his twin's face as Mabel went on about the macaroni interpretations of her emotions.

Yet he could also see that, while he couldn't remember, he wanted to. Oh, if Mabel and Dipper's desperate attempts to get his memory jogged was heartbreaking, then Stanley's expression of genuine bewilderment as he squinted, trying to remember something he wasn't even aware he should remember, was just devastating.

But then Waddles, that swine that Ford had been highly irritated to have had roaming the halls of his house when he'd first been introduced by Mabel, tipped the balance and it was Ford's turn to be confused. It was the best kind of confusion, certainly, because soon as Stanley had said that pig's name, Ford felt his heart slam hard against his ribcage and he was quick to join Dipper, Mabel and Soos, crowding the man that wasn't yet his brother, hoping beyond hope that maybe... just maybe he would be.

He had no idea how it was possible for Stanley's memory to be returning, but he refused to ponder it's possibilities until he was sure the moment hadn't been a fluke. Yes, he would hope for the best, but he wouldn't allow himself to get caught up in the excitement. Not like Dipper and Mabel had.

And it had all gotten simultaneously better and worse after that. Stanley had started to remember: The Shack, the kids…

Pretty much everything except Ford.

That much had been evident in the first hour they'd all talked. Ford hadn't been able to stop smiling as his brother remembered, but as Stanley had interacted with the three younger people of the group, Ford had noticed he kept shooting glances his way. Each time his brows had furrowed and after the fourth or fifth time Ford understood why, and the realization that his brother still couldn't figure out who he was had slammed into him like Xanthar had way back when.

Ford had to swallow several times to force the lump of dread in his throat back down where it belonged. He'd known, logically, that it made sense for Stanley to remember Dipper and Mabel when they were, after all, the ones in his most recent memory. But when he began recalling first hiring Soos, and being there for the twins' birth -memories which were decidedly not recent- Ford began to worry.

No, not worry- that wasn't the right word. Worry was when someone tripped and you thought they might be hurt. Worry was when you couldn't remember whether or not you'd left the stove on. It was empty wallets and crumbling dimensions and a crying child. What Ford felt then, was dread. It was the same feeling he got when Bill showed up in one of his dreams, and when he found himself somewhere with bounty hunters on his trail, and most recently, when Bill had gone after the kids. It was cold and stiff and no matter what you did, it lingered, always in the back of your mind, always whispering "what if's" in your ear.

And for Ford, it wouldn't stop one traitorous "what if" in particular:

What if he doesn't ever remember you?

Ford had done his best to ignore that. That voice that shouldn't have been there anymore, still preying on his deepest fears despite no longer existing. It would be fine. Stanley would remember him. He knew he would. He just hadn't yet because the right memories hadn't been brought up.

Stanley would remember eventually. He'd have to be patient, Ford knew, and he had been… for quite awhile, actually. He'd known how important it was that he let Dipper and Mabel re-bond with Stan, so he hadn't interrupted. In fact, he'd been enjoying listening to all the stories they told about their summer adventures, recounted all the times his brother had punched a supernatural creature in the face. However, evening had come and the sun began to set, casting the room into softer light and his patience out the door. It had gotten to be too much, the waiting, the wondering, the watching Stanley remember everyone but him.

Mabe had mentioned being hungry a bit earlier, but hadn't gotten up to remedy that, and Ford decided it was as good a chance as any to remove them from his brother's side for a few minutes. It wasn't that he didn't wanted the kids around when Stanley remembered him, but it also… was. There'd been things in his and his brother's past that were meant to be private- in fact, pretty much the whole of their past had been that way; only meant for them. He loved them, but when it came to Stanley remembering him, he didn't want them around.

Ford glanced over at Soos, clearing his throat softly to get his attention. Soos stood up from where he'd been knelt next to Stan and smiled at him. Ford tried to return the sentiment but failed when he replied immediately to the unasked question.

"Do you think you could take the kids to get something to eat?"

Soos had met the his gaze steadily a moment, silent as he considered the request and Ford nearly sagged with relief when the handyman nodded a second later. Ford had had to hold in a thank you when he smiled, asking the kids if they wanted to head out and eat.

Mabel seemed about to protest, clearly not wanting to be parted from Stanley, but Dipper stopped her by grabbing her hand and giving it a light squeeze. He was much less subtle in his movements when he motioned over his shoulder and Ford waved awkwardly when Mabel whipped her head in his direction, her eyes growing wide as she realized what Soos and her brother were getting at.

She was quick to get up after that, dragging Dipper with her and asking Stanley if he'd be hungry for anything. Of course he said no and told them to go have fun, which had been the end of that, and Ford once again found himself impressed by how perceptive his niblings were. He was also thankful that they'd been so willing to give up time with their favored uncle in order to give him a moment alone. He made a mental note to give them hugs specifically for that later.

It hadn't been easy after that. The two of them stood awkwardly, unsure of where to start or what to do with themselves. Ford did his best to remain relaxed, to act as if everything was fine and he hadn't gone with Mabel and Dipper solely because he hadn't been hungry either. It was difficult to manage when he wanted nothing more than to pace in an attempt to calm his nerves.

After some silence, Stanley sat back down in his chair, petting Waddles' head when the pig snuffled at him. When he looked at him again, recognition continued to elude his gaze, and Ford sighed heavily while leaning against the TV. He had no clue where to start and was one of the most frustrating things.

It didn't help that the dread that hadn't ceased eating at him began making him wonder whether or not he deserved the confusion in his brother's eyes. After all, he'd been the one to erase his memories in the first place, so maybe it was been fair that he hadn't been remembered. Still, the thought of possibly being forever removed from Stanley's memory made Ford want to curl in on himself and disappear.

Of course, being full of surprises, Stanley crossed his arms and fixed him with a hard stare before breaking the silence.

"Alright, so why are you important?"

"What?" Ford blinked, surprised by the familiar blunt manner in which the question was delivered.

"Look, I kinda got the gist of how this remembering thing works. If your important, I've got ya somewhere in here," he tapped the side of his head, "and ya keep looking at me like I should've figured it out a long time ago. So help me out here."

"Oh." Ford thought he'd been doing a good job of hiding his distress, but apparently it would seem he'd failed miserably if someone with no knowledge of his tells could figure him out. Still, he had no idea of how he was supposed to tell Stanley. He was stuck between being blunt, taking the route of, "well we shared a womb for nine months, so yeah I'd say I'm pretty important", and the "I don't know if I'm important to you, but you're my brother, so you're at the very least, important to me", approach.

He had the perfect opportunity to have Stan remember him without disturbance, and he couldn't figure out how he was supposed to do it. So, of course his first response was to panic and clamp down. "I, uh, it doesn't… it doesn't matter."

The look Stanley gave him made Ford think of their mother when one of them had tried lying to her and she'd struggled with deciding whether she wanted to smack them or laugh at them. It had been ages since he'd seen anywhere wear the expression, and seeing it on his brother made him both suddenly nostalgic and extremely wary.

"Oh no ya don't," he argued, getting up from his seat and pointing angrily at him. "Just cuz ya don't wanna put the effort into helping me don't mean ya get to say it's nothing!"

"It's not that I don't want to put in the effort," Ford protested, "it's that I don't know where to start."

"Oh, gee, I have no idea what that's like." The bitter snap made Ford pause and curse himself. He'd been tactless with his words there. Of course Stan would be sensitive about not remembering things; Ford could only imagine how frustrating it must have been for him, to know he knew something, and yet not know a thing at all.

Still, he shook his head, deny his brother answers. He didn't want to confuse Stanley more by trying to give him their life's story. After all, that's where the kids and Soos had started with him: Where they'd first met him in their memories. How was he supposed to find a good place to begin? And dammit why hadn't he thought about all of this before he'd sent the kids away?

Of course, the motion's true meaning was lost on Stanley, so he tightened his hands into fists and glared at him. "Knock it off! Just because I don't remember doesn't mean I'm an idiot, Ford, so just tell me!"

It took a moment longer than it should have for him to process the words, but when he did, Ford stood shocked, not daring to move, or even breathe as he watched Stanley. The way his expression went suddenly from irritated to slack and wide-eyed nearly broken Ford, he himself daring to believe then that he'd heard correctly. However, just as soon as the slack expression had come, it disappeared once more, replace by a downturned mouth and scrunched brows.

Ford held his breath completely, watching as Stan's mouth began moving ever-so-slightly mouthing his name, until, after several seconds of tense silence, the confusion on his face disappeared.

When he finally looked up at him again, Ford didn't miss the tears threatening to spill over in his eyes. And when Stanley smiled tentatively as cleared his throat, Ford resisted the urge to wring his hands together. For his part, Stan seemed unsure of what to say, if the way he continually opened his mouth only to close it immediately after was any indicator.

"So, um," he started slowly, "doesn't this mean thanks are in order again?"

Ford couldn't have stopped the the sob from tearing out of his throat if he'd wanted to as he all but threw himself at his brother, burying his face into Stanley's shoulder, the small, "Whoa!" he got in response making his chuckle thickly.

"Thank you," he whispered hoarsely into his twin's jacket. He whispered it over and over until it seemed to have lost its meaning and it was hard to believe he'd ever had a hard time saying the words in the first place.

He couldn't bring himself to loosen the white knuckled death grip he had on his brother, even when he heard the kids return. Stanley didn't try to pry him off either, though -in fact he held him just as tight- and that made Ford's tears flow harder.

Forty years. Forty years Stanley had been waiting for this. When he'd hugged him in that clearing, the first time he'd dared embrace his sibling since returning home, and had been met with nothing but limp confusion, Ford had been so sure that wish of his brother's would never be fulfilled.

He'd been so sure that his mind would be forever lost, and he'd felt all the more devastated with the knowledge. Because despite every chance he'd been given to hug his brother before and during Weirdmageddon, he hadn't. That left the embrace hurting him more than the torture Bill wrought for the sole reason that… it was the first hug he'd given his brother in forty years and Stanley hadn't even known who he was, or how important the moment had been. Hell, he hadn't even returned the gesture. And Ford had thought that would be it.

Now, knowing it wasn't, that he could hug Stanley and that he knew who he was and how much it meant, it was enough to overwhelm Ford. He didn't even think he would've step away from Stanley if he could right then, afraid he'd collapse if he did.

In the space of only a few hours, he'd been abused and terrified, he'd watched his some of his family nearly be destroyed by the demon he'd invited into the world, and then he'd witnessed his twin taking the fall for his own mistakes. He'd proceeded to destroy said twin's mind, and then he'd been crushed by the guilt of doing so. He'd suffered in a prison of his own mind, even for a short time, worrying about the kids, dreading what would become of his brother's memories of him, and what would become of his brother in general. Then, through a simple argument that particular pain and fear disappeared

All of that, in the space of a few hours. He didn't know how to process any of it other than to cling to his brother for dear life and comfort himself with the reminder that Stanley had called him Ford. Stanley remembered. Stanley was back, and he was okay. And it was fascinating, how arguments seemed to be what surrounded all the pivotal moments in their lives. In a convoluted sort of way, how Stan remembered him made perfect sense.

How he was remembering continued to remain a mystery to him, but Ford still wasn't interested in figuring it out just yet. For the time being, it didn't matter. Stanley was okay, and he was back, and that was all that mattered. And Stanley was there and hugging him back, and he didn't hate him.

And then it struck Ford, with that thought, that Stanley didn't remember everything. It made him aware his sibling probably didn't even know he should have reason to be hating him, which left Ford's relief slowly melting into apprehension, as he realized the next step in getting all of Stanley's memories back would be the same as everyone else's.

Just like Mabel and Dipper had begun going over the parts of their lives with their uncle in them, he'd have to do the same until his brother was able to piece things together himself. He'd have to remind him of all the fights, all the hurt and heartbreak… and the reason he'd lost his memories to begin with. He didn't want to. Not yet, anyway. He wouldn't be selfish and never tell Stanley, but it could wait, if only for the night. Just a little while longer.

Ford started when he was pulling from his thoughts by two pairs of arms wrapping around his and Stanley's waists, squeezing tightly. Ah, right, the kids. Ford sniffled, quietly as he could manage, and ruffled Dipper's hair before releasing Stanley in order to do the same to Mabel. He didn't miss the way his brother scrubbed roughly at his eyes when they broke apart, and Ford sent him a shaky smile, which was returned without hesitation.

Dipper and Mabel took the opportunity their distance provided and tackled Stanley back onto the sofa chair. Ford chuckled softly and joined them, perching on the skull-table and doing his best to ignore the way both kids looked between him and his brother slowly with knowing expressions. The smiles that broke out on either of their faces had Ford shaking his head and Stanley grunting and changing the subject before they had the chance to ask any questions.

"So, where'd Soos go?"

"Oh, he said he was going to help Wendy 'clean up some of the chaos'," Dipper said, shrugging.

"He'll be back later," Mabel finished, tucking herself into Stanley's side and releasing a content little sigh.

They all remained like that for some time, until the sun had set and Mabel had dozed off, drooling a bit onto Stanley's arm. Dipper was debating whether or not to wake her up and get her to bed, and Stan, of course, was being no help in deciding. Watching the three of them interact, it made Ford smile fondly. They may have had a long way to go in helping Stanley remember everything, but if every day went as well as today, Ford had high hopes for the future.

When Stanley came back into the living room carrying a fresh bowl of popcorn with Mabel at his side telling him about the progression of TV quality, and one of his favorite shows, "Ducktective", the last thing he'd expected to find was his brother with a big device in his arms, Dipper trailing behind carrying a circular case. He had no idea what this would be about -but then, that was normal now, wasn't it?- but it looked nerdy, and he frowned.

"Aw, c'mon, I'm not even back into the game a week and you're gonna bore me?"

Ford rolled his eyes at him as he set the device, which looked a whole lot like a projector, if he remembered correctly, onto the skull beside the chair. Dipper carefully set the box onto the floor beside it and then stood off to the side, watching them. Mabel went over to her brother's side, to no doubt ask what was going on. Stan wanted to know too, since Ford seemed pretty serious about whatever he was doing as he set up some more things that confirmed for him that what his brother had was, in fact, a projector. Good, he enjoyed getting things right.

Though, what he planned on showing them, Stan had no clue. He had no plans to be quiet about his curiosity, though. "Hey- ho, what's all this for?"

"I found these upstairs," Ford explained, "It's from when we were kids. I thought you might like to see them."

"Oh." Stan blinked in surprise. He still couldn't remember everything about their history together, but for the past two nights Ford had explained as much as he could think to, telling him why he'd lost his memories and apologizing until he wasn't doing much more than stuttering over the same remorse filled words repeatedly.

He'd been doing really good with remembering things, that was what everyone had assured him of when he'd gotten frustrated, but the sharper details of his childhood with Ford were still a bit of a blur to him. He'd tried and tried to clear them on his own, but the moments seemed determined to remain hidden from him. So if Ford seriously had film, he definitely wanted to watch.

He refused to get emotional over the fact that his brother had kept such delicate, precious things all these years, though. He hadn't even known they'd existed, and from what he could recall, he'd been the one living in the Shack the longest. Or maybe he had known? Nah, if he had, the memory would've come back once he saw the projector.

From what he'd figured out on his own and what Ford had explained to him, his remembrance seemed to be triggered by familiar faces and images that were important to him. He was pretty sure if he was touched by the sentiment of the device now, it would qualify as "important" and have triggered any memories if he'd had them. Which left him wondering just what would be on the film reel. He also wondered how close his brother was to being done setting up, because he wanted to see them sooner rather than later.

They'd gotten a lot of his memory back during the day today alone, having gone all over town, reminding him of all his favorite places, introducing him to some people as they went. They'd gotten dinner at Greasy's Diner and Mabel had, after getting onto the topic of his cooking skills, helped him to remember his special brand of "Stan-cakes". With all of that finished, they were coming up on the end of the day and Stan was looking forward to it, because even if it meant staying up until he was beyond exhausted, it also meant going over his past with his brother, specifically.

He enjoyed the time spent together with Ford. The portal and Weirdmageddon had been some of the first memories involving him to come back, and so while at times it was distressing and confusing, putting the puzzle back together in order, he treasured every moment he had with his sibling. He knew just how important their time together was, and he was more than happy to occupy his brother's time.

Part of him had a hard time believing Ford cared enough to want him to remember everything so quickly, because according to more recent memories, Ford supposedly only cared about himself, but Stan did his best to shut that part of his brain up. It was true, he'd thought those things about his sibling at some point or another, but he didn't now. And maybe that was only because he didn't have all his memories of Ford. Either way, until he had all his memories back and could make an educated decision on how he felt, he'd continue to tell himself to be quiet. Ford cared about him, and whether or not Stan initially thought he did wasn't important.

Once he looked to have everything set up, Ford smiled widely and Stan snickered under his breath. He was acting like a kid on the first night of Hanukkah, practically bouncing from foot to foot, wringing his hands and motioning for him to sit, which made Stan all the more eager to see what was on the film.

"Well, we're set up, so… whenever you're ready…"

"Ha, yeah, alright." Stan punched his brother's shoulder as he took a seat.

Ford nodded, probably more to himself than anyone, and stood there a moment, staring at the wall before groaning softly and turning back to the projector. Stan bit his tongue to keep from laughing. It was funny when Ford was so focused on doing one thing that he forgot the main part. "One moment." He blushed and went to getting the reel into the projector.

Stan waited patiently, not saying a word, just listening to the rambling he always got from his brother; Ford tended to talk when he was nervous and doing work with his hands. Stan was pretty sure it had something to do with the fact that he was used to explaining what he did to everyone around him, since his mind moved twice as fast as theirs.

"I don't remember what's on this, precisely, but I know they're nice- all of them. I used to watch them before McGucket moved in to work on the Portal. I suppose you never heard about that though, so nevermind. Point being, I think you'll enjoy these. I just have to put this here and..."

Stan smirked in amusement at Ford when the man grinned as the reel clicked into place. He opened his mouth to cut his brother off before he could get going again, but stopped when he saw Dipper grab Mabel's hand, the two of them moving to retreat from the room.

"Oi, where you headed?"

The children startled and Dipped scratched the back of his neck while Mabel saved him by answering. "We're just gonna leave you guys alone now. Personal bizz an' all that. Yeahhh."

Before he could say anything in response to that, Mabel winked and took a turn dragging her sibling out of the room, Dipper uttering a short, "G'night." before disappearing from sight. Stan could hear them clambering up the stairs, whispering to each other softly enough that he couldn't catch what was being said. He only shook his head fondly at their antics. Those two really were the lights of his life most days, and it was times like these that that was brought to his attention.

He didn't know how he'd ever gone through life without them around, but he couldn't imagine never having met them now. He did know that once they went home, life would get pretty boring again. A final sharp click made Stan flinch and check on Ford, who'd completed hooking the film up, and he hummed under his breath. Actually, with him around, it might not be too boring at all...

It would take a period of adjustment to get used to someone other than the twins being around the Shack twenty-four-seven, but Stan would be more than happy to go through that period of time it if it meant Ford was the one whose company he would be getting used to. Stan was kind of thankful for these nightly memory joggings because those alone had allowed them to get used to each other faster than they might have and talk about things that had never been discussed in depth before then.

Stan wasn't exactly thrilled that he'd lost his entire life's story, even if it had been his idea to start with, but, shockingly enough to himself and probably everyone else, he was actually glad it had all worked out the way it had. Even if not remembering everything in one sitting grew progressively annoying, he and Ford had been able to just talk openly, about everything, and while he wasn't completely sure of where it was they stood exactly, he rested easy on the knowledge that Ford… probably wasn't going to kick him out of the Shack like he'd wanted to when he'd first been brought back.

Stan wasn't sure exactly what they'd do about their living arrangement, but if he'd taken anything from the way his brother had been treating him the past few days, it was that they would figure it out. He sure hoped that was what Ford was thinking anyway. He was a little afraid to ask. He'd do it later- probably after the kids left. Yeah. Probably… Maybe.

"Okay," Ford said, jarring Stan out of his thoughts, "Sorry about that. Just let me know when you're ready."

Stan couldn't help but laugh at his brother then. Ford was practically vibrating with… well, he wasn't sure if it was excitement or nerves, but either way he looked like Mabel after her tenth cup of Mabel Juice™ and it was pretty hilarious to see his brother's mannerisms parallel his bubbly great niece. Ford only watched him with a mixture of bewilderment and concern. "What?"

"Nothing," Stan chortled, getting a hold of himself once more and waving his brother's next question off, "No, I didn't remember anything new."

After a moment of scrutinizing him, Ford nodded and turned his attention back to the task at hand, satisfied with the answer. He flicked on the projector and settled into the collapsable chair beside the sofa, his designated spot for the routine. It took a few seconds for the reel to begin playing, but Stan kept his attention glued to the wall where the picture would be popping up. He had no idea what he was in store for, but was eager to see nonetheless, because if the moments had been worth filming and saving for so long, they had to be special, and there was no way he wanted to miss even half a second of that.

The two watched and talked for hours, chatting after each individual clip before continuing with the next captured moment. They kept to the cycle until the late hours of the night crept up on them and one or two clips were lift on the reel that they were too tired to watch.

Ford was the first to break, surprising both of them with a yawn big enough Stan briefly worried his jaw might've been dislocated. Of course, that had set off a chain event, causing him to yawn too and realize just how beat he was. Neither one of them made any move to get up, though, as that had become part of the routine too. They'd exhaust themselves reminiscing, and then they'd just go to sleep. It wasn't the best thing for their backs, but the two didn't much care. There was something comforting about being able to fall asleep right next to the other. Something familiar.

Stan's lip twitched into a smile when he pictured the bunkbeds littered with random toys and knick knacks from their youth. Yeah, those had been the days, when it had just been the two of them, full of their childlike spunk and irrational senses of optimism. They'd sure had some fun back in the day. The short clip of him chasing Ford around with a paintbrush on the beach came to mind and Stan smiled as he peaked an eye open to check on his brother. He'd already closed his eyes and leaned heavily against him, his hair tickling Stan's chin when he tilted his head down.

A fond and content noise made it out of his throat and Ford purred back in response. Stan closed his eyes and chuckled softly. That was one of the weirder noises he'd heard from his brother since he'd come out of the portal, but it was one he could at least get behind. After all, if that was one of the more subtle ways Ford expressed happiness, who was he to complain?

Stan contemplated taking his hand out of where it had settled in the popcorn bowl to ruffle his twin's hair like he'd have done when they were younger, but he didn't feel like mustering up the energy it would take to move. He was comfy and he didn't want to ruin that. Besides, his limbs felt heavy enough he wasn't sure he'd make it all the way up to where Ford's head was rested against his shoulder.

Instead, Stan settled for a soft mutter. He hadn't dared to say it since… had it been right after that DD and More D thing with Dipper? Yeah. He hadn't said it since then, too afraid he wouldn't get the response he wanted, or any response at all. This time, it came as easily as telling Wendy to get back to work, and Stan knew it would be well received.

"G'night, Ford."

He didn't look to see his brother's reaction- he didn't have to when he felt Ford's arm wrap loosely around his shoulders, giving him a tight squeeze. The affection in his brother's tone when he finally responded made Stan's smile solidify on his face to the point where he didn't think he'd be able to get it off.

For so long he'd been waiting to hear the words echoed back at him, and from the way Ford spoke, his own smile evident, it sounded like he had been too.

"Goodnight, Stanley."

But nothing is a waste, if you learn from it.

[haberdashing]

A fic idea that I’m probably never going to turn into a full-fledged fic, but I want to inflict the idea upon the public nonetheless:

This story could take place before or after the end of the series, just so long as it’s post-DDnMD, given Ford’s interactions with Dipper- some of the character dynamics may make more sense if it happens pre-Weirdmageddon, but having it happen post-canon would prevent it from changing how canon plays out.

It starts with Ford and Dipper being science nerds in the basement together. Dipper’s going over some of the paranormal experiences he’s had during the summer and mentions the events of Carpet Diem, and how impressed he is that Ford made that carpet in the first place.

Ford smiles and says that he never finished properly testing the carpet due to... having other priorities at the time, and, well, no time like the present, right?

And so the two use the carpet to swap bodies.

The whole time, Dipper is internally making the same scream he made in AToTS when Ford mentions the journals. He spent so much of the summer obsessing over Journal 3 and now not only has he met the author of the journals, he is the author- or, well, he’s in the author’s body, anyway. So this is how it feels to be Ford, this is how it feels to have six-fingered hands- how cool is that?

Ford is somewhat less... exuberant about it, but he enjoys the experience too in his own way. He had almost forgotten how it feels to be so young, hadn’t noticed how much he was limited by the aches of age until they were gone, replaced by the energy of youth. And Ford’s mind naturally wanders to his own youth, and how things had seemed so much simpler back then...

While they’re still testing things, Stan yells at them to get their butts upstairs for dinner, and the two lock eyes. Maybe a quick discussion follows, or maybe it’s all said in that one look, but either way, the outcome is the same: they go upstairs and join Stan and Mabel while still body-swapped, trying to act like one another and see if Stan and Mabel know the difference.

Which they totally do.

Their impressions aren’t bad, but Stan and Mabel know their brothers better than that. They can tell something’s up. They may not show it, and they may not know exactly what’s going on, but they can tell that Ford isn’t acting quite like Ford and Dipper isn’t acting quite like Dipper.

Thing is, when Stan and Mabel discuss their suspicions after dinner... well, in Gravity Falls, there are a lot of things that can look like your loved ones without actually being your loved ones. Shapeshifters. Possession by ghost. Bill. There are any number of possibilities here, most of them horrifying, many of them boding poorly for the well-being of the real Ford and Dipper. Their minds jump to worst-case scenarios, not “consensual use of the body-swapping carpet”, especially given that Mabel may still think Stan disposed of the carpet in question.

I don’t know exactly how the endgame plays out, but I imagine it involves Ford and Dipper having to prove their identities, and then lots of tears and hugs and Stan and Mabel admonishing their dumb nerd brothers to think for a second before scaring them like that again, dagnabbit!